UNDERBRUSH. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES T. FIELDS. 
 
 " . . . . plucked out of hedges, 
 . pitched in the ground confusedly.'' 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 A NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.
 
 Copyright, 1877 and 1881, 
 BY JAMES T. FIELDS. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
 Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
 
 A. F. 
 
 1877.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY 3 
 
 A PECULIAR CASE 65 
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS . . 83 
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST 95 
 
 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING" . .111 
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE 119 
 
 . PLEASANT GHOSTS . 139 
 
 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE 147 
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN 161 
 
 How TO ROUGH IT 179 
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR 197 
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS 209 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA" . . 251 
 
 IP I WERE A BOY AGAIN 277 
 
 PELETIAH PELLET'S YOUTHFUL CATASTROPHE . 305 
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER .... 315 
 
 ABIJAII DOLE'S FREE LECTURE EXPERIENCE . 339 
 
 A FAIRY TALE 369 
 
 EPISTLE TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM . . . 377
 
 MY FKIEtfD'S LIEEAKY,
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 THINK it was Jean Paul who said he 
 always looked on a library as a learned 
 conversation. But there are libraries 
 
 and libraries. 
 
 H. L. told me he once found a foolish, pedan- 
 tic old millionnaire curled up in a luxurious 
 apartment, walled with richly bound books, not 
 one of which he had ever read, but all of which 
 he pretended to have devoured. L. says that 
 when he entered this room, bestudded with 
 glittering tomes, the proprietor exclaimed : " And 
 so you have found me oat at last, alone with 
 my books ! Here 's where I hide away from the 
 family, day after day, and nobody's none the
 
 MY Fit I END'S LIBRARY. 
 
 wiser ! " Pierce Egan has an anecdote of an- 
 other "literary character," which I quote in 
 this connection without comment. 
 
 "A lady, resident in Devonshire, going into 
 one of her parlors, discovered a young ass, who 
 had found his way into the room, and carefully 
 closed the door upon himself. He had evidently 
 not been long in this situation before he had 
 nibbled a part of Cicero's Orations, and eaten 
 nearly all the index of a folio edition of Seneca 
 in Latin, a large part of a volume of La Bruyere's 
 'Maxims' in French, and several pages of 'Ce- 
 cilia.' He had done no other mischief whatever." 
 
 The library of old Sir John Danvers, as de- 
 scribed by Bernard, must have been a curiosity. 
 It abounded with the best works of the best 
 authors, but there was not one perfect volume 
 in it. So eager had been Sir John in his pur- 
 suit of knowledge, says Bernard, that he had 
 inspected every book in his collection ; and wher- 
 ever a passage pleased him, he tore out the leaf 
 and thrust it into his pocket ! 
 
 That was a clever remark of an English essay-
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 ist who told us so many years ago that he had 
 such a reverence for the wisdom folded up on his 
 library shelves that he considered the very peru- 
 sal of the backs of his books "a discipline of 
 humanity." 
 
 There are some household libraries which once 
 visited can never be forgotten. R. W. has one, 
 "filled to overflowing with delights." You cannot 
 move about it anywhere and not be enchanted. 
 There is scarcely an edition of any literary work 
 worth owning that cannot be discovered on his 
 shelves, and if you have a year at your disposal 
 it is none too long to spend in that " house of 
 fame." D.'s collection is a rare one, but he will 
 insist on telling you the cost of every set of 
 books in his possession, and thus exasperate you 
 with financial values when you only wish for 
 literary estimates. What do I care how much 
 he paid "fyi gold " for the bindings of his various 
 Shakespeares 1 It is the " inspired leaves " we 
 are after, and not the gilded glories on the out- 
 side ! Arrian tells us the Greeks thought it a 
 calamity to die without having seen the Olym-
 
 8 J/I" FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 plan Zeus by Phidias, and D. has the same opin- 
 ion of those unhappy mortals who are translated 
 before they have handled his sumptuous Hor- 
 ace in Hay day's magnificent morocco. 
 
 The biographer of Dickens (John Forster) had 
 assembled a library worthy of himself, which is 
 not unmeaning eulogy. It was full of what 
 Lamb calls "Great Nature's Stereotypes," the 
 " eterne " copies that never can grow stale or 
 unproductive, and to have spent a day in it 
 with the host for indicator, and Dickens for 
 co-enthusiast, is a memory forever. Manuscripts 
 of Goldsmith, Swift, Johnson, Sterne, Addison, 
 Burke, Fielding, and Smollet, together with the 
 original draughts of " David Copperfield," " Oliver 
 Twist," and a dozen other books from the same 
 glowing hand and brain, were not to be handled 
 without a thrill ! 
 
 I once had the privilege of walking about in 
 Wordsworth's library, and being shown by the 
 poet himself many of the jewels it contained. I 
 recall what I saw and heard there with a kind of 
 transport even now, although it is more than
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 twenty-five years since I stood beside the vener- 
 able author of "The Excursion" while he pointed 
 out in the margins of his books what Coleridge, 
 Lamb, and Southey had noted there. 
 
 Lord Houghton's library also is one of the most 
 attractive in England, especially in poetry and 
 autographs. Alexander Dyce, the editor of 
 " Beaumont and Fletcher," had marvels to show 
 me in his fine old book-rooms in Gray's Inn, 
 thirty years ago. But perhaps the most inter- 
 esting to me of all the private libraries I have 
 ever seen in England was the small collection 
 of Charles and Mary Lamb, which Edward 
 Moxon the publisher unlocked for me when I 
 was first in England, before the books were 
 dispersed, as they never ought to have been. 
 Then -and there I lovingly handled his Kit Mar- 
 lowe, his Drummond of Hawthornden, his Dray- 
 ton, his Cd^wley, and his Burton ! I remember 
 how Moxon's whole family stood around that 
 " Life of the Duke of Newcastle by his Duchess," 
 and told stories of Lamb's enthusiasm over the 
 book, a volume about which he has written, " No
 
 10 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 casket is rich enough, no casing sufficiently dura- 
 ble, to honor and keep safe such a jewel." 
 
 One of the selectest household libraries in 
 America has lately been left desolate. Our new 
 Minister to Spain leaves behind him a family of 
 "literary magnificos" at Elmwood not easily to 
 be surpassed anywhere ; and although we are all 
 proud of the call his country sends him to aid 
 and honor her in the land of Cervantes, we 
 lament the necessary absence which now renders 
 it impossible for our beloved professor to give, 
 as his wonted address, "Among my Books." 
 
 I scarcely know a greater pleasure than to be 
 allowed for a whole day to spend the hours unmo- 
 lested in my friend A.'s library. So much priv- 
 ilege abounds there, I call it Urbanity Hall. It is 
 a plain, modestly appointed apartment, overlook- 
 ing a broad sheet of water ; and I can sec, from 
 where I like to sit and read, the sail-boats go tilt- 
 ing by, and glancing across the bay. Sometimes, 
 when a rainy day sets in, I run down to my 
 friend's house, and ask leave to browse about the 
 library, not so much for the sake of reading, as
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 11 
 
 for the intense enjoyment I have in turning over 
 the books that have a personal history attached. 
 Many of them once belonged to authors whose 
 libraries have been dispersed. My friend has 
 enriched her editions with autographic notes of 
 those fine spirits who wrote the books which illu- 
 mine her shelves, so that one is constantly coming 
 upon some fresh treasure in the way of a literary 
 curiosity. I am apt to discover something new 
 every time I take down a folio or a miniature 
 volume. As I ramble on from shelf to shelf, 
 " Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures," 
 and the hours often slip by into the afternoon, 
 and glide noiselessly into twilight, before dinner- 
 time is remembered. 
 
 Drifting about only a few days ago, I came by 
 accident upon a magic quarto, shabby enough in 
 its exterior, with one of the covers hanging by 
 the eyelids^ and otherwise sadly battered, to the 
 great disfigurement of its external aspect. I did 
 not remember even to have seen it in the library 
 before (it turned out to be a new-comer), and was 
 about to pass it by with an unkind thought as to
 
 12 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 its pauper condition, when, it occurred to me, RS 
 the lettering was obliterated from the back, I 
 might as well open to the title-page and learn the 
 name at least of the tattered stranger. And I 
 was amply rewarded for the attention. It turned 
 out to be " The Novels and Tales of the Renowned 
 John Boccaccio, The first Refiner of Italian Prose : 
 containing A Hundred Curious Novels, by Seven 
 Honorable Ladies and Three Noble Gentlemen, 
 Framed in Ten Days." It was printed in London 
 in 1684, "for Awnsham Churchill, at the Black 
 Swan at Amen Corner." But what makes this old 
 yellow-leaved book a treasure-volume for all time 
 is the inscription on the first fly-leaf, in the hand- 
 writing of a man of genius, who, many years ago, 
 wrote thus on the blank page : 
 
 " To MARIAXXE HUNT. 
 
 " Her Boccaccio (alter et idem) come back to her after 
 many years' absence, for her good-nature in giving it 
 away in a foreign country to a traveller whose want of 
 books was still worse than her own. 
 " From her affectionate husband, 
 
 LEIGH HUNT. 
 "August 23, 1839 CHELSEA, ENGLAND."
 
 MY FR/KND-S LTBRARJ. 13 
 
 This record tells a most interesting story, and 
 reveals to us an episode in the life of the poet, 
 well worth the knowing. I hope no accident will 
 ever cancel this old leather-bound veteran from 
 the world's bibliographic treasures. Spare it, Fire, 
 Water, and Worms ! for it does the heart good to 
 handle such a quarto. 
 
 One does not need to look far among the shelves 
 in my friend's library to find companion-gems of 
 this antiquated tome. Among so many of 
 
 "The assembled souls of all that men held wise," 
 
 there is no solitude of the mind. I reach out 
 my hand at random, and, lo ! the first edition of 
 Milton's "Paradise Lost"! It is a little brown 
 volume, "Printed by S. Simmons, and to be 
 sold by S. Thomson at the Bishop's-Head ill 
 Duck Lane, by H. Mortlack at the White Hart 
 in Westminster Hall, M. Walker under St. Dun- 
 stan's Church in Fleet Street, and R. Boulten 
 at the Turk's Head in Bishopsgate Street, 1668." 
 Foolish old Simmons deemed it necessary to insert 
 over his own name the following notice, which 
 heads the Argument to the Poem :
 
 14 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 "THE PRINTER TO THE READER. 
 " Courteous Reader, There was no Argument at first 
 intended to the Book, but for the satisfaction of many 
 that have desired it, I have procured it, and withall a 
 reason of that which stumbled many others, why the 
 Poem Rimes not." 
 
 The " Argument," which Milton omitted in sub- 
 sequent editions, is very curious throughout ; and 
 the reason which the author gives, at the request 
 of Mr. Publisher Simmons, why the poem "Rimes 
 not," is quaint and well worth transcribing an 
 extract here, as it does not always appear in more 
 modern editions. Mr. Simmons's Poet is made 
 to say, 
 
 "The Measure is English Heroic Verse without 
 Rime, as that of Homers in Greek, and of Virgil in 
 Latin; Rime being no necessary Adjunct or true Or- 
 nament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works espe- 
 cially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off 
 wretched matter and lame Meeter ; grac't indeed since 
 by the use of some famous modern Poets, carried away 
 by Custom, but much to thir own vexation, hindrance, 
 and constraint to express many things otherwise, and
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 15 
 
 for the most part worse then else they would have ex- 
 prest them." 
 
 We give the orthography precisely as Milton 
 gave it in this his first edition. 
 
 There is a Table of Errata prefixed to this old 
 copy, in which the reader is told, 
 
 "for hundreds read himderds. 
 " for we read wee." 
 
 Master Simrnons's proof-reader was no adept in 
 his art, if one may judge from the countless errors 
 which he allowed to creep into this immortal 
 poem when it first appeared in print. One can 
 imagine the identical copy now before ns being 
 handed over the counter in Duck Lane to some 
 eager scholar on the lookout for a new sensation, 
 and handed back again to Mr. Thomson as too 
 dull a looking poem for his perusal. Mr. Edmund 
 Waller entertained that idea of it, at any rate. 
 
 One of the sturdiest little books in my friend's 
 library is a thick-set, stumpy old copy of Richard 
 Baxter's " Holy Commonwealth," written in 1659, 
 and, as the title-page informs us, u at the invita-
 
 16 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 tion of James Harrington Esquire," as one 
 would take a glass of Canary, by invitation ! 
 There is a preface addressed " To all those in the 
 Army or elsewhere, that have caused our many 
 and great Eclipses since 1646." The worms have 
 made dagger-holes through and through the " in- 
 spired leaves " of this fat little volume, till much 
 strong thinking is now very perforated printing. 
 On the fly-leaf is written, in a rough, straggling 
 hand, 
 
 " WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 
 
 " Ryclal Mount." 
 
 The poet seems to have read the old book pretty 
 closely, for there are evident marks of his liking 
 throughout its pages. 
 
 Connected with the Bard of the Lakes is an- 
 other work in my friend's library, which I always 
 handle with a tender interest. It is a copy of 
 Wordsworth's Poetical Works, printed in 1815, 
 with all the alterations afterwards made in the 
 pieces copied in by the poet from the edition pub- 
 lished in 1827. Some of the changes are marked
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 17 
 
 improvements, and nearly all make the meaning 
 clearer. Now and then a prosaic phrase gives 
 place to a more poetical expression. The well- 
 known lines, 
 
 "Of Him who walked in glory and in joy, 
 Following his plough along the mountain-side," 
 
 read at first, 
 
 "Behind his plough upon the mountain-side." 
 
 In a well-preserved quarto copy of " Rasselas," 
 with illustrations by Smirke, which my friend 
 picked up in London a few years ago, I found the 
 other day an unpublished autograph letter from 
 Dr. Johnson, so characteristic of the great man 
 that it is worth transcribing. It is addressed 
 
 " To the Reverend Mr. Compton. 
 " To be sent to Mrs. Williams" 
 
 And it is thus worded : 
 
 " SIR, Your business, I suppose, is in a way of as 
 easy progress as such business ever has. It is seldom 
 that event keeps pace with expectation. 
 
 " The scheme of your book I cannot say that I fully 
 comprehend. I would not have you ask less than an 
 hundred guineas, for it seems a large octavo.
 
 18 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 " Go to M r . Davis, in Russell Street, show him this 
 letter, and show him the book if he desires to see it. 
 He will tell you what hopes you may form, and to 
 what Bookseller you should apply. 
 
 " If you succeed in selling your book, you may do 
 better than by dedicating it to me. You may perhaps 
 obtain permission to dedicate it to the Bishop of Lon- 
 don, or to D r . Vyse, and make way by your book to 
 more advantage than I can procure you. 
 
 " Please to tell Mrs. Williams that I grow better, 
 and that I wish to know how she goes on. You, Sir, 
 may write for her to, 
 
 " Sir, 
 " Your most humble Servant, 
 
 " SAM : JOHXSOX. 
 "Oclo 24, 1782." 
 
 Dear kind-hearted old bear! On turning to 
 Boswell's Life of his Ursine Majesty, we learn who 
 Mr. Compton was. When the Doctor visited 
 France in 1775, the Benedictine Monks in Paris 
 entertained him in the most friendly way. One 
 of them, the Rev. James Compton, who had left 
 England at the early age of six to reside on the 
 Continent, questioned him pretty closely about
 
 MY FRIEXD-S LIBRARY. 19 
 
 the Protestant faith, and proposed, if at some fu- 
 ture time he should go to England to consider the 
 subject more deeply, to call at Bolt Court. la 
 the summer of 1782 he paid the Doctor a visit, 
 and informed him of his desire to be admitted 
 into the Church of England. Johnson managed 
 the matter satisfactorily for him, and he was re- 
 ceived into communion in St. James's Parish 
 Church. Till the end of January, 1783, he lived 
 entirely at the Doctor's expense, his own means 
 being very scanty. Through Johnson's kindness 
 he was nominated Chaplain at the French Chapel 
 of St. James's, and in 1802 we hear of him as 
 being quite in favor with the excellent Bishop 
 Porteus and several other distinguished London- 
 ers. Thus, by the friendly hand of the hard- 
 working, earnest old lexicographer, Mr. Compton 
 was led rom deep poverty up to a secure compe- 
 tency, and a place among the influential digni- 
 taries of London society. Poor enough himself, 
 Johnson never fell back, when there was an 
 honest person in distress to be helped on in the 
 battle of life. God's blessing on his memory for 
 all his sympathy with strug;.;-lh^ humanity !
 
 20 * MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 My friend has an ardent affection for Walter 
 Scott and Charles Lamb. I find the first edition 
 of "Marmion," printed in 1808, "by J. Ballan- 
 tyne & Co. for Archibald Constable and Company, 
 Edinburgh," most carefully bound in savory Rus- 
 sia, standing in a pleasant corner of the room. 
 Being in quarto, the type is regal. Of course the 
 copy is enriched with a letter in the handwriting 
 of Sir Walter. It is addressed to a personal 
 friend, and is dated April 17, 1825. The closing 
 passage in it is of especial interest. 
 
 " I have seen Sheridan's last letter imploring Rogers 
 to come to his assistance. It stated that he was dying, 
 and concluded abruptly with these words 'they are 
 throwing the things out of window.' The memorialist 
 certainly took pennyworths out of his friend's charac- 
 ter. I sat three hours for my picture to Sir Thomas 
 Lawrence during which the whole conversation was 
 filled up by Rogers with stories of Sheridan, for the 
 least of which if true he deserved the gallows. 
 " Ever Yours, 
 
 "WALTER SCOTT." 
 
 In the April of 1802 Scott was living in a pretty
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. .21 
 
 cottage at Lasswade and while there he sent off 
 the following letter, which I find attached with a 
 wafer to my friend's copy of the Abbotsford edi- 
 tion of his works, and written in a much plainer 
 hand than he afterwards fell into. The address 
 is torn off. 
 
 " SIR, I esteem myself honored by the polite re- 
 ception which you have given to the Border Min- 
 strelsy and am particularly flattered that so very good 
 a judge of poetical Antiquities finds any reason to be 
 pleased with the work. There is no portrait of the 
 Flower of Yarrow in existence, nor do I think it very 
 probable that any was ever taken. Much family anec- 
 dote concerning her has been preserved among her 
 descendants of whom I have the honor to be one. 
 The epithet of ' Floiver of Yarroiv ' was in later times 
 bestowed upon one of her immediate posterity, Miss 
 Mary Lillks Scott, daughter of John Scott Esq. of 
 Harden, and celebrated for her beauty in the pastoral 
 song of Tweedside, I mean that set of modern words 
 which begins ' What beauty does Flora disclose/ 
 This lady I myself remember very well, and I men- 
 tion her to you lest you should receive any inaccurate 
 information owing to her being called like her prede-
 
 22 MY FRIEXD'S LIBRARY. 
 
 cessor the * Flower of Yarrow.' There was a portrait 
 of this latter lady in the collection at Hamilton which 
 the present Duke transferred through my hands to 
 Lady Diana Scott relict of the late Walter Scott Esq. 
 of Harden, which picture was vulgarly but inaccurately 
 supposed to have been a resemblance of the original 
 Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and 
 married to Auld Wat of Harden in the middle of the 
 16 th century. 
 
 " I shall be particularly happy if upon any future 
 occasion I can in the slightest degree contribute to 
 advance your valuable and patriotic labours, and I re- 
 main, Sir, " Your very faithful 
 
 "and ob*. Servant 
 
 "WALTER SCOTT." 
 
 Old Bernard Lintott, at the Cross-Keys in Fleet 
 Street, brought out in 1714 "The Rape of the 
 Lock, an Heroi-Comical Poem, in Five Cantos, 
 written by M r . Pope." He printed certain \sords 
 in the title-page in red, and other certain words 
 in .black ink. His own name and Mr. Pope's be 
 chose to exhibit in sanguinary tint. A copy of 
 this edition, very much thumbed and wanting half 
 a dozen leaves, fell into the possession of Charles
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 23 
 
 Lamb more than a hundred years after it was pub- 
 lished. Charles bore it home, and set to work 
 at once to supply, in his small neat hand, from 
 another edition, what was missing from the text 
 in his stall- bought copy. As he paid only sixpence 
 for his prize, he could well afford the time it took 
 him to write in on blank leaves, which he inserted, 
 the lines from 
 
 "Thus far both armies to Belinda yield/' 
 onward to the couplet, 
 
 "And thrice they twitch'd the Diamond in her Ear, 
 Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the Foe drew near." 
 
 Besides this autographic addition, enhancing 
 forever the value of this old copy of Pope's im- 
 mortal poem, I find the following little note, in 
 Lamb's clerkly chirography, addressed to 
 
 " M r . Wainright, on Thursday. 
 
 " DEAR SIR, The Wits (as Clare calls us) assemble 
 at my cell (20 Russell Street, Cov. Gar.) this evening 
 
 at \ before 7. Cold meat at 9. Puns at a little 
 
 after. M p , Gary wants to see you, to scold you. I 
 hope you will not fail. 
 
 " Yours &c. fec. &c. 
 
 " C. LAMB."
 
 24 J/F FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 There are two books in my friend's library 
 which once belonged to the author of the " Elegy 
 in a Country Churchyard." One of them is " A 
 Voyage to and from the Island of Borneo, in the 
 East Indies : printed for T. Warner at the Black 
 Boy, and F. Batley at the Dove, in 1718." It 
 has the name of T. Gray, written by himself, in 
 the middle of the title-page, as was his custom 
 always. Before Gray owned this book, it belonged 
 to Mr. Antrobus, his uncle, who wrote many origi- 
 nal notes in it. The volume has also this manu- 
 script memorandum on one of the fly-leaves, 
 signed by a well-known naturalist not long ago 
 living in England : 
 
 " August 28, 1851. 
 
 " This book has Gray's autograph on the title-page, 
 written in his usual neat hand. It has twice been 
 my fate to witness the sale of Gray's most interesting 
 collection of manuscripts and books, and at the last 
 sale I purchased this volume. I present it to 
 as a little token of affectionate regard by her old 
 friend, now in his 85 th year. 
 
 "EDWD. JESSE." 
 
 Who will not be willing to admit the great
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 good-luck of my friend in having such a donor 
 for an acquaintance ? 
 
 But one of the chief treasures in the library 
 of which I write is Gray's copy of Milton's " Po- 
 ems upon several occasions. Both English and 
 Latin. Printed at the Blew Anchor next Mitre 
 Court over against Fetter Lane in Fleet Street." 
 When a boy at school, Gray owned and read this 
 charming old volume, and he has printed his 
 name, school-boy fashion, all over the title-page. 
 Wherever there is a vacant space big enough to 
 hold Thomas Gray, there it stands in faded ink, 
 still fading as time rolls on. The Latin poems 
 seem to have been most carefully conned by the 
 youthful Etonian, and we know how much he 
 esteemed them in after-life. 
 
 Scholarly Robert Southey once owned a book 
 that now towers aloft in my friend's library. It 
 is a princely copy of Ben Jonson, the Illustrious. 
 Southey lent it, when he possessed the magnifico, 
 to Coleridge, who has begemmed it all over with
 
 26 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 his fine pencillings. As Ben once handled the 
 trowel, and did other honorable work as a brick- 
 layer, Coleridge discourses with much golden gos- 
 sip about the craft to which the great dramatist 
 once belonged. My friend would hardly thank 
 me, if I filled ten of these pages with extracts 
 from the rambling dissertations in S. T. C.'s hand- 
 writing which I find in her rare folio, but I could 
 easily pick out that amount of readable matter 
 from the margins. One manuscript anecdote, 
 however, I must transcribe from the last leaf. I 
 think Coleridge got the story from " The Seer." 
 
 " An Irish laborer laid a wager with another hod- 
 bearer that the latter could not carry him up the lad- 
 der to the top of a house in his hod, without letting 
 him fall. The bet is accepted, and up they go. There 
 is peril at every step. At the top of the ladder there 
 is life and the loss of the wager, death and success 
 below ! The highest point is reached in safety ; the 
 wagerer looks humbled and disappointed. 'Well,' 
 said he, 'you have won; there is no doubt of that; 
 worse luck to you another time ; but at the third 
 story I HAD HOPES.' " 
 
 In a quaint old edition of " The Spectator,"
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 27 
 
 which seems to have been through many sieges, 
 und must have come to grief very early in its 
 existence, if one may judge anything from the 
 various names which are scrawled upon it in 
 different years, reaching back almost to the date 
 of its publication, I find this note in the hand- 
 writing of Addison, sticking fast on the reverse 
 side of his portrait. It is addressed to Ambrose 
 Philips, and there is no doubt that he went where 
 he was bidden, and found the illustrious author 
 quite ready to receive him at a well-furnished 
 table. 
 
 "Tuesday Night. 
 
 "SiR, If you are at leisure for an hour, your 
 company will be a great obligation to 
 
 "Y r . most humble sev*. 
 
 "J. ADDISON. 
 "Fountain Tavern." 
 
 That night at the " Fountain," perchance, they 
 discussed that war of words which might then 
 have been raging between the author of the " Pas- 
 torals" and Mr. Pope, dampening their clay, at 
 the same time, with a compound to which they 
 were both notoriously inclined.
 
 28 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 My friend rides hard her hobby for choice edi- 
 tions, and she hunts with a will whenever a good 
 old copy of a well-beloved author is up for pur- 
 suit. She is not a fop in binding, but she must 
 have approjyriate dresses for her favorites. She 
 knows what 
 
 "Adds a precious seeing to the eye" 
 
 as well as Hayday himself, and never lets her 
 folios shiver when they ought to be warm. More- 
 over, she reads her books, and, like the scholar 
 in Chaucer, would rather have 
 
 " At her beddes head 
 
 A twenty bokes, clothed in black and red, 
 Of Aristotle and his philosophy, 
 Than robes rich, or fiddle, or psaltrie." 
 
 I found her not long ago deep in a volume of 
 " Mr. Welsted's Poems " ; and as that author is 
 not particularly lively or inviting to a modern 
 reader, I begged to know why he was thus hon- 
 ored. " I was trying," said sbe, " to learn, if 
 possible, why Dicky Steele should have made his 
 daughter a birthday gift of these poems. This
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 29 
 
 copy I found on a stall in Fleet Street many years 
 ago, and it has in Sir Richard's handwriting this' 
 inscription on one of the fly-leaves : 
 
 ELIZABETH STEELE 
 
 Her Book 
 Giv'n by Her Father 
 
 EICHARD STEELE. 
 March 2C th . 1723. 
 
 Running my eye over the pieces, I find a poem 
 in praise of ' Apple-Pye/ and one of the passages 
 in it is marked, as if to call the attention of 
 young Eliza to something worthy her notice. 
 These are the lines the young lady is charged 
 to remember : 
 
 ' Dear Nelly, learn with Care the Pastry- Art, 
 And mind the easy Precepts I impart : 
 Draw out your Dough elaborately thin, 
 And cease not to fatigue your Rolling-Pin : 
 Of Eggs and Butter see you mix enough ; 
 For then the Paste will swell into a Puff, 
 Which will in crumpling Sounds your Praise report, 
 And eat, as Housewives speak, exceeding short.' " 
 
 Who was Abou Ben Adhem 1 Was his exist- 
 ence merely in the poet's brain, or did he walk
 
 30 31 Y FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 this planet somewhere, and when? In a copy 
 ' of the " Bibliotheque Orientale," which once be- 
 longed to the author of that exquisite little gem 
 of poesy beginning with a wish that Abou's tribe 
 might increase, I find (the leaf is lovingly turned 
 down and otherwise noted) the following account 
 of the forever famous dreamer. 
 
 "Adhem was the name of a Doctor celebrated for 
 Mussulman traditions. He. was the contemporary of 
 Aamarsch, another relater of traditions of the first 
 class. Adhem had a son noted for his doctrine and 
 his piety. The Mussulmans place him among the 
 number of their Saints who have done miracles. He 
 was named Abou-Ishak-Ben-Adhem. It is said he 
 was distinguished for his piety from .his earliest youth, 
 and that he joined the Sons, or the Religious sect in 
 Mecca, under the direction of Fodhail. He went from 
 there to Damas, where he died in the year 166 of the 
 Hegira. He undertook, it is said, to make a pilgrim- 
 age from Mecca, and to pass through the desert alone 
 and without provisions, making a thousand genuflex- 
 ions for every mile of the way. It is added that he 
 was twelve years in making this journey, during which 
 he was often tempted and alarmed by Demons. The
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 31 
 
 Khalife Haroun Raschid, making the same pilgrimage, 
 met him upon the way and inquired after his welfare ; 
 the Soft answered him with an Arabian quatrain, of 
 which this is the meaning : 
 
 " ' We mend the rags of this worldly robe with the 
 pieces of the robe of Religion, which we tear apart for 
 this end ; 
 
 " ' And we do our work so thoroughly that nothing 
 remains of the latter, 
 
 " ' And the garment w^ mend escapes out of our 
 hands. 
 
 " ' Happy is the servant who has chosen God for 
 his master, and who employs his present good only 
 to acquire those which he awaits/ 
 
 "It is related also of Abou, that he saw in a 
 dream an Angel who wrote, and that having de- 
 manded what he was doing, the Angel answered, 'I 
 write the names of those who love God sincerely, 
 those who perform Malek-Ben-Dinar, Thabel-al-Be- 
 nani, Aioud-al-Sakhtiani, etc.' Then said he to the 
 Angel, 'Am I not placed among these?' 'No,' re- 
 plied the Angel. ' Ah, well,' said he, ' write me, 
 then, I pray you, for love of these, as the friend of 
 all who love the Lord.' It is added, that the same 
 Angel revealed to him soon after that he had received
 
 32 My FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 an order from God to place him at the head of all 
 the rest. This is the same Abou who said that he 
 preferred Hell with the will of God to Paradise with- 
 out it ; or, as another writer relates it : * I love Hell, 
 if I am doing the will of God, better than the enjoy- 
 ments of Paradise and disobedience.'" 
 
 With books printed by "B. Franklin, Phila- 
 delphia," my friend's library is richly stored. 
 One of them is " The- Charter of Privileges, 
 granted by William Penn Esq : to the Inhabi- 
 tants of Pennsylvania and Territories." " PRINTED 
 AND SOLD BY B. FRANKLIN" looks odd enough 
 on the dingy title-page of this old volume, and 
 the contents are full of interest. Rough days 
 were those when "Jehu Curtis" was "Speaker 
 of the House," and put his name to such docu- 
 ments as this : 
 
 " And Be it Further Enacted by the authority afore- 
 said, That if any Person shall wilfully or premedi- 
 tately be guilty of Blasphemy, and shall thereof 
 be legally convicted, the Person so offending shall, 
 for every such Offence, be set in the Pillory for the 
 space of Two Hours, and be branded on his or her
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 33 
 
 Foreshead with ^ the letter B, and be publickly whipt, 
 on his or her bare Back, with Thirty nine Lashes 
 wdl laid on" 
 
 My friend is a collector of the various editions 
 of Hawthorne's writings, not only in English 
 but in various languages. Many of the works 
 she has illustrated with choice engravings, pho- 
 tographs, and autographs. One of the letters 
 in Hawthorne's handwriting thus added seems 
 to me very curious in its accurate foreshadow- 
 ings. It was written forty-five years ago to 
 Franklin Pierce, when both young men could 
 not have been long out of College. Its pro- 
 phetic intimations in the light of what has since 
 occurred in Pierce's career sound weird and start- 
 ling and the epistle is worth perusal. It is ad- 
 dressed to Qblonel Franklin Pierce, Hillsboro', 
 New Hampshire. 
 
 "SALEM, June 28, 1832. 
 
 "DEAR MR. SPEAKER, I sincerely congratulate 
 you on all your public honors, in possession or in 
 prospect. If they continue to accumulate so rapidly, 
 you will be at the summit of political eminence by
 
 34 MY FRIEXD'S LIBRARY. 
 
 that time of life when men are usually just begin- 
 ning to make a figure. I suppose there is hardly a 
 limit to your expectations at this moment ; and I 
 really cannot see why there should be any. If I 
 were in your place I should like to proceed by the 
 following steps, after a few years in Congress, to 
 be chosen Governor, say at thirty years old, next 
 a Senator in Congress, then minister to England, 
 then to be put at the head of one of the Departments 
 (that of War would suit you, I should think), and 
 lastly but it will be time enough to think of the 
 next step some years hence. You cannot imagine 
 how proud I feel, when I recollect that I myself 
 was once in office with you on the standing Com- 
 mittee of the Athenean Society. That was my first 
 and last appearance in public life. 
 
 "I read the paper which you sent me from begin- 
 ning to end, not forgetting Colonel Pierce's neat and 
 
 appropriate address. I also perused 's speech in 
 
 favor of grog-shops ; he seems to have taken quite a 
 characteristic and consistent course in this respect, 
 and I presume he gives the retail dealers as much of 
 his personal patronage as ever. I was rather sur- 
 prised at not finding more of my acquaintance in 
 
 your Legislature. Your own name and 's were 
 
 ull that I recognized.
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 35 
 
 "I was making preparations for a Northern tour 
 when this accursed cholera broke out in Canada. It 
 was my intention to go by way of New York and 
 Albany to Niagara ; from thence to Montreal and 
 Quebec, and home through Vermont and New Hamp- 
 shire. I am very desirous of making this journey on 
 account of a book by which I intend to acquire an 
 (undoubtedly) immense literary reputation, but which 
 I cannot commence writing till I have visited Can- 
 ada. I still hope that the pestilence will disappear, 
 so that it may be safe to go in a month or two. If 
 my route brings me into the vicinity of Hillsboro' I 
 shall certainly visit you. As to the cholera, if it 
 comes, I believe I shall face it here. By the by, I 
 have been afflicted for two days past with one of the 
 symptoms of it, which makes me write rather a trem- 
 ulous hand. J. keep it secret, however, for fear of 
 being sent to the hospital. 
 
 "I suppose your election to Congress is absolutely 
 certain. Of course, however, there will be an oppo- 
 sition, and I wish you would send me some of the 
 newspapers containing articles either laudatory or 
 abusive of you. I shall read them with great inter- 
 est, be they what they may. It is a pity that I am 
 not in a situation to exercise my pen in your behalf,
 
 36 AfY FRIEN&S LIBRARY. 
 
 though you seem not to need the assistance of news- 
 paper scribblers. 
 
 "I do not feel very well, and will close my letter 
 here, especially as your many associations would not 
 permit you to read a longer one. I shall be happy 
 to hear from you as often as you can find leisure 
 and inclination to write. 
 
 "I observe that the paper styles you the 'Hon. 
 Franklin Pierce.' Have you already an official claim 
 to that title ? 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 "NATH. HAWTHORNE, 
 
 "alias, 'HATH.'" 
 
 The first edition of the "Pickwick Papers" 
 has now grown to be a rare volume, and is not 
 readily picked up even in London. Dickens was 
 not the owner of a copy, and long desired to 
 possess one on account of the early impressions 
 of the forty-three illustrations in it by Seymour 
 and " Phiz." One day my friend A. was stroll- 
 ing about London, and coming into the Hay- 
 market observed a bookseller placing in his win- 
 dow a handsomely bound volume in red morocco. 
 She had got by, but some good genius whis-
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 37 
 
 pered to her, "Turn back, that is a book you 
 have long burned to become the owner of ! " 
 " Go on ! " insinuated another kind of genius ; 
 "you will be late to dinner if you loiter another 
 moment ! " She turned back, notwithstanding, 
 and bought the book : it was the first edition 
 of " Pickwick " ! Mark her good luck, reader ! 
 Taking the book to her hotel, she laid it on the 
 table and went out again after dinner. Return- 
 ing late in the evening she found Dickens had 
 called upon her : the volume was lying open, 
 and this inscription, in a well-known hand, en- 
 riched her prize : 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 Wishes heliad given this First Edition of Pickwick 
 
 TO HIS FRIENDS, 
 * * * * 
 
 In Witness that he did not, 
 He, at Edward's Hotel, George Street, 
 
 Hanover Square, London, 
 Hereunto sets his hand, 
 
 On Saturday, 24 th July, 1869. 
 
 C. D. 
 
 And this precious volume, thus enriched, is not 
 the least among my friend's possessions.
 
 38 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 My friend has a habit of placing on the fly- 
 leaves of many of her books any interesting, out- 
 of-the-way things she may happen to find with 
 reference to their authors, a custom that cannot 
 be too warmly commended to all book-owners. 
 How welcome is such a record as this one, for in- 
 stance ! Nearly fifty years ago there appeared a 
 charming work written by a lieutenant in our 
 navy, named Alexander Slidell Mackenzie, enti- 
 tled "A Year in Spain, by a Young American." 
 On his way to Segovia, the youthful officer fell in 
 with a stripling fresh from the State of Maine, 
 unknown at that time, of course, but who has 
 since become a power in literature, not only in his 
 own country, but all over the civilized world. 
 This is the pleasant glimpse Mackenzie gives us 
 of the Longfellow of half a century ago : 
 
 " Fortune, in a happy moment, provided a compan- 
 ion for me in the person of a young countryman, who 
 had come to Spain in search of instruction. He was 
 just from college, full of the ardent feeling excited by 
 classical pursuits, with health unbroken, hope that was 
 a stranger to disappointment, curiosity which had
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 39 
 
 never yet been fed to satiety. He had sunny locks, 
 a fresh complexion, and a clear blue eye, all indi- 
 cations of a joyous temperament. We had been thrown 
 almost alone together in a strange and unknown land. 
 Our ages were not dissimilar, and, though our previous 
 occupations had been so, we were nevertheless soon ac- 
 quainted, first with each other, then with each other's 
 views, and presently after we had agreed to be com- 
 panions on the journey." 
 
 On the same leaf with this extract I find in- 
 serted these words by Cardinal Wiseman, spoken 
 forty years after Mackenzie met young Long- 
 fellow in Spain : 
 
 " Our hemisphere cannot claim the honor of having 
 brought him forth, but he still belongs to us, for his 
 works have become household words wherever the lan- 
 guage is spoken. I am sure that all who hear my voice 
 will join with me in the tribute I pay to the genius of 
 Longfellow." 
 
 And here is still another appended tribute in 
 the same volume, copied from the Life and Letters 
 of a distinguished lady in England : 
 
 " I have just received a long and welcome letter
 
 40 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 from my Boston correspondent, in answer to one I 
 had written to him asking for some particulars about 
 Longfellow, whose beautiful poems are now so much 
 
 read here I will copy some of my friend's 
 
 exact words about the poet, as they are sure to interest 
 you. 'I never knew a man of more endearing 
 qualities. He has no little animosities ; no petty, vin- 
 dictive feelings ; and if he can help any poor, envious 
 creature who may have tried to wound his feelings by 
 a malicious or ill-timed criticism, he never limits his 
 charity on that account. He says, " If we could read 
 the secret history of our enemies, we should find in 
 each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm 
 all hostility." .... Every one near him loves him, 
 and his neighbors rejoice in his fame and his prosper- 
 ity. He always has a good word to put in for any 
 unfortunate man or woman who happens to be up for 
 conversational dissection ; and I have often noticed, 
 when all the rest of the company have been busy pull- 
 ing to " shreds and patches " some new and ridiculous 
 rhymer, Longfellow has culled and got ready to quote, 
 in the dull bard's favor, the only good line perhaps in 
 the whole volume. I never saw a man so constantly 
 on the lookout to aid and comfort, and never by any 
 accident, even, to depress a fellow-mortal. If any one
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 41 
 
 of his friends is ill, he is the first person who remem- 
 bers to send in cheering little messages, accompanied, 
 perhaps, by some sick-room delicacy, not easily to be 
 obtained elsewhere, for the patient. I have lived, as 
 you know, a long time among authors, but I never 
 knew one so absolutely free from all manner of vanities 
 and vices as Longfellow He is the soul of good- 
 nature and candor ; and his whole life has been spent 
 not only in strengthening the foundations of truth and 
 justice, but in lending a vigorous helping hand to all 
 below him in station and ability. In short, he is one 
 of the most lovable men in America, as well as the 
 most distinguished poet.'" 
 
 My friend's copy of " Warton's History of Eng- 
 lish Poetry" & in three volumes quarto, and it 
 once belonged to no less a character than Mr. 
 Horatio Walpole, of Strawberry Hill, who has . 
 packed it with notes in his own neat penman- 
 ship. Some former owner has added to the first 
 volume a long and curious autograph letter from 
 Warton, and an equally interesting epistle in Wai- 
 pole's handwriting. It is curious to follow the 
 notes in this edition, and see how carefully Wal- 
 pole has studied Warton in this work. He seems
 
 42 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 to have been specially moved by the earliest Eng- 
 lish love-song on record, written about the year 
 1200, and beginning, 
 
 "Blow northerne wynd," etc. 
 
 Walpole has appended this note at the bottom 
 of one of the pages in Vol. I. in ink as fresh as if 
 it had been written to-day : 
 
 " A coachman of George 2 d , who had been harassed 
 by driving the Maids of Honour, left his fortune to his 
 son, but with a promise that he should never marry a 
 Maid of Honour/ 5 
 
 Other remarks, both in pencil and ink, by Wal- 
 pole, abound in the volumes, and many of them 
 are as keen as this one in the famous letters of 
 the brilliant epigrammatist. He was, it seems, 
 much diverted with the manoeuvres of a certain 
 Mrs. Holmari, "whose passion," he says, "is keep- 
 ing an assembly, and inviting literally everybody 
 in it. She goes to the drawing-room to watch for 
 sneezes ; whips out a courtesy ; and then sends 
 next morning to know how your cold does, and to 
 desire your company next Thursday ! "
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 43 
 
 All over the margins of my friend's " Warton " 
 the lord of Strawberry Hill is constantly finding 
 fault with the author, correcting his proper names 
 and worrying his statements. Walpole knew, or 
 pretended to know, everybody, not only of his 
 own time, but of all time. His enemies used to 
 say he bragged a good deal of acquaintances to 
 whom he had never spoken a word. Apropos of 
 this charge against H. W., we had . many years 
 ago in Paris an American pretender of this sort. 
 When my fellow-traveller, S. G., arrived in the 
 French capital twenty years ago, this all-knowing, 
 forth-putting countryman of ours called upon him 
 and said : " If th^re is any celebrity you care to 
 meet among the French authors, I shall be happy 
 to bring you together, as I am on intimate terms 
 with all the writers." My friend was an admirer 
 of Victor Hugo, and jumped at the offer, naming 
 him as the man he most desired to see. " That 
 shall be brought about shortly," replied the uni- 
 versal intimate of everybody worth knowing in 
 Paris. " Victor Hugo and I are very old friends, 
 and he will be glad to see you on my account," he
 
 44 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 continued. A week or so after this conversation, 
 my friend was at one of Lamartine's Sunday recep- 
 tions, and stood talking some time with a gentle- 
 man to whom Madame Lamartine had presented 
 him. The kind-hearted American who had prom- 
 ised an introduction to Hugo was also in the room, 
 and, observing G. in conversation with a rather 
 distinguished-looking person, came up when they 
 had separated, and asked G. who that tall, hand- 
 some individual might be. " 0, that," said G., 
 with freezing nonchalance, " that is your friend, 
 Victor Hugo!" 
 
 Among the books which I take down with 
 special delight is a rough old copy of " Diogenes 
 Laertius " in Greek and Latin. It belonged to 
 Shelley and Leigh Hunt, in partnership, and has 
 their names written above the title-page in Hunt's 
 best hand, thus, 
 
 " Percy Shelley and Leigh Hunt." 
 It seems to have been their joint property, and, 
 loving each other as they did, they were content 
 to own it together. It has numerous notes in
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 45 
 
 both their handwritings. The Greek motto from 
 Plato, which Shelley placed at the beginning of 
 his exquisite Elegy on the death of Keats, has 
 always been greatly admired. The translation is, 
 " You shone, whilst living, a morning star ; but, 
 dead, you now shine Hesperus among the shades," 
 and it was written by Plato on his friend Stella. 
 Laertius preserved it among his own writings, and 
 Shelley copied it from him. More than fifty years 
 have elapsed since this precious old volume went 
 wandering about the Continent with the two young 
 English poets, and was thumbed by them on the 
 decks of vessels, in^the chambers of out-of-the-way 
 inns, and under the olive-trees of Pisa and Genoa. 
 Half a century has gone by, and lo ! the worn 
 and battered book finds itself, after all its jour- 
 neys, safely housed and cared for on the shelves 
 of my friend's library in a street in Boston. 
 
 There are few things in Charlotte Bronte's 
 peculiar chirography more touching than this 
 note of September the 29th, 1850, addressed to 
 that excellent Mr. Williams, so many years famil-
 
 46 MY FRIEXD'S LIBRARY. 
 
 iar to all who were in the habit of visiting the old 
 publishing house of Smith, Elder, and Company, 
 in London. I find the original placed in my 
 friend's copy of " Jane Eyre," with this caution 
 written opposite : " Be careful not to disturb this 
 precious document." 
 
 " DEAR SIR, It is my intention to write a few lines 
 of remark on 'Wuthering Heights/ which however I 
 propose to place apart as a brief preface before the 
 tale. I am likewise compelling myself to read it 
 over, for the first time of opening the book since 
 my sister's death. Its power fills me with renewed 
 admiration ; but yet I am oppressed : the reader is 
 scarcely ever permitted a taste of unalloyed pleasure ; 
 every beam of sunshine is poured down through black 
 bars of threatening cloud ; every page is surcharged 
 with a sort of moral electricity ; and the writer was 
 unconscious of all this, nothing could make her 
 
 conscious of it 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "C. BRONTE." 
 
 William Blake's Illustrated Volumes occupy 
 honored places in my friend's library, for she has 
 a genuine regard for the man, and a warm feeling
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 47 
 
 for his poems. His weird pictures attract and 
 hold the attention, just as his poetical pieces 
 grapple to the memory. In the copy of " Songs 
 of Innocence and Experience " are many charming 
 notes pencilled on the margins or on the fly-leaves, 
 and this one I transcribe for its intrinsic beauty : 
 
 " When Blake, whose life had been one of poverty 
 and privation, was in his old age and about to die, 
 he one day put his hands on the head of a little 
 girl, and said, * May God make this world to you, my 
 child, as beautiful as it has been to me ! ' " 
 
 My friend being an ardent admirer of Coleridge, 
 has added to her beautiful copy of his works several 
 autograph letters that have come into her hands 
 from various sources. Everything " rich and 
 strange " in that way seems always gravitating to 
 her library. Here is a letter which I copy from 
 the neat, small page, penned by Coleridge on a 
 "Tuesday afternoon, on the 13th of February, 
 1827." It is addressed to 
 
 " J. B. WILLIAMS, ESQ RB . 
 " Surgeon, &c. &c., 
 
 " Aldersgate Street." 
 and runs thus :
 
 48 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 " MY DEAR WILLIAMS, I shall, God permitting, 
 be in town and in your neighbourhood to-morrow, 
 and shall at least make the attempt of doing, what I 
 have some half score of times proposed to Mr. G. that 
 we should do conjointly that is, shake hands with 
 you in your own A2KAHIIEION, Latinic Esculapium. 
 Your home, I am well aware, is not at your own com- 
 mand : and unluckily I am not acquainted with the 
 Horology of your daily Routine, or the relations of the 
 WTiens to the Wheres in your scheme of successive 
 self-distribution. But I will call between One and Two ; 
 and if I find that you will be in, at any mentionable 
 time between that and half past two, I will return at 
 the same time, and billet (I should have said label) my- 
 self on you for a mutton chop and a potatoe or what 
 I should like better, a few sausages and a potatoe. 
 Were my duodenal digestion brisk enough for me to 
 work after dinner, I should always dine from past 
 1 to past 2, for that is the only time of the 24 
 hours, in which I have any appetite for animal 
 food. 
 
 " Gillman has been very poorly, and complains much 
 of his head : but he is now much better, Mrs. Gill- 
 man is at par something between so so, and pretty 
 tolerable I thank you.
 
 MY FRIEXD'S LIBRARY. 49 
 
 " With my kind respects to M. W. and Love to the 
 young Galenicals, 
 
 " believe me, my dear Williams, 
 
 " With affectionate esteem and regard 
 " Your Sincere friend, 
 
 " S. T. COLERIDGE. 
 " GROVE : HIGHGATE." 
 
 From one Opium-Eater to another to the 
 greatest in the annals of Laudanum is an easy 
 transition. Everything relating to Thomas Papa- 
 verius, as the "Book-Hunter" calls him, my friend 
 has collected, and hoarded in a niche by itself. 
 Fragile, unsubstantial, potent, and original, 
 apply these epithets to the only man of this cen- 
 tury who includes them all, and you get De 
 Quincey, one of the great masters of English, one 
 of the most fascinating of all modern writers. 
 Every scrap which my friend has collected relat- 
 ing to the personnel of this interesting individual 
 is of value. Observe the quaint unlikeness in 
 this communication to the missive of any one else. 
 The note, which is in the fairest hand, was ad- 
 dressed from Lasswade in Scotland to the Amer-
 
 50 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 lean Editor of De Quincey's Writings, who hap- 
 pened at that time to be in England. I find it 
 carefully pasted into the " Confessions " : it ex- 
 plains itself. 
 
 " Thursday Evening, August 26. 
 
 "MY DEAR SIR, The accompanying hillet from 
 my daughter, short at any rate under the pressure of 
 instant engagements, has been cut shorter by a sud- 
 den and very distressing head-ache. I therefore who 
 (from a peculiar nervousness connected with the act 
 of writing) so rarely attempt to discharge my own 
 debts in the letter- writing department of life, find my- 
 self unaccountably, I might say mysteriously, engaged 
 in the knight-errantry of undertaking for other peo- 
 ple's Wretched bankrupt that I am, with an abso- 
 lute refusal on the part of the Commissioner to grant 
 me a certificate of the lowest class, suddenly and by 
 a necessity not to be evaded I am affecting the large 
 bounties of supererogation. I appear to be vaporing 
 in a spirit of vain-glory ; and yet it is under the mere 
 coercion of severe necessities that I am surprised into 
 this unparalleled instance of activity. 
 
 " Do you walk ? That is do you like walking for 
 4 hours * on end ' (which is our archaic expres- 
 sion for continuously) ? If I knew that, I would
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 51 
 
 arrange accordingly for meeting you. The case as to 
 distances is this ; The Dalkeith railway, from the 
 .Waverley station, brings you to Esk Bank. That 
 is its nearest approach, its perihelion, in relation 
 to ourselves : and it is precisely 2| miles distant 
 from Mavis Brush the name of our cottage. Close 
 to us, and the most noticeable object for guiding your 
 inquiries, is Mr. Annandale's Paper Mills. Now 
 then, accordingly as you direct my motions, I will 
 rain being supposed absent join you at your hotel in 
 Edinburgh any time after 11 o'clock, and walk out the 
 whole distance (7 miles from the Scott Monument) ; 
 or else I will meet you at Esty Bank : or, if you prefer 
 coming out in a carriage, I will await your coming 
 here in that state of motionless repose which best befits 
 a philosopher. Excuse my levity, and believe that 
 with sincere pleasure we shall receive your obliging 
 visit. 
 
 " Ever your faithful servant, 
 
 " THOMAS DE QUINCEY." 
 
 In a handsome edition of Sir James Mackin- 
 tosh's attractive Memoirs, standing next to the 
 Coleridge and De Quincey volumes, I find this 
 characteristic autograph, which seems to be a
 
 52 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 reply to a dinner invitation from a lady not en- 
 tirely known to the Knight. It begins abruptly, 
 but gracefully, and is a model reply under the 
 circumstances of the case. 
 
 " Oh Thou ! whatever Title please thine ear ! 
 
 " whether I am to address you as Ursula or Iphigenia, 
 I will dine with you on Friday if I am not obliged to 
 leave town. 
 
 " I cannot at this moment lay my hand upon your 
 note, and it is from recollection only that I speak of 
 Friday as the day for which you wrote me. 
 
 " I am, 
 
 " Whether you be a Papist or a Pagan, 
 " Alike yours, 
 
 " J. MACKINTOSH." 
 
 Voyages and Travels abound in my friend's li- 
 brary, and among them Edward Lear's beautifully 
 illustrated works are conspicuously represented. 
 Everybody knows the "Nonsense Book" of this 
 tricksy spirit, but his books of travel have been 
 neglected in America. Perhaps, however, his fun 
 has produced greater effects everywhere than his 
 learning.
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 53 
 
 When a prominent English statesman, some 
 years ago, completely disabled by the cares and 
 fatigues of his great office, consulted Sir Henry 
 Holland, the Court Physician, as to what course 
 he should adopt to regain his health and vigor, 
 Sir Henry, with profound wisdom, told the Chan- 
 cellor to go down to Brighton for a mouth, and 
 take only one book with him. " Shall it be 
 Homer 1 " asked the scholar and statesman of the 
 physician. " By no means," said the doctor. 
 " The volume I recommend is Edward Lear's 
 'Book of Nonsense,' one offthe healthiest works 
 ever written in the kingdom." " And who is 
 Edward Lear 1 " inquired the man of state affairs. 
 " Sir," said the physician, " I am amazed at your 
 question ! Edward Lear, sir, is the biographer of 
 'that globular person of Hurst,' of 'that uneasy 
 old man of the West,' of ' that courageous young 
 lady of Norway,' of ' that morbid old man of Ve- 
 suvius,' and others of like distinction." The 
 statesman retired with his one book to the sea- 
 coast, and came back to Downing Street at the 
 end of his vacation a wiser and a healthier man, 
 it is said.
 
 54 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 I happen to know Edward Lear very well, and 
 am glad to have the opportunity of commend- 
 ing this gentleman's comic books everywhere. He 
 is a great, broad-shouldered, healthy Englishman, 
 who spends a large portion of his valuable time in 
 making children, especially, happy. He is the 
 classmate and much-loved friend of Alfred Tenny- 
 son (whose beautiful poem to E. L. means Edward 
 Lear) ; and if you chanced, a few years back, to go 
 to Farringford about Christmas-time, you would 
 have been likely to find a tall, elderly man, in 
 enormous goggles, down on all-fours on the carpet, 
 and reciting, in the character of a lively and classi- 
 cal hippopotamus, new nonsense-verses to a dozen 
 children, amid roars of laughter, a very undig- 
 nified position, certainly, for one of the best Greek 
 scholars in Europe, for a landscape-painter unri- 
 valled anywhere, and the author of half a dozen 
 learned quartos of travels in Albania, Illyria, Ca- 
 labria, and other interesting countries ! But what 
 a delight he is personally to the juniority of Eng- 
 land wherever he is known ! A few years ago he 
 was obliged to build a cottage in Ravenna, ill
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 55 
 
 Italy, and live there a portion of the year, in 
 order to get time for painting and study ; for when 
 he is in London the little people, whom he passion- 
 ately loves and cannot live without, run after him, 
 as they did after the Pied Piper of Hamelin, to that 
 extent he has no leisure for his profession. When 
 it is known that the delightful old fellow is on his 
 way back to England for the holidays, many of the 
 castles and other great residences are on the alert 
 with invitations to secure him for as much time as 
 he can give them. Generations of children have 
 clustered about him in different Christmas sea- 
 sons. He dedicates his first " Book of Nonsense " 
 "To the great-grandchildren, grand-nephews, and 
 grand-nieces of the thirteenth Earl of Derby, the 
 greater part of the book having been originally 
 composed for their parents." Prime favorite as he 
 is among the Argyles and the Devonshires, he has 
 an immense clientele among the poor and over- 
 worked peasantry of various countries. Having 
 been a traveller so many years, and so conversant 
 with the languages of the Continent, he is just as 
 much at home with his fun and his wide goggles
 
 56 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 in the mountain-passes of Switzerland and Spain 
 as he is in the great houses of England. Long 
 life to Edward Lear, and continued success to his 
 ministry of good-nature about the world ! He 
 promised, not long ago, he would come to America 
 before he got too old to see our country ; and I 
 hope, some day not far distant, to see him, so full 
 of genial wit and drollery, cutting up his harmless 
 and healthful antics for the amusement of the 
 boys and girls of America. One of his sayings, 
 at least, deserves immortality : " The world will 
 never grow old," he said, "so long as it has 
 little children and flowers in it." 
 
 My friend's library is rich in old-time school- 
 books, "The American Preceptor," "The Co- 
 lumbian Orator," and other now obsolete "guides " 
 to youth. Here is a " dog's-eared " Walker's Dic- 
 tionary that belonged, in 1797, to Daniel Webster, 
 with his name carefully printed with a pen on the 
 fly-leaf, in a school-boy's hand. That was the year 
 the father resolved, poor as he was, to send his 
 boy to college, and announced his intention to the
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 57 
 
 astonished lad. I know of no paragraph more 
 pathetic in any great man's early life than this 
 one from a letter written by Webster himself, de- 
 scribing the manner his father's resolve was first 
 made known to him. " I remember," he writes to 
 a friend, " the very hill we were ascending, through 
 deep snows (in February, 1797), in a New-England 
 sleigh, when my father made his purpose known to 
 me. I could not speak. How could he, I thought, 
 with so large a family, and in sych narrow circum- 
 stances, think of incurring so great an expense for 
 me 1 A warm glow ran all over me, and I laid 
 my head on my father's shoulder and wept." 
 
 I am pained to observe in my friend's library 
 several broken sets of valuable books. One of her 
 copies of Milton, of which author she has some 
 ten different editions, has a gap in it, which prob- 
 ably will never be filled again. Gone, I fear, for- 
 ever, is that fourth volume, so rich in notes all 
 radiant in the handwriting of him who sang of 
 "Rimini" and "Abou Ben Adhem." Some eye, 
 perchance, falling upon this page, may yet throw
 
 58 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 the needed light upon the whereabouts of this 
 missing treasure, lost or stolen, and thus indicate 
 a clew to its recovery. But who could have the 
 heart to steal a book like that 1 What shall we 
 think of that insidious, unsuspected marauder 
 who came and saw and purloined] What fate 
 should compass such a knave, so foul a book- 
 aneer ? I will not say hanging, for that is a harsh 
 and inelegant word, but I will rather employ Sir 
 Thomas Browne's more pungent, high-toned phrase, 
 and call it "pendulous suffocation" ! 
 
 Apropos of unrestoring borrowers, I have al- 
 ways delighted in the hint conveyed by the book- 
 plate of Garrick, the great English actor. Little 
 David had a keen sense of all his rights of owner- 
 ship, and he adopted for his book-motto this pas- 
 sage from a French author : " La premiere chose 
 qu'on doit faire quand on a emprunte un livre, 
 c'est de la lire, afin de pouvoir le rendre plutot " 
 (Menagiana, Vol. IV.), " The first thing one 
 ought to do when one has borrowed a book is to 
 read it, in order to be able to return it the sooner." 
 
 For what is called Shakespearean literature my
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 59 
 
 friend does not care much, preferring the light of 
 the luminary himself to the nebulous unsatisfac- 
 tory guesses of his commentators. She inclines 
 rather to the maximum of thought in Hamlet 
 than to the minimum of thought about Hamlet. 
 Believing, with the Chorus in Henry the Fifth, 
 that a drama is 
 
 "Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour-glass, 1 ' 
 
 and that W. S. had the power to do it, she sticks 
 to the "hour-glass." She says that reading 
 " Cymbeline " through a margin of notes is like 
 playing the pianoforte with mittens on ; and she is 
 fond of quoting this remark once dropped in her 
 hearing by a famous actress : " Shakespeare sets 
 his readers' souls on fire with flashes of genius ; 
 his commentators follow close behind, with buck- 
 ets of water putting out the flames ! " And so 
 she is content to read the " Plays and Poems " 
 themselves, " without note or comment." She 
 considers herself a personal and loving debtor to 
 Charles and Mary Cowden Clarke, to Horace and 
 Mrs. Furness, and some other kindred helps; but
 
 60 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 the majority of " Shakespeare-scholars," so de- 
 nominated, she thanks and passes by. Over her 
 library door she has hung up an " effigy " of the 
 " Prince of Poets," sent from Stratford by E. F. 
 the Munificent, and under it she has placed a fac- 
 simile copy of that warning verse from his tomb 
 to the " Good Friend " who might be tempted to 
 " digg the dust " and move his bones. 
 
 We were speaking one day, in my friend's li- 
 brary, of the " awful necromancer," the " protago- 
 nist on the great arena of poetry," the " glory of 
 the human intellect," as he has been called by 
 judges of genius ; and our hostess related this 
 anecdote of an English visitor to whom she was 
 lately showing the beautiful mask that conspicu- 
 ously graces her library. She said the man (him- 
 self a writer of books) gazed at it carelessly for a 
 moment, and, walking away, feebly ejaculated, 
 " Yes, yes, poor Shakespeare ! he, too, filled a 
 drunkard's grave /" "An admirable conceited fel- 
 low ttiat" if we may waste those words from the 
 "Winter's Tale" on such a muff! Some one 
 present then told us of a pretentious woman who
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 61 
 
 was once heard to say, at 's dinner-table, that 
 
 she had " never read Shakespeare's Works herself, 
 but had always entertained the highest opinion of 
 him as a man." This last recital called out 
 M. W., who convulsed our little group by relating 
 this comical story of venerable Mr. , who be- 
 lieves unqualifiedly in Boston as not the hub only, 
 but the forward wheels also, of the universe. The 
 excellent old gentleman, having confessed to L. G. 
 that he had never found time, during his busy life, 
 to read the " immortal plays," was advised to do 
 so during the winter then approaching. In the 
 spring G. called on the estimable citizen, and casu- 
 ally asked if he had read any of the plays during 
 the season just passed. Yes, he replied, he had 
 read them all. "Do you like them 1 ?" ventured 
 G., feeling his way anxiously to an opinion. "Like 
 them ! " replied the old man, with effusive ardor ; 
 " that is not the word, sir ! They are glorious j 
 sir ; far beyond my expectation, sir ! There are 
 not twenty men in Boston, sir, who could have writ- 
 ten those plays ! " 
 
 But I am rambling on too far and too fast for
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 
 
 to-day. Here is one more book, however, that I 
 must say a word about, as it lies open on my 
 knee, the gift of Robbie Burns to a female friend, 
 
 his own poems, the edition which gave him 
 
 " so much real happiness to see in print." Laid 
 in this copy of his works is a sad letter, in the 
 poet's handwriting, which perhaps has never been 
 printed. Addressed to Captain Hamilton, Dum- 
 fries, it is in itself a touching record of dear 
 Robin's poverty, and a? that. 
 
 " SIR, It is needless to attempt an apology for my 
 remissness to you in money matters ; my conduct is 
 beyond all excuse. Literally, Sir, I had it not. The 
 Distressful state of commerce at this town has this 
 year taken from my otherwise scanty income no less 
 than 20. That part of my salary depends upon the 
 Imposts, and they are no more for one year. I inclose 
 you three guineas ; and shall soon settle all with you. 
 I shall not mention your goodness to me ; it is beyond 
 my power to describe either the feelings of my wounded 
 soul at not being able to pay you as I ought ; or the 
 grateful respect with which I have the honor to be 
 " Sir, Your deeply obliged humble servant, 
 
 "RoB T . BURNS. 
 "DUMFRIES, Jany. 29, 1795."
 
 MY FRIEND'S LIBRARY. 63 
 
 And so I walk out of my friend's leaf-y para- 
 dise this July afternoon, thinking of the bard who 
 in all his songs and sorrows made 
 
 "rustic life and poverty 
 Grow beautiful beneath his touch," 
 
 and whose mission it was 
 
 " To weigh the inborn worth of man." 
 1
 
 A PEOULIAB CASE.
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 YRUS came well recommended to us (by 
 his own family), and, as the name he bore 
 has still an interesting sound in Oriental 
 history, we decided to employ him in our cool cot- 
 tage " Down East." Our summer hut in those days 
 overlooked the sea, and was one of the simplest 
 resting-places outside that quiet haven which, for 
 mortal reasons, we are all destined, sooner or 
 later, to occupy. The grounds belonging to our 
 rudimentary domicile required only the smallest 
 amount of work to keep them in order, so we 
 cast about for a young and inexpensive lad in 
 the neighborhood who would come every morning 
 early and attend to whatever was necessary for
 
 68 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 our comfort and convenience on the premises. 
 There was water to be pumped ; there were shoes 
 to be cleaned ; the horse was to be brought up 
 from the village stable when wanted for a drive ; 
 a few flowers were to be weeded and sprinkled ; 
 and various other small offices of a kindred na- 
 ture required the daily ministration of some com- 
 petent person who understood matters appertain- 
 ing to a household epitome like ours. And so it 
 came to pass that Cyrus, accompanied by a weak- 
 minded little dog, presented himself the next 
 morning after our arrival, and, standing in the 
 breezy entry, with a nondescript fur cap on, pulled 
 tightly down over his eyes, demanded information 
 as to what he should " ketch holt on fust." Had 
 he ever brushed 'a pair of shoes? Xo ; but if I 
 would bring him a pair, he would try his hand 
 at it. In about an hour he brought in the shoes, 
 and dryly observed he had " spread the whole box 
 over 'em." He had put the contents, not only 
 on the outside of the shoes, but had pasted them 
 thoroughly on the inside as well ! This was the 
 first exhibition of his skill, and amply illustrated
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 69 
 
 the fact that he was 110 respecter of places, what- 
 ever he might be of persons. When I told him in 
 future I would put my shoes outside my sleeping- 
 room door, he drawled out, " They '11 be per- 
 fectly safe : nobody '11 tetch 'em ! " 
 
 0, but he was a conspicuous trial in our lot, 
 a source of manifold woe to us all ! 'His ability 
 to do anything was an esoteric quality, and he 
 held his few faculties in a kind of sacred pri- 
 vacy. 
 
 " Cyrus is a peculiar case" said his father (a 
 squab little man, devoid of hair) ; "but don't be 
 hash with him, and he '11 soon learn yer ways," 
 which he never did. 
 
 His multifarious manoeuvrings to avoid learning 
 our ways astounded the household. He was for- 
 ever "jest a-goin' " to do everything, but he accom- 
 plished nothing. Shirking was a fine art with the 
 rogue ; it was akin to meat and drink with him ; 
 a kind of constant nutriment conducive to special 
 gratification. And so he always postponed em- 
 ployment to a more convenient season, which 
 season he trusted might never come.
 
 70 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 Honest W. C., discoursing of the Washington 
 embezzlements, let fall this explanation of "irreg- 
 ularities " at the Capitol : " Work 's an old-fash- 
 ioned way of gittiu' a liviu' ; it tires folks, and 
 they don't like it." 
 
 Cyrus exemplified the forceful truth of a state- 
 ment like this. Punctuality to duty in any form 
 met with his sternest exprobation. He was what 
 is called in the country "a growin' boy," and 
 he grew to be a thorn in our side, a pest in our 
 path, a cloud in our landscape. In brief, he 
 proved the only serious trial in our cottage life 
 by the sea, our only real skeleton, indoors or out. 
 
 Words are colorless to depict the inadequacy of 
 Cyrus to the situation we had called him to fill. 
 A dark lantern without a candle would have served 
 us quite as well, for the boy shed no light any- 
 where, and handled nothing fitly. He was a crea- 
 ture of misinformation on every topic he ought to 
 have been conversant with. He was constantly 
 getting himself poisoned with ivy, the leaf of 
 which he mistook for something else, and the 
 consequent obfuscation of his countenance added
 
 A PECULIAR CASK. 71 
 
 nothing to his personal attractions. He had a 
 natural aversion to self-agency, so far as he was 
 concerned. He did not know things by halves, 
 or quarters even. He had languid hands, and 
 languider legs. His figure was long and fuzzy, 
 and when he walked, swung itself to and fro like 
 a broken bulrush. All the possibilities of sloth 
 were apparent in his feet. He limped and crept 
 rather than walked. His whole being seemed 
 parboiled, and his joints unsettled. He was an 
 emblem of incompleteness, a memento of hopeless 
 dearth, both moral and physical ; celerity was 
 extinct in him. He had a gone-out appearance, 
 as of one dug up from the ashes of some Yankee 
 Hercnlaneum ; and, as a family, we felt a kind of 
 mortification at belonging to the same race with 
 such a remnant, such a bundle of half intuitions. 
 Coleridge describes him when he speaks of "a 
 monument of imbecility and blank endeavor," for 
 the boy heard nothing, and saw nothing, from 
 sheer and stubborn uimse of his faculties. He 
 was unobservant as a " blind alley," whatever that 
 ophthalmic curiosity may be ; and he never picked
 
 72 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 up anything, for he was not cognizant of matter 
 like the majority of the human race. 
 
 Of positive truth, he was born insolvent. He 
 was strong in partial falsehoods, and preferred the 
 serpentine to a direct course on every occasion ; 
 but he had no falterings in deception. He pre- 
 ferred to sidle up to a lie rather than present it 
 squarely; but there was no imperfection in the 
 article itself when he had reached it. Sometimes, 
 but not often, his fabrications \vere too crude to 
 escape detection. Of this nature was his frequent 
 apology for absences on account of the necessity 
 of " attending his grandmother's funeral." At frhe 
 end of the season, I made out from my records 
 that Cyrus had been called upon to mourn the 
 loss of nine extinct grandmothers in three months ; 
 but as his moral tegument was impervious to pro- 
 testation, I never charged upon him, face to face, 
 his pretended unnatural supply of female relations. 
 (Ovid alludes to Bacchus as "twice born," bis 
 geniti, but all such natal exaggerations are 
 abhorrent to credulity.) 
 
 There are thosa whose minds are always on
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 73 
 
 the wrong side of any subject presented to them. 
 Of such was the boy Cyras in an eminent de- 
 gree, for his mind was ever in that wandering 
 state which precludes the possibility of lodging 
 an idea within an acre or two of its blundering 
 precincts. He dwelt in an atmosphere beclouded 
 with carelessness, and so he comprehended every- 
 thing in an opposite light from the true one. 
 He paused when he should have gone on, and 
 moved rapidly (for him) when he should have 
 ceased motion. 
 
 His manners were preposterous in their illimit- 
 able absurdity. When I begged him one day 
 to step forward quickly and hold a friend's horse 
 that was restive at the door, he leisurely ob- 
 served "he was not a-goin' to spring for any- 
 body ! " (Cyrus on a spring would have been a 
 sight worth seeing.) 
 
 Being in the habit of bursting into my private 
 room to ask irrelevant questions, at all hours, 
 without the formality of knocking, I hinted 
 mildly to him that it was the custom to knock 
 before entering another's apartment. He stared
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 at my suggested act of propriety for a moment, 
 and then blurted out the remark that for his 
 part he did not "see wot good that would do, 
 but he would give a thump next time." Accord- 
 ingly when he had occasion to come again to my 
 door, he pounded vigorously on it with the heel 
 of his heavy boot. 
 
 " Who 's there ? " I inquired. 
 
 "Cyrus J. Mu eh more !" he shouted in a voice 
 that set all the crockery dancing on the adja- 
 cent shelves, and " woke the neighboring cliffs 
 around." 
 
 Laziness was his foible. He had that unpleas- 
 ant quality in its supreme condition. The throne 
 of indolence was vacant on our coast until Cyrus 
 lolled forward and fell into it. 
 
 He was own brother to the snail, and no rela- 
 tion whatever to the ant. Even his cautious 
 father, discoursing of him one day, acknowledged 
 that " the boy was rather chicken-hearted about 
 work." Unaided locomotion was distasteful to 
 him. If sent on an errand to the next cottage, 
 he waited patiently for an opportunity to trans-
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 75 
 
 fer himself bodily into the tail-end of somebody's 
 passing wagon, considering it better to be thus 
 assisted along than to assume the responsibility 
 of moving forward on his own legs. He spared 
 himself all the fatigue possible to mortality, and 
 overcame labor by constantly lying in w^it for " a 
 lift," as he called it. He was the. only seaside 
 stripling I ever met who eschewed fishing. Most 
 boys are devotees of the rod and line, but Cyrus 
 was an exception. The necessary anterior search 
 for bait was too much for his inertia. Clam and 
 worm might lie forever undisturbed, so far as he 
 was concerned. He must have slowly descended 
 from that notorious son of laziness celebrated by 
 old Barton, who said he enjoyed fishing until the 
 fish began to bite ; then he gave it up, as he 
 could not endure the fatigue of drawing up the 
 line and rebaiting the hook. 
 
 His dilatory habit rose sometimes to the au- 
 dacity of genius. He could consume more hours in 
 going a mile to the village post office and return- 
 ing with the mail than one would credit, unless 
 his gait came under personal observation. We
 
 7G A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 took a kind of exasperated delight as we used to 
 watch him trailing along the ground, and we felt 
 a fresh wonder every day at his power of slow pro- 
 cedure. It seemed a gift, an endowment, now for 
 the first time vouchsafed to mortal inertness. The 
 caterpillar would have been too rapid for him ; he 
 would lose in a race with that dull groundling. He 
 saemed to be counting myriads of something in 
 the road. When he cautiously and laboriously 
 lifted up one foot, it seemed an eternity before the 
 other followed it. He would frequently drop 
 asleep in getting over a stone-wall, and his recum- 
 bent figure was imprinted under all the trees by 
 the roadside. He hated action, except at meals. 
 There he astonished the cook, who complained 
 after his advent into our kitchen that " one pair 
 of hands could n't provide enough for such a com- 
 morunk," and advised us to have him "exam- 
 ined ! " She accused him of " always a-georging 
 of hisself." She averred that when he was help- 
 ing her shell peas he ate up all but the pods dur- 
 ing the operation ; and she declared that if she 
 took her eyes off him as he moved through the
 
 A PECULIAR CASfc. 77 
 
 pantry, he devoured as he went, to use her own 
 words, " like an araiy of locusses." 
 
 He never knew what o'clock it was, but con- 
 stantly asked everybody he met for " the time 
 o' day." When informed, and the hour announced 
 did not approximate dinner-time, he became dis- 
 couraged and low-spirited, but revived at the sight 
 of a chance apple or cucumber lying on the ground 
 near by. I have seen him blossom into slow 
 activity when unexpected food has been offered to 
 him " between meals." His stomach rose to any 
 occasion, and coped with all emergencies. We 
 used to try him with a heavy slice of beef and mus- 
 tard at ten o'clock in the morning, and he settled 
 upon it at once with stolid avidity, cobra-fashion. 
 He yearned for family picnics where there was no 
 walking to be done, where the viands were ample, 
 and nobody had occasion to bear along the bas- 
 kets. He was constitutionally susceptible of double 
 meals. His favorite localities could always be 
 recognized by the debris of comestibles strewn 
 around. Rinds of water-melon, egg-shells, and 
 apple-cores betrayed his whereabouts. When off
 
 78 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 duty at the kitchen-table he was ever devouring 
 something from out a huge pocket which adorned 
 his trousers on the right side, bulging it out like 
 a wen. The protuberance became so enormous 
 that one day I felt constrained to ask him if he 
 had a cannon-ball in his thigh. No, it was only 
 a couple of turnips he was " a-goin' to eat bum- 
 by." Everv edible thing that grew was tributary 
 to him. His taste was catholic. He fed largely 
 and promiscuously. He was matchless in his dep- 
 redations on cooked or uncooked. He was, in 
 short, the lineal descendant of Pliny's "Annihila- 
 tor," the great food destroyer of antiquity ! 
 
 Born in the country, he was ignorant as a sign- 
 post of what came out of the soil. When set to 
 work in the garden he pulled np everything but the 
 weeds. He would mistake wormwood for parsley, 
 and mustard for mint. Interrogatories disquieted 
 him. When asked a question about what should 
 have concerned him most, his unblushing reply 
 was, " Don't know ! " 
 
 He had adroitness in delegating jobs about the 
 place to unsuspecting lads of his acquaintance that
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 79 
 
 was both amusing and exasperating. He would 
 saunter along to the cottage in the morning, bring- 
 ing with him two or three shabby-looking varlets 
 of his own age, or a little younger, perhaps, and 
 hide them away behind the rocks until their ser- 
 vices might be required. At the proper^ime he 
 would carry out the new hoe, or the new-fangled 
 rake, to show them. Then he would gradually 
 toll the boys up to some gap in the avenue that 
 needed filling, or allure them to a lot of hay that 
 must be gathered for the barn. He, meanwhile, 
 would lie on the ground in a state of flat con- 
 tentment, making the most of himself, and regard- 
 ing the boys with supine satisfaction as they 
 accomplished the task he ought himself to be 
 engaged in. Coming upon him unexpectedly once 
 while thus disporting his lazy length, I asked for 
 an explanation of his conduct. He replied that 
 he "was obleeged to lay daown on accaount of a 
 jumpin' tewth-ache 'that hed jess sot in." His 
 subterfuges were endless and invincible. They 
 revolved about him in a perpetual cycle, ready for 
 use at any moment, and so he was never caught
 
 80 A PECULIAR CASE. 
 
 disfurnished with an excuse. Evasion was his 
 armature, quiddity his defence. To upbraid him 
 was a loss of time and patience. It would be a 
 shrewd master indeed who could circumvent him ! 
 Choate was not more wary, or Webster more pro- 
 found, than Cyrus when he was brought to bay. 
 
 He was full of illogical intrepidities. He 
 eluded reproof with a conversational dexterity 
 beyond the ordinary bent and level of his brain. 
 He changed the current of discourse at will. 
 "When remonstrating with him one day on his 
 short-comings and long-goings, he . interrupted 
 the strain of remark by inquiring if I had 
 " heered that 'Siah Jones's boss got cast t' other 
 night, and took four men to drag him aout by 
 the tail." On another occasion he cut short my 
 admonition, just as the homily was culminating, 
 by asking me if I " knowed that Abel Baker 
 wore false teeth in his maouth, and sometimes 
 put 'em in upside-daown, cos he did n't under- 
 stand 'em." In the middle of a colloquy with 
 him one morning on his unpunctual appeai-anee 
 at the cottage, he threw me completely off the
 
 A PECULIAR CASE. 81 
 
 track by casually "wondering" if 1 had "ever 
 run acrost the sea-sarpunt in my travels ! " Ha- 
 ranguing him at the close of a day when he had 
 neglected every duty, he broke the force of my 
 censure by demanding if I was " for or agin 
 capital punishment." He habitually glidlcl away 
 from a subject that happened to set against 
 him, just as Tennyson's snake "slipped under 
 a spray ! " 
 
 Poor Cyrus ! I have not even veiled his in- 
 significant and unmusical name, for he. is no 
 longer extant in a world he did nothing to ben- 
 efit or adorn. Oblivion called for him years ago. 
 He was carried off in the season of green apples, 
 being unable to restrain his reckless passion for 
 unripe fruit. As I strew this handful of pop- 
 pies over his unconscious eyelids, I remember 
 with a smile of gratitude the daily fun his 
 drowsy presence afforded to at least one mem- 
 ber of that little household by the sea; and 
 pondering ' how small an interest he ever took 
 in the industries of life, I confidently apply to 
 his "peculiar case" the well-known assertion in
 
 82 A PECULIAR CASK. 
 
 a celebrated monody, " Little he '11 reck if 
 they let him sleep on ! " Vex not his ghost ! 
 Light lie the turf on his inactive elbows, for 
 they would be troubled, even now, if under press- 
 ure of any kind. It cannot be seriously said 
 of him that he "rests from his labors," poor 
 lad, for his frequent slumber was always more 
 natural than his infrequent toil, and he knew 
 how to take much ease during his brief sojourn 
 in this work-a-day world. No " hoary-headed 
 swain" Down East can ever make this passing 
 observation touching the habits of our defunct 
 acquaintance : 
 
 "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn." 
 
 But many of us still remember how often 
 
 "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
 
 Tli at wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, 
 
 His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles by."
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS,
 
 i 
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 
 
 ENTLEMEN, Your daring eccentrici- 
 ties have often moved me to address you ; 
 but your recent gambols on my own 
 premises compel immediate attention to the subject. 
 The last time some of your fraternity unexpectedly 
 called at my residence several incidents occurred 
 which were not at all to your credit as honest and 
 true men. Some of them, as the painters say, 
 were entirely "out of drawing." Pardon me if I 
 remind ycru in this public manner of the well-ven- 
 tilated, proverbial reference to that fine sense of 
 honor which is said to exist even among individ- 
 uals of your exceptional calling. In " breaking 
 and entering," as the law succinctly denominates
 
 86 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 
 
 one of the customs of your craft, you did not, on 
 the occasion referred to (again I crave forgiveness 
 for the candid strain of my complaint), so care- 
 fully abstain from injuring my unfortunate posses- 
 sions as you might have done. It has never been 
 the habit of the confiding household to which I 
 belong to lock either its doors or its drawers, but 
 to save all unnecessary trouble by leaving every- 
 thing we own most easy of access and quite free 
 to the handling of your brotherhood, should any 
 members of it chance to drop in upon us ; yet, 
 notwithstanding our forethought in your behalf, 
 our studied solicitude for your comfort and con- 
 venience, you abstracted all the keys thus left to 
 your mercy and utterly disregarded our natural 
 claims in the matter. Note for one moment, gen- 
 tlemen, what trouble you have caused us by this 
 oversight of propriety. Every instrument you 
 have thus purloined and appropriated to other 
 entrances must be replaced by us; and, as the 
 locks on most of the doors thus defrauded are 
 patent ones and not easily fitted by an ordinary 
 locksmith, experts at a distance must be sent for
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 87 
 
 and brought, with considerable expense, into these 
 gaping and unprotected apartments. Again, it is 
 not exactly according to the Commandments for 
 an unknown number of persons to come by night 
 into a dwelling-house of which they do not " hold 
 the title-deed," wearing boots that leave indelible 
 nail-marks on the tops of other people's pianos 
 and that soil unworn carpets and stairs with a 
 compound of tar and mud, whose consistence it is 
 beyond the efforts of time and chemistry to re- 
 move. Spilling oil or other disagreeable fluid by 
 the quart, or even by the pint, on couches and 
 table-covers and leaving it supernatent where fine 
 proof engravings have been laid is not a high-toned 
 act, gentlemen, and ought not to be sanctioned by 
 your guild. I am sorry to notice, also, a morbid 
 tendency in your profession, of late, to mutilate 
 paintings hanging on the inoffensive walls ; and 
 the inhuman wish will not be kept down that 
 some of you could be compelled to change places 
 with them, for a few hours, at least. There 
 seems, too, a growing desire among you to molest 
 the marble adornments, 
 
 " Whose white investments figure innocence,"
 
 88 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 
 
 in a house. Consider for a moment, gentlemen, 
 what it must be for a proprietor to go down stairs 
 in the morning and find his own bust transmuted 
 from a " speaking likeness " into an object fit only 
 for the ash-barrel ! Think of his domestic part- 
 ner's feelings when she descends into the drawing- 
 room, after your midnight visit, and beholds the 
 wreck you have left behind ! Gentlemen, could 
 you have been present on a certain morning of 
 last week, you would have witnessed a scene of 
 woe to flutter in unwonted manner the most dis- 
 honest heart, albeit, you are, I believe, somewhat 
 given to the melting mood. (The silver tea-set 
 you conveyed away from us during your late so- 
 journ was a wedding-gift, most chastely wrought. 
 Where is it now and what rank furnace saw its 
 molten pangs'?) I will not here enumerate all 
 
 " The parcels and particulars of our grief " ; 
 but what an incommunicative heap you left us 
 of what was once the semblance of a living and 
 immortal art ! There lay our " Young Augustus," 
 quite chapfallen ; our " Clytie," headless in the 
 flower of youth; our "Dying Gladiator," more
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 89 
 
 than dead and turned to clay ; our skyey-pointing 
 " Mercury," overthrown and void. Bending over 
 her vanished treasures (spoils of many and many 
 a happy year), the tearful owner stood, a monu- 
 ment of sorrow paralyzed by grief, among her 
 broken idols. Really, gentlemen, it did seem a 
 wholesale and superfluous destruction of beautiful 
 things (could not one suffice 1) ; but perhaps you 
 are of Captain Swosser's opinion, that " if you 
 make pitch hot you cannot make it too hot." 
 (Pardon this levity, gentlemen, on a ' theme so 
 serious ; but pitch is always suggestive.) 
 
 I did not hear your ingress on that fatal night 
 which brought us all our woe, for I am torpid as 
 a watchman after twelve o'clock ; but if I had 
 encountered you on my premises during your call 
 I should have made a special revolving plea for 
 the safety of those particular household gods. 
 Excuse my bluntness, gentlemen ; but your icono- 
 clastic feats are unpraiseworthy and will not bear 
 repetition. Such rites are unholy in the extreme, 
 and are only practised by bunglers in your voca- 
 tion. Performances like those are crude and can-
 
 90 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 
 
 not come to good. No true artist will ever stoop 
 so low. 
 
 I linger over our wrongs because they are so 
 great. You have inflicted upon this family a 
 household cruelty, and, to employ the pomp of 
 Shakespearean phrase, have made us 
 
 " Feel the bruises of the day before, 
 And suffer the condition of the times 
 To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
 Upon our honors." 
 
 We are, indeed, wounded where we least expected 
 blows; and we cannot, therefore, as some of our 
 modern judges and juries do, regard you in the 
 light of honest and civil citizens. I am aware 
 that current sympathy, in and out of the courts, 
 now runs in favor of protecting the criminal ; but 
 the amusements you pursue, though possibly lucra- 
 tive, are dangerous. Your pastime is open to sus- 
 picion, at least. There are individuals here and 
 there, even in this year of the Republic, who doubt 
 if a thief ought to be habitually classed with hon- 
 est men. " Flat burglary " has in some quarters 
 become prejudicial to reputations.
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 91 
 
 Not many years ago, in England, a country, 
 I am told, from which many of your stock ha\ 7 e 
 emigrated to this one, they instituted a kind of 
 gymnastic exercise specially adapted for your per- 
 manent reform. "Dancing on nothing" I think 
 they called the saltatory position where sentence 
 was executed in those days. A friend of mine 
 attended several trials at the Old Bailey in 1827, 
 and on one occasion saw three able-bodied and 
 accomplished gentlemen of your persuasion con- 
 demned to death for forgery and house-breaking; 
 and there was no pardon following close upon the 
 decision of that court. They gave no quarter then 
 to Worshipful Knights of the False Keys. There 
 was no divergence of opinion touching the char- 
 acter of your Order in those days, gentlemen. 
 
 Yours is not a liberal profession ; consequently, 
 your exceptional career is limited. A great artist 
 in your line is now passing the remainder of his 
 life (when not engaged in lapidarian dissections) 
 in the contemplation of a very small, unfurnished 
 apartment, adorned with no wood-work and much 
 rectangular iron. He possessed rare social quali-
 
 92 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 
 
 ties and was friendly to the worst pursuits of man. 
 Constabulary restraint grew fluid at his touch. 
 From his youth up he could pick a lock with the 
 best of his tribe, and shop-lifting was his favorite 
 faith. His special gift, perhaps, lay in crawling 
 through apertures where an infant's body would 
 have been tightly wedged. The secret skill with 
 which he transferred the well-guarded property of 
 others into his own keeping seemed a new-born 
 power, coming into the world only at his particular 
 advent. He was the wonder of his time and the 
 envy of his clan. But pause now before his her- 
 mit cell and gaze upon his shaven head. Your 
 own fair locks, gentlemen, may one day come to 
 to be picked like his. He once had curls abun- 
 dant as your own. Think of your macassared 
 crowns diminished to that ignoble condition ! Un- 
 der the circumstances, gentlemen, is it obtrusive 
 in me to warn you and call your attention loudly 
 to this example of capillary unattraction before 
 you 1 "You have had among you, no doubt, many 
 a hair-breadth escape ; but yonder dismantled 
 dome of thought, once thatched with comely locks,
 
 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 93 
 
 preaches a lesson to you not to be lightly set aside. 
 Your turn in the barber-shop of fate, when you, 
 too, will be invited to take the inexorable chair, is 
 sure to come. The avenging shears are waiting to 
 crop you also. " Be wise to-day ; 't is madness to 
 defer," cries Dr. Young, in his suggestive " Night 
 Thoughts," a book written for after-dark reflection, 
 the very time when your unhallowed business 
 begins. Think, gentlemen, how party-colored trou- 
 sers would become such nimble legs as yours ! 
 Would iron bracelets ornament a pair of wrists in 
 close proximity to taper fingers such as you ex- 
 hibit, fingers educated, I am informed, by adepts 
 in reducing size to especial emergencies'? Gentle- 
 men, I will pursue no further a course of thought 
 distasteful perhaps to sensitive spirits and unwel- 
 come to household artists like yourselves. I will 
 venture the hope, however, that you will, in all 
 future exploits on my own premises, do me the 
 particular favor to abstain from wanton acts of 
 cruelty to " lifeless and inanimate clay " (to say 
 nothing of marble), acts 
 
 " That make such waste in brief mortality."
 
 94 FAMILIAR LETTER TO HOUSE-BREAKERS. 
 
 Ill closing this epistle, let me remind your brother- 
 hood of an observation written years ago by a 
 brilliant and thoughtful French woman, when 
 describing a certain notorious and infamous char- 
 acter who figured a long time since in high Pa- 
 risian circles : " There are two little inconvenien- 
 ces," said she, "which make it difficult for any one 
 to undertake his funeral oration, namely, his life 
 and his death ! " This remark is equally valuable 
 to those of us who move in a lower stratum of 
 society than the archbishop whom Madame was 
 depicting. Take care, gentlemen with fractured 
 reputations, devourers of widows' houses, and 
 breakers and enterers generally, or your own dark 
 records, like that of the great prelate's, may de- 
 prive you also of those obsequies which he for- 
 feited by the habitual sequestration of other 
 people's property and the application of it to his 
 own unbridled and selfish uses. 
 
 Gentlemen, I have no reluctance now in bidding 
 
 you farewell, and, in doing so, I sincerely wish it 
 
 may erelong be said of all your tribe individually, 
 
 what Lucullus in the play observes of Timon : 
 
 " Every man has his fault, and Honesty is his."
 
 OUB VILLAGE DOGMATIST,
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 
 
 F " to be wise were to be obstinate, " Un- 
 derbill has lately lost its incarnation of 
 wisdom. A few months ago w followed 
 to his corner-lot in the windy graveyard all that 
 was mortal (and there was considerable of it) of 
 "old Cap'n Barker Brine," as he was familiarly 
 called by man, woman, and child in our little com- 
 munity. Born with protruded lips and elevated 
 eyebrows, he was for many years our village 
 doubter, oracle, and critic, our tyrannical master 
 of opinion in all public and private matters ; and 
 even now the prelude to any wise commonplace is, 
 " Old Cap'n Brine used to say" He is already a 
 classic in Underbill, and will be quoted for cen-
 
 98 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 
 
 turies to come, no doubt. " Cap'n Barker Brine 
 said so" will always be familiar in the common 
 mouth, and will settle many a disputed point 
 theological, political, and domestic for genera- 
 tions yet to advance and take possession of these 
 quaint streets and antique dwellings. What he 
 said was ordinary, unoriginal, and absurdly illogi- 
 cal, but it was the way he said it that produced 
 an effect. He had " great command of language," 
 but the commodity was good for nothing after it 
 had been commanded. He evinced a constitu- 
 tional determination to verbiage unsurpassed in 
 the records of inanity, and only those who knew 
 him could possibly appreciate his affluence of rig- 
 marole. He was a colloquial inebriate, constantly 
 tumbling about in a kind of verbal delirium tre- 
 mens. For instance, I remember one thick, foggy- 
 day he rolled into the post-office, where we were 
 all assembled to wait for the morning mail ; and, 
 on being appealed to for an explanation of the 
 cause which brings about the heavy mists which 
 so frequently envelop us at Underbill, he leaned 
 thoughtfully on his walking-stick and thus deliv-
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 99 
 
 ered himself, in a swelling, majestic tone, that 
 implied long and mysterious study over the phe- 
 nomenon : " When the Atmosphere and Hermisphere 
 comes together, it causes the earth to sweat, and thereby 
 produces a fog ! " The learned manner in which 
 the Cap'n pronounced these idiotic words estab- 
 lished conviction in the minds of nearly all the 
 listeners present. 
 
 The Cap'n was a bulky person, and he needed 
 to be so; for only an extra-sized individual could 
 have carried around such " ponderous syllables " as 
 he encircled. 
 
 Susan G., who gladdens our summer cliffs with 
 her presence, and whose sense of humor is one of 
 her prominent delightful qualities, hoards up ques- 
 tions all winter to stagger the Cap'n with during 
 July and August. She says she has never yet 
 been put off sans answer, no matter ho\v absurd 
 the interrogation. The Cap'n cannot afford to 
 appear unknowing in his native Underbill, before 
 anybody. Susan, encountering him one day at 
 the little-of-e very thing shop, boldly marched up to 
 the chair he was sitting in, surrounded by his ad-
 
 100 OUR VILLA GE DO GMA TIS T. 
 
 miring townsmen, and inquired, " Is there any dif- 
 ference, Captain, between a radical and a barnacle 1 ?" 
 
 " It 's the same specie, the same specie" loftily 
 rejoined the philosopher, with a half-negligent, 
 self-satisfied air, waving off Susan to a more re- 
 moved corner of the shop. S. says there was a 
 general consciousness of superiority in the tone in 
 which the Cap'n said this, that no attempted 
 imitation could possibly delineate. It was the 
 meridian triumph of small vanity and ignorant 
 readiness, which only the Cap'n's experience knew 
 how to combine. S. declares it was inherent, con- 
 summate genius ! 
 
 The blank uniformity of opinion in our small 
 community was due entirely to the influence of 
 this oracular, seaworthy old inhabitant, full as 
 he was of misinformation and conceit. He had 
 picked up, in his early wanderings about the 
 world, a collection of high-sounding phrases, which 
 he never omitted to employ when the time came, 
 and they never failed to produce an effect. The 
 sound of a word was more to him than the sense it 
 conveyed. He found twenty different uses for the
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 101 
 
 same expression. He had a natural disrelish for 
 simplicity, and craved the show of things. When 
 a poor, half-crazed fellow, in a fit of despondency, 
 jumped into the water, and .was taken out before 
 he had time to drown, the Cap'n, in telling the 
 story, said the man had " committed suicide tem- 
 porarily' 1 Observing some thin boards under his 
 arm as he was proceeding homeward to dinner, I 
 asked him what they were for, and he informed 
 me they were for "piazzary purposes." Showing 
 him an ingenious contrivance for washing clothes, 
 which regulated itself, he assumed an artistic ex- 
 pression, and said, " Yes, sir, I preceive it is a self- 
 digesting machine." He affected to be what he 
 called " a studier of complaints" and he made fre- 
 quent allusions to a " suggestion of the brain," 
 and "longevity of the spinal marrow," whatever 
 these diseases might be. He spoke disparagingly 
 of people who kept a " revenue of servants," and 
 a fresh, healthy breeze from the north he called 
 an "embracing air." For the clergy generally he 
 had just contempt, and always spoke of them as 
 " ignorameans" One of his favorite phrases, "the
 
 102 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 
 
 Iin2 of demarcation" he employed every day of his 
 life, and it was amusing to note how he pressed 
 it into conversation even on the most inopportune 
 occasions. You could not be long in his company 
 without culling the information that he had seen 
 " the great Cooper play Richard the King " ; that 
 he had " shaken hands with Old Hickory " (Gen- 
 eral Jackson); that he had "held an argument 
 once with a bishop," whom he complimentarily 
 described as "a high-toned, pompous gentleman " ; 
 and that he had frequently sailed " among the 
 Spanish islands." " When I was master of the 
 old Numy " (Numa Pompilius 1) prefaced many of 
 his impossible adventures; and he constantly re- 
 ferred to a period when he saw a mermaid "off 
 the coast of Gibberalter." " What the Frenchman 
 calls Kick-shoes" (quelque-chose) was an every-day 
 phrase with him. "As the Sweden-virgin* (Swe- 
 denborgians) believe," was another. He quoted 
 frequently from "the Pitomy," whatever that 
 might be ; probably it was the Epitome of some- 
 thing or other, perhaps an old-time nautical 
 volume. One of his favorite axioms was this :
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 103 
 
 "When a man understands navigation he under- 
 stands everything " ; and there was no one in 
 Underhill to dispute the assertion. 
 
 The Cap'n's admiration for the First Napo- 
 leon was profusely vociferous whenever occasion 
 offered. Indeed, his worship extended to all the 
 Bonaparte family, and he spoke as familiarly of 
 Joseph and Jerome as of his own brethren of the 
 sea. But, instead of declaring himself, as he 
 meant no doubt to do, a Napoleon.ist, he always 
 made the mistake of asserting that he was a 
 " stanch Neapolitan" having early in life, no 
 doubt, got the impression that was the word 
 most expressive of his homage for the Napoleon 
 dynasty. 
 
 He would read steadily by the hour in an anti- 
 quated dictionary called "Perry's Royal Stand- 
 ard " ; but Plutarch and Pope, he said, engaged 
 his attention more constantly than all other au- 
 thors. Somehow he had got a confused idea that 
 they were contemporary writers. 
 
 This was the person who dominated Underhill, 
 proving conclusively that a man is apt to be esti-
 
 104 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 
 
 mated everywhere according as he estimates him- 
 self. We all lived under the sway of his critical 
 faculty, and accepted his dictum from mere force 
 of habit. Nobody cared to praise or find fault 
 with the paint on a new house, the style of a new 
 barn, the color of a new cow, the gait of a new 
 horse, the sermons of a new minister, until the 
 Cap'n had " pronounced upon them." I remember 
 he spoiled all the chances of settling an excellent 
 young clergyman in our parish by saying of the 
 new candidate, that "his thoughts ivas poor, and his 
 manners in the pulpit was prepostuous." Some few 
 of the parishioners attempted a dissent from this 
 judgment, but it availed nothing. " Old Cap'n 
 Brine don't like him " settled the matter, but not 
 the minister. 
 
 The Cap'n's wife had died in middle life, and we 
 were informed by the only old lady in the parish 
 who dared to speak disparagingly of the village 
 oracle, that " Maria Brine was harnsum as a picter 
 when she was young," but that she was worn out 
 by her husband's contempt for every word she ut- 
 tered in his presence, "scorched by his disdain."
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 105 
 
 If the meek woman happened to make a remark 
 on any subject under consideration, he would 
 fiercely demand how she came to know anything 
 about it ! "I believe to my soul," said our inform- 
 ant, " he fairly mortified that poor creetur into her 
 grave long before her time ! " 
 
 Our first encounter with the Cap'n happened in 
 this wise. When we first went to look for summer 
 lodgings in Underbill, the postmaster referred us to 
 "Cap'n Barker Brine down by the p'int, who some- 
 times took folks to board as an accommodation." 
 Steering coastwise, according to direction, we found 
 a stout, cranberry-colored personage mending some 
 old lobster-nets that were spread out on the little 
 green lawn between the rocks at the back of his 
 weather-beaten house. We opened the garden- 
 gate and saluted the master on his own premises ; 
 but he was arrogantly oblivious, or pretended to 
 be, that two strangers had entered on his domain. 
 
 " Is Captain Brine at home 1 " we inquired. 
 
 " He is," deliberately responded the proud pro- 
 prietor. 
 
 " Can we see him ] " one of us ventured to ask.
 
 106 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 
 
 "You can," responded the retired mariner, who 
 still went on, like a determined old spider, labori- 
 ously mending his. nets. 
 
 Coming nearer to the point, we asked if he were 
 Captain Brine. 
 
 " I am," he replied ; and taking from his jacket- 
 pocket a half-decayed clay pipe, proceeded to look 
 down the bowl as if the vista were a mile or two 
 long, assuming all the while the appearance of a 
 philosopher "tracking Suggestion to her inmost 
 cell." 
 
 " We have come to look for board this summer, 
 Captain, and we 've taken the liberty to inquire 
 here." 
 
 "Nobody henders ye," jerked out the net- 
 mender. 
 
 "Is there good fishing off these rocks, Cap- 
 tain T' 
 
 " 'Cordin' to what yon call good ! " he replied. 
 
 " Professor Agassi z says this is a capital place 
 for perch," we ventured to remark. 
 
 " Old Gashus don't know everything," responded 
 the Cap'u.
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 107 
 
 " But he knows a great deal about fishes, having 
 made them a special study," we rejoined. 
 
 " I can learn Gashus and all the rest of 'em 
 their A B C ! " roared the Cap'n, with an exple- 
 tive at the end of his defiant remark. 
 
 Not caring to dispute with the irate old mariner 
 as to the relative piscatory knowledge of the great 
 professor and himself, we brought round the con- 
 versation to its starting-point, and begged to know 
 if he could " accommodate " us for two months in 
 his cottage. The old man gave a contemptuous 
 glance from under his shaggy gray brows, and thus 
 delivered himself: "In the fust place, I'm not 
 acquainted with ye. In the second place, you 're 
 too set in your notions for me. In the third 
 place, we don't take boarders no more." 
 
 Some time after this encounter we came to 
 know the Cap'n intimately, and were frequently 
 honored with invitations to fish with him. Well 
 might a plain, unlettered farmer, who feared we 
 might underrate the Cap'n's powers, observe in 
 our hearing with considerable emphasis, "Cap'n 
 Barker Brine can handle logic just as well as I can
 
 108 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 
 
 handle a hoe ! " The logic was poor enough, to be 
 sure, but 0, the manner of it, the handling, 
 therein consisted jts greatness] He measured 
 everything by the shadow of his own paucity of 
 intellect, mistaking himself all the while for a 
 mental giant. His ideas had been deranged by the 
 village flattery of attention to his opinions, until 
 he came to consider his own feeble and foolish 
 judgments a necessity for the welfare of mankind. 
 Having no humility to begin with, vanity, nur- 
 tured in a weak community, soon grafted itself on 
 such a nature, and self-conceit blossomed and 
 flourished accordingly. His godship among the 
 natives became a fact which he never once ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 It is said that shortly before the Cap'n passed 
 away, he turned to an old neighbor who was watch- 
 ing at his bedside, and with a kind of short-breath 
 ostentation gave this his last order : " Ira Cof- 
 fin ! let tJie line of demarcation proceed from this end 
 of the house ! " He was evidently babbling of his 
 funeral corteye, and the closing passage in " Enoch 
 Arden " came to my mind, as the dwellers in
 
 OUR VILLAGE DOGMATIST. 109 
 
 Underbill solemnly formed and marched in their 
 Sunday garments at the obsequies of Captain 
 Brine : 
 
 "And when they buried him the little port 
 Had seldom seen a costlier funeral." 
 
 Truly says Sir Thomas Browne, " Man is a no- 
 ble animal, splendid in ashes, and pompous in the 
 grave ! "
 
 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING,"
 
 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING." 
 
 THINK I never saw a person who 
 needed renewal of garments in a more 
 pronounced degree than the gaunt in- 
 dividual I encountered a few weeks ago in Omaha. 
 We met casually on the upland overlooking Coun- 
 cil Bluffs, whither I had gone for a morning walk 
 in that city of newness and hospitality. The man 
 was sitting on the stump of a recently heheaded 
 tree, regarding a watch, which he now and then 
 held up in a kind of hopeless manner, and listened 
 to for a sign of life from its inner apartments. 
 When he saw me approaching he rose up and 
 asked for " the time o' day." As I had only 
 " Boston time," and that was of no use so far " out
 
 114 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING." 
 
 West," he sighed, again shook the unresponsive 
 article in his hand, and spoke as follows : 
 " This 'ere watch, stranger, 's a puzzler. Some 
 thing 's the matter with 'er. I 've seen a good-die 
 of trouble in my day, but nothin' at all like this 
 afore. In my younger days I once had a personal 
 difficulty with a bear, but that was fun compared 
 to this affliction." 
 
 Noticing a settled grief on the poor fellow's 
 soiled and sunken countenance, I sat down beside 
 him on the ample resting-place he had chosen, and 
 made inquiry as to the cause of his untimely sorrow r . 
 After a brief pause he thus unburdened himself: 
 " Stranger, if you was in the watch line, we 'd have 
 nothing to do with one another ; but as you ain't, 
 I don't mind givin' you 'er history, which you '11 
 allow is somewhat discouragin'. I bought 'er two 
 months ago in She-cargo for sixteen dollars down 
 and five dollars in poultry. I had 'er of a fine- 
 lookin' man who keeps jewillry on the sidewalk 
 down by the Palmer House. He was a perfect 
 gentleman in appearance, wore studs himself, and 
 his conversation was high-toned. He said he was a
 
 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING." 115 
 
 member in reg'lar standin' of more 'n fifty churches 
 in various parts of the United States where he 
 traded. He said he set his life by the watch, but 
 would part with 'er if he was shore the man he 
 sold 'er to was a moral man, and would take good 
 care of 'er. He said she was wunst the property 
 of a particular friend o' hisn, one o* the craovvned 
 heads o' Ure-up, but the king was obleeged to sell 
 'er on accoaunt of a change in his circumstarnces. 
 He said there was more 'n two hundred jewills in 
 'er which was invisible to the naked eye. Waal, 
 to make a long story short, I negoshated for 'er 
 on the spot, and I 'member just as well as if 't was 
 yisterday, he said she would n't warnt cleanin' ef 
 I car'd 'er in mur pocket, keerful, for twenty 
 year. 
 
 "So, ye see, I took 'er 'long to Rock Island 
 on the Mississippi, where I live, but she seemed 
 to go on the jump all the way daown. Waal, 
 I carried 'er into Jason's one day, and asked 
 him to give a look into 'er insides, and tell me, 
 ef he could, what made 'er act so. He screwed 
 his old glass into the right eye, and arter a while
 
 116 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING." 
 
 he laid 'er down on the coaunter, and says he, 
 1 She 's a powerful good watch, but she warnts 
 cleanin' ! ' When I heerd that, I was dumb- 
 founded. Says I, ' She was cleaned all over last 
 week.' Says he, ' That may be, but she 's full o' 
 dirt naow. It 's dusty this fall,' says he, ' and 
 some on it 's got into 'er.' Waal, I thought it all 
 over, and said he might go to work on 'er next 
 day ; and he charged me tew dollars and fifty 
 cents for cleanin' on 'er aout. Pooty soon I had 
 to go off to Aurory, and she begun to act quair 
 agin. So I took 'er into a watchmaker's there, 
 and asked him to fling his eye round, and see 
 what ailed 'er. Waal, he did, for ez much as five 
 miuits, and then says he, ' She 's a fust-rate watch, 
 but she warnts cleanin' ! ' Says I (and I could n't 
 help gittiu' riled then), ' She 's bin cleaned aout 
 twice lately, and that 's a fact.' ' Waal,' says he, 
 ' I never seed a dirtier, and if she ain't 'tended to, 
 double quick, in twenty-four hours she '11 bust of 
 'er own accord, and fly all to pieces, and never go 
 agin.' This illarmed me, nat'rally, and so I told 
 him to strip 'er and go to work with his tooth-
 
 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING." 117 
 
 brush and things, and I 'd pay him what was 
 right. So he did, and he sot down on me for one 
 seventy-five, and one fifty for what he called in- 
 side-entle expenses. Waal, she went ellygant all 
 the way on to Milwaukee, but the fust night I got 
 thar she begun to hitch and sputter to that ex- 
 tent I run over to a watchmaker, early in the 
 mornin', for assistance. Waal, he turned 'er over 
 three or four times, and kind o' smiled at the 
 ruinblin' inside on 'er. Then he looked thoughtful 
 and pried 'er open. Says I, ' Enny thing serious ? ' 
 Says he, and his reply run through me like a 
 fawk, says he, ' She 's a remarkable good time- 
 piece, but she warnts cleanin ! ' Waal, to make an 
 end to mur story, I had 'er put through his mill, 
 and some o' his ile slung into 'er. He said 't was 
 such a ugly job (I told him when he took' er in 
 hand to be careful o' the invisible jewills), that his 
 bill would be four dollars and ten cents, the ten 
 cents bein' for fingerin' careful round the. reubies 
 and things. Waal, Sir, she cut up agin last 
 night, and I stept in to Cross & Jones's, and asked 
 their young man to ixamine 'er parts, and pro-
 
 118 A WATCH THAT "WANTED CLEANING." 
 
 noaunce upon ? er. Waal, he rubbed in his mag- 
 nify ing-glass, and screwtenized 'er, and says be, 
 * That 's the most valuble watch I ever seed inside 
 
 o' Omaha, but she warnts cleaning most y ! ' 
 
 When I heerd that, I expressed myself like a dis- 
 gusted night-hawk, and snatched 'er aout o' his 
 hands, and brought 'er raound here to ponder over. 
 What I wish to inquire is, Stranger (and I ask 
 for information), how many times a watch thet 's 
 full o' invisible jewills has to be cleaned aout in 
 the course o' two months'? I never owned one 
 afore, but if the jewills nee-sessiates that expense, 
 as I 'm a pore man, had n't I better have 'em 
 punched aout, don't you think 1 " 
 
 And I advised him to have the "jewills "re- 
 moved immediately, and sold in Europe for the 
 most they would bring.
 
 BOTEEKSOME PEOPLE,
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 ASTER SLOWWORM, the grammarian, 
 on glancing at the title of this paper, 
 will affirm, without contradiction, that 
 the word bothersome cannot be found in the dic- 
 tionary. I retort on our verbal patriarch the 
 equally truthful remark that neither does the 
 word enthusiasm exist in Shakespeare! And just 
 there I leave Master Slowworm's objection. 
 
 There are loose superfluous mortals who seern 
 to have come into the world on a special mis- 
 sion to break the Ten Commandments ; and they 
 would do it all at one blow, if possible. But I do 
 not reckon them among the bothersome people 
 of our planet. The law kindly looks after those
 
 122 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 who thus meddle wickedly with certain portions 
 of the Decalogue, and deals justly with them all. 
 But the bother ers in life escape unpunished, and 
 go to their graves unbranded with infamy. Their 
 tombstones are often, nay, commonly, placed in 
 the most respectable corners of the graveyard ; 
 and I have found, not infrequently, the word 
 virtue engraven on their marbles. Annoyances, 
 not sins, have been their offences against man, 
 woman, and children kind ; and it was in little 
 things they performed their abominations, while 
 sojourning above ground. 
 
 In yonder breezy mound sleeps all that was 
 mortal of Mr. Benjamin Borax. The inscription 
 above his bones does not record all his worldly 
 accomplishments. He had one trait which the 
 stone-cutter has omitted ; and I refer to it, in 
 passing, simply in justice to B. B.'s remains. 
 Having had his acquaintance forty long and tedi- 
 ous years, I am qualified to speak feelingly of 
 the man ; and I do it without a particle of malice, 
 or exultation at his removal from my "list of 
 friends." But I will say that, while he was living,
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 123 
 
 after an experience elongated through the period 
 I have mentioned, death had no longer any ter- 
 rors for the members of my immediate family 
 or myself. B. B. never meant to "hurt any- 
 body's feelings." " He would n't kill a fly " might 
 have been chiselled with the rest of his church- 
 yard eulogy. But he bothered all who knew him 
 to the very verge of unforgiveness. When he 
 entered your house, fear fell upon all its inmates ; 
 for his want of tact and courtesy, his utter obliv- 
 ion to those small decencies which make social life 
 sweet and commendable, often rendered his pres- 
 ence, not to speak it profanely, little short of 
 infernal. Bearing about an incapacity for hap- 
 piness on his countenance, he would come unsmil- 
 ing and unbidden into your nursery, and frighten, 
 by the very awkwardness in his face, the small oc- 
 cupants almost into idiocy. Not knowing how 
 to approach tJie infant sense, he bothered the little 
 ones by his miscalculations at direful pleasantry 
 with them. Dickens mentions a cruel propensity 
 which some people have of rumpling the hair of 
 small boys, as if they were little dogs that ought
 
 124 BO THERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 to be rubbed up somewhere. No sooner does 
 a sleek young fellow enter the room, with his 
 hair "all in order for company," than up starts 
 some great stupid visitor to begin a friendship 
 with the lad by wobbling up his carefully brushed 
 locks into a tangled mop of uncomeliness. Such 
 a bothersome old towzer was B. B. ; and I confess 
 it was not without a secret satisfaction that I 
 once saw little Peter F. administer him a sturdy 
 kick on his unprotected ankles during the very 
 act of mangling up the urchin's pretty golden 
 curls. When I called Peter to account next 
 morning for this belligerent outbreak of temper, 
 he said, with considerable emphasis, that he 'd 
 " do it again, if Mr. Borax meddled with him ! " 
 (P. F. at that time was aged six, and went to bed 
 habitually, without a murmur, at eight o'clock !) 
 
 Children hate to be bothered with questions, 
 both in and out of school ; and yet how we bore 
 them with catechismal demands, almost in their 
 very cradles. As soon as they are old enough 
 to stammer out a reply, we arraign their little 
 wits, and seek to make them respond to such
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 125 
 
 foolish whimsies as, " How old was Methuselah]" 
 " Who discovered America 1 " " What do two and 
 two make 1 ?" and the like. Nervous little Rob 
 R. was nearly frightened into fits one day, when 
 bungling old Parson Pew, in his hard, unsmiling 
 way, with a voice like thunder, asked him sud- 
 denly, "Who made the world in six days, and 
 rested on the seventh V' "I did ! "" screamed the 
 child, bursting into tears, " but I'll never 
 do so any more ! " Poor Bob was bothered into 
 assuming to himself the formation of a universe, 
 and told a sinless lie in order to blurt out a 
 promise of future good conduct. 
 
 Emerson, in one of his wise, characteristic sen- 
 tences, says we sometimes meet a person who, 
 if good manners had not existed, would have in- 
 vented them. I know a cumberer of my neigh- 
 borhood who wotild have originated bothersome 
 bad ones, if the article had not previously been 
 contrived. He brings his total wealth of infe- 
 licities with him wherever he comes. When he 
 enters your dwelling, mental chaos begins. He 
 is anxious and peppery, albeit he is uncertain,
 
 126 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 even to the very Anno Domini in which he is 
 at present breathing and fuming. He looks en- 
 cyclopaedias, but utters himself in primers. He 
 is a perfect master of Misreport. His mind could 
 be dispensed with, like a decayed turnip, or an 
 out-of-date oyster; and he forgets an event 
 before he knows it. Gravity and lassitude would 
 better become his lack-brain-itudenarian habit ; 
 but he chooses to be conversational and informa- 
 tive. He never keeps an appointment. Every- 
 thing " slips his mind." He carries two watches, 
 but he never knows the time of day ; nor (I am 
 bound to say it) of night, either. Once seated at 
 your winter fireside, he "outwatches the bear." 
 He begins a story as the clock strikes Twelve, and 
 when the coal is declining to burn any longer. 
 It is near One when the uneasy shadow departs, 
 volunteering, as he goes, the unsolicited remark 
 that he is " sure to come again next week, when 
 he hopes to find ine in better spirits." 
 
 I was charmed with J. W.'s experience with a 
 ponderous country neighbor of his not long ago, 
 who would "drop in" just as the family were all
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 127 
 
 pointing bedward, and then bother them for an 
 hour or two with puffy accounts of his ailments. 
 J. W. keeps a parrot, one of the most sapient 
 of birds, and he lets the chattering, companion- 
 able creature walk about the room, strutting, 
 with habitual self-importance, here and there as 
 pretentious fancy dictates. One night W.'s un- 
 prepossessing neighbor settled himself, about nine 
 o'clock, in front of the crackling logs, and began 
 his usual hypochondriac recital. The seance 
 threatened to be prolonged into midnight. Oba- 
 diah's droning voice went sounding on its "dim 
 and perilous way " ; and now and then one of the 
 female members of the family glided noiselessly 
 out of the room, unnoticed by the dreary visitor. 
 J. W. felt the need of all his Christian fortitude, 
 and was making up his mind for a sitting never 
 equalled on a similar occasion in length, when the 
 parrot, spying around Obadiah's legs, discovered a 
 bare spot lying between the hitched-up trousers 
 and the adjacent stocking. Working his way cau- 
 tiously under the chair, while the narrator was 
 deeply engaged in dull discourse, the bird sud-
 
 128 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 denly pounced upon the uncovered limb, and 
 adroitly nipped out a piece about the size of a 
 small blister. The pain caused Obadiah to spring 
 into the air; and, seizing his hat, he left the 
 house, vowing vengeance on the "pesky parrot." 
 And to this day he declares he will never enter 
 J. W.'s mansion again, "so long as that tarnal 
 bird is round." 
 
 There is a kind of long-drawn bothersome vis- 
 itor, who has a habit of disappointing his host 
 and hostess by constantly making little feints of 
 going away, but never quite accomplishing it. 
 Now he raises himself slowly from his chair, and 
 your cheated spirits rise with him. He is about 
 to say " good-night/' you think. He is preparing 
 to depart ! His figure is partly out of the seat in 
 which he has been for two hours planted ! He 
 seems fairly under way ! One manly effort more, 
 and you are free ! Vain hope ! it is only to settle 
 himself more firmly that he stretches up, for a 
 moment, his awful form. Down he sinks again, 
 and you are booked for another hour of "dire 
 disaster and supine defeat." ye moths of
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 129 
 
 precious moments ! affable wolves of time ! who 
 cat up our very seed-brain, and give us nothing 
 in return but unprofitable husks and chaff! What 
 golden hours ye have remorselessly destroyed, 
 feeding upon those priceless, hoarded evenings 
 that never can be restored, nights that seemed 
 made for study and the "mind's most apt en- 
 deavor " ! 
 
 The Emperor Julius Csesar, on one occasion, 
 proved himself a most bothersome social visitor. 
 I read lately one of Cicero's letters to his friend 
 Atticus, describing a visit which the august Julius 
 had been making at his villa; and the epistle 
 gives a most ludicrous account of the Emperor's 
 "dropping in" upon him. It seems that the 
 world's imperial master had sent word to Cicero 
 that he would soon be along his way, and would 
 give him a call. The silver-tongued orator was 
 only too delighted at the promised honor, and 
 immediately hurried off a messenger to say, 
 " Come, by all means ; happy to see you any 
 time ; and you must spend several days with me." 
 On thfc morning of the bald-headed warrior's ex-
 
 130 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 pected arrival, we may judge of Cicero's aston- 
 ishment and alarm, when a courier arrived with 
 the intelligence that Julius was comfortably on 
 his way to the villa, but that he was attended 
 by a thousand men, who must also be "put up," 
 as we would say nowadays; that is, handsomely 
 fed and sheltered during the Emperor's little 
 visit. Cicero's accommodations .were not exten- 
 sive, and his dismay corresponded in inverse 
 ratio to the smalluess of his quarters. Not an- 
 ticipating any such addition to his limited hos- 
 pitalities, he was obliged to send out at once, all 
 over the neighborhood, for tents and provender; 
 and, borrowing here and there, he managed to 
 make a fair appearance when the great Julius and 
 all his host came riding up. But writing about 
 the affair to Atticus, after the party had gone on, 
 and tranquillity had been restored to his house, 
 he says, "The Emperor was very pleasant, and 
 all that, but, under the circumstances, he is not 
 a man to whom I should ever say again, ' When 
 you are passing this way another time, sir, drop 
 in and give us a call.'"
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 131 
 
 But how various the employment of your pro- 
 fessionally "bothersome people"! Kind-hearted 
 B. C. told me he had been bothered for years by 
 a reforming inebriate, who made his acquaintance 
 in this wise. B. is an old-fashioned clergyman 
 who allows himself to be at everybody's call ; and, 
 seated one Saturday morning busily "touching 
 up " his sermon for the next day, Susan (his Irish 
 footman, as he calls her) knocked at the study 
 door (B. C. always writes in an apartment up five 
 pairs of stairs), and informed the good padre that 
 " a gintleman warnted to see his Riverence down 
 in the lower intry." Now it is a matter of sev- 
 eral minutes, and much expenditure of leg-power, 
 to descend those multitudinous nights which lead 
 into the hall below; but down goes B., with his 
 ever-smiling, ready courtesy, to meet the gintle- 
 man who has so kindly called upon him. B. says 
 a suggestive odor, not at all aqueous, but com- 
 pounded of various cheap and vile liquors, saluted 
 his nostrils as he approached the vicinity of his 
 unknown caller ; and that when he got fairly into 
 the hall he was aware of a presence he had never
 
 132 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 encountered before. The figure raised its head 
 with difficulty, and thus delivered itself some- 
 what ostentatiously : " I am a reformed inebriate, 
 Doctor, and, having taken the oath, would hum- 
 bly beg your Riverence to lend me five dollars to 
 help me keep the pledge." B. C. affirms that he 
 could not at the moment determine exactly how 
 that precise amount in currency was to help the 
 poor man in the object named, but that he 
 thought it best to "accommodate his caller to 
 the desired sum." Dismissing the whilom ine- 
 briate with such counsel as his wise heart can 
 always command, B. went up stairs again to his 
 dutiful task. A week went by, and that morning 
 call had wellnigh vanished from his recollection, 
 when Susan again appeared as heretofore and an- 
 nounced a second visit to the doctor from his 
 unknown friend. Down went the good man in 
 his slippers, anticipating an announcement from 
 the poor creature that success had followed his 
 efforts to keep sober, and that he had come to 
 express his gratitude. As B. was going down the 
 last pair of stairs, the man, holding firmly on to
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 133 
 
 the baluster below, looked up confidingly and said, 
 " Doctor, I 've fallen again, and have come for 
 five more ! " "I expostulated with him," said the 
 doctor, in relating the incident to me, "but he 
 would not retire until I had repeated the loan, 
 and now he is constantly falling, and spends 
 half his time in my front entry, bothering me 
 for continued fives to enable him to stand up 
 against temptation." 
 
 There is a French proverb which declares that 
 nothing is certain to happen but the unforeseen ; 
 and some bothersome people are constantly illus- 
 trating the truth of this Gallic mot. G. T., from 
 his youth up, has been a constant exemplification 
 of it. His watchful parents .placed iron bars 
 across his nursery windows, but he elected to fall 
 down the back stairs twice during his nonage, and 
 on both occasions damaged his slender chances for 
 being reckoned a " pretty fellow." All his life long, 
 instead of hitting straight forward, he has bothered 
 his agonized associates by striking out sideways 
 without warning, and thus getting worsted in every 
 contest. One can never be sure of him to this
 
 134 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 day (he is past seventy and alarmingly vigorous), 
 and he bothers his best friends by unexpected 
 infelicities of thought and action to that degree 
 tl^,t they sometimes breathe the pious wish that 
 he were an aged angel flying somewhere else. To 
 enumerate his unlimited feats in the art of bother- 
 ation would require the pen of a ready writer. 
 
 If G. T. always does the wrong thing his kins- 
 man X. as incontinently says the wrong one, and 
 bothers people in that way. After reading and 
 delighting in that wonderful romance, " The Mar- 
 ble Faun," on being introduced to the distin- 
 guished author, X. asked him if "he had ever 
 been in Italy" And it is related that he inno- 
 cently inquired of Mrs. Stowe one day " if she had 
 looked much into the subject of slavery" ! "Do 
 you take sugar in your coffee, Mr. X. 1 " asked 
 that careful, almost too immaculate housekeeper, 
 the hospitable lady of Joy Cottage, as she handed 
 him a cup of her aromatic beverage. "Never 
 when the coffee is good," replied X., bowing his 
 homage to our admirable hostess. A few moments 
 afterwards we heard his loud, explosive voice call-
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 135 
 
 ing after Tom, the servant, to "pass the sugar " / 
 Now there is nothing positively bad about X. : on 
 the contrary, there is much that is positively good 
 in him. At the first tap of the drum he ran off 
 to the war, and among its battle-records there are 
 no pages more fearless than his. Out of his mod- 
 est income he supports one or more indigent lads 
 (sons of his dead comrades) at the university. 
 He is generous without fault ; but he is tranquilly 
 bothersome in the way I have indicated to the very 
 margin of patient endurance. He is a saint in 
 morals, but a desperate offender in manners. 
 
 My old acquaintance W. H. says the people who 
 bother him most are those human Curiosity ter- 
 riers who watch all your sayings and doings, and 
 never let you stir without following you up every- 
 where with this keen scent. They wish to know 
 " all about you." They seem always on a cheerful 
 tour of investigation among other people's faults 
 or foibles. Their constant cry is, " Lo here ! " or 
 " Lo there ! " They study " to find out your mo- 
 tives " even. They desire to be informed (for their 
 own satisfaction) what actuated you to move thus
 
 136 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 
 
 or thus. Tristram Shandy called this class of 
 botherers " Motive Mongers," and accused his own 
 father of being one of them. Tristram averred 
 that the old gentleman was a very dangerous per- 
 son for a man to sit by, either laughing or crying, 
 for he generally knew your motive for doing both 
 " much better than you knew it yourself." Silas 
 W. carried this searching demand of reasons for 
 conduct to such a length that I once heard him 
 express a decided aversion to Moses, " for," said 
 he, "I never could exactly fathom that man's mo- 
 tives ! " 
 
 Among the smaller brood of bothersome people, 
 my cousin G. reckons those dense-witted, circum- 
 stantial souls who will interrupt your best story 
 with a doubt or a denial of its verity. They live in 
 an atmosphere of imperfect sympathies, and goad 
 you to blasphemy almost by their stolid unrecep- 
 tivity. The man who robs your anecdote of its 
 prosperity by an ill-timed arrest of its recital, says 
 G., would bury his own father before the remains 
 are decently ready for sepulture. 
 
 I had written thus far, when a restless neighbor
 
 BOTHERSOME PEOPLE. 137 
 
 of mine called to bear me away, over a hot road, 
 to view a bloated bowlder he had discovered miles 
 off, on one of his peregrinations. This kind, mis- 
 taken soul constantly bothers me by insisting on 
 " showing me things " I do not desire to see. His 
 mania is that of an Indicator. Some " prospect," 
 some famous kitchen-garden, somebody's pig or 
 poultry, anything big enough "to show," trans- 
 ports him into a fever of exhibition, and you never 
 meet him but he burns to take you somewhere to 
 see something, until you long to bequeath him as 
 a constant resident to the next county. 
 
 But the length of this paper is, I perceive, 
 already a glaring illustration of my subject, and 
 unwittingly I become one of the "Bothersome Peo- 
 ple" I attempt to describe !
 
 PLEASANT GHOSTS,
 
 PLEASANT GHOSTS. 
 
 OFTEN amuse myself, as I sit alone half- 
 dreaming before the fire in a certain 
 upper room, looking out on the river 
 Charles, by calling up the memorable forms of 
 those once active "ministers of thought," who at 
 various periods during the past twenty years have 
 slept in this very apartment, and are now "to calm, 
 unwaking silence consecrate." 
 
 Falling into an afternoon doze not long ago, as 
 I rested in the twilight, " I saw a vision in my 
 sleep," so enchanting in all its details that I shall 
 never forget the exquisite impression left on my 
 mind. I had been re-reading that afternoon Plu- 
 tarch's divine essay " On the Tranquillity of the 
 Mind," and had felt a soothing influence like a dis-
 
 142 PLEASANT GHOSTS. 
 
 tilled aroma rising up out of its lovely pages. When 
 1 came to these words I lingered over them several 
 minutes, half-closing the book : " For as censers, 
 even after they are empty, do for a long 'time re- 
 tain their fragrancy, as Carneades expresseth it, so 
 the good actions of a wise man perfume his mind, 
 and leave a rich scent behind them; so that joy 
 is, as it were, watered with these essences and 
 owes its flourishing to them." Then suddenly I 
 seemed to be listening to the beloved voice of a 
 poet, reading from his manuscript an unprinted 
 piece, which, in the kindness of an old friend- 
 ship, he had brought to gladden me. I thought 
 when he pronounced these words, 
 
 " Where are the others ? Voices from the deep 
 Caverns of darkness answer me, " They sleep ! " 
 
 I heard in the outer passage a low, subdued sym- 
 phony played only as a master-hand can call such 
 harmonies into being. The notes rippled on as if 
 caressed into sound by a most loving hand, and 
 although veiled and seemingly remote in space, 
 they were yet clear enough to be distinctly audi- 
 ble throughout the room. Now the music was a
 
 PLEASANT GHOSTS. 143 
 
 kind of solemn march, intermingled with chants 
 as if from antiphonals, and then it alternated into 
 labyrinthine infinities of joyous, mystical harmony, 
 expressive of rapturous praise and inexhaustible 
 worship. On it seemed to come, 
 
 " As light and wind within some delicate cloud," 
 and pause outside the little room where I was sit- 
 ting. Soon the door swung noiselessly open, and 
 looking up I saw a beautiful procession of well- 
 known forms enter the dimly lighted apartment. 
 The faces were those I had known in years past, 
 and each countenance was radiant with a glow of 
 recognition, as it approached the white-haired poet 
 who sat reading his glowing lines in the twilight. 
 I was about to apprise him of the entrance of so 
 many old and dear friends (shadows although I 
 knew them to be), when one of the figures gave 
 me a sign of warning not to disturb the flow of 
 the poem, intimating with raised forefinger that 
 they had all come to listen. When the last two 
 lines 
 
 " And as the evening twilight fades away, 
 The sky is filled with stars invisible by day "
 
 144 PLEASANT GHOSTS. 
 
 fell from the poet's lips, and he was folding up 
 the manuscript of "Morituri Salutamus," a holy- 
 silence seemed to pervade the room. Then the 
 symphony began again, and as it now rose and 
 died away, " a kind of fading rainbow-music on 
 the air," the figures moved forward toward the 
 spot where their old companion was sitting. Each 
 one seemed to bend above him for a moment with 
 infinite tenderness and illumined love, and then 
 to kiss his forehead twice with a kind of rapture. 
 I know not how many voiceless spirits had thus 
 entered the room, for a mist had fallen before my 
 eyes; but I recognized the never-to-be-forgotten 
 forms of H. and D. and S. and A. and T. and K. 
 and F. and M., 
 
 "Through time and change unquenchably the same," 
 
 just as I had seen them come about Hyperion in 
 the old remembered days. 
 
 A brand falling on the hearth dispersed the 
 immortal company, the living and the dead 
 " inheritors of well-fulfilled renown " ; and when 
 I descended to the library and told my wife what I
 
 PLEASANT GHOSTS. 145 
 
 had seen and heard up stairs, she said, with a wise 
 and delighted smile, " This is what comes of living 
 next door to a great artist. I have never heard 
 him play Beethoven and Bach, through the ceil- 
 ing, more divinely than he has rendered them 
 during the last half-hour. It is a fortune in itself 
 to live in the next house, with thin partitions 
 between, to a master like the Herr Otto D. ; for 
 such a neighbor has the power not only to gladden 
 our waking hours, but to bring us the blessed 
 boon of pleasant dreams."
 
 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE,
 
 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 
 
 were sitting around the blazing fire one 
 wet winter night, in Crawford's Roman 
 studio, when somebody started the sub- 
 ject of inherited wealth and talent. There were 
 half a dozen artists in the group, and among them 
 the handsome and successful Esek Pettibone. He 
 was an aristocratic-looking youth, better dressed 
 than his companions, and his air was that of a 
 man who had a pedigree behind him that entitled 
 him to hold up his head anywhere. None of us 
 knew exactly the story of his life, but we all 
 thought he belonged to a " fine old family " some- 
 where in America. After Crawford, who talked 
 remarkably well, had told several anecdotes apro-
 
 150 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 
 
 pos of the subjects up for comment, he turned to 
 Mr. Pettibone, and asked him to favor the com- 
 pany with a certain little incident in his own life, 
 feeling sure that we should all be interested in the 
 narrative. The elegant young fellow crossed his 
 legs, fondled his mustache in a way that meant 
 willingness, and told the following bit of personal 
 history : 
 
 The name Esek Pettibone, gentlemen, belongs 
 to a remote and pious people, and I wish to affirm 
 in the outset that it is a good thing to be well- 
 born. In thus connecting the mention of my 
 name with a positive statement, I am not unaware 
 that a catastrophe lies coiled up in the juxtaposi- 
 tion. But I cannot help saying plainly that I am 
 still in favor of a distinguished family-tree. ESTO 
 PERPETUA ! To have had somebody for a great- 
 grandfather that was somebody is exciting. To 
 be able to look back on long lines of ancestry that 
 were rich, but respectable, seems decorous and all 
 right. The present Earl of Warwick, I think, 
 must have an idea that strict justice has been
 
 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 151 
 
 done him in the way of being launched properly 
 into the world. I saw the Duke of Newcastle 
 once, and, as the farmer in Con way described 
 Mount Washington, I thought the Duke felt a 
 propensity to " hunch up some." Somehow it is 
 pleasant to look down on the crowd and have a 
 conscious right to do so. 
 
 Left an orphan at the tender age of four years, 
 having no brothers or sisters to prop me round 
 with young affections and sympathies, I fell into 
 three pairs of hands, excellent in their way, but 
 peculiar. Patience, Eunice, and Mary Ann Petti- 
 bone were my aunts on my father's side. All my 
 mother's relations kept shady when the lonely 
 orphan looked about for protection ; but Patience 
 Pettibone, in her stately way, said : " The boy 
 belongs to a good family, and he shall never want 
 while his three aunts can support him." So I 
 went to live with my plain but benignant protec- 
 tors, in the State of New Hampshire. 
 
 During my boyhood, the best-drilled lesson that 
 fell to my keeping was this : " Respect yourself. 
 We come of more than ordinary parentage. Su-
 
 152 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 
 
 perior blood was probably concerned in getting up 
 the Pettibones. Hold your head erect, and some 
 day you shall have proof of your high lineage." 
 
 I remember once, on being told that I must not 
 share my juvenile sports with the butcher's three 
 little beings, I begged to know why not. Aunt 
 Eunice looked at Patience, and Mary Ann knew 
 what she meant. 
 
 *' My child," slowly murmured the eldest sister, 
 " our family no doubt came of a very old stock ; 
 perhaps we belong to the nobility. Our ancestors, 
 it is thought, came over laden with honors, and no 
 doubt were embarrassed with riches, though the 
 latter importation has dwindled in the lapse of 
 years. Respect yourself, and when you grow up 
 you will not regret that your old and careful aunt 
 did not wish you to play with butchers' offspring." 
 
 I felt mortified that I had ever had a desire to 
 "knuckle up" with any but kings' sons or sultans' 
 little boys. I longed to be among my equals in 
 the urchin line, and fly my kite with only high- 
 born youngsters. 
 
 Thus I lived in a constant scene of self-enchant-
 
 THE PET TIB ONE LINEAGE. 153 
 
 ment on the part of the sisters, who assumed all 
 the port and feeling that properly belong to ladies 
 of quality. Patrimonial splendor to come danced 
 before their dim eyes ; and handsome settlements, 
 gay equipages, and a general grandeur of some 
 sort loomed up in the future for the American 
 branch of the House of Pettibone. 
 
 It was a life of opulent self-delusion, which my 
 aunts were never tired of nursing ; and I was too 
 young to doubt the reality of it. All the mem- 
 bers of our little household held up their heads, as 
 if each said, in so many words, " There is no origi- 
 nal sin in our composition, whatever of that com- 
 modity there may be mixed up with the common 
 clay of Snowborough." 
 
 Aunt Patience was a star, and dwelt apart. 
 Aunt Eunice looked at her through a determined 
 pair of spectacles, and worshipped while she gazed. 
 The youngest sister lived in a dreamy state of 
 honors to come, and had constant zoological vis- 
 ions of lions, griffins, and unicorns, drawn and 
 quartered in every possible style known to the 
 Heralds' College. The Reverend Hebrew Bullet,
 
 154 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 
 
 who used to drop in quite often and drink several 
 compulsory glasses of home-made wine, encour- 
 aged his three parishioners in their aristocratic 
 notions, and extolled them for what he called their 
 "stooping down to every-day life." He differed 
 with the ladies of our house only on one point. 
 He contended that the unicorn of the Bible and 
 the rhinoceros of to-day were one and the same 
 animal. My aunts held a different opinion. 
 
 In the sleeping-room of my Aunt Patience re- 
 posed a trunk. Often during my childish years I 
 longed to lift the lid, and spy among its contents 
 the treasures my young fancy conjured up as lying 
 there in state. I dared not ask to have the cover 
 raised for my gratification, as I had often been told 
 I was " too little " to estimate aright what that 
 armorial box contained. "When you grow up, 
 you shall see the inside of it," Aunt Mary Ann 
 used to say to me ; and so I wondered and wished, 
 but all in vain. I must have the virtue of years, 
 before I could view the treasures of past magnifi- 
 cence, so long entombed in that wooden sarcopha-
 
 THE PET TIB ONE LINEAGE. 155 
 
 gus. Once I saw the faded sisters bending over 
 the trunk together, and, as I thought, embalming 
 something in camphor. Curiosity impelled me to 
 linger, but, under some pretext, I was nodded out 
 of the room. 
 
 Although my kinswomen's means were far from 
 ample, they determined that Swiftmouth College 
 should have the distinction of calling me one of 
 her sons, and accordingly I was in due time sent 
 for preparation to a neighboring academy. Years 
 of study and hard fare in country boarding-houses 
 told upon my self-importance as the descendant of 
 a great Englishman, notwithstanding all my let- 
 ters from the honored three came freighted with 
 counsel to " respect myself, and keep up the dig- 
 nity of the family." Growing-up man forgets 
 good counsel. The Arcadia of respectability is 
 apt to give place to the levity of football, and 
 other low-toned accomplishments. The book of 
 life, at that period, opens readily at fun and frolic, 
 and the insignia of greatness give the school-boy 
 no envious pangs. 
 
 I was nineteen when I entered the hoary halls
 
 156 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 
 
 of Swiftmouth. I call them hoary, because they 
 had been built more than fifty years. To me 
 they seemed uncommonly hoary, and I snuffed 
 antiquity in the dusty purlieus. I now began to 
 study in good earnest the wisdom of the past. I 
 saw clearly the value of dead men and mouldy 
 precepts, especially if the former had been en- 
 tombed a thousand years, and if the latter were 
 well done in sounding Greek and Latin. I began 
 to reverence royal lines of deceased monarch s, and 
 longed to connect my own name, now growing into 
 college popularity, with some far-off mighty one 
 who had ruled in pomp and luxury his obsequious 
 people. The trunk in Snowborough troubled my 
 dreams. In that receptacle still slept the proof 
 of our family distinction. " I will go," said I, " to 
 the home of my aunts the next vacation, and there 
 learn how we became mighty, and discover pre- 
 cisely why we don't practise to-day our inherited 
 claims to glory." 
 
 I went to Snowborough. Aunt Patience was 
 now anxious to lay before her eager nephew the 
 proof he burned to behold. But first she must
 
 THE PETTIBONE LINEAGE. 157 
 
 explain. All the old family documents and let- 
 ters were, no doubt, destroyed in the great fire 
 of '98, as nothing in the shape of parchment or 
 paper implying nobility had ever been discovered 
 in Snowborough, or elsewhere. - But there had 
 been preserved, for many years, a suit of imperial 
 clothes, that had been worn by their great-grand- 
 father in England, and, no doubt, in the New 
 World also. These garments had been carefully 
 watched and guarded ; for were they not the 
 proof that their owner belonged to a station in 
 life, second, if second at all, to the royal court of 
 King George himself] Precious casket, into which I 
 was soon to have the privilege of gazing ! Through 
 how many long years these fond, foolish virgins 
 had lighted their unflickering lamps of expectation 
 and hope at this cherished shrine ! 
 
 I was now on my way to the family repository 
 of all our greatness. I went up stairs "on the 
 jump." We all knelt down before the well-pre- 
 served box ; and my proud Aunt Patience, in a 
 somewhat reverent manner, turned the key. My 
 heart, I am not ashamed to confess it now,
 
 158 THE PETTI BONE LINEAGE. 
 
 although it is several years since the partie carree, 
 in search of family honors, were on their knees that 
 summer afternoon in Snowborough, my heart 
 beat high. I was about to look on that which 
 might be a duke's or an earl's regalia. And I was 
 descended from the owner in a direct line ! I had 
 lately been reading Shakespeare's " Titus Androni- 
 cus " ; and I remembered, there before the trunk, 
 the lines, 
 
 " sacred receptacle of my joys, 
 Sweet cell of virtue and nobility ! " 
 
 The lid went up, and the sisters began to unroll 
 the precious garments, which seemed all enshrined 
 in aromatic gums and spices. The odor of that 
 interior lives with me to this day j and I grow 
 faint with the memory of that hour. With pious 
 precision the clothes were uncovered, and at last 
 the whole suit was laid before my expectant 
 eyes. 
 
 Whatever dreadful shock may be in reserve for 
 my declining years, I am certain I can bear it ; 
 for I went through that scene at Snowborough, 
 and still live !
 
 THE PET TIE ONE LINEAGE. 159 
 
 When the garments were fully displayed, all the 
 aunts looked at me. I had been to college ; I had 
 studied Burke's " Peerage " ; I had been once to 
 New York. Perhaps I could immediately name 
 the exact station in noble British life to which 
 that suit of clothes belonged. I could ; I saw it 
 all at a glance. I grew flustered and pale. I 
 dared not look my poor deluded female relatives 
 in the face. 
 
 " What rank in the peerage do these gold-laced 
 garments and big buttons betoken 1 " cried all 
 three. 
 
 " It is a suit of servant's livery!" gasped I, and 
 fell back with a shudder. 
 
 That evening, after the sun had gone down, we 
 buried those hateful garments in a ditch at the 
 bottom of the garden. Rest there, perturbed 
 body-coat, yellow breeches, brown gaiters, and 
 all! 
 
 " Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! "
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN.
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 T is a good thing, said an aged Chinese 
 Travelling Philosopher, for every man, 
 sooner or later, to get back again to his 
 own teacup. And Oo Long was right. Travel 
 may be " the conversion of money into mind,"- 
 and happy the man who has turned much coin 
 into that precious commodity, but it is a good 
 thing, after being tossed about the world from the 
 Battery to Africa, that dry-nurse of lions, as 
 Horace calls her, to anchor once more beside the 
 old familiar tea-urn on the old familiar tea table. 
 This is the only " steamy column " worth hailing 
 with a glad welcome after long absence from home,
 
 164 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 and fully entitled to be heartily applauded for its 
 "loud-hissing" propensities. 
 
 I am not a Marco Polo or a William de Ru- 
 bruqnis, and I have no wonders to tell of the 
 Great Mogul or the Great Cham. I did not sail 
 for Messrs. Pride, Pomp, Circumstance, and Com- 
 pany ; consequently, I have no great exploits to 
 recount. I have been wrecked at sea only once 
 in my many voyages, and, so far as I know my 
 tastes, do not care to solicit aid again to be thrown 
 into the same awkward situation. But for a time 
 I have been 
 
 " Placed far amid the melancholy main," 
 and now I am among my own teacups. This is 
 happiness enough for a cold winter's night. Mid- 
 ocean, and mid teacups ! Stupendous change, 
 let me tell you, worthy friend, who never yet set 
 sail where sharks and other strange sea-cattle bob 
 their noses above the brine, who never lived 
 forty days in the bowels of a ship, unable to hold 
 your head up to the captain's bluff " good-morn- 
 ing " or the steward's cheery " good-night." Sir 
 Philip Sidney discourses of a riding-master he
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 165 
 
 encountered in Vienna, who spoke so eloquently 
 of the noble animal he had to deal with, that he 
 almost persuaded Sir Philip to wish himself a 
 horse. I have known ancient mariners expa- 
 tiate so lovingly on the frantic enjoyments of the 
 deep sea, that very youthful listeners have for the 
 time resolved to know no other existence. If the 
 author of the "Arcadia" had been permitted to 
 become a prancing steed, he might, after the first 
 exhilarating canter, have lamented his equine 
 state. How many a first voyage, begun in hilarious 
 impatience, has caused a bitter repentance ! The 
 sea is an overrated element, and I have nothing to 
 say in its favor. Because I am out of its uneasy 
 lap to-night, I almost resemble in felicity Rich- 
 ter's Walt, who felt himself so happy, that he 
 was transported to the third heaven, and held 
 the other two in his hand that he might give them 
 away. To-morrow morning I shall not hear that 
 swashing, scaring sound directly overhead on the 
 wet deck, which has so often murdered slumber. 
 Delectable sensation that I do not care a rope's- 
 end " how many knots " I am going, and that
 
 1GG GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 my ears are so far away from that eternal " Ay, 
 ay, sir ! " " The whales," says old Chapman, 
 speaking of Neptune, "exulted under him, and 
 knew their mighty king." Let them exult, say 
 I, and be blowed, and all due honor to their salt 
 sovereign ! but of their personal acquaintance I 
 am not ambitious. I have met them now and 
 then in the sixty thousand miles of their watery 
 playing-places I have passed over, and they are not 
 pretty to look at. Roll on, and so will I, for the 
 present, at least, as far out of your reach as possible. 
 
 Yes, wise denizen of the Celestial Empire, it is a 
 good, nay, a great thing, to return even to so small 
 a home-object as an old teacup. As I lift the 
 bright brim to my lips, I repeat it. As I pour out 
 my second, my third, and my fourth, I say it 
 again. Oo Long was right ! 
 
 And now, as the rest of the household have all 
 gone up bed-ward, and left mo with their good- 
 night tones, 
 
 " Like flowers' voices, if they could but speak," 
 I dip my pen into the cocked hat of the brave little
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 167 
 
 bronze warrior who has fed us all so many years 
 with ink from the place where his brains ought to 
 be. Pausing before I proceed to paper, I look 
 around on our household guds. The coal bursts 
 into crackling fits of merriment, as I thrust the 
 poker between the iron ribs of the grate. It 
 seems to say, in the most persuasive audible 
 manner of which it is capable, " 0, go no more 
 a-roaming, a- roam ing, across the windy sea ! " 
 How odd it seems to be sitting here again, listen- 
 ing to the old clock out there in the entry ! Often 
 I seemed to hear it during the months that have 
 flown away, when I knew that " our ancient " 
 was standing sentinel for Time in another hem- 
 isphere. One night, dark and stormy on the 
 Mediterranean, as I lay wakeful and watchful in 
 the little steamer that was bearing us painfully on 
 through the noisy tempest towards St. Peter's 
 and the Colosseum, suddenly, above the tumult 
 of the voyage, this household monitor began 
 audibly and regularly, I thought, to mark the 
 seconds. Then it must have been only fancy. 
 Kow it is something more, and I know that our
 
 1G8 GETTING 110. ME AGAIN. 
 
 mahogany friend is really wagging his brassy 
 beard just outside the door. I remember now, as 
 I lay listening that rough night at sea, how Mil- 
 ton's magic-sounding line came to me beating a sad 
 melody with the old clock's imagined tramp, 
 
 "The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint." 
 
 Let the waves bark to-night far out on "the deso- 
 late, rainy seas," the old clock is all right in 
 our entry ! 
 
 Landed, and all safe at last ! my much-abused, 
 lock-broken, unhinged portmanteau unpacked and 
 laid ignobly to rest under the household eaves ! 
 Stay a moment, let me pitch this inky passport 
 into the fire. How it writhes and grows black in 
 the face ! And now it will trouble its owner no 
 more forever. It was a foolish, extravagant com- 
 panion, and I am glad to be rid of it. One little 
 blazing fragment lifts itself out of the flame, and 
 I can trace on the smouldering relic the stamp 
 of Austria. Go back again into the grate, and 
 perish with the rest, dark blot ! 
 
 I look around this quiet apartment, and won-
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 169 
 
 der if it be all true, this getting home again. I 
 stir the fire once more to assure myself that I 
 am not somewhere else, that the street outside 
 my window is not known as Jermyn Street 
 in the Haymarket, or the Via Babuino near the 
 Pincio, or Princes Street, near the Monument. 
 How can I determine that I am not dreaming, 
 and that I shall not wake up to-morrow morn- 
 ing and find myself on the Arno 1 Perhaps I am 
 not really back again where there are no 
 
 " Eremites and friars, 
 White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery." 
 
 Perhaps I am a flamingo, a banyan-tree, or a man- 
 darin. But therq stands the teacup, and identity 
 is sure ! 
 
 Here at last, then, for a live certainty ! But 
 how strange it all seems, resting safely in easy 
 slippers, to recall some of the far-off scenes so 
 lately present to me ! Yesterday was it, or a few 
 weeks ago, that this " excellent canopy," this mod- 
 est roof, dwelt three thousand miles away to the 
 westward of me ? At this moment stowed away in 
 a snuggery called my own ; and then how brief
 
 170 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 a period it seems ! what a small parenthesis in 
 time! putting another man's latch-key into an- 
 other man's door, night after night, in a London 
 fog, and feeling for the unfamiliar aperture with 
 all the sensation of an innocent housebreaker ! 
 Muffled here in the oldest of dressing-gowns, that 
 never lifted its arms ten rods from the spot where 
 it was born ; and only a few weeks ago lolling out 
 of CL R's college-window at Oxford, counting the 
 deer, as they nibbled the grass, and grouped them- 
 selves into beautiful pictures on the sward of an- 
 cient Magdalen ! 
 
 As I look into the red fire in the grate, I 
 think of the scarlet coats flashing not long ago in 
 Stratford, when E. F., kindest of men and mer- 
 riest of hosts took us all to the " meet." I gaze 
 round the field again, and enjoy the enlivening 
 scene. \Vhite-h aired and tall, our kind-hearted 
 friend walks his glossy mare up and down the 
 turf. His stalwart sons, with sport irnbrowned, 
 proud of their sire, call attention to the spar- 
 kle in the old man's eye. I am mounted on a 
 fiery little animal, and am half-frightened at the
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 171 
 
 thought of what she may do with me when the 
 chase is high. Confident that a roll is inevi- 
 table, and that, with a dislocated neck, enjoyment 
 would be out of the question, I pull bridle, and 
 carefully dismount, hoping not to attract atten- 
 tion. Whereat all my English cousins beg to 
 inquire, " What 's the row 1 " I whisper to the 
 red-coated brave prancing near me, that " I have 
 changed my mind, and will not follow the hunt 
 to-day, another time I shall be most happy, 
 just now I am not quite up to the mark, 
 next week I shall be all right again," etc. One 
 of the lithe hounds, who seems to have steel 
 springs in his hind legs, looks contemptuously at 
 the American stranger, and turns up his long nose 
 like a moral insinuation. Off they fly ! I watch 
 the beautiful cavalcade bound over the brook, and 
 sweep away into the woodland passes. Then I 
 saunter down by the Avon, and dream away the 
 daylight in endless visions of long ago, when sweet 
 Will and his merry comrades moved about these 
 pleasant haunts. Returning to the hall, I find 
 I have walked ten miles over the breezy country,
 
 172 GETTING noirr, AGAIX. 
 
 and knew it not, so pleasant is the fragrant 
 turf that has been often pressed by the feet of 
 Nature's best-beloved child. Round the mahog- 
 any tree that night I hearken as the hunters tell 
 the glories of their sport, how their horses, like 
 Homer's steeds, 
 
 " Devoured up the plain " ; 
 
 and I can hear now, in imagination, the voices 
 of the deep-mouthed hounds rising and swelling 
 among the Warwick glens. 
 
 Neither can I forget, as I sit musing here, 
 whose green English carpet, down in Kent, I so 
 lately rested on under the trees, nor how I 
 wandered off with the lord of that hospitable 
 manor to an old castle hard by his grounds, and 
 climbed with him to the turret-tops, nor how 
 I heard him repeople in fancy the aged ruin, as 
 we leaned over the wall together and looked into 
 the desolate courtyard below. 
 
 Let me bear in mind, too, how happily the hours 
 went by me so recently in the vine-embowered 
 cottage of dear L. H., the beautiful old man with 
 silver hair,
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 173 
 
 "As hoary frost with spangles doth attire 
 The mossy branches of an oak." 
 
 The sound of the poet's voice was like the musical 
 fall of water in my ears, and every sentence he 
 uttered then is still a melody. As I sit dreamily 
 here, he speaks again of " life's morning march, 
 when his bosom was young," and of his later 
 years, when his struggles were many and keen, 
 and only his pen was the lever which rolled 
 poverty away from his door. I can hear him, as 
 I pause over this leaf, as I listened to the old 
 clock that night at sea. He tells me of his cher- 
 ished companions, now all gone, of Shelley, and 
 Keats, and Charles Lamb, whom he loved, of 
 Byron, and Coleridge, and the rest. As I sit at 
 his little table, he hands me a manuscript, and 
 says it is the " Endymion," John Keats's gift to 
 himself. He reads from it some of his favorite 
 lines, and the tones of his voice are very tender 
 over his dead friend's poem. As I pass out of 
 his door that evening, the moon falls on his white 
 locks, his thin hand rests for a moment on my 
 shoulder, and I hear him say very kindly, "God
 
 174 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 bless you ! " And when, a few months later, I 
 am among the Alpine hills, and word comes to me 
 that L. H. is laid to rest in Kensal Green Church- 
 yard, I am grateful to have looked upon his 
 cheerful countenance, and to have heard him say 
 those sacred last words. 
 
 Gayest of cities, bright Bois de Boulogne, and 
 splendid cafes ! I do not ' much affect your 
 shows, but cannot dismiss forever the cheerful 
 little room, cloud-environed almost, up to which 
 I have so often toiled, after days of hard walking 
 among the gaudy streets of the French capital. 
 One pleasant scene, at least, rises unbidden, as 
 I recall the past. It is a brisk, healthy morn- 
 ing, and I walk in the direction of the Tuile- 
 ries. Bending my steps toward the palace (it is 
 yet early, and few loiterers are abroad in the 
 leafy avenues), I observe a group of three per- 
 sons, not at all distinguished in their appear- 
 ance, having a roistering good time in the Im- 
 perial Garden. One of them is a little boy, with 
 a chubby, laughing face, who shouts loudly to 
 his father, a grave, thoughtful gentleman, who
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 175 
 
 runs backwards, endeavoring to out-race his child. 
 The mother, a fair-haired woman, with her bonnet 
 half loose in the wind, strives to attract the boy's 
 attention and win him to her side. They all run 
 and leap in the merry morning air, and, as I 
 watch them more nearly, I know them to be 
 the royal family out larking before Paris is astir. 
 They have hung up a picture in my gallery of 
 memory, very pleasant to look at, this cold night 
 in America. Alas ! they were not always so happy 
 as when they romped together in the garden ! 
 
 The days that are fled still knock at the door 
 and enter. I am walking on the banks of the 
 Esk, toward a friendly dwelling in Lasswade, 
 Mavis Bush they call the pretty place at the foot 
 of the hill. A slight figure, clad in black, waits 
 for me at the garden-gate, and bids me welcome 
 in accents so kindly, that I, too, feel the magic 
 influence of his low, sweet voice, an effect 
 which Wordsworth described to me, years before, 
 as eloquence set to music. The face of my host 
 is very pale, and, when he puts his thin arm 
 within mine, I feel how frail a body may con-
 
 176 ' GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 tain a spirit of fire. I go into his modest abode 
 and listen to his wonderful talk, wishing all 
 the while that the hours were months, that I 
 might linger there, spellbound, day and night, 
 before the master. He proposes a ramble across 
 the meadows to Roslin Chapel, and on the way 
 he discourses of the fascinating drug so painfully 
 associated with his name in literature, of 
 Christopher North, in whose companionship he 
 delighted among the Lakes, of Elia, whom he 
 recalled as the most lovable man among his 
 friends, and whom he has well described else- 
 where as a Diogenes with the heart of a Saint 
 John. In the dark evening he insists upon set- 
 ting out with me on my return to Edinburgh. 
 When it grows late, and the mists are heavy on 
 the mountains, we stand together, clasping hands 
 of farewell in the dim road, the cold Scotch hills 
 looming up all about us. As the small figure 
 of the English Opium-Eater glides away into the 
 midnight distance, my eyes strain after him to 
 catch one more glimpse. The Esk roars, and 
 I hear his footsteps no longer.
 
 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 177 
 
 The scene changes, as the clock strikes in the 
 entry. I am lingering in the piazza of the 
 Winged Lion, and the bronze giants in their 
 .turret overlooking the square raise their ham- 
 mers and beat the solemn march of Time. As 
 I float away through the watery streets, old Shy- 
 lock shuffles across the bridge, black barges 
 glide by me in the silent canals, groups of un- 
 familiar faces lean from the balconies, and I 
 hear the plashing waters lap the crumbling walls 
 of Venice, with its dead doges and decaying 
 palaces. 
 
 Again I stir the fire, and feel it is home all 
 about me. But I like to sit longer and think 
 of that rosy evening last summer, when, walking 
 into Interlachen, I beheld the ghost-like figure of 
 the Jungfrau issuing out of her cloudy palace to 
 welcome the stars, of a cool, bright, autumnal 
 morning on the western battlements overlooking 
 Genoa, the blue Mediterranean below mirroring 
 the silent fleet that lay so motionless on its 
 bosom, of a midnight visit to the Colosseum 
 with a band of German students, who bore torches
 
 178 GETTING HOME AGAIN. 
 
 ill and out of the time-worn arches, and sang 
 their echoing songs to the full moon, of days, 
 how many and how magical ! when I awoke every 
 morning to say, " We are in Rome ! " 
 
 But it grows late, and it is time now to give 
 over these reflections. Let me wind up my 
 watch, and put out the candle.
 
 HOW TO KOUGH IT,
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 IFE has few things better than this," 
 said Dr. Johnson, on feeling himself 
 settled in a coach, and rolling along the 
 road. I cannot agree with the great man. Times" 
 have changed since the Doctor and Mr. Boswell 
 travelled for pleasure ; and I much prefer an ex- 
 pedition to Moosehead, or a tramp in the Adiron- 
 dack, to being boxed up in a four-wheeled ark 
 and made " comfortable," according to the Doc- 
 tor's idea of felicity. 
 
 Francis Galton, Explorer, and Secretary to the 
 Royal Geographical Society, has lately done the 
 world a benefit by teaching its children how to 
 travel. Few persons know the important secrets
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 of how to walk, how to run, how to ride, how 
 to cook, how to defend, how to ford rivers, how to 
 make rafts, how to fish, how to hunt, in short, 
 how to do the essential things that every travel- 
 ler, soldier, sportsman, emigrant, and missionary 
 should be conversant with. The world is full of 
 deserts, prairies, bushes, jungles, swamps, rivers, 
 and oceans. How to " get round " the dangers 
 of the land and the sea in the best possible way, 
 how to shift and contrive so as to come out 
 safely, are secrets well worth knowing, and Mr. 
 Galton has found the key. In this brief paper 
 I shall frequently avail myself of the informa- 
 tion he imparts, confident that in these days 
 his wise directions are better than fine gold to a 
 man who is obliged to rough it over the world, no 
 matter where his feet may wander, his horse may 
 travel, or his boat may sail. 
 
 Wherewithal shall a man be clothed 1 Let us 
 begin at the beginning with flannel always. Ex- 
 perience has settled that flannel next the skin is 
 indispensable for health to a traveller, and the 
 sick and dead lists always include largely the
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 183 
 
 names of those who neglect this material. Cotton 
 stands Number Two on the list, and linen nowhere. 
 Only last summer careless Tom Bowers achieved 
 his quietus for the season by getting hot and 
 wet and cold in one of his splendid Paris linen 
 shirts, and now he wears calico ones whenever he 
 wishes to "appear proper" at Nahant or Newport. 
 
 "The hotter the ground the thicker your socks," 
 was the advice of an old traveller who once went 
 a thirty-days' tramp at my side through the Alp 
 country in summer. I have seen many a city 
 bumpkin start for a White Mountain walk in the 
 thinnest of cotton foot-coverings, but I. never 
 knew one to try them a second time. 
 
 Stout shoes are preferable to boots always, and 
 a wise traveller never omits to grease well his 
 leather before and during his journey. Do not for- 
 get to put a pair of old slippers into your knap- 
 sack. After a hard day's toil, they are like magic, 
 under foot. Let me remind the traveller whose 
 feet are tender at starting that a capital remedy 
 for blistered feet is to rub them at night with 
 spirits mixed with tallow dropped from a candle.
 
 184 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 An old friend of mine thought it a good plan to 
 soap the inside of the stocking before setting out, 
 and I have seen him break a raw egg into his 
 shoes before putting them on, saying it softened 
 the leather and made him " perfect " for the day. 
 
 Touching coat, waistcoat, and trousers, there 
 can be but one choice. Coarse tweed does the best 
 business on a small capital. Cheap and strong, 
 I have always found it the most "paying" arti- 
 cle in my travelling- ward robe. Avoid that tailor- 
 hem so common at the bottom of your pantaloons 
 which retains water and does no good to anybody. 
 Waistcoats would be counted as superfluous, were 
 it not for the convenience of the pockets they 
 carry. Take along an old dressing-gown, if you 
 want solid comfort in camp or elsewhere after 
 sunset. 
 
 Gordon dimming recommends a wide-awake hat, 
 and he is good authority on that head. A man 
 " clothed in his right mind " is a noble object ; but 
 six persons out of every ten who start on a jour- 
 ney wear the wrong apparel. The writer of these 
 pages has seen four individuals at once standing
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 185 
 
 up to their middles in a trout-stream, all adorned 
 with black silk tiles, newly imported from the Rue 
 St. Honore. It was a sight to make Daniel Boone 
 and Izaak Walton smile in their celestial abodes. 
 
 A light waterproof outside-coat and a thick 
 pea-jacket are a proper span for a roving trip. Do 
 not forget that a couple of good blankets also go 
 a long way toward a traveller's paradise. 
 
 I will not presume that an immortal being at 
 this stage of the nineteenth century would make 
 the mistake, when he had occasion to tuck up his 
 shirt-sleeves, of turning them outwards, so that 
 every five minutes they would be tumbling down 
 with a crash of anathemas from the wearer. The 
 supposition that any sane son of Adam would tuck 
 up his sleeves inside out involves a suspicion, to 
 say the least, that his wits had been overrated by 
 a doting parent. 
 
 " Grease and dirt are the savage's wearing- 
 apparel," says the Swedish proverb. No comment 
 is necessary in speaking with a Christian on this 
 point, for cold v,at2r is one of civilization's closest 
 allies. Avoid the bath, and the genius of disease
 
 186 HOir TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 and crime stalks in. " Cleanliness is next to god- 
 liness," remember. 
 
 In packing your knapsack, keep in mind that 
 sixteen or twenty pounds are weight enough, till, 
 by practice, you can get pluck and energy into 
 your back to increase that amount. 
 
 Roughing it has various meanings, and the 
 phrase is oftentimes ludicrously mistaken by many 
 individuals. A friend with whom I once trav- 
 elled thought he was roughing it daily for the 
 space of three weeks, because he was obliged to 
 lunch on cold chicken and un-iced Champagne, and 
 when it rained he was forced to seek shelter inside 
 very inelegant hotels on the road. To rough it, 
 in the best sense of that term, is to lie down every 
 night with the ground for a mattress, a bundle of 
 fagots for a pillow, and the stars for a coverlet. 
 To sleep in a tent is semi-luxury, and tainted with 
 too much effeminacy to suit the ardor of a first- 
 rate " Rough." Parkyns, Taylor, Gumming, Fre- 
 mont, and Kane have told us how much superior 
 are two trunks of trees, rolled together for a bed, 
 under the open sky, to that soft, heating appara-
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 187 
 
 tus called a bed in the best chamber. Every man 
 to his taste, of course, but there come occasions 
 in life when a man must look about him and 
 arrange for himself, somehow. The traveller who 
 has never slept in the woods has missed an enjoy- 
 able sensation. A clump of trees makes a fine 
 leafy post-bedstead, and to awake in the morning 
 amid a grove of sheltering, nodding oaks is lung- 
 inspiring. It was the good thought of a wanderer 
 to say, "The forest is the poor man's jacket." 
 Napoleon had a high opinion of the bivouac style 
 of life, and on the score of health gave it the 
 preference over tent-sleeping. Free circulation is 
 a great blessing, albeit I think its eulogy rather 
 strongly expressed by the Walden-Pondit, when 
 he says, "I would rather sit on a pumpkin and 
 have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet 
 cushion. I would rather ride on earth in an ox- 
 cart with a free circulation, than go to heaven in 
 the fancy car of an excursion-train, and breathe a 
 malaria all the way." The only objection to out- 
 door slumber is dampness ; but it is easy to pro- 
 tect one's self in wet weather from the unhealthy 
 ground by boughs or india-rubber blankets.
 
 188 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 One of the great precautions requisite for a 
 tramp is to provide against thirst. Want of water 
 overtakes the traveller sometimes in the most 
 annoying manner, and it is well to know how to 
 fight off the dry fiend. Sir Jarnes Alexander 
 cautions all who rough it to drink well before 
 starting in the morning, and drink nothing all day 
 till the halt, and to keep the lips shut as much 
 as possible. Another good authority recommends 
 a pebble or leaf to be held in the mouth. Habit, 
 however, does much in this case as in every other, 
 and I have known a man, who had been accus- 
 tomed at home to drink four tumblers of water at 
 every meal, by force of will bring his necessity 
 down to a pint of liquid per day during a long 
 tramp through the forest. One of the many ex- 
 cellent things which Plutarch tells of Socrates is 
 this noteworthy incident of his power of absti- 
 nence. He says, whenever Socrates returned from 
 any exercise, though he might be extremely dry, 
 he refrained nevertheless from drinking till he 
 had thrown away the first bucket of water he had 
 drawn, that he might exercise himself to patience,
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 189 
 
 and accustom his appetite to wait the leisure of 
 reason. 
 
 From water to fire is a natural transition. How 
 to get a blaze just when you want it puzzles the 
 will hugely sometimes. Every traveller should 
 provide himself with a good handy steel, proper 
 flint, and unfailing tinder, because lucifers are 
 liable to many accidents. Pliny recommended 
 the wood of mulberry, bay-laurel, and ivy, as good 
 material to be rubbed together in order to procure 
 a fire ; but Pliny is behind the times, and must 
 not be trusted to make rules for "our boys." Of 
 course no one would omit to take lucifers on a 
 tramp ; but steel, flint, and tinder are three warm 
 friends that in an emergency will always come 
 up to the strike. 
 
 To find firewood is a knack, and it ought to be 
 well cultivated. Do not despise bits of dry moss, 
 fine grass, and slips of bark, if you come across 
 them. Twenty fires are failures in the open air 
 for one that succeeds, unless the operator knows 
 his business. A novice will use matches, wood, 
 wind, time, and violent language enough to burn
 
 190 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 down a city, and never get any satisfaction out 
 of all the expenditure ; while a knowing hand 
 will, out of the stump of an old, half-rotten tree, 
 bring you such magnificent, permanent heat, that 
 your heart and your teakettle will sing together 
 for joy over it. In making a fire, depend upon it, 
 there is something more than luck, there is 
 always talent in it. I once saw Charles Lever 
 (Harry Lorrequer's father) build up a towering 
 blaze in a woody nook out of just nothing but 
 what he scraped up from the ground, and his rare 
 ability. You remember Mr. Opie the painter's 
 answer to a student who asked him what he 
 mixed his colors with. " Brains, sir," was the 
 artist's prompt, gruff, and right reply. It takes 
 brains to make a fire in a rainy night out in the 
 woods ; but it can be done, if you only know 
 how to begin. I have seen a hearth made of 
 logs on a deep snow sending out a cheerful glow, 
 while the rain dripped and froze all about the 
 merry party assembled. 
 
 A traveller ought to be a good swimmer. There 
 are plenty of watery crossings to ba got over, and
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 191 
 
 often there are no means at hand but what Na- 
 ture has provided in legs and arms. But one 
 of the easiest things in the world to make is a 
 raft. Inflatable india-rubber boats also are now 
 used in every climate, and a full-sized one weighs 
 only forty pounds. General Fremont and Dr. 
 Livingstone have tested their excellent qualities, 
 and commend them as capable of standing a 
 wonderful amount of wear and tear. But a boat 
 can be made out of almost anything, if one have 
 the skill to put it together. A party of sailors 
 whose boat had been stolen put out to sea and 
 were eighteen hours afloat in a crazy craft made 
 out of a large basket woven with boughs such as 
 they could pick up, and covered with their canvas 
 tent, the inside being plastered with clay to keep 
 out as much of the water as possible. 
 
 In fording streams, it is well, if the water be 
 deep and swift, to carry heavy stones in the hands, 
 in order to resist being borne away by the cur- 
 rent. Fords should not be deeper than three feet 
 for men, or four feet for horses. 
 
 Among the small conveniences, a good strong
 
 192 nOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 pocket-knife, a small " hard chisel," and a file 
 should not be forgotten. A great deal of real 
 work can be done with very few tools. One of 
 Colt's rifles is a companion which should be spe- 
 cially cared for, and a waterproof cover should 
 always be taken to protect the lock during show- 
 ers. There is one rule among hunters which 
 ought always to be remembered, namely, " Look 
 at the gun, but never let the gun look at you, 
 or at your companions." Travellers are always 
 more or less exposed to the careless handling of 
 firearms, and numerous accidents occur by carry- 
 ing the piece with the cock down on the nip- 
 ple. Three fourths of all the gun accidents are 
 owing to this cause ; for a blow on the back of 
 the cock is almost sure to explode the cap, while 
 a gun at half-cock is comparatively safe. 
 
 Do not carry too many eatables on your expedi- 
 tions. Dr. Kane says his party learned to modify 
 and reduce their travelling-gear, and found that 
 in direct proportion to its simplicity and to their 
 apparent privation of articles of supposed necessity 
 were their actual comfort and practical efficiency.
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 193 
 
 Step by step, so long as their Arctic service con- 
 tinued, they went on reducing their sledging- 
 outfit, until at last they came to the Esquimaux 
 ultimatum of simplicity, raw meat and a far 
 bag. Salt and papper are needful condiments. 
 Nearly all the rest are out of place on a roughing 
 expedition. Among the most portable kinds of 
 solid food are pemmican, jerked meat, wheat flour, 
 barley, peas, cheese, and biscuit. Salt meat is a 
 disappointing dish, and apt to be sadly uncertain. 
 Somebody once said that water had tasted of sin- 
 ners ever since the flood, and salted meat some- 
 times has a taint full as vivid. Twenty-eight 
 ounces of real nutriment per diem for a man in 
 rough work as a traveller will be all that he 
 requires; if he perform severe tramping, thirty 
 ounces. 
 
 The French say, C'est la soupe qui fait le soldaf, 
 and I have always found on a tramping expedi- 
 tion nothing so life-restoring after fatigue and 
 hunger as the portable soup now so easily ob- 
 tained at places where prepared food is put up 
 for travellers' uses. Spirituous liquors are no
 
 194 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 help in roughing it. On the contrary, they in- 
 vite sunstroke and various other unpleasant visit- 
 ors incident to the life of a traveller. Habitual 
 brandy-drinkers give out sooner than cold-water 
 men, and I have seen fainting red noses by the 
 score succumb to the weather, when boys addicted 
 to water would crow like chanticleer through a long 
 storm of sleet and snow on the freezing Alps. 
 
 It is not well to lose your way ; but in case this 
 unpleasant luck befall you, set systematically to 
 work to find it. Throw terror to the idiots who 
 always flutter and flounder, and so go wrong 
 inevitably. Galton the Plucky says, and he 
 has as much cool wisdom to impart as a traveller 
 needs, when you make the unlively discovery 
 that you are lost, ask yourself the three following 
 questions : 
 
 1. What is the least distance that I can with 
 certainty specify, within which the path, the river, 
 the seashore, etc., that I wish to regain, may lie 1 
 
 2. What is the direction, in a vague, general 
 way, in which the path or river runs, or the sea- 
 coast tends ]
 
 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 195 
 
 3. When I last left the path, etc., did I turn to 
 the left or to the right ? 
 
 As regards the first, calculate deliberately how 
 long you have been riding or walking, and at what 
 pace, since you left your party ; subtract for stop- 
 pages and well-recollected zigzags ; allow a mile 
 and a half per hour as the pace when you have 
 been loitering on foot, and three and a half when 
 you have been walking fast. Occasional running 
 makes an almost inappreciable difference. A man 
 is always much nearer the lost path than he is 
 inclined to fear. 
 
 As regards the second, if you recollect the third, 
 and also know the course of the path within eight 
 points of the compass (or one fourth of the whole 
 horizon), it is a great gain ; or even if you know 
 your direction within twelve points, or one third 
 of the whole horizon, that knowledge is worth 
 something. Do not hurry, if you get bewildered. 
 Stop and think. Then arrange matters, and you 
 are safe. When Napoleon was once caught in a 
 fog, while riding with his staff across a shallow 
 arm of the Gulf of Suez, he thought, as usual.
 
 196 HOW TO ROUGH IT. 
 
 His way was utterly lost, and going forward he 
 found himself in deeper water. So he ordered his 
 staff to ride from him in radiating lines in all 
 directions, and such of them as should find shal- 
 low water to shout out. If Napoleon had been 
 alone on that occasion, he would have set his five 
 wits to the task of finding the right way, and he 
 would have found it. 
 
 Finally, cheerfulness in large doses is the best 
 medicine one can take along in his outdoor 
 tramps. I once had the good luck to hear old 
 Christopher North try his lungs in the open air in 
 Scotland. Such laughter and such hill-shaking 
 merry-heartedness I may never listen to again 
 among the Lochs, but the lesson of the hour (how 
 it rained that black night !) is stamped for life 
 upon my remembrance. " Clap your back against 
 the cliff," he shouted, " and never mind the del- 
 uge ! " Christopher sleeps now under the turf he 
 trod with such a gallant bearing, but few mortals 
 know how to rough it like him !
 
 AN OLD-TIME SOHOLAK,
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 
 
 |NE winter day, many years ago, as I was 
 wandering among the narrow and least 
 interesting streets of Rome, I heard the 
 drowsy voice of a man oozing faintly out of a 
 mean-looking, half-closed apartment, which I hap- 
 pened at the time to be passing. Listening for a 
 moment, I discovered that I was in the vicinity of 
 a small public book-sale, and, lifting the battered 
 latch, stepped from the sidewalk at once into the 
 squalid room. The scene which met my eye 
 it is impossible to forget. The apartment was 
 diminutive, ill-furnished, and filled with that un- 
 wholesome odor of sour dust which comes pro- 
 fusely into unaired premises after continued occu-
 
 200 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 
 
 pancy. At the upper end of a long, bare, rough 
 table reclined on his elbows the crumbling, half- 
 starved figure of an auctioneer, a man in his last 
 gradations of poverty and age. Around his bony 
 neck was twisted a gray, untidy wad of something 
 woollen, to keep off the damp air of the building, 
 and his voice rasped out occasionally, with a husky 
 chill, from the shabby enclosure coiled about his 
 windpipe. Down both sides of the table, on stools 
 worn by a century of bidders, sat a row of bare- 
 footed monks, each clad in his peculiar dress. 
 Most of the brothers were sad-eyed old men, but 
 I noticed here and there among them a younger 
 mendicant, evidently preparing himself, by various 
 privations, to become in time as lean and pallid 
 as his more aged companions. They all held large 
 snuff-boxes in their dingy fingers, from which they 
 partook frequently of the titillating dust. Each 
 one consulted occasionally a poorly printed cata- 
 logue of the works then being offered by the slow- 
 croaking auctioneer. All told, the company as- 
 sembled consisted of not over twenty persons, and 
 every form among the buyers, save one, wore the
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 201 
 
 conventual garb of the Roman Catholic priest- 
 hood. Only the dull, hoarse buzz of the auction- 
 eer stirred the silence of that sleepy scene, except 
 when the name of a purchaser was droned out to 
 match the seller's wheezy voice. I counted at 
 one time four nodding heads, not to be reckoned 
 among the bidders. The somnolent atmosphere 
 was too much for them, and they had no part or 
 lot in the purchases ; they were far away among 
 the poppies in dreamland. 
 
 The only man without a cowl whom I noticed 
 that day, sitting side by side with Capuchin and 
 Carmelite, though among them, was not of them. 
 Now and then he glanced slowly and thoughtfully 
 up and down the table, scanning the leaden fea- 
 tures of his strange associates with a deep and 
 sorrowful meaning. His own countenance was 
 pale with disease and suffering. A respirator, 
 which he had taken off on entering the room, 
 lay beside him, and his frequent cough betrayed 
 the subtle destroyer's rapid advance on the worn- 
 out body. At intervals the monks slyly nudged 
 each other, and whispered furtively together, while
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 
 
 the wan stranger, so strikingly in contrast with 
 the rest of the company, was examining his cata- 
 logue. When he looked up from the uninterest- 
 ing pages the monks became silent again, and 
 unobservant as statues. They were, from habit, 
 consummate masters of their features ; and Theo- 
 dore Parker never knew how closely he had been 
 watched by that passive group in the dark old 
 Roman auction-room. 
 
 Mr. Parker was evidently waiting for some 
 special book to be put up, something he was 
 anxious to possess and read, perhaps, before he 
 died ; so I stayed to see what he might be in pur- 
 suit of, and the auctioneer was not long in coming 
 to it. It proved to be a fat little quarto of the 
 year 1637, printed in Latin and clad in wrinkled 
 parchment, containing the letters of that famous 
 old scholar, Isaac Casaubon. The battered vol- 
 ume was mildly started at two pauls by an antique 
 and not over-cleanly " brother," gradually rose to 
 four, and fell at last into the Yankee parson's pos- 
 session for twice that sum, a bargain unusual 
 and most gratifying to the purchaser, who bore it
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 203 
 
 oft* to the top of the Pinciau Hill, where we sat 
 down together in a sheltered corner, and pored 
 the treasure over until it was time to go home. 
 From that day, through Parker's enthusiasm, the 
 name of Casaubon has had especial interest for 
 me and I have followed more than once, with 
 increasing pleasure, his student career, from his 
 boyhood in Geneva to his death in England. His 
 " mental strength and sap," his enthusiasm for 
 learning, his renunciation of ease, society, health 
 even, for a life of profound and earnest pursuit 
 after knowledge, combine to make his biography 
 an example to all scholars, and an intrinsic addi- 
 tion to the world's best reading. He was not a 
 man of genius ; he was a man of perseverance, 
 a devotee of erudition. If ever a student lived 
 who was inflamed with the ardor of self-education, 
 who " scorned delights and lived laborious days," 
 who prostrated himself before the shrine of intel- 
 lectual acquirement, and made Wisdom a worship 
 from his youth up, that scholar was Isaac Casau- 
 bon, who " toiled and wrought and fought " for 
 the bettering of his mind in those dark, inhospita-
 
 204 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 
 
 ble days of the sixteenth century. Believing that 
 the disease of the age in which he lived was a 
 hatred of truth, he resolved with Protestant fervor, 
 so far as he was able, to correct the errata of his 
 recreant time. Although he only partially suc- 
 ceeded, he accomplished brave and lasting work 
 enough for one man's possibilities in an evil era, 
 an era hung round with clouds and thick dark- 
 ness. 
 
 I know not why it is that I feel so warm a per- 
 sonal interest in people who lived far back in those 
 dim years ; but I find myself not infrequently car- 
 ing greatly about that hunted Casaubon family, 
 who, flying for their lives from Gascony, just 
 escaping in season to avoid the blazing fagot of 
 a persecuting mob, arrived in Geneva about the 
 year 1556. I follow with eager concern the brave- 
 hearted refugees into the Valley of Dauphine, the 
 undaunted Huguenot minister breaking the peril- 
 ous bread of life to his exiled flock amid the 
 hazards of religious controversy and extermi- 
 nation. 
 
 Pretty soon my regard for that banished house-
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 205 
 
 hold centres in the young lad whose health is 
 becoming endangered by constant and unresting 
 study. His struggles through dismal years of 
 calamity and Jesuitical defamation ; his want of 
 books, and the opportunity in various other ways 
 of acquiring the knowledge he so longed to possess ; 
 the cruel injuries of fanatical and ferocious critics, 
 all render his career one of the most absorbing 
 in the annals of heroic scholarship. No student 
 was ever more persistently pinched by narrow 
 means than he, and no man ever accomplished 
 more steady work with so few helps. Recondite 
 learning was his passion, but there were few clas- 
 sical treasures open to him in those hopeless days. 
 Text-books he had none, and being too deep down 
 in poverty, during his youth, to own the works so 
 necessary to the labor he set himself to accom- 
 plish, he borrowed his tools up and down the 
 German cities with a pertinacity altogether mar- 
 vellous. Once when a stingy book-owner declined 
 to lend him a volume he sorely needed for refer- 
 ence, he kept on asking, and fairly won the treatise 
 by much importunity. " Go away, Casaubon,
 
 206 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 
 
 you weary me ! " cried the close old citizen, rich 
 in parchment-bound treasures, to whom Isaac had 
 applied for the loan of the book. "I will not 
 budge," replied the eager scholar, "until you hand 
 over your annotated Polybius, now locked from 
 sight in that oaken chest up stairs ! " And he 
 got it out of the old gentleman at last, and kept 
 it too, as long as he wanted to use it. 
 
 What a list of friends was vouchsafed to the 
 toiling man of letters, far back in that gloomy 
 century ! Scaliger, Heinsius, Grotius, and other 
 worthies of the time were in familiar relations 
 with him, and were his helpful correspondents. 
 When he visited England, the highest in authority 
 and learning flocked about him. King James 
 himself made extraordinary advances, and was 
 never weary of asking questions concerning his 
 studies. His Majesty and the Continental scholar 
 discussed Plutarch and Tacitus together, day after 
 day, and the king, " in consequence of Casaubon's 
 singular learning," granted him a yearly pension 
 of three hundred pounds. The monarch was insati- 
 able of Isaac's conversation, and the court carriage
 
 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 207 
 
 was frequently seen rapidly hurrying with Ca- 
 saubon to Hampton Court or Greenwich to meet 
 his royal patron. Every Sunday the king de- 
 manded his presence, and was restless until he 
 appeared. Lord Bacon nattered the stranger in a 
 way to give him lasting content, and other men 
 of eminence in the kingdom called him their 
 peer. 
 
 It was indeed a life of strange vicissitudes and the 
 sharpest contrasts. Mark Pattison of Lincoln Col- 
 lege has told us the whole story of it in unsurpass- 
 able words, full of zeal and instruction. Whenever 
 I see Mr. Pattison's name connected as author with 
 book or essay of any kind, I cannot omit the 
 perusal of it, for he has never, to my observation, 
 affixed that name to an unworthy production. 
 His is that judgment which is never refracted or 
 discolored by prejudice ; a priceless quality, and 
 one not too often met with either in criticism or 
 biography. To portray with graphic and impartial 
 pen the career of a somewhat eccentric Huguenot 
 scholar, writing and suffering in the reign of 
 Henri IV., is a task surrounded by exceptional
 
 208 AN OLD-TIME SCHOLAR. 
 
 perplexities; hut there is no hook extant, of a 
 similar character, more honestly conceived and 
 more profoundly instructive, than the portraiture 
 of sturdy Isaac Casaubon as depicted by the elo- 
 quent Rector of Lincoln College.
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEAELS,
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 WAS lately lounging away a Roman 
 morning among the gems in Castellani's 
 sparkling rooms -in the Via Poli, and 
 one of the treasures handed out for rapturous 
 examination was a diamond necklace, just finished 
 for a Russian princess, at the cost of sixty thou- 
 sand dollars ; then was displayed a set of pearls 
 for an English lady, who must pay, before she bears 
 her prize homeward, the sum of ten thousand dol- 
 lars. Castellani junior, a fine, patriotic young 
 fellow, who has since been banished for his liberal 
 ideas of government, smiled as he read astonish- 
 ment in my eyes, and proceeded forthwith to 
 dazzle me still further with more gems of rarest
 
 212 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 beauty, till then hidden away in his strong iron 
 boxes. 
 
 Castellani, father and son, are princes among 
 jewellers, and deserve to be ranked as artists of a 
 superior order. They have a grand way of doing 
 things, right good to look upon ; and I once saw 
 a countrywoman of ours, who has written immor- 
 tal words in the cause of freedom, made the re- 
 cipient of a gem at their hands, which she cannot, 
 hut prize as among the chief tributes so numer- 
 ously bestowed in all parts of the Christian world 
 where her feet have wandered. 
 
 Castellani's jeweller's shop has existed in Rome 
 since the year 1814. At that time all the efforts 
 of Castellani the elder were directed to the imita- 
 tion of the newest English and French fashions, 
 and particularly to the setting of diamonds. This 
 he continued till 1823. From 1823 to 1827 he 
 sought aid for his art in the study of technology. 
 And not in vain ; for in 1826 he read, before the 
 Accademia dei Lined of Rome (founded by Fede- 
 rico Cesi), a paper on the chemical process of col- 
 oring a fjiallone (yellow) in the manufacture of
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 213 
 
 gold, in which he announced some facts in the 
 action of .electricity long before Delarive and 
 other chemists, as noticed in the fc ' Quarterly 
 Journal of Science," December, 1828, No. 6, and 
 the " Bibliotheque Universelle de Geneve," 1829, 
 Tom. XL, p. 84. 
 
 At this period Etruria began to lay open the 
 treasures of her art. All were struck by the 
 beauty of the jewels found in the tombs; but 
 Castellan! was the first who thought of reprodu- 
 cing some of them ; and he did it to the great 
 admiration of the amateurs, foremost among 
 whom may be mentioned the Duke Don Michel- 
 angelo Caetani, a man of great artistic feeling, 
 who aided by his counsels and his designs the re- 
 naissance of Roman jewelry. 
 
 The discovery of the celebrated tomb Regulini- 
 Galassi at Cervetri was an event in jewelry. The 
 articles of gold found in it (all now in the Vatican) 
 were diligently studied by Castellani, when called 
 upon to appraise them. Comprehending the meth- 
 ods and the character of the work, he boldly 
 followed tradition.
 
 214 DIAMONDS AXD PEARLS. 
 
 The discoveries of Campanari of Toscanella, 
 and of the Marquis Campana of Rome, gave val- 
 uable aid to this new branch of art. Thus it 
 went on improving ; and Castellani produced very 
 expert pupils, all of them Italians. Fashion, if 
 not public feeling, came to aid the renaissance, and 
 others, in Rome and elsewhere, undertook similar 
 work after the models of Castellani. It may- be 
 asserted that the triumph of the classic jewelry is 
 now complete. Castellaui renounced the modern 
 methods of chasing and engraving, and adhered 
 only to the antique fashion of overlaying with 
 cords, grains, and finest threads of gold. From 
 the Etruscan style he passed to the Greek, the 
 Roman, the Christian. In this last he introduced 
 the rough mosaics, such as were used by the Byz- 
 antines with much effect and variety of tint and 
 of design. 
 
 The work of Castellani is dear ; but that results 
 from his method of execution, and from the perfect 
 finish of all the details. He does not seek for 
 cheapness, but for the perfection of art : this is 
 the only thing he has in view. As he is a man
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 215 
 
 of genius, I have devoted considerable space to 
 his admirable productions. 
 
 The Talmud informs us that Noah had no other 
 light in the ark than that which came from pre- 
 cious stones. Why do not our modern jewellers 
 take a hint from the ancient safety-boat, and 
 light up accordingly 1 I dare say old Tavernier, 
 that knowing French gem-trader of the seven- 
 teenth century, had the art of illuminating his 
 chateau at Aubonne in a way wondrous to the 
 beholder. Among all the jewellers, ancient or 
 modern, Jean Baptiste Tavernier seems to me the 
 most interesting character. His great knowledge 
 of precious stones, his acute observation and un- 
 failing judgment, stamp him as one of the supe- 
 rior men of his day. Forty years of his life he 
 passed in travelling through Turkey, Persia, and 
 the East Indies, trading in gems of the richest 
 and rarest lustre. A great fortune was amassed, 
 and a barony in the Canton of Berne, on the Lake 
 of Geneva, was purchased as no bad harbor for 
 the rest of his days. There he hoped to enjoy 
 the vast wealth he had so industriously acquired.
 
 21 G DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 But, uhis ! stupid nephews abound everywhere ; 
 and one of his, to whom he had intrusted a freight 
 worth two hundred and twenty thousand livres, 
 caused him so great a loss that, at the age of 
 eighty-four, he felt obliged to sail again for the 
 East in order to retrieve his fortune, or at least 
 repair the ill luck arising from his disastrous spec- 
 ulation. -He forgot, poor old man ! that youth 
 and strength are necessary to fight against re- 
 verses; and he died at Moscow, on his way, in 
 1689. When you visit the great Library in Paris, 
 search for his " Travels," in three volumes, pub- 
 lished in 1677-79, on a shelf among the quartos. 
 Take them down, and spend a pleasant hour in 
 looking through the pages of the enthusiastic old 
 merchant-jeweller. His adventures in quest of 
 diamonds and other precious commodities are well 
 told ; and, although he makes the mistakes inci- 
 dent to many other early travellers, he never wil- 
 fully romances. He supposed he was the first 
 European who had explored the mines of Gol- 
 conda ; but an Englishman named Methold visited 
 them as early as 1622, and found thirty thousand
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 217 
 
 Laborers working away for the rich Marcaudar, who 
 paid three hundred thousand pagodas annually to 
 the king for the privilege of digging in a single 
 mine. The first mine visited by Tavernier was that 
 of Raolconda, a five-days' journey from Golconda. 
 The manner of trading there he thus describes : 
 
 " A very pretty sight is that presented every morning 
 by the children of the master-miners and of other in- 
 habitants of the district. The boys, the eldest of which 
 is not over sixteen or the youngest under ten, assemble 
 and sit under a large tree in the public square of the 
 village. Each has his diamond \veight in a bag hung 
 on one side of his girdle, and on the other a purse con- 
 taining sometimes as much as five or six hundred pago- 
 das. Here they wait for such persons as have diamonds? 
 to sell, either from the vicinity or from any other mine. 
 When a diamond is brought to them, it is immediately 
 handed to the eldest boy, who is tacitly acknowledged 
 as the head of this little band. By him it is carefully 
 examined, and then passed to his neighbor, who, having 
 also inspected it, transmits it to the next boy. The 
 stone is thus passed from hand to hand, amid unbroken 
 silence, until it returns to that of the eldest, who then 
 asks the price and makes the bargain. If the little
 
 218 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 man is thought by his comrades to have given too high 
 a price, he must keep the stone on his own account. 
 In the evening the children take account of stock, ex- 
 amine their purchases, and class them according to 
 their water, size, and purity, putting on each stone the 
 price they expect to get for it ; they then carry the 
 stones to the masters, who have always assortments to 
 complete, and the profits are divided among the young 
 traders, with this difference in favor of the head of the 
 firm, that he receives one fourth per cent more than 
 the others. These children are so perfectly acquainted 
 with the value of all sorts of gems that if one of them, 
 after buying a stone, is willing to lose one half per cent 
 on it, a companion is always ready to take it." 
 
 Master Tavernier discourses at some length on 
 the ingenious methods adopted by the laborers to 
 conceal diamonds which they have found, some- 
 times swallowing them, and he mentions a miner 
 who hid in the corner of his eye a stone of two 
 carats ! Altogether, his work is one worthy to 
 be turned over for its graphic pictures of gem- 
 hunting two hundred years ago. 
 
 Professor Tennant says, " One of the common 
 marks of opulence and taste in all countries is
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 219 
 
 the selection, preservation, and ornamental use 
 of gems and precious stones." Diamonds, from 
 the time Alexander ordered pieces of flesh to be 
 thrown into the inaccessible valley of Zulmeah, 
 that the vultures might bring up with them the 
 precious stones which attached themselves, have 
 everywhere ranked among the luxuries of a 
 refined cultivation. It is the most brilliant of 
 stones, and the hardest known body. Pliny sa} T s 
 it is so hard a substance, that, if one should be 
 laid on an anvil and struck with a hammer, look 
 out for the hammer ! [Mem. If the reader have 
 a particularly fine diamond, never mind Pliny's 
 story : the risk is something, and Pliny cannot 
 be reached for an explanation, should his experi- 
 ment fail.] By its own dust only can the dia- 
 mond be cut and polished ; and its great lustre 
 challenges the admiration of the world. Ordi- 
 nary individuals, with nothing to distinguish 
 them from the common herd, have "got dia- 
 monds," and straightway became ever afterwards 
 famous. An uncommon-sized brilliant, stuck into 
 the front linen of a foolish fellow, will set him
 
 220 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 up as a marked man, and point him out as some- 
 thing worth looking at. The announcement, in 
 the papers of the day, that " Mademoiselle Mars 
 would wear all her diamonds," never failed to 
 stimulate the sale of tickets on all such occasions. 
 As it may interest my readers to know what treas- 
 ures an actress of 1828 possessed, I copy from 
 the catalogue of her effects a few items. 
 
 "Two rows of brilliants set en chatons, one row 
 composed of forty-six brilliants, the other of forty- 
 four; eight sprigs of wheat in brilliants, composed 
 of about five hundred brilliants, weighing fifty- 
 seven carats ; a garland of brilliants that may be 
 taken to pieces and worn as three distinct orna- 
 ments, three large brilliants forming the centre 
 of the principal flowers, the whole comprising 
 seven hundred and nine brilliants, weighing eighty- 
 five carats three-quarters ; a Sevigne mounted in 
 colored gold, in the centre of which is a burnt 
 topaz surrounded by diamonds weighing about 
 three grains each, the drops consisting of three 
 opals similarly surrounded by diamonds ; one of 
 the three opals is of very large size, in shape
 
 ' DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 221 
 
 oblong, with rounded corners ; the whole set in 
 gold studded with rubies and pearls. 
 
 " A parure of opals, consisting of a necklace and 
 Sevigne, two bracelets, ear-rings the studs of which 
 are emeralds, comb, belt-plate set with an opal 
 in the shape of a triangle ; the whole mounted 
 in wrought gold, studded with small emeralds. 
 
 "A Gothic bracelet of enamelled gold, in the 
 centre a burnt topaz surrounded by three large 
 brilliants ; in each link composing the bracelet 
 is a square emerald ; at each extremity of the 
 topaz forming the centre ornament are two balls 
 of burnished gold and two of wrought gold. 
 
 "A pair of girandole ear-rings of brilliants, each 
 consisting of a large stud brilliant and of three 
 pear-shaped brilliants united by four small ones ; 
 another pair of ear-rings composed of fourteen 
 small brilliants forming a cluster of grapes, each 
 stud of a single brilliant. 
 
 "A diamond cross composed of eleven brilliants, 
 the ring being, also of brilliants. 
 
 " A bracelet with a gold chain, the centre-piece 
 of which is a fine opal surrounded w ith brilliants ;
 
 222 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 the opal is oblong and mounted in the Gothic 
 style i the clasp is an opal. 
 
 " A gold bracelet, with grecque surrounded by- 
 six angel heads graven on turquoises, and a head 
 of Augustus. 
 
 "A serpent bracelet a la Cleopatre, enamelled 
 black, with a turquoise on its head. 
 
 "A bracelet with wrought links burnished on 
 a dead ground; the clasp a heart of burnished 
 gold with a turquoise in the centre, graven with 
 Hebrew characters. 
 
 " A bracelet with a row of Mexican chain, and a 
 gold ring set with a turquoise and fastened to the 
 bracelet by a Venetian chain. 
 
 "A ring, the hoop encircled with small dia- 
 monds. 
 
 " A ring, a la chevaliere, set with a square em- 
 erald between two pearls. 
 
 " A gold chevaliere ring, on which is engraved 
 a small head of Napoleon. 
 
 " Two belt-buckles, Gothic style, one of bur- 
 nished gold, the other set with emeralds, opals, 
 and pearls.
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 223 
 
 "A necklace of two rows coral; a small brace- 
 let of engraved carnelians. 
 
 " A comb of rose diamonds, form D 5, sur- 
 mounted by a large rose surrounded by smaller 
 ones, and a cinque-foil in roses, the chatons alter- 
 nated, below a band of roses." 
 
 The weight of the diamond, as every one knows, 
 is estimated in carats all over the world. And 
 what is a carat, pray] and whence its name? It 
 is of Indian origin, a kirat being a small seed that 
 was used in India to weigh diamonds with. Four 
 grains are equal to one carat, and six carats make 
 one pennyweight. But there is no standard weight 
 fixed for the finest diamonds. Competition alone 
 among purchasers must arrange their price. The 
 commercial value of gems is rarely affected, and 
 among all articles of commerce the diamond is the 
 least liable to depreciation. Panics that shake 
 empires and topple trade into the dust seldom 
 lower the cost of this king of precious stojies ; 
 and there is no personal property that is so apt 
 to remain unchanged in money value. 
 
 Diamond anecdotes abound, the world over;
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 but I have lately met with two brief ones which 
 ought to be preserved. 
 
 " Carlier, a bookseller in the reign of Louis XIV., 
 left, at his death, to each of his children one a girl 
 of fifteen, the other a captain in the guards a sum 
 of five hundred thousand francs, then an enormous 
 fortune. Mademoiselle Carlier, young, handsome, and 
 wealthy, had numerous suitors. One of these, a M. 
 Tiquet, a Councillor of the Parliament, sent her on 
 her fete-day a bouquet, in which the calices of the 
 roses were of large diamonds. The magnificence of 
 this gift gave so good an opinion of the wealth, taste, 
 and liberality of the donor, that the lady gave him the 
 preference over all his competitors. But sad was the 
 disappointment that followed the bridal! The hus- 
 band was rather poor than rich ; and the bouquet, 
 that had cost forty-five thousand francs (nine thou- 
 sand dollars), had been bought on credit, and was paid 
 out of the bride's fortune." 
 
 "The gallants of the Court of Louis XV. carried 
 extravagance as far as the famous Egyptian queen. 
 She melted a pearl, they pulverized diamonds, to 
 prove their insane magnificence. A lady having ex- 
 pressed a desire to have the portrait of her canary 
 in a ring, the last Prince de Conti requested she would
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 225 
 
 allow him to give it to her ; she accepted, on condi- 
 tion that no precious gems should be set in it. When 
 the ring was brought to her, however, a diamond cov- 
 ered the painting. The lady had the brilliant taken 
 out of the setting, and sent it back to the giver. The 
 Prince, determined not to be gainsaid, caused the stone 
 to be ground to dust, which he used to dry the ink of 
 the letter he wrote to her on the subject." 
 
 Let me mention some of the most noted dia- 
 monds in the world. The largest one known, 
 that of the Rajah of Matan, in Borneo, weighs 
 three hundred and sixty-seven carats. It is egg- 
 shaped and is of the finest water. Two large war- 
 vessels, with all their guns, powder, and shot, and 
 one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in money, 
 were once refused for it. And yet its weight is 
 only about three ounces ! 
 
 The second in size is the Orloff, or Grand Rus- 
 sian, sometimes called the Moon of the Mountain, 
 of one hundred and ninety-three carats. The 
 Great Mogul once owned it. Then it passed by 
 conquest into the possession of Nadir, the Shah 
 of Persia. In 1747 he was assassinated, and all 
 the crown-jewels slipped out of the dead man's
 
 226 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 fingers, a common incident to mortality. What 
 became of the great diamond no one at that time 
 knew, till one day a chief of the Anganians walked, 
 mole-footed, into the presence of a rich Armenian 
 gentleman in Balsora, and proposed to sell him (no 
 lisping, not a word to betray him) a large emer- 
 ald, a splendid ruby, and the great Orloff dia- 
 mond. Mr. Shafrass counted out fifty thousand 
 piastres for the lot ; and the chief folded up his 
 robes and silently departed. Ten years afterwards 
 the people of Amsterdam were apprised that a 
 great treasure had arrived in their city, and could 
 be bought, too. Nobody there felt rich enough to 
 buy the great Orloff sparkler. So the English 
 and Russian governments sent bidders to compete 
 for the gem. The Empress Catharine offered the 
 highest sum; and her agent, the Count Orloff, 
 paid for it in her name four hundred and fifty 
 thousand roubles, cash down, and a grant of Rus- 
 sian nobility! The size of this diamond is that 
 of a pigeon's egg, and its lustre and water are of 
 the finest : its shape is not perfect. 
 
 The Grand Tuscan is next in order, for many
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 227 
 
 years held by the Medici family. It is now owned 
 by the Austrian Emperor, and is the pride of the 
 Imperial Court. It is cut as a rose, nine-sided, 
 and is of a yellow tint, lessening somewhat its 
 value. Its weight is one hundred and thirty-nine 
 and a half carats ; and its value is estimated at 
 one hundred and fifty-five thousand, six hundred 
 and eighty-eight pounds. 
 
 The most perfect, though not the largest, dia- 
 mond in Europe is the Regent, which belongs to 
 the Imperial diadem of France. Napoleon the 
 First used to wear it in the hilt of his state sword. 
 Its original weight was four hundred and ten 
 carats ; but after it was cut as a brilliant (a labor 
 of two years, at a cost of three thousand pounds 
 sterling), it wns reduced to one hundred and 
 thirty-seven carats. It came from the mines of 
 Golconda ; and the thief who stole it therefrom 
 sold it to the grandfather of the Earl of Chatham, 
 when he was governor of a fort in the East Indies. 
 Lucky Mr. Pitt pocketed one hundred and thirty- 
 five thousand pounds for his treasure, the pur- 
 chaser being Louis XV. This amount, it is said,
 
 228 DIAMONDS AXD PEARLS. 
 
 is only half its real value. However, as it cost 
 the Governor, according to his own statement, 
 some years after the sale, only twenty thousand 
 pounds, his speculation was "something hand- 
 some." Pope had a fling at Pitt, in his poetical 
 way, intimating a wrong with regard to the pos- 
 session of the diamond ; but I believe the trans- 
 action was an honest one. In the inventory of 
 the crown-jewels, the Regent diamond is set down 
 at twelve million francs ! 
 
 The Star of the South comes next in point of 
 celebrity. It is the largest diamond yet obtained 
 from Brazil ; and it is owned by the King of Por- 
 tugal. It weighed originally two hundred and fifty- 
 four carats, but was trimmed down to one hundred 
 and twenty -five. The grandfather of the present 
 king had a hole bored in it, and liked to strut 
 about on gala-days with the gem suspended around 
 his neck. This magnificent jewel was found by 
 three banished miners, who were seeking for gold 
 during their exile. A great drought had laid dry 
 the bed of a river, and there they discovered this 
 lustrous wonder. Of course, on promulgating their
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 229 
 
 great lack, their sentence was revoked immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 The world-renowned Koh-i-noor next claims at- 
 tention. A Venetian diamond-cutter (wretched, 
 bungling Hortensio Borgis !) reduced the great 
 Koh-i-noor from its primitive weight nine hun- 
 dred carats to two hundred and eighty. Taver- 
 nier saw this celebrated jewel two hundred years 
 ago, not long after its discovery. It came into the 
 possession of Queen Victoria in 1849, three thou- 
 sand years, say the Eastern sages, after it belonged 
 to Kama, the King of Anga ! On the 16th of July, 
 1852, the Duke of Wellington superintended the 
 commencement of the re-cutting of the famous 
 gem, and for thirty-eight days the operation went 
 on. Eight thousand pounds were expended in the 
 cutting and polishing. When it was finished and 
 ready to be restored to the royal keeping, the 
 person (a celebrated jeweller) to whom the whole 
 care of the work had been intrusted allowed a 
 friend to take it in his fingers for examination. 
 While he was feasting his eyes over it, and turn- 
 ing it to the light in order to get the full force of
 
 230 DIA.WOXDS AXD PEARLS. 
 
 its marvellous beauty, down it slipped from his 
 grasp and fell upon the ground. The jeweller 
 nearly faiuteH. with alarm, and poor " Butter- 
 Fingers " was completely jellified with fear. Had 
 the stone struck the ground at a particular an- 
 gle, it would have split in two, and been ruined 
 forever. 
 
 Innumerable anecdotes cluster about this fine 
 diamond. Having passed through the hands of 
 various Indian princes, violence and fraud are 
 copiously mingled up with its history. I quote 
 one of Madame de Barrera's stories concerning 
 it: 
 
 " The King of Lahore having heard that the King 
 of Cabul possessed a diamond that had belonged to the 
 Great Mogul, the largest and purest known, he invited 
 the fortunate owner to his court, and there, having him 
 in his power, demanded his diamond. The guest, how- 
 ever, had provided himself against such a contingency 
 with a perfect imitation of the coveted jewel. After 
 some show of resistance, he reluctantly acceded to the 
 wishes of his powerful host. The delight of Runjeet 
 was extreme, but of short duration, the lapidary to 
 whom he gave orders to mount his new acquisition
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 231 
 
 pronouncing it to be merely a bit of crystal. The mor- 
 tification and rage of the despot were unbounded. He 
 immediately caused the palace of the King of Cabul to 
 be invested, and ransacked from top to bottom. But 
 for a long while all search was vain ; at last a slave be- 
 trayed the secret, the diamond was found concealed 
 beneath a heap of ashes. Runjeet Singh had it set in 
 an armlet, between two diamonds, each the size of a 
 sparrow's egg." 
 
 The Skah of Persia, presented to the Emperor 
 Nicholas by the Persian monarch, is a very beauti- 
 ful stone, irregularly shaped. Its weight is eighty- 
 six carats, and its water and lustre are superb. 
 
 The various stories attached to the Sancy dia- 
 mond, the next in point of value, would occupy 
 many pages. During four centuries it has been 
 accumulating romantic circumstances, until il is 
 now very difficult to give its true narrative. If 
 Charles the Bold, the last Duke of Burgundy, ever 
 wore it suspended round his neck, he sported a 
 magnificent jewel. If the curate of Montagny 
 bought it for a crown of a soldier who picked 
 it up after the defeat of Granson, not knowing its 
 value, the soldier was unconsciously cheated by
 
 232 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 the curate. If a citizen of Berne got it out of 
 the curate's fingers for three crowns, he was a 
 shrewd knave. De Barante says, that in 1492 
 (Columbus was then about making land in this 
 hemisphere) this diamond was sold in Lucerne for 
 five thousand ducats. After that, all sorts of 
 incidents are related to have befallen it. Here 
 is one of them. Henry IV. was once in a strait 
 for money. The Sieur de Sancy (who gave his 
 name to the gem) wished to send the monarch his 
 diamond, that he might raise funds upon it from 
 the Jews of Metz. A trusty servant sets off with 
 it, to brave the perils of travel, by no means slight 
 iu those rough days, and is told, in case of danger 
 from brigands, to swallow the precious trust. The 
 messenger is found dead on the road, and is buried 
 by peasants. De Sancy, impatient that his man 
 does not arrive, seeks for his body, takes it from 
 the ground where it is buried, opens it, and re- 
 covers his gem ! In some way, not now known, 
 Louis XV. got the diamond into his possession, 
 and wore it at his coronation. In 1789, it disap- 
 peared from the crown-treasures, and no trace of
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 233 
 
 it was discovered till 1830, when it was offered 
 for sale by a merchant in Paris. Count Demi- 
 doff had a lawsuit over it in 1832 ; and as it 
 is valued at a million of francs, it was worth 
 quarrelling about. 
 
 The Nassuck Diamond, valued at thirty thou- 
 sand pounds, is a magnificent jewel, nearly as 
 large as a common walnut. Pure as a drop of 
 dew, it ranked among the richest treasures in 
 the British conquest of India. 
 
 What has become of the great triangular Blue 
 Diamond, weighing sixty-seven carats, stolen from 
 the French Court at the time of the great robbery 
 of the crown-jewels 1 Alas ! it has never been 
 heard from. Three millions of francs represented 
 its value; and no one, to this day, knows its 
 hiding-place. What a pleasant morning's work 
 it would be to unearth this gem from its dark 
 corner, where it has lain perdu so many years j 
 The bells of Notre Dame should proclaim such 
 good fortune to all Paris. 
 
 But enough of these individual magnificos. 
 Their beauty and rarity have attracted sufficient
 
 231- DIAMONDS AXD PKARLS. 
 
 attention in their day. Yet I should like to 
 handle a few of those Spanish splendors which 
 Queen Isabel II. wore at the reception of the 
 ambassadors from Morocco. That day she shone 
 in diamonds alone to the amount of two million 
 dollars ! I once saw a monarch's sword, of which 
 
 " The jewelled hilt, 
 Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade," 
 
 was valued at one hundred thousand dollars ! 
 But one of the pleasantest of my personal re- 
 membrances, connected with diamonds, is the 
 picking up of a fine, lustrous gem which fell 
 from 0. B.'s violin bow (the gift of the Duke 
 of Devonshire), one night, after he had been 
 playing his magic instrument for the special 
 delight of a few friends. The tall Norwegian 
 wrapped it in a bit of newspaper, when it was 
 restored to him, and thrust it into his cigar- 
 box! [0. B. sometimes carried his treasures in 
 strange places. One day he was lamenting the 
 loss of a large sum of money which he had re- 
 ceived as the proceeds of a concert in New York. 
 A week afterwards he found his missing nine
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. ' 235 
 
 hundred dollars stuffed away in a dark corner 
 of one of his violin-cases.] 
 
 There is a very pretty diamond-story current in 
 connection with the good Empress Eugenie. Ma- 
 dame de Barrera relates it in this wise : 
 
 " When the sovereign of France marries, by virtue 
 of an ancient custom kept up to the present day, the 
 bride is presented by the city of Paris \vith a valuable 
 gift. Another is also offered at the birth of the first- 
 born. 
 
 "In 1853, when the choice of His Majesty Napoleon 
 III. raised the Empress Eugenie to the throne, the city 
 of Paris, represented by the Municipal Commission, 
 voted the sum of six hundred thousand francs for the 
 purchase of a diamond necklace to be presented to Her 
 Majesty. 
 
 " The news caused quite a sensation among the jew- 
 ellers. Each was eager to contribute his finest gems to 
 form the Empress's necklace, a necklace which was 
 to make its appearance under auspices as favorable as 
 those of the famous Queen's Necklace had been unpro- 
 pitious. But on the 28th of January, two days after 
 the vote of the Municipal Commission, all this zeal 
 was disappointed; the young Empress having expressed
 
 236 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 a wish that the six hundred thousand francs should be 
 used for the foundation of an educational institution 
 for poor young girls of the Faubourg St. Antoine. 
 
 " The wish has been realized, and, thanks to the be- 
 neficent fairy in whose compassionate heart it had its 
 origin, the diamond necklace has been metamorphosed 
 into an elegant edifice, with charming gardens. Here 
 a hundred and fifty young girls, at first, but now as 
 many as four hundred, have been placed, and receive, 
 under the management of those angels of charity called 
 the Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul, an excellent educa- 
 tion, proportioned to their station, and fitting them to 
 be useful members of society. 
 
 " The solemn opening of the Maison Eugenie-Napo- 
 leon took place on the 1st of January, 1857. 
 
 " M. Veron, the journaliste, now deputy of the Seine, 
 has given, in the ' Moniteur,' a very circumstantial ac- 
 count of this establishment. From it we borrow the 
 following : 
 
 " ' The girls admitted are usually wretchedly clad : 
 on their entrance they receive a full suit of clothes. 
 Almost all are pale, thin, weak children, to whom mel- 
 ancholy and suffering have imparted an old and care- 
 worn expression. But, thanks to cleanliness, to whole- 
 some and sufficient food, to a calm and well-regulated 
 life, to the pure, healthy air they breathe, the natural
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 237 
 
 hues and the joyousness of youth soon reanimate the 
 little faces ; and with lithe, invigorated limbs and 
 happy hearts, these young creatures join merrily in the 
 games of their new companions. They have entered 
 the institution old ; they will leave it young.' 
 
 " The Empress Eugenie delights in visiting the insti- 
 tution of the Faubourg St. Antoine. This is natural. 
 Her Majesty cannot but feel pleasure in the contempla- 
 tion of all she has accomplished by sacrificing a mag- 
 nificent but idle ornament to the welfare of so many 
 beings rescued from misery and ignorance. These four 
 hundred young girls will be so many animated, happy, 
 and grateful jewels, constituting for Her Majesty in the 
 present, and for her memory in the future, an ever-new 
 set of jewels, an immortal ornament, a truly celestial 
 talisman. 
 
 "A fresco painting represents, in a hemicycle, the 
 Empress in her bridal dress, offering to the Virgin a 
 diamond necklace ; young girls are kneeling around 
 her in prayer ; admiration and fervent faith are de- 
 picted on their brows." 
 
 A very large amount of the world's capital is 
 represented in precious stones, and ninety per 
 cent of that capital so invested is in diamonds. 
 This was not always the case. Ancient million-
 
 238 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 naires held their enormous jewelry-riches more in 
 colored stones than is the custom now. Crystal- 
 lized carbon has risen in the estimation of capital- 
 ists, and crystallized clay has gone down in the 
 scale of value. 
 
 If the diamond be the hardest known substance 
 in the world's jewel-box, the pearl is by no means 
 its near relation in that particular. The daugh- 
 ters of Stilicho slept undisturbed eleven hundred 
 and eighteen years, with all their riches in sound 
 condition, except the pearls that were found with 
 their splendid ornaments. The other decorations 
 sparkled in the light as brilliantly as ever; but 
 the pearls crumbled into dust, as their owners 
 had done centuries before. Eight hundred years 
 before these ladies lived and wore pearls, a queen 
 with " swarthy cheeks and bold black eyes " tried 
 a beverage which cost, exclusive of the vinegar 
 which partly composed it, the handsome little 
 sum of something over eighty thousand pounds. 
 Diamond and vinegar would not have mixed so 
 prettily.
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 239 
 
 Pearls are perishable beauties, exquisite in their 
 perfect state, but liable to accident from the 
 nature of their delicate composition. Remote 
 antiquity chronicles their existence, and imme- 
 morial potentates eagerly sought for them to 
 adorn their persons. Pearl-fisheries in the Per- 
 sian Gulf are older than the reign of Alexander ; 
 and the Indian Ocean, the Red Sea, and the Coast 
 of Coromandel yielded their white wonders ages 
 a^o. Under the Ptolemies, in the time of the 
 Caliphs, the pearl-merchant flourished, grew rich, 
 and went to Paradise. To-day the pearl-diver 
 is grubbing under the waves that are lapping 
 the Sooloo Islands, the coast of Coromandel, and 
 the shores of Algiers. In Ceylon he is busiest, 
 and you may find him from the first of February 
 to the middle of April risking his life in the 
 perilous seas. His boat is from eight to ten tons 
 burden, and without a deck. At ten o'clock at 
 night, when the cannon fires, it is his signal to 
 put off for the bank opposite Condatchy, which 
 he will reach by daylight, if the weather be fair. 
 Unless it is calm, he cannot follow his trade. As
 
 240 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 soon as light dawns, he prepares to descend. His 
 diving-stone, to keep him at the bottom, is got 
 ready, and, after offering up his devotions, he 
 leaps into the water. Two minutes are consid- 
 ered a long time to be submerged, but some 
 divers can hold out four or five minutes. When 
 his strength is exhausted, he gives a signal by 
 pulling the rope, and is drawn up with his bag 
 of oysters. Appalling dangers compass him about. 
 Sharks watch for him as he dives, and not in- 
 frequently he comes up maimed for life. It is 
 recorded of a pearl-diver, that he died from over- 
 exertion immediately after he reached land, hav- 
 ing brought up with him a shell that contained 
 a pearl of great size and beauty. Barry Corn- 
 wall has remembered the poor fellow in a song 
 so full of humanity, that I quote his pearl-strung 
 lyric entire. 
 
 " Within the midnight of her hair, 
 Half hidden in its deepest deeps, 
 A single, peerless, priceless pearl 
 (All filmy-eyed) forever sleeps. 
 Without the diamond's sparkling eyes, 
 Th3 ruby's blushes, there it lies,
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 241 
 
 Modest as the tender dawn, 
 
 When her purple veil 's withdrawn, 
 
 The flower of gems, a lily cold and pale i 
 
 Yet what doth all avail, 
 
 All its beauty, all its grace, 
 
 All the honors of its place ? 
 
 He who plucked it from its bed, 
 
 In the far blue Indian ocean, 
 
 Lieth, without life or motion, 
 
 In his earthy dwelling, dead ! 
 
 And his children, one by one, 
 
 When they look upon the sun, 
 
 Curse the toil by which he drew 
 
 The treasure from its bed of blue. 
 
 " Gentle Bride, no longer wear, 
 In thy night-black, odorous hair, 
 Such a spoil ! It is not fit 
 That a tender soul should sit 
 Under such accursed gem ! 
 What need'st thou a diadem, 
 Thou, within whose Eastern eyes 
 Thought (a starry Genius) lies, 
 Thou, whom Beauty has arrayed, 
 Thou, whom Love and Truth have made 
 Beautiful, in whom we trace 
 Woman's softness, angel's grace, 
 All we hope for, all that streams 
 Upon us iii our haunted dreams ?
 
 242 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 " sweet Lady ! cast aside, 
 With a gentle, noble pride, 
 All to sin or pain allied ! 
 Let the wild-eyed conqueror wear 
 The bloody laurel in his hair ! 
 Let the black and snaky vine 
 Round the drinker's temples twine ! 
 Let the slave-begotten gold 
 Weigh on bosoms hard and cold ! 
 But be THOU forever known 
 By thy natural light alone ! " 
 
 One of the best judges of pearls that ever lived, 
 out of the regular trade, was no less a person than 
 Csesar. He was a great connoisseur, and could 
 tell at once, when he took a pearl in his hand, its 
 weight and value. He gave one away worth a 
 quarter of a million dollars. Servilia, the mother 
 of Brutus, was the lady to whom he made the regal 
 present. 
 
 Caligula, not satisfied with building ships of 
 cedar with sterns inlaid with gems, had a pearl 
 collar made for a favorite horse ! Pliny grows 
 indignant as he chronicles the luxury of this 
 Emperor. 
 
 " I have seen, 1 ' says he, " Lollia Paulina, who
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 243 
 
 was the wife of the Emperor Caligula, and this 
 not on the occasion of a solemn .festival or cere- 
 mony, but merely at a supper of ordinary be- 
 trothals, I have seen Lollia Paulina covered 
 with emeralds and pearls, arranged alternate!} 7 , 
 so as to give each other additional brilliancy, on 
 her head, neck, arms, hands, and girdle, to the 
 amount of forty thousand sesterces [336,000 ster- 
 ling] the which value she was prepared to prove 
 on the instant by producing the receipts. And 
 these pearls came, not from the prodigal gener- 
 osity of an imperial husband, but from treasures 
 which had been the spoils of provinces. Marcus 
 Lollius, her grandfather, was dishonored in all the 
 East on account of the gifts he had extorted from 
 kings, disgraced by Tiberius, and obliged to poison 
 himself, that his grand-daughter might exhibit her- 
 self by the light of the lucernce blazing with jewels." 
 
 Nero offered to Jupiter Capitolinus the first 
 trimmings of his beard in a magnificent vase en- 
 riched with the costliest pearls. 
 
 Catherine de Medicis and Diane de Poitiers 
 almost floated in pearls, their dresses being pro-
 
 244 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 fusely covered with them. The wedding robe of 
 Anne of Cleves.was a rich cloth-of-gold, thickly 
 embroidered with great flowers of large Orient 
 pearls. Poor Mary, Queen of Scots, had a won- 
 derful lot of pearls among her jewels; and the 
 sneaking manner in which Elizabeth got posses- 
 sion of them we will leave Miss Strickland, the 
 biographer of Queens, to relate. 
 
 " If anything farther than the letters of Drury and 
 Throgmorton be required to prove the confederacy be- 
 tween the English Government and the Earl of Moray, 
 it will only be necessary to expose the disgraceful fact 
 of the traffic of Queen Mary's costly parure of pearls, 
 her own personal property, which she had brought with 
 her from France. A few days before she effected her 
 escape from Lochleven Castle, the righteous Regent 
 sent these, with a choice collection of her jewels, very 
 secretly to London, by his trusty agent, Sir Nicholas 
 Elphinstone, who undertook to negotiate their sale, with 
 the assistance of Throgmorton, to whom he was directed 
 for that purpose. As these pearls were considered the 
 most magnificent in Europe, Queen Elizabeth was 
 complimented with the first offer of them. ' She saw 
 them yesterday, May 2nd,' writes Bodutel La Forrest,
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 the French ambassador at the Court of England, 'in 
 the presence of the Earls of Pembroke and Leicester, 
 and pronounced them to be of unparalleled beauty.' 
 He thus describes them : ' There are six cordons of 
 large pearls, strung as paternosters ; but there are five- 
 and-twenty separate from the rest, much finer and 
 larger than those which are strung ; these are for the 
 most part like black muscades. They had not been 
 here more than three days, when they were appraised 
 by various merchants ; this Queen wishing to have 
 them at the sum named by the jeweller, who could 
 have made his profit by selling them again. They 
 were at first shown to three or four working jewellers 
 and lapidaries, by whom they were estimated at three 
 thousand pounds sterling (about ten thousand crowns), 
 and who offered to give that sum for them. Several 
 Italian merchants came after them, who valued them 
 at twelve thousand crowns, which is the price, as I am 
 told, this Queen Elizabeth will take them at. There 
 is a Genoese who saw them after the others, and said 
 they were worth sixteen thousand crowns ; but I think 
 they will allow her to have them for twelve thousand.' 
 ' In the mean time/ continues he, in his letter to Cath- 
 erine of Medicis, ' I have not delayed giving your 
 Majesty timely notice of what was going on, though I
 
 21:6 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 doubt she will not allow them to escape her. The rest 
 of the jewels are not near so valuable as the pearls. 
 The only thing I have heard particularly described is 
 a piece of unicorn richly carved arid decorated.' Mary's 
 royal mother-in-law of France, no whit more scrupu- 
 lous than her good cousin of England, was eager to 
 compete with the latter for the purchase of the pearls, 
 knowing that they were worth nearly double the sum 
 at which they had been valued in London. Some of 
 them she had herself presented to Mary, and especially 
 wished to recover ; but the ambassador wrote to her in 
 reply, that ' he had found it impossible to accomplish 
 her desire of obtaining the Queen of Scots' pearls, for, 
 as he had told her from the first, they were intended 
 for the gratification of the Queen of England, who had 
 been allowed to purchase them at her own price, and 
 they were now in her hands/ 
 
 "Inadequate though the sum for which her pearls 
 were sold was to their real value, it assisted to turn the 
 scale against their real owner. 
 
 " In one of her letters to Elizabeth, supplicating her 
 to procure some amelioration of the rigorous confine- 
 ment of her captive friends, Mary alludes to her stolen 
 jewels. * I beg also,' says she, * that you will prohibit 
 the sale of the rest of my jewels, which the rebels have 
 ordered in their Parliament, for you have promised
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 247 
 
 that nothing should be done in it to my prejudice. I 
 should be very glad, if they were in safer custody, for 
 they are not meat proper for traitors. Between you 
 and me it would make little difference, and I should 
 be rejoiced, if any of them happened to be to your 
 taste, that you would accept them from me as offerings 
 of my good-will.' 
 
 " From this frank offer it is apparent that Mary was 
 not aware of the base part Elizabeth had acted, in pur- 
 chasing her magnificent parure of pearls of Moray for 
 a third part of their value." 
 
 One of the most famous pearls yet- discovered 
 (there may be shells down below that hide a finer 
 specimen) is the beautiful Peregrina. It was 
 fished up by a little negro lioy in 1560, who 
 obtained his liberty by opening an oyster. The 
 modest bivalve was so small that the boy in dis- 
 gust was about to pitch it back into the sea. 
 But be thought better of his rash determination, 
 pulled the shells asunder, and, lo ! the rarest of 
 priceless pearls! [Moral. Do not despise little 
 oysters.] La Peregrina is shaped like a pear, 
 and is of the size of a pigeon's egg. It was pre- 
 sented to Philip II. by the finder's master, and
 
 248 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 
 
 is still in Spain. No sum has ever determined 
 its value. The King's jeweller named five hun- 
 dred thousand dollars, but that paltry amount 
 was scouted as ridiculously small. 
 
 There is a Rabbinical story which aptly shows 
 the high estimate of pearls in early ages, only 
 one object in nature being held worthy to be 
 placed above them. 
 
 " On approaching Egypt, Abraham locked Sarah in 
 a chest, that none might behold her dangerous beauty. 
 But when he was come to the place of paying custom, 
 the collectors said, ' Pay us the custom ' ; and he said, 
 'I will pay the custom.' They said to him, 'Thou 
 carriest clothes ' ; and he said, ' I will pay for clothes/ 
 Then they said to him, ' Thou carriest gold ' ; and he 
 answered them, 'I will pay for my gold.' On this 
 they further said to him, 'Surely thou bearest the 
 finest silk': he replied, 'I will pay custom for the 
 finest silk.' Then said they, ' Surely it must be pearls 
 that thou takest with thee'; and he only answered, 
 1 1 will pay for pearls.' Seeing that they could name 
 nothing of value for which the patriarch was not will- 
 ing to pay custom, they said, ' It cannot be but thou 
 open the box, and let us see what is within.' So they
 
 DIAMONDS AND PEARLS. 249 
 
 opened the box, and the whole land of Egypt was illu- 
 mined by the lustre of Sarah's beauty, far exceeding 
 even that of pearls." 
 
 Shakespeare, who loved all things beautiful, 
 and embalmed them so that their lustre could 
 lose nothing at his hands, was never tired of in- 
 troducing the diamond and the pearl. They were 
 his favorite ornaments; and I intended to point 
 out some of the splendid passages in which he 
 has used them, but have room for only one 
 of those priceless sentences in which he has set 
 the diamond and the pearl as they were never set 
 before. No kingly diadem can boast such jewels 
 as glow along these lines from "King Lear" : 
 
 "You have seen 
 
 Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day : those happy smiles 
 That played on her ripe lip seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, 
 As pearls from diamonds dropped."
 
 THE AUTHOE OP "PAUL AND VIEGINIA,"
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 HERE are certain books that are read to 
 be laid aside, and there are certain other 
 books that are laid aside to be read. 
 No one who reads at all would care to die with- 
 out having perused "The Vicar of Wakefield" 
 and " Paul and Virginia." These two stories are 
 sometimes bound up together for the immediate 
 use of young persons, who are sure to be told 
 that they cannot afford to remain long in the 
 world and be ignorant of the people who are na- 
 tive to this brace of attractive volumes. My first 
 pilgrimage in London was to the rooms which 
 Goldsmith had occupied, for I could not remem- 
 ber the time when " The Vicar of Wakefield " was
 
 254 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 not a delight to me ; and landing at Havre on my 
 earliest visit to Europe, I had not been on shore a 
 single hour before seeking out the house in which 
 the author of " Paul and Virginia " was born, in 
 the year 1737. I found the place without diffi- 
 culty, having obtained direction to the locality 
 from the very first person I appealed to for it in 
 the street. Early in life I adopted the plan when 
 in a strange place, either at home or abroad, of 
 appealing for information as to street or person 
 to an intelligent-looking female rather than to one 
 of my own sex, and for .this reason : Men are 
 apt to be hurrying along, bent solely on their 
 own affairs, and do not care to be stopped by a 
 stranger and questioned as to matters unimpor- 
 tant perhaps to themselves. Besides, your aver- 
 age well-dressed man on the sidewalk is not half 
 so apt to be possessed of the requisite knowledge 
 as ladies who are moving over the same pave- 
 ment. Male pedestrians, nine out of ten, are 
 superficial, ill-mannered, and indifferent, or not in 
 the mood for conferring favor of information on 
 an inquiring stranger. Women, on the contrary,
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA," 255 
 
 are habitually more sympathetic and inclined to 
 oblige. They are certainly, as a constitutional 
 characteristic, much more graciously mannered 
 than men, and I am yet to receive the first gruff 
 reply from a lady in the street when I have 
 requested answer to any question necessary for 
 my convenience to be solved. The mode of 
 bestowing a kindness is often of more value than 
 the thing conferred. The -art of being gracious 
 is, to put it mildly, not exclusively possessed by 
 those who go about the streets inside of hats, 
 coats, and trousers. A man appealed to in the 
 street tells you he does not know with a short, 
 sharp report, like an unsympathetic revolver ; a 
 woman, not able to answer your question, does so 
 with an apologetic smile and a beneficent tone, 
 which linger in your memory sometimes like Ti- 
 tian's portraits, which Hazlitt says are all sus- 
 tained by sentiment, and look as if the persons 
 whom he painted sat to music. 
 
 Foreigners perhaps have more sympathy for 
 strangers who need information than either Eng- 
 lish or Americans, and the instructed lady who
 
 256 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 showed me the nearest way to Number 47, Rue 
 de la Corderie, in Havre, seemed pleased that 
 she could render me so gracious a service. Ti- 
 tania's exhortatory line to the elves in the case 
 of Nick Bottom, "Be kind and courteous to 
 this gentleman," could not have been better car- 
 ried out. The good woman insisted upon pro- 
 ceeding with me to the quaint old house, although 
 it was evidently not in the direction she was 
 going when I met her; but the service was per- 
 formed so kindly I could not offer a word of pro- 
 test. Leading me along the quays we threaded 
 our way through the bustling streets, piled up 
 with cotton -bales, sugar -hogsheads, and other 
 commodities, all reminding me of the tropical 
 countries which had made Havre their port of 
 trade. Unwonted cries of parrots and macaws 
 filled the air, and their sparkling plumage made 
 the streets resplendent with color. At length we 
 came to the house we were in search of. 
 
 Entering the little shop on the lower floor, the 
 master of it came smiling toward me and politely 
 inquired what he could do to serve me.
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 257 
 
 " Will Monsieur please to be seated ? " 
 
 " Merci ! but I have no business," was my reply. 
 
 The little perruquier looked disappointed, and 
 began to display his wares, consisting of odorous 
 soap, combs, brushes, and other useful articles for 
 the toilet. 
 
 " I have taken the liberty of entering the house 
 in which the famous author of ' Paul and Virginia' 
 was born, and of paying, as an American, the 
 homage of my admiration for his genius," said I. 
 
 " Ah ! he was indeed a grand author, and I am 
 proud to do business on the very spot where he 
 was born," replied the man. 
 
 The barber and I then sat down together near 
 his door, for it was an hour of the day when no 
 customers were stirring, and we then and there 
 compared notes as to the great merits of St. Pierre, 
 whose works were familiar as the Prayer-Book to 
 my new friend. Indeed, he had a small copy of 
 " The Indian Cottage " on his shelf of perfumes, 
 and he handed it down for my inspection. 
 
 This, then, was the birthplace of a man who had 
 given so much pleasure in the world, the starting-
 
 258 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 point of a being destined to confer so lasting a 
 benefit on mankind. The little barber being called 
 away to wait upon a pompous and well-powdered 
 gentleman who desired to have his wig put in 
 " grand style " for the fete to be held next day at 
 Ingouville, I had the whole doorway to myself. 
 Many a time St. Pierre, when a youth, must have 
 passed over this threshold. A man of acute sensi- 
 bility all his life, in this narrow street he must 
 have suffered some of the pangs that wait upon a 
 temperament like his. I remember he says some- 
 where in his works that a single thorn could give 
 him greater pain than a hundred roses confer pleas- 
 ure ; and I also recalled how deeply he was wounded 
 by envious and malicious contemporaries, and how 
 frequently disease lay in wait for him ; how at one 
 time he was seized with a strange malady, flashes 
 of fire resembling lightning dancing before his eyes, 
 every object appearing double and moving, like 
 (Edipus, seeing two suns in heaven. For years he 
 was a man " perplexed in the extreme," and what 
 he endured people born without nerves can never 
 comprehend.
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 259 
 
 The complete works of St. Pierre fill twelve oc- 
 tavo volumes ; but his fame will always rest on that 
 tender little idyl, so full of romantic interest, pub- 
 lished in 1788, which was written, in a garret on the 
 Rue St. Etienne-du-Mont in Paris. A touching in- 
 cident connected with the manuscript of "Paul and 
 Virginia" is recorded by L. Aime Martin. Ma- 
 dame Necker invited St. Pierre to bring his new 
 story into her salon, and read it before publication 
 to a company of distinguished and enlightened au- 
 ditors. She promised that the judges she would 
 convene to hear him were among those she esteemed 
 the most worthy. Monsieur Necker himself, as a 
 distinguished favor, would be at home on the occa- 
 sion. Buffon, the Abbe Galiani, Monsieur and Ma- 
 dame Germain, were among the tribunal when St. 
 Pierre appeared and sat down with the manuscript 
 of " Paul and Virginia" open before him. At first 
 he was heard in profound silence : he went on, and 
 the attention grew languid, the august assembly 
 began to whisper, to yawn, and then listen no longer. 
 Monsieur de Buffon pulled out his watch and called 
 for his horses ; those sitting near the door noise-
 
 260 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 les-sly slipped out; one of the company was seen in 
 profound slumber; some of the ladies wept, but 
 Monsieur Necker jeered at them, and they, ashamed 
 of their tears, dared not confess how much inter' 
 ested they had been. AVhen the reading was 
 finished, not one word of praise followed it. Ma- 
 dame Xecker criticised the conversations in the 
 book, and spoke of the tedious and commonplace 
 action in the story. A shower of iced water 
 seemed to fall on poor St. Pierre, who retired from 
 the room in a state of overwhelming depression. 
 He felt as if a sentence of death had been pro- 
 nounced on his story, and that " Paul and Vir- 
 ginia" was unworthy to appear before the public 
 eye. 
 
 But a man of genius the painter, Joseph 
 Vernet, who had not been present at the reading 
 at Madame Necker's dropped in one morning 
 on St. Pierre in his garret, and revived his almost 
 sinking courage. "Perhaps Monsieur will read 
 his new story to his friend Vernet 1 " So the au- 
 thor took up his manuscript, which since the fatal 
 day had been cast aside, and began to read. As
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 261 
 
 Vernet listened the charm fell upon him, and at 
 every page he uttered an exclamation of delight. 
 Soon he ceased to praise ; he only wept. When 
 St. Pierre reached that part of the book which 
 Madame Necker had found so much fault with, 
 the author proposed to omit that portion of the 
 narrative ; but Vernet would not consent to omit 
 anything. When the book was finished, Vernet 
 threw his arms about St. Pierre, and told him he 
 had produced a chef-d'oeuvre. "My friend," ex- 
 claimed Vernet, "you are a great painter, and I 
 dare to promise you a splendid reputation!" Fifty 
 editions, that year " Paul and Virginia " was pub- 
 lished, attested the wise judgment of Joseph Ver- 
 net. 
 
 Another striking incident in the career of the 
 author was his appearance, in the year 1798, at a 
 meeting of the Institute. He had been charged 
 to make a report upon the prize question, " What 
 institutions are the most proper to form a basis 
 for public morals'?" A strong sentiment of relig- 
 ion was a marked characteristic in the life of St. 
 Pierre, and he was anxious to bring men back to
 
 262 THE AUTHOR OF " PAUL AND VIRGINIA.' 1 '' 
 
 views of justice and consolation. On this occasion 
 he seemed inspired, and his essay breathed out all 
 the sweetness of the gospel. His colleagues at 
 that time were a hand of mercenary scholars, who 
 were only anxious to retrench divinity to their 
 own system of revolutionary action. It was in 
 the presence of such an auditory that St. Pierre 
 rose to read his report, and at the very first enun- 
 ciation of his religious principles a cry of fury was 
 directed against him from every part of the hall. 
 Some jesting voices asked him when he had seen 
 God, and what was his form. Derision and con- 
 tempt were followed by outrage. Some insulted 
 his age, charging him with dotage and supersti- 
 tion ; some threatened to expel him from the As- 
 sembly, where he had made himself ridiculous; 
 and several blaspheming members challenged him 
 to a duel, in order to prove by crossing of weapons 
 that there was no God. The ideologist, Cabanis, 
 stood over him in a violent rage, crying out, " I 
 swear there is no God, and I demand that his 
 name never again be pronounced within these 
 walls ! " St. Pierre would hear no more, and, as
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 263 
 
 he left the hall, turned calmly to Cabanis and said, 
 "Your master, Mirabeau, would have blushed at 
 the words you have just uttered." Hastening to 
 the library, St. Pierre committed to paper some 
 thoughts called up by the scene he had just wit- 
 nessed. It is said to be a compound of sweetness 
 and strength, and a model of the most lofty elo- 
 quence. Prayer, conciliation, reconciliation, were 
 his only replies to the insults that had been 
 heaped upon him. He would not wrong himself 
 by trying to prove that there was a God, but he 
 recalled the ephemeral laws under which the peo- 
 ple were then living, and compared them with the 
 eternal laws of the Almighty. This document is 
 said to be almost superior to anything else St. 
 Pierre has ever written. 
 
 St. Pierre was an enthusiast for Nature, and we 
 can never be grateful enough to the men and 
 women who, like him, have written books to make 
 us more in love with her beauties and harmonies, 
 who have themselves been transported with the 
 glories of her divine works, those careful ob- 
 servers and students who have the power to
 
 204 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 bring, even in winter months, the robins singing 
 again about our doors, as in the summer time. 
 For my own part, I can never be sufficiently 
 thankful for the writings of Wordsworth, Thom- 
 son, Cowper, Bryant, Thorean, Kingsley, and 
 those other high-priests of Nature, who have 
 spoken to us, either in their loftiest or simplest 
 moods, of what is so elevating and instructive. 
 It is a good thing to be alive while John Bur- 
 roughs is bringing out, at pleasant intervals, his 
 delightful volumes, so full of grace and accurate 
 suggestion ; and I always wish to take off my hat 
 in homage, when I face him in the street, to 
 George B. Emerson for those two noble volumes 
 which can make the forests of Massachusetts our 
 neighbors and companions every day in the year. 
 St. Pierre's "Studies of Nature" is full of in- 
 terest, discursive though it is apt to be in many 
 of its chapters. In one of the passages of this 
 work he expressed a wish that he might find a 
 suitable companion for life. Many letters making 
 overtures for the situation poured in upon him. 
 He ^finally married a beautiful and accomplished
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 265 
 
 daughter of the celebrated printer Didot, and two 
 of their children were named Paul and Virginia. 
 Some time after her death he espoused in second 
 marriage a young girl of noble family named De 
 Pellepore, with whom he .lived in conjugal felicity 
 to the end of his career. The disparity of their 
 ages was no bar to their happiness ; and the lady 
 is described by those who knew her as a model 
 wife and most careful guardian of his children. 
 
 St. Pierre died in the month of January, 1814, 
 at the age of seventy-seven. His last years were 
 filled with tranquillity, and were as happy as his 
 youthful ones had been sad and restless. He was 
 a beautiful old man in personal appearance, and 
 his long silver hair, flowing carelessly over his 
 well-knit shoulders, gave him prominence, as an 
 individual, even in the crowded streets of Paris. 
 The common people knew and loved his venerable 
 form, and as they passed saluted with reverence 
 the author of " Paul and Virginia." 
 
 I have in my possession an autograph letter 
 written by him to Rembrandt Peale in the year 
 1809. Peale, when in France, painted a portrait
 
 266 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 of the author, and when the picture was finished 
 asked St. Pierre to give him in his own writing a 
 brief memoir of his life. This request the vener- 
 able old man complied with in the form of an 
 epistle, and I here print from the original the 
 brief biography, in all its imperfect English; for 
 the epistle was written^ not in French, but in the 
 language Rembrandt Peale was born to speak and 
 read, a compliment to the artist not to be over- 
 looked. 
 
 " AMIABLE PHILADELPHE, THE REMBRANDT OF AMERICA: 
 " You attach too much importance to my mem- 
 ory. Your father has written to thank me for 
 having sitten to you. On your part you wish to 
 add to the immortality which your pencil has 
 given me in the New World, some notice of my 
 life in the Old doubtless to make compensation. 
 And to give more weight to your request, it is 
 made thro' your Consul-general, Mr. Warden. I 
 shall endeavor to satisfy you in a few words. 
 
 "I was born in 1737 at Havre de Grace en 
 Normandy. The eldest of 3 brothers and 2 
 sisters (from whom there remains only a little
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 267 
 
 nephew,) my parents gave me what is called in 
 Europe, a good Education at 12 years, disgusted 
 with study, and profiting by the friendship of an 
 Uncle who Commanded a Vessel of Commerce, I 
 made a Voyage to Martinique, but returned still 
 more discontented with my relation, the sea, and 
 the Island, where I had nearly died with the Yel- 
 low fever, than I had been with my Pedagogue 
 and his College. 
 
 " On my return I recommenced my studies ; my 
 father sending me successively to Gisors, and to 
 Rouen with the Jesuits, where I acquired a taste 
 for letters, which I completed at the University 
 of Caen. 
 
 "There yet was wanting some business which 
 should insure me a fortune for the future ; I was 
 sent to Paris to the school of Bridges and Cause- 
 ways, where I learnt to draw plans and the Math- 
 ematics, from there I entered into a Corps of En- 
 gineers of Camps and Armies I formed a Com- 
 pany and the year following was sent to Malta, 
 then threatened with Invasion by the Turks. The 
 Turks came not, but I had a considerable quarrel
 
 268 THE AUTHOR OF "PATL A XI) V/RGIXfA." 
 
 with the Engineers in Ordinary, in consequence of 
 not being of their Corps. It did me honor, but I 
 lost my place. 
 
 " I resolved then to pass into foreign service 
 sold the little I had and embarked for Holland 
 with the intention of passing into Portugal, on the 
 eve of a War with Spain. But General Piquebourg, 
 who was to command the Portuguese troops, had 
 set off 3 days before. A new war broke out in 
 the North, the Emperor of Russia, Peter the 3, 
 wished to possess Holstein and was to begin by 
 attacking Lubeck. That city was commanded by 
 one of my compatriots, the Chevalier de Chasot 
 I offered him my service as engineer, and I re- 
 mained with him 2 months, waiting from day to 
 day the arrival of the Russians, when we learned 
 that their Emperor was dethroned. His wife, 
 Catharine 2, desirous of restoring the liberal Arts, 
 which her husband hated, had offered to Mr. To- 
 relli, Father-in-law of the Ch v de Chasot, to be 
 Director of the Academy of Painting at St. Peters- 
 burg. I resolved to accompany him We em- 
 barked for Cronstad the 1 st of Sept. and arrived
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 269 
 
 at St. Petersburg near the end of the month. 
 There we learnt that the Empress was at Moscow, 
 which rendered my letters of recommendation 
 useless, untill the month of January, when I made 
 that Journey The Grand Master of Artillery 
 received me well and I entered as Lieutenant 
 Engineer in the Corps of Genius ; I should prob- 
 ably have finished my days in that country, if 
 winters of 6 months duration, and manners not less 
 rude, had not injured my health ; so that, after a 
 year and a half of service, I took leave. I returned 
 to France by the way of Poland, which country 
 being then divided by civil wars, I was desirous 
 of doing something for the advantage of my Coun- 
 try, and therefore joined the party protected by 
 France and commanded by Prince Rdzivil, and 
 was made Prisoner by the Russian party whose 
 service I had just quitted I was happy to pro- 
 cure his esteem even in my Prison after 9 days 
 I was released and permitted to return to France 
 or to reside in Varsovie Here I passed 3 months 
 during the (fetes) festivals and thence took my 
 route by Dresden, situated in a charming Country,
 
 270 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 but the half of whose houses were prostrate by a 
 series of Bombardments by the King of Prussia. 
 Their situation could be relieved only by the 
 strictest economy, and having reformed the greater 
 part of the Army, there were no places to be ob- 
 tained. From Dresden I went to Berlin, curious 
 to compare the voluptuous Saxons with the war- 
 like Prussians Berlin, and especially Potsdam, 
 appeared to me like magnificent Barracks. I saw 
 nothing in the Streets but Soldiers, and Priests at 
 the "Windows. The King offered me a place but 
 I thanked him, the compensation which was at- 
 tached to the office of Engineer did not afford 
 wherewith to live on. At last I visited Vienna, 
 but the pride of its inhabitants and especially of 
 its nobility determined me to depart almost as 
 soon as I had arrived. I returned to Paris where 
 I found an opportunity of embarking for the Isle 
 of France. It was intended to establish a French 
 Colony at Madegascar. I was named Engineer of 
 Fort Dauphin but happily I was detained at 
 the Isle of France by disunion among the Chiefs. 
 The one intended for Madagascar was recalled at
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 271 
 
 the end of some months, having lost almost all his 
 men by a series of intemperance in an unknown 
 Climate. 
 
 "I remained 2 years on the Isle of France 
 much occupied with the duties of my service I 
 should have been happy there but all was in com- 
 bustion the intendant and the governor, the 
 inhabitants and the military, the private persecu- 
 tions of the Engineers in Ordinary, who in me be- 
 held an officer not of their Corps, my small pay 
 as Captain, received in paper money, which lost 
 100 per cent; and more than I can describe 
 the deplorable condition of the Unhappy Blacks, 
 the continual prospect of the hardships of their 
 race, threw me into a profound melancholy. I 
 solicited my return to France and obtained it. I 
 depended on the credit of an Ambassador by whom 
 I was sent to that island he had promised to 
 attach me to his fortunes I sent him some pre- 
 cious curiosities acquired at my own expense and 
 from the generosity of some friends ; which he 
 accepted and offered me nothing more than an 
 opportunity of returning as I went.
 
 272 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 " I now resolved no longer to depend on others. 
 I was satisfied that Providence reigned over all Na- 
 ture, and that Mankind shared in the general con- 
 cern, notwithstanding their Disorders. I therefore 
 determined to dig my own land for water, and not 
 depend on my Neighbors. I again took up my 
 Pen altho' I had already made an unsuccessful 
 effort. On my return from my Journeys in the 
 North, I had written a large Memoir on the sub- 
 ject of Holland, Prussia, Poland, and Russia, 
 which I had overrun, and sent it to the Minister 
 of foreign affairs, but it produced no effect I, 
 however, predicted the partition of Poland by the 
 3 neighbouring powders. The next time I resolved 
 to make the public my judges I wrote my voy- 
 age to the Isle of France and printed it without 
 my name. It procured me some praises from the 
 journalists, but it made me enemies at Versailles 
 they could not pardon my having published the 
 disorders of the Colony and deploring the fate of 
 the unhappy blacks. 
 
 " I was not discouraged I extended my views 
 and at the end of some years retreat, published
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 273 
 
 the 3 first volumes of my studies of Nature with 
 my name and my surnames. I there attacked all 
 kinds of errors and abuses and I foretold an ap- 
 proaching Revolution if the remedy for them was 
 not hastened. This Work had the best success, 
 passing thro' 5 successive Editions, before which 
 time I had added two other volumes. This Work 
 made my circumstances easy, and but for false 
 copies, would have made my fortune. During 
 the first Editions, I received several Pensions from 
 the Court without having solicited them Louis 
 16 himself named me Intendant of the Garden of 
 Plants and the Museum of Natural History. I 
 married and had several children. 
 
 " I began to be happy when the Revolution, 
 which I predicted, arrived. I lost my place, 
 my pensions, and almost all my means. 
 
 "Finally the star of our illustrious Emperor, 
 Bonaparte, has dissipated all those clouds. He 
 has rebuilt part of my fortune by several Pen- 
 sions, to which he added the Cross of honour. 
 His brother Joseph, King of Spain, put the finish 
 to it by a pension of 6 thousand Francs. I owe
 
 274 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 
 
 these unsolicited favours entirely to the natural 
 beneficence of these two Princes. 
 
 " I am equally happy on the side of Nature. I 
 have two amiable children ; my daughtor Virginie 
 aged 14 years educated at Ecouen by order of the 
 Emperor and my son Paul, 12 years old, who 
 studies in my neighbourhood. I early lost their 
 mother, but I found in a second wife, a rare 
 woman who has raised them from infancy and who 
 takes care of my old age with equal affection. I 
 am 72 years old and enjoy health without Infirm- 
 ity. Philosophy and the Muses have always their 
 charms for me. 
 
 " Two years ago, I published a Drama on the 
 death of Socrates, to which I added several small 
 pieces at present I am employed on a long work 
 which I began many years since providence 
 having favoured me with every means. I have a 
 commodious and agreeable Hermitage, 7 leagues 
 from Paris on the borders of the Oise. I there 
 spend, in perfect liberty, with a part of my family, 
 the half of every mouth in fine weather. Thus 
 my vessel, so long beat about by the tempests,
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "PAUL AND VIRGINIA." 275 
 
 proceeds in peace, with favourable winds towards 
 the port of life. Before the anchor must be 
 thrown forever, I try to crown the Stern with 
 some fresh flowers. 
 
 " Wise Americans, I have often wished I could 
 have happily cultivated a little corner of your vast 
 Forests and should have been doubtless unknown 
 to you But if I have, in my rambles thro' the 
 World, merited the monument of Friendship which 
 you have erected to me in your Gallery, I shall 
 bless all the evils I have suffered. 
 
 "Accept the sentiments of my Gratitude. 
 
 "JACQUES HENRI BERNARDIN DE SAINT PIERRE. 
 ' PARIS, the 28 August, 1809."
 
 IF I WEKE A BOY AGAIN.
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 A PLAIN TALK WITH MY NEPHEWS. 
 
 ET me tell yon, my dear lads, some of 
 the things I would do if I were a boy 
 again, some of the too-ofteii neglected 
 acts I would strive to accomplish if it were in my 
 power to begin all over anew. 
 
 This paper was written expressly for you young 
 fellows who are beginning to think for yourselves, 
 and are not averse to hearing what an old boy, 
 who loves you, has to say to his younger fellow- 
 students. 
 
 When we are no longer young we look back and 
 see where we might have done better and learned 
 more, and the things we have neglected rise up
 
 280 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 and mortify us every day of our lives. May I enu- 
 merate some of the important matters, large and 
 small, that, if I were a boy again, I would be more 
 particular about ? 
 
 I think I would learn to use my left hand just 
 as freely as my right one, so that, if anything 
 happened to lame either of them, the other would 
 be all ready to write and " handle things," just as 
 if nothing had occurred. There is no reason in 
 the world why both hands should not be educated 
 alike. A little practice would soon render one set 
 of fingers just as expert as the other; and I have 
 known people who never thought, when a thing 
 was to be done, which particular hand ought to 
 do it, but the hand nearest the object took hold 
 of it and did the office desired. 
 
 I would accustom myself to go about in the 
 dark, and not be obliged to have a lamp or candle 
 on every occasion. Too many of us are slaves to 
 the daylight, and decline to move forward an inch 
 unless everything is visible. One of the most 
 cheerful persons I ever knew was a blind old man,
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 281 
 
 who had lost his sight by an accident at sea dur- 
 ing his early manhood. He went everywhere, and 
 could find things more easily than I could. When 
 his wife wanted a spool of cotton, or a pair of scis- 
 sors from up stairs, the gallant old gentleman went 
 without saying a word, and brought it. He never 
 asked any one to reach him this or that object, 
 but seemed to have the instinct of knowing just 
 where it was and how tt) get at it. 
 
 Surprised at his power of finding things, I asked 
 him one day for an explanation ; and he told me 
 that, when he was a boy on board a vessel, it oc- 
 curred to him that he might some time or other 
 be deprived of sight, and he resolved to begin 
 early in life to rely more on a sense of feeling than 
 he had ever done before. And so he used to wan- 
 der, by way of practice, all over the ship in black 
 midnight, going down below, and climbing around 
 anywhere and everywhere, that he might, in case 
 of blindness, not become wholly helpless and of no 
 account in the world. In this way he had edu- 
 cated himself to do without eyes when it became 
 his lot to live a sightless man.
 
 282 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 I would learn the art of using tools of various 
 sorts. I think I would insist on learning some 
 trade, even if I knew there would be no occasion 
 to follow it when I grew up. 
 
 What a pleasure it is in after-life to be able to 
 make something, as the saying is ! to construct a 
 neat box to hold one's pen and paper ; or a pretty 
 cabinet for a sister's library; or to frame a favorite 
 engraving for a Christmas present to a dear, kind 
 mother. What a loss not to know how to mend a 
 chair that refuses to stand up strong only because 
 it needs a few tacks and a bit of leather here and 
 there ! Some of us cannot even drive a nail 
 straight ; and, should we attempt to saw off an 
 obtrusive piece of wood, ten to one we should lose 
 a finger in the operation. 
 
 It is a pleasant relaxation from books and study 
 to work an hour every day in a tool-shop ; and my 
 friend, the learned and lovable Professor Oliver 
 Wendell Holmes, finds such a comfort in " mend- 
 ing things," when his active brain needs repose, 
 that he sometimes breaks a piece of furniture on 
 purpose that he may have the relief of putting it
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 283 
 
 together again much better than it was before. 
 He is as good a mechanic as he is a poet ; bat 
 there is nothing mechanical about his poetry, as 
 you all know who have read his delightful pieces. 
 An English author of great repute said to me not 
 long ago, " Professor Holmes is writing the best 
 English of our time." And I could not help add- 
 ing, "Yes, and inventing the best stereoscopes, 
 too ! " 
 
 I think I would ask permission, if I had hap- 
 pened to be born in a city, to have the opportu- 
 nity of passing all my vacations in the country, 
 that I might learn the names of trees and flowers 
 and birds. We are, as a people, sadly ignorant 
 of all accurate rural knowledge. We guess at 
 many country things, but we are certain of very 
 few. 
 
 It is inexcusable in a grown-up person, like my 
 amiable neighbor Simpkins, who lives from May to 
 November on a farm of sixty acres in a beautiful . 
 wooded country, not to know a maple from a beech, 
 or a bobolink from a cat-bird. He once handed
 
 284 IF f WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 me a bunch of pansies, and called them violets, 
 and on another occasion he mistook sweet peas for 
 geraniums. 
 
 What right has a human being, while the air is 
 full of bird-music, to be wholly ignorant of the 
 performer's name 1 When we go to the opera, we 
 are fully posted up with regard to all the principal 
 singers, and why should we know nothing of the 
 owners of voices that far transcend the vocal 
 powers of Jenny Lind and Christine Nilsson] 
 
 A boy ought also to be at home in a barn, and 
 learn how to harness a horse, tinker up a wagon, 
 feed the animals, and do a hundred useful things, 
 the experience of which may be of special service 
 to him in after-life as an explorer or a traveller, 
 when unlooked-for emergencies befall him. I have 
 seen an ex-President of the United States, when 
 an old man, descend from his carriage, and re- 
 arrange buckles and straps about his horses when 
 an accident occurred, while the clumsy coachman 
 stood by in a kind of hopeless inactivity, not 
 knowing the best thing to be done. The ex-Presi- 
 dent told me he had learned about such matters
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 285 
 
 on a farm in his boyhood, and so he was never at 
 loss for remedies on the road when his carriage 
 broke down. 
 
 If I were a boy again, I would learn how to 
 row a boat and handle a sail, and, above all, how 
 to become proof against sea-sickness. I would 
 conquer that malady before I grew to be fifteen 
 years old. It can be done, and ought to be done 
 in youth, for all of us are more or less inclined to 
 visit foreign countries, either in the way of busi- 
 ness or mental improvement, to say nothing of 
 pleasure. Fight the sea-sick malady long enough, 
 and it can be conquered at a very early age. 
 
 Charles Dickens, seeing how ill his first voyage 
 to America made him, resolved after he got back 
 to England to go into a regular battle with the 
 winds and waves, and never left off crossing the 
 British Channel, between Dover and Calais, in 
 severe weather, until he was victor over his own 
 stomach, and could sail securely after that in 
 storms that kept the ravens in their nests. 
 " Where there 's a will there 's a way," even out
 
 286 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 of ocean troubles; but it is well to begin early 
 to assert supremacy over salt-water difficulties. 
 " When Caesar undertook a thing," says his biog- 
 rapher, "his body was no obstacle." 
 
 Of course every young person nowadays, male 
 or female, learns to swim, and so no advice on 
 that score need be proffered ; but if I were a boy 
 again I would learn to float half a day, if neces- 
 sary, in as rough a bit of water as I could find 
 on our beautiful coast. A boy of fifteen who 
 cannot keep his head and legs all right in a stiff 
 sea ought to try until he can. No lad in these 
 days ought to drown, if he can help it ! 
 
 I would keep "better hours," if I were a boy 
 again ; that is, I would go to bed earlier than 
 most boys do. Nothing gives more mental and 
 bodily vigor than sound rest when properly applied. 
 Sleep is our great replenisher, and if we neglect 
 to take it naturally in childhood, all the worse 
 for us when we grow up. If we go to bed early, 
 we ripen ; if we sit up late, we decay, and sooner 
 or later we contract a disease called insomnia,
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 287 
 
 allowing it to be permanently fixed upon us ; and 
 then we begin to decay, even in youth. Late 
 hours are shadows from the grave. 
 
 If I were a boy again, I would have a blank- 
 book in which I could record, before going to bed, 
 every day's events just as they happened to me 
 personally. If I began by writing only two lines 
 a day in my diary, I would start my little book, 
 and faithfully put down what happened to inter- 
 est me. 
 
 On its pages I would note down the habits of 
 birds and animals as I saw them, and if the horse 
 fell ill, down should go his malady in my book, 
 and what cured him should go there too. If the 
 cat or the dog showed any peculiar traits, they 
 should all be chronicled in my diary, and nothing 
 worth recording should escape me. 
 
 There are hundreds of things I would correct in 
 my life if I were a boy again, and among them is 
 this especial one : I would be more careful of my 
 teeth. Seeing since I have grown up how much 
 suffering is induced by the bad habit of constantly
 
 288 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 eating candies and other sweet nuisances, I would 
 shut my mouth to all allurements of that sort. 
 Very hot and very cold substances I would studi- 
 ously avoid. 
 
 Toothache in our country is one of the national 
 crimes. Too many people we meet have swelled 
 faces. The dentist thrives here as he does in no 
 other land on this planet, and it is because we 
 begin to spoil our teeth at the age of five or six 
 years. A child, eight years old, asked me not 
 long ago if I could recommend him to a dentist 
 " who did n't hurt" ! I pitied him, but I was un- 
 acquainted with such an artist. They all hurt, 
 and they cannot help it, poor, hard-working gen- 
 tlemen, charging, as they do, like Chester. 
 
 I would have no dealings with tobacco, in any 
 form, if I were a boy again. My friend Pipes tells 
 me he is such a martyr to cigar-boxes that his life 
 is a burden. The habit of smoking has become 
 such a tyrant over him that he carries a tobacco 
 bowsprit at his clamp, discolored lips every hour 
 of the day, and he begs me to warn all the boys
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 289 
 
 of my acquaintance, and say to them emphatically, 
 " Don't learn to smoke ! " He tells me, sadly, that 
 his head is sometimes in such a dizzy whirl, and 
 his brain so foul from long habits of smoking he 
 cannot break off, that he is compelled to forego 
 much that is pleasant in existence, and live a to- 
 bacco-tortured life from year to year. Poor Pipes! 
 he is a sad warning to young fellows who are just 
 learning to use the dirty, unmannerly weed. 
 
 As I look back to my school-days I can remem- 
 ber so many failures through not understanding 
 how to avoid them, that I feel compelled to have 
 this plain talk all round with you. I take it for 
 granted that I am writing for those sensible lads 
 who mean to have their minds keep the best com- 
 pany possible, and never suffer them to go sneak- 
 ing about for inferiority in anything. To be young 
 is a great advantage, and now is the golden time 
 to store away treasures for the future. I never 
 knew a youth yet who would be willing to say, 
 " I don't mean to get understanding ; I don't wish 
 to know much of anything ; I have no desire to
 
 290 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 compass to-day more and better things than I 
 knew yesterday; I prefer, when I grow up, to be 
 an ignorant man, a mere passive wheel in the 
 great machine of the universe." The richest ras- 
 cal that ever lived never started with the idea in 
 boyhood that he would repudiate morals, make 
 money, and avoid ideas ! 
 
 One of the most common of all laments is this 
 one, and I have heard it hundreds of times from 
 grayheaded men in every walk of life, " 0, that 
 my lost youth could come back to me, and I could 
 have again the chance for improvement I once 
 had ! " What " lucky fellows " you are, to be sure, 
 with the privilege of being about twelve or fifteen 
 years old ! still keeping within your own control 
 those priceless opportunities when the portals of 
 knowledge are standing wide open and inviting 
 you in, and not one adverse spirit daring to hold 
 you back. Don't I wish I could be a boy again ! 
 We, who are swiftly stepping westward towards 
 the setting sun, cannot help crying out to you, 
 who are still in the Eastern quarter of life, what
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 291 
 
 Horace Mann used to sound in onr ears when we 
 were as young as you are, " Orient yourselves ! " 
 
 What we sow in youth we reap in age. The 
 seed of the thistle always produces the thistle. 
 The possibilities that wait upon you who are yet 
 in the spring-time of existence, who are yet hold- 
 ing in your own two hands the precious gift of 
 time, cannot be estimated. Do not forget that a 
 useless life is an early death ! 
 
 I thank Mr. Longfellow for having written the 
 following lines. When he read them to me I 
 thanked him heartily, and now I do it again, 
 as I quote them for you to commit to memory 
 from these pages : 
 
 " How beautiful is youth ! how bright it gleams 
 With its illusions, aspirations, dreams ! 
 Book of beginnings, story without end, 
 (Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend !) 
 Aladdin's lamp, and Fortunatus' purse, 
 That holds the treasures of the universe! 
 All possibilities are in its hands, 
 No danger daunts it, and no foe withstands : 
 In its sublime audacity of faith, 
 ' Be thou removed ! ' it to the mountain saith, 
 And with ambitious feet, secure and proud, 
 Ascends the ladder leaning on the cloud ! "
 
 292 ff 1 WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 I wonder if any of you, my young friends, ever 
 happened to read of a poor, unhappy old man who 
 stood one New Year's night at the window of his 
 dwelling and thought over all the errors of his 
 youth, what he had neglected to do of good, and 
 what he had committed of evil; how his bosom 
 was filled with remorse, how his desolate soul was 
 wrung as he reflected on the past follies of a long 
 life. The days when he was strong and active 
 wandered about him like ghosts. It was too late 
 to retrieve his lost youth. The grave was waiting 
 for him, and with unspeakable grief he bethought 
 him of the time spent in idleness, of the left-hand 
 road he had chosen which had led him into ruin- 
 ous follies and years of slothfulness. Then he re- 
 called the names of his early companions who had 
 selected the right-hand path, and were now happy 
 and content in their declining days, having lived 
 the lives of virtuous, studious men, doing the best 
 they were able in the world. Then he cried to his 
 dead father, who had warned him when he was a 
 lad to follow the good and shun the evil pathways 
 of existence, "0 father, give me back my lost
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 993 
 
 youth, that I may live a different life from the 
 one I have so long pursued ! " But it was too late 
 now to make moan. His father and his youth had 
 gone together. There the poor bewildered crea- 
 ture stands, blinded with tears, but still beseech- 
 ing Heaven to give him back his youth once more. 
 Few spectacles are more terrible to contemplate 
 than the broken-down figure of that weeping old 
 man, lamenting that he cannot be young again, 
 for then he would lead a life so different from the 
 one he had lived. 
 
 But what a thrill of pleasure follows the sad 
 picture we have been contemplating when we are 
 told it was only a fearful dream that a certain 
 young man was passing through, a vision only of 
 possible degradation, and that Heaven had taken 
 this method of counselling the youth to turn aside 
 from the allurements that might beset his path, 
 and thus be spared the undying remorse that 
 would surely take possession of him when he grew 
 to be a man, if he gave way to self-indulgence and 
 those wandering idle ways that lead to error, and 
 oftentimes to vice and crime. The misery of a
 
 294 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 life to be avoided was thus prefigured, and the 
 young man awoke to thank Heaven it was only a 
 dream, and resolve so to spend God's great gift 
 of time that no horror, such as he had suffered 
 that night in sleep, should ever arise to haunt his 
 waking hours. 
 
 If I were a boy again, one of the first things I 
 would strive to do would be this : I would, as 
 soon as possible, try hard to become acquainted 
 With and then deal honestly with myself, to study 
 up my own deficiencies and capabilities, and I 
 would begin early enough, before faults had time 
 to become habits ; I would seek out earnestly all 
 the weak spots in my character and then go to 
 work speedily and mend them with better mate- 
 rial; if I found that I was capable of some one 
 thing in a special degree, I would ask counsel on 
 that point of some judicious friend, and if advised 
 to pursue it I would devote myself to that par- 
 ticular matter, to the exclusion of much that is 
 foolishly followed in boyhood. 
 
 If I were a boy again I would practice persever-
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 295 
 
 ance oftener, and never give a thing up because 
 it was hard or inconvenient to do it. If we want 
 light, we must conquer darkness. When I think 
 of mathematics I blush at the recollection of how 
 often I "caved in" years ago. There is no trait 
 more valuable than a determination to persevere 
 when the right thing is to be accomplished. We 
 are all inclined to give up too easily in trying 
 or unpleasant situations, and the point I would 
 establish with myself, if the choice were again 
 within my grasp, would be never to relinquish 
 my hold on a possible success if mortal strength 
 or brains in my case were adequate to the occa- 
 sion. That was a capital lesson which Professor 
 Faraday taught one of his students in the lec- 
 ture-room after some chemical experiments. The 
 lights had been put out in the hall and by acci- 
 dent some small article dropped on the floor from 
 the professor's hand. The professor lingered be- 
 hind, endeavoring to pick it up. " Never mind," 
 said the student, "it is of no consequence to- 
 night, sir, whether we find it or no." " That is 
 true," replied the professor ; " but it is of grave
 
 296 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 consequence to me as a principle, that I am not 
 foiled -in my determination to find it." Persever- 
 ance can sometimes equal genius in its results. 
 " There are only two creatures," says the Eastern 
 proverb, "who can surmount the pyramids, 
 the eagle and the snail ! " 
 
 If I were a boy again I would school myself 
 into a habit of attention oftener, I would let noth- 
 ing come between me and the subject in hand. 
 I would remember that an expert on the ice 
 never tries to skate in two directions at once. 
 One of our great mistakes, while we are young, 
 is that we do not attend strictly to what we are 
 about just then, at that particular moment ; we 
 do not bend our energies close enough to what 
 we are doing or learning ; we wander into a half- 
 interest only, and so never acquire fully what is 
 needful for us to become master of. The prac- 
 tice of being habitually attentive is one easily 
 obtained, if we begin early enough. I often hear 
 grown-up people say, " I could n't fix my atten- 
 tion on the sermon, or book, although I wished to
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 297 
 
 do so," and the reason is that a habit of attention 
 was never formed in youth. Let me tell you a 
 sad instance of a neglected power of concentra- 
 tion. A friend asked me once to lend him an 
 interesting book, something that would enchain 
 his attention, for he said he was losing the power 
 to read. After a few days he brought back the 
 volume, saying it was no doubt a work of great 
 value and beauty, but that the will to enjoy it 
 had gone from him forever, -for other matters 
 would intrude themselves on the page he was 
 trying to understand and enjoy, and rows of fig- 
 ures constantly marshalled themselves on the 
 margin, adding themselves up at the bottom of 
 the leaf! 
 
 If I were to live my life over again I would 
 pay more attention to the cultivation of memory. 
 I would strengthen that faculty by every possi- 
 ble means and on every possible occasion. It 
 takes a little hard work at first to remember 
 things accurately, but memory soon helps itself 
 and gives very little trouble. It only needs
 
 298 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 early cultivation to become a power. Every- 
 body can acquire it. When I was a youth, a 
 classmate of mine came to me with a long face 
 and told me he was in danger of being sup- 
 planted in the regard of a young person of the 
 gentler sex by a smart fellow belonging to an- 
 other school, who was daily in the habit of calling 
 on the lady and repeating to her from memory 
 whole poems of considerable length. "What 
 would you do]" sighed the lad to me. "Do?" 
 said I, " I would beat him on his own ground, 
 and at once commit to memory the whole of 
 * Paradise Lost,' book by book, and every time 
 the intruder left Amelia's house, I would rush 
 in and fire away ! Depend upon it," I said, " she 
 is quite taken by surprise with the skilful memory 
 of her new acquaintance, and you must beat him 
 with surpassing feats of the same quality." " 0, 
 but," said my friend, " I have, as you know, a 
 very poor memory!" "The more reason now 
 for cultivating that department of your intellect," 
 I rejoined. " If you give way to idle repining 
 and do nothing, that fellow will soon be firmly
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 299 
 
 seated in your place. I should not wonder if he 
 were now at work on Thomson's 'Seasons/ for 
 his infamous purpose. Delay no longer, but 
 attack John Milton after supper to-night, and 
 win the prize above all competition ! " Ezekiel 
 began in good earnest, and before the summer 
 was over he had memorized the whole of " Para- 
 dise Lost," rehearsed it to Amelia, and gained the 
 victory ! 
 
 If I were a boy again I would know more 
 about the history of my own country than is 
 usual, I am sorry to say, with young Americans. 
 When in England I have always been impressed 
 with the minute and accurate knowledge con- 
 stantly observable in young English lads of aver- 
 age intelligence and culture concerning the his- 
 tory of Great Britain. They not only have a 
 clear and available store of historical dates at 
 hand for use on any occasion, but they have a 
 wonderfully good idea of the policy of govern- 
 ment adopted by all the prominent statesmen in 
 different eras down to the present time. An ac-
 
 300 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 quaintauce of mine in England, a boy of fourteen, 
 gave me one day such eloquent and intelligent 
 reasons for his preference of Edmund Burke 
 above all other patriotic statesmen of his time, 
 as made me reflect how little the average Ameri- 
 can lad of that age would be apt to know of the 
 comparative merits of Webster and Calhoun as 
 men of mark and holding the highest considera- 
 tion thirty years ago in the United States. If 
 the history of any country is worth an earnest 
 study it is surely the history of our own land, 
 and we cannot begin too early in our lives to 
 master it fully and completely. What a confused 
 notion of distinguished Americans a boy must have 
 to reply, as one did not long ago when asked 
 by his teacher, "Who was Washington Irving 1" 
 "A General in the Revolutionary War, sir." 
 
 If I were a boy again I would strive to become 
 a fearless person, I would cultivate courage as one 
 of the highest achievements of life. " Nothing is 
 so mild and gentle as courage, nothing is so cruel 
 and vindictive as cowardice," says the wise author
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 301 
 
 of a late essay on conduct. Too many of us now- 
 adays are overcome by fancied lions in the way, 
 lions that never existed out of our own brains. 
 Nothing is so credulous as fear. Some weak- 
 minded horses are forever looking around for 
 white stones to shy at, and if we are hunting for 
 terrors they will be sure to turn up in some shape 
 or other. In America we are too prone to borrow 
 trouble and anticipate evils that may never appear. 
 " The fear of ill exceeds the ill we fear." Abra- 
 ham Lincoln once said he never crossed Fox River, 
 no matter how high the stream was, until he came 
 to it! Dangers will arise in any career, but 
 presence of mind will often conquer the worst of 
 them. Be prepared for any fate, and there is no 
 harm to be feared. Achilles, you remember, was 
 said to be invulnerable, but he never went into 
 battle without being completely armed ! 
 
 If I were a boy again I would look on the cheer- 
 ful side of everything, for everything almost has 
 a cheerful side. Life is very much like a mirror ; 
 if you smile upon it, it smiles back again on you,
 
 302 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 
 
 but if you frown and look doubtful upon it, you 
 will be sure to get a similar look in return. I 
 once heard it said of a grumbling, unthankful 
 person, " He would have made an uncommonly 
 fine sour apple, if he had happened to be born in 
 that station of life ! " Inner sunshine warms not 
 only the heart of the owner, but all who come in 
 contact with it. Indifference begets indifference. 
 " Who shuts love out, in turn shall be shut out 
 from love." 
 
 If I were a boy again I would school myself to 
 say "No" oftener. I might write pages on the 
 importance of learning very early in life to gain 
 that point where a young man can stand erect 
 and decline doing an unworthy thing because it is 
 unworthy, but the whole subject is so admirably 
 treated by dear old President James Walker, who 
 was once the head of Harvard College, that I beg 
 you to get his volume of discourses and read what 
 he has to tell you about saying No on every proper 
 occasion. Dr. Walker had that supreme art of 
 " putting things " which is now so rare among
 
 IF I WERE A BOY AGAIN. 3Q3 
 
 instructors of youth or age, and what he has left 
 for mankind to read is written in permanent ink. 
 
 If I were a boy again I would demand of myself 
 more courtesy towards my companions and friends. 
 Indeed, I would rigorously exact it of myself 
 towards strangers as well. The smallest courtesies, 
 interspersed along the rough roads of life, are like 
 the little English sparrows now singing to us all 
 winter long, and making that season of ice and 
 snow more endurable to everybody. 
 
 But I have talked long enough, and this shall 
 be my parting paragraph. Instead of trying so 
 hard as some of us do to be happy, as if that were 
 the sole purpose of life, I would, if I were a boy 
 again, try still harder to deserve happiness.
 
 PELETIAH PELLET'S YOTTTETUL OATAS- 
 TKOPHE,
 
 PELETIAH PELLET'S YOUTHFUL CATAS- 
 TROPHE. 
 
 JJUR misfortunes are sometimes angels in 
 disguise, but they are not always thus 
 apparelled. Tranquillity under afflic- 
 tion cannot be commanded in ' every event of 
 life, however necessary it may be on all occa- 
 sions to strive after that equanimity which 
 becomes a man or woman, no matter how severe 
 the present trial of patience and fortitude. Lis- 
 ten to the unhappy story of Peletiah, son of 
 Orrin K. Pellet of South Littleton, as related 
 by himself. 
 
 In the remembrance of some sorrows, what- 
 ever the duration of life, we never outgrow 
 ourselves. Whenever I attempt to recall the
 
 308 PELETIAII PELLET'S 
 
 incidents in my somewhat exceptional career, 
 one particular day of my existence rises up be- 
 fore me, and will not be forgotten, or even 
 lightened of its burden of pain. With shame 
 and confusion I look back on the past, for that 
 one terrible day of gloom overshadows my career, 
 and obscures the sunny hours which in the course 
 of nature come at intervals to every male and 
 female descendant of Adam. I can think with 
 calmness, even with indifference, of many sad 
 circumstances that have befallen my lot, cir- 
 cumstances full of peril and horror, but that 
 particular disaster to which I refer has blotted 
 out all feeling with regard to other scenes that 
 might, disconnected from my grand catastrophe, 
 have darkened a lifetime. that I had died 
 young, while yet a stranger to public mortifica- 
 tion, a mortification to "unbrace the strongest 
 nerves, and make the stoutest courage quail" ! 
 
 The day of my calamity, forty years ago, 
 dawned, like many another day, in ripe October. 
 The morning that ushered in the Sunday on 
 which I was to suffer was one of radiant loveli-
 
 YOUTHFUL CATASTROPHE. 3Q9 
 
 ness, and as I walked along alone to our modest 
 little house of worship in the country, all the 
 trees seemed hanging out their banners of beauty. 
 How well I recall the scene of surpassing brill- 
 iancy on that gorgeous autumn morning ! I had 
 started early, that I might move slowly over the 
 road, and, allured by the splendid lights and 
 shadows, I made a detour of over a mile beyond 
 the church, in the direction of a beautiful hill- 
 side, on one of whose slopes resided my father's 
 "life-long friend, " Colonel Bijah Peabody," as he 
 was universally denominated in that part of the 
 country. 
 
 The colonel was standing by his garden gate, 
 enjoying the still security of that peaceful Sun- 
 day morning. His pipe rested between his lips, 
 and emitted only at moderate intervals a gentle 
 puff of smoke. Seeing me approaching from the 
 woody roadside, he looked a hearty welcome, and 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Glad to see ye, Peletiah ! How 's your fa- 
 ther an' all the folks to home 1 " 
 
 I answered his kind inquiry, and declined his
 
 310 PELETIAH PELLET'S 
 
 earnest invitation to " walk in," as I was hurry- 
 ing to the meeting-house for morning service. 
 
 " Well," said the old man, " the least ye can 
 do is to take 'long a couple bottles of my best 
 cider to your father, who is laid up to home with 
 roomatizum." 
 
 Now if there was one liquid in the world that 
 father hankered after when he did not feel "ex- 
 actly smart," it was the colonel's bottled cider 
 in October, for he said " Peabody's was better 
 than his'n or anybody else's cider in the whole 
 country." 
 
 At first I hesitated about taking along the 
 delectable fluid, for I should have to convey it 
 in my coat-tail pockets to church with me, and 
 elude, as best I might, the vigilant eyes of 
 Deacon Treadwell and Miss Patience Libby, both 
 of whom sat in full sight of our pew. 
 
 However, when the colonel, who saw my re- 
 luctant response to his invitation, exclaimed, 
 " Don't be proud, Peletiah ! " I hastily pocketed 
 the cider, and, thinking of father's prospective 
 delight at dinner-time, started forward with alac- 
 rity over the hillside to meeting.
 
 YOUTHFUL CATASTROPHE. 311 
 
 The bell had ceased tolling when I arrived 
 at the door, but I waited outside until after 
 the " first prayer," and then glided noiselessly 
 on my toes into our family pew. My brother 
 and sister had already taken their seats, leaving 
 my place unoccupied against my arrival. Mother 
 remained at home to keep our dear old father 
 company in his suffering, and read to him the 
 most comforting chapters in the Bible during 
 his worst paroxysms. 
 
 My long walk had predisposed me to slumber, 
 but I stood up as usual in " singing time," cut- 
 ting in with full force when we came to " And 
 that shall kindle ours," in the proper place for 
 the tenor voices. I heard the minister "give 
 out " his text, and followed him into his " sec- 
 ondly," when my mind wandered, and a preju- 
 diced individual would probably have charged 
 me with being asleep. I roused myself warily, 
 however, chewed a bit of fennel, and put on a 
 look of intense satisfaction with the discourse. 
 
 Suddenly I became aware of a movement in 
 the direction of one of my coat-tails. A freezing
 
 312 PELETIAJI PELLET'S 
 
 horror chilled my person from head to foot, and 
 I knew then it was the cider getting ready 
 to explode in my left-hand pocket. For a mo- 
 ment I tried to summon up an appearance of 
 unconcern, as if the sound came from some other 
 locality ; but its proximity could not long be 
 disguised. Immediate exposure was inevitable. 
 
 Should I instantly fly from the pew, before 
 the cork had time to do its worst 1 I deliber- 
 ated a moment, but it was too late. One crash, 
 and my fate was sealed. In all my experience 
 with corks, I never heard one leave the neck 
 of a bottle with a sound like that. The noise 
 was terrific in its violence, and, to my disor- 
 dered fancy, shook the meeting-house. The 
 minister stopped short in his sermon and looked 
 around bewildered. Two small disreputable boys 
 in the gallery collapsed with delight. Anything 
 to put an end to the sermon was " nuts to them," 
 and they at once fairly effervesced with happiness 
 over my misery. But their effervescence was 
 nothing to that which was going on in our vicin- 
 ity ! With one mighty bound the " pent-up
 
 YOUTHFUL CATASTROPHE. 313 
 
 Utica " of cider, with no cork to stop it, tore 
 into the air above our pew, and leaped headlong- 
 over my shoulders, boiling and bursting into the 
 back of my neck, and spilling over into the 
 broad aisle. In vain I tried to restrain the im- 
 petuous liquid with my fingers, to curb its 
 remorseless fury for a moment with my pocket- 
 handkerchief; but no effort of mine could quell 
 its fleet career. On it came, hissing and destroy- 
 ing, like a wild tornado in a tropic clime, terrible 
 to contemplate and awful to experience. It was 
 indeed " a sight to behold ! " My hair became 
 saturated with cider to that extent, in the lan- 
 guage of the poet, it " drooped round my pallid 
 cheek like seaweed on a clam." My garments 
 ran apple-juice, and I was as one steeped from 
 crown to toe in cider. I was odorous with the 
 foaming abomination, and fearful to look upon. 
 
 All eyes were now turned upon me, evidently 
 requiring an explanation of such an unwonted 
 scene, when the other bottle began to give volu- 
 ble signs of disturbance. At once I started up 
 in fresh alarm, and leaped out of the pew, making
 
 314 PELETIAH PELLET'S CATASTROPHE. 
 
 for the meeting-house door with all the precipi- 
 tation possible to a ruined man ; but alas ! I was 
 too late. Out flew the other cork, and a second 
 deluge wildly ensued. Miss Patience was struck 
 violently twice in the bonnet, and screamed as I 
 flew past her into the porch. There I sank down 
 exhausted with shame and over-exertion, only 
 wishing for providential annihilation on the sacred 
 spot I had innocently done so much to dese- 
 crate. 
 
 Reader, may it never be your fate to hear 
 what I have heard, to see what I have seen in 
 an old-fashioned country meeting-house, where 
 everybody knows you, and where, down to the 
 latest generation, nobody ever forgets a ridiculous 
 catastrophe like mine. 
 
 For centuries to come, whenever a bottle of 
 cider threatens to explode in South Littleton, 
 some bystander will be sure to observe, with a 
 sly look at the fizzling aperture, " Stand by with 
 a tumbler, for I guess it 's a-goin' to Pellet ! " 
 And thus my ill-starred name will forever be as- 
 sociated with ciderial influences, anything but 
 pleasant in the humble village where I was born.
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER.
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 P|E were sitting together alone, one even- 
 ing not long ago, my venerable pitcher 
 and I, over a brisk wood-fire, in a cer- 
 tain room which I believe somebody has described 
 somewhere as " My Friend's Library." It was a 
 stormy night, and as the wind instruments were 
 blowing their wild music down the chimney, I 
 thought of wrecks at sea and wrecks on shore un- 
 til the book I was reading closed of its own accord, 
 and, musing, I dozed to that extent my quaint old 
 pitcher (a recent acquisition from Briggs's) as- 
 sumed the attitude of a friendly companion and 
 began to talk. It was no ordinary pitcher keep-
 
 318 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 ing me company that blustering December night, 
 but a tall, handsomely-formed, knowing article, 
 surmounted with a well-shaped set of features, 
 full of expression, the eyes twinkling like human 
 ones, and the nose fully up to the eyes in point of 
 intelligence. I hardly dare to speak of the mouth, 
 it was so like that of a certain member of Con- 
 gress whose eloquence is unrivalled on the floor 
 of both houses. But I must allude to the 'cocked 
 hat and wig curled up beneath it. They were 
 simply stunning (I use that too current adjective 
 reluctantly, but no other word will convey pre- 
 cisely what I mean). The whole make-up of the 
 pitcher, especially in the direction of its stomach, 
 came little short of humanity. 
 
 As I said before, the pitcher began to talk. Its 
 remarks at first were not always coherent ; but 
 gaining confidence in a few minutes, it became 
 quite fluent and instructive. 
 
 " You seem to have travelled somewhat," I ven- 
 tured to remark, " and to have heard a great deal 
 for so retiring and modest a pitcher."
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 319 
 
 " Exactly so," it replied ; " and perhaps you have 
 been made aware before this, by Baptista in 
 ' Taming of the Shrew,' that ' pitchers have 
 ears ! ' " 
 
 I had been so informed in a remark Baptista 
 made to Tranio, in Padua, I do not know how long 
 ago, and nodded to that effect. After this the 
 pitcher went on in a truly amazing manner, and 
 looking me straight in the face inquired : " Did 
 you ever hear of a pitcher falling in love, and 
 being miserable on account of a separation from 
 the object of its affections ? " 
 
 " Never," said I, " for that would be too ridicu- 
 lous." 
 
 " What seems nonsense to you is a deep reality 
 to me," sighed the pitcher. 
 
 Seeing from the gravity of this remark that I 
 had been too hasty in my observation, I asked 
 whom the lady might be* who had made such in- 
 roads on the form before me. 
 
 " A Dresden shepherdess with a pink crook," 
 moaned the pitcher ; " and Katy and Jane knew
 
 320 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 all about our attachment, and helped us ' keep 
 company ' as long as they dared to." 
 
 " Was she a beauty ? " I inquired. 
 
 Here the pitcher protested that in all the galler- 
 ies of Female Loveliness there was " none so rare 
 as could compare " with the shepherdess from 
 Dresden, and quoted what Leigh Hunt once said 
 of Lady Houghton, that " her smile was like a 
 piece of good news." 
 
 " Where did you meet her first ? " I asked. 
 
 " At Briggs's last season, sitting half-veiled, and 
 thinking delicate thoughts," whimpered the lover. 
 
 " On what occasion ? " I inquired. 
 
 " At the great autumn opening in the rooms at 
 our well-known corner," sobbed the pitcher. 
 
 " And you never expect to see her again ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 "Never!" plaintively snuffled the pitcher. 
 
 " And why not ? " I questioned. 
 
 " Because she was bought and carried away by a 
 different purchaser, on the very day I myself was 
 sold to you," inwardly groaned the pitcher.
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 321 
 
 " Were you born in the same country, you and 
 the shepherdess? " I asked. 
 
 " No. She was a German, and I am a native of 
 Albion." 
 
 "What part of England did you emigrate 
 from ? " I inquired. 
 
 " From pleasant Worcestershire, and I come of 
 one of the oldest Pitcher families in that part of 
 the country," responded my companion. 
 
 "And how did it happen," I asked, "that so 
 handsome a pitcher as yourself should never have 
 found a purchaser until now ? According to your 
 own story, you must have remained on the prem- 
 ises several years." 
 
 " Thereby hangs a tale, indeed, half a dozen 
 tales," said the pitcher, " but I will not bore you 
 with any of them. It is a sufficient answer to your 
 question for me to reply that I was bought and 
 paid for, a long time ago, by a forgetful stranger, 
 who said he " would call for me in the spring," 
 and neglected to show himself in the warehouse 
 again. (He was probably lost at sea, and par-
 
 322 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 taken of by sharks.) So I was set up on a shelf, 
 with a label hung around my neck announcing that 
 I was ' Sold.' As years went by, the placard 
 fell to pieces, and here I am, an innocent fraud, 
 having twice been paid for, and 't is nobody's fault 
 either ! " Here the pitcher looked serious, and 
 glanced anxiously up and down the apartment. 
 
 Promising that I would do my utmost to restore 
 if possible the lost shepherdess with the pink 
 crook, or her equivalent, to her despairing friend, 
 the pitcher grew calmer, and threw out hints that 
 much valuable matter could be had from under its 
 handsome wig and old-time hat, provided .a good 
 listener could be found. Announcing myself as 
 that particular individual, the pitcher proceeded to 
 pour out information copiously. And really, there 
 was no end to the multifarious lore that well- 
 posted, voluble piece of pottery saw fit to convey 
 to me as we sat together that stormy evening. Hav- 
 ing heard a thousand questions asked and answered 
 on the premises at the old corner warehouse, he 
 (I must now give him a gender far removed from
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 323 
 
 the neuter) had stored away under his ample 
 cocked hat a world of matter appertaining to the 
 treasures so profusely scattered around him. Get- 
 ting fairly warmed up, he launched out for a full 
 hour, and he began, as nearly as I can recollect, in 
 this confidential manner. 
 
 . " If you and I had the time, master, there is no 
 end to what I could tell you about myself and 
 my companions at Briggs's. Indeed, if it comes 
 to what I know of that establishment, I could di- 
 vulge a great deal concerning the proprietor him- 
 self, an adventurous voyager who for many 
 years has 
 
 " ' Hoisted his sail to every beckoning port 
 
 Where beauteous forms in crystal caverns dwell.' 
 
 I know all about his numerous trips across the 
 ocean, and his persistent travels into strange lands 
 in pursuit of ornamental and useful articles. 
 Why, there is not an out-of-the-way place, either 
 in Great Britain or on the whole continent of Eu- 
 rope, where such things exist, which he has not 
 explored, and rifled of treasures, old and new, in
 
 324 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 glass and China ware. Think of him every year, 
 sometimes twice during the twelve months, div- 
 ing down into the depths of the Danube ; coming 
 up like a porpoise in Trieste ; flying onward to 
 Venice (if porpoises have wings) ; and then on to 
 Paris, stopping by the way at Limoges, Gien, and 
 Nevers ; then turning up at Nancy, Sevres, Bourg 
 la Reine, and fifty other quaint old towns full of 
 interest and factories. He is as much at home in 
 Carlsbad, Hamburg, Lubec, and Copenhagen, to 
 say nothing of Berlin, Leipsic, and Dresden, as he 
 is in his own counting-room at the old corner. 
 When he quietly walks into Minton's, or Cope- 
 land's or Wedgwood's, twice or three times a year, 
 all the pottery families nod to each other and 
 smile a welcome, as much as to say : ' There 's 
 Briggs again ! How well the voyage has agreed 
 with him, tc be sure ! ' " 
 
 The pitcher had much to tell me of the antiq- 
 uity of the establishment at the corner from which 
 lie had graduated, boasting that since 1708 it had 
 been the noted home of China, stone, and glass
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHED. 325 
 
 ware, supplying not only all the old Boston fami- 
 lies with necessaries and luxuries, but many dwell- 
 ers in Cambridge, Charlestown, Dorchester, and 
 Roxbury. " Indeed," said the pitcher, "it would 
 be hard to say where in the North, South, East, 
 and "West of these United States you will not find 
 some of our goods." (Our goods !) 
 
 Living so near the Old South Church, and the 
 famous Book-shop opposite, was also a matter of 
 special jubilation with him. He had " heard the 
 chimes at midnight " from that lofty belfry many 
 and many a year, and he hoped the sacred edifice 
 of Liberty would be saved from the hands of the 
 spoiler. He thought if the worst should happen, 
 that the old bell would surely ring out its sorrow 
 to the steeple in Milton's own words and peal 
 aloud to the spire these heart-breaking lines, in 
 tones that all might hear : 
 
 " How shall we part and wander down 
 Into a lower world ! " 
 
 As for the old Book-store on the opposite cor- 
 ner, his memory was sown with anecdotes. He
 
 326 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 had seen processions of authors wander iu and 
 out of the premises ; and the figures of Webster, 
 Choate, Otis, Longfellow, Holmes, Prescott, Ban- 
 croft, Winthrop, Hawthorne, Emerson, "Whittier, 
 and the rest, were familiar forms to him. He re- 
 membered to have espied Thackeray once chaf- 
 fing with a friend in the door-way, and " his great 
 hearty laugh," said the pitcher, " cleared the air 
 like a strong west wind." 
 
 There was no end to the celebrities the pitcher 
 had seen in his " own shop," as he called it, during 
 the years he had been an occupant of it. He re- 
 membered watching Jenny Lind as she selected 
 many useful and pretty articles out of the stock, in 
 1851. Charles Sumner, he said, could never get 
 round the corner without dropping in to admire 
 and select from the new importations ; and a cer- 
 tain eloquent clergyman from another city, finding 
 the shop too attractive for the brevity of his purse, 
 always told the clerk at the Parker House to give 
 him a room as far removed from Briggs's gallery 
 of treasures as possible, the temptation to ruin
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 327 
 
 himself being too strong for a chance proximity 
 to that establishment. 
 
 The pitcher. I soon found, had high notions of 
 his own place in the world. " Consider for a mo- 
 ment," said he, " what goes to make up a hand- 
 some article like myself! The clays of Dorset, the 
 flints of Kent, the granite of Cornwall, the lead of 
 Montgomery, the manganese of Warwickshire, the 
 soda of Cheshire, and many other matters, must 
 all be brought from their various districts, and 
 combined to produce a full-grown pitcher of my 
 distinctive character. Why, that common ugly 
 mug, standing here under my nose, goes through 
 fourteen hands before it is ready for use ! There 
 is the Slip-maker who makes the clay ; the Tem- 
 perer who beats the clay ; the Thrower who forms 
 the ware ; the Ball-maker and Carrier ; the At- 
 tendant upon the drying of it ; the Turner who 
 takes off its roughness ; the Spout-maker ; the 
 Handler, who puts on the handle and spout; the 
 First or Biscuit Fireman ; the one who immerses 
 or dips it into the lead fluid ; the Second or Gloss
 
 328 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 Fireman ; the Dresser or Sorter in the warehouse ; 
 the Enameller or Painter ; and the Muffle or 
 Enamel Fireman." 
 
 It was really wonderful, the learning of that 
 pitcher; and as to his memory, I never knew any- 
 thing like it. To hear his technical remarks about 
 Maiolica, Fayence, Porcelain, and Enamel, both 
 Medieval and Modern, was indeed a rich treat. 
 He had enchanting stories to tell me of the artists 
 who had worked in Venice, Padua, Milan, Vero- 
 na, Valencia, and other noted cities of Europe ; 
 and ns to Bernard Palissy of Perigord, he had so 
 much to say of him that his prolixity on the great 
 French potter became at last a little tedious. He 
 launched out very strong on tiles, and his knowl- 
 edge of Delft ware was astounding. What he had 
 to say about the Wedgwoods was most curious, 
 and his anecdotes of that celebrated family were 
 all of an instructive character. 
 
 But I was most pleased, perhaps, with what the 
 pitcher had to tell me of his companions and 
 friends with whom he had associated for a longer
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 329 
 
 or shorter time at the " old corner." His own 
 words will best describe some of them, and I will 
 here give them, as. nearly as I can recall his fluent 
 sentences. 
 
 " The occupants of some of our shelves," said 
 he, " were greatly ' stuck up,' and never entered 
 into conversation with any of us who happened to 
 be placed lower down and nearer the ground. 
 The subject of locality was discussed one night 
 by several conversible teapots, and one of them 
 made us all laugh immoderately over the anecdote 
 of an Irish wag, who, on being asked in what part 
 of a tenement-house he resided, informed the in- 
 quirer that if the building were turned upside down 
 he would be on the first floor ! 
 
 " Sometimes we compared notes, and it was 
 often curious to observe the difference in feeling 
 between a China and a glass article. One is apt 
 to be difficult to see through; the other is per- 
 fectly transparent always. I made it a study, 
 while in the warehouse, to observe closely every 
 day the varieties of character on our shelves ; and
 
 330 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 I assure you they were worth the time and pa- 
 tience I gave them. There were two aristocratic 
 soup-tureens, born in Sevres during the Empire, 
 whose pretensions would have interested and 
 amused you. They never doffed their domes to 
 anybody, great or small. When Dom Pedro 
 dropped in among us one day, and the rest of us 
 were all in a tremble, they remained covered and 
 calm during the whole royal visit ! His Majesty 
 was so taken with their regal bearing that he 
 bought them both. 
 
 " We had for several weeks on our shelf a fine 
 old specimen of Berlin ware, in the shape of Fred- 
 eric the Great. He was a wonderfully gay speci- 
 men, to be sure, and so natural that he constantly 
 put on airs and mistook himself for the real article. 
 He would frequently begin a story with ' When I 
 was with the army in Mollwitz,' or, 'About the 
 time of my first Silesian campaign.' One night, 
 when he was more than usually imperial, he put us 
 all in good humor by relating this remarkable 
 story, which I regret I cannot give you in his own
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 331 
 
 lofty manner. He said that one of his ruling pas- 
 sions was to form his regiments of tall men, the 
 more gigantic in size the better, and that he spared 
 no expense to obtain them in all parts of Europe. 
 One day, as he was riding in the vicinity of Ber- 
 lin, unattended, and in very homely costume, he 
 noticed a young female of enormous stature at 
 work in the fields. She was nearly seven feet 
 high, and finely proportioned, and Frederic in- 
 stantly conceived the idea, if she were a single 
 woman, of marrying her to a soldier of great 
 height, and breadth of shoulders, for surely, he 
 thought, their children would be of extraordinary 
 size. Dismounting, he accosted the peasant girl, 
 and learning that she was only nineteen and un- 
 married, he wrote these lines to the colonel of his 
 guard : 'You are to marry the bearer of this note 
 with the tallest of my grenadiers. Let the cere- 
 mony be performed immediately in your presence. 
 You must be responsible to me for the execution 
 of this order. 'T is absolute, and the least delay 
 will make you criminal in my sight.' He then
 
 332 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 handed the letter to the young woman, who was 
 of course ignorant of its contents, gave her a hand- 
 some sum of money, and bade her deliver the mis- 
 sive according to directions without loss of time, 
 as it was of special importance. The girl, suppos- 
 ing it to be a matter of indifference whether the 
 letter was delivered by herself or by another, so 
 long as it reached its destination, handed it over 
 to an old woman, who happened to be going in 
 the direction of the army, telling her to be sure 
 and give it into the colonel's own hand. The 
 old woman faithfully performed the charge. The 
 colonel, on looking at the aged female, was 
 amazed at the contents of the paper, but the order 
 was so peremptory he dared not disobey it. He 
 thought perhaps the tall grenadier had committed 
 some offence, and that the Emperor chose to pun- 
 ish him in this manner. The marriage was at 
 once performed, the stalwart soldier bemoaning his 
 cruel fate, and the old woman exulting with joy at 
 her good fortune. Some time afterwards, Fred- 
 eric desired to see the couple he had ordered into
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 333 
 
 wedlock thus summarily, and on looking at the 
 elderly diminutive female, demanded with rage an 
 explanation. The aged bride confessed the truth 
 as to how she became the ' bearer of dispatches,' 
 and raising her eyes to heaven thanked Provi- 
 dence for conferring on her so unexpected and 
 acceptable a benefit ! " (Here the pitcher nearly 
 choked with laughter at the recollection of crock- 
 ery Frederic's discomfiture.) 
 
 " Sometimes when morning dawned in our room, 
 our eyes were greeted with fresh arrivals over- 
 night, and we were greatly amused at the new- 
 comers. I remember how we tittered all to our- 
 selves one day, after there had been a great lot of 
 grotesque teapots set up on the shelves in our 
 apartment. A Parian Cupid was so convulsed at 
 the sight of one of these quaint articles that he 
 nearly shed a wing during his hilarious paroxysm. 
 A butter-boat came very near upsetting in its mirth 
 over the perked-up nose of the same article. It 
 was an English teapot, rather conceited on ac- 
 count of its pattern, and it expressed its contempt
 
 334 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 for the land to which it had emigrated, by ob- 
 serving dryly to the company that England con- 
 sumes annually two hundred million pounds of tea, 
 while America only drinks fifty million pounds in 
 a year! At this remark, a Wedgwood waterpot 
 fairly cracked in two places, with national pride. 
 
 " I have been greatly amused," continued the 
 pitcher, with a sarcastic smile, "at the procras- 
 tinating folly of ; your tribe.' A rare or unique 
 article ought not to be trifled with by delay. How 
 many a bosom have I seen torn with anguish from 
 neglect to secure a precious piece of China at 
 the right moment ! 1 1 will call in to-morrow,' or 
 ' next week,' has wrecked the happiness of many 
 a deferring heart. In the presence of keramic 
 treasures, it is always well to remember Dante's 
 awful line : 
 
 " ' Think that To-Day \vill never dawn again ! ' " 
 
 Somehow, I knew not how, the pitcher had be- 
 come acquainted with the sonnets of Shakespeare, 
 and was very fond of illustrating his remarks on 
 the beautiful objects by which he had been so long
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 336 
 
 surrounded, with lines from the great master of 
 English poetry. I took note, among others, of his 
 apt use of the line : 
 
 " A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass." 
 And speaking of the superior tint on the damask 
 cheek of a belle in delicate China, he added : 
 
 "Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces." 
 Discoursing of the frailty of human loveliness in 
 youth, he drew a striking parallel between that 
 and the permanent gloss of health on the face of 
 his Dresden shepherdess, deepening his preference 
 by quoting : 
 
 " But thine eternal summer shall not fade." 
 One of his quotations to express, according to his 
 belief, the superiority of art over nature, I well re- 
 member. It was this line from the 35th sonnet: 
 
 "Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud." 
 And it struck me as a very droll argument entirely 
 in favor of the pitcher's idea of a prior excellence 
 in China and glass. 
 
 I soon discovered that the pitcher had a pro-
 
 336 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 
 
 found admiration for the master of the establish- 
 ment, and insisted that the proprietor ought to 
 have a distinctive prefix to accompany his name, 
 just as we say the "admirable Crichton," the "gen- 
 tle Shakespeare," the " judicious Hooker," and the 
 " venerable Bede." The pitcher declared it to be 
 his opinion that Mr. Briggs had won a prescriptive 
 right by this time to an original prelusory adjec- 
 tive, and wished me to ask the brilliant author of 
 " Syrian Sunshine " to invent one for that purpose. 
 I ventured to suggest " square-rigged " as a good 
 preliminary; but the pitcher, not 'being nautically 
 bred, thought there were resources in the diction- 
 ary to supply a neater prelude than that to the 
 name he wished to honor. This led up to the sub- 
 ject of reputations generally, the pitcher declaring 
 that biography in many cases was only a rank con- 
 spiracy against truth ; but I was glad to hear him 
 mention some charming exceptions among certain 
 Boston people he had known, notably this one : 
 He said that when Jonas Chickering died, a well- 
 known witty person uttered the charming eulogy,
 
 A CONVERSATIONAL PITCHER. 337 
 
 that Mr. Chickering's character was like his pianos, 
 square, upright, and grand. 
 
 " I -never heard anything better said than that," 
 I exclaimed. 
 
 " Or truer," said the pitcher. 
 
 At this point my conversational friend nodded a 
 " good-night," and I took the hint and niy candle 
 without further ceremony. I do not know when 
 I have been so entertained by a piece of clay, 
 human or potter's, as I had been that evening ; and 
 as we were both originally formed, I am told,, of 
 the same humble material, it was very pleasant 
 thus to hob-nob over a blazing fire, on a stormy 
 night in December, with such an uncommonly 
 well-informed and loyal-hearted companion.
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE EXPERIENCE,
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE-LECTURE 
 EXPERIENCE. 
 
 JXE evening after supper, at the "Re- 
 treat for Superannuated Speakers," the 
 venerable Mr. Dole, on being requested 
 to " favor the company," lighted his pipe and nar- 
 rated the following adventure to his aged brethren. 
 A " Society for the Relief of Hydrophobia Pa- 
 tients," in a well-known philanthropic community, 
 had been running a mad career of pecuniary losses 
 for several months, when it was resolved by the 
 officers of that praiseworthy association to "get 
 up " a course of lectures for the benefit of the 
 " Fund," as it was called. So far as possible the
 
 342 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 lecturers were to be popular speakers, were to 
 receive no emolument for their services, but were 
 to appear in East Nineveh on " labors of love," as 
 such gratuitous performances are somewhat flor- 
 idly designated. 
 
 When the Honorable Secretary called on me to 
 join the corps of distinguished martyrs chosen to 
 aid the " Fund," I peremptorily declined to serve, 
 on the ground that, unlike Messrs. Phillips and 
 Gough, I was neither popular nor distinguished, 
 and because my name would attract no money out 
 of the public pocket into the society's coffers. The 
 H. S. smiled, and immediately entered my humble 
 cognomen on his tablets as if I had fully consented 
 to his request. He was a deaf gentleman, and 
 had, no doubt, been selected because of his infir- 
 mityf to canvas for free lecturers, not being able, 
 or willing perhaps, to hear distinctly when a nega- 
 tive was returned to his application. 
 
 " I will put you down," said he, in that muffled, 
 feathery tone so peculiar to deaf people, " for the 
 21st of January."
 
 ABU AH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 343 
 
 Before I could explain my decided intention of 
 refusing the invitation, be got into his hat with a 
 bounce, and departed, thanking me most cordially 
 for acceding to his request. I called after him in 
 vain; he was gone irrevocably into space, flying 
 rapidly toward East Nineveh. 
 
 Talking the matter over with my wife that even- 
 ing after tea, she strenuously advised me to be 
 magnanimous, and " go and do my share " of lect- 
 uring for the funds in aid of so noble an object. 
 After a somewhat animated discussion concerning 
 hydrophobia and its appalling effects on the human 
 system when attacked by a rabid cur, I determined 
 not to shirk my duty, and proceeded to inscribe 
 the following entry on my lecture note-book ; Jan- 
 uary 21, East Nineveh. Free lecture in behalf 
 of the Hydrophobia Fund. 
 
 The evening came : a wild snow-stormy night as 
 ever shrouded a New England landscape. Chim- 
 neys howled like wolves on Oonalaska's shore. 
 Signs danced, screamed, and blew away by hun- 
 dreds down the street. .ZEolus was in his glory : 
 all Bedlam was indeed " let out."
 
 344 ABU AH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 The exact phraseology employed as I shivered 
 into my lecture raiment on that occasion it is un- 
 necessary to reproduce in this narrative ; but it is 
 no exaggeration to state that my mind was in a 
 disaffected condition, and that I did not hanker 
 after the journey to East Nineveh on that partic- 
 ular night. Calling a carriage for the railroad 
 station, I started out on my mission to swell the 
 " Hydrophobia Fund " in a distant province, an 
 unknown land, so far as I was concerned. Two 
 hours of hard travelling by the aid of snow-ploughs 
 landed me before a low-spirited dingy little station, 
 which the conductor denominated " East Nineveh." 
 Stumbling out of the comparatively cheerful car 
 into the thick fury of a winter tempest, I made my 
 way into the road-side dungeon. Not a human be- 
 ing was visible, inside or out of it. Opening the 
 door at the other end of the sepulchral apartment, 
 I called loudly for help. Only the hollow blast of 
 stormy winds responded. At last a passer-by, 
 nearly suffocated by the hurricane of sleet, halted, 
 and asked, "What ye want in there?" I ex-
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 345 
 
 plained, as well as a mouthful of snow would allow 
 an attempt at speech, that I had come to lecture in 
 hehalf of the Hydrophobia Fund at East Nineveh. 
 
 " Oh, that 's in the upper village," said he, " a 
 mile and a half from here." 
 
 " How can I get there ? " 
 
 " Dunno," replied the man, and vanished into 
 what Emerson calls " a tumultuous privacy of 
 storm." 
 
 For a moment I was amused at the stolid un- 
 sympathy of this man with my stranded condition, 
 and could not help muttering to myself Beauclerc's 
 words when some one told him that a certain 
 gentleman in London had "excellent principles." 
 " Yes," said B., u but he seems inclined not to 
 wear them out in practice." 
 
 All the terrors of my situation now grimly set- 
 tled down upon me. The thought that I was on a 
 /ree-lecture expedition made me writhe keenly. If 
 even a moderate fee were in expectancy, the horror 
 of the scene around might have been mitigated. 
 But here I was, " afar in the desert," without a ray
 
 346 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 of prospective remuneration, and all expenses of 
 travel to be borne by myself. The predicament 
 was not only forlorn, it was repulsive. 
 
 The vicious northeaster went on becoming more 
 and more sharp and boisterous. The snow fell 
 like volleys of shot on the little station, now half 
 buried in drifts. Leaning against the window-sill, 
 I recalled these terribly graphic lines of an Eoglish 
 poet. 
 
 " 'Tis a wild night out of doors ; 
 The wind is mad upon the moors, 
 And comes into the rocking town, 
 Stabbing all things, up and down." 
 
 Ghosts of all the departed storms that had ever 
 ravaged East Nineveh in bygone winters hoarsely 
 "muttered their savage spells up and down the 
 freezing apartment where I stood in gloom, and 
 listened for relief. I thought of my own warm 
 fireside, miles away ; of the ruddy glow of comfort 
 lighting up the cheery brass andirons ; of the 
 happy piano sending out merry music to the fly- 
 ing feet of youth and beauty ; of the songs in
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 347 
 
 praise of love and country which I knew would 
 close the jocund evening. 
 
 " Stung with the thoughts of home," as the Sea- 
 son-able Thomson expresses it, I could bear no 
 longer the bitter solitude of that receptacle of woe, 
 the station, and I again opened the door a little. 
 The gruff growler outside was busier than ever, 
 burying up the universe. " Keep where you are," 
 he seemed to say, " or I '11 include you in the ob- 
 sequies." 
 
 Suddenly the distant sound of sleigh-bells stirred 
 the buzzing air for a moment, and then the tink- 
 ling music faded away. Listening intently, I again 
 detected the welcome sound, and evidently ap- 
 proaching nearer. Perhaps they were only ghostly 
 bells, like those described by De Quincey in his 
 opium visions ! 
 
 An open sleigh with a mortal in it, by all that 
 is transporting ! Hailing* the icicled object, I re- 
 counted my alarming situation, and hurriedly told 
 him my destiny. 
 
 " Ye carnt git up there t'-night ennyhow, an' ef
 
 348 ABU AH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 ye could, there wunt be no ordnance to hear ye, 
 sich a night as this," drawled the man. 
 
 I implored him to take me to the " upper vil- 
 lage." 
 
 " What be ye willin' to pay ? " demanded the 
 stranger, with an emphatic accent on the last word 
 in his query. 
 
 " Any price /" I shouted through the storm, and 
 hope came bounding into my bosom at the half 
 willingness implied in the traveller's question. 
 
 "Wa'al," said he, sluggishly but business-like, 
 "bundle in, and I '11 kerry ye. It's a good piece 
 out o' my way, but I '11 dew it." 
 
 Off we started. It seemed a night's journey, as 
 we went on, butting forward into the tempest to- 
 ward the upper village. My companion was of the 
 speechless gender, a man of few words, but those 
 few were to the point in hand. 
 
 u Let 's see we didrt 't fix on no amaount afore 
 we started, did we, mister ? " 
 
 " No," said I, " but you may make your own 
 terms."
 
 ABTJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 349 
 
 " Wa'al," said he, " considerin* the snow and the 
 cold, s'pose we settle on abaout tew dollars for the 
 ride up to the upper village ? I wouldn't a' kerned 
 ye there at all ef ye warn't a-goin' to speak for the 
 good o' the cause, free gratis for nothin'." 
 
 "All right," I exclaimed, triumphantly. "Move 
 on as fast as possible, my friend, and let us get to 
 the upper village, if you please, as soon as we can, 
 for I am already half frozen." 
 
 A pause on the stranger's part, and then : 
 a Come to think on 't, the critter's feet gits so 
 balled up to-night, I raly don't know but the job 's 
 worth tew fifty." 
 
 " Go on," I ejaculated ; " you shall have the 
 money." 
 
 The horse stumbled and fell so often he must 
 have been subject to rapid epileptic fits. Once I 
 thought we had lost him forever, but he got up 
 again, and proceeded waveringly over the road. I 
 ventured to ask if the animal ever shied, and the 
 man's reply is worth remembering. In a low and 
 baleful tone he said : " Don't ye never make no
 
 350 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 remarks abaout a boss bebind his back when he 's 
 present. He hears every word ye say, and if he 
 finds ye 're skeered on him, he '11 take advantage 
 on ye. If yer late observation struck him onfavor- 
 able, like 's not he '11 cut up and shy like a balloon. 
 Should n't wonder ef he 'd tear everything all to 
 pieces. Be keerful of yer commentaries about 
 dumb critters when they are 'raound, except so fur 
 as yer remarks is complimentary. A boss's ears is 
 allers keyed up to git yer opinion on him, good or 
 bad." 
 
 The ride seemed entering on the confines of 
 eternity. Should we ever get there ? Every 
 moment I thought myself nearing the north pole, 
 as the wind cut like revolving razors, and the snow 
 rattled like so many needles all about my neck. 
 My garments were ineffectual to keep out the 
 plunging elements, and when we did arrive at last, 
 and I fumbled out the u tew fifty," I was more 
 dead than alive. 
 
 " Wish ye well," said the eye-teeth-cutting man 
 in the sleigh, and drove off into the storm again, 
 homeward-bound.
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 351 
 
 And now it was distinctly my business to enter 
 the torpid-looking little building before which the 
 man had dumped me, and begin the gratuitous ser- 
 vice of the evening. It was some time before I 
 could stand firmly up against the winter hurricane 
 on getting out of the sleigh, my legs betraying a 
 hopeless imbecility I had never noticed in them be- 
 fore. However, after a little, their wonted power 
 came back slowly, and I fought my entrance for- 
 ward into the structure, where I was destined to 
 speak an hour in behalf of the " Fund." 
 
 " Where is the secretary ? " I inquired of the 
 door-keeper, who was stamping his feet and rub- 
 bing his fingers to that extent I supposed he was 
 frost-bitten through and through. 
 
 " Dunno who ye mean," faintly replied the gelid 
 janitor. 
 
 " "Well," said I, " never mind : I '11 walk in, as 
 I am the lecturer." 
 
 " Got a ticket?" 
 
 " No : I am to give the lecture. I am Mr. Dole, 
 from Boston."
 
 352 ABIJAR DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 " Carn't help who ye be. My orders is strict to 
 let nobody in without er ticket." 
 
 " What is the price of one ! " I meekly inquired. 
 
 " Quarter," said the honest door-keeper. 
 
 And I paid it and went in. 
 
 I hope I spoke earnestly and helpfully to that 
 crowd of fifteen deeply depressed listeners, one of 
 whom was kind enough to compliment my dis- 
 course by saying to me, as he went out of the hall, 
 " It warn't quite so tejus as I thought 't would be." 
 
 How was the interim between " after lecture " 
 and " bed-time " to be bridged over ? There was 
 not a light in the hotel one could possibly read by, 
 and no place to sit down in except the "offis," as 
 the dingy apartment was called where the villagers 
 assembled in the evening around a great ill-odor- 
 ous sheet-iron stove to discuss any affairs that 
 might arise for petty controversy. The mere 
 thought of my bedroom was hateful to every sense, . 
 and so I resolved to make the best of it, and' 
 anchor in the " offis " until driven up-stairs for the 
 night.
 
 ABU AH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 353 
 
 The company gathered there was, indeed, a 
 motley one, but by 110 means devoid of interest, 
 An old teamster clad in moth-eaten raiment, and 
 whom every one called "Joe," sat speechless, 
 tipped back against the wall, with his feet thrust 
 out in the direction of the stove, but too far away 
 to derive any comfort from it. He seemed far 
 gone in chronic inebriety, and principally occupied 
 in soothing his inflammatory nose with the butt 
 end of his cattle goad. Two rough men with 
 sharp faces sat near him, bargaining about a " pair 
 of steers," the amount in dispute being " tew dol- 
 lars and sixty-eight cents." A boy with a bad 
 squint in both eyes (a visual peculiarity I had 
 never noticed before) stumped in at intervals and 
 threw wood into the stove, taking care always, as 
 he went out of the room, to kick a weak old mas- 
 tiff that lay sleeping near the door. When I 
 begged him, during one of his brief visits to the 
 " offis," not to hurt the poor beast, he told me, 
 with an East Nineveh malediction, to " mind 
 m'own bizniz, and he 'd mind his'n." Several other
 
 354 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 persons, with more or Jess distinctive habits and 
 manners, sat smoking around the stove, but none 
 more badly eminent than a six-foot sallow-cheeked 
 youth who wore his neckcloth swinging loose 
 around his handsome throat, and who went by 
 the name of " Bung." Whether that was his real 
 name or only a derisive one I do not know, but 
 a more conceited, ignorant, and profane varlet I 
 never have happened to be in company with. He 
 attracted much attention by his oaths and his 
 watch-chain, both being of the most lurid fashion. 
 I have often thought of him since, and wondered 
 where at last he met his " pendulous suffocation," 
 as Sir Thomas Browne, in his grand manner, de- 
 nominates hanging. 
 
 The landlord, seeing my stranded and hopeless 
 condition, was good enough to hitch up a seat be- 
 side me, and enter into conversation. He struck 
 into talk rather abruptly, I thought, about " floso- 
 fy," but I saw his drift at once when he made this 
 remark : 
 
 " I 'm a kind ov a flosofer myself, folks thinks 
 raound here."
 
 AB1JAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 355 
 
 " In what way, Mr. Todd ? " 
 
 " Wa'al, Sir, I 'm a great study-er ov the sac-rid 
 books, that is to say, I 'm to home in the writin's ov 
 Scriptur'. I 've looked into them subjicks a good 
 deal, I hev. Put me on to Romuns or Dootron- 
 omy, and some ov them other old anshunt books, 
 and I ken hold my own. Aour new min'ster and 
 me gits at it sometimes on a p'int o' doctrin', and 
 'tween us both we make the fur fly, I tell yew. 
 My wife sez I 'm gifted, as 't ware, at reconcilin' 
 parsages that 'pear to differ. Aour min'ster 's 
 rather up and dressed on the Commandments, but 
 he's green and colt-y on doctrin^ so to speak ; lie 
 don't go daown deep enuf fur me." A pause, and 
 then, with a burst of wisdom : li Paul 's a master- 
 hand ain't he ? He gin it to 'em good up there 
 on Mars-es Hill, did n't he, yew ? " 
 
 " There is no doubt whatever about that," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Took 'em right off their feet, did n't he, yew ? " 
 
 I assented fully to the complimentary statement 
 concerning the apostle.
 
 356 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 Here the landlord was called away to give some 
 directions about shoeing a horse. But he soon re- 
 turned, and lolling back in his chair, which he 
 again placed next to mine, reopened the colloquy : 
 " Ever met Prerfesser Thrum, 'Lias J. ? " 
 
 " I never have. Who is he ? " 
 
 " Oh, he 's 'a geenyus ; one o' the most perfick 
 guntleman ye ever see ; wears gold spetakles and 
 dimund pin ; highly edyecated, comes of a good 
 fam'ly, and jest as keen 's a brier." 
 
 " What 's his business ? " 
 
 " Preachin' and pillin', mostly ; he 's principal 
 agent for the Ben Franklin Self-Snpportin' Pill, 
 and he ex'orts evenin's when he 's travellin'. The 
 wimmin folks jest goes crazy abaout 'Lias. No 
 discaount on 'Lias J. Thrum, I tell yew ! Sings 
 a hymn like a swoller. Good many min'sters is 
 more or less pester'd in prare, but 'Lias goes rite 
 'long, as if nothin' 't all was the matter. No 
 hitchin' and coffin to him when he 's ingaged ; 
 free 's a bird, every time." 
 
 " Is he a good speaker ? "
 
 ABU AH .DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 357 
 
 " The most sperritecl ye ever lieered." 
 
 " Fine voice ? " 
 
 " Clear 's a quill, and louder 'n a gun. When 
 the winders is open in aour schoolhouse, where he 
 labors frequent, ennybody t' other side the river 
 ken hear him. He meks things jump, I tell yew, 
 when he gits a-goin' ! " 
 
 " How is he in argument ? " 
 
 " Up tew enny on 'em, ye may depend. Karnt 
 ketch 'Lias where the wool 's short, from Genesiz 
 to Revulations. Wish ye 'd heered him tackle wun 
 o* yQre Boston transildentist fellers who woz up 
 here'n East Nineveh last summer. Fun then, I 
 tell yew. There warn't a piece left ov that Massi- 
 chusitts onbeliever 's big as a clozepin. Sumb'dy 
 said that air radikel hed lost his mind. 'Lias bust 
 aout larfin, and sez he, ' I would n't pick it up ef 
 I faound it layin' raound ennywhere.' That 's 
 'Lias ! he 's quick 's a flash. He 's barmy Gilyud 
 all over, and a big dog under the wagon tew boot, 
 as the old say in' is." 
 
 " Are the Ben Franklin pills popular in this 
 town ? "
 
 358 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, and ev'ry where else, tew. Look 
 here, yew. Jest work into your lecters suthin 
 baout them pills, and 'Lias '11 sartisfy ye. He 
 would n't mind payin' ye well for yer trubble. 
 Most estouishin' cures them pills's brought abouat ! 
 Miss "VYitkum, daown here to the Four Corners, 
 could n't see aout ov her head for more'n a year, 
 on accaount of her havin' noorology and dispepsy 
 both to wunce on the spinel marrer; but 'Lias 
 cured her up with cupple o' boxes clean 's a wissel. 
 Hiram Perking's teeth was all a-gettin' loose, but 
 a box and harf o' the Ben Franklin fixed 'em in 
 agin tight 's a drum. Hunderds o' cases jest like 
 these is well known in aour caounty, and all over 
 the United States. My brother-in-law 'Rastus 
 Frink 's bin in ev'ry port in the world 'cept Cali- 
 forny, and he sez the craowned heads in Urtip is 
 naow takin' 'em evr'ywhere. Wish ye could hear 
 the Prerfesser, with tears in his eyes, indorse 'Ras- 
 tus's statemunt ! " 
 
 " The professor believes in the efficacy of the 
 pills he is dealing in so largely, I suppose ? "
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 359 
 
 " That 's so, and well he may, for they saved his 
 life when he had water on the heart so bad." 
 
 " When was that ? " 
 
 "Years ago, when he was a young man, com- 
 paratively speakin'. Let 's see : he was tacted with 
 this water on the heart when he was sent 's a mis- 
 sionerry into the old 'Gypshun country. He tells 
 the story that when he got rort up a-speakiri' to 
 them heathen ladies and juntlemen over there on 
 the bank 'f the Nile, his feelin's was tew much for 
 his strength, and so this water sot in, fust on his 
 chist. Pooty soon, he sez, his heart gut het up 
 and went to bilin'. If ye put yer ear daown, ye 
 could hear it. "Wa'al, 'Lias spent thaousands o' 
 dolluz, callin' in the doctors near and fur. No 
 use ! They all gin him up, and he come home to 
 die. One day he overheered a man in New York 
 say the Ben Franklin pills was shore remedy for 
 water on the heart, and 'Lias went in for a box on 
 'em ; kep' takin' box arter box, and at the end o' 
 the fifteenth or sixteenth box (he don't naow zactly 
 remember which it was), he begun to improve, and
 
 360 ABIJAII DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 the sizzlin' stopt inside ov him. Out o' gratitood he 
 excepted a agency, and he 's gone on introdoocin' 
 them pills into ev'ry quarter o' the known globe. 
 Turkey, Prooshy, Aysha, Chiny, everywhere 'most, 
 he 's introdooced 'em by word o' maouth. When 
 he goes aout to Ingey he allers stops at the pallis, 
 and all the high priests waits on him abaout. The 
 grandees thinks ev'rything on him aout there in 
 Ingland and Rooshy. It 's good 's a play to hear 
 'Lias tell over his travels aout there. When he 
 went to Kanky-noo, aout in Jappan, more 'n a 
 hunderd elefunts, all rigged up in golden jewills, 
 walked tew and tew in the royle percession to 
 meet him on the worf. 'Lias sez the king's family 
 warnts him to come aout there and settel, but he 
 ruther thinks he sharn't dew it at present. He 's 
 dreadfully 'tached to this 'ere form o' guverment, 
 but he may alter his mind, byme-by and pull 
 up stakes agin. Wish ye could see Prerfesser 
 Thrum's kleckshun curositiz he gut together in 
 Jrusltim : gut a leetle piece o' Maount Arrer-root 
 mung 'em, and a genowyne lock o' hair o' the
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 361 
 
 prodigal son. One the most valooble things he's 
 gut 's the stun that killed Goliar ; sez he woold n't 
 take ten thaousand dolluz for it ; bin offered nine 
 by the British guvment, over 'n over agin." 
 
 " I notice you call Mr. Thrum Professor. What 
 is he professor of?" 
 
 " .7?e-ligion aud doctorin' mostly, I guess. His 
 keerd runs, ' Prerfesser 'Lias J. Thrum the Ben 
 Franklin Self-Supportin' Pill, wholesale and re- 
 tail.'" 
 
 Here the landlord being called away again, a 
 disordered, unsavory individual in an arch geological 
 dog-skin cap, who had been furtively listening to 
 the host's enthusiastic remarks concerning the dis- 
 tinguished vender of the " Ben Franklin Pills," 
 solemnly warned me, in a low voice, against trad- 
 ing for any of the " self-supporters," averring that 
 Thrum was no more of a professor than he was, 
 and that 'Lias's constant tendency was to strong 
 drink arid another bad habit that proved fatal to 
 Ananias and Sappbira. " His brother John wore 
 his-self aout a-liftiu' tumblers," said the man, "and
 
 362 ABU AH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 'Lias is a-goiii' the same way." Slanting his coun- 
 tenance sarcastically toward the door out of which 
 the landlord had departed, the new spokesman im- 
 plied by dumb-show that Todd and Thrum were 
 sly partners in a very disreputable business, and 
 that the " self-supporters " were no better than 
 they should be. I thought I discovered a rival 
 animosity in his tone, that might naturally arise 
 in the breast of an envious mortal who was seek- 
 ing with another medicine to supplant the immense 
 popularity of the B. F. P. in East Nineveh, but 
 I stifled the unworthy suspicion in my bosom, and 
 made no remark in reply to his unfriendly insin- 
 uations. 
 
 When the landlord reentered, I began the new 
 conversational era myself: 
 
 " Have you always kept tavern here ? " I asked. 
 
 " No ; I foller'd the sea till I bust a blood-ves- 
 sel, and had to give it up." 
 
 " Which vessel did you give up ? " I ventured 
 to inquire by way of enlivening our dry talk with 
 a mild attempt at facetiousness.
 
 ABIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 363 
 
 " The Ann Mary Ann," replied the literal sea- 
 faring landlord, evidently unmoved by my effort at 
 humor. 
 
 It was his turn now. 
 
 " Bin lect'rin' long ? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Healthy bizniz ? " 
 
 Another and more impressive shake. 
 
 " How long dus 't take to git a-goin' in 't ? " 
 
 " That depends." 
 
 " What I warnt to git at 's this : I 've got a boy 
 comin' 'long 's got to dew suthin byme-by. Naow 
 would ye advise him to try lect'rin' ? " 
 
 I hesitated a reply, and the landlord contin- 
 ued : 
 
 " P'r'aps you 'd give him a lift to git him a-run- 
 nin' when he 's ready to begin ? " 
 
 " Certainly. How old is your son ? " 
 
 " Miss Todd 'd tell ye better 'n I can ; but I 
 should say he 's goin' on to nineteen." 
 
 I advised timely application to a "Bureau." 
 
 My reference to an old-fashioned piece of furni-
 
 364 ABIJAII DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 ture puzzled the landlord to that extent he began 
 to rub his hands thoughtfully and whistle a melan- 
 choly tune that did not imply comprehension on 
 his part. After a prolonged pause : 
 
 " What 's the secretary's name ? " 
 
 " It is not a secretary ; it 's a bureau you must 
 apply to," I answered. 
 
 Then I explained to him more minutely the of- 
 fice of a Lecture Bureau, and he entered my re- 
 marks, condensed, on the fly-leaf of an almanac 
 hanging up behind the door. That being done, he 
 mused a while, and then asked : 
 
 " Ef a young feller started aout in the fall o' the 
 year to foller lect'rin', and stuck tew it till plant- 
 in '-time in the spring, what could he clear ? " 
 
 " Really I could not say." 
 
 " Give a rough guess." 
 
 At this point I became alarmed at his business- 
 like look at the matter, and not wishing to give a 
 serious father with so large a family on his hands 
 any delusive answer to pecuniary questions of so 
 grave a nature, I felt bound to undeceive him as
 
 ABU AH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 3C5 
 
 to hopes of putting his son into so precarious busi- 
 ness as lecturing. 
 
 I pass over with brief mention and no harbored 
 ill feeling the unpleasantness of that never-to-be- 
 forgotten night at the insalubrious East Nineveh 
 "tarvern," where I did not sleep, although that 
 was my design in going thither. I touch lightly 
 on the multiform delinquencies of that umbrella- 
 without -a -handle establishment: the appalling 
 dearth of food, " aour cook havin' gone up to 
 Carthage for to attend a military ball," the nar- 
 row-minded wash-stand, the paucity of water, and 
 the entire non-existence of towels in my room. I 
 say nothing of the alarming antics of the air-tight 
 stove in that freezing apartment, the fiery little 
 article bursting out toward morning with the evi- 
 dent design of burning the hotel down. I barely 
 allude to the midnight turbulence on the opposite 
 side of the entry, occasioned by the unexpected ar- 
 rival of a youthful guest the landlady's ninth, as 
 my host informed me in the morning.
 
 366 AEIJAH DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 " Perhaps some time," smilingly intimated the 
 landlord, " ye '11 make a piece o' poetry on the 
 events coming to pass during your fust visit to 
 aour hotel. But the least ye ken dew before ye 
 go is to name the baby." 
 
 And so, bearing in mind the object of my visit 
 that bitter January night to East Nineveh, and all 
 I had suffered during the hours of my sojourn 
 there, I suggested that the child should be called 
 Idrophobia. 
 
 "Wa'al," drawled the landlord, "that does hev 
 ruther a high-toned, 'ristocratic snap to it, and I 
 should n'fe wonder if my wife took tew it pooty 
 well ; but ye never know how a mother's feelin's 
 is a-goin' to jump when a baby's got to be chris'- 
 ened. Look here ! as there ain't no paper lay in' 
 raotind, s'pose ye jest chalk the name aout on these 
 bellowses, and I '11 take it up stairs afore dinner to 
 show Miss Todd. She may n't see nothing in it at 
 all, but she may." 
 
 I told him by all means to consult the mother's 
 taste in the matter, and if her opinion did not co-
 
 ABU All DOLE'S FREE LECTURE, 367 
 
 incide with mine, I should not feel at all disap- 
 pointed if she had the baby christened something 
 else. 
 
 " Call agin when ye come this way," responded 
 the landlord, " and git acquainted with Miss Todd 
 and little Idrophoby. Glad to show ye aour new 
 cemmerterry, next time ye come, if bizniz is slack. 
 Take ye raound en ny where." 
 
 I assured him, with my hand on my carpet-bag, 
 that whenever I had occasion to come again into 
 that region, he should know of it in season to ex- 
 hibit the " cemmerterry " and all the other beau- 
 ties of East Nineveh. 
 
 And so we parted, I have no doubt, forever, and 
 I can undergo the separation during that length of 
 time with firmness. I am not indebted to the land- 
 lord of the East Nineveh " tarvern " for much that 
 was beneficial in the way of sustenance or repose, 
 but I am his debtor for one phrase at least worth 
 remembering. As he was letting out of the hotel 
 door a lugubrious-looking neighbor, who had evi- 
 dently bored him by too ranch complaining talk,
 
 368 ABIJAU DOLE'S FREE LECTURE. 
 
 he said, quietly, as he turned the key, " Good red- 
 dance to him ! " 
 
 " Who is that ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Oh, nobody in pertickler only one o j these 
 'are long-metre feller that goes on a cryin' arter the 
 funeral's all over." 
 
 It is not often that a free lecturer bears his own 
 travelling expenses, liquidates his hotel bill, and is 
 obliged to pay for hearing himself talk ; but twenty 
 years since East Nineveh compelled me to endure 
 those novel sensations.
 
 A PAIKY TALE. 
 
 *
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 THE TWENTY-NINTH OP AUGUST, 1809. 
 
 JlNCE upon a time a company of good- 
 natured fairies assembled for a summer 
 moonlight dance on a green lawn in front 
 of a certain picturesque old house in Cambridge. 
 They had come out for a midnight lark, and as 
 their twinkling feet flew about among the musical 
 dewdrops, they were suddenly interrupted by the 
 well-known figure of the village doctor, which, 
 emerging from the old mansion,, rapidly made its 
 way homeward. 
 
 " Another new-born mortal has alighted, on our
 
 372 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 happy planet," whispered a fairy gossip to her near 
 companion. 
 
 " Evidently so ! " replied the tiny creature, smil- 
 ing good-naturedly on the doctor's footprints in the 
 grass. 
 
 " That is the minister's house," said another 
 small personage, with a wink of satisfaction. 
 
 " Perhaps it is a boy," ejaculated Fairy Number 
 One. 
 
 " I know it is a boy ! " said Fairy Number Two. 
 " I read it in the doctor's face when the moon 
 lighted up his countenance as he shut the door so 
 softly behind him." 
 
 " It is a boy ! " responded the fairy queen, who 
 always knew everything, and that settled the ques- 
 . tion. 
 
 " If that is the case," cried all the fairies at 
 once, " let us try what magic still remains to us in 
 this busy, bustling New England. Let us make 
 that child's life a happy and a famous one, if we 
 can." 
 
 " Agreed," replied the queen ; " and I will lead
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 373 
 
 off with a substantial gift to the little new-comer. 
 I will crown him with Cheerfulness, a sunny tem- 
 perament brimming over with mirth and happi- 
 ness ! " 
 
 " And I will second your majesty's gift to the 
 little man," said a sweet-voiced creature, " and ten- 
 der him the ever-abiding gift of Song. He shall 
 be a perpetual minstrel to gladden the hearts of all 
 his fellow mortals." 
 
 " And I," said another, " will shower upon him 
 the subtle power of Pathos and Romance, and he 
 shall take unto himself the spell of a sorcerer 
 whenever he chooses to scatter abroad his wise and 
 beautiful fancies." 
 
 " And I," said a very astute-looking fairy, " will 
 touch his lips with Persuasion ; he shall be a 
 teacher of knowledge, and the divine gift of Elo- 
 quence shall be at his command, to uplift and in- 
 struct the people." 
 
 "And I," said a quaint, energetic little body, 
 " will endow him with a passionate desire to help 
 forward the less favored sons and daughters of
 
 374 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 earth, who are struggling for recognition and suc- 
 cess in their various avocations." 
 
 " And I," said a motherly-looking, amiable fairy, 
 " will see that in due time he finds the best among 
 women for his companionship, a helpmeet indeed, 
 whose life shall be happily bound up in his life." 
 
 " Do give me a chance ! " cried a beautiful young 
 fairy, " and I will answer for his children ; that 
 they be worthy of their father, and all a mother's 
 heart may pray that Heaven will vouchsafe to 
 her." 
 
 And after seventy years had rolled away into 
 space, the same fairies assembled on the same lawn 
 at the same season of the year, to compare notes 
 with reference to their now famous protege. And 
 then and there they declared that their magic had 
 been thoroughly successful, and that their charms 
 had all worked without a single flaw. 
 
 Then they took hands, and dancing slowly 
 around the time-honored mansion, sang this rounde- 
 lay, framed in the words of their own beloved 
 poet :
 
 A FAIRY TALE. 
 
 375 
 
 " Strength to his hours of manlj- toil ! 
 
 Peace to his star- lit dreams ! 
 
 He loves alike the furrowed soil, 
 
 The music-haunted streams ! 
 
 " Sweet smiles to keep forever bright 
 
 The sunshine on his lips, 
 And faith, that sees the ring of light 
 Round Nature's last eclipse! "
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM,
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 A FAMILIAR EPISTLE. 
 
 1 Y DEAR POET : A few days ago I fell 
 upon this exquisite passage in one of 
 your attractive volumes : 
 
 "How pleasant it is to reflect that all lovers of 
 
 books have themselves become books May I 
 
 hope to become the meanest of these existences ? I 
 should like to remain visible in this shape. The little 
 of myself that pleases myself I could wish to be ac- 
 counted worth pleasing others. I should like to sur- 
 vive so, were it only for the sake of those who love me 
 in private, knowing, as I do, what a treasure is the 
 possession of a friend's mind when he is no more.
 
 380 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 Dear Friend, I must always decline to think of 
 you as an inarticulate phantom, but persist in re- 
 garding you habitually as an alert and active pres- 
 ence, somewhere well employed. Nothing epice- 
 dian, therefore, should ever encumber any letters 
 to a long-absent correspondent like yourself. 
 
 Twenty years ago, when I had the never-to-be- 
 forgotten happiness of spending a delightful even- 
 ing in your cottage at Hammersmith, and you con- 
 fided to me so many sacred things about your dead 
 companions, John Keats and Percy Shelley, you 
 told me, I remember, that, if a copy were in your 
 possession, it would have afforded you much grat- 
 ification to present me with your London Journal, 
 the original publication, just as it was issued dur- 
 ing the years of 1834-35. Since that memorable 
 evening in England under your roof (do you re- 
 call the long, calm twilight and the moon-rise as 
 we watched it glimmering among the poplar 
 trees ?) I have sought in vain for the treasure 
 in London and American book-shops, where such 
 priceless things are apt to lurk. You can imagine
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 381 
 
 my exceptional pleasure, dear friend, when R. C. 
 (for years knowing my necessity) came bounding 
 into my summer cottage on the cliff, only last 
 night, with the coveted prize in his brawny York- 
 shire fist, jubilantly shouting his fervid gladness 
 that at last he had secured what I had so long de- 
 sired to possess. R. loves the volume as much as 
 I do, but he cannot resist the noble rage which 
 dominates his heart, for making other people 
 happy. So now I am actual owner of the precious 
 leaves about which we discoursed together sitting 
 around your jocund table a score of years ago ! 
 
 I cannot refrain from thanking you, as well as 
 R. C., for the enchanting pages before me. There 
 is a paper from your own pen in the first number 
 of the " Journal " (for April 2), which comes es- 
 pecially near to us all. It is that one in which you 
 hope to teach your readers of fifty years ago " the 
 art of extracting pleasurable ideas from the com- 
 monest objects," and what graces lie in the direc- 
 tion of poetry and the fine arts. It is where you 
 lean your cheek so lovingly toward those of the
 
 382 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 young and ardent seekers after what is uplifting 
 and instructive. " Pleasure is the business of this 
 journal," you say often and often to your subscrib- 
 ers. The right kind of pleasure, of course. And 
 how exquisitely you explain what true pleasure is ! 
 " innocent, kindly, elevating, consoling, encour- 
 aging." Here are some of your magnetic words 
 that I have read more than once to-day : 
 
 " As the sunshine floods the sky and the ocean, and 
 yet nurses the baby buds of roses on the wall, so we 
 would fain open the largest and the very best source 
 of pleasure, the noblest that expands above us into 
 the heavens, and the most familiar that catches our 
 glance in the homestead. . . . Man has not yet 
 learned to enjoy the world he lives in; no, not the 
 hundred-thousand-millionth part of it; and we would 
 
 fain help him to render it of still greater joy 
 
 We would make adversity hopeful, prosperity sympa- 
 thetic; and all to be better, kinder, richer, and hap- 
 pier There is scarcely a single joy or sorrow 
 
 Within the experience of our fellow-creatures which we 
 have not tasted; and the belief in the good and beau- 
 tiful has never forsaken us. It has been medicine to
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 383 
 
 us in sickness, riches in poverty, and the best part of 
 
 all that ever delighted us in health or success 
 
 We would sny to every one : You can surely diminish 
 pain and increase pleasure; the secret is to know 
 more, and to know that there is more to love. The 
 more man knows the more he exists, and the pleas- 
 anter his knowledge the happier his existence. Shake- 
 speare speaks of a man who was ' incapable of his 
 own distress.' A man may be poor, even struggling, 
 but not unhappy the commonest goods and chattels 
 are pregnant to him as fairy tales or things in a panto- 
 mime. His hat, like Fortunato's wishing-cap, can 
 carry him into the American solitude among the bea- 
 vers, where he can sit in thought, looking at them do- 
 ing their work, and hearing the majestic whispers in 
 the trees, or the falls of the old trunks that are ever- 
 lastingly breaking the silence in those wildernesses. 
 A hundred agreeable thoughts will come to this man, 
 thoughts of foreign lands and elegance and amuse- 
 ment, of tortoises and books of travels, and the comb 
 in his mistress's hair, and the elephants that carry sul- 
 tans, and the silver-mines of Potosi ; wilh all the won- 
 ders of South American history and the starry cross 
 in its sky; so that the smallest key shall pick the lock
 
 384 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 of the greatest treasures, thus opening to the knowing 
 man the whole universe We have been work- 
 ing now for upward of thirty years, and we have the 
 same hope, the same love, the same faith in the beauty 
 and goodness of nature and all her prospects, in space 
 and in time; we could almost add the same youth. 
 We have had so much sorrow, and yet are capable of 
 so much joy, and receive pleasure from so many famil- 
 iar objects, that we sometimes think we should have 
 had an unfair portion of happiness, if our life had not 
 been one of more than ordinary trial." 
 
 Thanks, dear friend, for these noble, self-sus- 
 taining words, and for the permanent comfort we 
 all find in your other health-giving writings. I 
 have for a long time noticed the sweet influences, 
 the almost immediate effect of several of your es- 
 says and poems on many a downcast look and 
 laboring breast here in America. Your charming 
 philosophy has often recalled to me the passage 
 which Cervantes has emphasized in " Don Quix- 
 ote : " " As to being tossed in a blanket, I say noth- 
 ing, for it is difficult to prevent such mishaps, and,
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 385 
 
 if they do come, there is nothing to be done but to 
 wait, hold one's breath and submit to go whither 
 fortune and the blanket shall please." 
 
 In your writings there is nothing morbid, noth- 
 ing depressing, no "perilous stuff that weighs 
 upon the heart." You have taught us in various 
 ways that every man has a plastic gift of happi- 
 ness which will become stronger with use, and that 
 beautiful possibilities, thank God, are endless. It 
 was said of the Abbe de Lille by Madame du 
 Mole, that his body was seventy-four, and his soul 
 only fifteen, and when I used to see your face 
 brighten up at the sight of little children I knew 
 the meaning of such an encomium. 
 
 In your character as Indicator you have done 
 immeasurable service to young people especially. 
 You seem to have been sent into the world on a 
 special mission to point out whatever is best in 
 many literatures. It is said there is a bird in the 
 interior of Africa which indicates to honey-hunters 
 where the nests of wild bees are to be found by 
 calling out to them with a cheerful cry. On find-
 
 386 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 iiior itself recognized the bird flies and hovers over 
 a hollow tree containing the honey. Thither the 
 gatherers go and collect the sweet treasure, while 
 the bird flies to a little distance, observing all that 
 passes. When the hunters have helped them- 
 selves they take care always to leave a portion for 
 the bird that has so kindly indicated to them 
 where the honey lay concealed. I cannot help 
 thinking of yourself as one of the honey-indica- 
 tors of literature, calling out to all readers in sweet 
 persuasive ways to come and help themselves to 
 the choicest morsels in English prose and poetry, 
 the honeyed words of wit and wisdom, " infinite 
 riches in a little room." To employ your own 
 words, you have always seemed to me 
 
 ' One of the spirits chosen by Heaven to turn 
 The sunny side of things to human eyes." 
 
 You once said, I remember, that birth had made 
 you a Royalist, but that no man respected an hon- 
 est Republican more than yourself, or venerated 
 him more if he were truly great. I also remem- 
 ber you said that the idea of a war between Eng-
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 387 
 
 land and America was a thing alike monstrous and 
 impossible. I recall with special pleasure your as- 
 sertion that you would as soon think of a quarrel 
 between two guardian-angels of mankind, in the 
 heavens that overlook us, as a rupture between the 
 two countries. Most earnestly and devoutly you 
 thought the welfare of the earth committed to the 
 keeping of the two nations. Both on your father's 
 and mother's side you are fully American, and 
 closely related by blood to all of us on this side of 
 the water. Your heart readily turned to America 
 from early boyhood, so that your books, both in 
 prose and verse, seem very much at home among 
 this people. 
 
 It will not disturb you, perhaps, to hear that 
 your delightful writings are read more than ever. 
 They have endenizened themselves in this quarter 
 of the world especially. A bookseller told me 
 lately he had daily calls for your perennial vol- 
 umes, and it was good to hear such reports of their 
 continued prosperity, for they " fortify like a cor- 
 dial ; they enlarge the heart, and are productive of
 
 388 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELISIUM. 
 
 sweet blood and generous spirits." As an author, 
 you have not passed away " like a weaver's shut- 
 tle," and not one of your modest tomes is dust-rid- 
 den or smells of mortality. My friend C. F. al- 
 ways keeps a supply of these three of your books 
 on hand for bridal, new-year and birthday gifts : 
 "Imagination and Fancy," "Wit and Humor," 
 and " A Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla." He 
 has a pretty style of binding, invented by himself 
 for these delectable volumes, and he always adds a 
 few words on the presentation leaf, setting forth 
 your claims to the love and admiration of readers, 
 young and old." 
 
 Your " Religion of the Heart " as printed by 
 Moxon many years ago, is a soul-helping volume, 
 but, good as it is,* with your more recent experi- 
 ence what an improved and enlarged edition you 
 could now put to press ! If such a digression were 
 permitted to departed essayists, what a marvel- 
 lously instructive paper you could now indite for 
 the world's enlightenment, with some such title as 
 this : " Mistaken Ideas on the Earth with Regard
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 389 
 
 to Death." I can imagine your selection of a 
 motto for the heading of such an article. Perhaps 
 you would choose this line for that purpose from 
 Shakespeare's " Tarquin and Lucrece : " 
 
 "For much imaginary work was there." 
 It would be like you, Mr. Indicator, to mouse in 
 that suggestive quarter for a tit quotation. 
 
 A few Sundays ago I heard a good clergyman 
 quote, with tearful voice, these admonitory lines of 
 yours, in his morning discourse. Many a hearer 
 present listened to them with responsive, moist- 
 ened eyes : 
 
 "How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, 
 Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, 
 An angel came to us, and we could bear 
 To see him issue from the silent air 
 At evening in our room, and bend on ours 
 His divine eyes and bring us from his bowers, 
 News of dear friends, and children who have never 
 Been dead indeed, as we shall know forever. 
 Alas ! we think not what AVC daily see 
 About our hearths angels that are to be, 
 Or may be if they will, and we prepare 
 Their souls and ours to meet in happy air,
 
 390 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings 
 In unison with ours, breeding its future wings." 
 
 There are many things, dear friend, about which 
 I should be so glad to ask you, but I shrink from 
 calling off your attention to sublunary matters 
 now. 
 
 Many of the books which I saw on your library 
 shelves at Hammersmith have crossed over to me 
 and become my most valuable literary treasures. 
 Your annotated Milton, enriched with thousands 
 of marginal notes, is a real mine of poetic lore. 
 Some of your objections, questionings rather, in 
 the " Paradise Lost " have puzzled me exceed- 
 ingly. If I ever have the good fortune to get an- 
 other long talk with you, I may venture on a few 
 Milton ic inquiries. There is much in your copy 
 of Shakespeare that I shall ask you to unravel, if 
 I am vouchsafed the felicity of another interview. 
 Your copy of Ben Jonson is delightful reading, 
 being starred all over with subtle explanations, but 
 something is there also to be cleared up. 
 
 One would like to be informed how you are
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 391 
 
 employing yourself in your new abode. How do 
 you get on without your library, and with no new 
 books to criticise ? Are you content so far away 
 from the opera and Drury Lane ? How do you 
 exist with no London at your elbow ? You were 
 formerly so fond of strolling up and down the old 
 city where do you perambulate now ? Have 
 you and Byron met, made up, and become friendly 
 again ? One fancies you and Charles Knight hob- 
 nobbing after the old manner, comparing notes, 
 as you used to do when you discussed with a relish 
 those interesting personages, Parson Adams, San- 
 cho Panza, Uncle Toby, Gil Bias, St. Januarius, 
 Sir Roger de Coverley, Lemuel Gulliver, and that 
 gigantic despot, Garagantua, who ate six pilgrims 
 in a salad ! I saw you at a friend's house years 
 ago, holding happy converse with Barry Cornwall 
 and Nathaniel Hawthorne in Upper Harley Street. 
 Do you meet them often in upper streets now ? 
 And Dickens, and Adelaide Procter, and Cowden 
 Clarke, and Charles and Mary Lamb, and William 
 Hazlitt, are you together with them occasionally
 
 392 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 as aforetime? Do Kenyon and Landor practice 
 word-fencing in Elysium ? One would like to know 
 how Chaucer impresses you as an entity. (From 
 the portrait of Geoffrey in your copy of Godwin's 
 " Life " I judge he has, to employ Sir Philip Syd- 
 ney's neat phrase, " a most kissworthy face.") 
 Is Spenser in any way disappointing ? Have you 
 dared much converse with the potential master of 
 them all, and inquired of him as to the Prince of 
 Denmark's hazy conduct on certain well-known oc- 
 casions ? (Private and confidential. Dear friend, 
 
 who wrote the plays ? Was it really Sha , 
 
 or only Ba : ?) 
 
 There are many items of literary interest to 
 communicate from below, but I will not enu- 
 merate them all. 
 
 William Howells, a man after your own heart, 
 has lately made some remarkable excursions into 
 the "Undiscovered Country," and his book 
 would greatly interest you. Elizabeth Phelps 
 has touched the heart of the world in an electric 
 manner through the pages of an exceptionally
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 393 
 
 human narrative called " Gates Ajar." I wish I 
 could get a copy over to you, for your tender 
 eyes were made to glisten over a book like this. 
 
 " Her senses gradually wrapt 
 In a half sleep, she dreamed of better worlds, 
 And dreaming heard thee still, singing lark, 
 That sangest like an angel in the clouds ! " 
 
 Our world-beloved Longfellow clarum et vene- 
 raUle nomen whose muse knows nothing of 
 age, has lately addressed a poem to Robert 
 Burns, now of Eternity. The American poet 
 bids his Scottish brother welcome to his own 
 fireside as " dear guest and ghost," and the 
 whole lyric is a triumph of genuine feeling in 
 verse. I hear of a lecture on " Ghost Seeing," 
 lately read in public by one of America's ripest 
 theological and philosophical scholars. Whatever 
 Professor H. has to say on any subject relative 
 to the invisible world is sure of eager attention. 
 You were once capriciously fond of ghost-stories ; 
 does that partiality still survive the change in 
 your locality ? Or has familiarity somewhat dulled
 
 394 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 the edge of your susceptibility in that direction ? 
 Ghosts of an inferior grade are common enough 
 everywhere in these latter days, but your oppor- 
 tunity for investigation must be special and deeply 
 interestiDg. Among the ladies who now belong 
 to the ghost department you will be sure to have 
 eagerly sought out those stately beauties of the 
 Bridgewater family for whom Milton wrote his 
 " Comus," and Dante's Beatrice and Petrarch's 
 Laura will be sure to liave attracted your atten- 
 tion very early in your search after the choicer 
 residents. One other, a Florentine wife to Ago- 
 lanti, you will long ago have encountered. 
 
 " Non era 1'andar stio eosa mortale, 
 Ma d' angelica forma," 
 
 Among the unjust books that have appeared is 
 one containing the love-letters of Keats to Fanny 
 Brawne. These epistles, coined out of heart's 
 sorrow and passion, ought never to have been 
 handled by the public. All eyes are now allowed 
 to scrutinize ad libitum the inmost sacred life of 
 one of the most sensitive beings that ever existed
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 395 
 
 and suffered. It appears it is not considered dis- 
 honorable in these days thus to unveil the sanc- 
 tity of a divine memory and ruthlessly to print 
 these quivering relics, these burning vows of an 
 almost frenzied devotion. Tennyson's invective 
 is recalled by this sacrilegious injustice : 
 
 " He gave the people of his best ; 
 
 The worst he kept, his best he gave, 
 My Shakespeare's curse on clown and knave 
 Who will not let his ashes rest! " 
 
 Frances Owen, a lady large of heart and brain, 
 has published " A Study of Keats " which is wor- 
 thy of all praise. Him who has 
 
 " Discoursed upon the fragile bar 
 That keeps us from our homes ethereal 
 And what our duties there " 
 
 is most lovingly set forth in this charming bro- 
 chure, and her choicely printed book deserves a 
 place on the same shelf with what you have your- 
 self written of the immortal youth. Mrs. Owen 
 quotes with appreciative judgment some lines 
 from Keats's lovely epistle, written in September,
 
 396 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 1816, to our dear friend, Charles Cowden Clarke. 
 How admirably that letter to the son of the poet's 
 old schoolmaster sets forth Keats's indebtedness 
 to young Clarke. What a blessing Charles was 
 in those days to the young bard ! Keats felt it all 
 when he penned these memorable passages that 
 autumn evening more than sixty years ago : 
 
 " You first taught me all the sweets of song: 
 The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine : 
 What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine : 
 Spenserian vowels that elope with ease, 
 And float along, like birds o'er summer seas : 
 Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness : 
 Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness. 
 Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly 
 Up to its climax and then dying proudly? 
 Who found for me the grandeur of the ode ? 
 Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load ? 
 Who let me taste that more than cordial dram, 
 The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram ? 
 Show'd me that epic was of all the king, 
 Round, vast and spanning all, like Saturn's ring ? 
 You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty 
 And pointed out the patriot's stern duty;
 
 TO LEI&H HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 397 
 
 The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell ; 
 
 The hand of Brutus that so grandly fell 
 
 Upon a tyrant's head. Ah ! had I never seen 
 
 Or known your kindness, what might I have been ? 
 
 What my enjoyments in my youthful years, 
 
 Bereft of all that now my life endears ? 
 
 And can I e'er these benefits forget ? 
 
 And can I e'er repay the friendly debt V 
 
 But many days have passed since last my heart 
 Was warmed luxuriously by divine Mozart : 
 By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden' d 
 Or by the song of Erin pierced and sadden' d : 
 What time you were before the music sitting, 
 And the rich notes to each sensation flitting, 
 Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes 
 That freshly terminate in open plains, 
 And re veil' d in a chat that ceased not 
 When, at nightfall, among your books we got: 
 No, nor when supper came, nor after that, 
 Nor when reluctantly I took my hat ; 
 No, nor till cordially you shook my hand 
 Midway between our homes : your accents bland 
 Still sounded in my ears, when I no more 
 Could hear your footsteps touch the gravelly floor. 
 Sometimes I lost them, and then found again ; 
 You changed the foot-path for the grassy plain.
 
 398 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 In those still moments I have wished you joys 
 
 That well you know to honor: "Life's very toys 
 
 With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm ; 
 
 It cannot be that aught will work him harm." 
 
 These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might: 
 
 Again I shake your hand friend Charles, good-night." 
 
 Observe how sympathetically Mrs. Owen touches 
 her great subject in this delightful " Study : " 
 
 " Such a poem as the * Ode to a Nightingale ' (writ- 
 ten on scraps of paper and thrust away as waste be- 
 hind some books) is a spontaneous expression of the 
 life the poet was then living. The nightingale sang 
 in the plum-tree at Wentworth Place, and Keats sat 
 and listened to it and wrote one of the saddest and 
 sweetest poems in our language. It was written in 
 the same year and nearly at the same time as 
 1 Lamia,' when the shadow of his approaching doom 
 seemed to be stealing over him ; when his brother 
 Tom, whom he had loved so well, had lately died; 
 when he was waking to consciousness of the love that 
 was his fate. There is noticeable all through the 
 poem that languor and failure of the springs of life 
 which mark the first approach of death, however dis- 
 tant the event may be, and that remarkably quick-
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 399 
 
 ened sympathy with all natural life which is so often 
 to be seen in those who are doomed to die. It was 
 this sympathy which made Keats write a few months 
 later : ' How astonishingly does the chance of leav- 
 ing the world impress a sense of its natural beauties 
 upon us ! The simple flowers of our spring are what 
 I want to see again. ' It was therefore no mere po- 
 etic wish, but the expression of a real sadness, which 
 prompted the longing ' to fade away into the forest 
 dim ' with the nightingale : 
 
 " 'Fade far away, dissolve and quite forget 
 What thou among the leaves hast never known, 
 
 The weariness, the fever and the fret, 
 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan : 
 
 Where palsy shakes a few sad last gray hairs, 
 Where youth grows pale and spectre thin, and dies ; 
 
 Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
 And leaden-eyed despairs : 
 
 Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
 Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow.' 
 
 " We can imagine, too, how his thoughts were 
 haunted by the sufferings of his brother's last weeks 
 when he wrote of being ' half in love with easeful 
 death,' and how true it is in that passionately lov-
 
 400 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 ing nature, which loved even its brothers with more 
 than the love of women, that, thinking of Tom in 
 his new-made grave, and of George far away in 
 America, John Keats should write from his heart, 
 
 ' ' ' Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 
 To toll me back from thee to my sole self.' 
 
 " The whole of this magical ode. seems to make life 
 vocal for us as we read it, but it also brings us very 
 close to the wearied young heart that was nearing 
 death." 
 
 You remember Vincent Novello and that ex- 
 ceptional nest of London singing birds in Oxford 
 street many a year gone by ? These suggestive 
 lines will surely not be unfamiliar to you, .and 
 will recall the delightful family : 
 
 "When lovely sounds about my ears 
 
 Like winds in Eden's tree-tops rise, 
 And make me, though my spirit hears, 
 
 For very luxury close my eyes, 
 Let none but friends be round about 
 
 Who love the smoothing joy like me, 
 That so the charm be felt throughout, 
 
 And all be harmony.
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 401 
 
 " And when we reach the close divine, 
 
 Then let the hand of her I love 
 Come with its gentle palm on mine 
 
 As soft as snow or lighting dove : 
 And let, by stealth, that more than friend 
 
 Look sweetness in my opening eyes, 
 For only so such dreams should end, 
 
 Or wake in Paradise." 
 
 Only yourself could have written such exquisite 
 verses on " hearing music," and you did write 
 them for Vincent's piano, and a lovely voice, years 
 and years ago. Well, Vincent's daughter Mary, 
 wife of warm-hearted, poetry-loving, poetry-mak- 
 ing Charles, sister of the lute-voiced Clara, a 
 lady well known and admired by yourself many 
 a year gone by, has printed a sweet, refreshing 
 volume of " Recollections." I do not believe that 
 a more lovable work was ever sent into the wait- 
 _ing world by man or woman than this enchanting 
 mirror of the beautiful vanished Past, thus ar- 
 ranged by Mary Clarke in her flower-covered 
 Genoese villa, where, thank Heaven ! she is living 
 still, a blessing to her old and young companions.
 
 402 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 Mary's heart, like her husband's and your own, 
 has no age in it ; for something dwells perpetually 
 
 there 
 
 " Better than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better than all treasures 
 That in books are found." 
 
 Among your native authors whom we are espe- 
 cially anxious to detain from the skies as long as 
 possible is Addington Symonds, a comparatively 
 new name in literature. His " Studies of the 
 Greek Poets " are volumes of never-ending de- 
 light, and it is a good sign for both countries when 
 England and America demand increasing editions 
 of these fascinating books. This enchanting 
 scholar brings us into the very presence of Ho- 
 mer's women, and their sunbright forms, as repre- 
 sented by him, are just as real to us as they were 
 to the heroes of the " Iliad " and " Odyssey." 
 With that pure and perfect maiden, Xausicaa, he 
 makes us all in love afresh, and as we see her 
 moving along the olive-gardens down to the sea,
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 403 
 
 our boyish enthusiasm for the beautiful princess 
 is rekindled with added fervor. These " Studies " 
 are full of suggestive thought. Every chapter is 
 radiant with light from the Hellenic world, the 
 far-off glory of " a lustrous, lovelier past." The 
 emotions, speculations, and passions of an ideal 
 people are all set forth in these sculpturesque 
 and luminous pages, and as we linger over them 
 we think of those immortal smiles and tears de- 
 picted on the ./Eginetan pediments, preserved 
 through the ages as eternal records of a noble hu- 
 man race that can never be indifferent to man- 
 kind. In perusing the " Studies " I have often 
 thought what enjoyment you would have in read- 
 ing many of the chapters, especially the conclud- 
 ing one. The philosophy contained in that chap- 
 ter you taught us long ago, and its reproduction 
 by Symonds is thus doubly welcome now. 
 
 Buxton Forman, a man of genuine taste in let- 
 ters, has edited and collected the complete works 
 of Shelley, poetry and prose, in regal form, both 
 as regards type, paper, and binding. It, is an edi-
 
 404 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 tion worthy of the most musical of singers, won to 
 us from " the pale planet Mercury." 
 
 I must not omit to mention the advent of a 
 specially noteworthy American book. A more 
 excelling volume of pure literary criticism than 
 Clarence Stedman's " Victorian Poets " has not 
 appeared since you passed forward. It is truly 
 a sterling accession to English letters, and its 
 value is attested by its exceptional circulation on 
 both sides of the water. There is a readable 
 buoyancy of touch and certainty of judgment 
 about the book which are as welcome as they are 
 unusual. Your voice and pen would not fail to 
 recognize Stedman as a true brother of the high 
 art so often attempted and so seldom attained in 
 our day. Such volumes as this one are not 
 "scanty intellectual viands," but real nutriment 
 for needy souls. 
 
 Those two beloved old poets of whom you spoke 
 with enthusiastic interest when we met in Eng- 
 land, have taken flight for the Empyrean. The 
 vital chord in both instances was " softly disen-
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 405 
 
 gaged," and now we speak of Dana and Bryant as 
 havino- 'passed forward into the innumerable host. 
 
 S r 
 
 You once reminded me of the unwithering laurels 
 due to " Thanatopsis." Its noble author is now 
 one of your sacred band, " serene creators of im- 
 mortal things." 
 
 One of Paganini's ravishing choir has lately 
 flitted away from us. 
 
 "Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, 
 His figure tall and straight, and lithe, 
 And every feature of his face 
 Revealing his Norwegian race ; 
 A radiance streaming from within, 
 Around his face and forehead beamed, 
 The angel with the violin 
 Painted by Raphael he seemed." 
 
 His was indeed a lovely spirit, and he had the 
 power of imparting thought to his instrument, 
 seldom vouchsafed to mortals. He had a vehe- 
 ment love of liberty, one of your own band of 
 freedom-worshippers, a soul full of endearment 
 and hope for humanity. To those who came in 
 friendly contact with his fine exceptional nature,
 
 406 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 his absence from among us is a daily grief. I 
 think you never met him face to face in this lower* 
 sphere, but you will know him by his smile ! 
 
 You were always interested in painting. I 
 think you knew Washington Allston, our illustri- 
 ous American artist, when he sojourned in Eng- 
 land more than half a century ago, and had for 
 his intimate friends Coleridge and Hazlitt. All- 
 ston's reputation as a painter has never dimin- 
 ished, and his high place in modern art never been 
 approached, until "William Hunt set up his easel 
 and claimed, by right of genius, undisputed 
 brotherhood with him. Hunt has recently laid 
 down his palette and become an absentee from 
 this side of eternity. Beloved by all who had the 
 boon of his friendship, he leaves behind him some- 
 thing better than fame, the deep affection of his 
 contemporaries, the tender devotion of those who 
 sought instruction from his facile, vigorous hand 
 and brain. Now that Hunt has gone from this 
 diurnal round, Elihu Vedder steps forward, by 
 right of original excellence, into the vacated front.
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 407 
 
 His subjects are unhackneyed ones, and his treat- 
 ment of them sui generis. One of our poets no 
 long ago published two powerful verses in a maga- 
 zine, and the painter, recognizing their compelling 
 force for illustration, has made out of them a pict- 
 ure quite worthy of the poem. These are the 
 lines, entitled " Identity," from which Vedder has 
 produced a masterly painting : 
 
 " Somewhere in desolate wind-swept space 
 
 In twilight-land in No-man's land 
 Two hurrying Shapes met face to face, 
 And bade each other stand. 
 
 " ' And who are you ? ' cried one, a-gape, 
 
 Shuddering in the gloaming light. 
 1 1 know not," said the second Shape, 
 1 1 only died last night ! ' " 
 
 Tennyson and Browning are still singing their 
 own matchless themes. Like some of Giotto's 
 fresco-paintings, Browning's later genius in verse 
 is hard to understand, but it is true genius not- 
 withstanding. Tennyson, like Raphael, paints 
 only what is in the zenith of human comprehen-
 
 408 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 sion, although some of his dramas, we are told, 
 are not a success on the English stage. A critic 
 in one of the theatrical journals complains that 
 one of the Laureate's plays " lacked effective pro- 
 nouns." This recalled to my mind a learned com- 
 mentator's remark that the " Iliad " would have 
 been greatly improved if it could have had more 
 adverbs judiciously interspersed here and there !' 
 
 Beautiful tributes to yourself and your writings 
 have appeared from time to time both in England 
 and America. " The Quarterly Review " and 
 " Blackwood's Magazine," both among the revilers 
 during your sojourn here, have given utterance 
 to hearty words of appreciation and praise since 
 you left us. Gerald Massey, in " The North Brit- 
 ish Review " has spoken eloquently of your books. 
 Alexander Ireland, most enthusiastic and genial 
 among your admirers, has printed a valuable list 
 of your works, chronologically arranged with 
 notes appended that render his volume a priceless 
 one in literary criticism. Dickens long ago pub- 
 lished in " All the Year Round " a charming pa-
 
 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 409 
 
 per touching your genius and character, and con- 
 clusively denying the foolish statement sometimes 
 made with regard to the original of a certain char- 
 acter in his " Bleak House." Carlyle, Macaulay, 
 Edwin Whipple, Richard Home, Mary Mitford, 
 Hannay, and other judges of what is best in litera- 
 ture have spoken in the right vein of your as- 
 sured position in English letters. Launcelot 
 Cross has lately printed a dainty little volume, 
 setting forth your characteristics as an author. 
 On his title-page, as indicating his feeling for your 
 works, he has this motto from Coleridge : 
 
 " I ken the bank where Amaranths blow, 
 Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. " 
 
 Launcelot's notes, gathered up at the end of 
 his book, are delicious morsels for all who love 
 your delectable lucubrations. 
 
 But my letter is already disgracefully long. 
 Mortality grows prolix with advancing age. Par- 
 don something to admiring friendship, and a de- 
 sire to extend the> knowledge of your wit and 
 wisdom wherever I have opportunity. Your
 
 410 TO LEIGH HUNT IN ELYSIUM. 
 
 JVIoschus has sung to us in doleful strain this sol- 
 emn fiat : 
 
 " Alas! when mallows in the garden die, 
 Green pai'sley or the crisp, luxuriant dill, 
 They live again, and flower another year ; 
 But we, how great soe'er, or strong, or wise, 
 When once we die, sleep in the senseless earth." 
 
 Can you not disprove this assertion of your 
 favorite, and send us something more satisfactory 
 as to the whereabouts of vanished souls? Try, 
 dear Indicator, and do us all a lasting service. 
 
 I am ignorant of celestial postage requirements, 
 and do not wish this epistle to get no farther than 
 the Dead Letter Office, but it must take its chance. 
 
 Would that I were able to receive from you 
 another of those inspiring sheets that came across 
 the Atlantic waters to gladden my sight in days 
 gone by ; but alas ! over that other stream no cor- 
 respondence has ever crossed ! You, and the 
 great majority with you, undoubtedly understand 
 the reason wh} r . With loving and respectful re- 
 gard, your devoted friend and reader.