L4sts<^A .

 
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 With other Editions in similar style. 
 
 THE SCARLET LETTER. By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 
 
 i8mo, 30 cents. 
 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. By HAWTHORNE. 
 
 iSmo, 30 cents. 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. By HAWTHORNE. iSmo, 40 cents. 
 MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE. By HAWTHORNE. 
 
 i8mo, 40 cents. 
 
 Portland <*2bition. 
 
 HYPERION : A Romance. By HENRY WADSWORTH LONG- 
 
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 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES 
 
 BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY GEORGE PARSONS 
 
 LATHROP 
 
 SALEM EDITION 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 (jibe ttitocwiDr press, Cambridge 
 
 1893
 
 Copyright, 1851, 
 BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 
 
 Copyright, 1879, 
 BY KOSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP. 
 
 Copyright, 1882, 
 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 THE TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ON his return to his native town, Salem, after grad- 
 uating at Bowdoin College in 1825, Hawthorne devoted 
 himself to writing fiction. His first book was the 
 romance of " Fanshawe," which, however, made no iu.- 
 pression on the public. He next produced a volume 
 of stories to which he gave the title " Seven Tales of 
 my Native Land ; " but, after discouraging search for 
 a publisher, he destroyed the manuscript. Whether 
 any of the material composing that work was embodied 
 in his later short stories it is impossible to determine, 
 on the evidence now remaining. Still, it is not un- 
 likely that he drew upon it, from memory, for the 
 foundation of some among the "Twice-Told Tales." 
 The sketches and stories now known collectively under 
 this title were written mainly in a little room in the 
 second story of a house on Herbert Street, Salem, from 
 the windows of which Hawthorne's birthplace on the 
 adjoining street (Union) is visible. " In this dismal 
 chamber fame was won : " so runs a passage in the 
 " American Note-Books." Under another date he says 
 of it : " And here I sat a long, long time, waiting pa- 
 tiently for the world to know me, and sometimes won- 
 dering why it did not know me sooner, or whether it 
 would ever know me^ at all." 
 
 2033278 I
 
 IV INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 The Herbert Street house was habitually referred to 
 by the members of the Hawthorne family as being on 
 Union Street, since the family residence and the birth- 
 place were connected by the lots of land attached re- 
 spectively to each. The mansion on Union Street has 
 since undergone considerable alteration, a large part of 
 it having been taken down some years ago, owing to its 
 dilapidated condition. On Dearborn Street there was 
 another house, built for the mother of Hawthorne by 
 her brother, Robert Manning, in which Hawthorne 
 lived for about four years, though at what time pre- 
 cisely it is impossible to state. In the Dearborn Street 
 house, also, he had a study ; but the edifice has been 
 removed to another site and altered. The Herbert 
 Street (or, as in the Note-Books, Union Street) house 
 was evidently the one which Hawthorne most closely 
 associated with the production of his short stories. 
 
 The earlier pieces appeared in the " Salem Gazette " 
 newspaper, and in the " New England Magazine " 
 (published in Boston from 1831 to 1834). Sometimes 
 they bore the author's real name, and sometimes a 
 pseudonym was attached. Several among them pur- 
 ported to have been written by " Ashley Allen Royce," 
 or the " Rev. A. A. Royce." Another pen-name used 
 by the young romancer was " Oberon ; " the choice of 
 which may be explained by the fact that, as the late 
 Henry W. Longfellow recalled, some of the college 
 friends of Hawthorne had nicknamed him Oberon, in 
 allusion to his personal beauty and the imaginative 
 tone of his conversation. But notwithstanding the va- 
 riety of names under which he thus disguised himself, 
 his writings revealed so clear an individuality that 
 many persons recognized them as being the work of
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. V 
 
 one mind. In 1836, he went to Boston to edit a maga- 
 zine for S. G. Goodrich, then known as a popular com- 
 piler and publisher ; and while thus engaged he wrote 
 a large part of "Peter Parley's Universal History," 
 which passed for Goodrich's composition and attained 
 a wide popularity. At the same time he contributed 
 to the Boston " Token " several of the best of his short 
 stories, which received high praise in London. It was 
 not until their issue in book form that they attracted 
 similar encomiums in this country. 
 
 Hawthorne's original plan was to collect them in a 
 series joined by an introduction and chapters of con- 
 nected narrative ; the whole to be called " The Story- 
 Teller." A part of this projected framework has been 
 preserved in the " Mosses from an Old Manse ; " l and 
 the Author there says : 
 
 With each specimen will be given a sketch of the circum- 
 stances in which the story was told. Thus my air-drawn 
 pictures will be set in a framework perhaps more valuable 
 than the pictures themselves, since they will be embossed 
 with groups of characteristic figures, amid the lake and 
 mountain scenery, the villages and fertile fields, of our na- 
 tive land. 
 
 The plan of "The Story-Teller " was, to represent a 
 young man of apostolical bent who set out to go from 
 town to town, giving a sermon every morning, while a 
 friend who accompanied him was to relate in public, 
 every afternoon, a story illustrating the text previously 
 discoursed upon by the preacher; the whole affair be- 
 
 1 See " Passages from a Relinquished Work," in the sec- 
 ond volume of the Mosses. It was intended to preface " Mr. 
 Higginbotham's Catastrophe."
 
 VI INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 ing announced in each place by posters, much in the 
 manner of a travelling show. It might be supposed that 
 the introduction of sermons in a book of fiction would 
 offer a stumbling-block to success; but Hawthorne 
 evaded this obvious difficulty by merely mentioning the 
 sermons and then giving the stories in full. Mr. Good- 
 rich gave the scheme no encouragement, but took the 
 introductory portion describing the preacher and the 
 raconteur to a magazine. It is worth recording as a 
 curious fact in literary history that for the accompany- 
 ing stories which Goodrich used"in his annual he gave 
 Hawthorne about three dollars apiece. 
 
 Finally, through the intervention of Mr. Horatio 
 Bridge, who privately became responsible to this more 
 than prudent publisher for the attendant expense, the 
 first series of stories was given to the world in per- 
 manent form, as a handful of disconnected composi- 
 tions, under the general heading of " Twice-Told 
 Tales." Possibly the title was suggested by that line, 
 given to Lewis, the Dauphin, in " King John : " 
 
 ' ' Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale." 
 
 About eight years after the first volume, a second 
 one was issued; but even this did not include all the 
 productions of the early period, some of which have 
 since been brought to light. A few have perhaps es- 
 caped notice. The present writer discovered in a mu^ 
 tilated copy of the "Token," for 1835, this entry 
 among the contents: "Alice Doane's Appeal. By the 
 Author of ' The Gentle Boy.' " Only two pages of the 
 story itself remained; but they sufficed to show that 
 the contribution was one which had previously found no 
 place in the collected works. A complete copy having
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. Vll 
 
 with some difficulty been obtained, the sketch in ques- 
 tion was included in the 12th volume of the Riverside 
 edition of Hawthorne's works. 
 
 " The Gentle Boy " probably did more for the au- 
 thor's reputation than any other of the " Twice-Told 
 Tales." Furthermore, as the volume containing it 
 formed a link in his acquaintance with Miss Sophia A. 
 Peabody, the lady whom he afterwards married, so that 
 particular story itself was by her made the subject of 
 a drawing, which now becomes a matter of literary in- 
 terest. A special edition of "The Gentle Boy" was 
 published in 1839 : it was a thin, oblong quarto in 
 paper covers, accompanied by an illustration, engraved 
 from Miss Peabody's outline drawing. This edition, 
 now so rare as almost to have passed out of existence, 
 contained a brief preface by Hawthorne, in which he 
 said : " The tale, of which a new edition is now offered 
 to the public, was among the earliest efforts of its au- 
 thor's pen; and, little noticed on its first appearance in 
 one of the annuals, appears ultimately to have awak- 
 ened the interest of a larger number of readers than 
 any of his subsequent productions; . . . there are sev- 
 eral among the ' Twice-Told Tales ' which, on repe- 
 rusal, affect him less painfully with a sense of imperfect 
 and ill-wrought conception than ' The Gentle Boy.' 
 But the opinion of many . . . compels him to the con- 
 clusion that nature here led him deeper into the uni- 
 versal heart than art has been able to follow." A let- 
 ter from Hawthorne to Longfellow, referring to the 
 first volum| of the tales, contains another remark of 
 general interest : " I have another great difficulty in 
 the lack of materials ; for I have seen so little of the 
 world that I have nothing but thin air to concoct my
 
 Vlll INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 stories of. ... Sometimes, through a peep-hole, I have 
 caught a glimpse of the real world, and the two or 
 three articles in which I have portrayed these glimpses 
 please me better than the others." 
 
 " The Toll-Gatherer's Day," evidently derived from 
 minute observation of the traffic on a bridge near 
 Salem; and "Little Annie's Ramble," which is said to 
 have had for its heroine a child from real life, were 
 perhaps placed by the Author in this favored category. 
 
 The paper entitled " A Sunday at Home " was based 
 on a meeting-house, near the birthplace in Union 
 Street, concerning which Hawthorne's surviving sister 
 writes to the editor : " It never had a steeple, nor a 
 clock, nor a bell, nor, of course, an organ. . . . But 
 Hawthorne bestows all these incitements to devotion to 
 atone for his own personal withdrawal from such in- 
 fluences. It was from the house on Herbert Street 
 that he saw what he describes." But, like " The Seven 
 Vagabonds " (founded on a trip which the Author made 
 through part of Connecticut), such pieces as are most 
 tinged with actuality have not interested readers so 
 much as the pure invention of " David Swan," or the 
 weird coloring of those half-historic records, the " Le- 
 gends of the Province House." 
 
 Nevertheless, looked at closely, and with due know- 
 ledge of the accompanying facts of Hawthorne's life at 
 the time, 1 the whole collection affords, besides the dis- 
 tinct imaginative pleasure to be got from it, valuable 
 intimations as to Hawthorne's development during the 
 first decade of his career as an author. ^, 
 
 G. P. L. 
 
 1 See A Study of Hawthorne, Chapter IV.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 |HE Author of TWICE-TOLD TALES has a claim to 
 one distinction, which, as none of his literary 
 brethren will care about disputing it with him, 
 he need not be afraid to mention. He was, for a good 
 many years, the obscurest man of letters in America. 
 
 These stories were published in Magazines and Annuals, 
 extending over a period of ten or twelve years, and com- 
 prising the whole of the writer's young manhood, without 
 making (so far as he has ever been aware) the slightest 
 impression on the Public. One or two among them 
 the RILL FROM TUB TOWN PUMP, in perhaps a greater 
 degree than any other had a pretty wide newspaper 
 circulation ; as for the rest, he has no grounds for sup- 
 posing, that, on their first appearance, they met with the 
 good or evil fortune to be read by anybody. Through- 
 out the time above specified, he had no incitement to 
 literary effort in a reasonable prospect of reputation or 
 profit ; nothing but the pleasure itself of composition, 
 an enjoyment not at all amiss in its way, and perhaps
 
 essential to the merit of the work in hand, but -which, in 
 the long run, will hardly keep the chill out of a writer's 
 heart, or the numbness out of his fingers. To this to- 
 tal lack of sympathy, at the age when his mind would 
 naturally have been most effervescent, the Public owe 
 it (and it is certainly an effect not to be regretted, on 
 either part), that the Author can show nothing for the 
 thought and industry of that portion of his life, save the 
 forty sketches, or thereabouts, included in these volumes. 
 Much more, indeed, he wrote ; and some very small part 
 of it might yet be rummaged out (but it would not be 
 worth the trouble) among the dingy pages of fifteen-or- 
 twenty-year-old periodicals, or within the shabby mo- 
 rocco covers of faded Souvenirs. The remainder of the 
 works, alluded to, had a very brief existence, but, on the 
 score of brilliancy, enjoyed a fate vastly superior to that 
 of their brotherhood, which succeeded in getting through 
 the press. In a word, the Author burned them without 
 mercy or remorse, and, moreover, without any subsequent 
 regret, and had more than one occasion to marvel that 
 such very dull stuff, as he knew his condemned manu- 
 scripts to be, should yet have possessed inflammability 
 enough to set the chimney on fire ! 
 
 After a long while, the first collected volume of the 
 Tales was published. By this time, if the Author had 
 ever been greatly tormented by literary ambition (which 
 he does not remember or believe to have been the case), 
 it must have perished, beyond resuscitation, in the dearth 
 of nutriment. This was fortunate ; for the success of 
 the volume was not such as would have gratified a crav- 
 ing desire for notoriety. A moderate edition was " got
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 rid of" (to use the Publisher's very significant phrase) 
 within a reasonable time, but apparently without render-- 
 ing the writer or his productions much more generally 
 known than before. The great bulk of the reading Pub- 
 lic probably ignored the book altogether. A few per- 
 sons read it, and liked it better than it deserved. At 
 an interval of three or four years, the second volume was 
 published, and encountered much the same sort of kindly, 
 but calm, and very limited reception. The circulation 
 of the two volumes was chiefly confined to New England ; 
 nor was it until long after this period, if it even yet be 
 the case, that the Author could regard himself as address- 
 ing the American Public, or, indeed, any Public at all. 
 He was merely writing to his known or unknown friends. 
 
 As he glances over these long-forgotten pages, and con- 
 siders his way of life, while composing them, the Author 
 can very clearly discern why all this was so. After so 
 many sober years, he would have reasons to be ashamed 
 if he could not criticise his own work as fairly as another 
 man's ; and, though it is little his business and perhaps 
 still less his interest, he can hardly resist a temptation to 
 achieve something of the sort. If writers were allowed 
 to do so, and would perform the task with perfect sin- 
 cerity and unreserve, their opinions of their own produc- 
 tions would often be more valuable and instructive than 
 the works themselves. 
 
 At all events, there can be no harm in the Author's 
 remarking, that he rather wonders how the TWICE-TOLD 
 TALES should have gained what vogue they did, than 
 that it was so little and so gradual. They have the pale 
 tint of flowers that blossomed in too retired a shade,
 
 Xll PREFACE. 
 
 the coolness of a meditative habit, which diffuses 
 itself through the feeling and observation of every 
 sketch. Instead of passion, there is sentiment; and, 
 even in what purport to be pictures of actual life, we 
 have allegory, not always so warmly dressed in its habili- 
 ments of flesh and blood, as to be taken into the reader's 
 mind without a shiver. Whether from lack of power, 
 or an unconquerable reserve, the Author's touches have 
 often an effect of tameness ; the merriest man can hardly 
 contrive to laugh at his broadest humor ; the tenderest 
 woman, one would suppose, will hardly shed warm tears 
 at his deepest pathos. The book, if you would see any- 
 thing in it, requires to be read in the clear, brown, twi- 
 light atmosphere in which it was written ; if opened in 
 the sunshine, it is apt to look exceedingly like a volume 
 of blank pages. 
 
 With the foregoing characteristics, proper to the pro- 
 ductions of a person in retirement (which happened to 
 be the Author's category at the time), the book is devoid 
 of others that we should quite as naturally look for. The 
 sketches are not, it is hardly necessary to say, profound ; 
 but it is rather more remarkable that they so seldom, if 
 ever, show any design on the writer's part to make them 
 so. They have none of the abstruseness of idea, or ob- 
 scurity of expression, which mark the written communi- 
 cations of a solitary mind with itself. They never need 
 translation. It is, in fact, the style of a man of society. 
 Every sentence, so far as it embodies thought or sensi- 
 bility, may be understood and felt by anybody who will 
 give himself the trouble to read it, and will take up the 
 book in a proper mood.
 
 PREFACE. xiil 
 
 This statement of apparently opposite peculiarities leads 
 as to a perception of what the sketches truly are. They 
 are not the talk of a secluded man with his own mind and 
 heart (had it been so, they could hardly have failed to be 
 more deeply and permanently valuable), but his attempts, 
 and very imperfectly successful ones, to open an inter- 
 course with the world. 
 
 The Author would regret to be understood as speaking 
 sourly or querulously of the slight mark made by his earlier 
 literary efforts on the Public at large. It is so far the 
 contrary, that he has been moved to write this Preface, 
 chiefly as affording him an opportunity to express how 
 much enjoyment he has owed to these volumes, both 
 before and since their publication. They are the me- 
 morials of very tranquil and not unhappy years. They 
 failed, it is true, nor could it have been otherwise, in 
 winning an extensive popularity. Occasionally, however, 
 when he deemed them entirely forgotten, a paragraph or 
 an article, from a native or foreign critic, would gratify 
 his instincts of authorship with unexpected praise, too 
 generous praise, indeed, and too little alloyed with cen- 
 sure, which, therefore, he learned the better to inflict 
 upon himself. And, by the by, it is a very suspicious 
 symptom of a deficiency of the popular element in a book, 
 when it calls forth no harsh criticism. This has been 
 particularly the fortune of the TWICE-TOLD TALES. They 
 made no enemies, and were so little known and talked 
 about, that those who read, and chanced to like them, 
 were apt to conceive the sort of kindness for the book 
 which a person naturally feels for a discovery of his own. 
 
 This kindly feeling (in some cases at least) extended
 
 to the Author, who, on the internal evidence of his 
 sketches, came to be regarded as a mild, shy, gentle, 
 melancholic, exceedingly sensitive, and not very forcible 
 man, hiding his blushes under an assumed name, the 
 quaintness of which was supposed, somehow or other, to 
 symbolize his personal and literary traits. He is by no 
 means certain that some of his subsequent productions 
 have not been influenced and modified by a natural desire 
 to fill up so amiable an outline, and to act in consonance 
 with the character assigned to him ; nor, even now, could 
 he forfeit it without a few tears of tender sensibility. 
 To conclude, however, these volumes have opened the 
 way to most agreeable associations, and to the formation 
 of imperishable friendships ; and there are many golden 
 threads, interwoven with his present happiness, which he 
 can follow up more or less directly, until he finds their 
 commencement here ; so that his pleasant pathway among 
 realities seems to proceed out of the Dreamland of his 
 youth, and to be bordered with just enough of its shad- 
 owy foliage to shelter him from the heat of the day. He 
 is therefore satisfied with what the TWICE-TOLD TALES 
 have done for him, and feels it to be far better than fame. 
 
 LENOX, January 11, 1851.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION 13 
 
 SUNDAY AT HOME 24 
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL 33 
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL .... 44 
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT .... 62 
 
 THE GENTLE BOY 76 
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE . . .116 
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE 132 
 
 WAKEFIELD 142 
 
 A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP .... 154 
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE 162 
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES 181 
 
 DAVID SWAN 199 
 
 SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE 207 
 
 THE HOLLOW OF THE THREE HILLS . . . 215 
 
 THE TOLL-GATHERER'S DAY 221 
 
 THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN .... 229 
 
 FANCY'S Snow-Box 237 
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT . 245
 
 XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE HOUSE: 
 
 I. HOWE'S MASQUERADE 7 
 
 II. EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT . . 26 
 
 III. LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE .... 42 
 
 IV. OLD ESTHER DUDLEY 62 
 
 THE HAUNTED MIND 77 
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE 83 
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 98 
 
 THE SISTER YEARS 109 
 
 SNOW-FLAKES 119 
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS 126 
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID 148 
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE ... 162 
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL 188 
 
 THE SHAKER BRIDAL 201 
 
 NIGHT SKETCHES 209 
 
 ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS .... 217 
 
 THE LILY'S QUEST 226 
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE .... 235 
 
 EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD 248 
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY . . 257
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES 
 
 VOLUME I.
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION. 
 
 JHERE was once a time when New England 
 groaned under the actual pressure of heavier 
 wrongs than those threatened ones which 
 brought on the Revolution. James II., the bigoted 
 successor of Charles the Voluptuous, had annulled the 
 charters of all the colonies, and sent a harsh and unprin- 
 cipled soldier to take away our liberties and endanger 
 our religion. The administration of Sir Edmund Andros 
 lacked scarcely a single characteristic of tyranny: a 
 Governor and Council, holding office from the King, 
 and wholly independent of the country ; laws made and 
 taxes levied without concurrence of the people, imme- 
 diate or by their representatives ; the rights of private 
 citizens violated, and the titles of all landed property 
 declared void ; the voice of complaint stifled by restric- 
 tions on the press ; and, finally, disaffection overawed by 
 the first band of mercenary troops that ever marched on 
 our free soil. Por two years our ancestors were kept ia 
 sullen submission by that filial love which had invariably
 
 14 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 secured their allegiance to the mother country, whether 
 its head chanced to be a Parliament, Protector, or Popish 
 Monarch. Till these evil times, however, such allegiance 
 had been merely nominal, and the colonists had ruled 
 themselves, enjoying far more freedom than is even yet 
 the privilege of the native subjects of Great Britain. 
 
 At length a rumor reached our shores that the Prince 
 of Orange had ventured on an enterprise the success of 
 which would be the triumph of civil and religious rights 
 and the salvation of New England. It was but a doubt- 
 ful whisper ; it might be false, or the attempt might fail ; 
 and, in either case, the man that stirred against King 
 James would lose his head. Still, the intelligence pro- 
 duced a marked effect. The people smiled mysteriously 
 in the streets, and threw bold glances at their oppressors ; 
 while, far and wide, there was a subdued and silent agita- 
 tion, as if the slightest signal would rouse the whole land 
 from its sluggish despondency. Aware of their danger, 
 the rulers resolved to avert it by an imposing display of 
 strength, and perhaps to confirm their despotism by yet 
 harsher measures. One afternoon in April, 1689, Sir 
 Edmund Andros and his favorite councillors, being warm 
 with wine, assembled the redcoats of the Governor's 
 Guard, and made their appearance in the streets of 
 Boston. The sun was near setting when the march 
 commenced. 
 
 The roll of the drum, at that unquiet crisis, seemed 
 to go through the streets, less as the martial music of 
 the soldiers, than as a muster-call to the inhabitants 
 themselves. A multitude, by various avenues, assem- 
 bled in King Street, which was destined to be the scene, 
 nearly a century afterwards, of another encounter be- 
 tween the troops of Britain and a people struggling 
 against her tyranny. Though more than sixty years had
 
 THE GKAY CHAMPION. 15 
 
 elapsed since the Pilgrims came, this crowd of their 
 descendants still showed the strong and sombre features 
 of their character, perhaps more strikingly in such a 
 stern emergency than on happier occasions. There were 
 the sober garb, the general severity of mien, the gloomy 
 but undismayed expression, the Scriptural forms of speech, 
 and the confidence in Heaven's blessing on a righteous 
 cause, which would have marked a band of the original 
 Puritans, when threatened by some peril of the wilder- 
 ness. Indeed, it was not yet time for the old spirit to 
 be extinct ; since there were men in the street, that day, 
 who had worshipped there beneath the trees, before a 
 house was reared to the God for whom they had become 
 exiles. Old soldiers of the Parliament were here, too, 
 smiling grimly at the thought, that their aged arms might 
 strike another blow against the house of Stuart. Here, 
 also, were the veterans of King Philip's war, who had 
 burned villages and slaughtered young and old, with 
 pious fierceness, while the godly souls throughout the 
 land were helping them with prayer. Several ministers 
 were scattered among the crowd, which, unlike all other 
 mobs, regarded them with such reverence, as if there 
 were sanctity in their very garments. These holy men 
 exerted their influence to quiet the people, but not to 
 disperse them. Meantime, the purpose of the Governor, 
 in disturbing the peace of the town, at a period when 
 the slightest commotion might throw the country into a. 
 iiTinent, was almost the universal subject of inquiry, and 
 variously explained. 
 
 " Satan will strike his master-stroke presently," cried 
 some, " because he knoweth that his time is short. All 
 our godly pastors are to be dragged to prison ! We 
 shall see them at a Smithfield fire in King Street ! " 
 
 Hereupon the people of each parish gathered closer
 
 16 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 round their minister, who looked calmly upwards and 
 assumed a more apostolic dignity, as well befitted a 
 candidate for the highest honor of his profession, the 
 crown of martyrdom. It was actually fancied, at that 
 period, that New England might have a John Rogers 
 of her own, to take the place of that worthy in the 
 Primer. 
 
 " The Pope of Rome has given orders for a new St. 
 Bartholomew ! " cried others. " We are to be massacred, 
 man and male child ! " 
 
 Neither was this rumor wholly discredited, although 
 the wiser class believed the Governor's object somewhat 
 less atrocious. His predecessor under the old charter, 
 Bradstreet, a venerable companion of the first settlers, 
 was known to be in town. There were grounds for con- 
 jecturing that Sir Edmund Andros intended, at once, to 
 strike terror, by a parade of military force, and to con- 
 found the opposite faction by possessing himself of their 
 chief. 
 
 " Stand firm for the old charter, Governor ! " shouted 
 the crowd, seizing upon the idea. " The good old Gov- 
 ernor Bradstreet ! " 
 
 While this cry was at the loudest, the people were 
 surprised by the well-known figure of Governor Brad- 
 street himself, a patriarch of nearly ninety, who appeared 
 on the elevated steps of a door, and, with characteristic 
 mildness, besought them to submit to the constituted 
 authorities. 
 
 " My children," concluded this venerable person, " do 
 nothing rashly. Cry not aloud, but pray for the welfare 
 of New England, and expect patiently what the Lord 
 will do in this matter ! " 
 
 The event was soon to be decided. All this time, the 
 roll of the drum had been approaching through Coruhill,
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION. 17 
 
 louder and deeper, till with reverberations from house 
 to house, and the regular tramp of martial footsteps, it 
 burst into the street. A double rank of soldiers made 
 their appearance, occupying the whole breadth of the 
 passage, with shouldered matchlocks, and matches burn- 
 ing, so as to present a row of fires in the dusk. Their 
 steady march was like the progress of a machine, that 
 would roll irresistibly over everything in its way. Next, 
 moving slowly, with a confused clatter of hoofs on the 
 pavement, rode a party of mounted gentlemen, the cen- 
 tral figure being Sir Edmund Andros, elderly, but erect 
 and soldier-like. Those around him were his favorite 
 councillors, and the bitterest foes of New England. At 
 his right hand rode Edward Randolph, our arch-enemy, 
 that " blasted wretch," as Cotton Mather calls him, who 
 achieved the downfall of our ancient government, and 
 was followed with a sensible curse, through life and to 
 his grave. On the other side was Bullivant, scattering 
 jests and mockery as he rode along. Dudley came be- 
 hind, with a downcast look, dreading, as well he might, 
 to meet the indignant gaze of the people, who beheld 
 him, their only countryman by birth, among the oppress- 
 ors of his native land. The captain of a frigate in the 
 harbor, and two or three civil officers under the Crown, 
 were also there. But the figure which most attracted 
 the public eye, and stirred up the deepest feeling, was 
 the Episcopal clergyman of King's Chapel, riding haugh- 
 tily among the magistrates in his priestly vestments, 
 the fitting representative of prelacy and persecution, the 
 union of Church and State, and all those abominations 
 which had driven the Puritans to the wilderness. An- 
 other guard of soldiers, in double rank, brought up the 
 rear. 
 
 The whole scene was a picture of the condition of New
 
 18 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 England, and its moral, the deformity of any government 
 that does not grow out of the nature of things and the 
 character of " e people. On one side the religious mul- 
 titude, with their sad visages and dark attire, and on the 
 other, the group of despotic rulers, with the High-Church- 
 man in the midst, and here and there a crucifix at their 
 bosoms, all magnificently clad, flushed with wine, proud 
 of unjust authority, aud scoffing at the universal groan. 
 And the mercenary soldiers, waiting but the word to 
 deluge the street with blood, showed the only means by 
 which obedience could be secured. 
 
 " Lord of Hosts," cried a voice among the crowd, 
 " provide a Champion for thy people ! " 
 
 This ejaculation was loudly uttered, and served as a 
 herald's cry, to introduce a remarkable personage. The 
 crowd had rolled back, and were now huddled together 
 nearly at the extremity of the street, while the soldiers 
 had advanced no more than a third of its length. The 
 intervening space was empty, a paved solitude, between 
 lofty edifices, which threw almost a twilight shadow over 
 it. Suddenly, there was seen the figure of an ancient 
 man, who seemed to have emerged from among the peo- 
 ple, and was walking by himself along the centre of the 
 street, to confront the armed band. He wore the old 
 Puritan dress, a dark cloak and a steeple-crowned hat, 
 in the fashion of at least fifty years before, with a heavy 
 sword upon his thigh, but a staff in his hand to assist the 
 tremulous gait of age. 
 
 When at some distance from the multitude, the old 
 man turned slowly round, displaying a face of antique 
 majesty, rendered doubly venerable by the hoary beard 
 that descended on his breast. He made a gesture at 
 once of encouragement and warning, then turned again, 
 and resumed his way.
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION. 19 
 
 " Who is this gray patriarch ? " asked the young meu 
 of their sires. 
 
 " Who is this venerable brother ? " asked the old men 
 among themselves. 
 
 But none could make reply. The fathers of the peo- 
 ple, those of fourscore years and upwards, were dis- 
 turbed, deeming it strange that they should forget one 
 of such evident authority, whom they must have known 
 in their early days, the associate of Winthrop, and all 
 the old councillors, giving laws, and making prayers, and 
 leading them against the savage. The elderly men ought 
 to have remembered him, too, with locks as gray in their 
 youth as their own were now. And the young ! How 
 could he have passed so utterly from their memories, 
 that hoary sire, the relic of long-departed times, whose 
 awful benediction had surely been bestowed on their 
 uncovered heads, in childhood? 
 
 "Whence did he come? What is his purpose? 
 Who can this old man be ? " whispered the wondering 
 crowd. 
 
 Meanwhile, the venerable stranger, staif in hand, was 
 pursuing his solitary walk along the centre of the street. 
 As he drew near the advancing soldiers, and as the roll 
 of their drum came full upon his ear, the old man raised 
 himself to a loftier mien, while the decrepitude of age 
 seemed to fall from his shoulders, leaving him in gray 
 but unbroken dignity. Now, he marched onward with 
 a warrior's step, keeping time to the military music. 
 Thus the aged form advanced on one side, and the whole 
 parade of soldiers and magistrates on the other, till, when 
 scarcely twenty yards remained between, the old man 
 grasped his staff by the middle, and held it before him 
 like a leader's truncheon. 
 
 "Stand! " cried he.
 
 20 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 The eye, the face, and attitude of command ; the sol- 
 emn, yet warlike peal of that voice, fit either to rule a 
 host in the battle-field or be raised to God in prayer, 
 were irresistible. At the old man's word and out- 
 stretched arm, the roll of the drum was hushed at once, 
 and the advancing line stood still. A tremulous enthu- 
 siasm seized upon the multitude. That stately form, 
 combining the leader and the saint, so gray, so dimly 
 seen, in such an ancient garb, could only belong to some 
 old champion of the righteous cause, whom the oppress- 
 or's drum had summoned from his grave. They raised 
 a shout of awe and exultation, and looked for the deliv- 
 erance of New England. 
 
 The Governor, and the gentlemen of his party, per- 
 ceiving themselves brought to an unexpected stand, 
 rode hastily forward, as if they would have pressed 
 their snorting and affrighted horses right against the 
 hoary apparition. He, however, blenched not a step, 
 but glancing his severe eye round the group, which 
 half encompassed him, at last bent it sternly on Sir 
 Edmund Audros. One would have thought that the 
 dark old man was chief ruler there, and that the Gov- 
 ernor and Council, with soldiers at their back, repre- 
 senting the whole power and authority of the Crown, 
 had no alternative but obedience. 
 
 " What does this old fellow here ? " cried Edward 
 Randolph, fiercely. " On, Sir Edmund ! Bid the sol- 
 diers forward, and give the dotard the same choice that 
 you give all his countrymen, to stand aside or be 
 trampled on ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, let us show respect to the good grand- 
 sire," said Bullivant v laughing. " See you not, he is 
 some old round-headed dignitary, who hath lain asleep 
 these thirty years, and knows nothing of the change of
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION. 21 
 
 times? Doubtless, he thinks to put us down with a 
 proclamation in Old Noll's name ! " 
 
 " Are you mad, old man ? " demanded Sir Edmund 
 Andros, in loud and harsh tones. " How dare you stay 
 the march of King James's Governor ? " 
 
 " I have stayed the march of a king himself, ere now, 5 * 
 replied the gray figure, with stern composure. "I am 
 here, Sir Governor, because the cry of an oppressed 
 people hath disturbed me in my secret place; and be- 
 seeching this favor earnestly of the Lord, it was vouch- 
 safed me to appear once again on earth, in the good 
 old cause of his saints. And what speak ye of James ? 
 There is no longer a Popish tyrant on the throne of 
 England, and by to-morrow noon his name shall be a 
 byword in this very street, where ye would make it a 
 word of terror. Back, thou that wast a Governor, back ! 
 With this night thy power is ended, to-morrow, the 
 prison ! back, lest I foretell the scaffold ! " 
 
 The people had been drawing nearer and nearer, and 
 drinking in the words of their champion, who spoke in 
 accents long disused, like one unaccustomed to converse, 
 except with the dead of many years ago. But his voice 
 stirred their souls. They confronted the soldiers, not 
 wholly without arms, and ready to convert the very 
 stones of the street into deadly weapons. Sir Edmund 
 Andros looked at the old man ; then he cast his hard and 
 cruel eye over the multitude, and beheld them burning 
 with that lurid wrath, so difficult to kindle or to quench ; 
 and again he fixed his gaze on the aged form, which 
 stood obscurely in an open space, where neither friend 
 nor foe had thrust himself. What were his thoughts, he 
 uttered no word which might discover. But whether 
 the oppressor were overawed by the Gray Champion's 
 look, or perceived his peril in the threatening attitude of
 
 22 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the people, it is certain that he gave back, and ordered 
 his soldiers to commence a slow and guarded retreat. 
 Before another sunset, the Governor, and all that rode so 
 proudly with him, were prisoners, and long ere it was 
 known that James had abdicated, King William was pro- 
 claimed throughout New England. 
 
 But where was the Gray Champion ? Some reported, 
 that when the troops had gone from King Street, and 
 the people were thronging tumultuously in their rear, 
 Bradstreet, the aged Governor, was seen to embrace a 
 form more aged than his own. Others soberly affirmed, 
 that while they marvelled at the venerable grandeur of 
 his aspect, the old man had faded from their eyes, melting 
 slowly into the hues of twilight, till, where he stood, 
 there was an empty space. But all agreed that the 
 hoary shape was gone. The men of that generation 
 watched for his reappearance, in sunshine and in twi- 
 light, but never saw him more, nor knew when his fune- 
 ral passed, nor where his gravestone was. 
 
 And who was the Gray Champion ? Perhaps his name 
 might be found in the records of that stern Court of Jus- 
 tice, which passed a sentence, too mighty for the age, 
 but glorious in all after times, for its humbling lesson to 
 the monarch and its high example to the subject. I have 
 heard, that whenever the descendants of the Puritans are 
 to show the spirit of their sires, the old man appears 
 again. When eighty years had passed, he walked once 
 more in King Street. Five years later, in the twilight 
 of an April morning, he stood on the green, beside the 
 meeting-house, at Lexington, where now the obelisk of 
 granite, with a slab of slate inlaid, commemorates the 
 first fallen of the Revolution. And when our fathers 
 were toiling at the breastwork on Bunker's Hill, all 
 through that night the old warrior walked his rounds.
 
 THE GRAY CHAMPION. 23 
 
 Long, long may it be, ere he conies again ! His hour is 
 one of darkness, and adversity, and peril. But should 
 domestic tyranny oppress us, or the invader's step pol- 
 lute our soil, still may the Gray Champion come, for he 
 is the type of New England's hereditary spirit, and his 
 shadowy march, on the eve of danger, must ever be the 
 pledge that New England's sons will vindicate their 
 ancestry.
 
 SUNDAY AT HOME. 
 
 |VERY Sabbath morning in the summer time I 
 thrust back the curtain, to watch the sunrise 
 stealing down a steeple, which stands opposite 
 my chamber-window. First, the weathercock begins to 
 flash ; then, a fainter lustre gives the spire an airy aspect ; 
 next it encroaches on the tower, and causes the index of 
 the dial to glisten like gold, as it points to the gilded fig- 
 ure of the hour. Now, the loftiest window gleams, and 
 now the lower. The carved framework of the portal 
 is marked strongly out. At length, the morning glory, 
 in its descent from heaven, comes down the stone steps, 
 one by one ; and there stands the steeple, glowing with 
 fresh radiance, while the shades of twilight still hide 
 themselves among the nooks of the adjacent buildings. 
 Methinks, though the same sun brightens it every fair 
 morning, yet the steeple has a peculiar robe of brightness 
 for the Sabbath. 
 
 By dwelling near a church, a person soon contracts an 
 attachment for the edifice. We naturally personify it, 
 and conceive its massive walls and its dim emptiness to 
 be instinct with a calm, and meditative, and somewhat 
 melancholy spirit. But the steeple stands foremost, in 
 our thoughts, as well as locally. It impresses us as a 
 giant, with a mind comprehensive and discriminating
 
 SUNDAY AT HOME. 25 
 
 enough to care for the great and small concerns of all the 
 town. Hourly, while it speaks a moral to the few that 
 think, it reminds thousands of busy individuals of their 
 separate and most secret affairs. It is the steeple, too, 
 that flings abroad the hurried and irregular accents of 
 general alarm ; neither have gladness and festivity found 
 a better utterance, than by its tongue ; and when the 
 dead are slowly passing to their home, the steeple has 
 a melancholy voice to bid them welcome. Yet, in spite 
 of this connection with human interests, what a moral 
 loneliness, on week-days, broods round about its stately 
 height ! It has no kindred with the houses above which 
 it towers ; it looks down into the narrow thoroughfare, 
 the lonelier, because the crowd are elbowing their passage 
 at its base. A glance at the body of the church deepens 
 this impression. Within, by the light of distant win- 
 dows, amid refracted shadows, we discern the vacant pews 
 and empty galleries, the silent organ, the voiceless pulpit, 
 and the clock, which tells to solitude how time is pass- 
 ing. Time, where man lives not, what is it but eter- 
 nity ? And in the church, we might suppose, are garnered 
 up, throughout the week, all thoughts and feelings that 
 have reference to eternity, until the holy day comes round 
 again, to let them forth. Might not, then, its more ap- 
 propriate site be in the outskirts of the town, with space 
 for old trees to wave around it, and throw their solemn 
 shadows over a quiet green ? We will say more of this, 
 hereafter. 
 
 But, on the Sabbath, I watch the earliest sunshine, and 
 fancy that a holier brightness marks the day, when there 
 shall be no buzz of voices on the exchange, nor traffic in 
 the shops, nor crowd, nor business, anywhere but at 
 church. Many have fancied so. For my own part, 
 whether I see it scattered down among tangled woods,
 
 26 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 or beaming broad across the fields, or hemmed in between 
 brick buildings, or tracing out the figure of the casement 
 on rny chamber-floor, still I recognize the Sabbath sun- 
 shine. And ever let me recognize it ! Some illusions, 
 and this among them, are the shadows of great truths. 
 Doubts may flit around me, or seem to close their evil 
 wings, and settle down ; but so long as I imagine that the 
 earth is hallowed, and the light of heaven retains its 
 sanctity, on the Sabbath, while that blessed sunshine 
 lives within me, never can my soul have lost the in- 
 stinct of its faith. If it have gone astray, it will return 
 again. 
 
 I love to spend such pleasant Sabbaths, from morning 
 till night, behind the curtain of my open window. Are 
 they spent amiss ? Every spot, so near the church as to 
 be visited by the circling shadow of the steeple, should 
 be deemed consecrated ground, to-day. With stronger 
 truth be it said, that a devout heart may consecrate a 
 den of thieves, as an evil one may convert a temple to 
 the same. My heart, perhaps, has not such holy, nor, I 
 would fain trust, such impious potency. It must suffice, 
 that, though my form be absent, my inner man goes con- 
 stantly to church, while many, whose bodily presence 
 fills the accustomed seats, have left their souls at home. 
 But I am there, even before my friend, the sexton. At 
 length, he comes, a man of kindly, but sombre aspect, 
 in dark gray clothes, and hair of the same mixture, he 
 comes and applies his key to the wide portal. Now my 
 thoughts may go in among the dusty pews, or ascend 
 the pulpit without sacrilege, but soon come forth again 
 to enjoy the music of the bell. How glad, yet solemn 
 too ! All the steeples in town are talking together, alott 
 in the sunny air, and rejoicing among themselves, while 
 their spires point heavenward. Meantime, here are the
 
 SUNDAY AT HOME. 27 
 
 children assembling to the Sabbath school, which is kept 
 somewhere within the church. Often, while looking at 
 the arched portal, I have been gladdened by the sight of 
 a score of these little girls and boys, in pink, blue, yel- 
 low, and crimson frocks, bursting suddenly forth into the 
 sunshine, like a swarm of gay butterflies that had been 
 shut up in the solemn gloom. Or I might compare them 
 to cherubs, haunting that holy place. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour before the second ringing 
 of the bell, individuals of the congregation begin to ap- 
 pear. The earliest is invariably an old woman in black, 
 whose bent frame and rounded shoulders are evidently 
 laden with some heavy affliction, which she is eager to 
 rest upon the altar. Would that the Sabbath came 
 twice as often, for the sake of that sorrowful old soul ! 
 There is an elderly man, also, who arrives in good sea- 
 sou, and leans against the corner of the tower, just 
 within the line of its shadow, looking downward with a 
 darksome brow. I sometimes fancy that the old woman 
 is the happier of the two. After these, others drop in 
 singly, and by twos and threes, either disappearing 
 through the doorway or taking their stand in its vicinity. 
 At last, and always with an unexpected sensation, the 
 bell turns in the steeple overhead, and throws out an. 
 irregular clangor, jarring the tower to its foundation. 
 As if there were magic in the sound, the sidewalks of 
 the street, both up and down along, are immediately 
 thronged with two long lines of people, all converging 
 hitherward, and streaming into the church. Perhaps the 
 far-off roar of a coach draws nearer, a deeper thunder 
 by its contrast with the surrounding stillness, until it 
 sets down the wealthy worshippers at the portal, among 
 their humblest brethren. Beyond that entrance, in theory 
 at least, there are no distinctions of earthly rank ; nor,
 
 28 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 indeed, by the goodly apparel which is flaunting in the 
 sun, would there seem to be such, on the hither side. 
 Those pretty girls ! Why will they disturb my pious 
 meditations ! Of all days in the week, they should strive 
 to look least fascinating on the Sabbath, instead of height- 
 ening their mortal loveliness, as if to rival the blessed 
 angels, and keep our thoughts from heaven. Were I 
 the minister himself, I must needs look. One girl is 
 white muslin from the waist upwards, and black silk 
 downwards to her slippers ; a second blushes from top- 
 knot to shoetie, one universal scarlet ; another shines of 
 a pervading yellow, as if she had made a garment of the 
 sunshine. The greater part, however, have adopted a 
 milder cheerfulness of hue. Their veils, especially when 
 the wind raises them, give a lightness to the general ef- 
 fect, and make them appear like airy phantoms, as they 
 flit up the steps, and vanish into the sombre doorway. 
 Nearly all though it is very strange that I should 
 know it wear white stockings, white as snow, and neat 
 slippers, laced crosswise with black ribbon, pretty high 
 above the ankles. A white stocking is infinitely more 
 effective than a black one. 
 
 Here comes the clergyman, slow and solemn, in severe 
 simplicity, needing no black silk gown to denote his 
 office. His aspect claims my reverence, but cannot win 
 my love. Were I to picture Saint Peter, keeping fast 
 the gate of heaven, and frowning, more stern than piti- 
 ful, on the wretched applicants, that face should be my 
 study. By middle age, or sooner, the creed has gener- 
 ally wrought upon the heart, or been attempered by it. 
 As the minister passes into the church, the bell holds its 
 iron tongue, and all the low murmur of the congregation 
 dies away. The gray sexton looks up and down the 
 street, and then at my window-curtain, where, through
 
 SUNDAY AT HOME. 29 
 
 the small peephole, I half fancy that he has caught my 
 eye. Now, every loiterer has gone in, and the street lies 
 asleep iu the quiet sun, while a feeling of loneliness 
 comes over me, and brings also an uneasy sense of neg- 
 lected privileges and duties. O, I ought to have gone 
 to church ! The hustle of the rising congregation reaches 
 my ears. They are standing up to pray. Could I bring 
 my heart into unison with those who are praying in yon- 
 der church, and lift it heavenward, with a fervor of sup- 
 plication, but no distinct request, would not that be the 
 safest kind of prayer ? " Lord, look down upon me in 
 mercy ! " With that sentiment gushing from my soul, 
 might I not leave all the rest to Him? 
 
 Hark ! the hymn. This, at least, is a portion of the 
 service which I can enjoy better than if I sat within the 
 walls, where the full choir and the massive melody of 
 the organ, would fall witli a weight upon me. At this 
 distance, it thrills through my frame, and plays upon my 
 heartstrings, with a pleasure both of the sense and spirit. 
 Heaven be praised, I know nothing of music, as a science ; 
 and the most elaborate harmonies, if they please me, 
 please as simply as a nurse's lullaby. The strain has 
 ceased, but prolongs itself in my mind, with fanciful 
 echoes, till I start from my revery, and find that the 
 sermon has commenced. It is my" misfortune seldom to 
 fructify, in a regular way, by any but printed sermons. 
 The first strong idea, which the preacher utters, gives 
 birth to a train of thought, and leads me onward, step by 
 step, quite out of hearing of the good man's voice, unless 
 he be indeed a son of thunder. At my open window, 
 catching now and then a sentence of the " parson's saw," 
 I am as well situated as at the foot of the pulpit stairs. 
 The broken and scattered fragments of this one discourse 
 will be the texts of many sermons, preached by those
 
 30 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 colleague pastors, colleagues, but often disputants, 
 my Mind and Heart. The former pretends to be a 
 scholar, and perplexes me with doctrinal points ; the 
 latter takes me on the score of feeling ; and both, like 
 several other preachers, spend their strength to very 
 little purpose. I, their sole auditor, cannot always un- 
 derstand them. 
 
 Suppose that a few hours have passed, and behold me 
 still behind my curtain, just before the close of the after- 
 noon service. The hour-hand on the dial has passed 
 beyond four o'clock. The declining sun is hidden behind 
 the steeple, and throws its shadow straight across the 
 street, so that my chamber is darkened, as with a cloud. 
 Around the church-door all is solitude, and an impene- 
 trable obscurity beyond the threshold. A commotion is 
 heard. The seats are slammed down, and the pew-doors 
 thrown back, a multitude of feet are trampling along the 
 unseen aisles, and the congregation bursts suddenly 
 through the portal. Foremost, scampers a rabble of boys, 
 behind whom moves a dense and dark phalanx of grown 
 men, and lastly, a crowd of females, with young children, 
 and a few scattered husbands. This instantaneous out- 
 break of life into loneliness is one of the pleasantest scenes 
 of the day. Some of the good people are rubbing their 
 eyes, thereby intimating that they have been wrapped, as 
 it were, in a sort of holy trance, by the fervor of their 
 devotion. There is a young man, a third-rate coxcomb, 
 whose first care is always to flourish a white handker- 
 chief, and brush the seat of a tight pair of black silk pan- 
 taloons, which shine as if varnished. They must have 
 been made of the stuff called " everlasting," or perhaps of 
 the same piece as Christian's garments in the Pilgrim's 
 Progress, for he put them on two summers ago, and has 
 not yet worn the gloss off. I have taken a great liking
 
 SUNDAY AT HOME. 31 
 
 to those black silk pantaloons. But, now, with nods and 
 greetings among friends, each matron takes her husband's 
 arm, and paces gravely homeward, while the girls also 
 flutter away, after arranging sunset walks with their 
 favored bachelors. The Sabbath eve is the eve of love. 
 At length, the whole congregation is dispersed. No; 
 here, with faces as glossy as black satin, come two sable 
 ladies and a sable gentleman, and close in their rear the 
 minister, who softens his severe visage, and bestows a 
 kind word on each. Poor souls ! To them the most 
 captivating picture of bliss in heaven is " There we 
 shall be white ! " 
 
 All is solitude again. But, hark ! a broken warbling 
 of voices, and now, attuning its grandeur to their sweet- 
 ness, a stately peal of the organ. Who are the choris- 
 ters ? Let me dream that the angels, who came down 
 from heaven, this blessed morn, to blend themselves with 
 the worship of the truly good, are playing and singing 
 their farewell to the earth. On the wings of that rich 
 melody they were borne upward. 
 
 This, gentle reader, is merely a flight of poetry. A few 
 of the singing men and singing women had lingered behind 
 their fellows, and raised their voices fitfully, and blew 
 a careless note upon the organ. Yet, it lifted my soul 
 higher than all their former strains. They are gone, 
 the sons and daughters of music, and the gray sexton is 
 just closing the portal. For six days more, there will be 
 no face of man in the pews, and aisles, and galleries, nor 
 a vbice in the pulpit, nor music in the choir. Was it 
 worth while to rear this massive edifice, to be a desert in 
 the heart of the town, and populous only for a few hours 
 of each seventh day ? O, but the church is a symbol of 
 religion ! May its site, which was consecrated on the 
 day when the first tree was felled, be kept holy forever,
 
 32 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 a spot of solitude and peace, amid the trouble and vanity 
 of our week-day world ! There is a moral, and a religion 
 too, even in the silent walls. And may the steeple still 
 point heavenward, and be decked with the hallowed sun- 
 shine of the Sabbath morn !
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL. 
 
 |HERE is a certain church in the city of New 
 York, which I have always regarded with pe- 
 
 culiar interest, on account of a marriage there 
 
 solemnized, under very singular circumstances, in my 
 grandmother's girlhood. That venerable lady chanced 
 to be a spectator of the scene, and ever after made it her 
 favorite narrative. Whether the edifice now standing on 
 the same site be the identical one to which she referred, 
 I am not antiquarian enough to know ; nor would it be 
 worth while to correct myself, perhaps, of an agreeable 
 error, by reading the date of its erection on the tablet 
 over the door. It is a stately church, surrounded by an 
 enclosure of the loveliest green, within which appear 
 urns, pillars, obelisks, and other forms of monumental 
 marble, the tributes of private affection, or more splendid 
 memorials of historic dust. With such a place, though 
 the tumult of the city rolls beneath its tower, one would 
 be willing to connect some legendary interest. 
 
 The marriage might be considered as the result of an. 
 early engagement, though there had been two interme- 
 diate weddings on the lady's part, and forty years of 
 celibacy on that of the gentleman. At sixty-five, Mr. 
 Ellenwood was a shy, but not quite a secluded man; 
 selfish, like all men who brood over their own hearts, 
 2*
 
 34 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 yet manifesting, on rare occasions, a vein of generous 
 sentiment ; a scholar, throughout life, though always an 
 indolent one, because his studies had no definite object, 
 either of public advantage or personal ambition ; a gen- 
 tleman, high bred and fastidiously delicate, yet sometimes 
 requiring a considerable relaxation, in his behalf, of the 
 common rules of society. In truth, there were so many 
 anomalies in his character, and, though shrinking with 
 diseased sensibility from public notice, it had been his 
 fatality so often to become the topic of the day, by some 
 wild eccentricity of conduct, that people searched his 
 lineage for an hereditary taint of insanity. But there 
 was no need of this. His caprices had their origin in 
 a mind that lacked the support of an engrossing purpose, 
 and in feelings that preyed upon themselves, for want 
 of other food. If he were mad, it was the conse- 
 quence, and not the cause, of an aimless and abortive 
 life. 
 
 The widow was as complete a contrast to her third 
 bridegroom, in everything but age, as can well be con- 
 ceived. Compelled to relinquish her first engagement, 
 she had been united to a man of twice her own years, 
 to whom she became an exemplary wife, and by whose 
 death she was left in possession of a splendid fortune. 
 A Southern gentleman, considerably younger than her- 
 self, succeeded to her hand, and carried her to Charleston, 
 where, after many uncomfortable years, she found herself 
 again a widow. It would have been singular, if any 
 uncommon delicacy of feeling had survived through such 
 a life as Mrs. Dabney's ; it could not but be crushed and 
 killed by her early disappointment, the cold duty of her 
 first marriage, the dislocation of the heart's principles, 
 consequent on a second union, and the unkindness of her 
 Southern husband, which had inevitably driven her to
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL. 35 
 
 connect the idea of his death with that of her comfort. 
 To be brief, she was that wisest, but unloveliest variety 
 of woman, a philosopher, bearing troubles of the heart 
 with equanimity, dispensing with all that should have 
 been her happiness, and making the best of what re- 
 mained. Sage in most matters, the widow was perhaps 
 the more amiable, for the one frailty that made her ridicu- 
 lous. Being childless, she could not remain beautiful by 
 proxy, ui the person of a daughter ; she therefore refused 
 to grow old and ugly, on any consideration ; she strug- 
 gled with Time, and held fast her roses in spite of him, 
 till the venerable thief appeared to have relinquished the 
 spoil, as not worth the trouble of acquiring it. 
 
 The approaching marriage of this woman of the world, 
 with such an unworldly man as Mr. Ellenwood, was an- 
 nounced soon after Mrs. Dabney's return to her native 
 city. Superficial observers, and deeper ones, seemed to 
 concur in supposing that the lady must have borne no 
 inactive part in arranging the affair; there were con- 
 siderations of expediency, which she would be far more 
 likely to appreciate than Mr. Ellenwood ; and there was 
 just the specious phantom of sentiment and romance, iu 
 this late union of two early lovers, which sometimes 
 makes a fool of a woman, who has lost her true feelings 
 among the accidents of life. All the wonder was, how 
 the gentleman, with his lack of worldly wisdom, and 
 agonizing consciousness of ridicule, could have been in- 
 duced to take a measure at once so prudent and so 
 laughable. But while people talked, the wedding-day 
 arrived. The ceremony was to be solemnized according 
 to the Episcopalian forms, and in open church, with a 
 degree of publicity that attracted many spectators, who 
 occupied the front seats of the galleries, and the pews 
 near the altar and along the broad aisle. It had been
 
 36 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 arranged, or possibly it was the custom of the day, that 
 the parties should proceed separately to church. By 
 some accident, the bridegroom was a little less punctual 
 than the widow and her bridal attendants ; with whose 
 arrival, after this tedious, but necessary preface, the 
 action of our tale may be said to commence. 
 
 The clumsy wheels of several old-fashioned coaches 
 were heard, and the gentlemen and ladies, composing 
 the bridal party, came through the church-door, with 
 the sudden and gladsome effect of a burst of sunshine. 
 The whole group, except the principal figure, was made 
 up of youth and gayety. As they streamed up the broad 
 aisle, while the pews and pillars seemed to brighten on 
 either side, their steps wre as buoyant as if they mistook 
 the church for a ballroom, and were ready to dance hand 
 in hand to the altar. So brilliant was the spectacle, that 
 few took notice of a singular phenomenon that had 
 marked its entrance. At the moment when the bride's 
 foot touched the threshold, the bell swung heavily in the 
 tower above her, and sent forth its deepest knell. The 
 vibrations died away and returned, with prolonged solem- 
 nity, as she entered the body of the church. 
 
 " Good heavens ! what an omen ! " whispered a young 
 lady to her lover. 
 
 "On my hono," replied the gentleman, "I believe 
 the bell has the good taste to toll of its own accord. 
 What has she to do with weddings ? If you, dearest 
 Julia, were approaching the altar, the bell would ring 
 out its merriest peal. It has only a funeral knell for 
 her." 
 
 The bride, and most of her company, had been 
 too much occupied with the bustle of entrance, to 
 hear the first boding stroke of the bell, or at least to 
 reflect on the singularity of such a welcome to the
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL. 37 
 
 altar. They therefore continued to advance, with un- 
 diminished gayety. The gorgeous dresses of the time, 
 the crimson velvet coats, the gold-laced hats, the hoop 
 petticoats, the silk, satin, brocade, and embroidery, the 
 buckles, canes, and swords, all displayed to the best 
 advantage on persons .suited to such finery, made the 
 group appear more like a bright-colored picture than 
 anything real. But by what perversity of taste had the 
 artist represented his principal figure as so wrinkled 
 and decayed, while yet he had decked her out in the 
 brightest splendor of attire, as if the loveliest maiden 
 had suddenly withered into age, and become a moral 
 to the beautiful around her ! On they went, however, 
 and had glittered along about a third of the aisle, when 
 another stroke of the bell seemed to fill the church 
 with a visible gloom, dimming and obscuring the bright 
 pageant, till it shone forth again as from a mist. 
 
 This time the party wavered, stopped, and huddled 
 closer together, while a slight scream was heard from 
 some of the ladies, and a confused whispering among 
 the gentlemen. Thus tossing to and fro, they might 
 have been fancifully compared to a splendid bunch 
 of flowers, suddenly shaken by a puff of wind, which 
 threatened to scatter the leaves of an old, brown, 
 withered rose, on the same stalk with two dewy buds ; 
 such being the emblem of the widow between her fair 
 young bridemaids. But her heroism was admirable. 
 She had started with an irrepressible shudder, as if 
 the stroke of the bell had fallen directly on her heart ; 
 then, recovering herself, while her attendants were 
 yet in dismay, she took the lead, and paced calmly 
 up the aisle. The bell continued to swing, strike, and 
 vibrate, with the same doleful regularity, as when a 
 corpse is on its way to the tomb."
 
 88 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "My young friends here have their nerves a little 
 shaken," said the widow, with a smile, to the clergy- 
 man at the altar. "But so many weddings have been 
 ushered in with the merriest peal of the bells, and yet 
 turned out unhappily, that I shall hope for better for- 
 tune under such different auspices." 
 
 " Madam," answered the rector, in great perplexity, 
 " this strange occurrence brings to my mind a marriage 
 sermon of the famous Bishop Taylor, wherein he min- 
 gles so many thoughts of mortality and future woe, that, 
 to speak somewhat after his own rich style, he seems to 
 hang the bridal chamber in black, and cut the wedding 
 garment out of a coffin pall. And it has been the cus- 
 tom of divers nations to infuse something of sadness 
 into their marriage ceremonies; so to keep death in 
 mind, while contracting that engagement which is life's 
 chiefest business. Thus we may draw a sad but profita- 
 ble moral from this, funeral knell." 
 
 But, though the clergyman might have given his 
 moral even a keener point, he did not fail to despatch 
 an attendant to inquire into the mystery, and stop those 
 sounds, so dismally appropriate to such a marriage. A 
 brief space elapsed, during which the silence was bro- 
 ken only by whispers, and a few suppressed titterings, 
 among the wedding party and the spectators, who, after 
 the first shock, were disposed to draw an ill-natured 
 merriment from the affair. The young have less charity 
 for aged follies than the old for those of youth. The 
 widow's glance was observed to wander, for an instant, 
 towards a window of the church, as if searching for the 
 time-worn marble that she had dedicated to her first 
 husband; then her eyelids dropped over their faded 
 orbs, and her thoughts were drawn irresistibly to an- 
 other grave. Two buried men, with a voice at her ear,
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL. 39 
 
 and a cry afar off, were calling her to lie down besidg 
 them. Perhaps, with momentary truth of feeling, she 
 thought how much happier had been her fate, if, after 
 years of bliss, the bell were now tolling for her funeral, 
 and she were followed to the grave by the old affection 
 of her earliest lover, long her husband. But why had 
 she returned to him, when their cold hearts shrank from 
 each other's embrace ? 
 
 Still the death-bell tolled so mournfully, that the 
 sunshine seemed to fade in the air. A whisper, com- 
 municated from those who stood nearest the windows, 
 now spread through the church ; a hearse, with a train 
 of several coaches, was creeping along the street, con- 
 veying some dead man to the churchyard, while the 
 bride awaited a living one at the altar. Immediately 
 after, the footsteps of the bridegroom and his friends 
 were heard at the door. The widow looked down the 
 aisle, and clinched the arm of one of her bridemaids in 
 her bony hand, with such unconscious violence, that the 
 fair girl trembled. 
 
 " You frighten me, my dear madam ! " cried she. 
 "For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?" 
 
 "Nothing, my dear, nothing," said the widow; then, 
 whispering close to her ear, " There is a foolish fancy, 
 that I cannot get rid of. I am expecting my bride- 
 groom to come into the church, with my first two hus- 
 bands for groomsmen ! " 
 
 " Look, look ! " screamed the bridemaid. " What is 
 here ? The funeral ! " 
 
 As she spoke, a dark procession paced into the church. 
 First came an old man and woman, like chief mourners 
 at a funeral, attired from head to foot in the deepest 
 black, all but their pale features and hoary hair; he 
 leaning on a staff, and supporting her decrepit form
 
 40 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 with his nerveless arm. Behind, appeared another, and 
 another pair, as aged, as black, and mournful as the 
 first. As they drew near, the widow recognized in 
 every face some trait of former friends, long forgotten, 
 but now returning, as if from their old graves, to warn 
 her to prepare a shroud ; or, with purpose almost 
 as unwelcome, to exhibit their wrinkles and infirmity, 
 and claim her as their companion by the tokens of her 
 own decay. Many a merry night had she danced with 
 them, in youth. And now, in joyless age, she felt that 
 some withered partner should request her hand, and all 
 unite, in a dance of death, to the music of the funeral 
 beU. 
 
 While these aged mourners were passing up the aisle, 
 it was observed, that, from pew to pew, the spectators 
 shuddered with irrepressible awe, as some object hitherto 
 concealed by the intervening figures came full in sight. 
 Many turned away their faces ; others kept a fixed and 
 rigid stare; and a young girl giggled hysterically, and 
 fainted with the laughter on her lips. When the spectral 
 procession approached the altar, each couple separated, 
 and slowly diverged, till, in the centre, appeared a form, 
 that had been worthily ushered in with all this gloomy 
 pomp, the death knell, and the funeral. It was the 
 bridegroom in his shroud ! 
 
 No garb but that of the grave could have befitted such 
 a death-like aspect ; the eyes, indeed, had the wild gleam 
 of a sepulchral lamp ; all else was fixed in the stern calm- 
 ness which old men wear in the cofiin. The corpse stood 
 motionless, but addressed the widow in accents that 
 seemed to melt into the clang of the bell, which fell heav- 
 ily on the air while he spoke. 
 
 " Come, my bride ! " said those pale lips, " the hearse 
 is ready. The sexton stands waiting for us at the door
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL. 41 
 
 of the tomb. Let us be married; and then to our 
 coffins ! " 
 
 How shall the widow's horror be represented ? It 
 gave her the ghastliness of a dead man's bride. Her 
 youthful friends stood apart, shuddering at the mourners, 
 the shrouded bridegroom, and herself; the whole scene 
 expressed, by the strongest imagery, the vain struggle of 
 the gilded vanities of this world, when opposed to age, 
 infirmity, sorrow, and death. The awe-struck silence was 
 first broken by the clergyman. 
 
 " Mr. Ellenwood," said he, soothingly, yet with some- 
 what of authority, " you are not well. Your mind has 
 been agitated by the unusual circumstances in which you 
 are placed. The ceremony must be deferred. As an old 
 friend, let me entreat you to return home." 
 
 " Home ! yes ; but not without my bride," answered 
 he, in the same hollow accents. " You deem this mock- 
 ery, perhaps madness. Had I bedizened my aged and 
 broken frame with scarlet and embroidery, had I forced 
 my withered lips to smile at my dead heart, that might 
 have been mockery, or madness. But now, let young 
 and old declare, which of us has come hither without a 
 wedding garment, the bridegroom or the bride ! " 
 
 He stepped forward at a ghostly pace, and stood 
 beside the widow, contrasting the awful simplicity of his 
 shroud with the glare and glitter in which she had ar- 
 rayed herself for this unhappy scene. None, that beheld 
 them, could deny the terrible strength of the moral which 
 his disordered intellect had contrived to draw. 
 
 " Cruel ! cruel ! " groaned the heart-stricken bride. 
 
 " Cruel ! " repeated he ; then losing his death-like 
 composure in a wild bitterness, " Heaven judge which 
 of us has been cruel to the other ! In youth, you de- 
 prived me of my happiness, my hopes, my aims ; you took
 
 42 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 away all the substance of my life, and made it a dream, 
 without reality enough even to grieve at, with only 
 a pervading gloom, through which 1 walked wearily, 
 and cared not whither. But after forty years, when I 
 have built my tomb, and would not give up the thought 
 of resting there, no, not for such a life as we once pic- 
 tured, you call me to the altar. At your summons I 
 am here. But other husbands have enjoyed your youth, 
 your beauty, your warmth of heart, and all that could be 
 termed your life. What is there for me but your decay 
 and death ? And therefore I have bidden these funeral 
 friends, and bespoken the sexton's deepest knell, and am 
 come, in my shroud, to wed you, as with a burial service, 
 that we may join our hands at the door of the sepulchre, 
 and enter it together." 
 
 It was not frenzy; it was not merely the drunken- 
 ness of strong emotion, in a heart unused to it, that now 
 wrought upon the bride. The stern lesson of the day 
 had done its work ; her worldliness was gone. She 
 seized the bridegroom's hand. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried she. " Let us wed, even at the door 
 of the sepulchre ! My life has gone in vanity and empti- 
 ness. But, at its close, there is one true feeling. It has 
 made me what I was in youth ; it makes me worthy 01 
 you. Time is no more for both of us. Let us wed for 
 eternity ! " 
 
 With a long and deep regard, the bridegroom looked 
 into her eyes, while a tear was gathering in his own. 
 How strange that gush of human feeling from the frozen 
 bosom of a corpse ! He wiped away the tear even with 
 his shroud. 
 
 " Beloved of my youth," said he, " I have been wild. 
 The despair of my whole lifetime had returned at once, 
 and maddened me. Forgive ; and be forgiven. Yes ; it
 
 THE WEDDING KNELL. 43 
 
 is evening with us now ; and we have realized none of 
 our morning dreams of happiness. But let us join our 
 hands before the altar, as lovers whom adverse circum- 
 stances have separated through life, yet who meet again 
 as they are leaving it, and find their earthly affection 
 changed into something holy as religion. And what is 
 Time, to the married of Eternity ? " 
 
 Amid the tears of many, and a swell of exalted senti- 
 ment, in those who felt aright, was solemnized the union 
 of two immortal souls. The train of withered mourners, 
 the hoary bridegroom in his shroud, the pale features of 
 the aged bride, and the death-bell tolling through the 
 whole, till its deep voice overpowered the marriage words, 
 all marked the funeral of earthly hopes. But as the 
 ceremony proceeded, the organ, as if stirred by the sym- 
 pathies of this impressive scene, poured forth an anthem, 
 first mingling with the dismal knell, then rising to a lof- 
 tier strain, till the soul looked down upon its woe. And 
 when the awful rite was finished, and, with cold hand in 
 cold hand, the Married of Eternity withdrew, the organ's 
 peal of solemn triumph drowned the Wedding Knell.
 
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 
 
 A PARABLE.* 
 
 JHE sexton stood in the porch of Milford meeting- 
 house, pulling busily at the bell-rope. The old 
 of the village came stooping along the 
 street. Children with bright faces tripped merrily beside 
 their parents, or mimicked a graver gait, in the conscious 
 dignity of their Sunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked 
 sidelong at the pretty maidens, and fancied that the Sabbath 
 sunshine made them prettier than on week-days. When 
 the throng had mostly streamed into the porch, the sexton 
 began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on the Reverend 
 Mr. Hooper's door. The first glimpse of the clergyman's 
 figure was the signal for the bell to cease its summons. 
 
 " But what has good Parson Hooper got upon his 
 face ? " cried the sexton, in astonishment. 
 
 All within hearing immediately turned about, and be- 
 
 * Another clergyman in New England, Mr. Joseph Moody, 
 of York, Maine, who died about eighty years since, made him- 
 self remarkable by the same eccentricity that is here related of 
 the Reverend Mr. Hooper. In his case, however, the symbol 
 had a different import. In early life he had accidentally killed 
 a beloved friend ; and from that day till the hour of his own 
 death, he hid his face from men.
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 45 
 
 held the semblance of Mr. Hooper, pacing slowly his 
 meditative way towards the meeting-house. With one 
 accord they started, expressing more wonder than if some 
 strange minister were coming to dust the cushions of Mr. 
 Hooper's pulpit. 
 
 " Are you sure it is our parson ? " inquired Goodman 
 Gray of the sexton. 
 
 " Of a certainty it is good Mr. Hooper," replied the 
 sexton. " He was to have exchanged pulpits with Parson 
 Shute, of Westbury ; but Parson Shute sent to excuse 
 himself yesterday, being to preach a funeral sermon." 
 
 The cause of so much amazement may appear sufficient- 
 ly slight. Mr. Hooper, a gentlemanly person, of about 
 thirty, though still a bachelor, was dressed with due 
 clerical neatness, as if a careful wife had starched his 
 band and brushed the weekly dust from his Sunday's 
 garb. There was but one thing remarkable in his ap- 
 pearance. Swathed about his forehead, and hanging 
 down over his face, so low as to be shaken by his breath, 
 Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer view, it 
 seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely 
 concealed his features, except the mouth and chin, but 
 probably did not intercept his sight, further than to give 
 a darkened aspect to all living and inanimate things. 
 With this gloomy shade before him, good Mr. Hooper 
 walked onward, at a slow and quiet pace, stooping some- 
 what, and looking on the ground, as is customary with 
 abstracted men, yet nodding kindly to those of his parish- 
 ioners who still waited on the meeting-house steps. But 
 so wouder-struck were they, that his greeting hardly met 
 with a return. 
 
 " I can't really feel as if good Mr. Hooper's face was 
 behind that piece of crape," said the sexton. 
 
 "I don't like it," muttered an old woman, as sho
 
 46 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 hobbled into the meeting-house. " He has changed 
 himself into something awful, only by hiding his face." 
 
 "Our parson has gone mad! " cried Goodman Gray, 
 following him across the threshold. 
 
 A rumor of some unaccountable phenomenon had pre- 
 ceded Mr. Hooper into the meeting-house, and set all the 
 congregation astir. Pew could refrain from twisting their 
 heads towards the door ; many stood upright, and turned 
 directly about ; while several little boys clambered upon 
 the seats, and came down again with a terrible racket. 
 There was a general bustle, a rustling of the women's 
 gowns and shuffling of the men's feet, greatly at variance 
 with that hushed repose which should attend the entrance 
 of the minister. But Mr. Hooper appeared not to notice 
 the perturbation of his people. He entered with an almost 
 noiseless step, bent his head mildly to the pews on each 
 side, and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, a white- 
 haired great-grandsire, who occupied an arm-chair in the 
 centre of the aisle. It was strange to observe how slowly 
 this venerable man became conscious of something singular 
 in the appearance of his pastor. He seemed not fully to 
 partake of the prevailing wonder, till Mr. Hooper had 
 ascended the stairs, and showed himself in the pulpit, 
 face to face with his congregation, except for the black 
 veil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn. 
 It shook witli his measured breath as he gave out the 
 psalm ; it threw its obscurity between him and the holy 
 page, as he read the Scriptures ; and while he prayed, the 
 veil lay heavily on his uplifted countenance. Did he 
 seek to hide it from the dread Being whom he was ad- 
 dressing ? 
 
 Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape, that 
 more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to 
 leave the meeting-house. Yet perhaps the pale-faced
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 47 
 
 congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister, 
 as his black veil to them. 
 
 Mr. Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher, but 
 not an energetic one : he strove to win his people heaven- 
 ward by mild, persuasive influences, rather than to drive 
 them thither by the thunders of the Word. The sermon 
 which he now delivered was marked by the same charac- 
 teristics of style and manner as the general series of his 
 pulpit oratory. But there was something, either in the 
 sentiment of the discourse itself, or in the imagination of 
 the auditors, which made it greatly the most powerful 
 effort that they had ever heard from their pastor's lips. 
 It was tinged, rather more darkly than usual, with the 
 gentle gloom of Mr. Hooper's temperament. The subject 
 had reference to secret sin, and those sad mysteries which 
 we hide from our nearest and dearest, and would fain 
 conceal from our own consciousness, even forgetting that 
 the Omniscient can detect them. A subtile power was 
 breathed into his words. Each member of the congre- 
 gation, the most innocent girl and the man of hardened 
 breast, felt as if the preacher had crept upon them, behind 
 his awful veil, and discovered their hoarded iniquity of 
 deed or thought. Many spread their clasped hands on 
 their bosoms. There was nothing terrible in what Mr. 
 Hooper said ; at least, no violence ; and yet, with every 
 tremor of his melancholy voice, the hearers quaked. An 
 unsought pathos came hand in hand with awe. So sensi- 
 ble were the audience of some unwonted attribute in their 
 minister, that they longed for a breath of wind to blow 
 aside the veil, almost believing that a stranger's visage 
 would be discovered, though the form, gesture, and voice 
 were those of Mr. Hooper. 
 
 At the close of the services, the people hurried out 
 with indecorous confusion, eager to communicate their
 
 48 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 pent-up amazement, and conscious of lighter spirits, the 
 moment they lost sight of the black veil. Some gath- 
 ered in little circles, huddled closely together, with their 
 mouths all whispering in the centre ; some went home- 
 ward alone, wrapt in silent meditation; some talked 
 loudly, and profaned the Sabbath day with ostentatious 
 laughter. A few shook their sagacious heads, intimating 
 that they could penetrate the mystery ; while one or two 
 affirmed that there was no mystery at all, but only that 
 Mr. Hooper's eyes were so weakened by the midnight 
 lamp, as to require a shade. After a brief interval, forth 
 came good Mr. Hooper also, in the rear of his flock. 
 Turning his veiled face from one group to another, he 
 paid due reverence to the hoary heads, saluted the mid- 
 dle aged with kind dignity, as their friend and spiritual 
 guide, greeted the young with mingled authority and 
 love, and laid his hands on the little children's heads to 
 bless them. Such was always his custom on the Sabbath 
 day. Strange and bewildered looks repaid him for his 
 courtesy. None, as on former occasions, aspired to the 
 honor of walking by their pastor's side. Old Squire 
 Saunders, doubtless by an accidental lapse of memory, 
 neglected to invite Mr. Hooper to his table, where the 
 good clergyman had been wont to bless the food, almost 
 every Sunday since his settlement. He returned, there- 
 fore, to the parsonage, and, at the moment of closing the 
 door, was observed to look back upon the people, all of 
 whom had their eyes fixed upon the minister. A sad 
 smile gleamed faintly from beneath the black veil, and 
 flickered about his mouth, glimmering as he disappeared. 
 
 " How strange," said a lady, " that a simple black veil, 
 such as any woman might wear on her bonnet, should 
 become such a terrible thing on Mr. Hooper's face ! " 
 
 " Something must surely be amiss with Mr. Hooper's
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 49 
 
 intellects," observed her husband, the physician of the 
 village. " But the strangest part of the affair is the 
 effect of this vagary, even on a sober-minded man like 
 myself. The black veil, though it covers only our pas- 
 tor's face, throws its influence over his whole person, 
 and makes him ghost-like from head to foot. Do you not 
 feel it so ? " 
 
 " Truly do I," replied the lady ; " and I would not be 
 alone with him for the world. I wonder he is not afraid 
 to be alone with himself ! " 
 
 " Men sometimes are so," said her husband. 
 
 The afternoon service was attended with similar cir- 
 cumstances. At its conclusion, the bell tolled for the 
 funeral of a young lady. The relatives and friends were 
 assembled in the house, and the more distant acquaint- 
 ances stood about the door, speaking of the good quali- 
 ties of the deceased, when their talk was interrupted by 
 the appearance of Mr. Hooper, still covered with his 
 black veil. It was now an appropriate emblem. The 
 clergyman stepped into the room where the corpse was 
 laid, and bent over the coffin, to take a last farewell of 
 his deceased parishioner. As he stooped, the veil hung 
 straight down from his forehead, so that, if her eyelids 
 had not been closed forever, the dead maiden might have 
 seen his face. Could Mr. Hooper be fearful of her 
 glance, that he so hastily caught back the black veil? 
 A person who watched the interview between the dead 
 and living scrupled not to affirm, that, at the instant 
 when the clergyman's features were disclosed, the corpse 
 had slightly shuddered, rustling the shroud and muslin 
 cap, though the countenance retained the composure of 
 death. A superstitious old woman was the only witness 
 of this prodigy. From the coffin Mr. Hooper passed 
 into the chamber of the mourners, and thence to the
 
 50 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 head of the staircase, to make the funeral prayer. It 
 was a tender and heart-dissolving prayer, full of sorrow, 
 yet so imbued with celestial hopes, that the music of a 
 heavenly harp, swept by the fingers of the dead, seemed 
 faintly to be heard among the saddest accents of the 
 minister. The people trembled, though they but darkly 
 understood him when he prayed that they, and himself, 
 and all of mortal race, might be ready, as he trusted this 
 young maiden had been, for the dreadful hour that should 
 snatch the veil from their faces. The bearers went heav- 
 ily forth, and the mourners followed, saddening all the 
 street, with the dead before them, and Mr. Hooper in his 
 black veil behind. 
 
 " Why do you look back ? " said one in the procession 
 to his partner. 
 
 " I had a fancy," replied she, " that the minister and 
 the maiden's spirit were walking hand in hand." 
 
 " And so had I, at the same moment," said the other. 
 
 That night, the handsomest couple in Milford village 
 were to be joined in wedlock. Though reckoned a mel- 
 ancholy man, Mr. Hooper had a placid cheerfulness for 
 such occasions, which often excited a sympathetic smile, 
 where livelier merriment would have been thrown away. 
 There was no quality of his disposition which made him 
 more beloved than this. The company at. the wedding 
 awaited his arrival with impatience, trusting that the 
 strange awe, which had gathered over him throughout 
 the day, would now be dispelled. But such was not the 
 result. When Mr. Hooper came, the first thing that 
 their eyes rested on was the same horrible black veil, 
 which had added deeper gloom to the funeral, and could 
 portend nothing but evil to the wedding. Such was its 
 immediate effect on the guests, that a cloud seemed to 
 have rolled duskily from beneath the black crape, and
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 51 
 
 dimmed the light of the candles. The bridal pair stood 
 up before the minister. But the bride's cold fingers 
 quivered in the tremulous hand of the bridegroom, and 
 her death-like paleness caused a whisper that the maiden 
 who had been buried a few hours before was come from 
 her grave to be married. If ever another wedding were 
 so dismal, it was that famous one where they tolled the 
 wedding knell. After performing the ceremony, Mr. 
 Hooper raised a glass of wine to his lips, wishing happi- 
 ness to the new-married couple, in a strain of mild pleas- 
 antry that ought to have brightened the features of the 
 guests, like a cheerful gleam from the hearth. At that 
 instant, catching a glimpse of his figure in the looking- 
 glass, the black veil involved his own spirit in the horror 
 with which it overwhelmed all others. His frame shud* 
 dered, liis lips grew white, he spilt the untasted wine 
 upon the carpet, and rus'hed forth into the darkness. 
 For the Earth, too, had on her Black Veil. 
 
 The next day, the whole village of Milford talked of 
 little else than Parson Hooper's black veil. That, and 
 the mystery concealed behind it, supplied a topic for dis- 
 cussion between acquaintances meeting in the street and 
 good women gossiping at their open windows. It was 
 the first item of news that the tavern-keeper told to his 
 guests. The children babbled of it on their way to 
 school. One imitative little imp covered his face with 
 an old black handkerchief, thereby so affrighting his 
 playmates that the panic seized himself, and he wellnigh 
 lost his wits by his own waggery. 
 
 It was remarkable that, of all the busybodies and im- 
 pertinent people in the parish, not orie ventured to put 
 the plain question to Mr. Hooper, wherefore he did this 
 thing. Hitherto, whenever there appeared the slightest 
 call for such interference, he had never lacked advisers,
 
 52 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 nor shown himself averse to be guided by their judgment, 
 If he erred at all, it was by so painful a degree of self- 
 distrust, that even the mildest censure would lead him to 
 consider an indifferent action as a crime. Yet, though 
 so well acquainted with this amiable weakness, no indi- 
 vidual among his parishioners chose to make the black 
 yeil a subject of friendly remonstrance. There was a 
 feeling of dread, neither plainly confessed nor carefully 
 concealed, which caused each to shift the responsibility 
 upon another, till at length it was found expedient to 
 send a deputation of the church, in order to deal with 
 Mr. Hooper about the mystery, before it should grow 
 into a scandal. Never did an embassy so ill discharge 
 its duties. The minister received them with friendly 
 courtesy, but became silent, after they were seated, leav- 
 ing to his visitors the whole burden of introducing their 
 important business. The topic, it might be supposed, 
 was obvious enough. There was the black veil, swathed 
 round Mr. Hooper's forehead, and concealing every fea- 
 ture above his placid mouth, on which, at times, they 
 could perceive the glimmering of a melancholy smile. 
 But that piece of crape, to their imagination, seemed to 
 hang down before his heart, the symbol of a fearful se- 
 cret between him and them. Were the veil but cast 
 aside, they might speak freely of it, but not till then. 
 Thus they sat a considerable time, speechless, confused, 
 and shrinking uneasily from Mr. Hooper's eye, which 
 they felt to be fixed upon them with an invisible glance. 
 Finally, the deputies returned abashed to their constitu- 
 ents, pronouncing the matter too weighty to be handled, 
 except by a council of the churches, if, indeed, it might 
 not require a general synod. 
 
 But there was one person in the village, unappalled 
 by the awe with which the black veil had impressed all
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 53 
 
 beside herself. When the deputies returned without an 
 explanation, or even venturing to demand one, she, with 
 the calm energy of her character, determined to chase 
 away the strange cloud that appeared to be settling 
 round Mr. Hooper, every moment more darkly than 
 before. As his plighted wife, it sbtould be her privilege 
 to know what the black veil concealed. At the minister's 
 first visit, therefore, she entered upon the subject, with 
 a direct simplicity which made the task easier both for 
 him and her. After he had seated himself, she fixed her 
 eyes steadfastly upon the veil, but ccoild discern nothing 
 of the dreadful gloom that had so overawed the multi- 
 tude ; it was but a double fold of crape, hanging down 
 from his forehead to his mouth, and slightly stirring with 
 his breath. 
 
 " No," said she aloud, and smiling, " there is nothing 
 terrible in this piece of crape, except that it hides a face 
 which I am always glad to look upon. Come, good sir, 
 let the sun shine from behind the cloud. First lay aside 
 your black veil: then tell me why you put it on." 
 
 Mr. Hooper's smile glimmered faintly. 
 
 " There is an hour to come," said he, " when all of us 
 shall cast aside our veils. Take it not amiss, beloved 
 friend, if I wear this piece of crape till then." 
 
 " Your words are a mystery too," returned the young 
 lady. " Take away the veil from them, at least." 
 
 " Elizabeth, I will," said he, " so far as my vow may 
 suffer me. Know, then, this veil is a type and a symbol, 
 and I am bound to wear it ever, both in light and dark- 
 ness, in solitude and before the gaze of multitudes, and 
 as with strangers, so with my familiar friends. No mor- 
 tal eye will see it withdrawn. This dismal shade must 
 separate me from the world: even you, Elizabeth, can 
 never come behind it ! "
 
 54 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "What grievous affliction hath befallen you," she 
 earnestly inquired, " that you should thus darken your 
 eyes forever ? " 
 
 " If it be a sign of mourning," replied Mr. Hooper, 
 "I, perhaps, like most other mortals, have sorrows dark 
 enough to be typified by a black veil." 
 
 " But what if the world will not believe that it is the 
 type of an innocent sorrow ? " urged Elizabeth. " Be- 
 loved and respected as you are, there may be whispers, 
 that you hide your face under the consciousness of secret 
 sin. For the sake of your holy office, do away this 
 scandal ! " 
 
 The color rose into her cheeks as she intimated the 
 nature of the rumors that were already abroad in the 
 village. But Mr. Hooper's mildness did not forsake 
 him. He even smiled again, that same sad smile, 
 which always appeared like a faint glimmering of light, 
 proceeding from the obscurity beneath the veil. 
 
 " If I hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough," 
 he merely replied ; " and if I cover it for secret sin, what 
 mortal might not do the same ? " 
 
 And with this gentle, but unconquerable obstinacy 
 did he resist all her entreaties. At length Elizabeth sat 
 silent. For a few moments she appeared lost m thought, 
 considering, probably, what new methods might be tried 
 to withdraw her lover from so dark a fantasy, which, if 
 it had no other meaning, was perhaps a symptom of 
 mental disease. Though of a firmer character than his 
 own, the tears rolled down her cheeks. But, in an in- 
 stant, as it were, a new feeling took the place of sor- 
 row : her eyes were fixed insensibly on the black veil, 
 when, like a sudden twilight in the air, its terrors fell 
 around her. She arose, and stood trembling before 
 him.
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 55 
 
 " And do you feel it then at last ? " said he, mournfully. 
 
 She made no reply, but covered her eyes with her 
 hand, and turned to leave the room. He rushed for- 
 ward and caught her arm. 
 
 " Have patience with me, Elizabeth ! " cried he, pas- 
 sionately. "Do not desert me, though this veil must 
 be between us here on earth. Be mine, and hereafter 
 there shall be no veil over my face, no darkness between 
 our souls ! It is but a mortal veil, it is not for eter- 
 nity ! O, you know not how lonely I am, and how 
 frightened, to be alone behind my black veil ! Do not 
 leave me in this miserable obscurity forever ! " 
 
 "Lift the veil but once, and look me in the face," 
 said she. 
 
 " Never ! It cannot be ! " replied Mr. Hooper. 
 
 " Then, farewell ! " said Elizabeth. 
 
 She withdrew her arm from his grasp, and slowly 
 departed, pausing at the door, to give one long, shud- 
 dering gaze, that seemed almost to penetrate the mys- 
 tery of the black veil. But, even amid his grief, 'Mr. 
 Hooper smiled to think that only a material emblem 
 had separated him from happiness, though the horrors 
 which it shadowed forth must be drawn darkly between 
 the fondest of lovers. 
 
 From that time no attempts were made to remove 
 Mr. Hooper's black veil, or, by a direct appeal, to dis- 
 cover the secret which it was supposed to hide. By 
 persons who claimed a superiority to popular prejudice, 
 it was reckoned merely an eccentric whim, such as often 
 mingles with the sober actions of men otherwise rational, 
 and tinges them all with its own semblance of insanity. 
 But with the multitude, good Mr. Hooper was irrepara- 
 bly a bugbear. He could not walk the street with any 
 peace of mind, so conscious was he that the gentle and
 
 56 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 timid would turn aside to avoid him, and that others 
 would make it a point of hardihood to throw themselves 
 in his way. The impertinence of the latter class com- 
 pelled him to give up his customary walk, at sunset, to 
 the burial-ground; for when he leaned pensively over 
 the gate, there would always be faces behind the grave- 
 stones, peeping at his black veil. A fable went the 
 rounds, that the stare of the dead people drove him 
 thence. It grieved him, to the very depth of his kind 
 heart, to observe how the children fled from his ap- 
 proach, breaking up their merriest sports, while his 
 melancholy figure was yet afar off. Their instinctive 
 dread caused him to feel, more strongly than aught 
 else, that a preternatural horror was interwoven with 
 the threads of the black crape. In truth, his own an- 
 tipathy to the veil was known to be so great, that he 
 never willingly passed before a mirror, nor stooped to 
 drink at a still fountain, lest, in its peaceful bosom, he 
 should be affrighted by himself. This was what gave 
 plausibility to the whispers, that Mr. Hooper's con- 
 science tortured him for some great crime too horrible 
 to be entirely concealed, or otherwise than so obscurely 
 intimated. Thus, from beneath the black veil, there 
 rolled a cloud into the sunshine, an ambiguity of sin 
 or sorrow, which enveloped the poor minister, so that 
 love or sympathy could never reach him. It was said, 
 that ghost and fiend consorted with him there. With 
 self-shudderings and outward terrors, he walked con- 
 tinually in its shadow, groping darkly within his own 
 soul, or gazing through a medium that saddened the 
 whole world. Even the lawless wind, it was believed, 
 respected his dreadful secret, and never blew aside the 
 veil. But still good Mr. Hooper sadly smiled at the 
 pale visages of the worldly throng as he passed by.
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 57 
 
 Among all its bad influences, the black veil had the 
 one desirable effect, of making its wearer a very efficient 
 clergyman. By the. aid of his mysterious emblem 
 for there was no other apparent cause he became a 
 man of awful power, over souls that were in agony for 
 sin. His converts always regarded him with a dread 
 peculiar to themselves, affirming, though but figura- 
 tivejy, that, before he brought them to celestial light, 
 they had been with him behind the black veil. Its 
 gloom, indeed, enabled him to sympathize with all dark 
 affections. Dying sinners cried aloud for Mr. Hooper, 
 and would not yield their breath till he appeared; 
 though ever, as he stooped to whisper consolation, they 
 shuddered at the veiled face so near their own. Such 
 were the terrors of the black veil, even when Death had 
 bared his visage !' Strangers came long distances to 
 attend service at his church, with the mere idle pur- 
 pose of gazing at his figure, because it was forbidden 
 them to behold his face. But many were made to quake 
 ere they departed ! Once, during Governor Belcher's 
 administration, Mr. Hooper was appointed to preach the 
 election sermon. Covered with his black veil, he stood 
 before the chief magistrate, the council, and the rep- 
 resentatives, and wrought so deep an impression, that 
 the legislative measures of th'at year were characterized 
 by all the gloom and piety of our earliest ancestral 
 s\v;iy. 
 
 In this manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life, irre- 
 proachable in outward act, yet shrouded in dismal sus- 
 picions; kind and loving, though unloved, and dimly 
 feared ; a man apart from men, shunned in their health 
 and joy, but ever summoned to their aid in mortal an- 
 guish. As years wore on, shedding their snows above 
 tis sable veil, he acquired a name throughout the Mew 
 3
 
 58 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 England churches, and they called him Father Hooper. 
 Nearly all his parishioners, who were of mature age 
 when he was settled, had been borne away by many a 
 funeral : he had one congregation in the church, and a 
 more crowded one in the churchyard ; and having 
 wrought so late into the evening, and done his work 
 so well, it was now good Father Hooper's turn to 
 rest. 
 
 Several persons were visible by the shaded candle- 
 light, in the death-chamber of the old clergyman. 
 Natural connections he had none. But there was the 
 decorously grave, though unmoved physician, seeking 
 only to mitigate the last pangs of the patient whom he 
 could not save. There were the deacons, and other 
 eminently pious members of his church. There, also, 
 was the Reverend Mr. Clark, of Westbury, a, young 
 and zealous divine, who had ridden in haste to pray by 
 the bedside of the expiring minister. There was the 
 nurse, no hired handmaiden of death, but one whose 
 calm affection had endured thus long in secrecy, in 
 solitude, amid the chill of age, and would not perish, 
 even at the dying hour. Who, but Elizabeth! And 
 there lay the hoary head of good Father Hooper upon 
 the death-pillow, with the black veil still swathed about 
 his brow, and reaching down over his face, so that each 
 more difficult gasp of his faint breath caused it to stir. 
 All through life that piece of crape had hung between 
 him and the world : it had separated him from cheerful 
 brotherhood and woman's love, and kept him in that 
 saddest of all prisons, his own heart ; and still it lay 
 upon his face,, as if to deepen the gloom of his dark- 
 some chamber, and shade him from the sunshine of 
 eternity. 
 
 For some time previous, his mind had been confused,
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 59 
 
 wavering doubtfully between the past and the present, 
 and hovering forward, as it were, at intervals, into the 
 indistinctness of the world to come. There had been 
 feverish turns, which tossed him from side to side, and 
 wore away what little strength he had. But in his most 
 convulsive struggles, and in the wildest vagaries of his 
 intellect, when no other thought retained its sober influ- 
 ence, he still showed an awful solicitude lest the black 
 veil should slip aside. Even if his bewildered soul could 
 have forgotten, there was a faithful woman at his pillow, 
 who, with averted eyes, would have covered that aged 
 face, which she had last beheld in the comeliness of man- 
 hood. At length the death-stricken old man lay quietly 
 in the torpor of mental and bodily exhaustion, with an 
 imperceptible pulse, and breath that grew fainter and 
 fainter, except when a long, deep, and irregular inspi- 
 ration seemed to prelude the flight of his spirit. 
 
 The minister of Westbury approached the bedside. 
 
 " Venerable Father Hooper," said he, " the moment of 
 your release is at hand. Are you ready for the lifting 
 of the veil, that shuts in time from eternity ? " 
 
 Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble 
 motion of his head; then, apprehensive, perhaps, that 
 his meaning might be doubtful, he exerted himself to 
 speak. 
 
 " Yea," said he,' in faint accents, " my soul hath a 
 patient weariness until that veil be lifted." 
 
 " And is it fitting," resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, 
 " that a man so given to prayer, of such a blameless 
 example, holy in deed and thought, so far as mortal 
 judgment may pronounce, is it fitting that a father in 
 the church should leave a shadow on his memory, that 
 liny seem to blacken a life so pure ? I pray you, my 
 venerable brother, fet not this thing be ! Suffer us to
 
 60 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 be gladdened by your triumphant aspect, as you go to 
 your reward. Before the veil of eternity be lifted, let 
 me cast aside this black veil from your face ! " 
 
 And thus speaking, the Reverend Mr. Clark bent for- 
 ward to reveal the mystery of so many years. But, 
 exerting a sudden energy, that made all the beholders 
 stand aghast, Father Hooper snatched both his hands 
 from beneath the bedclothes, and pressed them strongly 
 on the black veil, resolute to struggle, if the minister 
 of Westbury would contend with a dying man. 
 
 "Never!" cried the veiled clergyman. "On earth, 
 never ! " 
 
 " Dark old man ! " exclaimed the affrighted minister, 
 " with what horrible crime upon your soul are you now 
 passing to the judgment ? " 
 
 Father Hooper's breath heaved; it rattled in his 
 throat; but, with a mighty effort, grasping forward 
 with his hands, he caught hold of life, and held it 
 back till he should speak. He even raised himself in 
 bed ; and there he sat, shivering with the arms of death 
 around him, while the black veil hung down, awful, at 
 that last moment, in the gathered terrors of a lifetime. 
 And yet the faint, sad smile, so often there, now seemed 
 to glimmer from its obscurity, and linger on Father 
 Hooper's lips. 
 
 " Why do you tremble at me alone'? " cried he, turn- 
 ing his veiled face round the circle of pale spectators. 
 "Tremble also at each other! Have men avoided me, 
 and women show.n no pity, and children screamed and 
 fled, only for my black veil? What, but the mystery 
 which it obscurely typifies, has made this piece of crape 
 so awful ? When the friend shows his inmost heart to 
 his friend ; the lover to his best beloved ; when man does 
 not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely
 
 THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL. 61 
 
 treasuring up the secret of his sin; then deem me a 
 monster, for the symbol beneath which I have lived, and 
 die ! I look around me, and, lo ! on every visage a 
 Black Veil ! " 
 
 While his auditors shrank from one another, in mutual 
 affright, Father Hooper fell back upon his pillow, a veiled 
 corpse, with a faint smile lingering on the lips. Still 
 veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and a veiled corpse 
 they bore him to the grave. The grass of many years 
 has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial 
 stone is moss-grown, and good Mr. Hooper's face is 
 dust; but awful is still the thought, that it mouldered 
 beneath the Black Veil !
 
 THE MAYPOLE OP MERRY MOUNT. 
 
 There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance, in the 
 curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston, or Merry 
 Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted, the facts recorded on the 
 grave pages of our New England annalists have wrought themselves, al- 
 most spontaneously, into a sort of allegory. The masques, mummeries, 
 and festive customs, described in the text, are in accordance with the 
 manners of the age. Authority on these points may be found in Strutt's 
 Book of English Sports and Pastimes. 
 
 were the days at Merry Mount, when 
 the Maypole was the banner staff of that gay 
 colony ] They who reared it, should their ban- 
 ner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New Eng- 
 land's rugged hills, and scatter flower-seeds throughout 
 the soil. Jollity and gloom were contending for an 
 empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deep ver- 
 dure to the forest, and roses in her lap, of a more vivid 
 hue than the tender buds of Spring. But May, or her 
 mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry Mount, 
 sporting with the Summer months, and revelling with 
 Autumn, and basking in the glow of Winter's fireside. 
 Through a world of toil and care she flitted with a 
 dream-like smile, and came hither to find a home among 
 the lightsome hearts of Merry Mount. 
 
 Never had the Maypole been so gayly decked as at 
 sunset on midsummer eve. This venerated emblem was 
 a pine-tree, which had preserved the slender grace of
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 63 
 
 youth, while it equalled the loftiest height of the old 
 wood monarchs. From its top streamed a silkeu banner, 
 colored like the rainbow. Down nearly to the ground, 
 the pole was dressed with birchen boughs, and others of 
 the liveliest green, and some with silvery leaves, fastened 
 by ribbons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty dif- 
 ferent colors, but 110 sad ones. Garden flowers and 
 blossoms of the wilderness laughed gladly forth amid 
 the verdure, so fresh and dewy, that they must have 
 grown by magic on that happy pine-tree. Where this 
 green and, flowery splendor terminated, the shaft of the 
 Maypole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the 
 banner at its top. On the lowest green bough hung an 
 abundant wreath of roses, some that had been gathered 
 in the sunniest spots of the forest, and others, of still 
 richer blush, which the colonists had reared from Eng- 
 lish seed. O people of the Golden Age, the chief of 
 your husbandry was to raise flowers ! 
 
 But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand 
 about the Maypole ? It could not be, that the fauns 
 and nymphs, when driven from their classic groves and 
 homes of ancient fable, had sought refuge, as all the per- 
 secuted did, in the fresh woods of the West. These were 
 Gothic monsters, though perhaps of Grecian ancestry. 
 On the shoulders of a comely youth uprose the head and 
 branching antlers of a stag; a second, human in all 
 other points, had the grim visage of a wolf; a third, still 
 with the trunk and limbs of a mortal man, showed the 
 beard and horns of a venerable he-goat. There was the 
 likeness of a bear erect, brute in all but his hind legs, 
 which were adorned with pink silk stockings. And 
 here again, almost as wondrous, stood a real bear of the 
 dark forest, lending each of his fore-paws to the grasp of 
 a human hand, and as ready for the dance as any in that
 
 64 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 circle. His inferior nature rose half-way, to meet his 
 companions as they stooped. Other faces wore the simil- 
 itude of man or woman, but distorted or extravagant, 
 with red noses pendulous before their mouths, which 
 seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to ear in 
 an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the Sal- 
 vage Man, well known in heraldry, hairy as a baboon, 
 and girdled with green leaves. By his side, a nobler 
 figure, but still a counterfeit, appeared an Indian hunter, 
 with feathery crest and wampum belt. Many of this 
 strange company wore foolscaps, and had little bells ap- 
 pended to their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound, 
 responsive to the inaudible music of their gleesome spir- 
 its. Some youths and maidens were of soberer garb, 
 yet well maintained their places in the irregular throng, 
 by the expression of wild revelry upon their features. 
 Such were the colonists of Merry Mount, as they stood 
 in the broad smile of sunset, round their 'venerated May- 
 pole. 
 
 Had a wanderer, bewildered in the melancholy forest, 
 heard their mirth, and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he 
 might have fancied them the crew of Comus, some 
 already transformed to brutes, some midway between 
 man and beast, and the others rioting in the flow of tipsy 
 jollity that foreran the change. But a band of Puritans, 
 who watched the scene, invisible themselves, compared 
 the masques to those devils and ruined souls with whom 
 their superstition peopled the black wilderness. 
 
 Within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiest 
 forms that had ever trodden on any more solid footing than 
 a purple and golden cloud. One was a youth in glisten- 
 ing apparel, with a scarf of the rainbow pattern crosswise 
 on his breast. His right hand held a gilded staff, the 
 ensign of high dignity among the revellers, and his left
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 65 
 
 grasped the slender fingers of a fair maiden, not less 
 gayly decorated than himself. Bright roses glowed in 
 contrast with the dark and glossy curls of each, and were 
 scattered round their feet, or had sprung up spontane- 
 ously there. Behind this lightsome couple, so close to 
 the Maypole that its boughs shaded his jovial face, stood 
 the figure of an English priest, canonically dressed, yet 
 decked with flowers, in heathen fashion, and wearing 
 a chaplet of the native vine-leaves. By the riot of his 
 rolling eye, and the pagan decorations of his holy garb, 
 he seemed the wildest monster there, and the very Co- 
 mus of the crew. 
 
 "Votaries of the Maypole," cried the flower-decked 
 priest, " merrily, all day long, have the woods echoed to 
 your mirth. But be this your merriest hour., my hearts ! 
 Lo, here stand the Lord and Lady of the May, whom I, 
 a clerk of Oxford, and high-priest of Merry Mount, am 
 presently to join in holy matrimony. Up with your 
 nimble spirits, ye morris dancers, green men, and glee 
 maidens, bears and wolves, and horned gentlemen ! 
 Come ; a chorus now, rich with the old mirth of Merry 
 England, and the wilder glee of this fresh forest ; and 
 then a dance, to show the youthful pair what life is made 
 of, and how airily they should go through it ! All ye 
 that love the Maypole, lend your voices to the nuptial 
 song of the Lord and Lady of the May ! " 
 
 This wedlock was more serious than most affairs of 
 Merry Mount, where jest and delusion, trick and fantasy, 
 kept up a continual carnival. The Lord and Lady of the 
 May, though their titles must be laid down at sunset, 
 were reafly and truly to be partners for the dance of life, 
 beginning the measure that same bright eve. The wreath 
 of roses, that hung from the lowest green bough of the 
 Maypole, had been twined for them, and would be thrown
 
 66 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 over both their heads, in symbol of their flowery union. 
 When the priest had spoken, therefore, a riotous uproar 
 burst from the rout of monstrous figures. 
 
 " Begin you the stave, reverend Sir," cried they all ; 
 " and never did the woods ring to such a merry peal, as 
 we of the Maypole shall send up ! " 
 
 Immediately a prelude of pipe, cithern, and viol, 
 touched with practised minstrelsy, began to play from 
 a neighboring thicket, in such a mirthful cadence that 
 the boughs of the Maypole quivered to the sound. But 
 the May Lord, he of the gilded staff, chancing to look 
 into his Lady's eyes, was wonder-struck at the almost 
 pensive glance that met his own. 
 
 "Edith, sweet Lady of the May," whispered he, re- 
 proachfully, " is yon wreath of roses a garland to hang 
 above our graves, that you look so sad ? O Edith, this 
 is our golden time ! Tarnish it not by any pensive 
 shadow of the mind; for it may be that nothing of 
 futurity will be brighter than the mere remembrance of 
 what is now passing." 
 
 " That was the very thought that saddened me ! How 
 came it in your mind too ? " said Edith, in a still lower 
 tone than he ; for it was high treason to be sad at Merry 
 Mount. " Therefore do I sigh amid this festive music. 
 And besides, dear Edgar, I struggle as with a dream, and 
 fancy that these shapes of our jovial friends are visionary, 
 and their mirth unreal, and that we are no true Lord and 
 Lady of the May. What is the mystery in my heart ? " 
 
 Just then, as if a spell had loosened them, down came 
 a little shower of withering rose-leaves from the Maypole. 
 Alas, for the young lovers ! No sooner had their hearts 
 glowed with real passion, than they were sensible of 
 something vague and unsubstantial in their former pleas- 
 ures, and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitable change
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 67 
 
 From the moment that they truly loved, they had sub- 
 jected themselves to earth's doom of care and sorrow, 
 and troubled joy, and had no more a home at Merry 
 Mount. That was Edith's mystery. Now leave we the 
 priest to marry them, and the masquers to sport round 
 the Maypole, till the last sunbeam be withdrawn from its 
 summit, and the shadows of the forest mingle gloomily 
 in the dance. Meanwhile, we may discover who these 
 gay people were. 
 
 Two hundred years ago, and more, the Old World and 
 its inhabitants became mutually weary of each other. 
 Men voyaged by thousands to the West ; some to barter 
 glass beads, and such like jewels, for the furs of the In- 
 dian hunter ; some to conquer virgin empires ; and one 
 stern band to pray. But none of these motives had much 
 weight with the colonists of Merry Mount. Their lead- 
 ers were men who had sported so long with life, that 
 when Thought and Wisdom came, even these unwelcome 
 guests were led astray by the crowd of vanities which 
 they should have put to flight. Erring Thought and 
 perverted Wisdom were made to put on masques, and 
 play the fool. The men of whom we speak, after losing 
 the heart's fresh gayety, imagined a wild philosophy of 
 pleasure, and came hither to act out their latest day- 
 dream. They gathered followers from all that giddy 
 tribe, whose whole life is like the festal days of soberer 
 men. In their train were minstrels, not unknown in 
 London streets ; wandering players, whose theatres had 
 been the halls of noblemen ; mummers, rope-dancers, and 
 mountebanks, who would long be missed at wakes, church 
 ales, and fairs ; in a word, mirth-makers of every sort, 
 sucli as abounded in that age, but now began to be dis- 
 countenanced by the rapid growth of Puritanism. Light 
 had their footsteps been on laud, and as lightly they came
 
 68 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 across the sea. Many had been maddened by their pre- 
 vious troubles into a gay despair ; others were as madly 
 gay in the flush of youth, like the May Lord and his 
 Lady ; but whatever might be the quality of their mirth, 
 old and young were gay at Merry Mount. The young 
 deemed themselves happy. The elder spirits, if they 
 knew that mirth was but the counterfeit of happiness, 
 yet followed the false shadow wilfully, because at least 
 her garments glittered brightest. Sworn triflers of a 
 lifetime, they would not venture among the sober truths 
 of life, not even to be truly blest. 
 
 All the hereditary pastimes of Old England were 
 transplanted hither. The King of Christmas was duly 
 crowned, and the Lord of Misrule bore potent sway. On 
 the eve of Saint John, they felled whole acres of the 
 forest to make bonfires, and danced by the blaze all 
 night, crowned with garlands, and throwing flowers into 
 the flame. At harvest-time, though their crop was of 
 the smallest, they made an image with the sheaves of 
 Indian corn, and wreathed it with autumnal garlands, 
 and bore it home triumphantly. But what chiefly char- 
 acterized the colonists of Merry Mount was their ven- 
 eration for the Maypole. It has made their true history 
 a poet's tale. Spring decked the hallowed emblem with 
 young blossoms and fresh green boughs ; Summer brought 
 roses of the deepest blush, and the perfected foliage of 
 the forest ; Autumn enriched it with that red and yellow 
 gorgeousness, which converts each wildwood leaf into a 
 painted flower; and Winter silvered it with sleet, and 
 hung it round with icicles, till it flashed iu the cold sun- 
 shine, itself a frozen sunbeam. Thus each alternate 
 season did homage to the Maypole, and paid it a tribute 
 of its own richest splendor. Its votaries danced round 
 it, once, at least, in every mouth ; sometimes they called
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 69 
 
 it their religion, or their altar; but always, it was the 
 banner staff of Merry Mount. 
 
 Unfortunately, there were men in the New World of 
 a sterner faith than these Maypole worshippers. Not 
 far from Merry Mount was a settlement of Puritans, 
 most dismal wretches, who said their prayers before 
 daylight, and then wrought in the forest or the cornfield 
 till evening made it prayer-time again. Their weapons 
 were always at hand, to shoot down the straggling sav- 
 age. When they met in conclave, it was never to keep 
 up the old English mirth, but to hear sermons three 
 hours long, or to proclaim bounties on the heads of 
 wolves and the scalps of Indians. Their festivals were 
 fast-days, and their chief pastime the singing of psalms. 
 Woe to the youth or maiden who did but dream of a 
 dance! The selectman nodded to the constable; and 
 there sat the light-heeled reprobate in the stocks ; or if 
 he danced, it was round the whipping-post, which might 
 be termed the Puritan Maypole. 
 
 A party of these grim Puritans, toiling through the 
 difficult woods, each with a horse-load of iron armor to 
 burden his footsteps, would sometimes draw near the 
 sunny precincts of Merry Mount. There were the silken 
 colonists, sporting round their Maypole ; perhaps teach- 
 ing a bear to dance, or striving to communicate their 
 mirth to the grave Indian ; or masquerading in the skins 
 of deer and wolves, which they had hunted for that 
 ^especial purpose. Often, the whole colony were playing 
 at blind-man's-buff, magistrates and all with their eyes 
 bandaged, except a single scape-goat, whom the blinded 
 sinners pursued by the tinkling of the bells at his gar- 
 ments. Once, it is said, they were seen following a 
 flower-decked corpse, with merriment and festive music, 
 to his grave. But did the dead man laugh ? In their
 
 70 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 quietest times, they sang ballads and told tales, for the 
 edification of their pious visitors ; or perplexed them with 
 juggling tricks; or grinned at them through horse-col- 
 lars ; and when sport itself grew wearisome, they made 
 game of their own stupidity, and began a yawning match. 
 At the very least of these enormities, the men of iron 
 shook their heads and frowned so darkly, that the revel- 
 lers looked up, imagining that a momentary cloud had 
 overcast the sunshine, which was to be perpetual there. 
 On the other hand, the Puritans affirmed, that, when a 
 psalm was pealing from their place of worship, the echo 
 which the forest sent them back seemed often like the 
 chorus of a jolly catch, closing with a roar of laughter. 
 Who but the fiend, aud his bond slaves, the crew of 
 Merry Mount, had thus disturbed them ? In due time, 
 a feud arose, stern and bitter on one side, and as serious 
 on the other as anything could be among such light spir- 
 its as had sworn allegiance to the Maypole. The future 
 complexion of New England was involved in this impor- 
 tant quarrel. Should the grizzly saints establish their 
 jurisdiction over the gay sinners, then would their spirits 
 darken all the clime, and make it a land of clouded visages, 
 of hard toil, of sermon and psalm forever. But should 
 the banner staff of Merry Mount be fortunate, sunshine 
 would break upon the hills, and flowers would beautify 
 the forest, and late posterity do homage to the Maypole. 
 After these authentic passages from history, we return 
 to the nuptials of the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas ! 
 we have delayed too long, and must darken our tale too 
 suddenly. As we glance again at the Maypole, a solitary 
 sunbeam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a 
 faint, golden tinge, blended with the hues of the rainbow 
 banner. Even that dim light is now withdrawn, relin- 
 quishing the whole domain of Merry Mount to the even-
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 71 
 
 ing gloom, which has rushed so instantaneously from the 
 black surrounding woods. But some of these black 
 shadows have rushed forth in human shape. 
 
 Yes, with the setting sun, the last day of mirth had 
 passed from Merry Mount. The ring of gay masquers 
 was disordered and broken ; the stag lowered his antlers 
 in dismay ; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb ; the bells 
 of the morris dancers tinkled with tremulous affright. 
 The Puritans had played a characteristic part in the May- 
 pole mummeries. Their darksome figures were inter- 
 mixed with the wild shapes of their foes, and made the 
 scene a picture of the moment, when waking thoughts 
 start up amid the scattered fantasies of a dream. The 
 leader of the hostile party stood in the centre of the circle, 
 while the rout of monsters cowered around him, like evil 
 spirits in the presence of a dread magician. No fantastic 
 foolery could look him in the face. So stern was the 
 energy of his aspect, that the whole man, visage, frame, 
 and soul, seemed wrought of iron, gifted with life and 
 thought, yet all of one substance with his headpiece and 
 breastplate. It was the Puritan of Puritans ; it was 
 Endicott himself ! 
 
 " Stand off, priest of Baal ! " said he, with a grim 
 frown, and laying no reverent hand upon the surplice. 
 " I know thee, Blackstone ! * Thou art the man, who 
 couldst not abide the rule even of thine own corrupted 
 church, and hast come hither to preach iniquity, and to 
 give example of it in thy life. But now shall it be seen, 
 that the Lord hath sanctified this wilderness for his 
 
 * Did Governor Endicott speak less positively, we should 
 suspect a mistake here. The Rev. Mr. Blackstone, though an 
 eccentric, is not known to have been an immoral num. We- 
 rather doubt his identity with the priest of Merry Mount.
 
 72 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 peculiar people. Woe unto them that would defile it '. 
 And first, for this flower-decked abomination, the altar of 
 thy worship ! " 
 
 And with his keen sword Endicott assaulted the hal- 
 lowed Maypole. Nor long did it resist his arm. It 
 groaned with a dismal sound; it showered leaves and 
 rosebuds upon the remorseless enthusiast; and finally, 
 with all its green boughs, and ribbons, and flowers, sym- 
 bolic of departed pleasures, down fell the banner staff of 
 Merry Mount. As it sank, tradition says, the evening 
 sky grew darker, and the woods threw forth a more 
 sombre shadow. 
 
 " There," cried Endicott, looking triumphantly on his 
 work, "there lies the only Maypole in New England ! 
 The thought is strong within me, that, by its fall, is 
 shadowed forth the fate of light and idle mirth-makers, 
 amongst us and our posterity. Amen, saith John En- 
 dicott." 
 
 " Amen ! " echoed his followers. 
 
 But the votaries of the Maypole gave one groan for 
 their idol. At the sound, the Puritan leader glanced at 
 the crew of Comus, each a figure of broad mirth, yet, at 
 this moment, strangely expressive of sorrow and dismay. 
 
 "Valiant captain," quoth Peter Palfrey, the Ancient 
 of the band, " what order shall be taken with the prison- 
 ers ? " 
 
 " I thought not to repent me of cutting down a May- 
 pole," replied Endicott, "yet now I could find in my 
 heart to plant it again, and give each of these bestial 
 pagans one other dance round their idol. It would have 
 served rarely for a whipping-post ! " 
 
 " But there are pine-trees enow," suggested the lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 " True, good Ancient," said the leader. " Wherefore,
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MEERY MOUNT. 73 
 
 bind the heathen crew, and bestow on them a small 
 matter of stripes apiece, as earnest of our future justice. 
 Set some of the rogues in the stocks to rest themselves, 
 so soon as Providence shall bring us to one of our own 
 well-ordered settlements, where such accommodations 
 may be found. Further penalties, such as branding 
 and cropping of ears, shall be thought of hereafter." 
 
 " How many stripes for the priest ? " inquired Ancient 
 Palfrey. 
 
 " None as yet," answered Endicott, bending his iron 
 frown upon the culprit. " It must be for the Great and 
 General Court to determine whether stripes and long 
 imprisonment, and other grievous penalty, may atone 
 for his transgressions. Let him look to himself! For 
 such as violate our civil order, it may be permitted us 
 to show mercy. But woe to the wretch that troubleth 
 our religion ! " 
 
 " And this dancing bear," resumed the officer. " Must 
 he share the stripes of his fellows ? " 
 
 " Shoot him through the head ! " said the energetic 
 Puritan. " I suspect witchcraft in the beast." 
 
 " Here be a couple of shining ones," continued Peter 
 Palfrey, pointing his weapon at the Lord and Lady of 
 the May. " They seem to be of high station among these 
 misdoers. Methinks their dignity will not be fitted with 
 less than a double share of stripes." 
 
 Endicott rested on his sword, and closely surveyed the 
 dress and aspect of the hapless pair. There they stood, 
 pale, downcast, and apprehensive. Yet there was an air 
 of mutual support, and of pure affection, seeking aid and 
 giving it, that showed them to be man and wife, with the 
 sanction of a priest upon their love. The youth, in the 
 peril of the moment, had dropped his gilded staff, and 
 thrown his arm about the Lady of the May, who leaned 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 74 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 against his breast, too lightly to burden him, but with 
 weight enough to express that their destinies were linked 
 together, for good or evil. They looked first at each 
 other, and then into the grim captain's face. There they 
 stood, in the first hour of wedlock, while the idle pleas- 
 ures, of which their companions were the emblems, had 
 given place to the sternest cares of life, personified by 
 the dark Puritans. But never had their youthful beauty 
 seemed so pure and high, as when its glow was chastened 
 by adversity. 
 
 "Youth," said Endicott, "ye stand in an evil case, 
 thou and thy maiden wife. Make ready presently; for 
 I am minded that ye shall both have a token to remember 
 your wedding-day ! " 
 
 " Stern man," cried the May Lord, " how can I move 
 thee ? Were the means at hand, I would resist to the 
 death. Being powerless, I entreat ! Do with me as thou 
 wilt, but let Edith go untouched ! " 
 
 " Not so," replied the immitigable zealot. " We are 
 not wont to show an idle courtesy to that sex, which 
 requireth the stricter discipline. What sayest thou, 
 maid? Shall thy silken bridegroom suffer thy share 
 of the penalty, besides his own?" 
 
 " Be it death," said Edith, " and lay it all on me ! " 
 
 Truly, as Endicott had said, the poor lovers stood in 
 a woful case. Their foes were triumphant, their friends 
 captive and abased, their home desolate, the benighted 
 wilderness around them, and a rigorous destiny, in the 
 shape of the Puritan leader, their only guide. Yet the 
 deepening twilight could not altogether conceal that the 
 iron man was softened ; he smiled at the fair spectacle 
 of early love ; he almost sighed for the inevitable blight 
 of early hopes. 
 
 " The troubles of life have come hastily on this young
 
 THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT. 75 
 
 couple," observed Endicott. "We will see how they 
 comport themselves under their present trials, ere we 
 burden them with greater. If, among the spoil, there 
 be any garments of a more decent fashion, let them be 
 put upon this May Lord and his Lady, instead of their 
 glistening vanities. Look to it, some of you." 
 
 " And shall not the youth's hair be cut ? " asked Peter 
 Palfrey, looking with abhorrence at the love-lock and 
 long glossy curls of the young man. 
 
 " Crop it forthwith, and that in the true pumpkin-shell 
 fashion," answered the captain. " Then bring them along 
 with us, but more gently than their fellows. There be 
 qualities in the youth, which may make him valiant to 
 fight, and sober to toil, and pious to pray ; and in the 
 maiden, that may fit her to become a mother in our 
 Israel, bringing up babes in better nurture than he,r own 
 hath been. Nor think ye, young ones, that they are the 
 happiest, even in our lifetime of a moment, who misspend 
 it in dancing round a Maypole ! " 
 
 And Endicott, the severest Puritan of all who laid the 
 rock foundation of New England, lifted the wreath of 
 roses from the ruin of the Maypole, and threw it, with 
 his own gauntleted hand, over the heads of the Lord 
 and Lady of the May. It was a deed of prophecy. As 
 the moral gloom of the world overpowers all systematic 
 gayety, even so was their home of wild mirth made deso- 
 late amid the sad forest. They returned to it no more. 
 But, as their flowery garland was wreathed of the bright- 
 est roses that had grown there, so, in the tie that united 
 them, were intertwined all the purest and best of their 
 early joys. They went heavenward, supporting each 
 other along the difficult path which it was their lot to 
 tread, and never wasted one regretful thought on the 
 vanities of Merry Mount.
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 
 
 JN the course of the year 1656, several of the 
 people called Quakers, led, as they professed, 
 by the inward movement of the spirit, made 
 their appearance in New England. Their reputation, as 
 holders of mystic and pernicious principles, having spread 
 before them, the Puritans early endeavored to banish, 
 and to prevent the further intrusion of the rising sect. 
 But the measures by which it was intended to purge the 
 land of heresy, though more than sufficiently vigorous, 
 were entirely unsuccessful. The Quakers, esteeming 
 persecution as a divine call to the post of danger, laid 
 claim to a holy courage, unknown to the Puritans them- 
 selves, who had shunned the cross, by providing for the 
 peaceable exercise of their religion in a distant wilder- 
 ness. Though it was the singular fact, that every nation 
 of the earth rejected the wandering enthusiasts who prac- 
 tised peace towards all men, the place of greatest uneasi- 
 ness and peril, and therefore, in their eyes, the most 
 eligible, was the province of Massachusetts Bay. 
 
 The fines, imprisonments, and stripes, liberally distrib- 
 uted by our pious forefathers, the popular antipathy, 
 so strong that it endured nearly a hundred years after 
 actual persecution had ceased, were attractions as power- 
 ful for the Quakers as peace, honor, and reward would
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 77 
 
 have been for the worldly-minded. Every European 
 vessel brought new cargos of the sect, eager to testify 
 against the oppression which they hoped to share ; and, 
 when shipmasters were restrained by heavy fines from 
 affording them passage, they made long and circuitous 
 journeys through the Indian country, and appeared in 
 the province as if conveyed by a supernatural power. 
 Their enthusiasm, heightened almost to madness by the 
 treatment which they received, produced actions contrary 
 to the rules of decency, as well as of rational religion, and 
 presented a singular contrast to the calm and staid de- 
 portmeYit of their sectarian successors of the present day. 
 The command of the spirit, inaudible except to the soul, 
 and not to be controverted on grounds of human wisdom, 
 was made a plea for most indecorous exhibitions, which, 
 abstractedly considered, well deserved the moderate 
 chastisement of the rod. These extravagances, and the 
 persecution which was at once their cause and conse- 
 quence, continued to increase, till, in the year 1659, the 
 government of Massachusetts Bay indulged two members 
 of the Quaker sect with the crown of martyrdom. 
 
 An indelible stain of blood is upon the hands of all 
 who consented to this act, but a large share of the awful 
 responsibility must rest upon the person then at the head 
 of the government. He was a man of narrow mind and 
 imperfect education, and his uncompromising bigotry 
 was made hot and mischievous by violent and hasty pas- 
 sions ; he exerted his influence indecorously and unjusti- 
 fiably to compass the death of the enthusiasts ; and his 
 whole conduct, in respect to them, was marked by brutal 
 cruelty. The Quakers, whose revengeful feelings were 
 not less deep because they were inactive, remembered 
 this man and his associates, in after times. The histo- 
 rian of the sect affirms that, by the wrath of Heaven, a
 
 78 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 blight fell upon the land in the vicinity of the "bloody 
 town " of Boston, so that no wheat would grow there ; 
 and he takes his stand, as it were, among the graves of 
 the ancient persecutors, and triumphantly recounts the 
 judgments that overtook them, in old age or at the part- 
 ing hour. He tells us that they died suddenly, and vio- 
 lently, and in madness ; but nothing can exceed the bitter 
 mockery with which he records the loathsome disease, 
 and " death by rottenness," of the fierce and cruel gov- 
 
 On the evening of the autumn day, that had witnessed 
 the martyrdom of two men of the Quaker persuasion, 
 a Puritan settler was returning from the metropolis to 
 the neighboring country town iu which he resided. The 
 air was cool, the sky clear, and the lingering twilight was 
 made brighter by the rays of a young moon, which had 
 now nearly reached the verge of the horizon. The trav- 
 eller, a man of middle age, wrapped in a gray frieze 
 cloak, quickened his pace when he had reached the out- 
 skirts of the town, for a gloomy extent of nearly four 
 miles lay between him and his home. The low, straw- 
 thatched houses were scattered at considerable intervals 
 along the road, and the country having been settled but 
 about thirty years, the tracts of original forest still bore 
 no small proportion to the cultivated ground. The 
 autumn wind wandered among the branches, whirling 
 away the leaves from all except the pine-trees, and moan- 
 ing as if it lamented the desolation of which it was the 
 instrument. The road had penetrated the mass of woods 
 that lay nearest to the town, and was just emerging into 
 an open space, when the traveller's ears were saluted by 
 a sound more mournful than even that of the wind. It 
 was like the wailing of some one in distress, and it seemed
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 79 
 
 to proceed from beneath a tall and lonely fir-tree, in the 
 centre of a cleared, but unenclosed and uncultivated field. 
 The Puritan could not but remember that this was the 
 very spot which had been made accursed a few hours 
 before by the execution of the Quakers, whose bodies had 
 been thrown together into one hasty grave, beneath the 
 tree on which they suffered. He struggled, however, 
 against the superstitious fears which belonged to the age, 
 and compelled himself to pause and listen. 
 
 " The voice is most likely mortal, nor have I cause to 
 tremble if it be otherwise," thought he, straining his eyes 
 through the dim moonlight. " Methinks it is like the 
 wailing of a child; some infant, it may be, which has 
 strayed from its mother, and chanced upon this place of 
 death. For the ease of mine own conscience, I must 
 search this matter out." 
 
 He therefore left the path, and walked somewhat fear- 
 fully across the field. Though now so desolate, its soil 
 was pressed down and trampled by the thousand footsteps 
 of those who had witnessed the spectacle of that day, all 
 of whom had now retired, leaving the dead to their lone- 
 liness. The traveller at length reached the fir-tree, which 
 from the middle upward was covered with living branches, 
 although a scaffold had been erected beneath, and other 
 preparations made for the work of death. Under this 
 unhappy tree, which in after times was believed to drop 
 poison with its dew, sat the one solitary mourner for in- 
 nocent blood. It was a slender and light-clad little boy, 
 who leaned his face upon a hillock of fresh-turned and 
 half-frozen earth, and wailed bitterly, yet in a suppressed 
 tone, as if his grief might receive the punishment of crime. 
 The Puritan, whose approach had been unperceived, laid 
 his hand upon the child's shoulder, and addressed him 
 compassionately.
 
 80 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " You have chosen a dreary lodging, my poor boy, 
 and no wonder that you weep," said he. "But dry 
 your eyes, and tell me where your mother dwells. I 
 promise you if the journey be not too far, I will leave 
 you in her arms to-night." 
 
 The boy had hushed his wailing at once, and turned 
 his face upward to the stranger. It was a pale, bright- 
 eyed countenance, certainly not more than six years 
 old, but sorrow, fear, and want had destroyed much of 
 its infantile expression. The Puritan, seeing the boy's 
 frightened gaze, and feeling that he trembled under his 
 hand, endeavored to reassure him. 
 
 "Nay, if I intended to do you harm, little lad, the 
 readiest way were to leave you here. What ! you do 
 not fear to sit beneath the gallows on a new-made grave, 
 and yet you tremble at a friend's touch. Take heart, 
 child, and tell me what is your name, and where is your 
 home ! " 
 
 "Friend," replied the little boy, in a sweet, though 
 faltering voice, " they call me Ilbrahim, and my home is 
 here." 
 
 The pale, spiritual face, the eyes that seemed to mingle 
 with the moonlight, the sweet airy voice, and the out- 
 landish name almost made the Puritan believe that the 
 boy was in truth a being which had sprung up out of 
 the grave on which he sat. But perceiving that the ap- 
 parition stood the test of a short mental prayer, and 
 remembering that the arm which he had touched was 
 life-like, he adopted a more rational supposition. " The 
 poor child is stricken in his intellect," thought he, " but 
 verily his words are fearful, in a place like this." He 
 then spoke soothingly, intending to humor the boy's 
 fantasy. 
 
 " Your home will scarce be comfortable, Ilbrahim,
 
 THE GEXTLE BOY. 81 
 
 this cold autumn night, and I fear you are ill provided 
 with food. I am hastening to a warm supper and bed, 
 and if you will go with me, you shall share them ! " 
 
 " I thank thee, friend, but though I be hungry, and 
 shivering with cold, thou wilt not give me food nor 
 lodging," replied the boy, in the quiet tone which de- 
 spair had taught him, even so young. " My father was 
 of the people whom all men hate. They have laid him 
 under this heap of earth, and here is my home." 
 
 The Puritan, who had Izfld hold of little Ilbrahim's 
 hand, relinquished it as if he were touching a loathsome 
 reptile. But he possessed a compassionate heart, which 
 not even religious prejudice could harden into stone. 
 
 " God forbid that I should leave this child to perish, 
 though he comes of the accursed sect," said he to him- 
 self. " Do we not all spring from an evil root ? Are 
 we not all in darkness till the light doth shine upon us ? 
 He shall not perish, neither in body, nor, if prayer and 
 instruction may avail for him, in soul." He then spoke 
 aloud and kindly to Ilbrahim, who had again hid his face 
 in the cold earth of the grave. " Was every door in the 
 land shut against you, my child, that you have wandered 
 to this unhallowed spot ? " 
 
 " They drove me forth from the prison when they took 
 my father thence," said the boy, " and I stood afar off, 
 watching the crowd of people ; and when they were gone, 
 I came hither, and found only this grave. I knew that 
 my father was sleeping^ here, and I said, This shall be my 
 home." 
 
 "No, child, no; not while I have a roof over my 
 head, or a morsel to share with you!" exclaimed tlie 
 Puritan, whose sympathies were now fully excited. 
 " Rise up and come with me, and fear not any harm." 
 
 The boy wept afresh, and clung to the heap of earth, 
 4*
 
 82 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 as if the cold heart beneath it were warmer to him than 
 any in a living breast. The traveller, however, continued 
 to entreat him tenderly, and seeming to acquire some 
 degree of confidence, he at length arose. But his slen- 
 der limbs tottered with weakness, his little head grew 
 dizzy, and he leaned against the tree of death for support. 
 
 "My poor boy, are you so feeble ? " said the Puritan. 
 " When did you taste food last ? " 
 
 "I ate of bread and water with my father in the 
 prison," replied Ilbrahim, "-but they brought him none 
 neither yesterday nor to-day, saying that he had eaten 
 enough to bear him to his journey's end. Trouble not 
 thyself for my hunger, kind friend, for I have lacked 
 food many times ere now." 
 
 The traveller took the child in his arms and wrapped 
 his cloak about him, while his heart stirred with shame 
 and anger against the gratuitous cruelty of the instru- 
 ments in this persecution. In the awakened warmth of 
 his feelings, he resolved that, at whatever risk, he would 
 not forsake the poor little defenceless being whom 
 Heaven had confided to his care. With this determina- 
 tion, he left the accursed field, and resumed the home- 
 ward path from which the wailing of the boy had called 
 him. The light and motionless burden scarcely impeded 
 his progress, and he soon beheld the fire rays from the 
 windows of the cottage which he, a native of a distant 
 clime, had built in the Western wilderness. It was sur- 
 rounded by a considerable extent^ of cultivated ground, 
 and the dwelling Avas situated in the nook of a wood- 
 covered hill, whither it seemed to have crept for pro- 
 tection. 
 
 "Look up, child," said the Puritan to Ilbrahim, 
 whose faint head had sunk upon his -shoulder, "there 
 is our home."
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 83 
 
 At the word "home," a thrill passed through the 
 child's frame, but he continued silent. A few moments 
 brought them to the cottage-door, at which the owner 
 knocked ; for at that early period, when savages were 
 wandering everywhere among the settlers, bolt and bar 
 were indispensable to the security of a dwelling. The 
 summons was answered by a bond-servant, a coarse-clad 
 and dull-featured piece of humanity, who, after ascer- 
 taining that his master was the applicant, undid the door, 
 and held a flaring pine-knot torch to light him in. 
 Farther back in the passage-way, the red blaze discov- 
 ered a matronly woman, but no little crowd of children, 
 came bounding forth to greet their father's return. As 
 the Puritan entered, he thrust aside his cloak, and dis- 
 played Ilbrahim's face to the female. 
 
 " Dorothy, here is a little outcast whom Providence 
 hath put into our hands," observed he. "Be kind to 
 him, even as if he were of those dear ones who have 
 departed from us." 
 
 " What pale and bright-eyed little boy is this, Tobias ? " 
 she inquired. " Is he one whom the wilderness folk have 
 ravished from some Christian mother ? " 
 
 " No, Dorothy, this poor child is no captive from the 
 wilderness," he replied. " The heathen savage would 
 have given him to eat of his scanty morsel, and to drink 
 of his birchen cup ; but Christian men, alas ! had cast 
 him out to die." 
 
 Then he told her how he had found him beneath the 
 gallows, upon his father's grave ; and how his heart had 
 prompted him, like the speaking of an inward voice, to 
 take the little outcast home, and be kind unto him. He 
 acknowledged his resolution to feed and clothe him, as if 
 he were his own child, and to afford him the instruction 
 which should counteract the pernicious errors hitherto
 
 84 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 instilled into his infant mind. Dorothy was gifted with 
 even a quicker tenderness than her husband, and she 
 approved of all his doings and intentions. 
 
 " Have you a mother, dear child ? " she inquired. 
 
 The tears burst forth from his full heart, as he at- 
 tempted to reply ; but Dorothy at length understood that 
 he had a mother, who, like the rest of her sect, was a 
 persecuted wanderer. She had been taken from the 
 prison a short time before, carried into the uninhabited 
 wilderness, and left to perish there by hunger or wild 
 beasts. This was no uncommon method of disposing of 
 the Quakers, and they were accustomed to boast, that 
 the inhabitants of the desert were more hospitable to 
 them than civilized man. 
 
 "Fear not, little boy, you shall not need a mother, 
 and a kind one," said Dorothy, when she had gathered 
 this information. " D*ry your tears, Ilbrahim, and be my 
 child, as I will be your mother." 
 
 The good woman prepared the little bed, from which 
 her own children had successively been borne to another 
 resting-place. Before Ilbrahim would consent to occupy 
 it, he knelt down, and as Dorothy listened to his simple 
 and affecting prayer, she marvelled how the parents that 
 had taught it to him could have been judged worthy of 
 death. When the boy had fallen asleep, she bent over 
 his pale and spiritual countenance, pressed a kiss upon 
 his white brow, drew the bedclothes up about his neck, 
 and went away with a pensive gladness in her heart. 
 
 Tobias Pearson was not among the earliest emigrants 
 from the old country. He had remained in England 
 during the first years of the civil war, in which he had 
 borne some share as a comet of dragoons, under Crom- 
 well. But when the ambitious designs of his leader 
 began to develop themselves, he quitted the army of the
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 85 
 
 Parliament, and sought a refuge from the strife, which 
 was no longer holy, among the people of his persuasion 
 in the colony of Massachusetts. A more worldly con- 
 sideration had perhaps an influence in drawing him 
 thither ; for New England offered advantages to men of 
 unprosperous fortunes, as Avell as to dissatisfied religion- 
 ists, and Pearson had hitherto found it difficult to provide 
 for a wife and increasing family. To this supposed im- 
 purity of motive, the more bigoted Puritans were inclined 
 to impute the removal by death of all the children, for 
 whose earthly good the father had been over-thoughtful. 
 They had left their native country blooming like roses, 
 and like roses they had perished in a foreign soil. Those 
 expounders of the ways of Providence, who had thus 
 judged their brother, and attributed his domestic sorrows 
 to his sin, were not more charitable when they saw him 
 and Dorothy endeavoring to fill up the void in their 
 hearts by the adoption of an infant of the accursed sect. 
 Nor did they fail to communicate their disapprobation to 
 Tobias ; but the latter, in reply, merely pointed at the 
 little, quiet, lovely boy, whose appearance and deport- 
 ment were indeed as powerful arguments as could pos- 
 sibly have been adduced in his own favor. Even his 
 beauty, however, and his winning manners, sometimes 
 produced an effect ultimately unfavorable ; for the bigots, 
 when the outer surfaces of their iron hearts had been 
 softened and again grew hard, affirmed that no merely 
 natural cause could have so worked upon them. 
 
 Their antipathy to the poor infant was also increased 
 by the ill success of divers theological discussions, in 
 which it was attempted to convince him of the errors of 
 his sect, llhrahim, it is true, was not a skilful contro- 
 versialist; but the feeling of his religion was strong as 
 instinct in him, and he could neither be enticed nor
 
 86 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 driven from the faith which his father had died for. The 
 odium of this stubbornness was shared in a great meas- 
 ure by the child's protectors, insomuch that Tobias and 
 Dorothy very shortly began to experience a most bitter 
 species of persecution, in the cold regards of many a 
 friend whom they had valued. The common people 
 manifested their opinions more openly. Pearson was a 
 man of some consideration, being a representative to the 
 General Court, and an approved lieutenant in the train- 
 bands ; yet within a week after his adoption of Ilbrahim, 
 he had been both hissed and hooted. Once, also, when 
 walking through a solitary piece of woods, he heard a 
 loud voice from some invisible speaker; and it cried, 
 " What shall be done to the backslider ? Lo ! the scourge 
 is knotted for him, even the whip of nine cords, and 
 every cord three knots ! " These insults irritated Pear- 
 son's temper for the moment ; they entered also into his 
 heart, and became imperceptible but powerful workers 
 towards an end which his most secret thought had not 
 yet whispered. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 On the second Sabbath after Ilbrahim became a mem- 
 ber of their family, Pearson and his wife deemed it proper 
 that he should appear with them at public worship. They 
 had anticipated some opposition to this measure from the 
 boy, but he prepared himself in silence, and at the ap- 
 pointed hour was clad in the new mourning suit which 
 Dorothy had wrought for him. As the parish was then, 
 and during many subsequent years, unprovided with a 
 bell, the signal for the commencement of religious exer- 
 cises was the beat of a drum. At the first sound of that 
 martial call to the place of holy and quiet thoughts, 
 Tobias and Dorothy set forth, each holding a hand of 
 little Ilbrahim, like two parents linked together by the
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 87 
 
 infant of their love. On their path through the leafless 
 woods, they were overtaken by many persons of their 
 acquaintance, all of whom avoided them, and passed by 
 on the other side ; but a severer trial awaited their con- 
 stancy when they had descended the hill, and drew near 
 the pine-built and undecorated house of prayer. Around 
 the door, from which the drummer still sent forth his 
 thundering summons, was drawn up a formidable pha- 
 lanx, including several of the oldest members of the con- 
 gregation, many of the middle aged, and nearly all the 
 younger males. Pearson found it difficult to sustain, 
 their united and disapproving gaze ; but Dorothy, whoso 
 mind was differently circumstanced, merely drew the boy 
 closer to her, and faltered not in her approach. As they 
 entered the door, they overheard the muttered sentiments 
 of the assemblage, and when the reviling voices of the 
 little children smote Ilbrahim's ear, he wept. 
 
 The interior aspect of the meeting-house was rude. 
 The low ceiling, the unplastered walls, the naked wood- 
 work, and the undraperied pulpit offered nothing to ex- 
 cite the devotion, which, without such external aids, often 
 remains latent in the heart. The floor of the building 
 was occupied by rows of long, cushionless benches, sup- 
 plying the place of pews, and the broad aisle formed a 
 sexual division, impassable except by children beneath a 
 certain age. 
 
 Pearson and Dorothy separated at the door of the 
 meeting-house, and Ilbrahim, being within the years of 
 infancy, was retained under the care of the latter. The 
 wrinkled beldams involved themselves in their rusty 
 cloaks as he passed by ; even the mild-featured maidens 
 seemed to dread contamination; and many a stern old 
 man arose, and turned his repulsive and unheavenly 
 countenance upou the gentle boy, as if the sanctuary were
 
 88 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 polluted by his presence. He was a sweet infant of the 
 skies, that had strayed away from his home, and all the 
 inhabitants of this miserable world closed up their impure 
 hearts against him, drew back their earth-soiled garments 
 from his touch, and said, " We are holier than thou." 
 
 Ilbrahim, seated by the side of his adopted mother, 
 and retaining fast hold of her hand, assumed a grave and 
 decorous demeanor, such as might befit a person of 
 matured taste and understanding, who should find him- 
 self in a temple dedicated to some worship which he did 
 not recognize, but felt himself bound to respect. The 
 exercises had not yet commenced, however, when the 
 boy's attention was arrested by an event, apparently of 
 trifling interest. A woman, having her face muffled in a 
 hood, and a cloak drawn completely about her form, 
 advanced slowly up the broad aisle, and took a place upon 
 the foremost bench. Ilbrahim's faint color varied, his 
 nerves fluttered, he was unable to turn his eyes from the 
 muffled female. 
 
 When the preliminary prayer and hymn were over, the 
 minister arose, and having turned the hour-glass which 
 stood by the great Bible, commenced his discourse. He 
 was now well stricken in years, a man of pale, thin 
 countenance, and his gray hairs were closely covered by 
 a black velvet skullcap. In his younger days he had 
 practically learned the meaning of persecution from Arch- 
 bishop Laud, and he was not now disposed to forget the 
 lesson against which he had murmured then. Introducing 
 the often r discussed subject of the Quakers, he gave a 
 history of that sect, and a description of their tenets, in 
 which error predominated, and prejudice distorted the 
 aspect of what was true. He adverted to the recent 
 measures in the province, and cautioned his hearers of 
 weaker parts against calling in question the just severity,
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 89 
 
 which God-fearing magistrates had at length been com- 
 pelled to exercise. He spoke of the danger of pity, in 
 some cases a commendable and Christian virtue, but in- 
 applicable to this pernicious sect. He observed that 
 such was their devilish obstinacy in error, that even the 
 little children, the sucking babes, were hardened and 
 desperate heretics. He affirmed that no man, without 
 Heaven's especial warrant, should attempt their con- 
 version, lest while he lent his hand to draw them from 
 the slough, he should himself be precipitated into its 
 lowest depths. 
 
 The sands of the second hour were principally in the 
 lower half of the glass, when the sermon concluded. An 
 approving murmur followed, and the clergyman, having 
 given out a hymn, took his seat with much self-con- 
 gratulation, and endeavored to read the effect of his 
 eloquence in the visages of the people. But while voices 
 from all parts of the house were tuning themselves to 
 sing, a scene occurred, which, though not very unusual 
 at that period in the province, happened to be without 
 precedent in this parish. 
 
 The muffled female, who had hitherto sat motionless in 
 the front rank of the audience, now arose, and with slow, 
 stately, and unwavering step ascended the pulpit stairs. 
 The quiverings of incipient harmony were hushed, and the 
 divine sat in speechless and almost terrified astonishment, 
 while she undid the door, and stood up in the sacred desk 
 from which his maledictions had just been thundered. 
 She then divested herself of the cloak and hood, and 
 appeared in a most singular array. A shapeless robe of 
 sackcloth was girded about her waist with a knotted 
 cord ; her raven hair fell down upon her shoulders, and 
 its blackness was defiled by pale streaks of ashes, which 
 she had strewn upon her head. Her eyebrows, dark and
 
 90 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 strongly defined, added to the deatLly whiteness of a 
 countenance, which, emaciated with want, and wild with 
 enthusiasm and strange sorrows, retained no trace of 
 earlier beauty. This figure stood gazing earnestly on the 
 audience, and there was no sound, nor any movement, 
 except a faint shuddering which every man observed in 
 his neighbor, but was scarcely conscious of in himself. 
 At length, when her fit of inspiration came, she spoke, 
 for the first few moments, in a low voice, and not in- 
 variably distinct utterance. Her discourse gave evidence 
 of an imagination hopelessly entangled with her reason ; 
 it was a vague and incomprehensible rhapsody, which, 
 however, seemed to spread its own atmosphere round the 
 hearer's soul, and to move his feelings by some influence 
 unconnected with the words. As she proceeded, beauti- 
 ful but shadowy images would sometimes be seen, like 
 bright things moving in a turbid river ; or a strong and 
 singularly shaped idea leaped forth, and seized at once on 
 the understanding or the heart. But the course of her 
 unearthly eloquence soon led her to the persecutions of 
 her sect, and from thence the step was short to her own 
 peculiar sorrows. She was naturally a woman of mighty 
 passions, and hatred and revenge now wrapped themselves 
 in the garb of piety ; the character of her speech was 
 changed, her images became distinct though wild, and 
 her denunciations had an almost hellish bitterness. 
 
 " The governor and his mighty men," she said, " have 
 gathered together, taking counsel among themselves and 
 saying, 'What shall we do unto this people, even unto 
 the people that have come into this land to put our in- 
 iquity to the blush ? ' And lo ! the Devil entereth into 
 the council-chamber, like a lame man of low stature and 
 gravely apparelled, with a dark and twisted countenance, 
 and a bright, downcast eye. And he standeth up among
 
 THE GEN-TLE BOY. 91 
 
 the rulers ; yea, he goeth to and fro, whispering to each ; 
 and every man lends his ear, for his word is, ' Slay, slay ! ' 
 But I say unto ye, Woe to them that slay ! Woe to 
 them that shed the blood of saints ! Woe to them that 
 have slain the husband, and cast forth the child, the 
 tender infant, to wander homeless, and hungry, and cold, 
 till he die; and have saved the mother alive, in the 
 cruelty of their tender mercies ! Woe to them in their 
 lifetime, cursed are they in the delight and pleasure of 
 their hearts ! Woe to them in their death-hour, whether 
 it come swiftly with blood and violence, or after long and 
 lingering pain ! Woe, in the dark house, in the rotten- 
 ness of the grave, when the children's children shall re- 
 vile the ashes of the fathers ! Woe, woe, woe, at the 
 judgment, when all the persecuted and all the slain in 
 this bloody land, and the father, the mother, and the 
 child shall await them in a day that they cannot escape ! 
 Seed of the faith, seed of the faith, ye whose hearts are 
 moving with a power that ye know not, arise, wash your 
 hands of this innocent blood ! Lift your voices, chosen 
 ones, cry aloud, and call down a woe and a judgment 
 with me ! " 
 
 Having thus given vent to the flood of malignity which 
 she mistook for inspiration, the speaker was silent. Her 
 voice was succeeded by the hysteric shrieks of several 
 women, but the feelings of the audience generally had 
 not been drawn onward in the current with her own. 
 They remained stupefied, stranded as it were, in the midst 
 of a torrent, which deafened them by its roaring, but 
 might not move them by its violence. The clergyman, 
 who could not hitherto have ejected the usurper of his 
 pulpit otherwise than by bodily force, now addressed her 
 in the tone of just indignation and legitimate authority. 
 
 "Get you down, woman, from the holy place which
 
 92 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 you profane," lie said. " Is it to the Lord's house that 
 you come to pour forth the foulness of your heart, and 
 the inspiration of the Devil ? Get you down, and remem- 
 ber that the sentence of death is on you, yea, and shall 
 be executed, were it but for this day's work ! " 
 
 " I go, friend, I go, for the voice hath had its utter- 
 ance," replied she, in a depressed and even mild tone. 
 " I have done my mission unto thee and to thy people. 
 Reward me with stripes, imprisonment, or death, as ye 
 shall be permitted." 
 
 The weakness of exhausted passion caused her steps 
 to totter as she descended the pulpit stairs. The people, 
 in the mean while, were stirring to and fro on the floor 
 of the house, whispering among themselves, and glancing 
 towards the intruder. Many of them now recognized 
 her as the woman who had assaulted the governor with 
 frightful language, as he passed by the window of her 
 prison ; they knew, also, that she was adjudged to suffer 
 death, and had been preserved only by an involuntary 
 banishment into the wilderness. The new outrage, by 
 which she had provoked her fate, seemed to render fur- 
 ther lenity impossible ; and a gentleman in military dress, 
 with a stout man of inferior rank, drew towards the door 
 of the meeting-house, and awaited her approach. Scarcely 
 did her feet press the floor, however, when an unexpected 
 scene occurred. In that moment of her peril, when every 
 eye frowned with death, a little timid boy pressed forth, 
 and threw his arms round his mother. 
 
 " I am here, mother, it is I, and I will go with thee to 
 prison," he exclaimed. 
 
 She gazed at him with a doubtful and almost frightened 
 expression, for she knew that the boy had been cast out 
 to perish, and she had not hoped to see his face again. 
 She feared, perhaps, that it was but one of the happy
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 93 
 
 visions, with which her excited fancy had often deceived 
 her, in the solitude of the desert or in prison. But when 
 she felt his hand warm within her own, and heard his 
 little eloquence of childish love, she began to know that 
 she was yet a mother. 
 
 " Blessed art thou, my son," she sobbed. " My heart 
 was withered ; yea, dead with thee and with thy father ; 
 and now it leaps as in the first moment when I pressed 
 thee to my bosom." 
 
 She knelt down and embraced him again and again, 
 while the joy that could find no words expressed itself 
 in broken accents, like the bubbles gushing up to vanish 
 at the surface of a deep fountain. The sorrows of past 
 years, and the darker peril that was nigh, cast not a 
 shadow on the brightness of that fleeting moment. Soon, 
 however, the spectators saw a change upon her face, as 
 the consciousness of her sad estate returned, and grief 
 .supplied the fount of tears which joy had opened. By 
 the words she uttered, it would seem that the indulgence 
 of natural love had given her mind a momentary sense 
 of its errors, and inade her know how far she had strayed 
 from duty, in following the dictates of a wild fanaticism. 
 
 "In a doleful hour art thou returned to me, poor boy," 
 she said, " for thy mother's path has gone darkening on- 
 ward, till now the end is death. Son, son, I have borne 
 thee in my arms when my limbs were tottering, and I 
 have fed thee with the food that I was fainting for ; yet 
 I have ill performed a mother's part by thee in life, and 
 now I leave thee no inheritance but woe and shame. 
 Thou wilt go seeking through the world, and find all hearts 
 closed against thee, and their sweet affections turned to 
 bitterness for my sake. My child, my chiJd, how many a 
 pang awaits thy gentle spirit, and I the cause of all ! " 
 
 She hid her face on Ilbrahim's head, and her long
 
 94 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 raven hair, discolored with the ashes of her mourning, 
 fell down about him like a veil. A low and interrupted 
 moan was the voice of her heart's anguish, and it did not 
 fail to move the sympathies of many who mistook their 
 involuntary virtue for a sin. Sobs were audible in the 
 female section of the house, and every man who was a 
 father drew his hand across his eyes. Tobias Pearson 
 was agitated and uneasy, but a certain feeling like the 
 consciousness of guilt oppressed him, so that he could 
 not go forth and offer himself as the protector of the 
 child. Dorothy, however, had watched her husband's eye. 
 Her mind was free from the influence that had begun to 
 work on his, and she drew near the Quaker woman, and 
 addressed her in the hearing of all the congregation. 
 
 "Stranger, trust this boy to me, and I will be his 
 mother," she said, taking Ilbrahim's hand. " Provi- 
 dence has signally marked out my husband to protect 
 him, and he has fed at our table and lodged under our 
 roof, now many days, till our hearts have grown very 
 strongly unto him. Leave the tender child with us, and 
 be at ease concerning his welfare." 
 
 The Quaker rose from the ground, but drew the boy 
 closer to her, while she gazed earnestly in Dorothy's 
 face. Her mild, but saddened features, and neat matron- 
 ly attire harmonized together, and were like a verse of 
 fireside poetry. Her very aspect proved that she was 
 blameless, so far as mortal could be so, in respect to God 
 and man ; while the enthusiast, in her robe of sackcloth 
 and girdle of knotted cord, had as evidently violated the 
 duties of the present life and the future, by fixing her at- 
 tention wholly ^on the latter. The two females, as they 1 
 held each a hand of Ilbrahim, formed a practical alle- 
 gory ; it was rational piety and unbridled fanaticism 
 contending for the empire of a young heart.
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 95 
 
 " Thou art not of our people," said the Quaker, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " No, we are not of your people," replied Dorothy, "with 
 mildness, " but we are Christians, looking upward to the 
 same Heaven with you. Doubt not that your boy shall 
 meet you there, if there be a blessing on our tender and 
 prayerful guidance of him. Thither, I trust, my own 
 children have gone before me, for I also have been a 
 mother ; I am no longer so," she added, in a faltering 
 tone, " and your son will have all my care." 
 
 " But will ye lead him in the path which his parents 
 have trodden ? " demanded the Quaker. " Can ye teach 
 him the enlightened faith which his father has died for, 
 and for which I, even I, am soon to become an unworthy 
 martyr ? The boy has been baptized in blood ; will ye 
 keep the mark fresh and ruddy upon his forehead ? " 
 
 " I will not deceive you," answered Dorothy. " If 
 your child become our child, we must breed him up in 
 the instruction which Heaven has imparted to us; we 
 must pray for him the prayers of our own faith; we 
 must do towards him according to the dictates of our 
 own consciences, and not of yours. Were we to act 
 otherwise, we should abuse your trust, even in complying 
 with your wishes." 
 
 The mother looked down upon her boy with a troubled 
 countenance, and then turned her eyes upward to Heav- 
 en. She seemed to pray internally, and the contention 
 of her soul was evident. 
 
 " Friend," she said at length to Dorothy, " I doubt 
 not that my son shall receive all earthly tenderness at thy 
 hands. Nay, I will believe that even thy imperfect lights 
 may guide him to a better world ; for surely thou art on 
 the path thither. But thou hast spoken of a husband. 
 Doth he stand here among this multitude of people?
 
 96 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Let him come forth, for I must know to whom I commit 
 this most precious trust." 
 
 She turned her face upon the male auditors, and after 
 a momentary delay, Tobias Pearson came forth from 
 among them. The Quaker saw the dress which marked 
 his military rank, and shook her head ; but then she 
 noted the hesitating air, the eyes that struggled with her 
 own, and were vanquished ; the color that went and came, 
 and could find no resting-place. As she gazed, an un- 
 mirthful smile spread over her features, like sunshine 
 that grows melancholy in some desolate spot. Her lips 
 moved iuaudibly, but at length she spake. 
 
 " I hear it, I hear it. The voice speaketh within me 
 and saith, 'Leave thy child, Catharine, for his place is 
 here, and go hence, for I have other work for thee. 
 Break the bonds of natural affection, martyr thy love, 
 and know that in all these things eternal wisdom hath its 
 ends.' I go, friends, I go. Take ye my boy, my pre- 
 cious jewel. I go hence, trusting that all shall be well, 
 and that even for his infant hands there is a labor in the 
 vineyard." 
 
 She knelt down and whispered to Ilbrahim, who at 
 first struggled and clung to his mother, with sobs and 
 tears, but remained passive when she had kissed his 
 cheek and arisen from the ground. Having held her 
 hands over his head in mental prayer, she was ready to 
 depart. 
 
 "Farewell, friends in mine extremity," she said to 
 Pearson and his wife ; " the good deed ye have done me 
 is a treasure laid up in Heaven, to be returned a thou- 
 sand-fold hereafter. And farewell ye, mine enemies, to 
 whom it is not permitted to harm so much as a hair of 
 my head, nor to stay my footsteps even for a moment. 
 The day is coming when ye shall call upon me to witness
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 97 
 
 for ye to this one sin uncommitted, and I will rise up 
 and answer." 
 
 She turned her steps towards the door, and the men, 
 who had stationed themselves to guard it, withdrew, and 
 suffered her to psss. A general sentiment of pity over- 
 came the virulence of religious hatred. Sanctified by her 
 love and her affliction, she went forth, and all the people 
 gazed after her till she had journeyed up the hill, and 
 was lost behind its brow. She went, the apostle of her 
 own unquiet heart, to renew the wanderings of past 
 years. For her voice had been already heard in many 
 lauds of Christendom ; and she had pined in the cells of 
 a Catholic Inquisition before she felt the lash, and lay in, 
 the dungeons of the Puritans. Her mission had ex- 
 tended also to the followers of the Prophet, and from them 
 she had received the courtesy and kindness which all 
 the contending sects of our purer religion united to deny 
 her. Her husband and herself had resided many months 
 in Turkey, where even the Sultan's countenance was 
 gracious to them ; in that pagan land, too, was Ilbrahim's 
 birthplace, and his Oriental name was a mark of gratitude 
 for the good deeds of an unbeliever. 
 
 ***** 
 
 When Pearson and his wife had thus acquired all the 
 rights over Ilbrahim that could be delegated, their affec- 
 tion for him became, like the memory of their native 
 land, or their mild sorrow for the dead, a piece of the 
 immovable furniture of their hearts. The boy, also, 
 afiiT a week or two of mental disquiet, began to gratify 
 his protectors, by many inadvertent proofs that he con- 
 sidered them as parents, and their house as home. Be- 
 fore the winter snows were melted, the persecuted infant, 
 the little wanderer from a remote and heathen country, 
 seemed native in the New England cottage, and insepara-
 
 98 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ble from the warmth and security of its hearth. Under 
 the influence of kind treatment, and in the consciousness 
 that he was loved, Ilbrahim's demeanor lost a premature 
 manliness which had resulted from his earlier situation ; 
 he became more childlike, and his natural character dis- 
 played itself with freedom. It was in many respects a 
 beautiful one, yet the disordered imaginations of both his 
 father and mother had perhaps propagated a certain un- 
 healthiness in the mind of the boy. In his general state, 
 Ilbrahim would derive enjoyment from the most trifling 
 events, and from every object about him ; he seemed to 
 discover rich treasures of happiness, by a faculty analo- 
 gous to that of the witch-hazel, which points to hidden 
 gold where all is barren to the eye. His airy gayety, 
 coming to him from a thousand sources, communicated 
 itself to the family, and Ilbrahim was like a domesticated 
 sunbeam, brightening moody countenances, and chasing 
 away the gloom from the dark corners of the cottage. 
 
 On the other hand, as the susceptibility of pleasure 
 is also that of pain, the exuberant cheerfulness of the 
 boy's prevailing temper sometimes yielded to moments 
 of deep depression. His sorrows could not always be 
 followed up to their original source, but most frequently 
 they appeared to flow, though Ilbrahim was young to 
 be sad for such a cause, from wounded love. The flighti- 
 ness of his mirth rendered him often guilty of offences 
 against the decorum of a Puritan household, and on 
 these occasions he did not invariably escape rebuke. 
 But the slightest word of real bitterness, which he was 
 infallible in distinguishing from pretended anger, seemed 
 to sink into his heart and poison all his enjoyments, till 
 he became sensible that he was entirely forgiven. Of 
 the malice, which generally accompanies a superfluity 
 of sensitiveness, Ilbrahim was altogether destitute ; when
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 99 
 
 trodden upon, he would not turn; when wounded, he 
 could but die. His mind was wanting in the stamina 
 for self-support ; it was a plant that would twine beau- 
 tifully round something stronger than itself, but if re- 
 pulsed, or torn away, it had no choice but to wither 
 on the ground. Dorothy's acuteness taught her that 
 severity would crush the spirit of the child, and she 
 nurtured him with the gentle care of one who handles 
 a butterfly. Her husband manifested an equal affec- 
 tion, although it grew daily less productive of familiar 
 caresses. 
 
 The feelings of the neighboring people, in regard to 
 the Quaker infant and his protectors, had not undergone 
 a favorable change, in spite of the momentary triumph 
 which the desolate mother had obtained over their sym- 
 pathies. The scorn and bitterness, of which he was the 
 object, were very grievous to Ilbrahim, especially when 
 any circumstance made him sensible that the children, 
 his equals in age, partook of the enmity of their parents. 
 His tender and social nature had already overflowed in 
 attachments to everything about him, and still there was 
 a residue of unappropriated love, which he yearned to 
 bestow upon the little ones who were taught to hate him. 
 As the warm days of spring came on, Ilbrahim was ac- 
 customed to remain for hours, silent and inactive, within 
 hearing of the children's voices at their play; yet, with 
 his usual delicacy of feeling, he avoided their notice, and 
 would flee and hide himself from the smallest individual 
 among them. Chance, however, at length seemed to 
 open a medium of communication between his heart and 
 theirs ; it was by means of a boy about two years older 
 than Ilbrahim, who was injured by a fall from a tree in 
 the vicinity of Pearson's habitation. As the sufferer's 
 own home was at some distance, Dorothy willingly re-
 
 100 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ceived him under her roof, and became his tender and 
 careful nurse. 
 
 Ilbrahim was the unconscious possessor of much skill 
 in physiognomy, and it would have deterred him, in 
 other circumstances, from attempting to make a friend 
 of this boy. The countenance of the latter immediately 
 impressed a beholder disagreeably, but it required some 
 examination to discover that the cause was a very slight 
 distortion of the mouth, and the irregular, broken line 
 and near approach of the eyebrows. Analogous, per- 
 haps, to these trifling deformities, was an almost imper- 
 ceptible twist of every joint, and the uneven prominence 
 of the breast ; forming a body, regular in its general out- 
 line, but faulty in almost all its details. The disposition 
 of the boy was sullen and reserved, and the village school- 
 master stigmatized him as obtuse in intellect ; although, 
 at a later period of life, he evinced ambition and very 
 peculiar talents. But whatever might be his personal 
 or moral irregularities, Ilbrahim's heart seized upon, and 
 clung to him, from the moment that he was brought 
 wounded into the cottage; the child of persecution 
 seemed to compare his own fate with that of the suf- 
 ferer, and to feel that even different modes of misfortune 
 had created a sort of relationship between them. Food, 
 rest, and the fresh air, for which he languished, were 
 neglected ; he nestled continually by the bedside of the 
 little stranger, and, with a fond jealousy, endeavored to 
 be the medium of all the cares that were bestowed upon 
 him. As the boy became convalescent, Ilbrahim con- 
 trived games suitable to his situation, or amused him by 
 a faculty which he had perhaps breathed in with the 
 air of his barbaric birthplace. It was that of reciting 
 imaginary adventures, on the spur of the moment, and 
 apparently in inexhaustible succession. His tales were
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 101 
 
 of course monstrous, disjointed, and without aim; but 
 they were curious on account of a vein of human ten- 
 derness, which ran through them all, and was like a 
 sweet, familiar face, encountered in the midst of wild 
 and unearthly scenery. The auditor paid much atten- 
 tion to these romances, and sometimes interrupted them 
 by brief remarks upon the incidents, displaying shrewd- 
 ness above his years, mingled with a moral obliquity 
 which grated very harshly against Ilbrahim's instinctive 
 rectitude. Nothing, however, could arrest the progress 
 of the latter's affection, and there were many proofs that 
 it met with a response from the dark and stubborn na- 
 ture on which it was lavished. The boy's parents at 
 length removed him, to complete his cure under their 
 own roof. 
 
 Ilbrahim did not visit his new friend after his de- 
 parture; but he made anxious and continual inquiries 
 respecting him, and informed himself of the day when 
 he was to reappear among his playmates. On a pleas- 
 -ant summer afternoon, the children of the neighborhood 
 had assembled in the little forest-crowned amphitheatre 
 behind the meeting-house, and the recovering invalid 
 was there, leaning on a staff. The glee of a score of 
 untainted bosoms was heard in light and airy voices, 
 which danced among the trees like sunshine become 
 audible; the grown men of this weary world, as they 
 journeyed by the spot, marvelled why life, beginning 
 in such brightness, should proceed in gloom ; and their 
 hearts, or their imaginations, answered them and said, 
 that the bliss of childhood gushes from its innocence. 
 But it happened that an unexpected addition was made 
 to the heavenly little band. It was Ilbrahim, who came 
 towards the children with a look of sweet confidence 
 on his fair and spiritual face, as if, having manifested
 
 102 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Ms love to one of them, he had no longer to fear a 
 repulse from their society. A hush came over their 
 mirth the moment they beheld him, and they stood 
 whispering to each other while he drew nigh ; but, all 
 at once, the devil of their fathers entered into the un- 
 breeched fanatics, and sending up a fierce, shrill cry, 
 they rushed upon the poor Quaker child. In an instant, 
 he was the centre of a brood of baby-fiends, who lifted 
 sticks against him, pelted him with stones, and dis- 
 played ail instinct of destruction far more loathsome 
 than the bloodthirstiness of manhood. 
 
 The invalid, in the mean while, stood apart from the 
 tumult, crying out with a loud voice, " Fear not, Ilbra- 
 him, come hither and take my hand " ; and his unhappy 
 friend endeavored to obey him. After watching the vic- 
 tim's struggling approach, with a calm smile and un- 
 abashed eye, the foul-hearted little villain lifted his 
 staff, and struck Ilbrahitn on the mouth, so forcibly 
 that the blood issued in a stream. The poor child's 
 arms had been raised to guard his head from the storm 
 of blows ; but now he dropped them at once. His per- 
 secutors beat him down, trampled upon him, dragged 
 him by his long, fair locks, and Ilbrahim was on the 
 point of becoming as veritable a martyr as ever entered 
 bleeding into heaven. The uproar, however, attracted 
 the notice of a few neighbors, who put themselves to 
 the trouble of rescuing the little heretic, and of convey- 
 ing him to Pearson's door. 
 
 Ilbrahim's bodily harm was severe, but long and care- 
 ful nursing accomplished his recovery ; the injury done 
 to his sensitive spirit was more serious, though not so 
 visible. Its signs wei-e principally of a negative charac- 
 ter, and to be discovered only by those who had previ- 
 ously known him. His gait was thenceforth slow, even,
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 103 
 
 and unvaried by the sudden bursts of sprightlier mo- 
 tion, which had once corresponded to his overflowing 
 gladness ; his countenance was heavier, and its former 
 play of expression, the dance of sunshine reflected from 
 moving water, was destroyed by the cloud over his ex- 
 istence ; his notice was attracted in a far less degree by 
 passing events, and he appeared to find greater difficulty 
 in comprehending what was new to him, than at a hap- 
 pier period. A stranger, founding his judgment upon 
 these circumstances, would have said that the dulness 
 of the child's intellect widely contradicted the promise 
 of his features; but the secret was in the direction of 
 Ilbrahim's thoughts, which were brooding within him 
 when they should naturally have been wandering abroad. 
 An attempt of Dorothy to revive his former sportiveness 
 was the single occasion on which his quiet demeanor 
 yielded to a violent display of grief ; he burst into pas- 
 sionate weeping, and ran and hid himself, for his heart 
 had become so miserably sore, that even the hand of 
 kindness tortured it like fire. Sometimes, at night and 
 probably in his dreams, he was heard to cry, " Mother ! 
 mother ! " as if her place, which a stranger had sup- 
 plied while Ilbrahim was happy, admitted of no substi- 
 tute in his extreme affliction. Perhaps, among the many 
 life-weary wretches then upon the earth, there was not 
 one who combined innocence and misery like this poor, 
 broken-hearted infant, so soon the victim of his own. 
 heavenly nature. 
 
 While this melancholy change had taken place in 
 Ilbrahim, one of an earlier origin and of diiferent char- 
 acter had come to its perfection in his adopted father. 
 The incident with which this tale commences found 
 Pearson in a state of religious dulness, yet mentally 
 disquieted, and longing for a more fervid faith than he
 
 104 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 possessed. The first effect of his kindness to Hbrahim 
 was to produce a softened feeling, and incipient love 
 for the child's whole sect ; but joined to this, and re- 
 sulting perhaps from self-suspicion, was a proud and 
 ostentatious contempt of their tenets and practical ex- 
 travagances. In the course of much thought, however, 
 for the subject struggled irresistibly into his mind, the 
 foolishness of the doctrine began to be less evident, and 
 the points which had particularly offended his reason 
 assumed another aspect, or vanished entirely away. The 
 work within him appeared to go on even while he slept, 
 and that which had been a doubt, when he laid down to 
 rest, would often hold the place of a truth, confirmed 
 by some forgotten demonstration, when he recalled his 
 thoughts in the morning. But while he was thus be- 
 coming assimilated to the enthusiasts, his contempt, in 
 no wise decreasing towards them, grew very fierce 
 against himself; he imagined, also, that every face of 
 his acquaintance wore a sneer, and that every word 
 addressed to him was a gibe. Such was his state of 
 mind at the period of Ilbrahim's misfortune; and the 
 emotions consequent upon that event completed the 
 change, of which the child had been the original instru- 
 ment. 
 
 Iii the mean time, neither the fierceness of the perse- 
 cutors, nor the infatuation of their victims, had decreased. 
 The dungeons were never empty ; the streets of almost 
 every village echoed daily with a lash ; the life of a 
 woman, whose mild and Christian spirit no cruelty could 
 imbitter, had been sacrificed ; and more innocent blood 
 was yet to pollute the hands that were so often raised in 
 prayer. Early after the Restoration, the English Qua- 
 kers represented to Charles II. that a " vein of blood was 
 open in his dominions " ; but though the displeasure of
 
 THE GENTLE BOY, 105 
 
 the voluptuous king was roused, his interference was not 
 prompt. And now the tale must stride forward over 
 many months, leaving Pearson to encounter ignominy 
 and misfortune ; his wife to a firm endurance of a thou- 
 sand sorrows; poor Ilbrahim to pine and droop like a 
 cankered rosebud ; his mother to wander on a mistaken 
 errand, neglectful of the holiest trust which can be com- 
 mitted to a woman. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A winter evening, a night of storm, had darkened over 
 Pearson's habitation, and there were no cheerful faces to 
 drive the gloom from his broad hearth. The fire, it is 
 true, sent forth a glowing heat and a ruddy light, and 
 large logs, dripping with half-melted snow, lay ready to 
 be cast upon the embers. But the apartment was sad- 
 dened in its aspect by the absence of much of the homely 
 wealth which had once adorned it ; for the exaction of 
 repeated fines, and his own neglect of temporal affairs, 
 had greatly impoverished the owner. And with the fur- 
 niture of peace, the implements of war had likewise dis- 
 appeared ; the sword was broken, the helm and cuirass 
 were cast away forever ; the soldier had done with bat- 
 tles, and might not lift so much as his naked hand to 
 guard his head. But the Holy Book remained, and the 
 table on which it rested was drawn before the fire, while 
 two of the persecuted sect sought comfort from its pages. 
 
 He who listened, while the other read, was the master 
 of the house, now emaciated in form, and altered as to 
 the expression and healthiness of his countenance ; for 
 his mind had dwelt too long among visionary thoughts, 
 and his body had been worn by imprisonment and stripes. 
 The hale and weather-beaten old man, who cat beside 
 him, had sustained less injury from a far longer course of 
 the same mode of life. In person he >vas tall and digni-
 
 106 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 fied, and, which alone would have made him hateful to 
 the Puritans, his gray locks fell from beneath the broad- 
 brimmed hat, and rested on his shoulders. As the old 
 man read the sacred page, the snow drifted against the 
 windows, or eddied in at the crevices of the door, while a 
 blast kept laughing in the chimney, and the blaze leaped 
 fiercely up to seek it. And sometimes, when the wind 
 struck the hill at a certain angle, and swept down by the 
 cottage across the wintry plain, its voice was the most 
 doleful that can be conceived; it came as if the Past 
 were speaking, as if the Dead had contributed each a 
 whisper, as if the Desolation of Ages were breathed in 
 that one lamenting sound. 
 
 The Quaker at length closed the book, retaining however 
 his hand between the pages which he had been reading, 
 while he looked steadfastly at Pearson. The attitude 
 and features of the latter might have indicated the en- 
 durance of bodily pain; he leaned his forehead on his 
 hands, his teeth were firmly closed, and his frame was 
 tremulous at intervals with a nervous agitation. 
 
 "Friend Tobias," inquired the old man, compassion- 
 ately, " hast thou found no comfort in these many blessed 
 passages of Scripture ? " 
 
 " Thy voice has fallen on my ear like a sound afar off 
 and indistinct," replied Pearson, without lifting his eyes. 
 " Yea, and when I have hearkened carefully, the words 
 seemed cold and lifeless, and intended for another and a 
 lesser grief than mine. Remove the book," he added, in 
 a tone of sullen bitterness. " I have no part in its con- 
 solations, and they do but fret my sorrow the more." 
 
 " Nay, feeble brother, be not as one who hath never 
 known the light," said the elder Quaker, earnestly, but 
 with mildness. " Art thou he that wouldst be content to 
 give all, and endure all, for conscience' sake ; desiring even
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 107 
 
 peculiar trials, that thy faith might be purified, and thy 
 heart weaned from worldly desires ? And wilt thou sink 
 beneath an affliction which happens alike to them that have 
 their portion here below, and to them that lay up treasure 
 in heaven ? Faint not, for thy burden is yet light." 
 
 " It is heavy ! It is heavier than I can bear ! " ex- 
 claimed Pearson, with the impatience of a variable spirit. 
 " From my youth upward I have been a man marked out 
 for wrath ; and year by year, yea, day after day, I have 
 endured sorrows, such as others know not in their life- 
 time. And now I speak not of the love that has been 
 turned to hatred, the honor to ignominy, the ease and 
 plentifulness of all things to danger, want, and nakedness. 
 All this I could have borne, and counted myself blessed. 
 But when my heart was desolate with many losses, I 
 fixed it upon the child of a stranger, and he became 
 dearer to me than all my buried ones ; and now he too 
 must die, as if my love were poison. Verily, I am an 
 accursed man, and I will lay me down in the dust, and 
 lift up my head no more." 
 
 " Thou sinnest, brother, but it is not for me to rebuke 
 thee ; for I also have had my hours of darkness, wherein 
 I have murmured against the cross," said the old Quaker. 
 He continued, perhaps in the hope of distracting his 
 companion's thoughts from his own sorrows. " Even of 
 late was the light obscured within me, when the men of 
 blood had banished me on pain of death, and the consta- 
 bles led me onward from village to village, towards the 
 wilderness. A strong and cruel hand was wielding the 
 knotted cords ; they sunk deep into the flesh, and thou 
 mightst have tracked every reel and totter of my foot- 
 steps by the blood that followed. As we went on " 
 
 " Have I not borne all this ; and have I murmured ? " 
 interrupted Pearson, impatiently.
 
 108 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " Nay, friend, but hear me/' continued the other. " As 
 we journeyed on, night darkened on our path, so that no 
 man could see the rage of the persecutors, or the con- 
 stancy of my endurance, though Heaven forbid that I 
 should glory therein. The lights began to glimmer in 
 the cottage windows, and I could discern the inmates as 
 they gathered in comfort and security, every man with 
 his wife and children by their own evening hearth. 
 At length we came to a tract of fertile land; in the 
 dim light, the forest was not visible around it; and 
 behold ! there was a straw-thatched dwelling, which bore 
 the very aspect of my home, far over the wild ocean, far 
 in our own England. Then came bitter thoughts upon 
 me ; yea, remembrances that were like death to my soul. 
 The happiness of my early days was painted to me ; the 
 disquiet of my manhood, the altered faith of my decking 
 years. I remembered how 1 had been moved to go forth 
 a wanderer, when my daughter, the youngest, the dearest 
 of my flock, lay on her dying bed, and 
 
 " Couldst thou obey the command at such a mo- 
 ment ? " exclaimed Pearson, shuddering. 
 
 " Yea, yea," replied the old man, hurriedly. " I was 
 kneeling by her bedside when the voice spoke loud 
 within me ; but immediately I rose, and took my staff, 
 and gat me gone. O, that it were permitted me to 
 forget her woful look, when I thus withdrew my arm, 
 and left her journeying through the dark valley alone ! 
 for her soul was faint, and she had leaned upon my 
 prayers. Now in that night of horror I was assailed by 
 the thought that I had been an erring Christian, and a 
 cruel parent ; yea, even my daughter, with her pale, 
 dying features, seemed to stand by me and whisper, 
 'Father, you are deceived; go home and shelter your 
 gray head.' O Thou, to whom I have looked in my
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 109 
 
 farthest wanderings," continued the Quaker, raising his 
 agitated eyes to Heaven, " inflict not upon the bloodiest 
 of our persecutors the unmitigated agony of my soul, 
 when I believed that all I had done and suffered for 
 thee was at the instigation of a mocking fiend ! But I 
 yielded uot ; I knelt down and wrestled with the tempter, 
 while the scourge bit more fiercely into the flesh. My 
 prayer was heard, and I went on in peace and joy to- 
 wards the wilderness." 
 
 The old man, though his fanaticism had generally all 
 the calmness of reason, was deeply moved while reciting 
 this tale ; and his unwonted emotion seemed to rebuke 
 and keep down that of his companion. They sat in 
 silence, with their faces to the fire, imagining perhaps, 
 in its red embers, new scenes of persecution yet to be 
 encountered. The snow still drifted hard against the 
 windows, and sometimes, as the blaze of the logs had 
 gradually sunk, came down the spacious chimney and 
 hissed upon the hearth. A cautious footstep might now 
 and then be heard in a neighboring apartment, and the 
 sound invariably drew the eyes of both Quakers to the 
 door which led thither. When a fierce and riotous gust 
 of wind had led his thoughts, by a natural association, to 
 homeless travellers on such.a night, Pearson resumed the 
 conversation. 
 
 " I have wellnigh sunk under my own share of this 
 trial," observed he, sighing heavily ; " yet I would that it 
 might be doubled to me, if so the child's mother could 
 be spared. Her wounds have been deep and many, but 
 this will be the sorest of all." 
 
 " Fear not for Catharine," replied the old Quaker, 
 " for I know that valiant woman, and have seen how she 
 can bear the cross. A mother's heart, indeed, is strong 
 in her, and may seeni ( to contend mightily with her faith
 
 110 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 but soon she will stand up and give thanks that her son 
 has been thus early an accepted sacrifice. The boy hath 
 done his work, and she will feel that he is taken hence 
 in kindness both to him and her. Blessed, blessed are 
 they that with so little suffering can enter into peace 1 " 
 
 The fitful rush of the wind was now disturbed by a 
 portentous sound ; it was a quick and heavy knocking 
 at the outer door. Pearson's wan countenance grew 
 paler, for many a visit of persecution had taught him 
 what to dread; the old man, on the other hand, stood 
 up erect, and his glance was firm as that of the tried 
 soldier who awaits his enemy. 
 
 "The men of blood have come to seek me," he ob- 
 served, with calmness. "They have heard how I was 
 moved to return from banishment ; and now am I to be 
 led to prison, and thence to death. It is an end I have 
 long looked for. I will open unto them, lest they say, 
 ' Lo, he feareth ! ' " 
 
 " Nay, I will present myself before them," said Pear- 
 son, with recovered fortitude. "It may be that they 
 seek me alone, and know not that thou abidest with 
 me." 
 
 "Let us go boldly, both one and the other," rejoined 
 his companion. " It is not fitting that thou or I should 
 shrink." 
 
 They therefore proceeded through the entry to the 
 door, which they opened, bidding the applicant, " Come 
 in, in God's name ! " A furious blast of wind drove the 
 storm into their faces, and extinguished the lamp ; they 
 had barely time to discern a figure, so white from head 
 to foot with the drifted snow, that it seemed like Win- 
 ter's self, come in human shape to seek refuge from its 
 own desolation. 
 
 " Enter, friend, and do thy errand, be it what it may,"
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. Ill 
 
 said Pearson. " It must needs be pressing, since thou 
 comest on such a bitter night." 
 
 "Peace be with this household," said the stranger, 
 when they stood on the floor of the inner apartment. 
 
 Pearson started, the elder Quaker stirred the slum- 
 bering embers of the fire, till they sent up a clear and 
 lofty blaze ; it was a female voice that had spoken ; it 
 was a female form that shone out, cold and wintry, in 
 that comfortable light. 
 
 " Catharine, blessed woman," exclaimed the old man, 
 "art thou come to this darkened land again? art thou 
 come to bear a valiant testimony as in former years ? 
 The scourge hath not prevailed against thee, and from 
 the dungeon hast thou come forth triumphant; but 
 strengthen, strengthen now thy heart, Catharine, for 
 Heaven will prove thee yet this once, ere thou go to thy 
 reward." 
 
 "Rejoice, friends!" she replied. "Thou who hast 
 long been of our people, and thou whom a little child 
 hath led to us, rejoice ! Lo ! I come, the messenger of 
 glad tidings, for the day of persecution is overpast. 
 The heart of the king, even Charles, hath been moved 
 in gentleness towards us, and he hath sent forth his 
 letters to stay the hands of the men of blood. A ship's 
 company of our friends hath arrived at yonder town, and 
 I also sailed joyfully among them." 
 
 As Catharine spoke, her eyes were roaming about the 
 room, in search of him for whose sake security was 
 dear to her. Pearson made a silent appeal to the old 
 man, nor did the latter shrink from the painful task as- 
 signed him. 
 
 " Sister," he began, in a softened yet perfectly calm 
 tone, " thou tellest us of His love, manifested in temporal 
 good ; and now must we speak to thee of that self-same
 
 112 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 love, displayed in chastenings. Hitherto, Catharine, 
 thou hast been as one journeying in a darksome and 
 difficult path, and leading an infant by the hand; fain 
 wouldst thou have looked heavenward continually, but 
 still the cares of that little child have drawn thine eyes 
 and thy affections to the earth. Sister ! go on rejoicing, 
 for his tottering footsteps shall impede thine own no 
 more." 
 
 But the unhappy mother was not thus to be consoled ; 
 she shook like a leaf, she turned white as the very snow 
 that hung drifted into her hair. The firm old man ex- 
 tended his hand and held her up, keeping his eye upon 
 hers, as if to repress any outbreak of passion. 
 
 " I am a woman, I am but a woman; will He try me above 
 my strength ? " said Catharine very quickly, and almost in 
 a whisper. " I have been wounded sore ; I have suffered 
 much ; many things in the body, many in the mind ; 
 crucified in myself, and in them that were dearest to me. 
 Surely," added she, with a long shudder, "He hath 
 spared me in this one thing." She broke forth with sud- 
 den and irrepressible violence, "Tell me, man of cold 
 heart, what has God done to me? Hath he cast me 
 down, never to rise again ? Hath he crushed my very 
 heart in his hand ? And thou, to whom I committed my 
 child, how hast thou fulfilled thy trust ? Give me back 
 the boy, well, sound, alive, alive ; or earth and Heaven 
 shall avenge me ! " 
 
 The agonized shriek of Catharine was answered by the 
 faint, the very faint voice of a child. 
 
 On this day it had become evident to Pearson, to his 
 aged guest, and to Dorothy that Ilbrahim's brief and 
 troubled pilgrimage drew near its close. The two former 
 would willingly have remained by him, to make use of the 
 prayers and pious discourses which they deemed appro-
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 113 
 
 priate to the time, and which, if they be impotent as to 
 the departing traveller's reception in the world whither it 
 goes, may at least sustain him in bidding adieu to earth. 
 But though Ilbrahim uttered no complaint, he was dis- 
 turbed by the faces that looked upon him ; so that Doro- 
 thy's entreaties, and their own conviction that the child's 
 feet might tread heaven's pavement and not soil it, had 
 induced the two Quakers to remove. Ilbrahim then 
 closed his eyes and grew calm, and, except for now and 
 then a kind and low word to his nurse, might have been 
 thought to slumber. As nightfall came on, however, and 
 the storm began to rise, something seemed to trouble the 
 repose of the boy's mind, and to render his sense of 
 hearing active and acute. If a passing wind lingered to 
 shake the casement, he strove to turn his head towards it ; 
 if the door jarred to and fro upon its hinges, he looked 
 long and anxiously thitherward ; if the heavy voice of the 
 old man, as he read the Scriptures, rose but a little higher, 
 the child almost held his dying breath to listen ; if a snow- 
 drift swept by the cottage, with a sound like the trailing 
 of a garment, Ilbrahim seemed to watch that some visi- 
 tant should enter. 
 
 But, after a little time, he relinquished whatever secret 
 hope had agitated him, and, with one low, complaining 
 whisper, turned his cheek upon the pillow. He then 
 addressed Dorothy with his usual sweetness, and besought 
 her to draw near him ; she did so, and Ilbrahim took her 
 hand iu both of his, grasping it with a gentle pressure, as 
 if to assure himself that he retained it. At intervals, and 
 without disturbing the repose of his countenance, a very 
 faint trembling passed over him from head to foot, as if 
 a mild but somewhat cool wind had breathed upon him, 
 and made him shiver. As the boy thus 'led her by the 
 Laud, in his quiet progress over the borders of eternity,
 
 114 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Dorothy almost imagined that she could discern the near, 
 though dim delightfulness of the home he was about to 
 reach; she would not have enticed the little wanderer 
 back, though she bemoaned herself that she must leave 
 him and return. But just when Ilbrahim's feet were 
 pressing on the soil of Paradise, he heard a voice behind 
 him, and it recalled him a few, few paces of the weary 
 path which he had travelled. As Dorothy looked upon 
 his features, she perceived that their placid expression 
 was again disturbed; her own thoughts had been so 
 wrapped in him, that all sounds of the storm, and of 
 human speech, were lost to her; but when Catharine's 
 shriek pierced through the room, the boy strove to raise 
 himself. 
 
 " Friend, she is come ! Open unto her ! " cried he. 
 
 In a moment, his mother was kneeling by the bedside ; 
 she drew Ilbrahim to her bosom, and he nestled there, 
 with no violence of joy, but contentedly, as if he were 
 hushing himself to sleep. He looked into her face, and 
 reading its agony, said, with feeble earnestness, " Mourn 
 not, dearest mother. I am happy now." And with these 
 words, the gentle boy was dead. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The king's mandate to stay the New England perse- 
 cutors was effectual in preventing further martyrdoms ; 
 but the colonial authorities, trusting in the remoteness of 
 their situation, and perhaps in the supposed instability of 
 the royal government, shortly renewed their severities in 
 all other respects. Catharine's fanaticism had become 
 wilder by the sundering of all human ties ; and wherever 
 a scourge was lifted, there was she to receive the blow ; 
 and whenever a dungeon was unbarred, thither she came, 
 to cast herself upon the floor. But in process of time, a 
 more Christian spirit a spirit of forbearance, though
 
 THE GENTLE BOY. 115 
 
 not of cordiality or approbation began to pervade the 
 land in regard to the persecuted sect. And then, when 
 the rigid old Pilgrims eyed her rather in pity than in 
 wrath ; when the matrons fed her with the fragments of 
 their children's food, and offered her a lodging on a hard 
 and lowly bed ; when no little crowd of school-boys left 
 their sports to cast stones after the roving enthusiast, 
 then did Catharine return to Pearson's dwelling, and made 
 that her home. 
 
 As if Ilbrahim's sweetness yet lingered round his 
 ashes, as if his gentle spirit came down from heaven 
 to teach his parent a true religion, her fierce and vin- 
 dictive nature was softened by the same griefs which had 
 once irritated it. When the course of years had made 
 the features of the unobtrusive mourner familiar in the 
 settlement, she became a subject of not deep, but general 
 interest; a being on whom the otherwise superfluous 
 sympathies of all might be bestowed. Every one spoke 
 of her with that degree of pity which it is pleasant to 
 experience; every one was ready to do her the little 
 kindnesses, which are not costly, yet manifest good-will ; 
 and when at last she died, a long train of her once bitter 
 persecutors followed her, with decent sadness and tears 
 that were not painful, to her place by Ilbrahim's green 
 and sunken grave.
 
 MB. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 
 
 YOUNG fellow, a tobacco-pedler by trade, was- 
 on his way from Morristown, where he had 
 dealt largely with the Deacon of the Shaker 
 settlement, to the village of Parker's Falls, on Salmon 
 River. He had a neat little cart, painted green, with a 
 box of cigars depicted on each side panel, and an Indian 
 chief, holding a pipe and a golden tobacco -stalk, on the 
 rear. The pedler drove a smart little mare, and was a 
 young man of excellent character, keen at a bargain, but 
 none the worse liked by the Yankees ; who, as I have 
 heard them say, would rather be shaved with a sharp 
 razor than a dull one. Especially was he beloved by the 
 pretty girls along the Connecticut, whose favor he used 
 to court by presents of the best smoking tobacco in his 
 stock ; knowing well that the country lasses of New Eng- 
 land are generally great performers on pipes. Moreover, 
 as will be seen in the course of my story, the pedler was 
 inquisitive, and something of a tattler, always itching to 
 hear the news, and anxious to tell it again. 
 
 After an early breakfast at Morristown, the tobacco- 
 pedler, whose name was Dominicus Pike, had travelled 
 seven miles through a solitary piece of woods, without 
 speaking a word to anybody but himself and his little 
 gray mare. It being nearly seven o'clock, he was as
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 117 
 
 eager to hold a morning gossip as a city shopkeeper to 
 read the morning paper. An opportunity seemed at 
 hand, when, after lighting a cigar with a sunglass, he 
 looked up, and perceived a man coming over the brow 
 of the hill, at the foot of which the pedler had stopped 
 his green cart. Dominicus watched him as he descended, 
 and noticed that he carried a bundle over his shoulder on 
 the end of a stick, and travelled with a weary, yet deter- 
 mined pace. He did not look as if he had started in the 
 freshness of the morning, but had footed it all night, and 
 meant to do the same all day. 
 
 " Good morning, mister," said Dominicus, when within 
 speaking distance. " You go a pretty good jog. What 's 
 the latest news at Parker's Falls ? " 
 
 The man pulled the broad brim of a gray hat over his 
 eyes, and answered, rather sullenly, that he did not come 
 from Parker's Falls, which, as being the limit of his own 
 day's journey, the pedler had naturally mentioned in his 
 inquiry. 
 
 "Well,, then," rejoined Dominicus Pike, "let's have 
 the latest news where you did come from. I 'm not 
 particular about Parker's Falls. Any place will an- 
 swer." 
 
 Being thus importuned, the traveller who was as ill 
 looking a fellow as one would desire to meet, in a solitary 
 piece of woods appeared to hesitate a little, as if he 
 was either searching his memory for news, or weighing 
 the expediency of telling it. At last mounting on the 
 step of the cart, he whispered in the ear of Dominicus, 
 though he might have shouted aloud and no other mortal 
 would have heard him. 
 
 " I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. 
 "Old Mr. Higginbotham, of Kimballton, was murdered 
 hi his orchard, at eight o'clock last night, by an Irishman
 
 118 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 and a nigger. They strung him up to the branch of a St. 
 Michael's pear-tree, where nobody would find him till the 
 morning." 
 
 As soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated, 
 the stranger betook himself to his journey again, with 
 more speed than ever, not even turning his head when 
 Dominicus invited him to smoke a Spanish cigar and 
 relate all the particulars. The pedler whistled to his 
 mare and went up the hill, pondering on the doleful fate 
 of Mr. Higgiubotham, whom he had known in the way 
 of trade, having sold him many a bunch of long nines, 
 and a great deal of pigtail, lady's twist, and fig tobacco. 
 He was rather astonished at the rapidity with which the 
 news had spread. Kimballton was nearly sixty miles 
 distant in a straight line; the murder had been perpe- 
 trated only at eight o'clock the preceding night; yet 
 Dominicus had heard of it at seven in the morning, 
 when, in all probability, poor Mr. Higginbotham's own 
 family had but just discovered his corpse, hanging 
 on the St. Michael's pear-tree. The stranger on foot 
 must have worn seven-league boots, to travel at such a 
 rate. 
 
 "Ill news flies fast, they say," thought Dominicus 
 Pike; "but this beats railroads. The fellow ought to 
 be hired to go express with the President's Message." 
 
 The difficulty was solved, by supposing that the nar- 
 rator had made a mistake of one day, in the date of the 
 occurrence ; so that our friend did not hesitate to intro- 
 duce the story at every tavern and country store along 
 the road, expending a whole bunch of Spanish wrappers 
 among at least twenty horrified audiences. He found 
 himself invariably the first bearer of the intelligence, and 
 was so pestered with questions that he could not avoid 
 filling up the outline, till it became quite a respectable
 
 ME. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 119 
 
 narrative. He met with one piece of corroborative evi- 
 dence. Mr. Higginbotham was a trader ; and a former 
 clerk of his, to whom Dominions related the facts, testi- 
 fied that the old gentleman was accustomed to return 
 home through the orchard, about nightfall, with the 
 money and valuable papers of the store in his pocket. 
 The clerk manifested but little grief at Mr. Higgin- 
 botham's catastrophe, hinting, what the pedler had dis- 
 covered in his own dealings with him, that he was a 
 crusty old fellow, as close as a vice. His property would 
 descend to a pretty niece who was now keeping school 
 in Kimballton. 
 
 What with telling the news for the public good, and 
 driving bargains for his own, Dominicus was so much 
 delayed on the road, that he chose to put up at a tavern, 
 about five miles short of Parker's Falls. After supper, 
 lighting one of his prime cigars, he seated himself in the 
 bar-room, and went through the story of the murder, 
 which had grown so fast that it took him half an hour to 
 tell. There were as many as twenty people in the room, 
 nineteen of whom received it all for gospel. But the 
 twentieth was an elderly farmer, who had arrived on 
 horseback a short time before, and was now seated in a 
 corner, smoking his pipe. When the story was conclud- 
 ed, he rose up very deliberately, brought his chair right 
 in front of Dominicus, and stared him full in the face, 
 puffing out the vilest tobacco-smoke the pedler had ever 
 smelt. 
 
 " Will you make affidavit," demanded he in the tone 
 of a country justice taking an examination, "that old 
 Squire Higginbotham of Kimballton was murdered in his 
 orchard the night before last, and found hanging on his 
 great pear-tree yesterday morning ? " 
 
 " I tell the story as I heard it, mister," answered Do-
 
 120 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 minicus, dropping his half-burnt cigar ; " I don't say that 
 I saw the thing done. So I can't take my oath that he 
 was murdered exactly in that way." 
 
 "But I can take mine," said the farmer, "that if 
 Squire Higginbotham was murdered night before last, 
 I drank a glass of bitters with his ghost this morning. 
 Being a neighbor of mine, he called me into his store, as 
 I was riding by, and treated me, and then asked me to 
 do a little business for him on the road. He did n't 
 seem to know any more about his own murder than I 
 did." 
 
 "Why, then it can't be a fact ! " exclaimed Dominicus 
 Pike. 
 
 " I guess he' d have mentioned it, if it was," said the 
 old farmer ; and he removed his chair back to the corner,, 
 leaving Dominicus quite down in the mouth. 
 
 Here was a sad resurrection of old Mr. Higginbotham ! 
 The pedler had no heart to mingle in the conversation 
 any more, but comforted himself with a glass of gin-and- 
 water, and went to bed, where, all night long, he dreamed 
 of hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree. To avoid the 
 old farmer (whom he so detested that his suspension 
 would have pleased him better than Mr. Higginbotham's), 
 Dominicus rose in the gray of the morning, put the little 
 mare into the green cart, and trotted swiftly away towards 
 Parker's Falls. The fresh breeze, the dewy road, and the 
 pleasant summer dawn revived his spirits, and might have 
 encouraged him to repeat the old story, had there been 
 anybody awake to hear it. But he met neither ox team, 
 light wagon, chaise, horseman, nor foot traveller, till, just 
 as he crossed Salmon River, a man came trudging down 
 to the bridge with a bundle over his shoulder, on the end 
 of a stick. 
 
 " Good morning, mister," said the pedler, reining in
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 121 
 
 his mare. " If you come from Kimballtoii or that neigh- 
 borhood, may be you can tell me the real fact about this 
 affair of old Mr. Higginbotham. Was the old fellow 
 actually murdered two or three nights ago, by ail Irish.- 
 rnan and a nigger ? " 
 
 Dominions had spoken in too great a hurry to observe, 
 at first, that the stranger himself had a deep tinge of 
 uegro blood. On hearing this sudden question, the 
 Ethiopian appeared to change his skin, its yellow hue 
 becoming a ghastly white, while, shaking and stammer- 
 ing, he thus replied : 
 
 " No ! no ! There was no colored man ! It was an 
 Irishman that hanged him last night, at eight o'clock. I 
 came away at seven! His folks can't have looked for 
 him in the orchard yet." 
 
 Scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he inter- 
 rupted himself, and though he seemed weary enough 
 before, continued his journey at a pace which would have 
 kept the pedler's mare on a smart trot. Dominicus stared 
 after him in great perplexity. If the murder had not 
 been committed till Tuesday night, who was the prophet 
 that had foretold it, in all its circumstances, on Tuesday 
 morning ? If Mr. Higginbotham' s corpse were not yet 
 discovered by his own family, how came the mulatto, at 
 above thirty miles' distance, to know that he was hanging 
 in the orchard, especially as he had left Kimballton before 
 the unfortunate man was hanged at all ? These ambigu- 
 ous circumstances, with the stranger's surprise and terror, 
 made Dominicus think of raising a hue and cry after him, 
 as an accomplice in the murder ; since a murder, it seemed, 
 had really been perpetrated. 
 
 " But let the poor devil go," thought the pedler. " I 
 don't want his black blood on my head ; and hanging the 
 nigger would n't unhang Mr. Higginbotham. Unhang
 
 122 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the old gentleman ! It's a sin, I know ; but I should 
 hate to have him come to life a second time, and give me 
 the lie ! " 
 
 With these meditations, Dominions Pike drove into the 
 street of Parker's Falls, which, as everybody knows, is as 
 thriving a village as three cotton-factories and a slitting- 
 mill can make it. The machinery was not in motion, 
 and but a few of the shop-doors unbarred, when he 
 alighted in the stable-yard of the tavern, and made it his 
 first business to order the mare four quarts of oats. His 
 second duty, of course, was to impart Mr. Higginboth- 
 am's catastrophe to the ostler. He deemed it advisable, 
 however, not to be too positive as to the date of the dire- 
 ful fact, and also to be uncertain whether it were perpe- 
 trated by an Irishman and a mulatto, or by the son of 
 Erin alone. Neither did he profess to relate it on his 
 own authority, or that of any one person ; but mentioned 
 it as a report generally diffused. 
 
 The story ran through the town like fire among 
 girdled trees, and became so much the universal talk, 
 that nobody could tell whence it had originated. Mr. 
 Higginbothan was as well known at Parker's Palls 
 as any citizen of the place, being part owner of the 
 slitting-mill, and a considerable stockholder in the cot- 
 ton-factories. The inhabitants felt their own prosperity 
 interested in his fate. Such was the excitement, that 
 the Parker's Falls Gazette anticipated its regular day 
 of publication, and came out with half a form of blank 
 paper and a column of double pica emphasized with 
 capitals, and headed HORRID MURDER OF MR. 
 HIGGINBOTHAM ! Among other dreadful details, 
 the printed account described the mark of the cord round 
 the dead man's neck, and stated the number of thousand 
 dollars of which he had been robbed ; there was much
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 123 
 
 pathos also about the affliction of his niece, who had gone 
 from one fainting fit to another, ever since her uncle was 
 found hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree with his 
 pockets inside out. The village poet likewise commem- 
 orated the young lady's grief in seventeen stanzas of a 
 ballad. The selectmen held a meeting, and, in consider- 
 ation of Mr. Higginbotham's claims on the town, deter- 
 mined to issue handbills, offering a reward of five hun- 
 dred dollars for the apprehension of his murderers, and 
 the recovery of the stolen property. 
 
 Meanwhile, the whole population of Parker's Falls, 
 consisting of shopkeepers, mistresses of boarding-houses, 
 factory-girls, mill-men, and school-boys, rushed into the 
 street and kept up such a terrible loquacity, as more 
 than compensated for the silence of the cotton-machines, 
 which refrained from their usual din, out of respect to the 
 deceased. Had Mr. Higginbotham cared about posthu- 
 mous renown, his untimely ghost would have exulted in 
 this tumult. Our friend Dominicus, in his vanity of 
 heart, forgot his intended precautions, and mounting on 
 the town-pump, announced himself as the bearer of the 
 authentic intelligence which had caused so wonderful a 
 sensation. He immediately became the great man of the 
 moment, and had just begun a new edition of the narra- 
 tive, with a voice like a field preacher, when the mail- 
 stage drove into the village street. It had travelled all 
 night, and must have shifted horses at Kimballton at 
 three in the morning. v 
 
 " Now we shall hear all the particulars," shouted the 
 crowd. 
 
 The coach rumbled up to the piazza of the tavern, 
 followed by a thousand people ; for if any man had been 
 minding his own business till then, he now left it at sixes 
 and sevens, to hear the news. The pedler, foremost in
 
 124 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the race, discovered two passengers, both of whom had 
 been startled from a comfortable nap to find themselves 
 in the centre of a mob. Every man assailing them with 
 separate questions, all propounded at once, the couple 
 were struck speechless, though one was a lawyer and the 
 other a young lady. 
 
 "Mr. Higginbotham ! Mr. Higginbotham ! Tell us 
 the particulars about old Mr. Higginbotham ! " bawled 
 the mob. " What is the coroner's verdict ? Are the 
 murderers apprehended ? Is Mr. Higginbotham's niece 
 come out of her fainting fits ? Mr. Higgiubotham ! Mr. 
 Higginbotham ! ! " 
 
 The coachman said not a word, except to swear awfully 
 at the ostler for not bringing him a fresh team of horses. 
 The lawyer inside had generally his wits about him, even 
 when asleep; the first thing he did, after learning the 
 cause of the excitement, was to produce a large red 
 pocket-book. Meantime, Dominicus Pike, being an ex- 
 tremely polite young man, and also suspecting that a 
 female tongue would tell the story as glibly as a lawyer's, 
 had handed the lady out of the coach. She was a fine, 
 smart girl, now wide awake and bright as a button, and 
 had such a sweet pretty mouth, that Dominicus would 
 almost as lief have heard a love-tale, from it as a tale of 
 murder. 
 
 " Gentleman and ladies," said the lawyer, to the shop- 
 keepers, the mill-men, and the factory -girls, " I can assure 
 you that some unaccountable mistake, or, more probably, 
 a wilful falsehood, maliciously contrived to injure Mr. 
 Higginbotham's credit, has excited this singular uproar. 
 We passed through Kimballton at three o'clock this 
 morning, and most certainly should have been informed 
 of the murder had any been perpetrated. But I have 
 proof nearly as strong as Mr. Higginbotham's own oral
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 125 
 
 testimony in tlte negative. Here is a note, relating to a 
 suit of his in the Connecticut courts, which was delivered 
 me from that gentleman himself. I find it dated at ten 
 o'clock last evening." 
 
 So saying, the lawyer exhibited the date and signature 
 of the note, which irrefragably proved, either that this 
 perverse Mr. Higginbotham was alive when he wrote it, 
 or as some deemed the more probable case of two 
 doubtful ones that he was so absorbed in worldly 
 business as to continue to transact it, even after his death. 
 But unexpected evidence was forthcoming. The young 
 lady, after listening to the pedler's explanation, merely 
 seized a moment to smooth her gown and put her curls 
 in order, and then appeared at the tavern-door, making 
 a modest signal to be heard. 
 
 " Good people," said she, " I am Mr. Higginbotham' s 
 niece." 
 
 A wondering murmur passed through the crowd, on 
 beholding her so rosy and bright ; that same unhappy 
 niece, whom they had supposed, on the authority of the 
 Parker's Falls Gazette, to be lying at death's door in 
 a fainting fit. But some shrewd fellows had doubted, 
 all along, whether a young lady would be quite so des- 
 perate at the hanging of a rich old uncle. 
 
 "You see," continued Miss Higginbotham, with a 
 smile, " that this strange story is quite unfounded, as to 
 myself ; and 1 believe I may affirm it to be equally so, 
 in regard to my dear uncle Higginbotham. He has the 
 kindness to give me a home in his house, though I con- 
 tribute to my own support by teaching a school. I left 
 Kimballton this morning to spend the vacation of com- 
 mencement week with a friend, about five miles from 
 Parker's Falls. My generous uncle, when he heard mo 
 on the stairs, called me to his bedside, and gave me two
 
 126 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 dollars and fifty cents, to pay my stage fare, and another 
 dollar for my extra expenses. He then laid his pocket- 
 book under his pillow, shook hands with me, and advised 
 me to take some biscuit in my bag, instead of breakfast- 
 ing on the road. I fee^ confident, therefore, that I left 
 my beloved relative alive, and trust that I shall find him 
 so on my return." 
 
 The young lady courtesied at the close of her speech, 
 which was so sensible and well worded, and delivered 
 with such grace and propriety, that everybody thought 
 her fit to be preceptress of the best academy in the 
 State. But a stranger would have supposed that Mr. 
 Higginbotham was an object of abhorrence at Parker's 
 Falls, and that a thanksgiving had been proclaimed for 
 his murder, so excessive was the wrath of the inhabitants, 
 on learning their mistake. The mill-men resolved to be- 
 stow public honors on Dominicus Pike, only hesitating 
 whether to tar and feather him, ride him on a rail, or re- 
 fresh him with an ablution at the town-pump, on the top 
 of which he had declared himself the bearer of the news. 
 The selectmen, by advice of the lawyer, spoke of prose- 
 cuting him for a misdemeanor, in circulating unfounded 
 reports, to the great disturbance of the peace of the 
 Commonwealth. Nothing saved Dominicus, either from 
 mob law or a court of justice, but an eloquent appeal 
 made by the young lady in his behalf. Addressing a few 
 words of heartfelt gratitude to his benefactress, he 
 mounted the green cart and rode out of town, under a 
 discharge of artillery from the school-boys, who found 
 plenty of ammunition in the neighboring clay-pits and 
 mud-holes. As he turned his head, to exchange a fare- 
 well glance with Mr. Higginbotham's niece, a ball, of the 
 consistence of hasty-pudding, hit him slap in the mouth, 
 giving him a most grim aspect. His whole person was
 
 Mil. IllGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 127 
 
 so bespattered with the like filthy missiles, that he had 
 almost a mind to ride back, and supplicate for the threat- 
 ened ablution at the town pump ; for, though not meant 
 in kindness, it would now have been a deed of charity. 
 
 However, the sun shone bright on poor Dominicus, 
 and the mud, an emblem of all stains of undeserved oppro- 
 brium, was easily brushed off when dry. Being a funny 
 rogue, his heart soon cheered up ; nor could he refrain 
 from a hearty laugh at the uproar which his story had 
 excited. The handbills of the selectmen would cause the 
 commitment of all the vagabonds in the State ; the para- 
 graph in the Parker's Falls Gazette would be reprinted 
 from Maine to Florida, and perhaps form an item in the 
 London newspapers ; and many a miser would tremble 
 for his money-bags and life, on learning the catastrophe 
 of Mr. Higginbotham. The pedler meditated with much 
 fervor on the charms of the young schoolmistress, and 
 swore that Daniel Webster never spoke nor looked so 
 like an angel as Miss Higginbotham, while defending him 
 from the wrathful populace at Parker's Falls. 
 
 Dominicus was now on the Kimballton turnpike, hav- 
 ing all along determined to visit that place, though busi- 
 ness had drawn him out of the most direct road from 
 Morristown. As he approached the scene of the supposed 
 murder, he continued to revolve the circumstances in his 
 mind, and was astonished at the aspect which the whole 
 case assumed. Had nothing occurred to corroborate 
 the story of the first traveller, it might now have been 
 considered as a hoax ; but the yellow man was evidently 
 acquainted either with the report or the fact ; and there 
 was a mystery in his dismayed and guilty look on being 
 abruptly questioned. When, to tin's singular combination 
 of incidents, it was added that the rumor tallied exactly 
 with Mr. Higgiubotham's character and habits of life ; and
 
 128 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 that he had an orchard, and a St. Michael's pear-tree, 
 near which he always passed at nightfall ; the circumstan- 
 tial evidence appeared so strong that Dominicus doubted 
 whether the autograph produced by the lawyer, or even 
 the niece's direct testimony, ought to be equivalent. Mak- 
 ing cautious inquiries along the road, the pedler further 
 learned that Mr. Higgiubotham had in his service an 
 Irishman of doubtful character, whom he had hired with- 
 out a recommendation, on the score of economy. 
 
 " May I be hanged myself," exclaimed Dominicus 
 Pike aloud, on reaching the top of a lonely hill, " if 
 I '11 believe old Higginbotham is unhanged, till I see him 
 with my own eyes, and hear it from his own mouth ! 
 And as he 's a real shaver, I '11 have the minister or some 
 other responsible man, for an indorser." 
 
 It was growing dusk when he reached the toll-house 
 on Kiinballton turnpike, about a quarter of a mile from 
 the village of this name. His little mare was fast bring- 
 ing him up with a man on horseback, who trotted through 
 the gate a few rods in advance of him, nodded to the toll- 
 gatherer, and kept on towards the village. Dominicus 
 was acquainted with the tollman, and while making 
 change, the usual remarks on the weather passed between 
 them. 
 
 " I suppose," said the pedler, throwing back his whip- 
 lash, to bring it down like a feather on the mare's flank, 
 " you have not seen anything of old Mr. Higgiubotham 
 within a day or two ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the toll-gatherer. " He passed the 
 gate just before you drove up, and yonder he rides now, 
 if you can see him through the dusk. He 's been to 
 Woodfield this afternoon, attending a sheriff's sale there. 
 The old man generally shakes hands and has a little chat 
 with me ; but to-night he nodded, as if to say, ' Charge
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTBOPHE. 129 
 
 my toll,' and jogged on ; for wherever he goes, he 
 must always be at home by eight o'clock." 
 
 " So they tell me," said Dominicus. 
 
 " I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the 
 squire does," continued the toll-gatherer. " Says I to 
 myself, to-night, He's more like a ghost or an old 
 mummy than good flesh and blood." 
 
 The pedler strained his eyes through the twilight, and 
 could just discern the horseman now far ahead on the vil- 
 lage road. He seemed to recognize the rear of Mr. Hig- 
 ginbotham ; but through the evening shadows, and amid 
 the dust from the horse's feet, the figure appeared dim 
 and unsubstantial ; as if the shape of the mysterious old 
 man were faintly moulded of darkness and gray light. 
 Dominicus shivered. 
 
 "Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the other 
 world, by way of the Kimballton turnpike," thought 
 he. 
 
 He shook the reins and rode forward, keeping about 
 the same distance in the rear of the gray old shadow, 
 till the latter was concealed by a bend of the road. On 
 reaching this point, the pedler no longer saw the man 
 on horseback, but found himself at the head of the vil- 
 lage street, not far from a number of stores and two 
 taverns, clustered round the meeting-house steeple. On 
 his left were a stone wall and a gate, the boundary of a 
 wood-lot, beyond which lay an orchard, farther still a 
 mowing field, and last of all a house. These were the 
 premises of Mr. Higginbotham, whose dwelling stood 
 beside the old highway, but had been left in the back- 
 ground by the Kimballton turnpike. Dominicus knew 
 the place ; and the little mare stopped short by instinct ; 
 for he was not conscious of tightening the reins. 
 
 " For the soul of me, I cannot get by this gate ! " said 
 6* i
 
 130 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 he, trembling. " I never shall be my own man again, 
 till I see whether Mr. Higginbotham is hanging on the 
 St. Michael's pear-tree ! " 
 
 He leaped from the cart, gave the rein a turn round 
 the gate-post, and ran along the green path of the wood- 
 lot, as if Old Nick were chasing behind. Just then the 
 village clock tolled eight, and as each deep stroke fell, 
 Dominicus gave a fresh bound and flew faster than be- 
 fore, till, dim in the solitary centre of the orchard, he 
 saw the fated pear-tree. One great branch stretched 
 from the old contorted trunk across the path, and threw 
 the darkest shadow on that one spot. But something 
 seemed to struggle beneath the branch ! 
 
 The pedler had never pretended to more courage than 
 befits a man of peaceable occupation, nor could he ac- 
 count for his valor on this awful emergency. Certain 
 it is, however, that he rushed forward, prostrated a 
 sturdy Irishman with the but-end of his whip, and found 
 not indeed hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree, 
 but trembling beneath it, with a halter round his neck 
 the old, identical Mr. Higginbotham ! 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham," said Dominicus, tremulously, 
 " you 're an honest man, and I '11 take your word for 
 it. Have you been hanged, or not?" 
 
 If the riddle be not already guessed, a few words will 
 explain the simple machinery by which this "coining 
 event " was made to " cast its shadow before." Three 
 men had plotted the robbery and murder of Mr. Higgin- 
 botham ; two of them, successively, lost courage and fled, 
 each delaying the crime one night, by their disappear- 
 ance ; the third was in the act of perpetration, when a 
 champion, blindly obeying the call of fate, like the heroes 
 of old romance, appeared in the person of Dominicus 
 Pike.
 
 MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE. 131 
 
 It only remains to say, that Mr. Higginbotham took 
 the pedler into high favor, sanctioned his addresses to 
 the pretty schoolmistress, and settled his whole property 
 on their children, allowing themselves the interest. In. 
 due time, the old gentleman capped the climax of his 
 favors by dying a Christian death, in bed, since which 
 melancholy event Doiniuicus Pike has removed from 
 Kimballton, and established a krge tobacco manufactory 
 in my native village. *
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE. 
 
 JJING-DONG ! Ding-dong ! Ding-dong ! 
 
 The town crier has rung his bell, at a distant 
 corner, and little Annie stands on her father's 
 ioorsteps, trying to hear what the man with the lond 
 voice is talking about. Let me listen too. O, he is 
 telling the people that an elephant, and a lion, and a 
 royal tiger, and a horse with horns, and other strange 
 beasts from foreign countries, have come to town, and 
 will receive all visitors who choose to wait upon them ! 
 Perhaps little Annie would like to go. Yes ; and I can 
 see that the pretty child is weary of this wide and pleas- 
 ant street, with the green trees flinging their shade across 
 the quiet sunshine, and the pavements and the sidewalks 
 all as clean as if the housemaid had just swept them with 
 her broom. She feels that impulse to go strolling away 
 that longing after the mystery of the great world 
 which many children feel, and which I felt in my child- 
 hood. Little Annie shall take a ramble with me. See ! 
 I do but hold out my hand, and, like some bright bird 
 in the sunny air, with her blue silk frock fluttering up- 
 wards from her white pantalets, she comes bounding on 
 tiptoe across the street. 
 
 Smooth back your brown curls, Annie; and let me 
 tie on your bonnet, and we will set forth ! What a
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE. 133 
 
 strange couple to go on their rambles together! One 
 walks in black attire, with a measured step, and a heavy 
 brow, and his thoughtful eyes bent down, while the gay 
 little girl trips lightly along, as if she were forced to 
 keep hold of my hand, lest her feet should dance away 
 from the earth. Yet there is sympathy between us. If 
 I pride myself on anything, it is because I have a smile 
 that children love; and, on the other hand, tkere are 
 few grown ladies that could entice me from the side of 
 little Annie; for I delight to let my mind go hand in 
 hand with the mind of a sinless child. So, come, Annie ; 
 but if I moralize as we go, do not listen to me; only 
 look about you, and be merry ! 
 
 Now we turn the corner. Here are hacks with two 
 horses, and stage-coaches with four, thundering to meet 
 each other, and trucks and carts moving at a slower 
 pace, being heavily laden with barrels from the wharves, 
 and here are rattling gigs, which perhaps will be 
 smashed to pieces before our eyes. Hitherward, also, 
 comes a man trundling a wheelbarrow along the pave- 
 ment. Is not 'little Annie afraid of such a tumult ? 
 No ; she does not even shrink closer to my side, but 
 passes on with fearless confidence, a happy child amidst 
 a great throng of grown people, who pay the same rev- 
 erence to her infancy that they would to extreme old 
 age. Nobody jostles her; all turn aside to make way 
 for little Annie ; and, what is most singular, she appears 
 conscious of her claim to such respect. Now her eyes 
 brighten with pleasure ! A street-musician has seated 
 himself on the steps of yonder church, and pours forth 
 his strains to the busy town, a melody that has gone 
 astray among the tramp of footsteps, the buzz of voices, 
 and the war of passing wheels. Who heeds the poor 
 organ-grinder ? None but myself aud little Annie, whose
 
 134 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 feet begin to move in unison with the lively tune, as 
 if she were loath that music should be wasted without a 
 dance. But where would Annie find a partner ? Some 
 have the gout in their toes, or the rheumatism in their 
 joints ; some are stiff with age ; some feeble with dis- 
 ease ; some are so lean that their bones would rattle, 
 and others of such ponderous size that their agility 
 would crack the flagstones ; but many, many have leaden 
 feet, because their hearts are far heavier than lead. 
 It is a sad thought that I have chanced upon. What a 
 company of dancers should we be ! For I, too, am a 
 gentleman of sober footsteps, and therefore, little Annie, 
 let us walk sedately on. 
 
 It is a question with me, whether this giddy child, 
 or my sage self, have most pleasure in looking at the 
 shop-windows. We love the silks of sunny hue, that 
 glow within the darkened premises of the spruce dry- 
 goods' men ; we are pleasantly dazzled by the burnished 
 silver, and the chased gold, the rings of wedlock and 
 the costly love-ornaments, glistening at the window of 
 the jeweller; but Annie, more than I, seeks for a 
 glimpse of her passing figure in the dusty looking- 
 glasses at the hardware stores. All that is bright and 
 gay attracts us both. 
 
 Here is a shop to which the recollections of my boy- 
 hood, as well as present partialities, give a peculiar 
 magic. How delightful to let the fancy revel on the 
 dainties of a confectioner ; those pies, with such white 
 and flaky paste, their contents being a mystery, whether 
 rich mince, with whole plums intermixed, or piquant 
 apple, delicately rose-flavored ; those cakes, heart-shaped 
 or round, piled in a lofty pyramid ; those sweet little 
 circlets, sweetly named kisses ; those dark, majestic 
 masses, fit to be bridal-loaves at the wedding of an.
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S EAMBLE. 13& 
 
 heiress, mountains in size, their summits deeply snow- 
 covered with sugar ! Then the mighty treasures of 
 sugar-plums, white and crimson and yellow, in large 
 glass vases ; and candy of all varieties ; and those little 
 cockles, or whatever they are called, much prized by 
 children for their sweetness, and more for the mottoes 
 which they enclose, by love-sick maids and bachelors! 
 O, my mouth waters, little Annie, and so doth yours ; 
 but we will not be tempted, except to an imaginary 
 feast ; so let us hasten onward, devouring the vision of 
 a plum-cake. 
 
 Here are pleasures, as some people would say, of a 
 more exalted kind, in the window of a bookseller. Is 
 Annie a literary lady ? Yes ; she is deeply read in 
 Peter Parley's tomes, and has an increasing love for 
 fairy-tales, though seldom met with nowadays, and she 
 will subscribe, next year, to the Juvenile Miscellany. 
 But, truth to tell, she is apt to turn away from the 
 printed page, and keep gazing at the pretty pictures, 
 such as the gay-colored ones which make this shop- 
 window the continual loitering-place of children. What 
 would Annie think, if, in the book which I mean to send 
 her, on New Year's day, she should find her sweet lit- 
 tle self, bound up in silk or morocco with gilt edges, 
 there to remain till she become a woman grown with 
 children of her own to read about their mother's child- 
 hood ! That would be very queer. 
 
 Little Annie is weary of pictures, and pulls me onward 
 by the hand, till suddenly we pause at the most wondrous 
 shop in all the town. O, my stars ! Is this a toy -shop,, 
 or is it fairy-land ? For here are gilded chariots, in 
 which the king and queen of the fairies might ride side 
 by side, while their courtiers, on these small horses, 
 should gallop in triumphal procession before and behind
 
 136 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the royal pair. Here, too, are dishes of china-ware, fit 
 to be the dining set of those same princely personages, 
 when they make a regal banquet in the stateliest hall 
 of their palace, full five feet high, and behold their 
 nobles feasting adown the long perspective of the table. 
 Betwixt the king and queen should sit my little Annie, 
 the prettiest fairy of them all. Here stands a turbaned 
 Turk, threatening us with his sabre, like an ugly hea- 
 then as he is. And next a Chinese mandarin, who nods 
 his head at Annie and myself. Here we may review a 
 whole army of horse and foot, in red and blue uniforms, 
 with drums, fifes, trumpets, and all kinds of noiseless 
 music; they have halted on the shelf of this window, 
 after their weary march from Liliput. But what cares 
 Annie for soldiers? No conquering queen is she, nei- 
 ther a Semiramis nor a Catharine, her whole heart is 
 set upon that doll, who gazes at us with such a fash- 
 ionable stare. This is the little girl's true plaything. 
 Though made of wood, a doll is a visionary and ethereal 
 personage, endowed by childish fancy with a peculiar 
 life; the mimic lady is a heroine of romance, an actor 
 and a sufferer in a thousand shadowy scenes, the chief 
 inhabitant of that wild world with which children ape 
 the real one. Little Annie does not understand what 
 I am saying, but looks wishfully at the proud lady in 
 the window. We will invite her home with us as we 
 return. Meantime, good by, Dame Doll ! A toy your- 
 self, you look forth from your window upon many 
 ladies that are also toys, though they walk and speak, 
 and upon a crowd in pursuit of toys, though they wear 
 grave visages. O, with your never-closing eyes, had you 
 but an intellect to moralize on all that flits before them, 
 what a wise doll would you be ! Come, little Annie, we 
 shall find toys enough, go where we may.
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE. 137 
 
 Now we elbow our way among the throng again. It , 
 is curious, in the most crowded part of a town, to meet 
 with living creatures that had their birthplace in some 
 far solitude, but have acquired a second nature in the 
 wilderness of men. Look up, Annie, at that canary-bird, 
 hanging out of the window in his cage. Poor little fel- 
 low ! His golden feathers are all tarnished in this smoky 
 sunshine ; he would have glistened, twice as brightly 
 among the summer islands ; but still he has become a 
 citizen in all his tastes and habits, and would not sing 
 half so well without the uproar that drowns his music. 
 What a pity that he does not know how miserable he is ! 
 There is a parrot, too, calling out, " Pretty Poll ! Pretty 
 Poll ! " as we pass by. Foolish bird, to be talking about 
 her prettiness to strangers, especially as she is not a 
 pretty Poll, though gaudily dressed in green and yellow. 
 If she had said, " Pretty Annie," there would have been 
 some sense in it. See that gray squirrel at the door 
 of the fruit-shop, whirling round and round so merrily 
 within his wire wheel ! Being condemned to the tread- 
 mill, he makes it an amusement. Admirable philosophy ! 
 
 Here comes a big, rough dog, a countryman's dog in 
 search of his master; smelling at everybody's heels, and 
 touching little Annie's hand with his cold nose, but hur- 
 rying away, though slie would fain have patted him. 
 Success to your search, Fidelity ! And there sits a great 
 yellow cat upon a window-sill, a very corpulent and 
 comfortable cat, gazing at this transitory world, with 
 owl's eyes, and making pithy comments, doubtless, or 
 what appear such, to the silly beast. sage puss, 
 make room for me beside you, and we will be a pair of * 
 philosophers ! 
 
 Here we see something to remind us of the town crier, 
 and his ding-dong bell ! Look ! look at that great cloth
 
 138 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 spread out in the air, pictured all over with wild beasts, 
 as if they had met together to choose a king, according 
 to their custom in the days of Jilsop. But they, are 
 choosing neither a king nor a president ; else we should 
 hear a most horrible snarling! They have come from 
 the deep woods, and the wild mountains, and the desert 
 sands, and the polar snows, only to do homage to my 
 little Annie. As we enter among them, the great ele- 
 phant makes us a bow, in the best style of elephantine 
 courtesy, bending lowly down his mountain bulk, with 
 trunk abased, and leg thrust out behind. Annie returns 
 the salute, much to the gratification of the elephant, who 
 is certainly the best-bred monster in the caravan. The 
 lion and the lioness are busy with two beef-bones. The 
 royal tiger, the beautiful, the untamable, keeps pacing 
 his narrow cage with a haughty step, unmindful of the 
 spectators, or recalling the fierce deeds of his former life, 
 when he was wont to leap forth upon such inferior 
 animals, from the jungles of Bengal. 
 
 Here we see the very same wolf, do not go near 
 him, Annie ! the self-same wolf that devoured little 
 Red Riding Hood and her grandmother. In the next 
 cage, a hyena from Egypt, who has doubtless howled 
 around the pyramids, and a black bear from our own 
 forests are fellow-prisoners, and most excellent friends. 
 Are there any two living creatures who have so few 
 sympathies that they cannot possibly be friends ? Here 
 sits a great white bear, whom common observers would 
 call a very stupid beast, though I perceive him to be 
 only absorbed in contemplation; he is thinking of his 
 voyages on an iceberg, and of his comfortable home in 
 the vicinity of the north pole, and of the little cubs whom 
 he left rolling in the eternal snows. In fact, he is a bear 
 of sentiment. But, O, those unsentimental monkeys J
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE. 139 
 
 the ugly, grinning, aping, chattering, ill-natured, mis- 
 chievous, and queer little brutes. Annie does not love 
 the monkeys. Their ugliness shocks her pure, instinc- 
 tive delicacy of taste, and makes her mind unquiet, be- 
 cause it bears a wild and dark resemblance to humanity. 
 But here is a little pony, just big enough for Annie to 
 ride, and round and round he gallops in a circle, keeping 
 time with his trampling hoofs to a band of music. And 
 here, with a laced coau and a cocked hat, and a riding- 
 whip in his hand, here comes a little gentleman, small 
 enough to be king of the fairies, and ugly enough to be 
 king of the gnomes, and takes a flying leap into the 
 saddle. Merrily, merrily plays the music, and merrily 
 gallops the pony, and merrily rides the little old gentle- 
 man. Come, Annie, into the street again ; perchance we 
 may see monkeys on horseback there ! 
 
 Mercy on us, what a noisy world we quiet people live 
 in ! Did Annie ever read the Cries of London City ? 
 With what lusty lungs doth yonder man proclaim that 
 his wheelbarrow is full of lobsters ! Here comes another 
 mounted on a cart, and blowing a hoarse and dreadful 
 blast from a tin horn, as much as to say, " Fresh fish ! " 
 And hark ! a voice on high, like that of a muezzin from 
 the summit of a mosque, announcing that some chimney- 
 sweeper has emerged from smoke and soot, and darksome 
 caverns, into the upper air. What cares the world for 
 that ? But, welladay, we hear a shrill voice of affliction, 
 the scream of a little child, rising louder with every 
 repetition of that smart, sharp, slapping sound, produced 
 by an open hand on tender flesh. Annie sympathizes, 
 though without experience of such direful woe. Lo! 
 the town crier again, with some new secret for the public 
 ear. Will he tell us of an auction, or of a lost pocket- 
 book, or a show of beautiful wax figures, or of some
 
 140 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 monstrous beast more horrible than any in the caravan? 
 I guess the latter. See how he uplifts the bell in hia 
 right hand, and shakes it slowly at first, then with a 
 hurried motion, till the clapper seems to strike both sides 
 at once, and the sounds are scattered forth in quick suc- 
 cession, far and near. 
 
 Ding-dong ! Ding-dong ! Ding-dong ! 
 
 Now he raises his clear, loud voice, above all the din 
 of the town ; it drowns the buzzing talk of many tongues, 
 and draws each man's mind from his own business ; it 
 rolls up and down the echoing street and ascends to the 
 hushed chamber of the sick, and penetrates downward to 
 the cellar kitchen, where the hot cook turns from the 
 fire to listen. Who, of all that address the public ear, 
 whether in church, or court-house, or hall of state, has 
 such an attentive audience as the town crier ? What 
 saith the people's orator? 
 
 " Strayed from her home, a LITTLE GIB.L, of five years 
 old, in a blue silk frock and white pantalets, witli brown 
 curling hair and hazel eyes. Whoever will bring her 
 back to her afflicted mother 
 
 Stop, stop, town crier ! The lost is found. O, my 
 pretty Annie, we forgot to tell your mother of our 
 ramble, and she is in despair, and has sent the town 
 crier to bellow up and down the streets, affrighting old 
 and young, for the loss of a little girl who has not once 
 let go my hand ! Well, let us hasten homeward ; and 
 as we go, forget not to thank Heaven, my Annie, that, 
 after wandering a little way into the world, you may 
 return at the first summons, with an untainted and un- 
 wearied heart, and be a happy child again. But I have 
 gone too far astray for the town crier to call^me back. 
 
 Sweet has been the charm of childhood on my spirit, 
 throughout my ramble with little Annie ! Say not that
 
 LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE. 141 
 
 it has been a waste of precious moments, an idle matter, 
 a babble of childish talk, and a revery of childish imagi- 
 nations, about topics unworthy of a grown man's notice- 
 Has it been merely this ? Not so ; not so. They are 
 not truly wise who would affirm it. As the pure breath 
 of children revives the life of aged men, so is our moral 
 nature revived by their free and simple thoughts, their 
 native feeling, their airy mirth, for little cause or none, 
 their grief, soon roused and soon allayed. Their influ- 
 ence on us is at least reciprocal with ours on them. 
 When our infancy is almost forgotten, and our boyhood 
 long departed, though it seems but as yesterday ; when 
 life settles darkly down upon us, and we doubt whether 
 to call ourselves young any more, then it is good to steal 
 away from the society of bearded men, and even of 
 gentler woman, and spend an hour or two with children. 
 After drinking from those fountains of still fresh exist- 
 ence, we shall return into the crowd, as I do now, to 
 struggle onward and do our part in life, perhaps as fer- 
 vently as ever, but, for a time, with a kinder and purer 
 heart, and a spirit more lightly wise. All this by thy 
 sweet magic, dear little Annie !
 
 ^tte^ >C-,^ : ^WV^ 
 
 WAKEFIELD. 
 
 lijjN some old magazine or newspaper, I recollect 
 | .1 B a story, told as truth, of a man let us call 
 If^SiJy^l liim Wakefield who absented himself for a 
 long time from his wife. The fact thus abstractedly 
 stated is not very uncommon, nor without a proper 
 distinction of circumstances to be condemned either as 
 naughty or nonsensical. Howbeit, this, though far from 
 the most aggravated, is perhaps the strangest instance 
 on record of marital delinquency ; and, moreover, as 
 remarkable a freak as may be found in the whole list of 
 human oddities. The wedded couple lived in London. 
 The man, under pretence of going a journey, took lodg- 
 ings in the next street to his own house, and there, un- 
 heard of by his wife or friends, and without the shadow 
 of a reason for such self-banishment, dwelt upwards of 
 twenty years. During that period, he beheld his home 
 every day, and frequently the forlorn Mrs. Wakefield. 
 And after so great a gap in his matrimonial felicity 
 when his death was reckoned certain, his estate settled, 
 his name dismissed from memory, and his wife, long, long 
 ago resigned to her autumnal widowhood he entered 
 the door one evening, quietly, as from a day's absence, 
 and became a loving spouse till death. 
 
 This outline is all that I remember. But the inci-
 
 WAKEFIELD. 143 
 
 dent, though of the purest originality, unexampled, and 
 'probably never to be repeated, is one, I think, which 
 appeals to the generous sympathies of mankind. We 
 know, each for himself, that none of us would perpetrate 
 such a folly, yet feel as if some other might. To my 
 own contemplations, at least, it has often recurred, al- 
 ways exciting wonder, but with a sense that the story 
 must be true, and a conception of its hero's character. 
 Whenever any subject so forcibly affects the mind, time, 
 is well spent in thinking of it. If the reader choose, let 
 him do his own meditation; or if he prefer to ramble 
 with me through the twenty years of Wakefield's vagary, 
 I bid him welcome ; trusting that there will be a per- 
 vading spirit and a moral, even should we fail to find 
 them, done up neatly, and condensed into the final sen- 
 tence. Thought has always its efficacy, and every strik- 
 ing incident its moral. 
 
 What sort of a man was Wakefield ? We are free to 
 shape out our own idea, and call it by his name. He 
 was now in the meridian of life ; his matrimonial affec- 
 tions, never violent, were sobered into a calm, habitual 
 sentiment ; of all husbands, he was likely to be the most 
 constant, because a certain sluggishness would keep bis 
 heart at rest, wherever it might be placed. He was in- 
 tellectual, but not actively so ; his mind occupied itself 
 in long and lazy musings, that tended to no purpose, or 
 had not vigor to attain it ; his thoughts were seldom so 
 energetic as to seize hold of words. Imagination, in the 
 proper meaning of the term, made no part of Wakefield's 
 gifts. With a cold but not depraved nor wandering 
 heart, and a mind never feverish with riotous thoughts, 
 nor perplexed with originality, who could have antici- 
 pated that our friend would entitle himself to a foremost 
 place among the doers of eccentric deeds? Had his
 
 144 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 .acquaintances been asked, who was the man in London, 
 the surest to perform nothing to-day which should be 
 remembered on the morrow, they would have thought of 
 Wakefield. Only the wife of his bosom might have hes- 
 itated. She, without having analyzed his character, was 
 partly aware of a quiet selfishness, that had rusted into 
 his inactive mind, of a peculiar sort of vanity, the most 
 uneasy attribute about him, of a disposition to craft, 
 which had seldom produced more positive effects than 
 the keeping of petty secrets, hardly worth revealing, 
 and, lastly, of what she called a little strangeness, some- 
 times, in the good man. This latter quality is indefina- 
 ble, and perhaps non-existent. 
 
 Let us now imagine Wakefield bidding adieu to his 
 wife. It is the dusk of an October evening. His equip- 
 ment is a drab great-coat, a hat covered with an oil-cloth, 
 top-boots, an umbrella in one hand and a small portman- 
 teau in the other. He has informed Mrs. Wakefield that 
 he is to take the night coach into the country. She 
 would fain inquire the length of his journey, its object, 
 and the probable time of his return; but, indulgent to 
 his harmless love of mystery, interrogates him only by a 
 look. He tells her not to expect him positively by the 
 return coach, nor to be alarmed should he tarry three or 
 four days ; but, at all events, to look for him at supper 
 on Friday evening. Wakefield himself, be it considered, 
 has no suspicion of what is before him. He holds out 
 his hand ; she gives her own, and meets his parting kiss, 
 in the matter-of-course way of a ten years' matrimony ; 
 and forth goes the middle-aged Mr. Wakefield, almost 
 resolved to perplex his good lady by a whole week's ab- 
 sence. After the door has closed behind him, she per- 
 ceives it thrust partly open, and a vision of her husband's 
 face, through the aperture, smiling on her, and gone in a
 
 WAKEFIELD. 145 
 
 moment. For the time, this little incident is dismissed 
 without a thought. But, long afterwards, when she has 
 been more years a widow than a wife, that smile recurs, 
 and nickers across all her reminiscences of Wakefield's 
 visage. In her many musings, she surrounds the original 
 smile with a multitude of fantasies, which make it strange 
 and awful ; as, for instance, if she imagines him in a coffin, 
 that parting look is frozen on his pale features ; or, if she 
 dreams of him in heaven, still his blessed spirit wears a 
 quiet and crafty smile. Yet, for its sake, when all others 
 have given him up for dead, she sometimes doubts 
 whether she is a widow. 
 
 But our business is with the husband. We must 
 hurry after him, along the street, ere he lose his indi- 
 viduality, and melt into the great mass of London life. 
 It would be vain searching for him there. Let us follow 
 close at his heels, therefore, until, after several superflu- 
 ous turns and doublings, we find him comfortably estab- 
 lished by the fireside of a small apartment, previously 
 bespoken. He is in the next street to his own, and at 
 his journey's end. He can scarcely t"ust his good fortune 
 in having got thither unperceived, recollecting that, at 
 one time, he was delayed by the throng, in the very focus 
 of a lighted lantern; and, again, there were footsteps, 
 that seemed to tread behind his own, distinct from the 
 multitudinous tramp around him ; and, anon, he heard a 
 voice shouting afar, and fancied that it called his name. 
 Doubtless, a dozen busybodies had been watching him, 
 and told his wife the whole affair. Poor Wakefield ! 
 Little knowest thou thine own insignificance in this 
 great world ! No mortal eye but mine has traced thee. 
 Go quietly to thy bed, foolish man ; and, on the morrow, 
 if thou wilt be wise, get thee home to good Mrs. Wake- 
 field, and tell her the truth. Remove not thyself, even
 
 146 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 for a little week, from thy place in her chaste bosom. 
 Were she, for a single moment, to deem thee dead, or 
 lost, or lastingly divided from her, thou wouldst be wo- 
 fully conscious of a change in thy true wife, forever after. 
 It is perilous to make a chasm in human affections ; not 
 that they gape so long and wide, but so quickly close 
 
 Almost repenting of his frolic, or whatever it may be 
 termed, Wakefield lies down betimes, and starting from 
 his first nap, spreads forth his arms into the wide and 
 solitary waste of the unaccustomed bed. " No," thinks 
 he, gathering the bedclothes about him, "I will not 
 sleep alone another night." 
 
 In the morning, he rises earlier than usual, and sets 
 himself to consider what he really means to do. Such 
 are his loose and rambling modes of thought, that he has 
 taken this very singular step, with the consciousness of 
 a purpose, indeed, but without being able to define it 
 sufficiently for his own contemplation. The vagueness 
 of the project, and the convulsive effort with which he 
 plunges into the execution of it, are equally characteristic 
 of a feeble-minded man. Wakefield sifts his ideas, how- 
 ever, as minutely as he may, and finds himself curious to 
 know the progress of matters at home, how his exem- 
 plary wife will endure her widowhood of a week ; and, 
 briefly, how the little sphere of creatures and circum- 
 stances, in which he was a central object, will be affected 
 by his removal. A morbid vanity, therefore, lies nearest 
 the bottom of the affair. But, how is he to attain his 
 ends ? Not, certainly, by keeping close in this comfort- 
 able lodging, where, though he slept and awoke in the 
 next street to his home, he is as effectually abroad, as if 
 the stage-coach had been whirling him away all night. 
 Yet, should he reappear, the whole project is knocked in
 
 WAKEFIELD. 147 
 
 the head. His poor brains being hopelessly puzzled with 
 this dilemma, he at length ventures out, partly resolving 
 to cross the head of the street, and send one hasty glance 
 towards his forsaken domicile. Habit for he is a man 
 of habits takes him by the hand, and guides him, 
 wholly unaware, to his own door, where, just at the 
 critical moment, he is aroused by the scraping of his 
 foot upon the step. Wakefield! whither are you 
 going ? 
 
 At that instant, his fate was turning on the pivot. 
 Little dreaming of the doom to which his first backward 
 step devotes him, he hurries away, breathless with agita- 
 tion hitherto uufelt, and hardly dares turn his head, at 
 the distant corner. Can it be that nobody caught sight 
 of him? Will not the whole household the decent 
 Mrs. Wakefield, the smart maid-servant, and the dirty 
 little footboy raise a hue and cry, through London 
 streets, in pursuit of their fugitive lord and master? 
 Wonderful escape ! He gathers courage to pause and 
 look homeward, but is perplexed with a sense of change 
 about the familiar edifice, such as affects us all, when, 
 after a separation of months or years, we again see some 
 hill or lake, or work of art, with which we were friends 
 of old. In ordinary cases, this indescribable impression 
 is caused by the comparison and contrast between our 
 imperfect reminiscences asid the reality. In Wakefield, 
 the magic of a single night has wrought a similar trans- 
 formation, because, in that brief period, a great moral 
 change has been effected. But this is a secret from him- 
 self. Before leaving the spot, he catches a far and mo- 
 mentary glimpse of his wife, passing athwart the front 
 window, with her face turned towards the head of the 
 street. The crafty nincompoop takes to his heels, scared 
 with the idea, that, among a thousand such atoms of
 
 148 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 mortality, her eye must have detected him. Right glad 
 is his heart, though his brain be somewhat dizzy, when 
 he finds himself by the coal-fire of his lodgings. 
 
 So much for the commencement of this long whim- 
 wham. After the initial conception, and the stirring 
 up of the man's sluggish temperament to put it in prac- 
 tice, the whole matter evolves itself in a natural train. 
 We may suppose him, as the result of deep deliberation, 
 buying a new wig, of reddish hair, and selecting sundry 
 garments, in a fashion unlike his customary suit of 
 brown, from a Jew's old-clothes bag. It is accom- 
 plished. Wakefield is another man. The new system 
 being now established, a retrograde movement to the 
 old would be almost as difficult as the step that placed 
 him in his unparalleled position. Furthermore, he is 
 rendered obstinate by a sulkiness, occasionally incident 
 to his temper, and brought on, at present, by the inade- 
 quate sensation which he conceives to have been pro- 
 duced in the bosom of Mrs. Wakefield. He will not go 
 back until she be frightened half to death. Well ; twice 
 or thrice has she passed before his sight, each time with 
 a heavier step, a paler cheek, and more anxious brow; 
 and in the- third week of his non-appearance, he detects 
 a portent of evil entering the house, in the guise of an 
 apothecary. Next day, the knocker is muffled. Towards 
 nightfall comes the chariot of a physician, and deposits 
 its big-wigged and solemn burden at Wakefield's door, 
 whence, after a quarter of an hour's visit, he emerges, 
 perchance the herald of a funeral. Dear woman ! Will 
 she die? By tin's time, Wakefield is excited to some- 
 thing like energy of feeling, but still lingers away from 
 his wife's bedside, pleading with his conscience, that she 
 must not be disturbed at such a juncture. If aught else 
 restrains him, he does not know it. In the course of a
 
 WAKEFIELD. 149 
 
 few weeks, she gradually recovers; the crisis is over; 
 her heart is sad, perhaps, but quiet ; and, let him return, 
 soon or late, it will never be feverish for him again. 
 Such ideas glimmer through the mist of Wakefield's 
 mind, and render him indistinctly conscious that an 
 almost impassable gulf divides his hired apartment from 
 his former home. "It is but in the next street!" he 
 sometimes says. Tool! it is in another world. Hith- 
 erto, he has put off his return from one particular day 
 to another; henceforward, he leaves the precise time 
 undetermined. Not to-morrow, probably next week, 
 pretty soon. Poor man! The dead have nearly as 
 much chance of revisiting their earthly homes, as the 
 self-banished Wakefield. 
 
 Would that I had a folio to write, instead of an article 
 of a dozen pages ! Then might I exemplify how an in- 
 fluence, beyond our control, lays its strong hand on 
 every deed which we do, and weaves its consequences 
 into an iron tissue of necessity. Wakefield is spell- 
 bound. We must leave him, for ten years or so, to 
 haunt around his house, without once crossing the thresh- 
 old, and to be faithful to his wife, with all the affection 
 of which his heart is capable, while he is slowly fading 
 out of hers. Long since, it must be remarked, he has 
 lost the perception of singularity in his conduct. 
 
 Now for a scene ! Amid the throng of a London 
 street, we distinguish a man, now waxing elderly, with 
 few characteristics to attract careless observers, yet bear- 
 ing, in his whole aspect, the handwriting of no common 
 fate, for such as have the skill to read it. He is mea- 
 gre ; his low and narrow forehead is deeply wrinkled ; 
 his eyes, small and lustreless, sometimes wander appre- 
 hensively about him, but oftener seem to Jook inward. 
 He bends his head, and moves with an indescribable
 
 150 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 obliquity of gait, as if unwilling to display his full front 
 to the world. Watch him, long enough to see what we 
 have described, and you will allow, that circumstances 
 which often produce remarkable men from nature's 
 ordinary handiwork have produced one such here. 
 Next, leaving him to sidle along the footwalk, cast your 
 eyes in the opposite direction, where a portly female, 
 considerably in the wane of life, with a prayer-book in 
 her hand, is proceeding to yonder church. She has the 
 placid mien of settled widowhood. Her regrets have 
 either died away, or have become so essential to her 
 heart, that they would be poorly exchanged for joy. 
 Just as the lean man and well-conditioned woman are 
 passing, a slight obstruction occurs, and brings these 
 two figures directly in contact. Their hands touch; 
 the pressure of the crowd forces her bosom against his 
 shoulder; they stand, face to face, staring into each 
 other's eyes. After a ten years' separation, thus Wake- 
 field meets his wife ! 
 
 The throng eddies away, and carries them asunder. 
 The sober widow, resuming her former pace, proceeds 
 to church, but pauses in the portal, and throws a per- 
 plexed glance along the street. She passes in, however, 
 opening her prayer-book as she goes. And the man! 
 with so wild a face, that busy and selfish London stands 
 to gaze after him, he hurries to his lodgings, bolts the 
 door, and throws himself upon the bed. The latent feel- 
 ings of years break out ; his feeble mind acquires a brief 
 energy from their strength ; all the miserable strangeness 
 of his life is revealed to him at a glance : and he cries 
 out, passionately, "Wakefield! Wakefield ! You are 
 mad ! " 
 
 Perhaps he, was so. The singularity of his situation 
 must have so moulded him to himself, that, considered in
 
 WAKEFIELD. 151 
 
 regard to his fellow-creatures and the business of life, he 
 could not be said to possess his right mind. He had 
 contrived, or rather he had happened, to dissever himself 
 from the world, to vanish, to give up his place and 
 privileges with living ' men, without being admitted 
 among the dead. The life of a hermit is nowise parallel 
 to his. He was in the bustle of the city, as of old ; but 
 the crowd swept by, and saw him not ; he was, we may 
 figuratively say, always beside his wife, and at his hearth, 
 yet must never feel the warmth of the one, nor the affec- 
 tion of the other. It was Wakefield's unprecedented fate, 
 to retain his original share of human sympathies, and to 
 be still involved in human interests, while he had lost 
 his reciprocal influence on them. It would be a most 
 curious speculation, to trace out the effect of such cir- 
 cumstances on his heart and intellect, separately, and in 
 unison. Yet, changed as he was, he would seldom be 
 conscious of it, but deem himself the same man as ever; 
 glimpses of the truth, indeed, would come, but only for 
 the moment ; and still he would keep saying, " I shall 
 soon go back ! " nor reflect that he had been saying so 
 for twenty years. 
 
 I conceive, also, that these twenty years would ap- 
 pear, in the retrospect, scarcely longer than the week to 
 which Wakefield had at first limited his absence. He 
 would look on the affair as no more than an interlude in 
 the main business of his life. When, after a little while 
 more, he should deem it time to re-enter his parlor, his 
 wife would clap her hands for joy, on beholding the mid- 
 dle-aged Mr. Wakefield. Alas, what a mistake ! Would 
 Time but await the close of our favorite follies, we should 
 be young men, all of us, and till Doomsday. 
 
 One evening, in the twentieth year since he vanished, 
 Wakefield is taking his customary walk towards the
 
 152 TWICE-TOLD TALES, 
 
 dwelling which he still calls his own. It is a gusty night 
 of autumn, with frequent showers, that patter down 
 upon the pavement, and are gone, before a man can put 
 up his umbrella. Pausing near the house, Wakefield 
 discerns, through the parlor windows of the second floor, 
 the red glow, and the glimmer aud fitful flash of a com- 
 fortable fire. On the ceiling appears a grotesque shadow 
 of good Mrs. Wakefield. The cap, the nose and chin, and 
 the broad waist form an admirable caricature, which 
 dances, moreover, with the up-flickering and down-sink- 
 ing blaze, almost too merrily for the shade of an elderly 
 widow. At this instant, a shower chances to fall, and 
 is driven, by the unmannerly gust, full into Wakefield's 
 face and bosom. He is quite penetrated with its autum- 
 nal chill. Shall he stand, wet and shivering here, when 
 his own hearth has a good fire to warm him, and his own 
 wife will run to fetch the gray coat and small-clothes, 
 which doubtless she has kept earefully in the closet of 
 their bedchamber ? No ! Wakefield is no such fool. 
 He ascends the steps, heavily ! for twenty years 
 have stiffened his legs, since he came down, but he 
 knows it not. Stay, Wakefield ! Would you go to the 
 sole home that is left you ? Then step into your grave ! 
 The door opens. As he passes in, we have a parting 
 glimpse of his visage, and recognize the crafty smile, 
 which was the precursor of the little joke that he has 
 ever since been playing off at his wife's expense. How 
 unmercifully has he quizzed the poor woman ! Well, a 
 good night's rest to Wakefield ! 
 
 This happy event supposing it to be such could 
 only have occurred at an unpremeditated moment. We 
 will not follow our friend across the threshold. He has 
 left us much food for thought, a portion of which shall 
 lend its wisdom to a moral, and be shaped into a figure.
 
 WAKEFIELD. 
 
 153 
 
 Amid the seeming confusion of our mysterious world, in- 
 dividuals are so nicely adjusted to a system, and systems 
 to one another, and to a whole, that, by stepping aside 
 for a moment, a man exposes himself to a fearful risk of 
 losing his place forever. Like Wakefield, he may be- 
 come, as it were, the Outcast of the Universe.
 
 A RILL PROM THE TOWN PUMP. 
 
 (SCENE. The corner of two principal streets.* The TOWN 
 PUMP talking throuyh its nose.) 
 
 )ON, by the North clock ! Noon, by the east ! 
 High noon, too, by these hot sunbeams, which 
 
 fall, scarcely aslope, upon my head, and almost 
 
 make the water bubble and smoke, in the trough under 
 my nose. Truly, we public characters have a tough 
 time of it ! And, among all the town officers, chosen at 
 March meeting, where is he that sustains, for a single 
 year, the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed, 
 in perpetuity, upon the Town Pump ? The title of 
 " town treasurer " is rightfully mine, as guardian of the 
 best treasure that the town has. The overseers of the 
 poor ought to make me their chairman, since I provide 
 bountifully for the pauper, without expense to him that 
 pays taxes. I am at the head of the fire department, 
 and one of the physicians to the board of health. As a 
 keeper of the peace, all water drinkers will confess me 
 equal to the constable. I perform some of the duties of 
 the town clerk, by promulgating public notices, when 
 they are posted on my front. To speak within bounds, 
 I am the chief person of the municipality, and exhibit, 
 
 * Essex and Washington Streets, Salem.
 
 A RILL FEOM THE TOWN PUMP. 155 
 
 moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother officers, 
 by the cool, steady, upright, downright, and impartial 
 discharge of my business, and the constancy with which 
 I stand to my post. Summer or winter, nobody seeks 
 me in vain ; for, all day long, I am seen at the busiest 
 corner, just above the market, stretching out my arms, 
 to rich and poor alike ; and at night, I hold a lantern 
 over my head, both to show where I am, and keep peo- 
 ple out of the gutters. 
 
 At this sultry noontide, I am cupbearer to the parched 
 populace, for whose benefit an iron goblet is chained to 
 my waist. Like a dram-seller on the mall, at muster- 
 day, I cry aloud to all and sundry, in my plainest ac- 
 cents, and at the very tiptop of my voice. Here it is, 
 gentlemen ! Here is the good liquor ! Walk up, walk 
 up, gentlemen, walk up, walk up ! Here is the supe- 
 rior stuff! Here is the unadulterated ale of father 
 Adam, better than Cognac, Hollands, Jamaica, strong 
 beer, or wine of any price ; here it is, by the hogshead 
 or the single glass, and not a cent to pay ! Walk up, 
 gentlemen, walk up, and help yourselves ! 
 
 It were a pity, if all this outcry should draw no 
 customers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen! 
 Quaff, and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a 
 nice cool sweat. You, my friend, will need another 
 cupful, to wash the dust out of your throat, if it be as 
 thick there as it is on your cowhide shoes. I see that 
 you have trudged half a score of miles to-day ; and, like 
 a wise man, have passed by the taverns, and stopped at 
 the running brooks and well-curbs. Otherwise, betwixt 
 heat without and fire within, you would have been 
 burned to a cinder, or melted down to nothing at all, 
 in the fashion of a jelly-fish. Drink, and make room 
 for that other fellow, who seeks my aid to quench the
 
 156 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained 
 from no cup of mine. Welcome, most rubicund sir ! 
 You and I have been great strangers, hitherto ; nor, to 
 confess the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer 
 intimacy, till the fumes of your breath be a little less 
 potent. Mercy on you, man ! the water absolutely 
 hisses down your red-hot gullet, and is converted quite 
 to steam, in the miniature tophet, which you mistake 
 for a stomach. Fill again . and tell me, on the word of 
 an honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, or any 
 kind of a dram-shop, spend the price of your children's 
 food for a swig half so delicious ? Now, for the first 
 time these ten years, you know the flavor of cold water. 
 Good by ; and, whenever you are thirsty, remember that 
 I keep a constant supply, at the old stand. Who next ? 
 O, my little friend, you are let loose from school, and 
 come hither to scrub your blooming face, and drown 
 the memory of certain taps of the ferule, and other 
 school-boy troubles, in a draught from the Town Pump. 
 Take it, pure as the current of your young life. Take 
 it, and may your heart and tongue never be scorched 
 with a fiercer thirst than now ! There, my dear child, 
 put down the cup, and yield your place to this elderly 
 gentleman, who treads so tenderly over the paving- 
 stones, that I suspect he is afraid of breaking them. 
 What ! he limps by, without so much as thanking me, 
 as if my hospitable oifers were meant only for people 
 who have no wine-cellars. Well, well, sir, no harm 
 done, I hope ! Go draw the cork, tip the decanter ; 
 but, when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, it will 
 be no affair of mine. If gentlemen love the pleasant 
 titillation of the gout, it is all one to the Town Pump. 
 This thirsty dog, with his red tongue lolling out, does 
 not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind legs,
 
 A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. 157 
 
 -and laps eagerly out of the trough. See how lightly 
 he capers away again ! Jowler, did your worship ever 
 have the gout ? 
 
 Are you all satisfied? Then wipe your mouths, my 
 good friends ; and, while my spout has a moment's leis- 
 ure, I will delight the town with a few historical remi- 
 niscences. In far antiquity, beneath a darksome shadow 
 of venerable boughs, a spring bubbled out of the leaf- 
 strewn earth, in the very spot where you now behold 
 me, on the sunny pavement. The water was as bright 
 and clear, and deemed as precious, as liquid diamonds. 
 The Indian sagamores drank of it, from time immemo- 
 rial, till the fatal deluge of the fire-water burst upon the 
 red men, and swept their whole race away from the cold 
 fountains. Endicott, and his followers, came next, and 
 often knelt down to drink, dipping their long beards in 
 the spring. The richest goblet, then, was of birch-bark. 
 Governor Winthrop, after a journey afoot from Boston, 
 drank here, out of the hollow of his hand. The elder 
 Higginson here wet his palm, and laid it on the brow of 
 the first town-born child. For many years it was the 
 watering-place, and, as it were, the wash-bowl of the 
 vicinity, whither all decent folks resorted, to purify 
 their visages, and gaze at them afterwards at least, 
 the pretty maidens did in the mirror which it made. 
 On Sabbath days, whenever a babe was to be baptized, 
 the sexton filled his basin here, and placed it on the 
 communion-table of the humble meeting-house, which 
 partly covered the site of yonder stately brick one. 
 Thus, one generation after another was consecrated to 
 Heaven by its waters, and cast their waxing and waning 
 shadows into its glassy bosom, and vanished from the 
 curtli, as if mortal life were but a flitting image in a 
 fountain. Finally, the fountain vanished also. Cellars
 
 158 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 were dug on all sides, and cartloads of gravel flung 
 upon its source, whence oozed a turbid stream, forming 
 a mud-puddle, at the corner'of two streets. In the hot 
 months, when its refreshment was most needed, the 
 dust flew in clouds over the forgotten birthplace of the 
 waters, now their grave. But, in the course of time, a 
 Town Pump was sunk into the source of the ancient 
 spring; and when the first decayed, another took its 
 place, and then another, and still another, till here 
 stand I, gentlemen and ladies, to serve you with my 
 iron goblet. Drink, and be refreshed ! The water is 
 as pure and cold as that which slaked the thirst of the 
 red sagamore, beneath the aged boughs, though now 
 the gem of the wilderness is treasured under these hot 
 stones, where no shadow falls, but from the brick 
 buildings. And be it the moral of my story, that, as 
 this wasted and long-lost fountain is now known and 
 prized again, so shall the virtues of cold water, too little 
 valued since your father's days, be recognized by all. 
 
 Your pardon, good people! I must interrupt my 
 stream of eloquence, and spout forth a stream of- water, to 
 replenish the trough for this teamster and his two yoke of 
 oxen, who have come from Topsfield, or somewhere along 
 that way. No part of my business is pleasanter than the 
 watering of cattle. Look ! how rapidly they lower the 
 water-mark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious 
 stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and 
 they can afford time to breathe it in, with sighs of calm 
 enjoyment. Now they roll their quiet eyes around the 
 brim of their monstrous drinking-vessel. An ox is your 
 true toper. 
 
 But I perceive, my dear auditors, that you are impatient 
 for the remainder of my discourse. Impute it, I beseech 
 you, to no defect of modesty, if I insist a little longer on
 
 A RILL FEO3I THE TOWN PUMP. 159 
 
 so fruitful a topic as my own multifarious merits. It is 
 altogether for your good. The better you think of me, 
 the better men and women will you find yourselves. I 
 shall say nothing of my all-important aid on washing- 
 days ; though, on that account alone, I might call myself 
 the household god of a hundred families. Far be it from 
 me also to hint, my respectable friends, at the show of 
 dirty faces which you would present, without my pains to 
 keep you clean. Nor will I remind you how often when 
 the midnight bells make you tremble for your combustible 
 town, you have fled to the Town Pump, and found me 
 always at my post, firm amid the confusion, and ready 
 to drain my vital current in your behalf. Neither is it 
 worth while to lay much stress on my claims to a medical 
 diploma, as the physician, whose simple rule of practice is 
 preferable to all the nauseous lore, which has found men 
 sick or left them so, since the days of Hippocrates. Let 
 us take a broader view of my beneficial influence on man- 
 kind. 
 
 No ; these are trifles, compared with the merits which 
 wise men concede to me, if not in my single self, yet as 
 the representative of a class of being the grand reformer 
 of the age. From my spout, and such spouts as mine, 
 must flow the stream that shall cleanse our earth of the 
 vast portion of its crime and anguish, which has gushed 
 from the fiery fountains of the still. In this mighty en- 
 terprise, the cow shall be my great confederate. Milk 
 and water! The TOWN PUMP and the Cow! Such 
 is the glorious copartnership, that shall tear down the 
 distilleries and brewhouses, uproot the vineyards, shat- 
 ter the cider-presses, ruin the tea and coffee trade, and 
 finally monopolize the whole business of quenching thirst. 
 Blessed consummation ! Then Poverty shall pass away 
 from the laud, finding so hovel so wretched, where her
 
 160 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 squalid form may shelter itself. Then Disease, for lack of 
 other victims, shall gnaw its own heart, and die. Then 
 Sin, if she do not die, shall lose half her strength. Until 
 now, the frenzy of hereditary fever has raged iu the 
 human blood, transmitted from sire to son, and rekindled 
 in every generation, by fresh draughts of liquid flame. 
 When that inward fire shall be extinguished, the heat 
 of passion cannot but grow cool, and war the drunk- 
 enness of nations perhaps will cease. At least, there 
 will be no war of households. The husband and wife, 
 drinking deep of peaceful joy, a calm bliss of temperate 
 affections, shall pass hand iu hand through life, and lie 
 down, not reluctantly, at its protracted close. To them, 
 the past will be no turmoil of mad dreams, nor the future 
 an eternity of such moments as follow the delirium of the 
 drunkard. Their dead faces shall express what their, 
 spirits were, and are to be, by a lingering smile of mem- 
 ory and hope. 
 
 Ahem ! Dry work, this speechifying ; especially to an 
 unpractised orator. I never conceived, till now, what 
 toil the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. Here- 
 after, they shall have the business to themselves. Do, 
 some kind Christian, pump a stroke or two, just to wet 
 my whistle. Thank you, sir ! My dear hearers, when 
 the world shall have been regenerated by my instrumen- 
 tality, you will collect your useless vats and liquor-casks 
 into one great pile, and make a bonfire, in honor of the 
 Town Pump. And, when I shall have decayed, like my 
 predecessors, then, if you revere my memory, let a mar- 
 ble fountain, richly sculptured, take my place upon this 
 spot. Such monuments should be erected everywhere, 
 and inscribed with the names of the distinguished cham- 
 pions of my cause. Now listen ; for something very im- 
 portant is to come next.
 
 A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP. 161 
 
 There are two or three honest friends of mine and 
 true friends, I know, they are who, nevertheless, by 
 their fiery pugnacity in my behalf, do put me in fearful 
 hazard of a broken nose or even a total overthrow upon 
 the pavement, and the loss of the treasure which I guard. 
 I pray you, gentlemen, let this fault be amended. Is it 
 decent, think you, to get tipsy with zeal for temperance, 
 and take up the honorable cause of the Town Pump in 
 the style of a toper, fighting for his brandy -bottle ? Or, 
 can the excellent qualities of cold water be not otherwise 
 exemplified, than by plunging slapdash into hot water, 
 and wofully scalding yourselves and other people ? Trust 
 me, they may. In the moral warfare, which you are to 
 wage, and, indeed, in the whole conduct of your lives, 
 you cannot choose a better example than myself, who 
 have never permitted the dust and sultry atmosphere, the 
 turbulence and manifold disquietudes of the world around 
 me, to reach that deep, calm well of purity, which may 
 be called my soul. And whenever I pour out that soul, 
 it is to cool earth's fever, or cleanse its stains. 
 
 One o'clock ! Nay, then, if the dinner-bell begins to 
 speak, I may as well hold my peace. Here comes a 
 pretty young girl of my acquaintance, with a large stone 
 pitcher for me to fill. May she draw a husband, while 
 drawing her water, as Rachel did of old. Hold out your 
 vessel, my dear ! There it is, full to the brim ; so now 
 run home, peeping at your sweet image in the pitcher, as 
 you go ; and forget not, in a glass of my own liquor, to 
 drink " SUCCESS TO THE TOWN PUMP ! "
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE.* 
 
 A MYSTERY OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 |T nightfall, once, in the olden time, on the rugged 
 side of one of the Crystal Hills, a party of ad- 
 venturers were refreshing themselves, after a 
 toilsome and fruitless quest for the Great Carbuncle. 
 They had come thither, not as friends, nor partners in the 
 enterprise, but each, save one youthful pair, impelled by 
 his own selfish and solitary longing for this wondrous 
 gem. Their feeling of brotherhood, however, was strong 
 enough to induce them to contribute a mutual aid in 
 building a rude hut of branches, and kindling a great 
 fire of shattered pines, that had drifted down the headlong 
 current of the Amonoosuck, on the lower bank of which 
 they were to pass the night. There was but one of their 
 number, perhaps, who had become so estranged from 
 natural sympathies, by the absorbing spell of the pursuit, 
 as to acknowledge no satisfaction at the sight of human 
 
 * The Indian tradition, on which this somewhat extravagant 
 tale is founded, is both too wild and too beautiful to be ade- 
 quately wrought up in prose. Sullivan, in his History of 
 Maine, written since the Revolution, remarks, that even then, 
 the existence of the Great Carbuncle was not entirely dis- 
 credited.
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 163 
 
 faces, in the remote and solitary region whither they had 
 ascended. A vast extent of wilderness lay between them 
 and the nearest settlement, while scant a mile above 
 their heads, was that black verge, where the hills throw 
 off their shaggy mantle of forest trees, and either robe 
 themselves in clouds, or tower naked into the sky. The 
 roar of the Amonoosuck would have been too awful for 
 endurance, if only a solitary man had listened, while the 
 mountain stream talked with the wind. 
 
 The adventurers, therefore, exchanged hospitable greet- 
 ings, and welcomed one another to the hut, where each 
 man was the host, and all were the guests of the whole 
 company. They spread their individual supplies of food 
 on the flat surface of a rock, and partook of a general 
 repast ; at the close of which, a sentiment of good-fellow- 
 ship was perceptible among the party, though repressed 
 by the idea, that the renewed search for the Great Car- 
 buncle must make them strangers again, in the morning. 
 Seven men and one young woman, they warmed them- 
 selves together at the fire, which extended its bright wall 
 along the whole front of their wigwam. As they ob- 
 served the various and contrasted figures that made up 
 the assemblage, each man looking like a caricature of 
 himself, in the unsteady light that flickered over him, 
 they came mutually to the conclusion, that an odder 
 society had never met, in city or wilderness, on mountain 
 or plain. 
 
 The eldest of the group, a tall, lean, weather-beaten 
 man, some sixty years of age, was clad in the skins 
 of wild animals, whose fashion of dress he did well 
 to imitate, since the deer, the wolf, and the bear had 
 long been his most intimate companions. He was one 
 of those ill-fated mortals, such as the Indians told of, 
 whom, in their early youth, the Great Carbuncle smote
 
 164 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 with a peculiar madness, and became the passionate 
 dream of their existence. All, who visited that region, 
 knew him as the Seeker, and by no other name. As 
 none could remember when he first took up the search, 
 there went a fable in the valley of the Saco, that for his 
 inordinate lust after the Great Carbuncle, he had been 
 condemned to wander among the mountains till the end 
 of time, still with tbe same feverish hopes at sunrise, 
 the same despair at eve. Near this miserable Seeker sat 
 a little elderly personage, wearing a high-crowned hat, 
 shaped somewhat like a crucible. He was from beyond 
 the sea, a Dr. Cacaphodel, who had wilted and dried 
 himself into a mummy, by continually stooping over 
 charcoal furnaces and inhaling unwholesome fumes, dur- 
 ing his researches in chemistry and alchemy. It was told 
 of him, whether truly or not, that, at the commencement 
 of his studies, he had drained his body of all its richest 
 blood, and wasted it, with other inestimable ingredients, 
 in an unsuccessful experiment, and had never been a 
 well man since. Another of the adventurers was Master 
 Ichabod Pigsnort, a weighty merchant and selectman of 
 Boston, and an elder of the famous Mr. Norton's church. 
 His enemies had a ridiculous story, that, Master Pigsnort 
 was accustomed to spend a whole hour after prayer-time, 
 every morning and evening, in wallowing naked among 
 an immense quantity of pine-tree shillings, which were 
 the earliest silver coinage of Massachusetts. The fourth, 
 whom we shall notice, had no name, that his companions 
 knew of, and was chiefly distinguished by a sneer that 
 always contorted his thin visage, and by a prodigious 
 pair of spectacles, which were supposed to deform and 
 discolor the whole face of nature, to this gentleman's 
 perception. The fifth adventurer likewise lacked a name, 
 which was the greater pity, as he appeared to be a poet.
 
 THE GEEAT CARBUNCLE. 165 
 
 He was a bright-eyed man, but wofully pined away, 
 which was no more than natural, if, as some people af- 
 firmed, his ordinary diet was fog, morning mist, and a 
 slice of the densest cloud within his reach, sauced with 
 moonshine whenever he could get it. Certain it is, 
 that the poetry which flowed from him had a smack of 
 all these dainties. The sixth of the party was a young 
 man of haughty mien, and sat somewhat apart from the 
 rest, wearing his plumed hat loftily among his elders, 
 while the fire glittered on the rich embroidery of his 
 dress, and gleamed intensely on the jewelled pommel 
 of his sword. This was the Lord de Vere, who, when 
 at home, was said to spend much of his time in the burial- 
 vault of his dead progenitors, rummaging their mouldy 
 coffins in search of all the earthly pride and vainglory 
 that was hidden among bones and dust ; so that, besides 
 his own share, he had the collected haughtiness of his 
 whole line of ancestry. 
 
 Lastly, there was a handsome youth in rustic garb, 
 and by his side a blooming little person, in whom a 
 delicate shade of maiden reserve was just melting into 
 the rich glow of a young wife's affection. Her name 
 was Hannah, and her husband's Matthew ; two homely 
 names, yet well enough adapted to the simple pair, who 
 seemed strangely out of place among the whimsical 
 fraternity whose wits had been set agog by the Great 
 Carbuncle. 
 
 Beneath the shelter of one hut, in the bright blaze of 
 the same fire, sat this varied group of adventurers, all so 
 intent upon a single object, that, of whatever else they 
 began to speak, their closing words were sure to be illu- 
 minated with the Great Carbuncle. Several related the 
 circumstances that brought them thither. One had lis- 
 tened to a traveller's tale of this marvellous stone, in his
 
 166 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 own distant country, and had immediately been seized 
 with such a thirst for beholding it, as could only be 
 quenched in its intensest lustre. Another, so long ago 
 as when the famous Captain Smith visited these coasts, 
 had seen it blazing far at sea, and had felt no rest in all 
 the intervening years, till now that he took up the search. 
 A third, being encamped on a hunting expedition, full 
 forty miles south of the White Mountains, awoke at mid- 
 night, and beheld the Great Carbuncle gleaming like a 
 meteor, so that the shadows of the trees fell backward 
 from it. They spoke of the innumerable attempts, which 
 had been made to reach the spot, and of the singular 
 fatality which had hitherto withheld success from all 
 adventurers, though it might seem so easy to follow to 
 its source a light that overpowered the moon, and almost 
 matched the sun. It was observable that each smiled 
 scornfully at the madness of every other, in anticipating 
 better fortune than the past, yet nourished a scarcely 
 hidden conviction, that he would himself be the favored 
 one. As if to allay their too sanguine hopes, they re- 
 curred to the Indian traditions, that a spirit kept watch 
 about the gem, and bewildered those who sought it, 
 either by removing it from peak to peak of the higher 
 hills, or by calling up a mist from the enchanted lake 
 over which it hung. But these tales were deemed un- 
 worthy of credit ; all professing to believe, that the search 
 had been baffled by want of sagacity or perseverance in 
 the adventurers, or, such other causes as might naturally 
 obstruct the passage to any given point, among the in- 
 tricacies of forest, valley, and mountain. 
 
 In a pause of the conversation, the wearer of the pro- 
 digious spectacles looked round upon the party, making 
 each individual, in turn, the object of the sneer which in- 
 variably dwelt upon his countenance.
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 167 
 
 " So, fellow-pilgrims," skid he, " here we are, seven, 
 wise men and one fair damsel, who, doubtless, is as 
 wise as any graybeard of the company : -here we are, I 
 say, all bound on the same goodly enterprise. Methinks, 
 now, it were not amiss, that each of us declare what he 
 proposes to do with the Great Carbuncle, provided he 
 have the good hap to clutch it. What says our friend 
 in the bear-skin ? How mean you, good sir, to enjoy 
 the prize which you have been seeking, the Lord knows 
 how long, among the Crystal Hills ? " 
 
 " How enjoy it ! " exclaimed the aged Seeker, bitterly. 
 " I hope for no enjoyment from it, that folly has passed 
 long ago ! I keep up the search for this accursed stone, 
 because the vain ambition of my youth has become a fate 
 upon me, in old age. The pursuit alone is my strength, 
 the energy of my soul, the warmth of my blood, and 
 the pith and marrow of my bones ! Were I to turn my 
 back upon it, I should fall down dead, on the hither side 
 of the Notch, which is the gateway of this mountain 
 region. Yet, not to have my wasted lifetime back again, 
 would I give up my hopes of the Great Carbuncle ! 
 Having found it, I shall bear it to a certain cavern that 
 I wot of, and there, grasping it in my arms, lie down 
 and die, and keep it buried with me forever." 
 
 " O wretch, regardless of the interests of science ! J> 
 cried Dr. Cacaphodel, with philosophic indignation. 
 " Thou art not worthy to behold, even from afar off, the 
 lustre of this most precious gem that ever was concocted 
 in the laboratory of Nature. Mine is the sole purpose 
 for which a wise man may desire the possession of the 
 Great Carbuncle. Immediately on obtaining it for I 
 have a presentiment, good people, that the prize is re- 
 served to crown my scientific reputation I shall return 
 to Europe, and employ my remaining years in reducing
 
 168 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 it to its first elements. A portion of the stone will I 
 grind to impalpable powder; other parts shall be dis- 
 solved in acids, or whatever solvents will act upon so 
 admirable a composition ; and the remainder I design to 
 melt in the crucible, or set on fire with the blowpipe. 
 By these various methods, I shall gain an accurate analy- 
 sis, and finally bestow the result of my labors upon the 
 world, in a folio volume." 
 
 " Excellent ! " quoth the man with the spectacles. " Nor 
 need you hesitate, learned sir, on account of the necessary 
 destruction of the gem ; since the perusal of your folio 
 may teach every mother's son of us to concoct a Great 
 Carbuncle of his own." 
 
 "But, verily," said Master Ichabod Pigsnort, "for 
 mine own part I object to the making of these counter- 
 feits, as being calculated to reduce the marketable value 
 of the true gem. I tell ye frankly, sirs, I have an interest 
 in keeping up the price. Here have I quitted my regular 
 traffic, leaving niy warehouse in the care of my clerks, 
 and putting my credit to great hazard, and, furthermore, 
 have put myself in peril of death or captivity by the 
 accursed heathen savages, and all this without daring 
 to ask the prayers of the congregation, because the quest 
 for the Great Carbuncle is deemed little better than a 
 traffic with the Evil One. Now think ye that I would 
 have done this grievous wrong to my soul, body, reputa- 
 tion, and estate, without a reasonable chance of profit ? " 
 
 " Not I, pious Master Pigsnort," said the man with 
 the spectacles. " I never laid such a great folly to thy 
 charge." 
 
 "Truly, I hope not," said the merchant. "Now, as 
 touching this Great Carbuncle, I am free to own that I 
 have never had a glimpse of it ; but be it only the hun- 
 dredth part so bright as people tell, it will surely outvalue
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 169 
 
 the Great Mogul's best diamond, which he holds at an 
 incalculable sura. Wherefore I am minded to put the 
 Great Carbuncle on shipboard, and voyage with it to 
 England, Prance, Spain, Italy, or into Heathendom, if 
 Providence should send me thither, and, in a word, dis- 
 pose of the gem to the best bidder among the potentates 
 of the earth, that he may place it among his crown jew- 
 els. If any of ye have a wiser plan, let him expound it." 
 
 " That have I, thou sordid man ! " exclaimed the poet. 
 "Dost thou desire nothing brighter than gold, that thou 
 wouldst transmute all this ethereal lustre into such dross, 
 as thou wallowest in already ? For myself, hiding the 
 jewel under my cloak, I shall hie me back to my attic 
 chamber, in one of the darksome alleys of London. 
 There, night and day, will I gaze upon it, my soul 
 shall drink its radiance, it shall be diffused throughout 
 my intellectual powers, and gleam brightly in every line 
 of poesy that I indite. Thus, long ages after I am gone, 
 the splendor of the Great Carbuncle will blaze around 
 my name ! " 
 
 " Well said, Master Poet ! " cried he of the spectacles. 
 " Hide it under thy cloak, sayest thou ? Why, it will 
 gleam through the holes, and make thee look like a 
 jack-o'-lantern ! " 
 
 " To think ! " ejaculated the Lord de Vere, rather 
 to himself than his companions, the best of whom he 
 held utterly unworthy of his intercourse, " to think 
 that a fellow in a tattered cloak should talk of conveying 
 the Great Carbuncle to a garret in Grub Street ! Have 
 not I resolved within myself, that the whole earth con- 
 tains no fitter ornament for the great hall of my ances- 
 tral castle ? There shall it flame for ages, making a 
 noonday of midnight, glittering on the suits of armor, 
 the banners, and escutcheons, that hang around the
 
 170 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 wall, and keeping bright the memory of heroes. Where- 
 fore have all other adventurers sought the prize in vain, 
 but that I might win it, and make it a symbol of the 
 glories of our lofty line ? And never, on the diadem of 
 the White Mountains, did the Great Carbuncle hold a 
 place half so honored as is reserved for it in the hall of 
 the De Veres ! " 
 
 " It is a noble thought," said the Cynic, with an ob- 
 sequious sneer. " Yet, might I presume to say so, the 
 gem would make a rare sepulchral lamp, and would dis- 
 play the glories of your lordship's progenitors more 
 truly in the ancestral vault than in the castle hall." 
 
 " Nay, forsooth," observed Matthew, the young rustic, 
 who sat hand in hand with his bride, " the gentleman 
 has bethought himself of a profitable use for this bright 
 stone. Hannah here and I are seeking it for a like 
 purpose." 
 
 " How, fellow ! " exclaimed his lordship, in surprise. 
 " What castle hall hast thou to hang it in ? " 
 
 " No castle," replied Matthew, " but as neat a cottage 
 as any within sight of the Crystal Hills. Ye must know, 
 friends, that Hannah and I, being wedded the last week, 
 have taken up the search of the Great Carbuncle, be- 
 cause we shall need its light in the long winter evenings ; 
 and it will be such a pretty thing to show the neighbors 
 when they visit us. It will shine through the house, so 
 that we may pick up a pin in any corner, and will set all 
 the windows a-glowing, as if there were a great fire of 
 pine knots in the chimney. And then how pleasant, 
 when we awake in the night, to be able to see one 
 another's faces ! " 
 
 There was a general smile among the adventurers at 
 the simplicity of the young couple's project, in regard 
 to this wondrous and invaluable stone, with which the
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 171 
 
 greatest monarch on earth might have been proud to 
 adorn his palace. Especially the man with spectacles, 
 who had sneered at all the company in turn, now twisted 
 his visage into such an expression of ill-natured mirth, 
 that Matthew asked him, rather peevishly, what he him- 
 self meant to do with the Great Carbuncle. 
 
 "The Great Carbuncle!" answered the Cynic, with 
 ineffable scorn. " Why, you blockhead, there is no such 
 tiling, in rerun natura. I have come three thousand 
 miles, and am resolved to set my foot on every peak of 
 these mountains, and poke my head into every chasm, 
 for the sole purpose of demonstrating to the satisfaction 
 of any man, one whit less an ass than thyself, that the 
 Great Carbuncle is all a humbug ! " 
 
 Vain and foolish were the motives that had brought 
 most of the adventurers to the Crystal Hills, but none 
 so vain, so foolish, and so impious too, as that of the 
 scoffer with the prodigious spectacles. He was one of 
 those wretched and evil men, whose yearnings are down- 
 ward to the darkness, instead of heavenward, and who, 
 could they but extinguish the lights which God hath 
 kindled for us, would count the midnight gloom their 
 chiefest glory. As the Cynic spoke, several of the party 
 were startled by a gleam of red splendor, that showed 
 the huge shapes of the surrounding mountains, and the 
 rock-bestrewn bed of the turbulent river, with an illumi- 
 nation unlike that of their fire, on the trunks and black 
 boughs of the forest trees. They listened for the roll of 
 thunder, but heard nothing, and were glad that the tem- 
 pest came not near them. The stars, those dial points 
 of heaven, now warned the adventurers to close their 
 eyes on the blazing logs, and open them, in dreams, to 
 the glow of the Great Carbuncle. 
 
 The young married couple had taken their lodgings in
 
 172 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the farthest corner of the wigwam, and were separated 
 from the rest of the party by a curtaiu of curiously 
 woven twigs, such as might have hung, in deep festoons, 
 around the bridal bower of Eve. The modest little wife 
 had wrought this piece of tapestry, while the other 
 guests were talking. She and her husband fell asleep 
 with hands tenderly clasped, and awoke, from visions of 
 unearthly radiance, to meet the more blessed light of one 
 another's eyes. They awoke at the same instant, and 
 with one happy smile beaming over their two faces, 
 which grew brighter with their consciousness of the re- 
 ality of life and love. But no sooner did she recollect 
 where they were, than the bride peeped through the in- 
 terstices of the leafy curtain, and saw that the outer 
 room of the hut was deserted. 
 
 " Up, dear Matthew ! " cried she in haste. " The 
 strange folk are all gone ! Up, this very minute, or we 
 shall lose the Great Carbuncle ! " 
 
 In truth, so little did these poor young people deserve 
 the mighty prize which had lured them thither, that they 
 had slept peacefully all night, and till the summits of the 
 hills were glittering with sunshine ; while the other ad- 
 venturers had tossed their limbs in feverish wakefuluess, 
 or dreamed of climbing precipices, and set off to realize 
 their dreams with the earh'est peep of dawn. But Mat- 
 thew and Hannah, after their calm rest, were as light as 
 two young deer, and merely stopped to say their prayers, 
 and wash themselves in a cold pool of the Amonoosuck, 
 and then to taste a morsel of food, ere they turned their 
 faces to the mountain-side. It was a sweet emblem of 
 conjugal affection, as they toiled up the difficult ascent, 
 gathering strength from the mutual aid which they af- 
 forded. After several little accidents, such as a torn 
 robe, a lost shoe, and the entanglement of Hannah's hair
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 173 
 
 in a bough, they reached the upper verge of the forest, 
 and were now to pursue a more adventurous course. 
 The innumerable trunks and heavy foliage of the trees 
 had hitherto shut in their thoughts, which now shrank 
 ' affrighted from the region of wind, and cloud, and naked 
 rocks, and desolate sunshine, that rose immeasurably 
 above them. They gazed back at the obscure wilderness 
 which they had traversed, and longed to be buried again 
 in its depths, rather than trust themselves to so vast and 
 visible a solitude. 
 
 " Shall we go on ? " said Matthew, throwing his arm 
 round Hannah's waist, both to protect her, and to com- 
 fort his heart by drawing her close to it. 
 
 But the little bride, simple as she was, had a woman's 
 love of jewels, and could not forego the hope of possess- 
 ing the very brightest in the world, in spite of the perils 
 with which it must be won. 
 
 " Let us climb a little higher," whispered she, yet 
 tremulously, as she turned her face upward to the 
 lonely sky. 
 
 " Come, then," said Matthew, mustering his manly 
 courage, and drawing her along with him; for she be- 
 came timid again, the moment that be grew bold. 
 
 And upward, accordingly, went the pilgrims of the 
 Great Carbuncle, now treading upon the tops and 
 thickly interwoven branches of dwarf pines, which, by 
 the growth of centuries, though mossy with age, had 
 barely reached three feet in altitude. Next, they came 
 to masses and fragments of naked rock, heaped con- 
 fusedly together, like a cairn reared by giants, in mem- 
 ory of a giant chief. In this bleak realm of upper air, 
 nothing breathed, nothing grew ; there was no life but 
 what was concentrated in their two hearts ; they had 
 climbed so high, that Nature herself seemed no longer
 
 174 TVVICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 to keep them company. She lingered beneath them, 
 within the verge of the forest trees, and sent a farewell 
 glance after her children, as they strayed where her own 
 green footprints had never been. But soon they were 
 to be hidden from her eye. Densely and dark, the mists 
 began to gather below, casting black spots of shadow 
 on the vast landscape, and sailing heavily to one centre, 
 as if the loftiest mountain peak had summoned a council 
 of its kindred clouds. Finally, the vapors welded them- 
 selves, as it were, into a mass, presenting the appearance 
 of a pavement over which the wanderers might have 
 trodden, but where they would vainly ? have sought an 
 avenue to the blessed earth which they had lost. And 
 the lovers yearned to behold that green earth again, 
 more intensely, alas ! than, beneath a clouded sky, they 
 had ever desired a glimpse of heaven. They even felt 
 it a relief to their desolation, when the mists, creeping 
 gradually up the mountain, concealed its lonely peak, and 
 thus annihilated, at least for them, the whole region of 
 visible space. But they drew closer together, with a 
 fond and melancholy gaze, dreading lest the universal 
 cloud should snatch them from each other's sight. 
 
 Still, perhaps, they would have been resolute to climb 
 as far and as high, between earth and heaven, as they 
 could find foothold, if Hannah's strength had not begun 
 to fail, and with that, her courage also. Her breath 
 grew short. She refused to burden her husband with 
 her weight, but often tottered against his side, and re- 
 covered herself each time by a feebler effort. At last, 
 she sank down on one of the rocky steps of the acclivity. 
 
 "We are lost, dear Matthew," said she, mournfully. 
 " We shall never find our way to the earth again. And 
 O, how happy we might have been in our cottage ! " 
 
 " Dear heart ! we will yet be happy there," answered
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 175 
 
 Matthew. " Look ! In this direction, the sunshine pene- 
 trates the dismal mist. By its aid, I can direct our 
 course to the passage of the Notch. Let us go back, 
 love, and dream no more of the Great Carbuncle ! " 
 
 "The sun cannot be yonder," said Hannah, with de- 
 spondence. " By this time, it -must be noon. If there 
 could ever be any sunshine here, it would come from 
 above our heads." 
 
 " But look ! " repeated Matthew, in a somewhat altered 
 tone. " It is brightening every moment. If not sunshine, 
 what can it be ? " 
 
 Nor could the young bride any longer deny, that a 
 radiance was breaking through the mist, and changing 
 its dim hue to a dusky red, which continually grew more 
 vivid, as if brilliant particles were interfused with the 
 gloom. Now, also, the cloud began to roll away from 
 the mountain, while, as it heavily withdrew, one object 
 after another started out of its impenetrable obscurity 
 into sight, with precisely the effect of a new creation, 
 before the indistinctness of the old chaos had been com- 
 pletely swallowed up. As the process went on, they 
 saw the gleaming of water close at their feet, and found 
 themselves on the very border of a mountain lake, deep, 
 bright, clear, and calmly beautiful, spreading from brim 
 to brim of a basin that had been scooped out of the solid 
 rock. A ray of glory flashed across its surface. The 
 pilgrims looked whence it should proceed, but closed 
 their eyes with a thrill of awful admiration, to exclude 
 the fervid splendor that glowed from the brow of a cliff, 
 impending over the enchanted lake. For the simple pair 
 had reached that lake of mystery, and found the long- 
 sought shrine of the Great Carbuncle ! 
 
 They threw their arms around each other, and trem- 
 bled at their own success; for as the legends of this
 
 176 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 wondrous gem rushed thick upon their memory, they 
 felt themselves marked out by fate, and the conscious- 
 ness was fearful. Often, from childhood upward, they 
 had seen it shining like a distant star. And now that 
 star was throwing its intensest lustre on their hearts. 
 They seemed changed to one another's eyes, in the red 
 brilliancy that flamed upon their cheeks, while it lent 
 the same fire to the lake, the rocks, and sky, and to the 
 mists which had rolled back before its power. But, with 
 their next glance, they beheld an object that drew their 
 attention even from the mighty stone. At the base of 
 the cliff, directly beneath the Great Carbuncle, appeared 
 the figure of a man, with his arms extended in the act 
 of climbing, and his face turned upward, as if to drink 
 the full gush of splendor. But he stirred not, no more 
 than if changed to marble. 
 
 "It is the Seeker," whispered Hannah, convulsively 
 grasping her husband's arm. "Matthew, he is dead." 
 
 " The joy of success has killed him," replied Matthew, 
 trembling violently. " Or, perhaps the very light of the 
 Great Carbuncle was death ! " 
 
 "The Great Carbuncle," cried a peevish voice behind 
 them. " The Great Humbug ! If you have found it, 
 prithee point it out to me." 
 
 They turned their heads, and there was the Cynic, 
 with his prodigious spectacles set carefully on his nose, 
 staring now at the lake, now at the rocks, now at the 
 distant masses of vapor, now right at the Great Carbuncle 
 itself, yet seemingly as unconscious of its light, as if all 
 the scattered clouds were condensed about his person. 
 Though its radiance actually threw the shadow of the 
 unbeliever at his own feet, as he turned his back upon 
 the glorious jewel, he would not be convinced that there 
 was the least glimmer there.
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 177 
 
 "Where is your Great Humbug?" he repeated. "I 
 challenge you to make me see it ! " 
 
 "There," said Matthew, incensed at such perverse 
 blindness, and turning the Cynic round towards the 
 illuminated cliff. " Take off those abominable spectacles, 
 and you cannot help seeing it ! " 
 
 Now these colored spectacles probably darkened the 
 Cynic's sight, in at least as great a degree as the smoked 
 glasses through which people gaze at an eclipse. With 
 resolute bravado, however, he snatched them from his 
 nose, and fixed a bold stare full upon the ruddy blaze of 
 the Great Carbuncle. But scarcely had he encountered 
 it, when, with a deep, shuddering groan, he dropped his 
 head, and pressed both hands across his miserable eyes. 
 Thenceforth there was, in very truth, no light of the 
 Great Carbuncle, nor any other light on earth, nor light 
 of Heaven itself, for the poor Cynic. So long accus- 
 tomed to view all objects through a medium that deprived 
 them of every glimpse of brightness, a single flash of so 
 glorious a phenomenon, striking upon his naked vision, 
 had blinded him forever. 
 
 " Matthew," said Hannah, clinging to him, " let us go 
 hence ! " 
 
 Matthew saw that she was faint, and, kneeling down, 
 supported her in his arms, while he threw some of the 
 thrillingly cold water of the enchanted lake upon her face 
 and bosom. It revived her, but could not renovate her 
 courage. 
 
 " Yes, dearest ! " cried Matthew, pressing her tremu- 
 lous form to his breast, " we will go hence, and return 
 to our humble cottage. The blessed sunshine and the 
 quiet moonlight shall come through our window. We 
 will kindle the cheerful glow of our hearth at eventide, 
 and be happy in its light. But never again will we 
 8* L
 
 178 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 desire more light than all the world may share with 
 us." 
 
 " No," said his bride, " for how could we live by day, 
 or sleep by night, in this awful blaze of the Great Car- 
 buncle ? " 
 
 Out of the hollow of their hands, they drank each a 
 draught from the lake, which presented them its waters 
 uncontaminated by an earthly lip. Then, lending their 
 guidance to the blinded Cynic, who uttered not a word, 
 and even stifled his groans in his own most wretched 
 heart, they began to descend the mountain. Yet, as they 
 left the shore, till then untrodden, of the spirit's lake, 
 they threw a farewell glance towards the cliff, and beheld 
 the vapors gathering in dense volumes, through which 
 the gem burned duskily. 
 
 As touching the other pilgrims of the Great Carbuncle, 
 the legend goes on to tell, that the worshipful Master 
 Ichabod Pigsnort soon gave up the quest, as a desperate 
 speculation, and wisely resolved to betake himself again 
 to his warehouse, near the town dock, in Boston. But, 
 as he passed through the Notch of the mountains, a war 
 party of Indians captured our unlucky merchant, and 
 carried him to Montreal, there holding him in bondage, 
 till, by the payment of a heavy ransom, he had wofully 
 subtracted from his hoard of pine-tree shillings. By his 
 long absence, moreover, his affairs had become so dis- 
 ordered, that, for the rest of his life, instead of wallowing 
 in silver, he had seldom a sixpence worth of copper. 
 Dr. Cacaphodel, the alchemist, returned to his labo- 
 ratory with a prodigious fragment of granite, which he 
 ground to powder, dissolved in acids, melted in the cru- 
 cible, and bunied with the blowpipe, and published the 
 result of his experiments in one of the heaviest folios of 
 the day. And, for all these purposes, tbe gem itself
 
 THE GREAT CARBUNCLE. 179 
 
 could not have answered better than the granite. The 
 poet, by a somewhat similar mistake, made prize of a 
 great piece of ice, which he found in a sunless chasm of 
 the mountains, and swore that it corresponded, in all 
 points, with his idea of the Great Carbuncle. The critics 
 say, that, if his poetry lacked the splendor of the gem, it 
 retained all the coldness of the ice. The Lord de Vere 
 went back to his ancestral hall, where he contented him- 
 self with a wax-lighted chandelier, and filled, in due 
 course of time, another coffin in the ancestral vault. As 
 the funeral torches gleamed within that dark receptacle, 
 there was no need of the Great Carbuncle to show the 
 vanity of earthly pomp. 
 
 The Cynic, having cast aside his spectacles, wandered 
 about the world, a miserable object, and was punished 
 with an agonizing desire of light, for the wilful blindness 
 of his former life. The whole night long he would lift 
 his splendor-blasted orbs to the moon and stars; he 
 turned his face eastward, at sunrise, as duly as a Persian 
 idolater ; he made a pilgrimage to Rome, to witness the 
 magnificent illumination of St. Peter's Church; and 
 finally perished in the great fire of London, into the 
 midst of which he had thrust himself, with the desperate 
 idea of catching one feeble ray from the blaze, that was 
 kindling earth and heaven. 
 
 Matthew and his bride spent many peaceful years, and 
 were fond of telling the legend of the Great Carbuncle. 
 The tale, however, towards the close of their lengthened 
 lives, did not meet with the full credence that had been 
 accorded to it by those who remembered the ancient lus- 
 tre of the gem. For it is affirmed, that, from the hour 
 when two mortals had shown themselves so simply wise 
 as to reject a jewel which would have dimmed all earthly 
 things, its splendor waned. When other pilgrims reached
 
 180 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the cliff, they found only an opaque stone, with particles 
 of mica glittering on its surface. There is also a tradition 
 that, as the youthful pair departed, the gem was loosened 
 from the forehead of the cliff, and fell into the enchanted 
 lake, and that, at noontide, the Seeker's form may still 
 be seen to bend over its quenchless gleam. 
 
 Some few believe that this inestimable stone is blazing, 
 as of old, and say that they have caught its radiance, like 
 a flash of summer lightning, far down the valley of the 
 Saco. And be it owned, that, many a mile from the 
 Crystal Hills, I saw a wondrous light around their sum- 
 mits, and was lured, by the faith of poesy, to be the 
 latest pilgrim of the GREAT CARBUNCLE.
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES.* 
 
 |UT this painter ! " cried Walter Ludlow, with 
 animation. " He not only excels in his pecul- 
 iar art, but possesses vast acquirements in all 
 other learning and science. He talks Hebrew with Dr. 
 Mather, and gives lectures in anatomy to Dr. Boylston. 
 In a word, he will meet the best instructed man among 
 us, on his own ground. Moreover, he is a polished gen- 
 tleman, a citizen of the world, yes, a true cosmopo- 
 lite ; for he will speak like a native of each clime and 
 country on the globe, except our own forests, whither 
 he is now going. Nor is all this what I most admire in 
 him." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Elinor, who had listened with a wo- 
 man's interest to the description of such a man. " Yet 
 this is admirable enough." 
 
 " Surely it is," replied her lover, " but far less so 
 than his natural gift of adapting himself to every variety 
 of character, insomuch that all men and all women 
 too, Elinor shall find a mirror of themselves in this 
 wonderful painter. But the greatest wonder is yet to 
 be told." 
 
 * This story was suggested by an anecdote of Stuart, related 
 in Duulap's History of the Arts of Design, a most enter- 
 taining book to the general reader, and a deeply interesting 
 one, we should think, to the artist.
 
 182 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "Nay, if he have more wonderful attributes than 
 these," said Elinor, laughing, "Boston is a perilous 
 abode for the poor gentleman. Are you telling me of 
 a painter, or a wizard ? " 
 
 "In truth," answered he, "that question might be 
 asked much more seriously than you suppose. They 
 say that he paints not merely a man's features, but his 
 mind and heart. He catches the secret sentiments and 
 passions, and throws them upon the canvas, like sun- 
 shine, or perhaps, in the portraits of dark-souled men, 
 like a gleam of infernal fire. It is an awful gift,'* added 
 Walter, lowering his voice from its tone of enthusiasm. 
 " I shall be almost afraid to sit to him." 
 
 " Walter, are you in earnest ? " exclaimed Eh' nor. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, dearest Elinor, do not let him 
 paint the look which you now wear," said her lover, 
 smiling, though rather perplexed. " There : it is pass- 
 ing away now, but when you spoke, you seemed fright- 
 ened to death, and very sad besides. What were you 
 thinking of?" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," answered Elinor, hastily. " You 
 paint my face with your own fantasies. Well, come for 
 me to-morrow, and we will visit this wonderful artist." 
 
 But when the young man had departed, it cannot be 
 denied that a remarkable expression was again visible 
 on the fair and youthful face of his mistress. It was a 
 sad and anxious look, little in accordance with what 
 should have been the feelings of a maiden on the eve of 
 wedlock. Yet Walter Ludlow was the chosen of her 
 heart. 
 
 "A look ! " said Elinor to herself. " No wonder that 
 it startled him, if it expressed what I sometimes feel. 
 I know, by my own experience, how frightful a look 
 may be. But it was all fancy. I thought nothing of it
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 183 
 
 at the time, I have seen nothing of it since, I did 
 but dream it." 
 
 And she busied herself about the embroidery of a 
 ruff, in which she meant that her portrait should be 
 taken. 
 
 The painter, of whom they had been speaking, was 
 not one of those native artists, who, at a later period 
 than this, borrowed their colors from the Indians, and 
 manufactured their pencils of the furs of wild beasts. 
 Perhaps, if he could have revoked his life and prear- 
 ranged his destiny, he might have chosen to belong to 
 that school without a master, in the hope of being at 
 least original, since there were no works of art to imi- 
 tate, nor rules to follow. But he had been born and 
 educated in Europe. People said, that he had studied 
 the grandeur or beauty of conception, and every touch 
 of the master hand, in all the most famous pictures, in 
 cabinets and galleries, and on the walls of churches, till 
 there was nothing more for his powerful mind to learn. 
 Art could add nothing to its lessons, but Nature might. 
 He had therefore visited a world, whither none of his 
 professional brethren had preceded him, to feast his eyes 
 on visible images, that were noble and picturesque, yet 
 had never been transferred to canvas. America was too 
 poor to afford other temptations to an artist of eminence, 
 though many of the colonial gentry, on the painter's 
 arrival, had expressed a wish to transmit their linea- 
 ments to posterity, by means of his skill. Whenever 
 such proposals were made, he fixed his piercing eyes 
 on the applicant, and seemed to look him through and 
 through. If he beheld only a sleek and comfortable 
 visage, though there were a gold-laced coat to adorn 
 the picture, and golden guineas to pay for it, he civilly 
 rejected the task and the reward. But if the face were
 
 184 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the index of anything uncommon, in thought, sentiment, 
 or experience ; or if he met a beggar in the street, with 
 a white beard and a furrowed brow ; or if sometimes a 
 child happened to look up and smile ; he would exhaust 
 all the art on them, that he denied to wealth. 
 
 Pictorial skill being so rare in the colonies, the painter 
 became an object of general curiosity. If few or none 
 could appreciate the technical merit of his productions, 
 yet there were points in regard to which the opinion of 
 the crowd was as valuable as the refined judgment of the 
 amateur. He watched the effect that each picture pro- 
 duced on such untutored beholders, and derived profit from 
 their remarks, while they would as soon have thought of 
 instructing Nature herself, as him who seemed to rival 
 her. Their admiration, it must be owned, was tinctured 
 with the prejudices of the age and country. Some deemed 
 it an offence against the Mosaic law, and even a presump- 
 tuous mockery of the Creator, to bring into existence 
 such lively images of his creatures. Others, frightened 
 at the art which could raise phantoms at will, and keep 
 the form of the dead among the living, were inclined to 
 consider the painter as a magician, or perhaps the famous 
 Black Man, of old witch times, plotting mischief in a new 
 guise. These foolish fancies were more than half believed 
 among the mob. Even in superior circles, his character 
 was invested with a vague awe, partly rising like smoke- 
 wreaths from the popular superstitions, but chiefly caused 
 by the varied knowledge and talents which he made sub- 
 servient to his profession. 
 
 Being on the eve of marriage, Walter Ludlow and 
 Elinor were eager to obtain their portraits, as the first of 
 what, they doubtless hoped, would be a long series of 
 family pictures. The day after the conversation above 
 recorded, they visited the painter's rooms. A servant
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 185 
 
 ushered them into an apartment, where, though the artist 
 himself was not visible, there were personages whom they 
 could hardly forbear greeting with reverence. They knew, 
 indeed, that the whole assembly were but pictures, yet felt 
 it impossible to separate the idea of life and intellect 
 from such striking counterfeits. Several of the portraits 
 were known to them, either as distinguished characters 
 of the day, or their private acquaintances. There was 
 Governor Burnett, looking as if ho had just received an 
 undutiful communication from the House of Representa- 
 tives, and were inditing a most sharp response. Mr. 
 Cooke hung beside the ruler whom he opposed, sturdy, 
 and somewhat puritanical, as befitted a popular leader. 
 The ancient lady of Sir William Phipps eyed them from 
 the wall, in ruff and farthingale, au imperious old dame, 
 not unsuspected of witchcraft. John Winslow, then a very 
 young man, wore the expression of warlike enterprise, 
 which long afterwards made him a distinguished general. 
 Their personal friends were recognized at a glance. In. 
 most of the pictures, the whole mind and character were 
 brought out on the countenance, and concentrated into a 
 single look, so that, to speak paradoxically, the originals 
 hardly resembled themselves so strikingly as the portraits 
 did. 
 
 Among these modern worthies, there were two old 
 bearded saints, who had almost vanished into the darken- 
 ing canvas. There was also a pale, but unfaded Madonna, 
 who had perhaps been worshipped in Rome, and now 
 regarded (he lovers with such a mild and holy look, that 
 they longed to worship too. 
 
 " How singular a thought," observed Walter Ludlow, 
 " that this beautiful face has been beautiful for above two 
 hundred years ! O, if all beauty would endure so well .' 
 Do you not envy her, Minor ? "
 
 186 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "If earth were heaven, I might," she replied. " But 
 where all things fade, how miserable to be the one that 
 could not fade ! " 
 
 " This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl, 
 saint though he be," continued Walter. " He troubles 
 me. But the Virgin looks kindly at us." 
 
 " Yes ; but very sorrowfully, methinks," said Elinor. 
 
 The easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sus- 
 taining one that had been recently commenced. After a 
 little inspection, they began to recognize the features of 
 their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Colman, growing into 
 shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud. 
 
 " Kind old man ! " exclaimed Elinor. " He gazes at 
 me, as if he were about to utter a word of paternal ad- 
 vice." 
 
 " And at me," said Walter, " as if he were about to 
 shake his head and rebuke me for some suspected in- 
 iquity. But so does the original. I shall never feel 
 quite comfortable under his eye, till we stand before him 
 to be married." 
 
 They now heard a footstep on the floor, and turning, 
 beheld the painter, who had been some moments in the 
 room, and had listened to a few of their remarks. He 
 was a middle-aged man, with a countenance well worthy 
 of his own pencil. Indeed, by the picturesque, though 
 careless arrangement of his rich dress, and, perhaps, be- 
 cause his soul dwelt always among painted shapes, he 
 looked somewhat like a portrait himself. His visitors 
 were sensible of a kindred between the artist and his 
 works, and felt as if one of the pictures had stepped from 
 the canvas to salute them. 
 
 Walter Ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, 
 explained the object of their visit. While he spoke, a 
 sunbeam was falling athwart his figure and Elinor's, witb
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 187 
 
 so happy an effect, that they also seemed living pictures 
 of youth and beauty, gladdened by bright fortune. The 
 artist was evidently struck. 
 
 " My easel is occupied for several ensuing days, and 
 my stay in Boston must be brief," said he, thoughtfully; 
 then, after an observant glance, he added, " but your 
 wishes shall be gratified, though I disappoint the Chief 
 Justice and Madam Oliver. I must not lose this op- 
 portunity, for the sake of painting a few ells of broad- 
 cloth and brocade." 
 
 The painter expressed a desire to introduce both their 
 portraits into one picture, and represent them engaged 
 in some appropriate action. This plan would have de- 
 lighted the lovers, but was necessarily rejected, because 
 so large a space of canvas would have been unfit for the 
 room which it was intended to decorate. Two half-length 
 portraits were therefore fixed upon. After they had 
 taken leave, Walter Ludlow asked Elinor, with a smile, 
 whether she knew what an influence over their fates the 
 painter was about to acquire. 
 
 "The old women of Boston afiirm," continued he, 
 " that after he has once got possession of a person's face 
 and figure, he may paint him in any act or situation 
 whatever, and the picture will be prophetic. Do you 
 believe it ? " 
 
 "Not quite," said Elinor, smiling. "Yet if he has 
 such magic, there is something so gentle in his manner, 
 that I am sure he will use it well." 
 
 It was the painter's choice to proceed with both the 
 portraits at the same time, assigning as a reason, in the 
 mystical language which he sometimes used, that the faces 
 threw light upon each other. Accordingly, he gave now 
 a touch to Walter, and now to Elinor, and the features 
 of one and the other began to start forth so vividly, that
 
 188 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 it appeared as if his triumphant art would actually disen- 
 gage them from the canvas. Amid the rich light and 
 deep shade, they beheld their phantom selves. But, 
 though the likeness promised to be perfect, they were 
 not quite satisfied with the expression ; it seemed more 
 vague than in most of the painter's works. He, how- 
 ever, was satisfied with the prospect of success, and 
 being much interested in the lovers, employed his leisure 
 moments, unknown to them, in making a crayon sketch 
 of their two figures. During their sittings, he engaged 
 them in conversation, and kindled up their faces with 
 characteristic traits, which, though continually varying, 
 it was his purpose to combine and fix. At length he 
 announced, that at their next visit both the portraits 
 would be ready for delivery. 
 
 " If my pencil will but be true to my conception, in 
 the few last touches which I meditate," observed he, 
 " these two pictures will be my very best performances. 
 Seldom, indeed, has an artist such subjects." 
 
 While speaking, he still bent his penetrative eye upon 
 them, nor withdrew it till they had reached the bottom 
 of the stairs. 
 
 Nothing, in the whole circle of human vanities, takes 
 stronger hold of the imagination, than this affair of hav- 
 ing a portrait painted. Yet why should it be so ? The 
 looking-glass, the polished globes of the andirons, the 
 mirror-like water, and all other reflecting surfaces, con- 
 tinually present us with portraits, or rather ghosts, of 
 ourselves, which we glance at, and straightway forget 
 them. But we forget them, only because they vanish. 
 It is the idea of duration of earthly immortality that 
 gives such a mysterious interest to our own portraits. 
 Walter and Elinor were not insensible to this feeling, 
 .and hastened to the painter's room, punctually at the
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 189 
 
 appointed hour, to meet those pictured shapes, which 
 were to be their representatives with posterity. The 
 sunshine flashed after them into the apartment, but left 
 it somewhat gloomy, as they closed the door. 
 
 Their eyes were immediately attracted to their por- 
 traits, which rested against the farthest wall of the room. 
 At the first glance, through the dim light and the distance, 
 seeing themselves in precisely their natural attitudes, and 
 with all the air that they recognized so well, they uttered 
 a simultaneous exclamation of delight. 
 
 " There we stand," cried Walter, enthusiastically, 
 " fixed in sunshine forever ! No dark passions can 
 gather on our faces ! " 
 
 "No," said Elinor, more calmly; "no dreary change 
 can sadden us." 
 
 This was said while they were approaching, and had 
 yet gained only an imperfect view of the pictures. The 
 painter, after saluting them, busied himself at a table in 
 completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to form 
 their own judgment as to his perfected labors. At inter- 
 vals, he sent a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, 
 watching their countenances in profile, with his pencil 
 suspended over the sketch. They had now stood some 
 moments, each in front of the other's picture, contem- 
 plating it with entranced attention, but without uttering 
 a word. At length, Walter stepped forward, then back, 
 viewing Elinor's portrait in various lights, and finally 
 spoke. 
 
 " Is there not a change ? " said he, in a doubtful and 
 meditative tone. " Yes ; the perception of it grows more 
 vivid, the longer I look. It is certainly the same picture 
 that I saw yesterday ; the dress, the features, all 
 are the same; and yet something is altered." 
 
 " Is then the picture less like than it was yesterday P "
 
 190 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 inquired the painter, now drawing near, with irrepressible 
 interest. 
 
 " The features are perfect, Elinor," answered Walter, 
 "and, at the first glance, the expression seemed also 
 hers. But, I could fancy that the portrait has changed 
 countenance, while I have been looking at it. The eyes 
 are fixed on mine with a strangely sad and anxious 
 expression. Nay, it is grief and terror ! Is this like 
 Elinor ? " 
 
 " Compare the living face with the pictured one," said 
 the painter. 
 
 Walter glanced sidelong at his mistress, and started. 
 Motionless and absorbed fascinated as it were in 
 contemplation of Walter's portrait, Elinor's face had 
 assumed precisely the expression of which he had just 
 been complaining. Had she practised for whole hours 
 before a mirror, she could not have caught the look so 
 successfully. Had the picture itself been a mirror, it 
 could not have thrown back her present aspect, with 
 stronger and more melancholy truth. She appeared 
 quite unconscious of the dialogue between the artist 
 and her lover. 
 
 "Elinor," exclaimed Walter, in amazement, "what 
 change has come over you ? " 
 
 She did not hear him, nor desist from her fixed gaze, 
 till he seized her hand, and thus attracted her notice; 
 then, with a sudden tremor, she looked from the picture 
 to the face of the original. 
 
 " Do you see no change in your portrait ? " asked she. 
 
 " In mine ? None ! " replied Walter, examining it. 
 " But let me see ! Yes ; there is a slight change, an 
 improvement, I think, in the picture, though none in the 
 likeness. It has a livelier expression than yesterday, as 
 if some bright thought were flashing from the eyes, and
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 191 
 
 about to be uttered from the lips. Now that I have 
 caught the look, it becomes very decided. 
 
 While he was intent on these observations, Elinor 
 turned to the painter. She regarded him with grief and 
 awe, and felt that he repaid her witli sympathy and com- 
 miseration, though wherefore she could but vaguely 
 guess. 
 
 " That look ! " whispered she, and shuddered. " How 
 came it there ? " 
 
 "Madam," said the painter, sadly, taking her hand, 
 and leading her apart, " in both these pictures, I have 
 painted what I saw. The artist the true artist 
 must look beneath the exterior. It is his gift his 
 proudest but often a melancholy one to see the inmost 
 soul, and by a power indefinable even to himself to make 
 it glow or darken upon the canvas, in glances that ex- 
 press the thought and sentiment of years. Would that 
 I might convince myself of error in the present in- 
 stance ! " 
 
 They had now approached the table, on which were 
 heads in chalk, hands almost as expressive as ordinary 
 faces, ivied church-towers, thatched cottages, old thun- 
 der-stricken trees, Oriental and antique costume, and all 
 such picturesque vagaries of an artist's idle moments. 
 Turning them over, with seeming carelessness, a crayon 
 sketch of two figures was disclosed. 
 
 "If I have failed," continued he, "if your heart does 
 not see itself reflected in your own portrait, if you have 
 no secret cause to trust my delineation of the other, it 
 is not yet too late to alter them. I might change the 
 action of these figures too. But would it influence the 
 event ? " 
 
 He directed her notice to the sketch. A thrill ran 
 through Elinor's frame ; a shriek was upon her lips ; but
 
 192 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 she stifled it, with the self-command that becomes habit- 
 ual to all, who hide thoughts of fear and anguish within 
 their bosoms. Turning from the table, she perceived 
 that Walter had advanced near enough to have seen the 
 sketch, though she could not determine whether it had 
 caught his eye. 
 
 " We will not have the pictures altered," said she, 
 hastily. " If mine is sad, I shall but look the gayer for 
 the contrast." 
 
 "Be it so," answered the painter, bowing. "May 
 your griefs be such fanciful ones, that only your picture 
 may mourn for them ! For your joys, may they be 
 true and deep, and paint themselves upon this lovely face 
 till it quite belie my art ! " 
 
 After the marriage of Walter and Elinor, the pictures 
 formed the two most splendid ornaments of their abode. 
 They hung side by side, separated by a narrow pannel, 
 appearing to eye each other constantly, yet always re- 
 turning the gaze of the spectator. Travelled gentlemen, 
 who professed a knowledge of such subjects, reckoned 
 these among the most admirable specimens of modern 
 portraiture ; while common observers compared them 
 with the originals, feature by feature, and were raptu- 
 rous in praise of the likeness. But it was on a third 
 class neither travelled connoisseurs nor common ob- 
 servers, but people of natural sensibility that the pic- 
 tures wrought their strongest effect. Such persons 
 might gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, 
 would return day after day, and study these painted faces 
 like the pages of a mystic volume. Walter Ludlow's 
 portrait attracted their earliest notice. In the absence 
 of himself and his bride, they sometimes disputed as to 
 the expression, which the painter had intended to throw 
 upon the features ; all agreeing that there was a look of
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 193 
 
 earnest import, though no two explained it alike. There 
 was less diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor's pic- 
 ture. They differed, indeed, in their attempts to esti- 
 mate the nature and depth of the gloom that dwelt upon 
 her face, but agreed that it was gloom, and alien from 
 the natural temperament of their youthful friend. A 
 certain fanciful person announced, as the result of much 
 scrutiny, that both these pictures were parts of one de- 
 sign, and that the melancholy strength of feeling, in 
 Elinor's countenance, bore reference to the more vivid 
 emotion, or, as he termed it, tke wild passion, in that of 
 Walter. Though unskilled in the art, he even began a 
 sketch, in which the action of the two figures was to 
 correspond with their mutual expression. 
 
 It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, 
 Elinor's face was assuming a deeper shade of pensive- 
 ness, which threatened soon to render her too true a 
 counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the 
 other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which 
 the painter had given him on the canvas, became re- 
 served and downcast, with no outward flashes of emo- 
 tion, however it might be smouldering within. In course 
 of time, Elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, 
 wrought with flowers, and fringed with heavy golden 
 tassels, before the pictures, under pretence that the dust 
 would tarnish their hues, or the light dim them. It was 
 enough. Her visitors felt, that the massive folds of the 
 silk must never be withdrawn, nor the portraits men- 
 tioned in her presence. 
 
 Time wore on ; and the painter came again. He had 
 been fur enough to the north to see the silver cascade of 
 the Crystal Hills, and to look over the vast round of 
 cloud and forest, from the summit of New England's 
 loftfest mountain. But he did not profane that scene by 
 
 VOL. I. 9 M
 
 194 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the mockery of his art. He had also lain in a canoe on 
 the bosom of Lake George, making his soul the mirror 
 of its loveliness and grandeur, till not a picture in the 
 Vatican was more vivid than his recollection. He had 
 gone with the Indian hunters to Niagara, and there, 
 again, had flung his hopeless pencil down the precipice, 
 feeling that he could as soon paint the roar, as aught else 
 that goes to make up the wondrous cataract. In truth, 
 it was seldom his impulse to copy natural scenery, ex- 
 cept as a framework for the delineations of the human 
 form and face, instinct with thought, passion, or suffering. 
 With store of such, his adventurous ramble had enriched 
 him ; the stern dignity of Indian chiefs ; the dusky loveli- 
 ness of Indian girls ; the domestic life of wigwams ; the 
 stealthy march ; the battle beneath gloomy pine-trees ; 
 the frontier fortress witli its garrison ; the anomaly of 
 the old French partisan, bred in courts, but grown gray 
 in shaggy deserts ; such were the scenes and portraits 
 that he had sketched. The glow of perilous moments ; 
 flashes of wild feeling ; struggles of fierce power ; love, 
 hate, grief, frenzy ; in a word, all the worn-out heart of 
 the old earth had been revealed to him under a new 
 form. His portfolio was filled with graphic illustrations 
 of the volume of his memory, which genius would trans- 
 mute into its own substance, and imbue with immor- 
 tality. He felt that the deep wisdom in his art, which 
 he had sought so far, was found. 
 
 But, amid stern or lovely nature, in the perils of the 
 forest, or its overwhelming peacefulness, still there had 
 been two phantoms, the companions of his way. Like 
 all other men around whom an engrossing purpose 
 wreathes itself, he was insulated from the mass of hu-^ 
 man kind. He had no aim, no pleasure, no sympa- 
 thies, but what were ultimately connected with hiart
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 195 
 
 Though gentle in manner, and upright in intent and 
 action, he did not possess kindly feelings; his heart wai 
 cold ; no living creature could be brought near enough 
 to keep him warm. For these two beings, however, 
 he had felt, in its greatest intensity, the sort of interest 
 which always allied him to the subjects of his pencil. 
 He had pried into their souls with his keenest insight, 
 and pictured the result upon their features, with his 
 utmost skill, so as barely to fall short of that standard 
 which no genius ever reached, his own severe concep- 
 tion. He had caught from the duskiness of the future 
 
 at least, so he fancied a fearful secret, and had ob- 
 scurely revealed it on the portraits. So much of himself 
 
 of his imagination and all other powers had been, 
 lavished on the study of Walter and Elinor, that he 
 almost regarded them as creations of his own, like the 
 thousands with which he had peopled the realms of Pic- 
 ture. Therefore did they flit through the twilight of the 
 woods, hover on the mist of waterfalls, look forth from 
 the mirror of the lake, nor melt away in the noontide 
 sun. They haunted his pictorial fancy, not as mockeries 
 of life, nor pale goblins of the dead, but in the guise of 
 portraits, each with the unalterable expression which 
 his magic had evoked from the caverns of the soul. 
 He could not rocross the Atlantic, till he had again be- 
 held the originals of those airy pictures. 
 
 " O glorious Art ! " thus mused the enthusiastic 
 painter, as he trod the street. "Thou art the image 
 of the Creator's own. The innumerable forms, that 
 wander in nothingness, start into being at thy beck. 
 The doftd live again. Thou recallest them to their old 
 scenes, and givest their gray shadows the lustre of a 
 better life, at once earthly and immortal. Thou snatch- 
 est back the fleeting moments of History. With thee,
 
 196 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 there is no Past ; for, at thy touch, all that is great be- 
 comes forever present ; and illustrious men live through 
 long ages, in the visible performance of the very deeds 
 which made them what they are. O potent Art! as 
 thou bringest the faintly revealed Past to stand in that 
 narrow strip of sunlight, which we call Now, canst thou 
 summon the shrouded Future to meet her there ? Have 
 I not achieved it ? Am I not thy Prophet ? " 
 
 Thus, with a proud, yet melancholy fervor, did he 
 almost cry aloud, as he passed through the toilsome 
 street, among people that knew not of his reveries, nor 
 could understand nor care for them. It is not good for 
 man to cherish a solitary ambition. Unless there be 
 those around him, by whose example he may regulate 
 himself, his thoughts, desires, and hopes will become 
 extravagant, and he the semblance, perhaps the reality, 
 of a madman. Reading other bosoms, with an acuteness 
 almost preternatural, the painter failed to see the dis- 
 order of his own. 
 
 " And this should be the house," said he, looking up 
 and down the front, before he knocked. " Heaven help 
 my brains ! That picture ! Methinks it will never van- 
 ish. Whether I look at the windows or the door, there 
 it is framed within them, painted strongly, and glowing 
 in the richest tints the faces of the portraits the 
 figures and action of the sketch ! " 
 
 He knocked. 
 
 " The Portraits ! Are they within ? " inquired he, of 
 the domestic ; then recollecting himself, " your master 
 and mistress ! Are they at home ? " 
 
 "They are, sir," said the servant, adding, as he no- 
 ticed that picturesque aspect of which the painter could 
 never divest himself, " and the Portraits too ! " 
 
 The guest was admitted into a parlor, communicating
 
 THE PROPHETIC PICTURES. 197 
 
 by a central door with an interior room of the same size. 
 As the first apartment was empty, he passed to the en- 
 trance of the second, within which his eyes were greeted 
 by those living personages, as well as their pictured rep- 
 resentatives, who had long been the objects of so singular 
 an interest. He involuntarily paused on the threshold. 
 
 They had not perceived his approach. Walter and 
 Elinor were standing before the portraits, whence the 
 former had just flung back the rich and voluminous 
 folds of the silken curtain, holding its golden tassel with 
 one hand, while the other grasped that of his bride. 
 The pictures, concealed for months, gleamed forth again 
 in undiminished splendor, appearing to throw a sombre 
 light across' the room, rather than to be disclosed by a 
 borrowed radiance. That of Elinor had been almost pro- 
 phetic. A pensiveness, and next a gentle sorrow, had 
 successively dwelt upon her countenance, deepening, with 
 the lapse of time, into a quiet anguish. A mixture of 
 affright would now have made it the very expression of 
 the portrait Walter's face was moody and dull, or ani- 
 mated only by fitful flashes, which left a heavier darkness 
 for their momentary illumination. He looked from Eli- 
 nor to her portrait, and thence to his own, in the con- 
 templation of which he finally stood absorbed. 
 
 The painter seemed to hear the step of Destiny ap- 
 proaching behind him, on its progress towards its vic- 
 tims. A strange thought darted into his mind. Was 
 not his own the form in which that destiny had embodied 
 itself, and he a chief agent of the coming evil which he 
 had foreshadowed ? 
 
 Still, Walter remained silent before the picture, com- 
 muning with it, as with his own heart, and abandoning 
 himself to the spell of evil influence, that the painter 
 had cast upon the features. Gradually his eyes kindled ;
 
 198 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 while as Elinor watched the increasing wildness of his 
 face, her own assumed a look of terror; and when at 
 last he turned upon her, the resemblance of both to their 
 portraits was complete. 
 
 " Our fate is upon us ! " howled Walter. " Die ! " 
 
 Drawing a knife, he sustained her, as she was sinking 
 to the ground, and aimed it at her bosom. In the action, 
 and in the look and attitude of each, the painter beheld 
 the figures of his sketch. The picture, with all its tre- 
 mendous coloring, was finished. 
 
 " Hold, madman ! " cried he, sternly. 
 
 He had advanced from the door, and interposed him- 
 self between the wretched beings, with the same sense 
 of power to regulate their destiny, as to alter a scene 
 upon the canvas. He stood like a magician, controlling 
 the phantoms which he had evoked. 
 
 " What ! " muttered Walter Ludlow, as he relapsed 
 from fierce excitement into silent gloom. " Does Pate 
 impede its own decree ? " 
 
 " Wretched lady ! " said the painter. " Did I not 
 warn you ? " 
 
 " You did," replied Elinor, calmly, as her terror gave 
 place to the quiet grief which it had disturbed. "But 
 I loved him ! " 
 
 Is there not a deep moral in the tale ? Could the 
 result of one, or all our deeds, be shadowed forth and 
 set before us, some would call it Fate, and hurry 
 onward, others be swept along by their passionate 
 desires, and none be turned aside by the PROPHETIC 
 PICTURES.
 
 DAVID SWAN. 
 
 A FANTASY. 
 
 |E can be but partially acquainted even with the 
 events which actually influence our course 
 through life, and our final destiny. There are 
 innumerable other events if such they may be called 
 which come close upon us, yet pass away without ac- 
 tual results, or even betraying their near approach, by 
 the reflection of any light or shadow across our minds. 
 Could we know all the vicissitudes of our fortunes, life 
 would be too full of hope and fear, exultation or disap- 
 pointment, to afford us a single hour of true serenity. 
 Tli is idea may be illustrated by a page from the secret 
 history of David Swan. 
 
 We have nothing to do with David until we find him, 
 at the age of twenty, on the high road from his native 
 place to the city of Boston, where his uncle, a small 
 dealer in the grocery line, was to take him behind the 
 counter. Be it enough to say, that he was a native of 
 New Hampshire, born of respectable parents, and had 
 received an ordinary school education, with a classic fin- 
 ish by a year at Gilmanton Academy. After journeying 
 on foot, from sunrise till nearly noon of a summer's day, 
 his weariness and the increasing heat determined him to
 
 200 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 sit down in the first convenient shade, and await the 
 coming up of the stage-coach. As if planted on purpose 
 for him, there soon appeared a little tuft of maples, with 
 a delightful recess in the midst, and such a fresh bub- 
 bling spring, that it seemed never to have sparkled 
 for any wayfarer but David Swan. Virgin or not, he 
 kissed it with his thirsty lips, and then flung himself 
 along the brink, pillowing his head upon some shirts and 
 a pair of pantaloons, tied up in a striped cotton handker- 
 chief. The sunbeams could not reach him; the dust 
 did not yet rise from the road, after the heavy rain 
 of yesterday ; and his grassy lair suited the young 
 man better than a bed of down. The spring murmured 
 drowsily beside him ; the branches waved dreamily 
 across the blue sky overhead; and a deep sleep, per- 
 chance hiding dreams within its depths, fell upon David 
 Swan. But we are to relate events which he did not 
 dream of. 
 
 While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other people 
 were wide awake, and passed to and fro, afoot, on horse- 
 back, and in all sorts of vehicles, along the sunny road 
 by his bedchamber. Some looked neither to the right 
 hand nor the left, and knew not that he was there ; some 
 merely glanced that way, without admitting the slumber- 
 er among their busy thoughts ; some laughed to see how 
 soundly he slept ; and several, whose hearts were brim- 
 ming full of scorn, ejected their venomous superflu- 
 ity on David Swan. A middle-aged widow, when no- 
 body else was near, thrust her head a little way into the 
 recess, and vowed that the young fellow looked charm- 
 ing in his sleep. A temperance lecture, saw him, and 
 wrought poor David into the texture of his evening's 
 discourse, as an awful instance of dead drunkenness by 
 the roadside. But, censure, praise, merriment, scorn,
 
 DAVID SWAN. 201 
 
 and indifference were all one, or rather all nothing, to 
 David Swan. 
 
 He had slept only a few moments, when a brown car- 
 riage, drawn by a handsome pair of horses, bowled easily 
 along, and was brought to a stand-still nearly in front of 
 David's resting-place. A linchpin had fallen out, and per- 
 mitted one of the wheels to slide off. The damage was 
 slight, and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to an 
 elderly merchant and his wife, who were returning to 
 Boston in the carriage. While the coachman and a ser- 
 vant were replacing the wheel, the lady and gentleman 
 sheltered themselves beneath the maple-trees, and there 
 espied the bubbling fountain, and David Swan asleep 
 beside it. Impressed with the awe which the humblest 
 sleeper usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as 
 lightly as the gout would allow; and his spouse took 
 good heed not to rustle her silk gown, lest David should 
 start up, all of a sudden. 
 
 " How soundly he sleeps ! " whispered the old gentle- 
 man. " From what a depth he draws that easy breath ! 
 Such sleep as that, brought on without an opiate, would 
 be worth more to me than half my income ; for it would 
 suppose health, and an untroubled mind." 
 
 " And youth, besides," said the lady. " Healthy and 
 quiet age does not sleep thus. Our slumber is no more 
 like his, than our wakefulness." 
 
 The longer they looked the more did this elderly 
 couple feel interested in the unknown youth, to whom 
 the wayside and the maple shade were as a secret cham- 
 ber, with the rich gloom of damask curtains brooding 
 over him. Perceiving that a stray sunbeam glimmered 
 down upon his face, the lady contrived to twist a branch 
 aside, so as to intercept it. And having done this little 
 act of kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him. 
 9*
 
 202 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " Providence seems to have laid him here," whispered 
 she to her husband, " and to have brought us hither to 
 find him, after our disappointment in our cousin's son. 
 Methinks I can see a likeness to our departed Henry. 
 Shall we waken him ? " 
 
 " To what purpose ? " said the merchant, hesitating. 
 " We know nothing of the youth's character." 
 
 "That open countenance!" replied his wife, in the 
 same hushed voice, yet earnestly. "This innocent 
 sleep 1 " 
 
 While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart 
 did not throb, nor his breath become agitated, nor his 
 features betray the least token of interest. Yet Fortune 
 was bending over him, just ready to let fall a burden of 
 gold. The old merchant had lost his only son, and had 
 no heir to his wealth, except a distant relative, with 
 whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases, peo- 
 ple sometimes do stranger things than to act the magi- 
 cian, and awaken a young man to splendor, who fell 
 asleep in poverty. 
 
 " Shall we not waken him ? " repeated the lady, 
 persuasively. 
 
 " The coach is ready, sir," said the servant, behind. 
 
 The old couple started, reddened, and hurried away, 
 mutually wondering that they should ever have dreamed 
 of doing anything so very ridiculous. The merchant 
 threw himself back in the carriage, and occupied his 
 mind with the plan of a magnificent asylum for unfortu- 
 nate men of business. Meanwhile, David Swan enjoyed 
 his nap. 
 
 The carriage could not have gone above a mile or two, 
 when a pretty young girl came along, with a tripping 
 pace, which showed precisely how her little heart was 
 dancing in her bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind
 
 DAVID SWAN. 203 
 
 of motion that caused is there any harm in saying it ? 
 her garter to slip its knot. Conscious that the silken 
 girth if silk it were was relaxing its hold, she 
 turned aside into the shelter of the maple-trees, and 
 there found a young man asleep by the spring ! Blush- 
 ing, as red as any rose, that she should have intruded 
 into a gentleman's bedchamber, and for such a purpose, 
 too, she was about to make her escape on tiptoe. But 
 there was peril near the sleeper. A monster of a bee 
 had been wandering overhead, buzz, buzz, buzz, 
 now among the leaves, now flashing through the strips 
 of sunshine, and now lost in the dark shade, till finally 
 he appeared to be settling on the eyelid of David Swan. 
 The sting of a bee is sometimes deadly. As free-hearted 
 as she was innocent, the girl attacked the intruder with 
 her handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and drove him 
 from beneath the maple shade. How sweet a picture ! 
 This good deed accomplished, with quickened breath, 
 and a deeper blush, she stole a glance at the youthful 
 stranger for whom she had been battling with a dragon 
 in the air. 
 
 " He is handsome ! " thought she, and blushed redder 
 yet. 
 
 How could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong 
 within him, that, shattered by its very strength, it should 
 part asunder, and allow him to perceive the girl among 
 its phantoms ? Why, at least, did no smile of welcome 
 brighten upon his face ? She was come, the maid whose 
 soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, had been 
 severed from his own, and whom, iu all his vague but 
 passionate desires, he yearned to meet. Her, only, could 
 he love with a perfect love, him, only, could she re- 
 ceive into the depths of her heart, and now her image 
 was faintly blushing in the fountain, by his side ; should
 
 204 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 it pass away, its happy lustrp would never gleam upon 
 his life again. 
 
 " How sound lie sleeps ! " murmured the girl. 
 
 She departed, but did not trip along the road s<? 
 lightly as when she came. 
 
 Now, this girl's father was a thriving country mer- 
 chant in the neighborhood, and happened, at that iden- 
 tical time, to be looking out for just such a young man 
 as David Swan. Had David formed a wayside acquaint- 
 ance with the daughter, he would have become the 
 father's clerk, and all else in natural succession. So 
 here, again, had good fortune the best of fortunes 
 stolen so near, that her garments brushed against him ; 
 and he knew nothing of the matter. 
 
 The girl was hardly out of sight, when two men 
 turned aside beneath the maple shade. Both had dark 
 faces, set off by cloth caps, which were drawn down 
 aslant over their brows. Their dresses were shabby, yet 
 had a certain smartness. These were a couple of ras- 
 cals, who got their living by whatever the Devil sent 
 them, and now, in the interim of other business, had 
 staked the joint profits of their next piece of villany on 
 a game of cards, which was to have been decided here 
 under the trees. But, finding David asleep by the 
 spring, one of the rogues whispered to his fellow, 
 
 " Hist ! Do you see that bundle under his head ? " 
 
 The other villain nodded, winked,, and leered. 
 
 "I '11 bet you a horn of brandy," said the first, " that 
 the chap has either a pocket-book, or a snug little hoard 
 of small change, stowed away amongst his shirts. And 
 if not there, we shall find it in his pantaloons-pocket." 
 
 " But how if he wakes ? " said the other. 
 
 His companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to 
 the handle of a dirk, and nodded.
 
 DAVID SWAN. 205 
 
 " So be it ! " muttered the second villain. 
 
 They approached the unconscious David, and, while 
 one pointed the dagger towards his heart, the other 
 began to search the bundle beneath his head. Their 
 two faces, grim, wrinkled, and ghastly with guilt and 
 fear, bent over their victim, looking horrible enough to 
 be mistaken for fiends, should he suddenly awake. Nay, 
 had the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they 
 would hardly have known themselves, as reflected there. 
 But David Swan had never worn a more tranquil aspect,. 
 even when asleep on his mother's breast. 
 
 " I must take away the bundle," whispered one. 
 
 " If he stirs, I '11 strike," muttered the other. 
 
 But, at this moment, a dog, scenting along the ground, 
 came in beneath the maple-trees, and gazed alternately 
 at each of these wicked men, and then at the quiet 
 sleeper. He then lapped out of the fountain. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said one villain. " We can do nothing 
 now. The dog's master must be close behind." 
 
 "Let's take a drink and be off," said the other. 
 
 The man with the dagger thrust back the weapon into 
 his bosom, and drew forth a pocket pistol, but not of that 
 kind which kills by a single discharge. It was a flask of 
 liquor, with a block-tin tumbler screwed upon the mouth. 
 Each drank a comfortable dram, and left the spot, with 
 so many jests, and such laughter at their unaccomplished 
 wickedness, that they might be said to have gone on their 
 way rejoicing. In a few hours, they had forgotten the 
 whole affair, nor once imagined that the recording angel 
 had written down the crime of murder against their souls, 
 in letters as durable as eternity. As for David Swan, he 
 still slept quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of 
 death when it hung over him, nor of the glow of renewed 
 life, when that shadow was withdrawn.
 
 206 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 He slept, but no longer so quietly as at first. An 
 hour's repose had snatched, from his elastic frame, the 
 weariness with which many hours of toil had burdened it. 
 Now he stirred, now moved his lips, without a sound, 
 now talked, in an inward tone, to the noonday spec- 
 tres of his dream. But a noise of wheels came rattling 
 louder and louder along the road, until it dashed through 
 the dispersing mist of David's slumber, and there was 
 the stage-coach. He started up, with all his ideas about 
 him. 
 
 " Halloo, driver ! Take a passenger ? " shouted he. 
 
 " Room on top ! " answered the driver. 
 
 Up mounted David, and bowled away merrily towards 
 Boston, without so much as a parting glance at that 
 fountain of dreamlike vicissitude. He knew not that a 
 phantom of Wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its 
 waters, nor that one of Love had sighed softly to their 
 murmur, nor that one of Death had threatened to crim- 
 son them with his blood, all, in the brief hour since he 
 lay down to sleep. Sleeping or waking, we hear not the 
 airy footsteps of the strange things that almost happen. 
 Does it not argue a superintending Providence, that, 
 while viewless and unexpected events thrust themselves 
 continually athwart our path, there should still be regu- 
 larity enough, in mortal life, to render foresight even par- 
 tially available ?
 
 SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE. 
 
 [p^fVTjO ! I have climbed high, and my reward is small. 
 ' J*>l^ I lore I staud, with wearied knees, earth, indeed, 
 jtAicJIkil at a dizzy depth below, but heaven far, far be- 
 yond me still. O that I could soar up into the very 
 zenith, where man never breathed, nor eagle ever flew, 
 and where the ethereal azure melts away from the eye, 
 and appears only a deepened shade of nothingness ! And 
 yet I shiver at that cold and solitary thought. What 
 douds are gathering in the golden west, with direful 
 intent against the brightness and the warmth of this 
 summer afternoon ! They are ponderous air-ships, black 
 as death, and freighted with the tempest ; and at intervals 
 their thunder, the signal-guns of that unearthly squadron, 
 rolls distant along the deep of heaven. These nearer 
 heaps of fleecy vapor methinks I could roll and toss 
 upon them the whole day long ! seem scattered here 
 and there, for the repose of tired pilgrims through the 
 sky. Perhaps for who can tell ? beautiful spirits 
 are disporting themselves there, and will bless my mortal 
 eye with the brief appearance of their curly locks of 
 golden light, and laughing faces, fair and faint as the 
 people of a rosy dream. Or, where the floating mass so 
 imperfectly obstructs the color of the firmament, a slen- 
 der foot and fairy limb, resting too heavily upon the frail
 
 08 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 support, may be thrust through, and suddenly withdrawn, 
 while longing fancy follows them in vain. Yonder again 
 is an airy archipelago, where the sunbeams love to linger 
 in their journeyings through space. Every one of those 
 little clouds has been dipped and steeped in radiance, 
 which the slightest pressure might disengage in silvery 
 profusion, like water wrung from a sea-maid's hair. 
 Bright they are as a young man's visions, and, like them, 
 would be realized in dullness, obscurity, and tears. I 
 will look on them no more. 
 
 In three parts of the visible circle, whose centre is 
 this spire, I discern cultivated fields, villages, white 
 country-seats, the waving lines of rivulets, little placid 
 lakes, and here and there a rising ground, that would 
 fain be termed a hill. On the fourth side is the sea, 
 stretching away towards a viewless boundary, blue and 
 calm, except where the passing anger of a shadow flits 
 .across its surface, and is gone. Hitherward, a broad 
 inlet penetrates far into the land ; on the verge of the 
 harbor, formed by its extremity, is a town ; and over it 
 am I, a watchman, all-heeding and unheeded. O that 
 the multitude of chimneys could speak, like those of 
 Madrid, and betray, in smoky whispers, the secrets of 
 all who, since their first foundation, have assembled at 
 the hearths within ! O that the Limping Devil of Le 
 Sage would perch beside me here, extend his wand over 
 this contiguity of roofs, uncover every chamber, and make 
 me familiar with their inhabitants ! The most desirable 
 mode of existence might be that of a spiritualized Paul 
 Pry hovering invisible round man and woman, witnessing 
 their deeds, searching into their hearts, borrowing bright- 
 ness from their felicity, and shade from their sorrow, and 
 retaining no emotion peculiar to himself. But none of 
 these things are possible ; and if I would know the inte-
 
 SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE. 209 
 
 rior of brick walls, or the mystery of human bosoms, I 
 can but guess. 
 
 Yonder is a fair street, extending nortli and south. The 
 stately mansions are placed each on its carpet of verdant 
 grass, and a long flight of steps descends from every door 
 to the pavement. Ornamental trees the broad-leafed 
 horse-chesnut, the elm so lofty and bending, the graceful 
 but infrequent willow, and others whereof I know not 
 the names grow thrivingly among brick and stone. The 
 oblique rays of the sun are intercepted by these green 
 citizens, and by the houses, so that one side of the street 
 is a shaded and pleasant walk. On its whole extent there 
 is now but a single passenger, advancing from the up- 
 per end; and he, unless distance and the medium of a 
 pocket spyglass do him more than justice, is a fine young 
 man of twenty. He saunters slowly forward, slapping 
 his left hand with his folded gloves, bending his eyes 
 upon the pavement, and sometimes raising them to throw 
 a glance before him. Certainly, he has a pensive air. 
 Is he in doubt, or in debt ? Is he, if the question be 
 allowable, in love ? Does he strive to be melancholy 
 and gentlemanlike ? Or, is he merely overcome by the 
 heat ? But I bid him farewell, for "the present. " The 
 door of one of the houses an aristocratic edifice, with 
 curtains of purple and gold waving from the windows is 
 now opened, and down the steps come two ladies, swing- 
 ing their parasols, and lightly arrayed for a summer ram- 
 ble. Both are young, both are pretty ; but methinks the 
 left-hand lass is the fairer of the twain ; and, though she 
 be so serious at this moment, I could swear that then; is 
 a treasure of gentle fun within her. They stand talking 
 a little while upon the steps, and finally proceed up the 
 street. Meantime, as their faces are now turned from 
 me, I may look elsewhere. 
 
 N
 
 210 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Upon that wharf, and down the corresponding street, 
 is a busy contrast to the quiet scene which I have just 
 noticed. Business evidently has its centre there, and 
 many a man is wasting the summer afternoon in labor 
 and anxiety, in losing riches, or in gaining them, when 
 he would be wiser to flee away to some pleasant country 
 village, or shaded lake in the forest, or wild and cool sea- 
 beach. I see vessels unlading at the wharf, and precious 
 merchandise strewn upon the ground, abundantly as at 
 the bottom of the sea, that market whence no goods 
 return, and where there is no captain nor supercargo to 
 render an account of sales. Here, the clerks are diligent 
 with their paper and pencils, and sailors ply the block 
 and tackle that hang over the hold, accompanying their 
 toil with cries, long drawn and roughly melodious, till 
 the bales and puncheons ascend to upper air. At a little 
 distance, a group of gentlemen are assembled round the 
 door of a warehouse. Grave seniors be they, and I would 
 wager if it were safe, in these times, to be responsible 
 for any one that the least eminent among them might 
 vie with old Vicentio, that incomparable trafficker of 
 Pisa. I can even select the wealthiest of the company. 
 It is the elderly personage, in somewhat rusty black, with 
 'powdered hair, the superfluous whiteness of which is vis- 
 ible upon the cape of his coat. His twenty ships are 
 wafted on some of their many courses by every breeze 
 that blows, and his name I will venture to say, though 
 I know it not is a familiar sound among the far-sepa- 
 rated merchants of Europe and the Indies. 
 
 But I bestow too much of my attention in this quarter. 
 On looking again to the long and shady walk, I perceive 
 that the two fair girls have encountered the young man. 
 After a sort of shyness in the recognition, he turns back 
 with them. Moreover, he has sanctioned my taste in
 
 SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE. 211 
 
 regard to his companions by placing himself on the inner 
 side of the pavement, nearest the Venus to whom I 
 enacting, on a steeple-top, the part of Paris on the top of 
 Ida adjudged the golden apple. 
 
 In two streets, converging at right angles towards my 
 watchtower, I distinguish three different processions. 
 One is a proud array of voluntary soldiers, in bright uni- 
 form, resembling, from the height whence I look down, 
 the painted veterans that garrison the windows of a toy- 
 shop. And yet, it stirs my heart ; their regular advance, 
 their nodding plumes, the sunflash on their bayonets and 
 musket-barrels, the roll of their drums ascending past me, 
 and the fife ever and anon piercing through, these 
 tilings have wakened a warlike fire, peaceful though I 
 be. Close to their rear marches a battalion of school- 
 boys, ranged in crooked and irregular platoons, shoulder- 
 ing sticks, thumping a harsh and unripe clatter from an 
 instrument of tin, and ridiculously aping the intricate 
 manoeuvres of the foremost band. Nevertheless, as 
 slight differences are scarcely perceptible from a church- 
 spire, one -might be tempted to ask, "Which are the 
 boys ? " or, rather, " Which the men ? " But, leaving 
 these, let us turn to the third procession, which, though 
 sadder in outward show, may excite identical reflections 
 in the thoughtful mind. It is a funeral. A hearse, 
 drawn by a black and bony steed, and covered by a dusty 
 pall ; two or three coaches rumbling over the stones, their 
 drivers half asleep ; a dozen couple of careless mourners 
 in their every-day attire ; such was not the fashion of our 
 fathers, when they carried a friend to his grave. There is 
 now no doleful clang of the bell to proclaim sorrow to the 
 town. Was the King of Terrors more awful in those days 
 than in our own, that wisdom and philosophy have been 
 able to produce this change ? Not so. Here is a proof
 
 212 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 that he retains his proper majesty. The military men, 
 and the military boys, are wheeling round the corner, and 
 meet the funeral full in the face. Immediately the drum 
 is silent, all but the tap that regulates each simultaneous 
 footfall. The soldiers yield the path to the dusty hearse 
 and unpretending train, and the children quit their ranks, 
 and cluster on the sidewalks, with timorous and instinc- 
 tive curiosity. The mourners enter the churchyard at 
 the base of the steeple, and pause by an open grave 
 among the burial-stones ; the lightning glimmers on them 
 as they lower down the coffin, and the thunder rattles 
 heavily while they throw the earth upon its lid. Verily, 
 the shower is near, and I tremble for the young man and 
 the girls, who have now disappeared from the long and 
 shady street. 
 
 How various are the situations of the people covered 
 by the roofs beneath me, and how diversified are the 
 events at this moment befalling them ! The new-born, 
 the aged, the dying, the strong in life, and the recent 
 dead are in the chambers of these many mansions. The 
 full of hope, the happy, the miserable, and tfie desperate 
 dwell together within the circle of my glance. In some 
 of the houses over which my eyes roam so coldly, guilt 
 is entering into hearts that are still tenanted by a debased 
 and trodden virtue, guilt is on the very edge of com- 
 mission, and the impending deed might be averted ; guilt 
 is done, and the criminal wonders if it be irrevocable. 
 There are broad thoughts struggling in my mind, and, 
 were I able to give them distinctness, they would make 
 their way in eloquence. Lo ! the raindrops are descending. 
 
 The clouds, within a little time, have gathered over all 
 the sky, hanging heavily, as if about to drop in one un- 
 broken mass upon the earth. At intervals, the lightning 
 flashes from their brooding hearts, quivers, disappears,
 
 SIGHTS PROM A STEEPLE. 213 
 
 and then comes the thunder, travelling slowly after its 
 twin-born flame. A strong wind has sprang up, howls 
 through the darkened streets, and raises the dust in 
 dense bodies, to rebel against the approaching storm. 
 The disbanded soldiers fly, the funeral has already van- 
 ished like its dead, and all people hurry homeward, 
 all that have a home ; while a few lounge by the corners, 
 or trudge on desperately, at their leisure. In a narrow 
 lane, which communicates with the shady street, I dis- 
 cern the rich old merchant, putting himself to the top of 
 his speed, lest the rain should convert his hair-powder 
 to a paste. Unhappy gentleman ! By the slow vehe- 
 mence, and painful moderation wherewith he journeys, 
 it is but too evident that Podagra has left its thrilling 
 tenderness in his great toe. But yonder, at a far more 
 rapid pace, come three other of my acquaintance, the 
 two pretty girls and the young man, unseasonably inter- 
 rupted in their walk. f Their footsteps are supported by 
 the risen dust, the wind lends them its velocity, 
 they fly like three sea-birds driven landward by the 
 tempestuous breeze. The ladies would not thus rival 
 Atalanta if they but knew that any one were at leisure 
 to observe them. Ah ! as they hasten onward, laughing 
 in the angry face of nature, a sudden catasti-ophe has 
 chanced. At the corner where the narrow lane enters 
 into the street, they come plump against the old mer- 
 chant, whose tortoise motion has just brought him to 
 that point. He likes not the sweet encounter ; the dark- 
 ness of the whole air gathers speedily upon his visage, 
 and there is a pause on both sides. Finally, he thrusts 
 aside the youth with little courtesy, seizes an arm of 
 each of the two girls, and plods onward, like a magician 
 with a prize of captive fairies. All this is easy to be 
 understood. How disconsolate the poor lover stands 1
 
 214 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 regardless of the rain that threatens an exceeding damage 
 to his well-fashioned habiliments, till he catches a back, 
 ward glance of mirth from a bright eye, and turns away 
 with whatever comfort it conveys. 
 
 The old man and his daughters are safely housed, and 
 now the storm lets loose its fury. In every dwelling I 
 perceive the faces of the chambermaids as they shut 
 down the windows, excluding the impetuous shower, and 
 shrinking away from the quick fiery glare. The large 
 drops descend with force upon, the slated roofs, and 
 rise again in smoke. There is a rush and roar, as of a 
 river through the air, and muddy streams bubble majes- 
 tically along the pavement, whirl their dusky foam into 
 the kennel, and disappear beneath iron grates. Thus 
 did Arethusa sink. I love not my station here aloft, in 
 the midst of the tumult which I am powerless to direct 
 or quell, with the blue lightning wrinkling on my brow, 
 and the thunder muttering its first awful syllables in my 
 ear. I will descend. Yet let me "give another glance to 
 the sea, where the foam breaks out in long white lines 
 upon a broad expanse of blackness, or boils up in far- 
 distant points, like snowy mountain-tops in the eddies of 
 a flood ; and let me look once more at the green plain, 
 and little hills of the country, over which the giant of the 
 storm is striding in robes of mist, and at the town, whose 
 obscured and desolate streets might beseem a city of the 
 dead; and turning a single moment to the sky, now 
 gloomy as an author's prospects, I prepare to resume my 
 station on lower earth. But stay ! A little speck of 
 azure has widened in the western heavens ; the sun- 
 beams find a passage, and go rejoicing through the tem- 
 pest ; and on yonder darkest cloud, born, like hallowed 
 hopes, of the glory of another world, and the trouble and 
 tears of this, brightens forth the Rainbow !
 
 THE HOLLOW OF THE THREE HILLS. 
 
 IN those strange old times, when fantastic dreams 
 and madmen's reveries were realized among the 
 actual circumstances of life, two persons met 
 together at an appointed hour and place. One was a lady, 
 graceful in form and fair of feature, though pale and 
 troubled, and smitten with an untimely blight in what 
 should have been the fullest bloom of her years ; the 
 other was an ancient and meanly dressed woman, of ill- 
 favored aspect, and so withered, shrunken, and decrepit, 
 that even the space since she began to decay must have 
 exceeded the ordinary term of human existence. In the 
 spot where they encountered, no mortal could observe 
 them. Three little hills stood near each other, and down 
 in the midst of them sunk a hollow basin, almost mathe- 
 matically circular, two or three hundred feet in breadth, 
 and of such depth that a stately cedar might but just 
 be visible above the sides. Dwarf pines were numerous 
 upon the hills, and partly fringed the outer verge of the 
 intermediate hollow ; within which there was nothing but 
 the brown grass of October, and here and there a tree- 
 trunk, that had fallen long ago, and lay mouldering with 
 no green successor from its roots. One of these masses 
 of decaying wood, formerly a majestic oak, rested close 
 beside a pool of green and sluggish water at the bottom
 
 2.16 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 of the basin. Such scenes as this (so gray tradition tells) 
 were once the resort of the Power of Evil and his plighted 
 subjects ; and here, at midnight or on the dim verge of 
 evening, they were said to stand round the mantling pool, 
 disturbing its putrid waters in the performance of an im- 
 pious baptismal rite. The chill beauty of an autumnal 
 sunset was now gilding the three hill-tops, whence a paler 
 tint stole down their sides into the hollow. 
 
 " Here is our pleasant meeting come to pass," said the 
 aged crone, " according as thou hast desired. Say quickly 
 what thou wouldst have of me, for there is but a short 
 hour that we may tarry here." 
 
 As the old withered woman spoke, a smile glimmered 
 on her countenance, like lamplight on the wall of a sepul- 
 chre. The lady trembled, and cast her eyes upward to 
 the verge of the basin, as if meditating to return with her 
 purpose unaccomplished. But it was not so ordained. 
 
 " I arn a stranger in this land, as you know," said she, 
 at length. " Whence I come it matters not ; but I have 
 left those behind me with whom my fate was intimately 
 bound, and from whom I am cut off forever. There is a 
 weight in my bosom that I cannot away with, and I have 
 come hither to inquire of their welfare." 
 
 " And who is there by this green pool, that can bring 
 thee news from the ends of the earth?" cried the old 
 woman, peering into the lady's face. " Not from my lips 
 mayst thou hear these tidings ; yet, be thou bold, and the 
 daylight shall not pass away from yonder hill-top, before 
 thy wish be granted." 
 
 " I will do your bidding though I die," replied the lady, 
 desperately. 
 
 The old woman seated herself on the trunk of the fallen 
 tree, threw aside the hood that shrouded her gray locks, 
 and beckoned her companion to draw near.
 
 THE HOLLOW OF THE THREE HILLS. 217 
 
 ** Kneel down," she said, " and lay your forehead on 
 *iy knees." 
 
 She hesitated a moment, but the anxiety that had long 
 been kindling burned fiercely up within her. As she 
 knelt down, the border of her garment was dipped into 
 the pool ; she laid her forehead on the old woman's knees, 
 and the latter drew a cloak about the lady's face, so That 
 she was in darkness. Then she heard the muttered words 
 of prayer, in the midst of which she started, and would 
 have arisen. 
 
 " Let me flee, let me flee and hide myself, that they 
 may not look upon me ! " she cried. But, with returning 
 .recollection, she hushed herself, and was still as death. 
 
 For it seemed as if other voices familiar in infancy, 
 and unforgotten through many wanderings, and in all the 
 vicissitudes of her heart and fortune were mingling 
 with the accents of the prayer. At first the words were 
 faint and indistinct, not rendered so by distance, but 
 rather resembling the dim pages of a book which we 
 strive to read by an imperfect and gradually brightening 
 light. In sucli a manner, as the prayer proceeded, did 
 those voices strengthen upon the ear ; till at length the 
 petition ended, and the conversation of an aged man, and 
 of a woman broken and decayed like himself, became 
 distinctly audible to the lady as she knelt. But those 
 strangers appeared not to stand in the hollow depth be- 
 tween the three hills. Their voices were encompassed 
 and re-echoed by the walls of a chamber, the windows of 
 which were rattling in the breeze ; the regular vibration 
 of a clock, the crackling of a fire, and the tinkling of the 
 embers as they fell among the ashes, rendered the scene 
 almost as vivid as if painted to the eye. By a melancholy 
 hearth sat these two old people, the man calmly despond- 
 ent, the woman querulous, and tearful, and their words 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 218 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 were all of sorrow. They spoke of a daughter, a wanderer 
 they knew not where, bearing dishonor along with her, and 
 leaving shame and affliction to bring their gray heads to 
 the grave. They alluded also to other and more recent 
 woe, but in the midst of their talk, their voices seemed 
 to melt into the sound of the wind sweeping mournfully 
 arnmig the autumn leaves ; and when the lady lifted her 
 eyes, there was she kneeling in the hollow between three 
 hills. 
 
 " A weary and lonesome time yonder old couple have 
 of it," remarked the old woman, smiling in the lady's face. 
 
 " And did you also hear them ? " exclaimed she, a sense 
 of intolerable humiliation triumphing over her agony and 
 fear. 
 
 "Yea; and we have yet more to hear," replied the old 
 woman. " Wherefore, cover thy face quickly." 
 
 Again the withered hag poured forth the monotonous 
 words of a prayer that was not meant to be acceptable in 
 Heaven; and soon, in the pauses of her breath, strange 
 murmurings began to thicken, gradually increasing so as 
 to drown and overpower the charm by which they grew. 
 Shrieks pierced through the obscurity of sound, and were 
 succeeded by the singing of sweet female voices, which in 
 their turn gave way to a wild roar of laughter, broken 
 suddenly by groanings and sobs, forming altogether a 
 ghastly confusion of terror and mourning and mirth. 
 Chains were rattling, fierce and stern voices uttered 
 threats, and the scourge resounded at their command. 
 All these noises deepened and became substantial to the 
 listener's ear, till she could distinguish every soft and 
 dreamy accent of the love-songs, that died causelessly 
 into funeral hymns. She shuddered at the unprovoked 
 Wrath which blazed up like the spontaneous kindling of 
 flame, and she grew faint at the fearful merriment, raging
 
 THE HOLLOW OP THE THREE HILLS. 219 
 
 miserably around her. In the midst of this wild scene, 
 where unbound passions jostled each other in a drunken 
 career, there was one solemn voice of a man, and a manly 
 and melodious voice it might once have been. He went 
 to and fro continually, and his feet sounded upon the 
 floor. In each member of that frenzied company, whose 
 own burning thoughts had become their exclusive world, 
 he sought an auditor for the story of his individual wrong, 
 and interpreted their laughter and tears as his reward of 
 scorn or pity. He spoke of woman's perfidy, of a wife 
 who had broken her holiest vows, of a home and heart 
 made desolate. Even as he went on, the shout, the laugh, 
 the shriek, the sob, rose up in unison, till they changed 
 into the hollow, fitful, and uneven sound of the wind, as 
 it fought among the pine-trees on those three lonely hills. 
 The lady looked up, and there was the withered woman 
 smiling in her face. 
 
 "Couldst thou have thought there were such merry 
 times in a madhouse ? " inquired the latter. 
 
 "True, true," said the lady to herself; "there is mirth 
 within its walls, but misery, misery without." 
 
 " Wouldst thou hear more ? " demanded the old wo- 
 man. 
 
 "There is one other voice I would faiu listen to 
 again," replied the lady, faintly. 
 
 " Then, lay down thy head speedily upon my knees, 
 that thou mayst get thee hence before the hour be past." 
 
 The golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon the 
 hills, but deep shades obscured the hollow and the pool, 
 as if sombre night were rising thence to overspread the 
 world. Again that evil woman began -to weave her spell. 
 Long did it proceed unanswered, till the knolling of a 
 bell stole in among the intervals of her words, likj; a 
 clang that had travelled far over valley and rising
 
 220 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ground, and was just ready to die in the air. The 
 lady shook upon her companion's knees, as she heard 
 that boding sound. Stronger it grew and sadder, and 
 deepened into the tone of a death-bell, knolling dolefully 
 from some ivy-mantled tower, and bearing tidings of 
 mortality and woe to the cottage, to the hall, and to 
 the solitary wayfarer, that all might weep for the doom 
 appointed in turn to them. Then came a measured 
 tread, passing slowly, slowly on, as of mourners with a 
 coffin, their garments trailing on the ground, so that the 
 ear could measure the length of their melancholy array. 
 Before them went the priest, reading the burial-service, 
 while the leaves of his book were rustling in the breeze. 
 And though no voice but his was heard to speak aloud, 
 still there were revilings and anathemas, whispered but 
 distinct, from women and from men, breathed against 
 the daughter who had wrung the aged hearts of her 
 parents, the wife who had betrayed the trusting fond- 
 ness of her husband, the mother who had sinned against 
 natural affection, and left her child to die. The sweeping 
 sound of the funeral train faded away like a thin vapor, 
 and the wind, that just before had seemed to shake the 
 coffin pall, moaned sadly round the verge of the Hollow 
 between three Hills. But when the old woman stirred' 
 the kneeling lady, she lifted not her head. 
 
 " Here has been a sweet hour's sport ! " said the with- 
 ered crone, chuckling to herself.
 
 
 THE TOLL-GATHERER'S DAY. 
 
 A SKETCH OF TRANSITORY LIFE. 
 
 JETHINKS, for a person whose instinct bids him 
 rather to pore over the current of life, than to 
 plunge into its tumultuous waves, no undesir- 
 able retreat were a toll-house beside some thronged thor- 
 oughfare of the land. In youth, perhaps, it is good for 
 the observer to run about the earth, to leave the track 
 of his footsteps far and wide, to mingle himself with 
 the action of numberless vicissitudes, and, finally, in 
 some calm solitude, to feed a musing spirit on all that 
 he has seen and felt. But there are natures too indolent, 
 or too sensitive, to endure the dust, the sunshine, or the 
 rain, the turmoil of moral and physical elements, to which 
 all the wayfarers of the world expose themselves. For 
 such a man, how pleasant a miracle, could life be made 
 to roll its variegated length by the threshold of his own 
 hermitage, and the great globe, as it were, perform its 
 revolutions and shift its thousand scenes before his eyes 
 without whirling him onward in its course. If any mor- 
 tal be favored with a lot analogous to this, it is Itio 
 toll-gatherer. So, at least, have I often fancied, while 
 lounging on a bench at the door of a small square edifice,
 
 222 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 which stands between shore and shore in the midst of 
 a long bridge. Beneath the timbers ebbs and flows an 
 arm of the sea ; while above, like the life-blood through 
 a great artery, the travel of the north and east is con- 
 tinually throbbing. Sitting on the aforesaid bench, I 
 amuse myself with a conception, illustrated by numerous 
 pencil-sketches in the air, of the toll-gatherer's day. 
 
 In the morning dim, gray, dewy summer's morn 
 the distant roll of ponderous wheels begins to mingle 
 with my old friend's slumbers, creaking more and more 
 harshly through the midst of his dream, and gradually 
 replacing it with realities. Hardly conscious of the 
 change from sleep to wakefulness, he finds himself 
 partly clad and throwing wide the toll-gates for the 
 passage of a fragrant load of hay. The timbers groan 
 beneath the slow-revolving wheels; one sturdy yeoman 
 stalks beside the oxen, and, peering from the summit of 
 the hay, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished lantern 
 over the toll-house, is seen the drowsy visage of his com, 
 rade, who has enjoyed a nap some ten miles long. The 
 toll is paid, creak, creak, again go the wheels, and the 
 huge haymow vanishes into the morning mist. As yet, 
 nature is but half awake, and familiar objects appear 
 visionary. But yonder, dashing from the shore with a 
 rattling thunder of the wheels and a confused clatter of 
 hoofs, comes the never-tiring mail, which has hurried 
 onward at the same headlong, restless rate, all through 
 the quiet night. The bridge resounds in one continued 
 peal as the coach rolls on without a pause, merely afford- 
 ing the toll -gatherer a glimpse at the sleepy passengers, 
 who now bestir their torpid limbs, and snuff a cordial 
 in the briny air. The morn breathes upon them and 
 blushes, and they forget how wearily the darkness toiled 
 away. And behold now the fervid day, in his bright
 
 THE TOLL- GATHERER'S DAY. 223 
 
 chariot, glittering aslant over the waves, nor scorning 
 to throw a tribute of his golden beams on the toll-gath- 
 erer's little hermitage. The. old man looks eastward, 
 and (for he is a moralizer) frames a simile of the stage- 
 coach and the sun. 
 
 While the world is rousing itself, we may glance 
 slightly at the scene of our sketch. It sits above the 
 bosom of the broad flood, a spot not of earth, but in 
 the midst of waters, which rush with a murmuring sound 
 among the massive beams beneath. Over the door is a 
 weather-beaten board, inscribed with the rates of toll, 
 in letters so nearly effaced that the gilding of the sun- 
 shine can hardly make them legible. Beneath the win- 
 dow is a wooden bench, on which a long succession of 
 weary wayfarers have reposed themselves. Peeping with- 
 in doors, we perceive the whitewashed walls bedecked 
 with sundry lithographic prints and advertisements of 
 various import, and the immense showbill of a wander- 
 ing caravan. And there sits our good old toll-gatherer, 
 glorified by the early t sunbeams. He is a man, as his 
 aspect may announce, of quiet soul, and thoughtful, 
 shrewd, yet simple mind, who, of the wisdom which 
 the passing world scatters along the wayside, has gath- 
 ered a reasonable store. 
 
 Now the sun smiles upon the landscape, and earth 
 smiles back again upon the sky. Frequent, now, are the 
 travellers. The toll-gatherer's practised ear can distin- 
 guish the weight of every vehicle, the number of its 
 wheels, and how many horses beat the resounding tim- 
 bers with their iron tramp. Here, in a substantial fam- 
 ily chaise, setting forth betimes to take advantage of the 
 dewy road, come a gentleman and his wife, with their 
 rosy-cheeked little girl sitting gladsomely between them. 
 The bottom of the chaise is heaped with multifarious
 
 224 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 bandboxes and carpet-bags, and beneath the axle swings 
 a leathern trunk dusty with yesterday's journey. Next 
 appears a four-wheeled carryall, peopled with a round 
 half-dozen of pretty girls, all drawn by a single horse, 
 and driven by a single gentleman. Luckless wight, 
 doomed, through a whole summer day, to be the butt of 
 mirth and mischief among the frolicsome maidens ! Bolt 
 upright in a sulky rides a thin, sour-visaged man, who, 
 as he pays his toll, hands the toll-gatherer a printed 
 card to stick upon the wall. The vinegar-faced traveller 
 proves to be a manufacturer of pickles. Now paces 
 slowly from timber to timber a horseman clad in black, 
 with a meditative brow, as of one who, whithersoever his 
 steed might bear him, would still journey through a mist 
 of brooding thought. He is a country preacher, going- 
 to labor at a protracted meeting. The next object pass- 
 ing townward is a butcher's cart, canopied with its arch 
 of snow-white cotton. Behind comes a "sauceman,"' 
 driving a wagon full of new potatoes, green ears of corn, 
 beets, carrots, turnips, and summer-squashes ; and next, 
 two wrinkled, withered, witch-looking old gossips, in an 
 antediluvian chaise, drawn by a horse of former genera- 
 tions, and going to peddle out a lot of huckleberries. 
 See there, a man trundling a wheelbarrow-load of lob- 
 sters. And now a milk-cart rattles briskly onward, cov- 
 ered with green canvas, and conveying the contributions 
 of a whole herd of cows, in large tin canisters. But let 
 all these pay their toll and pass. Here comes a specta- 
 cle that causes the old toll-gatherer to smile benignantly, 
 as if the travellers brought sunshine with them and lav- 
 ished its gladsome influence all along the road. 
 
 It is a barouche of the newest style, the varnished 
 panels of which reflect the whole moving panorama of 
 the landscape, and show a picture, likewise, of our
 
 THE TOLL-GATHERER'S DAY. 225 
 
 friend, with his visage broadened, so that his meditative 
 smile is transformed to grotesque merriment. Within, 
 sits a youth, fresh as the summer ^morn, and beside him 
 a young lady in white, with white gloves upon her slen- 
 der hands, and a white veil flowing down over her face. 
 But methinks her blushing cheek burns through the 
 snowy veil. Another white-robed virgin sits in front. 
 And who are these, on whom, and on all that appertains 
 to them, the dust of earth seems never to have settled ? 
 Two lovers, whom the priest has blessed, this blessed 
 morn, and sent them forth, with one of the bridemaids, 
 on the matrimonial tour. Take my blessing too, ye 
 happy ones ! May the sky not frown upon you, nor 
 clouds bedew you with their chill and sullen rain ! May 
 the hot sun kindle no fever in your hearts ! May your 
 whole life's pilgrimage be as blissful as this first day's 
 journey, and its close be gladdened with even brighter 
 anticipations than those which hallow your bridal night ! 
 
 They pass ; and ere the reflection of their joy lias faded 
 from his face, another spectacle throws a melancholy 
 shadow over the spirit of the observing man. In a close 
 carriage sits a fragile figure, muffled carefully, and shrink- 
 ing even from the mild breath of summer. She leans 
 against a manly form, and his arm infolds her, as if to 
 guard his treasure from some enemy. Let but a few 
 weeks pass, and when lie shall strive to embrace that 
 loved one, he will press only desolation to his heart ! 
 
 And now has morning gathered up her dewy pearls, 
 and fled away. The sun rolls blazing through the sky, 
 and cannot find a cloud to cool his face with. The 
 horses toil sluggishly along the bridge, and heave their 
 glistening sides in short quiek pantings, when the reins 
 are tightened at the toll-house. Glisten, too, the faces 
 of the travellers. Their garments are thickly bestrewn 
 10* o
 
 226 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 with dust ; their whiskers and hair look hoary ; their 
 throats are choked with the dusty atmosphere which 
 they have left belaud Jhem. No air is stirring on the 
 road. Nature dares draw no breath, lest she should in- 
 hale a stifling cloud of dust. " A hot and dusty day ! " 
 cry the poor pilgrims, as they wipe their begrimed fore- 
 heads, and woo the doubtful breeze which the river bears 
 along with it. "Awful hot! Dreadful dusty!" an- 
 swers the sympathetic toll-gatherer. They start again, 
 to pass through the fiery furnace, while he re-enters his 
 cool hermitage, and besprinkles it with a pail of briny 
 water from the stream beneath. He thinks within him- 
 self, that the sun is not so fierce here as elsewhere, and 
 that the gentle air does not forget him in these sultry 
 days. Yes, old friend; and a quiet heart will make a 
 dog-day temperate. He hears a weary footstep, and per- 
 ceives a traveller with pack and staff, who sits down 
 upon the hospitable bench, and removes the hat from his 
 wet brow. The toll-gatherer administers a cup of cold 
 water, and discovering his guest to be a man of homely 
 sense, he engages him in profitable talk, uttering the 
 maxims of a philosophy which he has found in his own 
 soul, but knows not how it came there. And as the 
 wayfarer makes ready to resume his journey, he tells him 
 a sovereign remedy for blistered feet. 
 
 Now comes the noontide hour, of all the hours 
 nearest akin to midnight ; for each has its own calmness 
 and repose. Soon, however, the world begins to turn 
 again upon its axis, and it seems the busiest epoch of the 
 day ; when an accident impedes the marcli of sublunary 
 things. The draw being lifted to permit the passage of 
 a schooner, laden with wood from the Eastern forests, 
 she sticks immovably, right athwart the bridge ! Mean- 
 while, on both sides of the chasm, a throng of impatient
 
 THE TOLL-GATHERER'S DAY. 227 
 
 travellers fret and fume. Here are two sailor in a gig, 
 with the top thrown back, both puffing cigars, and 
 swearing all sorts of forecastle oaths ; there, in a 
 smart chaise, a dashingly dressed gentleman and lady, 
 he from a tailor's shop-board, and she from a milliner's 
 back room, the aristocrats of a summer afternoon. 
 And what are the haughtiest of us, but the ephemeral 
 aristocrats of a summer's day? Here is a tin-pedler, 
 whose glittering ware bedazzles all beholders, like a 
 travelling meteor, or opposition sun ; and on the other 
 side a seller of spruce-beer, which brisk liquor is confined 
 in several dozen of stone bottles. Here comes a party 
 of ladies on horseback, in green riding-habits, and gen- 
 tlemen attendant; and there a flock of sheep for the 
 market, pattering over the bridge with a multitudinous 
 clatter of their little hoofs. Here a Frenchman, with a 
 hand-organ on his shoulder ; and there an itinerant 
 Swiss jeweller. On this side, heralded by a blast of 
 clarions and bugles, appears a train of wagons, convey- 
 ing all the wild beasts of a caravan ; and on that, a com- 
 pany of summer soldiers, marching from village to village 
 on a festival campaign, attended by the " brass baud." 
 Now look at the scene, and it presents an emblem of the 
 mysterious confusion, the apparently insolvable riddle, in 
 which individuals, or the great world itself, seem often 
 to be involved. What miracle shall set all things right 
 again ? 
 
 But see! the schooner has thrust her bulky carcass 
 through the chasm ; the draw descends ; horse and foot 
 pass onward, and leave the bridge vacant from end to 
 end. " And thus," muses the toll-gatherer, " have I 
 found it with all stoppages, even though the universe 
 seemed to be at a stand." The sage old man ! 
 
 Far westward now, the reddening sun throws a broad
 
 228 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 sheet of splendor across the flood, and to the eyes of 
 distant boatmen gleams brightly among the timbers of 
 the bridge. Strollers come from the town to quaff the 
 freshening breeze. One or two let down long lines, and 
 haul up flapping flounders, or cunners, or small cod, or 
 perhaps an eel. Others, and fair girls among them, with 
 the flush of the hot day still on their cheeks, bend over 
 the railing and watch the heaps of sea-weed floating 
 upward with the flowing tide. The horses now tramp 
 heavily along the bridge, and wistfully bethink them of 
 their stables. Rest, rest, thou weary world ! for to- 
 morrow's round of toil and pleasure will be as weari- 
 some as to-day's has been; yet both shall bear thee 
 onward a day's march of eternity. Now the old toll- 
 gatherer looks seaward, and discerns the lighthouse 
 kindling on a far island, and the stars, too, kindling in 
 the sky, as if but a little way beyond ; and mingling 
 reveries of Heaven with remembrances of Earth, the 
 whole procession of mortal travellers, all the dusty pil- 
 grimage which he has witnessed, seems like a flitting 
 show of phantoms for his thoughtful soul to muse 
 upon.
 
 THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 j|T fifteen, I became a resident in a country vil- 
 more than a hundred miles from home. 
 The morning after my arrival a September 
 morning, but warm and bright as any in July I ram- 
 bled into a wood of oaks, with a few walnut-trees inter- 
 mixed, forming the closest shade above my head. The 
 ground was rocky, uneven, overgrown with bushes and 
 clumps of young saplings, and traversed only by cattle- 
 paths. The track, which I chanced to follow, led me to 
 a crystal spring, with a border of grass, as freshly green 
 as on May morning, and overshadowed by the limb of 
 a great oak. One solitary sunbeam found its way down, 
 and played like a goldfish in the water. 
 
 From my childhood, I have loved to gaze into a 
 spring. The water filled a circular basin, small but 
 deep, and set round with stones, some of which were 
 covered with slimy moss, the others naked, and of 
 variegated hue, reddish, white, and brown. The bot- 
 tom was covered with coarse sand, which sparkled in 
 the lonely sunbeam, and seemed to illuminate the spring 
 with an unborrowed light. In one spot, the gush of 
 the water violently agitated the sand, but without ob- 
 scuring the fountain, or breaking the glassiness of its 
 surface. It appeared as if some living creature were
 
 230 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 about to emerge the Naiad of the spring, perhaps 
 in the shape of a beautiful young woman, with a gown 
 of filmy water-moss, a belt of rainbow-drops, and a cold, 
 pure, passionless countenance. How would the beholder 
 shiver, pleasantly, yet fearfully, to see her sitting on one 
 of the stones, paddling her white feet in the ripples, and 
 throwing up water, to sparkle in the sun ! Wherever 
 she laid her hands on grass and flowers, they would 
 immediately be moist, as with morning dew. Then 
 would she set about her labors, like a careful housewife, 
 to clear the fountain of withered leaves, and bits of 
 slimy wood, and old acorns from the oaks above, and 
 grains of corn left by cattle in drinking, till the bright 
 sand, in the bright water, were like a treasury of dia- 
 monds. But, should the intruder approach too near, 
 he would find only the drops of a summer shower glis- 
 tening about the spot where he had seen her. 
 
 Reclining on the border of grass, where the dewy 
 goddess should have been, I bent forward, and a pair 
 of eyes met mine within the watery mirror. They were 
 the reflection of my own. I looked again, and lo ! 
 another face, deeper in the fountain than my own 
 image, more distinct in all the features, yet faint as 
 thought. The vision had the aspect of a fair young 
 girl, with locks of paly gold. A mirthful expression 
 laughed in the eyes and dimpled over the whole shad- 
 owy countenance, till it seemed just what a fountain 
 would be, if, while dancing merrily into the sunshine, 
 it should assume the shape of woman. Through the 
 dim rosiness of the cheeks, I could see the brown 
 leaves, the slimy twigs, the acorns, and the sparkling 
 sand. The solitary sunbeam was diffused among the 
 golden hair, which melted into its faint brightness, and 
 became a glory round that head so beautiful !
 
 THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN. 231 
 
 My description can give no idea how suddenly the 
 fountain was thus tenanted, and how soon it was left 
 desolate. I breathed ; and there was the face ! I held 
 my breath ; and it was gone ! Had it passed away, 
 or faded into nothing ? I doubted whether it had ever 
 been. 
 
 My sweet readers, what a dreamy and delicious hour 
 did I spend, where that vision found and left me ! For 
 a long time I sat perfectly still, waiting till it should re- 
 appear, and fearful that the slightest motion, or even the 
 flutter of my breath, might frighten it away. Thus have 
 I often started from a pleasant dream, and then kept 
 quiet, in hopes to wile it back. Deep were my mus- 
 ings, as to the race and attributes of that ethereal be- 
 ing. Had I created her ? Was she the daughter of my 
 fancy, akin to those strange shapes which peep under the 
 lids of children's eyes? And did her beauty gladden 
 me, for that one moment, and then die ? Or was she 
 a water-nymph within the fountain, or fairy, or wood- 
 land goddess peeping over my shoulder, or the ghost 
 of some forsaken maid, who had drowned herself for 
 love ? Or, in good truth, had a lovely girl, with a 
 warm heart, and lips that would bear pressure, stolen 
 softly behind me, and thrown her image into the 
 spring ? 
 
 I watched and waited, but no vision came again. I 
 departed, but with a spell upon me, which drew me 
 back, that same afternoon, to the haunted spring. There 
 was the water gushing, the sand sparkling, and the sun- 
 beam glimmering. There the vision was not, but only a 
 great frog, the hermit of that solitude, who immediately 
 withdrew his speckled snout and made himself invisible, 
 all except a pair of long legs, beneath a stone. Me- 
 thought he had a devilish look ! I could have slain him
 
 232 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 as an enchanter, who kept the mysterious beauty impris- 
 oned in the fountain. 
 
 Sad and heavy, I was returning to the village. Be- 
 ' tween me and the church-spire rose a little hill, and on 
 its summit a group of trees, insulated from all the rest 
 of the wood, with their own share of radiance hovering 
 on them from the west, and their own solitary shadow 
 falling to the east. The afternoon being far declined, 
 the sunshine was almost pensive, and the shade almost 
 cheerful; glory and gloom were mingled in the placid 
 light ; as if the spirits of the Day and Evening had met 
 in friendship under those trees, and found themselves 
 akin. I was admiring the picture, when the shape of 
 a young girl emerged from behind the clump of oaks. 
 My heart knew her ; it was the Vision ; but so distant 
 and ethereal did she seem, so unmixed with earth, so 
 imbued with the pensive glory of the spot where she was 
 standing, that my spirit sunk within me, sadder than be- 
 fore. How could I ever reach her ? 
 
 While I gazed, a sudden shower caine pattering down 
 upon the leaves. In a moment the air was full of bright- 
 ness, each raindrop catching a portion of sunlight as it 
 fell, and the whole gentle shower appearing like a mist, 
 just substantial enough to bear the burden of radiance. 
 A rainbow, vivid as Niagara's, was painted in the air. 
 Its southern limb came down before the group of trees, 
 and enveloped the fair Vision, as if the hues of heaven 
 were the only garment for her beauty. When the rain- 
 bow vanished, she, who had seemed a part of it, was no 
 longer there. Was her existence absorbed in Nature's 
 loveliest phenomenon, and did her pure frame dissolve 
 away in the varied light ? Yet, I would not despair of 
 her return ; for, robed in the rainbow, she was the em- 
 blem of Hope.
 
 THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN. 233 
 
 Thus did the Vision leave me ; and many a doleful 
 day succeeded to the parting moment. By the spring, 
 and in the wood, and on the hill, and through the village ; 
 at dewy sunrise, burning noon, and at that magic hour of 
 sunset, when she had vanished from my sight, I sought 
 her, but in vain. Weeks came and went, months rolled 
 away, and she appeared not in them. I imparted my 
 mystery to none, but wandered to and fro, or sat in 
 solitude, like one that had caught a glimpse of heaven, 
 and could take no more joy on earth. I withdrew into 
 an inner world, where my thoughts lived and breathed, 
 and the Vision in the midst of them. Without intending 
 it, I became at once the author and hero of a romance, 
 conjuring up rivals, imagining events, the actions of oth- 
 ers and my own, and experiencing every change of pas- 
 sion, till jealousy and despair had their end in bliss. O, 
 had I the burning fancy of my early youth, with man- 
 hood's colder gift, the power of expression, your hearts, 
 sweet ladies, should flutter at my tale ! 
 
 In the middle of January, I was summoned home. 
 The day before my departure, visiting the spots which 
 had been hallowed by the Vision, I found that the spring 
 had a frozen bosom, and nothing but the snow and a 
 glare of winter sunshine, on the hill of the rainbow. 
 " Let me hope," thought I, " or my heart will be as icy 
 as the fountain, and the whole world as desolate as this 
 snowy hi^." Most of the day was spent in preparing 
 for the journey, which was to commence at four o'clock 
 the next morning. About an hour after supper, when 
 all was in readiness, I descended from my chamber 
 to the sitting-room, to take leave of the old clergyman 
 and his family, with whom I had been an inmate. A 
 gust of wind blew out my lamp as I passed through the 
 entry.
 
 234 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 According to their invariable custom, so pleasant a 
 one when the fire blazes cheerfully, the family were sit- 
 ting in the parlor, with no other light than what came 
 from the hearth. As the good clergyman's scanty sti- 
 pend compelled him to use all sorts of economy, the 
 foundation of his fires was always a large heap of tan, or 
 ground bark, which would smoulder away, from morning 
 till night, with a dull warmth and no flame. This even- 
 ing the heap of tan was newly put on, and surmounted 
 with three sticks of red-oak, full of moisture, and a few 
 pieces of dry pine, that had not yet kindled. There was 
 no light, except the little that came sullenly from two 
 half-burned brands, without even glimmering on the 
 andirons. But I knew the position of the old minister's 
 arm-chair, and also where his wife sat, with her knitting- 
 work, and how to avoid his two daughters, one a stout 
 country lass, and the other a consumptive girl. Groping 
 through the gloom, I found my own place next to that of 
 the son, a learned collegian, who had come home to keep 
 school in the village during the winter vacation. I no- 
 ticed that there was less room than usual, to-night, be- 
 tween the collegian's chair and mine. 
 
 As people are always taciturn in the dark, not a word 
 was said for some time after my entrance. Nothing 
 broke the stillness but the regular click of the matron's 
 knitting-needles. At times, the fire threw out a brief and 
 dusky gleam, which twinkled on the old man's glasses, 
 and hovered doubtfully round our circle, but was far too 
 faint to portray the individuals who composed it. Were 
 we not like ghosts ? Dreamy as the scene was, might it 
 not be a type of the mode in which departed people, who 
 had known and loved each other here, would hold com- 
 munion in eternity? We were aware of each other's 
 presence, not by sight, nor sound, nor touch, but by an
 
 THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN. 235 
 
 inward consciousness. Would it not be so among the 
 dead? 
 
 The silence was interrupted by the consumptive daugh- 
 ter, addressing a remark to some one in the circle, whom 
 she called Rachel. Her tremulous and decayed accents 
 were answered by a single word, but in a voice that made 
 me start, and bend towards the spot whence it had pro- 
 ceeded. Had I ever heard that sweet, low tone ? If 
 not, why did it rouse up so many old recollections, or 
 mockeries of such, the shadows of things familiar, yet 
 unknown, and fill my mind with confused images of her 
 features who had spoken, though buried in the gloom of 
 the parlor? Whom had ray heart recognized, that it 
 throbbed so ? I listened, to catch her gentle breathing, 
 and strove, by the intensity of my gaze, to picture forth 
 a shape where none was visible. 
 
 Suddenly, the dry pine caught ; the fire blazed up with 
 a ruddy glow ; and where the darkness had been, there 
 was she, the Vision of the Fountain ! A spirit of radi- 
 ance only, she had vanished with the rainbow, and ap- 
 peared again in the firelight, perhaps to flicker with the 
 blaze, and be gone. Yet, her cheek was rosy and life-like, 
 and her features, in the bright warmth of the room, were 
 even sweeter and tenderer than my recollection of them. 
 She knew me ! The mirthful expression that had laughed 
 in her eyes and dimpled over her countenance, when I 
 beheld her faint beauty in the fountain, was laughing and 
 dimpling there now. One moment our glance mingled, 
 the next, down rolled the heap of tan upon the kindled 
 wood, and darkness snatched away that Daughter of the 
 Light, and gave her back to me no more ! 
 
 Fair ladies, there is nothing more to tell. Must the 
 simple mystery be revealed, then, that Rachel was the 
 daughter of the village squire, and had left home for a
 
 236 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 boarding-school, the morning after I arrived, and re- 
 turned the day before my departure ? If I transformed 
 her to an angel, it is what every youthful lover does for 
 his mistress. Therein consists the essence of my story. 
 But slight the change, sweet maids, to make angels of 
 yourselves !
 
 FANCY'S SHOW-BOX. 
 
 A MORALITY. 
 
 (HAT is Guilt ? A stain upon the soul. And it 
 is a point of vast interest, whether the soul may 
 contract such stajns, in all their depth and fla- 
 grancy, from deeds which may have been plotted and 
 resolved upon, hut which, physically, have never had 
 existence. Must the fleshly hand and visible frame of 
 man set its seal to the evil designs of the soul, in order 
 to give them their entire validity against the sinner ? Or, 
 while none but crimes perpetrated are cognizable before 
 an earthly tribunal, will guilty thoughts, of which guilty 
 deeds are no more than shadows, will these draw down 
 the full weight of a condemning sentence, in the supreme 
 court of eternity ? In the solitude of a midnight chamber, 
 or in a desert, afar from men, or in a church, while the 
 body is kneeling, the soul may pollute itself even with 
 those crimes, which we are accustomed to deem alto- 
 gether carnal. If this be true, it is a fearful truth. 
 
 Let us illustrate the subject by an imaginary example. 
 A venerable gentleman, one Mr. Smith, who had long 
 been regarded as a pattern of moral excellence, was 
 warming his aged blood with a glass or two of generous 
 wine. His children being gone forth about their worldly
 
 238 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 business, and his grandchildren at school, he sat alone, in 
 a deep, luxurious arm-chair, with his feet beneath a richly 
 carved mahogany table. Some old people have a dread of 
 solitude, and when better company may not be had, re- 
 joice even to hear the quiet breathing of a babe, asleep 
 upon the carpet. But Mr. Smith, whose silver hair was 
 the bright symbol of a life unstained, except by such spots 
 as are inseparable from human nature, he had no need of 
 a babe to protect him by its purity, nor of a grown per- 
 son to stand between him and his own soul. Neverthe- 
 less, either Manhood must converse with Age, or Woman- 
 hood must soothe him with gentle cares, or Infancy must 
 sport around his chair, or his thoughts will stray into the 
 misty region of the past, and the old man be chill and sad. 
 Wine will not always cheer him. Such might have been 
 the case with Mr. Smith, when, through the brilliant me- 
 dium of his glass of old Madeira, he beheld three figures 
 entering the room. These were Fancy, who had assumed 
 the garb and aspect of an itinerant showman, with a box 
 of pictures on her back ; and Memory, in the likeness of 
 a clerk, with a pen behind her ear, an inkhorn at her 
 buttonhole, and a huge manuscript volume beneath her 
 arm ; and lastly, behind the other two, a person shrouded 
 in a dusky mantle, which concealed both face and form. 
 But Mr. Smith had a shrewd idea that it was Conscience. 
 How kind of Fancy, Memory, and Conscience to visit 
 the old gentleman, just as he was beginning to imagine 
 that the wine had neither so bright a sparkle nor so 
 excellent a flavor as when himself and the liquor were 
 less aged! Through the dim length of the apartment, 
 where crimson curtains muffled the glare of sunshine, 
 and created a rich obscurity, the three guests drew near 
 the silver-haired old man. Memory, with a finger be- 
 tween the leaves of her huge volume, placed herself at
 
 FANCY'S SHOW-BOX. 239 
 
 nis right hand. Conscience, with her face still j idden 
 in the dusky mantle, took her station on the left, so as 
 to be next his heart ; while Fancy set down her picture- 
 box upon the table, with the magnifying-glass convenient 
 to his eye. We can sketch merely the outlines of two or 
 three out of the many pictures which, at the pulling of a 
 string, successively peopled the box with the semblances 
 of living scenes. 
 
 One was a moonlight picture ; in the background, a 
 lowly dwelling ; and in front, partly shadowed by a tree, 
 yet besprinkled with flakes of radiance, two youthful 
 figures, male and female. The young man stood with 
 folded arms, a haughty smile upon his lip, and a gleam 
 of triumph in his eye, as he glanced downward at the 
 kneeling girl. She was almost prostrate at his feet, evi- 
 dently sinking under a weight of shame and anguish, 
 which hardly allowed her to lift her clasped hands in 
 supplication. Her eyes she could not lift. But neither 
 her agony, nor the lovely features on which it was de- 
 picted, nor the slender grace of the form which it con- 
 vulsed, appeared to soften the obduracy of the young 
 man. He was the personification of triumphant scorn. 
 Now, strange to say, as old Mr. Smith peeped through 
 the magnifying-glass, which made the objects start out 
 from the canvas with magical deception, he began to 
 recognize the farm-house, the tree, and both the figures 
 of the picture. The young man, in times long past, had 
 often met his gaze within the looking-glass ; the girl was 
 the very image of his first love, his cottage love, his 
 Martha Burroughs ! Mr. Smith was scandalized. " O, 
 vile and slanderous picture ! " he exclaims. " When 
 have I triumphed over ruined innocence? Was not 
 Martha wedded, in her teens, to David Tomkins, who 
 won her girlish love, and long enjoyed her affection as a
 
 240 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 wife ? And ever since his death, she has lived a reputa- 
 ble widow ! " Meantime, Memory was turning over the 
 leaves of her volume, rustling them to and fro with un- 
 certain fingers, until, among the earlier pages, she found 
 one which had reference to this picture. She reads it, 
 close to the old gentleman's ear ; it is a record merely of 
 sinful thought, which never was embodied in an act ; but, 
 while Memory is reading, Conscience unveils her face, 
 and strikes a dagger to the heart of Mr. Smith. Though 
 not a death-blow, the torture was extreme. 
 
 The exhibition proceeded. One after another, Fancy 
 displayed her pictures, all of which appeared to have been 
 painted by some malicious artist, on purpose to vex Mr. 
 Smith. Not a shadow of proof could have been adduced, 
 in any earthly court, that he was guilty of the slightest 
 of those sins which were thus made to stare him in the 
 face. In one scene, there was a table set out, with sev- 
 eral bottles, and glasses half filled with wine, which threw 
 back the dull ray of an expiring lamp. There had been 
 mirth and revelry, until the hand of the clock stood just 
 at midnight, when murder stepped between the boon 
 companions. A young man had fallen on the floor, and 
 lay stone dead, with a ghastly wound crushed into his 
 temple, while over him, with a delirium of mingled rage 
 and horror in his countenance, stood the youthful likeness 
 of Mr. Smith. The murdered youth wore the features of 
 Edward Spencer ! " What does this rascal of a painter 
 mean ? " cries Mr. Smith, provoked beyond all patience. 
 "Edward Spencer was my earliest and dearest friend, 
 true to me as I to him, through more than half a century. 
 Neither I, nor any other, ever murdered him. Was he 
 not alive within five years, and did he not, in token of 
 our long friendship, bequeath me his gold-headed cane 
 and a mourning ring? " Again had Memory been turn-
 
 FANCY'S SHOW-BOX. 241 
 
 ing over her volume, and fixed at length upon so confused 
 a page, that she surely must have scribbled it when she 
 was tipsy. The purport was, however, that, while Mr. 
 Smith and Edward Spencer were heating their young 
 blood with wine, a quarrel had flashed up between them, 
 and Mr. Smith, in deadly wrath, had flung a bottle at 
 Spencer's head. True, it missed its aim, and merely 
 smashed a looking-glass; and the next morning, when, 
 the incident was imperfectly remembered, they had shaken 
 hands with a hearty laugh. Yet, again, while Memory 
 was reading, Conscience unveiled her face, struck a 
 dagger to the heart of Mr. Smith, and quelled his 
 remonstrance with her iron frown. The pain was quite 
 excruciating. 
 
 Some of the pictures had been painted with so doubt- 
 ful a touch, and in colors so faint and pale, that the 
 subjects could barely be conjectured. A dull, semi- 
 transparent mist had been thrown over- the surface of the 
 canvas, into which the figures seemed to vanish, while 
 the eye sought most earnestly to fix them. But, in every 
 scene, however dubiously portrayed, Mr. Smith was in- 
 variably haunted by his own lineaments, at various ages, 
 as in a dusty mirror. After poring several minutes over 
 one of these blurred and almost indistinguishable pic- 
 tures, he began to see that the painter had intended to 
 represent him, now in the decline of life, as stripping the 
 clothes from the backs of three half-starved children. 
 " Really, this puzzles me ! " quoth Mr. Smith, with the 
 irony of conscious rectitude. " Asking pardon of the 
 painter, I pronounce him a fool, as well as a scandalous 
 knave. A man of my standing in the world, to be rob- 
 bing little children of their clothes ! Ridiculous ! " But 
 while he spoke, Memory had searched her fatal volume, 
 and found a page, which, with her sad, calm voice, she 
 
 VOL. I. 11 P
 
 242 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 poured into his ear. It was not altogether inapplicable 
 to the misty scene. It told how Mr. Smith had been 
 grievously tempted, by many devilish sophistries, on the 
 ground of a legal quibble, to commence a lawsuit against 
 three orphan children, joint heirs to a considerable estate. 
 Fortunately, before he was quite decided, his claims had 
 turned out nearly as devoid of law as justice. As Mem- 
 ory ceased to read, Conscience again thrust aside her 
 mantle, and would have struck her victim with the en- 
 venomed dagger, only that he struggled, and clasped his 
 hands before his heart. Even then, however, he sustained 
 an ugly gash. 
 
 Why should we follow Fancy through the whole 
 series of those awful pictures ? Painted by an artist 
 of wondrous power, and terrible acquaintance with the 
 secret soul, they embodied the ghosts of all the never 
 perpetrated sins that had glided through the lifetime 
 of Mr. Smith. And could such beings of cloudy fantasy, 
 so near akin to nothingness, give valid evidence against 
 him, at the day of judgment ? Be that the case or not, 
 there is reason to believe that one truly penitential 
 tear would have washed away each hateful picture, and 
 left the canvas white as snow. But Mr. Smith, at a 
 prick of Conscience too keen to be endured, bellowed 
 aloud, with impatient agony, and suddenly discovered 
 that his three guests were gone. There he sat alone, a 
 silver-haired and highly venerated old man, in the rich 
 gloom of the crinjson-curtained room, with no box of 
 pictures on the table, but only a decanter of most ex- 
 cellent Madeira. Yet his heart still seemed to fester 
 with the venom of the dagger. 
 
 Nevertheless, the unfortunate old gentleman might 
 have argued the matter with Conscience, and alleged 
 many reasons wherefore she should not smite him so
 
 FANCY'S SHOW-BOX. 243 
 
 pitilessly. Were we to take up his cause, it should be ' 
 somewhat in the following fashion : A scheme of guilt, 
 till it be put in execution, greatly resembles a train of 
 incidents in a projected tale. The latter, in order to 
 produce a sense of reality in the reader's mind, must be 
 conceived with such proportionate strength by the au- 
 thor as to seem, in the glow of fancy, more like truth, 
 past, present, or to come, than purely fiction. The pro- 
 spective sinner, on the other hand, weaves his plot of 
 crime, but seldom or never feels a perfect certainty that 
 it will be executed. There is a dreaminess diffused 
 about his thoughts ; in a dream, as it were, he strikes 
 the death-blow into his victim's heart, and starts to 
 find an indelible blood-stain on his hand. Thus a novel- 
 writer, or a dramatist, in creating a villain of romance, 
 and fitting him with evil deeds, and the villain of actual 
 life, in projecting crimes that will be perpetrated, may 
 almost meet each other, half-way between reality and 
 fancy. It is not until the crime is accomplished, that 
 guilt clinches its gripe upon the guilty heart, and claims 
 it for its own. Then, and not before, sin is actually felt 
 and acknowledged, and, if unaccompanied by repent- 
 ance, grows a thousand-fold more virulent by its self- 
 consciousness. Be it considered, also, that men often 
 overestimate their capacity for evil. At a distance, 
 while its attendant circumstances do not press upon 
 their notice, and its results are dimly seen, they can 
 bear to contemplate it. They may take the steps which 
 lead to crime, impelled by the same sort of mental 
 action as in working out a mathematical problem, yet 
 be powerless with compunction, at the final moment. 
 They knew not what deed it was that they deemed 
 themselves resolved to do. In truth, there is no such 
 thing in man's nature as a settled and full resolve,
 
 244 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 either for good or evil, except at the very moment of 
 execution. Let us hope, therefore, that all the dread- 
 ful consequences of sin will not be incurred, unless the 
 act have set its seal upon the thought. 
 
 Yet, with the slight fancy-work which we have framed, 
 some sad and awful truths are interwoven. Man must 
 not disclaim his brotherhood, even with the guiltiest, 
 since, though his hand be clean, his heart has surely 
 been polluted by the flitting phantoms of iniquity. He 
 must feel, that, when he shall knock at the gate of 
 heaven, no semblance of an unspotted life can entitle 
 him to entrance there. Penitence must kneel, and 
 Mercy come from the footstool of the throne, or that 
 golden gate will never open !
 
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT. 
 
 {HAT very singular man, old Dr. Heidegger, once 
 invited four venerable friends to meet him in his 
 study. There were three white-bearded gentle- 
 men, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gas- 
 coigne, and a withered gentlewoman, whose name was 
 the Widow Wycherly. They were all melancholy old 
 creatures, who had been unfortunate in life, and whose 
 greatest misfortune it was that they were not long ago 
 in their graves. Mr. Medbourne, in the vigor of his 
 age, had been a prosperous merchant, but had lost his 
 all by a frantic speculation, and was now little better 
 than a mendicant. Colonel Killigrew had wasted his 
 best years, and his health and substance, in the pursuit 
 of sinful pleasures, which had given birth to a brood of 
 pains, such as the gout, and divers other torments of 
 soul and body. Mr. Gascoigne was a ruined politician, 
 a man of evil fame, or at least had been so, till time had 
 buried him from the knowledge of the present genera- 
 tion, and made him obscure instead of infamous. As for 
 the Widow Wycherly, tradition tells us that she was a 
 great beauty in her day ; but, for a long while past, she 
 had lived in deep seclusion, on account of certain scan- 
 dalous stories, which had prejudiced the gentry of the 
 town against her. It is a circumstance worth mention-
 
 246 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ing, that each of these three old gentlemen, Mr. Med- 
 bourne, Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, were 
 early lovers of the Widow Wycherly, and had once been 
 on the point of cutting each other's throats for her sake. 
 And, before proceeding further, I will merely hint, that 
 Dr. Heidegger and all his four guests were sometimes 
 thought to be a little beside themselves ; as is not unfre- 
 quently the case with old people, when worried either by 
 present troubles or woful recollections. 
 
 " My dear old friends," said Dr. Heidegger, motion- 
 ing them to be seated, "I am desirous of your assistance 
 in one of those little experiments with which I amuse 
 myself here in my study." 
 
 If all stories were true, Dr. Heidegger's study must 
 have been a very curious place. It was a dim, old-fash- 
 ioned chamber, festooned with cobwebs and besprinkled 
 with antique dust. Around the walls stood several oaken 
 bookcases, the lower shelves of which were filled with 
 rows of gigantic folios and black-letter quartos, and 
 the upper with little parchment-covered duodecimos. 
 Over the central bookcase was a bronze bust of Hip- 
 pocrates, with which, according to some authorities, 
 Dr. Heidegger was accustomed to hold consultations, 
 in all difficult cases of his practice. In the obscurest 
 corner of the room stood a tall and narrow oaken closet, 
 with its door ajar, within which doubtfully appeared a 
 skeleton. Between two of the bookcases hung a look- 
 ing-glass, presenting its high and dusty plate within a 
 tarnished gilt frame. Among many wonderful stories 
 related of this mirror, it was fabled that the spirits of 
 all the doctor's deceased patients dwelt within its verge, 
 and would stare him in the face whenever he looked 
 thitherward. The opposite side of the chamber was 
 ornamented with the full-length portrait of a young
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT. 247 
 
 lady, arrayed in the faded magnificence of silk, satin, 
 and brocade, and with a visage as faded as her dress. 
 Above half a century ago, Dr. Heidegger had been on 
 the point of marriage with this young lady ; but; being 
 affected with some slight disorder, she had swallowed 
 one of her lover's prescriptions, and died on the bridal 
 evening. The greatest curiosity of the study remains 
 to be mentioned; it was a ponderous folio volume, 
 bound in black leather, with massive silver clasps. 
 There were no letters on the back, and nobody could 
 tell the title of the book. But it was well known to be 
 a book of magic ; and once, when a chambermaid had 
 lifted it, merely to brush away the dust, the skeleton 
 had rattled in its closet, the picture of the young lady 
 had stepped one foot upon the floor, and several 
 ghastly faces had peeped forth from the mirror; while 
 the brazen head of Hippocrates frowned, and said, " For- 
 bear!" 
 
 Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the summer 
 afternoon of our tale, a small round table, as black as 
 ebony, stpod in the centre of the room, sustaining a cut- 
 glass vase, of beautiful form and elaborate workmanship. 
 The sunshine came through the window, between the 
 heavy festoons of two faded damask curtains, and fell 
 directly across this vase; so that a mild splendor was 
 reflected from it on the ashen visages of the five old 
 people who sat around. Four champagne-glasses were 
 also on the table. 
 
 " My dear old friends," repeated Dr. Heidegger, " may 
 I reckon on your aid in performing an exceedingly curi- 
 ous experiment ? " 
 
 Now Dr. Heidegger was a very strange old gentle- 
 man, whose eccentricity had become the nucleus for a 
 thousand fantastic stories. Some of these fables, to my
 
 248 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 shame be it spoken, might possibly be traced back to 
 mine own veracious self; and if any passages of the 
 present tale should startle the reader's faith, I must be 
 content to bear the stigma of a fiction-monger. 
 
 When the doctor's four guests heard him talk of his 
 proposed experiment, they anticipated nothing more won- 
 derful than the murder of a mouse in an air-pump, or 
 the examination of a cobweb by the microscope, or some 
 similar nonsense, with which he was constantly in the 
 habit of pestering his intimates. But without waiting 
 for a reply, Dr. Heidegger hobbled across the chamber, 
 and returned with the same ponderous folio, bound in 
 black leather, which common report affirmed to be a 
 book of magic. Undoing the silver clasps, he opened 
 the volume, and took from among its black-letter pages 
 a rose, or what was once a rose, though now the green 
 leaves and crimson petals had assumed one brownish 
 hue, and the ancient flower seemed ready to crumble to 
 dust in the doctor's hands. 
 
 " This rose," said Dr. Heidegger, with a sigh, " this 
 same withered and crumbling flower, blossomed five-and- 
 fifty years ago. It was given me by Sylvia Ward, whose 
 portrait hangs yonder; and I meant to wear it in my 
 bosom at our wedding. Five-and-fifty years it has been 
 treasured between the leaves of this old volume. Now, 
 would you deem it possible that this rose of half a cen- 
 tury could ever bloom again ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said the Widow Wycherly, with a peev- 
 ish toss of her head. " You might as well ask whether 
 an old woman's wrinkled face could ever bloom again." 
 
 " See ! " answered Dr. Heidegger. 
 
 He uncovered the vase, and threw the faded rose into 
 the water which it contained. At first, it lay lightly on 
 the surface of the fluid, appearing to imbibe none of its
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT. 249 
 
 moisture. Soon, however, a singular change began to 
 be visible. The crushed and dried petals stirred, and 
 assumed a deepening tinge of crimson, as if the flower 
 were reviving from a death-like slumber; the slender 
 stalk and twigs of foliage became green ; and there was 
 the rose of half a century, looking as fresh as when 
 Sylvia Ward had first given it to her lover. It was 
 scarcely full blown ; for some of its delicate red leaves 
 curled modestly around its moist bosom, within which 
 two or three dewdrops were sparkling. 
 
 " That is certainly a very pretty deception," said the 
 doctor's friends; carelessly, however, for they had wit- 
 nessed greater miracles at a conjurer's show; "pray how 
 was it effected ? " 
 
 " Did you never hear of the ' Fountain of Youth,' " 
 asked Dr. Heidegger, " which Ponce de Leon, the Span- 
 ish adventurer, went in search of, two or three centuries 
 ago?" 
 
 "But did Ponce de Leon ever find it?" said the 
 Widow Wycherly. 
 
 " No," answered Dr. Heidegger, " for he never sought 
 it in the right place. The famous Fountain of Youth, 
 if I am rightly informed, is situated in the southern part 
 of the Floridian peninsula, not far from Lake Macaco. 
 Its source is overshadowed by several gigantic magno- 
 lias, which, though numberless centuries old, have been 
 kept as fresh as violets, by the virtues of this wonderful 
 water. An acquaintance of mine, knowing my curiosity 
 in such matters, has sent me what you see in the vase." 
 
 " Ahem ! " said Colonel Killigrew, who believed not 
 a word of the doctor's story; "and what^may be the 
 effect of this fluid on the human frame?" 
 
 " You shall judge for yourself, my dear Colonel," re- 
 plied Dr. Heidegger; "and all of you, my respected 
 11 *
 
 250 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 friends, are welcome to so much of this admirable fluid 
 as may restore to you the bloom of youth. For my own 
 part, having had much trouble in growing old, I am in 
 no hurry to grow young again. With your permission, 
 therefore, I will merely watch the progress of the ex- 
 periment." 
 
 "While he spoke, Dr. Heidegger had been filling the 
 four champagne-glasses with the water of the Fountain 
 of Youth. It was apparently impregnated with an effer- 
 vescent gas, for little bubbles were continually ascending 
 from the depths of the glasses, and bursting in silvery 
 spray at the surface. As the liquor diffused a pleasant 
 perfume, the old people doubted not that it possessed 
 cordial and comfortable properties; and, though utter 
 sceptics as to its rejuvenescent power, they were inclined 
 to swallow it at once. But Dr. Heidegger besought 
 them to stay a moment. 
 
 " Before you drink, my respectable old friends," said 
 he, " it would be well that, with the experience of a life- 
 time to direct you, you should draw up a few general 
 rules for your guidance, in passing a second time through 
 the perils of youth. Think what a sin and shame it would 
 be, if, with your peculiar advantages, you should not be- 
 come patterns of virtue and wisdom to all the young peo- 
 ple of the age." 
 
 The doctor's four venerable friends made him no answer, 
 except by a feeble and tremulous laugh ; so very ridicu- 
 lous was the idea, that, knowing how closely repentance 
 treads behind the steps of error, they should ever go 
 astray again. 
 
 " Drink, then," said the doctor, bowing. " I rejoice 
 that I have so well selected the subjects of my experi- 
 ment." 
 
 With palsied hands, they raised the glasses to their
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT. 251 
 
 lips. The liquor, if it really possessed such virtues as 
 Dr. Heidegger imputed to it, could not have been be- 
 stowed on four human beings who needed it more wofully. 
 They looked as if they had never known what youth or 
 pleasure was, but had been the offspring of Nature's 
 dotage, and always the gray, decrepit, sapless, miserable 
 creatures who now sat stooping round the doctor's table, 
 without life enough in their souls or bodies to be ani- 
 mated even by the prospect of growing young again. 
 They drank off the water, and replaced their glasses on 
 the table. 
 
 Assuredly there was an almost immediate improvement 
 iu the aspect of the party, not unlike what might have 
 been produced by a glass of generous wine, together with 
 a sudden glow of cheerful sunshine, brightening over all 
 their visages at once. There was a healthful suffusion on 
 their cheeks, instead of the ashen hue that had made them 
 look so corpse-like. They gazed at one another, and fan- 
 cied that some magic power had really begun to smooth 
 away the deep and sad inscriptions which Father Time 
 had been so long engraving on their brows. The Widow 
 Wycherly adjusted her cap, for she felt almost like a 
 woman again. 
 
 " Give us more of this wondrous water ! " cried they, 
 eagerly. " We are younger, but we are still too old ! 
 Quick, give us more ! " 
 
 " Patience, patience ! " quoth Dr. Heidegger, who sat 
 watching the experiment, with philosophic coolness. 
 " You have been a long time growing old. Surely, you 
 might be content to grow young in half an hour ! But 
 the water is at your service." 
 
 Again he filled their glasses with the liquor of youth, 
 enough of which still remained in the vase to turn half 
 the old people in the city to the age of their own grand-
 
 252 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 children. While the bubbles were yet sparkling on the 
 brim, the doctor's four guests snatched their glasses from 
 the table, and swallowed the contents at a single gulp. 
 Was it delusion? even while the draught was passing 
 down their throats, it seemed to have wrought a change 
 on their whole systems. Their eyes grew clear and 
 bright ; a dark shade deepened among their silvery locks ; 
 they sat around the table, three gentlemen of middle age, 
 and a wotnan, hardly beyond her buxom prime. 
 
 " My dear widow, you are charming ! " cried Colonel 
 Killigrew, whose eyes had been fixed upon her face, while 
 the shadows of age were flitting from it like darkness 
 from the crimson daybreak. 
 
 The fair widow knew, of old, that Colonel Killigrew's 
 compliments were not always measured by sober truth ; 
 so she started up and ran to the mirror, still dreading 
 that the ugly visage of an old woman would meet her gaze. 
 Meanwhile, the three gentlemen behaved in such a man- 
 ner, as proved that the water of the Fountain of Youth 
 possessed some intoxicating qualities; unless, indeed, 
 their exhilaration of spirits were merely a lightsome dizzi- 
 ness, caused by the sudden removal of the weight of years. 
 Mr. Gascoigne's mind seemed to -run on political topics, 
 but whether relating to the past, present, or future, could 
 not easily be determined, since the same ideas and phrases 
 have been in vogue these fifty years. Now he rattled 
 forth full-throated sentences about patriotism, national 
 glory, and the people's right ; now he muttered some 
 perilous stuff or other, in a sly and doubtful whisper, so 
 cautiously that even his own conscience could scarcely 
 catch the secret ; and now, again, he spoke in measured 
 accents, and a deeply deferential tone, as if a royal ear 
 were listening to his well-turned periods. Colonel Killi- 
 grew all this time had been trolling forth a jolly bottle-
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT. 253 
 
 song, and ringing his glass in symphony with the chorus, 
 while his eyes wandered toward the buxom figure of the 
 "Widow Wycherly. On the other side of the table, Mr. 
 Medbourne was involved in a calculation of dollars and 
 cents, with which was strangely intermingled a project 
 for supplying the East Indies with ice, by harnessing a 
 team of whales to the polar icebergs. 
 
 As for the Widow Wycherly, she stood before the mirror 
 courtesying and simpering to her own image, and greet- 
 ing it as the friend whom she loved better than all the 
 world beside. She thrust her face close to the glass, to 
 see whether some long-remembered wrinkle or crow's- 
 foot had indeed vanished. She examined whether the 
 snow had so entirely melted from her hair, that the ven- 
 erable cap could be safely thrown aside. At last, turning 
 briskly away, she came with a sort of dancing step to the 
 table. 
 
 " My dear old doctor," cried she, " pray favor me with 
 another glass ! " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear madam, certainly ! " replied the 
 complaisant doctor; "see! I have already filled the 
 glasses." 
 
 There, in fact, stood the four glasses, brimful of this 
 wonderful water, the delicate spray of which, as it effer- 
 vesced from the surface, resembled the tremulous glitter 
 of diamonds. It was now so nearly sunset, that the 
 chamber had grown duskier than ever ; but a mild and 
 moonlike splendor gleamed from within the vase, and 
 rested alike on the four guests, and on the doctor's ven- 
 erable figure. He sat in a high-backed, elaborately carved 
 oaken arm-chair, with a gray dignity of aspect that might 
 have well befitted that very Father Time, whose power 
 had never been disputed, save by this fortunate company. 
 Even while quaffing the third draught of the Fountain of
 
 254 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Youth, they were almost awed by the expression of his 
 mysterious visage. 
 
 But, the next moment, the exhilarating gush of young 
 life shot through their veins. They were now in the 
 happy prime of youth. Age, with its miserable train of 
 cares, and sorrows, and diseases, was remembered only 
 as the trouble of a dream, from which they had joyously 
 awoke. The fresh gloss of the soul, so early lost, and 
 without which the world's successive scenes had been 
 but a gallery of faded pictures, again threw its enchant- 
 ment over all their prospects. They felt like new-created 
 beings, in a new-created universe. 
 
 " We are young ! We are young ! " they cried exult- 
 ingly. 
 
 Youth, like tlie extremity of age, had effaced the 
 strongly marked characteristics of middle life, and mutu- 
 ally assimilated them all. They were a group of merry 
 youngsters, almost maddened with the exuberant frolic- 
 someness of their years. The most singular effect of 
 their gayety was an impulse to mock the infirmity and 
 decrepitude of which they had so lately been the victims. 
 They laughed loudly at their old-fashioned attire, 
 the wide-skirted coats and flapped waistcoats of the 
 young men, and the ancient cap and gown of the bloom- 
 ing girl. One limped across the floor, like a gouty grand- 
 father ; one set a pair of spectacles astride of his nose, 
 and pretended to pore over the black-letter pages of 
 the book of magic; a third seated himself in an arm- 
 chair, and strove to imitate the venerable dignity of Dr. 
 Heidegger. Then all shouted mirthfully, and leaped 
 about the room. The Widow Wycherly if so fresh a 
 damsel could be called a widow tripped up to the 
 doctor's chair, with a mischievous merriment in her rosy 
 face.
 
 DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT. 255 
 
 " Doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, " get up and 
 dance with me ! " And then the four young people 
 laughed louder than ever, to think what a queer figure 
 the poor old doctor would cut. 
 
 " Pray excuse me," answered the doctor, quietly. " I 
 am old and rheumatic, and my dancing days were' over 
 long ago. But either of these gay young gentlemen will 
 be glad of so pretty a partner." 
 
 " Dance with me, Clara ! " cried Colonel Killigrew. 
 
 " No, no, I will be her partner ! " shouted Mr. Gas- 
 coigne. 
 
 " She promised me her hand, fifty years ago ! " ex- 
 claimed Mr. Medbourne. 
 
 They all gathered round her. One caught both her 
 hands in his passionate grasp, another threw his arm 
 about her waist, the third buried his hand among the 
 glossy curls that clustered beneath the widow's cap. 
 Blushing, panting, struggling, chiding, laughing, her 
 warm breath fanning each of their faces by turns, she 
 strove to disengage herself, yet still remained in their 
 triple embrace. Never was there a livelier picture of 
 youthful rivalship, with bewitching beauty for the prize. 
 Yet, by a strange deception, Bowing to the duskiness of 
 the chamber, and the antique dresses which they still 
 wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected the figures 
 the three old, gray, withered grandsires, ridiculously 
 contending for the skinny ugliness of a shrivelled 
 grandam. 
 
 But they were young : their burning passions proved 
 them so. Inflamed to madness by the coquetry of the 
 girl-widow, who neither granted nor quite withheld her 
 favors, the three rivals began to interchange threatening 
 glances. Still keeping hold of the fair prize, they grap- 
 pled fiercely at one another's throats. As they strug-
 
 256 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 gled to and fro, the table was overturned, and the vase 
 dashed into a thousand fragments. The precious Water 
 of Youth flowed in a bright stream across the floor, 
 moistening the wings of a butterfly, which, grown old 
 in the decline of summer, had alighted there to die. 
 The insect fluttered lightly through the chamber, and 
 settled on the snowy head of Dr. Heidegger. 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen ! come, Madam Wych- 
 erly," exclaimed the doctor, "I really must protest 
 against this riot." 
 
 They stood still and shivered ; for it seemed as if gray 
 Time were calling them back from their sunny youth, far 
 down into the chill and darksome vale of years. They 
 looked at old Dr. Heidegger, who sat in his carved arm- 
 chair, holding the rose of hah a century, which he had 
 rescued from among the fragments of the shattered vase. 
 At the motion of his hand, the four rioters resumed their 
 seats ; the more readily, because their violent exertions 
 had wearied them, youthful though they were. 
 
 " My poor Sylvia's rose ! " ejaculated Dr. Heidegger, 
 holding it in the light of the sunset' clouds ; " it appears 
 to be fading again." 
 
 And so it was. Even while tie party were looking at 
 it, the flower continued to shrivel up, till it became as 
 dry and fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it 
 into the vase. He shook off the few drops of moisture 
 which clung to its petals. 
 
 " I love it as well thus, as in its dewy freshness," ob- 
 served he, pressing the withered rose to his withered 
 lips. While he spoke, the butterfly fluttered down from 
 the doctor's snowy head, and fell upon the floor. 
 
 His guests shivered again. A strange chillness, 
 whether of the body or spirit they could not tell, was 
 creeping gradually over them all. They gazed at one
 
 D-E. HEIDEGGEE'S EXPERIMENT. 257 
 
 another, and fancied that each fleeting moment snatched 
 away a charm, and left a deepening furrow where none 
 had been before. Was it an illusion ? Had the changes 
 of a lifetime been crowded into so brief a space, and 
 were they now four aged people, sitting with their old 
 friend, Dr. Heidegger ? 
 
 "Are we grown old again, so soon?" cried they, 
 dolefully. 
 
 In truth, they had. The Water of Youth possessed 
 merely a virtue more transient than that of wine. The 
 delirium which it created had effervesced away. Yes ! 
 they were old again. With a shuddering impulse, that 
 showed her a woman still, the widow clasped her skinny 
 hands before her face, and wished that the coffin-lid were 
 over it, since it could be no longer beautiful. 
 
 " Yes, friends, ye are old again," said Dr. Heidegger ; 
 " and lo ! the Water of Youth is all lavished on the 
 ground. Well, I bemoan it not; for if the fountain 
 gushed at my very doorstep, I would not stoop to bathe 
 my lips in it; no, though its delirium were for years 
 instead of moments. Such is the lesson ye have taught 
 me ! " 
 
 But the doctor's four friends had taught no such les- 
 son to themselves. They resolved forthwith to make a 
 pilgrimage to Florida, and quaff at morning, noon, and 
 night from the fountain of Youth. 
 
 NOTE. In an English Review, not long since, I have been 
 accused of plagiarizing the idea of this story from a chapter in 
 one of the novels of Alexandra Dumas. There has undoubtedly- 
 been a plagiarism on one side or the other ; but as my story 
 was written a good deal more than twenty years ago, and as 
 the novel is of considerably more recent date, I take pleasure 
 iu thinking that M. Dumas has done me the honor to appro- 
 
 Q
 
 258 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 priate one of the fanciful conceptions of my earlier days. He 
 is heartily welcome to it ; nor is it the only instance, by many, 
 in which the great French romancer has exercised the privilege 
 of commanding genius by confiscating the intellectual property 
 of less famous people to his own use and behoof. 
 
 September, 1860.
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES 
 
 VOLUME II.
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 LEGENDS OP THE PROVINCE HOUSE. 
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 
 
 IE afternoon, last summer, while walking along 
 Washington Street, my eye was attracted by a 
 sign-board protruding over a narrow archway, 
 nearly opposite the Old South Church. The sign repre- 
 sented the front of a stately edifice, which was designated 
 as the " OLD PROVINCE HOUSE, kept by Thomas Waite." 
 I was glad to be thus reminded of a purpose, long enter- 
 tained, of visiting and rambling over the mansion of the 
 old royal governors of Massachusetts ; and entering the 
 arched passage, which penetrated through the middle of 
 a brick row of shops, a few steps transported me from 
 the busy heart of modern Boston into a small and se- 
 cluded court-yard. One side of this space was occupied 
 by the square front of the Province House, three stories 
 high, and surmounted by a cupola, on the top of which a
 
 5 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 gilded Indian was discernible, with his bow bent and his 
 arrow on the string, as if aiming at the weathercock on 
 the spire of the Old South. The figure has kept this at- 
 titude for seventy years or more, ever since good Deacon 
 Drowue, a cunning carver of wood, first stationed him on 
 his long sentinel's watch over the city. 
 
 The Province House is constructed of brick, which 
 seems recently to have been overlaid with a coat of light- 
 colored paint. A flight of red freestone steps, fenced in 
 by a balustrade of curiously wrought iron, ascends from 
 the court-yard to the spacious porch, over which is a bal- 
 cony, with an iron balustrade of similar pattern and work- 
 manship to that beneath. These letters and figures 
 16 P. S. 79 are wrought into the iron-work of the 
 balcony, and probably express the date of the edifice, 
 with the initials of its founder's name. A wide door with 
 double leaves admitted me into the hall or entry, on the 
 right of which is the entrance to the bar-room. 
 
 It was in this apartment, I presume, that the ancient 
 governors held their levees, with vice-regal pomp, sur- 
 rounded by the military men, the councillors, the judges, 
 and other officers of the crown, while all the loyalty of 
 the province thronged to do them honor. But the room, 
 in its present condition, cannot boast even of faded mag- 
 nificence. The panelled wainscot is covered with dingy 
 paint, and acquires a duskier hue from the deep shadow 
 into which the Province House is thrown by the brick 
 block that shuts it in from Washington Street. A ray 
 of sunshine never visits this apartment any more than the 
 glare of the festal torches which have been extinguished 
 from the era of the Revolution. The most venerable and 
 ornamental object is a chimney-piece set round with 
 Dutch tiles of blue-figured China, representing scenes 
 from Scripture; and, for aught I know, the lady of
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 9 
 
 Pownall or Bernard may have sat beside this fireplace, 
 and told her children the story of each blue tile. A bar 
 in modern style, well replenished with decanters, bottles, 
 cigar-boxes, and network J)ags of lemons, and provided 
 with a beer-pump and a soda-fount, extends along one 
 side of the room. At my entrance, an elderly person 
 was smacking his lips, with a zest which satisfied me that 
 the cellars of the Province House still hold good liquor, 
 though doubtless of other vintages than were quaffed by 
 the old governors. After sipping a glass of port sangaree, 
 prepared by the skilful hands of Mr. Thomas Waite, I be- 
 sought that worthy successor and representative of so 
 many historic personages to conduct me over their time- 
 honored mansion. 
 
 He readily complied ; but, to confess the truth, I was 
 forced to draw strenuously upon my imagination, in order 
 to find aught that was interesting in a house which, with- 
 out its historic associations, would have seemed merely 
 such a tavern as is usually favored by the custom of 
 decent city boarders and old-fashioned country gentle- 
 men. The chambers, which were probably spacious in 
 former times, are now cut up by partitions, and subdi- 
 vided into little nooks, each affording scanty room for 
 the narrow bed and chair and dressing-table of a single 
 lodger. The great staircase, however, may be termed, 
 without much hyperbole, a feature of grandeur and mag- 
 nificence. It winds through the midst of the house by 
 flights of broad steps, each flight terminating in a square 
 landing-place, whence the ascent is continued towards the 
 cupola. A carved balustrade, freshly painted in the lower 
 stories, but growing dingier as we ascend, borders the 
 staircase with its quaintly twisted and intertwined pillars, 
 from top to bottom. Up these stairs the military boots, 
 or perchance the gouty shoes, of many u governor have 
 j *
 
 10 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 trodden, as the wearers mounted to the cupola, which 
 afforded them so wide a view over their metropolis and 
 the surrounding country. The cupola is an octagon, with 
 several windows, and a dooj opening upon the roof. 
 From this station, as I pleased myself with imagining, 
 Gage may have beheld his disastrous victory on Bunker 
 Hill (unless one of the tri-mountains intervened), and 
 Howe have marked the approaches of Washington's be- 
 sieging army; although the buildings, since erected in 
 the vicinity, have shut out almost every object, save the 
 steeple of the Old South, which seems almost within 
 arm's length. Descending from the cupola, I paused in 
 the garret to observe the ponderous white-oak frame- 
 work, so much more massive than the frames of modern 
 houses, and thereby resembling an antique skeleton. The 
 brick walls, the materials of which were imported from 
 Holland, and the timbers of the mansion, are still as 
 sound as ever; but the floors and other interior parts 
 being greatly decayed, it is contemplated to gut the 
 whole, and build a new house within the ancient frame 
 and brick-work. Among other inconveniences of the 
 present edifice, mine host mentioned that any jar or 
 motion was apt to shake down the dust of ages out 
 of the ceiling of one chamber upon the floor of that 
 beneath it. 
 
 We stepped forth from the great front window into the 
 balcony, where, in old times, it was doubtless the custom 
 of the king's representative to show himself to a loyal 
 populace, requiting their huzzas and tossed-up hats with 
 stately bendings of his dignified person. In those days, 
 the front of the Province House looked upon the street ; 
 and the whole site now occupied by the brick range of 
 stores, as well as the present court-yard, was laid out in 
 grass-plats, overshadowed by trees and bordered by a
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 11 
 
 wrought-iron fence. Now, the old aristocratic edifice 
 hides its time-worn visage behind an upstart modern 
 building ; at one of the back windows I observed some 
 pretty tailoresses, sewing, and chatting, and laughing, 
 with now and then a careless glance towards the balcony. 
 Descending thence, we again entered the bar-room, where 
 the elderly gentleman above mentioned, the smack of 
 whose lips had spoken so favorably for Mr. Waite's good 
 liquor, was still lounging in his chair. He seemed to be, 
 if not a lodger, at least a familiar visitor of the house, 
 who might be supposed to have his regular score at the 
 bar, his summer seat at the open window, and his pre- 
 scriptive corner at the winter's fireside. Being of a 
 sociable aspect, I ventured to address him with a remark, 
 calculated to draw forth his historical reminiscences, if 
 any such were in his mind ; and it gratified me to dis- 
 cover, that, between memory and tradition, the old gen- 
 tleman was really possessed of some very pleasant gossip 
 about the Province House. The portion of his talk which 
 chiefly interested me was the outline of the following 
 legend. He professed to have received it at one or two 
 removes from an eye-witness ; but this derivation, to- 
 gether with the lapse of time, must have afforded oppor- 
 tunities for many variations of the narrative ; so that, 
 despairing of literal and absolute truth, I have not scru- 
 pled to make such further changes as seemed conducive 
 to the reader's profit and delight. 
 
 At one of the entertainments given at the Province 
 House, during the latter part of the siege of Boston, 
 there passed a scene which has nevemyet been satis- 
 factorily explained. The officers of the British army,
 
 12 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 and the loyal gentry of the province, most of whom were 
 collected within the beleagured town, had been invited 
 to a masked ball ; for it was the policy of Sir William 
 Howe to hide the distress and danger of the period, and 
 the desperate aspect of the siege, under an ostentation 
 of festivity. The spectacle of this evening, if the oldest 
 members of the provincial court circle might be believed, 
 was the most gay and gorgeous affair that had occurred 
 in the annals of the government. The brilliantly lighted 
 apartments were thronged with figures that seemed to 
 have stepped from the dark canvas of historic portraits, 
 or to have flitted forth from the magic pages of romance, 
 or at least to have flown hither from one of the London 
 theatres, without a change of garments. Steeled knights 
 of the Conquest, bearded statesmen of Queen Elizabeth, 
 and high-ruffled ladies of her court, were mingled with 
 characters of comedy, such as a party-colored Merry 
 Andrew, jingling his cap and bells ; a Falstaff, almost as 
 provocative of laughter as his prototype; and a Don 
 Quixote, with a beau-pole for a lance and a potlid for a 
 shield. 
 
 But the broadest merriment was excited by a group 
 of figures ridiculously dressed in old regimentals, which 
 seemed to have been purchased at a military rag-fair, or 
 pilfered from some receptacle of the cast-off clothes of 
 both the Trench and British armies. Portions of their 
 attire had probably been worn at the siege of Louisburg, 
 and the coats of most recent cut might have been rent 
 and tattered by sword, ball, or bayonet, as "long ago as 
 Wolfe's victory. One of these worthies a tall, lank 
 figure, brandishing a rusty sword of immense longitude 
 purported to be no less a personage than General 
 George Washington ; and the other principal officers of 
 the American army, such as Gates, Lee, Putnam, Schuy-
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 13 
 
 ler, Ward, and Heath, were represented by similar scare- 
 crows. An interview in the mock-heroic style, between 
 the rebel warriors and the British commander-in-chief, 
 was received with immense applause, which came loudest 
 of all from the loyalists of the colony. There was one 
 of the guests, however, who stood apart, eying these 
 antics sternly and scornfully, at once with a frown and a 
 bitter smile. 
 
 It was an old man, formerly of high station and great 
 repute in the province, and who had been a very famous 
 soldier in his day. Some surprise had been expressed, 
 that a person of Colonel Joliffe's known whig principles, 
 though now too old to take an active part in the contest, 
 should have remained in Boston during the siege, and 
 especially that he should consent to show himself in the 
 mansion of Sir William Howe. But thither he had come, 
 with a fair granddaughter under his arm ; and there, 
 amid all the mirth and buffoonery, stood this stern old 
 figure, the best sustained character in the masquerade, be- 
 cause so well representing the antique spirit of his native 
 land. The other guests affirmed that Colonel Joliffe's 
 black puritanical scowl threw a shadow round about 
 him; although in spite of his sombre influence, their 
 gayety continued to blaze higher, like (an ominous 
 comparison) the flickering brilliancy of a lamp which 
 has but a little while to burn. Eleven strokes, full half 
 an hour ago, had pealed from the clock of the Old South, 
 when a rumor was circulated among the company that 
 some new spectacle or pageant was about to be exhibited, 
 which should put a fitting close to the splendid festivities 
 of the night. 
 
 " What new jest has your Excellency in hand ? " asked 
 the Rev. Mather Byles, whose Presbyterian scruples had 
 not kept him from the entertainment. " Trust me, sir,
 
 14 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 I have already laughed more than beseems my cloth, at 
 your Homeric confabulation with yonder ragamuffin gen- 
 eral of the rebels. One other such fit of merriment, and 
 I must throw off my clerical wig and band." 
 
 "Not so, good Dr. Byles," answered Sir William 
 Howe; "if mirth were a crime, you had never gained 
 your doctorate in divinity. As to this new foolery, I 
 know no more about it than yourself; perhaps not so 
 much. Honestly now, Doctor, have you not stirred up 
 the sober brains of some of your countrymen to enact a 
 scene in our masquerade ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," slyly remarked the granddaughter of Col- 
 onel Joliife, whose high spirit had been stung by many 
 taunts against New England, " perhaps we are to have 
 a mask of allegorical figures. Victory, with trophies from 
 Lexington and Bunker Hill, Plenty, with her over- 
 flowing horn, to typify the present abundance in this 
 good town, and Glory, with a wreath for his Excel- 
 lency's brow." 
 
 Sir William Howe smiled at words which he would 
 have answered with one of his darkest frowns, had they 
 been uttered by lips that wore a beard. He was spared 
 the necessity of a retort, by a singular interruption. A 
 sound of music was heard without the house, as if pro- 
 ceeding from a full band of military instruments stationed 
 in the street, playing, not such a festal strain as was 
 suited to the occasion, but a slow funeral march. The 
 drums appeared to be muffled, and the trumpets poured 
 forth a wailing breath, which at once hushed the merri- 
 ment of the auditors, filling all with wonder and some 
 with aoprehension. The idea occurred to many, that 
 either tne funeral procession of some great personage had 
 nalted in front of the Province House, or that a corpse, 
 in a velvet-covered a-iid gorgeously decorated coffin, was
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 15 
 
 about to be borne from the portal. After listening a 
 moment, Sir William Howe called, in a stern voice, to 
 the leader of the musicians, who had hitherto enlivened 
 the entertainment with gay and lightsome melodies. 
 The man was drum-major to one of the British regi- 
 ments. 
 
 " Dighton," demanded the general, " what means this 
 foolery ? Bid your band silence that dead march ; or, 
 by my word, they shall have sufficient cause for their 
 lugubrious strains ! Silence it, sirrah ! " 
 
 "Please your Honor," answered the drum-major, 
 whose rubicund visage had lost all its color, " the fault 
 is none of mine. I and my baud are all here together ; 
 and I question whether there be a man of us that could 
 play that march without book. I never heard it but 
 once before, and that was at the funeral of his late 
 Majesty, Kong George the Second." 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Sir William Howe, recovering 
 his composure ; " it is the prelude to some masquerad- 
 ing antic. Let it pass." 
 
 A figure now presented itself, but, among the many 
 fantastic masks that were dispersed through the apart- 
 ments, none could tell precisely from whence it came. 
 It was a man in an old-fashioned dress of black serge, 
 and having the aspect of a steward, or principal domestic 
 in the household of a nobleman, or great English land- 
 holder. This figure advanced to the outer door of the 
 mansion, and throwing both its leaves wide open, with- 
 drew a little to one side and looked back towards the 
 grand staircase, as if expecting some person to descend. 
 At the same time, the music in the street sounded a loud 
 and doleful summons. The eyes of Sir William Howe 
 and his guests being directed to the staircase, there 
 appeared, on the uppermost landing-place that was dis-
 
 16 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 cernible from the bottom, several personages descending 
 towards the door. The foremost was a man of stern 
 visage, wearing a steeple-crowned hat and a skullcap 
 beneath it ; a dark cloak, and huge wrinkled boots that 
 came half-way up his legs. Under his arm was a rolled- 
 up banner, which seemed to be the banner of England, 
 but strangely rent and torn ; he had a sword in his right 
 hand, and grasped a Bible in his left. The next figure 
 was of milder aspect, yet full of dignity, wearing a broad 
 ruff, over which descended a beard, a gown of wrought 
 velvet, and a doublet and hose of black satin. He car- 
 ried a roll of manuscript in his hand. Close behind 
 these two came a young man of very striking counte- 
 nance and demeanor, with deep thought and contempla- 
 tion on his brow, and perhaps a flash of enthusiasm in 
 his eye. His garb, like that of his predecessors, was of 
 an antique fashion, and there was a stain of blood upon 
 his ruff. In the same group with these were three or 
 four others, all men of dignity and evident command, 
 and bearing themselves like personages who were accus- 
 tomed to the gaze of the multitude. It was the idea of 
 the beholders, that these figures went to join the myste- 
 rious funeral that had halted in front of the Province 
 House ; yet that supposition seemed to be contradicted 
 by the air of triumph with which they waved their hands, 
 as they crossed the threshold and vanished through the 
 portal. 
 
 " In the Devil's name, what is this ? " muttered Sir 
 William Howe to a gentleman beside him ; " a pro- 
 cession of the regicide judges of King Charles the 
 martyr ? " 
 
 " These," said Colonel Joliife, breaking silence almost 
 for the first time that evening, " these, if I interpret 
 them aright, are the Puritan governors, the rulers of
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 17 
 
 the old, original democracy of Massachusetts. Endi- 
 cott, with the banner from which lie had torn the sym- 
 bol of subjection, and Winthrop, and Sir Henry Vane, 
 and Dudley, Haynes, Bellingham, and Leverett." 
 
 " Why had that young man a stain of blood upon his 
 ruff? " asked Miss Joliffe. 
 
 " Because, in after years," answered her grandfather, 
 "he laid down the wisest head in England upon the 
 block, for the principles of liberty." 
 
 " Will not your Excellency order out the guard ? " 
 whispered Lord Percy, who, with other British officers, 
 had now assembled round the general. " There may be 
 a plot under this mummery." 
 
 "Tush! we have nothing to fear," carelessly replied 
 Sir William Howe. " There can be no worse treason in 
 the matter than a jest, and that somewhat of the dullest. 
 Even were it a sharp and bitter one, our best policy 
 would be to laugh it off. See, here come more of these 
 gentry." 
 
 Another group of characters had now partly descend- 
 ed the staircase. The first was a venerable and white- 
 bearded patriarch, who cautiously felt his way downward 
 with a staff. Treading hastily behind him, and stretch- 
 ing forth his gauntleted hand as if to grasp the old man's 
 shoulder, came a tall, soldier-like figure, equipped with 
 a plumed cap of steel, a bright breastplate, and a long 
 sword, which rattled against the stairs. Next was seen 
 a stout man, dressed in rich and courtly attire, but not 
 of courtly demeanor; his gait had the swinging motion 
 of a seaman's walk ; and chancing to stumble on the 
 staircase, he suddenly grew wrathful, and was heard to 
 mutter an oath. He was followed by a noble-looking 
 personage in a curled wig, such as are represented in the 
 portraits of Queen Anne's time and earlier; 'and the
 
 18 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 breast of his coat was decorated with an embroidered 
 :star. While advancing to the door, he bowed to the 
 right hand and to the left, in a very gracious and insin- 
 uating style; but as he crossed the threshold, unlike the 
 early Puritan governors, he seemed to wring his hands 
 with sorrow. 
 
 " Prithee, play the part of a chorus, good Dr. Byles," 
 said Sir William Howe. " What worthies are these ? " 
 
 " If it please your Excellency, they lived somewhat 
 before my day," answered the Doctor; "but doubtless 
 our friend, the Colonel, has been hand in glove with 
 them." 
 
 " Their living faces I never looked upon," said Colonel 
 Joliffe, gravely; "although I have spoken face to face 
 with many rulers of this land, and shall greet yet another 
 with an old man's blessing, ere I die. But we talk of 
 these figures. I take the venerable patriarch to be Brad- 
 street, the last of the Puritans, who was governor at 
 ninety, or thereabouts. The next is Sir Edmund Audros, 
 a tyrant, as any New England school-boy will tell you ; 
 and therefore the people cast him down from his high seat 
 into a dungeon. Then comes Sir William Phipps, shep- 
 herd, cooper, sea-captain, and governor: may many of 
 his countrymen rise as high, from as low an origin ! 
 Lastly, you saw the gracious Earl of Bellamont, who 
 ruled us under King William." 
 
 " But what is the meaning of it all ? " asked Lord 
 Percy. 
 
 " Now, were I a rebel," said Miss Joliffe, half aloud, 
 " I might fancy that the ghosts of these ancient govern- 
 ors had been summoned to form the funeral procession of 
 royal authority in New England." 
 
 Several other figures were now seen at the turn of the 
 staircase. The one in advance had a thoughtful, anxious.
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 19 
 
 and somewhat crafty expression of face ; and in spite of 
 his loftiness of manner, which was evidently the result 
 both of an ambitious spirit and of long continuance in 
 high stations, he seemed not incapable of cringing to a 
 greater than himself. A few steps behind came an officer 
 in a scarlet and embroidered uniform, cut in a fashion old 
 enough to have been worn by the Duke of Marlborough. 
 His nose had a rubicund tinge, which, together with the 
 twinkle of his eye, might have marked him as a lover of 
 the wine-cup and good-fellowship ; notwithstanding which 
 tokens, he appeared ill at ease, and often glanced around 
 him, as if apprehensive of some secret mischief. Next 
 came a portly gentleman, wearing a coat of shaggy cloth, 
 lined with silken velvet ; he had sense, shrewdness, and 
 humor in his face, and a folio volume under his arm ; but 
 his aspect was that of a man vexed and tormented beyond 
 all patience and harassed almost to death. He went 
 hastily down, and was followed by a dignified person, 
 dressed in a purple velvet suit, with very rich embroidery ; 
 his demeanor would have possessed much stateliness, only 
 that a grievous fit of the gout compelled him to hobble 
 from stair to stair, with contortions of face and body. 
 When Dr. Byles beheld this figure on the staircase, he 
 shivered as with an ague, but continued to watch him 
 steadfastly, until the gouty gentleman had reached the 
 threshold, made a gesture of anguish and despair, and 
 vanished into the outer gloom, whither the funeral music 
 summoned him. 
 
 " Governor Belcher ! my old patron ! in his very 
 shape and dress ! " gasped Dr. Byles. " This is an awful 
 mockery ! " 
 
 "A tedious foolery, rather," said Sir William Howe, 
 with an air of indifference. " But who were the three 
 that preceded him ? "
 
 20 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " Governor Dudley, a cunning politician, yet his 
 craft once brought him to a prison," replied Colonel 
 JolifFe ; " Governor Shute, formerly a colonel under 
 Marlborough, and whom the people frightened out of the 
 province ; and learned Governor Burnet, whom the Legis- 
 lature tormented into a mortal fever." 
 
 "Methinks they were miserable men, these royal 
 governors of Massachusetts," observed Miss Joliffe. 
 " Heavens, how dim the light grows ! " 
 
 It was certainly a fact that the large lamp which illu- 
 minated the staircase now burned dim and duskily : so 
 that several figures, which passed hastily down the stairs 
 and went forth from the porch, appeared rather like 
 shadows than persons of fleshly substance. Sir William 
 Howe and his guests stood at the doors of the contigu- 
 ous apartments, watching the progress of this singular 
 pageant, with various emotions of anger, contempt, or 
 half-acknowledged fear, but still with an anxious curios- 
 ity. The shapes, which now seemed hastening to join the 
 mysterious procession, were recognized rather by striking 
 peculiarities of dress, or broad characteristics of manner, 
 than by any perceptible resemblance of features to their 
 prototypes. Their faces, indeed, were invariably kept in 
 deep shadow. But Dr. Byles, and other gentlemen who 
 had long been familiar with the successive rulers of the 
 province, were heard to whisper the names of Shirley, of 
 Pownall, of Sir Francis Bernard, and of the well-remem- 
 bered Hutchinson; thereby confessing that the actors, 
 whoever they might be, in this spectral march of govern- 
 ors, had succeeded in putting on some distant portraiture 
 of the real personages. As they vanished from the door, 
 still did these shadows toss their arms into the gloom 
 of night, with a dread expression of woe. Following 
 the mimic representative of Hutchinsou came a military
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 21 
 
 figure, holding before his face the cocked hat which he 
 had taken from his powdered head ; but his epaulets and 
 other insignia of rank were those of a general officer ; 
 and something in his mien reminded the beholders of one 
 who had recently been master of the Province House, and 
 chief of all the land. 
 
 " The shape of Gage, as true as in a -looking-glass ! " 
 exclaimed Lord Percy, turning pale. 
 
 " No, surely," cried Miss Joliffe, laughing hysterically ; 
 " it could not be Gage, or Sir William would have greeted 
 his old comrade in arms ! Perhaps he will not suffer the 
 next to pass unchallenged." 
 
 " Of that be assured, young lady," answered Sir Wil- 
 liam Howe, fixing his eyes, with a very marked expression, 
 upon the immovable visage of her grandfather. " I have 
 long enough delayed to pay the ceremonies of a host to 
 these departing guests. The next that takes his leave 
 shall receive due courtesy." 
 
 A wild and dreary burst of music came through the 
 open door. It seemed as if the procession, which had 
 been gradually filling up its ranks, were now about to 
 move, and that this loud peal of the wailing trumpets, 
 and roll of the muffled drums, were a call to some loiterer 
 to make haste. Many eyes, by an irresistible impulse, 
 were turned upon Sir William Howe, as if it were he 
 whom the dreary, music summoned to the funeral of de- 
 parted power. 
 
 " See ! here comes the last ! " whispered Miss Joliffe, 
 pointing her tremulous finger to the staircase. 
 
 A figure had come into view as if descending the 
 stairs ; although so dusky was the region whence it 
 emerged, some of the spectators fancied that they had 
 seen this human shape suddenly moulding itself amid 
 the gloom. Downward the figure came, with a stately
 
 22 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 and martial tread, and reaching the lowest stair was ob- 
 served to be a tall man, booted and wrapped in a mili- 
 tary cloak, which was drawn up around the face so as 
 to meet the napped brim of a laced hat. The features, 
 therefore, were completely hidden. But the British offi- 
 cers deemed that they had seen that military cloak be- 
 fore, and even recognized the frayed embroidery on the 
 collar, as well as the gilded scabbard of a sword which 
 protruded from the folds of the cloak, and glittered in 
 a vivid gleam of light. Apart from these trifling par- 
 ticulars, there were characteristics of gait and bearing 
 which impelled the wondering guests to glance from 
 the shrouded figure to Sir William Howe, as if to sat- 
 isfy themselves that their host had not suddenly vanished 
 from the midst of them. 
 
 With a dark flush of wrath upon his brow, they saw 
 the general draw his sword and advance to meet the 
 figure in the cloak before the latter had stepped one 
 pace upon the floor. 
 
 "Villain, unmuffle yourself!" cried he. "You pass 
 no farther ! " 
 
 The figure, without blenching a hair's-breadth from 
 the sword which was pointed at his breast, made a 
 solemn pause and lowered the cape of the cloak from 
 about his face, yet not sufficiently for the spectators to 
 catch a glimpse of it. But Sir William Howe had evi- 
 dently seen enough. The sternness of his countenance 
 gave place to a look of wild amazement, if not horror, 
 while he recoiled several steps from the figure, and let 
 fall his sword upon the floor. The martial shape again 
 drew the cloak about his features and passed on; but 
 reaching the threshold, with his back towards the spec- 
 tators, he was seen to stamp his foot and shake Ills' 
 clinched hands in. the air. It was afterwards affirmed
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 23 
 
 that Sir William Howe bad repeated that self-same ges- 
 ture of rage aud sorrow, when, for the last time, and 
 as the last royal governor, he passed through the portal 
 of the Province House. 
 
 " Hark ! the procession moves/' said Miss Joliffe. 
 
 The music was dyiug away along the street, and its 
 dismal strains were mingled with the knell of midnight 
 from the steeple of the Old South, and with the roar of 
 artillery, which announced that the beleaguering army 
 of \Vashington had intrenched itself upon a nearer height 
 than before. As the deep boom of the cannon smote 
 upon his ear, Colonel Joliffe raised himself to the full 
 height of his aged form, and smiled sternly on the Brit- 
 ish general. 
 
 " Would your Excellency inquire further into the mys- 
 tery of the pageant ? " said he. 
 
 " Take care of your gray head ! " cried Sir William 
 Howe, fiercely, though with a quivering lip. " It has 
 stood too long on a traitor's shoulders ! " 
 
 " You must make haste to chop it off, then," calmly 
 replied the Colonel; "for a few hours longer, and not 
 all the power of Sir William Howe, nor of his master, 
 shall cause one of these gray hairs to fall. The empire 
 of Britain, in this ancient province, is at its last gasp 
 to-night; almost while I speak it is a dead corpse-, 
 and inethiuks the shadows of the old governors are fit 
 mourners at its funeral ! " 
 
 With these words Colonel Joliffe threw on his cloak, 
 and drawing his granddaughter's arm within his own, 
 retired from the last festival that a British ruler ever 
 held in the old province of Massachusetts Bay. It was 
 supposed that the Colonel and the young lady possessed 
 some secret intelligence in regard to the mysterious 
 pageant of that night. However this might be, such
 
 24 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 knowledge Las never become general. The actors in 
 the scene have vanished into deeper obscurity than even 
 that wild Indian band who scattered the cargoes of the 
 tea-ships on the waves, and gained a place in history, 
 yet left no names. But superstition, among other legends 
 of this mansion, repeats the wondrous tale, that on the 
 anniversary night of Britain's discomfiture, the ghosts 
 of the ancient governors of Massachusetts still glide 
 through the portal of the Province House. And, last 
 of all, comes a figure shrouded in a military cloak, toss- 
 ing his clinched hands into the air, and stamping his 
 iron-shod boots upon the broad freestone steps with a 
 semblance of feverish despair, but without the sound of 
 a foot-tramp. 
 
 When the truth-telling accents of the elderly gentle- 
 man were hushed, I drew a long breath and looked 
 round the room, striving, with the best energy of my 
 imagination, to throw a tinge of romance and historic 
 grandeur over the realities of the scene. But my nos- 
 trils snuffed up a scent of cigar-smoke, clouds of which 
 the narrator had emitted by way of visible emblem, I 
 suppose, of the nebulous obscurity of his tale. More- 
 over, my gorgeous fantasies were wofully disturbed by 
 the rattling of the spoon in a tumbler of whiskey punch, 
 which Mr. Thomas Waite was mingling for a customer. 
 Nor did it add to the picturesque appearance of the pan- 
 elled walls, that the slate of the Brookline stage was 
 suspended against them, instead of the armorial es- 
 cutcheon of some far-descended governor. A stage- 
 driver sat at one of the windows, reading a penny paper 
 of the day, the Boston Times, and presenting a fig- 
 ure which could nowise bo brought into any picture of
 
 HOWE'S MASQUERADE. 25 
 
 "Times in Boston," seventy or a hundred years ago. 
 On the window-seat lay a bundle, neatly done up in 
 brown paper, the direction of which I had the idle curi- 
 osity to reud. " Miss SUSAN HUGGINS, at the PROVINCE 
 HOUSE." A pretty chambermaid, no doubt. In truth, 
 it is desperately hard work, when we attempt to throw 
 the spell of hoar antiquity over localities with which 
 the living world, and the day that is passing over us, 
 have aught to do. Yet, as I glanced at the stately stair- 
 case, down which the procession of the old governors 
 had descended, and as I emerged through the venerable 
 portal, whence their figures had preceded me, it glad- 
 dened me to be conscious of a thrill of awe. Then 
 diving through the narrow archway, a few strides trans- 
 ported me into the densest throng of Washington Street
 
 LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE HOUSE. 
 
 II. 
 EDWAED RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 IE old legendary guest of the Province House 
 abode in my remembrance from midsummer till 
 January. One idle evening, last winter, confi- 
 dent that he would be found in the snuggest corner of the 
 bar-room, I resolved to pay him another visit, hoping to 
 > deserve well of my country by snatching from oblivion 
 some else unheard-of fact of history. The night was 
 chill and raw, and rendered boisterous by almost a gale 
 of wind, which whistled along Washington Street, caus- 
 ing the gaslights to flare and flicker within the lamps. 
 As I hurried onward, my fancy was busy with a compar- 
 ison between the present aspect of the street, and that 
 which it probably wore when the British governors in- 
 habited the mansion whither I was now going. Brick 
 edifices in those times were few, till a succession of de- 
 structive fires had swept, and swept again, the wooden 
 dwellings and warehouses from the most populous quar- 
 ters of the town. The buildings stood insulated and in- 
 dependent, not, as now, merging their separate existences 
 into connected ranges, with a front of tiresome identity,
 
 EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 27 
 
 but each possessing features of its own, as if the own- 
 er's individual taste had shaped it, and the whole pre- 
 senting a picturesque irregularity, the absence of which 
 is hardly compensated by any beauties of our modern 
 architecture. Such a scene, dimly vanishing from the 
 eye by the ray of here and there a tallow candle, glim- 
 mering through the small panes of scattered windows, 
 would form a sombre contrast to the street as I beheld 
 it, with the gaslights blazing from corner to corner, nam- 
 ing within the shops, and throwing a noonday brightness 
 through the huge plates of glass. 
 
 But the black, lowering sky, as I turned my eyes 
 upward, wore, doubtless, the same visage as when it 
 frowned upon the ante-Revolutionary New-Englanders. 
 The wintry blast had the same shriek that was familiar 
 to their ears. The Old South Church, too, still pointed 
 its antique spire into the darkness, and was lost between 
 earth and heaven ; and as I passed, its clock, which had 
 warned so many generations how transitory was their 
 lifetime, spoke heavily and slow the same unregarded 
 moral to myself. " Only seven o'clock," thought I. 
 " My old friend's legends will scarcely kill the hours 
 'twixt this and bedtime." 
 
 Passing through the narrow arch, I crossed the court- 
 yard, the confined precincts of which were made visible 
 by a lantern over the portal of the Province House. On, 
 entering the bar-room, I found, as I expected, the old 
 tradition-monger seated by a special good fire of anthra- 
 cite, compelling clouds of smoke from a corpulent cigar. 
 He recognized me with evident pleasure ; for my rare 
 properties as a patient listener invariably make me a 
 favorite with elderly gentlemen and ladies of narrative 
 propensities. Drawing a chair to the fire, I desired 
 mine host to favor us with a glass apiece of whiskey
 
 28 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 punch, which was speedily prepared, steaming hot, with 
 a slice of lemon at the bottom, a dark red stratum of 
 port wine upon the surface, and a sprinkling of nutmeg 
 strewn over all. As we touched our glasses together, 
 my legendary friend made himself known to me as Mr. 
 Bela Tiffany ; and I rejoiced at the oddity of the name, 
 because it gave his image and character a sort of individ- 
 uality in my conception. The old gentleman's draught 
 acted as a solvent upon his memory, so that it over- 
 flowed with tales, traditions, anecdotes of famous dead 
 people, and traits of ancient manners, some of which 
 were childish as a nurse's lullaby, while others might 
 have been worth the notice of the grave historian. 
 Nothing impressed me more than a story of a black mys- 
 terious picture, which used to hang in one of the cham- 
 bers of the Province House, directly above the room 
 where we were now sitting. The following is as correct 
 a version of the fact as the reader would be likely to ob- 
 tain from any other source, although, assuredly, it has a 
 tinge of romance approaching to the marvellous. 
 
 In one of the apartments of the Province House there 
 was long preserved an ancient picture, the frame of 
 which was as black as ebony, and the canvas itself so 
 dark with age, damp, and smoke, that not a touch of the 
 painter's art could be discerned. Time had thrown an 
 impenetrable veil over it, and left to tradition and fable 
 and conjecture to say what had once been there por- 
 trayed. During the rule of many successive governors 
 it had hung, by prescriptive and undisputed right, over 
 the mantel-piece of the same chamber ; and it still kept 
 its place when Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson assumed
 
 EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 29 
 
 the administration of the province, on the departure of 
 Sir Francis Bernard. 
 
 The Lieutenant-Governor sat, one afternoon, resting 
 his head against the carved back of his stately arm-chair, 
 and gazing up thoughtfully at the void blackness of the 
 picture. It was scarcely a time for such inactive musing, 
 when affairs of the deepest moment required the ruler's 
 decision ; for, within that very hour, HutchinsoH had re- 
 ceived intelligence of the arrival of a British fleet, bring- 
 ing three regiments from Halifax to overawe the in- 
 subordination of the people. These troops awaited his 
 permission to occupy the fortress of Castle William and 
 the town itself. Yet, instead of affixing his signature to 
 an official order, there sat the Lieutenant-Governor, so 
 carefully scrutinizing the black waste of canvas, that Ms 
 demeanor attracted the notice of two young persons who 
 attended him. One, wearing a military dress of buff, 
 was his kinsman, Francis Lincoln, the Provincial Cap- 
 tain of Castle William ; the other, who sat on a low stool 
 beside his chair, was Alice Vane, his favorite niece. 
 
 She was clad entirely in white, a pale, ethereal crea- 
 ture, who, though a native of New England, had been' 
 educated abroad, and seemed not merely a stranger from 
 another clime, but almost a being from another world. 
 For several years, until left an orphan, she had dwelt 
 with her father in sunny Italy, and there had acquired a 
 taste and enthusiasm for sculpture and painting, which 
 she found few opportunities of gratifying in the undeco- 
 rated dwellings of the colonial gentry. It was said that 
 the early productions of her own pencil exhibited no 
 inferior genius, though, perhaps, the rude atmosphere of 
 New England had cramped her hand, and dimmed the 
 glowing colors of her fancy. But observing her uncle's 
 steadfast gaze, which appeared to search through the mist
 
 30 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 of years to discover the subject of the picture, her curi- 
 osity was excited. 
 
 " Is it known, my dear uncle," inquired she, " what 
 this old picture once represented? Possibly, could it 
 be made visible, it might prove a masterpiece of some 
 great artist; else, why has it so long held such a con- 
 spicuous place ? " 
 
 As her uncle, contrary to his usual custom (for he 
 was as attentive to all the humors and caprices of 
 Alice as if she had been his own best-beloved child), 
 did not immediately reply, the young captain of Castle 
 William took that office upon himself. 
 
 "This dark old square of canvas, my fair cousin," 
 said he, " has been an heirloom in the Province House 
 from time immemorial. As to the painter, I can tell you 
 nothing ; but if half the stories told of it be true, not 
 one of the great Italian masters has ever produced so 
 marvellous a piece of work as that before you." 
 
 Captain Lincoln proceeded to relate some of the 
 strange fables and fantasies, which, as it was impossible 
 to refute them by ocular demonstration, had grown to 
 be articles of popular belief, in reference to this old 
 picture. One of the wildest, and at the same time the 
 best accredited accounts, stated it to be an original and 
 authentic portrait of the Evil One, taken at a witch 
 meeting near Salem; and that its strong and terrible 
 resemblance had been confirmed by several of the con- 
 fessing wizards and witches, at their trial, in open court. 
 It was likewise affirmed that a familiar spirit, or demon, 
 abode behind the blackness of the picture, and had shown 
 himself, at seasons of public calamity, to more than one 
 of the royal governors. Shirley, for instance, had be- 
 held this ominous apparition, on the eve of General 
 Abercrombie's shameful and bloody defeat under the
 
 EDWAED RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 31 
 
 walls of Ticonderoga. Many of the servants of the 
 Province House had caught glimpses of a visage frown- 
 ing down upon them, at morning or evening twilight, 
 or in the depths of night, while raking up the fire that 
 glimmered on the hearth beneath ; although, if any were 
 bold enough to hold a torch before the pictuije, it would 
 appear as black and undistinguishable as ever. The old- 
 est inhabitant of Boston recollected that his father, in 
 whose days the portrait had not wholly faded out of 
 sight, had once looked upon it, bnt would never suffer 
 himself to be questioned as to the face which was there 
 represented. In connection with such stories, it was 
 remarkable that over the top of the frame there were 
 some ragged remnants of black silk, indicating that a 
 veil had formerly hung down before the picture, until 
 the duskiness of time had so effectually concealed it. 
 But, after all, it was the most singular part of the affair, 
 that so many of the pompous governors of Massachu- 
 setts had allowed the obliterated picture to remain in 
 the state chamber of the Province House. 
 
 " Some of these fables are really awful," observed 
 Alice Vane, who had occasionally shuddered, as well as 
 smiled, while her cousin spoke. "It would be almost 
 worth while to wipe away the black surface of the 
 canvas, since the original picture can hardly be so for- 
 midable as those which fancy paints instead of it." 
 
 " But would it be possible," inquired her cousin, "to 
 restore this dark picture to its pristine hues ? " 
 
 " Such arts are known in Italy," said Alice. 
 
 The Licutenant-Crovernor, had roused himself from 
 his abstracted mood, and listened with a smile to the 
 conversation of his young relatives. Yet his voice had 
 something peculiar in its tones, when he undertook the 
 explanation of the mystery.
 
 32 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " I am sorry, Alice, to destroy your faith in the 
 legends of which you are so fond," remarked he ; " but 
 my antiquarian researches have long since made me 
 acquainted with the subject of this picture, if picture 
 it can be called, which is no more visible, nor ever 
 will be, than the face of the long-buried man whom it 
 once represented. It was the portrait of Edward Ran- 
 dolph, the founder of this house, a person famous in 
 the history of New England." 
 
 " Of that Edward Randolph," exclaimed Captain Lin- 
 coln, "who obtained the repeal of the first provincial 
 charter, under which our forefathers had enjoyed almost 
 democratic privileges ! He that was styled the arch- 
 enemy of New England, and whose memory is still held 
 in detestation, as the destroyer of our liberties ! " 
 
 " It was the same Randolph," answered Hutchinson, 
 moving uneasily in his chair. " It was his lot to taste 
 the bitterness of popular odium." 
 
 " Our anuals tell us," continued the Captain of Cas- 
 tle William, " that the curse of the people followed this 
 Randolph where he went, and wrought evil in all the 
 subsequent events of his life, and that its effect was 
 seen likewise in the manner of his death. They say, 
 too, that the inward misery of that curse worked itself 
 outward, and was visible on the wretched man's coun- 
 tenance, making it too horrible to be looked upon. If 
 so, and if this picture trnly represented his aspect, it 
 was in mercy that the cloud of blackness has gathered 
 over it." 
 
 "These traditions are folly, to one who has proved, 
 as I have, how little of historic truth lies at the bottom," 
 said the Lieutenant-Governor. " As regards the life and 
 character of Edward Randolph, too implicit credence has 
 been given to Dr. Cotton Mather, who I must say it,
 
 EDAVARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 33 
 
 though some of his blood runs in my veins has filled 
 our early history with old women's tales, as fanciful and 
 extravagant as those of Greece or Rome." 
 
 "And yet," whispered Alice Vane, "may not such 
 fables have a moral ? And, methinks, if the visage 
 of this portrait be so dreadful, it is not without a 
 caiise that it has hung so long in a chamber of the 
 Province House. When the rulers feel themselves irre- 
 sponsible, it were well that they should be reminded of 
 the awful weight of a people's curse." 
 
 The Lieutenant-Governor started, and gazed for a mo- 
 ment at his niece, as if her girlish fantasies had struck 
 upon some feeling in his own breast, which all his pol- 
 icy or principles could not entirely subdue. He knew, 
 indeed, that Alice, in spite of her foreign education, 
 retained the native sympathies of a New England girl. 
 
 " Peace, silly child," cried he, at last, more harshly 
 than he had ever before addressed the gentle Alice. 
 " The rebuke of a king is more to be dreaded than the 
 clamor of a wild, misguided multitude. Captain Lincoln, 
 it is decided. The fortress of Castle William must be 
 occupied by the Royal troops. The two remaining regi- 
 ments shall be billeted in the town, or encamped upon 
 the Common. It is time, after years of tumult, and 
 almost rebellion, that his Majesty's government should 
 have a wall of strength about it." 
 
 " Trust, sir, trust yet awhile to the loyalty of the 
 people," said Captain Lincoln; "nor teach them that 
 they can ever be on other terms with British soldiers 
 than those of brotherhood, as when they fought side by 
 side through the French war. Do not convert the streets 
 of your native town into a camp. Think twice before you 
 give up old Castle William, the key of the province, into 
 other keeping than that of true-born New-Englanders." 
 2* C
 
 34 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " Young man, it is decided," repeated Hutchinson, 
 rising from his chair. " A British officer will be iu 
 attendance this evening to receive the necessary instruc- 
 tions for the disposal of the troops. Your presence also 
 will be required. Till then, farewell." 
 
 With these words the Lieutenant-Governor hastily left 
 the room, while Alice and her cousin more slowly fol- 
 lowed, whispering together, and once pausing to glance 
 back at the mysterious picture. The Captain of Castle 
 William fancied that the girl's air and mien were such as 
 might have belonged to one of those spirits of fable 
 fairies, or creatures of a more antique mythology who 
 sometimes mingled their agency with mortal affairs, half 
 in caprice, yet with a sensibility to human weal or woe. 
 As he held the door for her to pass, Alice beckoned to 
 the picture and smiled. 
 
 " Come forth, dark and evil Shape ! " cried she. " It 
 is thine hour ! " 
 
 In the evening, Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson sat 
 in the same chamber where the foregoing scene had 
 occurred, surrounded by several persons whose various 
 interests had summoned them together. There were the 
 Selectmen of Boston, plain, patriarchal fathers of the 
 people, excellent representatives of the old puritanical 
 founders, whose sombre strength had stamped so deep 
 an impress upon the New England character. Contrast- 
 ing with these were one or two members of Council, 
 richly dressed in the white wigs, the embroidered waist- 
 coats, and other magnificence of the time, and making a 
 somewhat ostentatious display of courtier-like ceremonial. 
 In attendance, likewise, was a major of the British army, 
 awaiting the Lieutenant-Governor's orders for the laud- 
 ing of the troops, which still remained on board the 
 transports. The Captain of Castle William stood beside
 
 EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 35 
 
 Hutchinson's chair, with folded arms, glancing rather 
 haughtily at the British officer, by whom he was soon to 
 be superseded in his command. Ou a table, in the cen- 
 tre of the chamber, stood a branched silver candlestick, 
 throwing down the glow of half a dozen wax-lights upon 
 a paper apparently ready for the Lieutenant-Governor's 
 signature. 
 
 Partly shrouded in the voluminous folds of one of the 
 window-curtains, which fell from the ceiling to the floor, 
 was seen the white drapery of a lady's robe. It may 
 appear strange that Alice Vane should have been there, 
 at such a time ; but there was something so childlike, so 
 wayward, in her singular character, so apart from ordi- 
 nary rules, that her presence did not surprise the few who 
 noticed it. Meantime, the chairman of the Selectmen 
 was addressing to the Lieutenant-Governor a long and 
 solemn protest against the reception of the British troops 
 into the town. 
 
 "And if your Honor," concluded this excellent but 
 somewhat prosy old gentleman, "shall see fit to persist 
 in bringing these mercenary sworders and musketeers 
 into our quiet streets, not on our heads be the responsi- 
 bility. Think, sir, while there is yet time, that if one 
 drop of blood be shed, that blood shall be an eternal 
 stain upon your Honor's memory. You, sir, have writ- 
 ten, with an able pen, the deeds of our forefathers. The 
 more to be desired is it, therefore, that yourself should 
 deserve honorable mention, as a true patriot and upright 
 ruler, when your own doings shall be written down in 
 history." 
 
 " I am not insensible, my good sir, to the natural de- 
 sire to stand well in the annals of my country," replied 
 Hutchiuson, controlling his impatience into courtesy, 
 " nor know I any better method of attaining that end
 
 36 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 than by withstanding the merely temporary spirit of 
 mischief, which, with your pardon, seems to have infected 
 elder men than myself. Would you have me wait till 
 the mob shall sack the Province House, as they did my 
 private mansion? Trust me, sir, the time may come 
 when you will be glad to flee for protection to the King's 
 banner, the raising of which is now so distasteful to you." 
 
 "Yes," said the British major, who was impatiently 
 expecting the Lieutenant-Governor's orders. " The dem- 
 agogues of this province have raised the devil, and cannot 
 lay him again. We will exorcise him, in God's name 
 and the King's." 
 
 " If you meddle with the Devil, take care of his claws ! " 
 answered the Captain of Castle William, stirred by the 
 taunt against his countrymen. 
 
 * l Craving your pardon, young sir," said the venerable 
 Selectman, " let not an evil spirit enter into your words. 
 We will strive against the oppressor with prayer and 
 fasting, as our forefathers would have done. Like them, 
 moreover, we will submit to whatever lot a wise Provi- 
 dence may send us, always, after our own best exer- 
 tions to amend it." 
 
 "And there peep forth the Devil's claws! " muttered 
 Hutchinson, who well understood the nature of Puritan 
 submission. " This matter shall be expedited forthwith. 
 When there shall be a sentinel at every corner, and a 
 court of guard before the town-house, a loyal gentleman 
 may venture to walk abroad. What to me is the outcry 
 of a mob, in this remote province of the realm ? The 
 King is my master, and England is my country ! Upheld 
 by their armed strength, I set my foot upon the rabble, 
 and defy them ! " 
 
 He snatched a pen, and was about to affix his signature 
 to the paper that lay on the table, when the Captain of
 
 EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 37 
 
 Castle William placed his hand upon his shoulder. The 
 freedom of the action, so contrary to the ceremonious 
 respect which was then considered due to rank and dig- 
 nity, awakened general surprise, and in none more than 
 in the Lieutenant-Governor himself. Looking angrily 
 up, he perceived that his young relative was pointing his 
 finger to the opposite wall. Hutchinson's eye followed 
 the signal ; and he saw, what had hitherto been unob- 
 served, that a black silk curtain was suspended before 
 the mysterious picture, so as completely to conoeal it. 
 His thoughts immediately recurred to the scene of the pre- 
 ceding afternoon ; and, in his surprise, confused by indis- 
 tinct emotions, yet sensible that his niece must have had 
 an agency in this phenomenon, he called loudly upon her. 
 
 " Alice ! come hither, Alice ! " 
 
 No sooner had he spoken than Alice Vane glided from 
 her station, and pressing one hand across her eyes, with 
 the other snatched away the sable curtain that concealed 
 the portrait. An exclamation of surprise burst from 
 every beholder ; but the Lieutenant-Governor's voice had 
 a tone of horror. 
 
 "By Heaven," said he, in a low, inward murmur, 
 speaking rather to himself than to those around him, " if 
 the spirit of Edward Randolph were to appear among us 
 from the place of torment, he could not wear more of the 
 terrors of hell upon his face ! " 
 
 "For some wise end," said the aged Selectman, sol- 
 emnly, " hath Providence scattered away the mist of years 
 that had so long hid this dreadful effigy. Until this hour 
 no living man hath seen what we behold ! " 
 
 Within the antique frame, which so recently had en- 
 closed a sable waste of canvas, now appeared a visible 
 picture, still dark, indeed, in its hues and shadings, but 
 thrown forward in .strong relief. It was a half-length
 
 38 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 figure of a gentleman in a rich, but very old-fashioned 
 dress of embroidered velvet, with a broad ruff and a 
 beard, and wearing a hat, the brim of which over- 
 shadowed his forehead. Beneath this cloud the eyes had 
 a peculiar glare which was almost life-like. The whole 
 portrait started so distinctly out of the background, that 
 it had the effect of a person looking down from the wall 
 at the astonished and awe-stricken spectators. The ex- 
 pression of the face, if any words can convey an idea of it, 
 was that of a wretch detected in some hideous guilt, and 
 exposed to the bitter hatred and laughter and withering 
 scorn of a vast surrounding multitude. There was the 
 struggle of defiance, beaten down and overwhelmed by 
 the crushing weight of ignominy. The torture of the 
 soul had come forth upon the countenance. It seemed 
 as if the picture, while hidden behind the cloud of imme- 
 morial years, had been all the time acquiring an intenser 
 depth and darkness of expression, till now it gloomed 
 forth again, and threw its evil omen over the present 
 hour. Such, if the wild legend may be credited, was the 
 portrait of Edward Randolph, as he appeared when a 
 people's curse had wrought its influence upon his nature. 
 
 " 'T would drive me mad, that awful face ! " said 
 Hutchinson, who seemed fascinated by the contemplation 
 of it. 
 
 " Be warned, then ! " whispered Alice. " He trampled 
 on a people's rights. Behold his punishment, and avoid 
 a crime like his ! " 
 
 The Lieutenant-Governor actually trembled for an in- 
 stant ; but, exerting his energy, which was not, how- 
 ever, his most characteristic feature, he strove to shake 
 off the spell of Randolph's countenance. 
 
 " Girl ! " cried he, laughing bitterly, as he turned to 
 Alice, "have you brought hither your painter's art,
 
 EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 39 
 
 your Italian spirit of intrigue, your tricks of stage effect, 
 and think to influence the councils of rulers and the 
 affairs of nations by such shallow contrivances? See 
 here ! " 
 
 " Stay yet awhile," said the Selectman, as Hutchinson 
 again snatched the pen; "for if ever mortal man re- 
 ceived a warning from a tormented soul, your Honor is 
 that man ! " 
 
 " Away ! " answered Hutchinson, fiercely. " Though 
 yonder senseless picture cried, ' Forbear ! ' it should not 
 move me ! " 
 
 Casting a scowl of defiance at the pictured face (which 
 seemed, at that moment, to intensify the horror of its 
 miserable and wicked look), he scrawled on the paper, 
 in characters that betokened it a deed of desperation, 
 the name of Thomas Hutchinson. Then, it is said, he 
 shuddered, as if that signature had granted away his sal- 
 vation. 
 
 " It is done," said he ; and placed his hand upon his 
 brow. 
 
 " May Heaven forgive the deed," said the soft, sad ac- 
 cents of Alice Vane, like the voice of a good spirit flitting 
 away. 
 
 When morning came there was a stifled whisper 
 through the household, and spreading thence about the 
 town, that the dark, mysterious picture had started from 
 the wall, and spoken face to face with Lieutenant-Gov- 
 ernor Hutchinson. If such a miracle had been wrought, 
 however, no traces of it remained behind ; for within the 
 antique frame, nothing could be discerned, save the im- 
 penetrable cloud which had covered the canvas since the 
 memory of man. If the figure had, indeed, stepped forth, 
 it had fled back, spirit-like, at the daydawn, and hidden 
 itself behind a century's obscurity. The truth probably
 
 40 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 was, that Alice Vane's secret for restoring the hues of 
 the picture had merely effected a temporary renovation. 
 But those who, in that brief interval, had beheld the aw- 
 ful visage of Edward Randolph, desired no second glance, 
 and ever afterwards tremoled at the recollection of the 
 scene, as if an evil spirit had appeared visibly among 
 them. And as for Hutchinson, when, far over the ocean, 
 his dying hour drew on, he gasped for breath, and com- 
 plained that he was choking with the blood of the Boston 
 massacre ; and Francis Lincoln, the former Captain of 
 Castle William, who was standing at his bedside, per- 
 ceived a likeness in his frenzied look to that of Edward 
 Randolph. Did his broken spirit feel, at that dread hour, 
 the tremendous burden of a People's curse P 
 
 At the conclusion of this miraculous legend, I inquired 
 of mine host whether the picture still remained in the 
 chamber over our heads ; but Mr. Tiffany informed me 
 that it had long since been removed, and was supposed 
 to be hidden in some out-of-the-way corner of the New 
 England Museum. Perchance some curious antiquary 
 may light upon it there, and, with the assistance of Mr. 
 Howorth, the picture-cleaner, may supply a not unneces- 
 sary proof of the authenticity of the facts here set down. 
 During the progress of the story a storm had been gath- 
 ering abroad, and raging and rattling so loudly in the 
 upper regions of the Province House, that it seemed as 
 if all the old governors and great men were running riot 
 above stairs, while Mr. Bela Tiffany babbled of them 
 below. In the course of generations, when many people 
 have lived and died in an ancient house, the whistling of 
 the wind through its crannies, and the creaking of its
 
 EDWAKD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT. 
 
 41 
 
 beams and rafters, become strangely like the tones of the 
 human voice, or thundering laughter, or heavy footsteps 
 treading the deserted chambers. It is as if the echoes 
 of half a century were revived. Such were the ghostly 
 sounds that roared and murmured in our ears, when I 
 took leave of the circle round the fireside of the Province 
 House, and plunging down the doorsteps, fought my 
 way homeward against a drifting snow-storm.
 
 LEGENDS OP THE PROVINCE HOUSE. 
 
 III. 
 
 LADY ELEANOBE'S MANTLE. 
 
 [NE excellent friend, the landlord of the Province 
 House, was pleased, the other evening, to invite 
 Mr. Tiffany and myself to an oyster-supper. 
 This slight mark of respect and gratitude, as he hand- 
 somely observed, was far less than the ingenious tale- 
 teller, and I, the humble note-taker of his narratives, had 
 fairly earned, by the public notice which our joint lucu- 
 brations had attracted- to his establishment. Many a 
 cigar had been smoked within his premises, many a 
 glass of wine, or more potent aqua vitse, had been quaffed, 
 many a dinner had been eaten by curious strangers, 
 who, save for the fortunate conjunction of Mr. Tiffany 
 and me, would never have ventured through that dark- 
 some avenue, which gives access to the historic precincts 
 of the Province House. In short, if any credit be due 
 to the courteous assurances of Mr. Thomas Waite, we 
 had brought his forgotten mansion almost as effectually 
 into public view as if we had thrown down the vulgar 
 range of shoe-shops and dry-goods stores, which hides its 
 aristocratic front from Washington Street. It may be
 
 LADiT ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 43 
 
 unadvisable, however, to speak too loudly of the in- 
 creased custom of the house, lest Mr. Waite should find 
 it difficult to renew the lease on so favorable terms as 
 heretofore. 
 
 Being thus welcomed as benefactors, neither Mr. Tiffany 
 nor myself felt any scruple in doing full justice to the good 
 things that were set before us. If the feast were less 
 magnificent than those same panelled walls had witnessed 
 in a bygone century, if mine host presided with some- 
 what less of state, than might have befitted a successor of 
 the royal governors, if the guests made a less imposing 
 show than the bewigged and powdered and embroidered 
 dignitaries, who erst banqueted at the gubernatorial table, 
 and now sleep witliin their armorial tombs on Copp's 
 Hill or round King's Chapel, yet never, I may boldly 
 say, did a more comfortable little party assemble in the 
 Province House, from Queen Anne's days to the Revo- 
 lution. The occasion was rendered more interesting by 
 the presence of a venerable personage, whose own actual 
 reminiscences went back to the epoch of Gage and Howe, 
 and even supplied him with a doubtful anecdote or two 
 of Hutchinson. He was one of that small, and now all 
 but extinguished class, whose attachment to royalty, and 
 to the colonial institutions and customs that were con- 
 nected with it, had never yielded to the democratic here- 
 sies of after times. The young queen of Britain has not 
 a more loyal subject in her realm perhaps not one who 
 would kneel before her throne with such reverential love 
 than this old grandsire, whose head has whitened be- 
 neath the mild sway of the Republic, which still, in his mel- 
 lower moments, he terms a usurpation. Yet prejudices 
 so obstinate have not made him an ungentle or impracti- 
 cable companion. If the truth must be told, the life of 
 the aged loyalist has been of such a scrambling and un-
 
 Ms TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 settled character, he has had so little choice of friends, 
 and been so often destitute of any, that I doubt whether 
 he would refuse a cup of kindness with either Oliver 
 Cromwell or John Hancock ; to say nothing of any demo- 
 crat now upon the stage. In another paper of this series, 
 I may perhaps give the reader a closer glimpse of his 
 portrait. 
 
 Our host, in due season, uncorked a bottle of Madeira, 
 of such exquisite perfume and admirable flavor, that he 
 surely must have discovered it in an ancient bin, down 
 deep beneath the deepest cellar, where some jolly old 
 butler stored away the Governor's choicest wine, and 
 forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed. Peace to 
 his red-nosed ghost, and a libation to his memory ! This 
 precious liquor was imbibed by Mr. Tiffany with peculiar 
 zest ; and after sipping the third glass, it was his pleasure 
 to give us one of the oddest legends which he had yet 
 raked from the storehouse where he keeps such matters. 
 With some* suitable adornments from my own fancy, it 
 ran pretty much as follows. 
 
 Not long after Colonel Shute had assumed the govern- 
 ment of Massachusetts Bay, now nearly a hundred and 
 twenty years ago, a young lady of rank and fortune ar- 
 rived from England, to claim his protection as her guar- 
 dian. He was her distant relative, but the nearest who 
 had survived the gradual extinction of her family ; so 
 that no more eligible shelter could be found for the rich 
 and high-born Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, than within the 
 Province House of a Transatlantic colony. The consort 
 of Governor Shute, moreover, had been as a mother to 
 her childhood, and was now anxious to receive her, in the
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 45 
 
 hope that a beautiful young woman would he exposed to 
 infinitely less peril from the primitive society of New 
 England, than amid the artifices and corruptions of a 
 court. If either the Governor or his lady had especially 
 consulted their own comfort, they would probably have 
 sought to devolve the responsibility on other hands; 
 since with some noble and splendid traits of character, 
 Lady Eleanore was remarkable for a harsh, unyielding 
 pride, a haughty consciousness of her hereditary and 
 personal advantages, which made her almost incapable of 
 control. Judging from many traditionary anecdotes, this 
 peculiar temper was hardly less than a monomania ; or, 
 if the acts which it inspired were those of a sane person, 
 it seemed due from Providence that pride so sinful should 
 be followed by as severe a retribution. That tinge of the 
 marvellous, which is thrown over so many of these half- 
 forgotten legends, has probably imparted an additional 
 wildness to the strange story of Lady Eleanore Roch- 
 cliffe. 
 
 The ship in which she came passenger had arrived at 
 Newport, whence Lady Eleanore was conveyed to Boston 
 in the Governor's coach, attended by a small escort of 
 gentlemen on horseback. The ponderous equipage, with 
 its four black horses, attracted much notice as it rumbled 
 through Cornhill, surrounded by the prancing steeds of 
 half a dozen cavaliers, with swords dangling to their stir- 
 rups and pistols at their holsters. Through the large 
 glass windows of the coach, as it rolled along, the people 
 could discern the figure of Lady Eleanore, strangely com- 
 bining an almost queenly stateliness with the grace and 
 beauty of a maiden in her teens. A singular tale had 
 gone abroad among the ladies of the province, that their 
 fair rival was indebted for much of the irresistible charm 
 of her appearance to a certain article of dress, an em-
 
 46 TWJCE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 broidered mantle, which had been wrought by the most 
 skilful artist in London, and possessed even magical prop- 
 erties of adornment. On the present occasion, however, 
 she owed nothing to the witchery of dress, being clad in 
 a riding-habit of velvet, which would have appeared stiff 
 and ungraceful on any other form. 
 
 The coachman reined in his four black steeds, and the 
 whole cavalcade came to a pause in front of the contorted 
 iron balustrade that fenced the Province House from the 
 public street. It was an awkward coincidence, that the 
 bell of the Old South was just then tolling for a funeral; 
 so that, instead of a gladsome peal with which it was 
 customary to announce the arrival of distinguished 
 strangers, Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe was ushered by a 
 doleful clang, as if calamity had come embodied in her 
 beautiful person. 
 
 " A very great disrespect ! " exclaimed Captain Lang- 
 ford, an English officer, who had recently brought de- 
 spatches to Governor Shute. " The funeral should have 
 been deferred, lest Lady Eleanore's spirits be affected by 
 such a dismal welcome." 
 
 " With your pardon, sir," replied Dr. Clarke, a physi- 
 cian, and a famous champion of the popular party, 
 " whatever the heralds may pretend, a dead beggar must 
 have precedence of a living queen. King Death confers 
 high privileges." 
 
 These remarks were interchanged while the speakers 
 waited a passage through the crowd, which had gathered 
 on each side of the gateway, leaving an open avenue to 
 the portal of the Province House. A black slave in liv- 
 ery npw leaped from behind the coach, and threw open 
 the door; while at the same moment Governor Shute 
 descended the flight of steps from his mansion, to assist 
 Lady Eleanore in alighting. But the Governor's stately
 
 LADY ELEANOEE'S MANTLE. 4.7 
 
 approach was anticipated in a manner that excited gen- 
 eral astonishment/ A pale young man, with his black 
 hair all in disorder, rushed from the throng, and pros- 
 trated himself beside the coach, thus offering his person 
 as a footstool for Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe to tread 
 upon. She held back an instant ; yet with an expres- 
 sion as if doubting whether the young man were worthy 
 to bear the weight of her footstep, rather than dissatis- 
 fied to receive such awful reverence from a fellow- 
 mortal. 
 
 " Up, sir," said the Governor, sternly, at the same 
 time lifting his cane over the intruder. " What means 
 the Bedlamite by this freak ? " 
 
 " Nay," answered Lady Eleanore, playfully, but with 
 more scorn than pity in her tone, " your Excellency shall 
 not strike him. When men seek only to be trampled 
 upon, it were a pity to deny them a favor so easily 
 granted and so well deserved ! " 
 
 Then, though as lightly as a sunbeam on a cloud, she 
 placed her foot upon the cowering form, and extended her 
 hand to meet that of the Governor. There was a brief 
 interval, during which Lady Eleauore retained this atti- 
 tude ; and never, surely, was there an apter emblem of 
 aristocracy and hereditary pride trampling on human 
 sympathies and the kindred of nature, than these two 
 figures presented at that moment. Yet the spectators 
 were so smitten with her beauty, and so essential did 
 pride seem to the existence of such a creature, that they 
 gave a simultaneous acclamation of applause. 
 
 " Who is this insolent young fellow ? " inquired Cap- 
 tain Langford, who still remained beside Dr. Clarke. 
 " If he be in his senses, his impertinence demands the 
 bastinado. If mad, Lady Eleanore should be secured 
 from further inconvenience, by his confinement."
 
 48 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "His name is Jervase Helwyse," answered the Doc- 
 tor ; " a youth of no birth or fortune, or other advan- 
 tages, save the mind and soul that nature gave him ; 
 and being secretary to our colonial agent in London, it 
 was his misfortune to meet this Lady Eleanore Roch- 
 cliffe. He loved her, and her scorn has driven him 
 mad." 
 
 "He was mad so to aspire," observed the English 
 officer. 
 
 "It may be so," said Dr. Clarke, frowning as he 
 spoke. " But I tell you, sir, I could wellnigh doubt the 
 justice of the Heaven above us, if no signal humiliation 
 overtake this lady, who now treads so haughtily into 
 yonder mansion. She seeks to place herself above the 
 sympathies of our common nature, which envelops all 
 human souls. See, if that nature do not assert its claim 
 over her in some mode that shall bring her level with 
 the lowest ! " 
 
 " Never ! " cried Captain Laugford, indignantly ; " nei- 
 ther in life, nor when they lay her with her ances- 
 tors." 
 
 Not many days afterwards the Governor gave a ball 
 in honor of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe. The principal 
 gentry of the colony received invitations, which were 
 distributed to their residences, far and near, by messen- 
 gers on horseback, bearing missives sealed with all the 
 formality of official despatches. In obedience to the 
 summons, there was a general gathering of rank, wealth, 
 and beauty ; and the wide door of the Province House 
 had seldom given admittance to more numerous and 
 honorable guests than on Jhe evening of Lady Eleanore's 
 ball. Without much extravagance of eulogy, the spectacle 
 might even be termed splendid; for, according to the 
 fashion of the times, the ladies shone in rich silks and
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 49 
 
 satins, outspread over wide-projecting hoops ; and the 
 gentlemen glittered in gold embroidery, laid unsparingly 
 upon the purple, or scarlet, or sky-blue velvet, which 
 was the material of their coats and waistcoats. The lat- 
 ter article of dress was of great importance, since it en- 
 veloped the wearer's body nearly to the knees, and was 
 perhaps bedizened with the amount of his whole year's 
 income, in golden flowers and foliage. The altered taste 
 of the present day a taste symbolic of a deep change 
 in the whole system of society would look upon almost 
 any of those gorgeous figures as ridiculous ; although that 
 evening the guests sought their reflections in the pier- 
 glasses, and rejoiced to catch their own glitter amid the 
 glittering crowd. What a pity that one of the stately 
 mirrors has not preserved a picture of the scene, which, 
 by the very traits that were so transitory, might have 
 taught us much that would be worth knowing and re- 
 membering ! 
 
 Would, at least, that either painter or mirror could 
 convey to us some faint idea of a garment, already no- 
 ticed in this legend, the Lady Eleanore's embroidered 
 mantle, which the gossips whispered was invested with 
 magic properties, so as to lend a new and untried grace 
 to her figure each time that she put it on ! Idle fancy as 
 it is, this mysterious mantle has thrown an awe around 
 my image of her, partly from its fabled virtues, and 
 partly because it was the handiwork of a dying woman, 
 and, perchance, owed the fantastic grace of its concep- 
 tion to the delirium of approaching death. 
 
 After the ceremonial greetings had been paid, Lady 
 Eleanorc Ilochclifle stood apart from the mob of guests, 
 insulating herself within a small and distinguished circle, 
 to whom she accorded a more cordial favor than to the 
 general throng. The waxen torches threw their radiance
 
 50 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 vividly over the scene, bringing out its brilliant points in 
 strong relief ; but she gazed carelessly, and with now 
 and then an expression of weariness or scorn, tempered 
 with such feminine grace, that her auditors scarcely per- 
 ceived the moral deformity of which it was the utterance. 
 She beheld the spectacle not with vulgar ridicule, as dis- 
 daining to be pleased with the provincial mockery of a 
 court festival, but with the deeper scorn of one whose 
 spirit held itself too high to participate in the enjoyment 
 of other human souls. Whether or no the recollections 
 of those who saw her that evening were influenced by 
 the strange events with which she was subsequently con- 
 nected, so it was that her figure ever after recurred to 
 them as marked by something wild and unnatural ; al- 
 though, at the time, the general whisper was of her ex- 
 ceeding beauty, and of the indescribable charm which 
 her mantle threw around her. Some close observers, in- 
 deed, detected a feverish flush and alternate paleness of 
 countenance, with a corresponding flow and revulsion of 
 spirits, and once or twice a painful and helpless betrayal 
 of lassitude, as if she were on the point of sinking to the 
 ground. Then, with a nervous shudder, she seemed to 
 arouse her energies, and threw some bright and playful, 
 yet half-wicked sarcasm into the conversation. There 
 was so strange a characteristic in her manners and sen- 
 timents, that it astonished every right-minded listener; 
 till looking in her face, a lurking and incomprehensible 
 glance and smile perplexed them with doubts both as to 
 her seriousness and sanity. Gradually, Lady Eleanore 
 Rochcliffe's circle grew smaller, till only four gentlemen 
 remained in it. These were Captain Langford, the Eng- 
 lish officer before mentioned; a Virginian planter, who 
 Lad come to Massachusetts on some political errand ; a 
 young Episcopal clergyman, the grandson of a British
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 51 
 
 Earl; and lastly, the private secretary of Governor 
 Shute, whose obsequiousness had won a sort of toler- 
 ance from Lady Eleauore. 
 
 At different periods of the evening the liveried ser- 
 vants of the Province House passed among the guests, 
 bearing huge trays of refreshments, and French and 
 Spanish wines. Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, who refused 
 to wet her beautiful lips even with a bubble of cham- 
 pagne, had sunk back into a large damask chair, appar- 
 ently overwearied either with the excitement of the 
 scene or its tedium ; and while, for an instant, she was 
 unconscious of voices, laughter, and music, a young man 
 stole forward, and knelt down at her feet. He bore a 
 salver in his hand, on which was a chased silver goblet, 
 filled to the brim with wine, which he offered as rev- 
 erentially as to a crowned queen, or rather with the 
 awful devotion of a priest doing sacrifice to his idol. 
 Conscious that some one touched her robe, Lady 
 Eleanore started, and unclosed her eyes upon the 
 pale, wild features and dishevelled hair of Jervase Hel- 
 wyse. 
 
 " Why do you haunt me thus ? " said she, in a languid 
 tone, but with a kindlier feeling than she ordinarily per- 
 mitted herself to express. " They tell me that I have 
 done you harm." 
 
 " Heaven knows if that be so," replied the young man, 
 solemnly. "But, Lady Eleanore, in requital of that 
 harm, if such there be, and for your own earthly and 
 heavenly welfare, I pray you to take one sip of this holy 
 wine, and then to pass the goblet round among the 
 guests. And this shall be a symbol that you have not 
 sought to withdraw yourself from the chain of human 
 sympathies, which whoso would shake off must keep 
 company with fallen angels."
 
 52 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " Where has this mad fellow stolen that sacramental 
 vessel ? " exclaimed the Episcopal clergyman. 
 
 This question drew the notice of the guests to the 
 silver cup, which was recognized as appertaining to the 
 communion plate of the Old South Church ; and for 
 aught that could be known, it was brimming over with 
 the consecrated wine. 
 
 " Perhaps it is poisoned," half whispered the Govern- 
 or's secretary. 
 
 " Pour it down the villain's throat ! " cried the Vir- 
 ginian, fiercely. 
 
 " Turn him out of the house ! " cried Captain Lang- 
 ford, seizing Jervase Helwyse so roughly by the shoulder 
 that the sacramental cup was overturned, and its con- 
 tents sprinkled upon Lady Eleanore's mantle. " Wheth- 
 er knave, fool, or Bedlamite, it is intolerable that the 
 fellow should go at large." 
 
 " Pray, gentlemen, do my poor admirer no harm," said 
 Lady Eleanore, with a faint and weary smile. "Take 
 him out of my sight, if such be your pleasure; for I 
 can find in my heart to do nothing but laugh at him; 
 whereas, in all decency and conscience, it would become 
 me to weep for the mischief I have wrought ! " 
 
 But while the by-standers were attempting to lead 
 away the unfortunate young man, he broke from them, 
 and with a wild, impassioned earnestness, offered a new 
 and equally strange petition to Lady Eleanore. It was 
 no other than that she should throw off the mantle, 
 which, while he pressed the silver cup of wine upon 
 her, she had drawn more closely around her form, so 
 as almost to shroud herself within it. 
 
 " Cast it from you ! " exclaimed Jervase Helwyse, clasp- 
 ing his hands in an agony of entreaty. " It may not yet 
 be too late ! Give the accursed garment to the flames ! "
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 53 
 
 But Lady Eleanore, with a laugh of scorn, drew the 
 rich folds of the embroidered mantle over her head, in 
 such a fashion as to give a completely new aspect to 
 her beautiful face, which half hidden, half revealed 
 seemed to belong to some being of mysterious character 
 and purposes. 
 
 " Farewell, Jervase Helwyse !" said she. "Keep my 
 image in your remembrance, as you behold it now." 
 
 " Alas, lady ! " he replied, in a tone no longer 
 wild, but sad as a funeral bell. "We must meet 
 shortly, when your face may wear another aspect ; 
 and that shall be the image that must, abide within 
 me." 
 
 He made no more resistance to the violent efforts of 
 the gentlemen and servants, who almost dragged him 
 out of the apartment, and dismissed him roughly from 
 the iron gate of the Province House. Captain Langford, 
 who had been very active in this affair, was returning 
 to the presence of Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe, when he 
 encountered the physician, Dr. Clarke, with whom he 
 had held some casual talk on the day of her arrival. 
 The Doctor stood apart, separated from Lady Eleanore 
 by the width of the room, but eying her with such keen 
 sagacity, that Captain Langford involuntarily gave him 
 credit for the discovery of some deep secret. 
 
 " You appear to be smitten, after all, with the charms 
 of this queenly maiden," said he, hoping thus to draw 
 forth the physician's hidden knowledge. 
 
 " God forbid ! " answered Dr. Clarke, with a grave 
 smile ; " and if you be wise, you will put up the same 
 prayer for yourself. Woe to those who shall be smitten 
 by this beautiful Lady Eleanore! But yonder stands 
 the Governor, and I have a word or two for his pri- 
 vate ear. Good night ! "
 
 54 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 He accordingly advanced to Governor Shute, and ad- 
 dressed him in so low a tone that none of the by-standers 
 could catch a word of what he said ; although the sud- 
 den change of his Excellency's hitherto cheerful visage 
 betokened that the communication could be of no agree- 
 able import. A very few moments afterwards, it was 
 announced to the guests that an unforeseen circumstance 
 rendered it necessary to put a premature close to the 
 festival. 
 
 The ball at the Province House supplied a topic of 
 conversation for the colonial metropolis, for some days 
 after its occurrence, and might still longer have been 
 the general meme, only that a subject of all-engrossing 
 interest thrust it, for a time, from the public recollec- 
 tion. This was the appearance of a dreadful epidemic, 
 which, in that age, and long before and afterwards, was 
 wont^ to slay its hundreds and thousands, on both sides 
 of the Atlantic. On the occasion of which we speak, it 
 was distinguished by a peculiar virulence, insomuch that 
 it has left its traces its pit-marks, to use an appro- 
 priate figure on the history of the country, the affairs 
 of which were thrown into confusion by its ravages. At 
 first, unlike its ordinary course, the disease seemed to 
 confine itself to the higher circles of society, selecting 
 its victims from among the proud, the well-born, and 
 the wealthy, entering unabashed into stately chambers, 
 and lying down with the slumberers in silken beds. 
 Some of the most distinguished guests of the Province 
 House even those whom the haughty Lady Eleanore 
 Rochcliffe had deemed not unworthy of her favor were 
 stricken by this fatal scourge. It was noticed, with an 
 ungenerous bitterness of feeling, that the four gentlemen 
 the Virginian, the British officer, the young clergy- 
 man, and the Governor's secretary who had been her
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 55 
 
 most devoted attendants on the evening of the ball were 
 the foremost on whom the plague-stroke fell. But the 
 disease, pursuing its onward progress, soon ceased to be 
 exclusively a prerogative of aristocracy. Its red brand 
 was no longer conferred, like a noble's star, or an order 
 of knighthood. It threaded its way through the Harrow 
 and crooked streets, and entered the low, mean, dark- 
 some dwellings, and laid its hand of death upon the 
 artisans and laboring classes of the town. It compelled 
 rich and poor to feel themselves brethren, then; and 
 stalking to and fro across the Three Hills, with a fierce- 
 ness which made it almost a new pestilence, there was 
 that mighty conqueror that scourge and horror of our 
 forefathers the Small-Pox ! 
 
 We cannot estimate the affright which this plague in- 
 spired of yore, by contemplating it as the fangless mon- 
 ster of the present day. We must remember, rather, 
 with what awe we watched the gigantic footsteps of the 
 Asiatic cholera, striding from shore to shore of the At- 
 lantic, and marching like destiny upon cities far remote, 
 which flight had already half depopulated. There is no 
 other fear so horrible and unhumanizing, as that which 
 makes man dread to breathe Heaven's vital air, lest it 
 be poison, or to grasp the hand of a brother or friend, 
 lest the gripe of the pestilence should clutch him. Such 
 was the dismay that now followed in the track of the 
 disease, or ran before it throughout the town. Graves 
 were hastily dug, and the pestilential relics as hastily 
 covered, because the dead were enemies of the living, 
 and strove to draw them headlong, as it were, into their 
 own dismal pit. The public councils were suspended, 
 as if mortal wisdom might relinquish its devices, now 
 that an unearthly usurper had found his way into the 
 ruler's mansion. Had an enemy's fleet been hovering
 
 56 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 on the coast, or his armies trampling on our soil, the 
 people would probably have committed their defence to 
 that same direful conqueror, who had wrought their ovn 
 calamity, and would permit no interference with his 
 sway. This conqueror had a symbol of his triumphs. 
 It was a blood-red flag, that fluttered in^the tainted air, 
 over the door of every dwelling into which the Small- 
 Pox had entered. 
 
 Such a banner was long since waving over the portal 
 of the Province House ; for thence, as was proved by 
 tracking its footsteps back, had all this dreadful mis- 
 chief issued. It had been traced back to a lady's luxu- 
 rious chamber, to the proudest of the proud, to her 
 that was so delicate, and hardly owned herself of earthly 
 mould, to the haughty one, who took her stand above 
 human sympathies, to Lady Eleanore ! There re- 
 mained no room for doubt, that the contagion had lurked 
 in that gorgeous mantle, which threw so strange a grace 
 around her at the festival. Its fantastic splendor had 
 been conceived in the delirious brain of a woman on her 
 death-bed, and was the last toil of her stiffening fingers, 
 which had interwoven fate and misery with its golden 
 threads. This dark tale, whispered at first, was now 
 bruited far and wide. The people raved against the 
 Lady Eleanore, and cried out that her pride* and scorn 
 had evoked a fiend, and that, between them both, this 
 monstrous evil had been born. At times, their rage and 
 despair took the semblance of grinning mirth ; and when- 
 ever the red flag o the pestilence was hoisted over 
 another, and yet another door, they clapped their 
 hands and shouted through the streets in bitter mock- 
 ery, "Behold a new triumph for the Lady Elea- 
 nore ! " 
 
 One day, in the midst of these dismal times, a wild
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 57 
 
 figure approached the portal of the Province House, and 
 folding his arms, stood contemplating the scarlet banner, 
 which a passing breeze shook fitfully, as if to fling abroad 
 the contagion that it typified. At length, climbing one 
 of the pillars by means of the iron balustrade, he took 
 down the flag, and entered the mansion, waving it above 
 his head. At the foot of the staircase he met the Gov- 
 ernor, booted and spurred, with his cloak drawn around 
 him, evidently on the point of setting forth upon a 
 journey. 
 
 "Wretched lunatic, what do you seek here?" ex- 
 claimed Shute, extending his cane to guard himself from 
 contact. " There is nothing here but Death. Back, 
 or you will meet him ! " 
 
 " Death will not touch me, the banner-bearer of the 
 pestilence ! " cried Jervase Helwyse, shaking the red flag 
 aloft. "Death and the Pestilence, who wears the as- 
 pect of the Lady Eleanore, will walk through the streets 
 to-night, and I must march before them with this ban- 
 ner ! " 
 
 "Why do I waste words on the fellow?" muttered 
 the Governor, drawing his cloak across his mouth. 
 " What matters his miserable life, when none of us are 
 sure of twelve hours' breath ? On, fool, to your own 
 destruction ! " 
 
 He made way for Jervase Helwyse, who immediately 
 ascended the staircase, but, on the first landing-place, 
 was arrested by the firm grasp of a hand upon his 
 shoulder. Looking fiercely up, with a madman's im- 
 pulse to struggle with and rend asunder his opponent, 
 he found himself powerless beneath a calm, stern eye, 
 which possessed the mysterious property of quelling 
 frenzy at its height. The person whom he had now 
 encountered was the physician, Dr. Clarke, the duties 
 3*
 
 58 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 of whose sad profession had led him to the Province 
 House, where he was an infrequent guest in more pros- 
 perous times. 
 
 " Young man, what is your purpose ? " demanded he. 
 
 " I seek the Lady Eleanore," answered Jervase Hel- 
 wyse, submissively. 
 
 " All have fled from her," said the physician. " Why 
 do you seek her now ? I tell you, youth, her nurse fell 
 death-stricken on the threshold of that fatal chamber. 
 Know ye not, that never came such a curse to our 
 shores as this lovely Lady Eleanore ? that her breath 
 has filled the air with poison ? that she has shaken 
 pestilence and death upon the land, from the folds of her 
 accursed mantle ? " 
 
 "Let me look upon her!" rejoined the mad youth,, 
 more wildly. " Let me behold her, in her awful beauty, 
 clad in the regal garments of the pestilence ! She and 
 Death sit on a throne together. Let me kneel down be- 
 fore them ! " 
 
 " Poor youth ! " said Dr. Clarke ; and, moved by a 
 deep sense of human weakness, a smile of caustic hu- 
 mor curled his lip even then. " Wilt thou still worship 
 the destroyer, and surround her image with fantasies the 
 more magnificent, the more evil she has wrought ? Thus 
 man doth ever to his tyrants ! Approach; then ! Mad- 
 ness, as I have noted, has that good efficacy, that it will 
 guard you from contagion ; and perchance its own cure 
 may be found in yonder chamber." 
 
 Ascending another flight of stairs, he threw open a 
 door, and signed to Jervase Helwyse that he should en- 
 ter. The poor lunatic, it seems probable, had cherished 
 a delusion that his haughty mistress sat in state, un- 
 harmed herself by the pestilential influence, which, as 
 by enchantment, she scattered round about her. He
 
 LADY EI^EANOEE'S MANTLE. 59 
 
 dreamed, no doubt, that her beauty was not dimmed, 
 but brightened into superhuman splendor. With such 
 anticipations, he stole reverentially to the door at which 
 the physician stood, but paused upon the threshold, 
 gazing fearfully into the gloom of the darkened cham- 
 ber. 
 
 " Where is the Lady Eleanore ? " whispered he. 
 
 " Call her," replied the physician. 
 
 " Lady Eleanore ! Princess ! Queen of Death ! " 
 cried Jervase Helwyse, advancing three steps into the 
 chamber. " She is not here ! There, on yonder table, I 
 behold the sparkle of a diamond which once she wore 
 upon her bosom. There," and he shuddered, 
 " there hangs her mantle, on which a dead woman em^ 
 broidered a. spell of dreadful potency. But where is the 
 Lady Eleanore ? " 
 
 Something stirred within the silken curtains of a cano- 
 pied bed ; and a low moan was uttered, which, listening 
 intently, Jervase Helwyse began to distinguish as a wo- 
 man's voice, complaining dolefully of thirst. He fancied, 
 even, that he recognized its tones. 
 
 "My throat! my throat is scorched," murmured 
 the voice. " A drop of water ! " 
 
 " What thing art thou ? " said the brain-stricken 
 youth, drawing near the bed and tearing asunder its 
 curtains. " Whose voice hast thou stolen for thy 
 murmurs and miserable petitions, as if Lady Eleanore 
 could be conscious of mortal infirmity ? Eie ! Heap 
 of diseased mortality, why lurkest thou in my lady's 
 chamber ? " 
 
 "O Jervase Helwyse," said the voice, and as it 
 spoke, the figure contorted itself, struggling to hide 
 its blasted face, "look not now on the woman you 
 once loved ! The curse of Heaven hath stricken me,
 
 60 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 because I would not call man my brother, nor woman 
 sister. I wrapped myself in PKIDE as in a MANTLE, and 
 scorned the sympathies of nature ; and therefore has 
 nature made this wretched body the medium of a dread- 
 ful sympathy. You are avenged, they are all avenged, 
 nature is avenged, for I am Eleanore Roch- 
 cliffe ! " 
 
 The malice of his mental disease, the bitterness 
 lurking at the bottom of his heart, mad as he was, 
 for a blighted and ruined life, and love that had been 
 paid with cruel scorn, awoke within the breast of Jer- 
 vase Helwyse. He shook his finger at the wretched 
 girl, and the chamber echoed, the curtains of the 
 bed were shaken, with his outburst of insane merri- 
 ment. 
 
 " Another triumph for the Lady Eleanore ! " he cried. 
 " All have been her victims ! Who so worthy to be the 
 final victim as herself ? " 
 
 Impelled by some new fantasy of his crazed intellect, 
 he snatched the fatal mantle and rushed from the cham- 
 ber and the house. That night, a procession passed, by 
 torchlight*through the streets, bearing in the midst the 
 figure of a woman, enveloped with a richly embroidered 
 mantle ; while in advance stalked Jervase Helwyse, wav- 
 ing the red flag of the pestilence. Arriving opposite the 
 Province House, the mob burned the effigy, and a strong 
 wind came and swept away the ashes. It was said, that, 
 from that very hour, the pestilence abated, as if its sway 
 had some mysterious connection, from the first plague- 
 stroke to the last, with Lady Eleanore's Mantle. A re- 
 markable uncertainty broods over that unhappy lady's 
 fate. There is a belief, however, that, in a certain 
 chamber of this mansion, a female form may sometimes be 
 duskily discerned, shrinking into the darkest corner, and
 
 LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE. 61 
 
 muffling her face within an embroidered mantle. Sup- 
 posing the legend true, can this be other than the once 
 proud Lady Eleanore ? 
 
 Mine host, and the old loyalist, and I bestowed no 
 little warmth of applause upon this narrative, in which 
 we had all been deeply interested; for the reader can 
 ^scarcely conceive how unspeakably the effect of such a 
 tale is heightened, when, as in the present case, we may 
 repose perfect confidence in the veracity of him who 
 tells it. For my own part, knowing how scrupulous 
 is Mr. Tiffany to settle the foundation of his facts, I 
 could not have believed him one whit the more faith- 
 fully, had he professed himself an eye-witness of the 
 doings and sufferings of poor Lady Eleanore. Some 
 sceptics, it is true, might demand documentary evidence, 
 or even require him to produce the embroidered mantle, 
 forgetting that Heaven be praised it was consumed 
 to ashes. But now the old loyalist, whose blood was 
 warmed by the good cheer, began to talk, in his turn, 
 about the traditions of the Province House, and hinted 
 that he, if it were agreeable, might add a few reminis- 
 cences to our legendary stock. Mr. Tiffany, having no 
 cause to dread a rival, immediately besought him to 
 favor us with a specimen ; my own entreaties, of course, 
 were urged to the same effect ; and our venerable guest, 
 well pleased to find willing auditors, awaited only the 
 return of Mr. Thomas Waite, who had been summoned 
 forth to provide accommodations for several new arrivals. 
 Perchance the public but be this as its own caprice 
 and ours shall settle the matter may read the result 
 in another Tale of the Province House.
 
 LEGENDS OP THE PROVINCE HOUSE. 
 
 IV. 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 
 
 |UR, host having resumed the chair, he, as well 
 as Mr. Tiffany and myself, expressed much 
 eagerness to be made acquainted with the story 
 to which the loyalist had alluded. That venerable man 
 first of all saw fit to moisten his throat with another 
 glass of wine, and then, turning his face towards our 
 coal-fire, looked steadfastly for a few moments into the 
 depths of its cheerful glow. Finally, he poured forth a 
 great fluency of speech. The generous liquid that he 
 had imbibed, while it warmed his age-chilled blood, like- 
 wise took off the chill from his heart and mind, and gave 
 him an energy to think and feel, which we could hardly 
 have expected to find beneath the snows of fourscore 
 winters. His feelings, indeed, appeared to me more 
 excitable than those of a younger man ; or, at least, 
 the same degree of feeling manifested itself by more 
 visible effects, than if his judgment and will had pos- 
 sessed the potency of meridian life. At the pathetic 
 passages of his narrative, he readily melted into tears. 
 When a breath of indignation swept across his spirit,
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 63 
 
 the blood flushed his withered visage even to the roots 
 of his white hair ; and he shook his clinched fist at the 
 trio of peaceful auditors, seeming to fancy enemies 
 in those who felt very kindly towards the desolate old 
 soul. But ever and anon, sometimes in the .midst 
 of his most earnest talk, this ancient person's intellect 
 would wander vaguely, losing its hold of the matter in 
 hand, and groping for it amid misty shadows. Then 
 would he cackle forth a feeble laugh, and express a 
 ddubt whether his wits for by that phrase it pleased 
 our ancient friend to signify his mental powers were 
 not getting a little the worse for wear. 
 
 Under these disadvantages, the old loyalist's story re- 
 quired more revision to render it fit for the public eye, 
 than those of the series which have preceded it; nor 
 should it be concealed, that the sentiment and tone of the 
 affair may have undergone some slight, or perchance more 
 than slight metamorphosis, in its transmission to the 
 reader through the medium of a thorough-going demo- 
 crat. The tale itself is a mere sketch, with no involution 
 of plot, nor any great interest of events, yet possessing, if 
 I have rehearsed it aright, that pensive influence over the 
 mind, which the shadow of the old Province House flings 
 upon the loiterer in its court-yard. 
 
 The hour had come the hour of defeat and humilia- 
 tion when Sir William Howe was to pass over the 
 threshold of the Province House, and embark, with no 
 such triumphal ceremonies as he once promised himself, 
 on board the British fleet. He bade his servants and 
 military attendants go before him, and lingered a moment 
 in the loneliness of the mansion, to quell the fierce emo-
 
 64 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 tions that struggled in his bosom as with a death-throb. 
 Preferable, then, would he have deemed his fate, had a 
 warrior's death left him a claim to the narrow territory 
 of a grave, within the soil which the King had given him 
 to defend. With an ominous perception that, as his de- 
 parting footsteps echoed adown the staircase, the sway of 
 Britain was passing forever from New England, he smote 
 his clinched hand on his brow, and cursed the destiny 
 that had flung the shame of a dismembered empire upon 
 him. 
 
 " Would to God," cried he, hardly repressing his tears 
 of rage, " that the rebels were even now at the doorstep ! 
 A blood-stain upon the floor should then bear testimony 
 that the last British ruler was faithful to his trust." 
 
 The tremulous voice of a woman replied to his ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 "Heaven's cause and the King's are one," it said. 
 " Go forth, Sir William Howe, and trust in Heaven to 
 bring back a Royal Governor in triumph." 
 
 Subduing at once the passion to which he had yielded 
 only in the faith that it was unwitnessed, Sir William 
 Howe became conscious that an aged woman, leaning on 
 a gold-headed staff, was standing betwixt him and the 
 door. It was old Esther Dudley, who had dwelt almost 
 immemorial years in this mansion, until her presence 
 seemed as inseparable from it as the recollections of its 
 history. She was the daughter of an ancient and once 
 eminent family, which had fallen into poverty and decay, 
 and left its last descendant no resource save the bounty 
 of the King, nor any shelter except within the walls of 
 the Province House. An office in the household, with 
 merely nominal duties, had been assigned to her as a 
 pretext for the payment of a small pension, the greater 
 part of which she expended in adorning herself with an
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 65 
 
 antique magnificence of attire. The claims of Esther 
 Dudley's gentle blood were acknowledged by all the suc- 
 cessive governors ; and they treated her with the punc- 
 tilious courtesy which it was her foible to demand, not 
 always with success, from a neglectful world. The only 
 actual share which she assumed in the business of the 
 mansion was to glide through its passages and public 
 chambers, late at night, to see that the servants had 
 dropped -no fire from their flaring torches, nor left embers 
 crackling and blazing on the hearths. Perhaps it was 
 this invariable custom of walking her rounds in the hush, 
 of midnight, that caused the superstition of the times to 
 invest the old woman with attributes of awe and mystery ; 
 fabling that she had entered the portal of the Province 
 House, none knew whence, in the train of the first royal 
 governor, and that it was her fate to dwell there till the 
 last should have departed. But Sir William Howe, if he 
 ever heard this legend, had forgotten it. 
 
 "Mistress Dudley, why are you loitering here?" 
 asked he, with some severity of tone. " It is my pleas- 
 ure to be the last in this mansion of the King." 
 
 " Not so, if it please your Excellency," answered the 
 time -stricken woman. "This roof has sheltered me 
 long. I will not pass from it until they bear me to the 
 tomb of my forefathers. What other shelter is there 
 for old Esther Dudley, save the Province House or the 
 grave ? " 
 
 " Now Heaven forgive me ! " said Sir William Howe 
 to himself. "I was about to leave this wretched old 
 creature to starve or beg. Take this, good Mistress 
 Dudley," he added, putting a purse into her hands. 
 " King George's head on these golden guineas is sterling 
 yet, and will continue so, I warrant you, even should the 
 rebels crown John Hancock their king. That purse will
 
 66 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 buy a better shelter than the Province House can now 
 afford." 
 
 "While the burden of life remains upon me, I will 
 have no other shelter than this roof," persisted Esther 
 Dudley, striking her staff upon the floor, with a gesture 
 that expressed immovable resolve. "And when your 
 Excellency returns in triumph, I will totter into the 
 porch to welcome you." 
 
 " My poor old friend ! " answered the British. General ; 
 and all his manly and martial pride could no longer re- 
 strain a gush of bitter tears. " This is an evil hour for 
 you and me. The province which the King intrusted to 
 my charge is lost. I go hence in misfortune perchance 
 in disgrace to return no more. And you, whose pres- 
 ent being is incorporated with the past, who have 
 seen governor after governor, in stately pageantry, ascend 
 these steps, whose whole life has been an observance of 
 majestic ceremonies, and a worship of the King, how 
 will jou endure the change ? Come with us ! Bid fare- 
 well to a land that has shaken off its allegiance, and live 
 still under a royal government, at Halifax." 
 
 " Never, never ! " said the pertinacious old dame. 
 " Here will I abide ; and King George shall still have one 
 true subject in his disloyal province." 
 
 " Beshrew the old fool ! " muttered Sir William Howe, 
 growing impatient of her obstinacy, and ashamed of the 
 emotion into which he had been betrayed. " She is the 
 very moral of old-fashioned prejudice, and could exist 
 nowhere but in this musty edifice. Well, then, Mistress 
 Dudley, since you will needs tarry, I give the Province 
 House in charge to you. Take this key, and keep it safe 
 until myself, or some other royal governor, shall demand 
 it of you." 
 
 Smiling bitterly at himself and her, he took the heavy
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 67 
 
 key of the Province House, and delivering it into the old 
 lady's hands, drew his cloak around him for departure. 
 As the General glanced back at Esther Dudley's antique 
 figure, he deemed her well fitted for such a charge, as 
 being so perfect a representative of the decayed past, 
 of an age gone by, with its manners, opinions, faith, and 
 feelings, all fallen into oblivion or scorn, of what had 
 once been a reality, but was now merely a vision of faded 
 magnificence. Then Sir William Howe strode forth, 
 smiting his clinched hands together, in the fierce anguish 
 of his spirit; and old Esther Dudley was left to keep 
 watch in the lonely Province House, dwelling there with 
 memory ; and if Hope ever seemed to flit around her, still 
 it, was Memory in disguise. 
 
 The total change of affairs that ensued on the depart- 
 ure of the British troops did not drive the venerable lady 
 from her stronghold. There was not, for many years 
 afterwards, a governor of Massachusetts ; and the magis- 
 trates, who had charge of such matters, saw no objection 
 to Esther Dudley's residence in the Province House, es- 
 pecially as they must otherwise have paid a hireling for 
 taking care of the premises, which with her was a labor 
 of love. And so they left her, the undisturbed mistress 
 of the old historic edifice. Many and strange were the 
 fables which the gossips whispered about her, in all the 
 chimney-corners of the town. Among the time-worn 
 articles of furniture that had been left in the mansion, 
 there was a tall, antique mirror, which was well worthy 
 of a tale by itself, and perhaps may hereafter be the theme 
 of one. The gold of its heavily wrought frame was tar- 
 nished, and its surface so blurred, that the old woman's 
 figure, whenever she paused before it, looked indistinct 
 and ghost-like. But it was the general belief that Esther 
 could cause the governors of the overthrown dynasty,
 
 68 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 with the beautiful ladies who had once adorned their 
 festivals, the Indian chiefs who had come up to the 
 Province House to hold council or swear allegiance, the 
 grim provincial warriors, the severe clergymen, in 
 short, all the pageantry of gone days, all the figures 
 that ever swept across the broad plate of glass in former 
 times, she could cause the whole to reappear, and peo- 
 ple the inner world of the mirror with shadows of old life. 
 Such legends as these, together with the singularity of 
 her isolated existence, her age, and the infirmity that each 
 added winter flung upon her, made Mistress Dudley the 
 object both of fear and pity ; and it was partly the result 
 of either sentiment, that, amid all the angry license of the 
 times, neither wrong nor insult ever fell upon her unpro- 
 tected head. Indeed, there was so much haughtiness in 
 her demeanor towards intruders, among whom she reck- 
 oned all persons acting under the new authorities, that it 
 was really an affair of no small nerve to look her in the 
 face. And to do the people justice, stern republicans as 
 they had now become, they were well content that the old 
 gentlewoman, in her hoop pett icoat and faded embroidery, 
 should still haunt the palace of ruined pride and over- 
 thrown power, the symbol of a departed system, embody- 
 ing a history in her person. So Esther Dudley dwelt, 
 year after year, in the Province House, still reverencing 
 all that others had flung aside, still faithful to her King, 
 who, so long as the venerable dame yet held her post, 
 might be said to retain one true subject in New England, 
 and one spot of the empire that had been wrested from 
 him. 
 
 And did she dwell there in utter loneliness ? Rumor 
 said, not so. Whenever her chill and withered heart 
 desired warmth, she was wont to summon a black slave 
 of Governor Shirley's from the blurred mirror, and send
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 69 
 
 him ill search of guests who had long ago been familiar 
 in those deserted chambers. Forth went the sable mes- 
 senger, with the starlight or the moonshine gleaming 
 through him, and did his errand in the burial-ground, 
 knocking at the iron doors of tombs, or upon the marble 
 slabs that covered them, and whispering to those within, 
 " My mistress, old Esther Dudley, bids you to the Prov- 
 ince House at midnight." And punctually as the clock 
 of the Old South told twelve, came the shadows of the 
 Olivers, the Hutchinsons, the Dudleys, all the grandees 
 of a bygone generation, gliding beneath the portal into 
 the well-known mansion, where Esther mingled with them 
 as if she likewise were a shade. Without vouching for 
 the truth of such traditions, it is certain that Mistress 
 Dudley sometimes assembled a few of the stanch, though 
 crestfallen old tories who had lingered in the rebel town 
 during those days of wrath and tribulation. Out of a 
 cobwebbed bottle, containing liquor that a royal governor 
 might have smarked his lips over, they quaffed healths to 
 the King, and babbled treason to the Republic, feeling 
 as if the protecting shadow of the throne were still flung 
 around them. But, draining the last drops of their liquor, 
 they stole timorously homeward, and answered not again, 
 if the rude mob reviled them iii the street. 
 
 Yet Esther Dudley's most frequent and favored guests 
 were the children of the town. Towards them she was 
 never stern. A kindly and loving nature, hindered else- 
 where from its free course by a thousand rocky preju- 
 dices, lavished itself upon these little ones. By bribes of 
 gingerbread of her own making, stamped with a royal 
 crown, she tempted their sunny sportiveness beneath the 
 gloomy portal of the Province House, and would often 
 beguile them to spend a whole play-day there, sitting in 
 a circle round the verge of her hoop petticoat, greedily
 
 70 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 attentive to her stories of a dead world. And when these 
 little boys and girls stole forth again from the dark, mys- 
 terious mansion, they went bewildered, full of old feelings 
 that graver people had long ago forgotten, rubbing their 
 eyes at the world around them as if they had gone astray 
 into ancient times, and become children of the past. At 
 home, when their parents asked where they had loitered 
 such a weary while, and with whom they had been at 
 play, the children would talk of all the departed worthies 
 of the province, as far back as Governor Belcher, and 
 the haughty dame of Sir William Phipps. It would 
 seem as though they had been sitting on the knees of 
 these famous personages, whom the grave had hidden 
 for half a century, and had toyed with the embroidery of 
 their rich waistcoats, or roguishly pulled the long curls 
 of their flowing wigs. " But Governor Belcher has been 
 dead this many a year," would the mother say to her 
 little boy. " And did you really see him at the Province 
 House ? " " O, yes, dear mother ! yes ! " the half- 
 dreaming child would answer. " But when old Esther 
 had done speaking about him he faded away out of his 
 chair." Thus, without affrighting her little guests, she 
 led them by the hand into the chambers of her own deso- 
 late heart, and made childhood's fancy discern the ghosts 
 that haunted there. 
 
 Living so continually in her own circle of ideas, and 
 never regulating her mind by a proper reference to 
 present things, Esther Dudley appears to have grown 
 partially crazed. It was found that she had no right 
 sense of the progress and true state of the Revolutionary 
 War, but held a constant faith that the armies of Britain 
 were victorious on every field, and destined to be ulti- 
 mately triumphant. Whenever the town rejoiced for a 
 battle won by Washington, or Gates, or Morgan, or
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 71 
 
 Greene, the news, in passing through the door of the 
 Province House, as through the ivory gate of dreams, 
 became metamorphosed into a strange tale of the prowess 
 of Howe, Clinton, or Cornwallis. Sooner or later, it 
 was her invincible belief, the colonies would be prostrate 
 at the footstool of the King. Sometimes she seemed to 
 take for granted that such was already the case. On 
 one occasion, she startled the towns-people by a brill- 
 iant illumination of the Province House, with candles at 
 every pane of glass, and a transparency of the King's 
 initials and a crown of light, in the great balcony win- 
 dow. The figure of the aged woman, in the most gor- 
 geous of her mildewed velvets and brocades, was seen 
 passing from casement to casement, until she paused be- 
 fore the balcony, and flourished a huge key above her 
 head. Her wrinkled visage actually gleamed with tri- 
 umph, as if the soul within her were a festal lamp. 
 
 "What means this blaze of light? What does old 
 Esther's joy portend ? " whispered a spectator. " It is 
 frightful to see her gliding about the chambers, and re- 
 joicing there without a soul to bear her company." 
 
 " It is as if she were making merry in a tomb," said 
 another. 
 
 "Pshaw! It is no such mystery," observed an old 
 man, after some brief exercise of memory. " Mistress 
 Dudley is keeping jubilee for the King of England's 
 birthday." 
 
 Then the people laughed aloud, and would have 
 thrown mud against the blazing transparency of the 
 King's crown and initials, only that they pitied the 
 poor old dame, who was so dismally triumphant amid 
 the wreck and ruin of the system to which she apper- 
 tained. 
 
 Oftentimes it was her custom to climb the weary stair-
 
 72 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 case that wound upward to the cupola, and thence strain 
 her dimmed eyesight seaward and countryward, watching 
 for a British fleet, or for the march of a grand proces- 
 sion, with the King's banner floating over it. The pas- 
 sengers in the street below would discern her anxious 
 visage, and send up a shout, " When the golden In- 
 dian on the Province House shall shoot his arrow, and 
 when the cock on the Old South spire shall crow, then 
 look for a royal governor again ! " for this had grown 
 a byword through the town. And at last, after lon^, 
 long years, old Esther Dudley knew, or perchance she 
 only dreamed, that a royal governor was on the eve of 
 returning to the Province House, to receive the heavy 
 key which Sir William Howe had committed to her 
 charge. Now it was the fact, that intelligence bearing 
 some faint analogy to Esther's version of it, was current 
 among the towns-people. She set the mansion in the 
 best order that her means allowed, and arraying herself 
 in silks and tarnished gold, stood long before the blurred 
 mirror to admire her own magnificence. As she gazed, 
 the gray and withered lady moved her ashen lips, mur- 
 muring half aloud, talking to shapes that she saw within 
 the mirror, to shadows of her own fantasies, to the house- 
 hold friends of memory, and bidding them rejoice with 
 her, and come forth to meet the governor. And while 
 absorbed in this communion, Mistress Dudley heard the 
 tramp of many footsteps in the street, and looking out 
 at the window, beheld what she construed as the royal 
 governor's arrival. 
 
 " O happy day ! O blessed, blessed hour ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " Let me but bid him welcome within the por- 
 tal, and my task in the Province House, and on earth, 
 is done ! " 
 
 Then with tottering feet, which age and tremulous joy
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 73 
 
 caused to tread amiss, she hurried down the grand stair- 
 case, her silks sweeping and rustling a/ she went, so that 
 the sound was as if a train of spectral courtiers were 
 thronging from the dim mirror. And Esther Dudley 
 fancied, that as soon as the wide door should be flung 
 open, all the pomp and splendor of bygone times would 
 pace majestically into the Province House, and the gilded 
 tapestry of the past would be brightened by the sunshine 
 of the present. She turned the key, withdrew it from 
 the lock, unclosed the door, and stepped across the 
 threshold. Advancing up the court-yard appeared a 
 person of most dignified mien, with tokens, as Esther 
 interpreted them, of gentle blood, high rank, and long- 
 accustomed authority, even in his walk and every ges- 
 ture. He was richly dressed, but wore a gouty shoe, 
 which, however, did not lessen the stateliness of his gait. 
 Around and behind him were people in plain civic 
 dresses, and two or three war-worn veterans, evidently 
 officers of rank, arrayed in a uniform of blue and buff. 
 But Esther Dudley, firm in the belief that had fastened 
 its roots about her heart, beheld only the principal per- 
 sonage, and never doubted that this was the long-looked- 
 for governor, to whom she was to surrender up her 
 charge. As he approached, she involuntarily sank down 
 on her knees, and tremblingly held forth the heavy key. 
 
 " Receive my trust ! take it quickly ! " cried she j 
 " for metlunks Death is striving to snatch away my tri- 
 umph. But he comes too late. Thank Heaven for this 
 blessed hour ! God save King George ! " 
 
 " That, madam, is a strange prayer to be offered up 
 at such a moment," replied the unknown guest of the 
 Province House, and courteously removing his hat, he 
 offered his arm to raise the aged woman. " Yet, in rev- 
 erence for your gray hairs and long-kept faith, Heaven
 
 74 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 forbid that any here should say you nay. Over the 
 realms which stilf" acknowledge his sceptre, God save 
 King George ! " 
 
 Esther Dudley started to her feet, and hastily clutch- 
 ing back the key, gazed with fearful earnestness at the 
 .stranger ; and dimly and doubtfully, as if suddenly 
 awakened from a dream, her bewildered eyes half rec- 
 ognized his face. Years ago, she had known him among 
 the gentry of the province. But the ban of the King 
 had fallen upon him ! How, then, came the doomed 
 victim here ? Proscribed, excluded from mercy, the 
 monarch's most dreaded and hated foe, this New Eng- 
 land merchant had stood triumphantly against a king- 
 dom's strength ; and his foot now trod upon humbled 
 royalty, as he ascended the steps of the Province House, 
 the people's chosen governor of Massachusetts. 
 
 " Wretch, wretch that I am ! " muttered the old wo- 
 man, with such a heart-broken expression, that the tears 
 gushed from the stranger's eyes. "Have I bidden a 
 traitor welcome ? Come, Death ! come quickly ! " 
 
 " Alas, venerable lady ! " said Governor Hancock, 
 lending her his support with all the reverence that a 
 courtier would have shown to a queen. " Your life has 
 been prolonged until the world has changed around you. 
 You have treasured up all that time has rendered worth- 
 less, the principles, feelings, manners, modes of being 
 and acting, which another generation has flung aside, 
 and you are a symbol of the past. And I, and these 
 around me, we represent a new race of men, living 
 no longer in the past, scarcely in the present, but pro- 
 jecting our lives forward into the future. Ceasing to 
 model ourselves on ancestral superstitions, it is our faith 
 and principle to press onward, onward ! Yet," continued 
 he, turning to his attendants, " let us reverence, for the
 
 OLD ESTHER DUDLEY. 75 
 
 last time, the stately and gorgeous prejudices of the 
 tottering Past ! " 
 
 While the republican governor spoke, he had con- 
 tinued to support the helpless form of Esther Dudley ; 
 her weight grew heavier against his arm ; but at last, 
 with a sudden effort to free herself, the ancient woman 
 sank down beside one of the pillars of the portal. The 
 key of the Province House fell from her grasp, and 
 clanked against the stone. 
 
 " I have been faithful unto death," murmured she. 
 " God save the King ! " 
 
 " She hath done her office ! " said Hancock, solemnly. 
 " We will follow her reverently to the tomb of her an- 
 cestors ; and then, my fellow-citizens, onward, onward ! 
 We are no longer children of the Past ! " 
 
 As the old loyalist concluded his narrative, the enthu- 
 siasm which had been fitfully flashing within his sunken 
 eyes, and quivering across his wrinkled visage, faded 
 away, as if all the lingering fire of his soul were extin- 
 guished. Just then, too, a lamp upon the mantel-piece 
 threw out a dying gleam, whicli vanished as speedily as 
 it shot upward, compelling our eyes to grope for one 
 another's features by the dim glow of the hearth. With 
 such a lingering fire, methought, with such a dying gleam, 
 had the glory of the ancient system vanished from the 
 Province House, when the spirit of old Esther Dudley 
 took its flight. And now, again, the clock of the Old 
 South threw its voice of ages on the breeze, knolling the 
 hourly knell of the Past, crying out far and wide through 
 the multitudinous city, and filling our ears, as we sat in 
 the dusky chamber, with its reverberating depth of tone.
 
 76 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 In that same mansion, in that very chamber, what 
 a volume of history had been told off into hours, by the 
 same voice that was now trembling in the air. Many a 
 governor had heard those midnight accents, and longed 
 to exchange his stately cares for slumber. And as for 
 mine host, and Mr. Bela Tiffany, and the old loyalist, 
 and me, we had babbled about dreams of the past, until 
 we almost fancied that the clock was still striking in a 
 bygone century. Neither of us would have wondered, 
 had a hoop-petticoated phantom of Esther Dudley tottered 
 into the chamber, walking her rounds in the hush of 
 midnight, as of yore, and motioned us to quench the 
 fading embers of the fire, and leave the historic precincts 
 to herself and her kindred shades. But as no such vision 
 was vouchsafed, I retired unbidden, and would advise 
 Mr. Tiffany to lay hold of another auditor, being resolved 
 not to show my face in the Province House for a good 
 while hence, if ever.
 
 THE HAUNTED MIND. 
 
 [AT a singular moment is the first one, when 
 you have hardly begun to recollect yourself, 
 after starting from midnight slumber ! By un- 
 closing your eyes so suddenly, you seem to have surprised 
 the personages of your dream in full convocation round 
 your bed, and catch one broad glance at them before they 
 can flit into obscurity. Or, to vary the metaphor, you 
 find yourself, for a single instant, wide awake in that 
 realm of illusions, whither sleep has been the passport, 
 and behold its ghostly inhabitants and wondrous scenery, 
 with a perception of their strangeness, such as you never 
 attain while the dream is undisturbed. The distant sound 
 of a church-clock is borne faintly on the wind. You 
 question with yourself, half seriously, whether it has 
 stolen to your waking ear from some gray tower, that 
 stood within the precincts of your dream. While yet in 
 suspense, another clock flings its heavy clang over the 
 slumbering town, with so full and distinct a sound, and 
 such a long murmur in the neighboring air, that you are 
 certain it must proceed from the steeple at the nearest 
 corner. You count the strokes one two, and there 
 they cease, with a booming sound, like the gathering of 
 a third stroke within the bell.
 
 78 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 If you could choose an hour of wakefulness out of ttie 
 whole night, it would be this. Since your sober bedtime, 
 at eleven, you have had rest enough to take off the press- 
 ure of yesterday's fatigue ; while before you, till the sun 
 comes from " far Cathay " to brighten your window, there 
 is almost the space of a summer night ; one hour to be 
 spent in thought, with the mind's eye half shut, and two 
 in pleasant dreams, and two in that strangest of enjoy- 
 ments, the forgetfulness alike of joy and woe. The 
 moment of rising belongs to another period of time, and 
 appears so distant, that the plunge out of a warm bed 
 into the frosty air cannot yet be anticipated with dismay. 
 Yesterday has already vanished among the shadows of the 
 past ; to-morrow has not yet emerged from the future. 
 You have found an intermediate space,, where the busi- 
 ness of life does not intrude ; where the passing moment 
 lingers, and becomes truly the present;, a spot where 
 Tather Time, when he thinks nobody is watching him, 
 sits down by the wayside to take breath. O that he 
 would fall asleep, and let mortals live on without growing 
 older ! 
 
 Hitherto you have lain perfectly still, because the 
 slightest motion would dissipate the fragments of your 
 slumber. Now, being irrevocably awake, you peep 
 through the half-drawn window-curtain, and observe 
 that the glass is ornamented with fanciful devices in 
 frostwork, and that each pane presents something like a 
 frozen dream. There will'be time enough to trace out the 
 analogy, while waiting the summons to breakfast. Seen 
 through the clear portion of the glass, where the silvery 
 mountain-peaks of the frost scenery do not ascend, the 
 most conspicuous object is the steeple, the white spire of 
 which directs you to the wintry lustre of the firmament. 
 You may almost distinguish the figures on the clock that
 
 THE HAUNTED MIND. 79 
 
 has just told the hour. Such a frosty sky, and the 
 snow-covered roofs, and the long vista of the frozen 
 street, all white, and the distant water hardened into 
 rock, might make you shiver, even under four blankets 
 and a woollen comforter. Yet look at that one glorious 
 star ! Its beams are distinguishable from all the rest, 
 and actually cast the shadow of the casement on the bed, 
 with a radiance of deeper hue than moonlight, though 
 not so accurate an outline. 
 
 You sink down and muffle your head in the clothes, 
 shivering all the while, but less from bodily chill than 
 the bare idea of a polar atmosphere. It is too cold even 
 for the thoughts to venture abroad. You speculate on 
 the luxury of wearing out a whole existence in bed, like 
 an oyster in its shell, content with the sluggish ecstasy 
 of inaction, and drowsily conscious of nothing but deli- 
 cious warmth, such as you now feel again. Ah ! that 
 idea has brought a hideous one in its train. You think 
 how the dead are lying in their cold shrouds and narrow 
 coffins, through the drear winter of the grave, and can- 
 not persuade your fancy that they neither shrink nor 
 shiver, when the snow is drifting over their little hillocks, 
 and the bitter blast howls against the door of the tomb. 
 That gloomy thought will collect a gloomy multitude, 
 and throw its complexion over your wakeful hour. 
 
 In the depths of every heart there is a tomb and a 
 dungeon, though the lights, the music, and revelry above 
 may cause us to forget their existence, and the buried 
 ones, or prisoners whom they hide. But sometimes, 
 and oftenest at midnight, these dark receptacles are flung 
 wide open. In an hour like this, when the mind has a 
 passive sensibility, but no active strengtli ; when the 
 imagination is a mirror, imparting vividness to all ideas, 
 without the power of selecting or controlling them j then-
 
 80 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 pray that your griefs may slumber, and the brotherhood 
 of remorse not break their chain. It is too late ! A fu- 
 neral train comes gliding by your bed, in which Passion 
 and Feeling assume bodily shape, and things of the mind 
 become dim spectres to the eye. There is your earliest 
 Sorrow, a pale young mourner, wearing a sister's like- 
 ness to first love, sadly beautiful, with a hallowed sweet- 
 ness in her melancholy features, and grace in the flow of 
 her sable robe. Next appears a shade of ruined loveli- 
 ness, with dust among her golden hair, and her bright 
 garments all faded and defaced, stealing from yoar 
 glance with drooping head, as fearful of reproach ; she 
 was your fondest Hope, but a delusive one ; so call her 
 Disappointment now. A sterner form succeeds, with a 
 brow of wrinkles, a look and gesture of iron authority ; 
 there is no name for him unless it be Fatality, an em- 
 blem of the evil influence that rules your fortunes; a 
 demon to whom you subjected yourself by some error at 
 the outset of life, and were bound his slave forever, by 
 once obeying him. See ! those fiendish lineaments gra- 
 ven on the darkness, the writhed lip of scorn, the mock- 
 ery of that living eye, the pointed finger, touching the 
 sore place in your heart ! Do you remember any act of 
 enormous folly, at which you would blush, even in the 
 remotest cavern of the earth? Then recognize your 
 Shame. 
 
 Pass, wretched band ! Well for the wakeful one, 
 if, riotously miserable, a fiercer tribe do not surround 
 him, the devils of a guilty heart, that holds its hell 
 within itself. What if Remorse should assume the 
 features of an injured friend ? What if the fiend should 
 come in woman's garments, with a pale beauty amid sin 
 and desolation, and lie down by your side ? What if he 
 should stand at your bed's foot, in the likeness of a
 
 THE HAUNTED MIND. 81 
 
 corpse, with a bloody stain upon the shroud ? Sufficient 
 without such guilt is this nightmare of the soul ; this 
 heavy, heavy sinking of the spirits ; this wintry gloom 
 about the heart; this indistinct horror of the mind, 
 blending itself with the darkness of the chamber. 
 
 By a desperate effort, you start upright, breaking from 
 a sort of conscious sleep, and gazing wildly round the 
 bed, as if the fiends were anywhere but in your haunted 
 mind. At the same moment, the slumbering embers on 
 the hearth send forth a gleam which palely illuminates 
 the whole outer room, and nickers through the door of 
 the bedchamber, but cannot quite dispel its obscurity. 
 Your eye searches for whatever may remind you of the 
 living world. With eager minuteness, you take note of 
 the table near the fireplace, the book with an ivory knife 
 between its leaves, the unfolded letter, the hat, and the 
 fallen glove. Soon the flame vanishes, and with it the 
 whole scene is gone, though its image remains an instant 
 in your mind's eye, when darkness has swallowed the 
 reality. Throughout the chamber, there is the same ob- 
 scurity as before, but not the same gloom within your 
 breast. As your head falls back upon the pillow, you 
 think in a whisper be it spoken how pleasant in 
 these night solitudes would be the rise and fall of a 
 softer breathing than your own, the slight pressure of a 
 tenderer bosom, the quiet throb of a purer heart, impart- 
 ing its peacefulness to your troubled one, as if the fond 
 sleeper were involving you in her dream. 
 
 Her influence is over you, though she have no exist- 
 ence but in that momentary image. You sink down in 
 a flowery spot, on the borders of sleep and wakefulness, 
 while your thoughts rise before you hi pictures, all dis- 
 connected, yet all assimilated by a pervading gladsome- 
 ness and beauty. The wheeling of gorgeous squadrons, 
 4* r
 
 82 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 that glitter in the sun, is succeeded by the merriment 
 of children round the door of a school-house, beneath 
 the glimmering shadow of old trees, at the corner of a 
 rustic lane. You stand in the sunny rain of a summer 
 shower, and wander among the sunny trees of an autum- 
 nal wood, and look upward at the brightest of all rain- 
 bows, overarching the unbroken sheet of snow, on the 
 American side of Niagara. Your mind struggles pleas- 
 antly between the dancing radiance round the hearth of 
 a young man and his recent bride, and the twittering 
 flight of birds in spring, about their new-made nest. 
 You feel the merry bounding of a ship before the 
 breeze-, and watch the tuneful feet of rosy girls, as 
 they twine their last and merriest dance in a splendid 
 T)allroom ; and find yourself in the brilliant circle of a 
 crowded theatre, as the curtain falls over a light and 
 airy scene. 
 
 With an involuntary start, you seize hold on con- 
 sciousness, and prove yourself but half awake, by run- 
 ning a doubtful parallel between human life and the 
 hour which has now elapsed. In both you emerge 
 from mystery, pass through a vicissitude that you can 
 but imperfectly control, and are borne onward to an- 
 other mystery. Now comes the peal of the distant 
 clock, with fainter and fainter strokes as you plunge 
 further into the wilderness of sleep. It is the knell of 
 a temporary death. Your spirit has departed, and strays 
 like a free citizen, among the people of a shadowy world, 
 beholding strange sights, yet without wonder or dismay. 
 So calm, perhaps, will be the final change; so undis- 
 turbed, as if among familiar things, the entrance of the 
 soul to its Eternal home !
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE. 
 
 AN IMAGINARY RETROSPECT. 
 
 OME ! another log upon the hearth. True, our 
 little parlor is comfortable, especially here, where 
 the old man sits in his old arm-chair; but on 
 Thanksgiving night the blaze should dance higher up 
 the chimney, and send a shower of sparks into the 
 outer darkness. Toss on an armful of those dry oak 
 chips, the last relics of the Mermaid's knee-timbers, the 
 bones of your namesake, Susan. Higher yet, and clearer 
 be the blaze, till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest 
 in the village, and the light of our household mirth 
 flash far across the bay to Nahant. And now, come, 
 Susan, come, my children, draw your chairs round me, 
 all of you. There is a dimness over your figures ! You 
 sit quivering indistinctly with each motion of the blaze, 
 which eddies about you like a flood, so that you all have 
 the look of visions, or people that dwell only in the fire- 
 light, and will vanish from existence, as completely as 
 your own shadows, when the flame shall sink among 
 the embers. Hark ! let me listen for the swell of the 
 surf; it should be audible a mile inland, on a night like 
 this. Yes ; there I catch the sound, but only an uncer- 
 tain murmur, as if a good way down over the beach;
 
 84 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 though, by the almanac, it is high tide at eight o'clock, 
 and the billows must now be dashing within thirty yards 
 of our door. Ah! the old man's ears are failing him; 
 and so is his eyesight, and perhaps his mind ; else you 
 would not all be so shadowy, in the blaze of his Thanks- 
 giving fire. 
 
 How strangely the Past is peeping over the shoulders 
 of the Present ! To judge by my recollections, it is but 
 a few moments since I sat in another room ; yonder 
 model of a vessel was not there, nor the old chest of 
 drawers, nor Susan's profile and mine, in that gilt frame ; 
 nothing, in short, except this same fire, which glimmered 
 on books, papers, and a picture, and half discovered my 
 solitary figure in a looking-glass. But it was paler than 
 my rugged old self, and younger, too, by almost half a 
 century. Speak to me, Susan ; speak, my beloved ones ; 
 for the scene is glimmering on my sight again, and as 
 it brightens you fade away. O, I should be loath to 
 lose my treasure of past happiness, and become once 
 more what I was then ; a hermit in the depths of my 
 own mind; sometimes yawning over drowsy volumes, 
 and anon a scribbler of wearier trash than what I read ; 
 a man who had wandered out of the real world and got 
 into its shadow, where his troubles, joys, and vicissitudes 
 were of such slight stuff, that he hardly knew whether 
 he lived, or only dreamed of living. Thank Heaven, 
 I am an old man now, and have done with all such 
 vanities ! 
 
 Still this dimness of mine eyes ! Come nearer, Susan, 
 and stand before the fullest blaze of the hearth. Now 
 I behold you illuminated from head to foot, in your 
 clean cap and decent gown, with the dear lock of gray 
 hair across your forehead, and a quiet smile about your 
 mouth, while the eyes alone are concealed, by the red
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE. 85 
 
 gleam of the fire upon your spectacles. There, you 
 made me tremble again! When the flame quivered, 
 my sweet Susan, you quivered with it, and grew indis- 
 tinct, as if melting into the warm light, that my last 
 glimpse of you might be as visionary as the first was, 
 full many a year since. Do you remember it? You 
 stood on the little bridge, over the brook, that runs 
 across King's Beach into the sea. It was twilight ; the 
 waves rolling in, the wind sweeping by, the crimson 
 clouds fading in the west, and the silver moon bright- 
 ening above the hill ; and on the bridge were you, flut- 
 tering in the breeze like a sea-bird that might skim away 
 at your pleasure. You seemed a daughter of the view- 
 less wind, a creature of the ocean foam and the crimson 
 light, whose merry life was spent in dancing on the crests 
 of the billows, that threw up their spray to support your 
 footsteps. As I drew nearer, I fancied you akin to the 
 race of mermaids, and thought how pleasant it would be 
 to dwell with you among the quiet coves, in the shadow 
 of the cliffs, and to roam along secluded beaches of the 
 purest sand, and when our northern shores grew bleak, 
 to haunt the islands, green and lonely, far amid summer 
 seas. Arid yet it gladdened me, after all this nonsense, 
 to find you nothing but a pretty young girl, sadly per- 
 plexed with the rude behavior of the wind about your 
 petticoats. 
 
 Thus I did with Susan as with most other things in 
 my earlier days, dipping her image into my mind and 
 coloring it of a thousand fantastic hues, before I could 
 see her as she really was. Now, Susan, for a sober 
 picture of our village ! It was a small collection of 
 dwellings that seemed to have been Cast up by the 
 sea, with the rock-weed and marine plants that, it vom- 
 its after a storm, or to have come ashore among the
 
 86 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 pipe-staves and other l-umber, which had been washed 
 from the deck of an Eastern schooner. There was just 
 space for the narrow and sandy street between the 
 beach in front, and a precipitous hill that lifted its 
 rocky forehead in the rear, among a waste of juniper- 
 bushes and the wild growth of a broken pasture. The 
 village was picturesque, in the variety of its edifices, 
 though all were rude. Here stood a little old hovel, 
 built, perhaps, of drift-wood, there a row of boat-houses, 
 and beyond them a two-story dwelling, of dark and 
 weather-beaten aspect, the whole intermixed with one 
 or two snug cottages, painted white, a sufficiency of 
 pigsties, and a shoemaker's shop. Two grocery-stores 
 stand opposite each other, in the centre of the village. 
 These were the places of resort, at their idle hours, of 
 a hardy throng of fishermen, in red baize shirts, oil- 
 cloth trousers, and boots of brown leather covering the 
 whole leg; true seven-league boots, but fitter to wade 
 the ocean than walk the earth. The wearers seemed 
 amphibious, as if they did but creep out of salt water 
 to sun themselves; nor would it have been wonderful 
 to see their lower limbs covered with clusters of little 
 shellfish, such as cling to rocks and old ship-timber 
 over which the tide ebbs and flows. When their fleet 
 of boats was weather-bound, the butchers raised their 
 price, and the spit was busier than the frying-pan; for 
 this was a place of fish, and known as such, to all the 
 country round about; the very air was fishy, being 
 perfumed with dead sculpins, hardheads, and dogfish, 
 strewn plentifully on the beach. You see, children, 
 the village is but little changed, since your mother and 
 I were young. 
 
 How like a dream it was, when I bent over a pool 
 of water, one pleasant morning, and saw that the ocean
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE. 87 
 
 had dashed its spray over me and made me a fisherman I 
 There were the tarpauliiig, the baize shirt, the oil-cloth 
 trousers and seven-league boots, and there my own fea- 
 tures, but so reddened with sunburn and sea-breezes, 
 that methought I had another face, and on other shoul- 
 ders too. The sea-gulls and the loons, and I, had now 
 all one trade ; we skimmed the crested waves and sought 
 our prey beneath them, the man with as keen enjoy- 
 ment as the birds. Always, when the east grew purple, 
 I launched my dory, my little flat-bottomed skiff, and 
 rowed cross-handed to Point Ledge, the Middle Ledge, 
 or, perhaps, beyond Egg Rock ; often, too, did I anchor 
 off Dread Ledge, a spot of peril to ships unpiloted ; and 
 sometimes spread an adventurous sail and tracked across 
 the bay to South Shore, casting my lines in sight of 
 Scituate. Ere nightfall, I hauled my skiff high and dry 
 on the beach, laden with red rock -cod, or the white- 
 bellied ones of deep water ; haddock, bearing the black 
 marks of St. Peter's fingers near the gills ; the long- 
 bearded hake, whose liver holds oil enough for a mid- 
 night lamp ; and now and then a mighty halibut, with 
 a back broad as my boat. In the autumn, I trolled and 
 caught those lovely fish, the mackerel. When the wind 
 was high, when the whale-boats, anchored off the 
 Point, nodded their slender masts at each other, and 
 the dories pitched and tossed in the surf, when Na- 
 liaut Beach was thundering three miles off, and the 
 spray broke a hundred feet in air, round the distant 
 base of Egg Rock, when the brimful and boisterous 
 sea threatened to tumble over the street of our village, 
 then I made a holiday on shore. 
 
 Many such a day did I sit snugly in Mr. Bartlett's 
 store, attentive to the yarns of Uncle Parker ; uncle to 
 the whole village, by right of seniority, but of Southern
 
 88 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 blood, with no kindred in New England. His figure is 
 before me now, enthroned upon a mackerel-barrel; a 
 lean old man, of great height, but bent with years, and 
 twisted into an uncouth shape by seven broken limbs ; 
 furrowed also, and weather-worn, as if every gale, for 
 the better part of a century, had caught him somewhere 
 on the sea. He looked like a harbinger of tempest, a 
 shipmate of the Flying Dutchman. After innumerable 
 voyages aboard men-of-war and merchant-men, fishing- 
 schooners and chebacco-boats, the old salt had become 
 master of a handcart, which he daily trundled about the 
 vicinity, and sometimes blew his fish-horn through the 
 streets of Salem. One of Uncle Parker's eyes had been 
 blown out with gunpowder, and the other did but glim- 
 mer in its socket. Turning it upward as he spoke, it 
 was his delight to tell of cruises against the French, and 
 battles with his own shipmates, when he and an antago- 
 nist used to be seated astride of a sailor's chest, each 
 fastened down by a spike-nail through his trousers, and 
 there to fight it out. Sometimes he expatiated on the 
 delicious flavor of the hagden, a greasy and goose-like 
 fowl, which the sailors catch with hook and line on the 
 Grand Banks. He dwelt with rapture on an intermina- 
 ble whiter at the Isle of Sables, where he had gladdened 
 himself, amid polar snows, with the rum and sugar saved 
 from the wreck of a West India schooner. And wrath- 
 fully did he shake his fist, as he related how a party of 
 Cape Cod men had robbed him and his companions of 
 their lawful spoil, and sailed away with every keg of old 
 Jamaica, leaving him not a drop to drown his sorrow. 
 Villains they were, and of that wicked brotherhood who 
 are said to tie lanterns to horses' tails, to mislead the 
 mariner along the dangerous shores of the Cape. 
 
 Even now I seem to see the group of fishermen, with
 
 THE VILLAGE TJNCLE. 89 
 
 that old salt in the midst. One fellow sits on the coun- 
 ter, a second bestrides an oil-barrel, a third lolls at his 
 length on a parcel of new cod-lines, and another has 
 planted the tarry seat of his trousers on a heap of salt, 
 which will shortly be sprinkled over a lot of fish. They 
 are a likely set of men. Some have voyaged to the East 
 Indies or the Pacific, and most of them have sailed in 
 Marblehead schooners to Newfoundland ; a few have been 
 no farther than the Middle Banks, and one or two have 
 always fished along the shore ; but, as Uncle Parker used 
 to say, they have all been christened in salt water, and 
 know more than men ever learn in the bushes. A curi- 
 ous figure, by way of contrast, is a fish-dealer from far- 
 up country, listening with eyes wide open to narratives 
 that might startle Sindbad the sailor. Be it well with 
 you, my brethren ! Ye are all gone, some to your graves 
 ashore, and others to the depths of ocean ; but my faith 
 is strong that ye are happy ; for whenever I behold your 
 forms, whether in dream or vision, each departed friend 
 is puffing his long-nine, and a mug of the right black- 
 strap goes round from lip to lip. 
 
 But where was the mermaid in those delightful times ? 
 At a certain window near the centre of the village ap- 
 peared a pretty display of gingerbread men and horses, 
 picture-books and ballads, small fish-hooks, pins, needles, 
 sugar-plums, and brass thimbles, articles on which the 
 young fishermen used to expend their money from pure 
 gallantry. What a picture was Susan behind the coun- 
 ter ! A slender maiden, though the child of rugged 
 parents, she had the slimmest of all waists, brown hair 
 curling on her neck, and a complexion rather pale, except 
 when the sea-breeze flushed it. A few. freckles became 
 beauty-spots beneath her eyelids. How was it, Susan, 
 that you talked and acted so carelessly, yet always for the
 
 90 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 best, doing whatever was right in your own eyes, and never 
 once doing wrong in mine, nor shocked a taste that had 
 been morbidly sensitive till now ? And whence had you 
 that happiest gift, of brightening every topic with an un- 
 sought gayety, quiet but irresistible, so that even gloomy 
 spirits felt your sunshine, and did not shrink from it ? 
 Nature wrought the charm. She made you a frank, sim- 
 ple, kind-hearted, sensible, and mirthful girl. Obeying 
 nature, you did free things without indelicacy, displayed 
 a maiden's thoughts to every eye, and proved yourself as 
 innocent as naked Eve. 
 
 It was beautiful to observe, how her simple and 
 happy nature mingled itself with mine. She kindled a 
 domestic fire within my heart, and took up her dwell- 
 ing there, even in that chill and lonesome cavern hung 
 round wi,th glittering icicles of fancy. She gave me 
 warmth of feeling, while the influence of my mind made 
 her contemplative. I taught her to love the moonlight 
 hour, when the expanse of the encircled bay was smooth 
 as a great mirror and slept in a transparent shadow ; 
 while beyond Nahant, the wind rippled the dim ocean 
 into a dreamy brightness, which grew faint afar off, with- 
 out becoming gloomier. I held her hand and pointed 
 to the long surf wave, as it rolled calmly on the beach, in 
 an unbroken line of silver ; we were silent together, till 
 its deep and peaceful murmur had swept by us: When 
 the Sabbath sun shone down into the recesses of the 
 cliffs, I led the mermaid thither, and told her that those 
 huge, gray, shattered rocks, and her native sea, that 
 raged forever like a storm against them, and her own 
 slender beauty, in so stern a scene, were all combined 
 into a strain of poetry. But on the Sabbath eve, when 
 her mother had gone early to bed, and her gentle sister 
 had smiled and left us, as we sat alone by the quiet hearth,
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE. 91 
 
 with household things around, it was her turn to make 
 me feel that here was a deeper poetry, and that this was 
 the dearest hour of all. Thus went on our wooing, till 
 I had shot wild-fowl enough to feather our bridal bed, 
 and the Daughter of the Sea was mine. 
 
 I built a cottage for Susan and myself, and made a 
 gateway in the form of a Gothic arch, by setting up a 
 whale's jaw-bones. We bought a heifer with her first 
 calf, and had a little garden on the hillside, to supply us 
 with potatoes and green sauce for our fish. Our parlor 
 small and neat, was ornamented with our two profiles in 
 one gilt frame, and with shells and pretty pebbles on the 
 mantel-piece, selected from the sea's treasury of such 
 things, on Nahant Beach. On the desk, beneath the 
 looking-glass, lay the Bible, which I had begun to read 
 aloud at the Book of Genesis, and the singing-book that 
 Susan used for her evening psalm. Except the almanac, 
 we had no other literature. All that I heard of books, 
 was when an Indian history, or tale of shipwreck, was 
 sold by a pedler or wandering subscription-man, to some 
 one in the village, and read through its owner's nose to 
 a slumberous auditory. Like my brother fishermen, I 
 grew into the belief that all human erudition was col- 
 lected in onr pedagogue, whose green spectacles and 
 solemn phiz, as he passed to his little school-house, amid 
 a waste of sand, might have gained him a diploma from 
 any college in New England. In truth I dreaded him. 
 When our children were old enough to claim his care, 
 you remember, Susan, how I frowned, though you were 
 pleased, at this learned man's encomiums on their pro- 
 ficiency. I feared to trust them even with the alphabet ; 
 it was the key to a fatal treasure. 
 
 But I loved to lead them by their little hands along 
 the beach, and point to nature in the vast and the minute,
 
 92 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the sky, the sea, the green earth, the pebbles, and the 
 shells. Then did I discourse of the mighty works aim 
 coextensive goodness of the Deity, with the simple wis- 
 dom of a man whose mind had profited by lonely days 
 upon the deep, and his heart by the strong and pure 
 affections of his evening home. Sometimes my voice 
 lost itself in a tremulous depth ; for I felt His eye upon 
 me as I spoke. Once, while my wife and all of us were 
 gazing at ourselves, in the mirror left by the tide in a 
 hollow of the sand, I pointed to the pictured heaven 
 below, and bade her observe how religion was strewn 
 everywhere in our path; since even a casual pool of 
 water recalled the idea of that home whither we were 
 travelling, to rest forever with our children. Suddenly, 
 your image, Susan, and all the little faces made up of 
 yours and mine, seemed to fade away and vanish around 
 me, leaving a pale visage like my own of former days 
 within the frame of a large looking-glass. Strange illu- 
 sion! 
 
 My life glided on, the past appearing to mingle with 
 the present and absorb the future, till the whole lies 
 before me at a glance. My manhood has long been 
 waning with a stanch decay ; my earlier contemporaries, 
 after lives of unbroken health, are all at Test, without 
 having known the weariness of later age ; and now, with 
 a wrinkled forehead and thin white hair as badges of 
 my dignity, I have become the patriarch, the Uncle of the 
 village. I love that name; it widens the circle of my 
 sympathies ; it joins all the youthful to my household, in 
 the kindred of affection. 
 
 Like Uncle Parker, whose rheumatic bones were dashed 
 against Egg Rock, full forty years ago, I am a spinner 
 of long yarns. Seated on the gunwale of a dory, or on 
 the sunny side of a boat-house, where the warmth is
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE. 93 
 
 grateful to my limbs, or by my own hearth, when a friend 
 or two are there, I overflow with talk, and yet am never 
 tedious. With a broken voice I give utterance to much 
 wisdom. Such, Heaven be praised ! is the vigor of my 
 faculties, that many a forgotten usage, and traditions 
 ancient in my youth, and early adventures of myself or 
 others, hitherto effaced by things more recent, acquire 
 new distinctness in my memory. I remember the happy 
 days when the haddock were more numerous on all the 
 fishing-grounds than sculpins in the surf; when the deep- 
 water cod swam close in shore, and the dogfish, with his 
 poisonous horn, had not learned to take the hook. I can 
 number every equinoctial storm, in which the sea has 
 overwhelmed the street, flooded the cellars of the village, 
 and hissed upon our kitchen hearth. I give the history 
 of the great whale that was landed on Whale Beach, and 
 whose jaws, being now my gateway, will last for ages 
 after my coffin shall have passed beneath them. Thence 
 it is an easy digression to the halibut, scarcely smaller 
 than the whale, which ran out six cod-lines, and hauled 
 my dory to the mouth of Boston Harbor, before I could 
 touch him with the gaff. 
 
 If melancholy accidents be the theme of conversation, 
 I tell how a friend of mine was taken out of his boat by 
 an enormous shark; and the sad, true tale of a young 
 man on the eve of marriage, who had been nine days 
 missing, when his drowned body floated into the very 
 pathway, on Marblehead Neck, that had often led him 
 to the dwelling of his bride ; as if the dripping corpse 
 would have come where the mourner was. With such 
 awful fidelity did that lover return to fulfil his vows! 
 Another favorite story is of a crazy maiden, who con- 
 versed with angels and had the gift of prophecy, and 
 whom all the village loved and pitied, though she went
 
 94 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 from door to door accusing us of sin, exhorting to 
 repentance, and foretelling our destruction by flood or 
 earthquake. If the young men boast their knowledge 
 of the ledges and sunken rocks, I speak of pilots, who 
 knew the wind by its scent and the wave by its taste, 
 and could have steered blindfold to any port between 
 Boston and Mount Desert, guided only by the rote of 
 the shore ; the peculiar sound of the surf on each island, 
 beach, and line of rocks, along the coast. Thus do I 
 talk, and all my auditors grow wise, while they deem it 
 pastime. 
 
 I recollect no happier portion of my life, than this, my 
 calm old age. It is like the sunny and sheltered slope of 
 a valley, where, late in the autumn, the grass is greener 
 than in August, and intermixed with golden dandelions, 
 that have not been seen till now, since the first warmth 
 of the year. But with me, the verdure and the flowers 
 are not frostbitten in the midst of winter. A playfulness 
 has revisited my mind ; a sympathy with the young and 
 gay ; an unpainful interest in the business of others ; a 
 light and wandering curiosity ; arising, perhaps, from the 
 sense that my toil on earth is ended, and the brief hour 
 till bedtime may be spent in play. Still, I have fancied 
 that there is a depth of feeling and reflection, under this 
 superficial levity, peculiar to one who has lived long, and 
 is soon to die. 
 
 Show me anything that would make an infant smile, 
 and you shall behold a gleam of mirth over the hoary 
 ruin of my visage. I can spend a pleasant hour in the 
 sun, watching the sports of the village children, on the 
 edge of the surf ; now they chase the retreating wave far 
 down over the wet sand ; now it steals softly up to kiss 
 their naked feet ; now it comes onward with threatening 
 front, and roars after the laughing crew, as they scamper
 
 THE VILLAGE UNCLE. 95 
 
 beyond its reach. Why should not an old man be merry 
 too, when the great sea is at play with those little chil- 
 dren ? I delight, also, to follow in the wake of a pleasure- 
 party of young men and girls, strolling along the beach 
 after an early supper at the Point. Here, with hand- 
 kerchiefs at nose, they bend over a heap of eel-grass, en- 
 tangled in which is a dead skate, so oddly accoutred with 
 two legs and a long tail, that they mistake him for a 
 drowned animal. A few steps farther, the ladies scream, 
 and the gentlemen make ready to protect them against a 
 young shark of the dogfish kind, rolling with a life-like 
 motion in the tide that has thrown him up. Next, they 
 are smit with wonder at the black shells of a wagon-load 
 of live lobsters, packed in rock-weed for the country mar- 
 ket. And when they reach the fleet of dories, just hauled 
 ashore after the day's fishing, how do I laugh in my sleeve, 
 and sometimes roar outright, at the simplicity of these 
 young folks and the sly humor of the fishermen! In 
 winter, when our village is thrown into a bustle by the 
 arrival of perhaps a score of country dealers, bargaining 
 for frozen fish, to be transported hundreds of miles, and 
 eaten fresh in Vermont or Canada, I am a pleased but 
 idle spectator in the throng. For I launch my boat no 
 more. 
 
 When the shore was solitary, I have found a pleasure 
 that seemed even to exalt my mind, in observing the 
 sports or contentions of two gulls, as they wheeled and 
 hovered about each other, with hoarse screams, one mo- 
 ment flapping on the foam of the wave, and then soaring 
 aloft, till their white bosoms melted into the upper sun- 
 shine. In the calm of the summer sunset, I drag my 
 aged limbs, with a little ostentation of activity, because I 
 am so old, up to the rocky brow of the hill. There I see 
 the white sails of many a vessel, outward bound or home-
 
 96 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ward from afar, and the black trail of a vapor behind the 
 eastern steamboat ; there, too, is the sun, going down, 
 but not in gloom, and there the illimitable ocean mingling 
 with the sky, to remind me of eternity. 
 
 But sweetest of all is the hour of cheerful musing and 
 pleasant talk, that comes between the dusk and the lighted 
 candle, by my glowing fireside. And never, even on the 
 first Thanksgiving night, when Susan and I sat alone with 
 our hopes, nor the second, when a stranger had been sent 
 to gladden us, and be the visible image of our affection, 
 did I feel such joy as now. All that belong to me are 
 here; Death has taken none, nor Disease kept them 
 away, nor Strife divided them from their parents or each 
 other ; with neither poverty nor riches to disturb them, 
 nor the misery of desires beyond their lot, they have kept 
 New England's festival round the patriarch's board. For 
 I am a patriarch ! Here I sit among my descendants, in 
 my old arm-chair and immemorial corner, while the fire- 
 light throws an appropriate glory round my venerable 
 frame. Susan ! My children ! Something whispers me, 
 that this happiest hour must be the final one, and that 
 nothing remains but to bless you all, and depart with a 
 treasure of recollected joys to heaven. Will you meet 
 me there ? Alas ! your figures grow indistinct, fading 
 into pictures on the air, and now to fainter outlines, while 
 the fire is glimmering on the walls of a familiar room, and 
 shows the book that I flung down, and the sheet that I 
 left half written, some fifty years ago. I lift my eyes to 
 the looking-glass, and perceive myself alone, unless those 
 be the mermaid's features, retiring into the depths of the 
 mirror, with a tender and melancholy smile. 
 
 Ah ! one feels a chillness, not bodily, but about the 
 heart, and, moreover, a foolish dread of looking behind 
 him, after these pastimes. I can imagine precisely how
 
 THE VILLAGE UXCLE. 97 
 
 a magician would sit down in gloom and terror, after 
 dismissing the shadows that had personated dead or dis- 
 tant people, and stripping his cavern of the unreal splendor 
 which had changed it to a palace. And now for a moral 
 to my revery. Shall it be, that, since fancy can create 
 so bright a dream of happiness, it were better to dream 
 on from youth to age, than to awake and strive doubt- 
 fully for something real ! O, the slight tissue of a dream 
 can no more preserve us from the stern reality of misfor- 
 tune, than a robe of cobweb could repel the wintry blast. 
 Be this the moral, then. In chaste and warm affections, 
 humble wishes, and honest toil for some useful end, there 
 is health for the mind, and quiet for the heart, the pros- 
 pect of a happy life, and the fairest hope of heaven. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST. 
 
 IE September night, a family had gathered 
 round their hearth, and piled it high with the 
 drift-wood of mountain streams, the dry cones 
 of the pine, and the splintered ruins of great trees, that 
 had come crashing down the precipice. Up the chimney 
 roared the fire, and brightened the room with its broad 
 blaze. The face-3 of the father and mother had a sober 
 gladness ; the children laughed ; the eldest daughter was 
 the image of Happiness at seventeen ; and the aged 
 grandmother, who sat knitting in the warmest place, was 
 the image of Happiness grown old. They had found 
 the " herb, heart's-ease," in the bleakest spot of all 
 New England. This family were situated in the Notch 
 of the White Hills, where the wind was sharp through- 
 out the year, and pitilessly cold in the winter, giving 
 their cottage all its fresh inclemency, before it descended 
 on the valley of the Saco. They dwelt in a cold spot 
 and a dangerous one ; for a mountain towered above 
 their heads, so steep, that the stones would often rumble 
 down its sides, and startle them at midnight. 
 
 The daughter had just uttered some simple jest, that 
 filled them all with mirth, when the wind came through 
 the Notch and seemed to pause before their cottage, - 
 rattling the door, with a sound of wailing and lamenta-
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST. 99 
 
 tion, before it passed into the valley. For a moment, 
 it saddened them, though there was nothing unusual in 
 the tones. But the family were glad again, when they 
 perceived that the latch was lifted by some traveller, 
 whose footsteps had been unheard amid the dreary blast, 
 which heralded his approach, and wailed as he was en- 
 tering, and went moaning away from the door. 
 
 Though they dwelt in such a solitude, these people 
 held daily converse with the world. The romantic pass 
 of the Notch is a great artery, through which the life- 
 blood of internal commerce is continually throbbing, be- 
 tween Maine on one side and the Green Mountains and 
 the shores of the St. Lawrence on the other. The stage- 
 coach always drew up before the door of the cottage. 
 The wayfarer, with no companion but his staff, paused 
 here to exchange a word, that the sense of loneliness 
 might not utterly overcome him, ere he could pass 
 through the cleft of the mountain, or reach the first 
 house in the valley. And here the teamster, on his way 
 to Portland market, would put up for the night ; and, if 
 a bachelor, might sit an hour beyond the usual bedtime, 
 and steal a kiss from the mountain-maid, at parting. It 
 was one of those primitive taverns, where the traveller 
 pays only for food and lodging, but meets with a homely 
 kindness, beyond all price. When the footsteps were 
 heard, therefore, between the outer door and the inner 
 one, the whole family rose up, grandmother, children, 
 and all, as if about to welcome some one who belonged 
 to them, and whose fate was linked with theirs. 
 
 The door was opened by a young man. His face at 
 first wore the melancholy expression, almost despond- 
 ency, of one who travels a wild and bleak road, at 
 nightfall and alone, but soon brightened up. when he 
 saw the kindly warmth of his reception. He felt bis
 
 100 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 heart spring forward to meet them all, from the old 
 woman, who wiped a chair with her apron, to the little 
 child that held out its arms to him. One glance and 
 smile placed the stranger on a footing of innocent famil- 
 iarity with the eldest daughter. 
 
 " Ah, this fire is the right thing ! " cried he ; " espe- 
 cially when there is such a pleasant circle round it. I 
 am quite benumbed ; for the Notch is just like the pipe 
 of a great pair of bellows ; it has blown a terrible blast 
 in my face, all the way from Bartlett." 
 
 "Then you are going towards Vermont?" said the 
 master of the house, as he helped to take a light knap- 
 sack off the young man's shoulders. 
 
 " Yes ; to Burlington, and far enough beyond," re- 
 plied he. " I meant to have been at Ethan Crawford's 
 to-night ; but a pedestrian lingers along such a road as 
 this. It is no matter ; for, when I saw this good fire, 
 and all your cheerful faces, I felt as if you had kindled 
 it on purpose for me, and were waiting my arrival. So 
 I shall sit down among you, and make myself at home." 
 
 The frank-hearted stranger had just drawn his chair 
 to the fire, when something like a heavy footstep was 
 heard without, rushing down the steep side of the moun- 
 tain, as with long and rapid strides, and taking such a 
 leap, in passing the cottage, as to strike the opposite 
 precipice. The family held their breath, because they 
 knew the sound, and their guest held his, by instinct. 
 
 " The old mountain has thrown a stone at us, for fear 
 we should forget him," said the landlord, recovering 
 himself. " He sometimes nods his head, and threatens 
 to come down; but we are old neighbors, and agree 
 together pretty well, upon the whole. Besides, we have 
 a sure place of refuge, hard by, if he should be coming in 
 good earnest."
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST. 101 
 
 Let us now suppose the stranger to have finished his 
 supper of bear's meat ; and, by his natural felicity of 
 manner, to have placed himself on a footing of kindness 
 with the whole family, so that they talked as freely to- 
 gether, as if he belonged to their mountain brood. He 
 was of a proud, yet gentle spirit, haughty and reserved 
 among the rich and great ; but ever ready to stoop his 
 head to the lowly cottage door, and be like a brother or 
 a son at the poor man's fireside. In the household of 
 the Notch, he found warmth and simplicity of feeling, 
 the pervading intelligence of New England, and a poetry 
 of native growth, which they had gathered, when they 
 little thought of it, from the mountain peaks and chasms, 
 and at the very threshold of their romantic and dangerous 
 abode. He had travelled far and alone ; his whole life, 
 indeed, had been a solitary path ; for, with the lofty cau- 
 tion of his nature, he had kept himself apart from those 
 who might otherwise have been his companions. The 
 family, too, though so kind and hospitable, had that con- 
 sciousness of unity among themselves, and separation 
 from the world at large, which, in every domestic circle, 
 should still keep a holy place, where no stranger may in- 
 trude. But, this evening, a prophetic sympathy impelled 
 the refined and educated youth to pour out his heart 
 before the simple mountaineers, and constrained them to 
 answer him with the same free confidence. And thus it 
 should have been. Is not the kindred of a common fate 
 a closer tie than that of birth? 
 
 The secret of the young man's character was, a high 
 and abstracted ambition. He could have borne to live 
 an undistinguished life, but not to be forgotten in the 
 grave. Yearning desire had been transformed to hope ; 
 and hope, long cherished, had become like certainty, that, 
 obscurely as he journeyed now, a glory was to beam on
 
 102 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 all his pathway, though not, perhaps, while he was 
 treading it. But, when posterity should gaze back into 
 the gloom of what was now the present, they would 
 trace the brightness of his footsteps, brightening as 
 meaner glories faded, and confess, that a gifted one had 
 passed from his cradle to his tomb, with none to recog- 
 nize him. 
 
 "As yet," cried tlie stranger, his cheek glowing and 
 his eye flashing* with enthusiasm, " as yet, I have done 
 nothing. Were I to vanish from the earth to-morrow, 
 none would know so much of me as you ; that a nameless 
 youth came up, at nightfall, from the valley of the Saco, 
 and opened his heart to you in the evening, and passed 
 through the Notch, by sunrise, and was seen no more. 
 Not a soul would ask, 'Who was he? Whither did 
 the wanderer go ? ' But, I cannot die till I have achieved 
 my destiny. Then, let Death come ! I shall have built 
 my monument ! " 
 
 There was a continual flow of natural emotion, gushing 
 forth amid abstracted revery, which enabled the family 
 to understand this young man's sentiments, though so 
 foreign from their own. With quick sensibility of the 
 ludicrous, he blushed at the ardor into which he had been 
 betrayed. 
 
 "You laugh at me," said he, taking the eldest daugh- 
 ter's hand, and laughing himself. "You think my 
 ambition as nonsensical as if I were to freeze myself 
 to death on the top of Mount Washington, only that 
 people might spy at me from the country round about. 
 And truly, that would be a noble pedestal for a man's 
 statue ! " 
 
 " It is better to sit here by this fire," answered the girl, 
 blushing, " and be comfortable and contented, though no- 
 body thinks about us."
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST. 103 
 
 "I suppose," said her father, after a fit of musing, 
 "there is something natural in what the young man says ; 
 and if my mind had been turned that way, I might have 
 felt just the same. It is strange, wife, how his talk has 
 set my head running on things that are pretty certain 
 never to come to pass." 
 
 " Perhaps they may," observed the wife. " Is the man 
 thinking what he will do when he is a widower ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried he, repelling the idea with reproach- 
 ful kindness. " When I think of your death, Esther, I 
 think of mine, too. .But I was wishing we had a good 
 farm, in Bartlett, or Bethlehem, or Littleton, or some 
 other township round the White Mountains ; but not 
 where they could tumble on our heads. I should want 
 to stand well with my neighbors, and be called Squire, 
 and sent to General Court for a term or two ; for a 
 plain, honest man may do as much good there as a 
 lawyer. And when I should be grown quite an old 
 man, and you an old woman, so as not to be long apart, 
 I might die happy enough in my bed, and leave you all 
 crying around me. A slate gravestone would suit me 
 as well as a marble one, with just my name and age, 
 and a verse of a hymn, and something to let people 
 know that I lived an honest man and died a Christian." 
 
 " There now ! " exclaimed the stranger ; " it is our 
 nature to desire a monument, be it slate, or marble, or a 
 pillar of granite, or a glorious memory in the universal 
 heart of man." 
 
 " We 're in a strange way, to-night," said the wife, 
 with tears in her eyes. " They say it 's a sign of some- 
 thing, when folks' minds go a wandering so. Hark to 
 the children ! " 
 
 They listened accordingly. The younger children had 
 been put to bed in another room, but with an open door
 
 104; TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 between, so that they could be heard talking busily among 
 themselves. One and all seemed to have caught the in- 
 fection from the fireside circle, and were outvying each 
 other in wild wishes and childish projects of what they 
 would do when they came to be men and women. At 
 length, a little boy, instead of addressing his brothers and 
 sisters, called out to his mother. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what I wish, mother," cried he. " I 
 want you and father and grandma'm, and all of us, and 
 the stranger too, to start right away, and go and take a 
 drink out of the basin of the Flume ! " 
 
 Nobody could help laughing at the child's notion of 
 leaving a warm bed, and dragging them from a cheerful 
 fire, to visit the basin of the Flume, a brook which 
 tumbles over the precipice, deep within the Notch. The 
 boy had hardly spoken, when a wagon rattled along the 
 road, and stopped a moment before the door. It ap- 
 peared to contain two or three men, who were cheering 
 their hearts with the rough chorus of a song, which re- 
 sounded, in broken notes, between the cliffs, while the 
 singers hesitated whether to continue their journey, or 
 put up here for the night. 
 
 "Father,", said the girl, "they are calling you by 
 name." 
 
 But the good man doubted whether they had really 
 called him, and was unwilling to show himself too solici- 
 tous of gain, by inviting people to patronize his house. 
 H& therefore did not hurry to the door ; and the lash 
 being soon applied, the travellers plunged into the 
 Notch, still singing and laughing, though their music 
 and mirth came back drearily from the heart of the 
 mountain. 
 
 "There, mother!" cried the boy, again. "They'd 
 have given us a ride to the Flume."
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST. 105 
 
 Again they laughed at the child's pertinacious fancy 
 for a night ramble. But it happened, that a light cloud 
 passed over the daughter's spirit; she looked gravely 
 into the fire, and drew a breath that was almost a sigh. 
 It forced its way, in spite of a little struggle to repress it. 
 Then starting and blushing, she looked quickly round the 
 circle, as if they had caught a glimpse into her bosom. 
 The stranger asked what she had been thinking of. 
 
 "Nothing," answered she, with a downcast smile. 
 " Only I felt lonesome just then." 
 
 " 0, 1 have always had a gift of feeling what is in other 
 people's hearts ! " said he, half seriously. " Shall I tell 
 the secrets of yours ? For I know what to think, when 
 a young girl shivers by a warm hearth, and complains of 
 lonesomeness at her mother's side. Shall I put these 
 feelings into words ? " 
 
 "They would not be a girl's feelings any longer, if 
 they could be put into words," replied the mountain 
 nymph, laughing, but. avoiding his eye. 
 
 All this was said apart. Perhaps a germ of love was 
 springing in tkeir hearts, so pure that it might blossom 
 in Paradise, since it could not be matured on earth ; for 
 .women worship such gentle dignity as his ; and the 
 proud, contemplative, yet kindly soul is oftenest capti- 
 vated by simplicity like hers. But, while they spoke 
 softly, and he was watching the happy sadness, the light- 
 some shadows, the shy yearnings of a maiden's nature, 
 the wind, through the Notch, took a deeper and drearier 
 sound. It seemed, as the fanciful stranger said, like the 
 choral strain of the spirits of the blast, who, in old In- 
 dian times, had their dwelling among these mountains, 
 and made their heights and recesses a sacred region. 
 There was a wail, along the road, as if a funeral were 
 passing. To chase away the gloom, the family threw 
 5*
 
 106 - TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 pine branches on their fire, till the dry leaves crackled 
 and the flame arose, discovering once again a scene of 
 peace and humble happiness. The light hovered about 
 them fondly, and caressed them all. There were the lit- 
 tle faces of the children, peeping from their bed apart, 
 and here the father's frame of strength, the mother's 
 subdued and careful mien, the high-browed youth, the 
 budding girl, and the good old grandam, still knitting in 
 the wannest place. The aged woman looked up from 
 her task, and, with fingers ever busy, was the next to 
 speak. 
 
 " Old folks have their notions," said she, " as well as 
 young ones. You 've been wishing and planning ; and 
 letting your heads run on one thing and another, till 
 you 've set my mind a wandering too. Now what should 
 an old woman wish for, when she can go but a step or two 
 before she comes to her grave ? Children, it will haunt 
 me night and day, till I tell you." 
 
 "What is it, mother?" cried the husband and wife, 
 at once. 
 
 Then the old woman, with an air of mystery, which 
 drew the circle closer round the fire, informed them 
 that she had provided her graveclothes some years 
 before, a nice linen shroud, a cap with a muslin ruff, 
 and everything of a finer sort than she had worn since 
 her wedding-day. But, this evening, an old supersti- 
 tion had strangely recurred to her. It used to be said, 
 in her younger days, that, if anything were amiss with 
 a corpse, if only the ruff were not smooth, or the cap 
 did not set right, the corpse, in the coffin and beneath 
 the clods, would strive to put up its cold hands and 
 arrange it. The bare thought made her nervous. 
 
 " Don't talk so, grandmother ! " said the girl, shud- 
 dering.
 
 THE AMBITIOUS GUEST. 107 
 
 "Now," continued the old woman, with singular ear- 
 nestness, yet smiling strangely at her own folly, "I 
 want one of you, my children, when your mother 
 is dressed, and in the coffin, I want one of you to hold 
 a looking-glass over my face. Who knows but I may 
 take a glimpse at myself, and see whether all 's right ? " 
 
 " Old and young, we dream of graves and monuments," 
 murmured the stranger youth. " I wonder how mari- 
 ners feel, when the ship is sinking, and they, unknown 
 and undistinguished, are to be buried together in the 
 ocean, that wide and nameless sepulchre ? " 
 
 For a moment, the old woman's ghastly conception 
 so engrossed the minds of her hearers, that a sound, 
 abroad in the night, rising like the roar of a blast, had 
 grown broad, deep, and terrible, before the fated group 
 were conscious of it. The house, and all within it, 
 trembled ; the foundations of the earth seemed to be 
 shaken, as if this awful sound were, the peal of the last 
 trump. Young and old exchanged one wild glance, and 
 remained an instant, pale, affrighted, without utterance, 
 or power to move. Then the same shriek burst simulta- 
 neously from all their lips. 
 
 " The Slide ! The Slide ! " 
 
 The simplest words must intimate, but not portray, 
 the unutterable horror of the catastrophe. The victims 
 rushed from their cottage, and sought refuge in what 
 they deemed a safer spot, where, in contemplation of 
 such an emergency, a sort of barrier had been reared. 
 Alas ! they had quitted their security, and fled right into 
 the pathway of destruction. Down came the whole side 
 of the mountain, in a cataract of ruin. Just before it 
 reached the house, the stream broke into two branches, 
 shivered not a window there, but overwhelmed the 
 whole vicinity, blocked up the road, and annihilated
 
 108 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 everything in its dreadful course. Long ere the thunder 
 of that great Slide had ceased to roar among the moun- 
 tains, the mortal agony had been endured, and the vic- 
 tims were at peace. Their bodies were never found. 
 
 The next morning, the light smoke was seen stealing 
 from the cottage chimney, up the mountain-side. Within, 
 the fire was yet smouldering on the hearth, and the chairs 
 in a circle round it, as if the inhabitants had but gone forth, 
 to view the devastation of the Slide, and would shortly 
 return, to thank Heaven for their miraculous escape. 
 All had left separate tokens, by which those who had 
 known the family were made to shed a tear for each. 
 Who has not heard their name ? The story has been 
 told far and wide, and will forever be a legend of these 
 mountains. Poets have sung their fate. 
 
 There were circumstances which led some to suppose 
 that a stranger had been received into the cottage on this 
 awful night, and had shared the catastrophe of all its in- 
 mates. Others denied that there were sufficient grounds 
 for such a conjecture. Woe, for the high-souled youth, 
 with his dream of earthly immortality ! His name and 
 person utterly unknown ; his history, his way of life, his 
 plans, a mystery never to be solved ; his death and his 
 existence equally a doubt ! Whose was the agony of 
 that death moment ?
 
 THE SISTER YEARS. 
 
 ] AST night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, 
 when the Old Year was leaving her final foot- 
 prints on the borders of Time's empire, she 
 found herself in possession of a few spare moments, and 
 sat down of all places in the world on the steps of 
 our new City Hall. The wintry moonlight showed that 
 she looked weary of body, and sad of heart, like many 
 another wayfarer of earth. Her garments, having been 
 exposed to much foul weather, and rough usage, were 
 in very ill condition; and as the hurry of her journey 
 had never before allowed her to take an instant's rest, 
 her shoes were so worn as to be scarcely worth the 
 mending. But, after trudging only a little distance far- 
 ther, this poor Old Year was destined to enjoy a long, 
 long sleep. I forgot to mention, that when she seated 
 herself on the steps, she deposited by her side a very 
 capacious bandbox, in which, as is the custom among 
 travellers of her sex, she carried a great deal of valuable 
 property. Besides this luggage, there was a folio book 
 under her arm, very much Vesembling the annual volume 
 of a newspaper. Placing this volume across her knees, 
 and resting her elbows upon it, with her forehead in her 
 hands, the weary, bedraggled, world-worn Old Year 
 heaved a heavy sigh, and appeared to be taking no very 
 pleasant retrospect of her past existence.
 
 110 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 While she thus awaited the midnight knell, that was 
 to summon her to the innumerable sisterhood of departed 
 Years, there came a young maiden treading lightsomely 
 011 tiptoe along the street, from the direction of the Rail- 
 road Depot. She was evidently a stranger, and perhaps 
 had come to town by the evening train of cars. There 
 was a smiling cheerfulness in this fair maiden's face, 
 which bespoke her fully confident of a kind reception 
 from the multitude of people, with whom she was soon 
 to form acquaintance. Her dress was rather too airy 
 for the season, and was bedizened with fluttering ribbons 
 and other vanities, which were likely soon to be rent 
 away by the fierce storms, or to fade in the hot sunshine, 
 amid which she was to pursue her changeful course. 
 But still she was a wonderfully pleasant looking figure, 
 and had so much promise and such an indescribable 
 hopefulness in her aspect, that hardly anybody could 
 meet her without anticipating some very desirable thing 
 the consummation of some long-sought good from 
 her kind offices. A few dismal characters there may be, 
 here and there about the world, who have so often been 
 trifled with by young maidens as promising as she, 
 that they have now ceased to pin any faith upon the 
 skirts of the New Year. But, for my own part, I have 
 great faith in her; and should I live to see fifty more 
 such, still, from each of those successive sisters, I shall 
 reckon upon receiving something that will be worth living 
 for. 
 
 The New Year for this young maiden was no less 
 a personage carried all her goods and chattels in a 
 basket of no great size or weight, which hung upon her 
 arm. She greeted the disconsolate Old Year with great 
 affection, and sat down beside her on the steps of the 
 City Hall, waiting for the signal to begin her rambles
 
 THE SISTER YEARS. Ill 
 
 through the world. The two were own sisters, being 
 both granddaughters of Time; and though one looked 
 so much older than the other, it was rather owing to 
 hardships and trouble than to age, since there was but 
 a twelvemonth's difference between them. 
 
 " Well, my dear sister," said the New Year, after the 
 first salutations, "you look almost tired to death. What 
 have you been about during your sojourn in this part of 
 Infinite Space ? " 
 
 "O, I have it all recorded here in my Book of 
 Chronicles," answered the Old Year, in a heavy tone. 
 " There is nothing that would amuse you ; and you will 
 soon get sufficient knowledge of such matters from 
 your own personal, experience. It is but tiresome 
 reading." 
 
 Nevertheless, she turned over the leaves of the folio, 
 and glanced at them by the light of the moon, feeling 
 an irresistible spell of interest in her own biography, 
 although its incidents were remembered without pleas- 
 ure. The volume, though she termed it her Book of 
 Chronicles, seemed to be neither more nor less than the 
 Salem Gazette for 1838 ; in the accuracy of which jour- , 
 nal this sagacious Old Year had so much confidence, that 
 she deemed it needless to record her history with her 
 own pen. 
 
 " What have you been doing in the political way ? " 
 asked the New Year. 
 
 " Why, my course here in the United States," said 
 the Old Year, " though perhaps I ought to blush at 
 the confession, my political course, I must acknowl- 
 edge, lias been rather vacillatory, sometimes inclining' 
 towards the Whigs, then causing the Administration 
 party to .shout for triumph, and now again uplifting 
 what seemed the almost prostrate banner of the Oppo-
 
 112 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 sition ; so that historians will hardly know what to make 
 of me, in this respect. But the Loco Focos 
 
 " I do not like these party nicknames," interrupted 
 her sister, who seemed remarkably touchy about some 
 points. "Perhaps we shall part in better humor, if we 
 avoid any political discussion." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied the Old Year, who had 
 already been tormented half to death with squabbles of 
 this kind. " I care not if the names of Whig or Tory, 
 with their interminable brawls about Banks and the Sub- 
 Treasury, Abolition, Texas, the Florida War, and a mil- 
 lion of other topics, which you will learn soon enough 
 for your own comfort, I care not, I say, if no whisper 
 of these matters ever reaches my ears again. Yet they 
 have occupied so large a share of my attention, that I 
 scarcely know what else to tell you. There has indeed 
 been a curious sort of war on the Canada border, where 
 blood has streamed in the names of Liberty and Patriot- 
 ism ; but it must remain for some future, perhaps far 
 distant Year, to tell whether or no those holy names have 
 been rightfully invoked. Nothing so much depresses 
 me, in my view of mortal affairs, as to see high energies 
 wasted, and human life and happiness thrown away, for 
 ends that appear oftentimes unwise, and still oftener 
 remain unaccomplished. But the wisest people and the 
 best keep a steadfast faith that the progress of Mankind 
 is onward and upward, and that the toil and anguish of 
 the path serve to wear away the imperfections of the Im- 
 mortal Pilgrim, and will be felt no more, when they have 
 done their office." 
 
 " Perhaps," cried the hopeful New Year, " perhaps 
 I shall see that happy day ! " 
 
 " I doubt whether it be so close at hand," answered 
 the Old Year, gravely smiling. " You will soon grow
 
 THE SISTER YEARS. 113 
 
 weary of looking for that blessed consummation, and 
 will turn for amusement (as lias frequently been my 
 own practice) to the affairs of some sober little city, 
 like this of Salem. Here we sit on the steps of the 
 new City Hall, which has been completed under my 
 administration ; and it would make you laugh to see 
 how the game of politics, of which the Capitol at 
 Washington is the great chess-board, is here played 
 in miniature. Burning Ambition finds its fuel here ; 
 here Patriotism speaks boldly in the people's behalf, 
 and virtuous Economy demands retrenchment in the 
 emoluments of a lamplighter ; here the Aldermen range 
 their senatorial dignity around the Mayor's chair of state, 
 and the Common Council feel that they have liberty in 
 charge. In short, human weakness and strength, pas- 
 sion and policy, Man's tendencies, his aims and modes 
 of pursuing them, his individual character, and his 
 character in the mass, may be studied almost as well 
 here as on the theatre of nations ; and with this great 
 advantage, that, be the lesson ever so disastrous, its 
 Liliputian scope still makes the beholder smile." 
 
 " Have you done much for the improvement of the 
 'City ? " asked the New Year. " Judging from what 
 little I have seen, it appears to be ancient and time- 
 worn." 
 
 " I have opened the Railroad," said the elder Year, 
 " and half a dozen times a day, you will hear the bell 
 (which once summoned the Monks of a Spanish Con- 
 vent to their devotions) announcing the arrival or de- 
 parture of the cars. Old Salem now wears a much 
 livelier expression than when I first beheld her. Stran- 
 gers rumble down from Boston by hundreds at a time. 
 New faces throng in Essex Street. Railroad-hacks and 
 omnibuses rattle over the pavements. There is a per-
 
 114 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ceptible increase of oyster-shops, and other establish- 
 ments for the accommodation of a transitory diurnal 
 multitude. But a more important change awaits the 
 venerable town. An immense accumulation of musty 
 prejudices will 'be carried off by the free circulation of 
 society. A peculiarity of character, of which the in- 
 habitants themselves are hardly sensible, will be rubbed 
 down and worn away by the attrition of foreign sub- 
 stances. Much of the result will be good; there will 
 likewise be a few things not so good. Whether for 
 better or worse, there will be a probable diminution of 
 the moral influence of wealth, and the sway of an aris- 
 tocratic class, which, from an era far beyond my mem- 
 ory, has held firmer dominion here than in any other 
 New England town." 
 
 The Old Year having talked away nearly all of her 
 little remaining breath, now closed her Book of Chroni- 
 ,cles, and was about to take her departure. But her 
 sister detained her awhile longer, by inquiring the con- 
 tents of the huge bandbox, which she was so painfully 
 lugging along with her. 
 
 " These are merely a few trifles," replied the Old 
 Year, "which I have picked up in my rambles, and 
 am going to deposit, in the receptacle of things past 
 and forgotten. We sisterhood of Years never carry any- 
 thing really valuable out of the world with us. Here 
 are patterns of most of the fashions which I brought 
 into vogue, and which have already lived out their 
 allotted term. You will supply their place, with others 
 equally ephemeral. Here, put up in little China pots, 
 like rouge, is a considerable lot of beautiful women's 
 bloom, which the disconsolate fair ones owe me a bitter 
 grudge for stealing. I have likewise a quantity of men's 
 dark hair, instead of which, I have left gray locks, or
 
 THE SISTER YEA11S. 115 
 
 none at all. The tears of widows and other afflicted 
 mortals, who have received comfort during the last 
 twelve months, are preserved in some dozens of essence- 
 bottles, well corked and sealed. I have several bundles of 
 love-letters, eloquently breathing an eternity of burning 
 passion, which grew cold and perished, almost before 
 the ink was dry. Moreover, here is an assortment of 
 many thousand broken promises, and other broken ware, 
 all very light and packed into little space. The heaviest 
 articles in my possession are a large parcel of disap- 
 pointed hopes, which, a little while ago, were buoyant 
 enough to have inflated Mr. Lauriat's balloon." 
 
 "I have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket," 
 remarked the New Year. " They are a sweet-smelling 
 flower, a species of rose." 
 
 " They soon lose their perfume,'' replied the sombre 
 Old Year. " What else have you brought to insure a 
 welcome from the discontented race of mortals ? " 
 
 " Why, to say the truth, little or nothing else," said 
 her sister, with a smile, " save a few new Annuals 
 and Almanacs, and some New Year's gifts for the 
 children. But I heartily wish well to poor mortals, 
 and mean to do all I can for their improvement and 
 happiness." 
 
 "It is a good resolution," rejoined the Old Year; 
 " and, by the way, I ha've a plentiful assortment of good 
 resolutions, which have now grown so stale and musty, 
 that I am ashamed to carry them any farther. Only for 
 fear that the City authorities would send Constable 
 Mansfield, with a warrant after me, I should toss them 
 into the street at once. Many other matters go to make 
 up the contents of my bandbox ; but the whole lot would 
 not fetch a single bid, even at an auction of worn-out 
 furniture ; and as they are worth nothing either to you
 
 116 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 or anybody else, I need not trouble you with a longer 
 catalogue." 
 
 " And must I also pick up such worthless luggage in 
 my travels ? " asked the New Year. 
 
 " Most certainly ; and well, if you have no heavier 
 load to bear," replied the other. " And now, my dear 
 sister, I must bid you farewell, earnestly advising and 
 exhorting you to expect no gratitude nor good-will from 
 this peevish, unreasonable, inconsiderate, ill-intending, and 
 worse-behaving world. However warmly its inhabitants 
 may seem to welcome you, yet, do what you may, and 
 lavish on them what means of happiness you please, they 
 will still be complaining, still craving what it is not in 
 your power to give, still looking forward to some other 
 Year for the accomplishment of projects which ought 
 never to have been formed, and which, if successful, 
 would only provide new occasions of discontent. If 
 these ridiculous people ever see anything tolerable in. 
 you, it will be after you are gone forever." 
 
 " But I," cried the fresh-hearted New Year, " I shall 
 try to leave men wiser than I find them. I will offer them 
 freely whatever good gifts Providence permits me to dis- 
 tribute, and will tell them to be thankful for what they 
 have, and humbly hopeful for more ; and surely, if they 
 are not absolute fools, they will condescend to be happy, 
 and will allow me to be a happy Year. For my happiness 
 must depend on them." 
 
 " Alas for you, then, my poor sister ! " said the Old 
 Year, sighing, as she uplifted her burden. " We grand- 
 children of Time are born to trouble. Happiness, they 
 say, dwells in the mansions of Eternity ; but we can only 
 lead mortals thither, step by step, with reluctant mur- 
 murings, and ourselves must perish on the threshold. 
 But hark! my task is done."
 
 THE SISTER YEARS. 117 
 
 The clock in the tall steeple of Dr. Emerson's church 
 struck twelve ; there was a response from Dr. Mint's, in 
 the opposite quarter of the city ; and while the strokes 
 were yet dropping into the air, the Old Year either flitted 
 or faded away ; and not the wisdom and might of Angels, 
 to say nothing of the remorseful yearnings of the millions 
 who had used her ill, could have prevailed with that 
 departed Year to return one step. But she, in the com- 
 pany of Time and all her kindred, must hereafter hold a ' 
 reckoning with Mankind. So shall it be, likewise, with 
 the maidenly New Year, who, as the clock ceased to 
 strike, arose from the steps of the City Hall, and set out 
 rather timorously on her earthly course. 
 
 " A happy New Year ! " cried a watchman, eying her 
 figure very questionably, but without the least suspicion 
 that he was addressing the New Year in person. 
 
 " Thank you kindly ! " said the New Year ; and she 
 gave the watchman one of the roses of hope from her 
 basket. " May this flower keep a sweet smell, long after 
 I have bidden you good by." 
 
 Then she stepped on more briskly through the silent 
 streets ; and such as were awake at the moment, heard 
 her footfall, and said, " The New Year is come ! " 
 Wherever there was a knot of midnight roisterers, they 
 quaffed her health. She sighed, however, to perceive 
 that the air was tainted as the atmosphere of this 
 world must continually be with the dying breaths of 
 mortals who had lingered just long enough for her to 
 bury them. But there were millions left alive, to rejoice 
 at her coming ; and so she pursued her way with con- 
 fidence, strewing emblematic flowers on the doorstep of 
 almost every dwelling, which some persons will gather 
 up and wear in their bosoms, and others will trample 
 under foot. The Carrier Boy can only say further, that,
 
 118 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 early this morning, she filled his basket with New Year's 
 Addresses, assuring him that the whole City, with our 
 new Mayor, and the Aldermen and Common Council at 
 its head, woiild make a general rush to secure copies. 
 Kind Patrons, will not you redeem the pledge of the 
 NEW YEAR?
 
 SNOW-FLAKES. 
 
 JHERE is snow in yonder cold gray sky of the 
 morning ! and, through the partially frosted 
 window-panes, I love to watch the gradual 
 beginning of the storm. A few feathery flakes are scat- 
 tered widely through the air, and hover downward with 
 uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now 
 whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere. 
 These are not the big flakes, heavy with moisture, which 
 melt as they touch the ground, and are portentous of a 
 soaking rain. It is to be, in good earnest, a wintry 
 storm. The two or three people, visible on the side- 
 walks, have an aspect of endurance, a blue-nosed, frosty 
 fortitude, which is evidently assumed in anticipation of a 
 comfortless and blustering day. By nightfall, or at least 
 before the sun sheds another glimmering smile upon us, 
 the street and our little garden will be heaped with 
 mountain snow-drifts. The soil, already frozen for weeks 
 past, is prepared to sustain whatever burden may be laid 
 upon it ; and, to a northern eye, the landscape will lose 
 its melancholy bleakness and acquire a beauty of its own, 
 when Mother Earth, like her children, shall have put on 
 the fleecy garb of her winter's wear. The cloud-spirits 
 are slowly weaving her white mantle. As yet, indeed, 
 there is barely a rime like hoarfrost ovor the brown
 
 120 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 surface of the street ; the withered green of the grass-plat 
 is still discernible ; and the slated roofs of the houses do 
 but begin to look gray, instead of black. All the snow 
 that has yet fallen within the circumference of my view, 
 were it heaped up together, would hardly equal the hil- 
 lock of a grave. Thus gradually, by silent and stealthy 
 influences, are great changes wrought. These little snow- 
 particles, which the storm-spirit flings by handfuls through 
 the air, will bury the great earth under their accumulated 
 mass, nor permit her to behold her sister sky again for 
 dreary months. We, likewise, shall lose sight of our 
 mother's familiar visage, and must content ourselves with 
 looking heavenward the oftener. 
 
 Now, leaving the storm to do his appointed office, let 
 us sit down, pen in hand, by our fireside. Gloomy as it 
 may seem, there is an influence productive of cheerful- 
 ness, and favorable to imaginative thought, in the 'atmos- 
 phere of a snowy day. The native of a southern clime 
 may woo the muse beneath the heavy shade of summer 
 foliage, reclining on banks of turf, while the sound of 
 singing birds and warbling rivulets chimes in with the 
 music of his soul. In our brief summer, I do not think, 
 but only exist in the vague enjoyment of a dream. My 
 hour of inspiration if that hour ever comes is when 
 the green log hisses upon the hearth, and the bright 
 flame, brighter for the gloom of the chamber, rustles 
 high up the chimney, and the coals drop tinkling down 
 among the growing heaps of ashes. When the casement 
 rattles in the gust, and the snow-flakes or the sleety rain- 
 drops pelt hard against the window-panes, then I spread 
 out my sheet of paper, with the certainty that thoughts 
 and fancies will gleam forth upon it, like stars at twilight, 
 or like violets in May, perhaps to fade as soon. How- 
 ever transitory their glow, they at least shine amid the
 
 SNOW-FLAKES. 121 
 
 darksome shadow which the clouds of the outward sky 
 fling through the room. Blessed, therefore, and rever- 
 ent lv welcomed by me, her true-born son, be New 
 England's winter, which makes us, one and all, the 
 nurslings of the storm, and sings a familiar lullaby even 
 in the wildest shriek of the December blast. Now look 
 we forth again, and see how much of his task the storm- 
 spirit has done. 
 
 Slow and sure ! He has the day, perchance the week, 
 before him, and may take his own time to accomplish 
 Nature's burial in snow. A smooth mantle is scarcely 
 yet thrown over the withered grass-plat, and the dry 
 stalks of annuals still thrust themselves through the 
 white surface in all parts of the garden. The leafless 
 rose-bushes stand shivering in a shallow snow-drift, look- 
 ing, poor things ! as disconsolate as if they possessed a 
 human consciousness of the dreary scene. This is a sad 
 time for the shrubs that do not perish with the summer ; 
 they neither live nor die ; what they retain of life seems 
 but the chilling sense of death. Very sad are the flower 
 shrubs in midwinter ! The roofs of the houses are now 
 all white, save where the eddying wind has kept them 
 bare at the bleak corners. To discern the real intensity 
 of the storm, we must fix upon some distant object, as 
 yonder spire, and observe how the riotous gust fights 
 with the descending snow throughout the intervening 
 space. Sometimes the entire prospect is obscured; 
 then, again, we have a distinct, but transient glimpse of 
 the tall steeple, like a giant's ghost ; and now the dense 
 wreaths sweep between, as if demons were flinging snow- 
 drifts at each other, in mid-air. Look next into the street, 
 where we have seen an amusing parallel to the combat of 
 those fancied demons in the upper regions. It is a snow- 
 battle of sckool-boys. What a pretty satire on war and
 
 122 TWICb-TOLD TALES. 
 
 military glory might be written, in the form of a child's 
 story, by describing the snowball-fights of two rival 
 schools, the alternate defeats and victories of each, and the 
 final triumph of one party, or perhaps of neither ! What 
 pitched battles, worthy to be chanted in Homeric strains ! 
 What storming of fortresses, built all of massive snow- 
 blocks ! What feats of individual prowess, and embod- 
 ied onsets of martial enthusiasm ! And when some well- 
 contested and decisive victory had put a period to the 
 war, both armies should unite to build a lofty monument 
 of snow upon the battle-field, and crown it with the vic- 
 tor's statue, hewn of the same frozen marble. In a few 
 days or weeks thereafter, the passer-by would observe a 
 shapeless mouud upon the level common ; and, unmind- 
 ful of the famous victory, would ask, "How came it 
 there ? Who reared it ? And what means it ? " The 
 shattered pedestal of many a battle monument has pro- 
 voked these questions, when none could answer. 
 
 Turn we again to the fireside, and sit musing there, 
 lending our ears to the wind, till perhaps it shall seem 
 like an articulate voice, and dictate wild and airy matter 
 for the pen. Would it might inspire me to sketch out 
 the personification of a New England winter ! And that 
 idea, if I can seize the snow-wreathed figures that flit 
 before my fancy, shall be the theme of the next page. 
 
 How does Winter herald his approach ? By the shriek- 
 ing blast of latter autumn, which is Nature's cry of lamen- 
 tation, as the destroyer rushes among the shivering groves 
 where she has lingered, and scatters the sear leaves upon 
 the tempest. When that ciy is heard, the people wrap 
 themselves in cloaks, and shake their heads disconsolately, 
 saying, " Winter is at hand ! " Then the axe of the 
 woodcutter echoes sharp and diligently in the forest; 
 then the coal-merchants rejoice, because each shriek of
 
 SNOW-FLAKES. 123 
 
 Nature in her agony adds something to the price of coal 
 per ton; then the peat-smoke spreads its aromatic fra- 
 grance through the atmosphere. A few days more ; and 
 at eventide, the children look out of the window, and 
 dimly perceive the flaunting of a snowy mantle in the air. 
 It is stern Winter's vesture. They crowd around the 
 hearth, and cling to their mother's gown, or press be- 
 tween their father's knees, affrighted by the hollow roar- 
 ing voice, that bellows adown the wide flue of the chimney. 
 It is the voice of Winter ; and when parents and children 
 hear it, they shudder and exclaim, "Winter is come! 
 Cold Winter has begun his reign already ! " Now, 
 throughout New England, each hearth becomes an altar, 
 sending up the smoke of a continued sacrifice to the im- 
 mitigable deity who tyrannizes over forest, country side, 
 and town. Wrapped in his white mantle, his staff a huge 
 icicle, his beard and hair a wind-tossed snow-drift, he 
 travels over the land, in the midst of the northern blast ; 
 and woe to the homeless wanderer whom he finds upon 
 his path ! There he lies stark and stiff, a human shape 
 of ice, on the spot where Winter overtook him. On 
 strides the tyrant over the rushing rivers and broad lakes, 
 which turn to rock beneath his footsteps. His dreary em- 
 pire is established ; all around stretches the desolation of 
 the Pole. Yet not ungrateful be his New England chil- 
 dren, for Winter is our sire, though a stern and rough 
 one, not ungrateful even for the severities, which have 
 nourished our unyielding strength of character. And lot 
 us thank him, too, for the sleigh-rides, cheered by the 
 music of merry bells; for the crackling and rustling 
 hearth, when the ruddy firelight gleams on hardy Man- 
 hood and the blooming cheek of Woman ; for all the 
 home enjoyments, and the kindred virtues, which flourish 
 in a frozen soil. Not that we grieve, when, after some
 
 124 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 seven months of storm and bitter frost, Spring, in the 
 guise of a flower-crowned virgin, is seen driving away 
 the hoary despot, pelting him with violets by the hand- 
 ful, and strewing green grass on the path behind him. 
 Often, ere he will give up his empire, old Winter rushes 
 fiercely back, and hurls a snow-drift at the shrinking form 
 of Spring ; yet, step by step, he is compelled to retreat 
 northward, and spends the summer months within the 
 Arctic circle. 
 
 Such fantasies, intermixed among graver toils of mind, 
 have made the winter's day pass pleasantly. Meanwhile, 
 the storm has raged without abatement, and now, as the 
 brief afternoon declines, is tossing denser volumes to and 
 fro about the atmosphere. On the window-sill, there is a 
 layer of snow, reaching half-way up the lowest pane of 
 glass. The garden is one unbroken bed. Along the 
 street are two or three spots of uncovered earth, where 
 the gust has whirled away the snow, heaping it else- 
 where to the fence-tops, or piling huge banks against the 
 doors of houses. A solitary passenger is seen, now strid- 
 ing mid-leg deep across a drift, now scudding over the bare 
 ground, while his cloak is swollen with the wind. And 
 now the jingling of bells, a sluggish sound, responsive 
 to the horse's toilsome progress through the unbroken 
 drifts, announces the passage of a sleigh, with a boy 
 clinging behind, and ducking his head to escape detec- 
 tion by the driver. Next comes a sledge, laden with 
 wood for some unthrifty housekeeper, whom winter has 
 surprised at a cold hearth. But what dismal equipage 
 now struggles along the uneven street ? A sable hearse, 
 bestrewn with snow, is bearing a dead man through the 
 storm to his frozen bed. O, how dreary is a burial in 
 winter, when the bosom of Mother Earth has no warmth 
 for her poor child !
 
 SNOW-FLAKES. 125 
 
 Evening the early eve of December begins to 
 spread its deepening veil over the comfortless scene ; the 
 firelight gradually brightens, and throws my flickering 
 shadow upon the walls and ceiling of the chamber ; but 
 still the storm rages and rattles against the windows. 
 Alas! I shiver, and think it time to be disconsolate. 
 But, taking a farewell glance at dead Nature in her 
 shroud, I perceive a flock of snow-birds, skimming light- 
 somely through the tempest, and flitting from drift to 
 drift, as sportively as swallows in the delightful prime of 
 summer. Whence come they ? Where do they build 
 their nests, and seek their food? Why, having airy 
 wings, do they not follow summer around the earth, in- 
 stead of making themselves the playmates of the storm, 
 and fluttering on the dreary verge of the winter's eve ? 
 I know not whence they come, nor why ; yet my spirit 
 has been cheered by that wandering flock of snow-birds.
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 
 
 [AMBLING on foot in the spring of my life and 
 the summer of the year, I came one afternoon 
 to a point -which gave me the choice of three 
 directions. Straight before me, the main road extended 
 its dusty length to Boston ; on the left a branch went 
 towards the sea, and would have lengthened my journey 
 a trifle of twenty or thirty miles; while by the right- 
 hand path, I might have gone over hills and lakes to 
 Canada, visiting in my way the celebrated town of Stam- 
 ford. On a level spot of grass, at the foot of the guide- 
 post, appeared an object, which, though locomotive on 
 a different principle, reminded me of Gulliver's portable 
 mansion among the Brobdignags. It was a huge covered 
 wagon, or, more properly, a small house on wheels, with 
 a door on one side and a window shaded by green blinds 
 on the other. Two horses, munching provender out of 
 the baskets which muzzled them, were fastened near the 
 vehicle : a delectable sound of music proceeded from the 
 .interior; and I immediately conjectured that this was 
 some itinerant show, halting at the confluence of the 
 roads to intercept such idle travellers as myself. A 
 shower had long been climbing up the western sky, and 
 now hung so blackly over my onward path that it was a 
 point of wisdom to seek shelter here.
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 127 
 
 " Halloo ! Who stands guard here ? Is the door- 
 keeper asleep ? " cried I, approaching a ladder of two 
 or three steps which was let down from the wagon. 
 
 The music ceased at my summons, and there appeared 
 at the door, not the sort of figure that I had mentally 
 assigned to the wandering showman, but a most respec- 
 table old personage, whom I was sorry to have addressed 
 in so free a style. He wore a snuff-colored coat and 
 small-clothes, with white-top boots, and exhibited the 
 mild dignity of aspect and manner which may often be 
 noticed in aged schoolmasters, and sometimes in deacons, 
 selectmen, or other potentates of that kind. A small 
 piece of silver was my passport within his premises, 
 where I found only one other person, hereafter to be 
 described. 
 
 "This is a dull day for business," said the old gentle- 
 man, as he ushered me in ; " but I merely tarry here to 
 refresh the cattle, being bound for the camp-meeting at 
 Stamford." 
 
 Perhaps the movable scene of this narrative is still 
 peregrinating New England, and may enable the reader 
 to test the accuracy of my description. The spectacle 
 for I will not use the unworthy term of puppet-show 
 consisted of a multitude of little people assembled on 
 a miniature stage. Among them were artisans of every 
 kind, in the attitudes of their toil, and a group of fair 
 ladies and gay gentlemen standing ready for the dance ; 
 a company of foot-soldiers formed a line across the stage, 
 looking stern, grim, and terrible enough, to make it a 
 pleasant consideration that they were but three inches 
 high ; and conspicuous above the whole was seen a 
 Merry-Andrew, in the pointed cap and motley coat of 
 his profession. All the inhabitants of this mimic world 
 were motionless, like the figures in a picture, or like
 
 128 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 that people who one moment were alive in the midst of 
 their business and delights, and the next were trans- 
 formed to statues, preserving an eternal semblance of 
 labor that was ended, and pleasure that could be felt no 
 more. Anon, however, the old gentleman turned the 
 handle of a barrel-organ, the first note of which produced 
 a most enlivening effect upon the figures, and awoke 
 them all to their proper occupations and amusements. 
 By the self-same impulse the tailor plied his needle, the 
 blacksmith's hammer descended upon the anvil, and the 
 dancers whirled away on feathery tiptoes ; the company 
 of soldiers broke into platoons, retreated from the stage, 
 and were succeeded by a troop of horse, who came pran- 
 cing onward with such a sound of trumpets and trampling 
 of hoofs, as might have startled Don Quixote himself; 
 while an old toper, of inveterate ill habits, uplifted his 
 black bottle and took off a hearty swig. Meantime the 
 Merry-Andrew began to caper and turn somersets, shak- 
 ing his sides, nodding his head, and winking his eyes in 
 as life-like a manner as if he were ridiculing the nonsense 
 of all human affairs, and making fun of the whole multi- 
 tude beneath him. At length the old magician (for I 
 compared the showman to Prospero, entertaining his 
 guests with a mask of shadows) paused that I might 
 give utterance to my wonder. 
 
 " What an admirable piece of work is this ! " ex- 
 claimed I, lifting up my hands in astonishment. 
 
 Indeed, I liked the spectacle, and was tickled with 
 the old man's gravity as he presided at it, for I had 
 none of that foolish wisdom which reproves every occu- 
 pation that is not useful in this world of vanities. If 
 there be a faculty which I possess more perfectly than 
 most men, it is that of throwing myself mentally into 
 situations foreign to my own, and detecting, with a
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 129 
 
 cheerful eye, the desirable circumstances of each. I 
 could have envied the life of this gray-headed showman, 
 spent as it had been in a course of safe and pleasurable 
 adventure, in driving his huge vehicle sometimes through 
 the sands of Cape Cod, and sometimes over the rough 
 forest roads of the north and east, and halting now on 
 the green before a village meeting-house, and now in a 
 paved square of the metropolis. How often must his 
 heart have been gladdened by the delight of children, 
 as they viewed these animated figures ! or his pride 
 indulged, by haranguing learnedly to grown men on 
 the mechanical powers which produced such wonderful 
 eflects ! or his gallantry brought into play (for this is 
 an attribute which such grave men do not lack) by the 
 visits of pretty maidens! And then with how fresh a 
 feeling must he return, at- intervals, to his own peculiar 
 home ! 
 
 " I would I were assured of as happy a life as his," 
 thought I. 
 
 Though the showman's wagon might have accommo- 
 dated fifteen or twenty spectators, it now contained only 
 himself and me, and a third person at whom I threw a 
 glance on entering. He was a neat and trim young man 
 of two or three and twenty ; his drab hat, and green 
 frock-coat with velvet collar, were smart, though no 
 longer new ; while a pair of green spectacles, that 
 seemed needless to his brisk little eyes, gave him some- 
 thing of a scholar-like and literary air. After allowing 
 me a sufficient time to inspect the puppets, he advanced 
 with a bow, and drew my attention to some books in a 
 corner of the wagon. These he forthwith began to ex- 
 tol, with an amazing volubility of well-sounding words, 
 and an ingenuity of praise that won him my heart, as 
 being myself one of the most merciful of critics. Indeed, 
 6* I
 
 130 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 his stock required some considerable powers of commen- 
 dation in the salesman ; there were several ancient friends 
 of mine, the novels of those happy days when my affec- 
 tions wavered between the Scottish Chiefs and Thomas 
 Thumb ; besides a few of later date, whose merits had 
 not been acknowledged by the public. I was glad to 
 find that dear little venerable volume, the New England 
 Primer, looking as antique as ever, though in its thou- 
 sandth new edition ; a bundle of superannuated gilt pic- 
 ture-books made such a child of me, that, partly for the 
 glittering covers, and partly for the fairy-tales within, I 
 bought the whole ; and an assortment of ballads and 
 popular theatrical songs drew largely on my purse. To 
 balance these expenditures, I meddled neither with ser- 
 mons, nor science, nor morality, though volumes of each 
 were there ; nor with a Life of Franklin in the coarsest 
 of paper, but so showily bound that it was emblemati- 
 cal of the Doctor himself, in the court dress which he 
 refused to wear at Paris ; nor with Webster's Spelling- 
 Book, nor some of Byron's minor poems, nor half a 
 dozen little Testaments at twenty-five cents each. 
 
 Thus far the collection might have been swept from 
 some great bookstore, or picked up at an evening auc- 
 tion-room; but there was one small blue-covered pam- 
 phlet, which the pedler handed me with so peculiar an 
 air, that I purchased it immediately at his own price ; 
 and then, for the first time, the thought struck me, that 
 I had spoken face to face with the veritable author of 
 a printed book. The literary man now evinced a great 
 kindness for me, and I ventured to inquire which way 
 he was travelling. 
 
 " O," said he, "I keep company with this old gentle- 
 man here, and we are moving now towards the camp- 
 meeting at Stamford ! "
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 131 
 
 He then explained to me, that for the present season 
 he had rented, a corner of the wagon as a bookstore, 
 which, as he wittily observed, was a true Circulating 
 Library, since there were few parts of the country where 
 it had not gone its rounds. I approved of the plan ex 
 cecdingly, and began to sum up within my mind ths 
 many uncommon felicities in the life of a book-pedler, 
 especially when his character resembled that of the in- 
 dividual before me. At a high rate was to be reckoned 
 the daily and hourly enjoyment of such interviews as the 
 present, in which he seized upon the admiration of a 
 passing stranger, and made him aware that a man of 
 literary taste, and even of literary achievement, was 
 travelling the country in a showman's wagon. A more ] 
 valuable, yet not infrequent triumph, might be wou 
 in his conversation with some elderly clergyman, long 
 vegetating in a rocky, woody, watery back settlement of 
 New England, who, as he recruited his library from the 
 pedler's stock of sermons, would exhort him to seek a 
 college education and become the first scholar in his 
 class. Sweeter and prouder yet would be his sensations, 
 when, talking poetry while he sold spelling-books, he 
 should charm the mind, and haply touch the heart of 
 a fair country schoolmistress, herself an unhonored 
 poetess, a wearer of blue stockings which none but 
 himself took pains to look at. But the scene of his 
 completest glory, would be when the wagon had halted 
 for the night, and his stock of books was transferred 
 in some crowded bar-room. Then would he recommend 
 to the multifarious company, whether traveller from 
 the city, or teamster from the hills, or neighboring 
 squire, or the landlord himself, or his loutish hostler, 
 works suited to each particular taste and capacity; 
 proving, all the while, by acute criticism and profound
 
 132 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 remark, that the lore in his books was even exceeded by 
 that in his brain. 
 
 Thus happily would he traverse the land ; sometimes a 
 herald before the march of Mind; sometimes walking 
 arm in arm with awful Literature ; and reaping every- 
 where a harvest of real and sensible popularity, which the 
 secluded bookworms, by whose toil he lived, could never 
 hope for. 
 
 " If ever I meddle with literature," thought I, fixing 
 myself ha adamantine resolution, " it shall be as a travel- 
 ling bookseller." 
 
 Though it was still mid-afternoon, the air had now 
 grown dark about us, and a few drops of rain came down 
 upon the roof of our vehicle, pattering like the feet of 
 birds that had flown thither to rest. A sound of pleasant 
 voices made us listen, and there soon appeared half-way 
 up the ladder the pretty person of a young damsel, whose 
 rosy face was so cheerful, that even amid the gloomy light 
 it seemed as if the sunbeams were peeping under her 
 bonnet. We next saw the dark and handsome features 
 of a young man, who, with easier gallantry than might 
 have been expected in the heart of Yankee-land, was 
 assisting her into the wagon. It became immediately 
 evident to us, when the two strangers stood within the 
 door, that they were of a profession kindred to those of 
 my companions ; and I was delighted with the more than 
 hospitable, the even paternal kindness, of the old show- 
 man's manner, as he welcomed them ; while the man of 
 literature hastened to lead the merry-eyed girl to a seat 
 on the long bench. 
 
 " You are housed but just in time, my young friends," 
 said the master of the wagon. " The sky would have 
 been down upon you within five minutes." 
 
 The young man's reply marked him as a foreigner, not
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 133 
 
 by any variation from the idiom and accent of good Eng- 
 lish, but because he spoke with more caution and accu- 
 racy, than if perfectly familiar with the language. 
 
 " We knew that a shower was hanging over us," said 
 he, "and consulted whether it were best to enter the 
 house on the top of yonder hill, but seeing your wagon 
 in the road " 
 
 " We agreed to come hither," interrupted the girl, 
 with a smile, " because we should be more at home in a 
 wandering house like this." 
 
 I, meanwhile, with many a wild and undetermined fan- 
 tasy, was narrowly inspecting these two doves that had 
 flown into our ark. The young man, tall, agile, and 
 athletic, wore a mass t)f black shining curls clustering 
 round a dark and vivacious countenance, which, if it had 
 not greater expression, was at least more active, and at- 
 tracted readier notice, than the quiet faces of our country- 
 men. At his first appearance, he had been laden with a 
 neat mahogany box, of about two feet square, but very 
 light in proportion to its size, which he had immediately 
 unstrapped from his shoulders and deposited on the floor 
 of the wagon. 
 
 The girl had nearly as fair a complexion as our own 
 beauties, and a brighter one than most of them ; the light- 
 ness of her figure, which seemed calculated to traverse 
 the whole world without weariness, suited well with the 
 glowing cheerfulness of her face ; and her gay attire, 
 combining the rainbow hues of crimson, green, and a 
 deep orange, was as proper to her lightsome aspect as if 
 she had been born in it. This gay stranger was appro- 
 priately burdened with that mirth-inspiring instrument, 
 the fiddle, which her companion took from her hands, and 
 shortly began the process of tuning. Neither of us 
 the previous company of the wagon needed to inquire
 
 134 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 their trade ; for this could be no mystery to frequenters 
 of brigade-musters, ordinations, cattle-shows, commence- 
 ments, and other festal meetings in our sober land ; and 
 there is a dear friend of mine, who will smile when this 
 page recalls to his memory a chivalrous deed performed 
 by us, in rescuing the show-box of such a couple from a 
 mob of great double-fisted countrymen. 
 
 " Come," said I to the damsel of gay attire, " shall we 
 visit all the wonders of the world together ? " 
 
 She understood the metaphor at once ; though indeed 
 it would not much have troubled me, if she had assented 
 to the literal meaning of my words. The mahogany box 
 was placed in a proper position, and I peeped in through 
 its small round magnifying window, while the girl sat by 
 my side, and gave short descriptive sketches, as one -after 
 another the pictures were unfolded to my view. We 
 visited together, at least our imaginations did, full many a 
 famous city, in the streets of which I had long yearned 
 to tread ; once, I remember, we were in the harbor of 
 Barcelona, gazing townwards ; next, she bore me through 
 the air to Sicily, and bade me look up at blazing JEtua ; 
 then we took whig to Venice, and sat in a gondola be- 
 neath the arch of the Rialto ; and anon she sat me down 
 among the thronged spectators at the coronation of Na- 
 poleon. But there was one scene, its locality she could 
 not tell, which charmed my attention longer than all those 
 gorgeous palaces and churches, because the fancy haunted 
 me, that I myself, the preceding summer, had beheld just 
 such a humble meeting-house, in just such a pine-sur- 
 rounded nook, among our own green mountains. All 
 these pictures were tolerably executed, though far infe- 
 rior to the girl's touches of description ; nor was it easy 
 to comprehend, how in so few sentences, and these, as I 
 supposed, in a language foreign to her, she contrived to
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 135 
 
 present an airy copy of each varied scene. When "we had 
 travelled through the vast extent of the mahogany box, 
 I looked into my guide's face. 
 
 " Where are you going, my pretty maid ? " inquired I, 
 in the words of an old song. 
 
 " Ah," said the gay damsel, " you might as well ask 
 where the summer wind is going. We are wanderers 
 here, and there, and everywhere. Wherever there is 
 mirth, our merry hearts are drawn to it. To-day, indeed, 
 the people have told us of a great frolic and festival in 
 these parts ; so perhaps we may be needed at what you 
 call the camp-meeting at Stamford." 
 
 Then in my happy youth, arid while her pleasant voice 
 yet sounded in my ears, I sighed ; for none but myself, 
 I thought, should have been her companion in a life 
 which seemed to realize my own wild fancies, cherished 
 all through visionary boyhood to that hour. To these 
 two strangers the world was in its golden age, not that 
 indeed it was less dark and sad than ever, but because 
 its weariness and sorrow had no community with their 
 ethereal nature. Wherever they might appear in their 
 pilgrimage of bliss, Youth would echo back their glad- 
 ness, care-stricken Maturity would rest a moment from 
 its toil, and Age, tottering among the graves, would smile 
 in withered joy for their sakes. The lonely cot, the nar- 
 row and gloomy street, the sombre shade, would catch a 
 passing gleam like that now shining on ourselves, as these 
 bright spirits wandered by. Blessed pair, whose happy 
 home was throughout all the earth ! I looked at my 
 shoulders, and thought them broad enough to sustain 
 those pictured towns and mountains ; mine, too, was an 
 elastic foot, as tireless as the wing of the bird of para- 
 dise ; mine was then an untroubled heart, that would 
 .have gone singing on its delightful way.
 
 136 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "O maiden! " said I aloud, " why did you not come 
 hither alone ? " 
 
 While the merry girl and myself were busy with the 
 show-box, the unceasing rain had driven another way- 
 farer into the wagon. He seemed pretty nearly of the 
 old showman's age, but much smaller, leaner, and more 
 withered than he, and less respectably clad in a patched 
 suit of gray ; withal, he had a thin, shrewd countenance, 
 and a pair of diminutive gray eyes, which peeped rather 
 too keenly out of their puckered sockets. This old fellow 
 had been joking with the showman, in a manner which 
 intimated previous acquaintance ; but perceiving that the 
 damsel and I had terminated our affairs, he drew forth a 
 folded document, and presented it to me. As I had an- 
 ticipated, it proved to be a circular, written in a very 
 fair and legible hand, and signed by several distinguished 
 gentlemen whom I had never heard of, stating that the 
 bearer had encountered every variety of misfortune, and 
 recommending him to the notice of all charitable people. 
 Previous disbursements had left me no more than a five- 
 dollar bill, out of which, however, I offered to make the 
 beggar a donation, provided he would give me change for 
 it. The object of my beneficence looked keenly in my 
 face, and discerned that I had none of that abominable 
 spirit, characteristic though it be, of a full-blooded Yan- 
 kee, which takes pleasure in detecting every little harm- 
 less piece of knavery. 
 
 " Why, perhaps," said the ragged old mendicant, " if 
 the bank is in good standing, I can't say but I may have 
 enough about me to change your bill." 
 
 " It is a bill of the Suffolk Bank," said I, " and better 
 than the specie." 
 
 As the beggar had nothing to object, he now produced 
 a small buff-leather bag, tied up carefully with a shoe-
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 137 
 
 string. When this was opened, there appeared a very 
 comfortable treasure of silver coins of all sorts and sizes ; 
 and I even fancied that I saw, gleaming among them, the 
 golden plumage of that rare bird in our currency, th& 
 American Eagle. In this precious heap was my bank. 
 note deposited, the rate of exchange being considerably 
 against me. His wants being thus relieved, the destitute 
 man pulled out of his pocket an old pack of greasy cards, 
 which had probably contributed to fill the buff-leather 
 bag, in more ways than one. 
 
 " Come," said he, " I spy a rare fortune in your 
 face, and for twenty -five cents more, I '11 tell you what 
 it is." 
 
 I never refuse to take a giimpse into futurity ; so, 
 after shuffling the cards, and when the fair damsel had cut 
 them, I dealt a portion to the prophetic beggar. Like 
 others of his profession, before predicting the shadowy 
 events that were moving on to meet me, he gave proof 
 of his preternatural science, by describing scenes through 
 which I had already passed. Here let me have credit for 
 a sober fact. When the old man had read a page in his 
 book of fate, he bent his keen gray eyes on mine, and 
 proceeded to relate, in all its minute particulars, what 
 was then the most singular event of my life. It was one 
 which I had no purpose to disclose, till the general un- 
 folding of all secrets ; nor would it be a much stranger 
 instance of inscrutable knowledge, or fortunate conjecture, 
 it' the beggar were to meet me in the street to-day, and re- 
 peat, word for word, the page which I have here written. 
 The fortune-teller, after predicting a destiny which time 
 seems loath to make good, put up his cards, secreted his 
 treasure-bag, and began to converse with the other occu- 
 pants of the wagon. 
 
 " Well, old friend," said the showman, " you have not
 
 138 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 yet told us which way your face is turned this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " I am taking a trip northward, this warm weather/' 
 replied the conjurer, "across the Connecticut first, and 
 then up through Vermont, and may be into Canada before 
 the fall. But I must stop and see the breaking up of 
 the camp-meeting at Stamford." 
 
 I began to think that all Hie vagrants in New England 
 were converging to the camp-meeting, and had made this 
 wagon their rendezvous by the way. The showman now 
 proposed that, when the shower was over, they should 
 pursue the road to Stamford together, it being sometimes 
 the policy of these people to form a sort of league and 
 confederacy. 
 
 " And the young lady too," observed the gallant bib- 
 liopolist, bowing to her profoundly, "and this foreign 
 gentleman, as I understand, are on a jaunt of pleasure 
 to the same spot. It would add incalculably to my own 
 enjoyment, and 1 presume to that of my colleague and 
 his friend, if they could be prevailed upon to join our 
 party." 
 
 This arrangement met with approbation on all hands, 
 nor were any of those concerned more sensible of its ad- 
 vantages than myself, who had no title to be included in 
 it. Having already satisfied myself as to the several 
 modes in which the four others attained felicity, I next 
 set my mind at work to discover what enjoyments were 
 peculiar to the old " Straggler," as the people of the 
 country would have termed the wandering mendicant and 
 prophet. As he pretended to familiarity with the Devil, 
 so I fancied that he was fitted to pursue and take delight- 
 in his way of life, by possessing some of the mental and 
 moral characteristics, the lighter and more comic ones, 
 of the Devil in popular stories. Among them might be
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 139 
 
 reckoned a love of deception for its own sake, a shrewd 
 eye and keen relish for human weakness and ridiculous 
 infirmity, and the talent of petty fraud. Thus to this old 
 man there would be pleasure even in the consciousness, 
 so insupportable to some minds, that 'his whole life was 
 a cheat upon the world, and that, so far as he was con- 
 cerned with the public, his little cunning had the upper 
 hand of its united wisdom. Every. day would furnish 
 him with a succession of minute and pungent triumphs : 
 as when, for instance, his importunity wrung a pittance 
 out of the heart of a miser, or when my silly good-na- 
 ture transferred a part of my slender purse to his plump 
 leather bag ; or when some ostentatious gentleman should 
 throw a coin to the ragged beggar who was richer than 
 himself; or when, though he would not always be so 
 decidedly diabolical, his pretended wants should make 
 him a sharer in the scanty living of real indigence. And 
 then what an inexhaustible field of enjoyment, both as 
 enabling him to discern so much folly and achieve such 
 quantities of minor mischief, was opened to his sneering: 
 spirit by his pretensions to prophetic knowledge. 
 
 All this was a sort of happiness which I could conceive 
 of, though I had little sympathy with it. Perhaps, had 
 I been then inclined to admit it, I might have found that 
 the roving life was more proper to him than to either of 
 his companions ; for Satan, to whom I had compared the 
 poor man, has delighted, ever since the time of Job, in 
 ' wandering up and down upon the earth"; and indeed 
 a crafty disposition, which operates not in deep-laid 
 plans, but in disconnected tricks, could not have an ad- 
 equate scope, unless naturally impelled to a continual 
 change of scene and society. My reflections were here 
 interrupted. 
 
 "Another visitor ! " exclaimed the old showman.
 
 140 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 The door of the wagon had been closed against the 
 tempest, which was roaring and blustering with prodigious 
 fury and commotion, and beating violently against our 
 shelter, as if it claimed all those homeless people for its 
 lawful prey, while we, caring little for the displeasure of 
 the elements, sat comfortably talking. There was now 
 an attempt to open the door, succeeded by a voice, ut- 
 tering some strange, unintelligible gibberish, which my 
 companions mistook for Greek, and I suspected to be 
 thieves' Latin. However, the showman stepped forward, 
 and gave admittance to a figure which made me imagine, 
 either that our wagon had rolled back two hundred years 
 into past ages, or that the forest and its old inhabitants 
 had sprung up around us by enchantment. 
 
 It was a red Indian, armed with his bow and arrow. 
 His dress was a sort of cap, adorned with a single feather 
 of some wild bird, and a frock of blue cotton, girded 
 tight about him; on his breast, like orders of knight- 
 hood, hung a crescent and a circle, and other ornaments 
 of silver; while a small crucifix betokened that our 
 Father the Pope had interposed between the Indian and 
 the Great Spirit, whom he had worshipped in his sim- 
 plicity. This son of the wilderness, and pilgrim of 
 the storm, took his place silently in the midst of us. 
 When the first surprise was over, I rightly conjectured 
 him to be one of the Penobscot tribe, parties of which I 
 had often seen, in their summer excursions down our 
 Eastern rivers. There they paddle their birch canoes 
 among the coasting schooners, and build their wigwam 
 beside some roaring milldam, and drive a little trade in 
 basket-work where their fathers hunted deer. Our new 
 visitor was probably wandering through the country 
 towards Boston, subsisting on the careless charity of the 
 people, while he turned his archery to profitable account
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 141 
 
 by shooting at cents, which were to be the prize of his 
 successful aim. 
 
 The Indian had not long been seated, ere our merry 
 damsel sought to draw him into conversation. She, in- 
 deed, seemed all made up of sunshine in the month of 
 May ; for there was nothing so dark and dismal that her 
 pleasant mind could not cast a glow over it; and the 
 wild man, like a fir-tree in his native forest, soon began, 
 to brighten into a sort of sombre cheerfulness. At length, 
 she inquired whether his jonrney had any particular end 
 or purpose. 
 
 " I go shoot at the camp-meeting at Stamford," replied 
 the Indian. 
 
 "And here are five more," said the girl, "all aiming 
 at the camp-meeting too. You shall be one of us, for we 
 travel with light hearts; and as for me, I sing merry 
 songs, and tell merry tales, and am full of merry thoughts, 
 and I dance merrily along the road, so that there is never 
 any sadness among them that keep me company. But, 
 0, you would find it very dull indeed, to go all the way 
 to Stamford alone ! " 
 
 My ideas of the aboriginal character led me to fear that 
 the Indian would prefer his own solitary musings to the 
 gay society thus offered him ; on the contrary, the girl's 
 proposal met with immediate acceptance, and seemed to 
 animate him with a misty expectation of enjoyment. I 
 HOW gave myself up to a course of thought which, whether 
 it flowed naturally from this combination of events, or 
 \vas drawn forth by a wayward fancy, caused my mind to 
 thrill as if I were listening to deep music. I saw man- 
 kind, in this weary old age of the world, either enduring 
 a sluggish existence amid the smoke and dust of cities, 
 or, if they breathed a purer air, still lying down at night 
 \rith no hope but to wear out to-morrow, and all the
 
 142 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 to-morrows which make up life, among the same dull 
 scenes and in the same wretched toil that had darkened 
 the sunshine of to-day. But there were some, full of the 
 primeval instinct, who preserved the freshness of youth 
 to their latest years by the continual excitement of new 
 objects, new pursuits, and new associates; and cared 
 little, though their birthplace might have been here in 
 New England, if the grave should close over them in 
 Central Asia. Fate was summoning a parliament of 
 these free spirits; unconscious of the impulse which 
 directed them to a common centre, they had come hither 
 from far and near; and last of all appeared the repre- 
 sentative of those mighty vagrants, who had chased the 
 deer during thousands of years, and were chasing it now 
 in the Spirit Laud. Wandering down through the waste 
 of ages, the woods had vanished around his path; his 
 arm had lost somewhat of its strength, his foot of its 
 fleetness, his mien of its wild regality, his heart and mind 
 of their savage virtue and uncultured force; but here, 
 untamable to the routine of artificial life, roving now 
 along the dusty road, as of old over the forest leaves, 
 here was the Indian still. 
 
 "Well," said the old showman, in the midst of my 
 meditations, " here is an honest company of us, one, 
 two, three, four, five, six, all going to the camp-meek 
 ing at Stamford. Now, hoping no offence, I should like 
 to know where this young gentleman may be going ? " 
 
 I started. How came I among these wanderers ? 
 The free mind, that preferred its own folly to another's 
 wisdom ; the open spirit, that found companions every- 
 where ; above all, the restless impulse, that had so often 
 made me wretched in the midst of enjoyments: these 
 *were my claims to be of their society. 
 
 " My friends ! " cried I, stepping into the centre of
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 143 
 
 the wagon, " I am going with you to the camp-meeting 
 at Stamford." 
 
 " But in what capacity ? " asked the old showman, 
 after a moment's silence. " All of us here can get our 
 bread in some creditable way. Every honest man should 
 have his livelihood. You, sir, as I take it, are a mere 
 strolling gentleman." 
 
 I proceeded to inform the company, that, when Nature 
 gave me a propensity to their way of life,, she had not 
 left me altogether destitute of qualifications for it; 
 though I could not deny that my talent was less re- 
 spectable, and might be less profitable, than the meanest 
 of theirs. My design, in short, was to imitate the story- 
 tellers of whom Oriental travellers have told us, and be- 
 come an itinerant novelist, reciting my own extempora- 
 neous fictions to such audiences as I could collect. 
 
 " Either this," said I, " is my vocation, or I have been 
 born in vain." 
 
 The fortune-teller, with a sly wink to the company, 
 proposed to take me as an apprentice to one or other 
 of his professions, either of which, undoubtedly, would 
 have given full scope to whatever inventive talent I 
 might possess. The bibliopolist spoke a few words in 
 opposition to my plan, influenced partly, I suspect, by 
 the jealousy of authorship, and partly by an apprehension 
 that the viva voce practice would become general among 
 novelists, to the infinite detriment of the book-trade. 
 Dreading a rejection, I solicited the interest of the merry 
 damsel. 
 
 "Mirth," cried I, most aptly appropriating the words 
 of L'Allegro, " to thee I sue ! Mirth, admit me of thy 
 crew ! " 
 
 "Let us indulge the poor youth," said Mirth, with a 
 kindness which made me love her dearly, though I was
 
 144 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 no such coxcomb as to misinterpret her motives. "I 
 have espied much promise in him. True, a shadow some- 
 times flits across his brow, but the sunshine is sure to 
 follow in a moment. He is never guilty of a sad thought, 
 but a merry one is twin born with it. We will take him 
 with us; and you shall see that he will set us all 
 a-laughing before we reach the camp-meeting at Stam- 
 ford." 
 
 Her voice silenced the scruples of the rest, and gained 
 me admittance into the league ; according to the terms; 
 of which, without a community of goods or profits, we 
 were to lend each other all the aid, and avert all the 
 harm, that might be in our power. This aifair settled, 
 a marvellous jollity entered into the whole tribe of us, 
 manifesting itself characteristically in each individual. 
 The old showman, sitting down to his barrel-organ, 
 stirred up the souls of the pygmy people with one of 
 the quickest tunes in the music-book ; tailors, black- 
 smiths, gentlemen, and ladies, all seemed to share in the 
 spirit of the occasion ; and tbe Merry-Andrew played 
 his part more facetiously than ever, nodding and wink- 
 ing particularly at me. The young foreigner flourished 
 his fiddle-bow with a master's hand, and gave an inspir- 
 ing echo to the showman's melody. The bookish man 
 and the merry damsel started up simultaneously to dance ; 
 the former enacting the double shuffle in a style which 
 everybody must have witnessed, ere Election week was 
 blotted out of time; while the girl, setting her arms 
 akimbo with both hands at her slim waist, displayed 
 such light rapidity of foot, and harmony of varying atti- 
 tude and motion, that I could not conceive how she ever 
 was to stop ; imagining, at the moment, that Nature had 
 made her, as the old showman had made his puppets ; for 
 no earthly purpose but to dance jigs. The Indian bel-
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 145 
 
 lowed forth a succession of most hideous outcries, some- 
 what affrighting us, till we interpreted them as the war- 
 song, with which, in imitation of his ancestors, he was 
 prefacing the assault on Stamford. The conjurer, mean- 
 while, sat demurely in a corner, extracting a sly enjoy- 
 ment from the whole scene, and, like the facetious Merry- 
 Andrew, directing his queer glance particularly at me. 
 
 As for myself, with great exhilaration of fancy, I 
 began to arrange and color the incidents of a tale, where- 
 with I proposed to amuse an audience that very evening ; 
 for I saw that my associates were a little ashamed of me, 
 and that no time was to be lost in obtaining a public ac- 
 knowledgment of my abilities. 
 
 " Come, fellow-laborers," at last said the old show- 
 man, whom we had elected President; "the shower is 
 over, and we must be doing our duty by these poor souls 
 at Stamford." 
 
 " We '11 come among them in procession, with music 
 and dancing," cried the merry damsel. 
 
 Accordingly for it must be understood that our 
 pilgrimage was to be performed on foot we sallied 
 joyously out of the wagon, each of us, even the old 
 gentleman in his white-top boots, giving a great skip as 
 we came down the ladder. Above our heads there was 
 such a glory of sunshine and splendor of clouds, and 
 such brightness of verdure below, that, as I modestly 
 remarked at the time, Nature seemed to have washed 
 her face, and put on the best of her jewelry and a fresh 
 green gown, in honor of our confederation. Casting our 
 eyes northward, we beheld a horseman approaching leis- 
 urely, and splashing through the little puddles on the 
 Stamford road. Onward he came, sticking up in his 
 saddle with rigid perpendicularity, a tall, thin figure in 
 rusty black, whom the showman and the conjurer shortly 
 
 VOL. II. 7 J
 
 146 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 recognized to be, what his aspect sufficiently indicated, a 
 travelling preacher of great fame among the Methodists. 
 What puzzled US' was the fact, that his face appeared 
 turned from, instead of to, the camp-meeting at Stam- 
 ford. However, as this new votary of the wandering 
 life drew near the little green space, where the guidepost 
 and our wagon were situated, my six fellow-vagabonds 
 and myself rushed forward and surrounded him, crying 
 out with united voices, 
 
 " What news, what news from the camp-meeting at 
 Stamford ? " 
 
 The missionary looked down, in surprise, at as singu- 
 lar a knot of people as could have been selected from all 
 his heterogeneous auditors. Indeed, considering that we 
 might all be classified under the general head of Vaga- 
 bond, there was great diversity of character among the 
 grave old showman, the sly, prophetic beggar, the fid- 
 dling foreigner and his merry damsel, the smart bibliop- 
 olist, the sombre Indian, and myself, the itinerant nov- 
 elist, a slender youth of eighteen. I even fancied that 
 a smile was endeavoring to disturb the iron gravity of 
 the preacher's mouth. 
 
 " Good people," answered he, " the camp-meetiag is 
 broke up." 
 
 So saying, the Methodist minister switched his steed, 
 and rode westward. Our union being thus nullified, by 
 the removal of its object, we were sundered at once to 
 the four winds of heaven. The fortune-teller, giving a 
 nod to all, and a peculiai wink to me, departed on his 
 northern tour, chuckling within himself as he took the 
 Stamford road. The old showman and his literary co- 
 adjutor were already tackling their horses to the wagon, 
 with a design to peregrinate southwest along the sea- 
 coast. The foreigner and the merry damsel took their
 
 THE SEVEN VAGABONDS. 
 
 147 
 
 laughing leave, and pursued the eastern road, which I 
 had that day trodden ; as they passed away, the young 
 man played a lively strain, and the girl's happy spirit 
 broke into a dance ; and thus, dissolving, as it were, 
 into sunbeams and gay music, that pleasant pair de- 
 parted from my view. Finally, with a pensive shadow 
 thrown across my mind, yet emulous of the light philos- 
 ophy of my late companions, I joined myself to the 
 IVnobscot Indian, and set forth towards the distant 
 city.
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 
 
 |HE moonbeams came through two deep and 
 narrow windows, and showed a spacious cham- 
 ber, richly furnished in an antique fashion. 
 From one lattice, the shadow of the diamond panes was 
 thrown upon the floor ; the ghostly light, through the 
 other, slept upon a bed, falling between the heavy 
 silken curtains, and illuminating the face of a young 
 man. But, how quietly the slumberer lay ! how pale his 
 features ! and how like a shroud the sheet was wound 
 about his frame ! Yes ; it was a corpse, in its burial- 
 clothes. 
 
 Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move, with 
 dark emotion. Strange fantasy ! It was but the shadow 
 of the fringed curtain, waving betwixt the dead face 
 and the moonlight, as the door of the chamber opened, 
 and a girl stole softly to the bedside. Was there delu- 
 sion in the moonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye 
 betray a gleam of triumph, as she bent over the pale 
 corpse pale as itself and pressed her living lips to 
 the cold ones of the dead ? As she drew back from that ' 
 long kiss, her features writhed, as if a proud heart were 
 fighting with its anguish. Again it seemed that the 
 features of the corpse had moved responsive to her 
 awn. Still an illusion ! The silken curtain had waved,
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 149 
 
 a second time, betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, 
 as another fair young girl unclosed the door, and glided, 
 ghost-like, to the bedside. There the two maidens 
 stood, both beautiful, with the pale beauty of the dead 
 between them. But she, who had first entered, was 
 proud and stately; and the other, a soft and fragile 
 thing. 
 
 "Away!" cried the lofty one. "Thou hadst him 
 living ! The dead is mine ! " 
 
 "Thine!" returned the other, shuddering. "Well 
 hast thou spoken ! The dead is thine ! " 
 
 The proud girl started, and stared into her face, with 
 a ghastly look. But a wild and mournful expression 
 passed across the features of the gentle one ; and, weak 
 and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her head pil- 
 lowed beside that of the corpse, and her hair mingling 
 with his dark locks. A creature of hope and joy, the 
 first draught of sorrow had bewildered her. 
 
 " Edith ! " cried her rival. 
 
 Edith groaned, as with a sudden compression of the 
 heart; and removing her cheek from the dead youth's 
 pillow, she stood upright, fearfully encountering the 
 eyes of the lofty girl. 
 
 " Wilt thou betray me ? " said the latter, calmly. 
 
 "Till the dead bid me speak, I will be silent," an- 
 swered Edith. "Leave us alone together! Go, and 
 live many years, and then return, and tell me of thy 
 life. He, too, will be here! Then, if thou tellest 
 of sufferings more than death, we will both forgive 
 thee." 
 
 " And what shall be the token ? " asked the proud 
 girl, as if her heart acknowledged a meaning in these 
 wild words. 
 
 "This lock .of hair," said Edith, lifting one of the
 
 150 TWTCE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 dark, clustering curls, that lay heavily on the dead man's 
 brow. 
 
 The two maidens joined their hands over the bosom of 
 the corpse, and appointed a day and hour, far, far in time 
 to come, for their next meeting in that chamber. The 
 statelier girl gave one deep look at the motionless coun- 
 tenance, and departed, - yet turned again and trembled, 
 ere she closed the door, almost believing that her dead 
 lover frowned upon her. And Edith, too ! Was not her 
 white form fading into the moonlight ? Scorning her own 
 weakness, she went forth, and perceived that a negro 
 slave was waiting in the passage, with a wax light, which 
 he held between her face and his own, and regarded her, 
 as she thought, with an ugly expression of merriment. 
 Lifting his torch on high, the slave lighted her down the 
 staircase, and undid the portal of the mansion. The 
 young clergyman of the town had just ascended the 
 steps, and bowing to the lady, passed in without a 
 word. 
 
 Years, many years rolled on ; the world seemed new 
 again, so much older was it grown, since the night when 
 those pale girls had clasped their hands across the bosom 
 of the corpse. In the interval, a lonely woman had 
 passed from youth to extreme age, and was known by 
 all the town, as the " Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet." 
 A taint of insanity had affected her whole life, but so 
 quiet, sad, and gentle, so utterly free from violence, that 
 she was suffered to pursue her harmless fantasies, unmo- 
 lested by the world, with whose business or pleasures she 
 had naught to do. She dwelt alone, and never came into 
 the daylight, except to follow funerals. Whenever a 
 corpse was borne along the street, in sunshine, rain, or 
 snow, whether a pompous train, of the rich and proud, 
 thronged after it, or few and humble were the mourners,
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 151 
 
 behind them came the lonely woman, in a long, white 
 garment, which the people called her shroud. She took 
 no place among the kindred or the friends, but stood at 
 the door to hear the funeral prayer, and walked in the 
 rear of the procession, as one whose earthly charge it was 
 to haunt the house of mourning, and be the shadow of 
 affliction, and see that the dead were duly buried. So 
 long had this been her custom, that the inhabitants of 
 the town deemed her a part of every funeral, as much as 
 the coffin pall, or the very corpse itself, and augured ill 
 of the sinner's destiny, unless the "Old Maid in the 
 Winding-Sheet" came gliding, like a ghost, behind. 
 Once, it is said, she affrighted a bridal party, with her 
 pale presence, appearing suddenly in the illuminated hall, 
 just as the priest was uniting a false maid to a wealthy 
 man, before her lover had been dead a year. Evil was 
 the omen to that marriage ! Sometimes she stole forth 
 by moonlight, and visited the graves of venerable Integ- 
 rity, and wedded Love, and virgin Innocence, and every 
 spot where the ashes of a kind and faithful heart were 
 mouldering. Over the hillocks of those favored dead 
 would she stretch out her arms, with a gesture, as if 
 she were scattering seeds ; and many believed that 
 she brought them from the garden of Paradise ; for the 
 graves, which she had visited, were green beneatli the 
 snow, and covered with sweet flowers from April to 
 November. Her blessing was better than a holy verse 
 upon the tombstone. Thus wore away her long, sad, 
 peaceful, and fantastic life, till few were so old as she, 
 and the people of later generations wondered how the 
 dead had ever been buried, or mourners had endured 
 their grief, without the "Old Maid in the Winding- 
 Sheet." 
 
 Still, years went on, and still she followed funerals,
 
 152 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 and was not yet summoned to her own festival of death. 
 One afternoon, the great street of the town was all alive 
 with business and bustle, though the sun now gilded only 
 the upper half of the church-spire, having left the house- 
 tops and loftiest trees in shadow. The scene was cheer- 
 ful and animated, in spite of the sombre shade between 
 the high brick buildings. Here were pompous merchants, 
 in white wigs and laced velvet ; the bronzed faces of sea- 
 captains; the foreign garb and air of Spanish Creoles; 
 and the disdainful port of natives of Old England ; all 
 contrasted with the rough aspect of one or two back 
 settlers, negotiating sales of timber, from forests where 
 axe had never sounded. Sometimes a lady passed, swell- 
 ing roundly forth in an embroidered petticoat, balancing 
 her steps in high-heeled shoes, and courtesyiug, with 
 lofty grace, to the punctilious obeisances of the gentle- 
 men. The life of the town seemed to have its very centre 
 not far from an old mansion, that stood somewhat back 
 from the pavement, surrounded by neglected grass, with 
 a strange air of loneliness, rather deepened than dispelled 
 by the throng so near it. Its site would have been suit- 
 ably occupied by a magnificent Exchange, or a brick 
 block, lettered all over with various signs ; or the large 
 house itself might have made a noble tavern, with the 
 " King's Arms " swinging before it, and guests in every 
 chamber, instead of the present solitude. But, owing to 
 some dispute about the right of inheritance, the mansion 
 had been long without a tenant, decaying from year to 
 year, and throwing the stately gloom of its shadow over 
 the busiest part of the town. Such was the scene, and 
 such the time, when a figure, unlike any that have 
 been described, was observed at a distance down the 
 street. 
 
 " I espy a strange sail, yonder," remarked a Liver-
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 153 
 
 pool captain ; " that woman in the long, white gar- 
 ment ! " 
 
 The sailor seemed much struck by the object, as were 
 several others, who, at the same moment, caught a 
 glimpse of the figure that had attracted his notice. Al- 
 most immediately, the various topics of conversation gave 
 place to speculations, in an undertone, on this unwonted 
 occurrence. 
 
 " Can there be a funeral, so late this afternoon ? " in- 
 quired some. 
 
 They looked for the signs of death at every door, 
 the sexton, the hearse, the assemblage of black-clad rela- 
 tives, all that makes up the woful pomp of funerals. 
 They raised their eyes, also, to the sun-gilt spire of the 
 church, and wondered that no clang proceeded from its 
 bell, which had always tolled till now, when this figure 
 appeared in the light of day. But none had heard that a 
 corpse was to be borne to its home that afternoon, nor 
 was there any token of a funeral, except the apparition 
 of the " Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet." 
 
 " What may this portend ? " asked each man of his 
 neighbor. 
 
 All smiled as they put the question, yet with a certain 
 trouble in their eyes, as if pestilence, or some other wide 
 calamity, were prognosticated by the untimely intrusion 
 among the living, of one whose presence had always been 
 associated with death and woe. What a comet is to the 
 earth, was that sad woman to the town. Still she moved 
 on, while the hum of surprise was hushed at her approach, 
 and the proud and the humble stood aside, that her white 
 garment might not wave against them. It was a long, 
 loose robe, of spotless purity. Its wearer appeared very 
 old, pale, emaciated, and feeble, yet glided onward, with- 
 out the unsteady pace of extreme age. At oue point of
 
 154 TVTICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 her course, a littly rosy boy burst forth from a door, and 
 ran, with open arms, towards the ghostly woman, seem- 
 ing to expect a kiss from her bloodless lips. She made 
 a slight pause, fixing her eye upon him with an expres- 
 sion of no earthly sweetness, so that the child shivered 
 and stood awe-struck, rather than affrighted, while the 
 Old Maid passed on. Perhaps her garment might have 
 been polluted even by an infant's touch ; perhaps her kiss 
 would have been death to the sweet boy, within a year. 
 
 "She is but a shadow," whispered the superstitious. 
 " The child put forth his arms and could not grasp her 
 robe ! " 
 
 The wonder was increased, when the Old Maid passed 
 beneath the porch of the deserted mansion, ascended the 
 moss-covered steps, lifted the iron knocker, and gave 
 three raps. The people could only conjecture, that some 
 old remembrance, troubling her bewildered brain, had 
 impelled the poor woman hither to visit the friends of her 
 youth ; all gone from their home, long since and forever, 
 unless their ghosts still haunted it, fit company for the 
 " Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet." An elderly man ap- 
 proached the steps, and reverently uncovering his gray 
 locks, essayed to explain the matter. 
 
 "None, Madam," said he, "have dwelt in this house 
 these fifteen years agone, no, not since the death of old 
 Colonel Fenwieke, A*hose funeral you may remember to 
 have followed. His heirs being ill agreed among them- 
 selves, have let the mansion-house go to ruin." 
 
 The Old Maid looked slowly round, with a slight ges- 
 ture of one hand, and a finger of the other upon her lip, 
 appearing more shadow-like than ever, in the obscurity 
 of the porch. But again she lifted the hammer, and gave, 
 this time, a single rap. Could it be that a footstep was 
 now heard, coming down the staircase of the old mansion,
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 155 
 
 which all conceived to have been so long untenanted ? 
 Slowly, feebly, yet heavily, like the pace of an aged and 
 infirm person, the step approached, more distinct on every 
 downward stair, till it reached the portal. The bar fell 
 on the inside ; the door was opened. One upward glance, 
 towards the church-spire, whence the sunshine had just 
 Faded, was the last that the people saw of the " Old Maid 
 in the Winding-Sheet." 
 
 " Who undid the door ? " asked many. 
 
 Tliis question, owing to the depth of shadow beneath 
 the porch, no one could satisfactorily answer. Two or 
 three aged men, while protesting against an inference, 
 Tvhich might be drawn, affirmed that the person within 
 was a negro, and bore a singular resemblance to old 
 Caesar, formerly a slave in the house, but freed by death 
 some thirty years before. 
 
 " Her summons has waked up a servant of the old 
 family," said one, half seriously. 
 
 " Let us wait here," replied another. " More guests 
 will knock at the door, anon. But the gate of the grave- 
 yard should be thrown open ! " 
 
 Twilight had overspread the town, before the crowd 
 began to separate, or the comments on this incident were 
 exhausted. One after another was wending his way home- 
 ward, when a coach no common spectacle in those days 
 drove slowly into the street. It was an old-fashioned 
 equipage, hanging close to the ground, with arms on the 
 panels, a footman behind, and a grave, corpulent coach- 
 man seated high in front, the whole giving an idea of 
 solemn state and dignity. There was something awful, 
 in the heavy rumbling of the wheels. The coach rolled 
 down the street, till, coming to the gateway of the de- 
 serted mansion, it drew up, and the footman sprang to 
 the ground.
 
 156 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 " Whose grand coach is this ? " asked a very inquisi- 
 tive body. 
 
 The footman made no reply, but ascended the steps of 
 the old house, gave three rap's with the iron hammer, and 
 returned to open the coach-door. An old man possessed 
 of the heraldic lore so common in that day examined t he- 
 shield of arms on the panel. 
 
 " Azure, a lion's head erased, between three flower-de- 
 luces," said he ; then whispered the name of the family to 
 whom these bearings belonged. The last inheritor of its 
 honors was recently dead, after a long residence amid the 
 splendor of the British court, where his birth and wealth 
 had given him no mean station. " He left no child," con- 
 tinued the herald, " and these arms, being in a lozenge, 
 betoken that the coach appertains to his widow." 
 
 Further disclosures, perhaps, might have been made, 
 bad not the speaker suddenly been struck dumb, by the 
 stern eye of an ancient lady, who thrust forth her head 
 from the coach, preparing to descend. As she emerged, 
 the people saw that her dress was magnificent, and her 
 figure dignified, in spite of age and infirmity, a stately 
 ruin, but with a look, at once, of pride and wretchedness. 
 Her strong and rigid features had an awe about them, 
 unlike that of the 'white Old Maid, but as of something 
 evil. She passed up the steps, leaning on a "gold-headed 
 cane ; the door swung open, as she ascended, and the 
 light of a torch glittered on the embroidery of her dress, 
 and gleamed on the pillars of the porch. After a mo- 
 mentary pause a glance backwards and then a des- 
 perate effort she went in. The decipherer of the coat 
 of arms had ventured up the lowest step, and shrinking 
 back immediately, pale and tremulous, affirmed that the 
 torch was held by the very image of old Caesar. 
 
 "But, such a hideous grin," added he, "was never
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 157 
 
 seen on the face of mortal man, black or white ! It will 
 haunt me till my dying day." 
 
 Meantime, the coach had wheeled round, with a pro- 
 digious clatter on the pavement, and rumbled up the 
 street, disappearing in the twilight, while the ear still 
 tracked its course. Scarcely was it gone, when the peo- 
 ple began to question whether the coach and attendants, 
 the ancient lady, the spectre of old Caesar, and the Old 
 Maid herself, were not all a strangely combined delusion, 
 with some dark purport in its mystery. The whole town 
 was astir, so that, instead of dispersing, the crowd con- 
 tinually increased, and stood gazing up at the windows 
 of the mansion, now silvered by the brightening moon. 
 The elders, glad to indulge the narrative propensity of 
 age, told of the long-faded splendor of the family, the 
 entertainments they had given, and the guests, the great- 
 est of the land, and even titled and noble ones from 
 abroad, who had passed beneath that portal. These 
 graphic reminiscences seemed to call up the ghosts of 
 those to whom they referred. So strong was the impres- 
 sion, on some of the more imaginative hearers, that two 
 or three were seized with trembling fits, at one and \ the 
 same moment, protesting that they had distinctly heard 
 three other raps of the iron knocker. 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed others. " See ! The moon 
 shines beneath the porch, and shows every part of it, 
 except in the narrow shade of that pillar. There is no 
 one there ! " 
 
 " Did not the door open ? " whispered one of these 
 fanciful persons. 
 
 " Didst thou see it, too ? " said his companion, in a 
 startled tone. 
 
 But the general sentiment was opposed to the idea, 
 that a third visitant had made application at the door
 
 158 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 of the deserted house. A few, however, adhered to this 
 new marvel, and even declared that a red gleam, like 
 that of a torch, had shone through the great front 
 window, as if the negro were lighting a guest up the 
 staircase. This, too, was pronounced a mere fantasy. 
 But, at once, the whole multitude started, and each man. 
 beheld his own terror painted in the faces of all the rest. 
 
 " What an awful thing is this ! " cried they. 
 
 A shriek, too fearfully distinct for doubt, had been 
 heard within the mansion, breaking forth suddenly, 
 and succeeded by a deep stillness, as if a heart had 
 burst in giving it utterance. The people knew not 
 whether to fly from the very sight of the house, or 
 to rush trembling in, and search out the strange mys- 
 tery. Amid their confusion and affright, they were 
 somewhat reassured by the appearance of their cler- 
 gyman, a venerable patriarch, and equally a saint, 
 who had taught them and their fathers the way to 
 heaven, for more than the space of an ordinary life- 
 time. He was a reverend figure, with long, white 
 hair upon his shoulders, a white beard upon his breast, 
 and a back so bent over his staff, that he seemed to 
 be looking downward, continually, as if to choose a 
 proper grave for his weary frame. It was some time 
 before the good old man, being deaf, and of impaired 
 intellect, could be made to comprehend such portions 
 of the affair as were comprehensible at all. But, when 
 possessed of the facts, his energies assumed unexpected 
 vigor. 
 
 " Verily," said the old gentleman, " it will be fitting 
 that I enter the mansion-house of the worthy Colonel 
 Fenwicke, lest any harm should have befallen that 
 true Christian woman, whom ye call the 'Old Maid in 
 the Winding-Sheet.' "
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 15$ 
 
 Behold, then, the venerable clergyman ascending the 
 steps of the mansion, with a torch -bearer behind him. 
 It was the elderly man, who had spoken to the Old Maid, 
 and the same who had afterwards explained the shield 
 of arms, and recognized the features of the negro. Like 
 their predecessors, they gave three raps, with the iron, 
 hammer. 
 
 " Old Caesar cometh not," observed the priest. " Well, 
 I wot, he no longer doth service in this mansion." 
 
 "Assuredly, then, it was something worse, in old 
 Caesar's likeness ! " said the other adventurer. 
 
 " Be it as God wills," answered the clergyman. " See !' 
 my strength, though it be much decayed, hath sufficed 
 to open this heavy door. Let us enter, and pass up the 
 staircase." 
 
 Here occurred a singular exemplification of the dreamy 
 state of a very old man's mind. As they ascended the 
 wide flight of stairs, the aged clergyman appeared to 
 move with caution, occasionally standing aside, and of- 
 tener bending his head, as it were in salutation, thus 
 practising all the gestures of one who makes his way 
 through a throng. Reaching the head of the staircase, 
 he looked around, with sad and solemn benignity, laid 
 aside his staff, bared his hoary locks, and was evidently 
 on the point of commencing a prayer. 
 
 " Reverend Sir," said his attendant, who conceived 
 this a very suitable prelude to their further search, 
 " would it not be well, that the people join with us in 
 prayer ? " 
 
 " Well-a-day ! " cried the old clergyman, staring 
 strangely around him. " Art thou here with me, and 
 none other ? Verily, past times were present to me, 
 and I deemed that I was to make a funeral prayer, as. 
 many a time heretofore, from the head of this staircase.
 
 160 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Of a truth, I saw the shades of many that are gone. 
 Yea, I have prayed at their burials, one after another, 
 and the 'Old Maid in the Winding-Sheet' hath seen 
 them to their graves ! " 
 
 Being now more thoroughly awake to their present 
 purpose, he took his staff, and struck forcibly on the 
 floor, till there came an echo from each deserted cham- 
 ber, but no menial, to answer their summons. They 
 therefore walked along the passage, and again paused, 
 opposite to the great front window, through which was 
 seen the crowd, in the shadow and partial moonlight of 
 the street beneath. On their right hand was the open 
 door of a chamber, and a closed one on their left. The 
 clergyman pointed his cane to the carved oak panel of the 
 latter. 
 
 " Within that chamber," observed he, " a whole life- 
 time since, did I sit by the death-bed of a goodly young 
 man, who, being now at the last gasp " 
 
 Apparently, there was some powerful excitement in 
 the ideas which had now flashed across his mind. He 
 snatched the torch from his companion's hand,- and 
 threw open the door with such sudden violence, that the 
 flame was extinguished, leaving them no other light 
 than the moonbeams, which fell through two windows 
 into the spacious chamber. It was sufficient to dis- 
 cover all that could be known. In a high-backed oaken 
 arm-chair, upright, with her hands clasped across her 
 breast, and her head thrown back, sat the "Old Maid 
 in the Winding-Sheet." The stately dame had fallen on 
 her knees, with her forehead on the holy knees of the 
 Old Maid, one hand upon the floor, and the other pressed 
 convulsively against her heart. It clutched a lock of 
 hair, once sable, now discolored with a greenish mould. 
 As the priest and layman advanced into the chamber, the
 
 THE WHITE OLD MAID. 161 
 
 Old Maid's features assumed such a resemblance of 
 shifting expression, that they trusted to hear the whole 
 mystery explained, by a single word. But it was only 
 the shadow of a tattered curtain, waving betwixt the dead 
 face and the moonlight. 
 
 " Both dead ! " said the venerable man. "Then who 
 shall divulge the secret ? Methinks it glimmers to and 
 fro in my mind, like the light and fehadow across the Old 
 Maid's face. And now 't is gone ! "
 
 rfi^r ^/^ v . ^vcv^ >J> 
 
 ^x_ 
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 
 
 j|ND so, Peter, you won't even consider of the 
 business ? " said Mr. John Brown, buttoning 
 his surtout over the snug rotundity of his per- 
 son, and drawing on his gloves. " You positively refuse 
 to let me have this crazy old house, and the land under 
 and adjoining, at the price named ? " 
 
 "Neither at that, nor treble the sum," responded 
 the gaunt, grizzled, and threadbare Peter Goldthwaite. 
 "The fact is, Mr. Brown, you must find another site 
 for your brick block, and be content to leave my estate 
 with the present owner. Next summer, I intend to 
 put a splendid new mansion over the cellar of the old 
 house." 
 
 "Pho, Peter!" cried Mr. Brown, as he opened the 
 kitchen-door ; " content yourself with building castles in 
 the air, where house-lots are cheaper than on earth, to 
 say nothing of the cost of bricks and mortar. Such 
 foundations are solid enough for your edifices ; while this 
 underneath us is just the thing for mine ; and so we may 
 both be suited. What say you, again ? " 
 
 "Precisely what I said before, Mr. Brown," answered 
 Peter Goldthwaite. " And, as for castles in the air, 
 mine may not be as magnificent as that sort of architec- 
 ture, but perhaps as substantial, Mr. Brown, as the very
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 163 
 
 respectable brick block with dry-goods stores, tailors' 
 shops, and banking-rooms on the lower floor, and law- 
 yers' offices in the second story, which you are so anxious 
 to substitute." 
 
 " And the cost, Peter, eh ? " said Mr. Brown, as he 
 withdrew, in something of a pet. " That, I suppose, will 
 be provided for, offhand, by drawing a check on Bubble 
 Bank ! " 
 
 John Brown and Peter Goldthwaite had been jointly 
 known to the commercial world between twenty and 
 thirty years before, under the firm of Goldthwaite & 
 Brown ; which copartnership, however, was speedily dis- 
 solved, by the natural incongruity of its constituent parts. 
 Since that event, John Brown, Avith exactly the qualities 
 of a thousand other John Browns, and by just such plod- 
 ding methods as they used, had prospered wonderfully, 
 and become one of the wealthiest John Browns on earth. 
 Peter Goldthwaite, on the contrary, after innumerable 
 schemes, which ought to have collected all the coin and 
 paper currency of the country into his coffers, was as needy 
 a gentleman as ever wore a patch upon his elbow. The 
 contrast between him and his former partner may be briefly 
 marked, for Brown never reckoned upon luck, yet always 
 had it ; while Peter made luck the main condition of his 
 projects, and always missed it. While the means held out 
 his speculations had been magnificent, but were chiefly 
 confined, of late years, to such small business as adven- 
 tures in the lottery. Once, he had gone on a gold-gather- 
 ing expedition, somewhere to the South, and ingeniously 
 contrived to empty his pockets more thoroughly than 
 ever; while others, doubtless, were filling theirs with 
 native bullion by the handful. More recently he had 
 expended a legacy of a thousand or two of dollars iu 
 purchasing Mexican scrip, and thereby became the pro-
 
 164 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 prietor of a province; which, however, so far as Peter 
 could find out, was situated where he might have had an 
 empire for the same money, in the clouds. From a 
 search after this valuable real estate, Peter returned so 
 gaunt and threadbare, that, on reaching New England, 
 the scarecrows in the cornfields beckoned to him, as he 
 passed by. " They did but nutter in the wind," quoth 
 Peter Goldthwaite. No, Peter, they beckoned, for the 
 scarecrows knew their brother ! 
 
 At the period of our story, his whole visible income 
 would not have paid the tax of the old mansion in which 
 we find him. It was one of those rusty, moss-grown,, 
 many-peaked wooden houses, which are scattered about 
 the streets of our elder towns, with a beetle-browed 
 second story projecting over the foundation, as if it 
 frowned at the novelty around it. This old paternal ed- 
 ifice, needy as he was, and though, being centrally situated 
 on the principal street of the town, it would have brought 
 him a handsome sum, the sagacious Peter had his own 
 reasons for never parting with, either by auction or pri- 
 vate sale. There seemed, indeed, to be a fatality that 
 connected him with his birthplace ; for, often as he had 
 stood OH the verge of ruin, and standing there even uow > 
 he had not yet taken the step beyona it, which would have 
 compelled him to surrender the house to his creditors. 
 So here he dwelt with bad luck till good should come. 
 
 Here, then, in his kitchen, the only room where a 
 spark of fire took off the chfll of a November evening, 
 poor Peter Goldthwaite had just been visited by his rich 
 old partner. At the close of their interview, Peter, with 
 rather a mortified look, glanced downwards at his dress, 
 parts of which appeared as ancient as the days of Gold- 
 thwaite & Brown. His upper garment was a mixed sur- 
 tout, wofully faded, and patched with newer stuff on
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 185 
 
 <each elbow ; beneath this, he wore a threadbare black 
 coat, some of the silk buttons of which had been replaced 
 with others of a different pattern ; and lastly, though he 
 lacked not a pair of gray pantaloons, they were very 
 shabby ones, and had been partially turned brown, by 
 i I'ivquent toasting of Peter's shins before a scanty fire. 
 Peter's person was in keeping with his goodly apparel. 
 Gray -headed, hollow-eyed, pale-cheeked, and lean-bodied, 
 lie was the perfect picture of a man who had fed on windy 
 schemes and empty hopes till he could neither live on 
 such uu wholesome trash nor stomach more substantial 
 food. But, withal, this Peter Goldthwaite, crackbrained 
 simpleton as, perhaps, he was, might have cut a very 
 brilliant figure in the world, had he employed his imagi- 
 nation in the airy business of poetry, instead of making 
 it a demon of mischief in mercantile pursuits. After all, 
 he was no bad fellow, but as harmless as a child and as 
 honest and honorable, and as much of the gentleman 
 which nature meant him for, as an irregular life and de- 
 pressed circumstances will permit any man to be. v 
 
 As Peter stood on the uneven bricks of his hearth, 
 looking round at the disconsolate old kitchen, his eyes 
 began to kindle with the illumination of an enthusiasm 
 that never long deserted him. He raised his hand, 
 clinched it, and smote it energetically against the smoky 
 panel over the fireplace. 
 
 " The time is come ! " said he. " With such a treas- 
 ure at command, it were folly to be a poor man any 
 longer. To-morrow morning I will begin with the gar- 
 ivl, nor desist till I have torn the house down ! " 
 
 Deep in the chimney-corner, like a witch in a dark 
 cavern, sat a little old woman, mending one of the two 
 pairs of stockings wherewith Peter Goldthwaite kept his 
 toes from being frost-bitten. As the feet were ragged
 
 166 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 past all darning, she had cut pieces out of a cast-off flan- 
 nel petticoat, to make new soles. Tabitha Porter was 
 an old maid, upwards of sixty years of age, fifty-five of 
 which she had sat in that same chimney-corner, such 
 being the length of time since Peter's grandfather had 
 taken her from the almshouse. She had no friend but 
 Peter, nor Peter any friend but Tabitha; so long as 
 Peter might have a shelter for his own head, Tabitha 
 would know where to shelter hers ; or, being homeless 
 elsewhere, she would take her master by the hand, and 
 bring him to her native home, the almshouse. Should it 
 ever be necessary, she loved him well enough to feed him 
 with her last morsel, and clothe him with her under- 
 petticoat. But Tabitha was a queer old woman, and, 
 though never infected with Peter's flightiness, had be- 
 come so accustomed to his freaks and follies, that she- 
 viewed them all as matters of course. Hearing him. 
 threaten to tear the house down, she looked quietly up 
 from her work. 
 
 " Best leave the kitchen till the last, Mr. Peter," said 
 she. 
 
 "The sooner we have it all down the better," said 
 Peter Goldthwaite. " I am tired to death of living in 
 this cold, dark, windy, smoky, creaking, groaning, 
 dismal old house. I shall feel like a younger man, 
 when we get into my splendid brick mansion, as, 
 please Heaven, we shall, by this time next autumn. 
 You shall have a room on the sunny side, old Tabby, 
 finished and furnished as best may suit your own no- 
 tions." 
 
 "I should like it pretty much such a room as this 
 kitchen," answered Tabitha. " It will never be like 
 home to me, till the chimney-corner gets as black with 
 smoke as this ; and that won't be these hundred years.
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 167 
 
 How much do you mean to lay out on the house, Mr. 
 Peter ? " 
 
 " What is that to the purpose ? " exclaimed Peter, 
 loftily. " Did not my great-grand-uncle, Peter Gold- 
 thwaite, who died seventy years ago, and whose name- 
 sake I am, leave treasure enough to build twenty 
 such ? " 
 
 " I can't say but he did, Mr. Peter," said Tabitha, 
 threading her needle. 
 
 Tabitha well understood that Peter had reference 
 to an immense hoard of the precious metals, which 
 was said to exist somewhere in the cellar or walls, or 
 under the floors, or in some concealed closet, or other 
 out-of-the-way nook of the house. This wealth, accord- 
 ing to tradition, had been accumulated by a former 
 Peter Goldthwaite, whose character seems to have borne 
 a remarkable similitude to that of the Peter of our story. 
 Like him, he was a wild projector, seeking to heap up 
 gold by the bushel and the cartload, instead of scraping- 
 it together, coin by coin. Like Peter the second, too, 
 his projects had almost invariably failed, and, but for the 
 magnificent success of the final one, would have left him 
 with hardly a coat and pair of breeches to his gaunt and 
 grizzled person. Reports were various as to the nature 
 of his fortunate speculation ; one intimating that the 
 ancient Peter had made the gold by alchemy; another, 
 that he had conjured it out of people's pockets by the 
 black art ; and a third, still more unaccountable, that the 
 Devil had given him free access to the old provincial 
 treasury. It was affirmed, however, that some secret 
 impediment had debarred him from the enjoyment of his- 
 riches, and that he had a motive for concealing them 
 from his heir, or, at any rate, had died without disclos- 
 ing the place of deposit. The present Peter's father had
 
 168 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 faith enough in the story to cause the cellar to be dug- 
 over. Peter himself chose to consider the legend as an 
 indisputable truth, and, amid, his many troubles, had 
 this one consolation, that, should all other resources fail, 
 he might build up his fortunes by tearing his house 
 down. Yet, unless he felt a lurking distrust of the golden 
 tale, it is difficult to account for his permitting the paternal 
 roof to stand so long, since he had never yet seen the 
 moment when his predecessor's treasure would not have 
 found plenty of room iu. his own strong-box. But, now 
 was the crisis. Should he delay the search a little longer, 
 the house would pass from the lineal heir, and with it 
 the vast heap of gold, to remain in its burial-place, till 
 the ruin of the aged walls should discover it to strangers 
 of a future generation. 
 
 " Yes ! " cried Peter Goldthwaite, again ; " to-morrow 
 I will set about it." 
 
 The deeper he looked at the matter, the more certain 
 of success grew Peter. His spirits were naturally so 
 elastic, that even now, in the blasted autumn of his age, 
 he could often compete with the spring-time gayety of 
 other people. Enlivened by his brightening prospects, 
 he began to caper about the kitchen like a hobgoblin, 
 with the queerest antics of his lean limbs, and gesticula- 
 tions of his starved features. Nay, in the exuberance of 
 his feelings, he seized both of Tabitha's hands, and danced 
 the old lady across the floor, till the oddity of her rheu- 
 matic motions set him into a roar of laughter, which was 
 echoed back from the rooms and chambers, as if Peter 
 Goldthwaite were laughing in every one. Finally, he 
 bounded upward, almost out of sight, into the smoke 
 that clouded the roof of the kitchen, and alighting safely 
 on the floor again, endeavored to resume his customary 
 gravity.
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 169 
 
 " To-morrow, at sunrise," he repeated, taking his lamp, 
 to retire to bed, " I '11 see whether this treasure be hid in 
 the wall of the garret." 
 
 " And, as we 're out of wood, Mr. Peter," said Tabitha, 
 puffing and panting with her late gymnastics, " as fast 
 as you tear the house down, I '11 make a fire with the 
 pieces." 
 
 Gorgeous, that night, were the dreams of Peter Gold- 
 thwaite ! At one time he was turning a ponderous key 
 in an iron door, not unlike the door of a sepulchre, but 
 which, being opened, disclosed a vault, heaped up with 
 gold coin, as plentifully as golden corn in a granary. 
 There were chased goblets, also, and tureens, salvers, 
 dinner-dishes, and dish-covers, of gold, or silver-gilt, 
 besides chains and other jewels incalculably rich, though 
 tarnished with the damps of the vault; for, of all the 
 wealth that was irrevocably lost to man, whether buried 
 in the earth, or sunken in the sea, Peter Goldthwaite 
 had found it in this one treasure-place. Auon, he had 
 returned to the old house, as poor as ever, and was 
 received at the door, by the gaunt and grizzled figure of 
 a man, whom he might have mistaken for himself, only 
 that his garments were of a much elder fashion. But 
 the house, without losing its former aspect, had been 
 changed into a palace of the precious metals. The floors, 
 walls, and ceilings were of burnished silver ; the doors, 
 the window-frames, the cornices, the balustrades, and the 
 steps of the staircase, of pure gold ; and silver, with gold 
 bottoms, were the chairs, and gold, standing on .silver 
 iegs, the high chests of drawers, and silver the bedsteads, 
 with blankets of woven gold, and sheets of silver tissue. 
 The house had evidently been transmuted by a single 
 touch ; for it retained all the marks that Peter remem- 
 ibered, but in gold or silver, instead of wood; and the 
 
 VOL. II. 8
 
 170 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 initials of his name, which, when a boy, he had cut in 
 the wooden doorpost, remained as deep in the pillar of 
 gold. A happy man would have been Peter Goldthwaite, 
 except for a certain ocular deception, which, whenever 
 he glanced backward, caused the house to darken from 
 its glittering magnificence into the sordid gloom of yes- 
 terday. 
 
 Up, betimes, rose Peter, seized an axe, hammer, and 
 saw, which he had placed by his bedside, and hied him 
 to the garret. It was but scantily lighted up, as yet, by 
 the frosty fragments of a sunbeam, which began to glim- 
 mer through the almost opaque bull's eyes of the window. 
 A moralizer might find abundant themes for his specula- 
 tive and impracticable wisdom in a garret. There is the 
 limbo of departed fashions, aged trifles of a day, and 
 whatever was valuable only to one generation of men,, 
 and which passed to the garret when that generation 
 passed to the grave, not for safe-keeping, but to be out 
 of the way. Peter saw piles of yellow and musty 
 account-books, in parchment covers, wherein creditors, 
 long dead and buried, had written the names of dead 
 and buried debtors, in ink now so faded, that their moss- 
 grown tombstones were more legible. He found old 
 moth-eaten garments all in rags and tatters, or Peter 
 would have put them on. Here was a naked and rusty 
 sword, not a sword of service, but a gentleman's small 
 French rapier, which had never left its scabbard till it 
 lost it. Here were canes of twenty different sorts, but 
 no gold-headed ones, and shoe-buckles of various pattern 
 and material, but not silver, nor set with precious stones. 
 Here was a large box full of shoes, with high heels and 
 peaked toes. Here, on a shelf, were a multitude of 
 phials, half filled with old apothecaries' stuff, which, 
 when the other half had done its business on Peter's
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 171 
 
 ancestors, had been brought hither from the death-cham- 
 ber. Here not to give a longer inventory of articles 
 that will never be put up at auction was the fragment 
 of a full-length looking-glass, which, by the dust and 
 dimness of its surface, made the picture of these old 
 things- look older than the reality. When Peter, not 
 knowing that there was a mirror there, caught the faint 
 traces of his own figure, he partly imagined that the 
 former Peter Goldthwaite had come back, either to assist 
 or impede his search for the hidden wealth. And at that 
 moment a strange notion glimmered through his brain, 
 that he was the identical Peter who had concealed the 
 gold, and ought to know whereabout it lay. This, how- 
 ever, he had unaccountably forgotten. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Peter ! " cried Tabitha, on the garret stairs. 
 " Have you torn the house down enough to heat the tea- 
 kettle ? " 
 
 "Not yet, old Tabby," answered Peter; "but that's 
 soon done, as you shall see." 
 
 With the word in his mouth, he uplifted the axe, and 
 laid about him so vigorously, that the dust flew, the 
 boards crashed, and, in a twinkling, the old woman had 
 an apronful of broken rubbish. 
 
 "We shall get our winter's wood cheap," quoth 
 Tabitha. 
 
 The good work being thus commenced, Peter beat 
 down all before him, smiting and hewing at the joists 
 and timbers, unclinching spike-nails, ripping and tearing 
 away boards, with a tremendous racket, from morning 
 till night. He took care, however, to leave the outside 
 shell of the house untouched, so that the neighbors might 
 not suspect what was going on. 
 
 Never, in any of his vagaries, though each had made 
 him happy while it lasted, hud Peter bf"n happier than.
 
 172 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 now. Perhaps, after all, there was something in Peter 
 Goldthwaite's turn of mind, which brought him an inward 
 recompense for all the external evil that it caused. If 
 lie were poor, ill-clad, even hungry, and exposed, as it 
 \vcre, to be utterly annihilated by a precipice of impend- 
 ing ruin, yet only his body remained in these miserable 
 circumstances, while his aspiring soul enjoyed the sun- 
 shine of a bright futurity. It was his nature to be always 
 young, and the tendency of his mode of life to keep him 
 so. Gray hairs were nothing, no, nor wrinkles, nor in- 
 firmity; he might look old, indeed, and be- somewhat disa- 
 greeably connected with a gaunt old figure, much the worse 
 for wear ; but the true, the essential Peter was a young 
 man of high hopes, just entering on the world. At the 
 kindling of each new fire, his burnt-out youth rose afresh 
 from the old embers and ashes. It rose exulting now. 
 Having lived thus long not too long, but just to the 
 right age a susceptible bachelor, with warm and tender 
 dreams, he resolved, as soon as the hidden gold should 
 flash to light, to go a-wooing, and win the love of the 
 fairest maid in town. What heart could resist him? 
 Happy Peter Goldthwaite! 
 
 Every evening as Peter had long absented himself 
 from his former lounging-places, at insurance-offices, 
 news-rooms, and bookstores, and as the honor of his' 
 company was seldom requested in private circles he 
 and Tabitha used to sit down sociably by the kitchen 
 hearth. This was always heaped plentifully with the 
 rubbish of his day's labor. As the foundation of the 
 fire, there would be a goodly sized backlog of red-oak, 
 which, after being sheltered from rain or damp above a 
 century, still hissed with the heat, and distilled streams 
 of water from each end, as if the tree had been cut down 
 within a week or two. Next, there were large sticks,
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 173 
 
 sound, black, and heavy, which had lost the principle of 
 decay, and were indestructible except by fire, wherein 
 they glowed like red-hot bars of iron. On this solid 
 basis, Tabitha would rear a lighter structure, composed 
 of the splinters of door-panels, ornamented mouldings, 
 and such quick combustibles, which caught like straw, 
 and threw a brilliant blaze high up the spacious flue, 
 making its sooty sides visible almost to the chimney- 
 top. Meantime, the gleam of the old kitchen would be 
 chased out of the cobwebbed corners, and away from the 
 dusky crossbeams overhead, and driven nobody could 
 tell whither, while Peter smiled like a gladsome man, and 
 Tabitha seemed a picture of comfortable age. All this, 
 of course, was but an emblem of the bright fortune which 
 the destruction of the house would shed upon its occu- 
 pants. 
 
 While the dry pine was naming and crackling, like an 
 irregular discharge of fairy musketry, Peter sat looking 
 and listening, in a pleasant state of excitement. But, 
 when the brief blaze and uproar were succeeded by the 
 dark-red glow, the substantial heat, and the deep singing 
 sound, which were to last throughout the evening, his 
 humor became talkative. One night, the hundredth 
 time, he teased Tabitha to tell him something new about 
 his great -grand-uncle. 
 
 " You have been sitting in that chimney-corner fifty- 
 five years, old Tabby, and must have heard many a tra- 
 dition about him," said Peter. " Did not you tell me, 
 that, when you first came to the house, there was an 
 old woman sitting where you sit now, who had been 
 housekeeper to the famous Peter Goldthwaite ? " 
 
 " So there was, Mr. Peter," answered Tabitha ; " and 
 she was near about a hundred years old. She used to 
 say that she and old Peter Goldthwaite had often spent
 
 174 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 a sociable evening by the kitchen fire, pretty much as 
 you and I are doing now, Mr. Peter." 
 
 "The old fellow must have resembled me in more 
 points than one," said Petev, complacently, " or he never 
 would have grown so rich. But, methinks, he might 
 have invested the money better than he did, no in- 
 terest ! nothing but good security ! and the house 
 to be torn down to come at it ! What made him hide 
 it so snug, Tabby ? " 
 
 " Because he could not spend it," said Tabitha ; " for, 
 as often as he went to unlock the chest, the Old Scratch 
 came behind and caught his arm. The money, they say, 
 was paid Peter out of his purse ; and he wanted Peter 
 to give him a deed of this house and land, which Peter 
 .swore he would not do." 
 
 " Just as I swore to John Brown, my old partner," 
 remarked Peter. " But this is all nonsense, Tabby ! I 
 don't believe the story." 
 
 "Well, it may not be just the truth," said Tabitha; 
 " for some folks say, that Peter did make over the house 
 to the Old Scratch ; and that 's the reason it has always 
 been so unlucky to them that lived in it. And as soon 
 as Peter had given him the deed, the chest flew open, 
 and Peter caught up a handful of the gold. But, lo and 
 behold ! there was nothing in his fist but a parcel of 
 old rags." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you silly old Tabby ! " cried 
 Peter, in great wrath. "They were as good golden 
 guineas as ever bore the effigies of the king of Eng- 
 land. It seems as if I could recollect the whole cir- 
 cumstance, and how I, or old Peter, or whoever it was, 
 thrust in my hand, or his hand, and drew it out, all of 
 a blaze with gold. Old rags, indeed ! " 
 
 But it was not an old woman's legend that would dis-
 
 PETER GOLDTHVVAITE'S TREASURE. 175 
 
 courage Peter Goldthwaite. All night long, he slept 
 among pleasant dreams, and awoke at daylight with a 
 joyous throb of the heart, which few are fortunate 
 enough to feel beyond their boyhood. Day after day, 
 he labored hard, without wasting a moment, except at 
 meal-times, when Tabitha summoned him to the pork 
 and cabbage, or such other sustenance as she had 
 picked up, or Providence had sent them. Being a 
 truly pious man, Peter never failed to ask a blessing ; 
 if the food were none of the best, then so much the 
 more earnestly, as it was more needed ; nor to return 
 thanks, if the dinner had been scanty, yet for the good 
 appetite, which was better than a sick stomach at a 
 feast. Then did he hurry back to his toil, and, in a 
 moment, was lost to sight in a cloud of dust from the 
 old walls, though sufficiently perceptible to the ear, by 
 the clatter which he raised in the midst of it. How en- 
 viable is the consciousness of being usefully employed ! 
 Nothing troubled Peter ; or nothing but those phan- 
 toms of the mind, which seem like vague recollections, 
 yet have also the aspect of presentiments. He often 
 paused, with his axe uplifted in the air, and said to 
 himself, " Peter Goldthwaite, did you never strike this 
 blow before ? " or, " Peter, what need of tearing the 
 whole house down? Think, a little while, And you 
 will remember where the gold is hidden." Days and 
 weeks passed on, however, without any remarkable dis- 
 covery. Sometimes, indeed, a lean, gray rat peeped 
 forth at the lean, gray man, wondering what devil had 
 got into the old house, which had always been so peace- 
 able till now. And, occasionally, Peter sympathized with 
 the sorrows of a female mouse, who had brought five or 
 six pretty, little, soft, and delicate young ones into the 
 world, just in time to see them crushed by its ruin. 
 But, as yet, no treasure !
 
 176 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 By this time, Peter, being as determined as Fate, and 
 as diligent as Time, had made an end with the uppermost 
 regions, and got down to the second story, where he was 
 busy in one of the front chambers. It had formerly been 
 the state bedchamber, and was honored by tradition as 
 the sleeping-apartment of Governor Dudley and many 
 other eminent guests. The furniture was gone. There 
 were remnants of faded and tattered paper-hangings, but 
 larger spaces of bare wall, ornamented with charcoal 
 sketches, chiefly of people's heads in profile. These be- 
 ing specimens of Peter's youthful genius, it went more 
 to his heart to obliterate them, than if they had been 
 pictures on a church-wall by Michael Angelo. One 
 sketch, however, and that the best one, affected him 
 differently. It represented a ragged man, partly sup- 
 porting himself on a spade, and bending his lean body 
 over a hole in the earth, with one hand extended to grasp 
 something that he had found. But, close behind him, 
 with a fiendish laugh on his features, appeared a figure 
 with horns, a tufted tail, and a cloven hoof. 
 
 " Avaunt, Satan ! " cried Peter. " The man shall have 
 his gold ! " 
 
 Uplifting his axe, he hit the horned gentleman such a 
 blow on the head, as not only demolished him, but the 
 treasure-seeker also, and caused the whole scene to van- 
 ish like magic. Moreover, his axe broke quite through 
 the plaster and laths, and discovered a cavity. 
 
 " Mercy on us, Mr. Peter, are you quarrelling with the 
 Old Scratch ? " said Tabitha, who was seeking some fuel 
 to put under the dinner-pot. 
 
 Without answering the old woman, Peter broke down 
 a further space of the wall, and laid open a small closet 
 or cupboard, on one side of the fireplace, about breast 
 high from the ground. It contained nothing but a brass
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 177 
 
 lamp, covered with verdigris, and a dusty piece of parch- 
 ment. While Peter inspected the latter, Tabitha seized 
 the lamp, and began to rub it with her apron. 
 
 " There is no use in rubbing it, Tabitha," said Peter. 
 " It is not Aladdin's lamp, though I take it to be a token 
 of as much luck. Look here, Tabby ! " 
 
 Tabitha took the parchment and held it close to her 
 nose, which was saddled with a pair of iron-bound spec- 
 tacles. But no sooner had she begun to puzzle over it, 
 than she burst into a chuckling laugh, holding both her 
 hands against her sides. 
 
 " You can't make a fool of the old woman ! " cried she. 
 " This is your own handwriting, Mr. Peter ! the same as 
 in the letter you sent me from Mexico." 
 
 "There is certainly a considerable resemblance," said 
 Peter, again examining the parchment. " But you know 
 yourself, Tabby, that this closet must have been plastered 
 up before you came to the house, or I came into the 
 world. No, this is old Peter Goldthwaite's writing; 
 these columns of pounds, shillings, and pence are his 
 figures, denoting the amount of the treasure ; and this, 
 at the bottom, is doubtless a reference to the place of 
 concealment. But the ink has either faded or peeled off, 
 so that it is absolutely illegible. What a pity ! " 
 
 " Well, this lamp is as good as new. That 's some 
 comfort," said Tabitha. 
 
 " A lamp ! " thought Peter. " That indicates light on 
 my researches." 
 
 For the present, Peter felt more inclined to ponder on 
 this discovery ; than to resume his labors. After Tabitha 
 had gone down stairs, he stood poring over the parch- 
 ment, at one of the front .windows, which was so obscured 
 with dust, that the sun could barely throw an uncertain 
 shadow of the casement across the floor. Peter forced it
 
 178 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 open, and looked out upon the great street of the town-, 
 while the sun looked in at his old house. The air, 
 though mild and even warm, thrilled Peter as with a 
 dash of water. . 
 
 It was the first day of the January thaw. The snow 
 lay deep upon the house-tops, but was rapidly dissolving 
 into millions of water-drops, which sparkled downwards 
 through the sunshine, with the noise of a summer shower 
 beneath the eaves. Along the street, the trodden snow 
 was as hard and solid as a pavement of white marble, and 
 had not yet grown moist in the spring-like temperature. 
 Bflt, when Peter thrust forth his head, he saw that the 
 inhabitants, if not the town, were already thawed out 
 by this warm day, after two or three weeks of winter 
 weather. It gladdened him a gladness with a sigh 
 breathing through it to see the stream of ladies, 
 gliding along the slippery sidewalks with their red cheeks 
 set off by quilted hoods, boas, and sable capes, like roses 
 amidst a new kind of foliage. The sleigh-bells jingled to 
 and fro continually, sometimes announcing the arrival of 
 a sleigh from Vermont, laden with the frozen bodies of 
 porkers, or sheep, and perhaps a deer or two ; sometimes 
 of a regular market-man, with chickens, geese, and tur- 
 keys, comprising the whole colony of a barn-yard ; and 
 sometimes of a farmer and his dame, who had come to- 
 town partly for the ride, partly to go a-shopping, and 
 partly for the sale of some eggs and butter. This couple 
 rode in an old-fashioned square sleigh, wliich had served 
 them twenty winters, and stood twenty summers in the 
 sun beside their door. Now, a gentleman and lady 
 skimmed the snow, in an elegant car, shaped somewhat 
 like a cockle-shell. Now, a stage-sleigh, with its cloth 
 curtains thrust aside to admit the sun, dashed rapidly 
 down the street, whirling in and out among the vehicles
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 179' 
 
 that obstructed its passage. Now came round a corner 
 the similitude of Noah's ark, on runners, being an im- 
 mense open sleigh, with seats for fifty people, and drawn 
 by a dozen horses. This spacious receptacle was populous 
 with merry maids and merry bachelors, merry girls and 
 boys, and merry old folks, all alive with fun, and grinning 
 to the full width of their mouths. They kept up a buzz 
 of babbling voices and low laughter, and sometimes burst 
 into a deep, joyous shout, which the spectators answered 
 with three cheers, while a gang of roguish boys let drive 
 their snowballs right among the pleasure-party. The 
 sleigh passed on, and, when concealed by a bend of 
 the street, was still audible by a distant cry of merri- 
 ment. 
 
 Never had Peter beheld a livelier scene than was con- 
 stituted by all these accessories : the bright sun ; the 
 flashing water-drops; the gleaming snow; the cheerful 
 multitude ; the variety of rapid vehicles ; and the jingle- 
 jangle of merry bells, which made the heart dance to< 
 their music. Nothing dismal was to be seen, except that 
 peaked piece of antiquity, Peter Goldthwaite's house, 
 which might well look sad externally, since such a terri- 
 ble consumption was preying on its insides. And Peter's 
 gaunt figure, half visible in the projecting second story, 
 was worthy of his house. 
 
 " Peter ! H6w goes it, friend Peter ! " cried a voice 
 across the street, as Peter was drawing in his head. 
 " Look out here, Peter ! " 
 
 Peter looked, and saw his old partner, Mr. John Brown, 
 on the opposite sidewalk, portly and comfortable, with his 
 furred cloak thrown open, disclosing a handsome surtout 
 beneath. His voice had directed the attention of the 
 whole town to Peter Goldthwaite's window, and to the- 
 dusty scarecrow which appeared at it.
 
 180 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "I say, Peter," cried Mr. Brown again, "what the 
 devil are you about there, that I hear such a racket, 
 whenever I pass by ? You are repairing the old house, 
 I suppose, making a new one of it, eh ? " 
 
 " Too late for that, I am afraid, Mr. Brown," replied 
 Peter. " If I make it new, it will be new inside and out, 
 from the cellar upwards." 
 
 " Had not you better let me take the job ? " said Mr. 
 Brown, significantly. 
 
 " Not yet ! " answered Peter, hastily shutting the win- 
 dow ; for, ever since he had been in search of the treas- 
 ure, he hated to have people stare at him. 
 
 As he drew back, ashamed of his outward poverty, yet 
 proud of the secret wealth within his grasp, a haughty 
 smile shone out on Peter's visage, with precisely the 
 effect of the dim sunbeams in the squalid chamber. He 
 endeavored to assume such a mien as his ancestor had 
 probably worn, when he gloried in the building of a 
 strong house for a home to many generations of his pos- 
 terity. But the chamber was very dark to his snow- 
 dazzled eyes, and very dismal too, in contrast with the 
 living scene that he had just looked upon. His brief 
 glimpse into the street had given him a forcible impres- 
 sion of the manner in which the world kept itself cheer- 
 ful and prosperous, by social pleasures and an intercourse 
 of business, while he, in seclusion, was pursuing an object 
 that might possibly be a phantasm, by a method which 
 most people would call madness. It is one great advan- 
 tage of a gregarious mode of life, that each person recti- 
 fies his mind by other minds, and squares his conduct to 
 that of his neighbors, so as seldom to be lost in eccentricity. 
 Peter Goldthwaite had exposed himself to this influence, 
 by merely looking out of the window. For a while, he 
 doubted whether there were any hidden chest of gold,
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 181 
 
 and, in that case, whether it was so exceedingly wise to 
 tear the house down, only to be convinced of its non- 
 existence. 
 
 But this was momentary. Peter, the Destroyer, re- 
 sumed the task which fate had assigned him, nor faltered 
 again, till it was accomplished. In the course of his 
 search, he met with many things that are usually found 
 in the ruins of an old house, and also with some that are 
 not. What seemed most to the purpose was a rusty key, 
 which had been thrust into a chink of the wall, with a 
 wooden label appended to the handle, bearing the initials, 
 P. G. Another singular discovery was that of a bottle of 
 wine, walled up in an old oven. A tradition ran in the 
 family, that Peter's grandfather, a jovial officer in the old 
 French war, had set aside many dozens of the precious 
 liquor, for the benefit of topers then unborn. Peter 
 needed no cordial to sustain his hopes, and therefore 
 kept the wine to gladden his success. Many halfpence 
 did he pick up, that had been lost through the cracks of 
 the floor, and some few Spanish coins, and the half of a 
 broken sixpence, which had doubtless been a love-token. 
 There was likewise a silver coronation medal of George 
 the Third. But, old Peter Goldthwaite's strong-box fled 
 from one dark corner to another, or otherwise eluded the 
 second Peter's clutches, till, should he seek much farther, 
 he must burrow into the earth. 
 
 We will not follow him in his triumphant progress, 
 step by step. Suffice it, that Peter worked like a steam- 
 engine, and finished, in that one winter, the job, which 
 all the former inhabitants of the house, with time and 
 the elements to aid them, had only half done in a cen- 
 tury. Except the kitchen, every room and chamber was 
 now gutted. The house was nothing but a shell, 
 the apparition of a house, as unreal as the painted
 
 182 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 edifices of a theatre. It was like the perfect rind of 
 a great cheese, in which a mouse had dwelt and nib- 
 bled, till it was a cheese no more. And Peter was the 
 mouse. 
 
 What Peter had torn down, Tabitha had burned up : 
 for she wisely considered, that, without a house, they 
 should need no wood to warm it ; and therefore econ- 
 omy was nonsense. Thus the whole house might be said 
 to have dissolved in smoke, and flown up among the 
 clouds, through the great black flue of the kitchen chim- 
 ney. It was an admirable parallel to the feat of the man 
 who jumped down his own throat. 
 
 On the night between the last day of winter and the 
 first of spring, every chink and cranny had been ran- 
 . sacked, except within the precincts of the kitchen. This 
 fated evening was an ugly one. A snow-storm had set 
 in some hours before, and was still driven and tossed 
 about the atmosphere by a real hurricane, which fought 
 against the house, as if the prince of the air, in person, 
 were putting the final stroke to Peter's labors. The 
 framework being so much weakened, and the inward 
 props removed, it would have been no marvel, if, in some 
 stronger wrestle of the blast, the rotten walls of the 
 ^edifice, and all the peaked roofs, had come crashing down 
 upon the owner's head. He, however, was careless of the 
 peril, but as wild and restless as the night itself, or as 
 the flame that quivered up the chimney, at each roar of 
 the tempestuous wind. 
 
 " The wine, Tabitha ! " he cried. " My grandfather's 
 rich old wine ! We will drink it now ! " 
 
 Tabitha arose from her smoke-blackened bench in the 
 chimney-corner, and placed the bottle before Peter, close 
 beside the old brass lamp, which had likewise been the 
 prize of his researches. Peter held it before his eyes, and
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 183 
 
 looking through the liquid medium, beheld the kitchen 
 illuminated with a golden glory, which also enveloped 
 Tabitha, and gilded her silver hair, and converted her 
 mean garments into robes of queenly splendor. It re- 
 minded him of his golden dream. 
 
 " Mr. Peter," remarked Tabitha, " must the wine be 
 drunk before the money is found ? " 
 
 " The money is found ! " exclaimed Peter, with a sort 
 of fierceness. " The "chest is within my reach. I will 
 not sleep, till I have turned this key in the rusty lock. 
 Eut, first of all, let us drink ! " 
 
 There being no corkscrew in the house, he smote the 
 neck of the bottle with old Peter Goldthwaite's rusty 
 key, and decapitated the sealed cork at a single blow. 
 He then filled two little china teacups, which Tabitha 
 had brought from the cupboard. So clear and brilliant 
 was this aged wine, that it shone within the cups, and 
 rendered the sprig of scarlet flowers, at the bottom of 
 each, more distinctly visible, than when there had been 
 no wine there. Its rich and delicate perfume wasted 
 itself round the kitchen. 
 
 " Drink, Tabitha ! " cried Peter. " Blessings on the 
 honest old fellow, who set aside this good liquor for 
 you and me ! And here 's to Peter Goldthwaite's 
 memory ! " 
 
 " And good cause have we to remember him," quoth 
 Tabitha, as she drank. 
 
 How many years, and through what changes of for- 
 tune, and various calamity, had that bottle hoarded up 
 its effervescent joy, to be quaffed at last by two such 
 boon companions ! A portion of the happiness of a 
 former age had been kept for them, and was now set 
 free, in a crowd of rejoicing visions, to sport amid the 
 storm and desolation of the present time. Until they
 
 184 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 have finished the bottle, we must turn our eyes else- 
 where. 
 
 It so chanced, that, on this stormy night, Mr. John 
 Brown found himself ill at ease, in his wire-cushioned 
 arm-chair, by the glowing grate of anthracite, which 
 heated his handsome parlor. He was naturally a good 
 sort of a man, and kind and pitiful, whenever the mis- 
 fortunes of others happened to reach his heart through 
 the padded vest of his own prosperity. This evening, 
 he had thought much about his old partner, Peter 
 Goldthwaite, his strange vagaries, and continual ill luck, 
 the poverty of his dwelling, at Mr. Brown's last visit, 
 and Peter's crazed and haggard aspect, when he had 
 talked with him at the window. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " thought Mr. John Brown. " Poor, 
 crack-brained Peter Goldthwaite ! For old acquaintance' 
 sake, I ought to have taken care that he was comforta- 
 ble, this rough winter." 
 
 These feelings grew so powerful, that, in spite of the 
 inclement weather, he resolved to visit Peter Gold- 
 thwaite immediately. The strength of the impulse was- 
 really singular. Every shriek of the blast seemed a 
 summons, or would have seemed so, had Mr. Brown 
 been accustomed to hear the echoes of his own fancy in 
 the wind. Much amazed at such active benevolence, he 
 huddled himself in his cloak, muffled his throat and ears 
 in comforters and handkerchiefs, and, thus fortified, bade 
 defiance to the tempest. But the powers of the air had 
 rather the best of the battle. Mr. Brown was just 
 weathering the corner, by Peter Goldthwaite's house, 
 when the hurricane caught him off his feet, tossed him 
 face downward into a snow-bank, and proceeded to 
 bury his protuberant part beneath fresh drifts. There 
 seemed little hope of his reappearance, earlier than the
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 185 
 
 next thaw. At the same moment, his hat was snatched 
 away, and whirled aloft into some far-distant region, 
 whence no tidings have as yet returned. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Brown contrived to burrow a pas- 
 sage through the snow-drift, and, with his bare head 
 bent against the storm, floundered onward to Peter's 
 door. There was such a creaking, and groaning, and 
 rattling, and such an ominous shaking throughout the 
 crazy edifice, that the loudest rap would have been in- 
 audible to those within. He therefore entered, without 
 ceremony, and groped his way' to the kitchen. 
 
 His intrusion, even there, was unnoticed. Peter and 
 Tabitha stood with their backs to the door, stooping over 
 a large chest, which, apparently, they had just dragged 
 from a cavity, or concealed closet, on the left side of the 
 chimney. By the lamp in the old woman's hand, Mr. 
 Brown saw that the chest was barred and clamped with 
 iron, strengthened with iron plates, and studded with iron 
 nails, so as to be a fit receptacle in which the wealth of 
 one century might be hoarded up for the wants of an- 
 other. Peter Goldthwaite was inserting a key into the 
 lock. 
 
 " O Tabitha ! " cried he, with tremulous rapture, 
 " how shall I endure the effulgence ? The gold ! the 
 bright, bright gold ! Methinks 'I can remember my last 
 glance at it, just as the iron-plated lid fell down. And 
 ever since, being seventy years, it has been blazing in 
 secret, and gathering its splendor against this glorious 
 moment ! It will flash upon us like the noonday sun ! " 
 
 "Then shade your eyes, Mr. Peter!" said Tabitha, 
 with somewhat less patience than usual. " But, for 
 mercy's sake, do turn the key ! " 
 
 And, with a strong effort of both hands, Peter did 
 force the rusty key through the intricacies of the rusty
 
 186 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 lock. Mr. Brown, in the mean time, had drawn near, 
 and thrust his eager visage between those of the other 
 two, at the instant that Peter threw up the lid. No 
 sudden blaze illuminated the kitchen. 
 
 " What 's here ? " exclaimed Tabitha, adjusting her 
 spectacles, and holding the lamp over the open chest. 
 "Old Peter Goldthwaite's hoard of old rags." 
 
 " Pretty much so, Tabby," said Mr. Brown, lifting a 
 handful of the treasure. 
 
 O, what a ghost of dead and buried wealth had Peter 
 Goldthwaite raised, to scare himself out of his scanty 
 wits withal ! Here was the semblance of an incalculable 
 sum, enough to purchase the whole town, and build 
 every street anew, but which, vast as it was, no sane 
 man would have given a solid sixpence for. What then, 
 in sober earnest, were the delusive treasures of the 
 chest ? Why, here were old provincial bills of credit, 
 and treasury notes, and bills of land banks, and all 
 other bubbles of the sort, from the first issue, above a 
 century and a half ago, down nearly to the Revolution. 
 Bills of a thousand pounds were intermixed with parch- 
 ment pennies, and worth no more than they. 
 
 " And this, then, is old Peter Goldthwaite's treasure ! " 
 said John Brown. " Your namesake, Peter, was some- 
 thing like yourself; and, when the provincial currency 
 had depreciated fifty or seventy -five per cent, he bought 
 it up, in expectation of a rise. I have heard my grand- 
 father say, that old Peter gave his father a mortgage 
 of this very house and land, to raise cash for his silly 
 project. But the currency kept sinking, till nobody 
 would take it as a gift ; and there was old Peter Gold- 
 thwaite, like Peter the second, with thousands in his 
 strong-box, and hardly a coat to his back. He went 
 mad upon the strength of it. But, never mind, Peter !
 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE. 187 
 
 It is just the sort of capital for building castles in the 
 air." 
 
 " The house will be down about our ears ! " cried 
 Tabitha, as the wind shook it with increasing violence. 
 
 " Let it fall ! " said Peter, folding his arms, as he 
 seated himself upon the chest. 
 
 " No, no, my old friend Peter," said John Brown. 
 "I have house-room for you and Tabby, and a safe 
 vault for the chest of treasure. To-morrow we will try 
 to come to an agreement about the sale of this old house. 
 Real estate is well up, and I could afford you a pretty 
 handsome price." 
 
 " And I," observed Pester Goldthwaite, with reviving 
 spirits, " have a plan for laying out the cash to great ad- 
 vantage." 
 
 " Why, as to that," muttered John Brown to him- 
 self, " we must apply to the next court for a guardian 
 to take care of the solid cash ; and if Peter insists upon 
 speculating, he may do it to his heart's content with old 
 PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREA.SUKE."
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 
 
 |ASSING a summer, several years since, at Ed- 
 gartown, on the island of Martha's Vineyard, I 
 
 became acquainted with a certain carver of 
 
 tombstones, "who had travelled'and voyaged thither from 
 the interior of Massachusetts, in search of professional 
 employment. The speculation had turned out so suc- 
 cessful, that my friend expected to transmute slate and 
 marble into silver and gold, to the amount of at least a 
 thousand dollars, during the few mouths of his sojourn 
 at Nantucket and the Vineyard. The secluded life, and 
 the simple and primitive spirit which still characterizes 
 the inhabitants of those islands, especially of Martha's 
 Vineyard, insure their dead friends a longer and dearer 
 remembrance than the daily novelty and revolving bus- 
 tle of the world can elsewhere afford to beings of the 
 past. Yet while every family is anxious to erect a me- 
 morial to its departed members, the untainted breath of 
 ocean bestows such health and length of days upon the 
 people of the isles, as would cause a melancholy dearth 
 of business to a resident artist in that line. His own 
 monument, recording his disease by starvation, would 
 probably be an early specimen of his skill. Gravestones, 
 therefore, have generally been an article of imported 
 merchandise.
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 189 
 
 In my -walks through the burial-ground of Edgartown, 
 
 where the dead have lain so long that the soil, once 
 enriched by their decay, has returned to its original bar- 
 renness, in that ancient burial-ground I noticed much 
 variety of monumental sculpture. The elder stones, 
 dated a century back, or more, have borders elaborately 
 carved with flowers, and are adorned with a multiplicity 
 of death's-heads, cross-bones, scythes, hour-glasses, and 
 other lugubrious emblems of mortality, with here and 
 there a winged cherub to direct the mourner's spirit 
 upward. These productions of Gothic taste must have 
 been quite beyond the colonial skill of the day, and were 
 probably carved in London, and brought across the 
 ocean to commemorate the defunct worthies of this lonely 
 isle. The more recent monuments are mere slabs of 
 slate, in the ordinary style, without any superfluous 
 flourishes to set off the bald inscriptions. But others 
 
 and those far the most impressive, both to my taste 
 and feelings were roughly hewn from the gray rocks 
 of the island, evidently by the unskilled hands of surviv- 
 ing friends and relatives. On some there were merely 
 the initials of a name ; some were inscribed with misspelt 
 prose or rhyme, in deep letters, which the moss and 
 wintry rain of many years had not been able to obliter- 
 ate. These, these were graves where loved ones slept ! 
 It is an old theme of satire, the falsehood and vanity of 
 monumental eulogies; but when affection and sorrow 
 grave the letters with their own painful labor, then we 
 may be sure that they copy from the record on their 
 hearts. 
 
 My acquaintance, the sculptor, lie may share that 
 title with Greenough, since the dauber of signs is a 
 painter as well as Raphael, had found a ready market 
 for all his blank slabs of marble, and full occupation in
 
 190 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 lettering and ornamenting them. He was an elderly 
 man, a descendant of the old Puritan family of Wiggles- 
 worth, with a certain simplicity and singleness, both of 
 heart and mind, which, methinks, is more rarely found 
 among us Yankees than in any other communi\y of peo- 
 ple. In spite of his gray head and wrinkled brow, he 
 was quite like a child in all matters save what had some 
 reference to his own business; he seemed, unless my 
 fancy misled me, to view mankind in no other relation 
 than as people in want of tombstones ; and his literary 
 attainments evidently comprehended very little, either of 
 prose or poetry, which had not, at one time or other, 
 been inscribed on slate or marble. His sole task and 
 office among the immortal pilgrims of the tomb the 
 duty for which Providence had sent the old man into 
 the world, as it were with a chisel in his hand was to 
 label the dead bodies, lest their names should be for- 
 gotten at the resurrection. Yet he had not failed, within 
 a narrow scope, to gather a few sprigs of earthly, and 
 more than earthly, wisdom, the harvest of many a 
 grave. 
 
 And lugubrious as his calling might appear, he was as 
 cheerful an old soul as health, and integrity, and lack of 
 care, could make him, and used to set to work upon one 
 sorrowful inscription or another with that sort of spirit 
 which impels a man to sing at his labor. On the whole, 
 I found Mr. Wigglesworth an entertaining, and often 
 instructive, if not an interesting character; and partly 
 for the charm of his society, and still more because his 
 work has an invariable attraction for " man that is born 
 of woman," I was accustomed to spend some hours a 
 day at his workshop. The quaintness of his remarks, 
 and their not infrequent truth, a truth condensed and 
 pointed by the limited sphere of his view, gave a
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 191 
 
 racincss to his talk, which mere worldliness and general 
 cultivation would at once have destroyed. 
 
 Sometimes we would discuss the respective merits of 
 the various qualities of marble, numerous slabs of which 
 were resting against the walls of the shop ; or sometimes 
 an hour or two would pass quietly, without a word on 
 either side, while I watched how neatly his chisel struck 
 out letter after letter of the names of the Nortons, the 
 Mayhews, the Luces, the Daggets, and other immemorial 
 families of the Vineyard. Often, with an artist's pride, 
 the good old sculptor would speak of favorite productions 
 of his skill, which were scattered throughout- the village 
 graveyards of New England. But my chief and most 
 instructive amusement was to witness his interviews with 
 his customers, who held interminable consultations about 
 the form and fashion of the desired monuments, the 
 buried excellence to be commemorated, the anguish to 
 be expressed, and finally, the lowest price in dollars and 
 cents for which a marble transcript of their feelings might 
 be obtained. Really, my mind received many fresh ideas, 
 which, perhaps, may remain in it even longer than Mr. 
 Wigglesworth's hardest marble will retain the -deepest 
 strokes of his chisel. 
 
 An elderly lady came to bespeak a monument for her 
 first love, who had been killed by a whale in the Pacific 
 Ocean no less than forty years before. It was singular 
 that so strong an impression of early feeling should have 
 survived through the changes of her subsequent life, in 
 the course of which she had been a wife and a mother, and, 
 so far as I could judge, a comfortable and happy woman. 
 Reflecting within myself, it appeared to me that tliis life- 
 long sorrow as, in all good faith, she deemed it was 
 one of the most fortunate circumstances of her history. 
 It had given an ideality to her mind ; it had kept her
 
 192 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 purer and less earthly than she would otherwise have 
 been, by drawing a portion of her sympathies apart from 
 earth. Amid the throng of enjoyments, and the pressure^ 
 of worldly care, and all the warm materialism of this life, 
 ;she had communed with a vision, and had been the better 
 for such intercourse. Faithful to the husband of her 
 maturity, and loving him with a far more real affection 
 than she ever could have felt for this dream of her girl- 
 hood, there had still been an imaginative faith to the 
 ocean-buried, so that an ordinary character had thus been 
 elevated and refined. Her sighs had been the breath of 
 Heaven to -her soul. The good lady earnestly desired 
 that the proposed monument should be ornamented with 
 a carved border of marine plants, intertwined with twisted 
 sea-shells, such as were probably waving over her lover's 
 skeleton, or strewn around it, in the far depths of the 
 Pacific. But Mr. Wiggles worth's chisel being inadequate 
 to the task, she was forced to content herself with a rose, 
 hanging its head from a broken stem. After her de- 
 parture, I remarked that the symbol was none of the 
 most apt. 
 
 "And yet," said my friend the sculptor, embodying in 
 this image the thoughts that had been passing through 
 my own mind, " that broken rose has shed its sweet smell 
 through forty years of the good woman's life." 
 
 It was seldom that I could find such pleasant food for 
 contemplation as in the above instance. None of the 
 applicants, I think, affected me more disagreeably than 
 an old man who came, with his fourth wife hanging on 
 his arm, to bespeak gravestones for the three former 
 occupants of his marriage-bed. I watched wifeh some 
 anxiety to see whether his remembrance of either were 
 more affectionate than of the other two, but could dis- 
 cover no symptom of the kind. The three monuments
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 193 
 
 were all to be of the same material and form, and each 
 decorated, in bas-relief, with two weeping-willows, one 
 of these sympathetic trees bending over its fellow, which 
 was to be broken in the midst and rest upon a sepulchral 
 urn. This, indeed, was Mr. Wigglesworth's standing 
 emblem of conjugal bereavement. I shuddered at the 
 gray polygamist, who had so utterly lost the holy sense 
 of individuality in wedlock, that methought he was fain 
 to reckon upon his fingers how many women, who had 
 once slept by his side, were now sleeping in their graves. 
 There was even if I wrong him it is no great matter 
 a glance sidelong at his living spouse, as if he were 
 inclined to drive a thriftier bargain by bespeaking four 
 gravestones in a lot. I was better pleased with a rough 
 old whaling captain, who gave directions for a broad 
 marble slab, divided into two compartments, one of which 
 was to contain an epitaph on his deceased wife, and the 
 other to be left vacant, till death should engrave his 
 own name there. As is frequently the case among the 
 whalers of Martha's Vineyard, so much of this storm- 
 beaten widower's life had been tossed away on distant ' 
 seas, that out of twenty years of matrimony he had spent 
 scarce three, and those at scattered intervals, beneath his 
 own roof. Thus the wife of his youth, though she died 
 in his and her declining age, retained the bridal dewdrops 
 fresh around her memory. 
 
 My observations gave me the idea, and Mr. Wiggles- 
 worth confirmed it, that husbands were more faithful in 
 setting up memorials to their dead wives than widows 1 o 
 their dead husbands. I was not ill-natured enough to 
 fancy that women/ less than men, feel so sure of Ihcir 
 own constancy as to be willing to give a pledge of it in 
 marble. It is more probably the fact, that while men 
 are able to reflect upon their lost companions as remem- 
 
 VOL. II. 9 M
 
 194 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 brances apart from themselves, women, on the other hand, 
 are conscious that a portion of their being has gone M'ith 
 the departed whithersoever he has gone. Soul clings to 
 soul ; the living dust has a sympathy with the dust of 
 the grave ; and, by the very strength of that sympathy, 
 the wife of the dead shrinks the more sensitively from 
 reminding the world of its existence. The link is al- 
 ready strong enough ; it needs no visible symbol. And, 
 though a shadow walks ever by her side, and the touch 
 of a chill hand is on her bosom, yet life, and perchance 
 its natural yearnings, may still be warm within her, and 
 inspire her with new hopes of happiness. Then would 
 she mark out the grave, the scent of which would be 
 perceptible on the pillow of the second bridal ? No 
 but rather level its green mound with the surrounding 
 earth, as if, when she dug up again her buried heart, 
 the spot had ceased to be a grave. Yet, in spite of these 
 sentimentalities, I was prodigiously amused by an inci- 
 dent, of which I had not the good fortune to be a wit- 
 ness, but which Mr. Wigglesworth related with consid- 
 erable humor. A gentlewoman of the town, receiving 
 news of her husband's loss at sea, had bespoken a hand- 
 some slab of marble, and came daily to watch the pro- 
 gress of my friend's chisel. One afternoon, when the 
 good lady and the sculptor were in the very midst of 
 the epitaph, which the departed spirit might have been 
 greatly comforted to read, who should walk into the 
 workshop but the deceased himself, in substance as well 
 as spirit ! He had been picked up at sea, and stood in 
 no present need of tombstone or epitaph. 
 
 " And how," inquired I, " did his wife bear the shock 
 of joyful surprise ? " 
 
 "Why," said the old man, deepening the grin of a 
 death's-head, on which his chisel was just then em-
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 195 
 
 ployed, " I really felt for the poor woman ; it was one 
 of my best pieces of marble, aud to be thrown away 
 on a living man ! " 
 
 A comely woman, with a pretty rosebud of a daugh- 
 ter, came to select a gravestone for a twin-daughter, 
 who had died a mouth before. I was impressed with 
 the different nature of their feelings for the dead ; the 
 mother was calm and wofully resigned, fully conscious 
 of her loss, as of a treasure which she had not always 
 possessed, and, therefore, had been aware that it might 
 be taken from her ; but the daughter evidently had no 
 real knowledge of what death's doings were. Her 
 thoughts knew, but not her heart. It seemed to me, 
 that by the print and pressure which the dead sister 
 had left upon the survivor's spirit, her feelings were 
 almost the same as if she still stood side by side, and 
 arm in arm, with the departed, looking at the slabs of 
 marble ; and once or twice she glanced around with a 
 sunny smile, which, as its sister smile had faded for- 
 ever, soon grew confusedly overshadowed. Perchance 
 her consciousness was truer than her reflection, per- 
 chance her dead sister was a closer companion than in 
 life. The mother and daughter talked a long while with 
 Mr. Wigglesworth about a suitable epitaph, and finally 
 chose an ordinary verse of ill-matched rhymes, which 
 had already been inscribed upon innumerable tomb- 
 stones. But, when we ridicule the triteness of monu- 
 mental verses, we forget that Sorrow reads far deeper 
 in them than we can, and finds a profound and individ- 
 ual purport in what seems so vague and inexpressive, 
 unless interpreted by her. She makes the epitaph anew, 
 though the self-same words may have served for a thou- 
 sand graves. 
 
 " And yet," said I afterwards to Mr. Wigglesworth,
 
 196 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "they might have made a better choice than this. 
 While you were discussing the subject, I was struck 
 by at least a dozen simple and natural expressions from 
 the lips of both mother and daughter. One of these 
 would have formed an inscription equally original and 
 appropriate." 
 
 " No, no," replied the sculptor, shaking his head, 
 " there is a good deal of comfort to be gathered from 
 these little old scraps of poetry; and so I always rec- 
 ommend them in preference to any new-fangled ones. 
 And somehow, they seem to stretch to suit a great grief, 
 and shrink to fit a small one." 
 
 It was not seldom that ludicrous images were excited 
 by what took place between Mr. Wigglesworth and his 
 customers. A shrewd gentlewoman, who kept a tavern 
 in the town, was anxious to obtain two or three grave- 
 stones for the deceased members of her family, and to 
 pay for these solemn commodities by taking the sculptor 
 to board. Hereupon a fantasy arose in my mind, of 
 good Mr. Wigglesworth sitting down to dinner at a 
 broad, flat tombstone, carving one of his own plump 
 little inarble cherubs, gnawing a pair of cross-bones, 
 and drinking out of a hollow death's-head, or perhaps 
 a lachrymatory vase, or sepulchral urn ; while his hos- 
 tess's dead children waited on him at the ghastly ban- 
 quet. On communicating this nonsensical picture to the 
 old man, he laughed heartily, and pronounced my humor 
 to be of the right sort. 
 
 " I have lived at such a table all my days," said he, 
 " and eaten no small quantity of slate and marble." 
 
 "Hard fare!" rejoined I, smiling; "but you seemed 
 to have found it excellent of digestion, too." 
 
 A man of fifty, or thereabouts, with a harsh, unpleas- 
 ant countenance, ordered a stone for the grave of his
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 197 
 
 oitter enemy with whom he had waged warfare half a 
 lifetime, to their mutual misery and ruin. The secret of 
 this phenomenon was, that hatred had become the sus- 
 tenance and enjoyment of the poor wretch's soul ; it had 
 supplied the place of all kindly affections ; it had been 
 really a bond of sympathy between himself and the man 
 who shared the passion ; and when its object died, the 
 unappeasable foe was the only mourner for the dead. 
 He expressed a purpose of being buried side by side 
 with his enemy. 
 
 " I doubt whether their dust will mingle," remarked 
 the old sculptor to me ; for often there was an earthliness 
 in his conceptions. 
 
 " yes," replied I, who had mused long upon the in- 
 cident ; " and when they rise again, these bitter foes may 
 find themselves dear friends. Methinks what they mis- 
 took for hatred was but love under a mask." 
 
 A gentleman of antiquarian propensities provided a 
 memorial for an Indian of Chabbiquidick, one of the few 
 of untainted blood remaining in that region, and said to 
 be an hereditary chieftain, descended from the sachem 
 who welcomed Governor Mayhew to the Vineyard. Mr. 
 Wigglesworth exerted his best skill to carve a broken 
 bow and scattered sheaf of arrows, in memory of the 
 hunters and warriors whose race was ended here ; but he 
 likewise sculptured a cherub, to denote that the poor 
 Indian had shared the Christian's hope of immortality. 
 
 " Why," observed I, taking a perverse view of the 
 winged boy and the bow and arrows, "it looks more like 
 Cupid's tomb than an Indian chiefs ! " 
 
 " You talk nonsense," said the sculptor, with the 
 oflended pride of art ; he then added, with his usual good- 
 nature, " How can Cupid die when there are such pretty 
 maidens in the Vineyard ? "
 
 198 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 "Very true," answered I; and for the rest of the day 
 I thought of other matters than tombstones. 
 
 At our next meeting I found him chiselling an open 
 book upon a marble headstone, and concluded that it 
 was meant to express the erudition of some black-letter 
 clergyman of the Cotton Mather school. It turned out, 
 however, to be emblematical of the scriptural knowledge 
 of an old woman who had never read anything but her 
 Bible ; and the monument was a tribute to her piety and 
 good works, from the Orthodox church, of which she had 
 been a member. In strange contrast with this Christian 
 woman's memorial, was that of an infidel, whose grave- 
 stone, by his own direction, bore an avowal of his belief 
 that the spirt within him would be extinguished like a 
 flame, and that the nothingness whence he sprang would 
 receive him again. Mr. Wigglesworth consulted me as 
 to the propriety of enabling a dead man's dust to utter 
 this dreadful creed. 
 
 " If I thought," said he, " that a single mortal would 
 read the inscription without a shudder, my chisel should 
 never cut a letter of it. But when the grave speaks such 
 falsehoods, the soul of man will know the truth by its 
 own horror." 
 
 " So it will," said I, struck by the idea ; " the poor 
 infidel may strive to preach blasphemies from his grave ; 
 but it will be only another method of impressing the 
 soul with a consciousness of immortality." 
 
 There was an old man by the name of Norton, noted 
 throughout the island for his great wealth, which he 
 had accumulated by the exercise of strohg and shrewd 
 faculties, combined with a most penurious disposition. 
 This wretched miser, conscious that he had not a friend 
 to be mindful of him in his grave, had himself taken the 
 needful precautions for posthumous remembrance, by
 
 CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL. 199 
 
 bespeaking an immense slab of white marble, with, a long 
 epitaph in raised letters, the whole to be as magnificent 
 as Mr. Wigglesworth's skill could make it. There was 
 something very characteristic in this contrivance to have 
 his money's worth even from his own tombstone, which, 
 indeed, afforded him more enjoyment in the few months 
 that he lived thereafter, than it probably will in a whole 
 century, now that it is laid over his bones. This incident 
 reminds me of a young girl, a pale, slender, feeble crea- 
 ture, most unlike the other rosy and healthful damsels 
 of the Vineyard, amid whose brightness she was fading 
 away. Day after day did the poor maiden come to the 
 sculptor's shop, and pass from one piece of marble to an- 
 other, till at last she pencilled her name upon a slender 
 slab, which, I think, was of a more spotless white than all 
 the rest. I saw her no more, but soon afterwards found 
 Mr. Wigglesworth cutting her virgin name into the stone 
 which she had chosen. 
 
 " She is dead, poor girl," said he, interrupting the 
 tune which he was whistling, "and she chose a good 
 piece of stuff for her headstone. Now which of these 
 slabs would you like best to see your own name upon ? " 
 
 " Why, to tell you the truth, my good Mr. Wiggles- 
 worth," replied I, after a moment's pause, for the ab- 
 ruptness of the question had somewhat startled me, 
 "to be quite sincere with you, I care little or nothing 
 about a stone for my own grave, and am somewhat in- 
 clined to scepticism as to the propriety of erecting monu- 
 ments at all, over the dust that once was human. The 
 weight of these heavy marbles, though unfelt by the dead 
 corpse of the enfranchised soul, presses drearily upon the 
 spirit of the survivor, and causes him to connect the idea 
 of death with the dungeon-like imprisonment of the tomb, 
 instead of with the freedom of the skies. Every grave-
 
 200 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 stone that you ever made is the visible symbol of a mis- 
 taken system. Our thoughts should soar upward with 
 the butterfly, not linger with the exuvise that confined 
 him. In truth and reason, neither those whom we call 
 the living, and still less the departed, have anything to do 
 with the grave." 
 
 " I never heard anything so heathenish ! " said Mr. 
 Wigglesworth, perplexed and displeased at sentiments 
 which controverted all his notions and feelings, and im- 
 plied the utter waste, and worse, of his whole life's labor ; 
 " would you forget your dead friends, the moment they 
 are under the sod ? " 
 
 " They are not under the sod," I rejoined ; " then why 
 should I mark the spot where there is no treasure hid- 
 den ! Forget them ? No ! But to remember them 
 aright, I would forget what they have cast off. And to 
 gain the truer conception of DEATH, I would forget the 
 GRAVE!" 
 
 But still the good old sculptor murmured, and stum- 
 bled, as it were, over the gravestones amid which he had 
 walked through life. Whether he were right or wrong, 
 I had grown the wiser from our companionship and from 
 my observations of nature and character, as displayed by 
 those who came, with their old griefs or their new ones, 
 to get them recorded upon his slabs of marble. And yet, 
 with my gain of wisdom, I had likewise gained perplex- 
 ity ; for there was a strange doubt in my mind, whether 
 the dark shadowing of this life, the sorrows and regrets, 
 have not as much real comfort in them leaving relig- 
 ious influences out of the question as what we term 
 life's joys.
 
 THE SHAKER BRIDAL. 
 
 j]NE day, in the sick-chamber of Father Ephraim, 
 who had been forty years the presiding elder 
 over the Shaker settlement at Goshen, there 
 was an assemblage of several of the chief men of the 
 sect. Individuals had come from the rich establishment 
 at Lebanon, from Canterbury, Harvard, and Alfred, and 
 from all the other localities where this strange people 
 have fertilized the ragged hills of New England by their 
 systematic industry. An eld^er was likewise there, who 
 had made a pilgrimage of a thousand miles from a village 
 of the faithful in Kentucky, to visit his spiritual kindred, 
 the children of the sainted Mother Ann. He had par- 
 taken of the homely abundance of their tables, had quaffed 
 the far-famed Shaker cider, and had joined in the sacred 
 dance, every step of which is believed to alienate the en- 
 thusiast from earth, and bear him onward to heavenly 
 purity and bliss. His brethren of the North had now 
 courteously invited him to be present on an occasion 
 when the concurrence of every eminent member of their 
 community was peculiarly desirable. 
 
 The venerable Father Ephraim sat in his easy-chair, 
 
 not only hoary-headed and infirm with age, but worn 
 
 down by a lingering disease, which, it was evident, would 
 
 very soon transfer his patriarchal staff to other hands. 
 
 9*
 
 202 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 At his footstool stood a man and woman, both clad in the 
 Shaker garb. 
 
 " My brethren," said Father Ephraim to the surround- 
 ing elders, feebly exerting himself to utter these few words, 
 " here are the son and daughter to whom I would com- 
 mit the trust of which Providence is about to lighten my 
 weary shoulders. Itead their faces, I pray you, and say 
 whether the inward movement of the spirit hath guided 
 my choice aright." 
 
 Accordingly, each elder looked at the two candidates 
 with a most scrutinizing gaze. The man, whose name 
 was Adam Colburn, had a face sunburnt with labor in 
 the fields, yet intelligent, thoughtful, and traced with 
 cares enough for a whole lifetime, though he had barely 
 reached middle age. There was something severe in his 
 aspect, and a rigidity throughout his person, characteris- 
 tics that caused him generally to be taken for a school- 
 master ; which vocation, in fact, he had formerly exercised 
 for several years. The w,oman, Martha Pierson, was 
 somewhat above thirty, thin and pale, as a Shaker sister 
 almost invariably is, and not entirely free from that 
 corpse-like appearance, which the garb of the sisterhood 
 is so well calculated to impart. 
 
 "This pair are still in the summer of their years," 
 observed the elder from Harvard, a shrewd old man. 
 " I would like better to see the hoarfrost of autumn on 
 their heads. Methinks, also, they will be exposed to 
 peculiar temptations, on account of the carnal desires 
 which have heretofore subsisted between them." 
 
 " Nay, brother," said the elder from Canterbury, " the 
 hoarfrost and the blackfrost hath done its work on 
 Brother Adam and Sister Martha, even as we sometimes 
 discern its traces in our cornfields while they are yet 
 green. And why shpuld we question the wisdom of our
 
 THE SHAKER BRIDAL. 203 
 
 venerable Father's purpose, although this pair, in their 
 early youth, have loved one another as the world's people 
 love ? Are there not many brethren and sisters among 
 us who have lived long together in wedlock, yet, adopt- 
 ing our faith, find their hearts purified from all but spirit- 
 ual affection ? " 
 
 Whether or no the early loves of Adam and Martha 
 had rendered it inexpedient that they should now preside 
 together over a Shaker village, it was certainly most sin- 
 gular that such should be the final result of many warm 
 and tender hopes. Children of neighboring families, their 
 affection was older even than their school-days ; it seemed 
 an innate principle, interfused among all their sentiments 
 and feelings, and not so much a distinct remembrance, 
 as connected with their whole volume of remembrances. 
 But, just as they reached a proper age for their union, 
 misfortunes had fallen heavily on both, and made it neces- 
 sary that they should resort to personal labor for a bare 
 subsistence. Even under these circumstances, Martha 
 Pierson would probably have consented to unite her fate 
 with Adam Colburn's, and, secure of the bliss of mutual 
 love, would patiently have awaited the less important 
 gifts of fortune. But Adam, being of a calm and cautious 
 character, was loath to relinquish the advantages which 
 a single man possesses for raising himself in the world. 
 Year after year, therefore, their marriage had been de- 
 ferred. Adam Colburn had followed many vocations, 
 had travelled far, and seen much of the world and of life. 
 Martha had earned her bread sometimes as a seamstress, 
 sometimes as help to a farmer's wife, sometimes as school- 
 mistress of the village children, sometimes as a nurse or 
 watcher of the sick, thus acquiring a varied experience, 
 the ultimate use of which she little anticipated. But 
 nothing had gone prosperously with either of the lovers ;
 
 204 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 at no subsequent moment would matrimony have been so 
 prudent a measure as when they had first parted, in the 
 opening bloom of life, to seek a better fortune. Still they 
 had held fast their mutual faith. Martha might have been 
 the wife of a man who sat among the senators of his 
 native State ; and Adam could have won the hand, as lie 
 had unintentionally won the heart, of a rich and comely 
 widow. But neither of them desired good fortune, save 
 to share it with the other. 
 
 At length that calm despair which occurs only in a 
 strong and somewhat stubborn character, and yields to 
 no second spring of hope, settled down on the spirit of 
 Adam Colburn. He sought an interview with Martha, 
 and proposed that they should join the Society of Shak- 
 ers. The converts of this sect are oftener driven within 
 its hospitable gates by worldly misfortune, than drawn 
 thither by fanaticism, and are received without inquisition 
 as to their motives. Martha, faithful still, had placed hei 
 hand in that of her lover, and accompanied him to the 
 Shaker village. Here the natural capacity of each, culti- 
 vated and strengthened by the difficulties of their previous 
 lives, had soon gained them an important rank in the So- 
 ciety, whose members are generally below the ordinary 
 standard of intelligence. Their faith and feelings had, 
 in some degree, become assimilated to those of their 
 fellow- worshippers. Adam Colburn gradually acquired 
 reputation, not only in the management of the temporal 
 affairs of the Society, but as a clear and efficient preacher 
 of their doctrines. Martha was not less distinguished in 
 the duties proper to her sex. Finally, when the infirm- 
 ities of Father Ephraim had admonished him to seek a 
 successor in his patriarchal office, he thought of Adam 
 and Martha, and proposed to renew, in their persons, the 
 primitive form of Shaker government, as established by
 
 THE SHAKEll BRIDAL. 205 
 
 Mother Ann. They were to be the Father and Mother 
 of the village. The simple ceremony, which would con- 
 stitute them such, was now to be performed. 
 
 " Son Adam, and daughter Martha," said the vener- 
 able Father Ephraim, fixing his aged eyes piercingly upon 
 them, " if ye can conscientiously undertake this charge, 
 c, that the brethren may not doubt of your fitness." 
 Father," replied Adam, speaking with the calmness 
 of his character, " I came to your village a disappointed 
 man, weary of the world, worn out with continual trouble, 
 seeking only a security against evil fortune, as I had no 
 hope of good. Even my wishes of worldly success were 
 almost dead within me. I came hither as a man might 
 come to a tomb, willing to lie down in its gloom and cold- 
 ness, for the sake of its peace and quiet. There was but 
 one earthly affection in my breast, and it had grown 
 calmer since my youth ; so that I was satisfied to bring 
 Martha to be my sister, in our new abode. We are 
 brother and sister, nor would I have it otherwise. And 
 in this peaceful village I have found all that I hoped for, 
 all that I desire. I will strive, with my best strength, 
 for the spiritual and temporal good of our community. 
 My conscience is not doubtful in this matter. I am 
 ready to receive the trust." 
 
 "Thou hast spoken well, son Adam," said the Father. 
 " God will bless thee in the office which I am about to 
 resign." 
 
 " But our sister ! " observed the elder from Harvard ; 
 " hath she not likewise a gift to declare her senti- 
 ments ? " 
 
 Martha started, and moved her lips, as if she would 
 have made a formal reply to this appeal. But, had she 
 attempted it, perhaps the old recollections, the long- 
 repressed feelings of childhood, youth, and womauliood,
 
 206 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 might have gushed from her heart, in words that it would 
 have been profanation to utter there. 
 
 "Adam has spoken," said she, hurriedly; "his senti- 
 ments are likewise mine." 
 
 But while speaking these few words, Martha grew so 
 pale, that she looked fitter to be laid in her coffin, than to 
 stand in the presence of Father Ephraim and the elders ; 
 she shuddered, also, as if there were something awful 
 or horrible in her situation and destiny. It required, 
 indeed, a more than feminine strength of nerve, to sus- 
 tain the fixed observance of men so exalted and famous 
 throughout the sect, as these were. They had overcome 
 their natural sympathy witli human frailties and affec- 
 tions. One, when he joined the Society, had brought 
 with him his wife and children, but never, from that 
 hour, had spoken a fond word to the former, or taken 
 his best-loved child upon his knee. Another, whose 
 family refused to follow him, had been enabled such 
 was his gift of holy fortitude to leave them to the 
 mercy of the world. The youngest of the elders, a man 
 of about fifty, had been bred from infancy in a Shaker vil- 
 lage, and was said never to have clasped a woman's hand 
 in his own, and to have no conception of a closer tie than 
 the cold fraternal one of the sect. Old Father Ephraim 
 was the most awful character of all. In his youth, he 
 had been a dissolute libertine, but was converted by 
 Mother Ann herself, and had partaken of the wild fanati- 
 cism of the early Shakers. Tradition whispered, at the 
 firesides of the village, that Mother Ann had been com- 
 pelled to sear his heart of flesh with a red-hot iron, before 
 it could be purified from earthly passions. 
 
 However that might be, poor Martha had a woman's 
 heart, and a tender one, and it quailed within her as she 
 looked round at those strange old men, and from them
 
 THE SHAKER BRIDAL. 207 
 
 to the calm features of Adam Colburn. But perceiving 
 that the elders eyed her doubtfully, she gasped for breath, 
 and again spoke. 
 
 " With what strength is left me by my many troubles," 
 said she, " I am ready to undertake this charge, and to do 
 my best in it." 
 
 "My children, join your hands," said Father Ephraim. 
 
 They did so. The elders stood up around, and the 
 Father feebly raised himself to a more erect position, but 
 continued sitting in his great chair. 
 
 " I have bidden you to join your hands," said he, " not 
 in earthly affection, for ye have cast off its chains forever ; 
 but as brother and sister in spiritual love, and helpers of 
 one another in your allotted task. Teach unto others the 
 faith which ye have received. Open wide your gates, 
 I deliver you the keys thereof, open them wide to all 
 who will give up the iniquities of the world, and come 
 hither to lead lives of purity and peace. Receive the 
 weary ones, who have known the vanity of earth, re- 
 ceive the little children, that they may never learn that 
 miserable lesson. And a blessing be upon your labors ; 
 so that the time may hasten on, when the mission of 
 Mother Ann shall have wrought its full effect, when 
 children shall no more be born and die, and the last sur- 
 vivor of mortal race, some old and weary man like me, 
 shall see the sun go down, nevermore to rise on a world 
 of sin and sorrow ! " 
 
 The aged Father sank back exhausted, and the sur- 
 rounding elders deemed, with good reason, that the hour 
 was come, when the new heads of the village must enter 
 on their patriarchal duties. In their attention to Father 
 Ephraim, their eyes were turned from Martha Pierson, 
 who grew paler and paler, unnoticed even by Adam 
 Colburn. He, indeed, had withdrawn his hand from
 
 208 
 
 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 hers, and folded lib arms with a sense of satisfied am- 
 bition. But pale and paler grew Martha by his side, till, 
 like a corpse in its burial-clothes, she sank down at the 
 feet of her early lover; for, after many trials firmly 
 borne, her heart could endure the weight of its desolate 
 agony no longer.
 
 NIGHT SKETCHES. 
 
 BENEATH AN UMBRELLA. 
 
 LEASANT is a rainy winter's day, within doors ! 
 The best study for such a day, or the best 
 amusement, call it which you will, is a 
 book of travels, describing scenes the most unlike that 
 sombre one, which is mistily presented through the win- 
 dows. I have experienced, that fancy is then most suc- 
 cessful in imparting distinct shapes and vivid colors to 
 the objects which the author has spread upon his page, 
 and that his words become magic spells to summon up a 
 thousand varied pictures. Strange landscapes glimmer 
 through the familiar walls of the room, and outlandish 
 figures thrust themselves almost within the sacred pre- 
 cincts of the hearth. Small as my chamber is, it has 
 space enough to contain the ocean-like circumference 
 of an Arabian desert, its parched sands tracked by 
 the long line of a caravan, with the camels patiently 
 journeying through the heavy sunshine. Though my 
 ceiling be not lofty, yet I can pile up the mountains of 
 Central Asia beneath it, till their summits shine far 
 above the clouds of the middle atmosphere. And, with 
 my humble means, a wealth that is not taxable, I can 
 transport hither the magnificent merchandise of an Ori-
 
 210 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ental bazaar, and call a crowd of purchasers from distant 
 countries, to pay a fair profit for the precious articles 
 which are displayed on all sides. True it is, however, 
 that amid the bustle of traffic, or whatever else may 
 seem to be going on around me, the rain-drops will occa- 
 sionally be heard to patter against my window-panes, 
 which look forth upon one of the quietest streets in a 
 New England town. After a time, too, the visions vanish, 
 and will not appear again at my bidding. Then, it being 
 nightfall, a gloomy sense of unreality depresses my spir- 
 its, and impels me to venture out, before .the clock shall 
 strike bedtime, to satisfy myself that the world is not 
 entirely made up of such shadowy materials, -as have 
 busied me throughout the day. A dreamer may dwell so 
 long among fantasies, that the things without him will 
 seem as unreal as those within. 
 
 When eve has fairly set in, therefore, I sally forth, 
 tightly buttoning my shaggy overcoat, and hoisting my 
 umbrella, the silken dome of which immediately resounds 
 with the heavy drumming of the invisible rain-drops. 
 Pausing on the lowest doorstep, I contrast the warmth 
 and cheerfulness of my deserted fireside with the drear 
 obscurity and chill discomfort into which I am about to 
 plunge. Now come fearful auguries, innumerable as the 
 drops of rain. Did not my manhood cry shame upon me, 
 I should turn back within doors, resume my elbow-chair, 
 my slippers, and my book, pass such an evening of slug- 
 gish enjoyment as the day has been, and go to bed in- 
 glorious. The same shivering reluctance, no doubt, has 
 quelled, for a moment, the adventurous spirit of many a 
 traveller, when his feet, which were destined to meas- 
 ure the earth around, were leaving their last tracks in 
 the home-paths. 
 
 In my own case, poor human nature may be allowed a
 
 NIGHT SKETCHES. 211 
 
 few misgivings.* I look upward, and discern no sky, 
 not even an unfathomable void, but only a black, impene- 
 trable nothingness, as though heaven and all its lights 
 were blotted from the system of the universe. It is as 
 if nature were dead, and the world had put on black, Und 
 the clouds were weeping for her. With their tears upon 
 my cheek, I turn my eyes earthward, but find little con- 
 solation here below. A lamp is burning dimly at the 
 distant comer, and throws just enough of light along the 
 street, to show, and exaggerate by so faintly showing, 
 the perils and difficulties which beset my path. Yonder 
 dingily white remnant of a huge snow-bank, which 
 will yet cumber the sidewalk till the latter days of 
 March, over or through that wintry waste must I 
 stride onward. Beyond, lies a certain Slough of De- 
 spond, a concoction of mud and liquid filth, ankle-deep, 
 leg-deep, neck-deep, in a word, of unknown bottom, 
 on which the lamplight does not even glimmer, but 
 which I have occasionally watched, in the gradual growth 
 of its horrors, from morn till nightfall. Should I floun- 
 der into its depths, farewell to upper earth ! And hark ! 
 how roughly resounds the roaring of a stream, the tur- 
 bulent career of which is partially reddened by the gleam 
 of the lamp, but elsewhere brawls noisily through the 
 densest gloom. O, should I be swept away in fording 
 that impetuous and unclean torrent, the coroner will 
 have a job with an unfortunate gentleman, who would 
 fain end his troubles anywhere but in a mud-puddle ! 
 
 Pshaw ! I will linger not another instant at arm's- 
 length from these dim terrors, which grow more obscure- 
 ly formidable, the longer I delay to grapple with them. 
 Now for the onset ! And lo ! with little damage, save a 
 dash of rain in the face and breast, a splash of mud high 
 up the pantaloons, and the left boot full of ice-cold water,
 
 212 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 behold me at the corner of the street. The lamp throws 
 down a circle of red light around me ; and twinkling 
 onward from corner to corner, I discern other beacons 
 marshalling my way to a brighter scene. But this is a 
 lonesome and dreary spot. The tall edifices bid gloomy 
 defiance to the storm, with their blinds all closed, even 
 as a man winks when he faces a spattering gust. How 
 loudly tinkles the collected rain down the tin spouts! 
 The puffs of wind are boisterous, and seem to assail me 
 from various quarters at once. I have often observed 
 that this corner is a haunt and loitering-place for those 
 winds which have no work to do upon the deep, dashing 
 ships against our iron-bound shores ; nor in the forest, 
 tearing up the sylvan giants with half a rood of soil at 
 their vast roots. Here they amuse themselves with lesser 
 freaks of mischief. See, at this moment, how they assail 
 yonder poor woman, who is passing just within the verge 
 of the lamplight ! One blast struggles for her umbrella, 
 and turns it wrong side outward ; another whisks the 
 cape of her cloak across her eyes ; while a third takes 
 most unwarrantable liberties with the lower part of her 
 attire. Happily, the good dame is no gossamer, but a 
 figure of rotundity and fleshly substance ; else would 
 these aerial tormentors whirl her aloft, like a witch upon 
 a broomstick, and set her down, doubtless, in the filthi- 
 est kennel hereabout. 
 
 From hence I tread upon firm pavements into the 
 centre of the town. Here there is almost as brilliant 
 an illumination as when some great victory has been 
 won, either on the battle-field or at the polls. Two rows 
 of shops, with windows down nearly to the ground, cast 
 a glow from side to side, while the black night hangs 
 overhead like a canopy, and thus keeps the splendor 
 from diffusing itself away. The wet sidewalks gleam
 
 NIGHT SKETCHES. 213 
 
 with a broad sheet of red light. The rain-drops glitter, 
 as if the sky were pouring down rubies. The spouts 
 gush with fire. Methinks the scene is an emblem of 
 the deceptive glare, which mortals throw around their 
 footsteps in the moral world, thus bedazzling themselves, 
 till they forget the impenetrable obscurity that hems 
 them in, and that can be dispelled only by radiance 
 from above. And after all, it is a cheerless scene, and 
 cheerless are the wanderers in it. Here comes one who 
 has so long been familiar with tempestuous weather that 
 he takes the bluster of the storm for a friendly greeting, 
 as if it should say, " How fare ye, brother ? " He is a 
 retired sea-captain, wrapped in some nameless garment 
 of the pea-jacket order, and is now laying his course 
 towards the Marine Insurance Office, there to spin 
 yarns of gale and shipwreck, with a crew of old sea- 
 dogs like himself. The blast will put in its word among 
 their hoarse voices, and be understood by all of them. 
 Next I meet an unhappy slipshod gentleman, with a 
 cloak flung hastily over his shoulders, running a race 
 with boisterous winds, and striving to glide between the 
 drops of rain. Some domestic emergency or other has 
 blown this miserable man from his warm fireside in quest 
 of a doctor ! See that little vagabond, how carelessly 
 he has taken his stand right underneath a spout, while 
 staring at some object of curiosity in a shop-window! 
 Surely the rain is his native element ; he must have 
 fallen with it from the clouds, as frogs are supposed 
 to do. , 
 
 Here is a picture, and a pretty one. A young man 
 and a girl, both enveloped in cloaks, and huddled be- 
 neath the scanty protection of a cotton umbrella. She 
 wears rubber overshoes ; but he is in his dancing-pumps ; 
 and they are on their way, no doubt, to some cotillon-
 
 214 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 party, or subscription-ball at a dollar a head, refresh- 
 ments included. Thus they struggle against the gloomy 
 tempest, lured onward by a vision of festal splendor. 
 But, ah ! a most lamentable disaster. Bewildered by 
 the red, blue, and yellow meteors, in an apothecary's 
 window, they have stepped upon a slippery remnant 
 of ice, and are precipitated into a confluence of swollen 
 floods, at the corner of two streets. Luckless lovers ! 
 Were it my nature to be other than a looker-on in life, 
 I would attempt your rescue. Since that may not be, 
 I vow, should you be drowned, to weave such a pathetic 
 story of your fate, as shall call forth tears enough to 
 drown you both anew. Do ye touch bottom, my young 
 friends ? Yes ; they emerge like a water-nymph and a 
 river deity, and paddle hand in hand out of the depths 
 of the dark pool. They hurry homeward, dripping, dis- 
 consolate, abashed, but with love too warm to be chilled 
 by the cold water. They have stood a test which proves 
 too strong for many. Faithful, though over head and 
 ears in trouble ! 
 
 Onward I go, deriving a sympathetic joy or sorrow 
 from the varied aspect of mortal affairs, even as my 
 figure catches a gleam from the lighted windows, or 
 is blackened by an interval of darkness. Not that mine 
 is altogether a chameleon spirit, with no hue of its own. 
 Now I pass into a more retired street, where the dwell- 
 ings of wealth and poverty are intermingled, presenting a 
 range of strongly contrasted pictures. Here, too, may 
 be found the golden mean. Through yonder casement 
 I discern a family circle, the grandmother, the par- 
 ents, and the children, all flickering, shadow-like, in 
 the glow of a wood-fire. Bluster, fierce blast, and beat, 
 thou wintry rain, against the window-panes ! Ye can- 
 uot damp the enjoyment of that fireside. Surely my fate
 
 NIGHT SKETCHES. 215 
 
 is hard, that I should be wandering homeless here, tak- 
 ing to my bosom night, and storm, and solitude, instead 
 of wife and children. Peace, murmurer ! Doubt not 
 that darker guests are sitting round the hearth, though 
 the warm blaze hides all but blissful images. Well; 
 here is still a brighter scene. A stately mansion, illu- 
 minated for a ball, with cut-glass chandeliers and ala- 
 baster lamps in every room, and sunny landscapes hang- 
 ing round the walls. See ! a coach has stopped, whence 
 emerges a slender beauty, who, canopied by two um- 
 brellas, glides within the portal, and vanishes amid 
 lightsome thrills of music. Will she ever feel the night- 
 wind and the rain ? Perhaps, perhaps ! And will 
 Death and Sorrow ever enter that proud mansion? 
 As surely as the dancers will be gay within its halls 
 to-night. Such thoughts sadden, yet satisfy my heart; 
 for they teach me that the poor man, in his mean, 
 weather-beaten hovel, without a fire to cheer him, may 
 call the rich his brother, brethren by Sorrow, who must 
 be an inmate of both their households, brethren by 
 Death, who will lead them both to other homes. 
 
 Onward, still onward, I plunge into the night. Now 
 have I reached the utmost limits of the town, where the 
 last lamp struggles feebly with the darkness, like the 
 farthest star that stands sentinel on the borders of un- 
 created space. It is strange what sensations of sublimity 
 may spring from a very humble source. Such are sug- 
 gested by this hollow roar of a subterranean cataract, 
 where the mighty stream of a kennel precipitates itself 
 beneath an iron grate, and is seen no more on earth. 
 Listen awhile to its voice of mystery ; and fancy will 
 magnify it, till you start and smile at the illusion. And 
 now another sound, the rumbling of wheels, as the 
 mail-coach, outward bound, rolls heavily off the pave-
 
 216 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ments, and splashes through the mud and water of the 
 road. All night long, the poor passengers will be tossed 
 to and fro between drowsy watch and troubled sleep, and 
 will dream of their own quiet beds, and awake to find 
 themselves still jolting onward. Happier my lot, who 
 will straightway hie me to my familiar room, and toast 
 myself comfortably before the fire, musing, and fitfully 
 dozing, and fancying a strangeness in such sights as all 
 may see. But first let me gaze at this solitary figure, 
 who comes hitherward with a tin lantern, which throws 
 the circular pattern of its punched holes on the ground 
 about him. He passes fearlessly into the unknown gloom, 
 whither I will not follow him. 
 
 This figure shall supply me with a moral, wherewith, 
 for lack of a more appropriate one, I may wind up my 
 sketch. He fears not to tread the dreary path before 
 him, because his lantern, which was kindled at the fire- 
 side of his home, will light him back to that same fireside 
 again. And thus we, night-wanderers through a stormy 
 and dismal world, if we bear the lamp of Faith, enkindled 
 at a celestial fire, it will surely lead us home to that 
 Heaven whence its radiance was borrowed.
 
 BNDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS. 
 
 noon of an autumnal day, more than two 
 centuries ago, the English colors were displayed 
 
 by the standard-bearer of the Salem trainband, 
 
 which had mustered for martial exercise under the orders 
 of John Endicott. It was a period when the religious 
 exiles were accustomed often to buckle on their armor, 
 and practise the handling of their weapons of war. Since 
 the first settlement of New England, its prospects had 
 never been so dismal. The dissensions between Charles 
 the Tirst and his subjects were then, and for several 
 years afterwards, confined to the floor of Parliament. 
 The measures of the King and ministry were rendered 
 more tyranically violent by an opposition, which had not 
 yet acquired sufficient confidence in its own strength to 
 resist royal injustice with the sword. The bigoted and 
 haughty primate, Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury, con- 
 trolled the religious affairs of the realm, and was conse- 
 quently invested with powers which might have wrought 
 the utter ruin of the two Puritan colonies, Plymouth and 
 Massachusetts. There is evidence on record, that our 
 forefathers perceived their danger, but were resolved that 
 their infant country should not fall without a struggle, 
 even beneath the giant strength of the King's right arm. 
 Such was the aspect of the times, when the folds of 
 
 VOL. II. 10
 
 218 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the English banner, with the Red Cross in its field, were 
 flung out over a company of Puritans. Their leader, the 
 famous Endicott, was a man of stern, and resolute coun- 
 tenance, the effect of which was heightened by a grizzled 
 beard that swept the upper portion of his breastplate. 
 This piece of armor was so highly polished, that the 
 whole surrounding scene had its image in the glittering 
 steel. The central object in the mirrored picture was 
 an edifice of humble architecture, with neither steeple 
 nor bell to proclaim it what nevertheless it was the 
 house of prayer. A token of the perils of the wilder- 
 ness was seen in the grim head of a wolf, which had just 
 been slain within the precincts of the town, and, according 
 to the regular mode of claiming the bounty, was nailed 
 on the porch of the meeting-house. The blood was still 
 plashing on the doorstep. There happened to be visible, 
 at the same noontide hour, so many other characteristics 
 of the times and manners of the Puritans, that we must 
 endeavor to represent them in a sketch, though far less 
 vividly than they were reflected in the polished breast- 
 plate of John Endicott. 
 
 In close vicinity to the sacred edifice appeared that 
 important engine of Puritanic authority, the whipping- 
 post, with the soil around it well trodden by the feet of 
 evil-doers, who had there been disciplined. At one cor- 
 ner of the meeting-house was the pillory, and at the other 
 the stocks; and, by a singular good fortune for our 
 sketch, the head of an Episcopalian and suspected Cath- 
 olic was grotesquely incased in the former machine; 
 while a fellow-criminal, who had boisterously quaifed a 
 health to the King, was confined by the legs in the latter. 
 Side by side, on the meeting-house steps, stood a male 
 and a female figure. The man was a tall, lean, haggard 
 personification of fanaticism, bearing on his breast this
 
 ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS. 219 
 
 label, A WANTON GOSPELLER, which betokened that 
 he had dared to give interpretations of Holy Writ un- 
 sanctioued by the infallible judgment of the civil and 
 religious rulers. His aspect showed no lack of $eal to 
 maintain his heterodoxies, even at the stake. The woman 
 wore a cleft stick on her tongue, in appropriate retribu- 
 tion for having wagged that unruly member against the 
 elders of the church ; and her countenance and gestures 
 gave much cause to apprehend, that, the moment the 
 stick should be removed, a repetition of 'the offence 
 would demand new ingenuity in chastising it. 
 
 The above-mentioned individuals had been sentenced 
 to -undergo their various modes of ignominy, for the 
 space of one hour at noonday. But among the crowd 
 were several whose punishment would be life-long ; some, 
 whose ears had been cropped, like those of puppy-dogs ; 
 others, whose cheeks had been branded with the initials 
 of their misdemeanors ; one, with his nostrils slit and 
 seared ; and another, with a halter about his neck, which 
 he was forbidden ever to take off, or to conceal beneath 
 his garments. Methinks he must have been grievously 
 tempted to affix the other end of the rope to some con- 
 venient beam or bough. There was likewise a young 
 woman, with no mean share of beauty, whose doom it 
 was to wear the letter A on the breast of her gown, in 
 the eyes of all the world and her own children. And 
 even her own children knew what that initial signified. 
 Sporting with her infamy, the lost and desperate creature 
 had embroidered the fatal token in scarlet cloth, with 
 golden thread and the nicest art of needlework ; so that 
 the capital A might have been thought to mean Admi- 
 rable, or anything rather than Adulteress. 
 
 Let not the reader argue, from any of these evidences 
 of iniquity, that the times of the Puritans were more
 
 220 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 vicious than our own, when, as we pass along the very 
 street of this sketch, we discern no badge of infamy on 
 man or woman. It was the policy of our ancestors to 
 search out even the most secret sins and expose them 
 to shame, without fear or favor, in the broadest light of 
 the noonday sun. Were such the custom now, per- 
 chance we might find materials for a no less piquant 
 sketch than the above. 
 
 Except the malefactors whom we have described, and 
 the diseased or infirm persons, the whole male popula- 
 tion of the town, between sixteen years and sixty, were 
 seen in the ranks of the trainband. A few stately sav- 
 ages, in all the pomp and dignity of the primeval Indian, 
 stood gazing at the spectacle. Their flint-headed arrows 
 were but childish weapons, compared with the match- 
 locks of the Puritans, and would have rattled harmlessly 
 against the steel caps and hammered iron breastplates, 
 which enclosed each soldier in an individual fortress. 
 The valiant John Endicott glanced with an eye of pride 
 at his sturdy followers, and prepared to renew the mar- 
 tial toils of the day. 
 
 " Come, my stout hearts ! " quoth he, drawing his 
 sword. " Let us show these poor heathen that we can 
 handle our weapons like men of might. Well for them, 
 if they put us not to prove it in earnest ! " 
 
 The iron-breasted company straightened their line, and 
 each man drew the heavy butt of his matchlock close to 
 his left foot, thus awaiting the orders of the captain. 
 But, as Endicott glanced right and left along the front, 
 he discovered a personage at some little distance, with 
 whom it behooved him to hold a parley. It was an eld- 
 erly gentleman, wearing a black cloak and baud, and a 
 high-crowned hat, beneath which was a velvet skullcap, 
 the whole being the garb of a Puritan minister. This
 
 ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS. 221 
 
 reverend person bore a staff, which seemed to have been 
 recently cut in the forest, and his shoes were bemired, as 
 if he had been travelling on foot through the swamps of 
 the wilderness. His aspect was perfectly that of a pil- 
 grim, heightened also by an apostolic dignity. Just as 
 Endicott perceived him, he laid aside his staff, and 
 stooped to drink at a bubbling fountain, which gushed 
 into the sunshine about a score of yards from the corner 
 of the meeting-house. But, ere the good man drank, he 
 turned his face heavenward in thankfulness, and then, 
 holding back his gray beard with one hand, he scooped 
 up his simple draught in the hollow of the other. 
 
 " What, ho ! good Mr. Williams," shouted Endicott. 
 " You are welcome back again to our town of peace. 
 How does our worthy Governor Winthrop ? And what 
 news from Boston ? " 
 
 " The Governor hath his health, worshipful Sir," an- 
 swered Roger Williams, now resuming his staff, and 
 drawing near. " And, for the news, here is a letter, 
 which, knowing I was to travel hitherward to-day, his 
 Excellency committed to my charge. Belike it contains 
 tidings of much import; for a ship arrived yesterday 
 from England." 
 
 Mr. Williams, the minister of Salem, and of course 
 known to all the spectators, had now reached the spot 
 where Endicott was standing under the banner of his 
 company, and put the Governor's epistle into his hand. 
 The broad seal was impressed with Winthrop's coat of 
 arms. Endicott hastily unclosed the letter, and began 
 to read; while; as his eye passed down the page, a 
 wrathful change came over his manly countenance. The 
 blood glowed through it, till it seemed to be kindling 
 with an internal heat ; nor was it unnatural to suppose 
 that his breastplate would likewise become red-hot,
 
 222 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 with the angry fire of the bosom which it covered. Ar- 
 riving at the conclusion, he shook the letter fiercely in 
 his hand, so that it rustled as loud as the flag above his 
 head. 
 
 " Black tidings these, Mr. "Williams," said he ; " blacker 
 never came to New England. Doubtless you know their 
 purport ? " 
 
 " Yea, truly," replied Roger Williams ; " for the Gov- 
 ernor consulted, respecting this matter, with my brethren 
 in the ministry at Boston ; and my opinion was likewise 
 asked. And his Excellency entreats you by me, that the 
 news be not suddenly noised abroad, lest the people be 
 stirred up unto some outbreak, and thereby give the 
 King and the Archbishop a handle against us." 
 
 " The Governor is a wise man, a wise man, and a 
 meek and moderate," said Endicott, setting his teeth 
 grimly. " Nevertheless, I must do according to my own 
 best judgment. There is neither man, woman, nor child 
 in New England but has a concern as dear as life in 
 these tidings; and if John Endicott' s voice be loud 
 enough, man, woman, and child shall hear them. Sol- 
 diers, wheel into a hollow square ! Ho, good people ! 
 Here are news for one and all of you." 
 
 The soldiers closed in around their captain ; and he 
 and Roger "Williams stood together under the banner of 
 the Red Cross; while the women and the aged men 
 pressed forward, and the mothers held up their children 
 to look Endicott in the face. A few taps of the drum 
 gave signal for silence and attention. 
 
 "Fellow- soldiers, fellow -exiles," began Endicott, 
 speaking under strong excitement, yet powerfully re- 
 straining it, " wherefore did ye leave your native coun- 
 try ? "Wherefore, I say, have we left the green and fertile 
 fields, the cottages, or, perchance, the old gray halls, where
 
 ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS. 223 
 
 we were born and bred, the churchyards where our fore- 
 fathers lie buried ? Wherefore have we come hither to 
 set up our own tombstones in a wilderness ? A howling 
 wilderness it is ! The wolf and the bear meet us within 
 halloo of our dwellings. The savage lieth in wait for us ' 
 in the dismal shadow of the woods. The stubborn roots 
 of the trees break our ploughshares, when we would till 
 the earth. Our children cry for bread, and we must dig 
 in the sands of the sea-shore to satisfy them. Wherefore, 
 I say again, have we sought this country of a rugged soil 
 and wintry sky ? Was it not for the enjoyment of our 
 civil rights ? Was it not for liberty to worship God ac- 
 cording to our conscience ? " 
 
 " Call you this liberty of conscience ? " interrupted a 
 voice on the steps of the meeting-house. 
 
 It was the Wanton Gospeller. A sad and quiet smile 
 flitted across the mild visage of Roger Williams. But 
 Endicott, in the excitement of the moment, shook his 
 sword wrathfully at the culprit, an ominous gesture 
 from a man like him. 
 
 " What hast thou to do with conscience, thou knave ? " 
 cried he. " I said liberty to worship God, not license to 
 profane and ridicule him. Break not in upon my speech ; 
 or I will lay thee neck and heels till this time to-morrow ! 
 Hearken to me, friends, nor heed that accursed rhapso- 
 dist. As I was saying, we have sacrificed all things, and 
 have come to a land whereof the old world hath scarcely 
 heard, that we might make a new world unto ourselves, 
 and painfully seek a path from hence to heaven. But 
 what think ye now ? This son of a Scotch tyrant, this 
 grandson of a Papistical and adulterous Scotchwoman, 
 whose death proved that a golden crown doth not always 
 save an anointed head from the block " 
 
 "Nay, brother, nay," interposed Mr. Williams; "thy
 
 224 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 words are not meet for a secret chamber, far less for a 
 public street." 
 
 " Hold thy peace, Roger Williams ! " answered Endi- 
 cott, imperiously. " My spirit is wiser than thine, for 
 the business now in hand. I tell ye, fellow-exiles, that- 
 Charles of England, and Laud, our bitterest persecutor, 
 arch-priest of Canterbury, are resolute to pursue us even 
 hither. They are taking counsel, saith this letter, to send 
 over a governor-general, in whose breast shall be depos- 
 ited all the law and equity of the land. They are minded, 
 also, to establish the idolatrous forms of English Episco- 
 pacy ; so that, when Laud shall kiss the Pope's toe, as 
 cardinal of Rome, lie may deliver New England, bound 
 hand and foot, into the power of his master ! " 
 
 A deep groan from the auditors a sound of wrath, 
 as well as fear and sorrow responded to this intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 "Look ye to it, brethren," resumed Endicott, with 
 increasing energy. " If this King and this arch-prelate 
 have their will, we shall briefly behold a cross on the 
 spire of this tabernacle which we have builded, and a 
 high altar within its walls, with wax tapers burning round 
 it at noonday. We shall hear the sacring bell, and the 
 voices of the Romish priests saying the mass. But think 
 ye, Christian men, that these abominations may be suffered 
 without a sword drawn ? without a shot fired ? without 
 blood spilt, yea, on the very stairs of the pulpit ? No, 
 be ye strong of hand, and stout of heart ! Here we 
 stand on our own soil, which we have bought with our 
 goods, which we. have won with our swords, which we 
 have cleared with our axes, which we have tilled with the 
 sweat of our brows, which we have sanctified with our 
 prayers to the God that brought us hither ! Who shall 
 enslave us here ? What have we to do with this mitred
 
 ENDICOTT AND THE EED CROSS. 225 
 
 prelate, with this crowned King ? What have we to 
 do with England ? " 
 
 Eudicott gazed round at the excited countenances of 
 the people, now full of his own spirit, and then turned 
 suddenly to the standard-bearer, who stood close behind 
 him. 
 
 " Officer, lower your banner ! " said he. 
 
 The officer obeyed; and, brandishing his sword, En- 
 dicott thrust it through the cloth, and, with his left hand, 
 rent the Red Cross completely out of the banner. He then 
 waved the tattered ensign above his head. 
 
 " Sacrilegious wretch ! " cried the High-Churchman in 
 the pillory, unable longer to restrain himself; "thou 
 hast rejected the symbol of our holy religion ! " 
 
 " Treason, treason ! " roared the royalist in the stocks. 
 " He hath defaced the King's banner ! " 
 
 " Before God and man, I will avouch the deed," an- 
 swerd Endicott. " Beat a flourish, drummer ! shout, 
 soldiers and people ! in honor of the ensign of New Eng- 
 land. Neither Pope nor Tyrant hath part in it now ! " 
 
 With a cry of triumph, the people gave their sanction 
 to one of the boldest exploits which our history records. 
 And, forever honored be the name of Endicott ! We 
 look back through the mist of ages, and recognize, in the 
 rending of the Red Cross from New England's banner, 
 the first omen of that deliverance which our fathers con- 
 summated, after the bones of the stern Puritan had lain 
 more than a century in the dust. 
 
 10 ;
 
 ~~ ~ - 
 
 THE LILY'S QUEST. 
 
 AN APOLOGUE. 
 
 |WO lovers, once upon a tin^e, had planned a little 
 summer-house, in the form of an antique temple, 
 which it was their purpose to consecrate to all 
 manner of refined and innocent enjoyments. There they 
 would hold pleasant intercourse with one another, and 
 the circle of their familiar friends ; there they would give 
 festivals of delicious fruit ; there they would hear light- 
 some music, intermingled with the strains of pathos 
 which make joy more sweet; there they would read 
 poetry and fiction, and permit their own minds to flit 
 away in daydreams and romance ; there, in short, for 
 why should we shape out the vague sunshine of their 
 hopes? there all pure delights were to cluster like 
 roses among the pillars of the edifice, and blossom ever 
 new and spontaneously. So, one breezy and cloudless 
 afternoon, Adam Forrester and Lilias Fay set out upon a 
 ramble over the wide estate which they were to possess 
 together, seeking a proper site for their Temple of Hap- 
 piness. They were themselves a fair and happy spectacle, 
 fit priest and priestess for such a shrine ; although, mak- 
 ing poetry of the pretty name of Lilias, Adam Forrester 
 was wont to call her LILY, because her form was as 
 fragile, and her cheek almost as pale.
 
 THE LILY'S QUEST. 227 
 
 As they passed, hand in hand, down the avenue of 
 drooping elms, that led from the portal of Lilias Fay's 
 paternal mansion, they seemed to glance like winged 
 creatures through the strips of sunshine, and to scatter 
 brightness where the deep shadows fell. But, setting 
 forth at the same time with this youthful pair, there was 
 a dismal figure, wrapped in a black velvet cloak that 
 might have been made of a coffin pall, and with a sombre 
 hat, such as mourners wear, drooping its broad brim 
 over his heavy brows. Glancing behind them, the lovers 
 well knew who it was that followed, but wished from 
 their hearts that he had been elsewhere, as being a com- 
 panion so strangely unsuited to their joyous errand. It 
 was a near relative of Lilias Fay, an old man by the name 
 of Walter Gascoigne, who had long labored under the 
 burden of a melancholy spirit, which was sometimes mad- 
 dened into absolute insanity, and always had a tinge of it. 
 What a contrast between the young pilgrims of bliss and 
 their unbidden associate ! They looked as if moulded of 
 Heaven's sunshine, and he of earth's gloomiest shade ; 
 they flitted along like Hope and Joy, roaming hand in 
 hand through life; while his darksome figure stalked 
 behind, a type of all the woful influences which life could 
 fling upon them. But the three had not gone far, when 
 they reached a spot that pleased the gentle Lily, and she 
 paused. 
 
 " What sweeter place shall we find than this ? " said 
 she. " Why should we seek farther for the site of our 
 Temple ? " 
 
 It was indeed a delightful spot of earth, though undis- 
 tinguished by any very prominent beauties, being merely 
 a nook in the shelter of a hill, with the prospect of a 
 distant lake in one direction, and of a church-spire in 
 another. There were vistas and pathways, leading on-
 
 228 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ward and onward into the green woodlands, and vanishing' 
 away in the glimmering shade. The Temple, if erected 
 here, would look towards the west : so that the lovers 
 could shape all sorts of magnificent dreams out of the pur- 
 ple, violet, and gold of the sunset sky ; and few of their an- 
 ticipated pleasures were dearer than this sport of fantasy. 
 
 " Yes," said Adam Forrester, " we might seek all day, 
 and find no lovelier spot. We will build our Temple 
 here." 
 
 But their sad old companion, who had taken his stand 
 on the very site which they proposed to cover with a 
 marble floor, shook his head and frowned ; and the young 
 man and the Lily deemed it almost enough to blight the 
 spot, and desecrate it for their airy Temple, that his dis- 
 mal figure had thrown its shadow there. He pointed to 
 some scattered stones, the remnants of a former struc- 
 ture, and to flowers such as young girls delight to nurse 
 in their gardens, but which had now relapsed into the 
 wild simplicity of nature. 
 
 " Not here ! " cried old Walter Gascoigne. " Here, 
 long ago, other mortals built their Temple of Happiness. 
 Seek another site for yours ! " 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Lilias Fay. " Have any ever 
 planned such a Temple, save ourselves ? " 
 
 "Poor child!" said her gloomy kinsman. "In one 
 shape or other, every mortal has dreamed your dream. 
 
 Then he told the lovers, how not, indeed, an antique 
 Temple but a dwelling had once stood there, and that 
 a dark-clad guest had dwelt among its inmates, sitting 
 forever at the fireside, and poisoning all their household 
 mirth. Under this type, Adam Forrester and Lilias saw 
 that the old man spake of Sorrow. He told of nothing 
 that might not be recorded in the history of almost every 
 household; and yet his hearers felt as if no sunshine
 
 THE LILY'S QUEST. 229 
 
 ought to fall upon a spot where human grief had left so 
 deep a stain ; or, at least, that no joyous Temple should 
 be built there. 
 
 " This is very sad," said the Lily, sighing. 
 
 " Well, there are lovelier spots than this," said Adam 
 Forrester, soothingly, " spots which sorrow has not 
 blighted:" 
 
 So they hastened away, and the melancholy Gascoigne 
 followed them, looking as if he had gathered up all the 
 gloom of the deserted spot, and was bearing it as a bur- 
 den of inestimable treasure. But still they rambled on, 
 and soon found themselves in a rocky dell, through the 
 midst of which ran a streamlet, with ripple, and foam, 
 and a continual voice of inarticulate joy. It was a wild 
 retreat, walled on either side with gray precipices, which 
 would have frowned somewhat too sternly, had not a 
 profusion of green shrubbery rooted itself into their crev- 
 ices, and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn 
 brows. But the chief joy of the dell was in the little 
 stream, which seemed like the presence of a blissful child, 
 with nothing earthly to do save to babble merrily and 
 disport itself, and make every living soul its playfellow, 
 and throw the sunny gleams of its spirit upon all. 
 
 " Here, here is the spot ! " cried the two lovers with 
 one voice, as they reached a level space on the brink of a 
 small cascade. " This glen was made on purpose for our 
 Temple ! " 
 
 " And the glad song of the brook will be always in our 
 ears," said Lilias Fay. 
 
 " And its long melody shall sing the bliss of our life- 
 time," said Adam Forrester. 
 
 " Ye must build no Temple here ! " murmured their 
 dismal companion. 
 
 And there again was the old lunatic, standing just on
 
 230 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 the spot where they meant to rear their lightsome dome, 
 and looking like the embodied symbol of some great woe, 
 that, in forgotten days, had happened there. And, alas ! 
 there had been woe, nor that alone. A young man, more 
 than a hundred years before, had lured hither a girl that 
 loved him, and on this spot had murdered her, and washed 
 his bloody hands in the stream which sung so merrily. 
 And ever since, the victim's death-shrieks were often 
 heard to echo between the cliffs. 
 
 " And see ! " cried old Gascoigne, " is the stream yet 
 pure from the stain of the murderer's hands ? " 
 
 " Methinks it has a tinge of blood," faintly answered 
 the Lily ; and being as slight as the gossamer, she trem- 
 bled and clung to her lover's arm, whispering, "let us 
 flee from this dreadful vale ! " 
 
 " Come, then," said Adam Forrester, as cheerily as he 
 could ; " we shall soon find a happier spot." 
 
 They set forth again, young Pilgrims on that quest 
 which millions which every child of Earth has tried 
 in turn. And were the Lily and her lover to be more 
 fortunate than all those millions ? For a long time, it 
 seemed not so. The dismal shape of the old lunatic still 
 glided behind them ; and for every spot that looked 
 lovely in their eyes, he had some legend of human wrong 
 or suffering, so miserably sad, that his auditors could 
 never afterwards connect the idea of joy with the place 
 where it had happened. Here, a heart-broken woman, 
 kneeling to her child, had been spurned from his feet ; 
 here, a desolate old creature had prayed to the Evil One, 
 and had received a fiendish malignity of soul, in answer 
 to her prayer ; here, a new-born infant, sweet blossom of 
 iife, had been found dead, with the impress of its moth- 
 er's fingers round its throat ; and here, under a shattered 
 oak, two lovers had been stricken by lightning, and fell
 
 THE LILY'S QUEST. 231 
 
 blackened corpses in each other's arms. The dreary 
 Gascoigne had a gift to know whatever evil and lamenta- 
 ble thing had stained the bosom of Mother Earth ; and 
 when his funereal voice had told the tale, it appeared like 
 a prophecy of future woe, as well as a tradition of the 
 past. And now, by their sad demeanor, you would 
 have fancied that the pilgrim lovers were seeking, not a 
 temple of earthly joy, but a tomb for themselves and 
 their posterity. 
 
 " Where in this world," exclaimed Adam Forrester, 
 despondingly, "shall we build our Temple of Happi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 " Where in this world, indeed ! " repeated Lilias Fay ; 
 and being faint and weary, the more so by the heaviness 
 of her heart, the Lily drooped her head and sat down on 
 the summit of a knoll, repeating, " Where in this world 
 shall we build our Temple ? " 
 
 " Ah ! have you already asked yourselves that ques- 
 tion ? " said their companion, his shaded features grow- 
 ing even gloomier with the smile that dwelt on them ; 
 " yet there is a place, even in this world, where ye may 
 build it." 
 
 While the old man spoke, Adam Forrester and Lilias 
 had carelessly thrown their eyes around, and perceived 
 that the spot where they had chanced to pause pos- 
 sessed a quiet charm, which was well enough adapted to 
 their present mood of mind. It was a small rise of 
 ground, with a certain regularity of shape, that had per- 
 haps been bestowed by art ; and a group of trees, which 
 almost surrounded it, threw their pensive shadows across 
 and far beyond, although some softened glory of the 
 sunshine found its way there. The ancestral mansion, 
 wherein the lovers would dwell together, appeared on 
 one side, and the ivied church, where they were to wor-
 
 232 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 ship, on another. Happening to cast their eyes on the 
 ground, the}- smiled, yet with a sense of wonder, to see 
 that a pale lily was growing at their feet. 
 
 " We will build our Temple here," said t'hey, simulta- 
 neously, and with an indescribable conviction, that they 
 had at last found the very spot. 
 
 Yet, while they uttered this exclamation, the young 
 man and the Lily turned an apprehensive glance at their 
 dreary associate, deeming it hardly possible, that some 
 tale of earthly affliction should not make those precincts 
 loathsome, as in every former case. The old man stood 
 just behind them, so as to form the chief figure in the 
 group, with his sable cloak muffling the lower part of 
 his visage, and his sombre hat overshadowing his brows. 
 But he gave no word of dissent from their purpose ; 
 and an inscrutable smile was accepted by the lovers 
 as a token that here had been no footprint of guilt 
 or sorrow, to desecrate the site of their Temple of Hap- 
 piness. 
 
 In a little time longer, while summer was still in its 
 prime, the fairy structure of the Temple arose on the 
 summit of the knoll, amid the solemn shadows of the 
 trees, yet often gladdened with bright sunshine. It was 
 built of white marble, with slender and graceful pillars, 
 supporting a vaulted dome ; and beneath the centre of 
 this dome, upon a pedestal, was a slab of dark-veined 
 marble, on which books and music might be strewn. 
 But there was a fantasy among the people of the neigh- 
 borhood, that the edifice was planned after an ancient 
 mausoleum, and was intended for a tomb, and that the 
 central slab of dark -veined marble was to be inscribed 
 with the names of buried ones. They doubted, too, 
 whether the form of Lilias Fay could appertain to a 
 creature of this earth, being so very delicate, and grow-
 
 THE LILY'S QUEST. 233 
 
 ing every day more fragile, so that she looked as if the 
 summer breeze should snatch her up, and waft her heav- 
 enward. But still she watched the daily growth of the 
 Temple ; and so did old Walter Gascoigne, who now 
 made that spot his continual haunt, leaning whole hours 
 together on his staff, and giving as deep attention to the 
 work as though it had been indeed a tomb. In due time 
 it was finished, and a day appointed for a simple rite of 
 dedication. 
 
 On the preceding evening, after Adam Forrester had 
 taken leave of his mistress, he looked back towards the 
 portal of her dwelling, and felt a strange thrill of fear ; 
 for he imagined that, as the setting sunbeams faded from 
 her figure, she was exhaling away, and that something of 
 her ethereal substance was withdrawn, with each lessen- 
 ing gleam of light. With his farewell glance, a shadow 
 had fallen over the portal, and Lilias was invisible. His 
 foreboding spirit deemed it an omen at the time ; and so 
 it proved ; for the sweet earthly form, by which the Lily 
 had been manifested to the world, was found lifeless, the 
 next morning, in the Temple, with her head resting on 
 her arms, which were folded upon the slab of dark-veined 
 marble. The chill winds of the earth had long since 
 breathed a blight into this beautiful flower, so that a 
 loving hand had now transplanted it, to blossom brightly 
 in the garden of Paradise. 
 
 But, alas for the Temple of Happiness ! In his unut- 
 terable grief, Adam Forrester had no purpose more at 
 heart than to convert this Temple of many delightful 
 hopes into a tomb, and bury his dead mistress there. 
 And lo ! a wonder ! Digging a grave beneath the Tem- 
 ple's marble floor, the sexton found no virgin earth, such 
 as was meet to receive the maiden's dust, but an ancient 
 sepulchre, in which were treasured up the bones of geu-
 
 234 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 erations that had died long ago. Among those forgotten 
 ancestors was the Lily to be laid. And when the funeral 
 procession brought Lilias thither in her coffin, they beheld 
 old Walter Gascoigne standing beneath the dome of the 
 Temple, with his cloak of pall, and face of darkest gloom ; 
 and wherever that figure might take its stand, the spot 
 would seem a sepulchre. He watched the mourners as 
 they lowered the coffin down. 
 
 " And so," said he to Adam Forrester, with the strange 
 smile in which his insanity was wont to gleam forth, "you 
 hare found no better foundation for your happiness than 
 on a grave ! " 
 
 But as the Shadow of Affliction spoke, a vision of 
 Hope and Joy had its birth in Adam's mind, even from 
 the old man's taunting words ; for then he knew what 
 was betokened by the parable in which the Lily and him- 
 self had acted ; and the mystery of Life and Death was 
 opened to him. 
 
 " Joy ! joy ! " he cried, throwing his arms towards 
 Heaven, " on a grave be the site of our Temple ; and 
 now our happiness is for Eternity ! " 
 
 With those words, a ray of sunshine broke through 
 the dismal sky, and glimmered down into the sepulchre ; 
 while, at the same moment, the shape of old Walter 
 Gascoigne stalked drearily away, because his gloom, 
 symbolic of all earthly sorrow, might no longer abide 
 there, now that the darkest riddle of humanity was read.
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 |T must be a spirit much unlike my own, which 
 can keep itself in health and vigor without 
 sometimes stealing from the sultry sunshine of 
 the world, to plunge into the cool bath of solitude. At 
 intervals, and not infrequent ones, the forest and the 
 ocean summon me one with the roar of its waves, the 
 other with the murmur of its boughs forth from the 
 haunts of men. But I must wander many a mile, ere I 
 could stand beneath the shadow of even one primeval 
 tree, much less be lost among the multitude of hoary 
 trunks, and hidden from earth and sky by the mystery 
 of darksome foliage. Nothing is within my daily reach 
 more like a forest than the acre or two of woodland near 
 some suburban farm-house. When, therefore, the yearn- 
 ing for seclusion becomes a necessity within me, I am 
 drawn to the sea-shore, which extends its line of rude 
 rocks and seldom-trodden sands, for leagues around our 
 bay. Setting forth at my last ramble, on a September 
 morning, I bound myself with a hermit's vow, to inter- 
 change no thoughts with man or woman, to share no 
 social pleasure, but to derive all that day's enjoyment 
 from shore, and sea, and sky, from my soul's commun- 
 ion with these, and from fantasies, and recollections, or 
 anticipated realities. Surely here is enough to feed a
 
 236 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 human spirit for a single day. Farewell, then, busy 
 world ! Till your evening lights shall shine along the 
 street, till they gleajn upon my sea-flushed face, as I 
 tread homeward, free me from your ties, 'and let me 
 be a peaceful outlaw. 
 
 Highways and cross-paths are hastily traversed, and, 
 clambering down a crag, I find myself at the extremity 
 of a long beach. How gladly does the spirit leap forth, 
 and suddenly enlarge its sense of being to the full extent 
 of the broad, blue, sunny deep ! A greeting and a hom- 
 age to the Sea ! I descend over its margin, and dip my 
 hand into the wave that meets me, and bathe my brow. 
 That far-resounding roar is Ocean's voice of welcome. 
 His salt breath brings a blessing along with it. Now let 
 us pace together the reader's fancy arm in arm with 
 mine this noble beach, which extends a mile or more 
 from that craggy promontory to yonder rampart of broken 
 rocks. In front, the sea ; in the rear, a precipitous bank, 
 the grassy verge of which is breaking away, year after 
 year, and flings down its tufts of verdure upon the bar- 
 renness below. The beach itself is a broad space of sand, 
 brown and sparkling, with hardly any pebbles intermixed. 
 Near the water's edge there is a wet margin, which glis- 
 tens brightly in the sunshine, and reflects objects like a 
 mirror ; and as we tread along the glistening border, a 
 dry spot flashes around each footstep, but grows moist 
 again, as we lift our feet. In some spots, the sand 
 receives a complete impression of the sole, square toe 
 and all ; elsewhere it is of such marble firmness, that we 
 must stamp heavily to leave a print even of the iron-shod 
 heel. Along the whole of this extensive beach gambols 
 the surf wave : now it makes a feint of dashing onward 
 in a fury, yet dies away with a meek murmur, and does 
 but kiss the strand; now, after rnauy such abortive ef-
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 237 
 
 forts, it rears itself up in an unbroken line, heightening 
 as it advances, without a speck of foam on its green crest. 
 With how fierce a roar it flings itself forward, and rushes 
 far up the beach ! 
 
 As I threw my eyes along the edge of the surf, I 
 remember that I was startled, as Robinson Crusoe might 
 have been, by the sense that human life was within the 
 magic circle of my solitude. Afar off in the remote dis- 
 tance of the beach, appearing like sea-nymphs, or some 
 airier tilings, such as might tread upon the feathery 
 spray, was a group of girls. Hardly had I beheld them, 
 when they passed into the shadow of the rocks and van- 
 ished. To comfort myself for truly I would fain have 
 gazed a while longer I made acquaintance with a flock 
 of beach birds. These little citizens of the sea and air 
 preceded me by about a stone's-throw along the strand, 
 seeking, I suppose, for food upon its margin. Yet, with 
 a philosophy which mankind would do well to imitate, 
 they drew a continual pleasure from their toil for a sub, 
 sistencc. The sea was each little bird's great playmate. 
 They chased it downward as it swept back, and again 
 ran up swiftly before the impending wave, which some- 
 times overtook them and bore them off their feet. But 
 they floated as lightly as one of their own feathers on 
 the breaking crest. In their airy flutterings, they seemed 
 to rest on the evanescent spray. Their images long- 
 legged little figures, with gray backs and snowy bos- 
 oms were seen as distinctly as the realities in the 
 mirror of the glistening strand. As I advanced, they 
 flew a score or two of yards, and, again alighting, recom- 
 menced their dalliance with the surf wave; and thus they 
 bore me company along the beach, the types of pleasant 
 fantasies, till, at its extremity, they took wing over the 
 ocean, and were gone. After forming a friendship with
 
 238 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 these small surf-spirits, it is really worth a sigh, to find 
 no memorial of them, save their multitudinous little 
 tracks in the sand. 
 
 When we have paced the length of the beach, it is 
 pleasant, and not unprofitable, to retrace our steps, and 
 recall the whole mood and occupation of the mind 
 during the former passage. Our tracks, being all dis- 
 cernible, will guide us with an observing consciousness 
 through every unconscious wandering of thought and 
 fancy. Here we followed the surf in its reflux, to pick 
 up a shell which the sea seemed loath to relinquish. 
 Here we found a sea- weed, with an immense brown leaf, 
 and trailed it behind us by its long snake-like stalk. 
 Here we seized a live horseshoe by the tail, and counted 
 the many claws of the queer monster. Here we dug 
 into the sand for pebbles, and skipped them upon the 
 surface of the water. Here we wet our feet while ex- 
 amining a jelly-fish, which the waves, having just tossed 
 it up, now sought to snatch away again. Here we trod 
 along the brink of a fresh-water brooklet, which flows 
 across the beach, becoming shallower and more shallow, 
 till at last it sinks into the sand, and perishes in the 
 effort to bear its little tribute to the main. Here some 
 vagary appears to have bewildered us; for our tracks 
 go round and round, and are confusedly intermingled, 
 as if we had found a labyrinth upon the level beach. 
 And here, amid our idle pastime, we sat down upon 
 almost the only stone that breaks the surface of the 
 sand, and were lost in an unlooked-for and overpowering 
 conception of the majesty and awfulness of the great 
 deep. Thus, by tracking our footprints in the sand, we 
 track our own nature in its wayward course, and steal 
 a glance upon it, when it never dreams of being so 
 observed. Such glances always make us wiser.
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 239 
 
 This extensive beach affords room for another pleasant 
 pastime. With your staff you may write verses love- 
 vei'ses, if they please you best and consecrate them 
 with a woman's name. Here, too, may be inscribed 
 thoughts, feelings, desires, warm outgushiugs from the 
 heart's secret places, which you would not pour upon 
 the sand without the certainty that, almost ere the sky 
 has looked upon them, the sea will wash them out. 
 Stir not hence till the record be effaced. Now for 
 there is room enough on your canvas draw huge 
 faces, huge as that of the Sphinx on Egyptian sands, 
 and fit them with bodies of corresponding immensity, 
 and legs which might stride half-way to yonder island. 
 Child's play becomes magnificent on so grand a scale. 
 But, after all, the most fascinating employment is sim- 
 ply to write your name in the sand. Draw the letters 
 gigantic, so that two strides may barely measure them, 
 and three for the long strokes ! Cut deep, that the rec- 
 ord may be permanent ! Statesmen, and warriors, and 
 poets have spent their strength in no better cause than 
 this. Is it accomplished ? Return, then, in an hour or 
 two, and seek for this mighty record of a name. The 
 sea will have swept over it, even as time rolls its effacing 
 waves over Ilic names of statesmen, and warriors, and 
 poets. Hark, the surf wave laughs at you ! 
 
 Passing from the beach, I begin to clamber over the 
 crags, making my difficult way among the ruins of a 
 rampart, shattered and broken by the assaults of a 
 fierce enemy. The rocks rise in every variety of atti- 
 tude ; some of them have their feet in the foam, and 
 are shagged half-way upward with sea-weed ; some have 
 been hollowed almost into caverns by the unwearied toil 
 of the sea, which can afford to spend centuries in wear- 
 ing away a rock, or even polishing a pebble. One huge
 
 240 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 rock ascends in monumental shape, with a face like a 
 giant's tombstone, on which the veins resemble inscrip- 
 tions, but in an unknown tongue. We will fancy them 
 the forgotten characters of an antediluvian race; or 
 else that Nature's own hand has here recorded a mys- 
 tery, which, could I read her language, would make 
 mankind the wiser and the happier. How many a thing 
 has troubled me with that same idea ! Pass on, and 
 leave it unexplained. Here is a narrow avenue, which 
 might seem to have been hewn through the very heart 
 of an enormous crag, affording passage for the rising 
 sea to thunder back and forth, filling it with tumultuous 
 foam, and then leaving its floor of black pebbles bare 
 and glistening. In this chasm there was once an inter- 
 secting vein of softer stone, which the waves have 
 gnawed away piecemeal, while the granite walls re- 
 main entire on either side. How sharply, and with 
 what harsh clamor, does the sea rake back the pebbles, 
 as it momentarily withdraws into its own depths ! At 
 intervals, the floor of the chasm is left nearly dry ; but 
 anon, at the outlet, two or three great waves are seen 
 struggling to get in at once ; two hit the walls athwart, 
 while one rushes straight through, and all three thun- 
 der, as if with rage and triumph. They heap the chasm 
 with a snow-drift of foam and spray. While watching 
 this scene, I can never rid myself of the idea that a 
 monster, endowed with life and fierce energy, is striv- 
 ing to burst his way through the narrow pass. And 
 what a contrast, to look through the stormy chasm, aild 
 catch a glimpse of the calm bright sea beyond ! 
 
 Many interesting discoveries may be made among 
 these broken cliffs. Once, for example, I found a dead 
 seal, which a recent tempest had tossed into the nook of 
 the rocks, where his shaggy carcass lay rolled in a heap
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 241 
 
 of eel-grass, as if the sea-monster sought to hide himself 
 from my eye. Another time, a shark seemed on the 
 point of leaping from the surf to swallow me ; nor did 
 I wholly without dread approach near enough to ascer- 
 tain that the man-eater had already met his own death 
 from some fisherman in the bay. In the same ramble, 
 I encountered a bird, a large gray bird, but whether 
 a loon, or a wild goose, or the identical albatross of the 
 Ancient Mariner, was beyond my ornithology to decide. 
 It reposed so naturally on a bed of dry sea-weed, with 
 its head beside its wing, that I almost fancied it alive, 
 and trod softly lest it should suddenly spread its wings 
 skyward. But the sea-bird would soar among the clouds 
 no more, nor ride upon its native waves ; so I drew 
 near, and pulled out one of its mottled tail-feathers for 
 a remembrance. Another day, I discovered an immense 
 bone, wedged into a chasm of the rocks ; it was at least 
 ten feet long, curved like a cimeter, bejewelled with bar- 
 iracles and small shell-fish, and partly covered with a 
 growth of sea-weed. Some leviathan of former ages had 
 used this ponderous mass as a jawbone. Curiosities of 
 a minuter order may be observed in a deep reservoir, 
 which is replenished with water at every tide, but be- 
 comes a lake among the crags, save when the sea is at 
 its height. At the bottom of this rocky basin grow ma- 
 rine plants, some of which tower high beneath the water, 
 and cast a shadow in the sunshine. Small fishes dart to 
 and fro, and hide themselves among the sea-weed ; there 
 is also a solitary crab, who appears to lead the life of a 
 hermit, communing with none of the other denizens of 
 t lie place ; and likewise several five-fingers, for I know 
 no other name than that which children give them. If 
 your imagination be at all accustomed to such freaks, 
 you may look down into the depths of this pool, and 
 
 VOL. II. 11 P
 
 242 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 fancy it the mysterious depth of ocean. But where are 
 the hulks and scattered timbers of sunken ships? 
 where the treasures that old Ocean hoards ? where 
 the corroded cannon ? where the corpses and skeletons 
 of seamen, who went down in storm and battle ? 
 
 On the day of my last ramble (it was a September 
 day, yet as warm as summer), what should I behold as 
 I approached the above-described basin but three girls 
 sitting on its margin, and yes, it is veritably so 
 laving their snowy feet in the sunny water ! These, 
 these are the warm realities of those three visionary 
 shapes that flitted from me on the beach. Hark ! their 
 merry voices, as they toss up the water with their feet ! 
 They have not seen me. I must shrink behind this rock, 
 and steal away again. 
 
 In honest truth, vowed to solitude as I am, there is 
 something in this encounter that makes the heart flutter 
 with a strangely pleasant sensation.- I know these girls 
 to be realities of flesh and blood, yet, glancing at them 
 so briefly, they mingle like kindred creatures with the 
 ideal beings of my mind. It is pleasant, likewise, to 
 gaze down from some high crag, and watch a group of 
 children, gathering pebbles and pearly shells, and playing 
 with the surf, as with old Ocean's hoary beard. Nor 
 does it infringe upon my seclusion, to see yonder boat 
 at anchor off the shore, swinging dreamily to and fro, 
 and rising and sinking with the alternate swell ; while 
 the crew four gentlemen, in roundabout jackets 
 are busy with their fishing-lines. But, with an inward 
 antipathy and a headlong flight, do I eschew the pres- 
 ence of any meditative stroller like myself, known by 
 his pilgrim staff, his sauntering step, his shy demeanor, 
 his observant yet abstracted eye. From such a man, 
 as if another self had scared me, I scramble hastily over
 
 FOOTPKINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 243 
 
 the rocks, and take refuge in a nook which many a 
 secret hour has given me a right to call my own. I 
 would do battle for it even with the churl that should 
 produce the title-deeds. Have not my musings melted 
 into its rocky walls and sandy floor, and made them a 
 portion of myself? 
 
 It is a recess in the line of cliffs, walled round by a 
 rough, high precipice, which almost encircles and shuts 
 in a little space of sand. In front, the sea appears as 
 between the pillars of a portal. In the rear, the precu 
 pice is broken and intermixed with earth, which gives 
 nourishment not only to clinging and twining shrubs, 
 but to trees, that gripe the rock with their naked roots, 
 and seem to struggle hard for footing and for soil 
 enough to live upon. These are fir-trees; but oaks 
 hang their heavy branches from above, and throw down 
 acorns on the beach, and shed their withering foliage 
 upon the waves. At this autumnal season, the precipice 
 is decked with variegated splendor ; trailing wreaths of 
 scarlet flaunt from the summit downward ; tufts of yellow- 
 flowering shrubs, and rose-bushes, with their reddened 
 leaves and glossy seed-berries, sprout from each crevice ; 
 at every glance, I detect some new light or sha/le of 
 beauty, all contrasting with the stern, gray rock. A 
 rill of water trickles down the cliff and fills a little cis- 
 tern near the base. I drain it at a draught, and find it 
 fresh and pure. This recess shall be my dining-hall. 
 And what the feast ? A few biscuits, made savory by 
 soaking them in sea-water, a tuft of samphire gathered 
 from the beach, and an apple for the dessert. By this 
 time, the little rill has filled its reservoir again ; and, as 
 I quaff it, I thank God more heartily than for a civic 
 banquet, that he gives me the healthful appetite to make 
 a feast of bread and water.
 
 244 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Dinner being over, I throw myself at length upon the 
 sand, and, basking in the sunshine, let my mind disport 
 itself at will. The walls of this my hermitage have no 
 tongue to tell my follies, though I sometimes fancy that 
 they have ears to hear them, and a soul to sympathize. 
 There is a magic in this spot. Dreams haunt its pre- 
 cincts, and flit around me in broad sunlight, nor require 
 that sleep shall blindfold me to real objects, ere these be 
 visible. Here can I frame a story of two lovers, and 
 make their shadows live before me, and be mirrored in 
 the tranquil water, as they tread along the sand, leaving 
 no footprints. Here, should I will it, I can summon up 
 a single shade, and be myself her lover. Yes, dreamer, 
 but your lonely heart will be the colder for such 
 fancies. Sometimes, too, the Past comes back, and finds 
 me here, and in her train come faces which were glad- 
 some, when I knew them, yet seem not gladsome now. 
 Would that my hiding-place were lonelier, so that the 
 past might not find me ! Get ye all gone, old friends, 
 and let me listen to the murmur of the sea, a melan- 
 choly voice, but less sad than yours. Of what mysteries 
 is it telling ? Of sunken ships, and whereabouts they 
 lie ? x Of islands afar and undiscovered, whose tawny 
 children are unconscious of other islands and of conti- 
 nents, and deem the stars of heaven their nearest neigh- 
 bors ? Nothing of all this. What then ? Has it talked 
 for so many ages, and meant nothing all the while? 
 No ; for those ages find utterance in the sea's unchanging 
 voice, and warn the listener to withdraw his interest 
 from mortal vicissitudes, and let the infinite idea of eter- 
 nity pervade his soul. This is wisdom ; and, therefore, 
 will I spend the next half-hour in shaping little boats 
 of drift-wood, and launching them on voyages across the 
 cove, with the feather of a sea-gull for a sail. If the
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 245 
 
 voice of ages tell me true, this is as wise an occupation 
 as to build ships of five hundred tons, and launch them 
 forth upon the main, bound to " far Cathay." Yet, how 
 would the merchant sneer at me ! 
 
 And, after all, can such philosophy be true ? Me- 
 thiiiks I could find a thousand arguments against it. 
 Well, then, let yonder shaggy rock, mid-deep in the surf, 
 see ! he is somewhat wrathful, he rages and roars 
 and foams, let that tall rock be my antagonist, and let 
 me exercise my oratory like him of Athens, who bandied 
 words with an angry sea and got the victory. My maiden 
 speecli is a triumphant one ; for the gentleman in sea- weed 
 has nothing to oifer in reply, save an immitigable roaring. 
 His voice, indeed, will be heard a long while after mine 
 is hushed. Once more I shout, and the cliffs reverberate 
 the sound. O, what joy for a shy man to feel himself so 
 solitary, that he may lift his voice to its highest pitch 
 without hazard of a listener ! But, hush ! be silent, 
 my good friend ! whence comes that stifled laughter ? 
 It was musical, but how should there be such music in 
 my solitude? Looking upwards, I catch a glimpse of 
 three faces, peeping from the summit of the cliff, like 
 angels between me and their native sky. Ah, fair girls, 
 you may make yourselves merry at my eloquence, but 
 it was my turn to smile when I saw your white feet in 
 the pool ! Let us keep each other's secrets. 
 
 The sunshine has now passed from my hermitage, ex- 
 cept a gleam upon the sand just where it meets the sea. 
 A crowd of gloomy fantasies will come and haunt me, if 
 I tarry longer here, in the darkening twilight of these 
 gray rocks. This is a dismal place in some moods of 
 the mind. Climb wo, then-lore-, the preeipice, and pause. 
 a moment on the brink, g.'izing down into that hollow 
 chamber by the deep where we have been, what few can
 
 246 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 be, sufficient to our own pastime, yes, say the word 
 outright ! self-sufficient to our own happiness. How 
 lonesome looks the recess now, and dreary, too, like all 
 other spots where happiness has been ! There lies my 
 shadow in the departing sunshine with its head upon the 
 sea. I will pelt it with pebbles. A hit ! a hit ! I clap 
 my hands in triumph, and see ! my shadow clapping its 
 unreal hands, and claiming the triumph for itself. What 
 a simpleton must I have been all day, since my own 
 shadow makes a mock of my fooleries ! 
 
 Homeward ! homeward ! It is time to hasten home. 
 It is time ; it is time ; for as the sun sinks over the 
 western wave, the sea grows melancholy, and the surf 
 has a saddened tone. The distant sails appear astray, 
 and not of earth, in their remoteness amid the desolate 
 waste. My spirit wanders forth afar, but finds no rest- 
 ing-place, and comes shivering back. It is time that I 
 were hence. But grudge me not the day that has been 
 spent in seclusion, which yet was not solitude, since the 
 great sea has been my companion, and the little sea-birds 
 my friends, and the wind has told me his secrets, and 
 airy shapes have flitted around me in my hermitage. 
 Such companionship works an effect upon a man's char- 
 acter, as if he had been admitted to the society of crea- 
 tures that are not mortal. And when, at noontide, I 
 tread the crowded streets, the influence of this day will 
 still be felt ; so that I shall walk among men kindly and 
 as a brother, with affection and sympathy, but yet shall 
 not melt into the indistinguishable mass of humankind. 
 I shall think my own thoughts, and feel my own emotions, 
 and possess my individuality unviolated. 
 
 But it is good, at the eve of such a day, to feel and 
 know that there are men and women in the world. That 
 feeling and that knowledge are mine, at this moment ;
 
 FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEA-SHORE. 247 
 
 for, on the shore, far below me, the fishing-party have 
 landed from their skiff, and are cooking their scaly prey 
 by a fire of drift-wood, kindled in the angle of two rude 
 rocks. The three visionary girls are likewise there. In 
 the deepening twilight, while the surf is dashed near their 
 heartu, the ruddy gleam of the fire throws a strange air 
 of comfort over the wild cove, bestrewn as it is with peb- 
 bles and sea-weed, and exposed to the " melancholy main." 
 Moreover, as the smoke climbs up the precipice, it brings 
 with it a savory smell from a pan of fried fish, and a black 
 kettle of chowder, and reminds me that my dinner was 
 nothing but bread and water, and a tuft of samphire, 
 and an apple. Methinks the party might find room for 
 another guest, at that flat rock which serves them for a 
 table ; and if spoons be scarce, I could pick up a clam- 
 shell on the beach. They see me now ; and the bless- 
 ing of a hungry man upon him ! one of them sends up 
 a hospitable shout, halloo, Sir Solitary ! conie down and 
 sup with us ! The ladies wave their handkerchiefs. Can 
 I decline ? No ; and be it owned, after all my solitary 
 joys, that this is the sweetest moment of a Day by the 
 Sea-shore.
 
 EDWARD PANE'S ROSEBUD. 
 
 [ERE is hardly a more difficult exercise of fancy, 
 than, while gazing at a figure of melancholy age, 
 to re-create its youth, and, without entirely ob- 
 literating the identity of form and features, to restore 
 those graces which time has snatched away. Some old 
 people, especially women, so age-worn and woful are 
 they, seem never to have been young and gay. It is 
 easier to conceive that such gloomy phantoms were sent 
 into the world as withered and decrepit as we behold 
 them now, with sympathies only for pain and grief, to 
 watch at death-beds, and weep at funerals. Even the 
 sable garments of their widowhood appear essential to 
 their existence; all their attributes combine to "render 
 them darksome shadows, creeping strangely amid the 
 sunshine of human life. Yet it is no unprofitable task, 
 to take one of these doleful creatures, and set fancy reso- 
 lutely at work to brighten the dim eye, and darken the 
 silvery locks, and paint the ashen cheek with rose-color, 
 and repair the shrunken and crazy form, till a dewy 
 maiden shall be seen in the old matron's elbow-chair. 
 The miracle being wrought, then let the years roll back 
 again, each sadder than the last, and the whole weight oi 
 age and sorrow settle down upon the youthful figure. 
 Wrinkles and furrows, the handwriting of Time, may
 
 EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD. 249 
 
 thus be deciphered, and found to contain deep lessons of 
 thought and feeling. Such profit might be derived, by 
 a skilful observer, from my much-respected friend, the 
 Widow Toothaker, a nurse of great repute, who has 
 breathed the atmosphere of sick-chambers and dying 
 breaths these forty years. 
 
 See ! she sits cowering over her lonesome hearth, with 
 her gown and upper petticoat drawn upward, gathering 
 thriftily into her person the whole warmth of the fire, 
 which, now at nightfall, begins to dissipate the autumnal 
 chill of her chamber. The blaze quivers capriciously in 
 front, alternately glimmering into the deepest chasms of 
 her wrinkled visage, and then permitting a ghostly dim- 
 ness to mar the outlines of her venerable figure. And 
 Nurse Toothaker holds a teaspoon in her right hand, 
 with which to stir up the contents of a tumbler in her 
 left, whence steams a vapory fragrance, abhorred of tem- 
 perance societies. Now she sips, now stirs, now 
 sips again. Her sad old heart has need to be revived by 
 the rich infusion of Geneva, which is mixed half and half 
 with hot water, in the tumbler. All day long she has 
 been sitting by a death-pillow, and quitted it for her 
 home, only when the spirit of her patient left the clay 
 and went homeward too. But now are her melancholy 
 meditations cheered, and her torpid blood warmed, and 
 her shoulders lightened of at least twenty ponderous 
 years, by a draught from the true Fountain of Youth, in 
 a case-bottle. It is strange that men should deem that 
 fount a fable when its liquor fills more bottles than the 
 Congress-water! Sip it again, good nurse, and see 
 whether a second draught will not take off another score 
 of years, and perhaps ten more, and show us, in your 
 high-backed chair, the blooming damsel who plighted 
 troths with Edward Faue. Get you gone, Age and
 
 250 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 Widowhood ! Come back, unwedded Youth ! But, 
 alas ! the charm will not work. In spite of fancy's most 
 potent spell, I can see only an old dame cowering over 
 the fire, a picture of decay and desolation, while the 
 November blast roars at her in the chimney, and fitful 
 showers rush suddenly against the window. 
 
 Yet there was a time when Rose Grafton such was 
 the pretty maiden name of Nurse Toothaker pos- 
 sessed beauty that would have gladdened this dim and 
 dismal chamber as with sunshine. It won for her the 
 heart of Edward Fane, who has since made so great a 
 figure in the world, and is now a grand old gentleman, 
 with powdered hair, and as gouty as a lord. These early 
 lovers thought to have walked hand in hand through life. 
 They had wept together for Edward's little sister Mary, 
 whom Rose tended in her sickness, partly because she 
 was the sweetest child that ever lived or died, but more 
 for love of him. She was but three years old; Being 
 such an infant, Death could not embody his terrors in her 
 little corpse ; nor did Rose fear to touch the dead child's 
 brow, though chill, as she curled the silken hair around 
 it, nor to take her tiny hand, and clasp a flower within 
 its fingers. Afterward, when she looked through the 
 pane of glass in the coffin-lid, and beheld Mary's face, it 
 seemed not so much like death, or life, as like a wax- 
 work, wrought into the perfect image of a child asleep, 
 and dreaming of its mother's smile. Rose thought her 
 too fair a thing to be hidden in the grave, and wondered 
 that an angel did not snatch up little Mary's coffin, and 
 bear the slumbering babe to heaven, and bid her wake 
 immortal. But when the sods were laid on little Mary, 
 the heart of Rose was troubled. She shuddered at the 
 fantasy, that, in grasping the child's cold fingers, her 
 virgin hand had exchanged a first greeting with mor-
 
 EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD. 251 
 
 iality, and could never lose the earthly taint. How 
 many a greeting since ! But as yet, she was a fair 
 young girl, with the dewdrops of fresh feeling in her 
 bosom ; and instead of Rose, which seemed too mature 
 a name for her half-opened beauty, her lover called her 
 Rosebud. 
 
 The rosebud was destined never to bloom for Edward 
 Pane. His mother was a rich and haughty dame, with 
 all the aristocratic prejudices of colonial times. She 
 scorned Rose Grafton's humble parentage, and caused 
 her son to break his faith, though, had she let him 
 choose, he would have prized his Rosebud above the 
 richest diamond. The lovers parted, and have seldom 
 met again. Both may have visited the same mansions, 
 but not at the same time; for one was bidden to the 
 festal hall, and the other to the sick-chamber; he was 
 the guest of Pleasure and Prosperity, and she of Anguish. 
 Rose, after their separation, was long secluded within the 
 dwelling of Mr. Toothaker, whom she married with the 
 revengeful hope of breaking her false lover's heart. She 
 went to her bridegroom's arms, with bitterer tears, they 
 say, than young girls ought to shed at the threshold of 
 the bridal chamber. Yet, though her husband's head 
 was getting gray, and his heart had been chilled with an 
 autumnal frost, Rose soon began to love him, and won- 
 dered at her own conjugal affection. He was all she had 
 to love ; there were no children. 
 
 In a year or two, poor Mr. Toothaker was visited 
 with a wearisome infirmity which settled in his joints, 
 and made him weaker than a child. He crept forth 
 about his business, and came home at dinner-time and 
 eventide, not with the manly tread that gladdens a 
 wife's heart, but slowly, feebly, jotting down each dull 
 footstep with a melancholy dub of his staff. We must
 
 252 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 pardon his pretty wife, if she sometimes blushed to own 
 him. Her visitors, when they heard him coming, looked 
 for the appearance of some old, old man ; but he dragged 
 his nerveless limbs into the parlor, and there 'was Mr. 
 Toothaker ! The disease increasing, he never went into 
 the sunshine, save with a staff in his right hand and his 
 left on his wife's shoulder, bearing heavily downward, 
 like a dead man's hand. Thus, a slender woman, still 
 looking maiden-like, she supported his tall, broad-chested 
 frame along the pathway of their little garden, and 
 plucked the roses for her gray-haired husband, and spoke 
 soothingly, as to an infant. His mind was palsied with 
 his body ; its utmost energy was peevishness. In a few 
 months more, she helped him up the staircase, with a 
 pause at every step, and a longer one upon the landing- 
 place, and a heavy glance behind, as he crossed the 
 threshold of his chamber. He knew, poor man, that the 
 precincts of those four walls would thenceforth be his 
 world, his world, his home, his tomb, at once a 
 dwelling and a burial-place, till he were borne to a darker 
 and a narrower one. But Rose was with him in the 
 tomb. He leaned upon her, in his daily passage from 
 the bed to the chair by the fireside, and back again from 
 the weary chair to the joyless bed, his bed and hers, 
 their marriage-bed ; till even this short journey ceased, 
 and his head lay all day upon the pillow, and hers all 
 night beside it. How long poor Mr. Toothaker was 
 kept in misery ! Death seemed to draw near the door, 
 and often to Lift the latch, and sometimes to thrust his 
 ugly skull into the chamber, nodding to Rose, and point- 
 ing at her husband, but still delayed to enter. " This 
 bedridden wretch cannot escape me ! " quoth Death. " I 
 will go forth, and run a race with the swift, and fight a 
 battle with the strong, and come back for Toothaker at
 
 EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD. 253 
 
 my leisure !" 0, when Ihe deliverer came so near in the 
 dull anguish of her worn-out sympathies, did she never 
 long to cry, " Death, come in ! " 
 
 But, no ! We have no right to ascribe such a wish to 
 our friend Rose. She never failed in a wife's duty to 
 her poor sick husband. She murmured not, though a 
 glimpse of the sunny sky was as strange to her as him, 
 nor answered peevishly, though his complaining accents 
 roused her from her sweetest dream, only to share his 
 wretchedness. He knew her faith, yet nourished a can- 
 kered jealousy; and when the slow disease had chilled 
 all his heart, save one lukewarm spot, which Death's 
 frozen lingers were searching for, his last words were, 
 " What would my Rose have done for her first love, if she 
 has been so true and kind to a sick old man like me ! " 
 And then his poor soul crept away, and left the body 
 lifeless, though hardly more so than for years before, and 
 Rose a widow, though in truth it was the wedding-night 
 that widowed her. She felt glad, it must be owned, 
 when Mr. Toothaker was buried, because his corpse had 
 retained such a likeness to the man half alive, that she 
 hearkened for the sad murmur of his voice, bidding her 
 shift his pillow. But all through the next winter, though 
 the grave had held him many a month, she fancied him 
 calling from that cold bed, " Rose ! Rose ! come put a 
 blanket on my feet ! " 
 
 So now the Rosebud was the Widow Toothaker. Her 
 troubles had come early, and, tedious as they seemed, 
 had passed before all her bloom was fled. She was still 
 fair enough to captivate a bachelor, or, with a widow's 
 cheerful gravity, she might have won a widower, stealing 
 into his heart in the very guise of his dead wife. But 
 the Widow Toothaker had no such projects. By her 
 watchiiigs and continual cares, her heart had become knit
 
 254 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 to her first husband with a constancy which changed its 
 very nature, and made her love him for his infirmi- 
 ties, and infirmity for his sake. When the palsied old 
 man was gone, even her early lover could not have sup- 
 plied his place. She had dwelt in a sick-chamber, and 
 been the companion of a half-dead wretch, till she could 
 scarcely breathe in a free air, and felt ill at ease with the 
 healthy and the happy. She missed the fragrance of the 
 doctor's stuif. She walked the chamber with a noise- 
 less footfall. If visitors came in, she spoke in soft and 
 soothing accents, and was startled and shocked by their 
 loud voices. Often in the lonesome evening, she looked 
 timorously from the fireside to the bed, with almost a 
 hope of recognizing a ghastly face upon the pillow. 
 Then went her thoughts sadly to her husband's grave. 
 If one impatient throb had wronged him in his lifetime, 
 if she had secretly repined, because her buoyant youth 
 was imprisoned with his torpid age, if ever, while 
 slumbering beside him, a treacherous dream had admitted 
 another into her heart, yet the sick man had been pre- 
 paring a revenge, which the dead now claimed. On his 
 painful pillow, he had cast a spell around her ; his groans 
 and misery had proved more captivating charms than 
 gayety and youthful grace ; in his semblance, Disease 
 itself had won the Rosebud for a bride ; nor could his 
 death dissolve the nuptials. By that indissoluble bond 
 she had gained a home in every sick-chamber, and no- 
 where else ; there were her brethren and sisters ; thither 
 her husband summoned her, with that voice which had 
 seemed to issue from the grave of Toothaker. At length 
 she recognized her destiny. 
 
 We have beheld her as the maid, the wife, the widow ; 
 now we see her in a separate and insulated character;, 
 she was, in all her attributes, Nurse Toothaker. And
 
 EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD. 255 
 
 Nurse Toothaker alone, with her own shrivelled lips, 
 could make known her experience in that capacity. 
 What a history might she record of the great sicknesses, 
 in which she has gone hand in hand with the exterminat- 
 ing angel ! She remembers when the small-pox hoisted 
 a red banner on almost eve,ry house along the street. She 
 lias witnessed when the typhus fever swept off a whole 
 household, young and old, all but a lonely mother, who 
 vainly shrieked to follow her last loved one. Where 
 would be Death's triumph, if none lived to weep ? She 
 can speak of strange maladies that have broken out, as 
 if spontaneously, but were found to have been imported 
 from foreign lands, with rich silks and other merchandise, 
 the costliest portion of the cargo. And 'once, she recol- 
 lects, the people died of what was considered a new pes- 
 tilence, till the doctors traced it to the ancient grave of 
 a young girl, who thus caused many deaths a hundred 
 years after her own burial. Strange that such black mis- 
 chief should lurk in a maiden's grave ! She loves to tell 
 how strong men fight with fiery fevers, utterly refusing to 
 give up their breath ; and how consumptive virgins fade 
 out of the world, scarcely reluctant, as if their lovers 
 were wooing them to a far country. Tell us, thou fear- 
 ful woman ! tell us the death-secrets ! Eain would I 
 search out the meaning of words, faintly gasped with 
 intermingled sobs, and broken sentences, half audibly 
 spoken between earth and the judgment-seat ! 
 
 An awful woman ! She is the patron saint of young 
 physicians, and the bosom friend of old ones. In the 
 mansions where she enters, the inmates provide them- 
 selves black garments; the coffin-maker follows her; 
 and the bell tolls as she comes away from the threshold. 
 Death himself lias met her at so many a bedside, that 
 he puts forth his bony hand to greet Nurse Toothaker.
 
 256 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 She is an awful woman! And, O, is it conceivable, 
 that this handmaid of human infirmity and affliction 
 so darkly stained, so thoroughly imbued with all that 
 is saddest in the doom of mortals can ever again be 
 bright and gladsome, even though bathed in the sun- 
 shine of eternity ? By her long communion with woe, 
 has she not forfeited her inheritance of immortal joy? 
 Does any germ of bliss survive within her? 
 
 Hark ! an eager knocking at Nurse Toothaker's door. 
 She starts from her drowsy revery, sets aside the empty 
 tumbler and teaspoon, and lights a lamp at the dim em- 
 bers of the fire. Rap, rap, rap ! again ; and she hurries 
 adown the staircase, wondering which of her friends can 
 be at death's door now, since there is such an earnest 
 messenger at Nurse Toothaker's. Again the peal re- 
 sounds, just as her hand is on the lock. "Be quick, 
 Nurse Toothaker ! " cries a man on the doorstep ; " old 
 General Fane is taken with the gout in his stomach, and 
 has sent for you to watch by his death-bed. Make haste, 
 for there is no time to lose ! " " Fane ! Edward Fane ! 
 And has he sent for me at last ? I am ready ! I will 
 get on my cloak and begone. So," adds the sable-gowned, 
 ashen- visaged, funereal old figure, " Edward Fane remem- 
 bers his Rosebud ! " 
 
 Our question is answered. There is a germ of bliss 
 within her. Her long-hoarded constancy her memory 
 of the bliss that was remaining amid the gloom of her 
 after life, like a sweet-smelling flower in a coffin, is a 
 symbol that all may be renewed. In some happier clime, 
 the Rosebud may revive again with all the dewdrops in 
 its bosom.
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY. 
 
 A FAIRY LEGEND. 
 
 HAVE sometimes produced a singular and not 
 unpleasing effect, so far as my own mind was 
 concerned, by imagining a train of incidents, 
 in which the spirit and mechanism of the fairy legend 
 should be combined with the characters and manners of 
 familiar life. In the little tale which follows, a subdued 
 tinge of the wild and wonderful is thrown over a sketch 
 of New England personages and scenery, yet, it is hoped, 
 without entirely obliterating the sober hues of nature, 
 llather than a story of events claiming to be real, it 
 may be considered as an allegory, such as the writers 
 of the last century would have expressed in the shape 
 of an Eastern tale, but to which I have endeavored to 
 give a more life-like warmth than could be infused into 
 those fanciful productions. 
 
 In the twilight of a summer eve, a tall, dark figure, 
 >\(T which long and remote travel had thrown an out- 
 landish aspect, was entering a village, not in "Fairy 
 Londe," but within our own familiar boundaries. The 
 staff, on which this traveller leaned, had been his com- 
 panion from the spot where it grew, in the jungles of 
 Hindostan ; the hat, that overshadowed his sombre brow, 
 had shielded him from the suns of Spain ; but his cheek 
 
 Q
 
 58 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 had been blackened by the red-hot wind of an Arabian 
 desert, and had felt the frozen breath of an Arctic region. 
 Long sojourning amid wild and dangerous men, he stiL 
 wore beneath his vest the ataghan which he had once 
 struck into the throat of a Turkish robber. In every 
 foreign clime he had lost something of his New England 
 characteristics ; and, perhaps, from every people he had 
 unconsciously borrowed a new peculiarity ; so that when 
 the world-wanderer again trod the street of his native 
 village, it is no wonder that he passed unrecognized, 
 though exciting the gaze and curiosity of all. Yet, as 
 his arm casually touched that of a young woman, who 
 was wending her way to an evening lecture, she started, 
 and almost uttered a cry. 
 
 "Ralph Cranfield ! " was the name that she half artic- 
 ulated. 
 
 " Can that be my old playmate, Faith Egerton ? " 
 thought the traveller, looking round at her figure, but 
 without pausing. 
 
 Ralph Craufield, from his youth upward, had felt 
 himself marked out for a high destiny. He had im- 
 bibed the idea we say not whether it were revealed 
 to him by witchcraft, or in a dream of prophecy, or that 
 his brooding fancy had palmed its own dictates upon 
 him as the oracles of a Sibyl but he had imbibed 
 the idea, and held it firmest among his articles of faith, 
 (hat three marvellous events of his life were to be con- 
 firmed to him by three signs. 
 
 The first of these three fatalities, and perhaps the 
 one on which his youthful imagination had dwelt most 
 fondly, was the discovery of the maid, who alone, of 
 all the maids on earth, could make him happy by her 
 love. He was to roam around the world till he should 
 meet a beautiful woman, wearing on her bosom a jewel
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY. 259 
 
 in the shape of a heart ; whether of pearl, or ruby, or 
 emerald, or carbuncle, or a changeful opal, or perhaps 
 a priceless diamond, Ralph Cranfield little cared, so 
 long as it were a heart of one peculiar shape. On 
 encountering this lovely stranger, he was bound to ad- 
 dress her thus : " Maiden, I have brought you a heavy 
 heart. May I rest its weight on you ? " And if she 
 were his fated bride, if their kindred souls were des- 
 tined to form a union here below, which all eternity 
 should only bind more closely, she would reply, with 
 her finger on the heart-shaped jewel, "This token, which 
 I have worn so long, is the assurance that you may ! " 
 
 And, secondly, Ralph Cranfield had a firm belief that 
 there was a mighty treasure hidden somewhere in the 
 earth, of which the burial-place would be revealed to 
 none but him. When his feet should press upon the 
 mysterious spot, there would be a hand before him, 
 pointing downward, whether carved of marble, or 
 hewn in gigantic dimensions on the side of a rocky 
 precipice, or perchance a hand of flame in empty air, he 
 could not tell ; but, at least, he would discern a hand, 
 the forefinger pointing downward, and beneath it the 
 Latin word Erf ODE, Dig ! And digging thereabouts, 
 the gold in coin or ingots, the precious stones, or of 
 whatever else the treasure might consist, would be cer- 
 tain to reward his toil. 
 
 The third and last of the miraculous events in the life 
 of this high-destined man was to be the attainment of 
 extensive influence and sway over his fellow-creatiires. 
 Whether he were to be a king, and founder of an hered- 
 itary throne, or the victorious leader of a people con- 
 tending for their freedom, or the apostle of a purified 
 and regenerated faith, was left for futurity to show. As 
 messengers of the sign, by which Ralph Cranfield might
 
 260 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 recognize the summons,, three venerable men were to 
 claim audience of him. The chief among them, a digni- 
 fied and majestic person, arrayed, it may be supposed, in 
 the flowing garments of an ancient sage, would be the 
 bearer of a wand, or prophet's rod. With this wand, or 
 rod, or staff, the venerable sage would trace a certain 
 figure in the air, and then proceed to make known his 
 heaveu-instruoted message ; which, if obeyed, must lead 
 to glorious results. 
 
 With this proud fate before him, in the flush of his 
 imaginative youth, Ralph Cranfield had set forth to seek 
 the maid, the treasure, and the venerable sage, with his 
 gift of extended empire. And had he found them ? Alas ! 
 it was not with the aspect of a triumphant man, who had 
 achieved a nobler destiny than all his fellows, but rather 
 with the gloom of one struggling against peculiar and 
 continual adversity, that he now passed homeward to his 
 mother's cottage. He had come back, but only for a 
 time, to lay aside the pilgrim's staff', trusting that his 
 weary manhood would regain somewhat of the elasticity 
 of youth, in the spot where his threefold fate had been 
 foreshown him. There had been few changes in the 
 village; for it was not one of those thriving places where 
 a year's prosperity makes more than the havoc of a 
 century's decay ; but like a gray hair in a young man's 
 head, an antiquated little town, full of old maids, and 
 aged elms, and moss-grown dwellings. Pew seemed to 
 be the changes here. The drooping elms, indeed, had 
 a more majestic spread; the weather-blackened houses 
 were adorned with a denser thatch of verdant moss ; and 
 doubtless there were a few more gravestones in the 
 burial-ground, inscribed with names that had once been 
 familiar in the village street. Yet, summing up all the 
 mischief that ten years had wrought, it seemed scarcely
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY. 261 
 
 more than if Ralph Cranfield had gone forth that very 
 morning, and dreamed a daydream till the twilight, and 
 then turned back again. But his heart grew cold, be- 
 cause the village did not remember him as he remembered 
 the village. 
 
 " Here is' the change ! " sighed he, striking his hand 
 upon his breast. " Who is this man of thought and care, 
 weary with world-wandering, and heavy with disappointed 
 hopes ? The youth returns not, who went forth so joy- 
 ously ! " 
 
 And now Ralph Cranfield was at his mother's gate, in 
 front of the small house where the old lady, with slender 
 but sufficient means, had kept herself comfortable during 
 her son's long absence. Admitting himself within the 
 enclosure, he leaned against a great, old tree, trifling 
 with his own impatience, as people often do in those 
 intervals when years are summed into a moment. He 
 took a minute survey of the dwelling, its windows, 
 brightened with the sky-gleam, its doorway, with the 
 half of a mill-stone for a step, and the faintly traced path 
 waving thence to the gate. He made friends again with 
 his childhood's friend, the old tree against which he 
 leaned; and glancing his eye adown its trunk, beheld 
 something that excited a melancholy smile. It was a 
 half-obliterated inscription the Latin word EFFODE 
 which he remembered to have carved in the bark of the 
 tree, with a whole day's toil, when he had first begun to 
 muse about his exalted destiny. It might be accounted ' 
 a rather singular coincidence, that the bark, just above 
 the inscription, had put forth an excrescence, shaped not 
 unlike a hand, with the forefinger pointing obliquely at 
 the word of fate. Such, at least, was its appearance iu 
 the dusky light. 
 
 " Now a credulous man," said Ralph Craufield care-
 
 262 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 lessly to himself, " might suppose that the treasure -which. 
 I have sought round the world lies buried, after all, at 
 the very door of my mother's dwelling. That would be 
 a jest indeed ! " 
 
 More he thought not about the matter ; for now the 
 door was opened, and an elderly woman appeared on the 
 threshold, peering into the dusk to discover who it might 
 be that had intruded on her premises, and was standing- 
 in the shadow of her tree. It was Ralph Cranfield's 
 mother. Pass we over their greeting, and leave the one 
 to her joy and the other to his rest, if quiet rest be 
 found. 
 
 But when morning broke, he arose with a troubled 
 brow ; for his sleep and his wakefulness had alike been 
 full of dreams. All the fervor was rekindled with which 
 he had burned of yore to unravel the threefold mystery 
 of his fate. The crowd of his early visions seemed to 
 have awaited him beneath his mother's roof, and thronged 
 riotously around to welcome his return. In the well- 
 remembered chamber on the pillow where his infancy 
 had slumbered he had passed a wilder night than ever 
 in an Arab tent, or when he had reposed his head in the 
 ghastly shades of a haunted forest. A shadowy maid 
 liad stolen to Ms bedside, and laid her finger on the 
 scintillating heart ; a hand of flame had glowed amid 
 tlie darkness, pointing downward to a mystery within the 
 earth; a hoary sage had waved his prophetic wand, and 
 beckoned the dreamer onward to a chair of state. The 
 same phantoms, though fainter in the daylight, still flitted 
 about the cottage, and mingled among the crowd of famil- 
 iar faces that were drawn thither by the news of Ralph 
 Cranfield's return, to bid him welcome for his mother's 
 sake. There they found him, a tall, dark, stately man, 
 of foreign aspect, courteous in demeanor and mild oi
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY. 263 
 
 speed), yet with an abstracted eye, which seemed often 
 to snatch a glance at the invisible. 
 
 Meantime the Widow Cranfield went bustling about 
 the house full of joy that she again "had somebody to 
 love, and be careful of, and for whom she might vex and 
 tease herself with the petty troubles of daily life. It was 
 nearly noon, when she looked forth from the door, and 
 descried three personages of note coming along the street, 
 through the hot sunshine and the masses of elm -tree 
 shade. At length they reached her gate, and undid the 
 latch. 
 
 " See, Ralph ! " exclaimed she, with maternal pride, 
 "here is Squire Hawkwood and the two other select- 
 men coming on purpose to see you ! Now do tell them 
 a good long story about what you have seen in foreign 
 parts." 
 
 The foremost of the three visitors, Squire Hawkwood, 
 was a very pompous, but excellent old gentleman, the 
 head and prime mover in all the affairs of the village, 
 and universally acknowledged to be one of the sagest 
 men on earth. He wore, according to a fashion, even, 
 then becoming antiquated, a three-cornered hat, and 
 carried a silver-headed cane, the use of which seemed to 
 be rather for nourishing in the air than for assisting the 
 progress of his legs. His two companions were elderly 
 and respectable yeomen, who, retaining an ante-revolu- 
 i ionary reverence for rank and hereditary wealth, kept a 
 little in the Squire's rear. As they approached along t he 
 pathway, Ralph Cranfield sat in an oaken elbow-chair, 
 half unconsciously gazing at the three visitors, and en- 
 veloping their homely figures in the misty romance that 
 pervaded his mental world. 
 
 " Here," thought he, smiling at the conceit, "here 
 come three elderly personages, and the first of the three
 
 264 TWICE-TOLD .TALES. 
 
 is a venerable sago with a staff. What if this embassy 
 should bring me the message of my fate ! " 
 
 While Squire Hawkwood and his colleagues entered, 
 Ralph rose from iiis seat, and advanced a few steps to 
 receive them ; and his stately figure and dark counte- 
 nance, as he bent courteously towards his guests, had a 
 natural dignity, contrasting well with the bustling im- 
 portance of the Squire. The old gentleman, according to 
 invariable custom, gave an elaborate preliminary flourish 
 with his-cane in the air, then removed his three-cornered 
 hat in order to wipe his brow, and finally proceeded to 
 make known his errand. 
 
 " My colleagues and myself," began the Squire, " are 
 burdened with momentous duties, being jointly select- 
 men of this village. Our minds, for the space of three 
 days past, have been laboriously bent on the selection of 
 a suitable person to fill a most important office, and take 
 upon himself a charge and rule, which, wisely considered, 
 may be ranked no lower than those of kings and poten- 
 tates. And whereas you, our native townsman, are of 
 good natural intellect, and well cultivated by foreign 
 travel, and that certain vagaries and fantasies of your 
 youth are doubtless long ago corrected ; taking all these 
 matters, I say, into due consideration, we are of opinion 
 that Providence hath sent you hither, at this juncture, 
 for our very purpose." 
 
 During this harangue, Cranfield gazed fixedly at the 
 speaker, as if he beheld something mysterious and un- 
 earthly in his pompous little figure, and as if the Squire 
 had worn the flowing robes of an ancient sage, instead of 
 a square-skirted coat, flapped waistcoat, velvet breeches, 
 and silk stockings. Nor was his wonder without suffi- 
 cient cause ; for the flourish of the Squire's staff, marvel- 
 lous to relate, had described precisely the signal in the
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY. 265 
 
 air which was to ratify the message of the prophetic 
 Sage, whom Cranfield had sought around the world. 
 
 " And what," inquired Ralph Crunfield, with a tremor 
 in his voice, " what may this office be, which is to equal 
 me with kings and potentates ? " 
 
 " No less than instructor of our village school," an- 
 swered Squire Hawkwood ; " the office being now vacant 
 by the death of the venerable Master Whitaker, after a 
 fifty years' incumbency." 
 
 " I will consider of your proposal," replied Ralph 
 Cranfield, hurriedly, " and will make known my decision 
 within three days." 
 
 After a few more words, the village dignitary and his 
 companions took their leave. But to Craufield's fancy 
 their images were still present, and became more and 
 more invested with the dim awfuluess of figures which 
 had first appeared to him in a dream, and afterwards had 
 shown themselves in his waking moments, assuming 
 homely aspects among familiar things. His mind dwelt 
 upon the features of the Squire, till they grew confused 
 with those of the visionary Sage, and one appeared but the 
 shadow of the other. The same visage, he now thought, 
 had looked forth upon him from the Pyramid of Cheops ; 
 the same form had beckoned to him among the colonnades 
 of the Alhambra; the same figure had mistily revealed 
 itself through the ascending steam of the Great Geyser. 
 At every effort of his memory he recognized some trait 
 of the dreamy Messenger of Destiny, in this pompous, 
 bustling, self-important, little great man of the village. 
 Amid such musings Ralph Cranfield sat all day in the 
 cottage, scarcely hearing and vaguely answering his 
 mother's thousand questions about his travels and ad- 
 ventures. At sunset he roused himself to take a stroll, 
 -and, passing the aged elm-tree, his eye was again caught 
 
 VOL. II. 12
 
 266 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 by the semblance of a hand, pointing downward at the 
 half-obliterated inscription. 
 
 As Cranlield walked down the street of the village, 
 the level sunbeams threw his shadow far before him ; and 
 he fancied that, as his shadow walked among distant ob- 
 jects, so had there been a presentiment stalking in ad- 
 vance of him throughout his life. And when he drew 
 near each object, over which his tall shadow had preceded 
 him, still it proved to be one of the familiar recollections 
 of his infancy and youth. Every crook in the pathway 
 was remembered. Even the more transitory character- 
 istics of the scene were the same as in bygone days. A 
 company of cows were grazing on the grassy roadside, and 
 refreshed him with their fragrant breath. " It is sweeter," 
 thought he, " than the perfume which was wafted to our 
 ship from the Spice Islands." The round little figure of 
 a child rolled from a doorway, and lay laughing almost 
 beneath Cranfield's feet. The dark and stately man 
 stooped down, and, lifting the infant, restored him to his 
 mother's arms. " The children," said he to himself, 
 and sighed, and smiled, " the children are to be my 
 charge ! " And while a flow of natural feeling gushed 
 like a wellspring in his heart, he came to a dwelling 
 which he could nowise forbear to enter. A sweet voice, 
 which seemed to come from a deep and tender soul, was 
 warbling a plaintive little air, within. 
 
 He bent his head, and passed through the lowly door. 
 As his foot sounded upon the threshold, a young woman 
 advanced from the dusky interior of the house, at first 
 hastily, and then with a more uncertain step, till they 
 met face to face. There was a singular contrast in their 
 two figures ; he dark and picturesque, one who had 
 battled with the world, whom all suns had shone upon, 
 and whom all winds had blown on a varied course ; she
 
 THE THREEFOLD DESTINY. 267 
 
 neat, comely, and quiet, quiet even in her agitation, 
 as if all her emotions had been subdued to the peaceful 
 tenor of her life. Yet their faces, all unlike as they were, 
 had an expression that seemed not so alien, a glow 
 of kindred feeling, flashing upward anew from half-extin- 
 guished embers. 
 
 " You are welcome home ! " said Faith Egerton. 
 
 But Cranfield did not immediately answer ; for his eye 
 had been caught by an ornament in the shape of a Heart . 
 which Faith wore as a brooch upon her bosom. The 
 material was the ordinary white quartz ; and he recol- 
 lected having himself shaped it out of one of those Indian 
 arrowheads, which are so often found in the ancient haunts 
 of the red men. It was precisely on the pattern of that 
 worn by the visionary Maid. When Cranfield departed 
 on his shadowy search he had bestowed this brooch, in a 
 gold setting, as a parting gift to Faith Egerton. 
 
 " So, Faith, you have kept the Heart ! " said he, at 
 length. 
 
 "Yes," said she, blushing deeply; then more gayly, 
 " and what else have you brought me from beyond the 
 sea ? " 
 
 " Faith ! " replied Ralph Cranfield, uttering the fated 
 words by an uncontrollable impulse, " I have brought 
 you nothing but a heavy heart ! May I rest its weight 
 on you ? " 
 
 " This token, which I have worn so long," said Faith, 
 laying her tremulous finger on the Heart, " is the assur- 
 ance that you may i " 
 
 " Faith ! Faith ! " cried Craufield, clasping her in his 
 arms, " you have interpreted my wild and weary dream ! " 
 
 Yes, the wild dreamer was awake at last. To find the 
 mysterious treasure, he was to till the earth around his 
 mother's dwelling, and reap its products ! Instead of
 
 268 TWICE-TOLD TALES. 
 
 warlike command, or regal or religious sway, he was to 
 rule over the village children ! And now the visionary 
 Maid had faded from his fancy, and in her place he saw 
 the playmate of his childhood ! Would all, who cherish 
 such wild wishes, but look around them, they would often- 
 est find their sphere of duty, of prosperity, and happiness 
 within those precincts, and in that station where Provi- 
 dence itself has cast their lot. Happy they who read the 
 riddle, without a weary world-search, or a lifetime spent
 
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