77^ : > 
 
 THE
 
 CHARACTER SKETCHED 
 
 THE Boss GIRL 
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY 
 
 OTHER SKETCHES 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 AUTHOR or "THE OLD SWIMMJN HOLE," ETC. 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOWEN-MERRILL CO 
 1886
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1885. 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 
 
 CARLON A HOLLENBECK, 
 
 PRINTERS AND BINDERS, 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 GOD BLESS US EVERY ONE 6 
 
 THE BOSS GIRL 7 
 
 BELLS JANGLED . 50 
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 51 
 
 LITTLE TOMMY SMITH 74 
 
 TOD 75 
 
 FAME 98 
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN 101 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 126 
 
 A NEST-EGG 127 
 
 THE BEETLE 142 
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER 143 
 
 THE ELF-CHILD 178 
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH ? 181 
 
 THE BAN 188 
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 201 
 
 THE BROOK 226 
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 227 
 
 THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 248 
 
 THE OLD MAN . 249 
 
 13) 
 
 209.1 .".87
 
 THE Boss GIRL.
 
 GOD BLESS VS EVERT ONK 
 
 u God bless us every one ! " prayed Tiny Tim r 
 Crippled, and dwarfed of body, yet so tall 
 Of soul, we tiptoe earth to look on him, 
 High towering over all. 
 
 He loved the loveless world, nor dreamed, indeed, 
 
 That it, at best, could give to him, the while, 
 But pitying glances, when his only need 
 Was but a cheery smile. 
 
 And thus he prayed, l< God bless us every one ! " 
 
 Enfolding all the creeds within the span 
 Of his child-heart ; and so, despising none, 
 Was nearer saint than man. 
 
 I like to fancy God, in Paradise, 
 
 Lifting a finger o er the rythmic swing 
 Of chiming harp and song, with eager eyes 
 Turned earthward, listening 
 
 The Anthem stilled the angels leaning there 
 
 Above the golden walls the morning sun 
 Of Christmas bursting flower-like with the prayer, 
 <( God bless us Every One!" 
 
 (6)
 
 THE BOSS GIRL. 
 
 ONE week ago this Christmas day, in 
 the little back office that adjoins the 
 counting-room of the Daily Journal, I sat in 
 genial conversation with two friends. I do 
 not now recall the theme of our discussion, 
 but the general trend of it suggested, doubt 
 less, by the busy scene upon the streets I 
 remember most distinctly, savored of the 
 mellowing influences of the coming holidays, 
 with perhaps an acrid tang of irony as we 
 dwelt upon the great needs of the poor at 
 such a time, and the chariness with which 
 the hand of opulence was wont to dole out 
 alms. But for all that we were merry, and 
 as from time to time our glances fell upon the 
 ever-shifting scene outside, our hearts grew 
 warmer, and within the eyes the old dreams 
 glimmered into fuller dawn. It was during 
 a lull of conversation, and while the phil 
 anthropic mind, perchance, was wandering 
 amid the outer throng, and doubtless quoting 
 to itself "Whene er I take my walks abroad," 
 that our privacy was abruptly broken into by
 
 8 THE BOSS GIRL; 
 
 the grimy apparition of a boy of ten ; a rag 
 ged little fellow not the stereotyped edition 
 of the street waif, but a cross between the 
 boot-black and the infantine Italian with the 
 violin. Where he had entered, and how, 
 would have puzzled us to answer ; but there 
 he stood before us, as it were, in a majesty 
 of insignificance. I have never had the feat 
 ures of a boy impress me as did his, and as I 
 stole a covert glance at my companions I was 
 pleased to find the evidence of more than or 
 dinary interest in their faces. They gazed 
 in attentive silence on the little fellow, as, 
 with uncovered, frowzy head, he stepped 
 boldly forward, yet with an air of deference 
 as unlocked for as becoming. 
 
 "I don t want to bother you gentlemens," 
 he began, in a frank but hesitating tone, that 
 rippled hurriedly along as he marked a gen 
 eral nod of indulgence for the interruption. 
 " I don t want to bother nobody, but if I can 
 raise fifty cents and I ve got a nickel and 
 if I can raise the rest and it aint much, you 
 know on y forty-five and if I can raise the 
 rest I tell you, gentlemens," he broke off 
 abruptly and speaking with italicized sin 
 cerity "I want jist fifty cents, cos I can git 
 a blackin -box for that, and brush and every 
 thing, and you can bet if I had that I would-
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 9 
 
 n t have to ask nobody for nothin , and I aint 
 got no father nor mother, nor brother nor 
 nor no sisters, neither ; but that don t make 
 no difference, cos I ll work at anything yes 
 sir when I can git anything to do and I 
 sleep jist any place and I aint had no break 
 fast and, honest, gentlemens, I m a good 
 boy I don t swear nor smoke nor chew but 
 
 that s all right on y if you ll jist make up 
 
 forty-five between you and that s on y fif 
 teen cents apiece I ll thank you, I will, and 
 I ll jist do anything and it s coming Christ 
 mas, and I ll roll in the nickels, don t you for 
 get if I on y got a box cos I throw up a 
 bad shine ! and I can git the box for fifty 
 cents if you gentlemens 11 on y make up for 
 ty-five between you." At the conclusion of 
 this long and rambling appeal, the little fel 
 low stood waiting with an eager face for a 
 response. 
 
 A look of stoical deliberation played about 
 the features of the oldest member of the group, 
 as with an air of seriousness, which, I think, 
 even the boy recognized as affected, he asked : 
 
 "And you couldn t get a box like that for 
 say forty cents? Fifty cents looks like a lot 
 of money to lay out in the purchase of a black 
 ing-box." 
 
 The bov smiled wiselv as he answered :
 
 IO THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 "Yes, it might look big to a feller that aint 
 up on prices, but I think it s cheap, cos it s a 
 second-hand box, and a new one would cost 
 seventy-five cents anyhow thout no brushes 
 nor nothin ." 
 
 In the meantime I had dropped into the lit 
 tle fellow s palm the only coin I had in my 
 possession, and we all laughed as he closed 
 his thanks with "Oh, come, Cap, go the other 
 nickel, or I won t git out o here with half 
 enough !" and at that he turned to the former 
 speaker. 
 
 "Well, really," said that gentleman, fum 
 bling in his pockets, "I don t believe I ve got 
 a dime with me." 
 
 "A dime," said the little fellow, with a look 
 of feigned compassion. "Aint got a dime? 
 Maybe I d loan you this one ! " And we all 
 laughed again. 
 
 "Tell you what do now," said the boy, tak 
 ing advantage of the moment, and looking 
 coaxingly into the smiling eyes of the gen 
 tleman still fumbling vainly in his pockets. 
 " Tell you what do ; you borry twenty cents 
 of the man that stays behind the counter there, 
 and then we ll go the other fifteen, and that ll 
 make it, and I ll skip out o here a little the 
 flyest boy you ever see ! What do ye soy?" 
 And the little fellow struck a Pat Rooney at-
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. II 
 
 titude that would have driven the original in 
 ventor mad with envy. 
 
 " Give him a quarter ! " laughed the gentle 
 man appealed to. 
 
 "And here s the other dime," and as the 
 little fellow clutched the money eagerly, he 
 turned, and in a tone of curious gravity, he 
 said : 
 
 "Now, honest, gentlemens, I aint a-givin ? 
 you no game about the box cos a new one 
 costs seventy-five cents, and the one I ve got 
 I mean the one I m agoin to git is jist 
 as good as a new one, on y it s second-hand, 
 and I m much obliged, gentlemens honest, 
 I am and if ever I give you a shine you can 
 jist bet it don t cost you nothin ! " 
 
 And with this expression of his gratitude, 
 the little fellow vanished as mysteriously as 
 he had at first appeared. 
 
 " That boy hasn t a bad face," said the first 
 speaker " wide between the eyes full fore 
 head good mouth denoting firmness alto 
 gether, a good, square face." 
 
 "And a noble one," said I, perhaps in 
 spired to that rather lofty assertion by the re 
 hearsal of the good points noted by my more 
 observant compan-ion. 
 
 " Yes, and an honest, straightforward way 
 of talking, I would say," continued that
 
 12 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 gentleman. " I only noted one thing to 
 shake my faith in that particular, and that 
 was in his latest reference to the box. You ll 
 remember his saying he was giving us no 
 game about it, whereas, he had not been ac 
 cused of such a thing." 
 
 " Oh, he meant about the price, don t you 
 remember?" said I. 
 
 "No," said the gentleman at the counter, 
 " you re both wrong. He only threw in that 
 remark because he thought I suspected him, 
 for he recognized me just the instant before 
 that speech, and it confused him, and with 
 some reason, as you will see. Onmy way to sup 
 per only last night, I overtook that same little 
 fellow in charge of an old man who was in a 
 deplorable state of drunkenness; and you know 
 how slippery the streets were. I think if that 
 old man fell a single time he fell a dozen, and 
 once so violently that I ran to his assistance 
 and helped him to his feet. I thought him 
 badly hurt at first, for he gashed his forehead 
 as he fell, and I helped the little fellow to take 
 him into a drug store, where the wound, up 
 on examination, proved to be nothing more 
 serious than to require a strip of plaster. I 
 got a good look at the boy, there, however, 
 and questioned him a little, and he said the 
 man was his father, and he was taking hinv
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 1 3 
 
 home, and I gathered further from his talk 
 that the man was a confirmed inebriate. Now 
 you ll remember the boy told us here a while 
 ago he had no father, and when he recognized 
 me a moment since and found himself caught 
 in a yarn, at least, he very naturally sup 
 posed I would think his entire story a fabrica 
 tion, hence the suspicious nature of his last 
 remarks, and the sudden transition of his 
 manner from that of real delight to gravity, 
 which change, in my opinion, rather denotes 
 lying to be a new thing to him. I can t be 
 mistaken in the boy, for I noticed, as he turned 
 to go, a bald place on the back of his head, the 
 left side, a trade-mark, first discovered last 
 evening, as he bent over the prostrate form 
 of his father." 
 
 " I noticed a thin spot in his hair," said I r 
 " and wondered at the time what caused it."" 
 
 "And don t you know? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Coal-bins and entry floors that little fel 
 low hasn t slept within a bed for years, per 
 haps." 
 
 "But he told you, as you say, last night. 
 he was taking the old man home? " 
 
 "Yes, home! I can imagine that boy s 
 home. There are dozens like it in the city 
 here a cellar or a shed a box cat or a loft
 
 14 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 in some old shop, with a father to chase him 
 from it in his sober interludes, and to hold 
 him from it in unconscious shame when help 
 lessly drunk. * Home, Sweet Home ! That 
 boy has heard it on the hand-organ, perhaps, 
 but never in his heart you couldn t grind it 
 out of there with a thousand cranks." 
 
 The remainder of that day eluded me 
 somehow ; I don t know how or where it 
 passed. I suppose it just dropped into a 
 comatose condition, and so slipped away " un- 
 knelled, uncoffined and unknown." 
 
 But one clear memory survives an expe 
 rience so vividly imprinted on my mind that 
 I now recall its every detail : Entering the 
 Union Depot that evening to meet the train 
 that was to carry me away at six o clock, 
 muffled closely in my overcoat, yet more 
 closely muffled in my gloomy thoughts, I was 
 rather abruptly stopped by a small boy with 
 the cry of: " Here, you man with the cigar ; 
 don t you want them boots blacked? Shine 
 em for ten cents ! Shine em for a nickel 
 on y you mustn t give me away on that," he 
 added, dropping on his knees near the en 
 trance, and motioning me to set my foot upon 
 the box. 
 
 It was then too dark for me to see his face 
 clearly, but I had recognized the voice the
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 15 
 
 instant he had spoken, and had paused and 
 looked around. 
 
 " Oh, you ll have plenty o time," he urged, 
 guessing at the cause of my apparent hesita 
 tion. " None o the trains are on time to-night 
 on y the Panhandle, and she s jist a backin 
 in won t start for thirty minutes," and he 
 again beckoned, and rattled a seductive tat 
 too on the side of his box. 
 
 "Well," said I with a compromising air; 
 " come inside, then, out of the cold." 
 
 " Gainst the rules cops won t have it. 
 They jist fired me out o there not ten minutes 
 ago. Oh, come, Cap ; step out here ; it won t 
 take two minutes," and the little fellow spat 
 professionally upon his brush, with a covert 
 glance of pleasure as he noted the apparent 
 success of the maneuver. "You don t live 
 here, I ll bet," said the boy, setting the first 
 boot on the box, and pausing to blow his 
 hands. 
 
 " How do you know that? Did you never 
 see me here before? " 
 
 " No, I never see you here before, but that 
 aint no reason. I can tell you don t live here 
 by them shoes cos they ve been put up in 
 some little pennyroyal shop, that s how. 
 When you want a fly shoe you want to git 
 her put up somers where they know somepin
 
 l6 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 about style. They s good enough metal in 
 that shoe, only she s about two years oft in 
 style." 
 
 "You re posted, then, in shoes," said I r 
 with a laugh. 
 
 "I ort to be," he went on, pantingly, a 
 brush in either hand gyrating with a velocity 
 that jostled his hat over his eyes, leaving most 
 plainly exposed to my investigative eye the 
 "trade-mark" before alluded to; "I ort to 
 be posted in shoes, cos I ain t done nothin but 
 black em for five years." 
 
 "You re an old hand, then, at the busi 
 ness," said I. " I didn t know but maybe 
 you were just starting out. What s an outfit 
 like that worth?" 
 
 " Thinkin o startin up?" he asked face 
 tiously. 
 
 " Oh, no," said I, good-humoredly. " I just 
 asked out of idle curiosity. That s a new box, 
 ain t it?" 
 
 " New !" he repeated with a laugh. " Put 
 up that other hoof. New? W y if that box 
 had ever had eyes like a human it would a- 
 been a-wearin specs by this time ; that s a 
 old, bald-headed box, with one foot in the 
 grave." 
 
 "And what did the old fellow cost you? " I
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 17 
 
 asked, highly amused at the quaint expres 
 sions of the boy. 
 
 "Cost? Cost nothin 1 on y about an hour s 
 work. I made that box myself, about four 
 years ago." 
 
 "Ah!" said I. 
 
 "Yes," he went on, " they don t cost no- 
 thin ; the boys makes em out o other boxes, 
 you know. Some of em gits em made, but 
 they ain t no good ain t no better n this kind." 
 
 " So that didn t cost you anything? " said I, 
 " though I suspect you wouldn t like to part 
 with it for less than well, I don t know how 
 much money to say seventy-five cents, maybe 
 would anything less than seventy-five cents 
 buy it?" I craftilv interrogated. 
 
 " Seventy-five cents ! W y, what s the mat 
 ter with you, man? I could get a cart-load 
 of em for seventy-five cents. I ll take your 
 measure for one like it for fifteen, too quick I " 
 and the little fellow leaned back from his work 
 and laughed up in my face with absolute de 
 rision. 
 
 I pulled my hat more closely down for fear 
 of recognition, but was reassured a moment 
 later as he went on : 
 
 " Wisht you lived here ; you d be old fruit 
 for us fellows. I can see you now a-takin 
 2
 
 l8 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 wind and we d give it to you mighty slick 
 now, don t you forgit ! " and, as the boy re 
 newed his work, I think his little ragged body 
 shook less with industry than mirth. 
 
 " Wisht I d struck you bout ten o clock this 
 mornin ! " and, as he spoke, he paused again 
 and looked up in my face with real regret. 
 "Oh, you d a been the loveliest sucker of em 
 all ! W y you d a went the whole pot your 
 self! " 
 
 " How do you mean?" said I, dropping the 
 cigar I held. 
 
 " How do I mean? Oh, you don t want to 
 smoke this thing again after it s a-rolling round 
 here in the dirt ! " 
 
 "Why, you don t smoke," said I, still 
 reaching for the cigar he held behind him. 
 
 "Me? Oh, what you givin me?" 
 
 "Come, let me have it," I said sharply, 
 drawing a case from my pocket and taking 
 out another cigar. 
 
 " Oh, you want a light," he said, handing 
 me the stub and watching me wistfully. 
 " Couldn t give us a fresh cigar, could you, 
 Cap?" 
 
 " I don t know," said I, as though delib 
 erating on the matter. "What was that you 
 were going to tell me just now ? You started 
 to tell me what a lovely sucker I d have
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 19 
 
 been had you met me this morning. How 
 did you mean?" 
 
 " Give me a cigar and I ll tell you. Oh, 
 come, now, Cap ; give me a smoker and I ll 
 give you the whole game. I will, now, hon 
 est !" 
 
 I held out the open case. 
 
 " Nothin mean about you, is they?" he 
 said, eagerly taking a fresh cigar in one hand 
 and the stub in the other. "A ten-center, 
 too oh, I guess not!" but, to my surprise, 
 he took the stub between his lips, and began 
 opening his coat. "Guess I ll jist fat this 
 daisy, and save er up for Christmas. No, I 
 won t, either," he broke in suddenly, with a 
 bright, keen flash of second thought. "Tell 
 you what I ll do," holding up the cigar and 
 gazing at it admiringly ; " she s a ten-center, 
 ain t she? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "And worth every cent of it, too, ain t she?" 
 
 "Every cent of it," I repeated. 
 
 " Then give me a nickel, and she s yourn 
 cos if you can afford to give it to me for 
 nothin , looks like I ort to let you have it for 
 half price," and as I laughingly dropped the 
 nickel in his hand he concluded, "And there s 
 nothin mean about me, neither." 
 
 "Now, go on with your story," said I.
 
 2O THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 " How about that game you were giving/ 
 this morning? " 
 
 "Well, I ll tell you, Cap. Us fellers has got 
 to lay for every nickel, cos none of us is bond 
 holders ; and they s days and days together 
 when we don t make enough to even starve 
 on. What I mean is, we on y make enough 
 to pay for agervatin our appetites with jist 
 about enough chuck to keep us starvin -hun- 
 gry. So, you see, when a feller ain t got 
 nothin else to do, and his appetite won t 
 sleep in the same bunk with him, he s bound 
 to git onto somepin crooked, and git up all 
 sorts o dodges to git along. Some gives em 
 one thing, and some another, but you bet they 
 got to be mighty slick now, cos people won t 
 have orphans, and fits, and cripples, and 
 drunk fathers, and mothers that eats mor 
 phine, and white swellin , and consump 
 tion, and all that sort o taffy ! Got to git er 
 down finer n that ; but I been a gittin in 
 my work all the same, don t you forgit ! You 
 won t ever blow, now?" 
 
 " How could I blow, and what if I did? 
 I don t live here," I replied. 
 
 "Well, you better never blow, anyhow; 
 cos if ever us duffers would git onto it you d 
 be a spiled oyster !" 
 
 " Go on," said I, with an assuring tone.
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 21 
 
 "The lay I m on jist no\v," he continued, 
 dropping his voice and looking cautiously 
 around, "is a-hidin my box and a-rushin 
 in, sudden-like, \vhere they s a crowd o nobs 
 a-talkin politics or somepin , and a jist startin 
 in, and fore they know what s a-comin I m 
 a-flashin up a nickel or a dime, and a-tellin 
 em if I on y had enough more to make fifty 
 cents I could buy a blackin -box, and wouldn t 
 have to ask no boot o my grandmother ; and 
 two minutes chinnin does it, don t you see, 
 cos they don t know nothin about blackin - 
 boxes ; they re jist as soft as you are. They 
 got an idy, maybe, that blackin -boxes comes 
 all the way from Chiny, with cokey nut whis 
 kers packed around em ; and I make it solid 
 by a-sayin I m cn y goin to git a second 
 hand box see? But that ain t the pint it s 
 the Mr. Nickel I already got. Oh ! it ll par 
 alyze em every time ! Sometimes fellers ll 
 make up seventy-five cents or a dollar, and 
 tell me to git a new box, and go into the busi 
 ness right. That s a thing that always rat 
 tles me. Now, if they d on y growl a little 
 and look like they was jist a puttin up cos 
 the first one did, I can stand it; but when 
 they go to pattin me on the head, and a-tellin 
 me that s right, and not to be afeard o 
 work, and I ll come out all right, and a-
 
 22 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 tellin me to git a good substantial box while 
 I m a-gittin , and a-ponyin up handsome, 
 there s where I weaken I do, honest ! " And 
 never so plainly as at that moment did I see 
 within his face and in his eyes the light of 
 true nobility. 
 
 " You see," he went on, in a tone of voice 
 half courage, half apology, " I ve got a fam 
 ily on my hands, and I jist got to git along 
 somehow. I could git along on the square 
 deal as long as mother was alive cos she d 
 work but ever sence she died and that was 
 winter fore last I ve kindo had to double on 
 the old thing all sorts o ways. But Sis don t 
 know it. Sis thinks I m the squarest mul- 
 doon in the business," and even side by side 
 with the homely utterance a great sigh fal 
 tered from his lips. 
 
 "And who is Sis? " I inquired with new in 
 terest. 
 
 "Sis?" he repeated, knocking my foot 
 from the box, and leaning back, still in the 
 old position, his hat lying on the ground be 
 side him, and his frowsy hair tossed backward 
 from the full, broad brow "Who s Sis?" he 
 repeated with an upward smile that almost 
 dazzled me " W y, Sis is is w r y, Sis is 
 the boss girl and don t you forgit it ! " 
 
 No need had he to tell me more than this.
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 23 
 
 I knew who " Sis " was by the light of pride 
 in the uplifted eyes ; I knew who " Sis " was 
 by the exultation in the broken voice, and the 
 half-defiant tossing of the frowsy head ; I 
 knew who " Sis " was by the little naked 
 hands thrown upward openly ; I knew who 
 " Sis" was by the tear that dared to trickle 
 through the dirt upon her ragged brother s 
 face. And don t you forget it! 
 
 that boy down there upon his knees ! 
 there in the cinders and the dirt so far, far 
 down beneath us that we trample on his breast 
 and grind our heels into his very heart ; O 
 that boy there, with his lifted eyes, and God s 
 own glory shining in his face, has taught me, 
 with an eloquence beyond the trick of mellow- 
 sounding words and metaphor, that love may 
 find a purer home beneath the rags of poverty 
 and vice than in all the great warm heart of 
 charity. 
 
 1 hardly knew what impulse prompted me, 
 but as the boy rose to his feet and held his 
 hand out for the compensation for his work, 
 I caught the little dingy palm close, close 
 within my own, and wrung it as I would have 
 wrung the hand of some great conqueror. 
 
 The little fellow stared at me in wonder 
 ment, and although his lips were silent, I can 
 but believe that had they parted with the ut-
 
 2 4 
 
 THE BOSS GIRL 
 
 terance within his heart my feelings had re 
 ceived no higher recognition than the old 
 contemptuous phrase, " Oh, what you givin 
 me?" 
 
 "And so you ve got a family on your 
 hands?" I inquired, recovering an air of sim 
 ple curiosity, and toying in my pocket with 
 some bits of change. " How much of a fam 
 ily?" 
 
 "On y three of us now." 
 
 "Only three of you, eh? Yourself, and Sis, 
 and and " 
 
 "The old man," said the boy, uneasily; 
 and after a pause, in which he seemed to swal 
 low an utterance more bitter, he added, "And 
 he aint no good on earth ! " 
 
 " Can t work? " I queried. 
 
 " Won t work," said the boy, bitterly. "He 
 won t work he won t do nothin on y 
 budge ! And I have to steer him in every 
 night, cos the cops won t pull him any more 
 they won t let him in the station-house 
 mor n they d let him in a parlor, cos he s a 
 plum goner, and liable to croak any min 
 ute." 
 
 "Liable to what?" said I. 
 
 "Liable to jist keel over wink out, you 
 know cos he has fits, kindo jim-jams, I guess. 
 Had a fearful old matinee with him last
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 25 
 
 night ! You see he comes all sorts o games 
 on me, and I have to put up for him cos 
 he s got to have whisky, and if we can 
 on y keep him about so full he s a regular 
 lamb, but he don t stand no monkeyin when 
 he wants whisky, now you bet ! Sis can 
 handle him better n me, but she s been a 
 losin her grip on him lately you see Sis 
 ain t stout any more, and been kindo sick- 
 like so long she humors him, you know, 
 mor n she ort. And he couldn t git on his 
 pins at all yesterday mornin , and Sis sent for 
 me, and I took him down a pint, and that set 
 him a runnin so that when I left he made Sis 
 give up a quarter he saw me slip her, and it 
 jist happened I run into him that evening and 
 got him in, or he d a froze to death. I guess 
 he must a kindo had em last night, cos he 
 was the wildest man you ever see saw grass 
 hoppers with paper collars on, an old sows 
 with feather-duster tails, the durndest pro 
 gramme you ever heard of! And he got so 
 bad onct he was a goin to belt Sis, and did 
 try it, and and I had to chug him one or 
 he d a done it. And then he cried, and Sis 
 
 cried, and I cri , I Dern him ! You 
 
 can bet your life / didn t cry." And as the 
 boy spoke, the lips quivered into stern com 
 pression, the little hands gripped closer at his
 
 26 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 side, but for all that the flashing eye grew 
 blurred and the lids dropped downward. 
 
 "That s a boss shine on them shoes." 
 
 I was mechanically telling over in my hand 
 the three small coins I had drawn from my 
 pocket. 
 
 " That is a nice job ! " said I, gazing with 
 an unusual show of admiration at the work, 
 " and I thought," continued I, with real re 
 gret, " that I had two dimes and a nickel 
 here, and was thinking that as these were 
 Christmas times, I d just give you a quarter 
 for your work." 
 
 " Honest, Cap! " 
 
 " Honest ! " I repeated, "but the fact is the 
 two dimes, as I thought they were, are only 
 two three-cent pieces, so I only have eleven 
 cents in change, after all." 
 
 " Spect they d change a bill for you crost 
 there at the lunch counter," he suggested 
 with charming artlessness. 
 
 "Won t have time there s my train just 
 coupling but take this I ll see you again 
 sometime, perhaps." 
 
 " How big a bill is it you want changed?" 
 asked the little fellow, with a most acquisitive 
 expression, and a swift glance at our then 
 lonely surroundings.
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 2/ 
 
 " I have only one bill with me," said I ner 
 vously, " and that s a five." 
 
 " Well, here then," said the boy hurriedly, 
 with another and more scrutinizing glance 
 about him "guess I can accommodate you." 
 And as I turned in wonder, he drew from 
 some mysterious recess in the lining of his- 
 coat, a roll of bills, from which he hastily de 
 tached four in number, returned the roll, and 
 before I had recovered my surprise, had 
 whisked the note from my fingers, and left ir* 
 my hand instead the proper change. 
 
 " This is on the dead, now, Cap. Don t 
 you ever cheep about me havin wealth, you 
 know ; cos it aint mine that is it s mine, but 
 I m a there goes your train. Ta-ta ! " 
 
 "The day before Christmas," said I, snatch 
 ing his hand, and speaking hurriedly, " the 
 day before Christmas I m coming back, and 
 if you ll be here when the 5 130 train rolls in 
 you ll find a man that wants his boots blacked 
 maybe to get married in, or something 
 anyway he ll want a shine like this, and he ll 
 come prepared to pay the highest market price 
 do you understand? " 
 
 " You jist tell that feller for me," said the 
 boy, eclipsing the twinkle of one eye, and 
 dropping his voice to an inflection of strict-
 
 28 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 est confidence, " you jist tell that feller for me 
 that I m his oyster." 
 
 "And you ll meet him, sure?" said I. 
 
 " I will," said the boy. Arid he kept his 
 word. 
 
 My ride home was an incoherent fluttering 
 of the wings of time, in which travail one fret 
 ful hour was born, to gasp its first few min 
 utes helplessly ; then moan, roll over and kick 
 out its legs and sprawl about, then cra\vl a 
 little stagger to its feet and totter on ; then 
 tumble down a time or two and knock its 
 empty head against the floor and howl ; then 
 loom up awkwardly on gangling legs, too 
 much in their own way to comprehend that 
 they were in the way of everybody else ; then 
 limp a little as it worried on drop down ex 
 hausted moan again toss up its hands 
 shriek out, and die in violent convulsions. 
 
 We have all had that experience of the car- 
 wheels had them enter into conversation with 
 us as we gaily embarked upon some pleasant 
 trip, perhaps ; had them rattle off in scraps of 
 song, or lightly twit us with some dear one s 
 name, or even go so far as to laugh at us and 
 mock us for some real or fancied dereliction of 
 car etiquette. I shall ever have good reason to 
 remember how once upon a time a boy of
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 2 
 
 fourteen, though greatly undersize, told the 
 conductor he was only ten, and although 
 the unsuspecting official accepted the state 
 ment as a truth, with the proper reduction in 
 the fare, the car-wheels called that boy a 
 " liar " for twenty miles and twenty miles as 
 long and tedious as he has ever compassed in 
 his journey through this vale of tears. 
 
 The car-wheels on this bitter winter evening 
 were not at all communicative. They were 
 sullen and morose. They didn t feel like sing 
 ing, and they wouldn t laugh. They had no- 
 jokes, and if there was one peculiar quality 
 of tone they possessed in any marked degree 
 it was that of sneering. They had a harsh r 
 discordant snarl as it seemed, and were spite 
 ful and insinuating. 
 
 The topic they had chosen for that night s 
 consideration was evidently of a very complex 
 and mysterious nature, and they gnawed and 
 mumbled at it with such fierceness, and, 
 withal, such selfishness, I could only catch a 
 flying fragment of it now and then, and that I 
 noticed was of the coarsest fiber of intelli 
 gence, and of slangy flavor. Listening with 
 the most painful interest, I at last made out 
 the fact that the inflection seemed to be in the 
 interrogative, and with anxiety the most in 
 tense, I slowly came to comprehend that
 
 3O THK BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 they were desirous of ascertaining the exact 
 distance between two given points, but the 
 proposition seemed determined not to round 
 into fuller significance than to query mock 
 ingly, " How fur is it? How fur is it? How 
 fur, how fur, how fur -is it? " and so on 
 to a most exasperating limit. Ac this sense 
 less phrase was repeated and reiterated in 
 its growing harshness and unchanging in 
 tonation, the relentless pertinacity of the query 
 grew simply agonizing, and when at times 
 the car-door opened to admit a brakemaii, or 
 the train boy, who had everything to sell but 
 what I wanted, the emphasized refrain would 
 lift me from my seat and drag me up and 
 down the aisle. When the phrase did event 
 ually writhe round into form and shade more 
 tangible, my relief was such that I sat down, 
 and in my fancy framed a grim, unlovely 
 tune that suited it, and hummed with it, in an 
 undertone of dismal satisfaction: 
 
 "How fur how fur 
 Is it from here 
 
 From here to Happiness?" 
 
 When I returned that same refrain rode 
 back into the city with me ! All the gay 
 metropolis was robing for the banquet and 
 the ball. All the windows of the crowded
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 31 
 
 thoroughfares were kindling into splendor. 
 Along the streets rolled lordly carriages so 
 weighted down with costly silks, and furs, and 
 twinkling gems, and unknown treasures in 
 unnumbered packages, that one lone ounce 
 of needed charity would have snapped their 
 axles, and a feather s weight of pure be 
 nevolence would have splintered every spoke. 
 And the old refrain rode with me through 
 it all as stoical, relentless and unchangeable 
 as fate and in the same depraved and slangy 
 tone in which it seemed to find an especial 
 pride, it sang, and sang again : 
 
 " How fur how fur 
 Is it from here 
 
 From here to Happiness?" 
 
 The train that for five minutes had been les 
 sening in speed toiled painfully along, and as 
 I arose impatiently and reached behind me 
 for my overcoat, a cheery voice cried, "Hel 
 lo, Cap I Want a lift? I ll help you with 
 that benjamin ; " and as I looked around I 
 saw the grimy features of my little hero of the 
 brush and box. 
 
 " Hello ! " said I, as much delighted as 
 surprised. "Where did you drop from?" 
 
 "Oh, I collared this old hearse a mile or so 
 back yonder," said the little fellow gaily,
 
 32 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 standing on the seat behind me and holding 
 up the coat. " Been a-doin circus business 
 on the steps out there for half an hour. You 
 bet I had my eye on you, all the same, 
 though." 
 
 o 
 
 "You had, eh?" I exclaimed, gladly, al 
 though I instinctively surmised his highest in 
 terest in me was centered in my pocket-book. 
 "You have, eh?" I repeated, with more ear 
 nestness. "Well, I m glad of that, Charlie 
 or, what is your name?" "Squatty," said 
 the boy. Then noticing the look of surprise 
 upon my face, he added soberly: "That aint 
 my sure-enough name, you know ; that s 
 what the boys calls me. Sis calls me Jamesy." 
 
 "Well, Jamesy," I continued, buttoning 
 my collar and drawing on my gloves, " I m 
 mighty glad to see you, and if you don t be 
 lieve it, just go down in that right-hand over 
 coat pocket and you ll find out." 
 
 The little fellow needed no second invita 
 tion, and as he drew forth a closely-folded 
 package the look of curiosity upon his face 
 deepened to one of blank bewilderment. 
 
 "Open it," said I, smiling at the little puz 
 zled face ; " open it it s for you." 
 
 " O, here, Cap," said the boy, dropping 
 the package on the seat, and holding up a
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 33 
 
 rigid finger, "you re a givin me this, aint 
 you?" 
 
 "I m giving you the package, certainly," 
 said I somewhat bewildered. " Open it it s 
 a Christmas present for you open it." 
 
 "What s your idy o layin for me?" asked 
 the boy, with a troubled and uneasy air. 
 "I ve been a-givin you square business right 
 along, aint I? " 
 
 "Why, Jamesy," said I, as I vaguely com 
 prehended the real drift of his thought, " the 
 package is for you, and if you won t open it I 
 will," and as I spoke I began unfolding it. 
 " Here," said I, " is a pair of gloves, a little 
 girl, about your size, told me to give to you, 
 because I was telling her about you, over 
 where I live, and it s a clear case, " and I 
 laughed lightly to myself as I noticed a slow 
 flush creeping to his face. "And here," said 
 I, " is a bang up pair of good old-fashioned 
 socks, and, if they ll fit you, there s an old 
 woman that wears specs and a mole on her 
 nose, told me to tell you, for her, that she 
 knit them for your Christmas present, and if 
 you don t wear them she ll never forgive you. 
 And here," I continued, "is a cap, as fuzzy 
 as a woolly-worm, and as warm a cap, I 
 reckon, as you ever stood on your head in; 
 
 3
 
 34 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 it s a cheap cap, but I bought it with my own 
 money, and money that I worked mighty hard 
 to get, because I aint rich ; now, if I was rich, 
 I d buy you a plug, but I ve got an idea that 
 this little, old, woolly cap, with earbobs to it, 
 and a snapper to go under your chin, don t 
 you see, won t be a bad cap to knock around 
 in such weather as this. What do you say 
 now ! Try her on once," and as I spoke I 
 turned to place it on his head. 
 
 "Oomh-ooh!" he negatively murmured 
 putting out his hand, his closed lips quivering 
 the little frowsy head drooping forward, 
 and the ragged shoes shuffling on the floor. 
 
 "Come," said I, my own voice growing 
 curiously changed; "won t you take these 
 presents ? They are yours ; you must accept 
 them, Jamesy, not because they re worth so 
 very much, or because they re very fine," I 
 continued, bending down and folding up the 
 parcel, "but because, you know, I want you 
 to, and and you must take them; you 
 must!" and as I concluded, I thrust the 
 tightly -folded parcel beneath his arm, and 
 pressed the little tattered elbow firmly over it. 
 " There you are," said I. " Freeze onto it, 
 and we ll skip off here at the avenue. Come." 
 
 I hardly dared to look behind me till I found 
 myself upon the street, but as I threw an ea-
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 35 
 
 glance over my shoulder I saw the little 
 fellow following, not bounding joyfully, but 
 with a solemn step, the little parcel hugged 
 closely to his side, and his eyes bent soberly 
 upon the frozen ground. 
 
 "And how s Sis by this time?" I asked 
 cheerily, flinging the question backward, and 
 walking on more briskly. 
 
 " Bout the same," said the boy, brighten 
 ing a little, and skipping into a livelier pace. 
 
 "About the same, eh? and how s that?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, she can t get around much like she 
 used to, }ou know; but she s a-gittin better 
 all the time. She set up mighty nigh all day 
 yisterday." And as the boy spoke the eyes 
 lifted with the old flash, and the little frowsy 
 head tossed with the old defiance. 
 
 " Why, she s not down sick?" said I, a sud 
 den ache of sorrow smiting me. 
 
 " \ es," replied the boy, " she s been bad a 
 long time. You see," he broke in by way of 
 explanation, " she didn t have no shoes nor 
 nothin when winter come, and kindo took 
 cold, you know, and that give her the whoop- 
 in cough so s she couldn t git around much. 
 You jist ort to see her now ! Oh, she s a- 
 gittin all right now, you can bet ! and she 
 said yisterday she d be plum well Christmas,
 
 36 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 and that s on y to-morry. Guess not ! " and 
 as the little fellow concluded this exultant 
 speech, he circled round me, and then shot 
 forward like a rocket. 
 
 " Hi ! Jamesy ! " I called after him, pausing 
 at a stairway and stepping in the door. 
 
 The little fellow joined me in an instant, 
 "Want that shine now?" he inquired with 
 panting eagerness. 
 
 " Not now, Jamesy," said I, " for I m going 
 to be quite busy for a while. This is my stop 
 ping place here the second door on the right, 
 up-stairs, remember and I work there when 
 I m in the city, and I sometimes sleep there, 
 when I work late ; and now I want to ask a 
 very special favor of you," I continued, taking 
 a little sealed packet from my vest, " here s a 
 little box that you re to take to Sis, with my 
 compliments the compliments of the season, 
 you understand, and tell her I sent it, with 
 particular directions that she shouldn t break 
 it open till Christmas morning not till Christ 
 mas morning, understand ! Then you tell her 
 that I would like very much to come and see 
 her, and if she says all right, and you must 
 give me a good send off, and she ll say all 
 right if Jamesy says all right, then come 
 back here, say two hours from now, or three
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 37 
 
 liours, or to-riight anyway, and we ll go down 
 and see Sis together what do you sav?" 
 
 The boy nodded dubiously, " Honest must 
 I do all that, sure enough?" 
 
 "Will you?" said I ; "that s what I want 
 to know," and I pushed back the little dusky 
 face and looked into the bewildered eyes. 
 
 "Solid?" he queried gravely. 
 
 " Solid," I repeated, handing him the box. 
 ""Will you come?" 
 
 "W y, course I will, on y I was jist a- 
 thinkin " 
 
 "Just thinking what," said I, as the little fel 
 low paused abruptly and shook the box sus 
 piciously at his ear. "Just thinking what? " I 
 repeated, "for I must go now; good-bye. 
 Just thinking what?" 
 
 " O, nothin , " said the boy, backing off and 
 staring at me in a phase of wonder akin to 
 awe. "Nothin , only I was jist a-thinkin 
 that you was a little the curiousest rooster I 
 ever see." 
 
 Three hours later, as I sat alone, he came 
 in upon me timidly to say he hadn t been 
 home yet, having " run acrost the old man 
 jist a bilin , and had to git him corralled fore 
 lie dropped down some rs in the snow ; but 
 I m a-gittin long bully with him now," he 
 added, with a deep sigh of relief, " cos he s so
 
 38 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 full he ll have to let go purty soon. Say 
 you ll be here? " 
 
 I nodded silently, and he was gone. 
 
 The merry peals of laughter rang up from 
 the streets like mockery. The jingling of 
 bells, the clatter and confusion of the swarm 
 ing thoroughfares Hung up to me not one glad 
 murmur of delight ; the faint and far off blar 
 ing of a dreamy waltz, blown breeze-like over 
 the drowsy ear of night, had sounded sweeter 
 to me had I stood amid the band, with every 
 bellowing horn about my ears, and the drums 
 and clashing cymbals howling mad. 
 
 I couldn t work, I couldn t read, I couldn t 
 rest, I could only pace about. I heard the 
 clock strike ten, and strike it hard ; I heard 
 it strike eleven, viciously ; and twelve it 
 held out at arm s length, and struck it full 
 between the eyes, and let it drop stone dead. 
 O ! I saw the blood ooze from its ears, and 
 saw the white foam freeze upon its lips. I 
 was alone, alone ! 
 
 It was three o clock before the boy re 
 turned. 
 
 "Been a long while," he began, "but I 
 had a fearful time with the old man, and he 
 went on so when I did git him in I was most 
 afeared to leave him ; but he kindo went U> 
 sleep at last, and Molly she come over to see
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 39 
 
 how Sis was a-gittin , and Sis said she d like 
 to see you if you d come now, you know, 
 while they ain t no racket goin on." 
 
 "Come, then," said I, buttoning my coat 
 closely at the throat, "I am ready; " and a 
 moment later we had stepped into the frosty 
 night. We moved along in silence, the little 
 fellow half running, half sliding along the 
 frozen pavement in the lead ; and I noted, 
 with a pleasurable thrill, that he had donned 
 the little fuzzy cap and mittens, and from time 
 to time was flinging, as he ran, admiring 
 glances at his shadow on the snow. 
 
 Our way veered but a little from the very 
 center of the city, but led mainly along 
 through narrow streets and alley-ways, where 
 the rear ends of massive business blocks had 
 dwindled down to insignificant proportions to 
 leer grimly at us as we passed little grated 
 windows, and low, scowling doors. Occa 
 sionally we passed a clump of empty boxes, 
 barrels, and such debris of merchandise as 
 had been crowded pell-mell from some inner 
 storage by their newer and more dignified 
 companions ; and now and then we passed an 
 empty bus, bulging up in the darkness like a 
 behemoth of the olden times ; or, jutting from 
 still narrower passages, the sloping ends of 
 drays and carts innumerable.
 
 40 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 And along even as forbidding a defile as 
 this we groped until we came upon a low, 
 square, brick building that might have served 
 atone time as a wash-house, or less probably, 
 perhaps, a dairy. There was but one window 
 in the front, and that but little larger than an 
 ordinary pane of glass. In the sides, how 
 ever, and higher up, was a row of gratings, 
 evidently designed more to serve as ventila 
 tion than as openings for light. There was 
 but one opening, an upright doorway, half 
 above ground, half below, with little narrow 
 side-steps leading down to it. A light shone 
 dimly from the little window, and as the boy 
 motioned me to pause and listen, a sound of 
 female voices talking in an undertone was 
 audible, mingled with a sound like that of 
 some one snoring heavily. 
 
 " Hear the old man a-gittin in his work? " 
 whispered the boy. 
 
 I nodded, " He s asleep." 
 
 "You bet he s asleep ! " said the boy, still 
 in a whisper; " and he ll jist about stay with 
 it that-away fur five hours, anyhow. What 
 time you got, now, Cap?" 
 
 "A quarter now till four," I replied, peer 
 ing at my watch. 
 
 "Wy, it s Christmas, then!" he cried, in 
 muffled rapture of delight, but abruptly check-
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 4! 
 
 ing his emotion he beckoned me a little far 
 ther from the door, and said in a confidential 
 whisper : 
 
 "Cap, look here, now, fore we go in I 
 want you to promise me one thing cos you 
 can fix it and she ll never drop ! Now, here, 
 I want to put up a job on Sis, you under 
 stand ! " 
 
 "What?" I exclaimed, starting back and 
 staring at the boy in amazement. " Put up a 
 job on Sis? " 
 
 " O, look here, now, Cap, you aint a goin 
 back on a feller like that ! " broke in the little 
 fellow in a mingled tone of pleading and re 
 proof; "and if you don t help a feller I ll 
 have to wait till broad daylight, cos we aint 
 got no clock." 
 
 " No clock ! " I repeated with increased be 
 wilderment. 
 
 " O, come, Cap, what do you say? It ain t 
 no lie, you know ; all you got to do 11 be 
 to jest tell Sis it s Christmas, as though you 
 didn t want me to hear, you know, and then 
 she ll git my Christmas Gift ! first, you 
 know, and, oh, lordy, won t she think she s 
 played it fine ! " and as I slowly comprehend 
 ed the meaning of the little fellow s plot I 
 nodded my willingness to assist in "putting 
 up the job."
 
 42 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 "Now, hold on a second! " continued the 
 little fellow, in the wildest glee, darting 
 through an opening in a high board fence a 
 dozen steps away, and in an instant reappear 
 ing with a bulky parcel, which, as he neared 
 me, I discovered was a paper flour sack half 
 filled, the other half lapped down and fastened 
 with a large twine string. " Now this stuff," 
 he went on excitedly, "you must juggle in 
 without Sis seein it here, shove it under 
 your ben, here there that s business! 
 Now when you go in, you re to set down with 
 the other side to rds the bed, you see, and 
 when Sis hollers, don t you know, you jist 
 kindo let it slide down to the floor like, and 
 I ll nail it slick enough though I ll p tend, 
 you know, it aint Christmas yet, and look 
 sold out, and say it wasn t fair for you to tell 
 her, and all that, and then I ll open up sud 
 den like, and if you don t see old Sis bug out 
 them eyes of hern I don t want a cent ! " And 
 as the gleeful boy concluded this speech, he 
 put his hands over his mouth and dragged me 
 down the little narrow steps. 
 
 " Here s that feller come to see you, Sis ! " 
 he announced abruptly, opening the door and 
 peering in ; "come on," he said, turning to 
 me. I followed, closing the door, and look 
 ing curiously around. A squabby, red-faced
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 43 
 
 woman sitting on the edge of a low bed, 
 leered upon me, but with no salutation. Art 
 old cook-stove, propped up with bricks, 
 stood back against the wall directly opposite, 
 and through the warped and broken doors 
 in front sent out a dismal suggestion of the 
 fire that burned within. At the side of this, 
 prone upon the floor, lay the wretched figure 
 of a man, evidently in the deepest stage of 
 drunkenness, and thrown loosely over him was 
 an old tattered piece of carpet and a little 
 checkered shawl. 
 
 There was no furniture to speak of; one 
 chair and that was serving as a stand sat 
 near the bed, a high hump-shouldered bottle 
 sitting on it, a fruit-can full of water, and a 
 little dim and smoky lamp that glared sulkily. 
 
 " Jamesy, can t you git the man a cheer or 
 somepin? " queried a thin voice from the bed, 
 at which the red-faced woman rose reluc- 
 antly with the rather sullen words: "He 
 can sit here, I reckon," while the boy looked 
 at me significantly and took up a position 
 near the " stand." 
 
 " So this is Sis?" I said with reverence. 
 
 The little haggard face I bent above was- 
 beautiful. The eyes were dark and tender 
 very tender, and though deeply sunken were 
 most childish in expression, and star-pure and
 
 44 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 luminous. She reached a little wasted hand 
 out to me, saying simply: " It was mighty 
 good in you to give them things to jamesy, 
 and send me that mo that that little box, 
 you know on y I guess I I won t need it," 
 and as she spoke a smile of perfect sweetness 
 rested on the face, and the hand within my 
 own nestled in dove-like peace. 
 
 The boy bent over the white face from be 
 hind and whispered something in her ear, 
 trailing the little laughing lips across her brow 
 as he looked up. 
 
 " Not now, Jamesy ; wait awhile." 
 
 "Ah!" said I, shaking my head with 
 feigned merriment. " Don t you two go to 
 plotting about me !" 
 
 " O, hello, no, Cap?" exclaimed the boy 
 assuringly. " I was on y jist a tellin Sis to 
 ask you if she mightn t open that box now 
 honest ! Now you jist ask her if you don t 
 believe me I won t listen," and the little fel 
 low gave me a look of the most penetrative 
 suggestiveness, and when a moment later the 
 glad words, "Christmas Gift! Jamesy," rang 
 out quaveringly in the thin voice, the little fel 
 low snatched the sack up in a paroxysm of 
 delight, and before the girl had time to lift the 
 long dark lashes once upon his merry face,
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 45 
 
 he had emptied its contents out tumultuously 
 upon the bed. 
 
 " You got it on to me, Sis ! " cried the little 
 fellow, dancing wildly round the room ; " got 
 it onto me this time ! but I m game, don t you 
 forgit, and don t put up nothin snide ! How ll 
 them shoes there ketch you? and how s this 
 for a cloak? is them enough beads to suit 
 you? and how s this for a hat feather an all? 
 and how s this for a dress made and ev 
 erything? and I d a got a corsik with it if he d 
 a on y had any little enough. You won t look 
 fly nor nothin when you throw all that style 
 on you in the morning ! Guess not !" and the 
 delighted boy went off upon another wild ex 
 cursion round the room. 
 
 "Lean down here," said the girl, a great 
 light in her eyes, and the other slender hand 
 sliding from beneath the covering. " Here is 
 the box you sent me, and I ve opened it it 
 wasn t right, you know, but somepin kindo 
 said to open it fore morning and and I 
 opened it," and the eyes seemed asking my 
 forgiveness, yet filled with great bewilder 
 ment. "You see," she went on, the thin 
 voice falling in a fainter tone, "I knowed that 
 money in the box that is, the bills I knowed 
 them bills, cos one of em had a ink-spot on 
 it, and the other ones had been pinned with
 
 46 THE BOSS GIRL ; 
 
 it they wasn t pinned together when you 
 sent em, but the holes was in where they had 
 been pinned, and they was all pinned together 
 when Jamesy had em cos Jamesy used 
 to have them very bills he didn t think I 
 knowed, but onc t when he was asleep, and 
 father was a-goin through his clothes, I hap 
 pened to find em in his coat fore he did, and 
 I counted em, and hid em back again, and 
 father didn t find em, and Jamesy never 
 knowed it I never said nothin , cos somepin 
 kindo said to me it was all right, and somepin 
 kmdo said I d git all these things here, too 
 on y I won t need em, nor the money, nor 
 nothin . How did you get the money? That s 
 all ! " 
 
 The boy had by this time approached the 
 bed, and was gazing curiously upon the little, 
 solemn face. 
 
 "What s the matter with you, Sis?" he 
 asked in wonderment ; " aint you glad? " 
 
 " I m mighty glad, Jamesy," she said, the 
 little thin hands reaching for his own. "Guess 
 
 ~ 
 
 I m too glad, cos I can t do nothin , on y jist 
 feel glad ; and somepin kindo says that that s 
 the gladdest glad in all the world. Jamesy !" 
 
 " O, shaw, Sis ! Why don t you tell a fel 
 ler what s the matter?" said the boy uneasily. 
 
 The white hands linked more closely with
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 47 
 
 the brown, and the pure face lifted to the 
 grimy one till they were blent together in a 
 kiss. 
 
 " Be good to father, for you know he used 
 to be so good to us." 
 
 "O Sis! Sis!" 
 
 "Mollie!" 
 
 The squabby, red-faced woman threw her 
 self upon her knees, and kissed the thin hands 
 wildly and with sobs. 
 
 " Mollie, somepin kindo says that you must 
 dress me in the morning but I won t need the 
 hat, and you must take it home for Nannie 
 don t don t cry so loud, you ll wake father." 
 
 I bent my head down above the frowsy one 
 and moaned moaned. 
 
 "And you, sir," went on the failing voice, 
 reaching for my hand, " you you must take 
 this money back you must take it back, for 
 I don t need it. You must take it back and 
 and give it give it to the poor." And 
 even with the utterance upon the gracious lips 
 the glad soul leaped and fluttered through the 
 open gates.
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC.
 
 BELLS JANGLED 
 
 1 lie low-coiled in a nest of dreams; 
 
 The lamp gleams dim i the odorous gloom, 
 And the stars at the casement leak long gleams 
 
 Of misty light through the haunted room 
 Where I lie low-coiled in dreams. 
 
 The night-winds ooze o er my dusk-drowned fact 
 In a dewy flood that ebbs and flows, 
 
 Washing a surf of dim white lace 
 
 Under my throat and the dark red rose 
 
 In the shade of my dusk-drowned face. 
 
 There s a silken strand of some strange eount 
 
 Slipping out of a skein of song: 
 Eeriely as a call unwound 
 
 From a fairy-bugle, it slides along 
 In a silken strand of sound. 
 
 There s the tinkling drip of a faint guitar; 
 
 There s a gurgling flute, and a blaring horn 
 Blowing bubbles of tune afar 
 
 O er the misty heights of the hills of morn, 
 To the drip of a faint guitar. 
 
 And I dream that I neither sleep nor wake 
 
 Careless am I if I wake or sleep, 
 For my soul floats out on the waves that breat) 
 
 In crests of song on the shoreless deep 
 Where I neither sleep nor wake. 
 
 (50)
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 " A N adjustable lunatic? " 
 
 /~\ " Yes, sir, an adjustable lunatic you 
 may know I don t make a business of insanity, 
 or I wouldn t be running at large here on the 
 streets of the city." 
 
 It was on the morning of St. Patrick s 
 Day. I had been drifting aimlessly around 
 the city for hours, tossed about by the restless 
 tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed in true 
 sea-fashion at the Washington and Illinois 
 street crossing. The few friends I had been 
 fortunate enough to fall in with prior to the 
 parade I had been unfortunate enough to lose 
 in the flurry and excitement attending that 
 event; and, brought to a sudden anchorage 
 at the Bates House landing, I found myself at 
 the mercy of a boundless throng that held not 
 one familiar face. It was a literal jam at that 
 juncture, and anxious and impatient as I was 
 to break away, I was forced into a bondage 
 which, though not exactly agreeable, was at 
 least the source of an experience that will lin- 
 
 (50
 
 52 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 ger in my memory fresh and clear when every 
 other feature of the day shall have faded. 
 
 I had been crowded into a position on a step 
 of the stairway that gave me a lean upon the 
 balustrade, and placed me head and shoulders 
 above the crowd ; and although I compre 
 hended the helplessness of my position, I was, 
 in a manner, thankful for the opportunity il 
 afforded me to study the unsuspecting subjects 
 just below. As my hungry eyes went forag 
 ing about from face to face they fell upon the 
 features of an individual so singularly ab 
 stracted in appearance and so apparently 
 oblivious to his surroundings, that I mentally 
 congratulated him upon his enviable disposi 
 tion. 
 
 He was a slender man, of thirty years, per 
 haps ; not tall, but something over medium 
 height; he had dark hair and eyes, with a 
 complexion much too fair to correspond ; was 
 not richly dressed, but neatly, and in good 
 taste. 
 
 Instinctively I wondered who and what he 
 was ; and my speculative fancy went to work 
 and made a lawyer of him then a minister 
 an artist a musician an actor and a danc 
 ing-master. Suddenly I found my stare re 
 turned with equal fervor, and tried to look 
 away, but something held me. He was el-
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 53 
 
 bowing his way to where I stood, and smiling 
 as he came. 
 
 "I don t know you," he said, when, after 
 an almost superhuman effort, he had gained 
 my side, to the discomfiture of a brace of 
 mangy little bootblacks that occupied the step 
 below "I don t know you personally, but 
 you look bored. I m troubled with the same 
 disease and want company as the poet of the 
 Sierras wails, How all alone a man may be 
 in crowds ! Something in the utterance 
 made me offer him my hand. 
 
 He grasped it warmly. " It s curious," he 
 rsaid, "how friends are made, and where true 
 fellowship begins. Now we ve known each 
 other all our lives and never met before. 
 What d ye say?" 
 
 I smiled approval at the odd assertion. 
 
 " But tell me," he continued " what conclu 
 sion you have arrived at in your study of me ; 
 come, now, be frank what do you make of 
 me?" 
 
 Although I found myself considerably star 
 tled, I feigned composure and acknowledged 
 that I had been speculating as to who and 
 what he was, but found myself unable to de 
 fine a special character. 
 
 "I thought so," he said. "No one ever 
 reads my character no one ever will. Why,
 
 54 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 I ve had phrenologists groping around among 
 my bumps by the hour to no purpose, and phys 
 iognomists driving themselves cross-eyed, but 
 they never found it, and they never will. The 
 very things of which I am capable they inva 
 riably place beyond my capacity ; and, with 
 like sageness, the very things I can t do they 
 declare me to be a master hand at. But I like 
 to worry them ; it s fun for me. Why, old 
 Fowler himself, here the other night, thumbed 
 my head as mellow as a May-apple, and never 
 came within a mile of it ! Some characters 
 are readable enough, I m willing to admit. 
 Your face, for instance, is a bulletin-board to 
 me, but you can t read mine, for I m neither 
 a doctor, lawyer, artist, actor, musician, nor 
 anything else you may have in your mind. 
 You might guess your way all through the 
 dictionary and then not get it. It s simply an 
 impossibility, that s all." 
 
 I laughed uneasily, for although amused at 
 the quaint humor of his language, a nervous 
 fluttering of the eyes and a spasmodic twitch 
 ing of the corners of his mouth made me think 
 his manner merely an affectation. But I was 
 interested, and as his conversation seemed to 
 invite the interrogation, I flatly asked him to 
 indulge my curiosity and tell me what he was. 
 
 " Wait till the crowd thins, and maybe I
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 55 
 
 will. In the meantime here s a cigar and 
 here s a light as Mr. Quilp playfully remarks 
 to Tom Scott Smoke away, you dog you ! " 
 
 " Well, you re a character," said I, dubi 
 ously. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, "but you can t tell what 
 kind, and I can tell you the very trade you 
 work at." 
 
 I smiled incredulously. 
 
 "Now don t look lofty and assume a pro 
 fessional air, for you re only a mechanic, and 
 a sign-painter at that." 
 
 Although he spoke with little courtesy of 
 address, there was a subtle something in his 
 eye that drew me magnet-like and held me. 
 I was silent. 
 
 "Want to know how I became aware of 
 that fact?" he went on, with a quick, sharp 
 glance at my bewildered face. "There s 
 nothing wonderful about my knowing that ; 
 I ve had my eye on you for two hours, and 
 you stare at every sign-board you pass, worse 
 than a country-jake ; and once or twice I saw 
 you stop and study carefully some fresh de 
 sign, or some new style of letter. You re a 
 stranger here in the city, too. Want to know 
 how I can tell? Because you walk like you 
 were actually going some place ; but I notice 
 that you never get there, for continually cross-
 
 56 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 ing and recrossing streets, and back-tracking 
 past show-windows, and congratulating your 
 self, doubtless, upon the thorough business air 
 of your reflection in the plate glass. Come, 
 we can get through now, let s walk." 
 
 I followed him unhesitatingly. To say that 
 I was simply curious would be too mild ; I 
 was fascinated, and to that degree I actually 
 fastened on his arm, and clung there till we 
 had quite escaped the crowd. "I like you, 
 some way," he said, "but you re too impul 
 sive ; you let your fancy get away with your 
 better judgment. Now, you don t know me, 
 and I m even pondering whether to frankly 
 unbosom to you, or give you the slip ; and I ll 
 not leave the proposition to you to decide, for 
 I know you d say unbosom; so I ll think 
 about it quietly for awhile yet and give you 
 an unbiased verdict." 
 
 We walked on in silence for the distance, 
 perhaps, of half a dozen blocks, turning and 
 angling about till we came upon an open stair 
 way in an old unpainted brick building, where 
 my strange companion seemed to pause me 
 chanically. 
 
 "Do you live here?" I asked. 
 
 " I stay here," he replied, " for I don t call 
 it living to be fastened up in this old sepulcher. 
 I like it well enough at night, for then I feast
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 57 
 
 and fatten on the gloom and glower that in 
 fests it ; but in the normal atmosphere of day 
 my own room looks repellant, and I only visit 
 it, as now, out of sheer desperation." 
 
 If I had at first been mystified with this cu 
 rious being, I was by this time thoroughly be 
 wildered. The more I studied him the more 
 at a loss I was to fathom him ; and as I stood 
 staring blankly in his face, he exclaimed al 
 most derisively : "You give it up, don tyou?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Well," he continued, " that s a good sign, 
 and I ve concluded to unbosom ; I m an ad 
 justable lunatic." 
 
 "An adjustable lunatic!" I repeated, 
 blankly. And after the remarkable propo 
 sition that ushers in the story, he continued 
 smilingly : 
 
 "Don t be alarmed, now, for I m glad to 
 assure you of the fact that I m as harmless as 
 a baby-butterfly. Nobody knows I m crazy, 
 nobody ever dreams of such a thing and 
 why? Because the faculty is adjustable, don t 
 you see, and self-controlling. I never allow 
 it to interfere with business matters, and only 
 let it on at leisure intervals for the amusement 
 it affords me in the pleasurable break it makes 
 in the monotony of a matter-of-fact existence. 
 I m off duty to-day in fact, I ve been oft duty
 
 58 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 for a week ; or, to be franker still, I lost my 
 situation ten days ago, and I ve been humor 
 ing this propensity in the meanwhile ; and 
 now, if you re inclined to go up to my room 
 with me the windows are both raised, you 
 see, and you can call for help should occasion 
 require ; people are constantly passing if you 
 feel inclined, I say, to go up with me, I ll do 
 my best to entertain you. I like you, as I said 
 before, and you can trust me, I assure you. 
 Come." 
 
 If I were to attempt a description of the 
 feelings that possessed me as I followed my 
 strange acquaintance up the stairway, I should 
 fail as utterly as one who would attempt to 
 portray the experience of lying in a nine- 
 days trance, so I leave the reader s fancy to 
 befriend me, and hasten on to more tangible 
 matters. 
 
 We paused at the first landing, my compan 
 ion unlocking a door on the right, and hand 
 ing me the key with the remark : " You may 
 feel safer with it. And don t be frightened," 
 he continued, " when I open the door, for it 
 always whines like somebody had stepped on 
 its knob," and I laughed at the odd figure as 
 he threw the door open and motioned me to 
 enter. 
 . It was a queer apartment, filled with a jum-
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 59 
 
 V* <*u tiray of old chairs and stands ; old trunks, 
 a loin ge, and a stack of odd-shaped packages. 
 A fnn ;sy carpet thrown over the floor like a 
 blankev, and a candle-box spittoon with a 
 broken lamp-chimney in it. A little swinging 
 shelf of dusty books, with a railroad map 
 pasted just above it. A narrow table with a 
 telegraph instrument attached, and wires like 
 ivy-vines running all about the walls ; and 
 scattered around the instrument was an end 
 less array of zinc and copper scraps, and bits 
 of brass, spiral springs, and queer-shaped lit 
 tle tools. A flute propped up one window, 
 and near it, on another stand, a cornet and 
 an old guitar ; a pencil sketch half finished, 
 and a stuffed glove with a pencil in its fingers 
 lying on it ; a spirit-lamp, a lump of beeswax, 
 and a hundred other odds and ends, betoken 
 ing the presence of some mechanical, musi 
 cal, scientific genius. 
 
 " It s a bachelor s room," said the host, 
 noting my inquisitive air. " It s a bachelor s 
 room, so you ll expect no apologies. Sit down 
 when you re through with the industrial, and 
 turn your attention to the art department." 
 
 I followed the direction of his hand, and my 
 eyes fell upon a painted face of such ineffable 
 sweetness and beauty I was fairly dazed. It 
 was not an earthly form, at least in coloring, for
 
 6O AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 the features seemed to glow with beatific light. 
 The eyes were large, dark and dewy, thrown 
 upward with a longing look, and filled with 
 such intensity of tenderness one could but sigh 
 to see them. The hair, swept negligently 
 back, fell down the gleaming shoulders like a 
 silken robe, and nestled in its glossy waves 
 the ears peeped shyly out like lily-blooms. 
 The lips were parted with an utterance that 
 one could almost hear, and weep because the 
 blessed voice was mute. The hands were 
 folded on a crumpled letter and pressed close 
 against the heart, and a curl of golden hair 
 was coiled around the fingers. 
 
 "Is it a creation of the fancy?" I asked. 
 
 "Well, yes," he answered with a dreamy 
 drawl. "I call it fancy, when in a normal 
 state ; but now," he continued, in a fainter 
 tone, " I will designate it as a portrait." And 
 oh, so sad, so hopeless and despairing was the 
 utterance, it seemed to well up from the foun 
 tain of his heart like a spray of purest sorrow. 
 
 "Who painted it?" I asked. 
 
 " Who painted it? " he repeated, drowsily 
 " who painted it? Oh, no ; I mustn t tell 
 you that ; for if I answered you with Raph 
 ael, you d say, Ah, no! the paint s too 
 fresh for that, and he s been dead for ages.
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 6l 
 
 Who painted it? No, no, I mustn t tell you 
 that ! " 
 
 " But are you not an artist? I see an easel 
 in the corner there, and here s a maulstick 
 lying on the mantel." 
 
 " I an artist? Why, man, what ails you? I 
 told you not ten minutes since that I was art 
 adjustable lunatic; and don t you seel am? 
 You can t mislead me nor throw me off my 
 guard. When it comes to reason or solid 
 logic, don t you find me there? And here 
 again, to show the clearness of my judgment, 
 I remove the cause of our little dissension, and 
 our friendly equanimity is restored " and he 
 turned the picture to the wall. 
 
 I could but smile at the gravity and adroit 
 ness of his language and demeanor. 
 
 "There," said he, smiling in return ; "your 
 face is brighter than the day outside ; let s 
 change the topic. Do you like music?" 
 
 "Passionately," I responded. "Will you 
 play?" 
 
 "No; I will sing." 
 
 He took the guitar from the table, and, with 
 a prelude wilder than the " Witches Dance," 
 he sang a song he called "The Dream of 
 Death," a grievously sad song, so full of minor 
 tones and wailing words, the burden of it still 
 lingers in my ears :
 
 62 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 "0 gentle death, bow down and sip 
 The soul that lingers on my lip ; 
 O gentle death, bow down and keep 
 Eternal vigil o er my sleep; 
 For I am weary and would rest 
 Forever on your loving breast." 
 
 His voice, as plaintive as a dove s, went 
 trailing through the rondel like weariness 
 itself; and when at last it died away in one 
 long quaver of ecstatic melody, though I felt 
 within my heart an echoing of grief 
 
 "Too sweetly sad to name as pain," 
 
 I broke the silence following to remind him of 
 his having told me he was not a musician. 
 
 "Only a novice," he responded. "One 
 may twang a lute and yet not be a trouba 
 dour. By the way," he broke off abruptly, 
 41 is that expression original with me, or have 
 I picked it up in some old book of rhyme 
 Oh, yes ! How do you like poetry? " 
 
 He sprang to his feet as he spoke, and 
 without awaiting an answer to his query went 
 diving about in a huge waste-basket standing 
 near the table. 
 
 * It s a thing I dislike to acknowledge," he 
 went on, " but I don t mind telling you. The 
 fact is, I m a follower of Wegg and some 
 times drop into poetry as a friend, you un-
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 63 
 
 derstand ; and if you ll lend me your ears, 
 I ll give you a specimen of my versification." 
 He had drawn up a roll of paper from the 
 debris of the basket, and unrolling it with a 
 flourish, and a mock-heroic air of inspiration, 
 he read as follows : 
 
 "A fantasy that carne to me 
 
 As wild and wantonly designed 
 
 As ever any dream might be 
 
 Unraveled from a madman s mind, 
 
 A tangle-work of tissue, wrought 
 By cunning of the spider-brain, 
 And woven, in an hour of pain, 
 
 To trap the giddy flies of thought ." 
 
 He paused, and with a look of almost wild 
 entreaty he pleaded: "You understand it, 
 don t you?" 
 
 I nodded hesitatingly. 
 
 "Why, certainly you do. The meaning s 
 the plainest thing in it. What s your idea of 
 its meaning? tell me! Why don t you tell 
 me!" 
 
 "Read it again that I may note it carefully." 
 
 He repeated it. 
 
 " Why," said I, " it appears to me to be the 
 introduction to a poem written under peculiar 
 circumstances, and containing, perhaps, some 
 strange ideas that the author would excuse for
 
 64 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 the reason of their coming in the way they 
 did." 
 
 "Right!" he exclaimed joyously; "and 
 now if you ll give me your most critical atten 
 tion, and promise not to interrupt, I ll read 
 the poem entire," 
 
 " Go on," I said, for I was far more eager 
 to listen than I would have him know. 
 
 "And will you excuse any little wildness of 
 gesture or expression that I may see fit to in 
 troduce in the rendition?" 
 
 " Certainly," said I, "certainly; go on!" 
 
 "And you won t interrupt or get excited? 
 Light another cigar ; and here s a chair to 
 throw your feet across. Now, unbutton your 
 coat and lean back. Are you thoroughly com 
 fortable?" 
 
 "Thoroughly," said I, impatiently. "A 
 thousand thoroughlies." 
 
 "All right," he said ; " I m glad to hear 
 you say it ; but before I proceed I desire to 
 call your attention to the fact that this poem is 
 a literary orphan a foundling, you under 
 stand?" 
 
 " I understand ; go on." 
 
 And with a manner all too wild to be de 
 scribed, he read, or rather recited, the follow 
 ing monstrosity of rhyme :
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 65 
 
 "I stood beneath a summer moon 
 
 All swollen to uncanny girth, 
 And hanging, like the sun at noon, 
 
 Above the center of the earth ; 
 
 But with a sad and sallow light, 
 
 As it had sickened of the night, 
 And fallen in a pallid ^rotm.. 
 Around me I co ^o bear the rush 
 
 Of sul^n winds, and feel the whirr 
 Oi unseen wings apast me brush 
 
 Like phantoms round a sepulcher; 
 And, like a carpeting of plush, 
 
 A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, 
 
 Bespangled o er with flowers as sweet 
 
 To look upon as those that nod 
 
 Within the garden-fields of God, 
 
 But odorless as those that blow 
 
 In ashes in the shades below. 
 
 "And on my hearing fell a storm 
 Of gusty music, sadder yet 
 Than every whimper of regret 
 
 That sobbing utterance could form ; 
 
 And patched with scraps of sound that seemed 
 Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, 
 And pitched to such a piercing key, 
 It stabbed the ear with agony ; 
 And when at last it lulled and died, 
 I stood aghast and terrified. 
 
 I shuddered and I shut my eyes, 
 And still could see, and feel aware 
 Some mystic presence waited there ; 
 
 And staring, with a dazed surprise, 
 I saw a creature so divine 
 That never subtle thought of mine
 
 66 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 May reproduce to inner sight 
 So fair a vision of delight. 
 
 "A syllable of dew that drips 
 From out a lily s laughing lips 
 Could not be sweeter than the word 
 I listened lo, yet never heard. 
 For, oh, the woman hiding there 
 "Withiu the shadows of her hair, 
 Spake to me in an undertone 
 So delicate, my soul alone 
 But understood it as a moan 
 Of some weak melody of wind 
 A heavenward breeze had left behind. 
 
 " A tracery of trees, grotesque 
 
 Against the sky, behind her seen, 
 
 Like shapeless shapes of arabesque 
 Wrought in an oriental screen ; 
 
 And tall, austere and statuesque 
 
 She loomed before it e en as though 
 The spirit-hand of Angelo 
 Had chiseled her to life complete, 
 With chips of moonshine round her feet, 
 
 And I grew jealous of the dusk 
 To see it softly touch her face, 
 As lover-like with fond embrace, 
 
 It folded round her like a husk: 
 
 Hut when the glitter of her hand, 
 Like wasted glory beckoned me, 
 My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim 
 My vision failed I could not see 
 
 I could not stir I could but stand, 
 Till, quivering in every limb, 
 I flung me prone, as though to swim 
 The tide of grass who^e waves of green
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 67 
 
 Went rolling ocean-wide between 
 
 My helpless shipwrecked heart and her 
 
 Who claimed me for a worshiper. 
 
 " And writhing thus in my despair, 
 I heard a weird, unearthly sound, 
 That seemed to lift me from the ground, 
 
 And hold me floating in the air. 
 
 I looked, and lo I I saw her bow 
 Above a harp within her hands ; 
 
 A crown of blossoms bound her brow, 
 And on her harp were twisted strands 
 
 -Of silken starlight, rippling o er 
 
 With music never heard before 
 
 By mortal ears, and at the strain 
 
 1 felt my Spirit snap its chain 
 
 And break away, and I could see 
 
 It as it turned and fled from me 
 
 To greet its mistress, where she smiled 
 
 To see the phantom dancing wild 
 
 And wizard-like before the spell 
 
 Her mystic fingers knew so well." 
 
 I sat throughout it all as though under the 
 strange influence of an Eastern drug. My 
 fancy was so wrought upon I only saw the 
 reader mistily, and clothed, as it were, in a 
 bedragoned costume of the Orient. My mind 
 seemed idle steeped in drowse and languor, 
 and yet peopled with a thousand shadowy 
 fancies that came trooping from chaotic hid 
 ing-places, and mingling in a revelry of such 
 riotous extravagance it seemed a holiday of 
 elfish thought.
 
 68 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 I shook my head, I rubbed my eyes, arose 
 bewildered, and sat down again ; arose again 
 and walked across the room, my strange com 
 panion following every motion with an inten 
 sity of gaze almost mesmeric. 
 
 " You fail to comprehend it? " he queried. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " You can almost grasp it, can t you? " 
 
 "Yes," I answered. 
 
 " But not quite? " 
 
 "Not quite." 
 
 " Does it worry you? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Think it will cling to you, and fret you, 
 vex you, haunt you? " 
 
 "I know it will." 
 
 " Think you ll ever fully comprehend it?" 
 
 " I can t say," I replied, thoughtfully. 
 "Perhaps I may in time. Will you allow me 
 to copy it? " 
 
 " What do you want with it?" 
 
 " I want to study it," I replied. 
 
 "And you re sure you don t understand it r 
 and it worries you, and frets you, and vexes 
 you, and haunts you? Good! I ll read you 
 the final clause now ; that may throw a light 
 of some kind on it," and, opening the scroll 
 again, he read :
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 69 
 
 * What is it ? Who will rightly guess 
 
 If it be ought but nothingness 
 
 That dribbles from a wayward pen 
 
 To spatter in the eyes of men? 
 
 What matter ! I will call it mine, 
 And I will take the changeling home, 
 
 And bathe its face with morning-shine, 
 And comb it with a golden comb 
 Till every tangled tress of rhyme 
 Will fairer be than summer-time; 
 
 And I will nurse it on my knee, 
 And dandle it beyond the clasp 
 Of hands that grip and hands that grasp, 
 
 Through life and all eternity!" 
 
 " Now, what do you think of it? " he asked, 
 with a savageness that startled me. 
 
 " I am more at sea than ever," I replied. 
 
 "Well, I wish you a prosperous voyage! 
 Here s the poem; I ve another copy. Read 
 and reflect, as the railroad poster says, but 
 don t you publish it at least while I m alive, 
 for I ve no thirst for literary fame I only 
 write for home use ; but- you re a good fellow, 
 and I like you for all your weak points, and I 
 trust the confidence I repose will not be dis 
 regarded. Come ! " 
 
 He had opened the door and was holding 
 out his hand for the key. 
 
 I gave it to him and followed out mechan 
 ically. He left the door ajar and followed to 
 the bottom of the stairs.
 
 7<D AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 "And now if you ll pardon me," he said, 
 " I ll say good-bye to you here ; I ve some 
 packing to do and ought to be at it." 
 
 " Why, you re not going to leave the city ? r 
 I asked. 
 
 " Well, no, not to-day ; but the jig s up with 
 me here, and it s only a question of time I 
 can t hold out much longer as our rural 
 friend remarks, Money matters is mighty 
 sceerce ; and if I don t pull out shortly I ll 
 have to fold my tent like the Bedouin and si 
 lently plagiarize away ! 
 
 " If I could be of any assistance to you " I 
 began, but he checked me abruptly with, " Oh r 
 no, I don t require it, I assure you ; I ve two- 
 dollars to your one, doubtless. Thank you 
 just the same, and good-bye. Here s my card ; 
 it s not my name, however, but it ll answer;- 
 I ll not see you again, though you should live 
 to be as bald as a brickyard, for, my dear 
 young friend, I m going away. Good-bye, 
 and may all good things overtake you ! " 
 
 He gripped my hand like a vise, and turn 
 ing quickly, went skipping up the stairway 
 two steps at a time. 
 
 " Good-bye ! " I called to him sorrowfully ; 
 then turned reluctantly away, examining the 
 card he had given me, which, to my astonish 
 ment, was not his card at all, but a railroad
 
 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. ^1 
 
 ticket entitling the bearer to a ride from Dan 
 ville, Illinois, to York, Pennsylvania ; this 
 fact I remember quite distinctly, as I read it 
 over and over, revolving in my mind the im 
 pression that this was but another instance of 
 his eccentricity, or perhaps a trick by which I 
 might be victimized in some undreamed-of 
 way. But upon second thought I concluded 
 it to be simply a mistake, and so turned back 
 and called him to the window above and ex 
 plained. 
 
 He came down and begged my pardon for 
 the trouble he had given me, took the ticket, 
 thanked me, and said good-bye again. 
 
 " But," said I, "you haven t given me your 
 real card in exchange." 
 
 " Oh, no matter ! " he said smilingly. "Call 
 me Smith, Jones or Robinson, it s all the 
 same ; good-bye, and don t forget your old 
 friend and well-wisher, the Adjustable Luna 
 tic," and he vanished from my sight forever. 
 
 The remainder of the day and half of the 
 night I spent in studious contemplation of the 
 curious composition, but without arriving at 
 any tangible conclusion. I am still engaged 
 with my investigation. Sometimes the mean 
 ing seems almost within my mental grasp, but 
 balancing, adjusting and comparing its many 
 curious bearings, I find my judgment persist-
 
 72 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 
 
 ently at fault. It has puzzled and bewildered 
 me for weeks. No line of it but canters through 
 my brain like a fractious nightmare ; no syl 
 lable but fastens on my fancy like a leech, and 
 sucks away the life-blood of my every thought. 
 I am troubled, worried, fretted, vexed and 
 haunted ; and I write this now in the earnest 
 hope that wiser minds may have an opportu 
 nity of making it a subject of investigation, 
 and because one week ago to-day my eyes 
 fell upon the following special telegram to 
 the Indianapolis Journal : 
 
 "PERU, IXD., April 12. An unknown man committed 
 suicide in the eastward-bound train on the W abash road, 
 just below Waverly, at about 11 o clock this morning. He 
 had in his possession, besides the revolver with which he 
 shot himself, a ticket from Danville, Illinois, to York, 
 Pennsylvania, a gold watch, $19 in money, a small valise, 
 and some letters and other papers which indicated his nam 
 to be George S. Cloning. 
 
 " He was shot twice in the region of the heart, and his re 
 volver showed that between the first and last shots two 
 cartridges missed fire."
 
 TOD.
 
 LITTLE TOMMY SMITH. 
 
 Dimple-cheeked and rosy-lipped, 
 With his cap-rim backward tipped^ 
 Still in fancy I can see 
 Little Tommy smile on me 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 Liitle unsung Tommy Smith 
 Scarce a name to rhyme it with; 
 Yet most tenderly to me 
 Something sings unceasingly 
 
 Little Tommy Smith, 
 
 On the verge of some far land 
 Still forever does he stand, 
 With his cap-rim rakishly 
 Tilted; so he smiles on me 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 Oh, my jaunty statuette 
 Of first love, I see you yet; 
 Though you smile so mistily, 
 It is but through tears I see, 
 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 But with croivn tipped back behind^ 
 And the glad hand of the wind 
 Smoothing back your hair, I see 
 Heaven s best angel smile on me 
 Little Tommy Smith. 
 
 (74)
 
 TOD. 
 
 STODDARD Anderson was the boy s 
 name, though had you made inquiry for 
 Stoddard Anderson of any boy of the town in 
 which he lived and I myself lived there, a 
 handy boy in the dim old days you doubt 
 less would have been informed that nobody of 
 that name was there. Your juvenile inform 
 ant, however, by way of gratuitous intelli 
 gence, might have gone on to state that two 
 families of the name of Anderson resided there 
 "Old Do-good" Anderson, the preacher, 
 and his brother John. But had you asked for 
 "Tod" Anderson, or simply "Tod," your 
 boy would have known Tod ; your boy, in all 
 likelihood, would have had especial reasons 
 for remembering Tod, although his modesty, 
 perhaps, might not allow him to inform you 
 how Tod had " waxed it to him more n onc t !" 
 But he would have told you, as I tell you now, 
 that Tod Anderson was the preacher s boy, 
 and lived at the parsonage. Tod was a queer 
 boy. 
 
 (75)
 
 76 TOD. 
 
 Stoddard Anderson was named in honor of 
 some obscure divine his father had joined 
 church under when a boy. It was a peculiar 
 weakness of the father to relate the experience 
 of his early conviction ; and as he never tired 
 of repeating it, by way of precept and admo 
 nition to the wayward lambkins of his flock, 
 Tod mastered its most intricate and sacred 
 phraseology, together even with the father s 
 more religious formulas, to a degree of per 
 fection that enabled him to preside at mock 
 meetings in the hayloft, and offer the baptis 
 mal service at the "swimmin -hole." 
 
 In point of personal or moral resemblance, 
 Tod was in no wise like his father. Some 
 said he was the picture of his mother, they 
 who could remember her, for she fell asleep 
 when Tod was three days old, with her moth 
 er-arms locked around him so closely that he 
 cried, and they had to take him away from 
 her. No. Death had taken her away from 
 him. 
 
 It needs now no chronicle to tell how Tod 
 thrived in spite of his great loss, and how he 
 grew to be a big, fat, two-fisted baby with a 
 double chin, the pride and constant worry of 
 the dear old grandmother into whose care he 
 had fallen. It requires no space in history s 
 crowded page to tell how he could stand up
 
 TOD. 77 
 
 by a chair when eight months old, and crow 
 and laugh and doddle his little chubby arms- 
 till he quite upset his balance, and pulling the 
 chair down with him, would laugh and crow 
 louder than ever, and kick, and crawl, and 
 sprawl, and jabber ; and never lift a whimper 
 of distress but when being rocked to sleep. 
 Let a babyhood of usual interest be inferred 
 then add a few more years, and you will have 
 the Tod of ten I knew. 
 
 O moral, godlike and consistent Christian, 
 what is it in the souls of little children so an 
 tagonistic with your own sometimes? What 
 is it in their wayward and impulsive natures 
 that you cannot brook? And what strange 
 tincture of rebellious feeling is it that embit 
 ters all the tenderness and love you pour out 
 so lavishly upon their stubborn and resentful 
 hearts ? Why is it you so covetously cherish 
 the command divine, "Children, obey your 
 parents," and yet find no warm nook within 
 the breast for that old houseless truth that goes 
 wailing through the world, 
 
 "A boy s will is the wind s will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts?" 
 
 Tod went to school. The thriftless Tod 
 not wholly thriftless, either; for, although he 
 had not that apt way of skimming like a swal-
 
 78 TOD. 
 
 low down the placid rills of learning, he dl.t 
 possess, in some mysterious strength, a most 
 extraordinary knack of acquiring just such 
 information as was not taught at school, and 
 had no place within the busy hive of knowl 
 edge. 
 
 Tod was a failure in arithmetic. Tod 
 couldn t tell twice ten from twice eternity. 
 Tod knew absolutely nothing" of either Chris 
 topher Columbus or the glorious country he 
 discovered expressly for the use of industry 
 and learning, as the teacher would have had 
 him implicitly believe. Tod couldn t tell you 
 anything of John Smith, even, that very noted 
 captain who walks cheek by jowl with the 
 dusky Pocahontas across the illimitable fancy 
 of the ten-vear-old schoolbov of our glorious 
 
 */ J O 
 
 republic. Tod knew all about the famous 
 Captain Kidd, however. In fact, Tod could 
 sing his history with more lively interest and 
 real appreciation than his fellow schoolmates 
 sang geography. The simple Tod once joined 
 the geographical chorus with 
 
 "I d a Bible in my hand, 
 
 As I sailed, as I sailed, 
 And I sunk her in the sand, 
 As I sailed." 
 
 And Tod not Captain Kidd had a ring-
 
 TOD. 79 
 
 ing in his ears as he sung, as he sung, and an 
 overflow of tears as he sung. And then he 
 ran away from school that afternoon, and 
 sang Captain Kidd, from A to Izzard, in the 
 full hearing of the "industrial hive," to the 
 very evident amusement of "the workers," 
 and the discomfiture of the ruler of " the 
 swarm." 
 
 The teacher called on the good minister 
 that evening, and after a long talk on the back 
 porch, left late in the dusk, wiping his eyes 
 with one hand, and shaking the other very 
 warmly with the preacher. And Tod slipped 
 noiselessly along the roof above them, and 
 slid down the other side, and watched the 
 teacher s departure with a puzzled face. 
 
 Tod was at school next morning long be 
 fore the call of "books." In fact, so early, 
 that he availed himself of his isolated situa 
 tion to chalk the handle of the teacher s 
 pointer, to bore a gimlet-hole in the water- 
 bucket, to slip a chip under one corner of the 
 clock in order to tilt it out of balance, and in 
 many more ingenious ways to contribute to 
 the coming troubles of the day. The most 
 audacious act, however, was to climb above 
 the teacher s desk and paste a paper-wad 
 over a letter "O" in the old motto, "Be 
 good," that had offered him its vain advice
 
 8O TOD. 
 
 for years. As one by one these depredations 
 met the teacher s notice through the day, the 
 culprit braced himself for some disastrous 
 issue, but his only punishment was the as 
 sured glance the teacher always gave him, 
 and the settled yet forbearing look of pain 
 upon his face. In sheer daring Tod laughed 
 aloud a hollow, hungry laugh that had 
 no mirth in it but as suddenly subsided 
 in a close investigation of a problem in 
 mental arithmetic, when the teacher backed 
 slowly toward his desk and stood covertly 
 awaiting further developments. But he was 
 left again to his own inclinations, after hav 
 ing, with a brazen air of innocence, solicited 
 and gained the master s assistance in the so 
 lution of a very knotty problem, which it is 
 needless to say he knew no more of than be 
 fore. Throughout the remainder of the day 
 Tod was thoughtful, and was evidently evolv 
 ing in his mind a problem far more serious 
 than could be found in books. Of his own 
 accord, that evening at the close of school, 
 he staid in for some mysterious reason that 
 even his own deskmate could not compre 
 hend. When an hour later, this latter worthy, 
 from the old barn opposite, watched Tod and 
 the teacher hand in hand come slowly down 
 the walk, he whispered to himself with bated
 
 TOD. gl 
 
 breath: "What s the durn fool up to, any 
 how?" From that time Tod grew to be a 
 deeper mystery than he could fathom, inas 
 much as some strange spirit of industry fell 
 upon him, and he became a student. 
 
 Though a perverse fate had seemingly de 
 creed that Tod should remain a failure in all 
 branches wherein most schoolboys readily suc 
 ceed, he rapidly advanced in reading ; and in 
 the declamatory art he soon acquired a fame 
 that placed him high above the reach of com 
 petitors. 
 
 Tod never cried when he got up to " speak." 
 Tod never blanched, looked silly, and hung 
 down his head. Tod never mumbled in an 
 undertone was never at a loss to use his 
 hands, nor ever had "his piece" so poorly 
 memorized that he must hesitate with awk 
 ward repetitions, to sit down at last in word 
 less misery among the unfeeling and derisive 
 plaudits of the school. Tod, in a word, knew 
 no such word as fail when his turn was called 
 to entertain his hearers either with the gallant 
 story of the youthful " Casabianca," "The 
 Speech of Logan," or " Catiline s Defiance." 
 Let a scholar be in training for the old-time 
 exercises of Friday afternoon, and he was 
 told to speak out clear and full not hang his 
 6
 
 82 TOD. 
 
 head not let his arms hang down like empty 
 sleeves but to stand up like a king, look ev 
 erybody in the face, as though he were doing 
 something to be proud of in short, to take 
 Tod for his model, and " speak out like a 
 man!" 
 
 When Tod failed to make his appearance 
 with his usual promptness one Friday after 
 noon, and the last day of the term, there was 
 evidence of general disappointment. Tod was 
 to deliver an oration written especially for that 
 occasion by the teacher. The visitors were all 
 there the school committee, and the minister, 
 Tod s father, who occupied Tod s desk alone 
 when "books" was called. The teacher, 
 with his pallid, careworn face, tip-toed up and 
 down the aisles, bending occasionally to ask 
 a whispered question, and to let the look of 
 anxious wonder deepen on his face as the re 
 spectful pupils shook their heads in silent re 
 sponse. But upon a whispered colloquy with 
 the minister, his face brightened, as he learned 
 that "Tod was practicing his oration in the 
 wood-house half an hour before the ringing 
 of the bell." 
 
 A boy was sent to bring him, but returned 
 alone, to say that he had not been able to find 
 any trace of him. 
 
 here in time enough," said
 
 TOD. 83 
 
 the teacher apologetically to the sad-faced 
 minister. " He s deeply interested in his effort 
 for this afternoon, and I m certain he wouldn t 
 purposely disappoint me." The good man in 
 reply shook his head resignedly, with a pray 
 erful flight of the eyes indicative of long suf 
 fering and forbearance. 
 
 The opening services of singing and prayer. 
 No Tod. 
 
 First class in arithmetic called examined. 
 No Tod. 
 
 Second class, ditto ; still no Tod. Primary 
 class in ditto, composed of little twin sisters, 
 aged six, with very red hair and very fair skin, 
 and very short dresses, and very slim legs. 
 Tod failed to join his class. 
 
 The long-suffering minister was ill at ease. 
 The exercise failed in some way to appease 
 the hunger of the soul within. He looked out 
 of the open window nervously, and watched a 
 saucy little sapsucker hopping up and down a 
 tree ; first up one side and then down the 
 other, suddenly disappearing near the roots, 
 and as suddenly surprising him with a mis 
 chievous pecking near the top fork. He 
 thought of his poor, wayward boy, with a 
 vague, vague hope that he might yet, in 
 some wise ruling of a gracious Providence, 
 escape the gallows, and with a deep sigh
 
 84 TOD. 
 
 turned to the noisy quiet of the school-room ;. 
 he did not even smile as he took up Tod s ge 
 ography, opened at the boy s latest work, a 
 picture of the State seal, where a stalwart pio 
 neer in his shirt-sleeves hacked away at a 
 gnarled and stubborn-looking tree, without 
 deigning to notice a stampeding herd of buf 
 falo that dashed by in most alarming proxim 
 ity. The nonchalance of the sturdy yeoman 
 was intensified by Tod s graphic pen, which 
 had mounted each plunging monster with a 
 daring rider, holding a slack bridle-rein in 
 one hand, and with the other swinging a plug 
 hat in the most exultant and defiant manner. 
 This piece of grotesque art, and others equally 
 suggestive of the outcropping genius of their 
 author, were put wearily aside, only serving, 
 as it seemed, to deepen rather than dissolve 
 the gloom enshrouding the good father s face. 
 And so the exercises wore along till recess 
 came, and with it came the missing Tod. 
 
 "I m in time, am I? Goody!" shouted 
 Tod, jumping over a small boy who had 
 stooped to pick up a slate pencil, and stop 
 ping abruptly in front of the teacher s desk. 
 " Why, Tod ; what in the world ! " 
 Tod s features wore a proud, exultant 
 smile, though somewhat glamored with a 
 network of spiteful looking scratches ; and his
 
 TOD. 85 
 
 eyes were more than usually bright, although 
 their lids were blue, and swollen to a size 
 that half concealed them. His head, held 
 jauntily erect, suggested nothing but boyish 
 spirit ; but his hair tousled beyond all rea 
 son, with little wisps of it glued together with 
 clots, of blood ; his best clothes soiled and 
 torn ; a bruised and naked knee showing 
 through a straight rent across one leg of his 
 trousers, conveyed the idea of a recent pass 
 age through some gantlet of disastrous for 
 tune. 
 
 It was nothing, Tod said, only on his way 
 to school he had come upon a blind man who 
 played the fiddle and sold lead pencils, and 
 the boy who had been leading him had stolen 
 something from him ; and Tod had volunta 
 rily started in pursuit of the fugitive, only to 
 overtake him after a prolonged chase of more 
 than a mile. "And now I ve got you out o 
 town," said the offender, wheeling suddenly 
 upon him, " I ll jistmeller your head for you !" 
 After a long pause, in which Tod s face was 
 hidden from the curious group about him, as 
 the teacher bent above him at the back steps 
 pouring water on his head, he continued: 
 "Didn t think the little cuss was so stout I Oh ! 
 J -n scratched up, but you ought to see him I 
 A id you ought to hear him holler nuf, and
 
 86 TOD. 
 
 you ought to see him hand over three boxes 
 of pens and them pen-holders and pencils he 
 stol d, and a whole bunch o envelopes ; 
 there s blood on some of em, and the blind 
 man said I could keep em, and he give me a 
 lead pencil, too, with red in one end and 
 blue in the other. Father, you sharpen it." 
 
 Tod never spoke better in his life than on that 
 memorable afternoon so well indeed did he 
 acquit himself that the good old father failed to- 
 censure him that evening for the sin of tight- 
 ing, and perhaps never would have done so- 
 had not the poor blind man so far forgotten 
 the dignity of his great affliction as to get as 
 drunk as he was blind two evenings following, 
 and play the fiddle in front of the meeting 
 house during divine service. 
 
 It was in the vacation following these latter- 
 mentioned incidents that an occurrence of far 
 more seriousness took place. 
 
 Tod had never seen a circus, for until this 
 eventful epoch in our simple history our hum 
 ble little village had never been honored 
 with the presence of this " most highly moral 
 and instructive exhibition of the age." When 
 the grand cavalcade, with its blaring music 
 and its richly caparisoned horses, with their 
 nodding plumes and spangles, four abreast, 
 drawing the identical "fiery chariot" Tod
 
 TOD. 87 
 
 had heard his father talk about ; when all the 
 highly-painted wagons with their mysterious 
 contents, and the cunning fairy ponies with 
 their little fluffy manes and flossy tails when 
 all this burst upon Tod s enraptured eyes, he 
 fell mutely into place behind the band-wagon, 
 with its myriad followers ; and so, dazed, awe- 
 stricken and entranced, accompanied the pa 
 geant on its grand triumphal march around 
 the town. 
 
 Tod carried water for the animals ; Tod ran 
 errands of all kinds for the showmen ; Tod 
 looked upon the gruff, ill-tempered canvas- 
 hand with an awe approaching reverence. 
 Tod was going to the show, too, for he had 
 been most fortunate in exchanging his poor 
 services of the morning for the "open sesame * 
 of all the dreamed-of wonders of the arena. 
 Tod would laugh and whisper to himself, hug 
 ging the ticket closely to his palpitating side, 
 as he ran about on errands of a hundred kinds, 
 occupying every golden interlude of time in 
 drawing the magic passport from his pocket 
 and gloating over the cabalistic legend " com 
 plimentary," with the accompanying auto 
 graph of the fat old manager with the broad, 
 bejeweled expanse of shirt-front, and a watch- 
 seal as big as a walnut ; while on the reverse 
 side he would glut his vision with an " exterior
 
 88 TOD. 
 
 view of the monster pavilion," where a "girl 
 poised high in air on a cord, in spangled dress," 
 was kissing her hand to a mighty concourse of 
 people, who waved their hats and handker 
 chiefs in wildest token of approval and ac 
 claim. Nor was this the sole cause of Tod s 
 delight, for the fat man with the big watch- 
 seal had seemed to take a special fancy to 
 him, and had told him he might bring a 
 friend along, that his ticket would pass two. 
 As the gleeful Tod was scampering off to ask 
 the teacher if he wouldn t go, he met his anx 
 ious father in a deep state of distress, and was 
 led home to listen in agony and tears to a dis 
 mal dissertation on the wickedness of shows, 
 and the unending punishment awaiting the 
 poor giddy moths that fluttered round them. 
 Tod was missed next morning. He had re 
 tired very early the evening previous. " He 
 acted strange-like," said the good grand 
 mother, recalling vaguely that he hadn t eaten 
 any supper, " and I thought I heard him cry 
 ing in the night. What was the matter with 
 him, Isaac? " 
 
 Two weeks later Tod was discovered by his 
 distracted father and an officer, cowering be 
 hind a roll of canvas, whereon a fat man sat 
 declaring with a breezy nonchalance that no 
 boy of Tod s description was " along o that
 
 TOD. 89 
 
 ere party." And the defiant Tod, when 
 brought to light, emphatically asserted that 
 the fat man was in no wise blamable ; that he 
 had run away on his own hook, and would do 
 it again if he wanted to. But he broke there 
 with a heavy sob ; and the fat man said : 
 "There! there! Cootsey, go along with the 
 old un, and here s a dollar for you." And 
 Tod cried aloud. 
 
 The good minister had brought a letter for 
 him, too, and as the boy read it through his 
 tears he turned homeward almost eagerly. 
 "Dear Tod," it ran; "I have been quite 
 sick since you left me. You must come back, 
 tor I miss you, and I can never get well again 
 without you. I ve got a new kink on a pair 
 of stilts I ve made you, but I can t tell how 
 long to make them till you come back. Fanny 
 comes over every day, and talks about you so 
 much I half believe sometimes she likes you 
 better than she does her old sick uncle ; but I 
 can stand that, because you deserve it, and 
 I m too old for little girls to like very much. 
 It ll soon be the Fourth, you know, and we 
 must be getting ready for a big time. Come 
 home at once, for I am waiting." 
 
 "To Stoddard Anderson, from his old friend 
 and teacher." 
 
 Tod went home. He hastened to the teach-
 
 9O TOD. 
 
 er s darkened room. The dear old face had 
 grown pale so very pale ! The kindly hand 
 reached out to grasp the boy s was thin and 
 wasted , and the gentle voice that he had learned 
 to love was faint and low so very low it 
 sounded like a prayer. The good minister 
 turned silently and left the two old friends 
 together, and there were teardrops in his 
 eyes. 
 
 And so the little staggering life went on 
 alone. Some old woman gossip, peering 
 through the eye of a needle on the institution 
 known as the " Ladies Benevolent Sewing 
 Society," said that it peared to her like that 
 boy of the preacher s jest kep a pinin and a 
 pinin away like, ever sence they fetched him 
 back from his runaway scrape. She d seen 
 him " time and time again sence then, and al 
 though the little snipe was innocent-like to all 
 appearances, she d be bound that he was in 
 devilment enough ! Reckoned he was too 
 proud to march in the school p cession at the 
 teacher s funeral ; he didn t go to the meetin 
 house at all, but put off to the graveyard by 
 hisse f; and when they got there with the 
 corpse, he was a-settin with his legs a-hangin 
 in the grave, and a-pitchin clods in, and 
 a-smilin . "And only jest the other evening," 
 she continued, " as I was comin past there.
 
 TOD. QI 
 
 kindo In the dusk-like, that boy was a-settin* 
 a-straddle o the grave, and jest a-cryin f 
 And I thought it kindo strange-like, and 
 stopped and hollered : What s the matter 
 of ye, Tod? and he ups and hollers back: 
 Stumpt my toe, dern ye ! and thinks I My 
 youngster, they ll be a day o reckonin for 
 you ! " 
 
 The old world worried on, till July came at 
 last, and with it that most glorious day that 
 wrapped the baby nation in its swaddling- 
 clothes of stripes and stars and laid it in the 
 lap of Liberty. And what a day that was I 
 and how the birds did sing that morn 
 ing from the green lops of the trees when the 
 glad sunlight came glancing through the 
 jeweled leaves and woke them. And not 
 more joyous were the birds, or more riotous 
 their little throbbing hearts to " pipe the trail 
 and cheep and twitter twenty million loves," 
 than the merry children that came fluttering 
 to the grove to join their revelry. 
 
 O, brighter than a dream toward the boy 
 that swung his hat from the tree-top near the 
 brook swept the procession of children from 
 the town. And he flushed with some strange 
 ecstasy as he saw a little girl in white, with a 
 wreath of evergreen, wave her crimson sash 
 ixx answer to him, while the column slowly
 
 92 TOD. 
 
 filed across the open bridge, where yet again 
 he saw her re-appear in the reflection in the 
 stream below. Then, after the dull opening 
 of prayer, and the more tedious exercises fol 
 lowing, how the woods did ring with laughter ; 
 how the boys vied with each other in their la 
 bors of arranging swings, and clearing under 
 brush away preparatory to a day of uncon- 
 fined enjoyment ; and how the girls shrieked 
 to " see the black man coming," and how co- 
 quettishly they struggled when captured and 
 carried off by that dread being, and yet what 
 eagerness they displayed in his behalf! And 
 " Ring " men and women even joining in the 
 game, and kissing each other s wives and 
 husbands like mad. Why, even the ugly old 
 gentleman, with a carbuncle on the back of 
 his neck, grew riotous with mirth, and when 
 tripped full length upon the sward by the lit 
 tle widow in half-mourning, bustled nim 
 bly to his feet and kissed her, with some 
 wicked pun about " grass" widows, that made 
 him laugh till his face grew as red as his car 
 buncle. That bashful young man who had 
 straggled off alone, sitting so uncomfortably 
 upon a log, killing bugs and spiders, like an 
 ugly giant with a monster club how he must 
 have envied the airy freedom of those " old 
 boys and girls."
 
 TOD. 93 
 
 Then there was a group of older men talk 
 ing so long and earnestly about the weather 
 and the crops they had not discovered that the 
 shade of the old beech they sat beneath -had 
 stolen silently away and left them sitting in 
 the sun, and was even then performing its re 
 freshing office for a big, sore-eyed dog, who, 
 with panting jaws and lolling tongue, was 
 winking away the lives of a swarm of gnats 
 with the most stoical indifference. 
 
 And so time wore along till dinner came, 
 and women, with big open baskets, bent above 
 the snowy cloths spread out upon the grass, 
 arranging " the substantials " and the dain 
 ties of a feast too varied and too toothsome for 
 anything but epicurean memories to describe. 
 And then the abandon of the voracious guests I 
 No dainty affectations no formality no eti 
 quette no anything but the full sway of 
 healthful appetites incited by the exhilarant 
 exercises of the day into keenest rapacity and 
 relish. 
 
 " Don t you think it s goin to rain? " asked 
 some one suddenly. A little rosy-gilled gen 
 tleman, with the aid of a chicken-leg for a 
 lever, raised his fat face skyward, and after a 
 serious contemplation of the clouds, wouldn t 
 say for certain whether it would rain or not, 
 but informed the unfortunate querist, after
 
 94 TOD. 
 
 pulling his head into its usual position and 
 laying down the lever to make room for a bite 
 of bread, that "if it didn t rain there d be a 
 long dry spell ; " and then he snorted a mimic 
 snow-storm of bread crumbs on his vis-a-vis, 
 who looked wronged, and said he "guessed 
 he d take another piece of that-air pie down 
 there." 
 
 It was looking very much like rain by the 
 time the dinner things were cleared away. 
 Anxious mothers, with preserve stains on 
 their dresses, were running here and there 
 with such exclamations to the men-folks as 
 "Do hurry up !" and "For goodness sake, 
 John, take the baby till I find my parasol," 
 and "There, Thomas, don t lug that basket 
 off till I find my pickle-dish ! " 
 
 Already the girls had left the swings, which 
 were being taken down, and were tying hand 
 kerchiefs over their hats and standing in de 
 spairing contemplation of the ruin of their 
 dresses. Some one called from the stand for 
 the ladies not to be at all alarmed, it wasn t 
 going to rain, and there wasn t a particle of 
 danger of ; but there a clap of thunder in 
 terrupted, and went on growling menacingly, 
 while a little girl, with her hair blown wildly 
 over her bare shoulders, and with a face, which 
 a moment before glowed like her crimson scarf,
 
 TOD. 95 
 
 now whiter than her snowy dress, ran past the 
 stand and fell fainting to the ground. "Is 
 there a doctor on the grounds? " called a loud 
 voice in the distance, and, without waiting for 
 a response "For God s sake, come here 
 quick ; a boy has fallen from the swing, and 
 maybe killed himself! " 
 
 And then the crowd gathered round him 
 there, men with white faces, and frightened 
 women and little shivering children. 
 
 " Whose boy is it?" 
 
 " Hush ; here comes his father." And the 
 good minister, with stark features and 
 clenched hands, passed through the surging 
 throng that closed behind him even as the 
 waves on Pharaoh. 
 
 Did I say all were excited? Not all; for 
 there was one calm face, though very pale 
 paler yet for being pillowed on the green 
 grass and the ferns. 
 
 "You musn t move me," the boy said 
 when he could speak; "tell em to come 
 here." He smiled and tried to lift and fold 
 his arms about his father s neck. "Poor 
 father ! poor father ! " as though speaking to 
 himself, U I always loved you, father, only 
 you d never believe it never believe it. Now 
 you will. I ll see mother, now mother. 
 Don t cry I m hurt, and I don t cry. And
 
 96 TOD. 
 
 I ll see the teacher, too. He said I would. 
 He said we would always be together there. 
 Where s Fanny? Tell her tell her" But 
 that strange unending silence fell upon his 
 lips, and as the dying eyes looked up and out 
 beyond the sighing treetops, he smiled to 
 catch a gleam of sunshine through the foolish 
 cloud that tried so hard to weep.
 
 A PxEMARKABLE MAN.
 
 FA ME. 
 
 I. 
 
 Once, in a dream, I saw a man, 
 
 With haggard face and tangled hair, 
 And eyes that nursed as wild a care 
 
 As gaunt Starvation ever can; 
 
 And in his hand he held a wand 
 
 Whose magic touch gave life and thought 
 Unto a form his fancy wrought, 
 
 And robed with coloring so grand, 
 It seemed the reflex of some child 
 Of Heaven, fair and undefiled 
 A face of purity and love 
 To woo him into worlds above. 
 
 And as I gazed, with dazzled ej/es, 
 A gleaming smile lit up his lips 
 As Ais bright soul from its eclipse 
 
 Went flashing into Paradise, 
 
 Then tardy Fame came through the door 
 
 And found a picture nothing more. 
 
 II. 
 
 And once I saw a man, alone, 
 
 In abject poverty, with hand 
 Uplifted o er a block of stone 
 
 That look a shape at his command 
 And smiled upon him fair and good-~ 
 A perfect work of womanhood, 
 Save that the eyes might never weep, 
 (98)
 
 FAME. 90 
 
 JV T or weary hands be crossed in sleep, 
 Jfor hair, that fell from crown to wrist, 
 Be brushed away, caressed and kissed, 
 And as in awe I gazed on her, 
 
 1 saw the sculptor s chisel fall 
 I saw him sink, without a moan, 
 Sink lifeless at the feet of stone, 
 And lie there like a worshiper. 
 
 Fame crossed the threshold of the hall, 
 
 And found a statue that was all. 
 
 III. 
 
 And once I saw a man who drew 
 
 A gloom about him like a cloak, 
 And wandered aimlessly. The few 
 
 Who spoke of him at all, but spoka 
 Disparagingly of a mind 
 The Fates had faultily designed: 
 Too indolent for modern times 
 
 Too fanciful., and full of whims 
 For talking to himself in rhymes, 
 
 And scrawling never-heard- of hymns, 
 The idle life to which he clung 
 Was worthless as the songs he sung I 
 1 saiv him, in my vision, filled 
 
 With rapture o er a spray of bloom 
 
 The wind threw in his lonely room; 
 And of the sweet perfume it spilled 
 lie drank to drunkenness, and flung 
 His long hair back, and laughed a?jrf sung
 
 FAME. 
 
 And dapped his hands as children do 
 
 At fairy tales they listen to, 
 
 While from his flying quill there dripped 
 
 Such music on his manuscript 
 
 That he who listens to the words 
 
 May close his eyes and dream the birds 
 
 Are twittering on every hand 
 
 A language he can understand. 
 
 He journeyed on through life, unknown, 
 
 Without one friend to call his own, 
 
 He tired. No kindly hand to press 
 
 The cooling touch of tenderness 
 
 Upon his burning brow, nor lift 
 
 To his parched lips God s freest gift 
 
 2fo sympathetic sob or sigh 
 
 Of trembling lips no sorrowing eye 
 
 Looked out through tears to see him die. 
 
 And Fame her greenest laurels brought 
 
 To crown a head that heeded not. 
 
 And this is fame/ A thing, indeed, 
 
 That only comes when least the need: 
 
 The wisest minds of every age 
 
 The book oj life from page to page 
 
 Have searched in vain; each lesson conned 
 
 Will promise it the page beyond 
 
 Until the last, when dusk of night 
 
 Falls over it, and reason s light 
 
 Is smothered by that unknown friend 
 
 Who signs his nom de plume, The End,
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 IN the early winter 1875, returning from a 
 rather lengthy sojourn in the Buckeye 
 State, where a Hoosier is scrutinized as crit 
 ically as a splinter in the thumb of a near 
 sighted man, I mentally resolved that just as 
 soon as the lazy engine dragging me toward 
 home had poked its smutty nose into the selv 
 edge of my native State, I would disembark, 
 lift my voice and shout for joy for being safely 
 delivered out of a land of perpetual strangers. 
 
 This opportunity was afforded me at Union 
 City a fussy old-hen-of-a-town, forever 
 clucking over its little brood of railroads, as 
 though worried to see them running over the 
 line, and bristling with the importance of its 
 charge. 
 
 The place is not an attractive one stepping 
 from the train in the early dusk of a Decem 
 ber evening ; in fact, the immediate view of 
 the town is almost entirely concealed by a big 
 square-faced hotel, standing, as it were, on the 
 very platform, as though its "runners" were 
 (IGI)
 
 IO2 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 behind time, and it had come down to solicit 
 its own custom. A walk of sixty steps, how 
 ever, gave me a sweeping view of the main 
 business street of the city ; and here it was, 
 by one of those rare freaks of circumstance, that 
 I suddenly found myself standing face to face 
 with an old friend. " Smith ! " said I. " Cor 
 rect I " said he, and all lacking to complete 
 the tableau was the red light. And now, as 
 my story has more to do with a more remark 
 able man than either Smith or myself, I shall 
 hasten to that notable only introducing hum 
 bler personages as necessity demands. 
 
 That night was a bragging, blustering, bul 
 lying sort of a night. The wind was mad 
 stark, staring mad ; running over and around 
 the town, howling and whooping like a ma 
 niac. It whirled and whizzed and wheeled 
 about, and whizzed again. It pelted the pe 
 destrian s face with dust that stung like sleet. 
 It wrenched at the signs, and rattled the doors 
 and windows till the lights inside shivered as 
 with affright. The unfurled awnings fluttered 
 and flapped over the deserted streets like mon 
 strous bats or birds of prey ; and, gritting 
 their iron teeth, the shutters lunged and 
 snapped at their fastenings convulsively. Such 
 a night as we like to hide away from, and 
 with a good cigar, a good friend, and a good
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 103 
 
 fire, talk of soothing things and dream. My 
 friend and I were not so isolated, however, 
 upon this occasion ; for the suddenness of the 
 storm had driven us, for shelter, into " Bow- 
 ers s Emporium ; " and, seated in the rear of 
 Ihe spacious and brightlj -illuminated store, 
 we might almost " dream we dwelt in marble 
 halls," were it not for the rather profuse dis 
 play of merchandise and a voluminous com 
 plement of show-cards, reading "Bargains in 
 Overcoats," "Best and Cheapest Under 
 wear," " Buy Bowers s Boots ! " etc., etc. 
 
 The clerks were all idle, and employing 
 their leisure in listening to a "fine-art" con 
 versation, casually introduced by my friend 
 remarking the extraordinary development of 
 the bust and limbs of a danseuse on a paper 
 collar-box ; and alter deploring the prosti 
 tution to which real talent was subjected, and 
 satirizing the general degeneracy of modern 
 art, he had drifted back to the rare old days 
 of Hans Holbein, Albert Durer and that 
 guild. And while dwelling enthusiastically 
 upon the genius of Angelo, I became aware 
 that among the listeners was a remarkable 
 man. It was not his figure that impressed 
 me, for that was of the ordinary mould, and 
 rather shabbily attired in a tattered and ill-fit 
 ting coat of blue, sadly faded and buttonless ;
 
 IO4 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 a short-waisted vest of no particular pattern, 
 fastened together by means of a loosened 
 loop of binding pulled through a button-hole, 
 and held to its place by a stumpy lead-pencil 
 with a preponderance of rubber at the end ; 
 the pantaloons very baggy and fraying at the 
 bottoms, as though in excessive sympathy 
 with a pair of coarse, ungainly army shoes 
 that wore the appearance of having been 
 through " Sherman s march to the sea." 
 
 Not remarkable, I say, in these particulars, 
 for since " tramping" has arrived at the dig 
 nity of a profession, such characteristics are 
 by no means uncommon ; but when taken in 
 conjunction with a head and face that would 
 have served as model for either Abraham, 
 Isaac or Jacob, in patriarchal cast of feature 
 and flow of beard, it is no wonder that my 
 fancy saw in the figure before me a remarka 
 ble man. He stood uncovered, and in an eager 
 listening attitude, as though drinking every 
 syllable to the very dregs. His eyes were 
 large and lustrous, and with that dreamy, 
 far-off look peculiar to that quality of mind 
 that sees what is described, even though 
 buried in Pompeiian ruins, or under the pyra 
 mids of Egypt. 
 
 He met my rather scrutinizing gaze with a 
 friendly and forgiving expression adding an
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 105 
 
 intuitive affinity by a nestling of the palms one 
 within the other and a genial friction indica 
 tive of warm impulse and openness, yet withal 
 suggesting a due subservience to my own free 
 will to accept as token of genuine esteem and 
 admiration. 
 
 I thought I read his character aright in fan 
 cying " Here is a man of more than ordinary 
 culture and refinement," and I determined, if 
 it were possible, to know him better. When 
 I took an early opportunity to refer to him for 
 information he responded eagerly, and in so 
 profuse and elegant a style of diction that I 
 was surprised. 
 
 He referred to Angelo as "That master 
 whose iron pencil painted language on lips of 
 stone, and whose crudest works in clay might 
 well outlive the marble monuments of modern 
 art." He glanced from one topic to another 
 with a grace and ease that not only betokened 
 a true mastery of the language, but an in 
 exhaustible fund of information ; nor was it 
 long ere my " stock in hand " dwindled down 
 to the insignificant " yes-and-of-course " ver 
 bosity that is not worth the giving away. He 
 dwelt with particular fondness upon literature ; 
 frequently referring to me as to works I most 
 admired, and pointing out the beauties and 
 excellence of old authors Shakespeare,
 
 IO6 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 Milton, Pope, Dryden, and a host of others 
 long dead and gone, but whose words live on 
 eternally. All these, as they were successively 
 reviewed, he quoted in a manner that evinced 
 a thorough knowledge of their works. 
 
 At last, after no little artifice and strategy, 
 I drew him to his own history, which, as he 
 proceeded, grew fantastically interesting. 
 His father, passing rich, had educated him for 
 the ministry ; but the profession didn t suit 
 him, or, rather, he didn t suit the profession ; 
 for, to be frank, he was rather inclined in his 
 younger days to be a " graceless dog;" and 
 so, when it became evident that he must shift 
 for himself, more at the instigation of literary 
 friends than from any ambition or choice, he 
 had entered the journalistic field, beginning 
 at the bottom of the ladder the bottom and 
 gradually rising from the compositor s case to 
 the very rung of editorial success when there 
 came a crash, a flaw in the grain, my boy, a 
 flaw in the grain and that flaw Well, no 
 matter I The noblest minds had toppled from 
 the height, and crumbled to the merest debris 
 of pauper intellect. The grandest tomb the 
 finger of the nation could point out was glut 
 ted with such food. Did he not remember 
 poor Prentice, and, in memory, recall him now 
 as vividly as though but yesterday, entering
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 the sanctum of the Louisville Journal, with 
 the old-time greeting: "Ah, Charles; 
 ready for work, I see. Well, here am I 
 punctual as Death. " And then, after a good 
 stiff brandy, which he could hardly raise to 
 his lips with both trembling hands, poor 
 George ! how he would dictate, so rapidly that 
 he (Charles) could scarcely put it down, al 
 though a clever hand at writing in those days. 
 Served as amanuensis for five years, and tran 
 scribed with his own hand, " Tis Midnight s 
 Holy Hour," at ten o clock in the morning, 
 and had the poem entire ready for the com 
 positor at half-past. At such times it was 
 nothing uncommon for George to say, " Well 
 done, thou good and faithful ; the big end of 
 the day is left you to transcribe as your pleas 
 ure may dictate. Only bear in mind, I shall 
 expect a little gem from your individual pen 
 for to-morrow s issue ! " 
 
 "And do you write? " I broke in abruptly. 
 
 " I used to write," he answered, as though 
 loath to make the acknowledgment " that is, 
 I sometimes rode Pegasus as a groom might 
 ride his master s horse but my flights were 
 never high never high ! " 
 
 "For what reason, may I inquire? Surely 
 you had no lack of inspiration with such men 
 as Prentice about you?"
 
 IO8 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 "Aye, there s the rub ! " he sighed, with a 
 negative shake. "The association of great 
 men does not always tend to develop genius ; 
 the more especially when one s subservient 
 position revolutionizes him into a mere ma 
 chine. Yet I found some time, of course, for 
 verse-making ; and, chiefly owing to the kindly 
 encouragement of Mr. Prentice, I gave to 
 the world, as he was pleased to say, many lit 
 tle poems, but those of them that survive to 
 day are vagrants, like myself, and drifting 
 about at the mercy of the press. Here the old 
 man sighed heavily and mechanically fumbled 
 his pencil. 
 
 I was growing deeply interested in the 
 strange character before me, and although the 
 faces of the group smiled at me significantly, 
 I was not to be beguiled from my new ac 
 quaintance. 
 
 "There is a question," said I, "I would 
 like to ask you, since from actual experience 
 you are doubtless well informed upon it. I 
 have often heard it argued that the best pro 
 ductions of authors poets in particular are 
 written under the influence of what they are 
 pleased to term inspiration ; can you en 
 lighten me as to the truth of that assertion? " 
 
 " I can say in reply," said the old man, 
 with h*s unwavering eyes fixed upon mine, " I
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 1 09 
 
 can say in reply that the best productions of 
 authors poets in particular are written un 
 der the influence of what they are pleased to- 
 term inspiration. I have seen it proved." 
 
 " How proved?" I asked. 
 
 " Listen. Take, for example, an instance 
 I will cite : A man worn and enfeebled by 
 age, whose eyes are dimmed to sightlessness 
 almost, whose mind, once clear and vivid as 
 the light of day now wavering and fickle as 
 the wind : and yet at times this influence 
 comes upon him like an avalanche, and as 
 irresistible ; a voice cries, write ! write I 
 write ! nor does he know, when he has obeyed 
 that summons, what his trembling hand has 
 written. Further, that this is divine inspira 
 tion his fragmentary productions will often 
 times be in the exact manner and diction of 
 writers long since passed away ; and I am sat 
 isfied they are produced at the direct dictation 
 of the departed. I know this ! " 
 
 "You astonish me," said I in unfeigned 
 wonder; "you say you know this how do 
 you know it?" 
 
 " Because I am the man." 
 
 Although the assertion, in my mind, was 
 simply preposterous, there was a certain maj 
 esty in the utterance that held me half in awe. 
 I looked upon him as one might look upon
 
 IIO A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 some curious being from an unknown world. 
 He was moving now pacing grotesquely up 
 and down a little space of half a dozen steps, 
 and wheeling, at the limits of his walk, as 
 nimbly as the harlequin in the pantomime, and 
 repeating, as though to himself, "I am the 
 man ; I am the man." 
 
 "Well, sir," said I, forcing myself into an 
 air of indifference I did not feel ; "well, sir, 
 not for a moment questioning your own belief 
 as to this strange influence which may possess 
 you at times, you will pardon me for express 
 ing the vaguest skepticism, since I have never 
 been so fortunate as to witness an actual dem 
 onstration." He was about to interrupt me, 
 but I continued coolly, "By what circum 
 stance is this influence introduced or how 
 produced is it " 
 
 He broke in on me with a keen little pang 
 of a laugh that almost made me shudder. 
 "You are my convert," he exclaimed, ex 
 citedly. "Quick ! Give me paper give me pa 
 per! " but before I could take my note-boot 
 from my pocket he had hurriedly snatched 
 a scrap of wrapping-paper from the counter, 
 and bending over it, was writing with great 
 rapidity. 
 
 His manner was decidedly singular. In 
 the occasional pauses he would make he
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. Ill 
 
 would lean his forehead in the palm of his 
 left hand, with the fingers dancing nervously 
 upon the bald spot on the summit of his head, 
 while with the hand that held the pencil he 
 kept up a continued rotary movement in the 
 air. Then he would suddenly pounce down 
 upon the paper before him as though in a 
 perfect frenzy of delight, and line after line 
 would appear as if by magic, each succeeding 
 one preluded by that sharp little yelp of a 
 laugh, and ere three minutes had elapsed, he 
 had covered both sides of the paper. He 
 then threw down his pencil, as though re 
 luctantly, pushed me the scrap and motioned 
 me to read. I was at first completely mysti 
 fied, for what I had confidently expected to 
 be rhyme was prose ; but ere I had examined 
 it far I was as highly gratified as at first dis 
 appointed. The writing, although so reck 
 lessly scrawled, was quite legible, and here 
 and there gave evidence of more than ordi 
 nary grace and elegance ; the punctuation, as 
 far as I was able to judge, seemed perfect in 
 every part ; and, in fact, the entire produc 
 tion bore the appearance of having been exe 
 cuted by a skillful hand. 
 
 I copy it verbatim from the original scrap 
 which now lies before me :
 
 112 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 " By this time they had come upon the figure of the old 
 hag, seated by the roadside, and, in a harsh, cracked voice, 
 crooning a dismal ballad. By God s rood, quoth the 
 knight, in a burst of admiration, did I not tell thee twas 
 eome fair princess, decoyed from her father s castle and 
 thus transformed, through the despicable arts of some 
 wicked enchanter ; for thou hast but to perk an ear to have 
 the sense of hearing bathed and overflowed with melody. 
 Dost thou not also note rare grace and sweetest dignity 
 voiced, as it were, from the very tatters that enclothe her 
 form? Indeed thou mayest, said the squire; for I 
 have heard it said " rags may enfold the purest gold." Yet 
 in this instance I am restrained to think it more like the 
 hidalgo s dinner " very little meat and a good deal of ta 
 ble-cloth. " Hold thy peace, bladderhead, exclaimed 
 the knight, lest I make thee gnaw thy words with loosened 
 teeth. Listen what liquid syllables are spilled upon the 
 atmosphere : 
 
 " My father s halls, so rich and rare, 
 Are desolate and bleak and bare; 
 My father s heart and halls are one, 
 Since I, their life and light, am gone. 
 
 "O, valiant knight, with hand of steel 
 And heart of gold, hear my appeal: 
 Release me from the spoiler s charms, 
 And bear me to my father s arms. 
 
 " The knight had by this time thrown himself from his 
 steed, and with lance reversed and vizor doffed he sank 
 upon his knees in the slime and ooze of the dyke, exclaim 
 ing : Be of good heart, fair princess ! Thy succor is at 
 hand, since the fates have woven thee the pearl of pearls 
 into the warp and woof of my great destiny. Nay, nay I 
 No thanks I Thy father s beaming eye alone shall be my
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 113 
 
 guerdon, for home thou shalt go, even though I must needs 
 truckle thee thither on a barrow. " 
 
 " Good," said I, grasping the old man by 
 the hand. " Hail Cervantes !" 
 
 " Cervantes, Cervantes," he mused, as 
 though bewildered ; " why, what have I been 
 writing? Is it not poetry? " 
 
 "Yes," I replied enthusiastically, "both 
 prose and poetry, and that of the rarest school. 
 Read for yourself." 
 
 I handed him the scrap, but he pushed it 
 from him with a gesture of impatience. " I 
 told you once I could not read it, nor do I 
 know what I have written. Read it aloud." 
 
 Although I hastened to comply, I did it with 
 a decided air of incredulity as to the belief 
 that he did not already know every word of it, 
 and even closed with the gratuitous comment 
 that I felt assured the quotation was perfect in 
 every particular. 
 
 " Quotation ! " repeated the old man com- 
 miseratively ; " quotation ! Were you as well 
 versed in such works, my son, as you led me 
 at first to presume, you would know at once 
 that not a single line of that occurs in Don 
 Quixote, although I do grant that I am the 
 humble instrument through which the great 
 Cervantes has just spoken." With this re- 
 8
 
 114 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 mark, delivered in a half-rebuking, half-com 
 passionate tone, he stood milking his beard 
 and blinking at the chandelier. 
 
 I acknowledged my error and asked pardon 
 for the insinuation, which I begged he would 
 believe was not intended to offend ; and that, 
 upon second thought, I was satisfied that no 
 such matter did exist in the printed history, 
 which fact I have since proved by a thorough 
 investigation. 
 
 It required, however, considerable inventive 
 tact and show of admiration to counteract the 
 effect of my indiscreet remark ; and not was 
 this effectually accomplished until I had inci 
 dentally discovered a marked resemblance of 
 his brow to Shakespeare s, which, by actual 
 measurement, I found to correspond to a frac 
 tion with the measurement of the mask of that 
 illustrious bard, as furnished by an exhaustive 
 article I had seen a short time previous in one 
 of our magazines. 
 
 This happily brought about the result I so 
 much longed for, as I was extremely desirous 
 of a further opportunity in which to study the 
 character of this remarkable man. "Ah, 
 Shakespeare ! " said he in a burst of genuine 
 eloquence. " There was a mind the gods en 
 dowed with wisdom ages have yet to learn ; for 
 bright and lustrous as it shines to-day the
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 1 15 
 
 Morning Star of human intellect its glitter 
 ing purity has yet a million million dawns, 
 each brighter than the last. Its chastened 
 rays are yet to blaze and radiate the darkened 
 ways Hold ! My pencil ! Quick quick ! " 
 He snatched at the paper wildly, and bend 
 ing over it, began writing with a vindictive- 
 ness of effort that was alarming. He slashed 
 the t s and stabbed the punctuation points sav 
 agely. The writing continued, interspersed 
 occasionally with a pause in which he would 
 flourish his pencil like a dripping sword, only 
 to be plunged again and again into the quiv 
 ering breast oi its victim. Finally he dashed 
 it down, pushed the paper from him as one 
 would spurn a vanquished enemy, and sank, 
 limp and exhausted, into a chair. I snatched 
 up the paper eagerly, and read : 
 
 Fahtaff: I call him dog, forsooth, because he snarls- 
 Snarls, d ye hear? and laves his rabid fangs 
 In slobber-froth that drips in slimy gouts 
 Of venomous slander. Out upon the curl 
 He sets his mangy foot upon the sod, 
 And grass grows rank and withers at the touch, 
 And tangles into wiry thatch for snakes 
 To spawn beneath. The very air he breathes 
 Becomes a poison gas, and generates 
 Disease and pestilence. Would he were here, 
 That I might whet my sword against his ribs, 
 Although his rotten, putrid soul unhoused 
 Would breed a stench worse than my barber s breath.
 
 Il6 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 The dog! The damnable 
 
 Pistol: Hist ! here he comes ! 
 
 God s body ! master, has he overheard 
 Tis cock-crow with thy ghost ! 
 
 (Enter Poins.) How now, my Jack 
 
 Prince ass of Jacks, methought I heard thee b~ay. 
 
 Falstaff: Aye, well and marry ! for this varlet here 
 Deserves more brays than praise, the scurvy dog ! 
 Good lack ! Thou might st have heard me call him dog 
 A pebble s toss from this; but now that thou art come, 
 My dagger-points of wrath do melt away 
 Before thy genial smile, as icicles 
 Might ooze to nothingness at summer noon. 
 That other flask, you dog ! and have a care 
 Thou handle it more gently than the first, 
 Lest I, as thou didst it, thy noddle burst. 
 
 Although expecting something after the 
 Shakespearian school, I was not prepared for 
 this, and in reading it aloud I actually found 
 myself endeavoring to imitate the stage man 
 ner of Hackett, whom years ago I had seen 
 in King Henry Fourth at the old Metropoli 
 tan, Indianapolis. "Ah ! " said the old man, 
 " You are more familiar with that I see. Tell 
 me, have you ever seen those lines in Shakes 
 peare? " There was such a look of conscious 
 triumph in his face, so self-satisfied an ex 
 pression, that I although half believing I 
 was in some way being duped could but reply 
 that I was most thoroughly convinced the lines
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 did not occur in any of the works of that 
 great master. 
 
 "They do not," said the old man briefly. 
 
 " But how," said I, " is it possible for you 
 to so perfectly imitate his style, not only in 
 language, but theme, expression, force, char 
 acter, grotesqueness " 
 
 "Stop, my son; stop!" he broke in; 
 "must I again remind you that it is not 
 imitation ; I take no credit to myself how 
 dare I when in writing thus my individual 
 mind is gone, simply chaotic. It is not imi 
 tation ; it is Shakespeare? " 
 
 I could venture no further comment with 
 out fear of offending, and he already stood as 
 though hesitating to depart. 
 
 " Stay, then," said I, " until I see a further 
 exercise of this marvelous power you possess. 
 Here, sit down, rest awhile ; you seem almost 
 exhausted." 
 
 " I am nearly so," he replied, " but there 
 is no rest for me until this influence is entirely 
 subsided. No rest for me yet ; no rest ! no 
 rest ! " 
 
 He was again pacing his old walk, like a 
 weary sentinel, and I thought as I gazed 
 upon him, " What riddle of the human kind 
 is this? Over and over again came the ques-
 
 Il8 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 tion ; and over and over an old rhyme I had 
 somewhere read, mockingly responded 
 
 " Rain, sun and rain a rainbow in the sky ; 
 A young man will be wiser by and by 
 An old man s wits may wander ere he die!" 
 
 And lulled by the wild monotony of this, I 
 was fast drifting into a dreamy train of 
 thought, when the old man halted suddenly, 
 and with one elbow leaning on the counter 
 and his head resting on his hand, he began 
 humming a tune a strangely sweet and 
 tender air, low, and just a little harsh at 
 first and indistinct, but welling softly in 
 to cadence wonderfully rich and pure then 
 quavering again in minor swoons of melody 
 so delicately beautiful I can but liken the 
 effect produced in that ethereal mystery of 
 sound unraveled from the zithern by a master 
 hand, 
 
 "A slender thread of song in saddest tune." 
 
 I had leaned forward with my own head 
 resting in my hand, that I might the better 
 listen, and was not aware, until the song ab 
 ruptly ended, that the old man had been 
 writing as he sang. 
 
 "There," said he, handing me the scrap.
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 " you have heard the tune ; here are the 
 words, perhaps." 
 
 It may have been a very foolish thing, it 
 may have been weak and womanish, yet as 
 my eyes bent over it and read, the lines grew 
 curiously blurred toward the last ; nor did I 
 guess the cause until a tear a great ripe 
 tear-drop fell upon my hand. And, reader, 
 could I present the song to you just as it came 
 to me, with all the strange surroundings the 
 stranger experience of the hour ; the solemn 
 silence of the group ; the wailing of the wind 
 outside as though the world, weary of itself, 
 could only sigh, sigh, sigh ! could I prelude 
 it with that low, sweet murmuring of melody 
 that haunts me even now, your own eyes 
 needs must moisten as you read : 
 
 " THE HARP OF THE MINSTREL." 
 
 " The harp of the minstrel has never a tone 
 
 As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, 
 For the magical touch of his fingers alone 
 
 Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright ; 
 But oh ! as the smile of the moon may impart 
 
 A sorrow to one in an alien clime, 
 Let the light of the melody fall on the heart, 
 
 And cadence his grief into musical rhyme. 
 
 " The faces have faded, the eyes have grown dim 
 
 That once were his passionate love and his pride; 
 And alas! all the smiles that once blossomed for him 
 Have fallen away as the flowers have died.
 
 I2O A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 The hands that entwined him the laureate s wreath, 
 And crowned him with fame in the long, long ago, 
 
 Like the laurels are withered and folded beneath 
 The grass and the stubble the frost and the snow. 
 
 ** Then sigh, if thou wilt, as the whispering strings 
 
 Strive ever in vain for the utterance clear ; 
 And think of the sorrowful spirit that sings, 
 
 And jewel the song with the gem of the tear. 
 For the harp of the minstrel has never a tone 
 
 As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, 
 And the magical touch of his fingers alone 
 
 Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright." 
 
 I had read the lines over to myself, and al 
 though recognizing many touches decidedly 
 like those of the famous author of Lalla Rookh, 
 I was not wholly satisfied with the produc 
 tion ; and it struck me with peculiar force 
 that an ethereal composition would surely not 
 be so lavishly tinctured with unutterable sor 
 row aside from being far inferior to a hun 
 dred earthly songs of Moore s ; so, with this 
 argument for my weapon, I determined to 
 conquer the superstition that had almost over 
 powered me. I had noticed, too, in both 
 former instances a singular fact : The old 
 man, though so ready to fend oft all comment 
 that might reflect a single ray of praise upon 
 himself, listened with more of the air of a critic 
 than one whose interest was merely that of cu- 
 
 / 
 
 riosity, and still when the fragnentary produc-
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 121 
 
 tion had been read aloud, a look of more than 
 ordinary satisfaction would lighten up his 
 eyes. These facts, hastily reviewed, deter 
 mined me upon a course of action I had in 
 stant opportunity to adopt. 
 
 "Read it aloud," said the old man, impa 
 tiently ; " Read it aloud ! " 
 
 I complied with more than usual enthusi 
 asm, reading verbatim from the copy, until I 
 came to the repetition of the first four lines, 
 which I thus transposed : 
 
 " The harp of the minstrel has never a note 
 
 As sad as the song in his bosom expressed, 
 And the magical touch of his fingers afloat 
 Drifts over the echoes that sleep in the breast." 
 
 This I was careful to deliver without empha 
 sis or mark of any kind by which he might 
 discover any imposition on my part. As I 
 closed I stole a hasty glance at his face, and 
 was gratified to find it wearing a rather star 
 tled expression ; not only did his features be 
 tray a puzzled and questioning air, but his 
 hand was mechanically extended, as though 
 reaching for the paper in my own. 
 
 "Do you want to see it?" I asked, sud 
 denly, handing him the scrap. 
 
 "Yes, I O, no no," he broke in, drop 
 ping his hand, and his face coloring vividly;
 
 122 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 but turning again as quickly, he added : "Yes, 
 give it to me. Where are the others? I must 
 be going." 
 
 "Why must you go?" I asked, still retain 
 ing the scrap ; " I had hoped " 
 
 "I am going!" he interrupted brusquely, 
 snatching up the scraps that lay upon the 
 counter, and reaching for the one I still held. 
 "Give me the poem. I will trouble you no 
 longer." 
 
 "Allow me to retain it, I beg of you," said 
 I, with a significant smile, and the slightest 
 tinge of sarcasm in my voice. " Let me keep 
 it as a befitting memento of the inspiration I 
 have seen so potently exercised." 
 
 His face was pale with anger as he replied-: 
 
 " I will not. When you want rhyme write 
 it yourself. You can, at least, write dog 
 gerel." 
 
 " Very neat," said I, laughing. " We un 
 derstand each other, so let s be friends. Here 
 is my hand and a dollar besides. Give me 
 the other scraps I want them all." 
 
 I took them from him as he clutched at the 
 bill, which he smothered in his palm, and 
 turned away without a word. 
 
 " Here, Charley," called one of the by 
 standers, "half of that s enough for you to 
 night."
 
 A REMARKABLE MAN. 123 
 
 The door slammed violently and he was 
 gone. 
 
 " Old Cain will have that dollar in just five 
 minutes," continued the man. 
 
 "And who s Old Cain?" I asked. 
 
 " Keeps the doggery just over the line. * 
 
 "Old Charley" M is a well-known 
 
 character in Union City his home, in fact, 
 although he often disappears for long periods, 
 but, as my informant remarked, " always 
 turns up again like a bad penny." 
 
 The story of his early life is at least based 
 upon the truth, but now so highly colored it is 
 a decidedly difficult matter to detect that sim 
 ple element. 
 
 Originally he was a printer, but early aban 
 doned that vocation for another, and that in 
 turn for another, and so on, until by easy 
 gradations he had become, as the old saw has 
 it, "Jack of all trades and master of none." 
 
 Among his many accomplishments he is a 
 musician of considerable skill plays the flute, 
 violin and guitar all quite passably ; a great 
 reader, a fine conversationalist which ac 
 complishment I personally vouch for. But 
 chief of all his accomplishments is that of writ 
 ing clever imitations of the old authors and 
 poets. These productions he prepares with
 
 124 A REMARKABLE MAN. 
 
 great care, commits them to memory, and is 
 ready to dispose of them by as ingenious a 
 method. 
 
 And yet, although he be a vagabond ; al 
 though his friends such as they are are first 
 to call him sot ; although the selfish world that 
 hurries past may jostle him unnoticed from the 
 path ; and though he styles himself a " grace 
 less dog," in all candor, and in justice to my 
 true belief, I call him a remarkable man.
 
 A NEST-EGG.
 
 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES. 
 
 They ain t no style about em, 
 
 And they re sort o pale and faded; 
 Yit the doorway here, without em, 
 Would be lonesomer, and shaded 
 With a good eal blacker shadder 
 
 Than the mornin glories makes, 
 
 And the sunshine would look sadder 
 
 For their good old-fashion sakes. 
 
 I like em cause they kind o 
 
 Sort o make a feller like em ; 
 And 1 tell you, when I find a 
 
 Bunch out whur the sun kin strike em, 
 It allus sets me thinkin 
 
 the ones at used to grow, 
 And peek in thro the chinkin 
 the cabin, don t you know. 
 
 And then I think o mother, 
 
 And how she used to love em, 
 When they wuzn t any other, 
 Less she found em up above em ! 
 And her eyes, afore she shut em, 
 
 Whispered with a smile, and said, 
 We must pluck a bunch and put em 
 In her hand when she wuz dead. 
 
 But, as I wua a sayin , 
 
 They ain t no style about em 
 Very gaudy or displaying 
 But I wouldn t be without em, 
 Cause I m happier in these posiet 
 
 And the hollyhawks and sich 
 Than the hummin -bird at noses 
 In the roses of the rich. 
 (126)
 
 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 BUT a few miles from the city here, and 
 on the sloping banks of the stream no 
 ted more for its plenitude of "chubs" and 
 "shiners" than the gamier two and four- 
 pound bass for which, in season, so many 
 credulous anglers flock and lie in wait, stands 
 a country residence, so convenient to the 
 stream, and so inviting in its pleasant exterior 
 and comfortable surroundings barn, dairy 
 and spring-house that the weary, sunburnt 
 and disheartened fisherman, out from the 
 dusty town for a day of recreation, is often 
 wont to seek its hospitality. The house in 
 style of architecture is something of a depart 
 ure from the typical farm-house, being de 
 signed and fashioned with no regard to sym 
 metry or proportion, but rather, as is sug 
 gested, built to conform to the matter-of-fact 
 and most sensible ideas of its owner, who, if 
 it pleased him, would have small windows 
 where large ones ought to be, and vice versa, 
 whether they balanced properly to the eye or 
 (127)
 
 128 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 not. And chimneys he would have as many 
 as he wanted, and no two alike, in either 
 height or size. And if he wanted the front 
 of the house turned from all possible view, as 
 though abashed at any chance of public scru 
 tiny, whv, that was his affair and not the pub 
 lic s ; and, with like perverseness, if he chose 
 to thrust his kitchen under the public s very 
 nose, what should the generally fagged-out, 
 half-famished representative of that dignified 
 public do but reel in his dead minnow, shoul 
 der his fishing-rod, clamber over the back 
 fence of the old farm-house, and inquire 
 within, or jog back to the city, inwardly 
 anathematizing that very particular locality, 
 or the whole rural district in general. That 
 is just the way that farm-house looked to the 
 writer of this sketch one week ago so indi 
 vidual it seemed so liberal, and yet so inde 
 pendent. It wasn t even weather-boarded, 
 but, instead, was covered smoothly with some 
 cement, as though the plasterers had come 
 while the folks were visiting, and so, unable 
 to get at the interior, had just plastered the 
 outside. 
 
 I am more than glad that I was hungry 
 enough, and weary enough, and wise enough 
 to take the house at its first suggestion ; for, 
 putting away my fishing tackle for the morn-
 
 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 129 
 
 ing, at least, I went up the sloping bank, 
 crossed the dusty road, and confidently clam 
 bered over the fence. 
 
 Not even a growling dog to intimate that I 
 was trespassing. All was open gracious- 
 looking pastoral. The sward beneath my 
 feet was velvet-like in elasticity, and the scarce 
 visible path I followed through it led promptly 
 to the open kitchen door. From within I 
 heard a woman singing some old ballad in an 
 undertone, while at the threshold a trim, white- 
 spurred rooster stood poised on one foot, curv 
 ing his glossy neck and cocking his wattled 
 head as though to catch the meaning of the 
 words. I paused. It was a scene I felt re 
 strained from breaking in upon, nor would I, 
 but for the sound of a strong male voice com 
 ing around the corner of -the house : 
 
 "Sir; howdy!" 
 
 Turning, I saw a rough-looking but kindly- 
 featured man of sixty-five, the evident owner 
 of the place. 
 
 I returned his salutation with some confu 
 sion and much deference. " I must really beg 
 your pardon for this intrusion," I began, " but 
 I have been tiring myself out fishing, and 
 your home here looked so pleasant and I felt 
 so thirsty and " 
 
 9
 
 I3O A NEST-EGG. 
 
 "Want a drink, I reckon," said the old 
 man, turning abruptly toward the kitchen 
 door, then pausing as suddenly, with a back 
 ward motion of his thumb "Jest foller the 
 path here down to the little brick that s the 
 spring and you ll find at you ve come to the 
 right place fer drinkin -worter ! Hold on a 
 minute tell I git you a tumbler there re nothin 
 down there but a tin." 
 
 " Then don t trouble yourself any further," 
 I said heartily, " for I d rather drink from a 
 tin-cup than a goblet of pure gold." 
 
 "And so d I," said the old man, reflectively, 
 turning mechanically, and following me down 
 the path. " Druther drink out of a tin er 
 jest a fruit-can with the top knocked off er 
 er er a gourd," he added in a zestful, rem 
 iniscent tone of voice, that so heightened my 
 impatient thirst I reached the spring-house 
 fairly in a run. 
 
 "Well sir!" exclaimed my host, in evi 
 dent delight, as I stood dipping my nose in 
 the second cupful of the cool, revivifying liquid, 
 and peering in a congratulatory kind of way 
 at the blurred and rubicund reflection of my 
 features in the bottom of the cup, "well-sir, 
 blame-don ! ef it don t do a feller good to see 
 you enjoyin of it thataway ! But don t you 
 drink too much o the worter ! cause there re
 
 A NEST-EGG. 131 
 
 some sweet milk over there in one o them 
 crocks, maybe ; and ef you ll jest, kind o 
 keerful-like, lift off the led of that third one, 
 say, over there to your left, and dip you out a 
 tinful er two o that, w y, it 11 do you good to 
 drink it, and it ll do me good to see you at it 
 but hold up ! hold up !" he called abruptly, 
 as, nowise loath, I bent above the vessel des 
 ignated. "Hold yer hosses for a second I 
 Here s Marthy ; let her git it fer ye." 
 
 If I was at first surprised and confused, 
 meeting the master of the house, I was wholly 
 startled and chagrined in my present position 
 before its mistress. But as I raised, and stam 
 mered, in my confusion, some incoherent apol 
 ogy, I was again reassured and put at greater 
 ease by the comprehensive and forgiving 
 smile the woman gave me, as I yielded her 
 my place, and, with lifted hat, awaited her 
 further kindness. 
 
 "I came just in time, sir," she said, half 
 laughingly, as with strong, bare arms she 
 reached across the gurgling trough and re 
 placed the lid that I had partially removed. 
 " I came just in time, I see, to prevent father 
 from having you dip into the morning s 
 milk, which, of course, has scarcely a veil of 
 cream over the face of it as yet. But men, as 
 you are doubtless willing to admit," she went
 
 132 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 on, jocularly, " don t know about these things. 
 You must pardon father, as much for his well- 
 meaning ignorance of such matters, as for 
 this cup of cream, which I am sure you will 
 better relish." 
 
 She arose, still smiling, with her eyes turned 
 frankly on my own. And I must be excused 
 when I confess that as I bowed my thanks r 
 taking the proffered cup and lifting it to my 
 lips, I stared with an uncommon interest and 
 pleasure at the donor s face. 
 
 She was a woman of certainly not less than 
 forty years of age. But the figure, and the 
 rounded grace and fullness of it, together 
 with the features and the eyes, completed as 
 fine a specimen of physical and mental health 
 as ever it has been my fortune to meet ; there 
 was something so full of purpose and resolve 
 something so wholesome, too, about the char 
 acter something so womanly I might almost 
 say manly, and would, but for the petty pre 
 judice, maybe occasioned by the trivial fact 
 of a locket having dropped from her bosom as 
 she knelt ; and that trinket still dangles in my 
 memory even as it then dangled and dropped 
 back to its concealment in her breast as she 
 arose. But her face, by no means handsome 
 in the common meaning, was marked with a 
 breadth and strength of outline and expression
 
 A NEST-EGG. 133 
 
 that approached the heroic a face that once 
 seen is forever fixed in memory a personage 
 once met one must know more of. And so it 
 was, that an hour later, as I strolled with the 
 old man about his farm, looking, to all intents, 
 with the profoundest interest at his Devon- 
 shires, Shorthorns, Jerseys, and the like, I 
 lured from him something of an outline of his 
 daughter s history. 
 
 " There re no better girl n Marthy ! " he 
 said, mechanically answering some ingenious 
 allusion to her worth. "And, yit," he went 
 on reflectively, stooping from his seat in the 
 barn-door, and with his open jack-knife pick 
 ing up a little chip with the point of the blade 
 " and yit you wouldn t believe it but 
 Marthy was the oldest of three daughters, 
 and hed I may say hed more advantages 
 o marryin and yit, as I was jest goin to 
 say, she s the very one at didn t marry. Hed 
 every advantage Marthy did. W y we even 
 hed her educated her mother was a-livin 
 then and we was well enough fixed to afford 
 the educatin of her, mother alms contended 
 and we was besides, it was Marthy s no 
 tion, too, and you know how women is that- 
 away when they git their head set. So we 
 sent Marthy down to Indianapolus, and got 
 her books and put her in school there, and
 
 134 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 paid for her keepin and everything, and she 
 jest well, you may say, lived there stiddy 
 fer better n four year. O course, she d git 
 back ever once-an-a-while, but her visits was 
 allus, some-way-another, onsatisfactory-like r 
 cause, you see, Marthy was allus my favor 
 ite, and I d allus laughed and told her at the 
 other girls could git married ef they wanted,, 
 but she was goin to be the nest egg of our 
 family, and slong as I lived I wanted her at 
 home with me. And she d laugh and con 
 tend ut she d as lif be an ole maid as not, and 
 never expected to marry, ner didn t want to. 
 But she had me sceart onc t, though ! Come 
 out from the city one time, durin the army, with 
 a peart-looking young feller in blue clothes 
 and gilt straps on his shoulders. Young lieu 
 tenant he was name o Morris. Was layin r 
 in camp there in the city somers. I disre- 
 member which camp it was now adzackly 
 but anyway, it peared like he had plenty o* 
 time to go and come, fer from that time on he 
 kep on a-comin ever time Marthy ud come 
 home, he d come, too, and I got to noticin* 
 at Marthy come home a good eal more n she 
 used to afore Morris first brought her. And 
 blame ef the thing didn t git to worryin me I 
 And onc t I spoke to mother about it, and 
 told her ef I thought the feller wanted to mar-
 
 A NEST-EGG. 135 
 
 ry Marthy I d jest stop his comin right then 
 and there. But mother she sort o smiled and 
 said somepin bout men a-never seein through 
 nothin ; and when I ast her what she meant, 
 w y she ups and tells me at Morris didn t keer 
 nothin fer Marthy, ner Marthy fer Morris, 
 and then went on to tell me that Morris was 
 kind o aidgin up tords Annie she was next 
 to Marthy, you know, in pint of years and ex 
 perience, but ever body allus said at Annie 
 was the purtiest one o the whole three of em. 
 And so when mother told me at the signs 
 pinted tords Annie, w y, of course, I hedn t 
 no particular objections to that, cause Morris 
 was of good family enough it turned out, and, 
 in fact, was as stirrin a young feller as ever 
 I d want for a son-in-law, and so I hed nothin 
 more to say ner they wasn t no occasion to 
 say nothin , cause right along about then I 
 begin to notice at Marthy quit comin home 
 so much, and Morris kep a-comin more. 
 Till finally, one time he was out here all by 
 his self, long about dusk, come out here where 
 I was feedin , and ast me, all at onc t, and in 
 a straight-forard way, if he couldn t marry 
 Annie ; and, some-way-another, blame ef it 
 didn t make me as happy as him when I told 
 him yes ! You see that thing proved, pine- 
 blank, 9 . he wasn t a-fishin round for Marthy,
 
 136 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 Well sir, as luck would hev it, Marthy got 
 home about a half hour later, and I ll give 
 you my word I was never so glad to see the 
 girl in my life ! It was foolish in me, I reckon, 
 but when I see her drivin up the lane it was 
 purt nigh dark then, but I could see her 
 through the open winder from where I was 
 settin" at the supper table, and so I jest qui 
 etly excused myself, p lite like, as a feller 
 will, you know, when they s comp ny round, 
 and I slipped off and met her jest as she was 
 about to git out to open the barn gate. " Hold 
 up, Marthy," says I ; " set right where you 
 air ; I ll open the gate fer you, and I ll do 
 anything else fer you in the world at you 
 want me to ! " 
 
 " W y, what s pleased you so? " she says, 
 laughin , as she druv slowly through, and tick- 
 lin my nose with the cracker of the buggy- 
 whip. 
 
 " Guess," says I, jerkin the gate to, and 
 turnin to lift her out. 
 
 "The new peanner s come," says she, 
 eager-like. 
 
 " Yer new peanner s come," says I, "but 
 that s not it." 
 
 " Strawberries for supper? " says she. 
 
 " Strawberries for supper," says I ; " but 
 that ain t it."
 
 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 Jest then Morris s boss whinnied in the 
 barn, and she glanced up quick and smilin 
 and says, " Somebody come to see some 
 body?" 
 
 " You re a-gittin warm," says I. 
 
 "Somebody come to see me?" she says, 
 anxious-like. 
 
 "No," says I, "and I m glad of it fer 
 this one ats come wants to git married, and 
 o course I wouldn t harbor in my house no 
 young feller at was a-layin round fer a 
 chance to steal away the Nest-egg, " says 
 I, laughin . 
 
 Marthy had riz up in the buggy by this 
 time, but as I belt up my hands to her, she 
 sort o drawed back a minute, and says, all 
 serious-like and kind o whisperin : 
 
 "Is it Annie?" 
 
 I nodded. "Yes," says I, and what s 
 more, I ve give my consent, and mother s 
 give hern the thing s all settled. Come, 
 jump out and run in and be happy with the 
 rest of us ! " and I belt out my hands agin, 
 but she didn t pear to take no heed. She 
 was kind o pale, too, I thought, and swal- 
 lered a time or two like as ef she couldn t 
 speak plain. 
 
 " Who is the man? " she ast. 
 
 " Who who s the man," I says, a-gittin
 
 138 A NEST-EGG. 
 
 kind o out o patience with the girl. " W y 
 you knew who it is, of course. It s Morris," 
 says I. "Come, jump down! Don t you 
 see I m waitin fer you? " 
 
 "Then take me," she says; and blame- 
 don ! ef the girl didn t keel right over in my 
 arms as limber as a rag ! Clean fainted away I 
 Honest ! Jest the excitement, I reckon, o 
 breakin it to her so suddent-like cause she 
 liked Annie I ve sometimes thought, better n 
 even she did her own mother. Didn t go half 
 so hard with her when her other sister mar 
 ried. Yes sir? " said the old man, by way 
 of sweeping conclusion, as he rose to his feet 
 " Marthy s the on y one of em at never 
 married both the others is gone Morris 
 went all through the army and got back safe 
 and sound s livin in Idyho, and doin fust- 
 rate. Sends me a letter ever now and then. 
 Got three little chunks o grand-children out 
 there, and never laid eyes on one of em. 
 You see, I m a-gittin to be quite a middle- 
 aged man in fact, a very middle-aged man, 
 you might say. Sence mother died, which has 
 ben lem-me-see mother s been dead somers 
 in the neighborhood o ten year. Sence 
 mother died I ve ben a-gettin more and more 
 o Marthy s notion that is, you couldn t ever 
 hire me to marry nobody ! and them has al-
 
 A NEST-EGG. 139 
 
 ways ben, and still is the Nest-egg s views I 
 Listen ! That s her a-callin for us now. You 
 must sort o overlook the freedom, but I told 
 Marthy you d promised to take dinner with us 
 to-day, and it ud never do to disappint her 
 now. Come on." And ah! it would have 
 made the soul of you either rapturously glad, 
 or madly envious, to see how meekly I Con 
 sented. 
 
 I am always thinking that I never tasted 
 coffee till that day ; I am always thinking of 
 the crisp and steaming rolls, ored over with 
 the molten gold that hinted of the clover- 
 fields, and the bees that had not yet permitted 
 the honey of the bloom and the white blood of 
 the stalk to be divorced. I am always think 
 ing that the young and tender pullet we happy 
 three discussed was a near and dear relative 
 of the gay Patrician rooster that I first 
 caught peering so inquisitively in at the 
 kitchen-door ; and I am always always 
 thinking of " The Nest-egg."
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER.
 
 THE BEETLE. 
 
 The shrilling locust slowly sheathes 
 
 His dagger-voice, and creeps away 
 Beneath the brooding leaves where breathes 
 
 The zephyr of the dying day : 
 One naked star has waded through 
 The purple shallows of the night, 
 And faltering as falls the dew 
 It drips its misty light. 
 O er garden-blooms, 
 On tides of musk, 
 The beetle booms adown the gloomt 
 And bumps along the dusk. 
 
 The katydid is rasping at 
 
 The silence from the tangled broom: 
 On drunken wings the flitting bat 
 
 Goes staggering athwart the gloom; 
 The toadstool bulges through the weeds, 
 
 And lavishly to left and right 
 The fire-flies, like golden seeds. 
 Are sown about the night. 
 O er slumbrous blooms, 
 
 On floods of musk, 
 The beetle booms adown the glooms, 
 And bumps along the dusk. 
 
 The primrose flares its baby-hands 
 Wide open, as the empty moon, 
 Slow lifted from the underlands, 
 
 Drifts up the azure-arched lagoon / 
 The shadows on the garden walk 
 
 Are frayed with rifts of silver light, 
 And, trickling down the poppy-stalk, 
 The dewdrop streaks the night. 
 O er folded blooms, 
 
 On swirls of musk, 
 The beetle booms adown the glooms 
 And bumps along the dusk. (142)
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 FIRST I want it most distinctly under 
 stood that I am superstitious, notwith 
 standing the best half of my life, up to the 
 very present, has been spent in the emphatic 
 denial of that fact. And I am painfully aware 
 that this assertion at so late a date can but 
 place my former character in a most unenvia 
 ble light ; yet for reasons you will never know 
 I have, with all due deliberation, determined 
 to hold the truth up stark and naked to the 
 world, with the just acknowledgment, shorn 
 of all attempt at palliation or excuse, that for 
 the best half of my life I have been simply a 
 coward and a liar. 
 
 Second From a careful and impartial 
 study of my fellow-beings, I have arrived at 
 the settled conviction that nine men of every 
 ten are just as superstitious as myself. Yet, 
 with the difference, that, for reasons I know, 
 they refuse to openly acknowledge it, many 
 of them dodging the admission even within 
 their own ever curious and questioning minds. 
 (H3)
 
 144 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 Third Most firmly fixed in this belief and 
 intuitively certain of at least the inner con 
 fidence and sympathy of a grand majority of 
 those who read, I throw aside all personal 
 considerations, defy all ridicule all reason, 
 if you like for the purpose wholly to devote 
 myself to the narration of an actual experi 
 ence that for three long weeks has been occur 
 ring with me nightly in this very room. You 
 should hear me laugh about it in the day 
 time ! O, I snap my fingers then, and whistle 
 quite as carelessly and scornfully as you 
 doubtless would ; but at night at night and 
 it s night now I grow very, very serious 
 somehow, and put all raillery aside, and all 
 in vain here argue by the hour that it s noth 
 ing in the world but the baleful imaginings of 
 a feverish mind, and the convulsive writhings 
 of a dyspeptic fancy. But enough! Even 
 forced to admit that I m a fool, I will tell my 
 story. 
 
 Although by no means of a morbid or mis 
 anthropic disposition, the greater portion of 
 my time I occupy, in strict seclusion, here at 
 my desk for only when alone can I consci 
 entiously indulge certain propensities of think 
 ing aloud, talking to myself, leaping from my 
 chair occasionally to dance a new thought 
 round the room, or take it in my arms, and
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 145 
 
 hug, and hold, and love it as I would a great, 
 fat, laughing baby with a bunch of jingling 
 keys. 
 
 Then there are times, too, when worn with 
 work, and I find my pen dabbling by the way 
 side in sluggish blots of ink, that I delight to 
 take up the old guitar which leans here in the 
 corner, and twang among the waltzes that I 
 used to know, or lift a most unlovely voice in 
 half-forgotten songs, whose withered notes of 
 melody fall on me like dead leaves, but whose 
 crisp rustling still has power to waken from 
 "the dusty crypt of darkened forms and faces" 
 the glad convivial spirits that once thronged 
 about me in the wayward past, and made my 
 young life one long peal of empty merriment. 
 Someway, I ve lost the knack of wholesome 
 laughter now, and for this reason, maybe, I 
 so often find my fingers tangled in the strings 
 of my guitar, for, after all, there is an in 
 definable something in the tone of a guitar 
 that is not all of earth. I have often fancied 
 that departed friends come back to hide them 
 selves away in this old husk of song that we 
 might pluck them forth to live again in quav 
 ering tones of tenderness and love, and minor 
 voices of remembrance that coax us on to 
 heaven. Pardon my vagaries. I m practical 
 10
 
 146 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 enough at times ; at times I fail. But I must 
 be clear to-night ; I must be, and I will. 
 
 This night three weeks ago I had worked 
 late, though on a task involving nothing that 
 could possibly have warped my mind to an 
 unnatural state other than that of peculiar 
 wakefulness ; for although physically needful 
 of rest, I felt that it was useless to retire ; and 
 so I wheeled my sofa in a cozy position near 
 the stove, lighted a cigar (my chum had left 
 me four hours previous), and flinging myself 
 down in languid pose best suiting the require 
 ments of an aimless reverie, I resigned all se 
 rious complexities of thought and was wholly 
 comfortable. 
 
 The silence of the night without was deep. 
 Not a footstep in the street below, and not a 
 sound of any living earthly thing fell on the 
 hearing, though that sense was whetted to 
 such acuteness I could plainly hear the tick 
 ing of a clock somewhere across the street. 
 
 All things about the room were in their 
 usual order. My letters on the desk were 
 folded as I answered them, and filed away; 
 my books were ranged in order, and my 
 manuscripts tucked out of sight and mind, 
 and no scrap of paper to remind me of my 
 never-ended work, save the blank sheet that 
 always lies in readiness for me to pounce up-
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 147 
 
 on with any vagrant thought that comes along, 
 and close beside it the open inkstand and the 
 idle pen. 
 
 I had reclined thus in utter passiveness of 
 mind for half an hour, perhaps, when sud 
 denly I heard, or thought I heard, below me 
 in the street, the sound of some stringed in 
 strument. I rose up on my elbow and listened. 
 Some serenader, I guessed. Yes, I could 
 hear it faintly, but so far away it seemed, and 
 indistinct, I was uncertain. I arose, went to 
 the window, raised it and leaned out ; but as 
 the sound grew fainter and failed entirely, I 
 closed the window and sat down again ; but 
 even as I did so the mysterious tones fell on 
 my hearing plainer than before. I listened 
 closely, and though little more than a ghost 
 of sound, I still could hear, and quite audibly 
 distinguish the faint repeated twanging of the 
 six open strings of a guitar so plainly, indeed, 
 that I instinctively recognized the irritating 
 fact that both the "E" and "D" strings 
 were slightly out of tune. I turned with some 
 strange impulse to my own instrument, and I 
 must leave the reader to imagine the cold 
 thrill of surprise and fear that crept over me 
 as the startling conviction slowly dawned up 
 on my mind that the sounds came from that 
 unlocked for quarter. The guitar was lean-
 
 148 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 ing in its old position in the corner, the face 
 turned to the wall, and although I confess it 
 with reluctance, full five minutes elapsed be 
 fore I found sufficient courage to approach 
 and pick it up, then I came near dropping 
 it in abject terror as a great, fat, blowsy 
 spider ran across my hand and went scamper 
 ing up the wall. What do you think of 
 spiders, anyhow? You say " Wooh ! " I say 
 you don t know anything about spiders. 
 
 I examined first the wall to see if there 
 might not be some natural cause for the mys 
 terious sounds ; some open crevice for the 
 wind ; some loosened and vibrating edge of 
 paper, or perhaps a bristle protruding from 
 the plaster ; but I found no evidence that 
 could in any wav afford an answer to the per 
 plexing query. An old umbrella and a broom 
 stood in the corner, but in neither of these 
 inanimate objects could I find the vaguest 
 explanation of the problem that so wholly 
 and entirely possessed me. 
 
 I could not have been mistaken. It w r as no- 
 trick of fancy no hallucination. I had not 
 only listened to the sounds repeated over a 
 dozen times at least, but I had recognized and 
 measured the respective value of the tones, 
 and as I turned, half in awe, took up the in 
 strument and lightly swept the strings, the
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 140 
 
 positive proof, for the conviction jarred as dis 
 cordantly upon my fancy as upon my ears. 
 The two strings, " E" and " D," were out of 
 tune. I will no longer attempt the detail of 
 perturbed state of curiosity, and the almost 
 dazed condition of my mind ; such an effort 
 would at best be vain. But I sat down, dog 
 gedly, at last, and in a spirit of indifference 
 the most defiant I could possibly assume, I 
 ran the guitar up to a keen, exultant key, and 
 dashed off in a quickstep that made the dumb 
 old echoes of the room leap up and laugh 
 with melody. I was determined in my own 
 mind to stave off the most unwholesome influ 
 ence that seemed settling fog-like over me ; 
 and as the sharp twang of the strings rang 
 out upon the night, and the rich vibrating 
 chords welled up and overflowed the silence 
 like a flood, the embers of old-time enthusi 
 asm kindled in my heart and flamed up in a 
 warmth of real delight. Suddenly, in the 
 midst of this rapturous outburst, as with lifted 
 face I stared ceilingward, my eyes again fell 
 on that horrid spicier, madly capering about 
 the wall in a little circumference of a dozen 
 inches, perhaps, wheeling and whirling up 
 and down, and round and round again, as 
 though laboring under some wild, jubilant 
 excitement.
 
 I5O TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 I played on mechanically for a moment, my 
 eyes riveted upon the grotesque antics of the 
 insect, feeling instinctively that the music was 
 producing this singular effect upon it. I was 
 right; for, as I gradually paused, the gyra 
 tions of the insect assumed a milder phase, 
 and as I ceased entirely the great, bloated 
 thing ran far out overhead and dropped sud 
 denly a yard below the ceiling, and, pendant 
 by its unseen thread, hung sprawled in the 
 empty air above my face, so near I could 
 have touched it with the lifted instrument. 
 And then, even as I shrank back fearfully, a 
 new line of speculation was suggested to my 
 mind ; I arose abruptly, leant the guitar back 
 in the corner, took up a book and sat down at 
 the desk, leaving the silence of the room in 
 tensified till in my nervous state of mind I 
 almost fancied I could hear that spider whis 
 pering to itself, as above the open pages of the 
 book I watched the space between it and the 
 ceiling slowly widening, till at last the ugly 
 insect dropped and disappeared behind the 
 sofa. 
 
 I had not long to wait ; nor was my curious 
 mind placed any more at ease, when, at last, 
 faint and far-off sounding as at first, I heard 
 the eerie twanging of the guitar though this 
 time I could with some triumphant pleasure
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 151 
 
 note the fact that the instrument was in per 
 fect tune. But to thoroughly assure myself 
 that I could in no way be mistaken as to the 
 mysterious cause, I arose and crept cautiously 
 across the carpet until within easy reach of 
 the guitar. I paused again to listen and con 
 vince myself beyond all doubt that the sounds 
 were there produced. There could possibly 
 be no mistake about it. Then suddenly I 
 caught and whirled the instrument around, 
 and as I did so the spider darted from the 
 key-board near the top, leaped to the broom- 
 handle and fled up the wall. I tried no more 
 experiments that night, or rather morning 
 for it must have been three o clock as I turned 
 wearily away from the exasperating contem 
 plation of the strange subject, turned down 
 the lamp, then turned it up again, huddled 
 myself into a shivering heap upon the sofa, 
 and fell into an uneasy sleep, in which I 
 dreamed that I was a spider of Brobdingna- 
 gian prcportions, and lived on men and women 
 instead of flies, and had a web like a monster 
 hammock, in which I swung myself out over 
 the streets at night and fished up my prey 
 with a hook and line ; thought I caught more 
 poets than anything else, and was just nib 
 bling warily at my own bait, when the line 
 was suddenly withdrawn, the hook catching
 
 152 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 me in the cheek, tearing out and letting me 
 drop back with a sullen plunge into the great 
 gulf of the night. And as I found myself, 
 with wildly-staring eyes, sitting bolt upright on 
 the sofa, I saw the spider, just above my 
 desk, lifted and flung upward by his magic 
 line and thrown among the dusky shadows of 
 the ceiling. 
 
 "Hays," said I to my chum, in the early 
 morning, as he came in upon me, sitting at my 
 desk, and gazing abstractedly at an inco 
 herent scrawl of ink upon the scrap of paper 
 lying before me; " Haj^s," said I, "what s 
 your opinion of spiders?" 
 
 "What s my opinion of spiders?" he reit 
 erated, staring at me curiously. 
 
 "What s your opinion of spiders?" I re 
 peated with my first inflection for Hays is a 
 young man in the medical profession, and 
 likes point, fact, and brevity. " What I mean 
 is this," I continued ; " isn t it generally con 
 ceded that the spider is endowed with a higher 
 order of intelligence than insects commonly?" 
 
 " I believe so," he replied, with the same 
 curious air, watching me narrowly; "I have 
 a vague recollection of some incident illustra 
 tive of that theory in Goldsmith s Animated 
 Nature, or some equally veracious chronicle," 
 with suggestive emphasis on the word " vera-
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 153 
 
 clous." "Why do you ask?" And, although 
 half assured I would be sneered at for my 
 pains, I went into a minute recountal of my 
 strange experience of the night, winding up 
 in a high state of excitement, doubtless inten 
 sified by the blandly-smiling features of my 
 auditor, who made no interruption whatever, 
 and only looked at me at the conclusion of the 
 dream with gratuitous compassion and con 
 cern. "Well !" said I, uneasily, taking an im 
 patient turn or two across the room. "Well !" 
 I repeated, pausing abruptly and glaring at 
 the shrugged shoulders of my stoical com 
 panion, " why don t you say something? " 
 
 " Nothing to say, I suppose," he answered, 
 turning on me with absolute severity. "You 
 never listen to advice. Two months ago I 
 told you to quit this night business it would 
 wreck you physically, mentally, every way. 
 Why, look at you ! " he continued in pitiless 
 reproof, as I flew off on another nervous trip 
 around the room. "Look at you! a perfect 
 crate of bones no get-up in your walk no 
 color in your face no appetite no anything 
 but a wisp of shattered nerves, and a pair of 
 howling-hungry eyes that do nothing else but 
 stare." 
 
 " It wouldn t seem that you did have much 
 to say, upon the point, at least," I interrupted.
 
 154 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 "Never mind my physical condition; what 
 do you think of my spider?" 
 
 " What do I think of your spider ! " he re 
 peated contemptuously, " why I think it s a 
 little the thinnest piece of twaddle I ever 
 listened to and I think, further " 
 
 "Hold on, now!" I exclaimed, a trifle 
 warmed, but smiling, "I knew you d have to 
 sweat awhile over that, but hold on hold on ! 
 I have only told you the minor facts of the 
 strange occurrence, the most startling and ir 
 refutable portion yet remains. Now, listen ! 
 What I have already told you I pledge you 
 on my honor is pure truth. I can offer noth 
 ing but my word for that. But I will close 
 now don t interrupt me if you please : As 
 I awakened from that dream, I saw that 
 spider jerked from above the desk here just 
 as a small boy might whip up a fish line 
 jerked by his own thread, of course. Well, 
 and I got up at once came to the desk like 
 this, feeling instinctively that that infernal 
 spider had some object in lowering itself 
 among my letters ; and I found this scrap 
 of paper, which I ll swear I left last night 
 without one blot or line of ink or pencil on it. 
 I found this scrap of paper with this zigzag 
 line which you can see was never made with 
 
 J 
 
 human hand scrawled across it, and the ink
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 was yet wet when I picked it up. Now, what 
 do you say?" 
 
 He took the scrap of paper in his hand half 
 curiously, and then, as though ashamed of 
 having betrayed so great a weakness, threw 
 it back upon the desk with scarce a look. 
 
 "What do you say?" I repeated in a tone 
 of triumph. 
 
 " Well," he replied, " it is barely possible 
 you did see a spider in this last instance, and 
 I must confess that it is a much easier matter 
 for me to imagine a spider dropping by acci 
 dent into your inkstand and leaving the trail 
 of his salvation across your writing paper, than 
 it is for me to fancy the fantastic insect pluck 
 ing the strings of your guitar. In fact, the 
 first part of your story won t do at all. I don t 
 mean to intimate that your veracity is defec 
 tive not at all. But I do mean that you have 
 overworked yourself of late, and that your 
 brain needs rest." 
 
 " But," said I, pushing the scrap of paper 
 toward him again, " you don t seem to recog 
 nize the fact that that ugly scrawl of ink means 
 something. Look at it carefully ; it s writing." 
 
 He again took the paper in his hand, but 
 this time without a glance, and ere I could 
 prevent him he had torn it in a half dozen 
 pieces and flung it on the floor.
 
 156 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 " What do you mean? " I cried, resentfully, 
 springing forward. 
 
 " Why, I mean that you re a babbling idi 
 ot," he answered, in a tone half anger, half 
 alarm ; " and if you won t look after your own 
 condition I ll do it for you, and in spite of you ! 
 You must quit this work quit this room quit 
 everything, and come with me out in the fresh 
 air for awhile, or you ll die ; that s what I 
 mean ! " 
 
 Although he spoke with almost savage ve 
 hemence, I recognized, of course, the real 
 promptings of his action, and smiled softly to 
 myself as I gathered up the scattered scraps of 
 paper from the carpet. 
 
 " Oh, we ll not quarrel," said I, seating 
 myself patiently at the desk, and dipping my 
 finger in the paste-cup, " we ll not quarrel 
 about a little thing like this ; only if you ll just 
 wait a minute I ll show you that it does mean 
 something." 
 
 "There!" said I, good-naturedly, when I 
 had deftly joined the fragments in their proper 
 places on a base of legal cap ; " now you can 
 read it ; but don t tear it again, please." I 
 think I was very white when I said that, for 
 my companion took the paper in his hand with 
 at least a show of interest, and looked at it 
 long and curiously.
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 157 
 
 " Well, what is it? " he asked, laying it back 
 upon the desk before me ; " I am really very 
 sorry, but I am forced to acknowledge that I 
 fail to find anything exactly tangible in it." 
 
 "Look," said I ; " you see this capital that 
 begins the line; the first letter? It s a Y, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 " Yes ; it looks a little like a Y or a <G. " 
 
 " No ; it s a Y, " said I, " and there s no 
 more doubt about it than that this next one is 
 an <e. " 
 
 "Well" 
 
 "Well, this next letter is an s an old- 
 fashioned s, but it s an s all the same, and 
 you can t make anything else out of it ; I ve 
 tried it, and it can t be done." 
 
 "Well, go on." 
 
 " This is a c, " I continued. 
 
 " Go on ; call it anything you like." 
 
 " No ; but I wart you to be thoroughly sat 
 isfied." 
 
 "Oh, do you? Well, it s a c, then; go 
 on." 
 
 "And this is an h. " 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "And this is an o ; you know that ! " 
 
 " Yes ; know it by the hole in it." 
 
 " Don t get funny. And this is an 1. " 
 
 "That s an <!. "
 
 158 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 "This is an a. " 
 
 " Close observer ! " 
 
 "And that s an r and that s all." 
 
 "Well, you ve got it all down to suit you ; 
 now, what does it spell?" 
 
 "What does it spell? Why, can t you 
 read?" I exclaimed, flourishing the scrap tri 
 umphantly before his eyes. "It spells Ye 
 scholar! why, I could read it across the 
 room ! " 
 
 " Yes, or across the street," he answered 
 caustically. " But come now !" he continued 
 seriously, " throw it aside for the present at 
 least, and let s go out in the sunshine for a 
 while. Here, light a cigar, and come along ;" 
 and he moved toward the door. 
 
 "No," said I, turning to the mysterious 
 scrawl, " I shall hound this thing down while 
 the inspiration s on me." 
 
 " Inspiration? Bah !" The door slammed 
 but I never turned my head. 
 
 I had sat thus in dead silence for ten min 
 utes, when suddenly I heard a quick, impa 
 tient movement at my back, and then the 
 sharp, impetuous words "In God s name I 
 quit biting your nails like that ! Don t you 
 know it s an indication of madness ! " 
 
 I think I need not enter into any explana 
 tion as to the reason which, from that moment,
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 159 
 
 determined me upon a course that could afford 
 no further conflict of opinion other than that 
 already going on within my own mind. That 
 of itself furnished all exasperating controversy 
 that I felt was well for my indulgence. Though 
 in one sense I was grateful for the pointed sug 
 gestion of my friend regarding the question 
 able status of my mental faculties, and by it 
 was made most keenly alive to that peculiar 
 sense of duty that made me look upon myself, 
 and question every individual act, entirely 
 separated from my own personality ; in fact, 
 to look upon myself, as I did, clearly and dis 
 tinctly defined in the light of a very suspicious 
 and a very dangerous character, whose sole 
 intent and purpose was to play and practice 
 upon me all unlooked-for and undreamed-of 
 deceptions, and which, to successfully combat, 
 must needs require the most rigid and unwav 
 ering strength of reason. 
 
 In further justice to my honesty in this re 
 solve, I will say that I at once began the ex 
 ercise of systematic habits. Although by no 
 means pleasant, I took long rambles in the 
 country ; ate regularly of wholesome food, re 
 gained my appetite, and retired at night at 
 seasonable hours. I will not say that sleep 
 came sooner to my eyes by reason of the 
 change, but I wooed sleep, anyway let this
 
 l6o TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 suffice. I threw smoking entirely aside not 
 a hard trial for me by any means, although an 
 occasional cigar is a great pleasure ; but I 
 threw it aside. Did not study so intensely as 
 had been my wont ; read but little, and wrote 
 less even neglecting my letters ; yet, with all 
 this revolution of reform, I am left to confess 
 that I never for one waking moment forgot 
 the mystic legend, "Ye Scholar," or its 
 equally incomprehensible author ; and how 
 could I? 
 
 Since the first discovery of the strange in 
 sect and its musical proclivities, but three 
 evenings alone have passed that I have not 
 been favored with its most extraordinary per 
 formances on the guitar. In this way has its 
 presence been usually made known. And 
 noting carefully, as I have done, the peculiar 
 times and conditions of its coming, together 
 with such other suggestions as the surround 
 ings have afforded me, I am led to believe 
 that the spider reasoned as a man would rea 
 son. In no instance yet has it ever touched 
 the instrument when I sat busy at my desk, 
 and only when my pen was idle in my hand, 
 or I had turned wearily away to pace about 
 the room, has it ever exhibited any inclination 
 whatever to occupy my attention. This curi 
 ous fact interpreted itself at last in the rather
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. l6l 
 
 startling proposition that it was simply an in 
 dication on the part of the insect that it de 
 sired me to favor it with music, since my time 
 was not better occupied. Virtually this is 
 what it did mean ; I know it ; I would know 
 and appreciate now any want the insect might 
 choose to express ; only at first I was very 
 dull, as one would be naturally. And I no 
 ticed, too, that when I first responded to 
 this summons, the spider would leap from 
 the guitar to the wall with every evidence of 
 pleasure, and glide back to its old position 
 near the ceiling, indulging the wildest tokens 
 of glee and approval throughout my perform 
 ances. And many times I have marched off 
 round and round the room simply thrumming 
 the time, the spider following along the upper 
 margin of the wall with the most fantastic 
 caperings of joy. 
 
 Other experiments followed, too numerous 
 and too foolish for recountal here, but each, 
 in its way, sufficient to more conclusively es 
 tablish in my mind the belief that the hideous 
 little monster was endowed with an intelli 
 gence as wise and subtle in its workings as 
 was within the power of my own to recognize 
 even greater for gradually, as we became 
 more accustomed to each other, the ugly in- 
 ii
 
 l62 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 sect grew so tame it would come down the 
 wall and dance for me on a level with my face 
 as I sat playing, and even spring off upon the 
 instrument if I held it out. I found my mind 
 so baffled and bewildered at last that more 
 than once the conviction has been forced upon 
 
 me that the spider was not a spider, but a ; 
 
 no, I ll not say that, not yet, not yet ! 
 
 These experiments had progressed for per 
 haps half a dozen nights, when, one evening 
 as I sat, pen in hand, at the desk here, mechan 
 ically poring over the still incomprehensible 
 meaning of the scrawl, and writing and re 
 writing the two words over and over again 
 upon an empty page before me, I became 
 suddenly aware of a strange sensation of re 
 pose. A great, cool quiet fell upon my brain, 
 as when suddenly within some noisy foundry 
 the clanging hammers cease to beat, and all 
 the brazen tumult drops like a plummet into 
 silence fathomless. I felt a soothing languor 
 flowing down and over me, and ebbing 
 through and through my very being. It was 
 not drowsiness ; my eyelids were not heavy, 
 nor did they droop the shadow of a shade. I 
 saw everything about me as clearly as I do 
 this very moment only, I did not seem a part 
 of my surroundings. My eyes, although 
 conscious of all objects within range, were
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 163 
 
 fixed upon the scrap of paper headed by the 
 zigzag scrawl, and with an intensity of gaze 
 that seemed to pierce the paper and to see 
 through it and beyond it ; and I did not think 
 it strange. I was dimly conscious, too, of 
 being under the control of some hitherto un 
 dreamed of influence, but I felt no thought of 
 resistance rather courted the sensation. All 
 was utter calm with me ; and I did not think 
 it strange. I saw my hand held out before 
 me in this same position the forearm resting 
 on the desk the same pen grasped lightly in 
 my fingers. Slowly slowly slowly I saw 
 the spider lowering itself above it, wavering 
 and swaying in the air, until, at last, I saw it 
 reach its dangling legs and clutch and cling 
 to the penholder at the tip, and rest there ; 
 and I did not think it strange. But I grew 
 duller then, and very chilly, though I vividly 
 recall seeing the hand moved not of my own 
 volition the pen dipped in the ink, and 
 brought directly over the old scrap whereon 
 the scrawl was traced, and I remember, 
 too, that as I watched the motion of my hand, 
 I still saw beyond the surface of the paper, 
 and read the very words my pen traced after 
 ward. I say the words my pen traced or 
 my hand either both for the act was not 
 my own, I swear ! And the spider still sat
 
 164 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 perched there at his post, rocked lightly with 
 the motion of the pen, with all his arms- 
 hugged round him as though chuckling to 
 himself, and I say to you again, and yet- 
 again, I did not think it strange. 
 
 Not until the page before me had been filled 
 did I regain my natural state of being, nor 
 did it seem that I then would, had not the spi 
 der quitted his position and run down the pen 
 holder, leaning from it for an instant, touch 
 ing and pressing my naked hand ; then I was 
 conscious of a keen, exquisite sting, and with 
 a quick, spasmodic motion, I flung the hid 
 eous insect from it. As I lifted my white face 
 and starting eyes, I saw the spider wildly clam 
 bering toward the ceiling on its invisible 
 thread, and then, with a mingled sense of fear r 
 bewilderment and admiration, as oppressive 
 and as strange as indescribable, I turned to 
 the mysterious scrap and read, traced trem 
 blingly, but plainly, in a dainty, flowing hand, 
 unlike any I had ever seen before, the lines I 
 now copy from the original script before me,, 
 bearing the pedantic title of "Ye Scholar: * 
 
 "Ho I ho! Ye scholar recketh not how lean 
 His lank frame waxeth in ye hectic gloom 
 That smeareth o er ye dim walls of his room 
 His wavering shadow! Shut is he, I ween, 
 Like as a withered nosegay, in between
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 165 
 
 Ye musty, mildewed leaves of some volume 
 Of ancient lore ye moths and he consume 
 
 In jointure. Yet a something in his mien 
 Forbids all mockery, though quaint is he, 
 
 And eke fantastical in form and face 
 As that Old Knight ye tale of chivalry 
 
 Made mad immortally, yet spared ye grace 
 Of some rare virtue which we sigh to see, 
 And pour our laughter out most tenderly." 
 
 Over and over I read the strange production 
 to myself; and, as at last I started to my feet 
 repeating it aloud, all suddenly the spider 
 swooped on its flying thread before my up 
 turned face, swung back upon the margin of 
 the wall, and went scampering round and 
 round above me as I read. 
 
 I did not sleep two hours of the night, but 
 mouthed and mouthed that sonnet even in 
 my scrappy dreams until when morning 
 strained the sunlight through the slatted win- 
 dow-blinds, I turned and dragged myself 
 from the room, like an old, old man, with 
 childish summer fancies in his head and bleak 
 and barren winter in his bones. 
 
 The night following, and the next night, 
 and the next, I did not permit myself to enter 
 my room after dark not from a sense of fear, 
 but simply because I felt my mind was becom 
 ing too entirely engrossed with the contem-
 
 1 66 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 plation of a theme that, even yet at times, I 
 feared was more chimera than reality. 
 
 Throughout the day I worked, as usual 
 with me, perhaps three hours, at such trivial 
 tasks as required only the lightest mental ef 
 fort ; nor did I allow my mind to wander from 
 the matter-of-fact duties before me to the con 
 templation of the ever-present topic that so- 
 confounded it when studiously dwelt upon. 
 Only once in this long abstinence from the 
 fascinating problem did I catch sight of the 
 spider, peering down upon me from behind 
 the shoulder of the little terra cotta bust of 
 Dickens that sits on a dusty bracket just 
 above my desk. I looked up at the little fel 
 low with a smile, rose to my feet, and held 
 out my hand, when, at the motion, the insect 
 cowered trembling for an instant, then sprang 
 up the wall beyond my reach. But from that 
 time on I always felt its presence though un 
 seen, intuitively conscious that at all hours my 
 every act was vigilantly overlooked and 
 guarded by the all-seeing eye of that spicier, 
 and that every motion of my pen was duly no 
 ted by it, and accepted as token of the fact 
 that I was busy and must not be disturbed. 
 In fact I even allowed my vanity such license 
 that I came to believe that the spider was not 
 only interested in everything I did, but was
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 167 
 
 actually proud of my accomplishments beside. 
 Certain it is, I argued, that he likes my 
 silence, my music, and my voice, and equally 
 apparent from his actions that he likes my so 
 ciety under any and all circumstances, and it 
 shall not be the promptings of mere curiosity 
 on my part in the endeavor to strengthen and 
 develop this curious bond of fellowship, but 
 my serious and most courteous duty as well. 
 
 So I went back to my night labors, even 
 greeted the first evening, as I lit my lamp and 
 sat down at the desk, with another mysterious 
 scrawl, which I readily interpreted in the one 
 word "Love." 
 
 I dashed the scrap down in a very spasm of 
 revulsion and loathing. I can not describe. 
 
 O 
 
 nor will I weaken, the sense of utter abhorrence 
 that fell upon me, by an attempt to set it forth 
 in words ; why, I could taste it, and it sick 
 ened me soul-deep ! I remember catching 
 quick breaths through my clenched and naked 
 teeth ; I remember snatching up the pen as a 
 despairing man might grasp a dagger ; I re 
 member stabbing it in the ink, and drawing 
 it back in defiance, but as my hand once more 
 rested on the desk it was my hand no longer. 
 It was like another man s, and that man my 
 deadly foe. I looked upon it vengefully, wish 
 ing that in my other I but held an ax an old
 
 l68 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 ax, with a nicked and rusty edge, that I might 
 hack and haggle the traitor-member sheer off 
 at the numb and pulseless wrist. And then 
 the spider ! I tried to shrink back as the hid 
 eous insect again dangled before my eyes, but 
 could not move. Once more it clutched the 
 holder of the pen, huddled its quivering limbs 
 together, and sqatted in its old position on the 
 tip. And then began the movement of the 
 hand. 
 
 This time my eyes were fixed upon the in 
 sect. I could not move them from it. I could 
 see nothing else ; and but for the undulating 
 motions of the pen I felt that I might note its 
 very breathings and I did see it smile. Oh, 
 horrible ! Why, I set my teeth together till 
 my inner sense of hearing pinged like a bell, 
 and I said, away down among the twanging 
 fibers of my heart, "I will kill you for that 
 smile! I will kill you kill you!" and when 
 at last the motion of the hand had ceased, and 
 the hideous insect again ran down the pen 
 holder, leaning and pressing in my naked 
 flesh that keen, exquisite sting, I snapped the 
 thrall that bound me, flung the spider violently 
 against the desk, stabbed the pen wildly at il 
 with a dozen swift, vindictive motions as the 
 abhorrent thing lay for the moment writhing 
 on its back. And I struck it, too, and pinioi *<ii
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 169 
 
 it ; but as for an instant I turned away from 
 the revolting sight, my pen still quivering 
 above it, sunken eye-deep in the desk, my 
 victim yet escaped me, for, as I turned again, 
 no sign remained to designate my murderous 
 deed but one poor severed limb, twitching 
 and trembling in ever lessening throes and 
 convulsions. 
 
 I turned my eyes upon the mysterious scrap 
 once more, with the same unaccountable feel 
 ing of dread and revulsion that had possessed 
 me as I read the scrawl. Written in the same 
 minute, tremulous but legible hand in which 
 the first was traced, I read : 
 
 " O, what strange tragedy is this of mine 
 
 That wars within, and will not let me cry ? 
 
 My soul seems leaking from me sigh by sigh; 
 And yet I dare not say nor he divine 
 That I, so vile and loathesome in design, 
 
 Am brimmed with boiling love; but I must lie 
 
 Forever steeped in seething agony! 
 If all these quivering arms might wreathe and twine, 
 
 And soak him up in one warm clasp of bliss 
 One long caress, when babbling wild with words 
 
 My voice was crushed and mangled with his kiss. 
 My soul would whistle sweeter than the birds 
 
 But now, my dry and husky heart in this 
 
 Pent heat of gasping passion can but hiss! " 
 
 Be patient, I am hurrying toward the end, 
 I am very lonesome here alone. For three
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 long, empty nights have I sat thus, with noth 
 ing but the raspings of my pen for company. 
 I can not sleep now ; and I wouldn t if I 
 could. My head feels as if I had a very heavy 
 hat on, and I put up my hand sometimes to 
 see. My head is feverish, that s all. I have 
 been working too late again. Last night I 
 heard Hays come up the steps my window 
 opens on an alley, but at night the light shows 
 from the street. Hays has a peculiar walk, 
 I d know it if I heard it in the grass above my 
 grave. And he came up the stairs last night, 
 and knocked and rattled at the door ; but I 
 was very still, and so he went away. Some 
 times I think that fellow isn t right exactly in his 
 mind. I never knew what silence was before. 
 It will not even whisper to me now. Some 
 times I stop and listen, and then it holds its 
 breath and listens too but we never hear a 
 thing. The old guitar leans in the corner 
 with its face turned to the wall. I know it s 
 sorry, but it would be such a comfort to me if 
 it would only moan or murmur as it used to. 
 I alwa}-s tune it the first thing when I come 
 in, and lean it back, just as it was when the 
 spider first began to play it, but the spider 
 won t go near it any more. Even the spider 
 has deserted me, and gone away and left me 
 here alone all alone ! One night, late, I
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. iyi 
 
 heard it coming up the stairs ; and it knocked 
 and rattled at the door, and I wouldn t let it 
 in, and so it went away and do you know 
 that I have often thought that that spider 
 wasn t right in its mind, you know? Oh, 
 yes I I have often thought so often ! This 
 hat bothers me, but I ll hurry on I must 
 hurry on. 
 
 When I came in to-night no ; last night it 
 was when I came to work last night, there 
 was another of those scrawls the spider had 
 left for me, and it was written in a very trem 
 bling hand. The letters were blotted and 
 slurred together so I could hardly make the 
 word out ; but I did make it out, and it 
 was simply the one word, "Death" just 
 * Death." I didn t like the looks of it, and I 
 tried to make it read something else ; but it 
 wouldn t. It was " Death." And so I laid it 
 gently on the desk and walked about the room 
 very softly for a long time. And the night 
 kept on getting stiller, and stiller, and stiller, 
 till it just stopped. But that didn t disturb me ; 
 I was not sleepy, anyhow, and so I sat down 
 at the desk, took up my pen, and waited. I 
 had nothing else to do, and the guitar wouldn t 
 play any more, and I was lonesome ; so I sat 
 down at the desk, and took up the pen and 
 waited. *.-
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 Sometimes I think it s those spells the spider 
 gives me that makes my head feel this way. 
 Feels like I had a heavy hat on ; but I haven t 
 any hat on at all, and if I had I wouldn t have 
 it on here in the room. I can t even sit in the 
 cars with a hat on. 
 
 And so I waited, and waited, but it seemed 
 like it hadn t got still enough for the spider 
 yet. It was still enough for me ; but I got to 
 thinking about why the spider didn t come, 
 and concluded at last that it wasn t still enough 
 yet for the spider. So I waited till it got so 
 still I could see it, and then the spider came 
 sliding along down through it ; and when it 
 touched the pen-holder, and I got a good clear 
 look at it, I flashed dead-numb clean to the 
 marrow. It was so pale ! Did you ever see 
 a spider after it had had a long spell of sick 
 ness? That s the way this spider looked. I 
 shuddered as it huddled its trembling legs to 
 gether and sat down. And -then the pen 
 moved off, with that pale, ghastly, haggard 
 insect nodding away again as though it still 
 was victor of the field ; and, as at last, I found 
 courage to peer closer into its face, I saw that 
 same accursed smile flung back at me. All 
 pity and compassion fled away, and I felt my 
 heart snarl rabidly and champ its bloody jaws 
 with deadly hate. And wi frn the spider hob-
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 173 
 
 down the penholder and touched my 
 hand again, the only sting I felt upon it was 
 the vengeful blow I smote it with the other, as 
 I held and ground it there with an exultant 
 cry that rang out upon the silence till the 
 echoes clapped their very hands and shouted 
 with me, " Dead ! dead at last! Dead! dead I 
 and I am free ! " O, how I reveled in my 
 fancied triumph as I danced about the room r 
 crunching my hands together till I thought 
 that I could feel the clammy fragments of the 
 hateful thing gaumed and slimed about be 
 tween my palms and fingers ! And what a 
 fool I was ! for when at last I unclasped them 
 and spread them wide apart in utter loathing, 
 they were as free from taint or moisture as 
 they are this very moment ; and then it all 
 flashed on me that I was in some horrid 
 dream some hideous, baleful nightmare 
 some fell delusion of a fevered sleep. But no I 
 I could not force that comfort on myself, for 
 here the lamp sat burning brightly as at this 
 very moment, and I reached and held my 
 finger on the chimney till it burnt. I wheeled 
 across the room, opened the door, went to the 
 window and raised it, and felt the chill draft 
 sweeping in upon my fevered face. I took 
 my hat from the sofa and dashed out into the 
 night. I was not asleep ; I had not been
 
 174 TALE OF A SPIDER. 
 
 asleep ; for not until broad daylight did I re 
 turn, to find the window opened just as I had 
 left it ; the lamp still blazing at its fullest glare, 
 and that grim scrawl, "Death," lying still 
 upon the desk, with these lines traced legibly 
 beneath it : 
 
 "And did you know our old friend Death is dead? 
 
 Ah me ! he died last night ; my ghost was there, 
 
 And all his phantom-friends from everywhere 
 Were sorrowfully grouped about his bed. 
 "* I die ; God help the living now ! he said 
 
 With such a ghastly pathos, I declare 
 
 The tears oozed from the blind eyes of the air, 
 And spattered on his face in gouts of red. 
 And then he smiled the dear old bony smile 
 
 That glittered on us in that crazy whim 
 When first our daring feet leapt the defile 
 
 Of life, and ran so eagerly to him : 
 And so he smiled upon us, even while 
 
 The kind old sockets grew forever dim." 
 
 I am almost through. It is nearly morning 
 as I write. When daylight comes, and this is 
 finished, I can sleep. 
 
 That last spider that appeared to me was 
 not the real spider. That last spider was not 
 a spider, and I ll tell you how I know : Four 
 hours ago as I sat writing here, I dipped and 
 dragged a strange clot from the inkstand with 
 my pen. It is barely dry yet, and it is a 
 drowned spider. It is the real spider the
 
 TALE OF A SPIDER. 175 
 
 other spider was its ghost. Listen : I know 
 this is the real spider from the fact that it has 
 one leg missing, and the leg that has been 
 lying on my desk here for three days and 
 nights, I find upon careful examination and 
 adjustment, is the leg that originally supplied 
 this deficiency. 
 
 Whatever theory it may please you to ad 
 vance regarding the mysterious manifestations 
 of the spider while in the flesh, will doubtless 
 be as near the correct one as my own. Cer 
 tainly I shall not attempt to controvert any 
 opinion you may choose to express. I simply 
 reserve the right, in conclusion of my story, 
 to say that I believe this spider met his death 
 by suicide.
 
 WHERE is MARY ALICE SMITH?
 
 TEE ELF CHILD. 
 
 Little Orphant Allie come to our home to stay 
 
 An wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbr 
 
 away, 
 An shoo the chickens off the porch, an diist the hearth, 
 
 an sweep, 
 Ar! make the fire, an bake the bread, an 1 earn her board-an*- 
 
 keep; 
 
 An all tit other children, when the supper things is done. 
 We set around the kitchen fire an has the mostest fun 
 A-list nin to the witch tales at Allie tells about, 
 An the gobble-uns at gits you 
 Ef you 
 
 Don t 
 
 Watch 
 Out I 
 
 Onc t they was a little boy wouldn t say his pray rt 
 
 An when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, 
 
 Hit *ammy hferd him hoUer, an his daddy heerd him bawl, 
 
 An when they turn t the kiwers down, he wasn t there at attf 
 
 An they seeked him in the rafter-room, an cubby-hole, an 
 
 press, 
 
 An seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an everwheres, I guess, 
 But all they ever found was thist hit pants an round-about ! 
 An the gobble-uns II git you 
 Ef you 
 
 Don t 
 
 Watch 
 
 Out/ (178)
 
 THE ELF CHILD. 179 
 
 An one time a, little girl ud allus laugh an grin, 
 
 An make fun of ever one an all her blood-an -kin, 
 
 An onc t when they was " company," an ole folks was there, 
 
 She mocked em an shocked em, an said she didn t care I 
 
 An thisl as she kicked her heels, an turn t to run an hide, 
 
 They was two great big Black Things a-standin by her side, 
 
 An they snatched her through the ceilin fore she know d what 
 
 she s about ! 
 
 An the gobble-uns II git you 
 Ef you 
 
 Don t 
 
 Watch 
 Out/ 
 
 An little Orphant Allie says, when the blaze is blue, 
 An the lampwick sputters, an the wind goes woo- oof 
 An you hear the crickets quit, an the moon is gray. 
 An the lightnin -bugs in dew is all squenched away, 
 You better mind yer parents, and yer teachers fond and dear, 
 An churish em at loves you, an dry the orphant s tear, 
 An he p the pore an needy ones at clusters all about, 
 ErJLhe gobble-uns II git you 
 Ef you 
 
 Don t 
 
 Watch 
 Out/
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 " \ A 7 HERE is ~ Mar 7 Alice Smith? 
 Y V O she has gone home!" It 
 was the thin, mysterious voice of little Mary 
 Alice Smith herself that so often queried and 
 responded as above every word accented 
 with a sweet and eerie intonation, and a very 
 gaiety of solemn earnestness that baffled the 
 cunning skill of all childish imitators. A 
 slender wisp of a girl she was, not more than 
 ten years of age in appearance, though it had 
 been given to us as fourteen. The spindle 
 ankles that she so airily flourished from the 
 sparse concealment of a worn and shadowy 
 calico skirt seemed scarce a fraction more in 
 girth than the slim, blue -veined wrists she 
 tossed among the loose and ragged tresses of 
 her yellow hair, as she danced around the 
 room. She was, from the first, an object of 
 curious and most refreshing interest to our 
 family to us children in particular an in 
 terest, though years and years have inter 
 posed to shroud it in the dull dust of forget- 
 (181)
 
 l82 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 fulness, that still remains vivid and bright and 
 beautiful. Whether an orphan child only, or 
 with a father that could thus lightly send her 
 adrift, I do not know now, nor do I care to 
 ask, but I do recall distinctly that on a raw, 
 bleak day in early winter, she was brought to 
 us, from a wild country settlement, by a re 
 puted uncle a gaunt, round-shouldered man, 
 with deep eyes and sallow cheeks and weedy- 
 looking beard, as we curiously watched him 
 from the front window stolidly swinging this 
 little blue-lipped, red-nosed waif over the 
 muddy wagon-wheel to father s arms, like so 
 much country produce. And even as the man 
 resumed his seat upon the thick board laid 
 across the wagon, and sat chewing a straw, 
 with spasmodic noddings of the head, as some 
 brief further conference detained him, I re 
 member mother quickly lifting my sister up 
 from where we stood, folding and holding the 
 little form in unconscious counterpart of father 
 and the little girl without. And how we gath 
 ered round her when father brought her in, 
 and mother fixed a cosy chair for her close to 
 the blazing fire, and untied the little summer 
 hat, with its hectic trimmings, together with 
 the dismal green veil that had been bound 
 beneath it round the little tingling ears. The 
 hollow, pale-blue eyes of the child followed
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 183 
 
 every motion with an alertness that suggested 
 a somewhat suspicious mind. 
 
 "Dave gimme that!" she said, her eyes 
 proudly following the hat as mother laid it on 
 the pillow of the bed. " Mustn t git it mussed 
 up, sir! er you ll have Dave in your wool !" 
 she continued, warningly, as our childish in 
 terest drew us to a nearer view of the gaudy 
 article in question. 
 
 Half awed, we shrank back to our first 
 wonderment, one of us, however, with the 
 bravery to ask: "Who s Dave?" 
 
 "Who s Dave?" reiterated the little voice, 
 half scornfully, " W y Dave s a great big boy I 
 Dave works on Barnses place. And he kin 
 purt nigh make a full hand, too. Dave s purt 
 nigh tall as your pap ! He s purt nigh growed 
 up Dave is ! And David Mason Jef 
 fries " she continued, jauntily teetering her 
 head from left to right, and for the first time 
 introducing that peculiar deliberation of ac 
 cent and undulating utterance that we after 
 ward found to be her quaintest and most 
 charming characteristic And David Ma 
 son Jeffries he likes Mary Alice 
 Smith ! " And then she broke abruptly into 
 the merriest laughter, and clapped her little 
 palms together till they fairly glowed.
 
 184 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 "And who s Mary Alice Smith? " clamored 
 a chorus of merry voices. 
 
 The elfish figure straightened haughtily in 
 the chair. Folding the slender arms tightly 
 across her breast, and, tilting her wan face 
 back with an imperious air, she exclaimed 
 sententiously, " W y, Mary Alice Smith is me 
 that s who Mary Alice Smith is ! " 
 
 It was not long, however, before her usual 
 bright and infectious humor was restored, 
 and we were soon piloting the little stranger 
 here and there about the house, and laughing 
 at the thousand funny things she said and 
 did. The winding stairway in the hall quite 
 dazed her with delight. Up and down she 
 went a hundred times, it seemed. And she 
 would talk and whisper to herself, and often 
 times would stop and nestle down and rest 
 her pleased face close against a step and pat 
 it softly with her slender hand, peering curi 
 ously down at us with half averted eyes. And 
 she counted them and named them, every one, 
 as she went up and down. 
 
 " I m mighty glad I m come to live in this 
 here house," she said. 
 
 We asked her why. 
 
 " O, cause," she said, starting up the stairs 
 again by an entirely novel and original 
 method of her own " cause Uncle Tomps,
 
 WHERE IS MARTT ALICE SMITH ? l8c 
 
 W- 
 
 ner Aunt Lizabeth don t live here ; and when 
 they ever come here to git their dinners, like 
 they will ef you don t watch out, w y then I 
 kin slip out here on these here stairs and play 
 like I was climin up to the Good World 
 where my mother is that s why ! " 
 
 Then we hushed our laughter, and asked 
 her where her home was, and what it was 
 like, and why she didn t like her Uncle 
 Tomps and Aunt Lizabeth, and if she 
 wouldn t want to visit them sometimes. 
 
 "O, yes," she artlessly answered in reply 
 to the concluding query; "I ll want to go 
 back there lots o times ; but not to see them f 
 I ll only go back there to see" and 
 here she was holding up the little flared-out 
 fingers of her left hand, and with the index 
 finger of the right touching their pink tips in 
 ordered notation with the accent of every glee 
 ful word, "I ll only go back there to 
 see David Mason Jeffries cause 
 he s the boy fer me!" And then she 
 clapped her hands again and laughed in that 
 half- hysterical, half- musical way of hsrs till 
 we all joined in and made the echoe? of the 
 old hall ring again. "And then," sh* went 
 on, suddenly throwing out an imperative ges 
 ture of silence ; " and then, after I ve b-een in 
 this here house a long, long time, and y<;u all
 
 1 86 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 git so s you like me awful awful awful well, 
 then some day you ll go in that room there 
 and that room there and in the kitchen and 
 out on the porch and down the cellar and 
 out in the smoke-house and the wood- house 
 and the loft an all around O, ever place 
 and in here and up the stairs and all 
 them rooms up there and you ll look behind 
 all the doors and in all the cubboards and 
 under all the beds and then you ll look sorry- 
 like, and holler out, kindo skeert, and you ll 
 say " Where is Mary Alice Smith? " 
 And then you ll wait and listen and hold your 
 breath ; and then somepin ll holler back, away 
 fer off, and say: "O she has gone 
 home !" And then ever thing ll be all still agin, 
 and you ll be afeard to holler anymore and 
 you dursn t play and you can t laugh, and 
 your throat ll thist hurt and hurt, like you 
 been a-eatin too much calamus root er some- 
 pin ! " And as the little gypsy concluded her 
 weird prophecy with a final flourish of her big, 
 pale eyes, we glanced furtively at each other s 
 awe-struck face, with a superstitious dread of 
 a vague, indefinite disaster most certainly 
 awaiting us around some shadowy corner of 
 the future. Through all this speech she had 
 been slowly and silently groping up the wind 
 ing steps, her voice growing fainter and fainter,
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 187 
 
 and the little pixy-form fading, and wholly 
 vanishing at last around the spiral banister of 
 the upper landing. Then down to us from 
 that alien recess came the voice alone, touched 
 with a tone of wild entreaty and despair: 
 " Where is Mary Alice Smith? " And 
 then a long, breathless pause, in which our 
 wide-eyed group below huddled still closer, 
 pale and mute. Then far off and faint and 
 quavering with a tenderness of pathos that 
 dews the eyes of memory even now came, 
 like a belated echo, the voice all desolate : 
 " O she has efone home ! " 
 
 o 
 
 What a queer girl she was, and what a fas 
 cinating influence she unconsciouslv exerted 
 
 O / 
 
 over us ! We never tired of her presence, but 
 she, deprived of ours by the many household 
 tasks that she herself assumed, so rigidly 
 maintained and deftly executed, seemed al 
 ways just as happy when alone as when in 
 our boisterous, fun-loving company. Such 
 resources had Mary Alice Smith such a 
 wonderfully inventive fancy ! She could talk 
 to herself, a favorite amusement, I might al 
 most say a popular amusement, of hers, since 
 these monologues at times would involve num 
 berless characters, chipping in from manifold 
 quarters of a wholesale discussion, and query 
 ing and exaggerating, agreeing and contro-
 
 i88 
 
 verting, till the dishes she was washing would 
 clash and clang excitedly in the general 
 badinage. Loaded with a pyramid of glisten 
 ing cups and saucers she would improvise a 
 gallant line of march from the kitchen table 
 to the pantry, heading an imaginary proces 
 sion, and whistling a fife-tune that would stir 
 your blood. Then she would trippingly re 
 turn, rippling her rosy fingers up and down 
 the keys of an imaginary portable piano, or 
 stammering fiat-soled across the floor, chuffing 
 and tooting like a locomotive. And she would 
 gravely propound to herself the most intricate 
 riddles ponder thoughtfully and in silence 
 over them hazard the most ridiculous an 
 swers, and laugh derisively at her own affected 
 ignorance. She would guess again and again, 
 and assume the most gleeful surprise upon at 
 last giving the proper answer, and then she 
 would laugh jubilantly, and mockingly scout 
 herself with having given out " a fool-riddle " 
 that she could guess " with both eyes shut." 
 
 "Talk about riddles," she said abruptly to 
 us, one evening after supper, as we lingered 
 watching her clearing away the table ; " talk 
 about riddles, it takes David Mason 
 Jeffries to tell riddles ! Bet you don t 
 know
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH ? 189 
 
 * Kiddle-cum, riddle-cum right! 
 Where was I last Saturday night ? 
 The winds did blow the boughs did shake 
 I saw the hole a fox did make 1 " 
 
 Again we felt that indefinable thrill never 
 separate from the strange utterance, suggest 
 ive always of some dark mystery, and fascin 
 ating and holding the childish fancy in com 
 plete control. 
 
 " Bet you don t know this un neither: 
 
 A holler-hearted father, 
 
 And a hump-back mother- 
 Three black orphants 
 All born together 1 " 
 
 We were dumb. 
 
 " You can t guess nothin ," she said, half 
 pityingly, " W y them s easy as fallin off 
 a chunk ! First uns a man named Fox, and 
 he kilt his wife and chopped her head oft , and 
 they was a man named Wright lived in that 
 neighborhood and he was a goin home 
 and it was Saturday night and he was 
 a-comin through the big woods and they 
 was a storm and Wright he clum a tree 
 to git out the rain, and while he was up 
 there here come along a man with a dead 
 woman and a pickax, and a spade. And he 
 drug the dead woman under the same tree
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 
 
 where Mr. Wright was so ever time it ud 
 lightnin , w y Wright he could look down and 
 see him a-diggin a grave there to bury the 
 woman in. So Wright he kep still till he got 
 her buried all right, you know, and went 
 back home ; and then he clumb down and lit 
 out fer town, and waked up the constabul 
 and he got a supeeny and went out to Fox s 
 place, and had him jerked up fore the gran 
 jury. Then, when Fox was in court and 
 wanted to know where their proof was that he 
 kilt his wife, w y Wright he jumps up and 
 says that riddle to the judge and all the neigh 
 bors that was there. And so when they got 
 it all studied out w y they tuck ole Fox out 
 and hung him under the same tree where he 
 buried Mrs. Fox under. And that s all o 
 that n ; and the other n I promised David 
 Mason Jeffries I wouldn t never tell 
 no livin soul less he gimme leef, 
 er they guessed it out their own 
 se f !" And as she gave this rather ambiguous 
 explanation of the first riddle, with the myste 
 rious comment on the latter in conclusion, 
 she shook her elfin tresses back over her 
 shoulders with a cunning toss of her head and 
 a glimmering twinkle of her pale bright eyes 
 that somehow reminded us of the fairy god 
 mother in Cinderella.
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 191 
 
 And Mary Alice Smith was right, too, in 
 her early prognostications regarding the visits 
 of her Uncle Tomps and Aunt Lizabeth. 
 Many times through the winter they "jest 
 dropped in," as Aunt Lizabeth always ex 
 pressed it, "to see how we was a-gittin on 
 with Mary Alice." And once, " in court 
 week," during a prolonged trial in which 
 Uncle Tomps and Aunt Lizabeth rather 
 prominently figured, they "jest dropped in" 
 upon us and settled down and dwelt with us 
 for the longest five days and nights we child 
 ren had ever in our lives experienced. Nor 
 was our long term of restraint from childish 
 sports relieved wholly by their absence, since 
 Aunt Lizabeth had taken Mary Alice back 
 with them, saying that "A good long visit to 
 her dear ole home pore as it was would do 
 the child good." 
 
 And then it was that we went about the 
 house in moody silence, the question, "Where 
 is Mary Alice Smith?" forever yearn 
 ing at our lips for utterance, and the still be 
 lated echo in the old hall overhead forever 
 answering, " O she has gone home ! " 
 
 It was early spring when she returned. 
 And we were looking for her coming, and 
 knew a week beforehand the very day she 
 would arrive for had not Aunt Lizabeth sent
 
 Ip2 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH ? 
 
 special word by Uncle Tomps, who " had 
 come to town to do his millin , and git the 
 latest war news, not to fail to jest drop in and 
 tell us that they was layin off to send Mary 
 Alice in next Saturday." 
 
 Our little town, like every other village and 
 metropolis throughout the country at that time, 
 was, to the children, at least, a scene of continu 
 ous holiday and carnival. The nation s heart 
 was palpitating with the feverish pulse of war, 
 and already the still half-frozen clods of the 
 common highway were beaten into frosty dust 
 by the tread of marshaled men ; and the shrill 
 shriek of the fife, and the hoarse boom and 
 jar, and the rattling patter of the drums stir 
 red every breast with something of that rap 
 turous insanity of which true patriots and 
 heroes can alone be made. 
 
 But on that day, when Mary Alice Smith 
 was to return, what was all the gallant tumult 
 of the town to us? I remember how we ran 
 far up the street to welcome her for afar off 
 we had recognized her elfish face and eager 
 eyes peering expectantly from behind the 
 broad shoulders of a handsome fellow mounted 
 on a great high-stepping horse that neighed 
 and pranced excitedly as we came skurrying 
 toward them. 
 
 "Whoo-ee!" she cried, in perfect ec-
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 193 
 
 stasy, as we paused in breathless admiration. 
 Clear the track there, old folks 
 young folks ! for Mary Alice Smith 
 and David Mason Jeffries is come to 
 town!" 
 
 O what a day that was ! And how vain in 
 deed would be the attempt to detail here a 
 tithe of its glory, or our happiness in having 
 back with us our dear little girl, and her hys 
 terical delight in seeing us so warmly welcome 
 to the full love of our childish hearts the great, 
 strong, round-faced, simple-natured "David 
 Mason Jeffries!" Long and long ago we 
 had learned to love him as we loved the peas 
 ant hero of some fairy tale of Christian An 
 dersen s ; but now that he was with us in most 
 wholesome and robust fealty, our very souls 
 seemed scampering from our bodies to run to 
 him and be caught up and tossed and swung 
 and dandled in his gentle, giant arms. 
 
 All that long delicious morning we were 
 with him. In his tender charge we were per 
 mitted to go down among the tumult and the 
 music of the streets, his round, good-humored 
 face and big, blue eyes lit with a luster like 
 our own. And happy little Mary Alice Smith 
 how proud she was of him ! And how 
 closely and how tenderly, through all that 
 13
 
 194 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH ? 
 
 golden morning, did the strong brown hand 
 clasp hers? A hundred times at least, as we 
 promenaded thus, she swung her head back 
 jauntily to whisper to us in that old mysteri 
 ous way of hers that " David Mason Jeff 
 ries and Mary Alice Smith knew 
 something that we couldn t guess ! " 
 But when he had returned us home, and after 
 dinner had started down the street alone, with 
 little Mary Alice clapping her hands after him 
 above the gate and laughing in a strange new 
 voice, and with the backs of her little flutter 
 ing hands vainly striving to blot out the big 
 tear-drops that gathered in her eyes, we 
 vaguely guessed the secret she and David 
 kept. That night at supper time we knew it 
 fully. He had enlisted. 
 
 Among the list of " killed " at Rich Moun 
 tain, occurred the name of "Jeffries, David 
 M." We kept it from her while we could. At 
 last she knew. 
 
 " It don t seem like no year ago to me! " 
 Over and over she had said these words. The 
 face was very pale and thin, and the eyes, so 
 bright so bright ! The kindly hand that 
 smoothed away the little sufferer s hair
 
 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH? 195 
 
 -Temblod and dropped tenderly again upon 
 :he folded ones beneath the snowy spread. 
 
 " Git me out the picture again ! " 
 
 The trembling hand lifted once more and 
 searched beneath the pillow. 
 
 She drew the thin hands up, and, smiling, 
 pressed the pictured face against her lips, 
 "David Mason Jeffries," she said "le s 
 me and you go play out on the 
 stairs ! " 
 
 And ever in the empty home a voice goes 
 moaning on and on, and, "Where is Mary 
 Alice Smith?" it cries, and " Where is 
 Mary Alice Smith?" and the still, belated 
 echo, through the high depths of the old hall 
 overhead, answers quaveringly back, " O, 
 she has gone home ! " But her voice it 
 is silent evermore ! 
 
 O "Where is Mary Alice Smith?" She 
 taught us how to call her thus and DOW she 
 will not answer us ! Have we no voice to 
 reach her with? How sweet and pure and 
 glad they were, in those old days, as we re 
 call the accents ringing through the hall 
 the same we vainly cry to her. Her fancies 
 were so quaint her ways so full of prankish 
 mysteries ! We laughed then ; now, upon 
 our knees, we wring our lifted hands and 
 gaze, through streaming tears, high up the
 
 196 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH ? 
 
 stair she used to climb in childish glee, to 
 call and answer eerily. And now, no answer 
 anywhere ! 
 
 How deft the little finger-tips in every task ! 
 The hands, how smooth and delicate to lull 
 and soothe ! And the strange music of her 
 lips ! The very crudeness of their speech 
 made chaster yet the childish thought her 
 guileless utterance had caught from spirit- 
 depths beyond our reach. And so her homely 
 name grew fair and sweet and beautiful to 
 hear, blent with the echoes pealing clear and 
 vibrant up the winding stair, "Where 
 where is Mary Alice Smith?" She taught us 
 how to call her thus but O she will not an 
 swer us 1 We have no voice to reach her 
 with.
 
 ECCENTRIC Ma CLARK.
 
 THE SAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Strange dreams of what I used to be 
 
 And what I dreamed I would be, swim 
 
 Before my vision, faint and dim 
 
 As misty distances we see 
 
 In pictured scenes of fairy-lands; 
 
 And ever on, with empty hands, 
 
 And eyes that ever lie to me, 
 
 And smiles that no one understands, 
 
 I grope adown my destiny. 
 
 II. 
 
 Some say I waver when I walk 
 Along the crowded thoroughfares, 
 And some leer in my eyes, and talk 
 Of dullness, when I see in theirs 
 Like fishes eyes, alive or cfcacZ 
 But surfaces of vacancy 
 Blank disks that never seem to see, 
 But glint and glow and glare instead. 
 
 III. 
 
 The ragged shawl I wear is icct 
 With driving, dripping rains, and yet 
 It seems a royal raiment, where, 
 Through twisted torrents of my hair, 
 (198)
 
 THE BAN. 
 
 / see rare gems that gleam and shine 
 
 Like jewels in a stream of wine; 
 
 The gaping shoes that clothe my feet 
 
 Are golden sandals, and the shrine 
 
 Where courtiers grovel and repeat 
 
 Vain prayers, and where in joy thereat, 
 
 A fair Prince doffs his plumed hat, 
 
 And kneels, and names me all things sweet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sometimes the sun shines, and the lull 
 Of winter noon is like a tune 
 The stars might twinkle to the moon 
 If night were white and beautiful 
 For when the clangor of the town, 
 And strife of traffic softens down, 
 TJie wakeful hunger that I nurse, 
 In listening, forgets to curse, 
 Until Ah, joy! with drooping head 
 1 drowse, and dream that I am dead 
 And buried safe beyond their eyes 
 Who either pity or despise.
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 ALL who knew Mr. Clark intimately, cas 
 ually, or by sight alone, smiled always, 
 meeting him, and thought, "What an odd 
 man he is ! " Not that there was anything 
 extremely or ridiculously obtrusive in Mr. 
 Clark s peculiarities, either of feature, dress, 
 or deportment, by which a graded estimate of 
 his really quaint character might be aptly de 
 fined ; but rather, perhaps, it was the curious 
 combination of all these things that had gained 
 for Mr. Clark the transient celebrity of being a 
 very eccentric man. 
 
 And Mr. Clark, of all the odd inhabitants 
 of the busy metropolis in which he lived, 
 seemed least conscious of the fact of his local 
 prominence. True it was, that when famil 
 iarly addressed as " Clark, old boy," by sport 
 ive individuals he never recollected having 
 seen before, he would oftentimes, stare blankly 
 in return, and with evident embarrassment ; 
 but as these actions may have been attributable 
 to weak eyes, or to the confusion consequent 
 (201)
 
 2O2 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 upon being publicly recognized by the quon 
 dam associates of bacchanalian hours, the 
 suggestive facts only served to throw his ec 
 centricities in new relief. 
 
 And, in the minds of many, that Mr. Clark 
 was somewhat given to dissipation, there was 
 but little doubt for, although in no way, and at 
 no time, derelict in the rigid duties imposed 
 upon him as an accountant in a wholesale liquor 
 house on South John street, a grand majority 
 of friends had long ago conceded that a cer 
 tain puffiness of flesh, and a soiled-like pallor 
 of complexion, were in no wise the legitimate 
 result of over-application simply in the count 
 ing-room of the establishment in which he 
 found employment ; but as to the complicity 
 of Mr. Clark s direct associates in this belief, 
 it is only justice to the gentleman to state that 
 by them he was exonerated beyond all such 
 suspicion, from the gray-haired senior of the 
 firm down to the pink-nosed porter of the 
 ware-rooms, who, upon every available occa 
 sion, would point out the eccentric Mr. Clark 
 as " the on y man in the biznez at never sunk 
 a thief, er drunk a drop o goods o any kind, 
 under no consideration ! " 
 
 And Mr. Clark himself, when playfully ap 
 proached upon the subject, would quietly as 
 sert that never, under any circumstances, had
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 2O3 
 
 the taste of intoxicating liquors passed his lips, 
 though at such times it was a singularly no 
 ticeable fact that Mr. Clark s complexion in 
 variably grew more sultry than its wont, and 
 that his eyes, forever moist, grew dewier, and 
 that his lips and tongue would seem covertly 
 entering upon some lush conspiracy, which in 
 its incipiency he would be forced to smother 
 with his hastily-drawn handkerchief. Then 
 the eccentric Mr. Clark would laugh nerv 
 ously, and, pouncing on some subject so viv 
 idly unlike the one just previous as to daze 
 the listener, he would ripple ahead with a tide 
 of eloquence that positively overflowed and 
 washed away all remembrance of the opening 
 topic. 
 
 In point of age Mr. Clark might have been 
 thirty, thirty-five, or even forty years, were one 
 to venture an opinion solely guided by out 
 ward appearances and under certain circum 
 stances and surroundings. As, for example, 
 when, a dozen years ago, the writer of this 
 sketch rode twenty miles in a freight caboose, 
 with Mr. Clark as the only other passenger, 
 he seemed in age at first not less than thirty- 
 five ; but upon opening a conversation with 
 him, in which he joined with wonderful vi 
 vacity, a nearer view, and a prolonged and 
 studious one as well, revealed the rather cu-
 
 2O4 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 rious fact that, at the very limit of all allowa 
 ble supposition, his age could not possibly 
 have exceeded twenty-five. What it was in 
 the man that struck me as eccentric at that 
 time I have never been wholly able to define, 
 but I recall accurately the most trivial occur 
 rences of our meeting, and the very subject- 
 matter of our conversation. I even remem 
 ber the very words in which he declined a 
 drink from my traveling flask for "It s a 
 raw day," I said, by way of gratuitous excuse 
 for offering it. "Yes," he said, smilingly 
 motioning the temptation aside ; " it is a raw 
 day ; but you re rather young in years to be 
 doctoring the weather at least you d better 
 change the treatment they ll all be ra\v days 
 for you after awhile ! " I confess that I even 
 felt an inward pity for the man as I laugh 
 ingly drained his health and returned the 
 flask to my valise. But when I asked him, 
 ten minutes later, the nature of the business 
 in which he was engaged, and he handed me, 
 in response and without comment, the card 
 of a wholesale liquor house, with his own 
 name in crimson letters struck diagonally 
 across the surface, I winked naively to myself 
 and thought "Ah-ha ! " And, as if reading 
 niy very musings, he said : " Why, certainly, 
 I carry a full line of samples ; but, my dear
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 2C>5 
 
 young friend, don t imagine for a minute that 
 I refuse your brand on that account. You 
 can rest assured that I have nothing better in 
 my cases. Whisky is whisky wherever it is 
 found, and there is no best whisky not in 
 all the world ! " 
 
 Truly, I thought, this is an odd source for 
 the emanation of temperance sentiments 
 then said aloud: "And yet you engage in a 
 business you dislike ! Traffic in an article that 
 you yourself condemn ! Do I understand 
 you?" 
 
 " Might there not be such a thing," he said 
 quietly, "as inheriting a business the same 
 as inheriting an appetite? However, one ad 
 vances by gradations. I shall sell no more. 
 This is my last trip on the road in that capac 
 ity. I am coming in now to take charge of 
 the firm s books. Would be glad to have you 
 call on me any time you re in the city. Good 
 bye." And, as he swung off the slowly-mov 
 ing train, now entering the city, and I stood 
 watching him from the open door of the ca 
 boose as he rapidly walked down a suburban 
 street, I was positive his gait was anything 
 but steady that the step the figure the 
 whole air of the man was that of one then la 
 boring under the effects of partial intoxica 
 tion.
 
 2O6 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 I have always liked peculiar people ; no 
 matter where I met them, no matter who they 
 were, if once impressed with an eccentricity 
 of character which I have reason to believe 
 purely unaffected, I never quite forget the 
 person, name or place of our first meeting, or 
 where the interesting party may be found 
 again. And so it was in the customary order 
 of things that, during hasty visits to the city, 
 I often called on the eccentric Mr. Clark, and, 
 as he had promised upon our first acquaint 
 ance, he seemed always glad to see and wel 
 come me in his new office. The more I knew 
 of him the more I liked him, but I think I 
 never fully understood him. No one seemed 
 to know him quite so well as that. 
 
 Once I had a little private talk regarding 
 him with the senior of the firm for which he 
 worked. Mr. Clark, just prior to my call, 
 had gone to lunch would be back in half an 
 hour. Would I wait there in the office until 
 his return? Certainly. And the chatty senior 
 entertained me : Queer fellow Mr. Clark I 
 as his father was before him. Used to be a 
 member of the firm his father was ; in fact, 
 founded the business made a fortune at it 
 failed, for an unfortunate reason, and went up 
 the flume. Paid every dollar that he owed, 
 however, sacrificing the very home that shel-
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 2O/ 
 
 tered his wife and children but never rallied. 
 He had quite a family then? Oh, yes; had 
 a family not a large one, but a bright one 
 only they all seemed more or less unfortunate. 
 The father was unfortunate very, and died 
 so, leaving his wife and two boys the older 
 son much like the father splendid business 
 capacities, but lacked will couldn t resist some 
 things even weaker than the father in that 
 regard, and died at half his age. But the 
 younger brother our Mr. Clark remained, 
 and he was sterling " straight goods " in all 
 respects. Lived with his mother was her 
 sole support. A proud woman, Mrs. Clark 
 a proud woman, with a broken spirit with 
 drawn entirely from the world, and had been 
 for years and years. The Clarks, as had 
 been mentioned, were all peculiar even the 
 younger Mr. Clark, our friend, I had doubt 
 less noticed was an odd genius, but he had 
 stamina something solid about him, for all 
 his eccentricities, could be relied upon. Had 
 been with the house there since a boy of 
 twelve took him for the father s sake ; had 
 never missed a day s time in any line of work 
 that ever had been given in his charge was 
 weakly-looking, too. Had worked his way 
 from the cellar up from the least pay to 
 the highest had saved enough to buy and
 
 2O8 ECCENTRIC MK.. CLARK. 
 
 pay for a comfortable house for his mother 
 and himself, and had always maintained the 
 expense of a maid-servant for the mother. 
 Yet, with all this burden on his shoulders, the 
 boy had worried through some way, with a 
 jolly smile and a good word for every one. 
 "A boy, sir," the enthusiastic senior con 
 cluded, "A boy, sir, that never was a boy, 
 and never had a taste of genuine boyhood in 
 his life no more than he ever took a taste of 
 whisky, and you couldn t get that in him 
 with a funnel ! " 
 
 At this juncture Mr. Clark himself appeared , 
 and in a particularly happy frame of mind. 
 For an hour the delighted senior and myself 
 sat laughing at the fellow s quaint conceits 
 and witty sayings, the conversation at last 
 breaking up with an abrupt proposition from 
 Mr. Clark that I remain in the city over night 
 and accompany him to the theater, an invita 
 tion I rather eagerly accepted. Mr. Clark, 
 thanking me, and pivoting himself around on 
 his high stool, with a mechanical " Good af 
 ternoon ! " was at once submerged in his 
 books, while the senior, following me out and 
 stepping into a carriage that stood waiting for 
 him at the curb, waived me adieu, and was 
 driven away. I turned my steps up street, but 
 remembering that my friend had fixed no
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 2OQ 
 
 place to meet me in the evening, I stepped 
 back into the store-room and again pushed 
 open the glass-door of the office. 
 
 Mr. Clark still sat on the high stool at his 
 desk, his back toward the door, and his ledger 
 spread out before him. 
 
 "Mr. Clark!" I called. 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 " Mr. Clark ! " I called again in an ele 
 vated key. 
 
 He did not stir. 
 
 I paused a moment, then went over to him, 
 letting my hand drop lightly on his arm. 
 
 Still no response. I only felt the shoulder 
 heave, as with a long-drawn quavering sigh, 
 then heard the regular though labored breath 
 ing of a weary man that slept. 
 
 I had not the heart to waken him ; but, lift 
 ing the still moistened pen from his uncon 
 scious fingers, I wrote where I might be found 
 at eight that evening, folded and addressed the 
 note, and, laying it on the open page before 
 him, turned quietly away. 
 
 "Poor man!* I mused compassionately, 
 with a touch of youthful sentiment affecting 
 me. "Poor man! Working himself into his 
 very grave, and with never a sign or murmur 
 of complaint worn and weighed down with 
 
 H
 
 2IO ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 the burden of his work, and yet with a noble 
 ness of spirit and resolve that still conceals 
 behind glad smiles and laughing words the 
 cares that lie so heavily upon him ! " 
 
 The long afternoon went by at last, and even 
 ing came ; and, as promptly as my note re 
 quested, the jovial Mr. Clark appeared, laugh 
 ing heartily, as we walked off down the street, 
 at my explanation of the reason I had written 
 my desires instead of verbally addressing 
 him ; and laughing still louder when I told 
 him of my fears that he was overworking 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, no, my friend," he answered gayly ; 
 "there s no occasion for anxiety on that ac 
 count. But the fact is, old man," he went on, 
 half-apologetically, "the fact is, I haVen t 
 been so overworked, of late, as over wakeful. 
 There s something in the night, I think, that 
 does it. Do you know that the night is a 
 great mystery to me a great mystery ! And 
 it seems to be growing on me all the time. 
 There s the trouble. The night to me is like 
 some vast, incomprehensible being. When I 
 write the name night I instinctively write it 
 with a capital. And I like my nights deep, 
 and darjc and swarthy, don t you know. Now 
 some like clear and starry nights, but they re 
 too pale for me too weak and fragile alto-
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 211 
 
 .gether ! They re popular with the masses, 
 of course, these blue-eyed, golden-haired, 
 * moonlight-on-the-lake nights ; but, some 
 way, I don t stand in with them. My fa 
 vorite night is the pronounced brunette the 
 darker the better. To-night is one of my 
 kind, and she s growing more and more like 
 it all the time. If it were not for depriving 
 you of the theater, I d rather just drift off now 
 in the deepening gloom till swallowed up in 
 it lost utterly. Come with me, anyhow!" 
 
 " Gladly," I answered, catching something 
 of his own enthusiasm ; "I myself prefer it to 
 the play." 
 
 " I heartily congratulate you on your taste," 
 he said, diving violently for my hand and 
 wringing it. "Oh, it s going to be grimly 
 glorious ! a depth of darkness one can wade 
 out into, and kneed it in his hands like dough !" 
 And he laughed, himself, at this grotesque 
 conceit. 
 
 And so we walked for hours. Our talk 
 or, rather, my friend s talk lulled and soothed 
 at last into a calmer flow, almost solemn in its 
 tone, and yet fretted with an occasional wild- 
 ness of utterance and expression. 
 
 Half consciously I had been led by my com 
 panion, who for an hour had been drawing 
 closer to me as we walked. His arm, thrust
 
 212 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 through my own, clung almost affectionately 
 We were now in some strange suburb of the 
 city, evidently, too, in a low quarter, for from 
 the windows of such business rooms and shops 
 as bore any evidence of respectability the 
 lights had been turned out and the doors 
 locked for the night. Only a gruesome green 
 light was blazing in a little drug store just op 
 posite, while at our left, as we turned the cor 
 ner, a tumble-down saloon sent out upon the 
 night a mingled sound of clicking billiard- 
 balls, discordant voices the harsher raspings 
 of a violin, together with the sullen plunkings 
 of a banjo. 
 
 " I must leave you here for a minute," said 
 my friend, abruptly breaking a long silence, 
 and loosening my arm. " The druggist over 
 there is a patron of our house, and I am re 
 minded of a little business I have with him. 
 He is about closing, too, and I ll see him now, 
 as I may not be down this way again soon. 
 No ; you wait here for me right here," and 
 he playfully but firmly pushed me back, ran 
 across the street and entered the store. 
 Through the open door I saw him shake hands 
 with the man that stood behind the counter, 
 and stand talking in the same position for 
 some minutes both still clasping hands, as it 
 seemed ; but as I mechanically bent with
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 213 
 
 closer scrutiny, the druggist seemed to be ex 
 amining the hand of Mr. Clark and working 
 at it, as though picking at a splinter in the 
 palm I could not quite determine what was 
 being done, for a glass showcase blurred an 
 otherwise clear view of the arms of both from 
 the elbows down. Then they came forward, 
 Mr. Clark arranging his cuffs, and the drug 
 gist wrapping up some minute article he took 
 from an upper showcase, and handing it to 
 my friend, who placed it in the pocket of his 
 vest and turned away. At this moment my 
 attention was withdrawn by an extra tumult 
 of jeers and harsh laughter in the saloon, from 
 the door of which, even as my friend turned 
 from the door opposite, a drunken woman 
 reeled, and, staggering round the corner as my 
 friend came up, fell violently forward on the 
 pavement, not ten steps in our advance. In 
 stinctively, we both sprang to her aid, and, 
 bending over the senseless figure, peered cu 
 riously in the bruised and bleeding features. 
 My friend was trembling with excitement. He 
 clutched wildly at the limp form, trying, but 
 vainly, to lift the woman to her feet. " Why 
 don t you take hold of her?" he whispered 
 hoarsely. " Help me with her quick ! quick I 
 Lift her up!" I obeyed without a word,
 
 214 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 though with a shudder of aversion as a drop 
 of hot blood stung me on the hand. 
 
 " Now draw her arm about your shoulder 
 this way and hold it so ! And now your 
 other arm around her waist quick, man,, 
 quick, as you yourself will want God s arm 
 about you when you fail ! Now, come !" And 
 with no other word we hurried with our bur 
 den up the empty darkness of the street. 
 
 I was utterly bewildered with it all, but 
 something kept me silent. And so we hurried 
 on, and on, and on, our course directed by my 
 now wholly reticent companion. Where he 
 was going what his purpose was, I could but 
 vaguely surmise. I only recognized that his- 
 intentions were humane, which fact was em 
 phasized by the extreme caution he took to- 
 avoid the two or three late pedestrians that 
 passed us on our way as we stood crowded in 
 concealment once behind a low shed once 
 in an entry way, and once, at the distant rat 
 tle of a police whistle, we hurried through the 
 blackness of a narrow alley into the silent 
 street beyond. And on up this we passed, 
 until at last we paused at the gateway of a 
 cottage on our left. On to the door of that 
 we went, my friend first violently jerking the 
 bell, then opening the door with a night-key, 
 and with me lifting the still senseless woman
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 215 
 
 through the ball into a dimly-lighted room 
 
 O w O 
 
 upon the right, and laying her upon a clean, 
 white bed that glimmered in the corner. He 
 reached and turned the gas on in a flaring jet, 
 and as he did so, "This is my home," he 
 whispered, " and this woman is my mother !" 
 He flung himself upon his knees beside her, 
 as he spoke. He laid his quivering lips 
 against the white hair and the ruddy wound 
 upon the brow ; then dappled with his kisses 
 the pale face, and stroked, and petted, and 
 caressed the faded hands. " O, God!" he 
 moaned, " if I might only weep ! " 
 
 The steps of some one coming down the 
 stair aroused him. He stepped quickly to the 
 door, and threw it open. It was the woman 
 servant. He simply pointed to the form upon 
 the bed. 
 
 "Oh, sir!" exclaimed the frightened wo 
 man, " what has happened? What has hap 
 pened to my poor, dear mistress? " 
 
 " Why did you let her leave the house?" 
 
 " She sent me away, sir. I never dreamed 
 that she was going out again. She told me 
 she was very sleepy and wanted to retire, and 
 I helped her to undress before I went. But 
 she ain t bad hurt, is she?" she continued, 
 stooping over the still figure and tenderly 
 smoothing back the disheveled hair. " It s
 
 2l6 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 only the cheek bruised and the forehead cut 
 a little it s the blood that makes it look like 
 a bad hurt. See, when I bathe it, it is not 
 a bad hurt, sir. She s just been she s just 
 worn out, poor thing and she s asleep that s 
 all." 
 
 He made no answer to the woman s speech, 
 but turned toward me. " Five doors from 
 here," he said, " and to your left, as you go 
 out, you will find the residence of Dr. Wor- 
 rel. Go to him for me, and tell him he is 
 wanted here at once. Tell him my mother is 
 much worse. He will understand. I would 
 go myself, but must see about arranging for 
 your comfort upon your return, for you will 
 not leave me till broad daylirrht you must 
 not!" I bowed in silent acceptance of his 
 wishes, and turned upon my errand. 
 
 Fortunately, the Doctor was at home, and 
 returned at once with me to my friend, where, 
 after a careful examination of his patient, he 
 assured the anxious son that the wounds were 
 only slight, and that her unconscious condi 
 tion was simply "the result of over-stimula 
 tion, perhaps," as he delicately put it. She 
 would doubtless waken in her usual rational 
 state an occurrence really more to be feared 
 than desired, since her peculiar sensitiveness 
 might feel too keenly the unfortunate happen-
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 ing. "Anyway," he continued, "I will call 
 early in the morning, and, in the event of her 
 awakening before that time, I will leave a 
 sedative with Mary, with directions she will 
 attend. She will remain here at her side. 
 And as to yourself, Mr. Clark," the Doctor 
 went on, in an anxious tone, as he marked 
 the haggard face and hollow eyes, "I insist 
 that you retire. You must rest, sir worry 
 ing for the past week as you have been doing 
 is telling on you painfully. You need rest 
 and you must take it." 
 
 "And I will," said Mr. Clark, submissively. 
 Stooping again, he clasped the sleeping face 
 between his hands and kissed it tenderly. 
 " Good night ! " I heard him whisper " Good 
 night good night!" He turned, and, mo 
 tioning for me to follow, opened the door 
 " Doctor, good night! Good night, Mary!" 
 
 He led the way to his own room up-stairs. 
 "And now, my friend," he said, as he waved 
 me to an easy chair, " I have but two other fa 
 vors to ask of you : The first is, that you talk 
 to me, or read to me, or tell me fairy tales, or 
 riddles anything, so that you keep it up in 
 cessantly, and never leave off till you find me 
 fast asleep. Then, in the next room you will 
 find a comfortable bed. Leave me sleeping 
 here and you sleep there. And the second
 
 2l8 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 favor," he continued, with a slow smile and 
 an affected air of great deliberation " Oh, 
 well, I ll not ask the second favor of you now. 
 I ll keep it for you till to-morrow." And as 
 he turned laughingly away and paced three 
 or four times across the room, in his step, his 
 gait, the general carriage of the figure, I was 
 curiously reminded of the time, long years 
 before, that I had watched him from the dooi 
 of the caboose, as he walked up the su 
 burban street till the movement of the train 
 had hidden him from view. 
 
 "Well, what will you do?" he asked, as he 
 wheeled a cozy-cushioned lounge close beside 
 my chair, and, removing his coat, flung him 
 self languidly down. "Will you talk or read 
 to me? " 
 
 " I will read," I said, as I picked up a book 
 to begin my vigil. 
 
 " Hold just a minute then," he said, draw 
 ing a card and pencil from his vest. " I may 
 
 want to jot down a note or two . Now, go 
 
 ahead." 
 
 I had been reading in a low voice steadily 
 for perhaps an hour, my companion never 
 stirring from his first position, but although 
 my eyes were never lifted from the book, I 
 knew by the occasional sound of his pencil that 
 he had not yet dropped asleep. And so, without
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 219 
 
 a pause, I read monotonously on. At last he 
 turned heavily. I paused. With his eyes 
 closed he groped his hand across my knees 
 and grasped my own. " Go on with the read 
 ing," he said drowsily " Guess I m going to 
 sleep now but you go right on with the story 
 
 . Good night ! " His hand fumbled 
 
 lingeringly a moment, then was withdrawn 
 and folded with the other on his breast. 
 
 I read on in a lower tone an hour longer, 
 then paused again to look at my companion. 
 He was sleeping heavily, and although the 
 features in their repose appeared unusually- 
 pale, a wholesome perspiration, as it seemed,, 
 pervaded all the face, while the breathing 
 though labored was regular. I bent above 
 him to lower the pillow for his head, and the 
 movement half aroused him, as I thought at 
 first, for he muttered something as though im 
 patiently, but listening to catch his mutter- 
 ings, I knew that he was dreaming. " It s 
 what killed father," I heard him say. "And 
 it s what killed Tom," he went on in a smoth 
 ered voice; "killed both killed both! It 
 shan t kill me ; I swore it. I could bottle 
 it case after case and never touch a 
 drop. If you never take the first drink, you ll 
 never want it. Mother taught me that. What 
 made her ever take the first? Mother! Moth-
 
 22O ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 er ! When I get to be a man, I ll buy her all 
 the fine things she used to have when father 
 was alive. Maybe I can buy back the old 
 home, with the roses up the walk and the sun 
 shine slanting in the hall." And so the 
 sleeper murmured on. Sometimes the voict 
 was thick and discordant, sometimes low anc 
 clear and tuneful as a child s. " Never toucl: 
 whisky !" he went on almost harshly. " Nevei 
 never ! never ! Drop in the street first. I did. 
 The doctor will come then, and he knows 
 what you want. Not whisky. Medicine ; the 
 kind that makes you warm again makes you 
 want to live ; but don t ever dare touch whisky. 
 Let other people drink it if they want it. Sell 
 it to them ; they ll get it anyhow ; but don t 
 you touch it ! It killed your father, it killed 
 Torn^ and oh ! Mother ! Mother ! Mother !" 
 Tears actually teemed from underneath the 
 sleeper s lids, and glittered down the pallid 
 and distorted features. "There s a medicine 
 that s good for you when you want whisky," 
 he went on. " When you are weak, and 
 everybody else is strong and always when 
 the flag-stones give way beneath your feet, 
 and the long street undulates and wavers as 
 you walk ; why, that s a sign for you to take 
 that medicine and take it quick ! Oh, it 
 will warm you till the little pale blue streaks
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 221 
 
 in your white hands will bulge out again with 
 tingling blood, and it will start up from its 
 stagnant pools and leap from vein to vein till 
 it reaches your being s furthest height and 
 droops and falls and folds down over icy 
 brow and face like a soft veil moistened with 
 pure warmth. Ah ! it is so deliriously sweet 
 and restful!" 
 
 I heard a moaning in the room below, and 
 then steps on the stairs, and a tapping at the 
 door. It was Mary. Mrs. Clark had awakened 
 and was crying for her son. "But we must 
 not waken him." I said. " Give Mrs. Clark 
 the medicine the doctor left for her that will 
 quiet her." 
 
 " But she won t take it, sir. She won t do 
 anything at all for me and if Mr. Clark 
 could only come to her, for just a minute, she 
 would " 
 
 The woman s speech was broken by a 
 shrill cry in the hall, and then the thud of 
 naked feet on the stairway. " I want my boy 
 my boy ! " wailed the hysterical woman 
 from without. 
 
 "Go to your mistress quick," I said, 
 sternly, pushing the woman from the room. 
 " Take her back ; I will come down to your 
 assistance in a moment." Then I turned 
 hastily to see if the sleeper had been disturbed
 
 222 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 by the woman s cries, but all was peaceful 
 with him yet, and so, throwing a coverlet 
 over him, I drew the door to silently and went 
 below. 
 
 I found the wretched mother in an almost 
 frenzied state, and jjatherincf in a violence that 
 
 * o o 
 
 alarmed me to that extent I thought it best to 
 again summon the physician ; and bidding 
 the servant not to leave her for an instant, I 
 hurried for the help so badly needed. This 
 time the doctor was long delayed, although 
 he joined me with all possible haste, and with 
 all speed accompanied me back to the un 
 happy home. Entering the door our ears 
 were greeted with a shriek that came piercing 
 down the hall till the very echoes shuddered 
 as with fear. It was the patient s voice shrill 
 ing from the sleeper s room upstairs. " O, 
 God ! My boy ! My boy ! I want my boy, 
 and he will not waken for me ! " An instant 
 later we were both upon the scene. 
 
 The woman in her frenzy had broken from 
 the servant to find her son, and she had found 
 him. 
 
 She had wound her arms about him, and 
 had dragged his still sleeping form upon the 
 floor. He would not waken, even though she 
 gripped him to her heart and shrieked her 
 very soul out in his ears. He would not wak-
 
 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 en. The face, though whiter than her own, 
 betokened only utter rest and peace. We 
 drew her, limp and voiceless, from his side. 
 "We are too late," the doctor whispered, lift 
 ing with his finger one of the closed lids, and 
 letting it drop to again "See here!" He 
 had been feeling at the wrist ; and, as he 
 spoke, he slipped the sleeve up, baring the 
 sleeper s arm. From wrist to elbow it was 
 livid purple, and pitted and scarred with 
 minute wounds some scarcely sealed with 
 clotted blood. 
 
 In heaven s name, what does it all mean ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Morphine," said the doctor, "and the hy 
 podermic. And here," he explained, lifting 
 the other hand, "here is a folded card with 
 your name at the top." 
 
 I snatched it from him, and I read, written 
 in faint but rounded characters : 
 
 " I like to hear your voice. It sounds kind. 
 It is like a far-off tune. To drop asleep, 
 though, as I am doing now, is sweeter music 
 
 but read on . I have taken something to 
 
 make me sleep, and by mistake I have taken 
 too much ; but you will read right on. Now, 
 mind you, this is not suicide, as God listens to 
 the whisper of this pencil as I write ! I did 
 it by mistake. For years and years I have
 
 224 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK. 
 
 taken the same thing. This time I took too 
 much much more than I meant to but I am 
 glad. This is the second favor I would ask: 
 Go to my employers to-morrow, show them 
 this handwriting, and say I know for my sake 
 they will take charge of my affairs and admin 
 ister all my estate in the best way suited to my 
 mother s needs. Good-bye, my friend I can 
 only say good night to you when I shall 
 take your hand an instant later and turn away 
 forever." 
 
 Through tears I read it all, and ending with 
 his name in full, I turned and looked down on 
 the face of this man that I had learned to love, 
 and the full measure of his needed rest was 
 with him ; and the rainy day that glowered 
 and drabbled at the eastern windows of the 
 room was as drearily stared back at by a hope 
 less woman s dull, demented eyes.
 
 THE BOY FROM ZEENY;
 
 THE BROOK.] 
 
 Little brook! Little brook! 
 You have such a happy look 
 
 Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and curve and crook 
 And your ripples, one and one, 
 Reach each other s hands and run 
 
 Like laughing little children in the sun! 
 
 Little brook, sing to me: 
 Sing about a bumblebee 
 
 That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled mumblingly, 
 Because he wet the film 
 Of his wings, and had to swim, 
 
 While the water-bugs raced round and laughed at him/ 
 
 Little brook sing a song 
 Of a leaf that failed along 
 
 Down the golden-braided center of your current swift and strong. 
 And a dragonfly that lit 
 On the lilting rim of it, 
 
 And rode away and wasn t scared a bit. 
 
 And sing how oft in glee 
 Came a truant boy like me, 
 
 Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, 
 Till the gurgle and refrain 
 Of your music in his brain 
 
 Wrought a happiness as keen to him as pain. 
 
 Little brook laugh and leap ! 
 Do not let the dreamer weep: 
 
 Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in softest sleep f 
 And then sing soft and low 
 Through his dreams of long ago 
 Sing back to him the rest he used to know ! 
 (226)
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 HIS advent in our little country town was 
 at once abrupt and novel. Why he 
 came, when he came, or how he came, we 
 boys never knew. My first remembrance of 
 him is of his sudden appearance in the midst 
 of a game of "Antn y-over," in which a dozen 
 boys beside myself were most enthusiastically 
 engaged. The scene of the exciting contest 
 was the center of the main street of the town, 
 the elevation over which we tossed the ball 
 being the skeleton remains of a grand trium 
 phal arch, left as a sort of cadaverous reminder 
 of some recent political demonstration. Al 
 though I recall the boy s external appearance 
 upon that occasion with some vagueness, I 
 vividly remember that his trousers were much 
 too large and long, and that his heavy, flap 
 ping coat was buttonless, and very badly worn 
 and damaged at the sleeves and elbows I re 
 member, too, with even more distinctness, the 
 hat he wore. It was a high, silk, bell-crowned 
 hat a man s hat and a veritable "plug" 
 (227)
 
 228 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 not a new and shiny " plug," by any means r 
 but still of dignity and gloss enough to furnish 
 a noticeable contrast to the other appertain- 
 ments of its wearer s wardrobe. In fact, it 
 was through this latter article of dress that 
 the general attention of the crowd came at 
 last to be particularly drawn to its unfortunate 
 possessor, who, evidently directed by an old- 
 time instinct, had mechanically thrust the in 
 verted castor under a falling ball, and the ball,, 
 being made of yarn wrapped tightly over a 
 green walnut, and dropping from an uncom 
 mon height, had gone through the hat like a 
 round shot. 
 
 Naturally enough much merriment was oc 
 casioned by the singular mishap, and the 
 victim of the odd occurrence seemed himself 
 inclined to join in the boisterous laughter, and 
 make the most of his ridiculous misfortune. 
 He pulled the hat back over his tousled head, 
 and with the flapping crown of it still cling 
 ing by one frayed hinge, he capered into a 
 grotesquely-executed jig that made the clam 
 orous crowd about him howl again. 
 
 "Wo ! what a hat I" cried Billy Kinzey, de 
 risively, and with a palpably rancorous twinge 
 of envy in his heart for Billy was the bad 
 boy of our town, and would doubtless have 
 enjoyed the strange boy s sudden notoriety in
 
 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 thus being able to convert disaster into posi 
 tive fun. "Wo! what a hat!" reiterated 
 Billy, making a feint to knock it from the 
 fooy s head as the still capering figure pirou 
 etted past him. The boy caught the motion 
 and whirled suddenly in a backward course 
 and danced past his reviler again, this time 
 much nearer than before. " Better try it," 
 he said, in a low, half-laughing tone that no 
 one heard but Billy and myself. He was out 
 of range in an instant, still laughing as he 
 went. 
 
 " Dern him!" said Billy, with stifling 
 anger, clutching his fist and leaving one 
 knuckle protruding in a very wicked-looking 
 manner. "Dern him! He better not sass 
 me ! He s afeard to come past here agin and 
 .-say that ! I ll knock his dern ole stove-pipe 
 in the middle o nex week ! " 
 
 "You will, hey?" queried a revolving 
 voice, as the boy twirled past again this time 
 so near that Billy felt his taunting breath 
 blown in his face. 
 
 "Yes, I will, hey!" said Billy, viciously; 
 and with a side-sweeping, flat-handed lick 
 that sounded like striking a rusty sheet of 
 tin, the crownless "plug" went spinning into 
 the gutter, while, as suddenly, the assaulted 
 little stranger, with a peculiarly pallid smile
 
 230 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 about his lips, and an electric glitter in his 
 eye, adroitly flung his left hand forward r 
 smiting his insulter such a blow n the region 
 of the brow that the unguarded Billy went 
 tumbling backward, his plucky assailant 
 prancing wildly around his prostrate form. 
 
 " O ! come and see me !" snarled the strange 
 boy, in a contemptuous tone, cocking his fists- 
 up in a scientific manner, and dropping into a 
 stoop-shouldered swagger that would have 
 driven envy into the heart of a bullying hack- 
 driver. "Git the bloke on his pins!" he 
 sneered, turning to the crowd. " Spose I m 
 goin to hit a man w en he s down?" 
 
 But his antagonist needed no such assist 
 ance. Stung with his unlooked-for downfall, 
 bleeding from the first blow ever given him 
 by mortal boy, and goaded to absolute frenzy 
 by the taunts of his swaggering enemy, Billy 
 sprang to his feet, and a moment later had 
 succeeded in closing with the boy in a rough- 
 and-tumble fight, in which his adversary was 
 at disadvantage, being considerably less in 
 size, hampered, too, with his loose, unbut 
 toned coat and baggy trousers. But, for all, 
 he did some very efficient work in the way of 
 a deft and telling blow or two upon the nose 
 of his overpowering foe, who sat astride oi
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 231 
 
 his wriggling body, but wholly unable to get 
 in a lick. 
 
 " Dern you !" said Bilty, with his hand grip 
 ping the boy s throat, " holler nough !" 
 
 "Holler nothin ! " gurgled the boy, with 
 his eyes fairly starting from his head. 
 
 " O, let him up, Billy," called a compas 
 sionate voice from the excited crowd. 
 
 " Holler nough and I will," said Billy, in a 
 tragic whisper in the boy s ear. " Dern ye I 
 holler calf-rope! " 
 
 The boy only shook his head trembled 
 convulsively let fall his eyelids, and lay limp 
 and, to all appearances, unconscious. 
 
 The startled Billy loosed his hold rose 
 half-way to his feet then fiercely pounced 
 again at his rival. 
 
 But it was too late. The ruse had succeeded, 
 and the boy was once more on his feet. 
 
 "You fight like a dog!" said the strange 
 boy in a tone of infinite contempt " and you 
 air a dog ! Put up your props like a man and 
 come at me, and I ll meller your head till your 
 mother won t know you ! Come on ! I dare 
 you ! " 
 
 This time, as Billy started forward at the 
 challenge, I regret to say that in his passion 
 he snatched up from the street a broken buggy- 
 spoke, before which war-like weapon the
 
 232 THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 strange boy was forced to warily retreat. 
 Step by step he gave back, and step by step 
 his threatening foe advanced. I think, per 
 haps, part of the strange boy s purpose in thus 
 retreating was to arm himself with one of the 
 ax-handles that protruded from a churn stand 
 ing in front of a grocery, toward which he 
 slowly backed across the sidewalk. How 
 ever that may be, it is evident he took no note 
 of an open cellar-way that lay behind him, 
 over the brink of which he deliberately backed, 
 throwing up his hands as he disappeared. 
 
 We heard a heavy fall, but heard no cry. 
 Some loungers in the grocery, attracted by 
 the clamor of the throng without, came to the 
 door inquiringly ; one man, learning what had 
 happened, peered down the stairway of the 
 cellar, and called to ask the boy if he was hurt, 
 which query was answered an instant later by 
 the appearance of the boy himself, his face 
 far whiter than his shirt, and his lips tremb 
 ling, but his teeth clenched. 
 
 " Guess I broke my arm agin," he said 
 briefly, as the man leaned and helped him up 
 the steps, the boy sweeping his keen eyes 
 searchingly over the faces of the crowd. " It s 
 the right arm, though," he continued, glanc 
 ing at the injured member dangling helplessly, 
 at his side " This un s all right yet I" and
 
 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 233 
 
 as he spoke he jerked from the man s assist 
 ance, wheeled round, and an instant later, as 
 a buggy-spoke went hurling through the air, 
 he slapped the bewildered face of Billy with 
 his open hand. " Damn coward ! " he said. 
 
 Then the man caught him, and drew him 
 back, and the "crowd closed in between the 
 combatants, following, as the boy with the 
 broken arm was hurried down street to the 
 doctor s office, where the door was immedi 
 ately closed on the rabble and all the mys 
 tery within not an utter mystery, either, for 
 three or four enterprising and sagacious boys 
 slipped off from the crowd that thronged in 
 front, and, climbing by a roundabout way, 
 and over a high board fence into the back 
 yard, secretly posted themselves at the blinded 
 window in the rear of the little one-roomed 
 office and breathlessly awaited advices from 
 within. 
 
 "They got him laid out on the settee," 
 whispered a venturous boy who had leant a 
 board against the window-sill and climbed into 
 a position commanding the enviable advan 
 tage of a broken window-pane. "I can see 
 him through a hole in the curtain. Keep 
 still ! " 
 
 " They got his coat off, and his sleeve rolled 
 up," whispered the boy, in continuation
 
 234 "THE BOY FROM ZEEXY." 
 
 " and the doctor s a-givin him some medicine 
 in a tumbler. Now he s a-pullin his arm. 
 Gee-mun-nee ! I can hear the bones crunch !" 
 
 " Haint he a-cryin ? " queried a milk-faced 
 boy, with very large blue eyes and fine white 
 hair, and a grieved expression as he spoke. 
 "Haint he a-cryin ?" 
 
 " Well he haint ! " said the boy in the win 
 dow, with unconscious admiration. "Listen !" 
 
 " I heerd him thist tell em at it wusn t the 
 first time his arm was broke. Now keep still ! T 
 and the boy in the window again bent his ear 
 to the broken pane. 
 
 " He says both his arms s ben broke," con 
 tinued the boy in the window " says this un 
 ats broke now s ben broke two times fore 
 this time." 
 
 " Dog-gone ! haint he a funny feller ! " said 
 the milk-faced boy, with his big eyes lifted 
 wistfully to the boy in the window. 
 
 " He says onc t his pap broke his arm w en 
 he was whippin him," whispered the boy in 
 the window. 
 
 "But his pa s a wicked man!" said the 
 milk-faced boy, in a dreamy, speculative way 
 " Spect he s a drunkard, er somepin ! " 
 
 " Keep still ! " said the boy at the window ; 
 "they re tryin to git him to tell his pap s 
 name and his, and he won t do it, cause he
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEEXY." 235 
 
 says his pap comes and steals him ever time 
 he finds out where he is." 
 
 The milk-faced boy drew a long, quavering 
 breath and gazed suspiciously round the high 
 board fence of the enclosure. 
 
 "He says his pap used to keep a liberty- 
 stable in Zeeny in Ohio som ers but he 
 daresn t stay round there no more, cause he 
 broke up there, and had to skedaddle er they d 
 clean him out. He says he haint got no 
 mother, ner no brothers, ner no sisters, ner no 
 nothin on y," the boy in the window added, 
 with a very dry and painful swallow, "he 
 says he haint got nothin on y thist the clothes 
 on his back ! " 
 
 "Yes, and I bet," broke in the milk-faced 
 boy, abruptly, with his thin lips compressed, 
 and his big eyes fixed on space, "Yes, and I 
 bet he can lick Bill Kinzey, ef his arm is 
 broke!" 
 
 At this juncture some one inside coming to 
 raise the window, the boy at the broken pane 
 leaped to the ground, and, flocking at his heels, 
 his frightened comrades bobbed one by one 
 over the horizon of the high fence, and were 
 gone in an instant. 
 
 So it was that the hero of this sketch came 
 to be known as "The Boy from Zeeny." 
 
 The Boy from Zeeny, though evidently pre-
 
 236 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 disposed to novel and disastrous happenings, 
 for once, at least, had come upon a streak of 
 better fortune for the doctor, it appeared, 
 had some way taken a fancy to him, and had 
 offered him an asylum at his own home and 
 hearth the compensation stipulated, and sug 
 gested by the boy himself, being a conscien 
 tious and efficient service in the doctor s sta 
 ble. Even with his broken arm splinted and 
 bandaged, and supported in a sling, The Boy 
 from Zeeny could be daily seen loping the 
 doctor s spirited horse up the back alley from 
 the stable to the office, with the utter confi 
 dence and careless grace of a Bedouin. When, 
 at last, the injured arm was wholly well again, 
 the daring feats of horsemanship of which the 
 boy was capable were listened to with incre 
 dulity by the " good boys of the village school , 
 who never played " hookey" on long summer 
 afternoons, and, in consequence, never had a 
 chance of witnessing The Boy from Zeeny 
 loping up to the "swimmin -hole," a mile 
 from town, barebacked, with nothing but 
 a halter, and his face turned toward the 
 horse s tail. In fact, The Boy from Zeeny 
 displayed such a versatility of accomplish 
 ments, and those, too, of a character but 
 faintly represented in the average boy of the 
 country town, that, for all the admiration their
 
 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 237 
 
 possessor evoked, an equal envy was aroused 
 in many a youthful breast. 
 
 "The boys in this town s down on you, * 
 said a cross-eyed, freckle-faced boy, one day, 
 to The. Boy from Zeeny. 
 
 The Boy from Zeeny was sitting in the alley 
 window of the hay-loft of the doctor s stable,, 
 and the cross-eyed boy had paused below, and 
 with his noward looking eyes upturned, stood 
 waiting the effect of this intelligence. 
 
 " What do I care for the boys in this town? * 
 said The Boy from Zeeny. 
 
 " The boys in this town," repeated the cross 
 eyed boy, with a slow, prophetic flourish of 
 his head " The boys in this town says cause 
 you come from Zeeny and blacked Bill Kin- 
 zey s eye, at you think you re goin to run 
 things round here ! And you ll find out you 
 ain t the bosst o this town ! " and the cross 
 eyed boy shook his head again with dire fore 
 boding. 
 
 "Look here, Cocky!" said The Boy from 
 Zeeny, trying to focus a direct gaze on the 
 boy s delusive eyes, " W y don t you talk 
 straight out from the shoulder? I reckon the 
 boys in this town, as you call em, didn t send 
 you around here to tell me w at they was goin 
 to do ! But ef you want to take it up for em, 
 and got any sand to back you, jest say it, and
 
 238 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 I ll come down there and knock them dern 
 twisted eyes o yourn straight agin ! " 
 
 "Yes ; you will ! " muttered the cross-eyed 
 boy, with dubious articulation, glancing un- 
 easily up the alley. 
 
 "What?" growled The Boy from Zeeny, 
 thrusting one dangling leg further out the 
 window, supporting his weight by the palms 
 of his hands, and poised as though about to 
 spring "What id you say?" 
 
 "Didn t say nothin ," said the cross-eyed 
 boy, feebly ; and then, as a sudden and most 
 bewildering smile lit up his defective eyes, he 
 exclaimed : " O ! I tell you what le s do ! 
 Le s me and you git up a show in your stable, 
 and don t let none o the other boys be in it ! 
 I can turn a hand-spring like you, and purt 
 nigh walk on my hands ; and you can p form 
 on the slack-rope and spraddle out like the 
 * Injarubber man and hold a pitchfork on 
 your chin and stand up on a horse ithout a- 
 holdin and and O! ever thing ! " And 
 as the cross-eyed boy breathlessly concluded 
 this list of strong attractions, he had The Boy 
 from Zeeny so thoroughly inoculated with 
 the enterprise that he at once closed with 
 the proposition, and the preparations and the 
 practice for the show were at once inaugurated. 
 
 Three hours later, an extremely cross-eyed
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY. 
 
 239 
 
 boy, with the freckles of his face thrown into 
 vivid relief by an intense pallor, rushed pant- 
 ingly into the doctor s office, with the fateful 
 intelligence that The Boy from Zeeny had 
 "fell and broke his arm agin." And this 
 time, as it seemed, the hapless boy had sur 
 passed the seriousness of all former fractures, 
 this last, being of a compound nature, and 
 very painful in the setting, and tedious in re 
 covery ; the recovery, too, being anything but 
 perfect, since it left the movement of the elbow 
 somewhat restricted, and threw the little fel 
 low s arm in an unnatural position, with the 
 palm of the hand turned forward as he walked. 
 But for all, the use of it was, to all appearances, 
 but little impaired. 
 
 Doubtless it was through such interlude 
 from rough service as these accidents afforded 
 that The Boy from Zeeny had acquired the 
 meager education he possessed. The doc 
 tor s wife, who had from the first been kind to 
 him, grew to like him very much. Through 
 her gentle and considerate interest he was 
 stimulated to study by the occasional present 
 of a simple volume. Oftentimes the good 
 woman would devote an hour to his instruc 
 tion in the mvsteries of the book s orthogra 
 phy and rhetoric. 
 
 Nor was The Boy from Zeeny a dull pupil ;
 
 240 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 neither was he an ungrateful one. lie was 
 quick to learn, and never prouder than when 
 a mastered lesson gained for him the appro 
 bation of his patient instructor. 
 
 The history of The Boy from Zeeny, such 
 as had been gathered by the doctor and his 
 wife, was corroborative in outline with the 
 brief hint of it as communicated to the curious 
 listeners at the rear window of the doctor s 
 office on the memorable day of the boy s first 
 appearance in the town. He was without 
 family, save a harsh, unfeeling father, who, 
 from every evidence, must have neglected 
 and abused the child most shamefully, the 
 circumstantial proof of this fact being evi 
 denced in the boy s frank acknowledgment 
 that he had repeatedly "run away" from 
 him, and his still firm resolve to keep his 
 name a secret, lest he might thereby be traced 
 to his present security, and fall once more 
 into the hands of his unnatural parent. 
 
 Certain it was that the interest of all who 
 knew his story was in hearty sympathy with 
 the lad, and when one morning it was ru 
 mored that The Boy from Zeeny had myste 
 riously disappeared, and the rumor rapidly 
 developed into an unquestionable fact, there 
 was a universal sense of regret in the little 
 town, which in turn resolved itself into posi-
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 241 
 
 tive indignation when it was learned from the 
 doctor that an explanation, printed in red 
 keel on the back of a fragmental bit of circus- 
 poster, had been found folded and tucked 
 away in the buckle-straps of his horse s bridle. 
 The somewhat remarkable communication, in 
 sprawling capitals, ran thus: 
 
 " PAPS GOT ME AGIN. I HAF TO GO. DAM 
 HIM. DOC TEL HER TO KEEP MY BOOCKS. 
 GOOD BY. I FED OLE CtlARLY. I FED HIM 
 OTES AND HA AN CORN. HE WONT NEED NO 
 MORE FER A WEAK. AN BRAND TO. DOC 
 TEL HER GOOD BY." 
 
 It was a curious bit of composition un 
 couth, assuredly, and marred, maybe, with 
 an unpardonable profanity but it served. In 
 the silence and gloom of the old stable, the 
 doctor s ringers trembled as he read, and the 
 good wife s eyes, peering anxiously above his 
 heaving shoulder, filled and overflowed with 
 tears. 
 
 I wish that it were in the veracious se 
 quence of this simple history to give this way 
 ward boy back to the hearts that loved him, 
 and that still in memory enshrine him with 
 affectionate regard ; but the hapless lad the 
 little ragged twelve-year-old that wandered 
 16
 
 242 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 out of nowhere into town, and wandered into 
 nowhere out again never returned. Yet we 
 who knew him in those old days we who 
 were children with him, and, in spite of boy 
 ish jealousies and petty bickerings, admired 
 the gallant spirit of the lad, are continually 
 meeting with reminders of him the last in 
 stance of which, in my own experience, I can 
 not here refrain from offering : 
 
 For years I have been a wanderer from the 
 dear old town of my nativity, but through all 
 my wanderings a gracious fate has always 
 kept me somewheres in its pleasant neighbor 
 hood, and, in consequence, I often pay brief 
 visits to the scenes of my long-vanished boy 
 hood. It was during such a visit, but a fev 
 short years ago, that remembrances of my loa 
 youth were most forcibly recalled by the pro- 
 gress of the county fair, which institution 1 
 was permitted to attend through the kindness 
 of an old chum who drove me over in mj 
 buggy. 
 
 Although it was not the day for racing, we 
 found the track surrounded by a dense crowd 
 of clamorous and applausive people. 
 
 "What docs it mean?" I asked my friend, 
 as he guided his horse in and out among the 
 trees toward the edge of the enclosure. 
 
 "It s Professor Andrus, I suspect," he an-
 
 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 243 
 
 swered, rising in the buggy as he spoke, and 
 peering eagerly above the heads of the surg 
 ing multitude. 
 
 "And who s Professor Andrus?" I asked, 
 striking a match against the tire of the now 
 stationary buggy-wheel, and lighting the 
 stump of my cigar. 
 
 "Why, haven t you heard of the famous 
 Professor?" he answered, laughingly imme 
 diately adding in a serious tone : " Professor 
 Andrus is the famous horse-tamer who has 
 been driving the country absolutely wild here 
 for two or three days. Stand up here where 
 you can see I " he went on, excitedly, 
 
 "Yonder he comes! Isn t that splendid?" 
 
 And it was. 
 
 Across the sea of heads, and facing toward 
 us down the track, I caught sight of a glossy 
 span of horses that in their perfect beauty of 
 symmetry, high heads and tossing manes, 
 looked as though they were just prancing out 
 of some Arabian dream. The animals seemed 
 nude of rein or harness, save but a jeweled 
 strap that crossed the breast of each, together 
 with a slender trace at either side connecting 
 with a jaunty little phaeton whose glittering 
 wheels slivered the sunshine into splinters as 
 they spun. Upon the narrow seat of the airy 
 vehicle sat the driver. No lines were wound
 
 244 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 
 
 about his hands no shout or lash to goad the 
 horses to their telling speed. They were 
 simply directed and controlled by the grace 
 ful motions of a long and slender whip which 
 waved slowly to and fro above their heads- 
 The great crowd cheered the master as he 
 came. He arose deliberately, took off his hat 
 and bowed. The applause was deafening. 
 Still standing, he whizzed past us and was 
 gone. But something in the manner of the 
 handsome fellow struck me with a strange 
 sense of familiarity. Was it the utter disre 
 gard of fear that I saw within his face ? Was- 
 it the keenness of the eye, and the perfect- 
 self-possession of the man? Or was it was 
 it the peculiar way in which the right arm had 
 dropped to his side after his salute to us while 
 curving past us, and did I fancy, for that rea 
 son, that the palm of his hand turned forward- 
 as he stood? 
 
 " Clear the track, there ! " came a far voice 
 across the ring. " Don t cross there, in God s- 
 name ! Drive back ! " 
 
 The warning evidently came too late. There 
 was an instant s breathless silence, then a far 
 away, pent-sounding clash, then utter havoc 
 in the crowd. The ropes about the ring were 
 broken over, and a tumultuous tide of people
 
 " THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 245 
 
 poured across the ring, myself borne on the 
 very foremost wave. 
 
 "Just the buggy smashed, that s all," cried 
 s. voice. "The hosses haint hurt ner the 
 man." 
 
 The man referred to was the Professor. I 
 caught a glimpse of him as he rose from the 
 grassy bank where he had been flung. He 
 was very pale, but calm. An uncouth man 
 "brought him his silk hat from where it had 
 rolled in the dust. 
 
 "Wish you d just take this handkerchief 
 and brush it off," said the Professor ; " I guess 
 I ve broke my arm." 
 
 */ 
 
 It was The Boy from Zeeny.
 
 THE OLD MAN.
 
 THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO. 
 
 The orchard lands of Long Ago ! 
 drowsy winds, awake, and blow 
 The snowy blossoms back to me, 
 A nd all the buds that used to be I 
 Slow back along the grassy ways 
 Of truant feet, and lift the haze 
 Of happy summer from the trees 
 That trail their tresses in the seas 
 Of grain that float and overflow 
 The orchard lands of Long Ago! 
 
 Blow back the melody that slips 
 
 In lazy laughter from the lips 
 
 That marvel much if any kiss 
 
 Is sweeter than the apple s is. 
 
 Slow back the twitter of the birds 
 
 The lisp, the titter, and the words 
 
 Of merriment that found the shine 
 
 Of summertime a glorious wine 
 
 That drenched the leaves that loved it so, 
 
 In orchard lands of Long Agot 
 
 memory/ alight and sing 
 Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, 
 And golden russets glint and gleam, 
 As, in the old Arabian dream, 
 The fruits of that enchanted tree 
 The glad Aladdin robbed for me ! 
 And, drowsy winds, awake and fan 
 My blood as when it over-ran 
 A heart, ripe as the apples grow 
 In orchard lands of Long Ago I 
 
 (248)
 
 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 Response made to the sentiment, " The Old Man," at the annual 
 dinner of the Indianapolis Literary Club.] 
 
 u You are old, Father William, the young man said, 
 And your hair has become very white, 
 
 And yet you incessantly stand on your head- 
 Do you think, at your age, it is right ? " 
 
 THE Old Man never grows so old as to 
 become either stale, juiceless or un 
 palatable. The older he grows, the mellower 
 and riper he becomes. His eyes may fail 
 him, his step falter and his big-mouthed shoes 
 "A world too wide for his shrunk shanks" 
 may cluck and shuffle as he walks ; his 
 rheumatics may make great knuckles of his 
 knees, the rusty hinges of his vertebras may 
 refuse to cunningly articulate, but all the same 
 the " backbpne " of the old man has been 
 time-seasoned, tried and tested, and no deer 
 skin vest was ever buttoned round a tougher I 
 Look at the eccentric kinks and curvings of 
 it its abrupt depression at the base, and its 
 rounded bulging at the shoulders ; but don t 
 
 ( 2 49)
 
 25O THE OLD MAN. 
 
 laugh at the smart young man who airily ob 
 serves how full-chested the old man would be 
 if his head were only turned around, and don t 
 kill the young man, either, until you take him 
 out some place and tell him that the old man got 
 himself warped up in that shape along about 
 the times when everybody had to hump him 
 self. Try to bring before the young man s 
 defective mental vision a dissolving view of a 
 " good old-fashioned barn-raisin " and the 
 old man doing all the " raisin " himself and 
 "grubbin ," and burnin logs and "under 
 brush," and " dreenin " at the same time, 
 and trying to coax something besides cala 
 mus to grow in the little spongy tract of 
 swamp-land that he could stand in the middle 
 of, and " wobble" and shake the whole farm. 
 Or, if you can t recall the many salient fea 
 tures of the minor disadvantages under which 
 the old man used to labor, your pliant limbs 
 may soon overtake him, and he will smilingly 
 tell you of trials and privations of the early 
 days, until your anxiety about the young man 
 just naturally stagnates, and dries up, and 
 evaporates, and blows away. 
 
 In this little side-show of existence the old 
 man is always worth the full price of admis 
 sion. He is not only the greatest living curi 
 osity on exhibition, but the object of the most
 
 THE OLD MAN. 251 
 
 genial solicitude and interest to the serious 
 observer. It is even good to look upon his 
 vast fund of afflictions, finding prominent 
 above them all that wholesome patience that 
 surpasseth understanding. To compassion 
 ately dwell upon his prodigality of aches and 
 ailments, and yet, by his pride in their whole 
 sale possession, and his thorough resignation 
 to the inevitable, to be continually rebuked, 
 and in part made envious of the old man s 
 right-of-title situation. Nature, after all, is 
 kinder than unkind to him, and always has a 
 compensation and a soothing balm for every 
 blow that age may deal him. And in the 
 fading embers of the old man s eyes there are, 
 at times, swift flashes and rekindlings of the 
 smiles of youth, and the old artlessness about 
 the wrinkled face that dwelt there when his 
 cheeks were like the pippins, and his 
 
 " red lips, redder still, 
 
 Kissed by strawberries on the hill." 
 
 And thus it is the children are intuitively 
 drawn toward him, and young, pure-faced 
 mothers are forever hovering about him, with 
 just such humorings and kindly ministrations 
 as they bestow upon the little emperor of the 
 household realm, strapped in his high chair at 
 the dinner table, crying amen in the midst of
 
 252 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 41 grace," .and ignoring the " substantiate " Oi. 
 the groaning board, and at once insisting upon 
 a square deal of the more "temporal bless 
 ings" of jelly, cake and pie. And the old 
 man has justly earned every distinction he 
 enjoys. Therefore, let him make your hearth 
 stone all the brighter with the ruddy coal he 
 drags up from it with his pipe, and comfort 
 ably settles himself where, with reminiscent 
 eyes, he may watch the curling smoke of his 
 tobacco as it indolently floats, and drifts, and 
 dips at last, and vanishes up the grateful flue. 
 At such times, when a five-year-old, what a 
 haven every boy has found between the old 
 grandfather s knees ! Look back in fancy at 
 the faces blending there the old man s and 
 the boy s and, with the nimbus of the smoke- 
 wreaths round the brows the gilding of the 
 firelight on cheek and chin, and the rapt and 
 far-off gazings of the eyes of both why, but 
 for the silver tinsel of the beard of one, and 
 dusky elf-locks of the other, the faces seem 
 almost like twins. 
 
 With such a view of age, one feels like 
 whipping up the lazy years and getting old at 
 once. In heart and soul the old man is not 
 old and never will be. He is paradoxically 
 old, and that is all. So it is that he grows 
 younger with increasing years, until old age
 
 THE OLD MAN. 253 
 
 at worst is always at a level par with youth. 
 Who ever saw a man so old as not to secretly 
 and most heartily wish the veteran years upon 
 years of greater age? And at what great age 
 did ever any old man pass away and leave be 
 hind no sudden shock, and no selfish hearts 
 to still yearn after him and grieve on uncon- 
 soled. Why, even in the slow declining years 
 of old Methuselah the banner old man of 
 the universe so old that history grew abso 
 lutely tired waiting for him to go off some 
 place and die ; even Methuselah s taking off 
 must have seemed abrupt to his immediate 
 friends, and a blow to the general public that 
 doubtless plunged it into the profoundest 
 gloom. For 969 years this durable old man 
 had "smelt the rose above the mold," and 
 doubtless had a thousand times been told by 
 congratulative friends that he didn t look a 
 day older than 968 ; and necessarily, the habit 
 of living, with him, was hard to overcome. In 
 his later years what an oracle he must have 
 been, and with what reverence his friends 
 must have looked upon the "little glassy- 
 headed, hairless man," and hung upon his 
 every utterance. And with what unerring 
 gift of prophecy could he foretell the long 
 and husky droughts of summer the gracious 
 rains, at last, the milk-sick breeding autumn
 
 254 THE OT - n MAN. 
 
 and the blighting winter, simply by the way 
 his bones felt after a century s casual attack 
 of inflammatory rheumatism. And, having 
 annually frosted his feet for some odd centu 
 ries boy and man we can fancy with what 
 quiet delight he was wont to practice his 
 prognosticating facilities on " the boys," fore 
 casting the coming of the then fledgeling cy 
 clone and the gosling blizzard, and doubtless 
 ven telling the day of the month by the way 
 his heels itched And with what wonderment 
 and awe must old chronic maladies have re 
 garded him tackling him singly, or in solid 
 phalanx, only to drop back pantingly, at last, 
 and slink away dumbfounded and abashed ; 
 and with what brazen pride the final conquer 
 ing disease must have exulted over its shame 
 less victory ! But this is pathos here, and not 
 a place for ruthless speculation ; a place for 
 asterisks not words. Peace! peace! The 
 man is dead! "The fever called living is 
 over at last." The patient slumbers. He 
 takes his rest. He sleeps. Come away ! He 
 is the oldest dead man in the cemetery. 
 
 Whether the hardy, stall-fed old man of 
 the country, or the opulent and well-groomed 
 old man of the metroplis, he is one in our es 
 teem and the still warmer affections of the 
 children. The old man from the country
 
 THE OLD MAN. 255 
 
 you are always glad to see him, and hear him 
 talk. There is a breeziness of the woods and 
 hills, and a spice of the bottom-lands and 
 thickets in everything he says, and dashes of 
 shadow and sunshine over the waving wheat 
 in all the varying expressions of his swarthy 
 face. The grip of his hand is a thing to bet 
 on, and the undue loudness of his voice in 
 greeting you is even lulling and melodious, 
 since it unconsciously argues the frankness of 
 a nature that has nothing to conceal. Very 
 probably you are forced to smile, meeting the 
 old man in town, where he never seems at 
 ease, and invariably apologizes in some way 
 for his presence, saying, perhaps, by way of 
 explanation: "Yes, sir, here I am, in spite 
 o myself. Come in day afore yesterday. 
 Boys was thrashin on the place, and the 
 beltin kep a troublin and delayin of em 
 and I was potterin around in the way any 
 how tell finally they sent me off to town to 
 git some whang-luther and ribbets, and while 
 I was in, I thought I thought I d jest run 
 over and see the Jedge about that Henry 
 county matter, and as I was knockin round 
 the court house, first thing I knowed I ll be 
 switched to death if they didn t pop me on the 
 jury ! And here I am, eatin my head off up 
 here at the tavern. Reckon, tho , the county ll
 
 256 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 stand good for my expenses. If hit cain t, I 
 kin ! " And, with the heartiest sort of a 
 laugh, the old man jogs along, leaving you to 
 smile till bedtime over the happiness he has 
 unconsciously contributed. 
 
 Another instance of the old man s humor 
 under trying circumstances was developed but 
 a few days since. This old man was a Ger 
 man citizen of an inundated town in the Ohio 
 valley. There was much of the pathetic in 
 his experience but the bravery with which 
 he bore his misfortunes was admirable. A 
 year ago his little home was invaded by the 
 flood, and himself and wife, and his son s fam 
 ily were driven from it to the hills for safety 
 but the old man s telling of the story can not 
 be improved upon. It ran like this: "Last 
 year, ven I svwim out fon dot leedle home off 
 mine, mit my vife, unt my son, his vife unt 
 leedle girls, I dink dot s der last time, goot- 
 bye to dose proberty ! But afder der vater it 
 gone down unt dry oop unt eberding, dere 
 vas yet der house dere. Unt my friends dey 
 sait, Dot s all you got! Veil, feex oop der 
 house dot s someting ! feex oop der house, 
 unt you vood still hatt yet a home ! Veil, all 
 summer I go to work, unt spent me eberding 
 unt feex der proberty. Den I got yet a mor- 
 gage on der house ! Dees time here der vater
 
 THE OLD MAN. 257 
 
 come again till I vish it vas last year vonce I 
 Unt now all I safe is my vife, unt my son his 
 vife, unt my leedle granchilderns ! Else, ever- 
 ding is gone! All everding ! Der house 
 gone unt unt der morgage gone, too!" 
 And then the old Teutonic face "melted all 
 over in sunshiny smiles," and, turning, he 
 bent and lifted a sleepy little girl from a pile 
 of dirty bundles in the depot waiting-room 
 and went pacing up and down the muddy 
 floor, saying cheery things in German to the 
 child. I thought the whole thing rather beau 
 tiful. That s the kind of an old man who, 
 saying good-bye to his son, would lean and 
 kiss the young man s hand, as in the Dutch 
 regions of Pennsylvania, two or three weeks 
 ago, I saw an old man do. 
 
 Mark Lemon must have intimately known 
 and loved the genteel old man of the city when 
 the once famous domestic drama of "Grand 
 father Whitehead " was conceived. In the 
 play the old man a once prosperous mer 
 chant finds a happy home in the household 
 of his son-in-law. And here it is that the gen 
 tle author has drawn at once the poem, the 
 picture, and the living proof of the old Words- 
 worthian axiom, "The child is father to the 
 man." The old man, in his simple way, and 
 
 7
 
 258 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 in his great love for his willful little grand 
 child, is being continually distracted from the 
 grave sermons and moral lessons he would 
 read the boy. As, for instance, aggrievedly 
 attacking the little fellow s neglect of his 
 books and his inordinate tendency toward 
 idleness and play the culprit, in the mean 
 time, down on the floor clumsily winding his 
 top the old man runs on something in this 
 wise : 
 
 "Play! play! play! Always play and no 
 work, no study, no lessons. And here you 
 are, the only child of the most indulgent 
 parents in the world parents that, proud as 
 they are of you, would be ten times prouder 
 only to see you at your book, storing your 
 mind with useful knowledge, instead of, day 
 in, day out, frittering away your time over 
 your toys, and your tops and marbles. And 
 even when your old grandfather tries to ad 
 vise you and wants to help you, and is always 
 ready and eager to assist you, and all Why, 
 what s it all amount to? Coax and beg, and 
 tease and plead with you, and yet, and yet" 
 [Mechanically kneeling as he speaks] 
 "Now that s not the way to wind your top ! 
 How many more times will I have to show 
 you ! " And an instant later the old man s 
 admonitions are entirely forgotten, and his
 
 THE OLD MAN. 259 
 
 artless nature dull now to everything but the 
 childish glee in which he shares, is all the 
 sweeter and more lovable for its simplicity. 
 
 And so it is, Old Man, that you are always 
 touching the very tenderest places in our 
 hearts unconsciously appealing to our warm 
 est sympathies, and taking to yourself our 
 purest love. We look upon your drooping 
 figure, and we mark your tottering step and 
 trembling hand, yet a reliant something in 
 your face forbids compassion, and a something 
 in your eye will not permit us to look sorrow 
 fully on you. And, however we may smile 
 at your quaint ways, and old-school oddities 
 of manner and of speech, our merriment is 
 ever tempered with the gentlest reverence. 
 
 "THE OLD MAN." 
 
 Lo ! steadfast and serene, 
 In patient pause between 
 The seen and the unseen, 
 
 What gentle zephyrs fan 
 Your silken silver hair, 
 And what diviner air 
 Breathes round you like a prayer, 
 Old Man? 
 
 Can you, in nearer view 
 Of glory, pierce the blue 
 Of happy heaven through, 
 And, listen mutely, can
 
 26O THE OLD MAN. 
 
 Your senses, dull to us, 
 Hear angel-voices thus, 
 In chorus glorious 
 Old Man ? 
 
 In your reposeful gaze 
 The dusk of Autumn days 
 Is blent with April haze, 
 
 As when of old began 
 The bursting of the bud 
 Of rosy babyhood 
 When all the world was good, 
 Old Man. 
 
 And yet I find a sly 
 Little twinkle in your eye ; 
 And your whisperingly shy 
 
 Little laugh is simply an 
 Internal shout of glee 
 That betrays the fallacy 
 You d perpetrate on me, 
 Old Man! 
 
 So just put up the frown 
 
 That your brows are pulling down! 
 
 Why the fleetest boy in town, 
 
 As he bared his feet and ran, 
 Could read with half a glance 
 And of keen rebuke, perchance 
 Your secret countenance, 
 Old Man ! 
 
 Now, honestly, confess : 
 Is an old man any less 
 Than the little child we bless 
 And caress, when we can?
 
 THE OLD MAN. 26 1 
 
 Isn t age but just a place 
 Where you mask the childish face 
 To preserve its inner grace, 
 Old Man? 
 
 Hasn t age a truant day, 
 Just as that you went astray 
 In the wayward, restless way, 
 
 When, brown with dust and an, 
 Your roguish face essayed, 
 In solemn masquerade, 
 To hide the smile it made, 
 Old Man? 
 
 Now, fair, and square, and true, 
 Don t your old soul tremble through, 
 As in youth it used to do 
 
 When it brimmed and overran 
 With the strange, enchanted sighta, 
 And the splendors and delights 
 Of the old "Arabian Nights," 
 Old Man? 
 
 When, haply, you have fared 
 Where glad Aladdin shared 
 His lamp with you, and dared 
 
 The afrite and his clan; 
 And, with him, clambered through 
 The trees where jewels grew 
 And filled your pockets, too, 
 Old Man? 
 
 Or, with Sinbad, at sea 
 And in veracity 
 Who has sinned as bad as he, 
 Or would, or will, or can?
 
 262 THE OLD MAN. 
 
 Have yon listened to his lies, 
 With open mouth and eyes, 
 And learned his art likewise, 
 Old Man ? 
 
 And you need not deny 
 
 That your eyes were wet as dry, 
 
 Reading novels on the sly ! 
 
 And review them, if you can. 
 And the same warm tears will fall- 
 Only faster, that is all 
 Over little Nell and Paul, 
 Old Man ! 
 
 O, you were a lucky lad 
 Just as good as you were bad ! 
 And the host of friends you had 
 
 Charley, Tom, and Dick and Dan; 
 
 And the old school-teacher, too, 
 
 Though he often censured you ; 
 
 And the girls in pink and blue, 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 And as often you have leant, 
 A boyish sentiment, 
 To kiss the letter sent 
 
 By Nelly, Belle or Nan 
 Wherein the rose s hue 
 Was red, the violet blue 
 And sugar sweet and you, 
 Old Man. 
 
 So, to-day, as lives the bloom 
 And the sweetness, and perfume 
 Of the blossoms, I assume, 
 
 On the same mysterious plan
 
 THE OLD MAN. 263 
 
 The Master s love assures, 
 That the self-same boy endures 
 In that hale old heart of yours, 
 Old Man
 
 " 
 
 The 
 
 J> 
 
 ope J)oeme, 
 
 BENJ. F, JOHNSON, OF BOOM 
 
 [JAM us WHITCOMB KILKY.] 
 
 SECOND KDITION. 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS. 
 THE BOWEN- MERRILL Co., PUBLISHERS ANDBOOKSEI.LERS. 
 
 issr,.
 
 THOUGHTS FER THE PISCTKAGED 
 
 ^ i -.:.:.: - - - .; . : ; ; 
 
 b!oo>min" locus" trees; 
 And the dorer in the pastor is a big day 
 
 fer the bees, 
 And they beat a-~wiggm boner, above 
 
 !_:.". 
 Till thev sTutter in their buzzin". and stagger 
 
 as they fir. 
 The flicker on the fence-nfl pours to jest 
 
 And roil up his feathers, by the sassy way 
 
 he sing?: 
 And the h-:55-2y is a-whettin -up his fore- 
 
 leas fer biz. 
 
 asther 
 
 Oh, therr bound to git therr Irekfast 
 and therr not a carin how:
 
 DISCTRAGED FARMER. 
 
 So they quarrel in the fames, and they 
 
 _ 
 But theyr peaeeabler in pot-pies than any 
 
 other thing : 
 And its when I git my shotgun drawed p 
 
 in stiddy rest. 
 She s as fall of tribbeiation a* a yaller- 
 
 jacket s nest: 
 And a few shots before dinner, when th? 
 
 sun s a-shinin right, 
 Seems to kindo-sono sharpen up a feller s 
 
 appetite! 
 
 They s been a heap o rain, bat the sun s 
 
 out to-day, 
 And the clouds of the wet spefl is all 
 
 cleared a^iv. 
 And the woods is all the greener, and the 
 
 grass is greener still; 
 It may rain again to-morry, but I don t 
 
 -: : ~ 
 Some says tlie crops is ruined, and the corn"? 
 
 drown Jed out, 
 And prepha-?y the wheat win be a failure. 
 
 without doubt; 
 But the kind Providence that has never 
 
 failed us yet,
 
 I ublisrjers 
 
 ote. 
 
 The first edition of Mr. Riley s 
 
 wimmm 
 
 W 
 
 m -r l 
 
 met with a very cordial reception, and was 
 exhausted in a few months. 
 
 A second edition, with red line border, as 
 these sample pages show, was issued, and 
 that too was soon exhausted. 
 
 The hearty welcome accorded the two 
 editions warrants us in placing before! the 
 public another issue, and assures us of a 
 widely extended sale, 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 I 96 kj 
 
 erril 
 
 Publishers, Booksellers and Stationers.