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 ir iitinimn.
 
 The New and the Old; 
 
 OR, 
 
 CALIFORNIA AND INDIA 
 
 Sn iRnmniitit ^Hprrts. 
 
 By J. W. palmer, M.D., 
 
 aulftar of "HSip nnti ©oton tijc Crraiuatitii ; or, Sfjc Gollicn ©agon.' 
 
 ' A Youth of Labcr with an Agi of Ease." 
 
 GOLDSMITH— TTse Deserted Village. 
 
 Wllh Thirlccu Illualrationa, 
 
 ENGRAVED BY A. V. S. ANTHONY. 
 
 From Original DeBlgiu by JOHN McLENAN . 
 
 N E ^V YORK: 
 
 RuDD & Car I, ETON, 130 Grand Street, 
 
 London : Sampson Low, Son <^- Co. 
 
 MDCCCI.IX.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 
 
 J. W. PALMER, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 
 District of New York. 
 
 B. ORAIOHEAD, 
 Printer, Stereoiyper, mid Eleclrotyper, 
 
 Carton Builtiinci, 
 
 81, 83, <md 85 Centre Street.
 
 F , 
 
 5^5 Tl"^-^ 
 
 cn 
 
 oi 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ To 
 
 cn 
 
 5^ My Generous Friend, 
 
 § " THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE," 
 
 •«< 
 
 tS Whose praise is a kind of fame. 
 
 CD ^ 
 
 s- 
 
 260695
 
 Preface. 
 
 Among all sorts of travellers there is one who has no method. 
 He does not set out, he gets away "any how;" and the first you 
 know of his intention to be off to the antipodes is, that you 
 miss him some day from his accustomed places. Brief leave- 
 taking is there in his case, small sewing-on of buttons, or putting 
 of himself to rights ; for, standing not upon the order of his 
 going, he goes at once, and the wonder of it is over while he is 
 yet scarcely out of sight. 
 
 No regular habits of traveller's diet hinder him ; he has the 
 promiscuous appetite of an ostrich, receiving and assimilating 
 into his very flesh and blood each most foreign impression as it 
 falls in his way, with a power of intellectual digestion that would
 
 viii Preface. 
 
 glorify the stomach of that ornithological gourmand. And in 
 his own time, as the whim may take him, 
 
 " In a year or two, or three it may be," 
 
 like Lord Lovel in the ballad, when 
 
 " He rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed, 
 Strange countries for to see," 
 
 he is with you again — but that is not all, for there your interest 
 in him just begins. 
 
 You find that he has brought back everything except his 
 clothes, and that his mind and his trunk are aUke crammed with 
 the queerest curiosities. Suggestions of a various remoteness — 
 the grotesque, the barbaric, the marvellous, the stirring, are 
 exhaled from his mere presence, as the people of each nation 
 are said to emit their own pecuHar odor; and though he may 
 be as empty of notes as a beggar, and has never once seen a 
 pencil from first to last, you perceive that he has taken down 
 the very Song the Syrens sang, and caught the Memnon's Morn- 
 ing Hymn, and fixed on the canvass of his fancy all the wonders 
 of ^Mirage. 
 
 True, he did not import these to peddle among you, but yon 
 would buy them with the best coin of your understanding and 
 your sympathy ; and though he has no facts and figures — and as 
 to the height of mountains or breadth of rivers, will tell you he
 
 Preface. ix 
 
 ■'never thought of that" — and perhaps can render no better 
 mathematical account of the Pyramids than that which Thack- 
 eray had given you before — " two big ones and a httle one" — 
 you are sure that his memory is wonderful and his powers of 
 description remarkable. 
 
 The travel memories of such a man as this, when he has 
 quietly subsided at home to his pipe and slippers and retrospec- 
 tions, are like all that is most dreamy and weird in story, song, 
 or picture ; like the grimness of German legend, or the fantastic 
 profusion and confusion, in elaborate hurly-burly, of Gustave 
 Dore's designs for the " Wandering Jew ;" like the sad twilight 
 dimness and mysterious deadness of tombs and ruins in stereo- 
 scopic views. 
 
 In an odd English book I have been reading lately, called 
 " Phantastcs : a Fairy Romance for Men and Women," I have 
 found an observation, the curious truth of which quite startled 
 me. It is this ; that " all mirrors are magic mirrors," that the 
 commonest looking-glass is a witch, transforming familiar realities 
 into strange illusions. Like " Dandy Jim ob Caroline," 
 
 " I looked in the itlass and I fonnd it so ;" 
 
 found that the other myself, whom I beheld there, was but a 
 stranger who resembled me, one whom I would lain have shaken 
 hands with and spoken to ; for whom I entertained sympathies
 
 X Preface. 
 
 in the nature of a longing, all tlic more intense because incom- 
 municable — found that the very furniture, mocking my table, 
 bureau, and arm-chair, invited me to step w^ithin and try the 
 di (Terence. 
 
 The youth in " Phantastes" well nigh broke his heart because 
 he could not gain admittance to that mystic chamber. Even so 
 is it with the memory — a magic mirror — of him who has laid 
 his hand ou the shoulder of the Boodh, who has called elephants 
 by their pet names, who has listened, delighted, to the tinkhng 
 of golden bells, borne on the breeze in gusts of mellow music, 
 down from the flashing pinnacles of Pagham pagodas — and has 
 come away from them all, for ever. 
 
 In the magic mirror of his memory the Pyramids tower to a 
 stature that dwarfs the true and everlasting G-yges; and the 
 marvellous Taj Mahal, which " the Pathans designed like Titans 
 and executed Uke jewellers," presents a bewildering elaborate- 
 ness to which its actual beauties are coarse. In the magic mirror 
 of his memory a stony statuesqueness prevails, to produce an 
 effect the weirdest of all ; for there everything stands arrested, 
 in the attitude or gesture it presented at the fine instant to which 
 his thought returns to find it — seized in the midst, it may be, 
 of the gayest, most spirited, or most passionate action — laugh- 
 ter, dance, rage, conflict, and so fixed, as unchangeable as the 
 stone faces of the sfods, for ever and for ever :
 
 Preface. xi 
 
 " No sound is made, 
 Not ev«n of a gnat that sings; 
 
 More like a picture soeineth all, 
 Than those old portraits of old kings 
 
 That watch the sleepers from the wall." 
 
 Now, I have imagined that if such a man had chanced to be the 
 first City Physician of Sau Francisco, in 1849, and a few years 
 later a Surgeon in the East India Company's Service, he would 
 have had experiences such as those that are here related; 
 although, compared with his manner of relating, painting, singing 
 them, mine may be poor indeed. 
 
 And in this connexion I take leave to remark, that he who, 
 in the character of a romantic story-teller, would describe effec- 
 tively the events and scenes of California in " Forty-Nine," or 
 India in "Fifty-Seven," may not weakly mince his words; 
 although in allowing himself that freedom which the subject 
 seems to demand, it becomes him to use it with such discretion aa 
 not to offend " ears poUte," unless they happen to be also long. 
 
 J. W. P. 
 New York, Api-il 4, 1869.
 
 Contents. 
 
 -0- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Introductory, 19 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 The Fate of the Farleighs, 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The Old Adobe, ... 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Pintal, lot 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 The Green Cloth, ICG 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraffl, 202 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 Over the Pahri, 238
 
 xiv Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Mamoul, 261 
 
 CHAPTER U. 
 A Tiffin of Talk 303 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 Child-Life by the Ganges, 326 
 
 CHAPTER rV. 
 Asirvadara, the Brahmin,. 357 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 The Baboo's Nautch, 398 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Adjutant's Grave, 423
 
 Illustrations. 
 
 THE OLD ADOBE Frcmtispiece. 
 
 Page 
 
 THE FAVOIilTE SHOULDER 34 
 
 THE PRECIOUS PICTURE 43 
 
 "ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE" 58 
 
 KATE FARLEIGH TO HER DARLING 63 
 
 THE DREADFUL BREAKFAST . . • 104 
 
 THE SLIPPERS AND THE LOAF 106 
 
 THE BLUFFER BLUFFED 1T9 
 
 TOM CROSS'S LAST TRUMP . ' 201 
 
 ME. KARL JOSEPH KRAFFT 218 
 
 SNAPPING A CAP 231 
 
 THE SYMBOLS OF FORTY-NINE 257 
 
 THE DUHRNA WOMAN to face 294
 
 The New. 
 
 [CALIFORNIA.] 
 
 "* * ^- * What am I? 
 An infant crying in the night. 
 An infant crying for the hght. 
 And with no language but a cry." 
 
 Tennyson — In Memoriam ,
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 In 1849, near the middle of tlie year, I landed at 
 Clarke's Point, in San Francisco, with high hopes and 
 low funds — the lowest of funds, for the three round 
 dollars I had just paid to the gentleman's son, with 
 the classical education and the blue flannel shirt, for 
 pulling me and my chest ashore in his flat-bottomed 
 dinghy, were all that were left of just ten times that 
 many, with which I was ballasted when I launched 
 at New York upon my El Doradoward venture. 
 
 " By all means do not encumber yourselves with 
 luggage," urged our prudential advices from the 
 placers; and I had obeyed the injunction with exem- 
 plary literalness ; for, as my sophomore wheriyman 
 tossed that imposing box ashore with a great clatter, 
 he remembered his Yirgil, whose —
 
 20 The New. 
 
 Rari nantes in gurgite vasto 
 
 exactly described the shovel, pick, and bowie-knife 
 contributed by my brothers, and the shaving-case, 
 housewife, dust-pouch and bible, remembered by my 
 sisters, and now all adrift within the capacious hold 
 of that clumsy galliot of a sea-chest. To get my bag- 
 gage to the Parker House, I engaged the marine 
 reporter of the Alta California, who was timeously on 
 the wharf prospecting for items. He was paid with 
 the chest, which, considering the price of fire-wood — 
 forty dollars a cord — was as much hire as that journal- 
 istic laborer was worthy of. In less than a week, I was 
 wholly disencumbered of luggage, the spade having 
 gone for one dinner, and the pick for another. I had 
 slept three nights on my shaving-case, and was shaved 
 with my bowie-knife instead. All that remained was 
 a pilot-cloth pea-jacket, a pair of corduroy trowsers, 
 and the bible, which, of course, was of no use to any- 
 body but the owner. At the rate of twenty-four 
 dollars a dozen for washing, and in view of the ten- 
 derness of my knuckles, to say nothing of some 
 hereditary prejudice against the laundry as an occu-
 
 Introductory. 21 
 
 pation for a gentleman's son, I rejoiced when I lurd 
 fairly got my last check shirt off my mind 
 
 All this time I had been looking about for some- 
 thing to do. My profession, medicine, was an impos- 
 sibility. I had brought no dispensary with me, and 
 the last lot of quinine — the panacea in those days for 
 all the ills that Californian flesh was heir to — had 
 sold for four ounces (sixty-four dollars) an ounce at 
 auction. By reason of rents — one hundred dollars a 
 month for a dog-house — an office was not less vision- 
 ary to me than a palace. Besides, my appetite was^ 
 growing fearfully, and my housewife was not good for 
 soup. In those days, Old Californians never darned, 
 or sewed buttons on ; counting the worth of time, it 
 was cheaper to buy new clothes, of which there was a 
 great glut in the market. Then the free sand-hill, 
 where I had slept at first, was fierce with fleas. My 
 skin was scarified ; between unsparing irritation and 
 great loss of blood, my health was failing. My phy- 
 sician — "that's me" — strongly recommended a tent, a 
 soft plank, and a Mackinaw blanket. So I must 
 stop looking about for somctliing to do, and set
 
 22 The New. 
 
 about doing something at once. To be sure, Smithy 
 Jones, or Brown, would have been driving mules 
 by this time, or 'tending bar, or peddling jack-knives 
 for another man, or working on a lighter ; but the 
 reader must remember that I was a gentleman's son. 
 How to begin, then ? There were my letters of 
 introduction, neglected until now for a much-cuddled 
 idea of independence. There were six of them ; I 
 would try them all — and I did. Five gentlemen, 
 friends of the family, were most happy to see me. 
 Five gentlemen congratulated me on arriving out 
 so early ; I had fortune by the fore-lock. Five 
 gentlemen considered this a splendid country — great 
 openings for young men of enterprise and talent, 
 especially doctors — ^half the population ill, and fees 
 enormous — two ounces a visit — medicines in propor- 
 tion — a dollar a grain for quinine, a dollar a drop for 
 laudanum — wonderful, sir, fabulous ! — really envied 
 me — wished they were doctors themselves — of course, 
 would send all their friends to me ; in a week I 
 should be overrun with patients — would be happ}^ to 
 advise me as to investments — knew some lovely
 
 Introductory. 23 
 
 water-lots — new towns at head of navigation, only 
 ten miles from the riehcst mines — sweet ranchos in 
 the valley of San Jos^ — that is, if I was of an agricul- 
 tural turn of mind — could raise potatoes at a dollar 
 apiece, squashes and beets according — must excuse 
 them now — very busy — getting up lumber for the 
 new hotel — under way next week — tip-top house — 
 bridal chamber — all the delicacies of the season — 
 come and see them — take care of myself, old fellow 
 — by-thc-b}'-, as I was new to the place, liable to be 
 bewildered, tempted — would just throw in a friendly 
 hint — gambling in San Francisco universal and with- 
 out bounds — all classes fling themselves madly into 
 the giddy whirl of drink and play — doctors, lawyers, 
 editors, judges, professors, divines — faro, roulette, 
 rondo, keeno, monte, lansquenet, bluff— soul-absorb- 
 ing, dreadful, lasciate ogni speranza voi clii v'enirate. — 
 Dante, you know — Hell — splendid — all right — take 
 care of myself. And that was all I got out of five of 
 these friends of the family. 
 
 There still remained one letter, from a venerable 
 fellow-citizen and friend of my father, to his son in
 
 24 
 
 The New. 
 
 San Francisco — a spirited young fellow, who, having 
 obtained a commission in one of the new regiments 
 at the breaking out of the Mexican war, had sub- 
 sequently distinguished himself in several engage- 
 ments. At the close of the war, he was ordered 
 to California, where, though still holding a military 
 appointment, he engaged in some successful specula- 
 tions on private account, and was said to have built 
 up for himself a considerable " pile." One evening, 
 in the Parker House, I recognised this gentleman, as 
 much by a marked family likeness as by a certain 
 remarkable scar by which he had been described to me. 
 Approaching him as he stood at the bar selecting a 
 cigar, I introduced myself, at the same time presenting 
 my letter, the contents of which were all unknown 
 to me ; for his father had asked permission to seal it. 
 He received me with cordiality, and, on reading the 
 missive, drew from his pocket three gold ounces 
 (fifty dollars), which he offered to me, with thanks. 
 But immediately, observing my unaffected surprise, 
 he explained that the letter contained a request that 
 he would pay to me these fifty dollars, due for several
 
 Introductory, 25 
 
 years to my fatlicr, wlio foi- some unexplained reason, 
 to be found in the private relations of the two old 
 friends, could never bo induced to accept it. Never- 
 theless, the father wrote, the debt was a bona fide one, 
 and its long-standing troubled him much ; so he urged 
 his son to press the money upon me, and that gentle- 
 man did so with unexceptionable delicacy. 
 
 At first I resolutely declined to accept the money, 
 on the ground that I could not meddle with my 
 father's affairs ; he knew his own business best, and 
 liad, no doubt, good reasons for the stand he had 
 taken in this amiable dispute. Perhaps his excellent 
 friend was mistaken in supposing bimself the debtor 
 — in so long an account of ffiendly offices inter- 
 changed between two such ancient and honorable 
 cronies, the result might easily be the other way. At 
 all events, my father, on handing me this letter, had 
 not named the matter : consequently I was not at 
 liberty to run counter to his apparent intention. 
 
 But the captain treated the affair more seriously. 
 On my side, he urged, was merely vague surmise. 
 On his, there was the clear and positive expression of
 
 26 The New. 
 
 the paternal wish. His father, he said, had suffered 
 much, and was going down hill fast. He even feared 
 that the next mail would bring him news of the old 
 man's death. He had been, he confessed, a wilful, 
 almost a cruel son, with some crimes of perverse 
 selfishness and ingratitude, of which to convict him- 
 self There was no chance that he would again be- 
 hold his father alive. He therefore desired sacredly 
 to obey his commands, in the most apparently trifling 
 matter, and rejoiced in every opportunity to console 
 himself so — in fine, he pressed me, on the score of 
 kindness, to permit him to pay this money. 
 
 Still undetermined, I leaned with my back against 
 the bar, and looked through the noisy throng of old 
 miners and new arrivals, into the gambling saloon 
 beyond, where players of all countries, complexions, 
 and temperaments were gathered, in earnest but quiet 
 knots, around faro, roulette, and monte tables, with 
 their dazzling banks. An idea, full of a pleasurable 
 excitement, seized me. The cards, thought I, shall 
 decide this amiable contest. 
 
 " Captain," I said, " I have never bet a sixpence
 
 Introductory. 27 
 
 oil a card in my life. Since I arrived here I liavc 
 not once looked on at play, even as a merely curicnis 
 spectator. I do not know this game of monte, I have 
 never known any game of cards. Now monte shall 
 dispose of these three rascally ounces for us, more 
 troublesome than the poet's Qiuli Tre. I will stake 
 them on a card ; if they are lost, there will be an end 
 of our dispute, and you can tell your father you paid 
 me. If they win, we will divide the spoils." 
 
 " Agreed ! and you will be sure to win — the Devil 
 is always kind to the green gamester." 
 
 "We approached a table where already a competing 
 throng was gathered, eagerly feeding the monster 
 with dollars, ounces, greater or lesser pouches of dust. 
 The table was covered with green baize, on which 
 four equal squares were described, by means of a 
 strip of gold braid. In the midst was a bank of per- 
 haps twenty thousand dollars in coin and dust. Pre- 
 sently the used-up, listless, yawning dealer, who sat 
 behind his bank, with a revolver at his back, some 
 brandy and water at his elbow, and a long cigar held 
 almost perpendicularly between his tight lips — and
 
 28 The New. 
 
 managed too, with a sort of skill, so that the burning 
 end came within half an inch of the corner of his 
 right eye, which was closed, with that extraordinary, 
 swaggering conceit, peculiar to the soap-lock orders 
 of the Bowery — presently this very fancy personage 
 tossed from the pack of small Mexican cards, which 
 he had just shuffled elaboratel}^, four " papes" as he 
 called them, and which he more particularly described 
 as " el ray, shayty, sinkwee and kervaiyo," — that is 
 king, seven, five, and horse : this last being, I believe, 
 peculiar to the monte cards. Then, "gents" were 
 invited to " make their game," or more facetiously, to 
 " size their piles," or to " pungalee down," which 
 the Spanish scholar will discover to be a sort of fancy 
 Castilian, proper to the latitude of San Fran- 
 cisco. 
 
 Gentlemen did " pungalee down," according to 
 their substance or their tempers, and I, with several 
 others (for the card seemed a favorite one) staked all 
 my three ounces on the seven. Then the dealer 
 rapped with his knuckles on the table to call down 
 the last bets; but no more appearing, he began to
 
 Introductory. 29 
 
 draw, very slowly, one card at a time from the top 
 of the pack he held in his liand, and to dispose tliciii 
 before him alternately, on a winning and a losing pile. 
 As a card corresponding to one in a square fell on tlie 
 right or the left hand pile, he called its name, and 
 cither paid the stake, or swept it into his bank. Thus 
 the king, the five, and the " kervaiyo" lost ; but the 
 seven won, and my three ounces were six. 
 
 The cards being shuffled, four more are thrown 
 out, and again the seven is among them. Oni^e more 
 "gents" are requested to "pungalee down," and I, 
 choosing to add a spice of vulgar diablerie to my 
 adventure, select the seven again for all six of my 
 ounces, and invoke the favor of witches. 
 
 Seven wins — I draw off twelve beautiful doubloons. 
 Next deal, no seven ; so I wait. And now I have it; 
 a round dozen of ounces is my stake ; I become an 
 object of interest to the bystanders, some of wliom 
 evidently consider me, if not handsome, certainly a 
 superior sort of fellow. Seven wins, of course. IMy 
 three bothersome ounces have become twenty -four 
 splendid doubloons — round, yellow, and heavy — fiir
 
 30 
 
 The New. 
 
 to see and pleasant to hear — their chnk more soothing- 
 musical than the jug of many nightingales — 
 
 "Gold! gold! gold! gold! 
 Bright and yellow, hard and cold, 
 Molten, graven, hammered, roll'd ; 
 Heavy to get, and light to hold ; 
 Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold. 
 Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled; 
 Spurned by the young, but hugg'd by the old 
 To the very verge of the churchyard mould ; 
 Price of many a crime untold ; 
 Gold! gold! gold! gold!— 
 Good or bad a thousand fold !" 
 
 Three hundred and eighty-four dollars ! and since 
 my breakfast the day before, I had not eaten a 
 morsel ! I fairly blessed the Devil ; and as for the 
 number Seven, I set him up on a throne of philo- 
 sopher's stone, with the crown of Midas on his head 
 and a brimmer of vino d'oro in his hand. And the 
 captain, princely fellow, worthy to be king of the 
 diggings, waived his right to share with me. He had 
 plenty, he said, displaying a pocketful of doubloons,
 
 Introductory. 3I 
 
 and a nugget as big as a doughnut. New-comers were 
 not usually suffering with a surplus, and he dared say 
 I had not more than a few hundred dollars. I should 
 need it all to start with ; when his pile should tumble, 
 he would be happy in holding me his debtor to the 
 extent of a dozen ounces or so. 
 
 I condescended to accept his terms, and the same 
 hour next day saw me flourishing a professional 
 shingle on the broad side of an adobe house in Sacra- 
 mento street, and a professional card in the most 
 imposing and attractive style in the Alta California. 
 I had soon a lucrative private practice; from seventy- 
 five to a hundred dollars was not too much to earn 
 in a day, when an exclusive pen in Howe's circus 
 cost fifty-five dollars, when ten dollars was demanded 
 for the plainest of dinners at Wheeler's, when stout 
 boots cost forty dollars a pair, and potatoes a dollar a 
 pound — to say nothing of spurious champagne at ten 
 dollars a bottle, and five dollars for the honor of Pro- 
 fessor Lewis Thompson's tonsorial fingers in your 
 hair. Very soon I added to my private duties a cer- 
 tain ofTicial ap})ointmcnt, by which, between the day
 
 32 The New, 
 
 when I first entered San Francisco without a dime, 
 and the day when I left it, also without a dime, I 
 was introduced to more of the pathos and tragedy of 
 that city in 1849-50, than any other person on the 
 spot. I have, therefore, some stories to relate, which, 
 if not as well told as Samuel Warren's, shall be at 
 least as true.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FATE OF THE FARLEIGHS. 
 
 Old Californians — ^I mean San Franciscans of 
 1849 — will not soon forget the building known as 
 AVasbington Hall, wtiicli stood in the rear of the old 
 Alia California office, about midway on the Washing- 
 ton street side of the Plaza, and adjoining the Bella 
 Union, that worst of Californian hells, where the 
 Winters murder was done, and a score of crimes 
 beside, any one of them enough to startle even the 
 steady nerves of San Francisco. This Washington 
 Hall, opened by a circus clown, was consecrated to 
 the high holidays of unchecked licentiousness. Bac- 
 chus reigned below and divided his realm with the 
 Blind Goddess. On the upper floor Terpsichore had 
 a ball-room to herself, where sometimes a party of 
 
 Ethiopian serenaders were met in the name of 
 
 2*
 
 34 
 
 The New. 
 
 Momus ; and in tlic rear tlio Venus de Oro had her 
 easy pcnctraha. 
 
 t K 
 
 Hither I was called one f* 
 
 7' 
 
 ^^ ) 
 
 night to attend a Creole girl from New Orleans, 
 who had just been stabbed, at a masked ball in the 
 saloon, by a jealous Chilena.
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 35 
 
 I found the beautiful fury — Cumillc La Reine, they 
 called her — blaspheming over a gashed shoulder, and 
 devoting the quick-striking vixen of Valparaiso to a 
 hundred fates, any one of which vied in novelty of 
 horror with the most esteemed inventions of Mr. G. 
 W. licynolds or Mr. Geo. Lippard. Her round, 
 white, dimpled, dangerous shoulder lay, along with 
 the black drift of her hair, in a slab pool of her own 
 bad blood. 
 
 The handsome wretch cursed, between the sharp 
 stitches of my suture needle, at the Adams' revolver 
 that had hung fire, and the blood that had got in her 
 eyes. And La Reine Camille was in earnest ; for six 
 weeks after that, the Pacific News announced that the 
 notorious Mariquita, the beautiful Chilian spitfire, had 
 had her throat cut with a bowie-knife, in the hands 
 of the splendid Creole Camille, in a "difficulty" at 
 one of those mad masked balls at La Senorita 
 saloon. 
 
 It was many days before Camille's wound was 
 sufficiently healed to be trusted to her own nursing, 
 and during that time I usually inade my visits to her
 
 36 The New. 
 
 early in the evening, as I returned from my profes- 
 sional walks about Clarke's Point, and among the 
 Chilian tents on Pacific street; so that I found the fair 
 frailties of Washington Hall gathered in the ball- 
 room, and the dance proceeding to the music of 
 much catgut, and the popping of multitudinous 
 corks. This was well-nigh the most convenient, if 
 not the chastest, of reunions. If you desired to con- 
 sult Judge Brown in reference to your Colton titles, 
 here was the place to meet that learned jurist ; if you 
 wished to compare opinions with Dr. Jones as to the 
 nature of the wounds of the man found murdered on 
 the Mission Koad, you could seek in no more likely 
 place for that eminent member of the fliculty ; or, in 
 case you had an item of murder, suicide, or accidental 
 death for the City man of the Alia, you would be 
 sure to find him taking notes at Washington Hall on 
 a ball-night. 
 
 Once, as I leaned against the orchestra railing, 
 regarding, by turns, the deep drinking at the bar, tlie 
 heavy betting at monte, and the wild license of the 
 dance, my eye fell upon a woman who seemed out
 
 The Fate ot" the Faiicighs. 37 
 
 of place ill that sensuous scene, and hopefully 
 wretched there : a tall and singularly graceful person 
 — by no means spare, yet with the slenderest waist I 
 ever saw — face not handsome, nor the reverse, but 
 rather what detracting women call interesting — eyes 
 quite lovely, dark and deeply fringed — mouth melt- 
 ing and pitifully weak — hands and feet especially 
 delicate — truly a superb, and yet a most painful 
 dancer. With what a graceful weariness she dragged 
 her stately, rather than heavy, steps through the 
 French quadrille ! How like a corpse — grave, pale, 
 abstracted, with cold lips and eyes unspeculative — 
 she suffered herself to be whirled in the giddy circles 
 of the German waltz, in the clutch of some tipsy 
 satyr, too far gone to perceive the reproachful calm- 
 ness of his partner's bosom, and the unseasonable 
 temperature of her blood ! How like the very giiost 
 of a bacchanal, with her motions merely, but not 
 emotions, she jSung herself desperately into the brave 
 abandon of the Spanish dance, flashing her soft 
 white shoulders, beautifully balancing her pensile 
 arms, proudly careering her conquering neck ! 
 
 269Gn5
 
 38 The New. 
 
 Presently au intermission, and tlie dancers move 
 toward the bar and refreshment table. Only she, 
 withdrawing her hand from her partner's arm, 
 declines partaking of wine and viands, and retires 
 wearily to a dim corner, away from all the rest, 
 indifferently rebuflang, too, her cavalier, who has 
 somethmg sophisticated to grumble about the "old 
 dodge " and " so like an Englishwoman." And now, 
 I truly do see the Englishwoman in the nattily- 
 turned ancle, the generous expanse of back, the 
 warm companionable shoulders, the complete bosom, 
 and well inflated chest. 
 
 With head thrown back and eyes closed, or 
 vacantly fixed on the ceiling, she sits for a time 
 silent, still, or only moved by a profound sigh. 
 Here may be a clever artiste, now, I thought — a 
 person habile and well-trained to her part. Even in 
 that view of her, she is interesting. How much 
 more so if, for a marvel, she be no actress at all, 
 playing no part but her heart's! Let us see. I 
 watched her narrowly and unobserved. Presently — 
 hurrah ! yes, by Jove, tears — ^tears, as I am a gentle-
 
 The Fate of the Faiieighs. 39 
 
 man, with taste to enjoy them! — honest, too, I'll 
 swear, they are so ill-timed and unprofitable! They 
 stand for an instant, round and bright, on the verge 
 of lier long lashes, then topple over by their own 
 weight, and roll down her cheeks, never stopping 
 till they have fallen upon her hand. She brushes 
 away the tracks of them impatiently — good! — 
 rouses herself with an unmistakably genuine effort, 
 and hurries with an air of concealment, and even 
 awkwardly, across the room — I following her unper- 
 ceived, through knots of drinkers and love-makers, 
 never heeding their invitations or inquiries, to the 
 dOor ; then through the long passage to the rear of 
 the building, where, with a key drawn from the 
 pocket of her dress, she opens a door, which, on 
 entering, she locks within. I take note of the room, 
 and accost a black-eyed Yankee witch to ask who 
 occupies it. 
 
 "Lucy Mason, the new English girl. Do you 
 know her ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No more do any of us — queer case — pity, I
 
 40 
 
 TIk,' New. 
 
 tliink— drcaJfiil mopy, dreadful— never do here — 
 better be dead. You dare say she wishes she was ? 
 Then why don't she go and die? But never mind 
 her now. Come, treat, and I'll dance with you. 
 
 " Oh, Susannah, don't you cry for me ; 
 I'm bound for Kahforny with my baby on my knee." 
 
 Kext day — my head, and part of my heart I hope, 
 full of Lucy Mason~I went early in the forenoon to 
 see La Eeine Camille ; wound much better — temper, 
 if possible, worse. Her majesty threatens to shoot 
 me if I even so much as tickle her in changing the 
 dressings, and swears she'll have my heart's blood" if 
 I leave a scar on the best shoulder in California — her 
 favorite shoulder, the one she does her archness with. 
 I assure the fair and royal fire-eater that I take no 
 less interest in her wounded shoulder than if it were 
 her throat, and am even more concerned for its 
 recovery. Whereat I leave, just in time. 
 
 In the bar-room, to my astonishment — disappoint- 
 ment at first, and satisfaction afterward — I found 
 Lucy ^Mason drinking, flushed already to noisy mer-
 
 Tlic Fate ot the Farlciirlis. 41 
 
 'to' 
 
 rimcnt, clinking champagne glasses with the bar- 
 maid, singing snatches of curious old English ballads, 
 love-ditties mostly, and all new to me — loud, com- 
 municative, reckless. Could this be my interesting 
 mockery and moral of last night's ball ? No doubt ; 
 and never more the same than at this very moment 
 of shocking self-abandoment. 
 
 Presently observing a flaunting portrait breast-pin 
 in the bar-girl's bosom, she bade h^r stay and she 
 would show her " a picture that was painted in 
 heaven." Then she ran to her room and I followed 
 her. At the door I met her with a small cabinet 
 portrait in her hand; her face wore a triumphant 
 look, as she was hurrying back to her comrade with 
 the wonder. Taking her tenderly but firmly by the 
 wrist, she staring in my face in mute amazement, I 
 led her to a seat on a large chest, tlien locked the 
 door inside and took my place beside her. I bade 
 her give me the picture in my hand. She thrust it 
 into her bosom and held her hand upon it there, her 
 eyes wild, and full of alarmed inquiry. 
 
 " Who are you ?" she asked.
 
 42 The New. 
 
 " A gentleman, a doctor, a friend of yours, if 
 you'll allow me to prove it." 
 
 " Camille's doctor ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why did you not let lier die ?" 
 
 "Because I was sent for to keep her from dying; 
 that's my business." 
 
 " And her business is to unfit herself to live." 
 
 " Quite as much to unfit herself to die." 
 
 " Very likely. What do you want with me ?" 
 
 " To admire you — to make your acquaintance." 
 
 " Not worth your while, and not agreeable to me." 
 
 "What ails you?" 
 
 " Nothing; not even drunk — though that's not my 
 fault." 
 
 " Let me see your picture ?" 
 
 " You swear you will not touch it." 
 
 " Positively I will not." 
 
 She laid one of" her hands mistrustingly on mine, 
 and with the other held up before me — but at a safe 
 distance, and as if ready to snatch it away on she 
 least suspicious movement on my part — a small water-
 
 The Fate of the Farleifihs. 
 
 43 
 
 color sketch of a beautiful child — a boy, with large 
 blue eyes and fair curling hair, remarkably like her- 
 self in every feature, especially the mouth — timid, 
 credulous, helpless — poor little wretch ! 
 
 " This is your 
 child." 
 
 The reader will perceive that the guess, though a 
 bold one, was safe. 
 
 " How do you know ?"
 
 44 The New. 
 
 "Bj the pity I feci for it. Is this its birthday? 
 and are you keeping it by getting drunk before 
 dinner?" 
 
 She turned on me a sharp, startled stare. Then 
 suddenly covering her face with her hands, she sob- 
 bed violently, her whole frame agitated and con- 
 vulsed. 
 
 " Oh, God ! oh, God !" she groaned. " It is, indeed, 
 his birthday. How did you know it? Who told 
 you? Who knows it here ? AVhat do you know of 
 me ? Where have you seen him ? You — you — you 
 are not a friend of ?" 
 
 My random thrust had struck home. Ilap-hazard, 
 I had reached the mother's heart. Now, I was safe 
 to know all, and perhaps — It was always the dearest 
 wish of my heart to recover one lost woman. I was 
 too sanguine that time; but I do not despair yet. 
 The chance will come. 
 
 " It was the bursting heart and the burning brain. 
 I drank to save my senses, I should have gone mad 
 on his birthday. Why was it not his deathday ? Oh 
 no, sir; indeed, indeed, I swear I have not come to
 
 The Fate of the Farlcighs. 45 
 
 that yet. I am neither sot nor thief, nor ever shall 
 be. I have provided against that. / sliall not have 
 
 *' Do you wish to leave this house ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because it's the best of its kind in this city : the 
 treatment good and visitors plenty." 
 
 " But for a house of another kind, a respectable 
 shop, a gentleman's family ? I believe there is more 
 than one door in San Francisco — which, by that same 
 token, thank heaven ! is neither New York nor Lon- 
 don — o})en to such as 3^ou." 
 
 " And when you find one, such as I, who will 
 accept the invitation to pass from this door to that, 
 don't you trust her — I tell you, don't you trust her ; 
 she's a shameless liar and a hypocrite, and your 
 friends will find her a mocker, and a brazen thief." 
 
 " Where are you from — England or the colonies ? 
 And how did you get here, to this city and this 
 house?" 
 
 " For what purpose do you wish to know?"
 
 46 The New. 
 
 " To help you if I can, in this house or out of it — 
 on my honor !" 
 
 " Come to-morrow morning, and perhaps I will tell 
 you. You are cither a great fool or a great — philan- 
 thropist." 
 
 " Neither." 
 
 " How did you know that this was my boy's birth- 
 day?" 
 
 " That is nothing. I know much more about you. 
 But when you talk to me of your affairs, and I catch 
 you lying, I shall not let you see that I am laughing 
 at your stupidity and bungling. For all that, you 
 will respect and obey me, more or less, from this time. 
 To-morrow, then, Good-by." 
 
 Next day, true to our appointment, I called on 
 Lucy at her room. I found her strangely improved 
 since our extraordinary conversation. She seemed to 
 have been wholesomely chastened, even in that brief 
 interval — was simple, unaffected, much softened, with- 
 out that forced air of indifference or defiance — modest, 
 grateful, candid, trusting, sad but earnest. She began 
 by reminding me that she had promised only with a
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. .(y 
 
 "perhaps" to relate her story. She had informed 
 herself, meantime, of my character and probable 
 motive, and the "perhaps" was removed. She pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 She was an Englishwoman, as I had perceived at 
 first — married ; her husband's name was Farleigh, an 
 apothecary in good standing, skilful, and in the enjoy- 
 ment of an honorable and profitable reputation in 
 Australia, whither they had sailed but a few days 
 after their marriage. In that land of promise he very 
 soon built up for himself a lucrative business, and 
 became the sole master of an extensive establishment 
 with branches at all the principal ports. She herself 
 had been a lady's companion in England ; but in 
 Australia, in spite of her youth, she entered into 
 business and conducted a dress-making establishment, 
 which also soon obtained character and profitable 
 custom. Her husband, she said, was none of her 
 choosing, but " a highly eligible," unfairly foisted 
 upon her by a mercenary mother: a little man — 
 scarcely up to her shoulder; awkward, and every 
 way insignificant; stupid, too, in all matters apart
 
 48 The New. 
 
 from Ins business; in temper querulous, petulant, 
 jealous, exacting— a fidgety person, witli whom there 
 was no rest; timid, besides, which w^as worst of all in 
 tlie estimation of a vain, romantic girl, flattered, and 
 fed on whims. Farleigh never meant to be, and 
 rarely was, an unkind husband ; he was only a very 
 uncomfortable and disagreeable man. Before their 
 child was born she had never loved, but easily 
 endured him. After its birth, she learned to feel 
 quite tenderly towards hun; it was the strangest 
 thing, she said, but somehow she found herself, with- 
 out an effort, with scarcely the w^ish on her part, 
 almost loving him — but then she could no longer 
 tolerate him ; that child made them fire and tow to 
 each other, and they broke out in flames as often as 
 they met over it. 
 
 At last, Farleigh made a new friend and brought 
 him home — Harton, mate of an English packet — a 
 handsome, bright, ardent, adventure-loving fellow, 
 full of warm feelings and good stories, and very free 
 with his neck when danger was to be run into. This 
 Harton was her coming man, the very man she
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. ^C) 
 
 ouglit to liavc met long ago, and she was by no 
 means slow to love him because he did not happen to 
 arrive in legal time. Then she was notoriously turned 
 into the street, her stock of goods sold under the ham- 
 mer, Farleigh retaining the proceeds — and a sight of 
 her child from that hour denied her. She took refuge 
 with a fellow-sufferer. Ilarton lost caste to such a 
 degree that the place became too hot to hold him ; so 
 he sailed for the land of gold, bidding her follow him 
 in the next ship, and leaving her a sum of money 
 sufficient to pay her passage. He would meet her, 
 he promised, when her shijj's anchor was let go in the 
 harbor of San Francisco. She obediently followed 
 his instructions and him ; but from the day of his 
 sailing she had never seen him, or heard from or of 
 him. He might be gone to some new and remote 
 placers whence correspondence was difficult or im- 
 possible ; he might be dead ; he might have deserted 
 her ; God only knew ; with all her heart, she hoped 
 tlie second fate for him. 
 
 Well, she landed without money or friends, quite 
 at her wits' end — crazed with fear and helpless-
 
 ^o The New. 
 
 ness. In those days there were no milliners in San 
 Francisco, no ladies' shops, no fashionable emporiums 
 or bazaars — only bars, bars, bars, decanters and tum- 
 blers, lemon-squeezers, muddlers and straws, with 
 here and there a bar-maid. There now ! she would be 
 a bar-maid. Harton, like many another sailor-man, 
 was a veritable magician over a bowl. He had 
 taught her how to do many delectable things with 
 tumblers. And when he reappeared, he would be 
 delighted to find that his merry instruction had served 
 her in good stead, in such an awkward strait. Be- 
 sides, in England a bar-maid was highly respectable. 
 How precious must she be in this uni-sexed fair! 
 Only to think, too, of a hundred and fifty dollars, 
 £30 a month — and board, lodging, and washing, all 
 free. And what was it to be a bar-maid ? Oh, she 
 knew all about that. It was to have a nice face and 
 a trim waist, a quick saucy eye, sharp ears, nimble 
 fingers, and plenty of presence of mind. Of course, 
 she would be a San Francisco bar-maid (Heaven save 
 the mark !), in Washington Hall too, for thirty pounds 
 a month ; and naturally — ^here she was.
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. ^i 
 
 " Well, and what did she propose to do ?" 
 " To see her fate out " (her exact words), " and for 
 the present to remain where she was. Gold was 
 plenty and lovers generous. Six, twelve, twenty 
 ounces at a time for the merest trifles. A smile was 
 bait for a dozen minnows, and a triton was caught 
 with a kiss. Ounces, ounces, nothing but ounces. 
 She had a lap full, a trunk full, already — all safe at 
 Burgoyne's." 
 
 " Did she never look ahead ?" 
 " Often, and easily saw to the end. It was not far, 
 and the way was paved with gold." 
 
 " Would she not accept the countenance and pro- 
 tection of worthy and kind people, a virtuous home, 
 honest companionship — for her child's sake ?" 
 
 " No, no, no I For her child's sake especially, no." 
 " How did she expect the end to be ?" 
 " As she would shape it. At present she would 
 answer no more questions." 
 
 Nor would she ever arain. ThouQ-h I often saw 
 
 O O 
 
 her, and she met me always with a cordial, beaming 
 welcome, full of beautiful confidence and gratitude.
 
 ^2 The New. 
 
 so that licr fellow-lodgers declared she could tell mj 
 step on the stairs among a hundred, and, leaving any 
 companion or occupation, would run joyfully to meet 
 me — and though, in accordance with a promise I had 
 exacted from her, she never drank again, nor was (at 
 least not grossly) indecorous in language or manner — 
 still she invariably parried my slightest, and merely 
 experimental, passages of examination, sometimes 
 with provoking jests, sometimes with adroit diver- 
 sions, sometimes with undisguised anger. 
 
 At this time I was living at the Grason House, on 
 the comer of Kearney and Pacific streets. To Wash- 
 ington Hall direct, along Kearney street, was but two 
 blocks— Jackson street, exactly intermediate, dividing 
 the ground. On the corner of Jackson street was 
 Stolberger's market— Stolberger, king of specula- 
 tors, terrible flour and beef monopolist — the great 
 American smart man, who would have bought the 
 Sandwich Islands for a watering-place, charming 
 resort for invalids — " spacious hotel, safe sea-bathing," 
 and all that sort of thing— if he could only have seen 
 how not to pay for them.
 
 The Fate of the Farlcighs. 5^ 
 
 One day I stopped at this market-house in company 
 with Major Floyd, our hotel caterer, who was receiving 
 proposals to have his table supplied with bear's meat, 
 sturgeon, and Monterey muscles, when a man in his 
 shirt-sleeves and with a pen behind his ear, evidently 
 an employe of the establishment, accosted me by- 
 name, and, referring to my public appointment, 
 inquired if I did not fill that office. On being 
 answered in the affirmative, he stated that he was an 
 English apothecary, licentiate of Apothecary's Ilall ; 
 that at different times he had had large dispensaries 
 under his control, botli in England and the colonies ; 
 that he hod been engaged in a large and profitable 
 business ; but a great domestic misfortune having 
 befiiUen him, he had sold out his stock and invested 
 the proceeds in a California venture which turned 
 out a wretched failure — ship and cargo both sacrificed 
 under the hammer, and the Captain off to the Atlantic 
 states with the proceeds. He had turned his attention 
 particularly, he said, to analytical chcmistr}-, and had 
 had much experience among ores and minerals. lie 
 thought he could be useful, and find his profit, in
 
 ^4 The New. 
 
 assaying specimens from the different diggings. At 
 all events, he was most anxious to find his way back 
 into his proper business. He had been hoping to 
 meet with some chemist or druggist who would 
 accept his experience and skill as a sufficient equiva- 
 lent for a reasonable share in his business. His 
 poverty was extreme, he said; he was indebted to 
 charitable considerations merely, for the temporary 
 place he then occupied — that of a sort of under book- 
 keeper ; and of course his pay barely sufficed to keep 
 him alive. Would I do him the great kindness — he 
 was sure he would justify me — to call attention to 
 him as a competent assayer, at the foot of my profes- 
 sional card. Furthermore, he had a small stock of 
 medicines, a few trifles that were left, worth in all, at 
 the lowest estimate, perhaps forty-five dollars. Had 
 I any use for them ? Would I kindly take them off 
 his hands? It would be a great satisfaction to him ; 
 for they would otherwise soon be destroyed. He did 
 not require cash for them ; decidedly he would prefer 
 not. If I would have the goodness to give him my
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 55 
 
 note on demand, he could call on me for the money 
 in case he should be ill. 
 
 What a painful, trembling, bewildered wretch ! — a 
 vciy small man, slender and brittle-looking, or what 
 old colored nurses call "shackly." 
 
 " You are Mr. David Farleigh." 
 
 *' Yes, sir, that is my name. No doubt Major 
 Floyd (I have the pleasure of seeing Major Floyd 
 daily, sir) has kindly mentioned me to you." 
 
 " Yes, Major Floyd, perhaps^or some one else. I 
 will comply with your requests, Mr. Farleigh." 
 
 Not Major Floyd, nor any one but Lucy Mason. 
 And this was David Farleigh — living, too, almost 
 within sight of his wife's windows ! 
 
 That afternoon I went to see Lucy. 
 
 " Lucy, do you know that your husband is in 
 town, scarce a hundred yards off, almost within sight 
 from this window now ?" 
 
 No screaming, no gasping, no fainting ; but such a 
 storm of rage ! Flushed with hot passion one 
 moment; the next, ashen pale with a deep, danger- 
 ous hate, suddenly set up, but certain to endure.
 
 56 The New. 
 
 I simply describe tlie plicnomena; I do not 
 attempt to explain them ; those who think they know 
 women better than I do, may employ their wits upon 
 the case, for it is at least an interesting one. 
 AYhether Lucy knew already of the neighborhood of 
 her husband, I could never guess. He had been in 
 the country a fortnight; but so seldom had she 
 appeared on the street, they might easily have passed 
 each other in the bewildering throng without recog- 
 nition on either side ; besides, both must have been 
 greatly changed in attire if not in looks. But why 
 this fierce outburst of anger against me? Was it 
 merely because I had become too intimate w4th their 
 hidden history, and that chance seemed to be making 
 me more and more master of their secrets and them- 
 selves? Or was it that she wished to frighten me 
 into concealing from her husband, perhaps for his 
 own sake, her presence and identity ? Either of these 
 reasons sufficed, yet both might have been joined, to 
 produce an excitement under which she fairly foamed, 
 cursing fiercely and in a torrent — with flashing eyes 
 and thin, tremulous, white lips, with unequivocal and
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 57 
 
 really alarming threats, forbidding me to name 
 " either of them " again. She bade me follow my 
 own plain road, and leave the blind path to her ; she 
 would find her way out of this alone. 
 
 Perhaps she was right. In those days I was an 
 enthusiast, and enthusiasts are always bunglers and 
 often bores. 
 
 I never met Lucy Mason alive but once after that, 
 and then I pumped from her stomach, just in time, 
 a quantity of arsenic, she wildly raving all the while 
 on themes I did not recognise, and unconscious of the- 
 scene or me. Fearing the effect of the excitement 
 into which she would undoubtedly be thrown on dis- 
 covering me as the man who had thwarted her jiur- 
 pose in that desperate pass, and who, it might seem to 
 her, was forever crossing her dark and dangerous 23ath, 
 I handed her over at once to other physicians, who, 
 from time to time, reported the progress of her case. 
 Her health and beauty departed at once, and together. 
 Blood-stains were often on her lips or her handker- 
 chief; her thoughts strayed much into dark places, 
 and she had her seasons of appalUng fierceness. But
 
 58 
 
 The New. 
 
 slic was marvellously close witli her secret. Her most 
 constant attendants, even in her wildest passages, 
 never caught from her lips the name of Farleigh or 
 of Harton. Indeed, I think she was at no time quite 
 
 ^ 
 
 self forgetful, but only black-thoughted, and impatient 
 for the end. It came soon — the natural sequel, a 
 mere matter of course.
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 59 
 
 One day I joined a knot of people, diverted for a 
 moment from their business-paths by a new and more 
 interesting shaj)e of death — the black and swollen 
 corpse of a woman lay on some boards ^at the foot of 
 Clay street, waiting to be identified. It had been 
 lifted to the surface of the water on the weighing 
 anchor of an up-river craft at daybreak. It was bare- 
 footed, bare-bosomed, with loose and flowing hair ; 
 about the neck hung a small blue satin bag, contain- 
 ing a child's ringlet, and prettily embroidered with 
 the initials "P. F." It was Lucy Mason. In her 
 night-dress, and with naked feet, she had gone to one 
 of the wharfs at midnight and taken that last dismal 
 plunge. She Itad seen her fate out. 
 
 " Mad, from life's history, 
 Glad to death's mystery- 
 Swift to be hurl'd — 
 Anywhere, anywhere, 
 Out of the world !" 
 
 We no matter; she had simple but becoming 
 
 obsequies. There were those — rough fellows, God
 
 6o The New. 
 
 knows, wlioin a toucli of nature brouglit togetlier for 
 that oiice, and who may hardly meet again in this 
 world — who, 
 
 " Ere her limbs frigidly 
 Stiffened too rigidly, 
 
 Decently — kindly — 
 Smoothed and composed them, 
 And her eyes closed them. 
 
 Staring so blindly I 
 
 " Dreadfully staring 
 
 Through muddy impurity, 
 As when with the daring 
 Last look of despairing. 
 Fixed on futurity." 
 
 Where was Farleigh ? Keported dead. Nearly 
 two months before Lucy's first attempt to destroy 
 herself, by poison, he called to take leave of me. 
 lie was going, he said, to the Mariposa diggings 
 with a company of gentlemen, who would defray 
 liis expenses in consideration of his medical services. 
 Jiis miiid seemed healthy ; indeed it was the first
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 61 
 
 time I had found him cheerful, even jocose. I would 
 have paid him then for the medicines he had sold me, 
 but he still decidedly declined receiving the money ; 
 it would do when he needed it more, or if this ven- 
 ture should turn out badly. lie might die, I urged. 
 "Why, then, let it go." lie had no one to give it to. 
 At i^rcsent he had abundance. He had received an 
 anonymous letter from " one whom he had once 
 trusted," inclosing a check on Davidson, the banker, 
 drawn by "John Chappell," for three thousand dol- 
 lars. At the bank they knew nothing of this Mr. 
 Chappell. A stranger, calling himself by that name, 
 had deposited the money, stating at the time that it 
 would be drawn out in a few days by a Mr. David 
 Farleigh, on his check. The descri^^tion of Chappell 
 afforded him no clue. But it was all plain enough, 
 he said; the money came, of course, from that villain, 
 
 Captain , who had ruined him, robbed him of 
 
 every penny he possessed, all invested in the ship and 
 cargo he had told me of While he related this sin- 
 gular circumstance, I watched him searchingly. I 
 am sure he did not suspect the true source from
 
 62 The New. 
 
 •which the timely remittance came. I am sure he 
 did not know of Lucy's whereabouts, or the life she 
 was leading. 
 
 That same day he started for the mines, and even 
 if I had had time to follow his fortunes, it was not 
 possible to "keep the run" of him. He very soon 
 drifted out of sight and mind, along with all the 
 human flotsam of fortune that had given itself to that 
 untried stream. When in that " one more unfortu- 
 nate gone to her death," I recognised Lucy, I sought 
 tidings of Farleigh at Stolberger's market. They 
 believed he was dead. The party to which he be- 
 longed had been most unlucky. They had been 
 attacked by Indians, and robbed of everything — ^their 
 wagons and oxen, horses, guns, camp-traps, and pro- 
 visions ; had turned back, half-naked and starving ; 
 then cholera and fever overtook them, and two died 
 — one, it was reported, being Farleigh. 
 
 A few months later I was seized with a typhoid 
 fever, which well-nigh ended me. On recovering, I 
 resolved to make a trip to the Sandwich Islands to 
 recruit. I reached Honolulu, after a quick and
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 63 
 
 cliarming passage, much improved. On landing, and 
 paying my respects to the Custom-house, I walked up 
 into the town. Seeing an apothecary's shop on the 
 corner, I took the occasion to procure some medicine 
 I had required during the passage for a sick passen- 
 ger, and at the same time to make an acquaintance, 
 perhaps, and hear the news. Drawing a card from 
 my pocket, I wrote a prescription. The person to 
 whom I handed it, to be compounded, was David 
 Farleigh — or, rather, the ghost of him. Gracious 
 heaven ! how the poor, sensitive, trembling, helpless 
 creature must have suffered ! He cried on recognis- 
 ing me, and fidgeted painfully among his spatulas 
 and minim glasses — looked somewhat wild, and was 
 desultory, almost to incoherence, in his talk. All the 
 mind he had left, I thought, was not worth living for. 
 The story I had heard at Stolberger's, about the 
 mishaps of his mining party, was all true, except the 
 report of his death. He had had cholera to the last 
 extremity. His recovery, he said, was but a part of 
 his protracted ill-fortune. A kind friend, touched by 
 his crippled case, had paid his passage hither, and he
 
 64 The New. 
 
 had fled from Cahfornia for safety and rest ; a Httle 
 longer, and his distraction would have become mad- 
 ness. Some English merchants in Honolulu had pro- 
 cured this place for him, where he found occupation 
 for bis mind, and a present bare subsistence. " When- 
 ever, whatever the end may be," he said, *' I have no 
 wish to postpone it," He w^as as poor — poorer than 
 ever ; and now he would take the forty-five dollars, 
 and give me back my note. In this interview I ven- 
 tured, for the first time, and very guardedly, to ask : 
 
 " By-the-b}^, have you any family, Mr. Farleigh ?" 
 
 " None, sir. Six months ago, a little child, my 
 last human tie, was torn away from me." 
 
 The naturalness, quite without alarm or any sort 
 of agitation, with which the answer was given, satis- 
 fied me that my acquaintance with the blackest chap- 
 ter in his history had never been suspected by the 
 poor fellow. 
 
 About noon on the following day, having taken up 
 my lodgings on shore, I called at Farleigh's place in 
 the hope of taking him out for a cheerful walk, while 
 at the same time he should be my cicerone to the
 
 The Fate of the Farleighs. 65 
 
 sights of Ilonolulu. lie was not there, had not been 
 down that morning, his employer said — he might be 
 ill, he feared ; his health and spirits were by no means 
 good — he would send to see. But I would, myself, 
 be going in that direction, I said, and would call. At 
 liis lodgings no one knew of his movements ; they 
 supposed he had gone to his business ; he was very 
 irregular in his meals, and often left in the morning 
 without his breakfast. I went to his room ; the door 
 was locked, and there was no answer to my anxious 
 knocking. They suggested that he might be walking 
 — he often took lonely and very long walks, some- 
 times up the Nuuanu valley as far as the Pahri, some- 
 times by the plains down to the cocoa-nut groves at 
 Waititi. I was for a stroll myself. I would take 
 that direction ; perhaps I should meet him. 
 
 In the evening, when I returned, nothing was yet 
 known of Farleigh's whereabouts. But we agreed to 
 let our fears rest for the night, in the hope that he 
 might be on board some English vessel in the harbor 
 — several having arrived during the week — or with 
 some of his English friends in the town. All night I
 
 66 The New. 
 
 was sleepless, and full of clrcad. At noon next day, 
 still no tidings of mv poor friend. I became much 
 excited, and urged the reasonableness of my fears 
 from my intimate knowledge of the man's mental 
 condition. It was resolved that the door should be 
 broken open. 
 
 Good God ! could that horrid, poisoned thing in the 
 bed be Farleigh ? — quite naked, swollen in every 
 part of him to twice his living proportions, the 
 flice and breast black as ink, the eyes staring dread- 
 fully, fairly bursting from their sockets, the nose and 
 ears filled with blood. On a little table in the corner 
 lay the money I had paid him ; on the bed beside 
 him, a letter envelope, "to David Farleigh, Honolulu, 
 S. I., per barque Petrel," the vessel which brought 
 me over; on the floor, just as they had fallen from 
 his hand, which hung over the side of the bed, the 
 halves of a torn check in the following strange form : 
 
 " Washington IIall, San Francisco. 
 Sunday, February 8, 1850. 
 " Messrs. Bcrgotne & Co., Bankers : 
 
 " Pay to David Farleigh, for and on account of Philip
 
 The Fate of the Farlcighs. 67 
 
 Farleigo (liis child and mine), eleven thousand dollars 
 ($11,000). 
 
 "Lucy Mason, 
 " The lost— in her last hour." 
 
 This singular paper bore the endorsement of Bur- 
 goyne & Co. No line of explanation accompanied it, 
 at least none was found; nor was it ever discovered 
 who had forwarded the check. 
 
 You ask me what became of this money. You 
 might as well ask what became of all the vigorous 
 life, all the intellect and refined culture, all the ambi- 
 tion, courage, and virtue, that went to San Francisco 
 in 'J:9. 
 
 " Upon the white sea-sand 
 
 There sat a pilgrim band, 
 Telling the losses that their lives had known ; 
 
 While evening waned away 
 
 From breezy chfF and bay, 
 And the strong tides went out with weary moan. 
 
 *' One spake, with quivering lip, 
 Of a fair freighted ship, 
 With all his household to the deep gone down ;
 
 68 
 
 The New. 
 
 But one had wilder woe — 
 For a fair face, long ago 
 Lost in the darker depths of a great town." 
 
 I have a tiny volume — a child's book of bible 
 stories, with many wood-cuts, and bound in morocco, 
 with a flap like a pocket-book. On a blank leaf is 
 written " Kate Farleigh to her darhng, Hobart Town, 
 Christmas, 1848."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE OLD ADOBE. 
 
 A FEATURE in tlie Sail Francisco of Forty-Nine was 
 tbe "Old Adobe" on the Plaza. Between Rincon and 
 Clarke's Points were many more sightly edifices, but 
 I doubt if any half so storied in stirring associations. 
 "With its sturdy brown walls, its low-descending roof, 
 tiled after the true rancho model, its rickety porch 
 with planks all adrift, its square-set windows with 
 their deep sills, its dusty door for ever wide, hospita- 
 ble by rust, and its much whittled railings and posts, 
 — the " Old Adobe " seemed set in the midst of the 
 Plaza, right over against the Parker House, as a sort 
 of public shingle, contributed by lazy, good-natured, 
 old Yerba Buena to the slashing but inventive jack- 
 knives of young San Francisco. 
 
 Overlooking the Plaza from the verandah, you
 
 ^o The New. 
 
 had before you, across the midst of the open space, 
 the Parker House, famous as the first of Cahfornian 
 hotels, fit to be so called ; and next it, on the cor- 
 ner of Kearney and Washington streets, the El 
 Dorado, phoenix of many fires. On your left, amid- 
 ships in the north side of the square, was the ori- 
 ginal Alia California office; and adjoining it, the 
 Bella Union and Washington Hall, infamous — the 
 first as a cut-throats' gambling-house, resort of bowie- 
 knife, revolver, and slung-shot bravos; the latter, as 
 a stew of cheap prostitution. To your right, and 
 farthest off, was the old City Hotel, where, as well 
 as in " Tammany " opposite, Sam Koberts erst mus- 
 tered his "Hounds," parading them in a chow-chow 
 of Mexican and Chinese costume, and filing them 
 through the bar-room, on horseback, to drink. 
 Higher up, on the south side, was Sam Brannan's 
 office, where, later, that redoubtable Mormon million- 
 aire arraigned those same Hounds at the bar of pub- 
 lic justice, and, revolver in hand, from the roof of 
 liis saucy little castle, made his reckless appeal to 
 popular indignation to bring out its halters. Quite
 
 The Old Adobe. 71 
 
 near you, directly on your riglit, and best seen from 
 the south end of the porch, was the little wliitc 
 frame School-house, which, soon breaking its early 
 promise, became first a concert hall for Steve Mas- 
 sett's entertainments, and afterward a police station 
 for the entertainment of bad women and beasts. 
 Still nearer to you, and interjacent as to the School- 
 house and the Old Adobe, was the Alcalde's Office, 
 where a rich and various assortment of Californian 
 justice was kept constantly on hand, to be characte- 
 ristically dispensed by a Leavenworth or a Geary. 
 Eight before you was the original flag-staff — that 
 Bunkumest of flag-staffs — whence floated Uncle 
 Sam's title-deed to the land of Ophir. 
 
 But the most interesting object of all, that which 
 stood for more that is purely San Franciscan than 
 any other thing in town, was no farther off than the 
 south end of the verandah; you had but to walk 
 that far to lay your hand upon it, A rough, but 
 substantial upright, glorified with many of the sono- 
 rous names of Forty-Nine, now, alas, lost to the 
 Custom-House and to history, supported the spine of
 
 y2 The New. 
 
 tlic Old Adobe's roof, and a beam, as rongli and stout, 
 stretcliing from rib to rib, formed with it a cross that 
 once was put to a just but savage purpose ; for from 
 an arm of that same cross, one dark and dangerous 
 nicdit, the Vigilance Committee, which had been but 
 an idler's rumor before, hung up the body of Jenkins, 
 for a sign and a token that they were an actuality 
 and a deadly force. 
 
 How well I remember it all ! The " Monumental's " 
 bell tolled, till every second citizen in hearing of its 
 accusing voice confessed, in whisper to his own soul, 
 his Eugene- Aramness, and was seized with a fiend- 
 instigated impulse to go and give himself up. 
 
 " From its nailed coflBn-prison 
 The corpse had arisen, 
 And in all its shroud vesture, 
 With menacing gesture, 
 A-nd eye-balls that stared at them, 
 Flared at them, glared at them, 
 It pointed — it flouted 
 Its slayers, and shouted, 
 In accents that thrilled them,
 
 The Old Adobe. 73 
 
 * Those ruthless dissemblers, 
 Those guilt-stricken tremblers, 
 Are the villains who killed me ! ' " 
 
 I remember how Jenkins looked when he was led 
 forth from the Committee room into the street, with 
 the rope about his neck ; he was smoking the cigar 
 Sam Brannan gave him when he was asked if he 
 had a last request to make, and he replied : " No 
 — Yes — Sam, I'll take a cheroot, if you've got such a 
 thing about you." I remember how he looked under 
 the Old Adobe beam, when Sam gave the word for 
 " A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether 
 — let every honest citizen be a hangman for once ! " 
 — Jenkins had let the cigar go out, for he was dead. 
 And "we believe it is not generally known," as the 
 newspaper phrase is, that the first man hung by the 
 San Francisco Vigilance Committee was dead before 
 he was swung up, and the second, Stewart, was alive 
 after he was cut down. 
 
 But the Plaza was not utterly without its cheerful 
 aspects ; and the glass eyes of the Old Adobe were
 
 74 The New. 
 
 gladdened witli a graceful and a liopeful siglit, when 
 first they looked upon the Lady of Forty-Nine. 
 
 There was not much of her. She was but a little 
 one, and very quiet and harmless-looking in her 
 precise raiment of saddest black; for on shipboard, 
 coming out, the material part of a tiny passenger 
 had gone down among the sea-shells, and a tiny sprite 
 had flitted heavenward alone ; like a strange, solitary 
 butterfly, such as sometimes visits lonely ships in the 
 Gulf Stream, to fill the big hearts of swarthy seamen 
 with special wonder, and many a tender, half-sad, 
 self reproachful memory of white cottages, and hedge- 
 rows neatly dipt, and fragrant clover-banks alive 
 with bees — but which very soon, straining its tender 
 wings in the sunshine, stretches seaward and skyward 
 and is seen no more for ever. 
 
 They wore the ensign drooping, like a conscious 
 thing, the day that baby died. Eude sailors sat 
 for'ad, in the "watch below," and read the burial 
 service, laying their heads together in squads, and 
 listening in more than instructed reverence to the 
 " Eesurrection and the Life," from the school-taught
 
 The Old Adobe. 75 
 
 lips of a boatswain's mate, forgetful of his official 
 blasphemies. The captain's clerk, a sturdy, handsome 
 fellow, with a nor'-wcst hail, a hearty social quality, and 
 )io weaknesses, forgot his last rough joke, and was 
 under the weather that day; but he hoped no one but 
 he knew how blurred was the page, and how unsteady 
 the line, when he drew his reluctant pen through 
 the half of "Mrs. Blank and infant." And after 
 many days, when the weather was genial, and her 
 nurse persuasive, and the little lady appeared on deck 
 again, pale, and sad-eyed, and quiet, and in her 
 simplicity of sorrow and demure raiment seeming 
 unwittingly to rebuke the selfish cheerfulness of some 
 wdio might have forgotten her once or twice — then 
 uncouth " hands," looking at her askance, would with 
 a certain courtly awkwardness, and very modestly, 
 perform gallant things in her service ; and competing 
 passengers, in phrases as rough as Esau's thigh, 
 approached her with ingenious anticipations of her 
 half formed wishes, and abundance of timely tender- 
 nesses ; until, at last, when the good ship sailed through 
 the Golden Gate, she was won to exchange her self-
 
 76 The New, 
 
 absorption for a graceful pensivcncss, prettier, and 
 even more commanding, than a disordered sorrow. 
 
 " Full fathom five her darling lies ; 
 
 Of his bones are corals made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes ; 
 
 Nothing of him that can fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea change 
 
 Into something rich and strange ! " 
 
 And this was she wlio crossed tlie Plaza, one 
 bright morning in the year of our Lord, Eighteen 
 Hundred and Fortj-nine. She leaned on the stout 
 arm of her husband, an intelligent, gallant, joj-ous- 
 looking gentleman — though that was his baby that 
 went down among the sea-shells, and he had no other 
 for his sorrow. He had arrived a year before ; his 
 ventures liad been luck}' ; he had become a merchant 
 of note, a man of water-lots and steamboats, and 
 shares in desirable sites at' the head of navigation ; 
 and he had built a brave house to put his brave little 
 wife in, and his baby-failure, in which he had 
 invested such a sum of love. But he was not broken
 
 The Old Adobe. 77 
 
 yet, nor dispirited, for lie had not touched his original 
 capital — she remained. 
 
 They crossed tlic Plaza diagonally, from Clay 
 street to Dupont, and as they passed they made a 
 jubilee. In the little white shantec on the rise of 
 the hill, where the curt Alcalde held occasional court 
 and administered expensive justice, a premature law- 
 yQV was outpouring Arkansas eloquence, and crush- 
 ing the claim of some sacrilegious ranchero to a Jfifty- 
 vara lot in the middle of a paper cemetery. Pre- 
 sently a plain black bonnet, bordered with a white 
 cap, came within range of the window. Forthwith 
 that impetuous counsel forgot his client and his case, 
 dropped the thread of his argument, which has never 
 been picked up again to this day, and performed a 
 wild vault through the window into the open space 
 in front. That blessed ranchero holds his own. 
 
 In the Old Adobe the collector of Customs was 
 
 " In his counting-house 
 A counting out his money ;" 
 
 and pert prmiit-clerks, with a variety of bad Ian*
 
 78 The New. 
 
 guage, were explaining to bewildered foreigners the 
 peculiar institutions of our country. " Here slie 
 comes !" was whispered in the verandah. The deputy- 
 cashier caught up the word, and like the hill-beacons 
 in the " Spanish Armada," it flew from desk to desk. 
 At once an informal recess was taken, and frenzied 
 aliens, frantically gesticulating, were suffered to abide 
 in blasphemous impatience till the phenomenon had 
 passed. 
 
 At the El Dorado a free fight was adjourned for 
 the occasion, and " drinks all round " substituted 
 thereafter by mistake. 
 
 Across the open space, an agile, sun-browned, 
 nervous-looking Mexican comes caracoling on his 
 fretted steed. Eesplendent is he in a holiday serape, 
 of hues as multifarious as Joseph's coat ; resplendent 
 in a foppish sombrero, and famous for the precise cut 
 of his ranchero's jacket. A musical man is he — 
 jingling as to his spurs, jingling as to his horse's bit 
 and head-stall, jingling as to the high peak of his 
 saddle, jingling as to his leggins. In a moment he is 
 almost upon her. One sharp jerk at the savage bit
 
 The Old Adobe. 79 
 
 throws his quivering liorsc upou his liaunclics ; and 
 pausing so, lie sits the model of an equipped caballero, 
 unscrupulous and gallant. — That night a solitary way- 
 farer, with a heavy pouch at his belt, makes his way 
 over a desperate road to the Mission San Dolores, 
 unscathed. An unerring knife had been whetted for 
 him, but a beam from an angel's eye had sealed it in 
 its sheath. 
 
 In front of the Bella Union, Sam Koberts and 
 his Hounds are marching two-and-two, in carnival 
 attire, mixed of Mexican, Chinese, and Indian gar- 
 ments, snatched with impunity from the nearest shop, 
 without money and without price. But now they 
 halt, and, forming in line, lift their hats even grace- 
 fully — surely with some hopeful show of respect — 
 and salute the First Lady, No flames from Chilian 
 tents affright the quarters of Clarke's Point that 
 night ; no shrieks of violated women make that night 
 hideous. A minister of grace bestowed the talisman, 
 though no grateful lips do homage to the saving 
 hand. 
 
 In the "Aguila de Oro," they are having a lively
 
 8o The New. 
 
 game of montc. A miserable wretch, an invahded 
 miner, attenuated and feeble, his joints all twisted in 
 the rack of rheumatism, elbows his way to a table, 
 and holds suspended over a card, in lucky indecision, 
 a soiled and finger- worn bit of paper, a certificate of 
 deposit with Wright & Co. for three thousand dollars 
 in dust. Once more, and just in time, goes up that 
 saving signal, "She's coming, boys. Hurrah!" — That 
 man is fat and lazy and limber now. Under his fig 
 tree, on the banks of the Susquehannah, he rejoices 
 in pigs and chickens, a white cottage, and an " old 
 woman ;" and even rheumatism cannot make him 
 afraid. 
 
 What was the spell that wrought these changes — 
 that transmuted the toads and lizards, and all the 
 loathsome things of a dissolute and lawless commu- 
 nity, into the very pearls and diamonds of fairy tale — 
 that by some wondrous cunning made, of a day of 
 lust and rapine, and w^orse than Ishmael's rule, a 
 lovely Age of Gold ? The influence of a quiet eye, a 
 graceful mien, a thousand pretty pleas for homage 
 and protection — the power of woman, the potent
 
 The Old Adobe. 81 
 
 restraint ol" her presence, the persuasive eloquence of 
 her very silence, the flattery of her slightest approba- 
 tion, the sufllcing rebuke of her turned-away face — 
 that dim religion of the heart which demands no cost- 
 lier fane than the humblest roof-tree, no altar more 
 formally consecrated than a cottage cradle, no deity 
 more awful than that God of Love whose smile makes 
 the wilderness blossom like the rose, and the little 
 hills skip like lambs. 
 
 Under a green, hillock, hard by an old Switzer's 
 house, and sacredly remote from the savage holocaust 
 of Californian victims, sleeps the First Lady of San 
 Francisco — 
 
 " Quiet consummation have, 
 And renowned be thy grave ! " 
 
 Let us sec what the Old Adobe is within. Enter- 
 ing by the ever-open portal, we are in a wide hall, 
 whicli divides the house in equal wings — there is but 
 the one story. This first room on the left is the 
 " Governor's" office. That is he — the dark -haired, 
 tliin-whiskered, dapper little man. Not forgetting 
 that you. are in San Francisco, in the early fall of
 
 82 The New. 
 
 Fortj-ninc, you wonder at his well-fitting clothes, 
 his freshly -shaven chin, his unchallengeable dicky, 
 starched for the latitude of Broadway ; above all, at 
 his patent-leather shoes, and spotless, undarned stock- 
 ings. These are miracles — not to mention the genu- 
 ine aroma of his Havana — that bewilder you at first. 
 But presently Coit there, the deputy, redes you your 
 riddle. " The Governor," he says, "is good, one way 
 or another (and Coit has a way, peculiarly his own, 
 of saying that "one way or another"), for three thou- 
 sand dollars a month," which at once makes the tailor 
 and the laundress mere common-places and matters- 
 of-fact. Coit himself reflects the Governor's outer 
 man, after a crooked fashion, as a flawed looking- 
 glass might do it : that is, his dicky is fresh, but it 
 confesses to brown soap — and his stockings are clean, 
 but they are also dirty — soiled in the washing ; and 
 the shoes that Coit wears are pumps — therefore, 
 simply ridiculous. But Coit thinks he's doing very 
 well on eight hundred a month, one way or another. 
 
 There are some other small particulars in which 
 the Deputy successfully reflects the Governor.
 
 The Old Adobe. 83 
 
 Once, wlien tlie green tables of tlie Parker House 
 flourished exceedingly, and the game went merry as 
 a marriage-bell, Coit approached a montc table, with 
 a red silk handkerchief in his hand, and in his quiet 
 -way — such modesty as you would naturally expect 
 from eight hundred dollars a month, one way or 
 another— asked for a " lay out." 'riic bland dealer 
 graciously accommodated him with "ray, ocho, sink- 
 wee, and kerwaiyo." Coit "believed he'd ride this 
 time," so he tenderly deposited his red bundle on ker- 
 waiyo, the steed. 
 
 "Dust or coin, Mr. Coit?" inquired the dealer. 
 
 " Coin, old horse." 
 
 "Gold or silver, if you please, Mr. Coit?" 
 
 " That's nothing to you, unless you should be so 
 unhappy as to lose, my fancy friend, in which case 
 you shall be gratified immediately with a minute 
 inspection of my pile. Otherwise, do rne the honor 
 to take John Coit's unimpeachable word for it that 
 the money is good money, and don't expose it to the 
 vulgar gaze." 
 
 "As you please, sir; your word is enough."
 
 84 The New. 
 
 And Jolin Coit, receiving from the hand of tlie 
 smooth professor the sybilhne "papes," in accordance 
 with an cstabhshed courtesy extended by well-bred 
 dealers to "heavy" gentlemen, proceeded to decide 
 his own fate. By a graceful, undulatory movement 
 of his dainty, jeweled hand — another reflection on 
 the Governor — he gradually, and without flutter, 
 erected two symmetric piles of cards; until, suddenly 
 satisfied, one way or another, he returned what re- 
 mained of the pictorial parallelograms to the dealer 
 — with a suavity of gesture which was his owm happy 
 manner, merely requesting that equally aesthetic in- 
 dividual not to trouble himself with the arithmetic 
 till the rabble had retired. In the morning, " the 
 arithmetic" disclosed thirteen thousand dollars in the 
 sweetest eaglets of Uncle Sam's golden eyrie. 
 
 One way or another John Coit was the best deputy 
 his governor ever had. Though, indeed, the Governor 
 w^as an easy governor to please — a most confiding 
 governor. His room of office looked on the verandah 
 by two windows ; near one of these stood the sub- 
 treasury, being an iron chest not unlike a Pennsyl-
 
 Tiic Oki Adolic. 85 
 
 vuiTui Dutch fanner, in respect of it.s being so mucli 
 better acquainted witii siib.staiitial bellyi'uls than it.s 
 very seedy exterior woidd lead you to su])pose. 
 More than once this sub-treasury — the only thing of 
 steady habits west of the llocky Mountains then — 
 turned out its golden lining to the day, while the 
 Governor and his deputy had both I'ctired for a jDeriod 
 to refresh themselves in one way or another — and 
 ne'er a man afraid. There were three months of 
 Arcadian simplicity in the 18-i9 of San Francisco. 
 
 Back of the Governor's room, on the same side of 
 the hall, was a cheerless, barn-like apartment, witli an 
 earthen floor and no ceiling, nor any chimney or 
 window — the kitchen of the Old Adobe in its days 
 of aboriginal dignity. A straw mattress in one 
 corner, and a Californian saddle and leggins in 
 another — a very fancy serape hanging on a hook with 
 a ranchero's bit and lariat, and a yard or two of line 
 Tahiti tappa-cloth at the door for a curtain — these 
 indicated that the place had an occupant. A Kanaka 
 good-for-nothing, who passed by the name of Jim, 
 and was supposed to be somebody's body-servant, and
 
 86 The New. 
 
 to get his board and lodging in consideration of certain 
 stated duties whicli never appeared on the flice of 
 things, was the sleeper on the straw mattress and the 
 occasional flourisher of the dandy scrape. As for the 
 saddle, and the leggins, and the bit, and the lariat, 
 their respective uses were easily made to appear by 
 a prosecution of even the most careless inquiries 
 into the nature of Jim's financial resources, and the 
 nation, occupation, and condition of his familiars. 
 The mysteries of monte were known also unto Jim, 
 for whose benighted Polynesian mind the philan- 
 thropic Coit had done what he could, by enlightening 
 it at first as far as the pictorial alphabet of the High- 
 Low-Jack language, and then leaving it to its ambi- 
 tion. Nor did it disappoint its gentle shepherd. Jim 
 soon became master of the painted hieroglyphics, 
 wherewith he conjured into his pouch the scattered 
 dust of his Kanaka acquaintance, and not rarely 
 the wiry cavallo of some more speculative "Injin." 
 Thus Jim e]ijoyed enviable opportunities of venti- 
 lating his equestrianism, which is a Kanaka's strong 
 point; and although his stud was not numerous
 
 The Old Adobe. 87 
 
 or choice, it may be said to have been well 
 " broken." 
 
 And yet Jim had his good qualities too, to which 
 the Old Adobe was occasionally indebted for incidents 
 of pathos. Outside of the sacred circle of montc, he 
 was kind to his countrymen, and occasionally took 
 them in, in the true scriptural sense. In the rough 
 winter of Forty -nine and Fifty, the poor Kanakas of 
 San Francisco, quite childlike in their helplessness 
 — their sensitive lungs accustomed to the balm and 
 pleasance of Oahu zephyrs, their cracking skins miss- 
 ing the bracing breaker-baths of Diamond Point and 
 Waititi, their dismayed stomachs sickening for the 
 wonted fish and poi, their matted black hair falling 
 in sorrow for its cocoa-nut oil, their hearts sadly 
 pining for florid fields of coral, for. the mists of the 
 Pahri, and the tropic fragrance of the vale of ISTuuanu 
 — these lost children of the surf, the waterfidl, and 
 the rainbow died, decimate by pulmonary complaints, 
 under filthy sheds of hide, and in the bush. 
 
 It was Jim then who turned the earthen kitchen of 
 the Old Adobe into a sick bay, and forsook his cards
 
 88 The New. 
 
 for the tin water-cup, the saucepan, and the gruel- 
 s])oon. He impressed into his service of pit}' tlie 
 influence and the zealous offices of the careless but 
 kindly governor. He contracted with an amused 
 physician to undertake his patients cheap — by the 
 quantity, as it were. He dragged to his hospital His 
 Hawaiian Majestj-'s Vice-Consul for San Francisco, 
 bidding him see for himself, and report in accordance 
 with the facts to the government at Honolulu — that 
 that old King Cole, that jolly old Polynesian soul, 
 Kamehameha III., might be diverted from his bil- 
 liards and brandy-and- water to a solemn consideration 
 of the sufferings of his amphibious subjects in San 
 Francisco. And sure enough, the small island king 
 did shortly afterward send over a vessel for what was 
 left of Jim's clients, and took stringent measures to 
 keep the rest of his tender-lunged people at home. 
 
 There was another simple but touching show of 
 the peculiar pathos of the })lace and time, in the fare- 
 well of the Kanakas on their sailing-day. All together 
 they trooped to the Doctor's office — some on litters, 
 some on crutches, one actual!}^ on the back of his
 
 Tlu! Old A(l()lx>. 89 
 
 In-other — to ofler tlicir few poor dollars, scrupvdou.sly 
 saved, or bestowed by Jim I'm- the i)urpose, and 
 which now they unwound from their dingy red 
 sashes, their head handkerchiefs, or their hair. The 
 recompense which they could not get accepted then, 
 they proftcred, in a tenfokl more acceptable shape, a 
 lew months later, on the beach at Honolulu, when, 
 fairly frantic with grateful joy, shouting, " Aluha, 
 kouka f maitai kouha ! aloha nute-nuee I " (Welcome, 
 doctor, good doctor ! a hearty welcome !), they made 
 much of their Californian leech and friend, and would 
 have borne him on their shoulders to his grass house, 
 ill the bosom of their Eden-home. 
 
 Famous for Chinamen, too, was the Old Adobe of 
 '49, — grinning, graceless, good-for-nothings. For de- 
 cidedly it is hard to imagine a grave, great, and glo- 
 rious Chinaman ; there is something essentially ridi- 
 culous in all the pertainings of the outlandish crea- 
 ture, llis tail is the sample and style of him ; it 
 stands for him in all things. Inside and out, he is 
 altogether just so droll as that; and that suffices to 
 till the measure of his fuuniiiess. Your sense of the
 
 go The New. 
 
 ridiculous can ask no more ; even a caudal prolonga- 
 tion of liis OS coccygis were a superfluous contribution 
 to the great absurdity of his getting up. For myself, 
 I think I could with less embarrassment, with a more 
 successful air of indifference to the grins of the 
 crowd, stand shaking hands, on Broadway, with a 
 A^eritably tailed gentleman from the interior of Africa, 
 asking after the health of his family, and what he 
 thought of Piccolomini, than I could do the very 
 same, by any impulse of cosmopolitan affability, 
 with Chu-Jin-Seng of the " Forest-of-Pencils Soci- 
 ety," whose respectable, portly and pompous uncle, 
 the Mandarin of the yellow button and several pea- 
 cock feathers, had sent him hither to induct us out- 
 side-barbarian Fifth-Avenoodles in the refinements 
 and intricacies of celestial etiquette. His square 
 front-face presented, gravity might be possible ; but 
 the least wag of his tail, ever so slight a glimpse of 
 his eccentric occiput, just the faintest hint of the arc 
 described by the national hairy pendulum, at the 
 small of his back, upon the perpendicular of his 
 spinal column — and a guffaw were irrepressible. And
 
 Tlui Old Adobe. 91 
 
 I defy you ^vh()lly to lose sight and thought of it, 
 even in your most philosophic coiitcmphitions of his 
 mind. 'J'hougli he display the profundity and sen- 
 tcntiousness of a Bacon and a Johnson, equally in his 
 axioms and his antitheses will you detect a trace of 
 tail. 
 
 It is somewhere related by Leigh Hunt, I think, 
 that once, in London, a chimney-sweeper came un- 
 awares u})on a Chinaman. Both presently rolled on 
 the ground in twisting convulsions of laughter, to the 
 great alarm of bystanders ; each saw, in the other, 
 seven wonders of the funny. 
 
 My own earliest idea of a Chinaman was derived 
 from the Siamese Twins. While yet an urchin, I 
 had the rare honor to be admitted to personal intimacy 
 with that flimous lusus natura?, which erst inspired 
 Lytton Bulwer with bad poetry, and foreshadowed 
 the best successes of Barnum's Museum, in the Joyce 
 Ilcth, Feejee Mermaid, and Tom Thumb line. Won- 
 der-eyed and thoughtful, sitting on my stool, suppress- 
 ed in a corner by the fire, I have watched them by 
 the hour, as they tite, or smoked, or laughed, or
 
 92 
 
 The New 
 
 talked, or even— licaveii save the key !— sang. From 
 all they said, or did, or were, I derived notions, droll 
 or shocking, as the occasion was, of three hundred 
 millions of pig-eyed people, whose souls are none the 
 less immortal, because their God's name, as I under- 
 stood it, was Josh — ^notions that have not altogether 
 left me to this day. I was not yet so nice in my 
 geographical and ethnological distinctions as to ap- 
 preciate their points of difference from the Peter 
 Parley type of Chinaman. True, I was at first puzzled 
 by the apparent discovery that they had no tails on 
 the backs of their heads in the place where the tails 
 ought to grow, but when, graciously, to help along 
 my researches, they untwisted the coronal that en- 
 circled their dingy brows, and showed me that the 
 appendage, in all its genuineness, was there, I saw in 
 the fact merely an individual peculiarity of coiffure, 
 even more remarkable and personal than the link of 
 gristle which united them like a pair of human 
 sausages. At once their nationality ceased to perplex 
 me. I overcame that doubt as easily as a fly crossed 
 the hair line which divided Siam from China on my
 
 The Old Adohr 
 
 93 
 
 Maltc-Bruii iii.iji. Aii<l llnTfllji-c, (Icduccd I, all 
 Chinamen arc burn doiihU"; all Cliiuauicn arc Chang- 
 Kng. [The reader will recollect that the twins were 
 culled Chang and Eng, but by a pretty amalgamation 
 of their names, for the sentiment of it, they joined 
 the two with a sort of gristlediyphen, and called 
 tlicmselves Chang-Eng,] When Chang is hungr}-, 
 thought I, Eng cats ; when the nose of Eng is titil- 
 lated, Chang sneezes ; wlien Chang lifts uj) his voice in 
 wiry song, Eng makes diabolical faces ; if 3'ou cut 
 off Eng's tail, tlie tail of Chang will bleed ; should 
 Chang have the colic, a mustard poultice to the pit 
 of Eng's stomach would relieve him ; the tea that 
 Chang imbibes, cheers Eng ; the rice which disappears 
 down Eng, fattens Chang; Chang thinks Eng, and 
 Eng thinks Chang — therefore no occasion to speak to 
 each other ; Eng is Chang, and Chang is Eng — there, 
 fore neither is in the other's way. When Chang 
 said to Eng once, " My brother, go up to our room, 
 if you please, and bring down the fan I painted for 
 Johnny," I thought it an nnconmion good joke, as 
 though one should sa_y, "Sit there, myself, while I go
 
 94 The New. 
 
 for me." In three years that I knew Chang-Eng, I 
 never, saving that once, heard either speak to the 
 other — I never once heard either of them say " We," 
 meaning themselves. 
 
 From the case of the Siamese Twins the inferences 
 I drew, in regard to those three hundred millions 
 of my fellow-creatures, were prodigious inferences for 
 such a small boy to draw ; I had my foregone con- 
 clusions as to the duplicity of the race, which a closer 
 acquaintance with them, even on their native soil, has 
 not proved to be utterly at fault — at least in one sly 
 sense. Had the succession of events been more rapid, 
 during the period of my intimacy with Chang-Eng, 
 my ideas of Chinamen would, no doubt, have pre- 
 sented some refreshing points of resemblance to 
 the views of American manners and habits afforded 
 by those veracious, clear-sighted, fair and philosophic 
 observers, Mons. Leon Beauvellet of the Eaehel Corps 
 Dramatique, and the in London Times the Arrowsmith 
 case — and I should have made a note on't, that all 
 Chinamen, being double, make their fortunes in 
 Museums by twenty-five cents admittance, retire to
 
 Th<^ OKI Adobe. 95 
 
 ftiniis in Xorlli Carolina, marry eccentric sisters, and 
 liavc nine children between tliem. 
 
 ^fy next encounter with John Chinaman was on 
 the porcli of the Old Adobe, where I derived new 
 ideas from purer types, marked by all the en- 
 forced characteristics of the Manchu dynasty. In 
 these exotics from the Flowery Kingdom each speci- 
 men was sinfjle. Now my tails hung down as straight 
 as a cow's, and my e3'es were less on a plane than 
 ever. "All Chinamen," I noted, Tiines\\\m and 
 Beauvalletishly, " arc either carpenters, cooks, washer- 
 women, or gamblers ; their names invariably begin 
 with Ay, or Kin, or Fu, and end in Cow, or Fung, or 
 Tien ; with every Chinaman, in the matter of shoot- 
 ing-crackers, it is Fourth of July all the year 
 round ; any Chinese woman can procure plenary in- 
 dulgence for her indiscretions by offering the cheap 
 incense of joss-stick at the shrine of some cow- tailed 
 Diana; and any Chinaman may perjure his soul 
 without fear of fiends by burning some yellow paper 
 before thf Recorder ; every Chinaman belongs to a 
 secret society, whose peculiar object is to squeeze out
 
 96 The New. 
 
 of him, extortionatcly, much cash, and to strangle 
 him outright if he tells ; every bankrupt Chinaman 
 disembowels himself for the satisfaction of his credi- 
 tors, and every Chinese lady who cannot pay her 
 dressmaker, poisons herself with opium for a receipt 
 in full ; then the defunct is interred in some Yerba 
 Buena Cemetery to a salute of shooting-crackers, and 
 they feed the grave for a whole moon with roast 
 
 pig- 
 Then I sailed away to Honolulu, in the Sandwich 
 
 Islands ; and after a stay of three months in that am- 
 phibious Paradise, if one had asked me, What are the 
 habits and customs of the Chinese ? I should have 
 answered : The Chinaman lives on Kamehameha 
 street, or the King's Road, where he keeps a shop for 
 the sale of Madras handkerchiefs, Turkey -red teapoys, 
 rattan furniture, and chow-chow sweetmeats in blue 
 jars ; he buys a great many Manilla cheroots at auc- 
 tion, has his horse-race every Saturday afternoon, and 
 snubs Kanakas continually. 
 
 Away I went, with this my latest ethnological fact, 
 to Hong-Kong, where I was soon prepared to assert
 
 The Old Adolx-. 97 
 
 lliat tlic pure Cli'mainan was citlicr conijjrador — tliat 
 is, a ship's agent — pawiil>r(jkcr, oj)iuin-sinufrg]cr, bcg- 
 gar, retired ]iiratc, or active assassin. He sold cash liy 
 ihc string-, like onions, in front of smoky dens at tlic 
 end of the Victoria Eoad ; or he ])]ayed Simon-says- 
 wiggle-waggle for samshu, at midnight, in tholoft of 
 a eut-throat den, brazenly published with paper lan- 
 terns ; or, he waylaid sentimental ensigns returning 
 lat(! at night, in a state of beer, from a visit to a 
 "Kumpny's widow" wdio reeiMved a select party to 
 loo and gin-and-waler, every evening, on the heiglits 
 above the ]3ish()]/s l\dacc. 
 
 Away again to Singapore and Penang, where I 
 Jonnd the Chinaman making shoes, coining bad dol- 
 lars, waiting on table at "British" hotels, nursing 
 half-caste babies, cheating Malays, and getting himself 
 devoured by an occasional enterprising and uncere- 
 monious tigress, with a large family in a iiunishing 
 condition. 
 
 Next to Calcutta ; and there I found the old fami- 
 liar 1;iil wagging with added vivacity and wide-awake- 
 ness, among the turbans ami bn^^ch cloths of the
 
 98 The New. 
 
 Black Town bazaars. At the periodical opium sales 
 my pig-eyed friend was smartest in the bidding, and 
 in the everlasting processions, from Doorga Pooja to 
 a turn-out of Triads, his gong banged loudest. 
 
 Home again, in New York, at last — and there sat 
 the scamp on the lowest step of the Astor House, in 
 all the picturesqueness of woeful desolation and home- 
 sickness, cunningly playing on that harp of a thousand 
 strings, the sympathies of a Broadway crowd, wuth a 
 trick of instrumentation which was, to me, a familiar 
 and amusins; reminiscence of San Francisco — "Please 
 buy something from this poor Chinaman !" — he buried 
 all the while in jacket sleeves and profound incon- 
 solability : Begging Considered as one of the Fine 
 Arts. 
 
 One day, certain Celestials of the better class, con- 
 cerned for the national character, exposed this dodge 
 in a morning paper. For several months after that I 
 looked in vain for my artists. At last I found one, 
 on the pavement of the St. Nicholas. There were the 
 tribulation and the snuffling, the bowed-downness and 
 the home-sickness, and there, too, was the placard,
 
 The Old Adobe. 
 
 99 
 
 " Please buy something " — but not even one poor luiika 
 cheroot to sell. I had found a great master in his art, 
 and he found his reward. Few passers-by were too 
 busy to stop and bestow applause and coppers on so 
 happy a trick. 
 
 Therefore, scapegrace and rogue as he is, I have 
 entertained a sneaking regard for my celestial friend, 
 and, ever ready to believe that I have met him under 
 disadvantageous circumstances, permit myself only 
 grateful memories of him, as he chattered and 
 screamed around the porch of the Old Adobe. 
 
 Opposite the Governor's door in the Old Adobe was 
 the Deputies' room — a spacious square apartment, 
 occupying the whole of that side of the house. En- 
 tering, you had on your right, at the windows, the 
 desks of the " understrappers." In the farther cor- 
 ner were the two deputies — John Coit, whom we found 
 just now, at the elbow of his great original, being 
 one. Right opposite, you had Mr. Karl Joseph 
 KrafTt, the cashier — a character, decidedly, whose 
 portrait shall appear hereafter — a sort of financial 
 jioct, the equanimously contemptuous expression of
 
 1 oo The New. 
 
 wliose handsome, devil-may-care countenance, as lie 
 leaned thoughtfully over a crude heap of dust and 
 coin, denoted that he considered it very unsatisfying 
 stuff to live for, very foolish stuff to die for, and very 
 uncomfortable stuff to handle. Next him sat, mute, 
 pale and vacant-looking, Joachim Yallenilla, the Span- 
 ish permit-clerk — about whom a little story : 
 
 Joachim Yallenilla had been, less than a year since, 
 a thriving young merchant in Valparaiso, where he 
 had an ample credit, a young wife, pretty and warm, 
 and a friend, handsome and accomplished. Joachim's 
 good-looking Pythias was the closest of bosom friends; 
 from early boyhood they had been inseparables. 
 Joachim loved Jose, and Mariquita loved Jose, and 
 Jose loved Mariquita ; as to who loved Joachim does 
 not appear — there seems to have been something left 
 out there. Jos^ and Mariquita consumed many ciga- 
 ritos together ; Jose and Mariquita met often, over 
 the guitar, in the dulcetest of Andalusian love-ditties ; 
 like two roses on one stem, Jos^ and Mariquita, by 
 moonlight, peered through the vine-leaves from the 
 verandah. Joachim was content with the arrange-
 
 The Old Adobe. loi 
 
 monts generally. " By way of a sandwicli," lie occa- 
 sionally took a little music and moonlight with his 
 cigar ; and in the abiding fondness of Jose and Mari- 
 quita he found a refreshing sentiment. Good fellow, 
 Joachim ! But you know the old song : — 
 
 " Young folks, 3'oung folks, better go to bed ; 
 Else you'll put the devil in the old folks' head." 
 
 Jose and Mariquita, although they went to bed, 
 did ])ut the devil in the heads of certain old f(jlks, 
 crusty counsellors of Joachim, who never smoked 
 cigaritos, had no ear for music, and were asthmatic 
 by moonlight. Thence, to the hot head of 3'oung Jo- 
 achim, was an easy leap for the Devil — whence a scene. 
 
 One morning Joachim greets Mariquita with the 
 tidings that, that day, he will make one of his usual 
 luisiness trijis to Santiago, to be gone a week. In the 
 afternoon, much kissing and good-by. At midnight, 
 a stealthy step on the verandah, and a muflled tap at 
 the door, which is opened by a confidential servant- 
 Joachim enters, leaves his shoes in the hall, steals to 
 his wind's chainbcr, draws aside the curtain — tico,
 
 102 The New. 
 
 asleep ! — good. It is not Joachim's purpose to dis- 
 tal b the repose of people who are no doubt fatigued. 
 lie contents himself with leaving his hat and dirk on 
 the table — retires, as quietly as he entered, to another 
 chamber — goes to bed, and to sleep. In the morning, 
 a lovely morning, Joachim rises at his usual hour, 
 and, when breakfast is laid, commands the servant to 
 say to his mistress that her husband waits, affectionate 
 and hungry. 
 
 Mariquita has passed a wretched night — such a 
 dreadful headache; will her "dear, kind love" excuse 
 her? Her dear, kind love is inexorable; her pre- 
 sence is essential to his appetite ; he cannot eat, he 
 cannot live without her. The servant goes and 
 returns : '' Only this once, dear Joachim," pleads Ma- 
 riquita ; " indeed she cannot yet ; this evening, this 
 afternoon, in an hour or so." By no means ; Joachim 
 IS anxious now, really alarmed — he will come to his 
 darling, his Mariquita, his Mariquitita, his Mariqui- 
 tititita, his pet of the endless diminutives ; he will 
 bring to her bedside the plantains and chocolate. 
 " Oh, no, no !" — Mariquita will not hear of that ; her
 
 The Old Adobe. 103 
 
 Joacliim shall not be at all that trouble for a foolish 
 headache ; besides, she is better now — she will conic 
 at once. 
 
 There is in Chili a quaint satirical rogue of a law, 
 to this day worthily accepted, which requires that if a 
 man detect his wife in the very article of wantonness, 
 lie sliall not take her life, nor maim, nor bruise her; 
 but he may dismiss her from his bed and board, 
 drive her out into the highway, naked if he will • 
 only, he shall first give her shoes to her feet, and a 
 loaf of bread, or its equivalent, a real. 
 
 Now, when Mariquita came down, to breakfost 
 with her good, easy husband, pale, hoarse, rigid, biting 
 the lips of lier heart, all was as usual — plantains, 
 chocolate, buns, flowers, and Joachim ; except that, 
 at her place, beside her plate, were a pair of old slip- 
 pers and a battered real. 
 
 At first she would have fainted, and then she 
 would have fled; but her eyes met, just in time, the 
 eves of Joachim, and found something there which 
 forbade either movement. So she snt still, very still, 
 toying vacantly with the chocolate; while he, now
 
 104 
 
 The New. 
 
 become the subhme genius of ruthless retribution, ran 
 on carelessly about the mists on the vineyards, and 
 
 the white nightcap of Monte Diabolo, and the glanc- 
 ing gulls seaward. Till, at the end of an accursed 
 lifetime, so it seemed to her, he arose, and bowed ;
 
 The Old Adobe. 105 
 
 whereupon, without a look or woixl, from first to last, 
 she retired to her chamber. 
 
 And so it went on for a month, he meeting her 
 only at breakfast — always the slippers and the real, 
 the silence and the flippant mockery, the agony and 
 the rack. Once she would have escaped ; but the 
 obedient doors laughed at her with all their bolts and 
 bars, and paid servants, armed to the teeth, were deaf, 
 and only bowed. Once, she flung herself, abject, at 
 Joachim's feet, and would have clasped his knees, 
 imploring him to slay her, beat her to death with 
 slow installments of stripes — only take away, take 
 those away. But Joachim tapped on the bell, and 
 forced her to gather herself up in awkward, foolish 
 confusion. 
 
 Another month, and she was happy — playing idi- 
 otically with the real, maundering baby-songs over 
 the slippers. Then Joachim converted all his worldly 
 goods into a piece of paper and sent her home with it 
 to her father. As for Jose, if he did not die a natu- 
 ral death, he is probably living now. " Quien sabeT^ 
 thought Joachim, who took a hundred dollars, and
 
 io6 
 
 The New. 
 
 sailed for San Francisco, where they made him Spa- 
 nish permit-clerk in the Old Adobe. 
 
 If old historic houses, when they die, go to golden 
 streets in the New Jerusalem, may the shade of the 
 Old Adobe be kept in good repair. 
 
 ^i^^^ J
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PINTAL. 
 
 Os Dupont Street, near Washington, in 1849, a 
 wretched tent, patched together from mildewed and 
 weather-worn sails, was pitclird on a liill-side lot, 
 unsightly with sand and thorny bushes, filthy cast- 
 aways of clothing, worn-out boots, and broken bot- 
 tles. The forlorn loneliness of this poor abode, and 
 the perfection of its Californianness, in all the circum- 
 stances of exposure, frailness, destitution, and dirt, 
 were enough of themselves to make it an object of 
 interest to the not-too-busy passer ; 3a^t to complete its 
 pitiful picturesqueness, Pathos had bestowed a case 
 of miniatures and a beautiful child. Beside the en- 
 trance of the tent a rough shingle was fastened to the 
 canvas, and against this hung an un])ainted [licture 
 frame of pine, in humble counterpart of those gilded
 
 io8 The New. 
 
 rosewood signs which, at the doors of Daguerreotype 
 galleries, display fancy "specimens" to the goers-to- 
 and-fro of Broadway. Attracted by an object so no- 
 vel in San Francisco then, I paused one morning, in 
 my walk office ward from the " Anglo-Saxon Dining- 
 Saloon," to examine it. 
 
 There were six of them — six dainty miniature 
 portraits on ivory, elaborately finished, and full of 
 the finest marks of talent. The whole were seem- 
 ingly reproductions of but two heads, a lady's and a 
 child's — the lady well fitted to be the mother of the 
 child, which might well have been divine. There 
 were three studies of each ; each was presented in 
 three characters, chosen as by an artist possessed of a 
 sentiment of sadness, some touching reminiscence. 
 
 In one picture, the lady — evidently English, a 
 pensive blonde, with large and most sweet blue eyes, 
 curtained by the longest lashes, regular and refined 
 features suggestive of pure blood, budding lips full 
 of sensibility, a chin and brow that showed intellect 
 as well as lineage, and cheeks touched with the young 
 rose's tint — was as a beautiful debutante, the flower of
 
 Pintal. 109 
 
 rich drawing-rooms, in her first season : one white 
 moss-rosebud in lier smoothly-braided hair; her dim- 
 ])led, round, white shoulders left to their own adorn- 
 ment ; and for jewels, only one opal on her ripening 
 bosom ; — so much of her dress as was shown was the 
 simple white bodice of pure maidenhood. 
 
 In the next, she had passed an interval of trial, 
 for her courage, her patience, and her pride — a very- 
 few years, perhaps, but enough to bestow that 
 haughty, defiant glance, and fix those matchless 
 features in an almost sneer. No longer was her fair 
 head bowed, her eyes downcast, in shrinking diffi- 
 dence ; but erect and commanding, she looked some 
 tyranny, or insolence, or malice, in the face, to look 
 it down. Jewels encircled her brow, and a bouquet 
 of pearls was happy on her fuller bosom. 
 
 Still a few years further on — and how changed I 
 " So have I seen a rose," says that Shakspeare of the 
 pulpit, old Jeremy Taylor, " when it has bowed the 
 head and broke its stalk ; and at night, having lost 
 some of its leaves and all of its beauty, it has fallen 
 into the portion of weeds and outworn faces." Alas,
 
 1 lo The New. 
 
 Farewell, and Nevermore siglied from those liollow 
 cheeks, those woe-begone eyes, those pallid lips, that 
 willow-like long hair, and the sad vesture of the for- 
 saken Dido. 
 
 So with the child. At first, a rosy, careless, curly- 
 pate of three years or so — wonder-eyed and eager, all 
 Spring and joyance, and beautiful as Love. 
 
 Then pale and pain-fretted, heavy-eyed and weary, 
 feebly half-lying in a great chair, still — an unheeded 
 locket scarce held by his thin fingers, his forehead 
 wrinkled with cruel twinges, the sweet bowed lines of 
 his lips twisted in whimpering puckers, the curls 
 upon his vein-traced temples unnaturally bright, as 
 with clamminess — a painful picture for a mother's 
 eyes ! 
 
 But not tragic, like the last ; for there the boy had 
 grown. Nine years had deepened for his clustered 
 curls their hue of golden brown, and set a seal of 
 anxious thought upon the cold, pale surface of his 
 intellectual brow, and traced his mouth about with 
 lines of a martyr's resignation, and filled his profound 
 eyes, dim as violets, with foreboding speculation,
 
 Pintal. 1 1 1 
 
 making the lad seem a seer of his own sad fulc. 
 Here, thought I, if I mistake not, is another mehin- 
 cholj chapter in this San Franciscan romance. This 
 painter learned his art of sorrow, and pitiless expe- 
 rience has bestowed his style; he shall be fur my 
 finding-out. 
 
 Home-sickness had marked me for its own one day. 
 I sat alone in my rude little office, conning over 
 again, for the hundredth time, strange chapters of a 
 waif's experience ; reproducing auld-lang-syne, with 
 all its thronged streets and lonely forest-paths, its old 
 familiar faces, talks, and songs — ingathering there, 
 in the name of love or friendship, forms that were 
 dim and voices that were echoes; and many an 
 "alas," and "too late," and "it might have been," 
 they brought along with them : 
 
 " Let this rcmerabrance comfbrt me, — that when 
 My heart seemed bursting — hke a restless wave, 
 That, swollen with fearful longing for the shore, 
 Throws its strong life on the imagined bliss 
 Of finding peace and nndi.-^turbod ciilm — 
 It fell ou rocks and broke in many tears.
 
 1 1 2 The New. 
 
 " Else could I bear, on all days of the j'car — 
 Not now alone, this gentle summer night, 
 When scythes are busy in the headed grass, 
 And the full moon warms me to thoughtfulness — 
 This voice that haunts the desert of my soul : 
 * It might have been I ' Alas ! ' It might have been 1 ' " 
 
 I drew from, my battered, weather-beaten sea-box 
 sad store of old letters, bethumbed and soiled — an 
 accusation in every one of them, and small hope of 
 forgiveness, save what the gentle dead might render. 
 There were pretty little portraits, too. — Ah, well ! I 
 put them back — a frown, or a shadow of reproachful 
 sadness, on the picture of a once loving and approv- 
 ing face is the hardest bitterness to bide, the self-un- 
 sparing wanderer can know. Therefore, I would fain 
 let these faces be turned from me — all save one, a 
 merry minx of maidenhood, of careless heart and 
 laughing lips, and somewhat naughty eyes. It was a 
 steel engraving, not of the finest, torn from some 
 Book of Beauty, or other silly sentimental keepsake 
 of the literary catch-penny class, brought all the way 
 from home, and tenderly saved for the sake of its
 
 PiiU;il. 1 1 ^ 
 
 strange, hy-cliance resemblance to a smart little Uonne 
 I had known in Virginia, in the days when smart 
 little Uonnes made me a sort of puppy Gumming. 
 The pieture, un framed, and exposed to all the chances 
 of rough travel, had partaken of my share of foul 
 weather and coarse handling, and been spotted and 
 smutched, and creased and torn, and every way de- 
 faced. I had often wished tliat I might have a pretty 
 painting made from it, before it should be spoiled past 
 copying; and here, I thought, shall be my introduc- 
 tion to my fly-in-amber artist, of the seedy tent and 
 the romantic miniatures. So, pocketing my picture, I 
 forthwith hied me to Dupont Street. 
 
 The tent seemed quite deserted. At first I feared 
 my rare bird had flitted; I shook the bit of flying jib 
 that answered for a door, and called to any one within, 
 more than once, before an inmate stirred. Then, so 
 quietly that I had not heard his approach, a lad of 
 ten, perhaps, came to the entrance, and, timidly peer- 
 ing up into my face, asked, "Is it my father you 
 wish to see, sir? " 
 
 Uow beautiful ! — how graceful ! With what touch-
 
 114 ^^^ New. 
 
 ing sweetness of voice ! How intellectual bis expres- 
 sion, and how well-bred his air ! — plainly a gentle- 
 man's son, and the son of no common gentleman ! 
 Instinctively I drew back a pace to compare him 
 with the child of the " specimens." Unquestionably 
 the same ; there were the superior brow, the richly 
 clustered curls of golden brown, the painful lips and 
 the foreboding eyes. 
 
 " If your father painted these pretty pictures, my 
 boy — ^yes, I would be glad to see him, if he is 
 within." 
 
 " He is not here at present, sir ; he went with my 
 mother to the ship, to bring away our things. But it 
 is quite a long while since they went; and I think 
 they will return presently. Take a seat, sir, please." 
 
 I accepted the stool he offered, — a canvas one, 
 made to " unshij?," and fold together — such a patent 
 accommodation for tired " hurdies " as amateur 
 sketchers, and promiscuous lovers of the picturesque 
 in landscape, take with them on excursions. My 
 accustomed eye took in at a glance the poor furniture 
 of that yery Californian make-shift of a shelter for
 
 Pintal. 1 1 ^ 
 
 fortune-seeking heads. There were chests, boxes, and 
 trunks, the usual complement, bestowed in every 
 corner, as they could best be got out of the way, — a 
 small, rough table, on temporary legs, and made, like 
 the seats, to unship and " stow," — several other of 
 the same canvas stools, — a battered chest of drawers, 
 at present doing the duty of a cupboard, — some 
 kitchen utensils, and a few articles of table furniture 
 of the i^lainest delf As for the kitchen, I had 
 noticed, as I passed, a portable farnacc for charcoal, 
 without, and at the rear of the tent ; it was clear they 
 did their cooking in the open air. On one side of the 
 entrance, and near the top of the tent, a small square 
 had been cut from the canvas, and the sides framed 
 with slats of wood, making a sort of Rembrandtish 
 skylight, through which some scanty rays of barbaric 
 glory fell on an easel, with its palette, brushes, and 
 paints. A canvas, framed, on which the ground had 
 been laid, and the outline of a head already traced, 
 was mounted on the easel ; other such frames, as if of 
 finished portraits with their faces turned to the wall, 
 stood on the earthen floor, supported by a strip of
 
 ii6 The New. 
 
 wood tacked to the tent-cloth near the bottom. On 
 the floor, at the foot of the easel, lay an artist's sketch- 
 book. A part of the tent behind was divided off 
 from what, by way of melancholy jest, I may call the 
 reception-room, or the studio, by a rope stretched 
 across, from which were suspended a blanket, a travel- 
 ling shawl, and a voluminous and evidently costly 
 Spanish cloak. Protruding beyond the edge of this 
 extemporaneous screen, I could see the footposts of an 
 iron bedstead, and the end of a large poncho^ which 
 served for a counterpane. 
 
 " Will you amuse yourself with this sketch-book, 
 please," said the pretty lad, "till my father comes? " 
 
 " With pleasure, my boy — if you are sure your 
 father will not object." 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed, sir! My father has told me I 
 must always entertain any gentlemen who may call 
 when he is out — that is, if he is to return soon ; and 
 any one may look at this book ; — it is only his port- 
 folio, in which he sketches whatever new or pretty 
 things we see on our travels; but there are some very 
 nice pictures in it — landscapes, and houses, and people."
 
 Piiital. 117 
 
 "Have you travelled mucli, tlien?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we have been travelling ever since I can 
 remember ; we have been far, and seen a great many 
 strange sights, and some such queer people ! — There ! 
 that is our shepherd in Australia ; isn't he funny ? 
 liis name was Dirk. I tied that blue ribbon round 
 his straw hut, that seems big enough for an uiiibrella. 
 He looks as if he were laughing, doesn't he ? That's 
 because I was there when my father sketched him ; 
 and he made such droll faces, with liis brown skin 
 and his great grizzly moustaches, when father told 
 him he must make up a pleasant expression, that it 
 set mc laughing — for my father said he looked like a 
 Cape lion making love ; and then Dirk would laugh 
 too, and spoil his pleasant expression; and father 
 would scold ; and it was so funny ! I loved Dirk 
 very much, he was so good to me; he gave me a 
 tame kangaroo, and a black swan, and taught me to 
 throw the boomerang; and once when he went to 
 Sydney, he sj^ent ever so much money to buy me a 
 silver bell for Lipsc, my yellow lamb. I wonder if 
 Dirk is living yet? Do you think he is dead, sir?
 
 Ii8 • The New. 
 
 I should be very much grieved, if he were ; for I 
 promised I would come back to see him when I am 
 a man. 
 
 ^^ That is Dolores — dear old Dolores! Isn't she 
 fat?" 
 
 " Yes, and good too, I should think, from the plea- 
 sant face she has. Who was Dolores?" 
 
 "Ah! you never knew Dolores, did you? And 
 you never heard her sing. She was my Chilena 
 nurse in Valparaiso ; and she had a mother — oh, so 
 very old ! — who lived in Santiago, We went once to 
 see her. The other Santiago — that was Dolores's son — 
 drove us there in the veloche. Wasn't it curious, his 
 name should be the same as the city's? But he was 
 a bad boy, Santiago — so mischievous ! — such a scamp ! 
 Father had to whip him many times ; and once the 
 vigilayites took him up, and would have put him in 
 the chain-gang, for cutting an American sailor with a 
 knife, in the Calle de San Francisco, if father had not 
 paid five ounces, and become security for his good 
 behavior. But he ran away, after all, and went as a 
 common sailor in a nasty guano ship. Dolores cried
 
 Pint:il. 119 
 
 very much, and it was long before she would sing for 
 mc again. Oh, she (li<l know such agreeable songs! 
 — Mi Xifla, and Yo li;ngo Ojos Kegros, and 
 
 ' No quicro, no quicro casarnie ; 
 Es mejor, i-s inejor soltcra! 
 
 And the delightful little fellow mcrrilj piped the 
 whole of that " song of pleasant glee," one of the 
 most melodious and sauciest bits of lyric coquetry to 
 be found in Spanish. 
 
 " Ah," said he, " but I cannot sing it half so well 
 as Dolores. She had a beautiful guitar, with a blue 
 ribbon, that her sweetheart gave her before I was 
 born, when she was young and very pretty ; — he 
 brought it all the way from Acapulco. 
 
 "And that pretty girl is Juanita; she sold pine- 
 apples and grapes in the Almendral, and every night 
 she would go with her guitar — it was a very nice 
 one, but did not cost near so much money as Dolores's 
 — and sing to the American gentlemen in the Star 
 Hotel. My mother said she was a naughty person, 
 and that she did not dare tell where she got her gold
 
 120 The New. 
 
 cross and those jet ear-rings. But I liked her very 
 much, for all that ; and I'm sure she would not steal, 
 for she used to give me a fresh pine-apple every 
 morning ; and whenever her brother Jose came down 
 from Casa Blanca with the mules and the insco^ she 
 sent me a large melon and some lovely roses. 
 
 " That is the house we lived in at Baltimore. It 
 was painted white, and there was a paling in front, 
 and a door-yard with grass. We had some honey- 
 suckles on the porch ; — there they are, and there's 
 the grape-vine. I had a dog-house, too, made to look 
 like a church, and my father promised to buy me a 
 Newfoundland dog — one of those great hairy fellows, 
 with brass collars, you know, that you can ride on — 
 when he had sold a great many pictures, and made 
 his fortune. But we did not make our fortune in 
 Baltimore, and I never got my dog ; so we came here 
 to Tom Tiddler's ground to pick up gold and silver. 
 When we are fixed, and get a new tent, my father is 
 going to give me a little spade and a cradle, to dig 
 gold enough to buy a Newfoundland dog with, and 
 then I shall borrow a saw and make a dog-house, like
 
 Pintal. 121 
 
 the one I had in Baltimore, out of that green chest, 
 (.'liarley Samulers lived in the next housi' in llie pic- 
 ture, and he had a martin-box, with a steeple to it; 
 l)Ut his father gave fencing lessons, and was very 
 rich." 
 
 As tlie intelligent little fellow ran on with his 
 j)retty prattle, I was diligently pursuing the lady 
 and child of the specimens through the sketches. 
 On every leaf I encountered them — ever changing, 
 3'et always the same. Here was the child Ijy my side, 
 unquestionably the same; though now I looked in 
 vain for the anxious mouth and the foreboding eyes 
 in his face of careless, hopeful urchinhood. But who 
 was the other? — his mother, no doubt; and yet no 
 trace of resemblance. 
 
 " And tell me, who is this beautiful lady, my lad, 
 — here, and here, and here, and here again? You 
 see I recognise her always, — so lovely, and so gentle- 
 looking. Your mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, Sir ! " and he laughed, — " my mother is 
 very different from that. That is nobody — only a 
 fancy sketch."
 
 122 The New. 
 
 " Only a fancy sketch ! " So tlicn, I thought, my 
 pretty entertainer, confiding and communicative as 
 you are, it is plain there are some things you do not 
 know, or will not tell. 
 
 " She is not any one we ever saw ; she never lived. 
 My father made her out of his own head, as I make 
 stories sometimes ; or he dreamed her, or saw her in 
 the fire. But he is very fond of her, I suppose be- 
 cause he made her himself — just as I think my own 
 stories prettier than any true ones ; and he's always 
 drawing her, and drawing her, and drawing her. I 
 love her, too, very much, — she looks so natural, and 
 has such nice ways. Isn't it strange my father — but 
 he's so clever with his pencil and brushes! — should 
 be able to invent the Lady Angelica? — that's her 
 name. But my mother does not like her at all, and 
 gets out of patience with my father for painting so 
 many of her. Mamma sajs she has a stuck-up ex- 
 j^ression, — such a funny word, 'stuck-up! ' — and does 
 not look like a lady. Once I told mamma I was sure 
 she was only jealous, and she grew very angry, and 
 made me cry ; so now I never speak of Lady Angelica
 
 Pintal. 123 
 
 before her. What makes me think my father must 
 liavc dreamed her is that I dreamed her once myself. 
 I thouglit she came to me in sucli a splendid dress, 
 and told me that she was not only a live lady, but my 
 
 own mother, and that mamma was Hush ! This 
 
 is my father, Sir." 
 
 "Wonderful ! how tlie lad had changed ! — like a 
 phantom, the thoughtless prattler was gone in a 
 moment, and in his place stood the seer-boy of tlie 
 picture, the profound, foreboding eyes fixed anxiously, 
 earnestly, on the singular man who at that moment 
 entered : a singularly small man, cheaply Ijut tidily 
 attired in black ; even liis shoes polished — a rare and 
 dandyish indulgence in San Francisco, before the 
 French bootblacks inaugurated the sumptuary vanity 
 of Day and Martin's lustre on the stoop of the Cali- 
 fornia Exchange, and made it a necessity no less than 
 diurnal ablutions; a well-preserved English hat on 
 his head, which, when he with a somewhat formal 
 air removed it, discovered thin black locks, begin- 
 ning to part company with the crown of his liead. 
 In liis largo, brown eyes an expression of melancholy
 
 124 
 
 The New. 
 
 was establislicd ; a nervous tremulousness almost 
 twitched his refined lips, which, to my surprise, Avere 
 not concealed by the universal moustache — indeed, 
 the smooth chin and symmetrically trimmed mutton- 
 chop whiskers, in the orthodox English mode, showed 
 that the man shaved. His nose, slightly aquiline, 
 was delicately cut, and his nostrils fine ; and he had 
 small feet and hands, the latter remarkably white and 
 tender. As he stood before me, he was never at rest 
 for an instant, but changed his support from one leg 
 to the other — they were slight as a young boy's — 
 and fumbled, as it were, with his feet; as I have 
 seen a distinguished medical lecturer, of Boston, 
 gesticulate with his toes. He played much with 
 his whiskers, too, and his fingers were often in 
 his hair — as a fidgety and vulgar man would 
 bite his nails. From all of which I gathered that 
 my new acquaintance was an intensely nervous 
 person — very sensitive, of course, and no doubt 
 irritable. 
 
 He was accompanied by a— female, much taller 
 than he, and as stalwart as dear woman can be ; an
 
 Pintiil. 125 
 
 especially common-looking person, bungled aa to lier 
 dress, which was tawdry-fine, unseasonable for the 
 place as well as time, inappropriate to herself, inhar- 
 monious in its composition, and every way most 
 vilely put on ; a clumsy and, as I presently per- 
 ceived, a loud person, whose face, still showing traces 
 of the coarse but decided beauty it must once have 
 possessed, fell hr short of compensating for the com- 
 plete gracelessness of her presence. Her eyes had a 
 bibulous quality, and the bright redness of her nose 
 vied vulgarly with the rusty redness of her cheeks. 
 I suspected her complexion of potations, but chari- 
 tably let it off with — beer; for she was, at first 
 glance, English. As she jerked off her flaunting 
 bonnet, and dragged off her loud shawl, sahiting me, 
 as she did so, with an overdone obeisance, she said, 
 "This San Fanfiisko" — why would she, how could 
 she, always twist the decent name of the metropolis 
 of the Pacific into such an absurd shape ? — " was a 
 norrid 'ole ; she happealed to the gentleman," — mean- 
 ing me, — "didn't 'e find it a norriil 'ole, liabsolutely 
 hawful ?" And tlien she went clatU'ring among tin-
 
 126 The New. 
 
 ware and crockery, and snubbed tlie gentlemanly boy 
 in a sort of tender Billingsgate. 
 
 While she was thus gracefully employed, the 
 agonized artist, his face suffused with blushes, and 
 fairly ghastly with an enforced smile, was painfully 
 struggling to abstract himself, by changing the places 
 of things, shifting the position of his easel, prying in 
 a lost way into lumbered corners, and pretending to 
 be in search of something — ingenious, but unable to 
 disguise his chagrin. He pranced with his legs, and 
 tumbled his hair, and twitched at his whiskers more 
 than ever, as he said, — 
 
 " My dear" (and the bo}?- had called her Mamma ; 
 so then, it must be a fancy sketch, after all), " my 
 dear, no doubt the gentleman is a better cosmopolite 
 than yourself, and blessed with more facility in adapt- 
 ing himself to circumstances." 
 
 " You know, Madam," I came to his assistance, " we 
 Americans have a famous trick of living and enjoying 
 a little in advance, of ' going ahead' of the hour, as it 
 were. We find in San Francisco rather what it pro- 
 mises to be than what it is, and we take it at its word.'
 
 Pinfal. 127 
 
 " Oh, pray, don't inention Americans! I positively 
 'ate the; liodious people, I confess I 'avc a liiusiir- 
 mouiitable prejudice hagainst the race; you are not 
 liaware that I am Ilinglish. I think I might endure 
 lieven San Fanfrisko, if it were not for the Americans. 
 Are you an American ?" 
 
 Alternating between the pallor of rage and the 
 flush of mortification, her husband now turned, with 
 a calmness that had something of desperation in it, 
 and saved me the trouble and the pain of replying, 
 by asking, in the frigid tone of one who resented ray 
 presence as the cause of his shame, — 
 
 "Did you wish to sec me on business. Sir? and 
 have you been waiting long?" 
 
 "The success with which your charming little 
 boy has entertained me has made the time seem 
 very short. I could willingly have waited 
 longer." 
 
 That last remark was a mere contre-temps. I did 
 not mean to be as severe as he evidently thought me, 
 for he bowed haughtily and resentfully. 
 
 I came at once to business — drew from my pocket
 
 128 The New. 
 
 the engraving I had brought — "Could he copy that 
 for me ? " 
 
 "How? — in miniature or life-size? — ivory or can- 
 vas?" 
 
 "You are, then, a portrait-painter, also? — Ah! 
 to be sure ! " and I glanced at the canvas on the 
 easel. 
 
 " Certainly, — I prefer to make portraits." 
 
 "And in this case I should prefer to have one. 
 Extravagant as the vanity may seem, I am willing 
 to indulge in it, for the sake of being the first, in this 
 land of primitive wants and fierce unrefinemcnts, to 
 take a step in the direction of the Fine Arts — unless 
 you have had calls upon your pencil already." 
 
 " None, Sir." 
 
 " Then to-morrow, if you please — for I cannot 
 remain longer at present — we will discuss my whim 
 in detail." 
 
 " I shall be at your service. Sir." 
 
 "Good day. Madam! And you, my pretty lad, 
 well met ; — what is your name ? " 
 
 " Ferdy, Sir,— Ferdinand Pintal."
 
 Pintul. 129 
 
 At that moment, liis father, as if reminded of a 
 neglected courtesy, or a business form, handed me his 
 card, — " Camillo Alvarez y Pintal." 
 
 "Thanks, then, Ferdy, for the pains you took to 
 entertain me. You must let me improve an ac- 
 quaintance so pleasantly begun." 
 
 The boy's hand trembled as it lay in mine, and his 
 eyes, fixed upon his father's, wore again the ominous 
 expression of the picture. He did not speak, and 
 his father took a step toward the door significantly. 
 
 But the doleful silence that might have attended 
 my departure was broken by a demonstration, " as 
 per sample," from my country's fair and gentle 'atcr. 
 "She 'oped I would not be hoffended by the freedom 
 of 'er hobservations on my countrymen. I must 
 hexcuse 'er Hinglish bluntness ; she was haware that 
 she 'ad a somewhat hoff-'and way of hexpressing 'er 
 hemotions; but when she 'ated she 'ated, and it re- 
 lieved 'er to hout with it at once. Certainly she 
 would never — bless 'er 'eart, no ! — 'ave taken me for 
 an American ; I was so huncommon genteel." 
 
 With my hand upon the rcdon of my heart, as I
 
 130 The New. 
 
 Lad seen "Stars," when called before the curtain on 
 the 2:>roudest evening of their lives, give anatomical 
 expression to their overwhelming sense of the honor 
 done them, I backed off, hat in hand. 
 
 "Camillo Alvarez y Pintal," I read again, as I 
 approached the Plaza. " Can this man be Spanish, 
 then ? Surely not ; — how could he have acquired his 
 excellent English, without a trace of foreign accent, 
 or the least eccentricity of idiom? His child, too, 
 said nothing of that. English, no doubt, of Spanish 
 parentage; or — oh, patience! I shall know by-and- 
 by, thanks to my merry Yirginia jade, who shall be 
 arrayed in resplendent hues, and throned in a golden 
 frame, if she but feed my curiosity generously enough." 
 
 Next day, in the afternoon, having bustled through 
 my daily programme of business, I betook myself 
 with curious pleasure to my appointment with Pintal. 
 To my regret, at first, I found him alone; but I 
 derived consolation from the assurance, that, wherever 
 the engaging boy had gone, his mother had accom- 
 panied him. Even more than at my first visit, the 
 artist was frigidly reserved, and full of warning-off"
 
 Pintal. 
 
 131 
 
 politeness. "With but brief prelude of courteous com- 
 monplaces, he called me to the business of my visit. 
 
 My picture, as I have said, was a fairly executed 
 steel engraving, taken from some one of the thousands 
 of "Tokens," or "Keepsakes," or "Amulets," or 
 " Gems," or such like harmless gift-books, with which 
 youths of tender sentiment remind preoccupied <lam- 
 sels of their careful penchants. It rej)resented an 
 " airy, fairy Lilian" of eighteen, or thereabouts, loll- 
 ing coquettishly, fan in hand, in an antique, high- 
 backed cluiir, with " carven imageries," and a tassellcd 
 cushion. She rejoiced in a profusion of brown ringlets, 
 and her costume was pretty and quaint — a dainty 
 chemisette, barred with narrow bands of velvet, as 
 though she had gone to Switzerland, or the soutli of 
 Italy, for the sentiment of her bodice — sleeves 
 quaintly puiFed and "slashed" — the ample skirt 
 looped up with rosettes and natty little ends of 
 ribbon ; her feet beneath her petticoat, " like little 
 mice," stole out, " as if they feared the light." 
 Somewhere, among the many editions of Di kens's 
 works, I have seen a Dolly Yarden that resembled her.
 
 132 The New. 
 
 It was agreed between us that she should be re- 
 produced in a life-size portrait, with such a distri- 
 bution of rich colors as the subject seemed to call for, 
 as his line taste might select, and his cunning hand 
 lay on. I sought to break down his reserve, and 
 make myself acceptable to him, by the display of a 
 discreet geniality, and a certain frankness, not falling 
 into familiarity, which should seem to proceed from 
 sympathy, and a bonhommie, that, assured of its own 
 kindly j^urpose, would take no account of his almost 
 angry distance. The opportunity was auspicious, and 
 I was on the alert to turn it to account. I made a 
 little story of the picture, and touched it with ro- 
 mance. I told him of A-^irginia — especially of that 
 part of the State in which this saucy little lady lived, 
 — of its famous scenery, its historic places, and the 
 peculiar features of its society, I strove to make the 
 lady present to his mind's eye by dwelling on her 
 certain eccentricities, and helping my somewhat par- 
 ticular description of her character with anecdotes, 
 more or less pointed and amusing, especially to so 
 grave a foreigner, of her singular ready-wittedness
 
 Pintal. 13^ 
 
 and graceful audacity. Then t bad niuch to say 
 about her little "ways," of attitude, gesture, and 
 expression, and sonu; hints to offer for slight changes 
 in the finer lines of the face, and in the costume, 
 which might make the likeness more real to both (jf 
 us, and, by getting uj) in him an interest for the 
 picture, procure his favorable impression for myself 
 
 I had the gratification, as my experiment pro- 
 ceeded, to find that it was by no means unsuccessful. 
 His austerity appreciably relaxed, and the kindly 
 tone into which his few, but intelligent observations 
 gradually fell, was accompanied by an encouraging 
 smile, when the drift of our talk was light. Then I 
 spoke of his child, and eagerly praised the beauty, 
 the intelligence, and sweet temper of the lad. 'Twas 
 strange how little pleasure he seemed to derive from 
 my sincere expressions of admiration ; indeed, the 
 slight satisfaction he did permit himself to manifest 
 appeared in his words only, not at all in his looks; 
 for a shade of deep sadness fell at once upon his hand- 
 some face, and his expression, so full of sensibility, 
 assumed the cast of anxiety and pain. " He thanked
 
 134 The New. 
 
 me for my eloquent praises of the boy, and — not too 
 partially, lie liopecl — believed that lie deserved tliem 
 all. A prize of beauty and of love had fallen to Lim 
 in liis little Ferdy, for wliicli lie would be grieved to 
 seem ungrateful. But yet — but yet — the responsi- 
 bility, the anxiety, the ceaseless fretting care ! This 
 fierce, unbroken city ; " — he spoke of it as though it 
 were a newly-lassoed and untamed mustang — I liked 
 the simile ; "this lawless, blasphemous, obscene, and 
 dangerous community ; these sights of heartlessness 
 and cruelty ; these sounds of selfish, greedy conten- 
 tion ; the absence of all taste and culture — no lines 
 of beauty, no strains of music, no tones of kindness, 
 no gestures of gentleness and grace, no delicate atten- 
 tions, no ladies' presence, no social circle, no books, 
 no home, no Church ; — Good God ! what a heathenish 
 barbarism of coarse instincts, and irreverence, and 
 insulting equalities, and all manner of gracelessness, 
 to bring the dangerous impressionability of fine child- 
 hood to ! The boy was nervous, sensitive, of a spirit 
 quick to take alarms or hurts — physically unprepared 
 to wrestle with arduous toil, privation, and exposure^
 
 Pintal. 135 
 
 — most a})t fur the tcacliiiiy;s of gentleness and taste. 
 It was cruel to think — lie could wish him dead first — 
 that his clean, white mlml must become smeared and 
 spotted here, his well-tuned ear reconciled to loud dis- 
 cords, and his fine eye at jjcacc with deformity ; but 
 there w;is n<j help for it," And then, as though he 
 had suddenly detected ia my face an expression of 
 surprised discovery, he said, " But I am sure I do not 
 know how I came to say so much, or let myself be 
 tedious with sickly egotisms to a polite, but indif- 
 ferent stranger. If you have gathered from them 
 more than I meant should appear, you will at least do 
 me the justice to believe that I have not been boast- 
 ing of what I regard as a calamity." 
 
 I essayed to reassure him by urging upon his con- 
 sideration the manifest advantages, of courage, self- 
 reliance, ingenuity, quick and economical application 
 of resources, independence, and perseverance, which 
 his son, if well-trained, must derive from even those 
 rude surroundings — at the same time granting the 
 necessity of sleepless vigilance and severe restraints. 
 But he only shook his iicad sadly, and said, " No
 
 136 The New. 
 
 doubt, no doubt; and I hopc^, sir, the fault is in my- 
 self, that I do not appreciate the force and value of 
 all that." 
 
 The subject was so plainly full of a peculiar pain 
 for him, he was so ill at mind on this point, that I 
 could not find it in my heart to pursue it further at 
 the cost of his feelings. So we talked of other 
 things : of gold, and the placers, and their unim- 
 paired productiveness — of the prospects of the 
 country, and of the character the mineral element 
 must stamp upon its politics, its commerce, and its 
 social system — of San Francisco, and all the enchant- 
 ments of its sudden upspringing — of Alcaldes and 
 Town Councils — of Hounds and gamblers — of real 
 estate and projected improvements — of canvas houses, 
 and iron houses, and fires — of sudden fortunes, and 
 as sudden foilures — of speculations and markets, and 
 the prices of clothing, provisions, and labor — of in- 
 temperance, disease, and hospitals — of brawls, mur- 
 der, and suicide — till we had exhausted all the Cali- 
 fornian budget ; and then I bade him good day. He 
 parted with me with flattering reluctance, cordially
 
 Pintal. 
 
 137 
 
 shaking my hand, and urging nic to repeat my visit 
 in a few days, when he should be suffieiently forward 
 with the picture to admit me to a sight of it. I C(^n- 
 fessed my impatience for the interval to pass ; for my 
 interest was now fully awakened and very lively ; — 
 so well-informed and so polished a gentleman, so 
 accomplished and so fluent, so ill-starred and sad, so 
 every way a man with a history ! 
 
 I saw much of Pintal after this, and he sometimes 
 visited me at my office. Impelled by increasing 
 admiration and esteem, I succeeded, by the exercise 
 of studious tact, in ingratiating myself in his friend- 
 ship and confidence ; he talked with freedom of his 
 feelings and his affairs ; and although he had not yet 
 admitted me to the knowledge of his past, he evinced 
 but little shyness in speaking of the present. At our 
 interviews in his tent I seldom met his wife ; indeed, 
 I suspected him of contriving to keep her out of the 
 way; for I was always told she had just stepped out; 
 — or if by chance I found her there, she was never 
 again vulgarly loquacious, but on some pretext or 
 other at once took herself off. On the other liaiul,
 
 138 The New. 
 
 the child was rarely absent — from which I argued 
 that I was in favor ; nor was his pretty j^rattle, even 
 his boldest communicativeness, harshly checked, save 
 when, as I guessed, he was approaching too near some 
 forbidden theme. Then a quick flash from his father's 
 eye instantaneously imposed silence upon him : as 
 if that eye were an evil one, and there were a 
 malison in its glance, the whole demeanor of the child 
 underwent at once a mas-ical chans-e ; the foreboding 
 look took possession of his own beautiful eyes, the anx- 
 ious lines appeared around bis mouth, his lips and 
 chin became tremulous, his head drooped, he let fall 
 my hand wdiich he was fond of holding as he talked, 
 and quietly, penitently slunk away ; and though he 
 might presently be recalled by his father's kindliest 
 tones, his brightness would not be restored that time. 
 This mysterious, severe understanding between the 
 father and the child affected me painfull}^ ; I was at a 
 loss to surmise its nature, whence it proceeded, or 
 how it could be ; for Ferdy evinced in his every 
 w^ord. look, niovement, an undivided fondness for his 
 father. And in his tender-proud allusions to the
 
 Pintal. 139 
 
 boy, at times let fall to me — in the anxious wateli- 
 fulness ^vitl^ which he lollowed liim with his eye, 
 when an interval of peace and comparative happiness 
 had set childhood's spirit free, and lent a degree of 
 graceful gayety to all its motions — I saw the brim- 
 mins measure of the father's love. Could it be but 
 his morbidly repellant pride, his jealous guarding of 
 the domestic privacies, his vigilant pacing up and 
 down for ever before the close-drawn curtain of the 
 heart? — was there no Bluebeard's chamber there? 
 No ! Pride was all the matter — pride was the Spar- 
 tan fox that tore the vitals of Pintal, while he but bit 
 his lips, and bowed, and passed. 
 
 Among the pictures in Pintal's tent was one which 
 had in an especial manner attracted my attention. 
 It was a cabinet portrait, nearly full-length, of a ve- 
 nerable gentleman, of grave but benevolent aspect, 
 and an air of imposing dignity. Care had evidently 
 been taken to render faithfully the somewhat re- 
 markable vigor of his frame ; his iron-gray hair was 
 cropped quite short, and he wore a heavy, grizzled 
 moustache, but no other beard ; the lines of his
 
 140 The New. 
 
 mouth were not severe, and liis eye was soft and 
 gentle. But what made the portrait particularly no- 
 ticeable was the broad red ribbon of a noble order 
 crossing the breast, and a Maltese cross suspended 
 from tlie neck by a short chain of massive and curi- 
 ously wrought links. I had many times been on the 
 point of asking the name of this singularly handsome 
 and distinguished-looking personage ; but an instinc- 
 tive feeling of delicacy always deterred me. 
 
 One day I found little Ferdy alone, and singing 
 merrily some pretty Spanish song. I told him I was 
 rejoiced to find him in such good spirits, and asked 
 him if he had not been having a jolly romp with the 
 American carpenter's son, who lived in the Chinese 
 house close by. My question seemed to afSict him 
 with puzzled surprise ; — ^he halt smiled, as if not 
 quite sure but I might be jesting. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! I have never played with him ; 
 I do not know him ; I never play with any boys 
 here. Oh, no, indeed !" 
 
 "But why not, Ferdy? What! a whole month 
 in this tiresome tent, and not make the acquaintance
 
 Pintal. 141 
 
 of your nearest neighbor, — such a sturdy, hearty 
 chunk of a fellow as that is? — I have no doubt lie's 
 good-natured, too, for he's fat and funny, tough and 
 independent. Besides, he's a carpenter's son, you 
 know ; so there's a chance to borrow a saw to make 
 the dog-house with. Who knows but his father will 
 take a fancy to you— I'm sure he is very likely 
 to — and make you a church dog-house, steeple and 
 all, complete and painted, and much liner than Char- 
 ley Saunders's martin-box'?" 
 
 "Oh, I should like to, so much! And perhaps 
 he has a Newfoundlander with a bushy tail and a 
 brass collar — that would be nicer than a kangaroo. 
 13ut — but" — looking comically bothered — "I never 
 knew a carpenter's son in my life. I am sure my 
 father would not give me permission — I am sure he 
 would be very angry, if I asked him. Are they not 
 very disagreeable, that sort of boys? Don't they 
 swear, and tear their clothes, and fight, and sing vul- 
 gar songs, and tell lies, and sit down in the middle 
 of the street ?" 
 
 Merciful Heaven! thought I— here's a crying
 
 142 The New. 
 
 sliame ! here's an interesting case for professors of 
 moral hygiene ! An apt, intelligent little man, with 
 an empty mind, and a by-no-means-overloaded sto- 
 mach, I'll engage, — with a pride-paralysed father, 
 and a beer-bewitched slattern of a mother, — with his 
 living to get, in San Francisco too, and the world to 
 make friends with, — who has never enjoyed the pe- 
 culiar advantages to be derived from the society of 
 little dirty boys, never been admitted to the felicity 
 of popular songs, nor exercised his pluck in a rough- 
 and-tumble, nor ventilated himself in wholesome 
 " giddy, giddy, gout," — to whom dirt-pies are a fa- 
 ble ! 
 
 " Ferdy," said I, " I'll talk with your father my- 
 self But tell me now, what makes you so happy 
 to-day?" 
 
 " My father got a letter this morning," — a mail 
 had just arrived ; it brought no smile or tear for 
 me, — no parallelogram of comedy or tragedy in sta- 
 tionery, — " such a pleasant one, from my uncle Mi- 
 guel, at Florence, in Italy, you know. He is well, 
 and quite rich, my flither says; they have restored
 
 Pintal. 143 
 
 to ]iiin his jmipcjrty that he thought was all lost for 
 ever, and they have made him a chevalier again. 
 But I am sure my father will tell you all about it, 
 for he said he did hope you would come to-day ; and 
 be is so bappy and so kind !'' 
 
 " They have made him a chevalier again," I won- 
 dered. " Your uncle Miguel is your fother's brother, 
 then, Ferdy. And did you ever see hijn ?" 
 
 Before he could reply, Pintal entered, stepping 
 smartly, his color heightened with happiness, his 
 eyes full of an extraordinary elation.' 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Doctor, I am rejoiced to find you 
 here ; I have been wishing for you. See ! your pic- 
 ture is finished. Tell me if you like it." 
 
 "Indeed, a work of beauty, Pintal." 
 
 " To me, too, it never looked so well before ; but I 
 see things with glad eyes to-day. I have much to 
 tell you. Ferdy, your mother is dining at the re- 
 staurant ; go join her. And when you have finished 
 vour dinner, ask her to take you to walk. Say that 
 I am engaged. Would you not like to walk, my 
 boy, and see how fast the new streets spring up?
 
 1 ]/| The New. 
 
 When you return, you can tell me of all you. 
 saw." 
 
 The boy turned up his lovely face to be kissed, 
 and for a moment hung fondly on his father's neck. 
 The poor painter's lips quivered, and his eyes winked 
 quickly. Then the lad took his cap, and without 
 another word went forth. 
 
 "I am happy to-day. Doctor — Heaven save the 
 mark! My happiness is so much more than m;y 
 share, that I shall insist, will ye, nill ye, on your 
 sharing it with me. I have a heart to open to some- 
 body, and you are the very man. So, sit you down, 
 and bear with my egotism, for I have a little tale to 
 tell you, of who I am and how I came here. The 
 story is not so commonplace but that your kindness 
 will find, here and there, an interesting passage in it. 
 
 "I have seen that that picture," — indicating the 
 one I have last described,— " attracted your atten- 
 tion, and that you were prevented from questioning 
 me about it only by delicacy. That is my flither's 
 likeness. He was of English birth, the younger son 
 of a rich Liverpool merchant. An impulsive, ro-
 
 Pintal. 14^ 
 
 maiitic, adventurous boy, seized early with a passion 
 lor seeing the world, his unimaginative, worldly-wise 
 father, |)ractical and severe, kej)t him within narrow, 
 fretting bounds, and imposed harsh restraints upon 
 him. When he was but sixteen years old, he ran 
 away from home, shipped before the mast, and, after 
 several long voyages, was discharged, at his own re- 
 quest, at Carthagena, where he entered a shipping- 
 house as clerk, and, having excellent mercantile ta- 
 lents, was rapidly promoted. /" 
 
 "Meantime, through a sister, the only remaining 
 child, except a half-witted brother, he heard at long 
 intervals from home. His father remained strangely 
 inexorable, fiercely forbade his return, and became 
 violent at the slightest mention of his name by his 
 sister, or any old and familiar servant; he died 
 without bequeathing his forgiveness, or, of course, a 
 single shilling. But the young man thrived with his 
 (>mployers, whose business growing rapidly more and 
 more prosperous, and becoming widely extended, 
 they transferred him to a branch house at Malaga. 
 Here he formed the acauaintance of the Don Francisco
 
 146 The New, 
 
 de Zca-Bermudez, whose rising fortunes made his 
 own. 
 
 " Zca-Bermudez was at that time engaged in 
 large commercial operations. Although, under the 
 diligent and ambitious teaching of his famous relative, 
 the profound, sagacious, patriotic, bold, and gloriously 
 abused Jovellanos, he had become accomplished in 
 politics, law, and diplomacy, he seemed to be devoting 
 himself for the present to large speculations and the 
 sudden acquisition of wealth, and to let the state of 
 the nation, the Cortes, and its schemes, go by. 
 
 " Only a young, beautiful, and accomplished sister 
 shared his splendid establishment in Malaga ; and for 
 her my father formed an engrossing attachment, 
 reciprocated in the fullest, almost simnltaneously with 
 his friendship for her brother. Zea favored the suit 
 of the high-spirited and clever young Englishman, 
 whose intelligence, independence, and perseverance, 
 to say nothing of his good looks and his engaging 
 manners, had quite won his heart. By policy, too, 
 no less than by pleasure, the match recommended 
 itself to him ; — my father would make a famous
 
 Pintal. 147 
 
 junior-partner. So they were married under the 
 name of Pintal, bestowed upon his favorite English 
 clerk by the adventurer's first patron at Carthagena, 
 who had found the boy provided with only a ' pur- 
 ser's name,' as sailors term it. 
 
 "I will not be so disrespectful to the memory of my 
 distinguished uncle, nor so rude towards your in- 
 telligence, my friend, as to presume that you are not 
 familiar with the main points of his history, — the 
 great strides he took, almost from that time, in a 
 most influential diplomatic career : the embassy to 
 St. Petersburg, and the Eomanzoflf-Bermudez treaty 
 of amity and alliance in 1812, by which Alexander 
 acknowledged the legality of the ordinary and ex- 
 traordinary Cortes of Cadiz ; the embassy to the 
 Porte in 1821 ; his recall in 1823, and extraordinary 
 mission to the Court of St. James ; his appointment 
 to lead the Ministry in 182-1 ; my ftithcr's high place 
 in the Treasury; their joint-efforts from this com- 
 manding position to counteract the violence of the 
 Apostolical party, to meet the large requisitions of 
 France, to cover the deficit of three hundred millions
 
 148 The New. 
 
 of reals, and to restore tkc jjublic credit ; the insults 
 of the Absolutists, and their machinations to thwart 
 Zea's liberal and sagacious measures; his eflbrts to 
 resign, opposed by the King ; the suppression of a 
 formidable Carlist conspirac}^ in 1825 ; the execution 
 of Bessi^res, and the ' ham-stringing' of Absolutist 
 leaders ; his dismissal from the Ministry in October, 
 1825, Ferdinand yielding to the Apostolic storm; the 
 embassy to Dresden ; his appointment as Minister at 
 London. 
 
 " And here my story begins, for I was his Secretary 
 of Legation then ; while my brother Miguel, younger 
 than I, was attache at Paris, where he had succeeded 
 me, on my promotion — a promotion that procured 
 for me congratulations for which I could with diffi- 
 cult}^ affect a decent show of gratitude, for I knew 
 too well what it meant. It was not the enlightened, 
 liberal Minister I had to deal with, but the hard, 
 proud uncle, full of expediencies, and calculating 
 schemes for family advancement, and the exaltation 
 of a lately obscure name, 
 
 " In Paris I had been admitted, first to the flattering
 
 Pintal. 149 
 
 Iriciidship, and tli»Mi to llic inmost heart of — of a most 
 lovely young lady, as noble by lier character as by 
 her lineage," — and he glanced at the open sketch- 
 book. 
 
 " The Lady Angelica," I quietly said. 
 
 " Sir !" he exclaimed, quickly changing color, and 
 assuming his most frigid expression and manner. 
 ]^ut as quickly, and before I could speak, his sad 
 smile and friendly tone returned, and he said, — 
 
 "Ah! I see, — Ferdy has been babbling of his 
 visions and his dreams. Yes, the Lady Angelica. 
 'Very charming,' my uncle granted, 'but very 
 poor ; less of the angel and more of the heiress was 
 desirable,' he said, — 'less heaven and more land. 
 A decayed family was only a little worse than an 
 obscure one — a poor knight not a whit more respect- 
 nlilc tli;in a rich merchant. I must relinquish my 
 little romance — I had not time for it ; T had occu- 
 palion enough for the scant leisure my family 
 duties' — and he laid stress on the words — 'left me, 
 in the duties of my post. He would endeavor to find 
 •arguments for the lady and emphnnient f >r me.'
 
 150 The New. 
 
 " It was in vain for mc to remonstrate, — I was too 
 familiar with my uncle's temper to waste my time 
 and breath so. I would be silent, I resolved, and 
 pursue my honorable and gallant course without 
 regard to his scandalous schemes. I wrote to the 
 ' Lady Angelica,' — since Ferdy's name for her is so 
 well chosen, — telling her all, giving her solemn assur- 
 ances of my unchangeable purpose toward her, and 
 scorn of my uncle's mercenary ambition. She re- 
 plied very quietly : ' She, also, was not without 
 pride ; she would come and see for herself ;' — and 
 she came at once. 
 
 "The family arrived in London in the evening. 
 Within two hours I was sent — after the fasliion of an 
 old-time courier, ' Eide ! ride ! ride ! — for your life ! 
 for your life! for your life !' — to Turin with despatches, 
 and sealed instructions for my own conduct, not to be 
 opened till I arrived ; then I found my orders were, 
 to remain at Turin until it should be my uncle's 
 pleasure to recall me. 
 
 "I had not been in Turin a month when a letter 
 came from the Lady Angelica. ' It was her wish
 
 Pintal. 151 
 
 that all intercourse between us, by interview or cor- 
 respondence, should cease at once, and for ever. She 
 assumed this position of her own free will, and she 
 was resolute to maintain it. She trusted that I would 
 not inquire obtrusively into her motives — she liad no 
 fear that I would doubt that they were worthy of her. 
 Tier respect for me was unabated — her faith in me 
 perfect. I had her blessing and her anxious prayers. 
 I must go on my way in brave silence and patience ; 
 nor ever for one moment be so weak as to fool myself 
 into a hope that she would change her purpose.' 
 
 "What should I do? I had no one to advise 
 me ; my mother, whose faith in her brother's wisdom 
 was sure, wius in Madrid, and my fother had been 
 dead some years. At first my heart was full of bitter 
 curses, and my uncle had not at his heels a heartier 
 hater than I. Then came the merely romantic 
 thought, that this might be but a test she would put 
 inc to — that he might be innocent and ignorant of 
 my misfortune. With the thought I flung my heart 
 into writing, and madly plied her with one long, pas- 
 sionate letter after another. I got no answers ;
 
 152 The New. 
 
 but by his spies my uncle was apprised of all I 
 did, 
 
 "About this time — it was in 1832 — Zea-Bermudez 
 was recalled to Madrid in a grave crisis, and appointed 
 to the administration of Foreign Affairs. Ferdinand 
 VII. was apparently approaching the end of his reign 
 and his life. The Ajjostolical party, exulting in their 
 strength, and confiding in those well-laid plans which, 
 with mice and men, 'gang aft agley,' imprudently 
 showed their hand, and suffered their favorite project 
 to transpire; which was, to set aside the ordinance 
 by which the King had made null the Salic law in 
 favor of his infant daughter, and to support the pre- 
 tensions of the King's brother, Carlos, to the throne. 
 
 " By this stupid flourish the Apostolical party threw 
 themselves bound at the feet of Zea. All of their 
 persuasion who filled high jDlaces under government 
 were without ceremony removed, and their seats filled 
 by Liberals. Many of them did not escape without 
 more crippling blows. As for me, I looked on with 
 indifference, or at most some philosophic sneers. 
 What had I to fear or care ? In my uncle's estima-
 
 Pintul. 1 53 
 
 tiun, my politics had been always healthy, no douljt ; 
 and although he had on more than one occasion 
 liinted, with sarcastic wit, that such a lady's-man 
 must, of his devoir, be a 'gallant champion of the 
 Salic law,' and dropped something rude and ill- 
 natured about my English blood — still, that was only 
 in his dyspeptic moods ; his temper was sure to 
 improve, I fancied, with his political and material 
 digestion. 
 
 ** But I deceived myself. When, in the name of 
 the infant Queen, Isabella Segunda, and in honor of 
 the re-establishment of order and 2)ublic safety, the 
 pleasant duty devolved upon Zea-Bermudcz of 
 awarding approbation and encouragement to all the 
 officers, from an ambassador to the youngest attache, 
 of foreign legations, and presenting them with tokens 
 of the nation's happiness in the shape of stars, and 
 seals with heraldic devices, and curious chains of his- 
 toric signiticance, not even a paltry ribbon fell to my 
 share, but only a few curt lines of advice, * to look 
 well to my opinions, and be modest — obediently to 
 discharge the duties prescribed to mc, and remember
 
 154 The New. 
 
 that 2Dresumption was a fault most intolerable in a 
 young gentleman so favored by chance as to be 
 honored with the confidence of government.' 
 
 " That exhausted the little patience I had left. 
 Savagely I tore the note into contemptible fragments, 
 tossed into my travelling-boxes as much of my ward- 
 robe as happened to be at hand, consigned to a sealed 
 case my diplomatic instructions and all other docu- 
 ments pertaining to my office, placed them in the 
 hands of a confidential friend, Mr. Ballard, the Bri- 
 tish Agent, and secretly took passage for England, 
 where, without losing an hour, I made the best of 
 my way to the abode of an ambitioas cockne}^ wine- 
 merchant, to whose daughter I had not been dis- 
 agreeable in other days, and within a fortnight mar- 
 ried her. You have seen the lady, Sir," he said, 
 eyeing me searchingly as he spoke, with a sardonic 
 smile, — the only ugly expression I ever saw him 
 wear. 
 
 " Certain title-deeds and certificates of stock, part 
 of my father's legacy, which, as if foreseeing the pre- 
 sent emergency, I had brought away with me, were
 
 Pinriil. 155 
 
 easily converted into casli. I liad then twenty thou- 
 sand sterling pounds, to wliich my father-in-luw gene- 
 rously added ten thousand more, by way of portion 
 with his daughter. 
 
 " And now, to what should I betake myself? I 
 had small time to cast about me, and was easy to 
 please ; any tolerably promising enterprise, so the 
 field of it were remote, would serve my purpose. 
 The papers were full of Australian speculations, the 
 wonderful prosperity of the several colonies there, 
 the great fortunes suddenly made in wool. Good ! I 
 would go to Australia, and be a gentle shepherd on an 
 imposing scale. But first I sought out my father's 
 old friends, My Lords Palmerston and Brougham, 
 and the Bishop of Dublin, and besought the aid of 
 their wisd(Jin. With but sliirht prudential hesitation 
 they with one accord approved my project. Observe : 
 a first-rate Minister, especially if he be a very busy 
 one, always likes the plan that pleases his young friend 
 best — that is, if it be not an affair of State, and all 
 the risks lie with his young friend. They would 
 have spoken of Turin and Zea-Bormudez ; but I had
 
 156 The New. 
 
 been bred a dii^lomat and knew liow to stick to my 
 point, which, this time, was wool. In another fort- 
 night I had sailed for Sydney with my shekels and 
 my wife. But first, and for the first time, I caused 
 the announcement of my marriage to appear in the 
 princi^Dal papers of London, Paris, St. Petersburg, and 
 Madrid, 
 
 " Arrived in Australia, I at once made myself the 
 proprietor of a considerable farm, and stocked it 
 abundantly with sheep. Speculation had not yet 
 burst itself, like the frog in the fable ; and large suc- 
 cesses, as in water-lot and steam-boat operations here 
 to-day, were the rule. On the third anniversary of 
 my landing at Sydney, I was worth three hundred 
 thousand pounds, and my commercial name was 
 among the best in the colony. Six months after 
 that, the rot, the infernal rot, had turned my thriving, 
 populous pastures into horrors of carrion-mutton, 
 and I had not sixpence of my own in the wide world. 
 A few of the more generous of my creditors left me 
 a hundred pounds, with which to make my miserable 
 way to some South American port on the Pacific.
 
 Piiuul. 157 
 
 " So I chose Valparaiso, to paint iniuiatures, and 
 teach English, French, Italian, and German in. But 
 earthquakes shook my pocjr house, and the storm- 
 fiend shook my soul with fear ; — for skies in light- 
 ning and thunder arc to me as the panorama and 
 hurly-burly of the Day of "Wrath, in all the stupid 
 rushing to and fro and dazed stumbling of Martin's 
 great picture. I shall surely die by lightning ; I 
 have not had that live shadow of a sky-reaching fear 
 hanging over me, with its black wings and awful 
 muttcrings, so long for nothing; in every flash my 
 eyes are scathed by the fall blaze of hell. Jf I hud 
 been deaf and blind, I might have lived in Valpa- 
 raiso. As it was, I must go somewhere where I need 
 not sit all day and night stopping my ears, and with 
 my face covered, fearing the rocks would fall on 
 me too soon. 
 
 " So, with my wife and the child, — we have had 
 no other, thank God ! — I got round Cape Horn — • 
 Heaven knows how ! I dare not think of that time — 
 to the United States. "We were making for Boston ; 
 but the ship, strained by long stress of heavy weather,
 
 158 The New. 
 
 sprung a leak, and we j)ut in at Baltimore. I was 
 pleased with the place ; it is picturesque, and has 
 a kindly look ; and as all places were alike to me 
 then, save by the choice of a whim, I let go my 
 weary anchor there. 
 
 " But the Baltimoreans only admired my pictures 
 — they did not buy them ; they only wondered at 
 my jDolyglot accomplishment, and were content with 
 ringing silly-kind changes on an Encyclopaedic com- 
 pliment about the Admirable Crichton, and other 
 well-educated personages, to be found alphabetically 
 embalmed in Conversations-Lexicons — they did not 
 inquire into my sj^stem of teaching, or have quarterly 
 knowledge of my charges. So I fled from Baltimore, 
 pretty speeches, and starvation, to San Francisco, 
 plain talk, and pure gold. And now — see here, sir ! 
 — I carry these always about with me, lest the bright 
 pickings of this Tom Tiddler's ground should make 
 my experience forget." 
 
 He drew from his pocket an "illuminated" card 
 bearing a likeness of Queen Victoria, and a creased 
 and soiled bit of 3^ellow paper. The one was, by
 
 l*iiital. 1 59 
 
 voyA favor, a coinprniicntary pass to a reserved place 
 ill Wcstiiiiiister Abbey, on the occasion of the coro- 
 nation of lier ])ritannic Majesty, " For the Seiior Ca- 
 millo Alvarez y Pintal, Chevalier of the Noble Order 
 of the Cid, Secretary to His Catholic Majesty's Lega- 
 tion near the Court of St. James" — the other a Sid- 
 ney pawnbroker's ticket for books pledged by " Mr. 
 Camilla AUverris i Pintel." He held these con- 
 trasted certificates of Fortune — her mocking visiting- 
 cards, when she called on him in palace and in ca- 
 bin — one in each hand for a moment ; and bitterly 
 smiling, and shaking his head, turned from one to 
 the other. Then suddenly he let them fall to the 
 ground, and, burying his face in his hands, was 
 roughly shaken through all his frame by a great gust 
 of anguish. 
 
 I laid my hand tenderly on his shoulder : " But, 
 Pintal," I said — " the Lady Angelica — tell me why 
 she chose that course." 
 
 In a moment the man was fiercely aroused. " Ah, 
 true ! I had forgotten that delectable passage in my 
 story. AVhy, man, Bermudez went to her, told her
 
 i6o The New. 
 
 that my aspirations and niy })rospccts were so and 
 so — daring, brilliant — that she, only she, stood in 
 the way, an impassable stumbling-block to my glori- 
 ous advancement — told her (devil !) that, with all 
 my line passion for her, he was aware that I was not 
 without embarrassment on this score — appealed to 
 her disinterested love, to her pride — don't you see ? 
 — to her pride." 
 
 ' And where is she now, Pintal ? " 
 
 No anger now, no flush of excitement ; — the man, 
 all softened as by an angel's touch, arose, and, with 
 clasped hands, and eyes upturned devoutly, smiled 
 through big tears, and without a word answered me. 
 
 I, too, was silent. Whittier had not yet written — 
 
 " Of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
 The saddest are these : ' It might have been ! ' 
 
 " Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
 Deeply buried from human eyes ; 
 
 " And, in the hereafter, angels may 
 Roll the stone from its grave away ! "
 
 Pinral. 161 
 
 Then Pintal jia(;i'(l briskly to and fro a frw turns, 
 across the narrow lloor of his tent, ami ])rcscntly 
 stopping, saiil — his first cliccrfulncss, with its un- 
 wonted smile, returning — 
 
 " But I must tell you why I should be happy to- 
 day. 1 have a letter from my brother Miguel, who is 
 Secretary to tlie Legation at the Porte. He has leave 
 of absence, and is happy with his dearest friends in 
 Florence. He shared my disgrace until lately, but bore 
 it patiently ; and now is reinstated in his ofiice and 
 his honors, a large portitm of his property being restor- 
 ed, which had been temporarily confiscated, while he 
 was under suspicion as a Carlist. He is authorized 
 to offer me pardon, and all these pretty things, if I 
 will return and take a new oath of allegiance." 
 
 " And you will accept, Pintal? " 
 
 " Why, in God's name, what do you take me for ? 
 — Pardon ! I forgot myself. Sir. Your question is a 
 natural one. But no, I shall surely not accept. Zea- 
 Bermudez is dead, but there is a part of me which 
 can never die ; and T am happy to-day because I feel 
 that I am not so poor as I thought I was."
 
 i62 The New. 
 
 Ferdy entered, alone. He went straight to his 
 father and \vhisj)ered something in his ear, — about 
 the mother, I suspected, for both blushed, and Pintal 
 said, with a vexed look — " Ah, very well ! never 
 mind that, my boy." 
 
 Then Ferdy threw off his cap and cloak, and, 
 seating himself on a pile of books at his father's 
 feet, quietly rested his head upon his knee. I 
 observed that his face was vividly flushed, and his 
 eyes looked weary. I felt his pulse — it indicated 
 high fever; and to our anxious questions he an- 
 swered, that his head ached terribly, and he was 
 " every minute hot or cold." I persuaded him to 
 go to bed at once, and left anxious instructions for 
 his treatment, for I saw that he was going to be seri- 
 ously ill. 
 
 In three days little Ferdy was with the Lady An- 
 gelica in heaven. He died in my arms, of scarlet 
 fever. In the delirium of his last moments he saw 
 /icr, and he departed with strange words on his lips : 
 "I am coming, Lady, I am coming! — my father will 
 be ready presently ! "
 
 Pintal. 163 
 
 Some strangers from the ncigliborbood liclpcd nic 
 to bury Lim ; we laid him near the grave of the First 
 Lady ; but very soon his pretty bones were scattered, 
 and there's a busy street there now. 
 
 Pintal, when I told him that the boy was dead, 
 only bowed and smiled. He did not go to the grave, 
 he never again named the child, nor by the least 
 word or look confessed the change. But when, a 
 little later, a fire swept down Dupont Street and laid 
 the poor tent in ashes, spoiling the desolate house 
 whose beautiful lar had flitted — when his wife went 
 moaning maudlingly among the yet warm ashes, and 
 groping, in mean misery, with a stick, for some 
 charred nothing she would cheat the Spoiler of, there 
 was a dangerous quality in Pintal's look, as, with 
 folded arms and vacant eyes, he seemed to stare upon, 
 yet not to see, the shocking scene. Presently the 
 woman, poking with the stick, found something 
 under the ashes. With her naked hands she greedily 
 dug it out; — it was a tin shaving-case. Another 
 moment, and Pintal had snatched it from her grasp, 
 torn it open, and had a naked razor in his hand. I
 
 164 The New. 
 
 wrested it from him, as lie fairly foamed, and dragged 
 him from the place. 
 
 A few days after that, I took leave of them on 
 board a merchant ship bound for England, and with 
 a heavy-hearted prayer sped them on their way. On 
 the voj-age, as Pintal stood once, trembling in a 
 storm, near the mainmast, a flash of lightning trans- 
 fixed him. — That was well! He had been distin- 
 guished by his sorrows, and was worthy of that 
 special messenger. 
 
 That picture — it was the first and last he painted 
 in California. I kept it long, rejoicing in the admira- 
 tion it excited, and only grieved that the poor com- 
 fort of the praises I daily heard lavished upon it 
 could never reach him. 
 
 Once, when I was ill in Sacramento, my San Fran- 
 cisco house was burned ; but not before its contents 
 had been removed. In the hopeless scattering of 
 furniture and trunks, this picture disappeared — no 
 one knew whither. I sought it everywhere, and 
 advertised for it, but in vain. About a year after-
 
 rintiil. iT)) 
 
 ward, 1 Sidled Cor Jlonulidu. I L:id letters of intro- 
 duction to some young American merchants there, 
 one of whom hospitably made me his guest fur 
 several weeks. On the second day of my stay with 
 him, he was showing me over his house, where, 
 hanging against the wall in a spare room, I found — 
 not the Pintal picture', but a Chinese copy of it, 
 fiiithful in its every detail. There were the several 
 alterations I had suggested, and there the rich, warm 
 colors that Pintal's taste had chosen. Of course, it 
 was a copy. No doubt, my picture had been stolen 
 at the fire, or found its way by mistake among the 
 " traps " of other people. Then it had been sold at 
 auction — some Chinaman had bought it — it had 
 been shipped to Canton or Hong Kong — some one 
 of the thousand " artists " of China Street or the 
 Victoria Road had copied it for the American market. 
 A shipload of Chinese goods — Canton crape shawls, 
 camphor-boxes, carved toys, curiosities, and pictures 
 — had been sold in Honolulu — and here it was.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE GREEN CLOTH. 
 
 It was a common saying among us, Old Califor- 
 nians of Forty-nine, tliat there was no such light for 
 shining through a man as that of the first great fire. 
 In its strong glare the philosophic spectator became 
 clairvoyant, and his subject transparent. Morally, 
 your scrutiny pierced the heart of the San Franciscan 
 then, and in the same glance you took in the letter, 
 full of his mother's pious admonitions, in his breast- 
 pocket, and the revolver in its belt at his back — as in 
 Harlequin Faust you sec, through the sad-colored 
 waistcoat of Mephistophiles, the three red-hot buttons 
 on his coat behind. The shade was drawn back from 
 the human dark-lantern, and flaming passions within, 
 blazing through the bull's eye, lit up all around. Then 
 you recognised any man by the light of his neighbor's
 
 The Green Cloth. 167 
 
 soul. Tlicu the cardinal virtues, like certain coiniuon 
 necessaries of life, met with an appreciation naturally 
 enhanced by their scarcity. Honesty was a high 
 trump card. Indeed, to pursue the appropriate local 
 figure, society was as the favorite game, wherein 
 everybody pretended to play " on the square ;" when 
 your adversary, having seen your last "brag," stopped 
 " going better," and called your band, if you hap- 
 pened to bold a single sterling trait, it was sure to be 
 received as the four aces, which can " rake down any 
 kind of a pile." 
 
 It was strange how soon, and how surely, the origi- 
 nal Satan in every new arrival asserted himself. The 
 enterprising publican who, regardless of expense, first 
 brought a wagon-load of ice into Sacramento City, 
 from the Sierra Nevada, and introduced his grati-ful 
 fellow-citizens to a new pleasure in the shape of 
 brandy-smashes at half a dollar a drink, had been two 
 years before, president of a far-reaching society of 
 Washingtonians in Philadelphia, and out-Goughed 
 Gough in wondrous apocalypses of cold water. The 
 white-ncckclothed and single-minded brother who.
 
 i68 The New. 
 
 when the Graham House was opened, iinclertook, for 
 tlie higliest bid, the bar and coffee-stand, two billiard 
 tables, one rondo, three roulette, two faro, and six 
 monte ditto, had, within the twelvemonth, ridden an 
 apostolic circuit in Alabama, dispensing pious tracts 
 from a green bag. 
 
 This same Gossage — that was the name of the re- 
 tired tract-monger — afforded, in his own character and 
 habits, an amusing example of how a man could get 
 imbued with the peculiar vice of the time ; and that 
 was the game of Brag — Brag, and the hard old vices 
 of its kindred. Bluff and Poker. Brag was in all the 
 air, and you breathed it unwholesomely, to the taint- 
 ing of your blood ; its principles soaked through your 
 very clothes, as it were, and percolated your pores. 
 There were men, all around you, who believed in 
 nothing but Brag, who swore by Brag, who lived on 
 Brag, who, if needs must, would die for Brag. Of such 
 was Gossage ; and he shall serve for my representative 
 brao-o-er, of whom a characteristic anecdote, familiar to 
 many Forty -Niners, may illustrate my meaning. 
 
 We Old Californians hold in respectful remembrance
 
 The Green Cloth. l6(j 
 
 " MofTut's Coin," as thcj were called — pretty five- 
 dollar gold pieces, fac-si miles of the federal half-eagles, 
 save in the substitution, on the reverse, of the words 
 "Moffat & Co." for "United States of America."'^ 
 They were a god-send in the days when the great 
 dearth of standard money among us subjected us to 
 all manner of inconvenience, not to mention serious 
 losses by the discount on gold-dust as a legal tender 
 in trade. It was said that they even exceeded in value, 
 by one per cent., their namesakes of the National 
 Mint. At all events, we were very happy in them, 
 and had no patience with the suspicious egotism of 
 "Wall Street, which ignored them altogether, bringing 
 them into bad odor abroad, so that they were from the 
 first, quite useless, except for the behests of our small 
 local traffic. Very soon they were called in from their 
 brief hour of circulation, to be melted into ingots for 
 home shipments ; and so, uttei'ly disappeared from the 
 pockets of our citizens, and even from the green 
 boards of the gamblers. Six months from the date of 
 their brilliant apparition, a specimen was "good for sore 
 eyes," and would command a premium as a curiosity.
 
 lyo The New. 
 
 One day, not many weeks before Col, Bonner and 
 the proprietor emptied their revolvers at each other 
 across the bar — and by the same token the City 
 Fathers found the bullets sticking in the wall when 
 they installed themselves in those premises, in the 
 name of Law and Order — -a. crowd of miners, mecha- 
 nics, clerks, " learned-professioners," and other amateur 
 gamesters, being met in the saloon of the Graham 
 House, the conversation among a knot of thirsty souls, 
 who waited for brandy-smashes, turned on Califor- 
 nia currency in general, and Moffat's coin in particu- 
 lar. Their sudden apparition and e vanishment were 
 remarked upon, and one or two had specimens to 
 show, which they prized next to half-cents, or certain 
 curious political coppers of the Jackson campaigns, in- 
 scribed " Not one cent for Tribute, Millions for De- 
 fense." The bragging ear of Gossage caught its cue, 
 as he was toying idly at a faro-table with a few red 
 counters. 
 
 " Gave half an ounce apiece for them Moffat kines, 
 did you ? Dreadful green of you, I must say. Why 
 I've got a thousand of them myself; and if any gen-
 
 The Green Cloth. 
 
 171 
 
 tlcman with a turn for kinc-fancying, would hkc to 
 lill a cabinet or a cart with just such fellows as them, 
 for a small deduction from the last price, I should be 
 glad to accommodate him. Talk of half-cents, now ; 
 they arc something like — should like to give a dollar 
 for one myself. But eight dollars for Moffat's kine is 
 a leetle enthusiastic, if not green." 
 
 Mr. Gossage was no stranger to most of his audience ; 
 and this new, and somewhat bolder, exhibition of his 
 ruling passion would have ehcited no more than a 
 quiet smile from the sophisticated circle, but for the 
 presence of two or three new arrivals, who ex- 
 pressed their appreciation of what they considered 
 " high old blowing," in a burst of hilarity, wherein 
 their astonishment was not unmixed with disrespect- 
 ful incredulity. Such popular ejaculations, expres- 
 sive of a good-natured doubt, as " G-a-s ! " " Over 
 the left 1 " " Hi, hi, lii ! " etc., broke from these brusque 
 new-comers. 
 
 Now Gossage was at home. "If any gentleman 
 would back his disbelief to the extent of a few 
 ounces, he would be happy to size his pile."
 
 172 The New. 
 
 "Hi, lii, hi! Oil yes; five thousand dollars, you 
 know, lying — where did you say you kept tliem, Mr. 
 Gossage ? " 
 
 " In my trunk, sir ! — in my room, sir ! — in this 
 house, sir! " 
 
 " Oh, yes — lying about loose, not even tied up, like 
 Tom Carter's milk. Eeady money worth twelve per 
 cent, a month, too, and he with twelve banks in 
 monte and faro — Hi, hi, hi ! " 
 
 "xVll very fine, gentlemen," Gossage said, "but hi, 
 hi, hi, ain't nuther arguments nor manners. Facts is 
 facts, and oj)inions as is opinions is worth backing. 
 I'm ready to back my facts as high as any man's 
 moderate pile, and if I'm deceived in 'em I'm willing 
 .to pay for the disapp'intment," 
 
 " Pshaw, Gossage," said some one, " what's the use 
 of trying on that old dodge at your time of life ? 
 Why don't you take your brag in the natural way, 
 especially when everybody knows your game ?" 
 
 But Mr. Gossage began now to have a grievance; 
 he felt hurt: "He had asserted a thing, and he 
 thought he was good for all it would cost to prove it;
 
 Tlic Green Clotli. 1 73 
 
 it was luird if lie coulilii't j^^et tlic cliunco. If lie was 
 bliifiing, here was an ()j)p(jrtuiiity for gents of spirit 
 to take tlie coiiecit out of him." 
 
 A quiet young man who had remained from the 
 lirst, in the baekground, seemingly only an amused 
 spectator, here came Ibrward, and said he quite 
 agreed witli ^fr. Gossage. Mr, Gossage's veracity 
 was at stake on an interesting question, and he was 
 in favor of Mr. Gossage's having a fair show. Gentle- 
 men sliouhl not be too hard on Mr. Gossage. True, 
 he would have, occasionally, his httle outside game 
 of bluff, by way of joke merely. But this time he 
 wjis evidently serious and sincere. Mr. Gossage's 
 feelings ought not to be trifled with; gentlemen wTrc 
 wrong to twit him with his little peculiarities. For 
 his own i>art, lie tlid not believe a word Mr. Gossage 
 li;id said about the Moffats. Kot that he doubted ^\y. 
 Gossage's word — oh, by no means; he (Hilv tliouglit 
 he saw the blufV sticking out. He wished he ha<l 
 :is many dollars as he did not believe in thos(> ^rolliits. 
 He was ready not to l)elieve in them — sav two liuii- 
 di'ed dollars worth, whieh was all he had about him.
 
 174 The New. 
 
 Mr. Gossage " knew his young friend was a gentle- 
 man bj tlie remark lie made — a man of spirit and 
 disposed to do things on the sqiiare. Them 'ere ob- 
 serwations of his'n was worthy of his head and heart. 
 He would meet his little pile." 
 
 So the four hundred dollars were forthwith pro- 
 duced, and placed in the hands of a " mutual friend." 
 Then with sudden gravity — for a suicide, or a mur- 
 der, or a hanging match was, in those days, a less 
 grave affair than an extraordinary bet, even for so 
 small a sum as two hundred dollars — all turned to- 
 ward the stairs by which they were to make their 
 way to the chamber of the treasure ; but, first, all took 
 another drink at Gossage's expense, and it was agreed 
 that the winner should treat the crowd to champagne. 
 
 To the Gossage apartments were many stairs, with 
 their corresponding landings. At the top of the first 
 flight Gossage stopped, and turned to his company, as 
 one who suddenly recollects an important something. 
 There was a "pint" on which he would like to 
 understand the gentleman. Did the gentleman in- 
 tend to avail himself of the leading maxim to which
 
 The Green Cloth 175* 
 
 all fancy gentlemen subscribe — namely, that betting 
 on a certainty goes for nothing — that a wager is 
 made null and void by positive foreknowledge, with 
 conclusive assurance of the result, on the part of 
 either better ? If yes, they need go no further, for he 
 was betting on a certainty. 
 
 No, the gentleman unconditionally waived all that ; 
 he would take all the risks — somewhat facetiously 
 adding that Mr. Gossage's certainties were an excep- 
 tion to the general rule. 
 
 Mr. Gossage, with a reproachful look, went on, 
 only remarking that he was glad they understood 
 each other; he presumed the gentleman knew^ his 
 own business best. 
 
 Flight No. 2 : ]\[r. Gossage stops again — stands for 
 a moment suspended, as it were — all silent ; 'Mr. Gos- 
 sage appears to be about to make a speech ; he does 
 make a short one. " True, gambling was his trade and 
 the cards was his tools ; but there was a time for every- 
 thing, and at sich times as it suited him so to do, he 
 hoped he could conduct himself as a gentleman, and 
 a man whose heart is in the right place. He had not
 
 176 The New. 
 
 the honor to be personally acquainted with his young 
 friend, whom he met on this occasion for the first 
 time — and happy he was to find him a gent after 
 his own heart. The brother might be a man of inde- 
 pendent fortin, the tallest kind of a pile; and then 
 agin he moughtn't. Howsever, he was willing to 
 give the gentleman a fair shake, to treat him on the 
 square. Far be it from him to poke his fingers into 
 a gent's pocket, as never did him no harm, and clean 
 him out like. Gents as knew Tom Gossage knew he 
 was oncapable of sich. The brother was apperiently 
 a person of feeling and refinery. He hoped Tom 
 Gossage was the same in his 'umble style. There- 
 fore, he wished, in a friendly way, to exposterlate 
 with his young friend. Might not the brother be 
 rushing at his puddles, rayther resky ? He was 
 agreeable to let the gentleman up." 
 
 The " brother " returned thanks. He was touched 
 b}' Mr. Gossage's kind consideration. Those who 
 knew Mr. Gossage better than he did, would no doubt 
 say that it was all quite natural, just like Tom Gos- 
 sage; but he confessed he was touched. Neverthe-
 
 The Grtcn Cloth. 177 
 
 less, lie preferred not to be let up. The bet was a 
 fijood bet, and he thought it would keep — it was, in- 
 deed, a delightful bet, if only in having been the 
 means of introducing him to his honorable friend. 
 lie would rather not part with it. 
 
 Mr. Gossagc was touched, in his turn ; there was a 
 trace of sadness in his air, as he resumed the ascent. 
 
 Flight No. 3 : Once for all, Mr. Gossage wished to 
 know how far the gentleman meant to carry this joke, 
 if it was a joke. If the gentleman was in earnest, 
 the gentleman must excuse him, but he considered the 
 gentleman a damned fool. The brother must recollect 
 that his, the speaker's, character, as a man of honor, 
 was at stake. If he took the gentleman's pile, other 
 brethren, outsiders, would say he hadn't done the 
 clean thing by the gentleman. He would like to hear 
 any gent say that ; any gent would oblige him by 
 putting in that insinerwation : he would be happy 
 to bet any brother fifty, or a hundred, or a hundred 
 and fifty, or two hundred dollars, that no man 
 in the- crowd had the cheek to put in that insiner- 
 wation.
 
 lyS The New. 
 
 The gentleman hoped not. Did Mr. Gossage live 
 inside the house, or out on the roof? 
 
 Mr. Gossage walks straight to a door, and, with 
 indignant resolution expressed in his countenance, 
 lays his hand on the knob, takes from his pocket a 
 key, applies it to the lock, turns it. 
 
 " You'd better not." 
 
 " Oh, I think I will." 
 
 "No, don't. Upon my soul, I don't like to. Say 
 you think better of it, in time. Then I'll just show 
 you the kine, to amuse you, stand the champagne 
 myself, and say notliiug about it." 
 
 Omnes: "Hi, hi, hi!" 
 
 Mr. Gossage throws open the door violently ; leaps 
 to the side of a narrow iron bedstead ; drags from 
 underneath it a scurvy hair trunk, rather easy to 
 handle ; goes down on his knees and opens it with a 
 small key, fished out from the profound of his breeches 
 pocket. 
 
 "You will, will you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir-ee." 
 
 Mr, Gossage tosses up the lid of the scurvy rattle-trap.
 
 The Green Cloth. 
 
 179 
 
 Two stumps of cigars, a box of percussion caps, 
 ami a pack of cards I 
 
 " Boys," says Mr. Gossagc, out of the corner of his 
 eye, " you've got mc^ this timo, whrrc the hair's sliort."
 
 i8o The New. 
 
 In truth, tlie Gossages were the " remarkable men" 
 of the day. They constituted a controlhng chiss, with 
 whom was all the moral, physical, and financial force. 
 Abounding in ready resources of no particular nature, 
 and unscrupulous in the application of them — them- 
 selves well stocked with the adventurer's courage, and 
 their courage im]30singly backed up with six-shooters ; 
 numbering in their society, whether as professionals or 
 amateurs, many of the " first men of the city ;" having 
 the largest show of " smartness," if not of a purer intel- 
 lectuality and culture — of sophisticated observation, 
 reckless enterprise, and, best of all, cash ; paying the 
 highest rents, monopolizing the most desirable busi- 
 ness sites, promj^t in applying every new and admira- 
 ble improvement, commanding every comfort that 
 invention or expensive labor could sujiply — every 
 luxury that fine raiment, and pictures, and shows, 
 and music, and wine, and a motley " world of ladies" 
 could stand for — no wonder that they swayed the 
 city, and carried the day with a high hand. No 
 w^onder, indeed, for they paid twelve per cent, a 
 month for monej^, and were ready to take all they
 
 The Green Clotli. 181 
 
 could get at lliat i)iice, ofteriiig securities in faro fur- 
 niture, the good-will and fixtures of a hell of decan- 
 ters and ivory counteis, a lease, a house, a water-lot, 
 a mine. 
 
 Moreover, the gauihlei- ul' ]'\jrty-Nino was no vul- 
 gar rogue, or villain of the sordid strijie; he had his 
 aspirations ; it was lat and proud game he hunted, 
 and he })Ut his own life into the chase. lie had his 
 sentiments, more or less exalted, according to the ' 
 location of his tables and the quality of his friends. 
 The fifty-cent roulette-twirler or thimble-rigger, of 
 Pacific Street or Little Sidney, might not be so sub- 
 lime and imposing in his definitions of honor as the 
 thousand-dollar faro-dealer of the Parker House or El 
 Dorado ; but he was sure to be twice as noisy and 
 exacting. "Gentlemen," he would say — no word 
 half so often on his lips as that — " Gentlemen, we 
 plays on tlic square ; if we doesn't play on the square, 
 difheulties, and onpleasantncsses, and six-shooters is 
 liable. Gentlemen, I hope we are all honorable men ; 
 we'll have our little game, peaceable and on the square 
 if we can, Ijut wc will have it any lunv, by thunder!"
 
 i82 The New. 
 
 In the Bella Union, or the California Exchange, 
 aristocratically pitched on the Plaza, the style of con- 
 versation across the green cloth, in cases of " diffi- 
 culty," was different, being more debonair, not so 
 broad : 
 
 " A moment, if yon please," quietly remarks an 
 almost beardless desperado, covering his pile with a 
 firm hand, and fixing dangerous eyes on the burly 
 dealer of monte whom he addresses — " You can stop 
 there." 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 "Well — excuse me, but I think you drew two 
 cards." 
 
 " I believe not. I'll take your pile, if you please ; 
 the kerwaiyo takes it." 
 
 " Two cards !" 
 
 " Your money !' 
 
 And in each case the words are accompanied by a 
 quick but quiet movement which discloses a revolver. 
 With the appearance of these two new disputants — 
 polished, curt, of brief but sharp and downright speech 
 — ^there is a quick but fussless stir among the spectators
 
 The Green Cloth. 183 
 
 around the table. In a moment a clear space is 
 formed, in the midst of a still circle of fla.sliing eyes, 
 compressed lips, and clenched hands. You may count 
 twenty, deliberately, ere you hear a breath drawn, or 
 see the slightest movement. 
 
 " Well, sir?" 
 
 " Well I" 
 
 " Your money I" 
 
 " Your cards !" 
 
 Up steps a by-standcr — some cool, steady veteran, 
 expert in the game, and versed in the law of diffi- 
 culties — a man of awful nerve, whose tympanum, 
 accustomed to the crack, no pistol-shot alarms. 
 
 " Gentlemen," says he, " try arbitration first." 
 
 Another quick exchange of inquiring and respon- 
 sive glances between the disputants. Not a word ; 
 but the eyes of each plainly say, " Agreed." Botli 
 throw themselves back in their chairs, and withdraw 
 their hands from the table, with the air of men invit- 
 ing examination, and resolute to abide the result. 
 The veteran calls up two Brothers of the Green Cloth, 
 competent to act as umpires; and three minutes,
 
 184 The New. 
 
 frauglit witli mortcal danger, are passed in deliberately 
 counting the cards as they lie on the cloth, and 
 naming them slowly — like the tolling of a bell, or the 
 measured pronunciation of a death sentence. Except 
 that, there has been no noise but the simultaneous 
 clicking of two j)istol locks. The dealer and his 
 young vis-a-vis are seemingly strangely unconcerned 
 for the event. 
 
 " You are wrong, my friend," says Veteran ; "no 
 double card was drawn here. Mistakes will happen 
 to the most careful gentlemen." 
 
 From that decision there is no appeal. His finger 
 on the trigger, after that, would have cost the young 
 fellow his life. So pistols go back to their sleeping- 
 places, hands are shaken across the table, drinks for 
 the company, at the expense of the " bucker" — as he 
 who plays against the bank is called ; and the game 
 proceeds with a better understanding. 
 
 Had the result of the examination been otherwise, 
 a man or two would have been killed presently. 
 
 Thus, the law being to play Mr or die, and the 
 finest distinctions of the meum and tuum defined by
 
 Tlic Green Cloth. 185 
 
 lli(3 pi.slol, it is easy to understand that lliere were 
 honest gamblers in San Francisco in Forty-Nine. In- 
 deed, I will go so lar as to assert that, as a class, no 
 others wore so strict and punctual in all their dcalingi?. 
 The signatui-e of a Gossagc, in good standing, passed 
 at })ar ibr the sum it was responsible for. No invest- 
 ment safer or more profitable than a loan to him — no 
 claim easier of collection. I have seen our young 
 I'liend of the "Old Adobe," Mr. John Coit, when he 
 had just been " cleaned out," borrow a thousand dol- 
 lars from the nearest tal)le, giving no more formal 
 bond than a (piarter of a dollar with a few mysterious 
 scratches on its face ; yet, among bis fraternity that 
 curit)us I. 0. U. would pass current for a month — the 
 mystic coin good as the best paper on Wall Street for 
 the thousand dollars it stood for, until it suited ]\rr. 
 Coit to redeem it, perhaps from fourth or fifth hands. 
 Nor were these men, though most dangerous on 
 certain professional points, by any means habitually 
 quarrelsome. On the contrary, they were often the 
 ])eace-makers of a fierce crowd whose explosive pas- 
 sions were stirred — constituting themselves an extem-
 
 i86 The New. 
 
 poraneous Yigilance Committee in the name of tlie 
 Law and Order they had themselves set up for the 
 occasion ; and then woe to the refractory ! 
 
 At one of the monte-tables in a saloon on Kearney 
 street, the game was dealt by a slender, pale, young 
 man, almost a stripling, and with seemingly the deli- 
 cate organization of a girl— his lips soft, his eyes gen- 
 tle, his hands small and fair, his hair fine, no beard 
 save a slight moustache — his attire well fitting and 
 scrupulously neat, his air pensive, his ways always 
 quiet. One evening an ugly brute, of the Pike 
 County breed, burly and blustering, his naturally 
 vicious temper heated to hideous fierceness by rum, 
 seated himself at tliis young man's table and called for 
 a "lay out" of the cards. His manner, provoking 
 from the first, soon became intolerably insulting, and 
 he assailed the dealer with outrageous taunts and 
 menaces, accusing him of cheating, and with abusive 
 oaths refusing to pay over the stakes the bank had 
 won. 
 
 The dealer, patient and long-suffering, and soft- 
 spoken to the last, gently remonstrated with the
 
 The Green Cloth. 187 
 
 hnlly, as with one irresponsible, and whose ugly man- 
 ners were his misfortune. At last tlie fellow, de- 
 eeived by the gracious demeanor of his reluctant 
 antagonist, demanded the refunding of his losses, 
 which were of mean amount — for he had been play- 
 ing rather for a quarrel than for money — and threat- 
 ened to cut the dealer's heart out, if he did not in- 
 stantly " fork over." To this the young man replied 
 by leaping nimbly across the table, and dragging him 
 by the hair from his seat. Instantly the bully drew 
 a formidable bowie-knife ; but before he could make 
 a lunge, a quick, sharp, shot-like blow from the lady- 
 like fist, delivered with scientific precision and force, 
 sent him down, his weapon flying from his hand. And 
 again, and again, as he sprang, with remarkable agility, 
 and much spunk, to his feet, he went down, and down, 
 '^i'ill at last, half-stunned, blind with blood and quite 
 bewildered and helpless, he sat on the floor and fairly 
 cried : " Enough ! enough 1 you are too much for me. 
 "Who the devil are you ?" 
 
 The young man, whose face was scarcely flushed 
 with the exercise, and whose eye at once resumed its
 
 i88 The New. 
 
 softness, and Iiis air its quiet, said : " My friend, get 
 up" — at the same time assisting Lim ; "you are a 
 great fool. My name is — " Well, never mind his 
 name ; there are but few Americans to whom it is 
 not familiar ; even a transatlantic notoriety attaches 
 to it. It is the name of a blood-stained hero of the 
 ring, who killed his man, some years ago, in one of 
 the most protracted and cruel gladiatorial encounters 
 recorded in the shocking annals of pugilism. That 
 man was one of the most exemplary of law-abiding 
 San Franciscans in Forty -Nine. Those dreadful fists 
 were never used save to restore order. 
 
 Poor Tom Cross ! his was a queer, sad case. Tom 
 was a gentleman's son from New Orleans — with fair 
 mental parts, a superior education, winning address, 
 and a most generous soul. His were that fatal un- 
 thrift which takes no care for the morrow, " that no 
 man ever saw," and that adventurer's passion for 
 hazards, that go to make up the most tolerable type 
 of gamester. Full of pitiful promptings, any hope- 
 forsaken wretch — purse-broken, health-broken, heart- 
 broken, who had dragged his racked joints, his
 
 Thp Green Cloth. 189 
 
 chills, and liis <]esj)air, all the wiiy from the mines, 
 Ixrkoned onward by the cruel angel of an iinattain- 
 ahle home, an irreecn'erahle mother, and an iini)os- 
 sil)l(; earthly n-st — was a god-send to the Abraham's 
 ])osom of l^oni Cross's prosperity. And when at last 
 he struck a vein of bad luck, and ty])hoid fever 
 broke the bank of his good spirits, lie proposed, be- 
 tween the spoonfuls of his beef- tea, to deal for Jack 
 with me, double or quits, for the bill he thought I 
 was scoring against him. lie won ; and then we 
 turned the cards again, double or quits, for the doc- 
 toring of the rheumatic Digger Indian in the next tent. 
 One evening I found Tom much worse ; he had 
 l)cen silting u[) in a draught of cold, damp air, all the 
 art(>rnoon, })laying solitaii'c. I tucked his Afaeki- 
 naw blank'rt warmly about him, and exacted his pro- 
 mise that he would keep under its shelter till I re- 
 turned. Late that night, imjiellcd by painful fore- 
 bo(ling^', I made my way to his tent in Happy Val- 
 ley. It was empty — no Tom there. In an adjoin- 
 ing shanty, an old Texan Ranger, with the dysen- 
 tery, said Tom had been there, much improved and
 
 190 
 
 The New. 
 
 in higli spirits, and had taken a hand for one turn at 
 high-low-jack. He had left for his blankets again, 
 about half an hour since. I had some trouble to find 
 Lim. He lay in a thick clump of bushes, some yards 
 off— dead. There was an old worn-out ace of hearts 
 in his trowsers pocket, with two lines written on it 
 with a lead-pencil — " Good-by, mother ! Pardon and 
 love poor Tom." It had evidently been prepared 
 some time before, and kept there in case of accident. 
 
 In the latter months of Forty-Nine, a number of 
 professional gamblers, in large practice, were residing 
 at the Graham House — among the rest, two who were 
 especially remarkable for the boldness of their play, 
 and the steadiness of their business nerves. These 
 were a hunchback, named Briggs, and Joe Bassett, a 
 better sort of graduate of the old Vicksburg school. 
 Both had been signally successful in many sharp 
 operations during the year, and had acquired a con- 
 siderable property in lots, which, for their convenience 
 in business, they had converted into cash, and banked, 
 partly with Burgoyne or Wright, partly on various 
 monte-tables.
 
 The Green Cloth. I9I 
 
 One (lay, in an al\cr-(linncr cliat, they compared 
 notes, and found tliat tliey stood equally fairly on 
 the gamblers' 'change, each being good for just one 
 hundred and twenty thousand dollars in immediately 
 available dust. Being both ipore than usually enter- 
 prising under the inspiration of wine, Briggs offered 
 a daring banter, which was recklessly accepted by Bas- 
 se tt — that they should at once adjourn to an upper faro 
 room, fill up each a check for the entire sum he was 
 worth in cash, divide equally between them two hun- 
 dred and forty thousand dollars in red checks, and play 
 brag for the whole — neither to leave the room, on any 
 pretext, until all the red checks were lost and won. Ac- 
 cordingly, with not less equanimity and pleasant sin- 
 gleness of purpose, they retired, with a few choice 
 spirits of their set, to the privacy of a reserved apart- 
 ment, and having provided store of choice liquor, 
 cigars, and viands for the company, executed the 
 required documents, divided the rosy counters, took 
 tlioir seats at opposite sides of the table, and began 
 their extraordinary and most interesting contest — a 
 contest which called out such feats of memory, saga-
 
 192 
 
 The New. 
 
 city, discrimination, self-possession, quick recognition 
 of signs and detection of sly finesse, sucli fine feints, 
 nimble tlirusts and parries, hot assaults, and well- 
 ordered retreats, as would have made the fortune and 
 the fame of a statesman, a general, or a fencing- 
 master. 
 
 The first deal was made at four o'clock in the after- 
 noon, and the game went on with changing fortune 
 all night. At the elbow of each stood a glass of 
 water, moderately treated with brandy. Neither 
 smoked — a cloud between them would have been as 
 culpable a blunder as the sun in the eyes of a duellist. 
 Ten o'clock next morning found them yet in their 
 places — ^both looking somewhat pale and fagged, but 
 very quiet. Briggs had four thousand dollars left of 
 all that he was worth in the world. The cards were 
 dealt. The table at which they sat was near the door 
 of the room, and just as Bassett, whose " say " it was, 
 was making up his mind, some one entered and stood 
 behind him. Briggs eyed his antagonist, over his 
 hand, with a searching stare that held its very breath. 
 Without noticinsf the entrance of the new-comer.
 
 The Green Cloth. 193 
 
 with no flutter of his cards, ■\vith(Mit any startled 
 ghmci', or even the movement of a linger, Biissett 
 "went six thousand dolhirs." "Take the money," 
 said the hunchback — and he took it. Briggs had two 
 jacks, Bassett three kings. As the two tossed olf 
 great bumpers of raw Ijraudy, Briggs remarked, as 
 he rose to go off to bed, " If you had noticed that 
 man I might have borrowed the money and gone on 
 a little longer ; but when I saw that you did not turn 
 to look over your shoulder, or drop the faces of your 
 cards, I knew you had a sure hand." A few days 
 after that, the hunchback invested fifty dollars, bor- 
 rowed from Bassett, in a miner's outfit, and started 
 for the diggins, where he died in a month, a hi/lpless 
 pauj)er. 
 
 Again : there was " Old Paul," as he was called. 
 Who docs not remember Old Paul? A well-to-do- 
 New-England-farmer-looking man, with a kindly coni- 
 l)osition of features and expression, exemplary and 
 ])atriarchal in his manners — a man to go to for advice, 
 abounding in various and instructive experiences of 
 life, but full of benevolent leanings toward the world
 
 194 The New. 
 
 — a man to lounge, for three weeks in the month, 
 about the passages and porticoes of his hotel, in dress- 
 ing-gown and slippers, smoking a long meerschaum 
 pipe, reading the " Alta," or the latest home papers, pro- 
 jecting city improvements, discussing grand specula- 
 tions, examining political aspects, taking the bearings 
 of parties, weighing the claims of influential and re- 
 presentative men, severely looking into the business 
 of the Town Council, considering at large the state of 
 the country, defining the duties of Congress toward 
 California, prophetically portraying the future of the 
 State ; and then — returning to the city and its daily 
 life, fraught with momentous and exciting events, full 
 of scenes wonder-moving and often most painful — 
 commending humanitarian projects, exhorting his im- 
 pressible audience to particij^ate in benevolent enter- 
 prises — the founding of a City Hospital, contributions 
 to a fund for the relief of indigent, disabled, and 
 friendless strangers. 
 
 Such was Old Paul three weeks in the month. 
 During the days that remained, he was apt to assume 
 a different character, and appear in a rule always
 
 The Green Cloth. 19^ 
 
 stirring, and sometimes tending toward tlie tragic 
 That was when, casting the dressing-gown and shp- 
 pers, pipe and newspaper, and the hberal projects of 
 the pubhc-spirited citizen, he started out, dust-pouch 
 in liand, to make the round of the tables. On such 
 occasions his habit was — having provided himself 
 abundantly with coin and dust — to take any prin- 
 ci]")al saloon for his field of action, and disdaining 
 small play, deliberately set about breaking banks. 
 For Old Paul was in the wholesale gambling line. 
 He confided in the inexhaustibility of his resources, 
 the impressiveness of his reputation ; and, especially, 
 in his nerve and the skill of his play, his intimate 
 initiation in the mysteries of the various games, and 
 his curious professional acquaintance with the idio- 
 syncrasy of every considerable dealer, and the pecu- 
 liar tricks of his manipulation. I have known him 
 to take, in one evening, five out of seven moute 
 banks, beside a faro bank or two, and seat his own 
 dealers at them to keep the game going, on his pro- 
 prietorial account. Having done this, he would 
 quietly subside again into dressing-gown and slip-
 
 196 The New. 
 
 pers, pipe and newspaper, political economy and 
 visions of beneficence. 
 
 Toward the close of the year, a considerable body 
 of the "first citizens" called out Old Paul to stand for 
 them, a candidate for the Comptrollership. Being 
 ambitious, and active citizenship his particular vanity, 
 he accepted the invitation. His most formidable 
 opponent was a famous Texan Eanger, who had come 
 out of the Mexican war with a few scars and many 
 honors — an avowed pet of the populace, especially of 
 that part of it which rallied around the banner of the 
 disbanded New York Eegiment. Partisan passions 
 ran high from the first; and, as election day drew 
 nigh, bets flew fast and furious. The devoted adhe- 
 rents, and paid drummers of the rival leaders, were 
 busy in Plaza and street, bar-room and gambling- 
 saloon, stirring up the enthusiasm of the multitude, 
 glorifying gambler and hero, coaxing, bribing, drag- 
 ging the compliant and the foolish, the needy, the 
 greedy, and the drunk, into their respective ranks. 
 
 On voting day, the polls presented an unresting 
 scene of delirious excitement, boundless intemperance,
 
 The Green Cloth. 197 
 
 and angry struggle. Old Paul had chartered for the 
 day the hest-stocked hotel on the Plaza, and opcni-d 
 free larders and bars. So, up to fjur o'clock in the 
 afternoon, the game seemed going exultingly for him. 
 Ilis people cheered his name uproariously at every 
 poll, and the other side were growing dumb and tame. 
 All at once the handsome ranger appeared in the 
 centre of the Plaza, gallantly mounted on a richly 
 caparisoned and beautiful black horse, lie wore the 
 costume and arms of his famous corps, and bore him- 
 self like a man who needed only the aj)parition of a 
 sipiadron of Mexican lancers, disputing his passag*^, 
 to complete his satisfaction. Suddenly he plunged 
 his ringing Mexican rowels into the shrinking sides 
 of his steed, and dashing down the slope of the Plaza, 
 taking some flying leaps by the way, sharply reined 
 up the astonished and rearing animal in the midst of 
 an admiring crowd gathered in front of the polls at 
 the Parker House, whom he saluted with a gallant 
 bow. Then he treated them to such feats of splendid 
 horsemanship as would have satisfied Franconi or 
 Ducrow — putting his steed to the headlong run, and
 
 198 The New. 
 
 bringing bim up short on a serape, flung on the ground 
 before him — throwing himself over the neck of the 
 foaming stallion, and firing his revolvers with uner- 
 ring aim at small objects on the ground — leaping 
 from the saddle with his bowie-knife in his mouth, 
 and recovering his seat, the horse always at full speed, 
 with the agility of the unequalled Cadwallader — hit- 
 ting doubloons tossed in the air, again and again, and 
 hurling his knife into posts with the precision of a 
 Chinese juggler. — He was elected. 
 
 Three months later, the defeated candidate published 
 in a Sacramento paper a schedule of the debts he had 
 paid since he started for the mines "with just seven- 
 teen dollars in his pocket." Nobody was so simple 
 as to suppose that the public-spirited Paul meant that 
 the money had been earned with pick and pan. 
 
 Of such was the fraternity which swayed the city 
 in those days. The secret of their paramount influ- 
 ence lay, as I have said, partly in their harmonious 
 combination of the pre-eminently American traits — 
 versatility of self-adaptation, quick appreciation of 
 striking circumstances, a faculty of taking accurately
 
 The Green Cloth. 199 
 
 and at once the bearings of new and strange situations, 
 inexhaustibility of moral and material resources, fixity 
 of })urpose, persistence of endeavor, ready hazard of 
 life, unflagging endurance, audacity of enterprise, 
 ever fresh elasticity of sanguine temperament ; but 
 principally, in the imposing figures of an omnipotent 
 cash capital, wherewith they knew how to feed the 
 enormous cravings of the people, and mitigate their 
 privations and their pains. 
 
 For instance : your stirring labors for the day draw- 
 ing to a close, what should you do next, to maintain 
 yourself at that point of excitement whence to fall 
 into self-perusal and despondency was dreadful and 
 dangerous? You had no home, of course — that lux- 
 ury had not yet been introduced. Eeading was not to 
 be thought of — you must have nerves of steel to be 
 capable of the self-possession necessary to that tranquil 
 recreation, even if you could find a place to read in. 
 Visiting, too, was a lost art — friends, like homes, were 
 as yet unattainable delights. Your bed was a horror, 
 to be ])Ut off to the last ; for you slei)t in a foul bunk 
 — one of a stack of sucli, to which a stable, a kennel,
 
 200 The New. 
 
 a sty, were sweet — in a loft over the bar-room ; and an 
 atmosphere reeking with stale cigar-smoke, and the 
 fames of cheap rum, ascended to your outraged nostrils 
 through great gaps in the floor. But from across the 
 way your ears were saluted by sounds of maudlin 
 hilarity and the incessant chink and tinkle of coin, 
 blent with the sweetest strains of Bellini or Donizetti, 
 and the ugly dissonance of lost women's laughter and 
 loud wrangling. You are easily drawn thither — Me- 
 phistojDhilcs your guide. 
 
 You plunge into a lake of dazing glare and devilish 
 sorcery. Your eyes open on a flaring palace of Pan- 
 dtemon, in whose festal chambers an insensate and 
 debauched herd are gathering densely. Obscene pic- 
 tures hang around the walls; a glittering array of 
 decanters and glasses is reflected from tall mirrors ; 
 there is the multitudinous chink of doubloons, mixed 
 with the chatter of timid or undecided idlers, and the 
 frequent popping of corks; orchestral impertinences 
 over-ride the rest;' a few uncoated imperturbablcs 
 knock billiard balls about ; ten-pin balls rumble, rou- 
 lette balls rattle, and the cards, the quiet, mocking
 
 The Green Cloth. 201 
 
 cards, are everywhere. At first you loiter iunocently, 
 a philosophic and observant looker-(ju ; tlicu you take 
 your inevitable part in the Nvicked hurly-burly. 
 
 At last, you return to your abhorred den — now good 
 enough for you, who have not the means left of paying 
 even for that — and to the foul bhinkets, and a false 
 sleep, full of brain tricks. You dream that you are 
 the Midas of many montc and faro banks; that you 
 have choice water-lots at Long AVharf an<l fifty-vara 
 building sites on Montgomery street ; that you are the 
 oracle of a superior circle of bankers, judges, scholars, 
 orators, ay — and divines ; that you are alcalde, go- 
 vernor, senator in Congress — an honorable, a remark- 
 able, a smart man. And your dream is true.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ME. KAEL JOSEPH KEAFFT 
 
 OF THE OLD CALIFORNIANS. 
 
 In tlie year One of the Founding of the Citj, came 
 to San Francisco Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft, whose ap- 
 pearance in these pages is not, say certain of the 
 spiritualistics, the first of his apparitions since he died. 
 
 Mr. Krafft was a German adventurer — an accom- 
 plished gentleman, a natural artist, poet, soldier, travel- 
 ler, speculator. It was said he had been, in his early 
 youth, an attendant on the person of Prince Metter- 
 nich, in the capacity of page ; that later in his life he 
 had been an ofiicer of Austrian Cavalry — a probable 
 story, to judge from his military carriage and habits, 
 his gallant horsemanship, his habile familiarity with 
 pistol and sword, and even a faint trace of uniform in
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Knifft. 203 
 
 his clotlics. Somewhere about 1839 he came to Val- 
 paraiso cpiitc i)ciiiiilcss — nothing extraordinary in a 
 constitutional adventurer, especially in a German one, 
 and more especially such a German adventurer as Mr. 
 Krafft, whose life, if the latter part of it might repre- 
 sent the whole, had been a life of scrapes, and awk- 
 ward shifts, and desperate passes. 
 
 Mr. Krafft was abundantly provided with letters of 
 introduction from the most distinguished sources 
 about European courts. Indeed, the genuineness of 
 them was afterward sweepingly challenged in Valpa- 
 raiso, no doubt by envious and detracting persons. 
 Still, it must be acknowledged that Mr. Krafft had a 
 lively fancy, a fine inventive faculty, and a ready ])en. 
 Whatever those qualities may have had to do with 
 his letters of intn^duction, it is known that he quickly 
 ingratiated himself in the favor of a rich Italian, 
 the first of the foreign merchants: a success wholly 
 due, perhaps, to his cleverness, his varied and useful 
 accomplishments — especially as a linguist, in which 
 chai-aeter he was polygh^t — and his adioit addi\ss, 
 whieli was in a remarkable degree courtly after the
 
 204 ^^^^ New. 
 
 manner of the old world, instructed, searcliing, wily, 
 irresistibly cliarming. 
 
 In a short time, Mr, Kraflft became a principal con- 
 fidential clerk in the mercantile house of his patron — 
 a position which afforded his natural and acquired 
 diplomacy the rarest advantages, and gave him op- 
 jjortunities for sudden strides of promotion of which 
 he was by no means slow to avail himself. Perhaps 
 some of the larger operations of the concern had not 
 been of a sort to bear investigation ; therefore Mr. 
 Krafft investigated them diligently. All secrets were 
 fish that came to the cunning net of his finesse. No 
 one doubted that Mr. Krafft had found something out 
 — there was no other way of accounting for his proud 
 and jealous patron's excessive and even loud partial- 
 ity, his undisguised preference of the interloping and 
 by no means popular adventurer, as a suitor for the 
 hand of his daughter : indeed — as many an American 
 naval officer knows, who, on the Pacific station, and 
 at Valparaiso, has been admitted to the delight of her 
 society — the most beautiful, the most accomplished, 
 the most altogether charming; senorita in Chili or
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krutft. 205 
 
 Peru. AVlieu the lovely Maria was married to Mr. 
 KrafFt, which happened before long, there were those 
 who said they would not mock her with congratula- 
 tions. I think their consideration never met with 
 lively appreciation from the lady ; for certainly, if her 
 regard for her husband was but an enforced liking at 
 first, there is reason to believe that it became a pro- 
 found, and naturally a blind, passion in the end. Mr. 
 Krafft was a winning man; he had, in a degree as 
 eminent as I have ever known, the trick of procuring 
 the love — even though its ingenuity were sadly taxed 
 to invent excuses for him — he was bent on having. 
 The eyes, the lij)s, the mind, the culture, the soul of 
 Maria were things worth the winning, and Mr. Karl 
 Joseph Krafft was master of the ways to make 
 them his. 
 
 Very soon the son-in-law became a partner in his 
 patron's business ; immediately, one brilliant specula- 
 tion after another, all successful ; and then a sublime 
 failure — a sort of Paradise Lost among the epics of 
 speculation — which swallowed them all up. AVlicn 
 Mr. Krafft sailed for San Francisco in Forty -Nine, the
 
 2o6 The New. 
 
 white-liaired Italian had just died, a broken-hearted, 
 half-witted bankrupt, and the incomparable Maria, 
 ■with her three little Krafffcs, was in the most pic- 
 turesque straits, a pretty pensioner on the bounty of 
 her father's old friends. 
 
 My acquaintance with Mr. Krafft was made under 
 somewhat singular circumstances, when he was cashier 
 in the Castom-house. A very San Franciscan inci- 
 dent, on that occasion, drew out some of his peculiari- 
 ties and showed him to great advantage. Having 
 occasion to visit a medical friend of mine, on Sacra- 
 mento street, I was conversing with him in his office, 
 when two forlorn wretches, one far gone in consump- 
 tion, the other utterly disabled by rheumatism, were 
 brought to the door by comrades not much better off 
 than themselves. They had an order from the Al- 
 calde. My friend was to " render them all immedi- 
 ately necessary relief, and attend them professionally 
 at their lodgings ; he would also provide them with 
 the proper medicines, nursing, and nourishment, 
 and charge the City for the same, according to the 
 regulations provided in such cases."
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraflt. 207 
 
 "Nowhere," said my friend, "is the beauty of be- 
 ing a doctor in good standing in this golden anomaly 
 of a city, called San Francisco. These men, being 
 sick, destitute, friendless, and completely wretched, 
 apply to the Alcalde for relief There is no public 
 hospital, no hospital fund, no city-physician. The 
 Alcalde cannot quarter them on the Town Council, 
 for the simple reason that the Town Council is here 
 to-day and gone to-morrow, their tenure of office being 
 regulated for the most part by the vicissitudes of 
 business in their respective vocations — lightering, 
 mule-driving, peddling, or bar-keeping, as the case 
 may be. He cannot convert the Town Hall into a 
 hospital ; for what was a rum-shop yesterday will, as 
 likely as not, be a church to-morrow. lie can hardly 
 share his own couch with them; since, even if its 
 dimensions were more liberal than they are, soft planks 
 are but poorl}^ adapted to the joints of this man or the 
 lungs of that. So he sends them to me, to be bedded 
 and boarded, as tliough I were Abraham's bosom, 
 and had a natural aHinity for old sores and purulent 
 expectoration. 1 am to i)rovidc them with the noees-
 
 2o8 The New. 
 
 sarj medicines, nursing, and nourishment ; that means 
 that I am to clothe, nurse, and cook for them, till thej 
 die or get well, at my proper expense, for the plea- 
 sure and fame of my own beneficence. And I am to 
 attend them professionally at their lodgings; that 
 means that I am to perform perilous navigation 
 through the municipal quagmires two or three times 
 daily or nightly, as may be required, to a hide tent 
 in Happy Yalley — so called because it is the most 
 unhappy locality on God's earth — or the loft of a 
 Sydney convict's hell at Clarke's Point. And I am to 
 charge them to the City ; that means that I am to pre- 
 sent my humble bill a great many times to the Town 
 Council, whose 'petitioner will ever pray,' etc. ; by the 
 time I have become quite desperate and have exhausted 
 my resources of interest, bribes, and blasphemy, they 
 will refer it to a long succession of special committees, 
 to be audited — each committee cordially voting me a 
 bore, wishing me, and my accounts, and my benevo- 
 lence, and my grievances, all at the devil together ; at 
 last some verdant committee man, who has not been 
 long in the business, will get my bill passed, by divid-
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Knifft. 209 
 
 ing the total by two ; and linall\', the Comptroller will 
 {)Ut the crowning glory on the whole, by ordering me 
 to be paid in city script, at lil'ty cents ou the dollar. 
 Some thousands of dollars in the vocative, I shall con- 
 sole myself with my lirst-rate grievance, and count 
 on eloquent sympathy, and public meetings, and the 
 thanks of public-spirited people, while my patients, 
 rheumatic, phthisical, and the rest, will vote me a 
 rapacious villain, and seriously discuss the expediency 
 of lynching me. That, briefly summed up, is just 
 what this paper means." 
 
 " But the regulations," I asked — " ' according tu 
 the regulations in such cases provided ' — what does 
 that mean ?" 
 
 " That means the Alcalde's authority, vested in him 
 by the Town Council at my expense, to send my for- 
 lorn friends here to sleep in my bed and share my 
 pot-luck. So, if 3'ou have indulged in any friendly 
 hopes that, because my practice is worth from eighty 
 to a hundred dollars a day, I shall go home with a 
 splendid pile in a few steamers, please remember this 
 paper, consider the price of blankets and board — to
 
 21 o The New. 
 
 saj notliing of my own boot-leather — and moderate 
 your transports." 
 
 " Why not make a statement of the matter, in the 
 light in which you are now presenting it to me, to 
 the Town Council, in person?" 
 
 " So I did. ' Gentlemen,' said I, ' do you take me 
 for Sam Brannan, or Burgoyne's Bank, or Mr. Stein- 
 berger, or the Mariposa diggins ? Is your servant a 
 whole row of front water-lots on Clarke's Point, that 
 he should do this munificent duty ?' — And they called 
 me to order." 
 
 "With this sally, my droll friend turned to his 
 patients, whom — having ascertained the exact nature 
 and gravity of their ailments, and provided them with 
 medicines — he presently dismissed with a few cheering 
 words, some money, and an order for food and lodg- 
 ings. Then, rejoining me, he resumed the rather 
 comical story of his troubles. 
 
 In the midst of it, a gentleman entered, whose 
 peculiar appearance I noted with interest then, and 
 have ever vividly remembered since: a man of 
 medium stature, slender, but very graceful" with
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraffh. 211 
 
 almost elTeminate feet and hands — the former neatly 
 shod, the latter scrupulously kept, and with a certain 
 appearance of fragility ; very soft blue eyes, sleepily 
 curtained with drooping lids; a classically correct 
 nose; short upper lip; a light moustache of some- 
 what military cut, precisely trimmed; rosy, moist, 
 sensuous lips; a most fine lower jaw and chin; hair 
 light, thin, straight, and soft as a child's. His clothes, 
 which he wore with an officer-like air, consisted of a 
 claret-colored coat, neither dress nor frock, but mixed 
 of both fashions, with a velvet collar and brass 
 buttons ; a black velvet vest, double-breasted ; iron- 
 gray pantaloons ; fresh, well-starched, and very fine 
 linen ; plain black cravat, tied with a kind of pictu- 
 resque negligence; a cambric handkerchief of fasti- 
 dious texture, and dark brown kid gloves. He wore 
 gold spectacles, and carried a Malacca cane, with an 
 elaborately carved gold head, having his name and a 
 date on the top, which suggested some memorable 
 occasion, perhaps a compliment, and a presentation. 
 His complexion was unnaturally flushed, or rather 
 stained, as though by a refined intemperance. lie
 
 212 The New. 
 
 bad a singular trick of caressing his hps, even prettily, 
 with the tip of his tongue, between his talk ; and when 
 be spoke his chin trembled, like that of a man whose 
 nerves are unstrung, who is more or less spasmodically 
 inclined. And yet there was a most rare deliberation, 
 gentleness, and a graceful composure in his manner, 
 as of one who, to use his own favorite and frequent 
 expression, never " fashed himself." His attitudes 
 were simply chosen and full of sense — liis gestures 
 few, quiet, and a little quaint — the whole man bred to 
 the most polished courtliness, and expert in the ma- 
 nagement of his polite machinery. And yet, there 
 was a degree of devil-may-careness about him, evi- 
 dently not recently acquired, which made you curious 
 to know him better; for in that, plainly, you were to 
 look for the nature of the man — the rest came of his 
 education and closest associations. In his figure was 
 a decided stoop, which to your least examination 
 betrayed the elegant debauchee. This stoop, you 
 perceived, could not be of long standing, for he was 
 unmistakably conscious of it. Nor was it even a 
 defect — he carried it with such a pleasant air, as one
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraift. 
 
 213 
 
 who thought "scapegrace" of himself. And yet it 
 imparted to liiiii the appearance of more years than 
 
 
 hu had — lor thougli 
 i but thirty -seven, as I 
 learned, he passed for 
 ten 3-ears older — and, 
 with the complicity of 
 the gold spectacles, be- 
 trayed him into being 
 
 called, behind his back only, by a few graceless and 
 
 irreverent youths, " Old Kraflft."
 
 214 '^^^ New. 
 
 His talk was fluent, liis words well chosen, the 
 brokenness of his English rather in the deliberation of 
 his utterance, the slow procession of his words — which 
 had a perceptible interval between them, as though 
 they were measured off with dashes — than in any 
 vice of grammar or pronunciation. "When he speaks, 
 my reader will try to remember this. His utterance 
 was just that which, to me, has always seemed best 
 adapted to convey the ideas of Kurz Pacha in the 
 Potiphar Papers. " ' This is the way to take life, my 
 dear. Let us go gent-ly. Here we go back-wards 
 and for- wards. You tick-le, and I'll tick-le, and we'll 
 all tick-le — and here we go round, round, round-y !' 
 We will not fash ourselves"— comically beating time 
 with both his white hands. 
 
 Mr. Kraflft had come to take the Doctor to a poor 
 devil he had in his bed at home, who — for all that his 
 lungs were ruined, and he hadn't any friends or any 
 money — had a notion that he'd like to live a httlc 
 longer. 
 
 " We'll go presently," said the Doctor. " But sit 
 you down now, Krafft, and hear what I was just say-
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. 219 
 
 iiig to my iViond here ; for you'll be sure to get into 
 the Town Council, if it ever happens to be worth your 
 while ; and then you'll be put on one of my special 
 committees, and rather than fash yourself with invent- 
 ing excuses to put me off, you'll have me paid, and 
 do something for my rheumatics and consumptives 
 besides." 
 
 And then, resuming his story, with even more of 
 melancholy drollery than before, he soon made the 
 affable German sympathetically sensible of the WTongs 
 that were put upon him. 
 
 " Where," inquired Mr. Krafft, " are these new 
 patients you speak of — the person with the lungs, 
 and the other person with the joints, I mean— now i" 
 
 " Oh, close by — at Ay-cow's, the Chinaman's chop- 
 house." 
 
 " Let us go get them. "We will lay them before 
 the Alcalde immediatcl}'. I think he will audit and 
 pass them very quickly, without waiting for the meet- 
 ing of the Council or your special committee." 
 
 And ^fr. Krafft arose, and passed out, as though all 
 he meant was very apparent, and very easy to do,
 
 2i6 The New. 
 
 and nobody need fasli himself with the why or how 
 of it. 
 
 " Come along," said the Doctor to me ; " I've no 
 idea what he's np to ; but he'll do something out of 
 the common, and it will be pretty sure to be the best 
 thing to do under the circumstances. It is not fair to 
 ' fash' him beforehand." 
 
 In a short time we had dragged our astonished in- 
 valids from their rude bunks, or rather pens, over 
 Ay-cow's feeding-place, and, one on each arm of our 
 German friend, were conducting them in solemn pro- 
 cession to the Alcalde's office. It was mid-day, and 
 his Honor was in all the pride, pomp, and circum- 
 stance of full court — a time most opportune for the 
 purposes of Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. Pushing, with 
 his bewildered proteges, straight to the green table in 
 front of the judge's bench, he abruptly interrupted 
 the business of the court with a characteristic address : i^ 
 
 " Your Honor, and Gentlemen : — We are very sick, 
 and hungry, and helpless, and wretched. If some- 
 body does not do something for us, we shall die ; and 
 that will be hard, considering how far we have come,
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. 217 
 
 and lidw liard it was to get licre, and how sliort a time 
 we have been here, and that wc liave not had a fair 
 cliance. All wc ask is a fair chance; and wc say 
 again, upon our honor, Gentlemen, if somebody does 
 not do something for us, we shall die, by God ! AVe 
 have told the Town Council so, and offered to prove 
 it ; but they were busy running streets through their 
 own lots, and laying out grave-yards in everybody's 
 else's, and sq, you see, they wouldn't fash themselves 
 with our case. Our friend, the doctor here, will tell 
 you all about us. He hopes you will take us up, and 
 pass us at once ; and he thinks, as we do, that if 
 something isn't done for us, very soon, we shall be 
 setting fire to the town first, and then cutting all our 
 own throats." 
 
 " This is an extraordinary piece of business. Doctor; 
 what does it all mean?" inquired his Honor. 
 
 So the Doctor told over again his story, as he liad 
 told it to us a little while before — only this time he 
 delivered it with more gravity, indeed with a telling 
 touch of pathos, and a dash of indignant expostula- 
 tion. And at the close, ^fr. Krafft, catching and turn-
 
 2i8 The New. 
 
 ing to quick account, the popular mood, as tlie rapidly 
 increasing and curious crowd, moved hj tlie Doctor's 
 tale, closed around his proteges, pitying, scolding, and 
 advising, all at once — Mr. Krafft, taking off his cap 
 and throwing three ounces into it, said : 
 
 " Gentlemen, we head the subscription for our own 
 relief with fifty dollars ; and as there are a great many 
 of us we need a great many ounces. But we tell you 
 again, if something is not done for ns, we shall die in 
 the streets, and then we shall all smell very bad, and 
 everybody will become affected with typhus fever, 
 and we shall set fire to the city and cut our throats," 
 
 So saying, he held out his cap with a bow, and a 
 winning smile, to the crowd. In a very few minutes, 
 it was almost full of ounces. Pouring them out on 
 the table, in a careless, generous heap, he said : 
 
 "There, Mr. Alcalde — we lend you those. In a 
 few days we shall come to ask what use you have 
 made of them. And you can say to the Council for 
 us, that if they have no time for such cases as ours, 
 they need not fash themselves about water-lots or 
 street improvements."
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. 219 
 
 Then lie led out his invalids in triumjoh — "approved 
 and ordered to be paid," as he said ; and as he con- 
 ducted them across the Plaza toward Sacramento 
 street, he was followed by three hearty cheers. 
 
 The appropriation of a hospital fund, and the first 
 steps towards the founding of a City Hospital, followed 
 closely upon Mr. Kraft's coup de main. 
 
 Going, one day, aboard an American barque, just 
 in after a long and ugly voyage, Mr. Krafft found an 
 insane passenger, who had not tasted food for several 
 days, nor spoken for several weeks. Our queer friend 
 became at once warmly interested in the case: an 
 interest, indeed, which he evinced for every man 
 whose equanimity was violently disturbed, or who 
 had fashed himself to such excess as to go crazy — 
 seeming to regard him, from a purely scientific stand- 
 point, as a phenomenon not to be slighted by the 
 philosophic mind. Mr. Krafft asked many questions 
 about the crazy passenger, and the spirit of his 
 investigations conciliating all the rest, he was over- 
 whelmed with officious information. From some 
 bushels of foolish gabble he sifted a grain or two of
 
 220 The New. 
 
 useful fact — sucli as that the man, an Irishman, had 
 been a laborer, very industrious and trustworthy — 
 a sort of head man or overseer of shovel-and-pick 
 gangs on railroads and canals; that he had been 
 ambitious, and had set his heart on rising to the post 
 of contractor — and so on. 
 
 Mr. Krafft at once conceived the idea of curing this 
 man. Requesting to be left alone with him for a 
 while, he took a seat beside him, and talked — quietly, 
 kindly, very naturally — of his old pursuits, asking no 
 questions, not seeming to be aware of his companion's 
 witlessness, indeed compelling himself to quite forget 
 that. At first his efforts were rewarded only with the 
 same vacant stare which had repaid the more bene- 
 volent of the poor fellow's comrades, who had already 
 endeavored to inspire him with an idea or a remem- 
 brance. But presently, when Mr. Krafft began to 
 talk of splendid contracts, of millions of dollars' worth 
 of work — of whole streets to be graded, and founda- 
 tions to be dug, and an army of barrows, and shovels, 
 and picks, the command of which he requested his 
 crazy friend to accept — the man's eye brightened, and,
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraflt. 221 
 
 laying liis liaiul in ^^^. KraOl's, he said in a l<nv Ijiit 
 decided tone, "I'll do it." 
 
 Then Mr. Kralft, assuming the responsibility for 
 his safety — wliicli, by the same token, they of the 
 ship were willing to resign, .seeing that on the voyage 
 out, the man, taking mnbrage at something, liad held 
 the mate over the rail by the waistband, while the 
 ship was going twelve knots an hour — bade him 
 eomc with him; and philosopher and madman went 
 ashore together in a small boat. 
 
 The white Sehool-house, near the Old Adobe, was 
 the headquarters of the poliee then. It was on the 
 w^est side of the Plaza, overlooking the heart of the 
 young city and its busiest life. Thither Mr. Kralft 
 conducted his crazy Iriend, and showing him the 
 ground in front of the little building — indeed, in the 
 very midst of what is now Portsmouth Square — told 
 him his operations were to begin there. Then calling 
 up a few' policemen, whom with a word or two he 
 inducted into the secret, he \mi them under the onlei's 
 of his madman, and bade them bring shovels and 
 picks — at the same time suggesting to the devil-pos-
 
 222 The New. 
 
 sessed digger tliat it would be as well to break ground 
 at once, as the rest of his working force, some thou- 
 sands of able-bodied fellows, would be on hand 
 presently. 
 
 Not a word spake the madman — not a word had 
 he uttered, since he said "I'll do it" — ^but flinging 
 down his coat and hat, silently, with eyes wild, and 
 teeth set, he went to work. Beautiful ! how evenly, 
 how steadily, how swiftly yet how fusslessly, he 
 cleared the ground before him, tossing the fljang 
 shovelfuls with the flirt of a nimble gravemaker ! 
 
 " Beautiful !" cried Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft, exulting 
 in the success of his experiment, " beautiful ! we are 
 a trifle crack-brained, to be sure ; but for digging we 
 are worth a dozen philosophers yet — worth a hun- 
 dred of some sorts of fellows who never had their 
 little gusts of madness, never knew the luxury of 
 returning reason. When this is through with, we 
 shall be hungry, and then we shall eat ; after that we 
 shall feel congenial, and then we shall talk — shall talk 
 ourselves to sleep, shall dream, and have memories 
 soothing and saving — shall awake, the sanest fellows
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph KrafFt. 223 
 
 in town, and never fash ourselves again about the 
 devils that are cast out." 
 
 Steadily "the subject" worked on, and the field of 
 his successes grew apace. But the Sun had laid his 
 heavy hand upon the bare head of the man, and was 
 down-bearing, more and more heavily, every moment, 
 upon his brain ; and a fiend flew along his veins and 
 heated ihem, and twitched at his nerves till they qui- 
 vered ; and his fancy became filled with hostile shapes, 
 as all the ground around was filled with curious spec- 
 tators; so that at last, brandishing his spade, he flung 
 himself upon the host before him, and the first man 
 he laid low was his friend, philosopher, and guide. 
 
 They bound hira down and gave him shower-baths, 
 and expostulated with him ; but he never spoke nor 
 ate again till he died. And :Mr. "Karl Joseph Kraff't 
 said, picking up his cane, that no confidence was to 
 be reposed in persons of that description ; all impetu- 
 ous people were fools, he said. 
 
 ^fr. Krafift was one of the few men who had a home 
 in San Francisco in Forty Nine; at least, he had a 
 comfortable abode, a fireside, and a knot of friends to
 
 224 The New. 
 
 gather round it, witli pipes and punch — ^to tell stories 
 and play whist, in the good old way. He had taken 
 a better sort of adobe house, on the corner of Dupont 
 and Pacific streets, and put it in good repair with 
 paint and plaster. Like all the adobe buildings of 
 old Yerba Buena, it had but one story. The entrance, 
 set fairly in the middle of the front, was on Pacific 
 street ; a narrow hall, from front to back door, divided 
 the house, so as to give one large sitting-room on 
 the right, and a smaller apartment, which was for a 
 bed-chamber, on the left, in front, with a kitchen be- 
 hind it. The sitting-room, hospitably furnished, was 
 Mr. Krafft's " spare room," and from the first he had 
 warmly entertained in it one after another of self- 
 appointed friends, or new but preferred acquaintances; 
 so that, indeed, it was never without an occupant. 
 His own apartment deserved to be styled luxurious, 
 for San Francisco then. It had a marble floor, alter- 
 nately tiled in black and white. The cornices showed 
 a rude attempt at carving. The fire-place was a very 
 throne of comfort. There was an English brass bed- 
 stead, which Mr. Krafft, being justly proud of it, kept
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. 225 
 
 in a superfine state of brightness A blue silk cover- 
 let — the handiwork of his absent wife, no doubt — 
 adorned the bed ; and over that again, were laid two 
 curious spotted skins, which came, he said, from Pata- 
 gonia. There w\as an oaken chest of drawers, and a 
 flawless old looking-glass ; large camphor-wood chests, 
 of genuine Canton manufacture, brass-bound and 
 painted blue, were disposed about the room. On the 
 walls hung portraits in oil of himself and his Maria — ~ 
 most lovely ! — and an unfinished sketch in water co- 
 lors, of his three children, in graceful group. A 
 Wesson rifle stood in the corner next the door; a 
 Mexican saddle and head-stall, with serape, lariat, and 
 spurs, hung on large wooden pegs near the foot of the 
 bed. A cavalry sabre was between the windows, and 
 a pair of German duelling-pistols, hung, crossed, 
 against the wall, within the curtains, at the back part 
 of the bed. Near the head of the bed, and always 
 within reach of the arm of its occupant, stood an 
 empty barrel, over the top of which a sort of shawl 
 was thrown. ITore lay at all times a loaded pistol, 
 also of German make, having a curiously mounted
 
 226 The New. 
 
 and inlaid stock ; and here, every night, on retiring 
 to bed, Mr. Krafft placed his watch, a valuable dia- 
 mond ring and pin, some rare and curiously shaped 
 specimens of gold, and whatever papers of value he 
 may have had about his person that day. 
 
 When I knew Mr. Krafft, he was quite happy in 
 this home of his. On returning from his afternoon 
 ride to the Mission or the Presidio, which he regu- 
 larly took when the day's business was over, he was 
 wont to amuse himself with pistol practice at his 
 back door; or he would take up the foils with some 
 friend whose training had been German and military. 
 Feats of strength and skill had always a peculiar 
 charm for Mr. Krafft. I have heard him boast that 
 he could stop a run-away horse with the pressure of 
 his knees, and I have seen him disarm an antagonist 
 of acknowledged expertness, with a nice movement 
 of the wrist, most difficult to acquire. 
 
 One night, as he was returning late from the Plaza, 
 where he had been recreating himself with monte, a 
 party of Hounds, having attacked some Chilian tents 
 on Dupont street, were driving out the inmates, and
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraftt 227 
 
 setting fire to their canvas shelter. Some five or six 
 
 of thcra had a hapless Chilcna girl among them, and 
 
 hustling her brutally about, were quarrelling noisily 
 
 for possession of her much coveted person. Mr. 
 
 Krafft, with his gold-headed cane, felled four of 
 
 thcni, to their extreme astonishment; and though, 
 
 when the rest recovered from the shock, they fired 
 
 their revolvers at him in the dark, he got off safely 
 
 with the girl and led her tenderly to his own home. 
 
 There he sootlied her terror and consoled her grief, 
 
 in his characteristic way, before returning to seek for 
 
 her friends: "We must not cry," said he — "we must 
 
 not distract our little bniins. So our bones or our 
 
 hearts are not broken, we will not fash ourselves 
 
 about the money, and the clotiies, and the rest of the 
 
 folks— 
 
 'lo son ricco, 
 Tu sei bella.' " 
 
 And afterward, when the affiiir got to be talked of to 
 his honor, the skill and dispatch with which the res- 
 cue had been cfTected were all tliat Mr. Krafft asked 
 
 to be a])pLuuk'(l for.
 
 228 The New. 
 
 For a time I liad much pleasure in the society of 
 mj eccentric friend. The striking quaintness of his 
 character enhanced the charm of his conversation, 
 which was full of unusual experiences, versatility of 
 accomplishment, originality of opinion, delicacy of 
 taste, refinement of sensibility, and a good-natured, 
 even comical j)hilosophy, which had in it a kind of 
 universal quien sahe for all subjects and people. ISTot 
 to fosh ourselves, was the advice which Mr. Krafft 
 was for ever benevolently bestowing upon us, because 
 he sincerely believed he had himself derived great 
 advantage from steadily following it. So long as 
 matters went towardly with him, his companionship 
 was a privilege that I enjoyed with even a degree of 
 jealousy; and on Sunday afternoons, as we walked 
 to the old Switzer's house at "Washerwoman's Bay, or 
 the extemporaneous grave-yaj'd at the foot of Tele- 
 graph Hill, and he amused, flattered, delighted, in- 
 structed, impressed, sadly moved me, in quick succes- 
 sion or all at once, I simply wondered how such a 
 man came to be speculating in Pacific street lots, and 
 cudgelling Hounds by way of a sandwich.
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. 229 
 
 But a sudden, dreadlVil, and comjiletc cliango canio, 
 no one knew whence, over the for-a-timo quiet, if not 
 eminently beneficent, life of Mr. Karl Joseph Krafl't. 
 lie seemed to have suffered a shame or a hurt from 
 an unknown liand, and to l)e feeling blindly, desper- 
 atel}', about for revenge — and as a rage-drunk man 
 will, hurting himself more and more at every turn. 
 
 lie plunged stupidly into speculations, with little 
 heed to the depth or current of them. With cards 
 and dice, roulette wheels and rondo balls, he fooled 
 himself to the top of his bent. lie untuned the 
 strings of his heart, so that the most skilful touches 
 of his kindest friends could produce nothing but dis- 
 cord- He wounded all who loved him, and when 
 they turned away their faces, in sorrow for his shame- 
 ful pass, sang, maudlin, his favorite song, the beauti- 
 ful duet in Lucia, the invariable music of his cups — 
 
 " Verranno la suU' aure, 
 I miei sospiii ardenti." 
 
 He entertained traitors, and the cunning foes of his 
 prosperity, to the very bottom of his purse ; they laid
 
 230 The New. 
 
 him " down among the dead men" nightly. Indeed, 
 he bleared his eyes and bemuddled his brains with 
 everlasting drams, till the devil of Delirium Tremens 
 got among his poor wits. 
 
 One night, during the progress of one of his most 
 desperate debauches, fearing some harm might befall 
 liim, from liimself or others — for besides his rascally 
 boon-companions, there were deceived creditors, who 
 were dangerously incensed against him — I slept on 
 the floor at the foot of his bed. Awakened, after 
 midnight, by his piteous moaning, I arose, and was 
 feeling about in the dark for a match, when he sud- 
 denly became quiet; but presently the profound still- 
 ness and darkness were disturbed by the crack of a 
 cap ; and a slight flash. He had stealthily got down 
 one of his loaded pistols, and had tried to fire at me ; 
 fortunately, only the cap snapped — the weapon was 
 foul and hung fire. "My dear sir," said I, very 
 quietly, knowing my man — "don't shoot me; that 
 would be supremely stupid." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear, good friend — is it you ? I con- 
 gratulate you. Diable! do you know, I had yon
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. 
 
 231 
 
 covcrctl, dciul. That ouly shows thiit one shouM not 
 fash himself nervously about thieves, where no 
 thieves are. But I must clean my pistols." 
 
 About this time his door was 
 besieged from morning till night 
 by fierce duns. He kept the bolts 
 fast, and while they cursed with- 
 out, lay in bed, smoking cigars, tossing off goblets of 
 champagne, laughing, coughing, raving, singing —
 
 232 The New. 
 
 " ' lo son ricco, 
 Tu sei bella,' 
 Tra, la, la, la, h'm-dle, d'm. 
 
 " What impatient people ! 
 
 " ' Quale amore, 
 Un Senatore 
 Me d'amore 
 
 Supplicar ! 
 Ma Zanetto 
 E un giovinetto 
 
 Che mi place, vo sposar.' " 
 
 One evening, about dusk, when the rest had de- 
 parted, tired with their fruitless coaxing and cursing, 
 a young man in whose generous confidence Mr. 
 Krafft had formerly held the highest place, who had 
 endorsed for him recklessly, whom indeed Krafft 
 loved, but whom he had ruined — if a man could be 
 ruined in California in Forty -Nine — came, and in set 
 phrases of insult, most deliberately, skilfully cruel, 
 accused, condemned, punished him. They had been 
 old and very intimate friends, which gave the credi-
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Krattl. 233 
 
 tor an almost drcadiul advantage; he know tlie 
 " raws" of his man, and be tore tliem, till Mr. K;irl 
 Joseph KrafTt could have shrieked. But he gallantly 
 preserved his habitual composure, and only said — 
 
 " If you will not stop saying such dangerous 
 things, I have pistols at hand, and wo must go behind 
 the house together." 
 
 "No, sir!" the other answered; "I won't fight you; 
 you must learn to be honest before you can afford to 
 be brave. There is but one just debt, Mr. Krafft, tliat 
 you will ever pay, and that's the debt of nature. 
 Make society and your disgusted friends the only 
 reparation in your power, by blowing your brains 
 out with those very pistols you flourish so saucily." 
 
 " Well, I'll think about it," said Mr. Krafft. 
 
 The young man was going. But suddenly, by a 
 most strange impulse, he turned, and walking straight 
 to Mr. Krafft, said, " Forgive me, sir." 
 
 " We will forgive each other," said Mr. Krafft — 
 " Good night! I will pay you in the morning." 
 
 Next morning, at nine o'clock, Mr. Karl Joseph 
 Ki-afftblew out his brains — litei'ally, all of his brains.
 
 234 The New. 
 
 But a little while after his angrj young creditor 
 had taken his singular leave, Mr. Krafft sent for the 
 pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, which was 
 then but a tent on a neighboring lot. On the arrival 
 of the clergyman, he informed him that, having been 
 much in ill health of late, he thought it possible his 
 death might be sudden, and he wished, on the score 
 of prudence, to take steps, at once, to secure some 
 property to his family, then living in Valparaiso. He 
 wished the clergyman to be the executor of his will, 
 and if he would call on him the next morning at 
 eight o'clock, he would have all the papers prepared, 
 and would commit them to his charge. 
 
 " They think I have forgotten my angel and my 
 darlings," said he, " but let them not fash themselves; 
 they shall see" — smiling, and pointing most signifi- 
 cantly to the floor as he spoke; as it were, em- 
 phasizing his words with his long, thin finger — " they 
 shall see, sir — they shall see." 
 
 Mr. Krafft, after that, entertained some friends at 
 his room, most agreeably. 
 
 Next morning, an accident called off the reverend
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraffr. 235 
 
 gentleman, and ho missed the appointed hour. LLis 
 services were never required. 
 
 In the " spare room," Mr. KralTt had two guests, 
 who were seated at breakfast, when they heard the 
 report of a pistol in their host's apartment. They 
 flew to his door ; it was locked. Running into the 
 street, they looked through the only window they 
 could find open. The room was full of smoke. 
 They waited, and strained their eyes. Presently, they 
 said, they could see the couch and Mr. Kraflft ; he was 
 sitting up in bed, his eyes open, his mouth open ; ** he 
 was rolling his head from side to side — but there was 
 no top to ■itf'' 
 
 This was the report thc}^ made to me a few minutes 
 later. For I lived hard by, and as an intimate friend 
 of the suicide, they had recourse at once to me 
 Although I lost no time, I found a crowd had already, 
 gathered about the spot when I reached Mr. Kraift's 
 door. AVe forced the lock, and I entered alone. My 
 Goil! lie was sitting up in bed — his moutli wide 
 open, and quite l)lack williin — one eye fast closed, the 
 other staring. JIo had taken a deliberate position in
 
 236 The New. 
 
 the middle of tlie bed, and propped himself against 
 the brass cross-bars which formed the head-board. 
 His rifle lay on his body, the stock resting on the 
 back of a chair, the muzzle on his breast. He had 
 taken down one of the rods which supported his 
 curtains, to touch the trigger with ; that now lay beside 
 the rifle. He had forgotten that the weapon was not 
 charged ; he had fired it at a mark but a day or two 
 before, to display its extraordinary force to some 
 visitor. 
 
 He had tried his pistols also ; for they lay by his 
 side with freshly snapped caps on the nipples. They 
 also were empty. He had discharged them at the 
 same time with the rifle 
 
 The pistol which lay always on the barrel remained. 
 With that he had succeeded. The charge had not 
 been changed for many months, and the explosion 
 had, consequently, been terrific. He had fired with 
 the muzzle at his temple. The whole of the top of 
 his skull was shot away, completely and cleanly, as 
 medical students, in dissection, saw it away to get at 
 the brains. Fragments of the skull, with hair at-
 
 Mr. Karl Joseph Kraft't. 237 
 
 tiiclicd, were liaiiging from tlie walls on every side, 
 and from the ceiling in the farthest corner. The wall 
 behind the head was blackened, and bespattered with 
 brains and Ijlood ; the brains lay, every ounce of 
 them, in a pool of warm bhjod, on the floor. 
 
 No will was found, no coin, no gold dust. Remem- 
 l)ering the signifieance of the gesture described by 
 the clerg3^man, we took up the marble floor — nothing. 
 His "friends" all rol)bed the dead man; every buz- 
 zard of them carried off a fragment. One of his pen- 
 sioners in the spare room accepted a costly Spanish 
 mantle for his share ; the other deigned to be content 
 with the brilliant breast-pin. Two days after his 
 funeral, even the portraits disappeared from the 
 walls. 
 
 No living man knows who the thieves were, or 
 where is the uimiarked grave of Karl Joseph KrafFt. 
 Mr, KrafFt himself will, no doubt, clear up all for us 
 some day. According to the spiritualistics, he has 
 been heard from already.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OVER THE PAHRI: 
 
 A FRAGMENTARY LEGEND OF SAN FRANCISCO. 
 
 While as yet there remained a sentiment of Sun- 
 dayness in its season to the suburbs of San Francisco, 
 before that sordid, thankless El Dorado had hustled 
 the green fields on the north, with all their home- 
 suggestiveness, all their ways of pleasantness and 
 paths of peace, into the Bay ; while as yet the Pre- 
 sidio, the Lagoon, or the Mission San Dolores was full 
 of picturesque recreation for hebdomadal excursion- 
 ists, who, for an hour of congenial companionship, or 
 delicious aloneness, might give their hearts an airing, 
 and treat themselves to a brimmer of the old familiar 
 feelings, putting the Satan-City behind them; while 
 as yet the comfortable Dutch clock ticked conserva-
 
 Over the Pahri. 239 
 
 tivcly, as if for all time, in the old Switzer's house 
 hard by Washerwoman's Bay, and that hospitable 
 gray-beard laid the solid board with pork and greens 
 of his own raising, and the fat Fran Mamma set the 
 musical-box going, and said if Captain Sutter would 
 only drop in now, " dat was pesser as coot be ;" while 
 as yet Frank Schaeffer had a chop and hot punch, and 
 a gentlemanly game, and a "shake-down" for his 
 friends, in the snug adobe cottage whither no insolent 
 street had come ; while as yet there was a small but 
 commodious grave-yard to get away to, wherein you 
 might lie, if so disposed, without crowding, and be 
 readily found as often as any sentimental friend might 
 think your rude head-board worth the walk and a 
 sigh ; while as yet the presence of the First Lady illu- 
 mined Frank Ward's home at night, and blessed the 
 darkness round about it : in those days, I took Mr. 
 Karl Joseph Krafft by the hand every Sunday after- 
 noon, and said to him: 
 
 " Come thou with me — 
 If from gray dawn to solemn night's approach
 
 240 The New. 
 
 Thy soul hath wasted all its better thoughts, 
 Toiling and panting for a Uttle gold, 
 Drudging amid the very lees of life 
 For this accursed slave that makes men slaves- 
 Come thou with me into the pleasant fields : 
 Let nature breathe on us and make us free." 
 
 And so we made our Sabbaths — in giddy eques- 
 trian scamperings to the Presidio or the Mission ; or 
 sitting on a great stone, paddling with our naked feet 
 in the waters of the North Bay ; or pantingly climb- 
 ing Telegraph-Hill, to take the seaward and rnoun- 
 tainward views from its summit ; or leaning over the 
 rude railing of some rare inclosure in that true type 
 of a frontier grave-yard, almost enjoying the precious 
 quiet of the dead, released from the hurly-burly that 
 fairly drove us living distraught. 
 
 There was naught more Californian in our quick 
 experience of the metropolitanish bustle at our backs, 
 than in this necropolis of Forty-Nine. It num- 
 bered not many citizens as yet, for only the richest of 
 us could afford the luxury of extramural interment, 
 with its sentiment of privacy, and plausible security
 
 Over the Pahri. 241 
 
 from disturbance. A grave cost sixty dollars, and 
 one got but a clumsy liolc at that price ; a cuflin of 
 the roughest boards not less than thirty, and }our 
 hasty hearsing in a mule-cart as much more; a priest, 
 if you must be extravagant, taxed you an ounce or two, 
 and it was but short measure of farewell benediction 
 you got for your money : as for your " Earth to earth. 
 Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust," a practical demonstration 
 of the formula, by the most irreverent of shovel-flirters, 
 came to ten dollars ; and your lop-sided cross or 
 rough-hewn head-board, of knotty pine, painted white, 
 and inscribed by the least expert of black-letterers Avith 
 
 the little that was known of you, (" Smith, 
 
 Maryland; aged — . Died, July 4th, 1849,") was an 
 "ounce" for monument and legend. 
 
 So we showed but few tablets in memory of us ; 
 for, however munificent we Old Californians may 
 have been in our golden lives, we stood no nonsense 
 in our iron deaths. 
 
 Nor was our thriving little City of the Dead by any 
 means sacredly forbidden to the sacrilegious shifts 
 of unscrupulous speculators; for, gentlemen's sons
 
 242 The New. 
 
 "cleaned out at monte," or otherwise " dead broke," 
 were wont to live on corpses at a pinch, selling readj- 
 made graves, guaranteed against squatters, to other 
 gentlemen's sons deader broke than themselves, for 
 three ounces apiece. And when "Bones," of the 
 " Aguila de Oro," bethought him of investing his sur- 
 plus pile in a hearse and pall, with the appropriate 
 "properties," he found he had "struck as pretty a 
 streak of luck," he said, " as the next man could 
 scare up." 
 
 "Now, why should we fash ourselves," homilied 
 the philosophic KrafPfc among the streets of that Silent 
 City: "why should we fash ourselves for Colton- 
 grants and government-reserves, and sites at the head 
 of navigation ? Are we not nice and dead, and com- 
 fortably disposed, as gentlemen of independent leisure, 
 who may take their ease in their snuggest of inns ? 
 '\Vhy should we fash ourselves for our twelve per 
 cent, a month, and our collateral securities ? or for the 
 unceremonious fellows who will be squatting on our 
 darling fifty- varas, regardless of Spanish titles and 
 American revolvers ? Why should we fash ourselves
 
 Over the Pahri. 
 
 243 
 
 for the price of lumber that is rising, or the fire tliat is 
 waiting for our flimsy tenement, or the rent that is 
 not paid, or our heart that would surely have been 
 broken by-and-by ? Are we not commodiously quar- 
 tered here, and every way cosily and decently 
 arranged ? Are not our lodgings of the cheapest, and 
 our fare free, and our landlord liberal, and ourselves 
 at rest — nice and dead, nice and buried ? Is not our 
 claim sure ? Why should we fash ourselves ? 
 
 " ' Thy house is not 
 Highly timbered : 
 It is unhigh and low. 
 When thou art therein, 
 The heel-ways are low, 
 The side-ways unhigh ; 
 The roof is built 
 Thy breast full nigh : 
 So thou shalt in mould 
 DweU full cold, 
 Dimly and dark. 
 Thus thou art laid, 
 And leavest thy friends : 
 Thou hast no friend
 
 244 The New. 
 
 Who will come to thee, 
 
 Who will ever see 
 
 How that house pleaseth thee — 
 
 Who will ever open 
 
 The door for thee, 
 
 And descend after thee.' 
 
 ''Mais, que voidez vous ? Thou hast made thy for- 
 tune, thy pile of dust : why shoulclst thou fash thy- 
 self?" asked Mr. Karl Joseph Krafift. " Yesterday," 
 he said, " I bought a water-lot — that top-sail schooner 
 lies at anchor there ; but for all that, here's a butter- 
 fly. Yesterday my bark came from Valparaiso, and 
 brought me a cargo of ponchos and scrapes. No sale 
 for ponchos and scrapes; but what of that? there 
 goes a fellow singing — 
 
 " ' I set my heart upon nothing, you see : 
 Hurrah !' 
 
 " Why should we fash ourselves ?" 
 
 Thus to quote with an odd aptness, almost comical, 
 bits of quaint verse and snatches of foreign song, was 
 one of Mr. Krafft's peculiar accomplishments.
 
 Over the Paliri. 245" 
 
 Once, on one of these Sunday saunters, we were 
 returning townward from a visit to the old Switzer 
 already alluded to ; Mr. Krafft had been more than 
 usually characteristic and entertaining, fitting himself, 
 with his inllillible cosmopolitan faculty, to the place 
 and the occasion, with the grotesquest Alpine legends 
 and fug-ends of Tyrolese ditties ; now quizzing the 
 Dutch clock, now teasing the parrot ; anon gracious 
 to our revered host, or gallant to the comfortable //a z/, 
 and winning both simple hearts with eloquent praises 
 of their dear Captain Sutter, who, to their compa- 
 triotic pride, stood for everj'^thing that was great and 
 glorious. 
 
 As we leisurely followed the breezy road that is 
 now Sansome street, toward the cluster of canvas 
 houses and blue tents that formed the north-western 
 out-skirt of San Francisco then, we halted to contem- 
 plate a neat white cottage of tiled adobes that sto^d 
 apart from any other dwelling, in a refreshing garden- 
 spot cleared from the bush, on the right of, and a 
 little lower than the road. 
 
 A very fl}- in amber was that trenuMidous little
 
 246 The New. 
 
 homestead, and "how the devil it got there " the very 
 duet of wonder that rose to our hps. There was a 
 pretty white pahng in good repair, and two sun- 
 flowers and a hollyhock, and a plucky morning-glory 
 climbing desperately at the back-door ; and there was 
 a brood of adolescent fowls, and a demure dog, of 
 mastiff extraction but mild demeanor, somnolently 
 filling the sunniest of the flags that made the truly im- 
 posing pavement in front ; and there were drab paper 
 curtains of a chaste pattern at all the windows ; the 
 green paint of the doors was fresh and smart ; homely, 
 comfortable smoke ascended from the chimney, and 
 hung in fond delay over all the house ; and the de- 
 clining sun made a golden benediction at the portal. 
 
 As lost in astonished satisfaction we contemplated 
 this phenomenon in white-washed adobes, the tones 
 of a manly and cultivated voice — clear, ringing, and 
 measured, as of one reading aloud or reciting — saluted 
 our ears, and I recognised the quaint charm of 
 Eoscoe's " Dirge " : 
 
 " Oh ! dig a grave, and dig it deep, 
 Where I and my true-love may sleep 1
 
 Over the Pahri. 247 
 
 We'll dig a grave, and dig it deep, 
 Where thou and thy true-love shall sleep I 
 
 "And lot it be five fatliom low, 
 Where winter winds may never blow I 
 And it shall be five fathom low, 
 Where tvinter winds shall never How /" 
 
 By tlie time the voice had got thus far, the sympa- 
 thetic iiitcnigence of Mr. KjafFt had caught the trick 
 of tlie verse, albeit new to him — that weird echo of 
 repetition, its ding-dong-hellish burthen ; and descend- 
 ing lightly from the road, he stepped over the pros- 
 trate dog, that listlessly stirred its tail and pointed 
 one ear as he passed, and the next moment stood in 
 his oddest, but still graceful, attitude of philosophic 
 attention, at the door, which happened to be a hand's- 
 breadth ajar. The voice continued : 
 
 " And let it be on yonder hill, 
 Where grows the mountain-daffodil I 
 And it shaE he on yonder hill, 
 Where groivs the mountain-daffodil I" 
 
 And this timxi the refrain was rung in pairs, as it
 
 248 The New. 
 
 wei'e — Mr. Krafft joining the witch-like music of 
 his jDeculiar chaiiut, to complete that strange vocal 
 chime : 
 
 " The rhyming and the chiming of the bells." 
 
 For a minute the voice was still ; perhaps the reader 
 had paused to explain the mysterious phenomenon ; 
 but there was no stir within, and presently again, 
 very slowly, very clearly, as though to challenge or 
 invite the echo : 
 
 " And plant it round with holy briers, 
 To fright away the fairy fires 1" 
 
 With impressive deliberation and a most weird 
 remoteness of tone, that might have been ventrilo- 
 quial, Mr. Krafft responded, the voice within waiting 
 solemnly for the token : 
 
 " We'll plant it round with ho-ly briers, 
 To fright a-way the fai-ry fi-resT 
 
 " And set it round with celandine 
 And nodding heads of columbine !" 
 
 (Mr. Krafft — and so on to the end :)
 
 Over the Pahri. 249 
 
 " WeU set it round with cel-an-dine, 
 A nd nod-ding heads of col-um-bine.^' 
 
 " And let the ruddock build his nest 
 Just above my true-love's breast ! 
 The rud-dock he shall build his nest 
 Just a-hove thy true-love's breast I 
 
 •' Now, tender friends, my garments take, 
 And lay me out for Jesus' sake I 
 And we will now thy gar-ments take, 
 And lay thee out, for Jesus' sake ! 
 
 " When I am dead, and buried be, 
 Pray to God in heaven for me ! 
 Now thou art dead, tvell bury thee. 
 And pray to God in heaven for thee! 
 Benedicite I" 
 
 and the door was flung wide. Mr. Krafft bowed, 
 cap off, to an intellectual-looking man, of thirty years 
 perhaps, in dressing-gown and slippers, and with a 
 large carved meerschaum pipe in his hand. 
 
 " God save all here !" said Mr. KrafFt. 
 
 " You are welcome," responded the stranger, smil-
 
 250 
 
 The New. 
 
 ing. " It is to you, sir, then, that I am indebted for 
 my echo — a graceful trick, poetically conceived and 
 happily executed : my dirge were much too earthy 
 without it — the airy element so essential to complete 
 its sprightliness ; and you would seem to be the very 
 Ariel for the occasion. But how came you here ?" 
 
 " Merely idly, almost impertinently, sir. But you 
 have sights and sounds about you that one may not 
 easily get by, if his eye and ear be scholarly, and his 
 heart true to the old familiar memories. Sunflowers 
 and hollyhocks, cosy curtains and a genial chimney, 
 and the tenderest of lyrics delivered in the fine decla- 
 mation of a hel esprit, are not common-places as yet in 
 our El Dorado: they are the goldsmith's work, as 
 dainty and rococo as Benvenuto Cellini's, among our 
 crude ore. Is the Dirge your own ?" 
 
 " My own, sir ? Oh ! no : I am but the common 
 singer of another's rare strains. But enter — enter! 
 while I persuade the fire to join me in a cheerful 
 welcome; for these ungentle blasts from the sea, 
 which come every day another day too often, still 
 take one's blood by surprise."
 
 Over the Pahri. 251 
 
 " Let us congratulate ourselves," said Mr. Krafil 
 in a i)liiIosophic aside to me, as our interesting dis- 
 covery fell back from the d(jor : " it's to be hoped 
 he's cracked — one of those entertaining, ever-fresh 
 creatures known as ' madmen,' because they arc more 
 free than other men, and have a way of their own, 
 with their wise surprises, eloquent incoherences, and 
 other such intellectual zig-zagry. But let us not 
 flish ourselves for that yet : there are cracks that let 
 in the light, you know ; and his, no doubt, is one of 
 them. We shall see." 
 
 The fact is, my eccentric friend cultivated a hearty 
 penchant for more or less crazy people, and himself 
 the oddest of humanit}-, hailed the faintest trace of 
 oddness, as to opinion, language, or manners, in ano- 
 ther, as a promise of congenial companionship. In 
 the graceful, affable, and evidently enlightened pro- 
 prietor of the hollyhocks, the drab curtains, and the 
 canary-bird, he discovered lively signs of that " zig- 
 zagry" he so fancied, and he rejoiced accordingly. 
 For an above-the-average man, of pure tastes, and 
 elegantly nurtured, to be so housed, so surrounded, so
 
 252 The New. 
 
 attired, and so employed, in San Francisco in Forty- 
 Nine, he must (he argued) be either very great, very 
 rich, or very mad : if he were very great, he would 
 pretend to know us ; if he were very rich, we should 
 be sure to know him : he is therefore either here 
 because he is mad, or mad because he is here. But let 
 us enter, and sympathize with him, as well as men may 
 who labor under the disadvantages of a stupid sanity. 
 
 "Well, at the end of an hour we came forth again, 
 and took the way to town ; a ripple of soothing, sil- 
 ver talk was in our ears, only broken by small tumults 
 of refined eloquence, or melodious falls of verse and 
 song — what else ? Merely the harmonies of a delicate 
 spirit, and the ineffaceable impressions of a presence 
 to which nothing of disclosure or discovery attached 
 itself, by way of explanation, to make it common- 
 place ; simply a name — Philip Grey of New Orleans — 
 no more. The cottage, the canary-bird, the curtains, 
 the comfortable dog, remained for us to " fash" oar 
 wits about, in all the romantic " zig-zagry" of adven- 
 turous sucssins.
 
 Over the Pahri. 
 
 253 
 
 "Philip Grey I" talkc<l Mr. Krafl't, in his waking 
 sleep-walking. 
 
 " And that is all." 
 
 " And that sliould be enough. Let us not look 
 our glorious gift horse in the mouth." 
 
 " But the zig-zagry, my friend ?" 
 
 " "We will not fiish ourselves for that. If tlic gen- 
 tleman is not mad, it is not because he lacks the 
 acquirements and tastes to be so, gracefully. He has 
 mind enough to rave, and he would rave delight- 
 fully. Only a name, that's true; but 'Philip Grey' 
 is a fair romance to find on a Sunday saunter, be- 
 tween the wild restlessness of that city and the wild 
 rest of those disordered graves." 
 
 Oahu, of the Ilawaiian group, is an insular Para- 
 dise, and the loveliest vales of earth have nothing to 
 surpass the loveliness of its Nuuanu valley. The 
 Nuuanu road, leading from the many-tribed town of 
 Honolulu, is a primrose path of dalliance and de- 
 light ; and like too many such paths in the heart's 
 garden of allurement, it terminates abruptly in a
 
 254 The New. 
 
 headlong precipice — the Pahri — sheer down, I dare 
 not try to remember how many hundred feet ; but 
 when last I stood on its brink, clouds enveloped me 
 like a cloak, the wayward Undine of water-fall on 
 the right was chapleted with a gay iris, and the 
 great stone I tossed over into the abyss might be 
 falling to this hour, for any sound of bottom it 
 sent up. 
 
 When King Kamehameha, first of the name, " The 
 Solitary One," hero and usurper, drove his enemies 
 at the points of his flashing spears, foot by foot 
 through that heartless garden, which mocked their 
 death-hour w^ith all its rainbows and cascades and 
 flowers, he stayed not till he stood in terrible tri- 
 umph on the dizzy edge of the Pahri, whence the 
 last of his foes, wincing from his lance-point, had 
 flung himself, with all his warlike harness on, into 
 mid-air with a yell ; and ever since, ten thousand 
 skeletons have bleached among the pleasant plantains 
 down below. 
 
 One excelling night in June, 1850, that glorious 
 leap was surpassed in completeness of effect, by a
 
 Over the Pahri. 295 
 
 solitary aspirant to the fame of a consummation so 
 imposing. A gay and handsome horseman — horse 
 and man alike possessed of a desperate devit — rode 
 out through the cool, bland moonlight of that mock- 
 ing vale, leading in a dance of death the four-footed 
 measure of his bewitched steed. He flung back the 
 laughter of the water-falls with dreadful glee, and 
 defied the fire-flies with the uncanny glitter of his 
 eyes — still dancing, singing on ; till the mad beast 
 braced himself on tlic Ijrink of the Pahri, and i)awed 
 the very edge with liis daring hoof. Then the gay 
 and handsome gentleman uncovered his head ; and 
 as tlie misty breeze from the remotely-sounding sea 
 tossed his brown locks in the moonlight, he flung a 
 parting stave to the world : 
 
 " To joy a stranger, a way-worn ranger, 
 In every clanger my course I've run ; 
 Now lioi)c all ending, and Death befriending. 
 His last aid lending, my cares are done." 
 
 Turning his horse, he rode back a hundred yards :
 
 256 The New. 
 
 " No more a rover, or hapless lover, 
 
 My griefs are over, my glass runs low ; 
 Then for that reason, and for a season. 
 Let us be merry before we go 1" 
 
 And again lie faced the Pabri : 
 
 " Let us be merry before we — Go-o-o !" 
 
 A fierce plunge of tlie spurs ; a cap daslied to tlie 
 ground ; a wild clieer ; a sharp scream from the 
 horse, "as he hangs, the rocks between, and his nos- 
 trils curdle in — as he shivers head and hoof, and the 
 flakes of foarii fall off, and his face grows fierce and 
 thin — and a look of human woe from his staring eyes 
 doth go — and a sharp cry utters he, in a foretold 
 agony of the headlong death below ;" a dark mass 
 flung straight out in the face of the moon ; a keen 
 whizzing, piercing to sky and sea; a mighty crash 
 of boughs and branches, down, down, down below — 
 and then again the tuneful tinkle of the water-fall, 
 the bland mocking of the moon, the happy prattle of 
 crickets I
 
 Over the Pahri. 
 
 257 
 
 Tlunali for Philip Grey ! whoever, whatever he 
 was, Mr. KraiVt was right about the zig-zagry.
 
 The Old. 
 
 , [INDIA.] 
 
 Let what is broken, so remain. 
 The gods are hard to reconcile : 
 'Tis hard to settle order once again. 
 There is confusion worse than death. 
 Trouble on trouble, pain on pain." 
 
 Tennyson — The Lotus-Eaters.
 
 o 
 
 Pi 
 
 K 
 
 O 
 
 w
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MAMOUL. 
 
 THaOUGH THE COSSITOLLAII KALEIDOSCOPE. 
 
 Under my window, in the street called Cossitollah, 
 flows all the motliness of a Calcutta thoroughfare in 
 two countersetting currents; one Chowringee-ward, 
 in the direction of Nabob magnificence and grace ; the 
 other toward the Coolj squalor and deformity of the 
 Radda Bazaar ; — and as in the glare of the early fore- 
 noon sun, the shadows of the hither or thither passing 
 throngs fall straight across the way, from the Parsee's 
 goJown, over against me, to the gate of the j^i^f^ca 
 liouse wherein my look-out is, I watch with interest 
 the frequent eddies occasioned by the clcar-steeriugs of 
 Caste — Brahmin, Warrior, and ^lerchant keeping 
 severely to the Parsec side, so that the foul shadow of
 
 262 The Old. 
 
 Soodra or Pariah may not pollute their sacred persons. 
 It is as though my window were a tower of Allahabad, 
 and below me, in Cossitollah, were the shy meeting 
 of the waters. Thus, looking up or down, I mark 
 how the limpid Jumna of high caste holds its way in 
 a common bed, but never mingling, with the turbid 
 Ganges of an unclean rabble. 
 
 Reader, should you ever " do" the City of Palaces, 
 permit me to commend with especial emphasis to your 
 consideration this same Cossitollah, as a representative 
 street, wherein the European and Asiatic elements of 
 the Calcutta panorama are mingled in the most pic- 
 turesque proportions ; for Cossitollah is the link that 
 most directly joins the pitiful benightedness of the 
 Black Town to the imposing splendors of Kumj^nee 
 Bahadoor — the short, but stubborn chain of responsi- 
 bility, as it were, whereby the ball of helpless and in- 
 fatuated stock-and-stone-worship is fastened to the leg 
 of British enlightenment and accountability. 
 
 From the Midaun, or Parade Ground, with its long- 
 drawn arrays of Sepoy chivalry, its grand reviews 
 before the Burra Lard Sahib (as in domestic Bengalee
 
 Mamoul. 263 
 
 we designate the Governor General), its solemn sham 
 battles, and its welkin-rending regimental bands, by 
 whose brass and sheepskin God saves the Queen twice 
 a day; from Government House, with its historic 
 pride, pomp, and circumstance, and its red tape, its 
 aides-de-camp and its adjutant birds, its stirring asso- 
 ciations and its stupid architecture ; from the pen- 
 sioned aristocracy of Chowringhee the Magnificent; 
 from the carnival concourse of the Esplanade, with 
 its kaleidoscopic surprises ; from the grim patronage 
 of Fort William, with its in-every-department-well- 
 regulated fee-faw-fum ; in fine, from Clivc, and Hast- 
 ings, and Wellington, and Gough, and Hardinge, and 
 Napier, and Bcntinck, and Ellenborough, and Dal- 
 housie, and all the John Company that has come of 
 them; from the tremendous and overwhelming 
 Sahib, to that most profoundly abject of human 
 objects, the Hindoo Pariah (who approaches thee, 
 O Awful Being! O Benign Protector of the Poor! 
 O Writer in the Salt-and-Opium Office ! on his 
 hands and knees, and with a wisp of grass in his 
 mouth to denote that he is thy beast) — from all
 
 264 The Old. 
 
 those to this the shortest cut is through Cossi- 
 toUah. 
 
 And so, in the current of its passengers, partaking 
 the characteristics of its contrasted extremities, fantas- 
 tically blending the purple and fine linen of Chowring- 
 hee with the breech-cloths of the Black Town, Cossi- 
 tollah is, as I have said, pre-eminently the type street 
 of Calcutta. Other localities have their peculiar 
 throngs, and certain classes and castes are proper to 
 certain thoroughfares : Sepoys and dog-boys to the 
 Midaun ; circars or clerks, and chowkeydars or private 
 police, to Tank Square ; a world of pampered women, 
 fat civil servants, coachmen, ayahs or nurses, durwans 
 or doorkeepers, chaprasseys or messengers, kitmudgars 
 or waiters, to Garden Keach ; palanquin-bearers, the 
 smaller fry of banyans or shopkeepers, and dandees or 
 boatmen, to the Ghauts; together with no end of 
 coolies, and bheestees or water-carriers, horse-dealers, 
 and syces or grooms, to Durumtollah ; sailors, British 
 and American, Malay and Lascar, to Flag Street, the 
 quarter of punch-houses. But in Cossitollah all castes 
 and vocations are to be met, whether their talk be of
 
 Mamoul. 265 
 
 gold mohurs or cowries ; lierc the Sahib gives the 
 horrid leper a wide berth, and the Baboo walks care- 
 fully round the shadow of Mehtur, the sweeper. 
 Therefore, reader, Cossitollah is by all means the street 
 for you to draw profound conclusions from. 
 
 Come ! let us sit in the window and observe ; it is 
 but forty puffs of a No. 3 cheroot, in a lazy palan- 
 quin, from one end of Cossitollah to the other ; and 
 from our window, though not exactly midway, but 
 nearer the Bazaar, we can see from Flag Street well- 
 nigh to the Midaun. 
 
 What is this ? A close palkee, with a passenger ; 
 the bearers, with elbows sharply crooked, and calves 
 all varicose, trotting to a monotonous, jerking ditty, 
 which the sirdar, or leader, is impudently improvising, 
 to the refrain of Putierum, (" Easy now ! ") at the 
 expense of their fare's amour-propre. 
 
 " Out of the way there ! 
 Puiterum. 
 This is a Rajali ! 
 
 Putterttm.
 
 266 The Old. 
 
 Very small Rajah ! 
 
 Puiterum. 
 Sixpenny Rajah! 
 
 Putterum. 
 Holes in his elbows I 
 Putterum. 
 Capitan Slipshod ! 
 
 Putterum. 
 Son of a sea-cook ! 
 
 Putterum. 
 Hush I he will beat us ! 
 
 Ptdterum. 
 Hush I he will kick us 1 
 
 Putterum. 
 Kick us and curse us ! 
 Putterum. 
 Not he, the greenhorn I 
 
 Putterum. 
 
 Don't understand us ! 
 
 Putterum. 
 
 Don't know the lingo ! 
 
 Putterum. 
 
 Let's shake the palkee I 
 
 Putterum.
 
 Mamoul. 267 
 
 Rattle the pig's bones I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Set down the palkce I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Call him a great lord ! 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Ask him for buksheesh I 
 
 PuUerum." 
 
 And the four consummate knaves do set down the 
 palkee, and shift the pads on their shoulders ; while 
 the sirdar slips round to the sliding-door, and timidly 
 intruding his sweaty phiz, at an opening sufficiently 
 narrow to guard his nose against assault from within, 
 but wide enough to give us a glimpse, through an 
 out-bursting cloud of cheroot-smoke, of a pair of stout 
 legs encased in white duck, with the neatest of light 
 pumps at the end of them, says : — 
 
 ^^ Buksheesh do, Sahih! buJcsheesh do! O fivorite 
 friend of the Lord I tender shepherd of the poor ! 
 O sublime and beautiful Being, upon whose turban 
 Prosperity dances and Peace makes her bed ! Whose 
 mother is twin-sister to the Sacred Cow, and whose
 
 268 The Old. 
 
 grandmother is tlie Lotos of Seven Virtues ! 
 Klioddbund! huksheesh dol Bestow upon thy abject 
 and self-despising slave wherewithal to commemorate 
 the golden hour when, by a blessed dispensation, he 
 was permitted to lay his trembling forehead against 
 thy victorious feet ! " 
 
 ''^ Jou-jehannum^ loom sooa! — Go to Gehenna, you 
 pig! "What are you bothering about, with your 
 'boxes,' 'boxes,' nothing but 'boxes?' Insatiable 
 brutes ! Jou ! I tell you — ^eldie jou ! or by Doorga, 
 the goddess of awful rows, I'll smash the palkee and 
 outrage all your religious prejudices ! Jou!'''' 
 
 Evidently our varicose friends imagine they have 
 caught a Tartar, and that the white ducks are not so 
 recent an importation as they at first supposed; for 
 now they catch up the pole of the palkee nimbly, and 
 pit jeldie (that is, trot up smartly) to quite another 
 song. 
 
 '■''Jddie jou, jeldie/ 
 
 Putterum. 
 Carry him softly ! 
 
 Puttertmi.
 
 Manioiil. 
 
 Swiftly and smoothly I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 lie is a Rajah I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Rii.-h little Rajah ! 
 
 Putterum. 
 Fierce little Rajah I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 See how his eyes flash I 
 
 Putterum. 
 Hear how his voice roars! 
 
 PuUerum. 
 He is a Tippoo ! 
 
 PuUcrtim. 
 CapitaD Tippoo ! 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Tremble before him I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Serve him and please him I 
 
 PuUerum. 
 Please him and serve him ! 
 
 Putterum, 
 He will reward us ! 
 
 PuUcruDt. 
 
 iC-K)
 
 270 The Old. 
 
 He will protect us 1 
 
 Putterum. 
 He will enrich us ! 
 
 Putterum. 
 Charity Lard Sa'b ! 
 
 Putterum, 
 Out of the way there 1 
 
 Putterum. 
 Way for the great . . . 
 
 Putterum. 
 Rajah of ten crores ! 
 
 Putter. . . . 
 Ten crores ! . . 
 
 Putter .... 
 Rajah 
 
 Put 
 
 Lard 
 
 Putter. . . . 
 Sa'b ! 
 
 rum. 
 
 And so tliey have turned down Flag Street. 
 
 I once knew a man wlio was engaged to be mar- 
 ried before be was born ; that was my Parsee neigh-
 
 Mamoiil. 271 
 
 bor, the amiable Gheber, wlio, in the pucka house that 
 adjoined my own in Cossitollah, fed his sacred flame 
 with orthodox solicitude and sandal-wood, cursed the 
 Koran duly, rehearsed the precepts of Zoroaster, 
 bragjzed of Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, turned an hon- 
 est Parsee penny, and dwelt with his children's chil- 
 dren in profound and mysterious content. 
 
 My Parsee neighbor was brought forth on the 
 ground-floor (literally on the ground, or on the floor), 
 a moralistic peculiarity of Zoroastrian obstetrics, to 
 which he was doubtless as indifferent as he was to 
 the circumstance of being introduced to a wife by the 
 same ceremony that introduced him to the world ; 
 and fur live days they fed him with sugar and wa- 
 ter through a wick, regardless of the JMicawburiau 
 " fount" that flowed in vain for him. 
 
 Then they brouglit an astrologer, abounding in 
 beard, and voluble in gibberish, and greedily itching 
 as to his palm ; and he horoscoped my Parsee neigh- 
 bor, him and all that should come of him ; and he 
 forecasted him, by the children he should have, and 
 by rupees, and by honors, and by all the chances
 
 272 The Old. 
 
 and changes, the gains and the losses, of a Parsee 
 experience; and he conjured from the stars a calen- 
 dar of names as long as the roll of warrior-pilgrims 
 who brought over the sacred flame from Khorassan 
 to Ormuz ; and he said to the sponsors of my Parsee 
 neighbor, " Choose !" There was Bonnarjee, and 
 Framjee, and Camajee, and Sorabjee, and Pestonjee, 
 and Hormusjee, and Nusserwanjee, and Furdoonjee, 
 and Nourojee, and Cowasjee, and Jamsetjee, and By- 
 ramjee, and Heerjee, and Rustomjee, and all the 
 jees; and Nanabhoy, and Dhunjeebhoy, and Dada- 
 bhoy, and Dosabhoy, and Rhusabhoy, and Janjee- 
 bhoy, and Nourabhoy, and Jeejeebhoy, and all the 
 bhoys. So they made him one of the bhoys — Kir- 
 setjee Damthebhoy — and they all blessed him ; and 
 they prayed that his autograph might be equivalent 
 to many lacs, and his name a tower of financial 
 strength for lame ducks to roost in. 
 
 Yerily my Parsee neighbor was the apple of his 
 mother's eye, and endless were her tender inspira- 
 tions in the inventing of wondrous kickshaws for his 
 holiday adornment : in all Cossitollah there was not
 
 Mamoiil. 2"]^ 
 
 so superfine a vunity as his little jublila of Canton 
 silk, -svitli flowing and fantastic sleeves; and the sun 
 made a glory of his gold-embroidered skull-cap. 
 When he was seven years old, all the kindred of his 
 father's house, and all the friends thereof, assembled 
 in the- inner temple, to see the high-priest invest him 
 with the symbolic raiment of the fire- worshipper — 
 " the garment of the good and beneficial way," called 
 sudra^ and kusti^ the consecrated cord — girded three 
 times about his small loins, and knotted with four 
 prayers. 
 
 And now it was time that my Parsee neighbor 
 should come into his pre-natal wife-property : a 
 comparison of horoscopes was accordingly effected 
 through the instrumentality of a mercenary i)riost ; 
 fortunes and respectabilities, and all the delicacies of 
 the expediency season, were discussed and approved, 
 and the match puclcaQdi — which is, as though one 
 should say, " clinched " — by an interchange of pre- 
 sents for the respective wardrobes of the bride and 
 groom ; and behold my Parsee neighbor made a man 
 of— a little man, with a mother-in-law ; which, as
 
 274 The Old. 
 
 Gheber mothers-in-law go, means a man witli a curse, 
 and a call for a special dispensation of patience. But 
 my Parsee neighbor's toes had been dipped in the 
 ceremonial milk, and his face had been rubbed with 
 the bride's vest ; so retreat was cut off, and there was 
 no help for his predicament but to ponder his Zend- 
 Avesta, and hold his peace. Nor was there hope 
 that he might diminish his troubles by multiplying 
 them ; for bigamy is a Parsee abomination, and an 
 experiment in that direction would have involved 
 my neighbor in the scrape of the unfortunate Jem- 
 shedjee, who was excommunicated by the honorable 
 punchayet, the administrative body, for flying matri- 
 monially from the teeth of one vixen to the nails of 
 another. He was compelled to pay two thousand 
 rupees toward the maintenance of Teeth, and to re- 
 store to her all her jewels and ornaments, while 
 jSTails had to be repudiated for ever. 
 
 But my Parsee neighbor has his wholesome dis- 
 tractions and his consolations, which he finds in the 
 golden results of the shop, in happy "operations" 
 and rich returns, in safe investments and fit con-
 
 Manioul 
 
 275 
 
 tracts ; and lie lias Lis pleasant dreams that are Cau- 
 dle-proof; his visions of diplomas and decorations, 
 of vice-regal compliments and parliamentary culo- 
 giums, of baronetcies, and coats-of-arms, and statues — 
 Sir Kirsetjee Damthebhoy ! 
 
 Are there not Dadysett, and Pestonjee, and Her- 
 mosjee Wadia, and Framjee Nusserwanjee, and Co- 
 wasjee Jeehangir, and the Camas of India, China, 
 England — true merchant-princes, to whom the shaky 
 speculators of Western Wall Streets are but small 
 money-mongers ? Are there not " towers of silence " 
 to erect, and hospitals to found, and colleges and 
 schools of design to endow, and bridges and aque- 
 ducts and causeways to build, and railroads to pro- 
 ject, and wells and tanks to construct, and libraries 
 and free-schools, and Zend-Avesta schools, and dhur- 
 umsallas, and churches, and sailors'-homes, and 
 book-and-prize funds, and funds for the funeral ex- 
 penses of poor Parsees, and contributions to public 
 charities, and funds for the benefit of the poor blind, 
 and subscriptions to the Punchayet for beneficent jMir- 
 l^oses, and funds for the relief of honest debtors, and
 
 276 The Old. 
 
 schools of industry, and obstetric institutions, and pa- 
 triotic funds, and memorials, and Havelock testimo- 
 nials, and Wellington testimonials, and wliat not, to 
 provide for : living honors and an everlasting name ? 
 And my Parsee neighbor, with closed eyes, rapturous, 
 nurses his vision till it glows, all glorious, with the 
 armorial bearings of Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy — a 
 shield of the Knights of St. John, emblazoned with 
 scrolls of gold : "at the lower part, a landscape in 
 India, representing the island of Bombay, with the 
 islands of Salsette and Elephanta in the distance. 
 The sun is seen rising from behind Salsette, to de- 
 note industry, and, in diffusing its light and heat, 
 liberality. The upper part of the shield presents a 
 white ground, emblematic of integrity and purity, on 
 which are two bees, signifying industry and perse- 
 verance. The whole is surmounted by a crest, repre- 
 senting a beautiful peacock, typical of wealth and 
 magnificence ; and in its mouth an ear of wild rice, 
 emblematic of beneficence. Below is a white pennant, 
 folded, on which is inscribed, 'Industry and Libe- 
 rality!' the motto of" — Sir Kirsetjee DamthebhoyI
 
 Maiiioul. 2-j-j 
 
 My Parsee neiglilK)r is an exalted humanitarian in a 
 canine direction, regarding dogs as liis friends and 
 brothers, and piously according them (in undue pro- 
 portion, on the score of justice to cats) a fellow-feeling 
 that makes him Avondrous kind. Ilis solicitude for 
 the Trays, Blanches, and Sweethearts of his love, is 
 distinguished by a sweeping catholicity of scope ; 
 ignoring narrow distinctions of breed, as to mastiff or 
 poodle, bull-dog or greyhound, spaniel or pariah, his 
 benevolence comjDrehends in the circle of its kind 
 offices the abstract animal — universal dogry, and its 
 common good. When his operations on land and his 
 ventures by sea, his Bombay brokerages and his Surat 
 shipyard, shall have returned him a fair Parsee for- 
 tune, and established him on a financial footing with 
 the princely tradei's of his tribe, it is his fond inten- 
 tion to found a hospital for the indigent sick of that 
 great quadrupedal community, whereat halt dogs and 
 dogs that are blind, mangy dogs and dogs stricken 
 with confirmed asthma, dogs that have lost their tails 
 by traps, their toes by coach-wheels, dogs whose minds 
 have been impaired by afllliction, as well as those
 
 278 The Old. 
 
 whose bodies have suffered in fights — disabled dog- 
 kind generally, whatever the nature or degree of 
 its melancholy dispensation, shall be free to the con- 
 solations of splints and bandages, soothing poultices 
 and 'potecary's stuff, with wholesome bones in abun- 
 dance, and the sweetest of straw beds. So shall my 
 Parsee neighbor falfll a particular injunction of 
 Zoroaster, and make sure for his soul that it shall 
 be spoken for in the day when enfranchised Dog 
 shall speak for itself. 
 
 At times, my Parsee neighbor draws his dreams 
 from a soaring patriotism, brought over by his pil- 
 grim fathers from Ormuz to Sanjan with the other 
 sacred flame, and fed, like that, with the incense of an 
 inspiring romance. It is a fondly-cherished story, and 
 full of the legendary loveliness of his tribe, wherewith 
 he is wont to hold the wide-eyed wonder of his pretty 
 boy, perched, listening, on his knee. 
 
 He tells how Mohammedan lions came down, in 
 crushing onslaughts, on the fold of his fathers — the 
 ancient Persian people — and drove them dismayed 
 into the fostnesscs of Kliorassan ; he tells of the
 
 Manioul 
 
 279 
 
 sword-conversions of the Caliphs, the bloody sermons 
 of ^foslem priests ; of the dethronement and flight of 
 the doomed Yezduzird, his wanderings in solitude and 
 disguise, and his treacherous assassination by a miller — 
 whence the old Persian proverb, " Beware a mil- 
 ler's trust;"* of Caliphat troops traversing tlic 
 length and breadth of Iran, with scimitar and Koran, 
 burning the firc-temples, quenching obscenely the 
 sacred flame, and daily forcing a hundred thousand 
 trembling Ghebers to abjure their poetic creed. He 
 tells how, after a century of patient faith and fortitude, 
 passed in tlic caves and forests of Khorassan, the per- 
 secutors penetrated to the hiding-place of the brave 
 little band, and hunted them down to Ormuz, where 
 yet they were not safe from the impious and the cruel. 
 So they sought an insecure asylum on the small island 
 of Diew, in the Gulf of Cambay, and tarried there in 
 terror, till " an aged dastoor, reading the tablets of the 
 stars, augured that it behooved them to depart from 
 that place, and take up their abode elsewhere. 
 
 * DosAijiiOY Fkamjee — " Tlie Parsccs."
 
 28o The Old. 
 
 Whereat, all rejoicing, set sail for Guzerat." Then 
 came a mighty storm that shook their souls no less 
 than their shij)3, and rent their hearts and their sails ; 
 so that they prayed, trembling, to Ormuzd, the author 
 of light and truth, of heat and goodness, to save them 
 from the infernal spells of Ahriman, minister of dark- 
 ness, ignorance, and evil. "Deliver us, Ormuzd! 
 from this sea of trouble, and bring us in safety to the 
 shores of India, that we may kindle on high the flame 
 sacred to thee, and keep it ever bright, fed with obedi- 
 ence and righteousness." 
 
 And Ormuzd hearkened to their piteous prayer, 
 and brought them in safety to the shores of India 
 — to Sanjan, whereof Jadao Eana was the wise 
 and liberal ruler. When Jadao heard of the ad- 
 vent of the tempest-tossed strangers, he commanded 
 tliat they be brought before him, and demanded who 
 they were. 
 
 "We are worshippers of Ormuzd," replied the vene- 
 rable dastoor, " and of the Sun, and the Sea. 
 
 " We observe silence while bathing, praying, making 
 offerings to fire, and eating.
 
 Mamoul. 281 
 
 "We consume incense, perfumes, and flowers, in 
 our religious ceremonies. 
 
 " We wear the sacred garment — the garment of the 
 good and beneficial way — the cincture for the loins, 
 and the cap of two folds. 
 
 "We rejoice in songs and instruments of music, 
 in our marriages. 
 
 "We adorn and perfume our wives. 
 
 " We are enjoined to be bountiful in our charities, 
 and especially to excavate tanks and wells. 
 
 " We are enjoined to extend our sympathies toward 
 males as well as females. 
 
 "We wear the sacred girdle while praying or 
 eating. 
 
 " We feed the sacred flame with incense. 
 
 " We practise devotion five times a day. 
 
 " We are careful observers of conjugal fidelity and 
 purity. 
 
 " Wc perform annual ceremonies for the souls of 
 our ancestors. 
 
 "Wc have suffered — therefore we arc true; wc 
 have been patient — therefore wc are brave. Give us
 
 282 The Old. 
 
 a bill, whereon we may raise a tower of silence, and 
 Liuy our dead; give us a field, wlierein we may 
 build a temple, and feed our iioly flame; give us a 
 stream, wherein we may bathe and pray, girt with 
 the sacred cord. And we will be thy brothers, at 
 peace with thy people, at peace with thy gods." 
 
 And Jadao Eana said: "It is well; ye shall raise 
 your tower of silence, and bury your dead ; ye shall 
 build your fire-temple, and feed your holy flame ; ye 
 shall bathe in a pure stream, girt with your sacred 
 cincture; and no man shall molest you. But ye 
 shall forget your Parsee language and speak hence- 
 forth in our tongue ; ye shall cast off your armor and 
 clothe yourselves in our fashion ; and when ye marry 
 3'our young children, ye shall order the marriage 
 ceremonies and processions according to our custom, 
 having your weddings by night; so shall ye be at 
 peace with my people, at peace with my gods." 
 
 The Dastoor promised as the Rana required ; and 
 thus it is with My Parsee Neighbor. 
 
 But what now? Here truly is something imposing 
 — a chariot-and-four, — four spanking Arabs in gold-
 
 Mamoul. " 28 
 
 mounted trappings — a fat and elaborate coachman, 
 very solemn — two tall Jairkai'us, or av ant-couriers, 
 supporting the box, one on either side, with studied 
 symmetry, like Siva and Vishnu upholding the throne 
 of Brahma — four sijces running at the horses' heads, 
 each with his chowree, or fly-flapper, made from the 
 tail of the Thibet cow — a fifth before, to clear the 
 way — a basket of simpJcin, which is as though one 
 should say Champagne, behind — and our own Banyan, 
 our man of contracts and ready lacs, that shrewd 
 broker and substantial banker, the Baboo Kalidas 
 Ramaya Mullick, on the back seat. 
 
 "M/ Giattah-ivallah ! Bheesteel — Hi! hi! — You 
 chap with the umbrella, you fellow with the water, 
 clear the way ! This Baboo comes, this Baboo rides 
 — ^he stops not, he stays not — he is rich, he is honored. 
 Shall a pig impede him ? Shall a pig delay him ? 
 Jump, sooa, jump I" 
 
 And thus, amid much vociferation, and unceremo 
 nious dispersing of the common herd, who dodge with 
 practised agility right and left, the fat and elaborate 
 coachman pulls up the spanking Arabs at our godoicn
 
 284 The Old. 
 
 gate, and the Baboo aliglits with the air of a gentle- 
 man of thirty lacs, to the manner born ; to him all 
 this outcry is but Mamoul — usage, custom — and Ma- 
 moul is to him as air. 
 
 As the Baboo steps through the wide-swinging gate 
 and enters the place that owns him master, let us 
 mark his reception. The Durwan first — our grenadier 
 doorkeeper, the man of proud port and commanding- 
 presence, to whom that portal is a post of honor — 
 our Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, in one, of courage, 
 strength and address, enlisted with fidelity. The loy- 
 alty of Eamee Durwan is threefold, in this order : first 
 to his caste, next to his beard, and then to his post ; 
 only for the two first would he abandon the last ; his 
 life he holds of less account than either. 
 
 As the Baboo passes, Ramee Durwan, you think, 
 will be ready with profound and obsequious salaam. 
 Not so ; he draws himself up to the very last of his 
 extraordinary inches, and touches his forehead lightly 
 with the fingers of his right hand, only slightly inclin- 
 ing his head — a not more than affable salute — almost 
 with a quality of concession, gracious as well as
 
 Mamoul. 285 
 
 graceful ; he would do as mucli for any puppy of a 
 cadet who might drop in on the Sahib. On the other 
 hand, lowly louteth the Baboo, with eyes downcast, 
 and palm applied reverentially to his sleek forehead. 
 
 How now ? This Baboo is a banyan of solid sub- 
 stance, and the Mullicks all are citizens of credit and 
 renown ; while Ramee Durwan gets five rupees a 
 month, and makes his bed at the gate. Last year, 
 they say, when little Dwarkanath Mullick, the Baboo's 
 adopted son, nine years old, was married to the tender 
 child Vinda, old Lulla Seal's darling, on her fifth 
 birthday, the Baboo Kalidas Ramaya Mullick made 
 the occasion famous, by liberating fifty prisoners-for- 
 debt, of the Soodra sort, with as many flourishes of 
 his illustrious signature. Eamee Durwan has not a 
 change of turbans. 
 
 And now the Baboo passes into the godown, and 
 receives from a score of servile circm's, glibbest of 
 clerks, their several reports of the day's business. 
 Presently, from his low desk, in the lowliest corner, 
 uprises, and comes forward quietly, Mutty Loll Roy, 
 the head circar — venerable, placid, pensive, every way
 
 286 The Old. 
 
 interesting ; but he is only the Baboo's head circar, 
 an humble accountant, on fifteen rupees a month. Do 
 you perceive that fact in the style of his salutation ? 
 Hardly ; for the Baboo piously raises his joined hands 
 high above his head, and, louting lower than before, 
 murmurs the Orthodox salutation, NamasTcarum ! 
 Yet the Baboo contributed two thousand rupees in 
 fireworks to the last Doorga Pooja, and sent a hun- 
 dred goats to the altar ; while only with many and try- 
 ing shifts of saving, could Mutty Loll afford gold leaf 
 for one image, beside two tomtoms and a horn to march 
 before it in procession. But behold the lordly benefi- 
 cence in Mutty Loll's attitude and gesture, as with 
 outstretched hands, palms upward, he greets the Baboo 
 condescendingly with a gift of good- will ! 
 
 '■'■Idhur auo, Sirdar, idhur auo! — Come hither, Kar- 
 lee, my gentle bearer, thou of the good heart, and 
 grey moustache! Come hither, and enlighten this 
 Sahib's ignorance ; tell him why the Durwan is dis- 
 dainful, as toward the Baboo, and the Circar solemn." 
 
 ^^ Han, Sahib/ That Durwan Ksairiye, Soldier 
 caste. Eider caste — feest-i-rat-i-man (first-rate man);
 
 Manioul. 287 
 
 that Dinwan have got Rajpoot blood, ver-iproud, all 
 same Sahib. Baboo, Merchant caste — ver-igood caste, 
 plenty rich, but not so proud Durwan caste ; Baboo not 
 have Rajpoot blood, not have i-sharp i-sword, not have 
 musiket. Durwan arm all same tiger; Durwan beard 
 all same lion ; Durwan plenty i-strong, plenty proud. 
 
 *' That Circar — ah ! that Mutty Loll, too high caste; 
 that Circar Brahmin — Kooleen Brahmin — all same 
 Sioamy (god) ; that Circar foot all same Baboo head ; 
 that Circar shoe all same Baboo turban. 'Spose Baboo 
 not make that Circar hhote-hhote salaam^ that Circar 
 say curse, that Circar ispeak jou-jehannum (go to hell). 
 Master underistand i-me ? I ispeftk Master so Master 
 know?" 
 
 " Very clear, Karlee — and wholesome expounding. 
 But here comes the Baboo to speak for himself — Good- 
 day, Baboo! Whither so fast with the spanking 
 Arabs and the simpkin ? — to the garden-house ?" 
 
 " To the garden-house, Sahib ; and the simpkin is 
 for two young English friends of mine, who will do 
 the garden-house the honor to make it their own for 
 a day or two."
 
 288 The Old. 
 
 " Take care, Baboo ! take care ! I have my doubts 
 as to the simpkin. They do say the orthodoxy of 
 'Young Bengal' men is none the better for beef- 
 steaks and Heidsieck ; such diet does not become the 
 son of a strict and straight-going heathen. Well may 
 the Brahmins groan for the glaring scandals of the 
 new lights; you'll be marrying widows next, and 
 dining at clubs with fast ensigns." 
 
 " Sahib, Caste is God, and Mamoul is his j^rophet. 
 The church of the Churruck post, and the orgies of 
 Hooly, is in no danger from beef or Simpkin, so 
 long as steak or bottle costs a man his inheritance ; 
 and we of Young Bengal know too well how hard are 
 the ways of the Pariah to try them for fun. Caste is 
 God, and Mamoul is his prophet. The ' Glad tidings 
 of Great Joy' your missionaries bring, fall upon ears 
 stopped with family pride and the family jewels : you 
 know that appropriate old saw in our proverbial phi- 
 losophy, ' What is the news of the day to a frog in a 
 well ? ' — Salaam Sahih ! I have but a few minutes to 
 spare, and the supercargo is waiting with the indigo 
 samj^les.
 
 Manioul. 289 
 
 Presently, as the Cossitollali panorama flows on be- 
 neath our window, with all its bizarreness from the 
 bazaars — its box-wallahs, and its pawn-makers, its 
 pedlars of toys, its money-changers and shopmen, its 
 basket-makers and mat-weavers and chattah-menders, 
 its perambulating cobblers and tailors, its jugglers, 
 gymnasts, and nautch-girls — its fellows who feed on 
 glass bottles, for the astonishment and delectation of 
 the Sahibs, or who, if you have such a thing as a sheep 
 about you, will undertake to slaughter and skin it with 
 their teeth, and devour it on the spot — its conjure w\al- 
 lalis, who, for a few pice, will run sharp foils through 
 each other's bodies, without for a moment disturbing 
 cither health or cheerfulness, or will make mangoes 
 grow under table-cloths, " all fair and proper," 'while 
 Master waits — as the Brahmin still dodges the sha- 
 dow of the Soodra, and the Soodra spits upon the 
 footprint of the Pariali, the Baboo returns to his cha- 
 riot ; the fat and solemn coachman gathers up the 
 reins, the hurkarus assume their symmetrical attitudes 
 on the box, the syces bawl, and the sooas jump. 
 
 Just now, a palkee-gharree, cheapest of one-horse
 
 290 
 
 The Old. 
 
 vehicles, with but one lialf-nalved sjce running at the 
 pony's head, and never a footman near, passes the 
 spanking Arabs; the plain turban of a respectable 
 accountant in the Honorable Company's coal office at 
 Garden Eeach, shows between the Venetian slats of 
 the little window ; and lo ! our fine Baboo steps out of 
 his slippers, and standing barefoot in the common 
 dust of Cossitollah — dust that has been churned by 
 all the pigs' feet that ply that promiscuous thorough- 
 fare — humbly touches, first the vulgar ground, and 
 then his elegant turban, murmuring a pious Namas- 
 karum; for the respectable accountant in the Honor- 
 able Company's coal office is, like Mutty Loll, a Koo- 
 leen Brahmin — only a little more so. Caste is God, 
 and Mamoul is his prophet ! 
 
 At the gate-lodge of the Baboo's garden-house, on 
 the Durumtollah Eoad, a grey and withered hag, all 
 crippled and leprosied, sits duhrna. 
 
 What may that be ? 
 
 Be patient; you shall know. 
 
 "When the Baboo was as yet a youth, his uncle Ra- 
 jinda, the pride of the Mullicks, died of cholera, and
 
 Miimoiil. 
 
 291 
 
 the administration of the estate devolved upon our 
 free-thinking Kalidas. Of course there were mort- 
 gages to foreclose, and delinquent debtors to stir up, 
 A certain small shopkeeper, o[ China Bazaar, was 
 responsible to the concern for a few thousand rupees, 
 wherewith he had been accommodated by Uncle Ra- 
 jinda, as a basis for certain operations in seersuckers 
 and castor-oil, tliat had yielded no returns. So our 
 Baboo, in a curt chit (that is, note, or sheet of paper, 
 as near as a Bengalee can come to the word), bade the 
 small speculator of China Bazaar come down forth- 
 with with the rupees. 
 
 But, behold you now, "he had paid," he said ! "By 
 the Holy Ganges and tli(^ Blessed Cow! by the turban 
 of his father and the veil of his mother! restitution 
 had been made long ago," the old man said; and 
 the soul of Uncle Rajinda, the })ride of the Mullicks, 
 had no reason to be disquieted for the rupees, tliough 
 the seersuckers had been but vanity, and the castor-oil 
 vexation of spirit. 
 
 " Produce the documents," said the Baboo, with a 
 business-like impassibility that in AVall Street would
 
 292 The Old. 
 
 have made him a great bear ; — " where are the re 
 ceipts ?" 
 
 " My Lord, I know not. Prostrating my unwor- 
 thy turban beneath the lovely lilies of your feet, I 
 s\\eQ,T to my gureeh purivar, the destitute-and-humble- 
 protecting lord, by the Holj^ Water and the Blessed 
 Cow, by the beard of my fiither and the veil of my 
 mother, that I settled the little account lonej asfo." 
 
 That unhappy speculator in seersuckers and castor- 
 oil died in prison, and a gooroo (that is, a spiritual 
 teacher), feed by the Baboo, desolated his last hour 
 with the assurance that he should transmigrate into 
 the bodies of seven generations of gharree-horses, and 
 drag feringhee sailor-men, in a state of beer, from the 
 ghauts to the punch-houses, all his miserable lives. 
 
 Now whether or not the unlucky little speculator 
 had in good faith discharged the debt will, in all the 
 probabilities of human rights and wrongs, never 
 appear this side of the Last Trump ; for the Holy 
 Water and the Sacred Cow, his fathers beard and his 
 mother's veil, were not good in law, the documents 
 not forthcomino;.
 
 Mamoul 
 
 29^ 
 
 But it is certain that liis widow liad faitli in liis 
 integrity ; for at once, with all her sorrows on Ikt 
 head, she sallied forth in quest of justice ; and from 
 Brahmin post to Sahib pillar she went crying, " See 
 me righted! Against this hard and arrogant Baboo 
 let my wrongs be redressed, or tear the Evil Eye of 
 Dookhee the Sorrowful, of Haranu the Lost !" 
 
 But utterly in vain ; for the clamor of the Hindoo 
 widow, however bitterly aggrieved, is but a nuisance, 
 and her accusation insolence. So in her pitiful out- 
 casting, in all the forlorn loathsomeness of leprosy, 
 and the shunned squalor of a cripple, she sat down at 
 the Baboo's gate, to wait for justice till the gods 
 should bestow it — till Siva, the Avenger, should be- 
 hold her, and ask " V^'ho has done this?" 
 
 And who shall challenge her? Who shall bid her 
 move on ^ ^famoul has crowned In-r Queen of Tears, 
 and her sublime patience and appealing have made a 
 throne of the wayside stone on which she sits; there 
 is no power so audacious that it W(-)uld give the word 
 to depose- her ; \wv matted gray locks and her fur- 
 rowed cheeks, her sunken eyes and her hungry
 
 294 The Old. 
 
 lips, are her " sacred ashes" of the high caste of 
 Sorrow. 
 
 The Brahmin averts his face as he passes, and mut- 
 ters, " She is as the flower which is out of reach — she 
 is dedicated to God." That insolent official, the 
 Baboo's pampered durwan, sees in her only Mamoul ; 
 he would as soon think of shaving himself as of driv- 
 ing her away. So, as the Baboo passes in or out 
 through the great gate, the solemn coachman whips 
 up the spanking Arabs, and the syces bawl louder 
 than ever, and Kalidas Eamaya Mullick turns away 
 his eyes. But for all that, the Duhrna Woman heaps 
 dust upon her head, which he sees, and mutters a 
 weird warning, which he hears ; and though the lawn 
 is wide, and the banian topes are leafy, and a gilded 
 temple, the family shrine, stands between, and the 
 marble veranda is spacious, and the state apartments 
 remote, they do say the shadow of the Duhrna 
 Woman falls on the iced simpkin and the steaks, in 
 spite of Young Bengal.
 
 Manioul. 295 
 
 Moolrib i Jcou.ih nuicu hijo^ 
 
 Tazu hit tnzH^ non hit nou! 
 Badue dil Icoosha hidoJi, 
 
 Tazu hu tazu, nou bu nou ! 
 Kooah hilt, sheen hu kilwuie 
 Chung nuwaz-a-sa-ntej 
 Bush .si tan hit htm itz o, , 
 
 'J'azu bu tnzit, noa bu nou ! 
 
 " Son;.'slt'r sweet, begin the lay, 
 
 Ever sweet antl ever gay ! 
 Bring tlio joy-inspiring wine. 
 
 Ever fresh and ever fine ! 
 With a heart-alhiring lass 
 Gayly let the moments pass, 
 Kisses stealing while you may, 
 
 Ever fresh and ever gay !" 
 
 Now surely she -who thus sings should be beautiful, 
 after the Hindoo type ; — that is, she sliould have the 
 complexion of chocolate and cream ; " her face 
 should be as the full moon, her nose smooth as a 
 flute ; she should iiave (yes like unto lotoses, and a 
 neck like a pigeon's; her voice should be soft as the
 
 296 The Old. 
 
 cuckoo's, and her step as the gait of a young elephant 
 of pure blood." Let us see. 
 
 Alas, no I She entertains a set of lazy bearers 
 smoking the hubble-bubble around a palanquin as 
 they wait for a fare ; and her buksheesh may be a 
 cowry or two. By no means is she of the nautch- 
 maidens of Lucknow, who were wont to lighten the 
 hours of debauched majesty, between the tiger-fights 
 and the games of leap-frog ; by no means is she 
 ringed as to her fingers or belled as to her toes ; and 
 though she carries her music wherever she goes, she 
 also carries a shiny brown baby, slung in a canvas 
 tray between her shoulders. 
 
 No excessively voluminous folds of gold-embroi- 
 dered drapery encumber her supple limbs ; but her 
 skirts are of the scantiest (what Miss Flora Mac- 
 Flimsey would call skimped)^ and pitifully mean as to 
 quality. By no means have the imperial looms of 
 Benares contributed to her professional costume a veil 
 of wondrous fineness and a Nabob's price; but a 
 narrow red strip of some poor cotton stuff" crosses her 
 bosom like a scarf, and leaves exposed too much of
 
 M 
 
 mioul. 
 
 ^97 
 
 llu" ruins of once diiintier beuutios. A string of glass 
 iK'uds, black and red alternate, arc all lier jewels — 
 save one silver bodkin, all foiloi-ii, in her hair, and a 
 ring of thin gold wire piercing the right nostril, and, 
 Avith an effect completely deforming, encircling the 
 lips. Her teeth and nails are deeply stained, and the 
 darkness of her eyes is enhanced by artificial shadows. 
 And so, while that baby-Tantalus, catching glimpses 
 over the unveiled shoulder of the Micawberian fount 
 lie cannot reach, stretches his little brown arms, bites, 
 kicks, and squalls — wdiile a small female apprentice, 
 by wa}' of chorus, in costume and gesture absurdly 
 caricaturing her />;v';/ia donna (a sort of Cossitollah 
 Marchioness, indeed, for some Dick Swiveller of the 
 Sahibs), shufilcs rhenmatieally with her feet, or impo- 
 tently dislocates her slender arms, or pounds insanely 
 on a cracked tomtom, or jangles her clumsy cymbals, 
 while the squatting bearers cry, " Wait icah ! " and 
 clap their sweaty hands — our poor old glee-niaidcu 
 of Cossitollah strums her two-stringed guitar, letting 
 the baby slide, and creaks corkscrewishly her Chota, 
 chota natchelee: —
 
 298 The Old. 
 
 Badi subd choo hoo/j zuree 
 Bur suri Jcooe an puree, 
 Qussue Hafiz vsh hifju, 
 
 Tazu hu iazu, nou bu noul 
 
 " Zephyrs, while you gently move 
 By the mansion of my love, 
 Softly Hafiz' strains repeat, 
 
 Ever new and ever sweet!" 
 
 Heaven save the key ! 
 
 " Ka munkta^ Bearer ? — what is it, my gentle 
 Karlee ?" 
 
 " Ghittee^ Sahib ! — chittee for Master." 
 " Note, hey ? from whom ? let us see !" 
 Pink paper — scented with sandal- wood, pah ! — em- 
 bossed, too, with cornucopias in the corners — seal 
 motto, Qui /u'.^C'Who waits?") — denoting that the 
 bearer is to bring an answer. Now for the inside : — ■ 
 
 " Devoted ajstd Kespectful Sie: — 
 
 " Insured of your pitiful conduct, your obsequious
 
 Manioiil. 299 
 
 suppliant, an eleemosynary lady of decrepit widmv- 
 liood, throws herself at y(jur Excellency's mercy feet 
 witli two imbecile childrcns of various denominations. 
 For our Heavenly Father's sake, if not inconvenient 
 — which wc have been beneficently bereaved of other 
 paternal description — we humbly present our implora- 
 tions to your munificent Excellency, if any small change, 
 to bestow the same, which it will be eternally acceptable 
 to said eleemosynary widow of late Colonel with dis- 
 tinguished medal in Honorable Service, deceased of 
 cholera, which it was sudden attacks and us pretty 
 near destitute. Therefore, hoping your munificent 
 and respectable Excellency will not order, being 
 scornful, your pitiful Excellency's durwau to disperse 
 us ; but five rupees, which nothing to your Excel- 
 lency's regards, and our tenacious gratitude never 
 forget ; but kissing Excellency's hands on indifferent 
 occasions, and throwing at mercy feet with two imbe- 
 cile offsprings of different denominations, I shall ever 
 pray, &c. 
 
 " Mrs. Diana, Tiikodosia, Comfort, Greex. 
 r. S. If not five rupees, two rupees five annas, 
 
 tnt
 
 300 
 
 The Old. 
 
 in name of Excellency's exalted mother, if quite con- 
 venient." 
 
 There now ! for an imposing structure in the florid 
 style of half-caste begging-letters, Mrs. Diana Theo- 
 dosia Comfort Green flatters herself that is hard to 
 beat. 
 
 " ' Qui hiV — Karlee, who is at the gate?" 
 
 '■'■Mem Sahib f one chee-chee woman wanch look 
 see Master, ispeakee Master buksheesh give ; paunch 
 hutcha have got." 
 
 ^^ Paunch hutcha!— five children! why, Karlee, 
 there are but two here. But remembering, I sup- 
 pose, that my Excellency has but two ' mercy feet,' 
 and with an eye to symmetry in the arrangement of 
 the grand tableau of which she proposes to make me 
 the central figure, she has made it two ' imbecile off- 
 springs' for the looks of the thing. Do you know 
 her, Karlee?" 
 
 ^^Han, Sahib! too much quentence have got that 
 chee-chee woman; that chee-chee woman all same 
 dam iscamp ; paunch butcha not have got, — one but-
 
 Mamoul. 301 
 
 cha not have got. Master not give buksheesb; no 
 good that woman, Karlcc think." 
 
 " Very well, old man ; send her away ; tell the 
 durwan to disperse Mrs. Diana Theodosia Comfort 
 Green; but let him not insult her decrepit widow- 
 hood, nor alarm her imbecile offsprings of various 
 denominations. For the ' Eurasian' is a great insti- 
 tution, without which polkas at Coolee Bazaar were 
 not, nor pic-nics dansanies at Chandernagore." 
 
 But now to tifhn. I smell a smell of curried 
 prawns, and the first mangoes of the season are fra- 
 grant. Buxsoo, the khansamah, has cooled the ish- 
 erry-shrob, as he calls the "green seal," and the kit- 
 mudgars are crying, " Tiffin, Sahib r The Mamoul 
 of meal-time knows no caste or country. 
 
 Bur zi hyat ley looree I 
 Our nu moodam, mi kooroe! 
 Badu hi koor hu yadi o, 
 
 Taz^u hu iazu, iiou hu nouf
 
 302 
 
 The Old. 
 
 ' Gentle boy, whose silver feet 
 Nimbly move to cadence sweet, 
 Fill us quick the generous wine, 
 Ever fresh and ever fine I"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A TIFFIN OF TALK 
 
 LITTLE KIUSAJKE — THE SIONKEY-GOD. 
 
 llow runs the Hindoo saw? "Are we not to 
 milk when there is a cow?" "When India is giving 
 down generous streams of paragraphy to all the 
 greedy buckets of the press, shall I not hold my 
 pretty pail under? As my genial young friend, 
 Ensign Isnob, of the " Sappies and Minors," would 
 say — " I believe you, me boy !" 
 
 Then come with me to Cossitollah, and we'll have a 
 tiffin of talk; some cloves of adventure, with a 
 capsicum or two of tragic story, shall stand for the 
 curry ; the customs of the country may represent the 
 familiar rice ; a whiff of freshness and fragrance from 
 the Mofussil will be as the mangoes and the dorians ; 
 in the piquancy and grotesqueness of the first pure 
 Orientalism that may come to hand we shall recognise
 
 304 The Old. 
 
 tlie curious chow-cliow of the chutney ; and as for 
 the beer — why, we will be the beer ourselves. 
 
 " Kitmudgar, remove that scorj)ion from the punka, 
 before it drops into the Sahib's plate. — Hold, mis- 
 creant ! who told you to kill it? 
 
 " ' Take it up tenderly, 
 Lift it with care — 
 Fashioned so slenderly, 
 Young and so fair I' 
 
 " For know, O Kitmudgar, that there is one beauty 
 of women, and another beauty of scorpions ; and if 
 the beauty of scorpions be to thee as the ugliness of 
 women, the fault is in thy godless eye. 
 
 " ' Only a crawling kaffir,' sayest thou, heathen 1 
 and straightway goest about to stick a fork into a 
 political symbol? Yerily, the hapless wretch shall 
 be sacrificed unto Agnee, god of Fire, that a timely 
 warning may enter into thy purblind soul ! 
 
 " Here, take this bottle of brandy — ^iSahib brandy,' 
 you perceive — genuine old 'London Dock' — and 
 pour a cordon of ardent spirits on the table, to weave
 
 A 'I'illin ot 'I'lilk. 305 
 
 a circle round liiia thrice' So! that's for British 
 Ascendcucy I 
 
 " Now drop your subjugated brother into the midst 
 thereof. See how, in his senseless, drunken rage, he 
 wriggles and squirms — then desperately dashes, and 
 venomously snaps 1 That's Indian Revolt ! 
 
 " Quickly, now 1 light the train ; so 1 — What tiiink 
 you of Anglo-Saxon Power and hereditary pride ? 
 
 " Oho, my Kitmudgar 1 you begin to understand ! 
 — the living fable is not lost on you ! 
 
 "But watch your Great Mogul! Barrackpore, 
 Meerut, Cawnpore, Lucknow, Delhi— five imposing 
 plunges, but impotent ; for at every point thp Sahib's 
 fatal fire, fire, fire, fire, fire! — insurmountable, all-sub- 
 duing 'destiny!' 
 
 "Maimed, discomfited, dismayed, shivering, at 
 wits' end, a crippled wriggler, in the midst of 
 exulting flames — there lies your Great Mogul 1 
 
 "But see! — the Scorpion, brave wretch! with a 
 gladiator's fortitude, loosens the shameful coil in 
 which its last agonies have twisted it, fiercely erects 
 its head once more, lashes defiantly with its tail.
 
 3o6 The Old. 
 
 and then — click ! click ! click ! — stings itself to 
 death. 
 
 "And with that ends our figure of speech; for 
 only the pitifulness of the defeat is the Great Mo- 
 gul's ; the sublimity of the suicide is proper to 
 the scorpion alone. 
 
 " Take away the fable, Kitraudgar !" 
 
 I lay in bed this morning half an hour after the 
 sun had risen, watching my Parsee neighbor on his 
 house-top, and thereby lost my drive on the Esplanade. 
 But I console myself with imagining that the pretty 
 Chee-chee spinster who comes every morning from 
 Eaneemoody Grully in a green tonjon, and makes 
 romantic eyes at me through the silk curtains, missed 
 the New York gentleman with the gray moustache, 
 and was lonesome. 
 
 My Parsee neighbor is quite as fat, but by no means 
 as saucy, as ever. Last week his youngest boy 
 died — little Kirsajee Jamsajee Bonnarjee, a contem- 
 plative young fire- worshipper, with eyes as profound 
 as the philosophy l1 Zoroaster. I saw the dismal
 
 A Tiiliii ot Talk. 307 
 
 procession depart from the house, and my heart ached 
 for the little Gheber. 
 
 Four awful creatures, that were like ghosts, clad all 
 in white, solemnly dumb and veiled, bore him away 
 on an iron bier. When they arrived at the draw- 
 bridge, great sheets of copper were spread before 
 them, and they crossed upon those ; for wood is 
 sacred to their adored Element, and the touch of 
 " them on whose shoulders the dead doth ride" would 
 pollute it. 
 
 So they carried little Kirsajee to Golgotha, their 
 Place of Skulls, wliich is a dreary, treeless field, 
 encompassed round about with a blank wall ; and 
 they laid him naked in a stone trough on the edge of 
 a great pit, and left him there, betaking them, still 
 solemnly veiled and mute, to their homes again. 
 
 All but my Parsce neighbor ; he went and sat liiiu 
 down, like Hagar in the wilderness, over against the 
 dead Kirsajee, " a good way off, as it were a bow-shot;" 
 and he lifted up his voice, and wept for the lad that 
 was dead. But still he waited there, till the crows 
 and the Brahminec kites should come to perform the
 
 3o8 The Old. 
 
 last liorrid rites ; for to Parsee custom tlie sepulture 
 most becoming to men, most acceptable to God, is 
 in tlie stomaclis of the fowls of tlie air, in tlie craws 
 of ghoulish vultures and sacrilegious crows. 
 
 And presently there came a great Pondicherrj eagle, 
 snifl&ng the feast from afar ; and he came alone. 
 Swiftly sailing, poised on tranquil wings, he circled 
 over the "Tower of Silence," circle within circle, 
 circle below circle, over the child sleeping naked, over 
 the fiither watching veiled. 
 
 One moment he flutters, as for a foot-hold on the 
 pinnacle of his purpose ; then — 
 
 " Like a thunderbolt he falls." 
 
 Sitting solemnly on the breast of the dead boy, the 
 " grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird" peers 
 with sidelong glance into his face, gloating; and 
 
 then 
 
 Immediately my Parsee neighbor uprises in his 
 place, throws aside his veil, and, shouting, runs for- 
 ward. The Pondicherry eagle soars screaming to the 
 clouds, and the sorrow-stricken Gheber bends over
 
 A Tillin ot Talk. 309 
 
 llu; di'ur corpse. Is it Heaven or IIcU ? tJie rlijhl eye 
 or thit h:j\ ? Aliis, tlic Icll ! 
 
 He beats his breast, lie flills upon Lis knees, and 
 cries with frantic gestures to the setting Sun ; Ijut tlie 
 sullen god only draws a cloud before his face, and 
 leaves his poor worshipper to despair. Then my 
 Parsee neighbor arises and girds up his loins, muffles 
 his haggard face more closely than before, and with 
 dishevelled beard, and chin sadly sunk upon his 
 breast, turning neither to the right hand nor to the 
 left, and meeting no man's gaze, wends silently 
 homeward. 
 
 To-morrow he will take his wife and go to Bombay, 
 to feed with consecrated sandal-wood and oil the 
 Sacred Flame the Magi brought from Persia, when 
 they were driven thence with all their people to 
 (")rnniz. But the name of little Kirsajec sliall cross 
 their lips no more ; his memory is a forbidden thing 
 in the household ; he is as if he never had been. 
 
 When Brahminee kite, and adjutant, and white- 
 breasted crow have done their ghoulish oflicc on little 
 Kirsajce, his bones shall lie bleaching under the piti-
 
 310 The Old. 
 
 less eye of his people's blazing god, till the rains come, 
 and fill the pit, and carry the waste of Gheber skele- 
 tons by subterraneous sewers down to the sea. But 
 the Pondicherry eagle took the left eye first; wherefore 
 the most pious deeds of merit, to be performed by my 
 Parsee neighbor — even a hospital for maimed dogs, 
 or feeding the Sacred Flame with great store of 
 sandal-wood and precious gums, or tilling the earth 
 with a diligence equivalent to the efficacy of ten thou- 
 sand prayers — can hardly suffice to save the soul of 
 little Kirsajee, the Forbidden ! 
 
 There is a blood-feud of three months' standing 
 between two members of our household. 
 
 One day, Lootee, the chuprassey's cat, took Tchoop, 
 the khansamah's monkey, unawares, as he was sun- 
 ning himself on the house-top, and with scratching 
 and spitting, sudden and furious, so startled him, that 
 he threw himself over the parapet into the crowded 
 Cossitollah, and would have been killed by the fidl, 
 had he not chanced to alight on the voluminous tur- 
 ban of a dandy hurkaru from the Mint. As it was,
 
 A Tiffin of Talk. 31 1 
 
 0110 of liis arms sustained a compound fracture, and 
 liis nrrves sufforcd so frightful a shock, that it ^va.s 
 only by a miracle of surgery, and the most patient 
 nnrsinET, that he was ever restored to his wonted agility 
 and sagacity. 
 
 But the day of retribution has arrived ; Lootcc lias 
 had kittens. There were five of them in the original 
 litter; Ijut only one remains. Tchoop to.ssed two of 
 them from the house-top when no dandy hurkaru 
 from the Mint was below to soften the fall ; the old 
 ndjntant-biri.l, that for three years has stood on one 
 log on the Parsee's godown, gobbled up another as it 
 lav choked in the south verandah; while the dismayed 
 sirdar fouiultlie head of a fourth jammed inextricably 
 in the neck of his sacred lotah, wherewith he per- 
 forms his pious ablutions every morning at the ghaut. 
 
 On the other hand, Lootee has made prize of about 
 three inches of Tchoop's tail, and displays it all over 
 the house for a trophy. It is a blood-feud, fierce and 
 implacable as any Ix-tween Afghans, and there's no 
 knowing where it will all end. 
 
 In Europe the monkey is a cynic, in South Ame-
 
 T12 The Old. 
 
 rica an overworked slave, in Africa a citizen, but in 
 India an imp — I mean to the eye of the Western 
 stranger, for in the estimation of the native he is 
 mythologically a demigod, and socially a guest. At 
 Ahmedabad, the capital of Gruzerat, there are certainly 
 two — Mr. De Ward says three — hospitals for sick and 
 lame monkeys, who are therein provided with salaried 
 physicians, apothecaries, and nurses. 
 
 In the famous Hindoo epic, the " Kamayana" of 
 Valmiek, — " by singing and hearing which continu- 
 ally a man may attain to the highest state of enjoy- 
 ment, and be shortly admitted to fraternit}^ with 
 the gods," — the exploits of Hoonamunta, the Divine 
 Monke}^, are gravely related, with a dramatic force 
 and figurativeness that hold a street audience spell- 
 bound ; but to the European imagination the childish 
 drollery of the plot is irresistible. 
 
 Boodhir, the Earth, was beset by giants, demons, 
 and chimeras dire ; so she besought Vislmu, with many 
 tears, and vows of peculiar adoration, to put forth his 
 streno-th of arms and arts against her abominable tor- 
 mentors, and i-out them utterly. The god was gra-
 
 A 'I1i}in ot' Talk. 31 -^ 
 
 cious ; whence liis nine avatars, or incarnations — as 
 iisli, as tortoise, as boar, as man-lion, as dwarf IJrali- 
 min, as Pursuram — tlie l^ralmiin-warrior wIkj ovcr- 
 llirew the Kshatriya, or soldier-caste; the eighth 
 avatar appeared in the person of Krislnia, and tlie 
 ninth in that of Boodh. 
 
 But the seventh incarnation was the avatar of 
 Bama, and it is this that the " Ramayana" celebrates. 
 
 Vishnu proceeds to be born unto Doosurath, King 
 of Ayodliya (Oude), as the Prince Rama, or Ramchun- 
 (Ira. Nothing remarkable occurs thereupon until 
 Rama has attained the marriai^eable age, when he 
 espouses Seeta, daughter of the King of Mithili. 
 
 Immediately old Mrs. Mithili, our hero's mother- 
 in-law, being of an intriguing turn of mind, api)lies 
 herself to the amiable task of worrying the poor oM 
 Iving of Ayodhya out of his crown or his life; and 
 so well does she succeed, that Doosurath, lor the sake 
 of peace and qviietness, would fain abdicate in favor 
 of his son. 
 
 But Rama will have none of his royalty. Was it 
 lor ])ort,'il kings and niisehief-making mothers-in-law,
 
 314 The Old. 
 
 he asks, speaking with the ante-natal memories of 
 Yishnii, that he came among the sons of men ? Not 
 at all ! he has a mission, and he bides his time. For 
 the present he will take his wife Seeta, whose will is 
 his, and go out into the wilderness, there to build him 
 a hut of bamboos and banian-boughs and palmyra- 
 leaves, and be — Seeta and he — two jolly yogees, that 
 is, religious gypsies — living on grass-roots, wild rice, 
 and white ants, and being dirty and devout to their 
 hearts' content. 
 
 So they went; and for a little while they enjoyed, 
 undisturbed, their yogeeish ideas of a good time. 
 But by-and-by tidings came to Rawunna — the giant 
 with ten heads and twice ten arms, that was King of 
 Lunka (Ceylon) — of the plots of Mrs. Mithili, the dis- 
 gust of old Doosurath, the distraction of the kingdom 
 of Ayodhya, and the whimsical adventure of Rama 
 and Seeta. 
 
 And immediately Rawunna, the giant, is seized in 
 all his heads and arms with a great longing to know 
 what manner of man this Rama may be, that he 
 should prefer the yogee's breech-cloth to the royal
 
 A riflin of l\ilk. 
 
 vs 
 
 purple, a hut of leaves, with only his Seeta, to a 
 haivni of a hundivd wives, white ants and paddy to 
 the white eamel's flesh and golden partridges of Ayod- 
 hya's imperial repasts. Especially is he curious as to 
 the charms of Seeta, as to the mighty magic where- 
 withal she renders monogamy acceptable to an Ayod- 
 hyan prince. 
 
 By Indra! he will see for himself! So, pleading 
 exhaustion from the cares of state, and ten headaches 
 of trouble and dyspepsia, he announces his intention 
 to make an excursion a few hundred coss into the 
 country for the benefit of his health ; and taking 
 twenty carpet-bags in his liands, he sets out, in his 
 monstrous way, for Ayodhya, leaving his kingdom in 
 the care of a blue dwarf with an eye in the back of 
 his neck. 
 
 With seven-coss strides he comes to Ayodhya, 
 and straightway finds the banian hut in the forest, 
 where Rama dwells with Seeta in the devout dirtiness 
 of their jolly yogeery. 
 
 The god has gone abroad in search of a dinner, and 
 is over the hills to the sandv nullahs, wlicre the wliife
 
 3i6 The Old. 
 
 ants are fattest ; wliile that greasy Joan, Seeta, " dotli 
 keel the pot" at home. 
 
 Then Eawunna, the giant, assuming the shape of a 
 pilgrim yogee rolling to the Caves of Ellora — with 
 Grayntree, the mystical text, on his lips, and the sha- 
 dow of Siva's beard in his sonl — rolls to Eama's 
 door, and cries, " Alms, alms ! in the name of the 
 Destroyer!" 
 
 And Seeta comes forth with water in a palm-leaf, 
 and grass-roots in the fold of her saree ; and when 
 she beholds the false yogee her heart blooms with 
 pity, so that her smile is as the alighting of butterflies, 
 and her voice as the rustling of roses. 
 
 But, behold you, as she bends over the prostrate 
 yogee, and, saying " Drink from the cup of Yishnu!" 
 offers the crisp leaf to his dusty lips, a great spasm of 
 desire impels the impostor ; and, flinging off the 
 yogee, he leaps erect — Eawunna, the Abhorred ! 
 
 With ten mouths he kisses her ; with twenty arms 
 he clasps her ; and away, away to Lunka ! while 
 yet poor Seeta gasps with fear. 
 
 When Eama returned and found no Seeta, his soul
 
 A Tiffin of T:ilk. 
 
 3»7 
 
 was seized with a iiiigbty horror; and a blanknoss, 
 like unto tlic mystery of Brahm, fell iii)on his heart. 
 He shed not a tear, l)ut the sky wc])t floods ; he 
 uttered not a groan, but Earth shook from her cen- 
 tre, and the mountains fell on their faces. But Rama, 
 stupified, stood stock-still where he was stricken, and 
 stared, till his eyelids stiffened, at the desolate hut, at 
 the desolate hearth. 
 
 Then all the angels in heaven, who had witnessed 
 the crime of Rawunna, and his flight, passed into the 
 forms of monkeys; and a million of them made a 
 monkey chain, that the rest of the celestial host might 
 descend into the banian-groves of Ayodhya. The 
 tails glide swiflly through each glowing hand, and 
 quick as lightning on the trees they stand. 
 
 And Hoonamunta, their chief, prostrated himself 
 before Rama, and said, "Behold, my Lord, we are 
 here ! I and all my host are yours — command us !" 
 
 But Rama spake not; he only stood where he was 
 stricken, and stared at his desolation. 
 
 Then Hoonamunta turned him to his host, and said, 
 " Bide here till I come, and be silent ; break not the
 
 31 8 The Old. 
 
 quiet of divine sorrow." And lie went forth with 
 mighty bounds. 
 
 That night he came to Lunka. But the city slept ; 
 if Seeta yet lived, she, too, was silent ^ no cry of sor- 
 row rose on the night ; no stir, as of an unusual event, 
 disturbed the stillness and the gloom. 
 
 So Hoonamunta took u^Don himself the form of a rat, 
 and sped nimbly through the huts of dwarfs and the 
 towers of giants, through the hiding-places of misery 
 and the high seats of power, through the places of 
 trouble and the places of ease ; till at last he came to 
 an ivory dome, hard by the silver palace of Kawunna, 
 the Monstrous; and there lay Seeta, buried in a pro- 
 found trance of despair. 
 
 Hoonamunta bit, very tenderly, her slender white 
 finger ; but she stirred not, she made no sign. 
 
 Then he whispered softly in her ear " Eama comes!" 
 and Seeta started from her death-sleep, and sat erect ; 
 her eyes were open, and she cried, " My Lord, I am 
 here ! " 
 
 So Hoonamunta spake to her, bidding her be of 
 good cheer, for Brahm was with her, and the Omni-
 
 A TiOln of Talk. 
 
 3»9 
 
 potent Three — bade her be of good heart and wait. 
 And Seeta's smile was us tlic alighting of many butter- 
 flies, and her voice of murniurcd joy was as the rus- 
 tling of all the roses of Ayodhyx 
 
 Then Hoonamunta took counsel with his cunning ; 
 and he said unto himself, " I will arouse the sleepers ; 
 I will take the strength of the city ; I will count the 
 heads of Rawunna, and the arms of him." 
 
 So straightway he resumed his monkey shape, and 
 went forth into the streets, by the tanks and through 
 the bazaars, among the places of the oppressed and the 
 places of the powerful. 
 
 And he bit the cars of the Pariah dogs, so lliat they 
 howled ; he twisted the tails of the Brahmin bulls, so 
 that they rushed, bellowing, down to the ghauts; he 
 plucked the beards of gorged adjutants, till they 
 snapped their great beaks with a terrible clatter. 
 
 lie made a great splashing in the tanks; he ran 
 through the bazaars, banging the gongs of the bell- 
 makers, and smashing the brittle wares of the potters; 
 he tore holes in the roofs of houses, and threw down 
 tiles upon them that were buried in slumber; ho
 
 320 The Old. 
 
 cried witli a loud voice, " Siva, Siva, the Destroyer, 
 Cometh I" 
 
 So that the city awoke with a great outcry and a 
 din, with all its torches and all its dogs. And the 
 multitude filled the streets, and the compounds, and 
 the open places round about the tanks ; and all cried, 
 "Siva, Siva!" 
 
 But when they beheld Hoonamunta, how he tore 
 off roofs, and pelted them with tiles — ^how he climbed 
 to the tops of pagodas, and jangled the sacred bells — 
 how he laid his shoulder to the city walls and over- 
 threw them, so that the noise of their fall was as the 
 roar of the breakers on the far-off coast of Lunka 
 when the Typhoon blows — then they cried, "A 
 demon ! a fiend from the halls of Yama ! " and they 
 gave chase with a mighty uproar — the gooroos, and 
 the y ogees, and the jugglers going first. 
 
 Then Hoonamunta took counsel with his cunning ; 
 and he came down and stood in the midst of the angry 
 people, and asked, " What would you with me ? and 
 where is this demon you pursue ? " 
 
 But they cried, "Hear him, how he mocks us! Hear
 
 A Tiffin of Talk. 321 
 
 him, how he flouts us!" and they dragged him into 
 the presence of Kawunna, the king. 
 
 And when the giant would have questioned liim, 
 who he was, and whence he came, and what his mis- 
 sion, he only mocked, and mimicked the fee-faw-fum- 
 ness of Rawunna's tones, and said, "Lo! tb is beggar 
 goes a-foot, but his words ride in a palanquin ! " 
 
 And the king said, " I have been foolish, I bavc 
 been weak, to waste words on this kaifir. Am not I 
 a mighty monarch? Am not I a terrible giant? Let 
 him be cast out 1 " 
 
 And again Hoonamunta mocked him, saying, "His 
 insanity is past! fetch him the rice-pounder that he 
 may gird himself! fetch him the gong that he may 
 cover his feet!" 
 
 And Hoonamunta would have sat on the throne, on 
 Eawunna's right hand ; but Rawunna thrust him ofl", 
 and cursed him. 
 
 So Hoonamunta took his tail in his hand, and 
 pulled and pulled ; and the tail grew, and grew — a 
 fathom, a furlong, a whole coss. 
 
 And Hoonamunta coiled it on the floor, a lofty coil.
 
 322 The Old. 
 
 on tlie right hand of the throne, higher and higher, 
 till it overlooked the golden cushion of the king ; and 
 Hoonamunta laughed. 
 
 Then Rawunna turned him to his councillors, and 
 said, "What shall we do with this audacious fellow?" 
 
 And with one voice all the councillors cried, "Burn 
 his tremendous tail ! " 
 
 And the king commanded : 
 
 Let all the dwarfs of Lunka 
 
 Bring rags from near and far ; 
 Call all the dwarfs of Lunka 
 
 To soak them well in tar I " 
 
 So they went and brought as many rags as ten 
 strong giants could lift, and a thousand niaunds of 
 tar. 
 
 And they soaked the rags in the tar, even as Ra- 
 wunna had commanded, and bound them all at once on 
 the tremendous tail of Hoonamunta. 
 
 And when they had done this, the king said, " Lead 
 him forth, and light him ! " 
 
 And they led him forth into the great Midaun, hard
 
 A Tillin of 'l':ilk. 323 
 
 by the triple pagoda; and they lighted his tail with 
 a torch. And immediately the flames leaped to the 
 skies, and the smoke filled all the city. 
 
 Then Iloonamunta broke away from his captors, 
 and with a shrill laugh started on his fiery race — over 
 house-tops and hay -ricks, through close bazaars and 
 dry rice-fields, through the porticoes of palaces and 
 the })orches of pagodas — kindling a roaring confla- 
 gration as he went 
 
 And all the people pursued him, screaming with 
 fear, im])loring mercy, imploring pardon, crying, 
 "Spare us, and we will make you our high-priest ! 
 Spare us, and you shall be our king! " 
 
 But Hoonamunta stayed not, till, having laid half the 
 city in flames, he ascended to the top of a lofty tower 
 to survey his work with satisfaction. 
 
 Thither the great men of Lunka followed him — 
 the princes and the Brahmins and the victorious 
 chieftains, the strong giants and the cunning dwarfs. 
 
 And when they were all gathered underneath the 
 U)wor, and in the porch of it, he shook it till it lell, 
 and crushed a thousand of the iirst citizens.
 
 324 The Old. 
 
 Then Hoonamunta sped awaj northward to Ayod- 
 hya, extinguishing his tail in the sea as lie went. 
 
 And when he came to where his army lay, he found 
 them all waiting in silence. "When he entered the 
 hut of Eama, the bereaved one still lay on his face. 
 But Hoonamunta s]3ake softly in his ear : " My Lord, 
 arise ! for Seeta calls you, and her heart sickens within 
 her that you come not !" 
 
 Immediately Kama uprose, and stood erect, and all 
 the god blazed in his eyes; and he grew in the sight 
 of Hoonamunta until his stature was as the stature of 
 Rawunna, the giant, and his countenance was as the 
 countenance of Indra, King of Heaven. 
 
 And he went forth, and stood at the head of Hoo- 
 namunta's monkey host, and called for a sword ; and 
 when they gave him one, it became alive in his hand, 
 and was a sword of flame ; and when they gave him a 
 spear, lo ! it became his slave, flying whithersoever he 
 bade and striking where he listed. 
 
 So Rama and Hoonamunta, with all their monkey 
 host, took up their march for Lunka. 
 
 Wlien they came to the sea (which is the Gnlf of
 
 A TifFin of Talk. 325 
 
 Man.inr) there was no hrid^n^; Imt Rama mounted on 
 tlic l)aclc of Iloonamuiita, and calk'd to the host to 
 follow him ; and all the monkeys leaped across. 
 
 Then immediately they fell upon Lunka ; and Rama 
 slew Rawunna, the Monster, and rescued the delighted 
 Seeta. 
 
 And now those three sit together on a throne in 
 heaven — Seeta, the faithful wife, on the left hand of 
 Rama — and Hoonamunta on his right hand, the 
 shrewd and courageous friend. 
 
 Who would not be a monkey in Hindostan?
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHILD-LIFE BY THE GANGES. 
 
 "We are told — and, being philosopliers, we will 
 amuse ourselves by believing — that there are towns 
 in India, somewhere between Cape Comorin and the 
 Himalayas, wherein everything is butcha — ^that is, "a 
 little chap ;" where inhabitants and inhabited are alike 
 in the estate of urchins ; where little Brahmins extort 
 little offerings from little dupes at the foot of little 
 altars, and ring little bells, and blow little horns, and 
 pound little gongs, and mutter little rigmaroles before 
 stupid little Krishnas and Sivas and Vishnus, doing 
 their little wooden best to look solemn, mounted on 
 little bulls or snakes, under little canopies; where 
 little Brahmin bulls, in all the little insolence of 
 their little sacred privileges, poke their little noses into 
 the little rice-baskets of pious little maidens in little
 
 Child-Lite by the Ganges. 327 
 
 bazaars, and help their Httle selves to their little 
 hearts' content, without "begging your little pardons," 
 or "by your little leaves;" where dirty little fakirs 
 and yogces hold their dirty little arms above their 
 dirty little heads, until their dirty little muscles are 
 shrunk to dirty little rags, and their dirty little finger- 
 nails grow through the backs of their dirty little hands 
 — or wear little tenpenny nails thrust through their 
 little tongues till they acquire little chronic ini])cdi- 
 meuts in their decidedly dirty little speech — or, by 
 means of little hooks through the little sraalls-of-their- 
 backs, circumgyrate from little churruck-Tposts for the 
 edification of infatuated httle crowds, and the honor 
 of horrid little goddesses ; where plucky little widows 
 perform their little suttees for defunct little husbands, 
 grilling on little funeral piles; where mangy little 
 Pariah dogs defile the little dinners of little high-caste 
 folks, by stealing hungry little sniffs from sacred little 
 pots; where omnivorous little adjutant-birds gobble 
 up little glass bottles, and bones, and little dead cati!, 
 ;ui(l little old slippers, and bits of little bricks, in front 
 of little shops in little bazaars ; where vociferous liiilc
 
 328 The Old. 
 
 circars are driving little bargains with obese little 
 banyans, and consequential little clioivhedars — that is, 
 policemen — are bullying inoffensive little poor people, 
 and calling them sooa-logue — that is, pigs ; — where — 
 where, in fine, everything in heathen human-nature 
 happens butcha, and the very fables with which the 
 little story-tellers entertain the little loafers on the 
 corners of the little streets, are full of Kitle giants and 
 Utile dwarfs. Let us pursue the little idea, and talk 
 hutcha to the end of this chapter. 
 
 When, in Calcutta, you have smitten the dry rock 
 of your lonely life with the magic rod of connubial 
 love, and that well-spring of pleasure, a new baby, 
 has leaped up in the midst of your wilderness of exile, 
 the demonstration, if any, with which your servants 
 will receive the glad tidings, will depend wholly on 
 the " denomination of the imbecile offspring," as our 
 eleemosynary widow, Mrs. Diana Theodosia Comfort 
 Green, would call it. K it happen to be only a girl, 
 there will be a trace of pity in the silent salaam with 
 which the grim durwan salutes you as you roll into 
 your palkee at the gate, to proceed to the godowns
 
 C'liilcl-Litf 1)\ till- Ganges. 329 
 
 •where they arc weighing the saltpetre and the ^unny- 
 bags. As he touches his forehead with his joined 
 pahns, he thinks of the difference that color makes to 
 the babivorous crocodiles of Ganges. Perhaps your 
 gray-beard circar, privileged by virtue of high caste 
 and Hiithful service, will take upon himself to condole 
 with you: ^^ K/iodahimd," he will say, "better luck 
 next time; Heaven is not always with one's paternal 
 hopes ; let us trust that my lord may live to say it 
 might have been worse ; let us pray that the halo's 
 bridal necklace may be as gay as rubies and as light 
 as lilies, and that she may die before her husband." 
 But if to the existing number of your suniosliums 
 — the jewels that hang on the Mem Sahib's bosom — a 
 man-child is added, ah ! then there is merry-making 
 in the verandahs, and happy salaaming on the stairs ; 
 and in the fulness of his Hindoo Sary-Gampness, which 
 counts the Sahib blessed that hath " his quiver full of 
 sich," he says, Ap-Jci kuUejee kaisa hurri ho-jaija! 
 Khodd ruhho lei heehi-ica hillejee hhce itni hurri lioga — 
 Gurreeb-piirivanf "How large my lord's liver is 
 about to grow ! God grant to the ^feni Sahib my
 
 330 The Old. 
 
 exalted lady, a liver likewise large — favored Pro- 
 tector of the Poor!" the happiness and honors which 
 should follow upon the birth of a male child being 
 figuratively comprehended in that liberality of the 
 liver whence comes the good digestion for which alone 
 life is worth the living. 
 
 Many and grievous perils do environ baby-life by 
 the Ganges — ^perils by dry nurses, perils by wolves, 
 perils by crocodiles, perils by the Evil Eye, perils by 
 kidnappers, perils by cobras, perils by devils. 
 
 You are living at one of the up-country stations, 
 where the freer air of the jungle imparts to babes and 
 sucklings a voracious appetite. Besides your own 
 dhye, brought from Calcutta, there is not another wet- 
 nurse to be had, for love or money. Immediately 
 Dhye strikes for higher wages. The Baba Sahib, she 
 says, has defiled her rice ; yesterday he put his foot 
 into her curry; to-day he washes the monkey's tail 
 in her consecrated lotah. What shall she do? she 
 has lost caste ; the presents to the Brahmins, that her 
 reinstatement will cost her, will consume all her earn- 
 ings from the beginning. Gurreeb-purwan^ munifi-
 
 Child-Lite- by the Ganges. 331 
 
 cent and merciful! what shall she do? She strikes 
 for higher wages. But you arc hard-hearted and 
 hard-headed; you will not pay — by Gunga, not 
 another pice! by Latchmee, not one cowry more! — 
 Oh, then she will leave; with a heavy heart she will 
 turn her back on the blessed baby ; she will pour dust 
 upon her head before the Mem Sahib, at whose door 
 her disgrace shall lie, and she will return to her kin- 
 dred. Not she! the durwan, grim and incorruptible, 
 has his orders ; she cannot pass the gate. Oho ! then 
 immediately she dries up ; no " fount," and Baby 
 fixmishing. You try ass's milk ; it does not agree with 
 Baby ; besides, it costs a rupee a pint. You try a 
 goat; she does not agree with Baby, for she butts hini 
 tremendously, and, leaping over his prostrate body, 
 scampers, like Leigh Hunt's pig in Smithfield Market, 
 up all manner of figurative streets. Then you send 
 for Dhye, and say, " Milk, or I shave your head !" 
 Milk or Death ! And, lo, a miracle ! — the " fount" 
 again ! — Baby is saved. 
 
 What was, then, the conjuration and the mighty 
 mao;ic? In the folds of her .saree the dhvc conceals
 
 Q02 The Old. 
 
 leaves of chamheli, tlie Indian jessamine, roots of 
 dhallapee, the jungle radish. She chews the chambeli, 
 and hungry Baby, struggling for the "fount," is 
 insulted with apples of Sodom ; she swallows a por- 
 tion of dhallapee, and he is regaled as with the melt- 
 ing melons of Ceylon, 
 
 Some fine afternoon your ayah takes your little 
 Johnny to stroll by the river's bank — to watch the 
 green budgerows, as they glide, pulled by singing 
 dandees (so the boatmen of Ganges are called) up 
 to Patna — to watch the brown corpses, as they float 
 silently down from Benares. At night the ayah 
 returns, wringing her hands. "Where is your merry 
 darling? She knows not, Khodobund, go ask the 
 evil spirits ! O Sahib, go cry unto Gunga — go accuse 
 the greedy river, and say to the envious waters, 
 " Give back my boy !" She had left him sitting on a 
 stone, she says, counting the sailing corpses, while 
 she went to find a blue-jay's nest among the rocks ; 
 when she returned to the stone — no Jonnee Sahib! 
 "My golden image, who hath snatched him away?
 
 Child-Life by the Ganges. oao 
 
 lie that skipped and hummed, hkc a singing-top, 
 where is he gone?" A month after that, your dan- 
 •lees capture a erocodile, and from his heathen maw 
 recover a famihar coral necklace witli an inscription 
 on the clasp — "To Johnny, on his birth-day." A 
 pair of little silver bangles, whose jocund jingling had 
 once been happy household music to some poor Hin- 
 doo mother, have kept the necklace company. 
 
 Over against the gate of our compound the Baboo's 
 walks are bright with roses, and ixoras, and the 
 creeping nagatallis ; the Baboo's park is shady with 
 banians, and fragrant with sandal-trees, and imposing 
 with tall peepuls, and cool with sparkling fountains; 
 and Chinna Tumbe, the Little Brother, the brown 
 apple of the Baboo's eye, plays among the bamboos 
 by the tank, just within the gate, and pelts the gold- 
 fislies with mango-seeds. Presently comes along a 
 pleasant peddler, all the way from Cabool, with a 
 ])rctty bushy-tailed kitten of Persia in the hollow of 
 his arm, and a cunning little mungooz cracking nuts 
 on his shoulder. A score of tiny silver bells tinkle
 
 334 
 
 The Old. 
 
 from a silken cord around Cbinna Tumbe's loins, and 
 the silver whistle with which he calls his cockatoos is 
 suspended from his neck by a chain of gold. So the 
 pleasant peddler, all the way from Cabool, greets 
 ('hinna Tumbe merrily, saying, " See my pretty 
 kitten, that knows a hundred tricks! and see my 
 brave mungooz, that can kill cobras in fair fight! 
 My Persian kitten for your silver bells, Chinna 
 Tumbe ; and my cunning mungooz for your golden 
 chain !" And Chinna Tumbe laughs, and claps his 
 hands, and dances for delight, and all his silver bells 
 jingle gleefully. And the pleasant peddler all the 
 way from Cabool says, " Step without the gate. Little 
 Brother, if you would see my pretty kitten play 
 tricks; if you would stroke my cunning mungooz, 
 step without the gate; for I dare not pass within, lest 
 my lord, the Baboo of many lacs, should be angry." 
 So Chinna Tumbe steps out into the road, and the 
 pleasant peddler, all the way from Cabool, sets the 
 Persian kitten on the ground, and rattles off some 
 strange words, that sound very funnily to the Little 
 Brother ; and immediately the Persian kitten begins
 
 CliiKl-Lih- by the Changes. 335 
 
 to run round after it.s bushy tail, fa.stcr and i;u^t<.T, 
 faster and faster, a ring of yellow light. And Chinna 
 Tuinbc elaps his hands, and eries, 11a//, icali ! and 
 all his silver bells jingle gleefully. So the pleitsant 
 peddler addresses other strange and funny words to the 
 ring of yellow light, and instantly it sUinds still, and 
 quivers its bushy tail, and pants. Then the peddler 
 speaks to the cunning mungooz, which immediately 
 leaps to the ground, and sitting quite erect, with its 
 broad tail curled over its back, like a niaiabout 
 feather, holds its paws together in the quaint niauner 
 of a squirrel, and looks attentive. Mure of tlie ]>i'<l- 
 dler's funny conjuration, and up springs the mungooz 
 into the air, like a Birman's wicker football, and, 
 alighting on the kitten's back, clings close and liust. 
 Away fly kitten and mungooz — away from the gate 
 — away from the Baboo's walks, bright with ixoras 
 and creeping nagatallis — away from the Baboo's park, 
 shady with banians, and fragrant with sandal-trees, 
 and imposing with tall peepuls, and cool with spark- 
 ling fountain.s — away from the Baboo's home, away 
 from the Baboo's heart, bereft thenceforth lor ever 1
 
 336 The Old. 
 
 For Chinna Tumbe follows fast, crying, Wah, wahf 
 and clapping his hands, and jingling gleefully all his 
 silver bells — follows across the road, and through the 
 bamboo hedge, and into the darkness and the danger 
 of the jungle; and the pleasant peddler, all the way 
 from Cabool, goes smiling after — but, as he goes, what 
 is it that he draws from the breast of his dusty cooriee ^ 
 Only a slender, smooth cord, with a slip-knot at the 
 end of it. 
 
 Within the twelvemonth, in a stony nullah, hard 
 by a clump of crooked saul-trees, a mile away from 
 the Baboo's gate, some jackals brought to light the 
 bones of a Httle child ; and the deep grave from which 
 they dug them with their sharp, busy claws, bore 
 marks of the mystic pickaxe of Thuggee. But there 
 were no tinkling bells, no chain of gold, no silver 
 whistle ; and the cockatoos and the gold-fishes knew 
 Chinna Tumbe no more. 
 
 When a name was bestowed on the Little Brother, 
 the Brahmins wrote a score of pretty words in rice, 
 and set over each a lamp freshly trimmed ; and the 
 name whose light burned brightest, with happy
 
 Cliilcl-Lifc by rlic Ganges. 337 
 
 ciiigury, was "Cliiniia TiiniLc." Aii<l wlieii tlicv li;i<l 
 likewise inscribed the day of his birtli, and tlie name 
 of his natal star, the ])roud and happy Baboo cried, 
 with a loud voice, three times, "Chinna Tumbe;" and 
 all the Brahmins stretched forth their hands and pro- 
 nounced Asirvadam — benediction. Then they per- 
 formed arati about the child's head, to avert the Evil 
 Eye, describing mystic circles with lamps of rice-paste 
 set on copper salvers, with many pious incantations. 
 But, spite of all, the Evil Eye overtook Chinna 
 Tumbe, when tlic pleasant peddler came all the way 
 from Cabool, with his bushy-tailed kitten, and his 
 mungooz cracking nuts. 
 
 They do say the ghost of Chinna Tumbe walks — 
 that always at midnight, when the Indian nightingale 
 fills the Baboo's banian topes with her lugTibrious 
 song, and the weird ulus hoot from the pecpul to])s, a 
 child, girt with silver bells, and followed by a Persian 
 kitten and a mungooz, shakes the Baboo's gate, blows 
 upon a silver whistle, and cries, so pitcously, " Ayah 1 
 Ayah !"
 
 338 The Old. 
 
 At Hurdwar, in the great fair, among jugglers and 
 tumblers, liorse-tamers and snake-charmers, fakirs and 
 pilgrims, I saw a small boy possessed of a devil — an 
 authentic devil, as of yore, meet for miraculous driv- 
 ing out. In the midst of dire din, heathenish and 
 horrible — dissonant jangle of yogees' bells, brain- 
 rending blasts from Brahmins' shells, strepent howling 
 of opium-drunk devotees, delirious pounding of tom- 
 toms, brazen clangor of gongs — a child of seven years, 
 that might, unpossessed, have been beautiful, sat 
 under the shed of a sort of curiosity-shop, among 
 bangles and armlets, mouth-pieces for pipes, leaden 
 idols, and Brahminical cords, and made infernal faces 
 • — his mouth foaming epileptically, his hair dishevelled 
 and matted with sudden sweat, his eyes blood-shot, 
 his whole aspect diabolic. And on the ground before 
 the miserable lad were set dishes of rice mixed with 
 blood, carcasses of rams and cocks, handfuls of red 
 flowers, and ragged locks of human hair, wherewith 
 the more miserable people sought to appease the fell 
 hhula that had set up his throne in that fair soul. 
 Sack hat! It was even so. And as the possessed
 
 Child-Life by rhc Ganges. 33c) 
 
 iiukIc spasiiiy lists with liis loot, clinching his toes 
 strangely, ami griiinr(l, wiih his chin between his 
 knees, 1 solemnly wished for the presence of One who 
 might cry, witli the voice of authority, as erst in the 
 land of the Gadarenes, "Conic out of the lad, thou 
 Unclean S]:)irit!" 
 
 At the Hurdwar fair pretty little naked girls are 
 exposed for sale, and in their soft brown innocence, 
 appeal at once to the j)urity of your mind and the 
 tenderness of your heart. They come from Cashmere 
 with the shawls, or from Cabool with the kittens, or 
 from the Punjaub with the arms and shields. 
 
 Very quaint are the little Miriams, Euths, and 
 llannahs, of the Jewish houses in Bombay — with their 
 full trousers of blue satin and gold, their boyish Fez 
 caps of spangled red velvet, bound round with parti- 
 colored turbans, their chin-bands of pearls, their coin 
 chains, their great gold bangles, and the jingling tas- 
 sels of their long plaits. 
 
 Less interesting, because formal and inanimate, even 
 to sulkiness, are the i)rim little Parsee maidens, who 
 often wear an "excM-ciscd" cxpressidu, of a si'ttled
 
 340 The Old. 
 
 sort, as though they were wearj of reflecting on the 
 hollowness of the world, and how their dolls are 
 stuffed with sawdust, and that Dakhma, the Tower of 
 Silence, is the end of all things. 
 
 Then there are the regimental habahgite, the sol- 
 diers' children, sturdiest and toughest of Anglo-Indian 
 urchins — affording, in their brown cheeks, and crisp 
 muscles, and boisterous ways, a consoling contrast 
 to the oh-call-it-pale-not-fairness, and the frailness, 
 and premature pensiveness, of the little Civil Ser- 
 vice. 
 
 And there is the half-caste child, the lisping chee- 
 chee, or Eurasian, grandiloquently so called, much 
 given to sentimental minstrelsy, juvenile polkas, early 
 coquetry, and early beer, hot curries, "loud" clothes, 
 bad English, and fast pertness. I never think of them 
 without recalling a precocious ballad-screamer of eight 
 years, who was flourished indispensably at every chee- 
 chec hop in Chandernagore : 
 
 " lay me in a little pit, 
 With a marvle thtone to cover it,
 
 Child-Lite by tlu! Ganges. ?j_| i 
 
 And kcearve tlieicon a turklc-dove, 
 
 That tlie world may know I died for love!" 
 
 I left India in consequence of that child. 
 
 But for the true Anglo-Indian type of brat, at all 
 points a complete "torn-down," "dislikeable and rod- 
 worthv," as Mrs. Mackenzie describes it, there is no- 
 thing among nursery nuisances comparable to the 
 Civil-Service child of eight or ten years, whose father, 
 a "Company's Bad Bargain," in the Mint, or the Su- 
 preme Court, or the Marine Oflice, draws per mensem 
 enough to set his brat up in the usual servile surround- 
 ings of such small despots. Deriving the only educa- 
 tion it ever gets directly from its ])ersonal attendants, 
 this young monster of bad. temper, bad manners, and 
 bad language, becomes precociously proficient in over- 
 bearing ways, and voluble in Ilindostanee Billing.sgate, 
 before it has acquired enough of its ancestral tongue 
 to frame the simplest sentence. It bullies its bhearcr; 
 it bangs distractingly on the tom-tom ; it surfeit^s 
 itself to an apoplectic point with i)ish-pash ; it burns 
 its mouth with hot curry, and bawls; it indulges in 
 horrid Ilindostanee song.s, whereof the burden will
 
 342 The Old. 
 
 not bear translating; it insults whatever is most sacred 
 to the caste attachments of its attendants ; the Moab 
 of ayahs is its wash-pot, over an Edom of bhcarers 
 will it cast out its shoe ; it slaps the mouth of a grej- 
 haired khansamah with its slipper, and dips its poo- 
 dle's paws in a Mohammedan kitmudgar's rice ; it calls 
 a learned Pundit an asal tdu, an egregious owl ; it 
 says to a high-caste circar, "Shut up, j'ou pig!" and 
 to an illustrious moonshee, ^^Hi, toom junglee-ivallah ! '''' 
 Whereat its fond mamma, to whom Bengalee, Hindos- 
 tanee, and Sanscrit, are alike sealed books of Babel, 
 claps the hands of her heart, and crying, " Wah^ wahf^ 
 in all the innocence of her philological deficiency, 
 blesses the fine animal spirits of her darling Hastings 
 Chve. 
 
 " Soono^ you sooa^ toora kis-wasti omara hiilcri not 
 bring ? " says Hastings Clive, whose English is apt to 
 figure among his Hindostauee like Brahmins in a 
 regiment of Sepoys — that is, one Brahmin to every 
 twenty low-caste fellows. 
 
 The Hon. Ifn-. Wellesky Gough. — " Wellesley dear, 
 do listen to that darling Hastings Clive, how sweetly he
 
 Child-Lite by the Ganges. 343 
 
 prattles! What did he say then? If any one couM 
 only learn that delightftil Ilindostanee, so that one 
 could converse with one's dear Hastings Clival Do 
 tell me what he said." 
 
 The Hon. Wdlesley Goitgh, of Oie Company\-i Bad 
 Bargains. — " Literally interpreted, my dearest Maud, 
 our darling Hastings Clive sweetly remarks, 'I say, 
 you pig, why in thunder don't you fetch my goat into 
 the parlor?'" 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough, of (he Hon. Mr. 
 Wdlesley Gouglis Bad Bargains. — " Oh, isn't he clever? 
 
 Hastings Clive. — " Jon., you haremzeada f BuJcri na 
 munkta, nimuk-arani! " 
 
 The Hon. Wellesley Gough.— ''My love, he says 
 now, ' Get out, you good-for-nothing rascal I I don't 
 want that goat liere.' " 
 The Hon. Mrs. Wellesley Gough.— ''Oh, /.s//'nie clever?" 
 
 What dri'adrul crime did you commit in aiiotlicr 
 life, O illustrious Moonshee, that you should fall n<'W 
 among such tliicvcs as this horrid Hastings Clive? 
 
 "Sahil), 1 know not. /fi/ni kiakurrenge? kisniut 
 hi: What can I do? it is my fate."
 
 344 The Old. 
 
 Hastings Clive has a queer assortment of pets, first 
 of whicli are the busliy-tailed Persian kittens, herein- 
 before mentioned. "When in Yankee-land, some love- 
 lorn Zeekle is notoriously sweet upon any Huldy of 
 the rural maids — when 
 
 " His heart keeps goin' pitypat, 
 And hern goes pity Zeekle," — 
 
 when she is 
 
 " All kind o' smily roundt he lips, 
 And teary round the lashes," — 
 
 it is usual to describe his condition by a feline figure ; 
 he is said to " cuddle np to her like a sick kitten to a 
 hot brick." But the sick oriental kitten, reversing the 
 occidental order of kitten things, cuddles up to a 
 water-monkey, and fondly embraces the refreshing 
 evaporation of its beaded bulb with all her paws and 
 all her bushy tail. The Persian kitten stands high in 
 the favor of Hastings Clive. 
 
 Hastings Clive has a parti-colored array of parro- 
 quets and hill-mainahs, which, as they learned their 
 small language from his peculiar scurrilous practice, are
 
 Child-Lite by tlic (i;ingi*s. ^^.^^ 
 
 but blackguard l)irds at best, lie also rejoices in many 
 blue jays, rescued from the Ganges, whcreinto they 
 ■were thrown as offerings to the vengeful Doorga, dur- 
 ing the barbarous ^oo;a celebrated in her name. Very 
 proud, too, is Hastings Clive of his pigeons — his 
 many-colored pigeons from Lucknow, Delhi, and Be- 
 nares; an Oudean bird-boy has trained them to the 
 pretty sport of the Mohammedan princes; and every 
 afternoon he flies them from thC house-top in flashing 
 flocks, for Hastings Olive's entertainment. 
 
 Hastings Clive has toys, the wooden and earthen 
 toys for which Benares was ever famous among Indian 
 children — nondescript animals, and as nondescript 
 idols — little Brahmin bulls with bells, and artillery 
 camels, like those at Rohilcuad and Agra — Sahibs 
 taking the air in buggies, country-folk in hackeries, 
 baba-logue in gig-topped tonjons. But much more 
 various and entertaining, though frailer, arc his Cal- 
 cutta toys, of paper, clay, and wax — hunting-parties 
 in Bamboo howdahs, on elephants a foot high, that 
 move their trunks very euuningly^avadavatsof clay, 
 which flutter so naturally, suspended by hairs in bam-
 
 346 The Old. 
 
 boo cages, that the cats destroy them quickly — minia- 
 ture palanquins, budgerows, bungalows, and pagodas, 
 all of paper — ^figures in clay of the different castes 
 and callings, baboos, kitmudgars, washermen, barbers, 
 tailors, street-waterers, box- wallahs (as the peddlers are 
 called), nautch-girls, jugglers, sepoys, policemen, door- 
 keepers, dog-boys — all true to the life, in costume, 
 attitude, and expression. 
 
 Statedly, on his birth-day, the Anglo-Indian child 
 is treated to a lat-pootke nautch, and Hastings Clive 
 has a birth-day every time he conceives a longing for 
 a puppet-show ; so that our wilful young friend may 
 be said to be nine years, or about nineteen kat-poot- 
 lee nautch es, old. 
 
 To make a birth-day for Hastings Clive, three or 
 four iamasha-icaUahs, or show-fellows, are required ; 
 these, hired for a few rapees, come from the nearest 
 bazaar, bringing with them all the fantastic apparatus 
 of a kat-pootlee nautch, with its interludes of story- 
 telling and jugglery. A sheet, or table-cloth, or per- 
 haps a painted drop-curtain, expressly prepared, is 
 hung between two pillars in the drawing-room, and
 
 Child-Lite by the Changes. 347 
 
 reaches, not to the floor, but to the tops of the minia- 
 ture towers of a silver palace, where some splendid 
 Rajali, of llibulous wealth and power, is about to hold 
 a grand durbar, or levee. All the people, be they 
 illustrious personages or the common herd, who as- 
 sist in the ceremony, are pu})pets a span long, rudely 
 constructed and coarsely painted, but very faithful a.s 
 to costume and manners, and most dexterously 
 j^layed upon by the invisible tamasha- wallahs, whom 
 the curtain conceals. 
 
 A silver throne having been wheeled out on the 
 portico by manikin bhearers, the manikin Rajah, at- 
 tend(>(l 1)y his manikin moonshee, and as many mani- 
 kin courtiers as the tamasha property-man can sup- 
 ])ly, comes forth in his wooden way, and seats him- 
 self on the throne in wooden state; a manikin /kio- 
 hah-hadar, or ]iij)e-serve7', and a manikin r]i(t(t<di-tral- 
 hdi, or umbrella-bearer, take up tlu'ir wooden posi- 
 tions behind, while a manikin punJiah-icaUah fiins, 
 woodenly, his manikin Highness, and the manikin 
 courtiers dance wooden attendance around, 'riicii 
 manikin ladies and Lrentlemen come on manikin ele-
 
 348 The Old. 
 
 phants, and borses, and camels, or in manikin palan- 
 quins, and alight with wooden dignity at the foot of 
 the palace stairs, taking their respective orders of 
 wooden precedence with wooden pomposities and 
 humilities, and all the manikin forms of the custo- 
 mary bore. The manikin courtiers trip woodenly 
 down the grand stairs to meet the manikin guests 
 with little wooden Orientalisms of compliment, and 
 all the little wooden delicacies of the season ; and 
 they conduct the manikin sahibs and bebees into the 
 presence of the manikin Eajah, who receives them 
 with wooden condescension and affability, and gra- 
 ciously reciprocates their wooden salaams, inquiring 
 woodenly into the health of all their manikin friends, 
 and hoping, with the utmost ligneous solicitude, that 
 they have had a pleasant wooden journey : and so 
 on, manikin by manikin, to the wooden end. Of 
 course, much desultory tom-tomry and wild trouba- 
 douring behind the curtain make the occasion mu- 
 sical. 
 
 The audience is complete in all the picturesqucness 
 of mixed baba-logue. In the front row, chattering
 
 Clii Ill-Lite l)y the Ganges, iuj 
 
 brown ayahs, gay with red sarees and nose-rings, sit 
 on the floor, holding in their laps pale, tender babies, 
 i'air-liaire<l and blue-eyed, lace-swaddled, coral-clasped, 
 and amber-studded. Behind these, xm high chairs, 
 arc the striplings of three years and upwards, vocifer- 
 ous and kicking under the hand-punkahs of their 
 patient bhearers. Tall fellows are these bhearers, 
 with fierce moustaches, but gentle eyes — a sort of 
 nursery lions whom a little child can lead. On each 
 side arc small chocolate-colored heathens, in a sort of 
 short chemises, silver-bangled as to tlieir wrists and 
 ankles, and already with the caste-mark on the fore- 
 heads of some of them — shy, demure younglings, just 
 learning all the awful significance of the word SaJiib^ 
 who have been brought from mysterious homes by 
 fond ayalis, and smuggled in through back-stairs' influ- 
 ence, or boldly introduced by the durwan under the 
 glorifying patronage of that terrible Hastings Clive. 
 
 Back of all are Dhobec, the washerman, and Dir- 
 zee, the tailor, and ^fehtur, the sweeper, and Mussal- 
 chee, the torch-boy, and Metranee, the scullion — and 
 all the rest of the household rift-raflVv. There is
 
 390 The Old. 
 
 mucli clapping of hands, and happy wah-wah-ing, 
 "wherefrom you conclude that Hastings Olive's birth- 
 day is at least one good result of his being born at 
 all. 
 
 The Sahib baba-logue have a lively share in seve- 
 ral of the native festivals. The Hoolee, for instance, 
 is their high carnival of fun, when they pelt their 
 elders and each other with the red powder of the 
 mliindee^ and repel laughing assaults with smart 
 charges of rose-water fired from busy little squirts. 
 During the illumination of the Duwallee, they re- 
 ceive from the servants presents of fantastic toj^s, and 
 search in the compounds by moonlight for the flower 
 of the tree that never blossoms, and for the soul of a 
 snake, whence comes to the finder good luck for the 
 rest of his life. 
 
 These are the traditional sports of the baba-logue ; 
 but they are ingenious in inventing others, wherein, 
 from time to time, the imitative faculty, of the native 
 child especially, is tragically manifested. 
 
 When the ISTawab, Shumsh-ud-deen, was hung at 
 Delhi for hiring a sowar to assassinate Mr. Fraser,
 
 C'liiKI-Litc l)y llic (»:in^cs. 
 
 )•) 
 
 llic l^ritish Commissioner, the country po])uliitit)u 
 round jibout were seized with tiie news as with the 
 coming of u dragon or a destroying army ; and the 
 British Lion was the Bogy, the Black Douglas, in 
 whose names poor ryots' wives scared refractory brats 
 into trembling obedience. Not far from Deliii was a 
 village school, where were many small boys — so 
 many Asiatic frogs-in-a- well — to whom "the news 
 of the day" was full of terrible portent. Once, when 
 they were tired of loot-bull, and the shuttlecock had 
 grown heavy on tlicir hands, the cry was, " Wliat 
 shall we play next?" And one daring little fel- 
 low — whose father had been to Delhi with his rent, 
 and had told how the Nawab met his kismnt (his 
 fate) so quietly, that the gold-embroidered slippers 
 did not fall from his feet — cried, " Let us play hang- 
 ing the Nawab ! and I will be the Nawab ; and 
 Kama, here, shall be Kurreim Khan, the sowar ; and 
 Joota shall be Metcalfe Sahib, the magistrate ; and 
 the rest of you shall be the sahibs, and the sepoys, 
 and the priests." 
 
 Aclia, Acha ! — " Good, good !" they all cried.
 
 352 The Old. 
 
 " Let us play the Nawab's kismut ! let us bang tbe 
 ISTawab ! And Mungioo — be tbat is more clever 
 tban all of ns — be tbat is cunning as a Tbug — - 
 Mungioo sball be tbe Nawab !" 
 
 So tbej began witb tbe murder of tbe Commis- 
 sioner ; and be wbo personated Kurreim Kban, tbe 
 assassin, played so naturally, tbat be sent tbe Com-, 
 missioner screaming to bis motber, witb an arrow 
 sticking in bis arm. Tben tbey arrested Kurreim 
 Kban, and bis accomplice, Unnia, a mehwaitt^ wbo 
 turned king's evidence, and betrayed tbe sowar ; and 
 baving tried and condemned Kurreim Kban, tbey 
 would bave bung bim on tbe spot ; but, being but a 
 little fellow, be became alarmed at tbe serious turn 
 tbe sport was taking, altbougb be bad bimself set so 
 sbarp an example ; so be took nimbly to bis beels, 
 and followed bis young friend, tbe Commissioner. 
 
 Tben Unnia told bow tbe Nawab bad paid Kur 
 reim Kban blood-money, because Sbumsb-ud-deen 
 did so bate Fraser Sabib. Wbereupon Metcalfe Sa- 
 bib, a little naked fellow, just tbe color of an old 
 mabogany table, sent bis sepoys and bad tbe N i-
 
 Ciiilil-Litc l>y the Cj;ingcs. 35^ 
 
 wal) dragged, in all his ragged breccli-cloth glory, U) 
 tlie bar of Sahib justice. In about three minutes, the 
 Nawab was condemned to die — condemned to be 
 hung by an outcast sweeper. But, in considerati<jn 
 of his exalted rank, they consented that he should 
 wear his slippers, and ride to the place of execution, 
 smoking his hookah ; and Mungloo acknowledged 
 the Sahib's magnanimity by proudly inclining his 
 head, like a true Nawab, with a dignified " Acha .'" 
 Then two members of the court-martial, who lived 
 nearest at hand, ran home, and quickly returned, one 
 with his father's slippers, the other with his mother's 
 hubble-bubble; and having tied the slippers, that 
 were a world too big, on Mungloo's little feet, and 
 lighted the hubble-bubble, that he might smoke, they 
 mounted him on a buffalo, captured from the village 
 IturJcaru, who happened, just in the nick of time, to 
 come riding by, on his way to Delhi, with the mail. 
 And they led out the prisoner, smoking his hubble- 
 bubble— and looking, as Metcalfe Sahib said of the 
 leal Nawab, " as if he had been accustomed to be 
 hanged every day of his life" — to the place of cxccu-
 
 354 'fhe Old. 
 
 tion, an old saul-tree witli low limbs. Then, liaving 
 taken the rope with which the hurkaru's mail-bag 
 was lashed to his buffalo, they slipped a noose over 
 the Nawab's head, made the other end fast to the 
 lower limb of the saul-tree, and led away the buffalo. 
 Little Mungloo, who was cunning as a Thug, acted 
 with surprising talent; in fact, some of the Sahibs 
 thought he rather overdid his part, for he dropped his 
 hubble-bubble almost awkwardly, and even kicked — 
 which the real Nawab had too much self-respect to do 
 — so that he sent one of his slippers flying one way, 
 and the other another. But he choked, and gasped, 
 and showed the whites of his eyes, and turned black 
 in the face, and shivered through all his frame, so 
 very naturally, that his admiring companions clapped 
 their hands vehemently, and cried Wah, ivah I with 
 all their little lungs. IFaA, wah! they screamed — • 
 Wahkhooh iamasha kuria Id! Phir kello^ Mungloo! 
 Bahoot uchi-turri nuhkul, kurte ho ioom ! " Hooray ! 
 Hooray! Such fun! Do it again, Mungloo — do it 
 again 1 it takes you I" Certainly Mungloo did it to the 
 life — for he was dead.
 
 Child-Litf ]-)v flic Ganges. 39^ 
 
 To conclude now with a specimen of the tales with 
 which the native story-tellers entertain little heathens 
 on street corners. 
 
 There was once a bastard boy, the son of a Brah- 
 min's widow ; and he was excluded from a merry 
 wedding-feast on account of his disgraceful birth. 
 With a heart full of bitterness, he prayed to Siva for 
 comfort or revenge ; and Siva, taking pity on him, 
 taught him the mystic mantra, or incantation, called 
 Bijaksharam — Shrum, hrim, craoom, hroom, hroo ! So 
 the boy went to the door of the apartment where the 
 wedding guests were regaling themselves and making 
 merry, and he pronounced the mantra backwards — 
 Hroo, hroom, craoom, hrim, shrinnf Immediately the 
 fish, and the cucumbers, and the mangoes, and the 
 pumple-noscs took the shape of toads, and jumped into 
 the faces of the guests, and into their bosoms and laps, 
 and on the floor. Then the boy laughed so loud that 
 the astonished guests knew it was he who had con- 
 jured them ; so they went to the door and let him in, 
 and set him at the head of the table. Tiicn the boy 
 was satisfied, and uttering the mantra aright, he con-
 
 356 The Old. 
 
 jured the toads back into tlie dishes again ; and tliey 
 all lay down in their places, and became fish, and 
 cucumbers, and mangoes, and pumple-noses, just as if 
 nothing had happened. 
 Glory to Siva 1
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ASIRVADAM, TIIK BRAHMIN. 
 
 "Who put together the machinery of the great Indian 
 Revolt, and set it going ? "Who stirred up the sleeping 
 tiger in the Sepoy's heart, and struck Christendom 
 aghast with the dire devilries of Mcerut and Cawnpore? 
 
 Asirvadam, the Brahmin ! 
 
 Asirvadam is nimble with mace or cue ; at the bil- 
 liard-table, it is hinted, he can distinguish a kiss from 
 a carom; at the sideboard (and here, if I were ^fr. 
 Charles Rcade, I would whisper, in small type) he 
 confouiuls not cocktails with cobblers; when, being 
 in trade, he would sell you saltpetre, he tries you 
 witli flaxseed; v/hen he would buy indigo, he offers 
 you indigo at a sacrifice. Yet, in Asirvadam, if any 
 qualitv is more noticeable than the sleek respectability
 
 358 The Old. 
 
 of tlie Baboo, it is tlie jealous orthodoxy of tlie 
 Brahmin. If he knows in what presence to step out 
 of his slippers, and when to pick them up again with 
 his toes, in jaunty dandyisms of etiquette, he also 
 makes the most of his insolent order and its patent of 
 privilege, and wears the rue of his triple cord with a de- 
 mure and dignified difference. High, Low, or Jack, it is 
 always " the game" with him ; and the game is — Asirva- 
 dam, the Brahmin — free tricks and Brahmin's rights — 
 Asirvadam for his caste, and everything for Asirvadam. 
 
 The natural history of our astute and accomplished 
 friend is worth a page or two. And first, as to his 
 color. Asirvadam comes from the northern provinces, 
 and calls the snow-turbaned Himalayas cousin ; con- 
 sequently his complexion is the brightest among 
 Brahmins. By some who are uninitiated in the 
 chemical mysteries of our metropolitan milk-trade, it 
 has been likened to chocolate and cream, with plenty 
 of cream ; but the comparison depends, for the idea it 
 conveys, so much on the taste of the ethnological in- 
 quirer, as to the proportion of cream, and still so
 
 Asir\;uliiin, tlic l^ralmiin. 35c) 
 
 iiiucli iiKJiv, as in the ciusc of Mr. Woller's weal ])ies, 
 on the reputation of " tlie hidy as makes it," that it 
 will hardly serve the requirements of a severe seien- 
 tilie statement. Co}H)er-eolor has an excess of rf(l, 
 and sepia is too brown; the tarry tawnine&s of an old 
 Ijoatswain's hand is nearer the mark, but even tliat is 
 less among men-of-war's men than in the merchant- 
 service, and is least in the revenue marine; it varies, 
 also, with the habits of the individual, and the nature 
 of his employment for the time being. The llijiper 
 of your legitimate shiver-my-timbery old salt, who.se 
 most amiable odiee is piping all hands to witness pun- 
 ishment, has long since acquired the hue of a seven- 
 years' meerschaum ; wdiile the dandy cockswain of a 
 forty-gun frigate lying off the navy-yard, who brings 
 the third cutter .ship-shapely alongside with a pretty 
 girl in the stem-sheets, lends her — the pretty girl — a 
 band at the gangway, that has been softened by fas- 
 tidious applications of solvent slush to the tint of a 
 long envelope " on public service." " Law sheep," 
 when we come to the binding of books, is too sallow 
 for this simile; a little volume of " Familiar Quota-
 
 360 The Old. 
 
 tions," in limp Ccalf, (Bartlett : Cambridge, 1855,) might 
 answer — if the cover of the January number of the 
 " Atlantic Monthly" were not exactly the thing. 
 
 Simplicity, convenience, decorum, and picturesque- 
 ness distinguish the costume of Asirvadam the Brah- 
 min. Three yards of yard-wide fine cotton cloth 
 envelop his loins, in such a manner, that, while one 
 end hangs in graceful folds in front, the other falls in 
 a fine distraction behind. Over this, a robe of muslin, 
 or silk, or piua cloth — the latter in peculiar favor, by 
 reason of its superior purity, for high-caste wear — 
 covers his neck, breast, and arms, and descends nearly 
 to his .ankles. Asirvadam borrowed this garment 
 from the Mussulman; but he fastens it on the left 
 side, which the follower of the Prophet never does, 
 and surmounts it with an ample and elegant waist- 
 band, beside the broad Eomanesque mantle that he 
 tosses over his shoulder with such a senatorial aii\ 
 His turban, also, is an innovation — not proper to the 
 Brahmin pure and simple — but, like the robe, 
 adopted from the Moorish wardrobe, for a more 
 imposing appearance in Sahib society. It is formed
 
 Asirvadam, the Brahmin. 7/)i 
 
 of a very narrow strip, fifteen or twenty yards lonj^, 
 of fine stufi", moulded to the orthodox shape and size 
 by wrapping it, wliile wet, on a wooden bloek ; 
 having been hardened in the sun, it i.s worn likt; a 
 hat. As for his feet, Asirvadam, uncompromising in 
 externals, disdains to pollute them with the touch of 
 leather. Shameless fellows, Brahmins though they 
 be, of the sect of Vishnu, go about, without a blush, 
 in thonged sandals, made of abominable skins; 
 but Asirvadam, strict as a Gooroo when the eyes 
 of his caste arc on him, is immaculate in wooden 
 clogs. 
 
 In ornaments, bis taste, though somewhat grotes<pe, 
 is by no means lavish. A sort of stud or button, com- 
 posed of a solitary ruby, in the upjier rim of the car- 
 tilage of either ear — a chain of gold, curiously 
 wrought, and intertwined with a string of small pearls, 
 around his neck — a massive bangle of j)lain gold on 
 his arm — a richly jewelled ring on his thumb, and 
 others, broad and shiekMike, on his toes — complete 
 bis outfit in these vanities. 
 
 As often as Asirvadam honors us with his morning
 
 362 The Old. 
 
 visit of business or ceremony, a slight yellow line, 
 drawn horizontally between his eyebrows, with a paste 
 composed of ground sandal- wood, denotes that he has 
 purified himself externally and internally, by bathing 
 and prayers. To omit this, even by the most unavoid- 
 able chance to appear in public without it, were to 
 incur a grave public scandal; only excepting the 
 season of mourning, when, by an expressive Oriental 
 figure, the absence of the caste-mark is accepted for 
 the token of a profound and absorbing sorrow, which 
 takes no thought even for the customary forms of 
 decency. The disciple of Siva crossbars his forehead 
 with ashes of cow-dung or ashes of the dead; the 
 sectary of Yishnu adorns his with a sort of trident, 
 composed of a central perpendicular line in red, and 
 two oblique lines, white or yellow. But the true 
 Brahmin knows no Siva or Yishnu, no sectarian dis- 
 tinctions or preferences ; Indra has set no seal upon 
 his brow, nor Krishna, nor Devendra. For, ignoring 
 celestial personalities, it is the Trimurti that he grandly 
 adores — Creation, Preservation, Destruction triune — ■ 
 one body with three heads ; and the right line alone,
 
 Asirv:ul:ini, the Brahmin. 363 
 
 OT pothi, the mystic circle, describes the sublime sim- 
 plicity of bis soul's aspiration. 
 
 When Asirvadam was but seven years old, he was 
 invested with i\\c, tri])lc cord, by a grotesque, and in 
 most respects absurd, extravagant, and expensive 
 ceremony, called the Upanayayia, or Introduction to 
 the Sciences, because none but Brahmins are freely 
 admitted to their mysteries. This triple cord consists 
 of three tliick strands of cotton, each composed of 
 several finer threads ; these three strands, representing 
 Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva, are not twisted together, 
 but hang separately, from the left shoulder to the 
 right hip. The preparation of so sacred a badge is 
 entrusted to none but the purest hands, and the process 
 is attended with many imposing ceremonies. Only 
 Brahmins may gather the fresh cotton ; only Brah- 
 mins may card and spin and twist it; audits inves- 
 titure is a matter of so great cost, that the poorer 
 brothers must have recourse to contributions from the 
 pious of their caste, to defray the exorbitant charges 
 of priests and masters of ccremonie.^. 
 
 It is a noticeable fact in Iho natural history of the
 
 364 The Old. 
 
 always insolent Asirvadam, that unlike Shatriya, the 
 warrior, Vaishya, the cultivator, or Soodra, the 
 laborer, he is not born into the full enjoyment of his 
 honors, but, on the contrary, is scarcely of more con- 
 sideration than a Pariah, until by the Upanayana he 
 has been admitted to his birthright. Yet, once deco- 
 rated with the ennobling badge of his order, our friend 
 becomes from that moment something superior, some- 
 thing exclusive, something supercilious, arrogant, 
 exacting — Asirvadam, the high Brahmin — a crea- 
 ture of wide strides without awkwardness, towering 
 airs without bombast, Sanscrit quotations without 
 pedantry, florid phraseology without hyperbole, alle- 
 gorical illustrations and proverbial points without sen- 
 tentiousness, fanciful flights without affectation, and 
 formal strains of compliment without offensive 
 adulation. 
 
 When Asirvadam meets Asirvadam in the way, 
 compliments pass; each touches his forehead with 
 his right hand, and murmurs twice the auspicious 
 name of Rama. But the passing Yaishya or Soodra 
 elevates reverently his joined palms above his head.
 
 Asirvadnni, the Brahmin. 365 
 
 and, stepping out of liis slippers, salutes the descen- 
 dant of the Seven Holy Penitents with namaskaram, 
 the pious obeisanee. Andam arya! " Ilail, exulted 
 Lord!" he cries; and the exalted lord, extending the 
 pure lilies of his hands lordliwise, as one who conde- 
 scends to accept an luunblc offering, mutters the mys- 
 terious benediction whicli only Gooroos and high 
 Brahmins may bestow — Asirva/lam ! 
 
 The low-caste slave who may be admitted to the 
 distinguished presence of our friend, to implore 
 indulgence, or to supplicate pardon for an offence, 
 must thrice touch the ground, or the honored feet, 
 witli both his luuuls, which immediately he lays upon 
 liis forehead ; and there arc occasions of peculiar 
 humiliation which require the profound prostration 
 of the sashiangam, or abasement of the eight members, 
 wherein the suppliant extends himself face down- 
 ward on the earth, with palms joined above his head. 
 
 If Asirvadam — having concluded a visit in whit^h 
 he hiis delcrcntially reminded me of the peculiar j)ri- 
 vilege I enjoy in being admitted to social eonvei-se 
 with so select a being — is about to withdraw the light
 
 366 The Old. 
 
 of liis presence, he retires backward, with many 
 humbly gracious salaams. If, on the other hand, I 
 have had the honor to be his distinguished guest at 
 his garden-house, and am in the act of taking my 
 leave, he patronizes me to the gate with elaborate 
 obsequiousness, that would be tedious, if it were not 
 so graceful, so comfortable, so gallantly vainglorious. 
 He shows the way by following, and spares me the 
 indignity of seeing his back by never taking his eyes 
 from mine. He knows what is due to his accom- 
 plished friend, the Sahib, who is learned in the four 
 Yankee Yedas ; as to what is due to Asirvadam, the 
 Brahmin, no man knoweth the beginning or the end 
 of that. 
 
 When Asirvadam crosses my threshold, he leaves 
 his slippers at the door. I am flattered by the act 
 into a self-appreciative complacenc}^, until I discover 
 that he thereby simply puts me on a level with his 
 cow. When he converses with me, he keeps respect- 
 ful distance, and gracefully averts from me the annoy- 
 ance of his breath by holding his hand before his 
 mouth. I inwardly applaud his refined breeding,
 
 Asirvadam, the Brahmin. -^67 
 
 forgetting that I am a Pariah of Pariahs, whose soul, 
 if I have one, the incense of his holy lungs might 
 save alive — forgetting that he is one to whose very 
 footprint the soodra salaams, alighting from his 
 palanquin — to wliose shadow poor Chakili, the cob- 
 bler, abandons the broad highway — the feared of 
 gods, hated of giants, mistrusted of men, and adored 
 of himself — Asirvadam, the Brahmin. 
 
 " They, the Brahmin Asirvadam, to him Phalda- 
 sana, who is obedient, who is true, who has every 
 faithful quality, who knows how to serve with cheer- 
 fulness, to submit in silence, who by the excellent 
 services he renders the Brahmins has become like 
 unto the stone Chintamani, the bringcr of good, who 
 by the number and variety and acccptablcncss of his 
 gifts shall uttaiii, without further trials, to the para- 
 dise of Indra : Asirvadam ! 
 
 " The year Vikari, the tenth of the month Phal- 
 guna : we are at Benares in good health ; bring us 
 word of thint". It shall be thy privilege to nuJce 
 Faslitiintram at the feet — which are the true lilies of
 
 368 The Old. 
 
 Nilufar — of us the Lord Brahmin, who are endowed 
 with all the virtues and all the sciences, who are 
 great as Mount Meru, to whom belongs illustrious 
 knowledge of the four Vedas, the splendor of whose 
 beneficence is as the noon-flood of the sun, who are 
 renowned throughout the fourteen worlds, whom the 
 fourteen worlds admire. 
 
 " Having received with both hands that which we 
 have abased ourself by writing to thee, and having 
 kissed it and set it on thy head, thou wilt read with 
 profound attention and execute with grateful alacrity 
 the orders it contains, without swerving from the 
 strict letter of them, the breadth of a grain of sesa- 
 mum. Having hastened to us, as thou art blessed in 
 being bidden, thou shalt wait in our presence, keep- 
 ing thy distance, thy hands joined, thy mouth closed, 
 thine eyes cast down — thou who art as though thou 
 art not — until we shall vouchsafe to perceive thee. 
 And when thou hast obtained our leave, then, and 
 not sooner, shalt thou make sashtangam at our blessed 
 feet, which are the pure flowers of Nilufar, and with 
 m^ny lowly kisses shalt lay down before them thy
 
 Asirvadani, the Bnihiiiin. ^fx) 
 
 unworthy offering — ten rupees, as thou knowcst — 
 more, if thou iirt wise — less if thou darest. 
 
 *• This is all we have to say to thee: Asirvadaml^^ 
 In the epistolary style of Asirvadam the Brahmin, 
 we are at a loss which to admire most — the flowers or 
 the force, the modesty or the magnificence. 
 
 Among the cloistered cells of the women's quarter, 
 that surround the inner court of Asirvadam's domes- 
 tic establishment, is a dark and narrow chamber which 
 is the domain of woman's rights. It is called " the 
 Eoom of Anger," because, when the wife of the 
 bosom has been tempted by inveigling box-wallahs 
 with a love of a pink coortee, or a pair of chased 
 bangles, " such darlings, and so cheap," and has con- 
 ceived a longing for the same, her way is, without a 
 word beforehand, to go shut herself up in the Room 
 of Anger, and pout and sulk till she gets them ; and 
 seeing that the wife of the bosom is also the pure 
 concoctor of the Brahminical curry and server of the 
 Brahminical rice, that she is the goddess of the sacred 
 kitohen and high-priestess of pots and pans, it is ciisy
 
 370 The Old. 
 
 to see that her success is certain. Poor ht+le brown 
 fool ! that twelve-feet-square of curious custom is all, 
 of the world-wide realm of beauty and caprice, that 
 she can call her own. 
 
 "When the enamored young Asirvadam brought to 
 her father's gate the lover's presents — the ear-rings 
 and the bangles, the veil and the loongee, the attar 
 and the betel and the sandal, the flowers and the 
 fruits — the lizard that chirped the happy omen for 
 her betrothal lied. When she sat by his side at the 
 wedding-feast, and partook of his rice, prettily pick- 
 ing from the same leaf, ah ! then she did not eat — she 
 dreamed; but ever since that time, waiting for his 
 leavings, not daring to approach the board till he has 
 retired to his pipe, she does not dream — she feeds. 
 
 Around her neck a strange ornament of gold, 
 having engraved upon it the likeness of Lakshmee, is 
 suspended by a consecrated string of one hundred and 
 eight threads of extreme fineness, dyed yellow with 
 saffron. This is the Tahli, the wife's badge — " Asir- 
 vadam the Brahmin, his chattel." They brought it to 
 her on a silver salver, garnished with flowers, she
 
 Asirviulani, the Brahmin. 
 
 371 
 
 sitting with hei- hctrothcd on a great cushion ; and ten 
 BrahmiiLs, holding around the happy pair a screen of 
 silk, invoked for thcra the favor of the three divine 
 couples — Brahma with Sarawaatee, Vishnu with Lak- 
 shmee, Siva with Paravatee. Then they offered 
 incense to the Tahli, and a sacrifice of fire, and they 
 blessed it with many mantras, or holy texts ; and as 
 the bride turned her to the east, and fixed her inmost 
 thought on the " Great Mountain of the North," 
 Asirvadam the Brahmin chisped his collar on her 
 neck, never to be loosened till he, dying, shall leave 
 her to be burned, or spurned. 
 
 No man, when he meets Asirvadam the Brahmin, 
 presumes to ask, " IIow is the little brown fool to- 
 day?" No man, when he visits him, ventures to 
 inquire if she is at home ; it is not the etiquette. 
 Should the little brown fool, having a mind of her 
 own, and being resolved not to endure this any 
 longer, suddenly make Asirvadam ridiculous some 
 day, the etiquette is to hush it up among their friends. 
 
 As Ilajah, the warrior, sprang from the right arm of
 
 372 
 
 The Old. 
 
 Bralima, and Vaisliya, the cultivator, from liis belly, 
 and Soodra, the laborer, from his feet — so Asirvadam 
 the Brahmin was conceived in the head and brought 
 forth from the mouth of the Creator ; and he is above 
 the others by so much as the head is above arms, 
 belly, and feet ; he is wiser than the others, inasmuch 
 as he has lain among the thoughts of the god, has 
 played with his inventions, and made excursions 
 through the universe with his speech. Therefore, if 
 it be true, as some say, that Asirvadam is an ant-hill 
 of lies, he is also a snake's-nest of wisdom, and a bee- 
 hive of ingenuity. Let him be respected, for his rights 
 are plain. 
 
 It is his right to be taught the Yedas and the man- 
 tras, all the tongues of India, and the sciences ; to 
 marry a child- wife, no matter how old he may be — or 
 a score of wives, if he be a Kooleen Brahmin, so that 
 he may drive a lively business in the way of dowries; 
 to peruse the books of magic, and perform the awful 
 sacrifice of the Yajna ; to receive presents without 
 limit, levy taxes without law, and beg with insolence. 
 It is his duty to study diligently ; to conform rigor-
 
 Asirvadiiiii, tli(' Brahmin. 37^ 
 
 oiisly to the rules of his caste; to lionor and ohcy his 
 superiors without question or hesitation; to insult his 
 inferiors, for the magnifying of his oflice; to get him 
 a wife without loss of time, and a male child by all 
 means. During his religious minority he is expected 
 to bathe and sacrifice twice a day, to abstain from 
 adorning his forehead or his breast with sandal, to 
 w^ear no flowers in his hair, to chew no betel, to regard 
 himself in no mirrors. 
 
 Under Hindoo law, which is his own law, Asirva- 
 dam the Brahmin pays no taxes, tolls, or duties; 
 corporal punishment can in no case be inflicted upon 
 him ; if he is detected in defalcation or the taking of 
 bribes, partial restitution is the worst penalty that can 
 befall him, " For the belly," he says, "one will play 
 many tricks." To smite his cheek with your leathern 
 glove, or to kick him with your shoe, is an outrage at 
 which the gods rave ; to kill him, would draw down 
 a monstrous calamity upon the world. If he break 
 faith with you, it is as nothing; if you fail him in the 
 least promise, you take your portion with Karta, the 
 Fox, as the good Abbe Dubois relates :
 
 374 The Old. 
 
 " Karta, Karta !" screamed an Ape, one day, wlien 
 lie saw a Fox feeding on a rotten carcass, " thou must, 
 in a former life, have committed some dreadful crime, 
 to be doomed to a new state in which thou feedest on, 
 such garbage." 
 
 "Alas!" replied the Fox, "I am not punished 
 more severely than I deserve. I was once a man, and 
 then I promised something to a Brahmin, which I 
 never gave him. That is the true cause of my being 
 regenerated in this shape. Some good works which I 
 did, have won for me the indulgence of remembering 
 what I was in my former state, and the cause for 
 which I have been degraded into this." 
 
 Asirvadam has choice of a hundred callings, as 
 various in dignity and profit as they are numerous. 
 Under native rule he makes a good cooly, because the 
 oflS-cers of the revenue are forbidden to search a Brah- 
 min's baggage, or anything that he carries. He is an 
 expeditious messenger, for no man may stop him ; 
 and he can travel cheaply for whom there is free enter- 
 tainment on every road. " For the belly one will 
 play many tricks;" and Asirvadam, in financial
 
 Asirviitlaiii, the Brahmin. 375 
 
 straits, may teach dancing tci nautch-girls; or ho may 
 j)lay the mountebank or the conjurer, and witli a. slock 
 ot'mantias and clianns proceed to tlic curing of mur- 
 rain in cattle, })ip in chickens, and short-windedness 
 in old women — at the same time telling fortunes, cal- 
 culating nativities, finding lost treasure, advising as to 
 journeys and speculations, and crossing out crosses in 
 love for any pretty dear who will cross the poor Brah- 
 min's palm with a rupee. He may engage in com- 
 mercial pursuits ; and in that case, his bulling and 
 bearing at the opium sales will put AVall Street to the 
 blush. He may turn his attention to the healing art; 
 and allopathieally, homoeopathically, hydropathically, 
 electropathically, or by any other path, run a muck 
 through many heathen hospitals. The field of politics 
 is full of charms for him, the church invites his taste 
 and talents, and the army tempts him with opportu- 
 nities for intrigue ; but whether in the shape of ^la- 
 chiavelisms, miracles, or mutinies, he is for ever mak- 
 ing mischief. Whether as messenger, dancing-master, 
 conjurer, fortune-teller, speculator, mountebank, politi- 
 cian, priest, or sepoy, he is ever tlie same Asirvadam
 
 376 The Old. 
 
 tlie Brahmin — sleekest of lackeys, most servile of 
 sycophants, expertest of tricksters, smoothest of hypo- 
 crites, coolest of liars, most insolent of beggars, most 
 versatile of adventurers, most inventive of charlatans, 
 most restless of schemers, most insidious of Jesuits, 
 most treacherous of confidants, falsest of friends, hard- 
 est of masters, most arrogant of patrons, crudest of 
 tyrants, most patient of haters, most insatiable of 
 avengers, most gluttonous of ravishers, most infernal 
 of devils — pleasantest of fellows. 
 
 Superlatively dainty as to his fopperies of orthodoxy, 
 Asirvadam is continually dying of Pariah roses in 
 aromatic pains of caste. If in his goings and comings 
 one of the " lilies of Nilufar" should chance to stumble 
 ■upon a bit of bone, or rag, a fragment of a dish, or a 
 leaf from which some one has eaten — should his 
 sacred raiment be polluted by the touch of a dog or a 
 Pariah — he is ready to faint, and only a bath can re- 
 vive him. He may not touch his sandals with his 
 hand, nor repose in a strange seat, but is provided with 
 a mat or a carpet, or an antelope's skin, to serve him
 
 Asirvadam, the Brahmin. 377 
 
 for a cushion in tlic houses of his friends. With u kid 
 glove you may put his respectabiHty in peril, an<l with 
 your patentdeather pumps affright his soul within 
 him. To him a pocket handkerchief is a sore offence, 
 and a tootlipick monstrous. All the Vedas could not 
 save the Giaour who "chews;" nor burnt brandy, 
 though the Seven Penitents distilled it, purify the 
 mouth that a tooth-brush has polluted. Beware how 
 you offer him a wafered letter ; and when you present 
 him with a copy of your travels, let it be bound in 
 cloth. 
 
 He has the Mantalini idiosyncrasy as to dem'd un- 
 pleasant bodies ; and when he hears that his mother 
 is dead, he straightway jumps into a bath with his 
 clothes on. Many mantras and much holy-water, to- 
 gether with incense of sandal-wood, and other per- 
 fumery, regardless of expense, can alone relieve his 
 premises of the deadness of his wife. 
 
 For a Soodra even to look upon the earthen vessels 
 wherein his rice is boiled implies the necessity of a 
 summary smash of the infected crockery; and his 
 kitchen is his holy of holies. When he eats, the com-
 
 378 The Old. 
 
 pany keep silence ; and when be is full, they return, 
 fervent thanks to the gods who have conducted him 
 safely through a complexity of dangers ; — a grain of 
 rice, falling from his lips, might have poisoned his 
 dinner ; a stain on his plantain-leaf might have turned 
 his cake to stone. His left hand, condemned to vulgar 
 and impolite offices, is not admitted to the honor of 
 assisting at his repasts ; to the right alone, consecrated 
 by exemption from indecorous duties, belongs the dis- 
 tinction of conducting his happy grub to the heaven 
 of his mouth. "When he would quench his thirst, he 
 disdains to apply the earth-born beaker to his lips, 
 but lets the water fall into his solemn swallow from on 
 high — a pleasant feat to see, and one which, like a 
 whirling dervish, diverts you by its agility, while it 
 impresses you by its devotion. 
 
 It is easy to perceive, that, if our friend Asirva- 
 dam were not one of the "Young Bengal" lights, 
 who do not fash themselves for trifles, his orthodox 
 sensibilities would be subjected to so many and gross 
 affronts from the indiscriminate contacts of a mixed 
 community, that he would shortly be compelled to
 
 Asirvadam, the Braliniin. 37c) 
 
 take refuge in one of those Arcaditis of the triple 
 eord, called Agragramcis, where pare Brahmins are 
 met in all the exclusiveness of high caste, and wliere 
 the more a man rubs against his neighbor the more lie 
 is sanctified. True, the Soodras have an irreverent 
 saying, " An entire Brahmin at the Agragrama, half 
 a Brahmin when seen at a distance, and a Soodra 
 when out of sight ;" but then the Soodras, as every- 
 body knows, are saucy, satirical rogues, and incor- 
 rigible jokers. 
 
 There was once a foolish Brahmin, to whom a rich 
 and charitable merchant presented two pieces of cloth, 
 the finest that had ever been seen in the Agragrama. 
 He showed them to the other Brahmins, who all con- 
 gratulated him on so fortunate an acquisition ; they 
 told him it was the reward of some pious deed that he 
 had done in a previous life. Before putting them on, he 
 washed them, according to custom, in order to purify 
 them from the pollution of the weaver's touch, and 
 hung them up to dry, with the ends fastened to two 
 branches of a tree. Presently a dog, happening to 
 pass that way, ran under them, and the Brahmin could
 
 38o The Old. 
 
 not decide whetlier the unclean beast was tall enough 
 to touch the cloth, or not. He questioned his chil- 
 dren, who were present ; but they were not quite cer- 
 tain. How, then, was he to settle the all-important 
 point? Ingenious Brahmin! an idea struck him. 
 Getting down on all fours, so as to be of the same 
 height as the dog, he crawled under the precious 
 cloth. 
 
 " Did I touch it?" 
 
 "No!" cried all the children; and his soul was 
 filled with joy. 
 
 But the next moment the terrible conviction took 
 possession of his mind, that the dog had a turned-up 
 tail ; and that if, in passing under the cloths, he had 
 elevated and wagged it, their defilement must have 
 been consummated. Eeady-witted Brahmin ! another 
 idea. He called the cleverest of his children, and bade 
 him aifix to his breech-cloth a plaintain-leaf, dog's- 
 tail- wise, and waggishly. Then resuming his all-fours- 
 ness, he passed a second time under the cloth, and 
 conscientiously, and anxiously, wagged. 
 
 "A touch! a touch!" cried all the children, and
 
 Asirvadam, the Brahmin, 381 
 
 the Brahmin groaned, for he knew that his beautiful 
 raiment was ruined. Thrice lie wagged, and thrice 
 the children cried, " A touch ! a toucli I" 
 
 So the strict Brahmin leaped to his feet, in a fright- 
 ful rage, and, tearing the precious cloth fioin the tree, 
 rent it in a hundred shreds, while he cursed the 
 abominable dog, and the master that owned him. 
 xVnd the children admired and were edified, and they 
 whispered among themselves — 
 
 " Now, surely, it behooveth us to take heed to our 
 ways, for our father is particular." 
 
 Moral : And the Brahmin winked. 
 
 The Samaradana is an institution for which our 
 friend Asirvadam entertains peculiar veneration. 
 This is simply an abundant feast of Brahminical good 
 things, to which the "fat and greasy citizens" of the 
 caste are bidden by some zealous or manojuvring 
 Soodra — on occasion of the dedication of a temple, 
 perhaps, or in a season of drought, or when a malign 
 constellation is to be averted, or to celebrate the birth 
 or marriage of some exalted personage. From oil the
 
 382 The Old. 
 
 country round about, the Brahmins flock to the feast- 
 ing, singing Sanscrit hymns and obscene songs, and 
 shouting, Hara ! hara ! Govinda ! The low fellow 
 who has the honor to entertain so select a company is 
 not suffered to seat himself in the midst of his guests, 
 much less to partake of the viands he has been per- 
 mitted to provide ; but in consideration of his "deed 
 of exalted merit," and his expensive appreciation of 
 the beauties and advantages of high-caste society, as 
 expressed in all the delicacies of the season, he may 
 come, when the last course has been discussed, and, 
 prostrating himself in the sashtangam posture, receive 
 the unanimous asirvadam of the company. If, in 
 taking leave of his august guests, he should also sig- 
 nify his sense of the honor they have done him, by 
 presenting each with a piece of cloth or a sum of 
 money, he is assured that he is altogether superior in 
 mind and person to the gods, and that, if he is wise, 
 he will not neglect to remind his friends of his muni- 
 ficence by another exhibition of it within a reasonable 
 time. 
 
 In the creed of Asirvadam the Brahmin the drinker
 
 Asirvadani, the Hralirnin. -^83 
 
 of stron;^ drink is :i Pariah, ami the cator of cow's 
 fk'sli is (huniinl ah-cady. If, then, he can tell a cock- 
 tail from a cobbler, an<l scientifically discriminate 
 between a julep and a gin-sling, it must be because 
 the Vcdas are unclasped to him ; for in the Vedas all 
 things are taught. It is of Asirvadam's father that 
 the story is told, how, when a fire broke out in his 
 house once, and all the pious neighbors ran to rescue 
 his effects, the first articles saved were a tub of pickled 
 j)ork and ajar of arrack. But this, also, no doubt, is 
 the malicious invention of some satirical rogue of a 
 Soodra. Asirvadani, as is well known, rec<jils with 
 liorror from the abomination of eating aught that has 
 once lived and moved and had a being ; but if, 
 remembering that, you should seek to fill his soul 
 with consternation by inviting him to inspect a fig 
 under a microscope, he would quietly advise you to 
 break your nasty glass, and " go it blind." 
 
 But there is one custom which Asirvadani the 
 Brahmin observes in common with the Pariah, and 
 that is the sok-nm eerenionial of Death, When his
 
 384 The Old. 
 
 time comes, he dies, is burned, and presently for- 
 gotten ; and it is a consolation for his ever having 
 been at all, that some one is sure to be the richer and 
 happier and freer for his ceasing to be. True, he may 
 assume new earthly conditions, may pass into other 
 vexatious shapes of life ; but the change must ever be 
 for the better in respect of the interests of those who 
 have suffered by the powers and capabilities of the 
 shape which he relinquishes. He may become a 
 snake ; but then he is easily scotched, or fooled out 
 of his fangs with a cunning charmer's tom-tom ; — he 
 may pass into the foul feathers of an indiscriminately 
 gluttonous adjutant-bird : but some day a bone will 
 choke him ; — his soul may creep under the mangy 
 skin of a Pariah dog, and be kicked out of compounds 
 by scullions ; he may be condemned to the abominable 
 offices of a crow at the burning ghauts, a jackal by the 
 wells of Thuggee, or a rat in sewers; but he can 
 never again be such a nuisance, such a sore offence to 
 the minds and hearts of men, as when he was Asirva- 
 dam the Brahmin. 
 Fortunate indeed will he be, if the low, deep curses of
 
 Asirvadam, the Braliiiiin. 385 
 
 all whom he has o])j)rossed, betrayed, insulted, shall not 
 have availed against him in his last hour. "Mayest 
 thou never have a friend to lay thee on the ground 
 when thou diest!" — no imprecation so fierce, so fell, as 
 that ; even Asirvadam the Brahmin abates his cruel 
 greed, when some poor Soodra client, bled of his last 
 anna, thinks of his sick wife, and the darling cow that 
 must be sold at last, and grows desperate. " Mayest 
 thou have no wife, to sprinkle the spot with cow-dung 
 where thy corpse shall lie, and to spread the unspotted 
 cloth ; nor any cow, her horns tipped with rings of 
 brass, and her neck garlanded with flowers, to lead 
 thee, holding by her tail, through i)lcasant paths to 
 the land of Yama ! May no Purohita come to strew 
 thy bier with the holy herb, nor any next of kin be 
 near to whisper the last mantra !" 
 
 Horrid Soodra ! But though thy words make the 
 soul of Asirvadam shiver, they are but the voice of a 
 dog, after all, and nothing can come of them. Asir- 
 vadam the Brahmin has raised up lusty boys to him- 
 self, as every good Brahmin should ; and they shall 
 bind together his thumbs and his groat toes, and lay
 
 386 The Old. 
 
 him down on the ground, when his hour is come — lest 
 the bed or the mat cling to his ghost, whithersoever 
 it go, and torment it eternally. His wife shall spread 
 beneath him a cloth that the hands of Kooleen Brah- 
 mins have woven. Lilies of Nilufar shall garland the 
 neck of the happy cow that is to lead him safely 
 beyond the fiery river, and the rings shall be golden 
 wherewith her horns are tipped. A mighty con- 
 course of clients shall follow him to the place of 
 burning — to "Eudra, the place of tears" — whither 
 ten Kooleen Brahmins will bear him ; and as often as 
 they set down the bier to feed the dead with a morsel 
 of moistened rice, other Brahmins shall sing his wis- 
 dom and his virtues, and celebrate his meritorious 
 deeds. "When his funeral pyre is lighted, his sons, 
 and his sons' sons, and his daughters' husbands, and 
 his nephews, shall beat their breasts and rend the 
 air with lamentations ; and when his body has been 
 consumed, his ashes shall be given to the Granges 
 — all save a certain portion, which shall be made 
 into a paste with milk, and moulded into an image ; 
 and the image shall be set up in his house, that
 
 Asirviulam, the Bniliniin. 387 
 
 the Brahmins and all bis people may oftcr sacrifices 
 before it. 
 
 On the tentli day, liis wife shall adorn her forehead 
 with a scarlet emblem, blacken the edges of her eye- 
 lids with soorma, deck her hair with scarlet flowers, 
 her neck and bosom with sandal, stain her face, anns, 
 and legs with turmeric, and array her in her choicest 
 robes and all her jewels, and follow her eldest son, in 
 full procession, to the tank hard by the " land of Ru- 
 dra." And the heir shall take three little stones, that 
 were planted there in a row by the Purohitas, and, 
 going down into the water as deep as his neck, shall 
 turn his face to the sun and say, "Until this day these 
 three stones have stood for my father, that is dead. 
 Henceforth let him cease to be a carcase ; let him enter 
 into the joys of Swarga, the paradise of Devendra, to 
 be blessed with all conceivable blessings, so long as 
 the waters of Ganges shall continue to flow ; — so shall 
 the dead Brahmin not prowl through the universe, 
 afflicting with evil tricks stars, men, and trees; so 
 shall he be laid." 
 
 But who sh;ill lav the ()nick Asii-v;id.iiii. than
 
 388 The Old. 
 
 wliom there walks not a sprite more cunning, more 
 malign ? 
 
 Ever since tlie Solitaries, odious by their black arts 
 to princes and people, were slain or driven out — fif- 
 teen centuries and more — Asirvadam, the Brahmin, 
 has been selfish, wicked, and mischievously busy — 
 corrupting the hearts, bewildering the minds, betray- 
 ing the hopes, exhausting the moral and physical 
 strength of the Hindoos. He has taught them the fool- 
 ish tumult of the Hooley, the fanatical ferocities of 
 the Yajna, the unwhisperable obscenities of the Saktis, 
 the fierce and ruinous extravagances of the Doorga 
 Poojah, the mutilating monstrosities of the Churruck, 
 the enslaving sorceries of the Atharvana Yeda, the 
 raving mad revivals of Juggernath, the pious debauch- 
 eries of Nanjanagud, the strange and sorrowful de- 
 lusions of Suttee, the impudent ravishments of Yen- 
 gata Ramana — all the fancies and frenzies, all the 
 delusions and passions and moral epilepsies, that go 
 to make up a Meerut or a Cawnpore. 
 
 Of the outrageous insolence of the Seven Penitents, 
 he omits nothing but their sincerity ; of the enlight-
 
 Asirvadam, tlic Bralmiin. ^89 
 
 (Mied simplicity of tlic anchoret pliilosoplicrs, ho 
 retains nothing but their selfishness; of the intelh-c- 
 tual influence of tin; Gooroo })ontifT's, he covets nothing 
 l)iit their dissimulation, lie has tan<rht his trai)in"- 
 disciples that a skilfully compounded and })lausibly- 
 udniinistei-ed lie is a goodly thing — except it be told 
 against the cause of a Brahmin ; in which case, no 
 oxyhydrogeneralities of earthl}'- combustion can afford 
 an idea of the particular hotncss of the hell devised 
 for such a liar. He has solemnly impressed them 
 with the mysterious sacredncss of the Ganges, and its 
 manifold virtues of a supernatural order; to swear 
 falsely by its waters, he says, is -x crime ii)r which 
 Indra the Dreadfid has ])rovi(led an eternity of excru- 
 ciations — except the false oath be taken in the interest 
 of a Bialiuiin, in which case the perjurer may conli- 
 dently expect a posthumous good time. For the lieh 
 to extort money from the poor, says Asirvadam, is an 
 affront to the Gooroos and the Gods, which must be 
 j^unished by forfeiture, to the Brahmins, of the whole 
 sum e.\ti)rte(l, tlie ])0()r client to pav an a<lditional 
 charge for the trouble his protectors have incurred;
 
 390 The Old, 
 
 the same when fines are recovered ; and in cases of 
 enforced payment of debts, three-fourths of the sum 
 collected are swallowed up in costs. Being a Brah- 
 min, to pay a bribe is a foolish act ; to receive one — 
 a necessary circumstance, perhaps. Not being a 
 Brahmin, to offer or accept a bribe is a disgraceful 
 transaction, requiring that both parties shall be 
 made an example of; — the bribe is forfeited to the 
 Brahmins, and the poorer party lined; if the fine 
 exceed his means, the richer party to pay the 
 excess. 
 
 As the Brahminical interpretation of an oath is not 
 alwa3's clear to prisoners and witnesses of other castes, 
 it is usual to illustrate the definition to the obtuser or 
 more scrupulous unfortunates by the old-fashioned 
 machinery of ordeals : such as compelling the consci- 
 entious or obdurate inquirer to promenade, without 
 sandals, over burning coals ; or to grasp and hold for 
 a time a bar of red-hot iron ; or to plunge the hands 
 into boiling oil, and keej) them there for several mi- 
 nutes. The part}^ receiving these illustrations and 
 practical definitions of the Brahminical nature of an
 
 Asirvadain, the Hiahmiii. 
 
 391 
 
 oath, without discomfort or scar, is frankly adjudged 
 innocent and reasonable. 
 
 Another pretty trick of ordeal, which borrows ils 
 more striking features from the department of natural 
 history, is that in which the prisoner or witness is 
 required to grope about for a trinket or small coin in 
 a basket or j;ii- ;il ready occupied by a lively cobra. 
 Should the groper not be bitten, our courtly friend, 
 Asirvadam, is satisfied there has been some mistake 
 here, and gallantly begs the gentleman's pardon. To 
 force the subject to swallow water, cup by cup, until 
 it bursts from mouth and nose, is also a very neat 
 ordeal, but requiring practice. 
 
 Formerly, Asirvadam the Brahmin "farmed" the 
 offences of his district; — that is, he i)aid a certain sum 
 to government for the right to try, and to punish, all 
 the high crimes and misdemeanors that should be 
 committed in liis "section" for a year. Of course, 
 fines were his i'avorite penalties; and although most 
 of the time, expenses for meddlers and perjurers being 
 heavy, the oflice did not pay more than a fair living 
 profit, there would now and then come a year when,
 
 392 The Old. 
 
 rice being scarce and opium cheap, with the aid of a 
 little extra exasperation, he cut it pretty fat. " Take 
 it year in and year out," said Asirvadam the Brahmin, 
 " a fellow couldn't complain." 
 
 Asirvadam the Brahmin is among the Sepoys. He 
 sits by the well of Barrackpore, a comrade on either 
 side, and talks, as only he can talk to whom no books 
 are sealed. To one, a rioid statue of thrilled atten- 
 tion, lie speaks of the time when Arab horsemen first 
 made flashing forays down upon Mooltan; he tells 
 of Mahmoud's mace, that clove the idol of Somnath, 
 and of the gold and gems that burst from the treach- 
 erous wood, as water from the smitten rock in the 
 wilderness; he tells of Timour, and Baber the 
 Founder, and the long imperial procession of the 
 Great Moguls — of Humayoon, and Akbar, and Shah 
 Jehan, and Aurengzebe — of Hyder Ali and Tippoo 
 Sultan — of Moorish splendor and the Prophet's sway ; 
 and the swarthy Mussulman stiffens in lip-parted 
 listening. 
 
 To the other, a fiery enthusiast, fretting for the
 
 Asirviulain, the I5nilimin, 3^3 
 
 acted moral of a tale be knows too well, he whispers 
 of British blasphemy and insolence — of Brahmins 
 insulted, and gods derided — of the Yedas violated, and 
 the sacred Sanscrit defiled by the tongues of Kaflirs 
 — of Pariahs taught and honored — of high and low 
 castes indiscriminately mingled, an obscene herd, in 
 schools and regiments — of glorious institutions, old as 
 Mount Meru, boldly overthrown — of suttee sup- 
 pressed, and infanticide abated — of widows re-married, 
 and the dowries of the brides of Brahmins limited — 
 of high-caste students handling dead bodies, and 
 Soodra beggars drinking from Brahminical wells — of 
 the Triple Cord broken in twain, and Brahmin bulls 
 slain in the streets, and cartridges grea-sed with the fat 
 of cows, and Christian converts indemnified, and i»ro- 
 perty not confiscated for loss of caste — and a frightful 
 falling off in the benighting business generally ; and 
 the fuTce Rajpoot grinds his white teeth, while Asir- 
 vadam the Brahmin plots, and plots, and plots. 
 
 "Incline your ears, my brothers, and I will sing you, 
 softly and low, a song to make Moor and Rajpoot 
 bite, with their very hearts" : —
 
 394 The Old. 
 
 "Bring soma to the adorable Indra, the lord of all, the lord of 
 wealth, the lord of heaven, the perpetual lord, the lord of men, the 
 lord of earth, the lord of horses, the lord of cattle, the lord of 
 water I 
 
 " Offer adoration to Indra, tlie overcomer, the destroyer, the muni- 
 ficent, tlie invincible, the all-endowing, the creator, the all-adorable, 
 the sustainer, the unassailable, the ever-victorious ! 
 
 " I proclaim the mighty exploits of that Indra who is ever victorious, 
 the benefactor of men, the overthrower of men, the caster-down, the 
 warrior, who is gratified by our libations, the granter of desires, the 
 subduer of enemies, the refuge of the people ! 
 
 " Unequalled in hberality, the showerer, the slayer of the malevo- 
 lent, profound, mighty, of impenetrable sagacity, the dispenser of 
 prosperity, the enfeebler, firm, vast, the performer of pious acts, Indra 
 has given birth to the light of the morning I 
 
 " Indra, bestow upon its most excellent treasures, the reputation of 
 ability, prosperity, increase of wealth, security of person, sweetness 
 of speech, and auspiciousness of days ! 
 
 " Offer worship quickly to Indra; recite hymns; let the outpoured 
 drops exhilarate him ; pay adoration to his superior strength ! 
 
 "When, Indra, thou harnessest thy horses, there is no such chario- 
 teer as thou ; none is equal to thee in strength ; none, howsoever weU 
 horsed, has overtaken thee! 
 
 " He, who alone bestows wealth upon the man who offers him obla- 
 tions, is the undisputed sovereign: Indra, hoi 
 
 " When wiU he trample with his foot upon the man who oilers no
 
 Asirv;ul;iiii, tlic 15i;iliiiiin. 3(^5 
 
 oblations, as upon u coiled snake? When will Indra listen to our 
 praises? Indra, hoi 
 
 "Indra prants formidable strength to him who worships him, iiaviny 
 libations prei)ared : Indra, ho!" 
 
 The song that was chanted low by the well of Bar- 
 rackpore to the maddened Rajpoot, to the dreaming 
 Moor, wius fiercely shouted by the well of Cawnpore 
 to a chorus of shrieking women, English wives and 
 mothers, and spluttering of blood-choked babes, and 
 clash of red knives, and drunken shouts of slayers, 
 ruthless and obscene. 
 
 When Asirvadam tlic Brahmin conjured the wild 
 demon of revolt, to light the horrid torch and bare 
 the greedy blade, he tore a chapter from the Book of 
 Menu : — 
 
 "Let no man, engaged in combat, smite his foo with concealed wea- 
 pons, nor with arrows mischievously barbed, nor with poisoned arrows, 
 nor with darts blazing wth fire. 
 
 "Nor let him strike his enemy alighted on the ground; nor an 
 efl'eminato man, nor one who sues for life with closed palms, nor ono 
 whoso hair is loose, nor one who sits down, nor one who says, ' I am 
 thy captive.'
 
 396 The Old. 
 
 " Nor one who sleeps, nor one who has lost his coat-of-maO, nor ono 
 who is naked, nor one who is dismayed, nor one who is a spectator, 
 but no combatant, nor one who is fighting with another man. 
 
 " Calling to mind the duty of honorable men, let him never slay one 
 who has broken his weapon, nor one who is afflicted, nor one who has 
 been grievously wounded, nor one who is terrified, nor one who turns 
 his back." 
 
 But Asirvadam tlie Brahmin, hke the Thug of 
 seven victims, has tasted the sugar of blood, sweeter 
 upon his tongue than to the lips of an eager babe the 
 pearl-tipped nipple of its mother. Henceforth he 
 must slay, slay, slay, mutilate and ravish, burn and 
 slay, in the name of the queen of horrors. — Karlee, ho ! 
 
 Now what shall be done with our dangerous friend ? 
 Shall he be blown from the mouths of guns ? or 
 transported to the heart-breaking Andamans ? or 
 lashed to his own churruck-posts, and flayed with 
 cats by stout drummers ? or handcuffed with Pariahs 
 in chain-gangs, to work on his knees in foul sewers ? 
 or choked to death with raw beef-steaks and the 
 warm blood of cows ? or swinged by stout Irish 
 wenches with bridle-ends? or smitten on the mouth
 
 Asirvadum, the 15mhniin. 397 
 
 witli kid gloves by English ladies, his turban tram- 
 pled under foot by every Feringhee brat in Bengal ? 
 — Wanted, a poetical putter-down for Asirvadani the 
 Brahmin. 
 
 "Devotion is not in tlie ragged garment, nor in tlie staff, nor in 
 ashes, nor in tho shaven head, nor in the sounding of horns. 
 
 "Numerous Mahomets there have been, and multitudes of Brahmis, 
 Vishnus, and Sivas; 
 
 "Tliousands of seers and prophets, and tens of thousands of saints 
 and holy men ; 
 
 " But tho ehief of lords is the one Lord, the true name of GodI"
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE baboo's NAUTCH. 
 
 Salaam, Sahib; Chittee, Sahib — Chittee hai! said 
 old Karlee, handing me a note as he popped the cork 
 of my soda-water bottle, preparatory to pouring its 
 carbonated contents upon two lumps of ice in a tum- 
 bler, according to my every-morning bedside pro- 
 gramme ; for Karlee was more regular in his habits 
 than I, and the strict system of his hulatta pawnee (as 
 he called soda-water) libations was more to his credit 
 than mine. 
 
 Old Karlee was a picturesque type of the "bhearer" 
 caste. Taller than he seemed — being permanently 
 bent by the bhcarer's professional habit of incessant 
 salaaming, slender-limbed, well-featured, mild-eyed, 
 and soft-spoken ; mahogany -hued, and gray-mous- 
 tached ; simple, but appropriate in his attire — modish
 
 Tlic Baboo's Nautcli. 399 
 
 as to his cumbcrbuiid, iiiid orthodox iis to liis turban ; 
 of manners most persuasive — huialjK', patient, dej)re- 
 catory, quietly remonstrating — poHtc witlial, and 
 versed in the etiquette of servitude assigned to his 
 caste; a faithful, jiainstaking heathen; gratefully 
 attached to the Sahib, in consideration of kindnesses 
 fewer than his deserts; a careful, thrifty fellow in the 
 Sahib's interest; a gatherer up of loose rupees, a 
 sewer on of truant buttons, a flimous groom of the 
 wardrobe — indeed a motherly man, a man to be loved 
 from the antipodes, long years beyond a last farewell. 
 Lord, keep my memory of him green ! I would the 
 child of my sowed wild oats might caress his silver 
 moustache at this present writing. 
 
 Chitlee means " note ;" the word is a childi.sh Ilin- 
 dostanee attempt at the pronunciation of " sheet" — a 
 nionosy liable impracticable by its consonants to the 
 soft Indian tongue. The present chittee was an extra- 
 ordinary, quite a splendid missive, done long-wise on 
 yellow paper redolent of sandal-wood and significant 
 of a complimentary occasion. Within, an emblematic 
 wood-cut in the sha])e of a j)ieUuv-rrame — sueli u
 
 400 The Old. 
 
 thing as you might hew with a broad axe out c/.' 
 heavy ship-timber — hung around with nondescript 
 objects from the botanical kingdom, inclosed what 
 the "management" of a Bowery ball would call a 
 " card of admission :" 
 
 Rajinda Radakant Ghose 
 
 presents his respectful 
 
 compliments to Dr. Richard Roe 
 
 and requests the favor of his company to 
 
 a Musical Entertainment at his House 
 
 on "Wednesday the 25th Inst, at | past 
 
 8 o'clock, p. M. for the celebration of 
 
 , the wedding of liis grandson. 
 
 Calcutta, Simla. 23d Feby. 1852. 
 
 Mahindy Laul Press. 
 
 " So, Karlee, the Baboo gives a nautch." 
 ^'- Acha^ Sahib! — hwra nautch — mighty big — very 
 fine; will have continue three day — plenty sahib 
 there — hurra sahib (upper- ten) — Burra Lard Sahib (the 
 Governor-General). Baboo mighty rich — big Melican 
 (American) banian — large house, very large, all same
 
 Tlu; Biiboo's Nautch. 40 1 
 
 Lard Sahib's house — plenty lac rupee — plenty nautch 
 girl, plenty tom-tom, plenty conjure-wallah (jugglers), 
 ])lenty isherry (wine), plenty branJee pawnee, plenty 
 cheeroot, plenty everything. Very proper Sahib go ; 
 Wilde Sahib go, Wilton Sahib, Lode Sahib, Follin 
 Sahib— all ^telican Sahib go — Baboo Big Melican 
 banian!"' 
 
 Truly, Karlee's eloquence was persuasive. Here 
 was no vulgar promise of Bengalee magnificence and 
 hospitable profusion. I knew the " Great American 
 Banian ;" his person was said to be not fatter tlian his 
 purse — his family pride imposing, his love of display 
 a passion, his airs nabobish, his residence palatial, his 
 retinue an arm}'-, his repasts sumptuous, the family 
 jewels astonishing, his grandson a pampered pet, and 
 himself — the Great American Banian. 
 
 " Karlee, we will go." 
 
 The cold season was just closing, somewhat earlier 
 than usual. Punka fans were coming into play 
 again ; the tatties, or wetted mats, were beginning to 
 reappear in verandahs. Old Buxsoo, the Khansa- 
 mah, had thrown off his quilted blue jacket, with all
 
 402 
 
 The Old. 
 
 its vanity of crimson lining and shiny buttons, for 
 nine months to come. The fierce durwan at the gate 
 had unmuffled his fine military head, and giving his 
 " regulation" whiskers and moustaches to the air once 
 more, no longer looked like a " reduced" statue of 
 the Great Mogul as he appeared to Bishop Heber. 
 Palkee-bearers, who had dwelt in shivering decencies 
 for three months, were " stripping to the buff," and 
 trying their suppleness for a set-to with the sun. 
 Tricksy monkeys, recovering their agility with their 
 tropic comfort, were catching not yet limber flies on 
 verandahs; mina-birds in bamboo cages on walls 
 were vociferating qui-id! qui-ld! with levelling irre- 
 verence to every passer, careless whether he were high 
 Brahmin or vilest Pariah ; and astute "adjutants" — 
 those pampered scavengers — that had stood on one 
 long leg in isolated and gymnastic wretchedness till 
 the observer might well have fancied they would 
 grow so, now stalked along parapets and the railings 
 of roofs, with airs as stately as though claiming in 
 their bipedness proud community with man, and 
 looking abroad over the freshly steaming land, re-
 
 The Baboo's Naiitch. 403 
 
 galed their nostrils with the uprising fragrance of 
 garbage. 
 
 Cook and Co.'s is the Tattersall's of India. Twelve 
 hundred horses stand in their stalls at once; and 
 their crack turn-outs, from the most modest of saddle- 
 cobs to a four-in-hand of sumptuous Arabs, with 
 bawling syces in blue and yellow livery, are in lively 
 demand by fast strangers who would make a splendid 
 dash on the Esplanade, to astonish the Chee-cliecs — 
 as the half-castes are called — or take the fancies of 
 romantic French maidens in excursions to Chander- 
 nagore. 
 
 Toward dusk on the 25th, ten of the blue and yel- 
 low syces held by the heads ten well-groomed Arabs, 
 attached to as many neat buggies witli their tops 
 down, at the corner of Sircar Lane and Cossitollah. 
 A score of young Americans, who had reason to be 
 atisfied if their horses were but half as fast as them- 
 selves, waited, whip in hand, in front of the go-downs. 
 Around them a bustling crowd of natives vociferated. 
 Chaprasseys, or footmen, who came from the Baboo 
 with his compliments and competing proffers of ser-
 
 404 The Old. 
 
 vice, to show the way, and clear the narrow, intri- 
 cate and thronged bazaars along the line of proces- 
 sion, or rather course; link-men, with flaring bam- 
 boo-joints, fed with petroleum ; bhearers, solicitous and 
 vigilant, bringing to this sahib his handkerchief, to 
 that his porte-monnaie, and to another, his cloth cap 
 — in place of the sola hat, unseasonable after night- 
 fall — or his warm pea-jacket, in forethought of the 
 chilliness of the dawn ; syces, with the true instinct 
 of the Oriental varlet, bullying the rabble in a poly- 
 glot of dialects, and superlatively glorifying the 
 sahibs — like "Eothen's" donkey-boys in Cairo, or 
 the garree-boys at Singapore : "i/i/ toom junglee-wal- 
 lali^ toomhanchut! — M, hi! ioomsooa, toom cliota sooaf 
 — -jouf jou! jeldie jou! — Sahib hai! Lard /Sahib hail 
 jouP'' "Ho, you drunken loafer, you blackguard, 
 get out of the way on the right ! IIo, you pig, you 
 young rascal pig, get out of the way on the left! 
 Quick ! jump quick, jump quick ! for this Sahib 
 comes — this rich, strong and terrible nobleman comes 
 - — becomes! becomes!" 
 
 And so we whirled and rattled, with infernal hub-
 
 The Baboo's Nautch. 40 5 
 
 hub; iho cli;qini.ssoys and liiikineu shouting us tliey 
 ]';in before us, the sycos still bawling as they hung on, 
 by tooth and nail, bcliiiid — ami all to astonish the 
 denizens of that shabby (juarter, whom the flashing 
 cortege did flutter exceedingly. Men laughed and 
 shouted, women screamed and grabbed for loose 
 children, and youngsters of every sex, size, complex- 
 ion, and degree of nakedness, scrambletl and yelled. 
 
 But safely enough, nevertheless — for the munificent 
 and careful Baboo had brilliantly illuminated every 
 house along the route with pretty lamps — wc sped 
 through the unfragrant concourse, and the distracting 
 din, and the bewildering glare ; past the close, silent, 
 and mj'Sterious dens of the Jewish quarter, whose 
 vacant verandahs, too decorous by half, made the 
 ])lace suspicious by their very airs of innocence; 
 llirough China Bazaar, and past long lines of chow- 
 chow stalls, with tlieir parti-colored and fantastic bal- 
 loon-like lanterns, and their queer caudated people — 
 pleasant rascals, mongers in every thing, cordial and 
 ]) repossessing but very sly — scolding, singing, laugh- 
 ing, laughing, singing, scolding, altogether and all at
 
 4o6 The Old. 
 
 once, for ever and for ever ; past the substantial and 
 demure go-downs of prominent Parsees, rich, respect- 
 able, reserved and romantic ; past the neater, cooler, 
 sweeter bazaars of the Armenians, who deal in silks, 
 and Canton crape, and piiia goods, and Cashmere 
 shawls, and seersucker — from whose green-latticed 
 balconies above, low, musical laughter and whispered 
 songs, and the provoking tinkle of muflSed guitars, 
 came down like the soft sprinkling of April showers 
 at twilight; past the steaming, lamp-smoked, fetid 
 dens of Bengalee peddlers, sickening with the mixed 
 disgust of opium pipes, and rancid ghee^ and mangy- 
 pariah dogs. 
 
 And so we sped laughing, and shouting merrily to 
 one another — now grazing with buzzing wheel, as our 
 horses shied from a sudden yell, or fiercer array of 
 lights, or the red flash of a petroleum fire, the pit-falls 
 of stone ditches on either side ; now stinging with 
 our whips the bare loins of some insolent or lazy 
 scamp who dared to seem regardless of our haste ; 
 now dispersing with free and gallant salutations a 
 balcony-full of dim daughters of Israel, upon whom,
 
 The H;ibo(/s N:iut(h. 407 
 
 round a sliarp corner, wc had come unawares — and 
 so wc reachi'd the Baboo's lodge. 
 
 II" I were called upon to describe that scene of dis- 
 tracting hullabaloo and scramble and glare, I could 
 lind only the imperfect comparison of an opium sale 
 at the Exchange in Tank Square ; and that can be 
 likened to nothing in the world's liurly-burlies, sacred 
 or profane, but the daft jargon and incoherent Kil- 
 kenny-catness of the Tower of Babel, when masons 
 and joiners, confounded into fiends, threw down their 
 tools, and tore their hair, and foamed ; and, Avith red 
 eyes and swollen temples, hoarsely berated one ano- 
 ther for drunkards, and dazed fools, and rolled on the 
 ground in wits-cndy desperation, and cried for their 
 dear universal tongue, which, like Leigh Hunt's pig 
 in Smithfield Market, had broke away irom them, 
 and would be sure to run down all manner of streets. 
 
 Winking our eyes and shielding our ears, wc hur- 
 ried through the gate-lodge, only staying for a moment 
 to bestow the customary bueksheesh on the hand- 
 some durwan, all glorious in his authority and hos- 
 pitality. Some chowkccdans — polieemen in luiii'orm
 
 4o8 The Old. 
 
 followed by an army of blicarers and chaprasseys, 
 escorted us througli the native tlirong that impeded 
 the approaches, into a grand column-girt rotunda, 
 brilliant with a firmament of perfumed lamps, and 
 decorated with complimentary festoons of American 
 and the Company's flags intertwined. Here we found, 
 already gathered, a mixed concourse of European 
 and Asiatic guests in their holiday attire, presenting 
 in the variety of their costume and language such a 
 picturesque and curious assemblage as can only be 
 met with on some ceremonial occasion at Calcutta. 
 
 A numerous company were ranged in a circle on 
 sofas, benches, and chairs, leaving the central space 
 free for the movements of their entertainers and 
 attendants. As many more were passing from place 
 to place, interchanging pleasantries with their friends, 
 following officious kitmudgars to an upper floor, 
 where were refreshments, chess and billiards, or chat- 
 ting apart with fat but dignified banians. There 
 were graceful and scholarly baboos, of the " Young 
 Bengal" persuasion, and the style of Eajinda Dutt ; 
 grave, enlightened, and sagacious Parsees, competent,
 
 The Baboo's Naurcli. 409 
 
 l)v their liberal vicnvs, if iK)t by lacs, to fill the j)lace. 
 — when he shall have departed from his sphere of 
 innnificent usefulness — of Sir Jamcsetjce Jeejeebhoy, 
 whom all India delights to honor for many wise and 
 princely endowments ; Anglo-Indian officers of the 
 Napier school and practice, bluff and " devilish 
 blunt " old Joe Bagstocks, with grizzled moustaches 
 and complexions like a guinea — " livery " old boys 
 who can never get their curry hot enough ; puppy 
 heroes of the ensign age, with incipient whiskers, cut 
 nuitton-chopwise, and dickeys desperate with starch — 
 such fellows as you sec periodically "bawed," or "I 
 believe-you-my-boyed," or " I-say-Fwed-deuced-foino 
 guirl-ed " in the portfolio of Mr. Punch. There, too, 
 were chee-chcc civil-servants on very chee-chee sala- 
 ries — cheap, servile, and especially "nigger" — with 
 whited sepulchres for daughters, if whited sepulchres 
 can be touched with a Terpsichorean madness of the 
 legs, and coneenlre all their aspirations in gymnastic 
 and pci'spiratory rehearsals of polkas and vals(>s a- 
 dcux-tem])s. And there, too, were British civil dli- 
 cers on very Anglo-Indian salaries — costly, super-
 
 41 o The Old. 
 
 oilious, and especially, " boss" — escorting " Company's 
 wi dows," general-officers'- orphan-daughters-in-reduced 
 circumstances, and other equivocal speculations in 
 crinoline who had conceived a longing for "three 
 hundred rupees, dead or alive." 
 
 Our comfortable host, the fat and fine old Baboo, 
 modestly attired in pina, as if to denote that the plea- 
 sure his rupees might afford his friends sufficed for 
 him, passed from guest to guest, his hands laden with 
 the rarest and most fragrant flowers, which ever and 
 anon he sprinkled, as is the superfluous custom at 
 such entertainments, with rose-water contained in a 
 vase of gold with which a servant attended him, while 
 another bore, on a silver dish, miniature bottles of 
 attar of roses, pretty fans, fantastic ivory toys, and 
 even a ruby or two, which were for presents to distin- 
 guished strangers and dearest friends. For every 
 one, as he passed, this fine old Indian gentleman had 
 the true De Coverley address — prettinesses and pre- 
 sents for the ladies — good-fellow-familiarities or defe- 
 rential compliments for the men. 
 
 On a decorated balcony the Governor-General's band
 
 The Baboo's Nautcli. 
 
 411 
 
 — graciously contributed for the occasion — discoursed 
 the latest music from ballet or opera; while on the 
 ■Qoor native musicians plagued unoffending fiddles, 
 pinched and twitched obstinate guitars, mauled help- 
 less tom-toms, and drew squeals of anguish from 
 miserable pij^es, tortured in all llieir stops with the 
 question peine ei dure. It was a pity that all played 
 at once, and scarcely fairer to the audience than the 
 performers. Presently there was a stir on that side 
 of the rotunda over against the entrance and the main 
 body of guests; and with "Trip to the "Wedding" 
 from the Government band, and something to corre- 
 spond, no doubt, from the outraged tom-toms and the 
 excruciated pipes, the bridegroom in his litter was 
 borne into the midst of us on the honored shoulders 
 of his bhearers. 
 
 At first, this litter was so shrouded with heavy 
 satin curtains, in blue and crimson, purple and orange, 
 embroidered with gold, and bordered with massive 
 bullion fringe^, that our curiosity, prepared for a 
 rajah's splendoi-s, was not indulged with even the 
 dimmest hint of its quality, or the appearance and
 
 412 The Old. 
 
 state of its occupant. But wlien tlie bhearers set their 
 burden down, and the Baboo, witli j)roud and partial 
 hands, drew back the hangings, we saw a sort of bed- 
 stead, wide and high, and all of silver — arabesquely 
 traced and gilded at the cornices, and inlaid in the posts. 
 A cushion of cloth of gold served the purpose of a 
 mattress, and a skirt or valence of the same material, 
 fringed with gold cord, hung nearly to the floor. 
 There were no pillows or coverlet — for this magnifi- 
 cent structure partook of the character of a royal 
 divan rather than of a couch. 
 
 Within, a beautiful, graceful, and intelligent-looking 
 lad, of twelve perhaps, sat enthroned on a princely 
 pile of Cashmere and Canton shawls, true silks of 
 Samarcand, the wondrous textures of the old con- 
 secrated looms of Benares, fine linen of Ireland, 
 and even velvets from Lyons. He was clad — cors- 
 leted and greaved and helmed — in jewels of a rajah's 
 patrimony ; golden bells hung silent, so motionless he 
 sat, from his ankles — golden bells from a bright band 
 of gold that encircled his brow ; he was slippered 
 with gems too ; a Cashmere scarf served him for a
 
 The Baboo's Nautch. 413 
 
 cuiuberbuiul, and his loonghce chcapt-ned Tvriaii 
 purple — or that fabulous texture of Dhacca which 
 the cows ate unawares, as it lay on the grass where a 
 royal rajpoot's daughters had spread it to bleaeh. 
 
 The Baboo — when the jn'oud interval devoted to the 
 first wonder and admiration of his guests had passed 
 — took the dazzling boy tenderly in his arms, and 
 kissing him fondly on b(jth cheeks, with a happy 
 smile led him forward into the midst of the company. 
 Then the boy laughed, and cill the golden bells jingled, 
 and the band of the Burra Lard Sahib — as the Hindoos 
 style the Governor-General — struck up hymeneal 
 strains; and even the twitched guitar lifted up its 
 now willing voice, and the squealing pipe forgot its 
 pain and made merry ; for this tender child w'as the 
 uewly-married spouse. 
 
 F]'om guest to guest he passed, gracefully salaam- 
 ing, and to the f^iir ones of the company he offered, 
 with impartial gallantry, heliotropes, which ever turn, 
 longing, to the sun, and white rose-buds for their 
 significance, and mango-blossoms, meaning fruitful- 
 ness. Then, having sprinkled the brows of the fliirest
 
 414 The Old. 
 
 with rose-water, and into the lap of a pretty maiden 
 in her fresh teens dropped a pure opal, he sweetly 
 kissed his finger-tips in salaam again, and withdrew to 
 his throne, where he sank down among his shawls 
 like a brown Cupid among flowers. 
 
 Then the Baboo seated himself in a plain arm-chair 
 in the very centre of all, and clapped his hands thrice, 
 for a signal that the minor shows of the evening mio;ht 
 begin. 
 
 First of all came the nautch girls, arraj^ed in bar- 
 baric drapery and jewelled in profusion — bells on their 
 ankles, and rings on their toes, and bright ribbons 
 of silver braided in their hair, confined by golden 
 bodkins. Transparent veils, dyed like the mist when 
 the red sun goes down behind it, enfolded them from 
 crown to toe, and pearl and sapphire-studded vests of 
 amber satin flashed through and through. From their 
 delicate ears, pierced in twenty places, were suspended, 
 softly tinkling, as many rings ; and a great lioop of 
 gold, supporting a central pearl and two rubies, hung 
 from the nose and encircled the lips, so that the jewels 
 lay upon the chin.
 
 The Baboo's Nautch. 
 
 415 
 
 "\Vluii lliey began lu dunce it was easy to forget 
 the obibirate guitar, tlic abused tom-toms, and the 
 licart-wrung pipe, in their poetry of motion, the pan- 
 tomime of tender balhidr}' — the devotion, the anguish, 
 the patience, the courage, the victory of love, rehated 
 in curved lines of grace and beauty, in the brown 
 roundness and suppleness and harmonious blendings 
 of soft, elastic limbs, serpent-like in lyric spirals. It 
 was not dancing, speaking Elsslerwise or Taglionic6 
 — they neither leaped nor skipped, neither balanced 
 nor pirouetted, there were no tours de force or pit- 
 astonnding gymnastics ; they glided, they floated, in 
 the melody of action ; and when one sweet young 
 singer lifted up a fresh but well-trained voice in the 
 artless plaintiveness of Taza Bu Taza, our hearts were 
 filled with the Indian ditty that Sir AValter Scott so 
 loved. 
 
 This done, the jugglers came on — common-place 
 fellows enough, with few and simple apparatus, and 
 none of the awfid and dazzling paraphernalia of our 
 Cockney ITerr Alexanders and Yankee Fakii-s of 
 Ava. Squatting humbly on the ground, they waited
 
 41 6 The Old. 
 
 for the word. The Baboo, smiling, called one to his 
 feet, and bade him show us a trial of his art. The 
 man asked for bottles, empty glass bottles, whole or 
 broken, as the Baboo pleased. A kitmudgar was sent 
 to the refreshment-rooms above, where champagne 
 corks had been popping smartly by platoons, to fetch 
 a few " dead men." 
 
 When one was handed to the fellow, he sounded it 
 once or twice against another, and stepping forward, 
 with many salaams, to the audience, passed it from 
 hand to hand to be examined, that it might be per- 
 ceived the bottle was a good bottle, and no deception. 
 Then returning to his place, he broke the bottle in 
 two,, and with a fragment in each hand, coolly bit off 
 large slices, as one would devour a melon or a cake ; 
 and with no noticeable care, or any peculiarity in his 
 manner of masticating, but with seeming satisfaction, 
 as though he were enjoying a repast, deliberately 
 chewed them finely, spitting forth from time to time 
 large mouth fuls of glittering glass-powder, sometimes 
 slightly stained with blood, till the whole was done. 
 
 Then, at a sign from the Baboo, the man approached
 
 The Balxn/s Nuutcli. 41 y 
 
 the spectators, to display his luuulh to such mixi<ju.s 
 scientific inquirers as might desire to examiue it. 
 Phiinly there had been no trick — the fellow hinl in 
 very truth masticated the glass, and his lij)S had 
 suft'ercd a few scratches. If, in the course of the 
 performance, he had spit out a formidable slice of 
 tongue, we admiring new-comers would, no doubt — 
 like the sailor who attended an exhibition of the 
 Wiiiard of the North, when he treated his audience 
 to a trick not on the programme, by blowing off the 
 roof of the house — have had no more alarmed excla- 
 mation to utter than "Wonder what he'll do next!" 
 
 After this glassivorous monster, came some experts 
 of the more familiar sort — the sword-swallowers, and 
 the fire-eaters, and the tossers of balls, and the posture- 
 makers. We soon tired of them. 
 
 Then followed a more startling exhibition : Some 
 Nutt gipsies were led out — a family of four, being a 
 man, two women, and a boy. They brought with 
 them a tall pole which the man fixed upright, in a 
 place in the floor prepared to receive it. They had 
 also two or three brass dishes, some eggs, an earthen
 
 4i8 The Old. 
 
 jar or two, and a bottle. When tlie man had planted 
 his pole, he began trotting ronnd it, in a narrow circle, 
 chanting a monotonous song, which every moment 
 quickened with his pace. One of the women sat on 
 the ground, and beat with her fingers on a small 
 drum ; the boy drew a clattering accompaniment from 
 a sort of castanets ; the other woman remained for a 
 time silent and still. But presently the man clapped 
 his hands with a smart double stroke, and at the sign 
 the woman rose to her feet and, as he passed her, 
 sprang with marvellous agility to his shoulder, and 
 then to the very top of his head — where she stood 
 with folded arms, statue-like, and seemingly as firmly 
 planted. 
 
 Still the man ran on, faster and faster. Then the 
 boy laid down his castanets, and took up one of the 
 earthen jars, with which he followed them ; and ere 
 we could see how the nimble feat was done, the jar 
 was on the man's head, and the woman stood upon it 
 in the same attitude as before. And still the man ran 
 round and round, faster and faster, and faster went 
 his meaere-noted song, and faster went the drum.
 
 The Baboo"^ Naiircli. .pij 
 
 Then the boy brouglit a brass disli aud a bottle, and 
 the man slipped the dish under the woman's feet, so 
 that it covered the jar like a lid ; and he placed the 
 bottle upright on the dish, and the woman poised her- 
 self on one foot on the bottle, and with outspread 
 arms, and her free foot in air, stood perched like 
 Mercury, " on a heaven-kissing hill." 
 
 And still the man ran faster and faster, and the 
 drum and the castanets hurried to keep up with him ; 
 and not until we had grown dizzy, and all the rotunda 
 revolved in our eyes with those revolving gymnasts, 
 did the woman leap nimbly to the floor and with a 
 smile set us free. 
 
 Then the elder woman left her tom tom, the younger 
 taking her place ; and she stood in the centre of the 
 cleared space with a small basket of eggs in her hand. 
 Around her head she bound, smoothly and securely, 
 a broad fillet, from which twelve silken cords, equi- 
 distant, having each a small noose at the end, were 
 suspended, and hung just a little lower than her 
 shoulders. 
 
 At once the music began — slowly at first, then
 
 420 The Old. 
 
 faster and faster, as before ; and she gyrated with it, 
 measuring her velocity by its time. Like a whirling 
 dervish, at last she spun — a human teetotum- — -till the 
 silken cords with their nooses stood centrifugally, 
 straight out from her head ; and when her velocity 
 w\as at its wildest, one by one she hung twelve eggs in 
 the loops, and whirled on, till the cords were like the 
 spokes of a light Yankee wagon in a state of 2.40, and 
 the eggs made a white halo round her head. Then, 
 by slow degrees she checked her speed, and at the end 
 replaced her astonished foetus-poultry in the basket, 
 undamaged by so much as a dint. 
 
 After this the Nutts withdrew amid hearty applause, 
 and with generous bucksheesh from the Baboo. They 
 were to be followed by the famous mango-trick — 
 wherein a mango is made to grow from the seed and 
 bear fruit, for the delectation and special wonder of 
 the gazers. But we had seen that many times before, 
 and had been bored past patience by everybody's 
 desperate theories to explain it ; indeed, we preferred 
 to believe, with the old Indiamen, that it is a veritable 
 miracle. So we withdrew to the refreshment saloon,
 
 The Baboo's Nautcli. 4.21 
 
 aiul liaving comforted our .sympathetic fatigue with 
 champagne and fruits, took our leave — happy tliat in 
 India, on such occasions, we could do that without 
 ceremony. 
 
 As we passed through the extensive compound, 
 still brilliant and noisy, we saw people enacting legi- 
 timate drama that Dr. Bellows would hardly have 
 approved, with puppets — wonderful make-pretences 
 of their makers. There were celebrated wrestlers, 
 too ; and a great outcry announced that, in a contest 
 just concluded, one fellow had tossed another over 
 his head and broken his ribs. In India, a wrestler is 
 never called beaten for being merely thrown; he must 
 be turned on his back and slapped upon the belly. 
 For this, herculean strength is required — the struggle 
 is at its fiercest then. 
 
 We were promised, if we would tarry, a sight of 
 the performance of a sheep-eater— one of those hor- 
 rible fellows from the mountains, a reclaimed Thug 
 perhaps — who would strangle a large sheep with his 
 hands, and having skinned it with his teeth, would 
 then and there devour it without knife or fork.
 
 422 The Old. 
 
 entire, raw, reeking, and warm. But we feared tliis 
 might prove too mucli for our suppers ; so, betaking 
 us to our buggies, we sped homeward through the 
 still illuminated streets — one of us, at least, having 
 visions by the way of Haroun-al-Raschid, Signorina 
 Soto, the Wizard of the North, Le Monstre Paul, the 
 Polish Brothers, Thugs, Feejee Cannibals, Charlotte 
 Cushman, and Borro-boola-gha.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ADJUTANTS GKAVE. 
 
 It was at the taking of Rangoon. From the Irni- 
 waddi, the crashing batteries of a dozen steam frigates 
 had levelled the stockades on the river side. Black 
 masses of naked, smoke-stained Burmese, exposed 
 at their guns, or in shallow trenches, when the teak 
 walls fell or were burned, were mowed down like 
 grass by a hail-storm of grai)e. Our artillery was 
 landing. The 18th Royal Irish were already in the 
 breaches and at the water-gate. The Burmese drop- 
 ped their cumbrous shields, and lances and dhars, 
 and fled yelling, back toward the great Pagoda. 
 Those wild Irish, possessed of the same devil that 
 dashed and shished and stabbed and hacked and 
 hurrahed in the Enniskilleners at Waterloo, went olf 
 inhotcha.se. Only one regiment! — for they would
 
 424 The Old. 
 
 not wait for tlie slow boats whicli were brina-ins the 
 guns, and the 80th, and the sepoy rifles, but broke 
 away in pursuit, in spite of the almost frantic officers, 
 who, weak and lioarse with ineffectual efforts to check 
 their mad command, were forced to follow at last, all 
 chasing the bubble reputation together. One regi- 
 ment, at the heels of ten thousand panic-stricken 
 savages ! 
 
 One of the glorious fellows of the crack 18th in 
 this tempestuous hurly-burly, was Fallon, the adju- 
 tant. He was the equij^ped model of "a gentleman 
 and a soldier " according to the standard of his proud 
 regiment — a jovial boon-companion, generous com- 
 rade, fast friend, frank and fearless enemy — in sport 
 a child, in taste a scholar, impetuous in fight, pitiful 
 in victory. 
 
 As his disordered party charged shouting up the 
 broad Dagon Koad, between the long lines of the 
 Inner Stockade, over bamboo bridges thrown across 
 trenches, and past grim gigantic idols, and poonghee 
 houses fantastically carved, the Adjutant, who had 
 lingered behind the rest, striving to the last, in his
 
 Tlu: Ailjutaiit's Gruve. 42^ 
 
 liabitual dcvDtioii to discipline, to restrain the men, 
 liappencd to be in the rear of all. 
 
 "How now?" jestingly cried Clark, an English 
 ensign of the Adjutant's mess, who was running just 
 before him, "our plucky Fallon at the back of us 
 all ! This is bad enough for me, old fellow, who 
 have my medals to win; but it will never do for you, 
 with those red ribbons to answer for." 
 
 " I am doing my best, Clark, my boy," Fallon 
 replied, "and shall be up witli that crazy sergeant 
 presently. You kn(iw I am good for a short brush 
 of foot race ; fast running is one of my accomplish- 
 ments — thanks to my bog-trotting education, and the 
 practice Lord Gough gave us." 
 
 Hardly were the words done ringing in his com- 
 rade's ears, when the gallant Fallon, the pride of his 
 corps, received in his generous breast a dozen mus- 
 ket-balls as he sprang up the broad staircase of the 
 Golden Dagon Pagoda — first of them all, and quite 
 alone. He fell on his face, stone dead, on the sUiii'S, 
 sword in hand, and smiling. 
 
 When all was over, and his regiment held the post
 
 426 The Old. 
 
 of lionor on the very throne of the Boodh, they gave 
 him ca soldier's most distinguished obsequies, burying 
 him in a solemn grave of talipot trees, behind a poon- 
 ghee house of the grotesquest architecture, and just 
 outside of what were afterward the sepoy lines of the 
 80th. His faithful orderly planted a rude cross at his 
 grave's head, and set an English white rose there. 
 An American missionary gave it him. 
 
 In Calcutta, ISTorah Fallon — beautiful, accomplished, 
 witty, altogether radiant with rare charms of mind 
 and person — waited with her young child for news 
 from her soldier-husband who had her heart in his 
 keeping within the stockades of Eangoon. When 
 they told her he was dead, she fell, uttering only a 
 sharp cry, and lay as one dead for many days. But 
 when she awoke to the consciousness of her profound 
 bereavement and her eternal widowhood, she shed 
 not one tear, nor spoke a word, but took her boy and 
 went aboard a troop-ship that sailed on the morrow 
 for Eancroon.
 
 Tlic Adjuraiit'.s (ira\(.* ^.iy 
 
 Ou tlic voyage, still she spoke not, nor ever wejit 
 — the silence oi" her sorrow had something sacred, 
 almost awful, about it, tliat commanded a delicacy of 
 consideration, which was a sort of worship, from the 
 rudest around her. 
 
 Arrived at Rangoon, no sooner had the ship drop- 
 ped anchor off the King's Wharf, than Norah sent 
 her chaprassey, her Hindoo errand-goer, with a note 
 to Gen. Godwin, commanding the Company's forces 
 in Burmah: "The wife of Maurice Fallon, adjutant 
 in the 18th of her Majesty's Royal Irisli, would be 
 permitted to see her husband's grave; she awaits 
 the expression of the General's wishes on board the 
 Mahanuddy." 
 
 She waited long. At last the answer came : " It 
 was with unfeigned sorrow that Lieut.-Gen. Godwin 
 found himself constrained, by the exigencies of his 
 position, to refuse the widow of one of his best 
 officers, whose loss was felt by the whole Anglo-In- 
 dian army, the sad privilege of visiting the spot 
 where his comrades had consigned him to a brave 
 soldier's grave. But the Genend's footing in Kan-
 
 428 * The Old. 
 
 goon was precarious ; hourly apprehensions of attack, 
 by a strong body of the enemy, were entertained. It 
 was known that a daring Burman chief was approach- 
 ing with a numerous and well-armed force, and had 
 already arrived in the neighborhood of Kemmendine. 
 Therefore, for the present, the Lieut.-General must for- 
 bid the landing of his countrywomen from the ship- 
 ping, on any pretext. He hoped to be forgiven by 
 the dear lady, whose grief he humbly asked to be 
 permitted to participate in ; but, in this case, he was 
 not left in the exercise of the least discretion — such 
 were the Regulations," 
 
 When Norah Fallon had, read these lines, she 
 retired to her cabin in silence, and was not seen again 
 that day. On the next, she was observed in frequent 
 and eager conference, in whispered Hindostanee, with 
 an old and faithful bhearer, grey -bearded and of grave 
 and dignified demeanor, who had long been in the 
 confidence of her husband — indeed, a sort of humble 
 but fatherly guardian to the young, inexperienced, 
 and perhaps imprudent pair, who, wdth their darling 
 between them, were all-in-all to each other, and heed-
 
 The Adjutant's (rnivo. ^29 
 
 less of all besiilc. The oM Hindoo had formerly 
 lived several years at Proine, whither he had gone in 
 the capacity of bhcarer to an English commissioner; 
 he therefore knew the Burmese character well, and 
 could speak the language with tolerable fluency. 
 
 There were many " friendly " Burmese at Rangoon 
 at this time, deserters from Dallah, shrewd fellows 
 who had foreseen safety in British ascendancy, and 
 being mostly fishermen, had offered themselves for 
 "Inglee" muskets for the nonce, witli a sharp eye to 
 profitable nets thereafter. Indeed, not a few of these 
 calculating traitors liad taken to their old trade 
 already, and were busily plying their poles and hooks 
 from crazy canoes at the mouth of Kemmendinc 
 Creek. It was not long before some of them, hailed 
 by old Buxsoo, the bhearer, came alongside with, as 
 he said, fish for the " Mem Sahib," his mistress. On 
 these occasions he conversed with them in Burmese, 
 and whoever watched narrowly the astonished and 
 anxious flices of the fishermen must have observed 
 that neither the freshness nor the price of their finny 
 prizes formed any part of the discussion.
 
 430 The Old. 
 
 It was a dark niglit — no moon and a cloudy sky ; 
 all hands had gone below and "turned in," some 
 hours since. The officer of the deck, night-glass in 
 hand, paced the " bridge," or leaned over the rail and 
 watched the lights ashore; while the quartermaster 
 patrolled the gangways. But these were not alone 
 on deck ; on the bull-ring of the after-gun the pale 
 and tearless widow sat, still as a shadow, and peered 
 through the darkness shoreward, to where the ISth's 
 lights gleamed from the Golden Dagon. Such was 
 her nightly wont, and officers and men had become 
 so accustomed to it, that she sometimes sat there till 
 after midnight, unheeded and forgotten. 
 
 The young officer still chased with his eyes the 
 restless lights, and dreamed dreams the while of home 
 and of a sweetheart; the gruff old quartermaster 
 paced up and down, and thought of prize-money and 
 the "old woman." Neither had eye or thought for 
 the poor lady — they were so used to her lonesome 
 ways, d'ye see — else they might have found some- 
 thing unusual in the anxiety with which she watched 
 a singular object in the water astern — only an empty
 
 The Adjuranr's Cinivc 431 
 
 canoe (Irifliiig towards the sliij)! Not drifting either; 
 for now that I point tlieiii out to you, you can 
 sec two black licads, with hmi^ liuir twist<'<l in a bar- 
 baric knot behind, peering warily above the water in 
 front of the boat, which seems to follow them. 
 
 The lovedorn youngster, or the gruff old (quarter- 
 master on prize-money intent, did look toward the 
 bull-ring a little latci-, an'l saw — nothing; the lady 
 was gone. "WhithiM? to her cabin ? No; she could 
 not have passed them imobserved. But that was easy 
 to decide — her light still burned; her state-room Avas 
 open and vacant. AVherc then was she? Good Hea- 
 vens! — it could not be — and yet it must — poor lady ! 
 — poor baby ! They gave the alarm ; they rouserl 
 the ship ; a gun was fired ; a search made — in vain ; 
 alas! it must be so — "she has gone to join her hus- 
 band." 
 
 True! but not that way, gruff ol(i quartermaster; 
 not that way, sentimental master's mate. Stop think- 
 ing about her — have ears and brains for your duty. 
 What was that shot on shore? And, hark now! 
 another, and another, and another! the alarm is given
 
 432 The Old. 
 
 in the British hnes; the sentries have discharged their 
 pieces and run in ! See ! the pLace is all a-blaze with 
 lights ; every poonghee-house is illaminated; you can 
 discern the great porch of the Golden Dagon, with its 
 griffin warders, from here. They are beating to arms ; 
 the trumpet sounds the " assembly." What could 
 that first and solitary shot have been? 
 
 Ah ! my nautical friends, while your sapient pates 
 were busy guessing, that pair of barbaric black heads 
 have drifted under the stern again, and the same canoe 
 has drifted with them — nor empty this time ; for, 
 look again, and you will see that her light is no longer 
 burning, and her state-room door is closed, though the 
 window is open ; and — can it be ? — ^yes, you do hear 
 her breathing. Wait ! spare your heads the guessing ; 
 it will all be cleared up for you one day. Wait till 
 you dare to ask Norah Fallon why she makes so 
 much of that withered white rose. 
 
 General Godwin's next dispatch to the Governor- 
 General contained a curious passage : "On the night 
 of the 15th, the cantonments were thrown into dis- 
 order by a false alarm, caused by the mysterious
 
 The Adjutant's Gra\c. 4:^::^ 
 
 fliscbargc of a pistol in tlic talipot grove, which en- 
 closes the grave of the late Adjutant Fallon, wIkj (Ml 
 gloriously in the attack on the Dagon Pagoda ; tlic 
 spot is close to the sepoy lines of 11. Af, 80th, My 
 men maintained good order, answering the assembly 
 call with remarkable celerity, and in complete equip- 
 ment. At daybreak, a sepoy of Major Ainslie's 
 picket found a dead boa of great size, and evidently 
 just killed, lying across young Fallon's grave; also, 
 suspended to the cross by a blue ribbon, a gold locket 
 containing two locks of hair — a lady's and a child's ; 
 and fastened to the cross by a short Burmese poniard 
 tlirougli the paper, the inclosure marked X." 
 
 Inclosure X contained the following: " There are 
 710 'Regulations' for the heart of an Irish soldier's 
 wife. N. F." 
 
 THE END
 
 A Piquant Book of Travel. 
 
 UP AND DOWN THE IREAWADDI 
 
 BEING PASSAGES OF 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE BURMAN EMPIRE. 
 
 By J . W . Palmer, M . D . , 
 
 (Author of " The New and the Old.'") 
 
 A new and revised edition^ "with two spirited illustrations, 
 
 12mo. muslin. Price $1 00. 
 Critics on both sides of the Atlantic have characterized this 
 volume as one of the most striking books of Travel since King- 
 lake's " Eothen." 
 
 From the London Athenceiim. 
 " Every knot of water, every furlong of land, yields pictures. 
 * * * In its accumulation of breathless perils evaded, the 
 Escape at Pegu beats any half volume of Cooper's most savage 
 romance." 
 
 From the London Examiner . 
 " He writes in a style that might befit the dashing ' Own Cor- 
 respondent' of an American newspaper. There is life and color 
 in the narrative." 
 
 From the N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 
 " A livelier, more entertaining book of travels is rarely pub- 
 hshed. In some passages a little improper, but not alarmingly so." 
 From the N. Y. Tribune. 
 " The author has all the spirit of adventure, the reckless auda- 
 city of enterprise, the taste for the comic side of things, and the 
 talent for dashing, off-hand description, of your genuine full- 
 blooded Yankee traveller." 
 
 From the Albion. 
 " The description of his escape during the assault on Pegu is a 
 master-piece in its way. He has the right stuff in him for be- 
 coming a popular author." 
 
 From Harpers^ Magazine. 
 " The narrative never palls upon the sense of the reader, but 
 furnishes a constant stimulus to curiosity by its rapid succession 
 of strange adventures." 
 
 f^° Sold everywhere, and sent by mail, postage free, to any part of the 
 United States, on the receipt of the price. 
 
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 No. 130 Grand-st. (near Broadway), New York.
 
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