ity 
 
 ONLI 
 
 
 * -
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 DISGftftBED 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 
 FOR THE 
 ENGLISH READING ROOM
 
 ENGLISH READING ROOM
 
 
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 AND OTHER STORIES.
 
 THE LADY, 
 OR THE TIGER? 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 FRANK R.I STOCKTON 
 
 JSTC 
 
 Author's Edition 
 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 DAVID DOUGLAS, CASTLE STREET 
 1884
 
 (Efcinburgfj 23m&crsftg IBrrss : 
 
 T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY.
 
 (Ernest
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 THE LADY; OR THE TIGER ? . . . . 7 
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST, .... 23 
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE, .... 47 
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON, .... 81 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER, . . .117 
 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE " THOMAS 
 
 HTKE," 141 
 
 MR. TOLMAN, 181 
 
 PLAIN FISHING, 225 
 
 MY BULL-CALF, 257 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER-WRITER, . 291
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGEK?
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 
 IN the very olden time, there lived a semi- 
 barbaric king, whose ideas, though 
 somewhat polished and sharpened by the 
 progressiveness of distant Latin neighbours, 
 were still large, florid, and untrammelled, as 
 became the half of him which was barbaric. 
 He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, 
 withal, of an authority so irresistible that, 
 at his will, he turned his varied fancies into 
 facts. He was greatly given to self-com- 
 muning ; and, when he and himself agreed 
 upon anything, the thing was done. When 
 every member of his domestic and political 
 systems moved smoothly in its appointed 
 course, his nature was bland and genial ; 
 but whenever there was a little hitch, and 
 some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he 
 was blander and more genial still, for nothing 
 pleased him so much as to make the crooked 
 straight, and crush down uneven places. 
 
 Among the borrowed notions by which his 
 barbarism had become semified was that of
 
 10 THE LADY, OR THE TIGEE ? 
 
 the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of 
 manly and beastly valour, the minds of his 
 subjects were refined and cultured. 
 
 But even here the exuberant and barbaric 
 fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king 
 was built, not to give the people an oppor- 
 tunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying 
 gladiators, nor to enable them to view the 
 inevitable conclusion of a conflict between 
 religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for 
 purposes far better adapted to widen and 
 develop the mental energies of the people. 
 This vast amphitheatre, with its encircling 
 galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its un- 
 seen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, 
 in which crime was punished, or virtue 
 rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial 
 and incorruptible chance. 
 
 When a subject was accused of a crime of 
 sufficient importance to interest the king, 
 public notice was given that on an appointed 
 day the fate of the accused person would be 
 decided in the king's arena, a structure 
 which well deserved its name ; for, although 
 its form and plan were borrowed from afar, 
 its purpose emanated solely from the brain 
 of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, 
 knew no tradition to which he owed more 
 allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? II 
 
 ingrafted on every adopted form of human 
 thought and action the rich growth of his 
 barbaric idealism. 
 
 When all the people had assembled in the 
 galleries, and the king, surrounded by his 
 court, sat high up on his throne of royal 
 state on one side of the arena, he gave a 
 signal, a door beneath him opened, and the 
 accused subject stepped out into the amphi- 
 theatre. Directly opposite him, on the 
 other side of the enclosed space, were two 
 doors, exactly alike and side by side. It 
 was the duty and the privilege of the per- 
 son on trial to walk directly to these doors 
 and open one of them. He could open 
 either door he pleased : he was subject to 
 no guidance or influence but that of the 
 aforementioned impartial and incorruptible 
 chance. If he opened the one, there came 
 out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and 
 most cruel that could be procured, which 
 immediately sprang upon him, and tore him 
 to pieces, as a punishment for his guilt. The 
 moment that the case of the criminal was 
 thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, 
 great wails went up from the hired mourners 
 posted on the outer rim of the arena, and 
 the vast audience, with bowed heads and 
 downcast hearts, wended slowly their home-
 
 i2 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 
 \vard way, mourning greatly that one so 
 young and fair, or so old and respected, 
 should have merited so dire a fate. 
 
 But, if the accused person opened the 
 other door, there came forth from it a lady, 
 the most suitable to his yeai-s and station 
 that his majesty could select among his 
 fair subjects ; and to this lady he was im- 
 mediately married, as a reward of his in- 
 nocence. It mattered not that he might 
 already possess a wife and family, or that 
 his affections might be engaged upon an 
 object of his own selection : the king allowed 
 no such subordinate arrangements to inter- 
 fere with his great scheme of retribution 
 and reward. The exercises, as in the other 
 instance, took place immediately, and in the 
 arena. Another door opened beneath the 
 king, and a priest, followed by a band of 
 choristers, and dancing maidens blowing 
 joyous airs on golden horns and treading an 
 epithalamic measure, advanced to where the 
 pair stood, side by side; and the wedding 
 was promptly and cheerily solemnised. Then 
 the gay brass bells rang forth their merry 
 peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and 
 the innocent man, preceded by children 
 strewing flowers on his path, led his bride 
 to his home.
 
 THE LADY, OB THE TIGER? 13 
 
 This was the king's semi-barbaric method 
 of administering justice. Its perfect fairness 
 is obvious. The criminal could not know 
 out of which door would come the lady : he 
 opened either he pleased, without having 
 the slightest idea whether, in the next 
 instant, he was to be devoured or married. 
 On some occasions the tiger came out of one 
 door, and on some out of the other. The 
 decisions of this tribunal were not only 
 fair, they were positively determinate : the 
 accused person was instantly punished if he 
 found himself guilty ; and, if innocent, he 
 was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked 
 it or not. There was no escape from the 
 judgments of the king's arena. 
 
 The institution was a very popular one. 
 When the people gathered together on one of 
 the great trial days, they never knew whether 
 they were to witness a bloody slaughter or 
 a hilarious wedding. This element of un- 
 certainty lent an interest to the occasion 
 which it could not otherwise have attained. 
 Thus, the masses were entertained and 
 pleased, and the thinking part of the com- 
 munity could bring no charge of unfairness 
 against this plan; for did not the accused 
 person have the whole matter in his own 
 hands ?
 
 14 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 
 This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as 
 blooming as his most florid fancies, and with 
 a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. 
 As is usual in such cases, she was the apple 
 of his eye, and was loved by him above all 
 humanity. Among his courtiers was a 
 young man of that fineness of blood and 
 lowness of station common to the conven- 
 tional heroes of romance who love royal 
 maidens. This royal maiden was well satis- 
 fied with her lover, for he was handsome 
 and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all 
 this kingdom ; and she loved him with an 
 ardour that had enough of barbarism in it 
 to make it exceedingly warm and strong. 
 This love affair moved on happily for many 
 months, until one day the king happened to 
 discover its existence. He did not hesitate 
 nor waver in regard to his duty in the 
 premises. The youth was immediately cast 
 into prison, and a day was appointed for his 
 trial in the king's arena. This, of course, 
 was an especially important occasion ; and 
 his majesty, as well as all the people, was 
 greatly interested in the workings and 
 development of this trial. Never before 
 had such a case occurred ; never before had 
 a subject dared to love the daughter of a 
 king. In after-years such things became
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 15 
 
 commonplace enough ; but then they were, 
 in no slight degree, novel and startling. 
 
 The tiger-cages of the kingdom were 
 searched for the most savage and relentless 
 beasts, from which the fiercest monster might 
 be selected for the arena ; and the ranks of 
 maiden youth and beauty throughout the 
 land were carefully surveyed by competent 
 judges, in order that the young man might 
 have a fitting bride in case fate did not 
 determine for him a different destiny. Of 
 course, everybody knew that the deed with 
 which the accused was charged had been 
 done. He had loved the princess, and 
 neither he, she, nor any one else thought of 
 denying the fact ; but the king would not 
 think of allowing any fact of this kind to 
 interfere with the workings of the tribunal, 
 in which he took such great delight and 
 satisfaction. No matter how the affair 
 turned out, the youth would be disposed of ; 
 and the king would take an aesthetic plea- 
 sure in watching the course of events, which 
 would determine whether or not the young 
 man had done wrong in allowing himself to 
 love the princess. 
 
 The appointed clay arrived. From far 
 and near the people gathered, and thronged 
 the great galleries of the arena ; and crowds,
 
 1 6 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 
 unable to gain admittance, massed them- 
 selves against its outside walls. The king 
 and his court were in their places, opposite 
 the twin doors, those fateful portals, so 
 terrible in their similarity. 
 
 All was ready. The signal was given. A 
 door beneath the royal party opened, and 
 the lover of the princess walked into the 
 arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance 
 was greeted with a low hum of admiration 
 and anxiety. Half the audience had not 
 known so grand a youth had lived among 
 them. No wonder the princess loved him ! 
 What a terrible thing for him to be there ! 
 
 As the youth advanced into the arena, he 
 turned, as the custom was, to bow to the 
 king : but he did not think at all of that 
 royal personage ; his eyes were fixed upon 
 the princess, who sat to the right of her 
 father. Had it not been for the moiety of 
 barbarism in her nature, it is probable that 
 lady would not have been there ; but her 
 intense and fervid soul would not allow her 
 to be absent on an occasion in which she 
 was so terribly interested. From the 
 moment that the decree had gone forth, 
 that her lover should decide his fate in the 
 king's arena, she had thought of nothing, 
 night or day, but this great event and thy
 
 THE LADY, OB THE TIGER? 17 
 
 various subjects connected with it. Pos- 
 sessed of more power, influence, and force 
 of character than any one who had ever 
 before been interested in such a case, she 
 had done what no other person had done, 
 she had possessed herself of the secret of the 
 doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, 
 that lay behind those doors, stood the cage 
 of the tiger, with its open front, and in 
 which waited the lady. Through these 
 thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on 
 the inside, it was impossible that any noise 
 or suggestion should come from within to 
 the person who should approach to raise the 
 latch of one of them ; but gold, and the 
 power of a woman's will, had brought the 
 secret to the princess. 
 
 And not only did she know in which room 
 stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing 
 and radiant, should her door be opened, but 
 she knew who the lady was. It was one of 
 the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of 
 the court who had been selected as the 
 reward of the accused youth, should he be 
 proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to 
 one so far above him ; and the princess 
 hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined 
 that she had seen, this fair creature throw- 
 ing glances of admiration upon the person of
 
 1 8 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 
 her lover, and sometimes she thought these 
 glances were perceived and even returned. 
 Now and then she had seen them talking 
 together ; it was but for a moment or two, 
 but much can be said in a brief space ; it 
 may have been on most unimportant topics, 
 but how could she know that? The girl 
 was lovely, but she had dared to raise her 
 eyes to the loved one of the princess ; and, 
 with all the intensity of the savage blood 
 transmitted to her through long lines of 
 wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the 
 woman who blushed and trembled behind 
 that silent door. 
 
 When her lover turned and looked at her, 
 and his eye met hers as she sat there paler 
 and whiter than any one in the vast ocean 
 of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that 
 power of quick perception which is given to 
 those whose souls are one, that she knew 
 behind which door crouched the tiger, and 
 behind which stood the lady. He had ex- 
 pected her to know it. He understood her 
 nature, and his soul was assured that she 
 would never rest until she had made plain 
 to herself this thing, hidden to all other 
 lookers-on, even to the king. The only 
 hope for the youth in which there was any 
 element of certainty was based upon the
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 1 9 
 
 success of the princess in discovering this 
 mystery ; and the moment he looked upon 
 her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his 
 soul he knew she would succeed. 
 
 Then it was that his quick and anxious 
 glance asked the question : ' ' Which ? " It 
 was as plain to her as if he shouted it from 
 where he stood. There was not an instant 
 to be lost. The question was asked in a 
 flash ; it must be answered in another. 
 
 Her right arm lay on the cushioned 
 parapet before her. She raised her hand, 
 and made a slight, quick movement toward 
 the right. No one but her lover saw her. 
 Every eye but his was fixed on the man in 
 the arena. 
 
 He turned, and with a firm and rapid step 
 he walked across the empty space. Every 
 heart stopped beating, every breath was held, 
 every eye was fixed immoveably upon that 
 man. Without the slightest hesitation, he 
 went to the door on the right, and opened 
 it. 
 
 Now, the point of the story is this : Did 
 the tiger come out of that door, or did the 
 lady? 
 
 The more we reflect upon this question, 
 the harder it is to answer. It involves a
 
 2O THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 
 
 study of the human heart which leads us 
 through devious mazes of passion, out of 
 which it is difficult to find our way. Think 
 of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of 
 the question depended upon yourself, but 
 upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric prin- 
 cess, her soul at a white heat beneath the 
 combined fires of despair and jealousy. She 
 had lost him, but who should have him ? 
 
 How often, in her waking hours and in 
 her dreams, had she started in wild horror, 
 and covered her face with her hands as she 
 thought of her lover opening the door on 
 the other side of which waited the cruel 
 fangs of the tiger ! 
 
 But how much oftener had she seen him 
 at the other door ! How in her grievous 
 reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and 
 torn her hair, when she saw his start of 
 rapturous delight as he opened the door of 
 the lady ! How her soul had burned in 
 agony when she had seen him rush to meet 
 that woman, with her flushing cheek and 
 sparkling eye of triumph ; when she had 
 seen him lead her forth, his whole frame 
 kindled with the joy of recovered life ; when 
 she had heard the glad shouts from the 
 multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy 
 bells ; when she had seen the priest, with
 
 THE LADY, OR THE TIGER? 21 
 
 his joyous followers, advance to the couple, 
 and make them man and wife before her 
 very eyes ; and when she had seen them 
 walk away together upon their path of 
 flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts 
 of the hilarious multitude, in which her one 
 despairing shriek was lost and drowned ! 
 
 Would it not be better for him to die at 
 cnce, and go to wait for her in the blessed 
 regions of semi-barbaric futurity ? 
 
 And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, 
 that blood ! 
 
 Her decision had been indicated in an 
 instant, but it had been made after days and 
 nights of anguished deliberation. She had 
 known she would be asked, she had decided 
 what she would answer, and, without the 
 slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand 
 to the right. 
 
 The question of her decision is one not to 
 be lightly considered, and it is not for me to 
 presume to set myself up as the one person 
 able to answer it. And so I leave it with all 
 of you : Which came out of the opened door, 
 the lady, or the tiger ?
 
 7HE TRANSFERRED GHOST.
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 country residence of Mr. John Hinck- 
 -L man was a delightful place to me, for 
 many reasons. It was the abode of a genial, 
 though somewhat impulsive, hospitality. It 
 had broad, smooth-shaven lawns and tower- 
 ing oaks and elms ; there were bosky shades 
 at several points, and not far from the house 
 there was a little rill spanned by a rustic 
 bridge with the bark on ; there were fruits 
 and flowers, pleasant people, chess, billiards, 
 rides, walks, and fishing. These were great 
 attractions ; but none of them, nor all of 
 them together, would have been sufficient to 
 hold me to the place very long. I had 
 been invited for the trout season, but should, 
 probably, have finished my visit early in the 
 summer had it not been that upon fair days, 
 when the grass was dry, and the sun was not 
 too hot, and there was but little wind, there 
 strolled beneath the lofty elms, or passed 
 lightly through the bosky shades, the form 
 of my Madeline.
 
 26 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 This lady was not, in very truth, my 
 Madeline. She had never given herself to 
 me, nor had I, in any way, acquired posses- 
 sion of her. But as I considered her posses- 
 sion the only sufficient reason for the 
 continuance of my existence, I called her, 
 in my reveries, mine. It may have been 
 that I would not have been obliged to con- 
 fine the use of this possessive pronoun to my 
 reveries had I confessed the state of my 
 feelings to the lady. 
 
 But this was an unusually difficult thing 
 to do. Not only did I dread, as almost all 
 lovers dread, taking the step which would 
 in an instant put an end to that delightful 
 season which may be termed the ante-inter- 
 rogatory period of love, and which might at 
 the same time terminate all intercourse or 
 connection with the object of my passion ; 
 but I was, also, dreadfully afraid of John 
 Hinckman. This gentleman was a good 
 friend of mine, but it would have required 
 a bolder man than I was at that time to ask 
 him for the gift of his niece, who was the 
 head of his household, and, according to his 
 own frequent statement, the main prop of 
 his declining years. Had Madeline acqui- 
 esced in my general views on the subject, I 
 might have felt encouraged to open the
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 2^ 
 
 matter to Mr. Hinckman ; but, as I said 
 before, I had never asked her whether or not 
 she would be mine. I thought of these 
 things at all hours of the day and night, 
 particularly the latter. 
 
 I was lying awake one night, in the great 
 bed in my spacious chamber, when, by the 
 dim light of the new moon, which partially 
 filled the room, I saw John Hinckman stand- 
 ing by a large chair near the door. I was 
 very much surprised at this for two reasons. 
 In the first place, my host had never before 
 come into my room ; and, in the second 
 place, he had gone from home that morning, 
 and had not expected to return for several 
 days. It was for this reason that I had 
 been able that evening to sit much later than 
 usual with Madeline on the moonlit porch. 
 The figure w T as certainly that of John Hinck- 
 man in his ordinary dress, but there was a 
 vagueness and indistinctness about it which 
 presently assured me that it was a ghost. 
 Had the good old man been murdered ? and 
 had his spirit come to tell me of the deed, 
 and to confide to me the protection of his 
 
 dear ? My heart fluttered at what I 
 
 was about to think, but at this instant the 
 figure spoke. 
 
 "Do you know," he said, with a counten-
 
 28 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 ance that indicated anxiety, " if Mr. Hinck- 
 man will return to-night ?" 
 
 I thought it well to maintain a calm ex- 
 terior, and I answered 
 
 " We do not expect him." 
 
 " I am glad of that," said he, sinking into 
 the chair by which he stood. " During the 
 two years and a half that I have inhabited 
 this house, that man has never before been 
 away for a single night. You can't imagine 
 the relief it gives me." 
 
 And as he spoke he stretched out his legs, 
 and leaned back in the chair. His form be- 
 came less vague, and the colours of his gar- 
 ments more distinct and evident, while an 
 expression of gratified relief succeeded to the 
 anxiety of his countenance. 
 
 "Two years and a half!" I exclaimed. 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " It is fully that length of time," said the 
 ghost, " since I first came here. Mine is not 
 an ordinary case. But before I say any- 
 thing more about it, let me ask you again if 
 you are sure Mr. Hinckman will not return 
 to-night." 
 
 "I am as sure of it as I can be of any- 
 thing," I answered. "He left to-day for 
 Bristol, two hundred miles away. " 
 
 " Then I will go on, " said the ghost, " for
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 29 
 
 I am glad to have the opportunity of talking 
 to some one who will listen to me ; but if 
 John Hinckman should come in and catch 
 me here, I should be frightened out of my 
 wits." 
 
 "This is all very strange," I said, greatly 
 puzzled by what I had heard. " Are you 
 the ghost of Mr. Hinckman ? " 
 
 This was a bold question, but my mind 
 was so full of other emotions that there 
 seemed to be no room for that of fear. 
 
 "Yes, I am his ghost," my companion re- 
 plied, "and yet I have no right to be. And 
 this is what makes me so uneasy, and so 
 much afraid of him. It is a strange story, 
 and, I truly believe, without precedent. 
 Two years and a half ago John Hinckman was 
 dangerously ill in this very room. At one 
 time he was so far gone that he was really be- 
 lieved to be dead. It was in consequence of 
 too precipitate a report in regard to this mat- 
 ter that I was, at that time, appointed to be 
 his ghost. Imagine my surprise and horror, 
 sir, when, after I had accepted the position 
 and assumed its responsibilities, that old man 
 revived, became convalescent, and eventually 
 regained his usual health. My situation was 
 now one of extreme delicacy and embarrass- 
 ment. I had no power to return to my
 
 3O THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 original uuembodiment, and I had no right 
 to be the ghost of a man who was not dead. 
 I was advised by my friends to quietly main- 
 tain my position, and was assured that, as 
 John Hinckman was an elderly man, it could 
 not be long before I could rightfully assume 
 the position for which I had been selected. 
 But I tell you, sir," he continued, with 
 animation, " the old fellow seems as vigorous 
 as ever, and I have no idea how much longer 
 this annoying state of things will continue. 
 I spend my time trying to get out of that 
 old man's way. I must not leave this house, 
 and he seems to follow me everywhere. I 
 tell you, sir, he haunts me." 
 
 "That is truly a queer state of things," I 
 remarked. " But why are you afraid of him ? 
 He couldn't hurt you. " 
 
 "Of course he couldn't," said the ghost. 
 " But his very presence is a shock and terror 
 to me. Imagine, sir, how you would feel if 
 my case were yours." 
 
 I could not imagine such a thing at all. 
 I simply shuddered. 
 
 "And if one must be a wrongful ghost at 
 all," the apparition continued, "it would be 
 much pleasanter to be the ghost of some man 
 other than John Hinckman. There is in 
 him an irascibility of temper, accompanied
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 3! 
 
 by a facility of invective, which is seldom 
 met with. And what would happen if he 
 were to see me, and find out, as I am sure he 
 would, how long and why I had inhabited his 
 house, I can scarcely conceive. I have seen 
 him in his bursts of passion ; and, although 
 he did not hurt the people he stormed at any 
 more than he would hurt me, they seemed to 
 shrink before him." 
 
 All this I knew to be very true. Had it 
 not been for this peculiarity of Mr. Hinck- 
 man, I might have been more willing to talk 
 to him about his niece. 
 
 " I feel sorry for you," I said, for I really 
 began to have a sympathetic feeling toward 
 this unfortunate apparition. "Your case is 
 indeed a hard one. It reminds me of those 
 persons who have had doubles, and I suppose 
 a man would often be very angry indeed 
 when he found that there was another being 
 who was personating himself." 
 
 "Oh! the cases are not similar at all,'* 
 said the ghost. " A double or doppelganger 
 lives on the earth with a man ; and, being 
 exactly like him, he makes all sorts of 
 trouble, of course. It is very different 
 with me. I am not here to live with Mr. 
 Hinckman. I am here to take his place. 
 Now, it would make John Hinckman very
 
 32 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 angry if he knew that. Don't you know it 
 would?" 
 
 I assented promptly. 
 
 " Now that he is away I can be easy for a 
 little while," continued the ghost; "and I 
 am so glad to have an opportunity of talking 
 to you. I have frequently come into your 
 room, and watched you while you slept, but 
 did not dare to speak to you for fear that if 
 you talked with me Mr. Hinckman would 
 hear you, and come into the room to know 
 why you were talking to yourself." 
 
 "But would he not hear you? " I asked. 
 
 "Oh no!" said the other: "there are 
 times when any one may see me, but no one 
 hears me except the person to whom I ad- 
 dress myself." 
 
 "But why did you wish to speak to me ?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Because," replied the ghost, "I like oc- 
 casionally to talk to people, and especially 
 to some one like yourself, whose mind is so 
 troubled and perturbed that you are not 
 likely to be frightened by a visit from one 
 of us. But I particularly wanted to ask 
 you to do me a favour. There is every pro- 
 bability, so far as I can see, that John Hinck- 
 man will live a long time, and my situation 
 is becoming insupportable. My great object
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 33 
 
 at present is to get myself transferred, and 
 I think that you may, perhaps, be of use to 
 me." 
 
 "Transferred !" I exclaimed. " What do 
 you mean by that ?" 
 
 " What I mean," said the other, " is this : 
 Now that I have started on my career, I 
 have got to be the ghost of somebody, and I 
 want to be the ghost of a man who is really 
 dead." 
 
 " I should think that would be easy 
 enough," I said. "Opportunities must 
 continually occur." 
 
 "Not at all! not at all!" said my com- 
 panion quickly. " You have no idea what a 
 rush and pressure there is for situations of 
 this kind. Whenever a vacancy occurs, if 
 I may express myself in that way, there 
 are crowds of applications for the ghost- 
 ship." 
 
 ' ' I had no idea that such a state of things 
 existed," I said, becoming quite interested 
 in the matter. ' ' There ought to be some 
 regular system, or order of precedence, by 
 which you could all take your turns, like 
 customers in a barber's shop. " 
 
 "Oh dear, that would never do at all !" 
 said the other. ' ' Some of us would have to 
 wait for ever. There is always a great rush 
 
 L. or T. C
 
 34 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 whenever a good ghostship offers itself 
 while, as you know, there are some positions 
 that no one would care for. And it was in con- 
 sequence of my being in too great a hurry on 
 an occasion of the kind that I got myself into 
 my present disagreeable predicament, and I 
 have thought that it might be possible that 
 you would help me out of it. You might 
 know of a case where an opportunity for a 
 ghostship was not generally expected, but 
 which might present itself at any moment. 
 If you would give me a short notice, I know 
 I could arrange for a transfer." 
 
 "What do you mean?" I exclaimed. 
 "Do you want me to commit suicide? Or 
 to undertake a murder for your benefit ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ! " said the other, with a 
 vapoury smile. " I mean nothing of that 
 kind. To be sure, there are lovers who are 
 watched with considerable interest, such 
 persons having been known, in moments of 
 depression, to offer very desirable ghost- 
 ships ; but I did not think of anything of 
 that kind in connection with you. You 
 were the only person I cared to speak to, 
 and I hoped that you might give me some 
 information that would be of use ; and, in 
 return, I shall be very glad to help you in 
 your love affair."
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 35 
 
 " You seem to know that I have such an 
 affair," I said. 
 
 "Oh yes!" replied the other, with a 
 little yawn. ' ' I could not be here so much 
 as I have been without knowing all about 
 that." 
 
 There was something horrible in the idea 
 of Madeline and myself having been watched 
 by a ghost, even, perhaps, when we wandered 
 together in the most delightful and bosky 
 places. But then, this was. quite an ex- 
 ceptional ghost, and I could not have the 
 objections to him which would ordinarily 
 arise in regard to beings of his class. 
 
 "I must go now," said the ghost, rising ; 
 "but I will see you somewhere to-morrow 
 night. And remember you help me, and 
 I'll help you." 
 
 I had doubts the next morning as to the 
 propriety of telling Madeline anything about 
 this interview, and soon convinced myself 
 that I must keep silent on the subject. If 
 she knew there was a ghost about the 
 house, she would probably leave the place in- 
 stantly. I did not mention the matter, and 
 so regulated my demeanour that I am quite 
 sure Madeline never suspected what had 
 taken place. For some time I had wished 
 that Mr. Hinckman would absent himself,
 
 36 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 for a day at least, from the premises. In 
 such case I thought I might more easily 
 nerve myself up to the point of speaking 
 to Madeline on the subject of our future 
 collateral existence ; and, now that the 
 opportunity for such speech had really 
 occurred, I did not feel ready to avail myself 
 of it. What would become of me if she 
 refused me ? 
 
 I had an idea, however, that the lady 
 thought that, if I were going to speak at all, 
 this was the time. She must have known 
 that certain sentiments were afloat within 
 me, and she was not unreasonable in her 
 wish to see the matter settled one way or 
 the other. But I did not feel like taking a 
 bold step in the dark. If she wished me to 
 ask her to give herself to me, she ought 
 to offer me some reason to suppose that she 
 would make the gift. If I saw no proba- 
 bility of such generosity, I would prefer that 
 things should remain as they were. 
 
 That evening I was sitting with Madeline 
 in the moonlit porch. It was nearly ten 
 o'clock, and ever since supper- time I had 
 been working myself up to the point of 
 making an avowal of my sentiments. I had 
 not positively determined to do this, but
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 37 
 
 wished gradually to reach the proper point, 
 when, if the prospect looked bright, I might 
 speak. My companion appeared to under- 
 stand the situation at least, I imagined 
 that the nearer I came to a proposal the 
 more she seemed to expect it. It was 
 certainly a very critical and important epoch 
 in my life. If I spoke, I should make my- 
 self happy or miserable for ever ; and if I did 
 not speak I had every reason to believe that 
 the lady would not give me another chance 
 to do so. 
 
 Sitting thus with Madeline, talking a 
 little, and thinking very hard over these 
 momentous matters, I looked up and saw 
 the ghost, not a dozen feet away from us. 
 He was sitting on the railing of the porch, 
 one leg thrown up before him, the other 
 dangling down as he leaned against a post. 
 He was behind Madeline, but almost in front 
 of me, as I sat facing the lady. It was for- 
 tunate that Madeline was looking out over 
 the landscape, for I must have appeared 
 very much startled. The ghost had told me 
 that he would see me some time this night, 
 but I did not think he would make his 
 appearance when I was in the company of 
 Madeline. If she should see the spirit of 
 her uncle, I could not answer for the con-
 
 38 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 sequences. I made no exclamation, but the 
 ghost evidently saw that I was troubled. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," he said, "I shall not 
 let her see me ; and she cannot hear me 
 speak unless I address myself to her, which 
 I do not intend to do." 
 
 I suppose I looked grateful. 
 
 ' ' So you need not trouble yourself about 
 that," the ghost continued; "but it seems 
 to me that you are not getting along very 
 well with your affair. If I were you, I 
 should speak out without waiting any longer. 
 You will never have a better chance. You 
 are not likely to be interrupted ; and, so far 
 as I can judge, the lady seems disposed to 
 listen to you favourably ; that is, if she ever 
 intends to do so. There is no knowing when 
 John Hinckman will go away again ; certainly 
 not this summer. If I were in your place, 
 I should never dare to make love to Hinck- 
 man's niece if he were anywhere about the 
 place. If he should catch any one offering 
 himself to Miss Madeline, he would then be 
 a terrible man to encounter. " 
 
 I agreed perfectly to all this. 
 
 " I cannot bear to think of him ! " I ejacu- 
 lated aloud. 
 
 "Think of whom ? " asked Madeline, turn- 
 ing quickly toward me.
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 39 
 
 Here was an awkward situation. The long 
 speech of the ghost, to which Madeline paid 
 no attention, but which I heard with perfect 
 distinctness, had made me forget myself. 
 It was necessary to explain quickly. Of 
 course, it would not do to admit that it was 
 of her dear uncle that I was speaking ; and 
 so I mentioned hastily the first name I 
 thought of. 
 
 "Mr. Vilars," I said. 
 
 This statement was entirely correct ; for I 
 never could bear to think of Mr. Vilars, who 
 was a gentleman who had, at various times, 
 paid much attention to Madeline. 
 
 " It is wrong for you to speak in that way 
 of Mr. Vilars," she said. " He is a remark- 
 ably well educated and sensible young man, 
 and has very pleasant manners. He expects 
 to be elected to the legislature this fall, and 
 I should not be surprised if he made his 
 mark. He will do well in a legislative body, 
 for whenever Mr. Vilars has anything to 
 say he knows just how and when to say it." 
 
 This was spoken very quietly, and without 
 any show of resentment, which was all very 
 natural, for if Madeline thought at all 
 favourably of me she could not feel dis- 
 pleased that I should have disagreeable 
 emotions in regard to a possible rival. The
 
 40 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 concluding words contained a hint which I 
 was not slow to understand. I felt very 
 sure that if Mr. Vilars were in my present 
 position he would speak quickly enough. 
 
 "I know it is wrong to have such ideas 
 about a person," I said, "but I cannot help 
 it." 
 
 The lady did not chide me, and after this 
 she seemed even in a softer mood. As for 
 me, I felt considerably annoyed, for I had 
 not wished to admit that any thought of 
 Mr. Vilars had ever occupied my mind. 
 
 "You should not speak aloud that way," 
 said the ghost, "or you may get yourself 
 into trouble. I want to see everything go 
 well with you, because then you may be 
 disposed to help me, especially if I should 
 chance to be of any assistance to you, which 
 I hope I shall be." 
 
 I longed to tell him that there was no way 
 in which he could help me so much as by 
 taking his instant departure. To make love 
 to a young lady with a ghost sitting on the 
 railing near by, and that ghost the apparition 
 of a much-dreaded uncle, the very idea of 
 whom in such a position and at such a time 
 made me tremble, was a difficult, if not an 
 impossible, thing to do ; but I forbore to 
 speak, although I may have looked my mind.
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 4! 
 
 "I suppose," continued the ghost, "that 
 you have not heard anything that might be 
 of advantage to me. Of course, I am very 
 anxious to hear ; but if you have anything 
 to tell me, I can wait until you are alone. I 
 will come to you to-night in your room, or 
 I will stay here until the lady goes away." 
 
 "You need not wait here," I said; "I 
 have nothing at all to say to you." 
 
 Madeline sprang to her feet, her face 
 flushed and her eyes ablaze. 
 
 " Wait here !" she cried. " What do you 
 suppose I am waiting for ? Nothing to say 
 to me indeed ! I should think so ! What 
 should you have to say to me?" 
 . "Madeline," I exclaimed, stepping to- 
 ward her, "let me explain." 
 
 But she had gone. 
 
 Here was the end of the world for me! 
 I turned fiercely to the ghost. 
 
 "Wretched existence!" I cried. "You 
 have ruined everything. You h a ve blackened 
 my whole life. Had it not been for you " 
 
 But here my voice faltered. I could say 
 no more. 
 
 "You wrong me," said the ghost. "I 
 have not injured you. I have tried only to 
 encourage and assist you, and it is your own 
 folly that has done this mischief. But do
 
 42 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 not despair. Such mistakes as these can be 
 explained. Keep up a brave heart. Good- 
 bye. " 
 
 And he vanished from the railing like a 
 bursting soap-bubble. 
 
 I went gloomily to bed, but I saw no 
 apparitions that night except those of despair 
 and misery which my wretched thoughts 
 called up. The words I had uttered had 
 sounded to Madeline like the basest insult. 
 Of course, there was only one interpretation 
 she could put upon them. 
 
 As to explaining my ejaculations, that was 
 impossible. I thought the matter over and 
 over again as I lay awake that night, and I 
 determined that I would never tell Madeline 
 the facts of the case. It would be better 
 for me to suffer all my life than for her to 
 know that the ghost of her uncle haunted 
 the house. Mr. Hinckman was away, and 
 if she knew of his ghost she could not be 
 made to believe that he was not dead. She 
 might not survive the shock ! No, my heart 
 could bleed, but I would never tell her. 
 
 The next day was fine, neither too cool 
 
 - nor too warm ; the breezes were gentle, and 
 
 nature smiled. But there were no walks 
 
 or rides with Madeline. She seemed to be 
 
 much engaged during the day, and I saw
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 43 
 
 but little of her. When we met at meals 
 she was polite, but very quiet and reserved. 
 She had evidently determined on a course of 
 conduct, and had resolved to assume that, 
 although I had been very rude to her, she 
 did not understand the import of my words. 
 It would be quite proper, of course, for her 
 not to know what I meant by my expres- 
 sions of the night before. 
 
 I was downcast and wretched, and said 
 but little, and the only bright streak across 
 the black horizon of my woe was the fact 
 that she did not appear to be happy, although 
 she affected an air of unconcern. The moon- 
 lit porch was deserted that evening, but 
 wandering about the house I found Madeline 
 in the library alone. She was reading, but 
 I went in and sat down near her. I felt 
 that, although I could not do so fully, I 
 must in a measure explain my conduct of 
 the night before. She listened quietly to a 
 somewhat laboured apology I made for the 
 words I had used. 
 
 "I have not the slightest idea what you 
 meant," she said, " but you were very rude." 
 
 I earnestly disclaimed any intention of 
 rudeness, and assured her, with a warmth of 
 speech that must have made some impression 
 upon her, that rudeness to her would be
 
 44 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 an action impossible to me. I said a great 
 deal upon the subject, and implored her to 
 believe that if it were not for a certain ob- 
 stacle I could speak to her so plainly that 
 she would understand everything. 
 
 She was silent for a time, and then she 
 said, rather more kindly, I thought, than 
 she had spoken before 
 
 "Is that obstacle in any way connected 
 with my uncle?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, after a little hesita- 
 tion, "it is, in a measure, connected with 
 him." 
 
 She made no answer to this, and sat look- 
 ing at her book, but not reading. From the 
 expression of her face, I thought she was 
 somewhat softened toward me. She knew 
 her uncle as well as I did, and she may have 
 been thinking that, if he were the obstacle 
 that prevented my speaking (and there were 
 many ways in which he might be that ob- 
 stacle), my position would be such a hard 
 one that it would excuse some wildness of 
 speech and eccentricity of manner. I saw, 
 too, that the warmth of my partial explana- 
 tions had had some effect on her, and I began 
 to believe that it might be a good thing 
 for me to speak my mind without delay. 
 No matter how she should receive my pro-
 
 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 45 
 
 position, my relations with her could not be 
 worse than they had been the previous night 
 and day, and there was something in her 
 face which encouraged me to hope that she 
 might forget my foolish exclamations of the 
 evening before if I began to tell her my tale 
 of love. 
 
 I drew my chair a little nearer to her, and 
 as I did so the ghost burst into the room 
 from the doorway behind her. I say burst, 
 although no door flew open and he made no 
 noise. He was wildly excited, and waved 
 his arms above his head. The moment I 
 saw him my heart fell within me. With 
 the entrance of that impertinent apparition 
 ' every hope fled from me. I could not speak 
 while he was in the room. 
 
 I must have turned pale ; and I gazed 
 steadfastly at the ghost, almost without 
 seeing Madeline, who sat between us. 
 
 "Do you know," he cried, "that John 
 Hinckman is coming up the hill ? He will 
 be here in fifteen minutes ; and if you are 
 doing anything in the way of love-making, 
 you had better hurry it up. But this is not 
 what I came to tell you. I have glorious 
 news ! At last I am transferred ! Not 
 forty minutes ago a Russian nobleman was 
 murdered by the Nihilists. Nobody ever
 
 46 THE TRANSFERRED GHOST. 
 
 thought of him in connection with an im- 
 mediate ghostship. My friends instantly 
 applied for the situation for me, and ob- 
 tained my transfer. I am off before that 
 horrid Hinckman comes up the hill. The 
 moment I reach my new position, I shall 
 put off this hated semblance. Good-bye. 
 You can't imagine how glad I am to be, at 
 last, the real ghost of somebody." 
 
 "Oh!" I cried, rising to my feet, and 
 stretching out my arms in utter wretched- 
 ness, "I would to Heaven you were mine ! " 
 
 "I am yours," said Madeline, raising to 
 me her tearful eyes.
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE.
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 mOWARD the close of a beautiful after- 
 _L noon in early summer I stood on the 
 piazza of the spacious country-house which 
 was my home. I had just dined, and I 
 gazed with a peculiar comfort and delight 
 upon the wide - spreading lawn and the 
 orchards and groves beyond ; and then, 
 walking to the other end of the piazza, I 
 looked out toward the broad pastures, from 
 which a fine drove of cattle were leisurely 
 coming home to be milked, and toward the 
 fields of grain, whose green was beginning 
 already to be touched with yellow. In- 
 voluntarily (for, on principle, I was opposed 
 to such feelings) a pleasant sense of posses- 
 sion came over me. It could not be long 
 before all this would virtually be mine. 
 
 About two years before, I had married 
 the niece of John Hinckman, the owner of 
 this fine estate. He was very old, and could 
 not be expected to survive much longer, and 
 had willed the property, without reserve, to 
 
 L. or T. D
 
 50 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 my wife. This, in brief, was the cause of 
 my present sense of prospective possession ; 
 and although, as I said, I was principled 
 against the voluntary encouragement of such 
 a sentiment, I could not blame myself if the 
 feeling occasionally arose within me. I had ' 
 not married my wife for her uncle's money. 
 Indeed, we had both expected that the mar- 
 riage would result in her being entirely dis- 
 inherited,, His niece was John Hinckman's 
 housekeeper and sole prop and comfort, and 
 if she left him for me she expected no kind- 
 ness at his hands. But she had not left him. 
 To our surprise, her uncle invited us to live 
 with him, and our relations with him became 
 more and more amicable and pleasant, and 
 Mr. Hinckman had, of late, frequently ex- 
 pressed to me his great satisfaction that I 
 had proved to be a man after his own heart ; 
 that I took an interest in flocks and herds 
 and crops ; that I showed a talent for such 
 pursuits ; and that I would continue to give, 
 when he was gone, the same care and atten- 
 tion to the place which it had been so long 
 his greatest pleasure to bestow. He was 
 old and ill now, and tired of it all ; and the 
 fact that I had not proved to be, as he had 
 formerly supposed me, a mere city gentle- 
 man, was a great comfort to his declining
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 51 
 
 days. We were deeply grieved to think that 
 the old man must soon die. We would 
 gladly have kept him with us for years ; but, 
 if he must go, it was pleasant to know that 
 he and ourselves were so well satisfied with 
 the arrangements that had been made. 
 Think me not cold and heartless, high- 
 minded reader. For a few moments put 
 yourself in my place. 
 
 But had you, at that time, put yourself in 
 my place on that pleasant piazza, I do not 
 believe you would have cared to stay there 
 long ; for, as I stood gazing over the fields, 
 I felt a touch upon my shoulder. I cannot 
 say that I was actually touched, but I ex- 
 perienced a feeling which indicated that the 
 individual who had apparently touched me 
 would have done so had he been able. I 
 instantly turned, and saw, standing beside 
 me, a tall figure in the uniform of a Russian 
 officer. I started back, but made no sound. 
 I knew what the figure was. It was a 
 spectre a veritable ghost. 
 
 Some years before this place had been 
 haunted. I knew this well, for I had seen 
 the ghost myself. But before my marriage 
 the spectre had disappeared, and had not 
 been seen since ; and I must admit that my 
 satisfaction, when thinking of this estate,
 
 52 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 without mortgage or encumbrance, was 
 much increased by the thought that even 
 the ghost, who used to haunt the house, had 
 now departed. 
 
 But here he was again. Although in dif- 
 ferent form and guise, I knew him. It was 
 the same ghost. 
 
 " Do you remember me ? " said the figure. 
 
 " Yes," I answered : "I remember you in 
 the form in which you appeared to me some 
 time ago. Although your aspect is entirely 
 changed, I feel you to be the same ghost that 
 I have met before." 
 
 "You are right/' said the spectre. "I 
 am glad to see you looking so well, and 
 apparently happy. But John Hinckman, 
 I understand, is in a very low state of 
 health. " 
 
 "Yes," I said : " he is very old and ill. 
 But I hope," I continued, as a cloud of 
 anxiety began to rise within me, "that his 
 expected decease has no connection with 
 any prospects or plans of your own." 
 
 "No," said the ghost. "lam perfectly 
 satisfied with my present position. I am off 
 duty during the day ; and the difference in 
 time between this country and Russia gives 
 me opportunities of being here in your early 
 evening, and of visiting scenes and localities
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 53 
 
 which are very familiar and agreeable to 
 me." 
 
 " Which fact, perhaps, you had counted 
 upon when you first put this uniform on," I 
 remarked. 
 
 The ghost smiled. 
 
 "I must admit, however," he said, "that 
 I am seeking this position for a friend of 
 mine, and I have reason to believe that he 
 will obtain it." 
 
 "Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "Is it 
 possible that this house is to be haunted by 
 a ghost as soon as the old gentleman ex- 
 pires ? Why should this family be tor- 
 mented in such a horrible way ? Everybody 
 who dies does not have a ghost walking 
 about his house." 
 
 "Oh no!" said the spectre. "There are 
 thousands of positions of the kind which are 
 never applied for ; but the ghostship here is 
 a very desirable one, and there are many 
 applicants for it. I think you will like my 
 friend, if he gets it." 
 
 "Like him !" I groaned. 
 
 The idea was horrible to me. 
 
 The ghost evidently perceived how deeply 
 I was affected by what he had said, for 
 there was a compassionate expression on his 
 countenance. As I looked at him an idea
 
 54 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 struck me. If I were to have any ghost at 
 all about the house, I would prefer this one. 
 Could there be such things as duplex ghost- 
 ships ? Since it was day here when it was 
 night in Russia, why could not this spectre 
 serve in both places ? It was common 
 enough for a person to fill two situations. 
 The notion seemed feasible to me, and I 
 broached it. 
 
 "Thank you," said the ghost. " But the 
 matter cannot be arranged in that way. 
 Night and day are not suitably divided 
 between here and Russia; and, besides, it 
 is necessary for the incumbent of this place 
 to be on duty at all hours. You remember 
 that I came to you by day as well as at 
 night ? " 
 
 Oh yes ! I remembered that. It was 
 additionally unfortunate 1 that the ghostship 
 here should not be one of the limited kind. 
 
 " Why is it," I asked, " that a man's own 
 spirit does not attend to these matters ? I 
 always thought that was the way the thing 
 was managed." 
 
 The ghost shook his head. 
 
 " Consider for a moment," he replied, 
 "what chance a man's own spirit, without 
 experience and without influence, would 
 have in a crowd of importunate applicants,
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE, 55 
 
 versed in all the arts, and backed by the 
 influence necessary in such a contest. Of 
 course there are cases in which a person 
 becomes his own ghost ; but this is because 
 the position is undesirable, and there is no 
 competition. " 
 
 "And this new-comer," I exclaimed, in 
 much trouble, "will he take the form of 
 Mr. Hinckman ? If my wife should see such 
 an apparition it would kill her." 
 
 "The ghost who will haunt this place," 
 said my companion, ' ' will not appear in the 
 form of John Hinckman. I am glad that is 
 so, if it will please you ; for you are the only 
 man with whom I have ever held such un- 
 restrained and pleasant intercourse. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 And with these words no figure of a Rus- 
 sian officer stood before me. 
 
 For some minutes I remained motionless, 
 with downcast eyes, a very different man 
 from the one who had just gazed out with 
 such delight over the beautiful landscape. 
 A shadow, not that of night, had fallen over 
 everything. This fine estate was not to come 
 to us clear and unencumbered, as we thought. 
 It was to be saddled with a horrible lien, 
 a spectral mortgage, 
 
 Madeline had gone upstairs with Pegram.
 
 5^ THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 Pegram was our baby. I disliked his 
 appellation with all my heart ; but Pegram 
 was a family name OL. Madeline's side of 
 the house, and she insisted that our babe 
 should bear it. Madeline was very much 
 wrapped up in Pegram, often I thought too 
 much so ; for there were many times when 
 I should have been very glad of my wife's 
 society, but was obliged to do without it 
 because she was entirely occupied with 
 Pegram. To be sure, my wife's sister was 
 with us, and there was a child's nurse ; but, 
 for all that, Madeline was so completely 
 Pegramised, that a great many of the hours 
 which I, in my anticipations of matrimonial 
 felicity, had imagined would be passed in the 
 company of my wife, were spent alone, or 
 with the old gentleman, or Belle. 
 
 Belle was a fine girl ; to me not so charm- 
 ing and attractive as her sister, but perhaps 
 equally so to some other persons, certainly 
 to one. This was Will Crenshaw, an old 
 schoolfellow of mine, then a civil engineer, 
 in South America. Will was the declared 
 suitor of Belle, although she had never 
 formally accepted him ; but Madeline and 
 myself both strongly favoured the match, 
 and felt very anxious that she should do so, 
 and indeed were quite certain that when
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 57 
 
 Will should return everything would be 
 made all right. The young engineer was a 
 capital fellow, had excellent prospects, and 
 was my best friend. It was our plan that 
 after their marriage the youthful couple 
 should live with us. This, of course, would 
 be delightful to both Belle and her sister, 
 and I could desire no better companion than 
 Will. He was not to go to distant countries 
 any more, and who could imagine a plea- 
 santer home than ours would be ? 
 
 And now here was this dreadful prospect/ 
 of a household ghost ! 
 
 A week or so passed by, and John Hinck- 
 man was no more. Everything was done 
 for him that respect and affection could dic- 
 tate, and no one mourned his death more 
 heartily than I. If I could have had my 
 way he would have lived as long as I, myself, 
 remained upon this earth,, 
 
 When everything about the house had 
 settled down into its accustomed quiet, I 
 began to look out for the coming of the 
 expected ghost. I felt sure that I would be 
 the one to whom he would make his appear- 
 ance, and with my regret and annoyance at 
 his expected coming was mingled a feeling of 
 curiosity to know in what form he would 
 appear. He was not to come as John
 
 58 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 Hinckman that was the only bit of com- 
 fort in the whole affair. 
 
 But several weeks passed, and I saw no 
 ghost ; and I began to think that perhaps 
 the aversion I had shown to having such an 
 inmate of my household had had its effect, 
 and I was to be spared the infliction. And 
 now another subject occupied my thoughts. 
 It was summer, the afternoons were pleasant, 
 and on one of them I asked Belle to take a 
 walk with me. I would have preferred 
 Madeline, but she had excused herself, as she 
 was very busy making what I presumed to 
 be an altar-cloth for Pegram. It turned out 
 to be an afghan for his baby carriage, but 
 the effect was the same : she could not go. 
 When I could not have Madeline I liked 
 very well to walk with Belle. She was a 
 pleasant girl, and in these walks I always 
 talked to her of Crenshaw. My desire that 
 she should marry my friend grew stronger 
 daily. But this afternoon Belle hesitated, 
 and looked a little confused. 
 
 " I am not sure that I shall walk to-day." 
 
 "But you have your hat on," I urged: 
 "I supposed you had made ready for a 
 walk." 
 
 "No," said she : "I thought I would go 
 somewhere with my book."
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE, 59 
 
 " You haven't a book," I said, looking at 
 her hands, one of which held a parasol. 
 
 "You are dreadfully exact," she replied, 
 with a little laugh : "I am going into the 
 library to get one." And away she ran. 
 
 There was something about this I did not 
 like. I firmly believed she had come down- 
 stairs prepared to take a walk. But she did 
 not want me ; that was evident enough. I 
 went off for a long walk, and when I re- 
 turned supper was ready, but Belle had not 
 appeared. 
 
 "She has gone off somewhere with a 
 book," I said. " I '11 go and look for her.'* 
 
 I walked down to the bosky grove at the 
 foot of the lawn, and passed through it with- 
 out seeing any signs of Belle. Soon, how- 
 ever, I caught sight of her light dress in an 
 open space a little distance beyond me, 
 Stepping forward a few paces I had a full 
 view of her, and my astonishment can be 
 imagined when I saw that she was standing 
 in the shade of a tree talking to a young 
 man. His back was turned toward me, but 
 I could see from his figure and general air 
 that he was young. His hat was a little on 
 one side, in his hand he carried a short whip, 
 and he wore a pair of riding-boots. He and 
 Belle were engaged in very earnest conversa-
 
 6O THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 tion, and did not perceive me. I was not 
 only surprised but shocked at the sight. I 
 was quite certain Belle had come here to 
 meet this young man, who, to me, was a 
 total stranger. I did not wish Belle to 
 know that I had seen her with him ; and so 
 I stepped back out of their sight, and began 
 to call her. It was not long before I saw her 
 coming toward me, and, as I expected, alone. 
 
 " Indeed," she cried, looking at her watch, 
 " I did not know it was so late." 
 
 "Have you had a pleasant time with 
 your book ? " I asked, as we walked home- 
 ward. 
 
 "I wasn't reading all the time," she 
 answered. 
 
 I asked her no more questions. It was 
 not for me to begin an inquisition into this 
 matter. But that night I told Madeline all 
 about it. The news troubled her much, and 
 like myself she was greatly grieved at Belle's 
 evident desire to deceive us. When there was 
 a necessity for it, my wife could completely 
 de-Pegramise herself, and enter with quick 
 and judicious action into the affairs of others. 
 
 " I will go with her to-morrow," she said. 
 ' ' If this person comes, I do not intend that 
 she shall meet him alone." 
 
 The next afternoon Belle started out again
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 6 1 
 
 with her book ; but she had gone but a few 
 steps when she was joined by Madeline, with 
 hat and parasol, and together they walked 
 into the bosky grove. They returned in 
 very good time for supper ; and as we went 
 in to that meal, Madeline whispered to me 
 
 " There was nobody there." 
 
 "And did she say nothing to you of the 
 young man with whom she was talking yester- 
 day ? " I asked, when we were alone some 
 hours later. 
 
 "Not a word," she said, " though I gave 
 her every opportunity. I wonder if you 
 could have been mistaken." 
 
 " I am sure I was not," I replied. " I saw 
 the man as plainly as I see you." 
 
 "Then Belle is treating us very badly," 
 she said. " If she desires the company of 
 young men, let her say so, and we will invite 
 them to the house. " 
 
 I did not altogether agree with this latter 
 remark. I did not care to have Belle know 
 young men. I wanted her to marry Will 
 Crenshaw, and be done with it. But we 
 both agreed not to speak to the young lady 
 on the subject. It was not for us to pry into 
 her secrets, and if anything was to be said 
 she should say it. 
 
 Every afternoon Belle went away, as be-
 
 62 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 fore, with her book ; but we did not accom- 
 pany her, nor allude to her newly acquired 
 love for solitary walks and studies. One 
 afternoon we had callers, and she could not 
 go. That night, after I had gone to sleep, 
 Madeline awoke me with a little shake. 
 
 "Listen," she whispered. "Whom is 
 Belle talking to ? " 
 
 The night was warm, and all our doors 
 and windows were open. Belle's chamber 
 was not far from ours ; and we could dis- 
 tinctly hear her speaking in a low tone. She 
 was evidently holding a conversation with 
 some one whose voice we could not hear. 
 
 " I '11 go in," said Madeline, rising, " and 
 see about this." 
 
 "No, no," I whispered. "She is talking 
 to some one outside. Let me go down and 
 speak to him." 
 
 I slipped on some clothes and stole quietly 
 down the stairs. I unfastened the back 
 door and went round to the side on which 
 Belle's window opened. No sooner had I 
 reached the corner than I saw, directly under 
 the window, and looking upward, his hat 
 cocked a good deal on one side, and his 
 riding-whip in his hand, the jaunty young 
 fellow with whom I had seen Belle talking. 
 
 " Hello ! " I cried, and rushed toward him.
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 63 
 
 At the sound of my voice he turned to me, 
 and I saw his face distinctly. He was young 
 and handsome. There was a sort of half 
 laugh on his countenance, as if he had just 
 been saying something very witty. But he 
 did not wait to finish his remark or to speak 
 to me. There was a large evergreen near 
 him ; and stepping quickly behind it, he was 
 lost to my view. I ran around the bush, 
 but could see nothing of him. There was a 
 good deal of shrubbery hereabouts, and he 
 was easily able to get away unobserved. I 
 continued the search for about ten minutes, 
 and then, quite sure that the fellow had got 
 away, I returned to the house. Madeline 
 had lighted a lamp, and was calling down- 
 stairs to ask if I had found the man ; some of 
 the servants were up, and anxious to know 
 what had happened ; Pegram was crying ; 
 but in Belle's room all was quiet. Madeline 
 looked in at the open door, and saw her lying 
 quietly in her bed. No word was spoken ; 
 and my wife returned to our room, where we 
 discussed the affair for a long time. 
 
 In the morning I determined to give Belle 
 a chance to speak, and at the breakfast-table 
 I said to her 
 
 " I suppose you heard the disturbance last 
 night ? "
 
 64 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 " Yes," she said quietly. " Did you catch 
 the man ? " 
 
 " No," I answered, with considerable 
 'irritation, "but I wish I had." 
 
 " What would you have done if you had 
 caught him ? " she asked, as with unusual 
 slowness and deliberation she poured some 
 cream upon her oat -meal. 
 
 "Done!" I exclaimed, ''! don't know 
 what I would have done. But one thing is 
 certain, I would have made him understand 
 that I would have no strangers prowling 
 around my house at night." 
 
 Belle coloured a little at the last part of 
 this remark ; but she made no answer, and 
 the subject was dropped. 
 
 This conversation greatly pained both 
 Madeline and myself. It made it quite clear 
 to us that Belle was aware that we knew of 
 her acquaintance with this young man, and 
 that she still determined to say nothing to 
 us, either in the way of confidence or excuse. 
 She had treated us badly, and we could not 
 help showing it. On her side Belle was 
 very quiet, and entirely different from the 
 gay girl she had been some time before. 
 
 I urged Madeline to go to Belle, and 
 speak to her as a sister, but she declined. 
 " No," she said : " I know Belle's spirit, and
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 65 
 
 there would be trouble. If there is to be a 
 quarrel I shall not begin it." 
 
 I was determined to end this unpleasant 
 feeling, which, to me, was almost as bad as 
 a quarrel. If the thing were possible I 
 would put an end to the young man's visits. 
 I could never have the same opinion of Belle 
 I had had before ; but if this impudent fellow 
 could be kept away, and Will Crenshaw 
 should come back and attend to his business 
 as an earnest suitor ought, all might yet be 
 well. 
 
 And now, strange to say, I began to long 
 for the ghost, whose coming had been pro- 
 mised. I had been considering what means 
 I should take to keep Belle's clandestine 
 visitor away, and had found the question 
 rather a difficult one to settle. I could not 
 shoot the man, and it would indeed be diffi- 
 cult to prevent the meeting of two young 
 persons over whom I had no actual control. 
 But I happened to think that if I could get 
 the aid of the expected ghost the matter 
 would be easy. If it should be as accom- 
 modating and obliging as the one who had 
 haunted the house before, it would readily 
 agree to forward the fortunes of the family 
 by assisting in breaking up this unfortunate 
 connection. If it would consent to be pre- 
 
 L. or T. E
 
 66 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 sent at their interviews the affair was settled. 
 I knew from personal experience that love- 
 making in the presence of a ghost was ex- 
 tremely unpleasant, and in this case I 
 believed it would be impossible. 
 
 Every night, after the rest of the house- 
 hold had gone to bed, I wandered about the 
 grounds, examining the porches and the bal- 
 conies, looking up to the chimneys and the 
 ornaments on the top of the house, hoping 
 to see that phantom, whose coming I had, a 
 short time before, anticipated with such dis- 
 satisfaction and repugnance. If I could even 
 again meet the one who was now serving in 
 Russia, I thought it would answer my pur- 
 pose as well. 
 
 On the third or fourth night after I had 
 begun my nocturnal rounds, I encountered, 
 on a path not very far from the house, the 
 young fellow who had given us so much 
 trouble. My indignation at his impudent 
 reappearance knew no bounds. The moon 
 was somewhat obscured by fleecy clouds ; 
 but I could see that he wore the same jaunty 
 air, his hat was cocked a little more on one 
 side, he stood with his feet quite wide apart, 
 and in his hands, clasped behind him, he 
 held his riding-whip. I stepped quickly 
 toward him.
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 67 
 
 " Well, sir !" I exclaimed. 
 
 He did not seem at all startled. 
 
 "How d'ye do?" he said, with a little 
 nod. 
 
 "How dare you, sir," I cried, "intrude 
 yourself on my premises ? This is the second 
 time I have found you here, and now I want 
 you to understand that you are to get away 
 from here just as fast as you can ; and if you 
 are ever caught again anywhere on this 
 estate, I '11 have you treated as a tres- 
 passer. " 
 
 "Indeed," said he, "I would be sorry to 
 put you to so much trouble. And now let 
 me say that I have tried to keep out of your 
 way, but since you have proved so deter- 
 mined to make my acquaintance I thought I 
 might come forward and do the sociable." 
 
 "None of your impertinence," I cried. 
 "What brings you here, anyway ? " 
 
 "Well," said he, with a little laugh, "if 
 you want to know, I don't mind telling you 
 I came to see Miss Belle." 
 
 " You confounded rascal ! " I cried, raising 
 my heavy stick. "Get out of my sight, or 
 I will break your head J " 
 
 "All right," said he, "break away !" 
 
 And drawing himself up, he gave his right 
 boot a slap with his, whip.
 
 68 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 The whip went entirely through both 
 legs ! It was the ghost ! 
 
 Utterly astounded, I started back, and 
 sat down upon a raised flower-bed, against 
 which I had stumbled. I had no strength, 
 nor power to speak. I had seen a ghost 
 before, but I was entirely overcome by this 
 amazing development. 
 
 "And now I suppose you know who I 
 am," said the spectre, approaching, and 
 standing in front of me. "The one who 
 was here before told me that your lady 
 didn't fancy ghosts, and that I had better 
 keep out of sight of both of you ; but he 
 didn't say anything about Miss Belle : and 
 by George ! sir, it wouldn't have mattered 
 if he had ; for if it hadn't been for that 
 charming young lady I shouldn't have been 
 here at all. I am the ghost of Buck 
 Edwards, who was pretty well known in 
 the lower part of this county about seventy 
 years ago. I always had a great eye for the 
 ladies, sir, and when I got a chance to court 
 one I didn't miss it. I did too much courting, 
 however ; for I roused up a jealous fellow, 
 named Ruggles, and he shot me in a duel early 
 one September morning. Since then I have 
 haunted, from time to time, more than a 
 dozen houses where there were pretty girls."
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 69 
 
 "Do you mean to say," I asked, now 
 finding strength, "that a spirit would care 
 to come back to this earth to court a 
 girl?" 
 
 "Why, what are you thinking of?" ex- 
 claimed the phantom of Buck Edwards. 
 "Do you suppose that only old misers and 
 lovelorn maidens want to come back and 
 have a good time ? No, sir ! Every one of 
 us, who is worth anything, comes if he can 
 get a chance. By George, sir ! do you know 
 I courted Miss Belle's grandmother? And 
 a couple of gay young ones we were, too ! 
 Nobody ever knew anything of it, and that 
 made it all the livelier. " 
 
 " Do you intend to stay here and pay 
 attention to my sister-in-law?" I asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Certainly I do, " was the reply. " Didn't 
 I say that is what I came for ? " 
 
 "Don't you see the mischief you will do?" 
 I asked. "You will probably break off a 
 match between her and a most excellent 
 gentleman whom we all desire " 
 
 " Break off a match !^_ exclaimed _the 
 ghost of Buck Edwards, with a satisfied 
 grin. " How many matches I have broken 
 off! The last thing I ever did, before I 
 went away, was of that sort. She wouldn't
 
 7O THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 marry the gentleman who shot me. " There 
 was evidently no conscience to this spectre. 
 
 " And if you do not care for that," I said, 
 in considerable anger, " I can tell you that 
 you are causing ill-feeling between the 
 young lady and the best friends she has 
 in the world, which may end very disas- 
 trously." 
 
 "Now, look here, my man," said the 
 ghost ; "if you and your wife are really her 
 friends, you won't act like fools and make 
 trouble." 
 
 I made no answer to this remark, but 
 asserted, with much warmth, that I in- 
 tended to tell Miss Belle exactly what he 
 was, and so break off the engagement at 
 once. 
 
 " If you tell her that she's been walking 
 and talking with the ghost of the fellow 
 who courted her grandmother, I reckon 
 she could find some of my letters now among 
 the old lady's papers if she looked for them, 
 you 'd frighten the wits out of her. She 'd 
 go crazy. I know girls' natures, sir." 
 
 " So do I," I groaned. 
 
 "Don't get excited," he said. "Let the 
 girl alone, and everything will be comfort- 
 able and pleasant. Good night." 
 
 I went to bed, but not to sleep. Here
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 7 1 
 
 was a terrible situation. A sister-in-law 
 courted by a ghost ! Was ever a man called 
 upon to sustain such a trial ! And I must 
 sustain it alone. There was no one with 
 whom I could share the secret. 
 
 Several times after this I saw this baleful 
 spectre of a young buck of the olden time. 
 He would nod to me with a jocular air, 
 but I did not care to speak to him. One 
 afternoon I went into the house to look for 
 my wife ; and, very naturally, I entered the 
 room where Pegram lay in his little bed. The 
 child was asleep, and no one was with him. 
 I stood and gazed contemplatively upon my 
 son. He was a handsome child, and appar- 
 ently full of noble instincts ; and yet I could 
 ' not help wishing that he were older, or that 
 in some way his conditions were such that it 
 should not be necessary, figuratively speak- 
 ing, that his mother should continually 
 hover about him. If she could be content 
 with a little less of Pegram and a little more 
 of me, my anticipations of a matrimonial 
 career would be more fully realised. 
 
 As these thoughts were passing through 
 my mind I raised my eyes, and on the other 
 side of the little bedstead I saw the wretched 
 ghost of Buck Edwards. 
 " Fine boy," he said.
 
 72 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 My indignation at seeing this impudent 
 existence within the most sacred precincts of 
 my house was boundless. 
 
 " You vile interloper ! " I cried. 
 
 At this moment Madeline entered the 
 room. Pale and stern, she walked directly 
 to the crib and took up the child. Then she 
 turned to me and said 
 
 "I was standing in the doorway, and saw 
 you looking at my babe. I heard what you 
 said to him. I have suspected it before." 
 And then, with Pegram in her arms, she 
 strode out of the room. 
 
 The ghost had vanished as Madeline 
 entered. Filled with rage and bitterness, 
 for my wife had never spoken to me in these 
 tones before, I ran downstairs and rushed 
 out of the house. I walked long and far, my 
 mind filled with doleful thoughts. When I 
 returned to the house, I found a note from 
 my wife. It ran thus 
 
 " I have gone to Aunt Hannah's with Pegram, 
 and have taken Belle. I cannot live with one 
 who considers my child a vile interloper." 
 
 As I sat down in my misery, there was 
 one little spark of comfort amid the gloom. 
 She had taken Belle. My first impulse was 
 to follow into the city and explain every- 
 thing ; but I quickly reflected that if I did
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 73 
 
 this I must tell her of the ghost, and I felt 
 certain that she would never return with 
 Pegram to a haunted house. Must I, in 
 order to regain my wife, give up this beauti- 
 ful home ? For two days I racked my brains 
 and wandered gloomily about. 
 
 In one of my dreary rambles I encountered 
 the ghost. " What are you doing here ? " I 
 cried. " Miss Belle has gone. " 
 
 "I know that," the spectre answered, his 
 air expressing all his usual impertinence and 
 swagger, "but she'll come back. When 
 your wife returns, she 's bound to bring 
 young Miss." 
 
 At this, a thought flashed through my 
 mind. If any good would come of it, Belle 
 ^should never return. Whatever else hap- 
 pened, this insolent ghost of a gay young 
 buck should have no excuse for haunting my 
 house. 
 
 " She will never come back while you are 
 here," I cried. 
 
 "I don't believe it," it coolly answered. 
 
 I made no further assertions on the subject. 
 I had determined what to do, and it was of 
 no use to be angry with a vapouring creature 
 like this. But I might as well get some in- 
 formation out of him. 
 
 "Tell me this," I asked; "if, for any
 
 74 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 reason, you should leave this place and 
 throw up your situation, so to speak, would 
 you have a successor ? " 
 
 "You needn't think I am going, "it said 
 contemptuously. "None of your little 
 tricks on me. But I '11 just tell you, for your 
 satisfaction, that if I should take it into my 
 head to cut the place, there would be another 
 ghost here in no time." 
 
 "What is it," I cried, stamping my foot, 
 "that causes this house to be so haunted by 
 ghosts, when there are hundreds and thou- 
 sands of places where such apparitions are 
 never seen ? " 
 
 "Old fellow," said the spectre, folding its 
 arms, and looking at me with half-shut eyes, 
 " it isn't the house that draws the ghosts, it 
 is somebody in it ; and as long as you are 
 here the place will be haunted. But you 
 needn't mind that. Some houses have rats, 
 some have fever-and-ague, and some have 
 ghosts. Au revoir." And I was alone. 
 
 So then the spectral mortgage could never 
 be lifted. With heavy heart and feet I 
 passed through the bosky grove to my once 
 happy home. 
 
 I had not been there half an hour when 
 Belle arrived. She had come by the morning 
 train, and had nothing with her but a little
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 75 
 
 hand-bag. I looked at her in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Infatuated girl," I cried, " could you not 
 stay away from here three days ? " 
 
 "I am glad you said that," she answered, 
 taking a seat ; " for now I think I am right 
 in suspecting what was on your mind. I ran 
 away from Madeline to see if I could find out 
 what was at the bottom of this dreadful 
 trouble between you. She told me what you 
 said, and I don't believe you ever used those 
 words to Pegram. And now I want to ask 
 you one question. Had I, in any way, any- 
 thing to do with this ? " 
 
 ' ' No, " said I, " not directly." And then, 
 emboldened by circumstances, I added : 
 'HSut that secret visitor or friend of yours 
 had much to do with it. " 
 
 "I thought that might be so," she an- 
 swered; "and now, George, I want to tell 
 you something, I am afraid it will shock you 
 very much. " 
 
 "I have had so much to shock me lately 
 that I can stand almost anything now." 
 
 "Well then, it is this," she said. "That 
 person whom I saw sometimes, and whom 
 you once found under my window, is a 
 ghost." 
 
 "Did you know that?" I cried. "I
 
 76 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 knew it was a ghost, .but did not imagine 
 that you had any suspicion of it. " 
 
 "Why, yes," she answered, "I saw 
 through him almost from the very first. I 
 was a good deal startled, and a little fright- 
 ened when I found it out ; but I soon felt 
 that this ghost couldn't do me any harm, 
 and you don't know how amusing it was. I 
 always had a fancy for ghosts, but I never 
 expected to meet with one like this." 
 
 " And so you knew all the time it wasn't 
 a real man," I exclaimed, still filled with 
 astonishment at what I had heard. 
 
 " A real man ! " cried Belle, with consi- 
 derable contempt in her tones. "Do you 
 suppose I would become acquainted in that 
 way with a real man, and let him come 
 under my window and talk to me ? I was 
 determined not to tell any of you about it ; 
 for I knew you wouldn't approve of it, and 
 would break up the fun some way. Now I 
 wish most heartily that I had spoken of 
 it." 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "it might have 
 saved much trouble. " 
 
 " But, George ! " she continued, 
 "you 've no idea how funny it was ! Such 
 a ridiculous, self-conceited, old-fashioned 
 ghost of a beau ! "
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 77 
 
 "Yes," said I, "when it was alive it 
 courted your grandmother." 
 
 "The impudence!" exclaimed Belle. 
 "And to think that it supposed that I 
 imagined it to be a real man ! Why, one 
 day, when it was talking to me, it stepped 
 back into a rose-bush ; and it stood there 
 ever so long, all mixed up with the roses 
 and leaves. " 
 
 " And you knew it all the time ? " 
 
 These words were spoken in a hollow 
 voice by some one near us. Turning quickly, 
 we saw the ghost of Buck Edwards, but nc- 
 longer the jaunty spectre we had seen before. 
 His hat was on the back of his head, his 
 knees were turned inward, his shoulders 
 drooped, his head hung, and his arms 
 dangled limp at his sides. 
 
 "Yes," said Belle, "I knew it all the 
 time. " 
 
 The ghost looked at her with a faded, 
 misty eye ; and then, instead of vanishing 
 briskly, as was his wont, he began slowly 
 and irresolutely to disappear. First his 
 body faded from view, then his head, leav- 
 ing his hat and boots. These gradually 
 vanished, and the last thing we saw of the once 
 Buck Edwards was a dissolving view of the 
 tip-end of a limp and drooping riding- whip.
 
 78 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 
 
 " He is gone," said Belle. " We 11 never 
 see him again." 
 
 "Yes," said I, "he is gone. I think 
 your discovery of his real nature has com- 
 pletely broken up that proud spirit. And 
 now, what is to be done about Madeline ? " 
 
 "Wasn't it the ghost you called an inter- 
 loper ? " asked Belle. 
 
 " Certainly it was," I replied. 
 
 "Well, then, go and tell her so," said 
 Belle. 
 
 " About the ghost and all ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 "Certainly," said she. 
 
 And together we went to Madeline, and 
 I told her all. I found her with her anger 
 gone, and steeped in misery. When I had 
 finished, all Pegramed as she was, she 
 plunged into my arms. I pressed my wife 
 and child closely to my bosom, and we 
 wept with joy. 
 
 When Will Crenshaw came home and was 
 told this story, he said it didn't trouble him 
 a bit. 
 
 "I 'm not afraid of a rival like that," he 
 remarked. " Such a suitor wouldn't stand 
 a ghost of a chance." 
 
 "But I can tell you," said Madeline, 
 "that you had better be up and doing on 
 your own account. A girl like Belle needn't
 
 THE SPECTRAL MORTGAGE. 79 
 
 be expected to depend on the chance of a 
 ghost. " 
 
 Crenshaw heeded her words, and the 
 young couple were married in the fall. The 
 wedding took place in the little church near 
 our house. It was a quiet marriage, and 
 was attended by a strictly family party. 
 At the conclusion of the ceremonies I felt, 
 or saw, for I am sure I did not hear a 
 little sigh quite near me. 
 
 I turned, and sitting on the chancel-steps 
 I saw the spectre of Buck Edwards. His 
 head was bowed, and his hands, holding his 
 hat and riding-whip, rested carelessly on his 
 knees. 
 
 "Bedad, sir!" he exclaimed, "to think 
 of it ! If I hadn't cut up as I did I might 
 hztve married, and have been that girl's 
 grandfather ! " 
 
 The idea made me smile. 
 
 "It can't be remedied now," I answered. 
 
 " Such a remark to make at a wedding ! " 
 said Madeline, giving me a punch with her 
 reproachful elbow.
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON.
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 WE were sitting on the store-porch of a 
 small Virginia village. I was one of 
 the party, and Martin Heiskill was the other 
 one. Martin had been out fishing, which 
 was an unusual thing for him. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said he, as he held up the 
 small string of fish which he had laid care- 
 fully under his chair when he sat down to 
 light his pipe ; " that 's all I Ve got to show 
 for 'a day's work. But 'tain't often that I 
 waste time that way. I don't b'lieve in 
 huntin' fur a thing that ye can't see. If 
 fishes sot on trees, now, and ye could shoot 
 at 'em, I 'd go out and hunt fishes with any- 
 body. But it 's mighty triflin' work to be 
 goin' it blind in a mill-pond. " 
 
 I ventured to state that there were fish 
 that were occasionally found on trees. In 
 India, for instance, a certain fish climbs 
 trees. 
 
 "A which what's?" exclaimed Martin,
 
 84 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 with an arrangement of pronouns peculiar 
 to himself. 
 
 " Oh yes ! " he said, when I had told him 
 all I knew about this bit of natural history. 
 " That 's very likely. I reckon they do that 
 up North, where you come from, in some of 
 them towns you was tellin' me about, where 
 there 's so many houses that they tech each 
 other. " 
 
 " That's all true about the fishes, Martin," 
 said I, wisely making no reference to the 
 houses, for I did not want to push his belief 
 too hard ; " but we '11 drop them now." 
 
 " Yes," said he, " I think we 'd better." 
 
 Martin was a'good fellow and no fool ; but he 
 had not travelled much, and had no correct 
 ideas of cities, nor, indeed, of much of any- 
 thing outside of his native backwoods. But 
 of those backwoods he knew more than any 
 other man I ever met. He liked to talk, 
 but he resented tall stories. 
 
 "Martin," said I, glad to change the 
 subject, "do you think there'll be many 
 'coons about, this fall ? " 
 
 "About as many as common, I reckon," 
 he answered. "What do you want to know 
 fur?" 
 
 "I'd like to go out 'coon-hunting," I 
 said ; " that 's something I have never tried. "
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 85 
 
 "Well," said he, "I don't s'pose your 
 goin' will make much difference in the 
 number of 'em, but, what 's the good uv it ? 
 You 'd better go ? possum-huntin'. You kin 
 eat a 'possum." 
 
 " Don't you ever eat 'coons ?" I asked. 
 
 "Eat 'coons!" he exclaimed, with con- 
 tempt. " Why, there isn't a nigger in this 
 county 'd eat a 'coon. They ain't fit to 
 eat." 
 
 " I should think they 'd be as good as 
 "possums," said I. "They feed on pretty 
 much the same things, don't they?" 
 
 " Well, there ain't much difference, that 
 way ; but a 'possum 's a mighty different 
 thing from a 'coon, when ye come to eat him. 
 A 'possum 's more like a kind o' tree-pig. 
 An' when he 's cooked, he 's sweeter than 
 any feuckin'-pig you ever see. But a 'coon 's 
 more like a cat. Who.'d eat cats ? " 
 
 I was about to relate some city sausage 
 stories, but I refrained. 
 
 " To be sure," continued Martin, " there ; s 
 Col. Tibbs, who says he 's eat 'coon-meat, 
 and liked it fust-rate ; but then ag'in, he 
 says frogs is good to eat, so ye see there]'s no 
 dependin' on what people say. Now, I 
 know what I 'm a-talkin' about ; 'coons ain't 
 fit fur human bein's to eat. "
 
 86 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 " Whatmakes you hunt 'em, then ? " lasked. 
 
 "Hunt 'em fur fun," said the old fellow, 
 striking a lucifer match under his chair, to 
 re-light his pipe. " Ef ye talk about vittles, 
 that 's one thing ; an' ef ye talk about fun, 
 that 's another thing. An' I don't know 
 now whether you 'd think it was fun. I 
 kinder think you wouldn't. I reckon it'd 
 seem like pretty hard work to you," 
 
 "I suppose it would," I said; "there 
 are many things that would be hard work to 
 me that would be nothing but sport to an 
 old hunter like you." 
 
 "You're right there, sir. You never 
 spoke truer than that in your life. There 's 
 no man inside o' six counties that 's hunted 
 more 'n I have. I 've been at it ever sence I 
 was a youngster ; an' I 've got a lot o' fun 
 out uv it, more fun than anything else, 
 fur that matter. You see, afore the war, 
 people used to go huntin' more for reaFsport 
 than they do now. An' 'twa'n't because 
 there was more game. in this country then 
 than there is now, fur there wa'n't, not 
 half as much. There 's more game in 
 Virginny now than there 's been any time 
 this fifty years." 
 
 I expressed my surprise at this statement, 
 and he continued
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 87 
 
 "It all stands to reason, plain enough. 
 Ef you don't kill them wild critters off, 
 they '11 jist breed and breed, till the whole 
 country gits full uv 'em. An' nobody had 
 no time to hunt 'em durin' the war, we 
 was busy huntin' different game then, and 
 sometimes we was hunted ourselves ; an' 
 sence then the most uv us has had to 
 knuckle down to work, no time fur huntin' 
 when you 've got to do your own hoein' and 
 ploughin', or at least, a big part uv it. An' 
 I tell ye that back there in the mountains 
 there 's lots o' deer where nobody livin' about 
 here ever saw 'em before, and as fur turkeys, 
 and 'coons, and 'possums, there 's more an' 
 more uv 'em ev'ry year, but as fur beavers, 
 them confounded chills-and-fever rep-tyles, 
 there 's jist millions uv 'em, more or less." 
 
 *' Do beavers have chills ^ and fever?" I 
 asked wonderingly. 
 
 "No," said he, "I wish they did. But 
 they give it to folks. There ain't nothin' 
 on earth that 's raised the price o' quinine in 
 this country like them beavers. Ye see 
 they 've jist had the'r own way now, pretty 
 much ever sence the war broke out, and 
 they Ve gone to work and built dams across 
 pretty nigh all the cricks we got, and that 
 lioods the bottom-lands, uv course, and
 
 88 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 makes ma'shes and swamps, where they 
 used to be fust-rate corn-land. Why, I tell 
 ye, sir, down here on Colt's Creek there 's a 
 beaver-dam a quarter uv a mile long, an' the 
 water 's backed up all over everything. Ain't 
 that enough to give a whole county the 
 chills ? An' it does it, too. Ef the people 'd 
 all go and sit on that there dam, they'd 
 shake it down. I tell ye, sir, the war give 
 us, in this country, a good many things we 
 didn't want, and among 'em 's chills. Before 
 the war, nobody never heard of sich things 
 as chills round-about hyar. 'Tain't on'y the 
 beavers, nuther. When ye can't afford to 
 hire more 'n three or four niggers to work a 
 big farm, 'tain't likely ye kin do no ditchin', 
 and all the branches and the ditches in the 
 bottom-lands fills up, an' a feller's best corn- 
 fields is pretty much all swamp, and his 
 family has to live on quinine." 
 
 "I should think it would pay well to 
 hunt and trap these beavers," I remarked. 
 
 "Well, so it does, sometimes," said 
 Martin; "but half the people ain't got no 
 time. Now it 's different with me, because 
 I 'm not a-farmin'. An' then it ain't every- 
 body that kin git 'em. It takes a kind o' 
 eddication to hunt beaver. But you was 
 a-askin' about 'coons."
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 89 
 
 "Yes," I said. "I'd like to go 'ooon- 
 hunting. " 
 
 " There 's lots o' fun in it," said he, knock- 
 ing the ashes out of his pipe, and putting up 
 his cowhide boots on the top of the porch- 
 railing in front of him. 
 
 " About two or three years afore the war, 
 I went out on a 'coon-hunt, which was the 
 liveliest hunt I ever see in all my life. I 
 never had sich a good hunt afore nur never 
 sence. I was a-livin' over in Powhattan, 
 and the 'coon was Haskinses 'coon. They 
 called him Haskinses 'coon, because he was 
 'most allus seen somewhere on ole Tom 
 Haskinses farm. Tom 's dead now, an' so 
 is the -'coon ; but the farm 's thar, an' I 'm 
 here, so ye kin b'lieve this story, jist as ef 
 it was printed on paper. It was the most 
 confoundedest queer 'coon anybody ever see 
 in all this whole world. An' the queerness 
 was this : it hadn't no stripes to its tail. 
 Now ye needn't say to me that no 'coon 
 was ever that way, fur this 'coon was, an' 
 that settles it. All 'coons has four or five 
 brown stripes a-runnin' roun' their tails, 
 all 'cept this one 'coon uv Haskinses. An' 
 what 's more, this was the savagest 'coon 
 anybody ever did see in this whole world. 
 That 's what sot everybody huntin' him ; fur
 
 go THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 the savager a 'coon is, an' the more grit 
 ther' is in him, the more 's the fun when he 
 comes to fight the dogs fur that 's whar the 
 fun comes in. An' ther' is 'coons as kin 
 lick a whole pack o' dogs, an' git off ; and 
 this is jist what Haskinses 'coon did, lots o' 
 times. I b'lieve every nigger in the county, 
 an' pretty much half the white men, had 
 been out huntin' that 'coon, and they 'd 
 never got him yit. Ye see he was so derned 
 eunnin' an' gritty, that when ye cut his 
 tree down, he 'd jist go through the dogs 
 like a wasp in a Sunday school, an' git 
 away, as I tell ye. He must a' had teeth 
 more 'n an inch long, and he had a mighty 
 tough bite to him. Quick, too, as a black- 
 snake. Well, they never got him, no how ; 
 but he was often seed, fur he 'd even let a 
 feller as hadn't a gun with him git a look at 
 him in the day-time, which is contrary to 
 the natur' of a 'coon, which keeps dark all 
 day an on'y comes out arter dark. But 
 this here 'coon o' Haskinses was different 
 from any 'coon anybody ever see in all this 
 world. Sometimes ye 'd see him a-settin' 
 down by a branch, a-dippin' his food inter 
 the water every time he took a bite, which 
 is the natur' of a 'coon ; but if ye put yer 
 hand inter yer pocket fur so much as a
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 9 1 
 
 pocket-pistol, he 'd skoot afore ye could 
 wink. 
 
 "Well, I made up my mind I'd go out 
 after Haskinses 'coon, and I got up a huntin' 
 party. 'Twa'n't no trouble to do that. In 
 them days ye could git up a huntin' party 
 easier than anything else in this whole 
 world. All ye had to do was to let the 
 people know, an* they 'd be thar, black an' 
 white. Why, I tell ye, sir, they used to go 
 fox-huntin' a lot in them days, an' there 
 wasn't half as many foxes as ther' is now, 
 nuther. If a feller woke up bright an' early, 
 an' felt like fox-huntin', all he had to do was 
 to git on his horse, and take his dogs and 
 his horn, and ride off to his nex' neighbour's, 
 an',holler. An' up 'd jump the nex' feller, 
 and git on his horse, and take his dogs, and 
 them two 'd ride off to the nex' farm an' 
 holler, an' keep that up till ther' was a lot 
 uv 'em, with the'r hounds, and away they 'd 
 go, tip-it-ty-crack, after the fox an' the 
 hounds fur it didn't take long for them 
 dogs to scar' up a fox. An' they 'd keep it 
 up, too, like good fellers. Ther' was a party 
 uv 'em, once, started out of a Friday mornin', 
 and the'r fox, which was a red fox (fur a 
 grey fox ain't no good fur a long run) took 
 'em clean over into Albemarle, and none uv
 
 <)2 THAT SAME OLD 'COOX. 
 
 'em didn't get back home till arter dark, Satur- 
 day. That was the way we used to hunt. 
 
 " Well, I got up my party, and we went 
 out arter Haskinses 'coon. We started out 
 pretty soon arter supper. Ole Tom Haskins 
 himself was along, because, uv course, he 
 wanted to see his 'coon killed ; an' ther' 
 was a lot of other fellers that you wouldn't 
 know ef I was to tell ye the'r names. Ye 
 see, it was 'way down at the lower end of 
 the county that I was a-livin' then. An' 
 ther' was about a dozen niggers with axes, 
 an' five or six little black boys to carry light- 
 wood. There was no less than thirteen dogs, 
 all 'coon-hunters. 
 
 "Ye see, the 'coon-dog is sometimes a 
 hound, an' sometimes he isn't. It takes a 
 right smart dog to hunt a 'coon ; and some- 
 times ye kin train a dog, thet ain't a reg'lar 
 huntin'-dog, to be a fust-rate 'coon-dog, per- 
 tickerlerly when the fightin' comes in. To 
 be sure, ye want a dog with a good nose to 
 him to f oiler up a 'coon ; but ye want fellers 
 with good jaws and teeth, and plenty of grit, 
 too. We had thirteen of the best 'coon- 
 dogs in the whole world, an' that was enough 
 fur any one 'coon, I say ; though Haskinses 
 'coon was a pertickerler kind of a 'coon, as I 
 tell ye.
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 93 
 
 u Pretty soon arter we got inter Haskinses 
 oak woods, jist back o' the house, the dogs 
 got on the track uv a 'coon, an' after 'em we 
 all went, as hard as we could skoot. Uv 
 course we didn't know that it was Haskinses 
 'coon we was arter ; but we made up our 
 minds, afore we started, thet when we killed 
 a 'coon and found it wasn't Haskinses 'coon, 
 we 'd jist keep on till we did find him. We 
 didn't 'spect to have much trouble a-findin' 
 him, fur we know'd pretty much whar he 
 lived, and we went right thar. 'Tain't often 
 anybody hunts fur one pertickerler 'coon ; 
 but that was the matter this time, as I tell 
 ye." 
 
 It was evident from the business-like way 
 in wjiich Martin Heiskill started into this 
 story, that he wouldn't get home in time to 
 have his fish cooked for supper, but that was 
 not my affair. It was not every day that 
 the old fellow chose to talk, and I was glad 
 enough to have him go on as long as he 
 would. 
 
 "As I tell ye," continued Martin, looking 
 steadily over the toe of one of his boots, as 
 if taking a long aim at some distant turkey, 
 "we put off, hot and heavy, arter that ar 
 'coon, and hard work it was, too. The dogs 
 took us down through the very stickeryest
 
 94 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 part of the woods, and then down the holler 
 by the edge of Lumley's mill-pond, whar 
 no human bein' in this world ever walked or 
 run afore, I truly b'lieve, fur it was the 
 meanest travellin' groun' I ever see, and 
 then back inter the woods ag'in. But 
 'twa'n't long afore we came up to the dogs 
 a-barkin' and howlin' around a big chestnut- 
 oak about three foot through, an' we knew 
 we had him. That is, ef it wa'n't Haskinses 
 'coon. Ef it was his 'coon, may be we had 
 him, and may be we hadn't. The boys 
 lighted up their light- wood torches, and two 
 niggers with axes bent to work at the tree. 
 And them as wasn't choppin' had as much 
 as they could do to keep the dogs back out 
 o' the way o' the axes. 
 
 "The dogs they was jist goin' on as ef 
 they was mad, and ole Uncle Pete Williams 
 he was the one thet was a-holdin' on to 
 Chink, the big dog that dog's name was 
 Chinkerpin, an' he was the best 'coon dog in 
 the whole world, I reckon. He was a big 
 hound, brown an' black, an' he was the on'y 
 dog in thet pack thet had never had a fight 
 with Haskinses 'coon. They fetched him 
 over from Cumberland, a-purpose for this 
 hunt. Well, as I tell ye, ole Pete, says he, 
 'Thar ain't no mistook dis time, Mahsr
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 9$ 
 
 Tom, now I tell you. Dese yar dogs knows 
 well'nuf dat dat 'coon's Mahsr Tom's 'coon, 
 an' dey tell Chink too, fur he 's a-doin' de 
 debbil's own pullin' dis time.' An' I reckon 
 Uncle Pete was 'bout right, fur I thought 
 the dog ud pull him off his legs afore he got 
 through. 
 
 " Pretty soon the niggers hollered fur to 
 stan' from under, an' down came the chest- 
 nut-oak with the big smash, an' then ev'ry 
 dog an' man an' nigger made one skoot fur 
 that tree. But they couldn't see no 'coon, 
 fur he was in a hole 'bout half way up the 
 trunk ; an' then there was another high ole 
 time keepin' back the dogs till the fellers 
 with a!xes cut him out. It didn't take long 
 to do that. The tree was a kind o' rotten 
 up thar, and afore I know'd it, out hopped 
 the 'coon ; and then in less than half a shake, 
 there was sich a fight as you never see in all 
 this world. 
 
 "At first, it 'peared like it was a blamed 
 mean thing to let thirteen dogs fight one 
 'coon ; but pretty soon I thought it was a 
 little too bad to have on'y thirteen dogs 
 fur sich a fiery savage beast as that there 
 'coon was. He jist laid down on his back 
 an' buzzed around like a coffee-mill, an' 
 whenever a dog got a snap at him, he got
 
 96 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 the 'coon's teeth inter him quick as lightnin'. 
 Ther' was too many dogs in that fight, an' 
 'twa'n't long before some uv 'em found that 
 out, and got out o' the muss. An' it was 
 some o' the dogs thet had the best chance 
 at the 'coon thet left fust. 
 
 "Afore long, though, old Chink, who'd a 
 been a-watchin' his chance, he got a good 
 grip on that 'coon, an' that was the end of 
 him. He jist throw'd up his hand. 
 
 "The minute I seed the fight was over, I 
 rushed in an' grabbed that 'coon, an' like to 
 got grabbed myself, too, in doin' it, 'specially 
 by Chink, who didn't know me. One o' the 
 boys brought a light-wood torch so 'a we 
 could see the little beast. 
 
 "Well, 'twa'n't Haskinses 'coon. He had 
 rings round his tail, jist as reg'lar as ef he 
 was the feller that set the fashion. So 
 ther' was more 'coon-huntin' to be done that 
 night. But ther' wa'n't nobody that ob- 
 jected to that, fur we were jist gittin' inter 
 the fun o' the thing. An' I made up my 
 mind I wasn't a-goin' home without the tail 
 off er Haskinses 'coon. 
 
 "I disremember now whether the nex* 
 thing we killed was a 'coon or a 'possum. 
 It 's a long time ago, and I 've been on lots o' 
 hunts sence thet ; but the main p'ints o' this-
 
 THAT SAME OLD COON. 97 
 
 hunt I ain't likely to furgit, fur, as I tell ye, 
 this was the liveliest 'coon-hunt I ever went 
 out on. 
 
 " Ef it was a 'possum we got next, ther' 
 wasn't much fun about it, fur a 'possum 's 
 not a game beast. Ther 's no fight in him, 
 though his meat 's better. When ye tree a 
 'possum an' cut down the tree, an' cut him 
 out uv his hole, ef he 's in one, he jist keels 
 over an' makes b'lieve he 's dead, though 
 that 's jinerally no use at all, fur he 's real 
 dead in a minute, and it's hardly wuth 
 while fur him to take the trouble uv puttin' 
 on the sham. Sometimes a 'possum '11 hang 
 by his tail to the limb of a tree, an' ye kin 
 knock him down without cuttin' the tree 
 down.. He 's not a game beast, as I tell ye. 
 But they ain't allus killed on the spot. I 've 
 seed niggers take a long saplin' an' make a 
 little split in it about the middle of the pole, 
 an' stick the end of a 'possum's long rat-tail 
 through the split an' carry him home. I Ve 
 seed two niggers carryin' a pole that a-way, 
 one at each end, with two or three 'possums 
 a-hanging frum it. They take 'em home and 
 fatten 'em. I hate a 'possum, principally 
 fur his tail. Ef it was curled up short, an' 
 had a knot in it, it would be more like a 
 pig's-tail, an' then it would seem as ef the 
 
 I., or T. G
 
 98 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 thing was meant to eat. But the way they 
 have it, it 's like nothing in the whole world 
 but a rat's tail. 
 
 "So, as I tell ye, ef thet was a 'possum 
 thet we treed nex', ther' wasn't no fight, an' 
 some of the niggers got some meat. But 
 after that I remember it was about the 
 middle o' the night we got off again, 
 this time really arter Haskinses 'coon. I 
 was dead sure of it. The dogs went 
 difFrent, too. They was jist full o' fire 
 an' blood, an' run ahead like as ef they 
 was mad. They know'd they wasn't on the 
 track of no common 'coon, this time. As 
 fur all uv us men, black an' white, we jist 
 got up an' got arter them dogs, an some o' 
 the little fellers got stuck in a swamp, down 
 by a branch that runs out o' Haskinses 
 woods into Widder Thorp's corn-field ; but 
 we didn't stop fur nuthin', an' they never 
 k etched up. We kep' on down that branch 
 an' through the whole corn-field, an' then the 
 dogs they took us crossways up a hill, whar 
 we had to cross two or three gullies, an' I 
 like to broke my neck down one uv 'em, fur 
 I was in sich a blamed hurry that I tried to 
 jump across, an' the bank giv' way on the 
 other side, as I might 'a' know'd it would, 
 an' down I come, backward. But I landed
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 99 
 
 on two niggers at the bottom of,, the gully, 
 an' that kinder broke my fall, an' I was up 
 an' a-goin' ag'in afore you 'd V know'd it. 
 
 " Well, as I tell ye, we jist b'iled up that 
 hill, an' then we struck inter the widder's 
 woods, which is the wust woods in the whole 
 world, I reckon, fur runnin' through arter a 
 pack o' dogs. The whole place was so 
 growed up with chinkerpin-bushes and dog- 
 wood, an' every other kind o' underbrush 
 that a hog would 'a' sp'iled his temper goin' 
 through thar in the day-time ; but we jist 
 r'ared an' plunged through them bushes right 
 on to the tails o' the dogs ; an' ef any uv us 
 had had good clothes on, they'd 'a' been 
 tore off our backs. But ole clothes won't 
 tear, rfh' we didn't care ef they did. The 
 dogs had a hot scent, an' I tell ye, we was 
 close on to 'em when they got to the critter. 
 An' what d 'ye s'pose the critter was ? It was 
 a dog-arned 'possum in a trap ! 
 
 "It was a trap sot by ole Uncle Enoch 
 Peters, that lived on Widder Thorp's farm. 
 He 's dead now, but I remember him fust- 
 rate. He had an' ole mother over in Cum- 
 berland, an' he was the very oldest man in 
 this country, an' I reckon in the whole 
 world, that had a livin' mother. Well, that 
 there sneakin' 'possum had gone snifflin'
 
 100 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 along through the corn-field, an' up that hill, 
 an' along the gullies, and through that 
 onearthly woods to Uncle Enoch's trap, an' 
 we 'd f ollered him as ef he 'd had a store 
 order fur a bar'l o' flour tied to his tail. 
 
 "Well, he didn't last long, for the dogs 
 and the niggers, between 'em, tore that trap 
 all to bits ; and what become o' the 'possum 
 I don't b'lieve anybody knowed, 'cept it 
 was ole Chink and two or three uv the 
 
 I here asked if 'coons were ever caught in 
 traps. 
 
 " Certainly they is," said Martin. " I re- 
 member the time that ther' was a good many 
 'coons caught in traps. That was in the ole 
 Henry Clay 'lection times. The 'coon, he 
 was the Whig beast. He stood for Harry Clay 
 and the hull Whig party. Ther' never was 
 a pole-raisin', or a barbecue, or a speech 
 meetin', or a torchlight percession, in the 
 whole country, that they didn't want a live 
 'coon to be sot on a pole or somewhar whar 
 the people could look at him an' be en- 
 couraged. But it didn't do 'em no good. 
 Ole Harry Clay he went under, an' ye 
 couldn't sell a 'coon for a dime. 
 
 " Well, as I tell ye, this was a 'possum in 
 a trap, and we was all pretty mad and pretty
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. IOI 
 
 tired. We got out on the edge o' the woods 
 as soon as we could, an' thar was a field o' 
 corn. The corn had been planted late, and 
 the boys found a lot o' roastin' ears, though 
 they was purty old, but we didn't care for 
 that. We made a fire, an' roasted the corn, 
 an' some o' the men had their ' ticklers ' 
 along, enough to give us each a taste, an' 
 we lighted our pipes and sat down to take a 
 rest afore startin' off ag'in arter Haskinses 
 'coon." 
 
 "But I thought you said," I remarked, 
 " that you knew you were after Haskins' 
 'coon the last time." 
 
 "Well, so we did know we was. But 
 sometimes you know things as isn't so. 
 Didn'f ye ever find that out ? It 's so, any- 
 way, jist as I tell ye," and then he continued 
 his story 
 
 "As we was a-settin' aroun' the fire a- 
 smokin' away, Uncle Pete Williams he was 
 the feller that had to hang on to the big dog 
 Chink, as I tell ye he come an' he says, 
 ' Now, look-a-here, Mahsr Tom, an' de rest 
 ob you all, don't ye bleab we 'd better gib 
 up dis yere thing an' go home ?' Well, none 
 uv us thought that, an' we told him so ; but 
 he kep' on, an' begun to tell us we 'd find 
 ourselves in a heap o' misery, ef we didn't
 
 102 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 look out, pretty soon. Says he : 'Now, 
 look-a-here, Mahsr Tom, and you all, you 
 all wouldn't a-ketched me out on this yere 
 hunt ef I'd 'a' knowed ye was a-gwine to hunt 
 'possums. 'Tain't no luck to hunt 'possums : 
 everybody knows dat. De debbil gits after 
 a man as will go a-chasin' 'possums wid dogs 
 when he kin cotch 'em a heap mau comfort- 
 abler in a trap. 'Tain't so much difFrence 
 'bout 'coons, but the debbil he takes care o' 
 'possums. An' I 'spect de debbil know'd 
 'bout dis yere hunt, fur de oder ebenin' I was 
 a-goin' down to de rock-spring, wid a gourd 
 to git a drink, and dar on de rock, wid his 
 legs a-danglin' down to de water, sat de 
 debbil hisself a-chawin' green terbacker ! ' 
 ' Green terbacker ? ' says I. ' Why, Uncle 
 Pete, ain't the debbil got no better sense than 
 that?' 'Now, look-a-,here, Mahsr Martin,' 
 says he, ' de debbil knows what he 's about, 
 an' ef green terbacker was good fur anybody 
 to chaw he wouldn't chaw it, an' he says to 
 me, " Uncle Pete, been a-huntin' any 
 'possums ?'*' An' says I, "No, Mahsr, I 
 nebber do dat." An' den he look at me 
 awful, fur I seed he didn't furgit nothin', an' 
 he was a-sottin' dar, a-shinen as ef he was 
 polished all over wid shoe-blackin', an' he 
 says, " Now, look-a-here Uncle Pete, don't
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. IO3 
 
 you eber do it ; an' w'at's dat about dis yere 
 Baptis' phurch at de Cross-roads, dat was 
 sot afire ? " An' I tole him dat I didn't know 
 nuffin' 'bout dat not one single word in dis 
 whole world. Den he wink, an' he says, 
 ' ' Dem bruders in dat church hunt too many 
 'possums. Dey is allus a-huntin' 'possums, 
 an' dat 's de way dey lose der church. I sot 
 dat church afire mesef. D 'y' hear dat, 
 Uncle Pete ? " An' I was glad enough to 
 hear it, too ; for der was bruders in dat 
 church dat said Yeller Joe an' me sot it 
 afire, cos we wasn't 'lected trustees, but dey 
 can't say dat now, fur it 's all plain as day- 
 light, an' ef dey don't bleab it, I kin show 
 'em de berry gourd I tuk down to de rock- 
 spring when I seed de debbil. An' it don't 
 do to hunt no more 'possums, fur de debbil 'd 
 jist as leab scratch de end ob his tail ag'in a 
 white man's church as ag'in a black man's 
 church. ' 
 
 "By this time we was all ready to start 
 ag'in ; an' we know'd that all Uncle Pete 
 wanted was to git home ag'in, fur he was 
 lazy, and was sich an ole rascal that he was 
 afraid to go back by himself in the dark fur 
 fear the real debbil 'd gobble him up, an' so 
 we didn't pay no 'tention to him, but jist 
 started off ag'in. Ther' is niggers as blieve
 
 104 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 the debbil gits after people that hunt 
 'possums, but Uncle Pete never b'lieved that 
 when he was a-goin' to git the 'possum. 
 Ther' wasn't no chance fur him this night, 
 but he had to come along all the same, as I 
 tell ye. 
 
 * ' 'Twa'n't half an hour arter we started 
 ag'in afore we found a 'coon, but 'twa'n't 
 Haskinses 'coon. We was near the crick, 
 when the dogs got arter him, an' inste'd o' 
 gittin' up a tree, he run up inter the roots 
 uv a big pine thet had been blown down, 
 and was a-layin' half in the water. The 
 brush was mighty thick jist here ; an' some 
 uv us thought it was another 'possum, an' 
 we kep' back most uv the dogs, fur we didn't 
 want 'em to carry us along that creek-bank 
 arter no 'possum. But some o' the niggers, 
 with two or three dogs, pushed through the 
 bushes, and one feller clum up inter the roots 
 uv the tree, an' out jumped Mr, 'Coon. He 
 hadn't no chance to git off any other way 
 than to clim' down some grape-vines that 
 was a-hangin' from the tree inter the water. 
 So he slips down one o' them, an' as he was 
 a-hangin' on like a sailor a-goin' down a 
 rope, I got a look at him through the bushes, 
 an' I see plain enough by the light-wood 
 torch thet he wa'n't Haskinses 'coon. He
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. IO5 
 
 had the commonest kinds o' bands on his 
 tail. 
 
 " Well, that thar 'coon he looked like he 
 was about the biggest fool uv a 'coon in this 
 whole world. He come down to the water, 
 as ef he thought a dog couldn't swim, an' ef 
 that 's what he did think he foun' out his 
 mistake as soon as he teched the water, fur 
 thar was a dog ready fur him. An' then 
 they had it lively, an' the other dogs they 
 jumped in, an' thar was a purty big splashin' 
 an' plungin' an' bitin' in that thar creek ; an' 
 I was jist a-goin' to push through an' holler 
 fur the other fellers to come an' see the fun, 
 when that thar 'coon he got off! He jist 
 licked them dogs the meanest dogs we had 
 along an' put fur the other bank, an' that 
 was the end o' him. 'Coons is a good deal 
 like folks it don't pay to call none uv 'em 
 fools till ye 're done seein' what they 're up to. 
 
 "Well, as I tell ye, we was then nigh the 
 crick ; but soon as we lef the widder's 
 woods we struck off from it, fur none uv us, 
 'specially the niggers, wanted to go nigh 
 'Lijah Parker's. Reckon ye don't know 
 'Lijah Parker. Well, he lives 'bout three 
 mile from here on the crick ; an' he was 
 then, an' is now, jist the laziest man in the 
 whole world. He had two or three big red
 
 106 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 oaks on his place thet he wanted cut down, 
 but was too durned lazy to do it ; an' he 
 hadn't no money to hire anybody to do it, 
 nuther, an' he was too stingy to spend it ef 
 he 'd had it. So he know'd ther' was a-goin' 
 to be a 'coon-hunt one night ; an' the evenin' 
 before he tuk a 'coon his boy 'd caught in a 
 'possum-trap, an' he put a chain aroun' its 
 body, and pulled it through his woods to 
 one of his red oak trees. Then he let the 
 'coon climb up a little ways, an' then he 
 jerked him down ag'in, and pulled him over 
 to another tree, and so on, till he 'd let him 
 run up three big trees. Then his boy got a 
 box, an' they put the 'coon in an' carried 
 him home. Uv course, when the dogs come 
 inter his woods an' he know'd they was a- 
 goin' to do that they got on the scent o' 
 this ''coon ; an' when they got to the fust 
 tree, they thought they'd treed him, an' 
 the niggers cut down that red oak in no 
 time. An' then, when ther' wa'n't no 'coon 
 thar, they tracked him to the nex' tree, an' 
 so on till the whole three trees was cut down. 
 We wouldn't 'a' found out nuthin' about this 
 ef 'Lijah's boy hadn't told on the ole man, 
 an' ye kin jist bet all ye 're wuth that ther' 
 ain't a man in this county that 'u'd cut one 
 o' his trees down ag'in.
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. IO7 
 
 " Well, as I tell ye, we kep' clear o' 
 Parker's place, an' we walked about two 
 mile, an' then we found we 'd gone clean 
 around till we 'd got inter Haskinses woods 
 ag'in. We hadn't gone further inter the 
 woods than ye could pitch a rock afore 
 the dogs got on the track uv a 'coon, an' 
 away we all went arter 'em. Even the little 
 fellers that was stuck in the swamp away 
 back was with us now, fur they got out an' 
 was a-pokin' home through the woods. 
 'Twa'n't long afore that 'coon was treed ; 
 an' when we got up an' looked at the tree, 
 we all felt dead sure it was Haskinses 'coon, 
 this time, an' no mistake. Fur it was jist 
 the kind o' tree that no 'coon but that 'coon 
 would #ver 'a' thought o' climbin'. Mos' 
 'coons and 'possums shin it up a pretty tall 
 tree, to get as fur away frum the dogs as 
 they kin, an' the tall trees is often purty 
 slim trees, an' easy cut down. But this 
 here 'coon o' Haskinses he had more sense 
 than that. He jist skooted up the thickest 
 tree he could find. He didn't care about 
 gittin' up high. He know'd the dogs 
 couldn't climb no tree at all, an' that no 
 man or boy was a-comin' up after him. So 
 he wanted to give 'em the best job o' chop- 
 pin' he know'd how. Ther' ain't no smarter
 
 108 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 critter than 'coons in this whole world. 
 Dogs ain't no circumstance to 'em. About 
 four or five year ago, I was a-livin' with 
 Riley Marsh, over by the Court-house ; an' 
 his wife she had a tame 'coon, an' this little 
 beast was a mighty lot smarter than any 
 human bein' in the house. Sometimes, when 
 he'd come it a little too heavy with his 
 tricks, they used to chain him up, but he 
 always got loose and come a humpin' inter 
 the house with a bit o' the chain to his 
 collar. D' ye know how a 'coon walks ? He 
 never comes straight ahead like a Christian, 
 but he humps up his back, an' he twists 
 roun' his tail, an' he sticks out his head, 
 crooked like, frum under his ha'r, an' he 
 comes inter a room sideways an' a kind o' 
 cross, as ef he 'd a- wanted ter stay out an' 
 play, an' ye 'd made him come in the house 
 ter learn his lessons. 
 
 "Well, as I tell ye, this 'coon broke his 
 chain ev'ry time, an' it was a good thick 
 dog-chain, an' that puzzled Riley ; but one 
 day he saw the little runt goin' aroun' an' 
 aroun' hoppin' over his chain ev'ry time, till 
 he got an awful big twist on his chain, an* 
 then it was easy enough to strain on it till a 
 link opened. But Riley put a swivel on his 
 chain, an' stopped that fun. But they 'd let
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. IO9 
 
 him out purty often ; an' one day he 
 squirmed himself inter the kitchen, an' thar 
 he see the tea-kittle a-settin' by the fire- 
 place. The lid was off, an' ole 'cooney 
 thought that was jist the kind uv a black 
 hole he 'd been used to crawlin' inter afore 
 he got tame. So he crawled in an' curled 
 himself up an' went to sleep. Arter a while, 
 in comes Aunt Hannah to git supper ; an' 
 she picks up the kittle, an' findin' it heavy, 
 thinks it was full o' water, an' puts on the 
 lid an' hung it over the fire. Then she 
 clapped on some light-wood to hurry up 
 things. Purty soon that kittle began to 
 warm ; an' then, all uv a sudden, off pops 
 the lid, an' out shoots Mister 'Coon like a 
 rocket. ' An' ther' never was, in all this 
 whole world, sich a frightened ole nigger 
 as Aunt Hannah. She thought it was the 
 debbil, sure, an' she giv' a yell that fetched 
 ev'ry man on the place. That ere 'coon had 
 more mischief in him than any live thing ye 
 ever see. He 'd pick pockets, hide ev'ry 
 thing he could find, an' steal eggs. He 'd 
 find an egg ef the hen 'u'd sneak off an' lay 
 it at the bottom uv the crick. One Sunday, 
 Riley's wife went to all-day preachin' at 
 Hornorsville, an' she put six mockin' -birds 
 she was a-raisin' in one cage ; an', fur fear
 
 1 10 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 the 'coon 'u'd get 'em, she hung the cage 
 f rum a hook in the middle uv the ceilin' in 
 the chamber. She had to 'git upon a chair to 
 do it. Well, she went to preachin', an' that 
 'coon he got inter the house an' eat up ev'ry 
 one o' them mockin'-birds. Ther' wasn't no 
 tellin' 'xactly how he done it ; but we 
 reckoned he got up on the high mantel-piece 
 an' made one big jump from thar to the cage, 
 an' hung on till he put his paw through an' 
 hauled out one bird. Then he dropped an' 
 eat that, an' made anuther jump, till they 
 was all gone. Anyway, he got all the birds, 
 an' that was the last meal he ever eat. 
 
 " Well, as I tell ye, that 'coon he got inter 
 the thickest tree in the whole woods ; an' 
 thar he sat a-peepin' at us from a crotch 
 that wasn't twenty feet frum the ground. 
 Young Charley Ferris he took a burnin' 
 chunk that one o' the boys had fetched along 
 frum the fire, an' throw' d it up at him, 'at 
 we could all see him plain. He was Has- 
 kinses 'coon, sure. There wasn't a stripe on 
 his tail. Arter that, the niggers jist made 
 them axes swing, I tell ye. They had a big 
 job afore 'em ; but they took turns at it, an' 
 didn't waste no time. An' the rest uv us, we 
 got the dogs ready. We wasn't a-goin' to 
 let this 'coon off this here time. No, sir?
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. Ill 
 
 Ther' was too many dogs, as I tell ye, an' 
 we had four or five uv the clumsiest uv 'em 
 tuk a little way off, with boys to hole 'em ; 
 an' the other dogs an' the hounds, 'specially 
 old Chink, was held ready to tackle the 
 'coon when the time come. An' we had to 
 be mighty sharp about this, too, fur we all 
 saw that that thar 'coon was a-goin' to put 
 the minute the tree come down. He wasn't 
 goin' to git in a hole an' be cut out. Ther' 
 didn't 'pear to be any hole, an' he didn't 
 want none. All he wanted was a good 
 thick tree an' a crotch to set in an' think. 
 That was what he was a-doin'. He was 
 cunjerin' up some trick or other. We all 
 know'd that, but we jist made up our minds 
 to be reaVly fur him ; an' though, as he was 
 Haskinses 'coon, the odds was ag'in us, we 
 was dead sure we 'd git him this time. 
 
 "I thought that thar tree never was a- 
 comin' down ; but purty soon it began to 
 crack and lean, and then down she come. 
 Ev'ry dog, man, and boy, made a rush fur 
 that crotch, but ther' was no coon thar. As 
 the tree come down he seed how the land 
 lay ; and quicker 'n any light'in' in this whole 
 world he jist streaked the other way to the 
 root o' the tree, giv' one hop over the stump, 
 an' was off. I seed him do it, an' the dogs
 
 112 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 
 
 see him, but they wasn't quick enough, and 
 couldn't stop 'em selves they was goin' so 
 hard fur the crotch. 
 
 "Ye never did see in all yer days sech a 
 mad crowd as that thar crowd around that 
 tree, but they didn't stop none to sw'ar. 
 The dogs was arter the 'coon, an' arter him 
 we went too. He put fur the edge of the 
 woods, which looked queer, fur a 'coon never 
 will go out into the open if he kin help it ; 
 but the dogs was so hot arter him that he 
 couldn't run fur, and he was treed ag'in in 
 less than five minutes. This time he was in 
 a tall hick'ry-tree, right on the edge o' the 
 woods ; and it wa'n't a very thick tree, nuther ; 
 so the niggers they jist tuk ther' axes, but 
 afore they could make a single crack, ole 
 Haskins he runs at 'em an' pushes 'em away. 
 
 "* Don't ye touch that thar tree!' he 
 hollers. ' That hick'ry marks my line ! ' 
 An' sure enough, that was the tree with the 
 surveyors' cuts on it, that marked the place 
 where the line took a corner that run atween 
 Haskinses farm and Widder Thorp's. He 
 know'd the tree the minute he seed it, an' 
 so did I, fur I carried the chain for the sur- 
 veyors when they laid off the line ; an' we 
 could all see the cut they'd blazed on it, 
 fur it was fresh yit, an' it was gittin' to
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 11$ 
 
 be daylight now, an' we could see things 
 plain. 
 
 "Well, as I tell ye, ev'ry man uv us jist 
 r'ared and snorted, an' the dogs an' boys 
 was madder'n the rest uv us, but ole Haskins 
 he didn't give in. He jist walked aroun' 
 that tree an' wouldn't let a nigger touch it. 
 He said he wanted to kill the 'coon jist as 
 much as anybody, but he wasn't a-goin to 
 have his line sp'iled, arter the money he 'd 
 spent, fur all the 'coons in this whole world. 
 
 "Now did ye ever hear of sich a 'cute 
 trick as that ? That thar 'coon he must 'a' 
 knowed that was Haskinses line-tree, an' 
 I 'spect he 'd 'a' made fur it fust, ef he 'd 
 a-knowed ole Haskins was along. But 
 he didnt know it, till he was a-settin' in 
 the crotch uv the big tree and could look 
 aroun' an' see who was thar. It wouldn't 
 'a' been no use fur him to go for that 
 hick'ry if Haskins hadn't V bin thar, for 
 he know'd well enough it 'u'd 'a' come down 
 sure. " 
 
 I smiled at this statement, but Martin 
 shook his head. 
 
 " 'Twon't do," he said, " to under vally 
 the sense of no' coon. How 're ye goin' to 
 tell what he knows ? Well, as I teU ye, we 
 was jist gittin' madder an' madder when a 
 
 L,orT. H
 
 114 THAT SAME OLD 'COOX. 
 
 nigger named Wash Webster, lie run out in 
 the field, it was purty light now, as I tell 
 ye an' he hollers, ' O Mahsr Tom ! Mahsr 
 Tom ! Dat ar 'coon he ain't you 'coon ! He 
 got stripes to he tail ! ' 
 
 " We all made a rush out inter the field, 
 to try to git a look ; an' sure enough we 
 could see the little beast a-settin' up in a 
 crotch over on that side, an' I do b'lieve he 
 knowed what we was all a-lookin' up fur, 
 fur he jist kind a lowered his tail out o' the 
 crotch so 's we could see it, an' thar it was, 
 striped, jist like any other 'coon's tail. " 
 
 " And you were so positively sure this 
 time, that it was Haskins' 'coon," I said. 
 "Why, you saw, when the man threw the 
 blazing chunk into the big tree, that it had 
 no bands on its tail. " 
 
 "That's so," said Martin; "but ther' 
 ain't no man that kin see 'xactly straight uv 
 a dark mornin', with no light but a flyin 5 
 chunk, an' 'specially when he wants to see 
 somethin' that isn't thar. An' as to bein' 
 certain about that 'coon, I jist tell ye that 
 ther 's nuthin' a man 's more like to be mis- 
 took about, than a thing he knows fur dead 
 sure. 
 
 " Well, as I tell ye, when we seed that that 
 thar 'coon wa'n't Haskinses 'coon arter all,
 
 THAT SAME OLD 'COON. 11$ 
 
 an' that we couldn't git him out er that tree 
 as long as the ole man was thar, we jist give 
 up and put across the field for Haskinses 
 house, whar we was a-goin' to git breakfus'. 
 Some of the boys and the dogs staid aroun' 
 the tree, but ole Haskins he ordered 'em off 
 an' wouldn't let nobody stay thar, though 
 they had a mighty stretchin'-time gittin' the 
 dogs away." 
 
 "It seems to me," said I, "that there 
 wasn't much profit in that hunt." 
 
 " Well," said Martin, putting his pipe in 
 his pocket, and feeling under his chair for 
 his string of fish, which must have been 
 pretty dry and stiff by this time, "the fun 
 in a 'coon hunt ain't so much in gittin' the 
 'coon, as goin' arter him which is purty 
 much the same in a good many other things, 
 as I tell ye." 
 
 And he took up his fish and departed.
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 IT is now five years since an event occurred 
 which so coloured my life, or rather so 
 changed some of its original colours, that 
 I have thought it well to write an account 
 of it, deeming that its lessons may be of 
 advantage to persons' whose situations in life 
 are similar to my own. 
 
 "When I was quite a young man I adopted 
 literature as a profession ; and having passed 
 through* the necessary preparatory grades, I 
 found myself, after a good many years of 
 hard, and often unremunerative work, in 
 possession of what might be called a fair 
 literary practice. My articles, grave, gay, 
 practical, or fanciful, had come to be con- 
 sidered with a favour by the editors of the 
 various periodicals for which I wrote, on 
 which I found in time I could rely with a 
 very comfortable certainty. My productions 
 created no enthusiasm in the reading public ; 
 they gave me no great reputation or very 
 valuable pecuniary return ; but they were
 
 120 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER, 
 
 always accepted, and my receipts from them, 
 at the time to which I have referred, were 
 as regular and reliable as a salary, and quite 
 sufficient^ give me more than a comfortable 
 support. 
 
 It was at this time I married. I had been 
 engaged for more than a year, but had not 
 been willing to assume the support of a wife 
 until I felt that my pecuniary position was 
 so assured that I could do so with full satis- 
 faction to my own conscience. There was 
 now no doubt in regard to this position, 
 either in my mind or in that of my wife e I 
 worked with great steadiness and regularity ; 
 I knew exactly where to place the produc- 
 tions of my pen, and could calculate, with a 
 fair degree of accuracy, the sums I should 
 receive for them. We were by no means 
 rich ; but we had enough, and were thor- 
 oughly satisfied and content. 
 
 Those of my readers who are married 
 will have no difficulty in remembering the 
 peculiar ecstasy of the first weeks of their 
 wedded life. It is then that the flowers of 
 this world bloom brightest ; that its sun is 
 the most genial ; that its clouds are the 
 scarcest ; that its fruit is the most delicious ; 
 that the air is the most balmy ; that its 
 cigars are of the highest flavour ; that the
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 121 
 
 warmth and radiance of early matrimonial 
 felicity so rarefies the intellectual atmosphere, 
 that the soul mounts higher, and enjoys a 
 wider prospect, than ever before. 
 
 These experiences were mine. The plain 
 claret of my mind was changed to sparkling 
 champagne, and at the very height of its 
 effervescence I wrote a story. The happy 
 thought that then struck me for a tale was of 
 a very peculiar character ; and it interested 
 me so much that I went to work at it with 
 great delight and enthusiasm, and finished 
 it in a comparatively short time. The title 
 of the story was "His Wife's Deceased 
 Sister ; " and when I read it to Hypatia she 
 was delighted with it, and at times was so 
 affected by its pathos that her uncontrollable 
 emotion caused a sympathetic dimness in my 
 eyes, which prevented my seeing the words 
 I had written. When the reading was 
 ended, and my wife had dried her eyes, she 
 turned to me and said, " This story will 
 make your fortune. There has been nothing 
 so pathetic since Lamartine's * History of a 
 Servant-Girl.' " 
 
 As soon as possible the next day I sent 
 my story to the editor of the periodical for 
 which I wrote most frequently, and in which 
 my best productions generally appeared.
 
 122 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 In a few days I had a letter from the editor, 
 in which he praised my story as he had 
 never before praised anything from my pen. 
 It had interested and charmed, he said, not 
 only himself, but all his associates in the 
 office. Even old Gibson, who never cared 
 to read anything until it was in proof, and 
 who never praised anything which had not 
 a joke in it, was induced by the example of 
 the others to read this manuscript, and shed, 
 as he asserted, the first tears that had come 
 from his eyes since his final paternal casti- 
 gation some forty years before. The story 
 would appear, the editor assured me, as soon 
 as he could possibly find room for it. 
 
 If anything could make our skies more 
 genial, our flowers brighter, and the flavour 
 of our fruit and cigars more delicious, it was 
 a letter like this. And when, in a very 
 short time, the story was published, we 
 found that the reading public was inclined 
 to receive it with as much sympathetic 
 interest and favour as had been shown to it 
 by the editors. My personal friends soon 
 began to express enthusiastic opinions upon 
 it. It was highly praised in many of the 
 leading newspapers ; and, altogether, it was 
 a great literary success. I am not inclined 
 to be vain of my writings, and, in general,
 
 HIS WIFE S DECEASED SISTER. 123 
 
 my wife tells me, think too little of them ; 
 but I did feel a good deal of pride and 
 satisfaction in the success of "His Wife's 
 Deceased Sister." If it did not make my 
 fortune, as my wife asserted that it would, 
 it certainly would help me very^much in my 
 literary career. 
 
 In less than a month from the writing of 
 this story, something very unusual and un- 
 expected happened to me. A manuscript 
 was returned by the editor of the periodical 
 in which " His Wife's Deceased Sister " had 
 appeared. "It is a good story/' he wrote, 
 "but not equal to what you have just done. 
 You have made a great hit ; and it would 
 not do to interfere with the reputation you 
 have gained by publishing anything inferior 
 to 'His Wife's Deceased Sister,' which has 
 had such a deserved success." 
 
 I was so unaccustomed to having my work 
 thrown back on my hands, that I think I 
 must have turned a little pale when I read 
 the letter. I said nothing of the matter to 
 my wife, for it would be foolish to drop such 
 grains of sand as this into the smoothly oiled 
 machinery of our domestic felicity ; but I 
 immediately sent the story to another editor. 
 I am not able to express the astonishment I 
 felt, when, in the course of a week, it was
 
 124 HI s WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 sent back to me. The tone of the note 
 accompanying iit indicated a somewhat in- 
 jured feeling on the part of the editor. " I 
 am reluctant," he said, " to decline a manu- 
 script from you ; but you know very well 
 that if you sent me anything like ' His Wife's 
 Deceased Sister ' it would be most promptly 
 accepted." 
 
 I now felt obliged to speak of the affair to 
 my wife, who was quite as much surprised, 
 though, perhaps, not quite as much shocked, 
 as I had been. 
 
 "Let us read the story again," she said, 
 "and see what is the matter with it." 
 When we had finished its perusal, Hypatia 
 remarked : "It is quite as good as many of 
 the stories you have had printed, and I think 
 it very interesting ; although, of course, it is 
 not equal to 'His Wife's Deceased Sister.' " 
 
 " Of course not," said I, " that was an in- 
 spiration that I cannot expect every day. But 
 there must be something wrong about this 
 last story which we do not perceive. Per- 
 haps my rece"nt success may have made me 
 a little careless in writing it." 
 
 "I don't believe that," said Hypatia. 
 
 "At any rate," I continued, "I will 
 lay it aside, and will go to work on a new 
 one. "
 
 HIS WIFE S DECEASED SISTER. 1 25 
 
 In due course of time I had another manu- 
 script finished, and I sent it to my favourite 
 periodical. It was retained some weeks, and 
 then came back to me. "It will never do," 
 the editor wrote, quite warmly, "for you to 
 go backward. The demand for the number 
 containing ' His Wife's Deceased Sister ' still 
 continues, and we do not intend to let you 
 disappoint that great body of readers who 
 would be so eager to see another number 
 containing one of your stories. " 
 
 I sent this manuscript to four other 
 periodicals, and from each of them was it 
 returned with remarks to the effect that, 
 although it was not a bad story in itself, it 
 was nqt what they would expect from the 
 author oi " His Wife's Deceased Sister." 
 
 The editor of a Western magazine wrote 
 to me for a story to be published in a special 
 number which he would issue for the holi- 
 days. I wrote him one of the character 
 and length he asked for, and sent it to him. 
 By return mail it came back to me. * ' I had 
 hoped," the editor wrote, "when I asked 
 for a story from your pen, to receive some- 
 thing like ' His Wife's Deceased Sister,' and 
 I must own that I am very much disap- 
 pointed. " 
 
 I was so filled with anger when I read this
 
 126 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 note, that I openly objurgated " His Wife's 
 Deceased Sister." "You must excuse me," 
 I said to my astonished wife, " for express- 
 ing myself thus in your presence ; but that 
 confounded story will be the ruin of me yet. 
 Until it is forgotten nobody will ever take 
 anything I write." 
 
 " And you cannot expect it ever to be for- 
 gotten," said Hypatia, with tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 It is needless for me to detail my literary 
 efforts in the course of the next few months. 
 The ideas of the editors with whom my 
 principal business had been done, in regard 
 to my literary ability, had been so raised by 
 my unfortunate story of "His Wife's De- 
 ceased Sister," that I found it was of no use 
 to send them anything of lesser merit. And 
 as to the other journals which I tried, they 
 evidently considered it an insult for me to 
 send them matter inferior to that by which 
 my reputation had lately risen. The fact 
 was that my successful story had ruined me. 
 My income was at an end, and want actually 
 stared me in the face ; and I must admit 
 that I did not like the expression of its 
 countenance. It was of no use for me to 
 try to write another story like "His Wife's 
 Deceased Sister." I could not get married
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 127 
 
 every time I began a new manuscript, and 
 it was the exaltation of mind caused by 
 my wedded felicity which produced that 
 story. 
 
 " It 's perfectly dreadful ! " said my wife. 
 "If I had had a sister, and she had died, I 
 would have thought it was my fault." 
 
 " It could not be your fault," I answered, 
 " and I do not think it was mine. I had no 
 intention of deceiving anybody into the 
 belief that I could do that sort of thing 
 every time, and it ought not to be expected 
 of me. Suppose Raphael's patrons had tried 
 to keep him screwed up to the pitch of the 
 Sistine Madonna, and had refused to buy any- 
 thing -which was not as good as that. In 
 that cas6 I think he would have occupied a 
 much earlier and narrower grave than that 
 on which Mr. Morris Moore hangs his 
 funeral decorations." 
 
 "But my dear," said Hypatia, who was 
 posted on such subjects, "the Sistine Ma- 
 donna was one of his latest paintings. " 
 
 "Very true," said I; "but if he had 
 married, as I did, he would have painted it 
 earlier." 
 
 I was walking homeward one afternoon 
 about this time, when I met Barbel, a man 
 I had known well in my early literary
 
 128 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTEK. 
 
 career. He was now about fifty years of 
 age, but looked older. His hair and beard 
 were quite grey ; and his clothes, which were 
 of the same general hue, gave me the idea 
 that they, like his hair, had originally been 
 black. Age is very hard on a man's external 
 appointments. Barbel had an air of having 
 been to let for a long time, and quite out of 
 repair. But there was a kindly gleam in 
 his eye, and he welcomed me cordially. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter, old fellow?" 
 said he. " I never saw you look so wo- 
 begone." 
 
 I had no reason to conceal anything from 
 Barbel. In my younger days he had been 
 of great use to me, and he had a right to 
 know the state of my affairs. I laid the 
 whole case plainly before him. 
 
 "Look here," he said, when I had fin- 
 ished, " come with me to my room : I have 
 something I would like to say to you there." 
 
 I followed Barbel to his room. It was at 
 the top of a very dirty and well-worn house, 
 which stood in a narrow and lumpy street, 
 into which few vehicles ever penetrated, ex- 
 cept the ash and garbage carts, and the 
 rickety wagons of the venders of stale 
 vegetables. 
 
 "This is not exactly a fashionable pro-
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 1 29 
 
 menade," said Barbel, as we approached the 
 house; "but in some respects it reminds 
 me of the streets in Italian towns, where 
 the palaces lean over towards each other 
 in such a friendly way." 
 
 Barbel's room was, to my mind, rather 
 more doleful than the street. It was dark, 
 it was dusty, and cobwebs hung from every 
 corner. The few chairs upon the floor, and 
 the books upon a greasy table, seemed to be 
 afflicted with some dorsal epidemic, for their 
 backs were either gone or broken. A little 
 bedstead in the corner was covered with a 
 spread made of New York Heralds with 
 their edges pasted together. 
 
 "There is nothing better," said Barbel, 
 noticing* my glance towards this novel coun- 
 terpane, "for a bedcovering than news- 
 papers : they keep you as warm as a 
 blanket, and are much lighter. I used to 
 use Tribunes, but they rattled too much. " 
 
 The only part of the room which was well 
 lighted was at one end near the solitary 
 window. Here, upon a table with a spliced 
 leg, stood a little grindstone. 
 
 "At the other end of the room," said 
 Barbel, ' ' is my cook-stove, which you can't 
 see unless I light the candle in the bottle 
 which stands by it ; but if you don't care 
 
 L.orT 1
 
 130 HIS WIFES DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 particularly to examine it, I won't go to the 
 expense of lighting up. You might pick up 
 a good many odd pieces of bric-a-brac around 
 here, if you chose to strike a match and in- 
 vestigate ; but I would not advise you to do 
 so. It would pay better to throw the things 
 out of the window than to carry them down- 
 stairs. The particular piece of indoor decora- 
 tion to which I wish to call your attention 
 is this. " And he led me to a little wooden 
 frame which hung against the wall near the 
 window. Behind a dusty piece of glass it 
 held what appeared to be a leaf from a small 
 magazine or journal. "There," said he, 
 "you see a page from The Grasshopper, a 
 humorous paper which flourished in this 
 city some half-dozen years ago. I used to 
 write regularly for that paper, as you may 
 remember." 
 
 "Oh* yes, indeed !" I exclaimed. "And 
 I shall never forget your ' Conundrum of the 
 Anvil' which appeared in it. How often have 
 I laughed at that most wonderful conceit, 
 and how often have I put it to my friends ! " 
 
 Barbel gazed at me silently for a moment, 
 and then he pointed to the frame. "That 
 printed page," he said solemnly, " contains 
 the 'Conundrum of the Anvil.' I hang it 
 there, so that I can see it while I work.
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 131 
 
 That conundrum ruined me. It was the last 
 thing I wrote for The Grasshopper. How I 
 ever came to imagine it, I cannot tell. It is 
 one of those things which occur to a man but 
 once in a lifetime. After the wild shout of 
 delight with which the public greeted that 
 conundrum, my subsequent efforts met with 
 hoots of derision. The Grasshopper turned 
 its hind-legs upon me. I sank from bad to 
 worse, much worse, until at last I found 
 myself reduced to my present occupation, 
 which is that of grinding points to pins. By 
 this I procure my bread, coffee, and tobacco, 
 and sometimes potatoes and meat. One day 
 while I was hard at work, an organ-grinder 
 came' into the street below. He played the 
 serenade, from * Trovatore ; ' and the familiar 
 notes brought back visions of old days and 
 old delights, when the successful writer wore 
 good clothes and sat at operas, when he 
 looked into sweet eyes and talked of Italian 
 airs, when his future appeared all a succes- 
 sion of bright scenery and joyous acts, with- 
 out any provision for a drop-curtain. And 
 as my ear listened, and my mind wandered 
 in this happy retrospect, my every faculty 
 seemed exalted, and, without any thought 
 upon the matter, I ground points upon my 
 pins so fine, so regular and smooth, that
 
 132 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER, 
 
 they would have pierced with ease the 
 leather of a boot, or slipped among, without 
 abrasion, the finest threads of rare old lace. 
 When the organ stopped, and I fell back into 
 my real world of cobwebs and mustiness, I 
 gazed upon the pins I had just ground, and, 
 without a moment's hesitation, I threw 
 them into the street, and reported the lot 
 as spoiled. This cost me a little money, 
 but it saved me my livelihood." 
 
 After a few moments of silence, Barbel 
 resumed 
 
 "I have no more to say to you, my 
 young friend. All I want you to do is to 
 look upon that framed conundimm, then 
 upon this grindstone, and then to go home 
 and reflect. As for me, I have a gross of 
 pins to grind before the sun goes down." 
 
 I cannot say that my depression of mind 
 \vas at all relieved by what I had seen and 
 heard. I had lost sight of Barbel for some 
 years, and I had. supposed him still floating 
 on the sun-sparkling stream of prosperity 
 where I had last seen him. It was a great 
 shock to me to find him in such a condition 
 of poverty and squalor, and to see a man who 
 had originated the "Conundrum of the An- 
 vil" reduced to the soul-depressing occupa- 
 tion of grinding pin-points. As I walked and
 
 HIS WIFE S DECEASED SISTER. 133 
 
 thought, the dreadful picture of a totally 
 eclipsed future arose before my mind. The 
 moral of Barbel sank deep into my heart. 
 
 When I reached home I told my wife the 
 story of my friend Barbel. She listened 
 with a sad and eager interest. 
 
 "I am afraid," she said, "if our fortunes 
 do not quickly mend, that we shall have to 
 buy two little grindstones. You know I 
 could help you at that sort of thing." 
 
 For a long time we sat together and talked, 
 and devised many plans for the future. 1 
 did not think it necessary yet for me to look 
 out for a pin-contract ; but I must find some 
 way of making money, or we should starve 
 to death. Of course, the first thing that 
 suggested itself was the possibility of finding 
 some cfther business ; but, apart from the 
 difficulty of immediately obtaining remune- 
 rative work in occupations to which I had 
 not been trained, I felt a great and natural 
 reluctance to give up a profession for which I 
 had carefully prepared myself, and which I 
 had adoptedas my life-work. Itwouldbe very 
 hard for me to lay down my pen for ever, and 
 to close the top of my inkstand upon all the 
 bright and happy fancies which I had seen 
 mirrored in its tranquil pool. We talked 
 and pondered the rest of that day and a good
 
 134 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 deal of the night, but we came to no conclu- 
 sion as to what it would be best for us to do. 
 
 The next day I determined to go and call 
 upon the editor of the journal for which, in 
 happier days, before the blight of "His 
 Wife's Deceased Sister" rested upon me, I 
 used most frequently to write, and, having 
 frankly explained my condition to him, to 
 ask his advice. The editor was a good 
 man, and had always been my friend. He 
 listened with great attention to what I told 
 him, and evidently sympathised with me in 
 my trouble. 
 
 "As we have written to you," he said, 
 " the only reason why we did not accept the 
 manuscripts you sent us was, that they would 
 have disappointed the high hopes that the 
 public had formed in regard to you. We 
 have had letter after letter asking when we 
 were going to publish another story like 
 ' His Wife's Deceased Sister.' We felt, and 
 we still feel, that it would be wrong to allow 
 you to destroy the fair fabric which yourself 
 has raised. But," he added, with a kind 
 smile, ' ' I see very plainly that your well- 
 deserved reputation will be of little advan- 
 tage to you if you should starve at the 
 moment that its genial beams are, so to 
 speak, lighting you up."
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 135 
 
 "Its beams are not genial," I answered. 
 " They have scorched and withered me." 
 
 "How would you like," said the editor, 
 after a short reflection, "to allow us to 
 publish the stories you have recently written 
 under some other name than your own ? 
 That would satisfy us and the public, would 
 put money in your pocket, and would not 
 interfere with your reputation. " 
 
 Joyfully I seized that noble fellow by the 
 hand, and instantly accepted his proposition. 
 " Of course," said I, " a reputation is a very 
 good thing ; but no reputation can take the 
 place of food, clothes, and a house to live in ; 
 and I gladly agree to sink my over-illumined 
 name -into oblivion, and to appear before the 
 public as a new and unknown writer." 
 
 " I ho^>e that need not be for long," he 
 said, "for I feel sure that you will yet write 
 stories as good as ' His Wife's Deceased 
 Sister.' " 
 
 All the manuscripts I had on hand I now 
 sent to my good friend the editor, and in due 
 and proper order they appeared in his jour- 
 nal under the name of John Darmstadt, 
 which I had selected as a substitute for 
 my own, permanently disabled. I made a 
 similar arrangement with other editors, and 
 John Darmstadt received the credit of every-
 
 136 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 thing that proceeded from my pen. Our 
 circumstances now became very comfortable, 
 and occasionally we even allowed ourselves to 
 indulge in little dreams of prosperity. 
 
 Time passed on very pleasantly ; one year, 
 another, and then a little son was born to 
 us. It is often difficult, I believe, for 
 thoughtful persons to decide whether the 
 beginning of their conjugal career, or the 
 earliest weeks in the life of their first-born, 
 be the happiest and proudest period of their 
 existence. For myself I can only say that the 
 same exaltation of mind, the same rarefica- 
 tion of idea and invention, which succeeded 
 upon my wedding-day came upon me now. 
 As then my ecstatic emotions crystallised 
 themselves into a motive for a story, and 
 without delay I set myself to work upon it. 
 My boy was about six weeks old when the 
 manuscript was finished ; and one evening, 
 as we sat before a comfortable fire in our 
 sitting-room, with the curtains drawn, and 
 the soft lamp lighted, and the baby sleeping 
 soundly in the adjoining chamber, I read the 
 story to my wife. 
 
 When I had finished, my wife arose, and 
 threw herself into my arms. "I was never 
 so proud of you," she said, her glad eyes 
 sparkling, "as I am at this moment. That
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 137 
 
 is a wonderful story ! It is, indeed I am 
 sure it is, just as good as * His Wife's 
 Deceased Sister.' " 
 
 As she spoke these words, a sudden and 
 chilling sensation crept over us both. All 
 her warmth and fervour, and the proud and 
 happy glow engendered within me by this 
 praise and appreciation from one I loved, 
 vanished in an instant. We stepped apart, 
 and gazed upon each other with pallid faces. 
 In the same moment the terrible truth had 
 flashed upon us both. 
 
 This story was as good as " His Wife's 
 Deceased Sister : ' ! 
 
 We stood silent. The exceptional lot of 
 Barbel's super-pointed pins seemed to pierce 
 our very^souls. A dreadful vision rose be- 
 fore me of an impending fall and crash, in 
 which our domestic happiness should vanish, 
 and our prospects for our boy be wrecked, 
 just as we had begun to build them up. 
 
 My wife approached me, and took my 
 hand in hers, which was as cold as ice. " Be 
 strong and firm, " she said-. * ' A great danger 
 threatens us, but you must brace yourself 
 against it. Be strong and firm." 
 
 I pressed her hand, and we said no more 
 that night. 
 
 The next day I took the manuscript I had
 
 138 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 
 
 just written, and carefully enfolded it in 
 stout wrapping-paper. Then I went to a 
 neighbouring grocery store, and bought a 
 small, strong, tin box, originally intended 
 for biscuit, with a cover that fitted tightly. 
 In this I placed my manuscript ; and then I 
 took the box to a tinsmith, and had the top 
 fastened on with hard solder. When I went 
 home I ascended into the garret, and brought 
 down to my study a ship's cash-box, which 
 had once belonged to one of my family who 
 was a sea-captain. This box was very heavy, 
 and firmly bound with iron, and was secured 
 by two massive locks. Calling my wife, I 
 told her of the contents of the tin case, which 
 I then placed in the box, and, having shut 
 down the heavy lid, I doubly locked it. 
 
 " This key," said I, putting it in my 
 pocket, " I shall throw into the river when 
 I go out this afternoon." 
 
 My wife watched me eagerly, with a pallid 
 and firm, set countenance, but upon which 
 I could see the faint glimmer of returning 
 happiness. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be well," she said, "to 
 secure it still further by sealing-wax and 
 pieces of tape ? " 
 
 "No," said I. "I do not believe that 
 any one will attempt to tamper with our
 
 HIS WIFE'S DECEASED SISTER. 139 
 
 prosperity. And now, my dear," I continued 
 in an impressive voice, "no one but you, 
 and, in the course of time, our son, shall 
 know that this manuscript exists. When I 
 am dead, those who survive me may, if they 
 see fit, cause this box to be split open, and 
 the story published. The reputation it may 
 give my name cannot harm me then."
 
 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE."
 
 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 
 
 IT was half-past one by the clock in the 
 office of the Registrar of Woes. The 
 room was empty, for it was Wednesday, and 
 the Registrar always went home early on 
 Wednesday afternoons. He had made that 
 arrangement when he accepted the office. 
 He was willing to serve his fellow-citizens 
 in any suitable position to which he might 
 be called,*but he had private interests which 
 could not be neglected. He belonged to his 
 country, but there was a house in the 
 country which belonged to him ; and there 
 were a great many things appertaining to 
 that house which needed attention, espe- 
 cially in pleasant summer weather. It is 
 true he was often absent on afternoons 
 which did not fall on the Wednesday, but 
 the fact of his having appointed a particular 
 time for the furtherance of his outside 
 interests so emphasised their importance 
 that his associates in the office had no diffi-
 
 144 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 culty in understanding that affairs of such 
 moment could not always be attended to in 
 a single afternoon of the week. 
 
 But although the large room devoted to 
 the especial use of the Registrar was unoc- 
 cupied, there were other rooms connected 
 with it which were not in that condition. 
 With the suite of offices to the left we have 
 nothing to do, but will confine our attention 
 to a moderate-sized room to the right of the 
 Registrar's office, and connected by a door, 
 now closed, with that large and handsomely 
 furnished chamber. This was the office of 
 the Clerk of Shipwrecks, and it was at 
 present occupied by five persons. One of 
 these was the clerk himself, a man of goodly 
 appearance, somewhere between twenty-five 
 and forty-five years of age, and of a de- 
 meanour such as might be supposed to 
 belong to one who had occupied a high 
 position in State affairs, but who, by the 
 cabals of his enemies, had been forced to 
 resign the great operations of statesmanship 
 which he had been directing, and who now 
 stood, with a quite resigned air, pointing 
 out to the populace the futile and disastrous 
 efforts of the incompetent one who was en- 
 deavouring to fill his place. The Clerk of 
 Shipwrecks had never fallen from such a
 
 THE "THOMAS IIYKE." 145 
 
 position, having never occupied one, but he 
 had acquired the demeanour referred to 
 without going through the preliminary 
 exercises. 
 
 Another occupant was a very young man, 
 the personal clerk of the Registrar of Woes, 
 who always closed all the doors of the office 
 of that functionary on Wednesday after- 
 noons, and at other times when outside 
 interest demanded his principal's absence, 
 after which he betook himself to the room of 
 his friend the Shipwreck Clerk. 
 
 Then there was a middle-aged man named 
 Matthers, also a friend of the clerk, and who 
 was one of the eight who had made applica- 
 tion for a sub-position in this department, 
 which was now filled by a man who was 
 expected o resign when a friend of his, a 
 gentleman of influence in an interior county, 
 should succeed in procuring the nomination 
 as congressional representative of his dis- 
 trict of an influential politician, whose 
 election was considered assured in case cer- 
 tain expected action on the part of the 
 administration should bring his party into 
 power. The person now occupying the sub- 
 position hoped to get something better, and 
 Matthers, consequently, was very willing, 
 while waiting for the place, to visit the 
 
 L. or T. K.
 
 146 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 offices of the department and acquaint him- 
 self with its duties. 
 
 A fourth person was J. George Watts, 
 a juryman by profession, who had brought 
 with him his brother-in-law, a stranger in 
 the city. 
 
 The Shipwreck Clerk had taken off his 
 good coat, which he had worn to luncheon, 
 and had replaced it by a lighter garment of 
 linen, much bespattered with ink ; and he 
 now produced a cigar-box, containing six 
 cigars. 
 
 "Gents," said he, "here is the fag end of 
 a box of cigars. It 's not like having the 
 pick of the box, but they are all I have 
 left." 
 
 Mr. Matthers, J. George Watts, and the 
 brother-in-law each took a cigar with that 
 careless yet deferential manner which always 
 distinguishes the treatee from the treator ; 
 and then the box was protruded in an off- 
 hand way toward Harry Covare, the personal 
 clerk of the Registrar ; but this young man 
 declined, saying that he preferred cigarettes, 
 a package of which he drew from his pocket. 
 He had very often seen that cigar- box with 
 a Havana brand, which he himself had 
 brought from the other room after the 
 Registrar had emptied it, passed around
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 147 
 
 with six cigars, no more nor less, and he 
 was wise enough to know that the Shipwreck 
 Clerk did not expect to supply him with 
 smoking material. If that gentleman had 
 offered to the friends who generally dropped 
 in on him on Wednesday afternoon the paper 
 bag of cigars sold at five cents each when 
 bought singly, but half a dozen for a quarter 
 of a dollar, they would have been quite 
 as thankfully received ; but it better pleased 
 his deprecative soul to put them in an empty 
 cigar-box, and thus throw around them the 
 halo of the presumption that ninety-four 
 of their imported companions had been 
 smoked. 
 
 The Shipwreck Clerk, having lighted a 
 cigar for ^limself , sat down in his revolving 
 chair, turned his back to his desk, and 
 threw himself into an easy cross-legged 
 attitude, which showed that he was per- 
 fectly at home in that office. Harry Covare 
 mounted a high stool, while the visitors 
 seated themselves in three wooden arm- 
 chairs. But few words had been said, and 
 each man had scarcely tossed his first 
 tobacco ashes on the floor, when some one 
 wearing heavy boots was heard opening an 
 outside door and entering the Registrar's 
 room. Harry Covare jumped down from
 
 148 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 his stool, laid his half-smoked cigarette 
 thereon, and bounced into the next room, 
 closing the door after him. In about a 
 minute he returned, and the Shipwreck 
 Clerk looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 "An old cock in a pea-jacket," said Mr. 
 Covare, taking up his cigarette, and mount- 
 ing his stool. "I told him the Registrar 
 would be here in the morning. He said he 
 had something to report about a shipwreck ; 
 and I told him the Registrar would be here 
 in the morning. Had to tell him that three 
 times, and then he went." 
 
 "School don't keep Wednesday after- 
 noons," said Mr. J. George Watts with a 
 knowing smile. 
 
 "No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, 
 emphatically, changing the crossing of his 
 legs. "A man can't keep grinding on day 
 in and out without breaking down. Out- 
 siders may say what they please about it, 
 but it can't be done. We Ve got to let up 
 sometimes. People who do the work need 
 the rest just as much as those who do the 
 looking on." 
 
 "And more, too, I should say," observed 
 Mr. Matthers. 
 
 "Our little let-up on Wednesday after- 
 noons," modestly observed Harry Covare,
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 149 
 
 "is like death; it is sure to come, while 
 the let-ups we get other days are more like 
 the diseases which prevail in certain areas ; 
 you can't be sure whether you 're going to 
 get them or not." 
 
 The Shipwreck Clerk smiled benignantly 
 at this remark, and the rest laughed. Mr. 
 Matthers had heard it before, but he would 
 not impair the pleasantness of his relations 
 with a future colleague by hinting that he 
 remembered it. 
 
 " He gets such ideas from his beastly sta- 
 tistics," said the Shipwreck Clerk. 
 
 "Which come pretty heavy on him some- 
 times, I expect," observed Mr. Matthers. 
 
 "They needn't," said the Shipwreck Clerk, 
 " if things were managed here as they ought 
 to be. If John J. Lay lor," meaning thereby 
 the Registrar, " was the right kind of a 
 man, you 'd see things very different here 
 from what they are now. There 'd be a 
 larger force." 
 
 " That 's so," said Mr. Matthers. 
 
 " And not only that, but there 'd be better 
 buildings, and more accommodations. Were 
 any of you ever up to Anster ? Well, take a 
 run up there some day, and see what sort of 
 buildings the department has there. William 
 Q. Green is a very different man from John
 
 150 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 J. Laylor. You don't see him sitting in his 
 chair and picking his teeth the whole winter, 
 while the representative from his district 
 never says a word about his department from 
 one end of a session of Congress to the other. 
 Now if I had charge of things here, I 'd make 
 such changes that you wouldn't know the 
 place. I 'd throw two rooms off here, and a 
 corridor and entrance door at that end of the 
 building. I 'd close up this door," pointing 
 toward the Registrar's room, "and if John 
 J. Laylor wanted to come in here, he might 
 go round to the end door like other people. " 
 
 The thought struck Harry Covare that in 
 that case there would be no John J. Laylor, 
 but he would not interrupt. 
 
 " And what is more," continued the Ship- 
 wreck Clerk, "I'd close up this whole de- 
 partment at twelve o'clock on Saturdays. 
 The way things are managed now, a man has 
 no time to attend to.his own private business. 
 Suppose I think of buying a piece of land, 
 and want to go out and look at it ; or suppose 
 any one of you gentlemen were here, and 
 thought of buying a piece of land and wanted 
 to go out and look at it, what are you going 
 to do about it? You don't want to go on 
 Sunday, and when are you going to go',?" 
 
 Not one of the other gentlemen had ever
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 151 
 
 thought of buying a piece of land, nor had 
 they any reason to suppose that they ever 
 would purchase an inch of soil unless they 
 bought it in a flower-pot ; but they all agreed 
 that the way things were managed now, there 
 was no time for a man to attend to his own 
 business. 
 
 " But you can't expect John J. Lay lor to 
 do anything," said the Shipwreck Clerk. 
 
 However, there was one thing which that 
 gentleman always expected John J. Laylor 
 to do. When the Clerk was surrounded by 
 a number of persons in hours of business, and 
 when he had succeeded in impressing them 
 with the importance of his functions, and the 
 necessity of paying deferential attention to 
 himself if they wished their business attended 
 to, John J. Laylor would be sure to walk into 
 the office and address the Shipwreck Clerk in 
 such a manner as to let the people present 
 know that he was a clerk and nothing else, 
 and that he, the Registrar, was the head of 
 that department. These humiliations the 
 Shipwreck Clerk never forgot. 
 
 There was a little pause here, and then 
 Mr. Matthers remarked 
 
 " I should think you 'd be awful bored with 
 the long stories of shipwrecks that the people 
 come and tell you."
 
 152 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 He hoped to change the conversation, be- 
 cause, although he wished to remain on good 
 terms with the subordinate officers, it was 
 not desirable that he should be led to say 
 much against John J. Laylor. 
 
 " No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, 
 " I am not bored. I did not come here to be 
 bored, and as long as I have charge of this 
 office I don't intend to be. The long-winded 
 old salts who come here to report their 
 wrecks never spin out their prosy yarns to 
 me. The first thing I do is to let them know 
 just what I want of them ; and not an inch 
 beyond that does a man of them go, at least 
 while I am managing the business. There 
 are times when John J. Laylor comes in, and 
 puts in his oar, and wants to hear the whole 
 story, which is pure stuff and nonsense, for 
 John J. Laylor doesn't know anything more 
 about a shipwreck than he does about " 
 
 "The endemics in the Lake George area," 
 suggested Harry Covare. 
 
 " Yes ; or any other part of his business," 
 said the Shipwreck Clerk; "and when he 
 takes it into his head to interfere, all business 
 stops till some second mate of a coal-schooner 
 has told his whole story, from his sighting 
 land on the morning of one day to his getting 
 ashore on it on the afternoon of the next.
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 153 
 
 Now I don't put up with any such nonsense. 
 There 's no man living that can tell me any- 
 thing about shipwrecks. I 've never been to 
 sea myself, but that 's not necessary ; and if 
 I had gone, it 's not likely Ij'd been wrecked. 
 But I 've read about every kind of shipwreck 
 that ever happened. When I first came 
 here I took care to post myself upon these 
 matters, because I knew it would- save 
 trouble. I have read JRobinson Crusoe, 
 ' The Wreck of the Grosvenor,' ' The Sinking 
 of the Royal George,' and wrecks by water- 
 spouts, tidal waves, and every other thing 
 whieh would knock a ship into a cocked hat, 
 and I 've classified every sort of wreck under 
 its proper head ; and when I Ve found out to 
 what class a wreck belongs, I know all about 
 it. Now, when a man comes here to report 
 a wreck, the first thing he has to do is just 
 to shut down on his story, and to stand up 
 square and answer a few questions that I put 
 to him. In two minutes I know just what 
 kind of shipwreck hei's had ; and then, when 
 he gives me the name of his vessel, and one 
 or two other points, he may go. I know all 
 about that wreck, and I make a much better 
 report of the business than he could have 
 done if he 'd stood here talking three days 
 and three nights. The amount of money
 
 154 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 that 's been saved to our tax-payers by the 
 way I've systematised the business of this 
 office is not to be calculated in figures." 
 
 The brother-in-law of J. George Watts 
 knocked the ashes from the remnant of his 
 cigar, looked contemplatively at the coal for 
 a moment, and then remarked 
 
 " I think you said there 's no kind of ship- 
 wreck you don't know about ?" 
 
 "That's what I said," replied the Ship- 
 wreck Clerk. 
 
 " I think," said the other, " I could tell 
 you of a shipwreck, in which I was concerned, 
 that wouldn't go into any of your classes." 
 
 The Shipwreck Clerk threw away the end 
 of his cigar, put both his hands into his 
 trousers pockets, stretched out his legs, and 
 looked steadfastly at the man who had made 
 this unwarrantable remark. Then a pitying 
 smile stole over his countenance, and he said : 
 ' ' Well, sir, I 'd like to hear your account of 
 it ; and before you get a quarter through I 
 can stop you just where you are, and go 
 ahead and tell the rest of the story my- 
 self." 
 
 ' ' That 's so, " said Harry Co vare. ' ' You '11 
 see him do it just as sure pop as a spread 
 rail bounces the engine." 
 
 "Well, then," said the brother-in-law of
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 155 
 
 J. George Watts, "I'll tell it." And he 
 began : 
 
 ' ' It was just two years ago, the first of this 
 month, that I sailed for South America in the 
 Thomas Hyke." 
 
 At this point the Shipwreck Clerk turned 
 and opened a large book at the letter T. 
 
 " That wreck wasn't reported here," said 
 the other, " and you won't find it in your 
 book/' 
 
 "At Anster, perhaps?" said the Ship- 
 wreck Clerk, closing the volume, and turning 
 round again. 
 
 " Can't say about that," replied the other. 
 "I've never been to Anster, and haven't 
 looked over their books." 
 
 " Well,' you needn't want to," said the 
 clerk. " They've got good accommodations 
 at Anster, and the Registrar has some ideas 
 of the duties of his post, but they have no 
 such system of wreck reports as we have 
 here." 
 
 " Very like," said the brother-in-law. And 
 he went on with his story. ' ' The Thomas 
 ffyke was a small iron steamer of six hun- 
 dred tons, and she sailed from Ulford for 
 Valparaiso with a cargo principally of pig- 
 iron."
 
 156 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 " Pig-iron for Valparaiso ? " remarked the 
 Shipwreck Clerk. And then he knitted his 
 brows thoughtfully, and said, "Go on." 
 
 "She was a new vessel," continued the 
 narrator, "and built with water-tight com- 
 partments ; rather uncommon for a vessel of 
 her class, but so she was. I am not a sailor, 
 and don't know anything about ships. I went 
 as passenger, and there was another one 
 named William Anderson, and his son Sam, a 
 boy about fifteen years old. We were all 
 going to Valparaiso on business. I don't 
 remember just how many days we were out, 
 nor do I know just where we were, but it was 
 somewhere off the coast of South America, 
 when, one dark night, with a fog besides, for 
 aught I know, for I was asleep, we ran into a 
 steamer coming north. How we managed to 
 do this, with room enough on both sides for 
 all the ships in the world to pass, I don't 
 know ; but so it was. When I got on deck 
 the other vessel had gone on, and we never 
 saw anything more of her. Whether she 
 sunk or got home is something I can't tell. 
 But we pretty soon found that the Thomas 
 Hyke had some of the plates in her bow 
 badly smashed, and she took in water like a 
 thirsty dog. The captain had the forward 
 water-tight bulkhead shut tight, and the
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 157 
 
 pumps set to work, but it was no use. That 
 forward compartment just filled up with 
 water, and the Thomas HyTce settled down 
 with her bow clean under. Her deck was 
 slanting forward like the side of a hill, and 
 the propeller was lifted up so that it wouldn't 
 have worked even if the engine had been 
 kept going. The captain had the masts cut 
 away, thinking this might bring her up 
 some, but it didn't help much. There was a 
 pretty heavy sea on, and the waves came 
 rolling up the slant of the deck like the surf 
 on the sea-shore. The captain gave orders 
 to have all the hatches battened down, so 
 that water couldn't get in, and the only way 
 by which anybody could go below was by 
 the cabhyloor, which was far aft. This work 
 of stopping up all openings in the deck was a 
 dangerous business, for the decks sloped right 
 down into the water, and |if anybody had 
 slipped, away he 'd have gone into the ocean, 
 with nothing to stop him ; but the men made 
 a line fast to themselves, and worked away 
 with a good will, and soon got the deck and 
 the house over the engine as tight as a bottle. 
 The smoke-stack, which was well forward, 
 had been broken down by a spar when the 
 masts had been cut, and as the waves washed 
 into the hole that it left, the captain had this
 
 158 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 plugged up with old sails, well fastened down. 
 It was a dreadful thing to see the ship a-ly- 
 ing with her bows clean under water, and her 
 stern sticking up. If it hadn't been for her 
 water-tight compartments that were left un- 
 injured, she would have gone down to the 
 bottom as slick as a whistle. On the after- 
 noon of the day after the collision the wind 
 fell, and the sea soon became pretty smooth. 
 The captain was quite sure that there would 
 be no trouble about keeping afloat until some 
 ship came along and took us off. Our flag 
 was flying, upside down, from a pole in the 
 stern ; and if anybody saw a ship making 
 such a guy of herself as the Thomas HyTce 
 was then doing, they 'd be sure to come to 
 see what was the matter with her, even if 
 she had no flag of distress flying. We tried 
 to make ourselves as comfortable as we could, 
 but this wasn't easy with everything on such 
 a dreadful slant. But that night we heard 
 a rumbling and grinding noise down in the 
 hold, and the slant seemed to get worse. 
 Pretty soon the captain roused all hands, 
 and told us that the cargo of pig-iron was 
 shifting, and sliding down to the bow, and 
 that it wouldn't be long before it would 
 break through all the bulkheads, and then 
 we 'd fill and go to the bottom like a shot.
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 159 
 
 He said we must all take to the boats, and 
 get away as quick as we could. It was an 
 easy matter launching the boats. They 
 didn't lower them outside from the davits, 
 but they just let 'em down on deck, and slid 
 'em along forward into the water, and then 
 held 'em there with a rope till everything 
 was ready to start. They launched three 
 boats, put plenty of provisions and water in 
 'em, and then everybody began to get aboard. 
 But William Anderson, and me, and his son 
 Sam, couldn't make up our minds to get into 
 those boats and row out on the dark, wide 
 ocean. They were the biggest boats we had, 
 but still they were little things enough. The 
 ship seemed to us to be a good deal safer, 
 and more, likely to be seen when day broke, 
 than those three boats, which might be 
 blown off if the wind rose, nobody knew 
 where. It seemed to us that the cargo had 
 done all the shifting it intended to, for the 
 noise below had stopped ; and, altogether, 
 we agreed that we 'd rather stick to the ship 
 than go off in those boats. The captain, he 
 tried to make us go, but we wouldn't do it ; 
 and he told us if we chose to stay behind and 
 be drowned it was our affair, and he couldn't 
 help it ; and then he said there was a small 
 boat aft, and we 'd better launch her, and
 
 l6o THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 have her ready in case things should get 
 worse, and we should make up our minds to 
 leave the vessel. He and the rest then rowed 
 off so as not to be caught in the vortex if 
 the steamer went down, and we three stayed 
 aboard. We launched the small boat in the 
 way we 'd seen the others launched, being 
 careful to have ropes tied to us while we 
 were doing it ; and we put things aboard 
 that we thought we should want. Then we 
 went into the cabin, and waited for morning. 
 It was a queer kind of a cabin, with a floor 
 inclined like the roof of a house, but we sat 
 down in the corners, and were glad to be 
 there. The swinging lamp was burning, and 
 it was a good deal more cheerful in there 
 than it was outside. But, about daybreak, 
 the grinding and rumbling down below began 
 again, and the bow of the Thomas Hyke kept 
 going down more and more ; and it wasn't 
 long before the forward bulkhead of the 
 cabin, which was what you might call its 
 front wall when everything was all right, was 
 under our feet, as level as a floor, and the 
 lamp was lying close against the ceiling that 
 it was hanging from. You may be sure that 
 we thought it was time to get out of that. 
 There were benches with arms to them fast- 
 ened to the floor, and by these we climbed
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 161 
 
 up to the foot of the cabin stairs, which, 
 being turned bottom upward, we went down 
 in order to get out. When we reached the 
 cabin door we saw part of the deck below 
 us standing up like the side of a house that 
 is built in the water, as they say the houses 
 in Venice are. We had made our boat fast 
 to the cabin door by a long line, and now we 
 saw her floating quietly on the water, which 
 was very smooth, and about twenty feet be- 
 low us. We drew her up as close under us as 
 we could, and then we let the boy Sam down 
 by a rope, and, after some kicking and 
 swinging, he got into her ; and then he took 
 the oars, and kept her right under us while 
 we scrambled down by the ropes which we 
 had used m getting her ready. As soon as 
 we were in the boat we cut her rope and 
 pulled away as hard as we could ; and when 
 we got to what we thought was a safe dis- 
 tance we stopped to look at the Thomas 
 Hyke. You never saw such a ship in all your 
 born days. Two-thirds of the hull was sunk 
 in the water, and she was standing straight 
 up and down, with the stern in the air, her 
 rudder up as high as the topsail ought to be, 
 and the screw-propeller looking like the 
 wheel on the top of one of these windmills 
 that they have in the country for pumping 
 
 /-. or T. L
 
 1 62 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OP 
 
 up water. Her cargo had shifted so far 
 forward that it had turned her right up on 
 end, but she couldn't sink, owing to the air 
 in the compartments that the water hadn't 
 got into ; and on the top of the whole thing 
 was the distress flag flying from the pole 
 which stuck out over the stern. It was 
 broad daylight, but not a thing did we see 
 of the other boats. We'd supposed that 
 they wouldn't row very far, but would lay 
 off at a safe distance until daylight ; but 
 they must have been scared, and rowed 
 further than they intended. Well, sir, we 
 stayed in that boat all day, and watched the 
 Thomas Hyke, but she just kept as she was, 
 and didn't seem to sink an inch. There was 
 no use of rowing away, for we had no place 
 to row to ; and besides, we thought that 
 passing ships would be much more likely to 
 see that stern sticking high in the air than 
 our little boat. We had enough to eat, and 
 at night two of us slept while the other 
 watched, dividing off the time, and taking 
 turns to this. In the morning there was the 
 Thomas Hyke standing stern up just as be- 
 fore. There was a long swell on the ocean 
 now, and she 'd rise and lean over a little on 
 each wave, but she 'd come up again just as 
 straight as before. That night passed as the
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 163 
 
 last one had, and in the morning we found 
 we'd drifted a good deal further from the 
 Thomas Hyke, but she was floating just as 
 she had been, like a big buoy that 's moored 
 over a sand-bar. We couldn't see a sign of 
 the boats, and we about gave them up. We 
 had our breakfast, which was a pretty poor 
 meal, being nothing but hard-tack and what 
 was left of a piece of boiled beef. After 
 we 'd sat for a while doing nothing, but feel- 
 ing mighty uncomfortable, William Anderson 
 said : ' Look here, do you know that I think 
 we would be three fools to keep on shivering 
 all night and living on hard-tack in the day- 
 time, when there 's plenty on that vessel for 
 us to eat, and to keep us warm. If she 's 
 floated that way for two days and two nights, 
 there 's no knowing how much longer she '11 
 float, and we might as well go on board and 
 get the things we want as not.' * All right,' 
 said I, for I was tired doing nothing, and 
 Sam was as willing as anybody. So we 
 rowed up to the steamer, and stopped close 
 to the deck, which, as I said before, was 
 standing straight up out of the water like 
 the wall of a house. The cabin door, which 
 was the only opening into her, was about 
 twenty feet above us, and the ropes which 
 we had tied to the rails of the stairs inside
 
 164 THE BEM ARK ABLE WRECK OF 
 
 were still hanging down. Sam was an active 
 youngster, and he managed to climb up one 
 of these ropes ; but when he got to the door 
 he drew it up and tied knots in it about a 
 foot apart, and then he let it down to us, for 
 neither William Anderson nor me could go 
 up a rope hand over hand without knots or 
 something to hold on to. As it was, we had 
 a lot of bother getting up, but we did it at 
 last, and then we walked up the stairs, 
 treading on the front part of each step in- 
 stead of the top of it, as we would have done 
 if the stairs had been in their proper posi- 
 tion. When we got to the floor of the cabin, 
 which was now perpendicular like a wall, we 
 had to clamber down by means of the furni- 
 ture, which was screwed fast, until we 
 reached the bulkhead, which was now the 
 floor of the cabin. Close to this bulkhead 
 was a small room which was the steward's 
 pantry, and here we found lots of things to 
 eat, but all jumbled up in a way that made 
 us laugh. The boxes of biscuits and the tin 
 cans, and a lot of bottles in wicker covers, 
 were piled up on one end of the room, and 
 everything in the lockers ' and drawers was 
 jumbled together. William Anderson and 
 me set to work to get out what we thought 
 we'd want, and we told Sam to climb up
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 165 
 
 into some of the state-rooms, of which there 
 were four on each side of the cabin, and get 
 some blankets to keep us warm, as well as a 
 few sheets, which we thought we could rig 
 up for an awning to the boat ; for the days 
 were just as hot as the nights were cool. 
 When we 'd collected what we wanted, 
 William Anderson and me climbed into our 
 own rooms, thinking we 'd each pack a valise 
 with what we most wanted to save of our 
 clothes and things ; and while we were doing 
 this, Sam called out to us that it was raining. 
 He was sitting at the cabin door looking out. 
 I first thought to tell him to shut the door 
 so 's to keep the rain from coming in ; but 
 when I thought how things really were, I 
 laughed at the idea. There was a sort of 
 little house built over the entrance to the 
 cabin, and in one end of it was the door ; 
 and in the way the ship now was the open 
 doorway was underneath the little house, 
 and of course no rain could come in. Pretty 
 soon we heard the rain pouring down, beat- 
 ing on the stern of the vessel like hail. We 
 got. to the stairs and looked out. The rain 
 was falling in perfect sheets, in a way you 
 never see except round about the tropics. 
 ' It's a good thing we're inside,' said Wil- 
 liam Anderson, ' for if we 'd been out in this
 
 1 66 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 rain we 'd been drowned in the boat. ' I 
 agreed with him, and we made up our minds 
 to stay where we were until the rain was 
 over. Well, it rained about four hours ; and 
 when it stopped, and we looked out, we saw 
 our little boat nearly full of water, and sunk 
 so deep that if one of us had stepped on her 
 she 'd have gone down, sure. ' Here 's a 
 pretty kittle of fish,' said William Anderson ; 
 ' there 's nothing for us to do now but to 
 stay where we are. ' I believe in his heart 
 he was glad of that, for if ever a man was 
 tired of a little boat, William Anderson was 
 tired of that one we'd been in for two 
 days and two nights. At any rate there 
 was no use talking about it, and we set to 
 work to make ourselves comfortable. We 
 got some mattresses and pillows out of 
 the state-rooms, and when it began to get 
 dark we lighted the lamp, which we had 
 filled with sweet-oil from a flask in the 
 pantry, not finding any other kind, and 
 we hung it from the railing of the stairs. 
 We had a good night's rest, and the only 
 thing that disturbed me was William Ander- 
 son lifting up his head every time he turned 
 over, and saying how much better this was 
 than that blasted little boat. The next 
 morning we had a good breakfast, even mak-
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 167 
 
 ing some tea with a spirit lamp we found, 
 using brandy instead of alcohol. William 
 Anderson and I wanted to get into the cap- 
 tain's room, which was near the stern, and 
 pretty high up, so as to see if there was any- 
 thing there that we ought to get ready to 
 save when a vessel should come along and 
 pick us up ; but we were not good at climb- 
 ing, like Sam, and we didn't see how we 
 could get up there. Sam said he was sure 
 he had once seen a ladder in the compart- 
 ment just forward of the bulkhead, and as 
 William was very anxious to get up to the 
 captain's room, we let the boy go and look 
 for it. There was a sliding door in the bulk- 
 head under our feet, and we opened this far 
 enough to let Sam get through ; and he 
 scrambled down like a monkey into the next 
 compartment, which was light enough, al- 
 though the lower half of it, which was next 
 to the engine-room, was under the water- 
 line. Sam actually found a ladder, with 
 hooks at one end of it, and while he was 
 handing it up to us, which was very hard to 
 do, for he had to climb up on all sorts of 
 things, he let it topple over, and the end 
 with the iron hooks fell against the round 
 glass of one of the port-holes. The glass 
 was very thick and strong, but the ladder
 
 1 68 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 came down very heavy and shivered it. As 
 bad luck would have it, this window was 
 below the water-line, and the water came 
 rushing in in a big spout. We chucked 
 blankets down to Sam for him to stop up 
 the hole, but 'twas of no use ; for it was 
 hard for him to get at the window, and 
 when he did the water came in with such 
 force that he couldn't get a blanket into the 
 hole. We were afraid he 'd be drowned 
 down there, and told him to come out as 
 quick as he could. He put up the ladder 
 again, and hooked it on to the door in the 
 bulkhead, and we held it while he climbed 
 up. Looking down through the doorway, 
 we saw, by the way the water was pouring 
 in at the opening, that it wouldn't be long 
 before that compartment was filled up ; so 
 we shoved the door to and made it all tight, 
 and then said William Anderson: ' The ship '11 
 sink deeper and deeper as that fills up, and the 
 water may get up to the cabin door, and we 
 must go and make that as tight as we can.' 
 Sam had pulled the ladder up after him, and 
 this we found of great use in getting to the 
 foot of the cabin stairs. We shut the cabin 
 door, and locked and bolted it ; and as it 
 fitted pretty tight, we didn't think it would 
 let in much water if the ship sank that far.
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 169 
 
 But over the top of the cabin stairs were a 
 couple of folding doors, which shut down 
 horizontally when the ship was in its proper 
 position, and which were only used in very 
 bad, cold weather. These we pulled to and 
 fastened tight, thus having a double protec- 
 tion against the water Well, we didn't get 
 this done any too soon, for the water did 
 come up to the cabin door, and a little 
 trickled in from the outside door, and 
 through the cracks in the inner one. But 
 we went to work and stopped these up with 
 strips from the sheets, which we crammed 
 well in with our pocket knives. Then we 
 sat down on the steps, and waited to see 
 what would happen next. The doors of all 
 the state-jrooms were open, and we could see 
 through the thick plate -glass windows in 
 them, which were all shut tight, that the 
 ship was sinking more and more as the water 
 came in. Sam climbed up into one of the 
 after state-rooms, and said the outside water 
 was nearly up to the stern ; and pretty soon 
 we looked up to the two port-holes in the 
 stern, and saw that they were covered with 
 water ; and as more and more water could 
 be seen there, and as the light came through 
 less easily, we knew that we were sinking 
 under the surface of the ocean. 'It's a
 
 I7O THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 mighty good thing,' said William Anderson, 
 ' that no water can get in here. ' William 
 had a hopeful kind of mind, and always 
 looked on the bright side of things ; but I 
 must say that I was dreadfully scared when 
 I looked through those stern windows and 
 saw water instead of sky. It began to get 
 duskier and duskier as we sank lower and 
 lower ; but still we could see pretty well, for 
 it 's astonishing how much light conies down 
 through water. After a little while we 
 noticed that the light remained about the 
 same ; and then William Anderson he sings 
 out : * Hooray, we 've stopped sinking ! ' 
 ' What difference does that make ? ' says I. 
 'We must be thirty or forty feet under 
 water, and more yet for aught I know.' 
 'Yes, that may be,' said he; 'but it is 
 clear that all the water has got into that 
 compartment that can get in, and we have 
 sunk just as far down as we are going.' 
 ' But that don't help matters,' said I ; 
 ' thirty or forty feet under water is just as 
 bad as a thousand as to drowning a man.' 
 * Drowning ! ' said William ; ' how are you 
 going to be drowned ? No water can get in 
 here.' 'Nor no air either,' said I; 'and 
 . people are drowned for want of air, as I take 
 it.' 'It would be a queer sort of thing,'
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 171 
 
 said William, 'to be drowned in the ocean 
 and yet stay as dry as a chip. But it 's no 
 use being worried about air. We 've got 
 air enough here to last us for ever so long. 
 This stern compartment is the biggest in the 
 ship, and it 's got lots of air in it. Just 
 think of that hold ; it must be nearly full 
 of air._ The stern compartment of the hold 
 has got nothing in it but sewing-machines. 
 I saw 'em loading her. The pig-iron was 
 mostly amidships, or at least forward of 
 this compartment. Now, there 's no kind of 
 a cargo that 11 accommodate as much air 
 as sewing-machines. They 're packed in 
 wooden frames, not boxes, and don't fill up 
 half the room they take. There 's air all 
 through nd around 'em. It 's a very com- 
 forting thing to think the hold isn't filled 
 up solid with bales of cotton or wheat in 
 bulk.' It might be comforting, but I 
 couldn't get much good out of it. And now 
 Sam, who 'd been scrambling all over the 
 cabin to see how things were going on, sang 
 out that the water was leaking in a little 
 again at the cabin door, and around some of 
 the iron frames of the windows. ' It 's a 
 lucky thing,' said William Anderson, 'that 
 we didn't sink any deeper, or the pressure of 
 the water would have burst in those heavy
 
 172 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 glasses. And what we Ve got to do now is to 
 stop up all the cracks. The more we work, 
 the livelier we'll feel.' We tore off more 
 strips of sheets, and went all round stopping 
 up cracks wherever we found them. ' It 's 
 fortunate,' said William Anderson, 'that 
 Sam found that ladder, for we would have 
 had hard work getting to the windows of 
 the stern state-rooms without it ; .but by 
 resting it on the bottom step of the stairs, 
 which now happens to be the top one, we 
 can get to any part of the cabin.' I couldn't 
 help thinking that if Sam hadn't found the 
 ladder it would have been a good deal better 
 for us ; but I didn't want to damp William's 
 spirits, and I said nothing. 
 
 "And now I beg your pardon, sir," said 
 the narrator, addressing the Shipwreck 
 Clerk, "but I forgot that you said you'd 
 finish this story yourself. Perhaps you 'd 
 like to take it up just here ?" 
 
 The Shipwreck Clerk seemed surprised, 
 and had, apparently, forgotten his previous 
 offer. "Oh no," said he, "tell your own 
 story. This is not a matter of business." 
 
 " Very well, then," said the brother-in- 
 law of J. George Watts, " I '11 go on. We 
 made everything as tight as we could, and 
 then we got our supper, having forgotten all
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 173 
 
 about dinner, and being very hungry. We 
 didn't make any tea, and we didn't light the 
 lamp, for we knew that would use up air ; 
 but we made a better meal than three people 
 sunk out of sight in the ocean had a right to 
 expect. 'What troubles me most,' said 
 William Anderson, as he turned in, ' is the 
 fact that if we are forty feet under water, 
 our flag-pole must be covered up. Now, if 
 the flag was sticking out, upside down, a 
 ship sailing by would see it, and would know 
 there was something wrong. ' ' If that 's all 
 that troubles you,' said I, 'I guess you'll 
 sleep easy. And if a ship was to see the 
 flag, I wonder how they'd know we were 
 down here, and how they 'd get us out if 
 they didj' 'Oh, they'd manage it,' said 
 William Anderson ; * trust those sea- cap- 
 tains for that.' And then he went to sleep. 
 The next morning the air began to get 
 mighty disagreeable in the part of the cabin 
 where we were, and then William Anderson 
 he says : * What we 've got to do is to climb 
 up into the stern state-rooms, where the air 
 is purer. We can come down here to get 
 our meals, and then go up again to breathe 
 comfortable.' 'And what are we going to 
 do when the air up there gets foul ? ' says I 
 to William, who seemed to be making
 
 174 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 arrangements for spending the summer in 
 our present quarters. ' Oh, that '11 be all 
 right,' said he. ' It don't do to be extrava- 
 gant with air any more than with anything 
 else. When we Ve used up all there is in 
 this cabin, we can bore holes through the 
 floor into the hold and let in air from there. 
 If we're economical, there'll be enough to 
 last for dear knows how long. ' We passed 
 the night each in a state-room, sleeping on 
 the end wall instead of the berth, and it 
 wasn't till the afternoon of the next day 
 that the air of the cabin got so bad we 
 thought we 'd have some fresh ; so we went 
 down on the bulkhead, and with an auger 
 that we found in the pantry we bored three 
 holes, about a yard apart, in the cabin floor, 
 which was now one of the walls of the room, 
 just as the bulkhead was the floor, and the 
 stern end, where the two round windows 
 were, was the ceiling or roof. We each 
 took a hole, and I tell you it was pleasant 
 to breathe the air which came in from the 
 hold. 'Isn't this jolly?' said William 
 Anderson. ' And we ought to be mighty 
 glad that that hold wasn't loaded with cod- 
 fish or soap. But there 's nothing that 
 smells better than new sewing-machines 
 that haven't ever been used, and this air is
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 175 
 
 pleasant enough for anybody.' By William's 
 advice we made three plugs, by which we 
 stopped up the holes when we thought we 'd 
 had air enough for the present. ' And now,' 
 says he, ' we needn't climb up into those 
 awkward state-rooms any more. We can 
 just stay down here and be comfortable, 
 and let in air when we want it.' ' And how 
 long do you suppose that air in the hold is 
 going to last?' said I. 'Oh, ever so long,' 
 said he, ' using it so economically as we do ; 
 and when it stops coming out lively through 
 these little holes, as I suppose it will after 
 a while, we can saw a big hole in this 
 flooring and go into the hold, and do our 
 breathing, if we want to.' That evening 
 we did saw a hole about a foot square, so as 
 to have plenty of air while we were asleep, 
 but we didn't go into the hold, it being 
 pretty well filled up with machines ; though 
 the next day Sam and I sometimes stuck 
 our heads in for a good sniff of air, though 
 William Anderson was opposed to this, being 
 of the opinion that we ought to put ourselves 
 on short rations of breathing, so as to make 
 the supply of air hold out as long as possible. 
 'But what's the good,' said I to William, 
 ' of trying to make the air hold out, if we Ve 
 got to be suffocated in this place after all ? '
 
 176 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 ' What 's the good ? ' says he. ' Haven't you 
 enough biscuits, and canned meats, and 
 plenty of other things to eat, and a barrel 
 of water in that room opposite the pantry, 
 not to speak of wine and brandy if you want 
 to cheer yourself up a bit, and haven't 
 we good mattresses to sleep on, and why 
 shouldn't we try to live and be comfortable 
 as long as we can ? ' ' What I want,' said I, 
 ' is to get out of this box. The idea of being 
 shut up in here down under the water is more 
 than I can stand. I 'd rather take my chances 
 going up to the surface and swimming 
 about till I found a piece of the wreck, or 
 something to float on. ' ' You needn't think 
 of anything of that sort,' said William, 'for 
 if we were to open a door or a window to get 
 out, the water 'd rush in and drive us back 
 and fill up this place in no time ; and then 
 the whole concern would go to the bottom. 
 And what would you do if you did get to 
 the top of the water ? It 's not likely you 'd 
 find anything there to get on, and if you did 
 you wouldn't live very long floating about 
 with nothing to eat. No, sir,' says he, ' what 
 we Ve got to do is to be content with the 
 comforts we have around us, and something 
 will turn up to get us out of this ; you see if 
 it don't. ' There was no use talking against
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 177 
 
 William Anderson, and I didn't say any 
 more about getting out. As for Sam, he 
 spent his time at the windows of the state- 
 rooms a-looking out. We could see a good 
 way into the water, further than you would 
 think, and we sometimes saw fishes, especially 
 porpoises, swimming about, most likely try- 
 ing to find out what a ship was doing hanging 
 bows down under the water. What troubled 
 Sam was that a sword-fish might come along 
 and jab his sword through one of the 
 windows. In that case, it would be all up, 
 or rather down, with us. Every now and 
 then he 'd sing out, ' Here comes one ! ' and 
 then, just as I 'd give a jump, he 'd say, ' No, 
 it isn't ; it 's a porpoise.' I thought from the 
 first, and I think now, that it would have 
 been a great deal better for us if that boy 
 hadn't been along. That night there was a 
 good deal of motion to the ship, and she 
 swung about and rose up and down more 
 than she had done since we'd been left in 
 her. ' There must be a big sea running on 
 top/ said William Anderson, ' and if we 
 were up there we 'd be tossed about dread- 
 ful. Now the motion down here is just as 
 easy as a cradle, and, what 's more, we can't 
 be sunk very deep ; for if we were, there 
 wouldn't be any motion at all.' About noon 
 
 L.orT. M
 
 178 THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF 
 
 the next day we felt a sudden tremble and 
 shake run through the whole ship, and far 
 down under us we heard a rumbling and 
 grinding that nearly scared me out of my 
 wits. I first thought we 'd struck bot- 
 tom, but William he said that couldn't be, 
 for it was just as light in the cabin as it 
 had been, and if we 'd gone down it would 
 have grown much darker, of course. The 
 rumbling stopped after a little while, and 
 then it seemed to grow lighter instead of 
 darker ; and Sam, who was looking up at 
 the stern windows over our heads, he sang 
 out, ' Sky ! ' And, sure enough, we could 
 see the blue sky, as clear as 'daylight, 
 through those windows ! And then the 
 ship, she turned herself on the slant, pretty 
 much as she had been when her forward 
 compartment first took in water, and we 
 found ourselves standing on the cabin floor 
 instead of the bulkhead. I was near one of 
 the open state-rooms ; and as I looked in, 
 there was the sunlight coming through the 
 wet glass in the window, and more cheerful 
 than anything I ever saw before in this 
 world. William Anderson he just made one 
 jump, and, unscrewing one of the state-room 
 windows, he jerked it open. We had 
 thought the air inside was good enough to
 
 THE "THOMAS HYKE." 179 
 
 last some time longer ; but when that 
 window was open and the fresh air came 
 rushing in, it was a different sort of thing, I 
 can tell you. William put his head out, and 
 looked up and down and all around. ' She 's 
 nearly all out of water ! ' he shouted, ' and 
 we can open the cabin door.' Then we all 
 three rushed at those stairs, which were 
 nearly right side up now, and we had the 
 cabin doors open in no time. When we 
 looked out we saw that the ship was truly 
 floating pretty much as she had been when 
 the captain and crew left her, though we 
 all agreed that her deck didn't slant as much 
 forward as it did then. ' Do you know 
 what 's happened ? ' sang out William Ander- 
 son, after he 'd stood still for a minute to 
 look around and think. ' That bobbing up 
 and down that the vessel got last night 
 shook up and settled down the pig-iron in- 
 side of her, and the iron plates in the bow, 
 that were smashed and loosened by the 
 collision, have given way under the weight, 
 and the whole cargo of pig-iron has burst 
 through and gone to the bottom. Then, of 
 course, up we came. 'Didn't I tell you 
 something would happen to make us all 
 right ? ' 
 
 " Well, I won't make this story any longer
 
 l8o THE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE." 
 
 than I can help. The next day after that 
 we were taken off by a sugar-ship bound 
 north, . and we were carried safe back to 
 Ulford, where we found our captain and the 
 crew, who had been picked up by a ship 
 after they 'd been three or four days in their 
 boats. This ship had sailed our way to find 
 us, which, of course, she couldn't do, as at 
 that time we were under water and out of 
 sight. 
 
 "And now, sir," said the brother-in-law 
 of J. George Watts to the Shipwreck Clerk, 
 "to which of your classes does this wreck of 
 mine belong ? " 
 
 " Gents," said the Shipwreck Clerk, rising 
 from his seat, " it 's four o'clock, and at that 
 hour this office closes."
 
 MR TOLMAN.
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 MR. TOLMAN was a gentleman whose 
 apparent age was of a varying char- 
 acter. At times, when deep in thought on 
 business matters or other affairs, one might 
 have thought him fifty-five or fifty-seven, 
 or even sixty. Ordinarily, however, when 
 things were running along in a satisfactory 
 and commonplace way, he appeared to be 
 about fifty years old, while upon some 
 extraordinary occasions, when the world 
 assumed an unusually attractive aspect, his 
 age seemed to run down to forty -five or less. 
 He was the head of a business firm ; in 
 fact he was the only member of it. The 
 firm was known as Pusey and Co. ; but 
 Pusey had long been dead, and the "Co.," 
 of which Mr. Tolman had been a member, 
 was dissolved. Our elderly hero having 
 bought out the business, firm name and all, 
 for many years had carried it on with 
 success and profit, His counting-house was 
 a small and quiet place, but a great deal of
 
 1 84 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 money had been made in it. Mr. Tolman 
 was rich very rich indeed. 
 
 And yet as he sat in his counting-room 
 one winter evening he looked his oldest. He 
 had on his hat and his overcoat, his gloves 
 and his fur collar. Every one else in the 
 establishment had gone home ; and he, with 
 the keys in his hand, was ready to lock up 
 and leave also. He often stayed later than 
 any one else, and left the keys with Mr. 
 Canterfield, the head clerk, as he passed his 
 house on his way home, 
 
 Mr. Tolman seemed in no hurry to go. He 
 simply sat and thought, and increased his 
 apparent age. The truth was he did not 
 want to go home. He was tired of going 
 home. This was not because his home was 
 not a pleasant one. No single gentleman in 
 the city had a handsomer or more comfort- 
 able suite of rooms. It was not because he 
 felt lonely, or regretted that a wife and 
 children did not brighten and enliven his 
 home. He was perfectly satisfied to be a 
 bachelor. The conditions suited him exactly. 
 But, in spite of all this, he was tired of 
 going home. 
 
 "I wish," said Mr. Tolman to himself, 
 " that I could feel some interest in going 
 home j "and then he rose and took a turn or two
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 185 
 
 up and down the room ; but as that did not 
 seem to give him any more interest in the 
 matter, he sat down again. " I wish it were 
 necessary for me to go home," said he ; " but 
 it isn't ;" and then he fell again to thinking. 
 "What I need," he said, after a while, "is 
 to depend more upon myself to feel that I 
 am necessary to myself. Just now I 'm not. 
 I '11 stop going home at least in this way. 
 Where 's the sense in envying other men, 
 when I can have all that they have, just as 
 well as not? And I'll have it, too," said 
 Mr. Tolman, as he went out and locked the 
 doors. Once in the streets, and walking 
 rapidly, his ideas shaped themselves easily 
 and readily into a plan which, by the time 
 he reached the house of his head clerk, was 
 quite matured. Mr. Canterfield was just 
 going down to dinner as his employer 
 rang the bell, so he opened the door himself. 
 "I will detain you but a minute or two," 
 said Mr. Tolman, handing the keys to 
 Mr. Canterfield. " Shall we step into the 
 parlour ? ' 
 
 When his employer had gone, and Mr. 
 Canterfield had joined his family at the 
 dinner-table, his wife immediately asked 
 him what Mr. Tolman wanted. 
 
 " Only to say that he is going away to-
 
 1 86 MR. TOLMAX. 
 
 morrow, and that I am to attend to the 
 business, and send his personal letters to 
 
 ," naming a city not a hundred miles 
 
 away. 
 
 " How long is he going to stay ? " 
 
 "He didn't say," answered Mr. Canter- 
 field. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what he ought to do," said 
 the lady. " He ought to make you a partner 
 in the firm, and then he could go away and 
 stay as long as he pleased." 
 
 "He can do that now," returned her 
 husband. " He has made a good many trips 
 since I have been with him, and things have 
 gone on very much in the same way as when 
 he was here. He knows that." 
 
 " But still you 'd like to be a partner ? " 
 
 "Oh yes," said Mr. Canterfield. 
 
 " And common gratitude ought to prompt 
 him to make you one," said his wife. 
 
 Mr. Tolman went home and wrote a 
 will. He left all his property, with the excep- 
 tion of a few legacies, to the richest and 
 most powerful charitable organisation in the 
 country. 
 
 "People will think I 'm crazy," said he to 
 himself; "and if I should die while I am 
 carrying out my plan, I '11 leave the task of 
 defending my sanity to people who are able
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 1 87 
 
 to make a good fight for me." And before 
 he went to bed he had his will signed and 
 witnessed. 
 
 The next day he packed a trunk and left 
 for the neighbouring city. His apartments 
 were to be kept in readiness for his return 
 at any time. If you had seen him walking 
 over to the railroad de"p6t, you would have 
 taken him for a man of forty-five. 
 
 When he arrived at his destination, Mr. 
 Tolman established himself temporarily at a 
 hotel, and spent the next three or four days 
 in walking about the city looking for what 
 he wanted. What he wanted was rather 
 difficult to define, but the way in which he 
 put the matter to himself was something 
 like this 
 
 " I 'd like to find a snug little place where 
 I can live and carry on some business which 
 I can attend to myself, and which will bring 
 me into contact with people of all sorts 
 people who will interest me. It must be a 
 small business, because I don't want to have to 
 work very hard, and it must be snug and com- 
 fortable, because I want to enjoy it. I would 
 like a shop of some sort, because that brings 
 a man face to face with his fellow- creatures." 
 
 The city in which he was walking about 
 was one of the best places in the country in
 
 1 88 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 which to find the place of business he desired. 
 It was full of independent little shops. But 
 Mr. Tolman could not readily find one which 
 resembled his ideal. A small dry-goods es- 
 tablishment seemed to presuppose a female 
 proprietor. A grocery store would give him 
 many interesting customers ; but he did 
 not know much about groceries, and the 
 business did not appear to him to possess 
 any aesthetic features. He was much 
 pleased by a small shop belonging to a taxi- 
 dermist. It was exceedingly cosy, and the 
 business was probably not so great as to 
 overwork any one. He might send the 
 birds and beasts which were brought to be 
 stuffed to some practical operator, and have 
 him put them in proper condition for the 
 
 customers. He might But no ; it would 
 
 be very unsatisfactory to engage in a busi- 
 ness of which he knew absolutely nothing. 
 A taxidermist ought not to blush with 
 ignorance when asked some simple ques- 
 tion about a little dead bird or a defunct 
 fish. And so he tore himself from the 
 window of this fascinating place, where, he 
 fancied, had his education been differently 
 managed, he could in time have shown the 
 world the spectacle of a cheerful and un- 
 blighted Mr. Venus.
 
 MB. TOLMAN. 189 
 
 The shop which at last appeared to suit 
 him best was one which he had passed and 
 looked at several times before it struck him 
 favourably. It was in a small brick house 
 in a side street, but not far from one of the 
 main business avenues of the city. The 
 shop seemed devoted to articles of stationery 
 and small notions of various kinds not easy 
 to be classified. He had stopped to look at 
 three penknives fastened to a card, which 
 was propped up in the little show-window, 
 supported on one side by a chess-board with 
 "History of Asia" in gilt letters on the 
 back, and on the other by a small violin 
 labelled "1 dollar;" and as he gazed past 
 these articles into the interior of the shop, 
 which was now lighted up, it gradually 
 dawned upon him that it was something 
 like his ideal of an attractive and interest- 
 ing business place. At any rate he would 
 go in and look at it. Hte did not care for a 
 violin, even at the low price marked on the 
 one in the window, but a new pocket-knife 
 might be useful ; so he walked in and asked 
 to look at pocket-knives. 
 
 The shop was in charge of a very pleasant 
 old lady of about sixty, who sat sewing 
 behind the little counter. While she went 
 to the window, and very carefully reached
 
 1 90 ME. TOLMAN. 
 
 over the articles displayed therein to get the 
 card of penknives, Mr. Tolman looked about 
 him. The shop was quite small, but there 
 seemed to be a good deal in it. There were 
 shelves behind the counter, and there were 
 shelves on the opposite wall, and they all 
 seemed well filled with something or other. 
 In the corner near the old lady's chair was a 
 little coal stove with a bright fire in it, and 
 at the back of the shop, at the top of two 
 steps, was a glass door partly open, through 
 which he saw a small room, with a red 
 carpet on the floor, and a little table ap- 
 parently set for a meal. 
 
 Mr. Tolman looked at the knives when 
 the old lady showed them to him, and after 
 a good deal of consideration he selected one 
 which he thought would be a good knife to 
 give to a boy. Then he looked over some 
 things in the way of paper-cutters, whist- 
 markers, and such small matters, which were 
 in a glass case on the counter ; and while 
 he looked at them he talked to the old 
 lady. 
 
 She was a friendly, sociable body, and 
 very glad to have any one to talk to, and so 
 it was not at all difficult for Mr. Tolman, 
 by some general remarks, to draw from her 
 a great many points about herself and her
 
 MR. TOLMAN. IQI 
 
 shop. She was a widow, with a son who, 
 from her remarks, must have been forty years 
 old. . He was connected with a mercantile 
 establishment, and they had lived here for a 
 long time. While her son was a salesman, 
 and came home every evening, this was very 
 pleasant ; but after he became a commercial 
 traveller, and was away from the city for 
 months at a time, she did not like it at all. 
 It was very lonely for her. 
 
 Mr. Tolmaii's heart rose within him, but 
 he did not interrupt her. 
 
 "If I could do it," said she, "I would 
 give up this place, and go and live with my 
 sister in the country. It would be better 
 for both of us, and Henry could come there 
 just as well as here when he gets back from 
 his trips." 
 
 "Why don't you sell out?" asked Mr. 
 Tolman, a little fearfully, for he began to 
 think that all this was too easy sailing to be 
 entirely safe. 
 
 " That would not be easy," said she, with 
 a smile. " It might be a long time before 
 we could find any one who would want to 
 take the place. We have a fair trade in the 
 store, but it isn't what it used to be when 
 times were better ; and the library is falling 
 off too. Most of the books are getting pretty
 
 192 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 old, and it don't pay to spend much money 
 for new ones now. " 
 
 ' ' The library ! " said Mr. Tolman. " Have 
 you a library?" 
 
 "Oh yes," replied the old lady. "I've 
 had a circulating library here for nearly 
 fifteen years. There it is, on those two 
 upper shelves behind you." 
 
 Mr. Tolman turned, and beheld two long 
 rows of books, in brown paper covers, with 
 a short step-ladder standing near the door 
 of the inner room, by which these shelves 
 might be reached. This pleased him greatly. 
 He had had no idea that there was a library 
 here. 
 
 " I declare ! " said he. " It must be very 
 pleasant to manage a circulating library a 
 small one like this, I mean. I shouldn't mind 
 going into a business of the kind myself." 
 
 The old lady looked up, surprised. Did 
 he wish to go into business ? She had not 
 supposed that, just from looking at him. 
 
 Mr. Tolman explained his views to her. 
 He did not tell what he had been doing in 
 the way of business, or what Mr. Canterfield 
 was doing for him now. He merely stated 
 his present wishes, and acknowledged to her 
 that it was the attractiveness of her establish- 
 ment that had led him to come in.
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 193 
 
 "Then you do not want the penknife?" 
 she said quickly. 
 
 "Oh yes, I do," said he; "and I really 
 believe, if we can come to terms, that I 
 would like the two other knives, together 
 with the rest of your stock in trade." 
 
 The old lady laughed a little nervously. 
 She hoped very much indeed that they 
 could come to terms. She brought a chair 
 from the back room, and Mr. Tolman sat 
 down with her by the stove to talk it over. 
 Few customers came in to interrupt them, 
 and they talked the matter over very 
 thoroughly. They both came to the con- 
 clusion that there would be no difficulty 
 about terms, nor about Mr. Tolman 's ability 
 to carry on the business after a very little 
 instruction from the present proprietress. 
 "When Mr. Tolman left, it was with the 
 understanding that he was to call again in 
 a couple of days, when the son Henry would 
 be at home, and matters could be definitely 
 arranged. 
 
 When the three met, the bargain was soon 
 struck. As each party was so desirous of 
 making it, few difficulties were interposed. 
 The old lady, indeed, was in favour of some 
 delay in the transfer of the establishment, 
 as she would like to clean and dust every
 
 194 MR. TOLMAX. 
 
 shelf and corner and every article in the 
 place; but Mr. Tolman was in a hurry to 
 take possession ; and as the son Henry would 
 have to start off on another trip in a short 
 time, he wanted to see his mother moved 
 and settled before he left. There was not 
 much to move but trunks and bandboxes, 
 and some antiquated pieces of furniture of 
 special value to the old lady, for Mr. Tolman 
 insisted on buying everything in the house, 
 just as it stood. The whole thing did not 
 cost him, he said to himself, as much as 
 some of his acquaintances would pay for a 
 horse. The methodical son Henry took an 
 account of stock, and Mr. Tolman took 
 several lessons from the old lady, in which 
 she explained to him how to find out the 
 selling prices of the various articles from the 
 marks on the little tags attached to them ; 
 and she particularly instructed him in the 
 management of the circulating library. She 
 informed him of the character of the books, 
 and, as far as possible, of the character of 
 the regular patrons. She told him whom 
 he might trust to take out a book without 
 paying for the one brought in, if they didn't 
 happen to have the change with them, and 
 she indicated with little crosses opposite 
 their names those persons who should be
 
 MB. TOLMAN. 1 95 
 
 required to pay cash down for what they 
 had had before receiving further benefits. 
 
 It was astonishing to see what interest 
 Mr. Tolman took in all this. He was really 
 anxious to meet some of the people about 
 whom the old lady discoursed. He tried, 
 too, to remember a few of the many things 
 she told him of her methods of buying and 
 selling, and the general management of her 
 shop ; and he probably did not forget more 
 than three-fourths of what she told him. 
 
 Finally, everything was settled to the 
 satisfaction of the two male parties to the 
 bargain although the old lady thought of a 
 hundred things she would yet like to do 
 and one fine frosty afternoon a car-load of 
 furniture and baggage left the door, the old 
 lady and her son took leave of the old place, 
 and Mr. Tolman was left sitting behind the 
 little counter, the sole manager and proprie- 
 tor of a circulating library and a stationery 
 and notion shop. He laughed when he 
 thought of it, but he rubbed his hands and 
 felt very well satisfied. 
 
 "There is nothing really crazy about it," 
 he said to himself. " If there is a thing that 
 I think I would like, and I can afford to have 
 it, and there 's no harm in it, why not have 
 it?"
 
 196 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 There was nobody there to say anything 
 against this ; so Mr. Tolman rubbed his hands 
 again before the fire, and rose to walk up 
 and down his shop, and wonder who would 
 be his first customer. 
 
 In the course of twenty minutes a little 
 boy opened the door and came in. Mr. Tol- 
 man hastened behind the counter to receive 
 his commands. The little boy wanted two 
 sheets of note-paper and an envelope. 
 
 " Any particular kind?" asked Mr. Tolman. 
 
 The boy didn't know of any particular 
 variety being desired. He thought the 
 same kind she always got would do ; and he 
 looked very hard at Mr. Tolman, evidently 
 wondering at the change in the shopkeeper, 
 but asking no questions. 
 
 "You are a regular customer, I suppose," 
 said Mr. Tolman, opening several boxes of 
 paper which he had taken down from the 
 shelves. " I have just begun business here, 
 and don't know what kind of paper you have 
 been in the habit of buying. But I suppose 
 this will do ; " and he took out a couple of 
 sheets of the best, with an envelope to match. 
 These he carefully tied up in a piece of thin 
 brown paper, and gave to the boy, who 
 handed him three cents. Mr. Tolman took 
 them, smiled, and then having made a rapid
 
 MR. TOLMAST. 197 
 
 calculation, he called to the boy, who was 
 just opening the door, and gave him back 
 one cent. 
 
 "You have paid me too much," he said. 
 
 The boy took the cent, looked at Mr. 
 Tolman, and then got out of the store as 
 quickly as he could. 
 
 " Such profits as that are enormous," said 
 Mr. Tolman ; " but I suppose the small sales 
 balance them." This Mr. Tolman subse- 
 quently found to be the case. 
 
 One or two other customers came in in the 
 course of the afternoon, and about dark the 
 people who took out books began to arrive. 
 These kept Mr. Tolman very busy. He not 
 only had to do a good deal of entering and 
 cancelling, but he had to answer a great many 
 questions about the change in proprietorship, 
 and the probability of his getting in some 
 new books, with suggestions as to the 
 quantity and character of these, mingled 
 with a few dissatisfied remarks in regard to 
 the volumes already on hand. 
 
 Every one seemed sorry that the old lady 
 had gone away ; but Mr. Tolman was so plea- 
 sant and anxious to please, and took such an 
 interest in their selection of books, that only 
 one of the subscribers appeared to take the 
 change very much to heart. This was a
 
 IQ8 MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 young man who was forty-three cents in 
 arrears. He was a long time selecting a book, 
 and when at last he brought it to Mr. Tolman 
 to be entered, he told him in a low voice that 
 he hoped there would be no objection to let- 
 ting his account run on for a little while 
 longer. On the first of the month he would 
 settle it, and then he hoped to be able to pay 
 cash whenever he brought in a book. 
 
 Mr. Tolman looked for his name on the 
 old lady's list, and finding no cross against 
 it, told him that it was all right, and that 
 the first of the month would do very well. 
 The young man went away perfectly satis- 
 fied with the new librarian. Thus did Mr. 
 Tolman begin to build up his popularity. 
 As the evening grew on he found himself be- 
 coming very hungry ; but he did not like to 
 shut up the shop, for every now and then 
 some one dropped in, sometimes to ask what 
 time it was, and sometimes to make a little 
 purchase, while there were still some library 
 patrons coming in at intervals. 
 
 However, taking courage during a short 
 rest from customers, he put up the shutters, 
 locked the door, and hurried off to a hotel, 
 where he partook of a meal such as few 
 keepers of little shops ever think of indulg- 
 ing in.
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 199 
 
 The next morning Mr. Tolman got his own 
 breakfast. This was delightful. He had 
 seen how cosily the old lady had spread her 
 table in the little back room, where there was 
 a stove suitable for any cooking he might wish 
 to indulge in, and he longed for such a cosy 
 meal. There were plenty of stock provisions 
 in the house, which he had purchased with 
 the rest of the goods ; and he went out and 
 bought himself a fresh loaf of bread. Then 
 he broiled a piece of ham, made some good 
 strong tea, boiled some eggs, and had a 
 breakfast on the little round table, which, 
 though plain enough, he enjoyed more than 
 any breakfast at his club which he could re- 
 member. He had opened the shop, and sat 
 facing the glass door, hoping, almost, that 
 there would be some interruption to his meal. 
 It would seem so much more proper in that 
 sort of business if he had to get up and go 
 and attend to a customer. 
 
 Before evening of that day Mr. Tolman 
 became convinced that he would soon be 
 obliged to employ a boy or some one to at- 
 tend to the establishment during his absence. 
 After breakfast, a woman recommended by 
 the old lady came to make his bed and clean 
 up generally, but when she had gone he was 
 left alone with his shop. He determined
 
 2OO MR. TOLMAX. 
 
 not to allow this responsibility to injure his 
 health, and so at one o'clock boldly locked 
 the shop door and went out to his lunch. 
 
 He hoped that no one would call during his 
 absence, but when he returned he found a 
 little girl with a pitcher standing at the 
 door. She came to borrow half a pint of 
 milk. 
 
 " Milk ! " exclaimed Mr. Tolman, in sur- 
 prise. "Why, my child, I have no milk. 
 I don't even use it in my tea." 
 
 The little girl looked very much dis- 
 appointed. " Is Mrs. Walker gone away 
 for good ?" said she. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Tolman. "But I 
 would be just as willing to lend you the milk 
 as she would be, if I had any. Is there any 
 place near here where you can buy milk ? " 
 
 "Oh yes," said the girl ; "you can get it 
 round in the market-house." 
 
 "How much would half a pint cost?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Three cents," replied the girl. 
 
 "Well, then," said Mr. Tolman, "here 
 are three cents. You can go and buy the 
 milk for me, and then you can borrow it. 
 Will that suit ? " 
 
 The girl thought it would suit very well, 
 and away she went.
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 2OI 
 
 Even this little incident pleased Mr. Tol- 
 man. It was so very novel. When he came 
 back from his dinner in the evening, he 
 found two circulating library subscribers 
 stamping their feet on the door-step, and 
 he afterward heard that several others had 
 called and gone away. It would certainly 
 injure the library if he suspended business 
 at meal-times. He could easily have his 
 choice of a hundred boys if he chose to 
 advertise for one, but he shrank from having 
 a youngster in the place. It would interfere 
 greatly with his cosiness and his experiences. 
 He might possibly find a boy who went to 
 school, and who would be willing to come at 
 noon and in the evening if he were paid 
 enough. But it would have to be a very 
 steady and responsible boy. He would think 
 it over before taking any steps. 
 
 He thought it over for a day or two, but he 
 did not spend his whole time in doing so. 
 When he had no customers, he sauntered 
 about in the little parlour over the shop, with 
 its odd old furniture, its quaint prints on the 
 walls, and its absurd ornaments on the man- 
 tel-piece. The other little rooms seemed 
 almost as funny to him, and he was sorry 
 when the bell on the shop door called him 
 down from their contemplation. It was
 
 202 MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 pleasant to him to think that he owned all 
 these odd things. The ownership of the 
 varied goods in the shop also gave him an 
 agreeable feeling, which none of his other 
 possessions had ever afforded him. It was 
 all so odd and novel. 
 
 He liked much to look over the books in 
 the library. Many of them were old novels, 
 the names of which were familiar enough to 
 him, but which he had never read. He 
 determined to read some of them as soon as 
 he felt fixed and settled. 
 
 In looking over the book in which the 
 names and accounts of the subscribers were 
 entered, he amused himself by wondering 
 what sort of persons they were who had out 
 certain books. Who, for instance, wanted 
 to read The Book of Cats ; and who could 
 possibly care for The Mysteries of Udolpho ? 
 But the unknown person in regard to whom 
 Mr. Tolman felt the greatest curiosity was 
 the subscriber who now had in his possession 
 a volume entitled Dormstocks Logarithms 
 of the Diapason. 
 
 "How on earth," exclaimed Mr. Tolman, 
 " did such a book get into this library ; and 
 where on earth did the person spring from 
 who would want to take it out ? And not 
 only want to take it," he continued, as he
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 2O3 
 
 examined the entry regarding the volume, 
 "but come and have it renewed one, two, 
 three, four nine times ! He has had that 
 book for eighteen weeks ! " 
 
 Without exactly making up his mind to do 
 so, Mr. Tolman deferred taking steps toward 
 getting an assistant until P. Glascow, the 
 person in question, should make an appear- 
 ance, and it was nearly time for the book to 
 be brought in again. 
 
 " If I get a boy now," thought Mr. Tolman, 
 " Glascow will be sure to come and bring the 
 book while I am out." 
 
 In almost exactly two weeks from the date 
 of the last renewal of the book, P. Glascow 
 came in. It was the middle of the after- 
 noon, and Mr. Tolman was alone. This 
 investigator of musical philosophy was a 
 quiet young man of about thirty, wearing a 
 light brown cloak, and carrying under one 
 arm a large book. 
 
 P. Glascow was surprised when he heard 
 of the change in the proprietorship of the 
 library. Still he hoped that there would be 
 no objection to his renewing the book which 
 he had with him, and which he had taken 
 out some time ago. 
 
 " Oh no," said Mr. Tolman, " none in the 
 world. In fact, I don't suppose there are
 
 204 M*- TOLMAN. 
 
 any other subscribers who would want it. I 
 have had the curiosity to look to see if it had 
 ever been taken out before, and I find it has 
 not." 
 
 The young man smiled quietly. "No," 
 said he, " I suppose not. It is not every one 
 who would care to study the higher mathema- 
 tics of music, especially when treated as 
 Dorm stock treats the subject." 
 
 "He seems to go into it pretty deeply," 
 remarked Mr. Tolnian, who had taken up 
 the book. "At least I should think so, 
 judging from all these calculations, and pro- 
 blems, and squares, and cubes." 
 
 "Indeed he does," said Glascow ; "and 
 although I have had the book some months, 
 and have more reading-time*at my disposal 
 than most persons, I have only reached the 
 fifty-sixth page, and doubt if I shall not 
 have to review some of that before I can feel 
 that I thoroughly understand it. " 
 
 " And there are three hundred and forty 
 pages in all," said Mr. Tolman compassion- 
 ately. 
 
 "Yes," replied the other ; " but I am quite 
 sure that the matter will grow easier as I 
 proceed. I have found that out from what 
 I have already done." 
 
 "You say you have a good deal of leisure?"
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 205 
 
 remarked Mr. Tolman. "Is the musical 
 business dull at present ? " 
 
 "Oh, I 'm not in the musical business," 
 said Glascow. " I have a great love for 
 music, and wish to thoroughly understand 
 it ; but my business is quite different. I am 
 a night druggist, and that is the reason I 
 have so much leisure for reading. " 
 
 "A night druggist?" repeated Mr. Tol- 
 man inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the other. "I am in a 
 large down town drug-store, which is kept 
 open all night, and I go on duty after the 
 day -clerks leave. " 
 
 "And does that give you more leisure?" 
 asked Mr. Tolman. 
 
 "It seems to," answered Glascow. "I 
 sleep until about noon, and then I have the 
 rest of the day, until seven o'clock, to my- 
 self. I think that people who work at night 
 can make a more satisfactory use of their 
 own time than those who work in the day- 
 time. In the summer I can take a trip on 
 the river, or go somewhere out of town, every 
 day, if Hike." 
 
 " Daylight is more available for many 
 things, that is true," said Mr. Tolman. 
 " But is it not dreadfully lonely sitting in a 
 drug-store all night ? There can't be many
 
 206 ME. TOLMAN. 
 
 people to come to buy medicine at night. I 
 thought there was generally a night-bell 
 to drug-stores, by which a clerk could be 
 awakened if anybody wanted anything. " 
 
 "It's not very lonely in our store at 
 night," said Glascow. "In fact it's often 
 more lively then than in the daytime. You 
 see, we are right down among the newspaper 
 offices, and there 's always somebody coming 
 in for soda-water, or cigars, or something or 
 other. The store is a bright, warm place for 
 the night editors and reporters to meet to- 
 gether and talk and drink hot soda, and 
 there 's always a knot of 'em around the 
 stove about the time the papers begin to go 
 to press. And they 're a lively set, I can 
 tell you, sir. I Ve heard some of the best 
 stories I ever heard in my life told in our 
 place after three o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " A strange life ! " said Mr. Tolman. " Do 
 you know, I never thought that people 
 amused themselves in that way. And night 
 after night, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, sir, night after night, Sundays and 
 all." 
 
 The night druggist now took up his book. 
 
 "Going home to read?" asked Mr. 
 Tolman. 
 
 "Well, no," said the other ; "it 's rather
 
 MR. TOLMAtf. 207 
 
 cold this afternoon to read. I think I'll 
 take a brisk walk." 
 
 "Can't you leave your book until you 
 return?" asked Mr. Tolman ; "that is, if 
 you will come back this way. It 's an awk- 
 ward book to carry about." 
 
 "Thank you, I will," said Glascow. "I 
 shall come back this way. " 
 
 When he had gone, Mr. Tolman took up 
 the book, and began to look over it more 
 carefully than he had done before. But his 
 examination did not last long. 
 
 " How anybody of common sense can take 
 any interest in this stuff is beyond my com- 
 prehension," said Mr. Tolman, as he closed 
 the book and put it on a little shelf behind 
 the counter. 
 
 When Glascow came back, Mr. Tolman 
 asked him to stay and warm himself ; and 
 then, after they had talked for a short time, 
 Mr. Tolman began to feel hungry. He had 
 his winter appetite, and had lunched early. 
 So said he to the night druggist, who had 
 opened his " Dormstock," " How would you 
 like to sit here and read a while, while I go 
 and get my dinner? I will light the gas, 
 and you can be very comfortable here, if you 
 are not in a hurry." 
 
 P. Glascow was in no hurry at all, and
 
 208 MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 was very glad to have some quiet reading 
 by a warm fire ; and so Mr. Tolman left 
 him, feeling perfectly confident that a man 
 who had been allowed by the old lady to 
 renew a book nine times must be perfectly 
 trustworthy. 
 
 When Mr. Tolman returned, the two had 
 some further conversation in the corner by 
 the little stove. 
 
 ' ' It must be rather annoying, * said the 
 night druggist, " not to be able to go out to 
 your meals without shutting up your shop. 
 If you like," said he, rather hesitatingly, 
 " I will step in about this time in the after- 
 noon, and stay here while you go to dinner. 
 1 11 be glad to do this until you get an 
 assistant. I can easily attend to most 
 people who come in, and others can wait. " 
 
 Mr. Tolman jumped at this proposition. 
 It was exactly what he wanted. 
 
 So P. Glascow came every afternoon and 
 read " Dormstock " while Mr. Tolman went 
 to dinner ; and before long he came at lunch- 
 time also. It was just as convenient as not, 
 he said. He had finished his breakfast, and 
 would like to read a while. Mr. Tolman 
 fancied that the night druggist's lodgings 
 were, perhaps, not very well warmed, which 
 idea explained the desire to walk rather
 
 MB. TOLMAN. 2CQ 
 
 than read on a cold afternoon. Glascow's 
 name was entered on the free list, and he 
 always took away the "Dormstock" at 
 night, because he might have a chance of 
 looking into it at the store, when custom 
 began to grow slack in the latter part of the 
 early morning. 
 
 One afternoon there came into the shop 
 a young lady, who brought back two 
 books which she had had for more than a 
 month. She made no excuses for keeping 
 the books longer than the prescribed time, 
 but simply handed them in and paid her 
 fine. Mr. Tolman did not like to take this 
 money, for it was the first of the kind he 
 had received ; but the young lady looked as 
 if she was well able to afford the luxury of 
 keeping books over their time, and business 
 was business. So he gravely gave her her 
 change. Then she said she would like to 
 take out Dormstock's Logarithms of the 
 Diapason. 
 
 Mr. Tolman stared at her. She was a 
 bright, handsome young lady, and looked as 
 if she had very good sense. He could not 
 understand it. But he told her the book 
 was out. 
 
 "Out!" she said. "Why, it's always 
 out. It seems strange to me that there
 
 210 MB. TOLMAN T . 
 
 should be such a demand for that book. I 
 have been trying to get it for ever so long." 
 
 "Itis strange," said Mr. Tolman ; "but 
 it is certainly in demand. Did Mrs. Walker 
 ever make you any promises about it ?" 
 
 " No," said she ; " but I thought my turn 
 would come around some time. And I par- 
 ticularly want the book just now." 
 
 Mr. Tolman felt somewhat troubled. He 
 knew that the night druggist ought not to 
 monopolise the volume, and yet he did not 
 wish to disoblige one who was so useful to 
 him, and who took such an earnest interest in 
 the book. And he could not temporise with 
 the young lady, and say that he thought 
 the book would soon be in. He knew it would 
 not. There were three hundred and forty 
 pages of it. So he merely remarked that he 
 was sorry. 
 
 "So am I," said the young lady, "very 
 sorry. It so happens that just now I have 
 a peculiar opportunity for studying that 
 book, which may not occur again." 
 
 There was something in Mr. Tolman's 
 sympathetic face which seemed to invite her 
 confidence, and she continued. 
 
 "lam a teacher," she said, "and on 
 account of certain circumstances I have a 
 holiday for a month, which I intended to
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 211 
 
 give up almost entirely to the study of 
 music, and I particularly wanted ' Dorm- 
 stock.' Do you think there is any chance 
 of its early return, and will you reserve it 
 for me ? " 
 
 "Reserve it ! " said Mr. Tolman. " Most 
 certainly I will." And then he reflected a 
 second or two. " If you will come here the 
 day after to-morrow, I will be able to tell 
 you something definite." 
 
 She said she would come. 
 
 Mr. Tolman was out a long time at lunch- 
 time the next day. He went to all the lead- 
 ing book-stores to see if he could buy a copy 
 of Dormstock's great work. But he was 
 unsuccessful. The booksellers told him that 
 there was no probability that he could get a 
 copy in the country, unless, indeed, he found 
 it in the stock of some second-hand dealer. 
 There was no demand at all for it, and that 
 if he even sent for it to England, where it 
 was published, it was not likely he could 
 get it, for it had been long out of print. 
 The next day he went to several second-hand 
 stores, but no " Dormstock " could he find. 
 
 When he came back he spoke to Glascow 
 on the subject. He was sorry to do so, but 
 thought that simple justice compelled him 
 to mention the matter. The night druggist
 
 212 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 was thrown into a perturbed state of mind 
 by the information that some one wanted his 
 beloved book. 
 
 "A woman ! " he exclaimed. "Why, she 
 would not understand two pages out of the 
 whole of it. It is too bad. I didn't suppose 
 any one would want this book." 
 
 "Do not disturb yourself too much," said 
 Mr. Tolman. "I am not sure that you 
 ought to give it up." 
 
 "lam very glad to hear you say so," 
 said Glascow. "I have no doubt it is only 
 a passing fancy with her. I dare say she 
 would really rather have a good new novel ; " 
 and then, having heard that the lady was 
 expected that afternoon, he went out to walk, 
 with the ' ' Dormstock " under his arm. 
 
 When the young lady arrived, an hour or 
 so later, she was not at all satisfied to take 
 out a new novel, and was very sorry indeed 
 not to find the Logarithms of the Diapason 
 waiting for her. Mr. Tolman told her that 
 he had tried to buy another copy of the 
 work, and for this she expressed herself 
 gratefully. He also found himself compelled 
 to say that the book was in the possession 
 of a gentleman who had had it for some 
 time all the time it had been out, in fact 
 and had not yet finished it.
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 21 3 
 
 At this the young lady seemed somewhat 
 nettled. 
 
 " Is it not against the rules for any person 
 to keep one book out so long ? " she asked. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Tolman. " I have looked 
 into that. Our rules are very simple, and 
 merely say that a book may be renewed by 
 the payment of a certain sum." 
 
 " Then I am never to have it ? " remarked 
 the young lady. 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't despair about it," said 
 Mr. Tolman. "He has not had time to 
 reflect upon the matter. He is a reasonable 
 young man, and I believe that he will be 
 willing to give up his study of the book for 
 a time, and let you take it." 
 
 "No," said she, "I don't wish that. If 
 he is studying, as you say he is, day and 
 night, I do not wish to interrupt him. I 
 should want the book at least a month, and 
 that, I suppose, would upset his course of 
 study entirely. But I do not think any 
 one should begin in a circulating library to 
 study a book that will take him a year to 
 finish ; for, from what you say, it will take 
 this gentleman at least that time to finish 
 Dormstock's book." And so she went her 
 way. 
 
 When P. Glascow heard all this in the
 
 214 MR- TOLMAN. 
 
 evening, he was very grave. He had 
 evidently been reflecting. 
 
 "It is not fair," said he. "I ought not 
 to keep the book so long. I now give it up 
 for a while. , You may let her have it when 
 she comes. " And he put the ' ' Dormstock " 
 on the counter, and went and sat down by 
 the stove. 
 
 Mr. Tolman was grieved. He knew the 
 night druggist had done right, but still he 
 was sorry for him. "What will you do?" 
 he asked. " Will you stop your studies ? " 
 
 "Oh no," said Glascow, gazing solemnly 
 into the stove. " I will take up some other 
 books on the diapason which I have, and 
 will so keep my ideas fresh on the subject 
 until this lady is done with the book. I do 
 not really believe she will study it very 
 long." And then he added: "If it is all 
 the same to you, I will come around here 
 and read, as I have been doing, until you 
 shall get a regular assistant." 
 
 Mr. Tolman would be delighted to have 
 him come, he said. He had entirely given 
 up the idea of getting an assistant ; but this 
 he did not say. 
 
 It was some time before the lady came 
 back, and Mr. Tolman was afraid she was 
 not coming at all. But she did come, and
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 215 
 
 asked for Mrs. Burney's Evelina. She 
 smiled when she named the book, and said 
 that she believed she would have to take a 
 novel after all, and she had always wanted 
 to read that one. 
 
 " I wouldn't take a novel if I were you," 
 said Mr. Tolman ; and he triumphantly 
 took down the "Dormstock" and laid it 
 before her. 
 
 She was evidently much pleased, but when 
 he told her of Mr. Glascow's gentlemanly 
 conduct in the matter, her countenance 
 instantly changed. 
 
 "Not at all," said she, laying down the 
 book; "I will not break up his study. I 
 will take the Evelina, if you please." 
 
 And as no persuasion from Mr. Tolman 
 had any effect upon her, she went away with 
 Mrs. Burney's novel in her muff. 
 
 "Now, then," said Mr. Tolman to Glas- 
 cow, in the evening, "you may as well 
 take the book along with you. She won't 
 have it." 
 
 But Glascow would do nothing of the kind. 
 "No," he remarked, as he sat looking into 
 the stove; "when I said I would let her 
 have it, I meant it. She '11 take it when 
 she sees that it continues to remain in the 
 library."
 
 2l6 MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 Glascow was mistaken : she did not take 
 it, having the idea that he would soon con- 
 clude that it would be wiser for him to read 
 it than to let it stand idly on the shelf. 
 
 "It would serve them both right," said 
 Mr. Tolman to himself, "if somebody else 
 would come and take it." But there was no 
 one else among his subscribers who would 
 even think of such a thing. 
 
 One day, however, the young lady came 
 in and asked to look at the book. "Don't 
 think that I am going to take it out," she 
 said, noticing Mr. Tolman 's look of pleasure 
 as he handed her the volume. " I only wish 
 to see what he says on a certain subject 
 which I am studying now ;" and so she sat 
 down by the stove, on the chair which Mr. 
 Tolman placed for her, and opened "Dorm- 
 stock." 
 
 She sat earnestly poring over the book for 
 half an hour or more, and then she looked 
 up and said, "I really cannot make out 
 what this part means. Excuse my troub- 
 ling you, but I would be very glad if you 
 would explain the latter part of this pas- 
 sage." 
 
 "Me!" exclaimed Mr. Tolman; "why, 
 my good madam miss, I mean I couldn't 
 explain it to you if it were to save my life.
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 217 
 
 But what page is it ? " said he, looking at his 
 watch. 
 
 "Page twenty-four," answered the young 
 lady. 
 
 "Oh, well, then," said he, "if you can 
 wait ten or fifteen minutes, the gentleman 
 who has had the book will be here, and I 
 think he can explain anything in the first 
 part of the work." 
 
 The young lady seemed to hesitate whether 
 to wait or not ; but as she had a certain curi- 
 osity to see what sort of a person he was who 
 had been so absorbed in the book, she con- 
 cluded to sit a little longer and look into 
 some other parts of the book. 
 
 The night druggist soon . came in ; and 
 when Mr. Tolman introduced him to the 
 lady, he readily agreed to explain the pas- 
 sage to her if he could. So Mr. Tolman got 
 him a chair from the inner room, and he 
 also sat down by the stove. 
 
 The explanation was difficult, but it was 
 achieved at last ; and then the young lady 
 broached the subject of leaving the book 
 unused. This was discussed for some time, 
 but came to nothing, although Mr. Tolman 
 put down his afternoon paper and joined in 
 the argument, urging, among other points, 
 that as the matter now stood he was deprived
 
 2l8 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 by the dead-lock of all income from the book. 
 But even this strong argument proved of no 
 avail. 
 
 "Then I'll tell you what I wish you 
 would do," said Mr. Tolman, as the young 
 lady rose to go ; " come here and look at the 
 book whenever you wish to do so. I 'd like 
 to make this more of a reading-room anyway. 
 It would give me more company." 
 
 After this the young lady looked into 
 "Dormstock" when she came in ; and as her 
 holidays had been extended by the continued 
 absence of the family in which she taught, 
 she had plenty of time for study, and came 
 quite frequently. She often met with Glas- 
 cow in the shop ; and on such occasions they 
 generally consulted "Dormstock," and some- 
 times had quite lengthy talks on musical 
 matters. One afternoon they came in to- 
 gether, having met on their way to the 
 library, and entered into a conversation on 
 diapasonic logarithms, which continued dur- 
 ing the lady's stay in the shop. 
 
 " The proper thing," thought Mr. Tolman, 
 " would be for these two people to get mar- 
 ried. Then they could take the book and 
 study it to their hearts' content. And they 
 would certainly suit each other, for they are 
 both greatly attached to musical mathe-
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 219 
 
 matics and philosophy, and neither of them 
 either plays or sings, as they have told me. 
 It would be an admirable match." 
 
 Mr. Tolman thought over this matter a 
 good deal, and at last determined to mention 
 it to Glascow. When he did so, the young 
 man coloured, and expressed the opinion 
 that it would be of no use to think of such 
 a thing. But it was evident from his man- 
 ner and subsequent discourse that he had 
 thought of it. 
 
 Mr. Tolman gradually became quite anxious 
 on the subject, especially as the night drug- 
 gist did not seem inclined to take any 
 steps in the matter. The weather was now 
 beginning to be warmer, and Mr. Tolman 
 reflected that the little house and the little 
 shop were probably much more cosy and 
 comfortable in winter than in summer. 
 There were higher buildings all about the 
 house, and even now he began to feel that 
 the circulation of air would be quite as 
 agreeable as the circulation of books. He 
 thought a good deal about his airy rooms in 
 the neighbouring city. 
 
 " Mr. Glascow," said he, one afternoon, 
 " I have made up my mind to shortly sell 
 out this business." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the other. " Do
 
 22C MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 you mean you will give it up and go away 
 leave the place altogether ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Tolman, "I shall give 
 up the place entirely, and leave the city." 
 
 The night druggist was shocked. He had 
 spent many happy hours in that shop, and 
 his hours there were now becoming plea- 
 santer than ever. If Mr. Tolman went 
 away, all this must end. Nothing of the 
 kind could be expected of any new pro- 
 prietor. 
 
 "And considering this," continued Mr. 
 Tolman, "I think it would be well for you 
 to bring your love matters to a conclusion 
 while I am here to help you." 
 
 " My love matters ! " exclaimed Mr. Glas- 
 cow, with a flush. 
 
 "Yes, certainly," said Mr. Tolman. "I 
 have eyes, and I know all about it. Now 
 let me tell you what I think. When a thing 
 is to be done, it ought to be done the first 
 time there is a good chance. That 's the way 
 I do business. Now you might as well come 
 around here to-morrow afternoon, prepared 
 to propose to Miss Edwards. She is due to- 
 morrow, for she has been two days away. 
 If she don't come, we '11 postpone the matter 
 until the next day. But you should be 
 ready to-morrow. I don't believe you can
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 221 
 
 see her much when you don't meet her here ; 
 for that family is expected back very soon, 
 and from what I infer from her account of 
 her employers, you won't care to visit her at 
 their house." 
 
 The night druggist wanted to think about 
 it. 
 
 " There is nothing to think," said Mr. 
 Tolman. "We know all about the lady." 
 (He spoke truly, for he had informed himself 
 about both parties to the affair.) "Take 
 my advice, and be here to-morrow afternoon 
 and come rather early. " 
 
 The next morning Mr. Tolman went up to 
 his parlour on the second floor, and brought 
 down two blue stuffed chairs, the best he 
 had, and put them in the little room back of 
 the shop. He also brought down one or two 
 knicknacks and put them on the mantel- 
 piece, and he dusted and brightened up the 
 room as well as he could. He even covered 
 the table with a red cloth from the parlour. 
 
 When the young lady arrived, he invited 
 her to walk into the back room to look over 
 some new books he had just got in. If she 
 had known he proposed to give up the 
 business, she would have thought it rather 
 strange that he should be buying new books. 
 But she knew nothing of his intentions.
 
 222 MR. TOLMAN. 
 
 When she was seated at the table whereon 
 the new books were spread, Mr. Tolman 
 stepped outside of the shop door to watch 
 for Glascow's approach. He soon appeared. 
 
 "Walk right in," said Mr. Tolman. 
 " She 's in the back room looking over books. 
 I '11 wait here, and keep out customers as 
 far as possible. It 's pleasant, and I want 
 a little fresh air. I '11 give you twenty 
 minutes." 
 
 Glascow was pale, but he went in without 
 a word ; and Mr. Tolman, with his hands 
 under his coat-tail, and his feet rather far 
 apart, established a blockade on the door- 
 step. He stood there for some time looking 
 at the people outside, and wondering what 
 the people inside were doing. The little 
 girl who had borrowed the milk of him, and 
 who had never returned it, was about to 
 pass the door ; but seeing him standing there, 
 she crossed over to the other side of the 
 street. But he did not notice her. He was 
 wondering if it was time to go in. A boy 
 came up to the door, and wanted to know if 
 he kept Easter-eggs. Mr. Tolman was 
 happy to say he did not. When he had 
 allowed the night druggist a very liberal 
 twenty minutes, he went in. As he entered 
 the shop door, giving the bell a very decided
 
 MR. TOLMAN. 22$ 
 
 ring as he did so, P. Glascow came down 
 the two steps that led from the inner room. 
 His face showed that it was all right with 
 him. 
 
 A few days after this, Mr. Tolman sold 
 out his stock, good-will, and fixtures, to- 
 gether with the furniture and lease of the 
 house. And who should he sell out to but 
 to Mr. Glascow ! This piece of business was 
 one of the happiest points in the whole 
 affair. There was no reason why the happy 
 couple should not be married very soon, and 
 the young lady was charmed to give up 
 her position as teacher and governess in a 
 family, and come and take charge of that de- 
 lightful little store and that cunning little 
 house, with almost everything in it that they 
 wanted. 
 
 One thing in the establishment Mr. Tol- 
 man refused to sell. That was Dormstock's 
 great work. He made the couple a present 
 of the volume, and between two of the 
 earlier pages he placed a bank-note, which 
 in value was very much more than that of 
 the ordinary wedding-gift. 
 
 "And what are you going to do?" they 
 asked of him, when all these things were 
 settled. And then he told them how he 
 was going back to his business in the neigh-
 
 224 MB. TOLMAN. 
 
 bouring city, and he told them what it was, 
 and how he had come to manage a circulat- 
 ing library. They did not think him crazy. 
 People who studied the logarithms of the 
 diapason would not be apt to think a man 
 crazy for such a little thing as that. 
 
 When Mr. Tolman returned to the 
 establishment of Pusey & Co., he found 
 everything going on very satisfactorily. 
 
 "You look ten years younger, sir," said 
 Mr. Canterfield. "You must have had a 
 very pleasant time. I did not think there 
 
 was enough to interest you in for so long 
 
 a time." 
 
 " Interest me ! " exclaimed Mr. Tolman. 
 " Why, objects of interest crowded on me. 
 I never had a more enjoyable holiday in my 
 life." 
 
 When he went home that evening (and he 
 found himself quite willing to go), he tore 
 up the will he had made. He now felt that 
 there was no necessity for proving his sanity c
 
 PLAIN FISHING.
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 "TIT ELL, sir," said old Peter, as he came 
 T V out on the porch with his pipe, " so 
 you come here to go fishin' ? " 
 
 Peter Gruse was the owner of the farm- 
 house where I had arrived that day, just be- 
 fore supper-time. He was a short, strong-built 
 old man, with a pair of pretty daughters, 
 and little gold rings in his ears. Two 
 things distinguished him from the farmers in 
 the country round about : one was the rings 
 in his ears, and the other was the large and 
 comfortable house in which he kept his pretty 
 daughters. The other farmers in that region 
 had fine large barns for their cattle and 
 horses, but very poor houses for their 
 daughters. Old Peter's earrings were in- 
 directly connected with his house. He had 
 not always lived among those mountains. 
 He had been on the sea, where his ears were 
 decorated', and he had travelled a good deal 
 on land, where he had ornamented his mind 
 with many ideas which were not in general
 
 228 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 use in the part of his State in which he was 
 born. This house stood a little back from 
 the highroad, and if a traveller wished to 
 be entertained, Peter was generally willing 
 to take him in, provided he had left his wife 
 and family at home. The old man himself 
 had no objection to wives and children, but 
 his two pretty daughters had. 
 
 These two young women had waited on 
 their father and myself at supper-time, one 
 continually bringing hot griddle cakes, and 
 the other giving me every opportunity to 
 test the relative merits of the seven different 
 kinds of preserves, which, in little glass 
 plates, covered the unoccupied spaces on the 
 table-cloth. The latter, when she found 
 that there was no further possible way of 
 serving us, presumed to sit down at the 
 corner of the table and begin her supper. 
 But in spite of this apparent humility, which 
 was only a custom of the country, there was 
 that in the general air of the pretty daughters 
 which left no doubt in the mind of the in- 
 telligent observer that they stood at the 
 wheel in that house. There was a son of 
 fourteen, who sat at table with us, but he 
 did not appear to count as a member of the 
 family. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "I understood that
 
 PLAIN ^FISHING. 229 
 
 there was good fishing hereabouts, and, at 
 any rate, I should like to spend a few days 
 among these hills and mountains." 
 
 "Well," said Peter, "there's trout in 
 some of our streams, though not as many as 
 there used to be, and there 's hills a plenty, 
 and mountains too, if you choose to walk 
 fur enough. They 're a good deal furder off 
 than they look. What did you bring with 
 you to fish with ? " 
 
 "Nothing at all," I answered. "I was 
 told in the town that you were a great fisher- 
 man, and that you could let me have all the 
 tackle I would need." 
 
 "Upon my word," said old Peter, resting 
 his pipe-hand on his knee and looking stead- 
 fastly at me, "you're the queerest fisher- 
 man I 've seed yet. Nigh every year, some 
 two or three of 'em stop here in the fishin' 
 season, and there was never a man who 
 didn't bring his jinted pole, and his reels, 
 and his lines, and his hooks, and his dry- 
 good flies, and his whisky-flask with a long 
 strap to it. Now, if you want all these 
 things, I haven't got ? em." 
 
 "Whatever you use yourself will suit 
 me," I answered. 
 
 " All right, then," said he. " I '11 do the 
 best I can for you in the mornin'. But it 's
 
 230 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 plain enough to me that you 're not a game 
 fisherman, or you wouldn't come here without 
 your tools." 
 
 To this remark I made answer to the 
 effect, that though I was very fond of fish- 
 ing, my pleasure in it did not depend upon 
 the possession of all the appliances of pro- 
 fessional sport. 
 
 "Perhaps you think," said the old man, 
 " from the way I spoke, that I don't believe 
 them fellers with the jiuted poles can ketch 
 fish, but that ain't so. That old story about 
 the little boy with the pin-hook who ketched 
 all the fish, while the gentleman with the 
 modern improvements, who stood alongside 
 of him, kep' throwin' out his beautiful flies 
 and never got nothin', is a pure lie. The 
 fancy chaps, who must have ev'rythin' jist 
 so, gen'rally gits fish. But for all that, I 
 don't like their way of fishin', and I take no 
 stock in it myself. I 've been fishin', on and 
 off, ever since I was a little boy, and I've 
 caught nigh every kind there is, from the 
 big jew-fish and cavalyoes down South, to 
 the trout and minnies round about here. 
 But when I ketch a fish, the first thing I do 
 is to try to git him on the hook, and the 
 next thing is to git him out of the water 
 jist as soon as I kin. I don't put in no time
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 231 
 
 worryin' him. There 's only two animals in 
 the world that likes to worry smaller creeturs 
 a good while afore they kill 'em ; one is the 
 cat, and the other is what they call the 
 game fisherman. This kind of a feller never 
 goes after no fish that don't mind being 
 ketched. He goes fur them kinds that loves 
 their home in the water and hates most to 
 leave it, and he makes it jist as hard fur 'em 
 as he kin. What the game fisher likes is 
 the smallest kind of a hook, the thinnest line, 
 and a fish that it takes a good while to 
 weaken. The longer the weak'nin' business 
 kin be spun out, the more the sport. The 
 idee is to let the fish think there 's a chance 
 fur him to git away. That 's jist like the 
 cat with her mouse. She lets the little 
 creetur hop off, but the minnit he gits fur 
 enough down, she jabs on him with her 
 claws, and then, if there 's any game left in 
 him, she lets him try agen. Of course the 
 game fisher could have a strong line and a 
 stout pole and git his fish in a good sight 
 quicker, if he wanted to, but that wouldn't 
 be sport. He couldn't give him the butt 
 and spin him out, and reel him in, and let 
 him jump and run till his pluck is clean 
 worn out. Now, I likes to git my fish ashore 
 with all the pluck in 'em. It makes 'em
 
 232 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 taste better. And as fur fun, I '11 be bound 
 I 've had jist as much of that, and more, too, 
 than most of these fellers who are so dreadful 
 anxious to have everythin' jist right, and 
 think they can't go fishiii' till they 've spent 
 enough money to buy a suit of Sunday 
 clothes. As a gen'ral rule they 're a solemn 
 lot, and work pretty hard at their fun. 
 When I work I want to be paid fur it, and 
 when I go in fur fun I want to take it easy 
 and comfortable. Now I wouldn't say so 
 much agen these fellers," said old Peter, as 
 he arose and put his empty pipe on a little 
 shelf under the porch-roof, " if it wasn't for 
 one thing, and that is, that they think that 
 their kind of fishin' is the only kind worth 
 considerin'. The way they look down upon 
 plain Christian fishin' is enough to rile a 
 hitchin'-post. I don't want to say nothin' 
 agen no man's way of attendin' to his own 
 affairs, whether it 's kitchen gardenin', or 
 whether it 's fishin', if he says nothin' agen 
 my way ; but when he looks down on me, 
 and grins me, I want to haul myself up, and 
 grin him, if I kin. And in this case, I kin. 
 I s'pose the house-cat and the cat-fisher (by 
 which I don't mean the man who fishes for 
 cat-fish) was both made as they is, and they 
 can't help it; but that don't give 'em no
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 233 
 
 right to put on airs before other bein's, who 
 gits their meat with a square kill. Good 
 night. And sence I Ve talked so much about 
 it, I Ve a mind to go fishin' with you to- 
 morrow myself." 
 
 The next morning found old Peter of the 
 same mind, and after breakfast he proceeded 
 to fit me out for a day of what he called 
 "plain Christian trout-fishin'. " He gave 
 me a reed rod, about _nine feet long, light, 
 strong, and nicely balanced. The tackle he 
 produced was not of the fancy order, but 
 his lines were of fine strong linen, and his 
 hooks were of good shape, clean and sharp, 
 and snooded to the lines with a neatness 
 that indicated the hand of a man who had 
 been where he learned to wear little gold 
 rings in his ears. 
 
 "Here are some of these feather insects," 
 he said, "which you kin take along if you 
 like." And he handed me a paper contain- 
 ing a few artificial flies. "They're pretty 
 nat'ral," he said, "and the hooks is good. 
 A man who come here fishin' gave 'em to me, 
 but I shan't want 'em to-day. At this 
 time of year grasshoppers is the best bait in 
 the kind of place where we 're goin' to fish. 
 The stream, after it comes down from the 
 mountain, runs through half a mile of medder
 
 234 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 land before it strikes into the woods agen. 
 A grasshopper is a little creetur that 's got 
 as much conceit as if his j in ted legs was 
 fish-poles, and he thinks he kin jump over 
 this iiarrer run of water whenever he pleases ; 
 but he don't always do it, and them of 
 him that don't git snapped up by the trout 
 that lie along the banks in the medder is 
 floated along into the woods, where there ! s 
 always fish enough, to come to the second 
 table." 
 
 Having got me ready, Peter took his own 
 particular pole, which he assured me he had 
 used for eleven years, and hooking on his 
 left arm a good-sized basket, which his elder 
 pretty daughter had packed with cold meat, 
 bread, butter, and preserves, we started 
 forth for a three-mile walk to the fishing- 
 ground. The day was a favourable one for 
 our purpose, the sky being sometimes over- 
 clouded, which was good for fishing, and 
 also for walking on a highroad ; and some- 
 times bright, which was good for effects of 
 mountain scenery. Not far from the spot 
 where old Peter proposed to begin our sport, 
 a small frame-house stood by the roadside, 
 and here the old man halted and entered the 
 open door without knocking or giving so 
 much as a premonitory stamp. I followed,
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 235 
 
 imitating my companion in leaving my pole 
 outside, which appeared to be the only cere- 
 mony that the etiquette of those parts re- 
 quired of visitors. In the room we entered, 
 a small man in his shirt sleeves sat mending 
 a basket handle. He nodded to Peter, and 
 Peter nodded to him. 
 
 " We Ve come up a-fishin', 5 ' said the old 
 man. "Kin your boys give us some grass- 
 hoppers?" 
 
 ' ' I don't know that they 've got any ready 
 ketched," said he, " for I reckon I used what 
 they had this mornin'. But they kin git 
 you some. Here, Dan, you and Sile go and 
 ketch Mister Gruse and this young man 
 some grasshoppers. Take that mustard- 
 box, and see that you git it full. " 
 
 Peter and I now took seats, and the con- 
 versation began about a black cow which 
 Peter had to sell, and which the other was 
 willing to buy if the old man would trade 
 for sheep, which animals, however, the 
 basket-mender did not appear just at that 
 time to have in his possession. As I was 
 not very much interested in this subject, I 
 walked to the back door and watched two 
 small boys in scanty shirts and trousers, and 
 ragged straw hats, who were darting about 
 in the grass catching grasshoppers, of which
 
 236 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 insects, judging by the frequent pounces 
 of the boys, there seemed a plentiful 
 supply. 
 
 "Got it full ? " said their father when the 
 boys came in. 
 
 " Crammed," said Dan. 
 
 Old Peter took the little can, pressed the 
 top firmly on, put it in his coat-tail pocket, 
 and rose to go. " You 'd better think about 
 that cow, Barney," said he. He said nothing 
 to the boys about the box of bait ; but I 
 could not let them catch grasshoppers for 
 us for nothing, and I took a dime from my 
 pocket, and gave it to Dan. Dan grinned, 
 and Sile looked sheepishly happy, and at 
 the sight of the piece of silver an expression 
 of interest came over the face of the father. 
 " Wait a minute," said he, and he went into 
 a little room that seemed to be a kitchen. 
 Returning, he brought with him a small 
 string of trout. " Do you want to buy some 
 fish?" he said. " These is nice fresh ones. 
 I ketched 'em this mornin'." 
 
 To offer to sell fish to a man who is just 
 about to go out to catch them for himself 
 might, in most cases, be considered an in- 
 sult, but it was quite evident that nothing 
 of the kind was intended by Barney. He 
 probably thought that if I bought grass-
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 237 
 
 hoppers, I might buy fish. ' ' You kin have 
 'em for a quarter," he said. 
 
 It was derogatory to my pride to buy fish 
 at such a moment, but the man looked very 
 poor, and there was a shade of anxiety on 
 his face which touched me. Old Peter 
 stood by without saying a word. "It 
 might be well," I said, turning to him, "to 
 buy these fish, for we may not catch enough 
 for supper." 
 
 "Such things do happen," said the old 
 man. 
 
 "Well," said I, "if we have these we will 
 feel safe in any case." And I took the fish 
 and gave the man a quarter. It was not, 
 perhaps, a professional act, but the trout 
 were well worth the money, and I felt that 
 I was doing a deed of charity. 
 
 Old Peter and I now took our rods, and 
 crossed the road into an enclosed lot, and 
 thence into a wide stretch of grass land, 
 bounded by hills in front of us and to the 
 right, while a thick forest lay to the left. 
 We had walked but a short distance, when 
 Peter said : " I '11 go down into the woods, 
 and try my luck there, and you 'd better go 
 along up stream, about a quarter of a mile, 
 to where it 's rocky. P'raps you ain't used 
 to fishin' in the woods, and you might git
 
 238 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 your line cotched. You '11 find the trout '11 
 bite in the rough water. " 
 
 " Where is the stream?" I asked. 
 
 "This is it," he said, pointing to a little 
 brook, which was scarcely too wide for me 
 to step across, "and there 's fish right here, 
 but they're hard to ketch, fur they git 
 plenty of good livin', and are mighty sassy 
 about their eatin'. But you kin ketch 'em 
 up there." 
 
 Old Peter now went down toward the 
 woods, while I walked up the little stream. 
 I had seen trout-brooks before, but never 
 one so diminutive as this. However, when 
 I came nearer to the point where the stream 
 issued from between two of the foot-hills of 
 the mountains, which lifted their forest- 
 covered heights in the distance, I found it 
 wider and shallower, breaking over its 
 rocky bottom in sparkling little cascades. 
 
 Fishing in such a jolly little stream, sur- 
 rounded by this mountain scenery, and with 
 the privileges of the beautiful situation all 
 to myself, would have been a joy to me if 
 I had had never a bite. But no such ill-luck 
 befell me. Peter had given me the can of 
 grasshoppers after putting half of them in- 
 to his own bait-box, and these I used with 
 much success. It was grasshopper season,
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 239 
 
 and the trout were evidently on the look- 
 out for them. I fished in the ripples under 
 the little waterfalls ; and every now and 
 then I drew out a lively trout. Most of 
 these were of moderate size, and some of 
 them might have been called small. The 
 large ones probably fancied the forest shades, 
 where old Peter went. But all I caught 
 were fit for the table, and I was very well 
 satisfied with the result of my sport. 
 
 About an hour after noon I began to feel 
 hungry, and thought it time to look up the 
 old man, who had the lunch-basket. I 
 walked down the bank of the brook, and 
 some time before I reached the woods I 
 came to a place where it expanded to a 
 width of about ten feet. The water here 
 was very clear, and the motion quiet, so that 
 I could easily see to the bottom, which did 
 not appear to be more than a foot below the 
 surface. Gazing into this transparent water, 
 as I walked, I saw a large trout glide across 
 the stream, and disappear under the grassy 
 bank which overhung the opposite side. I 
 instantly stopped. This was a much larger 
 fish than any I had caught, and I determined 
 to try for him. 
 
 I stepped back from the bank, so as to be 
 out of sight, and put a fine grasshopper on
 
 240 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 my hook ; then I lay, face downward, on the 
 grass, and worked myself slowly forward 
 until I could see the middle of the stream ; 
 then quietly raising my pole, I gave my 
 grasshopper a good swing, as if he had made 
 a wager to jump over the stream at its 
 widest part. But as he certainly would 
 have failed in such an ambitious endeavour, 
 especially if he had been caught by a puff 
 of wind, I let him come down upon the sur- 
 face of the water, a little beyond the middle 
 of the brook. Grasshoppers do not sink 
 when they fall into the water, and so I kept 
 this fellow upon the surface, and gently 
 moved him along, as if, with all the conceit 
 taken out of him by the result of his ill- 
 considered leap, he was ignominiously en- 
 deavouring to swim to shore. As I did this, 
 I saw the trout come out from under the 
 bank, move slowly toward the grasshopper, 
 and stop directly under him. Trembling 
 with anxiety and eager expectation, I en- 
 deavoured to make the movements of the 
 insect still more natural, and, as far as I 
 was able, I threw into him a sudden percep- 
 tion of his danger, and a frenzied desire to 
 get away. But, either the trout had had all 
 the grasshoppers he wanted, or he was able, 
 from long experience, to perceive the differ-
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 24! 
 
 ence between a natural exhibition of emotion 
 and a histrionic imitation of it, for he slowly 
 turned, and, with a few slight movements 
 of his tail, glided back under the bank. 
 In vain did the grasshopper continue his 
 frantic efforts to reach the shore ; in vain 
 did he occasionally become exhausted, and 
 sink a short distance below the surface ; in 
 vain did he do everything that he knew, to 
 show that he appreciated what a juicy and 
 delicious morsel he was, and how he feared 
 that the trout might yet be tempted to seize 
 him ; the fish did not come out again. 
 
 Then I withdrew my line, and moved back 
 from the stream. I now determined to try 
 Mr. Trout with a fly, and I took out the 
 paper old Peter Gruse had given me. I 
 did not know exactly what kind of winged 
 insects were in order at this time of the 
 year, but I was sure that yellow butterflies 
 were not particular about just what month 
 it was, so long as the sun shone warmly. I 
 therefore chose that one of Peter's flies 
 which was made of the yellowest feathers, 
 and, removing the snood and hook from my 
 line, I hastily attached this fly, which was 
 provided with a hook quite suitable for my 
 desired prize. Crouching on the grass, I 
 again approached the brook. Gaily flitting 
 
 L. or T. Q
 
 242 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 above the glassy surface of the water, in all 
 the fancied security of tender youth and 
 innocence, came my yellow fly. Backward 
 and forward over the water he gracefully flew, 
 sometimes rising a little into the air, as if 
 to view the varied scenery of the woods and 
 mountains, and then settling for a moment 
 close to the surface, to better inspect his 
 glittering image as it came up from below, 
 and showing in his every movement his 
 intense enjoyment of summer-time and life. 
 Out from his dark retreat now came the 
 trout, and settling quietly at the bottom of 
 the brook, he appeared to regard the venture- 
 some insect with a certain interest. But he 
 must have detected the iron barb of vice 
 beneath the mask of blitheful innocence, for, 
 after a short deliberation, the trout turned 
 and disappeared under the bank. As he 
 slowly moved away, he seemed to be bigger 
 than ever. I must catch that fish ! Surely 
 he would bite at something. It was quite 
 evident that his mind was not wholly un- 
 susceptible to emotions emanating from an 
 awakening appetite, and I believed that if 
 he saw exactly what he wanted, he would 
 not neglect an opportunity of availing him- 
 self of it. But what did he want ? I must 
 certainly find out. Drawing myself back
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 243 
 
 again, I took off the yellow fly, and put on 
 another. This was a white one, with black 
 blotches, like a big miller moth which had 
 fallen into an ink-pot. It was certainly a 
 conspicuous creature, and as I crept forward 
 and sent it swooping over the stream, I could 
 not see how any trout, with a single in- 
 sectivorous tooth in his head, could fail to 
 rise to such an occasion. But this trout did 
 not rise. He would not even come out from 
 under his bank to look at the swiftly flitting 
 creature. He probably could see it well 
 enough from where he was. 
 
 But I was not to be discouraged. I put 
 on another fly ; a green one with a red tail. 
 It did not look like any insect that I had ever 
 seen, but I thought that the trout might 
 know more about such things than I. He 
 did come out to look at it, but probably 
 considering it a product of that modern 
 jestheticism which sacrifices natural beauty 
 to mediaeval crudeness of colour and form, 
 he retired without evincing any disposition 
 to countenance this style of art. 
 
 It was evident that it would be useless to 
 put on any other flies, for the two I had 
 left were a good deal bedraggled, and not 
 nearly so attractive as those I had used. 
 Just before leaving the house that morning
 
 244 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 Peter's son had given me a wooden match- 
 box filled with worms for bait, which, al- 
 though I did not expect to need, I put in 
 my pocket. As a last resort I determined 
 to try the trout with a worm. I selected 
 the plumpest and most comely of the lot ; 
 I put a new hook on my line ; I looped him 
 about it in graceful coils, and cautiously 
 approached the water, as before. Now a 
 worm never attempts to wildly leap across 
 a flowing brook, nor does he flit in thought- 
 less innocence through the sunny air, and 
 over the bright transparent stream. If he 
 happens to fall into the water, he sinks to 
 the bottom ; and if he be of a kind not sub- 
 ject to drowning, he generally endeavours to 
 secrete himself under a stone, or to burrow 
 in the soft mud. With this knowledge of 
 his nature I gently dropped my worm upon 
 the surface of the stream, and then allowed 
 him to slowly sink. Out sailed the trout 
 from under the bank, but stopped before 
 reaching the sinking worm. There was a cer- 
 tain something in his action which seemed 
 to indicate a disgust at the sight of such 
 plebeian food, and a fear seized me that he 
 might now swim off, and pay no further at- 
 tention to my varied baits. Suddenly there 
 was a ripple in the water, and I felt a pull
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 245 
 
 on the line. Instantly I struck ; and then 
 there was a tug. My blood boiled through 
 every vein and artery, and I sprang to my 
 feet. I did not give him the butt : I did 
 not let him run with yards of line down the 
 brook ; nor reel him in, and let him make 
 another mad course up stream : I did not 
 turn him over as he jumped into the air ; 
 nor endeavour, in any way, to show him that 
 I understood those tricks, which his de- 
 praved nature prompted him to play upon 
 the angler. With an absolute dependence 
 upon the strength of old Peter's tackle, I 
 lifted the fish. Out he came from the water, 
 which held him with a gentle suction as if 
 unwilling to let him go, and then he whirled 
 through the air like a meteor flecked with 
 rosy fire, and landed on the fresh green grass 
 a dozen feet behind me. Down on my knees 
 I dropped before him as he tossed and rolled, 
 his beautiful spots and colours glistening in 
 the sun. He was truly a splendid trout, 
 fully a foot long, round and heavy. Care- 
 fully seizing him, I easily removed the hook 
 from the bony roof of his capacious mouth 
 thickly set with sparkling teeth, and then I 
 tenderly killed him, with all his pluck, 
 as old Peter would have said, still in him. 
 I covered the rest of the fish in my basket
 
 246 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 with wet plantain leaves, and laid my trout- 
 king on this cool green bed. Then I hurried 
 off to the old man, whom I saw coming out 
 of the woods. When I opened my basket 
 and showed him what I had caught, Peter 
 looked surprised, and, taking up the trout, 
 examined it. 
 
 "Why, this is a big fellow," he said. " At 
 first I thought it was Barney Sloat's boss 
 trout, but it isn't long enough for him. 
 Barney showed me his trout, that gen'rally 
 keeps in a deep pool, where a tree has fallen 
 over the stream down there. Barney tells 
 me he often sees him, and he 's been tryiii' 
 fur two years to ketch him, but he never 
 has, and I say he never will, fur them big 
 trout 's got too much sense to fool round any 
 kind of victuals that 's got a string to it. 
 They let a little fish eat all he wants, and 
 then they eat him. How did you ketch this 
 one?" 
 
 I gave an account of the manner of the 
 capture, to which Peter listened with interest 
 and approval. 
 
 " If you'd a stood off and made a cast at 
 that feller, you 'd either have caught him at 
 the first flip, which isn't likely, as he didn't 
 seem to want no feather-flies, or else you'd 
 a skeered him away. That 's all well enough
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 247 
 
 in the tumblm' water, where you gen'rally 
 go fur trout, but the man that 's got the true 
 feelin' fur fish will try to suit his idees to 
 theyrn, and if he keeps on doin' that, he 's 
 like to learn a thing or two that may do 
 him good. That 's a fine fish, and you ketched 
 him well. I Ve got a lot of 'em, but nothin' 
 of that heft." 
 
 After luncheon we fished for an hour or 
 two, with no result worth recording, and 
 then we started for home. A couple of 
 partridges ran across the road some dis- 
 tance ahead of us, and these gave Peter an 
 idea. 
 
 "Do you know, " said he, " if things go on 
 as they 're goin' on now, that there '11 come 
 a time when it won't be considered high- 
 toned sport to shoot a bird slam-bang dead. 
 The game gunners will pop 'em with little 
 harpoons, with long threads tied to 'em, and 
 the feller that can tire out his bird, and 
 haul him in with the longest and thinnest 
 piece of spool cotton, will be the crackest 
 sportsman." 
 
 At this point I remarked to my companion 
 that perhaps he was a little hard on the 
 game fishermen. 
 
 "Well," said old Peter, with a smile on 
 his corrugated visage, ' ' I reckon I 'd have to
 
 248 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 do a lot of talkin' before I 'd git even with 
 'em, fur the way they give me the butt for 
 my style of fishin'. What I say behind their 
 backs I say to their faces. I seed one of 
 these fellers once with a fish on his hook, 
 that he was runnin' up an' down the stream 
 like a chased chicken. ' Why don't you pull 
 him in ? ' says I. ' And break my rod an' 
 line ? ' says he. ' Why don't you have a 
 stronger line and pole?' says I. 'There 
 wouldn't be no science in that,' says he. ' If 
 it's your science you want to show off,' says 
 I, ' you ought to fish for mud eels. There 's 
 more game in 'em than there is in any other 
 fish round here, and as they 're mighty 
 lively out of water, you might play one of 
 'em fur half an hour after you got him on 
 shore, and it would take all your science to 
 keep him from reelin' up his end of the line 
 faster than you could yourn.' " 
 
 When we reached the farm the old man 
 went into the barn, and I took the fish into 
 the house. I found the two pretty daugh- 
 ters in the large room, where the eating and 
 some of the cooking was done. I opened 
 my basket, and with great pride showed 
 them the big trout I had caught. They 
 evidently thought it was a large fish, but 
 they looked at each other, and smiled in a
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 249 
 
 way that I did not understand. I had ex- 
 pected from them, at least, as much admir- 
 ation for my prize and my skill as their 
 father had shown. 
 
 ' ' You don't seem to think much of this 
 fine trout that I took such trouble to catch," 
 I remarked. 
 
 "You mean," said the elder girl, with a 
 laugh, "that you bought of Barney Sloat." 
 
 I looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 " Barney was along here to-day, 3J she said, 
 "and he told about your buying your fish 
 of him." 
 
 " Bought of him ! " I exclaimed indig- 
 nantly. " A little string of fish at the bot- 
 tom of the basket I bought of him, but all 
 the others, and this big one, I caught my- 
 self." 
 
 " Oh, of course," said the pretty daughter, 
 "bought the little ones and caught all the 
 big ones." 
 
 "Barney Sloat ought to have kept his 
 mouth shut," said the younger pretty daugh- 
 ter, looking at me with an expression of pity. 
 "He'd got his money, and he hadn't no 
 business to go telling on people. Nobody 
 likes that sort of thing. But this big fish is 
 a real nice one, and you shall have it for 
 your supper."
 
 250 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 " Thank you," I said, with dignity, and 
 left the room. 
 
 I did not intend to have any further words 
 with these young women on this subject, 
 but I cannot deny that I was annoyed and 
 mortified. This was the result of a charitable 
 action. I think I was never more proud of 
 anything than of catching that trout ; and it 
 was a very considerable downfall to suddenly 
 find myself regarded as a mere city man fish- 
 ing with a silver hook. But, after all, what 
 did it matter ? But the more I said this to 
 myself, the more was I impressed with the 
 fact that it mattered a great deal. 
 
 The boy who did not seem to be ac- 
 counted a member of the family came 
 into the house, and as he passed me he 
 smiled good-humouredly, and said : " Buyed 
 'em ! " 
 
 I felt like throwing a chair at him, but 
 refrained out of respect to my host. Before 
 supper the old man came out on to the porch 
 where I was sitting. " It seems," said he, 
 "that my gals has got it inter their heads 
 that you bought that big fish of Barney 
 Sloat, and as I can't say I seed you ketch 
 it, they're not willin' to give in, 'specially 
 as I didn't git no such big one. 'Tain't 
 wise to buy fish when you 're goin' fishin'
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 25! 
 
 yourself. It 's pretty certain to tell agen 
 you." 
 
 " You ought to have given me that advice 
 before," I said, somewhat shortly. "You 
 saw me buy the fish." 
 
 " You don't s'pose," said old Peter, " that 
 I 'm goin' to say anythin' to keep money out 
 of my neighbour's pockets. We don't do 
 that way in these parts. But I've told 
 the gals they 're not to speak another word 
 about it, so you needn't give your mind 110 
 worry on that score. And now let 's go 
 in to supper. If you 're as hungry as I am, 
 there won't be many of them fish left fur 
 breakfast." 
 
 That evening, as we were sitting smoking 
 on the porch, old Peter's mind reverted to 
 the subject of the unfounded charge against 
 me. "It goes pretty hard,' ' he remarked, 
 " to have to stand up and take a thing you 
 don't like when there 's no call fur it. It 's 
 bad enough when there is a call fur it. That 
 matter about your fish buyin' reminds me 
 of what happened two summers ago to 
 my sister, or ruther to her two little 
 boys or, more correct yit, to one of 'em. 
 Them was two cur'ous little boys. They was 
 allus traclin' with each other. Their father 
 deals mostly in horses, and they must have
 
 252 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 got it from him. At the time I 'm tellin' of 
 they 'd traded every thin' they had, and when 
 they hadn't nothin' else left to swap they 
 traded names. Joe he took Johnny's name, 
 and Johnny he took Joe's. Jist about when 
 they 'd done this, they both got sick with 
 sumthin' or other, the oldest one pretty bad, 
 the other not much. Now there ain't no doctor 
 inside of twenty miles of where my sister 
 lives. But there 's one who sometimes has 
 a call to go through that part of the country, 
 and the people about there is allus very glad 
 when they chance to be sick when he comes 
 along. Now this good luck happened to my 
 sister, fur the doctor come by jist at this 
 time. He looks into the state of the boys, 
 and while their mother has gone downstairs 
 he mixes some medicine he has along with 
 him. ' What 's your name ? ' he says to the 
 oldest boy when he 'd done it. Xow as he 'd 
 traded names with his brother, fair and 
 square, he wasn't goin' back on the trade, 
 and he said, ' Joe. ' ' And my name 's 
 Johnny,' up and says the other one. Then 
 the doctor he goes and gives the bottle of 
 medicine to their mother, and says he : 
 ' This medicine is fur Joe. You must give 
 him a tablespoonful every two hours. Keep 
 up the treatment, and he : 11 be all right. As
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 253 
 
 fur Johnny, there 's nothin' much the matter 
 with him. He don't need no medicine.' 
 And then he went away. Every two hours 
 after that Joe, who wasn't sick worth men- 
 tionin', had to swaller a dose of horrid stuff, 
 and pretty soon he took to his bed, and 
 Johnny he jist played round and got well 
 in the nat'ral way. Joe's mother kept up 
 the treatment, gittin' up in the night to feed 
 that stuff to him ; but the poor little boy got 
 wuss and wuss, and one mornin' he says to 
 his mother, says he : ' Mother, I guess I 'm 
 goin' to die, and I 'd ruther do that than take 
 any more of that medicine, and I wish you 'd 
 call Johnny and we '11 trade names back 
 agen, and if he don't want to come and do 
 it, you kin tell him he kin keep the old 
 minkskin I gave him to boot, on account of 
 his name havin' a Wesley in it.' 'Trade 
 names,' says his mother, ' what do you mean 
 by that ? ' And then he told her what he 
 and Johnny had done. ' And did you ever 
 tell anybody about this ? ' says she. ' No- 
 body but Dr. Barnes,' says he. ' After that 
 I got sick and forgot it.' When my sister 
 heard that, an idee struck into her like you 
 put a fork into an apple dumplin. ' Traded 
 names, and told the doctor ! She 'd all along 
 thought it strange that the boy that seemed
 
 254 PLAIN FISHING. 
 
 wuss should be turned out, and the other 
 one put under treatment ; but it wasn't fur 
 her to set up her opinion agen that of a man 
 like Dr. Barnes. Down she went, in about 
 seventeen jumps, to where Eli Timmins, the 
 hired man, was ploughin' in the corn. ' Take 
 that horse out of that, ' she hollers, ' and you 
 may kill him if you have to, but git Dr. 
 Barnes here before my little boy dies.' 
 When the doctor come he heard the story, 
 and looked at the sick youngster, and then 
 says he : 'If he 'd kept his minkskin, and 
 not hankered after a Wesley to his name, 
 he 'd a had a better time of it. Stop the 
 treatment, and he '11 be all right.' Which 
 she did ; and he was. Now it seems to me 
 that this is a good deal like your case. 
 You 've had to take a lot of medicine that 
 didn't belong to you, and I guess it 's made 
 you feel pretty bad ; but I Ve told my gals 
 to stop the treatment, and you '11 be all right 
 in the mornin'. Good night. Your candle- 
 stick is on the kitchen table." 
 
 For two days longer I remained in this 
 neighbourhood, wandering alone over thehills, 
 and up the mountain-sides, and by the brooks, 
 which tumbled and gurgled through the 
 lonely forest. Each evening I brought home 
 a goodly supply of trout, but never a great
 
 PLAIN FISHING. 255 
 
 one like the noble fellow for which I angled 
 in the meadow stream. 
 
 On the morning of my departure I stood 
 on the porch with old Peter waiting for the 
 arrival of the mail driver, who was to take 
 me to the nearest railroad town. 
 
 " I don't want to say nothin','' remarked 
 the old man, " that would keep them fellers 
 with the jinted poles from stoppin' at my 
 house when they comes to these parts a-fishin'. 
 I ain't got no objections to their poles ; 'tain't 
 that. And I don't mind nuther their standin' 
 off, and throwin' their flies as fur as they Ve 
 a mind to ; that 's not it. And it ain't even 
 the way they have of worryin' their fish. I 
 wouldn't do it myself, but if they like it, 
 that 's their business. But what does rile 
 me is the cheeky way in which they stand 
 up and say that there isn't no decent way of 
 fishin' but their way. And that to a man 
 that 's ketched more fish, of more different 
 kinds, with more game in 'em, and had more 
 fun at it, with a lot less money and less tom- 
 foolin' than any fishin' feller that ever come 
 here and talked to me like an old cat tryin' 
 to teach a dog to ketch rabbits. No, sir ; 
 agen I say that I don't take no money fur 
 entertainin' the only man that ever come out 
 here to go a-fishin' in a plain, Christian way.
 
 256 PLAIN FISHIXG. 
 
 But if you feel tetchy about not payin'nothin', 
 you kin send me one of them poles in three 
 pieces, a good strong one, that '11 lift Barney 
 Sloat's trout, if ever I hook him." 
 
 I sent him the rod ; and next summer I 
 am going up to see him use it.
 
 MY BULL-CALF.
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 I AM an animal painter, and although I am 
 not well known to fame, I have painted 
 a good many pictures, most of which may 
 now be seen on the walls of my studio. In 
 justice to myself I must say that the critics 
 of the Art exhibitions and those persons 
 competent to judge who have visited my 
 studio have spoken in praise of my pictures, 
 and have given me a good place among the 
 younger artists of the country ; sometimes, 
 indeed, they have said things about the sug- 
 gested sentiment of some of my work which 
 I am too modest here to repeat. But in spite 
 of this commendation, which I labour hard to 
 deserve, there has been no great demand for 
 my paintings. 
 
 A facetious brother artist once attempted 
 to explain the slowness of my sales. " You 
 see," said he, "that painting changes the 
 nature of its subjects. In real life animals 
 frequently go off very rapidly, but when they 
 are painted they don't."
 
 260 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 The same gentleman also made a good deal 
 of fun of one of my first paintings a dead 
 lion. This animal had died in a menagerie 
 in the city, and having heard of his decease, 
 I bought his remains for five dollars, and 
 after dark I cqnveyed them to my studio in 
 a wheelbarrow. I was quite young and en- 
 thusiastic then, and as the animal had appa- 
 rently died of a consumption, he was not very 
 heavy. I worked day and night at a life-size 
 (so to speak) portrait of the beast, and it was 
 agreed by all who saw it that I succeeded very 
 well. But no one seemed inclined in the slight- 
 est degree to buy the picture. ' ' What you are 
 waiting for," said my facetious friend, " is the 
 visit of a live ass. When he comes along he 
 will buy that thing, and make your fortune." 
 My latest work was a life-size picture of a 
 bull-calf. Some time before I determined to 
 devote myself to cattle painting, and had 
 bought a cow for a model. This I did be- 
 cause I found it difficult to have control over 
 the cows of other people. I live a short dis- 
 tance out of town, and while the farmers 
 thereabout were very willing that I should 
 go into the field and sketch their cows, they 
 would not allow me to pen one of them up in 
 a confined space where I could study her form 
 and features without following her, easel and
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 26 1 
 
 material in hand, over a wide and sometinies 
 marshy pasture. My cow proved a very 
 valuable possession. I rented a small grassy 
 field for her, and put up a cheap and com- 
 fortable shed in one corner of it. I sold her 
 milk to the good lady with whom I lived, 
 and my model cow paid all her expenses, 
 attendance included. She was a gentle 
 creature, and becoming accustomed to my 
 presence, would generally remain in one 
 position for a long time, and when I stirred 
 her up would readily assume some other 
 attitude of repose. I did not always copy her 
 exactly. Sometimes I gave her one colour and 
 sometimes another, and sometimes several 
 blended ; at one time I gave her horns, and at 
 another none ; and in this way I frequently 
 made a herd of her, scattering her over a ver- 
 dant mead. I did not always even paint her as 
 a cow. With a different head and branching 
 horns, a longer neck, a thinner body, a shorter 
 tail, and longer legs, she made an excellent stag, 
 the lifelike poses which I was enabled to get 
 giving the real value to the picture. Once I 
 painted her as a sphinx, her body couched in 
 the conventional way, with claws at the ends 
 of the legs instead of hoofs, and a little 
 altered in contour, making an admirable 
 study ; and there was an expression in her
 
 262 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 eye, as she meditatively crunched a cabbage 
 leaf, which made me give it to the woman's 
 head that I placed upon her. 
 
 "What a far-off, prophetic look it has ! " 
 said one who stood before the picture when 
 it was finished. "It seems to gaze across 
 the sands of Egypt, and to see things thou- 
 sands of years ahead. If you could fix up a 
 little bit of sunset in the distance, with some 
 red and yellow clouds in the shape of the flag 
 of England, the symbolised sentiment would 
 be quite perfect." 
 
 The bull-calf which afterward served as 
 my model was the son of my cow. When he 
 was old enough to go about by himself and 
 eat hay and grass, I sold his mother at a 
 good profit, and retained him as a model, and 
 the life-size picture of him, on which I 
 worked for a long time, was my masterpiece. 
 When it was nearly finished I brought it to 
 my studio, and there day after day I touched 
 and retouched it, often thinking it finished, 
 but always finding, when I went home and 
 looked at my calf, that there was something 
 of life and truth in the real animal which I 
 had not given to the picture, and which I 
 afterward strove to suggest, if not to copy. 
 
 I had a friend who occupied a studio in the 
 same building, and who took a great interest
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 263 
 
 in the portrait of my bull-calf. The specialty 
 of this artist was quiet landscape and flowers, 
 and we had frequently gone into the country 
 and sketched together, the one drawing the 
 cattle, and the other the field in which they 
 roved. One day we stood before my almost 
 completed work. 
 
 "What a spirited and lifelike air he has !" 
 remarked my companion. " He looks as if 
 he was just about to hunch up his back, give 
 a couple of awkward skips, and then butt at 
 us. I really feel like shutting the door, when 
 I come in, for fear he should jump down and 
 run away. You are going to brighten up the 
 foreground a little, are you not ? " 
 
 "Yes," I answered ; "and what it needs 
 is a modest cluster of daisies in this corner. 
 Won't you paint them in for me ? You can 
 do it so much better than I can ! " 
 
 "No," she answered; "I positively will 
 not. No one but yourself should touch it. 
 It is your very best work, and it should be 
 all your picture." 
 
 In the course of my life I had not had, or 
 at least I believed that I had not had, many 
 of those pieces of good fortune which people 
 call "opportunities." Now here was one, 
 and I determined to seize it. " Why can it 
 not be our picture ?" I asked.
 
 264 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 She looked up at me with a quick glance, 
 which seemed to say, " What ! are you about 
 to speak at last ? " 
 
 In ten minutes all had been said, and we 
 were engaged to be married. 
 
 Our studios were opposite each other, sepa- 
 rated by a wide hall, and it had been our 
 custom, when one went to luncheon, for the 
 other to sit, with open door, so that visitors 
 to the absent one might be seen and attended 
 to. Emma generally lunched at a quiet 
 restaurant near by much frequented by 
 ladies, and where an occasional male visitor 
 might be seen, and to this place I also went 
 as soon as she came back. I knew her 
 favourite little table in the corner, and I al- 
 ways tried to occupy the place she had just 
 vacated. But to-day we determined to lock 
 our studio doors and lunch together. There 
 was really very little reason to expect a 
 visitor. The waiter who attended to our 
 wants was a quiet coloured man, with white 
 hair and whiskers, and an expression of 
 kindly observation on his sable countenance. 
 He arranged our table with much care, and 
 listened to our orders with a deference I had 
 not noticed before ; but perhaps he always 
 waited thus on ladies. While we were eat- 
 ing he retired to a little distance, and stood
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 265 
 
 regarding us with an interested but not too 
 intent attention. We had so often eaten 
 at the same table, but never before at the 
 same time. 
 
 When we returned we went first to my 
 studio, and when we opened the door the 
 bull-calf seemed to smile. We both noticed 
 it. 
 
 "There is something in the way he looks 
 at us," said Emma, "that reminds me of 
 our old waiter." 
 
 "Strange," I replied. "I noticed that 
 myself." 
 
 Again I urged her to make the daisies for 
 me, but she still refused. 
 
 " No," she said. " It is your picture, and 
 you must not be unable to say that you did 
 it all yourself. And besides, if I were to 
 put in any daisies, your calf is so natural 
 that he would snip them off. I will not 
 have my daisies snipped off, even by that 
 handsome creature." 
 
 She looked up, as she said this, with a 
 smile as bright and fresh as any daisy, and 
 I But never mind. 
 
 The next day we went again together to 
 the restaurant, and the kindly observation 
 deepened on the face of the waiter. When 
 he had arranged with unusual nicety the little
 
 266 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 table service, he placed before Emma a wine- 
 glass containing a button -hole bouquet. 
 When we were leaving he detained me a 
 moment, and said in a low voice 
 
 "After this, sir, if you would first order 
 your beef for one with two plates, and then 
 order the lady's chicken and salad for one 
 with two plates, you would each have some 
 beef and some chicken. It wouldn't cost any 
 more, sir, and 'twould make more of a menu." 
 
 "After this!" I mentally repeated as I 
 gratefully put my hand in my pocket. If 
 that old waiter had been an artist, what a 
 gift his powers of observation would have 
 been to him ! 
 
 We agreed that we would be married in 
 the early autumn, for truly there was little 
 reason for delay. "It has been so many, 
 many months," I said, "since I declared to 
 myself that I would never marry any one 
 but you, that I really consider that I have 
 been engaged to you for a very long time. " 
 
 ' ' I may as well admit that something of 
 the same kind has passed through my mind. 
 It is no harm to tell you so now, and it will 
 make more of a menu." 
 
 If my calf really cared to snip daisies, he 
 must have envied me then. 
 
 There was no impediment to our early
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 267 
 
 marriage except the fact that neither of us 
 had any money. 
 
 "What you must do," said Emma, " is to 
 finish your picture and sell it. You must 
 stop looking at the calf you have at home. 
 Of course he is growing every day, and new 
 beauties are coming out on him all the time. 
 You cannot expect to have his picture keep 
 pace with his development. After a while 
 you will have to give him horns, and make 
 him larger." 
 
 "The model is bigger now than the 
 picture," I said ; " and I must take your 
 advice, and stop looking at him. If I don't, 
 his portrait will never be done." 
 
 I would not put any flowers in the fore- 
 ground, for, if I did so, I was sure they 
 would look as if they had been picked out 
 of a lady's bonnet. After what I had seen 
 Emma do, I knew I could not paint daisies 
 and buttercups. I put in some pale mullein 
 leaves, and a point of rock which caught the 
 light, and when this was done I determined 
 to call the picture finished. 
 
 "What are you going to ask for it?" 
 asked Emma. 
 
 "I had thought of a thousand dollars. 
 Don't you consider that is a reasonable 
 price ? "
 
 268 MY EULL-CALF. 
 
 "I think it is a very low price," she an- 
 swered, " considering the size of the picture 
 and the admirable way in which it is painted. 
 I imagine it is seldom that a picture like 
 that is offered at a thousand dollars ; but, as 
 you want to sell it very much, I suppose it 
 will be well not to ask any more." 
 
 "I do want very much to sell it," I said, 
 giving her hand a squeeze which she under- 
 stood. 
 
 I had also made up my mind in regard to 
 the mode of disposing of the picture. Some 
 weeks before, an artist friend in Boston had 
 written to me that a well-known picture- 
 dealer would open in that city early in 
 September an art establishment particularly 
 for the sale of pictures on commission, and 
 that he would inaugurate his enterprise with 
 an exhibition of paintings, which he wished to 
 make as extensive and attractive as possible. 
 
 "If you have anything good, finished in 
 time," wrote my friend, "I think you will 
 do well to send it to Schemroth. He knows 
 your work, and, if I mistake not, bought one 
 of your pictures when he was in business in 
 New York. I doubt if he has many animal 
 subjects, and he wants variety. He says he 
 is going to make his exhibition one of the 
 art features of the season. "
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 269 
 
 Emma agreed with me that I could not do 
 better than send my picture to Sehemroth. 
 He was an enterprising man, and would be 
 certain to do everything he could to attract 
 attention to his exhibition, and she felt sure 
 that if the art public of Boston had a good 
 opportunity of seeing my picture it would 
 certainly be sold. 
 
 The painting was carefully packed, and 
 sent to Boston, in care of my friend there, 
 who shortly afterward wrote me that Sehem- 
 roth liked it, and had given it a good place 
 in his gallery, which would open in a day or 
 two. My studio looked very bare and empty 
 after the departure of my spirited bull-calf, 
 so long my daily companion ; but my mind 
 was so occupied with the consideration of 
 the important event which was to follow his 
 sale, that I did not miss him as much ae I 
 would otherwise have done. Emma and I 
 talked a good deal about the best way of 
 beginning our married life, and I was much 
 in favour of a trip to Europe ; but in regard 
 to this she did not agree with me. 
 
 "A thousand dollars," she said, "would 
 not go far for such a purpose. The steamer 
 tickets would cost us about a hundred dol- 
 lars apiece, and that would be four hundred 
 dollars to go and come back. Then you
 
 270 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 certainly ought to keep a hundred dollars 
 for your own use before you start, and that 
 would only leave five hundred dollars with 
 which to go to Paris and Rome and Dresden. 
 If we did less than that, it would be hardly 
 worth while to go at all. And five hundred 
 dollars would not begin to be enough for 
 two people." 
 
 I was obliged to admit that she was cor- 
 rect, and the European trip was given up. 
 
 "My idea is," said Emma, "that we 
 ought to take the money and furnish a house 
 with it. That will be a good practical be- 
 ginning, and after a while, when we have 
 painted a few more pictures, we can go to 
 Europe. You could keep a hundred dollars 
 for your own use ; we could put aside two 
 hundred for rainy days, or whatever kind of 
 weather it may be when money is needed 
 and there is none coming in, and then with 
 seven hundred dollars we could buy enough 
 furniture and other things to begin house- 
 keeping in a small way. By this plan, you 
 see, sir, your beautiful calf would give us an 
 excellent start in life." 
 
 This proposition needed no discussion. 
 Before she had half finished speaking I was 
 convinced that nothing could be more sen- 
 sible and delightful. ' ' We must look for a
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 271 
 
 house immediately," I said. "It won't do 
 to put off that part of the business. We 
 should know where we are going to live, so 
 that when we are ready to buy the furniture 
 there need be no delay. " 
 
 Good fortunes as well as misfortunes some- 
 times object to coming singly ; and just at 
 this time I heard of something which was 
 certainly a piece of rare good luck to a young 
 couple contemplating matrimony. A gentle- 
 man named Osburn, who lived near my 
 country home, with whom I had become 
 well acquainted, and to whom I had confided 
 the important news of my engagement, met 
 me on the train a day or two after Emma 
 and I had agreed upon the furniture project, 
 and told me that if I intended to go to house- 
 keeping he thought he could offer me a de- 
 sirable opportunity. "My wife and I," he 
 said, ' ' wish very much to travel for a year 
 or two, and the time has now arrived when 
 we can do it, if we can dispose of our house- 
 hold effects, and get some one to take our 
 house, on which we have a lease. Now, if 
 you are going to marry, and care for a place 
 like ours, it might be worth your while to 
 consider the question of taking it and buying 
 our furniture. We will sell everything just 
 as it is, excepting, of course, the books, and
 
 272 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 such small articles as have a personal value, 
 and you can walk right in and begin house- 
 keeping at once. Everything was new two 
 years ago, and you know my wife is a very 
 careful housekeeper. The house is small, and 
 very simply furnished, and I have no doubt 
 you would want to add all sorts of things, 
 but at first you wouldn't really need any- 
 thing that you wouldn't find there. We wish 
 to dispose of the whole establishment linen, 
 china, silver (it 's only plated, but it 's very 
 good), kitchen utensils, garden tools, a lot 
 of fine poultry, a dog, a cat everything, in 
 fact, excepting the few articles I spoke of. 
 What do you say ? " 
 
 " Say ! " I exclaimed ; " there is nothing 
 to say, except that I should be perfectly de- 
 lighted to take the place off your hands if I 
 could afford it ; but I am afraid your price 
 would be above my means. I suppose you 
 would want to sell all or nothing ? " 
 
 "Oh yes," said Mr. Osburn ; "it would 
 not pay us to sell out piecemeal, and we do 
 not wish to let the house to any one who 
 will not buy the furniture. If you think 
 the proposition worth considering, my wife 
 and I will make an estimate of what we 
 consider the effects worth, and let you 
 know."
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 273 
 
 I told him I should be very glad indeed to 
 know, and he said I should hear from him 
 in a day or two. 
 
 When I told Emma of this, and described 
 to her the Osburns' house, with its neat and 
 comfortable furniture, its aesthetic wall- 
 paper, its convenient and airy rooms, its 
 well-kept garden and little lawn, its hand- 
 some barn and poultry-house, the wide 
 pasture-field belonging to it, the little patch 
 of woodland at the upper end, the neatness 
 and order of everything about the place ; 
 and all this at a very moderate rental, with 
 a lease that had several years to run, she 
 agreed with me, that while it would be per- 
 fectly delightful to take this ready-made 
 home off the Osburns' hands, there was no 
 reason for us to hope that we should be able 
 to do it. We should have to be content 
 with something far less complete and perfect 
 than this. 
 
 Two days after, I received a note from 
 Osburn. "We have carefully considered 
 the present value of our possessions," he 
 said, "with an especial view of making it 
 an object to you to buy them as a whole. 
 Everything is in good order, but as we have 
 had two years' use of the articles, we have 
 considered that fact in making an estimate 
 
 L. or T. S
 
 274 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 of what we think we ought to receive for 
 them. After going over the matter several 
 times, we have determined to offer you the 
 furniture and other things of which I spoke 
 to you for seven hundred and fifty dollars." 
 
 "Why," cried Emma, as she read this 
 letter over my shoulder (for I had taken it 
 into her studio before I opened it), "that 
 is only fifty dollars more than we had ap- 
 propriated ! " 
 
 "But we won't stop for that," I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Stop ! " she said, as with sparkling eyes 
 and glowing cheeks sjie took both my hands 
 in her own regardless of the fact that she 
 already held a brush heavily charged with 
 Vandyck brown "I should think not." 
 
 To work any more then was impossible 
 for either of us. That afternoon we shut up 
 both our studios, and went out to look at 
 the paradise which had been offered us. 
 Mr. Osburn had not yet come home, but his 
 wife took great pleasure in making Emma's 
 acquaintance, and in showing us over the 
 house and grounds. We found everything 
 better of its kind, better adapted to the 
 place in which it was, better suited to our 
 every purpose, and altogether ever so much 
 more desirable, than we had thought. I
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 2J5 
 
 never saw Emma so enthusiastic. Even the 
 picture of my bull-calf had not moved her 
 thus. If the price had not been fixed be- 
 forehand, our delighted satisfaction would 
 have been very impolitic. When Mr. Osburn 
 returned I told him without hesitation that 
 I would accept his offer. I think that he 
 and his wife were almost as much pleased as 
 we were. They had set their hearts on an 
 extended tour in the South and far West. 
 The lady's health demanded this, and her 
 husband had found that he could now so 
 arrange his business as to unite travel with 
 profit ; but it would have been impossible, 
 as he afterward told me, for him to adopt 
 this new mode of life without first dispos- 
 ing of his furniture and household goods. 
 Ready money, I fancy, was not abundant 
 with him. 
 
 When we took leave of the Osburns, four 
 people in very high spirits stood shaking 
 hands in the porch of the pretty house in 
 which we had decided to make our home. 
 There was an extraordinarily good point in 
 this extraordinary piece of good fortune which 
 had befallen us. If the Osburns had wished to 
 settle the business with us at once, it would, 
 of course, have been impossible for us to do 
 our part, but it would be at least six weeks
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 before they intended to give up their house, 
 and in that time we felt quite sure that my 
 picture would be sold. But although we 
 could take no actual steps toward making 
 our arrangements for housekeeping, there 
 was nothing to prevent our thinking and 
 talking about them, and planning what was 
 to be done ; and this occupied a great deal 
 of our time, much to the detriment, I am 
 sure, of our daily work. We were always 
 finding new good points in the matter. 
 
 "The only things about the Osburn house 
 that I don't like," said Emma, "are the 
 pictures and the bric-a-brac. Now these are 
 the things that they want to keep, and if we 
 are well off in any way, it is in pictures, and 
 we can just take some of the paintings we 
 have on hand, and a lot of our large engrav- 
 ings, and have them framed, and with that 
 old armour and brass and china which you 
 have collected, and which an animal painter 
 doesn't want in his studio anyway, we can 
 make our house look just lovely. I have 
 collected too, and I have a good many nice 
 things in my room which you have never 
 
 seen. 
 
 "The house is a good one now," I ex- 
 claimed, " but it will look like another place 
 when you and I get into it. And there is
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 277 
 
 another thing that I have been thinking 
 about. Of course I'll take my calf over 
 there the first thing, and he will get a great 
 deal better eating in that meadow than he 
 has now. But he won't be the only animal 
 we will have. I intend to have a little 
 model farm ; that is to say, a farm on which 
 we will keep models. Of course we will 
 have a cow, and she will not only give us 
 milk and butter, but I can paint her. There 
 is a fine little barn and stable on the place, 
 but Osburn says he never thought he ought 
 to keep a horse, because the house is only 
 five minutes from the station, and it would 
 be a piece of sheer extravagance for him to 
 have a horse just to drive about after he came 
 home at night. But it wouldn't be extra- 
 vagant in me ; it would be actual economy. 
 I ought to paint horses, and to do so properly 
 and economically I should own one. Ami 
 so with all sorts of animals. If I buy a fine 
 dog or a beautiful cat, it will actually be 
 money in my pocket. " 
 
 "That is true," said Emma; "but you 
 mustn't bring any wild animals there until 
 they are so dead that you can wheel them 
 home in a wheelbarrow. It will be perfectly 
 delightful to have a horse, and as I intend 
 to paint birds as well as flowers, I can begin
 
 278 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 on the hens and little chickens and the 
 ducks ; and the sparrows and robins, if I can 
 make them tame enough for me to sketch 
 them. " 
 
 " Yes," I exclaimed, "and you can paint 
 the wild-flowers in your own field ; and 
 we '11 raise splendid Jacqueminot roses, and 
 the hybrid tea, and other fine kinds; and 
 we'll fix up a room for them in the win- 
 ter, so that you can always have flowers 
 for models at whatever stage you want 
 them." 
 
 In the weeks that followed we paid several 
 visits to the Osburns by their invitation, 
 during which the husband explained to me 
 the management of the celery beds, and 
 many of his outdoor improvements, while 
 the wife had some long conversations 
 with Emma about her household arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 As the time approached when the Osburns 
 wished to give up their house, Emma and I 
 became very anxious to hear from Boston. 
 I had written to my friend there explaining 
 the situation, and he had promised to attend 
 to the matter, and see that Schemroth com- 
 municated with me as soon as the picture 
 was sold ; so there was nothing to do but 
 wait. I frequently met Mr. Osburn on the
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 279 
 
 train, and I began to feel, as the time passed 
 on, that I ought to be able to say something 
 to him about concluding our bargain. 
 
 Of course he must have his preparations 
 to make, and he would not wish to delay 
 them too long. Although there was no real 
 reason for it, as we assured ourselves over 
 and over, both Emma and I began to be very 
 uneasy, and we sometimes even regretted 
 that we had accepted Mr. Osburn's offer. If 
 we had not complicated the affair in this 
 way, we could have calmly waited until the 
 picture was sold, and have then done what 
 seemed to us best. There was no probability 
 that we would have met with so good an 
 opportunity of going into housekeeping, but 
 we should have been independent, and easy 
 in our minds. But now we were neither. 
 The plans and prospects of others depended 
 upon us, and our uneasiness and anxiety in- 
 creased every day. I disliked to meet Mr. 
 Osburn, and every morning hoped that he 
 would not be on the train. Never did I 
 await the arrival of the mails with more 
 anxiety and impatience. 
 
 One day, as Emma and I were returning 
 from luncheon, the janitor of the building 
 met us at the door. " A box came for you, 
 sir, by express," he said. "I paid two
 
 280 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 dollars and twenty cents on it. It is up in 
 your room. " 
 
 I said nothing, but put my hand in my 
 pocket. I began to count the money in my 
 pocket-book, but my hand shook, and I 
 dropped a quarter of a dollar on the floor, 
 which rolled off to some distance. As the 
 janitor went to pick it up, Emma ap- 
 proached me, and I noticed that she was 
 very pale. 
 
 "If you haven't enough," she said, "I 
 have some change with me." 
 
 I needed seventy cents to make up the 
 sum, and Emma gave it to me. And then, 
 without a word, we went upstairs. We did 
 not hurry, but it was the first time, I think, 
 that I ever became out of breath in going up 
 those stairs. The moment we looked at the 
 box we knew. The picture had been sent 
 back. 
 
 I gazed at it blankly, reading over and 
 over the painted address. 
 
 "Perhaps you had better open it," said 
 Emma, in a very low voice. "It may not 
 
 As quickly as I could I took off the centre 
 board. The bull-calf, with a melancholy 
 greeting in his eyes, looked out upon us. 
 Then Emma sat down upon the nearest chair
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 28 1 
 
 and burst into tears, and I drew near to 
 comfort her. 
 
 Half an hour later I had taken the picture 
 from the box, which I carefully searched. 
 "Do you know," I cried, a sudden anger 
 taking the place of the deadened sensation 
 of my heart, "that this is an outrageous 
 insult? He should have written to me 
 before he sent it back ; but to return it, 
 without a word or line of any kind, is simply 
 brutal. " 
 
 I said a great deal more than this. I was 
 very angry. I would write to Schemroth, 
 and let him know what I thought of this. 
 Emma now endeavoured to soothe my pas- 
 sion, and urged me not to do anything in a 
 moment of excitement which might injure 
 me in a business point of view. I did not 
 promise forbearance, but suddenly ex- 
 claimed : " And then there is Osburn ! He 
 must be told. It will be a hard, hard 
 thing to do ! They will both be terribly 
 disappointed. It will break up all their 
 plans." 
 
 "I have thought about the Osburns," said 
 Emma, coming close to me, and putting her 
 hands upon my arm, "and I will tell you 
 what we will do. I will go and see Mrs. 
 Osburn. That will be much better than for
 
 282 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 you to see her husband. She will not be 
 angry, and I can explain everything to her 
 so that she will understand." 
 
 "No, my dear," said I; "that will not 
 do. I shall not suffer you to bear what 
 must be the very heaviest brunt of this 
 trouble. In a case like this it is the duty of 
 the man to put himself forward. I must go 
 immediately and see Osburn at his office 
 before he starts for home." 
 
 "I wish you would not," she said ear- 
 nestly. " Of course the man ought to take 
 the lead in most things, but there may be 
 times when it will be easier and better for 
 the wife to go first." 
 
 The moment she said these words she 
 blushed, and I snatched her into my arms. 
 The wife ! If those rich lovers of art had 
 only known what they might have made of 
 this dear girl by buying my picture, it would 
 never have come back to me. 
 
 But time was flying, and if I was to see 
 Osburn at his office, I must hurry. The 
 thing was hard enough to do, as it was, and 
 I did not feel that I could have the heart 
 to tell the story in the presence of his 
 wife. 
 
 "If he is very much troubled," said 
 Emma, "and says anything to you which
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 283 
 
 you do not like, you will not let him make 
 you angry, will you ?" 
 
 " Oh no," said I ; "I am not so unreason- 
 able as that. I have so much pity for him 
 that he may say to me what he pleases. I 
 will bear it all." 
 
 " I am very sorry for you," said Emma, 
 looking up at me, "and I do wish you would 
 let me see Mrs. Osburn." 
 
 But I was firm in my resolution not to 
 shift this very unpleasant duty upon Emma, 
 and in a few minutes I had started down 
 town. When I reached Mr. Osburn's place 
 of business I found tha.t he had gone home, 
 although it was several hours earlier than 
 his usual time of leaving. "He had some- 
 thing he wanted to attend to at his house," 
 said one of the clerks. 
 
 This was a great disappointment to me, 
 for now I would be obliged to go to see him 
 that evening, and most probably to tell him 
 the bad news in the presence of his wife. 
 I did not fully appreciate until now how 
 much easier it would have been to talk to 
 him at his desk in the city. As I walked 
 toward the Osburns' house just after dark 
 that evening, I could scarcely believe that I 
 ,was going to the place which I had lately 
 visited with such delight. Emma and I had
 
 284 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 fallen into the way of already considering 
 the house and grounds as our own, and as I 
 opened the gate I remembered how we had 
 stood there while I told her about some im- 
 provements I intended to make in said gate, 
 so that the weight and chain would never 
 fail to latch it. And now it made no differ- 
 ence to me whether the gate latched or not. 
 And the flower borders, too, on each side of 
 the path ! How Emma had talked to me, 
 when we had walked far enough away, so as 
 to be sure not to hurt Mrs. Osburn's feel- 
 ings, of what she intended to do in those 
 borders ! It all seemed to me like visiting 
 the grave of a home. But I walked steadily 
 up to the house. The parlour shutters were 
 wide open, and the room was brightly 
 lighted, so that I could see plainly what was 
 passing within. There was an air of dis- 
 order about the pretty room. Mr. Osburn, 
 in his shirt sleeves, was on a step-ladder 
 taking down a picture from the wall, while 
 his wife stood below ready to receive it. 
 All the other pictures the portraits of their 
 parents and the chromos which Emma and I 
 thought so little of, but which they valued 
 so highly had been already taken down. 
 These, with various little articles of ornament 
 and use, valuable to them on account of asso-
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 285 
 
 ciation with some dear friend or some dear 
 time, were the things which they intended 
 to reserve ; and it was plain that it was to 
 take down and pack up these that Mr. Osburn 
 had come home early that day. It was now 
 only four days from the date he had fixed 
 for surrendering the house to me, and he 
 was working hard to have everything ready 
 for us. He knew very well that Emma and 
 I had arranged that we would be quietly 
 married as soon as the house should be ours, 
 and that in this charming home, all ready to 
 our hands, we would immediately begin our 
 married life. How earnestly and honestly 
 they were doing their part ! 
 
 I do not think I am a coward, but as I 
 stood and gazed at these two I felt that it 
 would be simply impossible for me to walk 
 into that room and tell them that they 
 might hang up their pictures again and un- 
 pack their bric-a-brac, and that they were 
 not going to take the pleasant journeys they 
 had planned, until they had found some 
 other person, more able to keep to his word 
 than I was, who should take their house and 
 buy their goods. 
 
 No, I could not do it. I would go home 
 and write to Osburn. I did not feel that 
 this was as manly a course as to speak to
 
 286 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 him face to face, but I could not speak to 
 him now. As I was about to turn away, 
 Osburn got down from the ladder, and they 
 both looked around the room. Their faces 
 wore an expression of pleasant satisfaction 
 at the conclusion of their task, but mingled, 
 I truly believe, with a feeling of regret that 
 they should leave to us such bare walls. 
 How Emma and I had talked of what we in- 
 tended to do with those walls ! How I had 
 drawn little sketches of them, and how we 
 had planned and arranged for every space ! 
 
 'I hurried home, wrote a note, and tore it 
 up. I wrote another, but that too did not 
 properly express the situation. It was late, 
 and I could do no more. I would write in 
 the morning, take the letter into town and 
 show it to Emma, and then send it to Osburn 
 at the office. 
 
 The next day Emma was in my studio 
 reading the disgraceful confession I had 
 written, when the janitor came in and 
 handed me a letter. 
 
 "It is from Osburn," I exclaimed, glanc- 
 ing at the address, as the man closed the 
 door behind him. " I know his handwriting. 
 Now this is too bad. If Schemroth had only 
 treated me with decent politeness I could 
 have seen Osburn, or have written to him,
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 287 
 
 before he felt himself obliged to remind me 
 that the time had come for me to attend to 
 my part of the contract." 
 
 " But you must not allow yourself to be 
 so disturbed," said Emma. " You don't 
 know what he has written." 
 
 " That is the only thing he could write 
 about," said I bitterly, as I opened the 
 letter. " It is very humiliating." 
 
 We read the note together. It was very 
 brief, and ran thus : 
 
 " DEAR SIR, I have a customer who is willing 
 to buy your picture, but he is dissatisfied with 
 the foreground. If you will put in some daisies 
 or other field flowers to brighten it up and 
 throw the animal a little back, he will take it. 
 I can ask him enough to cover your price and 
 my commission. As I am sure you will make 
 the alterations, I will forward the picture to you 
 immediately. 
 
 "Yours truly, L. SCHEMROTH." 
 
 The letter was dated four days previously. 
 
 We looked at each other, unable to speak. 
 Our great cloud had turned completely over, 
 and its lining dazzled us. We found words 
 very soon, but I will not repeat them here. 
 We could have fallen down and worshipped 
 our painted calf.
 
 288 MY BULL-CALF. 
 
 "And now, my darling," I cried, "will 
 you put the daisies in our picture?" 
 
 "Indeed will I," she said. And away 
 she ran for her paints and brushes. 
 
 The rest of that afternoon she steadily 
 painted, while I sat beside her, watching 
 every touch of her brush. 
 
 " This daisy," she said, as she finished 
 the first one, "is to make you happy, and 
 the next one will be for myself ; then I 
 will paint two more for Mr. and Mrs. Os- 
 burn, and you must not fail to go and tell 
 them to-night that you will settle up our 
 business in a very short time ; and I will 
 paint a small daisy for Mr. Schemroth, and 
 if he hadn't forgotten to mail his letter when 
 it was written, I would have made his daisy 
 bigger." 
 
 The picture soon went back to Boston, 
 and the original of it now spends most of his 
 time looking over the fence of his pasture 
 into the pretty yard of the house where the 
 Osburns used to live, and hoping that some 
 one will come and give him some cabbage 
 leaves. If he could see all that there is to 
 be seen, he would see that the parlour of that 
 house is hung with the spoils from the 
 studios of two artists, that there is a room 
 in the second story, with a northern light, in
 
 MY BULL-CALF. 289 
 
 which flowers grow on canvas as beautifully 
 as they grow in the fields and garden, and 
 where a large picture is steadily progress- 
 ing in which he figures as "The Coming 
 Monarch." He would also see, far away 
 on the Pacific shore, another couple whom 
 he has helped to make happy ; and if he 
 could cast his eyes Bostonward he would 
 see, every now and then, Mr. Schemroth 
 writing to me to know when I could send 
 him other animal pictures, and assuring me 
 that he can find ready and profitable sale 
 for all that I can paint. And, best of all, 
 he could see, every day, Emma painting 
 daisies into my life.
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- 
 WRITER.
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- 
 WRITER. 
 
 [MR. EDITOR, I find, in looking over the various 
 Complete Letter-Writers, where so many persons of 
 limited opportunities find models for their epistol- 
 ary correspondence, that there are many contingencies 
 incident to our social and domestic life which have 
 not been provided for in any of these books. I there- 
 fore send you a few models of letters suitable to 
 various occasions, which I think may be found useful. 
 I have endeavoured, as nearly as possible, to preserve 
 the style and diction in use in the ordinary " Letter- 
 Writers." 
 
 Yours, etc., F. B. S.] 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 From a little girl living with an unmarried 
 aunt, to her mother, the Widow of a 
 Unitarian clergyman, who is engaged as 
 matron of an Institution for Deaf Mutes, 
 in Wyoming Territory. 
 
 NEW BRUNSWICK, N. J., Aug. 12th, 1877. 
 REVERED PARENT, As the morning sun 
 rose, this day, upon the sixth anniversary,
 
 294 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- WRITER. 
 
 both of my birth and of my introduction to 
 one who, though separated from me by vast 
 and apparently limitless expanses of terri- 
 tory, is not only my maternal parent but my 
 most trustworthy coadjutor in all points of 
 duty, propriety, and social responsibility, I 
 take this opportunity of assuring you of the 
 tender and sympathetic affection I feel for 
 you, and of the earnest solicitude with which 
 I ever regard you. I take pleasure in com- 
 municating the intelligence of my admirable 
 physical condition, and hoping that you will 
 continue to preserve the highest degree of 
 health compatible with your age and arduous 
 duties, I am, 
 
 Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 
 
 MARIA STANLEY. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 From a young gentleman, who Jiaving injured 
 the muscles of the back of his neck by strik- 
 ing them while swimming, on a pane of 
 glass, shaken from the window of a fore- 
 and-cft schooner by a severe collision with 
 a icagon loaded with stone, which had been 
 upset in a creek, in reply to a cousin by 
 marriage who invites him to invest his
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- WHITER . 295 
 
 savings in a patent machine for the disinte- 
 gration of mutton suet. 
 
 BELLEVILLE HOSPITAL, CENTER Co., O., 
 
 Jan. 12, 1877. 
 
 MY RESPECTED COUSIN, The incoherency 
 of your request with my condition [here state 
 the condition] is so forcibly impressed upon 
 my sentient faculties [enumerate and define 
 tlie faculties}, that I cannot refrain from en- 
 deavouring to avoid any hesitancy in making 
 an effort to produce the same or a similar 
 impression upon your perceptive capabilities. 
 With kindest regards for the several members 
 of your household [indicate the members'], I 
 am ever, 
 
 Your attached relative, 
 
 MARTIN JORDAN. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 From a superintendent of an iron-foundry, to 
 a lady who refused his hand in her youth, 
 and who has since married an inspector of 
 customs in one of the Southern States, re- 
 questing her, in case of her husband's de- 
 cease, to give him permission to address her, 
 with a view to a matrimonial alliance. 
 
 BRIER IRON MILLS, SECAUQUA, ILL., July 7, '77. 
 . DEAR MADAM, Although I am fully 
 aware of the robust condition of your re-
 
 296 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- WRITER. 
 
 spected husband's health, and of your tender 
 affection for him and your little ones, I am 
 impelled by a sense of the propriety of 
 providing in time for the casualties and for- 
 tuities of the future, to ask of you permis- 
 sion, in case of your (at present unexpected) 
 widowhood, to renew the addresses which 
 were broken off by your marriage to your 
 present estimable consort. 
 
 An early answer will oblige, 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 JOHN PICKETT. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 From a cook-maid in ilie family of a dealer 
 in silver-plated casters, to the principal of a 
 boarding-school, enclosing the miniature of 
 lier suitor. 
 
 1317 EAST 17xn ST., N.Y., July 30, 77. 
 
 VENERATED MADAM, The unintermittent 
 interest you have perpetually indicated in 
 ttye direction of my well-being stimulates me 
 to announce my approaching conjugal asso- 
 ciation with a gentleman fully my peer in 
 all that regards social position or mental 
 aspiration, and, at the same time, to desire
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- WRITER. 2Q7 
 
 of you, in case of the abrupt dissolution of 
 the connection between myself and my 
 present employers, that you will permit me 
 to perform, for a suitable remuneration, the 
 lavatory processes necessary for the habili- 
 ments of your pupils. 
 
 Your respectful well-wisher, 
 
 SUSAN MAGUIRE. 
 
 No. 5. 
 
 From a father to his son at school, in answer 
 to a letter asking for an increase of pocket- 
 money. 
 
 MY DEAR JOSEPH, Your letter asking for 
 an augmentation of your pecuniary stipend 
 has been received, together with a communi- 
 cation from your preceptor, relative to your 
 demeanour at the seminary. Permit me to 
 say, that should I ever again peruse an 
 epistle similar to either of these, you may 
 confidently anticipate, on your return to my 
 domicile, an excoriation of the cuticle which 
 will adhere to your memory for a term of 
 years. 
 
 Your affectionate father, 
 
 HENRY BAILEY.
 
 298 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- WRITER. 
 
 No. 6. 
 
 From the author of a treatise on molecular 
 subdivision, who has been rejected by the 
 daughter of a cascarilla bark refiner, whose 
 uncle has recently been paid sixty-three dol- 
 lars for repairing a culvert in Indianapolis, 
 to the tailor of a converted Jew on the 
 eastern shore of Maryland, who lias 
 requested the loan of a hypodermic 
 syringe. 
 
 WEST ORANGE, Jan. 2, 1877. 
 
 DEAR SIR, Were it not for unexpected 
 obstacles, which have most unfortuitously 
 arisen, to a connection which I hoped, at an 
 early date, to announce, but which, now, 
 may be considered, by the most sanguine 
 observer, as highly improbable, I might have 
 been able to obtain a pecuniary loan from 
 a connection of the parties with whom I 
 had hoped to be connected, which would 
 have enabled me to redeem, from the hands 
 of an hypothecater the instrument you 
 desire, but which now is as unattainable to 
 you as it is to 
 
 Yours most truly, 
 
 THOMAS FINLEY.
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER-WRITER. 2Q9 
 
 No. 7. 
 
 From an ambassador to Tunis, who has be- 
 come deaf in his left ear, to the widow of a 
 manufacturer of perforated under-clothing, 
 whose second son has never been vaccinated. 
 
 TUNIS, AFRICA, Aug. 3, 77. 
 
 MOST HONOURED MADAM, Permit me, I 
 most earnestly implore of you, from the 
 burning sands of this only too far distant 
 foreign clime, to call to the notice of your 
 reflective and judicial faculties the fact that 
 there are actions which may be deferred 
 until too recent a period. 
 
 With the earnest assurance of my most 
 distinguished regard, I am, most honoured 
 and exemplary madam, your obedient servant 
 to command, 
 
 L. GRANVILLE TIEBS. 
 
 No. 8. 
 
 From a hog-and-cattle reporter on a morning 
 paper, who has just had his hair cut by a 
 barber whose father fell off a wire bridge in 
 the early part of 1867, to a gardener, who 
 lias written to him that a tortoise-shell cat, 
 belonging to the widow of a stage-manager, 
 has dug up a bed of calceolarias, the seed
 
 300 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER -WHITER. 
 
 of which had been sent him by the cashier of 
 a monkey -wrench factory, which Jiad been set 
 on fire by a one-armed tramp, whose mother 
 had been a sempstress in the family of a 
 Hicksite Quaker. 
 
 NEW YORK, Jan. 2, 77. 
 
 DEAR SIR, In an immense metropolis like 
 this, where scenes of woe and sorrow meet 
 my pitying eye at every glance, and where 
 the living creatures, the observation and 
 consideration of which give me the means of 
 maintenance, are, always, if deemed in a 
 proper physical condition, destined to an 
 early grave, I can only afford a few minutes 
 to condole with you on the loss you so feel- 
 ingly announce. These minutes I now have 
 given. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 HENRY DAWSON. 
 
 No. 9. 
 
 From the wife of a farmer, who, having sewed 
 rags enough to make a carpet, is in doubt 
 whether to sell the rags, and with the money 
 buy a mince-meat chopper and two cochin- 
 china hens of an old lady, who, having been 
 afflicted with varicose veins, has determined 
 to send her nephew, who has been working for
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER-WRITER. 30 1 
 
 a pump-maker in the neighbouring village, 
 but ivho comes home at night to sleep, to a 
 school kept by a divinity student whose 
 father has been educated by the clergyman 
 loho had married Tier father and mother, 
 and to give up her little farm and go to East 
 Durham, N. Y., to live with a cousin of her 
 mother, named Amos Murdoch, or to have 
 the carpet made up by a weaver who had 
 bought oats from her husband, for a horse, 
 ivhich had been lent to. him for his keep 
 being a little tender in his fore-feet by a 
 city doctor, but who would still owe two or 
 three dollars after the carpet was woven, 
 and keep it until her daughter, who was 
 married to a dealer in second-hand blowing- 
 engines for agitating oil, should come to 
 make her a visit, and then put it down in 
 her second-story front chamber, with a small 
 piece of another rag-carpet, which had been 
 under a bed, and was not ivorn at all, in a 
 recess which it would be a pity to cut a new 
 carpet to Jit, to an unmarried sister who 
 keeps house for an importer of Limoges 
 faience. 
 
 GREENVILLE, July 20, 77. 
 
 DEAR MARIA, Now that my winter 
 labours, so unavoidably continued through
 
 302 EVERY MAN HIS OWN LETTER- WRITER. 
 
 the vernal season until now, are happily 
 concluded, I cannot determine, by any mental 
 process with which I am familiar, what final 
 disposition of the proceeds of my toil would 
 be most conducive to my general well-being. 
 If, therefore, you will bend the energies 
 of your intellect upon the solution of this 
 problem, you will confer a most highly 
 appreciated favour upon 
 
 Your perplexed sister, 
 
 AMANDA DANIELS. 
 
 T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 B 000010025 5
 
 I 
 
 * 
 '*$. 
 
 
 ' 
 
 1