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 Book 
 
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 PRESENTED BY 
 
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WOLFERT'S ROOST. 
 
 MmthttbtMktt aEbition. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 

 
OLFERTS ROOST 
 
 BY WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 Putuam Ec Sou, 661 Eroadjjvaj. 
 
iidSH 
 
 WOLFERT'S ROOST 
 iNDTTTHER PAPERS, 
 
 Nob) first €ollecteti 
 
 BY 
 
 WASHINGTON JRVING. 
 
 AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION. 
 
 ) > e i,j 
 
 J > J ^^ ^ ^ 3 5 3 3 3 ,T 
 
 PHILADKLPITIA : 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT i CO. 
 
 1870. 
 
^^' 
 
 
 \ 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 
 
 George P. Putnam^ 
 
 lu fche Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District 
 
 of New York 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Wolfeht's Roost . ... 5 
 
 The Birds 07 Spring 30 
 
 The Creoi.e Village 38 
 
 ]Mou>Tjt)V 50 
 
 The Bermudas .109 
 
 The Three Kings of Bermuda .... 119 
 
 TjiE Widow's Ordeal 126 
 
 The Knight of Malta 144 
 
 The Grand Prior of Minorca .... 147 
 
 "A Ti^iE of Unexampled Peosperity" . 108 
 
 The Great Mississippi Bubble 172 
 
 Sketches in Paris in 1825. — The Parisian Hote'. 215 
 
 ]My French Neighbor 219 
 
 vy The Englishman at Paris ..... 222 
 
 English and French Character 226 
 
 The Tuilerios and Windsor Castle . . . 2;i0 
 
 The Field of Waterloo 235 
 
 Paris at the Restoration 238 
 
 A Contented Man . . . . . . .245 
 
 Broek : THE Dutch Paradise .... 253 
 
 Guests from Gibbet Island 262 
 
 The Early Exreriknces of Ralph Ringwood 279 
 
^ 
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 FAQB 
 
 The Skminolks 325 
 
 Origin of the White, the Red, and the Black Men 330 
 
 The Conspiracy of Neamathla .... 333 
 
 The Count Van Horn 343- 
 
 Don Juan: a Si'ectral Research . . . 582 
 
 Legeno of the Engulphed Convent . . 376 
 
 The Phantom Island . . ... 384 
 
 The Adalantado of the Seven Cities . . . 387 - 
 
 Recollections of the Alhambra . . . 412 
 
 The Abencerrage 416 
 
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WOLFERT'S ROOST. 
 
 CHRONICLE I. 
 
 I BOUT five-and-twenty miles from the 
 ancient and renowned city of Manliat- 
 tan, formerly called New Amsterdam, 
 and vulgarly called New York, on the eastern 
 bank of that expansion of the Hudson known 
 among Dutch mariners of yore as the Tappan 
 Zee, being in fact the great Mediterranean Sea of 
 the New Netherlands, stands a little, old-fashioned 
 stone mansion, all made up of gable ends, and as 
 full of angles and corners as an old cocked hat. 
 It is said, in fact, to have been modelled after 
 the cocked hat of Peter the Headstrong, as the 
 Escurial was modelled after the gi-idiron of the 
 blessed St. Lawrence. Though but of small di- 
 mensions, yet, like many small people, it is of 
 mighty spirit, and values itself greatly on its an- 
 tiquity, being one of the oldest edifices, for its size, 
 in the whole country. It claims to be an ancient 
 seat of empire, — I may rather say an empire in 
 itself, — and like all empires, great and small, has 
 had its gj-and historical epochs. In speaking of 
 this doughty and valorous little pile, I shall call 
 it by its usual appellation of '" The Roost " ; 
 
6 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 though that is a name given to it in modern days, 
 since it became the abode of the white man. 
 
 Its origin, in truth, dates far back in that re- 
 mote region commonly called the fabulous age, in 
 which vulgar fact becomes mystified and tinted 
 up with delectable fiction. Tlie eastern shore of 
 the Tappan Sea was inliabited in those days by 
 an unsophisticated race, existing in all the sim- 
 plicity of nature ; that is to say, they lived by 
 huntinof and fishiu";, and recreated themselves 
 occasionally with a little tomahawking and scalp- 
 ins;. Each stream that flows down from the hills 
 into the Hudson had its petty sachem, who ruled 
 over a hand's-breadth of forest on either side, and- 
 had his seat of ijovernment at its mouth. The 
 chieftain who ruled at the Roost was not merely 
 a great warrior, but a medicine-man, or propliet, 
 or conjurer, for they all mean the same thing in 
 Indian parlance. Of his figiiting propensities evi- 
 dences still remain, in various arrow-heads of 
 flint, and stone battle-axes, occasionally digged up 
 about the Roost ; of his wizard powers we have 
 a token in a spring which wells up at the foot of 
 the bank, on the very margin of the river, which, 
 it is said, was gifted by him with rejuvenating 
 powers, something like the renowned Fountain 
 of Youth in the Floridas, so anxiously but vainly 
 sought after by the veteran Ponce de Leon. This 
 story, however, is stoutly contradicted by an old 
 Dutch matter-of fact tradition, which declares that 
 the spring in question Avas smuggled over from 
 Holland in a churn, by Fenmietie Van Blarcom, 
 wife of Goosen Garret Van Blarcom, one of the 
 
WOLFERVS ROOST 7 
 
 lii'st settlers, and that she took it up by night, 
 unknown to her husband, from beside their farm- 
 house near Rotterdam ; being sure she should 
 find no water equal to it in the new country ; — 
 and she was right. 
 
 The wizard sachem had a great passion for dis- 
 cussing territorial questions, and settling boun 
 dary lines ; in other words, he had the spirit of 
 annexation. This kept him in continual feud 
 with the neighboring sachems, each of whom stood 
 up stoutly for his hand-breadth of territory ; so 
 that there is not a petty stream nor rugged hill • 
 in the neighborhood that has not been the subject 
 of long talks and hard battles. The sachem, 
 however, as has been observed, was a medicine- 
 man as well as warrior, and vindicated his claims 
 by arts as well as arms ; so that, by dint of a 
 little hard fighting here, and hocus-pocus (or di- 
 plomacy) there, he managed to extend his boun- 
 dary line from field to field and stream to stream, 
 until it brought him into collision with the power- 
 ful sachem of Sing-Sing."^ Many were the sharp 
 conflicts between these rival chieftains for the 
 sovereignty of a winding valley, a favorite hunt- 
 ing-ground watered by a beautiful stream called 
 the Pocantico. Many were the ambuscades, sur- 
 prisals, and deadly onslaughts that took place 
 
 * A corruption of the old Indian name, 0-sin-sing. Some 
 have rendered it, 0-sin-son^, or 0-sing-song, in token of its )^ 
 being a great market-town, where anything may be had for 
 a mere song. Its present melodious alteration to Sing-Sing ie 
 said to haA'e been made in compliment to a Yankee singing- 
 waster, who taught the inhabitants the art of singing through 
 the nose. 
 
8 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 among its fastnesses, of which it grieves me much 
 that I cannot pursue the details, for the gratifica- 
 tion of those gentle but bloody-minded readers, 
 of both sexes, who delight in the romance of the 
 tomahawk and scalping-knife. Suffice it to say, 
 that the wizard chieftain was at length victorious, 
 though his victory is attributed, in Indian tra- 
 dition, to a great medicine, or charm, by which 
 he laid the sachem of Sing-Sing and his warriors 
 asleep among the rocks and recesses of the valley, 
 >J where they remain asleep to the present day, with 
 their bows and war-clubs beside them. This was 
 the origin of that potent and drowsy spell, which 
 still prevails over the valley of the Pocantico, 
 and which has gained it the well-merited appella- 
 tion of Sleepy Hollow. Often, in secluded and 
 quiet parts of that valley, where the stream is 
 overhung by dark woods and rocks, the plough- 
 man, on some calm and sunny day, as he shouts 
 to his oxen, is surprised at hearing faint shouts 
 from the hill-sides in reply ; being, it is said, the 
 spell-bound warriors, who half start from their 
 rocky couches and grasp their weapons, but sink 
 to sleep again. 
 
 The conquest of the Pocantico was the last tri- 
 umph of the wizard sachem. Notwithstanding 
 all his medicines and charms, he fell in battle, in 
 attempting to extend his boundary line to the 
 east, so as to take in the little wild valley of the 
 Sprain ; and his grave is still shown, near the 
 banks of that pastoral stream. He left, however, 
 a, great empire to his successors, extending along 
 the Tappan Sea, from Yonkers quite to Sleepy 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 9 
 
 Hollow, and known in old records and maps by 
 the Indian name of Wicquaes-Keck. 
 
 The wizard sachem was succeeded by a line 
 of chiefs of whom nothing remarkable remains 
 on record. One of them was the very individual 
 on whom master Hendrick Hudson and his mate 
 Robert Juet made that sage experiment gravely 
 recorded by the latter, in the narrative of the dis- 
 covery. 
 
 " Our master and his mate determined to try 
 some of the cheefe men of the country, whether 
 they had any treacherie in them. So they took 
 them down into the cabin, and gave them so much 
 wine and aqua vit^e, that they were all very mer- 
 rie ; one of them had his wife with him, which 
 sate so modestly as any of our countrywomen 
 would do in a strange place. In the end, one of 
 them was drunke ; and that was strange to them, 
 for they could not tell how to take it." * 
 
 How far master Hendrick Hudson and his 
 worthy mate carried their experiment with the 
 sachem's wife, is not recorded ; neither does the 
 curious Robert Juet make any mention of the 
 after consequences of this grand moral test ; tra- 
 dition, however, affirms that the sachem, on land- 
 ing, gave his modest spouse a hearty rib-roasting, 
 according to the connubial discipline of the abo- 
 riginals ; it farther affirms that he remained a 
 hard drinker to the day of his death, trading away 
 all his lands, acre by acre, for aqua vitae ; by 
 which means the Roost and all its domains, from 
 Yonkers to Sleepy Hollow, came, in the regulai 
 
 * See Juet's Journal, Purchas' Pilgrams. 
 
10 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 course of trade, and by right of purchase, intc 
 the possession of the Dutchmen. 
 
 The worthy government of the New Nether- 
 lands was not suffered to enjoy this grand acqui- 
 sition unmolested. In the year 1654, the losel 
 Yankees of Connecticut, those swapping, bar- 
 gaining, squatting enemies of the Manhattoes, 
 made a daring inroad into this neighborhood, 
 and founded a colony called Westchester, or, as 
 the ancient Dutch records term it, Vest Dorp, in 
 the right of one Thomas Pell, who pretended to 
 have purchased the whole surrounding country 
 of the Indians, and stood ready to argue their 
 claims before any tribunal of Christendom. 
 
 This happened during the chivalrous reign of 
 Peter Stuyvesant, and roused the ire of that 
 gunpowder old hero. Without waiting to discuss 
 claims and titles, he pounced at once upon the 
 nest of nefarious squatters, carried off twenty-five 
 of them in chains to the Manhattoes ; nor did he 
 stay his hand, nor give rest to his wooden leg, 
 until he had driven the rest of the Yankees back 
 into Connecticut, or obliged them to acknowledge 
 allegiance to their High Mightinesses. In re- 
 venge, however, they introduced the plague of 
 witchcraft into the province. This doleful mal- 
 ady broke out at Vest Dorp, and would have 
 spread throughout the country had not the Dutch 
 farmers nailed horse-shoes to the doors ot their 
 houses and barns, sure protections against witch- 
 craft, many of which remain to the present day. 
 
 The seat of empire of the Avizard sachem now 
 pame into the possession of Wolfert Acker, one 
 
WOLFERTS BOOST. U 
 
 of the privy councillors of Peter Stujvesant. He 
 was a worthy, but ill-starred man, whose aim 
 through life had been to live in peace and quiet. 
 For this he had emigrated from Holland, driven 
 abroad by family feuds and wrangling neighbors. 
 He had warred for quiet through the fidgety 
 reign of William the Testy, and the fighting reign 
 of Peter the Headstrong, sharing in every brawl 
 and rib-roasting, in his eagerness to keep the 
 peace and promote public tranquillity. It was 
 his doom, in fact, to meet a head-wind at every 
 turn, and be kept in a constant fume and fret by 
 the perverseness of mankind. Had he served on 
 a modern jury, he would have been sure to have 
 eleven unreasonable men opposed to him. 
 
 At the time when the province of the New 
 Netherlands was wrested from the domination of 
 their High Mightinesses by the combined forces 
 of Old and New England, \Yolfert retii-ed in high 
 dudgeon to this fastness in the wilderness, with 
 the bitter determination to bury himself from the 
 world, and live here for the rest of his days in 
 peace and quiet. In token of that fixed purpose, 
 he inscribed over his door (his teeth clinched at 
 the time) his favorite Dutch motto, " Lust in 
 Rust" (pleasure in quiet). The mansion was 
 thence called Wolfert's Rust (Wolfert's Rest), 
 but by the uneducated, who did not understand 
 Dutch, Wolfert's Roost ; probably from its quaint 
 cockloft look, and from its having a weathercock 
 perched on every gable. 
 
 Wolfert's luck fi llowed him into retirement. 
 tie had shut himself up from the world, but he 
 
12 WOLFERTb ROOST. 
 
 had brought with him a wife, and it soon passes 
 into a proverb throughout the neigliborhood thai 
 the cock of the Roost was the most henpecked 
 bird in the country. His house too was reputed 
 to be harassed by Yankee witchcraft. When the 
 weather was quiet everywhere else, the wind, it 
 was said, would howl and whistle about the 
 gables ; witches and warlocks would whirl about 
 upon the weathercocks, and scream down the 
 chimneys ; nay, it was even hinted that Wolfert's 
 wife was in league with the enemy, and used to 
 ride on a broomstick to a witches' sabbath in 
 Sleepy Hollow. This, however, was all mere 
 scandal, founded perhaps on her occasionally flour- 
 ishing a broomstick in the course of a curtain 
 lecture, or raising a storm within doors, as terma- 
 gant wives are apt to do, and against which 
 sorcery horse-shoes are of no avail. 
 
 Wolfert Acker died and was buried, but found 
 no quiet even in the grave ; for if popular gossip 
 be true, his ghost has occasionally been seen walk- 
 ing by moonlight among the old gray moss-growi; 
 trees of his apple orchard. 
 
 CHRONICLE II. 
 
 The next period at which we find this venera- 
 ble and eventful pile rising into importance, waa 
 during the dark and troublous time of the revo- 
 lutionary war. It was the keep or stronghold of 
 Jacob Van Tassel, a valiant Dutchman of the old 
 
Wolfert's Eoost, p. 12. 
 Sleepy Hollow. 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. lo 
 
 Stock of Van Tassels, who abound in Westcliesier 
 County. The name, as originally written, was 
 Van Texel, being derived from the Texel in Hol- 
 land, which gave birth to that heioic line. 
 
 The Roost stood in the very heart of what at 
 that time was called the debatable ground, lying 
 between the British and American lines. Tlie 
 Bi'itish lield possession of the city and island of 
 New York ; while the Americans drew up to- 
 wards the Highlands, holding their head-quai'ters 
 at Peekskill. The intervening country from Cro- 
 ton River to Spiting Devil Creek was the debat- 
 able ground in question, liable to be harried by 
 friend and foe, like the Scottish boixlers of yore. 
 
 It is a rugged region, full of fastnesses. A 
 line of rocky hills extends through it like a back- 
 bone sending out ribs on either side ; but these 
 rude hills are for the most part richly wooded, 
 and enclose little frej^h pastoral valleys watered 
 by the Neperan, the Pocantico,"* and other beau- 
 tiful streams, along wliich the Indians built their 
 wigwams in the olden time. 
 
 * The Neperan, vulgarly called the Saw- Mill River, winds 
 for many miles through a lovely valley, shrouded by groves, 
 and dotted by Dutch farm-houses, and empties itself into the 
 Hudson at the ancient Dorp of Yonkers. The l^ocantico, 
 rising among woody hills, winds in many a wizard maze 
 through the sequestered haunts of Sleepy Hollow. We owe 
 it to the indefatigable researches of JNlr. Knickerbocker, 
 that those beautiful streams are rescued from modern common- 
 place, and reinvested with their ancient In<lian names. The 
 correctness of the venerable historian may be ascertained by 
 reference to the records of the original Indian grants to the 
 Herr Fred.erick Philipsen, preserved in the county clerk'a 
 office at White Plains. 
 
14 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 In the fastnesses of these hills, and along these 
 valleys, existed, in the time of which I am treat- 
 ing, and indeed exist to the present day, a race 
 of hard-headed, hard-handed, stout-hearted yeo- 
 men, descendants of the primitive Nederlanders. 
 Men obstinately attached to the soil, and neither 
 to be fought nor bouglit out of their paternal 
 acres. Most of them were strong Whigs through- 
 out the war ; some, however, were Tories, or 
 adherents to the old kingly rule, wdio considered 
 the revolution a mere rebellion, soon to be put 
 down by his majesty's forces. A number of 
 these took refuge within the British lines, joined 
 the military bands of refugees, and became pio- 
 neers or leaders to fora2;ino- parties sent out from 
 New York to scour the country and sweep off 
 supplies for the British army. 
 
 In a little while the debatable ground became 
 infested by roving bands, claiming from either 
 side, and all pretending to redress wrongs and 
 punish political offences ; but all prone in the 
 exercise of their high functions — to sack hen- 
 roosts, drive off cattle, and lay farm-houses under 
 contribution ; such was the origin of two great 
 orders of border chivalry, the Skinners and the 
 Cow Boys, famous in revolutionary stoiy : the 
 former fought, or rather marauded, under the 
 American, the latter, under the British banner. 
 In the zeal of service, both were apt to make 
 blunders, and confound the property of friend and 
 foe. Neither of them in the heat and hurry of a 
 foray had time to ascertain the politics of a horse 
 or cow, which they were driving off into captivity ; 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 15 
 
 uor, when they wrung the neck of a rooster, did 
 they trouble their heads whether he crowed for 
 Congress or King George. 
 
 To check these enormities, a confederacy was 
 formed among the yeomanry who had suffered 
 from these maraudings. It was composed for the 
 most part of fartners' sons, bold, hard-riding lads, 
 well armed, and well mounted, and undertook to 
 clear the country round of Skinner and Cow Boy, 
 and all other border vermin ; as the Holy Broth- 
 erhood in old times cleared Spain of the banditti 
 which infested her highways. 
 
 Wolfert's Roost was one of the rallying places 
 of this confederacy, and Jacob Van Tassel one of 
 its members. He was eminently fitted for the 
 service ; stout of frame, bold of heart, and like 
 his predecessor, the warrior sachem of yore, de- 
 lighting in daring enterprises. He had an Indian's 
 sagacity in discovering when the enemy was on 
 the maraud, and in hearing the distant tramp of 
 cattle. It seemed as if he had a scout on every 
 hill, and an ear as quick as that of Fine Ear in 
 the fairy tale. 
 
 The foraging parties of tories and refugees 
 had now to be secret and sudden in their forays 
 into Westchester County ; to make a hasty maraud 
 among the farms, sweep the cattle into a drove, 
 and hurry down to the lines along the river road, 
 or the valley of the Neperan. Before they were 
 half-way down, Jacob Van Tassel, with the holy 
 brotherliood of Tarrytown, Petticoat Lane, and 
 Sleepy Hollow, would be clattering at their heels. 
 A.nd now there would be a general scamper for 
 
16 WOLFERTS BOOST. 
 
 King's Bridge, the pass over Spiting Devil Creek, 
 into the British lines. Sometimes the moss- 
 troopers would be overtaken, and eased of part of 
 their booty. Sometimes the whole cavalgada 
 wo lid ursre its headlons: course across the bridge 
 with thundering tramp and dusty whirlwind. At 
 such times their pursuers would rein up their 
 steeds, survey that perilous pass vdth wary eye, 
 and, wheeling about, indemnify themselves by 
 foraging the refugee region of Morrisania. 
 
 While the debatable land was liable to be thus 
 harried, the great Tappan Sea, along which it 
 extends, was likewise domineered over by the foe. 
 British ships of war were anchored here and there 
 in the wide expanses of the river, mere floating 
 castles to hold it in subjection. Stout galleys 
 armed with eighteen pounders, and navigated with 
 sails and oars, cruised about like hawks, while 
 row-boats made descents upon the land, and for- 
 aged the country along shore. 
 
 It was a sore grievance to the yeomanry along 
 the Tappan Sea to behold that little Mediter- 
 ranean ploughed by hostile prows, and the noble 
 river of which they were so proud reduced to a 
 state of thraldom. Councils of war were held 
 by captains of market-boats and other river-craft, 
 to devise ways and means of dislodging the ene- 
 my. Here and there on a point of land extend- 
 ing into the Tappan Sea, a mud work would be 
 thrown up, and an old field-piece mounted, with 
 which a knot of rustic artillerymen would fire 
 away for a long summer's day at some frigate 
 dozing at an(;hor far out of reach ; and reliques 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 17 
 
 of such works. may still be seen overgrown with 
 weeds and brambles, with peradventure the half- 
 buried fragment of a cannon which may have 
 burst. 
 
 Jacob Van Tassel was a ])rominent man in 
 these belligerent operations ; but he was prone, 
 moreover, to carry on a petty warfare of his own 
 for his mdividual recreation and refreshment. On 
 a row of hooks above the fireplace of the Roost, 
 reposed his great piece of ordnance, — a duck, or 
 rather goose-gun, of unparalleled longitude, with 
 which it was said he could kill a wild goose half 
 way across the Tappan Sea. Indeed, there are 
 as many wonders told of this renowned gun, as 
 of the enchanted weapons of classic story. When 
 the belligerent feeling was strong upon Jacob, he 
 would take down his gun, sally forth alone, and 
 prowl along shore, dodging behind rocks and trees, 
 watching for hours together any ship or galley at 
 anchor or becalmed, as a valorous mouser will 
 watch a rat-hole. So sure as a boat approached 
 the shore, bang went the great goose-gun, send- 
 ing on board a shower of slugs and buck-shot ; 
 and away scuttled Jacob Van Tassel through 
 some woody ravine. As the Roost stood in a 
 lonely situation, and might be attacked, he guarded 
 against surprise by making loop-holes in the stone 
 walls, through which to fire upon an assailant. 
 His wife v/as stout-hearted as himself, and could 
 load as fast as he could fire ; and his sister, Nochie 
 Van Wurmer, a redoubtable widow, was a match, 
 as he said, for the stoutest man in the country. 
 Thus garrisoned, his little castle was fitted to 
 
18 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 stand a siege, and Jacob was the man to defend 
 it to the last charge of powder. 
 
 In tlie process of time the Roost became one 
 of the secret stations, or lurking-places, of the 
 Water Guard. This was an aquatic corps in the 
 pay of government, organized to range tlie water*^ 
 of the Hudson, and keep watch upon the move- 
 ments of the enemy. It was composed of nauti- 
 cal men of the river, and hardy youngsters of the 
 adjacent country, expert at pulling an oar or 
 handling a musket. They were provided with 
 whale-boats, long and sharp, shaped like canoes, 
 and formed to lie lightly on the water, and be 
 rowed with great rapidity. In these they would 
 lurk out of sight by day, in nooks and bays, and 
 behind points of land, keeping a sharp look-out 
 upon the British ships, and giving intelligence to 
 head-quarters of any extraordinary movement. 
 At night they rowed about in pairs, pulling 
 quietly along with muffled oars, under shadow of 
 the land, or gliding like spectres about frigates 
 and guard-ships to cut otf any boat that might 
 be sent to shore. In this way they were a 
 source of constant uneasiness and alarm to the 
 enemy. 
 
 The Roost, as has been observed, was one 
 of their lurking-places ; having a cove in front 
 where their whale-boats could be drawn up out 
 of sight, and Jacob Van Tassel being a vigilant 
 ally, ready to take a part in any " scout or scrum- 
 mage " by land or water. At this little warrior 
 nest the hard-riding lads from the hills would 
 hold consultations with the chivalry of the river, 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 19 
 
 and here were concerted divers of those daring 
 enterprises which resounded from Spiting Devil 
 Creek even unto Antliony's Nose. Here was 
 concocted the midnight invasion of New York 
 Island, and the conflagration of Delancy's Toiy 
 mansion, which makes such a blaze in revolu- 
 tionary history. Nay, more, if the traditions of 
 the Roost may be credited, here was meditated, 
 by Jacob Van Tassel and his compeers, a noctur- 
 nal foray into New York itself, to surprise and 
 carry off the British commanders, Howe and 
 Clinton, and put a triumphant close to the war. 
 
 There is no knowing whether this notable 
 scheme might not have been carried into effect, 
 had not one of Jacob Van Tassel's eirreoious ex- 
 ploits along shore with his goose-gun, with which 
 he thought himself a match for anything, brought 
 vengeance on his house. 
 
 It so happened, that in the course of one of his 
 solitary prowls he descried a British transport 
 aground ; the stern swung toward shore within 
 point-blank shot. The temptation was too great 
 to be resisted. Bano; ! went the great soose-irun, 
 from the covert of the trees, shiverino: the cabin- 
 windows and drivinof all hands forward. Bans: ! 
 bang ! the shots were repeated. The reports 
 brought other of Jacob's fellow bush-fighters to 
 the spot. Before the transport could bring a 
 gun to bear, or land a boat to take revenge, she 
 was soundly peppered, and the coast evacuated. 
 
 This was the last of Jacob's triumphs. He 
 fared like some heroic spider that has unwittingly 
 ensnared a hornet to the utter ruin of his web. 
 
20 WOLFERTS BOOST. 
 
 It was not long after the above exploit that he 
 fell into the hands of the enemy in the course of 
 one of his forays, and was carried away prisoner 
 to New York. The Roost itself, as a pestilent 
 rebel nest, was marked out for signal punishment. 
 "The cock of the Roost being captive, there was 
 none to garrison it but his stout-hearted spouse, 
 his redoubtable sister, Nochie Van Wurmer, and 
 Dinah, a strapping negro wench. An armed ves- 
 sel came to anchor in front ; a boat full of men 
 pulled to shore. The garrison flew to arms ; that 
 is to say, to mops, broomsticks, shovels, tongs, and 
 all kinds of domestic weapons, — for unluckily the 
 great piece of ordnance, the goose-gun, was absent 
 with its owner. Above all, a vigorous defence 
 was made with that most potent of female weap- 
 ons, the tongue. Never did invaded hen-roost 
 make a more vociferous outcry. It was all in 
 vain. The house w^as sacked and plundered, fire 
 v/as set to each corner, and in a few moments its 
 blaze shed a baleful light far over the Tappan Sea. 
 The invaders then pounced upon the blooming 
 Laney Van Tassel, the beauty of the Roost, and 
 endeavored to bear her off to the boat. But 
 here was the real tug of war. Tlie mother, the 
 aunt, and the strapping negro wench, all flew to 
 the rescue. The struggle continued down to the 
 •very water's edge, when a voice from the armed 
 vessel at anchor ordered the spoilers to desist ; 
 they relinquished their prize, jumped into their 
 boats, and pulled off, and the heroine of the Roost 
 escaped with a mere rumpling of her feathers. 
 As to the stout Jacob himself, ho, was detained 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 21 
 
 a prisoner in New York for tlie greater part of 
 the war; in the mean time the Roost remained a 
 melancholy ruin, its stone walls and brick chim- 
 neys alone standing, the resorts of bats and owls. 
 Superstitious notions prevailed about it. None 
 of the country people would venture alone at 
 night down the rambling lane which led to it, 
 overhung with trees, and crossed here and there 
 by a wild wandering brook. The story went that 
 one of the victims of Jacob Van Tassel's great 
 goose-gun had been buried there in unconsecrated 
 ground. 
 
 Even the Tappan Sea in front was said to be 
 haunted. Often in the still twilight of a summer 
 evening, when the sea would be as glass, and the 
 opposite hills would throw their purple shadows 
 half across it, a low sound would be heard as of 
 the steady, vigorous pull of oars, though not a boat 
 was to be descried. Some might have supposed 
 that a boat was rowed along unseen under the 
 deep shadows of the opposite shores ; but the 
 ancient traditionists of the neighborhood knew 
 better. Some said it was one of the whale-boats 
 of the old Water Guard, sunk by the British ships 
 during the war, but now permitted to haunt its 
 old cruising-grounds ; but the prevalent opinion 
 connected it with the awful fate of Rambout Van 
 Dam of graceless memory. He was a roistering 
 Dutchman of Spiting Devil, who in times long 
 oast had navigated his boat alone one Saturday 
 the whole length of the Tappan Sea, to attend a 
 quilting frolic at Kakiat, on the western shore. 
 FTere he had danced and drunk until midnight, 
 
22 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 when he entered his boat to return home. He 
 was warned that he was on the verge of Sunday 
 iiorning ; but he pulled off nevertheless, swear- 
 ng he would not land until he reached Spiting 
 Devil, if it took him a month of Sundays. He 
 was never seen afterwards ; but may be heard 
 plying his oars, as above mentioned, — being the 
 Flying Dutchman of the Tappan Sea, doomed to 
 ply between Kakiat and Spiting Devil until the 
 day of judgment. 
 
 CHRONICLE III. 
 
 The revolutionary war was over. The debat- 
 able ground had once more become a quiet agri- 
 cultural region ; the border chivalry had turned 
 their swords into ploughshares, and their spears 
 into pruning-hooks, and hung up their guns, only 
 to be taken down occasionally in a campaign 
 against wild pigeons on the hills, or wild ducks 
 upon the Hudson. Jacob Van Tassel, whilome 
 carried captive to New York, a flagitious rebel, 
 had come forth from captivity a " hero of seventy- 
 six." In a little while he sought the scenes of 
 his former triumphs and mishaps, rebuilt th^ 
 Roost, restored his goose-gun to the hooks over 
 the fireplace, and reared once more on high the 
 glittering weathercocks. 
 
 Years and years passed over the time-honored 
 little mansion. The honeysuckle and the sweet- 
 Srier crept up its walls ; the wren and the Phoebe- 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 23 
 
 bird built under the eaves ; it gradually became 
 Rlmost hidden among trees, tiirough whicli it looked 
 forth, as with half-shut eyes, upon the Tappan 
 Sea. The Indian spring, famous in the days of 
 the wizard sachem, still welled up at the bottom 
 of the green bank ; and the wild brook, wild as 
 ever, came babbling down the ravine, and threw 
 itself into the little cove where of yore the Water 
 Guard harbored their whale-boats. 
 
 Such was the state of the Roost many years 
 since, at the time when Diedrich Knickerbocker 
 came into this neighborhood, in the course of his 
 researches among the Dutch families for materials 
 for his immortal history. The exterior of the 
 eventful little pile seemed to him full of promise. 
 The crow-st€p gables were of the primitive archi- 
 tecture of the province. The weathercocks which 
 surmounted them had crowed in the glorious days 
 of the New Netherlands. The one above the 
 porch had actually glittered of yore on the great 
 Vander Hey den palace at Albany. 
 
 The interior of the mansion fulfilled its exter- 
 nal promise. Here were records of old times ; 
 documents of the Dutch dynasty, i-escued from the 
 profane hands of the English by Wolfert Acker, 
 when he retreated from New Amsterdam. Here 
 he had treasured them up like buried gold, and 
 here they had been miraculously preserved by 
 St. Nicholas, at the time of the conflagration of 
 the Roost. 
 
 Here then did old Diedrich Knickerbocker take 
 up his abode for a time, and set to work with 
 lUitiquariau zeal to decipher these precious docu- 
 
24 WOLFERTS BOOST. 
 
 raents, which, like the lost books of Livy, had 
 baffled the research of former historians ; and it 
 is the facts drawn from these sources which give 
 his work the preference, in point of accuracy, over 
 every other history. 
 
 It was during his sojourn in this eventful neigh- ' 
 borhood that the historian is supposed to have 
 picked up many of those legends, which have 
 since been given by him to the world, or found 
 among his papers. Such was the legend con- 
 nected with the old Dutch Church of Sleepy 
 Hollow. The Church itself was a monument of 
 by-gone days. It had been built in the early 
 times of the province. A tablet over the portal 
 bore the names of its founders, — Frederick Filip- 
 son, a mighty man of yore, patroon of Yonkers, 
 and his wife Katrina Van Courtland, of the Van 
 Courtlands of Croton ; a powerful family con- 
 nection, — with one foot resting on Spiting Devil 
 Creek, and the other on the Croton River. 
 
 Two weathercocks, with the initials of these 
 illustrious personages, graced each end of the 
 Chm'ch, one perched over the belfry, the other over 
 the chancel. As usual with ecclesiastical weather 
 cocks, each pointed a different way ; and there 
 was a perpetual contradiction between them on 
 all points of windy doctrine ; emblematic, alas ! 
 of the Christian propensity to schism and con- 
 troversy. 
 
 In the burying-ground adjacent to the Church, 
 reposed the earliest fathers of a wide rural neigh- 
 borhood. Here families were garnered together, 
 side by side, in long platoons, iri this last gather- 
 
 ^ i 
 
 Li 1 Of £y *' fW\^ - <. f^ ^''^'^ *^^i^- U 
 

 Wolfert's Roost, p. 24. 
 Old Dutch Churcli. 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 25 
 
 iiig place of kindred. With pious hand would 
 Diedrich Knickerbocker turn down the weeds and 
 brambles which had overgrown the tombstones, to 
 decipher inscriptions in Dutch and English, of 
 the names and virtues of succeeding generations 
 of Van Tassels, Van TVarts, and other historical 
 worthies, with their portraitures faithfully carved, 
 all bearing the family likeness to cherubs. 
 
 The congregation in those days was of a truly 
 rural character. City fashions had not as yet 
 stole up to Sleepy Hollow. Dutch sun-bonnets 
 and honest homespun still prevailed. Everything 
 was in primitive style, even to the bucket of 
 water and tin cup near the door in summer, to 
 assuage the thirst caused by the heat of the 
 weather or the drought of the sermon. 
 
 The pulpit, with its wide-spreading sounding- 
 board, and the communion-table, curiously carved, 
 had each come from Holland in the olden time, 
 before the arts had sufficiently advanced in the 
 colony for such achievements. Around these on 
 Sundays would be gathered the elders of the 
 church, gray-headed men, who led the psalmody, 
 and in whom it would be difficult to recomize the 
 hard-riding lads of yore, who scoured the debata- 
 ble land in the time of the revolution. 
 
 The droAvsy influence of Sleepy Hollow was 
 apt to breathe into this sacred edifice ; and now 
 and then an elder might be seen with his hand- 
 kerchief over his face to keep off the flies, and 
 apparently listening to the dominie ; but really 
 sunk into a summer slumber, lulled by the sultry 
 aotes of the locust from the neighboring trees. 
 
26 WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 And now a word or two about Sleepy Hollow, 
 which many have rashly deemed a fanciful crea- 
 tion, like the Lubberland of mariners. It was 
 probably the mystic and dreamy sound of the 
 name which first tempted the historian of the 
 Manhattoes into its spellbound mazes. As he 
 entered, all nature seemed for the moment to 
 awake from its slumbers and break forth in grat- 
 iilations. The quail whistled a welcome from 
 the cornfield ; the loquacious cat-bird flew from 
 bush to bush with restless wing proclaiming his 
 approach, or perked inquisitively into his face as 
 if to get a knowledge of his physiognomy. The 
 woodpecker tapped a tattoo on the hollow apple- 
 tree, and tlien peered round the trunk, as if ask- 
 ing how he relished the salutation ; while the 
 squirrel scampered along the fence, whisking his 
 tail over his head by way of a huzza. 
 
 Here reigned the golden mean extolled by 
 poets, in which no gold was to be found and very 
 little silver. The inhabitants of the Hollow were 
 of the primitive stock, and had intermarried and 
 bred in and in, from the earliest time of the prov- 
 ince, never swarming far from the parent hive, 
 but dividing and subdividing their paternal acres 
 as they swarmed. 
 
 Here were small farms, each having its little 
 portion of meadow and cornfield ; its orchard of 
 gnarled and sprawling apple-trees ; its garden, in 
 which the rose, the marigold; and hollyhock, gi-ew 
 sociably with the cabbage, the pea, and the pump- 
 kin ; each had its low-eaved mansion redundant 
 with white-headed children ; with an old hat 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 27 
 
 Dailed against the wall for the housekeeping wren ; 
 the coop on the grass-plot, where the motherly 
 hen clucked round with her vagrant brood : each 
 had its stone well, with a moss-covered bucket / 
 suspended to the long balancing - pole, according V 
 to antediluvian hvdraulics ; while within doors 
 resounded the eternal hum of the spinning-wheel. 
 
 Many were the great historical facts which the 
 worthy Diedi"ich collected in these lowly man- 
 sions, and patiently would he sit by the old Dutch 
 housewives with a child on his knee, or a purring 
 grimalkin on his lap, listing to endless ghost sto- 
 ries spun forth to the humming accompaniment of 
 the wheel. 
 
 The delighted historian pursued his explora- 
 tions far into the foldings of the hills where the 
 Pocantico winds its wizard stream amonsj the 
 mazes of its old Indian haunts ; sometimes run- 
 ning darkly in pieces of woodland beneath bal- 
 ancing sprays of beech and chestnut ; sometimes 
 sparkling between grassy borders in fresh, green 
 intervales ; here and there receiving the tributes 
 of silver rills which came whimpering down the 
 hill-sides from their parent springs. 
 
 In a remote part of the Hollow, where the 
 Pocantico forced its way down rugged rocks, 
 stood Carl's mill, the haunted house of the neigh- 
 borhood. It was indeed a goblin-looking pile ; 
 shattered and time-worn, dismal with clanking 
 wheels and rushing streams, and all kinds of un- 
 couth noises. A horse-shoe nailed to the door to 
 keep off witches, seemed to have lost its power ; 
 
2S WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 for as Diedrich approached, an old negro thrust 
 his head all dabbled with flour out of a hole 
 above the water-wheel, and grinned and rolled 
 his eyes, and appeared to be the very hobgoblin 
 of the place. Yet tliis proved to be the great 
 historic genius of the Hollow, abounding in that 
 valuable information never to be acquired from 
 books. Diedrich Knickerbocker soon discovered 
 his merit. They had long talks together seated 
 on a broken millstone, heedless of the water and 
 the clatter of the mill ; and to his conference 
 with that African sage many attribute the sur- 
 prising, though true story, of Ichabod Crane and 
 the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. We 
 refrain, however, from giving farther researches 
 of the historian of the Manhattoes during his 
 sojourn at the Roost, but may return to them in 
 future pages. 
 7^ Reader ! the Roost still exists. Time, which 
 
 changes all things, is slow in its operations on a 
 Dutchman's dwelling. The stout Jacob Van 
 Tassel, it is true, sleeps with his fathers ; and 
 his great goose-gun with him : yet his strong- 
 hold still bears the impress of its Dutch origin. 
 Odd rumors have gathered about it, as they are 
 apt to do about old mansions, like moss and 
 weather-stains. The shade of Wolfert Acker still 
 walks his unquiet rounds at night in the orchard ; 
 and a white figure has now and then been seen 
 seated at a window and gazino; at the moon, from 
 a room in which a young lady is said to have 
 died of love and green apples. 
 
Wolfert'B Roost, p. 2a 
 The Old Bridire. 
 
WOLFERTS ROOST. 
 
 29 
 
 Mementos of the sojourn of Diedrich Knick- 
 erbocker are still cherished at the Roost. His 
 elbow-chair and antique wi-iting-desk maintiiin 
 their place in the room he occupied, and his 
 old cocked-hat still hangs on a peg against the 
 «.all. ,^ 
 
 )?,M ^^'^ 
 
 % UC/v^^^y^rvX^--<-. i- '^'^'^-^ 
 
 "^ cc 
 
 f? 
 
 V 
 
THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 
 
 Y quiet residence in the country, aloof 
 from fashion, politics, and the money- 
 market, leaves me rather at a loss for 
 occupation, and drives me occasionally to the 
 study of nature, and other low pursuits. Hav- 
 ing few neighbors, also, on whom to keep a 
 watch, and exercise my habits of observation, I 
 am fain to amuse myself with prying into the do- 
 mestic concerns and peculiarities of the animals 
 around me ; and during the present season have 
 derived considerable entertainment from certain 
 sociable little birds, almost the only visitors we 
 have during this early part of the year. 
 
 Those who have passed the winter in the coun- 
 try are sensible of the delightful influences that 
 accompany the earliest indications of spring ; and 
 of these, none are more delightful than the first 
 notes of the birds. There is one modest little 
 sad-colored bird, much resembling a wren, which 
 came about the house just on the skirts of win- 
 ter, when not a blade of grass was to be seen, 
 and when a few prematurely warm days had 
 given a flattering foretaste of soft weather. He 
 sang early in the dawning, long before sunrise, 
 and late in the evening, just before the closing 
 in of night, his matin and his vesper hymns. It 
 
THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 81 
 
 is true he sang occasionally throughout the day ; 
 but at these still hours his song was more re- 
 marked. He sat on a leafless tree, just before 
 the window, and warbled forth his notes, few and 
 simple, but singularly sweet, with something of a 
 plaintive tone that heightened their effect. 
 
 The lirst morning that he was heard was a 
 joyous one among the young folks of my house- 
 hold. The long, death-like sleep of winter was 
 at an end ; nature was once more awakening ; 
 they now promised themselves the immediate ap- 
 pearance of buds and blossoms. I was reminded 
 of the tempest-tossed crew of Columbus, when 
 after their long dubious voyage the field-birds 
 came singing round the ship, though still far at 
 sea, rejoicing them with the belief of the imme- 
 diate proximity of land. A sharp return of 
 winter almost silenced my little songster, and 
 dashed the hilarity of the household ; yet still he 
 poured forth, now and then, a few plaintive notes, 
 between the frosty pipings of the breeze, like 
 gleams of sunshine between wintry clouds. 
 
 I have consulted my book of ornithology in 
 vain, to find out the name of this kindly little 
 bird, who cei'tainly deserves honor and favDr far 
 beyond his modest pretensions. He comes like 
 the lowly violet, the most unpretending, but wel- 
 comest of flowers, breathing the sweet promise of 
 the early year. 
 
 Another of our feathered visitors, who follow 
 close upon the steps of winter, is the Pe-wit, or 
 Pe-wee, or Phoebe-bird; for he is called by each 
 of these names^ from a fancied resemblance to 
 
32 THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 
 
 the sound of liis monotonous note. He is a so- 
 ciable little being, and seeks the habitation of 
 man. A pair of them have built beneath my 
 porch, and have reared several broods there for 
 two years past, — their nest being never disturbed. 
 They arrive early in the spring, just when the 
 crocus and the snow-drop begin to peep forth. 
 Their first chirp spreads gladness through the 
 house. " The Phoebe - birds have come ! " is 
 heard on all sides ; they are welcomed back like 
 members of the famUy, and speculations are made 
 upon where they have been, and what countries 
 they have seen, during their long absence. Their 
 arrival is the more cheering, as it is pronounced 
 by the old, weather-wise people of the country 
 the sure sign that the severe frosts are at an end, 
 and that the gardener may resume his labors 
 with confidence. 
 
 About this time, too, arrives the blue-bird, so 
 poetically yet truly described by Wilson. His 
 appearance gladdens the whole landscape. You 
 hear his soft warble in every field. He sociably 
 approaches your habitation, and takes up liis resi- 
 dence in your vicinity. But why should I at- 
 tempt to describe him, when I have Wilson's 
 own graphic verses to place him before- the 
 reader ? 
 
 ' When winter's cold tempests and snows are no more, 
 
 Green meadows and brown fmTowed fields reappearing, 
 The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore, 
 
 And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steerlng; 
 When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing, 
 
 When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing, 
 Oh then comes the bluebird, the herald of spring, 
 
 And hails with his warblinii-s the charms of the season 
 
THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 33 
 
 " The loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring, 
 
 Then warm glows the sunshine, and warm grows the 
 weather ; 
 The hlue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 
 
 And spice-wood and sassafras budding together; 
 Oh then to yom* gardens, ye housewives, repair, 
 
 Your walks border up, sow and plant at your leisure; 
 The blue-bird Avill chant from his box such an air, 
 
 That all your hard toils Avill seem truly a pleasure ! 
 
 " He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree. 
 
 The red flowering peach, and the apple's sweet blossom; 
 He snaps up destroyers, wherever they be, 
 
 And seizes the caitifts that lurk in their bosoms; 
 He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours, 
 
 The worms from the webs where they riot and welter ; 
 His song and his services freely are ours. 
 
 And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 
 
 " The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train, 
 
 NoAV searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him; 
 The gard'ner delights in his sweet simple strain, 
 
 And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him. 
 The slow, lingering schoolboys forget they '11 be chid. 
 
 While gazing intent, as he warbles before them 
 In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red. 
 
 That each little loiterer seems to adore him." 
 
 The happiest bird of our spring, however, and 
 one that rivals the European lark, in my estima- 
 tion, is the Bobolincon, or Bobolink, as he is 
 commonly called. He arrives at that choice por- 
 tion of our year, which, in this latitude, answers 
 to the description of the month of May so often 
 given by the poets. With us it begins about the 
 middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle 
 of June. Earlier than this, winter is apt to re- 
 turn on its traces, and to blight the opening 
 
34 THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 
 
 beauties of the year; and later than this begin 
 the parching, and panting, and dissolving heats 
 of summer. But in this genial interval, nature 
 is in all her freshness and fragrance ; " the rains 
 are over and gone, the flowers appear upon the 
 earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and 
 the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." The 
 trees are now in their fullest foliage and briditest 
 verdure ; the woods are gay with the clustered 
 flowers of the laurel ; the air is perfumed by the 
 swcetbrier and the wild rose ; the meadows are 
 enamelled with clover-blossoms ; while the young 
 apple, the peach, and the plum, begin to swell, 
 and the cherry to glow, among the green leaves. 
 
 This is the chosen season of revelry of the 
 Bobolink. He comes amidst the pomp and fra- 
 grance of the season ; his life seems all sensibility 
 and enjoyment, all song and sunshine. He is to 
 be found in the soft bosoms of the freshest and 
 sweetest meadows, and is most in song when the 
 clover is in blossom. He perches on the topmost- 
 twig of a tree, or on some long, flaunting weed, 
 and, as he rises and sinks with the breeze, pours 
 forth a succession of rich tinkling notes, — crowd- 
 ing one upon another, like the outpouring melody 
 of the skylark, and possessing the same rapturous 
 character. Sometimes he pitches from the sum- 
 mit of a tree, begins his song as soon as he gets 
 upon the wing, and flutters tremulously down to 
 the earth, as if overcome with ecstasy at his own 
 music. Sometimes he is in pursuit of his para- 
 mour ; always in full song, as if he would win 
 her by his melody ; and always with the same 
 appearance of intoxication and delight. 
 
THE BIRDS CF SPRING. 85 
 
 Of all the birds of our groves and meadows, 
 the Bobolink was the envy of my boyhood. He 
 crossed my path in the sweetest weather, and the 
 sweetest season of the year, when all nature called 
 to the fields, and the rural feeling throbbed in 
 every bosom ; but when I, luckless urchin ! was 
 doomed to be mewed up, during the livelong day, 
 in that purgatory of boyhood, a school-room. It y 
 seemed as if the little varlet mocked^at me as he 
 flew by in full song, and sought to taunt me with 
 his happier lot. Oh, how I envied him ! No 
 lessons, no task, no hateful school ; nothing but 
 holiday frolic, green fields, and fine weather. Had 
 I been then more versed in poetry, I might have 
 addressed him in the words of Logan to the 
 cuckoo, — 
 
 " Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 
 Thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy note. 
 No winter in thy year. 
 
 " Oh ! could I fly, I 'd fly with thee ; 
 
 We 'd make, on joyful wing, 
 
 Our annual visit round the globe, 
 
 Companions of the spring! " 
 
 Further observation and experience have given 
 me a different idea of this little feathered volupt- 
 uary, which I will venture to impart, for the 
 benefit of my schoolboy readers, who may regard 
 him with the same unqualified envy and admira- 
 tion which I once indulged. I have shown him, 
 only as I saw him at first, in what I may call the 
 poetical part of his career, when he in a manner 
 
Sf) THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 
 
 devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoy- 
 ments, and was a bird of music, and song, and 
 taste, and sensibility, and refinement. While this 
 lasted, he was sacred from injury ; the very school- 
 boy would not fling a stone at him, and the merest 
 rustic would pause to listen to his strain. But 
 mark the difference. As the year advances, as 
 the clover-blossoms disappear, and the spring fades 
 into summer, he gradually gives up his elegant 
 tastes and habits, doffs his poetical suit of black, 
 assumes a russet dusty garb, and sinks to the 
 gross enjoyments of common vulgar birds. His 
 notes no longer vibrate on the ear ; he is stuffing 
 himself with the seeds of the tall weeds on which 
 he lately swung and chanted so melodiously. He 
 has become a bon vivant, a gourmand ; with 
 him now there is nothing like the "joys of the 
 table." In a little while he grows tired of plain, 
 homely fare, and is off on a gastronomical tour in 
 quest of foreign luxuries. We next hear of him, 
 with myriads of his kind, banqueting among the 
 reeds of the Delaware ; and grown corpulent with 
 good feeding. He has changed his name in tniv- 
 ellins;. Bobolincon no more, — he is the Reed-bird 
 now, the much sought-for titbit of Pennsylvania 
 epicures ; the rival in unlucky fame of tlie orto- 
 lan ! Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! pop ! every 
 rusty firelock in the country is blazing away. He 
 sees his companions falling by thousands around 
 him. 
 
 Does he take warning and reform ? Alas, not 
 he ! Incorrigible epicure ! again he wings his 
 flight. The rice -swamps of the South vite him. 
 
THE BIRDS OF SPRING. 37 
 
 He goi-ges himself among them almost to burst- 
 ing ; ho can scarcely fly for corpulency. He ha? 
 once more changed his name, and is now the fa- 
 mous Rice-bird of the Carolinas. 
 
 Last stage of his career : behold him spitted, 
 with dozens of his corpulent companions, and 
 served up, a vaunted dish, on the table of some 
 Southern gastronome. 
 
 Such is the story of the Bobolink ; once spir- 
 itual, musical, admired ; the joy of the meadows, 
 and the favorite bird of Spring ; finally, a gross 
 little sensualist, who expiates his sensuality in the 
 larder. His story contains a moral worthy the 
 attention of all little birds and little boys ; warn- 
 ing them to keep to those refined and intellectual 
 jmrsuits which raised him to so high a pitch of 
 ^popularity during the early part of his career; 
 but to eschew all tendency to that gross and dis- 
 sipated indulgence which brought this mistaken 
 little bird to an untimely end. 
 
 Which is all at present, from the well-wisher 
 of little boys and little birds, 
 
 x^^iT^^^^^-r^e^ C^ 
 
THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 
 
 A SKETCH FROM A STEAMBOAT. 
 [First published in 1837.] 
 
 ]N travelling about our motley country, 
 I am often reminded of Ariosto's ac- 
 count of the moon, in which the good 
 paladin Astolpho found everything garnered up 
 that had been lost pn earth. So I am apt to 
 imagine that many things lost in the Old World 
 are treasured up in the New ; having been handed 
 down from generation to generation, since the 
 early days of the colonies. A European anti- 
 quary, therefore, curious in his researches, after 
 the ancient and almost obliterated customs and 
 usages of his country, would do well to put him- 
 self upon the track of some early band of eriii- 
 granis, follow them across the Atlantic, and rum- 
 niaiire amono; their descendants oii our shores. 
 
 In the phraseology of New England might be 
 found many an old English provincial phrase, 
 long since obsolete in the parent country ; with 
 some quaint relics of the Roundheads ; while Vir- 
 ginia cherishes peculiarities characteristic of the 
 days of Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh. 
 
TEE CREOLE VILLAGE. 39 
 
 111' the same way, the sturdy yeomanry of New 
 Jersey and Pennsylvania keep up many usages 
 fadhig away in ancient Germany ; while many 
 an honest, broad-bottomeLl custom, nearly extinct 
 in venerable Holland, may be found flourishing 
 in pristine vigor and luxuriance in Dutch villages, 
 on the banks of the Mohawk and the Hudson. 
 
 In no part of our country, however, are the 
 customs and peculiarities imported from the old 
 world by the earlier settlers kept up with more 
 fidelity than in the little, poverty-stricken villages 
 of Spanish and French origin, which border the 
 rivers of ancient Louisiana. Their population is 
 generally made up of the descendants of those 
 nations, married and interwoven together, and 
 occasionally crossed with a slight dash of the 
 Indian. The French character, however, floats 
 on top, as, fi'om its buoyant qualities, it is sure to 
 do, whenever it forms a particle, however small, 
 of an intermixture. 
 
 In these serene and dilapidated villages, art 
 and nature stand still, and the world forgets to 
 turn round. The revolutions that distract other 
 parts of this mutable planet, reach not here, or 
 pass over without leaving any trace. The for- 
 tunate inhabitants have none of that public spirit 
 which extends its cares beyond its horizon, and 
 imports trouble and perplexity from all quarters 
 Bu newspapers. In fact, newspapers are almost 
 unknown in these villages ; and, as French is the 
 current language, the inhabitants have little com- 
 munity of opinion with their republican neighbors. 
 I'hey retain, therefore, their old habits of passive 
 
40 THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 
 
 obedience to the decrees of government, as thouijli 
 they still lived under the absolute sway of colonial 
 commandants, instead of being part and parcel of 
 the sovereign people, and having a voice in pub- 
 lic legislation. 
 
 A few aged men, who have grown gray on 
 their hereditary acres, and are of the good old 
 colonial stock, exert a patriarchal sway in all mat- 
 ters of public and private import ; their opinions 
 are considered oracular, and their word is law. 
 
 The inhabitants, moreover, have none of that 
 eagerness for gain, and rage for improvement, 
 which keep our people continually on the move, 
 and our country towns incessantly in a state of 
 transition. There the magic phrases, " town lots," 
 " water privileges," " railroads," and other com- 
 prehensive and soul-stirring words from the spec- 
 ulator's vocabulary, are never heard. The resi- 
 dents dwell in the houses built by their forefathers, 
 without thinkinof of enlaro-ino^ or modernizing 
 them, or pulling them down and turning them 
 bito granite stores. The trees under which they 
 have been born, and have played in infancy, flour- 
 ish undisturbed ; though, by cutting them down, 
 they might open new streets, and put money in 
 their pockets. In a word, the almighty dollar, 
 that great object of universal devotion through- 
 out our land, seems to have no genuine devotees 
 in these peculiar villages ; and unless some of its 
 missionaries penetrate there, and erect banking- 
 houses and other pious shrines, there is no know- 
 mg how long the inhabitants may remain in their 
 present state of contented poverty. 
 
THE CREOLE. VILLAGE. 41 
 
 In descending one of our great western rivers 
 ill a steamboat, I met with two worthies from one 
 of these villages, who had been on a distant ex- 
 cursion, the longest they had ever made, as they 
 seldom ventured far from home. One was the 
 great man, or Grand Seigneur of the village ; not 
 that he enjoyed any legal privileges or power 
 there, everything of the kind having been done 
 away when the province was ceded by France 
 to the United States. His sway over his neigh- 
 bors was merely one of custom and convention, 
 out of deference to his family. Beside, he was 
 worth full fifty thousand dollars, an amount al- 
 most equal, in the imaginations of the villagers, 
 to the treasures of King Solomon. 
 
 This very substantial old gentleman, though 
 of the fourth or fifth generation in this country, 
 retained the true Gallic feature and deportment, 
 and reminded me of one of those provincial poten- 
 tates that are to be met with in the remote parts 
 of France. He was of a large frame, a ginger- 
 bread complexion, strong features, eyes that stood 
 out like glass knobs, and a prominent nose, which 
 he frequently regaled from a gold snuff-box, and 
 occasionally blew with a colored handkerchief, 
 until it sounded like a trumpet. 
 
 He was attended by an old negro, as black as 
 ebony, with a huge mouth, in a continual grin ; 
 evidently a privileged and favorite servant, who 
 had grown up and grown old with him. He was 
 dressed in Creole style, with white jacket and 
 trousers, a stiff shirt-collar, that threatened to cut 
 »ff his ears, a bright Madras handkerchief tied 
 
42 TEE CREOLE VILLAGE. 
 
 round his head, and large gold ear-rings. Ho 
 was the politest negro I met with in a western 
 tour, and that is saying a great deal, for, ex- 
 cepting the Indians, the negroes are the most 
 gentlemanlike personages to be met with in those 
 parts. It is true they differ from the Indians in 
 being a little extra polite and complimentary. 
 tie was also one of the merriest ; and here, too, 
 the negroes, however we may deplore their un- 
 happy condition, have the advantage of their mas- 
 ters. The whites are, in general, too free and 
 prosperous to be merry. The cares of maintain- 
 in o- their riorhts and liberties, addino: to their 
 wealth, and making presidents, engross all their 
 thoughts and dry up all the moisture of their 
 souls. If you hear a broad, hearty, devil-maj^- 
 i/ care laugh, be assured it is a negro's. 
 
 Beside this African domestic, the seigneur of 
 the village had another no less cherLshed and 
 privileged attendant. This was a huge dog, of 
 the mastiff breed, with a deep, hanging mouth, 
 and a look of surlv gravity. He walked about 
 the cabin with the air of a dog perfectly at home, 
 and who had paid for his passage. At dinner-time 
 he took his seat beside his master, giving him a 
 glance now and then out of a corner of his eye, 
 which bespoke perfect confidence that he would 
 not be forgotten. Nor was he. Every now and 
 then a huge morsel would be thrown to him, per- 
 adventure the half-picked leg of a fowl, which he 
 would receive with a snap like the springing of 
 a steel trap, — one gulp, and all was down ; and 
 a glance of the eye told his master that he was 
 ready for another consignment. 
 
THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 43 
 
 The other village worthy, travelling in com- 
 pany with the seigneur, was of a totally different 
 stamp. Small, thin, and weazen-faced, as French- 
 men are apt to be represented in caricature, with 
 a bright, squirrel-like eye, and a gold ring in his 
 ear. His dress was flimsy, and sat loosely on 
 his frame, and he had altogether the look of one 
 with but little coin in his pocket. Yet, though 
 one of the pooi'est, I was assured he was one of 
 the merriest and most popular personages in his 
 native village. 
 
 Compei'e Martin, as he was commonly called, 
 was the factotum of the place, — sportsman, 
 schoolmaster, and land-surv^eyor. He could sing, 
 dance, and, above all, play on the fiddle, an in- 
 valuable accomplislunent in an old French creoIe 
 village, for the inhabitants have a hereditary love 
 for balls and fetes. If they Avork but little, they 
 dance a great deal ; and a fiddle is the joy of 
 their heart. 
 
 Wliat had sent Compere Martin travelling with 
 the Grand Sei2;neur I could not learn. He evi- 
 dently looked up to him with great deference, and 
 was assiduous in rendering him petty attentions ; 
 from which I concluded that he lived at home 
 upon the crumbs which fell from his table. He 
 was gayest when out of his sight, and had his 
 song and his joke when forward among the deck 
 passengers ; but, altogether. Compere Mra-tin was 
 out of his element on board of a steamboat. He 
 was quite another being, I am told, when at 
 home in his own village. 
 
 Like his opulent fellow-traveller, he too had 
 
44 THE CREOLL VILLAGE. 
 
 his canine follower and retainer, — and one suited 
 to his different fortunes, — one of tlie civilest, 
 most unoffendino; little do^s in the world. Un- 
 like the lordly mjistiff, he seemed to think he had 
 no right on board of the steamboat ; if you did 
 but look hard at him, he would throw himself 
 npon his back, and lift up his legs, as if imploring 
 mercy. 
 
 At table he took his seat a little distance from 
 his master ; not with the bluff, confident air of 
 the mastiff, but quietly and diffidently ; his head 
 on one side, with one ear dubiously slouched, the 
 other hopefully cocked up ; his under-teeth pro- 
 jecting beyond his black nose, and his eye wist- 
 fully following each morsel that went into his 
 master's mouth. 
 
 If Compere Martin now and then should ven- 
 ture to abstract a morsel from his plate, to give 
 to his humble companion, it was edifying to see 
 with what diffidence the exemplary little animal 
 would take hold of it, with the very tip of his 
 teeth, as if he would almost rather not, or was 
 fearful of taking too great a liberty. And then 
 with what decorum would he eat it ! How many 
 efforts would he make in swallowing it, as if it 
 stuck in his throat ; with what daintiness would 
 he lick his lips ; and then with what an air of 
 thankfulness would he resume his seat, with his 
 teeth once more projecting beyond his nose, and 
 an eye of humble expectation fixed upon his 
 master. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the steam- 
 boat stopped at the village which was the resi- 
 
THE CREOLE VILLAGE. . 45 
 
 dence of these worthies. It stood on the high 
 bank of the river, and bore traces of having been 
 a frontier trading-post. There were the remains 
 of stockades that once protected it from the In- 
 dians, and the honses were in the ancient Spanish 
 and French colonial taste, the place having been 
 successively under the domination of both those 
 nations prior to the cession of Louisiana to the 
 United States. 
 
 The arrival of the seigneur of fifty thousand 
 dollars, and his humble companion, Compere Mar- 
 tin, had evidently been looked forward to as an 
 event in the village. Numbers of men, women, 
 and children, white, yellow, and black, v/ere col- 
 lected on the river bank ; most of them clad in 
 old-fashioned French garments, and their heads 
 decorated with colored handkerchiefs, or white 
 nightcaps. The moment the steamboat came 
 within sight and hearing, there was a waving of 
 handkerchiefs, and a screaming and bawling of 
 salutations and felicitations, that bafiie all de- 
 scription. 
 
 The old gentleman of fifty thousand dollars 
 was received by a train of relatives, and friends, 
 and children, and grandchildren, whom he kissed 
 on each cheek, and who formed a procession in 
 his rear, with a legion of domestics, of all ages, 
 following him to a large, old-fashioned French 
 house, that domineered over the village. 
 
 His black valet de chamhre^ in white jacket 
 and trousers, and gold ear-rings, was met on the 
 shore by a boon, though rustic companion, a tall 
 .legro fellow, with a long, good-humored face, and 
 
46 , THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 
 
 the profile of a horse, which stood out from be- 
 neath a narrow-rimmed straw hat, stuck on the 
 back of his head. The explosions of laughter of 
 these two varlets on meeting and exchanging 
 compliments, were enough to electrify the coun- 
 try round. 
 
 The most hearty reception, however, was that 
 given to Compere Martin. Everybody, young 
 and old, hailed him before he got to land. Every- 
 body had a joke for Compere Martin, and Com- 
 pere Martin had a joke for everybody. Even 
 his little dog appeared to partake of his popu- 
 larity, and to be caressed by every hand. Indeed, 
 he was quite a different animal the moment he 
 touched the land. Here he was at home ; here 
 he was of consequence. He barked, he leaped, 
 he frisked about his old friends, and then would 
 skim round the place in a wide circle, as if mad. 
 
 I traced Compere Martin and his little dog to 
 their home. It was an old ruinous Spanish 
 house, of large dimensions, with verandas over- 
 shadowed by ancient elms. The house had prob- 
 ably been the residence, in old times, of the 
 Spanish commandant. In one wing of this crazy, 
 but aristocratical abode, was nestled the family 
 of my fellow-traveller ; for poor devils are apt 
 to be magnificently clad and lodged, in the cast- 
 off clothes and abandoned palaces of the great 
 and wealthy. 
 
 The arrival of Compere Martin was welcomed 
 by a legion of women, children, and mongrel 
 curs; and, as poverty and gayety generally go 
 hand-in-hand amonjr the French and their dcf 
 
THE CREOLE VILLAGE. 47 
 
 scendants. the crazy mansion soon resounded with 
 loud gossip and liglit-liearted laughter. 
 
 As the steamboat paused a short time at the 
 village, I took occasion to stroll about the place. 
 Most of the houses were in the French taste, 
 with casements and rickety verandas, but most 
 of them in flimsy and ruinous condition. All the 
 wagons, ploughs, and other utensils about the 
 place were of ancient and inconvenient Gallic 
 construction, such as had been brought from 
 France in the primitive days of the colony. The 
 very looks of the people reminded me of the vil- 
 lages of France. 
 
 From one of the houses came the hum of a* 
 spinning-wheel, accompanied by a scrap of an 
 old French chanson, which I have heard many a 
 time among the peasantry qf Languedoc, doubt- 
 less a traditional song, brought over by the first 
 French emigrants, and handed down from genera- 
 tion to generation. 
 
 Half a dozen young lasses emerged from the 
 adjacent dwellings, reminding me, by their light 
 step and gay costume, of scenes in ancient France, 
 where taste in dress comes natural to every class 
 of females. The trim bodice and colored petti- 
 coat, and little apron, with its pockets to receive 
 the hands when in an attitude for conversation ; 
 the colored kerchief wound tastefully round the 
 head, with a coquetish knot perking above one 
 ear ; and the neat slipper and tight-drawn stock- 
 ing, with its braid of narrow ribbon embracing 
 the ankle where it peeps from its mysterious cur- 
 tain. It is from this ambush that Cupid sends V 
 his most inciting arrows. 
 
■J 
 
 48 TEE CREOLE VILLAGE. 
 
 Wliile I was musing upon the recollectiong 
 thus accidentally summoned up, I heard the sound 
 of a fiddle from the mansion of Compere Martin, 
 the signal, no doubt, for a joyous gathering. I 
 was disposed to turn my steps thither, and wit- 
 ness the festivities of one of the very few villages 
 1 had met with in my wide tour that was yet 
 poor enough to be merry ; but the bell of the 
 steamboat summoned me to reembark. 
 
 As we swept away from the shore, I cast back 
 a wistful eye upon the moss-grown roofs and an- 
 cient elms of the village, and prayed that the 
 inhabitants might long retain their happy igno- 
 rance, their absence of all enterprise and im- 
 provement, their respect for the fiddle, and their 
 contempt for the almighty dollar.* I fear, how- 
 ever, my prayer is doomed to be of no avail. In 
 a little while the steamboat whirled me to an 
 American town, just springing into bustling and 
 prosperous existence. 
 
 The surrounding forest had been laid out in 
 town lots ; frames of wooden buildings were rising 
 from among stumps and burnt trees. The place 
 already boasted a court-house, a jail, and two 
 banks, all built of pine boards, on the model of 
 Grecian temples. There were rival hotels, rival 
 churches, and rival newspapers ; together with 
 
 * This phrase, used for the first time ia this sketch, has since 
 passed into cun-ent circulation, and by some has been ques- 
 tioned as savoring of irreverence. The author, therefore, 
 owes it to his orthodoxy to declare that no irreverence was 
 intended even to the dollar itself; which he is aware is daily 
 becoming more and more an object of worship. 
 
rilE CREOLE VILLAGE. 49 
 
 the usual luiiiiber of judges and generals and 
 governors ; not to speak of doctors by the dozen, 
 and lawyers by tiie score. 
 
 The place, I was told, was in an astonishing 
 career of improvement, with a canal and two 
 railroads in embryo. Lots doubled in })rice every 
 week ; everybody was speculating in land ; every- 
 body was rich ; and everybody was growing 
 richer. The community, however, was torn to 
 pieces by new doctrines in religion and in polit- 
 ical economy ; there were camp-meetings, and 
 agrarian meetings ; and an election was at hand, 
 which, it was expected, would throw the whole 
 country into a paroxysm. 
 
 Alas ! with such an enterprising neighbor, 
 what is to become of the poor little creole 
 village ! 
 
MOIINTJOY : 
 
 OE, SOME PASSAGES OUT OF THE LIFE OF A CASTLE- 
 BUILDER. 
 
 WAS born among romantic scenery, in 
 one of the wildest parts of the Hudson, 
 which at that time was not so thickly 
 settled as at present. My father was descended 
 from one of the old Huguenot families, that came 
 over to this country on the revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantz. He lived in a style of easy, 
 rural independence, on a patrimonial estate that 
 had been for two or three generations in the 
 family. He was an indolent, good-natured man, 
 took the M^orld as it went, and had a kind of 
 laughing philosophy, that parried all rubs and 
 mishaps, and served him in the place of wisdom. 
 This was the part of his character least to my 
 taste ; for I was of an entlmsiastie, excitable tem- 
 perament, prone to kindle up with new schemes 
 and projects, and he was apt to dash my sallying 
 enthusiasm by some unlucky joke ; so that when- 
 ever I was in a glow with any sudden excitement, 
 I stood in mortal dread of his good humor. 
 
 Yet he indulged me in every vagary, for Ivjvyas 
 an only son, and of course a personage of impor- 
 tance in the household. I had two sisters (^klui 
 
MOUNTJOY. 51 
 
 than myself, and one younger. The former were 
 educated at New York, under the eye of a maiden 
 aunt ; the latter remained at home, and was my 
 cherished playmate, the companion of my thoughts. 
 We were two imaginative little beings, of quick 
 susceptibility, and prone to see wonders and mys- 
 teries in everything around us. Scarce had we 
 learned to read, when our mother made us holi- 
 day presents of all the nursery literature of ih^ 
 day, wliich at that time consisted of little books 
 covered with gilt paper, adorned with " cuts," and 
 filled with tales of fairies, giants, and enchanters. 
 What draughts of deliditful fiction did we then 
 inhale ! My sister Sophy was of a soft and ten- 
 der nature. She would weep over tlie woes of 
 the Children in the Wood, or quake at the dark 
 romance of Blue-Beard, and the terrible mys- 
 teries of the blue chamber. But I was all for 
 enterprise and adventure. I burned to emulate 
 the deeds of that heroic prince w^ho delivered 
 the white cat from her enchantment ; or he of 
 no less royal blood and doughty emprise, who 
 broke the charmed slumbet of the Beauty in the 
 Wood ! 
 
 The house in which we lived was just the 
 kind of place to foster such propensities. It was 
 a venerable mansion, half villa, half farm-house. 
 The oldest part was of stone, with loopholes for 
 musketry, having served as a family fortress in 
 the time of the Indians. To this there had been 
 made various additions, some of brick, some of 
 vvood, according to the exigencies of the moment ; 
 80 that it was full of nooks and crooks, and cham- 
 
52 3i:0UNTJ0Y. 
 
 bers of all sorts and sizes. It was buried amoiio 
 
 a 
 
 willows, elms, and cherry-trees, and surrounded 
 with roses and hollyhocks, with honeysuckle and 
 sweetbrier clambering about every window. A 
 brood of hereditary pigeons sunned themselves 
 'upon the roof; hereditary swallows and martins 
 built about the eaves and chimneys ; and heredi- 
 tary bees hummed about the flower-beds. 
 
 Under the influence of our story-books every 
 object around us now assumed a new character, 
 and a charmed interest. The wild flowers were 
 no lono-er the mere ornaments of the fields, or the 
 resorts of the toilful bee ; they were the lurking- 
 places of fairies. We would watch the humming- 
 bird, as it hovered around the trumpet-creeper at 
 our porch, and the butterfly as it flitted up into 
 the blue air, above the sunny tree-tops, and fancy 
 them some of the tiny beings from fairy land. I 
 would call to mind all that I had read of Robin 
 Goodfellow, and his power of transformation. 
 how I envied him that power ! How I longed to 
 be able to compress my form into utter littleness, 
 to ride the bold dragon-fly, swing on the tall 
 bearded grass, follow the ant into his subter- 
 raneous habitation, or dive into the cavernous 
 depths of the honeysuckle ! 
 
 While I was yet a mere child, I was sent to a 
 daily school, about two miles distant. The school- 
 liouse was on the edge of a wood, close by a brook 
 overhung with birches, alders, and dwarf- willows 
 We cf the school who lived at some distance 
 came with our dinners put up in little baskets 
 Id the intervals of school hours, we would gatliei 
 
MOUNTJOY. 53 
 
 round a spring, under a tuft of hazel-bushes, and 
 have a kind of picnic ; interchanging tlie rustic 
 dainties with which our provident mothers had 
 fitted us out. Then, when our joyous repast waj 
 over, and ray companions were disposed for play, 
 I would draw forth one of my cherished story- 
 books, stretch myself on the greensward, and soon 
 lose myself in its bewitching contents. 
 
 I became an oracle among my schoolmates, on 
 account of my superior erudition, and soon im- 
 parted to them the contagion of my infected fancy. 
 Often in the evening, after school hours, we would 
 sit on the trunk of some fallen tree in the woods, 
 and vie with each other in tellinoj extravao-ant 
 stories, until the whip-poor-will began his nightly 
 moaning, and the fire-flies sparkled in the gloom. 
 Then came the perilous journey homeward. What 
 delight we would take in getting up wanton panics, 
 in some dusky part of the wood ; scampering like 
 frightened deer, pausing to take breath, renew- 
 ing the panic, and scampering oif again, wild with 
 fictitious terror ! 
 
 Our greatest trial was to pass a dark, lonely 
 pool, covered with pond-lilies, peopled with bull- 
 frogs and water-snakes, and haunted by two white 
 cranes. Oh ! the terrors of that pond ! How our 
 little hearts would beat, as we approached it ; 
 what fearful glances we would throw around ! 
 And if by chance a plash of a wild duck, or the 
 guttural twang of a bull-frog, struck our ears, as 
 we stole quietly by — away we sped, nor paused 
 until completely out of the woods. Then, when 1 
 teached home, what a world, of adventures and 
 
54 MOUNTJOr. 
 
 imaginary terrors would I have to relate to my 
 sister Sophy ! 
 
 As I advanced in years, this turn of mind in- 
 creased upon me, and became more confirmed. I 
 abandoned myself to the impulses of a romantic 
 imagination, which controlled my studies, and gave 
 a bias to all my habits. My father observed me 
 continually with a book in my hand, and satisfied 
 himself that I was a profound student; but what 
 were my studies ? Works of fiction, tales of 
 chivalry, voyages of discovery, travels in the 
 East ; everything, in short, that partook of adven- 
 ture and romance. I well remember with what 
 zest I entered upon that part of my studies which 
 treated of the heathen mythology, and particularly 
 of the sylvan deities. Then indeed my school- 
 books became dear to me. The neighborhood was 
 well calculated to foster the reveries of a mind 
 like mine. It abounded with solitary retreats, 
 wild streams, solemn forests, and silent valleys. 
 I would ramble about for a whole day, with a 
 volume of Ovid's Metamorphoses in my pockot, 
 and work myself into a kind of self-delusion, so 
 as to identify the surrounding scenes with those 
 of which I had just been reading. I would loiter 
 about a brook that glided through the shadowy 
 depths of the forest, picturing it to myself the 
 haunt of Naiades. I would steal round some 
 bushy copse that opened upon a glade, as if I 
 expected to come suddenly upon Diana and her 
 nymphs ; or to behold Pan and his satyrs bound- 
 ing, with whoop and halloo, through the woodland. 
 I would throw myself, during the panting heats 
 
MOUNT,] OY. 55 
 
 i)f a suininer noon, under the shade of some wide- 
 spreading tree, and muse and dream away the 
 hours, in a state of mental intoxication. I drank 
 in the very light of day, as nectar, and my soul 
 seemed to bathe with ecstasy in the deep blue of 
 a summer sky. 
 
 In tliese wanderings nothing occurred to jar 
 my feelings, or bring me back to the realities of 
 life. There is a repose in our mighty forests that 
 gives full scope to the imagination. Now and 
 then I would hear the distant sound of the wood- 
 cutter's axe, or the crash of some tree which he 
 had laid low ; but these noises, echoing along the 
 quiet landscape, could easily be wrought by fancy 
 into harmony with its illusions. In general, liow- 
 ever, the woody recesses of the neighborhood were 
 peculiarly wild and unfrequented. I could ramble 
 for a whole day, without coming upon any traces 
 of cultivation. The partridge of the wood scarcely 
 seemed to shun my path, and the squirrel, from 
 his nut-tree, would gaze at me for an instant, with 
 sparkling eye, as if wondering at the unwonted 
 intrusion. 
 
 I cannot help dwelling on tliis delicious period 
 of my life ; when as yet I had known no sorrow, 
 nor experienced any worldly care. I have since 
 studied much, both of books and men, and of 
 course have grown too wise to be so easily pleased ; 
 yet with all my wisdom, I must confess I look 
 back with a secret feeling of regret to the days 
 of happy ignorance, before I had begun to \}q a 
 philosopher. 
 
56 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 It must be evident that I was in a hopeful 
 training, for one who was to descend into the 
 arena of life, and wrestle with the world. The 
 tutor, also, who superintended my studies, in the 
 more advanced stage of my education, was just 
 fitted to complete the fata morgana which was 
 forming in my mind. His name was Glencoe. 
 He was a pale, melancholy-looking man, about 
 forty years of age ; a native of Scotland, liberally 
 educated, and who had devoted himself to the 
 instruction of youth, from taste rather than neces- 
 sity ; for, as he said, he loved the human heart, 
 and delighted to study it in its earlier impulses. 
 My two elder sisters, having returned home from 
 a city boarding-school, were likewise placed under 
 his care, to direct their reading in history and 
 belles-lettres. 
 
 We all soon became attached to Glencoe. It 
 is true we were at first somewhat prepossessed 
 against him. His meagre, pallid countenance, his 
 broad pronunciation, his inattention to the little 
 forms of society, and an awkward and embar- 
 rassed manner, on first acquaintance, were mucli 
 against him ; but we soon discovered that under 
 this unpromising extenor existed the kindest 
 urbanity, the warmest sympathies, the most en- 
 thusiastic benevolence. His mind was ingenious 
 and acute. His reading had been various, but 
 more abstruse than profound ; his memory was 
 stored, on all subjects, with facts, theories, and 
 quotations, and crowded with crude materials for 
 thinking. These, in a moment of excitement^ 
 would be, as it were, melted down and poured 
 
MOUNiJoy. 57 
 
 forth in the hiva of a heaied iinagiiiatioii. At 
 such moments, the change in the whole man was 
 wonderfiiL His meagre form would acquire a 
 dignity ixnd grace ; his long, pale visage would 
 flash Avith a hectic glow ; his eyes would beam 
 with uitense speculation ; and there would bo 
 pathetic tones and deep modulations in his voice, 
 that delighted the ear, and spoke movingly to the 
 heart. 
 
 But what most endeared him to us, was the 
 kindness and sympathy with which he entered into 
 all our interests and wishes. Instead of curbing 
 and checking our yoimg imaginations with the 
 reins of sober reason, he was a little too apt to 
 catch the impulse, and be hurried away with us. 
 He could not withstand the excitement of any 
 sally of feelmg or fancy, and was prone to lend 
 heightening tints to the illusive coloring of youth- 
 ful anticipation. 
 
 Under his guidance my sisters and myself soon 
 entered upon a more extended range of studies ; 
 but while they wandered, with delighted minds,: 
 through the wide field of history and belles-let- 
 tres, a nobler w^alk was opened to my superior 
 intellect. 
 
 The mind of Glencoe presented a singular mix- 
 ture of philosophy and poetry. He was fond of 
 metaphysics, and prone to indulge in abstract 
 speculations, though his metaphysics were some- 
 what fine spun and fanciful, and his speculations 
 were apt to partake of what my father most 
 irreverently termed " humbug." For my part, I 
 delighted in them, and the more especially be* 
 
58 MOVNTJOY. 
 
 cause they set my father to sleep, and completely 
 confounded my sisters. I entered, with my 
 accustomed eagerness, into this new branch of 
 study. Metaphysics were now my passion. My 
 sisters attempted to accompany me, but they soon 
 faltered, and gave out before they had got half 
 way through " Smith's Theory of Moral Senti- 
 ments." I, however, went on, exulting in my 
 strength. Glencoe supplied me with books, and 
 I devoured them with appetite, if not digestion. 
 We walked and talked together under the trees 
 before the house, or sat apart, like Milton's angels, 
 and held high converse upon themes beyond the 
 grasp of ordinary intellects. Glencoe possessed a 
 kind of philosophic chivalry, in imitation of the 
 old peripatetic sages, and was continually dream- 
 ing of romantic enterprises in morals, and splendid 
 systems for the improvement of society. He had 
 a fanciful mode of illustrating abstract subjects, 
 peculiarly to my taste ; clothing them with the 
 language of poetry, and throwing round them 
 almost the magic hues of fiction. " How charm- 
 ing," thought I, " is divine philosophy ; " not harsh 
 and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
 
 " But a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, 
 Where no crude surfeit reigns." 
 
 I felt a wonderful self-complacency at being on 
 such excellent terms with a man whom I con- 
 sidered on a parallel with the sages of antiquity, 
 and looked down with a sentiment of pity on the 
 feebler intellects of my sisters, who could compre- 
 hend nothing of metaphysics. It is true, when I 
 
MOUNTJOY. 59 
 
 nttempted to study tliem by myself I was apt to 
 get in a fog ; but when Glencoe came to my aid, 
 everything was soon as clear to me as day. My 
 ear drank in the beauty of his words ; my imagi- 
 nation was dazzled with the splendor of his illus- 
 trations. It caught up the sparkling sands of 
 poetry that glittered through his speculations, and 
 mistook them for the golden ore of wisdom. 
 Struck with the facility with which I seemed to 
 imbibe and relish the most abstract doctrines, I 
 conceived a still higlier opinion of my mental 
 powers, and was convinced that I also Avas a phi- 
 losoplier. 
 
 I was now verging toward man's estate, and 
 though my education had been extremely irregu- 
 lar, — following the caprices of my humor, which 
 I mistook for the impulses of my genius, — yet I 
 was regarded with wonder and delight by my 
 mother and sisters, who considered me almost as 
 wise and infallible as I considered myself. This 
 high opinion of me was strengthened by a de- 
 clamatory habit, which made me an oracle and 
 orator at the domestic board. The time was 
 now at hand, however, that was to put my phi- 
 losophy to the test. 
 
 We had passed through a long winter, and the 
 spring at length opened upon us, with unusual 
 sweetness. The soft serenity of the weather, 
 the beauty of the surrounding country, the joy- 
 ous notes of the birds, the balmy breath of 
 flower and blossom, all combined to fill my 
 bosom with indistinct sensations and nameless 
 
60 MOUNT JOY. 
 
 wishes. Amid the soft seductions of the season 
 I lapsed into a state of utter indolence, both of 
 body and mind. 
 
 Philosophy had lost its charms for me. Meta- 
 physics — faugh! I tried to study; took down 
 volume after volume, ran my eye vacantly over 
 a few pages, and threw them by with distaste. 
 I loitered about the house, with my hands in my 
 pockets, and an air of complete vacancy. Some- 
 thing was necessary to make me happy ; but 
 what was that somethins; ? I sauntered to the 
 apartments of my sisters^ hoping their conversa- 
 tion might amuse me. They had walked out, 
 and the room was vacant. On the table lay a 
 volume which they had been reading. It was a 
 novel. I had never read a novel, having con- 
 ceived a contempt for works of the kind, from 
 hearing them universally condemned. It is true, 
 I had remarked they were universally read ; but 
 I considered them beneath the attention of a 
 philosopher, and never would venture to read 
 them, lest I should lessen my mental superiority 
 in the eyes of my sisters. Nay, I had taken up 
 a work of the kind, now and then, when I knew 
 my sisters were observing me, looked into it for 
 a moment, and then laid it down, with a slight 
 supercilious smile. On the present occasion, oat 
 of mere listlessness, I took up the volume, and 
 turned over a few of the first pages. I thought 
 I heard some one coming, and laid it down. I 
 was mistaken ; no one was near, and what I had 
 read, tempted my curiosity to read a little farther, 
 I leaned against a window-frame, and in a few 
 
MOUNTJOY. Gl 
 
 ininutes was completely lost in the stoi-y. How 
 long 1 stood there reading I know not, but I be- 
 iie\'e for nearly two horn's. Suddenly I heard 
 my sisters on the stairs, when I thrust the book 
 into my bosom, and the two other volumes, which 
 lay near, into my pockets, and hurried out of the 
 house to my beloved woods. Here I remained 
 all day beneath the trees, bewildered, bewitched ; 
 devourinsj the contents of these delicious volumes ; 
 and only returned to the house when it was too 
 dark to peruse their pages. 
 
 This novel finished, I replaced it in my sister's 
 apartment, and looked for others. Their stock 
 was ample, for they had brought home all that 
 were current in the city ; but my appetite de- 
 manded an immense supply. All this course of 
 reading was carried on clandestinely, for I was a 
 little ashamed of it, and fearful that my wisdom 
 might be called in question ; but this very privacy 
 gave it additional zest. It was " bread eaten in 
 secret *' ; it had the charm of a private amour. 
 
 But think what must have been the effect of 
 such a course of reading on a youth of my tem- 
 perament and turn of mind ; indulged, too, amidst 
 romantic scenery, and in the romantic season of 
 the year. It seemed as if I had entered upon a 
 new scene of existence. A train of combustible 
 feelings were lighted up in me, and my soul was 
 all tenderness and passion. Never was youth 
 more completely love-sick, though as yet it was a 
 mere general sentiment, and wanted a definite 
 object. Unfortunately, our neighborhood was 
 particularly deficient in female society, and I Ian- 
 
62 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 guished in vain for some divinity, to whom I 
 might offer up this most uneasy burden of affec- 
 tions. I was at one time seriously enamored of 
 a lady whom I saw occasionally in my rides, 
 reading at the window of a country-seat, and 
 actually serenaded her with my flute ; when, to 
 my confusion, I discovered that she was old 
 enough to be my mother. It was a sad damper 
 to my romance ; especially as my father heard 
 of it, and made it the subject of one of those 
 household jokes, which he was apt to serve up 
 at every meal-time. 
 
 I soon recovered from this check, however, but 
 it was only to relapse into a state of amorous 
 excitement. I passed whole days in the fields, 
 and along the brooks ; for there is something in 
 the tender passion that makes us aliv^e to the 
 beauties of Nature. A soft sunshine morning 
 infused a sort of rapture into my breast ; I flung 
 open my arms, like the Grecian youth in Ovid, 
 as if I would take in and embrace the balmy 
 atmosphere.* The song of the birds melted me 
 to tenderness. I would lie by the side of some 
 rivulet for hours, and form garlands of the flowers 
 on its banks, and muse on ideal beauties, and 
 sio-h from the crowd of undefined emotions that 
 swelled my bosom. 
 
 In this state of amorous delirium, I was stroll- 
 ino; one raornino; alono; a beautiful wild brook 
 which I had discovered in a glen. There was 
 one place where a small waterfall, leaping from 
 among rocks into a natural basin, made a scene 
 Buch as a poet might have chosen as the haunt 
 
 * Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book vii. 
 
MOUNTJOY. 63 
 
 of some shy Nuiatl. It was here I usually r?^- 
 tired to banquet on my novels. In visiting the 
 place this morning, I traced distinctly, on the 
 margin of the basin, which was of fine clear sand, 
 the prints of a female foot, of the most slender 
 and delicate proportions. This was sufficient for 
 an imasrination like mine. Robinson Crusoe him- 
 self, when he discovered the print of a savage 
 foot on the beach of his lonely island, could not 
 have been more suddenly assailed with thick- 
 coming fancies. 
 
 I endeavored to track the steps, but they only 
 passed for a few paces along the fine sand, and 
 then were lost amon"; the herbaoe. I remained 
 gazing in reverie upon this passing trace of love- 
 liness. It evidently was not made by any of my 
 sisters, for they knew nothing of this haunt ; 
 besides, the foot was smaller than theirs ; it was 
 remarkable for its beautiful delicacy. 
 
 My eye accidentally caught two or three half- 
 withered wild flowers, lying on the ground. The 
 unknown nymph had doubtless dropped them 
 from her bosom ! Here was a new document of 
 taste and sentiment. I treasured them up as 
 invaluable relics. The place, too, where I found 
 them, Avas remarkably picturesque, and the most 
 beautifal part of the brook. It was overhung 
 with a fliie elni; e>itwined with grape-vines. She 
 who could select suclf a spot, who could delight 
 In wild brooks, and wild flowers, and silent 
 solitudes, must have fancy, and feeling, and ten- 
 derness ; and, with all these qualities, she raus! 
 DC beautiful ! 
 
64 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 But who could be this Unknown, that had 
 thus passed by, as in a morning dream, leaving 
 merely flowers and fairy footsteps to tell of her 
 loveliness ! There was a mystery in it that be- 
 wildered me. It was so vague and disembodied, 
 like those " aii-y tongues that syllable men's 
 names " in solitude. Every attempt to solve the 
 mystery was vain. I could hear of no being in 
 the neighborhood to whom this trace could be 
 ascribed. I haunted the spot, and became more 
 and more enamored. Never, surely, was passion 
 more pure and spiritual, and never lover in more 
 dubious situation. My case could only be com- 
 pared with that of the amorous prince, in the 
 fairy tale of " Cinderella ; " but he had a glass 
 slipper on which to lavish his tenderness. I, alas ! 
 was in love with a footstep ! 
 
 The imagination is alternately a cheat and a 
 dupe ; nay, more, it is the most subtle of cheats, 
 for it cheats itself, and becomes the dupe of its 
 own delusions. It conjures up " airy nothings," 
 (gives to them a "local habitation and a name," 
 and then bows to their control as implicitly as if 
 they were realities. Such was now my case. 
 The good Numa could not more thoroughly have 
 persuaded himself that the nymph Egeria hovered 
 about her sacred fountain, and communed with 
 him in spirit, than I had deceived myself into a 
 kind of visionary intercourse with the airy phan- 
 tom fabricated in my brain. I constructed a 
 rustic seat at the foot of the tree where I had 
 liscovered the footsteps. I made a kind of bower 
 
MOUNT JOY. 65 
 
 there, where I used to pass my mornings, reading 
 poetry and romances. I carved hearts and darts 
 on the tree, and hung it witli garhuids. My 
 heart was full to overflowing, and wanted some 
 faithful bosom into which it might relieve itself. 
 What is a lover without a confidante ? I thought 
 at once of my sister Sophy, my early playmate, 
 the sister of my affections. She was so reasona- 
 ble, too, and of such correct feelings, always lis- 
 tening to my words as oracular sayings, and 
 admiring my scraps of poetry, as the very inspi- 
 rations of the Muse. From such a devoted, such 
 a rational being, what secrets could I have ? 
 
 I accordingly took her, one morning, to my 
 favorite retreat. She looked around, with de- 
 lighted surprise, upon the rustic seat, the bower, 
 the tree carved with emblems of the tender pas- 
 sion. She turned her eyes upon me to inquire 
 the meaninof. 
 
 " Oh, Sophy," exclaimed I, clasping both her 
 hands in mine, and looking earnestly in her face, 
 " I am in love ! " 
 
 She started with surprise. 
 
 " Sit down," said I, " and I will tell you all." 
 
 She seated herself upon the rustic bench, and I 
 went into a full history of the footstep, with all 
 the associations of idea that had been conjured 
 up by my imagination. 
 
 Sophy was enchanted ; it was like a fairy tale : 
 
 she had read of such mysterious visitations hi 
 
 books, and the loves thus conceived were always 
 
 for beings of superior order, and were always 
 
 5 
 
66 MOVNTJGY. 
 
 happy. She caught the illusion, in all its force 
 her cheek glowed ; her eye brightened. 
 
 " I dare say she 's pretty," said Sophy. 
 
 " Pretty ! " echoed I, " she is beautiful ! " I 
 went through all the reasoning by which I had 
 logically proved the fact to my own satisfaction. 
 I dwelt upon the evidences of her taste, her sen- 
 sibility to the beauties of Nature ; her soft medi- 
 tative habit, that delighted in solitude ; " oh," said 
 I, clasping my hands, " to have such a companion 
 to wander through these scenes ; to sit with her 
 by this murmuring stream ; to wreathe garlands 
 round her brows ; to hear the music of her 
 voice mingling with the whisperings of these 
 groves ; " 
 
 " Delightful ! delightful ! " cried Sophy ; « what 
 a sweet creature she must be ! She is just the 
 friend I want. How I shnll dote upon her ! Oh, 
 my dear brother ! you must not keep her all to 
 yourself. You must let me have some share of 
 her ! " 
 
 I caught her to my bosom : " You shall — you 
 shall ! " cried I, " my dear Sophy ; we will all live 
 for each other ! " 
 
 The conversation with Sophy heightened the 
 illusions of my mind ; and the manner in which 
 she had treated my day-dream, identified it with 
 facts and persons, and gave it still more the stamp 
 of reality. I walked about as one in a trance, 
 heedless of the world around, and lapped in an 
 elysium of the fancy. 
 
 In this mocd I met, one morning, with Glencoe. 
 
MOUNTS OY. 67 
 
 lie accosted me with his usual smile, and was pro> 
 ceeding with some general observations, but paused 
 and fixed on me an inquiring eye. 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? " said he ; 
 " you seem agitated ; has anything in particular 
 happened ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said I, hesitating ; " at least nothing 
 worth communicating to you." 
 
 " Nay, my dear young friend," said he, " what- 
 ever is of sufficient importance to agitate you, is 
 worthy of being communicat(^d to me." 
 
 " Well ; but my thoughts are running on what 
 you would think a frivolous subject." 
 
 " No subject is frivolous that has the power to 
 awaken strong feelings." 
 
 " What think you," said I, hesitating, " what 
 think you of love ? " 
 
 Glencoe almost started at the question. " Do 
 you call that a frivolous subject?" replied he. j^ 
 " Believe me, there is none fraught with such 
 deep, such vital interest. If you talk, indeed, of 
 the capricious inclination awakened by the mere 
 charm of perishable beauty, I grant it to be idle 
 in the extreme ; but that love which springs from 
 tlie concordant sympathies of virtuous hearts ; that 
 love which is awakened by the perception of moral 
 excellence, and fed by meditation on intellectual as 
 well as personal beauty ; that is a passion which 
 refines and ennobles the human heart. Oh, where 
 IS there a sight more nearly approaching to the 
 intercourse of angels, than that of two young 
 beings, free from the sins and follies of the world, 
 mingling pure thouglits, and looks, and feelings, 
 
68 MOUNT J or. 
 
 ^ and becoming as it were soul of one soul, and 
 heart of one heart ! How exquisite the silent 
 converse that they hold ; the soft devotion of the 
 eye, that needs no words to make it eloquent ! 
 Yes, my friend, if there be anything in this weary 
 world worthy of heaven, it is the pure bliss of 
 such a mutual affection ! " 
 
 The words of my worthy tutor overcame all 
 farther reserve. " Mr. Glencoe," cried I, blush- 
 ing still deeper, " I am in love ! " 
 
 "And is that what you were ashamed to tell 
 me ? Oh, never seek to conceal from your friend 
 so important a secret. If your passion be un-, 
 worthy, it is for the steady hand of friendship to 
 pluck it forth ; if honorable, none but an enemy 
 would seek to stifle it. On nothing does the 
 character and happiness so much depend, as 
 on the first affection of the heart. Were you 
 caught by some fleeting or superficial charm — a 
 bright eye, a blooming cheek, a soft voice, or a 
 voluptuous form — I would warn you to bevvare ; 
 I would tell you that beauty is but a passing 
 gleam of the morning, a perishable flower ; that 
 p.ccident may becloud and blight it, and that at 
 best it must soon pass away. But were you in 
 love with such a one as I could describe ; young 
 in years, but still younger in feelings ; lovely in 
 j)erson, but as a type of the mind's beauty ; soft 
 .n voice, in token of gentleness of spirit ; bloom- 
 'ng in countenance, like the rosy tints of morning 
 kindling with the promise of a genial day ; an 
 eye beaming with the benignity of a happy heart ; 
 a cheerful temper, alive to all kind impulses, and 
 
MOUNTJOY. 69 
 
 frankly diffusing its own felicity ; a self-poised 
 mind, that needs not lean on others for support ; 
 an elegant taste, that can embellish solitude, and 
 furnish out its own enjoyments " 
 
 " My dear sir," cried I, for I could contain 
 myself no longer, "you have described the very 
 person ! " 
 
 " AVhy then, my dear young friend," said he, 
 affectionately pressing ray hand, " in God's name, 
 love on ! " 
 
 For the remainder of the day I was in some 
 such state of dreamy beatitude as a Turk is said 
 to enjoy, when under the influence of opium. It 
 must be already manifest, how prone I was to be- 
 wilder myself with picturings of the fancy, so as 
 to confound them with existing realities. In the 
 present instance Sophy and Glencoe had con- 
 tributed to promote the transient delusion. Sophy, 
 dear girl, had as usual joined with me in my 
 castle- building, and indulged in the same train of 
 imaginings, while Glencoe, duped by my enthusi- 
 asm, firmly believed that I spoke of a being I had 
 seen and known. By their sympathy with my 
 feelings, they in a manner became associated with 
 the Unknown in my mind, and thus linked her 
 with the circle of my intimacy. 
 
 In the evening our family party was assembled 
 in the hall, to enjoy the refreshing breeze. Sophy 
 was playing some favorite Scotch airs on the 
 piano, while Glencoe, seated apart, with his 
 *^brehead restir^ on his hand, was buried in 
 one of those pensive reveries, that made him so 
 mterestinsj to me. 
 
70 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 " What a fortunate being I am ! " thought I, 
 " blessed with such a sister and such a friend ! 1 
 have only to find out this amiable Unknown, to 
 wed her, and be happy ! What a paradise will 
 be my home, graced with a partner of such ex- 
 'quisite refinement ! It will be a perfect fairy 
 bower, buried among sweets and roses. Sophy 
 shall live with us, and be the companion of all 
 our enjoyments. Glencoe, too, shall no more be 
 the solitary being that he now appears. He shall 
 have a home with us. He shall have his study, 
 where, when he pleases, he may shut himself up 
 from the world, and bury himself in his own re- 
 flections. His retreat shall be held sacred ; no 
 one shall intrude there ; no one but myself!, who 
 will visit him now and then, in his seclusion, 
 where we will devise grand schemes together for 
 the improvement of mankind. How delightfully 
 our days will pass, in a round of rational pleasures 
 and elegant employments ! Sometimes we will 
 have music ; sometimes we will read ; sometimes 
 we will wander through the flower-garden, when 
 I will smile with complacency on every flower my 
 wife has planted ; while in the long winter even- 
 ings, the lad'ies will sit at their work and listen, 
 with hushed attention, to Glencoe and myself, as 
 we discuss the abstruse doctrines of metaphysics." 
 From this delectable reverie I was startled by 
 my father's slapping me on the shoulder : " What 
 possesses the lad ? " cried he ; " here have I been 
 speaking to you half a dozen times, without r^:^- 
 ceiving an answer." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," replied I ; " I was so com- 
 pletely lost in thought, that I did not hear you." 
 
MOUNT JOY. 71 
 
 " Lost in tliought ! And pray what were you 
 thinking of? Some of your philosophy, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Upon my word," said my sister Charlotte, 
 with an arch laugh, " I suspect Harry 's in love 
 again." 
 
 '•And if I were in love, Charlotte," said I, 
 somewhat nettled, and recollecting Glencoe's en- 
 thusiastic eulogy of the passion, " if I were in 
 love, is that a. matter of jest and laughter ? Is 
 the tenderest and most fervid affection that can 
 animate the human breast to be made a matter 
 of cold-hearted ridicule ? " 
 
 My sister colored. " Certainly not, brother ! 
 nor did I mean to make it so, nor to say any- 
 thing that should wound your feelings. Had I 
 really suspected that you had formed some gen- 
 uine attachment, it would have been sacred in my 
 eyes ; but — but," said she, smiling, as if at some 
 whimsical recollection, " I thought that you — you 
 might be indulging in another little freak of the 
 imagination." 
 
 " I '11 wager any money," cried my father, " he 
 has fallen in love again with some old lady at a 
 window ! " 
 
 " Oh no ! " cried my dear sister Sophy, with the 
 most gracious warmth ; " she is young and beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " From what I understand," said Glencoe, rous- 
 ing himself, " she must be lovely in mind as in 
 person." 
 
 I found my friends were getting me into a fine 
 scrape. I began to perspire at every pore, and 
 felt mv ears tingle. 
 
72 MOTTNTJOY. 
 
 " Well, but," cried my father, " who is she ? -— 
 what is she ? Let us hear something about her.'* 
 
 This was no time to explain so delicate a mat- 
 ter. I caught up my hat, and vanished out of 
 the house. 
 
 The moment I was in the open air, and alone, 
 my heart upbraided me. Was this respectful 
 treatment to my father — to such a father too — 
 who had always regarded, me as the pride of his 
 age — the staff of his hopes ? It is true, he was 
 apt, sometimes, to laugh at my enthusiastic flights, 
 and did not treat my philosophy with due respect ; 
 but when had he ever thwarted a wish of my 
 heart? Was I then to act with reserve toward 
 him, in a matter which might affect the whole 
 current of my future life ? " I have done wrong," 
 thought I ; " but it is not too late to remedy it. 
 I will hasten back, and open my whole heart to 
 my father ! " 
 
 I returned accordingly, and was just on the 
 point of entering the house, with my heart full 
 of filial piety, and a contrite speech upon my lips, 
 when I heard a burst of obstreperous laughter 
 from my father, and a loud titter from my two 
 elder sisters. 
 
 "A footstep ! " shouted he, as soon as he could 
 recover himself ; "in love with a footstep! why, 
 this beats the old lady at the window ! " And 
 then there was another appalling burst of laughter. 
 Had it been a clap of thunder, it could hardly 
 have astounded me more completely. Sophy, in 
 the simplicity of her heart, had told all, and had 
 set my father's risible propensities in full action. 
 
MOUNTS OY. 73 
 
 Never was poor mortal so thoroughly crest- 
 fallen as myself. The whole delusion was at an 
 end. I drew off silently from the house, shrink- 
 ing smaller and smaller at every fresh peal of 
 laughter ; and, wandering about until the family 
 had retired, stole quietly to my bed. Scarce any 
 sleep, however, visited my eyes that night. I 
 lay overwhelmed with mortification, and meditat- 
 ing how I might meet the family in the morning. 
 The idea of ridicule was always intolerable to 
 me ; but to endure it on a subject by which my 
 feelings had been so much excited, seemed worse 
 than death. I almost determined, at one time, to 
 get up, saddle my horse, and ride off, I knew not 
 whither. 
 
 At len2;th I came to a resolution. Before 
 going down to breakfast I sent for Sophy, and 
 employed her as an ambassador to treat formally 
 in the matter. I insisted that the subject should 
 be buried in oblivion ; otherwise I would not show 
 my face at table. It was readily agreed to ; for 
 not one of the family would have given me pain 
 for the world. They faithfully kept their promise. 
 Not a word was said of the matter ; but there 
 were wry faces, and suppressed titters, that went 
 to my soul ; and whenever my father looked me 
 in the face, it was with such a tragic-comical leer 
 — such an attempt to pull down a serious brow 
 upon a whimsical mouth — that I had a thousand 
 times rather he had laughed outright. 
 
 For a day or two after the mortifying occur- 
 rence mentioned, I kept as much as possible out 
 
74 MOUNTJOT. 
 
 of the way of the family, and wandered about the 
 fields and woods by myself. I was sadly out of 
 tune : my feelings were all jarred and unstrung 
 The birds sang from every grove, but I took no 
 pleasure in their melody ; and the flowers of the 
 field bloomed unheeded around me. To be crossed 
 in love is bad enough ; but then one can fly to 
 poetry for relief, and turn one's woes to account 
 in soul-subduing stanzas. But to have one's 
 whole passion, object and all, annihilated, dis- 
 pelled, proved to be such stuff as dreams are 
 made of, or, worse than all, to be turned into a 
 proverb and a jest — what consolation is there 
 in such a case ? 
 
 I avoided the fatal brook where I had seen tho 
 footstep. My favorite resort was now the banks 
 of the Hudson, where I sat upon the rocks and 
 mused upon the current that dimpled by, or the 
 waves that laved the shore ; or watched the briofht 
 mutations of the clouds, and the shifting? lights 
 and shadows of the distant mountain. By de- 
 grees a returning serenity stole over my feelings ; 
 and a sigh now and then, gentle and easy, and 
 unattended by pain, showed that my heart was 
 recovering its susceptibility. 
 
 As I was sitting in this musing mood, my eye 
 became gradually fixed upon an object that was 
 borne along by the tide. It proved to be a little 
 pinnace, beautifully modelled, and gayly painted 
 and decorated. It was an unusual sight in this 
 neighborhood, which was rather lonely : indeed 
 it was rare to see any pleasure-barks in this part 
 of the river. As it drew nearer, I perceived that 
 
MOUNTJOY. 75 
 
 there was no one on board ; it had apparently 
 drifted fi'om its anchorage. There was not a 
 breath of air : the little bark came floating 
 along on the glassy stream, wheeling about with 
 the eddies. At length it ran aground, almost at 
 the foot of the rock on which I was seated. I 
 descended to the margin of the river, and draw- 
 ing the bark to shore, admired its light and ele- 
 gant proportions, and the taste with which it was 
 fitted up. The benches were covered with cush- 
 ions, and its long streamer was of silk. On one 
 of the cushions lay a lady's glove, of delicate size 
 and shape, with beautifully tapered fingers. I 
 instantly seized it and thrust it in my bosom : it 
 seemed a match for the fairy footstep that had so 
 fascinated me. 
 
 In a moment all the romance of my bosom was 
 again in a glow. Here was one of the very inci- 
 dents of fairy tale : a bark sent by some invisible 
 power, some good genius, or benevolent fairy, to 
 waft me to some delectable adventure. I recol- 
 lected something of an enchanted bark, drawn by 
 white swans, that conveyed a knight down the 
 current of the Rhine, on some enterprise con- 
 nected with love and beauty. The glove, too, 
 showed that there was a lady fair concerned in 
 the present adventure. It might be a gauntlet 
 of defiance, to dare me to the enterprise. 
 
 In the spirit of romance, and the whim of the 
 moment, I sprang on board, hoisted the light sail, 
 and pushed from shore. As if breathed by some 
 presiding power, a light breeze at that moment 
 sprang up, swelled out the sail, and dallied with 
 
76 MOUNT JOY. 
 
 the silken streamer. For a time I glided along 
 under steep umbrageous banks, or across deep 
 sequestered bays ; and then stood out over a wide 
 expansion of the river, toward a high rocky prom- 
 ontory. It was a lovely evening : the sun was 
 setting in a congregation of clouds that threw the 
 whole heavens in a glow, and were reflected in 
 the river. I delighted myself with all kinds of 
 fantastic fancies, as to what enchanted island, or 
 mystic bower, or necromantic palace, I was to be 
 conveyed by the fairy bark. 
 
 In the revel of my fancy, I had not noticed that 
 the gorgeous congregation of clouds which had so 
 much delighted me, was, in fact, a gathering thun- 
 der-gust. I perceived the truth too late. The 
 clouds came hurrying on, darkening as they ad- 
 vanced. The whole face of Nature was suddenly 
 changed, and assumed that baleful and livid tint 
 predictive of a storm. I tried to gain the shore ; 
 but, before I could reach it, a blast of wind struck 
 the water, and lashed it at once into foam. The 
 next moment it overtook the boat. Alas ! I was 
 nothing of a sailor ; and my protecting fairy for- 
 sook me in the moment of peril. I endeavored 
 to lower the sail, but in so doing I had to quit 
 the helm ; the bark was overturned in an instant, 
 and I was thrown into tlie water. I endeavored 
 to cling to the wreck, but missed my hold : being 
 a poor swimmer, I soon found myself sinking, but 
 grasped a light oar that was floating by me. It 
 was not sufficient for my support : I again sank 
 beneath the surface ; there was a rushing and 
 bubbling sound in my ears, and all sense forsook 
 me. 
 
MOUNTJOY. V7 
 
 Hew long I remained insensible, 1 know not. 
 I had a confused notion of being moved and tossed 
 about, and of hearing strange beings and strange 
 voices around me ; but all was like a hideous 
 dream. When I at length recovered full con- 
 sciousness and perception, I found myself in bed, 
 in a spacious chamber, furnished witli more tasta 
 than I had been accustomed to. The bright rays 
 of a morning sun Avere intercepted by curtains of 
 a delicate rose color, that gave a soft, voluptuous 
 tinge to every object. Not far from my bed, on 
 a classic tripod, was a basket of beautiful exotic 
 flowers, breathing the sweetest fragrance. 
 
 " Where am I ? How came I here ? " 
 
 I tasked my mind to catch at some previous 
 event, from which I might trace up the thread of 
 existence to the present moment. By degrees I 
 called to mind the fliiry pinnace, my daring em- 
 barkation, my adventurous voyage, and my dis- 
 astrous shipwreck. Beyond that all was chaos. 
 How came I here ? What unknown region had 
 I landed upon ? The people that inhabited it 
 must be gentle and amiable, and of elegant tastes, 
 for they loved downy beds, fragrant flowers, and 
 rose-colored curtains. 
 
 While I lay thus musing, the tones of a harp 
 reached my ear. Presently they were accom- 
 panied by a female voice. It came from the room 
 below ; but in the profound stillness of my cham- 
 ber not a modulation was lost. My sisters were 
 all considered good musicians, and sang very tol- 
 erably ; but I had never heard a voice like this. 
 There was no attempt at difficult execution, or 
 
78 MOVNTJOr. 
 
 striking effect ; but there were exquisite inflex- 
 ions, and tender turns, which art could not reach. 
 Nothing but feeh'ng and sentiment could produce 
 them. It was soul breathed forth in sound. I 
 was always alive to the influence of music ; in- 
 deed I was susceptible of voluptuous influences 
 of every kind, — sounds, colors, shapes, and fra- 
 grant odors. I was the very slave of sensation. 
 
 I lay mute and breathless, and drank in every 
 note of this siren strain. It thrilled through my 
 whole frame, and filled my soul with melody and 
 love. I pictured to myself, with curious logic, 
 the form of the unseen musician. Such melodi- 
 ous sounds and exquisite inflexions could only be 
 produced by organs of the most delicate flexibil- 
 ity. Such organs do not belong to coarse, vulgar 
 forms ; they are the harmonious results of fair 
 proportions and admirable symmetry. A being 
 so organized must be lovely. 
 
 Again my busy imagination was at work. I 
 called to mind the Arabian story of a prince, 
 borne away during sleep by a good genius, to the 
 distant abode of a princess of ravishing beauty. 
 I do not pretend to say that I believed in having 
 experienced a similar transportation ; but it was 
 my inveterate habit to cheat myself with fancies 
 of the kind, and to give the tinge of illusion to 
 surrounding realities. 
 
 The witching sound had ceased, but its vibra- 
 tions still played round my heart, and filled it 
 with a tumult of soft emotions. At this moment 
 % self-upbraiding pang shot through my bosom. 
 " Ah, recreant ! " a voice seemed to exclaim, " is 
 
MOUNTJOY. 79 
 
 this the stability of thine affections ? What ! 
 hast thou so soon forgotten the nymph of the 
 fountain ? Has one song, idly jjiped in thine 
 ear, been sufficient to charm away the cherished 
 tenderness of a whole summer ? " 
 
 The wise may smile ; but I am in a confiding 
 mood, and must confess my weakness. I felt a 
 degree of compunction at this sudden infidelity, 
 yet I could not resist the power of present fasci- 
 nation. JNIy peace of mind was destroyed by con- 
 flicting claims. The nymph of the fountani came 
 over my memory, with all the associations of fairy 
 footsteps, shady groves, soft echoes, and wild 
 streamlets ; but this new passion was produced 
 by a strain of soul-subduing melody, still linger- 
 ing in my ear, aided by a downy bed, fragrant 
 flowers, and rose-colored curtains. " Unhappy 
 youth ! " sighed I to myself, " distracted by such 
 rival passions, and the empire of thy heart thus 
 violently contested by the sound of a voice and 
 the print of a footstep ! " 
 
 I had not remained long in this mood, when I 
 heard the door of the room gently opened. I 
 turned my head to see what inhabitant of this 
 enchanted palace should appear ; whether page 
 in green, hideous dwarf, or haggard fairy. It 
 was my own man Scipio. He advanced with 
 cautious step, and was delighted, as he said, to 
 find me so much myself again. My first ques- 
 tions were as to where I was, and how I came 
 there ? Scipio told me a long story of his having 
 been fishing in a canoe, at the time of my hare- 
 
80 MOUNTS OY. 
 
 brained cruise ; of his noticing the gathering 
 squall, and my impending danger ; of his hasten- 
 ing to join me, but arriving just in time to snatch 
 me from a watery grave ; of the great difficulty 
 in restoring me to animation ; and of my being 
 subsequently conveyed, in a state of insensibility, 
 to this mansion. 
 
 " But where am I ? " was the reiterated de- 
 mand. 
 
 " In the house of Mr. Somerville." 
 
 " Somerville — Somerville ! " I recollected to 
 have heard that a gentle uian of that name had 
 recently taken up his residence at some distance 
 from my father's abode, on the opposite side of 
 the Hudson. He was commonly known by the 
 name of " French Somerville," from having passed 
 part of his early life in France, and from his ex- 
 hibiting traces of French taste in his mode of 
 living and the arrangements of his house. In 
 fact, it was in his pleasure-boat, which had got 
 adrift, that I had made my fanciful and disastrous 
 cruise. All this was simple, straightforward mat- 
 ter of fact, and threatened to demolish all the 
 cobweb romance I had been spinning, when for- 
 tunately I again heard the tinkling of a harp. I 
 raised myself in bed, and listened. 
 
 " Scipio," said I, with some little hesitation, 
 " I heard some one singing just now. Who 
 was it ? " 
 
 *' Oh, that was Miss Julia." 
 
 " Julia ! Julia ! Delightful ! what a name ! 
 And, Scipio — is she • — ■ is she pretty ? " 
 
 Scipio grinned from ear to ear. " Except Miss 
 
MOUNTJOY. 81 
 
 Sophy, slie was the most beautiful young lady he 
 h?»d ever seen." 
 
 I should observe, that my sister Sophia was 
 onsidered by all the servants a paragon of per- 
 fection. 
 
 Scinio now offered to remove the basket of 
 flowers ; lie was afraid their odor might be too 
 powerful ; but Miss Julia had given them that 
 morning to be placed in my room. 
 
 These flowers, then, had been gathered by the 
 fairy fingers of my unseen beauty ; that sweet 
 breath which had filled my ear with melody, had 
 passed over them. I made Scipio hand them to 
 me, culled several of the most delicate, and laid 
 them on my bosom. 
 
 Mr. Somerville paid me a visit not long after- 
 ward. He was an interesting study for me, for 
 he was the father of my unseen beauty, and 
 probably resembled her. I scanned him closely. 
 He was a tall and elegant man, with an open, 
 affable manner, and an erect and graceful car- 
 riage. His eyes were bluish-gray, and, though 
 not dark, yet at times were sparkling and ex- 
 pressive. His hair was dressed and powdered, 
 and being lightly combed up from his forehead, 
 added to tlie loftiness of his aspect. He was 
 fluent in discourse, but his conversation had the 
 quiet tone of polished society, without any of 
 those bold flights of thought, and picturings of 
 fancy, which I so much admired. 
 
 My imagination was a little puzzled, at first, to 
 make out of this assemblage of personal and 
 mental qualities, a picture that should harmonize 
 6 
 
82 MOUNT JOY. 
 
 with my previous idea of the fair unseen. By 
 dint, however, of selecting what it liked, and 
 rejecting what it did not like, and giving a touch 
 here and a touch there, it soon finished out a 
 satisfactory portrait. 
 
 "Julia must be tall," thought I, "and of ex- 
 quisite grace and dignity. She is not quite so 
 courtly as her father, for she has been brought 
 up in the retirement of the country. Neither is 
 she of such vivacious deportment ; for the tones 
 of her voice are soft and plaintive, and she loves 
 pathetic music. She is rather pensive — yet not 
 too pensive; just what is called interesting. Her 
 eyes are like her father's, except that they are of 
 a purer blue, and more tender and languishing. 
 She has light hair — not exactly flaxen, for 1 
 do not like flaxen hair, but between that and 
 auburn. In a word, she is a tall, elegant, im- 
 posing, languishing, blue-eyed, romantic-looking 
 beauty." And having thus finished her picture, 
 I felt ten times more in love with her than ever. 
 
 I felt so much recovered, that I would at once 
 have left my room, but Mr. Somerville objected 
 to it. He had sent early word to my family of 
 my safety ; and my father arrived in the course 
 of the morning. He was shocked at learning 
 the risk I had run, but rejoiced to find me so 
 much restored, and was warm in his thanks to 
 Mr. Somerville for his kindness. The other only 
 required, in return, that I might remain two or 
 three days as his guest, to give time for my recov- 
 ery, and for our forming a closer acf[uaintance ; 
 
MOUNTJOY. 83 
 
 a request which my father readily granted. Scipio 
 accordingly accompanied my father liome, and 
 returned with a supply of clothes, and with affec- 
 tionate letters from my mother and sisters. 
 
 The next morning, aided by Scipio, I made my 
 toilet with rather more care than usual, and de- 
 scended the stairs with some trepidation, eager to 
 see the original of the portrait which had been so 
 completely pictured in my imagination. 
 
 On entering the parlor, I found it deserted. 
 Like the rest of the house, it was furnished in a 
 foreign style. The curtains were of P^'rench silk ; 
 there were Grecian couches, marble tables, pier- 
 glasses, and chandeliers. What chiefly attracted 
 ray eye, were documents of female taste that I 
 saw around me, — a piano, with an ample stock of 
 Italian music ; a book of poetry lying on the 
 sofa ; a vase of fresh flowers on a table, and a 
 portfolio open with a skilful and half-finished 
 sketch of them. In the window was a Canary 
 bird, in a gilt cage ; and near by, the harp that 
 had been in Julia's arms. Happy harp ! But 
 where was the beinsc that reig-ned in this little 
 empire of delicacies ? — that breathed poetry and 
 song, and dwelt among birds and flowers, and 
 rose-colored curtains ? 
 
 Suddenly I heard the hall-door fly open, the 
 quick pattering of light steps, a wild, capricious 
 s'rain of music, and the shrill barking of a dog. 
 A. light frolic nymph of fifteen came tripping into 
 the room, playing on a flageolet, with a little 
 spaniel ramping after her. Her gypsy-hat had 
 (fdlen back upon her shoulders ; a profusion of 
 
84 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 glossy brown hair was blown in rich ringlets 
 about her face, which beamed through them with 
 the brightness of smiles and dimples. 
 
 At sight of me she stopped short, in the most 
 beautiful confusion, stammered out a word or two 
 about looking for her father, glided out of the 
 door, and I heard her bounding up the staircase, 
 like a frightened fawn, with the little dog barking 
 after her. 
 
 When Miss Somerville returned to the parlor, 
 she was quite a different being. She entered, 
 stealing along by her mother's side, with noiseless 
 step and sweet timidity ; her hair was prettily 
 adjusted, and a soft blush mantled on her damask 
 cheek. Mr. Somerville accompanied the ladies, 
 and introduced me regularly to them. There 
 were many kind inquiries, and much sympathy 
 expressed on the subject of my nautical accident, 
 and some remarks upon the wild scenery of the 
 neighborhood, with which the ladies seemed per- 
 fectly acquainted. 
 
 " You must know," said Mr. Somerville, " that 
 we are great navigators, und delight in exploring 
 every nook and corner of the river. My daugh- 
 ter, too, is a great hunter of the picturesque, and 
 transfers every rock and glen to her portfolio. 
 By the way, my dear, show Mr. Mountjoy that 
 pretty scene you have lately sketched." Julia 
 complied, blushing, and drew from her portfolio a 
 colored sketch. I almost started at the sight. It 
 was my favorite brook. A sudden thought darted 
 across my mind. I glanced down my eye, and 
 beheld the divinest little foot in the world. Oh, 
 
MOUNT J or. 85 
 
 hlissfiil conviction I Tlie struggle of my affec- 
 tions was at an end. The voice and the footstep 
 were no longer at variance. Julia Somerville 
 was the nymph of the fountain ! 
 
 What conversation passed during breakfast T 
 do not recollect, and hardly was conscious of at 
 the time, for my thoughts were in complete con- 
 fusion. I wished to gaze on Miss Somerville, 
 but did not dare. Once, indeed, I ventured a 
 glance. She was at that moment darting a simi- 
 lar one from under a covert of ringlets. Our 
 eyes seemed shocked by the rencontre, and fell ; 
 hers through the natural modesty of her sex, 
 mine through a bashfulness produced by the pre- 
 vious workings of my imagination. That glance, 
 however, went like a sunbeam to my heart. 
 
 A convenient mirror favored my ditfidence, and 
 gave me the reflection of Miss Somerville's form. 
 It is true it only presented the back of her head, 
 but she had the merit of an ancient statue ; con- 
 template her from any point of view, she was 
 beautiful. And yet she was totally different from 
 everything I had before conceived of beauty. 
 She was not the serene, meditative maid that I 
 had pictured the nymph of the fountain ; nor the 
 tall, soft, languishing, blue-eyed, dignified being 
 that I had fancied the minstrel of the harp. 
 There was nothing of dignity about her ; she 
 n^as girlish in her appearance, and scarcely of the 
 middle size ; but then there was the tenderness 
 of budding youth ; the sweetness of the half- 
 blown rose, when not a tint or perfume has been 
 
86 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 withered or exhaled ; there were smiles and dim- 
 ples, and all the soft witcheries of ever-varying 
 expression. I wondered that I could ever have 
 admired any other style of beauty. 
 
 After breakfast Mr. Somerville departed to 
 attend to the concerns of his estate, and gave me 
 in charge of the ladies. Mrs. Somerville also 
 was called away by household cares, and I was 
 left alone with Julia ! Here then was the situa- 
 tion which of all others I had most coveted. I 
 was in the presence of the lovely being that had 
 so long been the desire of my heart. We were 
 alone ; propitious opportunity for a lover ! Did 
 I seize upon it? Did I break out in one of my 
 accustomed rhapsodies ? No such thing ! Never 
 was being more awkwardly embarrassed. 
 
 " What can be the cause of this ? " thought I. 
 " Surely I cannot stand in awe of this young girl. 
 I am of course her superior in intellect, and am 
 never embarrassed in company with my tutor, 
 notwithstanding all his wisdom." 
 
 It was passing strange. I felt that if she were 
 an old woman, I should be quite at my ease ; if 
 she were even an ugly woman, I should make out 
 very well ; it was her beauty that overpowered 
 me. How little do lovely women know what 
 awful beings they are, in the eyes of inexpe- 
 rienced youth ! Young men brought up in the 
 fashionable circles of our cities will smile at all 
 this. Accustomed to mingle incessantly in female 
 society, and to have the romance of the heart 
 deadened by a thousand frivolous flirtations, 
 women are nothing but women in their eyes ; 
 
MocmrJoY. 87 
 
 but to a susceptible youth like myself, brought 
 up iii the country, they are perfect divinities. 
 
 Miss Somerville was at first a little embar- 
 rassed herself; but, somehow or other, women 
 have a natural adroitness in recoverinor their self- 
 possession ; they are more alert in their minds 
 and graceful in their manners. Besides, I was 
 but an ordinary personage in Miss Somerville's 
 eyes ; she was not under the influence of such a 
 sinGjular course of imaojinino-s as had surrounded 
 her, in my eyes, with the illusions of romance. 
 Perhaps, too, she saw the confusion in the op- 
 posite camp, and gained courage from the discov- 
 ery. At any rate, she was the first to take the 
 field. 
 
 Her conversation, however, was only on com- 
 monplace topics, and in an easy, well-bred style. 
 I endeavored to respond in the same manner ; but 
 I was strangely incompetent to the task. My 
 ideas were frozen up ; even words seemed to fail 
 me. I was excessively vexed at myself, for I 
 wished to be uncommonly elegant. I tried two 
 or three times to turn a pretty thought, or to 
 utter a fine sentiment ; but it would come forth so 
 trite, so forced, so mawkish, that I was ashamed of 
 it. My very voice sounded discordantly, though 
 I sought to modulate it into the softest tones. 
 " The truth is," thought I to myself, '' I cannot 
 bring my mind down to the small talk necessary 
 for young girls ; it is too masculine and robust 
 for the mincing measure of parlor gossip. I am 
 i philosopher ; and that accounts for it." 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Somerville at length 
 
88 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 gave me relief. I at once breatlied freely, and 
 felt a vast deal of confidence come over me. 
 " This is strange," thought I, " that the appear- 
 ance of another woman should revive my cour- 
 age ; that I should be a better match for two 
 women than one. However, since it is so, 1 will 
 take advantage of the circumstance, and let this 
 young lady see that 1 am not so great a simple- 
 ton as she probably thinks me." 
 
 I accordingly took up the book of poetry which 
 lay upon the sofa. It was Milton's " Paradise Lost.'' 
 Nothing could have been more fortunate ; it af- 
 forded a fine scope for my favorite vein of gran- 
 diloquence. T went largely into a discussion of 
 its merits, or rather an enthusiastic eulogy of them 
 My observations were addressed to Mrs. Sorrrer- 
 ville, for I found I could talk to her with more 
 ease than to her daughter. She appeared per- 
 fectly alive to the beauties of the poet, and dis- 
 posed to meet me in the discussion ; but it was 
 not my object to hear her talk ; it was to talk 
 myself. I anticipated all she had to say, over- 
 powered her with the copiousness of my ideas, 
 and supported and illustrated them by long cita- 
 tions from the author. 
 
 AVhile thus holding forth, I cast a side-glanco 
 to see how Miss Somerville was affected. She 
 had some embroidery stretched on a frame before 
 her, but had paused in her labor, and was looking 
 down, as if lost in mute attention. I felt a glow 
 of self-satisfaction ; but I recollected, at the same 
 time, with a kind of pique, the advantage she had 
 enjoyed over me in our tete-a-tete. I determined 
 
MOUNTJOY. 89 
 
 to push my triumph, and accordingly kept on with 
 redoubled ardor, until I had fairly exhausted my 
 subject, or rather my thoughts. 
 
 I had scarce come to a full stop, when Miss 
 Somerville raised her eyes from the work on 
 which they had been fixed, and turning to her 
 mother, observed : " I have been considering, 
 mamma, whether to work these flowers plain, 
 or in colors." 
 
 Had an ice-bolt been shot to my heart, it could 
 not have chilled me more effectually. " What a 
 fool," thought I, " have I been making myself, — 
 squandering away fine thoughts and fine language 
 upon a light mind and an ignorant ear ! This 
 girl knows nothing of poetry. She has no soul, 
 
 fear, for its beauties. Can any one have real 
 sensibility of heart, and not be alive to poetry ? 
 However, she is young ; this part of her education 
 has been neglected ; there is time enough to rem- 
 edy it. I will be her preceptor. I will kindle 
 in her mind the sacred flame, and lead her through 
 the fairy land of song. But, after all, it is rather 
 unfortunate that 1 should have fallen in love with 
 a woman who knows nothing of poetry." 
 
 I passed a day not altogether satisfactory. I 
 was a little disappointed that Miss Somerville did 
 not show more poetical feeling. " I am afraid, 
 after all," said I to myself, " she is light and girl- 
 ish, and more fitted to pluck wild flowers, play 
 on the flageolet, and romp with little dogs, than 
 to converse Avith a man of my turn." 
 
 I believe however, to tell the truth, I was more 
 
90 MOUNT JOY. 
 
 out of humor with myself. I thought I had made 
 the worst first appearance that ever hero made, 
 either in novel or fairy tale. I was out of all 
 patience when I called to mind my awkward 
 attempts at ease and elegance, in the tete-a-tete. 
 And then my intolerable long lecture about poetry, 
 to catch the applause of a heedless auditor ! But 
 there I was not to blame. I had certainly been 
 eloquent ; it was her fault that the eloquence was 
 wasted. To meditate upon the embroidery of a 
 flower, when I was expatiating on the beauties 
 of Milton ! She might at least have admired the 
 poetry, if she did not relish the manner in which 
 it was delivered ; though that was not despicable, 
 for I had recited passages in my best style, which 
 my mother and sisters had always considered equpl 
 to a play. " Oh, it is evident," thought I, " Miss 
 Soiiierville has very little soul ! " 
 
 c)uch were my fancies and cogitations during 
 the day, the greater part of which was spent in 
 mj chamber ; for I was still languid. My even- 
 ing was passed in the drawing-room, where I 
 overlooked Miss Somerville's portfolio of sketches. 
 They were executed with great taste, and showed 
 a nice observation of the peculiarities of Nature. 
 They were all her own, and fr-ee from those cun- 
 iu"ng tints and touches of the drawing-master, by 
 which young ladies' drawings, like their heads, 
 are dressed up for company. There was no garf- 
 ish and vulgar trick of colors, either ; all was ex- 
 ecuted with singular truth and simplicity. 
 
 " And yet," thought I, " this little being, who 
 has so pure an eye to take in, as in a limpid brook 
 
MOVNTJOY. 91 
 
 all the graceful forms and magic tints of Nature 
 has no soul for poetry ! " 
 
 Mr. Somerv'ille, toward the latter part of the 
 evening, observing my eye to wander occasionally 
 to the harp, interpreted and met my wishes with 
 his accustomed civility. 
 
 " Julia, my dear," said he, " Mr. Mountjoy 
 would like to hear a little music from your harp ; 
 let us hear, too, the sound of your voice." 
 
 Julia immediately complied, without any of 
 that hesitation and difficulty by which young 
 ladies are apt to make the company pay dear for 
 bad music. She sang a sprightly strain, in a brill- 
 iant style, that came trilling playfully over the 
 ear ; and the bright eye and dimpling smile 
 showed that her little heart danced with the 
 song. Her pet Canary bird, who hung close by, 
 was wakened by the music, and burst forth into 
 an emulating strain. Julia smiled with a pretty 
 air of defiance, and played louder. 
 
 After some time the music changed, and ran 
 into a plaintive strain, in a minor key. Then it 
 was that all the former witchery of her voice came 
 over me ; then it was that she seemed to sing 
 from the heart and to the heart. Her fingers 
 moved about the chords as if they scarcely 
 touched them. Her whole manner and appear- 
 ance changed ; her eyes beamed with the softest 
 expression ; her countenance, her frame, — all 
 seemed subdued into tenderness. She rose from 
 the harp, leaving it still vibrating with sweet 
 sounds, and moved toward her father, to bid him 
 good-night. 
 
92 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 His eyes had been fixed on her intently during 
 her performance. As she came before him, he 
 parted her shining ringlets with both his hands, 
 and looked down with the fondness of a father on 
 her innocent face. The music seemed still linger- 
 ins: in its lineaments, and the action of her father 
 brought a moist gleam in her eye. He kissed her 
 fair forehead, after the French mode of parental 
 caressing : " Good-night, and God bless you," 
 said he, " my good little girl ! " 
 
 J ulia tripped away with a tear in her eye, a 
 dimple in her cheek, and a light heart in her 
 bosom. I thought it the prettiest picture of pa- 
 ternal and filial affection I had ever seen. 
 
 Wiien I retired to bed a new train of thoughts 
 crowded into my brain. " After all," said I to 
 myself, " it is clear this girl has a soul, though 
 she was not moved by my eloquence. She has 
 ail the outward signs and evidences of poetic feel- 
 ing. She paints well, and has an eye for Nature. 
 She is a fine musician, and enters into the very 
 soul of song. What a pity that she knows noth- 
 ing of poetry ! But we will see what is to be 
 done. I am irretrievably in love with her ; what 
 then am I to do ? Come down to the le\'el of 
 her mind, or endeavor to raise her to some kind 
 of intellectual equality with myself ? That is the 
 most generous course. She will look up to me as 
 a benefactor. 1 shall become associated in her 
 mind with the lofty thoughts and harmonious 
 graces of poetry. She is apparently docile ; be- 
 sides, the difference of our ages will give me an 
 ascendency over her. She cannot be above sixteen 
 
MOUXTJOY. 93 
 
 years of age, and I am full turned of twenty." 
 So, having built this most delectable of air-castles, 
 I fell asleep. 
 
 The next morning I was quite a different be- 
 ing. I no longer felt fearful of stealing a glance 
 at Julia ; on the contrary, I contemplated her 
 steadily, with the benignant eye of a benefactor. 
 Shortly after breakfast I found myself alone with 
 her, as I had on the preceding morning ; but I 
 felt nothing of the awkwardness of our previous 
 tete-d-tete. I was elevated by the consciousness 
 of my intellectual superiority, and should almost 
 have felt a sentiment of pity for the ignorance of 
 the lovely little being, if I had not felt also the 
 assurance that I should be able to dispel it. 
 " But it is time," thought I, " to open school." 
 
 Julia was occupied in arranging some music 
 on her piano. I looked over two or three songs ; 
 they were Moore's Irish Melodies. 
 
 " These are pretty things," said I, flirting the 
 leaves ovei* lightly, and giving a slight shrug, by 
 way of qualifying the opinion. 
 
 " Oh, I love them of all things ! " said Julia, 
 " they 're so touching ! " 
 
 " Then you like them for the poetry ? " said I, 
 with an encourasino; smile. 
 
 " Oh yes ; she thought them charmingly writ- 
 ten." 
 
 Now was my time. " Poetry," said I, assum- 
 ing a didactic attitude and air, — " poetry is one of 
 the most pleasing studies that can occupy a youth- 
 ful mind. It renders us susceptible of the gentle 
 
94 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 impulses of humanity, and cherishes a delicate 
 perception of all that is virtuous and elevated in 
 morals, and graceful and beautiful in physics. 
 It" — 
 
 I was going on in a style that would have 
 graced a professor of rhetoric, when I saw a light 
 sniile playing about Miss Somerville's mouth, and 
 that she began to turn over the leaves of a music- 
 book. I recollected her inattention to my dis- 
 course of the preceding morning. " There is no 
 fixing her light mind," thought I, "by abstract 
 theory ; we will proceed practically." As it hap- 
 pened, the identical volume of Milton's " Paradise 
 Lost " was lying at hand. 
 
 " Let me recommend to you, my young friend," 
 said I, in one of those tones of persuasive admo- 
 nition, which I had so often lov^ed in Glencoe, — 
 " let me recommend to you this admirable poem : 
 you will find in it sources of intellectual enjoy- 
 ment far superior to those songs which have de- 
 lighted you." Julia looked at the book, and then 
 at me, with a whimsically dubious air. '' Milton's 
 ' Paradise Lost ' ? " said she ; " oh, I know the 
 greater part of that by heart." 
 
 I had not expected to find my pupil so far 
 advanced ; however, the " Paradise Lost " is a kind 
 of school-book, and its finest passages are given 
 to young ladies as tasks. 
 
 " I find," said I to myself, " I must not treat 
 her as so complete a novice ; her inattention, yes- 
 terday, could not have proceeded from absolute 
 ignorance, but merely from a want of poetic feel- 
 ing. I '11 try her again." 
 
MOUNTJOY. 95 
 
 I now determined to dazzle lier witli my own 
 erudition, and launched into a harangue that would 
 have done honor to an institute. Pope, Spenser, 
 Chaucer, and the old dramatic writers, were all 
 dipped into, with the excursive flight of a swallow. 
 I did not confine myself to English poets, but gave 
 a glance at the French and Italian schools : I 
 passed over Ariosto in full wing, but paused on 
 Tasso's " Jerusalem Delivered." I dwelt on the 
 character of Clorinda : " There 's a character," 
 said I, " that you will find well worthy a woman's 
 study. It shows to what exalted heights of hero- 
 ism the sex can rise ; how gloriously they may 
 share even in the stern concerns of men." 
 
 " For my part," said Julia, gently taking advan- 
 tage of a pause, — " for my part, I prefer the 
 character of Sophronia." 
 
 I was thunderstruck. She then had read Tasso ! 
 This girl that I had been treating as an ignora- 
 mus in poetry ! She proceeded, with a slight 
 glow of the cheek, summoned up perhaps by a 
 casual o;lovv of feelino; : — 
 
 " I do not admire those masculine heroines," 
 said she, " who aim at the bold qualities of the 
 opposite sex. Now Sophronia oidy exhibits the 
 real qualities of a woman, wrought up to their 
 highest excitement. She is modest, gentle, and 
 retiring, as it becomes a woman to be ; but she 
 has all the strength of affection proper to a woman. 
 She cannot fight for her people, as Clorinda does, 
 but she can offer herself up, and die, to serve 
 them. You may admire Clorinda, but you surely 
 would be more apt to love Sophronia ; at least,*' 
 
96 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 added she, suddenly appearing to I'ecoUect herself, 
 and blushing at having launched into such a dis- 
 cussion, — " at least, that is what papa observed, 
 Vrhen we read the poem together." 
 
 " Indeed," said I, dryly, for I felt disconcerted 
 and nettled at being unexpectedly lectured by my 
 pupil, — " indeed, I do not exactly recollect the 
 passage." 
 
 " Oil," said Julia, " I can repeat it to you ; " 
 and she immediately gave it in Italian. 
 
 Heavens and earth ! — here was a situation ! 
 I knew no more of Italian than I did of the 
 language of Psalmanazar. What a dilemma for 
 a would-be-wise man to be placed in ! I saw 
 Julia waited for my opinion. 
 
 " In fact," said I, hesitating, "I — I do not ex- 
 actly understand Italian." 
 
 " Oh," said Julia, with the utmost naivete, " I 
 have no doubt it is very beautiful in the transla- 
 tion." 
 
 I was glad to break up school and get back to 
 my chamber, full of the mortification which a 
 wise man in love experiences on finding his 
 mistress wiser than himself. " Translation ! trans- 
 lation ! " muttered I to myself, as I jerked the door 
 shut behind me. " I am surprised my father has 
 never had me instructed in the modern lancruajres. 
 They are all-important. What is the use of 
 Latin and Greek ? No one speaks them ; but 
 here, tlie moment I make my appearance in the 
 world, a little girl slaps Italian in my face. How- 
 ever, thank Heaven, a language is easily learned. 
 The moment I return home, I '11 set about study- 
 
MOUNT.! OY. 97 
 
 ing Italian ; and to prevent, future surprise, I will 
 study Spanish and German at the same time ; and 
 if any young lady attempts to quote Italian upon 
 me again, I '11 bury her under a heap of High 
 Dutch poetry ! " 
 
 I felt now like some mighty chieftain, who has 
 carried the war into a weak country, with full 
 confidence of success, and been repulsed and 
 obliged to di-aw off his forces from before some 
 inconsiderable fortress. 
 
 " However," thought I, " I have as yet brought 
 only my light artillery into action ; we shall see 
 what is to be done with my heavy ordnance. 
 Julia is evidently well versed in poetry ; but it is 
 natural she should be so ; it is allied to painting 
 and music, and is congenial to the light graces of 
 the female character. We will try her on graver 
 themes." 
 
 I felt all my pride awakened ; it even for a 
 time swelled higher than my love. I was de- 
 termined completely to establish my mental supe- 
 riority, and subdue the intellect of this little 
 being : it would then be time to sway tlie sceptre 
 of gentle empire, and win the affections of her heart. 
 
 Accordingly, at dinner I again took the field, 
 en potence. I now addressed myself to Mr. Som- 
 erville, for I was about to enter upon topics in 
 which a young girl like her could not be well 
 versed. I led, or rather forced, the conversation 
 into a vein of historical erudition, discussing sev- 
 eral of the most prominent facts of ancient history 
 and accompanying them with sound, indisputable 
 apothegms. 
 
 7 
 
:98 MOVNTJOY 
 
 Mr. Somervllle listened to me with the air of a 
 man receivino; information. I was encouraged, 
 and went on gloriously from theme to theme of 
 school declamation. I sat with Marius on the 
 ruins of Carthage ; I defended the bridge with 
 Hbratius Codes ; thrust my hand into the flame 
 with Martius Scgevola, and plunged with Ciirtius 
 into the yawning giilf ; I fought side by side 
 • with Leonidas, at the straits of Thermopylse ; and 
 was going full drive into, the battle of Plataea, 
 when my memory, which is the worst in the 
 world, failed me, just as I Avanted the name of 
 the Lacedemonian commander. ' 
 
 "Julia, ray dear," said Mr. Somerville, "per- 
 haps you may recollect the name of which Mr. 
 Mountjoy is in quest ? " 
 
 Julia colored slightly: " I believe," said she, in 
 a low voice, — "I believe it was Pausanias." . 
 
 This unexpected sally, instead of reinforcing 
 .nie, threw my whole scheme of battle into ■- coii- 
 .fusion, and the Athenians remained unmolested in 
 the field. , 
 
 I am half inclined, since, to think Mr. Somer- 
 ville meant this as a. sly hit at my schoolboy 
 pedantry ; but he was too well bred not to seek 
 to relieve me from my mortification, " Oh I " 
 said he, "Julia is our family book of reference for 
 names, dates, and distanees,, and has an excellent 
 memory for history and geography." 
 
 1 now became desperate ; as a last resource, I 
 turned to metaphysics. " If she is a philosopher 
 in petticoats," thought I,,^^it is all over with me." 
 
 Here, however, I had the field to myself. ,1 
 
MOUNTJOY. 9D 
 
 gave chapter and verse of my tutor's lectures, 
 heightened by all his poetical illustrations : I 
 even went farther than he had ever ventured, and 
 plunged into such depths of metaphysics, that I 
 was in danijer of stickinor in the mire at the bot- 
 torn. Fortunately, I had auditors who apparently 
 could not detect my flounderings. Neither Mr. 
 Somerville nor his daughter offered the least in- 
 terruption. 
 
 When the ladies had retired, Mr. Somerville 
 sat some time with me ; and as I was no longer 
 anxious to astonish, I permitted myself to listen, 
 and found that he was really agreeable. He was 
 quite communicative, and from his conversation I 
 was enabled to form a juster idea of his daughter's 
 character, and the mode in which she had been 
 brought up. Mr. Somerville had mingled much 
 with the world, and with what is termed fashion- 
 able society. He had experienced its cold ele- 
 gancies, and gay insincerities ; its dissipation of 
 the spirits, and squanderings of the heart. Like 
 many men of the world, though he had wandered 
 too far from Nature ever to return to it, yet he 
 had the good taste and good feeling to look back 
 fondly to its simple delights, and to determine that 
 his child, if possible, should never leave them. 
 He had superintended her education with scrupu- 
 lous care, storing her mind with the graces of 
 polite literature, and with such knowledge as 
 would enable it to furnish its own amusement and 
 occupation, and giving her all the accomplishments 
 hat sweeten and enliven the circle of domestic 
 life. He had been particularly sedulous to ex- 
 
100 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 chicle all fashionable affectations ; all false senti- 
 ment, false sensibility, and false romance. " What- 
 ever advantages she may possess," said he, " she 
 is quite unconscious of them. She is a capricious 
 little being, in everything but her affections; she 
 is, however, free from art ; simple, ingenuous, in- 
 nocent, amiable, and, I thank God ! happy." 
 
 Such was the eulogy of a fond father, delivered 
 with a tenderness that touched me. I could not 
 help making a casual inquiry whether, among the 
 graces of polite literature, he had included a slight 
 tincture of metaphysics. He smiled, and told 
 me he had not. 
 
 On the whole, when, as usual, that night, I 
 summed up the day's observations on my pillow, 
 I was not altogether dissatisfied. " Miss Somer- 
 ville," said I, " loves poetry, and I like her the 
 better for it. She has the advantage of me in 
 Italian : agreed ; what is it to know a variety of 
 languages, but merely to have a variety of sounds 
 to express the same idea ? Original thought is 
 the ore of the mind ; language is but the acci- 
 dental stamp and coinage, by which it is put into 
 circulation. If I can furnish an original idea, 
 what care I how many languages she can trans- 
 late it into ? She may be able, also, to quote 
 names, and dates, and latitudes, better than I ; 
 but that is a mere effort of the memory. I admit 
 she is more accurate in history and geography 
 than I ; but then she knows nothing of meta- 
 physics." 
 
 I had now sufficiently recovered to return 
 home ; yet I could not think of leaving Mr 
 
MOUNTJOY. 101 
 
 -Somerville'y, without having a little farther con- 
 versation with him on the subject of his daughter's 
 education. 
 
 " This Mr. Somerville," thought I, " is a very 
 accomph'slied, elegant man : he has seen a good 
 deal of the world, and, upon the whole, has 
 pi'ofited by what he has seen. He is not without 
 information, and, as far as he thinks, appears to 
 think correctly ; but after all, he is rather super- 
 ficial, and does not think profoundly. He seems 
 to take no delight in those metaphysical abstrac- 
 tions that are the proper aliment of masculine 
 minds." I called to mind various occasions in 
 which I had indulged largely in metaphysical dis- 
 cussions, but could recollect no instance where I 
 had been able to draw him out. He had listened, 
 it is true, with attention, and smiled as if in 
 acquiescence, but had always appeared to avoid 
 reply. Besides, I had made several sad blunders 
 in the glow of eloquent declamation ; but he had 
 never interrupted me, to notice and correct them, 
 as he would have done had he been versed in the 
 theme. 
 
 " Now it is really a great pity," resumed I, 
 " that he should have the entire management of 
 Miss Somerville's education. What a vast ad- 
 vantage it would be, if she could be put for a 
 little time under the superintendence of Glencoe. 
 He would throw some deeper shades of thought 
 into her mind, which at present is all sunshine ; 
 not but that Mr. Somerville has done very well, 
 as far as he has gone ; but then he has merely 
 prepared the soil for the strong plants of useful 
 
102 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 knowledge. She is well versed in the leading 
 facts of history, and the general course of belles- 
 lettres," said I ; " a little more philosophy would 
 do wonders.'* 
 
 I accordingly took occasion to ask Mr. Somer- 
 ville for a few moments' conversation in his study, 
 the morning I was to depart. When we were 
 alone, I opened the matter fully to him. I com- 
 menced with the warmest eulogium of Glencoe's 
 powers of mind, and vast acquirements, and as- 
 cribed to him all my proficiency in the higher 
 branches of knowledge. I begged, therefore, to 
 recommend him as a friend calculated to direct 
 the studies of Miss Somerville ; to lead her mind, 
 by degrees, to the contemplation of abstract prin- 
 ciples, and to produce habits of philosophical 
 analysis ; " which," added I, gently smiling, " are 
 not often cultivated by young ladies." I ven- 
 tured to hint, in addition, that he would find Mr. 
 Glencoe a most valuable and interesting acquaint- 
 ance for himself; one who would stimulate and 
 evolve the powers of his mind ; and who might 
 open to him tracts of inquiry and speculation, to 
 which perhaps he had hitherto been a stranger. 
 
 Mr. Somerville listened with grave attention. 
 When I had finished, he thanked me in the po- 
 litest manner for the interest I took in the welfare 
 of his daughter and himself. He observed that, 
 as regarded himself, he was afraid he was too old 
 to benefit by the instructions of Mr. Glencoe, 
 and that as to his daughter, he was afraid her 
 mind was but little fitted for the study of meta- 
 physics. " I do not wish," continued he, " to strain 
 
MOVNTJOY. 103 
 
 her intellects with subjects tliey cannot grasp, but 
 to make her familiarly acquainted with those that 
 are within the limits of her capacity. I do not 
 pretend to prescribe the boundaries of female 
 genius, and am far from induloino; the vulgar 
 opinion that women are unfitted by Nature for the 
 highest intellectual pursuits. I speak only with 
 reference to my daughter's taste and talents. She 
 will never make a learned woman ; nor in truth 
 do I desire it ; for such is the jealousy of our 
 sex, as to mental as well as physical ascendency, 
 that a learned woman is not always the happiest. 
 I do not wish my daughter to excite envy, nor 
 to battle with the prejudices of the world ; but to 
 glide peaceably through life, on the good will and 
 kind opinion of her friends. She has ample em- 
 ployment for her little head in the course I have 
 marked out for her ; and is busy at present with 
 some branches of natural history, calculated to 
 awaken her perceptions to the beauties and won- 
 ders of Nature, and to the inexhaustible volume of 
 wisdom constantly spread open before her eyes. I 
 consider that woman most likely to make an agree- 
 able companion, who can draw topics of pleasing 
 remark from every natural object ; and most likely 
 to be cheerful and contented, who is coritinually 
 sensible of the order, the harmony, and the inva- 
 riable beneficence that reign throughout the beau- 
 tiful world we inhabit. 
 
 " But," added he, smiling, " I am betraying 
 myself into a lecture, instead of merely giving a 
 reply to your kind offer. Permit me to take the 
 liberty, in return, of inquiring a little about youi 
 
104 MOUNTJOT. 
 
 own pursuits. You speak of having finished youi 
 education ; bat of course you have a line of pri- 
 vate study and mental occupation marked out ; 
 for you must know the importance, both in point 
 of interest and happiness, of keeping the mind 
 employed. May I ask what system you observe 
 in your intellectual exercises ? " 
 
 " Oh, as to system," I observed, " I could never 
 bring myself into anything of the kind. I thouglit 
 it best to let my genius take its own course, as it 
 always acted the most vigorously when stimulated 
 by inclination." 
 
 Mr. Somerville shook his head. " This same 
 genius," said he, " is a wild quality, that runs 
 r\ aw^ay with our most promising young men. It 
 
 lias become so much the fashion, too, to give it 
 the reins, that it is now thought an animal of too 
 noble and generous a nature to be brought to the 
 harness. But it is all a mistake. Nature never 
 designed these high endowments to run riot 
 through society, and throw the whole system 
 into confusion. No, my dear sir ; genius, unless 
 it acts upon system, is very apt to be a useless 
 quality to society ; sometimes an injurious, and 
 certainly a very uncomfortable one, to its pos- 
 sessor. I have had many opportunities of seeing 
 the progress through life of young men who were 
 accounted geniuses, and have found it too often 
 end in eai'ly exhaustion and bitter disappoint- 
 ment ; and have as often noticed that these effects 
 might be traced to a total want of system. There 
 were no habits of business, of steady purpose, 
 and regular application superinduced upon the 
 
MOUNTS OY. 105 
 
 mind ; everything was left to chance and impulse, 
 and native luxuriance, and everything of course 
 ran to waste and wild entanglement. Excuse 
 me if I am tedious on this point, for I feel so- 
 licitous to impress it upon you, being an error ex- 
 tremely prevalent in our country, and one into 
 which too many of our youth have fallen. I am 
 happy, however, to observe the zeal which still 
 appears to actuate you for the acquisition of 
 knowledge, and augur every good from the ele- 
 vated bent of your ambition. May I ask what 
 has been your course of study for the last six 
 months ? " 
 
 Never was question more unluckily timed. 
 For the last six months I had been absolutely 
 buried in novels and romances. 
 
 Mr. Somerville perceived that the question 
 was embarrassing, and w^ith his invariable good 
 breeding, immediately resumed the conversation, 
 without waiting for a reply. He took care, how- 
 ever, to turn it in such a way as to draw from 
 me an account of the whole maimer in which I 
 had been educated, and the various currents of 
 reading into which my mind had run. He then 
 went on to discuss briefly, but impressively, the 
 different branches of knowledge most important 
 to a young man in my situation ; and to my sur- 
 prise I found him a complete master of those 
 studies on which I had supposed him ignorant, 
 and on which I had been descantino; so confi- 
 dently. 
 
 He complimented me, however, very graciously, 
 upon the progress I had made, but advised me 
 
106 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 for the present to turn my attention to the phys- 
 \/ ical rather than the moral sciences. " These 
 A studies," said he, " store a man's mind with vahia- 
 > ble facts, and at the same time repress self* 
 S confidence, by letting him know how boundless 
 are the realms of knowledge, and how little we 
 can possibly know. Whereas metaphysical stud- 
 ) ies, though of an ingenious order of intellectual 
 employment, are apt to bewilder some minds with 
 vague speculations. They never know how far 
 they have advanced, or what may be the correct- 
 ness of their favorite theory. They render many 
 of our young men verbose and declamatory, and 
 prone to mistake the aberrations of their fancy 
 1 for the inspirations of divine philosophy." 
 
 I could not but interrupt him, to assent to the 
 truth of these remarks, and to say that it had 
 been my lot, in the course of my limited expe- 
 rience, to encounter young men of the kind, who 
 bad overwhelmed me by their verbosity. 
 
 Mr. Somerville. smiled. "I trust," said he 
 kindly, " tliat you will guard against these errors. 
 Avoid the eagerness with which a young man is 
 apt to hurry into conversation, and to utter the 
 crude and ill-digested notions which he has picked 
 up in his recent studies. Be assured that exten- 
 y sive and accurate knowledge is the slow acquisi- 
 tion of a studious lifetime ; that a young man, 
 however pregnant his wit and prompt his talent, 
 can have mastered but the rudiments of learning, 
 and, in a manner, attained the implements of 
 etudy. Whatever may have been your past 
 assiduity, you must be sensible that as yet you 
 
MOUNTJOY. 107 
 
 have but reached the threshold of true knowl- 
 edge ; but at the same time, you have the ad- 
 vantage that you are still \ery young, and have 
 ample time to learn." 
 
 Here our conference ended. I walked out of 
 the study, a very different being from what I Avas 
 on entering it. I had gone in with the air of a 
 professor about to deliver a lecture ; I came out 
 like a student, who had failed in his examination, 
 and been degraded in his class. 
 
 " Very young," and " on the threshold of knowl- 
 edge !" This was extremely flattering to one who 
 had considered himself an accomplished scholar 
 and profound philosopher ! 
 
 " It is singular," thought I ; '• there seems to 
 have been a spell upon my faculties ever since I 
 have been in this house. I certainly have not 
 been able to do myself justice. Whenever I have 
 undertaken to advise, I have had the tables turned 
 upon me. It must be that I am strange and dif- 
 fident among people I am not accustomed to. I 
 wish they could hear me talk at home ! " 
 
 "After all," added I, on farther reflection, — 
 " after all, there is a great deal of force in what 
 Mr. Somerville has said. Some how or other, 
 these men of the world do now and then hit upon 
 remarks that would do credit to a philosopher. 
 Some of his general observations came so home, 
 that I almost thought they were meant for my- 
 self. His advice about adopting a system of 
 study, is very judicious. I will immediately put 
 it in practice. My mind shall operate hencefor- 
 ivard with the regularity of clock-work." 
 
108 MOUNTJOY. 
 
 How far I succeeded in adopting this plan, how 
 I fared in the farther pursuit of knowledge, and 
 how I succeeded in my suit to Julia Somerville, 
 may afford matter for a farther communication to 
 the public, if this simple record of my early life 
 is fortunate enough to excite any curiosity. 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 
 
 A SHAKSPEAKIAN RESEARCH. 
 
 " Who did not think, till within these foure yeares, but that 
 these islands had been rather a habitation for Divells, than fit 
 for men to dwell in ? Who did not hate the name, when hee 
 was on land, and shun the place when he was on the seas'? 
 But behold the misprision and conceits of the world! For 
 true and large experience hath now told us, it is one of the 
 sweetest paradises that be upon earth." 
 
 "A Plaijse Descript. of the Barmudas:" 1613. 
 
 jN the course of a voyage home from 
 England, our ship had been struggling, 
 for two or three weeks, with perverse 
 head-winds and a stormy sea. It was in the 
 month of May, yet the weather had at times a 
 wintry sharpness, and it was apprehended that we 
 were in the neighborhood of floating islands of 
 ice, which at that season of the year drift out 
 of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and sometimes 
 occasion the wreck of noble ships. 
 
 Wearied out by the continued opposition of the 
 elements, our captain bore aw^ay to the south, in 
 hopes of cat(;hing the expiring breath of the trade- 
 winds, and making what is called the southern 
 passage. A few days wrought, as it were, a 
 
110 THE BERMUDAS. 
 
 magical " sea change " in everything around us. 
 We seemed to emerge into a different world. The 
 late dark and angry sea, lashed up into roaring 
 and swashing surges, became calm and sunny ; 
 the rude winds died away; and gradually a light 
 breeze sprang up directly aft, filling out every sail, 
 and wafting us smoothly along on an even keel. 
 The air softened into a bland and delightful tem- 
 perature. Dolphins began to play about us ; the 
 nautilus came floating by, like a fairy ship, with 
 its mimic sail and rainbow tints ; and flying-fish, 
 from time to time, made their short excursive 
 flights, and occasionally fell upon the deck. The 
 cloaks and overcoats in which we had hitherto 
 wrapped ourselves, and moped about the vessel, 
 were thrown aside ; for a summer warmth had 
 succeeded to the late wintry chills. Sails were 
 stretched as awnings over the quarter-deck, to 
 protect us from the midday sun. Under these 
 ,we lounged away the day, in luxurious indolence, 
 musing, with half-shut eyes, upon the quiet ocean. 
 The night was scarcely less beautiful than the 
 day. The rising moon sent a quivering column 
 of silver along the undulating surface of the deep, 
 and, gradually climbing the heaven, lit up our 
 towering topsails and swelling mainsails, and 
 spread a pale, mysterious light around. As our 
 ship made her whispering way through this dreamy 
 world of waters, every boisterous sound on board 
 was charmed to silence ; and the low whistle, or 
 drowsy song, of a sailor from the forecastle, or the 
 tinkling of a guitar, and the soft warbling of a 
 female voice from the quarter-deck, seemed to 
 
THE BERMUDAS. Ml 
 
 derive a witching melody from the scene and 
 hour. I was reminded of Oberon's exquisite de- 
 ecription of music and moonlight on the ocean : — • 
 
 .... " Thou rememberest 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mennaid on a dolphin's back, 
 Uttering: such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 To hear the sea-maid's music." 
 
 Indeed, I was in tlie very mood to conjure up 
 all the imaginary beings with which poetry has 
 peopled old Ocean, and almost ready to fancy I 
 heard the distant song of the mermaid, or the 
 mellow shell of the triton, and to picture to my- 
 self Neptune and Amphitrite with all their pageant 
 .sweeping along the dim horizon. 
 
 A day or two of such fanciful voyaging brought 
 us in sight of the Bermudas, w'hich first looked 
 like mere summer clouds, peering above the quiet 
 ocean. All day we glided along in sight of them, 
 with just wind enough to fill our sails ; and never 
 did land appear more lovely. They were clad in 
 emerald verdure, beneath the serenest of skies : not 
 an angry wave broke upon their quiet shores, and 
 small fishing craft, riding on the crystal waves, 
 seemed as if hung in air. It was such a scene 
 that Fletcher pictured to himself, when he ex- 
 tolled the halcyon lot of the fisherman : — 
 
 "Ah ! would thou knewest how much it better were 
 To bide among the simple fisher-swains : 
 No shrieking owl, no night-crow lodgeth here, 
 i . ^ 5 . Nor is our simple pleasure mixed with pains. 
 
112 THE BER M U DA S. 
 
 Our sports begin with the beginning year: 
 
 lu calms, to puH the leaping fish to land ; 
 
 In roughs, to sing and dance along the yellow sand.'- 
 
 In contemplating these beautiful islands, and 
 the peaceful sea around them, I could hardly re- 
 alize that these were the " still vexed Bermoothes " 
 of Shakspeare, once the dread of mariners, and 
 infamous in the narratives of the early discover- 
 ers, for the dangers and disasters which beset 
 them. Such, however, was the case ; and the 
 islands derived additional interest in my eyes, 
 from fancying that I could trace in their early 
 history, and in the superstitious notions connected 
 with them, some of the elements of Shakspeare's 
 wild and beautiful drama of the " Tempest." I 
 shall take the liberty of citing a few historical facts 
 in support of this idea, which may claim some 
 additional attention from the American reader, as 
 beins connected with the first settlement of Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 At the time when Shakspeare was in the ful- 
 ness of his talent, and seizing upon everything 
 that could furnish aliment to his imagination, the 
 colonization of Virginia was a favorite object of 
 enterprise among people of condition in England, 
 and several of the courtiers of the court of Queen 
 Elizabeth were personally engaged in it. In the 
 year 1609 a noble armament of nine ships and 
 five hundred men sailed for the relief of the colony. 
 It was commanded by Sir George Somers, as ad- 
 miral, a gallant and generous gentleman, above 
 sixty years of age, and possessed of an ample 
 fortune, yet still bent upon hardy enterprise, and 
 
rnE BERMUDAS. 113 
 
 ambitious ot rfigiiulizing himself in the service of 
 his country. 
 
 On board of his flag-sliip, the Sea- Vulture, 
 sailed also Sir Thomas Gates, lieutenant-general 
 of the colony. The voyage was long and boister- 
 ous. On the twenty-fifth of July the admiral's 
 ship was separated from the rest in a hurricane. 
 For several days she was driven about at the 
 mercy of the elements, and so strained and racked 
 that her seams yawned open, and her hold was 
 half filled with water. The storm subsided, but 
 left her a mere foundering wreck. The crew stood 
 in the hold to their waists in water, vainly endeav- 
 oring to bale her with kettles, buckets, and other 
 vessels. The leaks rapidly gained on them, while 
 their strength was as rapidly declining. They lost 
 ail hope of keeping the ship afloat, until tiiey 
 should reach the American coast ; and wearied 
 with fruitless toil, determined, in their despair, 
 to give up all farther attempt, shut down the 
 hatches, and abandon themselves to Providence. 
 Some, who had spirituous liquors, or "comforta- 
 ble waters," as the old record quaintly terms 
 them, brought them forth, and shared them with 
 their comrades, and they all drank a sad farewell 
 to one another, as men who were soon to part 
 company in this world. 
 
 In this moment of extremity, the worthy ad- 
 miral, who kept sleepless watch from the high 
 stern of the vessel, gave the thrilling cry of 
 " land ! " All rushed on deck, in a frenzy of joy, 
 and nothing now was to be seen or heard on 
 board but the transports of men who felt as if 
 8 
 
114 THE BER M UDA S. 
 
 rescued from the ^rave. It is true the land in 
 sight would not, in ordinary circumsttmces, have 
 inspired much self-gratulation. It could be nothing 
 else but the group of islands called after their 
 discoverer, one Juan Bermudas, a Spaniard, but 
 stigmatized among the mariners of those days as 
 '• the islands of devils ! " " For the islands of the 
 Bermudas," says the old narrative of this voyage, 
 " as every man knoweth that hath heard or read 
 of them, were never inhabited by any Christian 
 or heathen people, but were ever esteemed and 
 reputed a most prodigious and inchanted place, 
 affording nothing but gusts, stormes, and foul 
 weather, which made every navigator and mari- 
 ner to avoid them as Scylla and Charybdis, or as 
 they would shun the Divell himself." * 
 
 Sir George Somers and his tempest-tossed com- 
 rades, however, hailed them with rapture, as if 
 they had been a terrestrial paradise. Every sail 
 was spread, and every exertion made to urge the 
 foundering ship to land. Before long she struck 
 upon a rock. Fortunately, the late stormy winds 
 had subsided, and there was no surf. A swelling 
 wave lifted her from off the rock, and bore her to 
 another ; and thus she was borne on from rock to 
 rock, until she remained wedged between two, as 
 firmly as if set upon the stocks. The boats were 
 immediately lowered, and, though the shore was 
 above a mile distant, the whole crew were landed 
 in safety. 
 
 Every one had now his task assigned him. 
 Some made all haste to unload the ship, before 
 
 * A Plaine Description of. the Bai'mudas- 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 115 
 
 she should go to pieces ; some constructed wig- 
 wams of palmetto-leaves, and others ranged the 
 island in quest of wood and water. To their 
 surprise and joy, they found it far different from 
 the desolate and frightful place they had been 
 taught by seamen's stories to expect. It was 
 well wooded and fertile ; there were birds of 
 various kinds, and herds of swine roaming about, 
 the progeny of a number that had swum ashore, 
 in former years, from a Spanish wreck. The 
 islands abounded with turtle, and great quantities 
 of their eggs were to be found among the rocks. 
 The bays and inlets were full of fish, so tame, 
 that if any one stepped into the water, they 
 would throns: around him. Sir Georo-e Somers, 
 in a little while, caught enough with hook and 
 line to furnish a meal to his whole ship's com- 
 pany. Some of them w^ere so large that two 
 were as much as a man could carry. Craw-fish, 
 also, were taken in abundance. The air was soft 
 and salubrious, and the sky beautifully serene. 
 Waller, in his " Summer Islands," has giv^en us a 
 faithful picture of the climate : — 
 
 " For the kind spring, (which but salutes us here,) 
 Inhabits these, and courts them all the year: 
 Kipe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live ; 
 At once they promise, and at once they give: 
 So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, 
 None sickly lives, or dies before his time. 
 Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncursed, 
 To show how all things were created first." 
 
 We may imagine the feelings of the ship- 
 tvrecked mariners on ikidiiig themselves cast by 
 stormy seas upon so happy a coast, where abun- 
 
116 THE BERMUDAS. 
 
 dance was to be had without labor ; where what 
 in other dimes constituted the costly luxuries of 
 the rich, were within every man's reach ; and 
 where life promised to be a mere holiday. Many 
 of the common sailors, especially, declared they 
 desired no better lot than to pass the rest of 
 their lives on this favored island. 
 
 The commanders, however, were not so ready 
 to console themselves with mere physical com- 
 forts, for the severance from the enjoyment of 
 cultivated life and all the objects of honorable 
 ambition. Despairing of the arrival of any chance 
 ship on these shunned and dreaded islands, they 
 fitted out the long-boat, making a deck of the 
 ship's hatches, and having manned her with eight 
 picked men, despatched her, under the command 
 of an able and hardy mariner, named Raven, to 
 proceed to Virginia, and procure shipping to be 
 sent to their relief. 
 
 While waiting in anxious idleness for the arri- 
 val of the looked-for aid, dissensions arose be- 
 tween Sir George Somers and Sir Thomas Gates, 
 originating, very probably, in jealousy of the lead 
 which the nautical experience and professional 
 station of the admiral gave him in the present 
 emergency. Each commander of course had hi^i 
 adherents ; these dissensions ripened into a com- 
 plete schism ; and this handful of shipwrecked 
 men, thus thrown together on an uninhabited 
 island, separated into two parties, and lived asun 
 der in bitter feud, as men rendered fickle by 
 prosperity, instead of being brought into brother- 
 hood by a common calamity. 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 117 
 
 Weeks and months elapsed witliout bringing 
 the looked-for aid from Virginia, though that 
 colony was within but a few days' sail. Fears 
 were now entertained that the long-boat had been 
 either swallowed up in the sea, or wrecked on 
 some savage coast ; one or other of which most 
 probably was the case, as nothing was ever heard 
 of Raven and his comrades. 
 
 Each party now set to work to build a vessel 
 for itself out of the cedar with which the island 
 abounded. The wreck of the Sea- Vulture fur- 
 nished rigging and various other articles ; but 
 they had no iron for bolts and other fastenings ; 
 and for want of pitch and tar, they payed the 
 seams of their vessels with lime and turtle's oil, 
 which soon dried, and became as hard as stone. 
 
 On the tenth of May, 1610, they set sail, hav- 
 ing been about nine months on the island. They 
 reached Virginia without farther accident, but 
 found the colony in great distress for provisions. 
 The account that they gave of the abundance 
 that reigned in the Bermudas, and especially of 
 the herds of swine that roamed the island, deter- 
 mined Lord Delaware, the governor of Virginia, 
 to send thither for supplies. Sir George Somers, 
 with his wonted promptness and generosity, of- 
 fered to undertake what was still considered a dan- 
 gerous voyage. Accordingly on the nineteenth 
 of June he set sail, in his own cedar vessel of 
 thirty tons, accompanied by another small vessel, 
 commanded by Captain Argall. 
 
 The gallant Somers was doomed again to be 
 'empost-tossed. His companion vessel was soon 
 
118 THE b?:rmudas. 
 
 driven back to port, but he kept the sea ; and, as 
 usual, remained at his post on deck in all weathers. 
 His voyage was long and boisterous, and the fa- 
 tigues and exposures which he underwent were 
 too much for a frame impaired by age and by 
 previous hardships. He arrived at Bermudas 
 completely exhausted and broken down. 
 
 His nephew, Captain Matthew Somers, at- 
 tended him in his illness with affectionate assiduity. 
 Finding his end approaching, the veteran called 
 his men together, and exhorted them to be true 
 to the interests of Virginia ; to procure provi- 
 sions, with all possible despatch, and hasten back 
 to the relief of the colony. 
 
 With this dying charge he gave up the ghost, 
 leaving his nephew and crew overwhelmed with 
 grief and consternation. Tiieir first thought was 
 to pay honor to his remains. Opening the body, 
 they took out the heart and entrails, and buried 
 them, erecting a cross over the grave. They then 
 embalmed the body, and set sail with it for Eng- 
 land ; thus, while paying empty honors to their 
 deceased commander, neglecting his earnest wish 
 and dying injunction, that they should return 
 with relief to Virginia. 
 
 The little bark arrived safely at Whitechurch 
 in Dorsetshire, with its melancholy freight. The 
 body of the worthy Somers was interred with 
 the military honors due to a brave soldier, and 
 many volleys fired over his grave. The Bermu- 
 das have since received the name of the Somer 
 Islands, as a tribute to his memory. 
 
 The accounts given by Captain Matthew Somers 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 119 
 
 and his crew of the delightful climate, and the 
 great beauty, fertility, and abundance of these 
 islands, excited the zeal of enthusiasts and the 
 cupidity of speculators, and a plan was set on 
 foot to colonize them. The Virginia company 
 sold their I'ijjht to the islands to one hundred and 
 twenty of their own members, who erected them- 
 selves into a distinct corporation, under the name 
 of the " Somer Island Society " ; and Mr. Rich- 
 ard More was sent out, in 1612, as governor, 
 with sixty men, to found a colony ; and this leads 
 me to the second branch of this research. 
 
 THE THREE KINGS OF BERMUDA, 
 
 AND THEIK TREASURE OF AMBERGRIS. 
 
 At the time that Sir George Somers was pre- 
 paring to launch his cedar-built bark, and sail for 
 Virginia, there were three culprits among his 
 men who had been guilty of capital offences. 
 One of them was shot ; the others, named Chris- 
 topher Carter and Edward Waters, escaped. 
 Waters, indeed, made a very narrow escape, for 
 he had actually been tied to a tree to be exe- 
 cuted, but cut the rope with a knife, which he 
 had concealed about his person, and fled to the 
 woods, where he was joined by Carter. These 
 •^wo worthies kept themselves concealed in the 
 secret parts of the island, until the departure of 
 tlie two vessels. When Sir George Somers 
 revisited the island, in quest of supplies for the 
 
120 THE BERMUDAS. 
 
 Virginia colony, these culprits hovered about the 
 landing-place, and succeeded in persuading an- 
 other seaman, named Edward Chard, to join 
 them, giving him the most seductive picture 
 of the ease and abundance in which they rev- 
 elled. 
 
 When the bark that bore Sir George's body 
 to England had faded from the watery horizon, 
 these three vagabonds walked forth in their maj- 
 esty and might, the lords and sole inhabitants 
 of these islands. For a time their little com- 
 monwealth went on prosperously and happily. 
 They built a house, sowed corn, and the seeds of 
 various fruits ; and having plenty of hogs, wild 
 fowl, and fish of ail kinds, with turtle in abun- 
 dance, carried on their tripartite sovereignty with 
 great harmony and much feasting. All king- 
 doms, however, are doomed to revolution, convul- 
 sion, or decay ; and so it fared with the empire 
 of the three kings of Bermuda, albeit they were 
 monarchs without subjects. In an evil hour, in 
 their search after turtle, among the fissures of the 
 rocks, they came upon a great treasure of amber- 
 gris, which had been cast on shore by the ocean. 
 Besides a number of pieces of smaller dimen- 
 sions, there was one great mass, the largest that 
 had ever been known, weighing eighty pounds, 
 and which of itself, according to the market 
 value of ambergris in those days, was worth 
 about nine or ten thousand pounds. 
 
 From that moment the happiness and harmony 
 of the tliree kings of Bermuda were gone for- 
 uver. While poor devils, with nothing to share 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 121 
 
 but the common blessings of the island, which 
 Hdministered to present enjoyment, but had noth- 
 ing of convertible value, they were loving and 
 united ; but here was actual wealth, which would 
 make them rich men whenever they could trans- 
 port it to market. 
 
 Adieu the delights of the island ! They now 
 became flat and insipid. Each pictured to him- 
 self the consequence he might now aspire to, in 
 civilized life, could he once get there with this 
 mass of ambergris. No longer a poor Jack Tar, 
 frolicking in the low taverns of Wapping, he 
 might roll through London in his coach, and per- 
 chance arrive, like Whittington, at the dignity of 
 Lord Mayor. 
 
 With riches came envy and covetousness. Each 
 was now for assuming the supreme power, and 
 getting the monopoly of the ambergris. A civil 
 war at length broke out : Chard and Waters de- 
 fied each other to mortal combat, and the kingdom 
 of the Bermudas was on the point of being deluged 
 with royal blood. Fortunately, Carter took no 
 part in the bloody feud. Ambition might have 
 made him view it with secret exultation ; for if 
 either or both of his brother potentates were slain 
 in the conflict, he would be a gainer in purse and 
 ambergris. But he dreaded to be left alone in 
 this uninhabited island, and to find himself the 
 monarch of a solitude ; so he secretly purloined 
 and hid the weapons of the belligerent rivals, who, 
 having no means of carrying on the war, gradually 
 cooled down into a sullen armistice. 
 
 The arrival of Grovernor More, with an over 
 
122 THE BERMUDAS. 
 
 powering force of sixty men, put an end to the 
 empire. He took possession of the kingdom, in 
 the name of the Somer Island Company, and 
 forthwith proceeded to make a settlement. The 
 three kings tacitly relinquished their sway, but 
 stood up stoutly for their treasure. It was de- 
 termined, however, that they had been fitted out 
 at the expense, and employed in the service, of 
 the Virginia Company ; that they had found the 
 ambergris while in the service of that company, 
 and on that company's land ; that the ambergris 
 therefore belonged to that company, or rather to 
 the Somer Island Company, in consequence of 
 their recent purchase of the island, and all their 
 appurtenances. Having thus legally established 
 tlieir right, and being, m.oreover, able to back it 
 by might, the company laid the lion's paw upon 
 the spoil; and nothing more remains on historic 
 record of the Three Kings of Bermuda and their 
 treasure of ambergris. 
 
 The reader will now determine whether I am 
 more extravagant than most of the commentators 
 on Shakspeare, in my surmise that the story of Sir 
 George Somers's shipwreck, and the subsequent 
 occurrences that took place on the uninhabited 
 island, may have furnished the bard with some 
 of the elements of his drama of the " Tempest." 
 The tidings of the shipwreck, and of the incidents 
 connected with it, reached England not long be- 
 fore the production of this drama, and made a 
 great sensation there. A narrative of the whole 
 matter, from which most of the foregoing par- 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 123 
 
 M'culars are extracted, was published at the time 
 in London, in a pamphlet form, and could not fail 
 to be eagerly perused by Shakspeare, and to 
 make a vivid impression on his fancy. His ex- 
 pression, in the " Tempest," of " the still vext Ber- 
 moothes," accords exactly with the storm-beaten 
 character of those islands. The enchantments, 
 too, with which he has clothed the island of Pros- 
 pero, may they not be traced to the wild and 
 superstitious notions entertained about the Ber- 
 mudas ? I have already cited two passages from 
 a pamphlet published at the time, showing that 
 they were esteemed " a most prodigious and 171- 
 chanted place," and the " habitation of divells " ; 
 and another pamphlet, published shortly after- 
 ward, observes : '' And whereas it is reported 
 that this land of the Barmudas, with the islands 
 about, (which are many, at least an hundred,) are 
 inchanted, and kept with evil and wicked spirits, 
 it is a most idle false report." * 
 
 The description, too, given in the same pam- 
 phlets of the real beauty and fertility of the Ber- 
 mudas, and of their serene and happy climate, so 
 opposite to the dangerous and inhospitable char- 
 acter with which they had been stigmatized, 
 accords with the eulogium of Sebastian on the 
 island of Prospero ; — 
 
 " Though this island seem to be desert, tininabitable, and 
 ahnost inaccessible, it must needs be of subtle, tender, and 
 delicate temperance. The air breathes upon us here most 
 sweetly. Here is every thing advantageous to life. How 
 nsh and lusty the grass looks ! hoAV green ! " 
 
 * Newes from the Barmudas : 1G12. 
 
124 THE BERMUDAS. 
 
 I think too, in the exulting consciousness of 
 ease, security, and abundance, felt by the late 
 tempest-tossed mariners, while revelling in the 
 plenteousness of the island, and their inclination to 
 remain there, released from the labors, the cares, 
 and the artificial restraints of civilized life, I can 
 see something of the golden commonwealth of 
 honest Gonzalo : — 
 
 " Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, 
 And were the kinj^ of it, what would I do? 
 I' the commonwealth I would by contraries 
 Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit; no name of magistrate. 
 Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, 
 And use of service, none ; contract, succession, 
 Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none: 
 2^0 use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: 
 No occupation ; all men idle, all. 
 
 All things in common, nature should produce, 
 Without sweat or endeavor: Treason, felony, 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind all foizon, all abundance. 
 To feed my innocent people." 
 
 But above all, in the three fugitive vagabonds 
 who remained in possession of the island of Ber- 
 muda, on the departure of their comrades, and in 
 their squabbles about supremacy, on the finding 
 of their treasure, I see typified Sebastian, Trin- 
 culo, and their worthy companion Caliban : — 
 
 '' Trinculo, the king and all our company being drowned, 
 we will inherit here." 
 
 " Monster, I will kill this man ; his daughter and I will be 
 king and queen, (save our graces!) and Trinculo and thyself 
 shall be viceroys." 
 
THE BERMUDAS. 125 
 
 I do not mean to hold up the incidents and 
 characters in the narrative and in tlie play as 
 parallel, or as being strikingly similar : neither 
 would I insinuate that the narrative su":o;ested 
 the play ; I would only suppose that Shakspeare, 
 being occupied about that time on the drama of 
 the " Tempest," the main story of which, I believe, 
 is of Italian origin, had many of the fanciful ideas 
 of it suggested to his mind by the shipwreck of 
 Sir George Somers on the " still vext Ber- 
 moothes," and by the popular superstitions con- 
 nected with these islands, and suddenly put in 
 circulation by that event. 
 
THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL; 
 
 OR, A JUDICIAL TRIAL BY COMBAT. 
 
 HE world is daily growing older and 
 wiser. Its institutions vary with its 
 years, and mark its growing wisdom ; 
 and none more so than its modes of investigating 
 truth, and ascertaining guilt or innocence. In its 
 nonage, when man was yet a fallible being, and 
 doubted the accuracy of his own intellect, appeals 
 were made to Heaven in dark and doubtful cases 
 of atrocious accusation. 
 
 The accused was required to plunge his hand 
 in boiling oil, or to walk across red-hot plough- 
 shares, or to maintain his innocence in armed 
 fight and listed field, in person or by champion. 
 If he passed these ordeals unscathed, he stood 
 acquitted, and the result was regarded as a ver- 
 dict from on high. 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable that, in the gallant 
 age of chivalry, the gentler sex should have been 
 most frequently the subjects of these rude trials 
 and perilous ordeals ; and that, too, when assailed 
 in their most delicate and vulnerable part, — their 
 honor. 
 
 In the present very old and enlightened age 
 of the world, when the human intellect is per- 
 
THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 127 
 
 fectly competent to the management of its own 
 concerns, and needs no special interposition of 
 Heaven in its affairs, tlie trial by jury has super-, 
 seded these superhuman ordeals ; and the una-^' 
 nimity of twelve discordant minds is necessary to^ 
 constitute a verdict. Such a unanimity would, i^ 
 at first sight, appear also to require a miracle from 
 Heaven ; but it is produced by a simple device of 
 human ingenuity. The twelve jurors are locked' 
 up in their box, there to fast until abstinence 
 shall have so clarified their intellects that the 
 w^hole jarring panel can discern the truth, and 
 concur in a unanimous decision. One point is ) 
 certain, that truth is one and is innnutable ; ) 
 until the jurors all agree, they cannot all be right. 
 It is not our intention, however, to discuss this 
 great judicial point, or to question the avowed 
 superiority of the mode of investigating truth 
 adopted in this antiquated and very sagacious 
 era. It is our object merely to exhibit to the 
 curious reader one of the most memorable cases 
 of judicial combat we find in the annals of Spain. 
 It occurred at the bright commencement of tiie 
 reign, and in the youthful, and, as yet, glorious 
 days of Roderick the Goth ; who subsequently 
 tarnished his fame at home by his misdeeds, and, 
 finally, lost his kingdom and his life on the banks 
 of the Guadalete, in that disastrous battle which 
 gave i-ip Spain a conquest to the Moors. The 
 following is the story : — 
 
 There was once upon a time a certain Duke of 
 Lorraine, who was acknowledged throughout his 
 
128 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 
 
 domains to be one of the wisest princes that ever 
 lived. In fact tliere was no one measure adopted 
 by him that did not astonish his privy councillors 
 and gentlemen in attendance; and he said such 
 witty things, and made such sensible speeches, 
 that the jaws of his high chamberlain were well- 
 nigh dislocated from laughing with delight at one, 
 and gaping with wonder at the other. 
 
 This very witty and exceedingly wise poten- 
 tate lived for half a century in single blessedness ; 
 at length his courtiers began to think it a great 
 pity so wise and wealthy a prince should not have 
 a child after his own likeness, to inherit his talents 
 and domains ; so they urged him most respectfully 
 to marry, for the good of his estate and the welfare 
 of his subjects. 
 
 He turned their advice over in his mind some 
 four or five years, and then sent forth emissaries 
 to summon to his court all the beautiful maidens 
 in the land, who were ambitious of sharing a ducal 
 crown. The court was soon crowded with beau- 
 ties of all styles and complexions, from among 
 whom he chose one in the earliest buddin(r of her 
 charms, and acknowledged by all the gentlemen 
 to be unparalleled for grace and loveliness. The 
 courtiers extolled the duke to the skies for mak- 
 ing such a choice, and considered it another proof 
 of his great wisdom. " The duke," said they, 
 " is waxing a little too old ; the damsel, on the 
 other hand, is a little too young ; if one is lacking 
 in years, the other has a superabundance ; thus a 
 want on one side is balanced by an excess on the 
 other, and the result is a well-assorted marriage." 
 
THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 129 
 
 The duke, as is often the ease with wise meu 
 who marry ratlier hite, and take damsels rather 
 youtlifiil to tiieir bosoms, became dotingly fond 
 of his wife, and very properly indulged her in all 
 things. He was, consequently, cried up by his 
 subjects in general, and by the ladies in partic- 
 ular, as a pattern for husbands ; and, in the end, 
 from the wonderful docility with which he sub- 
 mitted to be reined and checked, acquired the 
 amiable and enviable appellation of Duke Phili- 
 bert the wife-ridden. 
 
 There was only one thing that disturbed the 
 conjugal felicity of this paragon of husbands : 
 though a considerable time elapsed after his mar- 
 riage, there was still no prospect of an heir. The 
 good duke left no means untried to propitiate 
 Heaven. He made vows and pilgrimages, he 
 fasted and he prayed, but all to no purpose. The 
 courtiers were all astonished at the circumstance. 
 They could not account for it. While the mean- 
 est peasant in the country had sturdy brats by 
 dozens, without putting up a prayer, the duke 
 wore himself to skin and bone with penances and 
 fastings, yet seemed farther off from his object 
 than ever. 
 
 At length the worthy prince fell dangerously 
 ill, and felt his end approaching. He looked sor- 
 rowfully and dubiously upon his young and tender 
 spouse, who hung over him w^ith tears and sob- 
 bings. " Alas ! " said he, " tears are soon dried 
 from youthful eyes, and sorrow lies lightly on a 
 youthful heart. In a little while thou wilt forget 
 U 
 
130 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 
 
 in the arms of another husband him who has 
 loved thee so tenderly." 
 
 " Never ! never ! " cried the duchess. *' Never 
 will I cleave to another ! Alas, that my lord 
 should think me capable of such inconstancy ! " 
 
 The worthy and wife-ridden duke was soothed 
 by her assurances ; for he could not brook the 
 thought of giving her up even after he should be 
 dead. Still he ^'dshed to have some pledge of 
 her enduring constancy. 
 
 " Far be it from me, my dearest wife," said he, 
 " to control thee through a long life. A year and 
 a day of strict fidelity will appease my troubled 
 spirit. Promise to remain faithful to my memory 
 for a year and a day, and I will die in peace." 
 
 The duchess made a solemn vow to that effect, 
 but the uxorious feelings of the duke were not 
 yet satisfied. " Safe bind, safe find," thought he ; 
 so he made a will, bequeathing to her all his do- 
 mains, on condition of her remaining true to him 
 for a year and a day after his decease ; but, should 
 it appear that, within that time, she had in any 
 wise lapsed from her fidelity, the inheritance 
 should go to his nephew, the lord of a neighbor 
 ing territory. 
 
 Having made his will, the good duke died and 
 was buried. Scarcely was he in his tomb, when 
 his nephew came to take possession, thinking, as 
 his uncle had died without issue, the domains 
 would be devised to him of course. He was in 
 a furious passion when the will was produced, 
 and the young widow declared inheritor of the 
 dukedom. As he was a violent, high-handed 
 
THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 131 
 
 man, and one of the sturdiest knights in the land, 
 feai^s were entertained that he might attempt to 
 seize on the territories by force. He had, liow- 
 ever, two bachelor uncles for bosom counsellors^ 
 — swaggering, nUvehelly old cavaliers, who, hav- 
 ing led loose and riotous lives, prided themselves 
 upon knowing the world, and being deeply expe- 
 rienced in human nature. " Prithee, man, be of 
 good cheer," said they ; " the duchess is a young 
 and buxom widow. She has just buried our 
 brother, who, God rest his soul ! was somewhat 
 too much given to praying and fasting, and kept 
 his pretty wife always tied to his girdle. She is 
 now like a bird from a cage. Think you she 
 will keep her vow ? Pooh, pooh — impossible ! 
 Take our words for it — we know mankind, 
 and, above all, womankind. She cannot hold out 
 for such a length of time ; it is not in woman- 
 hood, — it is not in widowhood ; we know it, 
 and that 's enough. Keep a sharp lookout upon 
 the widow, therefore, and within the twelvemonth 
 you will catch her tripping, and then the duke- 
 dom is your own." 
 
 The nephew was pleased with this counsel, and 
 immediately placed spies round the duchess, and 
 Ijribed several of her servants to keep watch 
 upon her, so that she could not take a single 
 step, even from one apartment of her palace to 
 another, without being observed. Never was 
 young and beautiful widow exposed to so terrible 
 an ordeal. 
 
 The duchess was aware of the watch thus kept 
 upon her. Though confident of her own recti' 
 
132 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 
 
 tilde, she knew that it is not enough for a woman 
 to be virtuous, — she must be above the reach of 
 slander. For the whole term of her probation, 
 therefore, she proclaimed a strict non-intercourse 
 with the other sex. She had females for cabinet 
 ministers and chamberlains, through whom she 
 transacted all her public and private concerns ; 
 and it is said that never were the affairs of the 
 dukedom so adroitly administered. 
 
 All males were rigorously excluded from the 
 palace ; she never went out of its precincts, and 
 whenever she moved about its courts and gardens, 
 she surrounded herself with a body-guard of 
 young maids of honor, commanded by dames re- 
 nowned for discretion. She slept in a bed without 
 curtains, placed in the centre of a room illumi- 
 nated by innumerable wax tapers. Four ancient 
 spinsters, virtuous as Virginia, perfect dragons 
 of watchfulness, who only slept during the day- 
 time, kept vigils throughout the night, seated 
 in the four corners of the room on stools without 
 backs or arms, and with seats cut in checkers 
 of the hardest wood, to keep them from dozing. 
 
 Thus wisely and wearily did the young duchess 
 conduct herself for twelve long months, and slan- 
 der almost bit her tongue off in despair, at find- 
 ing no room even for a surmise. Never was 
 ordeal more burdensome, or more enduringly sus- 
 tained. 
 
 The year passed away. The last, odd day 
 arrived, and a long, long day it was. It was the 
 twenty-first of June, the longest day in the year 
 It seemed as if it would never come to an erid 
 
THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 133 
 
 A thousand times did the duchess and her ladies 
 wateli the sun from the windows of the palace, 
 as he slowly climbed the vault of heaven, and 
 seemed still more slowly to roll down. They 
 could not help expressing their wonder, now and 
 then, why the duke should have tagged this su- 
 pernumerary day to the end of the year, as if 
 three hundred and sixty-five days were not suffi- 
 cient to try and task the fidelity of any woman. 
 It is the last grain that turns the scale — the last 
 drop that overflows the goblet — and the last 
 moment of delay that exhausts the patience. By 
 the time the sun sank below the horizon, the 
 duchess was in a fidget that passed all bounds, 
 and, though several hours were yet to pass before 
 the day regularly expired, she could not have re- 
 mained those hours in durance to gain a royal 
 crown, much less a ducal coronet. So she gave 
 orders, and her palfrey, magnificently caparisoned, 
 was brought into the court-yard of the castle, with 
 palfreys for all her ladies in attendance. In this 
 way she sallied forth, just as the sun had gone 
 down. It was a mission of piety, — a pilgrim 
 cavalcade to a convent at the foot of a neighbor 
 ing mountain, — to return thanks to the blessed 
 Virgin, for having sustained her through this 
 fearful ordeal. 
 
 The orisons performed, the duchess and her 
 ladies returned, ambling gently along the border 
 of a forest. It was about that mellow hour of 
 twilight Mdien night and day are mingled, and all 
 objects are indistinct. Suddenly some monstrous 
 animal sprang from out a thicket, with fearful 
 
 / 
 
134 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 
 
 bowlings. The female body-guard was thrown 
 into confusion, and fled different ways. It was 
 some time before they recovered from their panic, 
 and gathered once more together ; but the duchess 
 was not to be found. The greatest anxiety was 
 felt for her safety. The hazy mist of twilight 
 had prevented their distinguishing perfectly the 
 animal which had affrighted them. Some thought 
 it a wolf, others a bear, others a wild man of the 
 woods. For upwards of an hour did they be- 
 leaguer the forest, without daring to venture in, 
 and were on the point of giving up the duchess 
 as torn to pieces and devoured, when, to their 
 great joy, they beheld her advancing in the gloom, 
 supported by a stately cavalier. 
 
 He was a stranger knight, whom nobody knew. 
 It was impossible to distinguish his countenance 
 in the dark ; but all the ladies agreed that he 
 was of noble presence and captivating address. 
 He had rescued the duchess from the very fangs 
 of the monster, which, he assured the ladies, was 
 neither a wolf, nor a bear, nor yet a wild man 
 of the woods, but a veritable fiery dragon, a 
 species of monster peculiarly hostile to beautiful 
 females in the days of chivalry, and which all 
 the efforts of knight-errantry had not been able 
 to extirpate. 
 
 The ladies crossed themselves when they heard 
 of the danger from which they had escaped, and 
 could not enough admire the gallantry of the 
 cavalier. The duchess would fain have prevailed 
 •on her deliverer to accompany her to her court ; 
 out he had no time to spare, being a knight- 
 
THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 135 
 
 errant wlio had many adventures on hand, and 
 many distressed damsels and afflicted widows to 
 rescue and relieve in various parts of the coun- 
 try. Taking a respectful leave, therefore, he 
 pursued liis wayfaring, and the duchess and her 
 train i-eturned to the palace. Throughout the 
 whole way, the ladies were unwearied in chanting 
 the praises of the stranger knight ; nay, many of 
 them would willingly have incurred the danger 
 of the dragon to have enjoyed the happy deliver- 
 ance of the duchess. As to the latter, she rode 
 pensively along, but said nothing. 
 
 No sooner was the adventure of the wood 
 made public, than a whirlwind was raised about 
 the ears of the beautiful duchess. The bluster- 
 ing nephew of the deceased duke went about, 
 armed to the teeth, with a swaggering uncle at 
 each shoulder, ready to back him, and swore the 
 duchess had forfeited her domain. It was in vain 
 that she called all the saints, and angels, and her 
 ladies in attendance into the bargain, to witness 
 that she had passed a year and a day of immacu- 
 late fidelity. One fatal hour remained to be 
 accounted for ; and into the space of one little 
 hour sins enough may be conjured up by evil 
 tongues to blast the fame of a whole life of 
 virtue. 
 
 The two graceless uncles, who had seen the 
 world, were ever ready to bolster the matter 
 through, and as they were brawny, broad-shoul- 
 dered warriors, and veterans in brawl as well as 
 debauch, they had great sway with the multitude. 
 If any one pretended to assert the innocence of 
 
136 THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 
 
 the duchess, they interrupted him with a loud 
 ha ! ha ! of derision. " A pretty story, truly," 
 would they cry, " about a wolf and a dragon, and 
 a young widow rescued in the dark by a sturdy 
 varlet, who dares not show his face in the day- 
 light. You may tell that to those who do not 
 know human nature ; for our parts, we know the 
 sex, and that's enough." 
 
 If, however, the other repeated his assertion, 
 they would suddenly knit their brows, swell, look 
 big, and put their hands upon their swords. As 
 few people like to fight in a cause that does not 
 touch their own interests, the nephew and the 
 uncles were suffered to have their way, and swag- 
 ger uncontradicted. 
 
 The matter was at lenfrth referred to a tribunal 
 composed of all the dignitaries of the dukedom, 
 and many and repeated consultations were held. 
 The character of the duchess throughout the year 
 was as briglit and spotless as the moon in a cloud- 
 less nio[ht ; one fatal hour of darkness alone inter- 
 vened to eclipse its brightness. Finding human 
 sagacity incapable of dispelling the mystery, it 
 was determined to leave the question to Heaven ; 
 or, in other words, to decide it by the ordeal of 
 the sword, — a sage tribunal in the age of chiv- 
 alry. The nephew and two bully uncles were 
 to maintain their accusation in listed combat, and 
 six months were allowed to the duchess to pro- 
 vide herself with three champions, to meet them 
 in the field. Should she fail in this, or should 
 her champions be vanquished, her honor would 
 be considered as attainted, her fidelity as forfeit. 
 
THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 137 
 
 and her dukedom would go to the nephew, as a 
 matter of right. 
 
 With this determination the duchess was fain 
 to comply. Proclamations were accordingly made, 
 and heralds sent to various parts ; but day after 
 day, week after week, and month after month 
 elapsed, without any champion appearing to assert 
 her loyalty throughout that darksome hour. The 
 fair widow was reduced to despair, when tidings 
 reached her of grand tournaments to be held at 
 Toledo, in celebration of the nuptials of Don 
 Roderick, the last of the Gothic kings, with the 
 Monsco princess Exilona. As a last resort, the 
 duchess repaired to the Spanish court, to implore 
 the gallantry of its assembled chivalry. 
 
 The ancient city of Toledo was a scene of 
 gorgeous revelry on the event of the royal nup- 
 tials. The youthful king, brave, aiTlent, and 
 magnificent, and his lovely bride, beaming with 
 all the radiant beauty of the East, were hailed 
 with shouts and acclamations whenever they ap- 
 peared. Their nobles vied with each other in the 
 luxury of their attire, their prancing steeds, and 
 splendid retinues ; and the haughty dames of the 
 court appeared in a blaze of jewels. 
 
 In the midst of all this pageantry, the beauti- 
 ful but afflicted Duchess of Lorraine made her 
 approach to the throne. She was dressed in 
 black, and closely veiled ; four duennas of the 
 most staid and severe aspect, and six beautiful 
 demoiselles, formed her female attendants. She 
 was guarded by several very ancient, withered, 
 and gray-headed cavaliers ; and her train was 
 
138 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 
 
 borne by one of the most deformed and diminu- 
 tive dwarfs in existence. 
 
 Advancing to the foot of the throne, she knelt 
 down, and, throwing up her veil, revealed a coun- 
 tenance so beautiful that half the courtiers pres- 
 ent were ready to renounce wives and mistresses, 
 and devote themselves to her service ; but when 
 she made known that she came in quest of cham- 
 pions to defend her fame, every cavalier pressed 
 forward to offer his arm and sword, without in- 
 quiring into the merits of the case ; for it seemed 
 clear that so beauteous a lady could have done 
 nothing but what was right ; and that, at any 
 rate, she ought to be championed in following the 
 bent of her humors, whether right or wrong. 
 
 Encouraged by such gallant zeal, the duchess 
 suffered herself to be raised from the ground, and 
 related the whole story of her distress. When 
 she concluded, the king remained for some time 
 silent, charmed by the music of her voice. At 
 length, " As I hope for salvation, most beautiful 
 duchess," said he, " were I not a sovereign king, 
 and bound in duty to my kingdom, I myself would 
 put lance in rest to vindicate your cause ; as it is, 
 I here give full permission to my knights, and 
 promise lists and a fair field, and that the contest 
 shall take place before the walls of Toledo, in 
 presence of my assembled court." 
 
 As soon as the pleasure of the king was known, 
 there was a strife among the cavaliers present for 
 the honor of the contest. It was decided by lot, 
 and the successful candidates were objects of great 
 envy, for every one was ambitious of finding fa- 
 7or in the eyes of the beautiful widow. 
 
THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. ]39 
 
 Missives were sent summoning tlie nephew and 
 his two uncles to Toledo, to maintain their accu- 
 sation, and a day was appointed for the combat. 
 When the day arrived all Toledo was in commo- 
 tion at an early hour. The lists had been pre- 
 pared in the usual place, just without the walls, 
 at the foot of the rugged rocks on which tlie city 
 is built, and on that beautiful meadow along the 
 Tagus, known by the name of the King's Garden. 
 The populace had already assembled, each one 
 eager to secure a favorable place ; the balconies 
 were filled with the ladies of the court, clad in 
 their richest attire, and bands of youthful knights, 
 splendidly armed and decorated with their ladies' 
 devices, were managing their superbly caparisoned 
 steeds about the field. The king at length came 
 forth in state, accompanied by the queen Exilona. 
 They took their seats in a raised balcony, under 
 a canopy of rich damask ; and, at sight of them, 
 the people rent the air with acclamations. 
 
 The nephew and his uncles now rode into the 
 field, armed cap-a-pie, and followed by a train of 
 cavaliers of their own roystering cast, — great 
 swearers and carousers, arrant swashbucklers, 
 with clanking armor and jingling spurs. When 
 the people of Toledo beheld the vaunting and 
 discourteous appearance of these knights, they 
 were more anxious than ever for the success of 
 the gentle duchess ; but, at the same time, the 
 sturdy and stalwart frames of these warriors 
 showed that whoever won the victory from them 
 must do it at the cost of many a bitter blow. 
 As the nephew and his riotous crew rode in at 
 
140 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 
 
 Diie side of the field, the fair widow appeared at 
 the other, with her suite of grave gray-headed 
 courtiers, her ancient duennas and dainty demoi- 
 selles, and the little dwarf toiling along under the 
 weight of her train. Every one made way for 
 her as she passed, and blessed her beautiful face, 
 and prayed for success to her cause. She took 
 her seat in a lower balcony, not far from the 
 sovereigns ; and her pale face, set off by her 
 mourning weeds, was as the moon, shining forth 
 from among the clouds of night. 
 
 The trumpets sounded for the combat. The 
 warriors were just entering the lists, when a 
 stranger knight, armed in panoply, and followed 
 by two pages and an esquire, came galloping 
 into the field, and, riding up to the royal balcony, 
 claimed the combat as a matter of rij>:ht. 
 
 " In me," cried he, " behold the cavalier who 
 had the happiness to rescue the beautiful duchess 
 from the peril of the forest, and the misfortune 
 to bring on her this grievous calumny. It was 
 but recently, in the course of my errantry, that 
 tidings of her wrongs have reached my ears, and 
 I have Tirged hither at all speed, to stand forth 
 in her vindication." 
 
 No sooner did the duchess hear the accents of 
 the knight than she recognized his voice, and 
 joined her prayers with his that he might enter 
 the lists. The difficulty was to determine which 
 of the three champions already appointed should 
 yield his place, each insisting on the honor of the 
 3ombat. The stranger knight would have settled 
 the point, by taking the whole contest upon him* 
 
THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 141 
 
 self ; but this the other knights would not permit. 
 It was jit length determined, as before, by lot, and 
 the cavalier who lost the chance retired murmur- 
 ing and disconsolate. 
 
 The trumpets again sounded — the lists were 
 opened. The arrogant nephew and his two 
 drawcansir uncles appeared so completely cased 
 in steel, that they and their steeds were like 
 moving masses of iron. When they understood 
 the strano'er knio^ht to be the same that had res- 
 cued the duchess from her peril, they greeted hiia 
 with the most boisterous derision. 
 
 " O ho ! sir Knight of the Dragon,*' said they, 
 " you who pretend to champion fair widows in 
 the dark, come on, and vindicate your deeds of 
 darkness in the open day." 
 
 The only reply of the cavalier was to put lance 
 in rest, and brace himself for the encounter. Need- 
 less is it to relate the particulai'S of a battle, which 
 was like so many hundred combats that have been 
 said and sung in prose and verse. Who is there 
 but must have foreseen the event of a contest 
 where Heaven had to decide on the guilt or inno- 
 cence of the most beautiful and immaculate of 
 widows ? 
 
 The sagacious reader, deeply read in this kind 
 of judicial combats, can imagine the encounter of 
 the graceless nephew and the stranger knight. 
 He sees their concussion, man to man, and hoi*se 
 to horse, in mid career, and sir Graceless hurled 
 to the ground and slain. He will not wonder 
 that the assailants of the brawny uncles were less 
 successful in their rude encounter; but he will 
 
142 THE WIDOWS ORDEAL. 
 
 picture to himself the stout stranger spurring to 
 their rescue, in the very critical moment ; he will 
 see him transfixing one with his lance, and cleav- 
 ing the other to the chine with a back stroke of 
 his sword, thus leaving the trio of accusers dead 
 upon the field, and establishing the immaculate 
 fidelity of the duchess, and her title to the duke- 
 dom, beyond the shadow of a doubt. 
 
 The air rang with acclamations ; nothing was 
 heard but praises of the beauty and virtue of the 
 duchess, and of the prowess of the stranger knight ; 
 but the public joy was still more increased when 
 the champion raised his visor, and revealed the 
 countenance of one of the bravest cavaliers of 
 Spain, renowned for his gallantry in the service 
 of the sex, and who had been round the world in 
 quest of similar adventures. 
 
 That worthy knight, however, was severely 
 wounded, and remained for a long time ill of his 
 wounds. The lovely duchess, grateful for having 
 twice owed her protection to his arm, attended 
 him daily during his illness, and finally rewarded 
 his gallantry with her hand. 
 
 The king would fain have had the knight estab- 
 lish his title to such high advancement by farther 
 deeds of arms ; but his courtiers declared that he 
 already merited the lady, by thus vindicating her 
 fame and fortune in a deadly combat to out- 
 rance ; and the lady herself hinted that she was 
 perfectly satisfied of his prowess in arms, from 
 the proofs she had received of his achievement 
 in the forest. 
 
 Their nuptials were celebrated with great mag- 
 
THE WIDOW'S ORDEAL. 143 
 
 nilicence. The present husband of the duchess 
 did not pray and fast like his predecessor, Phili- 
 bert the wife-ridden ; yet he found greater favor 
 in the eyes of Heaven, for their union was blessed 
 with a numerous progeny : the daughters chaste 
 and beauteous as their mother ; the sons stout 
 and valiant as their sire, and renowned, like him, 
 for relieving disconsolate damsels and desolated 
 widows. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 jN the course of a tour in Sicily, in iho 
 days of my juvenility, I passed some 
 little time at the ancient city of Catania, 
 at the foot of Mount ^tna. Here I became 
 
 acquainted with the Chevalier L , an old 
 
 Knight of Malta. It was not many years after 
 the time that Napoleon had dislodged the knights 
 from their island, and he still wore the insignia 
 of his order. He was not, however, one of those 
 reliques of that once chivalrous body, who have 
 been described as " a few wornoui old men, creep- 
 ing about certain parts of Europe, with the Mal- 
 tese cross on their breasts " ; on the contrary, 
 though advanced in life, his form was still lithe 
 and vigorous. He had a pale, thin, intellectual 
 visage, with a high forehead, and a bright, vision- 
 ary eye. He seemed to take a fancy to me, as I 
 certainly did to him, and we soon became inti- 
 mate. I visited him occasionally at his apart- 
 ments, in the wing of an old palace, looking toward 
 Mount JEtna. He was an antiquary, a virtuoso, 
 and a connoisseur. His rooms were decorated 
 with mutilated statues, dug up from Grecian and 
 Roman ruins ; old vases, lachrymals, and sepul- 
 chral lamps. He had astronomical and chemical 
 
TlIK KNIGHT OF MALTA. 145 
 
 instrumaiits, and black-letter books, in various 
 languages. I found that he had dipped a little 
 in chimerical studies, and had a hankering after 
 astrology and alchemy. He affected to believe 
 in dreams and visions, and delighted in the fanci- 
 ful Rosicrucian doctrines. I cannot persuade 
 myself, however, that he really believed in all 
 these ; I rather think he loved to let his imagi- 
 nation carry him away into the boundless fairy 
 land which they unfolded. 
 
 In company with the chevalier, I made several 
 excursions on horseback about the environs of 
 Catania, and the picturesque skirts of Mount 
 ^tna. One of these led through a village which 
 had sprung up on the very track of an ancient 
 eruption, the houses being built of lava. At one 
 time we passed, for some distance, along a narrow 
 lane, between two high dead con vent -walls. It 
 was a cut-throat looking place, in a country where 
 assassinations are frequent ; and just about mid- 
 way through it we observed blood upon the pave- 
 ment and the walls, as if a murder had actually 
 been committed there. 
 
 The chevalier spurred on his horse, until he 
 had extricated himself completely from this sus- 
 picious neighborhood. He then observed that it 
 reminded him of a similar blind alley in Malta, 
 infamous on account of the many assassinations 
 that had taken place there ; concerning one of 
 which he related a long and tragical story, that 
 lasted until we reached Catania. It involved 
 various circumstances of a wild and supernatural 
 character, but which he assured me were handed 
 10 
 
146 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 down in tradition, and generally credited by the 
 old inhabitants of Malta. 
 
 As I like to pick up strange stories, and as I 
 was particularly struck with several parts of this, 
 I made a minute of it, on my return to my lodg- 
 ings. The memorandum was lost, witli several 
 of my travelling papers, and the story had faded 
 from my mind, when recently, on perusing a 
 French memoir, I came suddenly upon it, dressed 
 up, it is true, in a very different manner, but 
 agreeing in the leading facts, and given upon the 
 word of that famous adventurer, the Count Cag- 
 liostro. 
 
 I have amused myself, during a snowy day in 
 the country, by rendering it roughly into English, 
 for the entertainment of a youthful circle round 
 the Christmas fire. It was Avell received by my 
 auditors, who, however, are rather easily pleased. 
 One proof of its merits is, that it sent some of 
 the youngest of them quaking to their beds, and 
 gave them very fearful dreams. Hoping that it 
 may have the same effect upon the ghost-hunt- 
 ing reader, I subjoin it. I would observe, that 
 wherever I have modified the French version of 
 the story, it has been in conformity to some recol- 
 lection of the narrative of my friend, the Knight 
 of Malta. 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 147 
 THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 
 
 A VERITABLE GHOST STORY. 
 
 " Keep my wits, heaven ! They say spirits appear 
 To melancholy minds, and the graves open! " 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 About the middle of the last century, while 
 the Knights of Saint John of Jerusalem still 
 maintained something of their ancient state and 
 sway in the island of Malta, a tragical event took 
 place there, which is the groundwork of the fol- 
 lowing narrative. 
 
 It may be as well to premise, that, at the time 
 we are treating of, the Order of Saint John of 
 Jerusalem, grown excessively wealthy, had degen- 
 erated from its originally devout and warlike 
 character. Instead of being a hardy body of 
 "monk-knights," sworn soldiers of the Cross, fight- 
 ing the Paynim in the Holy Land, or scouring 
 the Mediterranean, and scourging the Barbary 
 coasts with their galleys, or feeding the poor, and 
 attending upon the sick at their hospitals, they 
 led a life of luxury and libertinism, and were to 
 be found in the most voluptuous courts of Europe. 
 The order, in fact, had become a mode of provid- 
 ing for the needy branches of the Catholic aristoc- 
 racy of Europe. "A commandery," we are told, 
 was a splendid provision for a younger brother ; 
 and men of rank, however dissolute, provided 
 they belonged to the highest aristocracy, became 
 Knights of Malta, just as they did bishops, or 
 
148 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 colonels of regiiiieiits, or court chamberlains. Al'ter 
 a brief residence at Malta, the knights passed the 
 rest of their time in their own countries, or only 
 made a visit now and then to the island. While 
 there, having but little military duty to perform, 
 they beguiled their idleness by paying attentions 
 to the fair. 
 
 There was one circle of society, however, into 
 which they could not obtain currency. This was 
 composed of a few families of the old Maltese 
 nobility, natives of the island. These families, 
 not being permitted to enroll any of their mem- 
 bers in the order, affected to hold no intercourse 
 with its chevaliers ; admitting none into their ex- 
 clusive coteries but the Grand Master, whom 
 they acknowledged as their sovereign, and the 
 members of the chapter which composed his 
 council. 
 
 To indemnify themselves for this exclusion, the 
 chevaliers carried their gallantries into the next 
 class of society, composed of those who held civil, 
 administrative, and judicial situations. The ladies 
 of this class were called honorate, or honorables, 
 to distinguish them from the inferior orders ; and 
 among them w^ere many of superior grace, beauty, 
 and fascination. 
 
 Even in this more hospitable class, the cheva- 
 liers were not all equally favored. Those of Ger- 
 many had the decided preference, owing to their 
 fair and fresh complexions, and the kindliness of 
 their manners ; next to these, came the Spanish 
 cavaliers, on account of their profound and courte- 
 ous devotion, and most discreet secrecy. Singular 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. MO 
 
 H,s it may seem, the chevaliers of France fared 
 the worst. The Maltese hidies dreaded their 
 volatility, and their proneness to boast of their 
 amours, and shurmed all entanglement with them. 
 They were forced, therefore, to content themselves 
 with conquests among females of the lower orders. 
 They revenged themselves, after the gay French 
 manner, by making the " honprate " the objects 
 of all kinds of jests arid mystifications ; by pry- 
 injr into their tender affairs with the more favored 
 chevaliers, and making them the theme of song 
 and epigram. 
 
 About this time a French vessel arrived at 
 Malta, bringing out a distinguished personage of 
 the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem, the Com- 
 mander de Foulquerre, who came to solicit the 
 post of commander-in-chief of the galleys. He 
 was descended from an old and warrior line of 
 French nobility, his ancestors having long been 
 seneschals of Poitou, and claiming descent from 
 the first Counts of Angouleme. 
 
 The arrival of the commander caused a little 
 uneasiness among the peaceably inclined, for he 
 bore the character, in the island, of being fiery, 
 arrogant, and quarrelsome. He had already been 
 three times at Malta, and on each visit had signal- 
 ized himself by some rash and deadly afiray. As 
 he was now thirty-five years of age, however, it 
 was hoped that time might have taken off the 
 fiery edge of his spirit, and that he might prove 
 more quiet and sedate than formerly. The com- 
 mander set up an establishment befitting his rank 
 and pretensions; for he arrogated to himself an 
 
150 TBE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 importance greater even than that of the Grand 
 Master. His house immediately became the ral- 
 ly ing-pl ace of all the young French chevaliers. 
 They informed him of all the slights they had ex- 
 perienced or imagined, and indulged their petu- 
 lant and satirical vein at the expense of the 
 honorate SiXid. their admirers. The chevaliers of 
 other nations soon found the topics and tone of 
 conversation at the commander's irksome and 
 offensive, and gradually ceased to visit there. The 
 commander remained at the head of a national 
 clique, who looked up to him as their model. If 
 he was not as boisterous and quarrelsome as 
 formerly, he had become haughty and overbear- 
 ing. He was fond of talking over his past affairs 
 of punctilio and bloody duel. When walking the 
 streets, he was generally attended by a ruffling 
 train of young French chevaliers, who caught 
 his own air of assumption and bravado. These 
 he would conduct to the scenes of his deadly 
 encounters, point out the very spot where each 
 fatal lunge had been given, and dwell vainglori 
 ously on every particular. 
 
 Under his tuition the young French chevaliers 
 began to add bluster and arrogance to their former 
 petulance and levity ; they fired up on the most 
 trivial occasions, particularly with those who had 
 been most successful with the fair; and would 
 put on the most intolerable drawcansir airs. The 
 other chevaliers conducted themselves with all 
 possible forbearance and reserve ; but they saw it 
 would be impossible to keep oh long, in this man- 
 ner, without coming to an open rupture. 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 151 
 
 Among the Spanish cavaliers was one named 
 Don Luis de Lima Vasconcellos. He was dis- 
 tantly related to the Grand Master ; and had been 
 enrolled at an early age among his pages, but had 
 been rapidly promoted by him, until, at the age 
 of twenty-six, he iiad been given the richest 
 Spanish commandery in the order. He had, 
 moreover, been fortunate with the fair, with one 
 of whom, the most beautiful honorata of Malta, 
 he had lono- maintained the most tender corre- 
 spondence. 
 
 The character, rank, and connections of Don 
 Luis put him on a par with the imperious Com- 
 mander de Foulquerre, and pointed him out as 
 a leader and champion to his countrymen. The 
 Spanish cavaliers repaired to him, therefore, in a 
 body ; represented all the grievances they had 
 sustained and the evils they apprehended, and 
 urged him to use his influence with the com- 
 mander and his adherents to put a stop to the 
 growing abuses. 
 
 Don Luis was gratified by this mark of con- 
 fidence and esteem on the part of his countrymen, 
 and promised to have an interview with the Com- 
 mander de Foulquerre on the subject. He re- 
 solved to conduct himself with the utmost caution 
 and delicacy on the occasion ; to represent to the 
 commander the evil consequences which might 
 result from the inconsiderate conduct of the young 
 French chevaliers, and to entreat him to exert the 
 great influence he so deservedly possessed over 
 them, to restrain their excesses. Don Luis was 
 aware, however, of the peril that attended any 
 
152 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 interview of the kind with this imperiou-5 and 
 fractions man, and apprehended, however it might 
 nomraence, that it wonld terminate in a duel. 
 Still it was an affair of honor, in which Castilian 
 dignity was concerned ; beside, he had a lurking 
 disgust at the overbearing manners of De Foul- 
 querre, and perhaps had been somewhat offended 
 by certain intrusive attentions which he had pre- 
 sumed to pay to the beautiful honorata. 
 
 It was now Holy Week ; a time too sacred for 
 worldly feuds and passions, especially in a com- 
 munity under the dominion of a religious order: 
 it was agreed, therefore, that the dangerous inter- 
 view in question should not take place until after 
 the Easter holidays. It is pi-obable, from sub- 
 sequent circumstances, that the Commander de 
 Foulquerre had some information of this arrange- 
 ment among the Spanish cavaliers, and w^as de- 
 termined to be beforehand, and to mortify the 
 pride of their champion, who was thus preparing 
 to read him a lecture. He chose Good Friday 
 for his purpose. On this sacred day it is custom- 
 ary, in Catholic countries, to make a tour of all 
 the churches, offering up prayers in each. In 
 every Catholic church, as is well known, there is 
 a vessel of holy water near the door. In this, 
 every one, on entering, dips his fingers, and makes 
 therewith the sign of the cross on his forehead 
 and breast. An office of gallantry, among the 
 young Spaniards, is to stand near the door, dip 
 their hands in the holy \ essel, and extend them 
 courteously and respectfully to any hidy of their 
 acquaintance who may enter ; who thus receives 
 
TBE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 15S 
 
 the sacred water at second hand, on the tips of 
 her fingers, and proceeds to cross herself with all 
 due decorum. The Spaniards, who are the most 
 jealous of lovers, are impatient when this piece 
 of devotional gallantry is proffered to the object 
 of their affections by any other hand : on Good 
 Friday, therefore, when a lady makes a tour of 
 the churches, it is the usage among them for the 
 inamorato to follow her from church to church, 
 so as to present her the holy water at the door of 
 each ; thus testifying his own devotion, and at the 
 same time preventing the officious services of a 
 rival. 
 
 On the day in question Don Luis followed the 
 beautiful honorata, to whom, as has already been 
 observed, he had long been devoted. At the very 
 first church she visited, the Commander de Foul- 
 querre was stationed at the portal, with several 
 of the young French chevaliers about him. Be- 
 fore Don Luis could offer her the holy water, he 
 was anticipated by the commander, who thrust 
 himself between them, and, while he pei-formed 
 the gallant office to the lady, rudely turned his 
 back upon her admirer, and trod upon his feet. 
 The insult was enjoyed by the young Frenchmen 
 Avho were present : it was too deep and grave to 
 be forgiven by Spanish pride ; and at once put an 
 end to all Don Luis's plans of caution and for- 
 bearance. He repressed his passion for the mo- 
 ment, however, and waited until all the parties 
 Jeft the church : then, accosting the commander 
 with an air of coolness and unconcern, he inquired 
 after his health, and asked to what church he 
 
154 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 proposed making his second visit. " To the Mag- 
 isterial Church of St. John." Don Luis offered 
 to conduct him thither by the shortest route. His 
 oflfer was accepted, apparently without suspicion, 
 and they proceeded together. After walking some 
 distance, they entered a long, narrow lane, with- 
 out door or window opening upon it, called the 
 " Strada Stretta," or narrow street. It was a 
 street in which duels were tacitly permitted, or 
 connived at, in Malta, and were suffered to pass 
 as accidental encounters. Everywhere else they 
 were prohibited. This restriction had been in- 
 stituted to diminish the number of duels formerly 
 so frequent in Malta. As a farther precaution to 
 render these encounters less fatal, it was an of- 
 fence, punishable with death, for any one to enter 
 this street armed with either poniard or pistol. 
 It was a lonely, dismal street, just wide enough 
 for two men to stand upon their guard and cross 
 their swords ; few persons ever traversed it, un- 
 less with some sinister design ; and on any pre- 
 concerted duello, the seconds posted themselves at 
 each end, to stop all passengers and prevent in- 
 terruption. 
 
 In the present instance, the parties had scarce 
 entered the street, when Don Luis drew his sword, 
 and called upon the commander to defend himself. 
 
 De Foulquerre was evidently taken by sur- 
 prise : he drew back, and attempted to expostu- 
 late ; but Don Luis persisted in defying him to 
 the combat. 
 
 After a second or two, he likewise di-ew his 
 Bword, but immediately lowered the point. 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 155 
 
 " Good Fiiday ! " ejaculated he, shaking his 
 head : " one word with you ; it is full six years 
 since I have been in a confessional : I am shocked 
 at the state of my conscience ; but within three 
 days — that is to say, on Monday next " — 
 
 Don Luis would listen to nothinsr. Thouo-h 
 naturally of a peaceable disposition, he had been 
 stung to fury ; and people of that character, when 
 once incensed, are deaf to reason. He compelled 
 the commander to put himself on his guard. The 
 latter, though a man accustomed to brawl and 
 battle, w^as singularly dismayed. Terror was 
 visible in all his features. He placed himself 
 with his back to the wall, and the weapons were 
 crossed. The contest was brief and fatal. At 
 the very jQrst thrust the sword of Don Luis 
 passed through the body of his antagonist. The 
 commander staggered to the wall, and leaned 
 against it. 
 
 " On Good Friday ! " ejaculated he again, with 
 a failing voice and despairing accents. " Heaven 
 pardon you ! " added he ; " take my sword to 
 Tetefoulques, and have a hundred masses per- 
 formed in the chapel of the castle, for the repose 
 of my soul ! " With these words he expired. 
 
 The fury of Don Luis was at an end. He 
 stood aghast, gazing at the bleeding body of tho 
 commander. He called to mind the prayer of 
 the deceased for three days' respite, to make his 
 peace with Heaven ; he had refused it ; had 
 sent him to the grave, with all his sins upon his 
 head ! His conscience smote him to the core ; he 
 gathered up the sword of the commander, which 
 
156 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 he had been enjoined to take to Tetefoulques, and 
 hurried from the fatal Strada Stretta. 
 
 The duel, of course, made a great noise in 
 Malta, but had no injurious effect on the worldly- 
 fortunes of Don Luis. He made a full declara- 
 tion of the whole matter, before the proper au- 
 thorities ; the chapter of the order considered it 
 one of those casual encounters of the Strada 
 Stretta, which were mourned over, but toler- 
 ated ; the public, by whom the late commander 
 had been generally detested, declared that he 
 deserved his fate. It was but three days after 
 the event that Don Luis was advanced to one of 
 the highest dignities of the order, being invested 
 by the Grand Master with the Priorship of the 
 kingdom of Minorca. 
 
 From that time forward, however, the whole 
 character and conduct of Don Luis underwent a 
 change. He became a prey to a dark melan- 
 choly, which nothing could assuage. The most 
 (iustere piety, the severest penances, had no effect 
 in allaying the horror which preyed upon his 
 liiirid. He was absent for a long time from 
 Malta, having gone, it was said, on remote pil- 
 grimages : when he returned, he was more hag- 
 gard than ever. There seemed something mys- 
 terious and inexplicable in this disorder of his 
 mind. The following is the revelation, made by 
 himself, of the horrible visions or chimeras by 
 which he was haunted : — 
 
 " When I had made my declaration before the 
 chapter," said he, " my provocations were publicly 
 known, — I had made my peace with man ; but it 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 157 
 
 Tras not so with God, nor with my confessor, nor 
 with my own conscience. My act was doubly 
 criminal, from the day on which it was committed, 
 and from my refusal to a delay of three days, for 
 the victim of my resentment to receive the sacra- 
 ments. His despairing ejaculation, ' Good Fri- 
 day ! Good Friday ! ' continually rang in my 
 ears. ' Why did I not grant the respite ! ' cried 
 I to myself ; ' was it not enough to kill the body, 
 but must I seek to kill the soul ! ' 
 
 " On the night following Friday I started sud- 
 denly from my sleep. An unaccountable horror 
 was upon me. I looked wildly around. It 
 seemed as if I were not in my apartment, nor in 
 my bed, but in the fatal Strada Stretta, lying on 
 the pavement. I again saw the commander lean- 
 ing against the wall ; I again heard his dying 
 words : ' Take my sword to Tetefoulques, and 
 have a hundred masses performed in the chapei 
 of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 
 
 " On the following night I caused one of my 
 servants to sleep in the same room with nie. I 
 saw and heard nothing, either on that night or 
 any of the nights following, until the next Friday, 
 when I had again the same vision, with this dif 
 ference, that my valet seemed to be lying some 
 distance from me on the pavement of the Strada 
 Stretta. The vision continued to be repeated on 
 every Friday night, the commander always ap- 
 pearing in the same manner, and uttering the 
 same words : ' Take my sword to Tetefoulques, 
 and have a hundred masses performed in the 
 :;hapel of the castle, for the repose of my soul ! ' 
 
158 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 " On questioning my servant on the subject, 
 he stated that on these occasions he dreamed 
 that he was lying in a very narrow street, but 
 he neither saw nor heard anytliing of the com- 
 mander. 
 
 " I knew nothing of this Tetefoulques, whither 
 the defunct was so urgent I should carry his 
 sword. I made inquiries, therefore, concerning 
 it, among the French chevaliers. They informed 
 me that it was an old castle, situated about four 
 leagues from Poitiers, in the midst of a forest. 
 It had been built in old times, several centuries 
 since, by Foulques Taillefer, (or Fulke Hack- 
 iron), a redoubtable hard-fighting Count of An- 
 goulemc, who gave it to an illegitimate son, 
 afterwards created Grand Seneschal of Poitou, 
 which son became the progenitor of the Foul- 
 querres of Tetefoulques, hereditary seneschals of 
 Poitou. They farther informed me, that strange 
 stories were told of this old castle, in the sur- 
 rounding country, and that it contained many 
 curious reliques. Among these were the arms 
 of Foulques Taillefer, together with those of the 
 warriors he had slain ; and that it was an imme- 
 morial usage with the Foulquerres to have the 
 weapons deposited there which they had yielded 
 either in war or single combat. This, then, was 
 the reason of the dying injunction of the com- 
 mander respecting his sword. 1 carried this 
 weapon with me wherever I went, but still I 
 neglected to comply with his request. 
 
 " The vision still continued to harass me with 
 undiminished horror. I repaired to Rome, where 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 159 
 
 I confessed myself to the Grand Cardinal peni- 
 tentiary, and informed him of the terrors with 
 which I was haunted. He promised me absolu- 
 tion, after I should have performed certain acts 
 of penance, the principal of which was to execute 
 the dying request of the commander, by carrying 
 his sword to Tetefoulques, and having the hun- 
 dred masses performed in the chapel of the castle 
 for the repose of his soul. 
 
 "I set out for France as speedily as possible, 
 and made no delay in my journey. On arriving 
 at Poitiers, I found that the tidings of the death 
 of the commander had reached there, but had 
 caused no more afiBliction than among the people 
 of Malta. Leaving my equipage in the town, I 
 put on the garb of a pilgrim, and taking a guide, 
 set out on foot for Tetefoulques. Indeed the 
 roads in this part of the country were impracti- 
 <;able for carriages. 
 
 "I found the castle of Tetefoulques a grand 
 but gloomy and dilapidated pile. All the gates 
 were closed, and there reigned over the whole 
 place an air of almost savage loneliness and de- 
 sertion. I had understood that its only inhabi- 
 tants were the concierge, or warder, and a kind 
 of hermit who had charge of the chapel. After 
 ringing for some time at the gate, I at length 
 succeeded in bring-inor forth the warder, who 
 bowed with reverence to my pilgrim's garb. 1 
 begged him to conduct me to the chapel, that 
 being the end of my pilgrimage. We found the 
 hermit there, chanting the funeral service ; a 
 difemal sound to one who came to perform a pen* 
 
160 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 ance for the death of a member of the family. 
 When he had ceased to chant, I informed him 
 that I came to accomplish an obligation of con- 
 science, and that I wished him to perform a hun- 
 dred masses for the repose of the soul of the 
 commander. He replied that, not being in orders, 
 he was not authorized to perform mass, but that 
 he would willingly undertake to see that my debt 
 of conscience was discharged. I laid my offer- 
 ing on the altar, and would have placed the sword 
 of the commander there likewise. * Hold ! ' said 
 the hermit, with a melancholy shake of the head, 
 ' this is no place for so deadly a weapon, that has 
 so often been bathed in Christian blood. Take it 
 to the armory ; you will find there trophies enough 
 of like character. It is a place into which I never 
 enter.' 
 
 " The warder here took up the theme abandoned 
 by the peaceful man of God. He assured me 
 that I would see in the armory the swords of all 
 the warrior race of Foulquerres, together with 
 those of the enemies over whom they had tri- 
 umphed. This, he observed, had been a usage 
 kept up since the time of Mellusine, and of her 
 husband, Geoffrey k la Grand-dent, or Geoffrey 
 with the Great-tooth. 
 
 " I followed the gossiping warder to the armory. 
 It was a great dusty hall, hung round with Gothic- 
 looking portraits of a stark line of warriors, each 
 with his wefipon, and the weapons of those he had 
 slain in battle, hung beside his picture. The most 
 conspicuous portrait was that of Foulques Tail- 
 •lefer (Fulke Hack-iron), Count of Angouleme, and 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. IGl 
 
 founder of the castle. He wiis represented at full 
 length, ai-med cap-u-pie, and grasping a huge 
 buckler, on vvhich were emblazoned three lions 
 passant. The figure was so striking, tliat it 
 seemed ready to start fi-om the canvas ; and I 
 observed beneath this picture a trophy composed 
 of many weapons, proofs of the numerous tri- 
 umphs of this hard-figiiting old cavalier. Beside 
 the weapons connected with the portraits, there 
 were swords of all shapes, sizes, and centuries, 
 hung round the hall, with piles of armor placed, 
 as it were, in effigy. 
 
 " On each side of an immense chimney were 
 suspended the portraits of the first seneschal of 
 Poitou (the illegitimate son of Foulques Tail- 
 lefer) and his wife, Isabella de Lusignan, the pro- 
 genitors of the grim race of Foulquerres that 
 frowned around. They had the look of being 
 perfect likenesses ; and as I gazed on them, I 
 fancied I could trace in their antiquated features 
 some family resemblance to their unfortunate de- 
 scendant whom 1 had slain ! / This was a dismal 
 neighborhood, yet the armory was the only part 
 of the castle that had a habitable air ; so I asked 
 the warder whether he could not make a fire, and 
 give me something for supper there, and prepare 
 me a bed in one corner. 
 
 " *A fire and a supper you shall have, and that 
 cheerfully, most worthy pilgrim,' said he ; ' but as 
 to a bed, I advise you to come and sleep in my 
 chamber.' 
 
 " ' AVhy so? ' inquired I ; ' why shall I not sleep 
 in this hall ? ' 
 
 11 
 
162 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 " ' I have my reasons ; I will make a bed for 
 you close to mine.' 
 
 " I made no objections, for I recollected that it 
 was Friday, and I dreaded the return of my 
 vision. He brou2;ht in billets of wood, kindled a 
 fire in the great overhanging chimney, and then 
 went forth to prepare my supper. I drew a heavy 
 chair before the fire, and seating myself in it, 
 gazed musingly round upon the portraits of the 
 Foulquerres and the antiquated armor and weap- 
 ons, the mementos of many a bloody deed. As 
 the day declined, the smoky draperies of the hall 
 gradually became confounded with the dark ground 
 of the paintings, and the lurid gleams from the 
 chimney only enabled me to see visages staring at 
 me from the oratherino; darkness. All this was 
 dismal in the extreme, and somewhat appalling; 
 perhaps it was the state of my conscience that 
 rendered me peculiarly sensitive and prone to 
 fearful imaginings. 
 
 "At length the warder brought in my supper. 
 It consisted of a dish of trout and some crawfish 
 taken in the fosse of the castle. He procured 
 also a bottle of wine, which he informed me was 
 wine of Poitou. I requested him to invite the 
 hermit to join me in my repast, but the holy man 
 sent back word that he allowed himself nothing 
 but roots and herbs, cooked with water. I took 
 my meal, therefore, alone, but prolonged it as 
 much as possible, and sought to cheer my droop- 
 ing spirits by the wine of Poitou, which I found 
 very tolerable. 
 
 " When supper was over I prepared for my 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 163 
 
 evening devotions. I have always been very 
 punctual in reciting my breviary ; it is the pre- 
 scribed and bounden duty of all cavaliers of the 
 religious orders ; and I can answer for it, is faith- 
 fully performed by those of Spain. T accordingly 
 drew forth from my pocket a small missal and a 
 rosary, and told the warder he need only desig- 
 nate to me the way to his chamber, where I could 
 come and rejoin him when I had finished my 
 prayers. 
 
 " He accordingly pointed out a winding stair- 
 case opening from the hall. ' You will descend 
 this staircase,' said he, 'until you come to the 
 fourth landing-place, where you enter a vaulted 
 passage, terminated by an arcade, with a statue of 
 the blessed Jeanne of France ; you cannot help 
 finding my room, the door of which I will leave 
 open ; it is the sixth door from the landing-place. 
 I advise you not to remain in this hall after mid- 
 night. Before that hour you will hear the hermit 
 ring the bell, in going the rounds of the corridors. 
 Do not linger here after that sis^nal.' 
 
 "The warder retired, and I commenced my 
 devotions. I continued at them earnestly, paus- 
 ing from time to time to put wood upon the fire. 
 I did not dare to look much around me, for I felt 
 myself becoming a prey to fearful fancies. The 
 pictures appeared to become animated. If I re- 
 garded one attentively, for any length of time, it 
 seemed to move the eyes and lips. Above all, 
 the portraits of the Grand Seneschal and his lady, 
 which hung on each side of the great chimney, 
 the progenitors of the Foulquerrea of Tetefoul- 
 
164 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 ques, regarded me, I thought, with angry and 
 baleful eyes ; I even fancied they exchanged sig- 
 nificant glances with each other. Just then a 
 terrible blast of wind shook all the casements, 
 and, rushing through the hall, made a fearful rat- 
 tling and clashing among the armor. To my 
 stai'tled fancy, it seemed something supernatural. 
 
 "At length I heard the bell of the hermit, and 
 hastened to quit the hall. Taking a solitary light, 
 which stood on the supper-table, I descended the 
 winding staircase, but before I had reached the 
 vaulted passage leading to the statue of the blessed 
 Jeanne of France, a blast of wind extinguished 
 my taper. I hastily remounted the stairs, to light 
 it again at the chimney; but judge of my feel- 
 ings, when, on arriving at the entrance to the 
 armory, I beheld the Seneschal and his lady, who 
 had descended from their frames, and seated them- 
 selves on each side of the fireplace ! 
 
 " * Madam, my love,' said the Senesclial, with 
 great formality and in antiquated phrase, ' what 
 think you of the presumption of this Castilian, 
 who comes to harbor himself and make wassail in 
 this our castle, after having slain our descendant, 
 the commander, and that without granting him 
 time for confession ? ' 
 
 " ' Truly, my lord,' answered the female spectre, 
 with no less stateliness of manner, and with great 
 asperity of tone — ' truly, my lord, I opine that 
 this Castilian did a o^rievous wrons; in this en- 
 counter, and he should never be suffered to depart 
 hence, without your throwing him the gauntlet.' 
 I paused to hear no more, but rushed again down 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 165 
 
 ■tair-5 to seek the chamber of* the warder. It was 
 impossible to find it in the darkness and in the 
 perturbation of my mind. After an hour and a 
 half of fruitless search, and mortal horror and 
 anxieties, I endeavored to persuade myself that 
 the day was about to break, and listened im 
 patiently for the. crowing of the cock ; for I thought 
 if I could hear his cheerful note, I should be re- 
 assured ; catching, in the disordered state of my 
 nerves, at the popular notion that ghosts never 
 appear after the first crowing of the cock. 
 
 "At length I rallied myself, and endeavored to 
 shake off the vague terrors which haunted me. 1 
 tried to persuade myself that the two figures which 
 I had seemed to see and hear, had existed only 
 in my troubled imagination. I still had the end 
 of a candle in my hand, and determined to make 
 another effort to relight it and find my way to 
 bed, for I was ready to sink with fatigue. I 
 accordingly sprang up the staircase, three steps 
 at a time, stopped at the door of the armory, and 
 peeped cautiously in. The two Gothic figures; 
 were no longer in the chimney-corners, but I 
 neglected to notice whether they had reascended 
 to their frames. I entered and made desperately 
 for the fireplace, but scarce had I advanced three 
 strides, when Messire Foulques Taillefer stood 
 before me, in the centre of the hall, armed cap-a- 
 pie, and standing in guard, with the point of his 
 sword silently presented to me. I would have 
 retreated to the staircase, but the door of it was 
 occupied by the phantom figure of an esquire, 
 yvho rudely flung a gauntlet in my face. Driven 
 
1(36 THE KNIGHT OF MALTA. 
 
 to fury, I snatched down a sword from the wall : 
 by chance, it was that of the commander which 
 I had placed there. I rushed upon my fantastic 
 adversary, and seemed to pierce him through and 
 through ; but at the same time I felt as if some- 
 thing pierced ray heart, burning like a red-hot 
 iron. My blood inundated the hall, and I fell 
 senseless. 
 
 " When I recovered consciousness, it was broad 
 day, and I found myself in a small chamber, 
 attended by the warder and the hermit. The 
 former told me that on th'e previous night he had 
 awakened long after the midnight hour^ and per- 
 ceiving that I had not come to his chamber, he 
 had furnished himself with a vase of holy water, 
 and set out to seek me. He found me stretched 
 senseless on the pavement of the armory, and 
 bore me to his room. I spoke of my wound, and 
 of the quantity of blood that I had lost. He 
 shook his head, and knew nothing about it ; and 
 to my surprise, on examination, I found myself 
 perfectly sound and unharmed. The wound and 
 blood, therefore, had been all delusion. Neither 
 the warder nor the hermit put any questions to 
 me, but advised me to leave the castle as soon as 
 possible. I lost no time in complying with their 
 counsel, and felt my heart relieved from an op- 
 pressive weight, as I left the gloomy and fate- 
 bound battlements of Tetefoulques behind me. 
 
 "I arrived at Bayonne, on my way to Spain, 
 on the following Friday. At midnight I was 
 startled from my sleep, as I had formerly been ; 
 
THE GRAND PRIOR OF MINORCA. 107 
 
 but it was no longer by the vision of the dyino 
 commander. It was old Foulques Taillefer who 
 stood before me, armed cap-a-pie, and presentin<^ 
 the point of his sword. I made the sign of the 
 cross, and the spectre vanished, but I received the 
 same red-liot thrust in the heart which I had felt 
 in the armory, and I seemed to be bathed in blood. 
 I would have called out, or have risen from my 
 bed and gone in quest of succor, but I could 
 neither speak nor stir. This agony endured until 
 the crowing of the cock, when I fell asleep again ; 
 but the next day I was ill, and in a most pitiable 
 state. I have continued to be harassed by the 
 same vision QYtry Friday night ; no acts of pen- 
 itence and devotion have been able to relieve me 
 from it ; and it is only a lingering hope in divine 
 mercy that sustains me, and enables me to support 
 so lamentable a visitation." 
 
 The Grand Prior of Minorca wasted gradually 
 away under this constant remorse of conscience 
 and this horrible incubus. He died some time 
 after having revealed the preceding particulars 
 of his case, evidently the victim of a diseased 
 imagination. 
 
 The above relation has been rendered, in many 
 parts literally, from the French memoir, in which 
 it is given as a true story : if so, it is one of 
 those instances in which truth is more romantic 
 than fiction. 
 
"A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY." 
 
 N the course of a voyage from England, 
 I once fell in with a convoy of merchant 
 ships, bound for the West Indies. The 
 weather was uncommonly bland ; and the ships 
 vied with each other in spreading sail to catch a 
 light, favoring breeze, until their hulls M'ere al- 
 most hidden beneath a cloud of canvas. The 
 breeze went down with the sun, and his last yel- 
 low rays shone upon a thousand sails, idly flap- 
 ping against the masts. 
 
 I exulted in the beauty of the scene, and au- 
 gured a prosperous voyage ; but the veteran mas- 
 ter of the ship shook his head, and pronounced 
 this halcyon calm a " weather-breeder." And so 
 it proved. A storm burst forth in the night ; the 
 sea roared and raged ; and when the day broke 
 I beheld the late gallant convoy scattered in evei-y 
 direction ; some dismasted, others scudding under 
 bare poles, and many firing signals of distress. 
 
 I have since been occasionally reminded of this 
 scene, by those calm, sunny seasons in the com- 
 mercial world, which are known by the name of 
 " times of unexampled prosperity." They are 
 the sure weather-breeders of traffic. Every now 
 
A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 169 
 
 and then the world is visited by one of these 
 delusive seasons, when " the credit system," as it 
 is called, expands to full luxuriance ; everybody 
 trusts everybody ; a bad debt is a thing unheard 
 of; the broad way to certain and sudden wealth 
 lies plain and open ; and men are tempted to dash 
 forward boldly, from the facility of borrowing. 
 
 Promissory notes, interchanged between schem- 
 ing individuals, are liberally discounted at the 
 banks, which become so many mints to coin words 
 into cash ; and as the supply of words is inex- 
 haustible, it may readily be supposed what a vast 
 amount of promissory capital is soon in circula- 
 tion. Every one now talks in thousands ; noth- 
 ing is heard but gigantic operations in trade ; 
 great purchases and sales of real property, and 
 immense sums made at every transfer. All, to 
 be sure, as yet exists in promise ; but the be- 
 liever in promises calculates the aggregate as 
 solid capital, and falls back in amazement at the 
 amount of public wealth, the " unexampled state 
 of public prosperity ! " 
 
 Now is the time for speculative and dreaming 
 or designing men. They relate their dreams and 
 projects to the ignorant and credulous, dazzle 
 them with golden visions, and set them madden- 
 ing after shadows. The example of one stimu- 
 lates another ; speculation rises on speculation ; 
 bubble rises on bubble ; every one helps with his 
 breath to swell the windy superstructure, and ad- 
 mires and wonders at the mao;nitude of the infia- 
 tion he has contributed to produce. 
 
 Speculation is the romance of trade, and casta \? 
 
170 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 2ontempt upon all its sober realities. It renders 
 the stock-jobber a magician, and the exchange a 
 resrion of enchantment. It elevates the merchant 
 into a kind of knight-errant, or rather a commer- 
 cial Quixote. The slow but sure gains of snug 
 percentage become despicable in his eyes : no 
 " operation " is thought worthy of attention, that 
 does noi double or treble the investment. No 
 business is worth following, that does not promise 
 an immediate fortune. As he sits musing over 
 his ledger, with pen behind his ear, he is like La 
 Mancha's hero in his study, dreaming over his 
 books of chivalry. His dusty counting-house 
 fades before his eyes, or changes into a Spanish 
 mine : he gropes after diamonds, or dives after 
 pearls. The subterranean garden of Aladdin is 
 nothing to the realms of wealth that break upon 
 his imagination. 
 
 Could this delusion always last, the life of a 
 merchant would indeed be a golden dream ; but 
 it is as short as it is brilliant. Let but a doubt 
 enter, and the " season of unexampled prosper- 
 ity" is at end. The coinage of words is sud- 
 denly curtailed ; the promissory capital begins 
 to vanish into smoke ; a panic succeeds, and the 
 whole superstructure, built upon credit, and reared 
 by speculation, crumbles to the ground, leaving 
 scarce a wreck behind : 
 
 " It is such stuff as dreams are made of." 
 
 When a man of business, therefore, hears on 
 iivery side rumors of fortunes suddenly acquired ; 
 when he finds banks liberal, and brokers busy 
 
A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 171 
 
 when he sees adventurers flush of paper capital, 
 and full of scheme and enterprise ; when he per- 
 ceives a greater disposition to buy than to sell ; 
 when trade overflows its accustomed channels, 
 and deluges the countiy ; when he hears of new 
 regions of commercial adventure ; of distant marts 
 and distant mines, swallowing merchandise and 
 clisgoi'ging gold ; when he finds joint stock com- 
 panies of all kinds forming ; railroads, canals, and 
 locomotive engines, springing up on every side ; 
 when idlers suddenly become men of business, and 
 dash into the game of commerce as they would 
 into the hazards of the faro-table ; when he be- 
 holds the streets glittering with new equipages, 
 palaces conjured up by the magic of speculation, 
 tradesmen flushed with sudden success, and vying 
 with each other in ostentatious expense ; in a 
 word, when he hears the whole community join- 
 ing in the theme of " unexampled prosperity," let 
 him look upon the whole as a " weather-breeder," 
 and prepare for the impending storm. 
 
 The foregoing remarks are intended merely as 
 a prelude to a narrative I am about to lay before 
 the public, of one of the most memorable in- 
 stances of the infatuation of gain to be found in 
 the whole history of commerce. I allude to the 
 famous Mississippi bubble. It is a matter that 
 has passed into a proverb, and become a phrase 
 in every one's mouth, yet of which not one mer- 
 chant in ten has probably a distinct idea. I have 
 therefore thought that an authentic account of it 
 would be interesting and salutary, at the present 
 moment, when we are suffering under the effects 
 
172 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 of a severe access of the credit system, and just 
 recovering: from one of its ruinous delusions. 
 
 THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 
 
 Before entering into the story of this famous 
 chimera, it is proper to give a few particulars 
 concerning the individual who engendered it. 
 John Law was born in Edinburgh, in 1671. 
 His father, William Law, was a rich goldsmith, 
 and left his son an estate of considerable value, 
 called Lauriston, situated about four miles from 
 Edinburgh. Goldsmiths, in those days, acted oc- 
 casionally as bankers, and his father's operations, 
 under this character, may have originally turned 
 the thoughts of the youth to the science of calcu- 
 lation, in which he became an adept ; so that at 
 an early age he excelled in playing at all games 
 of combination. 
 
 In 1694, he appeared in London, where a hand- 
 some person and an easy and insinuating address 
 gained him currency in the first circles, and the 
 nickname of " Beau Law." The same personal 
 advantages gave him success in the world of gal^ 
 lantry, until he became involved in a quarrel with 
 Beau Wilson, his rival in fashion, whom he killed 
 in a duel, and then fled to France to avoid prose- 
 cution. 
 
 He returned to Edinburgh in 1700, and re- 
 mained there several years ; during which time 
 he first broached his great credit system, offering 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 173 
 
 to supply the deficiency of coin by the estabh'sh- 
 ment of a bank, which, according to his views, 
 might emit a paper currency equivalent to the 
 whole landed estate of the kinofdom. 
 
 His scheme excited great astonishment in Ed- 
 inburgh ; but, though the government was not 
 sufficiently advanced in financial knowledge to 
 detect the fallacies upon which it M^as founded, 
 Scottish caution and suspicion served in place of 
 wisdom, and the project was rejected. Law met 
 with no better success with the English parlia- 
 ment ; and the fatal affair of the death of Wilson 
 still hanging over him, for which he had never been 
 able to procure a pardon, he again went to France. 
 
 The financial affairs of France were at this 
 time in a deplorable condition. The wars, the 
 pomp, and profusion of Louis XIV., and his relig- 
 ious persecutions of whole classes of the most in- 
 dustrious of his subjects, had exhausted his treas- 
 ury, and overwhelmed the nation with debt. The 
 old monarch clung to his selfish magnificence, and 
 could not be induced to diminish his enormous 
 expenditure ; and his minister of finance was 
 driven to his wits' end to devise all knids of dis- 
 astrous expedients to keep up the royal state, and 
 to extricate the nation from its embarrassments. 
 
 In this state of things Law ventured to bring 
 forward his financial project. It was founded on 
 the plan of the Bank of England, which had al- 
 ready been in successful operation several years. 
 He met with immediate patronage and a conge- 
 nial spirit in the Duke of Orleans, who had mar- 
 ried a natural daughter of the king. The duko 
 
174 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 had been astonished at the facility with which 
 England had supported the burden of a public 
 debt, created by the wars of Anne and William, 
 and which exceeded in amount that under which 
 France was groaning. The ; whole matter was 
 soon explained by Law to his satisfaction. The 
 latter maintained that England had stopped at 
 the mere threshold of an art capable of creating 
 unlimited sources of national wealth. The duke 
 was dazzled with his splendid views and specious 
 reasonings, and thought he clearly comprehended 
 his system. Demarets, the Comptroller-General 
 of Finance, was not so easily deceived. He pro- 
 nounced the plan of Law more pernicious than 
 any of the disastrous expedients that the govern- 
 ment had yet been driven to. The old king also, 
 Louis XIV., detested all innovations, especially 
 those which came from a rival nation : the project 
 of a bank, therefore, was utterly rejected. 
 
 Law remained for a while in Paris, leading 
 a gay and affluent existence, owing to his hand- 
 some person, easy manners, flexible temper, and 
 a faro-bauk which he had set up. His agreeable 
 career was interrupted by a message from D Ar- 
 genson, Lieutenant- General of Police, ordering 
 him to quit Paris, alleging that he was " rather 
 too skilful at thf game lohich he had introduced!" 
 
 For several succeeding years he shifted his 
 residence from state to state of Italy and Ger- 
 many, offering his scheme of finance to every 
 court that he visited, but without success. The 
 Duke of Savoy, Victor 4madeas, afterward King 
 of Sardinia, was much struck with his project ; 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 175 
 
 but after considering it for a time, replied, " / am 
 not S2(jficiently powerful to ruin myself.'^ 
 
 Tiie shifting, adventurous life of Law, and tha 
 equivocal means by which he appeared to live, 
 playing high, and always with great success, 
 threw a cloud of suspicion over him wherever he 
 went, and caused him to be expelled by the mag- 
 istracy from the semi-commercial, semi-aristo- 
 cratical cities of Venice and Genoa. 
 
 The events of 1715 brought Law back again 
 to Paris. Louis XIV. was dead. Louis XV. was 
 a mere child, and during his minority the Duke 
 of Orleans held the reins of government as Re- 
 gent. Law had at leno-th found his man. 
 
 The Duke of Orleans has been differently ^ 
 represented by different contemporaries. He ap- 
 pears to have had excellent natural qualities, 
 perverted by a bad education. He was of the 
 middle size, easy and graceful, with an agreeable 
 countenance, and open, affable demeanor. His 
 mind was quick and sagacious, rather than pro- 
 found ; and his quickness of intellect and ex- 
 cellence of memory supplied the lack of studious 
 application. His wit was prompt and pungent ; 
 he expressed himself with vivacity and precision ; 
 his imagination was vivid, his temperament san- 
 guine and joyous, his courage daring. His mother, 
 the Duchess of Orleans, expressed his character "p 
 in ?ijeu d^ esprit. " The fairies," said she, "were "" 
 invited to be present at his birth, and each one 
 conferring a talent on my son, he possesses them 
 all. Unfortimately, we had forgotten to invite an 
 Did fairy, who, arriving after all the others, ex 
 
 ■vv. «> 
 
176 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 1^ i^laimed, " He shall have all the talents, excepting 
 that to make good use of them." ' 
 
 Under proper tuition, the duke might have 
 risen to real greatness ; but in his early years he 
 was put under the tutelage of the Abbe Dubois, 
 one of the subtlest and basest spirits that ever 
 intrigued its way into eminent place and power. 
 The Abbe was of low origin and despicable ex- 
 terior, totally destitute of morals, and perfidnous 
 in the extreme; but with a supple, insinuating 
 address, and an accommodating spirit, tolerant of 
 all kinds of profligacy in others. Conscious of 
 his own inherent baseness, he sought to secure an 
 influence over his pupil by corrupting his prin- 
 ciples and fostering his vices ; he debased him, to 
 keep himself from being despised. Unfortunately 
 he succeeded. To the early precepts of this in- 
 famous pander have been attributed those excesses 
 that disgraced the manhood of the Regent, and 
 gave a licentious character to his whole course of 
 government. His love of pleasure, quickened 
 and indulged by those who should have restrained 
 it, led him into all kinds of sensual indulgence. 
 He had been taught to think lightly of the most 
 serious duties and sacred ties, to turn virtue into 
 a jest, and consider religion mere hypocrisy. He 
 was a gay misanthrope, that had a sovereign but 
 sportive contempt for mankind ; believed that his 
 most devoted servant would be his enemy if in- 
 terest prompted, and maintained that an honest 
 man was he who had the art to conceal that he 
 was the contrary. 
 
 He surrounded himself with a set of dissolute 
 
TUL GREAT MlSSISSIPPf BUBBLE. 177 
 
 men like himself, who, let loose from the restraint ^ 
 under wliich they had been held during the latter 
 hypocritical days of Louis XIV., now gave way 
 to every kind of debauchery. With these men 
 the Regent used to shut himself up, after the 
 hours of business, and excluding all graver per- 
 S(ms and graver concerns, celebrate the most 
 drunken and disgusting orgies, where obscenity 
 and blasphtmiy formed the seasoning of conversa- 
 tion. For the profligate companions of these 
 revels he invented the appeUation of his roues, i/ 
 the literal meaning of which is, men broken on 
 the wheel ; intended, no doubt, to express their 
 brcken-down characters and dislocated fortunes ; 
 although a contemporary asserts that it designated 
 the punishment that most of them merited. 
 Madame de Labran, who was present at one of j 
 the Regent's suppers, was disgusted by the con- 
 duct and conversation of the host and his guests," 
 and observed at table, that God, after he had cre- 
 ated man, took the refuse clay that was left and, 
 made of it the souls of lackeys and princes. 
 
 Such was the man that now ruled the destinies 
 of France. Law found him full of perplexities 
 from the disastrous state of the finances. He had 
 already tampered with the coinage, calling in the 
 coin of the nation, restamping it, and issuing it 
 at a nominal increase of one fifth, thus defrauding 
 the nation out of twenty per cent, of its capital. 
 He was not likely, therefore, to be scrupulous 
 about any means likely to relieve him from finan- 
 cial difficulties ; he had even been led to listen to 
 the cruel alternative of a national bankruptcy. 
 12 
 
178 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERTTY 
 
 Under these circumstances Law confidently 
 brono;ht forward his scheme of a bank that was 
 to pay off the national debt, increase the revenue, 
 and at the same time diminish the taxes. The 
 following is stated as the theory by which he rec- 
 ommended his system to the Regent. The credit 
 enjoyed by a banker or a merchant, he observed, 
 increases his capital tenfold ; that is to say, he 
 who has a capital of one hundred thousand livres, 
 may, if he possess sufficient credit, extend his 
 operations to a million, and reap profits to that 
 amount. In like manner, a state that can collect 
 into a bank all the current coin of the kingdom, 
 would be as powerful as if its capital were in- 
 creased ten fold. The specie must be drawn into 
 the bank, not by way of loan, or by taxations, but 
 in the way of deposit. This might be effected in 
 different modes, either by inspiring confidence, or 
 by exerting authority. One mode, he observed, 
 had already been in use. Each time that a state 
 makes a recoinage, it becomes momentarily the 
 depository of all the money called in belonging to 
 the subjects of that state. His bank was to effect 
 the same purpose ; that is to say, to receive in de- 
 posit all the coin of the kingdom, but to give in 
 exchange its bills, which, being of an invariable 
 value, bearing an interest, and being payable on 
 demand, would not only supply the place of coin, 
 but prove a better and more profitable currency. 
 
 The Regent caught with avidity at the scheme. 
 It suited his bold, reckless spirit and his grasping 
 extravagance. Not that he was altogether the 
 dupe of Law's specious projects ; still he was apt, 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 179 
 
 (ike many other men unskilled in the arcana of 
 finance, to mistake the multiplication of money for 
 the multiplication of wealth, not understanding 
 that it was a mere agent or instrument in the 
 interchange of traffic, to represent the value of 
 the various productions of industry; and that an 
 increased circulation of coin or bank-bills, in the 
 shape of currency, only adds a proportionably in- 
 creased and fictitious value to such productions. 
 Law enlisted the vanity of the Regent in his 
 cause. He persuaded him that he saw more 
 clearly than others into sublime theories of finance, 
 which were quite above the ordinary apprehension. 
 He used to declare that, excepting the Regent and 
 the Duke of Savoy, no one had thoroughly com- 
 prehended his system. 
 
 It is certain that it met with strong opposition 
 from the Regent's ministers, the Duke de Noailles 
 and the Chancellor d'Anguesseau, and it was no 
 less strenuously opposed by the parliament of 
 Paris. Law, however, had a potent though secret 
 coadjutor in the Abbe Dubois, now rising, during 
 tlie regency, into great political power, and who 
 retained a baneful influence over the mind of the 
 Regent. This wily priest, as avaricious as he 
 was ambitious, drew large sums from Law as 
 subsidies, and aided him greatly in many of his 
 most pernicious operations. He aided him, in the 
 present instance, to fortify the mind of the Regent 
 against all the remonstrances of his ministers and 
 the parliament. 
 
 Accordingly, on the 2d of May, 1716, letters 
 patent were granted to Law to establish a bank 
 
180 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 of deposit, discoiiJit, and circulation, under the 
 firm of " Law and Company," to continue for 
 twenty years. The capital "was fixed at six mill 
 ions of livres, divided into shares of five hundred 
 livres each, which were to be sold for twenty- 
 five per cent, of the Regent's debased coin, and 
 seventy-five per cent, of the public securities, 
 which were then at a great reduction from their 
 nominal value, and which then amounted to nine- 
 teen hundred millions. The ostensible object of 
 the bank, as set forth in the patent, was to encour- 
 age the commerce and manufactures of France. 
 The louis-d'ors and crowns of the bank were 
 always to retain the same standard of value, and 
 its bills to be payable in them on demand. 
 
 At the outset, while the bank was limited in 
 its opei-ations, and while its paper really repre- 
 sented the specie in its vavilts, it seemed to realize 
 all that had been promised from it. It rapidly 
 acquired public confidence and an extended circu- 
 lation, and produced an activity in commerce un- 
 known under the baneful government of Louis 
 XIV. As the bills of the bank bore an interest, 
 and as it was stipulated they would be of invari- 
 able value, and as hints had been artfully circu- 
 lated that the coin would experience successive 
 diminution, everybody hastened to the bank to 
 exchange gold and silver for paper. So great 
 became the throng of depositors, and so intense 
 their eagerness, that there was quite a press 
 and struggle at the back door, and a ludicrous 
 panic was awakened, as if there was danger of 
 their not being admitted. An anecdote of the 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 181 
 
 time relates that one of the clerks, with an 
 ominous smile, called out to the struggling multi- 
 tude, " Have a little patience, my friends ; wo 
 mean to take all your money ; " an assertion dis- 
 astrously verified in the sequel. 
 
 Thus by the simple establishment of a bank 
 Law and the Regent obtained pledges of con- 
 fidence for the consummation of farther and more 
 complicated schemes, as yet hidden from the pub- 
 lic. In a little while the bank shares rose enor- 
 mously, and the amount of its notes in circulation 
 exceeded one hundred and ten millions of livres. 
 A subtle stroke of policy had rendered it popular 
 with the aristocracy. Louis XIV. had, several 
 years previously, imposed an income tax of a 
 tenth, giving his royal word that it should cease 
 in 1717. This tax had been exceedingly irksome 
 to the privileged orders ; and, in the present dis- 
 astrous times, they had dreaded an augmentation 
 of it. In consequence of the successful operation 
 of Law's scheme, however, the tax was abolished, 
 and now nothing was to be heard among the no- 
 bility and clergy but praises of the Regent and 
 the bank. 
 
 Hitherto all had gone well, and all might have 
 continued to go well, had not the paper system 
 been farther expanded. But Law had yet the 
 grandest part of his scheme to develop. He 
 had to open his ideal world of speculation, his 
 El Dorado of unbounded wealth. The Enorlish 
 had brought the vast imaginary commerce of the 
 South Seas in aid of their banking operations. 
 Law sought to bring, as an immense auxiliary of 
 
^ 
 
 b^^^^ 
 
 182 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 his bank, the whole trade of the Mississippi. Un- 
 der this name was included not merely the river 
 so called, but the vast region known as Louisi- 
 ana, extending from north latitude 29° up to 
 Canada in north latitude 40°. This country had 
 been granted by Louis XIV. to the Sieur Crozat, 
 but he had been induced to resign his patent. In 
 conformity to the plea of Mr. Law, letters patent 
 were granted in August, in 1717, for the creation 
 of a commercial company, which was to have 
 the colonizing of this country, and the monopoly 
 of its trade and resources, and of the beaver or 
 fur trade with Canada. It was called the West- 
 ern, but became better known as the Mississippi 
 Company. The capital was fixed at one hundred 
 millions of livres, divided into shares, bearing an 
 interest of four per cent., which were subscribed 
 for in the public securities. As the bank was to 
 cooperate with the company, the Regent ordered 
 that its bills should be received the same as coin, 
 in all payments of the public revenue. Law was 
 appointed chief director of this company, which 
 was an exact copy of the Earl of Oxford's South 
 Sea Company, set on foot in 1711, and which 
 distracted all England with the frenzy of specu- 
 lation. In like manner with the delusive pic- 
 turings given in that memorable scheme of the 
 sources of rich trade to be opened in the South 
 Sea countries. Law held forth magnificent pros- 
 pects of the fortunes to be made in colonizing 
 Louisiana, which was represented as a veritable 
 land of promise, capable of yielding every variety 
 of the most precious produce. Reports, too, weie 
 
THE GREAT MlSSISiSlPPI BUBBLE. 183 
 
 artfully circuluted, with great mystery, as if to 
 the " chosen few," of mines of gold and silver 
 recently discovered in Louisiana, and which would 
 insure instant wealth to the early purchasers. 
 These confidential whispers, of course, soon be- 
 came public ; and were confirmed by travellers 
 fresh from the Mississippi, and doubtless bribed, 
 who had seen the mines in question, and declared 
 them superior in richness to those of Mexico and 
 Peru. Nay more, ocular proof was fui'nished to 
 public credulity, in ingots of gold, conveyed to 
 the mint, as if just brought from the mines of 
 Louisiana. 
 
 Extraordinary measures were adopted to force 
 a colonization. An edict was issued to collect 
 and transport settlers to the Mississippi. The 
 police lent its aid. The streets and prisons of 
 Paris, and of the provincial cities, were swept 
 of mendicants and vagabonds of all kinds, who 
 were conveyed to Havre de Grace. About six 
 thousand were crowded into ships, where no pre- 
 cautions had been taken for their health or ac- 
 commodation. Listruments of all kinds proper 
 for the working of mines were ostentatiously pa- 
 raded in public, and put on board the vessels ; 
 and the whole set sail for this fabled El Dorado, 
 which was to prove the grave of the greater part 
 of its wretched colonists. 
 
 D'Anguesseau, the chancellor, a man of probity 
 md integrity, still lifted his voice against the 
 paper system of Law, and his project of coloniza- 
 tion, and was eloquent and prophetic in picturing 
 the evils they were calculated to produce ; the 
 
184 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY 
 
 private distress and public degradation ; tlie cor- 
 ruption of morals and manners ; the triumph of 
 knaves and schemers ; the ruin of fortunes, and 
 the downfall of families. He was incited more and 
 more to this opposition by the Duke de Noailles, 
 the Minister of Finance, Avho was jealous of the 
 growing ascendency of Law over the mind of the 
 Regent, but was less honest than the chancellor in 
 his opposition. The Regent was excessively an- 
 noyed by the difficulties they conjured up in the 
 way of his darling schemes of finance, and the 
 countenance they gave to the opposition of par- 
 liament ; which body, disgusted more and more 
 with the abuses of the regency, and the system 
 of Law, had gone so far as to carry its remon- 
 strances to the very foot of the throne. 
 
 He determined to relieve himself from these 
 two ministers, who, either through honesty or 
 policy, interfered with all his plans. Accordingly, 
 on the 28th of January, 1718, he dismissed the 
 chancellor from office, and exiled him to his estate 
 in the country ; and shortly afterward removed 
 the Duke de Noailles from the administration of 
 the finance. 
 
 The opposition of parliament to the Regent 
 and his measures was carried on with increasing 
 violence. That body aspired to an equal author- 
 ity with the Regent in the administration of affairs, 
 and pretended, by its decree, to suspend an edict 
 of the regency ordering a new coinage, and alter- 
 ing the value of the currency. But its chief 
 hostility was levelled against Law, a foreigner 
 and a heretic, and one who was considered by a 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 185 
 
 majority of tlie members in the light of a, male- 
 factor. Ill fact, S3 far was this hostility carried, 
 that secret measures were taken to investigate 
 his malversations, and lo collect evidence against 
 him ; and it was resolved in parliament that, 
 should the testimony collected justify their sus- 
 picions, they would have him seized and brought 
 before them ; would give him a brief trial, and, 
 if convicted, would hang him in the court-yard 
 of the palace, and throw open the gates after the 
 execution, that the public might behold his corpse ! 
 
 Law received intimation of the danger hanging 
 over him, and was in terrible trepidation. He 
 took refuge in the Palais Royal, the residence of 
 the Regent, and implored his protection. The Re- 
 gent himself was embarrassed by the sturdy op- 
 position of parliament, which contemplated nothing 
 less than a decree reversing most of his public 
 measures, especially those of finance. His inde- 
 cision kept Law for a time in an agony of terror 
 and suspense. Finally, by assembling a board 
 of justice, and bringing to his aid the absolute 
 authority of the king, he triumphed over parlia- 
 ment, and relieved Law from his dread of being 
 hanged. 
 
 The system now went on with flowing sail. 
 The Western, or Mississippi Company, being 
 identified with the bank, rapidly increased in 
 power and privileges. One monopoly after an- 
 other was granted to it, — the trade of the Indian 
 Seas, the slave-trade with Senegal and Guinea, 
 the farming of tobacco, the national coinage, etc. 
 Eacli new privilege was made a pretext for issu* 
 
186 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 ing more bills, and caused an immense advance 
 in the price of stock. At length, on the 4th of 
 December, 1718, the Regent gave the establish- 
 ment the imposing title of the Royal Bank, and 
 proclaimed that he had effected the purchase of 
 all the shares, the proceeds of v^^hich he had 
 added to its capital. This measure seemed to 
 shock the public feeling more than any other con- 
 nected with the system, and roused the indigna- 
 tion of parliament. The French nation had been 
 so accustomed to attach an idea of everything 
 raoble, lofty, and magnificent, to the royal name 
 and person, especially during the stately and 
 Kumptuous reign of Louis XIV., that they could 
 iiot at first tolerate the idea of royalty being in 
 any degree mingled with matters of traffic and 
 finance, and the king being, in a manner, a banker. 
 It was one of the downward steps, however, by 
 which royalty lost its illusive splendor in France 
 and became gradually cheapened in the public 
 mind. 
 
 Arbitrary measures now began to be taken to 
 force the bills of the bank into artificial currency. 
 On the 27th of December appeared an order in 
 council, forbidding, under sevei-e penalties, the 
 payment of any sum above six hundred livres in 
 gold or silver. This decree rendered bank-bills 
 necessary in all transactions of purchase and sale, 
 and called for a new emission. The prohibition 
 was occasionally evaded or opposed ; confiscations 
 were the consequence ; informers were rewarded, 
 and spies and traitors began to spring up in aU 
 the domestic walks of life. 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE, 187 
 
 The worst effect of this illusive system was tiu! 
 mania for gain, or rather for gambling in stocks, 
 that now seized upon the whole nation. Under 
 the exciting effects of lying reports, and the forc- 
 ino' effects of oovernment decrees, the shares of 
 
 Or? ^ 
 
 the company went on rising in value, until they 
 reached thirteen hundred per cent. Nothing was 
 now spoken of but the price of shares, and the 
 immense fortunes suddenly made by lucky spec- 
 ulators. Those whom Law had deluded used 
 every means to delude others. The most extrav- 
 agant dreams were indulged concerning the wealth 
 to flow in upon the company from its colonies, 
 its trade, and its various monopolies. It is true 
 nothing as yet had been realized, nor could in 
 some time be realized, from these distant sources, 
 even if productive ; but the imaginations of spec- 
 ulators are ever in the advance, and their con- 
 jectures are immediately converted into facts. 
 Lying reports now flew from mouth to mouth, of 
 sure avenues to fortune suddenly thrown open. 
 The more extravagant the fable, the more readily 
 was it believed. To doubt, was to awaken anger 
 or incur ridicule. In a time of public infatuation sj 
 it requires no small exercise of courage to doubt 
 a popular fallacy. 
 
 Paris now became the centre of attraction for 
 the adventurous and the avaricious, who flocked 
 to it not merely from the provinces, but from 
 neighboring countries. A stock exchange was 
 established in a house in the Rue Quincampoix, 
 and became immediately the gathering-place of 
 «tock-jobbers. The exchange opened at seven 
 
188 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPEEITY. 
 
 :)'clock with the beat of drum and sound of bell, 
 and closed at night with the same signals. Guards 
 were stationed at each end of the street, to main- 
 tain order and exclude carriages and horses. The 
 whole street swarmed throughout the day like a 
 beehive. Bargains of all kinds were seized upon 
 with avidity. Shares of stock passed from hand 
 to hand, mounting in value, one knew not why. 
 Fortunes were made in a moment, as if by magic ; 
 and every lucky bargain prompted those around 
 to a more desperate throw of the dice. Tiie 
 fever went on, increasing in intensity as the day 
 declined ; and when the drum beat and the bell 
 rang at night, to close the exchange, there were 
 exclamations of impatience and despair, as if the 
 wheel of fortune had suddenly been stopped, when 
 about to make its luckiest evolution. 
 
 To ingulf all classes in this ruinous vortex, 
 Law now split the shares of fifty millions of stock 
 each into one hundred shares ; thus, as in the 
 splitting of lottery tickets, accommodating the ven- 
 ture to the humblest purse. Society was thus 
 stirred up to its very dregs, and adventurers of 
 the lowest order hurried to the stock market. All 
 honest, industrious pursuits and modest gains 
 were now despised. Wealth was to be obtained 
 instantly, without labor and without stint. The 
 upper classes were as base in their venality as 
 the lower. The highest and most powerful nobles, 
 abandoning all generous pursuits and lofty aims, 
 engaged in the vile scuffle for gain. They were 
 even baser than the lower classes ; for some of 
 them, who were members of the council of the 
 
THE GREAT MISS/SSIPPJ BUBBLE. 189 
 
 regency, abused their station and their influence, 
 and promoted measures by which shares rose 
 while in their hands, and they made immense 
 profits. 
 
 The Duke de Bourbon, the Prince of Conti, 
 the Dukes de hi Force and D'Antin, were among 
 the foremost of these illustrious stock-jobbers. 
 They were nicknamed the Mississippi Lords, and 
 they smiled at the sneering title. In fact, the 
 usual distinctions of society had lost then' conse- 
 quence, imder the reign of this new passion. 
 Rank, talent, military fame, no longer inspired 
 deference. All respect for others, all self-respect, 
 were forgotten in the mercenary struggle of the 
 stock-market. Even prelates and ecclesiastical 
 corporations, forgetting their true objects of de- 
 votion, mingled among the votaries of Mammon. 
 They were not behind those who wielded the civil 
 power in fabricating ordinances suited to their 
 avaricious purposes. Theological decisions forth- 
 with appeared, in which the anathema launched 
 by the Church against usury was conveniently 
 construed as not extending to the traffic in bank 
 shares ! 
 
 The Abbe Dubois entered into the mysteries 
 of stock-jobbing with all the zeal of an apostle, 
 and enriched himself by the spoils of the credu- 
 lous ; and he continually drew large sums from 
 Law, as considerations for his political influence. 
 Faithless to his country, in the course of his 
 gambling speculations he transferred to England 
 a great amount of specie, which had been paid 
 into the royal treasury ; thus contributing to the 
 subsequent dearth of the precious metals. 
 
190 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY, 
 
 The female sex participated in this sordid 
 frenzy. Princesses of the blood, and ladies of 
 the highest nobility, were among the most rapa- 
 cious of stock-jobbers. The Regent seemed to 
 have the riches of Croesus at his command, and 
 lavished money by hundreds of thousands upon 
 his female relatives and favorites, as well as upon 
 his roues, the dissolute companions of his de- 
 bauches. " My son," writes the Regent's mother, 
 in her correspondence, " gave me shares to the 
 amount of two millions, which I distributed amonoj 
 my household. The king also took several mill- 
 ions for his own household. All the royal fam- 
 ily have had them ; all the children and grand- 
 children of France, and the princes of the blood." 
 
 Luxury and extravafjance kept pace with this 
 sudden inflation of fancied wealth. The heredi- 
 tary palaces of nobles were pulled down, and re- 
 built on a scale of augmented splendor. Enter- 
 tainments were given, of incredible cost and mag- 
 nificence. Never before had been such display 
 in houses, furniture, equipages, and amusements. 
 This was particularly the case among persons of 
 the lower ranks, who had suddenly become pos- 
 sessed of millions. Ludicrous anecdotes are re- 
 lated of some of these upstarts. One, who had 
 just launched a splendid carriage, when about to 
 use it for the first time, instead of getting in at 
 the door, mounted, through habitude, to his accus- 
 tomed place behind. Some ladies of quality, see- 
 ing a well-dressed woman covered with diamonds, 
 but whom nobody knew, alight from a very hand- 
 Bome carriage, inquired who she was, of the foot- 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 191 
 
 man. He replied, with a sneer, " It is a lady 
 who has recently tumbled from a garret into this 
 carriage." Mr. Law's domestics were said to be- 
 come in like manner suddenly enriched by the 
 ci'umbs that fell from his table. His coachman, 
 havino; made a fortune, retired from his service. 
 Mr. Law requested him to procure a coachman 
 in his place. He appeared the next day with 
 two, whom he pronounced equally good, and told 
 Mr. Law, " Take which of them you choose, and 
 I will take the other ! " 
 
 Nor were these novi homini treated with the 
 distance and disdain they would formerly have 
 experienced from the haughty aristocracy of 
 France. The pride of the old noblesse had been 
 stifled by the stronger instinct of avarice. They 
 rather sought the intimacy and confidence of these 
 lucky upstarts ; and it has been observed that a 
 nobleman would gladly take his seat at the table 
 of the fortunate lackey of yesterday, in hopes of 
 learninoj from him the secret of erowinoc rich ! 
 
 Law now went about with a countenance ra- 
 diant with success, and apparently dispensing 
 wealth on every side. "■ He is admirably skilled 
 in all that relates to finance," writes the Duchess 
 of Orleans, the Regent's mother, " and has put 
 the affairs of the state in such good order, that 
 uU the king's debts have been paid. He is so 
 much run after, that he has no repose night or 
 iay. A duchess even kissed his hand publicly. 
 If a duchess can do this, what will other ladies 
 do!" 
 
 Wherever he went his path, we are told, was 
 
192 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 beset by a sordid throng, wlio waited to see him 
 pass, and sought to obtain the favor of a word, a 
 nod, or smile, as if a mere glance from him would 
 bestow fortune. When at home his house was 
 absolutely besieged by furious candidates for for- 
 tune. " They forced the doors," says the Duke 
 de St. Simon ; " they scaled his windows from 
 the garden ; they made their way into his cabinet 
 down the chimney ! " 
 
 The same venal court was paid by all classes 
 to his family. The highest ladies of the court 
 vied with each other in meannesses, to purchase 
 the lucrative friendship of Mrs. Law and her 
 daughter. They waited upon them with as much 
 assiduity and adulation as if they had been prin- 
 cesses of the blood. The Regent one day ex- 
 pressed a desire that some duchess should accom- 
 pany his daughter to Genoa. " My Lord," said 
 some one present, " if you would have a choice 
 from among the duchesses, you need but send to 
 Mrs. Law's ; you will find them all assembled 
 there." 
 
 The wealth of Law rapidly increased with the 
 expansion of the bubble. In the course of a few 
 months he purchased fourteen titled estates, pay- 
 ing for them in paper ; and the public hailed 
 these sudden and vast acquisitions of landed prop- 
 erty, as so many proofs of the soundness of his 
 system. In one instance he met with a shrewd 
 bargainer, who had not the general faith in his 
 paper money. The President de Novion insisted 
 on being paid for an estate in hard coin. Law 
 ac»'X)rdingly brought the amount, four hundred 
 
TflE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 193 
 
 thousand liv res, in specie, saying, with a sarcastic 
 smile, that he preferred paying in money, as its 
 weight rendered it a mere incumbrance. As it 
 liappened, the President could give no clear title 
 to the land, and the money had to be refunded. 
 He paid it back in paper, which Law dai'ed not 
 refuse, lest he should depreciate it in the market ! 
 
 The course of illusory credit went on triumph- 
 antly for eighteen months. Law had nearly ful- 
 filled one of his promises, for the greater part of 
 the public debt had been paid off ; but how paid ? 
 In bank shares, which had been trumped up sev- 
 eral hundred per cent, above their value, and 
 which were to vanish like smoke in the hands of 
 the holders. 
 
 One of the most striking attributes of Law, 
 w^as the imperturbable assurance and self-posses- 
 sion with which he replied to every objection and 
 found a solution for every problem. He had the 
 dexterity of a juggler in evading difficulties ; and 
 what was peculiar, made figures themselves, which 
 are the very elements of exact demonstration, the 
 means to dazzle and bewilder. 
 
 Toward the latter end of 1719 the Mississippi 
 scheme had reached its highest point of glory. 
 Half a million of stranjjers had crowded into 
 Paris, in quest of fortune. The hotels and lodg- 
 ing-houses were overflowing ; lodgings were pro- 
 cured with excessive difficulty ; granaries were 
 turned into bedrooms ; provisions had risen enoi - 
 mously in price ; splendid houses were multiply- 
 ing on every side ; the streets were crowded with 
 13 
 
194 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY, 
 
 carriages ; above a thousand new equipages had 
 been launched. 
 
 On the eleventh of December Law obtained 
 another prohibitory decree, for the purpose of 
 sweeping all the remaining specie in circulation 
 into the bank. By this it was forbidden to make 
 any payments in silver above ten livres, or in 
 gold above three hundred. 
 
 The repeated decrees of this nature, the object 
 of which was to depreciate the value of gold and 
 increase the illusive credit of paper, began to 
 awaken doubts of a system which required such 
 bolstering. Capitalists gradually awoke from their 
 bewilderment. Sound and able financiers con- 
 sulted toocether, and asrreed to make common 
 cause against this continual expansion of a paper 
 system. The shares of the bank and of the com- 
 pany began to decline in value. Wary men took 
 the alarm, and began to realize, a word now first 
 brought into use, to express the conversion of 
 ideal property into something reccZ. 
 
 The Prince of Conti, one of the most promi- 
 nent and grasping of the Mississippi lords, was 
 the fii'st to give a blow to the credit of the bank. 
 There was a mixture of ingratitude in his con- 
 duct that characterized the venal baseness of the 
 times. He had received, from time to time, enor- 
 mous sums from Law, as the price of his influence 
 and patronage. His avarice had increased with 
 every acquisition, until Law was compelled to re- 
 fuse one of his exactions. In revenge, the prince 
 immediately sent such an amount of paper to the 
 bank to be cashed, that it required four wagons 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 195 
 
 to biing away the silver, and he had the mean- 
 ness to loll out of the window of his hotel, and 
 jest and exult, as it was trundled into his port 
 coehere. 
 
 This was the sio^nal for other drains of like na- 
 ture. The English and Dutch raercliants, who 
 had purchased a great amount of bank paper at 
 low prices, cashed them at the bank, and carried 
 the money out of the country. Other strangers 
 did the like, thus draining the kingdom of its spe^- 
 cie, and leaving paper in its place. 
 
 The Regent, perceiving these symptoms of de- 
 cay in the system, sought to restore it to public 
 confidence by conferring marks of confidence upon 
 its author. He accordingly resolved to make Law 
 Comptroller-General of the Finances of France. 
 There was a material obstacle in the way. Law 
 was a Protestant, and the Regent, unscrupulous 
 as he was himself, did not dare publicly to out- 
 rage the severe edicts which Louis XIV., in his 
 bigot days, had fulminated against all heretics. 
 Law soon let him know that there would be no 
 difficulty on that head. He was ready at any 
 moment to abjure his religion in the way of busi- 
 ness. For decency's sake, however, it was judged 
 proper he should previously be convinced and con- 
 verted. A ghostly instructor was soon found ready 
 to accomplish his conversion in the shortest possi- 
 ble time. This was the Abbe Tencin, a profli- 
 gate creature of the profligate Dubois, and like 
 ^im working his way to ecclesiastical promotion 
 and temporal wealth by the basest means. 
 
 Under the instructions of the Abbe Tencin, 
 
19G A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 Law soon mastered the mysteries and dogmas of 
 the Catholic doctrine ; and, after a brief course 
 of ghostly training, declared himself thoroughly 
 convinced and converted. To avoid the sneers 
 and jests of the Parisian public, the ceremony of 
 abjuration took place at Melun. Law made a 
 pious present of one hundred thousand llvres to 
 the Church of St. Roque, and the Abbe Tencin 
 was rewarded for his edifying labors by sundry 
 shares and bank-bills, which he shrewdly took 
 care to convert into cash, having as little faith in 
 the system as in the piety of his new convert. A 
 more grave and moral community might have 
 been outraged by this scandalous farce ; but the 
 Parisians laughed at it with their usual levity, 
 and contented themselves with making it the sub- 
 ject of a number of songs and epigrams. 
 
 Law being now orthodox in his faith, took out 
 letters of naturalization, and having thus sur- 
 mounted the intervening obstacles, was elevated 
 by the Regent to the post of Comptroller-Gen- 
 eral. So accustomed had the community become 
 to all juggles and transmutations in this hero of 
 finance, that no one seemed shocked or astonished 
 at his sudden elevation. On the contrary, being 
 now considered perfectly established in place and 
 power, he became more than ever the object of 
 venal adoration. Men of rank and dignity 
 thronged his antechamber, waiting patiently their 
 turn for an audience ; and titled dames demeaned 
 themselves to take the front seats of the carriages 
 of his wife and daughter, as if they had been 
 riding with princesses of the blood royal. Law's 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 197 
 
 head grew giddy with his elevation, and he began 
 to aspire after aristocratical distinction. There 
 was to be a court ball, at which several of tlie 
 young noblemen were to dance in a ballet with 
 the youthful king. Law requested that his son 
 mio-lit be admitted into the ballet, and the Regent 
 consented. The young scions of nobility, how- 
 ever, were indignant, and scouted the " intruding 
 upstart." Their more worldly parents, fearful of 
 displeasing the modern Midas, reprimanded them 
 in vain. The striplings had not yet imbibed the 
 passion for gain, and still held to their high blood. 
 The son of the banker received sliohts and an- 
 noyances on all sides, and the public applauded 
 them for their spirit. A fit of illness came op- 
 portunely to relieve the youth from an honor 
 which would have cost him a world of vexations 
 and affronts. 
 
 In February, 1720, shortly after Law's in- 
 stalment in office, a decree came out uniting the 
 bank to the India Company, by which last name 
 the whole establishment was now known. The 
 decree stated, that, as the bank was royal, the king 
 was bound to make good the value of its bills ; 
 that he committed to the company the govern- 
 ment of the bank for fifty years, and sold to it 
 fifty millions of stock belonging to him, for nine 
 hundred millions, a simple advance of eighteen 
 hundred per cent. The decree farther declared, 
 in the king's name, that he would never draw on 
 the bank until the value of his drafts had first 
 oeen lodged in it by his receivers- general. 
 
 The bank, it was said, had by this time issued 
 
198 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 notes to the amount of one thousand millions, 
 being more paper than all the banks of Europe 
 were able to circulate. To aid its credit, the 
 receivers of the revenue were directed to take 
 bank-notes of the sub-receivers. All payments, 
 also, of one hundred livres and upward, were 
 ordered to be made in bank-notes. These com- 
 pulsory measures for a short time gave a false 
 credit to the bank, which proceeded to discount 
 merchants' notes, to lend money on jewels, plate, 
 and other valuables, as w^ell as on mortgages. 
 
 Still farther to force on the system, an edict 
 next appeared, forbidding any individual, or any 
 corporate body, civil or religious, to hold in pos- 
 session more than five hundred livres in current 
 coin ; that is to say, about seven louis-d'ors ; the 
 value of the louis-d'or in paper being, at the time, 
 seventy-two livres. All the gold and silver they 
 might have, above this pittance, was to be brought 
 to the royal bank, and exchanged either for shares 
 or bills. 
 
 As confiscation was the penalty of disobedience 
 to this decree, and informers were assured a share 
 of the forfeitures, a bounty was in a manner held 
 out to domestic spies and traitors, and the most 
 odious scrutiny was awakened into the pecuniary 
 afiairs of families and individuals. The very con- 
 fidence between friends and relatives was impaired, 
 and all the domestic ties and virtues of society 
 were threatened, until a general sentiment of in- 
 dignation broke forth, that compelled the Regent 
 to rescind the odious decree. Jjord Stairs, the 
 British ambassador, speaking of the system of 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 190 
 
 3spioiiage encouraged by tliis edict, observed that 
 it was impossible to doubt that Law was a thorough 
 Catholic, since he had thus established the inqui' 
 sition, after having already proved transuhstanti- 
 ation by changing specie into paper. 
 
 Equal abuses had taken place under the col- 
 onizing project. In his thousand expedients to 
 amass capital, Law had sold parcels of land in 
 Mississippi, at the rate of three thousand livres for 
 a league square. Many capitalists had purchased 
 estates large enough to constitute almost a princi- 
 pality ; the only evil was. Law had sold a property 
 which he could not deliver. The agents of police, 
 who aided in recruiting the ranks of the colonists, 
 had been guilty of scandalous impositions. Under 
 pretence of taking up mendicants and vagabonds, 
 they had scoured the streets at night, seizing 
 upon honest mechanics or their sons, and hurry- 
 ing them to their crimping- houses for the sole 
 purpose of extorting money from them as a ran- 
 som. The populace was roused to indignation by 
 these abuses. The officers of police were mobbed 
 in the exercise of their odious functions, and sev- 
 eral of them were killed, which put an end to this 
 flagrant abuse of power. 
 
 In March, a most extraordinary decree of the 
 council fixed the price of shares of the India 
 Company at nine thousand livres each. All ec- 
 clesiastical communities and hospitals were now 
 prohibited from investing money at interest in any- 
 thing but India stock. With all these props and 
 stays, the system continued to totter. How could 
 it be otherwise, under a despotic government 
 
200 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY 
 
 that could alter the value of property at every 
 moment ? The very compulsory measures that 
 were adopted to establish the credit of the bank 
 hastened its fall, plainly showing there was a want 
 of solid security. Law caused pamphlets to be 
 published, setting forth, in eloquent language, the 
 vast profits that must accrue to holders of the stock, 
 and the impossibility of the king's ever doing it 
 any harm. On the very back of these assertions 
 came forth an edict of the king, dated the 2 2d of 
 May, wherein, under pretence of having reduced 
 the value of his coin, it was declared necessary to 
 reduce the value of his bank-notes one half, and 
 of the India shares from nine thousand to five 
 thousand livres ! 
 
 This decree came like a clap of thunder upon 
 share-holders. They found one half of the pre- 
 tended value of the paper in their hands an- 
 nihilated in an instant ; and what certainty liad 
 they with respect to the other half? The ricli 
 considered themselves ruined ; those in humbler 
 circumstances looked forward to abject beggary. 
 
 The parliament seized the occasion to stand 
 forth as the protector of the public, and refused 
 to register the decree. It gained the credit of 
 compelling the Regent to retrace his step, though 
 it is more probable he yielded to the universal 
 burst of public astonishment and reprobation. 
 On the 27th of May the edict was revoked, and 
 bank-bills were restored to their previous value. 
 But the fatal blow had been struck ; the delusion 
 was at an end. Government itself had lost ail 
 public confidence equally with the bank it had 
 
TEE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 20\ 
 
 engendered, and which its own arbitrary acts had 
 brought into discredit. "All Paris," says the 
 Regent's mother, in her letters, "has been mourn- 
 ing at the cursed decree which Law has persuaded 
 my son to make. I have received anonymous let- 
 ters stating that I have nothing to fear on my own 
 account, but that my son shall be pursued with 
 fire and sword." 
 
 The Regent now endeavored to avert the odium 
 of his ruinous schemes from himself. He affected 
 to have suddenly lost confidence in Law, and on 
 the 29th of May discharged him from his employ 
 as Comptroller-General, and stationed a Swiss 
 guard of sixteen men in his house. He even 
 refused to see him, when, on the following day, 
 he applied at the portal of the Palais Royal for 
 admission ; but having played off this farce before 
 the public, he admitted him secretly the same 
 night, by a private door, and continued as before 
 to cooperate with him in his financial schemes. 
 
 On the first of June, the Regent issued a de- 
 cree permitting persons to have as much money 
 as they pleased in their possession. Few, how- 
 ever, were in a state to benefit by this permis- 
 sion. There was a run upon the bank, but a royal 
 ordinance immediately suspended payment until 
 forther orders. To relieve the public mind, a 
 city stock was created of twenty-five millions, 
 bearing an interest of two and a half per cent, 
 for which bank-notes were taken in exchange. 
 The bank-notes thus withdrawn from circulation 
 were publicly burnt before the Hotel de VUle. 
 The public, however, had lost confidenc-e in every- 
 
202 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY 
 
 thing and everybody, and suspected fraud and 
 collusion in those who pretended to burn the 
 bills. 
 
 A general confusion now took place in the 
 financial world. Families who had lived in opu- 
 hmce found themselves suddenly reduced to in- 
 digence. Schemers who had been revelling in 
 the delusion of princely fortunes found their 
 estates vanishing into thin air. Those who had 
 any property remaining sought to secure it against 
 reverses. Cautious persons found there was no 
 safety for property in a country where the coin 
 was continually shifting in value, and where a 
 despotism was exercised over public securities, 
 and even over the private purses of individuals. 
 They began to send their effects into other 
 countries ; when lo ! on the 20th of June, a royal 
 edict commanded them to bring back their effects, 
 under penalty of forfeiting twice their value, and 
 forbade them, under like penalty, from investing 
 their money in foreign stocks. This was soon 
 followed by another decree, forbidding any one to 
 retain precious stones in his possession, or to sell 
 them to foreigners ; all must be deposited in the 
 bank in exchange for depreciating paper ! 
 
 Execrations were now poured out, on all sides, 
 against Law, and menaces of vengeance. What 
 a contrast, in a short time, to the venal incense 
 once offered up to him ! " This person," writes 
 the Regent's mother, " who was formerly wor- 
 shipped as a god, is now not sure of his life. It 
 is astonishing how greatly terrified he is. He is 
 as a dead man ; he is pale as a sheet, and it is 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 203 
 
 said he can never get over it. My son is not 
 dismayed, though he is threatened on all sides, 
 and is very much amused with Law's terrors." 
 
 About tlie middle of July, the last grand at- 
 tempt was made by Law and the Regent to keep 
 up the system and provide for the immense emis- 
 sion of paper. A decree was fabricated, giving 
 the India Company the entire monopoly of com- 
 merce, on condition that it would, in the course 
 of a year, reimburse six hundred millions of 
 livres of its bills, at the rate of fifty millions per 
 month. 
 
 On the 17th this decree was sent to parliament 
 to be registered. It at once raised a storm of 
 opposition in that assembly, and a vehement 
 discussion took place. While that was going 
 on, a disastrous scene was passing out of doors. 
 
 The calamitous effects of the system had 
 reached the humblest concerns of human life. 
 Provisions had risen to an enormous price ; paper 
 money was refused at all the shops ; the people 
 had not wherewithal to buy bread. It had been 
 found absolutely indispensable to relax a little 
 from the suspension of specie payments, and to 
 allow small sums to be scantily exchanged for 
 paper. The doors of the bank and the neighbor- 
 ing street were immediately thronged with a fam- 
 ishing multitude seeking cash for bank-notes of 
 ten livres. So great was the press and struggle, 
 that several persons were stifled and crushed to 
 death. The mob carried three of the bodies to 
 the court-yard of the Palais Royal. Some cried 
 for the Regent to come forth, and behold the 
 
204 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 effect of his system ; others demanded the death 
 of Law, the impostor, who had brought this 
 misery and ruin upon the nation. 
 
 The moment was critical : the popular fury 
 was rising to a tempest, when Le Blanc, the 
 Secretary of State, stepped forth. He had pre- 
 viously sent for the military, and now only sought 
 to gain time. Singling out six or seven stout 
 fellows, who seemed to be the ringleaders of the 
 mob, " My good fellows," said he, calmly, " cany 
 away these bodies, and place them in some church, 
 and then come back quickly to me for your pay." 
 They immediately obeyed ; a kind of funeral pro- 
 cession was formed; the arrival of troops dis- 
 persed those who lingered behind ; and Paris was 
 probably saved from an insurrection. , 
 
 About ten o'clock in the morning, all being 
 quiet, Law ventured to go in his carriage to the 
 Palais Royal. He was saluted with cries and 
 curses as he passed along the streets ; and he 
 reached the Palais Royal in a terrible fright. 
 The Regent amused himself with his fears, but 
 retained him with him, and sent off his carriage, 
 which Avas assailed by the mob, pelted with stones, 
 and the glasses shivered. The news of this out- 
 rage was communicated to parliament in the 
 midst of a furious discussion of the decree for 
 the commercial monopoly. The first president, 
 who had been absent for a short time, reentered, 
 and communicated the tidings in a whimsical 
 couplet : 
 
 '* Messieurs, Messieurs ! bonne nouvelle ! 
 Le carrosse de Law est rdduit en carrelle! " 
 
THE GREAT MISS/SS/PP/ BUBBLE. 205 
 
 " Gentlemen, Gentlemen ! good news ! 
 The carriage of Law is shivered to atoms ! " 
 
 The members sprang up with joy. "And 
 Law ! " exclaimed they, " has he been torn to 
 pieces ? " The president was ignorant of the 
 result of the tumult ; whereupon the debate was 
 cut short, the decree rejected, and the house 
 adjourned, the members hurrying to learn the 
 particulars. Such was the levity with which 
 public affairs were treated at that dissolute and 
 disastrous period. 
 
 On the following day there was an ordinance 
 from the king, prohibiting all popular assem- 
 blages ; and troops were stationed at various 
 points, and in all public places. The regiment 
 of guards was ordered to hold itself in readiness, 
 and the musketeers to be at their hotels, with 
 their horses ready saddled. A number of small 
 offices were opened, where people might cash 
 small notes, though with great delay and diffi- 
 culty. An edict was also issued, declaring that 
 whoever should refuse to take bank-notes in the 
 course of trade, should forfeit double the amount ! 
 
 The continued and vehement opposition of 
 parliament to the whole delusive system of finance 
 had been a constant source of annoyance to the 
 Regent ; but this obstinate rejection of his last 
 grand expedient of a commercial monopoly was 
 not to be tolerated. He determined to punish 
 that intractable body. The Abbe Dubois and 
 Law suggested a simple mode ; it was to sup- 
 press the parliament altogethei', being, as they ob- 
 served, so far from useful, that it was a constant 
 
206 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITT. 
 
 impediment to the march of public affairs. The 
 Regent was half inclined to listen to their advice ; 
 but upon calmer consideration, and the advice of 
 friends, he adopted a more moderate course. On 
 the 20th of July, early in the morning, all the 
 doors of the parliament-house were taken posses- 
 sion of by the troops. Others were sent to sur- 
 round the house of the first president, and others 
 to the houses of the various members ; who were 
 all at first in great alarm, until an order from the 
 king was put into their hands, to render them- 
 selves at Pontoise, in the course of two days, to 
 which place the parliament was thus suddenly and 
 arbitrarily transferred. 
 
 This despotic act, says Voltaire, would at any 
 other time have caused an insurrection ; but one 
 half of the Parisians were occupied by their ruin, 
 and the other half by their fancied riches, which 
 were soon to vanish. The president and members 
 of parliament acquiesced in the mandate without 
 a murmur ; they even went as if on a party of 
 pleasure, and made every preparation to lead a 
 joyous life in their exile. The musketeers, who 
 held possession of the vacated parliament-house, 
 a gay corps of fashionable young fellows, amused 
 themselves with making songs and pasquinades, 
 at the expense of the exiled legislators ; and at 
 length, to pass away time, formed themselves into 
 a mock parliament ; elected their presidents, kings, 
 ministers, and advocates ; took their seats in due 
 form ; arraigned a cat at their bar, in place of the 
 Sieur Law, and, after giving it a " fair trial," con- 
 demned it to be hanged. In this manner, public 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 207 
 
 affairs and public institutions were lightly turned 
 to jest. 
 
 As to the exiled parliament, it lived gayly and 
 luxuriously at Pontoise, at the public expense ; 
 for the Regent had furnished funds, as usual, with 
 a lavish hand. The first president had the man- 
 sion of the Duke de Bouillon put at his disposal, 
 all ready furnished, with a vast and delightful gar- 
 den on the borders of a river. There he kept 
 open house to all the members of parliament. 
 Several tables were spread every day, all furnished 
 luxuriously and splendidly ; the most exquisite 
 wines and liquors, the choicest fruits and refresh- 
 ments of all kinds, abounded. A number of small 
 chariots for one and two horses were always at 
 hand, for such ladies and old gentlemen as wished 
 to take an airing after dinner, and card and bill- 
 iard tables for such as chose to amuse themselves 
 in that way until supper. The sister and the 
 daughter of the first president did the honors of 
 his house, and he himself presided there with an 
 air of great ease, hospitality, and magnificence. 
 It became a party of pleasure to drive from Paris 
 to Pontoise, which was six leagues distant, and 
 partake of the amusements and festivities of the 
 place. Business was openly slighted ; nothing 
 was thought of but amusement. The Regent 
 and his government were laughed at, and made 
 the subjects of continual pleasantries ; while the 
 enormous expenses incurred by this idle and lav- 
 ish course of life more than doubled the liberal 
 sums provided. This was the way in which the 
 parliament resented their exile. 
 
208 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 During all this time the system was getting 
 more and more involved. Tlie stock exchange 
 had some time previously been removed to the 
 Place Yendome ; but the tumult and noise be- 
 coming intolerable to the residents of that polite 
 quarter, and especially to the chancellor, whose 
 hotel was there, the Prince and Princess Carig- 
 nan, both deep gamblers in Mississippi stock, of- 
 fered the extensive garden of their Hotel de Sois- 
 sons as a rally ing-place for the worshippers of 
 Mammon. The offer was accepted. A number 
 of barracks were immediately erected in the gar- 
 den, as offices for the stock-brokers, and an order 
 was obtained from the Regent, under pretext of 
 police regulations, that no bargain should be valid, 
 unless concluded in these barracks. The rent of 
 them immediately mounted to a hundred livres a 
 month for each, and the whole yielded these no- 
 ble proprietors an ignoble revenue of half a mill- 
 \on of livres. 
 
 The mania for gain, however, was now at an 
 end. A universal panic succeeded. " Sauve qui 
 pent!" was the watchword. Every one was 
 anxious to exchange falling paper for something 
 of intrinsic and permanent value. Since money 
 was not to be had, jewels, precious stones, plate, 
 porcelain, trinkets of gold and silver, all com- 
 manded any price, in paper. Land was bought 
 at fifty years' purchase, and he esteemed himself 
 happy who could get it even at this price. Mo- 
 nopolies now became the rage among the noble 
 holders of paper. The Duke de la Force bought 
 up nearly all the tallow, grease, and soap ; others. 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE, 209 
 
 the coffee and spices ; others, hay and oats. For- 
 eign exchanges were almost impracticable. The 
 debts of Dutch and English merchants were paid 
 in this fictitious money, all the coin of the realm 
 having disappeared. All the relations of debtor 
 and creditor were confounded. With one thou- 
 sand crowns one might pay a debt of eighteen 
 thousand livres. 
 
 The Regent's mother, who once exulted in the 
 affluence of bank paper, now wrote in a very dif- 
 ferent tone. " I have often wished," said she, in 
 her letters, " that these bank-notes were in the 
 depths of the infernal regions. They have given 
 my son more trouble than relief. Nobody in 
 
 France has a penny My son was once 
 
 popular ; but since the arrival of this cursed Law 
 he is hated more and more. Not a week passes 
 without my receiving letters filled with frightful 
 threats, and speaking of him as a tyrant. I have 
 just received one, threatening him with poison. 
 When I showed it to him, he did nothing but 
 laugh." 
 
 In the mean time, Law was dismayed by the 
 increasing troubles, and terrified at the tempest 
 he had raised. He was not a man of real cour- 
 age ; and, fearing for his personal safety, from 
 popular tumult, or the despair of ruined individ- 
 uals, he again took refuge in the palace of the 
 Regent. The latter, as usual, amused himself 
 with his terrors, and turned every new disaster 
 into a jest ; but he, too, began to think of his 
 uwn security. 
 
 Tn pursuing the schemes of Law, he had. no 
 14 
 
210 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY. 
 
 doubt, calculated to carry through his term of 
 government with ease and splendor, and to en- 
 rich himself, his connections, and his favorites ; 
 and had hoped that the catastrophe of the system 
 would not take place until after the expiration oi 
 the regency. 
 
 He now saw his mistake, — that it was impos- 
 sible much longer to prevent an explosion ; and 
 he determined at once to get LaAV out of the way, 
 and then to charge him with the whole tissue of 
 delusions of this paper alchemy. He accordingly 
 took occasion of the recall of parliament in De- 
 cember, 1720, to suggest to Law the policy of 
 his avoiding an encounter with tliat hostile and 
 exasperated body. Law needed no urging to the 
 measure. His only desire was to escape from 
 Paris and its tempestuous populace. Two days 
 before the return of parliament, he took his sud- 
 den and secret departure. He travelled in a 
 chaise bearino- the arms of the Re2;ent, and was 
 escorted by a kind of safeguard of servants, in 
 the duke's livery. His first place of refuge was 
 an estate of the Regent's, about six leagues 
 from Paris, from whence he pushed forward to 
 Bruxelles. 
 
 As soon as Law was fairly out of the way, the 
 Duke of Orleans summoned a council of the re- 
 gency, and informed them that they were assem- 
 bled to deliberate on the state of the finances and 
 the affairs of the India Company. Accordingly 
 La Houssaye, Comptroller-General, rendered a 
 perfectly clear statement, by wliich it appeared 
 that there were bank-bills in cii"culation to the 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 211 
 
 amount of two milliards seven hundred millions 
 of livres, without any evidence that this enor- 
 mous sum had been emitted in virtue of any or- 
 dinance from the general assembly of the India 
 Company, which alone had the right to authorize 
 such emissions. 
 
 The council was astonished at this disclosure, 
 and looked to the Regent for explanation. Pushed 
 to the extreme, the Hegent avowed that Law had 
 emitted bills to the amount of twelve hundred 
 millions beyond what had been fixed by ordi- 
 nances, and in contradiction to express prohibi- 
 tions ; that, the thing being done, he, the Eegent, 
 had legalized or rather covered the transaction, 
 by decrees ordering such emissions, which decrees 
 he had antedated. 
 
 A stormy scene ensued between the Regent 
 and the Duke de Bourbon, little to the credit of 
 either, both having been deeply implicated in the 
 cabalistic operations of the system. In fact, the 
 several members of the council had been among the 
 most venal " beneficiaries " of the scheme, and had 
 interests at stake which they were anxious to se- 
 cure. From all the circumstances of the case, I am 
 inclined to think that others were more to blame 
 than Law for the disastrous effects of his finan- 
 cial projects. His bank, had it been confined to 
 its original limits, and left to the control of its 
 own internal regulations, might have gone on 
 prosperously, and been of great benefit to the, 
 nation. It was an institution fitted for a free 
 country ; but, unfortunately, it was subject to the 
 oontrol of a despotic government, that could, at 
 
212 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY 
 
 its pleasure, alter the value of the specie within 
 its vaults, and compel the most extravagant ex- 
 pansions of its paper circulation. The vital prin- 
 ciple of a bank is security in the regularity of its 
 operations, and the immediate convertibility of 
 its paper into coin ; and what confidence could 
 be reposed in an institution, or its paper promises, 
 when the sovereign could at at any moment cen- 
 tnple those promises in the market, and seize 
 upon all the money in the bank ? The compul- 
 sory measures used, likewise, to force bank-notes 
 into currency, against the judgment of the public, 
 was fatal to the system ; for credit must be free 
 and uncontrolled as the common air. The Re- 
 gent was the evil spirit of the system, that forced 
 Law on to an expansion of his paper currency 
 far beyond what he had ever dreamed of. He it 
 was that in a manner compelled the unlucky pro* 
 jector to devise all kinds of collateral companies 
 and monopolies, by which to raise funds to meet 
 the constantly and enormously increasing emis- 
 sions of shares and notes. Law was but like a 
 poor conjurer in the hands of a potent spirit that 
 he has evoked, and that obliges him to go on, 
 desperately and ruinously, with his conjurations. 
 He only thought at the outset to raise the wind, 
 but the Regent compelled him to raise the whirl- 
 wind. 
 
 The investigation of the affairs of the company 
 by the council resulted in nothing beneficial to 
 the public. The princes and nobles who had 
 enriched themselves by all kinds of juggles and 
 extortions escaped unpunished, and retained the 
 
THE GREAT MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE. 213 
 
 greater part of their spoils. Many of the " sud- 
 denly rich," who had risen from obscurity to a 
 giddy height of imaginary prosperity, and had 
 indulijed iiv all kinds of vuljirar and ridiculous 
 excesses, awoke as out of a dream, in their 
 )riginal poverty, now made more galling and hu 
 filiating by their transient elevation. 
 
 The weight of the evil, however, fell on more 
 valuable classes of society, — honest tradesmen and 
 artisans, wiio had been seduced away from the 
 slow accumulations of industry, to the specious 
 chances of speculation. Thousands of meritorious 
 families, also, once opulent, had been reduced to 
 indigence by a too great confidence in govern- 
 ment. There was a general derangement in the 
 finances, that long exerted a baneful influence 
 over the national prosperity ; but the most disas- 
 trous effects of the system were upon the morals 
 and manners of the nation. The faith of engage- 
 ments, the sanctity of promises in affairs of busi- 
 ness, were at an end. Every expedient to grasp 
 present profit, or to evade present difficulty, was 
 tolerated. While such deplorable laxity of prin- 
 ciple was generated in the busy classes, the 
 chivalry of France had soiled their pennons ; and 
 honor and glory, so long the idols of the Gallic 
 nobility, had been tumbled to the earth, and 
 trampled in the dirt of the stock-market. 
 
 As to Law, the originator of the system, he 
 appears eventually to have profited but little by 
 \iis schemes. " He was a quack," says Voltaire, 
 ' to whom the state was given to be cured, but 
 whc poisoned it with his drugs, and who poisoned 
 
214 A TIME OF UNEXAMPLED PROSPERITY 
 
 himself." The effects which he left behind in 
 France were sold at a low price, and the proceeds 
 dissipated. His landed estates were confiscated. 
 He carried away with him barely enough to main- 
 tain himself, his wife, and daughter, with decency. 
 The chief relic of his immense fortune was a 
 great diamond, which he was often obliged to 
 pawn. He was in England in 1721, and was 
 presented to George the First. He returned, 
 shortly afterward, to the Continent, shifting about 
 from place to place, and died in Venice, in 1729. 
 His wife and daughter, accustomed to live with 
 the prodigality of princesses, could not conform to 
 their altered fortunes, but dissipated the scanty 
 means left to them, and sank into abject poverty. 
 " I saw his wife," says Voltaire, " at Bruxelles, 
 as much humiliated as she had been haughty and 
 triumphant at Paris." An elder brother of Law 
 remained in France, and was protected by the 
 Duchess of Bourbon. His descendants acquitted 
 themselves honorably, in various public employ- 
 ments ; and one of them was the Marquis Lau- 
 riston, sometime Lieutenant - General and Peer 
 of France. 
 
SKETCHES IN PARIS IN 1825 ; 
 
 FROM THE TRAVELLING NOTE-BOOK OF GEOFFREY 
 CRAYON, GENT. 
 
 THE PARISIAN HOTEL. 
 
 GREAT hotel in Paris is a street set 
 on end : the grand staircase is the high- 
 way, and every floor or apartment a 
 separate habitation. The one in which I am 
 lodged may serve as a specimen. It is a large 
 quadrangular pile, built round a spacious paved 
 court. The ground-floor is occupied by shops, 
 magazines, and domestic offices. Then comes the 
 entresol, with low ceilings, short windows, and 
 dwarf chambers ; then succeed a succession of 
 floors, or stories, rising one above the other, to 
 the number of Mahomet's heavens. Each floor 
 is a mansion, complete within itself, with ante- 
 chamber, saloons, dining and sleeping rooms, 
 kitchen, and other conveniences. Some floors are 
 divided into two or more suites of apartments. 
 Each apartment has its main door of entrance, 
 opening upon the staircase, or landing-places, and 
 locked like a street-door. Thus several families 
 and numerous single persons live under the same 
 roof, totally independent of each other, and may 
 live so for years, without holding more inter- 
 
216 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 course than is kept up in other cities by residents 
 in the same street. 
 
 Like the great world, this little microcosm has 
 its gradations of rank and style and importance. 
 The premier^ or first floor, with its grand saloons, 
 lofty ceilings, and splendid furniture, is decidedly 
 the aristocratical part of the establishment. The 
 second floor is scarcely less aristocratical and mag- 
 nificent ; the other floors go on lessening in splen- 
 dor as they gain in altitude, and end with the 
 attics, the region of petty tailors, clerks, and 
 sewing - girls. To make the filling up of the 
 mansion complete, every odd nook and corner is 
 fitted up as a joU petit appartement a gargon, (a 
 pretty little bachelor's apartment,) that is to say, 
 some little dark inconvenient nestling-place for a 
 poor devil of a bachelor. 
 
 The whole domain is shut up from the street 
 by a great porte-cochere^ or portal, calculated for 
 the admission of carriages. This consists of two 
 massy folding doors, that swing heavily open upon 
 a spacious entrance, passing under the front of the 
 edifice into the court-yard. On one side is a grand 
 staircase leading to the upper apartments. Im- 
 mediately without the portal is the porter's lodge, 
 a small room with one or two bedrooms adjacent, 
 for the acconunodation of the concierge^ or porter, 
 and his family. This is one of the most important 
 functionaries of the hotel. He is, in fact, the 
 Cerberus of the establishment, and no one can 
 pass in or out without his knowledge and consent. 
 'The porte-cochere in general is fastened by a slid- 
 ing bolt, from which a cord or wire passes intc 
 
THE PARISIAN HOTEL. 217 
 
 the porter's lodge. "Whoever wishes to go out 
 must speak to the porter, who draws the bolt. A 
 visitor from without gives a single rap with the 
 massive knocker ; the bolt is immediately drawn, 
 as if by an invisible hand ; the door stands ajar, 
 the visitor pushes it open, and enters. A face 
 presents itself at the glass door of the porter's 
 little chamber ; the stranger pronounces the name 
 of the person he comes to seek. If the person or 
 family is of importance, occupying the first or 
 second floor, the porter sounds a bell once or 
 twice, to give notice that a visitor is at hand. 
 The stranger in the mean time ascends the great 
 staircase, the highway common to all, and arrives 
 at the outer door, equivalent to a street-door, of 
 the suite of rooms inhabited by his friends. Be- 
 side this hangs a bell - cord, with which he rings 
 for admittance. 
 
 When the family or person inquired for is of 
 less importance, or lives in some remote part 
 of the mansion less easy to be apprised, no signal 
 is given. The applicant pronounces the name at 
 the porter's door, and is told, '"'■Montez au troisieme, 
 au quatrieme ; sonnez a la porte a droite, ou a 
 gauche^'' ("Ascend to the third or fourth story ; 
 ring the bell on the right or left hand door,") as 
 the case may be. 
 
 The porter and his wife act as domestics to 
 such of the inmates of the mansion as do not 
 keep servants ; making their beds, arranging their 
 rooms, lighting their fires, and doing other menial 
 offices, for which they receive a monthly stipend. 
 Xhey are also in confidential intercourse with the 
 
218 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 servants of the other inmates, and, ha\;ing an eye 
 on all the incomers and outgoers, are thus enabled, 
 by hook and by crook, to learn the secrets and the 
 domestic history of every member of the little 
 territory within the porte-cochere. 
 
 The porter's lodge is accordingly a great scene 
 of gossip, where all the private affairs of this in- 
 terior neighborhood are discussed. The court- 
 yard, also, is an assembling-place in the evening 
 for the servants of the different families, and a 
 sisterhood of sewing-girls from the entresols and 
 the attics, to play at various games, and dance to 
 the music of their own songs and the echoes of 
 their feet ; at which assemblages the porter's 
 daughter takes the lead, — fresh, pretty, buxom 
 girl, generally called "Za Petite,^' though almost 
 as tall as a grenadier. These little evening 
 gatherings, so characteristic of this gay country, 
 are countenanced by the various families of the 
 mansion, who often look down from their windows 
 and balconies on moonlight evenings, and enjoy 
 the simple revels of their domestics. I must 
 observe, however, that the hotel I am describing 
 is rather a quiet, retired one, where most of the 
 inmates are permanent residents from year to 
 year, so that there is more of the spirit of neigh- 
 borhood than in the bustling, fashionable hotels in 
 the gay parts of Paris, which are continually 
 changing their inhabitants. 
 
MY FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 219 
 
 Mr FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 
 
 I OFTEN amuse myself by watching from my 
 window (which, by the by, is tolerably elevated) 
 the movements of the teeming little world below 
 me ;> and as I am on sociable terms with the porter 
 and his wife, I gather from them, as they light my 
 tire, or serve my breakfast, anecdotes of all my 
 fellow-lodgers. I have been somewhat curious in 
 studying a little antique Frenchman, who occu- 
 pies one of the jolies chambres a gargon already 
 mentioned. He is one of those superannuated 
 veterans who flourished before the Revolution, and 
 have weathered all the storms of Paris, in con- 
 sequence, very probably, of being fortunately too 
 insio^nificant to attract attention. He has a small 
 income, which he manages with the skill of a 
 French economist ; appropriating so much for bis 
 lodgings, so much for his meals, so much for his 
 visits to St. Cloud and Vei^ailles, and so much for 
 his seat at the theatre. He has resided at the hotel 
 for years, and always in the same chamber, which 
 he furnishes at his own expense. The decorations 
 of the room mark his various ages. There are 
 some gallant pictures, which he hung up in his 
 younger days, with a portrait of a lady of rank, 
 whom he speaks tenderly of, dressed in the old 
 French taste, and a pretty opera-dancer, pirouett- 
 ing in a hoop-petticoat, who lately died at a good 
 old age. In a corner of this picture is stuck a 
 orescription for rheumatism, and below it stands 
 Ml easy-chair. He has a small parrot at the 
 
220 SKETCHES IN PARTS. 
 
 window, to amuse him when within doors, and a 
 pug-dog to accompany him in his daily peregrina- 
 tions. While I am writing, he is crossing the 
 court to go out. He is attired in his best coat of 
 sky-blue, and is doubtless bound for the Tuileries. 
 His hair is dressed in the old style, with powdered 
 ear-locks and a pigtail. His little dog trips after 
 him, sometimes on four legs, sometimes on three, 
 and looking as if his leather small-clothes were too 
 tight for him. Now the old gentleman stops to have 
 a word with an old crony who lives in the ejitr^e-sol, 
 and is just returning from his promenade. Now 
 they take a pinch of snufF together ; now they 
 pull out huge red cotton handkerchiefs, (those 
 " flags of abomination," as they have well been 
 called,) and blow their noses most sonorously. 
 Now they turn to make remarks upon their two 
 little dogs, who are exchanging the morning's sal- 
 utation ; now they part, and my old gentleman 
 stops to have a passing word with the porter's 
 wife ; and now he sallies forth, and is fairly 
 launched upon the town for the day. 
 
 No man is so methodical as a complete idler, 
 and none so scrupulous in measuring and portion- 
 ing out his time as he whose time is worth nothing. 
 The old gentleman in question has his exact Jiour 
 for rising, and for shaving himself by a small mir- 
 ror hung against his casement. He sallies forth 
 at a certain hour every morning, to take his cup 
 of coffee and his roll at a certain cafe, where he 
 reads the papers. He has been a regular admirer 
 of the lady who presides at the bar, and always 
 stops to have a little badinage with her, en passant. 
 
MY FRENCH NEIGHBOR. 221 
 
 He has liis regular walks on the Boulevards and 
 in the Palais Royal, where he sets his watch by 
 the petard fired off by the sun at mid-day. He 
 has his daily resort in the Garden of the Tuileries, 
 to meet with a knot of veteran idlers like himself, 
 who talk on pretty much the same subjects when- 
 ever they meet. He has been present at all the 
 sights and shows and rejoicings of Paris for the 
 last fifty years ; has witnessed the great events of 
 the revolution ; the guillotining of the king and 
 queen ; the coronation of Bonaparte ; the capture 
 of Paris, and the restoration of the Bourbons. All 
 these he speaks of with the coolness of a theatri- 
 cal critic ; and I question whether he has not been 
 gratified by each in its turn ; not from any in- 
 herent love of tumult, but from that insatiable 
 appetite for spectacle which prevails among the in- 
 habitants of this metropolis. I have been amused 
 with a farce, in which one of these systematic old 
 triflers is represented. He sings a song detailing 
 his whole day's round of insignificant occupations, 
 and goes to bed delighted with the idea that his 
 next day will be an exact repetition of the same 
 
 routine : 
 
 " Je me couche le soir, 
 Enchant^ de pouvoir 
 Recommencer mon train 
 Le lendemain 
 Matin." 
 
)^ 
 
 222 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 
 
 In another part of the hotel, a handsome suite 
 of rooms is occupied by an old English gentle- 
 man, of great probity, some understanding, and 
 very considerable crustiness, who has come to 
 France to live economically. He has a very fair 
 property, but his wife, being of that blessed kind 
 compared in Scripture to the fruitful vine, has 
 ov^erwhelmed him with a family of buxom daugh- 
 ters, who hang clustering about him, ready to be 
 gathered by any hand. He is seldom to be seen 
 in public without one hanging on each arm, and 
 smiling on all the world, while his own mouth is 
 di'awn down at each corner like a mastiffs, with 
 internal growling at everything about him. He 
 adheres rigidly to English fashion in dress, and 
 trudges about in long gaiters and broad-brimmed 
 hat ; while his daughters almost overshadow him 
 with feathers, flowers, and French bonnets. 
 
 He contrives to keep up an atmosphere of Eng- 
 lish habits, opinions, and prejudices, and to carry 
 a semblance of London into the very heart of 
 Paris. His mornings are spent at Galignani's 
 new3-room, where he forms one of a knot of in- 
 veterate quidnuncs, who read the same articles 
 over a dozen times in a dozen different papers. 
 He generally dines in company with some of his 
 own countrymen, and they have what is called a 
 " comfortable sitting " after dinner, in the English 
 fashion, drinking wine, discussing the news of 
 the London papers, and canvassing the French 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARTS. 223 
 
 cliaracter, the French metropolis, and the French 
 revolution, ending with a unanimous admission of 
 English courage, English morality, English cook- 
 ery, English wealth, the magnitude of London, 
 and the ingratitude of the French. 
 
 His evenings are chiefly spent at a club of his 
 countrymen, where the London papers are taken. 
 Sometimes his daughters entice him to the thea- 
 tres, but not often. He abuses French tragedv, 
 as all fustian and bombast. Talma as a ranter, and 
 Duchesnois as a mere termagant. It is true his 
 ear is not sufficiently familiar with the language 
 to understand French verse, and he generally 
 goes to sleep during the performance. The wit 
 of the French comedy is flat and pointless to him. 
 He would not give one of Munden's wry faces, or 
 Liston's inexpressible looks, for the whole of it. 
 
 He will not admit that Paris has any advantage 
 over London. The Seine is a muddy rivulet in 
 comparison with the Thames ; the West End of 
 London surpasses the finest parts of the French 
 capitfd ; and on some one's observing that there 
 was a very thick fog out of doors, " Pish ! " said 
 he, crustily, " it 's nothing to the fogs we have in 
 London ! " 
 
 He has infinite trouble in bringing his table 
 into anything like conformity to English rule. 
 With his liquors, it is true, he is tolerably suc- 
 cessful. He procures London porter and a stock 
 of port and sherry, at considerable expense, for he 
 observes that he cannot stand those cursed thin 
 French wines ; they dilute his blood so much as 
 to give him the rheumatism. As to their white 
 
224 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 wines, he stigmatizes them as mere substitutes for 
 cider ; and as to claret, why " it would be port if 
 it could." He has continual quarrels with his 
 French cook, whom he renders wretched by in- 
 sisting on his conforminoj to Mrs. Glasse ; for it is 
 easier to convert a Frenchman from his religion 
 than his cookery. The poor fellow, by dint of 
 repeated efforts, once brougiit himself to serve up 
 ros hif sufficiently raw to suit what he considered 
 the cannibal taste of his master ; but then he 
 could not refrain, at the last moment, adding some 
 exquisite sauce, that put the old gentleman in a 
 fury. 
 
 He detests wood-fires, and has procured a quan- 
 tity of coal ; but not having a grate, he is obliged 
 to burn it on the hearth. Here he sits poking 
 and stirring the fire with one end of a tongs, while 
 the room is as murky as a smithy ; railing at 
 French chimneys, French masons, and French 
 architects ; giving a poke at the end of every 
 sentence, as though he were stirring up the very- 
 bowels of the delinquents he is anathematizing. 
 He lives in a state militant with inanimate objects 
 around him ; gets into high dudgeon with doors 
 and casements because they will not come under 
 English law, and has implacable feuds with sun- 
 dry refractory pieces of furniture. Among these 
 is one in particular with which he is sure to have 
 a high quarrel every time he goes to dress. It is 
 a commode, one of those smooth, polished, plausi- 
 ble pieces of French furniture that have the per- 
 versity of five hundred devils. Each drawer has 
 a \^ ill of its own; will open or not, just as the 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN AT PARIS. 225 
 
 whirn takes it, aiid sets lock and key at defiance. 
 Sometimes a drawer will refuse to yield to either 
 persuasion or force, and will part with both han- 
 dles rather than yield ; another will come out in 
 the most coy and coquettish manner imaginable, 
 eibowinof alonoj. zijjzao^, one corner retreatino^ as 
 the other advances, making a thousand difficulties 
 and objections at every move, until the old gen- 
 tleman, out of all patience, gives a sudden jerk, 
 and brino;s drawer and contents into the middle 
 of the floor. His hostility to this unlucky piece 
 of furniture increases every day, as if incensed 
 that it does not grow better. He is like the fret- 
 ful invalid, who cursed his bed, that the longer he 
 lay the harder it grew. The only benefit he has 
 derived from the quarrel is, that it has furnished 
 him with a crusty joke, which he utters on all 
 occasions. He swears that a French commode is 
 the most incommodious thing in existence, and 
 that although the nation cannot make a joint-stool 
 that will stand steady, yet they are always talking 
 of everything's being perfectionee. 
 
 His servants understand his humor, and avail 
 themselves of it. He was one day disturbed by 
 a pertinacious rattling and shaking at one of the 
 doors, and bawled out in an angry tone to know 
 the cause of the disturbance. " Sir," said the 
 footman, testily, " it 's this confounded French 
 lock ! " " Ah ! " said the old gentleman, pacified 
 by this hit at the nation, " I thought there was 
 something French at the bottom of it ! " 
 15 
 
226 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 
 
 As I am a mere looker-on in Europe, and hold 
 myself as much as possible aloof from its quarrels 
 and prejudices, I feel something like one over- 
 looking a game, who, without any great skill of 
 his own, can occasionally perceive the blimders 
 of much abler players. This neutrality of feel- 
 ing enables me to enjoy the contrasts of character 
 presented in this time of general peace, when 
 the various people of Europe, who have so long 
 been sundered by wars, are brought together and 
 placed side by side in this great gathering-place 
 of nations. No greater contrast, however, is ex- 
 hibited than tliat of the French and English. 
 The peace has deluged this gay capital with Eng- 
 lish visitors of all ranks and conditions. They 
 throng every place of curiosity and amusement ; 
 fill the public gardens, the galleries, the cafes, 
 saloons, theatres ; always herding together, never 
 associating with the French. The two nations 
 are like two threads of different colors, tangled 
 together, but never blended. 
 
 In fact, they present a continual antithesis, and 
 seem to value themselves upon being unlike each 
 other ; yet each have their peculiar merits, which 
 should entitle them to each other's esteem. The 
 French intellect is quick and active. It flashes 
 its way into a subject with the rapidity of Hght- 
 nuig, seizes upon 'emote conclusions with a sud 
 den bound, and its deductions are almost intuitive. 
 The English intellect is less rapid, but more per- 
 
ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 227 
 
 Bevering ; less sudden, but more sure in its deduc- 
 tions. The quickness and mobility of the French 
 enable thera to find enjoyment in the multiplicity 
 of sensations. They speak and act more from 
 immediate impressions than from reflection and 
 meditation. They are therefore more social and 
 communicative, more fond of society and of places 
 of public resort and amusement. An English- 
 man is more reflective in his habits. He lives in 
 the world of his own thoughts, and seems more 
 self-existent and self-dependent. He loves the 
 quiet of his own apartment ; even when abroad, 
 he in a manner makes a little solitude around 
 him by his silence and reserve ; he moves about 
 shy and solitary, and as it were, buttoned up, body 
 and soul. 
 
 The French are great optimists ; they seize 
 upon every good as it flies, and revel in the pass- 
 ing pleasure. The Englishman is too apt to 
 neglect the present good in preparing against the 
 possible evil. However adversities may lower, 
 let the sun shine but for a moment, and forth 
 sallies the mercurial Frenchman, in holiday dress 
 and holiday spirits, gay as a butterfly, as though 
 his sunshine were perpetual ; but let the sun 
 beam never so brightly, so there be but a cloud in 
 the horizon, the wary Englishman ventures forth 
 distrustfully, with his umbrella in his hand. 
 
 The Frenchman has a wonderful facility at 
 turning small things to advantage. No one can 
 be gay and luxurious on smaller means ; no one 
 requires less expense to be happy. He practises 
 a kind of gilding in his style of living, and ham- 
 
228 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 mers out every guinea into gold-leaf. The Eng- 
 lishman, on the contrary, is expensive in his hab- 
 its and expensive in his enjoyments. He values 
 everything, whether useful or ornamental, by 
 what it costs. He has no satisfaction in show, 
 unless it be solid and complete. Everything goes 
 with him by the square foot. Whatever display 
 he makes, the depth is sure to equal the surface. 
 
 The Frenchman's habitation, like himself, is 
 open, cheerful, bustling, and noisy. He lives in 
 a part of a great hotel, with wide portal, paved 
 court, a spacious dirty stone staircase, and a fam- 
 ily on every floor. All is clatter and chatter. 
 He is good-humored and talkative with his ser- 
 vants, sociable with his neighbors, and complai- 
 sant to all the world. Anybody has access to 
 himself and his apartments ; his very bedroom is 
 open to visitors, whatever may be its state of con- 
 fusion ; and all this not from any peculiarly hos- 
 pitable feeling, but from that communicative habit 
 which predominates over his character. 
 
 The Englishman, on the contrary, ensconces 
 himself in a snug brick mansion, which he has 
 all to himself; locks the front-door; puts broken 
 bottles along his walls, and spring-guns and man- 
 traps in his gardens ; shrouds himself with trees 
 and window- curtains ; exults in his quiet and 
 privacy, and seems disposed to keep out noise, 
 daylight, and company. His house, like himself, 
 has a reserved, inhospitable exterior ; yet who- 
 ever gains admittance is apt to find a warm heart 
 and warm fireside within. 
 
 The French excel in wit, the English in hu- 
 
ENGLISH AND FRENCH CHARACTER. 229 
 
 mor ; the French have gayer fancy, the English 
 richer imaginations. The former are fall of sen- 
 sibility, easily moved, and prone to sudden and 
 great excitement ; but their excitement is not 
 durable ; the English are more phlegmatic, not 
 so readily affected, but capable of being arouse;! 
 to great enthusiasm. The faults of these oppo- 
 site temperaments are, that the vivacity of the 
 French is apt to sparkle up and be frothy, the 
 gravity of the English to settle down and grow 
 muddy. When the two characters can be fixed 
 in a medium, the French kept from effervescence 
 and the Ena;lish from staornation, both will be 
 found excellent. 
 
 This contrast of character may also be noticed 
 in the great concerns of the two nations. The 
 ardent Frenchman is all for military renown : he 
 fights for glory, that is to say, for success in arms. 
 For, provided the national flag be victorious, he 
 cares little about the expense, the injustice, or 
 the inutility of the war. It is wonderful how the 
 poorest Frenchman will revel on a triumphant bul- 
 letin ; a great victory is meat and drink to him : 
 and at the sight of a military sovereign, bringing 
 home captured cannon and captured standards, 
 he throws up his greasy cap in the air, and is 
 ready to jump out of his wooden shoes for joy. 
 
 John Bull, on the contrary, is a reasoning, con- 
 siderate person. If he does wrong, it is in the 
 most rational way imaginable. He fights because 
 the good of the world requires it. He is a moral 
 person, and makes war upon his neighbor for the 
 'naintenance of peace and good order, and sound 
 
230 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 principles. He is a money-making personage, 
 and fights for the prosperity of commerce and 
 manufactures. Thus the two nations have been 
 fighting, time out of mind, for glory and good 
 The French, in pursuit of glory, have had their 
 capital twice taken ; and John, in pursuit of good 
 has run himself over head and ears in debt. 
 
 THE TUILERIES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 
 
 I HAVE sometimes fancied I could discover na- 
 tional characteristics in national edifices. In the 
 Chateau of the Tuileries, for instance, I perceive 
 the same jumble of contrarieties that marks the 
 French character ; the same whimsical mixture 
 of the great and the little, the splendid and the 
 paltry, the sublime and the grotesque. On visit- 
 ing this famous pile, the first thing that strikes 
 both eye and ear is military display. The courts 
 glitter with steel-clad soldiery, and resound with 
 tramp of horse, the roll of drum, and the bray of 
 trumpet. Dismounted guardsmen patrol its ar- 
 cades, with loaded carbines, jingling spurs, and 
 clanking sabres. Gigantic grenadiers are posted 
 about its staircases ; young officers of the guards 
 loll from the balconies, or lounge in groups upon 
 the terraces ; and the gleam of bayonet from win- 
 dow to window shows that sentinels are pacing 
 up and down the corridors and antechambers. 
 The first floor is brilliant with the splendors of a 
 tourt. French taste has tasked itself in adorning 
 
THE TUILERIES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 231 
 
 the sumptuous suites of apartments ; nor are tht 
 gilded chapel and splendid theatre forgotten, where 
 Piety and Pleasure are next-door neighbors, and 
 harmonize together with perfect French hienseance. 
 
 Mingled up with all this regal and military 
 magnificence is a world of whimsical and make- 
 shift detail. A great part of the huge edifice is 
 cut up into little chambers and nestling-places for 
 retainers of the court, dependants on retainers, 
 and hangers-on of dependants. Some are squeezed 
 into narrow entresols, those low, dark, interme- 
 diate slices of apartments between floors, the in- 
 habitants of which seem shoved in edgewise, 
 like books between narrow shelves ; others are 
 perched, like swallows, under the eaves ; the high 
 roofs, too, which are as tall and steep as a French 
 cocked hat, have rows of little dormer-windows, 
 tier above tier, just large enough to admit light 
 and air for some dormitory, and to enable its oc- 
 cupant to peep out at the sky. Even to the very 
 ridge of the roof may be seen, here and there, 
 one of these air-holes, with a stove-pipe beside it, 
 to carry off the smoke from the handful of fuel 
 with which its weasen-faced tenant simmers his 
 demi-tasse of coffee. 
 
 On approaching the palace from the Pont Ro- 
 yal, you take in at a glance all the various strata 
 of inhabitants : the garreteer in the roof, the re- 
 tainer in the entresol, the courtiers at the case- 
 ments of the royal apartments ; while on the 
 ground-floor a steam of savory odors, and a score 
 'jr two of cooks, in white caps, bobbing their heads 
 about the windows, betray that scientific and all- 
 important laboratory, the royal kitchen. 
 
232 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 Go iiito the grand antechamber of the royal 
 apartments on Sunclaj, and see the mixture of 
 Old and New France : the old emigres, returned 
 with the Bourbons ; little, withered, spindle- 
 shanked old noblemen, clad in court-dresses, that 
 figured in these saloons before the revolution, and 
 have been carefully treasured up during their ex- 
 ile ; with the solitaires and ailes de pigeon of for- 
 mer days, and the court - swords strutting out 
 behind, like pins stuck through dry beetles. See 
 them haunting the scenes of their former splen- 
 dor, in hopes of a restitution of estates, like ghosts 
 haunting the vicinity of buried treasure ; while 
 around them you see Young France, grown up 
 in the fighting school of Napoleon, equipped en 
 militaire : tall, hardy, frank, vigorous, sunburnt, 
 fierce-whiskered ; with tramping boots, towering 
 crests, and glittering breastplates. 
 
 It is incredible the number of ancient and he- 
 reditary feeders on royalty said to be housed in 
 this establishment. Indeed, all the royal palaces 
 abound with noble families returned from exile, 
 and who have nestling-places allotted them while 
 they await the restoration of their estates, or the 
 mucii-talked-of law, indemnity. Some of them 
 have fine quarters, but poor living. Some fami- 
 lies have but five or six hundred francs a year 
 and all their retinue consists of a servant-woman. 
 With all this, they maintain their old aristocrati- 
 cal hauteur, look down with vast contempt upon 
 the opulent families which have risen since the 
 revolution ; stigmatize them all as parvenus, or 
 upstarts, and refuse to visit them. 
 
THE TUILERIES AND WINDSOR CASTLE. 23S 
 
 In regarding the exterior of the Tuileries, with 
 all its outward signs of internal populousness, I 
 have often thought what a rare sight it would be 
 to see it suddenly unroofed, and all its nooks and 
 corners laid open to the day. It would be like 
 turning up the stump of an old tree, and dis- 
 lodging the world of grubs and ants and beetles 
 lodged beneath. Indeed, there is a scandalous 
 anecdote current, that, in the time of one of the 
 petty plots, when petards were exploded under 
 the windows of the Tuileries, the police made a 
 sudden investigation of the palace at four o'clock 
 in the morning, when a scene of the most whim- 
 sical confusion ensued. Hosts of supernumerary 
 inhabitants were found foisted into the huge edi- 
 fice : every rat-hole had its occupant ; and places 
 which had been considered as tenanted only by 
 spiders, were found crowded with a surreptitious 
 population. It is added, that many ludicrous ac- 
 cidents occurred ; great scampering and slamming 
 of doors, and whisking away in night-gowns and 
 slippers ; and several persons, who were found by 
 accident in their neighbors' chambers, evinced in- 
 dubitable astonishment at the circumstance. 
 
 As I have fancied I could read the French 
 character in the national palace of the Tuileries, 
 so I have pictured to myself some of the traits of 
 John Bull in his royal abode of Windsor Castle. 
 The Tuileries, outwardly a peaceful palace, is in 
 effect a swaggering military hold ; while the old 
 i^astle, on the contrary, in spite of its bullying 
 look, is completely under petticoat government. 
 Every corner and nook is built up into some 
 
234 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 snug, cosy nestling-place, some " procreant cra- 
 dle," not tenanted by meagre expectants or whis« 
 kered warriors, but by sleek placemen ; knowing 
 realizers of present pay and present pudding ; 
 who seem placed there not to kill and destroy, 
 but to breed and multiply. Nursery-maids and 
 children shine with rosy faces at the windows, 
 and swarm about the courts and terraces. The 
 very soldiery have a pacific look, and, when off 
 duty, may be seen loitering about the place with 
 the nursery -maids ; not making love to them in 
 the gay gallant style of the French soldiery, but 
 with infinite honhommie aiding them to take care 
 of the broods of children. 
 
 Though the old castle is in decay, everything 
 about it thrives ; the very crevices of the wails 
 are tenanted by swallows, rooks, and pigeons, all 
 sure of quiet lodgment ; the ivy strikes its roots 
 deep in the fissures, and flourishes about the 
 mouldering tower."* Thus it is with honest John : 
 according to his own account, he is ever going to 
 ruin, yet everything that lives on him thrives 
 and waxes fat. He would fain be a soldier, and 
 swagger like his neighbors ; but his domestic, 
 quiet-loving, uxorious nature continually gets the 
 upper hand ; and though he may mount his helmet 
 and gird on his sword, yet he is apt to sink 
 into the plodding, painstaking father of a family, 
 with a troop of children at his heels, and his 
 womenkind hano-in"; on each arm. 
 
 ♦ The above sketch was written before the thorough repairs 
 and magnificent additions made of late years to Windsor Cas- 
 tlo. 
 
Wolfert'B Eoost, p. 234. 
 Windsor Castle. 
 
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 235 
 
 THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 
 
 I HAVE spoken heretofore with some levity of 
 the contrast that exists between the English and 
 French character; but it deserves more serious 
 consideration. They are the two great nations 
 of modern times most diametrically opposed, and 
 most worthy of each other's rivalry ; essentially 
 distinct in their characters, excelling in opposite 
 qualities, and reflecting lustre on each other by 
 their very opposition. In nothing is this contrast 
 more strikingly evinced than in their military con- 
 duct. For ages have they been contending, and 
 for ages have they crowded each other's history 
 with acts of splendid heroism, lake the Battle 
 of Waterloo, for instance, the last and most mem- 
 orable trial of their rival prowess. Nothing could 
 surpass the brilliant daring on the one side, and 
 the steadfast enduring on the other. The French 
 cavalry broke like waves on the compact squares 
 of English infantry. They were seen galloping 
 round those serried walls of men, seeking in vain 
 for an entrance ; tossing their arms in the air, in 
 the heat of their enthusiasm, and braving the 
 whole front of battle. The British troops, on the 
 other hand, forbidden to move or fire, stood firm 
 and enduring. Their columns were ripped up by 
 cannonry ; whole rows were swept down at a 
 shot ; the survivors closed their ranks, and stood 
 firm. In this way many columns stood through 
 the pelting of the iron tempest without firing a 
 shot, witliout any action to stir their blood or ex- 
 
236 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 cite their spirits. Death thinned their ranks, but 
 could not shake their souls. 
 
 A beautiful instance of the quick and generous 
 impulses to which the French are prone is given 
 in the case of a French cavalier, in the hottest of 
 the action, charging furiously upon a British officer, 
 but, perceiving in the moment of assault that his 
 adversary had lost his sword-arm, dropping the 
 point of his sabre, and courteously riding on. 
 Peace be with that generous warrior, whatever 
 were his fate ! If he went down in the storm of 
 battle, with the foundering fortunes of his chieftain, 
 may the turf of Waterloo grow green above his 
 grave ! — and happier far would be the fate of 
 such a spirit to sink amidst the tempest, uncon- 
 scious of defeat, than to survive and mourn over 
 the blighted laurels of his country. 
 
 In this way the two armies fought through a 
 long and bloody day, — the French with enthusi- 
 astic valor, the English with cool, inflexible cour- 
 age, until Fate, as if to leave the question of 
 superiority still undecided between two such ad- 
 versaries, brought up the Prussians to decide the 
 fortunes of the field. 
 
 It was several years afterward that I visited 
 the field of Waterloo. The ploughshare had been 
 busy with its oblivious labors, and the frequent 
 harvest had nearly obliterated the vestiges of war. 
 Still the blackened ruins of Hoguemont stood, a 
 monumental pile to mark the violence of this 
 vehement struggle. Its broken walls, pierced by 
 bullets and shattered by explosions, showed the 
 deadly strife that had taken place within, when 
 
TFJE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 2.'] 7 
 
 Gaul and Briton, hemmed in between narrow 
 walls, hand to hand and foot to foot, fought from 
 garden to court-yard, from court-yard to chamber, 
 with intense and concentrated rivalship. Columns 
 of smoke towered from this vortex of battle as 
 from a volcano : " it was," said my guide, " like a 
 little hell upon earth." Not far off, two or three 
 broad spots of rank, unwholesome green still 
 marked the places where these rival warriors, 
 after their fierce and fitful struggle, slept quietly 
 together in the lap of their common mother earth. 
 Over all tlie rest of the field peace had resumed 
 its sway. The thoughtless whistle of the peasant 
 floated on the air instead of the trumpet's clangor; 
 the team slowly labored up the hill-side once 
 shaken by the hoofs of rushing squadrons ; and 
 wide fields of corn waved peacefully over the 
 soldiers' grave, as summer seas dimple over the 
 place where the tall ship lies buried. 
 
 To the foregoing desultory notes on the French 
 military character, let me append a few traits 
 which I picked up verbally in one of the French 
 provinces. They may have already appeared in 
 print, but I have never met with them. 
 
 At the breaking out of the revolution, when so 
 many of the old families emigrated, a descendant 
 of the great Turenne, by the name of De Latour 
 D'Auvergne, refused to accompany his relations, 
 and entered into the republican army. He served 
 in all the campaigns of the revolution, distin- 
 guished himself by his valor, his accomplishments, 
 and his generous spirit, and might have risen to 
 
238 SKETCHES IN PARIS 
 
 fortune and to the highest honors He refused, 
 however, all rank in the army above that of 
 captain, and would receive no recompense for his 
 achievements but a sword of honor. Napoleon, 
 in testimony of his merits, gave him the title of 
 Premier Grenadier de France, (First Grenadier 
 of France,) which was the only title he would 
 ever bear. He was killed in Germany at the 
 battle of Neuburg. To honor his memory, his 
 place was always retained in his regiment as if 
 he still occupied it ; and whenever the regiment 
 was mustered, and the name of De Latour 
 D'Auvergne was called out, the reply was : 
 " Dead on the field of honor ! " 
 
 PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 
 
 Paris presented a singular aspect just after 
 the downfall of Napoleon and the restoration of 
 the Bourbons. It was filled with a restless, roam- 
 ing population, — a dark, sallow race, with fierce 
 moustaches, black cravats, and feverish, menacing 
 looks, — men suddenly thrown out of employ by 
 the return of peace ; officers cut short in their 
 career, and cast loose with scanty means, many 
 of them in utter indigence, upon the world ; the 
 broken elements of armies. They haunted the 
 places of public resort, like restless, unhappy 
 spirits, taking no pleasure ; hanging about like 
 lowering clouds that linger after a storm, and 
 
PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 239 
 
 giving a singular air of gloom to this otherwise 
 gay metropolis. 
 
 The vaunted courtesy of the old school, the 
 smooth urbanity that prevailed in former days 
 of settled govenmient and long-established aris- 
 tocracy, had disappeared amidst the savage repub- 
 licanism of the revolution and the military furor 
 of the empire ; recent reverses had stung the 
 national vanity to the quick, and English travel- 
 lers, who crowded to Paris on the return of peace, 
 expecting to meet with a gay, good-humored, 
 complaisant populace, such as existed in the time 
 of the " Sentimental Journey," were surprised at 
 finding them irritable and fractious, (juick at 
 fancying affronts, and not unapt to offer insults. 
 They accordingly inveighed with heat and bitter- 
 ness at the rudeness they experienced in the 
 French metropolis ; yet what better had they to 
 expect ? Had Charles II. been reinstated in his 
 kingdom by the valor of French troops ; had he 
 been wheeled triumphantly to London over the 
 trampled bodies and trampled standards of Eng- 
 land's bravest sons ; had a French general dic- 
 tated to the English capital, and a French army 
 been quartered in Hyde Park ; had Paris poured 
 forth its motley population, and the wealthy bour- 
 geoisie of every French trading town swarmed to 
 London, crowding its squares, filling its streets 
 with their equipages, thronging its fashionable 
 hotels and places of amusements, elbowing its im- 
 poverished nobility out of their palaces and opera- 
 boxes, and looking down on the humiliated in- 
 habitants as a conquered people ; in such a re 
 
2'J:0 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 verse of the case, what degree of courtesy would 
 the populace of London have been apt to exer- 
 cise toward their visitors ? '* 
 
 On the contrary, I have always admired the 
 degree of magnanimity exhibited by the French 
 on the occupation of their capital by the English. 
 When we consider the military ambition of this 
 nation, its love of glory, the splendid height to 
 which its renown in arms had recently been car- 
 ried, and, with these, the tremendous reverses it 
 had just undergone, its armies shattered, annihi- 
 lated, its capital captured, garrisoned, and overrun, 
 and that too by its ancient rival, the English, 
 toward whom it had cherished for centuries a 
 jealous and almost religious hostility, could we 
 have wondered if the tiger-spirit of this fiery 
 people had broken out in bloody feuds and deadly 
 quarrels, and that they had sought to rid them- 
 selves in any way of their invaders ? But it is 
 cowardly nations only, those who dare not wield 
 the sword, that revenge themselves with the lurk- 
 ing dagger. There were no assassinations in 
 Paris. The French had fought valiantly, desper- 
 ately, in the field ; but, when valor was no longer 
 of avail, they submitted, like gallant men, to a fate 
 they could not withstand. Some instances of in- 
 sult from the populace were experienced by their 
 English visitors ; some personal rencontres which 
 led to duels did take place ; but these smacked of 
 
 * The above remarks were suggested by a conversation 
 with the late Mr. Canning, whom the author met in Paris, 
 and who expressed himself in the most liberal way conceni- 
 'ng the magnanimity of the French on the occupation of their 
 capital by strangers. 
 
PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 241 
 
 open and honorable hostility. No instances of 
 lurking and perfidious revenge occurred ; and the 
 British soldier patrolled the streets of Paris safe 
 from treacherous assault. 
 
 If the English met with harshness and repulse 
 in social intercourse, it was in some degree a proof 
 that the people are more sincere than has been rep- 
 resented. The emigrants who had just returned 
 were not yet reinstated. Society was constituted 
 of those who had flourished under the late regime, 
 — the newly ennobled, the recently enriched, who 
 felt their prosperity and their consequence en- 
 dangered by this change of things. The broken- 
 down officer, who saw his glory tarnished, his 
 fortune ruined, his occupation gone, could not be 
 expected to look with complacency upon the 
 authors of his downfall. The English visitor, 
 flushed with health and wealth and victory, could 
 little enter into the feelings of the blighted war- 
 rior, scarred with a hundred battles, an exile from 
 the camp, broken in constitution by the wars, im- 
 poverished by the peace, and cast back, a needy 
 stranger in the splendid but captured metropolis 
 of his country. 
 
 " Oh ! who can tell what heroes feel 
 When all but life and honor's lost! " 
 
 And here let me notice the conduct of the 
 French soldiery on the dismemberment of the 
 army of the Loire, when two hundred thousand 
 men were suddenly thrown out of employ ; — men 
 who had been brought up to the camp, and scarce 
 knew any other home. Few in civil, peaceful 
 
 life are aware of the severe trial to the feelings 
 16 
 
242 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 that takes place on the dissolution of a regiment 
 There is a fraternity in arms. The community 
 of dangers, hardships, enjoyments ; the participa- 
 tion in battles and victories ; the companionship 
 in adventures, at a time of life when men's feel- 
 ings are most fresh, susceptible, and ardent ; all 
 these bind the members of a regiment strongly to- 
 gether. To them the regiment is friends, family, 
 home. They identify themselves with its fortunes, 
 its glories, its disgraces. Imagine this romantic 
 tie suddenly dissolved ; the regiment broken up ; 
 the occupation of its members gone ; their mili- 
 tary pride mortified ; the career of glory closed 
 behind them ; that of obscurity, dependence, want, 
 neglect, perhaps beggary, befoi"e them. Such was 
 the case with the soldiers of the army of the 
 Loire. They were sent off in squads, with offi- 
 cers, to the principal towns, where they were to 
 be disarmed and discharged. In this way they 
 passed through the country with arms in their 
 hands, often exposed to sliglits and scoffs, to hun- 
 ger and various hardships and privations ; but 
 they conducted themselves magnanimously, with- 
 out any of those outbreaks of violence and wrong 
 ihat so often attend the dismemberment of armies. 
 
 The few years that have elapsed since the time 
 aoove alluded to have already had their effect. 
 The proud and angry spirits which then roamed 
 about Paris unemployed have cooled down and 
 found occupation. The national character begins 
 to recover its old channels, though worn deeper 
 by recent torrents. The natural urbanity of the 
 
PARIS AT THE RESTORATION. 243 
 
 French begins to find its way, like oil, to the sur- 
 face, though there still remains a degree of rough- 
 ness and bluntness of manner, partly real, and 
 partly affected, by such as imagine it to indicate 
 force and frankness. The events of the last thirty 
 years have rendered the French a more reflecting 
 people. They have acquired greater indepen- 
 dence of mind and strength of judgment, together 
 with a portion of that prudence which results 
 from experiencing the dangerous consequences of 
 excesses. However that period may have been 
 stained by crimes and filled with extravagances, 
 the French have certainly come out of it a greater 
 nation than before. One of their own philosophers 
 observes, that in one or two generations the na- 
 tion will probably combine the ease and elegance 
 of the old character with force and solidity. They 
 were light, he says, before the revolution ; then 
 wild and savage ; they have become more thought- 
 ful and reflective. It is only old Frenchmen, now- 
 adays, that are gay and trivial ; the young are 
 very serious personages. 
 
 P. S. — In the course of a morning's walk, about 
 the time the above remarks were written, I ob- 
 served the Duke of Wellington, who was on a 
 brief visit to Paris. He was alone, simply attired 
 m a blue frock, with an umbrella under his arm 
 and his hat drawn over his eyes, and sauntering 
 across the Place Vendome, close by the column 
 of Napoleon. He gave a glance up at the col- 
 umn as he passed, and continued his loitering way 
 up the Rue de la Paix ; stopping occasionally to 
 
244 SKETCHES IN PARIS. 
 
 gaze in at the shop-windows ; elbowed now and 
 then by other gazers, who little suspected that the 
 quiet, lounging individual they were jostling so 
 unceremoniously was the conqueror who had twice 
 entered their capital victoriously, had controlled 
 the destinies of the nation, and eclipsed the glory 
 of the military idol at the base of whose column 
 he was thus negligently sauntering. 
 
 Some years afterwards I was at an evening's 
 entertainment given by the Duke at Apsley House, 
 to William IV. The Duke had manifested his 
 admiration of his great adversary by having por- 
 traits of him in different parts of the house. At 
 the bottom of the grand staircase stood the colos- 
 sal statue of the Emperor, by Canova. It was 
 of marble, in the antique style, with one arm 
 partly extended, holding a figure of victory. Over 
 this arm the ladies, in tripping up-stairs to the 
 ball, had thrown their shawls. It was a singular 
 office for the statue of Napoleon to perform in the 
 mansion of the Duke of Wellington ! 
 
 " Imperial Caesar dead, and turned to clay," etc., etc. 
 
A CONTENTED MAN. 
 
 N the garden of the Tuileries there is a 
 sunny corner under the wall of a terrace 
 which fronts the south. Alono; the wall 
 is a range of benches commanding a view of the 
 walks and avenues of the garden. This genial 
 nook is a place of great resort in the latter part 
 of autumn, and in fine days in winter, as it seems 
 to retain the flavor of departed summer. On a 
 calm, bright morning, it is quite alive with nurs- 
 ery-maids and their playful little charges. Hither 
 also resort a number of ancient ladies and gentle- 
 men, who, with laudable thrift in small pleasures 
 and small expenses, for which the French are to 
 be noted, come here to enjoy sunshine and save 
 firewood. Here may often be seen some cavalier of 
 the old school, when the stmbeams have warmed 
 his blood into something like a glow, fluttering 
 about like a frost-bitten moth thawed before the 
 fire, putting forth a feeble show of gallantry among 
 the antiquated dames, and now and then eyeing 
 (he buxon nursery-maids with what might almost 
 be mistaken for an air of libertinism. 
 
 Among the habitual frequenters of this place 
 t had often remarked an old gentleman whose 
 
240 A CONTENTED MAN. 
 
 dress was decidedly anti-re volutional. He wore 
 the three-cornered cocked hat of the ancien re- 
 gime ; his hair was frizzed over each ear into 
 ailes de pigeon, a style strongly savoring of Bour- 
 bonism ; and a queue stuck out behind, the loy- 
 alty of which was not to be disputed. His dress, 
 though ancient, had an air of decayed gentility, 
 and I observed that he took his snuff out of an 
 elegant though old-fashioned gold box. He ap- 
 peared to be the most popular man on the walk. 
 He had a compliment for every old lady, he kissed 
 every child, and he patted every little dog on the 
 head ; for children and little dogs are very im- 
 portant members of society in France. I must 
 observe, however, that he seldom kissed a child 
 without, at the same time, pinching the nursery- 
 maid's cheek ; a Frenchman of the old school 
 never forgets his devoirs to the sex. 
 
 I had taken a liking to this old gentleman. 
 There was an habitual expression of benevolence 
 in his face, which I have very frequently remarked 
 in these relics of the politer days of France. The 
 constant interchange of those thousand little cour- 
 tesies which imperceptibly sweeten life, has a 
 happy etfect upon the features, and spreads a mel- 
 low evening charm over the wrinkles of old age. 
 
 Where there is a favorable predisposition, one 
 soon forms a kind of tacit intimacy by often meet- 
 ing on the same walks. Once or twice I accom- 
 modated him with a bench, after which we touched 
 hats on passing each other ; at length we got so 
 far as to take a pinch of snuff together out of his 
 box, which is equivalent to eating salt together 
 
A CONTENTED MAN. 247 
 
 in the East ; from that time our acquaintance was 
 established. 
 
 I now became his frequent companion in his 
 morning promenades, and derived much amuse- 
 ment from his good-humored remarks on men and 
 manners. One morning, as we were strolling 
 through an alley of the Tuileries, with the au- 
 /umnal breeze whirling the yellow leaves about 
 our path, my companion fell into a peculiarly 
 communicative vein, and gave me several particu- 
 lars of his history. He had once been wealthy, 
 and possessed of a fine estate in the country and 
 a noble hotel in Paris ; but the revolution, which 
 effected so many disastrous changes, stripped him 
 of everything. He was secretly denounced by 
 his own steward during a sanguinary period of 
 the revolution, and a number of the bloodhounds 
 of the Convention were sent to arrest him. He 
 received private intelligence of their approach in 
 time to effect his escape. He landed in England 
 without money or friends, but considered himself 
 singularly fortunate in having his head upon his 
 shoulders, several of his neigjlibors havino[ been 
 guillotined as a punishment for being rich. 
 
 When he reached London he had but a louis 
 in his pocket, and no prospect of getting another. 
 He ate a solitary dinner on beefsteak, and was 
 almost poisoned by port wine, which from its 
 color he had mistaken for claret. The dingy 
 look of the chop-house, and of the little ma- 
 hogany-colored box in which he ate his dinner, 
 contrasted sadly with the gay saloons of Paris. 
 Everything looked gloomy and disheartening. 
 
248 A CONTENTED MAN. 
 
 Poverty stared him in the face ; he turned over 
 the few shillings he had of change ; did not know 
 what was to become of him ; and — went to the 
 theatre ! 
 
 He took his seat in the pit, listened attentively 
 to a tragedy of which he did not understand a 
 word, and which seemed made up of fighting, and 
 stabbing, and scene-shifting, and began to feel his 
 spirits sinking w^ithin him ; when, casting his eyes 
 into the orchestra, what was his surprise to recog- 
 nize an old friend and neighbor in the very act of 
 extorting music from a huge violoncello. 
 
 As soon as the evening's performance was over 
 he tapped his friend on the shoulder ; they kissed 
 each other on each cheek, and the musician took 
 him home, and shared his lodorinj^s with him. 
 He had learned music as an accomplishment ; by 
 his friend's advice he now turned to it as a means 
 of support. He procured a violin, offered him- 
 self for the orchestra, was received, and again 
 considered himself one of the most fortunate men 
 upon earth. 
 
 Here, therefore, he lived for many years during 
 the ascendency of the terrible Napoleon. He 
 found several emigrants living like himself, by 
 the exercise of their talents. They associated 
 together, talked of France and of old times, and 
 (endeavored to keep up a semblance of Parisian 
 life in the centre of London. 
 
 They dined at a miserable cheap French res- 
 taurateur in the neighborhood of Leicester Square, 
 where they were served with a caricature of 
 French cookery. They took their promenade in 
 
A CONTENTED MAN. 249 
 
 St. James's Park, and endeavored to fancy it the 
 Tnileries ; in short, they made shift to accommo- 
 date themselves to everything but an Engh'sh 
 Sunday. Indeed, the old gentleman seemed to 
 have nothing to say against the English, whom 
 he affirmed to be braves gens ; and he mingled 
 so much among them, that at the end of twenty 
 years he could speak their language almost well 
 enough to be understood. 
 
 The downfall of Napoleon was another epoch 
 in his life. He had considered himself a fortu- 
 nate man to make his escape penniless out of 
 France, and he considered himself fortunate to 
 be able to return penniless into it. It is true 
 that he found his Parisian hotel had passed 
 through several hands during the vicissitudes of 
 the times, so as to be beyond the reach of re- 
 covery ; but then he had been noticed benignantly 
 by government, and had a pension of several hun- 
 dred francs, upon which, with careful manage- 
 ment, he lived independently, and, as far as I 
 could judge, happily. 
 
 As his once splendid hotel was now occupied 
 as a hotel garni., he hired a small chamber in the 
 attic ; it was but, as he said, changhig his bed- 
 room up two pair of stairs, — he was still in his 
 own house. His room was decorated with pic- 
 tures of several beauties of former times, with 
 whom he professed to have been on favorable 
 terms ; among them was a favorite opera-dancer, 
 who had been the admiration of Paris at the 
 breaking out of the revolution. She had been a 
 protegee of my friend, and one of the few of his 
 
250 A CONTENTED MAN. . 
 
 youthful favorites who had survived the lapse of 
 time and its various vicissitudes. They had re- 
 newed their acquaintance, and she now and then 
 visited him ; but the beautiful Psyche, once the 
 fashion of the day and the idol of the parterre, 
 was now a shrivelled, little old woman, warped 
 in the back, and with a hooked nose. 
 
 The old gentleman was a devout attendant 
 upon levees ; he was most zealous in his loyalty, 
 and could not speak of the royal family without 
 a burst of enthusiasm, for he still felt towards 
 them as his companions in exile. As to his 
 poverty he made light of it, and indeed had a 
 good-humored way of consoling himself for every 
 cross and privation. If he had lost his chateau 
 in the country, he had half a dozen royal palaces, 
 as it were, at his command. He had Versailles 
 and St. Cloud for his country resorts, and the 
 shady alleys of the Tuileries and the Luxem- 
 bourg for his town recreation. Thus all his 
 promenades and relaxations were magnificent, yet 
 cost nothing. When I walk through these fine 
 gardens, said he, I have only to fancy myself the 
 owner of them, and they are mine. All these 
 gay crowds are my visitors, and I defy the grand 
 seignior himself to display a greater variety of 
 beauty. Nay, what is better, I have not the 
 trouble of entertaining them. My estate is a 
 perfect Sans Souci, where every one does as he 
 pleases, and no one troubles the owner. All 
 Paris is my theatre, and presents me with a con- 
 tinual spectacle. I have a table spread for me in 
 iBvery street, and thousands of waiters ready to 
 
A CONTENTED MAN. 251 
 
 fly iit my bidding. When my servants have 
 waited upon me I pay them, discharge them, and 
 there 's an end ; I have no fears of their wrong- 
 ing or pilfering me when my back is turned. 
 Upon tlie whole, said the old gentleman, with a 
 smile of infinite good-humor, when I think upon 
 tlie various risks I have run, and the manner in 
 which I have escaped them, when I recollect all 
 that I have suffered, and consider all that I at 
 present enjoy, I cannot but look upon myself as a 
 man of singular good fortune. 
 
 Such was the brief history of this practical 
 philosopher, and it is a picture of many a French 
 man ruined by the revolution. The French ap 
 pear to have a greater facility than most men in 
 accommodating themselves to the reverses of life, 
 and of extracting honey out of the bitter things 
 of this world. The first shock of calamity is apt 
 to overwhelm them ; but when it is once past, 
 their natural buoyancy of feeling soon brings 
 them to the surface. This may be called the 
 result of levity of character, but it answers the 
 end of reconciling us to misfortune, and if it be 
 not true philosophy, it is something almost as 
 efficacious. Ever since I have heard the story 
 of my little Frenchman, I have treasured it up 
 in my heart ; and I thank my stars I have at 
 length found, what I had long considered as not 
 to be found on earth ; — a contented man. 
 
 P. S. — There is no calculating on human hap- 
 piness. Since writing the foregoing, the law of 
 indemnity has been passed, and my friend restored 
 
252 A CONTENTED MAN. 
 
 to a great part of his fortune. I was absent 
 from Paris at the time, but on my return hast- 
 ened to congratulate him. I found him magnifi 
 centlj lodged on the first floor of his hotel. 1 
 was ushered, by a servant in livery, through 
 splendid saloons, to a cabinet richly furnished, 
 where I found my little Frenchman reclining on 
 a couch. He received me with his usual cor- 
 diality ; but I saw the gayety and benevolence 
 of his countenance had fled ; he had an eye full 
 of care and anxiety. 
 
 I congratulated him on his good fortune. 
 " Good fortune ? " echoed he ; " bah ! I have 
 been plundered of a princely fortune, and they 
 give me a pittance as an indemnity." 
 
 Alas ! I found my late poor and contented 
 friend one of the richest and most miserable men 
 in Paris. Instead of rejoicing in the ample com- 
 petency restored to him, he is daily repining at 
 the superfluity withheld. He no longer wanders 
 in happy idleness about Paris, but is a repining 
 attendant in the antechambers of ministers. His 
 loyalty has evaporated with his gayety ; he screws 
 his mouth when the Bourbons are mentioned, and 
 even shrugs his shoulders when he hears the 
 praises of the king. In a word, he is one of the 
 many philosophers undone by the law of in- 
 demnity ; and his case is desperate, for I doubt 
 whether even another reverse of fortune, which 
 should restore him to poverty, could make him 
 again a happy man. 
 
BROEK 
 
 THE DUTCH PARADISE. 
 
 T has long been a matter of discussion 
 and controversy among the pious and 
 the learned, as to the situation of the 
 terrestrial paradise whence our first parents were 
 exiled. This question has been put to rest by 
 certain of the faithful in Holland, who have de- 
 cided in favor of the village of Broek, about 
 six miles from Amsterdam. It may not, they 
 observe, correspond in all respects to the descrip- 
 tion of the garden of Eden, handed down from 
 days of yore, but it comes nearer to their ideas 
 of a perfect paradise than any other place on 
 earth. 
 
 This eulogium induced me to make some in- 
 quiries as to this favored spot, in the course of a 
 sojourn at the city of Amsterdam ; and the in- 
 formation I procured fully justified the enthu- 
 siastic praises I had heard. The village of 
 Broek is situated in Waterland, in the midst 
 of the greenest and richest pastures of Holland, 
 I may say, of Europe. These pastures are the 
 source of its wealth ; for it is famous for its dai- 
 ries, and for those oval cheeses which regale and 
 perfume the whole civilized world. The popula- 
 
254 BROEK' OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 
 
 don coDvSists of about six hundred persons, com- 
 prising several families v.diieh have inhabited the 
 place since time immemorial, and have waxed 
 rich on the products of their meadows. They 
 keep all their wealth among themselves, inter- 
 marrying, and keeping all strangers at a wary 
 distance. They are a " hard money " people, 
 and remarkable for turning the penny the right 
 way. It is said to have been an old rule, estab- 
 lished by one of the primitive financiers and 
 legislators of Broek, that no one should leave 
 the village with more than six guilders in his 
 pocket, or return with less than ten ; a shrewd 
 regulation, well worthy the attention of modern 
 political economists, w^ho are so anxious to fix the 
 balance of trade. 
 
 What, however, renders Broek so perfect an 
 elysium in the eyes of all true Hollanders is the 
 matchless height to which the spirit of cleanliness 
 is carried there. It amounts almost to a religion 
 among the inhabitants, who pass the greater part 
 of their time rubbing and scrubbing, and paint- 
 ing and varnishing ; each housewife vies with her 
 neighbor in her devotion to the scrubbing-brush, 
 as zealous Catholics do in their devotion to the 
 cross ; and it is said, a notable housewife of the 
 place in days of yore is held in pious remembrance, 
 and almost canonized as a saint, for having died 
 of pure exhaustion and chagrin, in an ineffectual 
 attempt to scour a black man white. 
 
 These particulars awakened my ardent curiosity 
 to see a place which I pictured to myself the very 
 fountain - head of certain hereditary habits and 
 
BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 255 
 
 customs prevalent among the descendants of the 
 original Dutch settlers of my native State. I 
 accordingly lost no time in performing a pilgrim- 
 age to Broek. 
 
 Before I reached the place, I beheld symptoms 
 of the tranquil character of its inhabitants. A 
 little clump-built boat was in full sail along the 
 lazy bosom of a canal, but its sail consisted of the 
 blades of two paddles stood on end, while the 
 navigator sat steering with a third paddle in the 
 stern, crouched down like a toad, with a slonched 
 hat drawn over his eyes. I presumed him to be 
 some nautical lover, on the way to his mistress. 
 After proceeding a little farther, I came in sight 
 of the harbor or port of destination of this drowsy 
 navigator. This was the Broeken-Meer, an arti- 
 ficial basin, or sheet of olive-green water, tranquil 
 as a mill-pond. On this the village of Broek is 
 situated, and the borders are laboriously decorated 
 with flower-beds, box-trees clipped into all kinds 
 of ingenious shapes and fancies, and little " lust " 
 houses or pavilions. 
 
 I alighted outside of the village, for no horse 
 nor vehicle is permitted to enter its precincts, lest 
 it should cause defilement of the well-scoured 
 pavements. Shaking the dust off my feet, there- 
 fore, I prepared to enter, with due reverence and 
 circumspection, this sanctum sanctorum of Dutch 
 cleanliness. I entered by a narrow street, paved 
 with yellow bricks, laid edgewise, and so clean 
 that one might eat from them. Indeed, they 
 were actually worn deep, not by the tread of feet, 
 but by the friction of the scrubbing-brush. 
 
256 BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADIisE. 
 
 The houses were built of wood, and all ap> 
 peared to have been freshly painted, of green, 
 yellow, and other bright colors. They were sep* 
 arated from each other by gardens and orchards, 
 and stood at some little distance from the street, 
 with wide areas or court-yards, paved in mosaic, 
 with variegated stones, polished by frequent rub- 
 bino-. The areas were divided from the street by 
 curiously wrought railings, or balustrades, of iron, 
 surmounted with brass and copper balls, scoured 
 into dazzling effulgence. The very trunks of the 
 trees in front of the houses were by the same 
 process made to look as if they had been var- 
 nished. The porches, doors, and window-frames 
 of the houses were of exotic woods, curiously 
 carved, and polished like costly furniture. The 
 front-doors are never opened, excepting on chris- 
 tenings, marriages, or funerals ; on all ordinary 
 occasions, visitors enter by the back-door. In 
 former times, persons when admitted had to put 
 on slippers, but this oriental ceremony is no longer 
 insisted upon. 
 
 A poor-devil Frenchman, who attended upon 
 me as cicerone, boasted with some degree of 
 exultation of a triumph of his countrymen over 
 the stern regulations of the place. During the 
 time that Holland was overrun by the armies 
 of the French republic, a French general, sur- 
 rounded by his whole etat major, who had come 
 from Amsterdam to view the wonders of Broek, 
 applied for admission at one of these tabooed 
 portals. 1'he reply was, that the owner never 
 received any one who did not come introduced by 
 
BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 257 
 
 some friend. " Very well," said the general, " lake 
 my compliments to your master, and tell him I 
 will return here to-morrow with a company of 
 soldiers, pour parler raison avec mon ami Hol- 
 landaisr Terrified at the idea of having a com- 
 pany of soldiers billeted upon him, the owner 
 threw open his house, entertained the general and 
 his retinue with unwonted hospitality, though it 
 is said it cost the family a month's scrubbing and 
 scouring to restore all things to exact order after 
 this military invasion. My vagabond informant 
 seemed to consider this one of the greatest victo- 
 ries of the republic. 
 
 I walked about the place in mute wonder and 
 admiration. A dead stillness prevailed around, 
 like that in the deserted streets of Pompeii. No 
 sign of life was to be seen, excepting now and 
 then a hand, and a long pipe, and an occasional 
 puff of smoke, out of the window of some " lust- 
 haus " overhanging a miniature canal ; and on 
 approaching a little nearer, the periphery in pro- 
 file of some robustious burgher. 
 
 Among the grand houses pointed out to me 
 were those of Claes Bakker and Cornelius Bak- 
 ker, richly carved and gilded, with ilower-gardens 
 and clipped shrubberies ; and that of the Great 
 Ditmus, who, my poor-devil cicerone informed 
 me in a whisper, was worth two millions; all 
 these were mansions shut up from the world, and 
 only kept to be cleaned. After having been con- 
 ducted from one wonder to another of the village, 
 I was ushered by my guide into the grounds and 
 gardens of Mynheer Broekker, another mighty 
 17 
 
)ibS BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 
 
 ';lieese-manufacturer, worth eighty thousand guild- 
 ers a year. I had repeatedly been struck with 
 the similarity of all that I had seen in this am- 
 phibious little village to the buildings and land- 
 scapes on Chinese platters and teapots ; but here 
 I found the similarity complete, for I was told 
 that these gardens were modelled upon Van 
 Bramm's description of those of Yuen min Yuen, 
 in China. Here were serpentine walks, with trel- 
 lised borders; winding canals, with fanciful Chinese 
 bridges ; flower - beds resembling huge baskets, 
 with the flower of " love lies bleedino; " fallinsf 
 over to the ground. But mostly had the fancy 
 of Mynheer Broekker been displayed about a 
 stagnant little lake, on which a corpulent-like 
 pinnace lay at anchor. On the border was a 
 cottage, within which were a wooden man and 
 woman seated at table, and a wooden dog beneath, 
 all the size of life ; on pressing a spring, the 
 woman commenced spinning and the dog barked 
 furiously. On the lake w^ere wooden swans, 
 painted to the life ; some floating, others on the 
 nest among the rushes ; while a wooden sportsman, 
 crouched among the bushes, was preparing his 
 gun to take deadly aim. In another part of the 
 garden was a dominie in his clerical robes, with 
 wig, pipe, and cocked hat ; and mandarins with 
 nodding heads, amid red lions, green tigers, and 
 blue hares. Last of all, the heathen deities, in 
 wood and plaster, male and female, naked and 
 barefaced as usual, and seeming to stare with 
 wonder at finding themselves in such strange 
 company. 
 
BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 259 
 
 My shabby French guide, while he pointed out 
 all these mechanical marvels of the garden, was 
 anxious to let me see that he had too polite a 
 taste to be pleased by them. At every new nick- 
 nack he would screw down his mouth, shrug up 
 his shoulders, take a pinch of snufF, and exclaim : 
 '''Ma foi, Monsieur^ ces Hollandais sont forts pour 
 ces hetises-la ! " 
 
 To attempt to gain admission to any of these 
 stately abodes was out of the question, having no 
 company of soldiers to enforce a solicitation. I 
 was fortunate enough, however, through the aid 
 of my guide, to make my way into the kitchen of 
 the illustrious Ditmus, and I question whether the 
 parlor would have proved more worthy of obser- 
 vation. The cook, a little wiry, hook - nosed 
 woman, worn thin by incessant action and fric- 
 tion, was bustling about among her kettles and 
 saucepans, with the scullion at her heels, both 
 clattering in wooden shoes, which were as clean 
 and white as the milk-pails ; rows of vessels, of 
 brass and copper, regiments of pewter dishes and 
 portly porringers, gave resplendent evidence of the 
 intensity of their cleanliness ; the very trammels 
 and hangers in the fireplace were highly scoured, 
 and the burnished face of the good Saint Nicholas 
 shone forth from the iron plate of the chimney- 
 back. 
 
 Among the decorations of the kitchen was a 
 printed sheet of wood-cuts, representing the vari- 
 ous holiday customs of Holland, with explanatory 
 rhymes. Here I was delighted to recognize the 
 jollities of New- Year's day, the festivities of 
 
260 BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 
 
 Paas and Pinkster, and all the other merrymak- 
 ings handed down in my native place from the 
 earliest times of New Amsterdam, and which had 
 been such bright spots in the year in my child- 
 hood. I eagerly made myself master of this 
 precious document for a trifling consideration, and 
 bore it off as a memento of the place ; though I 
 question if, in so doing, I did not carry off with 
 me the whole current literature of Broek. 
 
 I must not omit to mention that this villao;e is 
 the paradise of cows as well as men ; indeed, you 
 would almost suppose the cow to be as much an 
 object of worship here, as the bull was among the 
 ancient Egyptians ; and well does she merit it. for 
 she is in fact the patroness of the place. The same 
 scrupulous cleanliness, however, which pervades 
 everything else, is manifested in the treatment of 
 this venerated animal. She is not permitted to 
 perambulate the place ; but in winter, when she 
 forsakes the rich pasture, a well-built house is 
 provided for her, well painted, and maintained in 
 the most perfect order. Her stall is of ample di- 
 mensions ; the floor is scrubbed and polished ; her 
 hide is daily curried and brushed and sponged to 
 her heart's content, and her tail is daintily tucked 
 up to the ceiling, and decorated with a ribbon ! 
 
 On my way back through the village, I passed 
 the house of the prediger, or preacher ; a very com- 
 fortable mansion, which led me to augur well of 
 the state of religion in the village. On inquiry, I 
 was told that for a long time the inhabitants lived 
 in a great state of indifference as to religious mat- 
 ters ; it was in vain that their preachers en- 
 
BROEK: OR, THE DUTCH PARADISE. 261 
 
 deavored to arouse their thoughts as to a future 
 Btate ; the joys of heaven, as commonly depicted, 
 were but little to their taste. At length a dom- 
 inie appeared among them who struck out in a 
 different vein. He depicted the New Jerusalem 
 as a place all smooth and level, with beautiful 
 dykes and ditches and canals, and houses all shin- 
 ing with paint and varnish and glazed tiles, and 
 where there should never come horse, nor ass, nor 
 cat, nor dog, nor anything that could make noise 
 or dirt ; but there should be nothing but rubbinof 
 and scrubbing, and washing and painting, and 
 gilding and varnishing, for ever and ever, amen ! 
 Since that time the good housewives of Broek 
 have all turned their faces Zionward. 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 A LEGEND OF COMMUNIPAW. 
 
 FOUND AMONG THE KNICKERBOCKER PAPERS AT WOLFERT'S 
 ROOST. 
 
 Whoever has visited the ancient and 
 renowned village of Communipaw may 
 have noticed an old stone building, of 
 most ruinous and sinister appearance. The doors 
 and window-shutters are ready to drop from their 
 hinges ; old clothes are stuffed in the broken panes 
 of glass, while legions of half-starved dogs prowl 
 about the premises, and rush out and bark at every 
 passer-by, for your beggarly house in a village is 
 most apt to swarm with profligate and ill-condi- 
 tioned dogs. What adds to the sinister appearance 
 of this mansion is a tall frame in front, not a little 
 resembling a gallows, and which looks as if waiting 
 to accommodate some of the inhabitants with a 
 well-merited airing. It is not a gallows, however, 
 but an ancient sign-post ; for this dwelling in the 
 golden days of Communipaw was one of the most 
 orderly and peaceful of village taverns, where pub- 
 lic affairs were talked and smoked over. In fact, 
 it was in this very building that Oloffe the Dreamer 
 and his companions concerted that great voyage 
 of discovery and colonization in which they ex- 
 
GrJSSTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 203 
 
 plored Buttermilk Channel, were nearly sliip 
 wrecked in the strait of Hell Gate, and finally 
 landed on the island of Manhattan, and founded 
 the great city of New Am»!terdam. 
 
 Even after the province had been cruelly 
 wrested from the sway of their High Mightinesses 
 by the combined forces of the British and the 
 Yankees, this tavern continued its ancient loyalty. 
 It is true, the head of the Prince of Orange disap- 
 peared from the sign, a strange bird being painted 
 over it, with the explanatory legend of " Die 
 Wilde Gans," or. The Wild Goose ; but this all 
 the world knew to be a sly riddle of the landlord, 
 the worthy Teunis Van Gieson, a knowing man, in 
 a small way, who laid his finger beside his nose and 
 winked, when any one studied the signification of 
 his sign, and observed that his goose was hatch- 
 ing, but would join the flock whenever they flew 
 over the water ; an enigma which was the per- 
 petual recreation and delight of the loyal but fat- 
 headed burghers of Communipaw. 
 
 Under the sway of this patriotic, though dis- 
 creet and quiet publican, the tavern continued to 
 flourish in primeval tranquillity, and was the resort 
 of true-hearted Nederlanders, from all parts of 
 Pavonia ; who met here quietly and seci-etly, to 
 smoke and drink the downfall of Briton and Yan- 
 kee, and success to Admiral Van Ti-omp. 
 
 The only drawback on the comfort of the es- 
 tablishment was a nephew of mine host, a sister's 
 son, Yan Yost Vanderscamp by name, and a real 
 scamp by nature. This unlucky whipster showed 
 in early propensity to mischief, which he gratified 
 
264 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 ill a small way by playing tricks upon the fre- 
 quenters of the Wild Goose, — putting gunpowder 
 in their pipes, or squibs in then* pockets, and as- 
 tonishing them with an explosion, while they sat 
 nodding around the fireplace in the bar-room ; and 
 if perchance a worthy burgher from some distant 
 part of Pavonia lingered until dark over his pota- 
 tion, it was odds but young Yanderscamp would 
 slip a brier under his horse's tail, as he mounted, 
 and send him clatterino; alons: the road, in neck- 
 or-nothing style, to the infinite astonishment and 
 discomfiture of the rider. 
 
 It may be wondered at, that mine host of the 
 Wild Goose did not turn such a graceless varlet 
 out of doors ; but Teunis Van Gieson was an 
 easy-tempered man, and, having no child of his 
 own, looked upon his nephew with almost pa- 
 rental indulgence. His patience and good- nature 
 were doomed to be tried by another inmate of his 
 mansion. This was a cross-grained curmudgeon 
 of a negro, named Pluto, who was a kind of enig- 
 ma in Communipaw. Where he came from, no- 
 body knew. He was found one morning, after 
 a storm, cast like a sea-monster on the strand, in 
 front of the Wild Goose, and lay there, more dead 
 than alive. The neighbors gathered round, and 
 speculated on this production of the deep ; whether 
 it were fish or flesh, or a compound of both, com- 
 monly yclept a merman. The kind-hearted Teu- 
 nis Van Gieson, seeing that he wore the human 
 form, took him into his house, and warmed him 
 into life. By degrees, he showed signs of intelli- 
 gence, and even uttered sounds very much like Ian- 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 205 
 
 guage, but which no one in Communipaw could 
 understand. Some thought him a negro just from 
 Guinea, who had either fallen overboard, or es 
 caped from a slave-ship. Nothing, however, could 
 ever draw from him any account of his origin. 
 When questioned on the subject, he merely pointed 
 to Gibbet Island, a small rocky islet which lies 
 in the open bay, just opposite Communipaw, as 
 if that were his native place, though everybody 
 knew it had never been inhabited. 
 
 In the process of time, he acquired something 
 of the Dutch language ; that is to say, he learnt 
 all its vocabulary of oaths and maledictions, with 
 just^ words sufficient to string them together. 
 " Donder en hlicksem. ! " (thunder and lightning) 
 was the gentlest of his ejaculations. For years 
 he kept about the Wild Goose, more like one of 
 those familiar spirits, or household goblins, we read 
 of, than like a human being. He acknowledged 
 allegiance to no one, but performed various domes- 
 tic offices, when it suited his humor ; waiting oc- 
 casionally on the guests, grooming the horses, cut- 
 ting wood, drawing water ; and all this without 
 being ordered. Lay any command on him, and 
 the stubborn sea-urchin was sure to rebel. He 
 was never so much at home, however, as when on 
 the w^ater, plying about in skiff or canoe, entirely 
 alone, fishing, crabbing, or grabbing for oysters, 
 and would bring home quantities for the larder of 
 the Wild Goose, which he would throw down at 
 the kitchen - door, with a growl. No wind nor 
 weather deterred him from launching forth on his 
 fp.vorite element : indeed, the wilder the weather, 
 
266 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 the more he seemed to enjoy it. If a storm was 
 brewing, he was sure to put off from shore ; and 
 would be seen far out in the bay, his light skiff 
 dancing like a feather on the waves, when sea and 
 eky were in a turmoil, and the stoutest ships were 
 fain to lower their sails. Sometimes on such oc- 
 casions he would be absent for days together. 
 How he weathered the tempest, and how and 
 where he subsisted, no one could divine, nor did 
 any one venture to ask, for all had an almost su- 
 perstitious awe of him. Some of the Communi- 
 paw oystermen declared they had more than once 
 seen him suddenly disappear, canoe and all, as if 
 plunged beneath the waves, and after a while come 
 up again, in quite a different part of the bay ; 
 whence they concluded that he could live under 
 water like that notable species of wild duck com- 
 monly called the hell-diver. All began to con- 
 sider him in the light of a foul-weather bird, like 
 the Mother Carey's chicken, or stormy petrel ; and 
 whenever they saw him putting far out in his skiff, 
 in cloudy weather, made up their minds for a storm. 
 The only being for whom he seemed to have 
 any liking was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and him 
 he liked for his very wickedness. He in a man- 
 ner took the boy under his tutelage, prompted him 
 to all kinds of mischief, aided him in every wild 
 harum-scarum freak, until the lad became the com- 
 plete scapegrace of the village, a pest to his uncle 
 and to every one else. Nor were his pranks con- 
 fined to the land ; he soon learned to accompany 
 old Pluto on the water. Together these worthies 
 would cruise about the broad bay, and all the 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 207 
 
 neighboring straits and rivers ; poking around in 
 skiffs and canoes ; robbing the set nets of the fish- 
 ermen ; landing on remote coasts, and laying waste 
 orchards and water-melon patches ; in short, car- 
 rying on a complete system of piracy, on a small 
 scale. Piloted by Pluto, the youthful Vander- 
 scamp soon became acquainted with all the bays, 
 rivers, creeks, and inlets of the watery world around 
 him ; could navigate from the Hook to Spiting 
 Devil on the darkest night, and learned to set even 
 the terrors of Hell Gate at defiance. 
 
 At length negro and boy suddenly disappeared, 
 and days and weeks elapsed, but without tidings 
 of them. Some said they must have run away 
 and gone to sea ; others jocosely hinted that old 
 Pluto, being no other than his namesake in dis- 
 guise, had spirited away the boy to the nether re- 
 gions. All, however, agreed in one thing, that the 
 village was well rid of them. 
 
 In the process of time, the good Tennis Van 
 Gieson slept with his fathers, and the tavern 
 remained shut up, waiting for a claimant, for the 
 next heir was Yan Yost Vanderscamp, and he 
 had not been heard of for years. At length, one 
 day, a boat was seen pulling for shore, from a 
 long, black, rakish-looking schooner, that lay at 
 anchor in the bay. The boat's crew seemed wor- 
 thy of the craft from which they debarked. Never 
 had such a set of noisy, roistering, swaggering 
 varlets landed in peaceful Commnnipaw. They 
 were outlandish in garb and demeanor, and were 
 headed by a rough, burly, bully ruffian, with fiery 
 whiskers, a copper nose, a scar across his face, 
 
268 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 and a o-reat Flaunderish beaver slouched on one 
 side of his head, in whom, to their, dismay, the 
 quiet inhabitants were made to recognize theii 
 early pest, Yan Yost Vanderscamp. The rear 
 of this hopeful gang was brought np by old Pluto, 
 who had lost an eye, grown grizzly-headed, and 
 looked more like a devil than ever. Vander- 
 scamp renewed his acquaintance with the old 
 burghers, much against their will, and in a man- 
 ner not at all to their taste. He slapped them 
 familiarly on the back, gave them an iron grip of 
 the hand, and was hail-fellow-well-met. Ac- 
 cording to his own account, he had been all the 
 world over, had made money by bags full, had 
 ships in every sea, and now meant to turn the 
 Wild Goose into a country-seat, where he and 
 his comrades, all rich merchants from foreign 
 parts, might enjoy themselves in the interval of 
 their voyages. 
 
 Sure enough, in a little while there was a com- 
 plete metamorphose of the Wild Goose. From 
 being a quiet, peaceful Dutch public house, it be- 
 came a most riotous, uproarious private dwelling ; 
 a complete rendezvous for boisterous men of the 
 seas, who came here to have what they called a 
 " blow-out " on dry land, and might be seen at 
 all hours, lounging about the door, or lolling out 
 of the windows, swearing among themselves, and 
 cracking rough jokes on every passer-by. The 
 house was fitted up, too, in so strange a manner : 
 hammocks slung to the walls, instead of bedsteads; 
 odd kinds of furniture, of foreign fashion ; bam- 
 boo couches, Spanish chairs ; pistols, cutlasses, 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 2G0 
 
 and blunderbusses, suspended on every peg ; sil 
 ver crucifixes on the mantel-pieces, silver candle- 
 sticks and porringers on the tables, contrasting 
 oddly' with the pewter and Delf ware of the 
 original establishment. And then the strange 
 amusements of these sea-monsters ! Pitching^ 
 Spanish dollars, instead of quoits ; firing blunder- 
 busses out of the window ; shooting at a mark, or 
 at any unhappy dog, or cat, or pig, or barn-door 
 fowl, that might happen to come within reach. 
 
 The only being who seemed to relish their 
 rough waggery was old Pluto ; and yet he led 
 but a dog's life of it, for they practised all kinds 
 of manual jokes upon him, kicked him about like 
 a foot-ball, shook him by his grizzly mop of wool, 
 and never spoke to him without coupling a curse, 
 by way of adjective, to his name, and consigning 
 him to the infernal regions. The old fellow, 
 however, seemed to like them the better the more 
 they cursed him, though his utmost expression of 
 pleasure never amounted to more than the growl 
 of a petted bear, when his ears are rubbed. 
 
 Old Pluto was the ministering spirit at the 
 orgies of the Wild Goose ; and such orgies as 
 took place there ! Such drinking, singing, whoop- 
 ing, swearing ; with an occasional interlude of 
 quarrelling and fighting. The noisier grew the 
 revel, the more old Pluto plied the potations, 
 until the guests would become frantic in their 
 merriment, smashing everything to pieces, and 
 throwing the house out of the windows. Some- 
 times, after a drinking bout, they sallied forth and 
 scoured the village, to the dismay of the worthy 
 
270 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 burghers, who gathered their women within doors 
 and would have shut up the house. Vanderscarapi, 
 however, was not to be rebuffed. He insisted on 
 renewing acquaintance with his old neighbors, and 
 on introducing his friends, the merchants, to their 
 families ; swore he v^^as on the lookout for a wife, 
 and meant, before he stopped, to find husbands 
 for all their daughters. So, will-ye, nill-ye, socia- 
 ble he was ; swaggered about their best parlors, 
 with his hat on one side of his head ; sat on the 
 good-wife's nicely waxed mahogany table, kicking 
 his heels against the carved and polished legs ; 
 kissed and tousled the young vrows ; and, if 
 they frowned and ^ pouted, gave them a gold 
 rosary, or a sparkling cross, to put them in good- 
 humor again. 
 
 Sometimes nothing would satisfy him, but he 
 must have some of his old neighbors to dinner at 
 the Wild Goose. There was no refusing him, 
 for he had the complete upper hand of the com- 
 munity, and the peaceful burghers all stood in 
 awe of him. But what a time would the quiet, 
 worthy men have, among these rake-hells, who 
 would delight to astound them with the most ex- 
 travagant gunpowder tales, embroidered with all 
 kinds of foreign oaths, clink the can with them, 
 pledge them in deep potations, bawl drinking- 
 songs in their ears, and occasionally fire pistols 
 over their heads, or under the table, and then 
 laugh in their faces, and ask them how they liked 
 the smell of gunpowder. 
 
 Thus was the little village of Communipaw 
 for a time like the unfortunate wight possessed 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 271 
 
 with " devils ; iinlil V«anflerscamp and his brother- 
 merchants would sail on another trading voyage, 
 when the Wild Goose would be shut up, and 
 everything relapse into quiet, only to be disturbed 
 by his next visitation. 
 
 The mystery of all these proceedings gradually 
 dawned upon the tardy intellects of Communipaw. 
 These were the times of the notorious Captain 
 Kidd, when the American harbors were the resorts 
 of piratical adventurers of all kinds, who, under 
 pretext of mercantile voyages, scoured the West 
 Indies, made plundering descents upon the Span- 
 ish Main, visited even the remote Indian Seas, 
 and then came to dispose of their booty, have 
 their revels, and fit out new expeditions in the 
 English colonies. 
 
 Vanderscamp had served in this hopeful school, 
 and, having risen to importance among the buc- 
 caneers, had pitched upon his native village and 
 early home, as a quiet, out-of-the-way, unsuspected 
 place, where he and his comrades, while anchored 
 at New York, might have their feasts, and concert 
 their plans, without molestation. 
 
 At length the attention of the British govern- 
 ment was called to these piratical enterprises, that 
 were becoming so frequent and outrageous. Vig- 
 orous measures were taken to check and punish 
 them. Several of the most noted freebooters 
 were caught and executed, and three of Vander- 
 scamp's chosen comrades, the most riotous swash- 
 bucklers of the Wild Goose, were hanged in 
 chains on Gibbet Island, in full sight of their 
 favorite resort. As to Vanderscamp himself, he 
 
272 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND, 
 
 and his man Pluto again disappeared, and it was 
 hoped by the people of Communipaw that he had 
 fallen in some foreign brawl, or been swung on 
 some foreij2;n gallows. 
 
 For a time, therefore, the tranquillity of the 
 village was restored ; the worthy Dutchmen onee 
 more smoked their pipes in peace, eyeing with 
 peculiar complacency their old pests and terrors, 
 the pirates, dangling and drying in the sun, on 
 Gibbet Island. 
 
 This perfect calm was doomed at length to be 
 ruffled. The fiery persecution of the pirates grad- 
 ually subsided. Justice was satisfied with the ex- 
 amples that had been made, and there was no 
 more talk of Kidd, and the other heroes of like 
 kidney. On a calm summer evening, a boat, 
 somewhat heavily laden, was seen pulling into 
 Communipaw. What was the surprise and dis- 
 quiet of the inhabitants to see Yan Yost Vander- 
 scamp seated at the helm, and his man Pluto 
 tugging at the oar ! Vanderscamp, however, was 
 apparently an altered man. He brought home 
 with him a wife, who seemed to be a shrew, and 
 to have the upper hand of him. He no longer 
 was the swaggering, bully ruffian, but affected the 
 regular merchant, and talked of retiring from 
 business, and settling down quietly, to pass the 
 rest of his days in his native place. 
 
 The Wild Goose mansion was again opened, 
 but with diminished splendor, and no riot. It is 
 true, Vanderscamp had frequent nautical visitors, 
 and the sound of revelry was occasionally over- 
 heard in his house ; but everything seemed to be 
 
GUESrS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 273 
 
 done under the rose, and old Pluto was the only 
 servant that officiated at these orgies. The visit- 
 ors, indeed, were by no means of the turbulent 
 stamp of their predecessors ; but quiet, mysterious 
 traders, full of nods, and winks, and hieroglyphic 
 sig-ns, with whom, to use their cant phrase, " every- 
 thing was smug." Their ships came to anchor at 
 night, in the lower bay ; and, on a private signal, 
 Vanderscamp would launch his boat, and accom- 
 panied solely by his man Pluto, would make them 
 mysterious visits. Sometimes boats pulled in at 
 night, in front of the Wild Goose, and various 
 articles of merchandise were landed in the dark, 
 and spirited away, nobody knew whither. One 
 of the more curious of the inhabitants kept watch, 
 and caught a glimpse of the features of some of 
 these night visitors, by the casual glance of a lan- 
 tern, and declared that he recognized more than 
 one of the freebooting frequenters of the Wild 
 Goose, in former times ; whence he concluded 
 that Vanderscamp was at his old game, and that 
 this mysterious merchandise was nothing more nor 
 less than piratical plunder. The more charitable 
 opinion, however, was, that Vanderscamp and 
 his comrades, having been driven from their old 
 line of business by the "oppressions of govern- 
 ment," had resorted to smuggling to make both 
 ends meet. 
 
 Be that as it may, I come now to the extraor- 
 dinary fact which is the butt-end of this story. It 
 happened, late one night, that Yan Yost Vander- 
 scamp was returning across the broad bay, in his 
 light skiff, rowed by his man Pluto. He had 
 18 
 
274 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 been curousing on board of a vessel, newly ar- 
 rived, and was somewhat obfuscated in intellect, 
 by the liquor he had imbibed. It was a still, 
 sultry night ; a heavy mass of lurid clouds was 
 rising in the west, with the low muttering of dis- 
 tant thunder. Vanderscamp called on Pluto to 
 pull lustily, that they might get home before the 
 gathering storm. The old negro made no reply, 
 but shaped his course so as to skirt the rocky 
 shores of Gibbet Island. A faint creaking over- 
 head caused Vanderscamp to cast up his eyes, 
 when, to his horror, he beheld the bodies of his 
 three pot companions and brothers in iniquity 
 dangling in the moonlight, their rags fluttering, 
 and their chains creaking, as they were slowly 
 swung backward and forward by the rising breeze, 
 
 " What do you mean, you blockhead ! " cried 
 Vanderscamp, " by pulling so close to the island ? " 
 
 " I thought you 'd be glad to see your old 
 friends once more," growled the negro ; " you 
 were never afraid of a living man, what do you 
 fear from the dead ? " 
 
 " Wiio 's afraid ? " hiccoughed Vanderscamp, 
 partly heated by liquor, partly nettled by the 
 jeer of the negro ; " who 's afraid ? Hang me, 
 but I would be glad to see them once more, alive 
 or dead, at the Wild Goose. Come, my lads in 
 the wind ! " continued he, taking a draught, and 
 flourishing the bottle above his head, " here 's 
 fair weather to you in the other world ; and if 
 you should be walking the rounds to-night, odds 
 fish ! but I '11 be happy if you will drop in to 
 supper." 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 275 
 
 A dismal creaking was the only reply. The 
 wind blew loud and shrill, and as it whistled 
 round the gallows, and among the bones, sounded 
 as if they were laughing and gibbering in the 
 air. Old Pluto chuckled to himself, and now 
 pulled for home. The storm burst over the voy- 
 agers, while they were yet far from shore. The 
 rain fell in torrents, the thunder crashed and 
 pealed, and the lightning kept up an incessant 
 blaze. It was stark midnight before they landed 
 at Gommunipaw. 
 
 Dripping and shivering, Vanderscamp crawled 
 homeward. He was completely sobered by the 
 storm, the water soaked from without having 
 diluted and cooled the liquor within. Arrived 
 at the Wild Goose, he knocked timidly and du- 
 biously at the door ; for he dreaded the reception 
 he was to experience from his wife. He had 
 reason to do so. She met him at the threshold, 
 in a precious ill-humor. 
 
 " Is this a time," said she, " to keep people out 
 of their beds, and to bring home company, to 
 turn the house upside down ? " 
 
 " Company ? " said Vanderscamp, meekly ; " I 
 have brought no company with me, wife." 
 
 "No, indeed! they have got here before you, 
 but by your invitation ; and blessed-looking com- 
 pany they are, truly ! " 
 
 Vanderscamp's knees smote together. " For 
 the love of heaven, where are they, wife ? " 
 
 " Where ? — why in the blue room, up-stairs, 
 making themselves as much at home as if the 
 House were their own." 
 
276 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 Vuiiderscamp made a desperate effort, scram 
 bled up to the room, and threw open the door 
 Sure enough, tliere at a table, on which burned a 
 light as blue as brimstone, sat the three guests 
 from Gibbet Island, with halters round their necks, 
 and bobbing their cups together, as if they were 
 hob-or-nobbing, and trolling the old Dutch free- 
 booter's glee, since translated into English : — 
 
 " For three merry lads be we, 
 And three merry lads be we; 
 I on the land, and thou on the sand, 
 And Jack on the gallows-tree." 
 
 Vanderscamp saw and heard no more. Start- 
 ing back with horror, he missed his footing on the 
 landing-place, and fell from the top of the stairs 
 to the bottom. He was taken up speechless, and, 
 either from the fall or the fright, was buried in 
 the yard of the little Dutch church at Bergen, on 
 the following Sunday. 
 
 From that day forward the fate of the Wild 
 Goose was sealed. It was pronounced a haunted 
 house, and avoided accordingly. No one inhab- 
 ited it but Yanderscamp's shrew of a widow and 
 old Pluto, and they were considered but little 
 better than its hobgoblin visitors. Pluto grew 
 more and more haggard and morose, and looked 
 more like an imp of darkness than a human 
 being. He spoke to no one, but went about mut- 
 tering to himself; or, as some hinted, talking with 
 the devil, who, though unseen, was ever at his 
 elbow. Now and then he was seen pulling about 
 the bay alone in his skiff, in dark weather, or at 
 the approach of nightfall ; nobody could tell why, 
 
GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 277 
 
 unless on an errand to invite more guests from 
 the gallows. Indeed, it was affirmed that the 
 Wild Goose still continued to be a house of enter- 
 tainment for such guests, and that on stormy 
 nights the blue chamber was occasionally illumi- 
 nated, and sounds of diabolical merriment wer« 
 overheard, minoiino- with the howlins: of the tem- 
 pest. Some treated these as idle stories, until on 
 one sucli night, it was about the time of the 
 equinox, there was a horrible uproar in the Wild 
 Goose, that could not be mistaken. It was not 
 so much the sound of revelry, however, as strife, 
 with two or three piercing shrieks, that pervaded 
 every part of the village. Nevertheless, no one 
 thought of hastening to the spot. On the con- 
 trary, the honest burghers of Communipaw drew 
 their nightcaps over their ears, and buried their 
 heads under the bedclothes, at the thoughts of 
 Vanderscamp and his gallows companions. 
 
 The next morning, some of the bolder and 
 more curious undertook to reconnoitre. All was 
 quiet and lifeless at the Wild Goose. The door 
 yawned wide open, and had evidently been open 
 all night, for the storm had beaten into the house. 
 Gathering more courage from the silence and ap- 
 parent desertion, they gradually ventured over 
 the threshold. The house had indeed the air of 
 having been possessed by devils. Everything 
 was topsy-turvy ; trunks had been broken open, 
 and chests of drawers and corner cupboards 
 turned inside out, as in a time of general sack 
 and pillage ; but the most woful sight was the 
 widow of Yan Yost Vanderscamp, extended a 
 
278 GUESTS FROM GIBBET ISLAND. 
 
 corpse on the floor of the blue chamber, with the 
 marks of a deadly gripe on the windpipe. 
 
 All now was conjecture and dismay at Com- 
 munipaw ; and the disappearance of old Pluto, 
 who was nowhere to be found, gave rise to all 
 kinds of wild surmises. Some suggested that 
 the negro had betrayed the house to some of 
 Vanderscamp's buccaneering associates, and that 
 they had decamped together with the booty ; 
 others surmised that the negro was nothing more 
 nor less than a devil incarnate, who had now ac- 
 complished his ends, and made off with his dues. 
 
 Events, however, vindicated the negro from 
 this last imputation. His skiff was picked up, 
 drifting about the bay, bottom upward, as if 
 wrecked in a tempest ; and his body was found, 
 shortly afterward, by some Communipaw fisher- 
 men, stranded among the rocks of Gibbet Island, 
 near the foot of the pirates' gallows. The fisher- 
 men shook their heads, and observed that old 
 Pluto had ventured once too often to invite 
 Guests from Gibbet Island. 
 
THE EARLY EXPERIENCES OF RALPH 
 RINGWOOD. 
 
 NOTED DOWN FROM HIS CONVERSATIONS 
 CRAYON, GENT.* 
 
 BY GEOFFREY 
 
 AM a Kentuckian by residence and 
 choice, but a Virginian by birth. The 
 cause of my first leaving the 'Ancient 
 Dominion,' and emigrating to Kentucky, was a 
 jackass ! You stare, but have a little patience, 
 and I '11 soon show you how it came to pass. 
 My father, who was one of the old Virginian 
 families, resided in Richmond. He was a wid- 
 ower, and his domestic affairs were managed by a 
 housekeeper of the old school, such as used to 
 administer the concerns of opulent Virginian 
 households. She was a dignitary that almost 
 rivalled my father in importance, and seemed to 
 think everything belonged to her ; in fact, she was 
 
 * Ralph Ringwood, though a fictitious name, is a real per- 
 sonage, — the late Governor Duval of Florida. I have given 
 some anecdotes of his early and eccentric career, in, as nearly 
 as I can recollect, the very words in which he related them. 
 They certainly afford strong temptations to the embellish- 
 ments of taction ; but I thought them so strikingly character- 
 istic of the individual, and of the scenes and society mto 
 which his peculiar humors carried him, that I preferred giv- 
 ng them in their original simplicity 
 
280 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD, 
 
 SO considerate in her economy, and so careful of 
 expen.se, as sometimes to vex my father, who 
 would swear she was disgracing him by her 
 meanness. She always appeared with that an- 
 cient insignia of housekeeping trust and author- 
 ity, a great bunch of keys jingling at her girdle. 
 She superintended the arrangements of the table 
 at every meal, and saw that the dishes were all 
 placed according to her primitive notions of sym- 
 metry. In the evening she took her stand and 
 served out tea with a mingled respectfulness and 
 pride of station truly exemplary. Her great am- 
 bition was to have everything in order, and that 
 the establishment under her sway should be cited 
 as a model of good housekeeping. If anything 
 went wrong, poor old Barbara would take it to 
 heart, and sit in her room and cry, until a few 
 chapters in the Bible would quiet her spirits, and 
 make all calm again. The Bible, in fact, was her 
 constant resort in time of trouble. She opened 
 it indiscriminately, and whether she chanced 
 among the Lamentations of Jeremiah, the Canti- 
 cles of Solomon, or the rough enumeration of the 
 tribes in Deuteronomy, a chapter was a chapter, 
 and operated like balm to her soul. Such was 
 our good old housekeeper Barbara ; who was des- 
 tined, unwittingly, to have a most important effect 
 upon my destiny. 
 
 " It came to pass, during the days of my juve- 
 nility, while I was yet what is termed ' an un- 
 lucky boy,' that a gentleman of our neighborhood, 
 a great adv^ocate for experiments and improve- 
 ments of all kinds, took it into his head that il 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 281 
 
 would be an immense public advantage to intro- 
 duce a breed of mules, and accordingly imported 
 three jacks to stock the neio^hborhood. This in 
 a part of the country where the people cared for 
 nothing but blood horses ! Why, sir, they would 
 have considered their mares disgraced, and theii 
 whole stud dishonored, by such a misalliance. 
 The whole matter was a town-talk, and a town- 
 scandal. The worthy amalgamator of quadru- 
 peds found himself in a dismal scrape ; so he 
 backed out in time, abjured the whole doctrine 
 of amalgamation, and turned his jacks loose to 
 shift for themselves upon the town common. 
 There they iised to run about and lead an idle, 
 good-for-nothing, holiday life, the happiest animals 
 in the country. 
 
 " It so happened that ray way to school lay 
 across the common. The first time that I saw one 
 of these animals, it set up a braying and frightened 
 me confoundedly. However, I soon got over my 
 fria;ht, and seein"^ that it had somethino- of a horse 
 look, my Virginian love for anything of the eques- 
 trian species predominated, and I determined to 
 back it. I accordingly applied at a grocer's shop, 
 procured a cord that had been round a loaf of 
 sugar, and made a kind of halter ; then, summon- 
 ing some of my school-fellows, we drove master 
 Jack about the common until we hemmed him in 
 an angle of a ' worm - fence.' After some diffi- 
 culty, we fixed the halter round his muzzle, and 
 I mounted. Up flew his heels, away I went over 
 his head, and off he scampered. However, I was 
 DD my legs in a twinkling, gave chase, caught him, 
 
282 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 and remounted. By dint of repeated tumbles 1 
 soon learned to stick to his back, so that lie could 
 no more cast me than he could his own skin. 
 From that time, master Jack and his companions 
 had a scampering life of it, for we all rode them 
 between school-hours, and on holiday afternoons ; 
 and you may be sure school-boys' nags are never 
 permitted to suffer the grass to grow under their 
 feet. They soon became so knowing, that they 
 took to their heels at sight of a school-boy ; and 
 we were generally much longer in chasing than 
 we were in riding them. 
 
 " Sunday approached, on which I projected an 
 equestrian excursion on one of these long-eared 
 steeds. As I knew the jacks would be in great 
 demand on Sunday morning, I secured one over 
 night, and conducted him home, to be ready for 
 an early outset. But where was I to quarter him 
 for the night ? I could not put him in the stable ; 
 our old black groom George was as absolute in 
 that domain as Barbara was within doors, and 
 would have thought his stable, his horses, and him- 
 self disgraced by the introduction of a jackass. 
 I recollected the smoke-house, — an out-buildins: 
 appended to all Virginian establishments, for the 
 smoking of hams and other kinds of meat. So 
 I got the key, put master Jack in, locked the door, 
 returned the key to its place, and went to bed, 
 intending to release my prisoner at an early houi, 
 before any of the family were awake. I was so 
 tired, however, by the exertions I had made in 
 ?atching the donkey, that I fell into a sound sleep, 
 and the morning broke without my waking. 
 
EXPERIENCKS OF RALPH RING WOOD. 283 
 
 " Not SO with dame Barbara, the housekeeper. 
 As usual, to use her own phrase, ' she was up be 
 fore the crow put his shoes on,' and bustled about 
 to get things in order for breakfast. Her first 
 resort was to the smoke-house. Scarce had she 
 opened the door, when master Jack, tired of his 
 confinement, and glad to be released from dark- 
 ness, gave a loud bray, and rushed forth. Down 
 dropped old Barbara ; the animal trampled over 
 her, and made off for the common. Poor Bar- 
 bara ! She had never before seen a donkey ; and 
 havinsf read in the Bible that the Devil went about 
 like a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour, 
 she took it for granted that this was Beelzebub 
 himself. The kitchen was soon in a hubbub ; the 
 servants hurried to the spot. There lay old Bar- 
 bara in fits ; as fast as she got out of one, the 
 thoughts of the Devil came over her, and she fell 
 into another, for the good soul was devoutly su- 
 perstitious. 
 
 " As ill luck would have it, among those at 
 tracted by the noise, was a little cursed fidgetty, 
 crabbed uncle of mine ; one of those uneasy spirits 
 that cannot rest quietly in their beds in the morn- 
 ing, but must be up early, to bother the house- 
 hold. He was only a kind of half-uncle, after 
 all, for he had married my father's sister ; yet he 
 assumed great authority on the strength of this 
 left-handed relationship, and was a universal inter- 
 meddler and family pest. This prying little busy- 
 body soon ferreted out the truth of the story, and 
 discovered, by hook and by crook, that I was at 
 the bottom of the affair, and had locked up the 
 
284 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 donkey in the smoke-house. He stopped to in- 
 quire no farther, for he was one of those testy 
 curmudgeons with whom unhicky boys are always 
 in the wrong. Leaving old Barbara to wrestle 
 in imagination with the Devil, he made for my 
 bedchamber, where I still lay wrapped in rosy 
 slumbers, little dreaming of the mischief I had 
 done, and the storm about to break over me. 
 
 " In an instant I was awakened by a shower 
 of thwacks, and started up in wild amazement. 
 I demanded the meaning of this attack, but re- 
 ceived no other reply than that I had murdered 
 the housekeeper ; while my uncle continued whack- 
 ing away during my confusion. I seized a poker, 
 and put myself on the defensive. I was a stout 
 boy for my years, while my uncle was a little wif- 
 fet of a man ; one that in Kentucky we v/ould not 
 call even an ' individual ; ' nothing more than a 
 ' remote circumstance.' I soon, therefore, brought 
 him to a parley, and learned the whole extent of 
 the charge brought against me. I confessed to 
 the donkey and the smoke-house, but pleaded not 
 guilty of the murder of the housekeeper. I soon 
 found out that old Barbara was still alive. She 
 continued under the doctor's hands, however, for 
 several days ; and whenever she had an ill tunij 
 my uncle would seek to give me another flogging. 
 I appealed to my father, but got no redress. I 
 was considered an ' unlucky boy,' prone to all 
 kinds of mischief; so that prepossessions were 
 against me, in all cases of appeal. 
 
 " I felt stung to the soul at all this. I had 
 been beaten, degraded, and treated with slighting 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 2Sj 
 
 when I coinplaiiied. I lost my usual good spirits 
 and good-humor ; and, being out of temper with 
 everybody, flincied everybody out of temper with 
 me. A certain wild, roving spirit of freedom, 
 which I believe is as inherent in me as it is in the 
 partridge, was brought into sudden activity by the 
 checks and restraints I suffered. ' I '11 go from 
 home,' thought I, ' and shift for myself Perhaps 
 this notion was quickened by the rage for emi- 
 grating to Kentucky which was at that time prev- 
 alent in Virginia. I had heard such stories of 
 the romantic beauties of the country, of the abun- 
 dance of game of all kinds, and of the glorious 
 independent life of the hunters who i-anged its 
 noble forests, and lived by the rifle, that I was as 
 much agog to get there as boys who live in sea- 
 ports are to launch themselves among the wonders 
 and adventures of the ocean. 
 
 " After a time, old Barbara got better in mind 
 and body, and matters were explained to her ; 
 and she became gradually convinced that it was 
 not the Devil she had encountered. When she 
 heard how harshly I had been treated on her ac- 
 count, the good old soul was extremely grieved, 
 and spoke warmly to my father in my behalf. 
 He had himself remarked the change in my be- 
 havior, and thought punishment might have been 
 carried too far. He sought, therefore, to have some 
 conversation with me, and to soothe my feelings ; 
 but it was too late. I frankly told him the course 
 of mortification that I had experienced, and the 
 Qxed determination I had made to go from home. 
 
 " ' And where do you mean to go ? ' 
 
28 G EXPERTENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD, 
 
 *' ' To Kentucky.' 
 
 " ' To Kentucky ! Why, you know nobody 
 there/ 
 
 " ' No matter ; I can soon make acquaintances.' 
 
 " ' And what will you do when you get there ? ' 
 
 " ' Hunt ! ' 
 
 " My fatlier gave a long, low whistle, and looked 
 iu my face with a serio-comic expression. I was 
 not far in my teens, and to talk of setting off alone 
 for Kentucky, to turn hunter, seemed doubtless 
 the idle prattle of a boy. He was little aware of 
 the dogged resolution of my character ; and his 
 smile of incredulity but fixed me more obstinately 
 in my purpose. I assured him I was serious in 
 what I said, and would certainly set off for Ken- 
 tucky in the spring. 
 
 " Month after month passed away. My father 
 now and then adverted slightly to what had passed 
 between us ; doubtless for the purpose of sound- 
 ing me. I always expressed the same grave and 
 fixed determination. By degrees he spoke to me 
 more directly on the subject, endeavoring ear- 
 nestly but kindly to dissuade me. My only reply 
 was, ' I had made up my mind.' 
 
 " Accordingly, as soon as the spring had fairly 
 opened, I sought him one day in his study, and 
 informed him I was about to set out for Kentucky, 
 and had come to take my leave. He made no 
 objection, for he had exhausted persuasion and 
 remonstrance, and doubtless thought it best to 
 give way to my humor, trusting that a little rough 
 experience would soon bring me home again. I 
 asked money for my journey. He went to a 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 287 
 
 chest, took out a long green silk purse, well filled, 
 and laid it on the table. I now asked for a horse 
 and servant. 
 
 " ' A horse ! ' said my father, sneeringly, ' why 
 you would not go a mile without racing him, and 
 breaking your neck ; and as to a servant, you can- 
 not take care of yourself, much less of him/ 
 
 " ' How am I to travel, then ? ' 
 
 " ' Why, I suppose you are man enough to travel 
 on foot.' 
 
 " He spoke jestingly, little thinking I would 
 take him at his word ; but I was thoroughly 
 piqued in respect to my enterprise ; so I pocketed 
 the purse, went to my room, tied up three or four 
 shirts in a pbcket-handkerchief, put a dirk in my 
 bosom, girt a couple of pistols round my waist, 
 and felt like a knight-errant armed cap-a-pie, and 
 ready to rove the world in quest of adventures. 
 
 " My sister (I had but one) hung round me 
 and wept, and entreated me to stay. I felt my 
 heart swell in my throat ; but I gulped it back to 
 its place, and straightened myself up : I would 
 not suffer myself to cry. I at length disengaged 
 myself from her, and got to the door. 
 
 " ' When will you come back ? ' cried she. 
 
 " ' Never, by heavens ! ' cried I, ' until I come 
 back a member of Congress from Kentucky. I am 
 determined to show that I am not the tail-end of 
 the family.' 
 
 " Such was my first outset from home. You 
 may suppose what a greenhorn I wa§, and how 
 little I knew of the world I was launching into. 
 
 " I do not recollect any incident of importance, 
 
288 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 until I reached the borders of Pennsylvania. I 
 had stopped at an inn to get some refreshment ; 
 as I was eating in a back-room, I overheard two 
 men in the bar-room conjecture who and what I 
 could be. One determined, at length, that I was 
 a runaway apprentice, and ought to be stopped, to 
 which the other assented. When I had finished 
 my meal, and paid for it, I went out at the back- 
 door, lest I should be stopped by my supervisors. 
 Scorning, however, to steal off like a culprit, I 
 walked round to the front of the house. One of 
 the men advanced to the front-door. He wore 
 his hat on one side, and had a consequential air 
 that nettled me. 
 
 " ' Where are you going, youngster ? ' demanded 
 he. 
 
 " ' That 's none of your business ! ' replied I, 
 rather pertly. 
 
 " ' Yes, but it is though ! You have run away 
 from home, and must give an account of yourself.' 
 
 " He advanced to seize me, when I drew forth 
 a pistol. ' If you advance another step, I '11 shoot 
 you ! ' 
 
 " He sprang back as if he had trodden upon a 
 rattlesnake, and his hat fell off in the movement. 
 
 " ' Let him alone ! ' cried his companion ; ' he 's 
 a foolish, mad-headed boy, and don't know what 
 lie 's about. He '11 shoot you, you may rely on it.' 
 
 " He did not need any caution in the matter ; 
 he was afraid even to pick up his hat ; so I 
 pushed forward on my way without molestation. 
 This incident, however, had its effect upon me. I 
 became fearful of sleeping in any house at night, 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 289 
 
 lest I should he stopped. I took my meals in the 
 houses, in the course of the day, but would turn 
 aside at night into some wood or ravine, make a 
 fire, and sleep before it. This I considered was 
 true hunter's style, and I wished to inure myself 
 to it. 
 
 " At length I arrived at Brownsville, leg-weary 
 and wayworn, and in a shabby plight, as you may 
 suppose, having been ' ca.mping out ' for some 
 nights past. I applied at some of the inferior 
 inns, but could gain no admission. I was regarded 
 for a moment with a dubious eye, and then in- 
 formed they did not receive foot-passengers. At 
 last I went boldly to tlie principal inn. The 
 landlord appeared as unwilling as the rest to 
 receive a vagrant boy beneath his roof; but his 
 wife interfered in the midst of his excuses, and, 
 half elbowing him aside, — 
 
 " ' Where are you going, my lad ? ' said she. 
 
 " ' To Kentucky.' 
 
 " * What are you going there for ? ' 
 
 « ' To hunt.' 
 
 " She looked earnestly at me for a moment or 
 two. ' Have you a mother living ? ' said she at 
 length. 
 
 " ' No, madam ; she has been dead for some 
 time.' 
 
 " ' I thought so ! ' cried she, warmly. ' I knew 
 if you had a mother living, you would not be here.' 
 From that moment the good woman treated me 
 with a mother's kindness. 
 
 I remained several days beneath her roof, re- 
 covering from the fatigue of my journey. While 
 19 
 
290 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 here, I purchased a rifle, and practised daily at a 
 maik, to prepare myself for a hunter's life. When 
 sufficiently recruited in strength, I took leave of 
 my kind host and hostess, and resumed my 
 journey. 
 
 " At Wheeling I embarked in a flat-bottomed 
 family boat, technically called a broad-horn, a 
 prime river conveyance in those days. In this 
 ark for two weeks I floated down the Ohio. The 
 river was as yet in all its wild beauty. Its lofti- 
 est trees had not been thinned out. The forest 
 overhung the water's edge, and was occasionally 
 skirted by immense canebrakes. Wild animals 
 of all kinds abounded. We heard them rushing 
 through tlie tickets and plashing in the water. 
 Deer and bears would frequently swim across the 
 river ; others would come down to the bank, and 
 gaze at the boat as it passed. I was incessantly 
 on the alert Avith my rifle ; but, somehow or other, 
 the eame was never within shot. Sometimes I 
 got a chance to land and try my skill on shore. 
 I shot squirrels, and small birds, and even wild 
 turkeys ; but though I caught glimpses of deer 
 bounding away through the woods, I never could 
 set a fair shot at them. 
 
 " h\ this way we glided in our broad-horn 
 past Cincinnati, the ' Queen of the West,' as she 
 is now called, then a mere group of log-cabins ; 
 and the site of the bustling city of Louisville, 
 then designated by a solitary house. As I said 
 before, the Ohio was as yet a wild river ; jdl was 
 forest, forest, forest! Near the confluence of 
 CJreen River with the Ohio I landed, bade adieij 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 291 
 
 to the broad-horn, and struck for the interior of 
 Kentucky. I had no precise phm ; my only idea 
 was to make for one of the wildest parts of the 
 country. I had relatives in Lexington and other 
 settled places, to whom I thought it probable my 
 father would write concerning me ; so, as I was 
 full of manhood and independence, and resolutely 
 bent on making my way in the world without 
 assistance or control, I resolved to keep clear of 
 them all. 
 
 " In the course of my first day's trudge I shot 
 a wild turkey, and slung it on my back for pro- 
 visions. The forest was open and clear from un- 
 derwood. I saw deer in abundance, but always 
 runnins:, runnino;. It seemed to me as if these 
 animals never stood still. 
 
 " At length I came to where a gang of half- 
 starved wolves were feasting on the carcass of a 
 deer which they had rim down, and snarling and 
 snapping, and fighting like so many dogs. They 
 were all so ravenous and intent upon their prey 
 that they did not notice me, and I had time to make 
 my observations. One, larger and fiercer than the 
 rest, seemed to claim the larger share, and to keep 
 the others in awe. If any one came too near him 
 while eating, he would fly off, seize and shake 
 him, and then return to his repast. ' This,' thought 
 I, ' must be the captain ; if I can kill him, I shall 
 defeat the whole army.' I accordingly took aim, 
 fired, and down dropped the old fellow. He might 
 be only shamming dead ; so I loaded and put a 
 second ball through him. He never budged ; all 
 the rest ran ofi^, and my victory was complete. 
 
292 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 " It would not be easy to describe my tri- 
 umphant feelings on this great achievement. I 
 marched on with renovated spirit, regarding my- 
 Belf as absolute lord of the forest. As night drew 
 near, I prepared for camping. My first care was 
 to collect dry wood and make a roaring fire to 
 cook and sleep by, and to frighten off wolves, and 
 bears, and panthers. I then began to pluck my 
 turkey for supper. I had camped out several 
 times in the early part of my expedition ; but that 
 was in comparatively more settled and civilized 
 regions, where there were no wild animals of con- 
 sequence in the forest. This was my first camp- 
 ins: out in the real wilderness, and I was soon 
 made sensible of the loneliness and wildness of 
 my situation. 
 
 " In a little while a concert of wolves com- 
 menced ; there might have been a dozen or two, 
 but it seemed to me as if there were thousands. 
 I never heard such howling and whining. Hav- 
 ing prepared my turkey, I divided it into two 
 parts, thrust two sticks into one of the halves, and 
 planted them on end before the fire, — the hunt- 
 er's mode of roasting. The smell of roast meat 
 quickened the appetites of the wolves, and their 
 concert became truly infernal. They seemed to 
 be all around me, but I could only now and then 
 get a glimpse of one of them, as he came within 
 the glare of the light. 
 
 " I did not much care for the wolves, who I 
 knew to be a cowardly race, but I had heard ter- 
 rible stories of panthers, and began to fear their 
 stealthy prowlings in the surrounding darkness 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 203 
 
 I was thirsty, and heard a brook bubbling and 
 (inkling along at no great distance, but absolutely 
 dared not go there, lest some panther might lie 
 in wait and spring upon me. By and by a deer 
 whistled. I had never heard one before, and 
 thought it must be a panther. I now felt uneasy 
 lest he might climb the trees, crawl along the 
 branches overhead, and plump down upon me ; 
 so I kept my eyes fixed on the branches, until my 
 head ached. I more than once thought I saw 
 fiery eyes glaring down from among the leaves. 
 At length I thought of my supper, and turned to 
 see if my half turkey was cooked. In crowding 
 so near the fire, I had pressed the meat into the 
 flames, and it was consumed. I had nothins: to 
 do but toast the other half, and take better care 
 of it. On that half I made ray supper, without 
 salt or bread. I was still so possessed with the 
 dread of panthers, that I could not close my eyes 
 all night, but lay watching the trees until day- 
 break, when all my fears were dispelled with the 
 darkness ; and as I saw the morning sun sparkling 
 down through the branches of the trees, I smiled 
 to think how I suffered myself to be dismayed by 
 sounds and shadows ; but I was a young woods- 
 man, and a stranger in Kentucky. 
 
 " Having breakfasted on the remainder of my 
 turkey and slacked my thirst at the bubbling 
 stream, without farther dread of panthers, I re- 
 sumed my wayfaring with buoyant feelings. I 
 again saw deer, but, as usual, running, running I 
 I tried in vain to get a shot at them, and began 
 io fear I never should. I was gazing with vex- 
 
294 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 atioa after a herd in full scamper, when I was 
 Btartled by a human voice. Turning round, I 
 saw a man at a short distance from me in a hunt- 
 ing-dress. 
 
 " ' What are you after, my lad ? ' cried he. 
 
 " ' Those deer, ' replied I, pettishly ; ' but it 
 seems as if they never stand still.' 
 
 " Upon that he burst out laughing. ' Where 
 are you from ? ' said he. 
 
 " ' From Richmond.' 
 
 « ' What ! In old Virginny ? ' 
 
 « ' The same.' 
 
 " ' And how on earth did you get here ? ' 
 
 " ' I landed at Green River from a broad- 
 horn.' 
 
 " 'And where are your companions ? ' 
 
 " ' I have none.' 
 
 " ' What ? — all alone ! ' 
 
 « ' Yes.' 
 
 " ' Where are you going ? ' 
 
 " ' Anywhere.' 
 
 " ' And what have you come here for ? ' 
 
 « ' To hunt.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said he, laughingly, ' you '11 make a 
 real hunter ; there 's no mistaking that ! 
 
 " ' Have you killed anything ? ' 
 
 " ' Nothing but a turkey ; I can't get within 
 shot of a deer ; they are always running.' 
 
 " ' Oh, I '11 tell you the secret of that. You 're 
 always pushing forward, and starting the deer at 
 A distance, and gazing at those that are scamper- 
 ing ; but you must step as slow and silent and 
 cautious as a cat, and keep your eyes close around 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 295 
 
 you, and lurk fi'om tree to tree, if you wish to get 
 a chance at deer. But come, go home with me. 
 My name is Bill Smithers ; I h've not far off, 
 Btay with me a little while, and 1 '11 teach you how 
 to liunt.' 
 
 " I gladly accepted the invitation of honest 
 Bill Smithers. We soon reached his habitation: 
 a mere log-hut, with a square hole for a window, 
 and a chimney made of sticks and clay. Here 
 he lived, with a wife and child. He had ' girdled ' 
 the trees for an acre or two around, preparatory 
 to clearing a space for corn and potatoes. In the 
 mean time he maintained his family entirely by 
 his rifle, and I soon found him to be a first-rate 
 huntsman. Under his tutelage I received my 
 first effective lessons in ' woodcraft.' 
 
 " The more I knew of a hunter's life, the more 
 I relished it. The country, too, which had been 
 the promised land of my boyhood, did not, like 
 most promised lands, disappoint me. No wilder- 
 ness could be more beautiful than this part of 
 Kentucky in those times. The forests were open 
 and spacious, with noble trees, some of which 
 looked as if they had stood for centuries. There 
 were beautiful prairies, too, diversified with groves 
 and clumps of trees, which looked like vast parks, 
 and in which you could see the deer running, at a 
 great distance. In tlie proper season, these prai- 
 ries would be covered in many places with wild 
 strawberries, where your horse's hoofs would be 
 dyed to the fetlock. I thought there could not 
 be another place in the world equal to Kentucky ; 
 — and I think so still. 
 
296 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 "After I had passed ten or twelve days with 
 Bill Smithers, I thought it time to sliift my quar- 
 ters, for his house was scarce large enough for 
 his own family, and I had no idea of being an 
 encumbrance to any one. I accordingly made up 
 my bundle, shouldered my rifle, took a friendly 
 leave of Smithers and his wife, and set out in 
 quest of a Nimrod of the wilderness, one John 
 Miller, who lived alone, nearly forty miles off, and 
 who I hoped would be well pleased to have a 
 hunting companion. 
 
 " I soon found out that one of the most impor- 
 tant items in ■ woodcraft, in a new country, was 
 the skill to find one's way in the wilderness. 
 There were no regidar roads in the forests, but 
 they were cut up and perplexed by paths leading 
 in all directions. Some of these were made by 
 the cattle of the settlers, and were called ' stock- 
 tracks,' but others had been made by the immense 
 droves of buffaloes which roamed about the coun- 
 try from the flood until recent times. These 
 were called buffalo-tracks, and traversed Ken- 
 tucky from end to end, like highways. Traces of 
 them may still be seen in uncultivated parts, or 
 deeply worn in the rocks where they crossed the 
 mountahis. I was a young woodsman, and sorely 
 puzzled to distinguish one kind of track from the 
 other, or to make out my course through this 
 tangled labyrinth. While thus perplexed, I heard 
 a distant roaring and rushing sound; a gloom 
 stole over the forest. On looking up, when I 
 could catch a stray glimpse of the sky, I beheld 
 the clouds rolled up like balls, the lower part as 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 297 
 
 black as ink. There v^-as now and then an ex- 
 plosion, like a burst of cannonry afar ott", and the 
 crash of a falling tree. I had heard of hurri- 
 canes in the woods, and surmised that one was at 
 hand. It soon came crashing its way, the forest 
 writhing, and twisting, and groaning before it. 
 The hurricane did not extend far on either side, 
 but in a manner ploughed a furrow through the 
 woodland, snapping off or uprooting trees that 
 had stood for centuries, and filling the air with 
 whirling branches. I was directly in its course, 
 and took my stand behind an immense poplar, six 
 feet in diameter. It bore for a time the full fury 
 of the blast, but at length began to yield. Seeing 
 it falling, I scrambled nimbly round the trunk 
 like a squirrel. Down it went, bearing down 
 another tree with it. I crept under the trunk 
 as a shelter, and was protected from other trees 
 which fell around me, but was sore all over, 
 from the twigs and branches driven against me 
 by the blast. 
 
 " This was the only incident of consequence 
 that occurred on my way to John Miller's, where 
 I arrived on the following day, and was received 
 by the veteran with the rough kindness of a back- 
 woodsman. He was a gray haired man, hardy 
 and weather-beaten, with a blue wart, like a great 
 bead, over one eye, whence he was nicknamed by 
 the hunters, ' Blue-bead Miller.' He had been 
 in these parts from the earliest settlements, and 
 had signalized himself in the hard conflicts with 
 the Indians, which gained Kentucky the appella- 
 tion of ' the Bloody Ground.' In one of these 
 
2D8 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 fights he had had an arm broken ; in another 
 he had narrowly escaped, when hotly pursued, 
 by jumping from a precipice thirty feet high into 
 a river. 
 
 " Miller willingly received me into his house- 
 as an inmate, and seemed pleased with the idea 
 of making a hunter of me. His dwelling was a 
 small log- house, with a loft or garret of boards, 
 so that there was ample room for both of us. 
 Under his instruction, I soon made a tolerable 
 proficiency in hunting. My first exploit of any 
 consequence was killing a bear. I was hunting 
 in company with two brothers, when we came 
 upon the track of Bruin, in a wood where there 
 was an undergrowth of canes and grape-vines. 
 He was scrambling up a tree, when I shot him 
 through the breast ; he fell to the ground, and 
 lay motionless. The brothers sent in their dog, 
 who seized the bear by the throat. Bruin raised 
 one arm, and gave the dog a hug that crushed 
 his ribs. One yell, and all was over. I don't 
 know which was first dead, the dog or the bear. 
 The two brothers sat down and cried like children 
 over their unfortunate dog. Yet they were mere 
 rough huntsmen, almost as wild and untamable as 
 Indians ; but they were fine fellows. 
 
 " By degrees I became known, and somewhat 
 of a favorite among; the hunters of the neiffhbor- 
 hood ; that is to say, men wlio lived within a cir- 
 cle of thirty or forty miles, and came occasionally 
 to see John Miller, who was a patriarch among 
 them. They lived widely apart, in log-huts and 
 wigwams, almost with the simpli'^ity of Indians, 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RINGWOOD. 293 
 
 and wellnigh as destitute of the comforts and 
 inventions of civilized life. They seldom saw 
 each other ; weeks, and even months would elapse, 
 without their visiting. When they did meet, it 
 was very much after the manner of Indians ; 
 loitering about all day, without having much to 
 say, but becoming communicative as evening ad- 
 vanced, and sitting up half the night before the 
 fire, telling hunting-stories, and terrible tales of 
 the fights of the Bloody Ground. 
 
 " Sometimes several would join in a distant 
 hunting expedition, or rather campaign. Expe- 
 ditions of this kind lasted from November until 
 April, during which we laid up our stock of sum- 
 mer provisions. We shifted our hunting-camps 
 from place to place, according as we found the 
 game. They were generally pitched near a run 
 of water, and close by a canebrake, to screen us 
 from the wind. One side of our lodge was open 
 towards the fire. Our horses were hoppled and 
 turned loose in the canebrakes, with bells round 
 their necks. One of the party stayed at home to 
 watch the camp, prepare the meals, and keep off 
 the wolves ; the others hunted. When a hunter 
 killed a deer at a distance from the camp, he 
 would open it and take out the entrails ; then, 
 climbing a sappling, he would bend it down, tie 
 the deer to the top, and let it spring up again, so 
 as to suspend the carcass out of reach of the 
 wolves. At night he would return to the camp, 
 and give an account of his luck. The next morn- 
 ing early he would get a horse out of the cane- 
 Drake and bring home his game. That day ha 
 
300 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 would stay at home to cut up the carcass, while 
 the others hunted. 
 
 " Our days were thus spent in silent and lonely 
 occupations. It was only at night that we would 
 gather together before the fire, and be sociable, 
 I was a novice, and used to listen with open eyes 
 and ears to the strange and wild stories told by 
 the old hunters, and believed everything I heard. 
 Some of their stories bordered upon the super- 
 natural. They believed that their rifles might be 
 spellbound, so as not to be able to kill a buffalo, 
 even a^^ arm's length. This superstition they had 
 derived from the Indians, who often think the 
 white hunters have laid a spell upon their rifles. 
 Miller partook of this superstition, and used to 
 tell of his rifle's having a spell upon it ; but it 
 often seemed to me to be a shuffling way of ac- 
 counting for a bad shot. If a hunter grossly 
 missed his aim, he would ask, ' Who shot last 
 with his rifle ? ' — and hint that he must have 
 charmed it. The sure mode to disenchant the 
 gun was to shoot a silver bullet out of it. 
 
 •' By the opening of spring we would generally 
 have quantities of bear's meat and venison salted, 
 dried, and smoked, and numerous packs of skins. 
 We would then make the best of our way home 
 from our distant hunting-grounds, transporting 
 our spoils, sometimes in canoes along the rivers, 
 sometimes on horseback over land, and our return 
 would often be celebrated by feasting and dancing, 
 in true backwoods style. I have given you some 
 idea of our hunting ; let me now give you a sketch 
 of our frolickino;. 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 301 
 
 " It Wiis on our return from a winter's hunting 
 in the neighborhood of Green River, when we 
 received notice that there was to be a grand frolic 
 at Bob Mosely's, to greet the hunters. This Bob 
 Mosely was a prime fellow throughout the coun- 
 try. He was an indifferent hunter, it is true, and 
 rather lazy, to boot ; but then he coiild play the 
 fiddle, and that was enough to make him of con- 
 sequence. There was no other man within a 
 hundred miles that could play the fiddle, so there 
 was no havino: a regfular frolic without Bob 
 Mosely. The hunters, therefore, were always 
 ready to give him a share of their game in ex- 
 change for his music, and Bob was always ready 
 to get up a carousal wdienever there was a party 
 returning from a hunting expedition. The present 
 frolic was to take place at Bob Mosely's own 
 house, which was on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of 
 the Muddy, which is a branch of Rough Creek, 
 which is a branch of Green River. 
 
 " Everybody was agog for the revel at Bob 
 Mosely's ; and as all the fashion of the neighbor- 
 hood was to be there, I tliought I must brush up 
 for the occasion. My leathern hunting-dress, 
 which was the only one I had, was somewhat 
 the worse for wear, it is true, and considerably 
 japanned with blood and grease ; but I was up to 
 hunting expedients. Getting into a periogue, I 
 paddled off to a part of the Green River where 
 there was sand and clay, that might serve for 
 soap ; then, taking off my dress, I scrubbed and 
 scoured it, until I thought it looked very well. 
 I then put it on the end of a stick, and hung it 
 
302 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 out of the periogue to dry, while I stretched 
 myself very comfortably on the green bank of 
 tlie river. Unluckily a flaw stru(!k the periogue, 
 and tipped over the stick ; down went my dress 
 to the bottom of the river, and I never saw it 
 more. Here was I, left almost in a state of 
 nature. T managed to make a kind of Robinson 
 Crusoe garb of undressed skins, with the hair on, 
 which enabled me to get home with decency ; 
 but my dream of gayety and fashion was at 
 an end ; for how could I think of figuring in 
 high life at the Pigeon-Roost, equipped like a 
 mere Orson? 
 
 "Old Miller, who really began to take some 
 pride in me, was confounded when he understood 
 that I did not intend to go to Bob Mosely's ; but 
 when I told him my misfortune, and that I had 
 no dress, ' By the powers,' cried he, ' but you 
 shall go, and you shall be the best dressed and 
 the best mounted lad there ! ' 
 
 " He immediately set to work to cut out and 
 make up a hunting-shirt, of dressed deer-skin, 
 gayly fringed at the shoulders, and leggins of the 
 same, fringed from hip to heel. He then made 
 me a rakish raccoon-cap, with a flaunting tail to 
 it, mounted me on his best horse ; and I may say, 
 without vanity, that I was one of the smartest 
 fellows that figured on that occasion at the Pigeon- 
 Roost Fork of the Muddy. 
 
 " It was no small occasion, either, let me tell 
 you. Bob Mosely's house was a tolerably large 
 bark shanty, with a clapboard roof; and there 
 were assembled all the young hunters and pretty 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 303 
 
 girls of the country for rauny a mile round. Tlie 
 young men were in their best hunting-dresses, 
 but not one could compare with mine ; and my 
 raccoon-cap, with its flowing tail, was the admira- 
 tion of everybody. The girls were mostly in 
 doe-skin dresses ; for there was no spinning and 
 weaving as yet in the woods, nor any need of it. 
 I never saw girls that seemed to me better 
 dressed, and I Avas somewhat of a judge, having 
 seen fashions at Richmond. We had a hearty 
 dinner, and a merry one ; for there was Jemmy 
 Kiel, famous for raccoon-hunting, and Bob Tarle- 
 ton, and Wesley Pigman, and Joe Taylor, and 
 several other prime fellows for a frolic, that made 
 all ring again, and laughed that you might have 
 heard them a mile. 
 
 " After dinner we besan dancinsf, and were 
 hard at it when, about three o'clock in the after- 
 noon, there was a new arrival — the two daugh- 
 ters of old Simon Schultz ; two young ladies that 
 affected fashion and late hours. Their arrival 
 had nearly put an end to all our merriment. I 
 must go a little round about in my story to ex- 
 plain to you how that happened. 
 
 " As old Schultz, tlie father, was one day look- 
 ing in the canebrakes for his cattle, he came upon 
 the track of horses. He knew they were none 
 of his, and that none of his neighbors had horses 
 about that place. They must be stray horses, or 
 must belong to some traveller who had lost his 
 way, as the track led nowhere. He accordingly 
 followed it up, until he came to an unlucky ped- 
 dler, with two or three packhorses, who had been 
 
304 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 bewildered among the cat tie -tracks, and had wan- 
 dered for two or three days among woods and 
 eanebrakes, until he was almost famished. 
 
 " Old Schultz brought him to his house, fed 
 him on venison, bear's meat, and hominy, and at 
 the end of a week put him in prime condition. 
 The peddler could not sufficiently express his 
 thankfulness, and when about to depart, inquired 
 what he had to pay. Old Schultz stepped back 
 with surprise. 'Stranger,' said he, 'you have 
 been Avclcome under my roof. I 've given you 
 nothing but wild meat and hominy, because I had 
 no better, but have been glad of your company. 
 You are welcome to stay as long as you please ; 
 but, by Zounds ! if any one offers to pay Simon 
 Schultz for food, he affronts him ! ' So saying, 
 he walked out in a huff. 
 
 " The peddler admired the hospitality of his 
 host^ but could not reconcile it to his conscience 
 to go away without making some recompense. 
 There were honest Simon's two daughters, two 
 strapping, red-haired girls. He opened his packs 
 and displayed riches before them of which they 
 had no conception ; for in those days there were 
 no country stores in those parts, with their arti- 
 ficial finery and trinketry ; and this was the first 
 peddler that had wandered into that part of the 
 wilderness. The girls were for a time completely 
 dazzled, and knew not what to choose ; but what 
 caught their eyes most were two looking-glasses, 
 about the size of a dollar, set in gilt tin. They 
 had never seen the like before, having used no 
 other mirror than a pail of water. The peddler 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPU RING WOOD. 305 
 
 presented them these jewels without the least 
 hesitation ; nay, he gaUantly hung them round 
 their necks by red ribbons, ahnost as fine as the 
 glasses themselves. This done, he took his de- 
 parture, leaving them as much astonished as two 
 princesses in a fairy tale, that have received a 
 magic gift from an enchanter. 
 
 " It was with these looking-glasses hung round 
 their necks as lockets, by red ribbons, that old 
 Schultz's daughters made their appearance at 
 three o'clock in the afternoon, at the frolic at 
 Bob Mosely's, on the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the 
 Muddy. 
 
 " By the powers, but it was an event ! Such 
 a thinij; had never before been seen in Kentuckv. 
 Bob Tarleton, a strapping fellow, with a head like 
 a chestnut-burr, and a look like a boar in an 
 apple-orchard, stepped up, caught hold of the 
 looking-glass of one of the girls, and gazing at it 
 for a moment, cried out : ' Joe Taylor, come here ! 
 come here ! I '11 be darn'd if Patty Schultz aint 
 got a locket that you can see your face in, as clear 
 as in a spring of water ! ' 
 
 " In a twinkling all the young hunters gathered 
 round old Schultz's daughters. I, who knew 
 what looking-glasses were, did not budge. Some 
 of the girls who sat near me were excessively 
 mortified at finding themselves thus deserted. I 
 heard Peggy Pugh say to Sally Pigman, ' Good- 
 ness knows, it's well Schultz's daughters is got 
 them things round their necks, for it 's the first 
 time the young men crowded round them ! ' 
 
 " I saw immediately the danger of the case. 
 20 
 
30 G EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 We were a small community, and could not aiford 
 to be split up by feuds. So I stepped up to the 
 girls, and whispered to them : ' Polly,' said I, 
 'those lockets are powerful fine, and become you 
 amazingly, but you don't consider that the coun- 
 try is not advanced enough in these parts for such 
 things. You and I understand these matters, but 
 these people don't. Fine things like these may 
 do very well in the old settlements, but they won't 
 answer at the Pigeon-Roost Fork of the Muddy. 
 You had better lay them aside for the present, or 
 we shall have no peace.' 
 
 " Polly and her sister luckily saw their error ; 
 they took off the lockets, laid them aside, and 
 harmony was restored ; otherwise, I verily believe 
 there would have been an end of our community. 
 Indeed, notwithstanding the great sacrifice they 
 made on this occasion, I do not think old Schultz's 
 dauo;hters were ever much liked afterwards amons: 
 the young women. 
 
 " This was the first time that lookinsf-Sflasses 
 were ever seen in the Green River pai't of Ken- 
 tucky. 
 
 " I had now lived some time with old Miller, 
 and had become a tolerably expert hunter. Game, 
 hovvever, began to grow scarce. The buffalo had 
 gathered together, as if by universal understand- 
 ing, and had crossed the Mississippi, never to re- 
 turn. Strangers kept pouring into the country, 
 clearing away the forests, and building in all 
 directions. The hunters began to grow restive. 
 Jemmy Kiel, the same of whom I have already 
 spoken for his skill in raccoon catching, came 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 307 
 
 to me one day. ' I can t stand this any longer,' 
 said he, ' we 're getting too thick here. Simon 
 Schultz crowds me so that I have no comfort of 
 my life/ 
 
 " ' Why, how you talk ! ' said I ; ' Simon Schultz 
 lives twelve miles off.' 
 
 " ' No matter ; his cattle run with mine, and 
 J 've no idea of living where another man's cattle 
 can run with mine. That 's too close neighbor- 
 hood ; I want elbow-room. This country, too, is 
 growing too poor to live in ; there 's no game ; so 
 two or three of us have made up our minds to 
 follow the buffalo to the Missouri, and we should 
 like to have you of the party.' Other hunters 
 of my acquaintance talked in the same manner. 
 This set me thinking ; but the more I thought, 
 the more I was perplexed. I had no one to ad- 
 vise with ; old Miller and his associates knew of 
 but one mode of life, and I had no experience in 
 any other, but I had a wider scope of thought. 
 When out hunting alone, I used to forget the 
 sport, and sit for hours together on the trunk of a 
 tree, with rifle in hand, buried in thought, and 
 debating with myself: ' Shall I go with Jemmy 
 Kiel and his company, or shall I remain here ? 
 If I remain here, there will soon be nothing left 
 to hunt. But am I to be a hunter all my life ? 
 Have not I something more in me than to be car- 
 rying a rifle on my shoulder, day after day, and 
 dodging about after bears, and deer, and other 
 brute beasts ? ' My vanity told me I had ; and 
 I called to mind my boyish boast to my sister, 
 that I would never return home until I returned 
 
308 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 a member of Congress from Kentucky ; but was 
 this the way to fit myself for such a station ? 
 
 " Various plans passed through my mind, but 
 they were abandoned almost as soon as formed. 
 At length I determined on becoming a lawyer. 
 True it is, I knew almost nothing. I had left 
 school before I had learnt beyond the ' Rule of 
 Three.' ' Never mind,' said I to myself, reso- 
 lutely, ' I am a terrible fellow for hanging on to 
 anything when I 've once made up my mind ; 
 and if a man has but ordinary capacity, and will 
 set to work with heart and soul, and stick to it, 
 he can do almost anything.' With this maxim, 
 which has been pretty much my main stay through- 
 out life, I fortified myself in my determination to 
 attempt the law. But how was I to set about it ? 
 I must quit this forest life, and go to one or other 
 of the towns, where I might be able to study and 
 to attend the courts. This, too, required funds. 
 I examined into the state of my finances. The 
 purse given me by my father had remained un- 
 touched, in the bottom of an old chest up in the 
 loft, for money was scarcely needed in these parts. 
 I had bargained away the skins acquired in hunt- 
 ing, for a horse and various other matters, on 
 which, in case of need, I could raise funds. I 
 therefore thought I could make shift to maintain 
 myself until I Avas fitted for the bar. 
 
 " I informed my worthy host and patron, old 
 Miller, of my plan. He shook his head at my 
 turning my back upon the woods when I was in 
 a fair way of making a first-rate hunter ; but he 
 made no effort to dissuade me. I accordingly set 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 309 
 
 DfF ill September, on horseback, intending to visit 
 Lexington, Frankfort, and other of the principal 
 towns, in search of a favorable place to prosecute 
 my studies. My choice was made sooner than I 
 expected. I had put up one night at Bardstown, 
 and found, on inquiry, that I could get comfortable 
 board and accommodation in a private family for 
 a dollar and a half a week. I liked the place, 
 and resolved to look no farther. So the next 
 morning I prepared to turn my face homeward, 
 and take my final leave of forest life. 
 
 " I had taken my breakfast, and was waiting 
 for my horse, when, in pacing up and down the 
 piazza, I saw a young girl seated near a window, 
 evidently a visitor. She was very pretty, with 
 auburn hair and blue eyes, and was dressed in 
 wliite. I had seen nothing of the kind since I had 
 left Richmond, and at that time I was too much of 
 a boy to be much struck by female charms. She 
 was so delicate and dainty-looking, so different 
 from the hale, buxom, brown girls of the woods ; 
 and then her white dress ! — it was perfectly 
 dazzling ! Never was poor youth more taken 
 by surprise and suddenly bewitched. My heart 
 yearned to know her ; but how was I to accost 
 her ? I had grown wild in the woods, and had 
 none of the habitudes of polite life. Had she 
 been like Peggy Pugh, or Sally Pigman, or any 
 other of my leathern-dressed belles of the Pigeon- 
 Roost, I should have approached her without 
 dread ; nay, had she been as fair as Schultz's 
 laughters, with their looking-glass lockets, I should 
 not have hesitated ; but that white dress and those 
 
310 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 auburn ringlets, and blue eyes, and delicate looks, 
 quite daunted while they fascinated me. I don't 
 know what put it into my head, but 1 thought, all 
 at once, that I would kiss her ! It would take a 
 long acquaintance to arrive at such a boon, but I 
 might seize upon it by sheer robbery. Nobody 
 knew me here. I would just step in, snatch a 
 kiss, mount my horse, and ride off. She would 
 not be the worse for it ; and that kiss — oh ! I 
 should die if I did not get it ! 
 
 " I gave no time for the thought to cool, but 
 entered the house and stepped lightly into the 
 room. She was seated with her back to the door, 
 looking out at the window, and did not hear my 
 approach. I tapped her chair, and as she turned 
 and looked up, I snatched as sweet a kiss as 
 ever was stolen, and vanished in a twinkling. 
 The next moment I was on horseback, galloping 
 homeward, ray very ears tingling at what I had 
 done. 
 
 " On my return home I sold my horse and 
 turned everything to cash, and found, with the 
 remains of the paternal purse, that I had nearly 
 four hundred dollars, — a little capital which I re- 
 solved to manage with the strictest economy. 
 
 " It was hard parting with old Miller, who had 
 been like a father to me ; it cost me, too, some- 
 thing of a struggle to give up the free, indepen- 
 dent wild-wood life I had hitherto led ; but I had 
 marked out my course, and have never been one 
 to flinch or turn back. 
 
 " I footed it sturdily to Bardstown, took posses- 
 eion of the quarters for which I had bargained, 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 3H 
 
 shut myself up, and set to work with might and 
 main to study. But what a task I had before 
 me ! I had everything to learn ; not merely law, 
 but all the elementary branches of knowledge. 
 I read and read for sixteen hours out of the 
 four-and-twenty, but the more I I'ead the more I 
 became aware of my own ignorance, and shed 
 bitter tears over my deficiency. It seemed as if 
 the wilderness of knowledge expanded and grew 
 more perplexed as I advanced. P^very height 
 gained only revealed a wider region to be trav- 
 ersed, and nearly filled me Avitli despair. I grew 
 moody, silent, and unsocial, but studied on dog- 
 gedly and incessantly. The only person with 
 whom I held any conversation, was the worthy 
 man in whose house I was quartered. He was 
 honest and well-meaning, but perfectly ignorant, 
 and I believe would have liked me much better 
 if I had not been so much addicted to reading. 
 He considered all books filled with lies and impo- 
 sitions, and seldom could look into one without 
 finding something to rouse his spleen. Nothing 
 put him into a greater passion than the assertion 
 that the world turned on its own axis every four- 
 and-twenty hours. He swore it was an outrage 
 upon common sense. ' Why, if it did,' said he, 
 ' there would not be a drop of water in the well 
 by morning, and all the milk and cream in the 
 dairy would be turned topsy-turvy ! ' And then 
 to talk of the earth going round the sun ! ' How 
 do they know it ? I 've seen the sun rise every 
 morning and set every evening for more than 
 'liirty years. They must not talk to 7ne about 
 \he earth's oroino- i-ound the sun I ' 
 
312 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 "At another time he was in a perfect fret at 
 beino; told the distance between the sun and 
 moon. 'How can any one tell the distance?' 
 cried he. ' Who surveyed it ? who carried the 
 chain ? By Jupiter ! they only talk this way be- 
 fore me to annoy me. But then there 's some 
 people of sense who give in to this cursed hum- 
 bug ! There 's Judge Broadnax, now, one of 
 of the best lawyers we have ; is n't it surprising 
 he should believe in such stuff? Why, sir, the 
 other day I heard him talk of the distance from 
 a star he called Mars to the sun ! He must have 
 got it out of one or other of those confounded 
 books he 's so fond of reading ; a book some im- 
 pudent fellow has written, who knew nobody 
 could swear the distance was more or less.' 
 
 " For my own part, feeling my ovvn deficiency 
 in scientific lore, I never ventured to unsettle his 
 conviction that the sun made his daily circuit 
 round the earth ; and for aught I said to the con- 
 trary, he lived and died in that belief 
 
 " I had been about a year at Bardstown, living 
 thus studiously and reclusely, when, as I was one 
 day walking the street, I met two young girls, in 
 one of whom I immediately recalled the little 
 beauty whom I had kissed so impudently. She 
 blushed up to the eyes, and so did I ; but we both 
 passed on without farther sign of recognition. 
 This second glimpse of her, however, caused an 
 odd fluttering about my heart. I could not get 
 her out of my thoughts for days. She quite in- 
 terfered with my studies. I tried to think of her 
 as a mere child, but it would not do ; she had im^ 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD, 313 
 
 proved in beauty, and was tending toward woman- 
 Iiood ; and then I myself was but little bettei 
 than a strippling. However, I did not attempt 
 to seek after her, or even to find out who she 
 was, but returned doggedly to my books. By 
 degrees she faded from my thoughts, or if she did 
 cross them occasionally, it was only to increase 
 my despondency, for I feared that with all my 
 exertions, I should never be able to fit myself for 
 the bar, or enable myself to support a wife. 
 
 " One cold stormy evening I was seated, in 
 dumpish mood, in the bar-room of the inn, look- 
 ins: into the fire and turnino: over uncomfortable 
 thoughts, when I was accosted by some one who 
 had entered the room without my perceiving it. 
 I looked up, and saw before me a tall and, as I 
 thought, pompous-looking man, arrayed in small- 
 clothes and knee-buckles, with powdered head, 
 and shoes nicely blacked and polished ; a style of 
 dress unparalleled in those days in that rough 
 country. I took a pique against him from the 
 very portliness of his appearance and stateliness 
 of his manner, and bristled up as he accosted 
 me. He demanded if my name v/as not Ring- 
 wood. 
 
 " I was startled, for I supposed myself perfectly 
 incog. ; but I answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " ' Your family, I believe, lives in Richmond.' 
 
 " My gorge began to rise. " Yes, sir,' replied 
 I, sulkily, 'my family does live in Richmond.' 
 
 " ' And what, may I ask, has brought you into 
 this part of the country ? ' 
 
 " ' Zounds, sir ! ' cried I, starting on my feet, 
 
314 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 ' what bnsiness is it of yours ? How dare you to 
 question me in this manner ? ' 
 
 " The entrance of some persons prevented a 
 reply ; bnt I walked up and down the bar-room, 
 fuming with conscious independence and insulted 
 dignity, while the pompous looking personage, who 
 had thus trespassed upon my spleen, retired with- 
 out proffering another word. 
 
 " The next day, while seated in my room, some 
 one tapped at the door, and, on being bid to enter, 
 the stranger in the powdered head, small-clothes, 
 and shining shoes and buckles, walked in with 
 ceremonious courtesy. 
 
 " My boyish pride was again in arms, but he sub- 
 dued me. He was formal, but kind and friendly. 
 He knew my family and understood my situation, 
 and the dogged struggle 1 \vas making. A little 
 conversation, when my jealous pride w as once put 
 to rest, drew everything from me. He was a 
 lawyer of experience and of extensive practice, 
 and offered at once to take me with him and direct 
 my studies. The offer was too advantageous and 
 gratifying not to be immediately accepted. From 
 that time I began to look up. I was put into a 
 proper track, and w^as enabled to study to a proper 
 purpose. I made acquaintance, too, with some 
 of the young men of the place who were in the 
 same pursuit, and was encouraged at finding that 
 I could ' hold my own ' in argument with them. 
 We instituted a debating-club, in which I soon 
 became prominent and popular. Men of talents, 
 engaged in other pursuits, joined it, and this diver- 
 Bified our subjects and put me on various tracks 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 315 
 
 dF inquiry. Ladies, too, attended some of our 
 discussions, and this gave them a pohte tone and 
 had an influence on the manners of the debators. 
 My legal patron also may have had a favorable 
 effect in correcting any roughness contracted in 
 my hunter's life. He was calculated to bend me 
 in an opposite direction, for he was of the old 
 school ; quoted ' Chesterfield ' on all occasions, and 
 talked of Sir Charles Grandison, who was his 
 heau ideal. It was Sir Charles Grandison, how- 
 ever, Kentuckyized. 
 
 " I had always been fond of female society. 
 My experience, however, had hitherto been among 
 the rough daughters of the backwoodsmen, and 
 I felt an awe of young ladies in ' store clothes,' 
 delicately brought up. Two or three of the mar- 
 ried ladies of Bardstown, who had heard me at 
 the debating-club, determined that I was a genius, 
 and undertook to bring me out. I believe I really 
 improved under their hands, became quiet where 
 I had been shy or sulky, and easy where I had 
 been impudent. 
 
 I called to take tea one evening with one of 
 these ladies, when to my surprise, and somewhat 
 to my confusion, I found with her the identical 
 blue-eyed little beauty whom I had so audaciously 
 kissed. I was formally introduced to her, but 
 neither of us betrayed any sign of previous ac- 
 quaintance, except by blushing to the eyes. While 
 tea was getting ready, the lady of the house went 
 out of the room to give some directions, and left 
 HS alone. 
 
 " Heavens and earth, what a situation ! ] 
 
316 EXPERIENCES )F RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 would have given all the pittance I was worth, 
 to have been in the deepest dell of the forest. I 
 felt the necessity of saying something in excuse 
 of my former rudeness, but I could not conjure 
 up an idea, nor utter a word. Every moment 
 matters were growing; worse. I felt at one time 
 tempted to do as I had done when I robbed her 
 of the kiss, — ■ bolt from the room, and take to 
 flight ; but I was chained to the spot, for I really 
 longed to gain her good will. 
 
 " At length I plucked up courage, on seeing 
 that she was equally confused with myself, and 
 walking desperately up to her, I exclaimed : 
 
 " ' I have been trying to muster up something 
 to say to you, but I cannot. I feel that I am in 
 a horrible scrape. Do have pity on me, and help 
 me out of it ! ' 
 
 " A smile dimpled about her mouth, and played 
 among the blushes of her cheek. She looked up 
 with a shy but arch glance of the eye, that ex- 
 pressed a volume of comic recollection ; we both 
 broke into a laugh, and from that moment all went 
 on well. 
 
 " A few evenings afterward I met her at a 
 dance, and prosecuted the acquaintance. I soon 
 became deeply attached to her, paid my court 
 regularly, and before I was nineteen years of 
 age had engaged myself to marry her. I spoke 
 to her mother, a widoW lady, to ask her consent. 
 She seemed to demur ; upon which, with my cus- 
 tomary haste, I told her there would be no use 
 in opposing the match, for if her daughter chose 
 to have me, I would take her, in defiance of her 
 family and the whole world. 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 317 
 
 " She liiiighed, and told me I need not give 
 myself any uneasiness ; there would be no inirea- 
 sonable opposition. She knew my family, and all 
 about me. The only obstacle was, that I had no 
 means of supporting a wife, and she had nothing 
 to o^ive with her daughter. 
 
 " No matter ; at that moment everything was 
 bright before me. I was in one of my sanguine 
 moods. I feared nothing, doubted nothing. So 
 it was agreed that I should prosecute my studies, 
 obtain a license, and as soon as I should be fairly 
 launched in business, we would be married. 
 
 " I now prosecuted my studies with redoubled 
 ardor, and was up to my ears in law, when I re- 
 ceived a letter from my father, who had heard of 
 me and my whereabouts. He applauded the 
 course I had taken, but advised me to lay a foun- 
 dation of general knowledge, and offered to defray 
 my expenses if I would go to college. I felt tlie 
 want of a general education, and was staffo-ered 
 with this offer. It militated somewhat a2;ainst 
 the self-dependent course I had so proudly, or 
 rather conceitedly, marked out for myself, but it 
 would enable me to enter more advantageously 
 upon my legal career. I talked over the matter 
 with the lovely girl to whom I was engaged. 
 She sided in opinion with my father, and talked 
 so disinterestedly, yet tenderly, that if possible, 
 I loved her more than ever. I reluctantly, there- 
 fore, agreed to go to college for a couple of years, 
 *hough it must necessarily postpone our union. 
 
 " Scarcely had I formed this resolution, when 
 her mother was taken ill, and died, leaving her 
 
318 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 without a protector. This again altered all my 
 plans. I felt as if I could protect her. I gave 
 up all idea of collegiate studies ; persuaded my- 
 self that by dint of industry and application I 
 might overcome the deficiencies of education, and 
 resolved to take out a license as soon as possible. 
 
 " That very autumn I w.as admitted to the bar, 
 and within a month afterward was married. We 
 were a young couple, — she not much above six- 
 teen, I not quite twenty, — and both almost with- 
 out a dollar in the world. The establishment 
 which we set up was suited to our circumstances : 
 a log-house, with two small rooms ; a bed, a ttible, 
 a half-dozen chairs, a half-dozen knives and forks, 
 a half-dozen spoons ; everything by half-dozens ; 
 a little Delft ware ; everythmg in a small vray : 
 we were so poor, but then so happy ! 
 
 " We had not been married many days when 
 court was held at a county town, about tvrenty- 
 five miles distant. It was necesssry for me to go 
 there, and put myself in the way or business ; 
 but how was T to go ? I had expended all my 
 means on our establishment ; and then, it was 
 hard parting with my wife so soon after marriage. 
 However, go I must. Money must be made, or 
 we should soon have the wolf at the door. I ac- 
 cordingly borrowed a horse, and borrowed a little 
 cash, and i-ode off from my door, leaving my wife 
 standing at it, and waving her hand after me. 
 Her last look, so sweet and beaming, went to my 
 heart. I felt as if I could go through fire and 
 water for her. 
 
 " I arrived at the county town on a cool Octo- 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 319 
 
 ber evening. The inn was crowded, for the court 
 was to commence on the following day. I knew 
 no one, and wondered how I, a stranger and a 
 mere youngster, was to make my way in such a 
 crowd, and to get business. The public room was 
 thronged with the idlers of the country, who gather 
 together on such occasions. There was some 
 drinking going forward, with much noise, and a 
 little altercation. Just as I entered the room, I 
 saw a rough bully of a fellow, who was partly 
 intoxicated, strike an old man. He came swasf- 
 gering by me, and elbowed me as he passed. I 
 immediately knocked him down, and kicked him 
 into the street. I needed no better introduction. 
 In a moment I had a dozen rough shakes of the 
 hand and invitations to drink, and found myself 
 quite a personage in this rough assembly. 
 
 " The next morning the court opened. I took 
 my seat among the lawyers, but felt as a mere 
 spectator, not having a suit in progress or pros- 
 pect, nor having any idea where business was to 
 come from. In the course of the mornins:, a man 
 was put at the bar charged with passing counter- 
 feit money, and was asked if he was ready for 
 trial. He answered in the negative. He had 
 been confined in a place where there were no 
 lawyers, and had not had an opportunity of con 
 suiting any. He Avas told to choose counsel from 
 the lawyers present, and to be ready for trial on 
 the following day. He looked round the court, 
 and selected me. I was thunderstruck. I could 
 not tell why he should make such a choice. 1, 
 a beardless youngster, unpractised at the bar 
 
320 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 perfectly unknown. 1 felt diffident yet delighted, 
 and could have hugged the rascal. 
 
 " Before leaving the court, he gave me one 
 hundred dollars in a bag, as a retaining fee. I 
 could scarcely believe my senses ; it seemed like 
 a dream. The heaviness of the fee spoke but 
 lightly in favor of his innocence, but that was no 
 affair of mine. I was to be advocate, not judge, 
 nor jury. I followed him to jail, and learned 
 from him all the particulars of his case : thence 
 I went to the clerk's office, and took minutes of 
 the indictment. I then examined the law on the 
 subject, and prepared my brief in my room. All 
 this occupied me until midnight, when I went to 
 bed, and tried to sleep. It was all in vain. Never 
 in my life was I more wide awake. A host of 
 thoughts and fancies kept rushing through my 
 mind ; the shower of gold that had so unexpect- 
 edly fallen into my lap ; the idea of my poor little 
 wife at home, that I was to astonish with my 
 good fortune ! But then the awful responsibility 
 I had undertaken ! — to speak for the first time 
 in a strange court ; the expectations the culprit 
 had evidently formed of my talents ; all these, 
 and a crowd of similar notions, kept whirling 
 through my mind. I tossed about all night, fear- 
 ing the morning would find me exhausted and in- 
 competent ; in a word, the day dawned on me, a 
 miserable fellow ! 
 
 " I got up feverish and nervous. I walked out 
 before breakfast, striving to collect my thoughts, 
 and tranquillize my feelings. It v/as a bright 
 morning ; the air was pure and frosty. T bathed 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 321 
 
 my forehead caiicl my h<ands in a beautiful running 
 stream ; but I could not allay the fever heat that 
 rajred within. I returned to breakfast, but could 
 not eat. A single cup of coffee formed my repast. 
 It was time to go to court, and I went there with 
 a throbbinoj heart. I believe if it had not been 
 for the thoughts of my little wife, in her lonely 
 log-house, I should have ojiven back to the man 
 his hundred dollars, and relinquished the cause. 
 I took my seat, looking, I am convinced, more 
 like a culprit than the rogue I was to defend. 
 
 " When the time came for me to speak, my 
 heart died within me. I rose embarrassed and 
 dismayed, and stammered in opening my cause. 
 I went on from bad to worse, and felt as if 1 was 
 going down hiU. Just then the public prosecutor, 
 a man of talents, but somewhat rough in his prac- 
 tice, made a sarcastic remark on something I had 
 said. It was like an electric spark, and ran tingling 
 through every vein in my body. In an instant 
 my diffidence was gone. My whole spirit was in 
 arms. I answered with promptness and bitter 
 ness, for I telt the cruelty of such an attack upon 
 a novice in my situation. The public prosecutor 
 made a kind of apology ; tliis, from a man of his 
 redoubted powers, was a vast concession. I re- 
 newed my argument with a fearless glow ; car- 
 ried the case through triumphantly, and the man 
 was acquitted. 
 
 " This was the making of me. Everybody was 
 
 curious to know who this new lawyer was, that 
 
 had thus suddenly risen among them, and bearded 
 
 the attorney-general at the very outset. The 
 21 
 
322 EXPERTENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 Story of my debut at the inn, on the preceding 
 evening, when I had knocked down a bally, and 
 kicked him out of doors, for striking an old man, 
 was circulated, with favorable exaofg-erations. 
 Even my very beardless chin and juvenile coun- 
 tenance were in my favor, for people gave me far 
 more credit than I really deserved. The chance 
 business which occurs in our country courts came 
 thronging upon me. I was repeatedly employed 
 in other causes ; and by Saturday night, when the 
 court closed, and I had paid my bill at the inn, I 
 found myself with a hundred and fifty dollars in 
 silver, three hundred dollars in notes, and a horse 
 that I afterward sold for two hundred dollars 
 more. 
 
 " Never did miser gloat on his money with 
 more delight. I locked the door of ray room, 
 piled the money in a heap upon the table, walked 
 round it, sat with my elbows on the table and 
 my chin upon my hands, and gazed upon it. Was 
 I thinking of the money ? No ! I was thinking 
 of my little wife at home. Another sleepless 
 night ensued ; but what a night of golden fancies 
 and splendid air-castles ! As soon as raorin'ng 
 dawned, I was up, mounted the borrowed horse 
 with which I had come to court, and led the other, 
 which I had received as a fee. All the way I 
 v\^as delighting myself with the thoughts of the 
 surprise I had in store for my little wife ; for 
 both of us had expected nothing but that I should 
 spend all the money I htid borrowed, and should 
 return in debt. 
 
 " Our meeting was joyous, as you may suppose ; 
 
EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 82b 
 
 6ut I played the part of the Indian hunter, who, 
 when he returns from the chase, never for a time 
 speaks of his success. She had prepared a snug 
 little rustic meal for me, and while it was getting 
 ready, I seated myself at an old-fashioned desk 
 in one corner, and began to count over my money 
 and put it away. She came to me before I havd 
 finished, and asked who I had collected the money 
 for. 
 
 " ' For myself, to be sure,' replied I, with af- 
 fected coolness ; ' I made it at court.' 
 
 " vShe looked me for a moment in the face, in- 
 credulously. I tried to keep my countenance, and 
 to play Indian, but it would not do. My muscles 
 began to twitch ; my feelings all at once gave 
 way. I caught her in my arms ; laughed, cried, 
 and danced about the room, like a crazy man. 
 From that time forward, we never wanted for 
 money. 
 
 " I had not been long in successful practice, 
 when I was surprised one day by a visit from my 
 woodland patron, old Miller. The tidings of my 
 prosperity had reached him in the wilderness, and 
 he had walked one hundred and fifty miles on foot 
 to see me. By that time I had improved my do- 
 mestic establishment, and had all things comfort- 
 able about me. He looked around him with a 
 wondering eye, at what he considered luxuries 
 and superfluities ; but supposed they were all 
 right, in my altered circumstances. He said he 
 did not know, upon the whole, but that I acted 
 •br the best. It is true, if game had continued 
 plenty, it would have been a folly for me to quit 
 
;;24 EXPERIENCES OF RALPH RING WOOD. 
 
 a hunter's life ; but hunting was pretty nigh clone 
 up in Kentucky. The buffalo had gone to Mis- 
 souri ; the elk were nearly gone also ; deer, too, 
 were growing scarce ; they might last out his 
 time, as he was growing old, but they were not 
 worth setting up life upon. He had once lived 
 on the borders of Virginia. Game grew scarce 
 there ; he followed it up across Kentucky, and 
 now it was again giving him the slip ; but he was 
 too old to follow it farther. 
 
 '* He remained with us three days. My wife 
 did everything in her power to make him com- 
 fortable ; but at the end of that time he said he 
 nmst be off again to the woods. He was tired 
 of the village, and of having so many people 
 about him. He accordingly returned to the wil- 
 derness, and to hunting life. But I fear he did 
 not make a good end of it ; for I understand that 
 a few years before his death, he married Sukey 
 Thomas, who lived at the White Oak Run." 
 
THE SEMmOLES. 
 
 I ROM the time of the chimerical cruisings 
 of Old Ponce de Leon in search of the 
 ij Fountain of Youth ; the avaricious ex- 
 pedition of Pamphilo de Narvaez in quest of gold ; 
 and the chivalrous enterprise of Hernando do 
 Soto, to discover and conquer a second Mexico, 
 the natives of Florida have been continually sub- 
 jected to the invasions and encroachments of white 
 . men. They have resisted them perseveringly but 
 fruitlessly, and are now battling amidst swamps 
 and morasses, for the last foothold of their native 
 soil, with all the ferocity of despair. Can we 
 wonder at the bitterness of a hostility that has 
 been handed down from father to son for upward 
 of three centuries, and exasperated by the wrongs 
 and miseries of each succeedino; generation ! The 
 very name of the savages with whom we are 
 fighting, betokens their fallen and homeless con- 
 dition. Formed of the wrecks of once powerful 
 tribes, and driven from their ancient seats of pros- 
 perity and dominion, they are known by the name 
 V Df the Seminoles, or ** Wa nderers." 
 
 Bartram, who travelled through Florida in the 
 latter part of the last century, speaks of passing 
 
326 THE SEMfNOLES. 
 
 through a great extent of ancient Indian fields, 
 now silent and deserted, overgrown with forests, 
 orange groves, and rank vegetation, the sight of 
 the ancient Alachua, the capital of a famous and 
 powerful tribe, who in days of old could assemble 
 thousands at bull-play and other athletic exercises 
 " over these then happy fields and green plains." 
 " Almost every step we take," adds he, " over 
 these fertile heights, discovers the remains and 
 traces of ancient human habitations and cultiva- 
 tion." 
 
 We are told that about the year 1763, when 
 ^ Florida was ceded by the Spaniards to the Eng- 
 
 lish, the Indians generally retired from the towns 
 and the neighborhood of the whites, and burying 
 themselves in the deep forests, intricate swamps 
 and hommocks, and vast savannahs of the interior, 
 devoted themselves to a pastoral life, and the rear- 
 ing of horses and cattle. These are the people 
 that received the name of the Seminoles, or Wan- 
 derers, which they still retain. 
 
 Bartram gives a pleasing picture of them at 
 the time he visited them in their wilderness, 
 where their distance from the abodes of the white 
 man gave them a transient quiet and security. 
 " This handful of people," says he, " possesses a 
 vast territory, all East and the greatest part of 
 West Florida, which being naturally cut and di- 
 vided into thousands of islets, knolls, and emi- 
 nences, by the innumerable rivers, lakes, swamps, 
 vast savannahs, and ponds, form so many secure 
 retreats and temporary dwelling-places that effec- 
 tually guard them from any sudden invasions or 
 
THE SEMJNOLES. 327 
 
 attacks from their enemies ; and being such a 
 swampy, hommocky country, furnishes such a 
 plenty and variety of supplies for the nourishment 
 of varieties of animals, that I can venture to as- 
 sert, that no part of the globe so abounds with 
 wild game, or creatures fit for the food of man. 
 
 " Thus they enjoy a superabundance of the 
 necessaries and conveniences of life, with the se- 
 curity of person and property, the two great con- 
 cerns of mankind. The hides of deer, bears, 
 tigers, and wolves, together with honey, wax, and 
 other productions of the country, purchase their 
 clothing equipage and domestic utensils from the 
 whites. They seem to be free from want or de- 
 sires. No cruel enemy to dread ; nothing to give 
 them disquietude, hut the gradual encroachments 
 of the white people. Thus contented and undis- 
 turbed, they appear as blithe and free as the birds 
 of the air, and like them as volatile and active, 
 tuneful and vociferous. The visage, action, and 
 deportment of the Seminoles form the most strik- 
 ing picture of happiness in this life ; joy, content- 
 ment, love, and friendship, without guile or affec- 
 tation, seem inherent in them, or predominant in 
 their vital principle, for it leaves them with but the 
 last breath of life. . . . They are fond of games 
 and gambling, and amuse themselves like children, 
 in relating extravagant stories, to cause surprise 
 and mirth." * 
 
 The same writer gives an engaging picture of 
 his treatment by these savages : 
 
 " Soon after entering the forests, we were met 
 
 * Bartram's Travels in North America. 
 
328 THE SEMINOLES. 
 
 ill the path by a small company of Indians, smil- 
 ing and beckoning to us long before we joined 
 them. This was a family of Talahasochte, who 
 had been out on a hunt and were returning home 
 loaded with barbacued meat, hides, and honey. 
 Their compa.ny consisted of the man, his Avife and 
 children, well mounted on fine horses, with a i.um- 
 ber of pack-horses. The man offered us a fawn- 
 skin of honey, which I accepted, and at parting 
 presented him with some fish-hooks, sewing-nee- 
 dles, etc. 
 
 " On our return to camp in the evening, we 
 were saluted by a party of young Indian war- 
 riors, who had pitched their tents on a green emi- 
 nence near the lake, at a small distance from our 
 camp, under a little grove of oaks and palms. 
 This company consisted of seven young Seminoles, 
 under the conduct of a young prince or chief of 
 Talahasochte, a town southward in the Isthmus. 
 They were all dressed and painted with singular 
 elegance, and richly ornamented with silver plates, 
 chains, etc., after the Seminole mode, with wav- 
 ing plumes of feathers on their crests. On our 
 coming up to them, they arose and shook hands ; 
 we alighted, and sat a while with them by their 
 cheerful fire. 
 
 " The young prince informed our chief that he 
 was in pursuit of a young fellow who had fled 
 from the town, carrying off with him one of his 
 favorite young wives. He said, merrily, he would 
 have the ears of both of them before he returned. 
 He was rather above the middle stature, and the 
 most perfect human figure I ever saw ; of au . 
 
THE SEMINOLKS. 329 
 
 amiable, engaging countenance, air, and deport- 
 ment ; free and familiar in conversation, yet re- 
 taining a becoming gracefulness and dignity. We 
 arose, took leave of them, and crossed a little vale, 
 covered with a charming green turf, already illu- 
 minated by the soft light of the full moon. 
 
 " Soon after joining our companions at camp, 
 our neighbors, the prince and his associates, paid 
 us a visit. ^Ye treated them with the best fare 
 we had, having till this time preserved our spirit- 
 uous liquors. They left us with perfect cordiality 
 and cheerfulness, wishing us a good repose, and 
 retired to their own camp. Having a band of 
 music with them, consisting of a drum, flutes, and 
 a rattle - gourd, they entertained us during the 
 night with their music, vocal and instrumental. 
 
 " There is a lano'uishino; softness and melan- 
 choly air in the Indian convivial songs, especially 
 of the amorous class, irresistibly moving attention, 
 and exquisitely pleasing, especially in their soli- 
 tary recesses, when all Nature is silent." 
 
 Travellers who have been among them, in more 
 recent times, before they had embarked in their 
 present desperate struggle, represent them in much 
 the same light ; as leading a pleasant, indolent life, 
 in a climate that required little shelter or clothing, 
 and where the spontaneous fruits of the earth fur- 
 nished subsistence without toil. A cleanly race, 
 delighting in bathing, passing much of their time 
 under the shade of their trees, with heaps of 
 oranges and other fine fruits for their refreshment ; 
 talking, laughing, dancing, and sleeping. Every 
 chief had a fan hanging to his side, made of 
 
B60 THE SEMINOLES. 
 
 feathers of the wild turkey, the beautiful pink- 
 colored crane, or the scarlet flamingo. With this 
 he would sit and fan himself with great stateli- 
 ness, while the young people danced before him. 
 The women joined in the dances with the men, 
 sxcepting the war-dances. They wore strings of 
 tortoise-shells and pebbles round their legs, which 
 rattled in cadence to the music. They were 
 treated with more attention among the Serainoles 
 than amono; most Indian tribes. 
 
 ORIGIN OF THE WHITE, THE RED, AND THE 
 BLACK MEN. 
 
 A SEMINOLE TRADITION. 
 
 When the Floridas were erected into a terri- 
 tory of the United States, one of the earliest 
 cares of the Governor, William P. Duval, was 
 directed to the instruction and civilization of the 
 natives. For this purpose he called a meeting of 
 the chiefs, in which he informed them of the wish 
 of their Great Father at Washington that they 
 should have schools and teachers among them, and 
 that their children should be instructed like the 
 children of white men. The chiefs listened with 
 their customary silence and decorum to a long 
 speech, setting forth the advantages that would 
 accrue to them from this measure, and when he 
 had concluded, begged the interval of a day to 
 deliberate on it. 
 
 On the following day, a solemn convocation 
 
WHITE, RED, AND BLACK MEN. 331 
 
 was held, at which one of the chiefs addressed 
 the Governor in the name of all the rest. "My 
 brother," said he, " Ave have been thinking over 
 the proposition of our Great Father at Washing- 
 ton, to send teachers and set up schools among us. 
 We are very thankful for the interest he takes in 
 our welfare ; but after much deliberation have con- 
 cluded to decline his offer. What will do very 
 well for white men, will not do for red men. I 
 know you white men say we all come from the 
 same father and mother, but you are mistaken. 
 We have a tradition handed down from our fore- 
 fathers, and we believe it, that the Great Spirit, 
 when he undertook to make men, made the black 
 man ; it was his first attempt, and pretty well for 
 a beginning ; but he soon saw he had bungled ; 
 so he determined to try his hand again. He did 
 so, and made the red man. He liked him much 
 better than the black man, but still he was not 
 exactly what he wanted. So he tried once more, 
 and made the white man ; and then he was satis- 
 fied. You see, therefore, that you were made 
 last, and that is the reason I call you my youngest 
 brother. 
 
 " When the Great Spirit had made the three 
 men, he called them together and showed them 
 three boxes. The first was filled with books, and 
 maps, and papers ; the second with bows and 
 arrows, knives and tomahawks ; the third with 
 spades, axes, hoes, and hammers. ' These, my 
 sons,' said he, ' are the means by which you are 
 to live ; choose among them according to your 
 fancy.' 
 
332 TFIE SEMINOLES. 
 
 " The vA^iite man, being the favorite, had the 
 first choice. He passed by the box of working- 
 tools without notice ; but when he came to the 
 weapons for war and hunting, he stopped and 
 looked hard at them. The red man trembled, 
 for he had set his heart upon that box. The 
 white man, however, after looking upon it for a 
 moment, passed on, and chose the box of books 
 and papers. The red man's turn came next, and 
 you may be sure he seized with joy upon the 
 bows and arrows and tomahawks. As to the 
 black man, he had no choice left, but to put up 
 with the box of tools. 
 
 " From this it is clear that the Great Spirit 
 intended the white man should learn to read and 
 write, to understand all about the moon and 
 stars, and to make everything, even rum and 
 whiskey. That the red man should be a first- 
 rate hunter, and a mighty warrior, but he was 
 not to learn anything from books, as the Great 
 Spirit had not given him any ; nor Avas he to 
 make rum and whiskey, lest he should kill himself 
 with drinking. As to the black man, as he had 
 nothing but working- tools, it was clear he was to 
 work tor the white and red man, which he has 
 continued to do. 
 
 " We must go according to the wishes of the 
 Great Spirit, or we shall get into trouble. To 
 know how to read and write is very good for 
 white men, but very bad for red men. It makes 
 wliite men better, but red men worse. Some of 
 the Creeks and Cherokees learnt to read and write, 
 and they are the greatest rascals among all tho 
 
CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATIILA. 333 
 
 Indians. They went on to Washington, and said 
 they were going to see their Great Father, to talk 
 about the good of the nation. And when they got 
 there, they all wrote upon a little piece of paper, 
 without the nation at home knowing anything 
 about it. And the first thing the nation at home 
 knew of the matter, they were called together by 
 the Indian agent, who showed them a little piece 
 of paper, which he told them was a treaty which 
 their brethren had made in their name with their 
 Great Father at Washington. And as they knew 
 not what a treaty was, he held up the little piece 
 of paper, and they looked under it, and lo ! it 
 covered a great extent of country, and they found 
 that their brethren, by knowing how to read and 
 write, had sold their houses, and their lands, and 
 the graves of their fathers ; and that the white 
 man, by knowing how to read and write, had 
 gained them. Tell our Great Father at Wash- 
 ington, therefore, that we are very sorry we can- 
 not receive teachers among us ; for reading and 
 writing, though very good for white men, is very 
 bad for Indians." 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 
 
 AN AUTHENTIC SKETCH. 
 
 In the autumn of 1823, Governor Duval, and 
 other commissioners on the part of the United 
 States, concluded a treaty with the chiefs and 
 warriors of the Florida Indians, by Avhich the 
 
334 THE SEM INGLES. 
 
 latter, for certain considerations, ceded all claims 
 to the whole territory, excepting a district in the 
 eastern part, to which they were to remove, and 
 within which they were to reside for twenty 
 years. Several of the chiefs signed the treaty 
 with great reluctance ; but none opposed it more 
 strongly than Neamathla, principal chief of the 
 Mickasookies, a fierce and warlike people, many 
 of them Creeks by origin, who lived about the 
 Mickasookie lake. Neamathla had always been 
 active in those depredations on the frontiers of 
 Georgia, which had brought vengeance and ruin 
 on the Seminoles. He was a remarkable man ; 
 upward of sixty years of age, about six feet high, 
 with a fine eye, and a strongly marked counte- 
 nance, over which he possessed great command. 
 His hatred of the white men appeared to be 
 mixed with contempt ; on the common people he 
 looked down with infinite scorn. He seemed 
 unwilling to acknowledge any superiority of rank 
 or dignity in Governor Duval, claiming to asso- 
 ciate with him on terms of equality, as two great 
 chieftains. Though he had been prevailed upon 
 to sign the treaty, his heart revolted at it. In 
 one of his frank conversations with Governor 
 Duval, he observed : " This country belongs to 
 the red man ; and if I had the number of war- 
 riors at my command that this nation once had, I 
 would not leave a white man on my lands. 1 
 would exterminate the whole. I can say this to 
 you, for you can understand me ; you are a man ; 
 but I would not say it to your people. They 'd 
 cry out I was a savage, and would take my life. 
 
CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 335 
 
 They cannot appreciate the feeUngs of a man that 
 loves his country." 
 
 As Florida had but recently been erected into 
 a territory, everything as yet was in rude and 
 simple style. The Governor, to make himseh' 
 acquainted with the Indians, and to be near a 
 hand to keep an eye upon them, fixed his resi 
 dence at Tallahassee, near the Fowel towns, in 
 habited by the Mickasookies. His government 
 palace for a time was a mere log-house, and he 
 lived on hunters' fare. The village of Neamathla 
 was but about three miles off, anel thither the 
 Governor occasionally rode, to visit the old chief- 
 tain. In one of these visits he found Neamathla 
 seated in his wigwam, in the centre of the village, 
 surrounded by his warriors. The Governor had 
 brought him some liquor as a present, but it 
 mounted quickly into his brain, and rendered him 
 quite boastful and belligerent. The theme ever 
 uppermost in his mind was the treaty with the 
 whites. " It was true," he said, " the red men 
 had made such a treaty, but the white men had 
 not acted up to it. The red men had received 
 none of the money and the cattle that had been 
 promised them ; the treaty, therefore, was at an 
 end, and they did not mean to be bound by it." 
 
 Governor Duval calmly represented to him 
 that the time appointed in the treaty for the pay- 
 ment and delivery of the money and the cattle 
 had not yet arrived. This the old chieftain knew 
 full well, but he chose, for the moment, to pre- 
 tend ignorance. He kept on drinking and talking, 
 his voice growing louder and louder, until it re 
 
336 THE SEMINOLES. 
 
 sounded all over the village. He held in his hand 
 a long knife, with Avhich he had been rasping to- 
 bacco ; this he kept flourishing backward and for- 
 ward, as he talked, by way of giving effect to his 
 words, brandishing it at times within an inch of 
 the Governor's throat. He concluded his tirade 
 by repeating that the country belonged to the red 
 men, and that sooner than give it up, his bones 
 and the bones of his people should bleach upon 
 its soil. 
 
 Duval knew that the object of all this bluster 
 was to see whether he could be intimidated. He 
 kept his eye, therefore, fixed steadily on the chief, 
 and the moment he concluded with his menace, 
 seized him by the bosom of his hunting-shirt, and 
 clenching his other fist : 
 
 " I 've heard what you have said," replied he. 
 " You have made a treaty, yet you say your bones 
 shall bleach before you comply with it. As sure 
 as there is a sun in heaven, your bones shall bleach 
 if you do not fulfil every article of that treaty ! 
 I '11 let you know that I am Jirst here, and will 
 see that you do your duty ! " 
 
 Upon this the old chieftain threw himself back, 
 burst into a fit of laughing, and declared that all 
 he had said was in joke. The Governor suspected, 
 however, tliat there was a grave meaning at the 
 bottom of this jocularity. 
 
 For two months everything went on smoothly ; 
 the Indians repaired daily to the log-cabin palace 
 of the Governor at Tallahassee, and appeared 
 I'erfectly contented. All at once they ceased their 
 visits, and for three or four days not one was to 
 
CONSFJRACr OF NEAMATHLA. 337 
 
 be seen. Governor Duval began to apprehend 
 that some mischief was brewins^. On the evening 
 of the fourth day, a cliief named Yellow-Flair, a 
 resolute, intelligent fellow, who had always evinced 
 an attachment for the Governor, entered his cabin 
 about twelve o'clock at night, and hiformed him, 
 that between four and five hundred warriors, 
 painted and decorated, were assembled to hold a 
 secret war-talk at Neamathla's town. He had 
 slipped off to give mtelligence, at the risk of his 
 life, and hastened back lest his absence should be 
 discovered. 
 
 Governor Duval passed an anxious night after 
 this intelligence. He knew the talent and the 
 daring character of Neamathla ; he recollected the 
 threats he had thrown out ; he reflected that about 
 eighty white families were scattered widely apart 
 over a great extent of country, and might be swept 
 away at once, should the Indians, as he feared, de- 
 termine to clear the country. That lie did not 
 exaggerate the dangers of the case, hjis been 
 proved by the horrid scenes of Indian warfare 
 which have since desolated that devoted region. 
 After a night of sleepless cogitation, Duval de- 
 termined on a measure suited to his prompt and 
 resolute character. Knowing the admiration of 
 the savages for personal courage, he determined, 
 by a sudden surprise, to endeavor to overawe and 
 check them. It was hazarding much ; but where 
 so many lives were in jeopardy, he felt bound to 
 incur the hazard. 
 
 Accordingly, on the next morning he set off 
 
 m horseback, attended merely by a white mai? 
 22 
 
338 THE SE MINGLES. 
 
 who had been reared among the Serainoles, and 
 understood their language and manners, and who 
 acted as interpreter. They struck into an Indian 
 " trail," leading to Neamathla's village. After 
 proceeding about half a mile, Governor Duval 
 informed the interpj-eter of the object of his ex- 
 pedition. The latter, though a bold man, paused 
 and remonstrated. The Indians among whom 
 they were going were among the most desperate 
 and discontented of the nation. Many of them 
 were veteran warriors, impoverished and exas- 
 perated by defeat, and ready to set their lives al 
 any hazard. He said that if they wei-e holding 
 a war-council, it must be with desperate intent, 
 and it would be certain death to intrude among 
 them. 
 
 Duval made light of his apprehensions ; he said 
 he was perfectly well acquainted with the Indian 
 character, and should certainly proceed. So say- 
 ins:, he rode on. When within half a mile of 
 the village, the interpreter addressed him again 
 in such a tremulous tone, that Duval turned and 
 looked him in the face. He was deadly pale, and 
 once more urged the Governor to return, as they 
 would certainly be massacred if they proceeded. 
 
 Duval repeated his determination to go on, but 
 advised the other to return, lest his pale face 
 should betray fear to the Indians, and they might 
 take advantage of it. The interpreter replied 
 that he would rather die a thousand deaths than 
 have it said he had deserted his leader when in 
 peril. 
 
 Duval then told him he must translate faith- 
 
CONSPIRACY OF NEAMATHLA. 339 
 
 fully all he should say to the Indians, without 
 softening a word. The interpreter promised faith- 
 fully to do so, adding that he well knew, when 
 they were once in the town, nothing but boldness 
 could save them. 
 
 They now rode into the village and advanced 
 to the council-house. This was rather a group 
 of four houses, forming a square, in the centre of 
 which was a great council-fire. The houses were 
 open in front toward the fire, and closed in the 
 rear. At each corner of the square there was an 
 interval between the houses for incrress and esrress. 
 In these houses sat the old men and the chiefs ; 
 the young men were gathered round the fire. 
 Neamathla presided at the council, elevated on 
 a higher seat than the rest. 
 
 Governor Duval entered by one of the corner 
 intervals, and rode boldly into the centre of the 
 square. The young men made way for him ; an 
 old man who was speaking, paused in the midst 
 of his harangue. In an instant thirty or forty 
 rifles were cocked and levelled. , Never had Duval 
 heard so loud a click of triggers ; it seemed to 
 Btrike to his heart. He gave one glance at the 
 Indians, and turned off with an air of contempt. 
 He did not dare, he says, to look again, lest it 
 might affect his nerves, and on the firmness of his 
 nerves everything depended. 
 
 The chief threw up his arm. The rifles were 
 lowered. Duval breathed more freely ; he felt 
 disposed to leap from his horse, but restrained him- 
 self, and dismounted leisurely. He then walked 
 deliberately up to Neamathla, and demanded, in 
 
340 THE SEMINOLES. 
 
 an authoritative tone, what were his motives for 
 liolding that couiicih The moment he made this 
 demand, the orator sat down. The chief made 
 no reply, but hung his head in apparent confusion. 
 After a moment's pause, Duval proceeded : 
 
 " I am well aware of the meanino; of this war- 
 council, and deem it my duty to warn you against 
 prosecuting the schemes you have been devising. 
 If a single hair of a white man in this country 
 falls TO the ground, I will hang you and your 
 chiefs on the trees around your council-house I 
 You cannot pretend to withstand the power of 
 the white men. You are in the palm of the hand 
 of your Great Father at Washington, who can 
 crush you like an egg-shell ! You may kill me ; 
 I am but one man ; but recollect, white men are 
 numerous as the leaves on the trees. Remember 
 the fate of your warriors whose bones are whiten- 
 ing in battlefields. Remember your wives and 
 children who perished in swamps. Do you want 
 to provoke more hostilities ? Another war with 
 the white men, and there will not be a Seminole 
 left to tell the story of his race." 
 
 Seeing the effect of his words, he concluded 
 by appointing a day for the Indians to meet him 
 at St. Marks and give an account of their con- 
 duct. He then rode oif, without giving them time 
 to recover from their surprise. That night he 
 rode forty miles to Apalachicola River, to the 
 tribe of the same name, who were in feud with 
 Uie Seminoles. They promptly put two hundred 
 and fifty warriors at his disposal, whom he ordered 
 to be at St. Marks at the appointed day. He sent 
 
CONSPjRACr OF NEAMATHLA. 341 
 
 out runners also, and mustered one hundred of 
 the militia to repair to the same place, together 
 with a number of regulars from the army. All 
 his arrano-ements were successful. 
 
 Having taken these measures, he returned to 
 Tallahassee, to the neighborhood of the conspira- 
 tors, to show them that he was not afraid. Here 
 he ascertained, through Yellow-Hair, that nine 
 towns were disaffected, and had been concerned 
 in the conspiracy. He was careful to inform him- 
 self, from the same source, of the names of the 
 warriors in each of those towns who were most 
 popular, though poor and destitute of rank and 
 command. 
 
 When the appointed day was at hand for the 
 meeting at St. Marks, Governor Duval set off 
 with Neamathla, who was at the head of eight or 
 nine hundred warriors, but who feared to venture 
 into the fort without him. As they entered the 
 fort, and saw troops and militia drawn up there, 
 and a force of Apalachicola soldiers stationed on 
 the opposite bank of the river, they thought they 
 were betrayed, and were about to fly, but Duval 
 assured them they were safe, and that when the 
 talk was over they might go home unmolested. 
 
 A grand talk was now held, in which the late 
 conspiracy was discussed. As he had foreseen, 
 Neamathla and the other old chiefs threw all the 
 bUmie upon the young men. " Well," replied 
 Duval, " with us white men, when we find a man 
 incompetent to govern those under him, we put 
 him down and appoint another in his place. Now, 
 as you all acknowledge you cannot manage your 
 
342 THE SEMINOLES. 
 
 young men, we must put chiefs over them who 
 can." 
 
 So saying, he deposed Neamathla first, appoint- 
 ing another in his place ; and so on with all the 
 rest, taking care to substitute the warriors who 
 had been pointed out to him as poor and popidar ; 
 putting medals round their necks, and investing 
 them with great ceremony. The Indians were sur- 
 prised and delighted at finding the appointments 
 fall upon the very men they would themselves 
 have chosen, and hailed them with acclamations. 
 The warriors thus unexpectedly elevated to com- 
 mand, and clothed with dignity, were secured to 
 the interests of the Governor, and sure to keep 
 an eye on the disaffected. As to the great chief 
 Neamathla, he left the country in disgust, and 
 returned to the Creek Nation, who elected him a 
 chief of one of their towns. Thus by the resolute 
 spirit and prompt sagacity of one man, a danger- 
 ous conspiracy was completely defeated. Gov- 
 ernor Duval was afterwards enabled to remove the 
 whole nation, through his own personal influence, 
 without the aid of the General Government. 
 
 Note. — The foregoinoj anecdotes concerninof 
 the Seminoles were gathered in conversation 
 with Governor Duval (the original of Ralph 
 Ringwood). 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 URING the minority of Louis XV., 
 while the Duke of Orleans was Regent 
 of France, a young Flemish nobleman, 
 the Count Antoine Joseph Van Horn, made his 
 sudden appearance in Paris, and by his character, 
 conduct, and the subsequent disasters in which he 
 became involved, created a great sensation in the 
 high circles of the proud aristocracy. He was 
 about twenty -two years of age, tall, finely formed, 
 with a pale, romantic countenance, and eyes of 
 remarkable brilliancy and wildness. 
 
 He was of one of the most ancient and highly 
 esteemed families of European nobility, being of 
 the line of the Princes of Horn and Overique, 
 sovereign Counts of Hautekerke, and hereditary 
 Grand Veneurs of the empire. 
 
 The family took its name from the little town 
 and seigneurie of Horn, in Brabant ; and w?s 
 known as early as the eleventh century amrng 
 the little dynasties of the Netherlands, and since 
 that time, by a long line of illustrious generations. 
 At the peace of Utrecht, when the Netherlands 
 passed under subjection to Austria, the house of 
 Van Horn came under the domination of the 
 emperor. At the time we treat of, two of the 
 branches of this ancient house were extinct ; the 
 
344 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 third and only surviving branch was represented 
 by the reigning prince, Maximilian Emanuel Van 
 Horn, twenty-four years of age, who resided in 
 honorable and courtly style on his hereditary do- 
 mains at Baussigny, in the Netherlands, and his 
 brother the Count Antoine Joseph, who is the 
 subject of this memoir. 
 
 The ancient house of Van Horn, by the inter- 
 marriao-e of its various branches with the noble 
 families of the Continent, had become widely con- 
 nected and interwoven with the high aristocracy 
 of Europe. The Count Antoine, therefore, could 
 claim relationship to many of the proudest names 
 in Paris. In fact, he was grandson, by the moth- 
 er's side, of the Prince de Ligne, and even might 
 boast of affinity to the Regent (the Duke of Or- 
 leans) himself. There were circumstances, how- 
 ever, connected with his sudden appearance in 
 Paris, and his previous story, that placed him in 
 what is termed " a false position ; " a word of 
 baleful significance in the fashionable vocabulary 
 of France. 
 
 The young Count had been a captain in the 
 service of Austria, but had been cashiered for ir- 
 regular conduct, and for disrespect to Prince Louis 
 Oi Baden, commander-in-chief. To check him in 
 liis wild career, and bring him to sober reflection, 
 his brother the Prince caused him to be arrested, 
 and sent to the old castle of Van Wert, in the 
 domains of Horn. This was the same castle in 
 which, in former times, John Van Horn, Stadt- 
 holder of Gueldres, had imprisoned his father ; 
 a circumstance which has furnished Rembrandt 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 345 
 
 with the subject of an admh-able painting. The 
 governor of the castle was one Van Wert, grand- 
 son of tlie famous John Van Wert, the hero of 
 many a popular song and legend. It was the 
 intention of the Prince that his brother should 
 be held in honorable durance, for his object was 
 to sober and improve, not to punish and afflict 
 him. Van Wert, however, was a stern, harsh 
 man, of violent passions. He treated the youth 
 in a manner that prisoners and offenders were 
 treated in the strongholds of the robber counts 
 of Germany, in old times ; confined him in a dun- 
 geon, and inflicted on him such hardships and in- 
 dignities, that the irritable temperament of the 
 young count was roused to continual fury, which 
 ended in insanity. For six months was the un- 
 fortunate youth kept in this horrible state, with- 
 out his brother the Prince being informed of his 
 melancholy condition, or of the cruel treatment 
 to which he was subjected. At length, one day, 
 in a paroxysm of frenzy, the Count knocked 
 down two of his jailers with a beetle, escaped 
 from the castle of Van Wert, and eluded all pur- 
 suit ; and after roving about in a state of distrac- 
 tion, made his way to Baussigny, and appeared 
 like a spectre before his brother. 
 
 The Prince was shocked at his wretched, ema- 
 ciated appearance, and his lamentable state of 
 mental alienation. He received him with the 
 most compassionate tenderness ; lodged him in his 
 own room ; appointed three servants to attend and 
 watch over him day and night ; and endeavored, 
 ?)y the most soothing and affectionate assiduity, tc 
 
346 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 atone for the past act of rigor with which he re 
 proached himself AVheii he learned, however, 
 the manner in which his unfortunate brother had 
 been treated in confinement, and the course of 
 brutalities that had led to his mental malady, he 
 was aroused to indignation. His first step was 
 to cashier Van Wert from his command. That 
 violent man set the Prince at defiance, and at- 
 tempted to maintain himself in his government 
 and his castle, by instigating the peasants, for 
 several leagues round, to revolt. His insurrec- 
 tion might have been formidable against the power 
 of a petty prince ; but he was put under the ban 
 of the empire, and seized as a state prisoner. 
 The memory of his grandfather, the oft-sung John 
 Van Wert, alone saved him from a gibbet ; but 
 he was imprisoned in the strong tower of Horn- 
 op-Zee. There he remained until he was eighty- 
 two years of age, savage, violent, and unconquered 
 to the last ; for we are told that he never ceased 
 fighting and thumping, as long as he could close 
 a fist or wield a cudgel. 
 
 In the mean time, a course of kind and gentle 
 treatment and wholesome regimen, and, above all, 
 the tender and affectionate assiduity of his brother, 
 the Prince, produced the most salutary effects 
 upon Count Antoine. He gradually recovered 
 his reason ; but a degree of violence seemed al- 
 ways lurking at the bottom of his character, and 
 he required to be treated with the greatest cau- 
 tion and mildness, for the least contradiction exas- 
 perated him. 
 
 la this state of mental convalescence, he began 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 34? 
 
 to find the supervision and restraints of brotherly 
 affection insupportable ; so he left the Netherlands 
 furtively, and repaired to Paris, whither, in fact, 
 it is said he was called by motives of interest, to 
 make arrangements concerning a valuable estate 
 which he inherited from his relative the Princess 
 d'Epinay. 
 
 On his arrival in Paris, he called upon the 
 Marquis of Crequi, and other of the high nobility 
 with whom he was connected. He was received 
 with great courtesy ; but, as he brought no letters 
 from his elder brother, the Prince, and as various 
 circumstances of his previous history had tran- 
 spired, they did not receive him into their fami- 
 lies, nor introduce him to their ladies. Still they 
 feted him in bachelor style, gave him gay and 
 elegant suppers at their separate apartments, and 
 took him to their boxes at the theatres. He was 
 often noticed, too, at the doors of the most fash- 
 ionable churches, taking his stand among the young 
 men of fashion ; and at such times, his tall, ele- 
 gant figure, his pale but handsome countenance, 
 and his flashing eyes, distinguished him from 
 among the crowd ; and the ladies declared that it 
 was almost impossible to support his ardent gaze. 
 
 The Count did not afflict himself much at his 
 limited circulation in the fastidious circles of the 
 high aristocracy. He relished society of a wilder 
 and less ceremonious cast ; and meeting with 
 loose companions to his taste, soon ran into all 
 the excesses of the capital, in that most licentious 
 period. It is said that, in the course of his wild 
 career, he had an intrigue with a lady of quality, 
 
348 THE COUNT VAN HORN 
 
 EL favorite of the Regent, that he was surprised 
 by that prince in one of his interviews, that 
 sharp words passed between them ; and that the 
 jealousy and vengeance thus awakened, ended 
 only with his life. 
 
 About this time, the famous Mississippi scheme 
 of Law was at its height, or rather it began to 
 threaten that disastrous catastrophe which con- 
 vulsed the whole financial world. Every effort 
 was making to keep the bubble inflated. The 
 vagrant population of France was swept off from 
 the streets at night, and conveyed to Havre de 
 Grace, to be shipped to the projected colonies ; 
 even laboring people and mechanics were thus 
 crimped and spirited away. As Count Antoine 
 was in the habit of sallying forth at night, in dis- 
 guise, in pursuit of his pleasures, he came near 
 being carried off by a gang of crimps ; it seemed, 
 in fact, as if they had been lying in wait for him, 
 as he had experienced very rough treatment at 
 their hands. Complaint was made of his case 
 by his relation, the Marquis de Crequi, who took 
 much interest in the youth ; but the Marquis re- 
 ceived mysterious intimations not to interfere in 
 the matter, but to advise the Count to quit Paris 
 immediately : " If he lingers, he is lost ! " This 
 has been cited as a proof that vengeance was dog- 
 ging at the heels of the unfortunate youth, and 
 only watching for an opportunity to destroy him. 
 
 Such opportunity occurred but too soon. Among 
 the loose companions with whom the Count had 
 become intimate, were two who lodged in the 
 same hotel with him. One was a youth only 
 
TFIE COUNT VAN HORN 3 19 
 
 twenty years of age, who passed liimself ofF as 
 the Chevaher d'Etampes, but whose real name 
 was Lestang, the prodigal son. of a Flemish 
 banker. The other, named Laurent de Mille, a 
 Piedmontese, was a cashiered captain, and at the 
 time an esquire in the service of the dissolute 
 Princess de Carignan, who kept gambling-tables in 
 her palace. It is probable that gambling propen- 
 sities had brought these young men together, and 
 that their losses had driven them to desperate 
 measures ; certain it is, that all Paris was sud- 
 denly astounded by a murder which they were 
 said to have committed. What made the crime 
 more startling, was, that it seemed connected with 
 the great Mississippi scheme, at that time the 
 fruitful source of all kinds of panics and agita« 
 tions. A Jew, a stock -broker, who dealt lai'gely 
 in shares of the bank of Law, founded on the 
 Mississippi scheme, was the victim. The story 
 of his death is variously related. The darkest 
 account states, that the Jew was decoyed by these 
 young men into an obscure tavern, under pretext 
 of neofotiatinoj with him for bank shares, to the 
 amount of one hundred thousand crowns, which 
 he had with him in his pocket-book. Lestang 
 kept watch upon the stairs. The Count and De 
 Mille entered with the Jew into a chamber. In 
 a little while there were heai'd cries and strug- 
 gles from within. A waiter passing by the room, 
 looked in, and seeing the Jew weltering in his 
 Vlood, shut the door again, double-locked it, and 
 alarmed the house. Lestang rushed down stairs, 
 aiade his way to the hotel, secured his most port- 
 
850 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 able effects, and fled the country. The Count 
 and De Mille endeavored to escape by the win- 
 dow, but were both taken, and conducted to 
 prison. 
 
 A circumstance which occurs in this part of 
 the Count's story, seems to point him out as a 
 fated man. His mother, and his brother, the 
 Prince Van Horn, had received intelligence some 
 time before at Baussigny, of the dissolute life the 
 Count was leading at Paris, and of his losses 
 at play. They dispatched a gentleman of the 
 Prince's household to Paris, to pay the debts of 
 the Count, and persuade him to return to Flan- 
 ders ; or, if he should refuse, to obtain an order 
 from the Regent for him to quit the capital. Un- 
 fortunately the gentleman did not arrive at Paris 
 until the day after the murder. 
 
 The news of the Count's arrest and imprison- 
 ment, on a charge of murder, caused a violent 
 sensation among the high aristocracy. All those 
 connected with him, who had treated him hitherto 
 with indifference, found their dignity deeply in- 
 volved in the question of his guilt or innocence. 
 A ireneral convocation was held at the hotel of 
 the Marquis de Crequi, of all the relatives and 
 allies of the house of Horn. It was an assem- 
 blage of the most proud and aristocratic person- 
 ages of Paris. Inquiries were made into the 
 circumstances of the affair. It was ascertained, 
 beyond a doubt, that the Jew was dead, and that 
 he had been killed by several stabs of a poniard. 
 In escaping by the window, it was said that the 
 "lount had fallen, and been immediately taken ; 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 351 
 
 but that De Mille had fled through the streets, 
 pursued by the popnh\ce. and liad been arrested at 
 some distance from the scene of the murder ; that 
 the Count had declared himself innocent of the 
 death of the Jew, and that he had risked his own 
 life in endeavoring to protect him ; but that De 
 Mille, on being brought back to the tavern, con- 
 fessed to a plot to murder the broker, and rob him 
 of his pocket-book, and inculpated the Count in 
 the crime. 
 
 Another version of the story was, that the 
 Count Van Horn had deposited with the broker 
 bank shares to the amount of eighty-eight thou- 
 sand livres ; that he had sought him in this tavern, 
 which was one of his resorts, and had demanded 
 the shares ; that the Jew had denied the deposit ; 
 that a quarrel had ensued, in the course of which 
 the Jew struck the Count in the face ; that the 
 latter, transported with rage, had snatched up a 
 knife from a table and wounded the Jew in the 
 shoulder ; and that thereupon De Mille, who was 
 present, and who had likewise been defrauded by 
 the broker, fell on him, and despatched him with 
 blows of a poniard, and seized upon his pocket- 
 book ; that he had offered to divide the contents 
 of the latter with the Count, fro rata, of what 
 the usurer had defrauded them ; that the latter 
 had refused the proposition with disdain ; and 
 that, at a noise of persons approaching, both had 
 attempted to escape from the premises, but had 
 been taken. 
 
 Regard the story in any way they might, ap- 
 pearances were terribly against the Count, and 
 
352 THE COUNT VAN BORN. 
 
 the noble assemblage was in great consternation. 
 What was to be done to ward off so foul a dis- 
 grace and to save tlieir illustrious escutcheons 
 from this murderous stain of blood? Their first 
 attempt was to prevent the affair from going to 
 trial, and their relative from being dragged before 
 a criminal tribunal, on so horrible and degrading 
 a charge. They applied, therefore, to the Regent, 
 to intervene his power, to treat the Count a:? 
 having acted under an access of his mental mal- 
 ady, and to shut him up in a madhouse. The 
 Regent was deaf to their solicitations. He re- 
 plied, coldly, that if the Count was a madman, 
 one could not get rid too quickly of madmen who 
 were furious in their insanity. The crime was 
 too public and atrocious to be hushed up, or slurred 
 over ; justice must take its course. 
 
 Seeing there was no avoiding the humiliating 
 scene of a public trial, the noble relatives of the 
 Count endeavored to predispose the minds of the 
 magistrates before whom he was to be arraigned. 
 They accordingly made urgent and eloquent repre- 
 sentations of the high descent, and noble and 
 powerful connections of the Count ; set forth the 
 circumstances of his early history, his mental 
 malady, the nervous irritability to which he was 
 subject, and his extreme sensitiveness to insult or 
 contradiction. By these means they sought to 
 prepare the judges to interpret everything in 
 favor of the Count ; and, even if it should prove 
 that he had inflicted the mortal blow on the 
 usurer, to attribute it to access of insanity pro- 
 voked by insult. 
 
TUE COUNT VAN HORN. 353 
 
 To give full effect to these representations, the 
 noble conclave determined to bring upon the 
 judges tlie dazzling rays of the whole assembled 
 aristocracy. Accordingly, on the day that the 
 trial took place, the relations of the Count, to the 
 number of fifty-seven persons, of both sexes and 
 of the highest rank, repaired in a body to the 
 Palace of Justice, and took their stations in a long 
 corridor which led to the court-room. Here, as the 
 judges entered, they had to pass in review this ar- 
 ray of lofty and noble personages, wlio saluted them 
 mournfully and signiticantly as they passed. Any 
 one conversant with the stately pride and jealous 
 dignity of the French noblesse of that day, may 
 imagine the extreme state of sensitiveness that 
 produced this self-abasement. It was confidently 
 presumed, however, by the noble suppliants, that 
 having once brought themselves to this measure, 
 their influence over the tribunal would be irre- 
 sistible. There was one lady present, however, 
 Madame de Beauffremont, who was affected with 
 the Scottish gift of second sight, and related such 
 dismal and sinister apparitions as passing before 
 her eyes, that many of her female companions 
 were filled with doleful presentiments. 
 
 Unfortunately for the Count, there was another 
 interest at work, more powerfid even than the 
 high aristocracy. The infamous but all-potent 
 Abbe Dubois, the grand favorite and bosom coun- 
 sellor of the Regent, was deeply interested in the 
 scheme of Law and the prosperity of his bank, 
 and of course in the security of the stock-brokers. 
 
 Indeed, the Regent himself is said to have dipped 
 2S 
 
354 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 deep in the Mississippi scheme. Dubois and 
 Law, therefore, exerted their influence to the 
 utmost to have the tragic affair pushed to the 
 extremity of the law, and the murderer of the 
 broker punished in the most signal and appalling 
 manner. Certain it is, the trial was neither long 
 nor intricate. The Count and his fellow-prisoner 
 were equally inculpated in the crime, and both 
 were condemned to a death the most horrible 
 and io;norainious — to be broken alive on the 
 wheel ! 
 
 As soon as the sentence of the court was made 
 public, all the nobility, in any degree related to 
 the house of Van Horn, went into mourning. 
 Another grand aristocratical assemblage was held, 
 and a petition to the Regent, on behalf of the 
 Count, was drawn out and left with the Marquis 
 de Crequi for signature. This petition set forth 
 the previous insanity of the Count, and showed 
 that it was an hereditary malady in his family. 
 It stated various circumstances in mitigation of 
 his offence, and implored that his sentence might 
 be commuted to perpetual imprisonment. 
 
 Upward of fifty names of the highest nobility, 
 beginning with the Prince de Ligne, and includ- 
 ing cardinals, archbishops, dukes, marquises, etc., 
 together with ladies of equal rank, were signed 
 to this petition. By one of the caprices of human 
 pride and vanity, it became an object of ambition 
 to get enrolled among the illustrious suppliants ; 
 a kind of testimonial of noble blood, to prove 
 relationship to a murderer! The Marquis de 
 Crequi was absolutely bi sieged by applicanis to 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 355 
 
 sign, and had to refer their claims to this singular 
 honor to the Prince de Ligne, the grandfather of 
 the Count. Many who were excluded were 
 highly incensed, and numerous feuds took place. 
 Nay, the affronts thus given to the morbid pride 
 of some aristocratical families, passed from genera- 
 tion to generation ; for, fifty years afterward, the 
 Duchess of Mazarin complained of a sliglit which 
 her father had received from the Marquis de 
 Crequi, which proved to be something connected 
 with the signature of this petition. 
 
 This important document being completed, the 
 illustrious body of petitioners, male and female, 
 on Saturday evening, the eve of Palm Sunday, 
 repaired to the Palais Royal, the residence of the 
 Regent, and were ushered with great ceremony, 
 but profound silence, into his hall of council. 
 They had appointed four of their number as 
 deputies to present the petition, viz. : the Cardi- 
 nal de Rohan, the Duke de Havre, the Prince de 
 Ligne, and the Marquis de Crequi. After a 
 little while, the deputies were summoned to the 
 cabinet of the Regent. They entered, leaving 
 the assembled petitioners in a state of the great- 
 est anxiety. As time slowly wore away, and the 
 evening advanced, the gloom of the company in- 
 creased. Several of the ladies prayed devoutly ; 
 the good Princess of Armagnac told her beads. 
 
 The petition was received by the Regent with 
 el most un propitious aspect. " In asking the par- 
 don of the criminal," said he, " you display more 
 seal for the house of Van Horn than for the ser- 
 \rice of the king." The noble deputies enforced 
 
356 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 the petition by every argument in their power 
 They supplicated the Regent to consider tliat the 
 infamous punishment in question would reach not 
 merely the person of the condemned, not merely 
 the house of Van Horn, but also the genealogies 
 of princely and illustrious families, in whose ar- 
 morial bearings might be found quarterings of 
 this dishonored name. 
 
 " Gentlemen," replied the Regent, " it appears 
 to me the disgrace consists in the crime, rather 
 than in the punishment." 
 
 The Prince de Ligne spoke with warmth : " I 
 have in my genealogical standard," said he, " four 
 escutcheons of Van Horn, and of course have 
 four ancestors of that house. I must have them 
 erased and effaced, and there would be so many 
 blank spaces, like holes, in my heraldic ensigns. 
 There is not a sovereign familv which would not 
 suffer through the rigor of your Royal Highness ; 
 nay, all the world knows that in the thirty-two 
 quarterings of Madame, your mother, there is an 
 escutcheon of Van Horn." 
 
 " Very well," replied the Regent, " I will share 
 the disgrace with you, gentlemen." 
 
 Seeing that a pardon could not be obtained, the 
 Cardinal de Rohan and the Marquis de Crequi 
 left the cabinet ; but the Prince de Ligne and the 
 Duke de Havre remained behind. The honor of 
 their houses, more than the life of the unhappy 
 Count, was the great object of their solicitude. 
 They now endeavored to obtain a minor grace. 
 They represented, that in the Netherlands and in 
 Germany, there was an important difference in 
 
THE COUNT VAX HORN. 357 
 
 the public mind us to the mode of mflicting the 
 punishment of death upon persons of quality. 
 That decapitation had no influence on the fortunes 
 of the family of the executed, but that the pun 
 ishment of the wheel was such an infamy, that 
 the uncles, aunts, brothers, and sisters, of th( 
 criminal, and his whole family, for three succeed 
 ino; oenerations, were excluded from all noble 
 chapters, princely abbeys, sovereign bishoprics, 
 and even Teutonic commanderies of the Order 
 of Malta. They showed how this would operate 
 immediately upon the fortunes of a sister of the 
 Count, who was on the point of being received 
 as a canoness into one of the noble chapters. 
 
 While this scene was sroin": on in the cabinet 
 of the Regent, the illustrious assemblage of 
 petitioners remained in the hall of council, in the 
 most gloomy state of suspense. The reentrance 
 from the cabinet of the Cardinal de Rohan and 
 the Marquis de Crequi, with pale downcast coun- 
 tenances, had struck a chill into every heart. Still 
 they lingered until near midnight, to learn the 
 result of the after application. At length the 
 cabinet conference was at an end. The Regent 
 came forth and saluted the high personages of 
 the assemblage in a courtly manner. One old 
 lady of quality, Madame de Guyon, whom he had 
 known in his infancy, he kissed on the cheek, call- 
 ing her his " good aunt." He made a most cer- 
 emonious salutation to the stately Marchioness de 
 Crequi, telling her he was charmed to see her at 
 the Palais Royal ; " a compliment very ill-timed," 
 gaid the Marchioness, " considering the circum- 
 
858 rilE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 ptance wliich brought me there." He then con- 
 ducted the ladies to the door of the second saloon, 
 and tliere dismissed them with the most cere- 
 monious politeness. 
 
 The application of the Prince de Ligne and 
 the Duke de Havre, for a change of the mode of 
 punishment, had, after much difficulty, been suc- 
 cessful. The Regent had promised solemnly to 
 send a letter of commutation to the attorney-gen- 
 eral on Holy Monday, the 25th of March, at five 
 o'clock in the morning. According to the same 
 promise, a scaffold would be arranged in the 
 cloister of the Conciergerie, or prison, where the 
 Count would be beheaded on the same morning, 
 immediately after having received absolution. This 
 mitigation of the form of punishment gave but 
 little consolation to the great body of petitioners, 
 who had been anxious for the pardon of the youth ; 
 it was looked upon as all important, however, by 
 the Prince de Ligne, who, as has been before 
 observed, was exquisitely alive to the dignity of 
 his family. 
 
 The Bishop of Bayeux and the Marquis de 
 Crequi visited the unfortunate youth in prison. 
 He had just received the communion in the chapel 
 of the Conciergerie, and was kneeling before the 
 altar, listening to a mass for the dead, which was 
 performed at his request. He protested his inno- 
 cence of any intention to murder the Jew, but 
 did not deign to allude to the accusation of rob- 
 bery. He made the Bishop and the Marquis 
 promise to see his brother the Prince, and in- 
 form him of this his dying asseveration. 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 359 
 
 Two other of his relations, the Prince Rebecq- 
 Montmorency and the Marshal Van Isenghien» 
 visited him secretly, and offered him poison, as a 
 means of evading the disgrace of a public execu- 
 tion. On his refusing to take it, they left him 
 with high indignation. " Miserable man ! " said 
 'hey, " you are lit only to perish by the hand of 
 he executioner ! " 
 
 The Marquis de Crequi sought the executioner 
 jf Paris, to bespeak an easy and decent death for 
 the unfortunate youth. " Do not make him suf- 
 fer," said he ; " uncover no part of him but the 
 neck, and have his body placed in a coffin before 
 you deliver it to his family." The executioner 
 promised all that was requested, but declined a 
 rouleau of a hundred louis-d'ors which the Marquis 
 would have put into his hand. " I am paid by 
 the King for fulfilling my office," said he ; and 
 added, that he had already refused a like sum, 
 offered by another relation of the Marquis. 
 
 The Marquis de Crequi returned home in a 
 state of deep affliction. There he found a letter 
 from the Duke de St. Simon, the familiar friend 
 of the Regent, repeating the promise of that 
 Prince, that the punishment of the wheel should 
 be commuted to decapitation. 
 
 " Imagine," says the Marchioness de Crequi, 
 who in her memoirs gives a detailed account of 
 this affair, " imagine what we experienced, and 
 what was our astonishment, our grief, and indig- 
 nation, when, on Tuesday the 26th of March, an 
 hour after midday, word was brought us that the 
 Count Yan Horn had been exposed on the wheel 
 
3^0 THE COUNT VAN HORN. 
 
 in the Place de Greve, since half-past six in the 
 morning, on the same scaffold with the Piedmon 
 tese, De Mille, and that he had been toi-tured 
 previous to execution ! " 
 
 One more scene of aristocratic pride closed this 
 tragic story. The Marquis de Crequi, on receiv- 
 ing this astounding news, immediately arrayed 
 himself in the uniform of a general officer, with 
 his cordon of nobility on the coat. He ordered 
 six valets to attend him in grand livery, and two 
 of his carriages, each with six horses, to be 
 brought forth. In this sumptuous state he set off 
 for the Place de Greve, where he had been pre- 
 ceded by the Princes de Ligne, de Rohan, de 
 Croiiy, and the Duke de Havre. 
 
 The Count Van Horn was already dead, and it 
 was believed that the executioner had had the 
 charity to give him the coup de grace, or " death- 
 blow," at eight o'clock in the morning. At five 
 o'clock in the evening, when the Judge Commis- 
 sary left his post at the Hotel de Ville, these 
 noblemen, with their own hands, aided to detach 
 the mutilated remains of their relation ; the 
 Marquis de Crequi placed them in one of his 
 carriages, and bore them off to his hotel, to 
 receive the last sad obsequies. 
 
 The conduct of the Regent in this affair excited 
 general indignation. His needless severity was 
 attributed by some to vindictive jealousy ; by 
 others to the persevering machinations of Law 
 und the Abbe Dubois. The house of Van Horn, 
 and the high nobility of Flanders and Germany, 
 considered themselves flagrantly outraged ; many 
 
THE COUNT VAN HORN. 301 
 
 schemes of vengeance were talked of, and a hatred 
 engendered against tlie Regent that followed him 
 through life, and was wreaked with bitterness 
 upon his memory after his death. 
 
 The following letter is said to have been written 
 to the Regent by the Prince Van Horn, to whom 
 the former had adjudged the confiscated effects of 
 the Count : — 
 
 " I do not complain, sir, of the death of my 
 brother, but I complain that your Royal Highness 
 has violated in his person the rights of the king- 
 dom, the nobility, and the nation. I thank you 
 for the confiscation of his effects ; but I should 
 think myself as much disgraced as he, should I 
 accept any favor at your hands. I hope that God 
 and the Kv%g may render to you as strict justice 
 as you have rendered to my unfortunate brother.'* 
 
DON JUAN : A SPECTRAL RESEARCH 
 
 " T have heard of spirits walking with aerial bodies, «id 
 have been wondered at by others ; but I must only wonder at 
 myself, for, if they be not mad, I 'me come to my own buriall." 
 Shikley's " Witty Faiiue One." 
 
 IVERYBODY has heard of the fate 
 of Don Juan, the famous libertine of 
 Seville, who, for his sins against the fair 
 sex and other minor peccadilloes, was hurried 
 away to the infernal regions. His story has been 
 illustrated in play, in pantomime, aiid farce, on 
 every stage in Christendom, until at length it has 
 been rendered the theme of the opera of operas, 
 and embalmed to endless duration in the glorious 
 music of Mozart. I well recollect the effect of 
 this story upon my feelings in my boyish days, 
 though represented in grotesque pantomime ; the 
 awe with which I contemplated the monumental 
 statue on horseback of the murdered commander, 
 gleaming by pale moonlight in the convent ceme- 
 tery ; how my heart quaked as he bowed his 
 marble head, and accepted the impious invitation 
 of Don Juan ; how each footfall of the statue 
 smote upon my heart, as I heard it approach, step 
 by step, through the echoing corridor, and beheld 
 it enter, and advance, a moving figure of stone, to 
 the supper-table ! But then the convivial scene 
 
DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 363 
 
 ill the charnel-house, where Don Juan I'eturned 
 the visit of the statue, was offered a banquet of 
 sculls and bones, and on refusing to partake, was 
 hurled into a yawning gulf under a tremendous 
 shower of fire ! These were accumulated horrors 
 enough to shake the nerves of the most pantomime- 
 loving school-boy. Many have supposed the story 
 of Don Juan a mere fable. I myself thought so 
 once ; but " seeing is believing." I have since 
 beheld the very scene where it took place, and 
 now to indulge any doubt on the subject, would 
 be preposterous. 
 
 I was one night perambulating the streets of 
 Seville, in company with a Spanish friend, a curi- 
 ous investigator of the popular traditions and other 
 good-for-nothing lore of the city, a^id who was 
 kind enough to imagine he had met, in me, v/ith 
 a congenial spirit. In the course of our rambles, 
 we were passing by a heavy dark gateway, open- 
 ing into the court-yard of a convent, when he laid 
 his hand upon my arm : '•» Stop ! " said he ; " this 
 is the convent of San Francisco ; there is a story 
 connected with it, which I am sure must be known 
 to you. You cannot but have heard of Don Juan 
 and the marble statue." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied I ; "it has been famil- 
 iar to me from childhood." 
 
 " Well, then, it was in the cemetery of this very 
 Donvent that the events took place." 
 
 " Why, you do not mean to say that the story 
 is founded on fact ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly it is. The circumstances of the 
 >.*ase are said to have occurred during the reign of 
 
364 BON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 
 
 Alfonso XL Don Juan was of the noble famil}^ 
 of Tenorio, one of the most illustrious houses of 
 Andalusia. His father, Don Diego Tenorio, was 
 a favorite of the king, and his family ranked 
 among the veintecitatros, or magistrates, of the 
 city. Presuming on his high descent and power- 
 ful connections, Don Juan set no bounds to his 
 excesses : no female, high or low, was sacred from 
 his pursuit ; and he soon became the scandal of 
 Seville. One of his most daring outrages was, 
 to penetrate by night into the palace of Don Gon- 
 zalo de Ulloa, Commander of the Order of Cala- 
 trava, and attempt to carry off his daughter. The 
 household was alarmed ; a scuffle in the dark took 
 place ; Don Juan escaped, but the unfortunate 
 commander was found welterino^ in his blood, and 
 expired without being able to name his murderer. 
 Suspicions attached to Don Juan ; he did not stop 
 to meet the investigations of justice and the ven- 
 geance of the powerful family of Ulloa, but fled 
 from Seville, and took refuge with his uncle, Don 
 Pedro Tenorio, at that time ambassador at the 
 court of Naples. Here he remained until the 
 agitation occasioned by the murder of Don Gon- 
 zalo had time to subside ; and the scandal which 
 the affair might cause to both the families of Ul- 
 loa and Tenorio had induced them to hush it up. 
 Don Juan, however, continued his libertine career 
 at Naples, until at length his excesses forfeited 
 the protection of his uncle the ambassador, and 
 obliged him again to flee. He had made his way 
 back to Seville, trusting that his past misdeeds 
 were forgotten, or rather trusting to his dare-devil 
 
DON JUAX: A SPECTRAL RESKAliCH. oGo 
 
 spirit and the power of his family, to carry him 
 tlirouirh all difficulties. 
 
 " It was shortly after his return, and while in 
 the heiirht of his arrojjance, that on visitins; this 
 very convent of Francisco, he beheld on a monu- 
 ment the equestrian statue of the murdered com- 
 mander, who had been buried within the walls 
 of this sacred edifice, where the family of Ulloa 
 had a chapel. It was on this occasion that Don 
 Juan, in a moment of impious levity, invited the 
 statue to the banquet, the awful catastrophe of 
 which has given such celebrity to his story." 
 
 " And pray how much of this story," said I, 
 " is believed in Seville ? " 
 
 " The whole of it by the populace, with whom 
 it has been a favorite tradition since time imme- 
 morial, and who crowd to the theatres to see it 
 represented in dramas written long since by Tyrso 
 de Molina, and another of our popular writers. 
 Many in our higher ranks also, accustomed from 
 childhood to this story, would feel somewhat in- 
 dignant at hearing it treated with contempt. An 
 attempt has been made to explain the whole, by 
 asserting that, to put an end to the extravagances 
 of Don Juan, and to pacify the family of Ulloa, 
 without exposing the delinquent to the degrading 
 penalties of justice, he was decoyed into this con- 
 vent under false pretext, and either plu:.ged into 
 a perpetual dungeon, or privately hurried out of 
 existence ; while the story of the statue was cir- 
 culated by the monks, to account for his sudden 
 disappearance. The populace, however, are not 
 to be cajoled out of a ghost-story by any of these 
 
366 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 
 
 plausible explanations ; and the marble statue still 
 strides the stage, and Don Juan is still plunged 
 into the infernal regions, as an awful warninof to 
 all rake-helly youngsters, in like case offending." 
 
 While my companion was relating these anec- 
 dotes, we had traversed the exterior court-yard of 
 the convent, and made our way into a great in 
 terior court, partly surrounded by cloisters and 
 dormitories, partly by chapels, and having a large 
 fountain in the centre. The pile had evidently 
 once been extensive and magnificent ; but it was 
 for the greater part in ruins. By the light of 
 the stars, and of twinkling lamps placed here and 
 there in the chapels and corridors, I could see that 
 many of the columns and arches were broken ; 
 the walls were rent and riven ; while burnt beams 
 and rafters showed the destructive effects of fire. 
 The whole place had a desolate air ; the night 
 breeze rustled through grass and weeds flaunting 
 out of the crevices of the walls, or from the shat- 
 tered columns; the bat flitted about the vaulted 
 passages, and the owl hooted from the ruined bel- 
 fry. Never was any scene more completely fitted 
 for a ghost-story. 
 
 While I was indulging in picturings of the 
 fancy, proper to such a place, the deep chant of 
 the monks from the convent church came swell- 
 ing upon the ear. " It is the vesper service," 
 said my companion ; " follow me." 
 
 Leading the way across the court of the clois- 
 ters, and through one or two ruined passages, he 
 reached the portal of the church, and pushing 
 open a wicket, cut in the folding-doors, we found 
 
DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 367 
 
 ourselves in the deep arched vestibule of the sa- 
 cred edifice. To our left was the choir, forminsr 
 one end of the church, and having a low vaulted 
 ceiling, which gave it the look of a cavern. About 
 this were I'anged the monks, seated on stools, and 
 chanting from immense books placed on music- 
 stands, and having the notes scored in such gigan- 
 tic characters as to be legible from every part of 
 the choir. A few lights on these music-stands 
 dimly illumined the choir, gleamed on the shaven 
 heads of the monks, and threw their shadows on 
 the walls. They were gross, blue-bearded, bul- 
 let-headed men, with bass voices, of deep metallic 
 tone, that reverberated out of the carvernous 
 choir. 
 
 To our right extended the great body of the 
 church. It was spacious and lofty ; some of the 
 side chapels had gilded grates, and were decorated 
 with images and paintings, representing the suf- 
 ferings of our Saviour. Aloft was a great paint- 
 ing by Murillo, but too much in the dark to be 
 distinoruished. The s'loom of the Avhole church 
 was but faintly relieved by the reflected light' 
 from the choir, and the 2:liaimerino^ here and there 
 of a votive lamp before the shrine of tlie saint. 
 
 As my eye roamed about the shadowy pile, 
 it was struck with the dimly seen figure of a 
 man on horseback, near a distant altar. I touched 
 my companion, and pointed to it : " The spectre 
 ?tatue ! " said L 
 
 " No," replied he ; " it is the statue of the 
 blessed St. lago ; the statue of the commander 
 was in the cemetery of the convent, and was de- 
 
36*8 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 
 
 stroyed at the time of the conflagration. But," 
 added he, " as I see you take a proper interest in 
 these kind of stories, come with me to the other 
 end of the church, where our whisperings will 
 not disturb these holy fathers at their devotions, 
 and I will tell you another story, that has been 
 current for some generations in our city, by which 
 you will find that Don Juan is not the only liber- 
 tine that has been the object of supernatural cas- 
 tigation in Seville." 
 
 I accordingly followed him with noiseless tread 
 to the farther part of the church, where we took 
 our seats on the steps of an altar opposite to the 
 suspicious-looking figure on horseback, and there, 
 in a low mysterious voice, he related to me the 
 folio wins; narrative : — 
 
 " There was once in Seville a gay young fel- 
 low, Don Manuel de Manara by name, who, hav- 
 ing come to a great estate by the death of his 
 father, gave the reins to his passions, and plunged 
 into all kinds of dissipation. Like Don Juan, 
 whom he seemed to have taken for a model, he 
 became famous for his enterprises among the fair 
 sex, and was the cause of doors being barred and 
 windows grated with more than usual strictness. 
 All in vain. No balcony was too high for him 
 to scale : no bolt nor bar was proof against his 
 efforts ; and his very name was a word of terror 
 to all the jealous husbands and cautious fathers 
 of Seville. His exploits extended to country as 
 well as city ; and in the village dependent on his 
 eastle, scarce a rural beauty was safe from his 
 arts and enterprises. 
 
DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 369 
 
 " As he was one day ranging the streets of 
 Seville, with several of his dissolute companions, 
 he beheld a procession, about to enter the gate of 
 a convent. In the centre was a young female, 
 arrayed in the dress of a bride ; it was a novice, 
 who, having accomplished her year of probation, 
 was about to take the black veil, and consecrate 
 herself to heaven. The companions of Don Man- 
 uel drew back, out of respect to the sacred pag- 
 eant ; but he pressed forward, with his usual im- 
 petuosity, to gain a near view of the novice. He 
 almost jostled her, in passing through the portal 
 of the church, when, on her turning round, he 
 beheld the countenance of a beautiful village girl, 
 who had been the object of his ardent pursuit, 
 but who had been spirited secretly out of his reach 
 by her relatives. She recognized him at the same 
 moment, and fainted, but was borne within the 
 grate of the chapel. It was supposed the agita- 
 tion of the ceremony and the heat of the throng 
 had overcome her. After some time, the curtain 
 which hung within the grate was drawn up : there 
 stood the novice, pale and trembling, surrounded 
 by the abbess and the nuns. The ceremony pro- 
 ceeded ; the crown of flowers was taken from her 
 liead, she was shorn of her silken tresses, received 
 the black veil, and went passively through the 
 remainder of the ceremony. 
 
 " Don Manuel de Manara, on the contrary, was 
 roused to fury at the sight of this sacrifice. His 
 passion, which had almost faded away in the 
 absence of the object, now glowed with tenfold 
 ardor, being inflamed by the ditiiculties placed in 
 24 
 
370 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 
 
 his way, and piqued by the measures which had 
 been taken to defeat him. Never had the object 
 of his pursuit appeared so lovely and desirable as 
 when within the grate of the convent ; and he 
 swore to have her, in defiance of heaven and earth. 
 By dint of bribing a female servant of the con- 
 vent, he contrived to convey letters to her, plead- 
 ing his passion in the most eloquent and seductive 
 terms. How successful they were, is only mat- 
 ter of conjecture ; certain it is, he undertook one 
 night to scale the garden-wall of the convent, 
 either to carry off the nun, or gain admission to 
 her cell. Just as he was mounting the wall, he 
 was suddenly plucked back, and a stranger, muffled 
 in a cloak, stood before him. 
 
 " ' Rash man, forbear ! ' cried he : 'is it not 
 enouofh to have violated all human ties ? Wouldst 
 thou steal a bride from heaven ! ' 
 
 " The sword of Don Manuel had been drawn 
 on the instant, and furious at this interruption, he 
 passed it through the body of the stranger, who 
 fell dead at his feet. Hearing approaching foot- 
 steps, he fled the fatal spot, and mounting his 
 horse, which was at hand, retreated to his estate 
 in the country, at no great distance from Seville. 
 Here he remained throughout the next day, full 
 of horror and remorse, dreading lest he should be 
 known as the muiderer of the deceased, and fear- 
 ing each moment the arrival of the officers of 
 justice. 
 
 " The day passed, however, without molesta- 
 tion; and, as the evening advanced, unable any 
 longer to endure this state of uncertainty and ap- 
 
DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 371 
 
 prehension, he ventured back to Seville. Irre- 
 Bistibly his footsteps took the direction of the 
 convent, but he paused and hovered at a distance 
 from the scene of blood. vSeveral persons were 
 gathered round the place, one of whom was busy 
 nailing something against the convent- wall. After 
 a while they dispersed, and one passed near to 
 Don Manuel. The latter addressed him, with 
 hesitating voice. 
 
 " ' Sefior,' said he, ' may I ask the reason of 
 yonder throng ? ' 
 
 " ' A cavalier,' replied the other, ' has been 
 murdered.' 
 
 " ' Murdered ! ' echoed Don Manuel ; ' and can 
 you tell me his name ? ' 
 
 " ' Don Manuel De Manara,' replied the stranger, 
 and passed on. 
 
 " Don Manuel was startled at this mention of 
 his own name, especially when applied to the 
 murdered man. He ventured, when it was en- 
 tirely deserted, to approach the fatal spot. A 
 small cross had been nailed against the wall, as is 
 customary in Spain, to mark the place where a 
 murder has been committed ; and just below it he 
 read, by the twinkling light of a lamp : ' Here 
 was murdered Don Manuel de Manara. Pray .to 
 God for his soul ! ' 
 
 " Still more confounded and perplexed by this 
 inscription, he wandered about the streets until 
 the night was far advanced, and all was still and 
 lonely. As he entered the principal square, the 
 light of torches suddenly broke on him, and he 
 beheld a grand funeral procession moving across 
 
372 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 
 
 it. There was a great train of pi'iests, and manv 
 persons of dignified appearance, in ancient Span- 
 ish dresses, attending as mourners, none of whom 
 he knew. Accosting a servant who followed in 
 the train, he demanded the name of the defunct. 
 
 " ' Don Manuel de Manara,' was the reply ; 
 and it went cold to his heart. He looked, and 
 indeed beheld the armorial bearings of his family 
 emblazoned on the funeral escutcheons. Yet not 
 one of his family was to be seen among the 
 mourners. The mystery was more and more in- 
 compi'ehensible. 
 
 " He followed the procession as it moved on to 
 the cathedral. The bier was deposited before the 
 high altar ; the funeral service was commenced, 
 and the grand organ began to peal through the 
 vaulted aisles. 
 
 " Again the youth ventured to question this 
 awful pageant. '• Father,' said he, with trembling 
 voice, to one of the priests, ' who is this you are 
 about to inter ? ' 
 
 " ' Don Manuel de Manara ! ' replied the priest. 
 
 " ' Father,' cried Don Manuel, impatiently, ' you 
 are deceived. This is some imposture. Know 
 that Don Manuel de Manara is alive and well, 
 and now stands before you. / am Don Manuel 
 de Manara I ' 
 
 " ' Avaunt, rash youth ! ' cried the priest ; 
 ' know that Don Manuel de Manara is dead ! — 
 is dead ! — is dead ! — and we are all souls from 
 purgatory, his deceased relatives and ancestors, 
 smd others that have been aided by masses from 
 his family, who are permitted to come here and 
 pray for the repose of his soul ! ' 
 
DON JUAN 
 
 " Don Manuel cast round a fearful glance upon 
 the assemblage, in antiquated Spanish garbs, and 
 recognized in their pale and ghastly countenances 
 the portraits of many an ancestor that hung in 
 the family picture-gallery. He now lost all self- 
 command, rushed up to the bier, and beheld tho 
 counterpart of himself, but in the fixed and livid 
 lineaments of death. Just at that moment the 
 whole choir burst forth with a ' Requiescat in pace,' 
 that shook the vaults of the cathedral. Don Man- 
 uel sank senseless on the pavement. He was found 
 there early the next morning by the sacristan, and 
 conveyed to his home. When sufficiently recov- 
 ered, he sent for a friar, and made a full confes- 
 sion of all that had happened. 
 
 " ' My son,' said the friar, ' all this Is a miracle 
 and a mystery intended for thy conversion and 
 salvation. The corpse thou hast seen Avas a token 
 that thou hadst died to sin and the world ; take 
 warning by it, and henceforth live to righteous- 
 ness and heaven ! ' 
 
 '' Don Manutil did take warninoj by it. Guided 
 by the counsels of the worthy friar, he disposed 
 of all his temporal affairs ; dedicated the greater 
 part of his wealth to pious uses, especially to the 
 performance of masses for souls in purgatory ; and 
 finally, entering a convent, became one of the 
 most zealous and exemplary monks in Seville. 
 
 While my companion was relating this story, 
 my eyes wandered, from time to time, about the 
 dusky church. Methought the burly countenances 
 of the monks in the distant choir assumed a pallid, 
 
374 DON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 
 
 ghastly hue, and their deep metallic voices a se- 
 pulchral sound. By the time the story was ended, 
 they had ended their chant ; and, extinguishing 
 their lights, glided one by one, like shadows, 
 through a small door in the side of the choir. A 
 deeper gloom prevailed over the church ; the fig- 
 ure opposite me on horseback grew more and more 
 spectral ; and I almost expected to see it bow its 
 head. 
 
 " It is time to be off," said my companion, 
 " unless we intend to sup with the statue." 
 
 " I have no relish for such fare nor such com- 
 pany," replied I ; and following my companion, 
 we groped our way through the mouldering clois- 
 ters. As we passed by the ruined cemetery, keep- 
 ing up a casual conversation, by way of dispelling 
 the loneliness of the scene, I called to mind the 
 words of the poet ; — 
 
 " The tombs 
 And monumental caves of death look cold, 
 And shoot a chillness to ni}' trembling heart! 
 Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice; 
 Nay, speak — and let me hear thy voice; 
 Mine own affrights me with its echoes." 
 
 There wanted nothing but the marble statue of 
 the commander, stridino^ alono; the echoinsr clois- 
 ters, to complete the haunted scene. 
 
 Since that time, I never fail to attend the the- 
 atre whenever the story of Don Juan is repre- 
 sented, whether in pantomime or opera. In the 
 sepluchral scene, I feel myself quite at home ; 
 and when the statue makes his appearance, I greet 
 him as an old acquaintance. When the audience 
 applaud, I look round upon them with a degree 
 
I ON JUAN: A SPECTRAL RESEARCH. 375 
 
 of compassion. " Poor souls ! " I say to myself, 
 " they think they are pleased ; they think they 
 enjoy this piece, and yet they consider the whole 
 as a iictiorj ! How much more would they enjoy 
 it, if, like me, they knew it to be true — and had 
 teen the very 'place I " 
 
LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT 
 
 T the dark and melancholy period when 
 Don Roderick the Goth and his chiv- 
 alry were overthrown on the banks of 
 the Guadalete, and all Spain was overrun by the 
 Moors, great was the devastation of churches and 
 convents throughout that pious kingdom. The 
 miraculous fate of one of those holy piles is thus 
 recorded in an authentic legend of those days. 
 
 On the summit of a hill, not very distant from 
 the capital city of Toledo, stood an ancient con- 
 vent and chapel, dedicated to the invocation of 
 Saint Benedict, and inhabited by a sisterhood of 
 Benedictine nuns. This holy asylum was confined 
 to females of noble lineage. The younger sisters 
 of the highest families were here given in relig- 
 ious marriage to their Saviour, in order that the 
 portions of their elder sisters might be increased, 
 and they enabled to make suitable matches on 
 earth ; or that the family wealth might go undi- 
 vided to elder brothers, and the dignity of their 
 ancient houses be protected from decay. The 
 convent was renowned, therefore, for enshrining 
 within its walls a sisterhood of the purest blood, 
 the most Immaculate virtue, and most resplendent 
 beauty, of all Gothic Spain. 
 
LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 377 
 
 When the Moors overran the kingdom, there 
 was nothing that more excited their hostility, than 
 these virgin asylums. The very sight of a con- 
 vent-spire was sufficient to set their Moslem blood 
 in a fomenr, and they sacked it with as fierce a 
 zeal as though the sacking of a nunnery were a 
 sure passport to Elysium. 
 
 Tidings of such outrages, committed in various 
 parts of the kingdom, reached this noble sanc- 
 tuary, and filled it with dismay. The danger 
 came nearer and nearer ; the infidel hosts were 
 spreading all over the country ; Toledo itself was 
 captured ; there was no flying from the convent, 
 and no security within its walls. 
 
 In the midst of this agitation, the alarm was 
 given one day, that a great band of Saracens were 
 spurring across the plain. In an instant the whole 
 convent was a scene of confusion. Some of the 
 nuns wrung their fair hands at the windows ; 
 others waved their veils, and uttered shrieks, from 
 the tops of the towers, vainly hoping to draw re- 
 lief from a country overrun by the foe. The 
 sight of these innocent doves thus fluttering about 
 their dove-cote, but increased the zealot fury of 
 the whiskered Moors. They thundered at the 
 portal, and at every blow the ponderous gates 
 trembled on their hinges. 
 
 The nuns now crowded round the abbess. They 
 had been accustomed to look up to her as all-pow- 
 erful, and they now implored her protection. The 
 mother abbess looked with a rueful eye upon the 
 treasures of beauty and vestal virtue exposed to 
 •;uch imminent peril. Alas ! how was she to pro- 
 
378 LEGEND OF THE ENGVLPHEP CONVENT 
 
 tect them from the spoiler ! She had, it is true, 
 experienced many signal interpositions of Provi- 
 dence in her individual favor. Her early days 
 had been passed amid the temptations of a court, 
 where her virtue had been purified by repeated 
 trials, from none of which had she escaped but 
 by miracle. But were miracles never to cease ? 
 Could she hope that the marvellous protection 
 shown to herself, would be extended to a whole 
 sisterhood ? There was no other resource. The 
 Moors were at the threshold ; a few moments 
 more, and the convent would be at their mercy. 
 Summoning her nuns to follow her, she hurried 
 into the chapel, and throwing herself on her knees 
 before the image of the blessed Mary, " Oh, holy 
 Lady ! " exclaimed she, " oh, most pure and im- 
 maculate of virgins ! thou seest our extremity. 
 The ravager is at the gate, and there is none on 
 earth to help us ! Look down with pity, and 
 grant that the earth may gape and swallow us, 
 rather than that our cloister vows should suffer 
 violation ! " 
 
 The Moors redoubled their assault upon the 
 portal ; the gates gave way, with a tremendous 
 crash ; a savage yell of exultation arose ; when 
 of a sudden the earth yawned, down sank the 
 convent, with its cloisters, its dormitories, and all 
 its nuns. The chapel tower was the last that 
 Bank, the bell ringhig forth a peal of triumph in 
 the very teeth of the infidels. 
 
 Forty years had passed and gone, since the 
 period of this miracle. The subjugation of Spain 
 
LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 379 
 
 was complete. The Moors lorded it over city 
 and conntrj ; and such of the Christian popula- 
 tion as remained, and were permitted to exercise 
 their religion, did it in humble resignation to the 
 Moslem sway. 
 
 At this time, a Christian cavalier of Cordova, 
 hearing that a patriotic band of his countrymen 
 had raised the standard of the cross in the moun- 
 tains of the Asturias, resolved to join them, and 
 unite in breaking the yoke of bondage. Secretly 
 arming himself and caparisoning his steed, he set 
 forth from Cordova, and pursued his course by 
 unfrequented mule-paths, and along the dry chan- 
 nels made by winter torrents. His spirit burned 
 with indignation, whenever, on commanding a 
 view over a long sweeping plain, he beheld the 
 mosque sw^elling in the distance, and the Arab 
 horsemen careering about, as if the rightful lords 
 of the soil. Many a deep-drawn sigh and heavy 
 groan, also, did the good cavalier utter, on passing 
 the ruins of churches and convents desolated by 
 the concjuerors. 
 
 It was on a sultry midsummer evening, that 
 this wandering cavalier, in skirting a hill thickly 
 covered with forest, heard the faint tones of a 
 vesper-bell sounding melodiously in the air, and 
 seemino; to come from the summit of the hill. 
 The cavalier crossed himself with wonder at this 
 iinwonted and Christian sound. He supposed it 
 to proceed from one of those humble chapels and 
 hermitages permitted to exist through the indul- 
 gence of the Moslem conquerors. Turning his 
 steed up a narrow path of the forest, he sought 
 
380 LEGEND OF THE EN GULP II ED CONVENT. 
 
 this sanctuary, in hopes of finding a hospitable 
 sheher for the nio^ht. As he advanced, the trees 
 threw a deep gloom around him, and the bat flit- 
 ted across his path. The bell ceased to toll, and 
 all was silence. 
 
 Presently a choir of female voices came steal- 
 ino; sweetlv through the forest, chantino; the even- 
 ing service, to the solemn accompaniment of an 
 organ. The heart of the good cavalier melted at 
 the sound, for it recalled the happier days of his 
 country. Urging forward his weary steed, he at 
 length arrived at a broad grassy area, on the sum- 
 mit of the hill, surrounded by the forest. Here 
 the melodious voices rose in full chorus, like the 
 swelling of the breeze ; but whence they came, 
 he could not tell. Sometimes they were before, 
 sometimes behind him ; sometimes in the air, 
 sometimes as if from within the bosom of the 
 earth. At length they died away, and a holy 
 stillness settled on the place. 
 
 The cavalier gazed around with bewildered eye. 
 There was neither chapel nor convent, nor hum- 
 ble hermitage, to be seen ; nothing but a moss- 
 grown stone pinnacle, rising out of the centre of 
 the area, surmounted by a cross. The gref'u 
 sward appeared to have been sacred from the 
 tread of man or beast, and the surrounding trees 
 bent toward the cross, as if in adoration. 
 
 The cavalier felt a sensation of holy awe. He 
 alighted, and tethered his steed on the skirts of 
 the forest, where he might crop the tender herb- 
 age ; then approaching the cross, he knelt and 
 poured forth his evening prayers before this relic 
 
LEGEND OF THE EN GULP II ED CONVENT. ,381 
 
 of the Christian days of Spain. His orisons 
 being coucluded, he laid himself down at the foot 
 of the pinnacle, and reclining his head against 
 one of its stones, fell into a deep sleep. 
 
 About midnight he was awakened by the toll- 
 ing of a bell, and found himself lying before the 
 gate of an ancient convent. A train of nuns 
 passed by, each bearing a taper. He I'ose and 
 followed them into the chapel ; in the centre was 
 a bier, on which lay the corpse of an aged mui. 
 The organ performed a solemn requiem, the nuns 
 joining in chorus. When the funeral service was 
 finished, a melodious voice chanted, " Requiescat 
 in pace ! " — " May she rest in peace ! " The 
 lights immediately vanished ; the whole passed 
 away as a dream ; and the cavalier found himself 
 at the foot of the cross, and beheld, by the faint 
 rays of the rising moon, his steed quietly grazing 
 near him. 
 
 When tlie day dawned, he descended the hill, 
 and following the course of a small brook, came 
 to a cave, at the entrance of which was seated 
 an ancient man, in hermit's garb, with rosary and 
 cross, and a beard that descended to his girdle. 
 He w^as one of those holy anchorites permitted 
 by the Moors to live unmolested in the dens and 
 caves, and humble hermitages, and even to prac- 
 tise the rites of their religion. The cavalier, dis- 
 mounting, knelt and craved a benediction. He 
 then related all that had befallen him in the night, 
 and besought the hermit to explain the mystery. 
 
 " What thou hast heard and seen, my son," re- 
 plied the other, " is but a type and shadow of the 
 woes of Spain." 
 
382 LEGEND OF THE EN GULP HE D CONVENT, 
 
 He then related the foregoing story of the mi- 
 raculous deliverance of the convent. 
 
 " Forty years," added the holy man, " have 
 elapsed since this event, yet the bells of that sa- 
 cred edifice are still heard, from time to time, 
 sounding from underground, together with the 
 pealing of the organ and the chanting of the 
 choir. The Moors avoid this neighborhood, as 
 haunted ground, and the whole place, as thou 
 mayest perceive, has become covered with a thick 
 and lonely forest." 
 
 The cavalier listened with wonder to the story. 
 For three days and nights did he keep vigils with 
 the holy man beside the cross ; but nothing more 
 was to be seen of nun or convent. It is sup- 
 posed that, forty years having elapsed, the natural 
 lives of all the nuns were finished, and the cava- 
 lier had beheld the obsequies of the last. Cer- 
 tain it is, that from that time, bell, and organ, and 
 choral chant, have never more been heard. 
 
 The mouldering pinnacle, surmounted by the 
 cross, remains an object of pious pilgrimage. 
 Some say that it anciently stood in front of the 
 convent, but others that it was the spire which 
 remained above ground, when the main body of 
 the building sank, like the topmast of some tall 
 ship that has foundered. These pious believers 
 maintain that the convent is miraculously pre- 
 served entire in the centre of the mountain, where, 
 if proper excavations were made, it would be found, 
 with all its treasures, and monuments, and shrines, 
 and relics, and the tombs of its virgin nuns. 
 
 Should any one doubt the truth of this marvel- 
 
LEGEND OF THE ENGULPHED CONVENT. 383 
 
 lous interposition of the Virgin, to protect the ves- 
 tal purity of her votaries, let him read the excel- 
 lent work entitled " Espana Triumphante," written 
 by Fray Antonio de Sancta Maria, a barefoot friar 
 of the Carmelite order, and he will doubt no longer. 
 
THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 Break, Phantsie, from thy cave of cloud, 
 
 And wave tliy purple wings. 
 Now all thy figures are allowed, 
 
 And various shapes of things. 
 Create of airy forms a stream; 
 
 It must have blood and naught of phlegm ; 
 And though it be a walking dream, 
 
 Yet let it like an odor rise 
 To all the senses here. 
 
 And fall like sleep upon their eyes. 
 Or music on their ear. — Ben Jonson. 
 
 HERE are more things in heaven and 
 earth than are dreamed of in our philos- 
 ophy," and among these may be placed 
 that marvel and mystery of the seas, the Island 
 of St. Brandan. Those who have read the his- 
 tory of the Canaries, the fortmiate islands of the 
 ancients, may remember the wonders told of this 
 enigmatical island. Occasionally it would be visi- 
 ble from their shores, stretching away in the clear 
 bright west, to all appearance substantial like 
 themselves, and still more beautiful. Expeditions 
 would launch forth from the Canaries to exploi-e 
 this land of promise. For a time its sun-gilt 
 peaks and long, shadowy promontories would re- 
 main distinctly visible, but in proportion as the 
 voyagers approached, peak and promontory would 
 
THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 385 
 
 gradually fade away until nothing would remain 
 but blue sky above and deep blue water below. 
 Hence this mysterious isle was stigmatized by 
 ancient cosmographers with the name of Aprositus 
 or the Inaccessible. The failure of numerous ex- 
 peditions sent in quest of it, both in ancient and 
 modern days, have at length caused its very exist- 
 ence to be called in question, and it has been 
 rashly pronomiced a mere optical illusion, like 
 the Fata Morgana of the Straits of Messina, or 
 has been classed with those unsubstantial regions 
 known to mariners as Cape Fly Away and the 
 coast of Cloud Land. 
 
 Let us not permit, however, the doubts of 
 worldly-wise sceptics to rob us of all the glorious 
 realms owned by happy credulity in days of yore. 
 Be assured, O reader of easy faith ! — thou for 
 whom it is my delight to labor — be assured that 
 such an island actually exists, and has from time 
 to time been revealed to the gaze and trodden by 
 the feet of favored mortals. Historians and phi- 
 losophers may have their doubts, but its existence 
 has been fully attested by that inspired race, the 
 poets ; who, being gifted with a kind of second 
 sight, are enabled to discern those mysteries of 
 nature hidden from the eyes of ordinaiy men. 
 To this gifted race it has ever been a kind of 
 wonder-land. Here once bloomed, and perhaps 
 still blooms, the famous garden of the Hesperides, 
 with its golden fruit. Here, too, the sorceress 
 Armida had her enchanted garden, in which she 
 held the Christian paladin, Rinaldo, in delicious 
 but inglorious thraldom, as set forth in the ini- 
 25 
 
386 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 mortal lay of Tasso. It was in this island that 
 Sycorax the witch held sway, when the good 
 Prospero and his infant daughter Miranda were 
 wafted to its shores. Who does not know the 
 tale as told in the magic page of Shakspeare ? 
 The isle was then 
 
 " full of noises, 
 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not." 
 
 The island, in fact at different times, has been 
 under the sway of different powers, genii of 
 earth, and air, and ocean, who have made it their 
 shadowy abode. Hither have retired many classic 
 but broken down deities, shorn of almost all their 
 attributes, but who once ruled the poetic world. 
 Here Neptune and Amphitrite hold a diminished 
 court, sovereigns in exile. Their ocean-chariot, 
 almost a wreck, lies bottom upward in some sea- 
 beaten cavern ; their pursy Tritons and haggard 
 Nereids bask listlessly like seals about the rocks. 
 Sometimes those deities assume, it is said, a 
 shadow of their ancient pomp, and glide in state 
 about a summer sea ; and then, as some tall In- 
 diaman lies becalmed with idly flapping sail, her 
 drowsy crew may hear the mellow note of the 
 Triton's shell swelling upon the ear as the invisi- 
 ble pageant sweeps by. 
 
 On the shores of this wondrous isle the kraken 
 heaves its unwieldy bulk and wallows many a 
 rood. Here the sea-serpent, that mighty but 
 much contested reptile, lies coiled up during the 
 intervals of its revelations to the eyes of true 
 believers. Here even the Flying Dutchman 
 
THE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 387 
 
 finds a port, and casts his anchor, and furls his 
 shadowy sail, and takes a brief repose from his 
 eternal cruisings. 
 
 In the deep bays and harbors of the island lies 
 many a spell-bound ship, long since given up as 
 lost by the ruined merchant. Here, too, its crew, 
 long, long bewailed in vain, lie sleeping from ago 
 to age in mossy grottoes, or wander about in 
 pleasing oblivion of all things. Here in caverns 
 are garnered up the priceless treasures lost in the 
 ocean. Here sparkles in vain the diamond and 
 flames the carbuncle. Here are piled iip rich 
 bales of Oriental silks, boxes of pearls, and piles 
 of golden ingots. 
 
 Such are some of the marvels related of this 
 island, which may serve to throw light upon the 
 following legend, of unquestionable truth, which 
 I recommend to the implicit belief of the reader. 
 
 THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITffiS. 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST. BRANDAN. 
 
 In the early part of the fifteenth century, when 
 Prince Henry of Portugal, of worthy memory, 
 was pushing the career of discovery along the 
 western coast of Africa, and the world was re- 
 sounding with reports of golden regions on the 
 mainland, and new-found islands in the ocean, 
 there arrived at Lisbon an old bewildered pilot 
 of the seas, who had been driven by tempests, he 
 knew not whither, and raved about an island far 
 
388 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 in the deep, upon which he had landed, and which 
 he had found peopled with Christians, and adorned 
 with noble cities. 
 
 The inhabitants, he said, having never before 
 been visited by a ship, gathered round, and re- 
 garded him with surprise. They told him they 
 were descendants of a band of Christians, who 
 fled from Spain when that country was conquered 
 by the Moslems. They were curious about the 
 state of their fatherland, and grieved to hear that 
 the Moslems still held possession of the kingdom 
 of Granada. They would have taken the old 
 navigator to church, to convince him of their 
 orthodoxy ; but, either through lack of devotion, 
 or lack of faith in their words, he declined their 
 invitation, and preferred to return on board of 
 his ship. He was properly punished. A furious 
 storm arose, drove him from his anchorage, hur- 
 ried him out to sea, and he saw no more of the 
 unknown island. 
 
 This strange story caused great marvel in 
 Lisbon and elsewhere. Those versed in history 
 remembered to have read, in an ancient chronicle, 
 that, at the time of the conquest of Spain, in the 
 eighth century, when the blessed cross was cast 
 down, and the crescent erected in its place, and 
 when Christian churches were turned into Moslem 
 mosques, seven bishops, at the head of seven bands 
 of pious exiles, had fled from the peninsula, and 
 embarked in quest of some ocean island, or dis- 
 tant land, where they might found seven Christian 
 cities, and enjoy their faith unmolested. 
 
 The fate of these saints errant had hitherto 
 
THE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 389 
 
 remained a mystery, and their story had faded 
 from memory ; the report of the old tempest- 
 tossed pilot, however, revived this long-forgotten 
 theme ; and it was determined by the pious and 
 enthusiastic, that the island thus accidentally dis- 
 covered was the identical place of refuge whithei 
 the wandering bishops had been guided by a pro- 
 tecting Providence, and where they had folded 
 their flocks. 
 
 This most excitable of worlds has always some 
 darling object of chimerical enterprise ; the " Island 
 of the Seven Cities " now awakened as much in- 
 terest and longing among zealous Christians as 
 has the renowned city of Timbuctoo among ad- 
 venturous travellers, or the Northeast passage 
 among hardy navigators ; and it was a frequent 
 prayer of the devout, that these scattered and 
 lost portions of the Christian family might be 
 discovered and reunited to the great body of 
 Christendom. 
 
 No one, however, entered into the matter with 
 half the zeal of Don Fernando de Ulmo, a young 
 cavalier of high standing in the Portuguese court, 
 and of most sanguine and romantic temperament. 
 He had recently come to his estate, and had run 
 the round of all kinds of pleasures and excite- 
 ments when this new theme of popular talk and 
 wonder presented itself. The Island of the Seven 
 Cities became now the constant subject of his 
 thoughts by day, and his dreams by night ; it 
 even rivalled his passion for a beautiful girl, one 
 of the greatest belles of Lisbon, to whom he was 
 betrothed. At length his imagination became so 
 
390 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 inflamed on the subject, that he determmed to fit 
 out an expedition, at his own expense, and set 
 sail in quest of this sainted island. It could not 
 be a cruise of any great extent ; for, according to 
 the calculations of the tempest-tossed pilot, it must 
 be somewhere in the latitude of the Canaries ; 
 which at that time, when the new world was as 
 yet undiscovered, formed the frontier of ocean 
 enterprise. Don Fernando applied to the crown 
 for countenance and protection. As he was a 
 favorite at court, the usual patronage was readily 
 extended to him ; that is to say, he received a 
 commission from the king, Don loam, II., consti- 
 tuting him Adalantado, or military governor, of 
 any country he might discover, with the single 
 proviso, that he should bear all the expenses of 
 the discovery, and pay a tenth of the profits to 
 the crown. 
 
 Don Fernando now set to work in the true 
 spirit of a projector. He sold acre after acre 
 of solid land, and invested the proceeds in ships, 
 guns, ammunition, and sea-stores. Even his old 
 family mansion in Lisbon was mortgaged without 
 scruple, for he looked forward to a palace in one 
 of the Seven Cities, of which he was to be Ada- 
 lantado. This was the age of nautical romance, 
 when the thoughts of all speculative dreamers 
 were turned to the ocean. The scheme of Don 
 Fernando, therefore, drew adventurers of every 
 kind. The merchant promised himself new marts 
 of opulent traffic ; the soldier hoped to sack and 
 plunder some one or other of those Seven Cities ; 
 even the fat monk shook off the sleep and sloth 
 
THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 391 
 
 af the cloister, to join in a crusade which proni' 
 ised such increase to the possessions of the Church. 
 One person alone regarded the whole project 
 with sovereign contempt and growling hostility. 
 This was Don Ramiro Alvarez, the father of the 
 beautiful Serafina, to whom Don Fernando was 
 betrothed. He was one of those perverse, mat- 
 ter-of-fact old men, who are prone to oppose ev- 
 erything speculative and romantic. He had no 
 faith in the Island of the Seven Cities ; regarded 
 the projected cruise as a crack-brained freak ; 
 looked with angry eye and internal heart-burning 
 on the conduct of his intended son-in-law, chaffer- 
 ing away solid lands for lands in the moon ; and 
 scoffingly dubbed him Adalantado of Cloud Land. 
 In fact, he had never really relished the intended 
 match, to which his consent had been slowdy ex- 
 torted by the tears and entreaties of his daughter. 
 It is true he could have no reasonable objections 
 to the youth, for Don Fernando was the very 
 flower of Portuguese chivalry. No one could 
 excel him at the tilting match, or the riding at 
 the ring ; none was more bold and dexterous in 
 the bull fight ; none composed more gallant madri- 
 gals in praise of his lady's charms, or sang them 
 with sweeter tones to the accompaniment of her 
 guitar ; nor could any one handle the castanets 
 and dance the bolero with more captivating grace. 
 All these admirable qualities and endowments, 
 however, though they had been sufficient to win 
 the heart of Serafina, were nothing in the eyes 
 3f her unreasonable father. Oh Cupid, god of 
 Love ! why will fathers always be so unreason- 
 able ? 
 
392 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 The engagement to Serafina had threatened at 
 first to throw an obstacle in the way of the ex- 
 pedition of Don Fernando, and for a time per- 
 plexed him in the extreme. He was passionately 
 attached to the young lady ; but he was abo pas- 
 sionately bent on this romantic enterprise. How 
 should he reconcile the two passionate inclina- 
 tions ? A simple and obvious arrangement at 
 length presented itself, — marry Serafina, enjoy a 
 portion of the honeymoon at once, and defer the 
 rest until his return from the discovery of the 
 Seven Cities ! 
 
 He hastened to make known this most excel- 
 lent arrangement to Don Ramiro, when the long- 
 smothered wrath of the old cavalier burst forth. 
 He reproaclied him with being the dupe of wan- 
 derino; vao-abonds and wild schemers, and with 
 squandering all his real possessions, in pursuit of 
 empty bubbles. Don Fernando was too sanguine 
 a projector, and too young a man, to listen tamely 
 to such language. He acted with what is tech- 
 nically called " becoming spirit." A high quarrel 
 ensued ; Don Ramiro pronounced him a madman, 
 and forbade all farther intercourse with his dauijh- 
 ter until he should give proof of returning sanity, 
 by abandoning this madcap enterprise ; while Don 
 Fernando flung out of the house, more bent than 
 ever on the expedition, from the idea of triumph- 
 ing over the incredulity of the gray beard, when 
 he should return successful. Don Ramiro's heart 
 misgave him. Who knows, thought he, but this 
 crack-brained visionary may persuade my daugh- 
 ter to elope with him, and share his throne in this 
 
THEADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 3^)0 
 
 unknown paradise of fools ? If I could only keep 
 her safe until his ships are fairly out at sea ! 
 
 He repaired to her apartment, represented to 
 her the sanguine, unsteady character of her lover 
 and the chimerical value of his schemes, and urged 
 the propriety of suspending all intercourse with 
 him until he should recover from his present hal- 
 lucination. She bowed her head as if in filial 
 acquiescence, whereupon he folded her to his 
 bosom with parental fondness and kissed away a 
 tear that was stealing over her cheek, but as he 
 left the chamber quietly turned the key on the 
 lock ; for though he was a fond father and had a 
 high opinion of the submissive temper of his child, 
 he had a still higher opinion of the conservative 
 virtues of lock and key, and determined to trust 
 to them until the caravels should sail. Whether 
 the damsel had been in any wise shaken in her 
 faith as to the schemes of her lover by her fath- 
 er's eloquence, tradition does not say ; but certain 
 it is, that, the moment she heard the key turn in 
 the lock, she became a firm believer in the Island 
 of the Seven Cities. 
 
 The door was locked ; but her will was uncon- 
 fined. A window of the chamber opened into one 
 of those stone balconies, secured by iron bars, 
 which project like huge cages from Portuguese 
 and Spanish houses. Within this balcony the 
 beautiful Serafina had her birds ana flowers, and 
 hero she was accustomed to sit on moonlight night? 
 as in a bower, and touch her guitar and sing likp 
 a wakeful nightingale. From this balcony an in 
 lercourse was now maintained between the lovers^ 
 
394 TEE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 against which the lock and key of Don Ramiro 
 were of no avail. All day would Fernando be 
 occupied hurrying the equipments of his ships, 
 but evening found him in sweet discourse beneath 
 his lady's window. 
 
 At length the preparations were completed. 
 Two gallant caravels lay at anchor in the Tagus 
 ready to sail at sunrise. Late at night by the 
 pale light of a waning moon the lover had his 
 last interview. The beautiful Serafina was sad 
 at heart and full of dark forebodings ; her lover 
 full of hope and confidence. " A few short months," 
 said he, " and I shall return in triumph. Thy 
 father will then blush at his incredulity, and has- 
 ten to welcome to his house the Adalantado of 
 the Seven Cities." 
 
 The gentle lady shook her head. It was not 
 on this point she felt distrust. She w^as a thorough 
 believer in the Island of the Seven Cities, and 
 so sure of the success of the enterprise that she 
 might have been tempted to join it had not the 
 balcony been high and the grating strong. Other 
 considerations induced that dubious shaking: of 
 the head. She had heard of the inconstancy of 
 the seas, and the inconstancy of those who roam 
 them. Might not Fernando meet with other loves 
 in foreign ports ? Might not some peerless beauty 
 in one or o'^^her of those Seven Cities efface the 
 image of Serafina from his mind ? Now let the 
 truth be spoken, the beautiful Serafina had reason 
 for her disquiet. If Don Fernando had any fault 
 in the world, it was that of being rather inflam- 
 mable and apt to take fire from every sparkling 
 
THE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 395 
 
 eye. He had been somewhat of a rover among 
 the sex on shore, what might he be on sea ? 
 
 She ventured to express her doubt, but he 
 spurned at the very idea. " What ! he false to 
 Serafina ! He bow at the shrine of another 
 beauty -^ Never ! never ! " Repeatedly did he 
 bend his knee, and smite his breast, and call upon 
 the silver moon to witness his sincerity and truth. 
 
 He retorted the doubt, " Might not Serafina 
 herself forget her plighted faith? Might not 
 some wealthier rival present himself while he was 
 tossing on the sea ; and, backed by her father's 
 wishes, win the treasure of her hand ! " 
 
 The beautiful Serafina raised her white arms 
 between the iron bars of the balcony, and, like 
 her lover, invoked the moon to testify her vows. 
 Alas ! how little did Fernando know her heart. 
 The more her father should oppose, the more 
 would she be fixed in faith. Though years should 
 intervene, Fernando on his return would find her 
 true. Even should the salt sea swallow him up 
 (and her eyes shed salt tears at the very thought), 
 never would she be the wife of another ! Never, 
 never, never ! She drew from her finger a ring 
 gemmed with a ruby heart, and dropped it from 
 the balcony, a parting pledge of constancy. 
 
 Thus the lovers parted with many a tender 
 word and plighted vow. But will they keep 
 those vows ? Perish the doubt ! Have they not 
 called the constant moon to witness ? 
 
 With the morning dawn the caravels dropped 
 down the Tagus, and put to sea. They steered 
 for the Canaries, in those days the regions of nau 
 
396 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 tical discovery and romance, and the outposts of 
 the known world, for as yet Columbus had not 
 steered his daring barks across the ocean. Scarce 
 had they reached those latitudes when they were 
 separated by a violent tempest. For many days 
 was the caravel of Don Fernando driven about 
 at the mercy of the elements ; all seamanship was 
 baffled, destruction seemed inevitable and, the crew 
 were in despair. All at once the storm subsided ; 
 the ocean sank into a calm ; the clouds which 
 had veiled the face of heaven were suddenlv with- 
 drawn, and the tempest-tossed mariners beheld a 
 fair and mountainous island, emerging as if by 
 enchantment from the murky gloom. They rub- 
 bed their eyes and gazed for a time almost in- 
 credulously, yet there lay the island spread out in 
 lovely landscapes, with the late stormy sea laving 
 its shores with peaceful billows. 
 
 The pilot of the caravel consulted his maps 
 and charts ; no island like the one before him was 
 laid down as existing in those parts ; it is true 
 he had lost his reckoning in the late storm, but, 
 according to his calculations, he could not be far 
 from the Canaries ; and this was not one of that 
 group of islands. The caravel now lay perfectly 
 becalmed off the mouth of a river, on the banks 
 of which, about a league from the sea, was de- 
 scried a noble city, with lofty walls and towers, 
 and a protecting castle. 
 
 After a time, a stately barge with sixteen oars 
 was seen emerging from the river, and approach- 
 ing the caravel. It was quaintly carved and gilt ; 
 the oarsmen were clad in antique garb, their oars 
 
THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITTE3. 307 
 
 painted of a bright crimson, and they carne slowly 
 and solemnly, keeping time as they rowed to the 
 cadence of an old Spanish ditty. Under a silken 
 canopy in the stern, sat a cavalier richly clad, 
 and over his head was a banner bearing the sa- 
 cred emblem of the cross. 
 
 When the barge reached the caravel, the cav- 
 alier stepped on board. He was tall and gaunt ; 
 with a long Spanish visage, moustaches that curled 
 up to his eyes, and a forked beard. He wore 
 gauntlets reaching to his elbows, a Toledo blade 
 strutting out behind, with a basket hilt, in which 
 he carried his handkerchief. His air was lofty 
 and precise, and bespoke indisputably the hidalgo. 
 Thrusting out a long spindle leg, he took off a 
 huge sombrero, and swaying it until the feather 
 swept the ground, accosted Don Fernando in the 
 old Castilian language, and with the old Castilian 
 courtesy, welcoming him to the Island of the Seven 
 Cities. 
 
 Don Fernando was overwhelmed with aston- 
 ishment. Could this be true ? Had he really 
 been tempest-driven to the very land of which he 
 was in quest ? 
 
 It was even so. That very day the inhabi- 
 tants were holdinjy hio-h festival in commemora- 
 tion of the escape of their ancestors from the 
 Moors. The arrival of the caravel at such a 
 juncture was considered a good omen, the accom- 
 plishment of an ancient prophecy through which 
 the island was to be restored to the great com- 
 munity of Christendom. The cavalier before hira 
 was grand-chamberlain, sent by the alcayde to in- 
 vite him to the festivities of the capital. 
 
398 THE PHANTOM ISLAND: 
 
 Don Fernando could scarce believe that this 
 was not all a dream. He made known his name 
 and the object of his voyage. The grand cham- 
 berlain declared that all was in perfect accordance 
 with the ancient prophecy, and that the moment 
 his credentials were presented, he would be ac- 
 knowledged as the Adalantado of the Seven 
 Cities. In the mean time the day was waning ; 
 the barge was ready to convey him to the land, 
 and would as assuredly bring him back. 
 
 Don Fernando's pilot, a veteran of the seas, 
 drew him aside and expostulated against his ven- 
 turing, on the mere word of a stranger, to land 
 in a strange barge on an unknown shore. Who 
 knows, Seiior, what land this is, or what people 
 inhabit it 't " 
 
 Don Fernando was not to be dissuaded. Had 
 he not believed in this island when all the world 
 doubted ? Had he not sought it in defiance of 
 storm and tempest, and wn.s he now to shrink 
 from its shores when they lay before him in calm 
 weather ? In a word, was not faith the very cor- 
 ner-stone of his enterprise ? 
 
 Having arrayed himself, therefore, in gala dress 
 befitting the occasion, he took his seat in the barge. 
 The grand chamberlain seated himself opposite. 
 The rowers plied their oars, and renewed the 
 mournful old ditty, and the gorgeous but un- 
 wieldy barge moved slowly through the water. 
 
 The night closed in before they entered the 
 river, and swept along past rock and promontory, 
 each guarded by its tower. At every post they 
 WQY^. challenged by the sentinel. 
 
THEADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 399 
 
 " Who goes there ? " 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 " Welcome, Seiior Adalantado. Pass on." 
 Entering the harbor they rowed close by an 
 armed galley of ancient form. Soldiers with cross- 
 bows patrolled the deck. 
 " Who goes there ? " 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 " Welcome, Senor Adalantado. Pass on. ' 
 They landed at a broad flight of stone steps- 
 leading up between two massive towers, and 
 knocked at the water-gate. A sentinel, in an- 
 cient steel casque, looked from the barbecan. 
 " Who is there ? " 
 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 " Welcome, Senor Adalantado." 
 The gate swung open, grating upon rusty 
 hinges. They entered between two rows of war- 
 riors in Gothic armor, with crossbows, maces, 
 battle-axes, and faces old-fashioned as their armor, 
 There were processions through the streets, in 
 commemoration of the landing of the seven Bish- 
 ops and their followers, and bonfires, at which 
 effigies of losel Moors expiated their invasion of 
 Christendom by a kind of auto-da-fe. The groups 
 round the fires, uncouth in their attire, looked 
 like the fantastic figures that roam the streets in 
 Carnival time. Even the dames who gazed down 
 from Gothic balconies hung with antique tapesti y, 
 resembled effigies dressed up in Christmas mum- 
 meries. Everything, in short, bore the stamp of 
 former ages, as if the world had suddenly rolled 
 back for several centuries. Nor was this to be 
 
400 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 wondered at. Had not the Island of the SevcE 
 Cities been cut off from the rest of the world for 
 several hundred years ; and wero not these the 
 modes and customs of Gothic Spain before it was 
 conquered by the Moors ? 
 
 Arrived at the palace of the alcayde, the grand 
 chamberlain knocked at the portal. Tlie porter 
 looked through a wicket, and demanded who was 
 there. 
 
 " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 
 The portal was thrown wide open. The grand 
 chamberlain led the way up a vast, heavily 
 moulded, marble staircase, and into a hall of cere- 
 mony, where was the alcayde with several of the 
 principal dignitaries of thr city, who had a mar- 
 vellous resemblance, in form and feature, to the 
 quaint figures in old illuminated manuscripts. 
 
 The grand "hamberlain stepped forward and 
 announced the name and title of the stranger 
 guest, and tlie extraordinary nature of his mis- 
 sion. The announcement appeared to create no 
 extraordinary emotion or surprise, but to be re- 
 ceived as the anticipated fulfilment of a prophecy. 
 
 The reception of Don Fernando, however, was 
 profoundly gracious, though in the same style of 
 stately courtesy which everywhere prevailed. He 
 would have produced his credentials, but this was 
 courteously declined. The evening was devoted 
 to high festivity ; the following day, when he 
 should enter the port with his caravel, would be 
 devoted to business, when the credentials would 
 be received in due form, and he inducted into 
 office as Adalantado of the Seven Cities. 
 
J HE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 401 
 
 Don Ferimndo was now conducted through 
 one of those intermiiuible suites of apartments, 
 the pride of Spanish palaces, all furnished in a 
 style of obsolete magnificence. In a vast saloon, 
 blazing with tapers, was assembled all the aristoc- 
 racy and fashion of the city, — stately dames and 
 cavaliers, the very counterpart of the figures in 
 the tapestry which decorated the walls. Fernando 
 gazed in silent marvel. It was a reflex of the 
 proud aristocracy of Spain in the time of Roder- 
 ick the Goth. 
 
 The festivities of (he evening were all in the 
 style of solemn and antiquated ceremonial. There 
 was a dance, but it was as if the old tapestry 
 were put in motion, and all the figures moving in 
 stately measure about the floor. There was one 
 exception, and one that told powerfully upon the 
 susceptible Adalantado. The alcayde's daughter 
 — such a ripe, melting beauty ! Her dress, it is 
 true, like the dresses of her neighbors, might have 
 been worn before the flood, but she had the black 
 Andalusian eye, a glance of which, through its 
 long dark lashes, is irresistible. Her voice, too, 
 her manner, her undulating movements, all smacked 
 of Andalusia, and showed how female charms may 
 be transmitted from age to age, and clime to clime, 
 without ever going out of fashion. Those who 
 know the witchery of the sex, in that most amor- 
 ous part of amorous old Spain, may judge of the 
 fascination to which Don Fernando was exposed, 
 .IS he joined in the dance with one of its most 
 captivating descendants. 
 
 He sat beside her at the banquet ! such an old- 
 26 
 
402 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 world feast ! such obsolete dainties I At the head 
 of the table the peacock, that bird of state and 
 ceremony, was served np in full plumage on a 
 golden dish. As Don Fernando cast his eyes 
 down the glittering board, what a vista presented 
 itself of odd heads and head-dresses ; of formal 
 bearded dignitaries and stately dames, with cas- 
 tellated locks and towering plumes ! Is it to be 
 wondered at th^it he should turn with delight from 
 these antiquated figures to the alcayde's daughter, 
 all smiles and dimples, and melting looks and melt- 
 ing accents ? Beside, for I wish to give him ev- 
 ery excuse in my power, he was in a particularly 
 excitable mood from the novelty of the scene be- 
 fore him, from this realization of all his hopes 
 and fancies, and from frequent draughts of the 
 wine-cup presented to him at every moment by 
 officious pages during the banquet. 
 
 In a word — there is no concealing the mat- 
 ter — before the evening was over, Don Fernando 
 was making love outright to the alcayde's daugh- 
 ter. They had wandered together to a moon-lit 
 balcony of the palace, and he was charming her 
 ear with one of those love-ditties with which, in 
 a like balcony, he had serenaded the beautiful 
 Serafina. 
 
 The damsel hung her head coyly. " Ah ! 
 Seiior, these are flattering words ; but you cava- 
 liers, who roam the seas, are unsteady as its 
 waves. To-morrow you will be throned in stfl,te, 
 Adalantado of the Seven Cities ; and will think 
 ao more of the alcayde's daughter." 
 
 Don Fernando in the intoxication of the mo- 
 
THEADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 403 
 
 ment called the moon to witness his sincerity. 
 As he raised his hand in adjuration, the chaste 
 moon cast a ray upon the ring that sparkled on 
 his finger. It caught the damsel's eye. " Signor 
 Adalantado," said she archly, " I have no great 
 faith in the moon, but give me that ring up(jn 
 your finger in pledge of the truth of what you 
 profess." 
 
 The gallant Adalantado was taken by surprise ; 
 there was no parrying this sudden appeal ; before 
 he had time to reflect, the ring of the beautiful 
 Serafina glittered on the finger of the alcayde's 
 daughter. 
 
 At this eventful moment the chamberlain ap- 
 proached with lofty demeanor, and announced that 
 the barge was waiting to bear him back to the 
 caravel. I forbear to relate the ceremonious part- 
 ings with the alcayde and his dignitaries, and the 
 tender farewell of the alcayde's daughter. He 
 took his seat in the barge opposite the grand 
 chamberlain. The rowers plied their crimson 
 oars in the same slow and stately manner to the 
 cadence of the same mournful old ditty. His 
 brain was in a whirl with all that he had 
 seen, and his heart now a.nd then gave him a 
 twinge as he thought of his temporary infidelity 
 to the beautiful Serafina. The barge sallied out 
 into the sea, but no caravel was to be seen ; 
 doubtless she had been carried to a distance by 
 the current of the river. The oarsmen rowed 
 on ; their monotonous chant had a lulling effect. 
 A drowsy influence crept over Don Fernando. 
 Objects swam before his eyes. The oarsmen as- 
 
404 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 Bumed odd shapes as in a dream. The grand 
 chamberlain grew larger and larger, and taller 
 and taller. He took off his huge sombrero, and 
 held it over the head of Don Fernando, like an 
 extinguisher over a candle. The latter cowered 
 beneath it ; he felt himself sinking in the socket. 
 
 " Good night ! Senor Adalantado of the Seven 
 Cities ! " said the grand chamberlain. 
 
 The sombrero slowly descended — - Don Fer- 
 nando was extinguished ! 
 
 How long he remained extinct no mortal man 
 can tell. When he returned to consciousness, he 
 found himself in" a strange cabin, surrounded by 
 strangers. He rubbed his eyes, and looked round 
 him wildly. Where was he ? — On board a Por- 
 tuguese ship, bound to Lisbon. How came he 
 there ? — He had been taken senseless from a 
 wreck drifting about the ocean. 
 
 Don Fernando was more and more confounded 
 and perplexed. He recalled, one by one, every- 
 thing that had happened to him in the Island of 
 the Seven Cities, until he had been extinguished 
 by the sombrero of the grand chamberlain. But 
 what had happened to him since ? What had 
 become of his caravel ? Was it the wreck of her 
 on which he had been found floating ? 
 
 The people about him could give no information 
 on the subject. He entreated them to take him to 
 the Island of the Seven Cities, which could not be 
 far off ; told them all that had befallen him there ; 
 that he had but to land to be received as Adalan- 
 tado ; when he would reward them magnificently 
 for their services. 
 
THEAJJALANTADO OF THE SEVEN ClTiEti. 405 
 
 They regarded his words as the ravinga 0/ 
 delirium, and in their honest solicitude for the 
 restoration of his reason, administered such rough 
 remedies that he was fain to drop the subject and 
 observe a cautious taciturnity. 
 
 At length they arrived in the Tagus, and 
 anchored before the famous city of Lisbon. Don 
 Fernando sprang joyfully on shore, and hastened 
 to his ancestral mansion. A strange porter opened 
 the door, who knew nothing of him or his fam- 
 ily ; no people of the name had inhabited the house 
 for many a year. 
 
 He sought the mansion of Don Ramiro. He 
 approached the balcony beneath which he had 
 bidden farewell to Serafina. Did his eyes deceive 
 him ? No ! There M^as Serafina herself among; 
 the flowers in the balcony. He raised his arms 
 toward her with an exclamation of rapture. She 
 cast upon him a look of indignation, and, hastily 
 retiring, closed the casement with a slam that 
 testified her displeasure. 
 
 Could she have heard of his flirtation with, the 
 alcayde's daughter ? But that was mere transient 
 gallantry. A moment's interview would dispel 
 every doubt of his constancy. 
 
 He rang at the door ; as it was opened by the 
 porter he rushed up-stairs ; sought the well-known 
 chamber, and threw himself at the feet of Serafina. 
 She started back with affright, and took refuge in 
 the arms of a youthful cavalier. 
 
 " What mean you, Seiior," cried the latter, " by 
 this intrusion ? " 
 
 " What right have you to ask the question ? " 
 demanded Don Fernando fiercely. 
 
406 TRE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 " The right of an affianced suitor ! " 
 
 Don Fernando started and turned pale. ** Oh, 
 Serafina 1 Serafina ! " cried he, in a tone of agony ; 
 " is this thy plighted constancy ? " 
 
 " Serafina ? What mean you by Serafina, 
 Senor ? If this be the lady you intend, her 
 name is Maria." 
 
 " May I not believe my senses ? May I not 
 b^iieve my heart ? " cried Don Fernando. " Is not 
 this Serafina Alvarez, the original of yon portrait, 
 which, less fickle than herself, still smiles on me 
 from the wall ? " 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " cried the young lady, casting 
 her eyes upon the portrait. " He is talking of 
 my great-grandmother ! " 
 
 An explanation ensued, if that could be called 
 an explanation which plunged the unfortunate 
 Fernando into tenfold perplexity. If he might 
 believe his eyes, he saw before him his beloved 
 Serafina ; if he might believe his ears, it was 
 merely her hereditary form and features, perpetu- 
 ated in the person of her great-granddaughter. 
 
 His brain began to spin. He sought the office 
 of the Minister of Marine, and made a report of 
 nis expedition, and of the Island of the S^ven 
 Cities, which he had so fortunately discovered. 
 Nobody knew anything of such an expedition, or 
 ■>uch an island. He declared that he had undei- 
 '■-aken the enterprise under a formal contract with 
 the crown, and had received a regular commis- 
 sion, constituting him Adalantado. This must be 
 matter of record, and he insisted loudly, that the 
 books of the department should be consulted, Tho 
 
THE AD A LAN Tad OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 407 
 
 wordy strife at length attracted the attention of 
 an old gray-iieuded clerk, who sat perched on a 
 high stool, at a high desk, with iron-rimmed spec- 
 tacles on the top of a thin, pinched nose, copying 
 records into an enormous folio. He had wintered 
 and summered in the department for a great part 
 of a century, until he had almost grown to be a 
 piece of the desk at which he sat ; his memory 
 was a nier.3 index of official facts and documents, 
 and his brain was little better than red tape and 
 parchment. After peering down for a time from 
 his lofty perch, and ascertaining the matter in 
 controversy, he put his pen behind his ear, and 
 descended. He remembered to have heard some- 
 thing from his predecessor about an expedition of 
 the kind in question, but then it had sailed during 
 the reign of Dom loam II., and he had been dead 
 at least a hundred years. To put the matter be- 
 yond dispute, however, the archives of the Torre 
 do Tombo, that sepulchre of old Portuguese doc- 
 uments, were diligently searched, and a record 
 was found of a contract between the crown and 
 one Fernando de Ulmo, for the discovery of the 
 Island of thg Seven Cities, and of a commission 
 secured to him as Adalantado of the country he 
 might disco\ er. 
 
 " There !" cried Don Fernando, triumphantly, 
 '^ there you have proof, before your own eyes, of 
 f\'hat I hav(! said I am the Fernando de Ulmo 
 specified in that record. I have discovered the 
 Island of the Seven Cities, and am entitled to bo 
 A^dalantado, according to contract." 
 
 The story of Don Fernando had certainly, what 
 
408 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 is pronoanced the best of historical foundation, 
 documentary evidence; but when a man, in the 
 bloom of youth, talked of events that had taken 
 place above a century prievously, as having hap 
 pened to himself, it is no wonder that he was set 
 down for a madman. 
 
 The old clerk looked at him from above and be- 
 low his spectacles, shrugged his shoulders, stroked 
 his chin, reascended his lofty stool, took the pen 
 from behind his ears, and resumed his daily and 
 eternal task, copying records into the fiftieth 
 volume of a series of gigantic folios. The other 
 clerks winked at each other shrewdly, and dis- 
 persed to their several places, and poor Don Fer- 
 nando, thus left to himself, fiung out of the office, 
 almost driven wild by these repeated perplexities. 
 
 In the confusion of his mind, he instinctively 
 repaired to the mansion of Alvarez, but it was 
 bari-ed against him. To bi'eak the delusion under 
 which the youth apparently labored, and to con 
 vince him that the Serafina about whom he ravea 
 was really dead, he was conducted to her tomb. 
 There she lay, a stately matron, cut out in alabas- 
 ter ; and tiiere lay her husband beside her ; a portly 
 cavalier, in armor ; and there knelt, on each side, 
 the efiigies of a numerous progeny, proving that 
 she had been a fruitful vine. Even the very mon- 
 ument gave evidence of the lapse of time ; the 
 hands of her husband, folded as if in prayer, had 
 lost their fingers, and the face of the once lovely 
 Serafina was without a nose. 
 
 Don Fernando felt a transient glow of indigna- 
 tion at beholding this monumental proof of tho 
 
THE ADALANTADO OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 40£ 
 
 inconstancy of his mistress ; but who could expec^ 
 a mistress to remain constant during a whole 
 century of absence ? And what right had he to. 
 rail about constancy, after what had passed be- 
 tween himself and the alcayde's daughter? The 
 unfortunate cavalier performed one pious act Oi 
 tender devotion ; he had the alabaster nose Oi 
 Seraiina restored by a skilful statuary, and then 
 tore himself from the tomb. 
 
 He could now no longer doubt the fact thai;, 
 somehow or other, he had skipped over a whole 
 century, during the night he had spent at the 
 Island of the Seven Cities ; and he was now as 
 complete a stranger in his native city, as if he 
 had never been there. A thousand times did 
 he wish himself back to that wonderful island, 
 ?vith its antiquated banquet halls, where he had 
 been so courteously received ; and now that the 
 once young and beautiful Serafina was nothing 
 but a great-grandmother in marble, with genera 
 tions of descendants, a thousand times would h(> 
 recall the melting black eyes of the alcayde's 
 daughter, who doubtless, like himself, was stiF 
 flourishing in fresh juvenility, and breathe a 
 secret wish that he was seated by her side. 
 
 He would at once have set on foot another ex 
 pedition, at his own expense, to cruise in search of 
 the sainted island, but his means were exhausted 
 He endeavored to rouse others to the enterprise., 
 setting forth the certainty of profitable results, of 
 which his own experience furnished such un 
 questionable proof. Alas ! no one would giv? 
 faith to his tale ; but looked upon it as the fever- 
 
410 THE PHANTOM ISLAND. 
 
 ish dream of a shipwrecked man. He persisted 
 in his eiForts ; holding forth in all places and all 
 companies, until he became an object of jest and 
 jeer to the light-minded, who mistook his earnest 
 enthusiasm for a proof of insanity ; and the very 
 children in the streets bantered him with the title 
 of " The Adalantado of the Seven Cities." 
 
 Finding all efforts in vain, in his native city of 
 Lisbon, he took shipping for the Canaries, as be- 
 ing nearer the latitude of his former cruise, and 
 inhabited by people given to nautical adventure. 
 Here he found ready listeners to his story ; for the 
 old pilots '^nd mariners of those parts were notori- 
 ous island-hunters, and devout believers in all the 
 wonders of the seas. Indeed, one and all treated 
 his adventure as a common occurrence, and turn- 
 ing to each other, with a sagacious nod of the 
 head, observed, " He has been at the Island of St. 
 B randan." 
 
 They then went on to inform him of that great 
 marvel and erigma of the ocean ; of its repeated 
 appearance to "^he inhabitants of their islands ; and 
 of the many b\it ineffectual expeditions that had 
 been made in search of it. They took him to a 
 promontory of the island of Palma, whence the 
 shadowy St. Brandan had oftenest been descried, 
 and they pointed out the very tract in the west 
 where its mountains had been seen. 
 
 Don Fernando listened with rapt attention. 
 He had no longer a doubt that this mysterious 
 and fugacious island must be the same with that 
 of the Seven Cities ; and that some supernatural 
 influence connected with it had operated upon 
 
THE AD ALAN TAD OF THE SEVEN CITIES. 411 
 
 himself, and made the events of a night occupy 
 the space of a century. 
 
 He endeavored, but in vain, to rouse the isl- 
 anders to another attempt at discovery ; they liar] 
 given up the phantom island as indeed inaccessi- 
 ble. Fernando, however, was not to be discour- 
 aged. The idea wore itself deeper and deeper in 
 his mind, until it became the engrossing subject 
 of his thoughts and object of his being. Every 
 morning he would repair to the promontory of 
 Palma, and sit there throughout the livelong day, 
 in hopes of seeing the fairy mountains of St. 
 Brandan peering above the horizon ; every even- 
 ing he returned to his home, a disappointed man, 
 but ready to resume his post on the following 
 morning. 
 
 His assiduity was all in vain. He grew gray 
 in his ineffectual attempt ; and was at length, 
 found dead at his post. His grave is still shown 
 in the island of Palma, and a cross is erected on 
 the spot where he used to sit and look out upon 
 the sea, in hopes of the reappearance of the phan- 
 tom island. 
 
 Note. — For various particulars concerning 
 the Island of St. Brandan and the Island of the 
 Seven Cities, those ancient problems of the ocean, 
 the curious reader is referred to articles under 
 those heads in the Appendix to the " Life of 
 Columbus.'^ 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 HAVE already given to the world some 
 anecdotefe of a summer's residence in the 
 old Moorish palace of the Alhambra. 
 It was a dreamy sojourn, during which I lived, 
 as it were, in the midst of an Arabian tale, and 
 shut my eyes as much as possible to everything 
 that should call me back to every-day life. If 
 there is any country in Europe where one can do 
 so, it is among these magnificent but semi-barbaric 
 ruins of poor, wild, legendary, romantic Spain. 
 In the silent and deserted halls of the Alhambra, 
 surrounded with the insignia of regal sway, and 
 the vivid, though dilapidated traces of Oriental 
 luxury, I was in the stronghold of Moorish story, 
 where everything spoke of the palmy days of 
 Granada when under the dominion of the crescent. 
 Much of the literature of Spain turns upon the 
 wars of the Moors and Christians, and consists of 
 traditional ballads and tales or romances, about 
 the " huenas aiidanzas" and " grandes hechos^'' the 
 " lucky adventures," and " great exploits " of the 
 warriors of yore. It is worthy of remark, that 
 many of these lays which sing of prowess and 
 magnanimity in war, and tenderness and fidelity 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALII AM BRA. 413 
 
 in love, relate as well to Moorish as to Spanish 
 cavaliers. The lapse of peaceful centuries has 
 extinguished the rancor of ancient hostility ; and 
 the warriors of Granada, once the objects of bigot 
 detestation, are now often held up by Spanish 
 poets as mirrors of chivalric virtue. 
 
 None, have been the theme of higher eulo 
 than the illustrious line of the Abencerrages, who 
 in the proud days of Moslem domination were 
 the soul of everything noble and chivalric. The 
 veterans of the family sat in the royal council, 
 and were foremost in devising heroic enterprises 
 to carry dismay into the Christian territories ; and 
 what the veterans devised the young men of the 
 name were foremost to execute. In all adven- 
 tures, enterprises, and hair-breadth hazards, the 
 Abencerrages were sure to win the brightest lau- 
 rels. In the tilt and tourney, in the riding at the 
 ring, the daring bull-fight, and all other recrea- 
 tions which bore an afiinity to war, tlie Abencer- 
 rages carried off the palm. None equalled them 
 for splendor of array, for noble bearing, and glo- 
 rious horsemanship. Their open-handed munifi- 
 cence made them the idols of the people ; their 
 magnanimity and perfect faith gained the admira- 
 tion of the high-minded. Never did they decry 
 the merits of a rival, nor betray the confidings ol 
 a friend ; and the word of an Abencerrage was a , 
 guaranty never to be doubted. 
 
 And then their devotion to the fair ! Never 
 did Moorish beauty consider the fame of her 
 charms established, until she had an Abencerrage 
 for a lover ; and never did an Abencerrage prove 
 
414 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALE AM BRA, 
 
 recreant to his vows. Lovely Granada ! City of 
 delights ! Who ever bore the favors of thy dames 
 more proudly on their casques, or championed 
 S them more gallantly in the chivalrous tilts of the 
 S Vivarambla ? Or who ever made thy moon-lit 
 balconies, thy gardens of myrtles and roses, of 
 oranges, citrons, and pomegranates, respond to 
 more tender serenades ? 
 
 Such were the fancies I used to conjure up as 
 I sat in the beautiful hall of the Abencerrages, 
 celebrated in the tragic story of that devoted race, 
 where thirty-six of its bravest cavaliers were 
 treacherously sacrified to appease the jealous fears 
 of a tyrant. The fountain which once ran red 
 with their blood, throws up a sparkling jet, and 
 spreads a dewy freshness through the hall ; but a 
 deep stain on the marble pavement is still pointed 
 out as a sanguinary record of the massacre. The 
 truth of the record has been called in question, 
 but I regarded it with the same determined faith 
 with which I contemplated the stains of Rizzio's 
 blood on the floor of the palace of Holyrood. I 
 . y thank no one for enlightening my credulity on 
 * points of poetical belief. It is like robbing the 
 statue of Memnon of its mysterious music. Dis- 
 pel historical illusions, and there is an end to half 
 the charms of travelling. 
 
 The hall of the Abencerrages is connected 
 moreover with the recollection of one of the 
 sweetest evenings and sweetest scenes 1 ever en- 
 joyed in Spain. It was a beautiful summer even- 
 ing, when the moon shone down into the Court 
 Df Lions, lighting up its sparkling fountain. I 
 
RECOLLECTlONl OF THE ALHAMBRA. 415 
 
 was seated with a few companions in the hall in 
 question, listening to those traditional ballads and 
 romances in which the Spaniards delight. They 
 were sung to the accompaniment of the guitar, 
 by one of the most gifted and fascinating beings 
 that I ever met with even among the fascinating 
 daughters of Spain. She was young and beau- 
 tiful, and light and ethereal, full of fire, and 
 spirit, and pure enthusiasm. She wore the fanci- 
 ful Andalusian dress, touched the guitar with 
 speaking eloquence, improvised ^vith wonderful 
 faciHty ; and, as she became excited by her theme, 
 or by the rapt attention of her auditors, would 
 pour forth, in the richest and most melodious 
 strains, a succession of couplets, full of striking 
 description, or stirring narrative, and composed, 
 as I was assured, at the moment. Most of these 
 were suggested by the place, and related to the 
 ancient glories of Grenada and the prowess of 
 her chivalry. The Abencerrages were her favor- 
 ite heroes ; she felt a woman's admiration of their 
 gallant courtesy and high-souled honor ; and it 
 was touching and inspiring to hear the praises of 
 that generous but devoted race chanted in this 
 fated hall of their calamity, by the lips of Span 
 ish beauty. 
 
 Among the subjects of which she treated, was 
 a tale of Moslem honor and old-fashioned cour- 
 tesy, which made a strong impression on me. 
 She disclaimed all merit of invention, however, 
 nnd said she had merely dilated into verse a pop- 
 ular tradition ; and, indeed, I have since found 
 the main facts inserted at the end of Conde'a 
 
416 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALEAMBRA, 
 
 '* History of the Domination of the Arabs," and the 
 story itself embodied in the form of an episode in 
 the " Diana " of Montemayor. From these sources 
 I have drawn it forth, and endeavored to shape it 
 according to my recollection of the version of the 
 beautiful minstrel ; but alas ! what can supply 
 the want of that voice, that look, that form, that 
 action, which gave magical effect to her chant, 
 and held every one rapt in breathless admiration ! 
 Should this mere travestie of her inspired num- 
 bers ever meet her eye, in her stately abode at 
 Grenada, may it meet with that indulgence which 
 belongs to her benignant nature. Happy should 
 I be, if it could awaken in her bosom one kind 
 recollection of the stranger, for whose gratifica- 
 tion she did not think it beneath her to exert 
 those fascinating powers, in the moon-lit halls of 
 the Alhambra. 
 
 THE ABENCERRAGE 
 
 On the summit of a craggy hill, a spur of the 
 mountains of Ronda, stands the castle of Allora ; 
 now a mere ruin, infested by bats and owlets ;' 
 but in old times, a strong border-hold which kept 
 watch upon the warlike kingdom of Granada, and 
 held the Moors in check. It was a post always 
 confided to some well-tried commander, and at the 
 time of which we treat was held by Roderigo de 
 Narvaez, alcayde, or military governor of Anti- 
 quera. It was a frontier post of his command ; 
 but he passed most of his time there, beca^use its 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 417 
 
 situation on the borders gave frequent opportunity 
 for those adventurous exploits in which the Span- 
 ish chivahy delighted. 
 
 He was a veteran, famed among both Moors 
 and Christians, not only for deeds of arras, but 
 for that magnanimous courtesy which should ever 
 be entwined with the stern virtues of the soldier. 
 
 His garrison consisted of fifty chosen men, 
 well appointed and well mounted, with which he 
 maintained such vigilant watch that nothing could 
 escape his eye. "While some remained on guard 
 in the castle, he would sally forth with others, 
 prowling about the highways, the paths and de- 
 files of the mountains by day and night, and now 
 and then making a daring foray into the very 
 Vega of Grenada* 
 
 On a fair and beautiful night in summer, when 
 the moon was in the full, and the freshness of 
 the evening breeze had tempered the heat of 
 day, the alcayde, with nine of his cavaliers, was 
 going the rounds of the mountains in quest of 
 adventures. They rode silently and cautiously, 
 for it was a night to tempt others abroad, and 
 they might be overheard by Moorish scout or 
 traveller ; they kept along ravines and hollow 
 ways, moreover, lest they should be betrayed by 
 the glittering of the moon upon their armor. 
 Coming to a fork in the road, the alcayde ordered 
 live of his cavaliers to take one of the branches, 
 while he, with the remaining four, would take 
 the other. Should either party be in danger, the 
 blast of a horn was to be the signal for succor. 
 The party of five had not proceeded far, when, in 
 27 
 
418 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 passing through a defile, they heard the voice of 
 a man singing. Concealing themselves among 
 trees, they awaited his approach. The moon, 
 which left the grove in shadow, shone full upon 
 his person, as he slowly advanced, mounted on a 
 dapple gray steed of powerful frame and gener- 
 ous spirit, and magnificently caparisoned. He was 
 a Moorish cavalier of noble demeanor and grace- 
 ful carriage, arrayed in a marlota, or tunic, and 
 an albornoz of crimson damask fringed with gold. 
 His Tunisian turban, of many folds, was of striped 
 silk and cotton, bordered with a golden fringe ; 
 at his girdle hung a Damascus scimitar, with loops 
 and tassels of silk and gold. On his left arm he 
 bore an ample target, and his right hand grasped 
 a long double-pointed lance. Apparently dream- 
 mo- of no dangjer, he sat nes-bVentlv on his steed, 
 gazing on tlie moon, and singing, with a sweet 
 and manly voice, a Moorish love-ditty. 
 
 Just opposite the grove where the cavaliers 
 were concealed, the horse turned aside to drink 
 at a small fountain in a rock beside the road. 
 His rider threw the reins on his neck to let him 
 drink at his ease, and continued his song. 
 
 The cavaliers whispered with each other. 
 Charmed with the gallant and gentle appearance 
 of the Moor, they determined not to harm, but 
 capture him ; an easy task, as they supposed, in 
 iiis negligent mood. Rushing forth, therefore, 
 they thought to surround, and take him by sur- 
 prise. Never were men more mistaken. To 
 gather up his reins, wheel round his steed, brace 
 his buckler, and couch his lance, v/as the work of 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 419 
 
 an instant, and there he sat, fixed like a castle in 
 his saddle. 
 
 The cavaliers checked their steeds, and recon- 
 noitred him warily, loath to come to an encounter 
 which must prove fatal to him. 
 
 The Moor now held a parley. " If ye be true 
 knights, and seek for honorable fame, come on 
 singly, and I will meet each in succession ; if ye 
 be mere lurkers of the road, intent on spoil, come 
 all at once, and do your worst." 
 
 The cavaliers communed together for a mo- 
 ment, when one, parting from the others, advanced. 
 " Although no law of chivalry," said he, " obliges 
 us to risk the loss of a prize, when fairly in our 
 power, yet we willingly grant as a courtesy what 
 we might refuse as a right. Valiant Moor, de- 
 fend thyself ! " 
 
 So saying, he wheeled, took proper distance, 
 couched his lance, and putting spurs to his horse, 
 made at the stranger. The latter met him in 
 mid career, transpierced him with his lance, and 
 threw him from his saddle. A second and a third 
 succeeded, but were unhorsed with equal facility, 
 and thrown to the earth, severely wounded. The 
 remaining two, seeing their comrades thus roughly 
 treated, forgot all compact of courtesy, and charged 
 both at once upon the Moor. He parried the 
 thrust of one, but was wounded by the other in 
 the thigh, and in the shock and confusion dropped 
 his lance. Thus disarmed, and closely pressed, he 
 pretended to fly, and was hotly pursued. Hav- 
 ing drawn the two cavaliers some distance from 
 the spot, he wheeled short about, with one of 
 
420 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 those dexterous movements for which the Mooi'« 
 ish horsemen were renowned ; passed swiftly be- 
 tween them, swung himself down from his saddle, 
 BO as to catch up his lance, then, lightly replacing 
 himself, turned to renew the combat. 
 
 Seeing him thus fresh for the encounter, as if 
 just issued from his tent, one of the cavaliers put 
 his lips to his horn, and blew a blast, that soon 
 brought the alcayde and his four companions to 
 the spot. 
 
 Narvaez, seeing three of his cavaliers extended 
 on the earth, and two others hotly engaged with 
 the Moor, was struck with admiration, and coveted 
 a contest with so accomplished a warrior. Inter- 
 fering in the fight, he called upon his followers to 
 desist, and with courteous words invited the Moor 
 to a more equal combat. The challenge was read- 
 ily accepted. For some time the contest was 
 doubtful, and the alcayde had need of all his 
 skill and strength to ward off the blows of his 
 antagonist. The Moor, however, exhausted by 
 previous fighting, and by loss of blood, no longer 
 sat his horse firmly, nor managed him with his 
 wonted skill. Collecting all his strength for a 
 last assault, he rose in his stirrups, and made a 
 violent thrust with his lance ; the alcayde re- 
 ceiv^'^. it upon his shield, and at the same time 
 wounded the Moor in the right arm ; then closing, 
 in the shock, grasped him in his arras, dragged 
 him from his saddle, and fell with him to the 
 earth ; when putting his knee upon his breast, 
 and his dagger to his throat, " Cavalier," exclaimed 
 he, " render thyself my prisoner, for thy life is io 
 my hands ! " 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 421 
 
 " Kill me, rather," replied the Moor, " for death 
 Would be less grievous than loss of liberty." 
 
 The alcayde, however, with the clemency of 
 the truly brave, assisted him to rise, ministered 
 to his wounds with his own hands, and had him 
 conveyed with great care to the castle of Allora. 
 His wounds in a few days were nearly cured ; 
 but the deepest had been inflicted on his spirit. 
 He was constantly buried in a profound melan- 
 choly. 
 
 The alcayde, who had conceived a great re- 
 gard for him, treated him more as a friend than 
 a captive, and tried in every way to cheer him, 
 but in vain ; he was always sad and moody, and, 
 when on the battlements of the castle, would keep 
 his eyes turned to the south, with a fixed and. 
 vvistful gaze. 
 
 " How is this ? " exclaimed the alcayde, re- 
 proachfully, " that you, who were so hardy and 
 fearless in the field, should lose all spirit when a 
 captive. If any secret grief preys on your heart, 
 confide it to me, as to a friend, and I promise on 
 the faith of a cavalier that you shall have no 
 cause to repent the disclosure." 
 
 The Moorish knight kissed the hand of the 
 alcayde. " Noble cavalier," said he, " that I am 
 cast down in spirit, is not from my wounds, which 
 are slight, nor from my captivity, for your kind- 
 ness has robbed it of all gloom ; nor from my 
 defeat, for to be conquered by so accomplished 
 and renowned a cavalier, is no disgrace. But to 
 explain the cause of my grief, it is necessary to 
 give some particulars of my story ; and this I 
 
422 RECOLLECTIONS OF TEE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 am moved to do by the sympathy you have mani- 
 fested towards me, and the magnanimity that 
 shines through all your actions. 
 
 " Know, then, that my name is Abendaraez, 
 and that I am of the noble but unfortunate line 
 of the Abencerrages. You have doubtless heard 
 of the destruction that fell upon our race. Charged 
 with treasonable designs, of which they were en- 
 tirely innocent, many of them were beheaded, the 
 rest banislied ; so that not an Abencerrage was 
 permitted to remain in Granada, excepting my 
 father and my uncle, whose innocence was proved, 
 even to the satisfaction of their persecutors. It 
 was decreed, however, that, should they have chil- 
 dren, the sons should be educated at a distance 
 from Granada, and the daughters should be mar- 
 ried out of the kingdom. 
 
 " Conformably to this decree, I was sent, while 
 yet an infant, to be reared in the fortress of Car- 
 tama, the alcayde of which was an ancient friend 
 of my father. He had no children, and received 
 me into his family as his own child, treating me 
 with the kindness and affection of a father ; and 
 I grew up in the belief that he really was such. 
 A few years afterward, his wife gave birth to a 
 daughter, but his tenderness toward me continued 
 undiminished. I thus grew up with Xarisa, for 
 so the infant daughter of the alcayde was called, 
 as her own brother. I beheld her charms unfold- 
 ing, as it were, leaf by leaf, like the morning rose, 
 each moment disclosing fresh sweetness and beauty, 
 and thought the growing passion which I felt for 
 her was mere fraternal affection. 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 423 
 
 " At length one day I accidentally overheard a 
 conversation between the alcayde and his confi- 
 dential domestic, of which I found myself the 
 subject. 
 
 " In this I learnt the secret of my real parent- 
 age, which the alcayde had withheld from me as 
 long as possible, through reluctance to inform me 
 of my being of a proscribed and unlucky race. 
 It was time now, he thought, to apprise me of the 
 truth, that I might adopt a career in life. 
 
 " I retired without letting it be perceived that 
 I had overheard the conversation. The intelli- 
 gence it conveyed would have overwhelmed me 
 at an earlier period ; but now the intimation that 
 Xarisa "was not my sister, operated like magic. 
 In an instant the brotherly affection with which 
 my heart at times had throbbed almost to excess, 
 was transformed into ardent love. 
 
 " I sought Xarisa in the garden, where I found 
 her in a bower of jessamines, arranging her beau- 
 tiful hair in the mirror of a crystal fountain. T 
 ran to her with open arms, and was received with 
 a sister's embraces ; upbraiding me for leaving 
 her so long alone. 
 
 " We seated ourselves by the fountain, and I 
 hastened to reveal the secret conversation I had 
 overheard. 
 
 " ' Alas ! ' cried she, ' then our happiness is at 
 an end ! ' 
 
 " ' How^ ! ' cried I, ' wilt thou cease to love 
 me because I am not thy brother ? ' 
 
 " ' Alas, no ! ' replied she, gently withdrawing 
 from my embrace, ' but when it is once made 
 
424 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHaMBRA. 
 
 known we are not brother and sister, we shall no 
 longer be permitted to be thus always together.' 
 
 " In fact, from that moment our intercourse 
 took a new character. We met often at the foun- 
 tain among the jessamines, but Xarisa no longer 
 advanced with open arms to meet me. She be- 
 came reserved and silent, and would blush, and 
 cast down her eyes, when I seated myself beside 
 her. My heart became a prey to the thousand 
 doubts and fears that ever attend upon true love. 
 Restless and uneasy, I looked back with regret 
 to our unreserved intercourse when we supposed 
 Ourselves brother and sister ; yet I would not 
 have had the relationship true, for the world. 
 
 " While matters were in this state between us, 
 an order came from tlie King of Granada for the 
 alcayde to take command of the fortress of Coyn, 
 on the Christian frontier. He prepared to remove, 
 with all his family, but signified that I should re- 
 main at Cartama. I declared that I could not be 
 parted from Xarisa. ' That is the very cause,' 
 said he, ' why I leave thee behind. It is time, 
 Abendaraez, thou shouldst know the secret of thy 
 birth. Thou art no son of mine, neither is Xarisa 
 thy sister.' ' I know it all,' exclaimed I, ' and I 
 love her with tenfold the affection of a brother. 
 You have brought us up together ; you have 
 made us necessary to each other's happiness ; our 
 hearts have entwined themselves with our growth ; 
 do not now tear them asunder. Fill up the 
 measure of your kindness ; be indeed a father to 
 me, by giving me Xarisa for my wife.' 
 
 "The brow of tlie alcayde darkened as I spoke. 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 425 
 
 Have I then been deceived ? ' said he. ' Have 
 those nurtured in my very bosom been conspiring 
 against me ? Is this your return for my paternal 
 tenderness ? — to beguile the aifections of my 
 child, and teach her to deceive her father? It 
 would have been cause enough to refuse thee the 
 hand of my daughter, that thou wert of a pro- 
 scribed race, who can never approach the walls of 
 Granada ; this, however, I might have passed over; 
 but never will I give my daughter to a man who 
 has endeavored to win her from me by decep- 
 tion.' 
 
 " All my attempts to vindicate myself and 
 Xarisa were unavailing. I retired in anguish 
 from his presence, and seeking Xarisa, told her 
 of this blow, which was worse than death to me. 
 ' Xarisa,' said I, ' we part forever ! I shall never 
 see thee more ! Thy father will guard thee rigidly. 
 Thy beauty and his wealth will soon attract some 
 happier rival, and I shall be forgotten ! ' 
 
 " Xarisa reproached my want of faith, and 
 promised eternal constancy. I still doubted and 
 desponded, until, moved by my anguish and de-* 
 spair, she agreed to a secret union. Our espousals 
 made, we parted, with a promise on her part to 
 send me word from Coyn, should her father absent 
 himself from the fortress. The very day after our 
 secret nuptials, I beheld the whole train of the 
 alcayde depart from Cartama, nor would he ad- 
 mit me to his presence, nor permit me to bid fare- 
 well to Xarisa. I remained at Cartama, somewhat 
 pacified in spirit by our secret bond of union ; but 
 everything around fed my passion, and reminded 
 
42G RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 me of Xarisa. I saw the window at which I had 
 so often beheld her. I wandered through the 
 apartment she had inhabited ; the chamber in 
 which she had slept. I visited the bower of jes- 
 samines, and lingered beside the fountain in which 
 she had delighted. Everything recalled her to 
 my imagination, and filled my heart with melan- 
 choly. 
 
 " At length a confidential servant arrived with a 
 letter from her, informing me that her father was 
 to depart that day for Granada, on a short absence, 
 inviting me to hasten to Coyn, describing a secret 
 portal at which I should apply, and the signal by 
 which I would obtain admittance. 
 
 " If ever you have loved, most valiant alcayde, 
 you may judge of my transport. That very night 
 I arrayed myself in gallant attire, to pay due honor 
 to my bride, and arming myself against any casual 
 attack, issued forth privately from Cartama. You 
 know the rest, and by what sad fortune of war I 
 find myself instead of a happy bridegroom in the 
 nuptial bower of Coyn, vanquished, wounded, and 
 a prisoner within the walls of AUora. The term 
 of absence of the father of Xarisa is nearly ex- 
 pired. Within three days he will return to Coyn, 
 and our meeting will no longer be possible. Judge, 
 then, whether I grieve without cause and whether 
 I may not well be excused for showing impatience 
 under confinement." 
 
 Don Rodrigo was greatly moved by this recital 
 for, though more used to rugged war than scenes 
 of amorous softness, he was of a kind and gen- 
 erous nature. 
 
THE AB EN C ERR AGE 427 
 
 ** Abeiidaraez," said he, " I did not seek thy 
 «X)nfideiice to gratify an idle curiosity. It grieves 
 ■ me much that the good fortune which delivered 
 thee into my hands, should have marred so fair 
 an enterprise. Give me thy faith, as a true knight, 
 to return prisoner to my castle, within three days, 
 and I will grant thee permission to accomplish thy 
 nuptials." 
 
 The Abencerrage, in a transport of gratitude, 
 would have thrown himself at his feet, but the 
 alcayde prevented him. Calling in his cavaliers, 
 he took Abendaraez by the right hand, in their 
 presence, exclaiming solemnly, " You promise, on 
 the faith of a cavalier, to return to my castle of 
 AUora within three days, and render yourself 
 my prisoner ? " And the Abencerrage said, " I 
 promise." 
 
 Then said the alcayde, " Go ! and may good 
 fortune attend you. If you require any safe- 
 guard, I and my cavaliers are ready to be your 
 companions." 
 
 The Abencerrage kissed the hand of the al- 
 cayde, in grateful acknowledgment. " Give me,' 
 said he, " my own armor and my steed, and I re- 
 quire no guard. It is not likely that I shall agaiu 
 meet with so valorous a foe." 
 
 The shades of night had fallen, when the tramp 
 of the dapple-gray steed resounded over the draw- 
 bridge, and immediately afterwards, the light clat- 
 ter of hoofs along the road bespoke the fleetness 
 with which the youthful lover hastened to his 
 bride. It was deep night when the Moor arrived 
 at the castle of Coyn. He silently and cautiously 
 
428 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 walked his panting steed under its dark walls, and 
 having nearly passed round them, came to the 
 portal denoted by Xarisa. He paused, looked 
 round to see that he was not observed, and 
 knocked thre<- times with the butt of his lance. In 
 a little while the portal was timidly unclosed by 
 the duenna of Xarisa. " Alas ! Senor," said she, 
 " what has detained you thus long ? Every night 
 have I watched for you ; and my lady is sick at 
 heart with doubt and anxiety." 
 
 The Abencerrage hung his lance and shield 
 and scimitar against the wall, and followed the 
 duenna, with silent steps, up a winding staircase, 
 to the apartment of Xarisa. Vain would be the 
 attempt to describe the raptures of that meeting. 
 Time flew too swiftly, and the Abencerrage had 
 tiearly forgotten, until too late, his promise to re- 
 turn a prisoner to the alcayde of AUora. The 
 recollection of it came to him with a pang, and 
 woke him from his dream of bliss. Xarisa saw 
 his altered looks, and heard with alarm his stifled 
 sighs ; but her countenance brightened when she 
 heard the cause. " Let not thy spirit be cast 
 down," said she, throwing her white arms around 
 him. ^ T have the keys of my father's treasures ; 
 send ransom more than enough to satisfy the 
 Christian, and remain with me." 
 
 "No," said Abendaraez, "I have given my 
 word to return in person, and like a true knight^ 
 must fulfil my promise. After that, fortune musf; 
 do with me as it pleases." 
 
 " Then," said Xarisa, " I will accompany thee. 
 Never shalt thou return a prisoner, and I remain 
 at liberty." 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 42^0 
 
 The Abencerrage was transported with joy at 
 this new proof of devotion in his beautiful bride. 
 All preparations were speedily made for their de- 
 parture. Xarisa mounted behind the Moor, on 
 his powerful steed ; they left the castle walls be- 
 fore daybreak, nor did they pause, until they 
 arrived at the gate of the castle of Allora. 
 
 Alighting in the court, the Abencerrage sup- 
 ported the steps of his trembling bride, who re- 
 mained closely veiled, into the presence of Rodrigo 
 de Narvaez. " Behold, valiant Alcayde ! " said he, 
 " the way in which an Abencerrage keeps his word. 
 I promised to return to thee a prisoner, but I de- 
 liver two captives into thy power. Behold Xarisa, 
 and judge whether I grieved without reason, over 
 the loss of such a treasure. Receive us as thine 
 own, for I confide my life and her honor to thy 
 hands." 
 
 The alcayde was lost in admiration of the 
 beauty of the lady, and the noble spirit of the 
 Moor. " I know not," said he, " which of you 
 surpasses the other ; but I know that my castle i? 
 gjraced and honored by your presence. Considei 
 it your own, while you deign to reside with me." 
 
 For several days the lovers remained at Allora, 
 happy in each other's love, and in the friendship 
 of the alcayde. The latter wrote a letter to the 
 Moorish kinoj of Granada, relating the whole event, 
 extolling the valor and good faith of the Abencer- 
 rage, and craving for him the royal countenance. 
 
 The king was moved by the story, and pleased 
 with an opportunity of showing attention to the 
 wishes of a gallant and chivalrous enemy ; Jot 
 
430 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. 
 
 though he had often suffered from the prowess of 
 Don Rodrigo de Narvaez, he admired his heroic 
 C'Lvaracter. Calling the alcayde of Coyn into his 
 presence, he gave him the letter to read. The 
 alcayde turned pale and trembled with rage on 
 the perusal. " Rfc.<irain thine anger," said the 
 king ; " there is nothing that the alcayde of Allora 
 could ask, that I would not grant, if in my power. 
 Go thou to Allora ; pardon thy children ; take 
 them to thy home. I receive this Abencerrage 
 into my favor, and it will be my delight to heap 
 benefits upon you all." 
 
 The kindling ire of the alcayde was suddenly 
 appeased. He hastened to Allora, and folded his 
 children to his bosom, who would have fallen at 
 iris feet. Rodrigo de Naivaez gave liberty to his 
 prisoner without ransom, demanding merely a 
 promise of his friendship. He accompanied the 
 youthful couple and their father to Coyn, where 
 their nuptials were celebrated with great rejoic- 
 mgs. When the festivities were over, Don Rod- 
 rigo returned to his fortress of Allora. 
 
 After his departure, the alcayde of Coyn ad- 
 dressed his children : " To your hands," said he, 
 " I confide the disposition of my wealth. One of 
 the first things I charge you, is not to forget the 
 ransom you owe to the alcayde of Allora. His 
 magnanimity you can never repay, but you can 
 prevent it from wronging him of his just dues. 
 Give him, moreover, your entire friendship, for he 
 merits it fully, though of a different faith." 
 
 The Abencerrage thanked him for his proposi- 
 tion, which so truly accorded with his own wishes. 
 
THE ABENCERRAGE. 431 
 
 He took a large sum of gold, and inclosed it in a 
 rich coffer ; and, on his own part, sent six beautiful 
 horses, superbly caparisoned ; with six shields and 
 lances, mounted and embossed witli gold. The 
 beautiful Xarisa, at the same time, wrote a letter 
 to the alcayde, filled with expressions of grati- 
 tude and friendship, and sent him a box of fragrant 
 cypress-wood, containing linen of the finest qual- 
 ity, for his person. The alcayde disposed of the 
 present in a characteristic manner. The horses 
 and armor he shared among the cavaliers who had 
 accompanied him on the night of the skirmish. 
 The box of cypress-wood and its contents he re- 
 tained, for the sake of the beautiful Xarisa, and 
 sent her, by the hands of the messenger, the sum 
 of gold paid as a ransom, entreating her to receive 
 it as a wedding-present. This courtesy and mag- 
 nanimity raised the character of the alcayde 
 E-odrigo de Narvaez still higher in the estimation 
 of the Moors, who extolled him as a perfect mir- 
 ror of chivalric virtue ; and from that time for- 
 ward, tliere was a continual exchange of good 
 offices between them. 
 
 Those who would read the foregoing story 
 decked out with poetic grace in the pure Castilian, 
 let them seek it in the "Diana of Montemayor.** 
 
 THE END. 
 
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