With half shut eyes ever to seem 
 Falling asleep in a half dream.' 11 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON, The Lotos Eaters. 
 
ORIGINAL 
 
 STORIES, ESSAYS, AND POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 WHITELAW REID, WILKIE COLLINS, MARK TWAIN, JOHN HAY, JOHN BROUGHAM, NOAH 
 BROOKS, P. V. NASBY, I. H. BROMLEY, JOHN ELDERKIN, THOMAS W. KNOX, W. J. 
 FLORENCE, CHANDOS FULTON, J. HENRY HAGAR, CHAMPION BISSELL, J. B. 
 BOUTON. W. S. ANDREWS, GILBERT BURLING, CHAS. I. PARDEE, M. D., 
 C. MCK. LEOSER, HON. R. B. ROOSEVELT, WILLIAM F. GILL, C. FLO- 
 RIO, C. E. L. HOLMES, CHARLES GAYLER, JAMES PECH, MUS. 
 DOC., H. S. OLCOTT, EDWARD GREEY, J. BRANDER 
 MATTHEWS, AND ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 JOHN BROUGHAM AND JOHN ELDERKIN. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 WILLIAM F. GILL AND COMPANY, 
 
 LATE SHEPARD AND GILL, 
 
 151 WASHINGTON STREET. 
 
7 
 
 r 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, 
 
 BY WILLIAM F. GILL AND COMPANY, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
TO 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON, 
 
 THE POET OF OUR TIME, 
 
 SHjis Book 
 
 IS 
 
 (WITH HIS SPECIAL PERMISSION) 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 BY 
 
 THE LOTOS CLUB 
 
 OF NEW YORK. 
 
 M147340 
 

 *4**/ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 TO THE SOVEREIGN PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 MAY IT PLEASE YOUR ROYAL MULTIPLICITY I 
 
 'E, the subscribers hereto, appreciating the 
 absorbing interest taken at the present 
 period in the occult and the non-under- 
 standable, beg to call the attention of 
 pansophic inquirers to the singular MANI- 
 FESTATIONS which will develop themselves 
 in the pages following, emanating, as they 
 
 do, from a group of edacious and bibitory media, who materialize 
 daily at the refectory of the LOTOS CLUB. 
 
 YOUR AUGUST POTENTIALITY will not fail to observe that those 
 spiritual adumbrations are not evanescent or fugaceous, a latrocinous 
 cheat, repugnant to common-sense and an insult to the most par- 
 vanimous of human intelligences, but tangible entities, altogether 
 stationary, and as visible to every eye as the readablest of printed 
 work. 
 
 The embodied essences which will in due time appear, psycholo- 
 gic offspring evoluted from the mysterious union of the brain and pen, 
 being polygenous, will of necessity be variform and dissimilar; 
 but, however unlike in shape and feature they may be when com- 
 pared with each other, yet individually they will be found to exhibit 
 sufficient family resemblance to indicate their paternity. 
 
x PREFACE. 
 
 In Books, as in Babies, one can readily discover excepting in the 
 cases of unequal collaboration, or of entirely pilfered matter, foreign 
 or domestic some characteristic trait hereditary, some trick of 
 style or peculiarity of expression, through which to designate the 
 author of their being. 
 
 The cerebral progeny of the LOTOS will, in like manner, display 
 upon their lineaments the shadowy sign-manual of their respective 
 producers. 
 
 With this brief but perspicuous prolegomenon, we send our mul- 
 tigenerous youngsters out into the world, to be judged by their 
 merits ; parental solicitude alone urging us to entreat for them a 
 liberal indulgence, if it be only for their juvenility. 
 
 It only remains to say that the pecuniary profits, if any, resulting 
 from the promulgation of these LEAVES will be presented to the 
 
 American Dramatic Fund. 
 
 J. B. 
 J. E. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES .... Whitelaw Reid i 
 
 THE HYMN OF PRINCES John Brougham 19 
 
 AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER . Mark Twain 25 
 
 MY HERMIT J. B. Bouton 33 
 
 Miss TS'EU Edward Greey 59 
 
 ANACREONTIC Charles Gayler ..... 69 
 
 THE THEATER . John Elderkin 73 
 
 POEM c. McK Leaser 97 
 
 AN EPISODE OF THE WAR W. S. Andrews 101 
 
 SUNRISE AND SUNSET C. E. L. Holmes in 
 
 FAIRY GOLD John Brougham 115 
 
 THE HAWK'S NEST Gilbert Burling 129 
 
 To A FLOWER C. Florio 145 
 
 THE PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS OF SONG . Charles Inslee Pardee, M. D. . 149 
 
 THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER Petroleum V. Nasby .... 157 
 
 TRANSLATIONS C. Florio 169 
 
xii CONTENTS. 
 
 A FATAL FORTUNE Wilkie Collins 175 
 
 IN ECHO CANON Noah Brooks 203 
 
 A FRAGMENTARY HINT ON A FAULT OF THE 
 
 ENGLISH LANGUAGE Champion Bissell 221 
 
 LIBERTY John Hay 227 
 
 How WE HUNG JOHN BROWN Henry S. Olcott 231 
 
 THE WEED THAT CHEERS J. Henry Hager 251 
 
 THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL Thomas W. Knox .... 261 
 
 EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER, RUFUS 
 
 W. GRISWOLD William F. Gill 277 
 
 LETHE C. McK. Leaser 307 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE FISHES Robert R. Roosevelt . . . . 311 
 
 THE LOTOS-EATERS . Alfred Tennyson 319 
 
 PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA /. ff. Bromley 329 
 
 BERTHA KLEIN W. J. Florence 343 
 
 NINE TALES OF A CAT J. Brander Matthews . . . 359 
 
 JOHN AND SUSIE Chandos Fulton 367 
 
 THE THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS . . . James Pech 381 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Engraved under the supervision of JOHN ANDREW AND SON. 
 
 DRAWN BY ENGRAVED BY PAGE 
 
 "WITH HALF-SHUT EYES EVER TO SEEM 
 
 FALLING ASLEEP IN A HALF-DREAM " Alfred Fredericks. A Bobbett . Frontispiece. 
 
 THE LOTOS John La Farge. H. Marsh . . Title Illus. 
 
 LOG-ROLLING IN THE SOUTH . . . C. H. Miller. W. J. Linton ... 8 
 
 HYMN OF PRINCES Alfred Fredericks. John Andrew and Son 22 
 
 THE HERMIT J. H. Dolph. John Andrew and Son 36 
 
 "K-E-E-s M-E-E" A. Lyall. John Andrew and Son 67 
 
 ANACREONTIC C. H. Story. John Andrew and Son 71 
 
 " WHEN THY ROSE LIPS I GAZE UPON " Arthur Lumley. John Andrew and Son 100 
 
 FAIRY GOLD . . . . Alfred Fredericks. A. Bobbett . . . .124 
 
 THE HAWK'S NEST Gilbert Burling. H. Linton . . . .132 
 
 THE LEVIATHAN CLUB Th. Wust. John Andrew and Son 167 
 
 HER ANSWER Arthur Lumley. John Andrew and Son 193 
 
 ECHO CANON George White. John Andrew and Son 220 
 
 LIBERTY Alfred Fredericks. A. Bobbett . . . .230 
 
 THE WEED THAT CHEERS . . . . C. H. Chapin. John Andrew and Son 259 
 
xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 POE'S SCHOOL AND PLAY-GROUND From the Original. John Andrew and Son 282 
 
 "THE LOTOS BLOWS BY EVERY 
 
 WINDING CREEK R. E. Piguet. W. J. Linton . . .321 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE TODESBLUME . George White. John Andrew and Son 342 
 ST. CECILIA H. B. John Andrew 'and 'Son 381 
 
 HALF-TITLE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I. THE LOTOS EATER i 
 
 II. EMBLEMS OF ROYALTY 19 
 
 III. VIGNETTE 25 
 
 IV. VIGNETTE 33 
 
 V. ORIENTAL BARGE 59 
 
 VI. LOTOS FLOWERS AND BUDS 69 
 
 VII. GREEK MASKS TRAGEDY AND COMEDY 73 
 
 VIII. VIGNETTE 97 
 
 IX. EMBLEMS OF WAR 101 
 
 X. VIGNETTE in 
 
 XL VIGNETTE 115 
 
 XII. VIGNETTE 129 
 
 XIII. LILIES . . . . 145 
 
 XIV. ANTIQUE LYRE 149 
 
 XV. ANTIQUE EGYPTIAN FIGURE 157 
 
 XVI. VIGNETTE 169 
 
 XVII. CUPID'S DARTS . . . . . . . . . . .175 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. xv 
 
 XVIII. VIGNETTE ........... 203 
 
 XIX. SPEECH AND SONG (HEAD) ....... 221 
 
 XX. THE CROSS OF LIBERTY ........ 227 
 
 XXI. IMMORTELLES .......... 231 
 
 XXII. SYMBOLIC EMBLEM ( LOTOS) ....... 251 
 
 XXIII. VIGNETTE ........... 261 
 
 XXIV. RAVEN AND BELLS .......... 277 
 
 XXV. ANTIQUE HEAD WITH LOTOS FLOWERS ..... 307 
 
 XXVI. VIGNETTE ..... * ...... 3" 
 
 XXVII. THE SPHINX ......... 3'9 
 
 XXVIII. MASKS OF TRAGEDY AND COMEDY (MODERN) . . . .329 
 
 XXIX. VIGNETTE .... ....... 343 
 
 XXX. VIGNETTE ...... . . . -359 
 
 XXXI. VIGNETTE ........... 3^7 
 
 The ornamental initials at the opening of each article were expressly designed for this volume by 
 JOHN ANDREW AND SON. 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 
 
 BY WHITELAW REID. 
 
 HE Publishers' despatch demands, rather sud- 
 denly, a contribution to the Lotos Leaves. 
 Thus energetically summoned, I can, on the 
 instant, think of nothing better than to go back 
 to my real lotos-eating days. They were 
 passed in that pleasant land where once, to 
 cotton-planters as well as poets, it seemed always 
 afternoon,, but where now, alas ! it too often looks as if the 
 blackness of midnight had settled. I spent a year or two, after 
 the close of the war in the Southern States, mostly on Louis- 
 iana and Alabama cotton-plantations ; and if I must " write 
 something and at once,' 1 I shall merely try to revive some recol- 
 lections of that experience. 
 
 It was one of those perfect days which Louisianians get in 
 February, instead of waiting, like poor Massachusetts Yankees, 
 till June for them, when I crossed from Natchez to take pos- 
 session of two of the three river plantations on which I dreamed 
 of making my fortune in a year. The road led directly down 
 the levee. On the right rolled the Mississippi, still far below 
 its banks, and giving no sign of the flood that a few months 
 later was to drown our hopes. To the left stretched westward 
 for a mile the unbroken expanse of cotton land, bounded by 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 the dark fringe of cypress and the swamp. Through a drove 
 of scrawny cattle and broken-down mules, pasturing on the rich 
 Bermuda grass along the levee, under the lazy care of the 
 one-armed " stock-minder," I made my way at last down a 
 grassy lane to the broad-porched, many-windowed cottage, 
 propped up four or five feet from the damp soil by pillars of 
 cypress, which the agent had called the " mansion." It looked 
 out pleasantly from the foliage of a grove of China and pecan 
 trees, and was flanked, on the one hand by a beautifully culti- 
 vated vegetable garden, several acres in extent, and on the 
 other by the " quarters," a double row of cabins, each with 
 two rooms and a projecting roof, covering an earthen-floored 
 porch. A street, overgrown with grass and weeds, ran from the 
 "mansion" down between the rows of cabins, and stopped at 
 the plantation blacksmith and carpenter shop. Behind each 
 cabin was a little garden, jealously fenced off from all the rest 
 with the roughest of cypress pickets, and its gate guarded by 
 an enormous padlock. " Niggers never trust one another about 
 their gardens or hen-houses," explained the overseer, who was 
 making me acquainted with my new home. 
 
 To the westward the plantations sloped gently back from the 
 house to the cypress-swamp, which shut in the view. Not a 
 tree or fence broke the monotony of the surface, but half a 
 dozen wide open ditches led down to the swamp, and were 
 crossed, at no less than seven places, by long lines of embank- 
 ments, each, as one looked toward the swamp, seeming higher 
 than those beyond it. The lands were entirely safe from any 
 overflow from the Mississippi in front ; but crevasses, miles 
 above, almost every year poured floods back into the swamp ; 
 thence the enemy gradually crept up on the rear, and about 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 5 
 
 June the fight with the water began. An effort would be made to 
 stop it at the first line of embankment ; this failing, the leading 
 ditches would be closed, and the next embankment, a hundred 
 and fifty yards farther up from the swamp, would be strength- 
 ened and guarded. Failing there, the negroes would retreat to 
 the next. The sluggish, muddy sheet of water would scarcely 
 seem to move ; but each day it would advance a few inches. 
 The year before, the negroes had only been able to arrest it 
 at the embankment nearest the river. Some months later I 
 soberly realized that I had done little better ; out of twelve 
 hundred acres of cotton land, my predecessors had only been 
 able to save three hundred, and I barely rescued two hundred 
 more. Then, as the waters receded, we planted in the ooze, 
 just in time to have the cotton beautifully fresh and tender for 
 the worms in August. 
 
 But as I rode out first, that perfect day, among the gang of a 
 hundred and fifty negroes, who, on these plantations, were for 
 the year to compromise between their respect and their new- 
 born spirit of independence by calling me Mistah instead of 
 Massa, there were no forebodings. Two "plough-gangs" and 
 two "hoe-gangs" were slowly measuring their length along the 
 two-mile front. Among each rode its own negro driver, some- 
 times lounging in his saddle with one leg lodged on the pommel, 
 sometimes shouting sharp, abrupt orders to the delinquents. 
 In each plough-gang were fifteen pairs of scrawny mules, with 
 corn-husk collars, gunny-bag back-bands, and bedcord plough- 
 lines. The Calhoun ploughs (the favorite implement through all 
 that region, then, and doubtless still, retaining the name given 
 it long before war was dreamed of) were rather lazily managed 
 by the picked hands of the plantation. Among them were 
 
6 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 several women, who proved among the best laborers in the 
 gang. A quarter of a mile ahead a picturesque sight presented 
 itself. A great crowd of women and children, with a few aged 
 or weakly men among them, were scattered along the old 
 cotton-rows, chopping down weeds, gathering together the 
 trash that covered the land, and firing little heaps of it, while 
 through the clouds of smoke came an incessant chatter of the 
 girls, and an occasional snatch of a camp-meeting hymn from 
 the elders. " Gib me some backey, please," was the first saluta- 
 tion I received. They were dressed in a stout blue cotton ade, 
 the skirts drawn up to the knees, and reefed in a loose bunch 
 about the waists ; brogans of incredible sizes covered their 
 feet, and there was little waste of money on the useless decency 
 of stockings, but gay bandannas were wound in profuse splendor 
 around their heads. 
 
 The moment the sun disappeared every hoe was shouldered. 
 Some took up army-blouses or stout men's overcoats, and drew 
 them on ; others gathered fragments of bark to kindle their 
 evening fires, and balanced them nicely on their heads. In 
 a moment the whole noisy crowd was filing across the plan- 
 tation toward the quarters, joining the plough-gang, pleading 
 for rides on the mules, or flirting with the drivers, and looking 
 as much like a troop flocking to a circus or rustic fair as a 
 party of weary farm-laborers. At the house the drivers soon 
 reported their grievances. " Dem women done been squabblin' 
 'mong dei'selves dis a'ternoon, so I 's hardly git any wuck at 
 all out of 'em." f< Fanny and Milly done got sick to-day ; an' 
 Sally 's heerd dat her husban' 's mustered out ob de army, 
 an' she gone up to Natchez to fine him." "Dem sucklers ain't 
 jus' wuf nuffin at all. 'Bout eight o'clock dey goes off to de 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 7 
 
 quarters to deir babies, an' I don' nebber see ntiffin mo' ob 'em 
 till 'bout elebben. Den de same way in de a'ternoon, till I 's sick 
 ob de hull lot." " De Moody [Bermuda grass] mighty tough 
 'long heah, an' I could n't make dem women put in deir hoes to 
 suit me nohow." Presently men and women trooped up for the 
 tickets representing their day's work. The women were soon 
 busy preparing their supper of mess pork and early vegetables ; 
 while the plough-gang gathered about the overseer. "He'd 
 done promise dem a drink o' whiskey, if dey 'd finish dat cut, 
 and dey'd done it." The whiskey was soon forthcoming, well 
 watered, with a trifle of cayenne pepper to conceal the lack of 
 spirit, and a little tobacco soaked in it to preserve the color. 
 The most drank it down at a gulp from the glass into which, 
 for one after another, the overseer poured " de 'lowance." A 
 few, as their turns came, passed up tin cups, and went off with 
 the treasure, chuckling about "de splennid toddy we's hab to- 
 night." Then came a little trade with the overseer at " the 
 store." Some wanted a pound or two of sugar ; others, a paper 
 of needles or a bar of soap ; many of the young men, " two bits' 
 wuf " of candy, or a brass ring. In an hour trade was over, and 
 the quarters were as silent as a churchyard. But, next morn- 
 ing, at four o'clock, I was aroused by the shrill " driber's horn." 
 Two hours later it was blown again, and, looking from my 
 window just as the first red rays of light came level across the 
 field, I saw the women filing out, with their hoes, and the plough- 
 men leisurely sauntering down to the stables, each with corn- 
 husk collars and bedcord plough-lines in his hands. 
 
 Somewhat different was my first sight of our third plantation. 
 It was fifteen miles farther down the river, from which it was 
 hidden by a mile of swampy forest. It had been freshly cleared 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 a little before the war, had been neglected since, was overgrown 
 with briers, and covered with fallen logs. Remote, wild, gloomy, 
 it almost recalled that weird picture of the Red River plantation 
 on which Mrs. Stowe abandoned Uncle Tom to the mercies of 
 Legree. Nor was this impression lessened when I found that 
 the overseer had for twenty years followed his calling during 
 the existence of slavery. But the most cordial feeling seemed 
 to subsist between him and the negroes. " Him allus good man, 
 befo' dis time come in," they said. " He allus did us niggers 
 jussice." Here he had them divided into three gangs, "the 
 hoes, log-rollers, and ploughs." Riding through the quarters, one 
 seemed to come out at once upon an immense Western clearing. 
 Everywhere still stood the deadened cypresses : it was through 
 a forest of their decaying bodies that the eye reached in the 
 distance the living forest and the swamp. Half-way back was a 
 scene of unusual animation. The overseer kept his three gangs 
 near each other, the hoes ahead, pushing hard behind them the 
 log-rollers, and, shouting constantly to the log-rollers to keep out 
 of their way, the plough-men. The air was filled with a dense 
 smoke from the burning briers and logs. Moving about among 
 the fires, raking together the trash, chopping the briers, now 
 seizing a brand from a burning heap and dexterously using it to 
 fire half a dozen others, then hurrying forward to catch up with 
 the gang, singing, laughing, teasing the log-rollers to "cotch us 
 if you kin," were the short-skirted, black-faced damsels, twenty 
 or twenty-five in number, who composed the trash-gang. Be- 
 fore the little heaps were half burnt, the log-rollers were among 
 them. A stout black fellow, whiskey-bottle in hand, gave direc- 
 tions. At least half of this gang also were women, each armed, 
 like the men, with a formidable hand-spike. They were very 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 9 
 
 proud of their distinction, and wanted it understood that " dey 
 was n't none of you' triflin' hoe-han's ; dey was log-rollers, dey 
 was." Selecting the log hardest to be moved as the centre for a 
 heap, the driver shouted, " Now, heah, hurry up dat log dere, 
 and put it on dis side, heah." A dozen hand-spikes were thrust 
 under it, and every woman's voice shouted in shrill chorus, 
 " Come up wid de log, come up wid de log." " Man agin man 
 dere," the driver would cry, " gal agin gal ; all togedder wid 
 you, if you spec any wate' out o' dis bottle." Sometimes be- 
 fore these heaps were fired the ploughs were upon them, every 
 ploughman urging his mules almost into a trot, and the driver 
 occasionally shouting, " Git out o' de way dere, you lazy log- 
 rollers, or we plough right ober ye." The land was a loose 
 loam, turning up like an ash-heap, and both negroes and mules 
 seemed to thrive on the hard work. 
 
 The overseer rarely left the field. With one leg lazily 
 thrown across the pommel of his saddle, he lounged in his 
 seat, occasionally addressing a mild suggestion to one of the 
 men, or saying to the driver that the other gangs were pressing 
 him pretty close. Then, riding over to the next, he would hint 
 that the trash-gang was getting ahead of them, or that the 
 ploughs would catch them soon if they were n't careful. All 
 treated him with the utmost respect. I am satisfied that no 
 Northern laborers of the same degree of intelligence ever 
 worked more faithfully, more cheerfully, or with better re- 
 sults. 
 
 Very novel, and sometimes very droll, seem to me now the 
 experiences of the year on these plantations. One of the first 
 was my effort to reform a "bad nigger." His old owner, so 
 the gossip ran, had once or twice wanted him killed ; last year 
 
10 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 the overseer had snapped a pistol at him ; altogether, there 
 was no managing him. A genial old-time planter, my nearest 
 neighbor, warned me that the boy was desperate, and ought 
 to be driven off the place. In my Northern wisdom I laughed 
 at the warning. " Of course your system drove any negro 
 of spirit into revolt," I argued ; " and so you had what you 
 call a dangerous nigger. Now he sees that he gets the re- 
 ward of his own labor, and so freedom makes a first-class 
 hand of him." But the old slaveholder shook his head. It 
 was not long till I saw he had reason. My model reformed 
 negro was caught stealing pork and selling it, getting drunk, 
 drawing a loaded musket on his brother-in-law, and the like. 
 " I '11 never give in to your new-fangled notions agin," growled 
 the overseer. " A nigger 's a nigger, and I Ve only made a 
 fool of myself in trying to make anything else out of him." 
 And so a warrant was procured for his arrest. Hearing of 
 the warrant, the boy ran away. In about three weeks he 
 returned, very defiant, and boasting that no white man could 
 arrest him. He had been to the Bureau, and knew the law ; 
 he was armed, and meant to go where he pleased. But he 
 was promptly taken, without resistance, before a justice of the 
 peace. Three negro witnesses established his guilt, and he 
 was committed to jail to await a trial by court, with every 
 prospect of being sent to the penitentiary for a year or two. 
 Among the witnesses against him was the brother-in-law he 
 had threatened to shoot. When Philos was being locked up 
 he called to this man and said, 
 
 "Arthur, you know I 's alms hated you, and talked 'bout 
 you ; but you was right, when you tole me not to git into 
 no sich troubles as dis." 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. II 
 
 " Philos," ejaculated Arthur, precipitating his words out in 
 shotted volleys, " I allus tole you so. You said, when you 
 come back, dat you 'd been to de Bureau, knowd de law, 
 dat no white man could 'rest you. I tole you den you did n't 
 know nuffin 'bout law, dat no law 'lowed you to carry on 
 mean." 
 
 "Well, I t'ought I did know sumfin 'bout law den, but I 
 shore, now, I don't" 
 
 " Dat 's so, Philos ; but I tell ye, you 'm got in a mighty safe 
 place now, whar you 'm got nuffin in de wold to do but to study 
 law ! I reckon, Philos, by de time you git out ob heah, you '11 
 be a mighty larned nigger in de law ! Good by, Philos." 
 
 " The worst thing about these niggers," explained the justice, 
 " is, that they seem to have no conception of their responsibility. 
 That boy, Philos, can't see why a word from his employer is n't 
 enough now to release him, as it would have done while he was 
 a slave. He does n't comprehend the fact that he has com- 
 mitted an offence against the State, as well as against his em- 
 ployer." 
 
 Most of the negroes seemed very anxious to learn to read, 
 but now and then one sturdily adhered to his old belief that 
 learning was only good for white men. " Wat 's de use ob 
 niggers pretendin' to learnin' ? " exclaimed one of my drivers. 
 " Dere 's dat new boy Reub. Missah Powell sent me to weigh 
 out his 'lowance. He brag so much about readin' an' edication 
 dat I try him. I put on tree poun' po'k, an' I say, ' Reub, kin 
 you read ? ' He say, ' Lor' bress you, did n't you know I 's edi- 
 cated nigger ? ' I say, ' Well, den, read dat figger, an' tell me 
 how much po'k you 'm got dar.' He scratch he head, an' look 
 at de figger all roun', an' den he say, ' Jus' seben poun', zacly.' 
 
12 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Den I say to de po' fool, ' Take you' seben poun' an' go 'long.' 
 Much good his larnin' did him. He los' a poun' o' po'k by it, 
 for I was gwine to gib him fo' poun'." 
 
 Early after my arrival, I had one of the overseers take me 
 to the negro church. On secular days it was the blacksmith's 
 shop. Now it looked fresh, and almost attractive, half rilled 
 with the people of the plantation. All seemed pleased to see us 
 enter, and I soon found that we were not to pass unnoticed. 
 The old preacher, who was none other than the plantation gar- 
 dener, was not one of those who fail to magnify their office. 
 He was delighted at his Sunday official superiority to his em- 
 ployer, and at the chance to level his broadsides at two white 
 men ; and he certainly showed us no mercy. " White men might 
 t'ink dey could git 'long, because dey was rich ; but dey 'd find 
 demselves mistaken when damnation and hell-fire was a'ter dem. 
 No, my breddering an' sistering, black an' white, we must all 
 be 'umble. 'Umbleness '11 tote us a great many places whar 
 money won't do us no good. De Lo'd, who knows all our 
 gwines in an' comin's out, he '11 'ceive us all at de las', if we be- 
 have ou'selves heah. Now, my breddering an' sistering, white 
 an' black, I stand heah for de Lo'd, to say to ebery one ob you 
 heah, be 'umble an' behave you'selves on de yearth, an' you shall 
 hab a crown ob light. Ebery one ob you mus' tote his cross on 
 de yearth, eben as our bressed Master toted hisn." 
 
 This was about the average style of the sermon. Part of it 
 was delivered in a quiet, conversational tone ; at other times the 
 preacher's voice rose into a prolonged and not unmusical ca- 
 dence. He was really a good man, and whenever any meaning 
 lurked in his numberless repetitions of cant phrases, picked up 
 from the whites to whom he had listened, it was always a good 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 13 
 
 one. The small audience sat silent and perfectly undemon- 
 strative. The preacher once or twice remarked that there were 
 so few present that he did n't feel much like exhorting ; it was 
 hardly worth while to go to much trouble for so few ; and final- 
 ly, with a repetition of this opinion, he told them " dey might 
 sing some if dey wanted to," and took his seat. 
 
 " D n the old fellow," whispered the overseer ; " he don't 
 do no retail business. He wants to save souls by hullsale, or 
 else not at all ! " 
 
 The passion for whiskey seemed universal. I never saw man, 
 woman, or child, reckless young scapegrace or sanctimonious 
 old preacher, among them, who would refuse it ; and the most 
 had no hesitancy in begging it whenever they could. Many of 
 them spent half their earnings buying whiskey. That sold on 
 any of the plantations I ever visited or heard of was always 
 watered down at least one fourth. Perhaps it was owing to 
 this fact, though it seemed rather an evidence of unexpected 
 powers of self-restraint, that so few were to be seen intoxi- 
 cated. 
 
 During the two or three years in which I spent most of my 
 time among them, seeing scores and sometimes hundreds in a 
 day, I do not now remember seeing more than one man abso- 
 lutely drunk. He had bought a quart of whiskey, one Saturday 
 night, at a low liquor-shop in Natchez. Next morning early 
 he attacked it, and in about an hour the whiskey and he were 
 used up together. Hearing an unusual noise in the quarters, I 
 walked down that way and found the plough-driver and the over- 
 seer both trying to quiet Horace. He was unable to stand 
 alone, but he contrived to do a vast deal of shouting. As I ap- 
 proached, the driver said, " Horace, don't make so much noise ; 
 
14 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 don't you see Mr. R. ? " He looked round, as if surprised at 
 learning it. 
 
 " Boss, is dat you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Boss, I 's drunk; boss, I 's 'shamed o' myself! but I 's 
 drunk ! I 'sarve good w'ipping. Boss, boss, s-s-slap me in de 
 face, boss." 
 
 I was not much disposed to administer the " slapping " ; but 
 Horace kept repeating, with a drunken man's persistency, 
 " Slap me in de face, boss ; please, boss." Finally I did give 
 him a ringing cuff on the ear. Horace jerked off his cap, and 
 ducked down his head with great respect, saying, " T'ank you, 
 boss." Then, grinning his maudlin smile, he threw open his 
 arms as if to embrace me, and exclaimed, "Now kiss me, 
 boss ! " 
 
 Next morning Horace was at work with the rest, and though 
 he bought many quarts of whiskey afterwards, I never saw him 
 drunk again. 
 
 But the revival of these old recollections of Southern experi- 
 ence has already outrun reasonable, limits. Let me close with 
 some brief account of a visit since made by many North- 
 erners to the now well-known cemetery of Buonaventura, 
 near Savannah. It was in the spring of 1865. Aside from 
 the army officials, we were almost the first visitors from the 
 North since the war. " Doesticks " (Mortimer Thompson), 
 indeed, had preceded us, and to our amazement was found in 
 Savannah editing a daily newspaper ; and, true to the tradi- 
 tions of the craft, was breathing out threatenings and slaughter 
 against the common enemy of most newspapers in war times, 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. 15 
 
 the commanding general. The sandy roads leading into 
 Savannah were still crowded with the rickety wagons of refu- 
 gees, the whites fleeing from starvation, the negroes hurry- 
 ing from the plantations they had never before been able to 
 leave of their own free will, to get their first taste of liberty 
 and city life. Out of this scene of squalor we suddenly turned 
 into what seemed a great and stately forest. The finest live- 
 oak trees I had seen in the South stretched away in long 
 avenues on either hand, intersected by cross avenues, and 
 arched with interlacing branches till the roof over our heads 
 looked, in living green, a groining after the pattern of Gothic 
 arches, in some magnificent old cathedral. One of the Tatnalls, 
 probably an ancestor of the Commodore of our navy, of Chinese 
 and Confederate note, long ago selected this site for his resi- 
 dence, builded his house, and laid out the grounds in these 
 noble avenues. The house was burned during some holiday 
 rejoicings. An idea that the place was unhealthy possessed 
 the owners, and, with a curious taste, the soil that was too dan- 
 gerous for men to live upon was straightway selected for dead 
 men to be buried in. We would hardly choose a malarious 
 bottom or a Northern tamarack-swamp for a burying-ground, 
 beautiful as either might be. But what matters it? After 
 life's fitful fever, the few interred here sleep doubtless as 
 sweetly beneath the gigantic oaks in the solemn avenues as 
 if on breeziest upland of mountain heather. 
 
 Even into this secluded gloom had come the traces of our 
 civil wars. The only large monument in the cemetery bore 
 the simple inscription of " Clinch," and within it lay, I was 
 told, the father-in-law of " Sumter Anderson," as in all our 
 history he is henceforth to be known. Some vandal had 
 
16 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 broken down the marble slab that closed the tomb, and had 
 exposed the coffins within. 
 
 This very barbarism, and the absence of the rows of care- 
 fully tended graves, and the headstones with affectionate 
 inscriptions that mark all other cemeteries, increased the im- 
 pressive gloom of the lonely place. The sun strove in vain 
 to penetrate the arches overhead. Here and again a stray 
 beam struggled through, only to light up with a ghostly silver 
 radiance the long, downward-pointing spear of the Tillandsia, 
 or Spanish moss. The coolness was marvellous ; the silence 
 profound, deepened indeed by the gentle ripplings of the little 
 stream, by which the farther side of the cemetery was bounded. 
 Everywhere the arches were hung with the deathly festoons of 
 the Spanish moss, slowly stealing sap and vigor fit funeral 
 work from these giant oaks, and fattening on their decay. 
 Drive where you would, the moss still fluttered in your face 
 and waved over your head, and, lit with the accidental ray 
 from above, pointed its warning silvery light toward the graves 
 beneath your feet ; while it clung, in the embrace of death, to 
 the sturdy oaks on which it had fastened, and preached and 
 practised destruction together. Noble and lusty oaks are 
 these ; glorious in spreading boughs and lofty arches and 
 fluttering foliage, but dying in the soft embrace of the parasite 
 that clings and droops, and makes yet more picturesque and 
 beautiful in decay, dying, even as Georgia was dying in the 
 embrace of another parasite, having a phase not less pictu- 
 resque, and a poisonous progress not less subtly gentle. 
 
 Some day, when Georgia has fully recovered, this spot, too, 
 will feel the returning tide of her generous, healthy blood. The 
 rank undergrowth will be cleared away ; broad walks will be 
 
SOME SOUTHERN REMINISCENCES. I/ 
 
 laid out among the tombs where now are only tangled and 
 serpent- infested paths ; shafts will rise up to the green arches 
 to commemorate the names of those, of whatever race, most 
 deserving in the State ; the heroes of past struggles will here 
 find fit resting-place, whichever side they fought for, if only 
 they did it on their consciences and like true men ; and the 
 Tillandsia, still waving its witchery of silver, will then seem 
 only like myriad drooping plumes of white, forever tremulously 
 pendent over graves at which the State is weeping. 
 
THE HYMN OF PRINCES. 
 
THE HYMN OF PRINCES. 
 
 BY JOHN BROUGHAM. 
 
 " By the blessing of Heaven, twenty thousand of the enemy are left upon the 
 field. Order a TE DEUM ! " Telegram from the King of Prussia to the Queen. 
 
 ORD ! we have given, in thy name, 
 The peaceful villages to flame. 
 Of all, the dwellers we Ve bereft ; 
 No trace of hearth, no roof-tree left. 
 Beneath our war-steeds' iron tread 
 The germ of future life is dead ; 
 
 We have swept o'er it like a blight: 
 
 To thee the praise, O GOD OF RIGHT! 
 
 Some hours ago, on yonder plain 
 There stood six hundred thousand men, 
 Made in thine image, strong, and rife 
 With hope and energy and life ; 
 And none but had some prized one dear, 
 Grief-stricken, wild with anxious fear : 
 A third of them we have made ghosts : 
 To thee the praise, O LORD OF HOSTS ! 
 
22 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 We have let loose the demon chained 
 
 In bestial hearts, that, unrestrained, 
 
 Infernal revel it may hold, 
 
 And feast on villanies untold ; 
 
 With ravening drunkenness possessed, 
 
 And mercy banished from each breast, 
 
 All war's atrocities above : 
 
 To thee the praise, O GOD OF LOVE ! 
 
 Secure behind a wall of steel, 
 
 To watch the yielding columns reel, 
 
 While round them sulphurous clouds arise, 
 
 Foul incense wafting to the skies 
 
 From our Home-manufactured Hell ! 
 
 Is royal pastime we like well, 
 
 As momently Death's ranks increase : 
 
 To thee the praise, O GOD OF PEACE ! 
 
 Thy sacred temples we Ve not spared, 
 For they the broad destruction shared ; 
 The annals of time-honored lore, 
 Lost to the world, are now no more. 
 What reck we if the holy fane 
 Or learning's dome is mourned in vain ? 
 Our work those landmarks to efface : 
 To thee the praise, O LORD OF GRACE ! 
 
 Thus shall it be, while humankind, 
 Madly perverse or wholly blind, 
 
THE HYMN OF PRINCES. 23 
 
 Will so complacently be led, 
 
 At our command, their blood to shed, 
 
 For lust of conquest, >r the sly, 
 
 Deceptive diplomatic lie : 
 
 To us the gain, to them the ruth ; 
 
 To thee the praise, O GOD OF TRUTH ! 
 
AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER. 
 
AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN IN- 
 TERVIEWER. 
 
 BY MARK TWAIN. 
 
 HE nervous, dapper, " peart " young man took the 
 chair I offered him, and said he was connected with 
 the Daily Thunderstorm, and added, 
 
 "Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview 
 you." 
 
 "Come to what?" 
 "Interview you." 
 
 " Ah ! I see. Yes, yes. Urn ! Yes, yes." 
 I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my powers 
 seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to the bookcase, 
 and when I had been looking six or seven minutes, I found I 
 was obliged to refer to the young man. I said, 
 "How, do you spell it ?" 
 "Spell what?" 
 " Interview." 
 
 " O my goodness ! What do you want to spell it for ? " 
 " I don't want to spell it ; I want to see what it means." 
 " Well, this is astonishing, I must say. 7 can tell you what it 
 means, if you if you " 
 
 " O, all right ! That will answer, and much obliged to you, 
 too." 
 
28 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " I n, in, t e r, ter, inter ' 
 
 "Then you spell it with an I?" 
 
 " Why, certainly ! " 
 
 " O, that is what took me so long." 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, what did^w propose to spell it with ? " 
 
 " Well, I I I hardly know. I had the Unabridged, and 
 I was ciphering around in the back end, hoping I might tree 
 her among the pictures. But it 's a very old edition." 
 
 " Why, my friend, they would n't have a picture of it in 
 even the latest e My dear sir, I beg your pardon, I mean no 
 harm in the world, but you do not look as as intelligent 
 as I had expected you would. No harm, I mean no harm 
 at all." 
 
 " O, don't mention it ! It has often been said, and by people 
 who would not flatter and who could have no inducement to 
 flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way. Yes, yes; 
 they always speak of it with rapture." 
 
 " I can easily imagine it. But about this interview. You 
 know it is the custom, now, to interview any man who has 
 become notorious!" 
 
 " Indeed ! I had not heard of it before. It must be very 
 interesting. What do you do it with ? " 
 
 " Ah, well, well, well, this is disheartening. It ought 
 to be done with a club in some cases ; but customarily it con- 
 sists in the interviewer asking questions and the interviewed 
 answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you let me 
 ask you certain (questions calculated to bring out the salient 
 points of your public and private history ? " 
 
 " O, with pleasure, with pleasure. I have a very bad mem- 
 ory, but I hope you will not mind that. That is to say, it is an 
 
AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER. 29 
 
 irregular memory, singularly irregular. Sometimes it goes in 
 a gallop, and then again it will be as much as a fortnight pass- 
 ing a given point. This is a great grief to me" 
 
 " O, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you 
 can." 
 
 " I will. I will put my whole mind on it." 
 
 " Thanks. Are you ready to begin ? " 
 
 " Ready." 
 
 I 
 
 Q. How old are you ? 
 
 A. Nineteen, in June. 
 
 Q. Indeed ! I would have taken you to be thirty-five or six. 
 Where were you born ? 
 
 A. In Missouri. 
 * Q. When did you begin to write ? 
 
 A. In 1836. 
 
 Q. Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now ? 
 
 A. I don't know. It does seem curious, somehow. 
 
 Q. It does, indeed. Who do you consider the most remark- 
 able man you ever met ? 
 
 A. Aaron Burr. 
 
 Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are only 
 nineteen years 
 
 A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do 
 you ask me for ? 
 
 Q. Well, it was only a suggestion ; nothing more. How did 
 you happen to meet Burr ? 
 
 A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day, and he 
 asked me to make less noise, and 
 
 Q. But, good heavens ! if you were at his funeral, he must 
 
30 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 have been dead ; and if he was dead, how could he care whether 
 you made a noise or not ? 
 
 A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a man 
 that way. 
 
 Q. Still, I don't understand it at all. You say he spoke to 
 you and that he was dead. 
 
 A. I did n't say he was dead. 
 
 Q. But wasn't he dead? 
 
 A. Well, some said he was, some said he was n't. 
 
 Q. What did you think ? 
 
 A. O, it was none of my business ! It was n't any of my 
 funeral. 
 
 Q. Did you However, we can never get this matter 
 straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the 
 date of your birth ? 
 
 A. Monday, October 31, 1693. 
 
 Q. What ! Impossible ! That would make you a hundred 
 and eighty years old. How do you account for that ? 
 
 A. I don't account for it at all. 
 
 Q. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now you 
 make yourself out to be one hundred and eighty. It is an awful 
 discrepancy. 
 
 A. Why, have you noticed that ? (Shaking- hands?) Many 
 a time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy, but somehow I 
 could n't make up my mind. How quick you notice a thing ! 
 
 Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far as it goes. Had 
 you, or have you, any brothers or sisters ? 
 
 A. Eh ! I I I think so, yes, but I don't remember. 
 
 Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I ever 
 heard ! 
 
AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER. 31 
 
 A. Why, what makes you think that? 
 
 Q. How could I think otherwise ? Why, look here ! who is 
 this a picture of on the wall ? Is n't that a brother of yours ? 
 
 A. Oh ! yes, yes, yes ! Now you remind me of it, that was a 
 brother of mine. That 's William, Bill we called him. Poor 
 old Bill! 
 
 Q. Why ? Is he dead, then ? 
 
 A. Ah, well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was 
 a great mystery about it. 
 
 Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared, then ? 
 
 A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him. 
 
 Q. Buried him ! Buried him without knowing whether he 
 was dead or not ? 
 
 A. O no ! Not that. He was dead enough. 
 
 Q. Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If you 
 buried him and you knew he was dead 
 
 A. No ! no ! we only thought he was. 
 
 Q. O, I see ! He came to life again ? 
 
 A. I bet he didn't. 
 
 Q. Well, I never heard anything like this. Somebody was 
 dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was the mystery ? 
 
 A. Ah, that 's just it ! That 's it exactly. You see we were 
 twins, defunct and I, and we got mixed in the bath-tub 
 when we were only two weeks old, and one of us was drowned. 
 But we did n't know which. Some think it was Bill, some think 
 it was me. 
 
 Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think ? 
 
 A. Goodness knows ! I would give whole worlds to know. 
 This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole 
 life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I never have 
 
32 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 revealed to any creature before. One of us had a peculiar 
 mark, a large mole on the back of his left hand, that was 
 me. That child was the one that was drowned. 
 
 Q. Very well, then, I don't see that there is any* mystery 
 about it, after all. 
 
 A. You don't'? Well, / do. Anyway I don't see how they 
 could ever have been such a blundering lot as to go and bury 
 the wrong child. But, 'sh ! don't mention it where the family 
 can hear of it. Heaven knows they have heart-breaking troubles 
 enough without adding this. 
 
 Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the present, 
 and I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have 
 taken. But I was a good deal interested in that account of 
 Aaron Burr's funeral. Would you mind telling me what par- 
 ticular circumstance it was that made you think Burr was such 
 a remarkable man ? 
 
 A. O, it was a mere trifle ! Not one man in fifty would 
 have noticed it at all. When the sermon was over, and the pro- 
 cession all ready to start for the cemetery, and the body all 
 arranged nice in the hearse, he said he wanted to take a last 
 look at the scenery, and so he got up and rode with the driver. 
 
 Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very 
 pleasant company, and I was sorry to see him go. 
 
MY HERMIT. 
 
MY HERMIT. 
 
 BY J. B. BOUTON. 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 N the early summer it pleases me to take late after- 
 noon walks in the upper part of Central Park. Its 
 natural scenery is varied and romantic, and judicious 
 Art has heightened its picturesqueness. Best of all, 
 it is not invaded by pedestrian mobs, whose feeble 
 legs and unambitious souls restrict them to the con- 
 ventional haunts below the Ramble. There, in a region 
 sometimes all my own, not even a policeman pacing its 
 foot-ways, I can stride along, swinging my cane freely, and 
 whistling, chanting, or reciting favorite bits of poetry, no 
 more noticed or obstructed than I would be in the wilds of 
 Minnesota. I imagine myself in the real country, minus 
 its dusty roads and frequent incident of dogs shooting out 
 from wayside huts and snapping at my heels. It is good 
 enough rurality for me. 
 
 Last year (1872), about the close of June, I became 
 aware unpleasantly aware, to be candid that the north 
 end of the Park had another genius loci. I came across 
 him in curving by-paths and odd nooks that I had claimed 
 by right of sole tenantry. He particularly affected that 
 snuggest and shadiest of retreats, the Grotto Bridge I call 
 
36 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 it, beneath which one may sit on a ribbed and knobby 
 bench, and be soothed by the drowsy monotone of the little 
 waterfall in the Loch above, and rejoice what time the hot 
 air is cooled by ribbon jets that spurt forever from the rough 
 face of the grotto upon him. From the top wall of this 
 concavity hang miniature stalactites two or three inches 
 long, formed by deposits from water slowly trickling through 
 limestone. These have been ten years in making ; and one 
 idly speculates about them that, in a hundred centuries 
 or less (or more), they will each be as thick as a man's 
 thigh, and fill up the grotto till it looks like a bunch of 
 organ-pipes. There is no place like it to sit and cool off, 
 smoking a cigar and surrendering to a delicious stupor. 
 
 This new man this rash invader of my domain was 
 not very remarkable in appearance. He was strongly built, 
 a perfect bull through neck and shoulders, and had a com- 
 monplace face, which would not have caught my attention 
 twice but for the furtive look that he cast at me when I 
 first saw him. It was an oblique, suspicious glance, quick as 
 lightning. Ever after, when I dropped upon him suddenly, 
 as I wheeled a corner or dived into a hollow, he shot that 
 searching eye at me. Then I began to study him. His 
 face was one of which you may find a thousand duplicates 
 at a mass meeting. Photographs show them pretty much 
 alike, and verbal descriptions cannot do better. Nature's ev- 
 ery-day pottery, a low flat forehead, pug nose, high cheek- 
 bones, wide mouth, and thin lips. His cheeks were deeply 
 bronzed, as if by frontage of wind and weather ; but I noticed 
 once, when his hat was off, that his brow was white. He 
 wore the brim well down over his eyes. His dress from 
 
MY HERMIT. 37 
 
 head to foot looked second-hand and seedy ; it did not fit 
 him anywhere. His eyes were clear, his face unbloated ; he 
 was evidently not a 'drunkard, though his miserable clothes 
 and dirty shirt looked like the last unpawned possession of 
 the sot. A grizzled beard, perhaps of a month's growth, gave 
 him the concluding touch of ugliness. 
 
 Occasionally I surprised him in the act of eating crackers 
 and cheese, bits of chicken, morsels of red herring, pickles, and 
 other trifles as inharmonious. These odds and ends he carried 
 loose in his coat-pockets, and when he saw that I observed 
 him he hastily put away the fragments with a slight cough. 
 I never caught him Dreading a book or a paper ; so, plainly, 
 he was not a poor scholar. Though when seated he was 
 looking intently at nothing, I did not imagine him to be a 
 thinker, grubbing at some deep social problem, or an inventor 
 distressing himself over some mechanical puzzle. If this able- 
 bodied man was poor, why was he lounging in the Park, 
 when he could get work down town on his own terms at 
 eight hours a day ? If he was vicious and criminal, why 
 was he not among his pals in the back slums and alleys ? 
 The more I saw of him, the more my curiosity became ex- 
 cited to know something of his history ; and one afternoon 
 it fell out that my desire for knowledge was gratified. 
 
 One hot day in the last week of June, I was out for 
 exercise. My appetite being languid, I walked a little faster 
 than my regulation gait to stir it up. Reaching the Grotto 
 Bridge, I was somewhat heated and tired, and at first right 
 vexed to find the rustic sofa occupied. The incumbent was 
 MY MYSTERY. From the debris about him it was apparent 
 he had been eating, of all things, soda-biscuit and pickles, 
 
38 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 and the very moment I saw him he threw what looked like 
 an empty jam-pot behind the seat. Never did the poor fel- 
 low look so much confused, and I felt the impulse to pass on 
 and leave him to his eccentric meal. But I was flushed and 
 wearied, and needed coolness and rest. And then that was 
 a time as good as any to drop into his acquaintance. 
 
 I sat down and heaved a deep sigh of weariness. The 
 man looked at me askew, and put out his hand to take up a 
 walking-stick, made of the branch of a tree. I saw that I 
 must act promptly. 
 
 " Warmish," said I, mopping my face. 
 
 " Ye-yes." And he moved as if to rise and be off. 
 
 Something more decisive must be done. " Take a cigar," 
 said I, offering him one. " Nice place this for a smoke." 
 
 This touched his heart, and opened his mouth, as I knew 
 it would. His eyes sparkled as he took the cigar and 
 made a bow of thanks. Then he said, huskily, " Bern' as 
 I 'm a hermit, sir, I can't afford cigars. I goes a pipe, and 
 don't allers have terbacker for that." 
 
 A hermit ! Well, I was astonished. From boyhood I had 
 read of hermits, and taken a deep interest in those mys- 
 terious beings. Twice I had made journeys of a number 
 of miles into the depths of forests to find hermits, reported 
 to inhabit certain huts ; but they were not at home, if, 
 indeed, they existed outside the diseased imagination of news- 
 paper paragraphists. And here was a hermit at my door, 
 as I might say, in Central Park, of all places ! I would as 
 soon have thought to see a boa-constrictor gliding across the 
 Mall, or a whale spouting in the Ladies' Lake. 
 
 " Ah ! so you are a hermit," said I, carelessly, to disguise 
 
MY HERMIT. 39 
 
 my emotions, and as if hermits were the commonest crea- 
 tures on earth. " Excuse me, may I ask where 's your 
 cave ? " You see hermits were associated in my mind with 
 caves primarily. 
 
 " Cave ? There ain't no cave in the Park, 'cept the one 
 everybody knows, a mile furder down. That air one 's too 
 wet to live in. I tried it one night, and got the roomatiz." 
 
 " Oh ! " said I, offhand-like, " I see, you are a wood- 
 hermit. Plenty of trees and underbrush round here, where 
 a fellow could stow himself away. Now, you know, I have 
 always thought, if I should turn hermit, I 'd take to the 
 woods. It must be glorious to sleep in the open air, these 
 fine frights, beneath the grand old trees, canopied by the 
 starry " 
 
 The man interrupted me. " It 's cheap," said he. " It 
 don't cost nothing. That 's what I likes it for." 
 
 "Exactly, and healthy. Anybody could see that by your 
 looks. But how do you manage when it rains ? " 
 
 The man .peered at me out of the corners of his eyes, and 
 hesitated. I knocked the ash from my cigar, and looked 
 at him as innocently as I could. Then he said, in his shy 
 half-voice : " You don't 'pear to be a detective, and I don't 
 b'l'eve you 'd blow on a poor feller like me ; so I don't 
 mind tellin' you how I works it." 
 
 Hermit as he was, the man could not repress the social 
 instincts of humanity. I saw he was bursting for confi- 
 dence and sympathy. 
 
 " My friend," said I, seriously, " your secret is safe with 
 me. If there is anything I was brought up to respect, it 
 is the feelings of hermits." 
 
40 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 This reassured him. He sidled closer to me. " You 
 know," said he, " the cops don't 'low nobody in the Park 
 after nine clock at night. I don't do no harm here, but 
 I has to be careful, or they'd nab me." Then he cast his 
 eyes warily about, and pointed upward. " You see that cock- 
 loft ? " 
 
 I looked up and saw a large open space between a part 
 of the stonework and the timbers of the bridge. I had often 
 noticed it before, and thought it a mighty fine place for 
 hiding. 
 
 " When the weather is good and the grass dry, then you 
 see I sleeps on the ground up in the woods on the hill yon- 
 der. But if it 's rainy I gets on the bridge overhead and 
 swings down easy nuf into that air cubby-hole. 'T ain't bad, 
 I tell ye, with straw and leaves up there, and all out of 
 sight" 
 
 " And 't is very comfortable, I dare say ; but how do you 
 dodge the police ? As you remark, they would turn you out 
 or arrest you if they found you here after nine P. M. I know 
 they are not as sharp or strict as the regular city police." 
 
 " That 's it. You Ve hit it. If they wos the blue-coats 
 they 'd snake me out in no time. But they 're another 
 breed, them chaps in gray. They takes it easy. I jest 
 minds my bizness and they minds theirs ; but out of re- 
 speck for 'em, I keeps out o' sight arter I hears the fire-bells 
 strike nine. Gi' me the Park perlice for not botherin' a 
 feller " And the man checked himself as if he were about 
 to say too much. 
 
 I saw, by this time, that the man beside me was a vulgar 
 person. Not a sage who had retired from life disgusted to 
 
MY HERMIT. 41 
 
 chew on his misanthropy. Not a man once rich and used to 
 luxury, suddenly made poor and reckless. It seemed impos- 
 sible that such a tough specimen could have been mortally 
 wounded through the affections. Still, he was a bona fide 
 hermit, no better one, perhaps, within a thousand miles. 
 And, in a certain sense, he was my hermit. I already began 
 to feel a proprietary .interest in him. 
 
 "My dear sir," said I, "may I be so bold as to ask how 
 you live ? Have you any occupation ? " 
 
 The hermit glanced suspiciously at me, coughed, and made 
 no reply. I saw his embarrassment, and was sorry the impo- 
 lite question had escaped me. So I said, jocosely : " Your 
 expenses can't be much. Rent, they say, is one fifth the 
 cost of living. Your rent costs you nothing. Five times 
 naught is naught, how 's that for a calculation ? " 
 
 He smiled and said, "That's about it." I perceived that I 
 must try another tack. 
 
 " Pray, sir, tell me one thing. Don't you find the time 
 heavy, with nothing to do all these hours ? It would kill 
 me." 
 
 " I don't ketch your idee. Time heavy ! How can it be 
 when I ain't at work, only whistlin' and walkin' about and 
 sittin' down. That 's what I calls comfort." 
 
 This strange person and myself took widely different views 
 of life ; that was clear. So I only said : " It is a matter 
 of taste. But I never could understand how a man could 
 endure life without something to do. I 'm afraid I would 
 never make a good hermit." 
 
 He looked at me straight in the face, and slowly uttered 
 these words : " / am broken hearted'.' There was no emotion 
 
42 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 visible in his face ; his voice did not tremble ; but he cov- 
 ered his eyes with his hands. 
 
 The remark moved me deeply, for it was totally unex- 
 pected, and seemed natural. I had read and heard of bro- 
 ken-hearted men, but it had never been my good fortune (or 
 otherwise) to know one personally. Therefore, I was not 
 conversant, except through the pages of novels, with the 
 external phenomena peculiar to the broken heart in males, 
 but had somehow associated them with cadaverous visages 
 and attenuated frames. Here was my hermit as fat as a 
 buck and red as a lobster. A broken heart had not occurred 
 to me as a part of his damaged general property. But he 
 said he had a broken heart, and it was only civil to believe 
 him. 
 
 "The woman! the inevitable woman," I murmured to my- 
 self; and I yearned to know what that dear disturber of the 
 Universal Peace had done to my poor hermit, to drive him 
 to lodgings al fresco, and a mixed diet of soda-crackers, her- 
 rings, and pickles. "Tell me about it," said I, kindly. 
 
 Gratefully he looked up. Still no tears in his eyes, no 
 quiver on his lip. He was able to master his feelings, and 
 that pleased me, for I should have been ashamed to see him 
 blubbering like a school-boy. 
 
 The substance of his story I will give in a few words in- 
 stead of the many in which he told it. 
 
 The man's name was Winterbottom, Thomas Winter- 
 bottom, and he lived in the city, and was by trade a pic- 
 ture-frame maker. He once had a good business, a wife not 
 so good, and one child. All was going on happily in the 
 Winterbottom nest, when a gas-fitter named Juggins appeared 
 
MY HERMIT. 43 
 
 on the scene in the familiar role of the Demon of the House- 
 hold, or the Destroyer of Domestic Peace. After the usual 
 amount cf preliminary skirmishing, Mrs. Winterbottom came 
 to open rupture with her husband, and in his absence left 
 the house one night, and transferred herself, her child, and 
 all her portable property to a new home, a home rented, 
 furnished, and the running expenses thereof paid by Juggins, 
 the perfidious gas-fitter. Winterbottom tracked his recreant 
 partner to the Juggins lair, and would have taken her away 
 but for the untoward circumstances that she drove him out 
 of the room with a mop, and Juggins kicked him down stairs 
 and threatened to shoot him if he showed himself again on 
 the premises. 
 
 My face must have betrayed my disgust at the pusilla- 
 nimity of the man, for he said quickly, " Mind ye, Mister, 
 'twas n't the mop I wos afraid on. I'm used to that. But 
 Juggins is about seven foot high, and carries a six-shooter. 
 What could I do ? /, a quiet, peaceable feller, what would n't 
 hurt a mouse." 
 
 "Don't ask me," said I, a little impatiently. "I can't med- 
 dle in family quarrels." 
 
 "I thought ter take the law on him. But there ain't no 
 law." 
 
 "Not much," said I. 
 
 " I don't see but what he could shoot me, if he wanted ter, 
 and get off." 
 
 "I'm sure he could," said I. And I volunteered this addi- 
 tional exposition of existing law (jury law) on the subject: 
 "J u ggi ns or your wife could shoot you, or you could shoot 
 Juggins or your wife, or both of them, or, for that matter, 
 
44 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 you could shoot me or any other man. There 's no punish- 
 ment for it. But on some accounts, slight, to be sure, it 
 is inconvenient to take the law into your own hands, and I 
 would not be understood as advising you to do it. If you 
 really want my opinion " 
 
 " I do, sir," said the hermit, respectfully. 
 
 Then I say, " Pick up courage. Let your wife slide. Go 
 to work." 
 
 My advice was not very palatable to Winterbottom, espe- 
 cially as I rose to leave, mindful of dinner, which was now 
 quite due, and I three or four miles away. 
 
 " My wife may slide, sir. She may slide as much as she 
 pleases, sir. I 've done with her. But I can't work. I 'm 
 broken-hearted, and I must be a hermit, allers a hermit. 
 This is where I '11 pass the rest of my days, if the perlice 
 don't drive me out, and I sha' n't live long noway." 
 
 I had to show the common feelings of humanity, though 
 my hermit was beginning to be a bore, and I said, "But 
 what will you do in winter ? You cannot sleep in the Park. 
 If you do you will freeze, or, if not freeze, starve to death." 
 
 "Yes, I'll sleep here," he answered, recklessly; "on the 
 snow, on the ice, anywhere. Some day you '11 read a story 
 in the paper about a man frozen to death up in that hole 
 thar. That '11 be Tommy Winterbottom. I don't mind. 
 But there 's one favor I would ask, sir, if you please." 
 
 I had put my best foot forward for a quick walk home ; 
 but at this point I rested. 
 
 " I spoke about my child, sir. Her name is A-Ara- 
 Arabella. As you say, sir, and it 's very good of you, let 
 Mrs. W. slide. But I want to save my child from her and 
 
. MY HERMIT. 45 
 
 from that villain Juggins. She 's a bright, pooty gal, sir, 
 'bout twelve year old ; 't would do your heart good to see her. 
 And she vvos allers very fond of her pa. [Here my herrrnt 
 pulled out a ragged and dirty handkerchief, and wiped his 
 eyes, in which, however, I had not observed any moisture.] 
 What I 'd like to do is this, sir. I 'd like to get a sight of 
 her, by watchin' round the house, and kinder smuggle her 
 off, sir. Her grandmother, sir, and lots of other relatives, 
 lives in Philadelfy. They'd keep her, sir, and bring her up 
 honest. I 'm sure they would, and no fifty Misses W.s 
 could n't tear her away from 'em. That beast of a Jug- 
 gins, he 'd be glad to be rid of her. My poor Arabella ! 
 I hears as how he beats her, and she has n't no shoes to 
 wear, and not a bonnet to her head. If I only had ten dol- 
 lars, that ud get a ticket for her on the railroad, and a pair 
 o' shoes, and p'r'aps a bonnet. Then I could steal her off 
 some night, sir, and send her to Philadelfy, and I know 
 she 'd be safe and happy. As for poor Tommy Winterbot- 
 tom, he can stay here and die, cos his heart it is broken. 
 Could n't you lend me ten dollars, sir ? Fancy how you 'd 
 feel if you wos fixed like me." The speaker wiped his eyes 
 (I forgot to note if they were dry this time) elaborately with 
 his musty handkerchief. 
 
 His narrative touched me. I tried to fancy how I should 
 feel, as he requested me to, and I confessed to myself I 
 should feel bad. But that did not warrant my giving him 
 ten dollars. And, on a little reflection, I could not credit 
 his story ; and even were it true, I had no business to be 
 mixing myself up in a family quarrel and a kidnapping case 
 to boot. I decided not to give him the sum asked, or to 
 
46 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 countenance his romantic scheme in the least. But' still he 
 was my hermit, and he looked to me for patronage. 
 
 Rising hastily, and determined to put an end to this din- 
 ner-killing interview, I handed him a small bill rolled up: 
 " That 's the best I can do. It is for yourself only. I can- 
 not interfere between you and Mrs. Winterbottom, but I pity 
 you. And now, good by." 
 
 :< Thank you, sir, for your kindness to a poor hermit, a 
 hermit broken-hearted, and can't work." 
 
 I hurried off to escape a longer outpouring of gratitude ; 
 but just before I passed from his line of vision I glanced back 
 over my shoulder. There he was, peeping at the end of the 
 folded bill to see its value, and I could have sworn his 
 mouth curved into a silent laugh. Had I been imposed on ? 
 Sweet Charity, forbid ! 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 CENTRAL PARK has a peculiar and matchless charm on the 
 Fourth of July ; for there, and there only, can the city es- 
 cape the flash and bang everywhere else prevalent that day. 
 Blessed be the Park commissioners for their anti-Chinese and 
 possibly unpatriotic, but decidedly sensible and humane, regu- 
 lation, forbiddipg fire-crackers in the territory under their 
 sway ! For that reason, if for no other, I betook myself to 
 the Park, July the Fourth, 1872. My hermit had not been 
 much in my mind since that odd adventure with him, other 
 persons and other events having quite jogged him aside. But 
 when I entered the Park I could not help heading towards 
 
MY HERMIT. 47 
 
 the Grotto Bridge as an objective point, and wondering if I 
 should meet him there or thereabout. 
 
 The Park, in its lower part, was full of people, come like 
 myself for a little surcease from work, and to avoid the pyro- 
 technic nuisance of a day in town. Women, children, and 
 old persons, besides quiet-loving folk of my sort, occupied the 
 seats, lined the bridges, sailed on the lakes, threw showers of 
 crumbs to the pampered swans, lounged, flirted, and chattered 
 in the bright sunshine and the very ecstasy of carelessness. 
 There was a delightful absence of whooping small boys. They 
 were all adding? to the uproar in the city, faint echoes of 
 which I could imagine to reach me. 
 
 Stalking over that populous region rapidly, I soon struck 
 into the less traversed ways, and then kept a bright lookout 
 for my hermit. I visited each nook and by-path where I 
 had been accustomed to see him, and finally passed beneath 
 the Grotto Bridge, confidently expecting to find him there. 
 But no Winterbottom ! " What a fool ! " said I to myself. 
 " He 's your debtor now, and of course invisible." Then I 
 laughed as the droll idea occurred to me that Winterbottom 
 had been watching me all this time from some neighboring 
 elevation, knowing me to be in search of him and chuckling 
 over my discomfiture. " My hermit no longer," thought I ; 
 " not even a proprietary interest." So musing, I strolled into 
 the open path, and, under the impression that he might be 
 on the watch for me somewhere about, I looked across the 
 Loch to the wooded hill. Sure enough there my good 
 eyesight detected the sturdy figure of my man at an open- 
 ing in the bushes. I made out his identity all the more 
 easily because he turned away at once and disappeared. 
 
48 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 I started after him in my fastest walk, which soon be- 
 came a run. Crossing the little foot-bridge over the Loch, 
 I bounded up the hillside, and soon reached a spot near 
 which I had seen him ; but he was nowhere in sight. At 
 that point two paths diverged, but I knew that they led 
 by winding ways to the same place ; so I paused not, but 
 trotted along, keeping a close lookout to right and left 
 among the trees and bushes. After going at a rapid pace 
 for about half a mile, I caught a glimpse of my hermit 
 darting into a clump of underbrush. 
 
 " Hallo, Winterbottom ! " said I ; "I was looking for you." 
 
 The man made another forward jump, and then stopped. 
 I knew why he checked himself when I glanced beyond the 
 bushes and saw a gray-coated Park policeman, quietly patrol- 
 ling the walk on the other side. In another moment Win- 
 terbottom would have been in his arms. 
 
 " Out of that there," cried the officer, who had heard 
 the noise in the bushes. " You must stick to the walk, 
 Fourth o' July or no Fourth." The policeman ' said this 
 good-naturedly, as one who must be indulgent to his fel- 
 low-citizens on the great holiday. 
 
 " Beg pardin, sir. All right," answered Winterbottom, and 
 he softly stepped out into the path where I stood. I never 
 saw a man so changed. He was pale with fright or des- 
 peration, the latter I thought, as I marked his flashing 
 eyes. He had one hand in a coat-pocket, and I could not 
 resist the impression, as I saw the outline of his knuckles 
 through the cloth, that that hand grasped a knife or pistol. 
 His whole aspect was of one at bay and determined to 
 sell his life or liberty dearly. His rough bearded face, 
 
MX HERMIT. 49 
 
 half-open mouth, showing two rows of glittering teeth, his 
 square shoulders and broad chest and great girth of loins, 
 made him a formidable animal. I could hardly conceive 
 that the meek and pusillanimous creature of his own story 
 could be transformed into such a fierce-looking ruffian. 
 
 " Wot are yer chasm' me fer ? Wot der yer want ? " he 
 muttered, as his eyes blazed upon me, and still keeping his 
 hand in his pocket. It was the worst case of debtor vs. 
 creditor that I ever saw. 
 
 "I want nothing, my dear fellow," said I, "only to 'see you 
 and ask how you are getting on. Sit down here and take 
 a smoke. I want company." This I said as amiably as 
 possible, and I am sure I looked kindly at him, for I meant 
 not otherwise. 
 
 His set face relaxed and he took his hand out of his 
 pocket. But his glittering eyes were still fixed on my face. 
 I produced the calumet, but to my surprise he declined it. 
 
 " Why did you avoid me ? " said I, chidingly, as one might 
 be allowed to upbraid one's own hermit. 
 
 " Did n't know 't was you. Thought 't was a gray-coat 
 arter me, fer sleepin' in the Park." 
 
 I knew Winterbottom was lying to me, and my steady, 
 reproving gaze spoke as much, for his eyes dropped. 
 
 I paused a moment, thinking what to say to this extraordi- 
 nary person, when he broke in with, 
 
 "Yer say yer want company. Well, I don't want none. 
 Wot 's the use o' bein' a hermit if yer can't be alone by 
 yerself?" 
 
 This was logic undeniably, and it puzzled me to answer 
 him; and before I could do so, Winterbottom growled out, 
 
$0 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " Good mornin', sir. I 'm off this 'ere way." And he pushed by 
 me and strode down the path over which I had chased him. 
 
 I could not find it in my heart to be cross with the poor 
 outcast. " Good by," said I, quietly ; " and forever," I added to 
 myself, for I knew that after this my hermit and I would not 
 be on speaking terms. 
 
 Turning to resume my walk in a direction opposite to that 
 taken by Winterbottom, I saw for the first time the figure of 
 a woman, standing on a slight rise or crown of ground about 
 thirty yards from me. She was looking intently at me ; and 
 her face wore a startled expression. Then she strained her 
 eyes towards the fast-vanishing form of the hermit, who in a 
 second more was out of sight. As I neared this woman, I 
 saw two tidily dressed little boys playing together a short dis- 
 tance from her. " Mamma, mamma," one of them called. 
 "In a moment, dear," said she. 
 
 " May I speak a word with you, sir ? " she said timidly, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "Certainly, madam," in a tone which encouraged her to 
 proceed ; at least, I meant that it should. 
 
 A fragile woman, with a thin, pale face, on which care and 
 anxiety were deeply stamped ; poorly but neatly dressed ; 
 looking like a seamstress fighting her solitary, hard battle, to 
 keep herself and children alive ; a poor, half-broken, suppli- 
 cating creature, touching the pity of every human heart ; such 
 was my rapidly formed estimate. 
 
 Her voice trembled and her whole frame vibrated as she 
 made an effort to control herself. "I beg your pardon, sir," 
 said she; "do you know that man you were speaking with? 
 I know him, but I fear you do not." 
 
MY HERMIT. 51 
 
 "Well, no, madam, I cannot exactly say that I know him. 
 He is a queer sort of a fellow, something of a hermit, as 
 he calls himself. I stumbled across him the other day. If 
 you know him, please tell me who he is." 
 
 " Ah, sir," heaving a deep sigh ; " I do know him to my 
 cost. Alas ! I am his wife." 
 
 I cannot say I was taken aback by this revelation, for when 
 she first accosted me, I had guessed at the truth. But the 
 coincidence of meeting her so near the spot where I had just 
 parted from the hermit did surprise me. 
 
 I told her I was glad to meet her, that I feared that 
 man had attempted to deceive me, that now I should know 
 the truth, with other reassuring phrases. "Take a seat, Mrs. 
 Winterbottom," said I, motioning to one that stood invitingly 
 by, for I saw that the poor woman, after the long holiday 
 walk she had made with her little children, must be tired. 
 
 "Winterbottom," she exclaimed; "that is not my name!" 
 
 " And you are his wife ? " 
 
 " I have my marriage certificate, and that man, that bad 
 man's name is Bagfield." 
 
 " Another question, Mrs. Bagfield ; have you a daughter 
 Arabella?" 
 
 " Arabella ! No ! I have two little boys, no more chil- 
 dren, and there they are." 
 
 " One question more." (This was a test one.) " Do you 
 know a man named Juggins ? " 
 
 "Juggins? Juggins? I never heard of him before." The 
 candor of her sad face told me she was uttering no falsehood. 
 I had narrowly escaped being duped by a clever rascal. 
 
 " This is a very curious case," said I. " Pray tell me why 
 
52 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 your husband if that is he is playing hide-and-seek in 
 the Park. He sleeps here nights." 
 
 " Why, sir, he escaped from Sing Sing about a month ago, 
 the paper said, and he must be keeping out of sight of the 
 regular police up here." 
 
 " Whew ! And that 's my hermit, and his yarn to me was 
 a hermit's sell, I may say." And I could not repress a wild 
 laugh at the absurdity of the contrast forced upon my mind, 
 a melodramatic anchorite changed into a vulgar jail-bird! 
 
 " Pardon me, Mrs. Bagfield," said I, respectfully, as the suf- 
 fering creature looked at me, astonished. " But that humbug, 
 that lying thief, excuse me for my warmth, for he is your 
 husband " 
 
 " No excuse needed, sir. As you say, he is a liar and a 
 thief, and he is my husband, though no more but in name." 
 I had thought she would have burst out crying a minute be- 
 fore ; but now her eyes flashed indignation, and, if I mistook 
 not, revenge. 
 
 "That fellow," I continued, "tried to swindle me out of 
 money to help rob you of your only daughter, your Arabella, 
 a girl of twelve years who loved her pa, and would go to the 
 end of the world with him. I am laughing at myself, madam ; 
 but you I pity from the bottom of my heart." Then I briefly 
 related to her the substance of my conversation with the 
 pseudo-hermit. She listened attentively, only interrupting me 
 with exclamations, " The liar ! " " The thief! " " The traitor ! " 
 and the like. 
 
 " He must be arrested and sent back to prison," she said, 
 firmly. Now I had finished my narrative, I had waited to 
 hear her opinion on that point, before offering my own. 
 
MY HERMIT. 53 
 
 " I agree with you, madam," said I. " It is hard enough 
 to obtain the conviction and punishment of desperadoes in 
 this city, and escape from prison must not be made easy 
 for them. Are you in fear of this man if he is allowed to 
 run loose ? " 
 
 " I am afraid of him very much, sir. He thinks I caused 
 his arrest, though God knows I did not. I would have 
 shielded him if I could ; but not if I had known, as I now 
 do, that he was spending his time and money on another 
 woman, and neglecting me. That I will never forgive him 
 for." And she stamped her foot fiercely on the ground. " He 
 was a decent man once, sir, but that was long ago. Then 
 he got into bad ways, through that woman, I suppose. He 
 used to be away from me all night, and then he would come 
 home and abuse me and those little children. Sometimes 
 he showed me money, but none .of it was for me ; and I 
 should 'a' starved, sir, and my children too, if some good 
 friends had not given me work. I wondered how he got his 
 money; for he had quit his trade, and he wasn't earning 
 anything honestly. One day I found out ; for a policeman came 
 to the house and arrested him. He had committed a bur- 
 glary, they said, and almost killed a man. Bad as he was, sir, 
 he was my husband, and it nigh broke my heart to think he 
 should go to prison. But nothing I could do could save him. 
 The proofs were too strong, and he was found guilty, and was 
 sent up to Sing Sing for twenty years. I saw him the morn- 
 ing they took him away, and he called me bad names, and 
 said he would kill me when he got out, for I had betrayed 
 him. I forgave him those cruel words then, but not after- 
 wards, when I found out there was another woman at the 
 
54 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 bottom of the whole trouble. Then I was glad he was locked 
 up for twenty years; and he must go back there, he must 
 go back ! It was two years ago, sir, that he was sentenced. 
 I saw, by the papers, he had escaped last month, and there 
 was a reward offered for him. The detectives have been 
 watching round my lodgings, thinking he might come there. 
 But he knew too much; he is a very cunning man, sir" 
 (I nodded affirmatively), "and keeps away, though I believe, if 
 he dared, he would come down some night and kill me. I say, 
 sir, he must go back, and I will tell the police about him. 
 It 's my duty, sir." 
 
 There was one weak point in this case against Winter- 
 bottom alias Bagfield. The woman might be mistaken in 
 his identity, though she said she could swear to him posi- 
 tively. It was somewhat singular, too, that he should have 
 chosen for a hiding-place a resort as public as the Central 
 Park. I admitted to myself that under the circumstances it 
 was the place that is, the north end of the grounds 
 where he would be least likely to be disturbed by the regular 
 city police ; but I deemed it remarkable that the escaped con- 
 vict should have had the shrewdness to select it. He must 
 be a cunning fox, truly. I made up my mind what to do. 
 
 "Madam," said I, respectfully, "I will see to this matter. 
 Do not make yourself uneasy ; for if that man is Bagfield, 
 he shall be sent back to Sing Sing in twenty-four hours, 
 sure, and locked up safe for the rest of his term, let us 
 hope. Leave the Park at once with your children, and go 
 home, and trust everything to me." I asked for her address, 
 and made a note of it, promising that she should hear of what 
 I had done in due time. 
 
MY HERMIT. 55 
 
 She thanked me most fervently and took my advice with- 
 out delay. Not a moment should be lost, if Winterbottom, 
 or Bagfield, was to be caught. I had looked about me during 
 this strange interview with the woman who claimed to be his 
 wife, thinking that my hermit might be watching us in the 
 distance ; but there was no sign of him. Bidding her to keep 
 up courage and hope for the best, and enjoining her again 
 to return home immediately and await further news, I hur- 
 ried on ahead to a police station in the vicinity of the Park. 
 There I knew correct and full information relating to the case 
 could be obtained. 
 
 My mission was soon discharged. The Captaku of Police 
 heard my story, and as soon as I came to the name of Bag- 
 field, he smiled as if in recognition of it. Then he showed 
 me a handbill which had been issued and distributed at all 
 the station-houses, offering a reward for the arrest of Thomas 
 Bagfield, alias "Tommy the Slouch," who had escaped from 
 Sing Sing. The fellow's person was sufficiently described. 
 It was a pen-portrait of my hermit, saving the stubby whis- 
 kers grown in his brief absence from prison. He had made 
 his escape through a drain, and gained the woods before the 
 loss was discovered. An accomplice had there supplied him 
 with a change of clothes. There was an active pursuit, but 
 the hunted had a good hour's start, and by wonderful luck 
 and craft had escaped capture, and slowly worked his way 
 to the city. 
 
 The worthy Captain knew much more of Bagfield's antece- 
 dents than I could impart to him. He was a very desperate 
 character, though, as the Captain said, "only an amatoor," 
 not one of those gifted beings, the professionals in crime. 
 
56 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 He had done a stroke or two in the confidence line, for which 
 I thought him well fitted ; but his crowning achievements were 
 burglaries. He was suspected of having broken into three 
 or four private houses, and of having stabbed (but not fatally) 
 a policeman in attempting to escape. In committing the par- 
 ticular burglary for which he was sentenced to Sing Sing, 
 he had struck down and severely injured the owner of the 
 house with a slung-shot. " One of the Worst and most 
 dangerous men I ever knew," added the Captain, with the 
 cautious qualification, "for an amatoor." 
 
 "Is it not singular," I asked, "that he should come to 
 the city to hide?" 
 
 "They all do," he explained. "Sooner or later we catch 
 'em that is, most of 'em here. But it was a shrewd 
 dodge in the fellow to hide himself in the Park. To my 
 knowledge, the detectives have been watching his wife's house 
 and his old hanging-out places ever since he got loose. It 's 
 been a point of honor to bag him, you see, because he stabbed 
 
 Policeman Q . But they never thought of looking in the 
 
 Park for him ; and by playing his game fine I can see how 
 he might have hung round there a long time, till he 
 thought the hunt for him was given up and he could cut 
 away to some other city ; but he 'd have been sure to come 
 back here at last. If you 'd been fool enough I beg par- 
 don for saying it to give him the money he asked for, he'd 
 pushed before this, perhaps." The oddity of Mr. Bagfield's 
 mixed diet pickles, crackers, and so forth the Captain 
 clearly explained on the theory that he had broken into some 
 restaurant near the Park and stolen those miscellaneous edi- 
 bles, -or he might have taken the risk of foraging occasionally 
 
MY HERMIT. 57 
 
 among the free lunches in the neighborhood, being very care- 
 ful to avoid the police. Finally, the Captain promised to 
 inquire into Mrs. Bagfield's circumstances, and if she was as 
 respectable and deserving of confidence as I took her to be, 
 he would see that the reward was sent to her, if paid to any- 
 body. No one else could claim it, certainly not the police, 
 who would be only too glad to pay something themselves for 
 the pleasure of arresting and returning to Sing Sing the man 
 who was believed to have stabbed Officer Q . 
 
 Before the Captain had finished his remarks he had called 
 two of his men, and they had started forth in citizen's dress 
 in quest of the runaway. 
 
 I had transacted my part of this unpleasant but necessary 
 business, and did not care to wait and confront my hermit in 
 his deserved misfortune, if they caught him. So I with- 
 drew, having made arrangements with the Captain to learn 
 the sequel promptly. 
 
 Within half an hour from that time Bagfield was surprised 
 and seized in the Park, not far from the Grotto Bridge. He 
 was evidently all unsuspicious of . his peril ; but when the 
 officers pounced upon him, these words burst from his lips 
 with a curse : " Serves me right for talking with that feller 
 t' other day." He was armed with an ugly looking knife, and 
 attempted to stab one of his captors, but they overpowered 
 him. That very night he was returned in safety to Sing 
 Sing. 
 
 The good Captain's inquiries proved that Mrs. Bagfield was 
 worthy of all confidence and kindness ; and the reward was 
 paid over to her by the practice of a little diplomacy excusa- 
 ble under the circumstances. She was made to believe* that 
 
58 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 it was a testimony of sympathy from a friend who desired to 
 be unknown. Soon after I heard from the Captain that she 
 had moved away with her children to the West, there to 
 begin life anew under an assumed name, and rear her little 
 ones in ignorance of their degraded father. God help her ! 
 
Miss TS'EU. 
 
MISS TS'E U: 
 
 A TEA-TASTER'S STORY. 
 BY EDWARD GREEY. 
 
 (SUNG-TIE.) 
 
 WAS listlessly watching a party of maskers, who 
 were posturing for the amusement of some, to me un- 
 seen, ladies, in the court-yard beneath the windows of 
 the apartment in which I was nominally a prisoner," 
 said the Tea-taster, " when I heard the pit-a-pat of a 
 small-footed lady in the corridor leading to my room. 
 
 " My curiosity being excited, I turned from the window 
 and peered down the passage, but, seeing the place quite de- 
 serted, thought no more of the circumstance, and, throwing 
 myself upon my matted couch, began to ponder over my posi- 
 tion. Any hinderance to progress in travel is annoying, but 
 mine was particularly so. I had been despatched by my 
 house to our Chinese agents in Fokeen, with orders to buy up 
 every picul of the new crop of black teas harvested in that 
 district, arid my chop, or passport, directed all officials to see 
 that I was not delayed or molested by turbulent spirits ; yet 
 His Excellency, Kee-Foo, Vice-Lieutenant-Governor of Min 
 Shau-u, had taken the responsibility of placing me under 
 friendly arrest, and had confined me in one of the rooms of 
 his Ya-mun, ostensibly on the pretence of protecting me from 
 
62 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 the rioters. It is true that the Chinese are somewhat demon- 
 strative during the time of their New-Year festivities, but the 
 fact was, a rival house in Hong Kong had despatched an 
 agent with a heavy bribe to Mr. Kee-Foo, and the latter gen- 
 tleman knew full well that, ere I reached the Woo-e Hill, my 
 competitor would have purchased every picul of tea in the 
 district. In vain I wrote to the unmoved official "that my 
 orders were to proceed without delay " ; but he merely pen- 
 cilled, " Impossible ; the people are in arms, and I am respon- 
 sible for your head," across my memorials, and I was forced 
 to submit. True, I could not complain of my accommoda- 
 tions, and, the ladies of the house were evidently interested in 
 my fate, judging by the presents of fruit and flowers I 
 received morning and night ; but since the moment that I 
 was introduced to my prison I had only seen one person, the 
 servant who waited upon me, and he was a deaf-mute. 
 
 Opposite to the wing in which my room was situated was 
 a portion of the palace that was always kept closely screened. 
 From the tone of the voices which proceeded from this part 
 of the Ya-mun whenever the maskers did anything particu- 
 larly amusing, I concluded that the ladies' apartments were 
 situated there, and my surmise proved to be correct. 
 
 I was wishing that some one would take pity upon me 
 and pay me a. visit, when I again heard the pattering noise 
 in the corridor. Cautiously rising, I crept to the open door, 
 when I beheld a sight which at once astonished and delighted 
 me, for there, laughing like a wayward child, just escaped 
 from its nurse, stood a lovely girl about sixteen years old. 
 
 She was of medium height, slender as a bamboo shoot, 
 with an exquisitely formed oval face, straight nose, rosebud 
 
MISS TS'EU: A TEA-TASTER'S STORY. 63 
 
 mouth, and dark, full, liquid eyes, that pierced your very 
 soul in their innocent earnestness ; her charming features 
 being crowned with a profusion of long, raven hair worn en 
 queue. Her lower dresses were of colored satin ; each gar- 
 ment shorter than the one beneath, the outer being pro- 
 fusely embroidered with golden chrysanthemums, and her 
 upper robes, of soft tinted crepe, were covered by a long 
 jacket of pale blue brocade, so thickly embroidered as to 
 almost hide the beautiful fabric. The nails of her tiny, dim- 
 pled hands were each three inches in length, and cased in 
 jewelled sheaths, while her doll-like shoes shone from beneath 
 her robes like golden foot-notes on an illuminated manuscript 
 
 Instead of screaming or fainting, this charming vision, with 
 imperturbable comic seriousness and grace, opened her coral 
 lips and inquired, in Chinese, 
 
 " Are you the honorable Fankwei ? " 
 
 As this meant, " Are you the foreign white devil ? " I felt 
 exceedingly amused, and could hardly retain my self-posses- 
 sion as I ^replied, 
 
 "Met jin* I am that humble, never-to-be-too-much-exe- 
 crated animal ! " 
 
 Advancing, at first somewhat timidly, yet gradually, as- 
 sured by my respectful manner, and growing more confident 
 as she neared me, she gazed innocently into my eyes and 
 faltered, 
 
 " Tell me all about yourself !" 
 
 This was said so nai'vely that I was completely conquered, 
 and, although I knew it was totally contrary to Chinese eti- 
 quette, I placed my arm around her lithe form and drew her 
 
 * Beautiful lady. 
 
64 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 towards me. Instead of repelling my advance, she nestled 
 closer and, looking archly *into my face, said, 
 
 "There was a rent in the mat which covers our window, 
 and, my mother being below amusing herself by looking at 
 the maskers, I I came here ! Now tell me about your- 
 self. Do you eat human flesh ? No ! " 
 
 " Certainly not ! " I quickly replied. " We are not tigers, 
 as they represent us to you, nor do we treat our ladies as 
 your men do theirs. In my country, America, women rule 
 everything, and we almost worship them when they are as 
 pretty as yourself!" 
 
 " Worship them ! " she queried ; " how is that possible ? " 
 
 " Yes, we are their slaves, and do their bidding ! Tell me 
 your name, mei jin ! " 
 
 Opening her bright eyes, and laughing at me with them, 
 she slyly answered : 
 
 " Why should I tell you my name ? When you go back 
 to Mee-lee-kee you forget it ! " 
 
 I protested "that as long as memory held," etc., etc., I 
 should never forget her, and that I was really and truly in 
 love with her! Not having a Chinese term by which to 
 describe what we call love, I used the word worship, when 
 she solemnly shook her head, saying, 
 
 " To the gods, to your parents, to the spirits of your ances- 
 tors, to your superiors, you burn incense and pay worship, 
 but not to young girls! O you seen jin * I would like to go 
 to. Mee-lee-kee ! " 
 
 The look and the proximity of her cherry lips completed 
 it, and I whispered* in English, for they never use the salute 
 
 * A sort of Chinese angel. 
 
MISS TS'EU: A TEA-TASTER'S STORY. 65 
 
 in China, and consequently have no word to express the 
 action, 
 
 " Kiss me, ching neu ! " 
 
 " Ke-e-es ? " she queried. 
 
 " Yes, kiss me ! " I cried, suiting the action to the 
 word. 
 
 She sprang from my arms like a frightened child and ran 
 from the Apartment. Fearing that I had offended her, I was 
 about to follow and endeavor to explain her mistake, when 
 she stole softly into the room, and, standing before me, 
 gently clicked her lips, as though she had partaken of 
 something delicious. 
 
 "Are you angry?" I asked. 
 
 " For what did you do that ? " she gravely inquired. " I 
 feared that after all you were a man-eater, but when I found 
 that I was not injured I thought you only did it to try 
 my courage ! " 
 
 " If you tell me your name, I will explain the mystery ! " I 
 replied. 
 
 . "My worthless name is Ts'eu ! " she demurely said. "It 
 is an odious appellation ! " 
 
 As Ts'eu means, literally, " a star," I told her that she had 
 a charming name. 
 
 "If you like it so much, tell me about the rite of ke-e-es 
 me ! " she shyly observed ; adding, " Ke-e-es-me ! ke-e-es- 
 me!" 
 
 " It is thus performed, little Ts'eu ! In my country, when 
 a man wishes to show how much he worships the lady of his 
 choice, he places his arm around her, thus, she looks up 
 
 * Innocent one. 
 
66 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 at him, just as you are doing at me now, you darling, 
 then he pouts his lips, as I So mine, and you are doing 
 yours, and he presses hers, so ! That is the American 
 rite of kissing ! " 
 
 Miss Ts'eu received the fervent tribute with evident de- 
 light, but immediately after sobered down, and, looking sor- 
 rowfully at me, pleaded: 
 
 " O seen jin, I do not quite understand ! I cannot learn 
 such a difficult rite in one lesson ! " 
 
 I again pressed her sweet lips, and this time the kiss was 
 returned ; however, the pause which succeeded the perform- 
 ance did not augur a repetition of the exercise, but after a few 
 moments she seemed to awaken from her revery and mur- 
 mured, 
 
 "Tell me again what you call that?" 
 
 "Kissing, little Ts'eu!" 
 
 " We have no such ceremony in our Book of Rites ! We 
 have no name for such an act ! For thousands of periods 
 we poor Chinese women have been ignorant of this delight- 
 ful rite ! O seen jin, teach me, that I may become perfect 
 in this!" 
 
 I repeated the charming task, but soon in magnetic tender- 
 ness of expression and delicate sweetness my pupil became 
 my teacher. We felt like children stealing honey. After 
 some moments Miss Ts'eu looked slyly up, and, quoting from 
 an ancient song, chanted, 
 
 " Jo lew ying fung"* 
 
 " That is what / call KE-E-ESING ! " she added ; then, after 
 
 * "The delicate willow meets the breeze." 
 
MISS TS'EU: A TEA-TASTER'S STORY. 
 
 6 7 
 
 glancing round, in order to ascertain if any one were watch- 
 ing, she gently raised her lips to mine and whispered, 
 " Ke-e-es me some more, seen jin Mee-lee-kee ! " 
 The sound of her mamma's voice roused us from our dream 
 of happiness, and, after exchanging one long, delicious salute, 
 the fairy Ts'eu vanished from my sight, thus ending her first 
 lesson. 
 
ANACREONTIC. 
 
ANACREONTIC. 
 
 BY CHARLES GAYLER. 
 
 ILL the cup ! Fill it up ! 
 
 I 'm sad to-night. 
 Let it sparkle clear and bright ; 
 In it let me drown my pain. 
 Fill it up ! Again ! Again ! 
 
 I 'm sad to-night. Heigho ! 
 
7 2 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Fill the cup! Fill it up! 
 
 I 'm gay to-night. 
 Circle it with flowers of light, 
 Let me drink deep the witching draught, 
 My soul 't will to Elysium waft. 
 
 I 'm gay to-night. Ha ! ha 
 
 Fill the cup! Fill it up! 
 
 I love to-night. 
 
 Wine to Love adds double might. 
 To her ! to her of the laughing eyes ! 
 My life, my joy, my paradise ! 
 
 I love to-night. Heigho ! 
 
 Fill the cup ! Fill it up ! 
 
 I weep to-night. 
 
 My tears shall flow by its ruby light. 
 O'er the daisied sod, above the breast 
 Of my loved one, where she lies at rest, 
 
 I weep to-night. Heigho ! 
 
 Fill the cup ! Fill it up ! 
 
 I die to-night ! 
 
 Pledge me once more the goblet bright. 
 I come, bright spirit! Ah, joy divine! 
 Ye conquer Death, O Love and Wine ! 
 
 I die to-night. Ha ! ha ! 
 
THE THEATER. 
 
THE THEATER. 
 
 BY JOHN ELDERKIN. 
 
 " THOROUGHLY RESPECTABLE. ' Well, I think you will suit me. What is your 
 name ? ' 
 
 " ' Shakespeare, ma'am ; but no relation to the play-actor of that name.' " Punch. 
 
 HIS is 1874, and yet the ancient antipathy to 
 the stage exists in the full vigor of ignorant and 
 vulgar prejudice, with a fair prospect of healthy 
 survival until the day of final judgment. 
 
 I once heard a brilliant writer, a critic of the 
 drama, assert in a dogmatic fashion, that the stage is a 
 sham from end to end, that all connected with it, from the 
 reigning star to the meanest agent of the manager, know it 
 to be a sham, and in their business act under the influence 
 of the consciousness that they are perpetrating a fraud. 
 
 With this as a motive, little, certainly, could be expected 
 of the drama, but the charge is based upon a shallow fallacy 
 which would condemn all art. The drama, in reality, pos- 
 sesses the noblest domain of art, the direct representation 
 of life. It conforms to all the definitions of art. It is the 
 result of contemplation and a study of causes, and is a pro- 
 duction in which knowledge and creative power are exercised. 
 It yields in definiteness, depth, subtlety, form, variety, and 
 beauty to no other of the arts, and in its appeal to universal 
 
76 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 humanity it excels them all. The illusions of the stage have 
 a far greater degree of realism than the work of painter or 
 sculptor, or that of the poet interpreted from the printed 
 page. To produce them, all the arts co-operate, and, as near 
 as may be, we have the action and passion wrought out with 
 the heightening effects of personality, poetry, artistic adap- 
 tation and sequence, costume, scenery, and every available 
 accessory to give reality and power to the representation. 
 
 It is not the art of the drama which is the cause of antip- 
 athy and prejudice to the stage, and which has caused it to 
 suffer condemnation of the Church. Dramatic art was born 
 in the service of religion, and so long as it was its exclusive 
 servant we search in vain for any anathematization of it. In 
 order that this may be clearly shown, a brief sketch of the 
 origin and connection of the drama with religion is necessary. 
 
 The mysteries of the ancients, according to the best author- 
 ities, were symbolical representations of religious history, and 
 Greek tragedy in the beginning "was purely a religious wor-, 
 ship and solemn service for the holidays ; afterwards it came 
 from the temples to the theaters, admitted of a secular alloy, 
 and grew to some image of the world and human life." The 
 Hindoo drama was based on mythological narratives, and 
 acted only on solemn occasions. In China alone, of all na- 
 tions possessing a national drama, the ancient civilization 
 has been so overlapped and obliterated by the changes and 
 deposits of succeeding ages, that it is impossible to trace an 
 original connection of the drama with religious observance. 
 But the Roman drama and that of modern Europe was 
 entirely derived from that of Greece. " It happened," says 
 Addison, in the " Spectator," " that Cato once dropped into a 
 
THE THEATER. 77 
 
 Roman theater when the Floralia were to be represented ; 
 and as in that performance, which was a kind of religious 
 ceremony, there were several indecent parts to be acted, the 
 people refused to see them while Cato was present. Martial 
 on this hint made the following epigram : 
 
 " Why dost thou come, great censor of the age, 
 To see the loose diversions of the stage ? 
 With awful countenance and brow severe, 
 What, in the name of goodness, dost thou here ? 
 See the mixed crowd, how giddy, lewd, and vain, 
 Didst thou come in but to go out again?" 
 
 The early Christian Fathers were nourished on Greek learn- 
 ing, and, witnessing the effect of the Greek drama upon the 
 multitude, the Apollinarii, A. D. 370, turned particular histo- 
 ries and portions of the Old and New Testament into come- 
 dies and tragedies. But previous to the Apollinarii, fearful 
 of the influence of Greek literature and philosophy and the 
 attractions of the Greek drama, the Christians had denounced 
 all heathen learning. Chrysostom, in his homilies, cries shame 
 that people should listen to a comedian with the same ears 
 that they hear an evangelical preacher. About A. D. 378, 
 Gregory Nazianzen, Patriarch and Archbishop of Constanti- 
 nople, one of the Fathers of the Church and master to the 
 celebrated Jerome, composed plays from the .Old and New 
 Testaments, which he substituted for the plays of Sophocles 
 and Euripides at Constantinople, where the old Greek stage 
 had flourished until that time. " If the ancient Greek tragedy 
 was a religious spectacle, so the sacred dramas of Gregory 
 Nazianzen were formed on the same model, and the choruses 
 were turned into Christian hymns." It was in a tragedy of 
 
78 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 this Patriarch that the Virgin Mary was first introduced upon 
 the stage. 
 
 Much of the rapidity with which Christianity supplanted 
 the old faiths of Paganism is due to the facility with which 
 it adapted itself to prevailing tastes and habits. Christian fes- 
 tivals were instituted to supersede the old Bacchanalian and 
 calendary shows and solemnities, and with very little change 
 in the mode of celebration. During the whole of the Middle 
 Ages the acting of mysteries or plays representing the mira- 
 cles of saints, circumstances from apocryphal story, and sub- 
 jects from the Old and New Testaments, formed an impor- 
 tant part of every religious festival. These were often of a 
 very questionable character, causing, even in those super- 
 stitious days, the criticism to be made that there were many 
 portions of the Scriptures unsuitable for representation in a 
 play or mystery. But the mode of celebrating Christian fes- 
 tivals during many centuries of the dark ages bore a nearer 
 resemblance to the Roman Saturnalia than to anything so 
 intellectual as a mystery ; and if mystery-plays at any time 
 declined, it was because they were above the level of priests 
 and people. 
 
 The institution of pilgrimages gave a great impetus to the 
 representation of mystery-plays in modern Europe. The pil- 
 grims were accustomed to travel in companies, and in the 
 various cities through which they passed took up their stand 
 in the public squares, where they sang and acted in character, 
 and afterward in public theaters, for the instruction and diver- 
 sion of the people. 
 
 In 1264 a company was instituted at Rome to represent the 
 sufferings of Christ during Passion Week. In 1298, according 
 
THE THEATER. 79 
 
 to Hone, the Passion was played at Friuli,.in Italy; and the 
 same year the clergy of Civita Vecchia performed the play of 
 "Christ, his Passion, Resurrection, Ascension, Judgment, and 
 the Mission of the Holy Ghost," on the feast of Pentecost ; 
 and again in 1304, they acted the "Creation of Adam and 
 Eve," the annunciation of the Virgin Mary, the birth of Christ, 
 and other subjects of sacred history. These pious spectacles 
 were so much esteemed that they formed a part of every 
 great occasion, the reception of princes, coronations and 
 marriages, and extended to every part of Europe. In France 
 these plays were greatly in vogue, and gradually from Scrip- 
 tural subjects came to represent a great variety of scenes 
 drawn from contemporary life and profane history. This ulti- 
 mately excited the jealousy of the Church and the active hos- 
 tility of the clergy. From being the handmaid the theater 
 became the rival of the Church, and the enmity ensuing, like 
 a family quarrel, appears all the more embittered because of 
 the previous connection. 
 
 Here we have the key to the hostility and prejudice against 
 the stage in modern times. In a document amongst the 
 archives of the Parliament of Paris, it appears that on the 
 iQth of December, 1541, complaint was made against certain 
 persons who, having undertaken to represent the mysteries of 
 Christ's Passion, and the Acts of the Apostles, " had employed 
 mean and illiterate fellows to act, who were not cunning in 
 these matters, and to lengthen out their time had interpolated 
 aprocryphal matters, and by introducing drolls and farces at 
 the beginning and end had made the performance last six 
 or seven months ; by means whereof nobody went to church, 
 charity grew cold, and immoral excesses were occasioned." 
 
80 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 The secularization of the drama was very rapid from this 
 time, and the stage shared in the toleration which resulted 
 from the multiplication of the objects of general interest 
 to the common people, and the lessening rigor of opinion in 
 matters of religious belief. But the distraction of public atten- 
 tion from the churches to the theaters, " so that the preachers 
 finding nobody to hear them left off preaching," and diminished 
 revenues of the Church resulting from their desertion, were 
 sore grievances to the clergy. They complained that the plays 
 "occasioned junketings and extraordinary expenses among the 
 common people," and in France the theaters were made to 
 contribute a certain portion of their receipts to the poor, a 
 custom which obtains to the present day. 
 
 The precursors of the regular drama in England were 
 mystery-plays, and the production of these plays is closely 
 related to the progress of the Reformation. The Scriptures 
 in English had been scrupulously withheld from the people, 
 and the author of the Chester Mysteries, produced in 1328, 
 was obliged to make three journeys to Rome before he could 
 obtain leave of the Pope to produce them in the English 
 tongue. The ecclesiastics were fearful that, once in posses- 
 sion of the Scriptures in their own Jongue, the people would 
 exercise private judgment, and their authority be diminished ; 
 all of which fears were justified by the event. But the mystery- 
 plays were in the hands of the priests, who " craftily used them 
 to postpone the period of illumination, and to stigmatize by 
 implication the labors of Wyckliffe." In this way plays became 
 associated in the minds of the English Reformers with the 
 " baleful errors and vain shows " of Papacy, and this led to the 
 condemnation and persecution of the stage at a later day. 
 
THE THEATER. 8l 
 
 After the Reformation, mystery-plays were composed to 
 promote and secure the new order of things ; but Hone says, 
 " There is no existing memorial of the representation of mys- 
 teries in England since the latter end of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury." The English puppet-show was also a vehicle for the 
 production of mystery-plays, but in the adventures of the 
 Punch of the puppet-show there is a complete departure from 
 the mystery. Punch is always a " sensual, dissolute, hardened 
 character, who beats his wife, disregards the advice of the 
 priest, knocks him down, and exhibits a thorough contempt for 
 moral reputation." 
 
 That the attitude of Punch in the puppet-show was in a 
 measure that of the early players of the English stage, seems 
 to be probable from the way in which they are characterized in 
 certian decrees for their regulation ; but an art which had 
 been for so many centuries the companion and servant of 
 religion had too healthy and strong a constitution to be smoth- 
 ered in the muck in which it might happen for the moment 
 to be cast. In a night it underwent a resurrection, and in its 
 risen glory far outshone its previous estate. Under the domin- 
 ion of the Elizabethan dramatists the stage became the rival 
 of the pulpit as an eloquent teacher of morals and the vehicle 
 of the most splendid literature given to the world since the 
 days 'of the ancient Greek. The theatre afforded to Shake- 
 speare and his contemporaries the. field for the employment of 
 their genius. 
 
 But the stage still had its trials and disabilities. Its legal 
 recognition dates only from 1572, eight years after the birth 
 of Shakespeare. In the royal license of that year players were 
 assumed to be servants, and were empowered to play wherever 
 
82 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 it seemed good to them, if their masters sanctioned their absence ; 
 and an act of Parliament of the same year suppressed all wan- 
 dering players unconnected with noble houses, characterizing 
 them in terms of contumely, and providing condign punish- 
 ment for offenders. The stage thus suffered from the servitude 
 in which, by the barbarism of the age, players were held. It 
 also suffered from severe supervision, legal prohibition of the 
 introduction of subjects drawn from politics and religion, sus- 
 pensions for indefinite periods, and the persecution of ignorant 
 and bigoted officials. Even when sanctioned by the court, 
 befriended by the noble, and followed by the general public, 
 the players got themselves into trouble by their own impru- 
 dence and wantonness. Contemned and tolerated on every 
 hand, recklessness and defiance were begotten in them, which 
 led them to outrage law and custom. 
 
 In this condition it is not a matter of surprise that the stage 
 excited the animosity of the English clergy, and drew forth 
 those extraordinary diatribes which cannot now be read without 
 exciting mirth. By the year 1578, according to Mr. Arber, the 
 clergy habitually attacked the stage. The distraction of the 
 people from the churches was still the sore grievance. One 
 of them says, " Wyll not a fylthye play, wyth the blaste of a 
 trumpette, sooner call thyther a thousande, than an houre's 
 tolling of a bell bring to the sermon a hundred." Another, 
 Stephen Gosson, who had himself aforetime written plays, 
 "perceiving such a Gordian's knot of disorder in every play- 
 house as woulde never be loosed without extremetie," was 
 moved to " bidde them the base at their owne gole, and to give 
 them a volley of heathen writers ; that our divines considering 
 the daunger of suche houses as are set up in London against 
 
THE THEATER. 83 
 
 the Lord, might batter them thoroughly withe greater shotte." 
 There is a curious felicity in much of the logic launched by 
 the worthy divines at the players, which is well illustrated by 
 the famous syllogism of Master Coldocke, " The cause of plagues 
 is sinne, and the cause of sinne are playes ; therefore the cause 
 of plagues are playes." This logic appears to have been con- 
 clusive, as licenses for playing, in the reign of King James, 
 says Dr. Doran, were regulated by the greater or less preva- 
 lence of the plague. 
 
 The players were not unconscious of their power to punish 
 these adversaries, and that they used it freely we have abun- 
 dant testimony. The language which Shakespeare puts into 
 the mouth of Hamlet shows how closely the stage resembled 
 the press of the present day. Zealous partisans used it as a 
 means of inflaming their followers, and public characters were 
 reviled and caricatured, causing great scandal and just indig- 
 nation. Citizens and justices were represented as " the most 
 egregious of fools, arrant of knaves, and deluded of hus- 
 bands." Jeremy Collier, commenting on the liberties taken by 
 players with persons of quality, asks, " Must all men be han- 
 dled alike ? Must their roughness be needs play'd upon 
 title ? And has our stage a particular privilege ? Is their 
 charter enlarged, and are they on the same foot of freedom 
 with the slaves in the Saturnalia ? " That the clergy should 
 come in for a share of the satire and pleasantry of the stage, 
 considering the very aggressive position which they occupied 
 toward it, is not a matter to excite any surprise or sympathy. 
 The assertion of Jeremy Collier that its "aim is to destroy 
 religion " will not hold good of the English stage of any 
 period of its history. It is a hard thing to exact that the 
 
84 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 priest shall always be treated with the dignity which attaches 
 to his office, regardless of the lack of it which may distin- 
 guish his character and manners. And this is the demand 
 which the clergy have always made of the stage. When hit, 
 they have cried out, " Are the poets ordinaries ? Is the pul- 
 pit under discipline of the stage ? And are those fit to cor- 
 rect the Church, that are not fit to come into it?" But there 
 is a ground of justification for the attitude of the clergy in 
 the offences against morality which have flourished so luxuri- 
 antly on the boards of the theater. 
 
 The stage, from its nature, living upon the breath of popu- 
 lar applause, must please or perish. It is the creature of its 
 patrons, dependent upon the fashion and taste of the period, 
 holding the mirror up to those traits and habits which are 
 regarded with pride or complacency, and reflecting social 
 vices as a foil to social virtues. When there is a confounding 
 of vice with virtue on the stage, it may safely be assumed that 
 they were previously confounded in the mind of the public 
 which patronizes it. But the pictures presented by the stage 
 react powerfully upon the public, by stamping and giving cur- 
 rency to types of character, manners, and modes of life which 
 otherwise would be less widely known and lack the definite- 
 ness to induce imitation. The morality of theatrical repre- 
 sentations is, therefore, a matter of vast importance, and 
 imposes upon the stage obligations which have been too fre- 
 quently treated with contempt, giving its enemies an apparent 
 justification for wholesale arraignment and vituperation. The 
 charge of licentiousness which both poets and players have 
 sustained since Plato excluded them from his model common- 
 wealth and Ovid was banished from Rome, to the days of 
 
THE THEATER. 85 
 
 Dumas the younger, and opera bouffe, is susceptible of too 
 detailed a verification, and is too notorious to render any apol- 
 ogy possible. 
 
 With the multiplication of interests, increased complexity of 
 relations, and refinement of manners, which characterize mod- 
 ern society, the stage remains unemancipated from the presen- 
 tation of lust. The appeal to sexual passion may be more 
 veiled in expression, but in personal exposure and suggestive 
 action it would be impossible to surpass the scenes to be 
 witnessed on the modern stage, simply for the reason that 
 " matters have already reached a point beyond which they 
 cannot go." 
 
 In place of the gross and indelicate compositions which 
 our ancestors countenanced and admired, we have a lascivious 
 musical medley wrought out by voluptuous figurantes, and a 
 drama of adulterous intrigue, in which the moral inculcated 
 is the utter helplessness and therefore innocence of the fe- 
 male party to it. This drama has for its motive the con- 
 donation of adultery and unchastity, and by a skilful play 
 upon the passions, and the natural sympathy for a woman 
 in distress, succeeds in confusing the mental perceptions and 
 transforming in imagination a very weak, if not very wicked, 
 sinner to an injured saint. 
 
 In this insidious misrepresentation there is a sinister at- 
 tack upon public virtue far more to be feared than the 
 open assaults of the propagandists of passional freedom. 
 In taking advantage of the phase of sentiment which ren- 
 ders the production of these plays possible, the dramatists 
 have probably no notion of disturbing the present relations 
 of the sexes, but merely look upon it as a means of smug- 
 
86 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 gling the potent element of licentious sexual passion into 
 the theater. There is no palliation of this in the assertion 
 that the drama is necessarily a mirror of the actual life of the 
 time, as in the " actual life of the time " there is always much 
 which must ever be remanded from the stage. The effort to 
 justify such representations by attributing them to humane im- 
 pulses, is a stretch of sentimentalism fatal to all distinctions of 
 right and wrong, a price at which all the humanity of the age 
 would be dearly bought. " The imitation of an ill thing may 
 be the worse for being exact," but certainly no good can result 
 to the stage or society from the teaching that the pariah is 
 entitled to the position and privileges of purity. 
 
 The fascination which attaches to these plays, as well as 
 to the more gross representations of the spectacular drama, 
 is at bottom nothing but that of licentiousness, which is 
 brought forward under cover of a plea for female emanci- 
 pation from the trammels of duty. It is one of the results 
 of the foolish agitation which has brought the distinctions of 
 sex prominently before the public mind, exaggerated the in- 
 fluence of desire, and thus given an impulse to unlicensed 
 passion. The effect is partly owing to the lack of popular 
 sympathy with high ideals of life, which has rendered audi- 
 ences insensible to heroic delineations, and driven the theatre 
 to the vulgar sensation which should be the exclusive prop- 
 erty of the newspaper. A reform can only be brought about 
 by an exhibition of the real evil, and a popular demand for 
 plays which have a higher aim than to pander to sexual 
 passion. " The stage is respectable only as it is respected " ; 
 and in order that it may be respected, it must be preserved 
 from motives that are as inadmissible in art as they are an- 
 tagonistic to morality. 
 
THE THEATER. 87 
 
 But the presentation of licentiousness is an abuse, and not 
 an essential feature of the drama. Dr. Channing says, " Po- 
 etry has been made the instrument of vice, the pander of the 
 passions ; but when genius thus stoops it parts with part of 
 its power." The appeal to the lower instincts may draw 
 crowds who delight only in sensuality, but the power ex- 
 erted by the art is far less in degree, as it is lower in 
 character, to that which is exerted when the impersonal and 
 heroic instincts are properly addressed. The field of the 
 drama is as wide as human experience and the sphere of 
 poetic fancy and imagination ; being limited only by those 
 restrictions which the usages of civilization have prescribed 
 in reference to decency. It is not poverty of material which 
 drives the stage to questionable sources, but the weakness 
 of the dramatic genius which is compelled to make up for 
 lack of power in treatment by the morbid fascination of for- 
 bidden fruit. 
 
 There is no degradation inherent in the stage as there is 
 none in poetry, of which the stage is the interpreter. For a 
 long time it held the same relation to poetry that the printing- 
 press does to modern literature. It was through the instrumen- 
 tality of the drama that the mass of people got their knowl- 
 edge of the works of genius, and of history as well. It is by 
 means of the stage that the mighty influence of Shakespeare 
 has been exerted upon all English-speaking men and women, 
 developing and modelling their intellectual structure. A great 
 dramatic poet, said Goethe, if he is at the same time produc- 
 tive and is actuated by a noble purpose, may succeed in mak- 
 ing the soul of his pieces become the soul of the people, and 
 this is what Shakespeare has accomplished. The drama is as 
 
88 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 old as the first story-teller who tried to make his listeners 
 realize his narrative by appropriate rhetoric and mimetic ges- 
 tures. It is a moving spectacle of life and action, the product 
 of history, imagination, and art, by which a chapter of human 
 experience is realized to a sympathetic audience. But the 
 sympathetic audience is indispensable to the life of the drama, 
 and it naturally seizes upon that which attracts. The stage 
 sinks to the level of its patrons. 
 
 "The drama's laws -the drama's patrons give, 
 And we that live to please must please to live." 
 
 In a purely mercantile community in which little is respected 
 but money, it is not to be premised that managers and drama- 
 tists will be over-nice about the matter which they serve up to 
 the public, especially if the worse the mixture the more greedily 
 it is devoured. The conductors of the theater are not artists 
 or moralists, but simply business men determined, if possible, 
 to present a fair balance-sheet, and therefore mainly intent 
 upon first meeting the popular demand. They do not presume 
 to rise above the popular taste, and in deference to a nice 
 sense of propriety shelve pieces which fill their houses and 
 pockets. It is hard to condemn them for not being wiser 
 than the audiences which assist, and no condemnation would 
 be just which did not include the latter. None*the less does 
 the representation of immoral plays injure the proper standing 
 and just appreciation of the drama. In reaping the harvest 
 an odium is incurred which drives from the theater many who 
 would otherwise be appreciative and influential patrons, and a 
 stain is inflicted on all connected with it. 
 
 The stage is not the only institution which reflects the 
 
THE THEATER. 89 
 
 infirmities of humankind. Government, politics, diplomacy, the 
 press, the pulpit, and society are all afflicted, and its common 
 origin forbids us to look to the stage for anomalous perfection. 
 The mission of the stage renders it more liable to pander to 
 the weaknesses of human nature, and to excite the censure 
 of moralists. There is a perpetual struggle in the world be- 
 tween duty and desire, work and play ; and it being the 
 object of the stage to minister to human desire and pleas- 
 ure, it is inevitable that in the conflict it should come in 
 for abundant criticism and condemnation. But pleasure is 
 essential to human well-being, and not even the religion 
 which taught asceticism as the highest form of virtue was 
 able to effect any important change in the conduct and 
 opinion of the world. An institution, therefore, which has 
 labored to lighten the miseries of existence by the cultiva- 
 tion of pleasure, and by diffusing an atmosphere of contem- 
 plation in which ideals of beauty and heroism are presented, 
 has rested securely on the favor of the average mass of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Among the Latin nations, where the functions of govern- 
 ment have had more of a paternal character than among the 
 Germans, the idea has obtained that the theatre, like acade- 
 mies and universities, could not rely upon the voluntary pat- 
 ronage of. the people. In these countries the influence of 
 vulgar tastes has been deliberately counteracted. Recogniz- 
 ing the power of the stage to elevate the tone of public feeling 
 and as a school of manners, the government in France has 
 always, since the reign of Francis I., with the exception of a 
 brief period during the Reign of Terror, granted a subvention 
 to certain theaters of the capital, insuring the production of the 
 
90 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 masterpieces of dramatic literature and a high standard of 
 histrionic ability. 
 
 It is only by the resources and power of the stage that 
 the masterpieces of dramatic literature can ever be adequately 
 interpreted. In regard to his " Iphigenia," Goethe said the 
 printed words were only a faint reflex of the fire which stirred 
 within him during the composition ; the actor must bring us 
 back to the first fire which animated the poet Eloquence, 
 according to the same high authority, is the very life of the 
 stage. The power and meaning of poetry are only half dis- 
 cerned until interpreted by a master acquainted with the 
 resources of manner and expression. Instances will suggest 
 themselves to every one acquainted with the stage and the 
 triumphs of great actors. It still remains the heritage of the 
 stage to reproduce the nobler passions and heroic proportions 
 of humanity. In our day the novel, a form of dramatic com- 
 position in which elaborate description supplies in a measure 
 stage accessories, has for a time partially supplanted the art 
 of the theater. But this is only a temporary result of an 
 introspective and reading age, and the return of a more 
 healthy, objective habit of mind cannot but witness a revival 
 of a higher interest in the drama. It will be ascertained that 
 we have overestimated the value of reading, both for the 
 acquisition of knowledge and the appreciation of poetry. In 
 order fully to realize the past, all the accessories of action 
 must be brought to bear on the senses and imagination. 
 " The drama," says Bacon, " is as history brought before 
 our eyes." No critic or commentator has the power which 
 the actor possesses in his voice and action. A great actor 
 takes on the individualities which he personates, and stands 
 
THE THEATER. QI 
 
 to the world as if they actually live in him. In this way the 
 drama reproduces the most precious of human memories, 
 the persons and characters of the men and women of the 
 past. 
 
 "The real object of the drama," says Macaulay, "is the 
 exhibition of human character. To this fundamental law 
 every other regulation is subordinate." Herein is the difficult 
 art of the actor. Voice, expression, dress, and action are 
 important as they assist in justly representing character. 
 The finest qualities of mind and feeling conjoined with high 
 culture and careful training are manifestly necessary to an 
 actor fitly to represent the characters delineated in the mag- 
 nificent literature of the drama. An actor by true and deep 
 feeling has the power of bringing the impalpable before our 
 eyes. "We turn," says Percy Fitzgerald, "to the old portraits 
 of actors, and are amazed at the speaking intelligence, the 
 bustling vivacity, the lines and channels of thought and rest- 
 less ideas worn into their very cheeks ; the roving, brilliant 
 eyes, the lips about to move ; and from these character pic- 
 tures we see how, by sheer training and power of intellect, 
 they forced their features to signify what they represented." 
 
 The decline of the stage at the present time may be traced 
 in a measure to the neglect of this primary purpose of the 
 drama to represent character. The demand for dramatic en- 
 tertainment has outrun the means of our dramatic artists. 
 The number of actors capable of representing character is 
 ridiculously small as compared with the number of theaters. 
 In order to make up for the deficiency of genuine histrionic 
 talent, every available device of spectacle, furniture, dress, 
 slang, grotesque contortion, and commonplace incident of daily 
 
Q2 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 life has been seized upon and paraded upon the boards, con- 
 stituting a ridiculous travesty of the drama. The failure of 
 these permanently to attract and interest might easily have 
 been foreseen and predicted. Every play of enduring interest 
 .hinges upon character, for it is character which creates story ; 
 and the interest is due to the free and natural development 
 and manifestation of character in varying circumstances. This 
 is the only thing which has inexhaustible interest, and it is 
 upon this rock that the legitimate drama is founded, and upon 
 which all amorphous, parasitical growths will be ground to 
 pieces. 
 
 There is a. gulf between nature and art which cannot be 
 bridged. Art is essentially imitative, and dramatic . art is an 
 imitation of the characters and actions of individuals by indi- 
 viduals, and therefore calculated to provoke comparison of 
 persons. Between one who acts and speaks greatly in a great 
 place and occasion, and one who imitates his action and 
 speech on the mimic stage, there is a vast disparity, to over- 
 come which is the immense task of the actor. The very ex- 
 altation of the character and scenes represented provokes an 
 unfavorable parallel. However admirable the acting, the po- 
 etry, the stage accessories, the imagination of the auditor, and 
 however perfect the illusion, the afterthought that the whole is 
 an imitation, a counterfeit presentment, comes in to lower the 
 estimation of the assistants in the representation. This imi- 
 tative character, inherent in the nature of art, must always 
 affect the estimation and regard in which the members of the 
 dramatic profession are held as public characters, but it in no 
 wise detracts from their proper and reputable fame as indi- 
 vidual members of the community. 
 
THE THEATER. 93 
 
 The unmerited disrepute in which actors have been held 
 has exercised an evil influence by habituating the public to 
 regard in them with an indulgent eye offences which have 
 been severely reprehended in others. The strolling life led 
 by actors in the early time, a feature of the actor's life which 
 has not yet quite disappeared, was unfavorable to domestic 
 virtue. In this way a low standard of social morality obtained 
 and was tolerated. In fact, the sentiment that the private 
 character of the heroes and heroines of the stage is a matter 
 of slight concern to the public, and of small weight in the 
 profession, is one of the most depressing influences which the 
 best representatives of dramatic art have to encounter. 
 
 The irregular manner in which the profession is recruited 
 has also affected the standard of morality which obtains in it. 
 Whilst excellence is as seldom attained in histrionic art as in 
 any of the fine arts, a minor degree of dramatic power is one 
 of the most common of human possessions ; hence the aspirants 
 to the stage compare in numbers better with the audiences than 
 with the companies of the theater, and the majority have- no 
 conception of any training required properly to enter upon the 
 theatrical boards. This latter belief is fostered by the produc- 
 tion of spectacular pieces in which personal beauty and volup- 
 tuous display are the principal requirements of one portion of 
 the company. Under such circumstances, among numerous 
 aspirants of about equal merits, the most unblushing and un- 
 scrupulous are apt to claim public attention. A performance 
 of such persons must be strictly a personal exhibition, a thing 
 which is an offence to nature, and only to be regarded with 
 contempt on or off the stage. The intrusion of amateurs of 
 both sexes is a positive evil which at present there is no means 
 
94 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 of correcting. There is no school of acting, and barely a tra- 
 dition of the requirements of histrionic art. Hence we have 
 a class without the ability and training of actors, who have 
 managed to obtain a connection with the theatre, to the in- 
 calculable detriment and disgrace of the drama and its genuine 
 followers. 
 
 But when all that can be urged against the theater has 
 been weighed, the sum of good which remains far overbalances 
 the causes of censure. The number of plays in which plot, 
 language, and action are decorous and elevating far outnum- 
 bers the others, and these have the firmest hold upon public 
 favor. The taste of the day may be low, but it is in the main 
 pure. The majority want to be amused, and offences against 
 decency lose a portion of their noxious effect from the super- 
 ficial manner in which they are regarded. It is the intention 
 which informs words and actions with immodesty, and that 
 which is perfectly pure and natural may be so construed 
 as to excite lewd attention and gratify a prurient taste. It 
 must ever be remembered that it is always in the power of 
 the public " to restrain the license of the theater, and make 
 it contribute its assistance to the advancement of morality 
 and the reformation of the age." 
 
 The actor has to contend with influences which endanger 
 self-control and evade discipline to a far greater extent than 
 the worker in other fields. His profession requires a surrender 
 of individuality, and absorption in the character to be repre- 
 sented. This self-abnegation and a constant vicissitude of emo- 
 tion have a tendency to unsettle the mind and induce vagaries 
 of thought and conduct. His associations are all personal, and 
 he is by nature peculiarly subject to the magnetic influences 
 
THE THEATER. 95 
 
 of sympathy and passion. We have the authority of Boswell 
 that actors excel in animation and relish of existence. Their 
 profession excites "liveliness and quickness of mind." There 
 is something in the artistic temperament at war with cautious 
 and prudent worldliness. These attractive attributes of the 
 actor prove too often as dangerous to the possessor as they 
 are fascinating to others. They are sought and pressed into 
 society where the free and volatile artist abandons himself to 
 uncontrolled delights, dissipates his energies, and loses that 
 balance without which it is as impossible for actors as others 
 to maintain just relations with the world. 
 
 There has always existed a great affinity between authors 
 and actors. Cicero was the friend of Roscius, and modern 
 instances suggest themselves to every mind. The poet is 
 indebted to the stage for the best reading of his verses ; the 
 stage is indebted to the poet for the warp and woof of its pro- 
 ductions. The literary knowledge of a well-equipped actor is 
 necessarily extensive, and his perception of ideal and verbal 
 relationships quick and suggestive. It is in the intercourse 
 of these co-workers that we get the best view of the social 
 character of eminent actors. This is especially the case in 
 the history of the English stage ; for it is a curious fact in the 
 social history of theatrical characters, instanced by the late 
 Henry T. Tuckerman, that the English, notwithstanding their 
 prudery and exclusiveness, first recognized actors and actresses 
 of merit as companions. Goethe and Schiller in Germany 
 were foremost in acknowledging their just claims upon society. 
 Goethe interested himself actively to raise the esteem in 
 which actors were held, showing the world that he held them 
 worthy of social intercourse with himself, and securing their 
 
96 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 admission to the highest circles. Schiller was present at 
 every rehearsal, and after a successful performance of one of 
 his plays it was his custom to celebrate the event with the 
 company of the theater. Of the French actor and poet Moliere, 
 Goethe said, "There is in him a grace and feeling for the 
 decorous and a tone of good society, which his innate beautiful 
 nature could only attain by daily intercourse with the most 
 eminent men of the age." 
 
 But it is among the authors and actors of England that we 
 have the most copious and pleasing records of mutual appreci- 
 ation and regard. Any account of these reciprocal good offices 
 would exhaust the space allotted to this " Lotos Leaf." It 
 is enough, in conclusion, to cite the indignant answer of the 
 Ettrick Shepherd to the question, " What can ye expec' frae 
 a play-actor ? " " What can I expect, James ? " is the reply ; 
 "why, look at Terry, Young, Matthews, Charles Kemble, and 
 your friend Vandenhoff ; and then I say that you expect good 
 players to be good men as men go ; and likewise gentlemen." 
 
 We could point this reply with a far longer list of names, 
 but we are still obliged to confess the truth in Douglas 
 Jerrold's sorrowful sketch of the strolling player: "He is a 
 merry preacher of the noblest lessons of human thought. He 
 informs human clay with thoughts and throbbings which refine 
 it ; and for this he was for centuries 'a rogue and a vagabond/ 
 and is, even now, a long, long day's march from the vantage- 
 ground of respectability." 
 
POEM 
 
POEM. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 BY C. McK. LEOSER. 
 
 HEN thy slender feet I gaze upon, 
 Strange it seems to me, O sweetest 
 
 maiden, 
 So much beauty may be borne upon 
 
 them ! 
 
 When thy little hands I gaze upon, 
 Strange it seems to me, O sweetest maiden, 
 How they wound, and no scar torn upon them ! 
 
 When thy rose-leaf lips I gaze upon, 
 Strange it seems to me, O sweetest maiden, 
 How my kisses find such scorn upon them ! 
 
 When thy quiet eyes I gaze upon, 
 
 Strange it seems to me, O sweetest maiden, 
 
 Love's light seemeth still at morn upon them 
 
100 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 There my heart is. Do not tread upon 
 
 My heart again ; such love, O sweetest maiden, 
 
 No other souls have ever worn upon them ! 
 
 Let my longing love-song die upon 
 
 Thy heart ; for truer song, O sweetest maiden, 
 
 No man's lips have ever borne upon them ! 
 
AN EPISODE OF THE WAR 
 
AN EPISODE OF THE WAR. 
 
 BY W. S. ANDREWS. 
 
 THINK there is but one other person who knows 
 all the facts, certainly they will never find their way 
 into history unless this account gets into print ; had 
 they been known at the time, I have no doubt there 
 would have been a " Congressional Committee " on it, 
 and a " report." I could n't have helped being a witness ; I 
 shall tell nothing now, that I might not have told then upon 
 oath. 
 
 There are many who will know the story to be true, when 
 they read it here. Some who were actors in it may learn 
 now, for the first time, how it happened that we were so 
 badly beaten. 
 
 Perhaps it never occurred to you that the lives of many 
 men, perhaps the fate of a nation, may depend upon such 
 a trifle as the jealousy or dislike of one general for an- 
 other (instance Fitz John Porter and Pope at the second 
 Bull Run), an attack of dyspepsia, a headache, or a glass 
 of whiskey. You remember we were beaten at the first 
 Bull Run by Johnston, who came up by a forced march 
 just in time to turn the tide of victory. 
 
 Beauregard was already beaten ; another hour, and his 
 army would have been in full retreat, and the victory ours. 
 
104 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 But our wagon-train did not move as soon it was ordered 
 and expected to do, and our army was delayed several hours 
 in consequence. It is said that the delay was caused by a 
 quartermaster who took "a drop too much," and went to sleep 
 when he should have been at work. It was a mere trifle, 
 only an hour or two lost, just one glass too many, a 
 mere trifle. Yet how many weary months of warfare did 
 it bring us ; how many thousands of lives were sacrificed 
 to regain what it lost us, trifle as it was ! 
 
 Every soldier knows that the slightest accident may bring 
 defeat upon the ablest general, or victory to the poorest. 
 
 But what I 'm going to tell you about was n't an accident ; 
 if the result was not foreseen, it might have been : but you 
 shall judge for yourself. 
 
 The jealousy which always exists, in some degree, between 
 the army and navy, wherever they are called upon to co- 
 operate, is a most fruitful source of trouble, and oftentimes 
 of disaster. 
 
 It would not have happened but for that. But I must 
 not get ahead of my story. 
 
 I was the officer in charge of the signal-station at Gen- 
 eral Gillmore's headquarters on Morris Island, where we 
 had taken the Rebel forts Wagner and Gregg, and were 
 waiting for the navy to complete the work. 
 
 The monitors had lain for months waiting the order to 
 advance on Charleston, but were detained by one fear and 
 another. (They never did advance until Sherman, having 
 taken the city from the rear, the fleet quietly steamed into 
 the harbor.) Had there been a Farragut, a Rowan, a John 
 Rodgers, or a Boggs in command, it might have been a 
 
AN EPISODE OF THE WAR. 105 
 
 different story. But Admiral Dahlgren was a timid officer, 
 not that he did not intend to pass the forts, and take the 
 city ; he planned and issued orders for an attack a dozen 
 times, and as often postponed it. Before we took the forts 
 on Morris Island, they were the excuse. Then it was Fort 
 Sumter, even after that was dismantled. The chief fear, 
 however, was of torpedoes among the harbor obstructions, 
 and probably not without reason. 
 
 However, the army, impatient to get into Charleston, and 
 having done all that it could on the land, expected the 
 navy to advance immediately on the fall of the Morris Island 
 forts, as had been promised ; and after about six months of 
 disappointments and delays, General Gillmore determined to 
 attempt the capture of Sumter by assault. 
 
 That fort had been reduced to a heap of ruins by continued 
 bombardment, but the lower tier of casements, buried under 
 the debris, was intact, and a garrison was maintained there. 
 
 It was generally understood that there was not a very 
 friendly feeling between the General and the Admiral, although 
 they were as polite to each other in their official and social 
 intercourse as two Chinese mandarins. Most of their official 
 communication, being conducted by signals, passed through 
 my hands, and I write only from my own knowledge. 
 
 One day, early in September, 1863, at about noon, the 
 General directed me to signal to the Admiral the information 
 that he would assault Sumter, by boats, that night. Much 
 to my surprise, there was returned, in a few moments, an 
 answer to the effect that the Admiral had himself planned to 
 assault Sumter that night, by boats from the fleet, and ask- 
 ing "if the General had not heard of his intention to do so." 
 
106 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 The General replied that he was "very much surprised, 
 had no idea that a boat assault was intended by the navy." 
 
 Then followed a series of messages to and fro. Each was 
 sorry that he had done anything to interfere with the other ; 
 each thought it "very strange that both had hit upon doing 
 the same thing on the same day"; each would gladly with- 
 draw in favor of the other; "but, the orders having been 
 issued, the men being ready," etc., etc. Then it was pro- 
 posed that both parties should unite under the command of 
 one officer, and, "being an expedition by water, the Admiral 
 thought that the General would at once see the propriety of 
 giving a naval officer the command." The General "would 
 be delighted, certainly; the army forces would be under com- 
 mand of Brigadier-General Thomas Stevenson, who would act 
 under the orders of any naval officer of equal rank that the 
 Admiral might designate." (At that time there was no such 
 officer in the fleet, except the Admiral himself.) The Admiral 
 was delighted ; " his force would be under the command of 
 
 Captain , Acting Commodore." "The General was sorry, 
 
 but an acting commodore was not a commodore, and could 
 not therefore rank with a brigadier-general, and of course 
 General Stevenson could not take orders from an inferior 
 officer," etc. After some further correspondence on this sub- 
 ject, the Admiral admitted that he could not send the ranking 
 
 
 officer, but "he had failed, upon research and reflection, to 
 
 find any precedent for putting a naval officer under the com- 
 mand of an army officer, and so the expedition must go inde- 
 pendent as to command, but would co-operate." The General 
 "regretted this, but," etc., etc.; and it was so arranged. 
 Then it was agreed that whichever party succeeded in cap- 
 
AN EPISODE OF THE WAR. 1 07 
 
 turing the fort should burn from the parapet a red light, 
 seeing which the others would desist. 
 
 Other matters remained to be arranged ; it was getting 
 late, and for some time past there had been great difficulty 
 in transmitting the signals, owing to the absence of the regu- 
 lar signal officer of the flag-ship from his post. I therefore 
 suggested to the General, that I had better go to the flag- 
 ship, and arrange details verbally. He assented, and having 
 received full instructions, I put off through the surf, in the 
 General's boat. 
 
 I found no difficulty in reaching a perfect understanding 
 with the Admiral, a most urbane gentleman, as to the plan 
 of assault. It was agreed that the naval party should leave 
 the flag-ship at 9 p. M., and the army party, having a less 
 distance to pull, about fifteen minutes later. The last words 
 the Admiral said to me, as I left his cabin, were : " Tell Gen- 
 eral Gillmore that my boats will start at nine, or later should 
 he desire it. If he wishes delay you can signal me to that 
 effect." 
 
 It was then after seven o'clock, and I had a good half- 
 hour's pull, bringing me to headquarters at about twenty 
 minutes of eight. 
 
 As soon as the General heard my report, he said : " Tele- 
 graph to General Stevenson to start as soon as possible." 
 I said, "Why, sir, under that order he will get off by eight, 
 and the Admiral said his boats would not go until nine." 
 For reply I received a very significant look, and a repetition 
 of the order, which I at once transmitted to General Steven- 
 son. 
 
 That the intention was to outwit the navy by capturing 
 
108 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 the fort in advance of them, was plain ; and whatever my 
 opinion of the plan, I had no reason then to doubt its suc- 
 cess. But alas for human expectations ! 
 
 General Stevenson got away soon after eight. He had 
 perhaps fourteen hundred yards to pull, which would take at 
 least twenty minutes. I was therefore not a little surprised, 
 about ten minutes after he started, to hear a brisk fusilade 
 from the fort. Instantly every other Rebel for.t in the harbor 
 opened on Sumter, regardless of their own men, and for a 
 few moments it was the centre of a terrible fire, when sud- 
 denly a red light was shown from the parapet, and all was 
 still. 
 
 It was evident that the assault had been made, and the 
 red light signified its success. 
 
 Very soon General Stevenson came back, and reported that 
 he was about midway from the fort when the red light ap- 
 peared, and supposing the naval party to be in possession, he 
 returned. 
 
 I was a little surprised that the navy boats, which were 
 not to have left the flag-ship until nine, should have reached 
 the fort a little after eight. I afterward learned that the 
 moment I left the Admiral he gave orders that his boats 
 should start as soon as it was dark. 
 
 General Gillmore and Admiral Dahlgren had designed to 
 outwit each other, each being anxious to take to himself the 
 entire credit of the exploit. 
 
 We made a night of it on shore. Our chagrin at being 
 outdone by the navy was forgotten in our joy at having 
 captured the fort, and the sutlers did an unusually large 
 business. 
 
AN EPISODE OF THE WAR. IOQ 
 
 Next morning we learned the truth. The " Rebs " had read 
 our signals. Had we used the "cipher" that would have 
 been impossible, but the signal officer on the flag-ship* had 
 never been instructed in its use, owing to the neglect of the 
 senior signal officer, Captain Town, who hated the navy, be- 
 cause he had once been treated with discourtesy on board 
 the new " Ironsides." So we used the common code, easily 
 read by the Rebels. But we didn't know that, until this 
 affair taught us. We kept the secret to ourselves, though. 
 1 tell it in the interest of truth, and because no harm can 
 come of it, now. 
 
 Many noble fellows lost their lives by it. The -Rebels 
 were fully prepared to meet the assault. 
 
 It was our boys who were surprised. More than one 
 hundred were captured or killed. Among the former were 
 Porter and Franklin, two young heroes, afterward killed at 
 Fort Fisher. 
 
 None of us were proud of the exploit; but the recital of 
 the facts now cannot be out of place, and is a simple act 
 of justice. 
 
 NOTE. I find no mention of this assault in the Rebellion records or in any of 
 the official reports of General Gillmore or Admiral Dahlgren. It is, however, 
 mentioned in Bonyton's " History of the Navy during the Rebellion." My official 
 "Record-Book" containing the correspondence by signals was borrowed by Gen- 
 eral Gillmore at the time, and never returned. 
 
SUNRISE AND SUNSET. 
 
SUNRISE. 
 
 BY C. E. L. HOLMES. 
 
 HE curtains of night's murky tent are torn ; 
 Day's heralds, stealing through the welcome 
 
 rent, 
 
 Are streaming up the startled orient, 
 And painting heaven upon the brow of morn. 
 Aurora hath the palsied Samson shorn ; 
 And back, amid the caverns of the hills, 
 His phantom-crew of drowsy sentinels 
 Are fleeing from Diana's hounds and horn. 
 Full-orbed along the coroneted peaks, 
 The amorous day-god for young Hebe seeks, 
 Fresh pride sits on dame Nature's rotund cheeks ; 
 The while her bosom quickening with new birth, 
 Fulfils once more the promise made at first, 
 When lusty Day espoused the fair young Earth. 
 
SUNSET. 
 
 BY C. E. L. HOLMES. 
 
 ROM orient to Occident once more 
 The sun has whirled his blazing chariot's rims, 
 And now his coursers bathe their wearied limbs 
 In that aerial jasper sea, which pours 
 Its baptism of golden spray sheer o'er 
 The crimsoned bastions of that high sea-wall, 
 Upon the foreheads of the hills to fall. 
 Day passes outward through the jewelled doors, 
 And star-eyed Twilight timorous dusky maid 
 Steak in with backward glance and dainty tread ; 
 E'en of her own sweet shadowy self afraid, 
 Now half revealed, now wholly lost to sight, 
 She dances coyly through the fading light, 
 To rest in the enamored arms of Night. 
 
FAIRY GOLD. 
 
FAIRY GOLD: 
 
 AN IRISH SKETCH. 
 
 SHOWING HOW TIM DUFF WAS RUINED ENTIRELY BY TOO MUCH 
 GOOD LUCK. 
 
 BY JOHN BROUGHAM. 
 
 " If you coort a dainty maiden, 
 
 You may get nothing for your gains, 
 But if you catch a Leprachaun, 
 Goold, it will reward your pains." 
 
 the romantic and visionary, ever yearning 
 for something beyond the dull tangible reali- 
 ties of every-day life, there is exceeding fas- 
 cination in the brain-revellings of Faery. The 
 components of Irish character render it pe- 
 culiarly adapted to receive and cherish such 
 impressions ; while the thousand-and-one anecdotes of fairy 
 agency, vouchsafed for in every case as being " Gospel 
 Truth," and related to the wondering youngsters by some 
 old crone, stamp the traditions upon their minds until they 
 have become a portion of their very faith. 
 
 The Irish fairies are sufficiently numerous, and all as well 
 classified, their positions assigned, and their duties defined, by 
 j7//^r-naturalists, as though they were actually among the things 
 that be. The first in order, as well as in usefulness, are the 
 fairies par excellence, or, as they are usually denominated, " the 
 
Il8 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 good people." Their occupations are of the most multifarious 
 description ; and here let me call attention to the extraordinary 
 similarity to be found between the imaginings of those simple, 
 unlettered peasants, and the sublimest theories of philosophy. 
 Grave, book-learned men have demonstrated the principle of 
 atomic vitality pervading the universe. The Irish bog-cutter 
 renders the theory into practice, and gives the imagination 
 locality ; myriads of fairies, he is taught to believe, are inces- 
 santly engaged carrying on the business of universal nature. 
 Troops of them are filching the perfume from the morning air, 
 to feed therewith the opening blossoms ; thousands of tiny 
 atomies the while gently forcing the bud into existence ; the 
 warm sunbeams are scattered over the chilly earth, borne on 
 fairy pinions ; fairy-laden, too, the gentle rain is carried, drop 
 by drop, plunging into the petals of a thirsty flower ; the little 
 messenger leaves his welcome load, then flies back to aid his 
 brethren. Thus the whole course of nature's being is supposed 
 to be conducted by this invisible agency ; apart from the phi- 
 losophy of the matter, one must acknowledge that those bright 
 creations contain within them the very soul of poetry. 
 
 There are various other individuals of the fairy genus, the 
 Banshee, the Puckaun, the Fetch, or visionary reappearance of 
 one dearly loved immediately after death, the most touchingly 
 beautiful conception of all. My present intention is to illus- 
 trate the position in Fairydom, occupation, and general charac- 
 teristics of the Leprachaun. He is a fellow of no small impor- 
 tance, as, in addition to his regular trade, that of fairy shoemaker, 
 he is the custodian of all hidden treasure, knows the whereabouts 
 of -every concealed hoard, and is, consequently, as much sought 
 after as the gold itself. The tradition goes that if you catch 
 
FAIRY GOLD: AN IRISH SKETCH. 
 
 a Leprachaun, a feat not easily accomplished, as he must be 
 taken when wide awake, then countless gold may be secured 
 for his ransom ; but if you touch a sleeping Leprachaun, the 
 penalty is to have your cattle bewitched, and your eldest child 
 an omadhaun (Anglice, idiot). There is something chivalrous 
 in that same respect for a sleeping antagonist. 
 
 However, a Leprachaun once in your power, you may keep 
 him close prisoner .until he reveals the place where treasure 
 is concealed ; but you must have your wits about you, or the 
 cunning little rascal will be sure to cheat you. *One thing is 
 in your favor, he is bound to answer truly to every question. 
 
 Now, having introduced my subject, let me tell you what 
 Tim Duff got by rinding a Leprachaun. 
 
 When I first saw Tim, his appearance was certainly much 
 more picturesque than elegant. His tournure could not be 
 called metropolitan. He was supporting with his shoulder the 
 side of a little sheebeen-house, called, with the usual conflict- 
 ing combination, " The Duck and Griddle " ; his hands were 
 listlessly " put away," one in his untenanted breeches-pocket, 
 and the other in the breast of what, from its situation only, 
 we must conclude to be his vest ; his coat, a huge frieze, 
 in the dog-days, remember, fell negligently off from his 
 brawny shoulders, discovering his " Irish " I don't think I 
 should be justified in appending "linen" ; corduroy "smalls," 
 patched at the knees with material so different from the origi- 
 nal stuff that it must have required considerable ingenuity to 
 procure it ; his thick woollen stockings were minus the entire 
 feet, the deficiency being made up with straw, causing com- 
 fort in the wear, and a sort of sliding scale in the article of 
 fit, as a straw or two more or less made all the difference. 
 
120 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 One of his stockings had slipped down from under the piece 
 of twine which gartered it, but, with stoical indifference, he 
 let it take its course, justly imagining that if he pulled it up 
 it would, most likely, fall down again ; so there it lay, fes- 
 tooned in easy carelessness around a huge, muscular, and 
 curiously hairy calf. Leisurely and with epicurean gusto he 
 smoked a dhudieen, or short pipe, black with service, and 
 in dangerous proximity to his nose, which seemed to have 
 turned itself up to get out of the way ; singing between puffs, 
 for his own immediate gratification, a self-laudatory song, the 
 burden of which went to prove, beyond all manner of doubt, 
 that he was a most extraordinary individual. v Here it is: 
 
 THE SLASHIN' BLADE. 
 
 TOM'S DITTY. 
 
 Or a ! thin na (a sort of bagpipe drone to begin with}. 
 Yu nice young maid-ens, where-e'er you be, 
 Come gather round an' attind to me; 
 A sportin' offur I 'm goin' to make, 
 It's the heart" an' hand iv a rovin' rake. 
 An' that Vmeself that's come to the fore; 
 Me age is twinty, an' a little more. 
 I won't owe much whin all me debts is paid, 
 An' I am accountid a slashin' blade. 
 
 Or a ! thin n na. 
 
 The highest bidder shall have the prize, 
 The sweetest lips or the brightest eyes; 
 I '11 go dirt chape to the twinties, round, 
 But for each year afthur I '11 have twinty pound. 
 I 'm strong an' hearty, I 'm sound win' an' limb, 
 I can fight an' wrassle, too, dance, drink, an' swim; 
 Make love, make hay, an' use both scythe an' spade, 
 An' the girls all say that I'm a slashin' blade. 
 
FAIRY GOLD: AN IRISH SKETCH. 121 
 
 Ora ! thin n na. 
 
 Bid, my hearties, iv I 'm to your taste, 
 I '11 rise the market iv yez don't make haste ; 
 There 's a young heart-breaker wid a rovin' eye, 
 That I 'd sell my sowl to, iv she 'd only buy. 
 'T is Molly Rooney is the girl -I mane, 
 If she comes near me, why I 'm bothered clane ! 
 O murther! there, I've done, you've spil'd my thrade, 
 Do what you will wid your slashin' blade ! 
 
 The easy nonchalance of the ragamuffin, and the delicious 
 indifference with which he seemed to regard all sublunary 
 matters, attracted my attention, and urged me to make some 
 inquiries about him. 
 
 " Barty," said I to " mine host," with whom I happened 
 to be on terms of peculiar intimacy, for he knew the lurking- 
 places of the " best trout in the stream," and could point out 
 the lodging of a " big fish " with singular accuracy ; added to 
 which, he had a " small thrifle " of whiskey, that, between you 
 and me, had never troubled the gauger's stick, and it was n't 
 a bit the worse for that ; besides, an uncommonly pretty 
 But never mind, that don't belong to this story. "Barty," said 
 I, " who is that devil-may-care-looking genius outside ? " 
 
 " I know who you mane widout lookin', sir," replied Barty, 
 winking significantly; "that's a karacthur." 
 
 "A karacthur!" 
 
 " Divil a doubt ov it. Why, shure an' that 's neither more 
 nor less than Tim Duff himself," said Barty, with the air of 
 a man who had just given a piece of astounding intelligence. 
 Finding that I did not receive the announcement of the fact 
 with the slightest appearance of awe, he continued, in a bless- 
 your-ignorance sort of a tone, " A-thin, don't you know Tim 
 Duff?" 
 
122 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 "I certainly have not that honor." 
 
 "Not Tim?" 
 
 " Not Tim ! " 
 
 " Duff, that was ruinated horse and foot with too much good 
 luck, by a blaggard Leprachaun ! The saints keep us, I did n't 
 mane any offince ! " 
 
 The anticipation of hearing a fairy adventure aroused me, 
 and, humbly confessing my ignorance both of Mr. Duff and 
 his experience, I solicited an explanation. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do," said Barty, with what I 
 thought was rather an interested mixing up of circumstances. 
 " I '11 dhraw a half a pint of potteen, to begin wid, and Tim 
 shall tell you all about it himself." 
 
 Well, in due time the potteen came, and with it came the 
 renowned Duff, when he gave me the following account of his 
 lucky ruination. 
 
 " You must know, sir, that about a matther ov five years 
 ago, come next Michaelmas, there wasn't a tidier boy nor 
 meself to be found in the country. I had an elegant farm, 
 wid lashins an' leavins of everything ; a hungry man niver 
 entered my doors an' left it wid the same complaint. My 
 rint was niver axed for twice, an' be the same token, I could 
 bate any spalpeen of me age at hurlin', kickin' foot- ball, 
 drinkin' whiskey, thrashin' the flure wid a purty collieen in a 
 jig, or thrashin' the sauce out ov an impident vagabone in a 
 faction fight ; an' to. crown all, I was miles deep in love wid 
 the bluest eyed, sweetest tongued, tinderest hearted girl in the 
 place. The heavens be her bed, she 's in glory now. Lost, 
 lost to me ; an' me own doin' ! O Mary ! " 
 
 There was a slight pause in Tim's narrative. One big tear 
 
FAIRY GOLD: AN IRISH SKETCH. 123 
 
 stood for an instant in each eye, and I began to tremble for 
 his philosophy, when he suddenly seized the pewter measure, 
 and as the tears, resolving themselves into two large drops, 
 fell into it, took a terrible long pull at the fiery liquid, ex- 
 claiming, with an approving smack, as he set the vessel 
 down, 
 
 " Well, any way, there 's comfort in that." 
 
 Resuming his story, he proceeded : 
 
 " The fact of it was, sir, the divil a one ov me knew how 
 happy I was at all at all, until it was every bit gone ; an' so 
 you may aisily suppose that what was left did n't do me 
 much good. You see, I was n't continted wid havin' enough, 
 but I was always wan tin' somethin' more ; at last, I had a 
 stroke ov luck that made me fortune, an', more betoken, 
 broke me complately at the same time. Envy, sir, and cove- 
 tousness, them was my destruction ! I could n't see a betther 
 farm than mine, but I longed for it. I never met a man 
 betther off than myself, but I hated him for it ; everlastingly 
 turnin' an' twistin', an' huntin' about in me own mind to 
 thry an' think ov some way to make money in a hurry, 
 thinkin', like a poor fool as I was, that if I had plenty of 
 riches I should never know a care. It is foolish thinkin 
 so, sir, is n't it ? " 
 
 " Very," I replied, with as sententious a shrug as I could 
 produce; the mental conclusion to which I arrived being 
 uninteresting to any one but myself. 
 
 "Well, sir," continued he, "to make a long story short, one 
 summer night as I was frettin' myself to fiddle-strings about 
 what was always uppermost in my mind, I fell asleep in a 
 hurry, and was just as suddenly woke up again by the sound 
 
124 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 of a little tap ! tap ! tap ! an' a weeshy voice, a thrifle louder 
 nor a cricket, singin' away as merry as a taykittle. Hollo ! 
 what the puck is that, thinks I. I gave a sideway squint 
 out ov bed, and what do you suppose I saw ? What but a 
 Leprachaun atop ov the table, sittin' on a crust of bread and 
 leatherin' away upon a lapstone about the size of a barley- 
 corn. O, murther ! what a bump my heart guv, right up agin 
 the roof ov me mouth, when I saw him ! There, right forninst 
 me, was what I had so often longed for, or at least the means 
 of gettin' it. His back was towards me, but I was afeard 
 to breathe, lest the sound should start him off, for Leprachauns 
 is mighty sharp at hearin'. Well, sir, as I was puzzlin' myself 
 wid thinkin' how the divil I could manage to invaigle him, I 
 sees him get up from his work, walk quietly across the table, 
 and try to climb up the outside of a jug that had a spoonful 
 of whiskey at the bottom. Bedad, it was as much as I could 
 do to keep from burstin' out, to see the antics of him. He 
 could n't manage it at all. At last, what does the cunning 
 little blaggard do, but he rowls a pitaty over to the side of 
 the jug, and gets atop ov it. 
 
 "You may have some idea of the weight of the ruffian, 
 when I tell you that, though it was an uncommon soft pitaty, 
 he did n't even make a dint in the skin. 
 
 " He was elegantly fixed then ; he could just lean over the 
 top ov the jug, and dive his hat down to the bottom ; an' 
 then he began to bail it out, and drink like a hungry herrin'. 
 Why, sir, he must have brought up each time as much as 
 would stan' in the eye ov a sorrowful flay. 
 
 "Well, whether it was that the whiskey was above fairy- 
 proof, or that the pitaty slipped from under him, I don't know, 
 
K/3 1 
 
 &ttftl&R4-ff. /:> 
 
FAIRY GOLD: AN IRISH SKETCH. 12$ 
 
 but in he tumbled, body an' breeches, down to the bottom of 
 the jug. The minute I saw that, out of bed I jumped and 
 clapped my hand atop of the jug. 'Ha! ha! you little rag- 
 amuffin ; I have you,' says I. 
 
 " ' Let me go/ says he ; ' I 'm smothering ! ' 
 
 4 * ' Smother away/ says I ; 'the divil a toe you stir until 
 you tell me where to find the threasure.' 
 
 " ' Is it a threasure you want ? ' says he. 
 
 "'It just is, Misther Leprachaun/ says I. 
 
 " ' You shall have one/ says he. ' But only let me out ; I '11 
 be dhrowned here entirely.' 
 
 "'Will you promise me that you won't do the shabby 
 thing ? ' says I. 
 
 "'Yes/ says he. 'But make haste, for I'm getting "as 
 drunk as a lord.'" 
 
 " Wid that, sir, knowin' he could n't go back ov his word, 
 I put in my finger, the bowld Leprachaun made a horse ov 
 it, an' I fished him out. Poor fellow, he was very drunk, to 
 be sure ! 
 
 " ' Here 's a pickle/ says he, ' for a dacint Leprachaun to 
 be in/ 
 
 " ' Sarves you right/ says I. ' What business had you to 
 be stalein' a man's whiskey ? ' 
 
 " ' Thrue for you, Tim/ says he. ' Sperrits will be me ruin ; 
 av I don't take the pledge, I 'm a gone fairy/ 
 
 "'But come/ says I. 'About this threasure.' 
 
 " ' Don't hurry/ says he ; ' misfortunes come time enough/ 
 
 " ' What do you mane by misfortune ? ' says I. 
 
 " ' You '11 find out soon enough, if you must have this 
 money/ says he. 
 
126 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " ' Divil may care/ says I. 
 
 "'Well, then, Tim Duff/ says he, 'you haven't far to go. 
 Twelve feet from the kitchen door, dig twelve feet down, and 
 find that which will make you rich, and poor ! ' 
 
 "'Thank you, long life to you.' 
 
 " I looked round an' he was gone ; went out like a candle 
 puff. The broad daylight flashed across my eyes, an' I was 
 sitting up in bed starin' at nothin'. 'Twelve feet down/ says 
 I. ' Now or never.' So up I gets, takes a pickaxe and shovel, 
 an' without sayin' a word to anybody, dug away for the bare 
 life. After about an hour's work, seein' no signs of the threas- 
 ure, I begun to think that it was dreaming I was all the time, 
 when the pick struck something that guv a clink. Hurroo ! 
 thinks I, my fortune 's made. With fresh will I shovelled 
 away, and at last, by dint of tremendous exertion, rather than 
 call any one to help me, I succeeded in gettin' a big earthen 
 pot up to the surface, rolled it into the house, and, throwing 
 myself into a chair, pantin' for breath, and the tears rowlin' 
 down my cheeks, I looked at it for as good as an hour. 
 
 " I knew it contained money, but I could n't bring my 
 mind to smash it open. Just like a cat, the hungrier she is 
 the longer she plays with the mouse. At last I started up, 
 got my shovel, and gave the pot a savage crack. Bash ! it 
 flew into a thousand pieces, ' and out splashed a beautiful 
 yellow shower of guineas. I '11 never forget the shiver of 
 delight the sound of thim guineas sent into my heart. The 
 Leprachaun had redeemed his word, I was a rich man ; but 
 the remainder of his promise had yet to be fulfilled, and it 
 was. The first calamity that befell me began upon the in- 
 stant. In liftin' the tremendous weight, I twisted somethin' 
 
FAIRY GOLD: AN IRISH SKETCH. 127 
 
 inside of me back, that has nearly driven me crazy ever 
 since, and all the physic in the world can't put it straight 
 again. Then I removed to a larger farm, where, not knowing 
 the land as well as that I was used to all my life, crop after 
 crop failed. But the crowning curse remains to be told. In 
 the pride of my heart, and in the selfishness of increased 
 means, I slighted her for whom I would have died before. I 
 deserted killed my Mary. No, no ; it was n't me that 
 killed her ; it was the gold, the accursed gold ! Well, sir, 
 after her death an unquenchable thirst came on me, drink ! 
 drink ! I cared for nothing else, lived for nothing else. I 
 need n't tell you how that swallows up everything. Worse 
 luck followed bad, until at last the chair my mother nursed 
 me in, that her mother nursed her in, was taken from my 
 door by a grasping landlord. And I stood before a cold 
 hearth, and an empty cupboard, a broken-hearted man ! 
 
 " The world has been a desert to me ever since, but I have 
 learnt to look on rain and sun with the same face." 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 
 
 A RIDE IN A STRANGE PATH. 
 BY GILBERT BURLING. 
 
 . EFORE these hurrying days of railroads, travellers 
 through Virginia made their journeyings in the 
 slow old conveyance of the stage-coach, and had 
 time, as they passed, to dwell upon the natural 
 beauties of the way. From Kentucky, and the 
 States comprising the then Southwest, the near- 
 est route to the Capitol at Washington was over the old Vir- 
 ginia Turnpike, which runs along the Kanawha River from 
 Charleston, across it at Gauley, over Gauley Mountain, and be- 
 side New River for a long distance. Henry Clay and his con- 
 temporary lawgivers used to take this road on their annual way 
 to their seats in Congress ; and therefore it happened, in their 
 time, that the magnificent scenery of the region was well known 
 to them, and through their reports celebrated to the nature- 
 loving of that generation. To-day the tide of travel flows else- 
 where, and the only visitors to these scenes are the few whose 
 business brings them by the old coach line from Lewisburg to 
 Charleston, or Charleston to Lewisburg, perchance stray tour- 
 ists who remember to have heard of the " Hawk's Nest " from 
 their fathers. 
 
 At a point just off the road, and some seven miles from the 
 
132 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 great Falls of Kanawha, this great rock stands. It rises more 
 than a thousand feet straight up from the river-bed to an equal 
 height with the mountain, of which it is an enormous, grim but- 
 tress, frowning over the immense extent of country it surveys. 
 Even with the unimaginative dwellers thereabouts, so remark- 
 able a feature in the landscape cannot wholly Tail of romantic 
 incidents, or legends born of superstition. Many of their stories 
 have already found their way into print, but I am not aware 
 that the veritable incident of its discovery by "curly-haired 
 McClung " a startling incident to him has ever been pub- 
 lished. 
 
 The exact date of McClung's adventure seems to have been 
 forgotten, but I have it on the authority of an " oldest inhab- 
 itant " that it happened on a certain summer's day some eighty 
 odd years ago. The old man was following his favorite occupa- 
 tion of hunting with his dogs, when he unexpectedly came upon 
 a bear, treed at very close quarters. Being so placed that he 
 could not " draw a bead " on a vital part of the beast, for the 
 leaves and branches in the way, and fearing that Bruin might 
 jump down and make off if he approached too nearly, McClung 
 was moving cautiously backward, step by step, in order to find 
 an opening through which to take sure aim, when he chanced 
 to glance behind him, and find himself close to the edge of an 
 unsuspected and frightful precipice, over which another step 
 would carry him, to fall whirling through the blue air, hundreds 
 of feet down to the dashing stream below. Terribly startled, he 
 forgot the bear on the instant, and rushed away from the dan- 
 ger in a state of trepidation no other peril in life could have 
 caused him. It is even said that he took to his bed for two 
 entire days, before he could recover himself; and that for weeks 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 133 
 
 after he could not muster courage to look again over the precipice 
 from which he came so very near making the dread " last leap." 
 
 After McClung's discovery the rock became well known to 
 the hunters of the Gauley, who named it the Hawk's Nest, 
 either from its commanding position and inaccessibility from 
 below, or because of the numerous hawk's-nests yearly built in 
 the convenient caverns which enter its sides a little way below 
 the edge. 
 
 Happening, at one time recently, to be making a limited tour 
 of observation in that part of the country, I had an opportunity 
 to make a sketch of this famous rock from the opposite side of 
 the river. It is a new point of view, from which the rock itself 
 appears the most prominent feature of the scene. 
 
 I had been riding for several days through Fayette County, 
 back of Cotton Mountain, and was on my way to meet an .im- 
 portant engagement at the Kanawha Falls, when I found the 
 road leading me very near the desired spot. The natives told 
 me that by keeping the road to Miller's Ferry until I came in 
 sight of the building there, I would find a mule-path to the left, 
 towards down the river, which would lead me where I could get 
 the best view of my subject, and afterwards to the Falls by a 
 short route. 
 
 The mule-path proved to be a very recent one, easily found, 
 and I struck into it with a simple, confident feeling of satisfac- 
 tion only to be excused by want of experience of the country I 
 was in. My steed was a quiet, well-conditioned animal, which 
 I had hired from a farmer at the Falls a few days previously ; 
 and her knowledge that her head was turned towards home was 
 instantly apparent in her altered gait, leading me to believe 
 she knew the road we had entered upon. 
 
134 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 By the time we (the mare and I) arrived at the best view of 
 the rock, the path had become so bad as to be only just prac- 
 ticable ; and with a mind made up to return by the good road 
 over Cotton Mountain, on the theory of " the longest way 
 round is the shortest way back," I dismounted, tied my, or 
 rather Farmer Muggleston's, gray mare to a tree, and sought 
 the most effective point from which to make the sketch. At 
 length I determined upon a seat on a convenient stump, from 
 whence the Hawk's Nest seemed to overhang the sturdier but 
 less graceful cliffs about it. Along its edge, where the light 
 clouds of river mist seemed hanging, were a few trees, ragged 
 and small as seen from below ; and under it great black seams, 
 or scars, divided the ledges of yellow sandstone with openings 
 like caves, at whose yawning mouths lay bands of reddish earths, 
 or pebbly conglomerate, to which cedars clung here and there, 
 grasping the very face of the precipice, and in the effort dis- 
 torting themselves into various clutching forms, holding on for 
 life. Lower down column-like rocks rested on tremendous 
 masses of whitish limestone, which became smoother and less 
 seamed as it approached the base at the river-bank, where trees, 
 towering nearly two hundred feet, looked only well-grown bushes 
 by contrast with the height above, in front of which, like guar- 
 dian spirits of the gorge, a pair of large hawks kept watch and 
 ward in airy circlings, on unmoving wings. 
 
 Soon, too much interested in this magnificent study to watch 
 the western skies, I found a thunder- squall upon me unawares, 
 unnoticed until it began to throw its broad black shadows 
 over the scene, and to open thunder-charged columbiads among 
 the resounding echoes of the New River hills. Then the rain 
 put a temporary stop to my work, and so delayed me that by the 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 135 
 
 time my drawing was roughly completed it was half past four 
 o'clock. In consequence of this delay it was hardly possible to 
 get to the Falls before dark by the Cotton Mountain road. The 
 mare could easily travel three miles an hour through the path. 
 There were still three hours of daylight, even if the clouds the 
 squall had left behind did not disperse ; and so, by keeping on, I 
 could reasonably hope to reach my destination in about two 
 hours and a half, if, as I had been told, the distance was only 
 seven miles from where I struck in. If it proved nine miles, it 
 would still be accomplished in time. Besides, I had been reas- 
 sured, while sketching, by the passing down the path of a ridden 
 mule and a led one. For these reasons I decided to keep on, in 
 spite of the bad road and threatening weather. To prepare for 
 rough riding with my various sketching impedimenta necessi- 
 tated some further loss of time, but it was not long before I was 
 mounted and on the way, which shortly became very villanous, 
 for the old mare went constantly stumbling over sharp stones, 
 sliding down clayey hills, or walking cautiously in the narrow 
 path as it led along the steep side of a precipitous bank, or sur- 
 mounted an outlying bowlder of the great piled-up rocks to the 
 left, above. More than once again I thought of turning back, 
 but was always encouraged to go on by seeing the fresh tracks 
 of the mules before me. I must also confess to a certain fool- 
 ish, pleasurable excitement, at the spice of danger in such rough 
 riding. The old steed, too, was on her mettle, and showed signs 
 of excitement by the way in which she pricked up her ears and 
 snorted with satisfaction at every bit of good road. And then, 
 who could be blind to the new beauty of these woods, so differ- 
 ent from the beauty of the Northern forests, to me much better 
 known ? 
 
136 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Great magnolia poplars, with towering stems, grew up from 
 the right-hand side far below, and only put out their luxuriously 
 clothed branches when they could come to a view of the sky on 
 like terms with the growth higher up on the hillside. Through 
 their crowded trunks the river could be seen dashing and foam- 
 ing with a rush and a roar which continually deceived me with 
 ideas that the Falls themselves were very near at hand. There 
 was but little underbrush, except in places where huge square, 
 green-capped bowlders lay nearly concealed by groups of the 
 great Southern laurels, which thrust up their long glossy leaves, 
 as if in conspiracy with the mosses covering their tops, and 
 drooping about them so as to hide their hard gray sides. These 
 rhododendrons were all in blossom, and seemed further inten- 
 tioned by displaying their rosy beauty to most advantage, 
 lavishing their flowers in contrast to the darkest shadows, or 
 against the neutral blackness of the backgrounds of hemlock- 
 trees which stood in clumps through the wood. An hour and a 
 half of such riding brought me to a small opening in the forest, 
 and sharp upon a " branch," or mountain brook, rushing like a 
 river, with the accumulated waters of a dozen streamlets, swollen 
 by the recent rains. 
 
 The ford across looked too dangerous for a stranger to at- 
 tempt, and I should have been obliged to retrace my steps, even 
 then, had not the ringing strokes of an axe told of possible assist- 
 ance from a short distance above. Leaving the mare " hitched " 
 to a laurel-bush, I sought the wood-chopper, and after much 
 tribulation in scrambling through the under-brush contrived to 
 get sight of him, and of some other workmen who were erecting 
 a shanty on the farther side. The stream brawled so noisily 
 that it was quite impossible for the men to hear what I said or 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 137 
 
 shouted, and it was not until I found a fallen tree on which to 
 cross that they comprehended who I was, or what I wanted. 
 On learning that I was a stranger, one of them kindly volun- 
 teered to bring my horse over. When he had ridden through 
 the ford, which he did with enviable address and caution, he 
 commended my prudence in not attempting the crossing at 
 such a time, for he said that one of the mules which had just 
 preceded me to the shanty had been carried off his feet by the 
 rush, and was very nearly swept out into the river. He in- 
 formed me that the work going on was for the new railroad, 
 and that the mule-path had only been cut for the use of the 
 engineers and surveyors of the corps of construction. 
 
 It was now so near night that I left my chance friend with 
 hurried thanks, and rode on so quickly that I forgot to ask him 
 how far I had yet to go, or what sort of riding I might expect. 
 It was grandly picturesque, but even more up and down 
 hill than before. Lofty pines rose in vain attempts to thrust 
 themselves higher than the perpendicular rocks behind them, 
 while creepers and parasitical vines clustered so thick about 
 the tree-trunks, that the hidden roots of them seemed to start 
 from the far depths below. At length we ascended the moun- 
 tain-side somewhat higher than usual, and came quite unexpect- 
 edly upon the most dangerous piece of path I ever saw. 
 
 An enormous wall of shaly rock reared itself perpendicu- 
 larly high up on the left side ; before us ran the path, not 
 a foot wide was it, the mere edge of a shifting bank of frag- 
 ments, loose, sliding, and crumbling, built of the fallen scales of 
 the shale. Having come so unwarned upon this perilous spot, 
 concealed as it was by the curve at its approach, the mare had 
 already advanced too far upon the narrow part of it to retreat ; 
 
138 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 for in an attempt to turn around, she would be certain to push 
 herself off the ledge. 
 
 On the right hand was a declivity of unstable fragments slip- 
 ping to the water's edge ; on the other side, the rock straight up. 
 
 There was no alternative. . 
 
 We must go on. 
 
 I saw that a man could pass to the firm ground on the other 
 side of the cliff safely enough, if his head did not get whirling, 
 and his nerves were steady. There might be room for a horse's 
 feet ; possibly, only possibly, for the projections of the body 
 the shoulders, the belly, and the thighs to pass the rock. I 
 dismounted, slung the satchel and sketching-traps over my own 
 shoulders, took off the near stirrup, and fastened the projecting 
 flap of the old saddle down with its leather, that it might not 
 touch the rock, drew the bridle over the old gray's head, and led 
 her along the little ledge with the momentary expectation of 
 seeing her sliding, rolling, bounding, crashing down into the 
 river, three hundred feet below. She was sure-footed, that old 
 mare ; she balanced herself like a gymnast ; the ledge did not 
 give way as she trod it, but, as she lifted each hoof, the path 
 crumbled from the place where it had rested, and the fragments 
 rustled down the bank, detaching other fragments in their 
 course, until the whole mass appeared sliding away, with a 
 sound like stormy wind among the trees. 
 
 We had crossed safely, but the path was gone 
 
 Ordinary risks seemed as nothing now, and we pushed on 
 rapidly as the woods became more open. When we had passed 
 the mountain, I again thought I heard the distant roar of the 
 Falls, and my spirits rose a bit in spite of the rain, which was 
 coming down briskly. 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 139 
 
 For the last hundred yards the path had been actually smooth, 
 and wide enough to trot on, when it suddenly went down hill. 
 
 At the moment of reaching the bottom, where alder-bushes 
 grew dense on the banks on either side, a most villanous-looking 
 man started out into the path ahead of me. 
 
 He was clad in an old overcoat of Rebel gray, and looked a 
 typical bush-whacker as he stood regarding my approach with 
 evil glances. It occurred to me instantly that he might not be 
 alone, might be accompanied by other desperate fellows, and 
 mean mischief. It was an unpleasant shock ; but the impulse 
 of the moment being to "open the ball " if necessary, I pushed 
 my horse up to him, and asked, 
 
 " How far is it to the Falls ? " 
 
 " Dunno, rightly, how fur." 
 
 " Is it two miles ? " 
 
 " Heap more 'n that. Reckon it 's three. They '11 tell yer 
 down ter the shanty." 
 
 There are more of them then, thought I ; and in my nervous- 
 ness I took my revolver out of its already convenient place in 
 my belt, and put it in the side-pocket of my overcoat, as I rode 
 rapidly on : for the road was again good for a piece. Soon I 
 came upon the shanty the man had spoken of. There were a 
 crowd of laborers gathered about it, a railroad gang, as I saw 
 at a glance. They were not dangerous, but they were unpleas- 
 ant and lawless ; so, although they shouted to me to stop, I only 
 dashed along faster, until the path grew as bad as usual. 
 
 It was now after seven o'clock ; only half an hour more of 
 daylight, and at least three miles more of this work. I began 
 to feel as if I were lost, and must spend the night in the woods ; 
 which is a very disagreeable thing to do in the rain and alone. 
 
140 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Now, the road led down close by the river, across a bank of sand ; 
 and then in full view of a rough-built house of new boards, with 
 cheerful lights shining through the windows. As I rode up to 
 it, a negro man came to the door. I could get^over the bad part 
 of the path, he thought, before it became too dark, if I hurried 
 on, from there it was only a mile to the Falls, and a good 
 road. From this house the trail was plain for a few hundred 
 yards, when it led out on a flat rock, and was lost in the river, 
 now very high with the freshet. I turned back and cast over 
 the ground, thinking it possible that the true path was up on the 
 hillside, but, failing to find it there, concluded to return to the 
 house of the cheerful lights, and to ask a shelter for the night. 
 The negro again came forward in answer to my summons, and, 
 upon hearing my request for a lodging, referred me to the Cap- 
 tain, who presently appeared at the door from an inner room, to 
 give me a polite but firm refusal. Bright hopes were dashed 
 in an instant ; but, being in extremis, I urged my forlorn con- 
 dition, and presented my card, with an explanation of the cir- 
 cumstances which led me to' seek the hospitality of strangers in 
 such a persistent manner. On learning that I was not a " rail- 
 road-man," the Captain relented, told the negro, Tom, to look 
 out for my traps, and ushered me into his sitting-room, comfort- 
 able with a warm fire and the incense from several pipes of 
 fragrant Virginia weed. The smokers were the associates of 
 the Captain in his surveying corps, and he soon put me at ease 
 by the perfect courtesy of his informal introduction to them, 
 and to a superabundant supper, made ready by Tom in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 To my surprise and delight, he seated me at a table furnished 
 in the most highly civilized style. 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 141 
 
 A damask tablecloth adorned with a service of polished silver, 
 and gold-edged china of a delicate pattern, all laden with choice 
 edibles, of which eggs, nicely fried bacon, creamy wheat-biscuits, 
 and delicious coffee formed the staple articles of what would 
 be a goodly feast at any time, but doubly and thrice welcome to 
 one who, only a few minutes before, had expected to go supper- 
 less to bed in the rocky forest under a coverlet of drizzle. 
 
 How I appreciated all this, those good fellows can never 
 know ! One, not in like straits, can but dimly imagine the sense 
 of real comfort I felt, as I sat in that luxurious chair, with the 
 white-jacketed Tom ready to hand more biscuits, or refill my 
 coffee-cup ; the rain the while pouring down in a great deluge 
 on the sounding roof. 
 
 And when bedtime came, instead of letting me take my blan- 
 ket in a corner, as I proposed, Monseigneur must needs share 
 his bed with me, a stranger. Truly my "lines had fallen in 
 pleasant places," and, giving way to the benign fates, I consented 
 to lay me down to sleep between the fair sheets, where Morpheus 
 straightway embraced me, and sent me visions, now and again, 
 of overhanging rocks, narrow paths, gray mares, and blear-eyed 
 fellows in lonely lurking-places. The night passed thus, very 
 restlessly, as' night often does to one whose nerves have been 
 on the strain of novel sights and thoughts. When the morning 
 came, the rain still fell, and it was late when I took leave, I hope 
 not forever, of the excellent gentlemen into whose pleasant so- 
 ciety the mule-path had led me. 
 
 I found the trail very difficult to make out, even in broad day, 
 at the place where I had been at fault the night before. It was 
 confused by numerous blind tracks leading to it, and was only 
 plain when it merged into the unmistakable railroad embank- 
 
142 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 ment, which had been pushed from the other end. The road 
 along this was easily passable, until I came to a piece of fresh 
 work, where I was obliged to dismount in order to pass along a 
 steep hillside where there had been a great sand-blast which 
 had filled the way with sharp debris not yet levelled off. Trust- 
 ing in luck to cross it, luck had so favored me in my ride 
 hitherto, I attempted to lead the mare over the cruel place. 
 It was not enough that she had stood supperless in the pelting 
 rain all night, that she had carried me all the day before on one 
 feed of oats ; 'but I must put her at this new trial. It was 
 shameful, and I was near getting my deservings ; for, in stepping 
 to the farther side of a cut, I slipped and fell, my leg catching in 
 a hole under and between the stones. For an instant I was 
 held motionless, while my horse stood on an insecure piece of 
 rock above me, gathering and balancing herself to step down 
 where I lay, helplessly dreading the descent of her iron-shod 
 feet, of which at least one crushed and mangled limb would be 
 the inevitable result. By a desperate effort I succeeded in 
 dragging myself out of the hole at the very instant the terrible 
 hoofs came down. 
 
 Poor old mare ! Her forelegs slipped from under her into 
 the same trap where I came to temporary grief; and she came 
 down heavily on the jagged points of the fresh-broken stones, 
 struggled for a moment, groaning sadly, and then, by a great 
 effort, managed to regain her footing and get on safe ground, 
 where she stood, trembling on her gashed limbs, and gazing at 
 her torn flank, as it heaved with pain and fear. She had, how- 
 ever, sustained no disabling injury, and I ventured to remount 
 her, and proceed at a slow pace to the Falls, and thence to 
 Farmer Muggleston's stable-yard. 
 
THE HAWK'S NEST. 143 
 
 To this farmer's praise be it said, that he did not make the 
 injury to his property, severe but not dangerous, the excuse for 
 extorting a large sum in damages ; but, believing them the result 
 of a pure accident, accepted so small a compensation as a five- 
 dollar bill with a good grace that many of his Northern superiors 
 in education might do well to emulate in like case. Then he 
 bid me " God speed," and I went my way on foot with rather an 
 exalted opinion of the native " West-Virginian," a determina- 
 tion to ride no more unknown mule-paths, and in my portfolio 
 the sketch of the Hawk's Nest, from which was drawn the little 
 illustration which gives the title to this paper. 
 
To A FLOWER. 
 
TO A FLOWER. 
 
 IN THE STYLE OF HERRICK. 
 BY C. FLORIO. 
 
 J ,O to my love ; and tell her from my heart 
 
 How much I love! 
 
 Go to my love ; .and tell her should we part 
 No salve could heal the smart 
 I then should know. 
 What shall I do 
 My love to prove ? 
 
 Go to my love ; and tell her she 's more fair 
 
 Than lilies are. 
 
 Go to my love ; and tell her all the air 
 Around breathes perfume rare 
 
 When she doth move ; 
 And gales of love 
 Her tenders are. 
 
 Go to my love ; and tell her here I lie 
 And weep and sigh. 
 
148 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Go to my love ; and tell her that I die 
 If she pass coldly by 
 
 And give no chance 
 Or pitying glance 
 From her bright eye. 
 
 Go to my love ; and tell her this, O flower ! 
 
 And watch her face. 
 
 Go to my love ; and tell her that her power 
 Enthralls me so this hour 
 
 That, lest I die, 
 She must reply 
 With loving grace ! 
 
THE PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS OF SONG. 
 
THE PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS 
 OF SONG. 
 
 BY CHARLES INSLEE PARDEE, M.D. 
 
 f T is frequently said of eminent singers, that " their vocal 
 organs are of exquisite construction." 
 
 The remark is so often repeated, that we are led to 
 regard it as the expression of a general belief, that 
 vocalists are endowed with unusual physical attributes, 
 neither inherited nor to be acquired by the masses of man- 
 kind. 
 
 It cannot in truth be said that this impression is entirely 
 without foundation ; but if by the expression it is intended to 
 convey the idea that the basis of vocalism is a larynx of pecu- 
 liar anatomical form or of rare functional power, it may mis- 
 lead us. 
 
 Setting aside the singular mental and emotional bias which 
 seems to be essential to the musical artist, and taking into 
 consideration the physical requirements of song only, we have 
 two factors which enter into its production, namely, the vocal 
 organs i. e. the mouth, larynx, and trachea and the ear. 
 
 The action of the vocal organs is easily explained. The 
 wasted product of respiration, the breath, is forced through a 
 chink in the larynx, and sound is created, while form and 
 expression are given by the mouth. That words are formed 
 
152 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 by the mouth, without the aid of the larynx, is a fact easily 
 proven, as every one knows that he can distinctly express 
 himself in a whisper. 
 
 The larynx is essentially a double-reed instrument, the 
 vocal cords being analogous to the reed of a musical instru- 
 ment. The vocal cords are thrown into vibration by the 
 breath, and sound is produced, the pitch being determined by 
 the rapidity or slowness of movement. This, in turn, is regu- 
 lated by the tension of the cords ; sounds of the highest pitch 
 requiring extreme tension, sounds of the lowest pitch extreme 
 relaxation of those organs. The different positions of the 
 cords are caused entirely by muscular action. While the parts 
 are at rest, air passes in and out, in the act of respiration, 
 causing no sound, as then their relations are not favorable to 
 its production. 
 
 Thus the larynx is the organ of sound ; but the larynx 
 and mouth are the organs of articulate speech. 
 
 These organs are susceptible of the highest cultivation, and 
 their functional perfection can only be attained by training. 
 It is gymnastic exercise of the muscles, acting on the parts, 
 which is required, systematic practice of their functional 
 qualities, subject to the will. That is all. Within the regis- 
 ter of his natural voice, any one can attain mechanical pre- 
 cision of vocal expression. Even the register may be increased 
 by the simple expedient of exercise. 
 
 What, then, is so essential to the physical requirements of 
 song, that the few who possess it are regarded as phenom- 
 ena? It is an ear of exquisite function, such as rarely exists. 
 The ear is as important as is the operator to the transmis- 
 sion of a telegram. It is the conductor, the critic. Wit- 
 
THE PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS OF SONG. 153 
 
 ness the person whose deafness is of such high degree that 
 he cannot hear the sound of his own voice, and listen to his 
 harsh, unmodulated tones. Witness the deaf-mute, mute only 
 because he is deaf, with vocal organs that are probably ana- 
 tomically perfect, but with no guide in that process of imitation, 
 which in the general way constitutes man's training, from the 
 imperfect articulation of the words "papa" and "mamma," in 
 babyhood, to the highest form of vocal expression. 
 
 Of our special senses, the ear is the organ of tune. Its 
 function is to receive the succession of sounds, musical notes, 
 the various peculiarities of articulate speech, and to measure 
 the periods of silence. It is the register of the properties 
 of waves of sound, the intensity, quality, and pitch, con- 
 veying to the brain an impression of the relative intensity 
 of the sound created by the firing of a cannon and of a 
 pistol ; of the quality of the sound of a violoncello or of a 
 violin^ the pitch of the soprano and bass voices. If per- 
 fect in its functional property, it registers the whole ; but if 
 not, either through irregular development, or- because its nor- 
 mal condition has been changed by disease, it may do so but 
 partially, and the unfortunate possessor of such an ear, par- 
 ticularly unfortunate if he desires to sing correctly, ascertains 
 that he is unable accurately to determine the pitch of certain 
 sounds, and that his most careful attempts to reproduce them 
 result in discords. Moreover, he may observe that he cannot 
 appreciate the quality of sound. 
 
 Physiologically considered, the human ear is not a homo- 
 geneous organ, but the different parts are for the appreciation 
 of the different properties of sound ; and the absence of one 
 part, for instance, that which registers the quality, or the 
 
154 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 pitch, would cause the disappearance of its peculiar function. 
 In view of this fact, it would be interesting to collate the 
 several opinions of notably just and impartial critics in re- 
 gard to various vocalists, to know if the tenor of criticism is 
 in a singular groove ; if it has the appearance of being of 
 a certain formula or of particular bias. The singer who is 
 smarting under the infliction of partial and unjust criticism 
 of a performance, that he has perfected through years of 
 careful training, under the guidance of an exquisite ear, may 
 find courage in the reflection that, in all probability, his critic, 
 honest though he be, has imperfect aural perceptions, and is 
 laboring under the disadvantage of performing work requiring 
 the indispensable direction of an ear of faultless physiological 
 attributes, an ear that he does not possess; that the author 
 of the criticism is not prompted by any improper motive, nor 
 is he captious, but is functionally incapable of receiving cor- 
 rect impressions. 
 
 A human ear of perfect functional attributes is something 
 rare. That competent authority, Von Troltsch, says : " I shall 
 make too small rather than too large an estimate, when I 
 assert that not more than one out of three persons, of from 
 twenty to forty years of age, still possess good and normal 
 hearing." Good and normal hearing, in the sense of this 
 paragraph, means good enough for ordinary purposes. It 
 does not refer to that exquisite sensibility to all the proper- 
 ties of sound which is indispensable to the accomplished 
 singer. The author, however, touches the point. If his esti- 
 mate is approximately correct, few of our race may aspire to 
 the distinction of attaining pre-eminence in song. 
 
 My friend, have you a wish to become proficient in song ? 
 
THE PHYSICAL REQUIREMENTS OF SONG. 155 
 
 Do not concern yourself too much about your voice. In the 
 practice of your life, you have imitated articulate speech with 
 entire success, and now reproduce it in a creditable manner. 
 Your vocal organs show their susceptibility to training and 
 discipline, and doubtless, within the register of your voice, 
 may be trained to song, provided you have the all-important 
 guide. Have you that guide ? Can you recognize the dis- 
 tinctive properties of sound ? Do you appreciate the intensity, 
 the quality, the pitch? Have you in perfection the three 
 thousand nerve fibres of the cochlear portion of the ear, each 
 one of which vibrates synchronous to the sound of its own 
 appropriate pitch ? 
 
 If so, you can succeed ; otherwise, it would be as reason- 
 able to expect of a blind man the reproduction of color. 
 
THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER 
 
THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE LEVIATHAN CLUB. 
 
 BY D. R. LOCKE. 
 
 (PETROLEUM v. NASBY.) 
 
 R. JOHN UPANDOWNJOHN had the mis- 
 fortune to be a strictly honest man, in which 
 particular he stood lamentably alone. He was 
 constructed peculiarly, he was born into an 
 atmosphere of integrity, and his training had 
 added to his natural bent to a degree that 
 made him as incapable of an untruth, or the semblance 
 thereof, as the great George Washington himself. Having 
 this tendency, it was well for him that he was born with a 
 fortune, for his rigid adherence to his principles unfitted 
 him for almost every occupation. He did try journalism, 
 but was dismissed ignominiously for saying of a candidate 
 of the party with which the paper acted, that he was a thief 
 and a trickster. Then he essayed law, but he saw enough 
 of law before he had been in an office two weeks, while 
 medicine lasted him scarcely a week. So he determined to 
 do nothing, but live on his income and be an honest man. 
 
 He adopted certain rules by which he lived, and he could 
 no more depart from them than he could rise from the earth 
 and take a place among the stars. He ate exactly so much, 
 
160 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 at certain fixed hours and of certain kinds of food. He 
 drank so many times a day of certain liquors which he 
 fancied were good for him, measuring the quantity with the 
 accuracy and precision of an apothecary ; and so far did he 
 carry rule into his life, that he put on and off his clothing 
 on certain days in certain months, without reference to 
 weather. I saw him shivering one bright but very cold 
 morning in June, and demanded the reason. 
 
 "I laid off my woollens this morning," said he. 
 
 " Why lay off your woollens in winter weather ? " I asked. 
 
 "The ist of June is my day therefor," said he. "The 
 weather ought to be warm to-day. I cannot break my rule." 
 
 He never neglected to pay a debt, and never told a lie, 
 not even a white one. He was cut out of an aunt's will, by 
 responding to her anxious inquiry as to how she looked in a 
 certain dress which she had set her heart on, with the sim- 
 ple word, " Hideous." And the same devotion to truth barred 
 him no matter what path he took. 
 
 He was frightfully unpopular, though, notwithstanding, he 
 held a good position among his fellows. His childlike sim- 
 plicity and sterling integrity made him valuable, and beside 
 every one knew that his devotion to truth was honest, and 
 had nothing of bumptiousness or malice in it. 
 
 Mr. Upandownjohn was a member of the Leviathan Club. 
 I write the word was sadly, for he is a Leviathan no more. 
 The cause and manner of his leaving that delightful asso- 
 ciation of good men is the animus of this paper. 
 
 The members of the Leviathan were pleased with the ap- 
 pearance of Mr. Upandownjohn, and made much of him. 
 Had they known him better they probably would have loved 
 
THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER. l6l 
 
 him less, for his peculiar virtue was never popular in that 
 Club. 
 
 He excited attention, first, by his habit of correcting loose- 
 talking members when their statements were too highly fla- 
 vored with romance ; as, for instance, when one gentleman 
 asserted that, his father owned Flora Temple when she was 
 a colt, using her as a common hack, and selling her finally 
 for fifty dollars, Mr. Upandovvnjohn quietly put him down. 
 
 " I knew your father," he said, " and a worthy, truthful man 
 he was. He died just three years before Flora Temple was 
 foaled. The mare he used as a hack and sold for fifty dol- 
 lars must have been some other famous animal. Flora Tem- 
 ple will some day be the death of me. Every racing season 
 some man narrates the circumstance of his father having 
 once owned Flora Temple and worked her as a hack, and, 
 what is more exasperating, he "always sold her for just fifty 
 dollars. Would that I could find one man whose father sold 
 her for sixty dollars or sixty-two dollars and fifty cents ! You, 
 my dear sir, are the sixty-eighth man this season whose father 
 once owned Flora Temple. She was the most extensively 
 owned mare I ever knew anything about." 
 
 On another occasion a gentleman detailed with great mi- 
 nuteness, how in doing the regular thing at Niagara by going 
 under the sheet, the wind parted the torrent and he stepped 
 out upon the shelf outside, when, to his horror, the opening 
 closed, leaving him outside the falling sheet on a narrow ledge 
 of rock. With great presence of mind he darted through the 
 falling sheet and rejoined the frightened party who supposed 
 him lost forever. 
 
 Mr. Upandownjohn took pencil and paper, and worked all 
 
162 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 night and the next day, without sleeping or eating. The 
 next night he exhibited to the hero of this marvellous adven- 
 ture the weight of the water in that sheet, and demonstrated 
 to him the fact that, had he got under it, he would have been 
 mashed, though he had been constructed of cast-steel. 
 
 " Are you sure it was Niagara ? " he asked anxiously. 
 " Was n't it some other fall ? " 
 
 One day a member died, and the Club did the usual thing 
 by him. A committee of three was appointed to draft reso- 
 lutions expressing the bereavement of the members, and, as 
 ill-luck would have it, Upandownjohn was put upon the com- 
 mittee. 
 
 They met, and, as is always the case, two of the members 
 really had not time to attend to it. One had an engagement 
 at the theater; the other was to take his sister or some 
 one else's to the opera. 
 
 " Upandownjohn," said the first, " you have nothing to do, 
 and are handy with the pen. There is no earthly necessity 
 for keeping us here. You just write out the usual resolu- 
 tions, and send 'em down to The Screamer, The Spouter, and 
 The Soarer in time for to-morrow morning." 
 
 "How shall I treat the deceased?" asked the obliging 
 Upandownjohn. 
 
 " O, in the usual way ! Speak of his qualities as a man, the 
 feelings of the Club at his untimely taking-off, the sources of 
 consolation that we have, his qualities as an actor ; hurl in some- 
 thing to alleviate the pangs of his family ; speak of his general 
 standing ; and put in a strong dose of general comfort, you 
 understand, to those who mourn, and so on. It '11 be all right. 
 You '11 attend to it now, won't you ? " 
 
THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER. 163 
 
 " It is a disagreeable duty," replied Upandownjohn ; " but 
 I will do it." 
 
 And* they left him to his work. 
 
 Now Mr. Upandownjohn had had no experience in work of 
 this kind, and consequently he was n't exactly clear as to the 
 form. So he sent for the scrap-book in which such utterances 
 of the Club had been posted from its beginning. He was 
 shocked. There were a great many sets of resolutions on de- 
 ceased members (the liquors were bad at the Leviathan), and 
 they were all precisely alike ! They ran as follows : 
 
 Whereas, It has pleased Almighty God, the ruler of the Universe, 
 to remove from our midst our esteemed brother and friend, John 
 James So-and-so ; and 
 
 Whereas, It is fit that we, his afflicted survivors of the Leviathan 
 Club, should publicly express their sore grief at this great bereave- 
 ment therefore be it 
 
 Resolved, That in the death of John James So-and-so, this Club has 
 lost a worthy member, society an ornament, his family an affectionate 
 father and husband, the State a pillar and defender, and the world at 
 large one it could illy spare. 
 
 Resolved, That while we mourn with sorrow that seems to have no 
 alleviation under the great affliction that has fallen upon us, we can- 
 not but bow in humility to this inscrutable decree. 
 
 Resolved, That we tender our heartfelt sympathy to the family and 
 relatives of the deceased. 
 
 Resolved, That the Club-house be draped in mourning for thirty 
 days in memory of the deceased. 
 
 As he finished, Mr. Upandownjohn brought his fist down 
 upon the table till the glasses jingled. 
 
 " What stuff this is ! " he said, indignantly. " I knew So-and- 
 
164 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 so. He was a dishonest and untruthful man, a tyrant in his 
 family, a trader in politics, a disagreeable man in society, and 
 a curse to humanity generally. And they mourn him, do they ? 
 And I suppose they want me to mourn Ranter, who is to be 
 embalmed to-night. Ha! ha! I will astonish these people. I 
 will write one set of honest resolutions. I knew Ranter, who* 
 has just gone hence, and justice shall be done him sure. I will 
 be as mild as I can be, and do him justice, but I will be honest 
 with his memory." 
 
 So Mr. Upandownjohn called for fresh pens and ink and 
 paper, and wrote ; and having made fair copies of what he wrote, 
 took them himself to the offices of The Screamer, The Spout er, 
 and The Soarer, and went home and slept as only he can sleep 
 who rejoices over a duty done and well done. 
 
 The next morning the members of the Leviathan were aston- 
 ished at reading in the journals the following: 
 
 Whereas, By a long course of the most outrageous dissipation, of 
 late nights, of late suppers of the grossest food, of perpetual bever- 
 ages of the most villanous kind, those that give the stomach no 
 show whatever, by unchecked and unregulated indulgence in the 
 worst possible sensuality ; in brief, by a long-continued series of the 
 vilest outrages upon the physical, mental, and moral man, our late 
 member, Arthur Simpson Ranter, has been taken to that bourne from 
 which we earnestly hope he may never return ; and 
 
 Whereas, When a member of the Leviathan Club expires, it is cus- 
 tomary to commemorate him, to give him a send-off,, as it were, there- 
 fore be it 
 
 Resolved, That when we remember the villanous habit he had of 
 revoking at whist, and also his adroit way of sliding out of paying the 
 score, whenever he lost the rubber, our grief at his departure is 
 severely mitigated, if not entirely subdued. 
 
THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER. 165 
 
 Resolved, That the promptness of our late associate in accepting 
 invitations to slake his thirst, and his intolerable tardiness in recipro- 
 cating, did more honor to his head than to his heart. 
 
 Resolved, That his habitual untruthfulness, his utter disregard of 
 his word, and his blustering and overbearing manner, were the best 
 points in him, as they served as a warning to the younger members of 
 the Club. For this his demise is to be lamented. 
 
 Resolved,, That his habit of getting boozy before eleven A.M., and 
 staying in that condition so long as there was a good-natured man 
 in the Club, gives us his survivors good reason to -pause and ask no 
 more that conundrum, " Why was death introduced into the world ? " 
 
 Resolved, That when we remember the success with which our late 
 brother borrowed money, and his utter forgetfulness of such transac- 
 tions, our hearts are softened toward Adam and Eve (through whose 
 sin death was made a part of the economy of nature), and we pub- 
 licly thank that lady and gentleman for their investigating turn of 
 mind, and hurl back indignantly the charge that they did not do the 
 best thing possible for posterity. 
 
 Resolved, That in the death of our late brother, who was as vile as 
 an actor as he was bad as a man, the long-suffering theater-going pub- 
 lic have a boon the sweetness of which cannot be overstated, and 
 upon which we extend them hearty congratulations. 
 
 Resolved, That we congratulate Mrs. Ranter upon the fact that her 
 private fortune was settled upon herself, and so skilfully tied up that 
 her late husband, our deceased brother, could not get at a cent of it. 
 And we do this, remembering how often we have mourned that it was 
 so, for the reason that, could he have touched it, he would have drank 
 himself into an untimely tomb several years sooner than he did. 
 Death with us buries all animosity and does away with all acrimony.* 
 
 Resolved, That the Club-house be illuminated the night of the 
 funeral, and be draped in white for thirty days in honor of this happy 
 event. 
 
166 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Resolved, That this truthful tribute to the memory of our deceased 
 brother be published in The Screamer, The Spouter, and The Soarer. 
 
 To say there was an uproar in the Club the next morn- 
 ing, as these resolutions were read, would be to convey a 
 very faint idea of the case. In the midst of it, when it was 
 at its height, entered Upandownjohn, cleanly shaved, and as 
 serene as a June morning. 
 
 " Did you write and publish this miserable mess, this 
 ghastly concoction of infernalism ? " demanded a score of in- 
 dignant men. 
 
 " Did I write those resolutions, you mean. I did. I was 
 appointed a committee to embalm the memory of the late 
 Ranter in the daily papers. I did it. Do you find anything 
 objectionable in them ? " 
 
 " Why, you assert that he was a sponge ! " exclaimed one. 
 
 " Unhappily it is the truth. I have myself paid for gallons 
 of liquor for him." 
 
 " You say he was a bad actor ? " 
 
 " The worst I ever suffered under." 
 
 " What will his wife think of what you have said of him ? " 
 
 " She will recognize the portrait, and with us thank Heaven 
 for her release." 
 
 " You give it as the sense of the Club that he was " 
 
 " Everything that was bad, mean, and disreputable. Very 
 good. It is true, every word of it. He owes me this day 
 thirty-seven dollars sixty-three cents and a third, which he 
 has owed (it was borrowed) since July 9, 1871, at twenty- 
 seven minutes past ten o'clock in the evening. And every 
 man of you is also his creditor. If there is a mean thing 
 that he has not done, it has escaped my notice." 
 
U ,\L ! 
 
THE TRUTHFUL RESOLVER. 167 
 
 By this time Mr. Upandownjohn saw that his fellow-mem- 
 bers were angry, and for once he lost his balance and became 
 angry too. 
 
 Brandishing his umbrella (it was not raining, but as it was 
 the time of month when it should have rained he carried it), 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 " Gentlemen, you have had one set of resolutions written 
 which contained nothing but the truth ; not the whole truth, 
 for my time was limited, and it was impossible to get in all 
 that I could have said, and besides, I desired to be as leni- 
 ent and mild as possible. Having written nothing but truth, 
 you are offended. It is well. I will have nothing whatever 
 to do with a club where the truth cannot be told. Truth, 
 if not the immediate jewel of the soul, is very close to it. 
 Gentlemen, adieu. You have seen the last of John Upandown- 
 john. Should I stay, I might be called upon to resolve over 
 some of your inanimate remains, and as I cannot tell a lie, 
 it would be unpleasant." 
 
 And that afternoon the directory received his resignation, 
 and he was seen there no more. 
 
 There is no particular moral to this. There are very few 
 men in the world of whom it would be pleasant, as the world 
 now goes, to tell the exact truth. Therefore may all who 
 read these lines live, as does he who writes them, so that 
 when Azrael waves his dark pinions over them, they may lie 
 down and die, feeling certain that the committee on reso- 
 lutions, though they be as truthful as Upandownjohn, will say 
 nothing that will call a spirit-blush to their cheeks in the 
 hereafter. 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 BY C. FLORID. 
 
 r 
 
 " DIE LORELE K" (HEINE.) 
 
 KNOW not what it presageth 
 \ That I am so heavy of heart ; 
 A tale of old times comes o'er me, 
 And will not be forced to depart 
 
 The air is cool, and the twilight 
 Shadows the calm-flowing Rhine ; 
 While red, in the fading sunlight, 
 The tops of the mountains shine. 
 
 A maiden, wondrous and lovely, 
 
 Sitteth in beauty there ; 
 Her jewels glitter and sparkle ; 
 
 She combs her golden hair. 
 
 With golden comb she combs it, 
 
 And sings 'neath the dark'ning sky 
 
 A song, with a magic, resistless, 
 All-powerful melody. 
 
172 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 A boatman who glides beneath her 
 Is seized with wild affright ; 
 
 He sees not the rocky ledges, 
 He sees but her on the height. 
 
 The waves surround, ingulf him, 
 He sinks with the setting sun ! 
 
 And this, with her wondrous singing, 
 This hath the Loreley done. 
 
 "KEN1VST DU DAS LAND." (GOETHE.) 
 
 I. 
 
 NOWEST thou the Land where the pale lem- 
 ons grow, 
 
 Where golden oranges mid dark leaves glow, 
 Where, ceaseless breathing from blue heaven, 
 
 a breeze 
 Kisses the myrtle, and tall laurel-trees ? 
 
 Knowest thou it well? 
 Ah ! there would I fly with thee, O my Beloved ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Knowest thou the House ? Its roof high pillars raise ; 
 Its spacious halls -with matchless splendors blaze ; 
 Pale statues stand and eye thee sleeplessly. 
 Ah, thou poor child ! what have they done to thee ? 
 
 Knowest thou it well ? 
 Ah! there would I fly with thee, O my Protector! 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 1/3 
 
 3- 
 
 Knowest thou the Mountain, up whose cloudy way 
 The mule seeks footing, led by fogs astray ? 
 In craggy caverns dwells the Dragon's brood ; 
 Rocks crashing fall, and o'er them roars the flood. 
 
 Knowest thou it well ? 
 Ah ! thither leads our way. O Father, let us go ! 
 
 BACCHANAL. 
 
 ET graybeards preach of -temperate bliss, 
 
 And the pains endured by a toper ; 
 We'll drink, boys, drink! and the red 
 
 wine's kiss 
 Shall kill grief, the interloper. 
 
 Drink to the eyes of her you love ! 
 
 Drink to her lips of coral ! 
 Drink to her kisses, her stolen glove ! 
 
 Drink! Let the old be moral! 
 
 Time to repent when passion 's cold, 
 And the bloom of life 's bereft us ; 
 
 When the hair is white^ and the heart is old, 
 And no enjoyment 's left us. 
 
 Time to repent in years to come ! 
 
 Our young day knows no morrow: 
 
1/4 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Drink ! Bid those preaching fools be dumb, - 
 What do we know of sorrow ? 
 
 Give us another goblet here ! 
 
 Hurrah, for jolly Bacchus ! 
 Drink on ! 't is now no time to fear 
 
 The pains that yet may rack us. 
 
 Drink ! let us spend a jovial night ; 
 
 'T is time, when pains oppress us, 
 To dream of nights that have been bright, 
 
 And murmur a meek, " God bless us ! " 
 
 Time enough then ; but, till it 's here, 
 Let's drink the night into morning; 
 
 Drown in your brimming cups old Care, 
 And with him the dotard's warning ! 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 
 
 BY WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 'NE fine morning, more than three months since, 
 you were riding with your brother, Miss Anstell, 
 in Hyde Park. It was a hot day ; and you had 
 allowed your horses to fall into a walking pace. 
 As you passed the railing on the right-hand side, 
 near the eastern extremity of the lake in the 
 Park, neither you nor your brother noticed a solitary woman 
 loitering on the footpath to look at the riders as they went by. 
 
 The solitary woman was my old nurse, Nancy Connell. 
 And these were the words she heard exchanged between you 
 and your brother, as you slowly passed her: 
 
 Your brother said, "Is it really true that Mary Brading 
 and her husband have gone to America ? " 
 
 You laughed (as if the question amused you) and answered, 
 " Quite true !'" 
 
 " How long will they be away ? " your brother asked next. 
 "As long as they live," you replied, with another laugh. 
 By this time you had passed beyond Nancy Connell's hear- 
 ing. She owns to having followed your horses a few steps, 
 to hear what was said next. She looked particularly at your 
 brother. He took your reply seriously : he seemed to be quite 
 astonished by it. 
 
1/8 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 "Leave England, and settle in America!" he exclaimed. 
 " Why should they do that ? " 
 
 " Who can tell why ? " you answered. " Mary Brading's 
 husband is mad, and Mary Brading herself is not much 
 better." 
 
 You touched your horse with the whip, and, in a moment 
 more, you and your brother were out of my old nurse's hearing. 
 She wrote and told me, what I here tell you, by a recent 
 mail. I have been thinking of those last words of yours in 
 my leisure hours, more seriously than you would suppose. 
 The end of it is that I take up my pen, on behalf of my hus- 
 band and myself, to tell you the story of our marriage, and the 
 reason for our emigration to the United States of America. 
 
 It matters little or nothing, to him or to me, whether our 
 friends in England think us both mad or not. Their opin- 
 ions, hostile or favorable, are of no sort of importance to us. 
 But you are an exception to the rule. In bygone days at 
 school we were fast and firm friends ; and what weighs 
 with me even more than this you were heartily loved and 
 admired by my dear mother. She spoke of you tenderly on 
 her death-bed. Events have separated us of late years. But 
 I cannot forget the old times ; and I cannot feel indifferent 
 to your opinion of me and of my husband, though an ocean 
 does separate us, and though we are never likely to look on 
 one another again. It is very foolish of me, I dare say, to 
 take seriously to heart 'what you said in one of your thought- 
 less moments. I can only plead in excuse, that I have gone 
 through a great deal of suffering, and that I was always (as 
 you may remember) a person of sensitive temperament, easily 
 excited and easily depressed. 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 1/9 
 
 Enough of this ! Do me the last favor I shall ever ask of 
 you. Read what follows, and judge for yourself whether my 
 husband and I are quite as mad as you were disposed to 
 think us, when Nancy Connell heard you talking to your 
 brother in Hyde Park. 
 
 II. 
 
 IT is now more than a year since I went to Eastbourne, on 
 the coast of Sussex, with my father and my brother James. 
 
 My brother had then, as we hoped, recovered from the ef- 
 fects of a fall in the hunting-field. He complained, however, 
 at times of pain in his head ; and the doctors advised us to 
 try the sea air. We removed to Eastbourne, without a sus- 
 picion of the serious nature of the injury that he had re- 
 ceived. For a few days, all went well. We liked the place ; 
 the air agreed with us ; and we- determined to prolong our 
 residence for some weeks to come. 
 
 On our sixth day at the seaside, a memorable day to 
 rne, for reasons which you have still to learn, my brother 
 complained again of the old pain in his head. He and I 
 went out together to try what exercise would do towards 
 relieving him. We walked through the town to the fort at 
 one end of it, and then followed a footpath running by the 
 side of the sea, over a dreary waste of shingle, bounded at 
 its inland extremity by the road to Hastings and by the 
 marshy country beyond. 
 
 W'e had left the fort at some little distance behind us. I 
 was walking in front ; and James was following me. He was 
 talking as quietly as usual, when he suddenly stopped in the 
 middle of a sentence. I turned round in surprise, and dis- 
 
180 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 covered my brother prostrate on the path, in convulsions 
 terrible to see. 
 
 It was the first epileptic fit I had ever witnessed. My 
 presence of mind entirely deserted me. I could only wring 
 my hands in horror, and scream for help. No one appeared, 
 either from the direction of the fort or of the high road. 
 I was too far off, I suppose, to make myself heard. Look- 
 ing ahead of me, along the path, I discerned, to my infinite 
 relief, the figure of a man running towards me. As he came 
 nearer, I saw that he was unmistakably a gentleman, young, 
 and eager to be of service to me. 
 
 "Pray compose yourself!" he said, after a look at my 
 brother. " It is very dreadful to see ; but it is not danger- 
 ous. We must wait until the convulsions are over, and 
 then I can help you." 
 
 He seemed to know so much about it, that I thought he 
 might JDC a medical man. I put the question to him plainly. 
 
 He colored, and looked a little confused. 
 
 " I am not a doctor," he said. " I happen to have seen 
 persons afflicted with epilepsy ; and I have heard medical 
 men say that it is useless to interfere until the fit has worn 
 itself out. See ! " he added, " your brother is quieter already. 
 He will soon feel a sense of relief which will more than com- 
 pensate him for what he has suffered. I will help him to 
 get to the fort ; and, once there, we can send for a carriage 
 to take him home." 
 
 In five minutes more, we were on our way to the fort ; the 
 stranger supporting my brother as attentively and tenderly as 
 if he had been an old friend. When the carriage arrived, he 
 insisted on accompanying us to our own door, on the chance 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 181 
 
 that his services might still be of some use. He left us, 
 asking permission to call and inquire after James's health the 
 next day. A more gentle and unassuming person I never 
 met with. He not only excited my warmest gratitude ; he 
 really interested me at my first meeting with him. 
 
 I lay some stress on the impression which this young man 
 produced upon me, why, you will soon find out. 
 
 The next day the stranger paid his promised visit of inquiry. 
 His card, which he sent up stairs, informed us that his name 
 was Roland Cameron. My father who is not easily pleased 
 took a liking to him at once. His visit was prolonged, at 
 our request. In the course of conversation, he said just enough 
 about himself to satisfy us that we were receiving a person 
 who was at least of equal rank with ourselves. Born in Eng- 
 land, of a Scotch family, he had lost both his parents. Not 
 long since, he had inherited a fortune from one of his uncles. 
 It struck us as a little strange that he spoke of this fortune 
 with a marked change to melancholy in his voice and his 
 manner. The subject was, for some inconceivable reason, 
 evidently distasteful to him. Rich as he was, he acknowledged 
 that he led a simple and solitary life. He had little taste 
 for society, and no sympathies in common with the average 
 young men of his own age. But he had his own harmless 
 pleasures and occupations ; and past sorrow and suffering 
 had taught him not to expect too much from life. All this 
 was said modestly, with a winning charm of look and voice 
 which indescribably attracted me. His personal appearance 
 aided the favorable impression which his manner and his con- 
 versation produced. He was of the middle height, lightly and 
 firmly built ; his complexion pale ; his hands and feet small 
 
182 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 and finely shaped ; his brown hair curling naturally; his eyes 
 large and dark, with an occasional indecision in their expres- 
 sion which was far from being an objection to them, to my 
 taste. It seemed to harmonize with an occasional indecision 
 in his talk ; proceeding, as I was inclined to think, from some 
 passing confusion in his thoughts which it always cost him a 
 little effort to discipline and overcome. Does it surprise you 
 to find how closely I observed a man who was only a chance 
 acquaintance, at my first interview with him ? Or do your 
 suspicions enlighten you, and do you say to yourself, She has 
 fallen in love with . Mr. Roland Cameron at first sight? I 
 may plead in my own defence, that I was not quite romantic 
 enough to go that length. But I own I waited for his next 
 visit, with an impatience which was new to me in my experi- 
 ence of my sober self. And worse still, when the day came, 
 I*, changed my dress three times, before my newly developed 
 vanity. was satisfied with the picture which the looking-glass 
 presented to me of myself ! 
 
 / In a fortnight more, my father and my brother began to 
 look on the daily companionship of our new friend as one of 
 the settled 'institutions of their lives. In a fortnight more, 
 Mr. Roland Cameron and I though we neither of us ven- 
 tured to acknowledge it' were . as devotedly in love with 
 each other as two young people could well be. Ah, what a 
 delightful time it was ! and how cruelly soon our happiness 
 came to an end ! 
 
 During the brief interval which I have just described, I 
 observed certain peculiarities in Roland Cameron's conduct 
 which perplexed and troubled me, when my mind was busy 
 with him in my lonely moments. 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 183 
 
 For instance, he was subject to the strangest lapses into 
 silence when he and I were talking together. They seized 
 him suddenly, in the most capricious manner ; sometimes 
 when he was speaking, sometimes when / was speaking. At 
 these times, his eyes assumed a weary, absent look, and his 
 mind seemed to wander away, far from the conversation 
 and far from me. He was perfectly unaware of his own 
 infirmity : he fell into it unconsciously, and came out of it 
 unconsciously. If I noticed that he had not been attending 
 to me, or if I asked why he had been silent, he was com- 
 pletely at a loss to comprehend what I meant. What he was 
 thinking of in these pauses of silence, it was impossible to 
 guess. His face, at other times singularly mobile and expres- 
 sive, became almost a perfect blank. Had he suffered some 
 terrible shock, at some past period of his life ? and had his 
 mind never quite recovered it? I longed to ask him the 
 question, and yet I shrank from doing it, I was so sadly 
 afraid of distressing him ; or, to put it in plainer words, I was 
 so truly ' and so tenderly fond of him. 
 
 Then, again, though he was ordinarily the most gentle and 
 most lovable of men, there were occasions when he would 
 surprise me by violent outbreaks of temper, excited by the 
 merest trifles. A dog barking suddenly at his heels, or a 
 boy throwing stones in the road, or an importunate shop- 
 keeper trying to make him purchase something that he did 
 not want, would throw him into a frenzy of rage which was, 
 without exaggeration, really alarming to see. He always 
 apologized for these outbreaks, in terms, which showed that 
 he was sincerely ashamed of his own violence. But he could 
 never succeed in controlling himself. The lapses into pas- 
 
184 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 sion, like the lapses into silence, took him into their own 
 possession, and did with him, for the time being, just what 
 they pleased. 
 
 One more example of Roland's peculiarities, and I have 
 done. The strangeness of his conduct, in this- case, was 
 noticed by my father and my brother as well as by me. 
 
 When Roland was with us in the evening, whether he 
 came to dinner or to tea, he invariably left us exactly at 
 nine o'clock. Try as we might to persuade him to stay 
 longer, he always politely but positively refused. Even / had 
 no influence over him in this matter. When I pressed him 
 to remain, though it cost him an effort, he still persisted 
 in retiring exactly as the clock struck nine. He gave no 
 reason for this strange proceeding ; he only said that it was 
 a habit of his, and begged us to indulge him, without asking 
 for any further explanation. My father and my brother (being 
 men) succeeded in controlling their curiosity. For my part 
 (being a woman), every day that passed only made me more 
 and more eager to penetrate the mystery. I privately re- 
 solved to choose my time, when Roland was in a particularly 
 accessible humor, and then to appeal to him for the explana- 
 tion which he had hitherto refused, as a special favor granted 
 to myself. 
 
 In two days more I found my opportunity. 
 
 Some friends of ours, who had joined us at Eastbourne, 
 proposed a picnic party to the famous neighboring cliff called 
 Beachy Head. We accepted the invitation. The day was 
 lovely, and the gypsy dinner was, as usual, infinitely prefer- 
 able (for once in a way) to a formal dinner in-doors. To- 
 wards the evening our little assembly separated into parties 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 185 
 
 of two and three, to explore the neighborhood. Roland and 
 I found ourselves together as a matter of course. We were 
 happy, and we were alone. Was it the right or the wrong 
 time to ask the fatal question ? I am not able to decide, 
 I only know that I asked it. 
 
 III. 
 
 " MR. CAMERON," I said, " will you make allowances for a 
 weak womaji ? And will you tell me something that I am 
 dying to know ? " 
 
 He walked straight into the trap, with that entire ab- 
 sence of ready wit, or small suspicion (I leave you to choose 
 the right phrase), which is so much like me'n, and so little 
 like women. 
 
 " Of course I will ! " he answered. 
 
 " Then tell me," I asked, " why do you always insist on 
 leaving us at nine o'clock ? " 
 
 He started, and looked at me, so sadly, so reproachfully, 
 that I would have given everything I possessed to recall the 
 rash words that had just passed my lips. 
 
 " If I consent to tell you," he replied, after a momentary 
 struggle with himself, " will you let me put a question to 
 you first ? and will you promise to answer it ? " 
 
 I gave him my promise, and waited eagerly for what was 
 coming next. 
 
 "Miss Brading," he said, "tell me honestly, do you think 
 I am mad ? " 
 
 It was impossible to laugh at him : he spoke those strange 
 words seriously, sternly I might almost say. 
 
 "No such thought ever entered my mind," I answered. 
 
186 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 He looked at me very earnestly. 
 
 " You say that, on your word of honor ? " 
 
 " On my word of honor." 
 
 I answered with perfect sincerity ; and I evidently satisfied 
 him that I had spoken the truth. He took my hand, and 
 lifted it gratefully to his lips. 
 
 " Thank you," he said simply. " You encourage me to tell 
 you a very sad story." 
 . "Your own story?" I asked. 
 
 " My own story. Let me begin by telling you why I per- 
 sist in leaving your house, always at the same early hour. 
 Whenever I go out, I am bound by a promise to the person 
 with whom I am living here, to return at a quarter past nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 " The person with whom you are living ? " I repeated. 
 : " You are living at a boarding-house, are you not ? " 
 
 " I am living, Miss Brading, under the care of a doctor 
 who keeps an asylum for the insane. He has taken a house 
 for some of his wealthier patients at the seaside ; and he 
 allows me my liberty in the daytime, on the condition that 
 I faithfully perform , my promise at night. It is a quarter of 
 an hour's walk from your house to the doctor's; and it is a 
 rule that the patients retire at half past nine o'clock." 
 
 Here was the mystery, which had so sorely perplexed me, 
 revealed at last ! The disclosure literally struck me speech- 
 less. Unconsciously and instinctively I drew back from him 
 a few steps. He fixed his sad eyes on me with a touching 
 look of entreaty. 
 
 " Don't shrink away from me ! " he said. " You don't think 
 I am mad ? " 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 187 
 
 I was too confused and distressed to know what to say ; 
 and, at the same time, I was too fond of him not to an- 
 swer that appeal. I took his hand and pressed it in silence. 
 He turned his head aside for a moment. I thought I saw 
 a tear on his cheek; I felt his hand close tremblingly on 
 mine. He mastered himself with surprising resolution: he 
 spoke with perfect composure when he looked at me again. 
 
 " Do you care to hear my story," he asked, " after what 
 I have just told you?" 
 
 " I am eager to hear it," I answered. " You do not know 
 how I feel for you ! I am too distressed to be able to ex- 
 press myself in words." 
 
 "You are the kindest and dearest of women!" he said, 
 with the utmost fervor and at the same time with the ut- 
 most respect. 
 
 We sat down together in a grassy hollow of the cliff, with 
 our faces towards the grand gray sea. The daylight was be- 
 ginning to fade, as I heard the story which made me Roland 
 Cameron's wife. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "MY mother died when I was an infant in arms," he be- 
 gan. " My father, from my earliest to my latest recollec- 
 tions, was always hard towards me. I have been told that 
 I was an odd child, with stBfnge ways of my own. My 
 father detested anything that was strongly marked, anything 
 out of the ordinary way, in the characters and habits of the 
 persons about him. He himself lived (as the phrase is) by 
 line and rule ; and he determined to make his son follow 
 his example. I was subjected to severe discipline at school, 
 
188 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 and I was carefully watched afterwards at college. Looking 
 back on my early life, I can see no traces of happiness, I 
 can find no tokens of sympathy. Sad submission to a hard 
 destiny, weary wayfaring over unfriendly roads, such is the 
 story of my life, from ten years old to twenty. 
 
 " I passed one autumn vacation at the Lakes ; and there 
 I met by accident with a young French lady. The result of 
 that meeting decided my whole after-life. 
 
 " She filled the humble position of nursery-governess in the 
 house of a wealthy Englishman. I had frequent opportuni- 
 ties of seeing her. Her life had been a hard one, like mine. 
 We took an innocent pleasure in each other's society. Her 
 little experience of life was strangely like mine : there was a 
 perfect sympathy of thought and feeling between us. We 
 loved, or thought we loved. I was not twenty-one, and she 
 was not eighteen, when I asked her to be my wife. 
 
 " I can understand my folly now, and can laugh at it or 
 lament over it, as the humor moves me. And yet, I can't 
 help pitying myself, when I look back at myself at that time, 
 I was so young, so hungry for a little sympathy, so weary 
 of my empty, friendless life! Well, everything is comparative 
 in this world. I was soon to regret, bitterly to regret, that 
 friendless life, wretched as it was. 
 
 " The poor girl's employer found out our attachment, through 
 his wife. He at once communicated with my father. 
 
 "My father had but one word to say, he insisted on my 
 going abroad, and leaving it to him to release me from my 
 absurd engagement, in my absence. I answered him that I 
 should be of age in a few months, and that I was determined 
 to marry the girl. He gave me three days to reconsider my 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 189 
 
 resolution. I held to my resolution. In a week afterwards, 
 I was declared insane by two medical men ; and I was placed 
 by my father in a lunatic asylum. 
 
 "Was it an act of insanity for the son of a gentleman, 
 with great expectations before him, to propose marriage to 
 a nursery-governess ? I declare, as God is my witness, I 
 know of no other act of mine which could justify my father, 
 and justify the doctors, in placing me under restraint. 
 
 " I was three years in the asylum. It was officially reported 
 that the air did not agree with me. I was removed, for two 
 years more, to another asylum, in a remote part of England. 
 For the five best years of my life I have been herded with 
 madmen, and my reason has survived it. The impression 
 I produce on you, on your father, on your brother, on all our 
 friends at this picnic, is that I am as reasonable as the rest 
 of my fellow-creatures. Am I rushing to a hasty conclusion, 
 when I assert myself to be now, and always to have been, a 
 sane man ? 
 
 "At the end of my five years of arbitrary imprisonment in 
 a free country, happily for me, I am ashamed to say it, but 
 I must speak the truth, happily for me, my merciless father 
 died. His trustees, to whom I was now consigned, felt some 
 pity for me. They could not take the responsibility of grant- 
 ing me my freedom. But they placed me under the care of 
 a surgeon, who received me into his private residence, and 
 who allowed me free exercise in the open air. 
 
 "A year's trial in this new mode of life satisfied the surgeon, 
 and satisfied every one else who took the smallest interest in 
 me, that I was perfectly fit to enjoy my liberty. I was freed 
 from all restraint, and was permitted to reside with a near 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 relative of mine, in that very Lake country which had been 
 the scene of my fatal meeting with the French girl, six years 
 since. 
 
 "In this retirement I lived happily, satisfied with the ordi- 
 nary pleasures and pursuits of a country gentleman. Time 
 had long since cured me of my boyish infatuation for the 
 nursery-governess. I could revisit with perfect composure 
 the paths along which we had walked, the lake on which we 
 had sailed together. Hearing by chance that she was mar- 
 ried in her own country, I could wish her all possible happi- 
 ness, with the sober kindness of a disinterested friend. What 
 a strange thread of irony runs through the texture of the 
 simplest human life! The early love for which I had sacri- 
 ficed and suffered so much was now revealed to me, in its 
 true colors, as a boy's passing fancy, nothing more! 
 
 " Three years of peaceful freedom passed ; freedom which, 
 on the uncontradicted testimony of respectable witnesses, I 
 never abused. Well, that long and happy interval, like all 
 intervals, came ' to its end ; and then the great misfortune 
 of my life fell upon me. One of my uncles died and left me 
 inheritor of his whole fortune. I alone, to the exclusion of 
 all the other heirs, now received, not only the large income 
 derived from his estates, but seventy thousand pounds in 
 ready money as well. 
 
 "The vile calumny which had asserted me to be mad was 
 now revived by the wretches interested in stepping between 
 me and my inheritance. A year ago, I was sent back again 
 to the asylum in which I had been last imprisoned. The pre- 
 tence for confining me was found in an act of violence (as it 
 was called) which I had committed in a momentary outbreak 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 191 
 
 of anger, and which it was acknowledged had led to no 
 serious results. Having got me into the asylum, the con- 
 spirators proceeded to complete their work. A Commission 
 in Lunacy was issued against me. It was held by one com- 
 missioner, without a jury, and without the presence of a law- 
 yer to assert my interests. By one man's decision, I was 
 declared to be of unsound mind. The custody of my person, 
 and the management of my estates, was confided to men 
 chosen from among the conspirators who had declared me to 
 be mad. I am here through the favor of the proprietor of 
 the asylum, who has given me my holiday at the seaside, 
 and who humanely trusts me with my liberty, as you see. 
 At barely thirty years old, I am refused the free use of my 
 money and the free management of my affairs. At barely 
 thirty years old, I am officially declared to be a lunatic for 
 life." 
 
 V. 
 
 HE paused; his head sank on his breast; his story was 
 told. 
 
 I have repeated his words as nearly as I can remember 
 them ; but I can give no idea of the modest and touching 
 resignation with which he spoke. To say that I pitied him 
 with my whole heart, is to say nothing. I loved him with 
 my whole heart, and I may acknowledge it now! 
 
 " O, Mr. Cameron," I said, as soon as I could trust myself 
 to speak, " can nothing be done to help you ? Is there no 
 hope ? " 
 
 " There, is always hope," he answered, without raising his 
 head. " I have to thank you, Miss Brading, for teaching me 
 that." 
 
IQ2 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " To thank me ? " I repeated. " How have I taught you to 
 hope ? " 
 
 "You have brightened my dreary life. When I am with 
 you, all my bitter remembrances leave me. I am a happy 
 man again ; and a happy man can always hope. I dream 
 now of finding, what I have never yet had, a dear and de- 
 voted friend, who will rouse the energy that has sunk in me 
 under the martyrdom that I have endured. Why do I sub- 
 mit to the loss of my rights and my liberty, without an effort 
 to recover them ? I was alone in the world, until I met with 
 you. I had no kind hand to raise me, no kind voice to 
 encourage me. Shall I ever find the hand ? Shall I ever 
 hear the voice ? When I am with you, the hope that you 
 have taught me answers, Yes. When I am by myself, the 
 the old despair comes back, and says, No." 
 
 He lifted his head for the first time. If I had not under- 
 stood what his words meant, his look would have enlightened 
 me. The tears came into my eyes ; my heart heaved and 
 fluttered wildly; my hands mechanically tore up and scat- 
 tered the grass around me. The silence became unendura- 
 ble. I spoke, hardly knowing what I was saying ; tearing 
 faster and faster the poor harmless grass, as if my whole 
 business in life was to pull up the greatest quantity in the 
 shortest possible space of time ! 
 
 " We have only known each other a little while/' I said. 
 " And a woman is but a weak ally in such a terrible posi- 
 tion as yours. But useless as I may be, count on me now 
 and always as your friend " 
 
 He moved close to me before I could say more, and took 
 my hand. He murmured in my ear, 
 
u jj J v, <j y 
 
 U ,\ L \ y u 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 
 
 " May I count on you, one day, as the nearest and dearest 
 friend of all ? Will you forgive me, Mary, if I own that I 
 love you ? You have taught me to love, as you have taught 
 me to hope. It is in your power to lighten my hard lot. 
 You can recompense me for all that I have suffered ; you 
 can rouse me to struggle for my freedom and my rights. 
 Be the good angel of my life. Forgive me, love me, rescue 
 me, be my wife !" 
 
 I don't know how it happened. I found myself in his 
 arms, and I answered him in a kiss. Taking all the circum- 
 stances into consideration, I daresay I was guilty, in accept- 
 ing him, of the rashest act that ever a woman committed. 
 Very well. I did n't care then : I don't care now. I was 
 then, and I am now, the happiest woman living! 
 
 VI. 
 
 IT was necessary that either he or I should tell my father 
 of what had passed between us. On reflection, I thought it 
 best that I should make the disclosure. The day after the 
 picnic, I repeated to my father Roland's melancholy narrative, 
 as a necessary preface to the announcement that I had prom- 
 ised to be Roland's wife. 
 
 My father saw the obvious objections to the marriage, He 
 warned me of the imprudence which I contemplated commit- 
 ting, in the strongest terms. Our prospect of happiness, if 
 we married, in our present position, would depend entirely on 
 our capacity to legally supersede the proceedings of the 
 Lunacy Commission. Success in this arduous undertaking was, 
 to say the least of it, uncertain. The commonest prudence 
 
IQ4 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 pointed to the propriety of delaying our marriage until the 
 doubtful experiment had been put to the proof. 
 
 This reasoning was unanswerable. It was, nevertheless, 
 completely thrown away upon me. When did a woman in 
 love ever listen to reason ? I believe there is no instance of 
 it on record. My father's wise words of caution had no 
 chance against Roland's fervent entreaties. The days of his 
 residence at Eastbourne were drawing to a close. If I let 
 him return to the asylum an unmarried man, months, years 
 perhaps, might pass before our union could take place. Could 
 I expect him, could I expect any man, to endure that cruel 
 separation, that unrelieved suspense ? His mind had been 
 sorely tried already ; his mind might give way under it. 
 These were the arguments that carried weight with them, in 
 my judgment ! I was of age, and free to act as I pleased. 
 You are welcome, if you like, to consider me the most fool- 
 ish and the most obstinate of women. In sixteen days from 
 the date of the picnic, Roland and I were privately married 
 at Eastbourne. 
 
 My father more grieved than angry, poor man ! de- 
 clined to be present at the ceremony, in justice to himself. 
 My brother gave me away at the altar. 
 
 Roland and I spent the afternoon of the wedding-day and 
 the earlier part of the evening together. At nine o'clock, 
 he returned to the doctor's house, exactly as usual ; having 
 previously explained to me that he was in the power of the 
 Court of Chancery, and that until we succeeded in setting 
 aside the proceedings of the Lunacy Commission, there was a 
 serious necessity for keeping the marriage strictly secret. 
 My husband and I kissed, and said good by till to-morrow, 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 195 
 
 as the clock struck the hour. I little thought, while I looked 
 after him from the street door, that months on months were 
 to pass before I saw Roland again. 
 
 A hurried note from my husband reached me the next 
 morning. Our marriage had been discovered (we never could 
 tell by whom), and we had been betrayed to the doctor. Ro- 
 land was then on his way back to the asylum. He had been 
 warned that force would be used if he resisted. Knowing 
 that resistance would be interpreted, in his case, as a new 
 outbreak of madness, he had wisely submitted. " I have made 
 the sacrifice," the letter concluded, " it is now for you to 
 help me. Attack the Commission in Lunacy, and be quick 
 about it." 
 
 We lost no time in preparing for the attack. On the day 
 when I received the news of our misfortune, we left Eastbourne 
 for London, and at once took measures to obtain the best legal 
 advice. 
 
 My dear father though I was far from deserving his kind- 
 ness entered into the matter heart and soul. In due course 
 of time, we presented a petition to the Lord Chancellor, pray- 
 ing that the decision of the lunacy commission might be set 
 aside. N 
 
 We supported our petition by citing the evidence of Roland's 
 friends and neighbors, during his three years' residence in 
 the Lake country as a free man. These worthy people had 
 one and all agreed that he was, as to their judgment and 
 experience, perfectly quiet, harmless, and sane. Many of them 
 had gone out shooting with him. Others had often accompa- 
 nied him in sailing excursions on the lake. Do people trust 
 a madman with a gun, and with the management of a boat ? 
 
ig6 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 As to the "act of violence," which the heirs at law and the 
 next of kin had made the means of imprisoning Roland in 
 the madhouse, it amounted to this. He had lost his temper, 
 and had knocked a man down who had offended him. Very 
 wrong, no doubt ; but if that is a proof of madness, what 
 thousands of lunatics are still at large ! Another instance 
 produced to prove his insanity was still more absurd. It was 
 solemnly declared that he put an image of the Virgin Mary 
 in his boat when he went out on his sailing excursions ! I 
 have seen the image, it was a very beautiful work of art. 
 Was Roland mad to admire it, and take it with him ? His 
 religious convictions leaned towards Catholicism. If he be- 
 trayed insanity in adorning his boat with an image of the 
 Virgin Mary, what is the mental condition of most of the 
 ladies in Christendom, who wear the Cross as an ornament 
 round their necks? We advanced these arguments in our 
 petition, after quoting the evidence of the witnesses. And, 
 more than this, we even went the length of admitting, as an 
 act of respect to the Court, that my poor husband might be 
 eccentric in some of his opinions and habits. But we put it 
 to the authorities whether better results might not be expected 
 from placing him under the care of a wife who loved him, 
 and whom he loved, than from shutting him up in an asylum, 
 among incurable madmen as his companions for life. 
 
 Such was our petition, so far as I am able to describe it. 
 
 The decision rested with the Lords Justices. They decided 
 against us. 
 
 Turning a deaf ear to our witnesses and our arguments, 
 these tnerciless lawyers declared that the doctor's individual 
 assertion of my husband's insanity was enough for them. 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. IQ7 
 
 They considered Roland's comfort to be sufficiently provided 
 for in the asylum, with an allowance of seven hundred pounds 
 a year ; and to the asylum they consigned him for the rest 
 of his days. 
 
 So far as I was concerned, the result of this infamous judg- 
 ment was to deprive me of the position of Roland's wife ; no 
 lunatic being capable of contracting marriage by law. So far 
 as my husband was concerned, the result may be best stated 
 in the language of a popular newspaper which published an 
 article on the case. "It is possible," (said the article, I 
 wish I could personally thank the man who wrote it !) " for 
 the Court of Chancery to take a man who has a large for- 
 tune, and is in the prime of life, but is a little touched in the 
 head, and make a monk of him, and then report to itself 
 that the comfort and happiness of the lunatic have been effect- 
 ually provided for at the expenditure of seven hundred pounds 
 a year." 
 
 Roland was determined, however, that they should not make 
 a monk of him ; and, you may rely upon it, so was I ! 
 
 But one alternative was left to us. The authority of the 
 Court of Chancery (within its jurisdiction) is the most des- 
 potic authority on the face of the earth. Our one hope was 
 in taking to flight. The price of our liberty, as citizens of 
 England, was exile from our native country, and the entire 
 abandonment of Roland's fortune. We accepted those hard 
 conditions. Hospitable America offered us a refuge, beyond 
 the reach of mad-doctors and Lords Justices. To hospitable 
 America our hearts turned as to our second country. The 
 serious question was, how were we to get there ? 
 
 We had attempted to correspond, and had failed. Our let- 
 
198 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 ters had been discovered and seized by the proprietor of the 
 asylum. Fortunately, we had taken the precaution of writing 
 in a " cipher " of Roland's invention, which he had taught 
 me before our marriage. Though our letters were illegible, 
 our purpose was suspected, as a matter of course ; and a watch 
 was kept on my husband, night and day. 
 
 Foiled in our first effort at making arrangements secretly 
 for our flight, we continued our correspondence (still in cipher), 
 by means of advertisements in the newspapers. This second 
 attempt was discovered in its turn. Roland was refused per- 
 mission to subscribe to the newspapers, and was forbidden 
 to enter the reading-room at the asylum. 
 
 These tyrannical prohibitions came too late. Our plans 
 had already been communicated : we understood each other, 
 and we had now only to bide our time. We had arranged 
 that my brother, and a friend of his on whose discretion we 
 could thoroughly rely, should take it in turns to watch every 
 evening, for a given time, at an appointed meeting-place, 
 three miles distant from the asylum. The spot had been 
 carefully chosen. It was on the bank of a lonely stream, and 
 close to the outskirts of a thick wood. A water-proof knap- 
 sack, containing a change of clothes, a false beard and a wig, 
 and some biscuits and preserved meat, was hidden in a hollow 
 tree. My brother and his friend always took their fishing- 
 rods with them, and presented themselves as engaged in the 
 innocent occupation of angling, to any chance strangers who 
 might pass within sight of them. On one occasion the pro- 
 prietor of the asylum himself rode by them, on the opposite 
 bank of the stream, and asked politely if they had had good 
 sport ! 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 199 
 
 For a fortnight, these stanch allies of ours relieved each 
 other regularly on their watch, and no signs of the fugitive 
 appeared. On the fifteenth evening, just as the twilight was 
 changing into night, and. just as my brother (whose turn it 
 was) had decided on leaving the place, Roland suddenly joined 
 him on the bank of the stream. 
 
 Without wasting a moment in words, the two at once en- 
 tered the wood, and took the knapsack from its place of shel- 
 ter in the hollow tree. In ten minutes more, my husband was 
 dressed in a suit of workman's clothes, and was further dis- 
 guised in the wig and beard. The two then set forth down 
 the course of the stream, keeping in the shadow of the wood 
 until the night had fallen and the darkness hid them. The 
 night was cloudy : there was no moon. After walking two 
 miles, or a little more, they altered their course, and made 
 boldly for the high road to Manchester; entering on it at a 
 point some thirty miles distant from the city. 
 
 On their way from the wood, Roland described the manner 
 in which he had effected his escape. 
 
 The story was simple enough. He had assumed to be 
 suffering from nervous illness, and had requested to have his 
 meals in his own room. For the first fortnight, the two men 
 appointed to wait upon him in succession, week by week, 
 were both more than his match in strength. The third man 
 employed, at the beginning of the third week, was, physically, 
 a less formidable person than his predecessors. Seeing this, 
 Roland decided, wjien evening came, on committing another 
 " act of violence." In plain words, he sprang upon the keeper, 
 waiting on him in his room, and gagged and bound the man. 
 This done, he laid the unlucky keeper (face to the wall) on 
 
200 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 his own bed, covered with his own cloak, so that any one 
 entering the room might suppose that he was lying down 
 to rest. He had previously taken the precaution to remove 
 the sheets from the bed ; and he had now only to tie them 
 together to escape by the window of his room, situated on 
 the upper floor of the house. The sun was setting, and the 
 inmates of the asylum were at tea. After narrowly missing 
 discovery by one of the laborers employed in he grounds, he 
 had climbed the garden enclosure, and had dropped on the 
 other side, a free man ! 
 
 Arrived on the high road to Manchester, my husband and 
 my brother parted. 
 
 Roland, who was an excellent walker, set forth on his way 
 to Manchester on foot. He had food in his knapsack, and he 
 proposed to walk some twelve or fifteen miles on the road to 
 the city, before he stopped at any town or village to rest. 
 My brother, who was physically incapable of accompanying 
 him, returned to the place in which I was then residing, to 
 tell me the good news. 
 
 By the first train the next morning, I travelled to Manches- 
 ter, and took a lodging in a suburb of the city well known 
 to my husband. A prim smoky little square was in the imme- 
 diate neighborhood ; and we had arranged that whichever of us 
 first arrived in Manchester should walk round that square, be- 
 tween twelve and one in the afternoon, and between six and 
 seven in the evening. In the evening I kept my appointment. 
 A dusty, footsore man, in shabby clothes, with a hideous beard, 
 and a knapsack on his back, met me at my first walk round. 
 He smiled as I looked at him. Ah ! I knew that smile- 
 through all disguises ! In spite of the Court of Chancery 
 
A FATAL FORTUNE. 2OI 
 
 and the Lords Justices, I was in my husband's arms once 
 more. 
 
 We lived quietly in our retreat for a month. 
 
 During that time (as I heard by letters from my brother) 
 nothing that money and cunning could do towards discover- 
 ing Roland, was left untried by the proprietor of the asylum 
 and by the persons acting with him. But where is the cun- 
 ning which can trace a man, who, escaping at night in dis- 
 guise, has not trusted himself to a railway or a carriage, and 
 who takes refuge in a great city in which he has no friends ? 
 At the end of one month in Manchester, we travelled north- 
 ward ; crossed the channel to Ireland, and passed a pleasant 
 fortnight in Dublin. Leaving this again, we made our way to 
 Cork and Queenstown, and embarked from that latter place, 
 taking steerage passage in a steamship bound for America. 
 
 My story is told. I am writing these lines from a 'farm in 
 the West of the United States. Our neighbors may be homely 
 enough, but the roughest of them is kinder to us than a 
 mad-doctor or a Lord Justice. Roland is happy in those agri- 
 cultural pursuits which have always been favorite pursuits 
 with him; and I am happy with Roland. Our sole resources 
 consist of my humble little fortune, inherited from my dear 
 mother. After deducting our travelling expenses, the sum 
 total amounts to between seven and eight hundred pounds ; 
 and this, as we find, is amply sufficient to start us in the new 
 life that we have chosen. We expect my father and my 
 brother to pay us a visit next summer ; and I think it just 
 possible that they may find our family circle increased by the 
 presence of a new member in long clothes. Are there no 
 compensations here, for exile from England and the loss of a 
 
202 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 fortune? We think there are. But then, my dear Miss An- 
 stell, " Mary Brading's husband is mad ; and Mary Brading 
 herself is not much better." 
 
 If you feel inclined to alter this opinion, and if you re- 
 member our old days at school as tenderly as I remember 
 them, write and tell me so. Your letter will be forwarded, 
 if you send it to the enclosed address at New York. 
 
 In the mean time, the moral of our story seems to be 
 worthy of serious consideration. A certain Englishman legally 
 inherits a large fortune. At the time of his inheritance, he 
 has been living as a free man for three years, without once 
 abusing his freedom, and with the express sanction of the 
 medical superintendent who has had experience and charge 
 of him. His next of kin and heirs at law (who are left out 
 of the fortune) look with covetous eyes at the money, and de- 
 termine to get the management and the ultimate possession 
 of it. Assisted by a doctor, whose honesty and capacity 
 must be taken on trust, these interested persons, in this nine- 
 teenth century of progress, can lawfully imprison their relative 
 for life, in a country which calls itself free, and which declares 
 that its justice is equally administered to all alike. 
 
 NOTE. The reader is informed that this story is founded, in all essen- 
 tial particulars, on a case which actually occurred in England, eight years 
 
 since. 
 
 W. C. 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 
 
 BY NOAH BROOKS. 
 
 E had been several days in Echo Canon. 
 This picturesque defile in the Wahsatch 
 range of mountains is not so extensive that 
 one need long tarry there if in haste. 
 Nowadays the passenger-trains of the Pa- 
 cific Railroad are whisked through it so 
 rapidly, that the wondering tourist hardly gets a sight of the 
 striking panorama on either side of him. But in the early 
 times of California emigration, of which I shall write, Echo 
 Canon was a favorite place for the rest and refreshment 
 needed by men and beasts weary with a long tramp through 
 dust and heat and over stony trails and alkaline deserts, all 
 the way from " the States." , The canon was filled with ver- 
 dure ; along the banks of a small stream that wound through 
 it were graceful birches, alders, and box-elders, with many a 
 silvery cottonwood and sturdy young sycamore. The under- 
 growth was a tangle of sumach-bushes, wild vines, and flower- 
 ing shrubs. Here and there were sunny patches of rich grass ; 
 and in the rocky edges of the winding defile grew salmon- 
 berries, gooseberries, and wild currants in great profusion. 
 
 The walls of the canon are precipitous ; the beetling cliffs 
 rise three or four hundred feet on either side in fantastic 
 
206 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 shapes, resembling castles, turrets, spires, and airy domes. 
 The prevailing tint of these mimic architectural wonders is a 
 mellow yellow. The walls and flying buttresses are flecked 
 with red and orange. The crumbling mass, broad in its 
 effect of light and color, is clouded with all hues of buff drab, 
 pale umber, and saffron. I have seen the rich heart of a 
 Cheshire cheese present the same tones and melting shades. 
 This figure is not a lofty one, but it will occur to the un- 
 romantic observer. Shut in by these glorious cliffs, abun- 
 dant in water, fuel, and pasturage, three things most desired 
 by the overland emigrant, Echo Canon detained our little 
 party many days. We rested luxuriously in the midst of the 
 cool herbage. Wagons were mended, clothes once more 
 patched up, cattle were allowed to wander at their own 
 sweet will, wild berries from the vines about us refreshed 
 palates weary of the unvarying fare of bread and " side 
 meat," and, above all, we were secure from Indian alarms. 
 
 In my day I have been in many charming places enriched 
 by the hand of Nature or Art, have enjoyed lotos-eating in 
 great content, and have sat at costly feasts ; but above all 
 the pleasures that have ministered to the senses in all my 
 years, I still give chief place to those two or three days 
 of camp-life in Echo Canon. The wild world of disappoint- 
 ment was months behind us ; the wilder world of struggle 
 was weeks before us ; and we four brawny youths, jaded and 
 footsore, bearing upon us the marks of long marches in alkali 
 dust, midnight adventures in the Indian country, and perilous 
 climbings in the Rocky Mountains, flung ourselves down in 
 the lush grass, and, eying the blue vault that bent over 
 thicket, stream, and cliff, murmured, " This is heaven ! " 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 207 
 
 To the California emigrant in those far-off days the world 
 was comprised in the thread along which desultory travel 
 passed to and .fro across the continent. Four months were 
 usually consumed by an emigrant train passing from the Mis- 
 souri to the Sacramento. With the last newspaper was dropped, 
 not unwillingly, the last link that bound the gold-seeker to the 
 life that he had known. Henceforth, without impatience, he 
 stretched his hands and eyes towards the golden west. Tid- 
 ings of that far-away' land came to him in fragments, rumors, 
 and vague whispers. But mainly was he occupied with the 
 gossip and slow-travelling reports that slid backward and for- 
 ward on his line of march. Outside this narrow channel of 
 communication the world might go to wreck ; he would not 
 know it. He would not greatly worry about the concerns of 
 empires, kingdoms, and republics, so long as tidings of them 
 were as completely beyond his reach as if he were travelling 
 in the moon. He left civilization and the Missouri River be- 
 hind him ; the Sacramento and something else were before ; 
 all between was his present world, in which the things which 
 concern the majority of mankind had no possible represen- 
 tation. 
 
 Little by little, after we were fairly launched upon the con- 
 tinental waste, we knew our companions ; not those who sat 
 at our camp-fires and slept under our tent, but the mighty 
 multitude before us and behind us. Motley they were, and 
 divers their names. Each party had its individuality. There 
 were the Boston Chaps, the Jennesses, the Swearing Brothers, 
 Big Jake and his Boy, the Kewanee Fellers, the Man with 
 the Go-cart, the Brown Boys, the Wises, Old Missourah, 
 Toothpicks, and innumerable other little communities, nightly 
 
208 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 pitching their moving camps a day's march farther westward, 
 but each more truly individual than your next-door neighbor 
 is to you. These all stretched along the sinuous line that 
 marked the trail across the continent. 
 
 Passing and repassing each other, day after day and week 
 after week, they learned the antecedents, characteristics, and 
 adventures of each, so far as these were communicable. A 
 helpful, neighborly set of fellows were those rough pioneers 
 of a new civilization. They made common cause of each 
 other's difficulties when they met at dangerous fords, steep 
 trails, and other trying passages by the way. Common 
 perils brought wayfaring groups into common sympathy for 
 the time ; then, the emergency passed, each went toiling, re- 
 joicing, sorrowing, cursing, or singing on its way. We knew 
 the dispositions and fortunes of those who were ahead of us, 
 as well as those who followed hard after us. The men by 
 whom we camped at Independence Rock were before us at 
 Church Buttes ; we passed them at Green River, but they 
 crossed the Sierra Nevada before we left Honey Lake. This 
 weaving of human shuttles to and fro carried the thread of 
 news, a kind of intelligence that had no great world gossip 
 in it. There were neighborhood reports of quarrels, fallings- 
 out by the way, exploits in hunting, condition of camping- 
 places ahead, depth of streams to be forded, and the prices 
 of whiskey, flour, and bacon with those who had such rations 
 to sell. All these items of daily news were colored by the 
 hopes and fears, passions and prejudices, of the reporters. I 
 suppose our straggling and long-drawn public was not, after 
 all, much unlike any other. 
 
 One sunny Sunday morning in Echo Canon we were sur- 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 209 
 
 prised by a visitor from a camp beyond us. Before we were 
 astir, he rode noisily up to our tent and bawled, " Hillo ! 
 house!" in mild derision of the effeminacy that deterred us 
 from sleeping in the open air or under wagons, as was the 
 manner of most journeyers. We scrambled to the tent-flap 
 with a rude "Hillo! hoss ! " which rejoinder so tickled our 
 morning caller that he grinned as he said, "I allow you've 
 got a shovel?" 
 
 " Yes, we have. Want it ? " 
 
 " Ef you '11 lend it to our crowd (we 're the Sandy Hill 
 Boys), we'll have it back by sundown. We want to bury a 
 man." 
 
 " Bury a man ! Who 's dead up your way ? " 
 
 "Well, he ain't adzactly dead yit. It's Old Missourah. 
 He 's bin a-stealin'. We 're goin' for to hold a court onto him 
 at noon, and hang him on the divide at four o'clock, sharp. 
 Whar 's yer shovel ? Come down and see fair play ? " 
 
 Shocking as was this information, it was not novel, though 
 borrowing a shovel to dig a grave for a man not yet on trial 
 for his life had in it an element of grotesque newness to us. 
 
 The rude announcement of our visitor, who was not alto- 
 gether a stranger, dispelled the calm repose of Sunday in Echo 
 Canon. The serene, pastoral stillness was gone, and, though 
 the ringing echoes of departing feet died away as Blue Pete 
 rode down the Canon, we felt that with him had gone the 
 brief idyl of our days of rest. The tender sky looked down 
 on mimic tower and spire just as before ; there were the 
 golden light on the leaves and the sober twinkle on the 
 stream, but human crime and violence were just ready to 
 stain the sylvan purity of the little paradise. 
 
210 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Breakfast over, we walked down the trail to the mouth of 
 the canon where the Sandy Hill Boys were camped. The 
 canon widens out into the valley of the Weber River. On 
 the right the ground is broken by a ridge or divide that 
 pushes into the undulating valley from the main chain here 
 cleft by Echo Canon. Dotted over the grassy meadows bor- 
 dering the river were four or five camps, each distinguished 
 by its cluster of wagons, ox-yokes, and camp furniture, with 
 here and there a weather-stained canvas tent. Thin smoke 
 curled up from the smouldering camp-fires. Slatternly women 
 and tow-headed children hovered about two of the wagons ; 
 and some little attempt at old-time decency was solemnly 
 making by a few of the men who seemed to realize the im- 
 pressive importance of the approaching "trial." 
 
 We knew Old Missourah, the culprit in this little tragedy. 
 He was not more than sixty years of age, perhaps ; but his 
 face was dry and wrinkled, and his thin long hair was as 
 white as snow. He was a solitary traveller, journeying to 
 find his sons, who had gone to California with the first rush 
 for gold. He had a little two-wheeled canvas-covered cart, 
 drawn by a very small mule, or burro, so small that when 
 the diminutive equipage came in sight anywhere along the 
 road, the rough emigrants were ready with their jokes. Old 
 Missourah was usually advised to put his "hoss" in his pocket 
 lest he should lose him ; or he was asked the price of rats ; 
 or some reference was made to the length of his legs and the 
 size of his go-cart. All along the trail, Old Missourah and 
 his poor little team were as well known as Big Jake, who 
 killed four men while running a-muck at City Rocks, or Bush 
 the Fiddler, with his one song of " Lather and Shave." 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 211 
 
 No more fun now for Old Missourah. His tall, gaunt 
 form lashed to a wagon-wheel, his head bowed upon his 
 breast, he was the image of helpless and guilty despair. A 
 useless keeper stood over him, offering him a ration of bread 
 and coffee ; but the old man, his thoughts apparently far 
 away, painfully waved his pinioned hands in refusal. 
 
 It was a short story. Old Missourah was charged with 
 stealing seventy-eight dollars and fifty cents, in gold and 
 silver coin, from Shanghai, a simple fellow, one of the Ver- 
 million County Boys. These were a small party of men 
 whom we now met for the first time, though we knew them 
 well. Shanghai was cook for the mess, and kept his money 
 in a buckskin purse in the " grub-box " of his company's wag- 
 on. This box was, as usual with emigrant-wagons, carried 
 in the rear end of the vehicle, easily accessible from without. 
 It had a close, but unlocked lid ; and the men, trudging along 
 behind, could take a bite of luncheon as they marched. Down 
 among the humble table furniture, bits of food, small stores, 
 and miscellaneous dunnage, poor Shanghai had kept his little 
 store of worldly wealth. 
 
 On Saturday night, when they camped with the rest, 
 Shanghai's gold was secure. He had gone to it for 
 money enough to buy a hand of tobacco from a neighbor. 
 In the morning, when he took out his breakfast things, it 
 was gone. Andy Snow, one of the Vermillion County Boys, 
 had seen Old Missourah, the night before, go to the grub- 
 box, take something therefrom, and hide it in his shirt. 
 Thinking it was a cake of bread, good-natured Andy looked 
 another way and pretended not to see anything. The old 
 man was known to be miserably poor. But when the money 
 
212 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 was missed, and simple Shanghai, bereft and woebegone, 
 made great lamentation through the camps, Andy remem- 
 bered and told what he had witnessed. Then Blue Pete, 
 one of the Sandy Hill Boys, reinforced the evidence. He 
 swore, with a great many large oaths, that he saw Old Mis- 
 sourah coming away from Shanghai's grub-box, hiding some- 
 thing in his bosom ; he said he was cock-sure it was a bag, 
 a yellow buckskin bag. 
 
 Blue Pete was a pretty good fellow ; he had a low fore- 
 head, and a great shock of blue-black hair, and a blue welt 
 or scar across kis cheek. But, for all that, he had a good, 
 honest face ; we always liked him. His evidence was con- 
 clusive. But for the sake of precedent and appearances, the 
 accused should have fair trial. 
 
 No trace of the missing purse was found. The principal 
 prosecutor, when questioned as to this part of the case, 
 said that he " 'lowed that Old Missourah had got shut of 
 that thar pouch just as quick as he found thar was a-goin' 
 to be a row." 
 
 My heart went out to the friendless old man. But then, 
 everybody was sure he was guilty, circumstances were all 
 against him ; and if this sort of thing was to go on, whose 
 property was safe ? Men could usually take care of their 
 lives ; with property it was more difficult. Hangings for 
 murder were very few ; those for theft, particularly horse-theft, 
 were numerous. I do not know if the fact that murders 
 were more common than robberies has any connection with 
 this statement. But it was the fact. And, in truth, the pre- 
 vailing sentiment of the time was that Lynch-law was espe- 
 cially designed to protect personal property. 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 213 
 
 Usually a Lynch-court on the road was a very informal 
 affair. There was no time to spare for needless ceremony ; 
 a viva voce vote on the question "Guilty or not Guilty" was 
 all that was required to settle the case. I do not recollect 
 that the oral traditions of those days mention an instance 
 of an accused person being acquitted. The fatal tree was* 
 selected before the prisoner was brought to the bar. But 
 in this case there was leisure enough for the necessaries, 
 if not for the luxuries, of a formal ceremonial. Here were 
 more than twenty men willing to " lay over " for the Sun- 
 day, and give Old Missourah a full trial. Indeed, the emi- 
 grants entered into the performances with a calm satisfaction 
 which came of a consciousness that they were doing " the 
 square thing" by Old Missourah, and providing themselves 
 with a dignified diversion for the day. The trial and execu- 
 tion were an impromptu drama, which most of the performers 
 enjoyed very much. 
 
 Twelve men were duly chosen as the jury by drawing 
 twelve previously designated cards from a well-thumbed pack. 
 No man who drew anything higher than a ten-spot was com- 
 petent to serve ; and the drawing was continued until the 
 panel was complete. This formality over, the jury proceeded 
 to appoint a prosecuting attorney and a counsel for the defend- 
 ant. There was no judge ; the jury thenceforward, in a some- 
 what disputative way, taking sole direction of the proceedings. 
 The public prosecutor was Bill Ballard, a stalwart Arkan- 
 sian, whose grammar was confused, but whose heart was 
 thought to be in the right place. He had proposed blow- 
 ing off the top of Old Missourah's head early in the de- 
 bate. The counsel for the accused was Royal Younkins, a 
 
214 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 gentleman from Pike County, and of great physical beauty. 
 Blond, full-bearded, blue-eyed, and standing six feet in his 
 moccasons, Younkins was likened by the historical painter in 
 our party to young Edward of York, as he is pictured by 
 the chroniclers of the Wars of the Roses. A Saxon prince 
 in comeliness and bearing, Royal was well named. I regret 
 
 
 
 to add here that he was subsequently hung in Siskiyou 
 County, California, for several murders. He confessed five of 
 these before the hangman's noose was put over his beautiful 
 blond head. 
 
 There is not much to say about the trial. The jury sat 
 together on a rocky ledge that cropped out of the turf in 
 the midst of the camp. The prisoner, with an odd perver- 
 sion of judicial etiquette, was put in charge of Bill Ballard, 
 the prosecutor, who contended that this " was the fa'r thing 
 by the Vermillion County Boys," as he would take care "that 
 Old Missourah did n't break for tall timber." Ballard's re- 
 volver was special constable. 
 
 The witnesses were examined ; they were Shanghai, Snow, 
 and Blue Pete. Shanghai testified as to the fact of his 
 money being in the grub-box on Saturday evening ; Snow 
 told how he saw Old Missourah taking something therefrom ; 
 and Blue Pete finished the chain of evidence by swearing 
 that he saw the accused take from the box something that 
 looked like a buckskin bag and hide it in his shirt-front. It 
 was a clear case ; and angry murmurs went around as the 
 shameful story was related once more, with some impercepti- 
 ble additions. Jake Wise, who, by virtue of having his wife 
 and mother with him, had the right to be spokesman for the 
 jury, said sternly to the old man, " Guilty or not Guilty ? " 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 215 
 
 Old Missourah, for the first time lifting up his white head, 
 tremblingly pleaded: " O, pity, kind gentlemen! I haven't 
 got Shanghai's money ; 'deed, I have n't. I Ve two boys in 
 Yuby County, Californy. They '11 be master sorry to hear 
 of this ; 'deed, they will. I ain't right peart myself to-day. 
 My head 's kind of unstiddy-like ; I 'low you '11 put in a 
 good word for me. I was born in Arkansaw, I was." 
 
 This somewhat inconsequent appeal of the poor old man 
 was looked upon with profound disfavor by Royal Younkins, 
 to whom it was addressed. Tlje court, that is to say, the 
 jury, ruled that the prosecuting attorney had "the first say." 
 
 Ballard, putting his special constable in his belt, blushed 
 with confusion and made his brief plea : " I say, boys, this 
 yere old man 's been and stole this yere money. Shanghai 's 
 told yer so ; Andy Snow 's told yer so ; and Blue Pete, he 
 seen him take it. So what 's the use o' jawin' any more ? 
 As fur me, I want to git shut o' this bizness and git up and 
 git." The prosecuting attorney sat down with great relief, 
 and one impatient juror remarked, "You bet yer." 
 
 Here the foreman of the jury, who was filling his pipe, 
 pointed the toe of his big boot at Royal Younkins, and said, 
 " Unyoke yer jaw, Younk, .and waltz in." 
 
 Thus admonished, our Edward of York, in rude but forci- 
 ble language, begun his plea. It was chiefly personal at first. 
 For his part, he "had nothin' agin the old man." He had 
 " lost nary scad sence he had struck the plains." This amused 
 the jury ; but it had no other effect. Presently, however, 
 with a natural fondness for rhetorical display, he assumed 
 the accused to be innocent. With considerable skill, he pic- 
 tured " the boys " waiting on the banks of the Yuba for the 
 
216 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 old man. He alluded to the prisoner's great age, his white 
 .hair, and the unlikelihood that such an aged man could be a 
 thief. He roughly analyzed the evidence, which he showed 
 to be purely circumstantial. He was proceeding to work on 
 the sympathies of his audience, when one of the jury, begin- 
 ning to weaken, bawled, " O, dry up, dry up ! You Ve played 
 that." 
 
 Royal's face flushed in a moment, and, whipping out his 
 revolver, he said angrily, " You dry up, or I '11 " 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, for he saw the impropriety 
 of his remark ; and the jury had scattered in all directions 
 when they saw his pistol come to light. He turned away 
 with a cunning smile, remarking to me as he passed, " I 'm 
 dog-oned if I hev n't a mind to believe the old man 's inno- 
 cent, after all." Young Edward of York had almost convinced 
 himself for the moment. 
 
 The jury retired to an alder thicket with a small black 
 bottle of whiskey. They returned when it was empty, with a 
 verdict of, " Guilty of stealing in the first degree." 
 
 Jake Wise announced the finding of the court, and added 
 that the prisoner should be hanged forthwith. Some of us 
 who had conscientious objections to this summary trial and 
 execution made every possible effort for the old man's release. 
 It was offered to pay Shanghai twice the amount of money 
 he had lost, if Old Missourah might be let go in peace. 
 Poor Shanghai showed signs of relenting at the prospect of 
 recovering something ; but the crowd was determined on a 
 stern vindication of justice. They firmly believed Old Mis- 
 sourah guilty ; they would accept no atonement or reparation 
 short of his life. 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 217 
 
 The rude procession was formed ; it was a pitiful and sick- 
 ening spectacle. The miserable condemned man was set on 
 his little steed, his feet tied under the animal's belly, his 
 hands pinioned behind him, and his face turned to the tail 
 of the beast, an additional mark of contumely usually be- 
 stowed in such cases. 
 
 Bill Ballard walked by the side of the old man to steady 
 him as the group struggled up the ridge where grew a tall syca- 
 more, the fatal tree. At the mouth of the canon, the rocky 
 walls break off abruptly, and, on the right, the sloping divide 
 leans up against a mass of richly colored rock resembling 
 some grand old cathedral. This towered far above our heads, 
 and, westward, the eye glanced over the lovely valley of the 
 winding Weber now spread out like a map below . us. 
 
 There was little said. The men were determined and very 
 bitterly in earnest. The old man would not say whether he 
 was guilty or not. He seemed sunk in utter abstraction. Once 
 only he lifted his head. As the little procession mounted the 
 brow of the hill, Old Missourah straightened himself up and 
 looked off over the panorama below. The sunny vale, belted 
 with trees and laced with glittering streams, wound afar 
 into the distant hills ; and around the western horizon there 
 were purple peaks fretted with silvery snow. It was the poor 
 wretch's last gaze at a beautiful world. His pale blue eyes 
 gazed far over the horizon, westward, where his boys were 
 digging on the banks of the Yuba. His white hair blew 
 about his face as the rude west-wind met him on the sum- 
 mit of the hill, and he stood under the gallows-tree. Even this 
 mute sycamore seemed to pity him. It bent down its long 
 branches as if in voiceless compassion for his infinite woe ; and 
 
218 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 the clustered leaves stirred in the breeze with a low and sooth- 
 ing death-song. 
 
 But there was no softness in the scene for the stern men who 
 stood about. The simple preparations were made. I turned 
 away, and saw only the group of jury, counsel, and witnesses 
 pulling at the long rope that ran from the neck of the con- 
 demned man over a stout limb above. This joint action at the 
 rope was a formal assumption of joint responsibility for the 
 hanging. No one man could be called to account. Blue Pete 
 led the file of executioners, and, as he pulled with the rest, he 
 chanted in a strange, sad monotone, " Hail, Columby, Hail, 
 Columby, Hail, Columby ! " This rude song was all the cere- 
 monial. Old Missourah was hanged by the neck until he was 
 dead. 
 
 That night, at sundown, our shovel was returned to us. Old 
 Missourah was buried. His little cart was left by the trail ; its 
 poor contents were divided among the Vermillion County Boys, 
 each of whom thereafter threw his share into the river ; the 
 small mule was confiscated to the benefit of Shanghai. This 
 ill-fated animal was afterwards stolen by the Mormons near 
 Box Elder ; and so all trace of Old Missourah disappeared 
 from the emigrant road across the continent. 
 
 We reached Salt Lake City a few days after this occurrence, 
 and in that strange capital of the wilderness refitted while we 
 rested and wrote letters home. Passing once more westward, on 
 the fifth day out of the Mormon hive, we crossed the Malad, a 
 deep and narrow stream on the edge of the Valley. Camping 
 for the night on the farther bank, we met a fever-and-ague-rid- 
 den Missourian, who, with his wife and numberless small chil- 
 dren, was bound to Oregon. A sad-faced, dejected pair were 
 
IN ECHO CANON. 219 
 
 husband and wife ; but their white-headed babies, lively as 
 crickets, swarmed in and out of their wagon as if they were 
 contented with their travelling home and had never known any 
 other. Perhaps they had not. The canvas cover of their four- 
 wheeled mansion bore, in rude black letters, this lament : 
 
 "O Missouri, O Missouri, I much regret to see 
 You so much altered for the worse 
 From what you used to be. 
 Time was when all the people were 
 All happy and content. 
 But now they are so very poor, 
 Scarce one has got a cent." 
 
 The self-satisfied author of these lines informed us that we 
 should see a sorrowful sight in the canon through which the 
 road wound after leaving the Malad. He had been down to see. 
 The Vermillion County Boys had hanged a man there last Fri- 
 day night. 
 
 " What ! another man ? They hanged one in Echo, about 
 two weeks ago ! " 
 
 " Yaas, so they did. He was the wrong man, though. I 'low 
 they hung the right one this time." 
 
 " But who was he ? " 
 
 " Don't know. The Sandy Hill Boys found the stole money 
 on him ; and they waited till the Vermillions came up, and 
 they strung him up to oncet." 
 
 " And is he still hanging ? " 
 
 " Sure pop. Seen him myself. They would n't plant him, 
 cause he was an uncommon hard case." 
 
 No questioning could bring out of the languid Missourian any 
 further information ; so, in the dusk of the evening, to satisfy 
 
220 
 
 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 ourselves who " the right one " might be, two of us mounted 
 and rode into the gorge. 
 
 A tall, dead tree, writhing its leafless branches against the 
 twilight sky, bore this evil fruit. The form of the convicted 
 thief twirled solemnly in the wind that sighed down the canon. 
 It was Blue Pete, the man who had sung " Hail, Columby," 
 at Old Missourah's execution. Next day, we buried him with 
 the shovel he borrowed of us in Echo Canon. 
 
A FRAGMENTARY HINT. 
 
A FRAGMENTARY HINT ON A FAULT 
 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 tiU 
 7] 
 sr 
 \ v 
 
 BY CHAMPION BISSELL. 
 
 O write a page of Saxon like this, is an easy thing, 
 but it is not so easy to make it bear your thoughts 
 to the man who reads it. This page is a sore trial, 
 for when I try to talk only in Saxon, I try thereby 
 y,-- to talk in another tongue than my real mother- 
 tongue, if indeed we Western-World sons of Eng- 
 lishmen can be said to have a mother-tongue. Once we had 
 the good roots of a great tongue, but, just at a time when 
 men in England began to think and to call for a way to 
 make their thoughts known, a body of men, called wfte, 
 reached out to a dead tongue for help, instead of reaching 
 down into the deep rich ground among the roots of their 
 own mother-tongue. Then was built up the now English 
 speech, made up of a few short, strong words, and a great 
 many longer words, lifted out of the dead speech of the 
 race whom the Goths overthrew. Thus it comes that our 
 speech is large but not rich ; like a great farm with a shal- 
 low soil, on which you may work hard and reap small crops, 
 though to the eye alone it is fair and wide-spreading, and 
 makes its owner seem like a rich man, when he is not. 
 See how short and stunted are the words with which I 
 
224 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 hedge myself in when I try to write all Saxon, and only 
 Saxon. These Goths were children indeed, with deep enough 
 thoughts, but scant breath to utter them. But what a pity 
 that the men who made our tongue did not think it worth 
 while to plough their own ground, but must needs go and 
 borrow from the burying-places of dead people. 
 
 Our speech now is like Frankenstein's man, built up of 
 bones and dead things, and gifted with a kind of weird life, 
 by which it walks over us and crushes us, while we cannot 
 hope to make it bend to us. Had we grown our speech 
 from its own roots, as a gardener grows a shrub, it would 
 have been a sweet and kindly thing, fit for use always, and 
 would keep on growing forever, and in whatever shape we 
 might wish to bend it. Now instead of this, we have Frank- 
 enstein's made-up man. 
 
 How hard it is with such a tongue to make other people 
 see things as we do ! When I talk to my neighbor with my 
 best words, I do not always bring his soul alongside of my 
 own, so that our souls' eyes look out on the field of thought 
 from the same window. It is apt to be quite the other way, 
 so that we look crosswise, and he says " Yes " to what I say, 
 or I say " Yes " to what he says, out of sheer good-will only. 
 
 Can we help this? I fear not. We are wedded to our 
 tongue, and have lived together so long, we would find it 
 hard to change each other. So we must do the best we 
 can with what we have. 
 
 The above effort to express ideas rising above one's wants 
 for daily food wholly in words underived from Latin and 
 Greek, shows clearly the poverty of our nw/-language, and the 
 
A FRAGMENTARY HINT. 225 
 
 immense dependence under which we have brought ourselves 
 to the Latin element introduced into the English language. 
 
 While we borrowed so much Latin, it was a fatal mistake 
 that we did not borrow the case-declination of that noble 
 language. By this omission alone, we robbed our tongue for- 
 ever of the possibility of growth from within. Accessions to 
 it must always be mere accretions from without. We can 
 build on, and build on, but whatever we build on the pres- 
 ent structure is inorganic and lifeless, and has the further 
 fault that it hides and covers up something else. 
 
 Thus, we ruined the prospects and possibilities of the 
 growth of our language from its own root, and we nailed 
 on dead twigs from another full-grown tree, instead of graft- 
 ing on the live scions, which perhaps might have been found, 
 by careful search, somewhere among the hoary and storm- 
 beaten branches of the old Latin tree. 
 
 I envy with inexpressible longing those who spoke Greek, 
 and those who spoke Latin, and those who now speak Ger- 
 man. The French language is good enough to write con- 
 tracts in ; and Italian and Spanish are good enough to ex- 
 press the day-dreams of indolent races ; but no language 
 other than a self-growing and a case-declination language 
 can ever serve -as a fit and full channel for the highest hu- 
 man thoughts. 
 
 One instance. Take the German word " Wahlverwandt- 
 schaft." It is a long word, yet Goethe made it the title of 
 a novel designed for the public. Any German can see the 
 growth of the word ; how " Wahl " naturally grows on "Ver- 
 wandtschaft," and how " schaft " grows on "verwandt," and 
 how "verwandt" grows out of "Gewand," and "Gewand" 
 
226 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 out of "winden."* The whole word is a blaze of light to him, 
 and if it were twice as long, it would be twice as luminous. 
 The nearest we can get to the word in anything like elegant 
 English is " Elective Affinities," and, so titled, the translated 
 work stands in our libraries. And yet it requires a very 
 well-educated person to comprehend the phrase " Elective 
 Affinities/' and it is a chance if any two readers affix the 
 same meaning to it. These two words are simply two 
 dead Latin words nailed on to the trunk of the English 
 language, and have to be studied from without, just as fos- 
 sils have to be picked up, or picked off, and studied from 
 without. 
 
 Conscious of no remedy for this sad condition of the lan- 
 guage of a great people, I commend it to the attention of 
 the members of our literary and progressive club. 
 
 * " Winden " means to wind or twist : in early times the Germans wound their 
 garments about their bodies, in default of pins and buttons ; the imperfect tense 
 of " winden " is " wand " : hence comes " Gewand," a drapery, or a garment, 
 something wound about. As a family would naturally be clothed in garments of 
 the same stuff, the family relation was indicated by the word "verwandt" Our 
 verb has now produced us a very rich noun, which, when united with two other 
 nouns, as we see it, becomes a word of great depth and beauty ; obvious to the 
 comprehension of the uneducated German, and full of suggestive meaning to the 
 scholar. 
 
 In going outside of the Latin or Greek languages to find a synonyme for 
 " Wahlverwandtschaft," I have not been able to light upon anything better than 
 the very ugly word " Friendship-choosing." This would certainly carry a clearer 
 idea to the mind of a teamster than the phrase " elective affinities," but it is awk- 
 ward and barren of meaning. If we could use the word "sympathy " or its adjec- 
 tive, we would do better, but that lands us in Greek, which is contrary to the 
 problem. In this case, as in thousands of others, the educated mind retreats into 
 the cloisters and catacombs of the dead languages, to find means for the contem- 
 plation of an active and living idea. What a commentary upon the incredible mis- 
 fortune that befell our language at its critical period ! 
 
 C. B. 
 
LIBERTY. 
 
LIBERTY. 
 
 BY JOHN HAY. 
 
 HAT man is there so bold that he should say, 
 "Thus and thus only would I have the sea"? 
 For whether lying calm and beautiful, 
 Clasping the earth in love, and throwing back 
 The smile of heaven from waves of amethyst ; 
 
 Or whether, freshened by the busy winds, 
 
 It bears the trade and navies of the world 
 
 To ends of use or stern activity ; 
 
 Or whether, lashed by tempests, it gives way 
 
 To elemental fury, howls and roars 
 
 At all its rocky barriers, in wild lust 
 
 Of ruin drinks the blood of living things, 
 
 And strews its wrecks o'er leagues of desolate shore ; 
 
 Always it is the sea, and all bow down 
 
 Before its vast and varied majesty. 
 
 So all in vain will timorous men essay 
 To set the metes and bounds of Liberty. 
 For Freedom is its own eternal law. 
 It makes its own conditions, and in storm 
 Or calm alike fulfils the unerring Will. 
 Let us not then despise it when it lies 
 
230 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Still as a sleeping lion, while a swarm 
 
 Of gnat-like evils hover round its head ; 
 
 Nor doubt it when in mad, disjointed times 
 
 It shakes the torch of terror, and its cry 
 
 Shrills o'er the quaking earth, and in the flame 
 
 Of riot and war we see its awful form 
 
 Rise by the scaffold, where the crimson axe 
 
 Rings down its grooves the knell of shuddering kings. 
 
 For always in thine eyes, O Liberty ! 
 
 Shines that high light whereby the world is saved ; 
 
 And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee ! 
 
How WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 
 

HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 
 
 BY HENRY S. OLCOTT. 
 
 E T will be conceded that the first act in the bloody 
 drama of the American Conflict had its climax on the 
 2d of December, 1859, when John Brown of Ossawato- 
 mie was hung at Charlestown, Virginia. Thirty years 
 of agitation of the question of African slavery culmi- 
 nated in that direful event, which was at once the prelude to 
 one of the most terrible wars of modern times, and the har- 
 binger of a new era of equal rights and true republican 
 government. Looking back now over the intervening fourteen 
 years, it seems incredible that so much should have happened 
 in so short a time. The rapid rush of events, the upheaval 
 of our whole national system, the changed relations between 
 the two sections of country, and especially between the black 
 and white races, make the tragical end of John Brown ap- 
 pear as something that occurred at least a generation ago ; 
 and the true story of his hanging, by an eye-witness, will 
 perhaps be read with as much interest as any other thing I 
 could contribute to the present volume. It is time the story 
 was told ; for with negro ex-slaves sitting on the bench, in 
 the gubernatorial chair, in legislatures, in Congress, serving 
 as State treasurers, as cadets, as surgeons, as consuls, and as 
 foreign ambassadors, it reads like fiction that the life of an 
 
234 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 editor should have been put in peril so recently, within the 
 limits of this country, in the peaceful performance of his 
 duty. And I am sure that if these lines should be read by 
 any of the men whom I met at the exciting time of which I 
 write, he will confess to mortification that such should have 
 been the fact. 
 
 In 1859 I was one of the two agricultural editors of the 
 New York Tribune, having as little to do with politics as any 
 man in the city, and perhaps as unlikely as any to see 
 or care to see the execution, the preparations for which agi- 
 tated the whole American people. Although connected with 
 the leading Abolitionist journal, I was scarcely an Abolitionist, 
 but rather what might be called a congenital Whig. That 
 is to say, I came of a Whig ancestry, and, caring far less 
 for politics than scientific agriculture, I was content to let 
 others fight their full of the slavery question, while I attended 
 to the specialty whose development was my chief care. 
 
 But events at last happened which aroused all my interest 
 in the topic of the hour. The people of Virginia, led away 
 by a blind fanaticism, and by blind fanatics like Wise, de- 
 clared war upon the New York Tribune as the representative 
 of the principles John Brown held most dear. One after an- 
 other, three gentlemen were driven out of Charlestown and 
 Harper's Ferry on suspicion that they were the correspond- 
 ents who supplied that journal with its vivid accounts of the 
 local occurrences ; and when, in spite of all this, the letters 
 still continued to appear, they gave out that they would 
 hang the mysterious unknown to the nearest tree, on sight. 
 Then the liberty of the press was for the first time practically 
 destroyed in this country, and mob rule asserted itself. Our 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 235 
 
 correspondent, who had sent his letters, under the guise of 
 money-packages, by express, at last found things so hot that 
 he was forced to leave the neighborhood of Charlestown, and 
 from Baltimore send such reports as he could gather upon 
 the arrival of the train. 
 
 The fatal 2d of December was now fast approaching, and 
 it seemed as if the paper would be forced to let the day pass 
 without having a correspondent on the ground, to tell John 
 Brown's friends how he met his doom. Distressed to see the 
 perplexity of my dear friend Horace Greeley, I went to the 
 managing editor, and volunteered to undertake the job if he 
 would allow me to do it in my own way. With some re- 
 monstrance about the risks I would run, he at last consented, 
 and gave me carte blanche to go and come and do as I 
 chose. 
 
 Things were decidedly lively at Charlestown just then. Wise 
 had poured cavalry and infantry into the place until it was a 
 very camp ; sentries were posted in the streets, to stop every 
 one at will ; a provost-guard boarded every train, a sum of 
 money was privately offered for the Tribune man, the medical 
 students had hung up the preserved skeleton of John Brown's 
 son in a museum, and the people were on the qui vive for shad- 
 owy legions of rescuers, expected from over the mountains. I 
 had n't the remotest wish to figure in the Book of Martyrs, nor 
 the slightest disposition to have my tanned hide tacked to the 
 door of the jail, and so it was with me a problem of the most 
 serious nature how to get to the place, how to move about 
 while there, and how to get away with a whole skin. After 
 considering many expedients, I finally concluded to go to 
 Petersburg, and make that my base of operations. So, taking 
 
236 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 passage by steamer, I found myself, late one night, safely landed 
 in the house of a dear old friend in that ancient city. He 
 was a fire-eater of fire-eaters, an uncompromising, rank, out- 
 and-out Secessionist, in whose mind Divine right and State 
 rights were convertible terms, and who, as I soon found, hated 
 John Brown with the perfect hatred that the Devil is said to 
 bear to holy water. Tired and sleepy as I was, he would not 
 let me go to bed until he had cursed the hoary old Abolitionist 
 from crown to sole, heaping a separate and distinct malediction 
 upon each particular hair of his head and each drop of blood 
 in his veins. He talked so fast and swore so hard as to leave 
 him little time before daylight to ascertain my own sentiments, 
 although, for the matter of that, I was quite ready to express 
 my honest conviction that John Brown's raid was an inexcus- 
 able invasion of a sovereign State. I was Whig enough then 
 to be quite willing to have Virginia hang him if she chose, 
 and those at the North who thought otherwise were in a de- 
 cided minority. See how we trimmed and shuffled and paltered 
 with the South, until the first cannon-ball smashed against 
 the walls of Sumter, and so smashed through our dough- 
 faceism upon the patriot adamant beneath! 
 
 At this night session with my fire-eating friend, I learned 
 that some recruits for the company of Petersburg Grays, then 
 doing duty at Charlestown, were to go forward the next day, 
 and, expressing my desire to assist at the hanging of the great 
 agitator, I received permission to join the party. Behold, 
 then, the agricultural editor of the Tribune transformed into 
 a Virginia militia-man, his editorial plowshare, so to speak, 
 turned into a sword, and his pruning-hook into a spear. 
 And just here, for fear of being misunderstood, let me say 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 237 
 
 
 
 that in joining the Virginia soldiers I meant to do my duty, 
 to fight if there should be occasion to fight, and not turn my 
 back upon my new comrades. I can't say that I thought 
 there would be any opportunity for us to display our valor, 
 for, in common with all New York, I discredited the absurd 
 idea that any organized body of Pennsylvanians would attempt 
 John Brown's rescue. Nevertheless, I took service in good 
 faith, and all the chances with it. This matter being satisfac- 
 torily settled, my friend at last showed me to my room, and 
 I slept the sleep of the weary. 
 
 At the appointed time our party of recruits met at the 
 railway station, and I was put in charge of the chief surgeon 
 on General Taliaferro's Staff as a true-blue Northerner. I 
 found him to be a brother Mason, and our trip was made 
 most agreeable by the close friendship that sprang up be- 
 tween us. As we reached the last station before coming to 
 Charlestown, our train was boarded by the provost-guard, and 
 every passenger subjected to a rigid examination. My friends 
 of the Grays vouching for me, I was enabled to pass muster, 
 and the place of our destination finally came in sight. 
 
 Looking out of the car-window, I saw something that was 
 the reverse of assuring to one in my situation, a crowd of 
 a thousand or more unsavory, lounging Virginians, every man 
 of them with his two hands stuffed in his pockets, and his 
 two eyes fixed upon the train, as if it were some nondescript 
 monster about to vomit an enemy. Next to the track stood 
 a provost's party, wearing uniform caps and other insignia 
 of brief authority. The captain ordered us to form a. line 
 outside the cars, and front face. The doctor and I, being 
 the only ones of the passengers dressed in citizen's clothes, 
 
238 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 r 
 
 naturally attracted a greater share of the public attention 
 than was at all gratifying, to myself at least, being natu- 
 rally of a modest and retiring disposition. However, there I 
 was, and there were the fifteen hundred, and, as I could n't 
 get away, I put as good a face on it as possible, and returned 
 stare for stare. It was n't long before my equanimity was 
 cruelly disturbed, for who should come poking through the 
 throng but my old Washington acquaintance, Colonel Blank, 
 the great sheep-breeder, an impulsive, good-natured, amiable 
 fire-eater, one of your sort who clap you on the back, and 
 shout out your name, and wonder what the deuce you are 
 doing there. The mild face of my bucolic friend seemed for 
 the moment to threaten like that of Nemesis, the cold sweat 
 started on my forehead, and in about a second I counted 
 my chances of being pointed out as Mr. Wurzel of the New 
 York Tribune, and thereupon gently stretched at the end of 
 an inch rope, from the swaying bough of a neighboring tree, 
 that caught my eye at the moment ! My fate came nearer 
 and yet more near, and my brain went faster and faster, until, 
 just as the old fellow got within easy eyeshot of me, I 
 formed and executed a ruse. I was suddenly attacked with 
 strabismus of the most pronounced type, my mouth got a 
 shift to leeward, and a general expression of vacancy settled 
 over my usually vivacious countenance. The transformation 
 probably was not as artistic or wonderful as any one of those 
 with which Garrick amused his friends in the hack, but it 
 served a good purpose, for the terrible man passed on down 
 the line, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Then we right-faced 
 and forward-marched, and filed this way and that, and 
 finally came to our quarters. It was a one-story little build- 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 239 
 
 ing, used as a law office, comprising one small cramped room, 
 where perhaps a half-dozen fellows might manage to bunk on 
 the floor, by each man swallowing his neighbor's feet ; but 
 as to giving our party of twenty or thirty the least chance 
 to do more than stand up and sleep, like Dickens's fat boy, it 
 was out of the question. The dear old doctor, however, 
 being of the General Staff (and by this time my sworn brother 
 and companion-in-arms), concluded to forage about for better 
 quarters and take me with him ; so we went to Taliaferro's 
 headquarters, at the principal hotel. I let him enter alone, 
 as I had no disposition to intrude upon the general's privacy, 
 nor seek an introduction, and I stopped outside until my ally 
 should come with our billet. There was a porch to the hotel, 
 and men sitting there talking ; and as my eye ran over the 
 group, I experienced a second shock, even worse than the 
 first ; for there, in his bodily presence, long gray hair and all, 
 sat Edmund Ruffin, with whom I had only a short time be- 
 fore passed some weeks on the lordly plantation of one of the 
 most violent of the South Carolina senators. It is needless 
 to say who and what Mr. Ruffin was, the old man who 
 offered to hang John Brown with his own hands, who after- 
 wards fired the first cannon-shot at the walls of Fort Sumter, 
 and who was by all odds the bitterest hater we Northern 
 men had in Dixie. 
 
 I thought my time had come then, sure enough, for I knew 
 that this man had had as much as, if not more than, Wise 
 himself, to do with exciting the fears and passions of the 
 people of their native State. He was another of your impul- 
 sive sort, strong in his likes as in his hates, and, friendly as he 
 was to me beyond doubt, on account of our mutual interest in 
 
240 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Agriculture, he would n't have listened a moment now to any- 
 thing I might have said by way of explanation, but have in- 
 sured my destruction by announcing my professional affiliation. 
 I got out of this scrape easily enough by simply turning my 
 back and walking leisurely off; although the image of that 
 stern, implacable face followed me all the while I was in that 
 village. 
 
 Our billet was far better than I could have anticipated, 
 no less, in fact, than in the house of one of the principal func- 
 tionaries of the court, and with the whole Staff of the com- 
 
 
 
 manding general. While my comrades of the Grays fared 
 wretchedly, the doctor and I had a comfortable room to our- 
 selves, a wide French bedstead to sleep in, bountiful meals 
 to eat, and, luxury of luxuries ! a full-blooded blackie to pol- 
 ish our shoes. 
 
 I found the fellows of the Staff a jolly, good-natured lot, 
 fond of smoking, honest whiskey-drinkers, courteous towards 
 the ladies of the household, and very cordially disposed to- 
 wards the New York gentleman who had come down there 
 to help hang John Brown. I scarcely think it would have 
 made much difference in our relations if they had known the 
 terrible secret that I was going to write a plain unvarnished 
 account of the execution, for I made no bones about ex- 
 pressing my surprise, and something stronger, at the farcically 
 great preparations they had made to hang one poor wounded 
 old man. 
 
 You may believe that all the old stock of merry tales, 
 stowed away in odd corners of my head, were brought out of 
 the lavender of memory, and refurbished and passed around ; 
 and that I sang my comic songs (always with one eye on the 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 241 
 
 company and the other on the door) and smoked pipes and 
 drank whiskey with the best of them ; and was generally 
 voted a capital sort of felldw, and learned a good bit 
 about John Brown, you may be sure. Yes, I got all the 
 wonderful sayings . and doings, the comings-in and goings- 
 out of this terrible Ossawatomie Brown, who, as Mr. Gid- 
 dings expressed it, "with a force of fifteen men, had taken 
 Virginia with his right hand, and Maryland with his left, and 
 shaken them, till every corner of the Union resounded with 
 their shriekings ! ". And all this time, the mysterious Tribune 
 man vexed the peace of the whole South ; and the Charles- 
 tqwn papers indignantly repudiated the idea that any such 
 person was in the place ; and Colonel Taylor, the puffy 
 militia-man, notified Frank Leslie's artist that he was sus- 
 ' pected and must clear out ; and General Taliaferro proclaimed 
 that all strangers should report themselves to the provost for 
 examination ; and the papers of the Gulf States were calling 
 upon the Virginians to clean out the reptile! The fact is, 
 that my predecessor had so faithfully chronicled the events 
 at Charlestown, had so set the sensible people of the whole 
 country to laughing at the cowardly behavior of the villagers, 
 and had so pertinaciously stuck to his post, concealed his 
 identity, and rubbed vitriol into the wounds his keen lance 
 inflicted, that the community were wellnigh distracted. I 
 recollect how, the night before the execution, I opened up 
 this matter to my generous host, and with charming nalvett 
 asked him to tell me candidly how this Tribune man con- 
 tinued to elude the vigilance of the people! He drew his 
 chair up to mine, and, leaning over, whispered confidentially, 
 " I '11 tell you how it is. You see our local papers publish 
 
242 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 accounts of what is transpiring here, and somebody connected 
 with the Tribune gets hold of these papers in New York City, 
 and then writes a letter at the Tribune office and dates it 
 from Charlestown. Of course I need n't tell you that, in 
 their present state of excitement, our people would be more 
 than likely to hang such a person to the nearest tree. You 
 know some hot-headed fellows have even offered a reward for 
 him." I laughed with all my heart, slapped my host on the 
 knee, and protested that that was a Yankee trick I had n't 
 thought of. 
 
 But I must not forget my wretched trunk, for, as Mrs. 
 Gamp says, " It giv me sich a turn ! " On the morning after my 
 arrival, something was said about the lot of trunks and things 
 they had down at the provost-marshal's office, and it flashed 
 across my mind that, in the excitement of my encounter with 
 that bloodthirsty old sheep-breeder at the railway station, I 
 had quite forgotten my luggage, and that it had undoubtedly 
 gone to the provost's with other unclaimed or suspicious prop- 
 erty. It was marked with my initials, and the words " New 
 York" ; and in the temper in which the Charlestown people 
 then found themselves, this was enough to place its owner in 
 no little personal jeopardy. It occurred to me that perhaps 
 at that moment they were searching, or even, to use a Southern 
 expression, " gunning," after the person in question. I did n't 
 know what to do ; it was a real dilemma. I got away by 
 myself and cudgelled my brains for an hour to no purpose. 
 To be able to get it away myself without imminent danger 
 of discovery and the defeat of my mission, was a sheer im- 
 possibility, and it was equally dangerous to leave it unclaimed ; 
 for as it came up with the Grays' reinforcements, its owner 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 243 
 
 would be certainly hunted up. I considered it a matter of 
 life and death, and so I determined to try what my Masonry 
 would do. I picked out a fine, brave young fellow of the 
 Staff, a perfect gentleman, and, under the seal of Masonic 
 confidence, told him who I was, and directed him to go to 
 the Court House, and claim and bring away the trunk. He 
 did it, and I was safe. 
 
 But for the terrible strain on my nerves that my situa- 
 tion involved, and the melancholy business that was going 
 on about us, I should recall the days I passed under the 
 hospitable roof of our host, in the companionship of so rare a 
 lot of good fellows, as among the pleasantest of my life. I 
 was particularly charmed with Mr. Colyer, a white-haired law- 
 yer, whose name has since figured prominently as that of a 
 Rebel Congressman and an officer of the Rebel army, and 
 the dear old doctor, my bedfellow, whom I have never set 
 eyes on since, much to my regret ; and when all was over, 
 and the brave-souled Brown's spinal cord was broken, and we 
 were all ready to turn homeward, and my fellow-guests re- 
 fused to let me subscribe towards a service of silver for our 
 hostess, merely because I was a Northern man, albeit, as 
 they were so kind as to say, a deuced good fellow, I felt 
 really hurt, and sorry enough to part with them. What made 
 me feel worse than all was to go through the town, arm in 
 arm with some of my new friends, cheek by jowl and all that 
 sort of thing, and think how shameful, how pitiful and cow- 
 ardly it was that, in this "land of the free and home of 
 the brave," I was walking those streets with the specter of 
 Death stalking lock-step behind me, never leaving me day or 
 night, because I dared to write an honest letter to a great 
 
244 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 newspaper, and tell how a brave, if perhaps fanatical, man 
 behaved and talked. 
 
 The morning of that memorable 2d of December dawned 
 at last, and the first gray streak saw us stirring. Wise had 
 seized the Winchester and Potomac Railroad on the 2Qth 
 November for military purposes, and issued his proclamation 
 to the people of the State. He cautioned them to remain 
 "at home and on guard or patrol duty on the 2d of Decem- 
 ber, and to abstain from going to Charlestown. Orders," said 
 he, "are issued to prevent women and children, and strangers 
 are hereby cautioned that there will be danger to them in 
 approaching that place, or near it, on that day. If deemed 
 necessary, martial law will be proclaimed and enforced." 
 These are his very words, and I submit if they don't show 
 how badly scared the great State of Virginia was ! The field 
 of execution a plot of about forty acres, half in sod and 
 half corn-stubble was directly opposite our house, and the 
 gallows stood on a rising ground not one hundred yards away 
 from the porch. A military force of between two and three 
 thousand troops artillery, cavalry, and infantry had been 
 concentrated at the place ; the whole country for fifteen miles 
 around was guarded by mounted and foot soldiers ; all inter- 
 course between town and country was stopped. A field-piece 
 loaded with grape and canister had been planted directly in 
 front of and aimed at the scaffold, so as to blow poor Brown's 
 body into smithereens in the event of attempted rescue ; other 
 cannon commanded the approaches to the modern Aceldema; 
 and all Virginia held breath, until the noontide should come 
 and go. The most stringent precautions had even been taken 
 to prevent the townspeople from approaching the outermost 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 245 
 
 line of patrolling sentries, for the authorities were determined 
 to choke their prize malefactor, without giving him a chance 
 to make any seditious speeches. 
 
 The December sun had risen clear and bright, but soon 
 passed into a bank of haze, and I was afraid we should have 
 a stormy day of it. By nine o'clock, however, as beautiful an 
 azure sky hung over us as man ever saw, and, winter as it 
 was, the sun became so hot, that doors and windows were 
 flung wide open. The ground had been staked the day be- 
 fore, and fluttering white pennons all around the lot marked 
 the posts of the sentries, who came on the scene at the hour 
 above named. Then a strong force of volunteer cavalry, wear- 
 ing red flannel shirts and black caps and trousers, rode up 
 and were posted, fifty paces apart, around the entire field ; 
 and then the guns and caissons of the artillery rumbled up ; 
 then more cavalry and infantry came ; and then a solemn 
 hush settled over the awful scene, and no sound was heard 
 but the twittering of some birds, the sigh of the south-wind 
 among the tree-branches, and the occasional impatient stamp of 
 a horse's hoof on the greensward. All eyes were turned to the 
 jail, a scant half-mile away down the road ; but nothing could be 
 seen but the glint of bayonets, and gilt buttons and straps, in the 
 bright sunshine, until, of a sudden, the mass opened right and 
 left, and a wagon, drawn by two white horses, came into view. 
 In it, seated on a long box of fresh-cut deal, was an old man, 
 of erect figure, clad in a black suit, with a black slouch hat on 
 his head, and blood-red worsted slippers on his feet. The 
 melancholy cortege formed and advanced towards us. There 
 was the one helpless old man, suffering from five saber and 
 bayonet wounds, going to his death under escort of: 
 
246 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 MAJOR LORING'S " BATTALION OF DEFENSIBLES. 
 
 CAPTAIN WILLIAMS'S " MONTPELIER GUARD." 
 
 CAPTAIN SCOTT'S "PETERSBURG GRAYS." 
 
 CAPTAIN MILLER'S " VIRGINIA VOLUNTEERS." 
 
 CAPTAIN RADY'S " YOUNG GUARD." 
 
 Now, is n't that pitiful ? Is n't it enough to make a stone 
 image blush, to think of all this great army, with its flying 
 flags, and its brass guns, and its videttes and patrols all the 
 way up to the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, haling one 
 wounded Kansas farmer to execution ? I could n't help think- 
 ing of all this, as the head of the column filed into the field, 
 between the loaded howitzers, and I looked upon the majestic 
 face of the Man of Destiny. For an instant our eyes met. 
 Whether he read anything in mine of the thoughts that 
 crowded my mind I cannot say, but an expression of intense 
 inquiry came into his, and he gave me a glance I shall never 
 forget. As his wagon turned in from the dusty road, and the 
 whole array of military was presented to his view, the old man 
 straightened himself up on his coffin, and proudly surveyed 
 the scene. He looked to me more like Caesar passing in his 
 triumphal chariot through the streets of Rome, than like Jack 
 Sheppard going to Tyburn Hill. He bore the searching gaze 
 of the soldiery with a kingliness of manner, as if he were 
 receiving homage that was his due, and did not cower under 
 it, as if he were a malefactor about to be punished for some 
 crime he had committed. He fully appreciated the effect of 
 all this display of military upon public opinion, for you will 
 recollect he said one day in prison, " I am not sure but the 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 247 
 
 object I have in view will be better served by my dying 
 than by my living ; I must think of that." 
 
 The cortege passed through the triple squares of troops, 
 and over the hillock ; and wound around the scaffold to the 
 easterly side, and halted. The body-guard our company 
 of Grays opened ranks, and John Brown descended, with 
 self-possession and dignity, and mounted the gallows-steps. 
 He looked about at earth and sky and people, and remarked 
 to Captain Avis, his jailer, upon the beauty of the scene. It 
 was beautiful indeed. The sun shone with great splendor, 
 and the gleaming guns and sparkling uniforms were strongly 
 relieved against the somber tints of sod and woods. Away 
 off to the east and south, the splendid mass of the Blue Ridge 
 loomed against the sky, and shut in the horizon. Over the 
 woods towards the northeast, long, thin stripes of clouds had 
 gradually accumulated, foreboding the storm that came in 
 due time that evening ; while, looking towards the south, 
 there lay an undulating, fertile country, stretching away to 
 the distant mountains. Brown's eye lingered wistfully upon 
 the few civilians who had been permitted to gaze from a dis- 
 tance upon the tragedy, as if, so it seemed to me, he longed 
 for a glimpse of one friendly face ; then, with another glance 
 at the sky and the far-away Blue Ridge, he turned to the 
 sheriff, and signified that he was ready. His slouch hat was 
 removed, his elbows and ankles pinioned, and a white hood 
 was drawn over his head. The world was gone from his 
 
 sight forever, and he and Eternity were face to face 
 
 One would have thought that, after all their indecent haste 
 to get him tried, convicted, sentenced, and hung, they would 
 have despatched the poor old man as quickly after that as 
 
248 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 possible ; but not a bit of it. There was still the shadow of 
 a possibility that some Cadmus-sown soldiers might spring 
 out of the dull sod of that field, and stampede the prize, so 
 there must be movements of troops hither and thither, march- 
 ings and countermarchings ; and I stood there, watch in hand, 
 for eight minutes, that seemed centuries, before Colonel Scott, 
 losing patience, gave the signal. Then Sheriff Campbell cut 
 the rope, the trap fell, with a wailing screech of its hinges, 
 and John Brown's body hung twirling in the air. You could 
 have heard the sigh of satisfaction that passed over the whole 
 armed host, so dead was the stillness that brooded over it. 
 There was but one spasmodic clutch of the tied hands, and 
 a few jerks and quivers of the limbs, and then all was still. 
 .... After the thing had dangled in mid-air for twenty 
 minutes, the Charlestown surgeons went up and lifted the 
 arms and dropped them like lead, and placed their ears to 
 the dead thing's chest, and felt the wrists for a pulse. Then 
 the military surgeons had their turn of it ; and then, after a 
 consultation, they stepped back, and left the body to dangle 
 and swing by its neck eighteen minutes more ; while it turned 
 to this side or that, swinging, pendulum-like, from the force 
 of the rising wind. At last the lion was declared dead, and 
 the body, limp and horrid, with an inch-deep groove cut 
 into its neck by the Kentucky hemp halter, sent as a special 
 donation for the occasion, was lowered down, and slumped 
 into a heap. It was then put into a black-walnut coffin, lifted 
 into the wagon again, the body-guard closed in about it, the 
 cavalry took the right of the column, and the mournful pro- 
 cession moved off. Then, if you could have heard some of 
 the brutal remarks that I did, you would have blushed for 
 
HOW WE HUNG JOHN BROWN. 249 
 
 your kind. Some said that his head ought to be cut off and 
 preserved in the Winchester Medical College, along with the 
 dissected body of his son ; some, that instead of a fall of 
 eighteen inches, they ought to have had the body fall ten 
 feet, so as to snap his head off; and others, that after he was 
 hung, they ought to stuff a dose of arsenic into the corpse's 
 mouth, so as to effectually prevent his Abolition friends from 
 resuscitating him. But then, on the other hand, there were 
 some gentlemen, and among others, a captain on Taliaferro's 
 Staff, who expressed their admiration for Brown's splendid 
 pluck. The latter person sat next me at table that night, and 
 when I asked him what he thought of the affair, he turned 
 a sparkling eye upon me and said, " By God, sir, he 's the 
 -bravest man that ever lived!" 
 
THE WEED THAT CHEERS. 
 
THE WEED THAT CHEERS. 
 
 BY J. HENRY HAGER. 
 
 41 NICOTIA, dearer to the Muse 
 Than all the grapes' bewildering juice, 
 We worship, unforbid of thee ; 
 And, as her incense floats and curls 
 In airy spires and wayward whirls, 
 Or poises on its tremulous stalk 
 A flower of frailest revery, 
 So winds and loiters, idly free, 
 The current of unguided talk, 
 Now laughter-rippled, and now caught 
 In smooth, dark pools of deeper thought. 
 Meanwhile thou mellowest every word, 
 A sweetly unobtrusive third ; 
 For thou hast magic beyond wine 
 To unlock natures each to each ; 
 The unspoken thought thou canst divine ; 
 Thou fillest the pauses of the speech 
 With whispers that to dream-land reach, 
 And frozen fancy-springs unchain 
 In Arctic outskirts of the brain ; 
 Sun of all inmost confidences ! 
 To thy rays doth the heart unclose 
 Its formal calyx of pretences, 
 That close against rude day's offences, 
 And open its shy midnight rose." 
 
 AS it ever occurred to the reader that "the long 
 result of Time" has failed to displace Tobacco as 
 a narcotic in the popular esteem ? That in spite 
 of the " Counterblaste " of the "Defender of the Faith"; the 
 
254 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 rage of Amurath IV., of Turkey ; the edicts of the Emperor 
 Jehan-Ghir ; the excommunications of Popes Urban VIII. and 
 Innocent XI., and the repressive measures of other poten- 
 tates, who have assailed the liberties of mankind in forbidding 
 the use of Tobacco, that much-reviled herb has invaded 
 every civilized and many barbarous countries, and stands to- 
 day victor over all adversaries ! 
 
 Surely when its opponents remember how bitterly its intro- 
 duction into Europe was fought, step by step, how in Tur- 
 key smoking was punished by thrusting the pipe through the 
 nose ; how in Russia the unlucky wight caught using snuff 
 was kept t perpetually in mind of the heinousness of his crime 
 by the summary amputation of the offending member ; how in 
 the Swiss Canton of Berne the use of tobacco in any form 
 was ranked in the table of misdemeanors next to adultery, 
 and that even so late as the middle of the last century, an 
 especial court "for trying delinquents was held ; how, that 
 armed with scourges, halters, and knives, and with gibbets 
 painted on their banners, the Anti-tobaccoites of those days 
 denounced death to all found inhaling the fumes of the plant 
 through a tube, or detected with a pellet of it under their 
 tongues, it must be confessed that during the nearly four 
 hundred years that have elapsed since the two sailors sent 
 by Columbus to explore the island of Cuba first discovered 
 the (to them) novel method of self-fumigation, the use of the 
 Indian herb has extended with a rapidity and inhered among 
 the customs of civilization with a tenacity that all must 
 acknowledge to be remarkable. 
 
 In truth, the despised plant is in greater favor at the close 
 of this good year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy- 
 
THE WEED THAT CHEERS. 255 
 
 four than it has ever been. In Great Britain, the increasing 
 consumption has compelled the manufacturers to have partial 
 recourse to the inferior varieties of Tobacco grown in China 
 and Japan, since the better qualities raised here are so much 
 in demand on this side the Atlantic as to largely prohibit 
 their exportation. And this, while every year witnesses the 
 extension of the tobacco-producing anea in these United States 
 into sections where, until recently, its culture was unknown. 
 
 In view of these undeniable facts, we put it to the ingenu- 
 ous Anti-tobaccoite to say whether the crusade against the 
 weed has been a success ? 
 
 If candid, he must admit its utter and universal failure. 
 
 The sincere contemners of Tobacco, from King James down- 
 ward, have not lacked eloquence, learning, scientific attain- 
 ments, nor a specious show of sound logic and pure morality. 
 
 Had their arguments not been based on a fallacy, could 
 they have failed ? 
 
 Against all the preachments of the last four hundred years, 
 the irresistible logic of facts and the universal practice of 
 mankind may very properly be left to make answer. 
 
 To the. attacks based on the various physical and moral 
 grounds that have been assumed, we are content to respond, 
 on the part of those who believe in the use of the weed in 
 moderation, that the movement against it has not taken any 
 deep root in popular sympathy, nor been indorsed by the 
 common-sense of the masses. It is quite true that many are 
 found who avoid the use of Tobacco in any form from per- 
 sonal and physical reasons, but they are satisfied with being 
 " a law unto themselves," and rarely seek to make converts to 
 their peculiar practices, or join the ranks of the aggressive 
 
256 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 opponents of the weed. In fact, the latter have rarely suc- 
 ceeded in doing more than exciting the general and deserved 
 derision of mankind. 
 
 When we call to mind the reform movements against the 
 different abuses of the day, and the earnestness and intelli- 
 gence with which many of them are carried forward, this 
 absence of hearty sympathy on the part of the people, and 
 the want of practicality that inevitably characterizes the 
 schemes of the Anti-tobaccoites, furnish food for thought, and 
 lead irresistibly to certain conclusions. 
 
 We find that the reasoning powers of the masses teach 
 them that of the charges made by the opponents of the 
 weed, those not absolutely false could be brought with equal 
 force against the use of certain other so-called luxuries. When 
 gentlemen who assume to speak in the name of Science, 
 assure us of the deadly qualities of the pipe, we may very 
 appropriately ask, how it happens that mankind, after smok- 
 ing over three hundred years*, manage to attain to so tolerable 
 a degree of health ? 
 
 And in this connection, an interesting subject of. inquiry 
 for our scientific friends would be, the hygienic condition of 
 the native Cubans when Columbus surprised them engaged in 
 the deleterious practice of smoking? Or, still more feasible, 
 the general health of Europe before and after the introduction 
 of Tobacco. 
 
 Unless the savans can approach the inquiry satisfactorily 
 from this standpoint, and demonstrate beyond cavil how some 
 particular nation has steadily receded in the scale of moral 
 and physical well-being in consequence of the use of the 
 weed, their theories, based on one-sided experiments and scien- 
 
THE WEED THAT CHEERS. 257 
 
 tific half-truths, will continue to be as powerless to convince 
 in the future as they have been in the past. 
 
 Any hypothesis based on the experience of individuals, or 
 observations of exceptional cases, are, for the purposes intended, 
 simply worthless. It must be shown, not that Tobacco has 
 proved injurious under certain conditions of the human organ- 
 ism, but that the human organism, during a series of years, 
 and in the case of entire communities, has sensibly and de- 
 cidedly deteriorated! 
 
 This proved beyond a doubt, the savans might justly 
 claim the victory ; that they may be led to enter upon the 
 inquiry, we challenge them to the demonstration. 
 
 The difficulty is, that the An ti-tobaccoites, considering the 
 actual facts established by them, go too far. 
 
 Universal condemnation never convinces, especially when 
 contradicted by every-day experience. 
 
 Besides, our Tobacco reformers are the most inconsistent 
 of men. While protesting against the abused plant, they 
 quietly allow the object of their anathemas to pay a large 
 proportion of their taxes and thus contribute to their in- 
 come. 
 
 Perhaps it has never occurred to the Rev. Trask and his 
 confreres that Tobacco, imported and domestic, pays nearly 
 forty millions of dollars annually towards the support of "the 
 best government on which the sun ever shone " ; while, across 
 the water, the British Constitution is preserved intact by a 
 yearly contribution of over thirty-five millions on the part of 
 the (involuntarily) patriotic chewers and smokers of that be- 
 nighted and expensive isle. 
 
258 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Yet how much of these eighty millions would our Anti- 
 tobacco friends be willing to assume, in case it were possible 
 to make the use of the weed in both countries a criminal 
 offence, and thus to drop it from the list of sources of national 
 income ? 
 
 " We pause for a reply ! " 
 
 But is it consistent for these earnest gentlemen to live 
 without protest under the protection of institutions that may 
 be said tp be in part reared on the ashes of a much-reviled 
 herb ? 
 
 If the use of Tobacco is morally wrong, and we never met 
 an Anti-tobaccoite who claimed less, it is certainly wrong to 
 participate, however indirectly, in the profits accruing from 
 traffic in the " accursed thing ! " 
 
 Can the honest Anti-tobaccoite, either in England or 
 America, truthfully assert that he is not sinning against his 
 conscience in this respect ? 
 
 Nor, indeed, is his co-believer on the Continent in much 
 better case. 
 
 In Austria, France, Italy, Spain, nay, even in Turkey, 
 the weed is deemed so precious a commodity that its sale is 
 regulated and the profits largely shared by the government ; 
 while in Russia, Germany, Holland, and Belgium an import 
 duty is imposed on all packages of Tobacco entering those 
 countries, so that the resident Anti-tobaccoite is equally, 
 though indirectly, interested in the gains arising from the 
 commerce in the article he so greatly detests. 
 
 The alternative thus presented to the opponent of the weed 
 is either a change of country or of creed. 
 
THE WEED THAT CHEERS. 259 
 
 And may we not sooner or later look for the latter con- 
 summation ? 
 
 Will there remain any so beclouded as to their mental vision 
 we speak with all reverence when the millennial sun 
 dawns upon a regenerated world ? 
 
 Cannot we reasonably look forward to that promised season 
 of fruition, as to a period when the voice of the Anti-tobaccoite 
 shall no longer be heard in the land ? 
 
 Surely in the full blaze of Truth, those reformers who see 
 partially and draw exceedingly lame and impotent conclusions 
 from premises very much awry, cannot remain unconvinced ! 
 
 Our belief in " the eternal fitness of things " forbids any 
 different conclusion. 
 
 Let us, then, in the mystic brotherhood of the Lotos, continue 
 to keep the pipe undimmed. Let its steadfast light illume the 
 shadows, and kindle anew the fires on the altar of friendship. 
 
 In our especial realm where " it is ever afternoon," we may 
 smoke the calumet even with the repentant Anti-tobaccoite, 
 whose hoped-for conversion might possibly be succeeded by 
 his elevation in the social and moral scale until he became 
 " one of us ! " 
 
 Meantime we commend to him the following quaint lines 
 by a writer of the last century as suited to his present stage 
 of development, and as proof that, despite his prejudices, the 
 soundest morality may be fairly derived even from a pipeful 
 of Tobacco : 
 
 " Come, lovely tube, by Friendship blest, 
 
 Beloved and honored by the wise : 
 Come filled with honest 'Weekly's best,' 
 And kindled from the lofty skies. 
 
260 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " While round me clouds of incense roll, 
 
 With guiltless joys you charm the sense, 
 And nobler pleasure to the soul, 
 In hints of moral truth dispense. 
 
 "Soon as you feel th' enlivening ray, 
 
 To dust you hasten to return ; 
 
 And teach me that my earliest day 
 
 Began to give me to the urn. 
 
 " But though thy grosser substance sink 
 
 To dust, thy purer part aspires; 
 This when I see I joy to think 
 That earth but half of me requires. 
 
 " Like thee, myself am born to die, 
 
 Made half to rise and half to fall ; 
 O could I, while my moments fly, 
 The bliss you give me, give to all ! " 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 
 
 BY COLONEL THOMAS W. KNOX. 
 
 T has been said, many times, that travel wears off the 
 rough edges of an individual and gives him a polish that 
 he cannot obtain in any other way. He acquires a 
 knowledge of men and their manners and customs more 
 thoroughly than when remaining in one place, and he 
 learns to regard with a tolerant eye the social, moral, 
 political, and religious beliefs at variance with his own. He 
 accepts the correctness of the maxim that all men are brothers, 
 and that their thoughts, impulses, and passions are not altogether 
 unlike in the main, though differing in detail. He finds that 
 enmity and friendship, love and hatred, honesty and depravity, 
 hope and fear, joy and sorrow, are the same among all nations 
 and tribes of the human race, from the Equator to the Poles and 
 from the Poles back again to the Equator. Born under the flag 
 of the United States, and cherishing an undying affection for a 
 republican form of government, he learns to respect a monarchy 
 for whatever good qualities it possesses ; and, born and reared 
 within the limits of a despotism, and* taught to regard it as of 
 divine origin, he learns by travel and observation to look upon 
 the republic as not unblessed with advantages of its own. 
 Broader views of humanity and a respect for the opinions of 
 others are generally the result of travel, provided, always, the 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 traveller is capable of mental enlargement, and enters upon his 
 journeys with a willingness to be instructed. Some men there 
 are who might visit all the ground ever trodden by Livingstone, 
 Kane, Ledyard, and Marco Polo, and return to their homes more 
 narrow and bigoted, if possible, than ever before. But such 
 as these are exceptions that only prove the correctness of 
 the rule. 
 
 Most men are taught through adversity, rather than through 
 good fortune, and do not sympathize with suffering until they 
 themselves have suffered. And the traveller who has a hard 
 time of it is quite as likely to be benefited by his wanderings 
 as the man whose path is strewn with roses and whose jour- 
 neys are a succession of unvarying delights. The skilful 
 artist makes the light in his picture effective by reason of its 
 contrast with the shadows. Light and darkness are relative, 
 and, strictly speaking, there cannot be the one without the 
 other. Velvet feels softer than otherwise when contrasted 
 with haircloth or India matting ; and an individual who has 
 been clad in a suit of tar and feathers, and treated to a ride 
 upon a fence-rail, finds a blanket covering and a seat in an 
 ox-cart a luxurious contrast to the clothing and locomotion 
 of indignity. Serene happiness follows the withdrawal of the 
 pain of an aching tooth ; and plain soda-water, ordinarily unat- 
 tractive, is welcome as the nectar which Jupiter sips when 
 brought to one's bedside the morning after a late supper on 
 champagne and broiled quail. Pleasure and discomfort, joy 
 and sorrow, happiness and misery, are things of contrast, and 
 none of us can ever know one of these feelings to its fullest 
 extent without some acquaintance with its opposite. If all 
 travel were in palace-cars and luxurious steamers, and every 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 265 
 
 traveller halted only in hotels which contain all the comforts 
 of this or any other age, one would be little better off than 
 if he remained at home. But happily we must make acquaint- 
 ance with many kinds of vehicles and caravansaries, and sub- 
 mit to a thousand discomforts and vexations, if we would emu- 
 late the example of Rosin the Bow, who narrates, in his 
 autobiographical poem, that he had travelled this wide world 
 all over. Like Queen Dido, we are schooled through our mis- 
 fortunes ; we remember them, and generally to our subse- 
 quent good. Those that can be avoided we learn to shun, 
 and those which are inevitable we undergo with moral philos- 
 ophy and greater mental serenity. Contrasts are of constant 
 occurrence, and we look back over a course of travel as we 
 would recall the thousand combinations and changes of a re- 
 volving kaleidoscope. 
 
 Some years ago, it was my fortune to make a ride of 
 nearly two hundred miles on the back of a powerful horse 
 in less than four days. He was a trotter ; not a fancy ani- 
 mal, but a good sound roadster, whose trot would have roused 
 the digestion of a dyspeptic of forty years' standing. His 
 back rose and fell like the walking-beam of a North River 
 steamboat, and his legs seemed to have been made for at 
 least four horses of different sizes and attached to a body 
 which was intended for a fifth beast. When I finished my 
 ride, I felt as if I had been put through a patent clothes- 
 wringer, and every joint in my body had started loose from 
 active wear, or had become so swollen as to be immovable. 
 My ride on this wonderful piece of horseflesh ended at a 
 railway station. Half an hour after I alighted, a freight- 
 train arrived, and I secured a place in a box-car. Seated on 
 
266 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 a pine box, and leaning against the rough side of the car, 
 I -continued my journey. No Pullman palace or English 
 first-class was ever half as luxurious as that vehicle; the 
 box on which I sat was like a Turkish ottoman, and the 
 board where my back rested, occasionally touching a protrud- 
 ing nail or screw-head, was like the most elegant sofa from 
 a Parisian shop. I reclined, and speedily fell asleep, lulled 
 by the gentle motion of the car along the rails. The track 
 was unballasted, and the rails were laid with none of the 
 fish-joints and other improvements which add so much to the 
 comfort of railway travel. Months afterward I travelled the 
 same route in an ordinary passenger-car, and found the rough 
 jolting almost unendurable. But I had been resting in the 
 mean time, and had not preceded the excursion with a rough 
 ride on horseback. 
 
 Travel, like poverty or politics, makes one acquainted with 
 strange bedfellows, both literally and metaphorically. A traveller 
 may sleep with a prince or a beggar according to circumstances, 
 though he is much more likely to share his dormitory with 
 the latter than with the former. Beggars are much more 
 numerous than princes, and, moreover, the princes have a 
 practice of exclusiveness that is not generally observed among 
 mendicants. Your prince is shy of strangers, and has a re- 
 gard for his aristocratic position, but the beggar does not 
 emboss himself with any such pretensions. He fastens to you, 
 and oftentimes the surroundings are such that he cannot be 
 shaken off with ease. If he be a genuine, low-down beggar, 
 he may be sent away with a small contribution, and that is 
 the end of him so far as you are concerned ; but if he be- 
 longs to the upper or swindling class of beggary, the case may 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 267 
 
 be different The swindler will adhere to you as long as there 
 is a prospect of obtaining a dollar or a fraction of one ; and 
 sometimes, when he considers the financial prospect hopeless, 
 he remains at your side for the sake of your society. 
 
 I have in mind several of these personages whose abilities 
 would have gained them comfort, if not affluence, in any 
 honest enterprise. The most artistic of the lot was a French 
 adventurer who entered a car with me when I left Strasbtirg 
 on a journey down the Rhine. 
 
 Before we reached Kehl, he had told me his history, or a 
 goodly portion of it, and offered to assist at the opening of 
 my baggage, and its examination at the custom-house. We 
 changed cars twice before reaching Baden-Baden, and each 
 time he remained with me ; he went to my hotel, supped at 
 the table with me, ordered a bottle of wine, which I after- 
 wards found on my account, and would have forced himself 
 into my room had I not negatived any such arrangement. 
 He disappeared after supper, but when I went to the Conver- 
 sation-Haus, I found him at one of the tables ; he informed 
 me that he was always lucky at rouge-et-noir, and offered to 
 bet my money for me ; but in consequence of various prejudices 
 which I entertained about the man and the game, his kind- 
 ness went unappreciated and unaccepted. By this time I was 
 amused with the fellow and loaned him five francs by way of 
 encouragement. An hour before I left the place I confided 
 to him my intention of remaining a week or two, and found 
 that he intended staying about the same length of time. He 
 lost sight of me at my departure, but made up for it by catch- 
 ing me a couple of days later at Frankfort. He adhered to 
 me as closely as possible, and took the train with me to 
 
268 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Mayence. We agreed to go to a certain hotel, and while he 
 was looking for his baggage I slipped away to another, and 
 made a wager to myself that he would find me within an 
 hour. The wagering half of me was victorious, as he was with 
 me in just forty-nine minutes by my watch, and as smiling as 
 a prize-fighter, coming up at the end of his third round. 
 
 I tried to deceive him about my departure from Mayence, 
 but he was too sharp for me, and when the boat was well 
 under way he appeared on deck, as if shot up from below like 
 the harlequin in a pantomime. Here he had me fairly cor- 
 nered, and most energetically did he endeavor to inveigle me. 
 He had sent his baggage to Cologne by rail in order to be 
 rid of the encumbrance, and, quel betise, he had forgotten to 
 take his money from his trunk, and there he was penniless, 
 or, rather, sous-less. He wanted five francs to pay his fare 
 to Coblenz, and I cheerfully accommodated him ; then he 
 wanted more, but just then I was out of money, and depressed 
 him with the information that I must call on my banker. 
 
 I stopped at Coblenz and he continued to Cologne, where 
 he proposed to secure rooms for me, and meet me at the land- 
 ing next day. I thought I was rid of him ; but next day 
 there he was, delighted to see me, and sorry to say that his 
 baggage had not arrived, and that he should be forced, much 
 as he regretted it, to depend upon the kindness of his dear 
 American friend. Could I lend him a hundred francs, which 
 he would repay me in Paris, whither both were travelling ; and 
 if I would do so, he would be my friend forever, and would 
 remain with me as collateral until we arrived in the city of 
 luxury. I saw that he would no longer amuse me as a social 
 study, except at heavy expense ; he had cost me only three 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 269 
 
 dollars up to that point, and I naturally considered that that 
 sort of thing had gone on long enough. Henceforth he would 
 be a burden, and if I desired the pleasure of his company I 
 must pay for it. So I told him, in the best translation I 
 could make of American slang, that the game was played. 
 "Je ne le vois pas" I said ; " vous etes un bete mart" I 
 could not think just then of the exact expression in French 
 for "fraud," but am satisfied that he understood me. Under 
 the shadow of the Cathedral of Cologne, whence the centuries 
 look lovingly down, I gave him a valuable lesson in Gallic 
 phrases culled from the American tongue, a lesson which 
 probably proved of value, as he took down some of the phrases 
 in his note-book. 
 
 I never saw him again. He went away sorrowing, for he 
 had not great possessions, and thought, when he made my 
 acquaintance, that he had found somebody who would be his 
 comfort and support. 
 
 The strange bedfellows which a traveller meets are not all 
 of the human sort. He associates at times with most of the 
 animals that figure in zoological works, and especially with 
 those that have been domesticated. He may sleep in a stable, 
 and be thankful that he is admitted there ; the society of 
 horses, mules, and cows may not be entirely congenial to him, 
 but he endures it with quiet philosophy, albeit he departs 
 with a strong smell of stable about his garments, and some- 
 times with a few footprints of his quadrupedal companions on 
 various portions of his body. The cow and the horse have 
 many excellent qualities, but they cannot be commended as 
 bosom friends, while the mule, especially the one that kicks, 
 is to be shunned when shunning is possible. The mule has 
 
2/0 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 no paternal instinct, and consequently can never develop af- 
 fection, like the cow or horse. The dog will do to sleep with, 
 especially if he is your dog and is not overborne with 
 fleas. But unfortunately, the flea has for the dog an affinity 
 that shapes his ends, rough indeed for his human associates, 
 and wretched is the man whose couch is with a flea-haunted 
 canine. In many parts of the world fleas abound and make 
 the traveller miserable. My first intimate knowledge of them 
 was on the Amoor River, where the cabin of a small steamer 
 seemed to be full of them. They bit me from head to foot, 
 and at the end of my first night in their society my body 
 looked as if it had been tattooed with red ink and croton oil. 
 I was worse off the next night, and set my genius at work 
 to devise a means to be rid of them. I obtained some bad 
 brandy from the steward of the boat, and ' before retiring the 
 next night I rubbed myself with the liquid, and then wrapped 
 snugly in a sheet. That fixed them. They must have 
 belonged to a temperance society, as they did n't disturb me 
 afterwards so long as I took my daily bath of brandy. The 
 captain of the boat expressed a desire to know how to drive 
 away the fleas, but said he could not. I told him it was his 
 duty to utilize them, and suggested that he might set up a 
 treadmill for them, and by using them to run his machinery 
 he could dispense with engines and steam. He did not 
 again refer to the subject. 
 
 It has never been my fortune to find snakes in my boots, 
 though persons of strictly temperate habits have been known 
 to do so in India and Java. On two occasions I have found 
 snakes or, strictly speaking, a snake in my bed. Once 
 while camped out on our Western Plains, I waked in the 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 271 
 
 morning, and made my usual attempt to turn over in my 
 blankets for another nap. There was something lying close 
 against me ; it felt like a coil of rope, but developed the 
 uriropy characteristic of life. I thought of snakes, and that 
 thought was followed by an emphatic and unusual fondness 
 for early rising. It was not quite sunrise, and all my com- 
 panions were asleep ; there were no camp duties to bring me 
 out at that time, but nevertheless I was determined to get 
 up. I rose from my blankets with less grace than Venus 
 rose from the sea, but with far greater rapidity. I made a 
 remark in rising that waked a friend lying near me, and 
 caused him to be equally unceremonious in abandoning his 
 couch. One after another the rest of our party were waked, 
 and in less than two minutes about twenty half-dressed and 
 dishevelled beings were gathered around my blankets, and 
 gazing upon them with all the eagerness of a group of sci- 
 entists, examining a newly discovered trilobite. 
 
 There was something moving under the blankets, and it 
 was speedily decided that the something was a snake. A club 
 was held in readiness, and as the reptile showed his head at 
 the edge of the blanket he received a tap that would have 
 broken the skull of a buffalo. He was unceremoniously killed 
 and stretched on the grass where all could see and admire 
 him. He was a cheerful creature, about five feet long, and 
 belonged to the race known on the Plains as the "bull- 
 snake," a sort of first-cousin to the rattlesnake. We hanged 
 him on a tree and left him as a warning to his friends who 
 might come that way. For several days I thought almost 
 constantly of snakes, and for an equal number of nights I 
 dreamed of them. But, after a while, I became convinced that 
 
2/2 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 snakes and lightning do not generally strike twice in the same 
 place, and gradually ceased to keep this incident uppermost 
 in my mind. 
 
 The other snake which I found in my blankets was an in- 
 significant affair, quite unworthy a prominent place in this 
 narrative. I will dismiss him as summarily as on the occa- 
 sion when I discovered him. Rats and mice have found com- 
 fort and food at my side in several instances, but I cannot 
 say that I particularly desired their friendship. It is not at 
 all pleasant to wake in the night, as has been my luck, and 
 find rats and mice using you for a parade-ground or race-track, 
 without so much as asking your permission, and I hereby 
 enter a protest against the practice. I have in mind an 
 occasion when I waked in the morning and found a mouse i 
 seated on my nose and contemplating the scenery around 
 him. He was not a large mouse, else he would have found 
 the nose too small for a resting-place, and I was glad on his 
 account that he was not thus incommoded. But he was so 
 near my eyes, that he appeared as large as an elephant, and 
 I did not know his genus and species until my movements 
 sent him scampering away. 
 
 The characteristics of hotels form a pleasing subject of 
 contemplation, and to a thoughtful traveller they are an un- 
 failing source of instruction. From the great hotels of Paris 
 and New York, the eye looks down an imaginary avenue of 
 hostelries, diminishing in more senses than one, as they recede 
 and are lost in -the distance. The Grand Hotel of Paris stands 
 at the end of the avenue nearest the spectator, and beyond it 
 are the Well, you may name a dozen or two of the first- 
 class hotels that are your favorites outside of the French 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 273 
 
 capital. Then you come to less commodious, though not 
 always less pretentious establishments, and so you go into 
 the distance until you find a hostelry of the most primitive 
 character. You may be reminded by this imaginary avenue 
 of the road somewhere out West, that began most magnifi- 
 cently with fine pavements, broad sidewalks, and rows of 
 shade trees, and gradually diminished, until it terminated in 
 a squirrel-track, and ran up a scrub-oak. The hotel avenue 
 may terminate in the same way, as many travellers can tell 
 you. I have had the pleasure of sleeping in a hollow tree, 
 and thought my accommodations were far preferable to stay- 
 ing out of doors. When the Calaveras Grove of trees in 
 California was first made a public resort, an enterprising 
 American fitted up a hollow Sequoia as a hotel, and hundreds 
 of persons were entertained there. A neighboring log was 
 used as a stable, so that the landlord could boast of accom- 
 modations for man and beast. 
 
 I could tell many stories of funny experiences in hotels, but 
 the limits of this article forbid, and I can give only a few of 
 them. Years ago, on my first trip to the West, I arrived one 
 evening at a rural hotel, and was shown to a room. When 
 about to retire, I found there was but a single sheet on the 
 bed, and, supposing a mistake had been made, I descended to 
 the bar-room, and found a son of the landlord. Explaining 
 the situation, I was told that no bed in the house was fur- 
 nished with more than I had found on mine, and the youth 
 muttered something about my being " mighty particular." I 
 insisted upon a more complete dressing for my couch, and 
 the son went for the father. Through the open door from the 
 bar-room to the kitchen I heard the statement that " a stuck- 
 
274 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 up cuss from New York wants an extra sheet on his bed." 
 The landlord intimated that I could go to a locality where 
 even one sheet would be a superfluity, and for a while my 
 wants were treated with the greatest contempt. Only by 
 making a row did I obtain what I desired. 
 
 I have lodged in a hotel which consisted of a fence drawn 
 around the space covered by the branches of a large elm- 
 tree, and divided by imaginary lines into parlor, kitchen, and 
 bedroom. The patrons slept on the ground in the bed- 
 room, and each patron supplied his own blankets. To make 
 our toilets in the morning, we went into the kitchen ; i. e. 
 we stepped behind the tree. In a hotel in Tennessee I once 
 found a printed placard over the wash-stand as follows : 
 "GENTLEMEN wishing towels in their rooms will please leave 
 fifty cents at the office for security." The emphasis on the 
 first word would seem to imply that there were gentlemen 
 who have no use for towels. In another establishment I 
 found the injunction, "Guests who do not wish their boots 
 stolen will not put them outside the door." A man suffering 
 from ill-fitting boots of which he wished to be rid was thus 
 kindly informed how he could dispose of them. Whether the 
 landlord kept a servant whose special duty it was to steal 
 boots ejected from the rooms, I did not venture to inquire. 
 
 I will close with a story told by a traveller in Texas. " I 
 was on foot," said he, "and came to a river where the only 
 bridge was a log stretched across the stream. Like the Irish- 
 man's blanket, it was too short at both ends, and was secured 
 by a stout grapevine. At either end of the log there was 
 an aching void of five or six feet ; it took me two hours to 
 bring brushwood to make a raft to ferry myself from the 
 
THE ASPERITIES OF TRAVEL. 2/5 
 
 bank to the log; and when I got upon it, the confounded 
 thing rolled and twisted so, that I had hard work to keep my 
 footing. I managed to get to the other end, and there I was 
 obliged to jump. I fell short and into the river, but caught 
 hold of the grapevine and pulled out. When I mounted the 
 bank and stopped to let the water drip from my clothes, I 
 found a sign-board announcing in bold, savage letters, " FIVE 
 DOLLARS FINE FOR PASSING THIS BRIDGE FASTER THAN A 
 WALK ! " 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER, 
 RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. 
 
 BY WILLIAM F. GILL. 
 
 ROM the fact that "Lotos Leaves" contained 
 no other paper of a similar character to the 
 article which I have prepared with what care 
 a somewhat brief notice would permit, I have 
 thought it best to consult the exigency pre- 
 sented by this fact in offering my contribution 
 to this volume. A banquet, too largely com- 
 posed of toothsome confections, however excellent their quality, 
 would prove palling to the appetite. The gem must have its 
 setting, which, if claiming naught of beauty or rarity, still holds 
 a useful, necessary place. The brightest limnings in the painter's 
 choicest landscape are not the less effective in that they stand 
 out relieved by the contrast of a most somber background. 
 
 So in this " leaf," which may serve the humble purpose in 
 lending, by its harder' tone and deeper shadow, a useful con- 
 trast to the brilliant color of the brighter and more gladsome 
 petals with which it is surrounded. 
 
 " Dr. Griswold's biography of my Eddie is one atrocious 
 lie," writes Mrs. Clemm, the mother-in-law of Edgar Allan 
 Poe, in a letter to an intimate friend ; and after careful re- 
 searches, extending over the space of three years, I have come, 
 
280 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 from the cumulation of corroborative documentary evidence, 
 to give an unequivocal indorsement to Mrs. Clemm's state- 
 ment. Intense admiration of Foe's writings and of his genius, 
 mingled with deep sympathy for the exceptional misfortunes 
 of his career, first prompted me to the arduous task of investi- 
 gating the story of his life, and verifying or disproving the 
 statements of the Griswold biography of Poe, which, for nearly 
 twenty-five years, has been permitted to preface the author- 
 ized editions of his works ; also forming the basis of several 
 of the biographies that have been written to preface the Eng- 
 lish editions of the poet's works. As a matter of fact, Poe's 
 poems are fivefold more popular in England than in America, 
 and his prose writings, which have never secured the recog- 
 nition of extended popular currency in America, are even 
 more admired in England than are his poems. I cannot 
 refrain from feeling and expressing the conviction that Gris- 
 wold's mendacious biography, preluding the American edi- 
 tions of Poe, and, as it were, forming a chilling wet-blanket, 
 most repelling to the warmest admirer of the poet, is in a 
 degree responsible for the comparatively limited circulation 
 enjoyed by his works in America. I measure the effect of 
 the Griswold biography upon the intelligent reader precisely 
 as does an English reviewer the biography of Poe by James 
 Hannay, based upon Griswold, to wit, should any man of 
 taste and sense, not acquainted with Poe, be so unfortunate 
 as to look at Mr. Griswold's preface before reading the po- 
 etry, it is extremely probable he will throw the book into the 
 fire, in indignation at the self-conceit and affected smartness 
 by which the preface is characterized. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the demand for the complete edition of 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. <- 281 
 
 Foe's works containing the Griswold memoir is so limited, that 
 within a few months, calling for this edition at two of the largest 
 book-houses in Boston, I was unable to obtain a copy, and was 
 informed that the calls for it were so few that they, the dealers, 
 were not encouraged to keep this edition of Poe in stock. 
 
 Yet no one will deny that among the collections of poems 
 by various authors published, Poe is among the most popular 
 and the most admired of the authors represented. 
 
 My purpose in this paper being to offer an impartial state- 
 ment, or a series of statements, duly authenticated by docu- 
 ments, controverting the statements of Dr. Griswold, rather 
 than to attempt any eulogium of the poet, I shall devote my 
 allotted space, so far as it will allow, principally to meeting 
 the misstatements of the reverend vilifier. Some of Dr. 
 Griswold's statements are properly attributable to malicious 
 and vengeful mendacity, others to gross and inexcusable care- 
 lessness. Imprimis, the biographer states that Edgar A. Poe 
 was born in Baltimore, January n. Mr. Poe was not born 
 in January, was not born in 1811, was not born in Baltimore; 
 this is on the authority of the records (still in existence) of 
 the University of Virginia, at Charlottesville. 
 
 In 1816, writes the biographer, he accompanied Mr. and 
 Mrs. Allan to Great Britain, and afterwards passed four or 
 five years in a school kept at Stoke Newington, near Lon- 
 don, by the Rev. Dr. Bransby. "Encompassed by the massy 
 walls of this venerable academy " (writes the poet in " William 
 Wilson"), "I passed, yet not in tedium or disgust, the years 
 of the third lustrum of my life." 
 
 Had he not been born until 1811, as Dr. Griswold states, 
 he would not have attained his third lustrum during; his 
 
282 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 sojourn at this place. Of this school and its play-ground 
 Poe writes in the same sketch : " The extensive enclosure was 
 irregular in form, having many capacious recesses. Of these, 
 three or four of the largest constituted the play-ground. It 
 
 was level and covered with hard gravel But the house ! 
 
 how quaint an old building was this ! to me how veritably a 
 palace of enchantment ! There was really no end to its wind- 
 ings, to its incomprehensible subdivisions. It was difficult at 
 any given time to say with certainty upon which of its .two 
 stories one happened to be. From each room to every 'other 
 there were sure to be found three or four steps either in ascent 
 or descent. 
 
 " Then the lateral branches were innumerable, inconceiv- 
 able, and so returning in upon themselves, that our most ex- 
 act ideas in regard to the whole mansion were not very far 
 different from those with which we pondered upon infinity. 
 During the five years of my residence here, I was never able 
 to ascertain with precision in what remote locality lay the 
 little sleeping-apartment assigned to myself and some eighteen 
 or twenty other scholars." 
 
 "In 1822" (continues Dr. Griswold) "he entered the Univer- 
 sity at Charlottesville, Virginia, where he led a very dissipated 
 life ; the manners which then prevailed there were extremely 
 dissolute, and he was known as the wildest and most reck- 
 less student of his class ; but his unusual opportunities, and 
 the remarkable ease with which he mastered the most difficult 
 studies, kept him all the while in the first rank for scholar- 
 ship/ and he would have graduated with the highest honors, 
 had not his gambling, intemperance, and other vices induced 
 his expulsion from the University." 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 283 
 
 This is all false from beginning to end, and is absurd, like- 
 wise, on the biographer's own showing. If Poe was born in 
 iSn, he would at this time (1822) have been eleven years of 
 a -r^ rather a precocious age, is it not, for one to whom is 
 ascribed the role of a rake and a gambler? As a matter of 
 fact, Poe did not enter the University until 1826, being then 
 just seventeen years of age. He was never, according to reli- 
 able evidence, intoxicated while there, nor was he expelled. 
 
 Following the death of his foster-father, there came to Poe a 
 period of great, although probably not of his greatest, suffer- 
 ing. He had not at that time secured attention as a writer, 
 and his condition and location up to the time of his appear- 
 ance as a competitor for the Baltimore prizes are veiled from 
 his biographers. It is not improbable, however, that he made 
 his headquarters at the time with his aunt, Mrs. Clemm, who 
 afterwards became his mother-in-law. Dr. Griswold, not 
 having a fact at hand to mortise into this gap, comes to the 
 rescue of his impotent researches, and as usual placidly in- 
 vents another bit of defamatory fiction. " His contributions," 
 says Dr. Griswold, " attracted little attention, and, his hopes 
 of gaining a living in this way being disappointed, he enlisted 
 in the army as a private soldier. How long he remained in 
 the army I have not been able to ascertain. He was recog- 
 nized by officers who had known him at West Point, and 
 efforts were made privately, but with prospects, to obtain for 
 him a commission, when it was discovered by his friends that 
 he had deserted." The facts are, on the written testimony 
 of Mrs. Clemm, that at this time his friends were seeking for 
 him a commission, and it is folly to believe, when the prospects 
 were favorable for his securing a higher position, that he would 
 
284 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 have enlisted as a private, and thus deliberately and unneces- 
 sarily have incurred the penalty and disgrace of desertion. 
 That Mrs. Clemm, at least, was in full knowledge of his where- 
 abouts at this time, is evident from her statement made in this 
 regard, that Poe never slept one night away from home until 
 after he was married. It is futile to say that such an auda- 
 cious rumor should never have obtained admission into a 
 memoir of Poe, and that it never would have done so had 
 proper inquiries been made. Griswold never cared to make 
 inquiries, and if he had, he was in his normal condition too 
 unclean a man ever to have made proper inquiries. 
 
 Dr. Griswold's next fabrication is in regard to the details 
 of Poe's appearance as a competitor for the prizes offered by 
 the proprietor of the "Saturday Visitor" at Baltimore. The 
 prizes were one for the best tale and one for the best poem. 
 Dr. Griswold states that, attracted by the beauty of Poe's 
 penmanship, the committee, without opening any of the other 
 manuscripts, voted unanimously that the prizes should be 
 paid to "the first of geniuses who had written legibly." On 
 the contrary, there appeared in the Visitor, after the awards 
 were made, complimentary comments over the committee's 
 own signatures. They said, among other things, that all the 
 tales offered by Poe were far better than the best offered 
 by others, adding "that they thought it a duty to call public 
 attention to them in these columns in that marked man- 
 ner, since they possessed a singular force and beauty, and 
 were eminently distinguished by a rare vigorous and poetical 
 imagination, a rich style, a fertile invention, and varied and 
 curious learning." It is not a matter of great importance, but 
 Dr. Griswold's famous pen-photograph of Poe's personal ap- 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 285 
 
 pearance when summoned by Mr. Kennedy to receive his prize- 
 money, is also untrue. I have not the copy of the letter at 
 hand, and therefore cannot recall the precise words of Mr. 
 Kennedy ; but I have in my possession a copy of an origi- 
 nal letter which most positively states that Poe's appearance, 
 although somewhat shabby, was not by any means absolutely 
 poverty-stricken, and that the details of the absence of shirt 
 and stockings, mentioned by Dr. Griswold, are false. This 
 statement is interesting as, in a way, confirmatory of my 
 impression that Poe was not so far reduced as he has been 
 represented at this time. And when it is remembered that 
 there is evidence that he had influential friends at that very 
 time working to secure a commission for him, is it probable that 
 they would have permitted him to go about in such a shock- 
 ing condition as has been represented ? The theory that he 
 was at this time living with friends, is palpably more probable. 
 
 That his success in securing the prizes decided him upon 
 enlisting in a literary career, there can be no doubt ; hence it 
 is a matter of no surprise that we hear no more of the army 
 project at this time. 
 
 From other dates which have come to me from private 
 sources, I learn that he met Virginia Clemm when she was 
 but six years of age, that he undertook her tuition at ten, and 
 married her when she was but fourteen. From this, it is, 
 again, not only evident, but undoubted, that he was at least a 
 frequent visitor at the Clemms' at the period of his career 
 about which so little is known to the world. An amusing 
 instance of Griswold's pettiness and want of common-sense 
 judgment, even in his endeavor to demean the position and 
 character of his subject as much as possible, is found in the 
 
286 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 following paragraph in the biography. Speaking of the poet's 
 connection with the Literary Messenger, he writes: "In the 
 next number of the Messenger, Mr. White announced that 
 Poe was its editor, or, in other words, that he had made 
 arrangements with a gentleman of approved literary taste 
 and attainments, to whose especial management the editorial 
 department would be confided, and it was declared that this 
 gentleman would ' devote his exclusive attention to his work.' " 
 Having put this down in black and white, following his state- 
 ment that Mr. White was a man of much purity of character, 
 the redoubtable biographer evidently feels that he has set Poe 
 up a peg too high, and immediately planes him down to an en- 
 durable level in the next sentence : " Poe continued, however, 
 to reside in Baltimore, and it is probable that he was engaged 
 only as a general contributor and writer of critical notices of 
 books'' Apropos of these book reviews, Dr. Griswold dismisses 
 them as follows : " He continued in Baltimore till September. 
 In this period he wrote several long reviews, which for the 
 most part were abstracts of works rather than critical discus- 
 sions." As a matter of fact, the Messenger was in its seventh 
 month, with about four hundred subscribers, when Poe assumed 
 the editorship. Poe remained with this journal until the end 
 of its second year, by which time its circulation had been 
 increased fourfold. A contemporary of Poe writes that " the 
 success of the Messenger has been justly attributable to Poe's 
 exertions on its behalf, but especially to the skill, honesty, and 
 audacity of the criticism under the editorial head. The review 
 of " Norman Leslie " may be said to have introduced a new 
 era in our critical literature." But Griswold could see nothing 
 in Poe's book reviews of which he cared to speak, for reasons 
 which will be apparent later. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 287 
 
 Dr. Griswold's next mendacious allusion to Poe is in connec- 
 tion with his account of his secession from the Gentleman's 
 Magazine. 
 
 After mentioning a personal correspondence between Bur- 
 ton and Poe, in which the views of the latter, whatever they 
 may have been, are carefully suppressed, Dr. Griswold ro- 
 mances as follows : " He [Burton] was absent nearly a fort- 
 night, and on returning he found that his printers had not 
 received a line of copy, but that Poe had prepared the 
 prospectus of a new monthly, and obtained transcripts of his 
 subscription and account books, to be used in a scheme for 
 supplanting him. He encountered his associate late in the 
 evening at one of his accustomed haunts, and said, 'Mr. 
 Poe, I am astonished. Give me my manuscripts, so that I 
 can attend to the duties which you have so shamefully neg- 
 lected, and when you are sober we will settle.' Poe inter- 
 rupted him with, ' Who are you that presume to address me 
 in this manner ? Burton ; I am the editor of the Pennsylvania 
 Magazine, and you are hiccup a fool! ' Of course, this 
 ended his relations with the Gentleman's" That this alleged 
 conversation, so plausibly narrated as to pass current nem. 
 con., were it not for the existence of more reliable documentary 
 evidence, is an audacious invention, has been made apparent 
 to me from the written testimony of gentlemen connected 
 with the Gentleman's Magazine at this time. 
 
 Dr. Griswold devotes considerable space to his next mis- 
 statement, which relates to Mr. Poe's reading of an original 
 poem before the Boston Lyceum. Our lecture managers and 
 lecture public were more exacting twenty-five years ago, on 
 some 'points, than at the present time. Now, it suffices for a 
 
288 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 reputable celebrity to show himself upon the rostrum. Pro- 
 vided he does not occupy too much time (one hour or an 
 hour and fifteen minutes is' about the fashionable limit), he 
 may be sure of copious applause, of fervent congratulations 
 from beaming managers, and a plethoric purse upon . retiring. 
 Then, O insatiable manager and exacting public ! the best 
 literary work expressly performed for the occasion was de- 
 manded, or woe betide the celebrities who failed to meet these 
 requirements ! 
 
 Poe was probably fully conscious of this, and, not unlike 
 other geniuses in the history of the literary world, was driven 
 wellnigh frantic in contemplation of his task of the " written- 
 expressly-for-this-occasion poem. " It ended as most of these 
 unequal contests between inspiration and necessity have ended 
 time and time again. The day arrived, and no new creations 
 had been evolved from the goaded and temporarily irrespon- 
 sive brain. He went to Boston to fill his engagement, nerved 
 to meet the ordeal by a spirit which brought him compensa- 
 tion for his anxiety, a spirit which Mr. E. P. Whipple, the 
 distinguished essayist, at that time immediately associated 
 with Poe, most admirably describes as intellectual mischief.* 
 He could not do what he had been invited to do ; well, 
 he would make them believe that he had filled the demand, 
 if he could, and then honestly own up, and let them laugh 
 at him and with him. 
 
 * Poe's connection with the Text-Book of Conchology, of which Dr. Griswold 
 makes such a point, is undoubtedly attributable to this same spirit of intellectual 
 mischief. No other cause can reasonably be assigned for the publication of the 
 book under the circumstances. There was no money in such a venture, and the 
 action partakes so much of the color of Poe's purely mischievous pranks in other 
 fields, that I cannot but assign it to the same species of impulse. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 289 
 
 Dr. Griswold makes a labored effort to show that Poe's failure 
 to meet his engagement to the letter was due to cares, anxie- 
 ties, and " feebleness of will." The charge of feebleness of will, 
 applied to Poe in his strictly literary capacity, is perhaps one 
 of the most sapient bits of analysis of which the reverend 
 and profound doctor has delivered himself. As regards Dr. 
 Grisvvold's mention of the assistance of Mrs. Osgood, desired by 
 Poe, it is so manifestly absurd, that the biographer's ingenuity 
 and invention fail to enlist any credence in this bit of fiction. 
 
 The literary world of Boston twenty-five years ago was 
 marked by characteristics that rendered it anything but 
 liberal and indulgent. Had Poe had the fortunate tact to 
 disarm his audience by "owning up" at the outset, and 
 in advance, deftly knuckling, as he might have done, to its 
 boasted literary acumen and perceptiveness, all might have 
 been well. But he chose rather to indulge his mischievous 
 propensity, to his cost, as it afterwards proved. In his card 
 in the Broadway Journal, the poet, in acknowledging his con- 
 fession to a company of gentlemen at a supper which took 
 place after the reading, truly says, in closing, "We should 
 have waited a couple of days." He should indeed have 
 waited ; for among the company was a pitcher that could not 
 contain the water, and the premature leak being made pub- 
 lic, naturally aroused a storm of indignant criticism upon the 
 poet's assumption. His long poem had been applauded to 
 the echo, and the reading of " The Raven " afterwards, had sent 
 the audience home in the best of spirits. Poe was too frank and 
 impulsive to keep the joke to himself, and, finding that he had 
 not taken in all of the men with brains who received him, 
 he, without a word of suggestion, made a clean breast of it. 
 
2QO LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 How did the truth get to the papers, is the question. We 
 were young indeed, then, it is true. But must not the full- 
 fledged interviewer of the present day have been a grub at 
 some time ? and, if so, may not he then have lain snugly en- 
 sconced in the comfortable folds of Poe's black frock ? 
 
 It is difficult to meet with absolute documentary evidence 
 such a statement as Griswold makes in regard to the poet 
 borrowing money of a lady, and then, when asked to return 
 it as promised, threatening to exhibit a correspondence that 
 would make the woman infamous. Griswold manages, how- 
 ever, to admit that whatever his subject might have been 
 with men, he was "different" with women; and the numer- 
 ous letters which I have seen in the poet's hand to the select 
 circle of his near lady friends, mark his relations with them 
 as characterized by uniform delicacy, deference, and chaste 
 feeling. That this glittering generality of Griswold's, in this 
 instance of the borrowing, is another glaring falsehood, every 
 known attribute of the poet tends to show. 
 
 As regards Mr. Poe's letters alluding to his dangerous ill- 
 ness, concerning which Mr. Griswold states that Poe was not 
 dangerously ill at all at the time, I have the testimony of a 
 most estimable lady now living, at whose house Mr. Poe was 
 a frequent visitor, that Mr. Poe was almost at death's door at 
 the time from an attack of congestion of the brain, which was in 
 reality the final cause of his death. I have also the testimony 
 before me in Mr. Poe's own hand, spite of Griswold's statement 
 that there was no literary or personal abuse of him in the 
 journals of which Poe complained, that at this very time he 
 (Poe) brought a suit for libel against one of his vilifiers and 
 obtained " exemplary damages." 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 291 
 
 Speaking of the severing of Foe's connection with Grahams 
 Magazine, Dr. Griswold writes: "The infirmities which in- 
 duced his separation from Mr. White and Mr. Burton at 
 length compelled Mr. Graham to find another editor"; and 
 also in the same connection, " It is known that the personal 
 ill-will on both sides was such that for some four or five 
 years not a line by Poe was purchased for Grahams Magazine? 
 The italics are Dr. Griswold's. He evidently believes with 
 Chrysos, the art patron in W. S. Gilbert's play of " Pygmalion 
 and Galatea," that when a person tells a lie, he "should tell 
 it well." 
 
 It is a patent fact, that, among the indignant refutations of 
 Griswold's mendacious memoir of Poe, which was published 
 both in newspaper and magazine form previous to its being 
 included with Poe's works, was a manly and spirited defence of 
 the poet written by Mr. Graham in the New York Tribune. Mr. 
 Graham, a few months later, wrote in his own magazine a more 
 extended review of Griswold's memoir, from which we append 
 the following significant extracts : " I knew Mr. Poe well, 
 far better than Mr. Griswold; and, by the memory of old 
 times when he was an editor of Grahams, I pronounce this 
 exceedingly ill-timed and unappreciative estimate of our lost 
 friend unfair and untrue. It is Mr. Poe as seen by the writer 
 while laboring under a fit of the nightmare ; but so dark a 
 picture has no resemblance to the living man. It must have 
 been made in a moment of spleen, written out and laid aside, 
 and handed to the printer, when his death was announced, 
 with a sort of a chuckle. He is not Mr. Poe's peer, and I 
 challenge him before the country even as a juror in the case." 
 Of the parallel drawn between Poe and Bulwer's Francis 
 
292 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Vivian in "The Caxtons," in which Dr. Griswold paints in 
 lurid colors the alleged envy and vaulting ambition of the 
 poet, Mr. Graham writes : " Now this is dastardly, and, what 
 is worse, it is false. It is very adroitly done, with phrases 
 very well turned, and with gleams of truth shining out from 
 a setting so dusky as to look devilish. Mr. Griswold does 
 not feel the worth of the man he has undervalued, he has no 
 sympathies in common with him, and has allowed old preju- 
 dices and old enmities to steal, insensibly perhaps, into the 
 coloring of his picture. They were for years totally uncon- 
 genial, if not enemies ; and during that period Mr. Poe, in a 
 scathing lecture upon ' Poets of America,' gave Griswold some 
 raps over the knuckles of force sufficient to be remembered. 
 
 " Nor do I consider Mr. Griswold competent, with all the 
 opportunities he may have cultivated or acquired, to act as his 
 judge, to dissect that subtle and singularly fine intellect, to 
 probe the motives and weigh the actions of that proud heart. 
 His whole nature that distinctive presence of the departed 
 which now stands impalpable, yet in strong outline before me, 
 as I knew him and felt him to be eludes the rude grasp 
 of a mind so warped and uncongenial as Mr. Griswold's." 
 
 This statement of Mr. Graham's was in the form of an 
 open letter to Mr. N. P. Willis, and carefully avoided any 
 specific personal charges, demonstrating more exactly the 
 basis of Dr. Griswold's unscrupulous and malignant animus. 
 As Dr. Griswold never presumed to make any detailed pub- 
 lic reply to this or similar articles derogatory to the fair- 
 ness of his views, it is perhaps as well that the more specific 
 charges that might have been made, have been reserved for 
 the present time. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 293 
 
 Mr. Graham is now living, and when I last saw him he 
 was in excellent health. I was then, of course, intent upon 
 securing data in regard to the life of Poe, and in a conversa- 
 tion with Mr. Graham, some peculiarly significant facts touch- 
 ing Griswold's veracity in particular were elicited. 
 
 Mr. Graham states that Poe never quarrelled with him, 
 never was discharged from Grahams Magazine ; and that 
 during the " four or five years " italicized by Dr. Griswold as 
 indicating the personal ill-will between Mr. Poe and Mr. 
 Graham, over fifty articles by Poe were accepted by Mr. 
 Graham. 
 
 The facts of Mr. Poe's secession from Grahams were as 
 follows : 
 
 Mr. Poe was, from illness or other causes, absent for a 
 short time from his post on the magazine. Mr. Graham had, 
 meanwhile, made a temporary arrangement with Dr. Griswold 
 to act as Poe's substitute until his return. Poe came back 
 unexpectedly, and, seeing Griswold in his chair, turned on his 
 heel without a word, and left the office, nor could he be 
 persuaded to enter it again, although, as stated, he sent 
 frequent contributions thereafter to the pages of the maga- 
 zine. 
 
 The following anecdote well illustrates the character of 
 Poe's biographer. Dr. Griswold's associate in his editorial 
 duties on Grahams was Mr. Charles J. Peterson, a gentle- 
 man long and favorably known in connection with prominent 
 American magazines. Jealous of his abilities, and unable to 
 visit his vindictiveness upon him in propria persona, Dr. 
 Griswold conceived the noble design of stabbing him in the 
 back, writing under a non de plume in another journal, the New 
 
294 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 York Review. In the columns of the Review there appeared 
 a most scurrilous attack upon Mr. Peterson, at the very time 
 in the daily interchange of friendly courtesies with his treach- 
 erous associate. Unluckily for Dr. Griswold, Mr. Graham saw 
 this article, and, immediately inferring, from its tone, that 
 Griswold was the undoubted author, went to him with the 
 article in his hand, saying, " Dr. Griswold, I am very sorry to 
 say I have detected you in what I call a piece of rascality." 
 Griswold turned all colors upon seeing the article, but stoutly 
 denied the imputation, saying, " I '11 go before an alderman 
 and swear that I never wrote it." It was fortunate that he 
 was not compelled to add perjury to his meanness, for Mr. 
 Graham said no more about the matter at that time, waiting 
 his opportunity for authoritative confirmation of the truth of 
 his surmises. He soon found his conjectures confirmed to 
 the "letter. Being well acquainted with the editor of the 
 Review, he took occasion to call upon him shortly afterwards 
 when in New York. Asking as a special favor to see the 
 manuscript of the article in question, it was handed to him. 
 The writing was in Griswold's hand. 
 
 Returning to Philadelphia, he called Griswold to him, told 
 him the facts, paid him a month's salary in advance, and dis- 
 missed him from his post on the v spot. 
 
 So it becomes evident that the memory of Poe's biographer, 
 confused upon the point of his discharge from Grahams, has 
 saddled Poe with the humiliation and disgrace that alone be- 
 longed to him. The probing of the personal history of Rufus 
 W. Griswold is like stirring up a jar of sulphuretted hydro- 
 gen, it exhales nothing but foul and loathsome odors. Most 
 of the associations of this man in private life are too vile to 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 295 
 
 place before refined readers. One anecdote I may be permitted 
 to give, to illustrate his utter heartlessness and depravity. 
 
 At one time in his career he met and became well ac- 
 quainted with two ladies (sisters) from South Carolina, who 
 were reputed to be very wealthy. He paid them every atten- 
 tion, and finally became engaged to one of them, whom he 
 shortly afterwards married. On the very day of the wedding, 
 and almost immediately after the ceremony, he was informed 
 that the estimable lady whom he made his wife was a por- 
 tionless bride. There had been no attempt made by the lady 
 to create the impression that she was wealthy, nor did she 
 dream for a moment that a supposed fortune, and not herself, 
 had secured the villain's attachment. Dr. Griswold made 
 short work of sentiment and conscience. On the day after 
 the wedding, he coolly informed his bride at the breakfast-table 
 that they must part forever, giving for the pretext a rea- 
 son so foul, so monstrous, that its repetition in these pages 
 is impossible, from the shocking indecency of the atrocious 
 subterfuge. Spite of tears and protestations, he deserted 
 the bride of a day, never to return to her, nor com- 
 municate with her again. It is a matter of surprise that a 
 man capable of such diabolical mendacity as Dr. Griswold has 
 shown himself to be, should have found anything favorable to 
 say in his memoir, nor would he have done so, probably, had 
 not the poet's pre-eminent genius made the few truths to be 
 found in the biography as familiar as household words to the 
 literary world. 
 
 The next important statement made by Dr. Griswold, and, 
 unquestionably, the most heinous falsehood to be found in 
 the whole tissue of fabrication which has been so extensively 
 
296 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 copied as "the life of Edgar A. Poe," is the statement in re- 
 gard to Poe's alleged breaking of his engagement with Mrs. 
 Sarah Helen Whitman, of Providence, Rhode Island. I may 
 be permitted, in introducing what I have to offer on this sub- 
 ject, to present a letter elicited by Mr. Griswold's original 
 statement, written by Mr. William J. Pabodie an esteemed and 
 influential citizen of Providence : 
 
 To THE EDITORS OF THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE: 
 
 In an article on American Literature in the Westminster Review 
 for April, and in one on Edgar A. Poe in Taifs Magazi?ie for 
 the same month, we find a repetition of certain incorrect and 
 injurious statements in regard to the deceased author, which 
 should not longer be suffered to pass unnoticed. These statements 
 have circulated through half a dozen foreign and domestic periodi- 
 cals, and are presented with an ingenious variety of detail. As a 
 specimen, we take a passage from Tait, who quotes as his author- 
 ity Dr. Griswold's memoir of the poet: 
 
 "Poe's life, in fact, during the three years that yet remained to him, 
 was simply a repetition of his previous existence, notwithstanding which 
 his reputation still increased, and he made many friends. He was, indeed, 
 at one time, engaged to marry a lady who is termed * one of the most 
 brilliant women in New England.' He, however, suddenly changed his 
 determination ; and, after declaring his intention to break the match, he 
 crossed the same day into the city where the lady dwelt, and, on the even- 
 ing that should have been the evening before the bridal, 'committed in 
 drunkenness such outrages at her house as made necessary a summons 
 of the police.' " 
 
 The subject is one which cannot well be approached without in- 
 vading the sanctities of private life ; and the improbabilities of the 
 story may, to those acquainted with the parties, be deemed an all- 
 sufficient refutation. But, in view of the rapidly increasing circula- 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 297 
 
 { 
 
 tion which this story has obtained, and the severity of comment 
 which it has elicited, the friends of the late Edgar A. Poe deem it 
 an imperative duty to free his memory from this unjust reproach, 
 and oppose to it their unqualified denial. Such a denial is due, 
 not only to the memory of the departed, but also to the lady 
 whose home is supposed to have been desecrated by these dis- 
 graceful outrages. 
 
 Mr. Poe was frequently my guest during his stay in Providence. 
 In his several visits to the city I was with him daily. I was ac- 
 quainted with the circumstances of his engagement, and with the 
 causes which led to its dissolution. I am authorized to say, not 
 only from my personal knowledge, but also from the statements of 
 all who were conversant with the affair, that there exists not a 
 shadow of foundation for the stories above alluded to. 
 
 Mr. Poe's friends have no desire to palliate his faults, nor to 
 conceal the fact of his intemperance, a vice which, though never 
 habitual to him, seems, according to Dr. Griswold's published state- 
 ments, to have repeatedly assailed him at the most momentous 
 epochs of his life. With the single exception of this fault, which 
 he so fearfully expiated, his conduct, during the period of my ac- 
 quaintance with him, was invariably that of a man of honor and a 
 gentleman ; and I know that, in the hearts of all who knew him 
 best among us, he is remembered with feelings of melancholy inter- 
 est and generous sympathy. 
 
 We understand that Dr. Griswold has expressed his sincere re- 
 gret that these unfounded reports should have been sanctioned by 
 his authority; and we doubt not, if he possesses that fairness of 
 character and uprightness of intention which we have ascribed to 
 him, that he will do what lies in his power to remove an unde- 
 served stigma from the memory of the departed. 
 
 WILLIAM J. PABODIE. 
 
 PROVIDENCE, June 2, 1852. 
 
298 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 In answer to this, we find Dr. Griswold in the r61e of a bully, 
 impudently attempting to put down Mr. Pabodie's dignified 
 statement, vi et armis. He writes to Mr. Pabodie a private 
 letter as follows : 
 
 NEW YORK, June 8, 1852. 
 
 DEAR SIR, I think you have done wrong in publishing your 
 communication in yesterday's Tribune without ascertaining how it 
 must be met. I have never expressed any such regrets as you 
 write of, and I cannot permit any statement in my memoir of Poe 
 to be contradicted by a reputable person, unless it is shown to be 
 wrong. The statement in question I can easily prove on the most 
 unquestionable authority to be true ; and unless you explain your 
 letter to the Tribune in another for publication there, you will compel 
 me to place before the public such documents as will be infinitely 
 painful to Mrs. Whitman and all others concerned. The person 
 to whom he disclosed his intention to break off the match was Mrs. 
 
 H 1. He was already engaged to another party. I am sorry 
 
 for the publication of your letter. Why you did not permit me to 
 see it before it appeared, and disclose in advance these conse- 
 quences, I cannot conceive. I would willingly drop the subject, 
 but for the controversies hitherto in regard to it, with which you 
 are acquainted. Before writing to the Tribune, I will await your 
 opportunity to acknowledge this note, and to give such explana- 
 tions of your letter as will render any public statement on my 
 part unnecessary. 
 
 In haste, yours respectfully, 
 
 R. W. GRISWOLD. 
 W. J. PABODIE, ESQ. 
 
 This letter to Mr. Pabodie also contains certain indecent 
 allusions, designed to prejudice Mr. Pabodie against Poe, and 
 to accelerate the complete bottling up of the unwelcome truths 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 299 
 
 of which Mr. Griswold knew the Providence gentleman was 
 aware. But for the arrogant and defiant assumptions of Dr. 
 Griswold, it is not probable that Mr. Pabodie would have re- 
 plied to his letter ; for Mr. Pabodie was a gentleman. Never- 
 theless, in the interest of truth and justice, he did respond 
 with a clincher to Dr. Griswold, as follows: 
 
 June n, 1852. 
 MR. RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. 
 
 DEAR SIR, In reply to your note, I would say that I have 
 simply testified to what / know to be true, namely, that no such 
 incident as that so extensively circulated in regard to certain al- 
 leged outrages at the house of Mrs. Whitman, and the calling of 
 the police, ever took place. The assertion that Mr. Poe came to 
 Providence the last time with the intention of breakin- off the 
 
 o 
 
 engagement you will find equally unfounded when I have stated 
 to you the facts as I know them. In remarking that you had 
 expressed regret at the fact of their admission into your memoir, 
 I had reference to a passage in a letter written by Mrs. H. 
 to Mrs. W., which was read to me by the latter some time since. 
 I stated in all truthfulness the impression which that letter had 
 left upon my mind. I enclose an extract from the letter, that you 
 may judge for yourself : 
 
 " Having heard that Mr. Poe was engaged to a lady of Providence, I 
 said to him, on hearing that he was going to that city, ' Mr. Poe, are 
 you going to Providence to be married?' <I am going to deliver a lec- 
 ture on Poetry,' he replied. Then, after a pause, and with a look of 
 great reserve, he added, 'That marriage may never take place.'"* 
 
 I know that from the commencement of Poe's acquaintance with 
 * In another letter Mrs. H. writes, referring to this conversation, indignant at 
 the use which Dr. Griswold had made of these innocent words more than a year 
 after she had reported them, " These were Mr. Poe's words, and these were all." 
 
300 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Mrs. W., he repeatedly urged her to an immediate marriage. At the 
 time of his interview with Mrs. H., circumstances existed which 
 threatened to postpone the marriage indefinitely, if not altogether 
 to prevent it. It was, undoubtedly, with reference to these circum- 
 stances that his remark to Mrs. H. was made, certainly not to 
 breaking off the engagement, as his subsequent conduct will prove. 
 He left New York for Providence on the afternoon of his inter- 
 view with Mrs. H., not with any view to the proposed union, but 
 at the solicitation of the Providence Lyceum ; and on the even- 
 
 *. 
 
 ing of his arrival delivered his lecture on American Poetry, before 
 an audience of some two thousand persons. During his stay he 
 again succeeded in renewing his engagement, and in obtaining Mrs. 
 W.'s consent to an immediate marriage. 
 
 He stopped at the Earl House, where he became acquainted with 
 a set of somewhat dissolute young men, who often invited him to 
 drink with them. We all know that he sometimes yielded to such 
 temptations, and on the third or fourth evening after his lecture, 
 he came up to Mrs. Whitman's in a state of partial intoxication. 
 I was myself present nearly the whole evening, and do most sol- 
 emnly affirm that there was no noise, no disturbance, no " outrage," 
 neither was there any "call for the police." Mr. Poe said but lit- 
 tle. This was undoubtedly the evening referred to in your memoir, 
 for it was the only evening in which he was intoxicated during his 
 last visit to this city ; but it was not " the evening that should have 
 been before the bridal," for they were not then published, and 
 the law in our State required that they should be published at 
 least three times, on as many different occasions, before they could 
 be legally married. 
 
 The next morning, Mr. Poe manifested and expressed the most 
 profound contrition and regret, and was profuse in his promises of 
 amendment. He was still urgently anxious that the marriage 
 should take place before he left the city. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 301 
 
 That very morning he wrote a note to Dr. Crocker, requesting 
 him to pubh'sh the intended marriage at the earliest opportunity, 
 and intrusted this note to me, with the request that I should make 
 oath to it, if necessary: You will perceive, therefore, that I did 
 not write unadvisedly in the statement published in the Tribune. 
 
 For yourself, Mr. Griswold, I entertain none other than the kind- 
 est feelings. I was not surprised that you should have believed 
 those rumors in regard to Poe and his engagement ; and although, 
 from a regard for the feelings of the lady, I do not think that a 
 belief in their truth could possibly justify their publication, yet I 
 was not disposed to impute to you any wrong motive in presenting 
 them to the public. I supposed rather that, in the hurry of publi- 
 cation and in the multiplicity of your avocations, you had not given 
 each statement that precise consideration which less haste and more 
 leisure would have permitted. I was thus easily led to believe, 
 from Mrs. H.'s letter, that upon being assured of their incor- 
 rectness, and upon learning how exceedingly painful they were to 
 the feelings of the surviving party, you sincerely regretted their 
 publication. I would fain hope so still. 
 
 In my article in the Tribune, I endeavored to palliate their pub- 
 lication on your part, and to say everything in your extenuation 
 that was consistent with the demands of truth and justice to the 
 parties concerned. I would add, in regard to Poe's intoxication 
 on the evening above alluded to, that to all appearances it was as 
 purely accidental and unpremeditated as any similar act of his life. 
 By what species of logic any one should infer that in this particu- 
 lar instance it was the result of a malicious purpose and deliberate 
 design, I have never been able to conceive. The facts of the case 
 and his subsequent conduct prove beyond a doubt that he had no 
 such design. 
 
 With great respect, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 REV. RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. WILLIAM J. PABODIE. 
 
302 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 It will be seen by this correspondence that the attempt of 
 Dr. Griswold to browbeat Mr. Pabodie was courteously but 
 firmly and unanswerably met. Dr. Griswold never paid the 
 slightest attention to this letter, contenting himself with leaving 
 on record the outrageous scandal that has since obtained an 
 almost unprecedented -circulation in the numerous memoirs of 
 Poe, based upon Dr. Griswold's malicious invention, that have 
 been published. The introduction of the story of the banns 
 would seem to come under the head of what lawyers call " an 
 accessory after the fact." Dr. Griswold had probably heard 
 that the banns were written, if not published, and took advan- 
 tage of this information to adroitly garnish his story with them. 
 To set this question at rest forever, I have obtained permis- 
 sion to quote the following passages of a letter received from 
 Mrs. Whitman in August, 1873: 
 
 "No such scene as that described by Dr. Griswold ever trans- 
 pired in my presence. No one, certainly no woman, who had the 
 slightest acquaintance with Edgar Poe, could have credited the 
 story for an instant. He was essentially and instinctively a gentle- 
 man, utterly incapable, even in moments of excitement and delirium, 
 of such an outrage as Dr. Griswold has ascribed to him. No au- 
 thentic anecdote of coarse indulgence in vulgar orgies or bestial 
 riot has ever been recorded of him. During the last years of his 
 unhappy life, whenever he yielded to the temptation that was draw- 
 ing him into its fathomless abyss, as with the resistless swirl of the 
 maelstrom, he always lost himself in sublime rhapsodies on the 
 evolution of the universe, speaking as from some imaginary plat- 
 form to vast audiences of rapt and attentive listeners. During one 
 of his visits to this city, in the autumn of 1848,* I once saw him, 
 
 * This visit is the identical one mentioned by Griswold as the occasion of 
 the alleged outrage. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 303 
 
 after one of those nights of wild excitement, before reason had 
 fully recovered its throne. Yet even then, in those frenzied mo- 
 ments when the doors of the mind's ' Haunted Palace ' were left 
 all unguarded, his words were the words of a princely intellect, 
 overwrought, and of a heart only too sensitive and too finely 
 strung. I repeat that no one acquainted with Edgar Poe could 
 have given Dr. Griswold's scandalous anecdote a moment's cre- 
 dence. 
 
 " Yours, etc., 
 
 "S. H. WHITMAN" 
 
 In regard to Mr. Griswold's professed friendship for Poe, 
 which he endeavors to demonstrate in copies of a correspond- 
 ence which I cannot refrain from thinking was extensively 
 "doctored" by the doctor, to suit his purpose, I am able to 
 present an extract from an autograph letter of Dr. Griswold 
 written to Mrs. Whitman in 1849. 
 
 The object of this was evidently to cool Mrs. Whitman's 
 friendship for Mrs. Clemm, thus preventing their further inti- 
 macy. This was desirable to Dr. Griswold for evident rea- 
 sons. 
 
 NEW YORK, December 17, 1849. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. WHITMAN, I have been two or three weeks in 
 Philadelphia attending to the remains which a recent fire left of my 
 library and furniture, and so did not receive your interesting letter 
 in regard to our departed acquaintance until to-day ; I wrote, as you 
 suppose, the notice of Poe in the Tribune, but very hastily. 
 
 I was not his friend, nor was he mine, as I remember to 
 have told you. I undertook to edit his writings, to oblige Mrs. 
 Clemm, and they will soon be published in two thick volumes, of 
 which a copy shall be sent to you. I saw very little of Poe in his 
 last years I cannot refrain from begging you to be very 
 
304 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 careful what you say or write to Mrs. Clemm, who is not your 
 friend, nor anybody's friend, and who has no element of goodness 
 or kindness in her nature, but whose whole heart and understand- 
 ing are full of malice and wickedness. / confide in you these sen- 
 tences for your own sake only, for Mrs. C. appears to be a very 
 warm friend to me. Pray destroy this note, and, at least, act cau- 
 tiously, till I may justify it in a conversation with you. 
 I am, yours very sincerely, 
 
 RUFUS W. GRISWOLD. 
 
 This brief note affords a tolerably good specimen of the 
 utter duplicity of the man. In his printed memoir of Poe, 
 he quotes a correspondence indicating professed friendship ; 
 in private, he squarely owns that no friendship ever existed 
 between Poe and himself. 
 
 He writes that Mrs. Clemm is a friend to no one, and stig- 
 matizes her character, and in the same breath speaks of her 
 warm friendship for him. 
 
 Had Griswold lived in Othello's time, no one could have 
 disputed with him the position of "mine ancient," honest lago. 
 
 From a correspondence from Mrs. Clemm, who, there can 
 be no reasonable doubt, is correctly described by Willis as 
 "one of those angels upon earth that women in adversity can 
 be," we find the most positive testimony that Dr. Griswold's 
 association with collecting the works of Poe, and of writing a 
 memoir of the author, was purely voluntary and speculative. 
 
 It presents simply the fact of a designing and unscrupulous 
 man, prompted by hatred and greed of gain, taking advantage 
 of a helpless woman, unaccustomed to business, to defraud 
 her of her rights, and gratify his malice and his avarice at 
 her expense. 
 
EDGAR A. POE AND HIS BIOGRAPHER. 305 
 
 A miserable pittance having been given to Mrs. Clemm in 
 exchange for Poe's private papers, Dr. Griswold draws up a 
 paper for Mrs. Clemm to sign, announcing his appointment 
 as Poe's literary executor, not omitting of course a touching 
 allusion to himself. This is duly signed by Mrs. Clemm, and 
 printed over her signature in the published editions of Poe's 
 works. But if the wording of this curious paper be carefully 
 observed, it will be noted that nothing whatever is said in it 
 of any request by Poe that Dr. Griswold should write a 
 memoir of his life. This duty was properly assigned to Mr. 
 Willis, of all men, familiar with the subject, the most com- 
 petent to fulfil such a task, and his tender and manly tribute 
 to the stricken genius was all that could have been wished, all 
 that the world called for. 
 
 Mrs. Clemm had no idea, at the time she signed the paper 
 which she scarcely understood, that Dr. Griswold had any 
 intention of supplementing Mr. Willis's obituary with any 
 memoir by his own pen. It was a piece of gratuitous malice, 
 the act of a fiend exulting over a dead and helpless victim. 
 
 The tone of Poe's critique of Griswold, in his review of 
 the "Poets and Poetry of America," which unquestionably 
 inspired the reverend doctor's malignant hatred, scathing as 
 it is, will impress the reader with its outspoken manliness and 
 integrity of purpose. What a contrast to the biography that, 
 while undermining the very foundations of Poe's moral and 
 social character, yet hypocritically professes to be dictated 
 by friendship, and written in a generous spirit ! I fear that 
 Dr. Griswold's precious specimen of his generosity will go 
 on record in the history of literature as an everlasting mon- 
 ument of his despicable meanness ! 
 
306 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Dr. Griswold was, take him all in all, about as well fitted 
 to be Poe's biographer, as Mr. Preston Brooks would have 
 been to have written an impartial life of Charles Sumner. 
 And, indeed, whenever it becomes possible 'for a Rufus W. 
 Griswold to write a true transcript of the life of an Edgar A. 
 Poe, then will perpetual motion have become possible, the 
 world will find it easy and comfortable to arrest its revolu- 
 tions at pleasure, and balloon voyages to the planets will be- 
 come as popular and as practicable, as is a trip to Saratoga 
 at the present day. 
 
LETHE. 
 
LETHE. 
 
 BY C. McK. LEOSER. 
 
 'ERBORNE with carking grief and weary weight 
 
 of sin, 
 
 Yearneth the patient Christian for the time 
 When, to the ringing seraph-song sublime, 
 Falleth the load, and proud he entereth in, 
 Escaped the world's annoy and Satan's gin ; 
 And, fain to leave the worn and tasteless joys, 
 And all the bitter glare and hollow noise, 
 Seeth his everlasting life begin. 
 So toward thee, Lotos, home to sweet souls given, 
 The outworn toiler in the muck of trade, 
 Or where the opinion of the public 's made, 
 Turns at the hour to which his thought has striven ; 
 
 Then, the dull burden from his shoulders laid, 
 Forgets his care in thee, thou gentler earthly Heaven. 
 
THE MIRACLE OF THE FISHES. 
 
THE MIRACLE OF THE FISHES. 
 
 BY ROBERT R. ROOSEVELT. 
 
 r N these modern days the public affects a taste for 
 sporting. Whether in imitation of the recreations 
 of the aristocratic and leisure-loving nations of the 
 Old World, or impelled by an increase of sedentary 
 occupations among ourselves, Americans are given 
 more and more to spending their holidays in the chase of 
 beast, bird, or fish. In the spring, as soon as the frost lets 
 go its grip of the waters, the young New-Yorker's fancy 
 lightly turns to thoughts of visiting the trout-ponds of Long 
 Island, the Mattowacs of the jovial J. Cypress, Jr., of glori- 
 ous memory ; the sportsman's Paradise of the more senten- 
 tious and didactic Frank Forester, where trout are " frighted 
 from their natural propriety " by many strange devices in the 
 way of fishing-tackle. During the summer the effectual fires 
 of that hottest of resorts, Saratoga, pale before the attrac- 
 tions of the Adirondacks, and our deluded men about town 
 exchange the miseries of stifling nights and villanous aperients 
 for the tortures of merciless black gnats and tunefully tri- 
 umphant mosquitoes. And in the fall the knights of the 
 quill and yard-stick drag their unaccustomed limbs over 
 " stony limits " and through meadowy morasses in an imagi- 
 nary devotion to sportsmanship, and a praiseworthy, if un- 
 
3H LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 rewarded, pursuit of quail. Diana is worshipped even more 
 assiduously than Venus, whose longest trains and biggest 
 chignons are not as alluring as a lively trout-brook, a lovely 
 snipe-bog, or a stand on the bass rocks by the " sounding 
 sea." All this is healthful, and promises well for the "millions 
 yet to be " on this continent, of whom it will be said, 
 
 "They can jump, and they can run, 
 Catch the wild goat by the hair, nd hurl their lances in the sun." 
 
 Metaphorically, of course, as the only goats worth catch- 
 ing reference clearly not being intended by the poet to the 
 docile creatures that roam about the shanties of Goat Town, 
 and alternate their diet between old hats and bits of paper 
 are those of the Rocky Mountains, who are not given to letting 
 themselves be caught in their inaccessible fastnesses even by 
 the most agile hunter of the liveliest poetical imagination ; 
 while the discovery of gunpowder has converted the roman- 
 tic lance into the prosaic, but game-compelling, breech-loading 
 rifle or shot-gun. 
 
 Fortunate as is this change, and promising, as it does, an 
 immense increase of muscular Christianity, it has its defects, 
 and of course it inflicts much suffering by compelling the ex- 
 perienced sportsman to listen to the puerilities of the begin- 
 ner, the skilful angler to have his soul harrowed up by 
 being asked about the virtues of a fishing/^, or graciously 
 informed of the special attractions of some favorite tail fly, 
 till he feels his "torture should be roared in dismal hell," or 
 the accomplished shot to be assured by some bungler that a 
 muzzle-loader " shoots stronger than a breech-loader " ; but, 
 trying as these are, they are not the only points to be con- 
 demned. The system itself is wrong. At present there are 
 
THE MIRACLE OF THE FISHES. 315 
 
 but two classes in the community who consider game at all ; 
 one of these regards it simply as something to be eaten, the 
 other looks upon it solely as something to be killed. The 
 first may be dismissed with scarce a word, as utterly beneath 
 the contempt of well-regulated minds : for it has been the 
 proper thing to condemn indulgences of the stomach from 
 the days of the dishes of peacock's tongues to the times of 
 pates de foie gms ; and the latter class alone is worthy of our 
 tender care and wise advice. These individuals, these sports- 
 men, as they call themselves, vainly consider they have at- 
 tained their ends when they have had a good day's sport, 
 when they have filled their bags or their creels, when they have 
 drunk deep draughts of the breath of the morning and feasted 
 their eyes on the pictures drawn by Nature's golden pencil, 
 when they have cast the fly delicately and accurately, when 
 they have tossed the bass-bait into the combing crest of the 
 outermost breaker, or when they have shot straight and " held 
 true." Poor fools, they have put their happiness into a con- 
 densed pill, and swallowed it up at a gulp ; they have had 
 but a moment's pleasure in what should have been " linked 
 sweetness long drawn out." In their " dull, untutored minds " 
 they never dreamed of what a " thing of beauty and a joy 
 forever" a fish qould be made, and only used him in the last 
 stage of his existence, and, by opposing, ended him. They 
 thought only of the trout that were in the brook or the bass 
 that were in the sea, wished that there were more, but never 
 speculated how they came there. At this point science and 
 morality alike come in and say, "What thoti sowest, that shalt 
 thou also reap ; if thou wouldst have fish, fish must thou 
 even plant, precisely as thou plantest corn ; if thou wantest 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 whiskey and beans, if thou desirest soup, how canst thou 
 expect a crop when thou art always harvesting and never 
 planting ? 
 
 It may not seem romantic to grow game for pursuit, as a 
 market-man raises beef for the table ; and the fisherman might 
 imagine he was being degraded into a fishman ; but the 
 sporting pleasures of modern times must be tempered by the 
 influences of scientific discoveries, or our utilitarian age, with 
 its proud nets and its improved weapons, will sweep them out 
 of existence. It is true that a " glorious nibble" may reward 
 the sublimated angler, living in the highest heaven of his 
 art, for a day of patience, but the rest of mankind would like 
 a rise or a bite now and then, just for variety. 
 
 The delights of a day on Long Island are not to be de- 
 nied, but they are different from what they once were. In 
 former days, when the genial and brilliant J. Cypress, Jr., vis- 
 ited Raccoon Beach now misnamed Fire Island to kill 
 ducks, and his friend, Ned Loftus, cast a fly so " far and deli- 
 cately and suspendedly " that it took wings and flew away, ducks 
 and snipe were so abundant that you did not have to whistle, 
 and they came to you, my lad, and you could cast your lines 
 into any brook with a full and abiding faith that trout were 
 there to see. Now, the Madeira is good, yea, verily, we 
 know whereof we speak, and the sherry came over before 
 any other emigrant, and the champagne flows in a never- 
 ending stream ; but the preserves are bare of fish, and the 
 gentle angler has to trust to a French cook to fill his stom- 
 ach, that should be cloyed with trout. 
 
 Nor is this the fault of the fish ; the finny tribe are not 
 to blame ; they are willing to do their part. A trout lays 
 
THE MIRACLE OF THE FISHES. 317 
 
 ten thousand eggs ; imagine such a reckless amount of ma- 
 ternity ! Ten thousand eggs, ten thousand fry, ten thousand 
 fingerlings, ten thousand "speckled beauties," in their well- 
 rounded proportions ; ten thousand atoms of fishing happiness. 
 Nurse the little ones, teach them to play at hide-and-seek 
 when their natural enemies are about, protect them from evil 
 associates, warn them against wicked ways, and keep their 
 fins from the paths that lead down to death, and they will 
 crowd the waters, stock all the preserves, and, lifting up their 
 voices, beg to be caught. An Englishman was once invited 
 to visit a friend, who allured him to the country under the 
 pretence of having a fine carp pond, whereas he had only 
 brought fifty fish, thinking that enough for a week's sport, 
 and turned them loose a few days previously. Conceive the 
 host's horror when his sporting friend caught forty-seven the 
 first morning, before breakfast. In American preserves, eti- 
 quette requires the fisherman to return to the water the trout 
 that he catches, that he may catch them over again, or leave 
 them to the next guest. But if the sportsman insists that there 
 is no great enjoyment in raising fish, and that he would rather 
 hoe corn and dig potatoes for amusement, not to speak of 
 profit, he should console himself with the recollection of the 
 benefit he confers on society, of the addition he makes to 
 the supply of fish food, that monument of the brain, that 
 restorative of the machine-shop of ideas, that fertilizer of in- 
 telligence, which the students of man's body affirm it to be. 
 He should contemplate the advance to be effected in the 
 human race when the intellect is developed by unlimited 
 condiment. Though the fisherman be a member of the Lotos, 
 and may think, from his surroundings, that a development of 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 brain is not necessary, he should still have pity and consid- 
 eration for the benighted world outside the gifted few, and 
 help the common mind into a higher sphere of development. 
 Therefore, whether the fisherman be a philanthropist, a sports- 
 man, or even a member of the Lotos, he should allow no 
 blind ideas of present recreation to keep him from a duty he 
 owes mankind, and should not presume to wield the rod till 
 he has worked the breeding- trough. 
 
 Suppose there are ten thousand sportsmen, and each should 
 supervise the incubation of but one pair of fish, raising ten 
 thousand young, and every pair of those young should subse- 
 quently raise their ten thousand, it would require a syndicate 
 or statistician to compute the result. The lakes and rivers 
 and the ocean itself would become crammed with fish, till the 
 traveller could make the voyage to Europe dry-shod on their 
 backs ; ships would get fish-bound, and have to be cut out ; 
 mankind would have to go without washing, and drink whiskey, 
 to allow the fish sufficient water; and such a millennium of 
 sportsmanship would have arrived as was never dreamed of 
 in the wildest reaches of sporting philosophy. Then there 
 would be no empty creels, no blank days, none of those 
 perverse hours when trout will not rise, and none of those 
 painfully insinuating questions, when the sportsman at last 
 returns with a goodly mess, as to where he bought them 
 and how much he paid for them. The jeers of the unbeliev- 
 ing would then be in vain, and the hearts of the best of 
 the human species would be made happy by the miraculous 
 reproductiveness of fishes. 
 
THE LOTOS-EATERS. 
 
THE LOTOS-EATERS.* 
 
 BY ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 OUR AGE !" he said, and pointed toward the land, 
 " This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." 
 In the afternoon they came unto a land, 
 In which it seemed always afternoon. 
 All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
 
 Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 
 
 Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ; 
 
 And like a downward smoke, the slender stream 
 
 Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. 
 
 A land of streams ! some, like a downward smoke, 
 
 Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ; 
 
 And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, 
 
 Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. 
 
 They saw the gleaming river seaward flow 
 
 From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, 
 
 Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, 
 
 Stood sunset-flush'd : and, dew'd with showery drops, 
 
 Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. 
 
 * This poem is the only article in the volume not written by a member of the 
 Lotos Club. It is inserted for the reason that it suggested the name of the Club, 
 and in acknowledgment of Mr. Tennyson's acceptance of the dedication. EDS. 
 
322 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 The charmed sunset linger'd low adown 
 
 In the red West : thro' mountain clefts the dale 
 
 Was seen far inland, and the yellow down 
 
 Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale 
 
 And meadow, set with slender galingale ; 
 
 A land where all things always seem'd the same! 
 
 And round about tne keel with faces pale, 
 
 Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, 
 
 The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. 
 
 Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, 
 
 Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave 
 
 To each, but whoso did receive of them, 
 
 And taste, to' him the gushing of the wave 
 
 Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave 
 
 On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake, 
 
 His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ; 
 
 And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake, 
 
 And music in his ears his beating heart did make. 
 
 They sat them down upon the yellow sand, 
 Between the sun and moon upon the shore ; 
 And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, 
 Of child, and wife, and slave ; but evermore 
 Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar, 
 Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. 
 Then some one said, " We will return no more " ; 
 And all at once they sang, " Our island home 
 Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam." 
 
THE LOTOS-EATERS. 3 2 3 
 
 1 
 
 CHORIC SONG. 
 I. 
 
 THERE is sweet music here that softer falls 
 
 Than petals from blown roses on the grass, 
 
 Or night-dews on still waters between walls 
 
 Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass ; 
 
 Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, 
 
 Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes ; 
 
 Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. 
 
 Here are cool mosses deep, 
 
 And thro' the moss the ivies creep, 
 
 And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, 
 
 And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 
 
 2. 
 
 Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, 
 
 And utterly consumed with sharp distress, 
 
 While all things else have rest from weariness ? 
 
 All things have rest : why should we toil alone ? 
 
 We only toil, who are the first of things, 
 
 And make perpetual moan, 
 
 Still from one sorrow to another thrown : 
 
 Nor ever fold our wings, 
 
 And cease from wanderings, 
 
 Nor 'steep our brows in slumber's holy balm ; 
 
 Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings, 
 
 "There is no joy but calm!" 
 
 Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things ? 
 
324 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 
 
 3- 
 
 Lo ! in the middle of the wood, 
 The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud 
 With winds upon the branch, and there 
 Grows green and broad, and takes no care, 
 Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon 
 Nightly dew-fed ; and turning yellow 
 Falls, and floats adown the air. 
 Lo ! sweeten'd with the summer light, 
 The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, 
 Drops in a silent autumn night. 
 All its allotted length of days, 
 The flower ripens in its place, 
 Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 
 Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. 
 
 4- 
 
 Hateful is the dark-blue sky, 
 Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea. 
 Death is the end of life ; ah, why 
 Should life all labor be ? 
 Let us alone,- Time driveth onward fast, 
 And in a little while our lips are dumb. 
 Let us alone. What is it that will last ? 
 All things are taken from us, and become 
 Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 
 Let us alone. What pleasure can we have 
 To war with evil ? Is there any peace 
 
THE LOTOS-EATERS. 325 
 
 In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? 
 
 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave 
 
 In silence ; ripen, fall and cease : 
 
 Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. 
 
 5- 
 
 How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, 
 With half-shut eyes ever to seem 
 Falling asleep in a half-dream ! 
 To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, 
 Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height ; 
 To hear each other's whisper'd speech ; 
 Eating the Lotos day by day, 
 To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, 
 And tender curving lines of creamy spray ; 
 To lend our hearts and spirits wholly 
 To the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; 
 To muse and brood and live again in memory, 
 With those old faces of our infancy 
 Heap'd over with a mound of grass, 
 Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass ! 
 
 6. 
 
 Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, 
 
 And dear the last embraces of our wives 
 
 And their warm tears ; but all hath suffer'd change ; 
 
 For surely now our household hearths are cold : 
 
 Our sons inherit us : our looks are strange : 
 
326 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. 
 
 Or else the island princes over-bold 
 
 Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings 
 
 Before them of the ten years' war in Troy, 
 
 And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. 
 
 Is there confusion in the little isle ? 
 
 Let what is broken so remain. 
 
 The Gods are hard to reconcile : 
 
 'T is hard to settle order once again. 
 
 There is confusion worse than death, 
 
 Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, 
 
 Long labor unto aged breath, 
 
 Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars 
 
 And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. 
 
 7- 
 
 But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, 
 How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly) 
 With half-dropt eyelids still, 
 Beneath a heaven dark and holy, 
 To watch the long bright river drawing slowly 
 His waters from the purple hill, 
 To hear the dewy echoes calling 
 From cave to cave thro' the thick-twined vine, 
 To watch tfie emerald-color'd water falling 
 Thro' many a wov'n acanthus- wreath divine ! 
 Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, 
 Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine. 
 
THE LOTOS-EATERS. 327 
 
 8 
 
 The Lotos blooms below the barren peak : 
 
 The Lotos blows by every winding creek : 
 
 All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone : 
 
 Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone 
 
 Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is 
 
 blown. 
 
 We have had enough of action, and of motion we, 
 Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was 
 
 seething free, 
 Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in 
 
 the sea. 
 
 Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, 
 In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 
 On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. 
 For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd 
 Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly 
 
 curl'd 
 
 Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world : 
 Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, 
 Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and 
 
 fiery sands, 
 Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and 
 
 praying hands. 
 
 But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song 
 Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, 
 Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong ; 
 Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, 
 Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, 
 
328 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil ; 
 
 Till they perish and they suffer some, 't is whisper'd 
 
 down in hell 
 
 Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, 
 Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. 
 Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore 
 Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar ; 
 O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 
 
 BY I. H. BROMLEY. 
 
 OUBTLESS there are people in the world 
 who coddle themselves with the idea that 
 they are utterly and absolutely sincere ; 
 that though in a general sense it may be 
 true that "all the world 's a stage and all the men and 
 women merely players," there is at least no ringing up of 
 curtains or strutting before the footlights in their own pro- 
 foundly earnest lives. Is it cynicism to dispute them in their 
 fond delusion ; to say that no such thing is possible ; that 
 with all their efforts to be simple, direct, natural, they are 
 forever artificial, artful in manner, address, features, step, 
 and even in the very attitude of worship and the diction of 
 prayer ? Art wedded Nature on that bridal morn in Para- 
 dise when our Mother saw she was unclad, and plucked her 
 wardrobe from the fig-tree ; and there has been neither di- 
 vorce nor separation since. Then began costumes, and from 
 the fig-leaf flowed the infinite pageantry of soft and silken 
 stuffs, of lace and muslin, satins and embroideries, with which 
 brides, wives, and mothers have .come rustling down to us 
 from Paradise, bringing with them, with all their "art and 
 artifice, the garden's fragrance and the garden's light and 
 life and joy. 
 
332 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Since the exodus from Eden, Nature has been kept in 
 flower-pots and set in windows, framed behind foot-lights, 
 with curtain at the front and wings at the sides, pieced out 
 with stove-pipe hat and fringed with claw-hammer coat, sur- 
 mounted and crowned with the chignon, built upon with the 
 pannier, and draped with the polonaise. Art and artifice and 
 artfulness and all things artificial came in with the curse, 
 and will go out only with the millennium. This is the trail of 
 the serpent over us all, that we are always acting, that we can 
 never be utterly sincere. Is it a hard statement ? Do you 
 believe that, in your serious, solemn work in the world, there 
 is no little bell to ring up your curtain, no audience to act 
 before, no mimicries nor tricks nor deceptions, nor strutting 
 back and forth, nor rolling up of eyes, nor phrasing of sen- 
 tences, nor any of the thousand things that make a play a 
 play ? Have you ever sat before a camera and listened to the 
 stereotyped address of the photographer, " Sit easy now, and 
 look natural " ? Do you think you did it ? There are easy- 
 sitting, natural-looking Matilda Janes and Charles Augus- 
 tuses enough hanging on walls and shut up in albums to 
 girdle this round globe with such a belt of ghastly caricature 
 as would haunt the day with fearful visions, and distort our 
 dreams with nightmares ; and every mother's Matilda Jane 
 and Charles Augustus of them all, though they sat cramped 
 and gasping before the portrait-painting sun, thought it was 
 nature, and that they were altogether sincere ; and even when 
 they rose from their constrained ease and unnatural natural- 
 ness, and stretched themselves with weariness, never dreamed 
 they had been fooling themselves while they tried to fool the 
 sun. Let us be frank about it, for we are all together in it ; 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 333 
 
 who is there that has not some time sat with folded hands 
 and vacant stare before the dreadful camera? 
 
 Some one not long ago defined a "bore" to be "a person 
 who persists in talking about himself when you want to be 
 talking about yourself." The readiness with which the news- 
 papers most of which, I may be permitted to say, know a 
 good thing when they see it snapped up the definition, and 
 the general acceptance of it as a crisp, bright truth, were 
 proof enough that to the average man it came as a sort of 
 revelation. Men who had encountered bores, and been an- 
 noyed by them, did not know that the difference between 
 themselves and the bore was only in opportunity, did not 
 know, indeed, that they were bored by egotism only in the 
 degree in which it hindered them from being egotistical them- 
 selves. But this touchstone of some quaint philosopher re- 
 vealed themselves to themselves in such manner as to raise 
 a smile at their own absurdity. We do not know how ab- 
 solutely selfish we are till some such thing uncovers us and 
 shows us as we are, acting small deceptions to ourselves 
 with no audience but the looking-glass. We are hide-bound 
 pachydermatous with egotism. Largely as we may talk 
 of patriotism and its sacrifices, of religion and its tender 
 offices, of humanity and universal brotherhood, we are all so 
 self-centered that we never, for country, church, or fellow-man, 
 rise above ourselves entirely ; our wings forever touch the 
 ground, and the highest attainment of our very best endeavor 
 is in reaching a line of conduct whose motives are freest 
 from what is sordid, mean, and base. 
 
 There are several thousand men who, in their daily walk 
 down Broadway, for at least half a block before they reach 
 
334 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 the full-length mirrors which stand for a sign on the side- 
 walk before a picture-dealer's shop, are oppressed with anxiety 
 lest some conceited coxcomb shall get between them and the 
 glass. Not one of them believes he is conceited or vain, 
 and not one of them but thinks the man in front who obstructs 
 the glass is a disgusting puppy who has not the sense or the 
 modesty to keep his vanity and foppishness from public sight. 
 It's a long procession that goes daily down Broadway, but to 
 these reflections concerning the brutal stupidity and vanity 
 of the person in front, each one succeeds as naturally and 
 regularly as to his order in the line and his place before 
 the glass. What a world of mincing and smirking and 
 strutting the Broadway mirrors witness every day, and how 
 many thousand times a day is the question, " How do I 
 look ? " put to them by men who would actually be surprised 
 should they catch themselves at it! Of all forms of selfish- 
 ness, the one reckoned most contemptible, fit to be treated 
 only with derision and jeers, is the vanity of personal beauty 
 or good looks. It is that sort of self-engrossment that has 
 hardly body enough to be called a vice, a harmless hollowness 
 that can only be despised or pitied. No one likes to confess 
 to this weakness. And yet everybody knows that the softest 
 and easiest approach to everybody else can always be reached 
 by judicious and not overdone allusions to personal attractions. 
 
 The truth is, that we not only never open our hearts to 
 each other, but we do not open them to ourselves. Shall I 
 say, then, that in our moments of serenest joy or or our 
 crises of supremest need, when, helpless and hopeless, we lift 
 our weak hands upwards, we do never consciously strip our- 
 selves bare of all concealments ? Shall I say that before God 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 335 
 
 we are in some sense playing parts, and that if he reads us, 
 it is through his own omniscience, and not because in our 
 most secret devotions we open the book and turn its pages 
 before him ? Abel's altar of sacrifice, Abraham's memorial of 
 the covenant, Moses receiving the law behind the curtain 
 of cloud in the wondrous drama of Sinai, the ark of the cov- 
 enant, the hangings of the tabernacle, the paraphernalia of the 
 temple, the priestly garments with their tinkling bells, the cere- 
 monial observances and the grand ritual of worship, the teach- 
 ings of allegory and parable, the stoled and surpliced priests, 
 the chant of solemn organ, the summons of church bells, the 
 pulpit vestments, the groined arches and dimly lighted aisles, 
 the well-dressed worshippers, the attitude of devotion, the rhyth- 
 mic flow of praise, and the choice rhetoric of prayer, attest 
 through all the ages the symbolism by which alone we may 
 approach the Uncreated. In our worship we are but actors. 
 As individuals we act to ourselves and others ; as nations 
 and aggregate humanity we play our parts. History is but an 
 acted play, and human progress an unwritten drama. It is 
 but a difference in degree between the strutting royalty of the 
 boards and the kingly carriage of the real ruler. Each to his 
 audience. Congresses and parliaments are but the " people " 
 of the stage, sometimes unravelling and sometimes tangling 
 the plot, burdened always with a sense of importance, as though 
 they were making the play, when -in fact they are only swept 
 along by it. The great events of history have always been 
 dramatic, always set on in tableaux, and all the great charac- 
 ters of the world, robber-kings, regicides, crusaders, command- 
 ers, heroes, saints, and martyrs, have posed themselves in 
 dreary and pitiful self-consciousness for the pen of the his- 
 torian or pencil of the artist. 
 
336 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 No one of the thousands who were present can ever forget 
 the dramatic features of the great Chicago Convention of 1860. 
 A vast auditorium was crowded almost to suffocation ; upon 
 the great stage in front sat delegates from all the Northern 
 States, while in the center the representatives of the press 
 were plying busy pencils. A party that had never been in 
 power, and had no strength in any Southern State, was in 
 convention to nominate a President. The scene, the occa- 
 sion, the surroundings, the vast multitudes of men, and the 
 distinguished actors engaged, were all combined in one in- 
 tensely dramatic effect. Some of the most earnest and 
 thoughtful statesmen in the country were there, called by what 
 they deemed a momentous crisis to act together for the coun- 
 try and for humanity. There was an indescribable something 
 in the air which presaged disturbance. It was a close, oppres- 
 sive atmosphere, like that which goes before the wild simoom. 
 The feeling was general that the country was on the eve of 
 some great sweeping change, but how grand were the possi- 
 bilities, how woful the sacrifices, and how complete the re- 
 generation that lay in the near future, the wisest had not dared 
 to dream. The curtain was ringing up on the first act of a 
 tremendous drama, and these were the players ; earnest and 
 serious, yet players. Preliminaries were settled and organiza- 
 tion effected, and the Convention came to its work. The 
 audience adjusted itself, the army of reporters sat with pen- 
 cils poised, the telegraph-operators handled their keys ner- 
 vously, the roll-call of the States began. Maine, New 
 Hampshire, Vermont, were called, and as if they were 
 nothing more than the dead numerals of a process, the chair- 
 man of each delegation announced the scattered votes. The 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 337 
 
 Secretary called " Massachusetts." Over at the right of the 
 chair a man not much known then outside his State, short 
 in stature, with a full round face that had in it the rare 
 combination of womanly tenderness with heroic firmness, 
 stood up in his seat and said, " Mr. President." The Pres- 
 ident said, " The gentleman from Massachusetts ! " There was 
 an instant's pause. Hardly had the hush fallen when, in a 
 voice that itself was music, John A. Andrew said, " Mr. Pres- 
 ident, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts casts twenty-one 
 votes for William H. Seward, four votes for Abraham Lincoln." 
 No more than that. Only the announcement of a vote. But 
 there was more in it than figures. In all that multitude there 
 was no one so obtuse as not to know that here came on the 
 stage a royal knight among the heralds. " The Common- 
 wealth of Massachusetts " was his announcement, and with 
 that there came not merely the sapless factors in a process 
 of mathematics, but a grand and stately Commonwealth, 
 crowned with the memories of all her lofty sacrifices and 
 glorious achievements, proud of her line and lineage, of her 
 storied places and her battle-fields, her statesmen, heroes, 
 scholars, martyrs, and, above all, of her front rank in devotion 
 to freedom and human rights, swept into the line with a kingly 
 consciousness of right of precedence. Dramatic, but wonder- 
 fully well acted, on no small stage and in no small way. 
 
 Then Rhode Island and Connecticut were called, and gave 
 their answers as merest matter of statistics. The Secretary 
 called " New York." At the head of the New York delegation 
 a tall man, thin and spare, rose slowly to his full height and 
 then stepped upon his chair. Then, in a metallic ringing voice, 
 with distinct articulation, as though about beginning an ora- 
 
LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 tion, Mr. William M. Evarts said, " Mr. President," and the 
 President replied, " The gentleman from New York." There 
 was just the suggestion of noise, a low whispering buzz in the 
 great wigwam that hindered the silence from being complete. 
 But here was an actor who did not underestimate effect. " Mr. 
 President," said he, " I wait till the Convention is in order." 
 It was hardly necessary for the President to use his gavel or 
 to say, " The Convention will be in order." The hush that 
 followed his last word was absolute. Every head leaned for- 
 ward, every eye was bent upon the gentleman from New York. 
 Then, when he knew he had them all, bristling forward, eager, 
 intent, although his announcement had been discounted, and 
 they knew precisely what was coming, he said, " Mr. Pres- 
 ident, the State of New York casts seventy votes for William 
 Henry Seward." And the Convention broke into the wild and 
 vociferous cheering which the practised orator and actor had 
 planned for with such careful arrangement of details. . The 
 dramatic effect which, by skilful pauses, deliberate utterance, 
 and the magnetism of voice and eye, conveyed to the Con- 
 vention a sense of the personal affection and tender regard, 
 combined with loyal devotion and unbounded admiration, with 
 which Mr. Seward was regarded by the citizens of the great 
 State of New York, was carefully studied and wonderfully 
 well done. These were but touches of by-play, however/ in 
 the larger drama. 
 
 There were two ballots, Seward leading, Lincoln following 
 and gaining. There was a feeling, as the third call began, 
 that this was not only to end the balloting, but to name the 
 President. The excitement was intense. Nimble pencils fol- 
 lowed down the list of States, catching up the changes that, 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 339 
 
 according to their significance, were received with a ripple of 
 sensation or a burst of cheers. Before the last State was 
 called the event had been discounted ; and though there were 
 then four votes lacking to a choice, the result was deemed to 
 have been reached. Instant on the response of the last State, 
 Ohio, by her chairman, transferred four votes from Mr. Chase 
 to Mr. Lincoln. The full-voiced Secretary turned his face 
 upward to the skylight in the roof above him, and called out 
 the vote to men who, without stopping to record it, ran to the 
 sides of the wigwam and shouted the news to the surging mul- 
 titudes outside. Within the building grave and serious men 
 embraced and kissed each other, old men danced and young 
 ones cheered and shouted and flung aloft their hats, the rafters 
 rang with multitudinous roar ; and as the wave of sound rolled 
 through the doors and windows, the streets took up and echoed 
 it and rolled it back, cheer answering cheer in one great 
 jubilee of joy. With the first burst of it a gunner standing 
 by his loaded piece with lighted match reached forth his 
 hand; there was a little flash, a puff of cloud, and into 
 the midst of that wild tumult of applause there leaped from 
 the brazen belly of the gun a roar that crowned and drowned 
 all. The curtain fell on the first act of a new historic period. 
 The roar of artillery that was to be the music of the drama 
 in its stately progress, with a sublime fitness which there was 
 no prophet to recognize, had greeted the occasion and saluted 
 its hero. That moment a great, grand man, whom the world 
 then scarcely knew, stepped out with modest self-distrust upon 
 a career such as the world had never seen, laid his hand 
 with solemn sense of responsibility upon the great task be- 
 fore him, and never ceased to bear its burdens grandly, while 
 
340 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 he wore its honors meekly, till from under the assassin's hand, 
 his labor done and his fame complete, God called and crowned 
 him. 
 
 Magnificent acting there was in all this, and magnificent 
 beyond description or power of expression was the acting 
 which came after it. How, at the drawing of the crimson 
 curtain of the war, the world beheld a million men in arms, 
 and saw their camp-fires stretched across a continent, how 
 the stage was crowded with heroes great and petty, how 
 the guns were shotted, and the blood was real, and the mad- 
 ness and the fury of the charge were hot and earnest, how 
 utterly genuine were the agony of parting and the anguish 
 of bereavement, and how real and remorseless the Death that 
 brooded over loved ones, we may all freshly and tearfully 
 remember. Grand and tremendous tragedy, and for the most 
 part grandly acted ! Possibly we are not yet far enough away 
 from the smoke and the roar of the conflict and the glamour 
 of the fields to adjust this political revolution fairly to the 
 motives out of which it proceeded and upon which it was car- 
 ried along. We are apt to idealize epochs and peoples as 
 we invariably do individuals. It seems very plain that men 
 were only puppets in the play. While men were spinning 
 threads to patch a sail, God took their puny policies for the 
 strands of his eternal purpose, and twisted them together in 
 a cable that should hold a ship at anchor, while it offered 
 rescue to a race. Let us not deceive ourselves as to man's 
 work or man's purpose in the war. , It was not nearly so 
 large, so pure, or so noble as we try to think. Into it en- 
 tered all manner of motives, ambition, hatred, envy, jeal- 
 ousy, love of strife, and the passion for notoriety, as well as 
 
PLAYERS IN A LARGE DRAMA. 341 
 
 high and holy love of country, solemn sense of duty, sympa- 
 thy with the oppressed, love of humanity, and the knightly 
 sentiment of chivalry. Out of the fiery furnace into which 
 all these diverging purposes were turned, there came, through 
 the chemistries of God's grace, pure gold. Here let us walk 
 with unshod feet and reverent head, as one who treads on 
 holy ground and witnesses the mystery of miracle. 
 
 It is no detraction from the dignity and importance of 
 man's work in the world to judge of it as done altogether 
 and always with foot-lights at the front. To our eyes, level 
 with the stage, the acting all seems very grand ; the sweep 
 of royal robes and the glitter of coronets and crowns, the 
 retinues that wait on kings, the assemblies where laws are 
 made and the courts where they are administered, the officers 
 of justice, marching armies, noise of tumult, din of strife, shift- 
 ing and mingling tableaux of nations, states, and peoples, are 
 all as real to us as emotion or pulsation. Go up a hundred 
 feet or more, and from some tower window look down upon 
 it all. How much less it seems ! Go still higher, till your 
 men become insects and your horses creeping things, and all 
 the glitter and spangle of trappings and dress are the merest 
 flash of phosphorescent foam ; and higher still, till you lose 
 all perception or discrimination of writhing, gliding, twisting, 
 individual men, and see below you only Man. Ah ! from even 
 here, a short rifle-range above the world, what petty things 
 men are, and how petty their pursuits ! But look ! how large 
 the world itself; how broad and beautiful, as from this height 
 we gather in the view! Men are little, but the world is 
 large, and Humanity is great. Let us be frank with and to 
 ourselves, acquaint ourselves with our own limitations, not 
 
342 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 overestimate our capacities or our importance. Our parts are 
 assigned, we have them to act. That our mission in the 
 world is no more nor less than this, should not deter us from 
 the loftiest ideals and a supreme endeavor. For you who stand 
 at the wings waiting to go on, there need be no discouragement 
 in this discovery. Make up your mind that you take with 
 you in this great venture all the infirmities that came down 
 from Eden, with all the possibilities of being great and true 
 that stretch out from Calvary. You are no Atlas bearing 
 up the world. Your responsibility ends with your own act- 
 ing, and does not reach to God's disposing. Because you 
 may not attain perfection, is no excuse for not struggling in a 
 great and hearty way toward it. Truth is as absolute as per- 
 fection. Go toward it, not as a child toward a bawble, hoping 
 to grasp and hold it fast, but follow it reverently as the 
 chosen people followed the fiery pillar to the shores of Jordan 
 and the Land of Promise. Strip yourself first of the deceit 
 that you are not acting, and then act well your part. They 
 are the greatest actors who enter into the character they play, 
 and utterly forget themselves. And they who act grand char- 
 acters themselves become grand. Make your ideal grand, 
 lofty, pure ; saturate yourself with its spirit, walk in your 
 conception of it, act it, be it. The world's applause is not all 
 that 's worth living for, but it is not to be despised. Accept 
 it modestly, deserve it faithfully, but never bow the knee to 
 reach it, or be distracted by it from your purpose and your 
 work. You all things invite ; for your fresh face and spring- 
 ing step and all your youthful possibilities, a hearty welcome 
 and sincere applause await. The curtain rises, the play is 
 called : go on, and God go with you ! 
 
BERTHA KLEIN 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 
 
 A STORY OF THE LAHN. 
 BY W. J. FLORENCE. 
 
 OCTOR, will you hear my story? 
 Thank you. 
 
 I was a student at the University of 
 Bonn, and during my vacations often 
 went fishing up the Lahn. The Lahn, 
 you know, is a charming river that empties into the Rhine 
 opposite Capellen and the beautiful castle of Slolzenfels. 
 During these excursions I made my headquarters at the 
 " Drei Kronen," a delightful little German inn, situate on 
 the right bank of the river, a few miles above Lahnstein, and 
 kept by one Caspar Lauber. From Caspar I learned where 
 were to be found the best fishing-spots, and after our day's 
 sport we would sit under the vines and tell stories of the 
 past. He related anecdotes of the Austrian campaign, he 
 had been a soldier ; I would speak of my American home, 
 far away on the Ohio : and as we watched the smoke curling 
 from our meerschaums of canaster, we would intermingle the 
 legends with staves of " Die Wacht am Rhein " and " Tramp ! 
 tramp ! the boys are marching." I had been two summers 
 thus passing my holidays between Nassau and Lahnstein, 
 
346 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 doing duty with rod and reel, when one day, while at my 
 favorite pastime, I became aware I had a companion ; for 
 above me on the bank stood a pretty girl intently watching 
 my endeavors to hook a Barbillion that had evaded my 
 attempts to land him. 
 
 " O, so near ! 't is too bad ! " said she with a pretty 
 Nassaun accent. " If the Herr try his luck over there, above 
 the ferry-boat, he will have fine sport." And then, as if she 
 felt ashamed at having spoken to a stranger, she dropped 
 her eyes, while a blush at once overspread her face. 
 
 " Thank you, pretty one," said I. " I supposed I had known 
 all the favorite fishing-spots on the river ; but if the Fraulein 
 will conduct me, I will go and try above the ferry-boat." 
 
 " Philip Becker always fishes there when he visits Fachbach, 
 and never without bringing in a well-filled pannier " ; this in 
 a half-timid, half-sad voice. 
 
 "Well, show the way, Fraulein." She led the way to the 
 place indicated, when I ventured to ask her name. 
 
 "Bertha Klein," she said. 
 
 "And do you live near, Fraulein?" 
 
 " Yes, over there near the Lahneck. Father works at the 
 Eisensmeltz. I am returning from there now. I bring him 
 his dinner at this hour." 
 
 " Every day at this hour you cross the ferry with papa's 
 dinner, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Herr." 
 
 " And who is Philip Becker, of whom you spoke a moment 
 since ? " 
 
 " Philip, he lives at Nassau with Keppler the chemist." And 
 at pronouncing Philip's name I thought I saw a dark shadow 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 347 
 
 pass over Bertha's pretty face. " Philip is coming to Fach- 
 bach next week, so papa tells me." And Bertha's pretty face 
 again grew darkly sad. 
 
 She was of the blond type of German girl, blue-veined, with 
 large bright eyes, fringed with silken lashes, long and regular, 
 while her golden hair hung down in twin braids at her back; 
 
 "Good day, sir." 
 
 "Good day, Bertha." And she tripped quickly up the 
 bank and disappeared. 
 
 The evening found me at the Drei Kronen, with a well- 
 filled basket of carp and barbel. 
 
 " There, landlord," said I, " you may thank the pretty Bertha 
 Klein for my luck to-day. She it was who told me where to 
 throw my line." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! Have you seen Bertha ? She is one of the 
 prettiest girls in the Duchy, and good as she is beautiful." And 
 then Caspar gave me a history of her family. Her father 
 was foreman at the Eisensmeltz, or furnace. Bertha was an 
 only child. Philip Becker, a chemist's clerk at Nassau, was a 
 suitor for her hand ; and although Philip was an ill-favored, 
 heavy lout, Bertha's mother thought him every way worthy 
 of her child. " I do not think the girl likes him," said the 
 landlord, " nor should daughter of mine wed him." And we 
 drank a glass of Ashmanshauser to the health of the pretty 
 Bertha Klein. 
 
 Day after day Bertha would stop a moment to speak a few 
 words to me as she journeyed to and from the furnace. Our 
 acquaintance ripened into friendship, friendship into Well, 
 you will see, doctor. One day, while climbing the hillside 
 together, picking wild flowers, stopping ever and anon to 
 
34^ LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 listen to the rushing of the river at our feet or the loud 
 roaring of the iron furnace across the stream, Bertha, sud- 
 denly stooping, cried, " O Albert, see here ! Look ! oh, look ! 
 Here is the Todesblume" * 
 
 " The Todesblume ! Where, Bertha ? " 
 
 " Here at my feet ; and, see, the mountain-side is full of 
 them. Do you know the legend of this flower ? " 
 
 "No, darling, tell it me." 
 
 We seated ourselves on a large mass of stone, portions of 
 the fallen ruin of the old castle Lahneck, that towered for a 
 hundred feet above our heads ; and while Bertha's clear blue 
 eyes sparkled with a strange mixture of mystery and ear- 
 nestness, and betimes referring to the bunch of small white 
 flowers in her hand, she related to me the LEGEND OF THE 
 TODESBLUME. 
 
 "This old castle up there behind us was once the stronghold 
 of the famous old freebooter, Baron Rittenhall, who, although 
 considered a wicked, reckless, wild man by the world in gen- 
 eral, yet loved his young and beautiful wife with the greatest 
 possible affection. And, indeed, 't was said the immense treas- 
 ures he had levied from vessels passing up and down the Lahn 
 were spent in jewels, trinkets, and precious stcnes to deco- 
 rate the person of his lovely wife, the Lady Rittenhall. 
 
 " One day a pilgrim passing the castle begged for alms. The 
 pious Baroness gave him succor, while he in return gave 
 her a single sprig of green. * This/ said the holy man, ' if 
 planted in early spring, will bear a small white flower, which is 
 of rare virtue, for on St. Anne's day the possessor of this little 
 flower may summon from the dead the spirit of his departed 
 love.' 
 
 * Death-flower. 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 349 
 
 "'The spirit of one's departed love'? echoed the Baroness. 
 
 "'Yes, daughter/ rejoined the friar, 'at midnight on St. 
 Anne's day, whoever will dissolve this flower in a goblet of 
 Emser red wine, while repeating these words, 
 
 " From earth, from sea, 
 From brook, from fen, 
 From haunt of beast, 
 From homes of men, 
 Form of one I loved most dear, 
 By Todesblume, appear! appear!" 
 
 shall bring to earth the loved departed one. Remember, 
 daughter,' continued the pilgrim, ''twill require a brave heart 
 to summon from the grave.' And, blessing her, he took his 
 leave. 
 
 " On the following day the Lady Rittenhall, with her own 
 white hands, planted the sprig in a pretty, bright spot, near 
 where we are now sitting," said Bertha ; and her pretty voice 
 grew sweetly tremulous as though it had tears in it. 
 
 " Day after day would the beautiful Lady of Lahneck watch 
 the little flowers budding from the stems, until they seemed 
 to grow under the sunlight of her eyes, so that when the 
 Baron returned from an incursion among the neighboring 
 mountains, he found the hillside whitened with them. 
 
 " ' This is thy work, dear one,' said the Baron, as, descend- 
 ing from his saddle at the drawbridge, he pointed proudly to 
 the carpet of white flowers at his feet. 
 
 " ' I knew 't would please thee,' smilingly replied she ; and, 
 leading to the dining-hall, while the Baron and his retainers 
 washed ' their draughts of Rhenish down/ she related the 
 story, as told her by the pilgrim. 
 
350 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " ' By my falchion/ said the Baron, ' 't is a well-told tale ; 
 and here I pledge me, should fate or fortune take thee from 
 me, bride of mine, I swear by my sword to summon thee to 
 earth again. In token of the promise, I drink this goblet to 
 the table round.' 
 
 "That night, while the Baron held high revel with his brother 
 
 * 
 troopers in the dining-hall, the Lady Rittenhall sat trembling 
 
 in her chamber ; a strange dread seemed to possess her, a 
 belief that she should be doomed b'y fate to test the powers 
 of the Todesblume. A cold hand seemed to clasp her heart, 
 and scarcely had her maids been summoned to her apartment, 
 before the good lady was a corpse. 
 
 " The Baron, once so wild and reckless, now became sad and 
 morose. He was inconsolable. Now clasping in his arms the 
 form of his once beautiful wife, now pacing the long corridors 
 of the castle that echoed gloomily his stifled sighs, he was in- 
 deed broken in heart and spirit. 
 
 " Scarce had they laid the body in the grave before the Baron 
 again remembered his pledge to test the death-flower. St. 
 Anne's day was now fast approaching, and his oath must be 
 fulfilled." Here Bertha stopped, and, looking quietly about 
 her, asked me if I did not hear a footstep. 
 
 "No, darling," said I; "goon with your story; there is no 
 one near us." 
 
 " I am sure, Albert, I heard a footfall in the bushes behind 
 us," continued she ; and her voice again grew tremulous and 
 tearful. 
 
 " You are mistaken, Bertha," said I, reassuring her. " Let 
 me hear your story out." 
 
 "Well, the Baron shut himself up in the very chamber where 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 351 
 
 his lady had breathed her. last, and on the morning of St. 
 Anne's day was found lying dead, while on the table stood a 
 goblet of Emser red wine, in which floated the broken petals 
 of the Todesblume ; and they do say," whispered Bertha, " that 
 a small white dove was seen flying from the upper window 
 of the castle at midnight of St. Anne's day." 
 
 " Very well told, Bertha," said I. And my boyish heart was 
 filled with a wild desire to test the maiden's love. " I would 
 do as much for you, my Bertha, should you be taken from 
 me. I would call you back to earth if it were possible, and 
 here I swear it," said I, rising to my feet. 
 
 "O Albert, do not, I implore you!" cried Bertha, wildly 
 throwing her arms about my neck. 
 
 " Very pretty ! very pretty ! " growled a rough voice behind 
 us> < very pretty ; I am sorry to disturb your love-song, 
 Fraulein." And a heavy, thick-set young man, with stooping 
 shoulders, and straight long hair, put back behind his ears, 
 came out of the bushes at our back. His eyes, heavy and 
 leaden-colored, seemed half closed, while he hissed his words 
 between two rows of singularly white and even teeth. 
 
 " Pardon, Herr American. Bertha's mother sent me in 
 quest of her. 'T is near sunset, and the gossips at Fachbach 
 might say evil things of the Fraulein if they knew " 
 
 " Philip Becker, stop ! I know what you would say," cried 
 she. " Do not insult me. Tell my mother I will come." 
 
 " She bade me fetch you," hissed Philip Becker, while his 
 eyes slowly closed their lids as if they were too heavy to 
 keep open, " to fetch you, Fraulein ! fetch you." 
 
 " Hark you, friend," said I. " You have delivered your mes- 
 
 
 sage. Your presence is no longer needed. I will accompany 
 
 Miss Bertha home." 
 
352 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 " I spoke not to you',' said Philip, fairly yellow with rage. 
 
 " But I spoke to you, sir ! You see, you frighten the girl. 
 Take your dark shadow hence, or I will hurl you into the 
 river at my feet." 
 
 With a wild yell the chemist's clerk sprang at my throat, 
 and would have strangled me, but with a sudden jerk I struck 
 him full in the face with my head, and, throwing him 'off his 
 feet at the same moment, I sent him spinning down the hill- 
 side ; nor did he stop till he reached the river, from whence 
 I saw him crawl, dripping wet. 
 
 " Very pretty, Fraulein ! Very pretty, Herr American ! " 
 shouted Philip, as he shook his clinched fist at me, and 
 disappeared at the foot of the hill. Bertha, who had screamed 
 and hid her face, now became alarmed for my safety. " He will 
 do you some fearful harm, I know he will ; he is vindictive and 
 relentless. O Albert ! it is all my fault," sobbed the pale girl ; 
 and, picking up her flowers, we journeyed toward the village. 
 " I did not know he had arrived from Nassau," said she, 
 " though mother told me he was coming soon. I hate him, 
 and I shall tell him so, though I am sure he knows it already." 
 
 We had reached the garden of the Drei Kronen, when 
 Bertha said, " Come no farther with me. Leave me here, Al- 
 bert. I must go on alone, now ; 't is best." And giving me the 
 sprig of the Todesblume, she tripped away towards her home. 
 
 Placing the flowers in my letter-book, I strolled into the 
 tavern, where I found the landlord endeavoring to dry the 
 dripping Philip Becker with a flask of Ashmanshauser. The 
 moment Philip saw me enter, he dropped his glass, and with 
 a curse on his heavy lip darted out of the door. 
 
 " He has told me all about it," said the landlord, roaring 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 353 
 
 with laughter ; " and it served him right. Egad, I wish I 
 had been there to see it." So we took our pipes, and after 
 I had related the story of my struggle with Philip on the 
 hillside, took my candle from the stand and went to bed, of 
 course to dream of Bertha Klein. 
 
 Day after day during the long summer would we meet at 
 the foot of the Lahneck, there to renew our vows of eternal 
 constancy. Philip Becker had gone back to Nassau, vowing 
 vengeance on the entire American nation, and myself in par- 
 ticular. Bertha and I would often laugh at the remembrance 
 of poor Philip's appearance dripping on the river-bank, and 
 with a prayer for his continued absence, we would again pick 
 Todesblumes at the old trysting-place. 
 
 Thus matters went till near the month of September, when 
 I was summoned home to America. My mother was dying 
 with a sorrowing heart, and, torn between love and duty, I 
 broke the news to Bertha. 
 
 " And must you go ? " cried Bertha. " O darling, I shall 
 die ! " 
 
 " I shall return in the spring, my beloved, if God will spare 
 me. The time will pass quickly ; you will hear from me by 
 every mail, I promise you ; and here, where I first listened 
 to your words of love, I again pledge my faith." So, kissing 
 Bertha, I tore myself away. 
 
 " I will never see you again, my own, my only love," were 
 the last words that caught my ear ; and, looking back, I saw 
 poor Bertha, with her face buried in her hands, at the foot of 
 the tower, where she first told the story of the death-flower. 
 
 With all speed I returned to Bonn, where I found letters 
 awaiting me. I must at once return to the States. So, bid- 
 
354 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 ding my fellow-students adieu, I took my departure for Liver- 
 pool, and, securing passage by a Cunarder, in ten days 
 reached New York ; four more days brought me to my moth- 
 er's bedside. She had been very ill, but now gave promise 
 of a slow recovery. Days, weeks, months, passed away, and 
 I was constantly in receipt of letters from Bertha. The same 
 old trusting love, the same pure, innocent sentiments, filled 
 her pages, while an occasional small white flower would 
 recall our meetings on the hillside at the Lahneck. " Here," 
 Bertha would write, " is the Todesblume, to remind you of 
 the little girl who awaits your return on the banks of the 
 flowing Lahn." 
 
 It had been arranged that I should return to Germany in 
 the spring ; and as my mother's health was fast returning, 
 I looked forward to the date of my departure- with great joy, 
 when suddenly Bertha ceased to write to me. Several weeks 
 elapsed, the holidays passed, and still no letter from my 
 heart's idol. Can Bertha's mother have insisted upon her 
 marrying Philip Becker ? Perhaps she is ill. Can she have 
 forgotten me ? These and a thousand other surmises filled 
 my brain, and I was in despair, when one day the postman 
 brought me a letter with a German post-mark, but the address 
 was not in Bertha's handwriting, I hastily tore it open ; it 
 was from Caspar Lauber, landlord of the Drei Kronen. 
 
 Great God ! Bertha had been murdered ! found dead with 
 three cruel stabs in her neck and breast ; and there at the 
 very spot where I had left her on the hillside was the deed 
 committed. Suspicion had fallen on Philip Becker, who had 
 fled the country, while a reward was offered for his apprehen- 
 sion. I could read no further, but with a groan fell fainting 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 355 
 
 to the floor. A long and serious illness followed, and for 
 months I lay just flickering between life and death. In my 
 moments of delirium I would often call for Bertha Klein, 
 and with a maddened scream vow vengeance on the chemist's 
 clerk. My dreams were of the river Lahn and its vine-cov- 
 ered hills. Then my fancy would picture Bertha struggling 
 with Philip, and while he plunged the knife into her pure 
 heart, I was held by a stalwart demon, who spat upon me 
 and mocked my frantic efforts to free her from the murder- 
 er's grasp. Then the old castle of the Lahneck would fill 
 my disordered vision, and at its foot, among the vines, I saw 
 two youthful forms, the one a tall, dark-haired youth, the 
 other a blue-eyed German girl. In her hand she held a small 
 white flower, and as she looked through tears of joy into the 
 young man's face, the figure of a low-browed, wild, misshapen 
 man arose behind them. Noiselessly he crept to the maiden's 
 side, and with a hissing, devilish laugh, dashed headlong down 
 the mountain-side into the river below, leaving the loving pair 
 transfixed with fear and wonder. 
 
 When the bright spring days came, I grew somewhat bet- 
 ter, but the physicians said my recovery would be a slow one. 
 
 My attendants would tell me of my ravings, of my constantly 
 calling Bertha ; and, to humor my caprices, had brought, at 
 my request, a small box containing Bertha's letters and the 
 various love-tokens she had given me. In my porte-monnaie 
 I found the little flower, Bertha's gift, when she related the 
 story of the Todesblume. It was pressed between two small 
 cards, and indeed seemed almost as fresh as when the Frau- 
 lein gave it me. " This flower," said I, " will bring her back 
 to me for a moment at least; and when I am grown strong 
 and well, I '11 try the spell." 
 
356 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 The last day of June found me sufficiently recovered to 
 journey to Saratoga, at the recommendation of my physician. 
 I reached New York City, when I determined to go no far- 
 ther until I tested the power of the death-flower. 
 
 To this end I put an advertisement in the paper : " A 
 gentleman desirous of making some experiments in chemistry 
 would like an unfurnished apartment in the upper portion of 
 the city. The advertiser would prefer such apartment in a 
 house not occupied as a residence. Apply," etc., etc., etc. 
 
 The third day after my advertisement appeared, an elderly 
 German gentleman waited on me at my lodgings. He had 
 just the apartment I desired, over a druggist's shop ; in fact, 
 the upper floor of a three-story house, unoccupied save by the 
 old gentleman, who kept the drug-store beneath, and situated 
 in a quiet up-town street, near one of the avenues. 
 
 I at once engaged the rooms, and on the following day 
 made an inspection of the premises. I found the upper story 
 to consist of two rooms of equal size. One room was entirely 
 empty, and the other contained a long table, three wooden- 
 bottomed chairs, while a large glass mirror over the mantel 
 completed the furniture of the apartment. 
 
 " I have occupied this house but a few weeks," said the old 
 German ; " and as I am alone here, I shall be glad to have 
 your company ; so, if the Herr will take the apartments, he 
 shall have them at his own price." And the old druggist 
 bowed to the very ground in Teutonic politeness. 
 
 " What door is this ? " said I, pointing to a small trap in 
 the wall, about two feet wide, and just large enough to admit 
 a man, stooping. This door had been concealed by the back 
 of one of the chairs, and I thought the old gentleman seemed 
 startled at my discovering it. 
 
BERTHA KLEIN. 357 
 
 "I do not know for what purpose that door could have been 
 constructed," said the old man ; " but you see it leads to the 
 other room." And, passing through, we found ourselves in the 
 empty apartment. 
 
 After a word or two of necessary agreement, I hired the 
 apartments for one month from date, and on the following 
 Friday, St. Anne's day, I determined to try the potency of 
 my magic flower. 
 
 At midnight, on the 26th of July, 1869, I sat alone in 
 that chamber. Upon the table stood a silver goblet filled 
 with Emser red wine. At the head of the table I had 
 placed a chair, while I occupied another at the foot. The 
 clock of St. Michael's Church commenced to strike the hour of 
 midnight ; at the first stroke I extinguished the light, and, 
 dropping the flower into the goblet, slowly spoke the words, 
 
 ' From earth, from sea, 
 From brook from fen, 
 From haunt of beast, 
 From homes of men, 
 Form of her I love most dear, 
 By Todesblume, appear ! appear ! " 
 
 As the echoes of the last stroke of twelve died upon my 
 ear, a thin cloud of vapor rose from the goblet ; at first it was 
 of a violet hue, when suddenly it changed into bright crimson 
 color, and, growing gradually dense and heavy, soon filled the 
 room, while through the misty veil I saw globes of golden 
 pearl dancing before my astonished vision, strange soft music 
 played in sweetest strains about my ears, and, growing giddy 
 at the sound, I felt I was falling from the chair. With a 
 determination to resist the power that was pressing on my 
 
358 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 brain I held fast to the table, and cried again, " Appear ! 
 appear ! " 
 
 The mist was now fast disappearing, and while the room 
 grew bright, as though lighted by a thousand candles, I saw 
 seated in the chair at the head of the table, dressed in the 
 cerements of the grave, the ghost of Bertha Klein ; her golden 
 hair no longer braided down her back, but hanging loosely 
 about her face ; her eyes pure and blue as of old, but sad and 
 weeping. A clot of blood upon her neck marked the spot 
 where the murderer's knife had entered. Frozen with horror 
 at the sight, I sat motionless 'for an instant ; but her pitiful 
 face and sorrowful look seemed to ask for words of com- 
 passion. 
 
 " Speak to me, Bertha ; let me hear your voice," cried I. 
 
 Quick as a flash she rose, and with a cry of horror that 
 chilled me to the heart's core, she screamed, " Look behind 
 you quick, Albert ! quick ! " 
 
 I turned just in time to save my life ; for the old druggist 
 had stealthily entered through the trap-door in the wall, and 
 was about to plunge a large dirk-knife in my back, when I 
 caught his arm ; in the struggle that ensued, I tore the wig 
 from his head, and, making one desperate blow, I sent the 
 knife intended for me into the heart of Philip Becker. 
 
 Now, doctor, I thank you for your attention. I have but 
 one more favor to ask. Won't you speak to the chief physi- 
 cian ? Appeal to my friends to have me released from this 
 asylum, for I assure you I am no more a lunatic than you 
 are. 
 
NINE TALES OF A CAT 
 
NINE TALES OF A CAT. 
 
 A LEGEND OF MURRA Y HILL. 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE H. S. P. C. H. 
 BY J. BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 
 OUNG Dr. Jones was one of those nice young 
 
 men, 
 
 Supposed to belong to the upperest ten ; 
 His manners were soft and aristocratic ; 
 He waltzed in a way that the girls called ecstatic, 
 While he flavored his talk with a wit that was Attic. 
 They said that his form was patrician in mould ; 
 He had wealth untold, 
 He had stores of gold ; 
 He had ancestors too, in the days of old ; 
 Yet his enemies called him a Fifth-Avenoodle, 
 'Cause he parted his hair in front, like a poodle. 
 
 Returning one night from the joys of the dance, 
 
 To the house where he dwelt with his two maiden aunts, 
 
 He entered his chamber and cast off his clothes, 
 
 Then he sprang. into bed, softly seeking repose. 
 
 He dreams, while he sleeps, of the blond Miss Tressyllian, 
 
 The fair dam-sell with whom he had danced the cotillon, 
 
 Whose father, 't was said, was worth more than a million. 
 
362 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 In the midst of his dreams, 
 
 It suddenly seems 
 
 That he hears a shrill sound that no mortal could utter ; 
 Right through him it went, like a hot knife through butter. 
 So he jumped to the window, threw open the shutter ; 
 On the fence in the yard he beheld a huge Cat ! 
 Which was singing a song in the key of Z flat. 
 He shouted out " Scat ! " but the beast would not scatter. 
 Then he swore ; he said, Darn her ! and Dang her ! and Drat her ! 
 And affirmed with an oath, could he only get at her, 
 
 He would beat her and bat her, 
 And reduce her indeed to inanimate matter ! 
 He, in short, was as mad as a hare or a hatter. 
 But the Cat kept on yelling, to pause still refusing. 
 
 Right or wrong, 
 
 She continued her song, 
 In a way that, perhaps, she considered a-mew-sing. 
 
 Dr. Jones thought for a second ; 
 
 He rapidly reckoned 
 
 All the ways that existed of trying to still her, 
 And at length he resolved upon murder ! he 'd kill her ! 
 In the East, every city is ruled by a Mayor ; 
 In the West they are ruled by the Colt, au contraire. 
 So Dr. Jones takes his pistol from out of his bureau, 
 With a fierceness suggesting the banks of the Douro, 
 With an ardor recalling the hot sun of Cadiz, 
 He takes aim, and he fires, and the Cat goes to Hades! 
 
 And Dr. Jones goes to bed, 
 
 And to sleep, it is said, 
 With the hope in his heart that the Cat is now dead. 
 
NINE TALES OF A CAT. 3^3 
 
 On the evening succeeding 
 
 This murderous proceeding, 
 In his room he was sitting, some poetry reading, 
 
 When he suddenly heard, 
 
 As he after averred, 
 
 A most horrible noise : what could have occurred ? 
 It was dreadful, and dire, and supremely absurd ! 
 It was ghostly and ghastly and ghoulish ! 
 He threw open the shutter, and he felt rather foolish, 
 Yet he stood firm and fast, though the night air was coolish. 
 
 One firmness, infirmity, 
 
 Or whate'er you may term it, he 
 Possessed in abundance ; his temper was mulish. 
 And besides he felt sure that a sound like that 
 
 Could be naught but a Cat ! 
 It might be a Tom or it might be a Tabby ; 
 It sounded indeed like a muscular babby ! 
 Then he heard it again, in the key of Z flat ; 
 'T was the beast he had killed, he was certain of that ! 
 
 The ghost of the Cat 
 
 Had returned ! that was pat ! 
 
 So he snatched up his pistol, and said, "The joke played is!" 
 He took aim, and he fired, and the Cat went to Hades. 
 
 On the evening after 
 
 He was shaking with laughter ; 
 In the midst of his fun there arose a shrill sound ; 
 
 It came up from the ground. 
 It was not a shriek, it was not a rnoan, 
 It was not a growl, it was not a groan, 
 
364 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 But its hollow tone 
 
 Chilled Dr. Jones to the bone ; 
 
 'T was the ghost of that Cat ! 
 
 He was certain of that ! 
 
 He began to be frightened, in spite of his boasts : 
 If a Cat have nine lives, can a Cat have nine ghosts ? 
 He threw down the book he was reading (" Lord Bantam "), 
 
 For he feared that the phantom 
 
 Was going to haunt him, 
 
 To fret him and fright him ; it never shall daunt him ! 
 So he snatched up his pistol, 't would frighten the ladies, 
 He took aim, and he fired, and the Cat went to Hades. 
 
 He lies tossing and turning throughout the long night ; 
 Not a wink can he sleep, on account of his fright. 
 
 At the earliest light 
 
 He arises and walks to his office, poor wight ! 
 He's a real-estate broker, but strange metamorphosis 
 Although customers come, he can scarce let 'em offices ; 
 
 At his window, I 'm told, 
 
 He had caught a bad cold, 
 
 And his partners affirmed, they ne'er heard such a cough as his. 
 Young Dr. Jones often wished, when he thought of the Cat, 
 To be deaf as a post, or as blind as a bat : 
 He would hear not and see not the terrible ghost, 
 Which returned night by night to his favorite post. 
 That evening again on the fence there sat 
 
 The ghastly old Cat, 
 
 With her horrible song in the key of Z flat ! 
 Now no saint could endure an infliction like that, 
 
NINE TALES OF A CAT. 
 
 So he snatched up his pistol, his soul more afraid is, 
 He took aim, and he fired, and the Cat went to Hades. 
 
 When the beast had been killed some six times or seven, 
 The cold he had sent Dr. Jones straight to heaven. 
 
 With two lives left, 
 
 Of but seven bereft, 
 
 She may dance where his corpse 'neath the turf gently laid is. 
 The old Cat may rejoice without fear of hot Hades, 
 She may warble her song in the key of Z flat, 
 
 She may scoff, she may laugh 
 
 At his epitaph, 
 "Set* lie* somtg pr. |onc* tofjo toa* killed b^ a 
 
 P. s. MORAL. 
 
 When this tale was begun, with its horrible fun, 
 
 I had morals in plenty, 
 
 Some fifteen or twenty. 
 
 This tale now is done, and I cannot find one ! 
 Just to keep you from thought and from wearisome dizziness, 
 I suggest as a moral, " Mind your own business ! " 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 
 
 A STORY OF THE STAGE. 
 
 BY CHANDOS FULTON. 
 I. 
 
 Y friend 'Colton was one of those quiet, retiring, 
 unostentatious men, whose many noble qualities 
 of head and heart are not discovered except in 
 the intimacy of friendship. Wordsworth must 
 have had such a man in his thoughts when 
 he wrote : 
 
 " He is as retired as noontide dew, 
 
 Or fountain in a shady grove ; 
 And you must love him, ere to you 
 He will seem worthy of your love." 
 
 Not that, like the snail, my friend Colton kept within his 
 shell, and had to be sought (though in his slow, methodic 
 manner there was some analogy between him and that tes- 
 tacean) ; for he was not, by any means, a man to be 
 "drawn out," as the phrase is, by any species of social in- 
 quisition, and had to be known to be appreciated. His 
 almost childish simplicity and candor of * manner, and cor- ' 
 rect, straightforward conduct, left a favorable impression on 
 all with whom he had business intercourse ; but few gave 
 
3/0 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 him credit for the high-mindedness, the delicacy of senti- 
 ment, warmth of heart, and cultured refinement which con- 
 stituted the sterling worth of the man. He cultivated few 
 friendships ; not that he did not value the love of his fel- 
 low-beings, or was slow to discover good in others, or was 
 distrustful of humanity, or was reserved and retiring from 
 any motives of pride, but because his affection was too sin- 
 cere and cogent to be diffusive. 
 
 Such men as John Colton are common, although, keeping 
 within the intimacies of friendship, they are little known ; 
 and it is seldom that such beautiful, though passive charac- 
 ters are employed by the dramatist or novelist in the elab- 
 oration of their wonder-exciting plots. In the whirlpool of 
 society they are sometimes caught, but speedily dashed out, 
 and float quickly back into the calmer waters of domestic 
 quiet. Such men are the true disciples of Him who died 
 to save us ; without any ostentation they are continually 
 doing good, and showing by their own happiness that it is 
 easy to make life enjoyable. 
 
 Colton did not marry till late in life, because, for many 
 years, his early widowed mother, and his two sisters, both 
 younger than himself, were dependent on him for support ; 
 for his father had always lived up to every cent that he 
 made, and, dying shortly after his son had gone into busi- 
 ness, had left his family entirely destitute. Besides, he did 
 not believe that a man ought to marry until he could see 
 his way to comfortably provide for a wife ; and it was not 
 until he had seen his sisters married and settled, and pur- 
 chased a home for himself, and installed his mother there- 
 in, that he was in this position ; and then he was a staid 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 371 
 
 middle-aged man, with plenty of ideas (or ideals ?) on the 
 subject of marriage, but no definite purpose. 
 
 A great war now agitated the country, and his thoughts 
 were of Mars rather than of Venus. 
 
 A man of his nature naturally shrinks from the semi-barbaric 
 life of the soldier ; but he would have enlisted and " gone 
 to the war," had not his friends convinced him he would 
 be of more service at home, in many ways, such a care- 
 ful, thoughtful, reliable man would be useful in such a time 
 of trust, judgment, and energy. He raised and subscribed 
 funds to recruit regiments ; he prepared banquets for sol- 
 diers passing through the city en route to the seat of war ; 
 he got up "war-meetings" to inspire the people and en- 
 courage the men in the field. In the great Sanitary Fair 
 he was a leading spirit ; indeed, if it had not been for his 
 exertions, the great Christian enterprise would never have 
 been initiated in his city. He was chairman of various 
 committees, and devoted his whole time to the work. He 
 was in the building from morning until night, superintending 
 and assisting the arrangements. He was thus brought into 
 acquaintanceship with many ladies and gentlemen whom he 
 otherwise would probably never have met, for all gathered 
 together and united in the Samaritan's work ; but, unmind- 
 ful of them, he attended to his business in his usual quiet 
 way, accomplishing a great deal and saying nothing about it. 
 
 It was at this time and in this way that he met 
 Miss Susie Jones, a petite, pretty, elfish brunette, whose 
 sharp black eyes flashed mischievously as she said some- 
 thing sarcastic and smart. And Susie, who was very viva- 
 cious and affable, was always saying something sarcastic and 
 
372 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 smart, now bringing the laugh on herself as well as her 
 neighbor, and some might have thought, indeed some openly 
 declared, that she was malicious and cruel-hearted, and de- 
 lighted to tantalize and provoke people by her remarks : 
 these did her great injustice ; they misjudged her entirely. 
 She was kind-hearted and sympathetic, and in every respect 
 a lovable character ; but she had been endowed with the 
 talent of sarcasm and repartee, which she frequently indulged, 
 often inconsiderately, it must be admitted, but from an inno- 
 cent, fun-loving spirit, and not from any cruel feeling. To 
 many this characteristic was a sort of spice or seasoning of 
 the dainty little dish, and rendered her society charming. It 
 gave her individuality. If it had not been for this gift of 
 epigram and repartee, which many dreaded, she would fre- 
 quently, in the goodness of her heart, have been imposed on. 
 Once Susie said something that was quite cutting to Col- 
 ton, which hurt his feelings very much, although no one 
 would have thought so, for he was not a man to show his 
 trouble any more than his many good qualities, except when 
 occasion developed them. Susie soon perceived the effect of 
 her words, and in her regret at having so thoughtlessly ut- 
 tered them, she suffered greater heart-pangs than those she 
 had inflicted, although John was extremely sensitive. She felt 
 very sorry, yet could not well make an apology, as there was 
 no excuse for one ; but she resolved to make all repara- 
 tion in her power in the future by kindness and deference 
 to him, as she recognized in him a superior man. When 
 she wanted some one to aid her in tying the evergreen 
 festoon over the table, she asked John's assistance, instead 
 of calling rich young Mr. Thomas, whom all the girls were 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 373 
 
 after, but who had sooner come to her than to any one 
 else ; and so she favored or honored him on every occa- 
 sion, much to the concealed merriment of many who thought 
 she was doing this merely to trouble him. The difference 
 in their ages, his being over double hers, prevented any 
 matrimonial surmises. 
 
 A pleasant acquaintance sprang up between John and Susie, 
 which, as the fair drew to a close, ripened into friend- 
 ship, and they began to discover each other's many good 
 characteristics. John recognized the fact that there was none 
 of the sharpness in her heart that there was on her tongue ; 
 that she liked to plague him purely from innocent fun and 
 not maliciousness ; and she was equally quick to learn that 
 his plain appearance and quiet manner were accompanied 
 by the noblest characteristics of man. 
 
 If it had not been for that Sanitary Fair, I do not be- 
 lieve John ever would have married, and, of course, he and 
 Susie were married. 
 
 They were married in the springtime, and their bridal tour 
 was extended throughout the summer to the fall, in travel- 
 ling over the New England and Western States. John had 
 long thought, and Susie coincided with him, that one should 
 see the beauties of his own land before viewing those of the 
 Old World ; and this is why they travelled over this country, 
 instead of joining in the fashionable hegira across the ocean. 
 Susie had previously, with her parents, travelled over a por- 
 tion of the tour ; but John had always, from necessity, been 
 kept closely to business, and could not until now take the 
 time, or much less afford the trip. 
 
374 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 II. 
 
 WHEN they returned in the fall, Mrs. Colton had the house 
 ready for their occupancy, and immediately abdicated in 
 favor of the younger Mrs. C, having promised to visit in 
 turn her two daughters. 
 
 John and Susie had gotten along together admirably, and he 
 did not believe anything ever could occur which would mar 
 their happiness ; such an idea never entered her head, for 
 from temperament she was always accustomed to look on 
 the bright side of the picture. 
 
 It is true, John, quite sensitive now about his age, was 
 nettled somewhat when quizzed about his marrying a girl 
 young enough to be his daughter, and testily changed the 
 conversation ; but when the remark was made to Susie, she 
 would ask, 
 
 " Now, would you like to know why I married John ? " 
 
 "Yes," of course all those questioned answered. 
 
 11 Why, because I loved him ! Was n't that reason 
 enough ? " 
 
 " Ho ! ho ! " John would exclaim, if within hearing. " But 
 that is not the reason she gives me ! Why do you think 
 she tells me she married me ? " 
 
 " For your money ? " some one would venture to re- 
 mark. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " 
 
 " O, I was merely joking, of course ! What then ? " 
 
 " Let her explain herself. What was it, or rather why 
 was it, Susie, dear ? " 
 
 " Why, because he asked me ! " Susie would laughingly 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 375 
 
 reply ; and in time these unpleasant remarks no longer an- 
 noyed John. 
 
 He learned to bear the quizzing of Susie, and when in the 
 mood she was unmerciful. 
 
 John and Susie went much to the theatre, their cultivated 
 tastes enabling them to appreciate good performances ; and at 
 a certain establishment a higher order of entertainment was 
 given, and this they frequently attended. 
 
 One of the leading actors in the company, whom they both 
 admired, was about the same age as John, as Susie learned 
 from a reply in the " Answers to Correspondents " in a 
 weekly paper ; but he looked young enough almost to be 
 his son, on the stage ; and as he always wore the same 
 curly wig in public, few outside of the theatre knew it was 
 one ; and beside him, off the stage, John, with his clear, full, 
 ruddy cheeks, and slightly gray, though luxuriant hair, was 
 decidedly the youngest looking, for the other, prematurely 
 broken by the arduous labors of his profession, showed his 
 years in his bearing and face as well as in his scant capil- 
 lary covering. 
 
 Susie could not refrain from quizzing John about the better 
 looks of the actor ; and as often as they went to the theatre, 
 she as frequently alluded to the subject, never supposing that 
 he took the matter to heart. 
 
 John, however, was annoyed, and evinced the fact, and his 
 mischievous, though devoted little wife did not spare him. 
 
 He availed himself of the excuse of a shower or any trivi- 
 ality not to take her to the theatre ; and she, surmising 
 the reason, provokingly declared he was jealous of the actor. 
 
 It soon became evident to his friends that there was some- 
 
376 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 thing on John's mind that was worrying him, in his set, sor- 
 rowful features, intent though unattentive manner, and occa- 
 sional half-suppressed sigh. 
 
 He managed, however, to assume his wonted smile and 
 cheery manner in the presence of his wife, and so she did 
 not notice the change in him which* was perceptible to 
 others. 
 
 A few days of mental worry will wear a man more than 
 weeks of physical pain. In a few weeks John really did be- 
 gin to look aged. 
 
 " O, I might have known it was no match for me ! " he 
 exclaimed one day, evidently unconscious or obvious of my 
 presence at the adjoining desk. 
 
 I instantly decided to avail myself of the exclamation to- 
 ask an explanation, at the risk of being considered imperti- 
 nent, in the hope that I might be able to cheer him up. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter?" I inquired. 
 
 " O, nothing ! " he answered hastily, recalled to himself. 
 He arose, took his hat, and was about leaving, when I de- 
 tained him, alluded to the changes perceptible in him, and 
 advised him to confide in me, assuring him that a confession 
 of ojie's sorrows or crimes alike relieves the mind. 
 
 At first he insisted I was entirely mistaken, but after a 
 while confided to me his trouble. 
 
 I I knew the actor off the stage, minus his youthful wig 
 and mustache : I shocked him by laughing outright in his 
 face ; I could not help it. 
 
 " I don't blame her ! " he observed with desperation. " Of 
 course he would be better preserved than / am ; he has had 
 nothing to do all his life but to play-act ! " 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 377 
 
 " Nothing to do but to ' play-act ' ! That is enough to 
 do ! His life has been more arduous than yours, my dear 
 friend ! " 
 
 But " outsiders " have the idea that " play-acting " is so easy 
 and simple that there is no work or wear in it that, in fact, 
 an actor's life is one long-drawn-out pleasure ; and it was in 
 vain that I endeavored to argue the point with John. 
 
 " Look at that man ! " he would exclaim ; and, supposing 
 that he was more familiar with the actor's career than I was, 
 though acquainted with him, I dropped the subject. 
 
 I went home to dine with him, and found that Susie had 
 added to her collection of photographs of celebrities one of 
 the venerable actor in a popular modern character, in which 
 he appeared in all the glory of his curly wig, luxuriant mus- 
 tache, etc., etc. 
 
 Of course, while showing this she did not miss the oppor- 
 tunity to give a sly thrust at John, and I spoke to her about 
 the actor's art of "making up," and how deceptive in such 
 ca^es appearances were, mentioning an actor whose mus- 
 tache in the daytime is decidedly sandy, but which is jet- 
 black on the stage. John being in another room, I asked if 
 she^ did not think she worried him in thus quizzing him 
 about his age, and she said no ; for, it must be remembered, 
 he carefully concealed his vexation of spirit from her. 
 
 " Don't blame her ! " he said afterwards, " don't blame her ! 
 O no, she does not think of me ; this comes from the heart, 
 and she is enamored of him ; if it was merely a thought, a 
 matter of the head, she would think of rne as well ! " 
 
 "Nonsense, man!" 
 
 He would not, however, listen to reason ; he was satisfied 
 
378 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 his wife no longer loved him, at least as she had ; she was 
 enamored of the actor. 
 
 An idea occurred to me. I proposed to John, supposing 
 he was acquainted with the actor, to have him to dine with 
 him at his house. 
 
 " I don't know him ! " he replied angrily. 
 
 " I will introduce you ! " 
 
 " I don't want to know him ! " 
 
 " Be advised, my friend." 
 
 " You are mad to propose this ! " he responded indignantly. 
 
 We were walking down town ; whom should I see coming 
 up but the actor ? 
 
 As he approached, I perceived that John did not recognize 
 him off the stage ; and I boldly introduced them, regardless 
 of the probable consequences. 
 
 John was completely taken aback, and looked at me twice 
 before accepting the actor's proffered hand, as if to assure 
 himself he had not misunderstood me. 
 
 After a few pleasant words (on my part), we separated and 
 passed on. 
 
 John burst out laughing as soon as out of hearing of the 
 receding actor. I then explained to him how completely, by 
 the aid of art, the theatrical artists could, and are often com- 
 pelled by the exigencies of their profession to, metamorphose 
 themselves, great actors making the matter a study. 
 
 "O, what a joke on me!" he exclaimed. 
 
 " You can make it a joke on Susie," I ventured to sug- 
 gest. 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "By presenting him to her," I replied. "He is not all 
 
JOHN AND SUSIE. 379 
 
 that fancy painted or the sun photographed, and you'll have 
 the laugh on her ! " 
 
 He acquiesced, and a day was appointed for the dinner. I 
 carried the invitation to the actor, who was an educated, 
 well-bred gentleman, and prevailed on him to accept. 
 
 Susie was not altogether pleased at the idea of meeting 
 the actor, but appeared in her newest and finest dress at the 
 dinner. 
 
 I arrived early, in order to witness the introduction. If 
 her husband was taken aback by the difference in the ap- 
 pearance of the actor off and on the stage, she was dumb- 
 founded ; for it was several minutes before she could speak. 
 
 After a very pleasant dinner I told " the story," having pre- 
 viously obtained John's permission to do so ; and it was as 
 much enjoyed by Susie as by the actor, who recalled the 
 anecdote of Garrick, on which Robertson's charming adapta- 
 tion is founded. Now the actor is a welcome visitor to the 
 Coltons, and has told them enough of his professional career 
 to convince even Mr. C. that "play-acting" is arduous and 
 vexatious. 
 
THE THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 
 
 HAYDN, MOZART, AND BEETHOVEN. 
 BY JAMES PECH. 
 
 O art has perhaps undergone more various changes, 
 or has continued, from its revival in the Middle 
 Ages up to the present time, in such a constant 
 state of progression, as music. The later im- 
 provements in the instrumental kind, both with 
 respect to performance and composition, are alone sufficient 
 to demonstrate the fact. The strongest proof of the gradual 
 perfection of this branch is discoverable in the increasing 
 estimation in which the symphony is held ; and the cause 
 of this very general tendency towards instrumental music 
 is to be traced to the splendid productions of genius, that 
 are now sent almost daily into the musical world. In- 
 deed, knowledge and taste are even more universally diffused 
 by the reproduction of the greatest masterpieces in every 
 variety of shape ; and when we have had such men as Cle- 
 menti, Hummel, and Liszt, lending their superior talents to 
 the arrangement of symphonies for the piano-forte, by which 
 one of the highest forms in musical art is widely distributed 
 amongst every portion of the community, we compare them 
 to philosophers who, by microscopic observations, bring to 
 
3^4 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 common view natural beauties known previously but to the 
 few. 
 
 The symphony is, perhaps, as strong an instance as can be 
 cited of the rapidity and extent of the improvement of music 
 within the last one hundred and fifty years. In the beginning 
 of the eighteenth century, this species of composition was un- 
 known ; and now, towards the close of the nineteenth, to what 
 a pitch of excellence has it arrived ! This has all been effected 
 by the talents of a Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven ; and sub- 
 sequently by Mendelssohn, Sphor, and Schumann. 
 
 To some it may be instructive, and it may not be uninter- 
 esting to others, if we attempt an analysis of the different 
 means by which Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, in their time, 
 produced such wonderful effects, compare their styles, and 
 endeavor to describe the particular beauties of each. We are 
 apt to consider and to believe that music is a language in 
 which the mind and character of the composer are as clearly 
 portrayed as is the genius of the poet in his works. The 
 one speaks as forcibly by means of notes as the other by 
 words, to those who love and understand them. A person 
 enthusiastically fond of the philosophic Mendelssohn was asked, 
 " How can you admire a man so much with whom you never 
 had an hour's conversation?" The reply was, "I have con- 
 versed with him for months past through his ' Elijah.' " May 
 we not, then, by studying the symphonies of Haydn, Mozart, 
 and Beethoven, discover the powers which wrought such won- 
 derful effects, and learn to revere the superiority of the minds 
 that produced them ? If we draw a comparison between these 
 minds, we shall not find much difficulty in tracing, nor per- 
 haps in accounting for, the distinguishing features of the style 
 adopted by each. 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 
 
 The regularity of Haydn's middle and later life, his habits 
 of neatness and precision, the polished and cheerful tone of 
 his music, denote a mind regulated by certain fixed principles 
 of action, and warmed by a naturally fertile and elegant fancy. 
 As circumstances of early youth tend principally to the for- 
 mation of character, so the privation and restraint to which 
 he was subjected at this period probably prevented his imagi- 
 nation from bursting forth, and delayed its luxuriance ; but at 
 the same time they confirmed him in habits of industry, 
 strengthened his powers of independent reason and judgment, 
 and thus prepared him for an after period, when, aided by 
 concurring circumstances, he became the inventor of that 
 melodious conversation, that fine combination of various and 
 beautiful effects, the symphony. Mozart, on the contrary, 
 nurtured in the sunshine of affluence, enjoying the warmest 
 encouragement, and surrounded by every possible stimulant 
 to genius from his earliest years, was of a totally different 
 mould. His ardent mind modelled itself by the luxury to 
 which he was a constant witness, and by the life of ease and 
 pleasure which his circumstances allowed him to lead. His 
 music is accordingly distinguished by its richness and voluptu- 
 ousness. He was naturally indolent, he wrote only "when 
 the fit was on him," and it is probable that had he lived 
 before Haydn, we might never have possessed his splendid 
 symphonies composed after the model of the latter. By these 
 remarks we do not mean to detract from the merit of Mozart ; 
 his genius was of a kind not to be daunted by obstacles ; 
 but it is probable that from the peculiarly opposite situations 
 of the composers, perfectly opposite effects were produced. 
 There was, moreover, a melancholy in Mozart's temperament, 
 
386 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 prompted perhaps by an overwrought imagination, and 
 he possessed a more ardent, though not such constant and 
 unbending, enthusiasm as Haydn in the cultivation of his art. 
 There cannot well be a greater contrast than between these 
 two masters and the highest follower of their steps, Beethoven, 
 both as regards character and style ; yet he was the scholar 
 of Haydn. Beethoven, however, appears to have imbibed 
 from his master little more 'than the technical means which 
 enabled him to follow his own path to fame, and which he 
 opened through obstacles that would have dismayed any but 
 so strong a character as his was. He neither possessed the 
 luxury of Mozart nor the elegance of Haydn, but from his 
 subjects, which are by far more simple though scarcely so 
 beautiful as theirs, he has worked out quite as striking and 
 more novel effects than either. His music is marked by 
 originality, strength of design, and romantic grandeur. His 
 great predecessors arrived nearer perfection in the polish of 
 their productions, but in conception we apprehend (in the 
 symphony) he has aspired to heights more sublime than either 
 of them. The source of this is his extreme originality, or 
 rather eccentricity, which at the same time excites astonish- 
 ment and lays him open to the seventy of criticism. At that 
 time Haydn, we are told, censured this quality, and was of 
 opinion that if not curbed by a nice discrimination, and guided 
 by a just idea of effects, it would be likely to lead the way 
 to a wrong estimate of the beautiful. The defects of a great 
 artist in any line are always the soonest imitated and dis- 
 seminated, and thus it has been with the eccentricity of 
 Beethoven. They whom his original vein and his astonishing 
 force delight are little aware of the power required to pursue 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 387 
 
 his course. The mere effort exhausts the strength allotted to 
 common natures, and many who have tried his arms have 
 proved only their own " ineffectual fires." At the same time, 
 the disposition to extravagance seems to have grown by what 
 it fed on in the mighty master himself, for all propensities 
 are increased by indulgence, as some of his later works afford 
 evident proofs of the dangerous tendency of the habit of ex- 
 aggeration. 
 
 In the regular process of our essay, however, we shall pro- 
 ceed to examine the foundation on which Haydn raised his 
 splendid superstructure, and for this purpose we must refer to 
 the early periods of the cultivation of instrumental music. 
 The overture, which is the earliest indication of anything like 
 the symphony, and almost of any species of instrumental mu- 
 sic, owes its origin to Lully. About the middle of the seven- 
 teenth century he composed it for the Bande des petits Violons 
 of Louis XIV. Before his time, in the few trios and quar- 
 tettes, which were composed simply for the violin and vio- 
 loncello, the other parts were generally subordinate to the first 
 violin. But Lully, in his compositions, allotted to each instru- 
 ment an almost equally prominent part to sustain ; he added 
 to the number by drums, etc. ; and lastly, by the introduction 
 of discords, he varied the monotony of the former system of 
 composition, as well as by the genius and originality of his 
 passages themselves. Until the appearance of Lully's over- 
 tures, such a prelude was never thought of, and, what is even 
 more singular, by their novelty and excellence, they continued 
 for a long time to hold their place and pre-eminence, and were 
 played before operas composed by Vinci, Leo, and Pergolesi, 
 nearly a century after the date of their original production. 
 
388 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 Scarlatti was the next composer of overtures. Then followed 
 the Concerti grossi of Cbrelli and Vivaldi, and lastly the con- 
 certos and overtures of Handel, Bach, Jomelli, Porpora, and 
 Bononcini, with others of less note. In all these, however/ the 
 fugue was the principal object, and one prominent part was 
 given to the violin or some single instrument. Of all the old 
 masters we should say the Padre Martini is one to whom 
 Haydn may be the best compared, if he can be justly likened 
 to any. But truly sublime and unequalled as they were in 
 certain branches of their art, at what a distance were they 
 left by Haydn in the composition of instrumental music ! By 
 him were the peculiar properties and characteristics of every 
 instrument developed ; by him each was made to speak in 
 its own melodious language to the heart and the imagination. 
 It was given to him to reply to the query, " Que veux tu 
 senate ? " for he made the symphony descriptive. He it was 
 who first avowed that he formed a little story as a guide to the 
 workings of his spirit. In truth, the design of Haydn's sympho- 
 nies is more clearly developed, and his ideas can be better 
 understood than either Mozart's or Beethoven's. This it is, per- 
 haps, that renders them more generally pleasing, assisted by the 
 lively tone of feeling that to a certain degree pervades 
 them throughout. Thus their characteristics are clearness of 
 design, purity and elegance of taste, yet not without depth 
 of conception, and they are always tempered by a nice and 
 judicious perception- of effects, which never allowed him to 
 wander beyond the sight or transgress the bounds of sym- 
 pathy in 'his audience. The hearer is not, perhaps, so raised 
 as by Beethoven, or so deeply touched as by Mozart, but the 
 feelings never sink below a certain equable and just level ; 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 389 
 
 the attention is never strained to understand him, and the 
 ear is always interested, always satisfied. He is original, but 
 never eccentric ; and though never dazzling, refined and deli- 
 cate to the highest degree. The general analysis of one of 
 his symphonies will, perhaps, illustrate our ideas on the sub- 
 ject more clearly, and we select the Seventh, because it is 
 most generally known, and, as it appears to us, comprises all the 
 distinguishing traits of his style. 
 
 The short opening adagio is in D minor. In the Encyclo- 
 pedic de Musique there is an article on the symphony by 
 Monmigny, who decides that the character of this movement 
 is of a religious cast, and he interprets it to be a prayer. 
 In this view, however, we cannot agree ; for if the composer 
 had commenced his work in such a frame of mind, it is 
 scarcely possible that in one single page he should have so 
 completely divested himself of the emotions which must have 
 been awakened, as to take up his allegro in a manner wholly 
 unmarked by elevated feeling. It is difficult but not impossi- 
 ble to trace the succession of ideas in the mind of another, 
 and as contrast, though not unconnected, is generally aimed at 
 in the adagio and allegro of a symphony, we should rather 
 imagine the opening of the present to have been constructed 
 upon a less exalted foundation. The subject is contained in 
 three measures, the last of which 
 
390 
 
 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 consists in responses between the higher and lower instru- 
 ments ; the whole of it has the character of expostulation, 
 which is beautifully expressed by the ascent of semitones, 
 commencing after it has modulated into F major. That this 
 expostulation succeeds in its object is evident, from the piano 
 repetition of the opening burst, and from its subsequent 
 transition from D minor to the softened key o'f E flat. This 
 is a beautiful idea. To the ordinary observer the movement 
 may seem to present nothing particularly worth notice in its 
 construction. What then does it contain that finds its way to 
 every heart ? Simplicity, superior taste, and variety ; for it 
 will be seen that, although short and constantly repeated, the 
 subject is so exquisitely diversified as never to appear monot- 
 onous. This is another capital distinction of Haydn's style, 
 though he can scarcely be said to possess it to the same de- 
 gree as Mozart. 
 
 The allegro opens with a graceful and winning subject in 
 
 
 
 D major, developed by the stringed instruments, and followed 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 
 
 by a spirited tutti. It is then reproduced in A major, and 
 with his usual care to prevent sameness, the accompaniments 
 are varied. But how manifold are the resources of art, and 
 yet what slender means does it require to produce the finest 
 effect ! 
 
 The next subject which the composer selects is merely the 
 second and third measures of his first. This displays his 
 unity and clearness of design. Although this movement is of 
 a light and exhilarating character, the connection is still to be 
 kept up between it and the adagio, and the new subject par- 
 takes of its character just so -much as to awaken the same 
 train of ideas, though less vividly. The response is made by 
 the basses, and this serves as another link in the chain, whilst 
 the variations of the passage by the wind instruments, the 
 beautiful conversation maintained between them, and the bril- 
 liant keys through which it modulates, continue the elevated 
 state of the mind, and keep both the intellect and the ear in 
 constant expectation and interest. 
 
 At length the commencement is resumed, and with what 
 ease and brilliancy are the two themes (from their intimate 
 connection) worked up together ? During the first pages 
 the former becomes the groundwork for the same tutti which 
 opens the movement ; a few measures before its conclusion, 
 the latter is heard from the wind instruments ; it then forms 
 a few measures of beautiful contrast, leads off to the con- 
 cluding tutti, and during this is incorporated with the first, 
 and closes the movement with proportionate vigor and effect. 
 It is perhaps in the andante that Haydn's power lies ; for in 
 such movements there is mofe room for the display of his 
 delicacy and taste. His theme in the present instance is 
 
392 
 
 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 soothing, but not mournful, and is made so prominent 
 throughout as to be the principal object in the picture. 
 
 -f3- 
 
 9 ^ ^- 
 
 
 
 Indeed, although there are in some places several subjects 
 moving at once, yet they all spring, as it were, from one root, 
 and are, like the same flower in its various stages of growth, 
 all different modifications of the same beautiful creation, 
 whilst it continues, like its prototype, in a constant state of 
 progression, acquiring at every fresh period of its existence 
 some addition in richness and beauty. 
 
 It is evidently the design of the composer to draw the 
 principal attractions of this movement from simplicity, del- 
 icacy of expression, and fine harmony. Aware, however, of the 
 effect and almost necessity of contrast, he has ingeniously 
 availed himself of this resource without departing from his 
 original plan. Thus he has reproduced his subject in a minor 
 key, in a trio between the flute, oboe, and fagotto, which is 
 followed by a tutti ; not a mere union to produce change by 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 
 
 393 
 
 the contrast of tone, but the addition of instruments, each 
 having a part to perform that is necessary to the general design. 
 That good taste, however, may not be offended by an instant 
 return to the theme, after this burst, the composer wins his way 
 back to it by a passage " fine by degrees and delicately less," 
 thus displaying exquisite judgment and taste. Being fully 
 aware that his subject was of too nice a texture to bear im- 
 mediate or violent contrasts, he has made them steal gradually 
 upon the ear, and in the same manner the movement fades 
 away at the conclusion. The genuine master has adhered to 
 his plan and to the character of his air ; there is nothing 
 abrupt, nothing incongruous, all is smoothness and purity. 
 
 Haydn was particularly happy in the composition of his 
 minuets and trios. As these movements are too short to be 
 susceptible of any powerful effects, that is to say, in connec- 
 tion with the body of the symphony, they should consist of 
 fanciful and brilliant traits of melody, pleasing for their nawett. 
 They may be compared to the divertisemens in an opera ; they 
 produce variety and captivate the ear, whilst they afford a 
 point of repose to the attention, and thus the hearer is pre- 
 pared to follow the composer with fresh energy through his 
 rondo. Hadyn's are models in this style. 
 
 One of the finest proofs of genius is the power of producing 
 great effects by simple means. The subject of the rondo is 
 
 
 99- 
 
 
394 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 introduced on a pedale bass ; and is . taken in trio by the 
 first and second violin and tenor. A forte of two notes 
 follows, sufficient to rouse the attention of the audience and 
 produce contrast ; but Haydn, aware of the quaintness of his 
 subject, has treated it with a corresponding singularity. This 
 forte, which has but one note for the trumpets and drums, 
 has for answer three notes from the first violins ; and here we 
 must observe that, . short as the subject is, consisting only 
 of thirteen notes, the characters of . the two phrases into 
 which it is divided are distinguished through the whole move- 
 ment. But that which is susceptible of the most contrast, 
 and is of the gravest and deepest cast, is put under the care 
 of the corresponding part of the orchestra, whilst the other, 
 which is of an opposite expression, is consigned to the lighter 
 instruments. In fact, the orchestra may almost be compared 
 to opposing casuists, engaged in illustrating their several 
 opinions of the same question in different ways, the serious 
 and the gay. The entire movement is by this means rendered 
 a complete conversation. The titttis are rare, the burden of 
 the dialogue being alternately borne by prominent instru- 
 ments, always changing, always quaint, always interesting 
 and original. Towards the end the combat deepens, and in 
 the winding up the composer has infused into his treatment 
 of the subject all the force and fire of which it is capable. 
 He had previously invested it with enough only of these 
 qualities to prevent monotony, and has reserved this master- 
 stroke till he has presented it in every possible guise. The 
 manner is by turns quaint, lively, persuasive, decided ; and 
 at last, when we have followed these transitions with increas- 
 ing interest through all their diversity, the theme bursts upon 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 395 
 
 us full of vigor, energy, and brilliancy, at a time when we 
 think every protean change has been exhausted. Through 
 all this variety, however, the design is clearly and substantially 
 maintained. We enter into the composer's ideas as we do 
 into those of an enlightened person in conversation, without 
 effort and without weariness. His melodies dwell in the 
 memory ; the effects produced in treating them are impressed 
 on our minds ; and this, after all, is the true test of an author's 
 perfect success. 
 
 This general analysis will give some idea of the mode of 
 construction adopted by Haydn in all his symphonies. By a 
 similar examination of one of Mozart's and one of Beethoven's, 
 it is our object to ascertain how far we have been accurate 
 in our description of the principal differences in the three 
 styles, and to discover if any improvements have been made 
 by the two latter in the models left them by the illustrious 
 inventor of the symphony. 
 
 If the orchestra in the hands of Haydn be considered as 
 carrying on an eloquent and enlightened conversation, under 
 the direction of Mozart each instrument appears to speak in 
 the language of a beautifully descriptive poem. We have 
 already referred to the opposite circumstances in the life of 
 the two composers, which we conceive tended to the forma- 
 tion of two totally different styles ; and if they are recalled, 
 these exemplifications of their manner will, we think, be found 
 clear and expressive. We may then proceed to an analysis 
 of Mozart's Symphony in E Flat. 
 
 In the opening adagio the principal feature is contrast, and 
 the design appears to be to elevate the mind. It commences 
 with a full and powerful tutti, succeeded by a descending 
 
396 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 scale, piano, for the first violin, and this is repeated three 
 times, modulating into F minor, when the violin has a syn- 
 copated trait of melody of tender expression. The running 
 passages are then resumed, the flute varying effect by a few 
 broken notes, and the drums, trumpets, and horns being heard 
 in an undertone. Having modulated to the subdominant, which 
 is sustained by the violins and wind instruments, the running 
 passages are taken up by the tenors and basses. But here 
 Mozart consults equally both the character of his instruments 
 and the variety which he is ever anxious to preserve, and 
 thus the scale is reproduced, ascending, and with the differ- 
 ence of a flat seventh, which on the second and third repe- 
 tition is augmented by that of a flat ninth, while the instru- 
 ments are increased and break off as abruptly on the chord 
 of F with a seventh and flat ninth, leaving the violins and 
 fagotti to close the movement by a legato passage of semi- 
 tones of a wailing expression. In this movement emotions of 
 a totally opposite nature and yet equally strong are awakened. 
 We are elevated, we are awed, we are softened, and these 
 effects are wrought nearly by the same passages judiciously 
 varied and employed. What Mozart may be said to have 
 chiefly aimed at in his music * was to excite the different pas- 
 sions in their most extreme degrees, and this is the principal 
 distinction between him and Haydn. The latter always pre- 
 serves a certain medium, above and below which we are 
 seldom either elevated or depressed. But Mozart revelled with 
 more freedom in the realms of fancy, and consequently the 
 
 * It must be remembered that our remarks are entirely confined to the instru- 
 mental music of these composers. The same reflections will not so strictly apply 
 to their compositions for the voice. 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 397 
 
 feelings are more alive to his touches than the judgment. 
 To support this position, we only ask the reader to note and 
 recall the emotions which are aroused by hearing the adagio 
 to Haydn's Seventh Symphony and those which arise on lis- 
 tening to that we have just analyzed, and to compare his 
 sensations. The allegro, introduced by a melancholy passage, 
 is legato and cantabile, and a soothing effect is imparted to it 
 by the mellow and rich tone of the horns, which take up 
 the first strain of the subject in answer to the first violin, 
 the second being answered in a similar manner by the fagotti, 
 with the same effect. 
 
 Here there is a link in the chain of connection between 
 this movement and the adagio. The descending scales which 
 there form the principal feature are again introduced, com- 
 bined, however, by passages of a bold and decided character. 
 One of Mozart's greatest beauties is the power which he pos- 
 sesses of reproducing one idea in so many and yet such 
 equally beautiful forms, and the present is a striking example. 
 We have already shown that these simple passages, by a slight 
 change, were made to answer two purposes in the first part, 
 softening and exalting the mind, and now again they serve 
 to exhilarate merely by the alteration of the time and man- 
 ner of their accompaniment, or rather connection. We now 
 arrive at some exquisitely expressive solos for the clarionet 
 and fagotto, which are succeeded by a strongly contrasted 
 tuttij and then follows the first reprise. Here a new subject 
 is worked from the accompaniment to the clarionet solo, 
 and is held in play principally between the stringed instru- 
 ments. It commences in G minor, passes through the domi- 
 nant to A flat, where the violins take up the clarionet solo 
 
398 
 
 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 considerably varied, and modulate to C minor.. Then the 
 basses are heard, and a tutti succeeds, leading to the repeti- 
 tion of the commencement. It will be remembered that the 
 descending passages which formed the tutti were in the first 
 part introduced in the original key of E ; but in the present 
 instance, by an alteration of the harmonies, the same idea is 
 reproduced in A, and consequently a pleasing variety is the 
 result, as, although there is no material change or new subject 
 to the end of the movement, yet the former subjects acquire 
 fresh novelty and attraction from this surprise to the ear, as 
 they pass through different modulations and are heightened in 
 effect by the almost imperceptible graces which Mozart never 
 fails to append every time he retouches a trait of melody. 
 The andante which follows 
 
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 z=^=iFi:^z=r.-i=:hp= =3=3 z=j==i 
 zn rbr- 
 
 
 
 is in character exquisitely tender and perfectly describes to 
 our minds "the luxury of grief." It is in A flat, and is com- 
 menced by the stringed instruments, flute, and fagotto. After 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 399 
 
 the subject has been simply developed, the horns and clari- 
 onet are added, and the second part is led by an exquisite 
 solo for the flute into F minor, the violin remaining prin- 
 cipal for some time. The first phrase is then resumed in a 
 conversation between the instruments, till we arrive at a deli- 
 cious solo for the clarionet, answered by the flute and fagotto. 
 But now comes the master-stroke. Whilst the subject is car- 
 rying on in dialogue between the stringed instruments, the 
 clarionets, flutes, and fagotti are recalling old associations by 
 the repetition of three descending scales, and thus is the sim- 
 ple idea produced for the fourth time in a totally different and 
 still more delightful shape. We recognize it again some way 
 further on, transferred to the second violin and tenor, whilst 
 the subject is taken by the wind-instruments. The beautiful 
 conversation of the fagotto and clarionet, with the other 
 instruments, is one of the principal distinctions of this move- 
 ment, as is likewise its cantabile style. The parts literally 
 sing, so exquisitely are they blended together. There is about 
 the whole a languor, from its perfectly legato style, and yet a 
 richness and warmth that give rise to emotions the most 
 absolutely luxurious. A great love of contrast is, however (as 
 we have remarked), to be found in Mozart's music, and thus 
 the minuet which follows is exceedingly animating. The trio 
 consists of beautiful solos for the clarionet and violin, sup- 
 ported by the horns and stringed instruments. 
 
 The subject of the finale is lively and graceful, and is led 
 off by the violins. 
 
 After the first tutti, which is of a kind to raise the spirits 
 from languor, to which they would have sunk during the an- 
 dante, the modulation becomes somber, when, having returned 
 
400 
 
 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 to the dominant, the air, so to speak, is "trifled with" by 
 the clarionet, fagotto, and violins. Throughout the finale, in- 
 
 deed, all the instruments may be said to trifle. Nor is this 
 disposition of the parts without design ; but to trace this 
 design we must follow the flights of the gayest fancy, we 
 must pursue a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, whilst 
 every new reflection of the sunbeams on its painted wings 
 brightens its tints and exalts their beauty. Thus we catch 
 perpetual glimpses of the subject, which, as it recurs, we hear 
 everywhere perpetually varying ; it keeps the mind in the 
 never-ceasing anticipation of new pleasure, and the expecta- 
 tion is never disappointed. Its characteristics are delicacy, 
 grace, and naivett ; and these traits are sustained through- 
 out. 
 
 It should appear then, from this general inquiry, that the 
 chief differences in the styles of Haydn and Mozart may be 
 comprised in a few words. The genius or imagination of 
 Mozart was richer and more varied, that of Haydn more reg- 
 ular and more concentrated. The former opened to his tal- 
 ents a wider field of action, and his forte lay certainly in 
 vocal music ; whilst the number and beauty of the instrumental 
 compositions of the latter, taken as a whole, may be said to 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 4OI 
 
 surpass his productions for the voice.* Mozart has, to a cer- 
 tain degree, infused into his symphonies many of the proper- 
 ties which belong to vocal music. Hence the languor, the 
 tenderness and intensity of feeling, which characterize most 
 of them, and the correct and beautiful manner in which he 
 suits the genius of each particular wind-instrument ; these being 
 more analogous to the different species of tone to be found in 
 voices, and being better adapted to the tenderness, volup- 
 tuousness, and warmth of his ideas. Nevertheless, Mozart is 
 sometimes so completely guided by his enthusiasm and his 
 fancy, that he appears to forget those rules to which others 
 bend, and sometimes his ideas appear to press upon him in 
 such rich and varied profusion as to take from the clearness 
 and unity of his design. This, although a splendid fault, is 
 one which Haydn would not have committed. His plan 
 was laid at first, and it guided him steadily to the last. Nor 
 was he ever drawn aside by the desire of producing an effect, 
 however striking, if it were not in perfect consonance with 
 his design. 
 
 We must now turn to the last great model of the school of 
 these composers. Beethoven may indeed be considered as 
 having followed them, and at the same time as having en- 
 larged so considerably the extent of the way they struck out, 
 as to have left only slight traces of their steps. After what 
 we have already said on the subject of the eccentricity of 
 Beethoven, it will, perhaps, be thought singular that we should 
 
 * We are aware that many will be disposed to differ from us in this opinion, 
 but the test of the merit of music is the general estimation in which it is held. 
 Haydn's instrumental compositions are more frequently performed than his vocal, 
 whilst some of Mozart's operas still stand proudly pre-eminent. 
 
402 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 assert that the germs of this characteristic are to be found in 
 Mozart. They who have studied his works will, however, we 
 doubt not, agree with us. For a striking instance, we refer 
 the reader to the passage immediately after the double bar 
 in the finale to his symphony in G minor. We have selected 
 Beethoven's First Symphony in C for our analysis, because, 
 being one of his earlier productions, it possesses only enough 
 of this quality to render it original, and because it is one of 
 the most esteemed, though by no means the best. 
 
 The first two chords of the adagio display the desire of 
 novelty, as, instead of beginning on the reputed key of C, a 
 flat seventh is inserted in its place," which resolves into the 
 chord of the subdominant. Then we have the dominant also 
 with a seventh, which, by raising the bass one tone, passes 
 into A minor, and again we have D with a seventh, which 
 resolves into the chord of the dominant, in which key the 
 plan of the movement may be said to begin. It consists only 
 of twelve measures, and leads by a running passage for the 
 stringed instruments to the allegro con brio. There is no sin- 
 gle word in the English language which describes the charac- 
 ter of this movement, and the finale to the same symphony, 
 so well as the Italian one of Brioso, especially the latter ; in 
 the present, perhaps, there is a little too much intensity, not 
 however, the intensity of Mozart, for Beethoven is seldom or 
 ever tender, his melancholy is of a higher cast, 
 
 " A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 
 'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild," 
 
 and in his movements of a higher character the same wild- 
 ness is to be found in a less degree. 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 403 
 
 There is nothing striking or even pleasing in the subject of 
 the present : 
 
 
 
 Indeed, in the allegros of Beethoven this is frequently the 
 case. It appears as if he wished to display his power of pro- 
 ducing great effects by slender means ; consequently they gain 
 upon us as they proceed, instead of at once riveting the fancy, 
 as happens when we listen to the beautiful morceanx on 
 which similar movements of Haydn and Mozart are built. 
 After the development of his theme, and the first tutti, which 
 may be considered in all symphonies as the mere prelude to 
 what follows, a simple but beautiful trait of melody is made 
 the subject of conversation between the flute and oboe, subse- 
 quently thp clarionet and fagotto are introduced, as it were, 
 by gradations, and lastly the violins. The accompaniment to 
 this passage, which in the present instance is formed from the 
 last bar of the subject, is of a kind peculiar to this composer, 
 and is introduced in the same manner in his overture to Pro- 
 metheus. The modulation being carried into G minor, the 
 same solo somewhat varied is taken up by the basses, and 
 leads to a return of the subject in F sharp. We may here 
 remark that one of the leading characteristics of Beethoven's 
 style consists in the power and character which he gives to 
 his basses. In this respect he might almost be termed the 
 Handel of symphonists. If they be ever so simple, they are 
 
404 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 distinguished by a solidity and originality that always invests 
 the whole composition with grandeur. At the second reprise 
 the subject passes through A, D, and G to C minor, and the 
 movement here takes a mysterious form ; a tremando is kept 
 up by the second violin and tenor, whilst the short strain be- 
 fore alluded to as peculiar to Beethoven is distributed in 
 alternate solos between the first violin, fagotto, flute, and oboe; 
 after this, the dialogue becomes very singular. A passage, 
 evidently formed on the third and fourth measures of the sub- 
 ject, is led off by the stringed instruments, whilst the first 
 and second measures are kept in constant response by the 
 wind-instruments through several keys, till a rolling bass con- 
 cludes it in unison on E, and the flutes, clarionets, oboes, 
 and fagotti lead back to the opening by a sostenuto passage 
 also in unison. After a tutti which differs considerably from 
 the first, the solo before taken in G by the flute and oboe is 
 here transferred to the flute and clarionet in C, and it is ulti- 
 mately conducted again to C minor, while it is taken by the 
 basses, thus producing a fine contrast. In the concluding tutti 
 we have another alteration. The first measures of the subject 
 are taken by the basses, whilst the last is taken by other in- 
 struments. This had never before this time been the case ; 
 but the composer was aware of the strength of this passage, 
 when referred to a situation to bring it out, and he judi- 
 ciously reserves it for the winding up, where it produces a 
 magnificent effect. 
 
 The characteristics of this allegro are unity of design, sim- 
 plicity in melody, and strong contrast. In the first there are 
 evident traces of the master Haydn, as may be noticed from 
 the fact that, with one exception, every passage is formed on 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 405 
 
 the original subject. In clearness, however, he falls very short 
 of his model ; he has not the same pertinacity in adhering to 
 his plan, that is to say, he is contented with keeping up a 
 chain of connection formed of the more prominent parts of his 
 idea, without attending to those finer links which assist so 
 materially, though almost imperceptibly, in awakening previous 
 associations. In the same manner he has not the same well- 
 constructed plan in the use of his instruments as Mozart, who 
 will make one or two very prominent, and assign to them a 
 certain passage which they alone shall work upon, and which 
 will form a landmark, as it were, in his ocean of melody, 
 whilst Beethoven will, for the sake of contrast, transfer an 
 idea from one instrument to another, so that, if we would re- 
 call it, it comes to the mind in twenty different forms. At 
 the same time, Beethoven produces greater and more striking 
 effects from simpler means than either of his predecessors ; 
 his combinations are more novel, and there is an innate 
 strength and vigor in his music which can hardly be found 
 elsewhere. 
 
 
 The andante is upon an extremely simple subject, of a 
 cheerful, though smooth character, and it is so contrived that 
 the instruments take it up one after another in the style of 
 the fugue, which has a rich and novel effect. It becomes 
 gradually more playful as it proceeds, and the first part con- 
 cludes with a staccato passage of triplets for the violins and 
 clarionet. In the second part we have a good contrast ; the 
 key is changed from F to C minor, and again the instru- 
 
406 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 ments drop singly on a succession of minor thirds and fifths, 
 till, leading to a staccato accompaniment for the fagotto and 
 stringed instruments, the thirds and fifths are brought in spas- 
 modically and give a wild and complaining effect. Gradually 
 the subject is resumed in the major key, and is most beauti- 
 fully varied, in a manner approaching to a fugue, though it 
 does not conform to the laws of that species of writing. The 
 principal ideas guide the composer the whole way though. 
 
 The minuet and trio are, the one spirited, the other grace- 
 ful and fantastic, to a very high degree. Beethoven makes 
 more of this part of the symphony, we are inclined to think, 
 than either of his predecessors. He infuses into it a larger 
 portion of spirit and contrast, and renders it more important 
 to the body of the work. The trio is between the horn, 
 clarionet, and violin, and is a most exquisite bit of dialogue. 
 
 In the subject of the finale there is more to please the 
 fancy than we have yet met with. It catches at once by its 
 airiness and simplicity ; how beautifully is this effect height- 
 ened by the passage given to the violoncellos in the second 
 strain ! and again, what an animating contrast is found in 
 the passage for the basses, beginning at the twenty-fourth 
 measure ! In this movement there is nothing but what is 
 lively and easy, but there is not the same mastery of con- 
 struction that is to be found in the allegro. The composer 
 appears to write more for the pleasure than the instruction 
 of his hearers ; there it was agreeable reflection, here it is 
 pure recreation and enjoyment. This, we are aware, is the 
 general character of the finales to both Haydn and Mozart, 
 but scarcely to the same degree. Those of the former are 
 more refined and chastened, those of the latter 'richer and 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 407 
 
 more luxurious ; and in both they are more elaborate than 
 Beethoven. They appear to us to possess a freedom from all 
 restraint, an exuberance of spirit that carries everything 
 along ; yet the hand of the master is to be observed in the 
 formation of the design and its preservation to the conclu- 
 sion ; and here, where he is not so constantly aiming at effect, 
 the style is more perspicuous. 
 
 We have now completed a sufficiently minute analysis of 
 three of the best works of these great masters, to enable us 
 to compare their different styles, and to determine whether 
 any decided improvements had been made in the symphony 
 as it was left to Mozart and Beethoven by its immortal in- 
 ventor. We have already shown on what slender foundations 
 Haydn raised this lasting fabric. The materials for its forma- 
 tion he drew from the fertile resources of his own mind. He 
 gave character and importance to every instrument,* assigning 
 to each a part adapted to its powers ; he classified them, and 
 taught them the language that is not only intelligible, but 
 delightful to the ear of the musician, and he established cer- 
 tain rules by which he formed a new species of descriptive 
 music, and gave to the mere " concord of sweet sounds " a 
 definite character which it never before possessed, except when 
 in conjunction with, or rather subordinate to, the human voice. 
 Besides the simple invention of the symphony, it cannot be 
 determined how far this very circumstance might tend to the 
 improvement of the overture, which was then, comparatively 
 speaking, at a low ebb, and which has since improved so 
 materially. Be this as it may, the invention itself was suffi- 
 cient to immortalize the composer, and as a proof of the sta- 
 
 * Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and the Symphony-Cantata, by Mendelssohn. 
 
408 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 bility of the principles on which it is founded, its form has 
 been but slightly altered, except in one or two cases ; it still 
 consists of the adagio, allegro, andante, minuetto, or scherzo, 
 trio, and finale, and these are still distinguished by the same 
 characteristics that were first assigned to them. 
 
 It could not, however, be supposed, particularly when such 
 a composer as Mozart followed in the path of Haydn, that the 
 symphony would not, like everything else, continue in a state 
 of progression, even although its external form remained unal- 
 tered. The genius of Mozart was cast in too superb a mould 
 to imitate in any closer manner than that of working on the 
 same principles and aiming at the same end as his prede- 
 cessor.* Consequently, the styles of Haydn and Mozart in 
 instrumental music differ nearly as widely as in vocal. We 
 have already pointed out in what these differences consist ; 
 it remains to show in what particulars or in what degree the 
 latter added to the beauty of the symphony. The distin- 
 guishing trait in Mozart's style is warmth and richness of 
 imagination, inasmuch as he possessed this quality in a 
 greater degree than Haydn, so he was able to shadow out his 
 musical pictures with more glowing colors and to invest 
 them with a greater degree of interest. Thus, in his use of 
 the wind-instruments, he has shown a more vivid perception 
 of the beautiful than Haydn, and in this it is that his grand 
 improvement lies. He has made nicer distinctions between 
 their several qualities, has allotted to each a more decided 
 character ; he has, in fact, treated them more as the singers 
 
 * Mozart dedicated a set of his light quartettes to Haydn, saying, " This 
 dedication is only due to him, for it was from Haydn that I learned to compose 
 quartettes," and he might have added also symphonies. 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 409 
 
 of the orchestra, from their analogy to the human voice. In 
 other respects, what he has done for the symphony has been 
 to enrich it by a more vivid, and to elevate it by a loftier, vein 
 of fancy. At the same time the very ardor which has guided 
 him so rightly in one sense has misled him in another, by 
 sometimes carrying him beyond the limits of that pure and 
 delicate taste which Haydn never overstepped, and by causing 
 him to lose sight of the clearness and unity of design which 
 constituted one of the greatest perfections of his illustrious 
 predecessor. 
 
 When Beethoven entered upon his musical career, it is to 
 be supposed naturally that, from being the scholar of Haydn, 
 instrumental music would first absorb his attention. The 
 symphony, at once the newest and highest species of composi- 
 tion, opened a wide and splendid field to the exertions of the 
 aspiring composer ; but, if we consider the state of perfection 
 in which it was left by Haydn and Mozart, it is evident that 
 Beethoven would be constrained either to become a copyist 
 or to strike out a new path for himself, and how dangerous 
 would this attempt be to any one of the most powerful tal- 
 ents ? Such, however, did Beethoven possess. In his earliest 
 productions, which consisted of sonatas, trios, quartettes, and 
 quintettes for the piano-forte and other instruments, he was 
 accused of crude modulation, and an attempt rather to be sin- 
 gular than pleasing. It appears, then, that originality was his 
 earliest distinction, and this it is that has placed him by the 
 side of Haydn and Mozart in the symphony, without his being 
 the imitator of either. It cannot be denied that ' in his first 
 productions of this kind for instance, in the one we have 
 analyzed traces may be found in the general construction 
 
410 LOTOS LEAVES. 
 
 of the style of his masters, yet as a whole no style can be 
 more decidedly opposed to those of his two predecessors than 
 that of Beethoven. 
 
 The mind of this master was, as is generally known, of a 
 very peculiar formation, and, if we read his works aright, we 
 should say that he possessed a lofty, though not rich imagi- 
 nation, and that this, combined with great simplicity and 
 strength of conception, raised him nearer the sublime than 
 either of those who preceded him. At the same time he ap- 
 pears to have possessed an inexhaustible fund of originality, 
 from which he drew so constantly as to render it sometimes 
 a failing rather than an excellence. This is, we regret to say, 
 too much the case in the Ninth Symphony. We mention this 
 work more particularly, because in it was introduced the first 
 innovation upon Haydn's original plan, before alluded to, in 
 the shape of a chorus, which formed a part of the fourth and 
 last movement, as also in the symphony opening with an alle- 
 gro t and having no minuet or trio. Beethoven is not generally 
 considered to have succeeded in the attempt to unite the two 
 opposite styles of vocal and instrumental music. Even in the 
 present day, its effect, when it is occasionally performed, is 
 such as to leave upon the public mind a feeling of disappoint- 
 ment and fatigue. Its length alone will be a never-failing cause 
 of complaint to those who reject monopoly in sounds. 
 
 The fact is clear to the philosophic observer, that there 
 must be a natural tendency in the mind to vocal music, as 
 presenting definite ideas to the mind ; consequently, when in- 
 strumental is combined with vocal, the latter takes the lead, as 
 it were, in the train of association, the former falls from a 
 principal to a subordinate, and the combination thus belongs 
 
THREE GREAT SYMPHONISTS. 411 
 
 to no class, and possesses no distinct character, or, if any, be- 
 comes a chorus. It appears, therefore, that the symphony 
 retains its original form unchanged, and that Beethoven has 
 aided its advance towards perfection by strength and sublimity ; 
 whilst at the same time his own particular style is distin- 
 guished, besides these attributes, by originality, simplicity, 
 beauty of melody, and great power of description, which is 
 alone displayed . in that really stupendous work, his Pastoral 
 Symphony. 
 
 The result of this investigation, to our conception, is that, 
 by a happy concurrence, three minds more perfectly formed for 
 the establishment of this magnificent invention could not have 
 succeeded each other than those of Haydn, Mozart, and Beet- 
 hoven. The first gave it form and substance, and ordained 
 the laws by which it should move, adorning it at the same 
 time with superior taste, perspicuity of design, and beautiful 
 melody ; the second added to the fine creation of his fancy 
 by richness, warmth, and variety ; and the last endowed it 
 with sublimity of description and power. When will the artist 
 appear who shall combine all these attributes? for what 
 others can be added? 
 
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