o - ■'■ c vU FORM I A LOS ANGt;Liii> LIBRARY CONTENTS. Pagb A Christmas Caeol Charles Dkhns . . 7 • The Haunted Crust .... Kathenne Smmden ■ 51 • A DiSSEKTATION XIPON ROAST PiG Charles Lamb ... 85 • The Total Depravitt of Inani- mate Things Mrs. E. a. Walker . 95 , The Skeleton in the Closet . Edward Everett Hale . 112 « Sandy Wood's Sepulchre . . Hugh Miller . . . 127 ♦ A Visit to the Asylum for Aged AND Decayed Punsters . . Oliver Wendell Holmes 135 ' Mr. Tibbot O'Leary, THE Curious Gerald Griffin . . . 145 « NeaL Malone William Carleton . . 188 , A CHRISTMAS CAROL. BY CHARLES DICKENS, . STAVE\ONE. MARLEY S GHOST. IIAELEY was dead, to begm with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door -nail. Scrooge knew he was dead ? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise ? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, liis sole friend, his sole mourner. Scrooge never painted out old Marley's name, how- ever. There it yet stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door, — Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. He answered to both names. It was all the same to him. O LITTLE CLASSICS. Oh ! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstonej was Scrooge ! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scrap- ing, clutching, covetous old sinner ! External heat and cold had little influence on him. No warmth could warm, no cold could chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its pur- pose, no pelting raiu less open to entreaty. Foul weather did n't know where to have him. The heaviest rain and snow and hail and sleet could boast of the advantage over hiT-n in only one respect, — they often " came down " handsomely, and Scrooge never did. Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me ? " No beggars imploi^d him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life in- quired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him ; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts ; and then would wag their tails as though they said, " No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master ! " But what did Scrooge care ! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge. Once upon a time — of all the good days in the year, upon a Christmas eve — old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting, foggy weath- er ; and the city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already. • * ^un mmM sohbol A CHRISTMAS CAROL. ■ ^ 9 """*""^, «-os A//ge/es, Qai. The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who, iu a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked hke one coal. But he could n't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room ; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle ; in which effort, not beiug a man of a strong imagination, he failed. " A merry Christmas, uncle ! God save you ! " cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon Hm so quickly that this was the fijrst in- timation Scrooge had of his approach. " Bah ! " said Scrooge ; " humbug ! " " Christmas a humbug, uncle ! You don't mean that, I am sure ? " "I do. Oat upon merry Christmas ! "WTiat 's Christ- mas time to you but a time for paying bills without money ; a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer ; a time for balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you ? If I had my wiU, every idiot who goes about with ' Merry Christmas ' on his hps should be boiled with his own pudding, and bur- ied with a stake of holly through his heart ! He should ! " "Uncle!" "Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine." 1* 10 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Keep it ! But you don't keep it." "Let me leave it alone, then. Mucli good may it do you ! Much good it has ever done you ! " " There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, — apart from the veneration due to its sacred origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that, — as a good time ; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time ; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to tliiuk of people below them as if they really were fellow-travellers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or sUver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good ; and I say, God bless it!" The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. " Let me hear another sound from ^ok," said Scrooge, " and you '11 keep your Christmas by losuig your situa- tion ! — You 're quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. " I wonder you don't go mto Parliament." " Don't be angry, uncle. Come ! Dine with us, to- morrow." Scrooge said that he would see him — yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first. " But why ? " cried Scrooge's nephew. " Why ? " A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 11 " Wliy did you get married ? " " Because I fell iu love." " Because you fell in love ! " growled Scrooge, as if that were the only oue thing in the world more ridicu- lous than a merry Christmas. " Good afternoon ! " " Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now ? " " Good afternoon." " I want nothing from you ; I ask nothing of you ; why camiot we be friends ? " " Good afternoon." " I am sorry, vdth all my heart, to find you so reso- lute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle ! " " Good afternoon ! " " And A Happy New-Year ! " " Good afternoon ! " His nephew left the room without an angry word, not- withstanding. The clerk, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people m. They were portly gen- tlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him. ^, " Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one dK the gentlemen, referring to his list. " Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley ? " " Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. He died seven years ago, this very night." 12 LITTLE CLASSICS. "At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman, taking up a pen, " it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight pro- vision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in -want of com- mon necessaries ; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir." " Are there no prisons ? " " Plenty of prisons. But under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the unoffending multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time of all others when Want is keenly felt and Abundance rejoices. What shall I jjut you down for ? " " Nothing ! " " You wish to be anonymous ? " "I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the prisons and the workhouses, — they cost enough, — and those who are badly off must go there." " Many can't go there ; and many would rather die." " If they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population." At lengtli the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. Witli an ill-will Scrooge, dismounting fi-om his stool, tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 13 " You '11 want all day to-morrow, I suppose ? " " If quite convenient, sir." " It 's not convenient, and it 's not fair. If I was to stop half a crown for it, you 'd think youi'self mightily ill-used, I '11 be bound ? " " Yes, sir." " And yet you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's wages for no work." " It 's only once a year, sir." " A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty -fifth of December ! But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here aU the earlier 7iext moru' ing." The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The ofBice was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honor of its being Christmas eve, and then ran home as hard as he could pelt, to play at blind-man's-buff. Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melan- choly tavern ; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker's book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard. The building was old enough now, and dreary enough; for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices. Now it is a fact, that there was nothing at aU particu' 14 LITTLE CLASSICS. lar about the knocker on the door of this house, except that it was very large ; also, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place ; also, that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London. And yet Scrooge, havhig his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its imdergoing any intermediate process of change, not a knocker, but Marley's face. Marley's face, with a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but it looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look, — with ghostly spectacles turned up upon its ghostly fore- head. As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again. He said, " Pooh, pooh ! " and closed the door with a bang. The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and every cask in the wine-mer- chant's cellars below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs. Slowly, too, trim- ming his candle as he went. Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for its being very dark. Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge hked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that. Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room, all as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa ; a small fire in the grate ; spoon and basin ready ; and the A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 15 little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody under the bed ; nobody in the closet ; nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber- room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish-bas- kets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker. Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in ; double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against sui-prise, he took off his cravat, put on his dressing-gown and slippers and his night- cap, and sat down before the very low fire to take his gruel. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated, for some purpose now forgotten, with a chamber in the highest stoiy of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that, as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. Soon it rang out loudly, and so did evei"y bell in the house. This was succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the vrine-merchant's cellar. Then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors be- low ; then coming up the stairs ; then coming straight towards his door. It came on through the heavy door, and a spectre passed into the room before his eyes. And iipon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, " I know him ! Marley's ghost ! " The same face, the very same. Marley in his pigtail. 16 LITTLE CLASSICS. usual waistcoat, tiglits, and boots. His body was trans- parent; so that Scrooge, observing liim, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now. No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him, — though he felt the chilling in- fluence of its death-cold eyes, and noticed the very tex- ture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, — he was still incredulous. " How now ! " said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. " What do you want with me ? " " Much ! " — Marley's voice, no doubt about it. " Wlio are you ? " " Ask me who I was." " Who were you, then ? " " In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley." " Can you — can you sit down ? " " I can." " Do it, then." Scrooge asked the question, because he did n't know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair ; and felt that, in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassmg explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. " You don't believe in me." " r don't." A CHEISTMAS CAROL. 17 " Wliat evidence would you liave of my reality beyond that of your senses ? " " I don't know." " Why do you doubt your senses ? " "Because a little thing affects them. A slight dis- order of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There 's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are ! " Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel in his heart by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his horror. But how much greater was his horror when, the phan- tom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear in-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast ! " Mercy ! Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me ? Why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me ? " " It is required of every man, that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide ; and if that spirit goes not forth in Hfe, it is condemned to do so after death. I cannot tell you all I would. A very little more is permitted to me. I can- not rest, I cannot stay, I camiot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our couuting-house, — mark me ! — in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole ; and weary journeys lie before me ! " B 18 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Seven years dead. And travelling all the time ? You travel fast ? " " On the wings of the wind." " You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years." " O blind man, blind man ! not to know that ages of incessant labor by immortal creatures for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is suscep- tible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kmdly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused ! Yet I was like this man ; I once was Uke this man ! " " But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to him- self. " Business ! " cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. " Mankind was my business. The conmion welfare was my business ; charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my business. The deahngs of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business." Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly. " Hear me ! My time is nearly gone." " I will. But don't be hard upon me ! Don't be flow- ery, Jacob ! Pray ! " " I am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer." A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 19 " You -were always a good friend to me. Thank'ee ! " " You -will be haunted by Three Spirits." " Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob ? I — I think I 'd rather not." " Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow night, when the bell toUs One. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third, upon the next night, when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more ; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us ! " It walked backward from him ; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that, when the apparition reached it, it was wide open. Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. Scrooge tried to say, " Humbug ! " but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emo- tion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the invisible world, or the duU conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose, he went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep on the instant. 20 LITTLE CLASSICS. STAVE TWO. THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS. When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that, looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber, until suddenly the church clock tolled a deep, duU, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn aside by a strange figure, — like a child : yet not so like a child as hke an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child's proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age ; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand ; and, in singu- lar contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of hght, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm. "Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me ? " "lam!" " Who and what are you ? " " I am the Ghost of Christmas Past." A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 21 "Long past?" " No. Your past. The things that you mil see with me are shadows of the things that have been ; they will have no consciousness of us." Scrooge then made bold to inquire what busiaess brought him there. " Your welfare. Rise, and walk with me ! " It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes ; that the bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing ; that he was clad but hghtly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap ; and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to be resisted. He rose ; but, finding that the Spirit made towards the win- dow, clasped its robe in supplication. " I am a mortal, and liable to faU." "Bear but a touch of my hand ihere," said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this ! " As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood in the busy thoroughfares of a city. It was made plain enough by the dressing of the shops that here, too, it was Christmas time. The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it. " Know it ! Was I apprenticed here ! " They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk that, if he liad been two inches taUcr, he must have knocked his bead agauist the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excite 2'2 LITTLE CLASSICS. meiit, " Why, it 's old Fezziwig ! Bless his heart, it 's Fezziwig, alive again ! " Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands ; adjusted his capacious waistcoat ; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice, " Yo ho, there ! Ebenezer ! Dick ! " A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow- 'prentice. " Dick Wilkins, to be sure ! " said Scrooge to the Ghost. "My old fellow-'prentice, bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick ! Dear, dear ! " " Yo ho, my boys ! " said Fezziwig. " No more work to-night. Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let 's have the shutters up, before a man can say Jack Robinson ! Clear away, my lads, and let 's have lots of room here ! " Clear away ! There was nothing they would n't have cleared away, or could n't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from pubUc life forevermore ; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire ; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night. In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 23 b'Jce fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezzi- wigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend the milkman. In they all came one after another ; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way 5 down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place ; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there ; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. Wheu this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, " Well done ! " and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose. There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince- pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Boast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up " Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too ; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them ; three or four and twenty pair of partners ; people 24 LITTLE CLASSICS. who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking. But if they had been twice as many, — four times, — old Tezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Pezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner iu every sense of the term. A positive hght appeared to issue from Tezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance. You could n't have predicted, at any given time, what would become of 'em next. And when old Eezziwig and Mrs. Tezziwig had gone all through the dance, — advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle, and back again to your place, ■ — Fezziwig " cut," — cut so deftly, that he appeared to wiuk with his legs. When the clock struck eleven this domestic baU broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side the door, and, shaking hands with every per- son individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them ; and thus the cheerfid voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds, which were under a comiter iu the back shop. "A small matter," said the Ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of gratitude. He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money, — three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he desei'ves tliis praise ? " " It is n't that," said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter self, — " it is n't that, Spirit. lie has the power to ren- A CHmSTMAS CAROL. 25 der us happy or imliappy ; to make our service light or burdensome, a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks ; iu things so shght and insig- nificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up : what then? The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune." He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped. " What is the matter ? " " Nothing particular." " Something, I think ? " " No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That 's all." " My time grows short," observed the Spirit. " Quick ! " This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again he saw himself. He was older now ; a man in the prime of life. He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a black dress, in whose eyes there were tears. " It matters little," she said softly to Scrooge's former self. "To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me ; and if it can comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve." " What Idol has displaced you ? " "A golden one. You fear the world too much. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, untU the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not ? " " Wliat then ? Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you. Have I wer sought release from our engagement ? " " In words, no. Never." VOL. V. 2 26 LITTLE CLASSICS. "In what, then?" "In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in an- other atmosphere of life ; another Hope as its great end. If you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I beheve that you would choose a dowerless girl; or, choosing her, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow ? I do ; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were." " Spirit ! remove me from this place." "I told you these were shadows of the things that have been," said the Ghost. " That they are what they are, do not blame me ! " " Remove me ! " Scrooge exclaimed. " I cannot bear it ! Leave me ! Take me back. Haunt me no longer ! " As he struggled with the Spirit he was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsi- ness ; and, further, of behig in his o^vn bedroom. He had barely time to reel to bed before he sank into a heavy sleep. STAVE THREE. THE SECOND OF THE THKEE SPIRITS. Scrooge awoke in his own bedroom. There was no doubt about that. But it and his own adjoinhig sitting- room, into which he shuffled in his slippers, attracted by a great light there, had undergone a surprising trans- formation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove. The leaves A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 27 of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the hght, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there ; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped upon the floor, to form a kuid of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum- puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry- cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and great bowls of punch. In easy state upon this couch there sat a Giant glorious to see ; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and who raised it high to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door. " Come in, — come in ! and know me better, man ! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. Look upon me ! You have never seen the like of me before ! " "Never." " Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family ; meanmg (for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years ? " pursued the Phan- tom. " I don't think I have, I am afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers. Spirit ? " " More than eighteen hundred." "A tremendous family to provide for! Spirit, con- duct mc where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it." a 5 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Touch my robe ! " Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. The room and its contents all vanished instantly, and they stood in the city streets upon a snowy Christmas morning. Scrooge and the Ghost passed on, invisible, straight to Scrooge's clerk's; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smded, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen "Bob" a week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name ; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house ! Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons ; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and, getting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own ; and, basking m luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, al- though his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 29 the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled. " What has ever got your precious father, then ? " said Mrs. Cratcliit. "And your brother Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas day by half an hour ! " " Here 's Martha, mother ! " said a gii'l, appearing as she spoke. " Here 's Martha, mother ! " cried the two young Cratchits. " Hurrah ! There 's such a goose, Martha ! " " Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are ! " said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her. " We 'd a deal of work to finish up last night," re- pHed the girl, " and had to clear away this morning, mother ! " " Well ! Never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. " Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm. Lord bless ye ! " " No, no ! There 's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, who were evex-ywhere at once. " Hide, Martha, hide ! " So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hangmg down before him ; and his thread- bare clothes darned up and brashed, to look seasonable ; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a Uttle crutch, and had his Umbs supported by an iron frame ! " Why, where 's our Martha ? " cried Bob Cratchit, lookins round. 30 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Not coming," said Mrs. Cratclii^. " Not coming ! " said Bob, with a sudden declension in liis liigli spirits ; for lie had been Tim's blood-horse all the way from church, aud had come home rampant, ■ — " not coming upon Christmas day ! " Martha did n't Uke to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke ; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, aud ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, aud bore liim off into the wash-house that he might hear the puddiug singing in the copper. " And how did little Tim behave ? " asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content. " As good as gold," said Bob, " and better. Some- how he gets thoughtfid, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleas- ant to them to remember, upon Christmas day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see." Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire ; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs, — as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby, — compomided some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the A CHRISTMAS CAUOL. 31 hob to simmer, Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot ; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor ; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce ; Martha dusted the hot plates ; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table ; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along .the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast ; but when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried. Hurrah ! There never was such a goose. Bob said he did n't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its ten- derness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family ; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last ! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows ! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the 32 LITTLE CLASSICS. room alone, — too nervovis to bear witnesses, — to take the pudding up, and bring it in. Suppose it should not be done enough ! Suppose it should break in turning out ! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose, — a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid ! All sorts of horrors were supposed. Hallo ! A great deal of steam ! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day ! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pas- try-cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that ! That was the pudding ! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered, — flushed but smiling proudly, — with the pudding, like a speckled cannon- ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half a quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. O, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly, too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit smce their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for : a large family. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing. At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 33 Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, and at Bob Cratcliit's elbow stood the family display of glass, — two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done ; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and crackled noisily. Then Bob proposed : — " A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us I " Which all the family re-echoed. " God bless us every one ! " said Tiny Tim, the last of aU. He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hfind in his, as if he loved the chUd, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him. Scrooge raised his head speedily, on hearing his own name. " Mr. Scrooge ! " said Bob ; " I '11 give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Peast ! " "The Founder of the Feast, indeed!" cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. " I wish I had him here. I 'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he 'd have a good appetite for it." " My dear," said Bob, " the children ! Christmas day." " It should be Christmas day, I am sure," said she, " on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert ! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow ! " 2* . 34 LITTLE CLASSICS, " My dear," was Bob's mild answer, " Christmas day." " I '11 driiik his health for your sake aud the day's," said Mrs. Cratchit, " not for his. Long life to him ! A meiTy Chx'istmas and a happy New Year ! He '11 be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt ! " The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness in it. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he did n't care two- pence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes. After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five and sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man of business ; and Peter him- self looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular invest- ments he should favor when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor ap- prentice at a milliner's, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morn- ing for a good long rest ; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord " was much about as tail as Peter " ; at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you could n't have seen his head if A CHUISTMAS CAEOL. 85 you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round ; and by and by they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed. There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family ; they were not well dressed ; their shoes were far from being water-proof ; their clotlies were scanty; and Peter might have Icnown, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time ; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at part- ing, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last. It was a great surprise to Scrooge, as this scene van- ished, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same nephew. It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laugh- ter and good-humor. When Scrooge's nephew laughed, Scrooge's niece 1)y marriage laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends, being not a bit behindhand, laughed out lustily. " He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live ! " cried Scrooge's nephew. " He believed it too ! " " More shame for liim, Fred ! " said Scrooge's niece. 36 LITTLE CLASSICS. indignantly. Bless those women ! they never do any- thing by halves. They are always in earnest. She was very pretty, exceeduigly pretty. With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face ; a ripe httle mouth that seemed made to be kissed, — as no doubt it was ; all kinds of good Uttle dots about her dim, that melted into one another when she laughed ; and the sun- niest pair of eyes you ever saw in any httle creature's head. Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, but satisfactory, too. 0, perfectly satisfac- tory ! " He 's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nenhew, " that 's the truth ; and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him. Who suffers by his ill whims ? Himself, always. Here he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. Wliat 's the consequence ? He don't lose much of a dinner." " Indeed, I think he loses a very good diimer," inter- rupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, with the dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamp- light. "Well, I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, "because I haven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. Wliat do you say. Topper ? " Topper clearly had his eye on one of Scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right to express an opinion on the A CHRISTMAS CAROL. '67 subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece's sister — the plump one with the lace tucker, not the one with the roses — blushed. After tea they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I can assure you, — espe- cially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his fore- head, or get red in the face over it. But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After a while they played at forfeits ; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christ- mas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself. There was first a game at bluid-man's-buif, though. And I no more believe Topper was really blinded than I be- lieve he had eyes in his boots. Because the way in. which he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down the fire-irons, tumblmg over the chairs, bumphig up against the piano, smothering himself among the curtains, wherever she went there went he ! He always knew where the plump sister was. He would n't catch anybody else. If you had fallen up against him, as some of them did, and stood there, he would have made a feint of endeavoring to seize you, which would have been an aifront to your understanding, and would instantly have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. "Here is a new game," said Scrooge. "One half- hour, Spirit, only one ! " It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's 38 LITTLE CLASSICS. nepliew had to tliink of something, and the rest must find out what ; he only auswermg to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The fire of questioning to which he was exposed ehcited from him that he was thiukiag of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and hved in London, and walked about the streets, and was n't made a show of, and was n't led by anybody, and did n't hve in a menagerie, and was. never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every new ques- tion put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter ; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obhged to get up oif the sofa and stamp. At last the plump sister cried out, — " I have found it out ! I know what it is, Fred ! 1 know what it is ! " " What is it ? " cried Fred. " It 's your uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge ! " Which it certauily was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some olDJected that the reply to "Is it a bear ? " ought to have been " Yes." Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have drank to the uncon- scious company in an inaudible speech. But the whole scene passed off ia the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew ; and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels. Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 39 stood beside sick-beds, and they were cheerful ; on for- eigu lands, and they were close at home ; by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope ; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts. Suddenly, as they stood together in an open place, the bell struck twelve. Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it no more. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he re- membered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and, lift- ing up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along the ground towards him. STAVE FOUR. THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS. The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee ; for in the air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which con- cealed its head, its face, its form, and left no tiling of it visible save one outstretched hand. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved. " I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come ? Ghost of the Future ! I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your 40 LITTLE CLASSICS. purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. WiU you not speak to me ? " It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them. " Lead ou ! Lead on ! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on. Spirit ! " They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them. But there they were in the heart of it ; ou 'Change, amongst the mer- chants. The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk. "No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, " I don't know much about it either way. I only know he^'s dead." " When did he die ? " inquired another. " Last night, I believe." "Why, what was the matter with him? I thought he 'd never die." " God knows," said the first, with a yawn. " What has he done with his money ? " asked a red- faced gentleman. " I have n't heard," said the man with the large chin. " Company, perhaps. He has n't left it to me. That 's all I know. By, by ! " Scrooge was at first iuclhied to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversation appar- ently so trivial; but feeling assured that it must have A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 41 some hidden purpose, he set liimself to consider what it was likely to be. It could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that %yas Past, and this Ghost's province was the Future. He looked about in that very place for his own image ; but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no Likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however ; for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and he thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this. Th'jy left this busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, to a low shop where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy offal were bought. A gray- haired rascal, of great age, sat smoking his pipe. Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunlc into the shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came iu too; and she was closely followed by a man in faded black. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with, the pipe had joined them, they aU three burst into a laugh. " Let the charwoman alone to be the first ! " cried she who had entered first. " Let the laundress alone to be the second ; and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here 's a chance ! If wc have n't all three met here without meaning it ! " " You could n't have met in a better place. You were 42 LITTLE CLASSICS. made free of it long ago, you know ; and the otlier two ain't strangers. What have you got to sell? What have you got to sell ? " " Half a minute's patience, Joe, and you shall see." " What odds then ! What odds, Mrs. Dilber ? " said the woman. "Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did ! "VVho 's the worse for the loss of a few things like these ? Not a dead man, I suppose." Mrs. Dilber, whose manner was remarkable for gen- eral propitiation, said, " No, indeed, ma'am." " If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw, why was n't he natural in his hfetime ? If he had been, he 'd liave had somebody to look after Lim when he was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself." "It's the truest word that ever was spoke; it's a judgment on him." " I wish it was a httle heavier judgment, and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I 'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it." Joe went down on his knees for the greater conven- ience of opening the bundle, and dragged out a large and heavy roU of some dark stuff". " What do you call this ? Bed-curtains ! " "Ah! Bed-curtains! Don't drop that oil upon the blankets, now." "J/« blankets?" " Whose else's, do you think ? He is n't likely to take A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 43 cold without 'em, I dare say. Ah! You may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won't fiud a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It 's the best he had, and a fine one too. They 'd have wasted it by dressing him up in it, if it had n't been for me." Scrooge listened to this dialogue in hoiTor. " Spirit ! I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. ]\Iy life tends that way now. Merciful Heaven, what is this ? " The scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bare, uncurtained bed. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon this bed; and on it, luiwatched, unwept, uucared for, was the body of this plundered un- known man. " Spirit, let me see some tenderness connected with a death, or this dark cliamber. Spirit, will be forever pres- ent to me." The Ghost conducted him to poor Bob Cratchit's house, — the dwelling he had visited before, — and found the mother and the cliildren seated round the fire. Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before liim. The mother and her daughters were engaged in needlework. But surely they were very quiet '. "'And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them.' " Where bad Scrooge heard those words ? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as be and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go ou ? 44 LITTLE CLASSICS. The motlier laid lier work upon tlie table, and put her hand up to her face. " The color hurts my eyes," she said. The color ? Ah, poor Tmy Tim ! " They 're better now again. It makes them weak by candle-light ; and I would n't show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his time." "Past it, rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. " But I think he has walked a little slower than he used, these few last eveuiugs, mother." "I have known him walk with — I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon liis shoulder, very fast indeed." "And so have I," cried Peter. "Often." "And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all. " But he was very hght to carry, and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble, — no trouble. And there is your father at the door ! " She hurried out to meet him ; and little Bob in his comforter — he had need of it, poor fellow — came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child, a little cheek against his face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved ! " Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said. " Sunday ! You went to-day, then, Robert ? " A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 45 " Yes, my dear," retiu'ned Bob. " I wish you coixld have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you '11 see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child ! My Uttle child ! " He broke down all at once. He could n't help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart, perhaps, than they were. " Spectre," said Scrooge, " somethmg informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was, with the covered face, whom we saw lying dead ? " The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him to a dismal, wretched, ruinous churchyard. The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. " Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you pouit, answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of the things that May be only ? " Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. "Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me ! " The Spirit was immovable as ever. Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went ; and, following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, — Ebenezer Scrooge. " AxQ / that man who lay upon the bed ? No, Spirit ! 46 LITTLE CLASSICS. no, no ! Spirit ! heai* me ! I am not the man I was. 1 will not be tlie man I must have been but for this in- tercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope ? Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life." Por the first time the kind hand faltered. " I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. 0, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone ! " Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed,, and dwindled down into a bedpost. Yes, and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in ! He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist, no night ; clear, bright, stirring, golden day. " What 's to-day ? " ci'ied Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. " En ? " " What 's to-day, my fine fellow ? " " To-day ! Why, Christmas day." " It 's Christmas day ! I have n't missed it. Hallo, my fine fellow ! " A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 47 « Hallo ! " " Do you know tlie Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner ? " " I should hope I did." " An intelhgent boy ! A remarkable boy ! Do you know whether they 've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there ? Not the little prize Tui'key, — • the big one ? " " What, the one as big as me ? " " What a delightful boy ! It 's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck ! " " It 's hanging there now." " Is it ? Go and buy it." " Walk-EE ! " exclaimed the boy. "No, no, I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I '11 give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes, and I '11 give you half a crown ! " The boy was off like a shot. " I 'II send it to Bob Cratchit's ! He sha' n't know who sends it. It 's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be ! " The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one; but write it he did, somehow, and went down stairs to open the street door, ready for the com- ing of the poulterer's man. " It was a Turkey ! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of seaUng-wax. 48 LITTLE CLASSICS. Scrooge dressed himself " all in liis best," and at last got out into the streets. The people vrere by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present ; and, walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humored fellows said, " Good morning, sir ! A merry Christmas to you ! " And Scrooge said often afterwards, that, of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears. In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew's house. He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it. " Is your master at home, my dear ? " said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl ! Very. "Yes, sir." " Where is he, my love ? " "He 's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress." " He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. " I '11 go in here, my dear." " Fred ! " " Why, bless my soul ! " cried Ered, " who 's that ? " " It 's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to din- ner. Will you let me in, Fred ? " Let liim in ! It is a mercy he did n't shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when ke came. So did the j^hinip sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Won- A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 49 derful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness ! But he was early at the oifice next morning. 0, he was early there ! If lie could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late ! That was the thmg he had set his lieart upon. And he did it. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. Bob was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come mto the Tank. Bob's hat was off before he opened the door ; his com- forter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy ; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. " Hallo ! " growled Scrooge in his accustomed voice, as near as he coidd feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day ? " " I am very sorry, sir. I am behind my time." " You are ? Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if you please." " It 's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir." " Now, I '11 tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," Scrooge continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again, — "and therefore I am about to raise your salary ! " Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. "A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped VOL. V. 3 D 50 LITTLE CLASSICS. Mm on the back. " A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year ! I '11 raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very after- noon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob ! Make up the fires, and buy a second coal-scuttle before you dot another i. Bob Cratchit ! " Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more ; and to Tiny Tim, who did Is'ot die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, iovra, or borough in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him ; but his own heart laughed, and that ■was quite enough for him. He had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived in that respect upon the total-abstiueuce principle ever afterward ; and it was always said of hiui, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us ! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one ! Note. — The shorter version of the Christmas Caeol, condensed by Dickens himself for his public readings, has been chosen for use here, both because this collection is partly intended for social readings and be- cause in the editor's opinion the condensation improved the story. — =, y^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^te !r^ i^ ^-^^^ii^^^^x ^ %^S^^^ rfv? ^^^p^ ^ 1 k S^\^#'^F%snSi^'^^'X: '^^^^^\'patiently to her complaining, pitying her from the bottom of his kind, simple heart, and wonderiug if ever a woman, let her be saint, martyr, or what, had as much to put up with as his Nance. He had one trouble of his own, though, had Jen-y. Where was Mercy these Saturday nights ? Tramping through the mud and mire, taking home the work as fast as he could do it ? As fast as he could do it : yes, but Mercy was not so quick gone on these errands as she used to be, and poor Jerry noticed it ; and had queer, uneasy thoughts about it, that made him stick his awl into his thumb sometimes. And so I found him that Saturday night, sitting sweating over his work, in the steam and smoke, and pondering these things concerning Mercy. I made the best of my way among the wet clothes to liim, after speaking to Nauce and the children. "Ah, Matthew," he said, with a shake back of his matted hair and a hghtening up of his pale face, '-'all the complhnents of the season to you for coming to see us in this family kind o' way. You must take us as we are, you know ; we don't make no stranger of you, do we, Nauce ? "WiU you clear a chair for IMatthsw, my dear ? and I dare say he '11 be so good as to hold the little 'un for you." " No, thank you, Jerry ; I 'm much beholden to you, but I 'd rather be excused," says I. " Me hold a baby, 64 LITTLE CLASSICS, indeed ! No, no ; that 's a thing I never coxild do. In the fii'st place, I never can guess how far a child comes down to in its long-clothes ; and if you go to stretch your arms out, takmg it to be taller than it is, it '11 slip through 'em ; or if you go to take it by the middle, the head will hang down and bring on convulsions or some- thing." So I let Jerry's baby alone, and took a chair, and while I was talking to him stuck my pockets out behind, to show the mince-meat pies and oranges. It was n't long before they were found out; for soon, instead of fretting and whining, you could hear nothing but suck- ing and munching all over the room; and then by de- grees came the whole lot hanging about my knees, and looking up at me with their big eyes as if I was the most wonderful old boy that ever hvcd. I don't like children, I never did ; but I liked to feel Jerry's chil- dren pick my pockets. " So you 've got a new landlord, Jerry ? " I said to him. Jerry looked up from the thread be was waxing, quite astonished. " Have n't you heard that old Harroway said good by to us all last night ?" says I. "No," said Jerry. " Well, he did ; he died at his sister's farm at Basset." "And who '11 be our landlord now ? " asked Jerry. "Who? Wliy, who but his son," said I, "young Dan o' the water?" Jerry laid down the boot he was welting, and sat considering, drawing up his little knees, and winding his piece of waxed thread round and round them. THE HAUNTED CUUST. 65 "Matthew," lie said presently, in a low voice, so that Nance should n't hear him, " I 'm sorry. I 'm sorrier for this yer than I can tell you." "And why, Jerry?" I asked him. "Because," says he, taking- up his boot again, and sticking it bstween his knees, sole upwards, and bringmg his fist down upon the sole with all his might, " I 'd rather Dan Harroway be obUgated to me for a sound lickin', than I 'ud be obhgated to him for the standiu' over of half a year's rent, as '11 have to be the case now. Poor old Harroway, he must have foresaw as his end was nigh, for he 's let me alone since the spring, and not worrited me once." Ay, thhiks I, Dan could tell you two stories to that one, but I only said, — " It appears to me, Jerry Rouse, you 're a shade too hard on that lad, — that Dan Harroway; it does, now." " Well, I 'm sorry if I am, and I 'm wilhn' to give him every excuse, so long as he keeps out o' my way. He may mend some time or other, but I ain't much hopes myself o' such a character ; he 's had too much to do with the water for me." "Why, man aUve, what harm could the water do him ? " says I. " What harm ? " says Jerry ; " why, it 's my opinion as the first harm that ever was, was washed ashore by water. Ah, it 's a queer thing, and it 's the greatest pity as is that we can't do without it ; but we can't, I suppose. It 's one o' the necessities as came to us with the fall o' man. What harm is there in it, indeed ? Why, don't you suppose as the sarpint that tempted 66 LITTLE CLASSICS. Adam's missus was a sea-sarpint? o' course lie was; and I tell you there 's no couutin' the harm there is in water. Look at yer mud larks, and your river thieves, and your pierits, and then tell me as there 's no harm in water. And tliis Dan Harroway, — why, as I may say, he 's been bred to it. I mind him when he come up no higher than my knee, a chippin' httle boats out o' nothing one minute, and a pumpin' on hisself in the market-place at Basset another; and when I saw it, I always said as he 'd come to ruin. So he 's my landlord, is he ? Well, landlord or no landlord, let me catch him making eyes at my gal agen, that's all." " How do you know but what he means well by her, Jerry ? " said I. " Mean well by her ? " says Jerry ; " not he. No, no, whatever Dan is, he 's a bit above us ; though as for Mercy herself, a king niight mean well by her, for that matter. She has a face of her own, has Mercy, and a figure too, bless her. As Smihsh over the way says (for I can't never go to have a chat with Smilish now but what he begins spelhug and speerhig about her ; though, poor chap, he 's lived off a herring and a tater tliis fort- night, they say), ' She 's as pretty,' says Smilish, speak- in' o' Mercy, ' as a wilet, and she dou't know it no more 'an a wilet.' No more she don't; but I '11 warrant if Dan Harroway sets his evil eye upon her, she '11 know it soon enough. Halloa ! who 's that ? " It was Smihsh himself, poking his red head in at the door. " Talk of angels," said Jerry, " and — But, lor', man, what 's the matter with you ? Have you seen a ghost ? " THE HAUNTED CRUST. 67 "Come liere, Jerry Rouse," said Smilisli, beckoiiiug with his great haud. Jerry and I got up and went to the door. "Look there, Jerry Rouse," said Smilish, dragging him out and pointing up the court. Now, when I tell you the moon was so bright you could see the fish-scales sticking to Smilish's red hand as he pointed, you '11 see that there was no mistaking two figures which stood by the wall of a half-finished house at the top of the court. In that light, if they belonged to the parish at all, Jerry must know them. They did belong to the parish, and Jerry did know them. It was Dan and Mercy. They were holding hands, saying good by, as it seemed. We all three stood looking at them a minute or more, then Jerry took up the corner of his leather apron, and tucked it in the string that went round his waist, and went up the court to them. His house was number three, you know, so there was but the length of two houses to go. The two dropped each other's hands .as they saw him ; Mercy shrank back, but Dan stood up in his boots and faced him hke a man. " Mercy, my gal," said Jerry, laying his hand on her shoulder, and pointing to his wretched little place, " go home." And she went home, and Smihsh turned his face away. Then Jerry turned to Dan, and says he, — " Dan Harroway," says he, " you 're my landlord, as I hear, and I 'm half a year's rent in your del^t ; I don't want to see my little ones turned out ia the cold without 68 LITTLE CLASSICS. a roof to cover 'em, so I can't say exactly wliat I shotdd 'a' said to you if to-day liad been yesterday. All as I say now is, don't let me catch you talking to my gal agen." Now I tliiuk by Dan's face lie was going to make him a quiet answer, but as ill-luck would have it, who should pass tlie end of the court that minute but Jem Barnes and Stackleton, and a lot more of Dan's friends, on their way home from a card-party at the Water-Lily ; and of course when they caught sight of Dan and Jerry stand- ing like that, and knowing Dan's goings on with Mercy, of course they stopped to see the fun. Dan turned on his heel to go up to them. Jerry griped him by the coUar and jerked him back. " Dan Harroway," says he, " you don't go out o' this yer court till you 've giv me your promise as you '11 never speak another word to ray gal in your life." " Don't I ? " said Dan, wrenching himself away ; " we '11 see about that. Wliat, do you suppose I care for your girl ? and if I did, why, have n't J as much right to have my say to her as any one else ? " " I '11 tell you," said Jerry, his passion up as he heard all the young fellows laughing at him. " Because, Dan Harroway, yon have n't a rag to your back as belongs to you by good riglits, nor a drop o' blood in your body that 's been made by honest-earned wittles. You live by hook and by crook, spenditi' here and takin' there, and betting and gambling and drinking. They tell me as you 're proud, but I tell you, Dan Harroway, that me as cuts this yer poor figure by the side of you have got more pride in me 'an you have, for I 've got pride enough to keep me slaving and sweating in that 'ere hole as you THE HAUNTED CRUST. 69 calls yourself laudlord of, from year's end to year's end, ratheuer I 'd take a penny from the parish or any man aKve to go to the feed o' them little uns." " Then look you, Jerry Rouse," said Dan, flashing on him with his eyes as the young fellows came nearer, " you owe me two quarters' rent ; if you 've got the pride you 're telling of, pay it me down now." " I can't, you know it," Jerry said, with a groan ; "I'd give my head if I could." " Very well, you 'U beg my pardon for every word you 've said to me this night, or you '11 suffer for it. I '11 give you till over Christmas day ; if you have n't begged my pardon or paid down your rent by then, you turn out, bag and baggage." And Dan turned and walked away. " Stop a bit," said Jerry, following him and laymg his hand on his shoulder ; "do you promise me what I asked you about my gal ? " " No," said Dan Harroway, fiercely, " I don't ; is that plain ? " Jerry did n't answer him, but turned and walked home. " Mercy," he said, taking off his apron as he came in at the door, "put on your bonnet and come along o' me. I 'm a goin' to take you over to your grandmother's at Bassett, my wench. You can't bide here no longer." With a face white as a sheet, Mercy got a handker- chief and rolled up a few things in it ; among 'em I saw some dead flowers, and I knew by the long stalks what they were. Then she kissed 'em all round, and followed her father out of the door without speaking a word. 70 LITTLE CLASSICS. WTiat I 'm going to tell you now about Jerry, I did u't see myself, but he 's told it to me so many a time that I 've got it all before me as clear aud real as if I had seeu it, aud it had happened a week ago uistead of forty years. It was Christmas eve, theu, going on for eleven o' the clock ; Jerry sat by himself, iiuisliiug Jem Barnes's Sun- day boots, which he 'd beeu patching up. The candle stood on a three-legged stool in front of him, and every now and then Jerry would look at it, aud each time he looked at it, his fingers flew faster. There were two inches of caudle, aud there was what a quick man would call a good hoar's work. Two inches of candle and not a scrap more in the house, — not a scrap more, most likely, in all the court. Few houses, indeed, at GadshUl-in-the-rields had a scrap of bread in them that night, let alone candle or firiug. Two iuches of caudle aud a good hour's work to do ! It seemed as sure as fate the candle must go out before that work was done, yet Jerry looked at it and worked fiercer, — looked at it and worked fiercer. His dirty, pallid, flat-uaUed fingers flew, aud the caudle burned. It was a race that would have held your breath to watch, a race for life or death. If Jerry's fingers won it, it was life, — if the caudle won it, it was death ; for while he worked so that he could teU if one second was shorter weight than another, there came from the up-stairs room faint cries and wailings. Aud Jerry knew what it was. He had heard it iu many a house this winter ; but it had never beeu to his before. It was a wolf up there in that room, — a wolf gnawing THE HAUNTED CEUST. 71 away at liis seven little cMldren, and liis poor sick wife, — hunger it was, and it had come upon them sudden and savage, and Jerry knew that if it was n't driven off that night it must devour them all away from him, devour him too, and tlie only thing he could drive it away with was the shilling he would get when he took Jem Barnes's boots home. So he raced with the candle till the drops came out thick on his forehead. There was one inch now, and there was more than half au hour's work to do. The candle burned and the fingers flew, — • flew, ay, so fast, that every now and then Jerry felt in doubt as to whether they carried the thread along with them or not ; but if he stopped to fuid out, his race was lost, for the candle had nothiug to stop for, so he let 'em tremble and shake over the boot that was stuck between his knees. The fingers flew, and the caudle lourned ; the race was drawing to an end. The candle blazed up. JeiTy stuck his last stitch. The wick fell and went out. Jerry hugged his boot, and gave a great cry. His job was done. The moonlight falling through the dusty window showed him where his battered old hat lay on the chair. He snatched it up, and the fellow-boot, and ran out in his shirt-sleeves, calling up the dark narrow stairs as he went by them, — "Take the little uns to you, Nance, and keep 'em warm. I 've done it, and I '11 be back in a minute with some wittles." 72 LITTLE CLASSICS. "B^; iu a minute/' Jerry said; but it took Inm a sliarpfeli ruu to get to Jem Barnes's house in five. When he got there, there was n't a light to be seen in any of the windows. He knocked once. No one came. Twice, — still no one came. Jerry took hold of the knocker, aud thumped it down every two seconds fierce aud hard. Still no one came. By and by old Constable Mullinger turned up the street to see what the noise was about. " Are you gone mad ? " said he to Jerry. " Don't you see they 're all out ? Be off about your business, or I'U be helphig you with your knocking." Jerry reeled back into the middle of the road, and stared up at the house. He had never thought of this. Had he run his race ^vith the candle for nothmg ? No wonder old Mullinger thought he was mad, to see him standing there without his coat, his old hat stuck at the back of liis head, and his boots in his hand, staring at the dark windows. Soon the cold began to go through and through liim, aud he turned shivering and half stupe- fied, aud went back home. Going iu, he stumbled against the stairs and made a noise, aud then he stood listening, feeUng sure that all the seven little children would cry out to him for the food he had promised to be back with in a minute. No. All was still, — all except his own heart thump- ing away at the foot of the stairs. " They 've fell asleep," he said to himself; " they won't feel the wolf for a httle while, not perhaps till I get 'em ^some work'us bread in the morning." He Avould n't go up for fear of disturbing them, so he THE HAUNTED CRUST. 73 went and sat on liis bench in the dusky moonhdit, and took np a boot of Httle Tommy's and his awl, and tried to work, just for the sake of keeping himself from think- ing, and from feeling the gnawing at his inside. He woi'ked, but the thinking and the gnawing went on just the same. He worked, but the dark handsome face of Dan Har- roway kept coming between him and little Tommy's boot, making him grip his awl and breathe hard. He worked, but the loneliness and the gnawing made him get so light and sharp in his wits that he could n't sit still, so he stood up with his work in his hand. By and by he dropped the boot, and stood still, not breathing at all, with the awl in his hand. A thought had come to him, — a thought of how to muzzle the wolf. He went to the foot of the stairs and listened : still all was quiet. He kicked off his boots, and crept up, feeling by the damp wall. The door was open, and Jerry went in and stood in the middle of the room, look- ing at the row of ragged little beds that lay along the splin- tery floor. The moonlight fell upon each wizened sharp face, and each wizened dirty hand lying over the patch- work quilts. Now, while Jerry stood looking at them all with that dreadfid uncommon sharpness I told you of, which made him feel as if he could do anything in the world if he set his mind on it, he heard Nance muttering, and when he went to listen what she said, he found she was cursing him in her sleep for having married her. Jerry listened, and got all cold and stiff about the roots of his hair, and yQi<. V, 4 74 LITTLE CLASSICS. the room seemed to spin round and round Mm, — beds, door, patched window, with the big yellow moon staring in it, and all, — all seemed to spin round; and Jerry looked after the spinning beds, and then at the spiunmg moon, and wished it away. He gripped his awl hard and fast, and flung himself down by the first of the beds. Still it seemed spinning away from him, and he made a clutch at it with his left hand, and when he had got it, set his knee on it, then his left hand clutched a thin httle shoulder, clutched it so tight that there was a scream, and that scream woke Nance and all the rest ; and taking him to have come back with the victuals, they all set up a wailiug cry for joy, and stretched out their hands. And Jerry hfted up his head and looked at the empty thin hands and hungry faces, and pointed to his awl, and said to 'em, witli a great lift of his chest at every word, — " Look here, little uns, it 's earned your bread aU along, this yer, and if so be it can't am your bread any more, can't it — can't it put you to — to — to sleep, little uns — just to sleep — only to sleep?" He laid himself down on the bed. The bright tip of the awl glittered, and then was hidden in the clothes. He pressed himself closer and closer over the clnld, and his awl was in his hand under hun. There was just a touch — a cold, sharp touch — on a bony chest, only a touch ; and it was not Jerry's chest, yet it was Jeriy who leaped to his feet with ahuost a yell, as if a sword had gone through him, — leaped to his feet and cleared the dark stairs in two springs, and rashed out of the house door, and away up the court, without ever a bit of THE HAUNTED CRUST. 75 shoe to liis foot, or coat to Ms back, or cap to liis head ; rushed along towards the town-end of the court in his shirt and ragged trousers, and bare feet, and with his awl in his hand ; rushed as if a demon were after him ; rushed, and once he knocked huuself against a post, like a bhnd, wild anhnal. Then he ran on till he got to the end of the court and out into the street, — the dark, stiU street, and he saw one man in it, and he made up to him. The man turned, and, seeing Jerry coming towards him with his awl, so wild and strange, began to qvdcken his pace. But Jerry got up to him, and made a spring, and threw both his arms round him so violently that the man was felled to the ground. " Don't run away from me ! FeUer-creetur, brother, I got more on me nor I can bear, come and help me ! You sha' n't go away till you 've helped me ! " " Let me go," said the man, stniggliug, — " let me go free, will you ? " " Hah ! " cried Jerry ; and, looking down on his face, with his knee on his chest, and his awl raised above him, he saw it was Dan Harroway. The cause of all liis trouble that night was there under liis knee, and the awl wliich through him had been nearly turued against his little children was in his hand. Did n't it seem hke justice put into his own hands to deal ? The knee planted on Dan's chest shook, and the eyes looking down upon hun blazed like balls of lire. Dan ITaiTOway thought his last was come. Suddenly he felt the weight gone off his chest, and looking up he saw the back of a ragged figure, which seemed to be 76 LITTLE CLASSICS. wringing its hands, with the awl in them, and then he saw it run back down the dark court. Yes, Jerry was running back. He had been to the world for help, and it had sent him greater temjitation. Where was he to go now ? Now, whde Jerry rushed back down the dark quiet court, crying to himself, " Who '11 help me ? Is there nobody as '11 help me ? " there flashed upon him a recol- lection of a story he had heard, — a story which had al- ways struck him as being much too hard to believe in, and much too wonderful to be at all true ; but now, I say, the recollection of it struck upon him like a sudden light in his darkness. He began to run faster. He passed his own house. He came to the other end of the court, and out into the gi'cat brick-fields. Just before him was a high heap of bricks and stones and rubbish, where a house had been pulled down. Jerry had but one thought just then, he wanted to get high. He seemed as if he could n't get high enough for what he wanted. So he began to climb this mound, sticking his bare feet into the sharp stones and broken bricks till they bled, and helping himself up with his hands till they bled, and when he got to the very top he was weUuigh faintmg, and he fell upon his knees. The big, set moon seemed to be on a level with his head as it stared at him through two window-holes of a half-finished house, and it lighted everything ; the pool of black water below him, the frosted rushes growing round it, and the gray Ime of field rats passing from the cellar of one of the new houses to a hole in the clay- bank. THE HAUNTED CEUST. 77 Jerry threw iip Ms two arms, still holding the awl, and cried out as loud as ever he could cry in his faint- ness, — " If You as made me," says he, " can see me now ; if You knows me better than I knows You, come anigh me ! I don't arst You for myself. There 's somethin' a tearin' my inside hke a wild beast ; but that I can bear. What I arst You is, save my little uus from me ! Save Dan Harroway from me ! Come anigh me, wherever You are, and lay hold on this yer. I 'm only a poor human creetur, and there 's more put on me nor I can bear, an' it 's makin' a devil of me. I don't know how to get at You, I don't know no prayers ; but I tell You as I want You ; if ever any poor creetur You 've made ever wanted You, I do. O, come anigh me ! Come anigh me ! " Did anything come anigh him ? Jerry says as the wiud rose he heard a rustling all about the mound, like a swooping do^vu of great wings or garments, and his hand got loose, and the awl went whirUng down, and fell with a splash into the black water ; and Jerry, when he heard the splash, fell a-trembluig and hiding his face with liis two hands. He was n't alone, he says ; the sweep-down of wings and the talking in the wind went on. Por some time — how long he could n't tell — he seemed to be lifted right up out of his trouble, and he did n't feel the sharp stones under his knees ; and he stayed with those that seemed to have come about him till the moon went down in the window-hole. At last tlic bark of a dog made him remember himself, 78 LITTLE CLASSICS. and he looked up, and, finding liis awl gone, gave a great shout for joy. " You 've lieered me," he said, — " You 've heered me ; and I ain't alone, nor my little uus ain't alone ; they 've got a better father 'an me." Then he came down, shpping and sliding among the stones, and began to run home all shaking and close to the ground hke a lamb just out of the lion's jaw. As he ran, the dog he had heard bark came across his path with a crust of bread in his mouth, and Jen-y seized him by the nape, and took tlie crust fi-om him, and ran home to divide it amongst his children. When he had got in, though, that wild beast he had told of on the mound clawed him for it ; and he was just going to fall upon and devour it, and had got it be- tween his teethi when another wonderful old story, com- ing across him, made him stop and think. He cleared the table ; he moved all the rubbish on the floor on one side with his foot, and covered it over. Then he began looking about for some kind of a table- cloth. He found one, clean and white, in a drawer, and he felt ready to cry with gratefulness to Nance that she should have such a thing. He spread it on the table, and then he took his crust and laid it in the middle ; and after looking at it a long time, he went out softly and shut the door. He crawled up stairs once more, so faint that he could scarce drag one foot after the other. The cliildren were all awake, and waiUug still. Jerry went and took 'em up, and cuddled 'em oue by one in his poor tired arms, and said, with the tears running down his cheeks, — THE HAUNTED CRUST. 79 "Don't cry, little uns ; I 've been out and I could n't get you notliing, but coining back I see a dog with a crust in his mouth, and I lugged it away, and it hes on the table down below, and I 'm a goin' to arst Him as they say made seven loaves and five little fishes feed four thousand creeturs, if He won't make that 'ere little crust below enough to fill us all by mornin'. So go to sleep, little uns, and you, Nance, my woman, go to sleep, — go to sleep all ou you, and let Him do His will by that 'ere little crust ; and we '11 go down in the mornin' all together and see what we shall find." And Jerry went to he down himself, but somehow he felt as if he 'd no right to lie among them that night after his evil thoughts, so he went and stretched himself on the landing outside the threshold of the door, and by and by they all fell sound asleep. It was a cold place, was Jerry's. But the wind that whistled up the stairs and came up through every crack and cranny of the old boards only made him sleep the sweeter, for he dreamed it was the great wings that had come anigh him on the mound. And so they slept ; and there in the room below, all by itself in the moonlight, on the clean white table- cloth, lay The Cutjst. Now in the moniing Jerry woke with the sun on his face, and he got up and woke Nance and tlie children. . He helped Nance on with her things, for she was very sick, and dressed each of the httlc ones himself, and wliUe he dressed them, each had a different dream to tell him about the Crust, and the angels that were making 80 LITTLE CLASSICS. a feast for tliem out of it. Aud Jerry listened, feeling as if his heart would burst, for what could he say if they all went down and opened the door and found only the CutrsT ? Still he dare n't gainsay that there would be a feast. He washed them all, and made them kneel down and say the prayers Mercy had taught them, and he made the dressing and the prayers take as mucli time as he could, for he had great fear of going to the Crust. At last, shaking in every limb, he took up the two youngest, one on each arm, and went to the stairs, two more took hold of his coat, aud Nance dragged herself along after with the others, and so they all went slowly down. But when they had got to the foot of the stairs, and Jerry had laid his thumb on the latch of the room door, liis heart quite failed him, for he seemed to see, before he opened it, the Ckust lying there with the marks of the dog's teetli in it, and all just as he had left it overnight; so he turned and said to them, in a light kind of way, — " P'r'aps they have n't done yet, little uns. You won't be disappointed if so be they ain't ? " But seven pairs of black sharp eyes looked at him so suspicious and so keen, that Jerry thought he 'd better get the worst over at once, so he lifted the latch and pushed the door in. He gave one look into the room before him, and then turned back suddenly, as if he 'd had fire blown into his face. "Nance, Nance!" he said, "here's a judgment on us ! Here 's more 'n I can bear. O, look, old woman ! Down on your knees aud look. little uns, I did n't THE HAUNTED CRUST. 81 believe not half myself, — but come along ! come and look." The father and mother, on their knees outside the threshold, and the children clinging to them, all stared into the room. There was a feast spread on the cobbler's table. Ay, a delicate feast. There was white bread, and there was wine, and rich pasties, and in the middle, where the crust had lain, there was a shining sdver basket of bright Christmas fruit. It was a fair table, I can tell you, for I saw it. Yes, I was there, and I saw it. And I saw Jerry, too, kneehng with liis wife Nance, and the children on the threshold. " I knowed as You 'd heered me," cried Jerry, present- ly, lifting his big full eye to the grimy ceiling. " And whatever hand You ' ve done this by, human creetur's hand or not, me aud my little uus thanks You for it, and will never 'a' done thanking You for it, while there 's bi'cath in our bodies ; and I forgive Dan Harroway as You 've forgive me. I forgive him, and I 'm at peace with him, let him do what he likes." Just as they were gouig to get up from their knees, the Christmas waits ui the court began, and among them there was Nell Gwire and Alice Blane, the sweetest singers in all the country-side, and the music seemed to bold Jeny and the rest to their knees, for comiug just then it was like angels' voices giving them a welcome to the feast. Nance and him both began to cry and cUng together ; and then she, who had been a good singer iu her time, but had n't sung for temper for twenty years, began joining in, low and soft, with her face raised aud 4 * 1" 82 LITTLE CLASSICS. her black liair falling all about her to the ground ; and one at a time the little things caught up the tune and sung out loud and shrill, like starved sparrows at the sight of raiu. So loud aud shrill and piercing that I could n't stand it long, but went and picked them up and brought them into the room. When they all came in, treading as if the ground was n't common ground, Jerry- saw me and said, — " Is this yer doings, Matthew ? " says he ; aud I said, "No." "Then," says Jeny, "tell me what man's doings it is, that I may thank him, and that all my little uus may thank him." " Jerry," said I, taking him apart, " when you run out in your sore trouble last night, you met a man." " Ay ! " says Jerry, looking at me hard. " You threw him down and told him your ti'ouble, and before he had got free of his first fright, you saw who he was and left him." " Ay," said Jerry again, with a shudder. " You went up a mound in the brick-fields ? " "Ay." "You went up and told your trouble to some one else. You did n't see that man following you aud hsten- ing to you ? No. Nor you did n't see that man lookmg at you through that window, when you laid your crust out." " No," said Jerry. " Well, he saw you, then ; he saw all, and he came and knocked me up out of my bed, and we went in the night to Bassett aud fetched Mercy. And that man fetched THE HAUNTED CRUST. 83 tlie best silver plate out of liis father's house, and the best Christmas pasties aud wiue, aud we three laid the feast together." "And where is that man ? " said Jerry, hardly noticing Mercy as she came from where she was feeding the children. " When he had laid the feast, Jerry, he went outside." " Is he there now ? " said Jerry. "Perhaps he is." Jerry said nothing more, but went out. Dan was there. "Dan Harroway," said Jerry, "I've spoke words to you as I can't never take back, because they was true." " I don't want you to take 'em back, Jerry Rouse," said Dan. " I know they were true." "Then, Dan Harroway, though I can't take them words back, I can teU you this, and that is as this yer thing you 've done this yer Christmas eve has made me feel that for you I never felt for mortal man afore. You aiu't only spread them fine wittles in there, but there 's a somethm' you've brought anigh me as I've Inmgered for without knowin' it this many a year. I don't arst you to come in, I ain't wortliy as you should come in ; but, Dan Harroway, I should like to shake you by the hand, and I should Uke the little uns to thank you." There ! I suppose you guess the rest. Of course Dan did n't go in then, nor let Jeriy show him off to the children as the angel in top-boots that had been sent to make these wonderful things out of the Crust. Of course he did n't sit at tlie end of the table by Mercy all the time of the feast, and have tliose bright 84 LITTLE CLASSICS. top-boots smeared all over afterwards by thankful, dirty little hands. And of course Jerry got turned out by his landlord next day ! They were married, Dan and Mercy, when the blue hyacinths came round again, and you could smell nothing else from GadshiU-iu-the-rields to the church, and Mercy wore them in her hair. A DISSERTATION UPON ROAST PIG. BY CHARLES LAMB. -iNKIND, says a Chinese manuscript, wliich my friend M. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing or biting it from the living animal, just as they do in Abyssinia to this day. This period is not obscurely hinted at by their great Confucius in the second chapter of his Mundane Muta- tions, where he designates a kind of golden age by the term Cho-faug, literally the Cooks' Holiday. The manu- script goes on to say, that the art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother), was accidentally discovered in the mamier followhig. The swineherd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son. Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who, being fond of playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together with Ob LITTLE CLASSICS. the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makesliift of a building, you may tliiuk it), what was of much more importance, a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the East, from the remotest periods that we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labor of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent which he had before experienced. What could it proceed from ? Not from the burnt cottage, — he had smelt that smell before ; indeed this was by no means the first accident of the kind which had occun-ed through the negligence of this unlucky young firebrand. Much less did it resemble that of any known herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time overflowed his nether hp. He knew not what to think. He next stooped down to feel the pig, if th^i'e were any signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fasliion to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world's life indeed, for before him no man had known it) he tasted — crackling ! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now, still he licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke into his slow understaudLng that it was the A. DISSEETATION UPON ROAST PIG. S'^ pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious ; and, surrendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with retributory cudgel, and, finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's shoulders, as thick as hail-stones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleasure, which he experienced in liis lower regions, had rendered him quite callous to any incon- veniences he might feel in those remote quarters. His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig, till he had fairly made an end of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his situation, something lllve the following dialogue ensued : — "You graceless whelp, what have you got there de- vouring ? Is it not enough that you have burnt me down three houses with your dog's tricks, and be hanged to you ! but you must be eating fire, and I know not what ? What have you got there, I say ? " " O father, the pig, the pig ! do come and taste how nice the burnt pig eats." The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his son, and he cursed himself that ever, he should beget a son that should cat burnt pig. Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, " Eat, eat, eat the burnt pig, father, only taste — O Lord ! " with such-like barba- 88 LITTLE CLASSICS. rous ejaculations, cramming all the -nliile as if he would choke. Ho-ti trembled every joiut while he grasped the abom- inable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son's, and, applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavor, which, make what sour mouths he would for pretence, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is a little tedious) both father and son fairly set down to the mess, and never left off till they had despatched all that re- mained of the litter. Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret es- cape, for the neighbors would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti's cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day, others in the night-time. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze ; and Ho-ti himself, which was the more remarkable, instead of chas- tising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to him than ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Pckin, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious food itself pi'oduccd in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury l)cggcd that soure of the A DISSERTATION UPON ROAST PIG. 89 burut pig, of which the culprits stood accused, might be handed into tlie box. He handled it, and .they all han- dled it ; and, burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which judge had ever given, — to the surprise of the whole court, to'waisfollc, strangers, reporters, and all present, — without leaving the box, or any manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict of Not Guilty. The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of the decision; and when the court was dismissed, went privily, and bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few days his Lordship's town-house was observed to be on fire. The thing took wing, and now there was notliing to be seen but fire in every direction. Euel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of architecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says my manuscript, a sage ai'ose, like our Locke, who made a discovery that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked {burnt, as they called it) without the necessity of consum- ing a whole house to dress it. Then first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the string or spit came in a century or two later, I forget in w'hose dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most usefid and seemingly the most obvious arts nicake their way among miuikind. 90 LITTLE CLASSICS. Without placing too implicit faith m the account above given, it must be agreed, that if a worthy pretext for so dangerous an experiment as setting houses on fire (especially in these days) could be assigned in favor of any culinary object, that pretext and excuse might be found in roast pig. Of all the delicacies in the whole immdus edibilis, I will maintam it to be the most dehcate, — princeps obsonioru'M. I speak not of your grown porkers — things between pig and pork — those hobbydehoys — but a young and tender sucklmg — under a moon old — guiltless as yet of the sty — with no original speck of the amor immun- ditife, the hereditary failing of the first parent, yet mani- fest — his voice as yet not broken, but something between a childish treble and a grumble • — the mild forerunner, or precludium, of a grant. He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our an- cestors ate them seethed, or boiled, — but what a sacri- fice of the exterior tegument ! There is no flavor comparable, I will contend, to that of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, crackling, as it is well called — the very teeth are invited to their share of the pleasure at this banquet in over- coming the coy, Imttle resistance — with the adhesive oleaginous — call it not fat ! but an indefinable sweet- ness growing up to it — the tender blossoming of fat — fat cropped in the bud — taken in the shoot • — in the first innocence — the cream and quintessence of the child-pig's yet pure food — the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna — or, rather, fat and lean (if it must be so) so A DISSERTATION UPON EOAST PIG. 91 blended and running into each other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or common substance. Behold him, while he is "doing," — ^it seemeth rather a refreshing warmth, tliau a scorching heat, that he is so passive to. How equably he twirleth round the string ! Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility of that tender age ! he hath wept out his pretty eyes — radiant jellies — shooting stai's. See him in the dish, his second cradle, how meek he lieth ! Wouldst thou have had tliis innocent grow up to the grossness and indocuity which too often accompany maturer swinehood ? Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeahle animal — wallowmg in all manner of filthy conversation — from these sins he is happily snatched away — Ere sin could bhglit or sorrow fade. Death came with timely care — his memory is odoriferous — no clown curseth, while his stomach half rejecteth, the rank bacon — no coal-heaver bolteth him in reeking sausages — he hath a fair sepulcljre in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure — and for such a tomb miglit be content to die. He is the best of sapors. Pineapple is great. She is indeed almost too transcendent — a delight, if not sinful, yet so like to sinning that really a teuder-conscienced person woidd do well to pause — too ravishing for mortal taste, she woundeth and excoriateth the hps that approach her — like lovers' kisses, she biteth — she is a pleasure bordermg on pain from the fierceness and insanity of her relish — but she stoppeth at the palate — she meddleth 92 LITTLE CLASSICS. not with tbe appetite — aud the coarsest liunger might barter her consistently for a mutton-chop. Pig — let me speak his praise — is no less provocative of the appetite than he is satisfactory to the criticalness of the censorious palate. The strong man may batten on him, aud tlie weakling refuseth not his mild j uices, Urdike to mankind's mixed characters, a bundle of virtues and vices, inexpUcably intertwisted, and not to be unravelled without hazard, he is — good throughout. No part of him is better or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as his little means extend, all around. He is the least envious of banquets. He is all neigh- bors' fare. I am one of those who freely and ungrudgingly impart a share of the good things of this hfe which fall to their lot (few as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest I take as great an interest in my friend's pleasures, his relishes, and proper satisfactions, as in mine own. "Presents," I often say, "endear Absents." Hares, pheasants, partridges, snipes, barn-door chickens (those "tame villatic fowl"), capons, plovers, brawn, barrels of oysters, I dispense as freely as I receive them. I love to taste them, as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a stop must be put somewhere. One would not, like Lear, " give everything." I make my stand upon pig. Methmks it is an ingratitude to the Giver of all good flavors to extra-domiciliate or send out of the house, slightingly (under pretext of friendship, or I know not what), a blessing so particularly adapted, predestined, I may say, to my individual palate. It argues an in- sensibility. A DISSERTATION UPON ROAST PIG. 93 I remember a toucli of conscience in this kind at school. Mj good old aunt, who never parted from me at the end of a holiday without stuiSng a sweetmeat, or some nice thing, into my pocket, had dismissed me one evening with a smoking plum-cake, fresh fi'om the oven. In my way to school (it was over London Bridge) a gray- headed old beggar saluted me (I have no doubt, at this time of day, that he was a counterfeit). I had no pence to console him with, and in the vanity of self-denial, and the very coxcombry of charity, schoolboy-like, I made him a present of — the whole cake ! I walked on a little, buoyed up, as one is on such occasions, with a sweet soothing of self-satisfaction ; but before I had got to the end of the bridge, my better feelmgs returned, and I burst into tears, thinking how ungrateful I had been to my good aunt, to go and give her good gift away to a stranger that I had never seen before, and who might be a bad man for aught I knew ; and then 1 thought of the pleasure my aunt would be taking in thinking that I — I myself, and not another — • would eat her nice cake — and what should I say to her the next time I saw her — how naughty I was to part with her pretty present ! — and the odor of that spicy cake came back upon my recollection, and the pleasure and the curiosity I had taken in seeing her make it, and her joy when she had sent it to the oven, and how disappointed she would feel that I had never had a bit of it in my mouth at last — and I blamed my impertinent spirit of alms-giving, and out-of-plaee hypocrisy of goodness ; and above all I wished never to see the face again of that insidious, good-for-nothing, old gray impostor. 94 LITTLE CLASSICS. Our ancestors were nice in tlieir metliod of sacrificing these tender victims. We read of pigs whipt to death, •with something of a shock, as we hear of any other obsolete custom. The age of discipline is gone by, or it would be curious to inquire (in a philosophical light merely) what effect this process might have towards in- tenerating and dulcifying a substance, naturally so mild and dulcet as the flesh of young pigs. It looks like retuiing a violet. Yet we should be cautious, while we condemn the inhumanity, how we censure the wisdom of the practice. It might impart a gusto. I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the yoimg students, when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with ^ much learning and pleasantry on both sides, "TYhethcii^' supposing that the flavor of a pig who obtained his death by whipping {per flag ell at ion em extremam) super- added a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive ia the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting the animal to death ? " I forget the decision. His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few bread crumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mdd sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out witli plantations of the rank and guilty garhc ; you cannot poison them, or make them stronger than they are ; but consider, he is a weakling, — a flower. THE TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INAJTBTATE THINGS. BY MRS. E. A. WALKER. AM conlident, that, at the annunciation of my tlieme, Andover, Princeton, and Cambridge will skip like rams, and the little hills of East Wind- sor, Meadville, and Fairfax, like lambs. However divin- ity schools may refuse to " skip " in unison, and may butt and batter each other about the doctrine and origin of human depravity, all will join devoutly in the credo, I believe in the total depravity of inanimate things. The whole subject lies in a nutshell, or rather an apple- skin. We have clerical authority for affirming that all its misei'ies wei'e let loose upon the human race by " them greenins " tempting our mother to curious pomological speciilations ; and from that time till now, — Longfellow, thou reasonest well ! — "things are not what they seem," but are diabolically otherwise, — masked batteries, nets, gins, and snares of evil. (In this connection I am reminded of — can I ever cease to remember ? — the unlucky lecturer at our lyceum a few winters ago, who, on rising to address his audience, applauding him all the while most vehemently, pidled out 96 LITTLE CLASSICS. liis handkerchief, for oratorical purposes only, and inad- vertently flung from his pocket three " Baldwins " that a friend had given to him on his way to the hall, straight into the front row of giggling girls.) My zeal on this subject received new impetus recently from an exclamation wliich pierced the thin partitions of the country-parsonage, once my home, where I chanced to be a guest. Trom the adjoining dressing-room issued a prolonged " Y-ah ! " — not the howl of a spoiled child, nor the pro- test of a captive gorilla, but the whole-souled utterance of a mighty son of Anak, whose amiability is invulnerable to weapons of human aggravation. I paused in the midst of toilet exigencies, and listened sympathetically, for I recognized the probable presence of the old enemy to whom the bravest and sweetest suc- cumb. Confirmation and explanation followed speedily in the half-apologetic, wholly wrathful declaration, " The pitcher was made foolish ui the first place." I dare affirm, that, if the spirit of Lindley Murray himself were at that moment hovering over that scene of trial, he dropped a tear, or, better stiU, an adverbial ly upon the ' false grammar, and blotted it out forever. I comprehended the scene at once. I had been there. I felt again the remorseless swash of the water over neat boots and immaculate hose ; I saw the perverse intrica- cies of its meauderings over the carpet, upon which the " foolish " pitcher had been confidingly deposited ; I knew, beyond the necessity of ocular demonstration, that, as sure as there were " pipe-hole " or crack in the TOTAL DEPRAVITY OP INANIMATE THINGS. 97 ceiling of the study below, those maiiimate things would inevitably put their evil heads together, and bring to grief tlie long-suffering Doniuiic, with whom, during my day, such inundations had been of at least bi-weekly oc- currence, instigated by crinoKne. The inherent wicked- ness of that " thing of beauty " will be acknowledged by all mankind, and by every female not reduced to the deplorable poverty of the heroine of the followhig vera- cious anecdote. A certain good bishop, on making a tour of inspection through a mission-school of his diocese, was so impressed by the aspect of all its beneficiaries, that his heart over- flowed with joy, and he exclauned to a little maiden whose appearance was particularly suggestive of creature- comforts, " Why, my little girl ! you have everythmg that heart can wish, have n't you ? " Imagine the bewil- derment and horror of the prelate, when the miniature Flora McFlimsey drew down the corners of her mouth lugubriously, and sought to accommodate the puffs and dimples of her fat little body to an expression of abject misery, as she replied, " No, indeed, sir ! I have n't got any — - skeleton ! " We, who have suffered, know the disposition of grace- less "skeletons " to hang themselves on "foolish" pitch- ers, bureau-knobs, rockers, cobble-stones, splinters, nails, and, indeed, any projection a tenth of a line beyond a dead level. Tlie mention of nails is suggestive of vohuniuous dis- tresses. Country-parsonages, from some inexplicable reason, arc wont to bristle all over with these impish as- sailants of human comfort. VOL. V. 5 Q 98 LITTLE CLASSICS. I never ventured to leave my masculine relatives to their own devices for more than twenty-four consecutive hours, that I did not return to find that they had seem- ingly manifested their grief at my absence after the old Hebraic method (" more honored in the breach than the observance "), by rending their garments. Wlien sum- moned to their account, the invariable defence has been a vehement denunciation of some particular nail as the guilty cause of my woes. By the way, Christian woman of the nineteenth cen- tury, did it ever enter your heart to give devout thanks that you did not share the woe of those whose fate it was to " sojourn in Mesech and dwell in the tents of Kedar " ? that it did not fall to your lot to do the plain sewing and mending for some Jewish patriarch, patriot, or prophet of yore? Realize, if you can, the masculine aggravation and the feminine long-suffering of a period when the head of a family could neither go down town, nor even sit at his tent-door, without descrying some wickedness in high places, some insulting placard, some exasperating war- bidletin, some offensive order from headquarters, which caused him to transform himself instantly into an ani- mated rag-bag. Whereas, in these women-saving days, similar grievances send President Abraham into his Cabi- net to issue a proclamation, the Reverend Jeremiah into his pulpit with a scathing homily, Poet-Laureate David to the "Atlantic" with a burning lyric, and Mnjor-Gen- eral Joab to the privacy of his tent, ihere to calm his perturbed spirit with Drake's Plautaiion Bitters. In humble imitation of another, I would state that this in- TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS. 99 dorsement of the potency of a specific is entirely gratui- tous, and that I am stimulated thereto by no remunera- tion, fluid or otherwise. Blessed be this day of sewing-machines for women, and of safety-valves and innocent explosives for their lords ! But this is a digression. I awoke very early in life to the consciousness that I held the doctrine which we are considering. On a hapless day when I was perhaps five years old, I was, in my own estimation, intrusted with the family dignity, when I was deposited for the day at the house of a lordly Pharisee of the parish, with solemnly repeated instructions in table-manners and the like. One who never analyzed the mysteries of a sensitive chUd's heart cannot appreciate the sense of awful respon- sibility which oppressed me during that visit. But all went faultlessly for a time. I corrected myself instantly each tune I said, " Yes, ma'am," to Mr. Simon, and " No, sir," to Madam, which was as often as I addressed them ; I clinched little fists and lips resolutely, that they might not touch, taste, handle, temptuig bijouterie ; I even held in check the spirit of inquiry rampant within me, and indulged myself with only one question to every three minutes of time. At last I found myself at the handsome dinner-table, triumphantly mounted upon two " Comprehensive Com- mentaries " and a dictionary, fearuig no evil from the viands before me. Least of all did I suspect the vege- tables of guile. But deep in the heart of a bland, mealy- mouthed potato lurked cruel designs upon my fair repu- tation. 100 LITTLE CLASSICS, No sooner had I, in tlie most approved style of nur- sery good-breeding, applied my fork to its surface, than the hard-hearted thing executed a wild pirouette before my astonished eyes, and then flew on impish wmgs across the room, dashing out its maUcious brains, I am happy to say, against the parlor-door, but leaving me in a half- comatose state, stirred only by vague longings for a lodge with "proud Korah's troop," whose destination is un- mistakably set forth in the " Shorter Catechism." There is a possibility that I received my uinate dis- trust of things by inheritance from my maternal grand- mother, whose holy horror at the profanity they once provoked from a bosom-friend in her clnldhood was stQl vivid in her old age. It was on this wise. When stdl a pretty Puritan maiden, my grandame was tempted irresistibly by the spring sunshine to the tabooed indulgence of a Sunday walk. The temptation was probably intensified by the presence of the British troops, giving unwonted fasci- nation to village promenades. Her confederate in this guilty pleasure was a like-minded little saint ; so there was a tacit agreement between them that their trans- gression should be sanctified by a strict adherence to re- ligious topics of conversation. Accordingly they launched boldly upon the great subject which was just then agitat- ing church circles in New England. Fortune smiled upon these criminals against the Blue Laws, until they encountered a wall surmounted by hickory rails. Without intermitting the discussion, Su- sannah sprang agUcly up. Quoth she, balancing herseK for one moment upon the summit, "No, no, Betsey! TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS. 101 / believe God is the author of sin ! " The next she sprang toward the ground ; but a salieut splinter, a chip of depravity, clutched her Sunday gown, and con- verted her incontinently, it seems, into a confessor of the opposing faith; for history records, that, following the above-mentioned dogma, came from hitherto unstainfcd lips, " The Devil!"- Time and space would, of course, be inadequate to the enumeration of all the demonstrations of the truth of the doctrine of the absolute depravity of things. A few ex- amples only can be cited. There is melancholy pleasure in the knowledge that a great soul has gone mourning before me in the path I am now pursumg. It was only to-day, that, in glan- cing over the pages of Victor Hugo's greatest work, I chanced upon the following : " Every one will have no- ticed with what skill a coin let fall upon the ground runs to hide itself, and what art it has in rendering itself invisible ; there are thoughts that play us the same trick." The similar tendency of pins and needles is universally understood and execrated, — their base secretiveness when searched for, and their incensing intrusion when one is off guard. I know a man whose sense of their malignity is so keen that, whenever he catches a gleam of their treacher- ous lustre on the carpet, he instantly draws -his two and a quarter yards of length into the smallest possible com- pass, and shrieks until the domestic police come to the rescue, and apprehend the sharp little villains. Do not laugh at this. Years ago he lost his choicest friend by the stab of just such a little dastard lying in ambush. 103 LITTLE CLASSICS. So also every wielder of tlie needle is familiar -witli the propensity of the several parts of a garment in the pro- cess of manufacture to turn themselves wrong side out, and down side up ; and the same viciousness cleaves like leprosy to the completed garment so long as a thread remains. My blood still tingles with a horrible memory illustra- tive of this truth. Dressing hurriedly and in darkness for a concert one evening, I appealed to the Dominie, as we passed under the hall-lamp, for a toilet inspection. " How do I look, father ? " After a sweeping glance came the candid statement, — • "Beau-tifully!" O, the blessed glamour which invests a child whose father views her " with a critic's eye " ! " Yes, of course ; but look carefully, please ; how is my dress ? " Another examination of apparently severest scrutiny. " All right, dear ! That 's the new cloak, is it ? Never saw you look better. Come, we shall be late." Confidingly I went to the hall ; confidingly I entered ; since the concert-room was crowded with rapt listeners to the Kfth Symphony, I, gingerly, but still confidingly, followed the author of my days, and the critic of my toilet, to the very uppermost seat, which I entered, bare- ly nodding to my finically fastidious friend, Guy Living- ston, who was seated near us with a styjish-lookuig stranger, who bent eyebrows and glass upon me super- ciliously. Seated, the Dominie was at once lifted into the midst TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INAJSflMATE THINGS. 103 of the massive harmonies of the Adagio ; I lingered out- side a moment, in order to settle my garments and — that woman's look. What ! was that a partially sup- pressed titter near me ? All ! she has no soul for music ! How such iU-timed merriment will jar upon my friend's exquisite sensibilities ! Shade of Beethoven ! A hybrid cough and laugh, smothered decorously, but still recognizable, from ' the courtly Guy himself! Wliat can it mean? In. my perturbation, my eyes fell and rested upon the sack, whose newiiess and glorifymg effect had been already noticed by my lynx-eyed parent. I here pause to remark that I had intended to request the compositor to " set up " the coming sentence in ex- plosive capitals, by way of emphasis, but forbear, real- izhig that it already staggers under the weight of its own significance. That sack was wrong side out ! Stern necessity, proverbially known as " the mother of invention," and practically the step-mother of minis- ters' daughters, had made me eke out the silken facings of the front with cambric Imings for the back and sleeves. Accordingly, m the full blaze of the concert-room, there sat I, "accoutred as I was," in motley attire, — my homely little economies patent to admiring spectators : on either shoulder, budding wings composed of unequal parts of sarcenet-cambric and cotton-batting ; and in my \ievLx\— parricide, I had almost said, but it was ratlicr the more fihal sentiment of desire to operate for cataract upon my father's eyes. But a moment's reflection suf- ficed to transfer my mdignation to its proper object, — • 104 LITTLE CLASSICS. the sinful sack itself, wliich, concerting with its kindred darkness, had planned this cruel assault upon my inno- cent pride. A constitutional obtuseness renders me delightfully insensible to one fruitful source of provocation among inanimate things. I am so dull as to regard all distinc- tions between "rights" and "lefts" as invidious; but I have witnessed the agonized struggles of many a vic- tim of fractious boots, and been thankful that "I am not as other men are," in abihty to comprehend the difference between my right and left foot. Still, as already intimated, I have seen wise men driven mad by a thing of leather and waxed-ends. A little innocent of three years, in all the pride of his first boots, was aggravated, by the perversity of the right to thrust itself on to the left leg, to the utterance of a contraband expletive. When reproved by his horror-stricken mamma, he maintained a dogged silence. In order to pierce his apparently mdurated conscience, his censor finally said, solemnly, — " Dugald ! God knows that you said that wicked word." "Does he ? " cried the baby victim of reral depravity, ' in a tone of relief; "then he knows it was a doke" {Anglice, joke). But, mind you, the sm-tcmptmg boot intended no "doke." The toilet, with its multiform details and complicated macliinery, is a demon whose surname is Legion. Time would fail mc to speak of the elusiveness of TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS. 105 soap, the knottiness of strings, the transitory nature of buttons, the inclination of suspenders to twist, and of hooks to forsake their lawful eyes, and cleave only unto the hairs of their hapless owner's head. (It occurs to me as barely possible, that, in the last case, the hooks may be innocent, and the sinfulness may lie in capillary attraction.) And, O my brother or sister in sorrow, has it never befallen you, when bending all your energies to the miglity task of " doing " your back -hair, to fuid youi'self gazing inanely at the opaque back of your brush, wliile the hand-mirror, which had maliciously insinuated itself into your right hand for this express purpose, came down upon your devoted head with a resonant whack ? I have alluded, parenthetically, to the possible guilt of capillary attraction, but I am prepared to maintain against the attraction of gravitation tlie cliarge of total depravity. Indeed, I should say of it, as did the worthy exliorter of the Dominie's old parish in regard to slavery, " It 's the wickedest thing in the world, except sin ! " It was only the other day that I saw depicted upon the young divine's countenance, from this cause, thoughts "too deep for tears," and, perchance, too earthy for clerical utterance. From a mingling of sanitary and economic considera- tions, he had cleared his own sidewalk after a heavy snow-storm. As he stood, leaning upon his shove], surveying with smiling complacency his accomplished task, the spite of the arch-fiend Gravitation was raised against him, and, finding the impish slates (hadn't Luther something to say about "e^s many devils as 5* 106 LITTLE CLASSICS. tiles " ?) ready to co-operate, an avalauclie was the re- sult, making the last state of that sidewalk worse than the first, and sending the divine into the house with a battered hat, and an article of faith supplementary to the orthodox thirty-nine. Prolonged reflection upon a certain class of grievances has convuiced me that mankind has generally ascribed them to a guiltless source. I refer to the unspeakable aggravation of " typographical errors," rightly so called, - — for, in nine cases out of ten, I opine it is the types themselves which err. I appeal to fellow-sufferers, if the substitutions and interpolations and false combinations of letters are not often altogether too absurd for humanity. Take, as one instance, the experience of a friend, who, in writing in all innocency of a session of the Histori- cal Society, affirmed mildly in manuscript, "All went smoothly," but weeks after was made to declare in blatant print, "All went snoringly!" As among men, so in the alphabet, one sinner de- stroyeth much good. The genial Senator from the Granite HiUs told me of an early aspiration of his own for literary distinction, which was beheaded remorselessly by a viUaui of this type. By way of majestic peroration to a pathetic article, he had exclaimed, "For what would we ex- change the fame of Washington?"- — referring, I scarce- ly need say, to the man of fragrant memory, and not to the odorous capital. The black-hearted little dies, left to their own devices one night, struck dismay to the heart of the aspirant author by propomiding in TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS. 107 black and white a prosaic inquiry as to what would be considered a fair equivalent for the farm of the father of his country ! Among frequent instances of this depravity in my own experience, a flagrant example still shows its ugly front on a page of a child's book. In the latest edition of " Our Little Girls " (good Mr. Randolph, pray read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest) occurs a description of a christening, wherein a venerable divine is made to dip "his head" into the consecrating water, and lay it upon the child. Disembodied words are also sinners and the occasions of sin. Who has not broken the Commandments in consequence of the provocation of some miserable little monosyllable eluding his grasp in the moment of his direst need, or of some impertinent intei'loper thrustmg itself in, to the utter demoralization of his well-organized sentences ? Who has not been covered with shame at tripping over the pronunciation of some perfectly simple word like "statistics," "inalienable," "inextricable," etc., etc., etc. ? Whose experience will not empower hini to sympa- thize with that unfortunate invalid, who, on behig in- terrogated by a pious visitor in regard to her enjoyment of means of grace, informed the horror-stricken inquis- itor, "I have not been to cliurch for years, I have been such an infidel'"; and then, moved by a dim im- pression of wi'ong somewhere, as well as by the evident shock inflicted upon her worthy visitor, but conscious of her own integrity, repeated still more emphatically, " No ; I have been a confirmed infidel for years " ? 108 LITTLE CLASSICS. But a peremptory summons from an animated nursery forbids my lingering longer iu this fruitful field. I can only add an instance of corroborating testimony from each member of tbe circle origiuating this essay. The Domiuie loq. — " Sha' n't have anything to do with it ! It 's a wicked thing ! To be sure, I do re- member, when I was a little boy, I used to throw stones at the chip-basket when it upset the cargo I had just laded, and it was a great relief to my feelings too. Be- sides, you 've told stories about me which were anything but true. I don't remember anything about that sack." Lady visitor loq. — "The first time I was invited to Mr. 's (the Hon. 's, you know), I was somewhat anxious, but went home flattering myself I had made a creditable impression. Imagine my conster- nation, when I came to relieve the pocket of my gala- gown, donned for the occasion, at discovering among its treasures a tea-napkin, mai'ked gorgeously witli the Hon. 's family crest, which had maliciously crept into its depths in order to bring me into disgrace! I have never been able to bring myself to the point of confession, in spite of my subsequent intimacy with the family. If it were not for Joseph's positive assertion to the contrary, I should be of the opinion that his cup of divination conjured itself deliberately and siufully into innocent Benjamin's sack." Student loq. (Testimony open to criticism.) — " Met pretty girl on the street yesterday. Sure I had on my * Armstrong ' hat when I left liome, — sure, as fate ; but wlicu I went to pull it off, — by the crown, of course, — to bow to pretty girl, I smashed in my beaver! How TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS. 109 it got there, don't know. Kuocked it off. Pretty girl picked it up aud bauded it to me. Couibmided things, any way ! " Young divine loq. — ■ " Wlule I was in the anny, I was ia Washington on ' leave ' for two or three days. One night, at a party, 1 became utterly bewildered in an attempt to converse, after long desuetude, with a fas- cinating woman. I went stumbling on, amazing her more and more, until finally I covered myself with glory by the categorical statement that in my opinion General McCleUau could ' never get across the Peninsula without difattle ; I beg pardon, madam ! what I mean to say is, without & biff /it y School-girl loq. — " When Uncle was President, I was at the White House at a state-dinner one evening. Senator came rushing in frantically after we had been at table some time. No sooner was he seated than he turned to Aunt to apologize for liis delay ; aud, being very much heated, and very much embarrassed, he tugged away desperately at his pocket, and finally succeeded iu extracting a huge blue stocking, evidently of home-manufacture, with which he proceeded to wipe his forehead very energetically and very conspicuously. I suppose the truth was, that the poor man's handker- chiefs were 'on a strike,' and thrust forward this home- spun stocking to brmg him to terms." School-girl, No. 2, loq. — " My last term at P., I was expecting a box of ' goodies ' from home. So when the message came, ' An express-package for you, Miss Pan- ay !' I invited all my specials to come and assist at the opening. Listead of the expected box, appeared a mia- 110 LITTLE CLASSICS. skapen bundle, done up in yellow wrapping-paper. Pour sucli dejected-looking damsels were never seen before as we, standing around the ugly old tiling. Finally, Alice suggested, — " ' Open it ! ' " ' O, I know what it is,' I said ; ' it is my old tliibet, that mother has had made over for me.' " ' Let 's see,' persisted Alice. " So I opened the package. The first thing I drew out was too much for me. " ' What a funny -looking basque ! ' exclaimed Ahce. All the rest were struck dumb with disappointment. " No ! not a basque at all, but a man's black satin waistcoat ! and next came objects about which there could be no doubt, — a pair of dingy old trousers, and a swallow-tailed coat ! Imagme the chorus of damsels ! "The secret was, that two packages lay in father's office, — one for me, the other for those everlasting freedmen. John was to forward mine. He had taken up the box to write my address on it, when the yellow bundle tumbled off the desk at his feet and scared the wits out of his head. So I came in for father's second- hand clothes, and the Ethiopians had the ' goodies ' ! " Repentant Dominie loq. — "I don't approve of it at all; but then, if you must write the wicked thing, I heard a good story for you to-day. Dr. - — found himself in the pulpit of a Dutch Reformed Church the other Sunday. You know he is one who prides himseK on his adaptation to places and times. Just at the close of the introductory services, a black gown lying over the arm of the sofa caught his eye. He was rising to TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS. Ill deliver his sermon, when it forced itself on liis attention again. "'Sure enough,' thought he, 'Dutch Eefoniied cler- gymen do wear gowns. I might as well put it on.' " So he solemnly thrust himself into the malicious (as you would say) garment, and went through the ser- vices as well as he could, considermg that liis audience seemed singularly agitated, and indeed on the point of bursting out into a general laugh, throughout the entire service. And no wonder ! The good Doctor, in his zeal for conformity, had attired himself in tlie black cambric duster in which the pulpit was shrouded dur- ing week-days, and had been gesticulating his eloquent homily with his arms thrust through the holes left for the pulpit-lamps ! " THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. BY J. THOMAS DARRAGH (late C. C. S.). WAS ill tlie Civil Service at Riclimond. Why I was there, or what I did, is nobody's affair. And I do not in this paper propose to tell how it happened that I was in New York in October, 1864, on confidential business. Enough that I was there, and that it was honest business. That business done, as fax as it could be with the resources uitrusted to me, I pre- pared to return home. And thereby hangs this tale, and. as it proved, the fate of the Confederacy. Por, of course, I wanted to take presents liome to mj family. Very little question was there what these presents should be, — for I had no boys nor brothers. The women of the Confederacy had one want, wliich overtopped all others. They could make coffee out of beans ; pins they had from Columbus ; straw hats they braided quite well with their own fair hands ; snuff we could get better than you could in " tlie old concern." But we had no hoop- skirts, — skeletons, we used to call them. No ingenuity had made them. No bounties had forced them. The Bat, the Greyhound, the Deer, the Flora, the J. C. THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 113 Cobb, the Vanina, and the Fore-and-Aft all took in cargoes of them for us in England. But the Bat and the Deer and the Flora were seized by the blockaders, the J. C. Cobb sunk at sea, tlie Fore-and-Aft and the Greyhound were set fire to by their own crews, and the Varuna (our Varuua) was never heard of. Then the State of Arkansas offered sixteen townships of swamp laud to the first manufactui-er who would exhibit five gross of a home- manufactured article. But no one ever competed. The first attempts, indeed, were put to an end, when Schofield crossed the Blue Lick, and destroyed the dams on Yellow Branch. The consequence was, that people's crinoline collapsed faster than the Confederacy did, of wliicli that brute of a Grierson said there was never anything of it but the outside. Of course, then, I put in the bottom of my new large trunk in New York, not a "duplex elliptic," for none were then made, but a " Belmonte," of thirty springs, for my wife. I bought, for her more common wear, a good " Belle-Fontaine." For Sarah and Susy each, I got two " Dumb-Belles." For Aunt Eunice and Auut Clara, maiden sisters of my wife, who lived with us after Winchester fell the fourth time, I got the " Scotch Hare- bell," two of each. For my own mother I got one " Belle of the Prairies " and one " Invisible Combination Gossamer." I did not forget good old Mamma Chloe and Mamma Jane. For them I got substantial cages, without names. With these, tied in the shapes of figure eights in the bottom of my trunk, as I said, I put in an assorted cargo of dry-goods above, and, favored by a pass, and Major Mulford's courtesy on the flag-of-truco 114 LITTLE CLASSICS. boat, I arrived safely at Ricbmoud before the autuirm closed. I was received at home with rapture. But when, the next morning, 1 opened my stores, this became rapture doubly enraptured. Words cannot tell the silent delight with which old and young, black and white, surveyed these fairy-hkc structures, yet unbroken and unmended. Perennial summer reigned that autumn day in that reunited family. It reigned the next day, and the next. It would have reigned till now if the Belmontcs and the other things would last as long as the advertisements declare ; and, what is more, the Confederacy would have reigned till now. President Davis and General Lee ! but for that great misery, which all families understand, which culminated in our great misfortune. I was up in the cedar closet one day, looking for an old parade cap of mine, which I thought, though it was my third best, might look better than my second best, which I had worn ever since my best was lost at the Seven Pines. I say I was standing on the lower shelf of the cedar closet, when, as I stepped along in the darkness, my right foot caught in a bit of wire, my left did not give way m time, and I fell, with a small wooden hat-box in my hand, full on the floor. The corner of the hat-box struck me just below the second frontal sinus, and I fainted away. When I came to myself I was iu the blue chamber ; 1 had vinegar on a brown paper on my forehead ; the room was dark, and I found mother sitting by me, glad enough indeed to hear my voice, and to know that I knew her. It was some time before I fully understood THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 115 what had happened. Then slie brouglit me a cup of tea, and I, quite refreshed, said I must go to the office. " Office, my chUd! " said she. "Your leg is broken above the ankle ; you will not move these six weeks. Wliere do you suppose you are ? " Till then I had no notion that it was five minutes suice I went into the closet. When she told me the time, five in the afternoon, I groaned ui the lowest depths. For, in my breast-pocket in that ianocent coat, which I could now see lying on the window-seat, were the duplicate despatches to Mr. Mason, for which, late the night before, I had got the Secretary's signature. They were to go at ten that morning to WUmington, by the Navy Depart- ment's special messenger. I had taken them to insure care and certainty. I had worked on them till midnight, and they had not been signed till near one o'clock. Heavens and earth, and here it was five o'clock ! The man must be half-way to Wilmington by this time. I sent the doctor for Lafarge, my clerk. Lafarge did liis prettiest in rushing to the telegraph. But no ! A freshet on the Chowan Uiver, or a raid by Foster, or something, or nothing, had smashed the telegraph wire for that night. And before that despatch ever reached Wilmington the navy agent was m the offing in the Sea-Maid. "But perhaps the duplicate got through?" No, breatliless reader, the duplicate did not get through. The duplicate was taken by Faucon, in the Ino. I saw it last week in Dr. Lieber's hands, in Washington. Well, aU I know is, that if the duplicate had got through, the Confederate government would have had in March a chance at eighty -three thousand two hundred and eleven 116 LITTLE CLASSICS. muskets, wliicli, as it was, never left Belgium. So much for my treading into that blessed piece of wire on the shelf of the cedar closet, up stairs. " What was the bit of wire ? " Well, it was not telegraph wire. If it had been, it would have broken when it was not wanted to. Don't you know what it was ? Go up in your own cedar closet, and step about in the dark, and see what brings up round your ankles. Julia, poor child, cried her eyes out about it. When I got well enough to sit up, and as soon as I could talk and plan with her, she brought down seven of these old things, antiquated Belmontes and Simplex EUiptics, and horrors without a name, and she made a pile of them in the bedroom, and asked me in the most penitent way what she should do with them. "You can't burn them," said she ; "fire won't touch them. If you bury them in the garden, they come up at the second raking. If you give them to the servants, they say, ' Thank-e, missus,' and throw them in the back passage. If you give them to the poor, they throw them into the street ui front, and do not say, ' Thank-e.' Sarah sent seventeen over to the sword factory, and the foreman swore at the boy, and told him he would flog hun within an inch of his life if he brought any more of his sauce there ; and so — and so," sobbed the poor child, " I just rolled up tliese wretched things, and laid them in the cedar closet, hoping, you know, that some day the government would want something, and would advertise for them. You know what a good thing I made out of the bottle corks." In fact, she had sold our bottle corks for four thousand THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 117 two huudred and sixteen dollars of the first issue. We afterward bought two umbrellas and a corkscrew with the mouey. Well, I did not scold Julia. It was certainly no fault of hers that I was walking on the lower shelf of her cedar closet. I told her to make a parcel of the things, and the first time we went to drive I hove the whole shapeless heap into the river, without saying mass for them. But let no man think, or no woman, that this was the end of troubles. As I look back on that winter, and on the spring of 18 G5 (I do not mean the steel spring), it seems to me only the beginning. I got out on crutches at last ; I had the office transferred to my house, so that Lafarge and Hepburn could work there nights, and com- municate with me when I could not go out ; but morn- ings I hobbled up to the Department, and sat with the Chief, and took his orders. Ah me ! shall I soon forget that damp winter morning, when we all had such hope at the office ? One or two of the army fellows looked in at the window as they ran by, and we knew that they felt weU ; and though I would not ask Old Wick, as we had nicknamed the Chief, what was in the wuid, I knew the time had come, and that the lion meant to break the net this time. I made an excuse to go home earlier than usual ; rode down to the house in the Major's am- bulance, I remember; and hopped in, to surprise Juha with the good news, only to find that the whole house was in that quiet uproar which shows that something bad has happened of a sudden. " What is it, Cliloe ? " said I, as the old wench rushed by me with a bucket of water. 118 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Poor Mr. George, I 'fraid lie 's dead, sat ! " And there lie really was, — dear, handsome, bright George Schaif, — the delight of all the nicest girls of Richmond; he lay there ou Aunt Eunice's bed on the ground-floor, where they had brought him in. He was not dead, — and he did not die. He is making cotton in Texas now. But he looked mighty near it then. " The deep cut in his head" was the worst I then had ever seen, and the blow confused everything. When Mc- Gregor got round, he said it was not hopeless ; but we were all turned out of the room, and with one thing and another he got the boy out of the swoon, and somehow it proved his head was not broken. No, but poor George swears to this day it were better it had been, if it could only have been broken the right way and on the right field. For that evening we heard that everything, had gone wrong in the surprise. There we had been waiting for one of those early fogs, and at last the fog had come. And Jubal Early had, that mornuig, pushed out every man he had, that could stand ; and they lay hid for three mortal hours, within I don't know how near the picket-line at Eort Powhatan, only waiting for the shot which John Streight's party were to fire at Wilson's Wharf, as soon as somebody on our left centre advanced in force on the enemy's line above Turkey Island stretching across to Nansemoud. I am not in the War Department, and I forget whether he was to advance en barbette or by echelon of infantry. But he was to advance somehow, and he knew how ; and when he advanced, you see, that other man lower down was to rush in, and as soon as Eai'ly heard him he THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 119 was to surprise Powhatan, you see ; and then, if you have understood me. Grant and Butler and the whole rig of them would have been cut oif from their supplies, would have had to fight a battle for which they were not prepared, with their right made into a new left, and their old left unexpectedly advanced at au oblique angle from their centre, and would not that have been the end of them ? Well, that never happened. And the reason it never happened was, that poor George Schaff, with the last fatal order for this man Avhose name I forget (the same who was afterward killed the day before High Bridge), undertook to save time by cutting across behind my house, from Franklin to Green Streets. You know how much time he saved, — they waited all day for that order. George told me afterwards that the last thing he remem- bered was kissing his hand to Juha, who sat at her bed- room window. He said he thought she might be the last woman he ever saw this side of heaven. Just after that, it must have been, his horse — that white ]\Ies- seugcr colt old Williams bred — went over like a log, and poor George was pitched fifteen feet head-foremost against a stake there was in that lot. Julia saw the whole. She rushed out with all the women, and had just brought him in when I got home. And that was the reason that the great promised combmation of Decem- ber, 18G4, never came off at all. I walked out in the lot, after McGregor turned me out of the chamber, to see what they had done with the horse. There he lay, as dead as old Messenger himself. His neck was broken. And do you thuik, I looked to 120 LITTLE CLASSICS. see what Lad tripped liim. I supposed it was one of the boys' bandy -holes. It was no suck thing. The poor wretch had tangled his hind legs in one of those infernal hoop- wires that Chloe had thrown out in the piece when I gave her her new ones. Though I did not know it then, those fatal scraps of rusty steel had broken the neck tliat day of Robert Lee's army. That time I made a row about it. I felt too badly to go into a passion. But before the women went to bed, — they were all in the sitting-room together, — I talked to them like a father. I did not swear. I had got over that for a while, in that six weeks on my back. But 1 did say the old wires were infernal things, and that the house and premises must be made rid of them. The aunts laughed, — though I was so serious, — and tipped a wink to the girls. The girls wanted to laugh, but were afraid to. And then it came out that the aunts had sold their old hoops, tied as tight as they could tie them, in a great mass of rags. They had made a fortune by the sale, — I am sorry to say it was in other rags, but the rags they got were new instead of old, — it was a real Aladdin bargain. The new rags had blue backs, and were numbered, some as high as fifty dollars. The rag-man had been in a hurry, and had not known what made the things so heavy. I frowned at the swindle, but they said all was fair with a pedler, — and I own I was glad the things were well out of Richmond. But when I said I thought it was a mean trick, Lizzie and Sarah looked demure, and asked what in the world I would have them do with the old things. Did I expect them to walk down to the bridge themselves with great THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET, ^^ffi NORMAL SGH. Los Adgeles, Ca(. parcels to throw into tlie river, as I had done by Julia's ? Of course it ended, as such things always do, by my taking the work on my own shoulders. I told them to tie up all they had in as sniall a parcel as they could, and bring them to me. Accordingly, the next day, I found a handsome brown- paper parcel, not so very large, considering, and strangely square, considering, which the minxes had put together and left on my office table. They had a great frolic over it. They had not spared red tape nor red wax. Very official it looked, indeed, and on the left-hand corner, in Sarah's boldest and most contorted hand, was written, " Secret service." We had a great laugh over their success. And, indeed, I should have taken it with me the next time I went down to the Tredegar, but that I happened to dine one evening with young Norton of our gallant little navy, and a very curious thing he told us. We were talking about the disappointment of the com- bined land attack. I did not tell what upset poor Schaff's horse ; indeed, I do not think those navy men knew the details of the disappointment. O'Brien had told me, in confidouee, what I have written down probably for the first time now. But we were speaking, in a general way, of the disappointment. Norton finished his cigar rather thoughtfully, and then said, " Well, fellows, it is not worth while to put in the newspapers, but what do you suppose upset our graud naval attack, the day the Yankee gunboats skittled down the river so handsomely ? " " Why," said Allen, who is Norton's bcst-bcloved friend, " they say that you ran away from them as fast as they did from you." VOL. V. 6 123 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Do tliey ? " said Norton, grimly. " If you say that, I '11 break your head for you. Seriously, men," con- tinued he, " that was a most extraordinary thing. You know I was on the ram. But why she stopped when she stopped I knew as httle as this wineglass does ; and Callender himself knew no more than I. "We had not been hit. We were all right as a trivet for all we knew, when, skree ! she began blowing off steam, and we stopped dead, and began to drift down under those bat- teries. Callender had to telegraph to the little Mosquito, or whatever Walter called his boat, and the spunky little thing ran down and got us out of the scrape. Walter did it right well ; if he had had a monitor under him, he could not have done better. Of course we all rushed to the engine-room. What in thunder were they at there ? AH they knew was they could get no water into her boiler. " Now, fellows, this is the end of the story. As soon as the boilers cooled off they worked all night on those supply pumps. May I be haugcd if they had not sucked in, somehow, a long sti'ing of yarn, and cloth, and, if you win believe mc, a Avire of some woman's crinoline. And that Prench folly of a sham Empress cut short that day the victory of the Confederate navy, and old Davis him- self can't tell when we shall have such a chance again ! " Some of the men thought Norton lied. But I never was with him when he did not tell the truth. I did not mention, however, what I had thrown into the water the last thne I had gone over to Manchester. And I changed my mind about Sarah's "secret-service" parcel. It re- mained on my table. THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 123 That was the last diuuer our old club had at the Spots- wood, I believe. The sprmg cauie on, and the plot thickened. We did our work in the office as well as we could ; I can speak for mine, and if other people — But no matter for that ! The 3d of April came, and the fire, and the right wiiig of Grant's army. I remember I was glad then that I had moved the office down to the house, for we were out of the way there. Everybody had run away from the Department; and so, when the powers that be took possession, my little sub-bureau was unmo- lested for some days. I improved those days as well as I could, — burning carefully what was to be burned, and hiding carefully what was to be hidden. One thing that happened then belongs to this story. As I was at work on the private bureau, — it was really a bureau, as it happened, one I had made Aunt Eunice give up when I broke my leg, — I came, to my horror, on a neat parcel of coast-survey maps of Georgia, Alabama, and Elorida. They were not the same Maury stole when he left the National Observatory, but they were like them. Now, I was perfectly sure that on that fatal Sunday of the flight I had sent Lafarge for these, that the President might use them, if necessary, in his escape. Wlien I found them, I hopped out and called for Julia, and asked her if she did not remember his coming for them. "Cer- tainly," she said, " it was the first I knew of the danger. Lafarge came, asked for the key of the office, told me all was up, walked in, and in a moment was gone." And here, on the file of April 3d, was Lafarge's line to me : — "I got the secret-service parcel myself, and have put 124 LITTLE CLASSICS. it in the President's own hands. I marked it 'Gulf coast,' as you bade me." What could Lafarge have given to the President ? Not the soundings of Hatteras Bar. Not the working- drawings of the first monitor. I had all these under my hand. Could it be — " Jidia, what did we do with that stuif of Sarah's that she marked secret sercice?" As I live, we had sent the girls' old hoops to the President in his flight. And when the next day we read how he used them, and how Pritchard arrested him, we thought if he had only had the right parcel he would have found the way to Florida. That is really the end of this memoir. But I should not have written it, but for something that happened just now on the piazza. You must know, some of us wrecks are up here at the Berkeley baths. My uncle has a place near here. Here came to-day John Sisson, whom I have not seen since Memminger ran and took the clerks with him. Here we had before, both the Richards brothers, the great paper men, you know, who started the Edgerly Works in Prince George's County, just after the war began. After dinner, Sisson and they met on the piazza. Queerly enough, they had never seen each other before, though they had used reams of Richards's paper in correspondence with each other, and the treasury had used tons of it in the printing of bonds and bank-bills. Of course we all fell to talking of old times, — old they seem now, though it is not a year ago. "Richards," said Sisson at last, "what be- came of that last order of ours for water-lmed, pure linen THE SKELETON IN THE CLOSET. 125 goverameut-callendei'ed paper of suretS? We never got it, and I never knew why." " Did you think Kilpatrick got it ? " said Richards. " None of your chaff, Richards. Just tell where the piper went, for in the loss of that lot of paper, as it proved, the bottom dropped out of the treasury tub. On that paper was to have been printed our new issue of ten per cent, convertible, you know, and secured on that up-country cotton, which Kirby Smith had above the Big Raft. I had the printers ready for near a month waiting for that paper. The plates were really very handsome. I '11 show you a proof when we go up stairs. Wholly new they were, made by some Frenchmen we got, who had worked for the Bank of Prance. I was so anxious to have the thing well done, that I waited three weeks for that paper, and, by Jove, I waited just too long. We never got one of the bonds off, and that was why we had no money in March." Richards threw his cigar away. I will not say he swore between his teeth, but he twirled his chair round, brought it do\vn on all fours, both his elbows on his knees and his chin in both hands. " Mr. Sisson," said he, " if the Confederacy had lived, I would have died before I ever told what became of that order of yours. But now I have no secrets, I be- lieve, and I care for nothing. I do not know now how it happened. We knew it was an extra-nice job. And we had it on an elegant little new Trench Fourdrinier, which cost us more than we shall ever pay. Tlic pretty thing ran like oil the day before. That day, I thought all the devils were in it. The more power we put on 126 LITTLE CLASSICS. the more the rollers screamed ; and the less we put on, the more sulkily the jade stopped. I tried it myself every way; back current, I tried; forward current; high feed ; low feed ; I tried it on old stock, I tried it on new; and, Mr. Sisson, I would have made better paper in a coffee-mill ! We draiaed off every drop of water. We Avashed the tubs free from size. Then my brother there worked all night with the machiuists, tak- ing down the frame and the rollers. You would not be- lieve it, sir, but that Kttle bit of wire," — and he took out of his pocket a piece of this hateful steel, which poor I knew so well by this time, ■ — " that little bit of wire had passed ui from some hoop-skirt, passed the pickers, passed the screens, through all the troughs, up and down through what we call the lacerators, and had got itself wrought in, where, if you know a Fourdri- nier machine, you may have noticed a brass rmg riveted to the cross-bar, and there this cursed little knife — for you see it was a knife, by that time — had been cutting to pieces the endless wire web every time the machine was started. You lost your bonds, Mr. Sisson, because some Yankee woman cheated one of my rag-men." On that story I came up stairs. Poor Aunt Eunice ! She was the reason I got no salary on the 1st of April. I thought I would warn other women by writing down the story. That fatal present of mine, m those harmless hour- glass parcels, was the ruin of the Confederate navy, army, ordnance, and treasury ; and it led to the capture of the poor President too. But, Heaven be praised, no one shall say that ray office did not do its duty ! SANDY WOOD'S SEPULCHRE. BY HUGH MILLER. HE ruins of the old. chapel of St. Regulus, iu Cromarty, occupy the edge of a narrow, pro- jecting angle in which the burying-ground ter- minates toward the east. The old enclosure of the bury- ing-ground, wliich seems originally to have been an earthen wall, has now sunk into a grassy mound, and on the southern and western sides some of the largest trees of the fence — a fine, stately ash, fluted like a Grecian column, a huge elm, roughened over with im- mense wens, and a low, bushy larch with a bent, twisted trunk and weeping branches — spring directly out of it. At one place we see a flat tombstone, lying a few yards outside the mound. The trees which shoot up on every side fling so deep a gloom over it during the summer and autumn months, that we can scarcely decipher the epitaph, and in winter it is not unfrequeutly buried under a wreath of withei'ed leaves. By dint of some little pains, however, we come to learn from the dark- ened and half-dilapidated inscription, that the tenant below, one Alexander Wood, a native of Cromarty, died 128 LITTLE CLASSICS. in the year 1690 ; and that he was interred in this place at Ids own especial desire. His wife and some of his children have taken up their places beside him ; thus lyiag apart like a family of hermits ; while his story — which, almost too wild for tradition itself, is yet as au- thentic as most pieces of written history — affords a curious explanation of the circumstance which directed their choice. Wood was a man of strong passions, sparingly gifted with common-sense, and exceedingly superstitious. No one could be kinder to his friends or relatives, or more hospitable to a stranger ; but when once offended, he was implacable. He had but httle in his power as either a friend or an enemy ; his course through the world lying barely beyond the bleak edge of poverty. If a neiglibor, however, dropped in by accident at meal-time, he would not be suffered to quit the house until he liad shared with the family their simple fare. There was benevo- lence in the very grasp of his hand and tlie twinkle of his eye and the httle set speech, stiU preserved by tradi- tion, in which he used to address his w\k every time an old or mutilated beggar came to the door. " Alms, gude- wife," he would say, — "ahns to the crippled and the blm' and the broken-dovrn." Wlicn uijured or insulted, however, — and certainly no one could do either witliout being very mucli in the wrong, — tlicrc was a toad-like maUguity in his nature, that would come leaping out like the reptile from its hole, and no power on earth could shut it up again. He would sit hatching his venom for days and weeks together with a slow, tedious, inopera- tive kind of perseverance that achieved nothing. He SANDY wood's SEPULCHRE. 129 was full of anecdote ; and, in all his stories, human nature was exhibited in only its brightest hghts and its deepest shadows, without the slightest mixture of that medium tint which gives color to its working, every-day suit. Whatever was bad in the better class he trans- ferred to the worse, and vice versa ; and thus not even his narratives of the supernatural were less true to nature and fact than his narratives of mere men and women. And he dealt with the two classes of stories after the same fashion, leudmg the same firm belief to both alike. In the house adjoining the one in which he resided, lived a stout little man, a shoemaker, famous in the vil- lage for his great wit and his very considerable knavery. His jokes were mostly practical, and some of the best of them exceedingly akin to felonies. Poor Wood could not understand his wit; but, in his simplicity of heart, he deemed him honest, and would fain have prevailed on the neighbors to think so too. He knew it, he said, by his very look. Their gardens, like their houses, lay contiguous, and were separated from each other, not by a fence, but by four undressed stones laid in a Ime. Year after year was the garden of Wood becoming less productive ; and he had a strange misgiving, but the thing was too absurd to be spoken of, that it was growing smaller every season by the breadth of a M'hole row of cabbages. On the one side, however, were the back walls of his own and his neighbor's tenements ; the four large stones stretched along the other ; and nothing surely could be less Ukely than that either the stones or the houses should take it 6* I 130 LITTLE CLASSICS. into their heads to rob him of his property. But the more he strove to exclude the idea, the more it pressed upon him. He measured and remeasured, to convince himself that it was a false one, and found that he had fallen on just the means of estabhshing its truth. The garden was actually growing smaller. But how ? Just because it was bewitched ! It was shrinking into itself under the force of some potent enchantment, like a piece of plaiding in the fulling-mill. No hypothesis could be more congenial ; and he would have held by it, perhaps, until his dying day, had it not beeu struck down by one of those chance discoveries which destroy so many beau- tiful systems and spoil so much ingenious philosophy, quite in the way that Newton's apple struck down the vortices of Descartes. He was lying abed one morning in spring, about day- break, when his attention was excited by a strange noise which seemed to proceed from his garden. Had he heard it two hours earlier, he would have wrapped up his head in the bedclothes and lain still ; but now that the cock had crown, it could not, he concluded, be other than natural. Hastily throwing on part of his clothes, he stole warily to a back window, and saw, between him and the faint light that was beginning to peep out in the east, the figure of a man, armed with a lever, tugging at the stones. Two had already been shifted a full yard nearer the houses, and the figure was straining over a third. Wood crept s(ealtliily out at the window, crawled on all fours to the intruder, and, tripi)ing up his heels, laid him across his lever. It was his knavish neighbor, the shoemaker. A scene of noisy contention ensued; SANDY WOOD^S SEPULCHE.E. 131 groups of half-dressed townsfolk, looming horribly in their shirts and nightcaps through the gray of the morning, came issuing through the lanes and the closes ; and the combatants were dragged asunder. And well was it for the shoemaker that it was so; for Wood, though in his sixtieth year, was strong enough, and more than angry enough, to have torn him to pieces ; now, however, that the warfare had to be carried on by words, the case was quite reversed. " Neebours," said the shoemaker, who had the double advantage of being exceedingly plausible and decidedly in the wrong, "I'm desperately Ul used this morning, — desperately ill-used, — he would baith rob aud murder me. I laug jaloused, ye see, that my wee bit o' a yard was growing Uttler and littler ilka season; and though no verra ready to suspect folk, I just thought I would keep watch and see wha was shiftmg the mark-staues. Weel, and I did. Late and early did I watch for mair now than a fortnight ; and wha did I see this morning through the back winnock but auld Sandy "Wood there in his very sark, — O, it 's no him that has ony thought o' this end ! — poking the stones wi' a lang kebar, intil the verra heart o' my grun' ? See," said he, pointing to the one that had not yet been moved, — " see if he liasna shifted it a laug ell ; and only notice the craft o' the body in stirring up the yird about the lave, as if they had been a' moved fra my side. Weel, I cam out and challenged him, as wha widna ? Says I, ' Sarmey, my man, that 's no honest ; I '11 no bear that ' ; and nae mair had I time to say, when up he flew at me like a wull-cat ; aud if it wasna for yoursel's, I dare say he would hae throttled 132 LITTLE CLASSICS. me. Look tow I 'm bleedin' ; and only look till him, — look tni the caukart, deceitful bodie, if he has one word to put in for lunisel'." There was truth in, at least, this last assertion ; for poor Wood, mute with rage and astonishment, stood listening, in utter helplessness, to the astounding charge of the shoemaker, — almost the very charge he himself had to prefer. Twice did he spring forward to grapple with him, but the neighbors held him back ; and every time he essayed to speak, his words — massed and tangled together, like wreaths of sea-weed in a hurricane — stuck in his throat. He continued to rage for three days after ; and when the eruption had at length subsided, all his former resentments were found to be swallowed up, like the lesser craters of a volcano, in the gulf of one immense hatred. His house, as has been said, lay contiguous to the house of the shoemaker, and he could not avoid seeing him every time he went out and came in, — a circumstance which he, at first, deemed rather gratifying than other- wise. It prevented liis hatred from beeomiag vapid, by setting it working at least ten times a day, as a musket would a barrel of ale if discharged into the buug-hole. Its frequency, however, at length sickened liim, and he had employed a mason to build a stone-wall, which, by stretcliing from side to side of the close, was to shut up the view, when lie sickened in right earnest, and at the end of a few days found liimself dying. Still, however, he was possessed by his one engrossing resentment. It mingled with all his thoughts of the past and the future ; and not only was he to carry it with him SAJSTDY wood's sepulchee. 133 to the world to wliicli lie was going, but also to leave it behind him as a legacy to his children. Among his many other beliefs, there was a superstition, handed down from the times of the monks, that at the day of final doom all the people of the sheriffdom were to be judged on the moor of Navity ; and both the judgment and the scene of it he had indissolubly associated with the shoemaker and the four stones. Experience had taught him the importance of securing a first hearing for his story ; for was his neighbor, he concluded, to be beforehand with him, he woidd have as slight a chance of being righted at Navity as in his own garden. After brooding over the matter for a whole day, he called his friends and children round his bed, and raised himself on his elbow to address them. "I'm weering awa, bairns and neebours," he said, " and it vexes me sair that that wretched body should see me going afore him. Mind, Jock, that ye '11 build the dike, and make it heigh, heigh, and stobbie on the top ; and oh ! keep him out o' my lykewake ; for should he but step in at the door, I '11 rise, Jock, frae the verra straiking-board and do murder ; dinna let him sa muckle as look on my coffin. I 've been pondering a' this day about the meeting at the Navity, and the mark-stanes ; and I '11 tell you, Jock, how we '11 match him. Bury me ayont the saint's dike, on the Navity side, and dinna lay me deep. Ye ken the bonny green hillock, speckled o'er wi' gowans and puddock-flowcrs, — ■ bury me there, Jock; and yoursel' and the auld wife may just, when your hour comes, tak' up your places beside me. We '11 a' get up at the first tout, — the ane helping the other ; 134 LITTLE CLASSICS. and I 'se wad a' I 'm wortli i' the warld, we '11 be half-way up at Navity afore the shochlan, short-legged body wins o'er the dike." Such was the dying injunction of Sandy Wood ; and his tombstone still remains to testify that it was religiously attended to. An Englishman who came to reside in the parish nearly an age after, and to whom the story must have been imparted in a rather imperfect manner, was shocked by what he deemed his unfair policy. The litigants, he said, should start together; he was certain it would be so in England, where a fair field was all that would be given to St. Dunstan himself, though he fought with the Devil. And that it might be so here, he buried the tombstone of Wood in an immense heap of clay and gravel. It would keep him down, he said, untQ the little fellow would have clambered over the wall. The towns- folk, however, who were better acquainted with the merits of the case, shovelled the heap aside ; and it now forms two little hillocks which overtop the stone, and which, from the nature of the soil, are still more scantily covered with verdure than any part of the surrounding bank. A VISIT TO THE ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS. BY OLIVER. WENDELL HOLMES. AVING just returned from a visit to this ad- mirable Institution in company with a friend who is one of the Directors, we propose giving a short account of what we saw and heard. The great success of the Asylum for Idiots and Feeble-minded Youth, several of the scholars from which have reached considerable distinction, one of them being connected with a leading daily paper in this city, and others having served in the State and national legislatures, was the motive which led to the foundation of this excellent charity. Our late distinguished townsman, Noah Dow, Esquire, as is well known, bequeathed a large portion of his fortune to this establishment, — "being thereto moved," as his will expressed it, "by the desire of N. Dowing some publick Institution for the benefit of Man- kind." Being consulted as to the rules of the institution and the selection of a superintendent, he replied, that "all boards must construct their own platforms of operation. Let them select ani/hoio and he should be 136 LITTLE CLASSICS. pleased." N. E. Howe, Esq., was chosen in compliance with this delicate suggestion. The charter provides for the support of " One hundred aged and decayed Gentlemen-Punsters." On inquiry if there was no provision for females, my friend called my attention to this remarkable psychological fact, namely : There is no such thing as a female Punster. This remark struck me forcibly, and on reflection I found that / never knew nor heard of one, though I have once or twice heard a woman make a single detached pun, as I have known a hen to crow. On arriving at the south gate of the Asylum grounds, I was about to ring, but my friend held my arm and begged me to rap with my stick, which I did. An old man with a very comical face presently opened the gate and put out his head. " So you prefer Cane to A hell, do you ? " he said, — and began chuckling and coughing at a great rate. My friend winked at me. " You're here stUl, Old Joe, I see," he said to the old man. "Yes, yes, — and it's very odd, considering how often I've bolted nights." He then threw open the double gates for us to ride through. " Now," said the old man, as he puUcd the gates after MS, " you've had a long journey." " Why, how is that. Old Joe ? " said my friend. " Don't you see ? " lie answered ; " there 's the East hinges on one side of the gate, and there 's the West hinges on t' other side, — haw ! haw ! haw ! " ASYLUM b'OR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS. lo7 We had no sooner got into the yard than a feeble little gentleman, with a remarkably bright eye, came up to us, looking very seriousV, as if something had happened. " The town has entered a complaint against the Asylum as a gamblmg establishment," he said to my friend, the Director. " What do yon mean ? " said my friend. " Why, they complain that there 's a lot o' rye on the premises," he answered, pointing to a field of that grain, 1 — and hobbled away, his shoulders shaking with laughter, as he went. On entering the main building, we saw the Rules and Regulations for the Asylum conspicuously posted up. I made a few extracts which may be interesting. SECT. I. OF VERBAL EXERCISES. 5. Each Inmate shall be permitted to make Puns freely from eight in the morning until ten at night, except during Service in the Chapel and Grace before Meals. 6. At ten o'clock the gas will be turned off, and no further Puns, Conundrums, or other play on words, will be allowed to be uttered, or to be uttered aloud. 9. Inmates who have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns shall be permitted to repeat such as may be selected for them by the Chaplain out of the work of Mr. Joseph Miller. 10. Violent and unmauageablc Punsters, who interrupt others when engaged in conversation, with Puns or attempts at the same, shall be deprived of their Joseph Millers, and, if ncccssai'y, placed in solitary confuiement. 138 LITTLE CLASSICS. SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS. 4. No Inmate shall make any Puu, or attempt at the same, until the Blessing has been asked and the company are decently seated. 7. Certain Puns ha\ang been placed on the Index Exjmrffatorius of the Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on pain of being debarred the perusal of Punch and Vanity Fair, and, if repeated, deprived of his Joseph Miller. Among these are the following : — Allusions to Attic salt, when asked to pass the salt- cellar. Remarks on the Inmates being mustered, etc., etc. Associating baked beans with the beneiaciors of the Institution. Saying that beef-eating is befitting, etc., etc. The following are also prohibited, exceptmg to such Inmates as may have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns of their own : — "■ your own hair or a wig"; "it will be long enough,^' etc., etc. ; " little of its age," etc., etc. ; — also, playing upon the followiug words : //ospital ; mayor ; pun; jtilied ; bread ; sauce, etc., etc., etc. See Index ExPUHGATOiiius, jirinted for use of Inmates. The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed : — Why is Hasty Pudding Like the Prince ? Because it comes attended by its sweet ; — nor this variation to it, to wit: Because the 'lasses runs after it. The Superintendent, who went round with us, had been a noted punster in his time, and well known in the ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS. 139 busiucss-world, but lost liis customers by making too free with tbeir uames, — as in the famous story he set afloat in '29 oi four Jerries attaching to the names of a noted Judge, an eminent Lawyer, the Secretary of the Board of Foreign Missions, and the well-known Landlord at Springfield. One of the four Jerries, he added, was of gigantic magnitude. The play ou words was brought out by an accidental remark of Solomons, the well-known Banker. " Capital punishment ! " the Jew was over- heard saying, with reference to the guilty parties. He was understood as saying, A capital pun is meant, which led to an investigation and the relief of the greatly excited public mind. The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies, as he went round with us. " Do you know " — he broke out all at once — " why tliey don't take steppes in Tartary for estabUshiug Insane Hospitals ? " We both confessed ignorance. " Because there are nomad people to be found there," he said, with a dignified smile. He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first was a middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with a Webster's Dictionary and a sheet of paper before him. " Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer ? " " Three or four only," said Mr. Mowzer. " Will you hear 'em now, — now I 'm here ? " We aU nodded. " Don't you see Webster ers in the words center and theat(?r ? 140 LITTLE CLASSICS. " If he spells leather lether, and feather /ether, is n't there danger that he 'II give us a bad spell of weather ? " Besides, "Webster is a resurrectionist ; he does not allow u to rest quietly in the mould. " And again, because Mr. Worcester inserts an illus- tration in his text, is that any reason why Mr. Webster's publishers should hitch one on in their appendix ? It 's ■what I call a Connect-a-cut trick. " Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven ? Because it is wider bread." " Mowzer ! " said the Superintendent, — " that word is on the Index ! " "I forgot," said Mr. Mowzer; "please don't deprive me of Vanity Fair, this one time, Sir. " These are all, this morning. Good day. Gentlemen." Then to the Superintendent, — "Add you. Sir ! " ■ The next Inmate was a semi-idiotic looking old man. He had a heap of block-letters before him, and, as we came up, he pointed, without saying a word, to the arrangements he had made with them on the table. They were evidently anagrams, and had the merit of trans- posuig the letters of the words employed without addition or subtraction. Here are a few of them : — Times Smite ! Post Stop ! Teibune True nib. WoELD Dr. Owl. Advertiser ... i ^^^ ^^^^ ^^t. \ Is true. Read ! Allopathy . . . All o' th' pay. Homeopathy ... 0, the ! ! 0, my I Pah I ASYLUM FOR AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS. 141 The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions. Thus : Wliether the Editor of the Trib- vuie was H. G. reulhj ? If the complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being an eager person himself ?' Whether Wendell Fillips were not a reduced copy of John Knocks ? Whether a New York Fetiille- toniste is not the same thing as a Fellow doicn East ? At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, evidently waiting to take a part in the con- versation. " Good morning, Mr. Higgles," said the Superintendent. " Anything fresh tliis morning ? Any Conundrum ? " '•' I have n't looked at the cattle," he answered dryly. " Cattle ? Why cattle ? " ■'Why, to see if there 's any corn under 'em ! " he said ; and immediately asked, "Why is Douglas like the earth ? " We tried, but could n't guess. " Because he ^a^Jlattened out at the polls ! " said Mr. Riggles. "A famous politician, formerly," said the Superin- tendent. " His grandfather was a seize-Hessian-ist in the Revolutionary War. By the way, I hear the freeze- oil doctrines don't go down at New Bedford." The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly. "Ask him what his calling was," said the Superin- tendent. " Followed the sea," he replied to the question put by one of us. " Went as mate in a fishing-schooner." " Why did you give it up ? " 142 LITTLE CLASSICS. "Because I didn't like working for two mast-ers" Le replied. Presently we came upon a group of elderly persons, gathered about a venerable gentleman with flowing locks, who was propounding questions to a row of Inmates. " Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger ? " he said. Nobody responded for two or three minutes. At last one old man, whom I at once recognized as a Graduate of our University (Anno 1800), held up his hand. " Rem a cue tetigit." " Go to the head of the Class, Josselyn," said the venerable Patriarch. The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way, pushing against two or three of the Class. " ^ow is this ? " said the Patriarch. " You told me to go m^ jontlhi'" he replied. The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the Pun too much to be angry. Presently the Patriarch asked again, — " Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the Prince ? " The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself : — " Because every one of his carroms was a tick-it to the ball." "Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in Italy ? " asked the Patriarch. Here again the Class failed. " The war-cloud's rolling Bun," he answered. ASYLUM FOB, AGED AND DECAYED PUNSTERS. 143 " And what is mulled wine made witli ? " Three or four voices exclaimed at once, — " Sizzle-y Madeira ! " Here a servant entered, and said, " Luncheon-time." The old gentlemen, who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely asking us if we would nr stop and have a bit of bread and a little mite of cheesf "There is one thing I have forgotten to show y • said the Superintendent, — " the cell for the confiueu of violent and unmanageable Punsters." We were very curious to see it, particularly with reference to the alleged absence of every object upon which a play of words could possibly be made. The Superintendent led us up some dark stairs to a corridor, then along a narrow passage, then down a broad flight of steps into another passage-way, and opened a large door which looked out on the main en- trance. "We have not seen the cell for the confinement of ' violent and unmanageable ' Punsters," we both ex- claimed. "This is the sell!" he exclaimed, pointing to the outside prospect. My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly that I had to laugh. "We like to humor the Inmates," he said. "It has a bad effect, we find, on their health and spirits to disappoint them of their little pleasantries. Some of the jests to which wc have listened arc not new to me, 'hough I dare say you may not have heard them often jfore. The same thing happens in general society, with 144 LITTLE CLASSICS. tliis additional disadvantage, that there is no punishment provided for ' violent and unmanageable ' Punsters, as in our mstitution." We made our bow to the Superintendent and walked to the place where our carriage was waiting for us. On our way, an exceedingly decrepit old man moved slowly towards us, with a perfectly blank look on his face, but stiU appearing as if he wished- to speak. " Look ! " said the Director, — " that is our Cen- tenarian." The ancient man crawled towards us, cocked one eye, with which he seemed to see a httle, up at us, aud said, — "Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a — a — a — Uke a — a — a — ? Give it up ? Because it 's a — a — a — a—." He smiled a pleasant smUe, as if it were all plain enough. "One hundred and seven last Christmas," said the Director. " He lost his answers about the age of ninety- eight. Of late years he puts his whole Conundrums in blank, — but they please him just as well." We took our departure, much gratified and instnicted by our visit, lioping to have some future opportimity of inspecting the records of this exceUeut charity and making extracts for the benefit of our readers. MR. TIBBOT O'LEARY, THE CURIOUS. BY GERALD GRIFFIN. N that exceedingly romantic, but lonesome tract of country which extends along the Upper Lake of Killarucy, stood, within my own recollection, one of those antique mansions which are to be found in difTerent stages of decay in many parts of the country. It was easy to see, from the style of building, that the hands by which it was raised had given up business for more than a century, at least. In this house, somewhat less than fifty years since, dwelt a gentleman of very ancient family indeed. He was one of those persons whose faces ought to be turned behind them, in order to correspond with the prevailing bias of their intellects, for he seemed to think of nothing but the past, and was inflnitcly more familiar with the days of Moses and Zoroaster, than with liis own. As to the future, he saw, and desired to see, no more of it than a man beholds of those objects which stand m a right line beliind him. His tastes, if not so entirely sentimental as those of Sterne, who could find more satisfaction in communing with a dead ass than with a living Christian, VOL. V. 7 J 146 LITTLE CLASSICS. appeared yet sufficiently fantastic iu tlieir way to tliat very limited number of persons who liad the honor of being scattered in his neighborhood. A mouldy Irish manuscript, a Danish rath or fort, a craggy ruin of an Abbey or Castle, which had survived the very memory of their possessors, a moss-covered cromleach, or lonely Druid stone, were to him more welcome company any day in the year, than the wittiest or most sociable amongst his living friends. As to the ladies, if Cleopatra herself were to arise from the grave, unless her great antiquity might awaken some interest for her, she would find her charms and talents as entirely wasted on the msipid mind of Mr. Tibbot O'Leary, as they were in her natural hfetime on that very ill-bred gentleman whom they call Octavius Caesar. Although habits of retirement and absence of mind had made him very unobservant of the manners of his own time, and he was apt to make awkward mistakes occasionally, both at his own table and at those of others, yet he could hardly be taxed with a want of breeding, for he would have known to a nicety how to conduct himself at the tables of Lucullus or Mecoenas, when those who now laughed at him for his ignorance would have looked like fools or clodpoles by his side. But the darling object of his affections was a round tower. What especially charmed hira about these sin- gular buildings was, that nobody in the world could tell for what possible use they were intended. Volumes on volumes had been written, all proving the great learning and aeuteness of the different writers, yet Ihe subject still remained as much a mystery, as ever. What in the MR, TIBBOT O^LEAEY^ THE CURIOUS. 147 world could they be for ? That was the question which constantly recurred to his mind, alone or in company, silent or conversing, sleeping or awake. There they were, round, lofty edifices ; as cylindrical inside and outside as the barrel of a gun, exact in all their propor- tions, and admirable in their masonry, yet of no possible use that anybody could divine, — no steps, — no way of getting up to the top, either inside or outside, no apart- ment underneath, nothing but its small doorway, and the tall circular wall, as if the sole object of the founder had been to show how high it was possible to build a round wall which could not be of any earthly use to himself or to anybody else. They could scarcely have been watch- towers, seeing that some (as at Glendaloch) were at the bottom of a valley, and surrounded by hills, any one of which would give a better view than the top of the round tower. Nor could they have been Stylite columns, since that was acknowledged to be almost exclusively an Oriental institution. Nor could he see that great re- semblance in structure which others professed to discover between them and the Pyratheia of the Persian Gaurs, which are still to be seen in the East, for those last were at least habitable and accessible. What on earth could they be for ? There was no knowing, and that was the very circumstance which fascinated his mind, and kept his intellectual powers forever on the stretch. Absorbed by such pursuits, he felt not for a long time the loneliness of his position, living in a dilapidated house, with no other company than that of his man, Tom Nash, and a moving antique in the shape of an old woman who took care of his housekeeping. Tom felt no great interest 148 LITTLE CLASSICS. for ruias eitlier old or new, and had a much keener taste for a corned round of beef, or a cheek of pork and greens, than for all the round towers between Scattery Island and the Persian Gulf. However, he always listened or seemed to listen attentively, while his master spoke ; and as the latter, in their rambles from place to place, un- folded to his mind's eye the most recondite learning of past ages, he was careful to mark at the same time his attention, and his astonishment, at every new piece of information, by such intelligent obsei'vations as, " See that!" "Murther, murther!" "Well, well, there's nothing can surpass the art o' man ! " In this complacency he found his account. An attentive or patient pair of eaia was an article which his master valued in proportion to its rarity ; and as amongst the few which flourished in his vicuiity, stUl fewer were at his service as often as he cordd wish, his esteem for those which adorned the head of Tom Nash made him liberal to their owner. And if ever any piece of neglect or awkwardness occurred to dimmish the cordiality with which his master always treated him, Tom had it always in his power to restore himself to favor by taking the first opportunity to ask, as if from a revery, " Why then, I wondher, masther, what in the airthly universe could them ould round towers be built for ? " • This was certain to bring back good-humor, and in the learned disquisition which followed all traces* of dis- pleasure were sure to be forgotten. I have already said that Mr. O'Leary lived almost alone, nor, though yet young, did he seem to have any idea of (as the phrase is) " changing his condition." MR. TIBBOT o'lEARY, THE CUUIOUS. 149 Rumor said, indeed (for rumor "will find its way even into a wilderness), that it had not always been so, and that a disappointment of a nature which least of all could be suggested by his present character and pursuits had much to do both with his present retii'ement and his stud- ies. It was whispered, moreover, that he owed it all to an unreasonable exercise of the same spirit of restless and fidgety curiosity which had been a leading feature in his character from childhood, and many thought his present occupations were no more than a. new direction taken by the ruling passion. The manner in wliich he first met with his man Nash furnished a proof that he had been afflicted with it long before it took its present turn. Mr. Tibbot O'Leary was left early in possession of his property ; so early that he was compelled to become a man of business almost before he was a man at all. Even at this period, however, and indeed long before, he was the same busy, systematic, prying, inquisitive, untiring burden to himself and plague to his neighbors that he was all his life, until his river of curiosity happily emptied itself into the boundless ocean of antiquarian research. There was scarce a sentence left his lips, or a thought passed through his mind, which might not have a note of interrogation placed at the end of it. One of his numerous daily practices was to walk down as far as the gate of liis own avenue, which opened on the mail-coach road, at half past nine o'clock every morning, and at quarter to four every evening ; these being the two diurnal periods at which the coach passed, or ought to pass, on its way to and from the nearest county town. And if he were too early for the coacli 150 LITTLE CLASSICS. (he never was too late), he would wait patiently, with his back against the pier of his gate, until the " conveniency " made its appearance, and at the very instant it was pass- ing his own gate, he would draw out his sUver hunting- watch and mark the time, and then leisurely walk home and compare his watch with the dial, and tlien compare the dial with the almanac, making allowance to the fourth place of decimals for diiference of longitude, and thus discover exactly how many minutes, or fractions of minutes, the coach had been " behind time" iu its pro- gress for that day. Nor was he a jot disconcerted by observmg (indeed, he did not observe it at all) that in progress of time the automaton-like regularity of his appearance and of his movements, the punctual apparition of his figure seen afar off leaning against the pier, the motion of the hand to the watch-fob as the coach drew nigh, the production of the time-piece, and the glance at the coach to observe the precise moment when they were in a direct line opposite the gate, all became matter of undisguised amusement to the coachman and his passen- gers, who might be seen looking back with laughing countenances, as he put up his watch with the air of a philosopher, and walked up the avenue, to complete the troublesome process which he had imposed on himself as a morning and evening recreation. "Have you any news?" was at this time the second or third, and often tlic first question which he put to every acquaintance at meeting. Having, unhkc busy- bodies in general, brought his own aflairs into tolerable order, little remained for him to do besides interesting himself in those of the world outside ; and his feeble MR. TIBBOT o'lEARY^ THE CURIOUS. 151 mind, like a creeping slirub unable to support itself, went throwing its tendrils about in all directions, seeking for events and circumstances to prevent it from falling back an inert mass upon itself. Fortunately, his hunger for novelty was of a kind which was easily appeased. His more observant friends soon remarked that any answer satisfied him, except a direct negative, and this was his aversion. To tell him of a sick cow, a dog strayed or poisoned, a servant turned off, a leg of mutton spoiled in the cooking, anything was preferable to the barren and unwelcome " No." Indeed, to those who knew him, few things could be more painful than its infliction ; and, accordingly, where it was understood that nothing more was requisite than merely to keep the sense of hearing in play for a certain portion of time, there was scarcely any one who had not got news of some kind for Tibbot O'Leary. Those who did not know him were not so well aware of the nature of the food for which he craved, and were not so prompt in satisfying his hunger, as was exemplified in his first meeting with his man Tom Nash. One morning Mr. Tibbot O'Leary arrived as usual a few minutes before half past nine o'clock at his own pier gate. Crossing the stile, he was surprised and discon certed to find his place occupied by a young country lad, who seemed to have made a long and wearisome journey, and was now resting in Tibbot's favorite attitude, and against his favorite pier. The lad touched his hat respectfully, but did not move. Mr. O'Leary began to grow fidgety, but felt as if it would be inhospitable to d:;sirc him to change his quarters ; besides that, it would 152 LITTLE CLASSICS. look somewhat ridiculous to turn him away from the pier merely for the purpose of taking the place himself, and the fellow had an arch eye which looked as if nothing ridiculous would be likely to escape it. The exclusive possession of the pier of a gate could hardly be an object of ambition to any being, except a cow to whom the sharp angle at the comer might be a temptation, or a human being inclined to mdulge in the same pastime. Mr. O'Leary, however, had no such inclination; so, on that morning, the coachman, the guard, and the passen- gers were astonished to behold Mr. O'Leary for the first time go through his customary evolutions on the opposite side of the gate to that at which he was wont to stand. After the coach had passed, and the watch was put up, Tibbot glanced at the individual who ornamented the opposite pier, and said, — " Well, my man, who are you ? " " A poor boy, plase your honor." " Have you any news ? " " Not a word, your honor." " No news ! What 's your name ? " "Tom Nash, sir" (respectfully touching the leaf of his hat with the lip of his forefinger). " Where do you come from ? " " E'stwards, your honor." " And where are you going ? " " Westwards, your honor." " And you have no news ? " " Not a word, plase your honor." " How far do you mean to go ? " "Why then, just until somebody axes me to stay." ME,. TIBBOT o'lEARY^ THE CURIOUS. 153 " And whom do you expect to ' ax ' you, as you call it?" " Wislia, some gentleman that '11 have an open heart an' a house by the roadside. Sure, 't is u't any close- fisted negar I 'd expect to ax me." " Umph ! And who do you imagme would give a night's lodging to a person like you, who has n't got a word of news or anything to say that would make his company entertaining or desirable ? " " Wisha, that 's as it falls out. If they does u't do it for God's sake, I don't expect they'd do it for mine. 'T is n't any fault o' mine. If I hard any news goin' I would n't begridge tellin' it." " But you did n't hear it ? " " I did not." "Not a word? " " Not one." "Don't you come from town ? " " I does." " And did u't you hear any news there ? " " I did not." " That 's very strange. They almost always have news in towu of some kind or another." " If they had it, they were very sparin' of it this turn, for they did n't give me any." " Did you ask for it ? " " Wisha, then, not to tell your honor a lie, I did n't. I had something else to think of." " What else had you to think of ? " " 0, then, my poverty and my hunger, an' the distance that was betune me an' home ! " 7* 154 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Wliere is your home ? " "Wisha, uowhere, until some one makes it out for me. But my native place is behind near Kenmare." ' " How long is it since you left it ? " " Six years." " And you are now going back ? " " I am." " I suppose you had a great many strange adventures during your absence from home ? " " Och, then, not belyin' your honor, sorrow a 'venther, 'cept that it was a veuthersom thing o' me ever to think of lavin' it." " And did you never hear anything worth relating during all those six years ? " " Sorrow ha'p'orth." " Did nothing ever happen to any of your friends or acquaintances that might be worth mentionuig ? " " Sorrow ha'p'orth ever happened any of 'em as I know." "Nor to yourself?" " Not a ha'p'orth. What should happen me ? " " Did nobody ever teU you a story of any kind that was worth listening to ? " " I never heard one." If ever there was an individual less likely than another to get into the good graces of Tibbot O'Leary, it was the uninquisitive, incommunicative behig who now stood before him. After contemplating his figure in silence for some moments, he turned away, saying, — " Upon my word, my man, if you have no more than that to say to your friends when you get to Kenmare, MU. TIBBOT o'lEAUY, THE CURIOUS. 155 you '11 be no great prize to them when fhey have you, or to any one you meet on the way eithec," By this time the traveller began to form a better estimate of the man with whom he had to deal. Seeing the inquisitive gentleman turn up the avenue with a discontented air, he thrust his head between the bars of the gate, and called aloud, — "Plase your houor ! " " Well ? " said Tibbot, looking over his shoulder. " I have some news, plase your honor." The brow of Mr. O'Leary relaxed. "Well," said he, "what is it?" " I was comin' through a part o' the County Tipperary the other day, and passing near the foot o' the Galteigh mountains, what should I see only a power o' people with horses and tacklin' an' they dhraggin' after 'em the longest bamcs o' timber I ever seen upon the road, — great firs and pine-trees fit for the mast of a man-of-war, an' bigger, that looked as if they were just cut down for some purpose or another, an' so they wor. I wondhered greatly, au' I axed one o' the people where it is they were goin' with the big threes. ' We 're goin' to plant 'hn on tiie top o' the Galteighs,' says he. ' What to do ? ' says I. ' A big split that comes in the sky,' says he, ' an' 't is only lately we observed it. So we 're gettin' the tallest threes we can find to prop it up, for the split is incraisin', an' there 's no knowin' the minute it may fall.' When I hai'd that, I axed him no more, but left him an' come away." "Well," exclaimed Mr. O'Leary, "and why didn't you tell me that at first ? " 156 LITTLE CLASSICS. " 0, sure, 't is n't every news a keoict o' my kind would hear, that would be worth relating to larned quollity like your honor." " Come along, — come along and get your dinner," said Mr. O'Leary. " You should never say you have no news, man." They went up the avenue together, and so well did the traveller contrive to obliterate the bad impression he had made in the first instance, that before the day was over he was formally inaugurated into the post which he ever after continued to hold in Mr. O'Leary's household. It was very shortly after this auspicious meeting that Mr. O'Leary made the visit to the Metropolis, which was. the subject of so much mysterious whispering and question aud conjecture ki his own neighborhood long after his return. And about the period of this last event, likewise, it was that the vane of Tibbot O'Leary's curiosity (to the great joy and reUef of all his living friends) began to stream backward steadily towards the past, and ceased to interest itself as much as before in the petty affairs of his contemporaries, on which liis genius had been hitherto exhausted. It was hinted that it would have been happier for him had his inquiries taken this turn before his return from Dublin. The fair cause of his disap- pomtment and retreat had, it was said, no other ground of dissatisfaction, on her own admission, than poor Tib- bot's ruling foible, which liad become more and more in- tolerable as their intimacy increased. Many a character- istic scene, whether real or imaginary, was retailed among the fireside circles in the neighborhood as having led to the lachrymose result which exercised so strong an MR. TIBBOT O^LEARYj THE CURIOUS, 157 influence over O'Leary's subsequent fortunes. If poor Tibbot was fidgety and inquisitive vrith his acquaintances in general, there was no end to his queries in the company of one in whom he felt a particular interest ; and witliout having a particle of jealousy in his constitution, all his conduct was like that of a jealous person. Now, without having anything the least in the world criminal to conceal, all ladies know, and gentlemen too, that a thousand things happen in the customary routine of life which it may not suit one's purpose to speak of even to one's most intimate friend. Even the poet who insists most strongly on the merit of confidential frankness advises you, though in the company of " a bosom crony," to " Still keep something to yoursel, Ye '11 scarcely tell to oiiy." If Tibbot saw Miss Crosbie talking to a stranger in the street, he should know who he was, who was his father, who was his mother, what was his business in town, etc., besides a thousand similar queries, the repeated answer- ing or evading which was found so burdensome, that it finally outweighed all the good qualities of the querist. Among many appropriate speeches which were kindly ascribed to the hero and heroine of the fireside romance by the tattle-mongers in the country-side, there was one which was said to have produced a powerful effect in making poor Tibbot look like a fool at the time it was uttered. " If notes of interrogation were as current as other notes, Mr. O'Leary," said the lady, " what an immense capital you could set afloat ! " 158 LITTLE CLASSICS. Others averred tliat there "n-as no sueh exchisive feeling of disappoiutmeut whatever on the part of the gentleman, and that it was quite as much in accordance with his own desire as with that of the lady that the affair ended as it did. However this might be, Tibbot did not seem to allow the event to weigh very heavily upon his spirits, and it was with much equanimity that he subsequently even heard of her marriage to another. His beloved studies supplied to him the place of all other domestic happiness; and but for one of those accidents which so much more frequently determine the fortunes of men than any efforts of prudence or foresight, he might have contmued his solitary pursuits until he had become himself as venerable a reHc of the past as any of the weather-worn dallctm or trUithons or musty manuscripts over which he was accustomed to consume his youthful hours with aU the devotion of an enthusiast. It was late on an autumn evening, and tliroughout the lonesome apartments of Mr. O'Leary's dwelling that interval of stillness reigned which precedes the hour of general nightly rest. . Tom Nash was getting out turf for the next morning. The old woman was raking .1 he kitchen fire in the huge ash-pit. The proprietor of the mansion was in a distant corner of the building, with a chamber candle iu his hand, looking over the precious antiquarian treasures contained in that apartment which he called his library, but which had much more the ap- pearance of a museum, or the cabinet of a dealer in the black art. Here stood the jaw-bones of an enormous grampus which was stranded on the coast of Dingle half a century before ; there a huge stalactite from some ME,. TIBBOT o'lEARY, THE CURIOUS. 159 inland cavern ; here a penny struck in Galway, when Edward IV. had a mint in that town ; there a thigh-bone of Heaven knows what animal, with a neck and head of a moose-deer; here a model of the five-inch hail-stones which fell in 1748 ; there a massive silver brooch, which had figured on the breast of some Kerry chieftain of the Middle Ages ; here a whole array of battered trumpets, rusty swords, wicker targets, skenes, bows and arrows, bells, crosses, and other mementos, to show how our ancestors used to live, and how people used to kill one another ; there a row of fossils, Kerry diamonds, pyrites from Bantry, mare asites from Carberry, and so forth. Nor was his library less curious. Heaps of Irish manuscript songs, and metrical histories of the ancient bards and seuachies of historiographers of the isle ; vol- umes, the contents of which, like the vane of a vessel sailing against the wind, still pointed backwards towards the year of the creation ; huge folios in various languages ; and, above all, a whole sheK of learned treatises on the probable use and origin of round towers, — were ranged against the walls of his apartment. On a sudden, the unusual sound of a horse's hoof was heard upon the avenue. Mr. O'Leary, in his room, holding the candle in his hand, and Tom Nash in the kitchen, at the same instant paused to listen. What belated wight could it be who sought so unfrequented a place of shelter as Chore Abbey at this lonesome hour ? It was evident the rider was a man, and a merry fellow too, for as he drew near the house they coiUd hear him singing at the top of his voice a burlesque Latin version of a popular song : — 160 LITTLE CLASSICS. " Quum tyrocinii tempus in Drogheda Impiger egi ut ullus in oppido, Magistri filia Bidelia Dogliertidas Foramen fecit in coi-de RafFertidis." Botli the voice and words seemed familiar to the ear of Tibbot O'Leary, for his countenance immediately ex- hibited a mingled expression of pleasure and alarm. " Bless me ! " he exclaimed, " it is he, sure enough. Was ever anything more unfortunate ? How did he find me out here, and what shall I do with him ? " " Why then, who in the airthly universe is that, that 's comin' singin' to the doore at such an hour ? " ejaculated Tom Nash, below stairs. " Now for an arrowy shower of ridicule and shallow derision," said the master above. " Now for another job o' work afther I thinkin' all my business was done for the night," said the servant below. Unconscious of this querulous duet, which his arrival occasioned within door, the sans souci horseman, instead of taking the trouble to alight at the hall door, continued to shout and sing alternately, at tlie top of his voice, — " What ho ! house ! Why, house ! I say ! Is there any one within ? ' Eu ! Eu ! Patrici Raffertidcs ! Macte virtute, Patrici Raffertidea ! Magisti-i filia, Pulehra Bidelia, Foramen fecit in corde Raffertidis.' What ! house ! " MR. TIBBOT o'lEARY^ THE CURIOUS. 161 In the mean time Tom Nasli had made his way to the presence of his master. " The key of the hall doorc, sir, if you plase." " Tom, I 'm ruined ! " " How so, sir ? " " This is Mr. Geoifrey Gunn, an old college chum of mine, and the last person in the world whom I would have find me in this place." " Well, sure 't is aisy for me to give him the nien she- sthig, or for us all to hould our tongue, an' purtiud we don't hear him, an' lave him bawlin' an' singiu' abroad there till he 's tired. The Gunus ar' n't only a modhern stock in these parts. The first of 'em come over oudher Queen Lizabit." " Nay, nay, that would never answer ; I am very glad to meet him, though I could wish — There he calls again, nin — run and open the door. And stay, have you got anything for supper ? " "Lashins and lavins." " Very well, have it ready, and bring it when I call ! " If it be true, as some wise men have asserted, that the more a man does the more he is able to do, it is no less a fact that the less a man docs the less he is inclined to do. The comparatively idle life which Tom Nash led under his studious master had strengthened to the utmost a powerful natural taste for doing nothing, and rendered him proportionably unfriendly to any demands upon his labor, especially when they happened to be unforeseen or out of course. " Why then, you 'I'e welcome, as the farmer said to the tithe procthor," he muttered, going down stairs; K 162 LITTLE CLASSICS, " wliat a charmin' voice you have this eveniu'. I must go, make up your horse now, and give him a feed, and be cleanin' your boots an' stirrups, in place o' bein' where I ought to be this time o' night, in my warm bed. An' all on account of a roystherin' bawlin' bedlamite that — What 's wantin', plase your honor? " he added in an altered tone, as he opened the door and confronted the belated horseman. " Is your master at home ? " " He is, plase your honor." " Will you tell him that his old friend, Mr. Gunn, is come to see him ? " "He knows it already, plase your honor. He hear your honor singiu' on the aveny, an' he knows the voice. 'Tom Nash,' says he (mainin' myself), 'that's Misther Geoffrey Gimn, my old friend, an' I 'm very glad to meet him,' says he ; ' take care an' have supper ready when I call!'" " It appears to me, Tom," said the stranger, as he dismounted, and gave the bridle to Nash, " that you can- not be much ti'oublcd with visitors in this place." " Only middlhi', sir, of an odd turn. The last we had was Aisther two years, a very civU, aisy-spoken gentle- man indeed. He stopped only the one night, an' ga'e me a half-crown in the mornin' when he was goin', although I never seen any one that gave so little throuble. I wanted not to take it, but he would n't be said by me." " Um. And where am I to find your master ? " " If your honor wiU condescend to take the hght in your hand, an' go sthrait up stairs, wliile I'm takin' round the horse, you'll iind him above, in the library. ME.. TIBBOT GALEAE Yj THE CUEIOUS. 163 That 's ttie place for you to visit. He has all the ould rattle-thraps an' curiosities up there that ever was dug out o' the bowls o' the airth since the creation. That 's the man that has the long head. Take care of the hole upon the first landing. You '11 see yoursel' where there 's a step wan tin', — in the second flight. You can see the kitchen down through it. The gentleman we had here last was near breakin' his leg in it, comin' down stairs in the mornin'. We forgot to tell him about it." Taking the candle in his hand, Mr. Gunn proceeded to ascend the venerable staircase, with all the caution which these hints were calculated to excite. It is curious to think of what materials we are made, and how apt we are to consider an object rather as it appears to men than as it really is in itself. The idea that there could be anything absurd or ridiculous in his present pursuits had never once occurred to Mr. O'Leary ; yet now that lie found himself and them about to be subjected to the eye of one who, whatever he might think of the present or the future, did not, as he knew, care a button for the past, he felt as much ashamed as if he were conscious himself that his life was spent in a very siUy manner. Whether it was, however, that it is not so easy or so amusing to quiz a man in his own house as elsewhere, or that the world had altered him, Geoffrey Gunn did not manifest the least inclination to turn his old companion or his " curiosities," as Nash called them, into ridicule. On the contrary, he even manifested a degree of interest about them ; and after mutual and cordial iuquii'ies had been interchanged between them, he had the civility to ask the names of two or three of tiie mosi, fantastic 164 LITTLE CLASSICS. looking objects ■wliich lie beheld around him. Charmed, the more with his complacency, as it "was so wholly un- expected, Mr. O'Leary explained their uses and history, much admiring the change which time had wrought in his old friend since the period when himself was wont to form the target of his merriment. "And that long spike with the ring and two heavy balls at one end of it. It seems of silver." "The purest silver. It is a brooch." " A brooch ! " exclaimed Guuu, placing it against his shirt-friU. " Why, it weighs haK a pound ! " " The more nearly resembUug the menial but necessary utensil from which it derives its name," said Mr. O'Leary. "It is the dealg-faUain, or ancient Irish cloak bodkin, worn at the cosheriugs or feasts of the nobihty." "Bless me ! " said Gunn ; " who would have thought it ! I say, O'Leary, what a figure a man would cut goin' to a subscription ball at the Rotunda with such a thing as that stuck in his buttonhole ! Well, you have a complete museum here, a second Noah's ark. What a time it must have taken you to get them all together ! And you have them all so pat at your finger's end." (Here he yawned slightly.) " Well, it is all very curious, I dare say, and very entertaining to those who have a talent for such studies. Besides, it is so much more interesting and instructive to spend one's time amid the rehcs of the past — the memorials of the mighty dead, as somebody calls them — than amongst the frivolous beings who usurp the name of men in our own degenerate time. As TuUy says, lieu quanta minus est cum Us ver- sari quam te meminisse ! " MR. TIBBOT O^LEARY^ THE CURIOUS. 165 Mr. O'Leary made no reply, unwilling to interrupt a flow of seutiraent wliich be could not sufScieutly admire. " Yes," said Geoffrey Gunn, " there is a grandeur about tbe past, wbicb, the more one thinks of it, makes him shrink with distaste from tbe pettiness and littleness of tbe present. There is a sublimity of feeling associated with tbe preterite Was which its fellow tense Is can never produce. Tbe very sound of tbe words indicates a superiority in the former. Was, full-toned and broad, opens the whole mouth. Is comes forth between the teeth like the hiss of a goose. How pleasing to turn from tbe tiresome, matter-of-fact illumination of our own times, that spread of dry practical knowledge which takes away from learning half its miportance by removing its singularity, and contemplate the beautiful gloom of those majestic ages when the very alphabet itself, to the mass of mankind, was invested with all the interests of mystery ! " " My dear Geoffrey, I forgot to ask, have you diued ? " "Psha ! a fig for dinner or breakfast either," said Gunn, after another stitied yawn ; " I am not so entirely void of taste as to think about eating, while such a mental treat as this is spread before me. And, not to speak of the pleasure, tbe utility of such pursuits must be apparent to everybody. Tor instance, but for the fortunate re- covery of those sUver bodkins, would not the knowledge of the manner in which tbe old O'Douoghoes and their contemporaries fastened their cloaks be lost forever to the world ? Besides, it is so much more useful to study how people lived a thousand years ago, than it is to reflect how we are to live ourselves. Any fool can 166 LITTLE CLASSICS. know his ovm business, but it is only men of sense and understanding, as well as cbarity, who take an interest in that of persons who are no longer able to take care of it themselves." (Another heroic effort to suppress a yawn.) " You must be hungry, however. It is a good step from Killarney here." (He rung the bell.) " Besides, we can so much more agreeably talk over old times at a supper-table by the fireside." Geoffrey Gunn suffered himself to be prevailed upon, and a very tolerable supper was speedily laid before the pair, to which Gunn did such justice as showed that his antiquarian enthusiasm had not taken away his appetite. On a sudden, while they conversed upon indifferent subjects, Gunn raised his head and said, as if a sudden thought had struck him, — " Apropos of antiquities, Tibbot, are you acquainted with this great female antiquarian who lives in your neighborhood ? " " Not I. Whom do you mean ? " " Why, now that 's very odd. I have only come down to this part of the country to snatch a peep at the lake during the vacation, and I know more of your neighbors than you who live on the spot ; but then, rogue as you are, I would be a fool to you, I warrant, if we came to question about the court of the Ptolemies or Phamesas. But, indeed, it was accidentally I heard of her first. She is a Miss Moriarty (a genuine west country stock), and a very witch at the books ; knows Hebrew, and can even scrawl a hierogly]:)hic or two of the Chaldaic and such things. As for Greek and Latin, she makes no more of them than a squirrel would of cracking a nut." MR. TIBBOT o'lEARY, THE CURIOUS. 167 " Is it possible ? How odd I should uever have heard of her ! " " Not at all odd, my dear fellow ; you were busy about more important things. It is only for us ephemeral be- ings to have our ears cocked for such every-day novel- ties. But, indeed, you ought to know her. She lives not more than half a mile from here, on the Kenmare Road, in an humble farm-house, tenanted by the husband of a relative, where she has a couple of rooms filled with all the antediluvian rarities in the world. You should have heard her upon the round towers." " You don't tell me so ? " " She has a theory of her own about them. I had the fall benefit of it ; for a few days since I was compelled to take shelter in the house from a shower of rain, and had the honor and happiness of hearing, during the half-hour I remained, more words I could n't understand than I did the whole time I was in college." A lady in his neighborhood who knew Hebrew and had got an original theory upon the origin of round towers ! Little more was said upon the subject during supper, unless that a particular description was given of the lady's residence ; but Tibbot O'Leary was far from letting it slip out of memory. On the following morning, after Geoffrey Gunn had taken liis leave (not forgetting the gentleman who had given Nash a half-crown " last Aisther two years "), he remained, as that faithful domestic conceived, unusually pensive and silent, though loquacity, indeed, was never amongst his failings. Let us, how- ever, follow Mr. Gunn. He was one of a class of per- sons very commou in Ireland, and for aught I know 168 LITTLE CLASSICS. as common elsewhere. He was a liberal dealer in what might be called white lies. Dining out, or paying a visit, or breakfasting, or even meeting a friend in the street, he seemed to consider his time thrown away if he did not leave a few such fictions behind him ; nor was it necessary that they should be in any degree humorous, or have any particular object in view ; it was quite sufficient if they had no foundation in truth. A foreign potentate dead, a coach upset, Mrs. O'What-d'ye-call brought to bed of twins, Mr. So-and-so killed in a duel, — such were the species of inventions which rolled from his Kps like a little torrent whenever he found himself amongst a civil set of hearers, and in which he was encouraged by the laughter of some friends with whom he passed for a gen- uine wit. The instant he turned from Tibbot O'Leary's avenue, he trotted briskly away, and slackened not his speed until he pulled bridle at the door of a Mr. O'Con- nor, who was not less a gentleman for being a farmer, and not less a farmer for being a gentleman. This gentle- man farmer appeared to have observed his approach from the windows of the sitting-room ; for Geoffrey Gunn had no sooner pulled up liis horse, than the hall door opened, and Mr. O'Connor appeared with outstretched hand and smiling countenance. " Good morrow, good morrow ! you are welcome. Well?" " I told you I 'd do it." " But have you done it ? Have you seen him P " " Seen liiin ! If you see him not here before a month is at an end, I '11 give you leave to say this head is good for nothiug more than slashing wheat upon." MR. TIBBOT O^LEAEY^ THE CURIOUS. 169 " You 're a nonpareil. And is she to know anything about it?" " As mucli as your love of small talk may induce you to communicate; provided always, and be it excepted, that no mention be made of a preconcerted plan. One word of that would ruin us forever." " I understand : trust me for the discreet thing. But come in, come in, we are just going to luncheon. She 'U be deh'ghted to see you." " To tell you the truth," Guun continued in a lower tone, as he entered the little hall and took off his great- coat, " it is partly a matter of conscience with me, for I had a greater share than sits easy on my memory in that former transaction, so that I have something like a per- sonal interest in seemg — Ah, Miss Moriarty, how d' ye do ? " etc., etc. And all sat down to luncheon. There is generally a degree of decorous silence attend- ing the commencement of any serious meal (such as luncheon often is in a mountainous countiy) which gradually wears off according as the motives diminish which stimulate to action rather than to dialogue. Ac- cordingly, for some time, little was heard except the jingle of knives and forks, interspersed with an occasional sentence or two in the way of courtesy. At length the attention of the company to the business before them appeared to relax, and conversation gradually became general. " A shocking accident I witnessed this moment on the road, Mrs. O'Connor," said Mr. Gunn ; " a child run over by a wlicclbarrow — never saw such a spectacle — driven by a bUud man. Unfortunately it was loaded VOL. V. 8 170 LITTLE CLASSICS. with stones — saw the infant — the wheel passed over its neck." " Had they medical aid in time ? " asked Mr. O'Connor. " Why, no ; unfortunately the doctor was out of the way, attending a lady who required his services under vei'y peculiar circumstances. She had taken her passage hither in the canal-boat at Shannon Harbor, paying cabin fare for one, of course, when, lo and behold you, before they had got half-way she thought proper to fall ill, and add two fine boys and a lovely girl to the number of her Majesty's subjects. However, all was well until she came to settle with the captain at parting, when he insisted on being paid his fare for the whole force. She refused : he insisted, and was for keeping possession of the three young defaulters until he should be paid. However, on second thoughts, reflecthig that he would probably be no gainer by such an arrangement, he pre- ferred suing for the amount. The case is to come on next term, — 't is a very knotty question, — bets .^ire even upon it aU over the country, — the curiosity is most intense. A.propos of curiosity, Miss Moriarty, I saw a friend of yours lately." " A friend of mine ? " " One at least wlio ought to be so, — as great an anti- quarian as yourself, — a terrible fellow for round towers, — Mr. TibbotO'Leary." " Is it possible ? How I should like to see him ! " " Like all very clever people, he has some oddities ; amongst others, I hear he can't bear the idea of a wig or a false tooth ; has some cxtraoroUuary prejudice about them." Here the speaker and Mr. O'Connor exchanged MR. TIBBOT O^LEAKY, THE CURIOUS. 171 significant looks, which seemed to indicate that their last remark had a meaning or a purpose beyond what it might bear upon the surfacs. While this was passing, Mr. O'Leary continued silent and reflective, as he had been ever smce Geoifrey Gunn's departure. Days passed away, and the same moodiness of mind continued. Tom Nash knew not what to think of it. It was in vain that he strove to draw him into a commimicative humor, in vain did he even call the talismanic round towers to his aid. Prom the moment in which Mr. O'Leary first heard of this female Pundit, he was smitten with a desire to hold some conversation with her, and learn her opinion of past ages and matters before the flood. It was not easy, however, to accom- plish it, for there was nothing in the world which he ab- horred at any time more than a visit of ceremony ; and, even if it were otherwise, what formal motive could be assigned for such a visit as this ? Geoffrey Guun, how- ever, had thcown out a hint which recurred to the memory of the Irish antiquarian. For many days, Nash observed him consulting the weather-glass with a frequency which betokened a secret solicitude of mind. It continued dur ing the space of about a mouth, hovering between the degrees Pair and Set Pair, with a constancy which did not seem to afford his master any considerable degree of satisfaction. At length, about the end of the month, the mercury began to fall, and his master's spirits to rise in an inverse ratio, which was exceedingly puzzhng to Nash. " Tom," said his master, with a look of sprightliness and glee such as he had not manifested before since 172 LITTLE CLASSICS. the visit of Mr. Gunn, — " Tom, I 'm in hopes we '11 have rain to-morrow." " In hopes, masther ? 'm sure 't would be our niination. Sure, 'tis to-morrow we have men hired to have the piaties dug in the next field." " Hang the potatoes ! " exclaimed Mr. O'Leary. " Hang the piaties ! MUlia murdher ! I never heard so foolish a speech as that from him before. Hang the piaties ! The whole stock we have again' the winter ! Lord send them ould books an' round towers ar' n't makin' a whirligig of his brains," Nash muttered, as he left the room. " Wisha, we never hard more than that, any way. Hang the piaties ! " Early on the following morning Nash went into his master's room as usual, to take his clothes to brush. While he emptied the pockets and laid the contents on the table, Mr. O'Leary, awoke by the jingling of keys and half-pence, turned his head and asked, — " Well, Nash, arc we Ukely to have rain ? " " I never seen such a mornin', sir. The sky is all one cloud from e'st to west, an' so low that I could a'most tetch it with my hand. I don't know from Adam what we '11 do about the piaties ; the men won't be able to give half a day with the weather, a clane loss of half a guinea at the laste." " That 's delightful." " Delightful ! " Nash repeated, looking over his shoul- der with surprise. " He 's pursewariu' in it, I see." " Nash," said ]\Ir. O'Leary, pulling back his night- cap and sitting up, " have both horses saddled and fed I intend riding out immediately after breakfast." Mil. TIBBOT o'lEARY^ THE CURIOUS. 173 " Is it in the raiu, masllier ? " " It is. Make haste and do as I desire you." " Pursewariu' all through ! " ejaculated Nash, as he went out and shut the door behind him. " A whole month of the fairest weather that ever come out o' the shky he laves the horses in the stable without stirriu', an' now the first day he hears 't is rainin' he ordliers 'em out for a ride. ' That 's delightful ! ' he says, when I tell hini we '11 lose a guinea by the men. ' Hang the piaties ! ' If he beau't gettin' light I do'n' know what to make of it. I suppose we must only do his biddin'." Some drops were just begiuniug to fall, as Mr. O'Leary and his faithful squire set off upon their journey. " WiU you bring the umbrella, sir ? " iuquired Nash, as they were about leaving the haU door. " No, that would never do." " 'T is goiu' to raiu, sir." " So much the better." Nash opened his mouth as if to let his astonishment come forth. " WouJd n't you take a cloak or a coat itself, masther, sech a day as this ? " " No, no, 't would never answer." " The lord betune uz an' harm ! A' why so, masther ? " " Wonder, Tom, is the child of ignorance, and experi- ence the fruit of time. Be patient, therefore, and con- tent yourself with doing as you are directed." They rode on for something more than half a mile, at the termination of which space the rain began to fall in torrents. Mr. O'Leary now quickened his pace, and 174 LITTLE CLASSICS. Nasli followed his example, but their speed did not save them from a thorough drenching. " Dear knows, masther," exclaimed Nash, who really feared that the antiquarian was becoming demented, "we '11 be dhrowned this way. Wouldn't it be betther turn into some house till it gets lighter, any way ? " "I hinted to you, Tom, that patience is the sister of content," replied liis master, continuing his gallop. " 0, bother to herself an' her sisther ! " muttered Nash, gathering the coUar of his coat up under the leaf of his hat, so as to prevent the water running down his neck, and fortifying, as well as he could, that part of his person on which the wind beat. " I never had such a ride in my life. I wondher is he cracked in airnest. J)ear knows, if it was n't that I 'm dhread which might happen to him, I 'd be apt to let him folly his coorse alone. This day flogs all I ever hear." After riding about a quarter of a mile farther, Mr. O'Leary suddenly pulled up his horse and said, — " Tom, is n't that the avenue leading to Mr. O'Con- nor's ? " " 'T is, sir." " I think we might as well turn in and ask for shelter there, until this shower passes, at all events." " The Lord be praised, he 's comin' to again," Nash added to himself, as he alighted and opened the gate. They followed the windings of the path for nearly a quarter of an hour, amid the wildest and barest scenery, at the end of which time they reached a cottage some- what superior in appearance to the general description of farm-houses in the coimtry, with at least a sufficient MR. TIBBOT O^LEARY, THE CURIOUS. 175 degree of decoration about the doors and windows to intimate tliat the inmates were not compelled to be at all times toiling at the spade or the plough-handle. As the door, which was on that side of the house on which the wind did not then blow, stood open at the moment, our travellers alighted and entered the porch without ceremony. Here they stood but a few moments, when one of the side doors opened, and a hale -looking man, of respectable appearance, presented himself before the visitors. Mr. O'Leary apologized for their intrusion, talked of the rain, and mentioned his name, at the same time looking out and expressing a hope (which Nash could not help thinking either strangely inconsistent or very insincere) that it would shortly clear. " Mr. O'Leary ! " exclaimed the host with an expres- sion of great satisfaction, " the very man of all others who should be most welcome to this house. I can assure you, you are no stranger here. Many a time your name is spoken of amongst us. Come in, come in. In the first place, you '11 stop and dine with us, — that 's settled, — not a word now. Hallo! Pat, take round those horses and see them well taken care of. But you are dripping wet ! " " O, 't is nothing ! " " Nothing ? Why you could n't do a worse thing than to sit in wet clothes, that and reading a wet newspaper. My poor father ought to know both, for he lost his eyes by one, and his Hfe by the other. The time of the election he used to be in such a hurry to learn the state of the poll, and to read the editor's remarks, that he never would wait to dry the paper after taking it out 176 LITTLE CLASSICS. of the cover. I used often to say to him, ' Now, father, might n't you as well just hold it to the fire for a mmute ? You 'U certainly lose your eyesight.' True for me, so he did. Come up stairs and change your clothes. Not a word, now. I tell you 't is madness not to do it. Peg, tell Miss Moriarty that Mr. O'Leary is come to spend the day with us. Step into the kitchen, my good friend " (addressing Nash) " and warm yourself." There was no resisting, so that Mr. O'Leary aban- doned himself into the hands of his host, and, after the necessary change of attire, was by him conducted to the sitting-room, where he found the antiquarian lady ready to receive him. To his surprise, there was nothing at all extraordinary either in her manner or appearance, except that she wore a profusion of very fine hair, which made some amends for a decidedly ordinary set of fea- tures. He had not, however, much time to speculate on either, when the blunt and hospitable master of the mansion arose and said In his customary tone, — " Well, now, as I have a little business to do before dinner, and would be only a blockhead in your company, I will leave you both to talk of all that took place be- fore the flood and after, while I settle an account with one or two of my tenants in another room. Let me see, now, which of ye will puzzle the other." One of the parties was already in tliis predicament. Mr. Tibbot O'Leary, at this instant, found liimself in the condition of those unhappy individuals wlio rashly place themselves in situations for wliich they are wholly unfitted by nature, and only discover their want of capacity when it is too late to make a graceful retreat. Not a word had STATE NORMAL SCHBl) MR. TIBBOT O^LEAEY, THE CURIOUS. V7'^ AngeteS, Cal, yet passed between them ; he had merely bowed to the lady seven yards off, on beiug introduced, when they were left, as it were, caged together, with the pleasant conscious- ness that he was expected to entertain her. Had it been with a Uoness, Tibbot O'Leary could not have felt a greater confusion of mind. Being totally unused to any- j thing like strange society, he never, until this moment, 1 became aware of his failing. Miss Moriarty, with a polite movement of the hand, invited him to be seated. He placed himself in a chair with the utmost celerity ; then, after a few minutes, perceiving that the lady was yet standing, he spi'ung from his seat with the greatest em- barrassment, and bowed repeatedly, by way of apology, without the power of uttering a syllable. After a time both obtamed chairs, but without seeming to have ap- proached the nearer to anythmg like a sociable inter- change of sentiments. The longer the silence continued, the more difficulty Mr. O'Leary found in breaking it, and yet the more embarrassing it became. It was not that he had got nothing to say. The evil was, that a thousand things occurred to hun, but all were rejected as unsatis- factory. The lady, whether that she shared his awkward- ness, or resolved to enjoy it, was equally silent. At length, when the chimney ornaments were beginning to dance before his eyes, and the room to move slowly round, he ventured to stammer forth, — " P-p-p-pray, ma-ma'ara, what is your opi-pi-pinion of the r-r-round towers?" " I can hardly say," replied Miss Moriarty, with a degree of ease which somewhat diminished the confusion of her visitor, " that I am satisfied with any of the theo- 8* L 178 LITTLE CLASSICS. ries wliicli have been broaclied upon that most interesting subject. Cambrensis calls them 'ecclesiastical towers,' with some probability. Lynch attributes them to the Danes, as does also Peter Walsh, -who are followed by Ladwich and Molyneux ; but then, as Harris very prop- erly asks, if so, why are no remains to be found m Den- mark ? As to Dean Richardson's conjecture, that they were used by anchorites, I can hardly admit it, when I know that history furnishes but one instance of a Sty- lite monk in the Western Christendom, in the celebrated woods of Ardennes. Neither can I say that the ingenious but fanciful author of Collectanea de rebus Hibernicis has thoroughly convinced me, though I admit his conjec- ture to be plausible as his evidences are ingenious." Durmg the delivery of this speech, Mr. O'Leary gazed from side to side, opened wide his eyelids in astonish- ment, and from time to time gradually moved his chair an inch or two nearer to the speaker. "What a woman!" he exclaimed in his own mind, and then added aloud : " I cannot help thinking, ma'am, that one who is so familiar with the theories of others, cannot but have formed some conjecture of her own upon a subject which has deservedly occupied so much of her attention." " Why, I cannot but say I have been lliinking of it," said Miss Moriarty, " though I have not yet ventured to mention it to any one, there is such danger of a person's being anticipated. However, for all I have heard of Mr. O'Leary, I am sure he would be incapable of takmg so unhandsome an advantage." Mr. O'Leary acknowledged the exemption in his favor ME. TIBBOT O^LEARY, THE CURIOUS. 179 by a low bow, accompanied by a look of horror at the very idea of such baseness. " My idea, then, is that they were built for none of the ends I have mentioned," said Miss Moriarty. " You are aware that mankind have, in all ages, been remarkable for a love of the arduous, and that no pursuits have been carried on witli greater zeal, expense, and perseverance than those which held our least hope of ever yielding any profitable result ; and the most important practical discoveries in science have often been attained in the pursuit of some visionary and unattainable end. The search after the philosopher's stone led to the discovery of Glauber's salts ; the study of judicial asti'ology pro- duced those elaborate calculations in old times which are of such importance to the astronomer; and the desire to effect a Nortliwest Passage conducted the voyagers of England to the magnetic pole. Now, my theory is, that some pliilanthropic patron of letters in old time, observ- ing this disposition in his species, had those round towers built with no other view than that they should exercise the research and ingenuity of the learned in succeeding ages, and, by furnishing an inscrutable subject of inquiry, perpetuate the study of Irish antiquities through all suc- ceeding time." The astonishment and admiration of Mr. O'Leary had been reaching a climax during the delivery of this ingen- ious speech, at the conclusion of which he again sprang from his seat, and seemed about to fling himself on his knees in an ecstasy of delight; but, recollecting liimself in time, he drew back with a respectful bow, and re- mained in his chair. At the same instant the master of 180 LITTLE CLASSICS. the mansion returned, in time to prevent any repetition of sucli ecstasies, and tlie conversation became more gen- eral and less abstruse. In some time after dinner was announced, and served up with a degree of comfort which made the recollection of his own solitary meals at Chore Abbey less tolerable, in the comparison to Mr. O'Leary's inward eye, than they had hitherto been. The worthy farmer's family was numerous, and did cordial justice to the cheer which was set before them. After the cloth was removed and grace said, Mr. O'Connor turned to his guest, and made the following speech : — " 1 don't know, Mr. O'Leary, whether you are a patron of those modern fashions which they have begun to introduce, sucli as not drinking healths after dinner, bowing as if you had not a joint below the shoulder, and such like ; but for our parts, we still keep up the good old custom here, and I hope you will have no objection to jom us." " I can assure you, sir," said Mr. O'Leary, with equal cordiality, " that I am no friend to modern innovations or creations, which very often savor more of self-suffi- ciency than of politeness. As the poet says, — ' We think om- fathers fools, so wise we grow ; Our younger sons, no doubt, will think us so.' " "Ah! " said Mr. O'Connor, shaking his head, "many a palmer those two lines cost me, when I used to write them in my copy-book at school." The glasses were now changed, and the next ten minutes were occupied with a confused babble of " Mrs. O'Connor, your health," "Miss Moriarty," "Miss MR. TIBBOT O^LEARY, THE CURIOUS. 181 O'Connor," "Mr. O'Connor," "Mr. O'Leary," "Mr. O'Leary," " Mr. O'Leary, your health," and a perpetual duckmg of about a dozen heads around the table, which would have had a somewhat comical appearance to any person not immediately interested. During their ride home, and for months after, Tom Nash obssrved an extraordinary change in the deport- ment of his master. He became more talkative than usual, began to show more solicitude about his dress, shaved every day, found fault with everything, stayed little in his museum, talked much of repairs and altera- tions about the house, and acted, on the whole, as if some strange influence was at work within his mind. At length the secret came out, one morning, when Nash was in the act of carrying a bag of seed sets into the back parlor. "Tom," said Mr. O'Leary, " you must not put oats or potatoes into that parlor any moi-e." " Why so, masther ? what hurt is it doin' there ? " " No matter. She might n't like it." " Is it ould Nelly, sir ? " " No, your mistress." " My missiz ! " Nash exclauned, dropping the bag of oats. " Yes : did n't I tell you I am going to be married ? " For nearly a quarter of an hour the master and man remained gazing in each other's countenances, without uttering a syllable. At length the latter found words to say in a tone of the profoundest sympathy, — " The Lord preserve us, masther ! " " Amen, Tom ! " sighed Mr. O'Leary ; and not another 182 LITTLE CLASSICS. sentence was exclianged between them upon the subject, until Mrs. O'Leary, ci-devaut IMiss Moriarty, was intro- duced, amid rejoicings that resounded far and near, to the venerable mansion which it was the owner's wUl and pleasure should thenceforth call her mistress. For a considerable time after his marriage, Nash ob- served nothing in the demeanor or conversation of his master which could lead him to suspect that he regretted the step which he had taken. Mrs. O'Leary was all that could be wished in every respect, either by master or servant ; and indeed it surprised Nash a great deal more than he cared to let Mr. O'Leary understand, how she came to be so easily satisfied. Matters continued in this even course until they received a second visit from Mr. Geoffrey Gunn, now " Counsellor " Gunn, who, on hear- ing the humorous antiquarian repeat his happiness for the hundredth time, exclaimed, — " I can tell you then, that if ladies are curious, they sometimes know how to keep a secret. Did you hear about Captain and his wife ? " "No; what of them?" " A most extraordinary story they tell, indeed. They had been living together in perfect harmony, it seems, for more than twenty years, when she died, and it was for the first time discovered that she had exactly got two faces, — one behind, and one before." " Nonsense ! " exclaimed Mr. O'Leary. " It may be so," replied his friend. " I do not answer for the reality of the story. ' I know not how the truth may be, I say the tale as 't was said to me.' " MK. TIB30T GALEAE, Y, THE CURIOUS. 183 " If it be true," said Tibbot, " I think the worst part of the affair was the keeping it concealed from her hus- band." As he said this, he could not help observing that his wife looked uneasy and confused, and a strange doubt rushed into his mind, which reawakened his original foible in more than all its former force. The conversa- tion ended ; but for. a long time after Tibbot did not retain the untroubled peace of mind which had till now accompanied his steps. The extreme amiability of his helpmate had won all his confidence, but it made hira uneasy to perceive that Mrs. O'Leary did not behave towards him with an equal absence of reserve. There was evidently something preying on her mind, and the more pains he took to remove everything that could in the least degree interfere with her peace and comfort, the more she seemed to feel it. " 1 don't know what to do about it, Tom," lie said one day, addressing Nash, who was the only person in whom he could repose a confidence. " She scarcely eats a mor- sel, and instead of going off as I thought it would, it is only growing worse and worse every day." " Ah, raurther," said Nash, " don't be vexin' yourself about it. You don't know the women. They 'd keep on dyen' that way, from the age of fifteen to a hundherd. The only way in the world is to let 'em alone an' lave 'em to themselves. The more notice that 's tuk of 'em, the worse they gets. They don't know theirselves what is it ails 'em half their time. Take it from nic, 'tis never any good to be frettin', more especially if you lets 'em ob- sarve it." 184 LITTLE CLASSICS. Mr. O'Leary adopted Tom's advice, and found his account in doing so. For a considerable time after he observed that the less he appeared to notice the anxiety which preyed on Mrs. O'Leary's mind, the more visibly it diminished. Years rolled away, and after a life spent in the most exemplary discharge of all her duties as a wife and mother, Mrs. O'Leary felt her death to be at hand. In disposing her mind \iath aU the tranquiUity which an untroubled conscience afforded, to enter on its final pas- sage to a better world, her faithful spouse took notice that something of her long-forgotten and mysterious melancholy would occasionally cast a gloom upon her manner. At length, finding her end approach, she called him to her bedside, and after saying much to him in the way of consolation and advice, as to the care of the house and children, she added with an appearance of anxiety, — " I have now but one request to add. It is that my head-dress, such as it is, be not removed after my death; that you will not yourself uncover my head, nor suffer any one else to do so. I have a particular objection to it. Great and good minds, my dear Tib- bot, are always superior to the mean vice of curiosity. I am sure I need say no more to you, except to add that the injury will be your own, if you neglect to com- ply with this, my last injunction." In the first access of soitow for the loss of so faith- ful and so amiable a partner, Mr. O'Leary found nothing very arduous m the accomplishment of her dying wishes. After the first day, however, when Nature had exhausted MR. TIBBOT O^'lEAEYj THE CURIOUS. 185 herself in fits of mourning, and intervals of quiet reflec- tion would succeed the tumult of the widower's grief, he could not prevent the question repeatedly pi-esent- ing itself to his mind, — what in the world could be her motive for desiring that her head-dress might not be re- moved ? In palliation of any negligence which the worthy antiquarian might have committed in resisting such suggestions, it should be remembered that a great por- tion of his hfe had been spent in researches having chiefly for their end the gratification of that foible on which his excellent wife, in dying, had imposed so grievous a burden. By continually recurring, and meet- ing at each fresh assault a fainter resistance, it obtained at length a complete mastery over his mind. It was in vain he thought of Blue-beard, and a thousand other awful warnings of the kind. In the throes of his curi- osity, desirhig rather to gain an accomplice than a coun- sellor, he confided his agonies to Nash, and desired his opinion. "Be dis an' be dat," said Nash, who, in a matter which appeared to him indifferent on the score of mo- rality, considered rather what would be agreeable to his master than what was most in accordance with the laws of chivalric honor, " dat I may never die in sin, but I 'd have a dawny peep." "But then her last words, Tom, — her dying wishes." " Ayeh, sure she never '11 know it." "Well," said Mr. O'Leary, much shocked, "I am sure you do not consider the meaning of what you say. I wish indeed she had never given su(;h an injunction. 1S6 LITTLE CLASSICS. for it is probable I never should have thought for a momeut about her head-dress. Could I trust you, Tom, with what I suspect to be the true cause of her injunc- tion ? " " Could you thrust me, masther ! " " I believe I can. Well then, Tom, I think the true reason is" — he looked around, and then whispered Lu horrified accents in his ear — "that my wife had two faces." "Erra, howl!" " I often remarked some mystery about her on that point. However, I, who have all my life been so free from this ridiculous foible, must not yield myself up to it now." " Wisha, the dear knows," said Nash, whose curiosity was now wound up to as high a pitch as that of his mas- ter, "I wouldn't have the laste scruple in life about it. If it was anything that would bring her any harm, or keep any good from her, the case would be dcffereut." " That is true, Tom," said his master. " She told me that it would be to my own injury. Now, were any other interests at stake, I would n't for the world, — but as it can injure no one but myself — Come along, you must assist me in this awful inquiry." They entered the room in which lay the remains of the poor lady, Mr. O'Leary's mind filled with the story of Geofirey Gunn, which had occupied his thoughts since he first heard it a great deal oftener than he would have wished Mrs. O'Leary to suspect. Havuig excluded, on different pretexts, every other individual, they proceeded to the task of removing the head-dress. MR. TIBBOT o'lEAEY, THE CURIOUS. 187 A cold perspiration already stood ou Nasli's brow, as he lent his aid in the investigation, holdmg the candle in his hand, while his master, with a countenance express- ing the most horrible anticipations, removed the myste- rious head-dress. All that Mr. O'Leary discovered was, that the fine hair of which he had so often expressed an enthusiastic admiration was only his wife's by purchase. The good lady had no more than the average quantity of featui-es, and less than the average quantity of hair, and, sharing the weakness of the lady who, on a like occasion, charged her handmaid to " Give her cheek a little red ! " she feared that it should be known, even after her death, that she was indebted for almost her only personal at- traction to — a wiff. NEAL MALONE. BY WILLIAM CARLETON. iPPqf^HERE never was a greater-souled or doughtier tailor than little Neal Malone. Though but four feet four m height, he paced the earth yJL*J with the courage and confidence of a giant; nay, one would have imagined that he walked as if he feared the world itself was about to give way under him. Let no one dare to say in future that a tailor is but the ninth part of a man. That reproach has been gloriously taken away from the character of the cross-legged corporation by Neal Malone. He has wiped it off like a stain from the collar of a second-hand coat ; he has pressed this wrinkle out of the lying front of antiquity ; he has drawn together this rent in the respectability of his profession. No. By him who was breeches-maker to the gods, — that is, except, like Highlanders, they eschewed inex- pressibles, — ^by him who cut Jupiter's frieze jocks for winter, and eke by the bottom of his thimble, we swear that Neal Malone was more than the niuth part of a man. Setting aside the Patagonians, we maintain that two NEAL MALONE. 189 thirds of mortal hxiraanity -n-ere comprised iu Neal ; and perhaps we might venture to assert that two thirds of Neal's humanity were equal to six thirds of another man's. It is right well known that Alexander the Great was a little man, and we doubt whether, had Alexander the Great been bred to the tailoring business, he would have exhibited so much of the hero as Neal Malone. Neal was descended from a fighting family, who had signalized themselves in as many battles as ever any single hero of antiquity fought. His father, his grand- father, and his great-grandfather were all fighting men, and his ancestors in general, up, probably, to Con of the Hundred Battles himself. No wonder, therefore, that Neal's blood should cry out against the cowardice of his calling ; no wonder that he should be an epitome of aU that was valorous and heroic in a peaceable man, for we neglected to inform the reader that Neal, though " bearing no base mind," never fought any man in his own person. Tiiat, however, deducted nothing from his courage. If he did not figlit, it was simply because he found cowardice universal. No man would engage him ; his spirit blazed in vain ; his thirst for battle was doomed to remain unquenchcd, except by whiskey, and this only increased it. In short, he could find no foe. He has often been known to challenge the first cudgel-players and pugilists of the parish, to provoke men of fourteen stone weight, and to bid mortal defiance to faction heroes of all grades, — but in vain. There was that in him which told them that an encounter with Neal would strip tliem of their laurels. Neal saw all this with a lofty indignation; he deplored the degeneracy of the 190 LITTLE CLASSICS. times, and fhouglit it hard that the descendant of such a fighting family should be doomed to pass through life peaceably, Avhilst so many excellent rows and riots took place around liira. It was a calamity to see every man's head broken but his own ; a dismal thing to observe his neighbors go about with their bones in bandages, yet his untouched; and his friends beat black and blue, whilst liis own cuticle remained undiscolored. " Blur-an'-agers ! " exclaimed Neal one day, when half tipsy in the fair, " am I never to get a bit of fight' in' ? Is there no cowardly spalpeen to stand afore Neal Malone ? Be this an' be that, I 'm blue-mowlded for want of a batin' ! I 'm disgracin' my relations by the life I 'm ladin' ! WiU none o' ye fight me aither for love, money, or whiskey, frind or inimy, an' bad luck to ye ? I don't care a traneen which, only out o' pure frindship, let us have a morsel o' the rale kick-up, 'tany rate. Prmd or inimy, I say agin, if you regard me ; sure that makes no differ, only let us have the fight." This excellent heroism was all wasted; Neal could not find a single adversary. Except he divided himself like Hotspur, and went to buffets one hand against the other, there was no chance of a fight ; no person to be found sufficiently magnanimous to encounter the tailor. On the contrary, every one of his friends — or, in other words, every man in the parish — was ready to support him. He was clapped on the back until his bones were nearly dislocated in his body, and his hand shaken until his arm lost its cunning at the needle for half a week afterwards. This, to be sure, was a bitter busi- ness, a state of being past endurance. Every man NEAL MALONE. 391 was his friend, — no man was his enemy. A desperate position for any person to find himself in, but doubly calamitous to a martial tailor. Many a dolorous complaint did Neal make upon the misfortune of having none to wish him ill; and what rendered this hardship doubly oppressive, was the un- lucky fact that no exertions of his, however offensive, could procure him a single foe. In vain did he insult, abuse, and malign all his acquaintances. In vaui did he father upon them all the rascality and villany he could think of; he lied against them with a fores and origi- nality that would have made many a modern novelist blush for want of invention, — but all to no purpose. The world for once became astonishingly Christian; it paid back all his efforts to excite its resentment with the purest of charity; when Neal struck it on the one cheek, it meekly turned unto him the other. It could scarcely be expected that Neal woidd bear this. To have the wliole world in friendship with a man is beyond doubt an affliction. Not to have the face of a single enemy to look upon, would decidedly be considered a deprivation of many agreeable sensations by most people, as well as by Neal Malone. Let who might sustain a loss, or experience a calamity, it was a matter of indif- ference to Neal. They were only his fi-iends, and he troubled neither his head nor his heart about them. Heaven help us ! There is no man without his trials ; and Neal, the reader perceives, was not exempt from his. "Wliat did it avail him that he carried a cudgel ready for all hostile contingencies, or knit his brows and shook liis kippeen at the fiercest of his fighting 192 LITTLE CLASSICS. friends ? The moment he appeared, they softened into downright cordiality. His presence was the signal of peace ; for, notwithstanding liis unconquerable propen- sity to warfare, he went abroad as the genius of unanim- ity, though carrying in his bosom the redoubtable dis- position of a warrior ; just as the sun, though the source of hght himself, is said to be dark enough at bottom. It could not be expected that Neal, with whatever fortitude he miglit bear his other afflictions, could bear such tranquillity like a hero. To say that he bore it as one, would be basely to surrender his character ; for what hero ever bore a state of tranquillity with courage ? It affected his cutting out ! It produced what Burton calls "a windie melancholie," which was nothuig else than an accumulation of courage that had no means of escaping, if courage can, without indignity, be ever said to escape. He sat uneasy on his lap-board. Instead of cutting out soberly, he flourished his scissors as if he were heading a faction ; he wasted much chalk by scor- ing his cloth in wrong places, and even caught his hot goose withoiit a holder. These symptoms alarmed his friends, who persuaded him to go to a doctor. Neal went, to satisfy them ; but he knew that no prescription could drive the courage out of him, — that he was too far gone in heroism to be made a coward of by apothe- cary stuff. Nothing in the pharmacopoeia could physic him into a pacific state. His disease was simply the want of an enemy, and an unaccountable superabun- dance of friendship on the part of his acquaintances. How could a doctor remedy this by a prescription? Impossible. The doctor, indeed, recommended blood- NEAL MALONE, 193 letting; but to lose blood in a peaceable manner was not only cowardly, but a bad cure for courage. Neal declined it : he would lose no blood for any man until he could not help it; which was giving the character of a hero at a siugle touch. His blood was not to be thrown away in this manner; the only lancet ever ap- plied to his relations was the cudgel, and Neal scorned to abandon the principles of his family. His fri^lids, finding that he reserved his blood for more heroic purposes than dastardly phlebotomy, knew not what to do with him. His perpetual exclamation was, as we have already stated, " I 'm blue-mowlded for want of a batin' ! " They did everything in their power to cheer him with the hope of a drubbing; told him he Hved in an exceUeut country for a man afflicted with his malady ; and promised, if it were at all possible, to create him a private enemy or two, who, they hoped in heaven, might trounce him to some purpose. This sustained him for a while ; but as day after day passed, and no appearance of action presented itself, he could not choose but increase in courage. His soul, like a sword-blade too long m the scabbard, was beginning to get fuliginous by inactivity. He looked upon the point of his own needle, and the bright edge of his scissors, with a bitter pang, when he thought of the spirit rusting within him : he meditated fresh insults, studied new plans, and hunted out cunning devices for provoking his acquaintances to battle, until by degrees he began to confound his o^ni bram, and to commit more grievous oversights in his business than ever. Some- times he sent home to one person a coat, with the legs VOL. V. 9 M • 194 LITTLE CLASSICS. of a pair of trousers attaclied to it for sleeves, and de- spatched to auotlier the arms of the aforesaid coat tacked together as a pair of trousers. Sometimes the coat was made to button beliind instead of before ; and he fre- quently placed the pockets in the lower part of the skirts, as if he had been in league with cut-purses. This was a melancholy situation, and his friends pitied him accordingly. " Don't be cast down, Neal," said they ; " your friends feel for you, poor fellow." "Divil carry my fruids," replied Neal; "sure there's not one o' yez frindly enough to be my inimy. Tare-an'- ouuze ! what '11 1 do ? I 'm blue-mowlded for want of a bathi' ! " Seeing that their consolation was thrown away upon him, they resolved to leave him to his fate ; wliich they had no sooner done than Neal had thoughts of taking to the Skiomachia as a last remedy. In this mood he looked with considerable antipathy at his own shadow for several nights; and it is not to be qiiestioned but that some hard battles would have taken place between llicm, had it not been for the cunning of the shadow, wliicli declined to fight hiin in any other position tliau with its back to the wall. Tliis occasioned him to pause, for the wall was a fearful antagonist, inasmuch as it knew not when it was beaten; but there was still an alternative left. He went to the garden one clear day about noon, and hoped to have a bout with tlie shade, free from iuteiTup- tion. Both approached, apparently eager for tlie combat, and resolved to conquer or die, when a villanous cloud, happening to intercept the light, gave the shadow an NEAL MALONE. 195 opportunity of disappeariug ; and Neal found himself once more without an opponent. " It 's aisy known," said Neal, " you have n't the blood in you, or you 'd come to the scratch like a man." He now saw that fate was against him, and that any further hostihty towards the shadow was only a tempting of Providence. He lost his health, spirits, and every- thing but his courage. His countenance became pale and peaceful lookmg; the bluster departed from him; his body shrunk up like a withered parsnip. Thrice was he compelled to take in his clothes, and thrice did he ascertain that much of his time would be necessarily spent m pursumg his retreating person through the soli- tude of liis almost deserted garments. God knows it is difficult to form a correct opinion upon a situation so paradoxical as Neal's was. To be reduced to skin and bone by the downi-ight friendship of the world was, as the sagacious reader will admit, next to a miracle. We appeal to the conscience of any man who finds himself without an enemy, whether he be not a greater skeleton than the tailor ; we will give him fifty guineas, provided he can show a calf to his leg. We know he could not ; for the tailor had none, and that was because he had not an enemy. No man in friend- ship with the world ever has calves to his legs. To sum up all in a paradox of our o'wti invention, for which we claim the full credit of originality, we now assert that more men have risen in the world by the injury of their enemies, than have risen by the kindness of their friends. You may take this, reader, in any sense ; apply it to hanging if you like ; it is stiU immutably and immovably true. 196 LITTLE CLASSICS. Oue day Neal sat cross-legged, as tailors usually sit, in the act of pressing a pair of breeches ; his hands were placed, backs iip, upon the handle of his goose, and his chin rested upon the back of liis hands. To judge from his sorrowful complexion, one would suppose that he sat rather to be sketched as a picture of miseiy, or of heroism in distress, than for the industrious purpose of pressing the seams of a garment. There was a great deal of New Burlington Street pathos in his counte- nance ; his face, Uke the times, was rather out of joint ; "the sun was just setting, and his golden beams fell, with a saddened splendor, athwart the tailor's — " The reader may fiU up the picture. In this position sat Neal when Mr. O'Connor, the schoolmaster, whose inexpressibles he was turning for the third time, entered the workshop. Mr. O'Connor himself was as finished a picture of misery as the tailor. There was a patient, subdued kind of expression in his face which indicated a Tery fair portion of calamity ; his eye seemed charged with affliction of the first water ; on each side of Ms nose might be traced two dry channels which, no doubt, were full enough while the tropical rains of his countenance lasted. Altogether, to con- clude from appearances, it was a dead match in affliction between him and the tailor ; both seemed sad, fleshless, and unthriving. '' Misther O'Connor," said the tailor, when the school- master entered, " won't you be pleased to sit down ? " Mr. O'Connor sat; and, after wiping his forehead, laid his hat upon the lap-board, put his half-handkerchief in bis pocket, and looked upon the taUor. The tailor, in NEAL M ALONE. 197 return, looked upon Mr. O'Connor ; but neither of them spoke for some minutes. Neal, in fact, appeared to be wrapped up in his own misery, and Mr. O'Connor in his ; or, as we often have much gratuitous sympathy for the distresses of our friends, we question but the tailor was wrapped up in Mr. O'Connor's misery, and Mr. O'Connor in the tailor's. Mr. O'Connor at length said, "Neal, are my inex- pressibles finished? " "I am now pressiu' your inexpressibles," rephed Neal ; "but, be my sowl, Mr. O'Connor, it's not your inexpres- sibles I 'm thinkiu' of. I 'm not the ninth part of what I was. I 'd hardly make paddin' for a collar now." " Are you able to carry a staff still, Neal ? " " I 've a light hazel one that 's handy," said the tailor ; " but where 's the use of carryin' it, whin I can get no one to fight wid ? Sure I 'm disgracin' my relations by the life I'm ladui'. I'll go to my grave widout ever batiu' a mau, or beui' bate myself ; that 's the vexation. Divil the row ever I was able to kick up in my life ; so that I 'm fairly blue-mowlded for want of a batin'. But if you have patience — " " Patience ! " said Mr. O'Connor, with a shake of the head that was perfectly disastrous even to look at, — " patience, did you say, Neal ? " " Ay," said Neal, " an' be my sowl, if you deny that I said patience, I '11 break your head ! " "Ah, Neal," returned the other, "I don't deny it; for, though I'm teaching philosophy, knowledge, and mathematics evei-y day in my hfe, yet I 'm learning patience myself both night and day. No, Neal ; 1 have 198 LITTLE CLASSICS. forgotten to deny anything. I have not been guilty of a contradiction, out of my own school, for the last four- teen years. I once expressed the shadow of a doubt about twelve years ago, but ever since I have abandoned even doubtiug. That doubt was the last expiring effort at maintaining my domestic authority, — but I suffered for it." " Well," said Neal, " if you have patience, I '11 tell you what afflicts me from beguinin' to eudin'." " I ti'ill have patience," said Mr. O'Connor ; and he accordingly heard a dismal and indignant tale from the tailor. " You have told me that fifty times over," said Mr. O'Comior, after hearing the story. "Your spirit is too martial for a pacific life. If you follow my advice, I will teach you how to ripple the calm current of your existence to some purpose. Marry a wife. Por tweuty- five years I have given instruction in three branches, namely, philosophy, knowledge, and mathematics. I am also well versed in matrimony, and I declare that, upon my misery, and by the contents of all my afflictions, it is my solemn and melancholy opinion that, if you marry a wife, you will, before three mouths pass over your con- catenated state, not have a single complaint to uiake touching a superabundance of peace or tranquillity, or a love of fighting." "Do you mane to say that any woman would make me afeard ? " said the tailor, deUberately rising up and getting liis cudgel. " I '11 thank you merely to go over the words agin, tiU I thrash you widiu an inch of your life. That 's aU." NEAL MALONE. 199 "Neal," said the schoolmaster, meekly, "I won't fight; I have been too often subdued ever to presume on the hope of a single victoiy. My spirit is long since evaporated ; I am like one of your own shreds, a mere selvage. Do you not know how much my habiliments have shrunk in, even within the last five years ? Hear me, Neal ; and venerate my words as if they proceeded from the lips of a prophet. If you wish to taste the luxury of bemg subdued, — if you are, as you say, blue-moulded for want of a beatmg, and sick at heart of a peace fid existence, — why, marry a wife. Neal, send my breeches home with all haste, for they are wanted, you understand, rarewell." Mr. O'Connor, havuig thus expressed himself, de- parted, and Neal stood, with the cudgel in his hand, looking at the door out of which he passed, with an expression of fierceness, contempt, and reflection strong- ly blended on the ruins of his once heroic visage. Many a man has happiness within his reach if he but knew it. The tailor had been hitherto miserable, because lie pursued a wrong object. The schoolmaster, however, suggested a train of thought upon which Neal now fastened with all the ardor of a chivalrous temperament. Nay, he wondered that the family spirit should have so completely seized upon the fighting side of his heart as to preclude all thoughts of matrimony ; for he could not but remember that his relations were as ready for marriage as for fighting. To doubt this would have been to throw a blot upon his owu escutcheon. He therefore very prudently asked himself to whom, if he did not marry, should he transmit liis courage. He was a single man. 200 LITTLE CLASSICS. and, dying as such, he woidd be the sole depository of his o\yn valor, which, like Junius's secret, must perisli with him. If he could have left it as a legacy to such of his friends as were most remarkable for cowardice, why, the case would be altered : but this was impossible, — and he had now no other means of presei'viug it to posterity than by creating a posterity to inherit it. He saw, too, that the world was likely to become convulsed. "Wars, as everybody knew, were certain to break out; and would it not be an excellent opportunity for being father to a colonel, or, perhaps, a general, that miglit astonish the world ? The change visible in Neal, after tlie schoolmaster's last visit, absolutely thunderstruck all who knew him. The clothes, which he had rashly taken in to fit his shrivelled limbs, were once more let out. The tailor expanded with a new spirit; his joints ceased to be supple, as m the days of his valor ; his eye became less fiery, but more brilhant. From being martial, he got desperately gallant ; but, somehow, he could not afford to act the hero and lover both at the same time. This, perhaps, would be too much to expect from a tailor. His policy was better. He resolved to bring all his available energy to bear upon the charms of whatever fair nymph he should select for the honor of matrimony ; to waste his spirit in fighting would, therefore, be a deduction from the single purpose in view. The transition from war to love is by no means so remarkable as we miglit at first imagine. Wc quote Jack FalsfafT in proof of tliis; or, if the reader be disposed to reject our authority, then we quote Ancient Pistol NEAL MALONE, 201 himself, — both of whom we consider as the most finished specimens of heroism that ever carried a safe skin. Acres would have been a hero had lie worn gloves to prevent the courage from oozing out at his palms, or not felt such an unlucky antipathy to the " snug lying in the Abbey " ; and as for Captain Bobadil, he never had an opportunity of putting his plan for vanquishing an ai'my into practice. We fear, indeed, that neither his character, nor Ben Jonson's knowledge of human nature, is properly understood ; for it certainly could not be expected that a man whose spirit glowed to encounter a whole host, could, without tarnishing his dignity, if closely pressed, condescend to fight an individual. But as these remarks on courage may be felt by the reader as an invidious introduction of a subject disagi'ceable to him, we beg to hush it for the present and return to the tailor. No sooner had Neal begun to feel an inclination to matrimony, than his friends knew that his principles had veered, by the change now visible in his person and deportment. They saw he had ratted from courage, and joined love Heretofore his life had been all whiter, darkened by storm and hurricane. The fiercer virtues had played the devil with him ; every word was thunder, every look lightning ; but now aU that had passed away : before, he was the fortiter in re ; at present, he was the suaviter in modo. His existence was perfect spring, — beautifully vernal. All the amiable and softer qualities began to bud about his heart ; a genial warmth was dif- fused over him ; his soul got green within him ; every day was serene, and if a cloud happened to become visible, there was a roguish rainbow astride of it, on which sat 9* 202 LITTLE CLASSICS. a beautiful Iris tliat laughed down at Mm, aud seemed to say, " Why the dickens, Neal, dou't you marry a wife ? " Neal could not resist the afflatus -which descended on him ; an ethereal light dwelled, he thought, upon the face of nature ; the color of the cloth which he cut out from day to day was, to his enraptured eye, like the color of Cupid's wings, — all purple ; his visions were worth their weight in gold ; his dreams, a credit to the bed he slept on ; and his feelings, like blind puppies, young and alive to the mUk of love and kindness which they drew from his heart. Most of this delight escaped the observation of the world, for Neal, like your true lover, became shy and mysterious. It is difficult to say what he resembled ; no dark-lantern ever had more light shut up within itself than Neal had in his soul, although his friends were not aware of it. They kneAv, indeed, that he had turned his back upon valor ; but beyond this their knowledge did not extend. Neal was shrewd enough to know that what he felt must be love; nothing else could distend him with happiness until his soul felt light and bladder-like, but love. As an oyster opens, when expecting the tide, so did his sold expand at the contemplation of matrimony. Labor ceased to be a trouble to him ; he sang und sewed from morning to night ; his hot goose no longer burned him, for his heart was as hot as his goose; the vibrations of his head, at each successive stitch, were no longer sad and melancholy. There was a buoyant shake of exulta- tion in them wliieh showed that his soul was placid and happy within him. Endless honor be to Neal Malone for the originality NEAL MALONE. 203 with -which he managed the tender sentiment ! He did not, like your commonplace lovers, first discover a pretty girl, and afterwards become enamored of her. No such thing ; he had the passion prepared beforehand, — cut out and made up, as it were, ready for any girl whom it might fit. This was falling in love in the abstract, and let no man condemn it without a trial ; for many a long-winded argument could be urged iu its defence. It is always wrong to commence business without capital, and Neal had a good stock to begin with. All we beg is, that the reader will not confound it witli Platonism, which never marries; but he is at full liberty to call it Socratism, which takes unto itself a wife, and suffers accordingly. Let no one suppose that Neal forgot the schoolmas- ter's kindness, or failed to be duly grateful for it. Mr. O'Connor was the first person whom he consulted touching his passion. With a cheerful soul he waited on that melancholy and gentleman-like man, and m the very luxuiy of his heart told hun that lie was in love. " In love, Neal ! " said the schoolmaster. " May I inquire with whom ? " " Wid nobody in particular yet," repUed Neal ; " but of late I 'm got divilish fond o' the girls iu general." " And do you call that being in love, Neal ? " said Mr. O'Connor. " Why, what else would I call it ? " returned the tailor. "Am n't I fond of them?" " Then it must be what is termed the Universal Pas- sion, Neal," observed Mr. O'Connor, " although it is the first lime I have seen such an illustration of it as you orescnt in your own person." 204 LITTLE CLASSICS. " I wish you would advise me liow to act," said Neal ; " I 'm as happy as a prince since I began to get fond o' them, an' to think of marriage." The schoohnaster shook his head again, and looked rather miserable. Neal rubbed his hands with glee, and looked perfectly happy. The schoolmaster shook his head again, and looked more miserable than before. Neal's happiness also increased on the second rubbing. Now, to tell the secret at once, Mr. O'Connoi- would not have appeared so miserable, were it not for Neal's happiness; nor Neal so happy, were it not for Mr. O'Connor's misery. It was aU the result of contrast; but this you will not understand unless you be deeply read in modern novels. Mr. O'Connor, however, was a man of sense, who knew, upon this principle, that the longer he continued to shake his head, the more miserable he must become, and the more also would he increase Neal's happiness; but he had no intention of increasing Neal's happuiess at his own expense, — for, upon the same hypothesis, it would have been for Neal's interest had he remained shaking his head there, and gettuig miserable until the day of judgment. ' He consequently declined giving the third shake, for he thought that plain conversation was, after all, more significant and forcible than the most elo- quent nod, however ably translated. "Neal," said he, "could you, by stretching your imagination, contrive to rest contented witli nursing your passion in solitude, and love the sex at a dis- tance ? " " How could I nurse and mind my business ? " NEAL MALONE. 205 replied the tailor. " I '11 never uurse so long as I '11 have the wife ; and as for 'maguiation, it depends upon the grain of it whether I can stretch it or not. I don't know that I ever made a coat of it in my life." "You don't understand me, Neal," said the school- master. " In recommending* marriage, I was only driv- ing one evil out of you by introducing another. Do you think that, if you abandoned all thoughts of a wife, you would get heroic again; that is, would you take once more to the love of fighting ? " "There is no doubt but I would," said the tailor: " if I miss the wife, I '11 kick up such a dust as never was seen ui the parish, an' you 're the first man that I '11 hck. But now that I 'm in love," he continued, "sure I ought to look out for the wife." " Ah ! Neal," said the schoolmaster, " you are tempt- ing destiny ; your temerity be, with all its melancholy consequences, upon your own head." " Come," said the tailor, " it was n't to hear you groaning to the tune of ' Dhrimmindhoo,' or ' The old woman rockin' her cradle,' that I came ; but to know if you could help me in makin' out the wife. That 's the discoorse." " Look at me, Neal," said the schoolmaster, solemnly ; " I am at this moment, and have been any time for the last fifteen years, a living caveto against matrimony. I do not think that earth possesses such a luxury as a sin- gle solitary life. Neal, the monks of old were happy men; they were all fat and had double chins; and, Neal, I tell you, that all fat men are in general happy. Care cannot come at them so readily as at a thin man; 206 LITTLE CLASSICS. before it gets through the sti-oug outworks of flesh and blood with which they are surrounded, it becomes treacherous to its original purpose, joins tlie cheerful spirits it meets in the system, and dances about the heart in all the madness of mirth ; just like a suieere ecclesias- tic, who comes to lecture a^ood feUow agaiust drinking, but- who forgets his lecture over his cups, and is laid under the table with such success, that he either never comes to finish his lecture, or comes often to be laid under the table. Look at me, Neal, how wasted, flesh- less, and miserable I am. You know how my garments have shrunk in, and what a solid man I was before mar- riage. Neal, pause, I beseech you ; otherwise you stand a strong chance of becoming a nonentity like myself." " I don't care what I become," said the taUor ; " I can't think that you 'd be so unreasonable as to expect that any of the Malones should pass out of the world widout either beiu' bate or marrid. Have reason, Mr. O'Connor, an' if you can help me to the wife, I promise to take in your coat the next time for nothin'." " Well, then," said Mr. O'Connor, " what would you think of the butcher's daughter, Biddy Neil ? You have always had a thirst for blood, and here you may have it gratified in an innocent manner, should you ever become sanguinary again. 'T is true, Neal, she is twice your size, and possesses three times your strength; but for that very reason, Neal, marry her if you can. Large ani- mals are placid ; and Heaven preserve those bachelors whom I vrish well, from a small wife ; 't is such who al- ways wield the sceptre of domestic life, and rule their husbands with a rod of iron." NEAL MALONE. 207 " Say no more, Mr. O'Connor," replied the tailor ; " she 's the very girl I 'm in love md, an' never fear but I '11 overcome her heart if it can be done by man. Now, step over the way to my house, an' we '11 have a sup on the head of it. Who 's that calling ? " " Ah ! Neal, I know the tones, — there 's a shrillness in them not to be mistaken. Farewell ! I must de- part ; you have heard the proverb, ' those who are bound must obey.' Young Jack, I presume, is squalling, and I must either nurse him, rock the cradle, or sing comic tunes for him, though Heaven knows with what a disas- trous heart I often sing, ' Begone, dull care,' the ' Rakes of Newcastle,' or, ' Peas upon a Trencher.' Neal, I say again, pause before you take this leap in the dark. Pause, Neal, I entreat you. Farewell ! " Neal, however, was gifted with the heart of an Irish- man, and scorned caution as the characteristic of a coward ; he had, as it appeared, abandoned all design of fighting, but the courage still adhered to him even in making love. He consequently conducted the siege of Biddy Neil's heart with a degree of skill and valor which would not have come amiss to Marshal Gerald at the siege of Antwerp. Locke or Dugald Stewart, indeed, had they been cognizant of the tailor's triumph, might have illustrated the principle on which he succeeded; as to ourselves, we can only conjecture it. Our own opinion is, that they were both animated with a con- genial spirit. Biddy was the very pink of pugnacity, and could throw in a body-blow, or plant a facer, with singular energy and science. Her prowess hitherto had, we confess, been displayed only within the limited range 208 LITTLE CLASSICS. of domestic life ; but sliould slie ever find it necessary to exercise it upon a larger scale, there was no doubt what- soever, in the opinion of her mother, brothers, and sis- ters, every one of whom she had successively subdued, that she must undoubtedly distinguish herself. There was certaiuly one difficulty which the tailor had not to encounter in the progress of his courtship ; the field was his own ; he had not a rival to dispute his claim. Neither was there any opposition given by her friends ; they were, on the contrary, all anxious for the match; and when the arrangements were concluded, Neal felt his hand squeezed by them in succession, with an expres- sion more resembling condolence than joy. Neal, how- ever, had been bred to tailoring, and not to metaphysics ; he could cut out a coat very well, but we do not say that he could trace a principle, — as what tailor, except Jeremy Taylor, could ? There was nothing particular in the wedding. Mr. O'Connor was asked by Neal to be present at it ; but he shook his head, and told him that he had not courage to attend it, or inclination to witness any man's sorrows but his own. He met the wedding party by accident, and was heard to exclaim with a sigh as they flaunted past him in gay exuberance of spirits, "Ah, poor Neal ! he is going like one of her father's cattle to the shambles ! Woe is me for having suggested matrimony to the tailor ! He will not long be under the necessity of saying that he is ' blue-moulded for want of a beat- ing.' The butchcress will fell him like a Kerry ox, and I may have his blood to answer for, and his discomfiture to feel for, in addition to my own miseries." NEAL M ALONE. 209 On the evening of the wedding day, about the hour of ten o'clock, Neal, whose spirits were uncommonly exalted, for his heart luxuriated within him, danced with his bridesmaid ; after the dance he sat beside her, and got eloquent in praise of her beauty; and it is said, too, that he whispered to her, and chucked her chin with considerable gallantry. The tete-a-tete continued for some time without exciting particular attention, with one exception ; but thai exception was worth a whole chapter of general rules. Mrs. Malone rose up, then sat down again, and took off a glass of the native ; she got up a second time, — all the wife rushed upon her heart, — she approached them, and, in a fit of the most exquisite sensibility, knocked the bridesmaid down, and gave the tailor a kick of affecting pathos upon the inexpressibles. The whole scene was a touching one on both sides. The tailor was sent on all-fours to the floor ! but Mrs. Malone took him quietly up, put him under her arm, as one would a lap-dog, and with stately step marched away to the connubial apartment, in which everything remained very quiet for the rest of the night. The next momiag Mr. O'Connor presented himself to congratulate the tailor on his happiness. Neal, as his friend, shook hands with him, gave the school- master's fingers a slight squeeze, such as a man gives who would gently entreat your sympathy. The school- master looked at him, and thought he shook his head. Of this, however, he coiild not be certain ; for, as he shook his own during the moment of observation, he 210 LITTLE CLASSICS. concluded that it miglit be a mere mistake of the eye, or, perhaps, the result of a mind predisposed to be cred- ulous on the subject of shaking heads. We wish it were in our power to draw a veil, or curtain, or blind of some description, over the remnant of the tailor's narrative that is to follow ; but as it is the duty of every faithful historian to give the secret causes of appearances which the world in general do not understand, so we think it but honest to go on, impartially and faithfully, without shrinking from the responsibility that is frequently annexed to truth. For the first three days after matrimony, Neal felt like a man who had been translated to a new and more lively state of existence. He had expected, and flattered himself, that the moment this event should take place, he would once more resume his heroism, and experience the pleasure of a drubbing. This de- termination he kept a profound secret ; nor was it known until a future period, when he disclosed it to Mr. O'Connor. He intended, therefore, that marriage should be nothing more than a mere parenthesis in his life, — a kind of asterisk, pointing, in a note at the bottom, to this single exception in his general conduct, — a nota bene to the spirit of a martial man, intimating that he had been peaceful only for a while. In truth, he was, during the influence of love over him, and up to the very day of his marriage, secretly as blue- moulded as ever for want of a beating. The heroic penchant lay snugly latent in his heart, unchecked and unmodified. He flattered himself that he was achiev- ing a capital imposition upon the world at large, — that A NEAL MALONE. 211 he "was actually hoaxing mankind in general, — and that such an excellent piece of knavish tranquillity had never been perpetrated before his time. On the first week after his marriage there chanced to be a fair in the next market-town. Neal, after breakfast, brought forward a bunch of shillelahs, in order to select the best ; the wife inquired the pui-pose of the selection, and Neal declared that he was resolved to have a fight that day, if it were to be had, he said, for "love or money." "The truth is," he exclaimed, strutting with fortitude about the house, — " the truth is, that I 've done the whole of yez, — I 'm as blue- mowlded as ever for want of a batui'." " Don't go," said the wife. " I will go," said Neal, with vehemence ; " I 'U go, if the whole parish was to go to prevint me." In about another half-liour Neal sat down quietly to his business, instead of going to the fair ! Much ingenious speculation might be indulged in upon this abrupt termination to the tailor's most for- midable resolution; but, for our own part, we will prefer going on with the narrative, leaving the reader at liberty to solve the mystery as he pleases. In the mean time, we say this much, — let those who cannot make it out, carry it to their taUor; it is a tailor's mystery, and no one has so good a right to Tinderstand it, — except, perhaps, a tailor's wife. At the period of his matrimony, Neal had become as plump and as stout as he ever was known to be ia his plumpest and stoutest days. He and the school- master had been very intimate about this time ; but 212 LITTLE CLASSICS. we know not how it happened that soon afterwards he felt a modest, bride-hke reluctance in meeting with that afflicted gentleman. As the eve of his union ap- proached, he was in the habit, during the school- master's visits to his workshop, of alluding, in rather a sarcastic tone, considering the unthriving appearance of his friend, to the increasing lustiness of his person. Nay, he has often leaped up from his lap-board, and, in the strong spirit of exultatioH, thrust out his leg in attestation of his assertion, slapping it, moreover, with a loud laugh of triumph, that sounded like a knell to the happiness of his emaciated acquaintance. The schoolmaster's philosophy, however, unlike his flesh, never departed from him ; his usual observation was, " Neal, we are both receding from the same point ; you increase in flesh, whilst I, Heaven help me, am fast dimiuishiug." The tailor received these remarks with very bois- terous mirth, whilst Mr. O'Connor simply shook his head, and looked sadly upon his Umbs, now shrouded in a superfluity of garments, somewhat resembling a slender thread of water in a shallow summer stream, nearly wasted away, and surrounded by an unpropor- tionate extent of channel. The fourth month after the marriage arrived, Neal, one day, near its close, began to dress himself in hia best apparel. Even then, when buttoning his waist- coat, he shook his head after the manner of Mr. O'Con- nor, and made observations upon the great extent to which it over-folded liim. "Well," thought he with a sigh, "this waistcoat cer- NEAL MALONE. 213 tainly did fit me to a T ; but it 's wonderful to think how — cloth stretches ! " "Neal," said the wife, on perceiving him dressed, " where are you bound for ? " "Paith, for life," rephed Neal, with a mitigated swagger ; " and I 'd as soon, if it had been the will of Provid — " He paused. " Where are you going ? " asked the wife a second time. "Why," he answered, "only to dance at Jemmy Connolly's ; I 'U be back early." " Don't go," said the wife. " I '11 go," said Neal, " if the whole counthry was to prevint me. Thunder an' lightnin', woman, who am I ? " he exclaimed, in a loud, but rather infirm voice ; " am n't I Neal Malone, that never met a man who 'd fight him ! Neal Malone, that was never beat by man ! Why, tarc-an-ounze, woman ! Whoo ! I '11 get enraged some time, an' play the divU ! Who 's afeard, I say ? " "Don't go" added the wife, a third time, giving Neal a significant look in the face. In about another half-hour Neal sat down quietly to his business, instead of going to the dance ! Neal now turned himself, like many a sage in similar circumstances, to philosophy ; that is to say, he began to shake liis head upon principle, after the manner of the schoolmaster. He would, indeed, have preferred the bottle upon principle; but there was no getting at the bottle, except through the wife ; and it so hap- pened that by the time it reached him, there was 214 LITTLE CLASSICS. little consolation left in it. Neal bore all in silence; for silence, his friend had often told him, was a proof of wisdom. Soon after this, Neal one evening met Mr. O'Connor by chance upon a plank which crossed a river. This plank was only a foot m breadth, so that no two iadi- viduals could pass each other upon it. We cannot find words in which to express the dismay of both, on finding that they absolutely ghded past one another without coUision. Both paused, and surveyed each other solemnly ; but the astonishment was all on the side of Mr. O'Coimor. " Neal," said the schoolmaster, " by all the household gods, I conjure you to speak, that I may be assured you live ! " The ghost of a blush crossed the churchyard visage of the tailor. "Oh ! " he exclaimed, "why the divU did you tempt me to marry a wife ? " " Neal," said his friend, "answer me in the most sol- emn manner possible ; throw into your countenance all the gravity you can assume ; speak as if you were under the hands of the hangman, with the rope about your neck, for the question is indeed a trying one which I am about to put. Are you still ' blue-moulded ' for want of a beating ? " The tailor collected himself to make a reply ; he put one leg out, — the very leg which he used to show in triumph to his friend ; but, alas, how dwindled ! He opened his waistcoat and lapped it round him, until he looked like a weasel on its hind legs. He then raised himself up ou NEAL MALONE. 215 his tiptoes, and, iii an awful whisper, replied, " No ! ! ! the divil a bit I 'm blue-mowlded for want of a batiu' ! " The schoolmaster shook his head in his own miserable manner ; but, alas ! he soon perceived that the tailor was as great an adept at shaking the head as himself. Nay, he saw that there was a calamitous refinement, a delicacy of shake in the tailor's vibrations which gave to his own nod a very commonplace character. The next day the tailor took in his clothes ; and from time to time continued to adjust them to the dimensions of his shrinkmg person. The schoolmaster and he, whenever they could steal a moment, met and sympathized together. Mr. O'Connor, however, bore up somewhat better than Neal. The latter was subdued in heart and in spirit; thoroughly, completely, and intensely van- quished. His features became sharpened by misery, for a termagant wife is the whetstone on which all the calam- ities of a henpecked husband are painted by the DevU. He no longer strutted as he was wont to do ; he no longer carried a cudgel as if he wished to wage a universal battle with maukuid. He was now a married man. Sneakingly, and with a cowardly crawl, did he creep along as if every step brought him nearer to the gallows. The schoolmaster's march of misery was far slower than Neal's : the latter distanced him. Before three years passed he had shrunk up so much, that he could not walk abroad of a windy day without carrying weights m his pockets to keep him firm on the earth which he once trod with the step of a giant. He again sought the schoolmaster, with whom, indeed, he associ- ated as much as possible. Here he felt certain of receiv- 216 LITTLE CLASSICS. ing sympathy; nor was lie disappointed. That worthy but miserable man and Neal often retired beyond the hearing of their respective wives, and supported each other by every argument in their power. Often have they been heard in the dusk of evenmg singing behind a remote hedge that melancholy ditty, " Let us both be unhappy together " ; wliich rose upon the twilight breeze with a cautious quaver of sorrow truly heart-rending and lugubrious. "Neal," said Mr. O'Connor, on one of those occa- sions, "here is a book which I recommend to your perusal ; it is called ' The Afilicted Man's Companion ' ; try if you cannot glean some consolation out of it." " Faith," said Neal, " I 'm forever oblaged to you, but I don't want it. 1 've had ' The Afflicted Man's Companion ' too long, and not an atom of consolation I can get out of it. I have one o' them, I tell you ; but, be me sowl, I '11 not undertake a pair o' them. The veiy name 's enough for me." They then separated. The tailor's vis vita must have been powerful, or he would have died. In two years more his friends could not distinguish him from his own shadow; a circum- stance which was of great inconvenience to him. Several grasped at the hand of the shadow instead of his ; and one man was near paying it five and sixpence for making a pair of small-clothes. Neal, it is true, undeceived him with some trouble, but candidly admitted that he was not able to carry home the money. It was difficult, in- deea, for the poor tailor to bear what he felt ; it is tnie he bore it as long as h? could ; but at length he became suicidal, and often had thoughts of " making his oatu NEAL MALONE. 217 quietus with his bare bodkia." After many deliberations and afflictions, he ultimately made the attempt; but, alas ! he found that the blood of the Malones refused to flow upon so ignomiuious an occasion. So he solved the phenomenon ; although the truth was, that his blood was not " i' the vein " for it ; none was to be had. What then was to be done ? He resolved to get rid of life by some process; and the next that occurred to him was hanging. In a solemn spirit he prepared a selvage, and suspended himself from the rafter of his workshop ; but here another disappointment awaited him ; he would not hang. Such was his want of gravity that his own weight proved insufficient to occasion his death by mere suspen- sion. His third attempt was at drowning ; but he was too light to sink ; all the elements, all his own energies, joiued themselves, he thought, in a wicked conspiracy to save his life. Having thus tried every avenue to destruction, and failed in all, he felt Hke a man doomed to live forever. Henceforward he shrunk and shrivelled by slow degrees, until in the course of time he became so attenuated that the grossness of human vision could no longer reach him. This, however, could not last always. Though still alive, he was to aU intents and purposes miperceptible. He could only now be heard ; he was reduced to a mere essence ; the very echo of human existence, vox et praterea nihil. It is true the schoolmaster asserted that he occa- sionally caught passing gUmpses of him ; but that was because he had been himself nearly spiritualized by afflic- tion, and his visual ray purged in the furnace of domestic tribulation. By and by Neal's voice lessened, got fainter VOL. V. 10 LITTLE CLASSICS. and more indistinct, until at length notliing but a doubt ful murmur could be heard, which vdtimately could scarcely be ' distinguished fi'om a ringiug in the ears. Such was the awful and mysterious fate of the tailor, who, as a hero, could not of course die ; he merely dis- solved like an icicle, wasted into immateriahty, and finally melted away beyond the pei'ception of mortal sense. Mr. O'Connor is still living, and once more ia the fubiess of perfect health and strength. His wife, however, we may as well hint, has been dead more than two years. 2 9 APR 1 1 )C,^ OCT 2 8 1929" Ak-K i u 19?; » 1 2 1931 AUG 5 ?q<^,- ■fc^'lj T?S^! ft It IP ' r l'^-'!'" •'onii L-9-35/u-8,'2J AP; wro RtC w UiL 2 5^9^5 MAY 2 9 1345 M ?§i AUB '. lO'JRB 30 1985 14' 8 191 MAR 2<^ 1951/ FEB 5 m% *'lJ£d1% ,957 Mm LO-URO MRi a?!! 2 71 ■APR 251971 MAY 2 2 1977? Ucu *^5^":76V''^a^ ' mm UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 236 035 o PLEASP DO NOT REMOVE TH!5 BOOK GARD^ ^:jNtL!BRARYQA >L University of California Library Los Angeles This book is HT TF. nn the last date stamped below. 3¥i/alS 310/e2E>-9 WL Deri's 20(Jlf #^^' ■^^ ^# 85 5 ucu yr ^ 009 545 392 4 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 236 035 o PLEASP DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD J ^^W^LIBRARYQ^ ;> m