jn the $an Benito frills 
 
 Etc. 
 
 A. SUNNISON 
 
BANCROFT 
 
 LIBRARY 
 > 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 

 
 
Etc. 
 
 -BY. 
 
 6H4RLES i 
 
V 
 
 A < 
 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 COMMERCIAL PUBLISHING Co. 
 
 34 CALIFORNIA ST. S. F. 
 
TO MY 
 
 LITTLE COUSIN AND GODSON 
 FREDERICK GUNNISON ASTWOOD 
 
 OF 
 
 SEA VIEW, WARWICK, 
 BERMUDA. 
 
 1891. 
 
 ? C -"> 
 
I offer all my heart in pure devotion 
 
 To the fair, changing sea; 
 I love her calms, her rage, her fierce commotion, 
 
 Each ripple charmeth me. 
 
 In far Bermuda, by the sea surrounded, 
 
 My grandsire, long ago, 
 As sea-birds build their nests, his lone home founded 
 
 Where the salt breezes blow. 
 
 It is his blood, touched by the brine of the ocean, 
 
 Stays longest in my heart, 
 And then flows out to thrill with fond emotion 
 
 In every living part. 
 
 I long to see the forms of those who linger 
 
 Still by that sea-girt nest 
 Calling with ever homeward-beckoning finger 
 
 The wanderer of the west. 
 
ir) frje 
 
 ilf JIllls. 
 
 "Merry it is in the good greenwood, 
 
 When the mavis and merle are singing, 
 
 When the deer sweeps by and the hounds are in cry, 
 And the hunter's horn is ringing." 
 
 It was a Friday afternoon in summer at John Fer- 
 nald's ranch. The stalwart miner, his pretty little 
 wife Mary, and, of course, the baby for that had 
 been omnipresent since its arrival had been to the 
 woods to shoot quail. 
 
 Half a flozen had been the reward, and merrily 
 now the hunters were walking toward home, where 
 Mary was already picturing herself broiling the de- 
 licious game, and John had a mental, life-size pic- 
 ture of himself eating it, while even little John look- 
 ed as though he had a full set of teeth, so thoroughly 
 he entered into the general hilarity, making a crow- 
 
8 
 
 ing noise as his big father carried him Indian-fashion 
 on his back, singing: 
 
 "Oh, Robin Hood was a bowman good, 
 
 And a bowman good was he, 
 And he met a maiden in merry Sherwood, 
 
 All under the greenwood tree." 
 
 Mary skipped along by his side more like the 
 merry maid of old Robin's days than a dignified 
 matron. 
 
 These moments of supreme happiness are, alas, 
 too few in most of our lives, but this young pair had 
 many of them, and, though far from neighbors, had 
 found no such thing as loneliness in the San Benito 
 Hills. 
 
 Their lives were as full of brightness as the land- 
 scape was of those golden poppies which we Califor- 
 nians love so well, and which the book-learned, 
 spindle-legged professors from the States vainly try 
 to make us call by that ugly, German-Latin name 
 with a Russian look. 
 
 " 'Now give me a kiss' quoth Robin Hood, 
 
 'Now give me a kiss' quoth he, 
 'For there never came maid into merry Sherwood, 
 'But she paid the forester's fee.' " 
 
 Then this new Robin Hood took his fee from Mary 
 and from little John when they reached the kitchen- 
 door. The quail were soon dressed and broiling. 
 
OF 
 
 Little John was playing in a serious sort of fashion 
 with the black top-knots, and big John cleaned his 
 shot-gun. 
 
 How the butter sizzled as it fell on the brown 
 breasts of the six plump fellows lying on the gridiron! 
 How each draught from the kitchen, laden with 
 incense to Diana the Huntress, was sweeter than 
 laurel or jasmine to the healthy nostrils of that happy 
 family! They wanted no pepsin orpeptonized wine, 
 no aids to digestion. 
 
 Youth, health, happiness, were theirs". God be 
 praised! 
 
 Thus this day closed like many another, full to 
 
 overflowing with sunshine. . 
 
 # * # # 
 
 "Oh, dear, what can the matter be, 
 Oh, dear, what can the matter be, 
 Oh, dear, what can the matter be, 
 Johnny so long at the fair?" 
 
 And Mary Fernald, sitting at her kitchen -door, 
 rocked her baby-boy in his cradle, while she search- 
 ingly gazed down the path which led to the dusty 
 road. 
 
 It was, indeed, a beautiful picture, that mother of 
 a year, dressed neatly in her printed cotton gown, 
 all her household duties finished for the day, sitting 
 in the half-light of the door-way, with the hazy land- 
 
10 
 
 scape lighted by the sun just dropping behind the 
 manzanita-covered hills. 
 
 The day had been the first on which Mary had 
 been left alone, for John Fernald had always taken 
 her with him the few times he had been to town 
 since two years before, when Mary, fresh from her 
 New England home, had come to live at his ranch 
 in the San Benito. 
 
 Little John was, of course, too small to travel, and 
 so, with many good-byes and good wishes, big John 
 had gone for the day to San Juan Bautista, some 
 twenty miles away, to buy needed farming tools. 
 
 Though Mary did not expect him until after dark, 
 she found herself beginning to look down toward the 
 San Juan Road long before the sun had cast western 
 shadows under the madrona before the house. 
 
 "If I do not reach home by nine o'clock/' John 
 had sai'd, "you may know that I have stayed in 
 town." 
 
 It was twilight up to eight o'clcok, and Mary 
 waited at the door until the last colors disappeared 
 from the sky, before she lighted the lamp. Once 
 the sound of wagon-wheels made her heart beat joy- 
 fully, but the wagon passed. 
 
 She was not a timid woman, but the idea of being 
 left for a night in the lonely ranch-house without 
 John was not pleasant. The desperado and bandit 
 
Vasquez was then in full power, and though he was 
 last heard of in the Santa Cruz Mountains, his 
 marches were so swift and in such unthought of di" 
 rections, that his very name carried fear through a 
 large tract of country where he had not as yet ap- 
 peared. John's rifle hung in the kitchen, and Mary, 
 who well understood its use, took it down and care- 
 fully examined it, then placed it in a convenient 
 position, while she lay down, dressed, on the bed 
 by the now sleeping baby. 
 
 * # # # 
 
 John made his purchases, not forgetting one of 
 Mary's orders, and adding to them a neat, woolen 
 gown and a cart for little John. The horses were 
 weary, for the distance from San Juan Bautista was 
 all up hill, so John drove slowly along, as he had 
 scarcely a mile farther and it was not half-past eight,, 
 
 "And fare thee weel, my only luve, 
 And fare thee weel for awhile; 
 
 And I will come again, my luve, 
 
 Though it were ten thousand miles." 
 
 Had John's thoughts not been at the end of the 
 journey with Mary and the baby at that moment, he 
 had surely heard the step of a horse behind him, as 
 he drove into the willow-shaded stretch of road by 
 the Arroyo Seco. 
 
 The last words of the song had hardly been ut- 
 
tered when he was violently seized from behind, his 
 arms tied, a gag pressed between his teeth, and a 
 lariat wound around his legs. About a dozen men 
 were soon around the wagon, all speaking in under- 
 tones and in the Spanish tongue. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked one. 
 
 "The American who has the Guadeloupe Rancho," 
 was the reply. 
 
 "Search him and leave him here in the willows. 
 Drive the wagon off the road and take the horses; 
 they are good." 
 
 These orders were quickly obeyed, and John, as 
 helpless as little John, was rolled into the reeds by 
 .he roadside. 
 
 "Shall we go to the ranch-house?" asked one. 
 
 "Yes; but one of you will be enough. There is 
 only a woman and a child there. You go, Jose, 
 and bring us all the food on a pack-horse." 
 
 With all his strength John tried to break his bonds, 
 but to no purpose, and the gag kept him silent. It 
 was a time of agony to him as the party drove away 
 as silently as they had come. John had expected 
 them to shoot him or carry him away captive, for 
 without doubt the band was that of the notorious 
 Vasquez. 
 
 However, life was spared, and in his heart he gave 
 
thanks to the Almighty, praying God to save his 
 Mary and little one from harm. 
 
 # * * # 
 
 Mary, by the side of her boy, had fallen asleep; 
 she had thought to remain awake until John might 
 possibly come, but sleep overcame her. 
 
 From pleasant dreams she was suddenly awakened 
 by a step upon the porch. Her first thought was of 
 John. 
 
 "Who is there?" she cried. 
 
 "No matter who," was the reply; "open the 
 door." 
 
 "I shall not." 
 
 "There is no man in the house, I know, and I 
 shall break it in." 
 
 The answer to this speech was the report of a rifle, 
 and the ruffian gave a cry of pain as the bullet cut 
 his arm. Man or no man, Mary Fernald, thanks to 
 John's instructions, could defend herself when ne- 
 cessity came. Presently the rapid steps of a gal- 
 loping horse were heard going down hill. 
 
 "Thank heaven that I have not killed him," were 
 Mary's first words; "it would be awful to have the 
 door-stone of our home stained with blood, even 
 though justly shed. I should have aimed lower," 
 she added, as she looked at the bullet-hole in the 
 redwood panel, just breast-high. 
 
-14- 
 
 "He may come back with others!" Mary Fernald 
 knelt beside her baby, who already slept, though 
 wakened by the familiar sound of the rifle, and 
 prayed for strength. 
 
 It was too late, she knew, for John to come that 
 night, and she thought how happy would be their 
 greeting in the moring when shei would fall safe for- 
 ever into his strong arms. 
 
 Several times she heard sounds which startled her, 
 and even the wind, which moved the madrona 
 branches against the roof, caused her to shudder. 
 
 The sound of horses tramping on the San Juan 
 Road startled her once, and later the unmistakable 
 creaking of the garden-gate, followed by a stealthy 
 movement upon the porch, less suggesting that of a 
 man than thatof some large, wild animal. 
 
 Presently the door shook as if it' would break from 
 its hinges as the heavy body pushed against it. Mary 
 stared with terror, holding the rifle aimed at the 
 lower panel. A second assault followed, accom- 
 panied by a low, guttural sound half hissing. 
 
 Sharp and quick rang out the rifle again. The 
 house seemed to shake. From the door came a cry 
 half-human, awful to hear in its agony. Mary fell 
 upon her knees, covering her face in the clothes be- 
 side the frightened, wailing little John. 
 
Oh, what will John think when he comes in the 
 morning? I must meet him down the road by the 
 willows to spare him the fright." 
 
 The sun shines as warm on San Benito Hills to- 
 day as it did that morning when Mary Fernald rose 
 from her prayers to go down the road to meet her 
 loving John. 
 
 The awful and unknown object which lay on the 
 porch must be passed, but she was nerved to open 
 the door when she thought of John's fright when he 
 should find what had occured and not see her first. 
 
 "Yes, how brave he will call me. He will call 
 me his little home guard." 
 
 The door turned into the kitchen; she stood ir- 
 resolutely for one moment and then opened it. 
 
 Mary stood as petrified at the door Oh, God 
 
 in heaven! I can scarce bring my pen to write. 
 
 With that one glance went out forever her love, 
 her soul, her God. She fell upon the threshold 
 with a moan. 
 
 Bound and gagged, John Fernald had crawled to 
 his door over the rough, sharp stones, and there 
 upon the porch lay in his eternal rest with a bullet 
 through his heart. 
 
irje, C)l)pe 0| il)e C)e<a o| 
 
 I hear the sea bird's beating wing 
 
 Upon the silver, sunlit sea 
 I hear her beat, beat steadily, 
 
 Counting the passing time may be, 
 Until she rests from laboring. 
 
 I see the fisher's little boat 
 
 Slow-gliding on with measured oar 
 Until her keel grates on the shore, 
 
 To rest in peace, to sail no more, 
 No more in currents wild to float. 
 
 I hear the distant moan of waves 
 I see the shadows of the clouds; 
 
 The sea-mews pass in wailing crowds; 
 The far off breakers seem like shrouds, 
 
 For in the sea are many graves. 
 
 But there is rippling laughter too 
 Along the shelly, shining sand, 
 
 My face by loving winds is fanned, 
 Thy waters leap to kiss my hand 
 
 Oh, merry sea of white and blue. 
 
 Thus do I sit upon the shore 
 And hear the music of the sea, 
 
 While everything seemeth to be 
 A clock that ticks incessantly 
 
 Counting till time shall be no more. 
 
You're a dandy, you're a daisy 
 Rudyard, were I not so lazy 
 I would write in elegiacs 
 Four score thousand lines of praise. 
 Thank your stars I was born tired; 
 Though my soul by song is fired 
 I am far to weary Rudyard 
 For to fan it to a blaze. 
 
 But I love you for your muscle, 
 And the never-ending bustle 
 You've kicked up in one short journey 
 Through our "God Almighty" land, 
 By the much deserved, sharp spanking 
 You have given us, and thanking 
 You for all those stories stolen, 
 Compliment you on your sand. 
 
 Glad you knocked Chicago silly, 
 She deserved it, rampant filly, 
 Saying that she heads this nation 
 But you found her place of rank, 
 Though our land be fair as Venus, 
 (Here's a little joke between us,) 
 She's the middle of the country 
 And the proper place to spank! 
 
 '\ H / 
 
Should the poor beggar, while fierce hunger gnaws, 
 Buy with his penny one sweet loaf of bread, 
 
 Or chance a lottery which in future draws 
 Some golden treasure, when, he being dead, 
 
 Can only buy his bones a marble bed? 
 
 Should weary souls, here being slaved each day, 
 Wait the uncertain rest of future life, 
 
 Or purchase with the all they have to pay, 
 Some brief oblivion from the endless strife, 
 
 Where words and looks pierce deeper than the knife? 
 
 Was not the pottage, starving Esau bought, 
 Better to him than all his father's lands? 
 
 Against the food, his birthright weighed for naught; 
 That moment when the basin touched his hands 
 
 Was worth an hour-glass of ruby sands. 
 
1 o^ <y s ^ ei y I 
 
 i. 
 
 It was a stormy night that of my first visit to Re- 
 gensheim, the wind howled and the rain beat most 
 furiously against the carriage windows as I drove up 
 the main street by the Rathhaus and alighted weary 
 and hungry at the door of the Red Horse Inn. 
 
 The Red Horse Inn was the best in Regensheim, 
 which was but a small town and could not support 
 a very elaborate hotel; however uninviting the old, 
 weather-beaten house appeared from without, the 
 cosy guest room with the great tile stove in the cor- 
 ner and the row of clean beer glasses with their 
 brightly polished pewter covers hanging upon the 
 pegs along the wall made one feel wonderfully cheer- 
 ful especially with such a storm tearing away with- 
 out and knocking at the window shutters. 
 
20 
 
 The host's daughter brought me my half liter of 
 beer and placing it upon the little felt mat before me 
 with a prettily spoken, "May it taste well/' returned 
 to her seat by the tile stove, and resumed her knit- 
 ting. 
 
 There was a wooden clock on the wall, one of 
 those neat cuckoo clocks from the Black Forest, and 
 the little bird had just gone back into his house as if 
 he were angry to see us still sitting up although at 
 his last appearance he had given nine warning notes 
 for bed time. He had just gone back with a snap, 
 as I said, when the stamping of horses and the grat- 
 ing of wheels were heard at the door and presently 
 the host ushered into the room a tall man with a 
 heavy black cloak; his appearance was foreign and 
 after he had been in the room a short time I discov- 
 ered that he spoke but little German and was a 
 Frenchman. 
 
 He sat at the same table with me and ordered 
 wine which was brought by the host who also placed 
 a glass for himself at the invitation of the stranger. 
 The Frenchman carried over his shoulder a leather 
 traveling pocket which he took oft" after hanging up 
 his coat. He threw the pocket upon a bench in the 
 corner, where it fell heavily and gave out a sound as 
 if it were filled with coin. I noticed the host look 
 at it with a side casting of his eye, and then looking 
 
21 
 
 at the stranger from under his bushy brows. "Rather 
 a heavy bag that," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes," replied the Frenchman, in his broken 
 German, "It is heavy, indeed and I must watch it 
 carefully for it contains a good weight of Austrian 
 gold which I must bring all the way to Paris. I did 
 not catch the through train and so will stop over here 
 till morning when the Paris Express leaves Nurem- 
 berg, where I shall go and take it. I should have 
 gone through to Nuremberg to-night but the storm 
 was too severe." 
 
 "The distance is short and can be made very 
 quickly," answered the host. 
 
 I had disliked the host of the Red Horse from the 
 first moment I met him; he was a short, thin man of 
 about fifty years of age, his hair was jet black and 
 very course, growing low upon his forehead. His 
 complexion was sallow, excepting his large hooked 
 nose, which seemed doubtful whether it were a nose 
 or a carbuncle, so red and glowing was it. His eyes 
 were small and shaded by bushy brows and he had 
 a habit of looking at your feet when talking with you 
 and if by accident you caught his eyes, he would 
 immediately lower them. He was closely shaven 
 which rendered his appearance yet more disagree- 
 able as it gave full play to his broad mouth which 
 had a nervous twitching about it, and he had a way 
 
22 
 
 of fingering his throat while talking, making you feel 
 as if he were itching to get his hand on your own 
 windpipe. 
 
 The stranger drank much wine, which however 
 did not affect him at all, it being one of the light 
 wines of the Main vineyards. 
 
 Though asked a number of times to join in the wine 
 I kept to my beer, not caring to mix them knowing 
 the result next day must be a headache. I retired 
 about half past eleven and was lighted to my cham- 
 ber which was on the second floor, above the bar or 
 guest room. The room was a large square one con- 
 taining two beds, both together hardly large enough 
 to make one good sized one at home; there was a 
 lounge on one side, and a number of wooden chairs 
 about the room, and a center table where the can- 
 dle stood. 
 
 There were two prints on the wall, one of Andre- 
 as Hofer led to execution and the other of a funeral 
 service in prison; these two cheerless pictures were 
 the only decorations excepting a couple of chamoise 
 heads in plaster of Paris. There was no carpet on 
 the floor, as is the custom throughout Bavaria, but 
 it was as white as possible and divided into squares 
 with cross pieces of dark wood. 
 
 The walls were covered with a flowered paper and 
 the ceiling was pure white, a most glaring, spotless 
 
2 *J 
 
 white; so noticeable was this whiteness, that I could 
 not keep from looking at it in particular; while get- 
 ting ready for bed, my eyes would continually seek 
 the white ceiling which seemed to have a brightness 
 of its own, aside from the candle light, and after the 
 light was extinguished I saw it bare and white in the 
 darkness. 
 
 From the window I could see that the storm was 
 almost over and between the fast hurrying clouds, 
 the stars would now and then peep out. I watched 
 these clouds passing until I fell off into a gentle 
 doze, which lasted I do not know how long, but I 
 was not roused from it until I heard some one try 
 my door and then muttering in a low voice go to 
 the next room and enter closing the door with a 
 slam, but I did not hear the lock turn. Presently 
 I heard a heavy thud which was repeated. I recog- 
 nized the sound as the same the stranger's traveling 
 pocket had made when he threw it on the bench in 
 the guest room, and knew then that he occupied the 
 next room to me, He evidently threw the pocket 
 on the table and it had fallen to the floor making 
 the second sound. I soon heard him get into the 
 little creaking bed, and before long he was fast 
 asleep as I could tell by his hard breathing which I 
 could distinctly hear. 
 
 I soon fell into a sleep again myself, despite the 
 
2 4 
 
 uncomfortable shortness of the bedstead and the 
 wonderful propensity the feather bed showed for fall- 
 ing on the floor. 
 
 While I was yet asleep I heard groans which be- 
 came part of my dream, but as I gradually gained 
 consciousness, I knew that they proceeded from the 
 next room, but after I was fully awake I heard no 
 more and all was still as ever. 
 
 In a few moments I heard the bells of the Rath- 
 haus ring and a shrill whistle four times repeated, so 
 I knew it was just two o'clock; for it has been the 
 custom in Regensheim for nine hundred years or 
 more, to ring the bells at 2 A. M. and 2 p. M. and 
 every hour the watchman or his wife whistles from 
 the four sides of the tower, to the north, east, south 
 and west. I now lay wide awake, listening for an- 
 other sound, for I did not think what I had heard 
 could authorize me to go to the next room, or to 
 waken the landlord, for it might after all have only 
 been a dream, or the stranger have been troubled 
 with the nightmare. 
 
 I lay looking up at the luminous ceiling, when pres- 
 ently I heard a noise as of something scratching. 
 The sound came from the ceiling and seemed at 
 first to be in the opposite corner of the room, and 
 at last directly above my bed. I could plainly hear 
 a footstep advancing cautiously as if stepping from 
 
25 - 
 
 one rafter to another; then there came a prolonged 
 rattling just over my head and then the sound of the 
 steps again; I listened some time but heard no 
 more. 
 
 I should have supposed it was caused by rats run- 
 ning over the floor of the attic, had it not been for 
 the footsteps. 
 
 The noises of the night, the stranger with the gold, 
 the evil-looking host and the dreary tavern itself all 
 combined to raise strange and disagreeable fancies 
 in my mind and I longed for the morning to come. 
 
 I slept late, until almost eight o'clock, for I 
 heard the little cuckoo in the guest room under me 
 call out that hour while I was dressing. 
 
 I opened the window to let in the fresh morning 
 air; the storm was well over and not a cloud was to 
 be seen in the sky. 
 
 From my window I could look out over the broad 
 fields of Pegnitz to where the Franconian Alps rose 
 blue and misty in the distance, the great mountain 
 with its castle at Nuremberg was visible and the 
 towns and spires of the famous city stood glittering 
 in the sunlight; the level valley was green and fresh 
 after the rain and groups of peasant houses formed 
 a pretty relief on its surface, with here and there a 
 huge linden tree and the silvery network of little 
 streams. The peasants were working in the fields, 
 
26 . 
 
 while in those meadows nearest the town, I could 
 see the robust little children tending the flocks of 
 geese or playing with a dog. In the street just under 
 my window sat a blind woman warming herself in 
 the sun and knitting a blue yarn stocking, while a 
 little golden-haired child in a red frock lay asleep 
 across her her lap. 
 
 I dressed slowly, enjoying the beautiful picture 
 from my window and it was fully nine o'clock when 
 I started to go down to the guest room to my break- 
 fast. I glanced into the next room as the door was 
 open; the bed clothing had all been removed and the 
 floor was wet as was also the whole length of the 
 hall, while a pail and mop stood in one corner. 
 
 I staggered as the awful thought flashed over me; 
 the ill-looking host had murdered the stranger for 
 his gold and they had just washed out the blood 
 stains from the floor. 
 
 I must have looked pale when I reached the guest 
 room, for the daughter of the host brought me a 
 glass of schnaps without my asking it. 
 
 "No," said I to myself, "this pretty girl can 
 know nothing of the awful tragedy." Then aloud, I 
 asked, "Has the French gentleman, who came last 
 night, yet gone to Nuremburg?" 
 
 "I do not know, sir," she answered. "I have 
 not seen him; but I think he has gone for father 
 
27 
 
 went to the city and they must have gone together. 
 Father often takes a drive with the guests," she said 
 and laughed to herself. "Your carriage is ready at 
 the door, it was ordered for nine o'clock. You will 
 grive us the honor of stopping with us when you re- 
 turn from Hoheneck? 
 
 I drank my coffee in silence and dropped the girl 
 a silver mark when I left the house, and shivered as 
 I entered the carriage, thinking of the awful crime 
 which had been perpetrated under that roof by the 
 father of the beautiful, innocent girl who stood at 
 the door bidding me adieu. 
 
II. 
 
 I spent about two weeks at Hoheneck Castle with 
 most pleasant company but 1 could not drive from 
 my mind the awful occurrence at the Red Horse 
 Inn. 
 
 I had told no one of my suspicions for I had no 
 proofs and the fear of making myself appear ridicu- 
 lous deterred me from metioning the murder. I be- 
 gan almost to feel that I was a sort of accomplice in 
 the crime and my knowledge weighed heavily on my 
 mind. 
 
 I made many inquiries about the host in Regens- 
 heim and all I learned convinced me that he was a 
 man capable of doing anything wrong, even to the 
 murdering of a guest if he could be the gainer 
 thereby. 
 
 The afternoon was bright and sunshiny, when I 
 entered Regensheim for the second time, and drove 
 up the roughly paved street to the inn. There had 
 been some services at the church and the people 
 were just going home; they were all in holiday attire 
 and presented a pretty sight as they gaily chattered 
 and laughed, pausing now and then as they would 
 meet some acquaintance. 
 
29 
 
 Among them, I noticed the pretty daughter of the 
 host of the Red Horse Inn; as she recognized me, 
 she curtsied and I returned the salute. 
 
 It seemed a pity for me to expose her father and 
 bring disgrace upon this innocent child, but it was 
 plainly my duty to inform the police, yet I decided 
 to wait until I had spent one more night at the inn 
 and had had a conversation with the host, when I 
 could mention the French gentleman and observe 
 his face attentively to see if it disclosed any sign by 
 which I could feel more sure that he was the mur- 
 derer. 
 
 The host was at the door when I arrived and gave 
 me a most cordial reception, taking my luggage to 
 my room; I did not go up stairs with him but en- 
 tered the guest room and took a seat at the table 
 where I had sat the first night. 
 
 The room was quite full of peasants, both men 
 and women, who were drinking beer and refreshing 
 themselves, after the long sermon, with generous al- 
 lowances of sausages and cheese and large white 
 radishes. The little children, even the babies took 
 their beer and relished it greatly. 
 
 They were all very merry, and the rosy waiter girl 
 who helped the host's daughter was kept busy run- 
 ning back and forth from kitchen and cellar with 
 sausages and beer. 
 
3 o 
 
 I spent part of the afternoon in the guest room 
 and also took a long walk about the town and beside 
 the little river. In the morning I had a bottle of wine 
 with the host; he seemed to be very merry and hap- 
 py about something and drank much, becoming so 
 boisterous before the evening had scarce begun, (and 
 I had not mentioned the French stranger,) that he 
 inaugurated a dance right then and there, and a fid- 
 dler being found all the guests joined in the merry 
 making. 
 
 After watching them awhile and being too low- 
 spirited and thoughtful to enjoy the dance, I retired 
 to bed. The host's daughter lighted the way for 
 me, and what was my surprise and horror when I 
 was ushered into the very room which had been oc- 
 cupied by the French gentleman. I asked why I 
 did not have the same room I had had before and 
 added that I preferred it. 
 
 There was no reason she said, the other room was 
 unoccupied, but her father had left my luggage in 
 this room, but it should be changed immediately 
 and arranged to suit me. 
 
 The bags were removed and placed in my old 
 room where I felt more at ease, and after carefully 
 locking the door I unpacked my luggage and got 
 ready for bed. 
 
- 3 1 - 
 
 The room was very close and filled with a most 
 disagreeable odor but I did not dare to open the 
 windows, dreading the malaria which was very pre- 
 valent in that part of Franconia. The noise down 
 stairs continued and I saw no chance to ever getting 
 to sleep. 
 
 Just as I was about to extinguish the candle, I 
 casually glanced up at the ceiling which had upon 
 my former stay attracted my particular attention on 
 account of its immaculate whiteness; it had the same 
 glaring appearance with the exception that just over 
 the bed was a stained place as if made by water 
 leaking through the roof; it had a brownish color 
 and looked damp; the stained surface was about six 
 feet in length and not more than two feet in width. 
 
 A strange idea flashed through rny mind but I 
 tried to drive it off for it was too awful to think of. 
 I blew out the candle and went to bed; I lay some- 
 time with my eyes shut, listening to the laughing 
 and fiddling going on beneath me, above all I could 
 hear the voice of the host and it made me shudder. 
 
 When I opened my eyes it was very dark, for I 
 had drawn the curtains; turning over on one side I 
 saw in the middle of the room or rather a little 
 nearer my bed a brilliant yellow flame, it did not il- 
 luminate the place but it seemed like a dead light or 
 luminous body without rays if such a thing could be. 
 
3 2 
 
 I gazed at it in wonder, it kept perfectly still, it 
 was like the flame of a candle in shape, but of the 
 size of my hand. I had forgotten about the noise 
 in the room beneath me, I was so interested in the 
 tongue of flame which hung so mysteriously by my 
 bedside. 
 
 Suddenly I sprang up with a cry of horror, for a drop 
 of something slimy had fallen upon my face, the 
 awful thought which had flashed though my mind 
 when I saw the stained spot upon the ceiling came 
 again and I, with sickening heart, bathed and bathed 
 again my face in water. The spot where the drop had 
 fallen seemed to burn into the flesh. I knew what 
 that moisture must be, and my whole frame shook 
 with horror and disgust at the revolting idea. 
 
 I lighted the candle and looked again at the ceil- 
 ing, another drop of the sickening fluid was forming 
 ready to fall upon the bed. I dressed myself hur- 
 riedly and flung open the windows to let in the air, 
 for laden with malaria as it was, it was better than 
 the awful air of that room where every breath was 
 as if drawn in a charnel-house. 
 
 Yes, it was only too true; my horrible idea was 
 the only correct one; the French stranger, whom I 
 had met here, had been murdered for his money 
 and his body had been dragged into the attic and 
 laid between the rafters just over my bed; it was two 
 
33 
 
 weeks since that occurred and now the frighful, 
 brown stain upon the ceiling marked the place where 
 the body lay, and the drop that had fallen upon my 
 face oh Heavens! the thought almost drove me 
 wild. 
 
 I seized the candle and rushed from the room; 
 along the passage I walked till I came to door at 
 end, which I carefully opened and found a flight of 
 ladder-like steps, these I ascended slowly after clos- 
 ing the door behind me. 
 
 When I reached the attic I was obliged to walk 
 with my body bent almost double, as the beams of 
 the roof were very low. The room which was as 
 large as the whole width and length of the house 
 was intensely dark and the little flame of the candle 
 did not throw a light very far around it. 
 
 The flooring was simply the house beams, be- 
 tween which the laths, which held the plastering of 
 the ceilings below, were visible; a low of boards had 
 been laid down to make walking less difficult, yet in 
 many places, I had to step from beam to beam very 
 carefully. 
 
 As I neared the farther corner under which my 
 room was situated, I noticed a long, white object 
 laying between the beams upon the laths; as I drew 
 nearer, with the aid of my candle which seemed to 
 lighten up the gloom slowly as if it had to eat its 
 
34 
 
 way into the darkness, I saw that it was a great piece 
 of canvas or ducking which covered some object. 
 
 I now noticed the same odor which had annoyed 
 me when I first entered my room that evening; 
 about the attic were many boxes and pieces of old 
 furniture; beside the white canvas stood a couple of 
 barrels and against one them leaned a great club. 
 
 My heart almost ceased beating as I took hold of 
 the white cloth and raised it, when what was my as- 
 tonishment to see there, not one human body as I 
 expected, but there, laid in order and piled one 
 above the other, were ten or a dozen heads. 
 
 I could not look longer. I did not count them. 
 I let fall the cloth and casting a glance at the two 
 barrels learned their contents. Trembling so that 
 I could scarcely carry the candle, I staggered to the 
 door, down the stairs and along the hallway to my 
 room, where I threw myself upon the lounge, trem- 
 bling as if with a chill. 
 
 The agony I endured threw me into perspiration 
 and I fell asleep, but every few moments I would 
 start and shudder again. 
 
 I lay a long time thinking of how I should give 
 information and finally, though whether it was 
 justice or not I will not say, perhaps I was swayed 
 by the thought of the pretty, innocent-looking face 
 of the host's daughter, I decided not to inform the 
 
35 
 
 authorities of what I had discovered, but to confront 
 the old man himself and then he could surrender to 
 the police. 
 
 I dressed and went down the stairs; the landlord 
 was not yet up when I entered the guest room, but 
 his daughter was there, washing the beer glasses 
 which had been used the night before. I ordered 
 the carriage to be ready at once to take me to Nur- 
 emberg and ate my breakfast hurriedly. 
 
 The girl said her father was very tired and would 
 probably sleep till noon, so I did not awaken him; 
 I left a short note telling him all I knew and urging 
 him to repair the evil which had been done already, 
 if that were possible. I did not mention the awful 
 discovery to the pretty, innocent maiden who stood 
 by my side as I was leaving, but I slipped a thaler in 
 her hand and printed a kiss upon her rosy lips; but 
 I shuddered immediately afterwards for I felt that in 
 one way, at least, innocent as she appeared, she had 
 much to do with the mystery of the Red Horse Imv 
 * # # # 
 
 Three months later I was in Paris, and one day 
 walking down Boulevard Hausmann I saw before my 
 astonished eyes the very French stranger whom I 
 had supposed murdered in Regensheim. He did 
 not recognize me so I did not stop him, yet I drew a 
 \ong breath for I was pleased to know that his head 
 
had not been one of the heads which were concealed 
 in the attic of the Red Horse Inn; however, it 
 would have been rather strange if it had been, for 
 those were cabbage heads and the awful contents of 
 the barrel was sauer-kraut, which, having leaked 
 through, had stained the immaculate ceiling of my 
 room. 
 
 Thus is the mystery of the Red Horse Inn dis- 
 solved. 
 
JJei Joy te Quiet 
 
 VsJ / (9 
 
 Two chambers has the heart 
 
 And within 
 Dwell Joy and Grief apart. 
 
 When Joy in hers awaketh 
 
 Grief ever 
 His silent slumber taketh. 
 
 Oh Joy do thou beware! 
 
 Sing lightly 
 Lest Grief may wake; take care! 
 
XZ-P, 
 
 The whistling South-wind comes along; 
 
 The Autumn leaves, in their colors gay, 
 Dance and follow his wordless song, 
 
 As those children dressed for their holiday, 
 Followed the Piper of Hameln town 
 
 Over the hillsides, up and down. 
 
 The water-rats and squirrels gray 
 
 Run to the musical piper's voice 
 To go wherever he leads the way 
 
 While birds and insects all rejoice, 
 As he were the Piper of Hameln town, 
 
 When the grass grows dry and the branches brown, 
 
 Would I could follow that music too 
 
 Into oblivion, far beyond 
 The winter of life, with this motly crew 
 
 Obeying the beck of the magic wand; 
 But there is no Piper of Hameln town 
 
 Can lead to the Lethe where I may drown. 
 
Wi 
 
 c, 
 
 The fellows often wonder how it was that Bobby 
 Taylor chose a wife such as he has. I mean to 
 say nothing against Mrs. Taylor, for, like all women 
 she is heavenly, charming, perfect, etc., but never- 
 theless it seems queer to all of us that little Bobby 
 took her. I learned the reason of it all in a very 
 odd way. I shall not tell you how I learned it, but 
 I tell you with pleasure how it was that Bobby won 
 his better-half. I'll give you an inkling, though, as 
 to how I heard it all, so that you may know my tale 
 is true. I live in the same fashionable, private ho- 
 tel as Bobby does, only I am up in the eighth story, 
 and he and his wife are down, down below me, in 
 the matter of floors, but way, way up in the matter 
 of society. There are several pretty housemaids, as 
 is proper, at this hotel, and one of them is pleased 
 to take a motherly interest in me, and I am grateful. 
 From red-cheeked Maggie I have the following tale, 
 sad or merry, just as you choose to look at it. 
 
- 40 - 
 
 Just here I would say: you miserable, would-be 
 gens de condition, who infest big, private hotels, 
 lookout for the housemaids, who often come pretty 
 near to your family skeletons with their feather 
 dusters. You may be sure that they know a few of 
 its bones, at the very least, and if a handsome young 
 fellow, like myself, live in the attic, you may be 
 sure he knows also. That's the way of the world. 
 
 Bob is five feet three in his high-heeled boots, 
 a fat, jolly, (he was once) roily-poly dandy, whom 
 everybody liked and petted, men as well as women. 
 Mrs. Bob is near six feet in her, her, her well, her 
 black silk stockings, thin, sharp, sour, cross-grained, 
 ugly, but charming, of course, as all women are. 
 
 "And they were married!" 
 
 Boys at school, heed the moral of this true tale! 
 It shall show a moral somewhere, and, I hope, save 
 you. Bob was a bad boy at school; he worried the 
 French master with his verbs, drew anathemas in- 
 stead of blessing for his mathematics, while his 
 translations of Horace were execrable beyond all. 
 Had he learned his Horace better he might have 
 known the world better, though the all-singing Hor- 
 ace gives no quotation apropos to poor Bob's pre- 
 sent situation. Professor Scribere, though, had the 
 worst of it to contend with, and could vent his rage 
 in mellifluent Italian only over the awful scrawls of 
 
Master Bobby. No portrait of Bobby Taylor will 
 ever appear in the back pages of our magazines to 
 show the benefits derived from various compendiums. 
 Too late! Too late! I do not know the god who 
 presides over penmanship, unless it be some one of 
 those sacred Capitoline geese whose quills may have 
 served the Roman priests after wax tablets went out 
 of style. 
 
 Bob's writing looked more like sound waves than 
 anything else, and, as far as being intelligible is con- 
 cerned, might be termed a visible cackle. 
 
 Providence gave quills to geese, but no hands; 
 gave hands to man but no quills. Man, of course, 
 must needs take those same quills, and make a 
 goose of himself; thus are Divine arrangements 
 knocked to pieces. When that first, ill-fated hotel 
 was opened at beautiful Monterey, Mrs. Bob (then 
 Miss Eva Ready), was among the guests. Bobby at 
 that time was in his first long trowsers. Years passed. 
 Bobby's coat grew tails, and he waltzed in the new 
 Del Monte, no longer a polliwig, for strangely the 
 human male reverses the order of his amphibious 
 friends when he dons the toga virilis. Mrs. Bob 
 was still there and still Eva Ready, and people be- 
 gan to make impudent puns on her name. Bobby 
 Taylor was tender-hearted and a gentleman, and so 
 picked out the most neglected girl in the room, who 
 
- 42 - 
 
 was, of course, Miss Ready. Each year left her 
 higher and dryer upon the beach, and she grew 
 sharper and sourer as she realized that the haughti- 
 ness and ill-temper of her first seasons were bearing 
 their fruits. It was an awful situation and called 
 for an heroic remedy. 
 
 Bobby often, during this last season, wrote Miss 
 Ready notes to make arrangements for Saturdays 
 and Sundays, the only days on which he was able 
 to be with his people at Monterey, for Bobby was a 
 bank clerk (let me note a miracle here; his books 
 were like copperplate), and a bank clerk is a fellow 
 who has no more freedom than a grocer's clerk 
 pardon me my dear gens de condition, I know it is so 
 short a time since you left the smell of your shop to 
 rule railways and walk with princes that such allus- 
 ions hurt you. Bobby wrote many indecipherable 
 notes during the season, but Eva, having no engage- 
 ment to interfere, was always ready. Bobby waited 
 on other girls also, but Eva's lonely situation touch- 
 ed him. 
 
 At last the denouement came, a stunner to every- 
 body, but most of all to poor Bobby Taylor. He 
 wrote a note in his "off-hand" style, and sent it 
 down by Eva's brother. 
 
-43- 
 
 "DEAR Miss READY: I cannot come down on the morning 
 train, as I promised, but will be on the 3:30. Please be at 
 the hop early, by nine sure. I have some jolly friends with 
 me; we will have a sail to-morrow. You can answer me at 
 the dance. Be sure to say yes. 
 
 Yours, EGBERT TAYLOR." 
 
 Eva received it and read it through. I don't 
 know whether she got the intended sense from the 
 scrawl, but she flew with radiant face to her mother. 
 
 "Robert Taylor has proposed to me!" she cried; 
 "Oh, mother dear!" and mother and daughter shed 
 tears of gratitude together. 
 
 It was not long before her brother knew, and all 
 her female friends. All this time poor Bobby was 
 rolling along forty miles an hour to his fate. 
 
 The next scene in this tragedy, (or comedy, if you 
 will,) is the ball-room at Del Monte, the time 9 P. 
 M. Very few are as yet in the room at this unusual 
 hour. Besides a large pot of date palms sits, eager- 
 ly watching, Miss Eva Ready in pink and white, 
 Bobby Taylor enters and walks up to his guillotine. 
 "Robert, my own," is the greeting which startle's his 
 ears. "Your letter is in my hand. I will read it 
 through to you, for I love each word so, that we 
 must share it." Bobby sits by her side in wonder. 
 He thinks the wine at dinner must have gone to his 
 head. 
 
- 44 
 
 "DEAK Mrss READY: ('You may call me Eva now,' she 
 adds, smiling archly,) I cannot be down on the morning 
 train, as I promised, but will come at 3:30. Please, please 
 promise to be mine, O love. I have never dared to ask be- 
 fore. We will be so happy forever. You must answer me at 
 the dance. Be sure and say yes." 
 
 Bobby felt a cold, bony hand clasp his, and a 
 voice whisper in his ear, "Robert, I am thine own." 
 "Why, dear," he would have added "Miss Ready" 
 and an expostulation, but she stopped him. "Dear 
 Robert, you are so good; this letter I shall treasure 
 forever." Bobby looked at it. He saw it all. It 
 could, like a telegram or Biblical text, be read in 
 any way. He was lost, lost, lost. Thus is the wan- 
 ton negligence of your youth punished and Professor 
 Scribere avenged. Thus it was that Bobby Taylor 
 won his wife, or she won him. So Maggie, the 
 housemaid, told me this morning, as she dusted the 
 window-sill of my fashionable attic. 
 
He does not choose a single flower 
 
 And gaze at it alone, 
 He does not praise two twinkling stars 
 
 As if no others shone. 
 
 Though he like beef he may like quail, 
 
 Two very different things; 
 And need it follow he hates ale 
 
 Because champagne he sings? 
 
 Blue eyes he loves and he loves gray, 
 While black seem just as fair 
 
 And he may praise on any day 
 Both brown or golden hair. 
 
 Thus sing he may all shades of red 
 Or tresses bleached or blue 
 
 E'en worship some false-fronted head 
 And still to all be true. 
 
 But surely some hard fate awaits, 
 Far worse than Adam's fall, 
 
 The man so mean he'll take no half 
 Because he can't have all. 
 
 OF TH-,