.r-x.>"x BOOK ^KEJfHK' m PR James Whitcomb Riley CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNDERGRADUATE LIBRARY /> /? J Cornell University Library '^ PS 2704.S5 1892 Sketches in prose, and occasional verses. 3 1924 014 400 109 .^K. dat¥BIi»>0(c ■HflP; ^ tc^^* 3 mmJkm"*.^ » V. ■ iyj " ' *•*. '■ 'nggga'"! m j___. GAYLORD ■■^^.V'STER \ BOCK PRINTED mU-S. A. Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014400109 SKETCHES IN PROSE OCCASIONAL VERSES JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY XNE'IAtJAPOLIS THE BOWEN-MERRILL CO 1893 -- , copy BIGHT iSgi J. W. RILEY Cl l. / CONTENTS. GOD BLESS US EVERY ONE ( JAMESY 7 BELLS JANGLED 60 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC 61 LITTLE TOMMY SMITH 74 TOD 75 FAME 98 A REMAEKABLE MAN 101 OLD-FASHIONED EOSES 126 A NEST-EGG 127 THE BEETLE 142 TALE OF A SPIDER 148 THE ELF-CHILD 178 WHERE IS MARY ALICE SMITH ? 1«1 THE BAN 188 ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK 201 THE BROOK 226 "THE BOY FROM ZEENY." 227 THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 248 THE OLD MAN 249 (S) Jamesy. GOB BLESS US EVERY ONE. " Ood bkss u) etery one I " prayed Tiny Tim, Crippled, and dwarfed of body, yet no iaU Of soul, we tiptoe earth to look on him. High towermg over all. He loved the loveless world, nor dreamed, indeed. Thai it, at best, cmUd give to him, the while, But pitying glances, when his only need Was but a cheery smile. And thiis he prayed, " Ood bless vs every one I " Enfolding all the creeds within the xpan Of his child-heart; and so, despising none, Was nearer saint than man, I like to fancy Ood, in Paradise, Lifting a finger o'er the rythmic swing Of chiming harp and song, wUh eager eyes Turned earthward, listening — The Anthem stilled — the a/ngels leaning there Above the golden walla — the morning sun Of Christmas bursting flower-like with the prayer, " Ood bless us Every One/" (6) JAMESY. ONE week ago this Christmas day, is— the -little back office thart-sdfDiira-^he comrtifig-room of the Daily Journal, I sat in genial conversation with two friends. I do not noWsTecall the theme of our discussion, but the geh^ral trend of it — sjiggested., doubt- leas, by the busy scene, upoiij. th© &treets--J— remember most- distinctly, savored of the mellowing influences of the coming holidays, with perhaps an acrid tang of irony as we dwelt upon the great needs of the poor at such a time, and the chariness with which the hand of opulence was wpnt to dole out alms. But for all that we were merry, and as4ronv^me-to4Ma&.Qur glances fell- upon the ever=shifting scene xn^sider our -hearts grew warmer, and within the eyes the old dreams gUmipered into fuller dawn-. It was during a lull of conversation, suad- while the?phil- anthroprc mind, per-ehance, was .w-and^ng an»d tbe-e^lei-throng,, and doubtless- quoting to4tseif "WKne'er I take my waiks. abroad," Jtbat our privacy was abruptly broken into by 8 JAMESY, the grimy apparition of a boy of ten ; a-rag- ged little fellow — iiat-4l»e-ste*«©t3tp@d-©ditioa of-the-~stFeet- waifj but a-G-i:oss-43etw,eaautb.e boot-blackaad the infantine Italian-witb-4fee -vielia^ Where he had entered, and how, would have puzzled us to answer ; b'iit there he stood before us, ^s^ it were, in a-Jm^es^ o£. insignificance. I have never had ^he feat- ures of a boy impress me as did his, ^nd as-I stfilfi-a eoverL^anc&'at-my companions J^ was pleased- to find the evidenc&-o£-moreijhjiLfiJ> dina-^c-interest in their faces. They gazed in attentive silence on the little fellow, as, with uncoyered, frowzy head, h^ stfepped boldly forward, yet with an air of' deference as unlookedlfor as becoming. " I don't want to bother you gentlemens," he began, in a frank but hesitating tone, that jippled-JuorriedJ^-aloagas^ he marked agexri^ eral nod of indulgence for -th«- interruption. " I don't want to bother nobody, but if I can raise fifty cents — and I've got a nickel — and if I can raise the rest — and it aint much, you know — on'y forty-five — andJf I caflraise-the t?«8t — I tell you, gentlemens," he-broke «# afeKu^y. — aad„speaking-^wit-h"itali€iz©d sitri eerity. — "I want jist fifty cents, cos I can git a blackin'-box for that, and brush and every- thing, and you can bet if I had that I would- A CHRISTMAS STORY. 9 a'( have to ask nobody for nothin', and I aint got no father nor mother, nor brother nor — nor — no sisters, neither ; but that don't make no difference, cos I'll work — at anything — ^yes sir — ^when I can git anything to do — and I sleep jist any place — and I aint had no break- fast — and, honest, gentlemens, I'm a good boy — I don't swear nor smoke nor chew — but that's all right — on'y if you'll jist make up forty-five between you — and that's on'y fif- teen cents apiece — I'll thank you, I will, and I'll jist do anything — and it's coming Christ- mas, and I'll roll in the nickels, don't you for- get — ^if I on'y got a box — cos I throw up a ' bad ' shine ! — and I can git the box for fifty cents if you gentlemens '11 on'y make up for- ty-five between you." At the conclusion of this long and rambling appeal, the little fel- low stood waiting with an eager face for a response. AJ©©k-of-st«ical d^liberaliDn played about th©4«ature6-ef the oldest member of the group, as with an air of seriousness, which, I'— fein^ even the boy recognized as affected, he-a-sfced-: "And you couldn't get a box like that for — say forty cents ? Fifty cents looks like a lot of money to lay out in the purchase of a black- ing-box." Tlia-bey-smiled-'wiselyas h« answered: lO JAMESY, " Yes, it might look big to a feller that aint up on prices, but I think it's cheap, cos it's a second-hand box, and a new one would cost seventy-five cents anyhow — 'thout no brushes nor nothin'." In the meantime I had dropped into the lit- tle fellow's palm the only coin I had in my possession, and~we-aH^4aijghed-aiS' Tie dosed his thanks-wi*h "Oh, come. Cap, go the other nickel, or I won't git out o' here with half enough I" and at that he turned to the former speaker. "Well, really," said that gentleman, fiim- bling-in-his-poGkete, "I don't believe I've got a dime with me." "A dime," said:H;-he4ittle4€llow,-with-^-4ooik ef-feigQed-compassiifla. "Aint got a dime? Maybe I'd loan you this one 1 " And wer'aH laughed-agsin . "Tell you what do now," said-^the-beyj-tak- ing..,adyitntage of the mament, and looking coaxingly into the smiling eyes of the gen- tl-eman still fumbling vainly in his pockets. " Tell you^ what- do ; you borry twenty cents of the man thaLstays behind the counter there, and then we'll go the other fifteen, and that'll make it, and I'll skip out o' here a little the flyest boy you ever see I What do ye soy?" And the little fellow struck a Pat Rooney at- A CHRISTMAS STORY. 11 tiJade-tbat-would "iiave driveR the-ori^inal"Hi- ventor mad with en^. " Give him a quarter I " laitghed-lbe-gentle- man appealed te. " And here's the other dime," aad-as-the- little fellow clutched the money eagerly, he turned, and in a tone of curious gravity, he said: " Now, honest, gentlemens, I aint a-givin' you no game about the box — cos a new one costs seventy-five cents, and the one I've got — I mean the one I'm agoin' to git — is jist as good as a new one, on'y it's second-hand, and I'm much obliged, gentlemens — ^honest, I am — and if ever I give you a shine you can jist bet it don't cost you nothin' I " And with this-expression of his gratitude, the little fellow vanished as- mysteriously as he-had at first appealed. -^ " That boy hasn't a bad face," said the first speaker — " wide between the eyes — full fore- head — good mouth — denoting firmness — alto- gether, a good, square face." "And a noble one," said I, perhaps in- spired to that rather lofty assertion by the re- hearsal of the good points noted by my more observant companion. " Yes, and an honest, straightforward way of talking, I would say," continued that 12 JAMESY, gentleman. " I only noted one thing to shake my faith in that particular, and that was in his latest reference to the box. You'll remember his saying he was ' giving us no game ' about it, whereas, he had not been ac- cused of such a thing." " Oh, he meant about the price, don't you remember? " said I. "No," said the gentleman at the counter, " yoH^;e both wrong. He pnly threw in that remark because he thought I suspected him, for he recognize9~T3ie just the instant before that speech, and it coMused him, and with some reason, as you will/see.~ On my way to sup- per only last night, I 6vertooK\that same little fellow in charge of ah old manNvho was in a deplorable state of drunkenness; and you know how slippery the /treets were. I thihk if that old man fell a single time he fell a dozen, and once so violently that I ran to his assisrajice and helped hiin to his feet. I thought badly hurt at first, for he gashed his foreheac as he fell, aijd I helped the little fellow to take him into a drug store, where the wound, up- on examii/ation, proved to be nothing more serious than to require a strip of plaster. I got a go'od look at the boy, there, however, and questioned him a little, and he said the man was his father, and he was taking hin A CHRISTMAS STORY. 1 3 home, and I gathered further from his talk that the man was a confirmed inebriate. Now you'll remember the boy told us here a while ago he had no father, and when he recognized me a moment since and found )nmself caught in a * yarn,' at least, he vew^naturally sup- posed I would think his entj^^tory a fabrica- tion, hence the suspiciou«r nature of his last remarks, ajni the sudn/en transition of his manner fromNiJiat (« r^l delight to gravity, which change, ih^yyopinion, rather denotes lying to be a new tjli^g to him. I can't be mistaken in rtre boV^ forS^oticed, as he turned to go, a baM place on the back of his head, the left side, a ' trade-mark,' first ^scovered last evening, as tre bent over the prostrate form of his fath^ •' I noticed a thin spot in his hair," said I, " and Wondered at the time what caused it." id don't you know? " ■^shook my head. Coal-bins and entry floors — ^that little fel low hasn't slept within a bed for years, per haps." "But he told you, as you say, last night, he was taking the old man home? " "Yes, home I I can imagine that boy's home. There are dozens like it in the city here — a cellar or a shed — a box car or a loft 14 JAMESY, in some old shop, with a father to chase him froS^4tjn his sober interlude^.and- to hold him from if1ti*u|iconscioijs «llame when help- lessly drunk. ' Holjieii^weet Home I ' That boy has heard, it on the haitd-ecgan, perhaps, but neverin his heart — ^you couldnt"grind it out of there with a thousand cranks." ^Tl^e remainder of that day eluded me somehow; I don't knoya-^ how or where it passed. I suppose it just dropped into a comatose cpjidftion, and so slipped away " un- knelledsiincofEned and unkniS^n." But -one, clear_memQry - survives^-ran. expe? rience so vividly imprinted on my mind that I now recall its every derafl:'~^ Entering the Union Depot that evening to meet the train tlSt-SKSS-te-eaFry^ me away .at=>six o'clock, mijffled closely in my- overcoat, yet more closely-muffled in my gloomy thoughts, I was rather abruptly stopped by a small boy with the cry of: " Here, you man with the cigar; don't you want them boots blacked? Shine 'em for ten cents ! Shine 'em for a nickel — on'y you mustn't give me away on that," he add^d, dropping on his k^ees near the en- trance, and motioning me to set my foot upon the box. It was then too dark for me to see his face clearly, but I had recognized the voice the A CHRISTMAS STORY. I5 instant he had spoken, and had paused and looked around. •' Oh, you'll have plenty o' time," he urged, .guessing at the cause of my appafen- t hcsi ta - tioa. " Nbne o' the trains are dn time to-night — on'y the I^anhandle, and she's jist a backin' in — ^won't st^t for thirty miniates," and-^« agaifl--beckQBied, and rattled a seductive tat- too-OHHthe-side of his .box. " Well," ^aidr- I wi tl i-a compromiskig--a*r ; " come inside, then, out of the cold." " ' Gainst the rules — cops won't have it. They jist fired me out o' there not ten minutes ago. Oh, come. Cap ; step out here ; it won't take two minutes," and-tfee -little fellow-spat prnfpss iQ.na1ly-"P'^" ^^s br^'^b; with a covert glance, of pleasure-as he- noted- the apparent siirrpRS o f tbift- mnnpnypr " YoU don't Hve here, I'll bet," said-4he boy, setting-the first boot on the box, and pausing ta blow his hands^ " How do you know that? Did you never see me here before? " " No, I never see you here before, but that aint no reason. I can tell you don't live here by them shoes — cos they've been put up in some little pennyroyal shop, — that's how. When you want a ' fiy^ shoe you want to git her _put up somers where they know somepin' l6 JAMESY, about style. They's good enough metal iu that shoe, only she's about two years off in style." "You're posted, then, in shoes," bM i l i; wLtii- a laug'h'. "I ort to be," h&-weBt- en-, pantingl y, a- bpush-in either hand g3rra^4igjsv-ith..a -velocity ~ that-^estl«d-histett-over Ms eyes, leaving most plainly-exposed-to- -my" investigative eye -the "4rade-mark "— befepe~allad;^:=to»; " i-ert-to besposted-in shoes, cos I ain't done nothin' but black 'em for five years." " You're an old hand, then, at the busi- ness," said-^ " I didn't know but maybe you were just starting out. What's an outfit like that worth?" •'Thinkin' o' startin' up?" hg_asked- feee- tieusiy. " Oh, no," saidi, good-humoredly. ** I-jjist asked'oatofidfetnnlosity. That's a new box, ain't it? " "■New I" he repeated -wi*b-al»agh. "Put up Aat-other-lioof. New? W'y if that box had ever had eyes like a human it would a- been a-wearin' specs by this time ; that's a old, bald-headed box, with one foot in the grave." "And what did the old fellow cost you?" I A CHRISTMAS STORY, Ij askedj-WgWy- amused at the quaint expres- --sions'of the boy. "Cost? Cost nothin' — on'y about an hour's work. I made that box myself, about four years ago." "Ah I" ratd-J. "Yes," he^weiat-swi^ "they don't cost no- thin' ; the boys makes 'em out o' other boxes, you know. Some of 'em gits 'em made, but they ain't no good — ain't no better'n this kind. ' ' " So that didn't cost you anything?" said^, " though I suspect you wouldn't like to part with it for less than — well, tdon't Jaiev^liijw nwdMSOQe^Ufi) §ay — seventy-five cents, maybe — would anything less than seventy-five cents buy it? " X eraiiily interrogated. " Seventy-five cents I W'y,.wliat's the mat- ter with ^you^jaaa,? I could get a cart-load of 'em for seventy-five cents. I'll take your measure for one like it for fifteen, too quick I " !tndrtfe»4i-ttle-fel}ow lea-ned back from his work iUJ^feJighed- up in fiiy-fee& with— absolute de- riaimt. I pulled my hat more closely down for fear of recognition, but was reassured a moment later as he went on : " Wisht you lived here ; y^vrd be old fruit for~-u3~fellows. I can see -you now-a-takin' 2 l8 JAMESY, wiadr— aft4-^we'd-give- it to you mighty sKck now, .don't you Jbrgit 1 " ^iidj.a§.Jh&-ho3f-re- Q£ai£dJDisJwo«fert-thiHk- his little rag-ged-bedy i^»Mk4egs»w»tk industry than«mij;^3& " Wisht I'd struck you 'bout ten o'clock this mornin' I " sind^.asJie-spols«^h,e~pajiSe4.ag.aia and-i0«l6©d.j^4n my face with -reat^ regret. "Oil,. you'd ^a-beea-the-ieweliest sucker oi-^-em -alH 'W^y-yonM""a~w€nt- tbe-^whole - p&t-y-our- " How do you mean?" saiil, dr-opping ihe. cigar I held. "How dchl meanr? Qlvyou don't want to smoke this thing again after it's a-rolling round here in the dirt ! " "WhyJ you don't smoke," jaid-JT-^tJll .jaBach-i»g»fer'4ire cigar he -held- behinxi-hi'm. " Me? Oh, what you givin' me?" " Come, let me have it," L said sharply, drawing— a-Gas€~from^my_ pocket and taking out another cigar. " Oh, you want a light," he said, handing me the stub and watching me- wistfully. "Couldn't give us afresh cigar, could you, Cap?" " t-4«»H-JMi!Ow," said I, as thoug h- d c K b- ^tatJag^jon .Alae-matter. " What was that you were going to tell me just now ? You started to tell me what a ' lovely sucker ' I'd -have A CHRISTMAS STORY. I9 beex>>-J»ad - y e«— met- me this m&roing. Hew did-you- mean ? " " Give me a cigar and I'll tell you. Oh, come, now. Cap ; give me a smoker and I'll give you the whole game. I will, now, hon- est ! " I held out the open case. "Nothin' mean about you, is they?" \m said, sage dy - takin g g - freah c i^ ^ac-iB-Q ne ! h a nd a nd-^4 t te ■ steb-Jni-^fae-^tfeer. "A ten-center, too — oh, I guess not I" hat, .to- my-suypriSe, he..took...th& stub betweeti his lips7 and began opening his coat. " Gueaa_riLjist iJat-this daisy, and save 'er up for Ghristmas. No, I won't, either," he-brofce- in suddenly , ^S^Tftitt bri^iitT-keefirftgsh-Trf- second thougbti "Tell you what I'll do," beldw i g-up ti'ie-eigag-and gftgin g-at it admiringly ; " she's a ten-center, ain't she?" I-tiedded. "And worth every cent of it, too, ain't she?" "Every cent of it," X^ep©at«d. " Then give me a nickel, and she's yourn — cos if you can afford to give it to me for nothin', looks like I ort to let you have it for half price," and as I laughingly dropped the nickel in his hand he concluded, "And there's nothin' mean about me, neither." " Now, go on with your story," saidci^ 20 JAMESY, " How about that ' game' you were ' giving,' this morning? " "Well, I'll tell you, Cap. Us fellers has got to lay for every nickel, cos none of us is bond- holders ; and they's days and days together when we don't make enough to even starve on. WiiaLl -mean— is,~w-€-0n.^5t^aake-eaottgh to_.pay-jfor agervatin' our -appetites with jist about enough chuck to -keep us starvin'-hun- gry. So, you see, when a feller ain't got nothin' else to do, and his appetite won't sleep in the same bunk with him, he's bound to git onto somepin' crooked, and git up all sorts o' dodges to git along. Some gives 'em one thing, and some another, but you bet they got to be mighty slick now, cos people won't have * orphans,' and ' fits,' and ' cripples,' and ' drunk fathers,' ajwi_imothers-tha.t.eatS- mor- phine,' and ' white sweHin',' and ' consump- tion,' and all that sort o' taffy 1 Got. to git 'er d©wa« finer'n that + but- I been a -gJt-tiB^-in mjt-worJfc^all-the^sarae, don't you forgit I You won't ever-bl&w, now?" " H©3!vcould I 'blow,' and what if I did? I don't live~-hgre," i-*epiTCTi. , " ♦'Well, you better never blow, anyhow; cos if ever us duffers'would git onto it you'd be a spiled oyster !" "Go on," said I, with an assuring tone. A CHRISTMAS STORY. 21 "The lay I'm on jist now," lie-c©Hti.mied, droppng' his voice ■ and looking cautiously around, "is a-hidin' my box and a-rushin' in, sudden-like, where they's a crowd o' nobs a-talkin' politics ocsojiiepin', a«d-a jist startin' -m, and 'fore they know what's a-comin' I'm a-flashin' up a nickel ac- a di - me , and a-tellin' 'em if I on'y had enough more to make fifty cents I could buy a blackin'- box, and wouldn't have to ask no boot o' my grandmother j and two minutes chinnin' does it, d©»Hryon see, cos they don't know nothin' about blackin'- boxes ; they're jist as soft as you are. T^ifey got an idy, maybe, that blackin'-boxes comes all Ihe^ way from Chiny, with cokeyhut whis- k^TK^acked arGund"'em-; andrl m-ak-e-itsel-id by a-sa^in' I'm on'y goin'^^to git a second- hand box — sfe-e,? But,that ain't the pint — it's the Mr. Nickel 1;;already got. Oh I it'll par- alyze 'em ^very tiihe ! Sometimes fellers'll make up seventy-five cents or a dollar, and tell me to git a new box, and ' go into the busi- ness right.' That's a thing that always rat- tles'me. Now, if they'd on'y growl a— little aBd-laok_iike._th£y:.wji*-j-ist a puttin' up cos the-£rst.one did, I can stand it; but when they go to pattin' me on the head, and a-tellin' me ' that's right,' and ' not to be afeard o' work,' and I'll 'come out all right,' and a- 22 JAMESY, teUiiiLB*e-ix>-'-gi1r'a-g^ao?t-s«i)S^ta^BtiaHj6x^whi I'i»-*=grt:tin',' and tt=^p-onyin' up handsonie, there's where I weaken — I do, honest I " And never so plainly as at that moment did I see within his face and in his eyes the light of true nobility. "You see," bfi-went on, in a tonp of -voice half courage, half apolt)gy, " I've got a fam- ily on my hands, and I jist got to git along somehow. I could git along on the square deal as long as mother was alive — cos she'd work — but ever sence she died — a^d-that-was winter iforelast — I've kindo had to double on the old thing all sorts o' ways. But Sis don't know it. Sia_±bink-s^ -Fm— the squar^st— mul- daan~iii-the~bu6^iiieas.».'l and even -side-by-si-de \sdth. the homely utterance a great -sigh -fal- tered from his lips. "And who is Sis?" I-inqu4i«4-wi-th-new in- terest. /■ "Sis?" he repeated, knocking imy foot from the box, and leaning back, still in the old position, his hat lying on,^e ground be- side him, and^is frowsy Mair tdssdd backward from the fullf broad br^— "Who's Sis?" he repeated with an up^^rd smile that almost dazzled me — "W'yJ"'Sis is — is — w'y, Sis is the boss girl — and don't you forgit it I " Ne-seed- hai hg-lo JteE-me more thaiLthis.. A CHRISTMAS STORY. 23 I knew who " Sis " was by the light of pride in the uplifted eyes ; I knew who " Sis " was by ithe exultation in the ^broken voice, and the half-defiant tossing of the frowsy heai ; ^ kneW who " Sis-^^was by the little n-afeed haiiQaJJirowix-japwa-Fdr-epeHly ; I knew who •' Sis " was by the tear that dared to trickle through the dirt upon her ragged brother's face. ■Aadsdorrt' joM -fefget it4 that boy down there upon his knees I — there in th e c iitdreys-and "the-dirt — so far, iar down beneath us that we trample on his breast and grind our heels into his very heart ; O that boy there, with his lifted eyes, and God's own glory shining in his face, has taught me, with-an-el0€fae»ee^eyond-the trick of mellow- soTjnding-words and metaphor, that love may find a purer home beneath the rags of poverty and vice than in all the great warm heart of charity. 1 ^hardly knew what impulse proippted me, but ak\the boy rose to his feet and held his hand out^ fpr the compensation for his work, I caught the little dingy palm close, close within my own, and wrung it as I would have wrung the hand of some great conqueror. T^ little fellow stared- at me in wonder- ment, and although his lips~w"eTfr silent, I can but beHeve that had they parted with the ut- 24 JAMESY, terance within his heart my feeiings had re- ceived no higher, recognition than the old contemptuous phra-ssj " Oh, what you givin' me?""' "And so you've got a family on your hands?" I inquire.d^.recovering an-m^^if-sim- ple -curiosity, and toying- iiLmy pocket-wth some -bits of change. " How much of a fam- ily?" "On'y three of us now." "Only three of you, eh? Yourself, and Sis, and — and — " "The old man," saJd-4fee-4rayrTiTret(s!ly ; aad^after apause, in which he seemed to swal- low an utterance more bitter, he added-, "And he aint no good on earth ! " " Can't work? " l«qtt©M©d. " Won't work," satd^tiae-beyTttttierty. "He won't work — he won't do nothin' — on'y •budge I ' And I have to steer him in every night, cos the cops won't pull him any more — they won't let him in the station-house mor'n they'd let him in a parlor, cos he's a plum goner, and liable to ' croak ' any min- ute." "Liable to what?" said I. " Liable to jist keel over — wink out, you know — cos he has fits, kindo jim-jams, I guess. Had a fearful old matinee with him last A CHRISTMAS STORY. 25 night I You see he comes all sorts o' games on me, and I have to put up for him — cos he's got to have whisky, and if we can on'y keep him about so full he's a regular lamb, but he don't stand no monkeyin' when he wants whisky, now you bet I ( Sis can handle him better'n me, but she's been a losin' her grip on him lately — ^you see Sis ain't stout any more, and been kindo sick- likej so long she humors him, you know, mor'n she ort. And he couldn't git on his pins at all yesterday mornin', and Sis sent for me, and I took him down a pint, and that set him a runnin' so that when I left he made Sis give up a quarter he saw me slip her, and it jist happened I run into him that evening and got him in, or he'd a froze to death. I guess he must a kindo had 'em last night, cos he was the wildest man you ever see — saw grass- hoppers with paper collars on, an' old sows with feather-duster tails, the durndest pro- gramme you ever heard of I And he got so bad onct he was a goin' to belt Sis, and did try it, and — and I had to chug him one or he'd a done it. And then he cried, and Sis cried, and I cri , I — Dern him 1 You can bet your life / didn't cry." And as the boy spoke, the lips quivered into stem com- pression, the little hands gripped closer at his 26 JAMESY, side, but-for- aH that the -ftasiikig-eye— ^"gW blurred and the lids dnapped-downward. " That's a boss shine on them shoes." I was mecjianically te^ijig over^'in my hand the three small'ieQins I haa drawn fronTmy pocket. " That is a nice job I " s^id_Ir-#azi»g-with aajumsoial show nf^ admiratio-n-sTrthe woffc;-- " and I thought," continued I, with real re- gret, "that I had t^wa_dimes^afld--a^ nickel here, and was thinking that as-.these- were Gh^s-tmas times, I'd just give you a quarter for your work." " Honest, Cap ! " " Honest ! " I repeated, "but the fact is the two dimes, as I thought they were, are only two three-cent pieces, so I only have eleven cents in change, after all." " Spect they'd change a bill for you 'crost there at the lunch counter," h«— sw^ested with &h arming -artlessness . "Won't have time — there's my train jast ce»pliBg — ^but take this — Pfr-se© you .again sometime, pierhaps-;" " Hsw big a bill is it you Want changed? " asked tn^ little fello^y, with\a Vio^ acquisitive expre^iota, and a swift glatice al\ our^ then lonely surroundings. A CHRISTMAS STORY. 2^ / ^ *' I have only (jne bill with me," s«44-I ^er- vxuisly, " and that's a five." "Well, here 'then," saiithe. boy -harriedly, with another .'and more scrutinizing glance about iiim — yguess I can accofnmodate yon." And as I turned in wonder, 'he drew fr©«* some mysterious recess) in- the linitig of* his coat, a roll of bills, fre«i-which he hastily de- 1a£liejdLiQ^ijLiii--n»*»bei=^retuTned -the roll, and before I had recovered my surprise, had whisked the note from my fingers, and left in my ha^d instead the proper chaiige. " This is on the dead, now. Cap. Don't ver cheep about me havin' wealth, you you ev know; cos it aint mine — that is it's mine, but P«ft»a — there goes your train. Ti-ta ! " "The day before Christmas," said I^ snatch- ing-his-haad-j-and -spetcking hurriedly, " the da^.h£fbre-ChFi*tnias I'm coming back, and if you'll be here when the 5 :30 train rolls in you'll find a man that wants his boots blacked — maybe to. get married in',- or something — anyway he'IL want a shine like tMs, and he'll come prepared to pay the highest market price — do you understand^' " You jist tHlthat feller for me," said-the boy, eclipsing the .twinkle of one eye, and dropping his voice to an inflection of strict- 28 JAMESY, est 6pnfidenee, " you iist tell that feller for me that i\m his oyster." \ N "And you'll^ ineet hin\, sure?," said 1. " I will.'^Ts&d'tlie boy. And he kept his WJ&Fdr V My ride home was an incoherent fluttering of the wings of time, in which travail one fret- ful hour was born, to gasp its first few min- utes helplessly ; then moan, roll over and kick out its legs and sprawl about, then crawl a little — stagger to its feet and totter on ; then tumble down a time or two and knock its empty head against the floor and howl ; then loom up awkwardly on gangling legs, too much in their own way t® comprehend that they were in the way of everybody else ; then limp a little as it worried on — drop down ex- hausted — moan again — toss up its hands — shriek out, and die in violent convulsions. We have all had that experience of the car- wheels — had them enter into conversation with us as we gaily embarked upon some pleasant trip, perhaps ; had them rattle off" in scraps of song, or lightly twit us with some dear one's name, or even go so far as to laugh at us and mock us for some real or fancied dereliction of car etiquette. I shall ever have good reason to remember how once upon a time a boy of A CHRISTMAS STORY. 29 fourteen, though greatly undersize, told the conductor he was only ten, and although the unsuspecting official accepted the state- ment as a truth, with the proper reduction in the fare, the car-wheels called that boy a " liar " for twenty miles — and twenty miles as long and tedious as he has ever compassed in his journey through this vale of tears. The car-wheels on this bitter winter eveninjj were not at all communicative. They were sullen and morose. They didn't feel like sing- ing, and they wouldn't laugh. They had no jokes, and if there was one peculiar quality of tone they possessed in any marked degree it was that of sneering. They had a harsh, discordant snarl as it seemed, and were spite- ful and insinuating. The topic they had chosen for that night's consideration was evidently of a very complex and mysterious nature, and they gnawed and mumbled at it with such fierceness, and, withal, such selfishness, I could only catch a flying fragment of it now and then, and that I noticed was of the coarsest fiber of intelli- gence, and of slangy flavor. Listening with the most painful interest, I at last made out the fact that the inflection seemed to be in the interrogative, and with anxiety the most in- tense, I slowly came to comprehend that 30 JAMESy, they were desirous of ascertaining the exact distance between two given points, but the proposition seemed determined not to round into fuller significance than to query mock- ingly, "How fur is it? How fur is it? How fur, how fur, how fur is it? " and so on to a most exasperating limit. Ac this sense- less phrase was repeated and reiterated in its growing harshness and unchanging in- tonation, the relentless pertinacity of the query grew simply agonizing, and when at times the car-door opened to admit a brakeman, or the train boy, who had everything to sell but what I wanted, the emphasized refrain would lift me from my seat and drag me up and down the aisle. When the phrase did event- ually writhe round into form and sh^de more tangible, my relief was such that I sat down, and in my fancy framed a grim, unlovely tune that suited it, and hummed with it, in an undertone of dismal satisfaction : "How fur — how fur Is it from here — From here to Happiness?" When I returned that-~saioe-*efe^n^a»4e baefc into the city with -iwe ! All the gay metropolis was robing for the banquet and the ball. All the windows— of- t^ie—efowded A CHRISTMAS STORY. 3 1 thoKDughfares were kindling into splendor. Along~^lie streets rolled lordly carriages so weighted^»mi with costly silks, and furs, and twinkling gems, and unknown treasures in unnumbered packages, that one lone ounce of needed charity would have snapped their axles, and a feather's weight of pure be- nevolence would have splintered every spoke. And the old refrain rode with me through it all — as stoical, relentless and unchangeable as fate — and in the same depraved and slangy tone in which it seemed to find an especial pride, it sang, and sang again : "How fur — how fur Is it from here — From here to Happiness?" The train that for five minutes had been les- sening in speed toiled painfully along, and as I arose impatiently and reached behind me for my overcoat, a cheery voice cried, "Hel- lo, Cap I Want a lift? I'll help you with that 'benjamin' ; " and as I looked around I saw the grimy features of my little hero of the brush and box. " Hello 1 " said. I, .as. much -delighted - as surprised. "Where did you drop from? " "Oh, I collared this old hearse a mile or so back yonder," said— the— iittfe- -fellow— gaily, 32 JAMESY, sta»4mg^"On-4h-e- se at- beiimd--Bae--a'n d-^roMi ng up the coat. " Been a-doin' circus business on the steps out there for ha^lf an hour. Y-e« belt I had my eye on you, all the same, though." " Yqu Jiad, eh?" I exclaimed, gladly, al- though I instincti-Kgly^surnaised'his highest in- terest in me. was centered mjny pocket-book. "You have, eh?" I repeated, with more ear- nestness. "Well, I'm glad of that, Charlie — or, what is your name?" "Squatty," sarrrT th«-b©y. Then_iiQticiiig-the-laok_oilsurp«se~ upon jny face, he added soberly: "That aint my ' sure-enough ' name, you know ; that's what the boys calls me. Sis calls me Jamesy." "Well, Jamesy," L-_CiDntin.ue,d, -buttofling my collar and drawing on my gloves, "I'm mighty glad to see you, and if you don't be- lieve it, just go down in that right-hand over- coat pocket and you'll find out." The little fellow needed no second invita- tion, and as he drew forth a closely-folded package the look of curiosity upon his face deepened to one of blank bewilderment. "Open it," said I, smiling at the little puz- zled face ; " open it — it's for you." " O, here. Cap," sajd^Jhe— hoy,- dropping the package on the seat, and^ holding up a A CHRISTMAS STORY, 33 rigid -finger; "you're a givin' me this, aint you?" " I'm giving you the package, certainly," said I somewhat bewildered. " Open it — it's a Christmas present for you — open it." "What's your idy o' layin' for me?" asked the boy, with a troubled and uneasy air, "I've been a-givin' you square business right along, aint I? " "Why, Jamesy," said I, as I vaguely com- prehended the real drilt of his thought, "the package is for 3'ou, and if you won't open it I will," and as I spoke I began unfolding it, " Here," said I, " is a pair of gloves, a little girl, about your size, told me to give to you, because I was telling her about you, over where I live, and it's ' a clear case,' " and I laughed lightly to myself as I noticed a slow flush creeping to his face. "And here," said I, "is a 'bang up' pair of good old-fashioned socks, and, if they'll fit you, there's an old woman that wears specs and a mole on her nose, told me to tell you, for her, that she knit them for your Christmas present, and if you don't wear them she'll never forgive you. And here," I continued, "is a cap, as fuzzy as a woolly-worm, and as warm a cap, I reckon, as you ever stood on your head in ; 3 34 JAMESY, it's a cheap cap, but I bought it with my own money, and money that I worked mighty hard to get, because I aint rich ; now, if I was rich, I'd buy you a plug, but I've got an idea that this little, old, woolly cap, with earbobs to it, and a snapper to go under your chin, don't you see, won't be a bad cap to knock around in such weather as this. What do you say now ! Try her on once," and as I spoke I turned to place it on his head. "Oomh-ooh!" he negatively murmured putting out his hand, his closed lips quivering — the little frowsy head drooping forward, and the ragged shoes shuflBing on the floor. *' Come," said I, my own voice growing curiously changed; "won't you take these presents ? They are yours ; you must accept them, Jamesy, not because they're worth so very much, or because they're very fine," I continued, bending down and folding up the parcel, " but because, you know, I want you to, and — and — you must take them; you must ! " and as I concluded, I thrust the tightly - folded parcel beneath his arm, and pressed the little tattered elbow firmly over it. "There you are," said I. " Freeze onto it, and we'll skip off" here at the avenue. Come." I hardly dared to look behind me till I found myself upon the street, but as I threw an ea- A CHRISTMAS STORV 35 ger glance over my shoulder I saw the little fellow following, not bounding joyfully, but with a solemn step, the little parcel hugged closely to his side, and his eyes bent soberly upon the frozen ground. "And how's Sis by this time?" I asked cheerily, flinging the question backward, and walking on more briskly. "'Bout the same," said the boy, brighten ing a little, and skipping into a livelier pace. "About the same, eh? and how's that?" I asked. "Oh, she can't get around much like she used to, you know; but she's a-gittin' better all the time. She set up mighty nigh all day yisterday." And as the boy spoke the eyes lifted with the old flash, and the little frowsy head tossed with the old defiance. " Why, she's not down sick?" said I, a sud- den ache of sorrow smiting me. "\es," replied the boy, " she's been bad a long time. You see," he broke in by way of explanation, " she didn't have no shoes nor nothin' when winter come, and kindo took cold, you know, and that give her the whoop- in' cough so's she couldn't git around much. You jist ort to see her now ! Oh, she's a- gittin' all right now, you can bet ! and she said yisterday she'd be plum well Christmas, 36 JAMES^, and that's on'y to-morry. Guess not ! " and as the little fellow concluded this exultant speech, he circled round me, and then shot forward like a rocket. " Hi I Jamesy ! " I called after him, pausing at a stairway and stepping in the door. The little fellow joined me in an instant. "Want that shine now?" he inquired with panting eagerness. "Not now, Jamesy," said I, " for I'm going to be quite busy for a while. This is my stop- ping place here — the second door on the right, up-stairs, remember — and I work there when I'm in the city, and I sometimes sleep there, when I work late ; and now I want to ask a very special favor of you," I continued, taking a little sealed packet from my vest, " here's a little box that you're to take to Sis, with my compliments — the compliments of the season, you understand, and tell her I sent it, with particular directions that she shouldn't break it open till Christmas morning — not till Christ- mas morning, understand ! Then you tell her that I would like very much to come and see her, and if she says all right, and you must give me a good ' send off,' and she'll say all right if 'Jamesy' says all right, then come back here, say two hours from now, or three A CHRISTMAS STORY. 37 hours, or to-night anyway, and we'll go down and see Sis together — what do you say?" The boy nodded dubiously, " Honest — must I do all that, sure enough?" "Will you?" said I; "that's what I want to know," and I pushed back the little dusky face and looked into the bewildered eyes. "Solid?" he queried gravely. " Solid," I repeated, handing him the box. " Will you come ? " "W'y, 'course I will, on'y I was jist a- thinkin'— " "Just thinking what," said I, as the little fel- low paused abruptly and shook the box sus- piciously at his ear. "Just thinking what? " I repeated, "for I must go now; good-bye. Just thinking what? " " O, nothin', " said the boy, backing off and staring at me in a phase of wonder akin to awe. "Nothin', only I was jist a-thinkin' that you was a little the curiousest rooster I ever see." Three hours later, as I sat alone, he came in upon me timidly to say he hadn't been home yet, having " run acrost the old man jist a bilin', and had to git him corralled 'fore he dropped down some'rs in the snow ; but I'm a-gittin' 'long bully with him now," he added, with a deep sigh of relief, " cos he's so 38 JAMESY, full he'll have to let go purty soon. Say you'll be here? " I nodded silently, and he was gone. The merry peals of laughter rang up from the streets like mockery. The jingling of bells, the clatter and confusion of the swarm- ing thoroughfares flung up to me not one glad murmur of delight ; the faint and far off blar- ing of a dreamy waltz, blown breeze-like over the drowsy ear of night, had sounded sweeter to me had I stood amid the band, with every bellowing horn about my ears, and the drums and clashing cymbals howling mad. I couldn't work, I couldn't read, I couldn't rest, I could only pace about. I heard the clock strike ten, and strike it hard ; I heard it strike eleven, viciously ; and twelve it held out at arm's length, and struck it full between the eyes, and let it drop — stone dead. O ! I saw the blood ooze from its ears, and saw the white foam freeze upon its lips. I was alone, alone ! It was three o'clock before the boy re- turned. "Been a long while," he began, "but I had a fearful time with the old man, and he went on so when I did git him in I was most afeared to leave him ; but he kindo went to sleep at last, and Molly she come over to see A CHRISTMAS STORY. 39 how Sis was a-gittin', and Sis said she'd like to see you if you'd come now, you know, while they ain't no racket goin' on." "Come, then," said I, buttoning my coat closely at the throat, " I am ready; " and a moment later we had stepped into the frosty night. We moved along in silence, the little fellow half running, half sliding along the frozen pavement in the lead ; and I noted, with a pleasurable thrill, that he had donned the little fuzzy cap and mittens, and from time to time was flinging, as he ran, admiring glances at his shadow on the snow. Our way veered but a little from the very center of the city, but led mainly along through narrow streets and alley-ways, where the rear ends of massive business blocks had dwindled down to insignificant proportions to leer grimly at us as we passed little grated windows, and low, scowling doors. Occa- sionally we passed a clump of empty boxes, barrels, and such debris of merchandise as had been crowded pell-mell from some inner storage by their newer and more dignified companions ; and now and then we passed an empty 'bus, bulging up in the darkness like a behemoth of the olden times ; or, jutting from still narrower passages, the sloping ends of drays and carts innumerable. 40 JAMESY, And along even as forbidding a defile as this we groped until we came upon a low, square, brick building that might have served at one time as a wash-house, or less probably, perhaps, a dairy. There was but one window in the front, and that but little larger than an ordinary pane of glass. In the sides, how- ever, and higher up, was a row of gratings, evidently designed more to serve as ventila- tion than as openings for light. There was but one opening, an upright doorway, half above ground, half below, with little narrow side-steps leading down to it. A light shone dimly from the little window, and as the boy motioned me to pause and listen, a sound of female voices talking in an undertone was audible, mingled with a sound like that of some one snoring heavily. •' Hear the old man a-gittin' in his work? " whispered the boy. I nodded, " He's asleep." "You bet he's asleep ! " said the boy, still in a whisper ; " and he'll jist about stay with it that-away fur five hours, anyhow. What time you got, now. Cap?" "A quarter now till four," I replied, peer- ing at my watch. "W'y, it's Christmas, then!" he cried, in muffled rapture of delight, but abruptly check- A CHRISTMAS STORY. 4I ing his emotion he beckoned me a little far- ther from the door, and said in a confidential whisper : " Cap, look here, now, 'fore we go in I want you to promise me one thing — cos you can iix it and she'll never drop ! Now, here, I want to put up a job on Sis, you under- stand ! " "What?" I exclaimed, starting back and staring at the boy in amazement. '* Put up a job on Sis? " '-' O, look here, now, Cap, you aint a goin' back on a feller like that ! " broke in the little fellow in a mingled tone of pleading and re- proof; " and if you don't help a feller I'll have to wait till broad daylight, cos we aint got no clock." " No clock ! " I repeated with increased be- wilderment. " O, come, Cap, what do you say? It ain't no lie, you know ; all you got to do '11 be to jest tell Sis it's Christmas, as though you didn't want me to hear, you know, and then she'll git my ' Christmas Gift ! ' first, you know, and, oh, lordy, won't she think she's played it fine ! " and as I slowly comprehend- ed the meaning of the little fellow's plot I nodded my willingness to assist in " putting up the job." 42 JAMESY, "Now, hold on a second! " continued the little fellow, in the wildest glee, darting through an opening in a high board fence a dozen steps away, and in an instant reappear- ing with a bulky parcel, which, as he neared me, I discovered was a paper flour sack half filled, the other half lapped down and fastened with a large twine string. " Now this stuff," he went on excitedly, " you must juggle in without Sis seein' it — here, shove it under your ' ben,' here — there — that's business I Now when you go in, you're to set down with the other side to'rds the bed, you see, and when Sis hollers, don't you know, you jist kindo let it slide down to the floor like, and I'll nail it slick enough — though I'll p'tend, you know, it aint Christmas yet, and look sold out, and say it wasn't fair for you to tell her, and all that, and then I'll open up sud- den like, and if you don't see old Sis bug out them eyes of hern I don't want a cent I " And as the gleeful boy concluded this speech, he put his hands over his mouth and dragged me down the little narrow steps. " Here's that feller come to see you. Sis ! " he announced abruptly, opening the door and peering in ; "come on," he said, turning to me. I followed, closing the door, and look- ing curiously around. A squabby, red-faced A CHRISfMAS STORV. 43 woman sitting on the edge of a low bed, leered upon me, but with no salutation. An old cook-stove, propped up with bricks, stood back against the wall directly opposite, and through the warped and broken doors in front sent out a dismal suggestion of the fire that burned within. At the side of this, prone upon the floor, lay the wretched figure of a man, evidently in the deepest stage of drunkenness, and thrown loosely over him was an old tattered piece of carpet and a little checkered shawl. There was no furniture to speak of; one chair — and that was serving as a stand — sat near the bed, a high hump-shouldered bottle sitting on it, a fruit-can full of water, and a little dim and smoky lamp that glared sulkily. " Jamesy, can't you git the man a cheer or somepin? " queried a thin voice from the bed, at which the red-faced woman rose reluc- antly with the rather sullen words: "He can sit here, I reckon," while the boy looked at me significantly and took up a position near the " stand." " So this is Sis?" I said with reverence. The little haggard face I bent above was beautiful. The eyes were dark and tender — very tender, and though deeply sunken were most childish in expression, and star-pure and 44 jAMESV, luminous. She reached a little wasted hand out to me, saying simply : "It was mighty good in you to give them things to Jamesy, and send me that mo — that — that little box, you know — on'y I guess I — I won't need it," and as she spoke a smile of perfect sweetness rested on the face, and the hand within my own nestled in dove-like peace. The boy bent over the white face from be- hind and whispered something in her ear, trailing the little laughing lips across her brow as he looked up. " Not now, Jamesy ; wait awhile." "Ah I" said I, shaking my head with feigned merriment. " Don't you two go to plotting about me !" " O, hello, no, Cap?" exclaimed the boy assuringly. " I was on'y jist a tellin' Sis to ask you if she mightn't open that box now — honest I Now you jist ask her if you don't believe me — I won't listen," and the little fel- low gave me a look of the most penetrative suggestiveness, and when a moment later the glad words, "Christmas Gift! Jamesy," rang out quaveringly in the thin voice, the little fel- low snatched the sack up in a paroxysm of delight, and before the girl had time to lift the long dark lashes once upon his merry face, A CHRISTMAS STORY. 45 he had emptied its contents out tumultuously upon the bed. " You got it on to me, Sis I " cried the Httle fellow, dancing wildly round the room ; "got it onto me this time ! but I'm game, don't you forgit, and don't put up nothin' snide I How'll them shoes there ketch you? and how's this for a cloak? is them enough beads to suit you? and how's this for a hat — feather an' all? and how's this for a dress — made and ev- erything? and I'd a got a corsik with it if he'd a on'y had any little enough. You won't look fly nor nothin' when you throw all that style on you in the morning I Guess not !" and the delighted boy went off upon another wild ex- cursion round the room. " Lean down here," said the girl, a great light in her eyes, and the other slender hand sliding from beneath the covering. " Here is the box you sent me, and I've opened it — it wasn't right, you know, but somepin' kindo said to open it 'fore morning — and — and I opened it," and the eyes seemed asking my forgiveness, yet filled with great bewilder- ment. "You see," she went on, the thin voice falling in a fainter tone, "I knowed that money in the box — that is, the bills — I knowed them bills, cos one of 'em had a ink-spot on it, and the other ones had been pinned with 46 JAMESY, it — they wasn't pinned together when you sent em, but the holes was in where they had been pinned, and they was all pinned together when Jamesy had 'em — cos Jamesy used to have them very bills — he didn't think I knowed, but onc't when he was asleep, and father was a-goin' through his clothes, I hap- pened to find 'em in his coal 'fore he did, and I counted 'em, and hid 'em back again, and father didn't find 'em, and Jamesy never knowed it — I never said nothin', cos somepin kindo said to me it was all right, and somepin kmdo said I'd git all these things here, too — on'y I won't need 'em, nor the money, nor nothin'. How did you get the money? That's all I " The boy had by this time approached the bed, and was gazing curiously upon the little, solemn face. "What's the matter with you. Sis?" he asked in wonderment ; " aint you glad? " " I'm mighty glad, Jamesy," she said, the little thin hands reaching for his own. "Guess I'm too glad, cos I can't do nothin', on'y jist feel glad ; and somepin kindo says that that's the gladdest glad in all the world. Jamesy !" " O, shaw, Sis 1 Why don't you tell a fel- ler what's the matter?" said the boy uneasily. The white hands linked more closely with A CHRISTMAS STORY. 47 the brown, and the pure face lifted to the grimy one till they were blent together in a kiss. " Be good to father, for you know he used to be so good to us." " O Sis I Sis I " "Molliel" The squabby, red-faced woman threw her- self upon her knees, and kissed the thin hands wildly and with sobs. " Mollie, somepin kindo says that you must dress me in the morning — but I won't need the hat, and you must take it home for Nannie — don't — don't cry so loud, you'll wake father." I bent my head down above tlie frowsy one and moaned — moaned. "And you, sir," went on the failing voice, reaching for my hand, " you — you must take this money back — you must take it back, for I don't need it. You must take it back and — and — give it — give it to the poor." And even with the utterance upon the gracious lips the glad soul leaped and fluttered through the open gates. An Adjustable Lunatic. BELLS JANOLED I lie low-caUed in a neel 0/ dreams; The lamp gleatru dim t' the odorous gloom. And the stars at the casement leaJc long gleams Of misty light through the haunted room Where I lie low-coUed in dreams. The night-toinds ooze o'er my dush-drovmed faee In a deujy flood that ebbs and flows, Washing a turf of dim white lace Under my ilu^oat and the dark red rose In the shade of my dusk-drovmed face. There's o silken strand of some strange sound Slipping out of a skein of song: Eeriety as a caM unwound From a fairy-bugle, it slides along In a silken strand of sound. There's the tinkling drip of a faint gwUar; There's a gurgling flvle, and a blaring horn Blowing bubbles of tune afar O'er the misty heights of the hills of mom, To the drip of a faint guitar. And I dream that I nether sleep nor wake — Gardess ami if I wake or sleep, For my soul floats out on the waves that break In crests of song on the shoreless deep Where I neither sleep nor looAe. (50) AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. "AN 'adjustable lunatic?'" /~\. " Yes, sir, an adjustable lunatic — you may know I don't make a business of insanity, or I wouldn't be running at large here on the streets of the city." It was on the morning of St. Patrick's Day. I had been drifting aimlessly around the city for hours, tossed about by the restless tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed in true sea-fashion at the Washington and Illinois street crossing. The few friends I had been fortunate enough to fall in with prior to the parade I had been unfortunate enough to lose in the flurry and excitement attending that event ; and, brought to a sudden anchorage at the Bates House landing, I found myself at the mercy of a boundless throng that held not one familiar face. It was a literal jam at that juncture, and anxious and impatient as I was to break away, I was forced into a bondage which, though not exactly agreeable, was at least the source of an experience that will lin- (51) 51 AN ADJUsTABLfi LUNATIC. ger in my memory fresh and clear when every other feature of the day shall have faded. I had been crowded into a position on a step of the stairway that gave me a lean upon the balustrade, and placed me head and shoulders above the crowd ; and although I compre- hended the helplessness of my position, I was, in a manner, thankful for the opportunity it afforded me to study the unsuspecting subjects just below. As my hungry eyes went forag- ing about from face to face they fell upon the features of an individual so singularly ab- stracted in appearance and so apparently oblivious to his surroundings, that I mentally congratulated him upon his enviable disposi- tion. He was a slender man, of thirty years, per- haps ; not tall, but something over medium height ; he had dark hair and eyes, with a complexion much too fair to correspond ; was not richly dressed, but neatly, and in good taste. Instinctively I wondered who and what he was ; and my speculative fancy went to work and made a lawyer of him — then a minister — an artist — a musician — an actor — and a danc- ing-master. Suddenly I found my stare re- turned with equal fervor, and tried to look away, but something held me. He was el- AN ADJUSl-ABLS LUNAl-tC. 5;^ bowing his way to where I stood, and smiling as he came. '* I don't know you," he said, when, after an almost superhuman effort, he had gained my side, to the discomfiture of a brace of mangy little bootblacks that occupied the step below — "I don't know you personally, but you look bored, I'm troubled with the same disease and want company — as the poet of the Sierras wails, ' How all alone a man may be in crowds 1 ' " Something in the utterance made me offer him my hand. He grasped it warmly. " It's curious," he said, "how friends are made, and where true fellowship begins. Now we've known each other all our lives and never met before. What d'ye say?" I smiled approval at the odd assertion. " But tell me," he continued " what conclu- sion you have arrived at in your study of me ; come, now, be frank — what do you make of me?" Although I found myself considerably star- tled, I feigned composure and acknowledged that I had been speculating as to who and what he was, but found myself unable to de- fine a special character. "I thought so," he said. "No one ever reads my character — no one ever will. Why, 54 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. I've had phrenologists groping around among my bumps by the hour to no purpose, and phys- iognomists driving themselves cross-eyed, but they never found it, and they never will. The very things of which I am capable they inva- riably place beyond my capacity ; and, with like sageness, the very things I can't do they declare me to be a master hand at. But I like to worry them ; it's fun for me. Why, old Fowler himself, here the other night, thumbed my head as mellow as a May-apple, and never came within a mile of it ! Some characters are readable enough, I'm willing to admit. Your face, for instance, is a bulletin-board to me, but you can't read mine, for I'm neither a doctor, lawyer, artist, actor, musician, nor anything else you may have in your mind. You might guess your way all through the dictionary and then not get it. It's simply an impossibility, that's all." I laughed uneasily, for although amused at the quaint humor of his language, a nervous fluttering of the eyes and a spasmodic twitch- ing of the corners of his mouth made me think his manner merely an affectation. But I was interested, and as his conversation seemed to invite the interrogation, I flatly asked him to indulge my curiosity and tell me what he was. " Wait till the crowd thins, and maybe I AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 55 will. In the meantime here's a cigar and here's a light — as Mr. Quilp playfully remarks to Tom Scott — 'Smoke away, you dog you 1' " " Well, you're a character," said I, dubi- ously. "Yes," he replied, "but you can't tell what kind, and I can tell you the very trade you work at." I smiled incredulously. "Now don't look lofty and assume a pro- fessional air, for you're only a mechanic, and a sign-painter at that." Although he spoke with little courtesy of address, there was a subtle something in his eye that drew me magnet-like and held me. I was silent. •'Want to know how I became aware of that fact?" he went on, with a quick, sharp glance at my bewildered face. "There's nothing wonderful about my knowing that ; I've had my eye on you for two hours, and you stare at every sign-board you pass, worse than a country-jake ; and once or twice I saw you stop and study carefully some fresh de- sign, or some new style of letter. You're a stranger here in the city, too. Want to know how I can tell ? Because you walk like you were actually going some place ; but I notice that you never get there, for continually cross- 56 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. ing and recrossing streets, and back-tracking past show-windows, and congratulating your- self, doubtless, upon the thorough business air of your reflection in the plate glass. Come, we can get through now, let's walk." I followed him unhesitatingly. To say that I was simply curious would be too mild ; I was fascinated, and to that degree I actually fastened on his arm, and clung there till we had quite escaped the crowd. "I like you, someway," he said, "but you're too impul- sive ; you let your fancy get away with your better judgment. Now, you don't know me, and I'm even pondering whether to frankly unbosom to you, or give you the slip ; and I'll not leave the proposition to you to decide, for I know you'd say ' unbosom ; so I'll think about it quietly for awhile yet and give you an unbiased verdict." We walked on in silence for the distance, perhaps, of half a dozen blocks, turning and angling about till we came upon an open stair- way in an old unpainted brick building, where my strange companion seemed to pause me- chanically. " Do you live here?" I asked. " I stay here," he replied, " for I don't call it living to be fastened up in this old sepulcher. I like it well enough at night, for then I feast AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 57 and fatten on the gloom and glower that in- fests it ; but in the normal atmosphere of day my own room looks repellant, and I only visit it, as now, out of sheer desperation." If I had at first been mystified with this cu- rious being, I was by this time thoroughly be- wildered. The more I studied him the more at a loss I was to fathom him ; and as I stood staring blankly in his face, he exclaimed al- most derisively : ' ' You give it up , don't you ?' ' I nodded. " Well," he continued, " that's a good sign, and I've concluded to ' unbosom ' ; I'm an ad- justable lunatic." "An 'adjustable lunatic 1'" I repeated, blankly. And after the remarkable propo- sition that ushers in the story, he continued smilingly : " Don't be alarmed, now, for I'm glad to assure you of the fact that I'm as harmless as a baby-butterfly. Nobody knows I'm crazy, nobody ever dreams of such a thing — and why? — Because the faculty is adjustable, don't you see, and self-controlling. I never allow it to interfere with business matters, and only let it on at leisure intervals for the amusement it affords me in the pleasurable break it makes in the monotony of a matter-of-fact existence. I'm oflT duty to-day — -in fact, I've been off" duty 58 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. for a week ; or, to be franker still, I lost my situation ten days ago, and I've been humor- ing this propensity in the meanwhile ; and now, if you're inclined to go up to my room with me — the windows are both raised, you see, and you can call for help should occasion require ; people are constantly passing — if you feel inclined, I say, to go up with me, I'll do my best to entertain you. I like you, as I said before, and you can trust me, I assure you. Come." If I were to attempt a description of the feelings that possessed me as I followed my strange acquaintance up the stairway, I should fail as utterly as one who would attempt to portray the experience of lying in a nine- days' trance, so I leave the reader's fancy to befriend me, and hasten on to more tangible matters. We paused at the first landing, my compan- ion unlocking a door on the right, and hand- ing me the key with the remark : " You may feel safer with it. And don't be frightened," he continued, " when I open the door, for it always whines like somebody had stepped on its knob,'' and I laughed at the odd figure as he threw the door open and motioned me to enter. It was a queer apartment, filled with a jum- AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 59 bled array of old chairs and stands ; old trunks, a lounge, and a stack of odd-shaped packages. A fi-owsy carpet thrown over the floor like a blanket, and a candle-box spittoon with a broken lamp-chimney in it. A little swinging shelf of dusty books, with a railroad map pasted just above it. A narrow table with a telegraph instrument attached, and wires like ivy-vines running all about the walls ; and scattered around the instrument was an end- less array of zinc and copper scraps, and bits of brass, spiral springs, and queer-shaped lit- tle tools. A flute propped up one window, and near it, on another stand, a cornet and an old guitar ; a pencil sketch half finished, and a stuflfed glove with a pencil in its fingers lying on it ; a spirit-lamp, a lump of beeswax, and a hundred other odds and ends, betoken- ing the presence of some mechanical, musi- cal, scientific genius. " It's a bachelor's room," said the host, noting my inquisitive air. " It's a bachelor's room, so you'll expect no apologies. Sit down when you're through with the industi^ial, and turn your attention to the art department." I followed the direction of his hand, and my eyes fell upon a painted face of such ineffable sweetness and beauty I was fairly dazed. It was not an earthly form, at least in coloring, for 60 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. the features seemed to glow with beatific light. The eyes were large, dark and dewy, thrown upward with a longing look, and filled with such intensity of tenderness one could but sigh to see them. The hair, swept negligently back, fell down the gleaming shoulders like a silken robe, and nestled in its glossy waves the ears peeped shyly out like lily-blooms. The lips were parted with an utterance that one could almost hear, and weep because the blessed voice was mute. The hands were folded on a crumpled letter and pressed close against the heart, and a curl of golden hair was coiled around the fingers. "Is it a creation of the fancy?" I asked. "Well, yes," he answered with a dreamy drawl. "I call it fancy, when in a normal state ; but now," he continued, in a fainter tone, " I will designate it as a portrait." And oh, so sad, so hopeless and despairing was the utterance, it seemed to well up from the foun- tain of his heart like a spray of purest sorrow. "Who painted it?" I asked. " ' Who painted it?' " he repeated, drowsily — ' ' ' who painted it ? ' Oh, no ; I mustn't tell you that ; for if I answered you with ' Raph- ael,' you'd say, *Ah, no I the paint's too fresh for that, and he's been dead for ages. AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 6l 'Who painted it?' No, no, I mustn't tell you that I " " But are you not an artist? I see an easel in the corner there, and here's a maulstick lying on the mantel." " I an artist? Why, man, what ails you? I told you not ten minutes since that I was an adjustable lunatic; and don't you see I am? You can't mislead me nor throw me off my guard. When it comes to reason or solid logic, don't you find me there? And here again, to show the clearness of my judgment, I remove the cause of our little dissension, and our friendly equanimity is restored — " and he turned the picture to the wall. I could but smile at the gravity and adroit- ness of his language and demeanor. " There," said he, smiling in return ; " your face is brighter than the day outside ; let's change the topic. Do you like music?" " Passitonately," I responded. "Will you play?" "No; I will sing." He took the guitar from the table, and, with a prelude wilder than the "Witches' Dance," he sang a song he called "The Dream of Death," a grievously sad song, so full of minor tones and wailing words, the burden of it still lingers in my ears : 62 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. "O gentle death, bow down and sip The soul that lingers on my lip ; O gentle death, bow down and keep Eternal vigil o'er my sleep; For I am weary and would rest Forever on your loving breast." His voice, as plaintive as a dove's, went trailing through the rondel like weariness itself; and when at last it died away in one long quaver of ecstatic melody, though I felt within my heart an echoing of grief "Too sweetly sad to name as pain," I broke the silence following to remind him of his having told me he was not a musician. " Only a novice," he responded. " One may twang a lute and yet not be a trouba- dour. By the way," he broke off abruptly, " is that expression original with me, or have I picked it up in some old book of rhyme — Oh, yes ! How do you like poetry?" ' He sprang to his feet as he sppke, and without awaiting an answer to his query went diving about in a huge waste-basket standing near the table. " It's a thing I dislike to acknowledge," he went on, " but I don't mind telling you. The fact is, I'm a follower of Wegg and some- times * drop into poetry — as a friend,' you un- AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 63 derstand ; and if you'll ' lend me your ears,' I'll give you a specimen of my versification." He had drawn up a roll of paper from the debris of the basket, and unrolling it with a flourish, and a mock-heroic air of inspiration, he read as follows : "A fantasy that came to me As wild and wanloiilr designed As ever any dream might be Unraveled from a madman's mind, — A tangle-work of tissue, wrought By cunning of the spider-brain. And woven, in an hour of pain, To trap the giddy flies of thought ." He paused, and with a look of almost wild entreaty he pleaded: "You understand it, don't you?" I nodded hesitatingly. " Why, certainly you do. The meaning's the plainest thing in it. What's your idea of its meaning? tell me I Why don't you tell me I" " Read it again that I may note it carefully." He repeated it. " Why," said I, " it appears to me to be the introduction to a poem written under peculiar circumstances, and containing, perhaps, some strange ideas that the author would excuse for 64 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. the reason of their coming in the way they did." " Right ! " he exclaimed joyously ; " and now if you'll give me your most critical atten- tion, and promise not to interrupt, I'll read the poem entire," " Go on," I said, for I was far more eager to listen than I would have him know. "And will you excuse any little wildness of gesture or expression that I may see fit to in- troduce in the rendition?" " Certainly," said I, "certainly; go on!" "And you won't interrupt or get excited? Light another cigar ; and here's a chair to throw your feet across. Now, unbutton your coat and lean back. Are you thoroughly com- fortable?" "Thoroughly," said I, impatiently. — "A thousand thorroughlies." "All right," he said; "I'm glad to hear you say it ; but before I proceed I desire to call your attention to the fact that this poem is a literary orphan — a foundling, you under- stand?" " I understand ; go on." And with a manner all too wild to be de- scribed, he read, or rather recited, the follow- ing monstrosity of rhyme : AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 65 "I stood beneath a summer moon All swollen to uncanny girtb, And hanging, like the sun at noon, Above the center of the earth ; But with a sad and sallow light, As it had sickened of the night, And fallen in a pallid swoon. Around me I could hear the rush Of sullen winds, and feel the whirr Of unseen wings apast me brush Like phantoms round a sepulcher; And, like a carpeting of plush, A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, Bespangled o'er with flowers as sweet To look upon as those that nod Within the garden-fields of God, But odorless as those that blow In ashes in the shades below. "And on my hearing fell a storm Of gusty music, sadder yet Than every whimper of regret That sobbing utterance could form ; And patched with scraps of sound that seemed Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, And pitched to such a piercing key. It stabbed the ear with agony ; And when at last it lulled and died, I stood aghast and terrified, I shuddered and I shut my eyes. And still could see, and feel aware Some mystic presence waited there ; And staring, with a dazed surprise, I saw a creature so divine That never subtle thought of mine 66 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. May reproduce to inner sight So fair a vision of delight. "A syllable of dew that drips From out a lily's laughing lips Could not be sweeter than the word I listened to, yet never heard. For, oh, the woman hiding there Within the shadows of her hair, Spake to me in an undertone So delicate, my soul alone But understood it as a moan Of some weak melody of wind A heavenward breeze had left behind. " A tracery of trees, grotesque Against the sky, behind her seen, Like shapeless shapes of arabesque Wrought in an oriental screen ; And tall, austere and statuesque She loomed before it — e'en as though The spirit-hand of Angelo Had chiseled her to life complete, With chips of moonshine round her feet, And I grew jealous of the dusk To see it softly touch her face. As lover-like with fond embrace, It folded round her like a husk : But when the glitter of her hand. Like wasted glory beckoned me. My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim- My vision failed — I could not see — I could not stir — I could but stand, Till, quivering in every limb, I flung me prone, as though to swim The tide of grass whote waves of greeu AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 67 Went rolling ocean-wide between My helpless shipwrecked heart and her Who claimed me for a worshiper, " And writhing thus in my despair, I heard a weird, unearthly sound, That seemed to lift me from the ground, And hold me floating in the air. I looked, and lo ! I saw her bow Above a harp within her hands ; A crown of blossoms bound her brow, And on her harp were twisted strands Of silken starlight, rippling o'er With music never heard before By mortal ears, and at the strain I felt my Spirit snap its chain And break away, and I could see It as it turned and fled from me To greet its mistress, where she smiled To see the phantom dancing wild And wizard-like before the spell Her mystic fingers knew so well." I Sdt throughout it all as though under the strange influence of an Eastern drug. My fancy was so wrought upon I only saw the reader mistily, and clothed, as it were, in a bedragoned costume of the Orient. My mind seemed idle — steeped in drowse and languor, and yet peopled with a thousand shadowy fancies that came trooping from chaotic hid- ing-places, and mingling in a revelry of such riotous extravagance it seemed a holiday of elfish thought. 68 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. I shook my head, I rubbed my eyes, arose bewildered, and sat down again ; arose again and walked across the room, my strange com- panion following every motion with an inten- sity of gaze almost mesmeric. " You fail to comprehend it?" he queried. I shook my head. " You can almost grasp it, can't you? " •'Yes," I answered. " But not quite?" •♦Not quite." •' Does it worry you? " " Yes." "Think it will cling to you, and fret you, vex you, haunt you? " " I know it will." "Think you'll ever fully comprehend it?" " I can't say," I replied, thoughtfully. "Perhaps I may in time. Will you allow me to copy it?" " What do you want with it? " " I want to study it," I replied. "And you're sure you don't understand it, and it worries you, and frets you, and vexes you, and haunts you? Good I I'll read you the final clause now ; that may throw a light of some kind on it," and, opening the scroll again, he read : AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 69 "What is it T Who will rightly guesg If it be ought but nothingneEs That dribbles from a wayward pen To spatter in the eyes of men ? What matter 1 I will call it mine, And I will take the changeling home, And bathe its face with morning-shine, And comb it with a golden comb Till every tangled tress of rhyme Will fairer be than summer-time; And I will nurse it on my knee, And dandle it beyond the clasp Of hands that grip and hands that grasp, Through life and all eternity I " " Now, what do you think of it? " he asked, with a savageness that startled me. " I am more at sea than ever," I replied. "Well, I wish you a prosperous voyage I Here's the poem; I've another copy. 'Read and reflect,' as the railroad poster says, but don't you publish it — at least while I'm alive, for I've no thirst for literary fame — I only write for home use ; but you're a good fellow, and I like you for all your weak points, and I trust the confidence I repose will not be dis- regarded. Come ! " He had opened the door and was holding out his hand for the key. I gave it to him and followed out mechan- ically. He left the door ajar and followed to the bottom of the stairs. 70 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. "And now if you'll pardon me," he said, " I'll say good-bye to yon here ; I've some packing to do and ought to be at it." " Why, you're not going to leave the city? " I asked. " Well, no, not to-day ; but the jig's up with me here, and it's only a question of time — I can't hold out much longer — as our rural friend remarks, ' Money matters is mighty sceerce ; ' and if I don't pull out shortly I'll have to ' fold my tent like the Bedouin and si- lently plagiarize away I ' " " If I could be of any assistance to you — " I began, but he checked me abruptly with, " Oh, no, I don't require it, I assure you ; I've two dollars to your one, doubtless. Thank you just the same, and good-bye. Here's my card ; it's not my name, however, but it'll answer; I'll not see you again, though you should live to be as bald as a brickyard, for, my dear young friend, I'm going away. Good-bye, and may all good things overtake you ! " He gripped my hand like a vise, and turn- ing quickly, went skipping up the stairway two steps at a time. " Good-bye I " I called to him sorrowfully; then turned reluctantly away, examining the card he had given me, which, to my astonish- ment, was not his card at all, but a railroad AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. 7 1 ticket entitling the bearer to a ride from Dan- ville, Illinois, to York, Pennsylvania; this fact I remember quite distinctly, as I read it over and over, revolving in my mind the im- pression that this was but another instance of his eccentricity, or perhaps a trick by which I might be victimized in some undreamed-of way. But upon second thought I concluded it to be simply a mistake, and so turned back and called him to the window above and ex- plained. He came down and begged my pardon for the trouble he had given me, took the ticket, thanked me, and said good-bye again. " But," said I, " you haven't given me your real card in exchange." " Oh, no matter 1 " he said smilingly. "Call me Smith, Jones or Robinson, it's all the same ; good-bye, and don't forget your old friend and well-wisher, the Adjustable Luna- tic," and he vanished from my sight forever. The remainder of the day and half of the night I spent in studious contemplation of the curious composition, but without arriving at any tangible conclusion. I am still engaged with my investigation. Sometimes the mean- ing seems almost within my mental grasp, but balancing, adjusting and comparing its many curious bearings, I find my judgment persist- 72 AN ADJUSTABLE LUNATIC. ently at fault. It has puzzled and bewildered me for weeks . No line of it but canters through my brain like a fractious nightmare ; no syl- lable but fastens on my fancy like a leech, and sucks away the life-blood of my every thought. I am troubled, worried, fretted, vexed and haunted ; and I write this now in the earnest hope that wiser minds may have an opportu- nity of making it a subject of investigation, and because one week ago to-day my eyes fell upon the following special telegram to the Indianapolis Journal : " Pebu, Inb., April 12. — An unknown man committed Buicide in the eastward-bound train on the Wabash road, just below Waverly, at about 11 o'clock this morning. He had in his possession, besides the revolver with which ha shot himself, a ticket from Danville, Illinois, to York, Pennsylvania, a gold watch, $19 in money, a small valise, and some letters and other papers which indicated his nam* to be George S. Clofling. " He was shot twice in the region of the heart, and his re- Tolver showed that between the first and last shots two cartridges missed fire." TOD LITTLE TOMMY SMITH. Dimpk-cheeked and rosy-lipped, With his eap-rim backward tipptd, Still in famey I can see lAttle Tammy smile on me — LiUle Tommy Smith. Liitle vmximg Tommy Smith — Scarce a rumie to rhyme it with; Yet most tenderly to me Something sings unceasingly — lAtUe Tommy Smith, On the verge of some far land Still foreoet duts he sta nd, Wiih his cap-rim rakishly Tilted; so he smiles on me — lAtlle Tommy Smith. Oh, my Jaunty statuette Of first love, I see you yet; Though you smile so mistily. It ii but through tears I see. Little Tommy Smith. But with eroum tipped back behind. And the glad hand of the mind Smoothing back yarn hair, I see Heaven's best angel smile on me — Littie Tommy Smith, (74) TOD. STODDARD Anderson was the boy's name, though had you made inquiry for Stoddard Anderson of any boy of the town in which he lived — and I myself lived there, a handy boy in the dim old days — you doubt- less would have been informed that nobody of that name was there. Your juvenile inform- ant, however, by way of gratuitous intelli- gence, might have gone on to state that two families of the name of Anderson resided there — "Old Do-good" Anderson, the preacher, and his brother John. But had you asked for " Tod " Anderson, or simply " Tod," your boy would have known Tod ; your boy, in all likelihood, would have had especial reasons for remembering Tod, although his modesty, perhaps, might not allow him to inform you how Tod had ' ' waxed it to him more'n onc't I" But he would have told you, as I tell you now, that Tod Anderson was the preacher's boy, and lived at the parsonage. Tod was a cjaeer boy. (75) 76 TOD. Stoddard Anderson was named in honor of some obscure divine his father had joined church under when a boy. It was a peculiar weakness of the father to relate the experience of his early conviction ; and as he never tired of repeating it, by way of precept and admo- nition to the wayward lambkins of his flock, Tod mastered its most intricate and sacred phraseology, together even with the father's more religious formulas, to a degree of per- fection that enabled him to preside at mock meetings in the hayloft, and offer the baptis- mal service at the " swimmin'-hole." In point of personal or moral resemblance, Tod was in no wise like his father. Some said he was the picture of liis mother, they who could remember her, for she fell asleep when Tod was three days old, with her moth- er-arms locked around him so closely that he cried, and they had to take him away from her. No. — Death had taken her away from him. It needs now no chronicle to tell how Tod thrived in spite of his great loss, and how he grew to be a big, fat, two-fisted baby with a double chin, the pride and constant worry of the dear old grandmother into whose care he had fallen. It requires no space in history's crowded page to tell how he could stand up TOD. 77 by a chair when eight months old, and crow and laugh and doddle his little chubby arms till he quite upset his balance, and pulling the chair down with him, would laugh and crow louder than ever, and kick, and crawl, and sprawl, and jabber ; and never lift a whimper of distress but when being rocked to sleep. Let a babyhood of usual interest be inferred — then add a few more years, and you will have the Tod of ten I knew. O moral, godlike and consistent Christian, what is it in the souls of little children so an- tagonistic with your own sometimes? What is it in their wayward and impulsive natures that you cannot brook? And what strange tincture of rebellious feeling is it that embit- ters all the tenderness and love you pour out so lavishly upon their stubborn and resentful hearts? Why is it you so covetously cherish the command divine, "Children, obey your parents," and yet find no warm nook within the breast for that old houseless truth that goes wailing through the world, "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts?" Tod went to school. The thriftless Tod — not wholly thriftless, either ; for, although he had not that apt way of skimming like a swal- 78 Tod. low down the placid rills of learning, he di.i possess, in some mysterious strength, a most extraordinary knack of acquiring just such information as was not taught at school, and had no place within the busy hive of knowl- edge. Tod was a failure in arithmetic. Tod couldn't tell twice ten from twice eternity. Tod knew absolutely nothing of either Chris- topher Columbus or the glorious country he discovered expressly for the use of industry and learning, as the teacher would have had him implicitly believe. Tod couldn't tell you anything of John Smith, even, that very noted captain who walks cheek by jowl with the dusky Pocahontas across the illimitable fancy of the ten-year-old schoolboy of our glorious republic. Tod knew all about the famous Captain Kidd, however. In fact, Tod could sing his history with more lively interest and real appreciation than his fellow schoolmates sang geography. The simple Tod once joined the geographical chorus with — " I'd a Bible in my hand, As I sailed, as I sailed, And I sunk her in the sand. As I sailed." And Tod — not Captain Kidd — had a ring- TOD. 79 ing in his ears as he sung, as he sung, and an overflow of tears as he sung. And then he ran away from school that afternoon, and sang Captain Kidd, from A to Izzard, in the full hearing of the "industrial hive," to the very evident amusement of " the workers," and the discomfiture of the ruler of "the swarm." The teacher called on the good minister that evening, and after a long talk on the back porch, left late in the dusk, wiping his eyes with one hand, and shaking the other very warmly with the preacher. And Tod slipped noiselessly along the roof above them, and slid down the other side, and watched the teacher's departure with a puzzled face. Tod was at school next morning long be- fore the call of "books." In fact, so early, that he availed himself of his isolated situa- tion to chalk the handle of the teacher's pointer, to bore a gimlet-hole in the water- bucket, to slip a chip under one corner of the clock in order to tilt it out of balance, and in many more ingenious ways to contribute to the coming troubles of the day. The most audacious act, however, was to climb above the teacher's desk and paste a paper-wad over a letter "O" in the old motto, "Be good," that had offered him its vain advice 8o TOD. for years. As one by one these depredations met the teacher's notice through the day, the culprit braced himself for some disastrous issue, but his only punishment was the as- sured glance the teacher always gave him, and the settled yet forbearing look of pain upon his face. In sheer daring Tod laughed aloud — a hollow, hungry laugh that had no mirth in it — but as suddenly subsided in a close investigation of a problem in mental arithmetic, when the teacher backed slowly toward his desk and stood covertly awaiting further developments. But he was left again to his own inclinations, after hav- ing, with a brazen air of innocence, solicited and gained the master's assistance in the so- lution of a very knotty problem, which it is needless to say he knew no more of than be- fore. Throughout the remainder of the day Tod was thoughtful, and was evidently evolv- ing in his mind a problem far more serious than could be found in books. Of his own accord, that evening at the close of school, he staid in for some mysterious reason that even his own deskmate could not compre- hend. When an hour later, this latter worthy, from the old barn opposite, watched Tod and the teacher hand in hand come slowly down the walk, he whispered to himself with bated TOD. 8l breath : " What's the durn fool up to, any- how?" From that time Tod grew to be a deeper mystery than he could fathom, inas- much as some strange spirit of industry fell upon him, and he became a student. Though a perverse fate had seemingly de- creed that Tod should remain a failure in all branches wherein most schoolboys readily suc- ceed, he rapidly advanced in reading ; and in the declamatory art he soon acquired a fame that placed him high above the reach of com- petitors. Tod never cried when he got up to " speak." Tod never blanched, looked silly, and hung down his head. Tod never mumbled in an undertone — was never at a loss to use his hands, nor ever had "his piece" so poorly memorized that he must hesitate with awk- ward repetitions, to sit down at last in word- less misery among the unfeeling and derisive plaudits of the school. Tod, in a word, knew no such word as fail when his turn was called to entertain his hearers either with the gallant story of the youthful "Casablanca," "The Speech of Logan," or " Catiline's Defiance." Let a scholar be in training for the old-time exercises of Friday afternoon, and he was told to speak out clear and full — not hang his 6 82 TOD. head — not let his arms hang down like empty sleeves — but to stand up like a king, look ev- erybody in the face, as though he were doing something to be proud of — in short, to take Tod for his model, and " speak out like a man I " When Tod failed to make his appearance with his usual promptness one Friday after- noon, and the last day of the term, there was evidence of general disappointment. Tod was to deliver an oration written especially for that occasion by the teacher. The visitors were all there — the school committee, and the minister, Tod's father, who occupied Tod's desk alone when *' books " was called. The teacher, with his pallid, careworn face, tip-toed up and down the aisles, bending occasionally to ask a whispered question, and to let the look of anxious wonder deepen on his face as the re- spectful pupils shook their heads in silent re- sponse. But upon a whispered colloquy with the minister, his face brightened, as he learned that "Tod was practicing his oration in the wood-house half an hour before the ringing of the bell." A boy was sent to bring him, but returned alone, to say that he had not been able to find any trace of him. " Oh, he'll be here in time enough," said tOD. 83 the teacher apologetically to the sad-faced minister. "He's deeply interested in his effort for this afternoon, and I'm certain he wouldn't purposely disappoint me." The good man in reply shook his head resignedly, with a pray- erful flight of the eyes indicative of long suf- fering and forbearance. The opening services of singing and prayer. No Tod. First class in arithmetic called — examined. No Tod. Second class, ditto ; still no Tod. Primary class in ditto, composed of little twin sisters, aged six, with very red hair and very fair skin, and very short dresses, and very slim legs. Tod failed to join his class. The long-suffering minister was ill at ease. The exercise failed in some way to appease the hunger of the soul within. He looked out of the open window nervously, and watched a saucy little sapsucker hopping up and down a tree ; first up one side and then down the other, suddenly disappearing near the roots, and as suddenly surprising him with a mis- chievous pecking near the top fork. He thought of his poor, wayward boy, with a vague, vague hope that he might yet, in some wise ruling of a gracious Providence, escape the gallows, and with a deep sigh 84 TOD. turned to the noisy quiet of the school-room ; he did not even smile as he took up Tod's ge- ography, opened at the boy's latest work, a picture of the State seal, where a stalwart pio- neer in his shirt-sleeves hacked away at a gnarled and stubborn-looking tree, without deigning to notice a stampeding herd of buf- falo that dashed by in most alarming proxim- ity. The nonchalance of the sturdy yeoman was intensified by Tod's graphic pen, which had mounted each plunging monster with a daring rider, holding a slack bridle-rein in one hand, and with the other swinging a plug hat in the most exultant and defiant manner. This piece of grotesque art, and others equally suggestive of the outcropping genius of their author, were put wearily aside, only serving, as it seemed, to deepen rather than dissolve the gloom enshrouding the good father's face. And so the exercises wore along till recess came, and with it came the missing Tod. "I'm in time, am I? Goody!" shouted Tod, jumping over a small boy who had stooped to pick up a slate pencil, and stop- ping abruptly in front of the teacher's desk. " Why, Tod ; what in the world I " Tod's features wore a proud, exultant smile, though somewhat glamored with a network of spiteful looking scratches ; and his TOD. 85 eyes were more than usually bright, although their lids were blue, and swollen to a size that half concealed them. His head, held jauntily erect, suggested nothing but boyish spirit ; but his hair tousled beyond all rea- son, with little wisps of it glued together with clots of blood ; his best clothes soiled and torn ; a bruised and naked knee showing through a straight rent across one leg of his trousers, conveyed the idea of a recent pass- age through some gantlet of disastrous for- tune. It was nothing. Tod said, only on his way to school he had come upon a blind man who played the fiddle and sold lead pencils, and the boy who had been leading him had stolen something from him ; and Tod had volunta- rily started in pursuit of the fugitive, only to overtake him after a prolonged chase of more than a mile. "And now I've got you out o' town," said the offender, wheeling suddenly upon him, " I'll jistmelleryourheadforyoul" After a long pause, in which Tod's face was hidden from the curious group about him, as the teacher bent above him at the back steps p®uring water on his head, he continued : "Didn't think the little cuss was so stout 1 Oh I I'-n scratched up, but you ought to see him I A ad you ought to hear him holler ' nuf,' and 86 TOD. you ought to see him hand over three boxes of pens and them pen-holders and pencils he stol'd, and a whole bunch o' envelopes ; there's blood on some of 'em, and the blind man said I could keep 'em, and he give me a lead pencil, too, with red in one end and blue in the other. Father, you sharpen it." Tod never spoke better in his life than on that memorable afternoon — so well indeed did he acquit himself that the good old father failed to censure him that evening for the sin of fight- ing, and perhaps never would have done so had not the poor blind man so far forgotten the dignity of his great affliction as to get as drunk as he was'blind two evenings following, and play the fiddle in front of the meeting- house during divine service. It was in the vacation following these latter- mentioned incidents that an occurrence of far more seriousness took place. Tod had never seen a circus, for until this eventful epoch in our simple history our hum- ble little village had never been honored with the presence of this " most highly moral and instructive exhibition of the age." When the grand cavalcade, with its blaring music and its richly caparisoned horses, with their nodding plumes and spangles, four abreast, drawing the identical "fiery chariot" Tod TOD. 87 had heard his father talk about ; when all the highly-painted wagons with their mysterious contents, and the cunning fairy poniee with their little fluffy manes and flossy tails — when all this burst upon Tod's enraptured eyes, he fell mutely into place behind the band-wagon, with its myriad followers ; and so, dazed, awe- stricken and entranced, accompanied the pa- geant on its grand triumphal march around the town. Tod carried water for the animals ; Tod ran errands of all kinds for the showmen ; Tod looked upon the gruff, ill-tempered canvas- hand with an awe approaching reverence. Tod was going to the show, too, for he had been most fortunate in exchanging his poor services of the morning for the "open sesame" of all the dreamed-of wonders of the arena. Tod would laugh and whisper to himself, hug- ging the ticket closely to his palpitating side, as he ran about on errands of a hundred kinds, occupying every golden interlude of time in drawing the magic passport from his pocket and gloating over the cabalistic legend " com- plimentary," with the accompanying auto- graph of the fat old manager with the broad, bejeweled expanse of shirt-front, and a watch- Seal as big as a walnut ; while on the reverse side he would glut his vision with an ' ' exterior 88 TOD. view of the monster pavilion," where a "girl poised high in air on a cord, in spangled dress," was kissing her hand to a mighty concourse of people, who waved their hats and handker- chiefs in wildest token of approval and ac- claim. Nor was this the sole cause of Tod's delight, for the fat man with the big watch- seal had seemed to take a special fancy to him, and had told him he might bring a friend along, that his ticket would pass two. As the gleeful Tod was scampering off to ask the teacher if he wouldn't go, he met his anx- ious father in a deep state of distress, and was led home to listen in agony and tears to a dis- mal dissertation on the wickedness of shows, and the unending punishment awaiting the poor giddy moths that fluttered round them. Tod was missed next morning. He had re- tired very early the evening previous. " He acted strange -like," said the good grand- mother, recalling vaguely that he hadn't eaten any supper, " and I thought I heard him cry- ing in the night. What was the matter with him, Isaac?" Two weeks later Tod was discovered by his distracted father and an ofiicer, cowering be- hind a roll of canvas, whereon a fat man sat declaring with a breezy nonchalance that no boy of Tod's description was " along o' that TOD. 89 'ere party." And the defiant Tod, when brought to light, emphatically asserted that the fat man was in no wise blamable ; that he had run away on his own hook, and would do it again if he wanted to. But he broke there with a heavy sob ; and the fat man said : " There I there I Cootsey, go along with the old 'un, and here's a dollar for you." And Tod cried aloud. The good minister had brought a letter for him, too, and as the boy read it through his tears he turned homeward almost eagerly. "Dear Tod," it ran; "I have been quite sick since you left me. You must come back, for I miss you, and I can never get well again withput you. I've got a new kink on a pair of stilts I've made you, but I can't tell how long to make them till you come back. Fanny comes over every day, and talks about you so much I half believe sometimes she likes you better than she does her old sick uncle ; but I can stand that, because you deserve it, and I'm too old for little girls to like very much. It'll soon be the Fourth, you know, and we must be getting ready for a big time. Come home at once, for I am waiting." "To Stoddard Anderson, from his old friend and teacher." Tod went home. He hastened to the teach- 90 TOD. er's darkened room. The dear old face had grown pale — so very pale ! The kindly hand reached out to grasp the boy's was thin and wasted, and the gentle voice that he had learned to love was faint and low — so very low it sounded like a prayer. The good minister turned silently and left the two old friends together, and there were teardrops in his eyes. And so the little staggering life went on alone. Some old woman gossip, peering through the eye of a needle on the institution known as the "Ladies' Benevolent Sewing Society," said that it 'peared to her like that boy of the preacher's jest kep' a pinin' and a pinin' away like, ever sence they fetched him back from his runaway scrape. She'd seen him " time and time again sence then, and al- though the little snipe was innocent-like to all appearances, she'd be bound that he was in devilment enough ! Reckoned he was too proud to march in the school p'cession at the teacher's funeral ; he didn't go to the meetin' house at all, but put off to the graveyard by hisse'f; and when they got there with the corpse, he was a-settin' with his legs a-hangin' in the grave, and a-pitchin' clods in, and a-smilin'. "And only jest the other evening,"' she continued, " as I was comin' past there TOD. 91 kindo In the dusk-like, that boy was a-settin' a-straddle o' the grave, and jest a-cryin' I And I thought it kindo strange-like, and stopped and hollered : ' What's the matter of ye, Tod?' and he ups and hollers back: ' Stumpt my toe, dern ye ! ' and thinks I ' My youngster, they'll be a day o' reckonin' for you 1 ' " The old world worried on, till July came at last, and with it that most glorious day that wrapped the baby nation in its swaddling- clothes of stripes and stars and laid it in the lap of Liberty. And what a day that was I and how the birds did sing that morn- ing from the green tops of the trees when the glad sunlight came glancing through the jeweled leaves and woke them. And not more joyous were the birds, or more riotous their little throbbing hearts to " pipe the trail and cheep and twitter twenty million loves," than the merry children that came fluttering to the grove to join their revelry. O, brighter than a dream toward the boy that swung his hat from the tree-top near the brook swept the procession of children from the town. And he flushed with some strange ecstasy as he saw a little girl in white, with a wreath of evergreen, wave her crimson sash io answer to him, while the column slowly 92 TOD. filed across the open bridge, where yet again he saw her re-appear in the reflection in the stream below. Then, after the dull opening of prayer, and the more tedious exercises fol- lowing, how the woods did ring with laughter ; how the boys vied with each other in their la- bors of arranging swings, and clearing under- brush away preparatory to a day of uncon- fined enjoyment ; and how the girls shrieked to " see the black man coming," and how co- quettishly they struggled when captured and carried off by that dread being, and yet what eagerness they displayed in his behalf I And " Ring " — men and women even joining in the game, and kissing each other's wives and husbands like mad. Why, even the ugly old gentleman, with a carbuncle on the back of his neck, grew riotous with mirth, and when tripped full length upon the sward by the lit- tle widow in half-mourning, bustled nim- bly to his feet and kissed her, with some wicked pun about " grass " widows, that made him laugh till his face grew as red as his car- buncle. That bashful young man who had straggled off" alone, sitting so uncomfortably upon a log, killing bugs and spiders, like an ugly giant with a monster club — how he must have envied the airy freedom of those "old boys and girls." TOD. 93 Then there was a group of older men talk- ing so long and earnestly about the weather and the crops they had not discovered that the shade of the old beech they sat beneath had stolen silently away and left them sitting in the sun, and was even then performing its re- freshing office for a big, sore-eyed dog, who, with panting jaws and lolling tongue, was winking away the lives of a swarm of gnats with the most stoical indifference. And so time wore along till dinner came, and women, with big open baskets, bent above the snowy cloths spread out upon the grass, arranging " the substantials " and the dain- ties of a feast too varied and too toothsome for anything but epicurean memories to describe. And then the abandon of the voracious guests ! No dainty affectations — no formality — no eti- quette — no anything but the full sway of healthful appetites incited by the exhilarant exercises of the day into keenest rapacity and relish. " Don't you think it's goin' to rain? " asked some one suddenly. A little rosy-gilled gen- tleman, with the aid of a chicken-leg for a lever, raised his fat face skyward, and after a serious contemplation of the clouds, wouldn't say for certain whether it would rain or not, but informed the unfortunate querist, after 94 TOD. pulling his head into its usual position and laying down the lever to make room for a bite of bread, that "if it didn't rain there'd be a long dry spell ; " and then he snorted a mimic snow-storm of bread crumbs on his vis-a-vis, who looked wronged, and said he "guessed he'd take another piece of that-air pie down there." It was looking very much like rain by the time the dinner things were cleared away. Anxious mothers, with preserve stains on their dresses, were running here and there with such exclamations to the men-folks as "Do hurry up ! " and "For goodness sake, John, take the baby till I find my parasol," and "There, Thomas, don't lug that basket off till I find my pickle-dish ! " Already the girls had left the swings, which were being taken down, and were tying hand- kerchiefs over their hats and standing in de- spairing contemplation of the ruin of their dresses. Some one called from the stand for the ladies not to be at all alarmed, it wasn't going to rain, and there wasn't a particle of danger of ; but there a clap of thunder in- terrupted, and went on growling menacingly, while a little girl, with her hair blown wildly over her bare shoulders, and with a face, which a moment before glowed like her crimson scarf, TOD. 95 now whiter than her snowy dress, ran past the stand and fell fainting to the ground. "Is there a doctor on the grounds? " called a loud voice in the distance, and, without waiting for a response — "For God's sake, come here quick ; a boy has fallen from the swing, and maybe killed himself! " And then the crowd gathered round him there, men with white faces, and frightened women and little shivering children. "Whose boy is it?" " Hush ; here comes his father." And the good minister, with stark features and clenched hands, passed through the surging throng that closed behind him even as the waves on Pharaoh. Did I say all were excited ? Not all ; for there was one calm face, though very pale — paler yet for being pillowed on the green grass and the ferns. "You musn't move me," the boy said when he could speak; "tell 'em to come here." He smiled and tried to lift and fold his arms about his father's neck. "Poor father I poor father I " as though speaking to himself, "I always loved you, father, only you'd never believe it — never believe it. Now you will. I'll see mother, now — mother. Don't cry — I'm hurt, and I don't cry. And 96 TOD. I'll see the teacher, too. He said I would. He said we would always be together there. Where's Fanny? Tell her— tell her—" But that strange unending silence fell upon his lips, and as the dying eyes looked up and out beyond the sighing treetops, he smiled to catch a glearn of sunshine through the foolish cloud that tried so hard to weep. A Remarkable Man. FAME. I. Once, in a dream, I sou a man. With haggard face and tangled hair, And eyes thai numed a> wild a care As gavmi Starvation ever can; And in his hand he held a wand Whose magic touch gave life and thought Unto a form his fancy wrought. And robed with coloring to grand, It seemed the reflex of some child Of Heaven, fair and undefiled — A face of purity and love — To woo him into worlds above. And as J gazed, with dazzled eyes, A gleaming smile lit wp his lips As his bright soul from its eclipse Went flashing into Paradise, Then tardy Fame came through the door And found a "pklwre — nothing more, II. And once I saw a man, alone, In abject poverty, with hand Uplifted o'er u, block of stone That took a shape at his command And smiled upon him fair and good — A perfect work of womanhood, Save tJiat the eyes might never weep, (98) FAME. Nor weary hands he crossed in sleep, Nor hair, that fell from erovm to vtrist, Be brushed away, caressed and kissed. And CM in awe I gazed on her, I saw the scuLptor's chisel fall — I saw him iink, without a moan, Sink lifeless ai the feet of stone, And lie there like a worshiper. Fame crossed the threshold of the haU, And found u statue — that vxis all. III. And mice I saw a man who drew A gloom about him like a cloak, And wandered aimlessly. The feu Who spoke of him at all, hvi spokt Disparagingly of a mind The Fates had faultily designed: Too tTidolent for modem times — Too fanciful, and full of whims — For talking to himself in rhymes. Arid scrawling neeer-heard-of hymns, The idle life to which he dung Was worthless as the songs he gang! I saw him, in my visum, filled With rapture cfer a spray of bloom The wind threw in his lonely room; And of the sweet perfume it spilled He drank to drunkenness, and flung His long hair back, and laughed and sung 99 IOO| FAME. And clapped his hands as children do At fairy iales they listen to, While /ram his flying quiU there dripped Such music on his manuscript Thai he who listens to the words May dose his eyes and dream the birds Are tvnttering on every hand A language he can understand. He journeyed on through life, unknown, Without one friend to call his own, He tired. No kindly hand to press The cooling touch of tenderness Upon his burning brow, nor lift To his parched lips Ood's freest gift — No sympathetic sob or sigh Of trembling lips — no sorrowing eye Looked cut through tears to see him die. And Fame her greenest laurels brought To crown a head thai heeded not. And this i> fairtel A thing, indeed. That only comes when, least the need: The wisest minds of every age The book oj life from page to page Have searched in vain; each lesson conned Will promise it the page beyond — UntU the last, when dusk of night Falls over it, and reason's light Is smothered by that unknown friend Who signs his nom de plume, The Fkd. A REMARKABLE MAN. IN the early winter 1875, returning from a rather lengthy sojourn in the Buckeye State, where a Hoosier is scrutinized as crit- ically as a splinter in the thumb of a near- sighted man, I mentally resolved that just as soon as the lazy engine dragging me toward home had poked its smutty nose into the selv- edge of my native State, I would disembark, lift my voice and shout for joy for being safely delivered out of a land of perpetual strangers. This opportunity was afforded me at Union City — a fussy old - hen-of-a-town, forever clucking over its little brood of railroads, as though worried to see them running over the line, and bristling with the importance of its charge. The place is not an attractive one stepping from the train in the early dusk of a Decem- ber evening ; in fact, the immediate view of the town is almost entirely concealed by a big square-faced hotel, standing, as it were, on the very platform, as though its "nmners" were (lOl) I02 A REMARKABLE MAN. behind time, and it had come down to solicit its own custom. A walk of sixty steps, how- ever, gave me a sweeping view of the main business street of the city ; and here it was, by one of those rare freaks of circumstance, that I suddenly found myself standing face to face with an old friend. " Smith ! " said I. " Cor- rect ! " said he, and all lacking to complete the tableau was the red light. And now, as my story has more to do with a more remark- able man than either Smith or myself, I shall hasten to that notable — only introducing hum- bler personages as necessity demands. That night was a bragging, blustering, bul- lying sort of a night. The wind was mad — stark, staring mad ; running over and around the town, bowling and whooping like a ma- niac. It whirled and whizzed and wheeled about, and whizzed again. It pelted the pe- destrian's face with dust that stung like sleet. It wrenched at the signs, and rattled the doors and windows till the lights inside shivered as with affright. The unfurled awnings fluttered and flapped over the deserted streets like mon- strous bats or birds of prey ; and, gritting their iron teeth, the shutters lunged and snapped at their fastenings convulsively. Such a night as we like to hide away from, and with a good cigar, a good friend, and a good A REMARKABLE MAN. lOJ fire, talk of soothing things and dream. My friend and I were not so isolated, however, upon this occasion ; for the suddenness of the storm had driven us, for shelter, into "Bow- ers's Emporium ; " and, seated in the rear of ihe spacious and brightlj -illuminated store, we might almost " dream we dwelt in marble halls," were it not for the rather profuse dis- play of merchandise and a voluminous com- plement of show-cards, reading "Bargains in Overcoats," "Best and Cheapest Under- wear," " Buy Bowers's Boots ! " etc., etc. The clerks were all idle, and employing their leisure in listening to a " fine-art " con- versation, casually introduced by my friend remarking the extraordinary development ol the bust and limbs of a danseuse on a paper collar-box ; and alter deploring the prosti- tution to which real talent was subjected, and satirizing the general degeneracy of modern art, he had drifted back to the rare old days of Hans Holbein, Albert Durer and that guild. And while dwelling enthusiastically upon the genius of Angelo, I became aware that among the listeners was a remarkable man. It was not his figure that impressed me, for that was of the ordinary mould, and rather shabbily attired in a tattered and ill-fit- ting coat of blue, sadly faded and buttonless ; I04 A REMARKABLE MAN. a short-waisted vest of no particular pattern, fastened together by means of a loosened loop of binding pulled through a button-hole, and held to its place by a stumpy lead-pencil with a preponderance of rubber at the end ; the pantaloons very baggy and fraying at the bottoms, as though in excessive sympathy with a pair of coarse, ungainly army shoes that wore the appearance of having been through " Sherman's march to the sea." Not remarkable, I say, in these particulars, for since "tramping" has arrived at the dig- nity of a profession, such characteristics are by no means uncommon ; but when taken in conjunction with a head and face that would have served as model for either Abraham, Isaac or Jacob, in patriarchal cast of feature and flow of beard, it is no wonder that my fancy saw in the figure before me a remarka- ble man. He stood uncovered, and in an eager listening attitude, as though drinking every syllable to the very dregs. His eyes were large and lustrous, and with that dreamy, far-off look peculiar to that quality of mind that sees what is described, even though buried in Pompeiian ruins, or under the pyra- mids of Egypt. He met my rather scrutinizing gaze with a friendly and forgiving expression — adding an A REMARKABLB MAM. IO5 intuitive affinity by a nestling of the palms one within the other and a genial friction indica- tive of warm impulse and openness, yet withal suggesting a due subservience to my own free will to accept as token of genuine esteem and admiration. I thought I read his character aright in fan- cying " Here is a man of more than ordinary culture and refinement," and I determined, if it were possible, to know him better. When I took an early opportunity to refer to him for information he responded eagerly, and in so profuse and elegant a style of diction that I was surprised. He referred to Angelo as "That master whose iron pencil painted language on lips of stone, and whose crudest works in clay might well outlive the marble monuments of modern art." He glanced from one topic to another with a grace and ease that not only betokened a true mastery of the language, but an in- exhaustible fund of information ; nor was it long ere my " stock in hand " dwindled down to the insignificant " yes-and-of-course " ver- bosity that is not worth the giving away. He dwelt with particular fondness upon literature ; frequently referring to me as to works I most admired, and pointing out the beauties and excellence of old authors — Shakespeare, I06 A REMARKABLE MAN. Milton, Pope, Dryden, and a host of others long dead and gone, but whose words live on eternally. All these, as they were successively reviewed, he quoted in a manner that evinced a thorough knowledge of their works. At last, after no little artifice and strategy, I drew him to his own history, which, as he proceeded, grew fantastically interesting. His father, passing rich, had educated him for the ministry ; but the profession didn't suit him, or, rather, he didn't suit the profession ; for, to be frank, he was rather inclined in his younger days to be a " graceless dog ; " and so, when it became evident that he must shift for himself, more at the instigation of literary friends than from any ambition or choice, he had entered the journalistic field, beginning at the bottom of the ladder — the bottom — and gradually rising from the compositor's case to the very rung of editorial success — when there came a crash, a flaw in the grain, my boy, a flaw in the grain — and that flaw — Well, no matter I — The noblest minds had toppled from the height, and crumbled to the merest debris of pauper intellect. The grandest tomb the finger of the nation could point out was glut- ted with such food. Did he not remember poor Prentice, and, in memory, recall him now as vividly as though but yesterday, entering A REMARKABLE MAN. 107 the sanctum of the Louisville Journal, with the old-time greeting: "Ah, Charles; read)- for work, I see. Well, here am I — punctual as Death. " And then, after a good stiff brandy, which he could hardly raise to his lips with both trembling hands, poor George ! how he would dictate, so rapidly that he (Cha-les) could scarcely put it down, al- though a clever hand at writing in those days. Served as amanuensis for five years, and tran- scribed with his own hand, " 'Tis Midnight's Holy Hour," at ten o'clock in the morning, and had the poem entire ready for the com- positor at half-past. At such times it was nothing uncommon for George to say, *' Well done, thou good and faithful ; the big end of the day is left you to transcribe as your pleas- ure may dictate. Only bear in mind, I shall expect a little gem from your individual pen for to-morrow's issue 1 " "And do you write?" I broke in abruptly. " I used to write," he answered, as though loath to make the acknowledgment — " that is, I sometimes rode Pegasus as a groom might ride his master's horse — but my flights were never high — never high I " " For what reason, may I inquire? Surely you had no lack of inspiration with such men as Prentice about you?" Io8 A REMARKABLE MAN. "Aye, there's the rub ! " he sighed, with a negative shake. "The association of great men does not always tend to develop genius ; the more especially when one's subservient position revolutionizes him into a mere ma- chine. Yet I found some time, of course, for verse-making ; and, chiefly owing to the kindly encouragement of Mr. Prentice, I ' gave to the world,' as he was pleased lo say, many lit- tle poems, but those of them that survive to- day are vagrants, like myself, and drifting about at the mercy of the press. Here the old man sighed heavily and mechanically fumbled his pencil. I was growing deeply interested in the strange character before me, and although the faces of the group smiled at me significantly, I was not to be beguiled from my new ac- quaintance. "There is a question," said I, "I would like to ask you, since from actual experience you are doubtless well informed upon it. I have often heard it argued that the best pro- ductions of authors — poets in particular — are written under the influence of what they are pleased to term ' inspiration ; ' can you en- lighten me as to the truth of that assertion?" " I can say in reply," said the old man, with hjs unwavering eyes fixed upon mine, " I A REMARKABLE MAN. IO9 can say in reply that the best productions of authors — poets in particular — are written un- der the influence of what they are pleased to term ' inspiration.' I have seen it proved." " How proved?" I asked. " Listen. Take, for example, an instance I will cite : A man worn and enfeebled by age, whose eyes are dimmed to sightlessness almost, whose mind, once clear and vivid as the light of day — now wavering and fickle as the wind : and yet at times this influence comes upon him like an avalanche, and as irresistible; a voice cries, 'write! write 1 write I ' nor does he know, when he has obeyed that summons, what his trembling hand has written. Further, that this is divine inspira- tion — his fragmentary productions will often- times be in the exact manner and diction of writers long since passed away ; and I am sat- isfied they are produced at the direct dictation of the departed. I know this 1 " " You astonish me," said I in unfeigned wonder; "you say you know this — how do you know it?" " Because I am the man." Although the assertion, in my mind, was simply preposterous, there was a certain maj- esty in the utterance that held me half in awe. I looked upon him as one might look upon no A REMARKABLE MAN. some curious being from an unknown worid. He was moving now — pacing grotesquely up and down a little space of half a dozen steps, and wheeling, at the limits of his walk, as nimbly as the harlequin in the pantomime, and repeating, as though to himself, " I am the man ; I am the man." " Well, sir," said I, forcing myself into an air of indifference I did not feel ; "well, sir, not for a moment questioning your own belief as to this strange influence which may possess you at times, you will pardon me for express- ing the vaguest skepticism, since I have never been so fortunate as to witness an actual dem- onstration." He was about to interrupt me, but I continued coolly, *' By what circum- stance is this influence introduced — or how produced — is it " He broke in on me with a keen little pang of a laugh that almost made me shudder. "You are my convert," he exclaimed, ex- citedly. "Quick I Give me paper — give me pa- per I " but before I could take my note-boolf from my pocket he had hurriedly snatched a scrap of wrapping-paper from the counter, and bending over it, was writing with great rapidity. His manner was decidedly singular. In the occasional pauses he would make he A REMARKABLE MAN. Ill would lean his forehead in the palm of his left hand, with the fingers dancing nervously upon the bald spot on the summit of his head, while with the hand that held the pencil he kept up a continued rotary movement in the air. Then he would suddenly pounce down upon the paper before him as though in a perfect frenzy of delight, and line after line would appear as if by magic, each succeeding one preluded by that sharp little yelp of a laugh, and ere three minutes had elapsed, he had covered both sides of the paper. He then threw down his pencil, as though re- luctantly, pushed me the scrap and motioned me to read. I was at first completely mysti- fied, for what I had confidently expected to be rhyme was prose ; but ere I had examined it far I was as highly gratified as at first dis- appointed. The writing, although so reck- lessly scrawled, was quite legible, and here and there gave evidence of more than ordi- nary grace and elegance ; the punctuation, as far as I was able to judge, seemed perfect in every part ; and, in fact, the entire produc- tion bore the appearance of having been exe- cuted by a skillful hand. I copy it verbatim from the original scrap which now lies before me : 112 A REMARKABLE MAN. " By this time they had come upon the figure of the old hag, seated hy the roadside, and, in a harsh, cracked voice, crooning a dismal ballad. 'By God's rood,' quoth the knight, in a burst of admiration, ' did I not tell thee 'twa* some fair princess, decoyed from her father's castle and thus transformed, through the despicable arts of some wicked enchanter ; for thou hast but to perk an ear to have the sense of hearing bathed and overflowed with melody. Dost thou not also note rare grace and sweetest dignity voiced, as it were, from the very tatters that enclothe her form ? ' ' Indeed thou mayest,' said the squire ; ' for I have heard it said " rags may enfold the purest gold." — Yet in this instance I am restrained to think it more like the hidalgo's dinner — " very little meat and a good deal of ta- ble-cloth.'" 'Hold thy peace, bladderhead,' exclaimed the knight, 'lest I make thee gnaw thy words with loosened teeth. Listen what liquid syllables are spilled upon the atmosphere : " My father's halls, so rich and rare, Are desolate and bleak and bare ; My father's heart and halls are one,' Since I, their life and light, am gone. " O, valiant knight, with hand of steel And heart of gold, hear my appeal : Kelease me from the spoiler's charms, And bear me to my father's arms.' " The knight had by this time thrown himself from his steed, and with lance reversed and vizor doffed he sank upon his knees in the slime and ooze of the dyke, exclaim- ing : ' Be of good heart, fair princess 1 Thy succor is at hand, since the fates have woven thee — the pearl of pearls — into the warp and woof of my great destiny. Nay, nay I No thanks! Thy father's beaming eye alone shall be my A REMARKABLE MAN. II3 guerdon, for home thou shalt go, even though I must needs truckle thee thither on a barrow.' " " Good," said I, grasping the old man by the hand. " Hail Cervantes I" " Cervantes, Cervantes," he mused, as though bewildered ; " why, what have I been writing? Is it not poetry? " "Yes," I replied enthusiastically, "both prose and poetry, and that of the rarest school. Read for yourself." I handed him the scrap, but he pushed it from him with a gesture of impatience. " I told you once I could not read it, nor do I know what I have written. Read it aloud." Although I hastened to comply, I did it with a decided air of incredulity as to the belief that he did not already know every word of it, and even closed with the gratuitous comment that I felt assured the quotation was perfect in every particular. " Quotation I " repeated the old man com- miseratively ; "quotation I Were you as well versed in such works, my son, as you led me at first to presume, you would know at once that not a single line of that occurs in Don Quixote, although I do grant that I am the humble instrument through which the great Cervantes has just spoken." With this re- 8 114 A REMARKABLE MAN. mark, delivered in a half-rebuking, half-com- passionate tone, he stood milking his beard and blinking at the chandelier. I acknowledged my error and asked pardon for the insinuation, which I begged he would believe was not intended to offend ; and that, upon second thought, I was satisfied that no such matter did exist in the printed history, which fact I have since proved by a thorough investigation. It required, however, considerable inventive tact and show of admiration to counteract the effect of my indiscreet remark ; and not was this effectually accomplished until I had inci- dentally discovered a marked resemblance of his brow to Shakespeare's, which, by actual measurement, I found to correspond to a frac- tion with the measurement of the mask of that illustrious bard, as furnished by an exhaustive article I had seen a short time previous in one of our magazines. This happily brought about the result I so much longed for, as I was extremely desirous of a further opportunity in which to study the character of this remarkable man. "Ah, Shakespeare ! " said he in a burst of genuine eloquence. "There was a mind the gods en- dowed with wisdom ages have yet to learn ; for bright and lustrous as it shines to-day — the A REMARKABLE MAN. II5 Morning Star of human intellect — its glitter- ing purity has yet a million million dawns, each brighter than the last. Its chastened rays are yet to blaze and radiate the darkened ways — Hold I My pencil ! Quick — quick'!" He snatched at the paper wildly, and bend- ing over it, began writing with a vindictive- ness of effort that was alarming. He slashed the t's and stabbed the punctuation points sav- agely. The writing continued, interspersed occasionally with a pause in which he would flourish his pencil like a dripping sword, only to be plunged again and again into the quiv- ering breast ol its victim. Finally he dashed it down, pushed the paper from him as one would spurn a vanquished enemy, and sank, limp and exhausted, into a chair. I snatched up the paper eagerly, and read : Faktaff: I call him dog, forsooth, because he snarls — Snarls, d'ye hear? — and laves his rabid fangs In slobber-froth that drips in slimy gouts Of venomous slander. Out upon the curl He sets his mangy foot upon the sod, And grass grows rank and withers at the touch. And tangles into wiry thatch for snakes To spawn beneath. The very air he breathes Becomes a poison gas, and generates Disease and pestilence. Would he were here, That I might whet my sword against his ribs, Although his rotten, putrid soul unhoused Would breed a stench worse than my barber's breath. IIO A REMARKABLE MAN. The dog ! The damnable — Pistol: Hist 1 here he comes ! God's body I master, has he overheard 'Tis cock-crow with thy ghost I (Enter Pains.) How now, my Jack — Prince ass of Jacks, methought I heard thee bray. Falslaff: Aye, well and marry 1 for this varlet here Deserves more brays than praise, the scurvy dog ! Good lack 1 Thou might'st have heard me call him dog A pebble's toss from this ; but now that thou art come, My dagger-points of wrath do melt away Before thy genial smile, as icicles Might ooze to nothingness at summer noon. That other flask, you dog 1 and have a care Thou handle it more gently than the first. Lest I, as thou didst it, thy noddle burst. Although expecting something after the Shakespearian school, I was not prepared for this, and in reading it aloud I actually found myself endeavoring to imitate the stage man- ner of Hackett, whom years ago I had seen in King Henry Fourth at the old Metropoli- tan, Indianapolis. "Ah ! " said the old man, " You are more familiar with that I see. Tell me, have you ever seen those lines in Shakes- peare? " There was such a look of conscious triumph in his face, so self-satisfied an ex- pression, that I — although half believing I was in some way being duped — could but reply that I was most thoroughly convinced the lines A REMARKABLE MAN. I17 did not occur in any of the works of that great master. " They do not," said the old man briefly. *• But how," said I, " is it possible for you to so perfectly imitate his style, not only in language, but theme, expression, force, char- acter, grotesqueness — " "Stop, my son; stop!" he broke in; "must I again remind you that it is not imitation ; I take no credit to mj'^self — how dare I when in writing thus my individual mind is gone, simply chaotic. It is not imi- tation ; it is Shakespeare? " I could venture no further comment with- out fear of offending, and he already stood as though hesitating to depart. " Stay, then," said I, " until I see a further exercise of this marvelous power you possess. Here, sit down, rest awhile ; you seem almost exhausted." "I am nearly so," he replied, "but there is no rest for me until this influence is entirely subsided. No rest for me yet ; no rest 1 no restl" He was again pacing his old walk, like a weary sentinel, and I thought as I gazed upon him, " What riddle of the human kind is this? Over and over again came the ques- Il8 A REMARKABLE MAN. tion ; and over and over an old rhyme I had somewhere read, mockingly responded — " Bain, gun and rain — a rainbow in the sky ; A young man will be wiser by and by — An old man's wits may wander ere he die I" And lulled by the wild monotony of this, I was fast drifting into a dreamy train of thought, when the old man halted suddenly, and with one elbow leaning on the counter and his head resting on his hand, he began humming a tune — a strangely sweet and tender air, low, and just a little harsh at first and indistinct, but welling softly in- to cadence wonderfully rich and pure — then quavering again in minor swoons of melody so delicately beautiful I can but liken the effect produced in that ethereal mystery of sound unraveled from the zithern by a master hand, — "A slender thread of song in saddest tune." I had leaned forward with my own head resting in my hand, that I might the better listen, and was not aware, until the song ab- ruptly ended, that the old man had been writing as he sang. "There," said he, handing me the scrap, A REMARKABLE MAN. II9 ♦* you have heard the tune ; here are the words, perhaps." It may have been a very foolish thing, it may have been weak and womanish, yet as my eyes bent over it and read, the lines grew curiously blurred toward the last ; nor did I guess the cause until a tear — a great ripe tear-drop fell upon my hand. And, reader, could I present the song to you just as it came to me, with all the strange surroundings — the stranger experience of the hour j the solemn silence of the group ; the wailing of the wind outside as though the world, weary of itself, could only sigh, sigh, sigh I could I prelude it with that low, sweet murmuring of melody that haunts me even now, your own eyes needs must moisten as you read : ** THE HARP OF THE MINSTREL." " The harp of the minstrel has never a tone As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, For the magical touch of his fingers alone Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright ; But oh 1 as the smile of the moon may impart A sorrow to one in an alien clime, Let the light of the melody fall on the heart, And cadence his grief into musical rhyme. " The faces have faded, the eyes have grown dim That once were his passionate love and his pride; And alas I all the smiles that once blossomed for him Have fallen away as the flowers have died. I20 A REMARKABLE MAN. The hands that entwined him the laureate's wreath, And crowned him with fame in the long, long ago, Like the laurels are withered and folded beneath The grass and the stubble — the frost and the snow, " Then sigh, if thou wilt, as the whispering strings Strive ever in vain for the utterance clear ; And think of the sorrowful spirit that sings, And jewel the song with the gem of the tear. For the harp of the minstrel has never a tone As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, And the magical touch of his fingers alone Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright." I had read the lines over to myself, and al- though recognizing many touches decidedly like those of the famous author of Lalla Rookh, I was not wholly satisfied with the produc- tion ; and it struck me with peculiar force that an ethereal composition would surely not be so lavishly tinctured with unutterable sor- row — aside from being far inferior to a hun- dred earthly songs of Moore's ; so, with this argument for my weapon, I determined to conquer the superstition that had almost over- powered me. I had noticed, too, in both former instances a singular fact: Tlie old man, though so ready to fend off all comment that might reflect a single ray of praise upon himself, listened with more of the air of a critic than one whose interest was merely that of cu- riosity, and still when the fragiientary produc- A RKMARKABLB MAN. 121 tion had been read aloud, a look of more than ordinary satisfaction would lighten up his eyes. These facts, hastily reviewed, deter- mined me upon a course of action I had in- stant opportunity to adopt. " Read it aloud," said the old man, impa- tiently ; " Read it aloud I " I complied with more than usual enthusi- asm, reading verbatim from the copy, until I came to the repetition of the first four lines, which I thus transposed : " The harp of the minstrel has never a note As sad as the song in his bosom expressed, And the magical touch of his fingers afloat Drifts over the echoes that sleep in the breast," This I was careful to deliver without empha- sis or mark of any kind by which he might discover any imposition on my part. As I closed I stole a hasty glance at his face, and was gratified to find it wearing a rather star- tled expression ; not only did his features be- tray a puzzled and questioning air, but his hand was mechanically extended, as though reaching for the paper in my own. "Do you want to see it?" I asked, sud- denly, handing him the scrap. "Yes, I — O, no — no," he broke in, drop- ping his hand, and his face coloring vividly ; 122 A REMARKABLE MAN. but turning again as quickly, he added : "Yes, give it to me. Where are the others ? I must be going." "Why must you go?" I asked, still retain- ing the scrap ; " I had hoped " " I am going ! " he interrupted brusquely, snatching up the scraps that lay upon the counter, and reaching for the one I still held. "Give me the poem. I will trouble you no longer." "Allow me to retain it, I beg of you," said I, with a significant smile, and the slightest tinge of sarcasm in my voice. " Let me keep it as a befitting memento of the inspiration I have seen so potently exercised." His face was pale with anger as he replied : " I will not. When you want rhj^me write it yourself. You can, at least, write dog- gerel." " Very neat," said I, laughing. " We un- derstand each other, so let's be friends. Here is my hand and a dollar besides. Give me the other scraps — I want them all." I took them from him as he clutched at the bill, which he smothered in his palm, and turned away without a word. " Here, Charley," called one of the by- standers, " half of that's enough for you to- night." A REMARKABLE MAN. 1 23 The door slammed violently and he was gone. " Old Cain will have that dollar in just five minutes," continued the man. "And who's Old Cain?" I asked. " Keeps the doggery just over the line." "Old Charley" M is a well-known character in Union City — his home, in fact, although he often disappears for long periods, but, as my informant remarked, " always turns up again like a bad penny." The story of his early life is at least based upon the truth, but now so highly colored it is a decidedly difficult matter to detect that sim- ple element. Originally he was a printer, but early aban- doned that vocation for another, and that in turn for another, and so on, until by easy gradations he had become, as the old saw has it, "Jack of all trades and master of none." Among his many accomplishments he is a musician of considerable skill — plays the flute, violin and guitar all quite passably ; a great reader, a fine conversationalist — ^which ac- complishment I personally vouch for. But chief of all his accomplishments is that of writ- ing clever imitations of the old authors and ^ets. These productions he prepares with 124 A. REMARKABLE MAN. great care, commits them to memory, and is ready to dispose of them by as ingenious a method. And yet, although he be a vagabond ; al- though his friends — such as they are — are first to call him sot ; although the selfish world that hurries past may jostle him unnoticed from the path ; and though he styles himself a " grace- less dog," in all candor, and in justice to my true belief, I call him a remarkable man. A Nest-Egg. OLD-FASHIONED ROSES. They ain't no style about 'em, And they're sort o' pale and faded; Yit the doorway here, without 'em, Would be lonesamer, and shaded With a good 'eal blacker shadder Than the momin' ghries makes, And the sunshine wovid look sadder For their good old-fashion' takes. I like 'em 'cause they kind o* Sort o' make a feller like 'em; And I tell you, when I find u, Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em. It aUus sets me thinkin' 0' the ones 'at used to grow, And peek in thro' the chinkin' 0' the cabin, don't you know. And then I think o" mother, And how she used to love 'em. When they wuzn't any other, 'Less she found 'em up above 'em / And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, Whispered with a smile, and said. We must pluck a bunch and put 'em In her hand when she wva dead. But, as I una a sayin'. They ain't no style abaui 'em Very gaudy or disphyin', But I wouldn't be without 'em, 'Cause I'm happier in these posies And the hoUyhcmks and inch Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses In the roses of the rich. (126) A NEST-EGG. BUT a few miles from the city here, and on the sloping banks of the stream no- ted more for its plenitude of "chubs" and "shiners" than the gamier two and four- pound bass for which, in season, so many- credulous anglers flock and lie in wait, stands a country residence, so convenient to the stream, and so inviting in its pleasant exterior and comfortable surroundings — barn, dairy and spring-house — that the weary, sunburnt and disheartened fisherman, out from the dusty town for a day of recreation, is often wont to seek its hospitality. The house in style of architecture is something of a depart- ure from the typical farm-house, being de- signed and fashioned with no regard to sym- metry or proportion, but rather, as is sug- gested, built to conform to the matter-of-fact and most sensible ideas of its owner, who, if it pleased him, would have small windows where large ones ought to be, and vice versa, whether they balanced properly to the eye or (127) 128 A NEST-EGG. not. And chimneys — he would have as many as he wanted, and no two alike, in either height or size. And if he wanted the front of the house turned from all possible view, as though abashed at any chance of public scru- tiny, why, that was his affair and not the pub- lic's ; and, with like perverseness, if he chose to thrust his kitchen under the public's very nose, what should the generally fagged-out, half-famished representative of that dignified public do but reel in his dead minnow, shoul- der his fishing-rod, clamber over the back fence of the old farm-house, and inquire within, or jog back to the city, inwardly anathematizing that very particular locality, or the whole rural district in general. That is just the way that farm-house looked to the writer of this sketch one week ago — so indi- vidual it seemed — so liberal, and yet so inde- pendent. It wasn't even weather-boarded, but, instead, was covered smoothly with some cement, as though the plasterers had come while the folks were visiting, and so, unable to get at the interior, had just plastered the outside. I am more than glad that I was hungry enough, and weary enough, and wise enough to take the house at its first suggestion ; for, putting away my fishing tackle for the morn- A NEST-EGG. 1 29 ing, at least, I went up the sloping bank, crossed the dusty road, and confidently clam- bered over the fence. Not even a growling dog to intimate that I was trespassing. All was open — gracious- looking — pastoral. The sward beneath my feet was velvet-like in elasticity, and the scarce visible path I followed through it led promptly to the open kitchen door. From within I heard a woman singing some old ballad in an undertone, while at the threshold a trim, white- spurred rooster stood poised on one foot, curv- ing his glossy neck and cocking his wattled head as though to catch the meaning of the words. I paused. It was a scene I felt re- strained from breaking in upon, nor would I, but for the sound of a strong male voice com- ing around the corner of the house : "Sir; howdy 1" Turning, I saw a rough-looking but kindly- featured man of sixty-live, the evident owner of the place. I returned his salutation with some confu- sion and much deference. " I must really beg your pardon for this intrusion," I began, " but I have been tiring myself out fishing, and your home here looked so pleasant — and I felt so thirsty — and — " 9 130 A NEST-EGG. "Want a drink, I reckon," said the old man, turning abruptly toward the kitchen door, then pausing as suddenly, with a back- ward motion of his thumb — "Jest foUer the path here down to the little brick^that's the spring — and you'll find 'at you've come to the right place fer drinkin'-worter ! Hold on a minute tell I git you a tumbler — there're nothin' down there but a tin." " Then don't trouble yourself any further," I said heartily, " for I'd rather drink from a tin-cup than a goblet of pure gold." "And so'd I," said the old man, reflectively, turning mechanically, and following me down the path. " 'Druther drink out of a tin — er jest a fruit-can with the top knocked off — er — er — er a gourd," he added in a zestful, rem- iniscent tone of voice, that so heightened my impatient thirst I reached the spring-house fairly in a run. " Well — sir I " exclaimed my host, in evi- dent delight, as I stood dipping my nose in the second cupful of the cool, revivifying liquid, and peering in a congratulatory kind of way at the blurred and rubicund reflection of my features in the bottom of the cup, " well-sir, blame-don I ef it don't do a feller good to see you enjoyin' of it thataway ! But don't you drink too much o' the worter ! — 'cause there 're A NEST-EGG. I3I some sweet milk over there in one o' them crocks, maybe ; and ef you'll jest, kind o' keerful-like, lift off the led of that third one, say, over there to your left, and dip you out a tinful er two o' that, w'y, it '11 do you good to drink it, and it '11 do me good to see you at it — but hold up ! — hold up I" he called abruptly, as, nowise loath, I bent above the vessel des- ignated. "Hold yer bosses for a second I Here's Marthy ; let her git it fer ye." If I was at first surprised and confused, meeting the master of the house, I was wholly startled and chagrined in my present position before its mistress. But as I raised, and stam- mered, in my confusion, some incoherent apol- ogy, I was again reassured and put at greater ease by the comprehensive and forgiving smile the woman gave me, as I yielded her my place, and, with lifted hat, awaited her further kindness. " I came just in time, sir," she said, half laughingly, as with strong, bare arms she reached across the gurgling trough and re- placed the lid that I had partially removed. " I came just in time, I see, to prevent father from having you dip into the ' morning's ' milk, which, of course, has scarcely a veil of cream over the face of it as yet. But men, as you are doubtless willing to admit," she went 132 A NEST-EGG. on, jocularly, " don't know about these things. You must pardon father, as much for his well- meaning ignorance of such matters, as for this cup of cream, which I am sure you will better relish." She arose, still smiling, with her eyes turned frankly on my own. And I must be excused when I confess that as I bowed my thanks, taking the proffered cup and lifting it to my lips, I stared with an uncommon interest and pleasure at the donor's face. She was a woman of certainly not less than forty years of age. But the figure, and the rounded grace and fullness of it, together with the features and the eyes, completed as fine a specimen of physical and mental health as ever it has been my fortune to meet ; there was something so full of purpose and resolve — something so wholesome, too, about the char- acter — something so womanly — I might almost say manly, and would, but for the petty pre- judice, maybe occasioned by the trivial fact of a locket having dropped from her bosom as she knelt ; and that trinket still dangles in my memory even as it then dangled and dropped back to its concealment in her breast as she arose. But her face, by no means handsome in the common meaning, was marked with a breadth and strength of outline and expression A NEST-EGG. I33 that approached the heroic — a face that once seen is forever fixed in memory — a personage once met one must know more of. And so it was, that an hour later, as I strolled with the old man about his farm, looking, to all intents, with the profoundest interest at his Devon- shires, Shorthorns, Jerseys, and the like, I lured from him something of an outline of his daughter's history. " There're no better girl 'n Marthyl" he said, mechanically answering some ingenious allusion to her worth. "And, yit," he went on reflectively, stooping from his seat in the barn-door, and with his open jack-knife pick- ing up a little chip with the point of the blade — " and yit — ^you wouldn't believe it — but Marthy was the oldest of three daughters, and hed — I may say — hed more advantages o' marryin' — and yit, as I was jest goin' to say, she's the very one 'at didn't marry. Hed every advantage — Marthy did. Wy we even hed her educated — her mother was a-livin' then — and we was well enough fixed to afford the educatin' of her, mother alius contended — and we was — besides, it was Marthy's no- tion, too, and you know how women is that- away when they git their head set. So we sent Marthy down to Indianapolus, and got her books and put her in school there, and 134 * NEST-EGG. paid for her keepin' and everything, and she jest — ^well, you may say, lived there stiddy fer better'n four year. O' course, she'd git back ever once-an-a-while, but her visits was alius, some-way-another, onsatisfactory-like, 'cause, you see, Marthy was alius my favor- ite, and I'd alius laughed and told her 'at the other girls could git married ef they wanted, but she was goin' to be the ' nest egg ' of our family, and 'slong as I lived I wanted her at home with me. And she'd laugh and con- tend ut she'd as lif be an ole maid as not, and never expected to marry, ner didn't want to. But she had me sceart onc't, though I Come out from the city one time, durin' the army, with a peart-looking young feller in blue clothes and gilt straps on his shoulders. Young lieu- tenant he was — name o' Morris. Was layin' in camp there in the city somers. I disre- member which camp it was now adzackly — but anyway, it 'peared like he had plenty o' time to go and come, fer from that time on he kep' on a-comin' — ever' time Marthy ud come home, he'd come, too, and I got to noticin' 'at Marthy come home a good 'eal more'n she used to afore Morris first brought her. And blame ef the thing didn't git to worryin' me I And onc't I spoke to mother about it, and told her ef I thought the feller wanted to mar- A NEST-EGG. 135 ry Marthy I'd jest stop his comin' right then and there. But mother she sort o' smiled and said somepin' 'bout men a-never seein' through nothin' ; and when I ast her what she meant, w'y she ups and tells me at Morris didn't keer nothin ler Marthy, ner Marthy fer Morris, and then went on to tell me that Morris was kind o' aidgin' up tords Annie — she was next to Marthy, you know, in pint of years and ex- perience, but ever'body alius said 'at Annie was the purtiest one o' the whole three of 'em. And so when mother told me 'at the signs pinted tords Annie, w'y, of course, I hedn't no particular objections to that, 'cause Morris was of good family enough it turned out, and, in fact, was as stirrin' a young feller as ever I'd want for a son-in-law, and so I hed nothin' more to say — ner they wasn't no occasion to say nothin', 'cause right along about then I begin to notice 'at Marthy quit comin' home so much, and Morris kep' a-comin' more. Till finally, one time he was out here all by his self, long about dusk, come out here where I was feedin', and ast me, all at onc't, and in a straight-forard way, if he couldn't marry Annie ; and, some-way-another, blame ef it didn't make me as happy as him when I told him yes I You see that thing proved, pine- blank, 'a', he wasn't a-fishin' round for Marthy, 136 A NEST-EGG, Well — sir, as luck would hev it, Marthy got home about a half hour later, and I'll give you my word I was never so glad to see the girl in my life ! It was foolish in me, I reckon, but when I see her drivin' up the lane — it was purt' nigh dark then, but I could see her through the open winder from where I was settin" at the supper table, and so I jest qui- etly excused myself, p'lite like, as a feller will, you know, when they's comp'ny 'round, and I slipped off and met her jest as she was about to git out to open the barn gate. " Hold up, Marthy," says I ; " set right where you air ; I'll open the gate fer you, and I'll do anything else fer you in the world 'at you want me to ! " " W'y, what's pleased you so? " she says, laughin', as she druv slowly through, and tick- lin' my nose with the cracker of the buggy- whip. " Guess," says I, jerkin' the gate to, and turnin' to lift her out. " The new peanner's come," says she, eager-like. " Yer new peanner's come," says I, "but that's not it." " Strawberries for supper? " says she. "Strawberries for supper," says I; "but that ain't it." A NEST-EGG. I37 Jest then Morris's hoss whinnied in the barn, and she glanced up quick and smihn' and says, " Somebody come to see some- body? " " You're a-gittin' warm," says I. "Somebody come to see me?" she says, anxious-like. " No," says I, " and I'm glad of it — fer this one 'ats come wants to git married, and o' course I wouldn't harbor in my house no young feller 'at was a-layin' round fer a chance to steal away the ' Nest-egg,' " says I, laughin'. Marthy had riz up in the buggy by this time, but as I helt up my hands to her, she sort o' drawed back a minute, and says, all serious-like and kind o' whisperin' : "Is it Annie?" I nodded. "Yes," says I, and what's more, I've give my consent, and mother's give hern — the thing's all settled. Come, jump out and run in and be happy with the rest of us I " and I helt out my hands agin, but she didn't 'pear to take no heed. She was kind o' pale, too, I thought, and swal- lered a time or two like as ef she couldn't speak plain. " Who is the man? " she ast. " Who — who's the man," I says, a-gittin' 138 A NEST-EGG. kind o' out o' patience with the girl. " Wy, you knew who it is, of course. It's Morris," says I. "Come, jump down I Don't you see I'm waitin' fer you? " "Then take me," she says; and blame- don ! ef the girl didn't keel right over in my arms as limber as a rag ! Clean fainted away I Honest I Jest the excitement, I reckon, o' breakin' it to her so suddent-like — 'cause she liked Annie^I've sometimes thought, better'n even she did her own mother. Didn't go half so hard with her when her other sister mar- ried. Yes — sir?' " said the old man, by way of sweeping conclusion, as he rose to his feet — "Marthy's the on'y one of 'em 'at never married — both the others is gone — Morris went all through the army and got back safe and sound — 's livin' in Idyho, and doin' fust- rate. Sends me a letter ever' now and then. Got three little chunks o' grand-children out there, and never laid eyes on one of 'em. You see, I'm a-gittin' to be quite a middle- aged man — in fact, a very middle-aged man, you might say. Sence mother died, which has ben^-lem-me-see — mother's been dead somers in the neighborhood o' ten year. — Sence mother died I've ben a-gettin' more and more o' Marthy's notion — that is, you couldn't ever hire me to marry nobody I and them has al- A NEST-EGG. 139 ways ben, and still is the ' Nest-egg's' views 1 Listen I That's her a-callin' for us now. You must sort o' overlook the freedom, but I told Marthy you'd promised to take dinner with us to-day, and it 'ud never do to disappint her now. Come on." And ah ! it would have made the soul of you either rapturously glad, or madly envious, to see how meekly I con- sented. I am always thinking that I never tasted coffee till that day ; I am always thinking of the crisp and steaming rolls, ored over with the molten gold that hinted of the clover- fields, and the bees that had not yet permitted the honey of the bloom and the white blood of the stalk to be divorced. I am always think- ing that the young and tender pullet we happy three discussed was a near and dear relative of the gay Patrician rooster that I first caught peering so inquisitively in at the kitchen-door; and I am always — always thinking of " The Nest-egg." Tale of a Spider. THE BEETLE. The shriUing locust slowly sheathes Sis dagger-voice, cmd creeps away Beneath the brooding leaves where breathes Tlie zephyr of the dying day : One naked star has toaded through The purple shallows of the night, And faltering as falls the dew It drips its misty light. O'er garden-blooms, On tides of musk. The beetle booms adoum the glooms And bumps along the drisk. The katydid is rasping at The silence from the tangled broom: On drunken wings the flitting bai Goes staggering athwart the gloom; The toadstool bulges through the weeds. And lavishly to left and right The fire-flies, like golden seeds, Are sown, about the night. O'er slumbrous blooms, On floods of musk, The beetle booms adoum the glooms, And bumps along the dusk. The primrose flares its baby-hands Wide open, as the empty moon, Slow lifted from the underlands. Drifts up the azure-arched lagoon; The shadows on the garden walk Are frayed with rifts of silver light; And, trickling down the poppy-stalk. The dewdrop streaks the night. O'er folded blooms. On surirls of musk, Tlie beetle booms adown the glooms And bumps along the dusk. (142) TALE OF A SPIDER. FIRST — I want it most distinctly under- stood that I am superstitious, notwith- standing the best half of my life, up to the very present, has been spent in the emphatic denial of that fact. And I am painfully aware that this assertion at so late a date can but place my former character in a most unenvia- ble light ; yet for reasons you will never know I have, with all due deliberation, determined to hold the truth up stark and naked to the world, with the just acknowledgment, shorn of all attempt at palliation or excuse, that for the best half of my life I have been simply a coward and a liar. Second — From a careful and impartial study of my fellow-beings, I have arrived at the settled conviction that nine men of every ten are just as superstitious as myself. Yet, with the difference, that, for reasons I know, they refuse to openly acknowledge it, many o{ them dodging the admission even within their own ever curious and questioning minds. (H3) 144 TALE OF A SPIDER. Third — Most firmly fixed in this belief and intuitively certain of at least the inner con- fidence and sympathy of a grand majority of those who read, I throw aside all personal considerations, defy all ridicule — all reason, if you like —for the purpose wholly to devote myself to the narration of an actual experi- ence that for three long weeks has been occur- ring with me nightly in this very room. You should hear me laugh about it in the day- time ! O, I snap my fingers then, and whistle quite as carelessly and scornfully as you doubtless would ; but at night — at night — and it's night now — I grow very, very serious somehow, and put all raillery aside, and all in vain here argue by the hour that it's noth- ing in the world but the baleful imaginings of a feverish mind, and the convulsive writhings of a dyspeptic fancy. But enough! — Even forced to admit that I'm a fool, I will tell my story. Although by no means of a morbid or mis- anthropic disposition, the greater portion of my time I occupy, in strict seclusion, here at my desk — for only when alone can I consci- entiously indulge certain propensities of think- ing aloud, talking to myself, leaping from my chair occasionally to dance a new thought round the room, or take it in my arms, and TALE OF A SPIDER. I45 hug, and hold, and love it as I would a great, fat, laughing baby with a bunch of jingling keys. Then there are times, too, when worn with work, and I find my pen dabbling by the way- side in sluggish blots of ink, that I delight to take up the old guitar which leans here in the corner, and twang among the waltzes that I used to know, or lift a most unlovely voice in half- forgotten songs, whose withered notes of melody fall on me like dead leaves, but whose crisp rustling still has power to waken from "the dusty crypt of darkened forms and faces" the glad convivial spirits that once thronged about me in the wayward past, and made my young life one long peal of empty merriment. Someway, I've lost the knack of wholesome laughter now, and for this reason, maybe, I so often find my fingers tangled in the strings of my guitar, for, after all, there is an in- definable something in the tone of a guitar that is not all of earth. I have often fancied that departed friends come back to hide them- selves away in this old husk of song that we might pluck them forth to live again in quav- ering tones of tenderness and love, and minor voices of remembrance that coax us on to heaven. Pardon my vagaries. I'm practical 10 146 TAI>E OF A SPIDER. enough at times ; at times I fail. But I must be clear to-night ; I must be, and I will. This night three weeks ago I had worked late, though on a task involving nothing that could possibly have warped my mind to an unnatural state other than that of peculiar wakefulness ; for although physically needful of rest, I felt that it was useless to retire ; and so I wheeled my sofa in a cozy position near the stove, lighted a cigar (my chum had left me four houi"s previous), and flinging myself down in languid pose best suiting the require- ments of an aimless reverie, I resigned all se- rious complexities of thought and was wholly comfortable. The silence of the night without was deep. Not a footstep in the street below, and not a sound of any living earthly thing fell on the hearing, though that sense was whetted to such acuteness I could plainly hear the tick- ing of a clock somewhere across the street. All things about the room were in their usual order. My letters on the desk were folded as I answered them, and filed away ; my books were ranged in order, and my manuscripts tucked out of sight and mind, and no scrap of paper to remind me of my never-ended work, save the blank sheet that always lies in readiness for me to pounce up- ■tALE OF A SPIDER. t^'j on with any vagrant thought that comes along, and close beside it the open inkstand and the idle pen. I had reclined thus in utter passiveness of mind for half an hour, perhaps, when sud- denly I heard, or thought I heard, below me in the street, the sound of some stringed in- strument. I rose up on my elbow and listened. Some serenader, I guessed. Yes, I could hear it faintly, but so far away it seemed, and indistinct, I was uncertain. I arose, went to the window, raised it and leaned out ; but as the sound grew fainter and failed entirely, I closed the window and sat down again ; but even as I did so the mysterious tones fell on my hearing plainer than before. I listened closely, and though little more than a ghost of sound, I still could hear, and quite audibly distinguish the faint repeated twanging of the six open strings of a guitar — so plainly, indeed, that I instinctively recognized the irritating fact that both the "E" and "D" strings were slightly out of tune. I turned with some strange impulse to my own instrument, and I must leave the reader to imagine the cold thrill of surprise and fear that crept over me as the startling conviction slowly dawned up- on my mind that the sounds came from that unlocked for quarter. The guitar was lean- 145 TALE of a SPIDfifl. ing in its old position in the corner, the face turned to the wall, and although I confess it with reluctance, full five minutes elapsed be- fore I found sufficient courage to approach and pick it up, then I came near dropping it in abject terror as a great, fat, blowsy spider ran across my hand and went scamper- ing up the wall. What do you think of spiders, anyhow? You say " Wooh 1 " I say you don't know anything about spiders. I examined first the wall to see if there might not be some natural cause for the mys- terious sounds ; some open crevice for the wind ; some loosened and vibrating edge of paper, or perhaps a bristle protruding from the plaster; but I found no evidence that could in any way aflford an answer to the per- plexing query. An old umbrella and a broom stood in the corner, but in neither of these inanimate objects could I find the vaguest explanation of the problem that so wholly and entirely possessed me. I could not have been mistaken. It was no trick of fancy — no hallucination. I had not only listened to the sounds repeated over a dozen times at least, but I had recognized and measured the respective value of the tones, and as I turned, half in awe, took up the in- strument and lightly swept the strings, the TALE OF A SPIDER. 149 positive proof, for the conviction jarred as dis- cordantly upon my fancy as upon my ears. The two strings, " E" and " D," were out of tune. I will no longer attempt the detail of perturbed state of curiosity, and the almost dazed condition of my mind ; such an effort would at best be vain. But I sat down, dog- gedly, at last, and in a spirit of indifference the most defiant I could possibly assume, I ran the guitar up to a keen, exultant key, and dashed off in a quickstep that made the dumb old echoes of the room leap up and laugh with melody. I was determined in my own mind to stave off the most unwholesome influ- ence that seemed settling fog-like over me ; and as the sharp twang of the strings rang out upon the night, and the rich vibrating chords welled up and overflowed the silence like a flood, the embers of old-time enthusi- asm kindled in my heart and flamed up in a warmth of real delight. Suddenly, in the midst of this rapturous outburst, as with lifted face I stared ceilingward, my eyes again fell on that horrid spider, madly capering about the wall in a little circumference of a dozen inches, perhaps, wheeling and whirling up and down, and round and round again, as though laboring under some wild, jubilant excitement. 150 TALE OF A SPIDER. I played on mechanically for a moment, my eyes riveted upon the grotesque antics of the insect, feeling instinctively that the music was producing this singular effect upon it. I was right; for, as I gradually paused, the gyra- tions of the insect assumed a milder phase, and as I ceased entirely the great, bloated thing ran far out overhead and dropped sud- denly a yard below the ceiling, and, pendant by its unseen thread, hung sprawled in the empty air above my face, so near I could have touched it with the lifted instrument. And then, even as I shrank back fearfully, a new line of speculation was suggested to my mind ; I arose abruptly, leant the guitar back in the corner, took up a book and sat down at the desk, leaving the silence of the room in- tensified till in my nervous state of mind I almost fancied I could hear that spider whis- pering to itself, as above the open pages of the book I watched the space between it and the ceiling slowly widening, till at last the ugly insect dropped and disappeared behind the sofa. I had not long to wait ; nor was my curious mind placed any more at ease, when, at last, faint and far-off sounding as at first, I heard the eerie twanging of the guitar — though this time I could with some triumphant pleasure TALE OF A SPIDER. I5I note the fact that the instrument was in per- fect tune. But to thoroughly assure myself that I could in no way be mistaken as to the mysterious cause, I arose and crept cautiously across the carpet until within easy reach of the guitar. I paused again to listen and con- vince myself beyond all doubt that the sounds were there produced. There could possibly be no mistake about it. Then suddenly I caught and whirled the instrument around, and as I did so the spider darted from the key-board near the top, leaped to the broom- handle and fled up the wall. I tried no more experiments that night, or rather morning — for it must have been three o'clock as I turned wearily away from the exasperating contem- plation of the strange subject, turned down the lamp, then turned it up again, huddled myself into a shivering heap upon the sofa, and fell into an uneasy sleep, in which I dreamed that I was a spider of Brobdingna- gian prcportions, and lived on men and women instead of flies, and had a web like a monster hammock, in which I swung myself out over the streets at night and fished up my prey with a hook and line ; thought I caught more poets than anything else, and was just nib- bling warily at my own bait, when the line was suddenly withdrawn, the hook catching 152 TALE OF A SPIDER. me in the cheek, tearing out and letting me drop back with a sullen plunge into the great gulf of the night. And as I found myself, with wildly-staring eyes, sitting bolt upright on the sqfa, I saw the spider, just above my desk, lifted and flung upward by his magic line and thrown among the dusky shadows of the ceiling. " Hays," said I to my chum, in the early morning, as he came in upon me, sitting at my desk, and gazing abstractedly at an inco- herent scrawl of ink upon the scrap of paper lying before me; "Hays," said I, "what's your opinion of spiders?" "What's my opinion of spiders?" he reit- erated, staring at me curiously. "What's your opinion of spiders?" I re- peated with my first inflection — for Hays is a young man in the medical profession, and likes point, fact, and brevity. " What I mean is this," I continued ; "isn't it generally con- ceded that the spider is endowed with a higher order of intelligence than insects commonly ? " " I believe so," he replied, with the same curious air, watching me narrowly; " I have a vague recollection of some incident illustra- tive of that theory in Goldsmith's Animated Nature, or some equally veracious chronicle," with suggestive emphasis on the word " vera- TALE OF A SPIDER. 153 cious." " Why do you ask ? " And, although half assured I would be sneered at for my pains, I went into a minute recountal of my strange experience of the night, winding up in a high state of excitement, doubtless inten- sified by the blandly-smiling features of my auditor, who made no interruption whatever, and only looked at me at the conclusion of the dream with gratuitous compassion and con- cern. "Well !" said I, uneasily, taking an im- patient turn or two across the room. "Well I" I repeated, pausing abruptly and glaring at the shrugged shoulders of my stoical com- panion, " why don't you say something? " " Nothing to say, I suppose," he answered, turning on me with absolute severity. " You never listen to advice. Two months ago I told you to quit this night business — it would wreck you physically, mentally, every way. Why, look at you ! " he continued in pitiless reproof, as I flew off on another nervous trip around the room. "Look at you I a perfect crate of bones — no ' get-up ' in your walk — no color in your face— no appetite — no anything but a wisp of shattered nerves, and a pair of howling-hungry eyes that do nothing else but stare." " It wouldn't seem that you did have much to say, upon the point, at least," I interrupted. 154 TALE OF A SPIDER. •' Never mind my physical condition ; what do you think of my spider?" " What do I think of your spider ! " he re- peated contemptuously, " why I think it's a little the thinnest piece of twaddle I ever listened to — and I think, further " "Hold on, now!" I exclaimed, a trifle warmed, but smiling, "I knew you'd have to sweat awhile over that, but hold on — hold on ! I have only told you the minor facts of the strange occurrence, the most startling and ir- refutable portion yet remains. Now, listen ! What I have already told you I pledge you on my honor is pure truth. I can offer noth- ing but my word for that. But I will close now — don't interrupt me if you please : As I awakened from that dream, I saw that spider jerked from above the desk here — ^just as a small boy might whip up a fish line — jerked by his own thread, of course. Well, and I got up at once — came to the desk like this, feeling instinctively that that infernal spider had some object in lowering itself among my letters ; and I found this scrap of paper, which I'll swear I left last night without one blot or line of ink or pencil on it. I found this scrap of paper with this zigzag line — which you can see was never made with human hand — scrawled across it, and the ink TALE OF A SPIDER. 1 55 was yet wet when I picked it up. Now, what do you say?" He took the scrap of paper in his hand half curiously, and then, as though ashamed of having betrayed so great a weakness, threw it back upon the desk with scarce a look. " What do you say?" I repeated in a tone of triumph. "Well," he replied, "it is barely possible you did see a spider in this last instance, and I must confess that it is a much easier matter for me to imagine a spider dropping by acci- dent into your inkstand and leaving the trail of his salvation across your writing paper, than it is for me to fancy the fantastic insect pluck- ing the strings of your guitar. In fact, the first part of your story won't do at all. I don't mean to intimate that your veracity is defec- tive — not at all. But I do mean that you have overworked yourself of late, and that your brain needs rest." " But," said I, pushing the scrap of paper toward him again, " you don't seem to recog- nize the fact that that ugly scrawl of ink means something. Look at it carefully ; it's writing." He again took the paper in his hand, but this time without a glance, and ere I could prevent him he had torn it in a half dozen pieces and flung it on the floor. 156 TALE OF A SPIDER. " What do you mean? " I cried, resentfully, springing forward. "Why, I mean that you're a babbling idi- ot," he answered, in a tone half anger, half alarm ; " and if you won't look after your own condition I'll do it for you, and in spite of you I You must quit this work — quit this room — quit everything, and come with me out in the fresh air for awhile, or you'll die ; that's what I mean ! " Although he spoke with almost savage ve- hemence, I recognized, of course, the real promptings of his action, and smiled softly to myself as I gathered up the scattered scraps of paper from the carpet. " Oh, we'll not quarrel," said I, seating myself patiently at the desk, and dipping my finger in the paste-cup, "we'll not quarrel about a little thing like this ; only if you'll just wait a minute I'll show you that it does mean something." " There 1" said I, good-naturedly, when I had deftly joined the fragments in their proper places on a base of legal cap ; " now you can read it ; but don't tear it again, please." I think I was very white when I said that, for my companion took the paper in his hand with at least a show of interest, and looked at it long and curiously. TALE OF A SPIDER. 1 57 " Well, what is it? " he asked, laying it back upon the desk before me ; " I am really very sorry, but I am forced to acknowledge that I fail to find anything exactly tangible in it." " Look," said I ; " you see this capital that begins the line; the first letter? It's a 'Y,' isn't it? " " Yes ; it looks a httle like a ' Y ' or a 'G.' " "No; it's a 'Y,'" said I, "and there's no more doubt about it than that this next one is an 'e.'" " Well—" "Well, this next letter is an 's' — an old- fashioned ' s,' but it's an ' s ' all the same, and you can't make anything else out of it ; I've tried it, and it can't be done." "Well, go on." " This is a ' c,' " I continued. " Go on ; call it anything you like." " No ; but I wart you to be thoroughly sat- isfied." "Oh, do you? Well, it's a *c,' then; go on." "And this is an 'h,'" "Go on." "And this is an ' o' ; you know that I " " Yes ; know it by the hole in it." " Don't get funny. And this is an ' 1.' " " That's an « 1.' " 158 TALE OF A SPIDER. " This is an ' a.' " " Close observer ! " ♦'And that's an 'r'— and that's all." "Well, you've got it all down to suit you ; now, what does it spell?" "What does it spell? Why, can't you read?" I exclaimed, flourishing the scrap tri- umphantly before his eyes. "It spells 'Ye scholar 1 ' — why, I could read it across the room 1 " "Yes, or across the street," he answered caustically. " But come now ! " he continued seriously, " throw it aside for the present at least, and let's go out in the sunshine for a while. Here, light a cigar, and come along ;" and he moved toward the door. "No," said I, turning to the mysterious scrawl, " I shall hound this thing down while the inspiration's on me." "Inspiration? — Bah!" The door slammed but I never turned my head. I had sat thus in dead silence for ten min- utes, when suddenly I heard a quick, impa- tient movement at my back, and then the sharp, impetuous words — " In God's name I quit biting your nails like that I Don't you know it's an indication of madness 1 " I think I need not enter into any explana- tion as to the reason which, from that moment, TALE OF A SPIDER. 159 determined me upon a course that could afford no further conflict of opinion other than that already going on within my own mind. That of itself furnished all exasperating controversy that I felt was well for my indulgence . Though in one sense I was grateful for the pointed sug- gestion of my friend regarding the question- able status of my mental faculties, and by it was made most keenly alive to that peculiar sense of duty that made me look upon myself, and question every individual act, entirely separated from my own personality ; in fact, to look upon myself, as I did, clearly and dis- tinctly defined in the light of a very suspicious and a very dangerous character, whose sole intent and purpose was to play and practice upon me all unlooked-for and undreamed-of deceptions, and which, to successfully combat, must needs require the most rigid and unwav- ering strength of reason. In further justice to my honesty in this re- solve, I will say that I at once began the ex- ercise of systematic habits. Although by no means pleasant, I took long rambles in the country ; ate regularly of wholesome food, re- gained my appetite, and retired at night at seasonable hours. I will not say that sleep came sooner to my eyes by reason of the change, but I wooed sleep, anyway — let this l6o TALE OF A SPIDER. suffice. I threw smoking entirely aside — not a hard trial for me by any means, although an occasional cigar is a great pleasure ; but I threw it aside. Did not study so intensely as had been my wont ; read but little, and wrote less — even neglecting my letters ; yet, with all this revolution of reform, I am left to confess that I never for one waking moment forgot the mystic legend, "Ye Scholar," or its equally incomprehensible author ; and how could I? Since the first discovery of the strange in- sect and its musical proclivities, but three evenings alone have passed that I have not been favored with its most extraordinary per- formances on the guitar. In this way has its presence been usually made known. And noting carefully, as I have done, the peculiar times and conditions of its coming, together with such other suggestions as the surround- ings have afforded me, I am led to believe that the spider reasoned as a man would rea- son. In no instance yet has it ever touched the instrument when I sat busy at my desk, and only when my pen was idle in my hand, or I had turned wearily away to pace about the room, has it ever exhibited any inclination whatever to occupy my attention. This curi- ous fact interpreted itself at last in the rather TALK OF A SPIDER. l6l startling proposition that it was simply an in- dication on the part of the insect that it de- sired me to favor it with music, since my time was not better occupied. Virtually this is what it did mean ; I know it ; I would know and appreciate now any want the insect might choose to express ; only at first I was very dull, as one would be naturally. And I no- ticed, too, that when I first responded to this summons, the spider would leap from the guitar to the wall with every evidence of pleasure, and glide back to its old position near the ceiling, indulging the wildest tokens of glee and approval throughout my perform- ances. And many times I have marched off round and round the room simply thrumming the time, the spider following along the upper margin of the wall with the most fantastic caperings of joy. Other experiments followed, too numerous and too foolish for recountal here, but each, in its way, sufficient to more conclusively es- tablish in my mind the belief that the hideous little monster was endowed with an intelli- gence as wise and subtle in its workings as was within the power of my own to recognize — even greater — for gradually, as we became more accustomed to each other, the ugly in- II l62 TALE OF A SPIDER. sect grew so tame it would come down the wall and dance for me on a level with my face as I sat playing, and even spring off upon the instrument if I held it out. I found my mind so baffled and bewildered at last that more than once the conviction has been forced upon me that the spider was not a spider, but a ; no, I'll not say that, not yet, not yet ! These experiments had progressed for per- haps half a dozen nights, when, one evening as I sat, pen in hand, at the desk here, mechan- ically poring over the still incomprehensible meaning of the scrawl, and writing and re- writing the two words over and over again upon an empty page before me, I became suddenly aware of a strange sensation of re- pose. A great, cool quiet fell upon my brain, as when suddenly within some noisy foundry the clanging hammers cease to beat, and all the brazen tumult drops like a plummet into silence fathomless. I felt a soothing languor flowing down and over me, and ebbing through and through my very being. It was not drowsiness ; my eyelids were not heavy, nor did they droop the shadow of a shade. I saw everything about me as clearly as I do this very moment — only, I did not seem a part of my surroundings. My eyes, although conscious of all objects within range, were TALE OF A SPIDER. 163 fixed upon the scrap of paper headed by the zigzag scrawl, and with an intensity of gaze that seemed to pierce the paper and to see through it and beyond it ; and I did not think it strange. I was dimly conscious, too, of being under the control of some hitherto un- dreamed of influence, but I felt no thought of resistance — rather courted the sensation. All was utter calm with me ; and I did not think it strange. I saw my hand held out before me in this same position — the forearm resting on the desk — the same pen grasped lightly in my fingers. Slowly — slowly — slowly — I saw the spider lowering itself above it, wavering and swaying in the air, until, at last, I saw it reach its dangling legs and clutch and cling to the penholder at the tip, and rest there ; and I did not think it strange. But I grew duller then, and very chilly, though I vividly recall seeing the hand moved — not of my own volition — the pen dipped in the ink, and brought directly over the old scrap whereon the scrawl was traced, and I remember, too, that as I watched the motion of my hand, I still saw beyond the surface of the paper, and read the very words my pen traced after- ward. I say the words my pen traced — or my hand — either — both — for the act was not my own, I swear I And the spider still sat 164 tALE OF A SPlDEtt. perched there at his post, rocked lightly with the motion of the pen, with all his arms hugged round him as though chuckling to himself, and I say to you again, and yet again, I did not think it strange. Not until the page before me had been filled did I regain my natural state of being, nor did it seem that I then would, had not the spi- der quitted his position and run down the pen- holder, leaning from it for an instant, touch- ing and pressing my naked hand ; then I was conscious of a keen, exquisite sting, and with a quick, spasmodic motion, I flung the hid- eous insect from it. As I lifted my white face and starting eyes, I sawthe spider wildly clam- bering toward the ceiling on its invisible thread, and then, with a mingled sense of fear, bewilderment and admiration, as oppressive and as strange as indescribable, I turned to the mysterious scrap and read, traced trem- blingly, but plainly, in a dainty, flowing hand, unlike any I had ever seen before, the lines I now copy from the original script before me, bearing the pedantic title of "Ye Scholar:" " Ho I ho I Ye scholar recketh not how lean His lank frame waxeth in ye hectic gloom That smeareth o'er ye dim walls of his room His wavering shadow! Shut is he, I ween, Like as a withered nosegay, in between •TALE OP A SPIDER. 1 65 Ye musty, mildewed leaves of some volume Of ancient lore ye moths and he consume In jointure. Yet a something in his mien Forbids all mockery, though quaint is he, And eke fantastical in form and face As that Old Knight ye tale of chivalry Made mad immortally, yet spared ye grace Of some rare virtue which we sigh to see. And pour our laughter out most tenderly." Over and over I read the strange production to myself; and, as at last I started to my feet repeating it aloud, all suddenly the spider swooped on its flying thread before my up- turned face, swung back upon the margin of the wall, and went scampering round and round above me as I read. I did not sleep two hours of the night, but mouthed and mouthed that sonnet — even in my scrappy dreams — until when morning strained the sunlight through the slatted win- dow-blinds, I turned and dragged myself from the room, like an old, old man, with childish summer fancies in his head and bleak and barren winter in his bones. The night following, and the next night, and the next, I did not permit myself to enter my room after dark — not from a sense of fear, but simply because I felt my mind was becom- ing too entirely engrossed with the contem- 1 66 TALE OF A SPIDER. plation of a theme that, even yet at times, 1 feared was more chimera than reality. Throughout the day I worked, as usual with me, perhaps three hours, at such trivial tasks as required only the lightest mental ef- fort ; nor did I allow my mind to wander from the matter-of-fact duties before me to the con- templation of the ever-present topic that so confounded it when studiously dwelt upon. Only once in this long abstinence from the fascinating problem did I catch sight of the spider, peering down upon me from behind the shoulder of the little terra cotta bust of Dickens that sits on a dusty bracket just above my desk. I looked up at the little fel- low with a smile, rose to my feet, and held out my hand, when, at the motion, the insect cowered trembling for an instant, then sprang up the wall beyond my reach. But from that time on I always felt its presence though un- seen, intuitively conscious that at all hours my every act was vigilantly overlooked and guarded by the all-seeing eye of that spider, and that every motion of my pen was duly no- ted by it, and accepted as token of the fact that I was busy and must not be disturbed. In fact I even allowed my vanity such license that I came to believe that the spider was not only interested in everything I did, but was TALE OF A SPIDER, iSf actually proud of my accomplishments beside. Certain it is, I argued, that he likes my silence, my music, and my voice, and equally apparent from his actions that he likes my so- ciety under any and all circumstances, and it shall not be the promptings of mere curiosity on my part in the endeavor to strengthen and develop this curious bond of fellowship, but my serious and most courteous duty as well. So I went back to my night labors, even greeted the first evening, as I lit my lamp and sat down at the desk, with another mysterious scrawl, which I readily interpreted in the one word "Love." I dashed the scrap down in a very spasm of revulsion and loathing. I can not describe, nor will I weaken, the sense of utter abhorrence that fell upon me, by an attempt to set it forth in words ; why, I could taste it, and it sick- ened me soul-deep ! I remember catching quick breaths through my clenched and naked teeth ; I remember snatching up the pen as a despairing man might grasp a dagger ; I re- member stabbing it in the ink, and drawing it back in defiance, but as my hand once more rested on the desk it was my hand no longer. It was like another man's, and that man my deadly foe. I looked upon it vengefully, wish- ing that in my other I but held an ax — an old 1 68 TALE OF A SPIDER. ax, with a nicked and rusty edge, that I might hack and haggle the traitor-member sheer off at the numb and pulseless wrist. And then the spider I I tried to shrink back as the hid- eous insect again dangled before my eyes, but could not move. Once more it clutched the holder of the pen, huddled its quivering limbs together, and sqatted in its old position on the tip. And then began the movement of the hand. This time my eyes were fixed upon the in- sect. I could not move them from it. I could see nothing else ; and but for the undulating motions of the pen I felt that I might note its very breathings — and I did see it smile. Oh, horrible* ! Why, I set my teeth together till my inner sense of hearing pinged like a bell, and I said, away down among the twanging fibers of my heart, " I will kill you for that smile ! I will kill you — kill you !" and when at last the motion of the hand had ceased, and the hideous insect again ran down the pen- holder, leaning and pressing in my naked flesh that keen, exquisite sting, I snapped the thrall that bound me, flung the spider violently against the desk, stabbed the pen wildly at i( with a dozen swift, vindictive motions as the abhorrent thing lay for the moment writhmg pn its back. And I struck it, too, and pinioj '^.i TALE OF A SPIDER. 169 it ; but as for an instant I turned away from the revolting sight, my pen still quivering above it, sunken eye-deep in the desk, my victim yet escaped me, for, as I turned again, no sign remained to designate my murderous deed but one poor severed limb, twitching and trembling in ever lessening throes and convulsions. I turned my eyes upon the mysterious scrap once more, with the same unaccountable feel- ing of dread and revulsion that had possessed me as I read the scrawl. Written in the same minute, tremulous but legible hand in which the first was traced, I read: " O, what strange tragedy is this of mine That wars within, and ■will not let me cry 7 My soul seems leaking from me sigh by sigh ; And yet I dare not say — nor he divine — That I, so vile and loathesome in design, Am brimmed with boiling love ; but I must He Forever steeped in seething agony I If all these quivering arms might wreathe and twine, And soak him up in one warm clasp of bliss — One long caress, when babbling wild with words My voice was crushed and mangled with his kiss. My soul would whistle sweeter than the birds — But now, my dry and husky heart in this Pent heat of gasping passion can but hiss!" Be patient, I am hurrying toward the end, I am very lonesome here alone. For three lyo TALE OF A SPIDER. long, empty nights have I sat thus, with noth- ing but the raspings of my pen for company. I can not sleep now ; and I wouldn't if I could. My head feels as if I had a verj' heavy hat on, and I put up my hand sometimes to see. My hea