FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 NEW ENGLAND LIFE. 
 
 BY C. H. W. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1887. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
Copyright, 1887, 
 BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS : 
 JOHN WIISON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 OF the stories which are collected in this 
 volume, four " The Village Convict," 
 "Eli," " Five Hundred Dollars," and " The New 
 Minister's Great Opportunity " were first pub- 
 lished in the " Century Magazine." " By the 
 Sea " and " Saint Patrick " are now printed for 
 the first time. With reference to the story, 
 " In Madeira Place," originally published in the 
 " Atlantic Monthly," it should be said that it 
 was written before the passage of the present 
 federal Civil Service laws, and that in the more 
 important custom-houses the political practices 
 to which it refers have now been in great 
 measure corrected by the new system of exami- 
 nations. In many branches of the public ser- 
 vice, however, both State and National, such 
 abuses remain. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS .... 
 
 THE VILLAGE CONVICT . 
 
 SAINT PATRICK ...... 
 
 ELI 
 
 BY THE SEA 
 
 IN MADEIRA PLACE 
 
 THE NEW MINISTER'S GREAT OPPORTUNITY 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9 
 
 63 
 
 97 
 
 130 
 179 
 235 
 279 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 I. 
 
 /CAPTAIN PHILO'S sail-loft was a pleasant 
 ^^ place to sit in, and it was much fre- 
 quented. At one end was a wide, sliding door, 
 that opened on the water, and through it you 
 saw the little harbor and the low, glistening 
 sand-bar at its entrance, and whitecaps in the 
 sea beyond, and shining sails. At the other 
 end another wide door led, by a gently descend- 
 ing cleated platform, to the ground. 
 
 It was a pleasant place to rest and refresh 
 the mind in, whether you chose to look in or 
 out. You could rock in the hair-cloth chair 
 by the water door, and join in conversation 
 with more active persons mending seines upon 
 the wharf ; or you could dangle your heels 
 from the work-bench, and listen to stories and 
 
10 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 debates inside, and look on Captain Philo sew- 
 ing upon a mainsail. 
 
 It was a summer afternoon : warm under the 
 silver poplars, hot in the store, and hotter in 
 the open street; but in the sail-loft it was cool. 
 
 " More than once," Captain Bennett was re- 
 marking from the rocking-chair, while his pru- 
 nella shoes went up and down, " more than 
 once I Ve wished that I could freight this loft 
 to Calcutta on speculation, and let it out, so 
 much a head, for so long a time, to set in and 
 cool off." 
 
 " How about them porious water-jars they hev 
 there? " asked Uncle Silas, who had never sailed 
 beyond Cape Pogue ; " how do they work? " 
 
 " Well," said the captain, " they 're so-so. 
 But you set up this loft, both doors slid open, 
 air drawing through and all, right on Calcutta 
 main street, or what they call the Maiden's Es- 
 planade, and fit it up with settees like a confer- 
 ence-meeting, and advertise, and you could let 
 out chances to set for twenty cents an hour." 
 
 " You 'd hev to hev a man to take tickets, 
 to the door," said Uncle Silas, who had been 
 looking for an easy job for forty years. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. II 
 
 "That's Si all over," said Captain Bennett, 
 
 with a wink ; " that berth would be just his 
 
 size." 
 
 " Well," said Uncle Silas, faintly smiling, 
 
 "'tis no use rubbin' the fur the wrong way; 
 
 stroke the world from head to tail is my 
 
 rule." 
 
 " Speaking of folks being easy," said Captain 
 
 Bennett, " it seems there 's quite a little story 
 
 about David Prince's voyage on the ' Viola.' ' 
 " I thought he went off whaling rather in a 
 
 hurry," said Captain Philo, " and if it had been 
 
 'most anybody else, I should have thought 
 
 there was something up." 
 
 " It seems," said Captain Bennett, " it was 
 like this : You know, Delia was n't much over 
 ten years old when her mother died, along a 
 piece after her father, and she come to live 
 with us. And you know how she was almost 
 like one of the family. Well, about eight years 
 ago, when she 'd got to be towards nineteen, 
 it was then that David, first set out to shine 
 up to her ; and when he begun to come home 
 from singing-school with her that winter, and 
 got to coming to the house quite often the 
 
12 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 next spring along, I begun to feel a little shaky. 
 Finally, one Sunday afternoon I was sitting 
 out on the porch and she was singing hymns 
 inside, you know she was always singing, 
 and I called to her to quit and come out, and 
 sit down alongside of me, and says I, 
 
 " ( Delia, it can't be you 're thinking of taking 
 up with David Prince? ' 
 
 " Well, she flared a little, but finally says she: 
 
 " ' Why should n't I, or anybody that has the 
 chance, take David Prince? ' 
 
 " ' Well/ says I, ' I don't think you need to ask 
 why ; I should say that a smart girl would n't 
 want more than to travel once along the Lower 
 Road and see those two run-down houses, 
 one deserted, and the other, handy by, about as 
 bad, and the barn across the road, that was 
 raised and boarded in over forty years ago, 
 and never shingled, and stood so till it 's all 
 rotted and sunk in.' 
 
 "'What's that got to do with David?' says 
 she. 
 
 " ' It 's got this to do with David,' says 
 I, ' that his father and his Uncle Ezekiel and 
 their father before 'em good, kindly men all 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 13 
 
 seemed to settle, settle, somehow ; and it was 
 all to-morrow, and to-morrow, with 'em; ' and 
 then I told Delia how they sold off their wood 
 and then their land, piecemeal, all but the spot 
 where the old buildings stand, and that 's 
 worth nothing. 
 
 " ' And that 's the way,' says I, ' it '11 be with 
 David when he gets over being a boy and 
 settles down; it's in the blood; and I don't 
 want to see you, Delia, keel-hauled there ' ' 
 
 " Like David's mother, Prudence Frost, 
 that was," said Uncle Silas ; " originally she 
 was a good, smart girl, and full of jingle ; 
 but finally she give up and come to it, lef 
 sweepin'-clay out o' the almanic, washed dishes 
 in cold water, and made up beds at bedtime; 
 and when she ironed a shirt, jes' 's like 's not 
 she 'd iron a hoss-fly right into the bosom." 
 
 "And lived a dog's life generally," said Cap- 
 tain Bennett. " So I laid the whole thing out 
 to Delia, the best way I knew how. 
 
 " ' Well,' says she, ' I know you mean my 
 good, Captain Bennett, but I shall take my 
 chances.' And so she did. Well " 
 
 " Speakin' o' the barn," said Uncle Silas, " do 
 
14 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 you remember that high shay that David's 
 father hed? I was up to the Widow Pope's 
 vendue the day he bid it off. He managed 
 to spunk up so fur 's to hitch the shaffs under 
 his team and fetch the ve-hicle home, and then 
 he hed n't no place to put it up out o' the 
 weather, and so he druv it along under that 
 big Bald'n apple-tree that used to stand by 
 the pantry window, on the north side o' the 
 house, and left it there, with the shaffs clawin' 
 down in the ground. Then the talk was, he 
 was goin' to build him a sort of a little taber- 
 nacle for it before winter set in ; and he hed 
 down a load of lumber from Uncle Joe's mill 
 and hed it dumped down alongside o' the 
 shay. But the shay was n't never once hitched 
 up, nor the tabernacle built; and the timber 
 and the shay jes' set there, side by side, seein' 
 who 'd speak first, for twenty year, to my cer- 
 ting knowledge ; and you go by there when it 
 was blowin' fresh, and the old curtings would 
 be flappin' in and out, black and white, till 
 finally the whole arrangement sunk out o' sight. 
 I guess there 's more or less wrack there now, 
 'f you sh'd go poke in the grass." 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 15 
 
 " It was thirty-one year ago, come October, 
 that he bought the shay," said Captain Philo ; 
 " it was the fall I was cast away on the Tomb- 
 stones, and lost every dollar I had. I remem- 
 ber it because the old man came down to the 
 house of his own accord, when I got home, 
 and let me have two hundred dollars. He 'd 
 just been selling the West New Field; and 
 when he 'd sold land and had money on hand, 
 it was anybody's that wanted it. But what was 
 it about David's going off so sudden on the 
 ' Viola'?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I forgot my errand," said Captain 
 Bennett ; " and now I 've got adrift in my story, 
 and I shall have to take an observation ; let 's 
 see, where was I? " 
 
 " Delia allowed she 'd take her chances," said 
 Uncle Silas. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Captain Bennett. " Well, 
 you know how it was when they got married : 
 David fixed the old house up a little, and 
 mother put in some furniture and things for her, 
 and all went on first-rate awhile ; and then you 
 know how David begun to settle, settle, just the 
 old way ; could n't seem to keep up to the wind ; 
 
1 6 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 appeared to carry a lee hel-m, somehow; and 
 Delia begun to take in work and go out to 
 work, and quit singing. She never said a word, 
 even to my wife ; but I could see 't it cut her 
 a good deal " 
 
 " But all this time," said Uncle Silas, " she 's 
 kep' up smart, allers hed a high crower's- 
 feather 'n her bunnet, and kep' her little boys 
 a-lookin' like nine-shillin' dolls." 
 
 " I should n't have ever called David lazy," 
 said Captain Philo. "He couldn't seem to 
 make up his mind what to do next, that 's 
 all; but get him going you remember how 
 he worked at Jason's fire; and I know of my 
 own knowledge he was in the surf for sixteen 
 hours, when that Norwegian bark was on the 
 Bar." 
 
 " I think there 's some folks," said Uncle 
 Silas, " that their mind works all the time 
 runs a day gang and runs a night gang. You 
 know how a hard sum '11 shake itself out in 
 your head overnight; and I think it's the most 
 natural thing that a man with a A No. I active 
 mind always should feel sort of tired and not 
 know what ails him. George, won't you jes' 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. I/ 
 
 git up and hand me that pipe you ain't doin' 
 nothin'." 
 
 " However it was," said Captain Bennett, 
 " Delia saw that he was drifting to leeward, and 
 she was worried. Well, you know when the 
 reformation set in, that winter, and run crowded 
 houses, one night in the West Church and 
 the next in the other. One night David sur- 
 prised his wife by going ; and he set in a back 
 seat, and come away and said nothing; and the 
 same the next night ; and the same for seven or 
 eight nights right along. Finally, one night, 
 they had a pretty searching sermon, ' Choose 
 ye this day,' et cetera, and I suppose the 
 Deacon, here, was rather expecting David to 
 rise for prayers ; but, instead of that, as soon as 
 Amen was said, he gets right up, and off he 
 goes, and leaves Delia there, without saying a 
 word to her or to anybody, and goes right up 
 to Captain Westcott's house and agrees to ship. 
 And glad enough Captain W. was to have him, 
 and next day off he went. Now here he is, gone 
 two years and over, and comes home night 
 before last ; his lay '11 figure out five hundred 
 dollars ; and the biggest thing is " here the 
 2 
 
1 8 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 Captain brought down his heavy hand, for em- 
 phasis, on Uncle Silas's knee " that Delia 's 
 kept herself and the children, and never drawn 
 one cent against the voyage ; so they Ve got 
 the whole clear, and they Ve been up this morn- 
 ing early and traded for the Callender place, and 
 they 're going to move in to-morrow. And I 
 guess he means business now." 
 
 "But they don't git paid off till Monday," 
 said Uncle Silas. " They 're all goin' up to town 
 to be paid off then." 
 
 " Well, he moves in to-morrow, anyway," said 
 Captain Bennett. " Monday night, I believe, he's 
 going to pay down what he has, and take a deed, 
 and give a mortgage back for the balance." 
 
 But Uncle Silas gravely shook his head. 
 
 " I can't indorse this runnin' in haste," he 
 said. " I never, in all my experience, knew a 
 man before to buy real estate without sort of 
 goin' up street and talkin' it over, and comparin' 
 notes 'round generally. Now, we could have 
 given him points down here about the Callender 
 place." 
 
 "Oh, he's made a good trade there," said 
 Captain Bennett. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 19 
 
 " That all may be," said Uncle Silas, " but it's 
 the principle, not the five cents, I 'm lookin' at. 
 I should have hed more faith in his holdin' out 
 if he hed n't jumped quite so quick. ' Slow 
 bind, fast find,' I say." 
 
 Captain Bennett rose, and drew on a grass- 
 cloth coat that showed his suspenders through. 
 
 " I must be on my winding way," he said. 
 " But did you hear how close he came to never 
 coming back? No? Well, it was like this: It 
 was blowing a gale, and considerable sea on, one 
 night when they were rounding Cape Horn on 
 the home voyage, and she was pitching pretty 
 bad, and David was out on the jib-boom taking 
 in jib, and somehow she pitched with a jerk, so 
 he lost his hold and went off, and, as he fell in 
 the- dark, naturally he struck out both hands, 
 blind, like this ; and he just happened to catch, 
 by sheer accident, a gasket that was hanging 
 from the jib-boom, and so he saved himself by 
 a hair's breadth. And when he came up they 
 thought it was his ghost." 
 
 " Well, I always make it a point to look on 
 the bright side, without exception," said Uncle 
 Silas ; " nevertheless, I prophesy it won't be two 
 
2O FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 years before he '11 have the place all eat up, and 
 sold out under the mortgage. This jumpin' so 
 quick, looks as if he was sca't to trust himself 
 for a day." 
 
 " Well, we shall see," said Captain Bennett ; 
 ''time will tell." 
 
 There are many little farms along the New 
 England sea-board, which the currents of life, 
 diverted from ancient channels, have left one 
 side, pleasant and homelike often, but of small 
 money value. The Callender place was such 
 a farm. 
 
 It lay a mile from the village, in a hamlet of 
 half-a-dozen dwellings. There was a substantial 
 house, with four large rooms below, besides an L 
 kitchen, and above, two sunny chambers, each 
 with a dormer and a gable window. From the 
 front fence projected, for a hitching-post, a 
 Minerva, carved from wood, a figure-head 
 washed up years before from the wreck of a 
 brig with the bodies of the crew. 
 
 The house was on a little elevation, and looked 
 across the road, near which it stood, and over a 
 sloping field or two, to sea. From the windows 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 21 
 
 you could count the sail in the North Channel, 
 and look down the coast and follow with the eye 
 the long, low curving line of shore until at 
 Indian Point it vanished ; or look up shore ten 
 miles to where the coast-line ended in a bold, 
 wooded headland, which seemed, by a perpetual 
 mirage, to bear foliage so lofty as to show day- 
 light through beneath the branches. At night 
 you could see the flash of the revolving light on 
 Windmill Rock, and the constant rays from the 
 lightship on the Rips. So that by day or night 
 you could never be lonesome, unless, perhaps, 
 on some thick night, when you could see no 
 light, and could only hear a grating knell from 
 the bell-buoy, and could seem to see, through 
 the white darkness, the waters washing over its 
 swaying barrel. 
 
 There was a good-sized boarded barn, well 
 shingled on the roof, with hay-mows, and with 
 room for two or three cows and a horse and a 
 wagon, and with wide doors " fore and aft," as 
 the neighbors put it ; through its big front door 
 you could look out to sea. Then there were 
 twenty acres of land, including a wood-lot which 
 could be thinned out every year to give one all 
 
22 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 his fire-wood, and what was cut would hardly 
 be missed. 
 
 Such was the place which, on the death of 
 the Widow Callender, had been offered for sale 
 for eight hundred dollars. For months it had 
 stood empty, stormed by all the sea-winds, lit 
 up by the sun, when at last an unexpected buyer 
 had turned up in David Prince. 
 
 It was a happy Sunday that he passed with 
 his little family at the new home. They went 
 all over the house again and again, and looked 
 from every window, and planned where flower- 
 frames should be put, to take the sun. Then, 
 going out of doors, they inspected the revolving 
 clothes-dryer, which David, with a seaman's in- 
 stinct, had already rigged with four little sloops 
 to sail about on the ends of the projecting arms, 
 on Mondays, tacking after shirts and stockings. 
 Then they went to the barn, and David showed 
 how he was going to cover the sides with spruce 
 shingles, so that he could have a warm place to 
 work in in the winter. Then they went over the 
 fields, and planned a garden for the next spring; 
 and then they went down to the shore, and, 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 23 
 
 where a little arm of the sea made in, David 
 showed where he would haul up his dory, and 
 would keep his boat, when he could afford to get 
 one together: in the mean time he was going 
 to fish on shares with Jacob Foster, who lived 
 a few rods up the road. Then they all strolled 
 back to the house, and dined on shore-birds shot 
 on Saturday afternoon, and new potatoes and 
 turnips which Jacob Foster had brought in. 
 
 After dinner, they all sat. at the front windows, 
 in the room which they were pleased to call the 
 parlor, David holding on his knees the two old- 
 est boys, delighted with the recovery of such a 
 Sindbad of a father, while the third, still a little 
 shy of him, stood by his mother. David told of 
 the voyage, repeating, by request, full half-a- 
 dozen times, the story of the night when he was 
 snapped off the end of the jib-boom ; to do which 
 he had to set the boys down and stand, to make 
 the swift, sudden clutch, with his eyes shut, at 
 the towing rope; at which the boys screamed 
 on every repetition. 
 
 After supper, David and his wife, leaving the 
 children with orders to go to bed at the first 
 flash from the Windmill, went to church. 
 
24 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 They took the same back seat which they had 
 the night that David shipped. There was much 
 the same scene before them. There was bald- 
 headed Deacon Luce, in his usual Damocles' seat 
 exactly beneath the dangling chandelier, which 
 children watched in morbid hope of a horror; 
 there was the president of the Dorcas Society, a 
 gray-haired woman who had navigated home a 
 full-rigged ship from the Gold Coast ; there were 
 grave-faced men who, among them, could have 
 charted half the globe. In the pulpit was the 
 same old-fashioned, bookish man, who, having 
 led his college class, had passed his life in this 
 unknown parish, lost in delight, in his study, in 
 the great Athenian's handling of the presump- 
 tuous Glaucon, or simply unfolding parables in 
 his pulpit. 
 
 That former night came vividly back to Delia 
 Prince. Through the opening hymn, in which 
 she did not join ; through the story of the feast 
 in Simon's house, she was thinking of the time 
 when David told her he had shipped, and she 
 had made up her mind to save a home. 
 
 But in the second hymn she joined; and in 
 her joy she forgot herself and sang, as she had 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 25 
 
 been used to sing when she was the leader of all 
 the singing. In a moment they all knew that 
 she was there. 
 
 " Thus far the Lord hath led me on ; 
 Thus far His power prolongs my days; 
 And every evening shall make known 
 Some fresh memorial of His grace." 
 
 II. 
 
 " M. ISAACS" was over the door; Mr. Isaacs 
 was within. Without, three golden balls were 
 hanging, like apples of the Hesperides; within 
 was an array of goods which the three balls 
 had brought in. 
 
 Mr. Isaacs was walking to and fro behind the 
 counter, and briskly rubbing his hands. 
 
 " My good wife Sarah," he said, with a strong 
 Semitic accent, " those sudden, raw east winds ! 
 I am so frozen as if I was enjoying myself upon 
 the skating-rink, and here it is the summer. 
 Where is that long spring overcoat that German 
 man hypotecated with us last evening ? Between 
 the saddle and the gold-lace uniform, you say? " 
 
 And taking it down, by means of a long, 
 
26 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 hooked pole, he put it on. It covered his ears 
 and swept the ground : " It make me look like 
 Aaron in those pictures," he said. 
 
 It would have been a grasping disposition that 
 could not be suited with something from out 
 Mr. Isaacs's stock. It would have been hard 
 to name a faculty of the human soul or a mem- 
 ber of the human body to which it could not 
 lend aid and comfort. One musically inclined 
 could draw the wailing bow or sway the ac- 
 cordion; pucker at the pensive flute, or beat 
 the martial, soul-arousing drum. One stripped, 
 as it were, on his way to Jericho, could slink in 
 here and select for himself a fig-leaf from a 
 whole Eden of cut-away coats and wide-check- 
 ered trousers, all fitting "to surprise yourself," 
 and could be quite sure of finding a pair of 
 boots, of whatever size was needed, of the very 
 finest custom hand work, a misfit, made for a 
 gentleman in New York. A devout man, accord- 
 ing to his leanings, could pray from the prayer- 
 book of an impoverished Episcopalian, or sing 
 from the hymn-book of an insolvent Baptist. 
 
 " So help me gracious ! " Mr. Isaacs used to 
 say, raising his shoulders and opening wide his 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 27 
 
 palms ; " when you find a man so ungrateful that 
 he cannot be fitted out with somethings from my 
 stock, I really suppose you could not fit that 
 man out in Paradise." 
 
 Mr. Isaacs was looking nervous. But it was 
 not by the images which his ordinary stock in 
 trade would naturally cause to arise that he was 
 disturbed, images though they were of folly, 
 improvidence, and distress. There was indeed 
 hardly an article in the shop, except the new 
 plated jewelry in the window, that was not 
 suggestive of misery or of sin. But in Mr. 
 Isaacs's well-poised mind no morbid fancies arose. 
 "Those hard winters makes me cheerful," he 
 was wont to say in the fall ; " they makes the 
 business lifely." 
 
 Still, Mr. Isaacs was a little troubled this 
 afternoon, and, singularly enough, about a most 
 happy purchase that he had just made, at ninety 
 per cent below value. There the articles lay 
 upon the counter, a silk hat, a long surtout, 
 a gold-headed cane and a pair of large rubbers ; 
 a young man's Derby hat and overcoat and 
 rattan cane, and a pair of arctics ; a lady's bon- 
 net and dolman and arctics ; a young girl's hat 
 
28 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 with a soft bird's-breast, and her seal-skin sack 
 and arctics ; besides four small boys' hats and 
 coats and arctics. It seemed as if some modern 
 Elijah, a family man, expectant of translation, 
 had made with thrifty forethought an " arrange- 
 ment " that Mr. Isaacs's shop should be the point 
 of departure, and flying off in joyous haste, 
 with wife and children, had left the general 
 raiment on the counter. You would naturally 
 have looked for a sky-lit hole in the ceiling. 
 
 " So help me gracious ! " said Mr. Isaacs, 
 turning the articles over; "I suppose there's 
 some policemen just so wicked and soospicious 
 to say I must know those garments are stolen 
 scooped off some hat-tree, the last winter, at 
 one grab." 
 
 "Why do you enter dose on de book to- 
 gedder?" said Mrs. Isaacs. " If you put dose 
 separate on de book, how de policeman know 
 dey came in togedder?" 
 
 "That is a great danger, Sarah. That's just 
 the way they fix our good friend Greenbaum. 
 When they caught the thief, and he tell them 
 where he sell some things, and Greenbaum 
 had put down those earrings and those brace- 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 29 
 
 lets and that Balmoral skirt for three different 
 times, they say he must know those things was 
 stolen, if not, why did he put those things 
 down different from each other? 
 
 " But so help me gracious ! " he added, pres- 
 ently, " I have not the least soospicions, like 
 the babes unborn, those goods are stolen. The 
 man that brought them in was very frank, and 
 very much of a gentleman; and he lay his 
 hand upon his bosom-pin, and swear he sell 
 those things because he has no more use for 
 them, his family all sick of tyvoid fever, 
 and cannot live the week out. But I suppose 
 there 's some policemen just so soospicious to 
 say I must know those things are stolen." 
 
 " And so cruel soospicions," said Mrs. Isaacs, 
 " and your heart so pure and white like your 
 shirt-bosom." She meant his ideal shirt-bosom. 
 
 "Just like those evil-minded policemen," 
 he said. " You remember how they lock up 
 our old friend Abrahamson? So help me 
 gracious ! sent that good old man to prison, 
 just because he buy two gold watches and 
 two pairs of gold spectacles and an ivory- 
 handled knife and two empty pocket-books and 
 
30 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 two silk umbrellas and a seal ring and two 
 bunches of keys and two black wigs from a 
 red-headed laboring man; they say he must 
 know that two old gentlemen were robbed of 
 that personal property." 
 
 But here his attention was diverted by the 
 sight of two men, seamen to appearance, who 
 were looking into the show-window. 
 
 " I like so much," he said, " to see the pub- 
 lic enjoying themselves in my window ; it give 
 them so happy pleasure to see those lovely 
 things ; and often they comes in and buy some- 
 things. This young man," he added, after a 
 pause, "seem to admire those broad neck-wear; 
 he look at both those two, the Four-in-hand 
 and the Frolic." 
 
 " I think he look most at de Frolic, "said Mrs. 
 Isaacs; "I think he would come in if you go 
 outside and take him by de arm like a true 
 frient, and bring him in. My broder Moses 
 walk outside de whole day long, and take each 
 man when he go by and talk to him like his 
 own broder, wid tears in his eyes, and make 
 dem come in and buy somedings." 
 
 But Mr. Isaacs only wrapped the long coat 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 31 
 
 more closely about his linen garments, and 
 watched the younger man as he turned his eyes 
 away from the Four-in-hand and the Frolic 
 and bent them on the trays in which were 
 glittering tiers of rings and pins, and rows of 
 watches labelled "Warrented genuine, $14;" 
 " Dirt-cheap, $8.75 ; " " Doct's Watch, Puls- 
 counting, $19.50." 
 
 " He look like he had some money," said 
 Mrs. Isaacs. " Perhaps he would come in and 
 buy a watch if you go out and pull him in. 
 How can he buy someding through de glass? 
 My broder Moses say, ' So many folks is 
 bashful.' " 
 
 But at last the men, after talking awhile, ap- 
 parently of the goods in the window, came in. 
 
 "What's the price of some of those ear-rings 
 in the window?" said the younger. "Let's 
 see what you've got for a couple of dollars 
 or so." 
 
 " So help me gracious ! " said Mr. Isaacs, as he 
 took from the show-window three or four cards 
 of plated ear-rings. " I knew you would come 
 in to buy somethings. When I saw you look in 
 the very first moment I say to my wife, 
 
32 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 * There is a good young man that will give a 
 present to some lovely young lady.' Yes, sir, 
 the very words I said to Sarah." 
 
 "What's the price of this pair? I haven't 
 got any girl to treat, but I 've just got paid off 
 for a whaling voyage, and my lay figured up a 
 twenty-dollar bill above what I expected, and 
 I don't care if I do lay out a couple of dollars 
 on my wife besides what I Ve brought home 
 for her." 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Isaacs, "the good wife 
 is the very best jewelry. Those are two dollars. 
 But only study this pair. Hold those up to the 
 light and take a bird's-eye view through those 
 lovely stones, so round and large like green 
 peas. Now look. So ! Now let your friend 
 look ! " 
 
 " I 'm no judge," said the other man, " I 
 know what pleases me that 's all. But them 
 would make a great display, David, wouldn't 
 they?" 
 
 " You 're right, sir," said Mr. Isaacs. " ' Dis- 
 play' is the very word. My wife wear just the 
 twins of this pair to the congregation, every 
 week." 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 33 
 
 Mrs. Isaacs raised her eyebrows: she wore 
 nothing but diamonds. 
 
 "What's the price of these green ones?" 
 asked David. 
 
 Mr. Isaacs shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I suppose those are the finest articles of 
 the kind in the whole creation," he said. " We 
 can let you have those to-day," and he lowered 
 his voice to a whisper, and put his hand up 
 beside his mouth, " to close out stock for six 
 dollars. They cost us only last week eight-fifty, 
 but we are obliged to reduce stock prior to 
 removal. The building is to be taken down." 
 
 " I would like those tip-top ; but I don't 
 know it's a good deal of money for gew- 
 gaws; my wife would take me to do for it; 
 I guess I must keep to the two-dollar ones. I 
 come pretty hard by my dollars, and a dollar 
 means a good deal to me just now." 
 
 " But just once look again," said Mr. Isaacs, 
 and he stepped briskly behind his wife and held 
 up an ear-ring to each of her ears. " See them 
 on a chaste and lovely form. With these your 
 wife will be still more lovely. All those other 
 men will say, ' Where did that graceful lady 
 
34 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 find so rich ear-rings ? ' You will see they are 
 a great success : her most bosom friends will 
 hate her; they will turn so green like the grass 
 on the ground with envy. It is a great pleasure 
 when my wife wears those kind : her very sisters 
 cannot speak for anger, and her own mother 
 looks so rigid like the Cardiff Giant." 
 
 "Well, I guess I shall have to take them," 
 said David, " and you '11 have to wrap them 
 right up : we have n't got more than about 
 time to get the train, have we, Calvin ? " 
 
 " So help me gracious ! " said Mr. Isaacs, 
 " is there no time to sell our friend Calvin 
 a pair? He will repent not to secure those 
 other pair, until his dying day; so sorry like 
 he lose his ship some day upon those rocks. 
 I suppose there is no others like those in the 
 whole creation." 
 
 But he wrapped the purchase up in a bit of 
 white paper and gave David Prince four trade 
 dollars in change for a ten-dollar bill, and the 
 two men went out, leaving Mr. Isaacs free 
 to attend to a timid woman in black who 
 had just come in to raise fifty cents upon 
 a ring, while Mrs. Isaacs looked after a car- 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 35 
 
 penter who proposed to pawn his edge-tools 
 for rent-money. 
 
 Mr. Isaacs waved his hand and smiled as 
 the men went out of the door. " You will find 
 they are a success, to surprise yourself," he 
 called out: "her most bosom friends will 
 writhe and scream with envy." 
 
 The winding line of the long New England 
 coast faces the sea, in its sweeping curves, in 
 every direction. From the Callender place, 
 the ocean lay to the south. Though elsewhere 
 east winds might be blowing harsh upon the 
 coast, here, almost every day, and all day 
 long, in summer, the southwest wind came 
 pouring in from the expanse of waters, fresh 
 and cool, boisterous often, but never chill; 
 and even winds from the east lost edge in 
 crossing miles of pitch-pine woods, of planted 
 fields, of sandy ponds, of pastures, and came 
 in softened down and friendly. 
 
 A gentle breeze was drifting in from sea. 
 All day long it had been blowing, salt and 
 strong and riotous, tossing the pine-tops, bend- 
 ing the corn, swaying the trees in the orchards, 
 
36 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 but now it was preparing to die away, as was 
 its wont, at sundown, to give to the woods, the 
 cornfields and the orchards a little space of 
 rest and peace before it should rise again in 
 the early evening to toss them all night long. 
 The blue of the sky was blue in the water. 
 Every object stood out sharp and clear. Down 
 the low, curving shore-line, curls of smoke rose 
 from distant roofs, and on the headland, up the 
 coast, the fairy forest in the air was outlined 
 with precision. Distant ships were moving, like 
 still pictures, on the horizon, as if that spell 
 were laid on them which hushed the enchanted 
 palace. There was just sea enough to roll the 
 bell-buoy gently, and now and then was rung 
 an idle note of warning. Three fishing-boats 
 lay anchored off the Spindle, rising and falling, 
 and every now and then a sea broke on the 
 rock. On the white sand beach, waves were 
 rolling in, dying softly away along the shore, 
 or heavily breaking, with a long, flying line 
 of foam. 
 
 The sun was fast descending. Delia Prince 
 went out to the corner of the house and shaded 
 her eyes to look at the sunset. The white 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 37 
 
 clouds turned to a flaming red, and the reflec- 
 tion dyed to crimson the surface of the creeks ; 
 the sun descended toward the wooded bluff that 
 flanked the bay, sent a thousand shattered, daz- 
 zling rays through the trees, and disappeared. 
 
 The red of the clouds and the red of the 
 water gave place to gray. The wind died down. 
 The silence was intense, all the more marked 
 because of the few sharp sounds that broke it 
 now and then. Across the bay, near shore, 
 a man was raking oysters ; he stood in the 
 stern of his skiff, and the bow was up in the 
 air. Near by a girl was driving sluggish cows 
 along the beach, and her shrill cries came over 
 the water; by a cottage on the bank a boy 
 was chopping brush upon a block, and Delia 
 watched the silent blows, and heard the sound 
 come after. He smiled as she looked; for 
 every night she saw the boy's mother stand 
 at the door to call him, and saw him come 
 reluctant to his task. 
 
 There was a sense of friendly companion- 
 ship in all these homely sights and sounds. 
 It was different from the old house, shut in close 
 by a second growth of birch and oak. 
 
38 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 The table was standing ready for a late sup- 
 per. The children had gone for berries to the 
 Island, and they would soon come home, and 
 David was due, too, with his money. 
 
 She smiled as he appeared. The ascent to 
 the brow of the hill was so sharp that first 
 you saw a hat in movement, then a head, 
 then shoulders, body, legs, and feet. She ran 
 quickly down the road to meet him, and took 
 his arm. 
 
 "You couldn't catch the noon train?" she 
 said. " Captain Wells stopped at the door a 
 little while ago to see what time we should 
 be down to get the deed, and luckily I told 
 him that we might not be down until into the 
 evening. He said he 'd stay at home and wait 
 till we came." 
 
 "Delia," said David, when he had seated 
 himself in the house, " I 've got bad news to 
 tell you, and I may as well out with it first as 
 last." 
 
 " You have n't shipped for another whaling 
 voyage? " 
 
 "No; that would be nothing," he said. 
 
 Delia stood and looked at him. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 39 
 
 " Well," she said, " did n't you get as much 
 as you counted on?" 
 
 " Yes, twenty more." 
 
 "It isn't anything about the children? I 
 expect them home every minute." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Delia," he said, " you was a great fool ever 
 to have me. You ought to have taken advice." 
 
 "What is the matter?" she said. "Why 
 don't you tell me?" 
 
 " I Ve lost the money," he said. " The Cap- 
 tain warned me how apt a seafaring man is 
 to lose money ; but I did n't take any heed, 
 and I went off with Calvin Green " 
 
 " With Calvin Green ! What did I tell you ! " 
 she said. 
 
 "Wait a minute and I stopped into a jew- 
 elry store and bought you a pair of ear-rings, 
 and I came off and left my wallet on the 
 counter, the way that fool Joe Bassett did, to 
 Gloucester. When I went back, the rascal 
 claimed he never saw me before said he 
 did n't know me from the Prophet Samuel, as 
 if I was born that minute. And now they'll 
 all say and it 's true that I 'm a chip of 
 
4O FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 the old block, and that I 'm bound to come 
 out at the little end. There ! " he said, as he 
 opened a little parcel and took out the ear- 
 rings. " There 's what 's left of five hundred 
 and twenty dollars, and you must make the 
 most of 'em. Hold 'em up to the light and 
 see how handsome they are. I don't know, 
 after all, but they are worth while for a man 
 to pitch overboard off Cape Horn and har- 
 poon whales two years for. All is, just tell 
 folks they cost five hundred dollars, and they '11 
 be just as good as hen's-egg diamonds. 
 
 " In fact, I don't know but I sort o' like 
 the situation," he went on, in a moment. " It 
 seems sort of natural and home-like. I should 
 have felt homesick if I 'd really succeeded in 
 getting this place paid for. 'T would have 
 seemed like getting proud, and going back on 
 my own relations. And then it '11 please every- 
 body to say, ' I told you so.' There '11 be high 
 sport round town, when it gets out, and we back 
 water down to the old place. 
 
 " Come, say something, Delia ! " he said, in 
 a moment. "Why don't you say something 
 about it? Don't you care that the money's 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 41 
 
 lost, that you stand there and don't say a word, 
 and look at nothing? " 
 
 " I don't want to say anything now," she said, 
 " I want to think." 
 
 " Well ! " said Captain Bennett, the next day, 
 to his wife, " Delia 's got more spunk ! I should 
 have felt like laying right down in the shafts, in 
 her place; but instead of that, to actually go 
 and talk them into letting her keep the Cal- 
 lender place and pay for it so much a month ! 
 And David 's signed a paper to do it." 
 
 " I guess if the truth was known," said Mrs. 
 Bennett, knitting on, " that, come to think it 
 over, she was more scared of David 's settling 
 back than she was for losing the money." 
 
 " She 's got a pull on him now," said the 
 Captain, " anyway, for if he once agrees to a 
 thing he always does it." 
 
 III. 
 
 No one fully knows the New England au- 
 tumn who has not seen its colors on the 
 extreme Old Colony sea-board. There are no 
 
42 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 mountain ranges, opening out far reaches of 
 burning maples; but there are miles of salt- 
 marsh, spreading as far as the eye can reach, 
 cut by countless creeks, displaying a vast ex- 
 panse of soft, rich shades of brown; there are 
 cranberry-meadows of twenty, thirty, or fifty 
 level acres, covered with matted vines and 
 crimson with berries; there are deserted pas- 
 tures, bright with golden-rod and asters. And 
 everywhere along the shores, against the dark 
 pine woods, are the varied reds of oaks, of 
 blackberry vines, of woodbine, and of sumach. 
 
 It was a bright fall afternoon; most of the 
 boats were in, and lay near shore before the 
 sail-loft door ; the sails were up to dry, for it 
 had been wet outside, looking doubly white 
 against the colors of the shore. 
 
 In the sail-loft they were telling stories. 
 
 " No, I don't think myself," said Deacon Luce, 
 from the rocking-chair, " that ministers always 
 show what we call horse sense. They used to 
 tell a story of Parson Allen, that preached in 
 the Old Town, in my father's time, that pleased 
 me. One spring the parson took a notion to 
 raise a pig. So he went down to Jim Barrows, 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 43 
 
 that lived there handy by, and says he, ' Mr. 
 Barrows, I hear you have a litter of young 
 pigs, and I should like to have one to raise.' 
 So Jim he got his stilyards and weighed him 
 out one, and the minister paid him, and Jim 
 he sent it up. Well, the minister kep' it some 
 three months, and he used to go out every day 
 and put on his spectacles and take his scythe 
 down from the apple-tree and mow pig-weed 
 for him, and he bought corn-meal to feed him 
 up with, and one way and another he laid out 
 a good deal on him. The pig fattened well, 
 but the whole incessant time he was either 
 rooting out and gitting into the garden, or 
 he 'd ketch his foot in behind the trough and 
 squeal like mad, or something else, so that 
 the minister had to keep leaving his sermon- 
 writing to straighten him out, and the minister's 
 wife complained of the squealing when she had 
 company. And so the parson decided to heave 
 the enterprise up, and Jim sent up and took the 
 pig back. Come to settle, ' How do we stand ? ' 
 says the minister. ' Oh, just as you say/ says 
 Jim, 'I'll leave it to you.' 'Well/ says the 
 minister, ' on the one hand you Ve got back 
 
44 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 a pig that you've been paid for; but, on the 
 other hand, I Ve had the use of him for some 
 three months, and so I guess we 're square.' " 
 "Talking of preachers," said Caleb Parker, 
 " reminds me of a story they tell of Uncle 
 Cephas Bascom, of Northhaven. Uncle Cephas 
 was a shoemaker, and he never went to sea 
 much, only to anchor his skift in the Narrows 
 abreast of his house, and catch a mess of 
 scup, or to pole a load of salt-hay from San- 
 quitt Island. But he used to visit his married 
 daughter, in Vermont, and up there they knew 
 he come from the sea-board, and they used to 
 call him ' Captain Bascom.' So, one time when 
 he was there, they had a Sabbath-school con- 
 cert, and nothing would do but ' Captain Bas- 
 com ' must talk to the boys, and tell a sea-yarn, 
 and draw a moral, the way the Deacon, here, 
 does." The Deacon gravely smiled, and stroked 
 his beard. "Well, Uncle Cephas was ruther 
 pleased with his name of ' Captain Bascom,' 
 and he did n't like to go back on it, and so he 
 flaxed round to git up something. It seems he 
 had heard a summer boarder talk in Sabbath- 
 school, at Northhaven; he told how a poor 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 45 
 
 boy minded his mother, and then got to tend 
 store, and then kep' store himself, and then he 
 jumped it on them. ' That poor boy/ says he, 
 ' now stands before you.' So Uncle Cephas 
 thought him up a similar yarn. Well, he had 
 never spoke in meeting before, and he hemmed 
 and hawed some, but he got on quite well while 
 he was telling about a certain poor boy, and all 
 that, and how the boy when he grew up was out 
 at sea, in an open boat, and saw a great sword- 
 fish making for the boat Hail Columbia, and 
 bound to stave right through her and sink her, 
 and how this man he took an oar, and give 
 it a swing, and broke the critter's sword square 
 off; and then Uncle Cephas he 'd begun to git 
 a little flustered he stops short, and waves his 
 arms, and says he, * Boys, what do you think ! 
 That sword-fish now stands before you ! ' 
 " I cal'late that brought the house down." 
 Captain Philo, who had laid down his three- 
 cornered sail-needle, to listen to this exciting 
 story, readjusted the leather thimble that cov- 
 ered his palm, and began to sew again. Uncle 
 Silas, sitting near the water door, in his brown 
 , overalls made with a breast-apron and suspender- 
 
46 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 straps, looked out at the boats. A silence fell 
 on the company. 
 
 It was broken by Calvin Green. 
 
 " A man was telling me rather a curious 
 story, the other night," he said. " I was just 
 explaining to him exactly how 't was that David 
 Prince lost his money, and so he told this : 
 
 " There was a boy that was clerk in a store, 
 and one day they sent him over to the bank to 
 git some money. It was before the war, and 
 the bank gave him twenty ten-dollar gold pieces. 
 But when he got back to the store there was 
 one short. The boy had n't nothin' to say. 
 He admitted he hadn't dropped none, because 
 he 'd put 'em in a leather bag where he could 
 n't lose one without he lost all, and the cashier 
 knew he had n't made any mistake. The store- 
 keeper he heard the story, and then he put his 
 hand on the boy's shoulder, and says he, ' I 
 don't know what to make o' this ; but I believe 
 this boy/ says he, 'and we '11 just drop it, and 
 say no more about it.' So it run along, and 
 the next day that it rained, one of the clerks in 
 the store took down an old umberella, and, come 
 to unfurl it, out falls a ten-dollar gold piece. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 47 
 
 Seems that the boy had that umberella that 
 day, and hooked it on to the counter in the 
 bank, by the handle, and one of the coins must 
 have slid off into it when he was countin' 'em, 
 and then he probably did n't spread the um- 
 berella coming back. And, as this man said 
 that was telling me, it don't do to bet too much 
 on suspicion. Now, only for that Jew's being 
 such a hard character, according to the news- 
 papers, I should be loath to charge him with 
 taking David's money; I should say David 
 might have lost it somewhere else." 
 
 Nobody spoke. Captain Bennett whistled 
 softly. 
 
 " I never felt so bad in my life," continued 
 Green, " as I did when he missed his money. 
 When we come up into the depot he was telling 
 me a kind of a comical story about old Jim 
 Torrey, how he wanted to find out if all his hens 
 was laying, or if any of 'em was disposed to 
 shirk, and he got him a pass-book ruled in 
 columns, and opened a ledger account with 
 every hen, by a name he give her ; and we got 
 up to the ticket-window, and he put his hand 
 into his breast-pocket for his wallet by George ! 
 
48 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 I Ve seen him chaff and joke, sort of quiet, when 
 we was going to ride under every minute ; but 
 he turned as white then as that new mainsail, 
 and off he went, like a shot. But 't was no use. 
 Of course, the jewelry feller wouldn't disgorge 
 on David's say-so, without no proof. 
 
 " It was like this," he went on; "the counter 
 was here, and David stood here, and I was 
 here, an( i we both come off together. But I 
 tell you, the way David looked when he put 
 in his hand for his wallet ! He stopped laugh- 
 ing, as if he see a ghost; I can't get it out of 
 my head. And how the man that stole the 
 money can stand it I can't figure out." 
 
 " Perhaps he 's calloused," said the Deacon, 
 " by what the paper said the other night about 
 his buying a parcel of clothes hooked out of 
 some man's entry. We concluded 'twas the 
 same man by the name." 
 
 "Can't believe all that's in the paper," said 
 Perez Todd ; " you know the paper had me 
 to be married, once ; the boys put it in for fun; 
 they made up the name for the female, I guess, 
 for I Ve been kind of shyin' round for her this 
 ten year, and have n't seen no such woman." 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 49 
 
 "Yes, sir, he's a hard ticket," said Green; 
 " that 's so, every time. Well, I must be going ; 
 I agreed to go and help Elbridge over at half 
 flood." 
 
 " Half flood about five," said Captain Bennett; 
 " you have n't any great time to spare." 
 
 Green went to the shore, rattled a skiff down 
 over the beach to the water, and pulled away, 
 with quick, short strokes. First the skiff was 
 cut off from sight by the marsh-bank; then 
 the rower's head alone was seen above the tall 
 brown grasses ; and then he pulled around the 
 bend and was lost to view behind a mass of flam- 
 ing woodbine; and still, in the distance, could 
 be heard across the water the rattle of his oars 
 in the thole-pins. 
 
 "Well, Silas?" said Captain Bennett. 
 
 "Well?" said Uncle Silas. 
 
 "Oh! /'ve nothing to say," said Captain 
 Bennett. 
 
 " Nor I," said Uncle Silas. 
 
 " Calvin 's always seemed to be a good-hearted 
 fellow," said Captain Philo, " since he 's lived 
 here." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Captain Bennett; "seems to 
 4 
 
5O FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 feel for David surprisingly. Told me all about 
 the losing of the money, told my wife, told my 
 boy, told Uncle Joe, told our minister, told the 
 Doctor, told Zimri Cobb, told Cyrus Bass, told 
 Captain John Wells, told Patrick Coan; and 
 proves it out to 'em all that 'twas the Jew that 
 did it." 
 
 " Kind of zealous, like the Apostle Paul sup- 
 plying the pulpit to the Gentiles," said the 
 Deacon ; " won't let alone of a man, till he 
 gives in 't the Hebrew's in the wrong." 
 
 "But 7've nothing to say," said Captain 
 Bennett. 
 
 " Oh, no, nor I," said Uncle Silas. 
 
 From the distance, borne on the gentle breeze, 
 a click as even as a pulse-beat came faintly 
 over the water. 
 
 " He may be a good-hearted fellow," said the 
 Deacon, " but I don't know as I hanker to be 
 the man that 's pulling that skiff. But then, 
 that may be simply and solely because I prefer 
 a hair-cloth rocker to a skiff." 
 
 "Delia," said David Prince to his wife, one 
 afternoon, " Calvin Green has bought four 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 51 
 
 tickets to that stereopticon show that 's going to 
 be in the West Church to-night, and he gave 
 me two, for you and me." 
 
 " I don't want his tickets," she replied, ironing 
 away at the sunny window. 
 
 " Now, what's the use of talking that way? " 
 said her husband, " as much as to say " 
 
 " I have my opinion," she said. 
 
 "Well," said her husband, " I think it's a 
 hard way to use a man, just because he hap- 
 pened to be by when I lost my money." 
 
 " I '11 tell you," said Delia, stopping her work ; 
 " we will go, and all I '11 say is this you see if 
 after the lecture 's over he does n't find a text in 
 it to talk about our money. Now, you just wait 
 and see that 's all." 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen," said the lecturer, 
 standing by a great circle of light thrown on 
 the wall, behind the pulpit, " I have now, with a 
 feeling of awe befitting this sacred place, thus 
 given you, in the first part of my lecture, a suc- 
 cinct view of the origin, rise, and growth of the 
 globe on which, as the poet has justly said, ' we 
 dwell.' I have shown you corroborating 
 
52 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 Scripture the earth, without form and void, 
 the awful monsters of the Silurian age, and Man 
 in the Garden of Eden. 
 
 " I now invite you to journey with me as 
 one has said ' across the continent.' 
 
 " Travelling has ever been viewed as a means 
 of education. Thus Athenian sages sought the 
 learning of the Orient. Thus may we this 
 evening, without toil or peril, or expense be- 
 yond the fifteen cents already incurred for the 
 admission-fee, journey in spirit from the wild 
 Atlantic to the sunset coast. In the words of 
 the sacred lyrist, Edgar A. Poe, ' My country, 't is 
 of thee,' that I shall now display some views. 
 
 " Of course we start from Boston. On the 
 way to New York, we will first pause to view 
 the scene where Putnam galloped down a flight 
 of steps, beneath the hostile fire. See both 
 mane and coat-tails flying in the wind, and 
 the eyes of steed and rider wildly dilated with 
 excitement. 
 
 " Next we pause in Brooklyn. And from 
 my immense variety of scenes in the City of 
 Churches, I choose the firemen's monument in 
 Greenwood Cemetery. 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 53 
 
 ' Here they lie low who raised their ladders high ; 
 Here they still live, for heroes cannot die ! ' 
 
 [A voice: " How many are buried there? "] 
 
 " I should say, at a venture, eighteen. [A 
 rustle of sympathy among the women.] 
 
 " Passing on, and coming thence to the me- 
 tropolis of New York, I am greatly embarrassed, 
 so vast is the richness and variety of views. 
 But I will show first the ' Five Points.' [Great 
 eagerness, and cries, " Down front ! "] Of late, 
 philanthropy and religion, walking in sweet 
 converse, hand in hand, have relieved the 
 horrors of this region, and now one may walk 
 there comparatively safe. [Sudden cessation of 
 interest.] 
 
 " I will give even another view of the metrop- 
 olis : a charming scene in Central Park. [Here 
 wavered dimly on the screen five bushes, and a 
 nursery-maid with a baby-carriage.] From this 
 exquisite picture you may gain some faint 
 idea of the charms of that Paradise raised by 
 the wand of taste and skill in a waste of arid 
 sands. 
 
 " Passing westward, I next present the Sus- 
 pension Bridge at Niagara, erected by drawing 
 
54 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 over the majestic stream a cord, a small rope, 
 then a wire, until the whole vast framework was 
 complete. The idea was taken from the spider's 
 web. Thus the humblest may guide the high- 
 est; and I love to recall, in this connection, that 
 the lamented Lincoln, some years before sign- 
 ing the Emancipation Proclamation, heard me 
 lecture on slavery, in Peoria. 
 
 " Next we come to Cleveland ; and our atten- 
 tion is seized by three cannons taken in the 
 famous naval battle on the lake. Every visitor 
 pauses here, and with uncovered head and eyes 
 suffused with tears recalls the sacrifices of the 
 Fathers. 
 
 " Next we view Chicago the morning after 
 the fire; on every hand are* blackened ruins, 
 painful proofs of the vicissitudes of human 
 fortune ! [A voice : " I was there at the 
 time."] I am delighted to know it. Such spon- 
 taneous corroboration from the audience is 
 to the lecturer's heart as a draught from the 
 well of Baca. [Laughter, and a voice : " What 
 Baker?"] 
 
 " But, in order to cross so broad a continent, 
 we must not dally, and next I show you the 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 55 
 
 Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City, the seat of 
 a defiant system of sin. All things, however, 
 have their uses, and I can recommend this re- 
 ligion to any young lady present who does not 
 find it easy to secure a helpmeet. [Apprecia- 
 tive laughter.] 
 
 " And now, for a view of the Pacific States, 
 I choose two of the famed Big Trees. Judge 
 of them by the two men who stand, like the 
 Widow's mites, beside them. These trees are 
 called ' Father and Daughter.' [A voice : 
 "Which is Father, and which is Daughter?"] 
 I am not informed, but from their appearance I 
 judge that the nearer is the Father. [Derisive 
 laughter.] 
 
 " And now we approach a climax. 
 
 " When the Ten Thousand, in their storied 
 march, reached at last the blue waters of the 
 Euxine, thrilled with joy they loudly cried: 
 ' The Sea ! The Sea ! ' So we, travellers likewise, 
 reach at last the Western Ocean; and for a 
 striking scene upon its waters, I present a Pacific 
 Mail steamer at her dock in the harbor of San 
 Francisco. In the left foreground is a Chinese 
 laundry. And now I can hardly restrain myself 
 
56 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 from passing on to Asia ; for imagination, tak- 
 ing fire, beckons to Niphon and .the Flowery 
 Kingdom. But remorseless Time says no, and 
 we pause at the Golden Gate. 
 
 " In closing, now, I will, as is usual, give one 
 or two moral views, relieved by others of a some- 
 what playful character. 
 
 " First is Napoleon's grave. He who held 
 Europe struggling in his hand, died a pris- 
 oner in solitudes remote, far from home en- 
 dearments. 
 
 " Next you see Daniel Lambert, whose great- 
 ness was of a more solid cast. Less grasping 
 in his pretensions than Napoleon, he lived an 
 honored life, and died, I understand, among his 
 relatives. 
 
 " Next is a picture of the guillotine, calling up 
 thoughts of severed heads from memory's clois- 
 ters. On the left you see a ghastly head ; on 
 the right the decapitated trunk. By the victim 
 stand the bloody actors in the tragedy. Ladies 
 and gentlemen ! When I review the awful guilt 
 of Marat and Robespierre, humbly do I give 
 thanks that I have been kept from yielding, like 
 them, to fierce ambition and lust of power, and 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 57 
 
 that I can lay my head upon a peaceful pillow 
 at my home in Fall River. 
 
 " Next is the Serenade. Part one : The Span- 
 ish lover with bow-knot shoes, pointed hat, and 
 mantle over shoulder, stands, with his lute, on 
 the covered water-butt, while at the casement 
 above is his lady's charming face. Part two : 
 The head of the water-butt has given way, and 
 the angry father, from his window, beholds a 
 scene of luckless misery. 
 
 11 1 turn now to a more pleasing view, the 
 Village Blacksmith. The mighty man is at his 
 work, and by a triumph of art I am enabled to 
 show his fine physique in action: now you see 
 his arm uplifted, and now the hammer is on 
 the iron. Up down up down. [A voice : 
 " There are two right arms ! "] That arises 
 from some slight defect in the arrangement of 
 the light ; the uplifted arm does not entirely van- 
 ish when the lowered arm appears. But to the 
 thoughtful observer, such slight contrasts only 
 heighten enjoyment. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen ! A single word in 
 closing. Our transcontinental journey this even- 
 ing ended at the Golden Gate. When life's 
 
58 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 journey ends, may we not so pause, but, as the 
 poet Judson Backus sweetly sings : 
 
 * May we find an angel wait 
 To lead us through the " golden gate." ' 
 
 " Meanwhile, adieu." 
 
 David Prince and his wife walked slowly 
 home in the clear, cold moonlight. 
 
 " Did you notice," said Delia, " how the man 
 kept saying that he didn't know just what to 
 pick out, to show? Well, I heard the Kelley boy, 
 that helped at the lamps, say that they showed 
 every identical picture there was. I suppose 
 they are a lot of odds and ends he picked up at 
 an auction." 
 
 " I think he was a kind of a humbug," said 
 Calvin Green, who, with his wife, had come up 
 close behind. " See how he kept dragging 
 in his morals, jes like overhauling a trawl 
 and taking off a haddock, every once in so 
 often." 
 
 "What away to travel," said his wife; "to 
 go ker-jump from New York City to Niagara, 
 and from there to Cleveland. He must have 
 thought we had long stilts." 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 59 
 
 " The pictures were rather here and there and 
 everywhere, to be sure," said David ; " but I 
 have a good deal of charity for these men; 
 I s'pose they 're put to it for bread and 
 butter." 
 
 " Well, I don't know," said Green; " I don't 
 think it has a good influence on young peo- 
 ple to show such a picture as that man that 
 they murdered by slicing his head off with 
 that machine. I don't like such things to be 
 brought up." 
 
 " I should think the opposite," said his wife, 
 laughing, " by the way you 've told every man 
 in town about David's money, and the way 
 he blanched when he missed it. I think you 'd 
 better take a lesson yourself about bringing up 
 dreadful things." 
 
 When they reached Green's house, a low, 
 black cottage, they stopped a moment for the 
 women to finish a discussion about croup. 
 
 "How did that look to you now, David?" 
 said Green. " Did n't you think it would have 
 been a good deal better to have left that picture 
 out?" 
 
 " Which one?" said David. 
 
60 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 "Why, the one where they'd chopped the 
 man's head off with that machine, and were stand- 
 ing by, looking at the corpse. I don't like to 
 see such things, for my part." 
 
 " I don't know," said David. " I did n't think 
 about it particularly. I understood it was in 
 the French Revolution." 
 
 "Well, see all that flummer-diddle he got 
 off about it," said Green; "just as if any fool 
 did n't know that a man could n't sleep that was 
 haunted by a thing like that." 
 
 " Well, some can stomach anything, and I sup- 
 pose some can sleep on anything," said David. 
 " I guess it would take more than slicing one 
 man's head off to make that Jew lie awake 
 nights. If he 'd only admitted that I 'd been 
 there ! But as soon as I said I 'd left some- 
 thing, then for him and his wife to claim they 
 never saw me ! They 're cool ones ! " 
 
 " Well, right here, about what my wife flung 
 out," said Green, glancing over his shoulder to 
 where the women were talking, both at once, 
 woman-fashion ; " you know my wife's way, 
 you haven't ever heard any such talk going 
 round, have you, as that I was hounding folks 
 
FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 6 1 
 
 about your bad luck? I say an honest man 
 speaks right out, no fear, no favor. Ain't that 
 so?" 
 
 It was a bitterly cold, clear night, a few weeks 
 later. Runners squeaked and boot-heels 
 crunched in the road. David had passed Green's 
 house at seven o'clock, going to the store ; he 
 always went by there at that time, Saturdays, 
 and passed again, returning home, at about 
 eight. 
 
 When he reached the gate, on his return, 
 Green was standing there, apparently waiting. 
 
 " Come into the house a minute, David," he 
 said ; " I want to see you." 
 
 He led him into the kitchen. 
 
 " My wife 's gone over to Aunt Nathan's for 
 the evening," he said. 
 
 He shut the door, and locked it. 
 
 " There ! " he said ; " I can't stand it any 
 longer;" and he laid upon a table at David's side 
 a wallet. David took it up and opened it ; it 
 held a great roll of bills. 
 
 "What does this mean? "he said; "why 
 this is mine ! You don't mean " 
 
62 FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 
 
 " I mean I stole it," said Green. 
 
 David sat down. " I wish you had put it in 
 the fire," he said, " and never told me." 
 
 " There's just one thing I want to say," said 
 Green. " I picked it up, first, to give it to you, 
 and when I saw that you 'd forgot it, I thought 
 I 'd have a little joke on you for a while ; and 
 then, when I saw how things was going, I kind 
 o' drifted into keeping it. You know how I 
 come home, all my voyage eat up, and a hun- 
 dred dollars' debts besides, and children sick. 
 But every dollar 's there. 
 
 " Now, what I ask," he added, " is four days' 
 time to ship and get away. What are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 " Nothing," said David ; " settle your debts 
 and pay me when you can." And taking five 
 twenty-dollar bills from the wallet, he left them 
 on the table and went away. 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 r Eph 's got back ; they say 
 his sentence run out yisterday." 
 
 The speaker, John Doane, was a sunburnt 
 fisherman, one of a circle of well-salted individ- 
 uals who sat, some on chairs, some on boxes and 
 barrels, around the stove in a country store. 
 
 "Yes," said Captain Seth, a middle-aged little 
 man with ear-rings; "he come on the stage to- 
 noon. Would n't hardly speak a word, Jim 
 says. Looked kind o' sot and sober." 
 
 " Wall," said the first speaker, " I only hope 
 he won't go to burnin' us out of house and 
 home, same as he burnt up Eliphalet's barn. 
 I was ruther in hopes he 'd 'a' made off West. 
 Seems to me I should, in his place, hevin' ben 
 in State's-prison." 
 
 " Now, I allers hed quite a parcel o' sympathy 
 for Eph," said a short, thickset coasting cap- 
 
64 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 tain, who sat tilted back in a three-legged chair, 
 smoking lazily. " You see, he wa'n't but about 
 twenty-one or two then, and he was allers a 
 mighty high-strung boy; and then Eliphalet 
 did act putty ha'sh, foreclosin' on Eph's mother, 
 and turnin' her out o' the farm in winter, when 
 everybody knew she could ha' pulled through 
 by waitin'. Eph sot great store by the old 
 lady, and I expect he was putty mad with 
 Eliphalet that night." 
 
 " I allers," said Doane, " approved o' his plan 
 o' leadin' out all the critters, 'fore he touched 
 off the barn. 'T ain't everybody 't would hev 
 taken pains to do that. But all the same, I tell 
 Sarai 't I feel kind o' skittish, nights, to hev 
 to turn in, feelin' 't there 's a convict in the 
 place." 
 
 " I hain't got no barn to burn," said Captain 
 Seth; "but if he allots my hen-house to the 
 flames, I hope he'll lead out the hens and 
 hitch 'em to the apple-trees, same 's he did 
 Eliphalet's critters. Think he ought to deal 
 ekally by all." 
 
 A mild general chuckle greeted this sally, 
 cheered by which the speaker added, 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 65 
 
 " Thought some o' takin' out a policy o' in- 
 surance on my cockerel." 
 
 " Trade 's lookin' up, William," said Captain 
 Seth to the storekeeper, as some one was heard 
 to kick the snow off his boots on the door-step. 
 " Somebody 's found he 's got to hev a shoe- 
 string 'fore mornin'." 
 
 The door opened, and closed behind a 
 strongly-made man of twenty-six or seven, of 
 homely features, with black hair, in clothes 
 which he had outgrown. It was a bitter night, 
 but he had no coat over his flannel jacket. He 
 walked straight down the store, between the 
 dry-goods counters, to the snug corner at the 
 rear ; where the knot of talkers sat; nodded, 
 without a smile, to each of them, and then 
 asked the storekeeper for some simple arti- 
 cles of food, which he wished to buy. It was 
 Eph. 
 
 While the purchases were being put up, 
 an awkward silence prevailed, which the oil- 
 suits hanging on the walls, broadly displaying 
 their arms and legs, seemed to mock, in dumb 
 show. 
 
 Nothing was changed, to Eph's eyes, as he 
 5 
 
66 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 looked about. Even the handbill of familiar 
 pattern 
 
 "STANDING WOOD FOR SALE. 
 APPLY TO J. CARTER, ADMIN'R," 
 
 seemed to have always been there. 
 
 The village parliament remained spellbound. 
 Mr. Adams tied up the purchases, and mildly 
 inquired, 
 
 "Shall I charge this?" 
 
 Not that he was anxious to open an account, 
 but that he would probably have gone to the 
 length of selling Eph a barrel of molasses " on 
 tick " rather than run any risk of offending so 
 formidable a character. 
 
 " No," said Eph ; " I will pay for the things." 
 
 And having put the packages into a canvas 
 bag, and selected some fish-hooks and lines 
 from the show-case, where they lay environed 
 by jack-knives, jews-harps, and gum-drops, 
 dear to the eyes of childhood, he paid what 
 was due, said " Good-night, William," to the 
 storekeeper, and walked steadily out into the 
 night. 
 
 " Wall," said the skipper, " I am surprised ! 
 I strove to think o' suthin' to say, all the time 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 67 
 
 he was here, but I swow I could n't think o' 
 nothin'. I could n't ask him if it seemed good 
 to git home, nor how the thermometer had 
 varied in different parts o' the town where he 'd 
 been. Everything seemed to fetch right up 
 standin' to the State's-prison." 
 
 " I was just goin' to say, ' How 'd ye leave 
 everybody?'" said Doane; "but that kind o' 
 seemed to bring up them he 'd left. I felt real 
 bad, though, to hev the feller go off 'thout 
 none on us speakin' to him. He 's got a hard 
 furrer to plough ; and yet I don't s'pose there 's 
 much harm in him, 'f Eliphalet only keeps 
 quiet." 
 
 " Eliphalet ! " said a young sailor, contemptu- 
 ously. " No fear o' him ! They say he 's so 
 sca't of Eph he hain't hardly swallowed nothin' 
 for a week." 
 
 " But where will he live? " asked a short, curly- 
 haired young man, whom Eph had seemed not 
 to recognize. It was the new doctor, who, 
 after having made his way through college and 
 the great medical school in Boston, had, two 
 years before, settled in this village. 
 
 "I believe," said Mr. Adams, rubbing his 
 
68 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 hands, " that he wrote to Joshua Carr last win- 
 ter, when his mother died, not to let the little 
 place she left, on the Salt Hay Road; and I 
 understand that he is going to make his home 
 there. It is an old house, you know, and not 
 worth much, but it is weather-tight, I should 
 say." 
 
 " Speakin' of his writin' to Joshua," said 
 Doane, " I have heard such a sound as that he 
 used to shine up to Joshua's Susan, years back. 
 But that 's all ended now. You won't catch 
 Susan marryin' no jailbirds." 
 
 " But how will he live?" said the doctor. 
 " Will anybody give him work? " 
 
 " Let him alone for livin'," said Doane. " He 
 can ketch more fish than any other two men 
 in the place allers seemed to kind o' hev a 
 knack o' whistlin' 'em right into the boat. And 
 then Nelson Briggs, that settled up his mother's 
 estate, allows he 's got over a hundred and ten 
 dollars for him, after payin' debts and all pro- 
 bate expenses. That and the place is all he 
 needs to start on." 
 
 " I will go to see him," said the doctor to him- 
 self, as he went out upon the requisition of a 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 69 
 
 grave man in a red tippet, who had just come 
 for him. " He does n't look so very dangerous, 
 and I think he can be tamed. I remember that 
 his mother told me about him." 
 
 Late that night, returning from his seven 
 miles' drive, as he left the causeway, built across 
 a wide stretch of salt-marsh, crossed the rattling 
 plank bridge, and ascended the hill, he saw a 
 light in the cottage window, where he had often 
 been to attend Aunt Lois. " I will stop now," 
 said he. And, tying his horse to the front fence, 
 he went toward the kitchen door. As he passed 
 the window, he glanced in. A lamp was burn- 
 ing on the table. On a settle, lying upon his 
 face, was stretched the convict, his arms beneath 
 his head. The canvas bag lay on the floor be- 
 side him. " I will not disturb him now," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 A few days later Dr. Burt was driving in his 
 sleigh with his wife along the Salt Hay Road. 
 It was a clear, crisp winter forenoon. As they 
 neared Eph's house, he said, 
 
 " Mary, suppose I lay siege to the fort this 
 morning. I see a curl of smoke rising from the 
 
/O THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 little shop in the barn. He must be making 
 himself a jimmy or a dark-lantern to break into 
 our vegetable cellar with." 
 
 " Well," said she, " I think it would be a good 
 plan ; only, you know, you must be very, very 
 careful not to hint, even in the faintest way, at 
 his imprisonment. You must n't so much as 
 suspect that he has ever been away from the 
 place. People hardly dare to speak to him, for 
 fear he will see some reference to his having 
 been in prison, and get angry." 
 
 "You shall see my sly tact," said her hus- 
 band, laughing. " I will be as innocent as a 
 lamb. I will ask him why I have not seen him 
 at the Sabbath-school this winter." 
 
 " You may make fun," said she, " but you 
 will end by taking my advice, all the same. 
 Now, do be careful what you say." 
 
 " I will," he replied. " I will compose my 
 remarks carefully upon the back of an envelope 
 and read them to him, so as to be absolutely 
 sure. I will leave on his mind an impression 
 that I have been in prison, and that he was the 
 judge that tried me." 
 
 He drove in at the open gate, hitched his 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 71 
 
 horse in a warm corner by the kitchen door, 
 and then stopped for a moment to enjoy the 
 view. The situation of the little house, half a 
 mile from any other, was beautiful in summer, 
 but it was bleak enough in winter. In the small 
 front dooryard stood three lofty, wind-blown 
 poplars, all heading away from the sea, and 
 between them you could look down the bay or 
 across the salt-marshes, while in the opposite 
 direction were to be seen the roofs and the 
 glittering spires of the village. 
 
 " It is social for him here, to say the least," 
 said the doctor, as he turned and walked alone 
 to the shop. He opened the door and went in. 
 It was a long, low lean-to, such as farmers often 
 furnish for domestic work with a carpenter's 
 bench, a grindstone, and a few simple tools. It 
 was lighted by three square windows above the 
 bench. An air-tight stove, projecting its funnel 
 through a hole in one of the panes, gave out a 
 cheerful crackling. 
 
 Eph, in his shirt-sleeves, his hands in his pock- 
 ets, was standing, his back against the bench, sur- 
 veying, with something of a mechanic's eye, the 
 frame of a boat which was set up on the floor. 
 
72 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 He looked up and colored slightly. The 
 doctor took out a cigarette, lit it, sat down on 
 the bench, and smoked, clasping one knee in 
 his hands and eying the boat. 
 
 " Centre-board?" he asked, at length. 
 
 " Yes," said Eph. 
 
 "Cat-rig?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Going fishing? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 -Alone?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I was brought up to sail a boat," said the 
 doctor, " and I go fishing in summer when 
 I get a chance. I shall try your boat, some 
 time." 
 
 No reply. 
 
 "The timbers aren't seasoned, are they? 
 They look like pitch-pine, just out of the woods. 
 Won't they warp ? " 
 
 " No. Pitch-pine goes right in, green. 1^ 
 s'pose the pitch keeps it, if it 's out of the sun." 
 
 "Where did you cut it?" 
 
 Eph colored a little. 
 
 " In my back lot." 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 73 
 
 The doctor smoked on calmly, and studied 
 the boat. 
 
 " I don't know as I know you," said Eph, 
 relaxing a little. 
 
 " Good reason," said the doctor. " I Ve only 
 been here two years ; " and after a moment's 
 pause, he added : " I am the doctor here, now. 
 You Ve heard of my father, Dr. Burt, of Broad 
 River?" 
 
 Eph nodded assent; everybody knew him, 
 all through the country, a fatherly old man, 
 who rode on long journeys at everybody's call, 
 and never sent in his bills. 
 
 The visitor had a standing with Eph at once. 
 
 " Doctors never pick at folks," he said to 
 himself " at any rate, not old Dr. Burt's 
 son." 
 
 " I used to come here to see your mother," 
 said the doctor, " when she was sick. She used 
 to talk a great deal about you, and said she 
 wanted me to get acquainted with you, when 
 your time was out." 
 
 Eph started, but said nothing. 
 
 " She was a good woman, Aunt Lois," added 
 the doctor ; " one of the best women I ever saw." 
 
74 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 " I don't want anybody to bother himself on 
 my account," said Eph. " I ask no favors." 
 
 " You will have to take favors, though," said 
 the doctor, " before the winter is over. You 
 will be careless and get sick; you have been 
 living for a long time entirely in-doors, with 
 regular hours and work and food. Now you 
 are going to live out-of-doors, and get your own 
 meals, irregularly. You did n't have on a thick 
 coat the other night, when I saw you at the store." 
 
 " I have n't got any that 's large enough for 
 me," said Eph, a little less harshly, " and I 've 
 got to keep my money for other things." 
 
 " Thenlook out and wearflannel shirts enough," 
 said the doctor, " if you want to be independent. 
 But before I go, I want to go into the house. 
 I want my wife to see Aunt Lois's room, and 
 the view from the west window; " and he led 
 the way to the sleigh. 
 
 Eph hesitated a moment, and then followed 
 him. 
 
 " Mary, this is Ephraim Morse. We are go- 
 ing in to see the Dutch tiles I have told you of." 
 
 She smiled as she held out her mittened hand 
 to Eph, who took it awkwardly. 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 75 
 
 The square front room, which had been origi- 
 nally intended for a keeping-room, but had been 
 Aunt Lois's bedroom, looked out from two win- 
 dows upon the road, and from two upon the 
 rolling, tumbling bay, and the shining sea be- 
 yond. A tall clock, with a rocking ship above 
 the face, ticked in the corner. The painted 
 floor with bright rag mats, the little table with 
 a lacquer work-box, the stiff chairs and the old- 
 fashioned bedstead, the china ornaments upon 
 the mantel-piece, the picture of " The Emeline G. 
 in the Harbor of Canton," were just as they had 
 been when the patient invalid had lain there, 
 looking from her pillow out to sea. In twelve 
 rude tiles, set around the open fireplace, the He- 
 brews were seen in twelve stages of their escape 
 from Egypt. It would appear from this repre- 
 sentation that they had not restricted their bor- 
 rowings to the jewels of their oppressors, but 
 had taken for the journey certain Dutch cloth- 
 ing of the fashion of the seventeenth century. 
 The scenery, too, was much like that about 
 Leyden. 
 
 " I think," said the doctor's wife, " that the 
 painter was just a little absent-minded when he 
 
76 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 put in that beer-barrel. And a wharf, by the 
 Red Sea ! " 
 
 " I wish you would conclude to rig your boat 
 with a new sail," said the doctor, as he took 
 up the reins, at parting. " There is n't a boat 
 here that 's kept clean, and I should like to hire 
 yours once or twice a week in summer, if you 
 keep her as neat as you do your house. Come 
 in and see me some evening, and we '11 talk it 
 over." 
 
 Eph built his boat, and, in spite of his evident 
 dislike of visitors, the inside finish and the ar- 
 rangements of the little cabin were so ingenious 
 and so novel that everybody had to pay him a 
 visit. 
 
 True to his plan of being independent, he 
 built in the side of the hill, near his barn, by a 
 little gravelly pond, an ice-house, and with the 
 hardest labor filled it, all by himself. With 
 this supply, he would not have to go to the gen- 
 eral wharf at Sandy Point to sell his fish, with 
 the other men, but could pack and ship them 
 himself. And he could do better, in this way, 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 77 
 
 he thought, even after paying for teaming them 
 to the cars. 
 
 The knowing ones laughed to see that, from 
 asking no advice, he had miscalculated and laid 
 in three times as much as he could use. 
 
 " Guess Eph cal'lates to fish with two lines in 
 each hand an' another 'n his teeth," said Mr. 
 Wing. " He 's plannin' out for a great lay o' 
 fish." 
 
 The spring came slowly on, and the first boat 
 that went out that season was Eph's. That day 
 was one of unmixed delight to him. What a 
 sense of absolute freedom, when he was fairly 
 out beyond the lightship, with the fresh swift- 
 ness of the wind in his face ! What an exquisite 
 consciousness of power and control, as his boat 
 went beating through the long waves ! Two or 
 three men from another village sailed across 
 his wake. His boat lay over, almost showing 
 her keel, now high out of water, now settling 
 between the waves, while Eph stood easily in 
 the stern, in his shirt-sleeves, backing against 
 the tiller, smoking a pipe, and ranging the 
 waters with his eyes. 
 
 "Takes it natural ag'in, don't he? Stands as 
 
78 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 easy as ef he was loafin' on a wharf," said one 
 of the observers. " Expect it 's quite a treat 
 to be out. But they do say he 's gittin' every- 
 body's good opinion. They looked for a reg'- 
 lar ruffi'n when he come home, cuttin' nets, 
 killin' cats, chasin' hens, gittin' drunk ! They 
 say Eliphalet Wood did n't hardly dare to go 
 ou' doors for a month, 'thout havin' his hired 
 man along. But he 's turned out as peaceful 
 as a little. gal." 
 
 One June day, as Eph was slitting blue- 
 fish at the little pier which he had built on the 
 bay shore, near his rude ice-house, two men 
 came up. 
 
 " Hullo, Eph ! " 
 
 " Hullo ! " 
 
 " We Ve got about sick, tradin' down to the 
 wharf; we can't git no fair show. About one 
 time in three, they tell us they don't want our 
 fish, and won't take 'em unless we heave 'em in 
 for next to nothin', and we know there ain't 
 no sense in it. So we just thought we 'd slip 
 down and see 'f you would n't take 'em, seein's 
 you Ve got ice, and send 'em up with yourn." 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 79 
 
 Eph was taken all aback with this mark of con- 
 fidence. The offer must be declined. It evi- 
 dently sprang from some mere passing vexation. 
 
 " I can't buy fish," said he. " I have no 
 scales to weigh 'em." 
 
 " Then send ourn in separate berrels," said 
 one of the men. 
 
 " But I have n't any money to pay you," he 
 said. " I only get my pay once a month." 
 
 "We'll git tick at William's, and you can 
 settle 'th us when you git your pay." 
 
 " Well," said he, unable to refuse, " I '11 take 
 'em, if you say so." 
 
 Before the season was over, he had still an- 
 other customer, and could have had three or 
 four more, if he had had ice enough. He felt 
 strongly inclined that fall to build a larger ice- 
 house; and although he was a little afraid of 
 bringing ridicule upon himself in case no fish 
 should be brought to him the next summer, he 
 decided to do so, on the assurance of three or 
 four men that they meant to come to him. No- 
 body else had such a chance, a pond right by 
 the shore. 
 
 One evening there was a knock at the door 
 
80 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 of Eliphalet Wood, the owner of the burned 
 barn. Eliphalet went to the door, but turned 
 pale at seeing Eph there. 
 
 " Oh, come in, come in ! " he panted. " Glad 
 to see you. Walk in. Have a chair. Take a 
 seat. Sit down." 
 
 But he thought his hour had come : he was 
 alone in the house, and there was no neighbor 
 within call. 
 
 Eph took out a roll of bills, counted out 
 eighty dollars, laid the money on the table, and 
 said quietly, 
 
 " Give me a receipt on account." 
 
 When it was written he walked out, leaving 
 Eliphalet stupefied. 
 
 Joshua Carr was at work, one June afternoon, 
 by the roadside, in front of his low cottage, by 
 an enormous pile of poles, which he was shaving 
 down for barrel-hoops, when Eph appeared. 
 
 " Hard at it, Joshua ! " he said. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " said Joshua, looking up through 
 his steel-bowed spectacles. " Hev to work 
 hard to make a livin' though I don't know 's 
 I ought to call it hard, neither; and yet it is 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 8 1 
 
 ruther hard, too ; but then, on t' other hand, 
 't ain't so hard as a good many other things 
 though there is a good many jobs that 's easier. 
 That 's so ! that 's so ! 
 
 ' Must we be kerried to the skies 
 On feathery beds of ease ? ' 
 
 Though I don't know 's I ought to quote a hymn 
 on such a matter; but then I don* know 's 
 there's any partic'lar harm in't, neither." 
 
 Eph sat down on a pile of shavings and 
 chewed a sliver; and the old man kept on at 
 his work. 
 
 " Hoop-poles goin' up and hoops goin' down," 
 he continued. " Cur'us, ain't it? But then, I 
 don' know as 'tis; woods all bein* cut off 
 poles gittin' scurcer hoops bein' shoved in 
 from Down East. That don't seem just right, 
 now, does it? But then, other folks must make 
 a livin', too. Still, I should think they might 
 take up suthin' else; and yet, they might say 
 that about me. Understand, I don't mean to 
 say that they actually do say so ; I don't want 
 to run down any man unless I know " 
 
 " I can't stand this," said Eph to himself; 
 " I don't wonder that they always used to put 
 6 
 
82 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 Joshua off at the first port, when he tried to go 
 coasting. They said he talked them crazy with 
 nothing. 
 
 " I '11 go into the house and see Aunt Lyddy," 
 he said aloud. " I 'm loafing, this afternoon." 
 
 " All right ! all right ! " said Joshua. " Lyd- 
 dy '11 be glad to see you that is, as glad as she 
 would be to see anybody," he added, reaching 
 out for a pole. " Now, I don't s'pose that sounds 
 very well ; but still, you know how she is she 
 allers likes to hev folks to talk, and then she 's 
 allers sayin' talkin' wears on her; but I ought 
 not to say that to you, because she allers likes 
 to see you that is, as much as she likes to see 
 anybody. In fact, I think, on the whole 
 
 "Well, I'll take my chances," said Eph, 
 laughing ; and he opened the gate and went in. 
 
 Joshua's wife, whom everybody called Aunt 
 Lyddy, was rocking in a high-backed-chair in 
 the kitchen, and knitting. It was currently re- 
 ported that Joshua's habit of endlessly retract- 
 ing and qualifying every idea and modification 
 of an idea which he advanced, so as to commit 
 himself to nothing, was the effect of Aunt 
 Lyddy's careful revision. 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 83 
 
 " I s'pose she thought 'twas fun to be talked 
 deef when they was courtin'," Captain Seth had 
 once sagely remarked. " Prob'ly it sounded 
 then like a putty piece on a seraphine ; but I 
 allers cal'lated she 'd git her fill of it, sooner 
 or later. You most gin'lly git your fill o' one 
 tune." 
 
 "How are you this afternoon, Aunt Lyddy?" 
 asked Eph, walking in without knocking, and 
 sitting down near her. 
 
 " So as to be able to keep about," she replied. 
 " It is a great mercy I ain't afflicted with fall- 
 ing out of my chair, like Hepsy Jones, ain't 
 it?" 
 
 " I Ve brought you some oysters," he said. 
 " I set the basket down on the door-step. I just 
 took them out of the water myself from the bed 
 I planted to the west of the water-fence." 
 
 " I always heard you was a great fisherman," 
 said Aunt Lyddy, " but I had no idea you would 
 ever come here and boast of being able to catch 
 oysters. Poor things ! How could they have 
 got away? But why don't you bring them in ? 
 They won't be afraid of me, will they?" 
 
 He stepped to the door and brought in a peck 
 
84 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 basket full of large, black, twisted shells, and 
 with a heavy clasp-knife proceeded to open 
 one, and took out a great oyster, which he held 
 up on the point of the blade. 
 
 " Try it," he said ; and then Aunt Lyddy, 
 after she had swallowed it, laughed to think 
 what a tableau they had made, a man who had 
 been in the State's-prison standing over her with 
 a great knife ! And then she laughed again. 
 
 " What are you laughing at? " he said. 
 
 "It popped into my head, supposing Susan 
 should have looked in at the south window 
 and Joshua in at the door, when you was feeding 
 out that oyster to me, what they would have 
 thought ! " 
 
 Eph laughed too; and, surely enough, just 
 then a stout, light-haired, rather plain-looking 
 young woman came up to the south window and 
 leaned in. She had on a sun-bonnet, which had 
 not prevented her from securing a few choice 
 freckles. She had been working with a trowel 
 in her flower-garden. 
 
 " What 's the matter ? " she said, nodding 
 easily to Eph. " What do you two always find 
 to laugh about? " 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 85 
 
 " Ephraim was feeding me with spoon-meat," 
 said Aunt Lyddy, pointing to the basket, which 
 looked like a basket of anthracite coal. 
 
 " It looks like spoon-meat ! " said Susan, and 
 then she laughed too. " I '11 roast some of them 
 for supper," she added, " a new way that I 
 know." 
 
 Eph was not invited to stay to supper, but 
 he stayed, none the less : that was always under- 
 stood. 
 
 " Well, well, well ! " said Joshua, coming 
 to the door-step, and washing his hands and 
 arms just outside, in a tin basin. " I thought I 
 see you set down a parcel of oysters but there 
 was sea-weed over 'em, and I don' know 's I could 
 have said they was oysters; but then, if the 
 square question had been put to me, ' Mr. Carr, 
 be them oysters or be they not?' I s'pose I 
 should have said they was ; still, if they 'd asked 
 me how I knew " 
 
 " Come, come, father ! " said Aunt Lyddy, 
 " do give poor Ephraim a little peace. Why 
 don't you just say you thought they were oys- 
 ters, and done with it? " 
 
 " Say I thought they was? " he replied, inno- 
 
86 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 cently. " I knew well enough they was that 
 is knew ? No, I did n't know, but " 
 
 Aunt Lyddy, with an air of mock resignation, 
 gave up, while Joshua endeavored to fix, to a 
 hair, the exact extent of his knowledge. 
 
 Eph smiled ; but he remembered what would 
 have made him pardon, a thousand times over, 
 the old man's garrulousness. He remembered 
 who alone had never failed, once a year, to visit 
 a certain prisoner, at the cost of a long and tire- 
 some journey, and who had written to that 
 homesick prisoner kind and cheering letters, and 
 had sent him baskets of simple dainties for 
 holidays. 
 
 Susan bustled about, and made a fire of crack- 
 ling sticks, and began to roast the oysters in a 
 way that made a most savory smell. She set 
 the table, and then sat down at the melodeon, 
 while she was waiting, and sang a hymn; for 
 she was of a musical turn, and was one of the 
 choir. Then she jumped up and took out the 
 steaming oysters, and they all sat down. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" said her father; " these 
 be good ! I did n't s'pose you hed any very 
 good oysters in your bed, Ephraim. But there, 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 8/ 
 
 now I don't s'pose I ought to have said that; 
 that was n't very polite ; but what I meant was, 
 I did n't s'pose you hed any that was real 
 good though I don' know but I've said about 
 the same thing, now. Well, any way, these 
 be splendid ; they 're full as good as those co- 
 hogs we had t'other night." 
 
 " Quahaugs ! " said Susan. " The idea of 
 comparing these oysters with quahaugs ! " 
 
 " Well, well ! that 's so ! " said her father. " I 
 did n't say right, did I, when I said that ! Of 
 course, there ain't no 'comparison that is no 
 comparison? Why, of course, they is a com- 
 parison between everything, but then, cohogs 
 don't really compare with oysters ! That 's 
 true!" 
 
 And then he paused to eat a few. 
 
 He was silent so long at this occupation that 
 they all laughed. 
 
 "Well, well! " he said, laying down his fork, 
 and smiling innocently; "what be you all 
 laughin' at? Not but what I allers like to hev 
 folks laugh but then, I didn't see nothin' 
 to laugh at. Still, perhaps they was suthin' to 
 laugh at that I did n't see ; sometimes one 
 
88 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 man '11 be lookin' down into his plate, all taken 
 up with his victuals, and others, that 's lookin' 
 around the room, may see the kittens frolickin', 
 or some such thing. T ain't the fust time I 've 
 known all hands to laugh all to once-t, when I 
 didn't see nothin'." 
 
 Susan helped him again, and secured another 
 brief respite. 
 
 " Ephraim," said he, after a while, " you ain't 
 skilled to cook oysters like this, I don't believe. 
 You ought to git married ! I was sayin' to 
 Susan t'other day well, now, mother, hev 
 I said anything out o' the way? Well, I 
 don't s'pose 't was just my place to have said 
 anything about gitt'n' married, to Ephraim, 
 seein's " 
 
 " Come, come, father," said Aunt Lyddy, 
 " that '11 do, now. You must let Ephraim alone, 
 and not joke him about such things." 
 
 Meanwhile Susan had hastily gone into the 
 pantry to look for a pie, which she seemed 
 unable at once to find. 
 
 " Pie got adrift? " called out Joshua. " Seems 
 to me you don't hook on to it very quick. Now 
 that looks good," he added, when she came out. 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 89 
 
 " That looks like cookin' ! All I meant was, 't 
 Ephraim ought not to be doin' his own cookin' 
 that is, 'f you can call it cookin'. But then, 
 of course, 'tis cookin' there's all kinds o' 
 cookin'. I went cook myself, when I was a 
 boy." 
 
 After supper, Aunt Lyddy sat down to knit, 
 and Joshua drew his chair up to an open win- 
 dow, to smoke his pipe. In this vice Aunt 
 Lyddy encouraged him. The odor of Virginia 
 tobacco was a sweet savor in her nostrils. No 
 breezes from Araby ever awoke more grate- 
 ful feelings than did the fragrance of Uncle 
 Joshua's pipe. To Aunt Lyddy it meant quiet 
 and peace. 
 
 Susan and Eph sat down on the broad flag 
 door-stone, and talked quietly of the simple 
 news of the neighborhood, and of the days 
 when they used to go to school, and come 
 home, always together. 
 
 " I did n't much think then," said Eph, " that 
 I should ever bring up where I have, and get 
 ashore before I was fairly out to sea ! " 
 
 " Jehiel's schooner got ashore on the bar, 
 years ago," said Susan, " and yet they towed 
 
90 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 
 
 her off, and I saw her this morning, from my 
 chamber window, before sunrise, all sail set, 
 going by to the eastward." 
 
 " I know what you mean," said Eph. " But 
 here I got mad once, and I almost had a 
 right to, and I can't get started again ; I never 
 shall. I can get a living, of course ; but I shall 
 always be pointed out as a jailbird, and could 
 no more get any footing in the world than 
 Portuguese Jim." 
 
 Portuguese Jim was the sole professional 
 criminal of the town, a weak, good-natured, 
 knock-kneed vagabond, who stole hens, and 
 spent every winter in the House of Correction 
 as an "idle and disorderly person." 
 
 Susan laughed outright at the picture. Eph 
 smiled too, but a little bitterly. 
 
 " I suppose it was more ugliness than any- 
 thing else," he said, " that made me come back 
 here to live, where everybody knows I Ve been 
 in jail and is down on me." 
 
 "They are not down on you," said Susan. 
 " Nobody is down on you. It 's all your own 
 imagination. And if you had gone anywhere 
 that you was a stranger, you know that the first 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 91 
 
 thing that you would have done would have 
 been to call a meeting and tell all the people 
 that you had burned down a man's barn and 
 been in the State's-prison, and that you wanted 
 them all to know it at the start ; and you 
 wouldn't have told them why you did it, and 
 how young you was then, and how Eliphalet 
 treated your mother, and how you was going 
 to pay him for all he lost. Here, everybody 
 knows that side of it. In fact/' she added, with 
 a little twinkle in her eye, " I have sometimes 
 had an idea that the main thing they don't 
 like is, to see you saving every cent to pay to 
 Eliphalet." 
 
 " And yet it was on your say that I took up 
 that plan," said Eph. " I never thought of it 
 till you asked me when I was going to begin to 
 pay him up." 
 
 " And you ought to," said Susan. " He has 
 a right to the money and then, you don't 
 want to be under obligations to that man all 
 your life. Now, what you want to do is to 
 cheer up and go around among folks. Why, 
 now you 're the only fish-buyer there is that 
 the men don't watch when he 's weighing their 
 
92 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 fish. You '11 own up to that, for one thing, 
 won't you?" 
 
 " Well, they are good fellows that bring fish 
 to me," he said. 
 
 " They were n't good fellows when they traded 
 at the great wharf," said Susan. " They had a 
 quarrel down there once a week, regularly." 
 
 "Well, suppose they do trust me in that," 
 said Eph. " I can never rub out that I Ve been 
 in State's-prison." 
 
 "You don't want to rub it out. You can't 
 rub anything out that 's ever been ; but you can 
 do better than rub it out." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " Take things just the way they are," said 
 Susan, " and show what can be done. Perhaps 
 you '11 stake a new channel out for others to 
 follow in, that haven 't half so much chance as 
 you have. And that 's what you will do, too," 
 she added. 
 
 " Susan ! " he said, " if there 's anything I can 
 ever do, in this world or the next, for you or 
 your folks, that 's all I ask for, the chance to 
 do it. Your folks and you shall never want for 
 anything while I 'm alive. 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 93 
 
 " There 's one thing sure," he added, rising. 
 "I'll live by myself and be independent of 
 everybody, and make my way all alone in the 
 world; and if I can make 'em all finally own 
 up and admit that I'm honest with 'em, I'm 
 satisfied. That's all I'll ever ask of anybody. 
 But there 's one thing that worries me some- 
 times , that is, whether I ought to come here 
 so often. I 'm afraid, sometimes, that it '11 hinder 
 your father from gettin' work, or something 
 for you folks to be friends with me." 
 
 " I think such things take care of them- 
 selves," said Susan, quietly. " If a chip won't 
 float, let it sink." 
 
 " Good-night," said Eph ; and he walked off, 
 and went home to his echoing house. 
 
 After that, his visits to Joshua's became less 
 frequent. 
 
 It was a bright day in March, one of those 
 which almost redeem the reputation of that des- 
 perado of a month. Eph was leaning on his 
 fence, looking now down the bay and now to 
 where the sun was sinking in the marshes. He 
 knew that all the other men had gone to the 
 
94 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 town-meeting, where he had had no heart to 
 intrude himself, that free democratic parlia- 
 ment where he had often gone with his father 
 in childhood ; where the boys, rejoicing in a 
 general assembly of their own, had played ball 
 outside, while the men debated gravely within. 
 He recalled the time when he himself had so 
 proudly given his first vote for President, and 
 how his father had introduced him then to 
 friends from distant parts of the town. He 
 remembered how he had heard his father speak 
 there, and how respectfully everybody had lis- 
 tened to him. That was in the long ago, when 
 they had lived at the great farm. And then 
 came the thought of the mortgage, and of 
 Eliphalet's foreclosure, and 
 
 " Hullo, Eph ! " 
 
 It was one of the men from whom he took 
 fish, a plain-spoken, sincere little man. 
 
 " Why wa'n't you down to town-meet'n' ? " 
 
 " I was busy," said Eph. 
 
 " How 'd ye like the news?" 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 There was never any good news for him now. 
 
 " Hain't heard who 's elected town-clerk? " 
 
THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 95 
 
 " No." 
 
 Had they elected Eliphalet, and so expressed 
 their settled distrust of him, and sympathy for 
 the man whom he had injured? 
 
 "Who is elected? " he asked harshly. 
 
 "You be!" said the man; "went in flyin', 
 all hands clappin' and stompin' their feet! " 
 
 An hour later the doctor drove up, stopped, 
 and walked toward the kitchen door. As he 
 passed the window, he looked in. 
 
 Eph was lying on his face, upon the settle, as 
 he had first seen him there, his arms beneath his 
 head. 
 
 " I will not disturb him now," said the 
 doctor. 
 
 One breezy afternoon, in the following sum- 
 mer, Captain Seth laid aside his easy every-day 
 clothes, and transformed himself into a stiff 
 broadcloth image, with a small silk hat and 
 creaking boots. So attired, he set out in a high 
 open buggy, with his wife, also in black, but with 
 gold spectacles, to the funeral of an aunt. As 
 they pursued their jog-trot journey along the 
 
96 THE VILLAGE CONVICT. 
 
 Salt Hay Road, and came to Ephraim Morse's 
 cottage, they saw Susan sitting in a shady little 
 porch at the front door, shelling peas and 
 looking down the bay. 
 
 " How is everything, Susan?" called out 
 Captain Seth ; " 'bout time for Eph to be gitt'n' 
 in?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, nodding and smiling, 
 and pointing with a pea-pod ; " that 's our 
 boat, just coming to the wharf, with her peak 
 down." 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 I. 
 
 of the places which they point out on 
 Ship Street is the Italian fruit-shop on 
 the corner of Perry Court, before the door of 
 which, six years ago, Guiseppe Cavagnaro, burst- 
 ing suddenly forth in pursuit of Martin Lavezzo, 
 stabbed him in the back, upon the sidewalk. 
 "All two" of them were to blame, so the wit- 
 nesses said ; but Cavagnaro went to prison for 
 fifteen years. That was the same length of 
 time, as it happened, that the feud had lasted. 
 
 Nearly opposite is Sarah Ward's New Albion 
 dance-hall. It opens directly from the street. 
 There is an orchestra of three pieces, one of 
 which plays in tune. That calm and collected 
 woman whom you may see rocking in the win- 
 dow, or sitting behind the bar,, sewing or knit- 
 7 
 
98 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 ting, is not a city missionary, come to instruct 
 the women about her; it is Sarah Ward, the 
 proprietress. She knows the Bible from end 
 to end. She was a Sunday-school teacher once; 
 she had a class of girls; she spoke in prayer- 
 meetings ; she had a framed Scripture motto in 
 her chamber, and she took the Teachers' Lesson 
 Quarterly; she visited the sick; she prayed in 
 secret for her scholars' conversion. How she 
 came to change her views of life nobody knows, 
 that is to say, not everybody knows. And 
 still she is honest. It is her pride that sailors are 
 not drugged and robbed in the New Albion. 
 
 A few doors below, and on the same side of 
 the street, is the dance-hall that was Bose King's. 
 It is here that pleasure takes on its most sordid 
 aspect. If you wish to see how low a white 
 woman can fall, how coarse and offensive a 
 negro man can be, you will come here. There 
 is an inscription on the bar, in conspicuous 
 letters, " Welcome Home." 
 
 By day it is comparatively still in Ship Street. 
 Women with soulless faces loll stolidly in the 
 open ground-floor windows. There are few 
 customers in the bar-rooms; here and there 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 99 
 
 two or three idlers shake for drinks. Police- 
 men stroll listlessly about, and have little to do. 
 But at nightfall there is a change; the scrape 
 of fiddles, the stamp of boot-heels, is heard 
 from the dance-halls. Oaths and boisterous 
 laughter everywhere strike the ear. Children, 
 half-clad, run loose at eleven o'clock. Two 
 policemen at a corner interrogate a young man 
 who is hot and excited and has no hat. He 
 admits that he saw three men run from the 
 alley-way and saw the sailor come staggering 
 out after them, but he does not know who the 
 men were. The policemen " take him in," on 
 suspicion. 
 
 It is here that the Day-Star Mission has 
 planted itself. Its white flag floats close by the 
 spot where Martin Lavezzo fell, with the long 
 knife between his shoulder-blades. Its sign of 
 welcome is in close rivalry with the harsh strains 
 from Sarah Ward's and the lighted stairway to 
 Bose King's saloon. It stands here, isolated 
 and strange, an unbidden guest. It is a protest, 
 a reproof, a challenge, an uplifted finger. 
 
 But while, to a casual glance, the Day-Star 
 
TOO SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 Mission is all out of place, it has, nevertheless, 
 its following. On Monday and Thursday after- 
 noons a troop of black-eyed, jet-haired Por- 
 tuguese women, half of whom are named Mary 
 Jesus, flock in to a sewing-school. On Tues- 
 days and Fridays American, Scotch, and Irish 
 women, from the tenement-houses of the quarter, 
 fill the settees, to learn the use of the needle, 
 to enjoy a little peace, and to hear reading and 
 singing; and occasionally the general public of 
 the vicinity are invited to an entertainment. 
 
 It was a February afternoon ; at the Mission 
 building the board were in monthly session. 
 The meeting had been a spirited one. A propo- 
 sition to amend the third line of the fourth 
 by-law, entitled " Decorum in the Hall," by in- 
 serting the word " smoking," had been debated 
 and had prevailed. A proposition to buy a new 
 mangle for the laundry had been defeated, it 
 having been humorously suggested that the 
 women could mangle each other. Other mat- 
 ters of interest had been considered. 
 
 Finally, as the hour for adjournment drew near, 
 a proposition was brought forth, appropriate to 
 
SAINT PATRICK. IOI 
 
 the season. Saint Patrick's Day was approach- 
 ing. It was to many a day of temptation, par- 
 ticularly in the evening. Would it not be a 
 good plan to hold out the helping hand, in the 
 form of a Saint Patrick's Day festival, with an 
 address, for example, upon Saint Patrick's life, 
 with Irish songs and Irish readings? Such an 
 entertainment would draw ; it would keep a 
 good many people out of the saloons. Such 
 was the suggestions. 
 
 The proposition excited no little interest. 
 Ladies who had begun to put on their wraps 
 sat down again. To one of the board, a 
 clergyman, who had lately been lecturing on 
 " Popery the People's Peril," the proposition 
 was startling. It looked toward the breaking 
 down of all barriers; it gave Romanism an 
 outright recognition. Another member, a pro- 
 duce-man, understood, in fact he had read in 
 his denominational weekly, that Saint Patrick 
 could be demonstrated to have been 'a Protes- 
 tant, and he suggested that that fact might be 
 " brought out." Others viewed the matter in 
 that humorous light in which this festival day 
 commonly strikes the American mind. 
 
102 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 The motion prevailed. Even the anti-papis- 
 tic clergyman was comforted, apparently, at 
 last, for he was heard to whisper jocosely to 
 his left-hand neighbor : " Saint Patrick's Day in 
 the Morning ! " 
 
 A committee, with the produce-man at the 
 head, was appointed to select a speaker, and 
 to provide music and reading. It was sug- 
 gested that perhaps Mr. Wakeby and Mrs. 
 Wilson-Smith would volunteer, if urged, their 
 previous charities in this direction had made 
 them famous in the neighborhood. Mr. Wakeby 
 to read from "Handy Andy;" Mrs. Wilson- 
 Smith to sing " Kathleen Mavourneen," 
 there would not be standing-room ! 
 
 So finally unanimity prevailed, and with 
 unanimity, enthusiasm. 
 
 The committee met, and the details were 
 settled. The chairman quietly reserved to him- 
 self, by implication, the choice of a speaker. 
 He knew that it would be an audience hard 
 to hold. The occasion demanded a man of 
 peculiar gifts. Such a man, he said to him- 
 self, he knew. 
 
 
SAINT PATRICK. IO3 
 
 II. 
 
 THE single meeting-house of L stands on 
 
 the main street, with its tall spire and its two tiers 
 of gray-blinded windows. Beside it is the mossy 
 burial-ground, where prim old ladies walk on 
 Sunday afternoons, with sprigs of sweet-william. 
 
 Across the street, and a little way down the 
 road, is the square white house with a hopper- 
 roof, which an elderly, childless widow, depart- 
 ing this life some forty years ago, thoughtfully 
 left behind her for a parsonage. It is a pleas- 
 ant, home-like house, open to sun and air, and 
 the pleasantest of all its rooms is the minister's 
 study. It is an upper front chamber, with 
 windows to the east and the south. There is 
 nothing in the room of any value ; but whether 
 the minister is within, or is away and is rep- 
 resented only by his palm-leaf dressing-gown, 
 somehow the spirit of peace seems always to 
 abide there. 
 
 There is the ancient desk, which the minis- 
 ter's children, when they were little, used to 
 call the " omnibus," by reason of a certain vast 
 
104 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 and capacious drawer, the resort of all home- 
 less things, nails, wafers, the bed-key, curtain- 
 fixtures, carpet-tacks, and dried rhubarb. Per- 
 haps it was to this drawer that the minister's 
 daughter lately referred, when she said that the 
 true motto was, " One place for everything, and 
 everything in that one place." 
 
 Over the chimney-piece hangs a great mis- 
 sionary map, showing the stations of the dif- 
 ferent societies, with a key at one side. This 
 blue square in Persia denotes a missionary 
 post of the American Board of Commission- 
 ers; that red cross in India is an outpost of 
 a Presbyterian missionary society; this green 
 diamond in Arrapatam marks a station of 
 the Free Church Missionary Union. As one 
 looks the map over, he seems to behold the 
 whole missionary force at work. He sees, in 
 imagination, Mr. Elmer Small, from Augusta, 
 Maine, preaching predestination to a company of 
 Karens, in a house of reeds, and the Rev. Geo. 
 T. Wood, from Massachusetts, teaching Paley in 
 Roberts College at Constantinople. 
 
 Thus the whole Christian world lies open 
 before you. 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 105 
 
 Pinned up on one of the doors is the Pauline 
 Chart. Have you never seen the Pauline 
 Chart ? It was prepared in colored inks, by 
 Mr. Parker, a theological student with a turn 
 for penmanship, and lithographed, and was sold 
 by him to eke out the avails of what are inaptly 
 termed "supplies." You would find it exceed- 
 ingly convenient. It shows in a tabulated form, 
 for ready reference, the incidents of Saint Paul's 
 career, arranged chronologically. Thus you can 
 find at a glance the visit to Berea, the stoning 
 at Lystra, or the tumult at Ephesus. Its use- 
 fulness is obvious. Over the desk is a map of 
 the Holy Land, with mountain elevations. 
 
 The walls of the room are for the most part 
 hidden by books. The shelves are simple affairs 
 of stained maple, covered heavily with succes- 
 sive coats of varnish, cracked, as is that of the 
 desk, by age and heat. The contents are varied. 
 Of religious works there are the Septuagint, 
 in two fat little blue volumes, like Roman can- 
 dles; Conant's Genesis; Hodge on Romans; 
 Hackett on Acts, which the minister's small 
 children used to spell out as "Jacket on Acts; " 
 Knott on the Fallacies of the Antinomians ; 
 
106 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 A Tour in Syria ; Dr. Grant and the Mountain 
 Nestorians, and six Hebrew Lexicons, singed 
 by fire, a paternal inheritance. 
 
 There are a good many works, too, of general 
 literature, but rather oddly selected, as will 
 happen where one makes up his library chiefly 
 by writing book-notices : Peter Bayne's Es- 
 says; Coleridge; the first volume of Masson's 
 Life of Milton; Vanity Fair; the Dutch Re- 
 public ; the Plurality of Worlds ; and Momm- 
 sen's Rome. That very attractive book in 
 red you need not take down ; it is only the 
 history of Norwalk, Conn., with the residence 
 of J. T. Wales, Esq., for a frontispiece ; the 
 cover is all there is to it. Finally, there are 
 two shelves of Patent Office Reports, and Perry's 
 Expedition to Japan with a panoramic view of 
 Yeddo. This shows that the minister has num- 
 bered a congressman among his flock. 
 
 It is here that Dr. Parsons is diligently en- 
 gaged, this cold March afternoon, to the music 
 of his crackling air-tight stove. He is deeply ab- 
 sorbed in his task, and we may peep in and not 
 disturb him. He has a large number of books 
 spread out before him ; but looking them over, 
 
SAINT PATRICK. IO7 
 
 we miss Lange's Commentaries, Bengel's Gno- 
 mon, Cobb on Galatians, those safe and sound 
 authorities always provided with the correct 
 view. 
 
 The books which lie before the Doctor seem 
 all to deal with a Romish Saint, and, of all 
 the saints in the world, Saint Patrick. In full 
 sight of his own steeple, from which the bell is 
 even now counting out the sixty-nine years of 
 a good brother just passed away in hope of 
 a Protestant heaven, tolling out the years for 
 the village housewives, who pause and count; 
 under such hallowing influences, beneath, as 
 it were, the very shadow of the Missionary Map 
 and the Pauline Chart, and with a gray Jordan 
 rushing down through a scarlet Palestine di- 
 rectly before him, suggestive of all good things ; 
 with Knott on the Fallacies at his right hand, 
 and with Bowling on Romanism on his left, the 
 Doctor is actually absorbed in Papistical litera- 
 ture. Here are the works of Dr. Lanigan and 
 Father Colgan and Monseigneur Moran. Here 
 is the " Life and Legends of Saint Patrick," illus- 
 trated, with a portrait in gilt of Brian Boru on 
 the cover. Here are the Tripartite Life, in Latin, 
 
108 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 and the saint's Confession, and the Epistle to Co- 
 roticus, the Ossianic Poems, and Miss Cusack's 
 magnificent quarto, which the Doctor has bor- 
 rowed from the friendly priest at the factory 
 village four miles away, who borrowed it from 
 the library of the Bishop to lend to him. 
 
 Perhaps you have never undertaken to prepare 
 a life of Saint Patrick. If so, you have no idea of 
 the difficulties of the task. In the first place, you 
 must settle the question whether Saint Patrick 
 ever existed. And this is a disputed point; for 
 while there are those, like Father Colgan, whose 
 clear faith accepts Saint Patrick just as he stands 
 in history and tradition, yet, on the other hand, 
 there are sceptics, like Ledwick, who contend 
 that the saint is nothing but a prehistoric myth, 
 floating about in the imagination of the Irish 
 people. 
 
 Having settled to your satisfaction that Pat- - 
 rick really lived, you must next proceed to fix 
 the date of his birth ; and here you enter upon 
 complicated calculations. You will probably 
 decide to settle first, as a starting-point, the date 
 of the saint's escape from captivity; and to do 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 1 09 
 
 this you will have to reconcile the fact that after 
 the captivity he paid a friendly visit to his 
 kinsman, Saint Martin of Tours, who died in 
 397, with the fact that he was not captured 
 until 400. 
 
 Next you will come to the matter of the 
 saint's birthplace; and this is a delicate ques- 
 tion, for you will have to decide between the 
 claims of Ireland, of Scotland, and of France; 
 and you will very probably find yourself finally 
 driven to the conclusion for the evidence 
 points that way that Saint Patrick was a 
 Frenchman. 
 
 Next comes the question of the saint's length 
 of days ; and if you attempt to include only the 
 incidents of his life of which there can be no 
 possible doubt, you will stretch his age on until 
 you will probably fix it at one hundred and 
 twenty years. 
 
 But when you have settled the existence, the 
 date of birth, and the nationality of Saint Pat- 
 rick, you are still only upon the threshold of 
 your inquiries; for you next find before you for 
 examination a vast variety of miracles, accredited 
 to him, which you must examine, weeding out 
 
HO SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 such as are puerile and are manifestly not well 
 established, and retaining such as are proved 
 to your satisfaction. You will be struck at 
 once with the novel and interesting character of 
 some of them. Prince Caradoc was changed 
 into a wolf. An Irish magician who opposed 
 the saint was swallowed by the earth as far as 
 his ears, and then, on repentance, was instantly 
 cast forth and set free. An Irish pagan, dead 
 and long buried, talked freely with the saint 
 from out his turf-covered grave, and charitably 
 explained where a certain cross belonged which 
 had been set by mistake over him. The saint 
 was captured once, and was exchanged for a 
 kettle, which thenceforth froze water over the 
 fire instead of boiling it, until the saint was 
 sent back and the kettle returned. Ruain, son of 
 Cucnamha, Amhalgaidh's charioteer, was blind. 
 He went in haste to meet Saint Patrick, to be 
 healed. Mignag laughed at him. " My troth," 
 said Patrick, " it would be fit that you were the 
 blind one." The blind man was healed and 
 the seeing one was made blind ; Roi-Ruain is the 
 name of the place where this was done. Patrick's 
 charioteer was looking for his horses in the 
 
SAINT PATRICK. Ill 
 
 dark, and could not find them ; Patrick lifted 
 up his hand ; his five fingers illuminated the 
 place like five torches, and the horses were 
 found. 
 
 You see that one has a good deal to go 
 through who undertakes to prepare a life of 
 Saint Patrick. 
 
 But our thoughts have wandered from Dr. 
 Parsons. He has gathered the books before him 
 with great pains, from public and private libraries, 
 and he religiously meant to make an exhaustive 
 study of them all ; but sermons and parish calls 
 and funerals, and that little affair of Mrs. Samuel 
 Nute, have forced him, by a process of which we 
 all know something, to forego his projected 
 subsoil ploughing and make such hasty prepa- 
 ration as he can. 
 
 He has read the Confession and the Epistle 
 to Coroticus, and he has glanced over the 
 " Life and Legends," reading in a cursory way 
 of the leper's miraculous voyage ; of the fan- 
 tastic snow; of the tombstone that sailed the 
 seas ; of the two trout that Patrick left to live 
 forever in a well, 
 
112 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 "The two inseparable trout, 
 Which would advance against perpetual streams, 
 Without obligation, without transgression 
 Angels will be along with them in it." 
 
 And being very fond of pure water himself, the 
 Doctor is touched by Patrick's lament when far 
 away from the well Uaran-gar : 
 
 " Uaran-gar, Uaran-gar ! 
 O well, which I have loved, which lovd me ! 
 Alas! my cry, O my dear God, 
 That my drink is not from the pure well of Uaran-gar ! " 
 
 But finally he has settled down, as most casual 
 students will, to the sincere and charming little 
 sketch by William Bullen Morris, " Saint 
 Patrick, the Apostle of Ireland." He is reading 
 it now by the east window, holding the book at 
 arm's-length, as is his wont. 
 
 The theme is new to him. There opens up a 
 fresh and interesting field. The dedication of 
 the little book strikes his imagination : " To the 
 Members of the Confraternity of Saint Patrick, 
 established at the London Oratory, who, with 
 the children of the saint in many lands, are the 
 enduring witnesses of the faith which seeth Him 
 who is invisible." 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 113 
 
 He is interested in the motto on the .title- 
 page, '"En un mot, on y voit beaucoup le car- 
 acttre de S. Paul" and in the authorization, 
 " Nihil obstat. E. S. Keagh, Cong. Orat." " Im- 
 primatur, >J< Henricus Eduardus, Card." 
 
 The Doctor looks through the book in order. 
 First, the introduction; and here he considers 
 the questions First, was there in fact such a 
 man as Saint Patrick? Second, what was his 
 nationality? Third, when was he born: and, 
 herein, does the date of his escape from captivity 
 conflict with the date of his visit to his kinsman, 
 Saint Martin of Tours? Fourth, to what age 
 did he live ? Fifth, where and by whom was he 
 converted? Sixth, are his miracles authentic? 
 and so forth. 
 
 After this introductory study the book takes 
 up the saint's life in connected order. Patrick 
 was the son of a Roman decurio. From his 
 earliest days wonders attended him. When he 
 was an infant, and was about to be baptized, it 
 happened that no water was to be had for the 
 sacrament; whereupon, at the sign of the cross, 
 made by the priest with the infant's hand upon 
 the earth, a fountain gushed forth from the 
 8 
 
114 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 ground, and the priest, who was blind, anoint- 
 ing his own eyes with the water, received his 
 sight. 
 
 As Patrick grew older, wonders multiplied. 
 He came as an apostle of the faith to Strang- 
 ford Lough. Dichu, the prince of that prov- 
 ince, forewarned by the Druids, raised his sword 
 at Patrick ; but instantly his hand was fixed in 
 the air, as if carved of stone ; then light came 
 to Dichu's soul, and from a foe he became a 
 loving disciple. 
 
 Then comes the story of the fast upon the 
 mountain. It was on the height ever since, 
 called Cruachan Patrick, which looks to the 
 north upon Clew Bay, and to the west on the 
 waters of the Atlantic. It was Shrove Saturday, 
 a year and a little more from the apostle's first 
 landing in Ireland. Already he had carried the 
 gospel from the eastern to the western sea. 
 But his spirit longed for the souls of the whole 
 Irish nation. Upon the mountain he knelt in 
 prayer, and as he prayed, his faith and his de- 
 mands assumed gigantic proportions. An angel 
 came down and addressed him. God could 
 not grant his requests, the message ran, they 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 115 
 
 were too great. " Is that his decision? " asked 
 Patrick. " It is," said the angel. " It may be 
 his," said Patrick, " it is not mine ; for my 
 decision is not to leave this cruachan until my 
 demands are granted." 
 
 The angel departed. For forty days and 
 forty nights Patrick fasted and prayed amid 
 sore temptations. The blessing must fall upon 
 all his poor people of Erin. As he prayed, he 
 wept, and his cowl was drenched with his tears. 
 
 At last the angel returned and proposed a 
 compromise. The vast Atlantic lay before 
 them. Patrick might have as many souls as 
 would cover its expanse as far as his eyes could 
 reach. But he was not satisfied with that; his 
 eyes, he said, could not reach very far over 
 those heaving waters ; he must have, in addi- 
 tion, a multitude vast enough to cover the land 
 that lay between him and the sea. The angel 
 yielded, and now bade him leave the mountain. 
 But Patrick would not. " I have been tor- 
 mented," he said, " and I must be gratified ; and 
 unless my prayers are granted I will not leave 
 this cruachan while I live ; and after my death 
 there shall be here a care-taker for me." 
 
Il6 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 The angel departed. Patrick went to his 
 offering. 
 
 At evening the angel returned. " How am I 
 answered ? " asked Patrick. " Thus," said the 
 angel : " all creatures, visible and invisible, in- 
 cluding the Twelve Apostles, have entreated 
 for thee, and they have obtained. Strike thy 
 bell and fall upon thy knees: for the blessing 
 shall be on all Erin, both living and dead." 
 " A blessing on the bountiful King that hath 
 given," said Patrick ; " now will I leave the 
 cruachan." 
 
 It was on Holy Thursday that he came down 
 from the mountain and returned to his people. 
 
 III. 
 
 ONE afternoon at about this time you might 
 have seen Mr. Cole, the missionary of the Day- 
 Star, a small, lithe man, with a red beard, 
 making his way up town. He walked rapidly, 
 as he always did, for he was a busy man. 
 
 He was an exceedingly busy man. During 
 the past year, as was shown by his printed re- 
 port, he had made 2,014 calls, or five and one- 
 
SAINT PATRICK. II? 
 
 half calls a day ; he had read the Scriptures in 
 families 792 times; he had distributed 931,456 
 pages of religious literature ; he had conversed 
 on religious topics with 3,918 persons, or ten 
 and seven-tenths persons per day, Sabbaths in- 
 cluded. It was perhaps because he was so busy 
 that there was complaint sometimes that he 
 mixed matters and took things upon his shoul- 
 ders which belonged to others. 
 
 Mr. Cole's rapid pace soon brought him to a 
 broad ,and pleasant cross-street ; he went up the 
 high steps of one of the houses, rang the bell, 
 and was admitted. 
 
 Rev. Mr. Martin was in his study, and the 
 missionary was shown up. Precisely what the 
 conversation was has not been reported ; but 
 certain it is that the next day after Mr. Cole's 
 call, Mr. Martin began to prepare himself for an 
 address upon the life of Saint Patrick. It was 
 an entirely new topic to him ; but he soon found 
 himself in the full current of the stream, consid- 
 ering First, did such a man really exist, or is 
 Saint Patrick a mere myth, floating in the im- 
 agination of the Irish people? Second, what 
 was his nationality? Third, where was he born, 
 
Il8 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 and, herein, how are we to reconcile his escape 
 from captivity in 493, with his visit to his kins- 
 man, Saint Martin of Tours, after his escape 
 from captivity, in 490? Fourth, to what age did 
 he live ? Fifth, and so forth. 
 
 Mr. Martin had begun his labors by taking 
 down his encyclopaedia and such books of ref- 
 erence as he had thought could help him, and 
 had succeeded so far as to get an outline of 
 the saint's life, and to find mention of several 
 works which treated of this topic. There were 
 Montalembert's " Monks of the West," and Dr. 
 O'Donovan's " Annals of the Four Masters," the 
 works of Monseigneur Moran and Father Colgan, 
 the Tripartite Life, and a certain " magnificent 
 quarto " by Miss Cusack. All these and many 
 more he had hoped to find in the different 
 libraries of the city. But great had been his 
 surprise, on visiting the libraries, ta find that the 
 books he wanted were invariably out. It was a 
 little startling, at first, to come upon this foot- 
 print in the sand ; but a little reflection set the 
 feeling at rest. The subject was an odd one 
 to him, to be sure, but there were thousands of 
 people in the city who might very naturally be 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 concerned in it, particularly at this time, when 
 Saint Patrick's Day was approaching. None 
 the less the fact remained that the books he 
 wanted scattered through two or three libra- 
 ries were always out. 
 
 As he stepped out from the Free Library into 
 the street, it occurred to him to go to a Catho- 
 lic bookstore near at hand to look for what he 
 wanted. 
 
 It was a large, showy shop, with Virgins and 
 crucifixes and altar candelabras in the windows, 
 and pictures of bleeding hearts. He went in 
 and stood at the counter. A rosy-faced servant- 
 girl, with a shy, pleased expression, was mak- 
 ing choice of a rosary. A young priest, a few 
 steps away, was looking at an image of Saint 
 Joseph. 
 
 The salesman left the servant-girl to her hesi- 
 tating choice, and turned to Mr. Martin. 
 
 "What have you," asked Mr. Martin, with a 
 slightly conscious tone, " upon the life of Saint 
 Patrick?" 
 
 The priest turned and looked ; but the sales- 
 man, with an unmoved countenance, went to the 
 shelves and selected two volumes and laid them 
 
I2O SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 in silence on the counter. One was the "Life 
 and Legends of Saint Patrick " with a picture 
 in gilt of Brian Boru on the cover. The other 
 was " Saint Patrick, the Apostle of Ireland," by 
 William Bullen Morris, Priest of the Oratory. 
 They were both green-covered. 
 
 Early in the evening Mr. Martin settled down 
 by his study fire to his new purchases. First 
 he took up the " Life and Legends." He read 
 the saint's own Confession, and the Letter to Co- 
 roticus, and looked through the translation of the 
 Tripartite Life, with its queer mixture of Latin 
 and English : " Prima feria venit Patricius ad Tal- 
 leriam, where the regal assembly was, to Cairpre, 
 the son of Niall." " Interrogat autem Patricius 
 qua causa venit Conall, and Conall related the 
 reason to Patrick." 
 
 He glanced over the miracles and wonders 
 of which this book was full. But before very 
 long he laid it aside and took up the Life by 
 William Bullen Morris, Priest of the Oratory, 
 and decided that he must depend upon that for 
 his preparation. 
 
 It was late at night. It was full time to stop 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 121 
 
 reading ; but it laid strong hold of his imagina- 
 tion, this strange, intense, and humorous figure, 
 looming up all new to him from the mists of the 
 past. He read the book to the end ; he read how 
 the good Saint Bridget foretold the apostle's 
 death; how two provinces contended for his 
 remains, and how a light shone over his burial- 
 place after he was laid to rest. 
 
 It was very late when Mr. Martin finished 
 the book and laid it down. 
 
 Thus it happens that the Rev. Dr. Parsons 
 and the Rev. Mr. Martin are both preparing 
 themselves at the same time on the life of 
 Saint Patrick, from this one brief book by Wil- 
 liam Bullen Morris, Priest of the Oratory. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SAINT PATRICK'S DAY has come and is now fast 
 waning. The sun has sunk behind the chimney- 
 stack of the New Albion dance-hall ; the street 
 lamps are lighted and are faintly contending 
 against the dull glow of the late afternoon. 
 
 There is a lull between day and evening. All 
 
122 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 day there has been a stir in the city. There has 
 been a procession in green sashes, with harps 
 on the banners, a long procession, in bar 
 rouches, on horseback, and afoot. There have 
 been impassioned addresses before the Hiber- 
 nian Society and the Saint Peter's Young Men's 
 Irish Catholic Benevolent Association. There 
 has been more or less celebration in Ship 
 Street. 
 
 The evening advances. It is seven o'clock. 
 Strains of invitation issue from all the dance- 
 halls. Already the people have begun to file 
 in to the Day-Star Mission. The audience-room 
 is on the street floor. The missionary stands at 
 the open door, with anxious smiles, urging de- 
 corum. A knot of idlers on each side of the 
 doorway, on the sidewalk, comment freely on 
 him and on those who enter. Every moment 
 or two a policeman forces them back. 
 
 At a quarter of seven a preliminary praise- 
 meeting begins. Singing from within jars 
 against the fiddling from over the way. You 
 hear at once " Come to Jesus just now ! " and 
 " Old Dan Tucker." 
 
 Already the seats are filled, eight in a settee ; 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 123 
 
 those who come now will have to stand. Still, 
 people continue to file in : laborers, Portuguese 
 sewing-women, two or three firemen in long- 
 tailed coats and silver buttons, from Hook and 
 Ladder Six, in the next block ; gross-looking 
 women, habitues of the Mission, with children; 
 women who are habitues of no mission ; pros- 
 perous saloon-keepers ; one of the councilmen 
 of the ward, he is a saloon-keeper too. 
 
 Dr. Parsons's train brought him to town in 
 good season. He passed in with other invited 
 guests at the private door, and he has been upon 
 the platform for ten minutes. His daughter is 
 beside him ; ten or a dozen of his parishioners, 
 who have come too, occupy seats directly in 
 front. 
 
 The platform seats are nearly all taken ; it is 
 time to begin. The street-door opens and a 
 passage is made for a new-comer. It is Mr. 
 Martin. A contingent from his church come 
 with him and fill the few chairs that are still 
 reserved about the desk. 
 
 Now all would appear to be ready ; but there 
 is still a few moments' pause. The mission- 
 ary is probably completing some preliminary 
 
124 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 arrangements. The audience sit in stolid 
 expectation. 
 
 Dr. Parsons, from beneath his eyebrows, is 
 studying the faces before him. In this short 
 time his address has entirely changed form in 
 his mind. It was simple as he had planned it; 
 it must be simpler yet. But he has felt the 
 pulse of the people before him. He feels that 
 he can hold them, that he can stir them. 
 
 Meanwhile a whispered colloquy is going on, at 
 the rear of the platform, between the missionary 
 and the chairman of the committee for the even- 
 ing. The missionary appears to be explanatory 
 and apologetic, the chairman flushed. In a mo- 
 ment a hand is placed on Dr. Parsons's shoulder. 
 He starts, half rises, and turns abruptly. 
 
 There has been, it seems, an unfortunate mis- 
 understanding. Through some mistake Mr. 
 Martin has been asked to make the address 
 upon the life of Saint Patrick, and has pre- 
 pared himself with care. He is one of the 
 Mission's most influential friends ; his church is 
 among its chief benefactors. It is an exceed- 
 ingly painful affair; but will Dr. Parsons give 
 way to Mr. Martin? 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 125 
 
 So it is all over. The Doctor takes his seat 
 and looks out again upon those hard, dreary 
 faces, his no longer. He has not realized 
 until now how he has been looking forward to 
 this evening. But the vision has fled. No rip- 
 ples of uncouth laughter, no ready tears. No 
 reaching these dull, violated hearts through 
 the Saint whom they adore: that privilege is 
 another's. 
 
 But the chairman again draws near. Will 
 Dr. Parsons make the opening prayer? 
 
 The Doctor bows assent. He folds his arms 
 and closes his eyes. You can see that he is try- 
 ing to concentrate his thoughts in preparation 
 for prayer. It is doubtless hard to divert them 
 from the swift channel in which they have been 
 bounding along. 
 
 Now all is ready. The missionary touches a 
 bell, the signal for silence. 
 
 The Doctor rises. For a moment he stands 
 looking over the rows on rows of hardened 
 faces, looking on those whom he has so 
 longed to reach. He raises his hand ; there 
 is a dead silence, and he begins. 
 
 It was inevitable, at the outset, that he should 
 
126 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 refer to the occasion which had brought us 
 together. It was natural to recall that we were 
 come to celebrate the birth of an uncommon 
 man. It was natural to suggest that he was 
 no creature of story or ancient legend, floating 
 about in the imagination of an ignorant people, 
 but a real man like us, of flesh and blood. It was 
 natural to add that he was a man born centuries 
 ago ; that the scene of his labors was the green 
 island across the sea, where many of us now 
 present had first seen the light. It was natural 
 to give thanks for that godly life which had led 
 three nations to claim the good man's birth- 
 place. It was natural to suggest that if about 
 the sweet memories of this man's life fancy had 
 fondly woven countless legends, we might, with 
 a discerning eye, read in them all the saintly 
 power of the man of God. What though his 
 infant hand may not have caused earthly 
 waters to gush from the ground and heal the 
 blindness of the ministering priest, neverthe- 
 less doth childhood ever call forth a well-spring 
 of life, giving fresh sight to the blind, to 
 teacher and taught. 
 
 But why go on? Who has not heard, again 
 
SAINT PATRICK. 127 
 
 and again, the old-fashioned prayer wherein all 
 is laid forth, in outline, but with distinctness ! 
 We give thanks for this. May this be impressed 
 upon our hearts. May this lead us solemnly 
 to reflect. 
 
 The heart that is full must overflow, if not 
 in one way, then in another. 
 
 Mr. Martin has not been told about Dr. Par- 
 sons. He sits and listens as the Doctor goes 
 on in the innocence of his heart, pouring forth 
 with warmth and fervor the life of the saint 
 according to William Bullen Morris, Priest of 
 the Oratory, pouring forth in unmistakable 
 detail Mr. Martin's projected discourse. 
 
 The prayer is ended; a hymn is sung, and 
 then the missionary presents to the audience 
 the Rev. Mr. Martin, whom they are always 
 delighted to hear; he will now address them 
 upon the life of Saint Patrick. 
 
 Mr. Martin rises. He takes a sip of water. 
 He coughs slightly. He passes his handker- 
 chief across his lips. So far all is well. But 
 the prayer is in his mind. Moreover, he un- 
 fortunately catches his wife's eye, with a sug- 
 gestion of suppressed merriment in it. 
 
128 SAINT PATRICK. 
 
 What does he say? What can he say? 
 There are certain vague lessons from the saint's 
 virtues ; some applications of what the Doctor 
 has set forth; that is all. Saint Patrick was 
 sober ; we should be sober. Saint Patrick was 
 kind ; we should be kind. 
 
 Even his own parishioners admitted that he 
 had not been " happy " on this particular 
 occasion. 
 
 But at the close of the meeting Dr. Parsons 
 received a compliment. As he descended from 
 the platform, Mr. John Keenan, who kept 
 the best-appointed bar-room on the street, 
 advanced to meet him. Mr. Keenan was in 
 an exceedingly happy frame of mind. He 
 grasped the Doctor's hand. " I wish, sir," he 
 said, with a fine brogue, " to congratulate you 
 upon your very eloquent prayer. It remind 
 me, sir, and I take pleasure to say it, it 
 remind me, sir, of the Honorable John Kelly's 
 noble oration on Daniel O'Connell." 
 
 Late that evening the Doctor stood at his 
 study-window, looking out for a moment before 
 
SAINT PATRICK. I2Q 
 
 retiring to rest. There was no light in the 
 room, and the maps and the charts and the tall 
 book-shelves were only outlines. There was 
 a glimmer from a farm-house two miles away, 
 where they were watching with the dead. 
 
 The Doctor's daughter came in with a light 
 in her hand to bid her father good-night. 
 
 "What did you think, Pauline," he said to 
 her, "of Mr. Martin's talk?" It had not been 
 mentioned till now. 
 
 Pauline hardly knew what to think. She 
 knew that it was not what the Rev. Dr. Parsons 
 would have given them ! But, honestly, what 
 did her father think of it? 
 
 The Doctor mused for a moment; then he 
 gave his judgment. " I think," he said, " that 
 it showed a certain lack of preparation." 
 
ELI. 
 I. 
 
 T TNDER a boat, high and dry at low tide, 
 ^ on the beach, John Wood was seated in 
 the sand, sheltered from the sun in the boat's 
 shadow, absorbed in the laying on of verdigris. 
 The dull, worn color was rapidly giving place 
 to a brilliant, shining green. Occasionally a 
 scraper, which lay by, was taken up to remove 
 the last trace of a barnacle. 
 
 It was Wood's boat, but he was not a boat- 
 man; he painted cleverly, but he was not a 
 painter. He kept the brown store under the 
 elms of the main street, now hot and still, where 
 at this moment his blushing sister was capti- 
 vating the heart of an awkward farmer's boy as 
 she sold him a pair of striped suspenders. 
 
 As the church clock struck the last of twelve 
 decided blows, three children came rushing out 
 
ELI. 131 
 
 of the house on the bank above the beach. It 
 was one of those deceptive New England cot- 
 tages, weather-worn without, but bright and 
 bountifully home-like within, with its trim par- 
 lor, proud of a cabinet organ; with its front 
 hall, now cooled by the light sea-breeze drifting 
 through the blind-door, where a tall clock issued 
 its monotonous call to a siesta on the rattan 
 lounge; with its spare room, open now, oppo- 
 site the parlor, and now, too, drawing in the 
 salt air through close-shut blinds, in anticipation 
 of the joyful arrival this evening of Sister Sarah, 
 with her little brood, from the city. 
 
 The children scampered across the road, and 
 then the eldest hushed the others and sent a 
 little brother ahead to steal, barefoot, along the 
 shining sea-weed to his father. 
 
 The plotted surprise appeared to succeed 
 completely. The painter was seized by the ears 
 from behind, and captured. 
 
 " Guess who 's here, or you can't get up," 
 said the infant captor. 
 
 " It 's Napoleon Bonaparte ; don't joggle," 
 said his father, running a brush steadily along 
 the water-line. 
 
132 ELI. 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! " with shouts of laughter from 
 the whole attacking party. 
 
 " Then it 's Captain Ezekiel. " 
 
 This excited great merriment: Captain Eze- 
 kiel was an aged, purblind man, who leaned on 
 a cane. 
 
 After attempts to identify the invader with 
 the tax-collector come for taxes, then with the 
 elderly minister making a pastoral call, with the 
 formal schoolmaster, and with Samuel J. Tilden 
 the victim reached over his shoulder, and, 
 seizing the assailant by a handful of calico 
 jacket, brought him around, squirming, before 
 him. 
 
 " Now," he said, " I '11 give you a coat of 
 verdigris. (Great applause from the reserve 
 force behind.) 
 
 " I suppose Mother sent you to say dinner 's 
 ready," said the father, rising and surveying 
 the green bottom of the boat. " I must eat 
 quick, so as to do the other side before half- 
 flood." 
 
 And with a child on each shoulder, and the 
 third pushing him from behind with her head, 
 he marched toward the vine-covered kitchen, 
 
ELI. 133 
 
 where, between two opposite netted doors, the 
 table was trimly set. 
 
 " Father, you look like a mermaid, with your 
 green hands," said his wife, laughing, as she 
 handed him the spirits of turpentine. " A 
 woman could paint that boat, in a light dress, 
 and not get a spot on her." 
 
 He smiled good-naturedly: he never spoke 
 much. 
 
 " I guess Louise won't have much trade to- 
 day," said his wife, as they all sat down ; " it 's so 
 hot in the sun that everybody '11 wait till night. 
 But she has her tatting-work to do, and she 's got 
 a book, too, that she wanted to finish." 
 
 Her husband nodded, and ate away. 
 
 " Oh, can't we go up street and see her, this 
 afternoon?" said one of the children. 
 
 " Who can that be?" said the mother, as an 
 elderly, half-official-looking man stopped his 
 horse at the front gate and alighted. The man 
 left the horse unchecked to browse by the road- 
 side, and came to the door. 
 
 " Oh, it 's you, Captain Nourse," said Wood, 
 rising to open the netting door, and holding out 
 his hand. " Come to summons me as a witness 
 
134 ELI. 
 
 in something about the bank case, I suppose. 
 Let me introduce Captain Nourse, Mary," he 
 said, " deputy sheriff. Sit down, Captain, and 
 have some dinner with us." 
 
 " No, I guess I won't set," said the captain. 
 " I cal'lated not to eat till I got home, in the 
 middle o' the afternoon. No, I '11 set down in 
 eye-shot of the mare, and read the paper while 
 you eat." 
 
 " I hope they don't want me to testify any- 
 where to-day," said Wood ; " because my boat 's 
 half verdigris'd, and I want to finish her this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " No testimony to-day," said the captain. 
 " Hi ! hi ! Kitty ! " he called to the mare, as she 
 began to meander across the road ; and he went 
 out to a tree by the front fence, and sat down 
 on a green bench, beside a work-basket and a 
 half-finished child's dress, and read the country 
 paper which he had taken from the office as he 
 came along. 
 
 After dinner Wood went out bareheaded, and 
 leaned on the fence by the captain. His wife 
 stood just inside the door, looking out at them. 
 
 The " bank case " was the great sensation of 
 
ELI. 135 
 
 the town, and Wood was one of the main wit- 
 nesses, for he had been taking the place of 
 the absent cashier when the safe was broken 
 open and rifled to the widespread distress of 
 depositors and stockholders, and the ruin of 
 Hon. Edward Clark, the president. Wood had 
 locked the safe on the afternoon before the 
 eventful night, and had carried home the key 
 with him, and he was to testify to the contents 
 of the safe as he had left it. 
 
 "I guess they're glad they've got such a 
 witness as John," said his wife to herself, as 
 she looked at him fondly, " and I guess they 
 think there won't be much doubt about what 
 he says." 
 
 " Well, Captain," said Wood, jocosely, break- 
 ing a spear of grass to bits in his fingers, " I 
 did n't know but you 'd come to arrest me." 
 
 The captain calmly smiled as only a man can 
 smile who has been accosted with the same 
 humorous remark a dozen times a day for 
 twenty years. He folded his paper carefully, 
 put it in his pocket, took off his spectacles 
 and put them in their silver case, took a red 
 silk handkerchief from his hat, wiped his face, 
 
1 36 ELI. 
 
 and put the handkerchief back. Then he said 
 shortly, 
 
 " That's what I have come for." 
 
 Wood, still leaning on the fence, looked at 
 him, and said nothing. 
 
 " That 's just what I Ve come for," said Cap- 
 tain Nourse. " I Ve got to arrest you ; here 's 
 the warrant." And he handed it to him. 
 
 "What does this mean?" said Wood. "I 
 can't make head or tail of this." 
 
 " Well," said the captain, " the long and short 
 is, these high-toned detectives that they Ve hed 
 down from town, seein' as our own force was n't 
 good enough, allow that the safe was unlocked 
 with a key, in due form, and then the lock was 
 broke afterward, to look as if it had been forced 
 open. They Ve hed the foreman of the safe- 
 men down, too, and he says the same thing. 
 Naturally, the argument is, there was only 
 two keys in existence, one was safe with the 
 president of the bank, and is about all he 's got 
 to show out of forty years' savings ; the only 
 other one you hed : consequently, it heaves it 
 onto you." 
 
 " I see," said Wood. " I will go with you. 
 
ELI. 137 
 
 Do you want to come into the house with me 
 while I get my coat?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must keep you in sight, 
 now you know." 
 
 And they went into the house. 
 
 " Mary," said her husband, " the folks that 
 lost by Clark when the bank broke have been 
 at him until he 's felt obliged to pitch on some- 
 body, and he 's pitched on me ; and Captain 
 Nourse has come to arrest me. I shall get bail 
 before long." 
 
 She said nothing, and did not shed a tear till 
 he was gone. 
 
 But then 
 
 II. 
 
 WIDE wastes of salt-marsh to the right, im- 
 prisoning the upland with a vain promise of 
 infinite liberty, and, between low, distant sand- 
 hills, a rim of sea. Stretches of pine woods be- 
 hind, shutting in from the great outer world, and 
 soon to darken into evening gloom. Ploughed 
 fields and elm-dotted pastures to the left, and 
 birch-lined roads leading by white farm-houses 
 
138 ELI. 
 
 to the village, all speaking of cheer and free- 
 dom to the prosperous and the happy, but to 
 the unfortunate and the indebted, of meshes 
 invisible but strong as steel. But, before, no 
 lonesome marshes, no desolate forest, no farm 
 or village street, but the free blue ocean, roll- 
 ing and tumbling still from the force of an 
 expended gale. 
 
 In the open doorway of a little cottage, 
 warmed by the soft slanting rays of the Sep- 
 tember sun, a rough man, burnt and freckled, 
 was sitting, at his feet a net, engaged upon 
 some handiwork which two little girls were 
 watching. Close by him lay a setter, his nose 
 between his paws. Occasionally the man raised 
 his eyes to scan the sea. 
 
 " There 's Joel," he said, " comin' in around 
 the Bar. Not much air stirrin' now ! " 
 
 Then he turned to his work again. 
 
 " First, you go so fash'," he said to the chil- 
 dren, as he drew a thread ; " then you go so 
 fash'." 
 
 And as he worked he made a great show of 
 labor, much to their diversion. 
 
 But the sight of Joel's broad white sail had 
 
ELI. 139 
 
 not brought pleasant thoughts to his mind; 
 for Joel had hailed him, off the Shoal, the 
 afternoon before, and had obligingly offered 
 to buy his fish right there, and so let him go 
 directly home, omitting to mention that sudden 
 jump of price due to an empty market. 
 
 " Wonder what poor man he 's took a dollar 
 out of to-day! Well, I s'pose it's. all right: 
 those that 's got money, want money." 
 
 "What be you, Eli ganging on hooks?" 
 said Aunt Patience, as she tiptoed into the 
 kitchen behind him, from his wife's sick-room, 
 and softly closed the door after her. 
 
 " No," said the elder of the children ; " he 's 
 mending our stockings, and showing me how." 
 
 "Well, you do have a hard time, don't you? " 
 said Aunt Patience, looking down over his 
 shoulder; " to slave and tug and scrape to get 
 a house over your head, and then to have to 
 turn square 'round, and stay to home with a sick 
 woman, and eat all into it with mortgages ! " 
 
 " Oh, well," he said, " we '11 fetch, somehow." 
 
 Aunt Patience went to the glass, and holding 
 a black pin in her mouth, carefully tied the 
 strings of her sun-bonnet. 
 
140 ELI. 
 
 " Anyway," she says, " you take it good- 
 natured. Though if there is one thing that 's 
 harder than another, it is to be good-natured 
 all the time, without being aggravating. I have 
 known men that was so awfully good-natured 
 that they was harder to live with than if they 
 was cross ! " 
 
 And without specifying further, she opened 
 her plaid parasol and stepped out at the 
 porch. 
 
 Though, on this quiet afternoon of Saturday, 
 the peace of the approaching Sabbath seemed 
 already brooding over the little dwelling, peace 
 had not lent her hand to the building of the 
 home. Every foot of land, every shingle, every 
 nail, had been wrung from the reluctant sea. 
 Every voyage had contributed something. It 
 was a great day when Eli was able to buy the 
 land. Then, between two voyages, he dug a 
 cellar and laid a foundation ; then he saved 
 enough to build the main part of the cottage 
 and to finish the front room, lending his own 
 hand to the work. Then he used to get letters 
 at every port, telling of progress, how Lizzie, 
 
ELI. 141 
 
 his wife, had adorned the front room with a 
 bright ninepenny paper, of which a little piece 
 was enclosed, which he kept as a sort of charm 
 about him and exhibited to his friends; how 
 she and her little brother had lathed the entry 
 and the kitchen, and how they had set out 
 blackberry vines from the woods. Then an- 
 other letter told of a surprise awaiting him on 
 his return; and, in due time, coming home 
 as third mate from Hong-Kong to a sea- 
 man's tumultuous welcome, he had found that 
 a great, good-natured mason, with whose sick 
 child his wife had watched night after night, 
 had appeared one day with lime and hair and 
 sand, and in white raiment, and had plastered 
 the entry and the kitchen, and finished a room 
 upstairs. 
 
 And so, for years, at home and on the sea, at 
 New York and at Valparaiso and in the Straits 
 of Malacca, the little house and the little family 
 within it had grown into the fibre of Eli's heart. 
 Nothing had given him more delight than to 
 meet, in the strange streets of Calcutta or be- 
 fore the Mosque of Omar, some practical Yan- 
 kee from Stonington or Machias, and, whittling, 
 
142 ELI. 
 
 to discuss with him, among the turbans of the 
 Orient, the comparative value of shaved and of 
 sawed shingles, or the economy of " Swedes- 
 iron " nails, and to go over with him the es- 
 timates and plans which he had worked out 
 in his head under all the constellations of the 
 skies. 
 
 The supper things were cleared away. The 
 children had said good-night and gone to bed, 
 and Eli had been sitting for- an hour by his 
 wife's bedside. He had had to tax his patience 
 and ingenuity heavily during the long months 
 that she had lain there to entertain her for a 
 little while in the evening, after his hard, wet 
 day's work. He had been talking now of the 
 coming week, when he was to serve upon the 
 jury in the adjoining county-town. 
 
 " I cal'late I can come home about every 
 night," he said, " and it '11 be quite a change, at 
 any rate." 
 
 " But you don't seem so cheerful about it 
 as I counted you would be," said his wife. " Are 
 you afraid you '11 have to be on the bank 
 case?" 
 
ELI. 143 
 
 " Not much ! " he answered. " No trouble 
 'n that case ! Jury won't leave their seats. 
 These city fellers '11 find they 've bit off more 'n 
 they can chew when they try to figure out 
 John Wood done that. I only hope I '11 have 
 the luck to be on that case all hands on the 
 jury whisper together a minute, and then clear 
 him, right on the spot, and then shake hands 
 with him all 'round ! " 
 
 " But something is worrying you," she said. 
 " What is it? You have looked it since noon." 
 
 "Oh, nothin'," he replied " only George 
 Cahoon came up to-noon to say that he was 
 goin' West next week, and that he would have 
 to have that money he let me have awhile ago. 
 And where to get it I don't know." 
 
 III. 
 
 THE court-room was packed. John Wood's 
 trial was drawing to its close. Eli was on the 
 jury. Some one had advised the prosecuting 
 attorney, in a whisper, to challenge him, but he 
 had shaken his head and said, 
 
 " Oh, I could n't afford to challenge him for 
 
144 ELI - 
 
 that ; it would only leak out, and set the jury 
 against me. I '11 risk his standing out against 
 this evidence." 
 
 The trial had been short. It had been shown 
 how the little building of the bank had been 
 entered. Skilled locksmiths from the city had 
 testified that the safe was opened with a key, 
 and that the lock was broken afterward, from 
 the inside, plainly to raise the theory of a 
 forcible entry by strangers. 
 
 It had been proved that the only key in ex- 
 istence, not counting that kept by the president, 
 was in the possession of Wood, who was filling, 
 for a few days, the place of the cashier the 
 president's brother in his absence. It had 
 been shown that Wood was met, at one o'clock 
 of the night in question, crossing the fields 
 toward his home, from the direction of the 
 bank, with a large wicker basket slung over his 
 shoulders, returning, as he had said, from eel- 
 spearing in Harlow's Creek; and there was 
 other circumstantial evidence. 
 
 Mr. Clark, the president of the bank, had 
 won the sympathy of every one by the modest 
 way in which, with his eye-glasses in his hand, he 
 
ELI. 145 
 
 had testified to the particulars of the loss which 
 had left him penniless, and had ruined others 
 whose little all was in his hands. And then in 
 reply to the formal question, he had testified, 
 amid roars of laughter from the court-room, 
 that it was not he who robbed the safe. At this, 
 even the judge and Wood's lawyer had not re- 
 strained a smile. 
 
 This had left the guilt with Wood. His law- 
 yer, an inexperienced young attorney, who 
 had done more or less business for the bank 
 and would hardly have ventured to defend this 
 case but that the president had kindly expressed 
 his entire willingness that he should do so, 
 had, of course, not thought it worth while to 
 cross-examine Mr. Clark, and had directed his 
 whole argument against the theory that the safe 
 had been opened with a key, and not by stran- 
 gers. But he had felt all through that, as a 
 man politely remarked to him when he finished, 
 he was only butting his " head ag'in a stone 
 wall." 
 
 And while he was arguing, a jolly-looking old 
 lawyer had written, in the fly-leaf of a law-book 
 on his knee, and had passed with a wink to a 
 10 
 
146 ELI. 
 
 young man near him who had that very morning 
 been admitted to the bar, these lines : 
 
 " When callow Blackstones soar too high, 
 Quit common-sense, and reckless fly, 
 Soon, Icarus-like, they headlong fall, 
 And down come client, case, and all." 
 
 The district-attorney had not thought it worth 
 while to expend much strength upon his closing 
 argument; but being a jovial stump-speaker, of 
 a wide reputation within narrow limits, he had 
 not been able to refrain from making merry 
 over Wood's statement that the basket which 
 he had been seen bearing home, on the eventful 
 night, was a basket of eels. 
 
 " Fine eels those, gentlemen ! We have seen 
 gold-fish and silver-fish, but golden eels are first 
 discovered by this defendant. The apostle, in 
 Holy Writ, caught a fish with a coin in its 
 mouth ; but this man leaves the apostle in 
 the dim distance when he finds eels that are 
 all money. No storied fisherman of Bagdad, 
 catching enchanted princes disguised as fishes 
 in the sea, ever hooked such a treasure as this 
 defendant hooked when he hooked that basket 
 of eels ! [Rustling appreciation of the jest 
 
ELI. 147 
 
 among the jury.] If a squirming, twisting, 
 winding, wriggling eel, gentlemen, can be said 
 at any given moment to have a back, we may 
 distinguish this new-found species as the green- 
 back eel. It is a common saying that no man 
 can hold an eel and remain a Christian. I 
 should like to have viewed the pious equanimity 
 of this good man when he laid his hands on that 
 whole bed of eels. In happy, barefoot boy- 
 hood,, gentlemen, we used to find mud-turtles 
 marked with initials or devices cut in their 
 shells; but what must have been our friend's 
 surprise to find, in the muddy bed of Harlow's 
 Creek, eels marked with a steel-engraving of 
 the landing of Columbus and the signature of 
 the Register of the Treasury ! I hear that a 
 corporation is now being formed by the title of 
 The Harlow's Creek Greenback National Bank- 
 bill Eel-fishing Company, to follow up, with 
 seines and spears, our worthy friend's discovery ! 
 I learn that the news of this rich placer has 
 spread to the golden mountains of the West, 
 and that the exhausted intellects which have 
 been reduced to such names for their mines 
 as ' The Tombstone,' ' The Red Dog,' the ' Mrs. 
 
148 ELI. 
 
 E. J. Parkhurst/ are likely now to flood us with 
 prospectuses of the ' Eel Mine/ ' The Flat Eel/ 
 ' The Double Eel/ and then, when they get 
 ready to burst upon confiding friends, ' The 
 Consolidated Eels/ ' 
 
 It takes but little to make a school or a 
 court-room laugh, and the speech had appeared 
 to give a good deal of amusement to the 
 listeners. 
 
 To all? 
 
 Did it amuse that man who sat, with folded 
 arms, harsh and rigid, at the dock? Did it 
 divert that white-faced woman, cowering in a 
 corner, listening as in a dream? 
 
 The judge now charged the jury briefly. It 
 was unnecessary for him, he said, to recapitulate 
 evidence of so simple a character. The chief 
 question for the jury was as to the credibility of 
 the witnesses. If the witnesses for the prosecu- 
 tion were truthful and were not mistaken, the 
 inference of guilt seemed inevitable ; this the de- 
 fendant's counsel had conceded. The defendant 
 had proved a good reputation ; upon that point 
 there was only this to be said : that, while such 
 
ELI. 149 
 
 evidence was entitled to weight, yet, on the 
 other hand, crimes involving a breach of trust 
 could, from their very nature, be committed 
 only by persons whose good reputations secured 
 them positions of trust. 
 
 The jury-room had evidently not been fur- 
 nished by a ring. It had a long table for de- 
 bate, twelve hard chairs for repose, twelve 
 spittoons for luxury, and a clock. 
 
 The jury sat in silence for a few moments, as 
 old Captain Nourse, who had them in his keep- 
 ing, and eyed them as if he was afraid that he 
 might lose one of them in a crack and be held 
 accountable on his bond, rattled away at the 
 
 unruly lock. Looking at them then, you would 
 
 
 
 have seen faces all of a New England cast but 
 one. There was a tall, powerful negro called 
 George Washington, a man well known in this 
 county town, to which he had come, as drift- 
 wood from the storm of war, in '65. Some of 
 the " boys " had heard him, in a great prayer- 
 meeting in Washington a city which he 
 always spoke of as his "namesake" at the 
 time of the great review, say, in his strong voice, 
 
150 ELI. 
 
 with that pathetic quaver in it: "Like as de 
 parched an' weary traveller hangs his harp upon 
 de winder, an' sighs for oysters in de desert, so 
 I longs to res' my soul an' my foot in Mass' 
 chusetts;" and they were so delighted with 
 him that they invited him on the spot to go 
 home with them, and took up a collection to 
 pay his fare ; and so he was a public character. 
 As for his occupation, when the census-taker, 
 with a wink to the boys in the store, had asked 
 him what it was, he had said, in that same odd 
 tone: "Putties up glass a little whitewashes a 
 little " and, when the man had made a show 
 of writing all that down, " preaches a little." 
 He might have said, " preaches a big," for you 
 could hear him half a mile away. 
 
 The foreman was a retired sea-captain. 
 "Good cap'n Cap'n Thomas," one of his 
 neighbors had said of him. " Allers gits good 
 ships never hez to go huntin' 'round for a ves- 
 sel. But it is astonishin' what differences they 
 is ! Now there 's Cap'n A. K. P. Bassett, down 
 to the West Harbor. You let it git 'round that 
 Cap'n A. K. P. is goin' off on a Chiny voyage, 
 and you '11 see half a dozen old shays to once-t, 
 
ELI. 151 
 
 hitched all along his fence of an arternoon, and 
 wimmen inside the house, to git Cap'n A. K. P. 
 to take their boys. But you let Cap'n Thomas 
 give out that he wants boys, and he hez to 
 glean 'em from the poor-house, and from 
 step-mothers, and where he can : the women 
 knows ! Still," he added, " Cap'n Thomas 's a 
 good cap'n. I Ve nothin' to say ag'in him. 
 He 's smart ! " 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the foreman, when the 
 officer, at last, had securely locked them in, 
 " shall we go through the formality of a ballot? 
 If the case were a less serious one, we might 
 have rendered a verdict in our seats." 
 
 "What's the use foolin' 'round ballotin'?" 
 said a thick-set butcher. " Ain't we all o* one 
 mind?" 
 
 " It is for you to say, gentlemen," said the 
 foreman. " I should n't want to have it go 
 abroad that we had not acted formally, if there 
 was any one disposed to cavil." 
 
 " Mr. Speaker," said George Washington, ris- 
 ing and standing in the attitude of Webster, 
 " I rises to appoint to order. We took ballast 
 
152 ELI. 
 
 in de prior cases, and why make flesh of one 
 man an' a fowl of another?" 
 
 " Very well," said the foreman, a trifle sharply ; 
 " ' the longest way round is the shortest way 
 home.' " 
 
 Twelve slips of paper were handed out, to 
 be indorsed guilty, " for form." They were col- 
 lected in a hat and the foreman told them over 
 "just for form.". " ' Guilty,' 'guilty,' 'guilty,' 
 'guilty' wait a minute," he said, "here is a 
 mistake. Here is one 'not guilty' whose is 
 this?" 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Whose is it?" said the foreman, sharply. 
 
 Eli turned a little red. 
 
 " It's mine," he said. 
 
 " Do you mean it? " said the foreman. 
 
 " Of course I mean it," he answered. 
 
 " Whew ! " whistled the foreman. " Very well, 
 sir; we'll have an understanding, then. This 
 case is proved to the satisfaction of every man 
 who heard it, I may safely say, but one. Will 
 that one please state the grounds of his opinion?" 
 
 " I ain't no talker," said Eli, " but I ain't sat- 
 isfied he 's guilty that 's all." 
 
ELI. 153 
 
 " Don't you believe the witnesses?" 
 
 -" Mostly." 
 
 " Which one don't you believe?" 
 
 " I can't say. I don't believe he 's guilty." 
 
 " Is there one that you think lied ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Now it seems to me " said a third juryman. 
 
 " One thing at a time, gentlemen," said the 
 foreman. " Let us wait for an answer from Mr. 
 Smith. Is there any one that you think lied? 
 We will wait, gentlemen, for an answer." 
 
 There was a long pause. The trial seemed 
 to Eli Smith to have shifted from the court to 
 this shabby room, and he was now the culprit. 
 
 All waited for him ; all eyes were fixed upon 
 him. 
 
 The clock ticked loud ! Eli counted the 
 seconds. He knew the determination of the 
 foreman. 
 
 The silence became intense. 
 
 " I want to say my say," said a short man in 
 a pea-jacket, a retired San Francisco pilot, 
 named Eldridge. " I entertain no doubt the man 
 is guilty. At the same time, I allow for differ- 
 ences of opinion. I don't know this man that 's 
 
154 ELI. 
 
 voted ' not guilty,' but he seems to be a well- 
 meaning man. I don't know his reasons ; prob- 
 ably he don't understand the case. I should 
 like to have the foreman tell the evidence over, 
 so as if he don't see it clear, he can ask ques- 
 tions, and we can explain." 
 
 " I second de motion," said George Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 There was a general rustle of approval. 
 
 " I move it," said the pilot, encouraged. 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Eldridge," said the foreman. 
 " If there is no objection, I will state the evi- 
 dence, and if there is any loop-hole, I will trouble 
 Mr. Smith to suggest it as I go along; " and he 
 proceeded to give a summary of the testimony, 
 with homely force. 
 
 " Now, sir?" he said, when he had finished. 
 
 " I move for another ballot," said Mr. Eldridge. 
 
 The result was the same^ Eli had voted " not 
 guilty." 
 
 " Mr. Smith," said the foreman, " this must 
 be settled in some way. This is no child's play. 
 You can't keep eleven men here, trifling with 
 them, giving no pretence of a reason." 
 
 " I have n't no reasons, only that I don't be- 
 
ELI. 155 
 
 lieve he 's guilty," said Eli. " I 'm not goin' to 
 vote a man into State's-prison, when I don't 
 believe he done it," and he rose and walked to 
 the window and looked out. It was low tide. 
 There was a broad stretch of mud in the dis- 
 tance, covered with boats lying over disconso- 
 late. A driving storm had emptied the streets. 
 He beat upon the rain-dashed glass a moment 
 with his ringers, and then he sat down again. 
 
 " Well, sir," said the foreman, " this is singular 
 conduct. What do you propose to do? " 
 
 Silence. 
 
 " I suppose you realize that the rest of us are 
 pretty rapidly forming a conclusion on this mat- 
 ter," said the foreman. 
 
 "Come! come! " said Mr. Eldridge; "don't 
 be quite so hard on him, Captain. Now, Mr. 
 Smith," he said, standing up with his hands in 
 his coat-pockets and looking at Eli, " we know 
 that there often is crooked sticks on juries, that 
 hold out alone that's to be expected; but 
 they always argue, and stand to it the rest are 
 fools, and all that. Now, all is, we don't see 
 why you don't sort of argue, if you Ve got rea- 
 sons satisfactory to you. Come, now," he added, 
 
156 ELI. 
 
 walking up to Eli, and resting one foot on the 
 seat of his chair, "why don't you tell it over? 
 and if we 're wrong, I 'm ready to join you." 
 
 Eli looked up at him. 
 
 " Did n't you ever know," he said, " of a man's 
 takin' a cat off, to lose, that his little girl did n't 
 want drownded, and leavin' him ashore, twenty 
 or thirty miles, bee-line, from home, and that 
 cat's bein' back again the next day, purrin' 
 'round's if nothin' had happened?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Eldridge " knew of just 
 such a case." 
 
 " Very well," said Eli ; " how does he find his 
 way home?" 
 
 "Don't know," said Mr. Eldridge; "always 
 has been a standing mystery to me." 
 
 " Well," said Eli, " mark my words. There 's 
 such a thing as arguin', and there 's such a thing 
 as knowin' outright; and when you'll tell me 
 how that cat inquires his way home, I '11 tell you 
 how I know John Wood ain't guilty." 
 
 This made a certain sensation, and Eli's stock 
 went up. 
 
 An old, withered man rapped on the table. 
 
 "That's so!" he said; "and there's other 
 
ELI. 157 
 
 sing'lar things ! How is it that a seafarin' man, 
 that 's dyin' to home, will allers die on the ebb- 
 tide? It never fails, but how does it happen? 
 Tell me that ! And there 's more ways than one 
 ofknowin' things, too!" 
 
 " I know that man ain't guilty," said Eli. 
 
 " Hark ye ! " said a dark old man with a 
 troubled face, rising and pointing his ringer 
 toward Eli. " Know, you say? I knew, wunst. 
 I knew that my girl, my only child, was good. 
 One night she went off with a married man that 
 worked in my store, and stole my money and 
 where is she now? " And then he added, " What 
 I knoiv is, that every man hes his price. I hev 
 mine, and you hev yourn ! " 
 
 " 'Xcuse me, Mr. Speaker," said George Wash- 
 ington, rising with his hand in his bosom ; " as 
 de question is befo' us, I wish to say that de las' 
 bro' mus' have spoken under 'xcitement. Every 
 man don' have his price ! An' I hope de bro' 
 will recant like as de Psalmist goes out o' his 
 way to say ' In my haste I said, All men are liars.' 
 He was a very busy man, de Psalmist writin' 
 down hymns all day, sharpen'n' his lead- pencil, 
 bossin' 'roun' de choir callin' Selah ! Well, 
 
158 ELI. 
 
 bro'n an' sisters " both arms going out, and 
 his voice going up "one day, seems like, he 
 was in gre't haste got to finish a psalm for a 
 monthly concert, or such and some man in- 
 corrupted him, and lied ; and bein' in gre't haste 
 and a little old Adam in him he says, 
 right off, quick: 'All men are liars ! ' But see ! 
 When he gits a little time to set back and medi- 
 tate, he says: ' Dis won' do dere's Moses 
 an' Job, an' Paul dey ain't liars ! ' An' den he 
 don' sneak out, and 'low he said, ' All men is 
 lions,' or such. No ! de Psalmist ain't no such 
 man ; but he owns up, 'an 'xplains. ' In my 
 haste] he says, ' I said it.' " 
 
 The foreman rose and rapped. 
 
 " I await a motion," said he, " if our friend 
 will allow me the privilege of speaking." 
 
 Mr. Washington calmly bowed. 
 
 Then the foreman, when nobody seemed dis- 
 posed to move, speaking slowly at first, and 
 piecemeal, alternating language with smoke, 
 gradually edged into the current of the evidence, 
 and ended by going all over it again, with fresh 
 force and point. His cigar glowed and chilled 
 in the darkening room as he talked. 
 
ELI. 159 
 
 " Now," he said, when he had drawn all the 
 threads together to the point of guilt, " what are 
 we going to do upon this evidence? " 
 
 " I '11 tell you something," said Eli. " I did n't 
 want to say it because I know what you '11 all 
 think, but I '11 tell you, all the same." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the foreman. 
 
 Eli stood up and faced the others. 
 
 "'Most all o' you know what our Bar is in a 
 southeast gale. They ain't a man here that would 
 dare to try and cross it when the sea 's breakin' on 
 it. The man that says he would, lies ! " And he 
 looked at the foreman, and waited a moment. 
 
 " When my wife took sick, and I stopped 
 goin' to sea, two year ago, and took up boat- 
 fishin', I did n't know half as much about the 
 coast as the young boys do, and one afternoon 
 it was blowin' a gale, and we was all hands 
 comin' in, and passin' along the Bar to go sheer 
 'round it to the west'ard, and Captain Fred Cook 
 he 's short-sighted got on to the Bar be- 
 fore he knew it, and then he hed to go ahead, 
 whether or no ; and I was right after him, and I 
 s'posed he knew, and I followed him. Well, he 
 was floated over, as luck was, all right ; but when 
 
160 ELI. 
 
 I 'd just got on the Bar, a roller dropped back 
 and let my bowsprit down into the sand, and 
 then come up quicker'n lightnin' and shoul- 
 dered the boat over, t' other end first, and slung 
 me into the water; and when I come up, I see 
 somethin' black, and there was John Wood's 
 boat runnin' by me before the wind with a rush 
 and 'fore I knew an'thing, he had me by the 
 hair by one hand, and in his boat, and we was 
 over the Bar. Now, I tell you, a man that looks 
 the way I saw him look when I come over the 
 gunwale, face up, don't go 'round breakin' in and 
 hookin' things. He hed n't one chance in five, 
 and he was a married man, too, with small chil- 
 dren. And what 's more," he added incau- 
 tiously, " he did n't stop there. When he found 
 out, this last spring, that I was goin' to lose my 
 place, he lent me money enough to pay the 
 interest that was overdue on the mortgage, of 
 his own accord." 
 
 And he stopped suddenly. 
 
 " You have certainly explained yourself," said 
 the foreman. " I think we understand you 
 distinctly." 
 
 " There is n't one word of truth in that idea," 
 
ELI. l6l 
 
 said Eli, flushing up, " and you know it. I Ve 
 paid him back every cent. I know him better 'n 
 any of you, that 's all, and when I know he ain't 
 guilty, I won't say he is ; and I can set here as 
 long as any other man." 
 
 " Lively times some folks '11 hev, when they 
 go home," said a spare tin-pedler, stroking his 
 long yellow goatee. " Go into the store : no- 
 body speak to you ; go to cattle-show : every- 
 body follow you 'round; go to the wharf: 
 nobody weigh your fish ; go to buy seed-cakes 
 to the cart : baker won't give no tick." 
 
 " How much does it cost, Mr. Foreman," said 
 the butcher, " for a man 't 's obliged to leave 
 town, to move a family out West? I only ask 
 for information. I have known a case where 
 a man had to leave could n't live there no 
 longer wa' n't wanted." 
 
 There was a knock. An officer, sent by the 
 judge, inquired whether the jury were likely 
 soon to agree. 
 
 " It rests with you, sir," said the foreman, 
 looking at Eli. 
 
 But Eli sat doggedly with his hands in his 
 pockets, and did not look up or speak. 
 ii 
 
1 62 ELI. 
 
 " Say to the judge that I cannot tell," said 
 the foreman. 
 
 It was eight o'clock when the officer returned, 
 with orders to take the jury across the street to 
 the hotel, to supper. They went out in pairs, 
 except that the juryman who was left to fall in 
 with Eli made three with the file ahead, and 
 left Eli to walk alone. This was noticed by the 
 bystanders. At the hotel, Eli could not eat a 
 mouthful. He was seated at one end of the ta- 
 ble, and was left entirely out of the conversation. 
 When the jury were escorted back to the court- 
 house, rumors had evidently begun to arise from 
 his having walked alone, for there was quite a 
 little crowd at the hotel door, to see them. They 
 went as before : four pairs, a file of three, and 
 Eli alone. Then the spectators understood it. 
 
 When the jury were locked into their room 
 again for the night, Mr. Eldridge sat down by 
 Eli and lit his pipe. 
 
 " I understand," he said, " just how you feel. 
 Now, between you and me, there was a good- 
 hearted fellow that kept me out of a bad mess 
 once. I 've never told anybody just what it 
 
ELI. 163 
 
 was, and I don't mean to tell you now, but it 
 brought my blood up standing, to find how near 
 I 'd come to putting a fine steamer and two 
 hundred and forty passengers under water. 
 Well, one day, a year or so after that, this man 
 had a chance to get a good ship, only there was 
 some talk against him, that he drank a little. 
 Well, the owners told him they wanted to see 
 me, and he come to me, and says he, ' Mr. 
 Eldridge, I hope you '11 speak a good word for 
 me ; if you do, I '11 get the ship, but if they 
 
 refuse me this one, I 'm dished everywhere/ 
 
 
 
 Well, the owners put me the square question, 
 and I had to tell 'em. Well, I met him that 
 afternoon on Sacramento Street, as white as 
 a sheet, and he would n't speak to me, but 
 passed right by, and that night he went and 
 shipped before the mast. That 's the last I 
 ever heard of him ; but I had to do it. Now," 
 he added, " this man 's been good to you ; but 
 the case is proved, and you ought to vote with 
 the rest of us." 
 
 " It ain't proved," said Eli. " The judge said 
 that if any man had a reasonable doubt, he 
 ought to hold out. Now, I ain't convinced." 
 
1 64 ELI. 
 
 " Well, that 's easy said," replied Mr. Eldridge, 
 a little hotly, and he arose, and left him. 
 
 The jurymen broke up into little knots, tilted 
 their chairs back, and settled into the easiest 
 positions that their cramped quarters allowed. 
 Most of them lit their pipes ; the captain, and 
 one or two whom he honored, smoked fragrant 
 cigars, and the room was soon filled with a 
 dense cloud. 
 
 Eli sat alone by the window. 
 
 " Sometimes sell two at one house," said a 
 lank book-agent, arousing himself from a rev- 
 erie; " once sold three." 
 
 " I think the Early Rose is about as profitable 
 as any," said a little farmer, with a large circu- 
 lar beard. " I used to favor Jacobs's Seedling, 
 but they haven't done so well with me of late 
 years." 
 
 " Sometimes," said the book-agent, picking 
 his teeth with a quill, " you '11 go to a house, 
 and they '11 say they can't be induced to buy 
 a book of any kind, historical, fictitious, or re- 
 ligious ; but you just keep on talking, and show 
 the pictures 'Grant in Boyhood,' 'Grant a 
 Tanner,' ' Grant at Head-quarters,' ' Grant in the 
 
ELI. 165 
 
 White House,' ' Grant before Queen Victoria,' 
 and they warm up, I tell you, and not infre- 
 quently buy." 
 
 "Do you sell de 'Illustrated Bible,'" asked 
 Washington, "wid de Hypocrypha?" 
 
 " No ; I have a more popular treatise the 
 ' Illustrated History of the Bible.' Greater va- 
 riety. Brings in the surrounding nations, in 
 costume. Cloth, three dollars; sheep, three- 
 fifty; half calf, five-seventy-five; full morocco, 
 gilt edges, seven-fifty. Six hundred and seven 
 illustrations on wood and steel. Three different 
 engravings of Abraham alone. Four of Noah, 
 ' Noah before the Flood,' ' Noah Building the 
 Ark,' ' Noah Welcoming the Dove,' ' Noah on 
 Ararat.' Steel engraving of Ezekiel's Wheel, 
 explaining prophecy. Jonah under the gourd, 
 Nineveh in the distance." 
 
 Mr. Eldridge and Captain Thomas had drifted 
 into a discussion of harbors, and the captain had 
 drawn his chair up to the table, and, with a 
 cigar in his mouth, was explaining an ingeniously 
 constructed foreign harbor. He was making a 
 rough sketch, with a pen. 
 
 " Here is north," he said ; " here is the coast- 
 
1 66 ELI. 
 
 line; here are the flats; here are the sluice- 
 gates ; they store the water here, in " 
 
 Some of the younger men had their heads 
 together, in a corner, about the tin-pedler, who 
 was telling stories of people he had met in his 
 journeys, which brought out repeated bursts of 
 laughter. 
 
 In the corner farthest from Eli, a delicate- 
 looking man began to tell the butcher about 
 Eli's wife. 
 
 " Twelve years ago this fall," he said, " I 
 taught district-school in the parish where she 
 lived. She was about fourteen then. Her 
 father was a poor farmer, without any faculty. 
 Her mother was dead, and she kept house. I 
 stayed there one week, boarding 'round." 
 
 " Prob'ly did n't git not much of any fresh 
 meat that week," suggested the butcher. 
 
 " She never said much, but it used to divert 
 me to see her order around her big brothers, 
 just as if she was their mother. She and I got 
 to be great friends ; but she was a queer piece. 
 One day at school the girls in her row were 
 communicating, and annoying me, while the 
 third class was reciting in ' First Steps in Num- 
 
ELI. 167 
 
 bers,' and I was so incensed that I called 
 Lizzie that 's her name right out, and had 
 her stand up for twenty minutes. She was 
 a shy little thing, and set great store by per- 
 fect marks. I saw that she was troubled a 
 good deal, to have all of them looking and 
 laughing at her. But she stood there, with 
 her hands folded behind her, and not a smile 
 or a word." 
 
 " Look out for a sullen cow," said the butcher. 
 
 " I felt afraid I had been too hasty with her, 
 and I was rather sorry I had been so decided 
 although, to be sure, she did n't pretend to deny 
 that she had been communicating." 
 
 "Of course," said the butcher: "no use lyin' 
 when you 're caught in the act." 
 
 " Well, after school, she stayed at her desk, 
 fixing her dinner-pail, and putting her books in 
 a strap, and all that, till all the rest had gone, 
 and then she came up to my desk, where I 
 was correcting compositions." 
 
 " Now for music ! " said the butcher. 
 
 "She had been crying a little. Well, she 
 looked straight in my face, and said she, ' Mr. 
 Pollard, I just wanted to say to you that I 
 
168 ELI. 
 
 was n't doing anything at all when you called 
 me up ; ' and off she went. Now, that was just 
 like her, too proud to say a word before the 
 school." 
 
 But here his listener's attention was diverted 
 by the voice of the book-agent. 
 
 " The very best Bible for teachers, of course, 
 is the limp-cover, protected edges, full Levant 
 morocco, Oxford, silk-sewed, kid-lined, Bishop's 
 Divinity Circuit, with concordance, maps of the 
 Holy Land, weights, measures, and money- 
 tables of the Jews. Nothing like having a 
 really " 
 
 " And so," said the captain, moving back his 
 chair, " they let on the whole head of water, and 
 scour out the channel to a T." 
 
 And then he rapped upon the table. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " please draw your 
 chairs up, and let us take another ballot." 
 
 The count resulted as before. 
 
 The foreman muttered something which had 
 a scriptural sound. In a few moments he drew 
 Mr. Eldridge and two others aside. " Gentle- 
 men," he said to them, " I shall quietly divide 
 the jury into watches, under your charge : ten 
 
ELI. 169 
 
 can sleep, while one wakes to keep Mr. Smith 
 discussing the question. I don't propose to have 
 the night wasted." 
 
 And, by one man or another, Eli was kept 
 awake. 
 
 " I don't see," said the book-agent, " why you 
 should feel obliged to stick it out any longer. 
 Of course, you are under obligations. But 
 you Ve done more than enough already, so as 
 that he can't complain of you, and if you give 
 in now, everybody '11 give you credit for trying 
 to save your friend, on the one hand, and, on the 
 other hand, for giving in to the evidence. So 
 you '11 get credit both ways." 
 
 An hour later, the tin-pedler came on duty. 
 He had not followed closely the story about John 
 Wood's loan, and had got it a little awry. 
 
 " Now, how foolish you be," he said, in a 
 confidential tone. " Can't you see that if you 
 cave in now, after stan'n' out nine hours " and 
 he looked at a silver watch with a brass chain, 
 and stroked his goatee " nine hours and 
 twenty-seven minutes that you Ve made jest 
 rumpus enough so as 't he won't dare to foreclose 
 
I/O ELI. 
 
 on you, for fear they '11 say you went back on a 
 trade. On t' other hand, if you hold clear out, 
 he'll turn you out-o' -doors to-morrow, for a 
 blind, so 's to look as if there wa' n't no trade 
 between you. Once he gits off, he won't know 
 Joseph, you bet! That's what I 'd do," he 
 added, with a sly laugh. "Take your uncle's 
 advice." 
 
 "The only trouble with that," said Eli, 
 shortly, " is that I don't owe him anything." 
 
 " Oh," said the pedler; " that makes a differ- 
 ence. I understood you did." 
 
 Three o'clock came, and brought Mr. El- 
 dridge. He found Eli worn out with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " Now, I don't judge you the way the others 
 do," said Mr. Eldridge, in a low tone, with his 
 hand on Eli's knee. " I know, as I told you, 
 just the way you feel. But we can't help such 
 things. Suppose, now, that I had kept dark, and 
 allowed to the owners that that man was always 
 sober, and I had heard, six months after, of 
 thirty or forty men going to the bottom because 
 the captain was a little off his base ; and then 
 to think of their wives and children at home. 
 
ELI. I/I 
 
 We have to do some hard things; but I say, 
 do the square thing, and let her slide." 
 
 " But I can't believe he 's guilty," said Eli. 
 
 " But don't you allow," said Mr. Eldridge, 
 " that eleven men are more sure to hit it right 
 than one man? " 
 
 " Yes," said Eli, reluctantly, " as a general 
 thing." 
 
 "Well, there's always got to be some give to 
 a jury, just as in everything else, and you ought 
 to lay right down on the rest of us. It is n't 
 as if we were at all squirmish. Now, you know 
 that if you hold out, he '11 be tried again." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 " Got to be no other way," said Mr. El- 
 dridge. " Now, the next time, there won't be 
 anybody like you to stand out, and the judge '11 
 know of this scrape, and he '11 just sock it to 
 him." 
 
 Eli turned uneasily in his chair. 
 
 " And then it won't be understood in your 
 place, and folks '11 turn against you every way, 
 and, what's worse, let you alone." 
 
 " I can stand it," said Eli, angrily. " Let 'em 
 do as they like. They can't kill me." 
 
172 ELI. 
 
 "They can kill your wife and break down 
 your children," said Mr. Eldridge. " Women 
 and children can't stand it. Now, there 's that 
 man they were speaking of; he lived down 
 my way. He sued a poor, shiftless fellow that 
 had come from Pennsylvania to his daughter's 
 funeral, and had him arrested and taken off, 
 crying, just before the funeral begun after 
 they'd even set the flowers on the coffin; and 
 nobody 'd speak to him after that they just 
 let him alone ; and after a while his wife took 
 sick of it she was a nice, kindly woman 
 and she had sort of hysterics, and finally he 
 moved off West. And 't was n't long before 
 the woman died. Now, you can't undertake to 
 do different from everybody else." 
 
 "Well," said Eli, "I know I wish it was 
 done with." 
 
 Mr. Eldridge stretched his arms and yawned. 
 Then he began to walk up and down, and 
 hum, out of tune. Then he stopped at Captain 
 Thomas's chair. 
 
 " Suppose we try a ballot," he said. " He 
 seems to give a little." 
 
 In a moment the foreman rapped. 
 
ELI. 173 
 
 " It is time we were taking another ballot, 
 gentlemen," he said. 
 
 The sleepers rose, grumbling, from uneasy 
 dreams. 
 
 " I will write ' guilty ' on twelve ballots," said 
 the foreman, "and if any one desires to write in 
 ' not,' of course he can." 
 
 When the hat came to Eli, he took one of 
 the ballots and held it in his hand a moment, 
 and then he laid it on the table. There was a 
 general murmur. The picture which Mr. El- 
 dridge had drawn loomed up before him. But 
 with a hasty hand he wrote in " not," dropped 
 in the ballot, and going back to his chair by the 
 window, sat down. 
 
 There was a cold wave of silence. 
 
 Then Eli suddenly walked up to the foreman 
 and faced him. 
 
 " Now," he said, " we '11 stop. The very next 
 turn breaks ground. If you, or any other man 
 that you set on, tries to talk to me when I don't 
 want to hear, to worry me to death look out ! " 
 
 How the long hours wore on ! How easy, 
 sometimes, to resist an open pressure, and how 
 hard, with the resistance gone, to fight, as one 
 
ELI - 
 
 that beats the air ! How the prospect of a 
 whole hostile town loomed up, in a mirage, 
 before Eli ! And then the picture rose before 
 him of a long, stately bark, now building, whose 
 owner had asked him yesterday to be first mate. 
 And if his wife were only well, and he were 
 only free from this night's trouble, how soon, 
 upon the long, green waves, he could begin to 
 redeem his little home ! 
 
 And then came Mr. Eldridge, kind and 
 friendly, to have another little chat. 
 
 Morning came, cold and drizzly. An officer 
 knocked at the door, and called out, " Break- 
 fast ! " And in a moment, unwashed, and all 
 uncombed, except the tin-pedler, who always 
 carried a beard-comb in his pocket, they were 
 marched across the street to the hotel. 
 
 There were a number of men on the piazza 
 waiting to see them, jurymen, witnesses, and 
 the accused himself, for he was on bail. He 
 had seen the procession the night before, and, 
 like the others, had read its meaning. 
 
 " Eli knows I would n't do it," he had said to 
 himself, "and he's going to hang out, sure." 
 
ELI. 175 
 
 The jury began to turn from the court-house 
 door. Everybody looked. A file of two men, 
 another file, another, another; would there 
 come three men, and then one? No; Eli no 
 longer walked alone. 
 
 Everybody looked at Wood ; he turned 
 sharply away. 
 
 But this time the order of march in fact 
 showed nothing, one way or the other. It 
 only meant that the judge, who had happened to 
 see the jury the night before returning from their 
 supper, had sent for the high sheriff in some 
 temper, for judges are human, and had vig- 
 orously intimated that if that statesman did not 
 look after his fool of a deputy, who let a jury 
 parade secrets to the public view, he would ! 
 
 The jury were in their room again. At nine 
 o'clock came a rap, and a summons from the 
 court. The prosecuting attorney was speaking 
 with the judge when they went in. In a mo- 
 ment he took his seat. 
 
 " John Wood ! " called out the clerk, and the 
 defendant arose. His attorney was not there. 
 
 " Mr. Foreman ! " said the judge, rising. The 
 
ELI. 
 
 jury arose. The silence of the crowded court- 
 room was intense. 
 
 " Before the clerk asks you for a verdict, 
 gentlemen," said the judge, " I have something 
 of the first importance to say to you, which has 
 but this moment come to my knowledge." 
 
 Eli changed color, and the whole court-room 
 
 looked at him. 
 
 
 
 " There were some most singular rumors, 
 after the case was given to you, gentlemen, to 
 the effect that there had been in this cause a 
 criminal abuse of justice. It is painful to sus- 
 pect, and shocking to know, that courts and 
 juries are liable ever to suffer by such unprin- 
 cipled practices. After ten years upon the 
 bench, I never witness a conviction of crime 
 without pain ; but that pain is light, compared 
 with the distress of knowing of a wilful perver- 
 sion of justice. It is a relief to me to be able 
 to say to you that such instances are, in my 
 judgment, exceedingly rare, and so keen is 
 the awful searching power of truth are almost 
 invariably discovered." 
 
 The foreman touched his neighbor with his 
 elbow. Eli folded his arms. 
 
ELI. 
 
 " As I said," continued the judge, " there were 
 most singular rumors. During the evening and 
 the night, rumor, as is often the case, led to 
 evidence, and evidence has led to confession 
 and to certainty. And the district attorney now 
 desires me to say to you that the chief officer 
 of the bank who held the second key to the 
 safe is now under arrest for a heavy defal- 
 cation, which a sham robbery was to conceal, 
 and that you may find the prisoner at the bar 
 not guilty. I congratulate you, gentlemen, 
 that you had not rendered an adverse verdict." 
 
 " Your Honor ! " said Eli, and he cleared 
 his throat, " I desire it to be known that, even 
 as the case stood last night, this jury had not 
 agreed to convict, and never would have ! " 
 
 There was a hush, while a loud scratching 
 pen indorsed the record of acquittal. Then 
 Wood walked down to the jury-box and took 
 Eli's hand. 
 
 "Just what I told my wife all through/' he 
 said. " I knew you 'd hang out ! " 
 
 Eli's jury was excused for the rest the of day, 
 and by noon he was in his own village, relieved, 
 12 
 
1 78 ELI. 
 
 too, of his most pressing burden : for George 
 Gaboon had met him on the road, and told him 
 that he was not going to the West, after all, for 
 the present, and should not need his money. 
 But, as he turned the bend of the road and 
 neared his house, he felt a rising fear that some 
 disturbing rumor might have reached his wife 
 about his action on the jury. And, to his dis- 
 tress and amazement, there she was, sitting in a 
 chair at the door. 
 
 "Lizzie!" he said, "what does this mean? 
 Are you crazy? " 
 
 " I '11 tell you what it means," she said, as 
 she stood up with a little smile and clasped 
 her hands behind her. " This morning it got 
 around and came to me that you was standing 
 out all alone for John Wood, and that the talk 
 was that they 'd be down on you, and drive you 
 out of town, and that everybody pitied me, 
 pitied me ! And when I heard that, I thought 
 I 'd see ! And my strength seemed to come all 
 back, and I got right up and dressed myself. 
 And what's more, I 'm going to get well now ! " 
 
 And she did. 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 I. 
 
 the southeastern coast of Massachusetts 
 is a small village with which I was once 
 familiarly acquainted. It differs little in its 
 general aspect from other hamlets scattered 
 along that shore. It has its one long, strag- 
 gling street, plain and homelike, from which at 
 two or three different points a winding lane 
 leads off and ends abruptly in the water. 
 
 Fifty years ago the village had a business 
 activity of its own. There still remain the 
 vestiges of a wharf at a point where once was 
 a hammering ship-yard. Here and there, in 
 bare fields along the sea, are the ruins of vats 
 and windmills, picturesque remains of ancient 
 salt-works. 
 
 There is no visible sign left now of the noisy 
 life of the ship-yards, except a marble stone 
 
180 BY THE SEA. 
 
 beneath a willow in the burying-ground on the 
 hill, which laments the untimely death of a 
 youth of nineteen, killed in 1830 in the launch- 
 ing of a brig. But traces of the salt-works 
 everywhere remain, in frequent sheds and small 
 barns which are wet and dry, as the saying is, 
 all the time, and will not hold paint. They are 
 built of salt-boards. 
 
 There were a good many of the people of the 
 village and its adjoining country who interested 
 me very greatly. I am going to tell you a sim- 
 ple event which happened in one of its families, 
 deeply affecting its little history. 
 
 James Parsons was a man perhaps sixty 
 years of age, strongly built, gray-haired, clean- 
 shaven except for the conventional seaman's 
 fringe of beard below the chin, and always 
 exquisitely neat. Whether you met him in 
 his best suit, on Sunday morning, or in his old 
 clothes, going to his oyster-beds or his cran- 
 berry-marsh, it was always the same. He was 
 usually in his shirt-sleeves in summer. His 
 white cotton shirt, with its easy collar and wrist- 
 bands, seemed always to have just come from 
 
BY THE SEA. l8l 
 
 the ironing-board. " It ain't no trouble at all 
 to keep James clean," I have heard Mrs. Par- 
 sons say, in her funny little way; " he picks his 
 way round for all the world just like a pussy- 
 cat, and never gets no spots on him, nowhere." 
 
 You saw at once, upon the slightest acquaint- 
 ance with James, that while he was of the 
 same general civilization as his neighbors, he 
 was of a different type. In his narrowness, 
 there was a peculiar breadth and vigor which 
 characterized him. He had about him the 
 atmosphere of a wider ocean. 
 
 His early reminiscences were all of that pic- 
 turesque and adventurous life which prevailed 
 along our coasts to within forty years, and his 
 conversation was suggestive of it. He held a 
 silver medal from the Humane Society for con- 
 spicuous bravery in the rescue of the crew of 
 a ship stranded in winter in a storm of sleet off 
 Post Hill Bar. He had a war-hatchet, for which 
 he had negotiated face to face with a naked 
 cannibal in the South Sea. He was familiar with 
 the Hoogly. 
 
 His language savored always of the sea. His 
 hens " turned in," at night. He was full of says 
 
182 BY THE SEA. 
 
 and formulas of a maritime nature ; there was 
 one which always seemed to me to have some- 
 thing of a weird and mystic character : " South 
 moon brings high water on Coast Island Bar." 
 In describing the transactions of domestic life, 
 he used words more properly applicable to the 
 movements of large ships. He would speak of 
 a saucepan as if it weighed a hundred tons. 
 He never tossed or threw even the slightest 
 object; he hove it. "Why, father!" said Mrs. 
 Parsons, surprised at seeing him for a moment 
 untidy; " what have you ben doing? Your 
 boots and trousers-legs is all white ! " " Yes," 
 said Mr. Parsons, apologetically, looking down 
 upon his dusty garments, " I just took that 
 bucket of ashes and hove 'em into the hen- 
 house." 
 
 The word " heave," in fact, was always upon his 
 tongue. It applied to everything. " How was 
 this road straightened out?" I asked him one 
 day; " did the town vote to do it ?" " No, no," 
 he said quickly; "there wasn't never no vote. 
 The se-lec'men just come along one day, and 
 got us all together, and hove in and hove out ; 
 and we altered our fences to suit." 
 
BY THE SEA. 183 
 
 I remember hearing him testify as a witness 
 to a will. It appeared that the testator was 
 sick in bed when he signed the instrument. 
 He was suffering greatly, and when he was to 
 sign, it was necessary to lift him with the ex- 
 tremest care, to turn him to the light-stand. 
 " State what was done next," the lawyer asked 
 of James. " Captain Frost was laying on his 
 left side," said James. " Two of us took a holt 
 of him and rolled him over." 
 
 He had probably not the least suspicion 
 that his language had a maritime flavor. I 
 asked him one night, as we coasted along toward 
 home, " What do seafaring men call the track of 
 light that the moon makes on the water? They 
 must have some name for it." " No, no," he 
 said, ''they don't have no name for it; they 
 just call it * the wake of the moon.' " 
 
 James's learning had been chiefly gained from 
 the outside world and not from books. I have 
 heard him lay it down as a fact that the word 
 " Bible " had its etymology from the word " by- 
 bill" (hand-bill). "It was writ," he said, "in 
 small parcels, and they was passed around by 
 them that writ 'em, like by-bills ; and so when 
 
1 84 BY THE SEA. 
 
 they hove it all into one, they called it the 
 'Bible.'" 
 
 But while James had little learning himself, 
 he appreciated it highly in others. I had oc- 
 casion to ask him once why it was that the son 
 of one of his neighbors, in closing up his father's 
 estate, had not settled his accounts regularly in 
 the probate court. " Oh, I know how that was," 
 he replied ; " he settled 'em the other way. You 
 see, he went to the college at Woonsocket, and 
 he learned there how to settle accounts the other 
 way : and that 's the way he settled 'em." And 
 then he added, "When Alvin left the college, they 
 giv' him a book that tells how to do all kinds of 
 business, and what you want to do so 's to make 
 money; and Alvin has always followed them 
 rules. The consequence is, he's made money, 
 and what he 's made, he 's kep' it. I suppose he 's 
 worth not less than sixteen hundred dollars." 
 
 .Sometimes he would venture a remark of a 
 gallant nature. " They don't generally git the 
 lights in the hall so as to suit me," he once said. 
 " I don't want it too light, because then it hurts 
 my eyes ; but I want it light enough so as 't I 
 can see the women ! " 
 
BY THE SEA. 185 
 
 James was a large, strong man, but Mrs. Par- 
 sons, although she was little and slight, and was 
 always ailing, constantly assumed the role of her 
 husband's nurse and protector, not only in 
 household matters, but in other affairs of life. 
 Whenever she had visitors, and she and 
 James were hospitable in the extreme, she 
 was pretty sure to end up, sooner or later, if 
 James were present, with some droll criticism 
 of him, as much to his delight as to hers. 
 
 James sometimes liked to affect a certain 
 harshness of demeanor ; but the disguise was a 
 transparent one. How well do I remember the 
 time oh, so long ago ! when for some reason 
 or other I happened to have his boat instead of 
 my own, one day, with one of the boys of the vil- 
 lage, to go to Matamet, twelve miles off, to visit 
 certain lobster-pots which we had set. We were 
 delayed there by breaking our boom, in jibing. 
 We should have been at home at noon ; at seven 
 in the evening we were not yet in sight. When 
 we got in, rather crestfallen at our disaster, par- 
 ticularly as the boat was wanted for the next 
 day, James met us at the pier. We were boys 
 then, and his tongue was free. As he stood 
 
1 86 BY THE SEA. 
 
 there on the shore, bare-headed, hastily sum- 
 moned from his house, with his hair blowing in 
 the wind, waving his hands and addressing first 
 us and then a knot of men who stood smoking 
 by, no words of censure were too harsh, no 
 comment on our carelessness too cutting, no 
 laments too keen over the irreparable loss of 
 that particular boom. The next time I could 
 take my own boat, if I were going to get cast 
 away. And I remember well how he ended his 
 tirade. " I did n't care nothing about you two," 
 he said. " If you want to git drownded, git 
 drownded; it ain't nothing to me. All I was 
 afraid of was that you 'd gone and capsized my 
 boat, and would n't never turn up to tell where 
 you sunk her. But as for you " and he 
 laughed a laugh of heartless indifference. 
 
 But ten minutes later, and right before his 
 face, at his own front gate, Mrs. Parsons be- 
 trayed him. " I never see father so worried," 
 she said, " sence the time he heard about 
 Thomas ; why, he 's spent the whole afternoon 
 as nervous as a hawk, going up on the hill 
 with his spy-glass ; and I don't feel so sure but 
 what he was crying. He said he did n't care 
 
BY THE SEA. l8/ 
 
 nothing about the boat, ' What 's that old 
 boat ! ' says he ; but if you boys was drownded 
 out of her, he would n't never git over it." At 
 which James, being so unmasked, laughed in a 
 shamefaced way, and shook us by the shoulders. 
 He had a son who carried on some sort of 
 half-maritime business on one of the wharves, 
 in the city, and lived over his shop. When 
 James went at intervals to visit him, he made 
 his way at once from the railway station to the 
 nearest wharf; then he followed the line of 
 the water around to the shop. Where jib- 
 booms project out over the sidewalk, one feels 
 so thoroughly at home ! From the shop he 
 would make short adventurous excursions up 
 Commercial Street and State Street, sometimes 
 going no farther than the nautical-instrument 
 store on the corner of Broad Street, sometimes 
 venturing to Washington Street, or even moving 
 for a short distance up or down in the current 
 of that gay thoroughfare. He loved to com- 
 ment satirically on the city, with a broad humor- 
 ous sense of his own strangeness there. " The 
 city folks don't seem to have nothing to do," he 
 said. " They seem to be all out, walking up 
 
1 88 BY THE SEA. 
 
 and down the streets. Come noon, I thought 
 there 'd be some let-up for dinner; but they 
 didn't seem to want nothing to eat; they kep' 
 right on walking." 
 
 I must not leave James Parsons without tell- 
 ing you of two whale's teeth which stand on 
 his parlor mantel-piece; he ornamented them 
 himself, copying the designs from cheap for- 
 eign prints. One of them is what he calls "the 
 meeting-house." It is the high altar of the Cathe- 
 dral of Seville. On the other is "the wild-beast 
 tamer." A man with a feeble, wishy-washy 
 expression holds by each hand a fierce, but 
 subjugated tiger. His legs dangle loosely in the 
 air. There is nothing to suggest what upholds 
 him in his mighty contest. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now we must turn from James Parsons to a 
 man of a different type, or rather of a different 
 variety of the same type; for they descend 
 alike from original founders of the town, and, 
 like most of their fellow-townsmen, are both of 
 unqualified Pilgrim stock. 
 
BY THE SEA. 189 
 
 To get to Captain Joseph Pelham's house, 
 you have to drive along a range of hills for some 
 miles, skirting the sea ; then you come, half-way, 
 to a bright modern village with trees along the 
 main street, with houses and fences kept painted 
 up, for the most part, but here and there relieved 
 by an unpainted dwelling of a past generation. 
 
 Here you have an option. You may either 
 pursue your road through the high-lying pros- 
 perous street, with peeps of salt water to the 
 right, or you may turn sharply off at a little 
 store and descend to the lower road. It is 
 always a struggle to choose. 
 
 The road to the beach descends a sharp, 
 gravelly hill, and crosses a bridge. Then you 
 come out on a waste of salt-marsh, threaded by 
 the creek, broken by wild, fantastic sand-hills, 
 grown over by beach-grass which will cut your 
 fingers like a knife. You drive close along the 
 white, precipitous beach; you pass the long, 
 shaky pier, with half-decayed fish-houses at the 
 other end, and picturesque heaps of fish-cars, 
 seines, and barrels. Then the road, following the 
 shore a little longer, climbs the hill and enters 
 the woods. Two miles more and you come 
 
190 BY THE SEA. 
 
 out to fields with mossy fences, and occasional 
 houses. 
 
 The houses begin to be more frequent. All 
 at once you enter the main street of W . 
 
 In a moment you see that you have come 
 into a new atmosphere. There is a large mod- 
 ern church among the older ones. There are 
 large, fine houses, some old-fashioned, others 
 new. By some miraculous intervention Queen 
 Anne has not as yet made her appearance. 
 There are handsome, well-filled stores, going into 
 no little refinement in stock. There is, of course, 
 a small brick library, built by the bounty of a 
 New Yorker who was born here. There is a 
 brick national bank, and a face brick block 
 occupied above by Freemasons, orders of Red 
 Men, Knights Templars, and the Pool of Siloani 
 Lodge, I. O. O. F., and below by a savings 
 bank and a local marine insurance company. 
 
 It is here that we shall find Captain Joseph 
 Pelham. If a stranger has occasion to inquire 
 for the leading men of the place he is always 
 first referred to him. It is he who heads every 
 list and is the chairman of every meeting. 
 When a certain public man, commanding but 
 
BY THE SEA. TQI 
 
 a small following here, appeared, upon his 
 campaign tour, and found no one to escort him 
 to the platform and preside, so that he was 
 obliged to justify his appearance here by the 
 Scripture passage, " They that are whole need 
 not a physician, but they that are sick ; " at the 
 moment of entering the hall, closely packed 
 with curious opponents, disposed perhaps to be 
 derisive when the situation for the visitor was. 
 embarrassing in the extreme, it was Captain 
 Joseph Pelham who, though the bitterest oppo- 
 nent of them all, rose from his seat, gave the 
 speaker his arm, escorted him to the platform, 
 presented him with grave courtesy to the audi- 
 ence, and sat beside him through the entire 
 discourse. 
 
 While Captain Pelham continued to go to sea, 
 and after that, until he was made president of 
 the insurance company, he lived a mile or two 
 out of the town, in a house he had inherited. 
 It is picturesquely situated, on a bare hill, with 
 a wide view of the inland and the ocean. As 
 you look down from its south windows, the 
 cluster of houses nestling together at the shore 
 below stand sharply out against the water. It 
 
192 BY THE SEA. 
 
 is one of those white houses common in our 
 older towns, two-storied, long on the street, 
 with the front door in the middle. Of the in- 
 terior it is enough to say that its owner had 
 sailed for thirty years to Hong-Kong, Cal- 
 cutta and Madras. It had a prevailing odor 
 of teak and lacquer. In the front hall was a 
 vast china cane-holder; a turretted Calcutta 
 hat hung on the hat-tree ; a heavy, varnished 
 Chinese umbrella stood in a corner; a long and 
 handsome settee from Java stood against the 
 wall. In the parlors, on either hand, were Chi- 
 nese tables shutting up like telescopes, elaborate 
 rattan chairs of different kinds, and numberless 
 other things of this sort, which had plainly been 
 honestly come by, and not bought. 
 
 Then, if you met the Captain's favor, he 
 would show you with becoming pride some 
 family relics, and tell you about them. They 
 came mostly from his paternal grandfather, who 
 was a shipmaster too, had commanded a priva- 
 teer in the Revolution, and made a fortune. 
 There were a number of pieces of handsome 
 furniture, these you could see for yourself. 
 What would be shown you, with a half-diffident 
 
BY THE SEA. 193 
 
 air, would be: a silver mug; two Revere table- 
 spoons ; a few tiny teaspoons marked F. ; a 
 handsome sword and scabbard ; a yellow satin 
 waistcoat and small-clothes; portraits, not ar- 
 tistic, but effective, of his grandfather, in a 
 velvet coat and knee-breeches, with a long spy- 
 glass in his hand, and of his grandmother, 
 a strong, matter-of-fact looking woman, hand- 
 somely dressed. 
 
 But the thing which the Captain secretly 
 treasured most, but brought out last, was his 
 grandmother's Dutch Bible. It is a curious old 
 book ; you can see it still if you wish. It has 
 an elaborate frontispiece. Sixteen cuts of lead- 
 ing incidents in Scripture history conduct you 
 by gentle stages, from Eden, through the offer- 
 ing of Isaac, to the close of the Evangelists, and 
 surround Dr. Martin Luther, who, in a gown, 
 holds back the curtains of a pillared alcove, to 
 show you, through two windows, an Old and 
 a New Testament landscape, and a lady sitting 
 beneath a canopy, with an open volume. The 
 covers are of thick bevelled board covered with 
 leather. There was once a heavy clasp. The 
 edges are richly gilded, and figures are pricked 
 
194 BY THE SEA - 
 
 in the gilding. It is very handsomely printed. 
 It was in the possession, in 1760, of a young 
 New England girl, the Captain's grandmother. 
 There is a story about it, a story too long to 
 tell here. Suffice it to say that the Captain's 
 ancestor, who settled early in New England, 
 came from Leyden shortly after Mr. John Robin- 
 son. A hundred years later and more, in the 
 oddest way, an acquaintance sprang up with cer- 
 tain Dutch connections, and in the course of it 
 this Bible, then new and elegant, found its way 
 over the sea as a gift to young Mistress Preston. 
 In New England, and as a relic of the early 
 ties of our people with Holland, momentarily 
 renewed after a century had passed away, it is 
 probably unique. It was a last farewell from 
 Holland to her English children, before she 
 parted company with them forever. 
 
 I have told you about this house, as I recall 
 it, although Captain Pelham had now ceased to 
 live there, because it was there alone that he 
 seemed completely at home. Furnished as it 
 was from the four quarters of the globe, every- 
 thing seemed to fit in with his ways. He sup- 
 plemented the Chinese tables, and they supple- 
 
BY THE SEA. 195 
 
 merited him. But when he ceased to go to sea, 
 in late middle life, and settled down at home 
 upon his competency, and began a little later to 
 become interested in public matters ; when he 
 was at last made president of the insurance com- 
 pany, a director in the bank, and a trustee in 
 the savings bank, and when affairs were left more 
 and more to his control, it became convenient 
 for him to get into town ; and his wife and daugh- 
 ter were perhaps ambitious for the change. 
 
 So he had sold his house by the sea, and had 
 bought a large and somewhat pretentious one 
 on the main street, with a cast-iron summer 
 arbor, and a bay-window closed in for a conser- 
 vatory. He had furnished it from the city with 
 new Brussels carpet, with a parlor set, a sitting- 
 room set, a dining-room set, and chamber sets; 
 and the antique things which had given his for- 
 mer home an air of charming picturesqueness 
 were for the most part tucked away in unnoticed 
 corners. 
 
 The Captain never seemed to me to have 
 become quite naturalized in his new home. He 
 never belonged to the furniture, or the furniture 
 to him. The place where you saw him best in 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 these later days was in the office of his insurance 
 company, or in the little business-room of one 
 of the banks, surrounded by a knot of more 
 substantial townsmen, or talking patiently with 
 some small farmer or seafaring man seeking for 
 insurance or a loan. One of the most marked fea- 
 tures of his character was a certain patience and 
 considerateness which made all borrowers apply 
 by preference to him. He would sit down at his 
 little table with a plain man whose affairs were 
 in disorder, and listen with close attention to his 
 application for a loan. Somehow the man 
 would find himself disclosing all the particulars 
 of his distress. Then Captain Pelham, in his 
 quiet way, would go over the whole matter with 
 him ; would plan with him on his concerns ; 
 would try to see if it were not possible to post- 
 pone a little the payment of debts and to hasten 
 the collection of claims; to get a part of the 
 money for a short time from a son in Boston 
 or a married daughter in New Bedford ; and so, 
 by pulling and hauling, to weather the Cape. 
 
 I must say a word about his position in town 
 matters. He had been at sea the greater part of 
 the time from sixteen to fifty-two. During that 
 
BY THE SEA. 1 97 
 
 time he had had absolutely no concern with 
 political affairs. He had never voted : for he 
 had never, as it had happened, been ashore at 
 the time of an election. And yet before he 
 had been at home six years he was one of the 
 selectmen of the town and overseer of the poor, 
 and had become familiar with the details of 
 Massachusetts town government, superficially 
 so simple, in fact so complex. It was a large 
 town, of no small wealth. Lying as it did 
 along the seaboard, where havoc was always 
 being made by disasters of the sea, there was 
 not only a larger number than in an inland town 
 of persons actually quartered in the poorhouse, 
 but there were many broken families who had 
 to be helped in their own homes. And it was 
 to me an interesting fact that in dealing with 
 two score households of this class, Captain Pel- 
 ham, who had spent most of his time at sea, was 
 able to display the utmost tact and judgment. 
 He applied to their affairs that same plain kind- 
 liness and sound sense which he showed in the 
 matter of discounts at the bank. 
 
 While the friendships of Captain Pelham were 
 chiefly in his own town, his acquaintance was not 
 
198 BY THE SEA. 
 
 confined to it. In his own quiet, unpretending 
 way he was something of a man of the world. 
 He was known in the marine insurance offices 
 in the large cities. He had been familiar all his 
 life with large affairs ; he had commanded valu- 
 able ships, loaded with fortunes in teas and 
 silks, in the days when an India captain was a 
 merchant. 
 
 III. 
 
 You will ask me why it is that I have been 
 telling you about these men, and what it is that 
 connects them. 
 
 It was now ten years since Captain Pelham's 
 only son, himself at twenty-two the master of a 
 vessel, had married a daughter of James Parsons, 
 a tall, impulsive, and warm-hearted girl, one 
 of those girls to whom children always cling. 
 Both James Parsons's daughters had proved at- 
 tractive and had married well. It had been a 
 disappointment in Captain Pelham's household, 
 perhaps, that this son, their especial pride, should 
 not have married into one of the wealthy fami- 
 lies in his own village. At first there had been 
 
BY THE SEA. 199 
 
 a little visiting to and fro ; it had lasted but a 
 little time, and then the two households had 
 settled down, as the way is in the country, to 
 follow each its own natural course of living. 
 George Pelham's wife had always lived in an 
 odd little house, all doors and windows, near by 
 her father, in her native village. 
 
 It was from Porto Cabello that that message 
 came, yellow fever a short sickness a 
 burial in a stranger's grave. George Pelham's 
 wife had been for two or three years of less than 
 her usual strength. It was not long after that 
 news came, came so suddenly, with no warn- 
 ing, that she began to fade away ; and after 
 ten months she died. 
 
 I remember seeing her a week or two before 
 her death. Her bed had been set up in her 
 little parlor for the convenience of those who 
 were attending upon her. She lay on her back, 
 bolstered up. The paleness of her face was in- 
 tensified by her coal-black hair, lying back heavy 
 on the pillow. Her hands were thin and trans- 
 parent, and I remember well the straining look 
 in her eyes as she talked with me about the boy 
 whom she was going to leave. 
 
200 BY THE SEA. 
 
 She was living, as I have said, close by her 
 father. It was natural that in the last few days 
 of her illness the child should be taken to her 
 father's house, and when she died and the funeral 
 was over, it was there that he returned. 
 
 Picture now to yourself a boy toward nine 
 years old, symmetrically made, firm and hard. 
 His head is round, his features are good, his 
 hair is fine and lies down close. He is clothed 
 in a neat print jacket, with a collar and a little 
 handkerchief at the neck, and a pair of short 
 trousers buttoned on to the jacket. He is 
 barefoot. He is tanned but not burnt. His 
 complexion is of a rich dark brown. He is 
 always fresh and clean. But the great charm 
 about him is the expression of infinite fun and 
 mirth that is always upon his face. Never for 
 a moment while he is awake is his face still. 
 Always the same, yet always shifting, with a 
 thousand varying shades of roguish joy. Quick, 
 bright, full of boyish repartee, full of shouts and 
 laughter. And the same incessant life which 
 plays upon his face shows itself in every move- 
 ment of his limbs. Never for a moment is he 
 
BY THE SEA. 2OI 
 
 still unless he has some work upon his hands. 
 He has his little routine of tasks, regularly 
 assigned, which he goes through with the most 
 amusing good-humor and attention. It is his 
 duty to see that the skiffs are not jammed 
 under the wharf on the rising tide; to sweep 
 out the " Annie" when she t comes in, and to set 
 her cabin to rights ; to set away the dishes after 
 meals, and to feed the chickens. Aside from a' 
 few such tasks, his time in summer is his own. 
 The rest of the year he goes to the " primary," 
 and serves to keep the whole room in a state of 
 mirth. He has the happy gift that to put every 
 one in high spirits he has only to be present. 
 Such an incessant flow of life you rarely see. 
 His manners are good, and he comes honestly 
 by them. 
 
 There is an amusing union in him of the 
 baby and the man. While the children of his 
 age at the summer hotel walk about for the 
 most part with their nurses, he is turned loose 
 upon the shore, and has been, from his cradle. 
 He can dive and swim and paddle and float 
 and " go steamboat." He can row a boat that is 
 not too heavy, and up to the limit of his strength 
 
202 BY THE SEA. 
 
 he can steer a sail-boat with substantial skill. 
 He knows the currents, the tides, and the shoals 
 about his shore, and the nearer landmarks. He 
 knows that to find the threadlike entrance to 
 the bay you bring the flag-staff over Cart- 
 wright's barn. He has vague theories of his 
 own as to the annual shifting of the channel. 
 He knows where to take the city children to 
 look for tinkle-shells and mussels. He knows 
 what winds bring in the scallops from their 
 beds. He knows where to dig for clams, and 
 where to tread for quahaugs without disturbing 
 the oysters. He has a good deal of fragmentary 
 lore of the sea. 
 
 Every morning you will hear his cry, a sort 
 of yodel, or bird-call, peculiar to him, with which 
 he bursts forth upon the world. Then you will 
 hear, perhaps, loud peals of laughter at some- 
 thing that has excited his sense of the absurd, 
 contagious laughter, full of innocent fun. 
 
 Then he will appear, perhaps, with his wooden 
 dinner-bucket, he is going off with his grand- 
 father for the day, and will yodel to the old man 
 as a signal to make haste. Then you will hear 
 him consulting with some one upon the weather. 
 
BY THE SEA. 2O3 
 
 All this time he will be going through various, 
 evolutions, swinging in the hammock, sitting on 
 the fence, opening his bucket to show you what 
 he has to eat, closing the bucket and sitting 
 down upon the cover, or turning somersaults 
 upon the grass. Then he will encamp under an 
 apple-tree to wait until his grandfather appears, 
 enlivening the time by a score of minute excur- 
 sions after hens and cats. Then he will go into 
 the house again, and rock while the old man 
 finishes his coffee, sure of a greeting, confident 
 in a sense of entire good-fellowship, until the 
 meal is finished, and James Parsons is ready to 
 take his coat and a red-bladed oar, and set out. 
 Then the boy is like a setter off for a walk, 
 all sorts of whimsical expressions in his face, 
 of absolute delight ; every form of extravagance 
 in his bearing. The only trouble is, one has to 
 laugh too much ; but with all this, something 
 so manly, so companionable. 
 
 He is no little of a philosopher in his way. 
 He has been a great deal with older people, and 
 has caught the habit of discussion of affairs, or 
 rather, perhaps, of unconsciously reflecting forth 
 discussions which he has heard. He has an 
 
204 BY THE SEA - 
 
 . infinite curiosity upon all matters of human life. 
 He likes, within limits, to discuss character. 
 
 In the boat his chief delights are to talk, to 
 eat cookies, and to steer. When it is not blow- 
 ing too hard for him to stand at the tiller, he 
 will steer for an hour together, watching with 
 the most constant care the trembling of the 
 leach. 
 
 It makes no difference to him at what hour he 
 returns, from oystering or from the cranberry- 
 bog. If it is in the middle of the afternoon, 
 good and well. Instantly upon landing he will 
 collect a troop of urchins ; in an incredibly 
 short space of time there will be a heap of little 
 clothes upon the bank ; in a moment a proces- 
 sion of small naked figures will go running down 
 to the wharf, diving, one after the other. If dis- 
 tance or tide or a calm keeps him out late, so 
 much the better. In that case there is the ro- 
 mance of coasting along the shore by night ; of 
 counting and distinguishing the lights ; of guess- 
 ing the nearness to land from the dull roar of 
 the sea breaking on the beach. " Don't you 
 think," he will sometimes say, " that we are 
 nearer shore than we think we are?" 
 
BY THE SEA. 205 
 
 It is amusing sometimes, on a distant voyage 
 of fifteen or twenty miles, after seed oysters, 
 when a landing is made at some little port, to 
 see him drop the mariner at once and become 
 a child, with a burning desire to find a shop 
 where he can buy animal-crackers. Finding 
 such a place, and usually it is not difficult, 
 he will lay in a supply of lions and tigers, and 
 then go marching about with great delight, with 
 mockery in his eyes, keenly appreciating the 
 satire involved in eating the head off a cooky 
 lion, incapable of resistance. 
 
 
 
 No picture of Joe would be complete which 
 left out his dog. Kit was a black, fine-haired 
 creature, smaller than a collie, but of much the 
 same gentle disposition, a present from Cap- 
 tain Pelham. When Kit was first presented to 
 the boy he domesticated himself at once, and 
 in a week it was impossible to tell, from his re- 
 lations with the household, which was boy and 
 which was dog. They were both boys and they 
 were both dogs. Kit had an unqualified sense 
 of being at home, and of being beloved and in- 
 dispensable. It was long before he became a 
 
206 BY THE SEA. 
 
 sailor. When, at the outset, it was attempted 
 to make a man of him by taking him when 
 they went out to fish, the failure seemed to be 
 complete. He was a little sea-sick. Then he 
 was sad, and sighed and groaned as dogs never 
 do on shore. He would not lie still, but was 
 nervous and feverish. Once he leaped out of 
 the boat and made for shore, and had to be pur- 
 sued and rescued, exhausted and half-drowned. 
 Still, whenever he had to be left at home, it was 
 a struggle every time to reconcile him and leave 
 him. Once he pursued a boat which he mis- 
 took for James's along the shore of the bay, half 
 down to Benson's Narrows, got involved in the 
 creeks which the tide was beginning to fill, and 
 had to be brought ingloriously home by a 
 farmer, made fast on the top of a load of sweet, 
 salt hay. 
 
 He would tease like a child to be allowed to 
 go. He would listen with an unsatisfied and 
 appealing look while Joe, with an exuberant 
 but regretful air, explained to him in detail the 
 reasons which made it impossible for him to go. 
 But in a few months, as the dog grew older, he 
 prevailed, and although he would generally re- 
 
BY THE SEA. 2O/ 
 
 tire into the shelter of the cabin, he was never- 
 theless the boy's almost inseparable companion 
 on the water as on the shore. The relation be- 
 tween the two was always touching. It evidently 
 never crossed the dog's mind that he was not 
 a younger brother. 
 
 Now, to complete the picture of James Par- 
 sons's household, add in this boy; for while it 
 is but just now that he is strictly of it, he has 
 been for years its mirth and life. 
 
 I remember that quiet household before it 
 knew him, cosey, homelike, with a pervading 
 air even then of genial humor, but with long 
 hours of silence and repose, geraniums and 
 the click of knitting-needles in the sitting-room ; 
 faint odors of a fragrant pipe from the shed 
 kitchen ; no stir of boisterous fun, except when 
 some bronzed, solemn joker, with his wife, came 
 in for a formal call, and solemnity gave way, 
 by a gradual descent, to merriment. Joe had 
 given no new departure, only an impulse. 
 " James used to behave himself quite well," Mrs. 
 Parsons would say, archly raising her eyebrows, 
 " before Joe's time ; but now there 's two boys 
 
2O8 BY THE SEA. 
 
 of 'em together, and the one as bad as the other, 
 and I can't do nothing with 'em. And then," 
 with a mock gesture of despair, " that 
 dog!" 
 
 IV. 
 
 WHILE Joe's mother was lying ill, and after 
 it had become certain that she would soon leave 
 this world forever, the question had been freely 
 discussed as to what her boy's future should be. 
 In Captain Joseph Pelham's mind there was only 
 one answer to this question, that the lad should 
 come to him. He bore the Captain's name ; he 
 represented the Captain's son ; he should take a 
 place now in the Captain's home. 
 
 It was now about three weeks since Joe's 
 m'other had been buried. The stone had not 
 yet been cut and set over her grave. But the 
 Captain thought it time to drive over to James 
 Parsons's and take the boy. That James would 
 make any serious opposition perhaps never 
 entered his mind. It was a bright, charming 
 afternoon; with his shining horse, in a bright, 
 well-varnished buggy, the Captain drove over 
 the seven miles of winding roads through the 
 
BY THE SEA. 2OO, 
 
 woods, and along the sea, to the village where 
 James Parsons lived. He tied his horse to the 
 hitching-post in front of the broad cottage house, 
 went down the path to the L door, knocked, and 
 went in. 
 
 James was sitting in a large room which 
 served in winter as a kitchen and in summer 
 as a sort of sitting-room, smoking a pipe and 
 gazing vacantly into the pine-branches in the 
 open fireplace before him. He had been out 
 all day on his marsh, but he had been home a 
 couple of hours. His wife kindly soul re- 
 ceived Captain Pelham at the door, wiping her 
 hands upon her apron, and modestly showed 
 him into the sitting-room ; then she retired to her 
 tasks in the shed kitchen. She moved about 
 mechanically for a moment; then she ran has- 
 tily out into the lean-to wood-shed, shut the door 
 behind her, sat down on the worn floor where it 
 gives way with a step to the floor of earth by the 
 wood-pile, hid her face in her apron, and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 Joe was at the wharf with his comrades play- 
 ing at war. 
 
 Now, if there ever was a hospitable man, a 
 14 
 
2IO BY THE SEA. 
 
 man who gave a welcome, a rough but merry 
 welcome to every one who entered his doors, it 
 was James Parsons. He had a homely, jocose 
 saying that you must either make yourself at 
 home or go home. But on this occasion he 
 rose with a somewhat forced and awkward air, 
 laid his pipe down on the mantel-piece, and 
 nodded to the Captain with an air of embar- 
 rassed inquiry. Then he bethought himself, 
 and asked the Captain to sit down. The Cap- 
 tain took the nearest chair, beside the table, 
 where Mrs. Parsons had lately been sitting at 
 her work. James's chair was directly opposite. 
 The table was between them. 
 
 James rose and went to the mantel-piece, 
 scratched a match upon his boot-heel, and 
 undertook to light his pipe. It did not light ; 
 he did not notice it, but put the pipe in his 
 mouth as if it were lighted. 
 
 It occurred to Captain Pelham now, for the 
 first time, absorbed as he had been with exclu- 
 sive thoughts of the boy, that he should first 
 say something to this old man about the daugh- 
 ter whom he had lost: and he made some ex- 
 pressions of sympathy. The old man nodded, 
 but said nothing. 
 
BY THE SEA. 211 
 
 There was silence for two or three minutes. 
 
 The subject in order now was inevitably the 
 boy. Captain Pelham opened his lips to claim 
 him ; but, almost to his own surprise, he found 
 himself making some common remark about 
 the affairs of the neighborhood. It came in 
 harsh and forced, as if it were a fragment of 
 conversation floated in by the breeze from the 
 street outside. Then the Captain waited a mo- 
 ment, looking out of the window. 
 
 James took his pipe from his mouth and 
 leaned his elbows on the table. " Why don't 
 you go take him?" he suddenly said: " he 's 
 probably down to the wharf. Ef you have got 
 the claim to him, why don't you go take him? 
 You Ve got your team here, drive right down 
 there and put him in and drive off; if you Ve 
 got the right to him, why don't you go take 
 him? But ef you Ve come for my consent, you 
 can set there till the chair rots beneath you." 
 
 With this, James rose and took the felt hat 
 which was lying by him on the table, and say- 
 ing not another word, went out of the door. 
 He went down to the shore, and affected to 
 busy himself with his boat. 
 
212 BY THE SEA. 
 
 There was nothing for Captain Pelham to do 
 but to take his hat, untie his horse, and drive 
 home. 
 
 The Captain well knew that nobody in the 
 world had a legal right to the child until a 
 guardian should be appointed. A plain and 
 simple path was open before him: it was his 
 only path. James Parsons had proved wilful 
 and wrong-headed ; there was nothing now but 
 to take out letters as guardian of the boy. Then 
 James would acquiesce without a word. 
 
 Immediately after breakfast the Captain went 
 down the street. He opened his letters and 
 attended to the first routine of business; then 
 he went across the way and up a flight of stairs 
 to a lawyer's office. 
 
 If you had happened to read the county pa- 
 pers at about this time, you would have seen 
 among the legal notices two petitions, identical 
 in form, the one by Joseph Pelham, the other 
 by James Parsons, each applying for guardian- 
 ship of Joseph Pelham, the younger of that 
 name, with an order upon each petition for 
 all persons interested to come in on the first 
 
BY THE SEA. 213 
 
 Tuesday of the following month and show cause 
 why the petitioner's demand should not be 
 granted. 
 
 The county court-house was a new brick 
 building, of modest size, fifteen miles from 
 
 W , and twenty miles from the village where 
 
 James Parsons lived. 
 
 There were fifteen or twenty people from 
 different towns in attendance when the court 
 opened on the important first Tuesday. As 
 one after another transacted his affairs and went 
 away, others would come in. Three or four 
 lawyers sat at tables talking with clients, or 
 stood about the judge's desk. There was a 
 sprinkling of women in new mourning. Printed 
 papers, filled out with names and dates, peti- 
 tions and bonds and executors' accounts, were 
 being handed in to the judge and receiving his 
 signature of approval. 
 
 The routine business was transacted first. 
 It was almost noon when the judge was at last 
 free to attend to contested matters. There was 
 a small audience by that time, only ten or a 
 dozen people, some of whom were waiting for 
 
214 BY THE SEA. 
 
 train-time, while others, who had come upon 
 their own affairs, lingered now from curiosity. 
 
 The judge was a tall, spare, old-fashioned 
 man; he had held the office for above thirty 
 years. He was a man of much native force, of 
 sound learning within the range of his judicial 
 duties, and of strong common-sense. He was 
 often employed by Captain Pelham in his own 
 affairs, and more particularly in bank and in- 
 surance matters, for the probate judges are 
 free to practise at the bar in matters not con- 
 nected with their judicial duties, and Captain 
 Pelham had always retained him in important 
 cases as counsel for the town. He had a large 
 practice throughout the county; he knew its 
 people, their ideas, their traditions, and their 
 feelings. He understood their social organiza- 
 tion to the core. 
 
 "Now," said the judge, laying aside some 
 papers upon which he had been writing, and 
 taking off his glasses, " we will take up the two 
 petitions for guardianship of Joseph Pelham." 
 
 Captain Pelham and the lawyer whom he had 
 employed took seats at a small table before the 
 judge; James Parsons timidly took a seat at 
 
BY THE SEA. 215 
 
 another. His petition had been filled out for him 
 by one of his neighbors : he had no counsel. 
 
 Captain Pelham's lawyer rose; he had been 
 impressed by the Captain with the importance 
 of the matter, and he was about to make a 
 formal opening. But the judge interrupted 
 him. "I think," he said, "that we may assume 
 that I know in a general way about these two 
 petitioners. I shall assume, unless something 
 is shown to the contrary, that they are both 
 men of respectable character, and have proper 
 homes for a boy to grow up in. And I suppose 
 there is no controversy that Captain Pelham is a 
 man of some considerable means, and that the 
 other petitioner is a man of small property. 
 
 "Now," he went on, leaning forward with his 
 elbow on his desk, and gently waving his glasses 
 with his right hand, " did the father of this boy 
 ever express any wish as to what should be 
 done with him in case his mother should die?" 
 Nobody answered. "It would be of no legal 
 effect," he said, " but it would have weight with 
 me. Now, is there any evidence as to what his 
 mother wanted ? A boy's mother can tell best 
 about these things, if she is a sensible woman. 
 
2l6 BY THE SEA. 
 
 Mr. Baker," he said to Captain Pelham's lawyer, 
 " have you any evidence as to what his mother 
 wanted to have done with him?" 
 
 Mr. Baker conversed for a moment with Cap- 
 tain Pelham and then called him to the stand. 
 
 Captain Pelham testified as to his frequent 
 visits to the boy's mother, and to Her unbroken 
 friendly relations with him. She had never said 
 in so many words what she wanted to have done 
 for the boy, but he always understood that she 
 meant to have the child come to him ; he could 
 not say, however, that she had said anything 
 expressly to that effect. 
 
 James sat before him not many feet away, in 
 his old-fashioned broadcloth coat with a velvet 
 collar. He cross-examined Captain Pelham a 
 little. 
 
 " She did n't never tell you," he said, " that 
 she was going to give you the boy, did she? " 
 
 " No, sir;" said Captain Pelham. 
 
 " How often did your wife come over to see 
 her?" 
 
 " I could n't tell you, sir," said the Captain. 
 
 " Not very often, did she? " 
 
 " I think not," the Captain admitted. 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 " The boy's mother did n't never talk much 
 about Mis' Captain Pelham, did she? " 
 
 " I don't remember that she did." 
 
 " She did n't never have her over to talk with 
 her about what she was going to do with the 
 boy, did she?" 
 
 " I don't know that she did," said the Captain. 
 " She is here ; you can ask her." 
 
 " You did n't never hear of her leaving no 
 word with Mis' Captain Pelham about taking 
 care of the boy, did you?" 
 
 " I can't say that I did," said Captain Pelham. 
 
 The old man nodded his head with a satisfied 
 air. His cross-examination was done. 
 
 The Captain retired from the witness-stand; 
 his lawyer whispered with him a moment and 
 then went over and whispered for two or three 
 minutes with Mrs. Pelham ; then he said he had 
 no more evidence to offer. 
 
 " Mr. Parsons," said the judge, " do you wish 
 to testify?" 
 
 James went to the witness-stand and was 
 sworn. 
 
 " Did n't your daughter ever talk about what 
 she wanted done with the boy? " 
 
2l8 BY THE SEA. 
 
 " Talk about it ? " said James. " Why, she 
 did n't talk about nothing else. She used to 
 have it all over every time we went in. It was 
 all about how mother 'n' me must do this with 
 him and do that with him, how he was to go 
 to school, what room he was going to sleep in 
 to our house, and all that." 
 
 Mr. Baker desired to make no cross-examina- 
 tion, and James's wife was called, and testified in 
 her quaint way to the same effect. 
 
 By a keen, homely instinct James had half 
 consciously foreseen what would be the control- 
 ling element of the case ; and while he had not 
 formulated it to himself he had brought with 
 him one of his neighbors, who had watched with 
 his daughter through the last nights of her life. 
 She was one of the poorest women of the vil- 
 lage. Her husband was shiftless, and was some- 
 what given to drink. She had a large family, 
 with little to bring them up on. Her life had 
 been one long struggle. She was extremely 
 poorly dressed, and although she was neat, 
 there was an air of unthrift or discouragement 
 about her dress. She wore an oversack which 
 evidently had originally been made for some one 
 
BY THE SEA. 2 19 
 
 else ; it lacked one button. She was faded and 
 worn and homely ; but the moment she spoke she 
 impressed you as a woman of conscience. She 
 had talked in the long watches of the night with 
 the boy's mother, and she confirmed what James 
 and his wife had said. There could be no ques- 
 tion what the mother had desired. 
 
 Mr. Baker ventured out upon the thin ice of 
 cross-examination. 
 
 " She must have talked about her father-in- 
 law, Captain Pelham?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the woman, " often." 
 
 " She seemed to be attached to him? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said the woman, quickly; " she 
 was always telling how good he was to her ; I 
 have heard her say there was n't no better man 
 in the world." 
 
 " She must have talked about what he could 
 do for the boy?" 
 
 " Yes," said the woman. " She expected him 
 to do for Joe." 
 
 " Did n't she ever say," and the lawyer looked 
 round at James, " did n't you ever hear her say 
 that she was worried sometimes for fear her father 
 would not be careful enough about the boy? " 
 
22O BY THE SEA. 
 
 The woman hesitated a moment. " Yes," 
 she said, " I have heard her say so, but that 's 
 what every mother says." 
 
 "What reason did you ever hear her give," 
 the lawyer asked, " why she would rather have 
 him stay over there than to go and be brought 
 up by his grandfather Pelham?" 
 
 The woman looked around timidly at the 
 judge. " Be I obliged to answer? " she said. 
 
 The judge nodded. 
 
 The woman looked toward Captain Pelham 
 with an embarrassed air. He was the best friend 
 she had in the world. 
 
 " I rather not say nothing about that," she 
 said; "it's no account, anyway." 
 
 " Oh, tell us what she said," said Mr. Baker. 
 
 He felt that he had made some progress up to 
 that point with his cross-examination. 
 
 " Well, it was n't much," said the woman ; 
 " it was only like this. I have heard her say 
 that Mis' Captain Pelham was a good woman and 
 meant to do what was right, but she was n't a 
 woman that knew how to mother a little boy." 
 And here the witness began to cry. 
 
 The judge moved slightly in his chair. 
 
BY THE SEA. 221 
 
 There was more or less rambling talk about 
 the way the boy was allowed to run loose on 
 the shore, and some suggestions were made 
 in the way of conversational argument about 
 his being allowed to go barefoot, and to go in 
 swimming when he pleased; but the judge 
 seemed to pay very little attention to that. 
 " That 's the way we were all brought up," he 
 said. " It is good for the boy ; he '11 learn to take 
 care of himself, and his mother knew all about it. 
 
 " It is plain enough," he said at last, " that 
 there would be some advantages to the boy in 
 going to live with Captain Pelham ; but there is 
 one thing that has been overlooked which would 
 probably have been suggested if the petitioner 
 Parsons had had counsel. It has been assumed 
 that the boy would be cut loose in future from his 
 grandfather Pelham unless he was put under his 
 guardianship ; but that is n't so. All his grand- 
 parents will look out for him, and when he gets 
 older, and wants to go into business, here or else- 
 where, Captain Pelham will look after him just 
 the same as if he were his guardian. The other 
 grandfather has n't got the means to advance 
 him. I am not at all afraid about that," he said ; 
 
222 BY THE SEA. 
 
 " the only question here is, where he shall be 
 deposited for the next five or six years. Either 
 place is good enough. His father had a right to 
 fix it by will if he had chosen to ; but he did n't, 
 and I think we must consider it a matter for the 
 women to settle: they know best about such 
 things. It is plain that his mother thought it 
 would be best for him to stay where he is, and 
 she knew best. He 's wonted there, and wants 
 to stay." 
 
 Then he took up his pen and wrote on Cap- 
 tain Pelham's petition an order of dismissal. 
 On the other he filled out and signed the decree 
 granting guardianship to James Parsons, and ap- 
 proved the bond. Then he handed the papers 
 to the register and called the next case. 
 
 From this day on, little was seen of Captain 
 Pelham-at James's house. Sometimes he would 
 stop in his buggy and take the boy off with him 
 for a little stay; but Joe soon wearied of for- 
 mality, and grew restless for James, for his 
 grandmother Parsons, for the free life of the 
 little wharf and the shore. Life always opened 
 fresh to him on his return. 
 
BY THE SEA. 223 
 
 Once and only once Captain Pelham entered 
 James's door-yard. James was sitting in an arm- 
 chair under an apple-tree by the well, smoking 
 and reading the paper. The Captain began, this 
 time, with no introduction. 
 
 " Fred Gooding," he said, " tells me you are 
 talking of letting Joe go out with Pitts in his 
 boat. You know Pitts is no fit man." 
 
 " You tell Fred Gooding he don't know what 
 he 's talking about," said James, as he rose from 
 his chair, holding the paper in his hand. " What 
 I told Pitts was just the contr'y, the boy 
 should n't go along o' him." Then his anger 
 began to rise. " But what right you got/' he 
 demanded, " to interfere? T ain 't none of your 
 business who I let him go along of. It 's me 
 that 's the boy's guardeen." 
 
 " Very well," said the Captain. " Only I tell 
 you fairly, the first time I get word of any- 
 thing, I '11 go to the probate court and have you 
 removed ! " 
 
 James followed him down the path with deri- 
 sive laughter. " Why don't you go to the pro- 
 bate court?" he said; "you hed great luck 
 before ! " And as the Captain drove away, 
 
224 BY TH E SEA. 
 
 James shouted after him, " Go to the probate 
 court ! Go to the probate court ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 THERE is a low, pleasant boat-shop, close 
 on the shore of a little arm of the sea. The 
 tide ebbs and flows before its wide double 
 doors, and sometimes rises so high as to flow 
 the sills; then you have to walk across in 
 front of the shop on a plank, laid upon iron 
 ballast. There is a little wharf or pier close 
 at hand, the outer end of which is always 
 going to be repaired. There are two or three 
 other shops near by, and about them is the 
 pleasant litter of a boat-yard. In the cove be- 
 fore them lie at their moorings in the late after- 
 noon a fleet of fifteen or twenty fishing and 
 pleasure boats, all cat-rigged, all of one gen- 
 eral build, wide, shoal, with one broad sail, all 
 painted white, by the custom of the place, and 
 all or nearly all kept neat and clean : they 
 are all likely enough to be called upon now and 
 then for sailing-parties. Often of a bright after- 
 noon in summer the sails will all be up, as the 
 
BY THE SEA. 225 
 
 boats swing at their floats : then you have all 
 the effect of a regatta in still life. 
 
 The shop faces down the bay of which this 
 inlet is the foot, and as you look out from 
 your seat within, on a wooden stool, the great 
 door frames in a landscape of peaceful beauty. 
 The opening to the sea is closed to the view. 
 Simply you can see the two white sand-cliffs 
 through which it makes. The bay is a mile in 
 length, perhaps, and of half that width. From 
 its white, sandy shores rise gentle hills, bare to 
 the sun or covered with a low growth of woods. 
 To the right are low-lying pastures and marshes, 
 with here and there a grazing cow. At the head 
 of the bay the valley of a stream can be faintly 
 distinguished, while in the distance there is a 
 faint suggestion of a few scattered houses on 
 the upper waters. At one or two points masts 
 of boats rise from the grass of the inland, and 
 sometimes a sail is seen threading its slow way 
 amid the trees. 
 
 The shop is a favorite resort. You may go 
 
 there in the early morning, in the late forenoon, 
 
 or in the afternoon ; whenever you go you will 
 
 find there more or less company. There is a 
 
 15 
 
226 BY THE SEA. 
 
 sort of social, hospitable atmosphere about the 
 place which is attractive in the extreme. Some- 
 times there is a good deal of conversation ; 
 sometimes there is a comfortable silence of 
 good-fellowship. There is more or less knitting 
 there and crocheting; often in the afternoon 
 the women from near by take their work there 
 to enjoy the view, and the fresh air which draws 
 up there as nowhere else. 
 
 There is a good deal of religious discussion 
 there, although the atmosphere of the shop is 
 not entirely religious, as you may see by some 
 of the papers lying about, and the cuts pasted 
 up on the walls. Chief is a picture representing 
 a scene in the life of the prophet Jonah. Jonah 
 and the seamen are drawing lots to see who 
 shall be cast over. Jonah has just drawn the 
 ace of spades. 
 
 There are various other pictures on the walls, 
 prints of famous yachts, charts, advertisements 
 of regattas, sailing rules of yacht-clubs. No- 
 where is the science of boat-building and boat- 
 sailing studied with greater closeness than in 
 that shop. Many a successful racer has been 
 built there. There are models of boats pinned 
 
BY THE SEA. 
 
 up against the wall, models which to the 
 common eye hardly vary at all, but to a trained 
 perception differ widely. There are oars lying 
 about the shop, oil-skin suits, a compass, charts, 
 in round tin cases, boat hardware, and coils of 
 new rope. 
 
 The little pier has its periods of activity and 
 life, like the great world outside. At three or 
 four o'clock, in the gray dawn, fishermen ap- 
 pear, singly, or two by two ; there is often then 
 a failure of wind, and they have to get out to 
 sea by heavy rowing or by the drift of the tide. 
 Then there Is silence for some hours, and 
 when the world awakes the cove is nearly de- 
 serted. At seven o'clock begins the life of the 
 shop. Amateur fishermen appear, boarders 
 from New York or visiting sons from Brock- 
 ton. Later still, little parties come down, a 
 knot of young fellows and laughing girls with 
 bright-colored wraps, bound on a sailing-party 
 to Katameset, with a matron, and with some 
 well-salted man to steer the boat, perhaps in 
 slippers and a dressing-gown. They go singing 
 out to sea. Then come a party of bathers, 
 ladies and little children, with towels and blue 
 
228 BY THE SEA. 
 
 suits, and all the paraphernalia of pails and 
 wooden shovels. Then will come perhaps a 
 couple of girls, to sketch. They will encamp 
 anywhere upon the shore, call into their service 
 some small amphibious creature to tip a skiff up 
 on its side to make an effective scene, and pro- 
 ceed with the wonders of their art. Soon the 
 bathers return. They have been only a little 
 way down the narrows, and come back to din- 
 ner at one. The fishermen come in from three 
 to four, unless they happen to be becalmed ; 
 there is a bustle then of getting out ice ; of 
 slitting and weighing and packing fish, and 
 loading them into wagons to be carted to the 
 railway. Then there is a lull until the sailing- 
 parties return, perhaps at five, perhaps at six, 
 perhaps not until the turn of the tide or the 
 evening breeze brings them home. 
 
 All the time the quiet life of the boat-shop 
 goes on, its labor, its discussions on politics 
 and religion, its criticism of yachts. All day 
 long small boys play about the pier, race in 
 skiffs or in such insignificant sailing-craft 
 as may be available, and every half-hour, at 
 the initiative of some infant leader, all doff 
 
BY THE SEA. 229 
 
 their little print waists and short trousers and 
 " go in," regardless of the sketchers on the 
 shore. 
 
 It was a bright, fresh day. The air was as 
 clear as crystal. Joe had been gone since dawn 
 with Henry Price. The wind had been blow- 
 ing hard from the north for a dozen hours, and, 
 as the saying is, had kicked up a sea. On the 
 shoal the waves were rolling heavily, and since 
 three o'clock the tide had been running against 
 the wind, and the seas had been broken every 
 way. But to Henry Price, and with that boat, 
 rough seas, from March to November, were 
 only what a rude mountain road would be to 
 you or me. If his wife, toward afternoon, shad- 
 ing her eyes at the south door, ever felt anxious 
 about him, it was a woman's foolish fear ; it was 
 only because she thought with concern of that 
 internal neuralgia was it? which her hus- 
 band brought back from the war; which seized 
 him at rare intervals and enfeebled him for days. 
 He made light of it, and never spoke of it out 
 of the house. There was no better boatman 
 on that shore. Let alone that one possibility of 
 
230 BY THE SEA. 
 
 weakness, and the ocean had a hard man to deal 
 with when it dealt with him. 
 
 They had been gone all day. It had been 
 rough, and they would come in wet. This wind 
 would not die down ; they were sure to make 
 a quick run, and would be in before dark. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon. James was sitting 
 in the shop with one or two companions, engaged 
 in a loud discussion. He had been discoursing 
 upon all his favorite themes. He had been 
 declaiming upon the dangers from Catholic 
 supremacy and the subserviency of the Irish 
 vote to the Church of Rome, and upon the ab- 
 solute necessity of the supremacy of the Demo- 
 cratic party; upon the Apocalypse and the 
 seven seals. He had been maintaining the lit- 
 eral infallibility of the Scriptures, and the neces- 
 sity of treating some portions as legendary. It 
 would be hard to say what inconsistent views 
 he had not set forth within the space of the past 
 hour; and all this with the utmost intensity, 
 and yet with the utmost good-humor, always 
 ready to acknowledge a point against himself, 
 the more readily if entirely fallacious, with 
 a burst of hearty laughter. 
 
BY THE SEA. 231 
 
 At last there was a pause. Something had 
 called out of doors the two or three men who 
 were within. There was nothing to disturb the 
 peaceful beauty of the afternoon. It was blow- 
 ing hard outside, but this was a sheltered spot, 
 and the wind was little felt. 
 
 As James sat there silent, with no one at 
 hand but the owner of the shop, who was busy 
 upon the keel of a new boat, a fisherman came in 
 and took a seat, with an affectation of ease and 
 nonchalance ; in a moment another followed ; 
 two or three more came in, then others. 
 
 The carpenter stopped his work, and shading 
 his eyes with his hand, seemed to be looking 
 down the bay. 
 
 There was a dead silence for a few moments. 
 Then James spoke. But it was not the voice 
 of James. It was not that cheery and hearty 
 voice which had just been filling the shop with 
 mirth. It was a voice harsh, forced, mechani- 
 cal, the voice of a man paralyzed with terror. 
 
 "Why don't you tell me?" he said; "is it 
 Henry, or is it the boy?" 
 
 But no one spoke. 
 
 " You don't need to tell me nothing," he said, 
 
232 BY THE SEA. 
 
 in the same strange tone of paralysis and fear, 
 " I knowed it when Bassett first come in. I 
 knowed it when the rest come in and closed in 
 round me and did n't say nothing." 
 
 He sat still a moment. Then he rose ab- 
 ruptly and turned to the landward door. He 
 stumbled over a stool which was in his way, 
 and would have fallen but that one of the men 
 sprang forward and held him. He plunged 
 hastily out of the door. Just outside, in the 
 shade of a small wild cherry-tree, was a bucket 
 of clams which he had dug; across the bucket 
 was an old hoe worn down to nothing. He 
 stopped and mechanically took up the pail and 
 hoe. Bassett stood by the door and looked 
 after him as he went along the foot-path to- 
 ward his home. There was a scantling fence 
 close by. He went over it in his old habitual 
 fashion: first he set over the bucket of clams 
 and the hoe ; then one leg went over and then 
 the other ; he sat for an instant on the top slat 
 and then slid down. He took up his burden 
 and went his way over the fields. In a moment 
 he was lost to sight behind a bit of rising 
 ground. Then he reappeared, making his way 
 
BY THE SEA. 233 
 
 over the fields at his own heavy gait, until he 
 was lost to sight behind a clump of trees close 
 to his own door. 
 
 They did not find Henry and the boy that 
 night. It was not until the next day that the 
 bodies were washed ashore. One of the search- 
 ers, walking along the beach in the early dawn, 
 found them both. He came upon Henry first; 
 he was lying on the sand upon his face. A 
 little farther on, gently swayed by the rising 
 tide, lay Joe and his dog. Joe lay on his side, 
 precisely as if asleep ; the dog was in his arms. 
 
 The boy lies in the burying-ground on the 
 hill, near the stone and the weeping-willow 
 which mourn the youth who met his untimely 
 death in 1830, in the launching of the brig. 
 There is a rose-bush at the grave, and few 
 bright days pass in summer that there is not a 
 bunch of homely flowers laid at its foot. It is 
 the spot to which all Mrs. Parsons's thoughts 
 now tend, and her perpetual pilgrimage. It is 
 too far for her to walk both there and back ; but 
 
234 BV THE SEA. 
 
 often a neighbor is going that way, with a lug- 
 wagon or an open cart or his family carriage, 
 
 it makes no difference which, and it is easy 
 to get a ride. It is a good-humored village. 
 Everybody stands ready to do a favor, and no- 
 body hesitates to ask one. Often on a bright 
 afternoon Mrs. Parsons will watch from her front 
 window the " teams " that pass, going to the 
 bay. When she sees one which is likely to go 
 in the right direction on its return from the bay, 
 
 everybody knows in which direction she will 
 wish to go, she will run hastily to the door, 
 and hail it. 
 
 " Whoa ! Sh-h ! Whoa ! How d' do, Mis' 
 Parsons?" 
 
 " Be you going straight home when you 
 come back? Well, then, if it won't really be 
 no trouble at all, I '11 be at the gap when you 
 come by; I won't keep you waiting a minute. 
 It 's such a nice, sunshiny afternoon, I thought 
 I 'd like to go up and sit awhile, and take some 
 posies." 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 npURNING from the street which follows the 
 *- line of the wharves, into Madeira Place, 
 you leave at once an open region of docks and 
 spars for comparative retirement Wagons sel- 
 dom enter Madeira Place: it is too hard to 
 turn them in it; and then the inhabitants, for 
 the most part, have a convenient way of buy- 
 ing their coal by the basket. How much trouble 
 it would save, if we would all buy our coal by 
 the basket! 
 
 A few doors up the place a passageway 
 makes off to the right, through a high wooden 
 gate that is usually open ; and at the upper cor- 
 ner of this passage stands a brick house, whose 
 perpetually closed blinds suggest the owner's 
 absence. But the householders of Madeira Place 
 do not absent themselves, even in summer; they 
 could hardly get much nearer to the sea. And 
 
236 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 if you will take the pains to seat yourself, to- 
 ward the close of day, upon an opposite door- 
 step, between two rows of clamorous little girls 
 sliding, with screams of painful joy, down the 
 rough hammered stone, to the improvement of 
 their clothing, you will see that the house is by 
 no means untenanted. 
 
 Every evening it is much the same thing. 
 First, following close upon the heels of sunset, 
 comes a grizzly, tall, and slouching man, in the 
 ,cap and blouse of a Union soldier, bearing down 
 with his left hand upon a cane, and dragging his 
 left foot heavily behind him, while with his right 
 hand he holds by a string a cluster of soaring 
 toy balloons, and also drags, by its long wooden 
 tongue, a rude child's cart, in which is a small 
 hand-organ. 
 
 Next will come, most likely, a dark, bent, 
 keen-eyed old woman, with her parchment face 
 shrunk into deep wrinkles. She bears a dan- 
 gling placard, stating, in letters of white upon 
 a patent-leather background, what you might 
 not otherwise suspect, that she was a soldier 
 under the great Napoleon, and fought with him 
 at Waterloo. She also bears, since music goes 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 237 
 
 with war, a worn accordion. She is the old 
 woman to whose shrivelled, expectant counte- 
 nance you sometimes offer up a copper coin, as 
 she kneels by the flagged crossway path of the 
 Park. 
 
 She is succeeded, perhaps, by a couple of 
 black-haired, short, broad-shouldered men, lead- 
 ing a waddling, unconcerned bear, and talking 
 earnestly together in a language which you will 
 hardly follow. 
 
 Then you will see six or eight or ten other 
 sons and daughters of toil, most of them with 
 balloons. 
 
 All these people will turn, between the high, 
 ball-topped gate-posts, into the alley, and de- 
 scend at once to the left, by a flight of three or 
 four steps, to a side basement door. 
 
 As they begin to flock in, you will see through 
 the alley gate a dark, thick-set man, of middle 
 age, but with very little hair, come and stand 
 at the foot of the steps, in the doorway. It is 
 Sorel, the master of the house ; for this is the 
 Maison Sorel. Some of his guests he greets 
 with a Noachian deluge of swift French words 
 and high-pitched cries of welcome. It is thus 
 
238 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 that he receives those capitalists, the bear-leaders 
 from the Pyrenees; it is thus that he greets the 
 grizzled man in the blue cap and blouse, 
 Fidele the old soldier, Fidele the pensioner, 
 to whom a great 'government, far away, at 
 Washington, doubtless with much else on its 
 mind, never forgets to send by mail, each 
 quarter-day morning, a special, personal com- 
 munication, marked with Fidele's own name, 
 enclosing the preliminaries of a remittance: 
 " Accept " (as it were) " this slight tribute." 
 " Ak ! que c'est un gouvernement ! Voild une 
 rtpublique ! " 
 
 Even a Frenchman may be proud to be an 
 American ! 
 
 Most of his guests, however, Sorel receives 
 with a mere pantomime of wide-opened eyes and 
 extended hands and shrugged-up shoulders, ac- 
 companied by a long-drawn " Eh ! " by which he 
 bodies forth a thousand refinements of thought 
 which language would fail to express. Does a 
 fresh immigrant from the Cevennes bring back 
 at night but one or two of the gay balloons with 
 which she was stocked in the morning, or, better, 
 none; or, on the other hand, does a stalwart 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 239 
 
 man just from the rich Brie country return at 
 sundown in abject despair, bringing back almost 
 all of the red and blue globes which floated like 
 a radiant constellation of hope about his head 
 when he set forth in the early morning, Sorel 
 can express, by his " Eh ! " and some slight 
 movement, with subtle exactness and with no 
 possibility of being misapprehended, the pre- 
 cise shade of feeling with which the result in- 
 spires him. 
 
 But there he stops. Nothing is said. Sorel 
 is a philosopher: he has indicated volumes, and 
 he will not dilute with language. One who has 
 fired a little lead bullet does not need to throw 
 after it a bushel of mustard-seed. 
 
 The company, as they come in, one by one, 
 wash their hands and faces, if they see fit, at the 
 kitchen sink, and dry them on a long roller- 
 towel, a device adopted, probably, from the 
 Americans. Then they retire to the room be- 
 hind the kitchen, and seat themselves at a long 
 table, at which the bear-leaders place themselves 
 only after seeing their animal fed, in the coal- 
 hole, where he is quartered. 
 
 At the supper-table all is joy, even with the 
 
240 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 hopeless. Fidele beams with good-humor, and 
 not infrequently is called on to describe, amid a 
 general hush, for the benefit of some new-comer 
 from " la belle France" the quarterly receipt of 
 the communication from Washington : how he 
 stays at home that day, and shaves, and waits at 
 the door for " la paste ;" how the gray-uniformed 
 letter-carrier appears, hands out a letter " as 
 large as that," and nods smilingly to Fidele : 
 he, too, fought at " la Montague du Lookoiit" 
 The amount of the sergeant's pension astonishes 
 them, wonted as they are to the pecuniary treat- 
 ment of soldiers in the Old World. " Mais, it is 
 a fortune ! Fidele is a vrai rentier ! Ah ! line 
 republiqne comme $a ! " 
 
 Generally, however, Fidele contents himself at 
 the evening meal with smiling good-humoredly 
 on everybody and rapidly passing in, under his 
 drooping mustache, spoonfuls of soup, morsels 
 from the long French loaf, and draughts of 
 lager beer ; for only the rich can have wine in 
 this country, and in the matter of drink an exile 
 must needs lower his standard, as the prodigal 
 lowered his. 
 
 While Sorel and his wife and their busy maid 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 241 
 
 fly in and out with potage and roti, " t^r-r-rh 
 succulent'' the history of which we must not pry 
 too deeply into, there is much excited conver- 
 sation. You see at once that many amusing 
 things happen to one who sells balloons all day 
 upon the Park. And there are varied fortunes 
 to recount. Such a lady actually wished to 
 buy three for fifty cents ! Such a " police-er- 
 mann " is to be highly commended ; such an- 
 other looks with an evil eye upon all : he 
 should truly be removed from office. There 
 is a rumor that a license fee is to be required 
 by the city. 
 
 All this is food for discussion. 
 
 After supper they all sit about the kitchen 
 or in the alley-way, chatting, smoking. She 
 who has been lucky in her sales basks in Sorel's 
 favor. The unfortunate peasant from the Brie 
 country feels the little bullet in his heart, and 
 nurses a desperate resolution to redeem him- 
 self on the morrow: one must live. 
 
 Sometimes, if you happen to pass there on 
 
 a warm evening, you may see a young woman, 
 
 rather handsome, sitting sidewise on the outer 
 
 basement steps, looking absently before her, 
 
 16 
 
242 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 straight-backed, upright, with her hands clasped 
 about one knee, with her skirt sweeping away : 
 a picture of Alsace. I have never been able to 
 find out who she is. 
 
 One evening there is a little flutter among 
 this brood. A gentleman, at the alley door, 
 wishes to see M. SoreL M. Sorel leads the 
 gentleman out, through the alley gate, to the 
 front street-door; then, retiring whence he 
 came, he shortly appears from within at the 
 front door, which opens only after a struggle. 
 A knot of small boys has instantly gathered, 
 apparently impressed with a vague, awful ex- 
 pectation that the gentleman about to enter will 
 never come out. Realizing, however, that in 
 that case there will be nothing to see, they 
 slowly disperse when the door is closed, and 
 resume their play. 
 
 Sorel ushers the gentleman into the front par- 
 lor, which is Sorel's bedroom, which is also the 
 storehouse of his merchandise, which is also the 
 nursery. At this moment an infant is sleeping 
 in a trundle-bed. 
 
 The gentleman takes a chair. So does Sorel. 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 243 
 
 The gentleman does not talk French. Fortu- 
 nately, M. Sorel can speak the English : he has 
 learned it in making purchases for his table. 
 
 " I am an officer of the government," says 
 Mr. Fox, with a very sharp, distinct utterance, 
 " in the custom-house. You know ' custom- 
 house'?" 
 
 M, Sorel does not commit himself. He is an 
 importer of toys. One must be on his guard. 
 
 Thereupon, a complicated explanation: this 
 street, and that street, and the other street, and 
 this building, and the market, and the great 
 building standing here. 
 
 Ah ! yes ! M. Sorel identifies the building. 
 Then he is informed that many government offi- 
 cers are there. He knew it very well before. 
 
 The conversation goes a step farther. 
 
 Mr. Fox is one of those officers. The gov- 
 ernment is at present in need of a gentleman 
 absolutely trustworthy, for certain important 
 duties: perhaps to judge of silks; perhaps to 
 oversee the weighing of sugar, of iron, of dia- 
 monds ; perhaps to taste of wines. Who can 
 say what service this great government may not 
 need from its children ! 
 
244 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 With some labor, since the English is only 
 a translucent, and not a transparent medium to 
 Sorel, this is made clear. Still the horizon is 
 dark. 
 
 Mr. Fox draws his chair nearer, facing Sorel, 
 who looks uneasy : Sorel's feelings, to the thou- 
 sandth degree of subdivision, are always declar- 
 ing themselves in swift succession upon his 
 face. 
 
 Mr. Fox proceeds. 
 
 The great officer of the custom-house, the 
 collector 
 
 "Leckef?" interrupts Sorel. 
 
 yes, the chef (Mr. Fox seizes upon the 
 word and clings to it), the chef has been 
 speaking anxiously to Mr. Fox about this va- 
 cancy : Mr. Fox is in the chefs confidence. 
 
 " Ah ! " from Sorel, in a tone of utter bewil- 
 derment. 
 
 "We must have," the chef had said to Mr. 
 Fox, "we must have for this place a noble 
 man, a man with a large heart " (the exact re- 
 quired dimensions Mr. Fox does not give) ; " a 
 man who loves his government, a man who has 
 showed himself ready to die for her ; we must 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 245 
 
 have" here Mr. Fox bends forward and lays 
 his hand upon Sorel's knee, and looks him in 
 the eye, "we must have a soldier ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " says Sorel, moving his chair back a 
 little, unconsciously, " il fant un soldat ! I un- 
 'stan', le chef, 'e boun' to 'ave one sol'ier ! " 
 
 Still no comprehension of the stranger's object. 
 
 Curiosity, however, prompts Sorel at this point 
 to an inquiry: " 'Ow much 'e goin' pay 'im? " 
 
 Mr. Fox suggests that he guess. M. Sorel 
 guesses, boldly, and high, almost insolently 
 high, eight dollars a week : she is so gener- 
 ous, la Republique ! 
 
 Higher ! 
 
 " Higher ! " Sorel's eyes open. He guesses 
 again, and recklessly : " Dix dollars par se- 
 maine ; you know ten dol-lar ever-y week." 
 
 Try again, again, again ! He guesses, 
 madly now, as one risks his gold at Baden: 
 twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen. 
 
 Yes, eighteen dollars a week, and more a 
 thousand dollars every year. 
 
 Sorel wipes his brow. A thousand dollars in 
 one year ! It is like a temptation of the devil. 
 
 Sorel ventures another inquiry. The chef 'of 
 
246 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 the custom-'ouse, esteeming the old sol'iers 
 so highly, is an old sol'ier himself, is it not 
 so? He has fought for his country? Doubtless 
 he has lost an arm. And Sorel instinctively lets 
 his right arm hang limp, as if the sleeve were 
 empty. 
 
 . No ; the chef was an editor and a statesman 
 in the time of the war. He had greatly desired 
 to go to fight, but his duties did not permit it. 
 Still, he loves the old soldier. 
 
 Another advance in the conversation, this 
 time by Mr. Fox. 
 
 The government, it seems, has now awakened, 
 with deep distress, to the fact that one class of 
 her soldiers she has hitherto forgotten. The 
 government that is, the chef of the custom- 
 house had this very morning said to Mr. Fox 
 that this class of old soldiers must be brought 
 forward, for trust and for honor. " We must 
 choose, for this vacant place," the ctiefhad said, 
 here Mr. Fox brings his face forward in close 
 proximity to Sorel's astonished countenance, 
 " we must have, not only an old soldier, but 
 a Frenchman ! " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 247 
 
 " Such a soldier lives here," says Mr. Fox ; 
 "is it not true? So brave, so honest, so mod- 
 est, so faithful! Ready to die for his country; 
 worthy of trust and worthy of reward ! " 
 
 " Mais /""with amazement. Yes, such a sol- 
 'ier lives here. But can it.be that monsieur 
 refers to our Fidele? 
 
 Precisely so ! 
 
 Whereupon Sorel, hard, hairless, but French, 
 weeps, and embraces Mr. Fox as the repre- 
 sentative of the great government at Wash- 
 ington; and, weeping and laughing, leads him 
 downstairs and presents him to Fidele and 
 to the bear-leaders, and opens a bottle of weak 
 vinegar. 
 
 Such an ovation as Fidele receives ! And 
 such a generous government ! To send a special 
 messenger to seek out the old sergeant in his 
 retirement ! So thoughtful ! But it is all of a 
 piece with its unfailing care in the past. 
 
 Fidele begins, on the spot, to resume some- 
 thing of his former erectness and soldierly bear- 
 ing; to shake off the stoop and slouch which 
 lameness and the drawing about of his " mu- 
 
248 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 sique" have given him. He wishes to tell the 
 story of Lookout Mountain. 
 
 As Mr. Fox is about to go, he recollects 
 himself. Oh, by the way, one thing more. It 
 is not pleasant to mingle sadness with rejoicing. 
 But Mr. Fox is the reluctant bearer of a gentle 
 reproach from the great government at Wash- 
 ington. Her French children, are they not 
 just a little remiss? And when she is so boun- 
 tiful, so thoughtful ! 
 
 " Mais how you mean? " (with surprise.) 
 
 Why, and there is a certain pathos in Mr. 
 Fox's tone, as he stands facing Sorel, with the 
 gaze of a loving, reproachful friend, why, 
 how many of the Frenchmen of this quarter are 
 ever seen now at the pleasant gatherings of the 
 Republicans, in the wardroom? The Republic, 
 the Republicans, it is all one. Is that quite 
 kind to the Republic? Should not her French 
 children, on their part, show filial devotion to 
 the fond government? 
 
 " Mais" M. Sorel swiftly explains, " they 
 are weary of going; they understand nothing. 
 One sits and smokes a little while, and one 
 talks; then one puts a little ticket into one's 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 249 
 
 hand; one is jammed into a long file; one 
 slips his ticket into a box; he knows not for 
 whom he is voting; it is like a flock of sheep. 
 What is the use of going?" 
 
 Ah! that is the trouble? Then they are 
 unjustly reproached. The government has in- 
 deed neglected to guide them. But suppose 
 that some officer of the government Mr. Fox 
 himself, for instance will be at the meeting? 
 Then can M. Sorel induce those good French 
 citizens to come? 
 
 Induce them ! They will be only too ready ; 
 in fact, at a word from M. Sorel, and particu- 
 larly when the news of this great honor to 
 Fidele shall have spread abroad, twenty, thirty, 
 forty will go to every meeting, that is, if 
 a friend be there to guide them. At the 
 very next meeting, monsieur shall see whether 
 the great government's French children are 
 neglectful ! 
 
 Whereupon the great government, in the 
 person of Mr. Fox, then and there falls in 
 spirit upon the neck of her French citizen- 
 children, represented by Sorel and Fidele, and 
 full reconciliation is made. 
 
250 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 Yes, Mr. Fox will come again. M. Sorel 
 must introduce him to those brave Frenchmen, 
 his friends and neighbors; Mr. Fox must grasp 
 them by the hand, one by one. Sorel must 
 take him to the Societt des Franco- Ame'ricains, 
 where they gather. The government wishes 
 to know them better. And (this in a con- 
 fidential whisper) there may be other places 
 to be filled. What! Suppose, now, that the 
 government should some day demand the ser- 
 vices of M. Sorel himself in the custom-house ; 
 and, since he is a business man, at a still larger 
 salary than a thousand dollars a year ! 
 
 ''Ah, monsieur" (in a tone of playful re- 
 proach), " vous $tes un flatteur, riest ce pas ? 
 You know, I guess you giv'n' me taffy." 
 
 Such a hero as Fidele is ! No more bal- 
 loons, no more carting about of " ma musique ; " 
 a square room upstairs, a bottle of wine at din- 
 ner, short hours, distinction, in fine, all that 
 the heart can wish. 
 
 I have been speaking in the present : I should 
 have spoken in the past. 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 25! 
 
 It was shortly after Fidele's appointment 
 in the early autumn that I first made his and 
 Sorel's acquaintance. 
 
 I was teaching in an evening school, not far 
 from Madeira Place, and among my scholars 
 was Sorel's only son, a boy of perhaps fourteen, 
 whom his father had left behind, for a time, at 
 school in France, and had but lately brought 
 over. He was a shy, modest, intelligent little 
 fellow, utterly out of place in his rude sur- 
 roundings. From the pleasant village home- 
 school, of which he sometimes told me, to the 
 Maison Sorel, was a grating change. 
 
 He was always waiting for me at the school- 
 room door, and was always the last one to 
 speak to me at closing. Perhaps I reminded 
 him of some young usher whom he had known 
 when life was more pleasant. 
 
 If, however, the Maison Sorel chafed Au- 
 guste, it was not for lack of affection on his 
 father's part. Sorel often came with him to 
 the door of the school-room ; and every night, 
 rain or shine, he was there at nine to accom- 
 pany him home. It was in this way that I first 
 came to know Sorel; and whether it was from 
 
252 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 some kindness that Auguste may have thought 
 I showed, or because I could talk a little French, 
 Sorel took a great liking to me. At first, he 
 and Auguste would walk with me a few blocks 
 after school; then he would look in upon me 
 for a few minutes at the law-office where I was 
 studying, where I had a large anteroom to my- 
 self; finally, nothing would do but that I should 
 visit him at his house. I had always been fond 
 of strolling about the wharves, and I should 
 have liked very well to stop occasionally at 
 Sorel's, if I could have been allowed to sit in 
 the kitchen and hear the general conversation. 
 But this was not sufficient state for " M. le 
 maitre d'ecole^ I must be drawn off upstairs 
 to the bedroom parlor, to hear of Auguste's 
 virtues. Such devotion I have seldom seen. 
 Sorel would have praised Auguste, with tears 
 in his eyes, for hours together, if I would have 
 stayed to listen. 
 
 He had many things to show in that parlor. 
 He had gyroscopes : and he would wind them 
 up and set half-a-dozen of those anti-natural 
 tops spinning straight out in the air for my 
 diversion. There were great sacks of uninflated 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 253 
 
 balloons, and delicate sheet-rubber, from which 
 Sorel made up balloons. There were other 
 curious things in rubber, a tobacco-pouch, 
 for example, in perfect outward imitation of 
 an iron kilogramme-weight, with a ring to lift 
 it by, warranted to create " immense surprise " 
 among those who should lift it for iron; to- 
 bacco-pouches, too, in fac-simile of lobsters 
 and crabs and reptiles, colored to nature, which 
 Sorel assured me would cause roars of laughter 
 among my friends: there was no pleasanter 
 way, he said, of entertaining an evening com- 
 pany than suddenly to display one of these 
 creatures, and make the ladies scream and run 
 about. He presented me, at different times, 
 with a gyroscope, a kilogramme-weight, and a 
 lobster with a blue silk lining. 
 
 As time ran on, and, in the early winter, I be- 
 gan practice, Sorel brought me a little business. 
 He had to sue two Graeco-Roman wrestlers 
 for board and attach their box-office receipts. 
 Some Frenchman had heard of a little legacy 
 left him in the Calvados, and wanted me to 
 look up the matter. 
 
 Fidele,, too, came to me every quarter-day, to 
 
254 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 make oath before me to his pension certificate, 
 and stopped and made a short call. He had 
 little to say about France. His great romance 
 had been the war, although it seemed to have 
 fused itself into a hazy, high-colored dream of 
 danger, excitement, suffering, and generous de- 
 votion. Tears always rose in his eyes when 
 he spoke of " la republique" 
 
 In those first days of practice, anything by 
 the name of law business wore a halo, and I 
 used to encourage Sorel's calls, partly for this 
 reason and partly for practice in talking French 
 with a common man. I hoped to go to France 
 some day, and I wanted to be able then to talk 
 not only with the grammatical, but with the 
 dear people who say, " I guess likely," and 
 "How be you?" in French. 
 
 Moreover, Sorel was rather amusing. He was 
 something of a humorist. Once he came to tell 
 me, excitedly, that Auguste was learning music : 
 " // touche au violon, mats 'e play so bien ! " 
 And Sorel's eyes opened in wonder at the boy's 
 quickness. 
 
 " Who teaches him ? " I asked. " Some French- 
 man who plays in the theatre?" 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 255 
 
 " Mais, no," Sorel replied, with a broad droll- 
 ery in his eye ; " un profc sseur d 'occasion ! " It 
 was a ruined music-teacher, engaged now in 
 selling balloons from Madeira Place, who was 
 the " prof ess eur cC occasion" 
 
 One day Sorel appeared with a great story 
 to tell. Auguste, it seemed, had wearied of 
 home, and was determined to go to sea. Noth- 
 ing could deter him. Whereupon M. Sorel 
 had hit upon a stratagem. He had hunted 
 up, somewhere along the wharves, two French 
 sailors with conversational powers, and had 
 retained them to stay at his house for two or 
 three days, as chance comers. It was inevi- 
 table that Auguste should ply them with eager 
 questions, and they knew their part. 
 
 As Sorel, entering into the situation now w r ith 
 all his dramatic nature, with his eyes wide open, 
 repeated to me some of the tales of horror 
 which they had palmed off upon innocent 
 Auguste as spontaneous truth, I could see, 
 myself, the rigging covered with ice an inch 
 thick; sailors climbing up (" Ah ! comme Us 
 grimpent, Us grimpent ! ") bare-handed, their 
 hands freezing to the ropes at every touch, and 
 
256 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 leaving flesh behind, " comme if you put your 
 tongue to a lam'post in the winter." I could 
 see the seamen's backs cut up with lashes for 
 the slightest offences ; I tasted the foul, un- 
 wholesome food. I think that Sorel half be- 
 lieved it all himself, his imagination was so 
 powerful, forgetting that he had paid in silver 
 coin for every word of it. At any rate, the 
 ruse had been successful. Auguste had been 
 thoroughly scared and had consented to stay 
 at home, and the most threatening cloud of 
 Sorel's life had blown over. 
 
 Usually, however, Sorel and I talked politics ; 
 and to our common pleasure we generally 
 agreed. Sorel knew very little about the de- 
 tails of our government, and he would listen to 
 me with the utmost eagerness while I practised 
 my French upon him, explaining to his wonder- 
 ing mind the relations of the States to each other 
 and to the general government, and the system 
 of State and Federal courts. He was very quick, 
 and he took in the ingenious scheme with great 
 facility. Then he would tell me about the 
 workings of government in the French villages 
 and departments; and as he read French 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 257 
 
 papers, he had always something in the way 
 of news or explanation of recent events. I 
 have since come to believe that he was ex- 
 ceedingly well informed. 
 
 The most singular thing about him to me 
 was how he could cherish on the one hand 
 such devotion as he plainly did, to France, 
 and on the other hand such a passionate attach- 
 ment to the United States. In truth, that double 
 patriotism is one of the characteristic features 
 of our country. 
 
 I could lead him, in twenty minutes, through 
 the whole gamut of emotion, by talking about 
 Auguste, and then of politics. It was irresisti- 
 ble, the temptation to lead him out. A word 
 about Auguste, and he would wipe tears from 
 his eyes. A mention of Gambetta, and the 
 bare idea filled him with enthusiasm ; he was 
 instantly, in imagination, one of a surging 
 crowd, throwing his hat in the air, or drawing 
 Gambetta's carriage through the streets of 
 Paris. I had only to speak of Alsace to bring 
 him to a mood of sullen ugliness and hatred. 
 He was, I have no doubt, a pretty good-tem- 
 pered man; he was certainly warm-hearted; 
 17 
 
258 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 his apparent harshness to his balloon-venders 
 was probably nothing more than necessary 
 parental severity, and he was always ready to 
 recognize their successes. But I have never 
 seen a more wicked and desperate expression 
 than an allusion to Alsace called up in his face 
 and in his whole bearing. Sometimes he would 
 laugh, when I mentioned the severed province ; 
 but it was with a hard, metallic, cruel laugh. 
 He felt the loss as he would have felt the loss 
 of a limb. The first time I brought up the 
 topic, I saw the whole bitter story of the dis- 
 membering of France. 
 
 There was another subject which called out 
 that same bitter revengeful look, and that 
 cruel nasal laugh, the royalist factions and 
 the Bonapartists. When we spoke of them, 
 and I watched his face and heard his soulless 
 laughter, I saw the French Revolution. 
 
 But he could always be brought back to open 
 childish delight and warmth by a reference to 
 the United States. Our government, in his 
 eyes, embodied all that was good. France was 
 now a " rtpubiiqut" to be sure, and he rejoiced 
 in the fact ; but he plainly felt the power and 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 259 
 
 settled stability of our republic, and he seemed 
 to have a filial devotion toward it closely akin 
 to his love for Auguste. 
 
 How fortunate we were ! Here were no 
 Ltgitimistes , no Ortianistes, no Bonapartistes, 
 for a perpetual menace ! Here all citizens, 
 however else their views might differ, believed, 
 at least, in the republic, and desired to stay her 
 hands. There were no factions here continually 
 plotting in the darkness. Here the machinery 
 of government was all in view, and open to dis- 
 cussion and improvement. Ah, what a proud, 
 happy country is this ! " Que c*est une rt- 
 publique ! " 
 
 I gathered enthusiasm myself from this stran- 
 ger's ardor for the country of his adoption. 
 I think that I appreciated better, through him, 
 the free openness of our institutions. It is of 
 great advantage to meet an intense man, of 
 associations different from your own, who, by 
 his very intensity and narrowness, instantly puts 
 you at his standpoint. I viewed the United 
 States from the shores of a sister republic which 
 has to contend against strong and organized 
 political forces not fully recognized in the laws, 
 
26O IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 working beneath the surface, which nevertheless 
 are facts. 
 
 One acquaintance leads to another. Through 
 Sorel, whose house was the final resort of 
 Frenchmen in distress, and their asylum if they 
 were helpless, not only Fidele, but a number of 
 other Frenchmen of that neighborhood, began 
 to come to me with their small affairs. I was 
 the avocat who " speak French." I am afraid 
 that they were surprised at my " French " when 
 they heard it. 
 
 There was a willow-worker from the Pas-de- 
 Calais, a deformed man, walking high and low, 
 and always wanting to rise from his chair and 
 lay his hand upon my shoulder, as he talked, 
 who came to consult me about the recovery of 
 a hundred francs which he had advanced at 
 Anvers to a Belgian tailor upon the pledge of 
 a sewing-machine, on consideration that the 
 tailor, who was to come in a different steamer, 
 should take charge of the willow-worker's dog 
 on the voyage: the willow-worker had a wife 
 and six children to look after. This was a lofty 
 contest ; but I had time then. I found a little 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 26 1 
 
 amusement in the case, and I had the advan- 
 tage of two or three hours in all of practical 
 French conversation with men thoroughly in 
 earnest. Finally, I had the satisfaction of set- 
 tling their dispute, and so keeping them from 
 a quarrel. 
 
 Then there was a French cook, out of a job, 
 [who wanted me to find him a place. He was 
 gathering mushrooms, meanwhile, for the hotels. 
 One day he surprised me by coming into my 
 office in a white linen cap, brandishing in his 
 hand a long, gleaming knife. He only desired, 
 however, to tell me that he had found a place 
 at one of the clubs, and to show, in his pride, 
 .the shining blade which he had just bought as 
 his equipment. 
 
 But the man who impressed me most, after 
 Sorel, was Carron. He first appeared as the 
 friend of the cook, whom he introduced to me, 
 with many flourishes and compliments, although 
 he was an utter stranger himself. Carron was a 
 well-built and rather handsome man, of medium 
 height, and was then perhaps fifty years of age. 
 He had a remarkably bright, intelligent face, 
 curling brown hair, and a full, wavy brown 
 
262 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 beard. He kept a rival boarding-house, not 
 far from Sorel's, in a gabled wooden house two 
 hundred years old, which was anciently the 
 home of an eminent Puritan divine. In the oak- 
 panelled room where the theologian wrote his 
 famous tract upon the Carpenter who Profanely 
 undertook to Dispense the Word in the way 
 of Public Ministration, and was Divinely struck 
 Dumb in consequence, Carron now sold beer 
 from a keg. 
 
 It was plain at a glance that his present was 
 not of a piece with his past. I could not place 
 him. His manners were easy and agreeable, 
 and yet he was not a gentleman. He was well 
 informed, and evidently of some mental train- 
 ing, and yet he was not quite an educated man. 
 After his first visit to me, with the cook, he, too, 
 occasionally looked in upon me, generally late 
 in the afternoon, when I could call the day's 
 work done and could talk French for half an 
 hour with him, in place of taking a walk. He 
 was strongly dramatic, like Sorel, but in a dif- 
 ferent way. Sorel was intense ; Carron was 
 thedtral. He was very fond of declamation; 
 and seeing from the first my wish to learn 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 263 
 
 French, which Sorel would never very defi- 
 nitely recognize, he often recited to me, for 
 ear practice, and in an exceedingly effective 
 way, passages from the Old Testament. He 
 seemed to know the Psalms by heart. He was 
 a good deal of an actor, and he took the part 
 of a Hebrew prophet with great effect. But his 
 fervor was all stage fire, and he would turn in 
 an instant from a denunciatory Psalm to a hu- 
 morous story. Even his stories were of a relig- 
 ious cast, like those which ministers relate when 
 they gather socially. He told me once about a 
 priest who was strolling along the bank of the 
 Loire, when a drunken sailor accosted him 
 and reviled him as a lazy good-for-nothing, 
 a faMant, and slapped his face. The priest 
 only turned the other cheek to him. " Strike 
 again," he said ; and the sailor struck. " Now, 
 my friend," said the priest, " the Scripture tells 
 us that when one strikes us we are to turn 
 the other cheek. There it ends its instruction 
 and leaves us to follow our own judgment." 
 Whereupon, being a powerful man, he collared 
 the sailor and plunged him into the water. 
 He told me, too, with great unction, and with 
 
264 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 a roguish gleam in his eye, a story of a small 
 child who was directed to prepare herself for 
 confession, and, being given a manual for self- 
 examination, found the wrong places, and ap- 
 peared with this array of sins : " I have been 
 unfaithful to my marriage vows. ... I have 
 not made the tour of my diocese." 
 
 Carron had an Irish wife (line Irlandaise), 
 much younger than he, whom he worshipped. 
 He told me, one day, about his courtship. 
 When he first met her, she knew not a word 
 of French, and he not a word of English. He 
 was greatly captivated (efiris), and he had to 
 contrive some mode of communication. They 
 were both Catholics. He had a prayer-book 
 with Latin and French in parallel columns ; 
 she had a similar prayer-book but in Latin 
 and English. They would seat themselves; 
 Carron would find in his prayer-book a sen- 
 tence in French which would suit his turn, on 
 a pinch, and through the medium of the Latin 
 would find the corresponding passage in Eng- 
 lish in Norah's prayer-book and point it out 
 to her. Norah, in her turn, would select and 
 point out some passage in English which would 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 265 
 
 serve as a tribute to Carron's charms, and he 
 would discover in his prayer-book, in French, 
 what that tribute was. Why should we deem 
 the dead languages no longer a practical study, 
 when Latin can gain for a Frenchman an Irish 
 wife ! 
 
 Carron, as I have said, puzzled me. He had 
 not the pensive air of one who has seen better 
 days. He was more than cheerful in his pres- 
 ent life : he was full of spirits ; and yet it was 
 plain that he had been brought up for some- 
 thing different. I asked him once to tell me, 
 for French lessons, the story of his life. With 
 the most charming complaisance, he at once 
 consented; but he proceeded in such endless 
 detail, the first time, in an account of his early 
 boyhood in a strict Benedictine monastery 
 school, in the south of France, as to suggest 
 that he was talking against time. And al- 
 though his spirited and amusing picture of his 
 childhood days only awakened my curiosity, 
 I could never persuade him to resume the his- 
 tory. It was always " the next time." 
 
 He seemed to be poor: but he never asked 
 a favor except for others. On the contrary, 
 
266 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 he brought me some little business. A Beige 
 had been cheated out of five hundred dollars; 
 I recovered half of it for him. A Frenchman 
 from le Midi had bought out a little business, 
 and the seller had immediately set up shop next 
 door; I succeeded in shutting up the rival. I 
 was a prodigy. 
 
 After a time I was told something further as 
 to Carron' s life. He had been a Capuchin monk, 
 in a monastery at or near Paris. The instant that 
 I heard this statement, I felt in my very soul 
 that it was true. My eye had always missed 
 something in Carron. I now knew exactly 
 what it was, a shaved crown, bare feet, and a 
 cowl. 
 
 It was the usage for the brethren of his order 
 to go about Paris barefoot, begging. They 
 were not permitted by the concierges to go 
 into the great apartment hotels. But " Carron, 
 /'/ est trh fin" said my informant ; " you know, 
 'e is var' smart." Carron would learn, by care- 
 ful inquiry, the name of a resident on an upper 
 floor ; then he would appear at the concierge's 
 door, and would mention the name of this resi- 
 dent with such adroit, demure, and absolute 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 267 
 
 confidence that he would be permitted at once 
 to ascend. Once inside, he would go the 
 rounds of the apartments. So he would get 
 five times as much in a day as any of his fel- 
 lows. A certain amount of the receipts he 
 would yield up to the treasury of the monas- 
 tery; the rest he kept for himself. After a 
 while this came to be suspected, and he quietly 
 withdrew to a new country. 
 
 There was not the slightest tangible corrobo- 
 ration of this story. It might have been the 
 merest gossip or the invention of an enemy. 
 But it fitted Carron so perfectly, that from the 
 day I heard it I could never, somehow, ques- 
 tion its substantial truth. If I had questioned 
 it, I should have repeated the story to him, to 
 give him an opportunity to answer. But some- 
 thing warned me not to do so. 
 
 Fidele held on well at the custom-house, and 
 I think that he became a general favorite. No 
 one who took the old soldier by the hand and 
 looked him in the eye could question his abso- 
 lute honesty ; and as for skill in his duties, 
 well, it was the custom-house. 
 
268 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 But he was not saving much money. He was 
 free to give and free to lend to his fellow-country- 
 men ; and, moreover, various ways were pointed 
 out to him by Mr. Fox, from time to time, in 
 which an old soldier, delighting to aid his coun- 
 try, could serve her pecuniarily. The republic, 
 that is, the Republicans, it was all one. 
 
 One afternoon, late in summer, Fidele ap- 
 peared at my office. He seldom visited me, 
 except quarterly for his pension affidavit. As 
 he came in now, I saw that something had hap- 
 pened. His grisly face wore the same kindly 
 smile that it had always borne, but the light 
 had gone out of it. His story was short. He 
 had lost his place. He had been notified that 
 his services would not be needed after Satur- 
 day. No reason had been given him ; he was 
 simply dismissed in humiliation. There must 
 be some misunderstanding, such as occurs be- 
 tween the warmest friends. And was not the 
 great government his friend? Did it not send 
 him his pension regularly? Had it not sent a 
 special messenger to seek him out, in his ob- 
 scurity, for this position ; and was he not far 
 better suited to it now than at the outset? 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 269 
 
 In reply to questions from me, he told me 
 more about Mr. Fox's first visit than I had 
 hitherto known. I asked him, in a casual way, 
 about the ward-meetings, and whether the 
 French citizens generally attended them. No, 
 they had been dropping off"; they had become 
 envious, perhaps, of him; they had formed a 
 club, with Carron for president, and had voted 
 to act in a body {en solidarite). 
 
 Then I told Fidele that I knew no way to 
 help him, and that I feared his dismission was 
 final. He could not understand me, but went 
 away, leaning on his cane, dragging his left foot 
 sidewise behind him, with something of the air 
 of an old faithful officer who has been deprived 
 of his sword. 
 
 He had not been gone more than an hour, 
 when the door opened again, and Carron looked 
 in. Seeing that I was alone, he closed the door 
 and walked very slowly toward my desk, 
 erect, demure, impassive, looking straight for- 
 ward and not at me, with an air as if he were 
 bearing a candle in high mass, intoning, as he 
 came, a passage from the Psalms : " Je me r- 
 jouirai ; jc partagerai Sichem, et je mesurerai la 
 
270 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 vallee de Succoth. Galaad sera a moi, Manas se 
 sera a moi. . . . Moab sera le bassin ou je me 
 laverai, et je jetterai mon soulier S2ir Edom. . . . 
 Qui est-ce qiii me conduira dans la ville forte ? 
 Qui est-ce qui me conduira jusqu en Edom ? " (I 
 will rejoice; I will divide Shechem and mete 
 out the valley of Succoth. Gilead is mine; Ma- 
 nasseh is mine. . . . Moab is my washpot ; over 
 Edom will I cast out my shoe. . . . Who will 
 bring me into the strong city? Who will lead 
 me into Edom?) 
 
 Carron propounded the closing inquiry with 
 great unction ; his manner expressed entire 
 confidence that some one would be found to 
 lead him into the strong city, to lead him into 
 Edom. 
 
 I had lost something of my interest in Car- 
 ron since I had heard the story of his Parisian 
 exploits; but I could not help being amused 
 at his manner. It portended something. He 
 made no disclosure, however. Whatever he had 
 to tell, he went away without telling it, content- 
 ing himself for the present with intimating by 
 his triumphal manner that great good fortune 
 was in the air. 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 271 
 
 On Saturday afternoon, as I was about clos- 
 ing my desk, a little earlier than usual, for it 
 was a most tempting late September day, and 
 the waves of the harbor, which I could just see 
 from my office window, called loudly to me, 
 Sorel appeared. I held out my hand, but he 
 affected not to see it, and he sat down without a 
 word. He was plainly disturbed and somewhat 
 excited. 
 
 Of course I knew that it was his old friend's 
 misfortune which weighed upon him; he was 
 proud and fond of Fidele. 
 
 I seated myself, and waited for him to speak. 
 In a moment he began, with a low, hard laugh : 
 " Semble que notre bon Fiddle a sa demission : 
 you know, our Fidele got bounced ! " 
 
 Yes, I said, Fidele had told me so, and I was 
 very sorry to hear it. 
 
 " Evidcmment " (this in a tone of irony) " il 
 fant un homme plus juste, plus lay ale, que le 
 pauvre Fiddle! You know, they got to 'ave 
 one more honester man ! Bien ! You know 
 who goin' 'ave 'is place?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 Sorel laid down his hat, arid wiped his brow 
 
272 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 with his handkerchief. Then he went on, no 
 longer speaking in French and then translating, 
 
 his usual concession to my supposed desires, 
 
 but mostly now in quasi-English: " Mais, you 
 thing this great gouvernement wan' hones' men 
 work for her, riest-ce pas?" 
 
 " The government ought to have the most 
 honest men," I said. 
 
 " Bien. Now you thing the gouvernement 
 boun' to 'ave some men w'at mos' know the bus- 
 i-ness, tiest-ce pas? " 
 
 16 It ought to have them." 
 
 Sorel wiped his brow again. " Now, w'ich 
 you thing the mos' honestes' man, Fidele, or 
 
 Carron ? W'ich you thing know the bus- 
 i-ness bes', Fidele, w'at been there, or Carron, 
 w'at ain' been there?" 
 
 "Fidele, of course." 
 
 "Then tell me, w'at for they bounce' our 
 Fidele, and let Carron got 'is place?" and he 
 burst into a harsh, resonant, contemptuous laugh. 
 In a moment he resumed : " Now," he said, 
 " I only got one more thing to ax you," and 
 taking his felt hat in his hands, he held it on his 
 knees, before him, and stooping a little forward, 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 2/3 
 
 eyed me closely: "You knoww'atwe talk some- 
 times, you an' me, 'bout our Frensh rtpublique 
 some Orle'anistes, some Ldgitimistes, some 
 Bonapartistes ? You merember 'ow we talk, 
 you and me?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " We ain' got no OrUanistes, no Bonap artistes! 
 id, in this gouvernement, riest-ce pas? " 
 
 I intimated that I had never met any. 
 
 " Now," he proceeded, with an increased bit- 
 terness in his tone and his hard smile, " I use' 
 thing you one good frien' to me, mats, you been 
 makin' fool of me all that time ! " 
 
 " You don't think any such thing," I said. 
 
 " You know," he went on, " who bounce our 
 Fidele?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Sorel received my reply with a low, incredu- 
 lous laugh. Then he laid his hat down on the 
 floor, drew his chair closer, held out his finger, 
 and, with the air of one who shows another that 
 he knows his secret he demanded : 
 
 " Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'ttn ' Boss ' ? " 
 
 I sat silent for a moment, looking at him, not 
 knowing just what to say. 
 18 
 
2/4 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 " Mais," he went on, " all the Americains " 
 (they were chiefly Irish) " roun' my 'ouse been 
 tellin' me, long time, ' Le Boss goin' bounce 
 Fidele.' Me, I laugh w'en they say so. I say, 
 ' LeBoss ? Cest un creature a" imagination, pour 
 nous effrayerj you know, make us scar't. ' Cest 
 ^ln loup-garou! you know, w'at make 'fraid li'l 
 chil'ren. That 's w'at I tell them. I thing then 
 you would n't been makin' fool of me.' 
 
 " They don't know what they are talking 
 about," I said. " How can they know why 
 Fidele is removed?" 
 
 ''Mais, you jus' wait; I goin' tell you. I fin 
 they do know. Fidele take he sol'ier-papers, 
 an' he go see le chef" (here Sorel rose, and 
 acted Fidele). " Fidele, 'e show 'is papers to 
 le chef; 'e say, 'Now you boun' tell me why 
 le bon gouvernement, w'at 's been my frien', 
 bounce me now.' 'E say le chef boun' to tell 
 'im, il faut absolument ! 'E say 'e won' go, 
 way if le chef don' tell 'im ; an' you know, no 
 man can't scare our Fidele ! " 
 
 " Very well," I said ; " what did the collector, 
 the chef, tell him? Fidele is too lame, I 
 suppose? " 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 2/5 
 
 "Mais, non? with a suspicious smile. " Le 
 chef, he mos' cry, yas, sar, an' 'e say 'e 
 ain' got no trouble 'gainst Fidele ; la re'pub- 
 liqne, she ain' got no trouble 'gainst Fidele. 
 'E say 'e di'n want Fidele to go ; le gouverne- 
 menty she di'n want 'im to go. Mais, 'e say, 
 'e can't help hisself ; le gouvernement, she can't 
 help herself. Yas, sar. Then Fidele know 
 w'at evarybody been tellin' us was true, 'e 
 ' Boss,' 'e make 'im go ! " And Sorel sat back in 
 his chair. 
 
 " Now, I ax you one time more, he resumed : 
 " qucst-ce que c'est qu'un ' Boss ' ? " 
 
 What could I say ! How could I explain, off- 
 hand, to this stranger, the big boss, the little 
 boss, the State boss, the ward boss, the county 
 boss, all burrowing underneath our theoretical 
 government ! How could I explain to him that 
 Fidele's department in the custom-house had 
 been allotted to a Congressman about to run 
 for a second term, who needed it to control 
 a few more ward-meetings, needed, in the 
 third ward caucus, those very French votes 
 which Carron had been shrewd enough to steal 
 away and organize ! What could I say to Sorel 
 
2/6 IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 which he, innocent as he was, would not mis- 
 construe as inconsistent with our past glorifi- 
 cations of our republic ! What did I say ! I do 
 not know. I only remember that he inter- 
 rupted me, harshly and abruptly, as he rose 
 to go. 
 
 "You an' me got great pitie, ain' we," he 
 said, " for notre France, la pauvre France, 'cause 
 she got so many folks w'at tourbillonnent sous 
 la surface, les Orleanistes les Bonapartistes ; 
 don' we say so ? Mais, il riy en a pas, id, you 
 know, we ain' got none here; don' we say so? 
 We ain' got no factionnaires here ! Mais non ! " 
 Then, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper : 
 " Votre bonne republique" he said, " cest ime 
 republique du theatre ! " 
 
 He had hardly closed the door behind him, 
 when he opened it again, and put in his head, 
 and with his hard, mocking laugh, demanded, 
 " Quest-ce que c'est qu'un ( Boss ' ? " And as he 
 walked down the hall, I could still hear his 
 scornful laughter. 
 
 He never came to see me again. I sometimes 
 heard of him through Carron, who had succeeded 
 to Fidele's position and had elevated a consid- 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 277 
 
 erable part of his following : for several weeks 
 they were employed at three dollars a day in 
 the navy-yard, where, to their utter mystifica- 
 tion, they moved, with a certain planetary regu- 
 larity, ship-timber from the west to the east side of 
 the yard, and then back from the east side to the 
 west. You remember reading about this in the 
 published accounts of our late congressional 
 contest. 
 
 Though Sorel never visited me again, I oc- 
 casionally saw him: once near the evening- 
 school, when I went as a guest; once in the long 
 market; once in the post-office; and once he 
 touched me on the shoulder, as I was leaning 
 over the street -railing, by the dock, looking 
 down at a Swedish bark. Each time he had 
 but one thing to say ; and having said it, he 
 would break into his harsh, ironical laugh, and 
 pass along: 
 
 " Qiiest-ce que c'est qu'uii ' Boss ' ? " 
 
 And Fidele? 
 
 Still, if you will go to Madeira Place at sunset, 
 you may see the cap and blouse come slowly in. 
 Still the old sergeant sits at the head of the 
 
IN MADEIRA PLACE. 
 
 table. But his ideal is gone ; his idol has clay 
 feet. No longer does he describe to new-comers 
 from France the receipt of his pension. All the 
 old fond pride in it is gone, and he takes the 
 money now as dollars and cents. 
 
 In the conversation, however, around the table 
 the great government at Washington is by no 
 means forgotten. Sometimes Sorel tells his 
 guests about the Boss. 
 
THE NEW MINISTER'S GREAT 
 OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 '"T^HE minister's got a job," said Mr. Snell. 
 
 Mr. Snell had been driven in by 
 a shower from the painting of a barn, and 
 was now sitting, with one bedaubed overall 
 leg crossed over the other, in Mr. Hamblin's 
 shop, 
 
 Half-a-dozen other men, who had likewise 
 found in the rain a call to leisure, looked up 
 at him inquiringly. 
 
 " How do you mean?" said Mr. Noyes, who 
 sat beside him, girt with a nail-pocket. "'The 
 minister 's got a job ' ? How do you mean ? " 
 And Mr. Noyes assumed a listener's air, and 
 stroked his thin yellow beard. 
 
 Mr. Snell smiled, with half-shut, knowing 
 eyes, but made no answer. 
 
28O THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 "How do you mean?" repeated Mr. Noyes ; 
 "'The minister's got a job' of course he 
 has got a stiddy job. We knew that before." 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Snell, with a placid 
 face; " seeing 's you know so much about it, 
 enough said. Let it rest right there." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Noyes, nervously blowing his 
 nose ; " you lay down this proposition : ' The 
 minister 's got a job.' Now I ask, what is it? " 
 
 Mr. Snell uncrossed his legs, and stooped 
 to pick up a last, which he proceeded to scan 
 with a shrewd, critical eye. 
 
 " Narrer foot," he said to Mr. Hamblin. 
 
 " Private last Dr. Hunter's," said Mr. 
 Hamblin, laying down a boot upon which he 
 was stitching an outer-sole, and rising to make 
 a ponderous, elephantine excursion across the 
 quaking shop to the earthen water-pitcher, from 
 which he took a generous draught. 
 
 "Well, Brother Snell," said Mr. Noyes, 
 they were members together of a secret organi- 
 zation, of which Mr. Snell was P. G. W. T. R, 
 "ain't you going to tell us? What is this 
 job ? That is to say, what er is it ? " 
 
 Brother Snell set his thumbs firmly in the 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 28 1 
 
 armholes of his waistcoat, surveyed the smoke- 
 stained pictures pasted on the wall, looked 
 keen, and softly whistled. 
 
 At last he condescended to explain. 
 
 " Preaching Uncle Capen's funeral sermon." 
 
 There was a subdued general laugh. Even 
 Mr. Hamblin's leathern apron shook. 
 
 Mr. Noyes, however, painfully looking down 
 upon his beard to draw out a white hair, main- 
 tained his serious expression. 
 
 " I don't see much ' job ' in that," he said ; 
 " a minister 's supposed to preach a hundred and 
 four sermons in each and every year, and there 's 
 plenty more where they come from. What 's 
 one sermon more or less, when stock costs noth- 
 ing? It's like wheeling gravel from the pit." 
 
 " O. K.," said Mr. Snell ; " if 't ain't no trouble, 
 then 't ain't. But seeing 's you know, suppose 
 you specify the materials for this particular 
 discourse." 
 
 Mr. Noyes looked a little disconcerted. 
 
 " Well," he said; " of course, I can't set here 
 and compose a funereal discourse, off-hand, 
 without no writing-desk; but there's stock 
 enough to make a sermon of, any time." 
 
282 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 " Oh, come," said Mr. Snell, " don't sneak 
 out: particularize." 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Noyes, " you Ve only to open 
 the leds of your Bible, and choose a text, and 
 then: When did this happen? Why did this 
 happen? To who did this happen? and so 
 forth and so on ; and there 's your sermon. 
 I Ve heard 'em so a hunderd times." 
 
 "All right," said Mr. Snell; "I don't doubt 
 you know; but as for me, I for one never 
 happened to hear of anything that Uncle Capen 
 did but whitewash and saw wood. Now what 
 sort of an autobiographical sermon could you 
 make out of sawing wood?" 
 
 Whereat Leander Buffum proceeded, by that 
 harsh, guttural noise well known to country 
 boys, to imitate the sound of sawing through 
 a log. His sally was warmly greeted. 
 
 " The minister might narrate," said Mr. 
 Blood, " what Uncle Capen said to Issachar, 
 when Issachar told him that he charged high 
 for sawing wood. ' See here,' says Uncle Ca- 
 pen, ' s'pos'n I do. My arms are shorter 'n 
 other folks's, and it takes me just so much 
 longer to do it.' " 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 283 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Noyes, " I 'm a fair man ; 
 always do exactly right is the rule I go by; 
 and I will frankly admit, now and here, that if 
 it 's a biographical discourse they want, they '11 
 have to cut corners." 
 
 " Pre-cise-\y" said Mr. Snell ; " and that 's just 
 what they do want." 
 
 "Well, well," said Mr. Hamblin, laboriously 
 rising and putting his spectacles into their silver 
 case, for it was supper-time, " joking one 
 side, if Uncle Capen never did set the pond 
 afire, we 'd all rather take his chances to-day, I 
 guess, than those of some smarter men." 
 
 At which Mr. Snell turned red ; for he was a 
 very smart man and had just failed, to every- 
 body's surprise, since there was no reason in 
 the world why he should fail, and had cre- 
 ated more merriment for the public than joy 
 among his creditors, by paying a cent and a half 
 on the dollar. 
 
 ." Come in ; sit down," said Dr. Hunter, as the 
 young minister appeared at his office door; and 
 he tipped back in his chair, and put his feet 
 upon a table. "What's the news?" 
 
284 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 " Doctor," said Mr. Holt, laughing, as he laid 
 down his hat and took an arm-chair; "you 
 told me to come to you for any information. 
 Now I want materials for a sermon on old Mr. 
 Capen." 
 
 The Doctor looked at him with a half-amused 
 expression, and then sending out a curl of blue 
 smoke, he watched it as it rose melting into the 
 general air. 
 
 "You don't smoke, I believe?" he said to the 
 minister. 
 
 Holt smiled and shook his head. 
 
 The Doctor put his cigar back into his mouth, 
 clasped one knee in his hands, and fixed his 
 eyes in meditation on a one- eared Hippocrates 
 looking down with a dirty face from the top 
 of a bookcase. Perhaps the Doctor was think- 
 ing of the two or three hundred complimentary 
 visits he had been permitted to make upon 
 Uncle Capen within ten years. 
 
 Presently a smile broke over his face. 
 
 " I must tell you, before I forget it," he said, 
 " how Uncle Capen nursed one of my patients. 
 Years and years ago, I had John Ellis, our 
 postmaster now, down with a fever. One night 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 285 
 
 Uncle Capen watched you know he was spry 
 and active till he was ninety. Every hour he 
 was to give Ellis a little ice-water; and when 
 the first time came, he took a table-spoonful 
 there was only a dim light in the room and 
 poured the ice-water down Ellis's neck. Well, 
 Ellis jumped, as much as so sick a man could, 
 and then lifted his finger to his lips : ' Here 's 
 my mouth,' said he. ' Why, why/ said Uncle 
 Capen, 'is that your mouth? I took that for 
 a wrinkle in your forehead.' " 
 
 The minister laughed. 
 
 " I have heard a score of such stories to-day," 
 he said ; " there seem to be enough of them ; 
 but I can't find anything adapted to a ser- 
 mon, and yet they seem to expect a detailed 
 biography." 
 
 " Ah, that's just the trouble," said the Doc- 
 tor. "But let us go into the house; my wife 
 remembers everything that ever happens, and 
 she can post you up on Uncle Capen, if any- 
 body can." 
 
 So they crossed the door-yard into the house. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter was sewing ; a neighbor, come 
 to tea, was crocheting wristers for her grandson. 
 
286 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 They were both talking at once as the Doctor 
 opened the sitting-room door. 
 
 "Since neither of you appears to be listening," 
 he said, as they started up, " I shall not apol- 
 ogize for interrupting. Mr. Holt is collecting 
 facts about Uncle Capen for his funeral ser- 
 mon, and I thought that my good wife could 
 help him out, if anybody could. So I will leave 
 him." 
 
 And the Doctor, nodding, went into the hall 
 for his coat and driving-gloves, and, going out, 
 disappeared about the corner of the house. 
 
 "You will really oblige me very much, Mrs. 
 Hunter," said the minister, " or Mrs. French, 
 if you can give me any particulars about 
 old Mr. Capen's life. His family seem to be 
 rather sensitive, and they depend on a long, 
 old-fashioned funeral sermon ; and here I am 
 utterly bare of facts." 
 
 " Why, yes," said Mrs. Hunter; "of course, 
 now " 
 
 " Why, yes ; everybody knows all about him," 
 said Mrs. French. 
 
 And then they laid their work down and re- 
 lapsed into meditation. 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 287 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mrs. Hunter, in a moment. " No, 
 though " 
 
 " Why, you know," said Mrs. French, " no 
 I guess, on the whole " 
 
 " You remember," said the Doctor's wife to 
 Mrs. French, with a faint smile, " the time he 
 papered my east chamber don't you how he 
 made the pattern come? " 
 
 And then they both laughed gently for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Well, I have always known him," said Mrs. 
 French. " But really, being asked so suddenly, 
 it seems to drive everything out of my head." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Hunter, " and it's odd that I 
 can't think of exactly the thing, just at this min- 
 ute ; but if I do, I will run over to the parsonage 
 this evening." 
 
 " Yes, so will I," said Mrs. French ; " I know 
 that I shall think of oceans of things just as soon 
 as you are gone." 
 
 " Won't you stay to tea? " said Mrs. Hunter, 
 as Holt rose to go. " The Doctor has gone ; 
 but we never count on him." 
 
 " No, I thank you," said Mr. Holt. " If I am 
 to invent a biography, I may as well be at it." 
 
288 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 Mrs. Hunter went with him to the door. 
 
 " I must just tell you," she said, " one of Uncle 
 Capen's sayings. It was long ago, at the time I 
 was married and first came here. I had a young 
 men's Bible-class in Sunday-school, and Uncle 
 Capen came into it. He always wore a cap, and 
 sat at meetings with the boys. So, one Sunday, 
 we had in the lesson that verse, you know, 
 that if all these things should be written, even 
 the world itself could not contain the books 
 that should be written ; and there Uncle Capen 
 stopped me, and said he, ' I suppose that means 
 the world as known to the ancients?' ' 
 
 Holt put on his hat, and with a smile turned 
 and went on his way toward the parsonage ; but 
 he remembered that he had promised to call at 
 what the local paper termed " the late residence 
 of the deceased," where, on the one hundredth 
 birthday of the centenarian, according to the 
 poet's corner, 
 
 " Friends, neighbors, and visitors he did receive 
 From early in the morning till dewy eve." 
 
 So he turned his steps in that direction. 
 He opened the clicking latch of the gate and 
 rattled the knocker on the front door of the lit- 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 289 
 
 tie cottage ; and a tall, motherly woman of the 
 neighborhood appeared and ushered him in. 
 
 Uncle Capen's unmarried daughter, a woman 
 of sixty, her two brothers and their wives, 
 and half-a-dozen neighbors were sitting in the 
 tidy kitchen, where a crackling wood-fire in the 
 stove was suggesting a hospitable cup of tea. 
 
 The minister's appearance, breaking the for- 
 mal gloom, was welcomed. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Maria, " I suppose the ser- 
 mon is all writ by this time. I think likely 
 you 've come down to read it to us." 
 
 " No," said Holt, " I have left the actual writ- 
 ing of it till I get all my facts. I thought 
 perhaps you might have thought of something 
 else." 
 
 " No ; I told you everything there was about 
 father yesterday," she said. " I 'm sure you can't 
 lack of things to put in ; why, father lived a hun- 
 dred years and longer, too, for he was a hun- 
 dred years and six days, you remember." 
 
 " You know," said Holt, " there are a great 
 many things that are very interesting to a man's 
 immediate friends that don't interest the public." 
 And he looked to Mr. Small for confirmation. 
 19 
 
2QO THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 " Yes, that 's so," said Mr. Small, nodding 
 wisely. 
 
 " But, you see, father was a centenarian," said 
 Maria, " and so that makes everything about 
 him interesting. It 's a lesson to the young, you 
 know." 
 
 "Oh, yes, that's so," said Mr. Small, " if a 
 man lives to be a centurion." 
 
 " Well, you all knew our good friend," said 
 Mr. Holt. " If any of you will suggest any- 
 thing, I shall be very glad to put it in." 
 
 Nobody spoke for a moment. 
 
 "There's one interesting thing," said one of 
 the sons, a little old man much like his father; 
 " that is, that none of his children have ever 
 gone meandering off; we've all remained" 
 he might almost have said remained seated 
 " all our lives, right about him." 
 
 " I will allude to that," said Mr. Holt. " I 
 hope you have something else, for I am afraid 
 of running short of material: you see I am a 
 stranger here." 
 
 "Why, I hope there won't be any trouble 
 about it," said Maria, in sudden consternation. 
 " I was a little afraid to give it out to so young 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 29 1 
 
 a man as you, and I thought some of giving the 
 preference to Father Cobb, but I did n't quite 
 like to have it go out of the village, nor to 
 deprive you of the opportunity; and they all 
 assured me that you was smart. But if you 're 
 feeling nervous, perhaps we 'd better have him 
 still ; he 's always ready." 
 
 " Just as you like," said Holt, modestly; " if he 
 would be willing to preach the sermon, we might 
 leave it that way, and I will add a few remarks." 
 
 But Maria's zeal for Father Cobb was a flash 
 in the pan. He was a sickly farmer, a licensed 
 preacher, who, when he was called upon occa- 
 sionally to meet a sudden exigency, usually 
 preached on the beheading of John the Baptist. 
 
 " I guess you 've got things enough to write," 
 said Maria, consolingly; " you know how awfully 
 a thing doos drag out when you come to write it 
 down on paper. Remember to tell how we Ve 
 all stayed right here." 
 
 When Holt went out, he saw Mr. Small beck- 
 oning him to come to where his green wagon 
 stood under a tree. 
 
 " I must tell you," he said, with an awkwardly 
 
292 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 repressed smile, " about a trade of Uncle Capen's. 
 He had a little lot up our way that they wanted 
 for a schoolhouse, and he agreed to sell it for 
 what it cost him, and the selectmen, knowing 
 what it cost him, fifty dollars, agreed with 
 him that way. But come to sign the deed, he 
 called for a hundred dollars. * How 's that,' says 
 they ; ' you bought it of Captain Sam Bowen for 
 fifty dollars.' ' Yes, but see here,' says Uncle 
 Capen, * it 's cost me on an average five dollars 
 a year, for the ten year I Ve had it, for manure 
 and ploughing and seed, and that 's fifty dollars 
 more.' * But you Ve sold the garden stuff off it, 
 and had the money,' says they. ' Yes,' says 
 Uncle Capen, ' but that money 's spent and eat 
 up long ago ! ' 
 
 The minister smiled, shook hands with Mr. 
 Small, and went home. 
 
 The church was crowded. Horses filled the 
 sheds, horses were tied to the fences all up and 
 down the street. Funerals are always popular 
 in the country, and this one had a double ele- 
 ment of attractiveness. The whole population of 
 the town, having watched with a lively interest, 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 293 
 
 for years back, Uncle Capen's progress to his 
 hundredth birthday, expected now some elec- 
 trical effect, analogous to an apotheosis. 
 
 In the front pews were the chief mourners, 
 
 4 
 
 filled with the sweet intoxication of pre-emi- 
 nence. 
 
 The opening exercises were finished, a hymn 
 was sung, 
 
 " Life is a span," 
 
 and Father Cobb arose to make his introductory 
 remarks. 
 
 He began with some reminiscences of the 
 first time he saw Uncle Capen, some thirty years 
 before, and spoke of having viewed him even then 
 as an aged man, and of having remarked to him 
 that he was walking down the valley of life with 
 one foot in the grave. He called attention to 
 Uncle Capen's virtues, and pointed out their 
 connection with his longevity. He had not 
 smoked for some forty years ; therefore, if the 
 youth who were present desired to attain his age, 
 let them not smoke. He had been a total ab- 
 stainer, moreover, from his seventieth year; let 
 them, if they would rival his longevity, follow 
 his example. The good man closed with a feel- 
 
294 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 ing allusion to the relatives, in the front pew, 
 mourning like the disciples of John the Baptist 
 after his " beheadment." Another hymn was 
 sung, - 
 
 " A vapor brief and swiftly gone." 
 
 Then there was deep silence as the minister 
 rose and gave out his text : " I have been young, 
 and now I am old'' 
 
 u At the time of the grand review in Washing- 
 ton," he said, " that mighty pageant that fittingly 
 closed the drama of the war, I was a spectator, 
 crippled then by a gun-shot wound, and unable 
 to march. From an upper window I saw that 
 host file by, about to record its greatest triumph 
 by melting quietly into the general citizenship, 
 a mighty, resistless army about to fade and leave 
 no trace, except here and there a one-armed man, 
 or a blue flannel jacket behind a plough. Often 
 now, when I close my eyes, that picture rises : 
 that gallant host, those tattered flags ; and I hear 
 the shouts that rose when my brigade, with their 
 flaming scarfs, went trooping by. Little as I may 
 have done, as a humble member of that army, no 
 earthly treasure could buy from me the thought 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 295 
 
 of my fellowship with it, or even the memory of 
 that great review. 
 
 " But that display was mere tinsel show com- 
 pared with the great pageant that has moved be- 
 fore those few men who have lived through the 
 whole length of the past hundred years. 
 
 " Before me lies the form of a man who, 
 though he has passed his days with no distinc- 
 tion but that of an honest man, has lived through- 
 some of the most remarkable events of all the ages. 
 For a hundred years a mighty pageant has been 
 passing before him. I would rather have lived 
 that hundred years than any other. I am deeply 
 touched to reflect that he who lately inhabited 
 this cold tenement of clay connects our genera- 
 tion with that of Washington. And it is impos- 
 sible to speak of one whose great age draws to- 
 gether this assembly, without recalling events 
 through which he lived. 
 
 " Our friend was born in this village. This 
 town then included the adjoining towns to the 
 north and south. The region was then more 
 sparsely settled, although many houses stand- 
 ing then have disappeared. While he was 
 sleeping peacefully in the cradle, while he 
 
296 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 was opening on the world childhood's wide, 
 wondering eyes, those great men whose names 
 are our perpetual benediction were planning 
 for freedom from a foreign yoke. While he 
 was passing through the happy years of early 
 childhood, the fierce clash of arms resounded 
 through the little strip of territory which then 
 made up the United States. I can hardly 
 realize that, as a child, he heard as a fresh, 
 new, real story, of the deeds of Lexington, 
 from the lips of men then young who had 
 been in the fight, or listened as one of an 
 eager group gathered about the fireside, or in 
 the old, now deserted tavern on the turnpike, 
 to the story of Bunker Hill. 
 
 " And when, the yoke of tyranny thrown 
 off, in our country and in France, Lafayette, 
 the mere mention of whose name brings tears 
 to the eyes of every true American, came to 
 see the America that he loved and that loved 
 him, he on whose cold, rigid face I now look 
 down, joined in one of those enthusiastic 
 throngs that made the visit like a Roman 
 Triumph. 
 
 " But turn to the world of Nature, and think 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 2Q/ 
 
 of the panoramic scenes that have passed be- 
 fore those now impassive eyes. In our friend's 
 boyhood there was no practical mode of swift 
 communication of news. In great emergencies, 
 to be sure, some patriot hand might flash the 
 beacon-light from a lofty tower ; but news crept 
 slowly over our hand-breath nation, and it was 
 months after a presidential election before the 
 result was generally known. He lived to see 
 the telegraph flashing swiftly about the globe, 
 annihilating time and space and bringing the 
 scattered nations into greater unity. 
 
 " And think, my hearers, for one moment, of 
 the wonders of electricity. Here is a power 
 which we name but do not know ; which flashes 
 through the sky, shatters great trees, burns 
 buildings, strikes men dead in the fields; and 
 we have learned to lead it, all unseen, from our 
 house-tops to the earth ; we tame this mighty, 
 secret, unknown power into serving us as a 
 a daily messenger; and no man sets the limits 
 now to the servitude that we shall yet bind 
 it down to. 
 
 " Again, my hearers, when our friend was 
 well advanced in life, there was still no better 
 
298 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 mode of travel between distant points than the 
 slow, rumbling stage-coach ; many who are 
 here remember well its delays and discomforts. 
 He saw the first tentative efforts of that mighty 
 factor steam to transport more swiftly. He 
 saw the first railroad built in the country; he 
 lived to see the land covered with the iron 
 net-work. 
 
 " And what a transition is this ! Pause for a 
 moment to consider it. How much does this 
 imply. With the late improvements in agri- 
 cultural machinery, with the cheapening of steel 
 rails, the boundless prairie farms of the West are 
 now brought into competition with the fields 
 of Great Britain in supplying the Englishman's 
 table, and seem not unlikely, within this gen- 
 eration, to break down the aristocratic holding 
 of land, and so perhaps to undermine aristocracy 
 itself." 
 
 So the preacher continued, speaking of dif- 
 ferent improvements, and lastly of the invention 
 of daguerreotypes and photographs. He called 
 the attention of his hearers to this almost mi- 
 raculous art of indelibly fixing the expression 
 of a countenance, and drew a lesson as to the 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 299 
 
 permanent effect of our daily looks and ex- 
 pression on those among whom we live. He 
 considered at length the vast amount of happi- 
 ness which had been caused by bringing pic- 
 tures of loved ones within the reach of all ; the 
 increase of family affection and general good 
 feeling which must have resulted from the in- 
 vention ; he suggested a possible change in the 
 civilization of the older nations through the 
 constant sending home, by prosperous adopted 
 citizens, of photographs of themselves and of 
 their homes, and alluded to the effect which 
 this must have had upon immigration. 
 
 Finally he adverted to the fact that the sons 
 of the deceased, who sat before him, had not 
 yielded to the restless spirit of adventure, but 
 had found " no place like home." 
 
 "But I fear," he said at last, "that the interest 
 of my subject has made me transgress upon 
 your patience ; and with a word or two more 
 I will close. 
 
 " When we remember what hard, trying 
 things often arise within a single day, let us 
 rightly estimate the patient well-doing of a man 
 who has lived a blameless life for a hundred 
 
3oo THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 years. When we remember what harm, what 
 sin, can be crowded into a single moment, let 
 us rightly estimate the principle that kept him 
 so close to the Golden Rule, not for a day, not 
 for a decade or a generation, but for a hundred 
 years. 
 
 "And now, as we are about to lay his de- 
 serted body in the earth, let not our perceptions 
 be dulled by the constant repetition in this 
 world of death and burial. At this hour our 
 friend is no longer aged ; wrinkles and furrows, 
 trembling limbs and snowy locks he has left 
 behind him, and he knows, we believe, to-day, 
 more than the wisest philosopher on earth. We 
 may study and argue, all our lives, to discover 
 the nature of life, or the form it takes beyond the 
 grave; but in one moment of swift transition 
 the righteous man may learn it all. We differ 
 widely one from another, here, in mental power. 
 A slight hardening of some tissue of the brain 
 might have left a Shakspeare an attorney's clerk. 
 But, in the brighter world, no such impediments 
 prevent, I believe, clear vision and clear ex- 
 pression ; and differences of mind that seem 
 world-wide here, may vanish there. When the 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 301 
 
 spirit breaks its earthly prison and flies away, 
 who can tell how bright and free the humblest 
 of us may come to be ! There may be a more 
 varied truth than we commonly think, in the 
 words, 'The last shall be first.' 
 
 " Let this day be remembered. Let us think 
 of the vast display of Nature's forces which was 
 made within the long period of our old neigh- 
 bor's life ; but let us also reflect upon the bright 
 pageant that is now unrolling itself before him 
 in a better world." 
 
 That evening Miss Maria and her brothers, 
 sitting in state in the little old house, received 
 many a caller ; and the conversation was 
 chiefly upon one theme, not the funeral ser- 
 mon, although that was commended as a frank 
 and simple biographical discourse, but the great 
 events which had accompanied Uncle Capen's 
 progress through this world, almost like those 
 which Horace records in his Ode to Augustus. 
 
 " That 's trew, every word," said Apollos 
 Carver; "when Uncle Capen was a boy there 
 was n't not one railroad in the hull breadth of 
 the United States, and just think : why now you 
 
302 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 can go in a Pullerman car clear'n acrost to San 
 Francisco. My daughter lives in Oakland, just 
 acrost a ferry from there." 
 
 " Well, then, there 's photographing," said 
 Captain Abel. "It doos seem amazing, as the 
 minister said : you set down, and square your- 
 self, and slick your hair, and stare stiddy into 
 a funnel, and a man ducks his head under a 
 covering, and pop ! there you be, as natural as 
 life, if not more so. And when Uncle Capen 
 was a young man, there was n't nothing but 
 portraits and minnytures, and these black- 
 paper-and-scissors portraits, what do they 
 call 'em? Yes, sir, all that come in under his 
 observation." 
 
 " Yes," said one of the sons, " 't is wonderful ; 
 my wife and me was took setting on a settee 
 in the Carding of Eden, lions and tigers and 
 other scriptural objects in the background." 
 
 " And don't forget the telegrapht," said 
 Maria ; " don't forget that." 
 
 " Trew," said Apollos, " that 's another thing. 
 I hed a message come once-t from my son that 
 lives to Taunton. We was all so sca't and faint 
 when we see it, that we did n't none of us dast 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 303 
 
 to open it, and finally the feller that druv over 
 with it hed to open it fur us." 
 
 "What was there in it?" said Mr. Small; 
 " sickness? death?" 
 
 " No, he wanted his thick coat expressed up. 
 But my wife did n't get over the shock for 
 some time. Wonderful thing, that telegraph 
 here 's a man standing a hundred miles off, 
 like enough, and harpooning an idea chock 
 right into your mind." 
 
 "Then that was a beautiful truth," said Maria: 
 " that father and Shakspeare would like enough 
 be changed right round, in Heaven ; I always 
 said father was n't appreciated here." 
 
 "Well," said Apollos, "'tis always so; we 
 don't begin to realize the value of a thing tell 
 we lose it. Now that we sort o' stand and gaze 
 at Uncle Capen at a fair distance, as it were, he 
 looms. Ef he only hed n't kep' so quiet, always, 
 about them 'ere wonders. A man really ought, 
 in justice to himself, to blow his own horn 
 jest a little. But that was a grand discourse, 
 wa* n't it, now?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Maria, "though I did feel 
 nervous for the young man. Still, when you 
 
304 THE NEW MINISTER'S 
 
 come to think what materials he had to make a 
 sermon out of, why, how could he help it! 
 And yet, I doubt not he takes all the credit 
 to himself." 
 
 " I should really have liked to have heard 
 Father Cobb treat the subject," said Mrs. 
 Small, rising to go, and nodding to her hus- 
 band. " 'T was a grand theme. But 't was a 
 real chance for the new minister. Such an 
 opportunity doesn't happen not once in a 
 lifetime." 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, on his 
 way home from the post-office, the minister 
 stopped in at Dr. Hunter's office. The Doctor 
 was reading a newspaper. 
 
 Mr. Holt took a chair in silence. 
 
 The Doctor laid down the paper and eyed 
 him quizzically, and then slowly shook his 
 head. 
 
 " I don't know about you ministers," he 
 said. "I attended the funeral; I heard the 
 biographical discourse; I understand it gave 
 great satisfaction; I have reflected on it over 
 night ; and now, what I want to know is, 
 
GREAT OPPORTUNITY. 305 
 
 what on earth there was in it about Uncle 
 Capen." 
 
 The minister smiled. 
 
 "I think," he replied, " that all that I said 
 about Uncle Capen was strictly true." 
 
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