BSBsBaBSB 
 WBmsmsm 
 
 HI 
 
 WmtSm 
 
 in I iff BHrffitffra 
 
 9BI 
 
 ill 
 
 Bra 
 
 Kjti 
 
 Dfirnrnml 
 
 
 Jjwfj^mSra^c 
 
 TsciJnP 
 
 
 mIH! 
 
 ^^1 
 
 milll 
 
 
 
 flKrafsl 
 
 
 JjiKlM 
 
 
 RnBffl!fl 
 
 HailHIi 
 WmW 
 
 
 ■L. 
 
 Hi 
 
 RunK 
 
 
 HHi 
 
 ■■P 
 
 H IHnH 
 I 
 
Classi 
 
 - 
 
 Book n / 
 
 Copyright N' 
 
 K/ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 
 
I R VI NG'S WORKS 
 
 (STUDENTS' EDITION) 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 By Washington Irving. The Students' Edition, for 
 the use of instructors and students of English literature, and 
 of reading classes. Edited, with an introduction and notes, 
 by William Lyon Phelps, A.M. (Harvard), Ph.D. (Yale), 
 Instructor in English Literature at Yale College. Large 
 i2mo, handsomely printed in a cl^ar readable page. $1.00. 
 
 This volume has been prepared with the special purpose 
 of meeting the requirements of the colleges for matriculation 
 examinations in English literature. 
 
 IN PREPARATION 
 
 The Students' Edition of Irving's Alhambra, edited by 
 Arthur Marvin. To be followed by The Sketch-Book, 
 uniform with the above. 
 
 Special rates for teachers, for examination copies, and for 
 introduction supplies. 
 
 G, P. PUTNAM'S SONS, Publishers 
 
STUDENTS EDITION 
 
 T5T 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 BY / 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM LYON PHELPS 
 
 A.M. (HARVARD), PH.D. (YALE) 
 INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH LITERATURE AT YALE COLLEGE 
 
 
 COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME 
 
 _vv2f?-;z. 
 
 f 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 Slje littickerbockri: $)rcss 
 1894 
 
 I 
 
•^b. 
 
 v^ 
 > 
 
 ** 
 
 Copyright, 1894 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, Londor 
 
 Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by 
 
 Ube "Knickerbocker press, IRew l^orfe 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 |HE text in this volume is that of the complete 
 edition published by G. P. Putnam in 1849, 
 which was revised by Irving himself. A few 
 slight errors have been corrected. The Introduc- 
 tion and Notes are mearrt to be useful both to the general 
 reader, and especially to the teachers and pupils in second- 
 ary schools. The Note* may seem to some intelligent readers 
 to explain things that ought to be obvious ; but it should 
 be remembered that there are many people who wish to read 
 and understand Irving, who have little general acquaintance 
 with literature, and who have not the opportunity to consult 
 even ordinary reference books. I have therefore in the brief- 
 est manner explained all important allusions in the Notes, 
 instead of directing the student to some other source of infor- 
 mation. It is unfortunate that the general ignorance of the 
 Bible which prevails among both school and college students, 
 makes it necessary to explain even the commonest Scriptural 
 references or quotations. 
 
 W. L. P. 
 Huron City, Michigan, 
 31 July 1894. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 I. 
 
 LIFE AND CHARACTER. 
 
 ASHINGTON IRVING was born in New York, 
 April 3 1783. His father, William Irving, was 
 a Scotchman, and his mother, Sarah Sanders, a 
 native of England. They had been married in 
 1761, and had settled in New York in 1763. Eleven children 
 resulted from this marriage ; Washington, named after the 
 great President, was the youngest. The child showed no 
 symptoms of precocity ; he cared little for his studies, and 
 especially hated mathematics. At the early age of fifteen, his 
 school education ceased ; his father intended him for the law, 
 and he accordingly began his legal studies, with little aptitude 
 and less application. His health showed signs of failing, and 
 his friends considered him a candidate for quick consumption. 
 But he had then given no real promise — he was not a suffici- 
 ently shining mark for Death to aim at. In 1802 he wrote 
 a few newspaper squibs of a humorous turn, which showed 
 immature cleverness. By May 1804, the condition of his 
 health was alarming, and his brothers, at their own expense, 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 generously sent him to Europe He did the " grand tour/' 
 travelled through France, Italy, and England, going into society 
 everywhere, and becoming a great favorite by his sprightly 
 conversation, and the polished courtesy of his manners. Early 
 in 1806 he returned home. It is sometimes said that Irving 
 accomplished nothing on this journey ; it should be remem- 
 bered that he accomplished what was absolutely essential — he 
 fully recovered his health. 
 
 On his return he was admitted to the bar, but never prac- 
 tised. In 1807, assisted by his brother William, and James 
 K. Paulding, he made his first real attempt at literature — 
 Salmagundi. This name was given to a collection of light 
 essays and society satires, published separately. The model 
 was clearly the periodical essay of Addison and his contem- 
 poraries. Irving achieved a popular reputation, and in 1809 
 published his masterpiece of humor, the Knickerbocker's 
 History of New York, which made the judicious laugh, and the 
 unskilful grieve. Just previous to its publication, when 
 Irving stood on the threshold of his great success, he suffered 
 the severest affliction of his life. This was the death of 
 Matilda Hoffman, a girl of seventeen, to whom Irving was 
 engaged, and who fully reciprocated his passionate love. 
 From this crushing blow he never entirely recovered ; the 
 memory of an early love, which is so strong in novels and so 
 fleeting in real life, always remained with Irving a sacred 
 shrine for constant devotion. " Irving was never married " — 
 the words are easy to write, but when we realize their mean- 
 ing, we see before us that rarest of human beings, the man who 
 
INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 loves only once.* And yet we must not imagine him going 
 through life with a "February face," or uttering cynical 
 epigrams ; after the first bitterness of his grief was over, he 
 became apparently as pleasant and gracious as ever ; it was 
 only occasionally that he betrayed his inner loneliness. 
 
 In 1810, through the kindness of his brothers, he became a 
 silent partner in their commercial business ; they had houses 
 in Liverpool and New York. During the War of 1812 — which 
 Irving very sensibly regarded as a great mistake on the part 
 of the United States — his patriotism, which was always sin- 
 cere and fervent, took a practical form. He offered his services 
 to the Governor of New York, and was made an aide-de-camp, 
 with the rank of Colonel. This was in 1814. In 1815 he 
 sailed for Europe, intending to be gone only for a short time ; it 
 was really seventeen years before he returned. The business 
 affairs of his brothers were seriously complicated, and Peter, 
 who had charge of the Liverpool branch, was in very bad 
 health. Although Irving was constitutionally indolent, and 
 hated business, he nevertheless plunged resolutely into the 
 most disagreeable details, in the attempt to straighten out a 
 hopeless tangle. Notwithstanding his industry and applica- 
 tion, affairs grew steadily worse, until bankruptcy in 1818 was 
 a positive relief. Irving then went to London, with nothing 
 except his pen for support, but with the determination to make 
 that suffice. He was offered an honorable and lucrative clerk- 
 
 * It is true that some writers maintain that Irving afterwards was in love 
 with a Miss Emily Foster ; but the best evidence seems to show that this 
 was only friendship, and that he really had no thoughts of marriage. 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ship in the U. S. Navy department, and his refusal seemed to 
 his brothers madness ; to us it seems an inspiration. 
 
 In 1819 the first number of his Sketch Book appeared in the 
 United States, and in 1820 he succeeded in getting a volume 
 — made up of several numbers — published in England. His 
 London bookseller failed, and with the assistance of his power- 
 ful friend, Walter Scott, he succeeded in inducing John Murray, 
 the great publisher, to undertake the future issues of his work. 
 The Sketch Book made an enormous success, and Irving's fame 
 in England and America was assured. He visited Paris, and 
 became intimately acquainted with Thomas Moore, the poet. 
 Moore's diary shows how close and familiar their friendship 
 was ; the poet says he gave Irving the hint for the composi- 
 tion of Bracebridge Hall, which was published almost simulta- 
 neously in England and America in 1822. About this time 
 Irving suffered severely from an eruptive complaint, which 
 made it almost impossible for him to walk. He went to 
 Germany for relief, and while lying ill at the Hotel de J)arm- 
 stadt, at Mayence (or Mainz), he wrote the introduction to the 
 Tale* of a Traveller, which book was published in 1824. Al- 
 though, in his own opinion, it contained some of his best work, 
 the English critics gave it a cold reception. Perhaps it 
 seemed too similar to the graceful but light work of the Sketch 
 Book and Bracebridge Hall. Irving determined to show the 
 world that he could do serious work. 
 
 In 1826 he went to Spain, and lived in that country until 
 1829, working steadily and enthusiastically. This period was 
 perhaps the most productive of his life. In 1828 he published 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 his Life of Columbus, which made his reputation as a historian, 
 gave him the degree of LL.D. from Oxford, and yielded 
 large financial returns. In 1831 he followed this up with the 
 Voyages of the Companions of Columbus ; in 1829 he had pub- 
 lished the Chronicles of the Conquest of Granada. Besides 
 yielding these solid works, his Spanish residence also produced 
 one of the most charming of his contributions to lighter litera- 
 ture, the Alhambra, published in 1832. We have thus every 
 reason to be thankful that Irving lived in Spain. 
 
 In 1829 he received the appointment of Secretary of Lega- 
 tion to the Court of St. James, and accordingly once more 
 took up his residence in London. He resigned this position 
 towards the close of 1831, in order to return home ; and in 
 1832 he saw New York for the first time in seventeen years. 
 He was positively overwhelmed at the public demonstration 
 made upon his arrival. He came back everywhere recognized 
 as a famous man. Much against his will, he was forced to 
 attend a grand dinner given in his honor. In order to be- 
 come acquainted with the astonishing growth of the country, 
 he made a prolonged tour of the South and West, which 
 afforded him considerable material for subsequent writing. 
 But he was now anxious to have a permanent home ; and 
 his artistic eye selected a little Dutch stone cottage on the 
 east shore of the Hudson, about twenty-three miles from New 
 York, and within comfortable walking distance of Sleepy 
 Hollow. This cottage he rebuilt and improved, and under the 
 name of " Sunnyside," it is still famous as the home of the 
 Father of American letters. Irving was impatient as a child 
 
x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to get into his new house, and when once settled there with 
 his brother and his nieces, he fully expected to remain to the 
 day of his death. 
 
 In 1842, however, he was surprised by the great and en- 
 tirely unsolicited honor of the appointment of Minister to 
 Spain, which he received in a most graceful letter from Daniel 
 Webster. At first he thought of declining, as he was engrossed 
 with the plan of composing a Life of Washington. Thinking, 
 however, that this work would suffer little interruption in 
 Madrid, he finally accepted the position. No serious crisis in 
 diplomatic affairs served to test him during his four years of 
 residence ; but he proved himself fully equal to every demand 
 that occurred. His hope of literary work was, however, frus- 
 trated by the annoying reappearance of the malady which had 
 troubled him years before, and which made the labor of com- 
 position practically impossible. He did not recover from this 
 until he resigned his position in 1846. He then returned to 
 Sunnyside, which, from the gay Spanish court, he had looked 
 upon with longing eyes. 
 
 Irving was now sixty-three years old, and he set to work reso- 
 lutely at the Life of Washington, which occupied his time up 
 to his death. He also revised all his other works. From 
 1842 to 1848 they were out of print, and it was not thought 
 profitable to issue a new edition. But an enterprising New 
 York publisher, Gr. P. Putnam, thought otherwise ; and it 
 was owing to his foresight and courage that a complete revised 
 edition of Irving's works appeared. They were issued with 
 additions, notably the Life of Goldsmith (1849), from 1848 to 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 1859, and included the completed Life of Washington. The 
 eagerness with which the public bought justified the publisher's 
 experiment, and makes us wonder how the author's works 
 could ever have remained out of print. The demand was 
 sharp and steady, and besides yielding the publisher a hand- 
 some profit, Irving received himself over eighty-eight thousand 
 dollars, which doubtless contributed greatly to the happiness 
 of his last years. 
 
 In 1858, Irving became ill with some heart trouble, which 
 soon took the cruel form of insomnia. The last year of his life 
 he suffered tortures from constant sleeplessness, which reduced 
 him to a terrible state of nervous prostration. Death finally 
 came to his relief on the 28 November 1859. 
 
 Irving's character was gentle and lovable ; all who came 
 into close contact with him, from Scott and Dickens down to 
 the humblest visitor at Sunnyside, found him not only refined 
 and courteous, but sincerely sympathetic. We have noticed 
 how his nature remained unsoured by sorrow and misfortune ; 
 he was tried by a far greater test of character— popular 
 success. One would naturally expect that when he returned 
 to the New York of 1832, after seventeen years of the most 
 brilliant and fashionable European society, he would exhibit 
 at least symptoms of ennui On the contrary, he constantly 
 expressed boyish delight at being in his own country again, 
 and praised without a shade of condescension the surprising 
 growth of his native city. He never lost the capacity for 
 enthusiasm ; the eyes that had seen the wonders of the Old 
 World gazed on the New with affectionate admiration. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The natural sweetness of his character, and the extreme 
 refinement of his taste, made him dislike controversy, and 
 avoid saying harsh and disagreeable things. He once said, 
 11 1 have at all times almost as strong a repugnance to tell a 
 painful or humiliating truth, unnecessarily, as I have to tell an 
 untruth, under any circumstances. To speak the truth on all 
 occasions, is the indispensable attribute of man ; to refrain 
 from uttering disagreeable truths, unnecessarily, belongs, I 
 think, to the character of a gentleman." * Yet Irving was 
 not deficient in courage when the occasion required it. He 
 rebuked sharply any offensive remark or sneer against his 
 country ; without priggishness or hypocrisy, he always de- 
 fended purity ; and although he greatly disliked political strife, 
 he voted strictly in accordance with his convictions, whether 
 mistaken or not. This is evident from his vote for Fremont 
 in 1856. In religious matters he was a liberal but sincere 
 Christian, and during the latter years of his life took an active 
 interest in the Episcopal church, to which he belonged. 
 
 II. 
 
 IRVING'S LITERARY STYLE AND INFLUENCE. 
 
 Irving's works are mirrors of the man, and faithfully reflect, 
 not his views, but his feelings and tendencies. He is not 
 what we should call a subjective writer, and yet he did not 
 
 * Life of Irving, III, 106. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 leave his personality in the inkstand. His temperament was 
 primarily artistic ; he preferred to amuse rather than to in- 
 struct. His aim in literature is well set forth in a letter to 
 Brevoort, 3 March 1819 : "I have attempted no lofty theme, 
 nor sought to look wise nor learned ; which appears to be 
 very much the fashion among our American writers, at present. 
 I have preferred addressing myself to the feeling and fancy of 
 the reader, more than to his judgment. My writings, therefore, 
 may appear light and trifling in our country of philosophers 
 and politicians ; but if they possess merit in the class of 
 literature to which they belong, it is all to which I aspire in 
 the work. I seek only to blow a flute accompaniment in the 
 national concert, and leave others to play the fiddle and French 
 horn." * Contemptible as he must have seemed to many a 
 shrewd Yankee, his artistic temperament was exactly what 
 America needed. Wherever Irving's influence was felt, Philis- 
 tinism softened its hard features ; fingers cramped by money 
 counting, relaxed their tension ; the horizon of energetic, but 
 sordid men expanded ; and the identity of truth and beauty 
 began to be perceived. On all sides his writings (to use the 
 phrase Arnold borrowed from Swift) shed abroad " sweetness 
 and light." 
 
 Irving is justly called the Father of American Letters ; he 
 was the first man of influence to write successfully pure litera- 
 ture — literature that served no end but artistic truth and 
 beauty. . For this reason, he will always justly hold a place in 
 the literary history of this country even greater than his 
 * Life, I, 415. 
 
xiv INTROD UCTION. 
 
 intrinsic merit would deserve. The successful Pioneer is the 
 man to be remembered and honored. And yet it cannot be 
 said, nor need it be said, that Irving's style is original. Beside 
 the originality of a writer like Swift, Irving pales at once. 
 His literary style and manner were plainly taken from Addi- 
 son, although with no taint of plagiarism. Irving's playful 
 and delicate humor, his gentle, didactic irony, his purity and 
 underlying moral immediately suggest the Spectator ; and 
 even in the careful structure of the sentences, the model can 
 be seen. The flexibility of movement, the harmonious com- 
 bination of vowel sounds, and the almost monotonous smooth- 
 ness are characteristics of the style of both authors. 
 
 This is not the place to discuss Irving's merits as a scholar 
 and historian ; we are concerned with the lighter part of his 
 work, his stories and sketches. And it is on this part that his 
 fame in literature assuredly rests. He was the first American 
 master of the short story — and in this respect he certainly is 
 the true beginner of American fiction.* Here his style is seen 
 to its greatest advantage. It is at best very doubtful, whether 
 he could have written a novel or long romance ; fortunately 
 he had a contemporary, Cooper, who could do that. In 
 Irving's one attempt at a novel he felt himself out of his 
 element, and remodeled his plan. His irregular methods of 
 work made him most successful at short, separate sketches, 
 which he connected by the most graceful transitions. Irving 
 absolutely could not work steadily in season and out of season, 
 like Scott or Macaulay. Recognizing this weakness, he refused 
 * See his remarks quoted at the end of Introduction, part iii. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 a number of excellent offers for magazine editorships, which 
 would have assured him a steady income. He could not 
 write to order ; if the inspiration happened to come, he wrote 
 with astonishing rapidity and felicity ; the inspiration absent, 
 his pen was as stationary as a school-boy's with a composition 
 subject. We cannot help feeling sometimes that the main 
 obstacle to the appearance of Irving's inspiration was simply 
 his own indolence ; but we ought to be thankful that he re- 
 fused to write unless he felt impelled to do so ; otherwise his 
 reputation and with it the number of his readers might have 
 been diminished. An author's indifferent productions often 
 obscure his more excellent work ; the good seed sown by the 
 Sketch Book and the Traveller might have been choked by the 
 thorns of voluminous political essays, or interminable literary 
 controversies. Let us not forget his own statement in a letter 
 to Scott : " My whole course of life has been desultory, and I 
 am unfitted for any periodically recurring task, or any stipu- 
 lated labor of body or mind. I have no command of my 
 talents such as they are, and have to watch the varyings of my 
 mind as I would a weathercock. Practice and training may 
 bring me more into rule ; but at present I am as useless for 
 regular service as one of my own country Indians or a Don 
 Cossack. I must, therefore, keep on pretty much as I have 
 begun — writing when I can, not when I would."* 
 
 * Life, I, 441. 
 
Xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 III. 
 
 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 In 1822 Irving was suffering severely from an eruptive 
 complaint, which made complete rest necessary. He went to 
 Germany to try the waters, and in August he was quartered 
 at the hotel in Mainz, from which the introduction to the 
 Traveller was written. Early in 1824 we find him still work- 
 ing fitfully at these "Tales," but his intention then was to 
 publish them as additional volumes of the Sketch Book, which 
 had proved so popular. In about a month's time, however, 
 he had changed his mind, and decided to issue a separate 
 volume with a new title, as we learn from his letter, 25 March 
 1824, to Murray the publisher : " I do not regret having turned 
 aside from my idea of preparing two more volumes of the 
 Sketch Book, as I think I have run into a plan and thrown off 
 writings which will be more novel and attractive. . . . 
 I think the title will be Tales of a Traveller, by Geoffrey 
 Crayon, Gent. . . . Those who have seen various parts of 
 what I have prepared, think the work will be the best thing 
 I have written, and that it will be very successful with the 
 public. An author is not, perhaps, the best judge of his pro- 
 ductions, otherwise I might throw my own opinion into the 
 scale." * 
 
 The second part of the Traveller — BucMhorne and his Friends 
 — gave Irving considerable trouble before he finally decided 
 * Life, II, 191. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 on its insertion in this volume. He originally planned to make 
 it a part of Bracebridge Hall, and it was at this time (July 1821), 
 that he read a portion of it to Thomas Moore. A few months 
 afterward, he read Buckthorne to his friend Leslie, who advised 
 him to leave it out of Bracebridge Hall, and make it into a 
 separate novel. 
 
 At first he followed this advice ; and in 1823 he was still 
 working irregularly at Buckthorne intending to expand it into 
 a complete novel, with the title, History of an Author. But 
 he found the composition of a novel desperately hard for his 
 fitful inspiration, and in February 1824, he writes — while the 
 idea of continuing the Sketch Book was in his mind — as follows : 
 " I have determined also to introduce my History of an Author, 
 breaking it into parts and distributing it through the two 
 volumes. It had grown stale with me, and I never could get 
 into the vein sufficient to carry it on and finish it as a separate 
 work." * Thus he finally made it a part of the Traveller. 
 
 The Tales of a Traveller was published at London, 25 
 August 1824, in two volumes. In New York it appeared in 
 four parts, August-October of the same year. Although 
 Irving himself thought it contained some of the best things he 
 had ever written, and although it sold with gratifying rapidity, 
 the critics received it coldly, even adversely. Jt must be con- 
 fessed that the Traveller has never had the reputation enjoyed 
 by its two predecessors ; but we cannot help agreeing with 
 Irving's opinion of its literary excellence. Its remarkable 
 variety in tone, complete changes of scenery, and continued 
 * Life, II, 1 86. 
 
xvm INTRODUCTION. 
 
 interest, make it as good an example of Irving's powers as 
 anything he ever produced. Certainly none of his works can 
 be studied, from the literary and rhetorical point of view, to 
 more advantage than the Traveller. Irving's own remarks 
 upon it should suggest to us the proper point of view for 
 criticism : " Some parts of my last work were written rather 
 hastily ; yet I am convinced that a great part of it was written 
 in a free and happier vein than almost any of my former 
 writings. ... I fancy much of what I value myself upon 
 in writing, escapes the observation of the great mass of my 
 readers, who are intent more upon the story than the way in 
 which it is told. For my part, I consider a story merely as a 
 frame on which to stretch my materials. It is the play of 
 thought, and sentiment, and language ; the weaving in of 
 characters, lightly, yet expressively delineated ; the familiar 
 and faithful exhibition of scenes in common life ; and the half- 
 concealed vein of humor that is often playing through the 
 whole ; — these are among what I aim at, and upon which I 
 felicitate myself in proportion as I think I succeed. I have 
 preferred adopting the mode of sketches and short tales rather 
 than long works, because I choose to take a line of writing 
 peculiar to myself, rather than fall into the manner or school 
 of any other writer ; and there is a contant activity of thought 
 and a nicety of execution required in writings of the kind, more 
 than the world appears to imagine. It is comparatively easy 
 to swell a story to any size when you have once the scheme 
 and the characters in your mind ; the mere interest of the 
 story, too, carries the reader on through pages and pages of 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 careless writing, and the author may often be dull for half a 
 volume at a time, if he has some striking scene at the end of 
 it ; but in these shorter writings, every page must have its 
 merit. The author must be continually piquant ; woe to him 
 if he makes an awkward sentence, or writes a stupid page ; 
 the critics are sure to pounce upon it. Yet if he succeed, the 
 very variety and piquancy of his writings — nay, their very 
 brevity, make them frequently recurred to, and when the mere 
 interest of the story is exhausted, he begins to get credit for 
 his touches of pathos or humor ; his points of wit or turns of 
 language. I give these as some of the reasons that have in- 
 duced me to keep on thus far in the way I had opened for 
 myself ; because I find . . . that you are joining in the 
 oft-repeated advice that I should write a novel. I believe the 
 works that I have written will be oftener reread than any 
 novel of the size that I could have written. It is true other 
 writers have crowded into the same branch of literature, and 
 I now begin to find myself elbowed by men who have followed 
 my footsteps ; but at any rate I have had the merit of adopt- 
 ing a line for myself, instead of following others." * 
 
 IY. 
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 1783. Birth, 3 April, New York. 
 1799. Enters a law-office. 
 1804. Travels in Europe. 
 
 * Life, II, 226, 
 
xx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 1806. • Returns home, and is admitted to the Bar. 
 
 1807. Writes Salmagundi. 
 
 1809. Death of Matilda Hoffman. 
 
 1809. Publication of Knickerbocker's New York. 
 
 1810. Becomes partner in the business of his brothers 
 
 1814. Becomes colonel on the Governor's staff. 
 
 1815. Sails for England. 
 
 1818. Bankruptcy in business. 
 
 1819. First part of Sketch Book published. 
 1822. Publication of Bracebridge Hall. 
 1824. Publication of Tales of a Traveller. 
 1826. Goes to Spain. 
 
 1828. Publishes Columbus. 
 
 1829. Publishes Conquest of Granada. 
 
 1829. Receives appointment of Secretary of Legation at 
 
 London. 
 
 1831. Publishes Companions of Columbus. 
 
 1831. Receives degree of LL.D. from Oxford. 
 
 1832. Alhambra published. 
 1832. Returns to United States. 
 1832. Travels in the South and West. 
 1835. Purchases " Sunnyside." 
 1842. Appointed Minister to Spain. 
 1846. Returns home. 
 
 1848. Revised edition of his complete Works begun. 
 
 1849. Publication of Goldsmith and Mahomet. 
 1855. Publication of first volume Of Washington. 
 1859. Publication of last volume of Washington. 
 1859. Death, 28 November. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I.— Life and Character v 
 
 II.— Irving's Literary Style and Influence xii 
 
 III.— Tales of a Traveller xvi 
 
 IV.— Chronological Table xix 
 
 PART I. 
 STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 
 
 The Great Unknown 19 
 
 The Hunting-Dinner 31 
 
 The Adventure of my Uncle 28 
 
 The Adventure of my Aunt 46 
 
 The Bold Dragoon, or the Adventure of my Grandfather, 53 
 
 The Adventure of the German Student 66 
 
 The Adventure of the Mysterious Picture 75 
 
 The Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger 88 
 
 The Story of the Young Italian 10 ° 
 
 xxi 
 
xxii CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Literary Life 143 
 
 A Literary Dinner 147 
 
 The Club of Queer Fellows 152 
 
 The Poor-Devil Author 160 
 
 Notoriety 188 
 
 V A Practical Philosopher 192 
 
 buckthorne, or the young man of great expectations 195 
 
 Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man 272 
 
 The Booby Squire 280 
 
 The Strolling Manager 288 
 
 PART III. 
 
 THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 
 
 The Inn at Terracina 313 
 
 The Adventure of the Little Antiquary 332 
 
 The Belated Travellers 345 
 
 < The Adventure of the Popkins Family 369 
 
 The Painter's Adventure 377 
 
 The Story of the Bandit Chieftain 390 
 
 The Story of the Young Robber 407 
 
 The Adventure of the Englishman 424 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 
 
 HeLl-Gate 435 
 
 / Kidd the Pirate 440 
 
 The Devil and Tom Walker 449 
 
 Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams 470 
 
 The Adventure of the Black Fisherman 503 
 
 Notes 547 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 OETHY and Dear Header!— Hast thou ever 
 
 been waylaid in the midst of a pleasant tour by 
 
 some treacherous malady : thy heels tripped up, 
 
 and thou left to count the tedious minutes as they passed, 
 
 in the solitude of an inn-chamber? If thou hast, thou 
 
 wilt be able to pity me. Behold me, interrupted in the 
 
 course of my journeying up the fair banks of the Rhine, 
 
 and laid up by indisposition in this old frontier town of 
 
 Mentz. I have worn out every source of amusement. I 
 
 know the sound of every clock that strikes, and bell that 
 
 rings, in the place. I know to a second when to listen for 
 
 the first tap of the Prussian drum, as it summons the 
 
 garrison to parade, or at what hour to expect the distant 
 
 sound of the Austrian military band. All these have 
 
 grown wearisome to me ; and even the well-known step of 
 
 my doctor, as he slowly paces the corridor, with healing 
 
 in the creak of his shoes, no longer affords an agreeable 
 
 interruption to the monotony of my apartment. 
 
 For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours by 
 
 studying German under the tuition of mine host's pretty 
 
 little daughter, Katrine ; but I soon found even German 
 
 had not power to charm a languid ear, and that the con- 
 
 11 
 
12 TO THE READER. 
 
 jugating of ich liebe might be powerless, however rosy the 
 lips which uttered it. 
 
 I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I 
 turned over volume after volume, but threw them by with 
 distaste : "Well, then," said I at length, in despair, "if I 
 cannot read a book, I will write one." Never was there 
 a more lucky idea; it at once gave me occupation and 
 amusement. The writing of a book was considered in old 
 times as an enterprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch that 
 the most trifling lucubration was denominated a "work," 
 and the world talked with awe and reverence of "the 
 labors of the learned." These matters are better under- 
 stood nowadays. 
 
 Thanks to the improvements in all kind of manufac- 
 tures, the art of book-making has been made familiar to 
 the meanest capacity. Everybody is an author. The 
 scribbling of a quarto is the mere pastime of the idle ; 
 the young gentleman throws off his brace of duodecimos 
 in the intervals of the sporting-season, and the young 
 lady produces her set of volumes with the same facility 
 that her great-grandmother worked a set of chair-bot- 
 toms. 
 
 The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book, 
 the reader will easily perceive that the execution of it 
 was no difficult matter. I rummaged my portfolio, and 
 cast about, in my recollection, for those floating materials 
 which a man naturally collects in travelling ; and here I 
 have arranged them in this little work. 
 
TO TBE READER. 13 
 
 As I know this to be a story-telling and a sfcory-reading 
 age, and that the world is fond of being taught by 
 apologue, I have digested the instruction I would convey 
 into a number of tales. They may not possess the power 
 of amusement which the tales told by many of my con- 
 temporaries possess; but then I value myself oia the 
 sound moral which each of them contains. This may not 
 be apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it 
 out in the end. I am for curing the world by gentle 
 alteratives, not by violent doses; indeed, the patient 
 should never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I 
 have learnt this much from experience under the hands 
 of the worthy Hippocrates of Mentz. 
 
 I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which 
 carry their moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; 
 they are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the 
 contrary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and dis- 
 guised it as much as possible by sweets and spices, so 
 that while the simple reader is listening with open 
 mouth to a ghost or a love story, he may have a bolus 
 of sound morality popped down his throat, and be 
 never the wiser for the fraud. 
 
 As the public is apt to be curious about the sources 
 whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it 
 may know how far to put faith in them, I would observe, 
 that the Adventure of the German Student, or rather the 
 latter part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me 
 as existing somewhere in French ; and, indeed, I have 
 
14 TO THE RBADEM. 
 
 been told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has 
 been founded on it by an English writer ; but I have 
 never met with either the former or the latter in print. 
 Some of the circumstances in the Adventure of the Mys- 
 terious Picture, and in the Story of the Young Italian, 
 are vague recollections of anecdotes related to me some 
 years since ; but from what source derived, I do not 
 know. The Adventure of the Young Painter among the 
 banditti is taken almost entirely from an authentic narra- 
 tive in manuscript. 
 
 As to the other tales contained in this work, and in- 
 deed to my tales generally, I can make but one observa- 
 tion : I am an old traveller ; I have read somewhat, 
 heard and seen more, and dreamt more than all. My 
 brain is filled, therefore, with all kinds of odds and ends. 
 In travelling, these heterogeneous matters have become 
 shaken up in my mind, as the articles are apt to be in 
 an ill-packed travelling-trunk ; so that when I attempt 
 to draw forth a fact, I cannot determine whether I have 
 read, heard, or dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to 
 know how much to believe of my own stories. 
 
 These matters being premised, fall to, worthy reader, 
 with good appetite ; and, above all, with good-humor to 
 what is here set before thee. If the tales I have fur- 
 nished should prove to be bad, they will at least be 
 found short ; so that no one will be wearied long on the 
 same theme. " Variety is charming," as some poet ob- 
 serves. 
 
TO ME READER. 15 
 
 There is a certain relief in change, even though it be 
 from bad to worse ! As I have often found in travelling 
 in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's 
 position, and be bruised in a new place. 
 
 Ever tnme, 
 
 Geoffeey Crayon. 
 
 Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
 ci-devant Eotel de Paris, 
 
 Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. 
 
PAET FIEST. 
 
 STRANGE STORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 
 
 I'll tell you more, there was a fish taken, 
 
 A monstrous fish, with a sword by's side, a long sword, 
 
 A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun, 
 
 And letters of mart in's mouth from the Duke of Florence. 
 
 Cleanthes. — This is a monstrous lie. 
 
 Tony. — I do confess it. 
 
 Do you think I'd tell you truths ? 
 
 Fletchek's Wife for a Month 
 
Tales of a Traveller, 
 
 THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 HE following adventures were related to me by 
 the same nervous gentleman who told me the 
 romantic tale of the Stout Gentleman, pub- 
 lished in " Bracebridge Hall." It is very singular, that, 
 although I expressly stated that story to have been told 
 to me, and described the very person who told it, still it 
 has been received as an adventure that happened to my- 
 self. Now I protest I never met with any adventure of 
 the kind. I should not have grieved at this, had it not 
 been intimated by the author of " Waverley," in an in- 
 troduction to his novel of " Peveril of the Peak," that he 
 was himself the stout gentleman alluded to. I have ever 
 since been importuned by questions and letters from gen- 
 tlemen, and particularly from ladies without number, 
 touching what I had seen of the Great Unknown. 
 
 Now all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like being 
 congratulated on the high prize w T hen one has drawn a 
 blank ; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the 
 
 19 
 
20 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 public fco penetrate the mystery of that very singulai 
 personage, whose voice fills every corner of the world, 
 without any one being able to tell whence it comes. 
 
 My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man 
 of very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been 
 excessively annoyed in consequence of its getting about in 
 his neighborhood that he is the fortunate personage. In- 
 somuch, that he has become a character of considerable 
 notoriety in two or three country-towns, and has been 
 repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stock- 
 ing parties, for no other reason than that of being " the 
 gentleman who has had a glimpse of the author of 
 'Waverley.'" 
 
 Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as nervous 
 as ever since he has discovered, on such good authority, 
 who the stout gentleman was ; and will never forgive 
 himself for not having made a more resolute effort to get 
 a full sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to call 
 up a recollection of what he saw of that portly personage ; 
 and has ever since kept a curious eye on all gentlemen of 
 more than ordinary dimensions, whom he has seen get- 
 ting into stage-coaches. All in vain! The features he 
 had caught a glimpse of seem common to the whole race 
 of stout gentlemen, and the Great Unknown remains as 
 great an unknown as ever. 
 
 Having premised these circumstances, I will now let 
 the nervous gentleman proceed with his stories. 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNER. 
 
 WAS once at a hunting-dinner, given by a wor- 
 thy fox-hunting old Baronet, who kept bache- 
 lor's hall in jovial style in an ancient rook- 
 haunted family-mansion, in one of the middle counties. 
 He had been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his 
 younger days ; but, having travelled much, studied the 
 sex in various countries with distinguished success, and 
 returned home profoundly instructed, as he supposed, in 
 the ways of woman, and a perfect master of the art of 
 pleasing, had the mortification of being jilted by a little 
 boarding-school girl, who was scarcely versed in the ac- 
 cidence of love. 
 
 The Baronet was completely overcome by such an in- 
 credible defeat ; retired from the world in disgust ; put 
 himself under the government of his housekeeper ; and 
 took to fox-hunting like a perfect Nimrod. Whatever 
 poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow out of 
 love as he grows old; and a pack of fox-hounds may 
 chase out of his heart even the memory of a boarding- 
 school goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him, as 
 
 merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a 
 
 31 
 
22 TALES OF A TEA VELLEtt 
 
 hound ; and the love he had once felt for one woman had 
 spread itself over the whole sex, so that there was not a 
 pretty face in the whole country round but came in for a 
 share. 
 
 The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host 
 having no ladies in his household to summon us to the 
 drawing-room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor 
 sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy, the tea-kettle. 
 The old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of ro- 
 bustious fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient 
 antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the 
 wine and the wassail of mine host began to operate upon 
 bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The choice 
 spirits which flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, 
 sparkled for a time, then gradually went out one after 
 another, or only emitted now and then a faint gleam from 
 the socket. Some of the briskest talkers, who had given 
 tongue so bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep ; and 
 none kept on their way but certain of those long-winded 
 prosers, who, like short-legged hounds, worry on un- 
 noticed at the bottom of conversation, but are sure to be 
 in at the death. Even these at length subsided into si- 
 lence ; and scarcely anything was heard but the nasal 
 communications of two or three veteran masticators, who 
 having been silent while awake, were indemnifying the 
 company in their sleep. 
 
 At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the 
 cedar-parlor roused all hands from this temporary tor- 
 
THE HUNTING-DIlStNER. 23 
 
 por.' Every one awoke marvellously renovated, and 
 while sipping the refreshing beverage out of the Baro- 
 net's old-fashioned hereditary china, began to think of 
 departing for their several homes. But here a sudden 
 difficulty arose. While we had been prolonging our re- 
 past, a heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, 
 and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of wind, that they 
 threatened to penetrate to the very bone. 
 
 "It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think 
 of putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, 
 gentlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least, 
 and will have your quarters prepared accordingly." 
 
 The unruly weather, which became more and more 
 tempestuous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unan- 
 swerable. The only question was, whether such an 
 unexpected accession of company to an already crowded 
 house would not put the housekeeper to her trumps to 
 accommodate them. 
 
 "Pshaw," cried mine host; "did you ever know a 
 bachelor's hall that was not elastic, and able to accom- 
 modate twice as many as it could hold?" So, out of a 
 good-humored pique, the housekeeper was summoned to 
 a consultation before us all. The old lady appeared in 
 her gala suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry 
 and agitation ; for, in spite of our host's bravado, she was 
 a little perplexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with 
 bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed. 
 There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish 
 
24 TALES OF A TRA VBLLER. 
 
 points about lodging gentlemen in odd holes and corners, 
 and exposing the shabby parts of the establishment. A 
 bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and emergen- 
 cies ; so, after much worrying to and fro, and divers con- 
 sultations about the red-room, and the blue-room, and the 
 chintz-room, and the damask-room, and the little room 
 with the bow-window, the matter was finally arranged. 
 
 When all this was done, we were once more summoned 
 to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time 
 that had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in 
 the refreshment and consultation of the cedar-parlor, was 
 sufficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to en- 
 gender a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast 
 had, therefore, been tricked up from the residue of din- 
 ner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed venison, a 
 devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those 
 light articles taken by country gentlemen to ensure 
 sound sleep and heavy snoring. 
 
 The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's 
 wit ; and a great deal of excellent humor was expended 
 upon the perplexities of mine host and his housekeeper, 
 by certain married gentlemen of the company, who con- 
 sidered themselves privileged in joking with a bachelor's 
 establishment. From this the banter turned as to what 
 quarters each would find, on being thus suddenly billeted 
 in so antiquated a mansion. 
 
 " By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of 
 the most merry and boisterous of the party, " by my soul, 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNER. 25 
 
 but I should not be surprised if some of those good-look- 
 ing gentlefolks that hang along the walls should walk 
 about the rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find 
 the ghosts of one of those long-waisted ladies turning into 
 my bed in mistake for her grave in the churchyard." 
 
 " Do you believe in ghosts, then? " said a thin, hatchet- 
 faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. 
 
 I had remarked this last personage during dinner- 
 time for one of those incessant questioners, who have a 
 craving, unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never 
 seemed satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed 
 when others laughed; but always put the joke to the 
 question. He never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, 
 but pestered himself to get more out of the shell. " Do 
 you believe in ghosts, then?" said the inquisitive gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 "Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. "I 
 was brought up in the fear and belief of them. We had 
 a Benshee in our own family, honey." 
 
 " A Benshee, and what's that? " cried the questioner. 
 " Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real 
 Milesian families, and waits at their window to let them 
 know when some of them are to die." 
 
 "A mighty pleasant piece of information!" cried an 
 elderly gentleman with a knowing look, and with a flexi- 
 ble nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when 
 he wished to be waggish. 
 
 " By my soul, but I'd have you to know it's a piece of 
 
26 TALES OF A TBA VELLER. 
 
 distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof 
 that one has pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith, now 
 we are talking of ghosts, there never was a house or a 
 night better fitted than the present for a ghost adventure. 
 Pray, Sir John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted 
 chamber to put a guest in? " 
 
 "Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, "I might ac- 
 commodate you even on that point." 
 
 " Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some 
 dark oaken room, with ugly woe-begone portraits, that 
 stare dismally at one ; and about which the housekeeper 
 has a power of delightful stories of love and murder. 
 And then a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across 
 it, and a spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains 
 at midnight " — 
 
 " In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the 
 table, " you put me in mind of an anecdote " — 
 
 " Oil, a ghost-story! a ghost-story!" was vociferated 
 round the board, every one edging his chair a little 
 nearer. 
 
 The attention of the whole company was now turned 
 upon the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side 
 of whose face was no match for the other. The eye-lid 
 drooped and hung down like an unhinged window-shut- 
 ter. Indeed, the whole side of his head was dilapi- 
 dated, and seemed like the wing of a house shut up and 
 haunted. I'll warrant that side was well stuffed with 
 ghost-stories. 
 
THE HUNTING-DINNEIl %f 
 
 There was a universal demand for the tale. 
 
 " Nay," said the old gentleman, " it's a mere anecdote, 
 and a very commonplace one ; but such as it is you shall 
 have it. It is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as 
 having happened to himself. He was a man very apt to 
 meet with strange adventures. I have heard him tell of 
 others much more singular." 
 
 " What kind of a man was your uncle ?" said the ques- 
 tioning gentleman. 
 
 " Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body ; a 
 great traveller, and fond of telling his adventures." 
 
 "Pray, how old might he have been when that hap- 
 pened ? " 
 
 "When what happened?" cried the gentleman with 
 the flexible - nose, impatiently. " Egad, you have not 
 given anything a chance to happen. Come, never mind 
 our uncle's age ; let us have his adventures." 
 
 The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment si- 
 lenced, the old gentleman with the haunted head pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OP MY UNCLE. 
 
 1NY years since, some time before the French 
 Bevolution, my uncle passed several months at 
 Paris. The English and French were on bet- 
 ter terms in those days than at present, and mingled 
 cordially in society. The English went abroad to spend 
 money then, and the French were always ready to help 
 them : they go abroad to save money at present, and that 
 they can do without French assistance. Perhaps the 
 travelling English were fewer and choicer than at pres- 
 ent, when the whole nation has broke loose and inun- 
 dated the continent. At any rate, they circulated more 
 readily and currently in foreign society, and my uncle, 
 during his residence in Paris, made many very intimate 
 acquaintances among the French noblesse. 
 
 Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in tne 
 winter- time in that part of Normandy called the Pays de 
 Caux, when, as evening was closing in, he perceived the 
 turrets of an ancient chateau rising out of the trees of its 
 walled park ; each turret with its high conical roof of 
 gray slate, like a candle with an extinguisher on it. 
 
 "To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? " cried 
 my uncle to a meagre but fiery postilion, who, with tre- 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 29 
 
 mendous jack-boots and cocked hat, was floundering on 
 before him. 
 
 " To Monseigneur the Marquis de ," said the pos- 
 tilion, touching his hat, partly out of respect to my uncle, 
 and partly out of reverence to the noble name pro- 
 nounced. 
 
 My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular 
 friend in Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see 
 him at his paternal chateau. My uncle was an old 
 traveller, one who knew well how to turn things to ac- 
 count. He revolved for a few moments in his mind, how 
 agreeable it would be to his friend the Marquis to be sur- 
 prised in this sociable way by a pop visit ; and how much 
 more agreeable to himself to get into snug quarters in a 
 chateau, and have a relish of the Marquis's well-known 
 kitchen, and a smack of his superior Champagne and 
 Burgundy, rather than put up with the miserable lodg- 
 ment and miserable fare of a provincial inn. In a few 
 minutes, therefore, the meagre postilion was cracking his 
 whip like a very devil, or like a true Frenchman, up the 
 long, straight avenue that led to the chateau. 
 
 You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, as every- 
 body travels in France nowadays. This was one of the 
 oldest ; standing naked and alone in the midst of a desert 
 o". gravel walks and cold stone terraces ; with a cold- 
 looking, formal garden, cut into angles and rhomboids ; 
 and a cold, leafless park, divided geometrically by 
 straight alleys ; and two or three cold-looking noseless 
 
30 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 statues; and fountains spouting cold water enough to 
 make one's teeth chatter. At least such was the feeling 
 they imparted on the wintry day of my uncle's visit ; 
 though, in hot summer weather, I'll warrant there was 
 glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. 
 
 The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more 
 and more intense the nearer they approached, frightened 
 a flight of pigeons out of a dove-cot, and rooks out of the 
 roofs, and finally a crew of servants out of the chateau, 
 with the Marquis at their head. He was enchanted to 
 see my uncle, for his chateau, like the house of our wor- 
 thy host, had not many more guests at the time than it 
 could accommodate. So he kissed my uncle on each 
 cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered him into the 
 castle. 
 
 The Marquis did the honors of the house with the ur- 
 banity of his country. In fact, he was proud of his old 
 family chateau, for part of it was extremely old. There 
 was a tower and chapel which had been built almost be- 
 fore the memory of man ; but the rest was more modern, 
 the castle having been nearly demolished during the wars 
 of the league. The Marquis dwelt upon this event with 
 great satisfaction, and seemed really to entertain a grate- 
 ful feeling towards Henry the Fourth, for having thought 
 his paternal mansion worth battering down. He had 
 many stories to tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and 
 several skull-caps, helmets, and cross-bows, and divers 
 huge boots and buff jerkins, to show, which had been 
 
THE AD VENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 31 
 
 worn by the leaguers. Above all, there was a two-handed 
 sword, which he could hardly wield, but which he dis- 
 played, as a proof that there had been giants in his 
 family. 
 
 In truth, he was but a small descendant from such 
 great warriors. When you looked at their bluff visages 
 and brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and 
 then at the little Marquis, with his spindle shanks, and 
 his sallow lantern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered 
 ear-locks, or aihs de pigeon, that seemed ready to fly away 
 with it, you could hardly believe him to be of the same 
 race. But when you looked at the eyes that sparkled out 
 like a beetle's from each side of his hooked nose, you saw 
 at once that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his fore- 
 fathers. In fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, 
 however his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and 
 grows more inflammable, as the earthly particles dimin- 
 ish ; and I have seen valor enough in a little fiery-hearted 
 French dwarf to have furnished out a tolerable giant. 
 
 When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one of 
 the old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head no 
 more filled it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes 
 flashed from the bottom of the iron cavern with the bril- 
 liancy of carbuncles ; and when he poised the ponderous 
 two-handed sword of hi? ancestors, you would have 
 thought you saw the doughty little David wielding the 
 sword of Goliath, which was unto him like a weaver's 
 beam. 
 
32 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on this 
 description of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must 
 excuse me ; he was an old friend of my uncle ; and when- 
 ever my uncle told the story, he was always fond of talk- 
 ing a great deal about his host. — Poor little Marquis! 
 He was one of that handful of gallant courtiers who made 
 such a devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their 
 sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuileries, against the 
 irruption of the mob on the sad tenth of August. He 
 displayed the valor of a preux French chevalier to the 
 last ; nourishing feebly his little court-sword with a ga- 
 ga! in face of a whole legion of sans-culottes ; but was 
 pinned to the wall like a butterfly, by the pike of a pois- 
 sarde, and his heroic soul was borne up. to heaven on his 
 ailes de pigeon. 
 
 But all this has nothing to do with my story. To the 
 point, then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the 
 night, my uncle was shown to his room in a venerable old 
 tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in 
 ancient times been the donjon or strong-hold ; of course 
 the chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had put 
 him there, however, because he knew him to be a travel- 
 ler of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also because the 
 better apartments were already occupied. Indeed, he 
 perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by mention- 
 ing the great personages who had once inhabited them, 
 all of whom were, in some way or other, connected with 
 the family. If you would take his wor: 1 for it, Johu 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 33 
 
 Bali ol, or as lie called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of 
 chagrin in this very chamber, on hearing of the success 
 of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the battle of Bannock- 
 burn. And when he added that the Duke de Guise had 
 slept in it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on 
 being honored with such distinguished quarters. 
 
 The night was shrewd and windy, and the chamber 
 none of the warmest. An old, long-faced, long-bodied 
 servant, in quaint livery, who attended upon my uncle, 
 threw down an armful of wood beside the fireplace, gave 
 a queer look about the room, and then wished him bon 
 repos with a grimace and a shrug that would have been 
 suspicious from any other than an old French servant. 
 
 The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to 
 strike any one who had read romances with apprehension 
 and foreboding. The windows were high and narrow, 
 and had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely en- 
 larged, as well as the extreme thickness of the walls 
 would permit ; and the ill-fitted casements rattled to 
 every breeze. You would have thought, on a windy 
 night, some of the old leaguers were tramping and clank- 
 ing about the apartment in their huge boots and rattling 
 Bpurs. A door which stood ajar, and, like a true French 
 :loor, would stand ajar in spite of every reason and effort 
 to the contrary, opened upon a long dark corridor, that 
 led the Lord knows whither, and seemed just made for 
 ghosts to air themselves in, when they turned out of their 
 graves at midnight. The wind would spring up into a 
 
34 TALES OF A TEA VELLEM. 
 
 hoarse murmur through this passage, and creak the door 
 to and fro, as if some dubious ghost were balancing in its 
 mind whether to come in or not. In a word, it was pre- 
 cisely the kind of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if 
 ghost there were in the chateau, would single out for its 
 favorite lounge. 
 
 My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet 
 with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. 
 He made several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. 
 Not that he apprehended anything, for he was too old a 
 traveller to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment ; but 
 the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and the 
 wind howled about the old turret pretty much as it does 
 round this old mansion at this moment, and the breeze 
 from the long dark corridor came in as damp and as 
 chilly as if from a dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since 
 he could not close the door, threw a quantity of wood on 
 the fire, which soon sent up a flame in the great wide- 
 mouthed chimney that illumined the whole chamber; and 
 made the shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall look 
 like a long-legged giant. My uncle now clambered on 
 the top of the half-score of mattresses which form a 
 French bed, and which stood in a deep recess ; then tuck- 
 ing himself snugly in, and burying himself up to the chin 
 in the bedclothes, he lay looking at the fire, and listening 
 to the wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come 
 over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging — and so 
 he fell asleep. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE £$ 
 
 He had not taken above half of his first nap when he 
 was awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret 
 over his chamber, which struck midnight. It was just 
 such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, 
 dismal tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my 
 uncle thought it would never have done. He counted and 
 counted till he was -confident he counted thirteen, and 
 then it stopped. 
 
 The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last fagot 
 was almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which 
 now and then lengthened up into little white gleams. 
 My uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap 
 drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already 
 wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene 
 with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coli- 
 seum at Eome, Dolly's chop-house in London, and all 
 the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a 
 traveller is crammed, — in a word, he was just falling 
 asleep. 
 
 Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, 
 slowly pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have 
 often heard him say himself, was a man not easily fright- 
 ened. So he lay quiet, supposing this some other guest, 
 or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, how- 
 ever, approached the door ; the door gently opened ; 
 whether of its own accord, or whether pushed open, my 
 uncle could not distinguish : a figure all in white glided 
 in. It was a female, tall and stately, and of a command- 
 
36 TALES OF A TEA VELLEU. 
 
 ing air. Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in 
 volume, and sweeping the floor. She walked up to the 
 fireplace, without regarding my uncle, who raised his 
 nightcap with one hand, and stared earnestly at her. 
 She remained for some time standing by the fire, which, 
 flashing up at intervals, cast blue and white gleams of 
 light, that enabled my uncle to remark her appearance 
 minutely. 
 
 Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still 
 more so by the bluish light of the fire. It possessed 
 beauty, but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. 
 There was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of 
 one whom trouble could not cast down nor subdue ; for 
 there was still the predominating air of proud, uncon- 
 querable resolution. Such at least was the opinion 
 formed by my uncle, and he considered himself a great 
 physiognomist. 
 
 The figure remained, as I said, for some time by the 
 fire, putting out first one hand, then the other ; then 
 each foot alternately, as if warming itself; for your 
 ghosts, if ghost it really was, are apt to be cold. My 
 uncle, furthermore, remarked that it wore high-heeled 
 shoes, after an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond 
 buckles, that sparkled as though they were alive. At 
 length the figure turned gently round, casting a glassy 
 look about the apartment, which, as it passed over my 
 uncle, made his blood run cold, and chilled the very 
 marrow in his bones. It then stretched its arms towards 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 37 
 
 heaven, clasped its hands, and wringing them in a sup- 
 plicating manner, glided slowly out of the room. 
 
 My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visita- 
 tion, for (as he remarked when he told me the story) 
 though a man of firmness, he was also a man of reflection, 
 and did not reject a thing because it was out of the regu- 
 lar course of events. However, being as I have before 
 said, a great traveller, and accustomed to strange adven- 
 tures, he drew his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, 
 turned his back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes high 
 over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. 
 
 How long he slept he could not say, when he was 
 awakened by the voice of some one at his bedside. He 
 turned round, and beheld the old French servant, with 
 his ear-locks in tight buckles on each side of a long lan- 
 tern face, on which habit had deeply wrinkled an ever- 
 lasting smile. He made a thousand grimaces, and asked 
 a thousand pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the 
 morning was considerably advanced. While my uncle 
 was dressing, he called vaguely to mind the visitor of the 
 preceding night. He asked the ancient domestic what 
 lady was in the habit of rambling about this part of the 
 chateau at night. The old valet shrugged his shoulders 
 as high as his head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw 
 open the other with every finger extended, made a most 
 whimsical grimace which he meant to be complimentary, 
 and replied, that it was not for him to know anything oi 
 tes bonnes fortunes of Monsieur. 
 
38 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be 
 learned in this quarter. After breakfast, he was walking 
 with the Marquis through the modern apartments of the 
 chateau, sliding over the well-waxed floors of silken 
 saloons, amidst furniture rich in gilding and brocade, un- 
 til they came to a long picture-gallery, containing many 
 portraits, some in oil and some in chalks. 
 
 Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, 
 who had all the pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime. 
 There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly 
 one in France, which was not, in some way or other, con- 
 nected with his house. My uncle stood listening with 
 inward impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, some- 
 times on the other, as the little Marquis descanted, with 
 his usual fire and vivacity, on the achievements of his an- 
 cestors, whose portraits hung along the wall ; from the 
 martial deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gallan- 
 tries and intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair 
 smiling faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruffles, and pink 
 and blue silk coats and breeches; — not forgetting the 
 conquests of the lovely shepherdesses, with hooped 
 petticoats, and waists no thicker than an hour-glass, 
 who appeared ruling over their sheep and their 
 swains, with dainty crooks decorated with fluttering rib- 
 bons. 
 
 In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle was 
 startled on beholding a full-length portrait, the very 
 counterpart of his visitor of the preceding night. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 39 
 
 "Methinks," said he, pointing to it, "I have seen the 
 original of this portrait." 
 
 " Pardonnez moi," replied the Marquis politely, " that 
 can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a 
 hundred years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Lon- 
 gueville, who figured during the minority of Louis the 
 Fourteenth." [... 
 
 " And was there anything remarkable in her history ? " 
 
 Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis 
 immediately threw himself into the attitude of a man 
 about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled 
 upon himself the whole history of the civil war of the 
 Fronde, in which the beautiful Duchess had played so 
 distinguished a part. Turenne, Coligni, Mazarin, were 
 called up from their graves to grace his narration; nor 
 were the affairs of the barricaders, nor the chivalry of 
 the portes-cocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish 
 himself a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his 
 merciless memory, when suddenly the little man's recol- 
 lections took a more interesting turn. He was relating 
 the imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville with the 
 Princes Conde and Conti in the chateau of Yincennes, 
 and the ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse the 
 sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had come to that 
 part where she was invested by the royal forces in the 
 Castle of Dieppe. 
 
 " The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Marquis, 
 " rose from her trials. It was astonishing to see so deli- 
 
40 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 cate and beautiful a thing buffet so resolutely with hard- 
 ships. She determined on a desperate means of escape. 
 You may have seen the chateau in which she was mewed 
 up, — an old ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the 
 knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town of 
 Dieppe. One dark unruly night she issued secretly out 
 of a small postern gate of the castle, which the enemy 
 had neglected to guard. The postern gate is there to 
 this very day ; opening upon a narrow bridge over a deep 
 fosse between the castle and the brow of the hill. She 
 was followed by her female attendants, a few domestics, 
 and some gallant cavaliers, who still remained faithful to 
 her fortunes. Her object was to gain a small port about 
 two leagues distant, where she had privately provided a 
 vessel for her escape in case of emergency. 
 
 " The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform 
 the distance on foot. When they arrived at the port the 
 wind Avas high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel 
 anchored far off in the road, and no means of getting on 
 board but by a fishing-shallop which lay tossing like a 
 cockle-shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess de- 
 termined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeavored 
 to dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on 
 shore, and the magnanimity of her spirit, urged her on. 
 She had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mari- 
 ner. Such was the violence of the wind and waves that 
 he faltered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden 
 fall into the sea. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. ±\ 
 
 " The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through 
 her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, 
 she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered 
 strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt. The 
 storm, however, had by this time become so violent as 
 to set all efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discov- 
 ered and taken prisoner. As the only resource left, she 
 procured horses, mounted with her female attendants, en 
 croupe, behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her, 
 and scoured the country to seek some temporary asylum. 
 
 " While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying 
 his forefinger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging 
 attention, — " while the Duchess, poor lady, was wander- 
 ing amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she 
 \ I arrived at this chateau. Her approach caused soihe un- 
 easiness ; for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of 
 night up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unset- 
 tled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was 
 enough to occasion alarm. 
 
 " A Jail, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, 
 galloped ahead and announced the name of the visitor. 
 All uneasiness was dispelled. The household turned out 
 with flambeaux to receive her, and never did torches 
 gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band 
 than came tramping into the court. Such pale, careworn 
 faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and 
 her females presented, each seated behind her cavalier : 
 tvhile the half-drenched, half-drowsy pages and attend- 
 
42 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 ants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep 
 and fatigue. 
 
 " The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by 
 my ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the cha- 
 teau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed, to cheer 
 herself and her train ; and every spit and stew-pan was 
 put in requisition to prepare ample refreshment for the 
 wayfarers. 
 
 " She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the 
 Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of 
 stateliness, " for she was related to our family. I'll tell 
 you how it was. Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince 
 of Conde " 
 
 " But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau ? " 
 said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of 
 getting involved in one of the Marquis's genealogical dis- 
 cussions. 
 
 "Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very 
 apartment you occupied last night, which at that time 
 was a kind of state-apartment. Her followers were quar- 
 tered in the chambers opening upon the neighboring cor- 
 ridor, and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. 
 Up and down the corridor walked the great chasseur who 
 had announced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of 
 sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful-look- 
 ing fellow ; and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell 
 upon his deeply marked face and sinewy form, he seemed 
 capable of defending the castle with his single arm. 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNULE. 43 
 
 "It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the 
 year— apropos !— now I think of it, last night was the an- 
 niversary of her visit. I may well remember the precise 
 date, for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. 
 There is a singular tradition concerning it in our family." 
 Here the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather 
 about his bushy eyebrows. " There is a tradition— that 
 a strange occurrence took place that night.— A strange, 
 mysterious, inexplicable occurrence."— Here he checked 
 himself, and paused. 
 
 "Did it relate to that lady?" inquired my uncle, 
 
 eagerly. 
 
 " It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Mar- 
 quis,—" w hen the whole chateau " Here he paused 
 
 again. My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. 
 
 " Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush streak- 
 ing his sallow visage. "There are some circumstances 
 connected with our family history which I do not like to 
 relate. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes 
 among great men: for you know high blood, when it 
 runs wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the canaille 
 —poor lady!— But I have a little family pride, that— 
 excuse me — we will change the subject if you please " — 
 
 My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and 
 magnificent introduction had led him to expect some- 
 thing wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind 
 of avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by 
 a sudden fit of unreasonable squeamishness. Besides, 
 
44 TALES OF A TBA VELLER. 
 
 being a traveller in quest of information, he considered 
 it his duty to inquire into everything. 
 
 The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 
 
 "Well," said my uncle a little petulantly, "whatever 
 you may think of it, I saw that lady last night." 
 
 The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " She paid me a visit in my bedchamber." 
 
 The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and 
 a smile; taking this no doubt for an awkward piece of 
 English pleasantry, which politeness required him to be 
 charmed with. 
 
 My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the 
 whole circumstance. The Marquis heard him through 
 with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened 
 in his hand. When the story was finished, he tapped on 
 the lid of his box deliberately, took a ]ong, sonorous 
 pinch of snuff 
 
 " Bah ! " said the Marquis, and walked towards the 
 other end of the gallery. 
 
 Here the narrator paused. The company waited for 
 some time for him to resume his narration ; but he con- 
 tinued silent. 
 
 "Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, — "and what 
 did your uncle say then? " 
 
 " Nothing," replied the other. 
 
 " And what did the Marquis say farther ? " 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 45 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "And is that all?" 
 
 " That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. 
 
 " I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the 
 waggish nose, — " I surmise the ghost must have been 
 the old housekeeper, walking her rounds to see that all 
 was right." 
 
 " Bah ! " said the narrator, " My uncle was too much 
 accustomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from 
 a housekeeper." 
 
 There was a murmur round the table, half of merri- 
 ment, half of disappointment. I was inclined to think 
 the old gentleman had really an after-part of his story in 
 reserve ; but he sipped his wine and said nothing more ; 
 and there was an odd expression about his dilapidated 
 countenance which left me in doubt whether he were in 
 drollery or earnest. 
 
 " Egad," said the knowing gentleman, with the flexible 
 nose, " this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one 
 that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's 
 side ; though I don't know that it will bear a compari- 
 son, as the good lady was not so prone to meet with 
 strange adventures. But any rate you shall have it" 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT, 
 
 Y aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, 
 and great resolution : she was what might be 
 termed a very manly woman. My uncle was a 
 thin, puny little man, very meek and acquiescent, and 
 no match for my aunt. It was observed that he dwindled 
 and dwindled gradually away, from the day of his mar- 
 riage. His wife's powerful mind was too much for him ; 
 it wore him out. My aunt, however, took all possible 
 care of him ; had half the doctors in town to prescribe for 
 him; made him take all their prescriptions, and dosed 
 him with physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All 
 was in vain. My uncle grew worse and worse the more 
 dosing and nursing he underwent, until in the end he 
 added another to the long list of matrimonial victims who 
 have been killed with kindness. 
 
 " And was it his ghost that appeared to her ? " asked 
 the inquisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former 
 story-teller. 
 
 " You shall hear," replied the narrator. — My aunt took 
 on mightily for the death of her poor dear husband. 
 Perhaps she felt some compunction at having given him 
 so much physic, and nursed him into the grave. At any 
 
 46 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AXJN1\ 47 
 
 rate, she did all that a widow could do to honor his mem- 
 ory- She spared no expense in either the quantity or 
 quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a miniature of him 
 about her neck as large as a little sun-dial, and had a 
 full-length portrait of him always hanging in her bed- 
 chamber. All the world extolled her conduct to the 
 skies ; and it was determined that a woman who behaved 
 so well to the memory of one husband deserved soon to 
 get another. 
 
 It was not long after this that she went to take up her 
 residence in an old country-seat in Derbyshire, which 
 had long been in the care of merely a steward and house- 
 keeper. She took most of her servants with her, intend- 
 ing to make it her principal abode. The house stood in a 
 lonely wild part of the country, among the gray Derby- 
 shire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak 
 height in full view. 
 
 The servants from town were half frightened out of 
 their wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan- 
 looking place ; especially when they got together in the 
 servants' hall in the evening, and compared notes on all 
 the hobgoblin stories picked up in the course of the day. 
 They were afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, 
 black-looking chambers. My lady's maid, who was 
 troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep 
 alone in such a " gashly rummaging old building " ; and 
 the footman, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all 
 in his power to cheer her up. 
 
48 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the 
 house. Before going to bed, therefore, she examined well 
 the fastnesses of the doors and windows ; locked up the 
 plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together 
 with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room ; 
 for she was a notable woman, and always saw to all 
 things herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, 
 and dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet, arranging 
 her hair ; for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, 
 rather a buxom widow, she was somewhat particular 
 about her person. She sat for a little while looking at 
 her face in the glass, first on one side, then on the other, 
 as ladies are apt to do when they would ascertain 
 whether they have been in good looks ; for a roistering 
 country squire of the neighborhood, with whom she had 
 flirted when a girl, had called that day to welcome her to 
 the country. 
 
 All of a sudden she thought she heard something move 
 behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was 
 nothing to be seen. Nothing but the grimly painted por- 
 trait of her poor dear man, hanging against the wall. 
 
 She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was ac- 
 customed to do whenever she spoke of him in company, 
 and then went on adjusting her night-dress, and thinking 
 of the squire. Her sigh was reechoed, or answered, by a 
 long-drawn breath. She looked round again, but no one 
 was to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind 
 oozing through the rat-holes of the old mansion, and pro- 
 
THE AD VENTURE OF MY A UNT. 49 
 
 ceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, all at 
 once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the 
 portrait move. 
 
 " The back of her head being towards it ! " said the 
 story-teller with the ruined head, — " good ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " replied dryly the narrator, " her back be- 
 ing towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflec- 
 tion in the glass." — Well, as I was saying, she perceived 
 one of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a cir- 
 cumstance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden 
 shock. To assure herself of the fact, she put one hand 
 to her forehead as if rubbing it ; peeped through her fin- 
 gers, and moved the candle with the other hand. The 
 light of the taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected 
 from it. She was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed 
 to give her a wink, as she had sometimes known her hus- 
 band to do when living ! It struck a momentary chill to 
 her heart ; for she was a lone woman, and felt herself 
 fearfully situated. 
 
 The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost 
 as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir, (turning to the 
 old story-teller,) became instantly calm and collected. 
 She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an 
 air, and did not make even a single false note. She 
 casually overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle and 
 picked up the articles one by one from the floor ; pur- 
 sued a rolling pin-cushion that was making the best of 
 its way under the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for 
 4 
 
50 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 an instant into the corrider, as if in doubt whether to go ; 
 and then walked quietly out. 
 
 She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants to arm 
 themselves with the weapons first at hand, placed her- 
 self at their head, and returned almost immediately. 
 
 Her hastily levied army presented a formidable force. 
 The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, the coachman a 
 loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse-pistols, the 
 cook a huge chopping-knife, and the butler a bottle in 
 each hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, 
 and in my opinion she was the most formidable of the 
 party. The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay alone in 
 the servants' hall, brought up the rear, smelling to a 
 broken bottle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror 
 of the ghostesses. " Ghosts ! " said my aunt, resolutely. 
 " I'll singe their whiskers for them ! " 
 
 They entered the chamber. All was still and undis- 
 turbed as when she had left it. They approached the 
 portrait of my uncle. 
 
 " Pull down that picture ! " cried my aunt. A heavy 
 groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued 
 from the portrait. The servants shrunk back ; the maid 
 uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman for sup- 
 port. 
 
 " Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. 
 
 The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind 
 it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth 
 a round-shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 51 
 
 as long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen- 
 leaf. 
 
 " Well, and who was lie ? No ghost, I suppose," said 
 the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 "A Knight of the Post," replied the narrator, " who 
 had been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; 
 or rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her 
 chamber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong box, 
 when all the house should be asleep. In plain terms," 
 continued he, " the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of 
 the neighborhood, who had once been a servant in the 
 hours, and had been employed to assist in arranging it 
 for the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he 
 had contrived this hiding-place for his nefarious purpose, 
 and had borrowed an eye from the portrait by way of a 
 reconnoitring-hole." 
 
 "And what did they do with him? — did they hang 
 him ? " resumed the questioner. 
 
 " Hang him ! — how could they ? " exclaimed a beetle- 
 browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. " The offence was 
 not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed. 
 No forcible entry or breaking into the premises " — 
 
 " My aunt," said the narrator, "was a woman of spirit, 
 and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her 
 own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow 
 to be drawn through the horse-pond, to cleanse away all 
 offences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken 
 towel" 
 
52 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 " And what became of him afterwards ? " said the in- 
 quisitive gentleman. 
 
 "I do not exactly know. I believe he was sent on a 
 voyage of improvement to Botany Bay." 
 
 "And your aunt," said the inquisitive gentleman; "I'll 
 warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the 
 room with her after that." 
 
 " No, sir, she did better ; she gave her hand shortly 
 after to the roistering squire ; for she used to observe, 
 that it was a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in 
 the country." 
 
 " She was right," observed the inquisitive gentleman, 
 nodding sagaciously ; " but I am sorry they did not hang 
 that fellow." 
 
 It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had 
 brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion, 
 though a country clergyman present regretted that the 
 uncle and aunt, who figured in the different stories, had 
 not been married together ; they certainly would have 
 been well matched. 
 
 " But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentle- 
 man, "that there was any ghost in this last story." 
 
 " Oh ! If it's ghosts you want, honey," cried the Irish 
 Captain of Dragoons, " if it's ghosts you want, you shall 
 have a whole regiment of them. And since these gentle- 
 men have given the adventures of their uncles and aunts, 
 faith, and I'll even give you a chapter out of my own 
 family-history." 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER. 
 
 Y grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a pro- 
 fession, d'ye see, that has run in the family. 
 All my forefathers have been dragoons, and 
 died on the field of honor, except myself, and I hope my 
 posterity may be able to say the same ; however, I don't 
 mean to be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I 
 said, was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low 
 Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army, which, 
 according to my uncle Toby, swore so terribly in Flan- 
 ders. He could swear a good stick himself ; and more- 
 over was the very man that introduced the doctrine Cor- 
 poral Trim mentions of radical heat and radical moisture, 
 or, in other words, the mode of keeping out the damps of 
 ditch-water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's 
 nothing to the purport of my story. I only tell it to 
 show you that my grandfather was a man not easily to 
 be humbugged. He had seen service, or, according to 
 his own phrase, he had seen the devil — and that's saying 
 everything. 
 
 Well, gentlemen 5 my grandfather was on his way to 
 
 53 
 
54 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 England, for which he intended to embark from Ostend — 
 bad luck to the place ! for one where I was kept by- 
 storms and head-winds for three long days, and the devil 
 of a jolly companion or pretty girl to comfort me. Well, 
 as I was saying, my grandfather was on his way to Eng- 
 land, or rather to Ostend — no matter which, it's all the 
 same. So one evening, towards nightfall, he rode jollily 
 into Bruges. — Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen ; 
 a queer, old-fashioned Flemish town, once, they say, a 
 great place for trade and money-making in old times, 
 when the Mynheers were in their glory ; but almost as 
 large and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the pres- 
 ent day. — "Well, gentlemen, it was at the time of the an- 
 nual fair. All Bruges was crowded ; and the canals 
 swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swarmed with 
 Dutch merchants ; and there was hardly any getting 
 along for goods, wares, and merchandises, and peasants 
 in big breeches, and women in half a score of petticoats. 
 My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy, slashing 
 way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow — staring about 
 him at the motley crowd, and the old houses with gable 
 ends to the street, and storks' nests in the chimneys ; 
 ' winking at the juffrouws who showed their faces at the 
 windows, and joking the women right and left in the 
 street ; all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good 
 part ; for though he did not know a word of the language, 
 yet he had always a knack of making himself understood 
 among the women. 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 55 
 
 Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, 
 all the town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and 
 my grandfather applied in vain from one to the other for 
 admittance. At length he rode up to an old rickety inn, 
 that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats 
 would have run away from, if they could have found room 
 in any other house to put their heads. It was just such 
 a queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall 
 roof that reached up into the clouds, and as many garrets, 
 one over the other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. 
 Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's 
 nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck 
 to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the very 
 time of my grandfather's arrival, there were two of 
 these long-legged birds of grace standing like ghosts 
 on the chimney-top. Faith, but they've kept the house 
 on its legs to this very day, for you may see it any 
 time you pass through Bruges, as it stands there yet, 
 only it is turned into a brewery of strong Flemish 
 beer, — at least it was so when I came that way after the 
 battle of Waterloo. 
 
 My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he ap- 
 proached. It might not have altogether struck his 
 fancy, had he not seen in large letters over the door, 
 
 HIER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK. 
 My grandfather had learnt enough of the language to 
 
56 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 know that the sign promised good liquor. " This is the 
 house for me," said he, stopping short before the door. 
 
 The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an 
 event in an old inn frequented only by the peaceful son^ 
 of traffic. A rich burgher of Antwerp, a stately ample 
 man in a broad Flemish hat, and who was the great man 
 and great patron of the establishment, sat smoking a clean 
 long pipe on one side of the door ; a fat little distiller of 
 Geneva, from Schiedam, sat smoking on the other ; and 
 the bottle-nosed host stood in the door, and the comely 
 hostess, in crimped cap, beside him ; and the hostess's 
 daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pen- 
 dants in her ears, was at a side-window. 
 
 " Humph ! " said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a 
 sulky glance at the stranger. 
 
 " De duyvel ! " said the fat little distiller of Schiedam. 
 
 The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a publican, 
 that the new guest was not at all to the taste of the old 
 ones ; and, to tell the truth, he did not like my grand- 
 father's saucy eye. He shook his head. " Not a garret 
 in the house but was full." 
 
 " Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. 
 
 " Not a garret ! " echoed the daughter. 
 
 The burgher of Antwerp, and the little distiller of 
 Schiedam, continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eye- 
 ing the enemy askance from under their broad hats, but 
 said nothing. 
 
 My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 57 
 
 threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his head on 
 one side, stuck one arm akimbo, — "Faith and troth!" 
 said he, " but I'll sleep in this house this very night." — 
 As he said this he gave a slap on his thigh, by way of 
 emphasis — the slap went to the landlady's heart. 
 
 He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and 
 making his way past the staring Mynheers into the pub- 
 lic room. — Maybe you've been in the bar-room of an 
 old Flemish inn — faith, but a handsome chamber it was 
 as you'd wish to see ; with a brick floor, and a great fire- 
 place, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles, and 
 then the mantelpiece, pitching itself head foremost out of 
 the wall, with a whole regiment of cracked tea-pots and 
 earthen jugs paraded on it ; not to mention half a dozen 
 great Delft platters, hung about the room by way of pic- 
 tures ; and the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing 
 bar-maid inside of it, with a red calico cap, and yellow 
 ear-drops. 
 
 My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as 
 he cast an eye round the room, — "Faith, this is the 
 very house I've been looking after," said he. 
 
 There was some further show of resistance on the part 
 of the garrison ; but my grandfather was an old soldier, 
 and an Irishman to boot, and not easily repulsed, 
 especially after he had got into the fortress. So he 
 blarneyed the landlord, kissed the landlord's wife, 
 tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the bar-maid 
 under the chin ; and it was agreed on all hands that it 
 
58 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 would be a thousand pities, and a burning shame into 
 the bargain, to turn such a bold dragoon into the streets. 
 So they laid their heads together, that is to say, my 
 grandfather and the landlady, and it was at length agreed 
 to accommodate him with an old chamber that had been 
 for some time shut up. 
 
 "Some say it's haunted," whispered the landlord's 
 daughter ; " but you are a bold dragoon, and I dare say 
 don't fear ghosts." 
 
 " The devil a bit ! " said my grandfather, pinching her 
 plump cheek. " But if I should be troubled by ghosts, 
 I've been to the Red Sea in my time, and have a pleas- 
 ant way of laying them, my darling." 
 
 And then he whispered something to the girl which 
 made her laugh, and give him a good-humored box on 
 the ear. In short, there was nobody knew better how to 
 make his way among the petticoats than my grandfather. 
 
 In a little while, as was his usual way, he took com- 
 plete possession of the house, swaggering all over it ; 
 into the stable to look after his horse, into the kitchen to 
 look after his supper. He had something to say or do 
 with every one ; smoked with the Dutchmen, drank with 
 the Germans, slapped the landlord on the shoulder, 
 romped with his daughter and the bar-maid : — never, 
 since the days of Alley Croaker, had such a rattling 
 blade been seen. The landlord stared at him with 
 astonishment ; the landlord's daughter hung her head 
 and giggled whenever he came near ; and as he swag- 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 59 
 
 gered along the corridor, with his sword trailing by hia 
 side, the maids looked after him, and whispered to one 
 another, " What a proper man ! " 
 
 At supper, my grandfather took command of the table- 
 d'hote as though he had been at home ; helped every- 
 body, not forgetting himself; talked with every one, 
 whether he understood their language or not ; and made 
 his way into the intimacy of the rich burgher of Ant- 
 werp, who had never been known to be sociable with any 
 one during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole 
 establishment, and gave it such a rouse, that the very 
 house reeled with it. He outsat every one at table, ex- 
 cepting the little fat distiller of Schiedam, who sat soak- 
 ing a long time before he broke forth ; but when he did, 
 he was a very devil incarnate. He took a violent affec- 
 tion for my grandfather ; so they sat drinking and 
 smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish 
 songs, without understanding a word each other said, un- 
 til the little Hollander was fairly swamped with his own 
 gin and water, and carried off to bed, whooping and hick- 
 uping, and trolling the burden of a Low Dutch love-song. 
 
 Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his 
 quarters up a large staircase, composed of loads of hewn 
 timber; and through long rigmarole passages, hung 
 with blackened paintings of fish, and fruit, and game, and 
 country frolics, and huge kitchens, and portly burgomas- 
 ters, such as you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, 
 till at length he arrived at his room. 
 
gO TALES OF A TftA VELLER. 
 
 An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded 
 with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary 
 for decayed and superannuated furniture, where every- 
 thing diseased or disabled was sent to nurse or to be for- 
 gotten. Or rather it might be taken for a general con- 
 gress of old legitimate movables, where every kind and 
 country had a representative. No two chairs were alike. 
 Such high backs and low backs, and leather bottoms, 
 and worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and no bot- 
 toms ; and cracked marble tables with curiously carved 
 legs, holding balls in their claws, as though they were 
 going to play at ninepins. 
 
 My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage 
 as he entered, and, having undressed himself, placed his 
 light in the fireplace, asking pardon of the tongs, which 
 seemed to be making love to the shovel in the chimney- 
 corner, and whispering soft nonsense in its ear. 
 
 The rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep, 
 for your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The housemaids, 
 one by one, crept up yawning to their attics ; and not a 
 female head in the inn was laid on a pillow that night 
 without dreaming of the bold dragoon. 
 
 My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew 
 over him one of those great bags of down, under which 
 fchey smother a man in the Low Countries ; and there he 
 lay, melting between two feather beds, like an anchovy 
 sandwich between two slices of toast and butter. He 
 was a warm-complexioned man, and this smothering 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 61 
 
 played the very deuce with him. So, sure enough, in a 
 little time it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching 
 at him, and all the blood in his veins was in a fever-heat. 
 
 He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, ex- 
 cepting the snoring of the Mynheers from the different 
 chambers ; who answered one another in all kinds of 
 tones and cadences, like so many bull-frogs in a swamp. 
 The quieter the house became, the more unquiet became 
 my grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, until at 
 length the bed became too hot to hold him. 
 
 " Maybe the maid had warmed it too much ? " said the 
 curious gentleman, inquiringly. 
 
 " I rather think the contrary," replied the Irishman. 
 " But, be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grand- 
 father." 
 
 " Faith, there's no standing this any longer," says he. 
 So he jumped out of bed, and went strolling about the 
 house. 
 
 " What for ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " Why, to cool himself, to be sure — or perhaps to find 
 a. more comfortable bed — or perhaps — But no matter 
 what he went for — he never mentioned — and there's no 
 use in taking up our time in conjecturing." 
 
 Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent 
 from his room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when 
 just as he reached the door, he heard a strange noise 
 within. He paused and listened. It seemed as if some 
 one were trying to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma- 
 
62 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 He recollected the report of the room being haunted ; 
 but he was no believer in ghosts, so he pushed the door 
 gently open and peeped in. 
 
 Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on 
 within enough to have astonished St. Anthony himself. 
 By the light of the fire he saw a pale weazen-faced 
 fellow, in a long flannel gown and a tall white night-cap 
 with a tassel to it, who sat by the fire with a bellows 
 under his arm by way of bagpipe, from which he forced 
 the asthmatical music that had bothered my grandfather. 
 As he played, too, he kept twitching about with a thou- 
 sand queer contortions, nodding his head, and bobbing 
 about his tasselled night-cap. 
 
 My grandfather thought this very odd and mighty pre- 
 sumptuous, and was about to demand what business he 
 had to play his wind-instrument in another gentleman's 
 quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met his eye. 
 From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, 
 bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, and studded 
 all over in a coxcombical fashion with little brass nails, 
 got suddenly into motion, thrust out first a claw-foot, 
 then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, slided 
 gracefully up to an easy-chair of tarnished brocade, with 
 a hole in its bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly 
 minuet about the floor. 
 
 The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and 
 bobbed his head and his night-cap about like mad. By 
 degrees the dancing mania seemed to seize upon all 
 
THE BOLD DRAGOON. 63 
 
 other pieces of furniture. The antique, long -bodied 
 chairs paired off in couples and led down a country- 
 dance ; a three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, though 
 horribly puzzled by its supernumerary limb ; while the 
 amorous tongs seized the shovel round the waist, and 
 whirled it about the room in a German waltz. In short, 
 all the movables got in motion : pirouetting hands 
 across, right and left, like so many devils ; all except a 
 great clothes-press, which kept courtesying and courtesy- 
 ing in a corner, like a dowager, in exquisite time to the 
 music ; being rather too corpulent to dance, or perhaps 
 at a loss for a partner. 
 
 My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason ; 
 so being, like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and 
 at all times ready for a frolic, he bounced into the 
 room, called to the musician to strike up Paddy O'Kaf- 
 ferty, capered up to the clothes-press, and seized upon 
 
 the two handles to lead her out : when — whirr ! the 
 
 whole revel was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs and 
 shovel, slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as 
 if nothing had happened, and the musician vanished up 
 the chimney, leaving the bellows behind him in his 
 hurry. My grandfather found himself seated in the mid- 
 dle of the floor with the clothes-press sprawling before 
 him, and the two handles jerked off, and in his hands. 
 
 " Then, after all, this was a mere dream ! " said the 
 inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " The clivil a bit of a dream ! " replied the Irishman. 
 
64 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 " There never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, 1 
 should have liked to see any man tell my grandfather it 
 was a dream." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a mighty 
 heavy body, and my grandfather likewise, particularly in 
 rear, you may easily suppose that two such heavy bodies 
 coming to the ground would make a bit of a noise. 
 Faith, the old mansion shook as though it had mistaken 
 it for an earthquake. The whole garrison was alarmed. 
 The landlord, who slept below, hurried up with a candle 
 to inquire the cause, but with all his haste his daughter 
 had arrived at the scene of uproar before him. The 
 landlord was followed by the landlady, who was followed 
 by the bouncing bar-maid, who was followed by the sim- 
 pering chambermaids, all holding together, as well as 
 they could, such garments as they first laid hands on ; 
 but all in a terrible hurry to see what the deuce was to 
 pay in the chamber of the bold dragoon. 
 
 My grandfather related the marvellous scene he had 
 witnessed, and the broken handles of the prostrate 
 clothes-press bore testimony to the fact. There was no 
 contesting such evidence ; particularly with a lad of my 
 grandfather's complexion, who seemed able to make good 
 every word either with sword or shillelah. So the land- 
 lord scratched his head and looked silly, as he was apt 
 to do when puzzled. The landlady scratched — no, she 
 did not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, and did 
 not seem half pleased with the explanation. But the 
 
TEE BOLD DRAGOON. 65 
 
 landlady's daughter corroborated it by recollecting that 
 the last person who had dwelt in that chamber was a 
 famous juggler who died of St. Vitus's dance, and had no 
 doubt infected all the furniture. 
 
 This set all things to rights, particularly when the 
 chambermaids declared that they had all witnessed 
 strange carryings on in that room ; and as they declared 
 this " upon their honors," there could not remain a 
 doubt upon this subject. 
 
 "And did your grandfather go to bed again in that 
 room ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 "That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the 
 rest of the night was a secret he never disclosed. In 
 fact, though he had seen much service, he was but indif- 
 ferently acquainted with geography, and apt to make 
 blunders in his travels about inns at night, which it would 
 have puzzled him sadly to account for in the morning." 
 
 "Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep?" said the 
 knowing old gentleman. 
 
 " Never that I heard of." - 
 
 There was a little pause after this rigmarole Irish ro- 
 mance, when the old gentleman with the haunted head 
 observed, that the stories hitherto related had rather a 
 burlesque tendency. " I recollect an adventure, how- 
 ever," added he, " which I heard of during a residence at 
 Paris, for the truth of which I can undertake to vouch, 
 and which is of a very grave and singular nature." 
 5 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT. 
 
 N a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of 
 the French revolution, a young German was re- 
 turning to his lodgings, at a late hour, across 
 
 the old part of Paris. The lightning gleamed, and the 
 loud claps of thunder rattled through the lofty narrow 
 streets — but I should first tell you something about this 
 young German. 
 
 Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good family. 
 He had studied for some time at Gottingen, but being of 
 a visionary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered 
 into those wild and speculative doctrines which have so 
 often bewildered German students. His secluded life, 
 his intense application, and the singular nature of his 
 studies, had an effect on both mind and body. His 
 health was impaired ; his imagination diseased. He had 
 been indulging in fanciful speculations on spiritual es- 
 sences, until, like Swedenborg, he had an ideal world of 
 his own around him. He took up a notion, I do not know 
 from what cause, that there was an evil influence hanging 
 over him ; an evil genius or spirit seeking to ensnare him 
 and ensure his perdition. Such an idea working on his 
 
 66/ 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT. 67 
 
 melancholy temperament, produced the most gloomy ef- 
 fects. He became haggard and desponding. His friends 
 discovered the mental malady preying npon him, and de- 
 termined that the best cure was a change of scene ; he 
 was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amid the splen- 
 dors and gayeties of Paris. 
 
 Wolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the 
 revolution. The popular delirium at first caught his en- 
 thusiastic mind, and he was captivated by the political 
 and philosophical theories of the day : but the scenes of 
 blood which followed shocked his sensitive nature, dis- 
 gusted him with society and the world, and made him 
 more than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a soli- 
 tary apartment in the Pays Latin, the quarter of students. 
 There, in a gloomy street not far from the monastic walls 
 of the Sorbonne, he pursued his favorite speculations. 
 Sometimes he spent hours together in the great libraries 
 of Paris, those catacombs of departed authors, rummaging 
 among their hoards of dusty and obsolete works in quest 
 of food for his unhealthy appetite. He was, in a manner, 
 a literary ghoul, feeding in the charnel-house of decayed 
 literature. 
 
 Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of an ar- 
 dent temperament, but for a time it operated merely 
 upon his imagination. He was too shy and ignorant 
 of the world to make any advances to the fair, but he 
 was a passionate admirer of female beauty, and in his 
 lonely chamber would often lose himself in reveries on 
 
68 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 forms and faces which he had seen, and his fancy 
 would deck out images of loveliness far surpassing the 
 reality. 
 
 While his mind was in this excited and sublimated 
 state, a dream produced an extraordinary effect upon 
 him. It was of a female face of transcendent beauty. 
 So strong was the impression made, that he dreamt of it 
 again and again. It haunted his thoughts by day, his 
 slumbers by night ; in fine, he became passionately en- 
 amoured of this shadow of a dream. This lasted so long 
 that it became one of those fixed ideas which haunt the 
 minds of melancholy men, and are at times mistaken for 
 madness. 
 
 Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation 
 at the time I mentioned. He was returning home late 
 one stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy 
 streets of the Marais, the ancient part of Paris. The 
 loud claps of thunder rattled among the high houses of 
 the narrow streets. He came to the Place de Greve, the 
 square where public executions are performed. The 
 lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the ancient 
 Hotel de Yille, and shed flickering gleams over the open 
 space in front. As Wolfgang was crossing the square, he 
 shrank back with horror at finding himself close by the 
 guillotine. It was the height of the reign of terror, when 
 this dreadful instrument of death stood ever ready, and 
 its scaffold was continually running with the blood of the 
 virtuous and the brave. It had that very day been ac- 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT. 69 
 
 fcively employed in the work of carnage, and there it 
 stood in grim array, amidst a silent and sleeping city, 
 waiting for fresh victims. 
 
 Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was 
 turning shuddering from the horrible engine, when he 
 beheld a shadowy form, cowering as it were at the foot 
 of the steps which led np to the scaffold. A succession 
 of vivid flashes of lightning revealed it more distinctly. 
 It was a female figure, dressed in black. She was seated 
 on one of the lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, 
 her face hid in her lap ; and her long dishevelled tresses 
 hanging to the ground, streaming with the rain which 
 fell in torrents. Wolfgang paused. There was some- 
 thing awful in this solitary monument of woe. The fe- 
 male had the appearance of being above the common 
 order. He knew the times to be full of vicissitude, and 
 that many a fair head, which had once been pillowed on 
 down, now wandered houseless. Perhaps this was some 
 poor mourner whom the dreadful axe had rendered deso- 
 late, and who sat here heart-broken on the strand of 
 existence, from which all that was dear to her had been 
 launched into eternity. 
 
 He approached, and addressed her in the accents of 
 sympathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly at him. 
 What was his astonishment at beholding, by the bright 
 glare of the lightning, the very face which had haunted 
 him in his dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but 
 ravishingly beautiful. 
 
70 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 Trembling with violent and conflicting emotions, Wolf- 
 gang again accosted her. He spoke something of her 
 being exposed at such an hour of the night, and to the 
 fury of such a storm, and offered to conduct her to her 
 friends. She pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of 
 dreadful signification. 
 
 " I have no friend on earth ! " said she. 
 
 " But you have a home," said Wolfgang. 
 
 " Yes — in the grave ! " 
 
 The heart of the student melted at the words. 
 
 " If a stranger dare make an offer," said he, " without 
 danger of being misunderstood, I would offer my humble 
 dwelling as a shelter ; myself as a devoted friend. I am 
 friendless myself in Paris, and a stranger in the land ; 
 but if my life could be of service, it is at your disposal, 
 and should be sacrificed before harm or indignity should 
 come to you." 
 
 There was an honest earnestness in the young man's 
 manner that had its effect. His foreign accent, too, was 
 in his favor ; it showed him not to be a hackneyed inhab- 
 itant of Paris. Indeed, there is an eloquence in true en- 
 thusiasm that is not to be doubted. The homeless stran- 
 ger confided herself implicitly to the protection of the 
 student. 
 
 He supported her faltering steps across the Pont Neuf, 
 and by the place where the statue of Henry the Fourth 
 had been overthrown by the populace. The storm had 
 abated, and the thunder rumbled at a distance. All 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT. 71 
 
 Paris was quiet; that great volcano of human passion 
 slumbered for a while, to gather fresh strength for the 
 next day's eruption. The student conducted his charge 
 through the ancient streets of the Pays Latin, and by the 
 dusky walls of the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel 
 which he inhabited. The old portress who admitted 
 them stared with surprise at the unusual sight of the 
 melancholy Wolfgang with a female companion. 
 
 On entering his apartment, the student, for the first 
 time, blushed at the scantiness and indifference of his 
 dwelling. He had but one chamber — an old-fashioned 
 saloon — heavily carved, and fantastically furnished with 
 the remains of former magnificence, for it was one oi 
 those hotels in the quarter of the Luxembourg palace, 
 which had once belonged to nobility. It was lum- 
 bered with books and papers, and all the usual appa- 
 ratus of a student, and his bed stood in a recess at one 
 end. 
 
 When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a better 
 opportunity of contemplating the stranger, he was more 
 than ever intoxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, 
 but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a profusion of raven 
 hair that hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large 
 and brilliant, with a singular expression approaching 
 almost to wildness. As far as her black dress permitted 
 her shape to be seen, it was of perfect symmetry. Her 
 whole appearance was highly striking, though she was 
 dressed in the simplest style. The only thing approach- 
 
72 TALES OF A TBA VELLEU. 
 
 ing to an ornament which she wore, was a broad black 
 band round her neck, clasped by diamonds. 
 
 The perplexity now commenced with the student how 
 to dispose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his 
 protection. He thought of abandoning his chamber to 
 her, and seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. Still, he 
 was so fascinated by her charms, there seemed to be such 
 a spell upon his thoughts and senses, that he could not 
 tear himself from her presence. Her manner, too, was 
 singular and unaccountable. She spoke no more of the 
 guillotine. Her grief had abated. The attentions of 
 the student had first won her confidence, and then, 
 apparently, her heart. She was evidently an enthusiast 
 like himself, and enthusiasts soon understand each other. 
 
 In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgang avowed his 
 passion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious 
 dream, and how she had possessed his heart before he 
 had even seen her. She was strangely affected by his re- 
 cital, and acknowledged to have felt an impulse towards 
 him equally unaccountable. It was the time for wild 
 theory and wild actions. Old prejudices and super- 
 stitions were done away ; everything was under the sway 
 of the " Goddess of Keason." Among other rubbish of 
 the old times, the forms and ceremonies of marriage 
 began to be considered superfluous bonds for honorable 
 minds. Social compacts were the vogue. "Wolfgang was 
 too much of a theorist not to be tainted by the libera] 
 doctrines of the day. 
 
THE GERMAN STUDENT. 73 
 
 " Why should we separate ? " said he : " our hearts are 
 united ; in the eye of reason and honor we are as one. 
 What need is there of sordid forms to bind high souls 
 together ? " 
 
 The stranger listened with emotion : she had evidently 
 received illumination at the same school. 
 
 "You have no home nor family," continued he: "let 
 me be everything to you, or rather let us be everything 
 to one another. If form is necessary, form shall be 
 observed— there is my hand. I pledge myself to you 
 forever." 
 
 " Forever ? " said the stranger, solemnly. 
 
 " Forever ! " replied Wolfgang. 
 
 The stranger clasped the hand extended to her: 
 " Then I am yours," murmured she, and sank upon his 
 bosom. 
 
 The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, 
 and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spa- 
 cious apartments suitable to the change in his situation. 
 When he returned, he found the stranger lying with 
 her head hanging over the bed, and one arm thrown 
 over it. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He 
 advanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. On 
 taking her hand, it was cold— there was no pulsation — 
 her face was pallid and ghastly. In a word, she was a 
 corpse. 
 
 Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene 
 of confusion ensued. The police was summoned. As 
 
74 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 the officer of police entered the room, he started back on 
 beholding the corpse. 
 
 " Great heaven ! " cried he, " how did this woman come 
 here ? " 
 
 " Do you know anything about her ? " said Wolfgang 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Do I ? " exclaimed the officer : " she was guillotined 
 yesterday. 
 
 He stepped forward ; undid the black collar round the 
 neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor ! 
 
 The student burst into a frenzy. "The fiend! the 
 fiend has gained possession of me ! " shrieked he : "I am 
 lost forever." 
 
 They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was pos- 
 sessed with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had 
 reanimated the dead body to ensnare him. He went 
 distracted, and died in a mad-house. 
 
 Here the old gentleman with the haunted head fin- 
 ished his narrative. 
 
 " And is this really a fact ? " said the inquisitive gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. "I had 
 it from the best authority. The student told it me him- 
 self. I saw him in a mad-house in Paris." 
 
ADVENTUKE OF THE MYSTEEIOUS 
 PICTUKE. 
 
 S one story of a kind produces another, and as 
 all the company seemed fully engrossed with 
 the subject, and disposed to bring their rela- 
 tives and ancestors upon the scene, there is no knowing 
 how many more strange adventures we might have heard, 
 had not a corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept 
 soundly through the whole, now suddenly awakened, 
 with a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke the 
 charm : the ghosts took to flight, as though it had been 
 cock-crowing, and there was a universal move for bed. 
 
 "And now for the haunted chamber," said the Irish 
 Captain, taking his candle. 
 
 "Ay, who's to be the hero of the night? " said the gen- 
 tleman with the ruined head. 
 
 "That we shall see in the morning," said the old 
 gentleman with the nose : " whoever looks pale and 
 grizzly will have seen the ghost." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, " there's many a 
 true thing said in jest — in fact, one of you will sleep in 
 the room to-night " 
 
 " What — a haunted room ? — a haunted room ? — I claim 
 
 75 
 
76 TALES OF A TEA VELLER, 
 
 the adventure— and I— and I — and I," said a dozen 
 guests, talking and laughing at the same time. 
 
 " No, no," said mine host, " there is a secret about one 
 of my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experi- 
 ment : so, gentlemen, none of you shalj. know who has 
 the haunted chamber until circumstances reveal it. I 
 will not even know it myself, but will leave it to chance 
 and the allotment of the housekeeper. At the same 
 time, if it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe, 
 for the honor of my paternal mansion, that there's 
 scarcely a chamber in it but is well worthy of being 
 haunted." 
 
 We now separated for the night, and each went to his 
 allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and 
 I could not but smile at its resemblance in style to those 
 eventful apartments described in the tales of the supper- 
 table. It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with 
 lamp-black portraits ; a bed of ancient damask, with a 
 tester sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, and a 
 number of massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture. I 
 drew a great claw-footed arm-chair before the wide fire- 
 place ; stirred up the fire ; sat looking into it, and 
 musing upon the odd stories I had heard, until, partly 
 overcome by the fatigue of the day's hunting, and partly 
 by the wine and wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my 
 chair. 
 
 The uneasiness of my position made my slumber 
 troubled, and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild 
 
TEE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 77 
 
 and fearful dreams. Now it was that my perfidious din- 
 ner and supper rose in rebellion against my peace. I was 
 hag-ridden by a fat saddle of mutton; a plum-pudding 
 weighed like lead upon my conscience ; the merry-thought 
 of a capon filled me with horrible suggestions ; and 
 a devilled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of dia- 
 bolical shapes through my imagination. In short, I had 
 a violent fit of the nightmare. Some strange, indefinite 
 evil seemed hanging over me which I could not avert ; 
 something terrible and loathsome oppressed me which I 
 could not shake off. I was conscious of being asleep, 
 and strove to rouse myself, but every effort redoubled 
 the evil ; until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I 
 suddenly sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke. 
 
 The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, and the 
 wick was divided ; there was a great winding-sheet made 
 by the dripping wax on the side towards me. ' The dis- 
 ordered taper emitted a broad flaring flame, and threw a 
 strong light on a painting over the fireplace which I had 
 not hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, or 
 rather a face, staring full upon me, with an expression 
 that was startling. It was without a frame, and at the 
 first glance I could hardly persuade myself that it was 
 uot a real face thrusting itself out of the dark oaken 
 panel. I sat in my chair gazing at it, and the more I 
 gazed, the more it disquieted me. I had never before 
 been affected in the same way by any painting. The 
 emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. They 
 
78 TALES OF A TliA VELLER. 
 
 were something like what I have heard ascribed to the 
 eyes of the basilisk, or like that mysterious influence in 
 reptiles termed fascination. I passed my hand over my 
 eyes several times, as if seeking instinctively to brush 
 away the illusion — in vain. They instantly reverted to 
 the picture, and its chilling, creeping influence over my 
 flesh and blood was redoubled. I looked round the room 
 on other pictures, either to divert my attention, or to see 
 whether the same effect would be produced by them. 
 Some of them were grim enough to produce the effect, if 
 the mere grimness of the painting produced it. — No such 
 thing — my eye passed over them all with perfect indiffer- 
 ence, but the moment it reverted to this visage over the 
 fireplace, it was as if an electric shock darted through 
 me. The other pictures were dim and faded, but this 
 one protruded from a plain background in the strongest 
 relief, and with wonderful truth of coloring. The expres- 
 sion was that of agony — the agony of intense bodily pain ; 
 but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few sprink- 
 lings of blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it was not 
 all these characteristics ; it was some horror of the mind, 
 some inscrutable antipathy awakened by this picture, 
 which harrowed up my feelings. 
 
 I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical, 
 that my brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's 
 good cheer, and in some measure by the odd stories 
 about paintings which had been told at supper. I de- 
 termined to shake off these vapors of the mind; rose 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 79 
 
 from my chair; walked about the room; snapped my 
 fingers ; rallied myself ; laughed aloud. — It was a forced 
 laugh, and the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon 
 my ear. — I walked to the window, and tried to discern 
 the landscape through the glass. It was pitch darkness, 
 and a howling storm without ; and as I heard the wind 
 moan among the trees, I caught a reflection of this ac- 
 cursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it were 
 staring through the window at me. Even the reflection 
 of it was thrilling. 
 
 How was this vile nervous fit, for such I now per- 
 suaded myself it was, to be conquered ? I determined to 
 force myself not to look at the painting, but to undress 
 quickly and get into bed. — I began to undress, but in 
 spite of every effort I could not keep myself from stealing 
 a glance every now and then at the picture ; and a glance 
 was sufficient to distress me. Even when my back was 
 turned to it, the idea of this strange face behind me, 
 peeping over my shoulder, was insupportable. I threw 
 off my clothes and hurried into bed, but still this visage 
 gazed upon me. I had a full view of it in my bed, and 
 for some time could not take my eyes from it. I had 
 grown nervous to a dismal degree. I put out the light, 
 and tried to force myself to sleep — all in vain. The fire 
 gleaming up. a little, threw an uncertain light about the 
 room, leaving, however, the region of the picture in deep 
 shadow. What, thought I, if this be the chamber about 
 which mine host spoke as having a mystery reigning over 
 
gQ TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 it? I had taken his words merely as spoken in jest; 
 might they have a real import ? I looked around. The 
 faintly lighted apartment had all the qualifications requi- 
 site for a haunted chamber. It began in my infected 
 imagination to assume strange appearances — the old por- 
 traits turned paler and paler, and blacker and blacker ; 
 the streaks of light and shadow thrown among the quaint 
 articles of furniture gave them more singular shapes and 
 characters. — There was a huge dark clothes-press of an- 
 tique form, gorgeous in brass and lustrous with wax, that 
 began to grow oppressive to me. 
 
 "Am I then," thought I, "indeed the hero of the 
 haunted room ? Is there really a spell laid upon me, or 
 is this all some contrivance of mine host to raise a laugh 
 at my expense ? " The idea of being hag-ridden by my 
 own fancy all night, and then bantered on my haggard 
 looks the next day, was intolerable ; but the very idea 
 was sufficient to produce the effect, and to render me still 
 more nervous. — " Pish," said I, " it can be no such thing. 
 How could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man, 
 would be so worried by a mere picture ? It is my own 
 diseased imagination that torments me." 
 
 I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to 
 fall asleep ; but all in vain ; when one cannot get asleep 
 by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will effect 
 the purpose. The fire gradually went out, and left the 
 room in total darkness. Still I had the idea of that inex- 
 plicable countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 81 
 
 through the gloom — nay, what was worse, the very dark- 
 ness seemed to magnify its terrors. It was like having 
 an unseen enemy hanging about one in the night. In- 
 stead of having one picture now to worry me, I had a 
 hundred. I fancied it in every direction — " There it is," 
 thought I, " and there ! and there ! with its horrible and 
 mysterious expression still gazing and gazing on me! 
 No — if I must suffer the strange and dismal influence, it 
 were better face a single foe than thus be haunted by a 
 thousand images of it." 
 
 Whoever has been in a state of nervous agitation, must 
 know that the longer it continues the more uncontrol- 
 lable it grows. The very air of the chamber seemed at 
 length infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I 
 fancied it hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful vis- 
 age from the wall approaching my face — it seemed breath- 
 ing upon me. " This is not to be borne," said I, at length, 
 springing out of bed : " I can stand this no longer — I 
 shall only tumble and toss about here all night ; make a 
 very spectre of myself, and become the hero of the 
 haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever be the ill 
 consequences, I'll quit this cursed room and seek a 
 night's rest elsewhere — they can but laugh at me, at all 
 events, and they'll be sure to have the laugh upon me if 
 I pass a sleepless night, and show them a haggard and 
 woe-begone visage in the morning." 
 
 All this was half- muttered to myself as I hastily 
 slipped on my clothes, which having done, I groped my 
 
82 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 way out of the room and down-stairs to the drawing- 
 room. Here, after tumbling over two or three pieces of 
 furniture, I made out to reach a sofa, and stretching my- 
 self upon it, determined to bivouac there for the night. 
 The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of 
 that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were 
 broken. All its influence was at an end. I felt assured 
 that it was confined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, 
 with a sort of instinctive caution, turned the key when I 
 closed the door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a 
 state of tranquillity; from that into a drowsiness, and 
 finally into a deep sleep ; out of which I did not awake 
 until the housemaid, with her besom and her matin-song, 
 came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me 
 stretched upon the sofa, but I presume circumstances of 
 the kind were not uncommon after hunting-dinners in 
 her master's bachelor establishment, for she went on 
 with her song and her work, and took no further heed 
 of me. 
 
 I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my 
 chamber ; so I found my way to the butler's quarters, 
 made my toilet in the best way circumstances would per- 
 mit, and was among the first to appear at the breakfast- 
 table. Our breakfast was a substantial fox-hunter's repast, 
 and the company generally assembled at it. When ample 
 justice had been done to the tea, coffee, cold meats, and 
 humming ale, for all these were furnished in abundance, 
 according to the tastes of the different guests, the con- 
 
THE MYSTERIOUb PICTURE. 83 
 
 versation began to break out with all the liveliness and 
 freshness of morning mirth. 
 
 " But who is the hero of the haunted chamber — who 
 has seen the ghost last night ? " said the inquisitive gen- 
 tleman, rolling his lobster-eyes about the table. 
 
 The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast deal 
 of bantering, criticizing of countenances, of mutual accu- 
 sation and retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and 
 some were unshaven, so that there were suspicious faces 
 enough in the assembly. I alone could not enter with 
 ease and vivacity into the joke — I felt tongue-tied, embar- 
 rassed. A recollection of what I had seen and felt the 
 preceding night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if 
 the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me. I 
 thought also that our host's eye was turned on me with 
 an air of curiosity. In short, I was conscious that I was 
 the hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read 
 it in my looks. The joke, however, passed over, and no 
 suspicion seemed to attach to me. I was just congratu- 
 lating myself on my escape, when a servant came in say- 
 ing, that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in the 
 drawing-room had left his watch under one of the pillows. 
 My repeater was in his hand. 
 
 " What ! " said the inquisitive gentleman, " did any 
 gentleman sleep on the sofa ? " 
 
 " Soho ! soho ! a hare — a hare ! " cried the old gentle- 
 man with the flexible nose. 
 
 I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was 
 
84 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 rising in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire 
 who sat beside me exclaimed, slapping me on the shoul- 
 der, " 'Sblood, lad, thou art the man as has seen the 
 ghost ! " 
 
 The attention of the company was immediately turned 
 on me : if my face had been pale the moment before, it 
 now glowed almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but 
 could only make a grimace, and found the muscles of my 
 face twitching at sixes and sevens, and totally out of all 
 control. 
 
 It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox- 
 hunters ; there was a world of merriment and joking on 
 the subject, and as I never relished a joke overmuch 
 when it was at my own expense, I began to feel a little 
 nettled. I tried to look cool and calm, and to restrain 
 my pique ; but the coolness and calmness of a man in a 
 passion are confounded treacherous. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said I, with a slight cocking of the chin 
 and a bad attempt at a smile, " this is all very pleasant — 
 ha ! ha ! — very pleasant — but I'd have you know, I am as 
 little superstitious as any of you — ha ! ha ! — and as to 
 anything like timidity — you may smile, gentlemen, but I 
 trust there's no one here means to insinuate, that — as to 
 a room's being haunted — I repeat, gentlemen, (growing a 
 little warm at seeing a cursed grin breaking out round 
 me,) as to a room's being haunted, I have as little faith 
 in such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the 
 matter home to me, I will say that I have met with some- 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 
 
 85 
 
 thing in my room strange and inexplicable to me. (A 
 shout of laughter.) Gentlemen, I am serious ; I know 
 well what I am saying ; I am calm, gentlemen, (striking 
 my fist upon the table,) by Heaven I am calm. I 
 am neither trifling, nor do I wish to be trifled with. 
 (The laughter of the company suppressed, and with 
 ludicrous attempts at gravity.) There is a picture in 
 the room in which I was put last night, that has had 
 an effect upon me the most singular and incompre- 
 hensible." 
 
 " A picture ? " said the old gentleman with the haunted 
 head. " A picture ! " cried the narrator with the nose. 
 " A picture ! a picture ! " echoed several voices. Here 
 there was an ungovernable peal of laughter. I could 
 not contain myself. I started up from my seat ; looked 
 round on the company with fiery indignation; thrust 
 both of my hands into my pockets, and strode up to 
 one of the windows as though I would have walked 
 through it. I stopped short, looked out upon the land- 
 scape without distinguishing a feature of it, and felt 
 my gorge rising almost to suffocation. 
 
 Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had main- 
 tained an air of gravity through the whole of the scene ; 
 and now stepped forth, as if to shelter me from the over- 
 whelming merriment of my companions. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, but 
 you have had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted 
 chamber has been enjoyed. I must now take the part of 
 
86 TALES OF A TRA VELLEU 
 
 my guest. I must not only vindicate him from you* 
 pleasantries, but I must reconcile him to himself, for I 
 suspect he is a little out of humor with his own feelings ; 
 and, above all, I must crave his pardon for having made 
 him the subject of a kind of experiment. Yes, gentlemen, 
 there is something strange and peculiar in the chamber 
 to which our friend was shown last night; there is a 
 picture in my house which possesses a singular and mys- 
 terious influence, and with which there is connected a 
 very curious story. It is a picture to which I attach a 
 value from a variety of circumstances ; and though I have 
 often been tempted to destroy it, from the odd and 
 uncomfortable sensations which it produces in every one 
 that beholds it, yet I have never been able to prevail 
 upon myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I 
 never like to look upon myself, and which is held in awe 
 by all my servants. I have therefore banished it to a 
 room but rarely used, and should have had it covered 
 last night, had not the nature of our conversation, and 
 the whimsical talk about a haunted chamber, tempted me 
 to let it remain, by way of experiment, to see whether a 
 stranger, totally unacquainted with its story, would be 
 affected by it." 
 
 The words of the Baronet had turned every thought 
 into a different channel. All were anxious to hear the 
 story of the mysterious picture ; and, for myself, so 
 strangely were my feelings interested, that I forgot to 
 feel piqued at the experiment my host had made upon 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS PfCTORR 87 
 
 my nerves, and joined eagerly in the general entreaty. 
 As the morning was stormy, and denied all egress, 
 my host was glad of any means of entertaining his com- 
 pany ; so, drawing his arm-chair towards the fire, he 
 began* 
 
F 
 
 ADVENTURE OP THE MYSTERIOUS 
 STRANGER. 
 
 ANY years since, when I was a young man, and 
 had just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand 
 tour to finish my education. I believe my pa- 
 rents had tried in vain to inoculate me with wisdom ; so 
 they sent me to mingle with society, in hopes that I 
 might take it the natural way. Such, at least, appears 
 the reason for which nine-tenths of our youngsters are 
 sent abroad. In the course of my tour I remained some 
 time at Venice. The romantic character of that place 
 delighted me ; I was very much amused by the air of 
 adventure and intrigue prevalent in this region of masks 
 and gondolas ; and I was exceedingly smitten by a pair 
 of languishing black eyes, that played upon my heart 
 from under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded myself 
 that I was lingering at Venice to study men and man- 
 ners ; at least I persuaded my friends so, and that an- 
 swered all my purposes. 
 
 I was a little prone to be struck by peculiarities in 
 character and conduct, and my imagination was so full 
 of romantic associations with Italy that I was always on 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANG EK 89 
 
 the look-out for adventure. Everything chimed in with 
 such a humor in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of 
 apartments were in a proud, melancholy palace on the 
 grand canal, formerly the residence of a magnifico, and 
 sumptuous with the traces of decayed grandeur. My 
 gondolier was one of the shrewdest of his class, active, 
 merry, intelligent, and, like his brethren, secret as the 
 grave ; that is to say, secret to all the world except his 
 master. I had not had him a week before he put me 
 behind all the curtains in Venice. I liked the silence and 
 mystery of the place, and when I sometimes saw from my 
 window a black gondola gliding mysteriously along in 
 the dusk of the evening, with nothing visible but its little 
 glimmering lantern, I would jump into my own zende- 
 letta, and give a signal for pursuit — " But I am running 
 away from my subject with the recollection of youthful 
 follies," said the Baronet, checking himself. " Let us 
 come to the point." 
 
 Among my familiar resorts was a casino under the 
 arcades on one side of the grand square of St. Mark. 
 Here I used frequently to lounge and take my ice, on 
 those warm summer-nights, when in Italy everybody 
 lives abroad until morning. I was seated here one even- 
 ing, when a group of Italians took their seat at a table 
 on the opposite side of the saloon. Their conversation 
 was gay and animated, and carried on with Italian vivac- 
 ity and gesticulation. I remarked among them one 
 young man, however, who appeared to take no share, 
 
90 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 and find no enjoyment in the conversation, though he 
 seemed to force himself to attend to it. He was tall and 
 slender, and of extremely prepossessing appearance. His 
 features were fine, though emaciated. He had a profu- 
 sion of black glossy hair, that curled lightly about his 
 head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his 
 countenance. His brow was haggard ; deep furrows 
 seemed to have been ploughed into his visage by care, 
 not by age, for he was evidently in the prime of youth. 
 His eye was full of expression and fire, but wild and un- 
 steady. He seemed to be tormented by some strange 
 fancy or apprehension. In spite of every effort to fix 
 his attention on the conversation of his companions, I 
 noticed that every now and then he would turn his head 
 slowly round, give a glance over his shoulder, and then 
 withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if something painful 
 met his eye. This was repeated at intervals of about a 
 minute, and he appeared hardly to have recovered from 
 one shock, before I saw him slowly preparing to encoun- 
 ter another. 
 
 After sitting some time in the casino, the party paid 
 for the refreshment they had taken, and departed. The 
 young man was the last to leave the saloon, and I re- 
 marked him glancing behind him in the same way, just 
 as he passed out of the door. I could not resist the im- 
 pulse to rise and follow him ; for I was at an age when a 
 romantic feeling of curiosity is easily awakened. The 
 party walked slowly down the arcades, talking arid 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 91 
 
 laughing as they went. They crossed the Piazetta, but 
 paused in the middle of it to enjoy the scene. It was 
 one of those moonlight nights, so brilliant and clear in 
 the pure atmosphere of Italy. The moonbeams streamed 
 on the tall tower of St. Mark, and lighted up the magnifi- 
 cent front and swelling domes of the cathedral. The 
 party expressed their delight in animated terms. I kept 
 my eye upon the young man. He alone seemed ab- 
 stracted and self-occupied. I noticed the same singu- 
 lar and, as it were, furtive glance over the shoulder, 
 which had attracted my attention in the casino. The 
 party moved on, and I followed ; they passed along the 
 walk called the Broglio, turned the corner of the Ducal 
 Palace, and getting into the gondola, glided swiftly 
 away. 
 
 The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt 
 upon my mind, and interested me exceedingly. I met him 
 a day or two afterwards in a gallery of paintings. He was 
 evidently a connoisseur, for he always singled out the 
 most masterly productions, and a few remarks drawn 
 from him by his companions showed an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with the art. His own taste, however, ran on 
 singular extremes. On Salvator Rosa, in his most sav- 
 age and solitary scenes ; on Raphael, Titian, and Cor- 
 reggio, in their softest delineations of female beauty ; 
 on these he would occasionally gaze with transient 
 enthusiasm. But this seemed only a momentary for- 
 ge tfulness. Still would recur that cautious glance be* 
 
92 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 hind, and always quickly withdrawn, as though some- 
 thing terrible met his view. 
 
 I encountered him frequently afterwards at the theatre, 
 at balls, at concerts ; at promenades in the gardens of 
 San Georgio ; at the grotesque exhibitions in the square 
 of St. Mark ; among the throng of merchants on the ex- 
 change by the Bialto. He seemed, in fact, to seek 
 crowds ; to hunt after bustle and amusement ; yet never 
 to take any interest in either the business or the gayety 
 of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of wretched 
 abstraction; and ever that strange and recurring move- 
 ment of glancing fearfully over the shoulder. I did not 
 know at first but this might be caused by apprehension 
 of arrest ; or, perhaps, from dread of assassination. But 
 if so, why should he go thus continually abroad ? why ex- 
 pose himself at all times and in all places ? 
 
 I became anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn 
 to him by that romantic sympathy which sometimes 
 draws young men towards each other. His melancholy 
 threw a charm about him, no doubt heightened by the 
 touching expression of his countenance, and the manly 
 graces of his person ; for manly beauty has its effect 
 even upon men. I had an Englishman's habitual diffi- 
 dence and awkwardness to contend with ; but from fre- 
 quently meeting him in the casinos, I gradually edged my- 
 self into his acquaintance. I had no reserve on his part 
 to contend with. He seemed, on the contrary, to court 
 society ; and, in fact, to seek any thing rather than be alone* 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 93 
 
 When lie found that I really took an interest in him, 
 he threw himself entirely on my friendship. He clung to 
 me like a drowning man. He would walk with me for 
 hours up and down the place of St. Mark — or would sit, 
 until night was far advanced, in my apartments. He took 
 rooms under the same roof with me ; and his constant re- 
 quest was that I would permit him, when it did not in- 
 commode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was not that 
 he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversa- 
 tion, but rather that he craved the vicinity of a human 
 being ; and, above all, of a being that sympathized with 
 him. " I have often heard," said he, " of the sincerity of 
 Englishmen— thank God I have one at length for a 
 friend ! " 
 
 Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my 
 sympathy other than by mere companionship. He never 
 sought to unbosom himself to me : there appeared to be 
 a settled corroding anguish in his bosom that neither 
 could be soothed "by silence nor by speaking." 
 
 A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, and 
 seemed to be drying up the very blood in his veins. It 
 was not a soft melancholy, the disease of the affections, 
 but a parching, withering agony. I could see at times 
 that his mouth was dry and feverish ; he panted rather 
 than breathed ; his eyes were bloodshot ; his cheeks pale 
 and livid ; with now and then faint streaks of red athwart 
 them, baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming his 
 heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him press it at 
 
94 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 times with a convulsive motion to his side ; his hands 
 would clinch themselves involuntarily, and a kind of 
 shudder would run through his frame. 
 
 I reasoned with him about his melancholy, sought to 
 draw from him the cause ; he shrunk from all confiding ; 
 " Do not seek to know it," said he, "you could not relieve 
 it if you knew it ; you would not even seek to relieve it. 
 On the contrary, I should lose your sympathy, and that," 
 said he, pressing my hand convulsively, " that I feel has 
 become too dear to me to risk." 
 
 I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He was 
 young ; life had a thousand pleasures in store for him ; 
 there was a healthy reaction in the youthful heart; it 
 medicines all its own wounds ; " Come, come," said I, 
 " there is no grief so great that youth cannot outgrow it." 
 — " No ! no ! " said he, clinching his teeth, and striking 
 repeatedly, with the energy of despair, on his bosom,— 
 " it is here ! here ! deep-rooted ; draining my heart's 
 blood. It grows and grows, while my heart withers 
 and withers. I have a dreadful monitor that gives 
 me no repose — that follows me step by step — and 
 will follow me step by step, until it pushes me into my 
 grave ! " 
 
 As he said this he involuntarily gave one of those fear- 
 ful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more 
 than usual horror. I could not resist the temptation to 
 allude to this movement, which I supposed to be some 
 mere malady of the nerves. The moment I mentioned it. 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 95 
 
 his face became crimsoned and convulsed ; he grasped me 
 by both hands — 
 
 " For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing voice, 
 " never allude to that again. — Let us avoid this subject, 
 my friend; you cannot relieve me, indeed you cannot 
 relieve me, but you may add to the torments I suffer.— 
 At some future day you shall know all." 
 
 I never resumed the subject ; for however much my 
 curiosity might be roused, I felt too true a compassion 
 for his sufferings to increase them by my intrusion. I 
 sought various ways to divert his mind, and to arouse 
 him from the constant meditations in which he was 
 plunged. He saw my efforts, and seconded them as far 
 as in his power, for there was nothing moody or wayward 
 in his nature. On the contrary, there was something 
 frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment. 
 All the sentiments he uttered were noble and lofty. He 
 claimed no indulgence, asked no toleration, but seemed 
 content to carry his load of misery in silence, and only 
 sought to carry it by my side. There was a mute 
 beseeching manner about him, as if he craved com- 
 panionship as a charitable boon ; and a tacit thankful- 
 ness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to me for not 
 repulsing him. 
 
 I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over 
 my spirits ; interfered with all my gay pursuits, and 
 gradually saddened my life ; yet I could not prevail upon 
 myself to shake off a being who seemed to hang upon me 
 
96 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 for support. In truth, the generous traits of character 
 which beamed through all his gloom penetrated to my 
 heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed; his 
 charity melting and spontaneous ; not confined to mere 
 donations, which humiliate as much as they relieve. The 
 tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every 
 gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest 
 and sweetest of charities, the charity not merely of the 
 hand, but of the heart. Indeed his liberality seemed to 
 have something in it of self-abasement and expiation. 
 He, in a manner, humbled himself before the mendicant. 
 "What right have I to ease and affluence" — would he 
 murmur to himself — "when innocence wanders in misery 
 and rags ? " 
 
 The carnival-time arrived. I hoped the gay scenes 
 then presented might have some cheering effect. I min- 
 gled with him in the motley throng that crowded the 
 place of St. Mark. We frequented operas, masquerades, 
 balls — all in vain. The evil kept growing on him. He 
 became more and more haggard and agitated. Often, 
 after we had returned from one of these scenes of rev- 
 elry, I have entered his room and found him lying on his 
 face on the sofa; his hands clinched in his fine hair, and 
 his whole countenance bearing traces of the convulsions 
 of his mind. 
 
 The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent suc- 
 ceeded ; passion-week arrived ; we attended one evening 
 
 a solemn service in one of the churches, in the course of 
 
 p 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 97 
 
 which a grand piece of vocal and instrumental music was 
 performed relating to the death of our Saviour. 
 
 I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected 
 by music ; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary 
 degree. As the pealing notes swelled through the lofty 
 aisles, he seemed to kindle with fervor ; his eyes rolled 
 upwards, until nothing but the whites were visible ; his 
 hands were clasped together, until the fingers were 
 deeply imprinted in the flesh. When the music expressed 
 the dying agony, his face gradually sank upon his knees ; 
 and at the touching words resounding through the 
 church, " Gesu mori," sobs burst from him uncontrolled — 
 I had never seen him weep before. His had always been 
 agony rather than sorrow. I augured well from the cir- 
 cumstance, and let him weep on uninterrupted. When 
 the service was ended, we left the church. He hung on 
 my arm as we walked homewards with something of a 
 softer and more subdued manner, instead of that nervous 
 agitation I had been accustomed to witness. He alluded 
 to the service we had heard. " Music," said he, " is in- 
 deed the voice of heaven ; never before have I felt more 
 impressed by the story of the atonement of our Saviour. 
 — Yes, my friend," said he, clasping his hands with a 
 kind of transport, " I know that my Redeemer liveth ! " 
 
 We parted for the night. His room was not far from 
 
 mine, and I heard him for some time busied in it. I fell 
 
 asleep, but was awakened before daylight. The young 
 
 man stood by my bedside, dressed for travelling. He 
 
 7 
 
98 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 held a sealed packet and a large parcel in his hand 
 which he laid on the table. 
 
 "Farewell, my friend," said he, " I am about to set 
 forth on a long journey ; but, before I go, I leave with 
 you these remembrances. In this packet you will find 
 the particulars of my story. When you read them 1 
 shall be far away ; do not remember me with aversion. — 
 You have been indeed a friend to me. — You have poured 
 oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. Fare- 
 well ! let me kiss your hand — I am unworthy to embrace 
 you." He sank on his knees, seized my hand in despite 
 of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with kisses. 
 I was so surprised by all the scene, that I had not been 
 able to say a word. — "But we shall meet again," said 
 I, hastily, as I saw him hurrying towards the door. 
 " Never, never, in this world ! " said he, solemnly. — He 
 sprang once more to my bedside — seized my hand, 
 pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and rushed out of 
 the room. 
 
 Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, 
 and sat looking upon the floor, and drumming with his 
 fingers on the arm of his chair. 
 
 "And did this mysterious personage return?" said the 
 inquisitive gentleman. 
 
 " Never ! " replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake 
 of the head, — " I never saw him again." 
 
 " And pray what has all this to do with the picture ? " 
 inquired the old gentleman with the nose. 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 99 
 
 " True," said the questioner ; " is it the portrait of that 
 crack-brained Italian ? " 
 
 "No," said the Baronet, dryly, not half liking the ap- 
 pellation given to his hero ; " but this picture was en- 
 closed in the parcel he left with me. The sealed packet 
 contained its explanation. There was a request on the 
 outside that I would not open it until six months had 
 elapsed. I kept my promise in spite of my curiosity. 
 I have a translation of it by me, and had meant to read 
 it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the chamber ; 
 but I fear I have already detained the company too 
 long." 
 
 Here there was a general wish expressed to have the 
 manuscript read, particularly on the part of the inquisi- 
 tive gentleman ; so the worthy Baronet drew out a fairly- 
 written manuscript, and, wiping his spectacles, read 
 aloud the following story. — 
 
THE STOEY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 
 
 WAS born at Naples. My parents, though oi 
 noble rank, were limited in fortune, or rather, 
 my father was ostentatious beyond his means, 
 and expended so much on his palace, his equipage, and 
 his retinue, that he was continually straitened in his 
 pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and 
 looked upon with indifference by my father, who, from a 
 principle of family-pride, wished to leave all his property 
 to my elder brother. I showed, when quite a child, an 
 extreme sensibility. Everything affected me violently. 
 While yet an infant in my mother's arms, and before I 
 had learned to talk, I could be wrought upon to a won- 
 derful degree of anguish or delight by the power of 
 music. As I grew older, my feelings remained equally 
 acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms of 
 pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my relations 
 and of the domestics to play upon this irritable tempera- 
 ment. I was moved to tears, tickled to laughter, pro- 
 voked to fury, for the entertainment of company, who 
 were amused by such a tempest of mighty passion in a 
 pigmy frame ; — they little thought, or perhaps little 
 heeded the dangerous sensibilities they were fostering. 
 
 100 
 
THE TO UNO ITALIAN. 101 
 
 I thus became a little creature of passion before reason 
 was developed. In a short time I grew too old to be a 
 plaything, and then I became a torment. The tricks and 
 passions I had been teased into became irksome, and I 
 was disliked by my teachers for the very lessons they 
 had taught me. My mother died ; and my powef as a 
 spoiled child was at an end. There was no longer any 
 necessity to humor or tolerate me, for there was nothing 
 to be gained by it, as I was no favorite of my father. I 
 therefore experienced the fate of a spoiled child in 
 such a situation, and was neglected, or noticed only to 
 be crossed and contradicted. Such was the early treat- 
 ment of a heart which, if I can judge of it at all, was 
 naturally disposed to the extremes of tenderness and 
 affection. 
 
 My father, as I have already said, never liked me — in 
 fact, he never understood me ; he looked upon me as 
 wilful and wayward, as deficient in natural affection. It 
 was the stateliness of his own manner, the loftiness and 
 grandeur of his own look, which had repelled me from his 
 arms. I always pictured him to myself as I had seen 
 him, clad in his senatorial robes, rustling with pomp and 
 pride. The magnificence of his person daunted my young 
 imagination. I could never approach him with the con- 
 fiding affection of a child. 
 
 My father's feelings were wrapt up in my elder 
 brother. He was to be the inheritor of the family- 
 title and the family-dignity, and everything was sacri- 
 
102 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 ficed to him — I, as well as everything else. It was de- 
 termined to devote me to the Church, that so my humors 
 and myself might be removed out of the way, either of 
 tasking my father's time and trouble, or interfering with 
 the interests of my brother. At an early age, therefore, 
 before my mind had dawned upon the world and its de- 
 lights, or known anything of it beyond the precincts of 
 my father's palace, I was sent to a convent, the superior 
 of which was my uncle, and was confided entirsly to his 
 care. 
 
 My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world : 
 he had never relished, for he had never tasted its pleas- 
 ures ; and he regarded rigid self-denial as the great basis 
 of Christian virtue. He considered every one's tempera- 
 ment like his own ; or at least he made them conform to 
 it. His character and habits had an influence over the 
 fraternity of winch he was superior : a more gloomy, 
 saturnine set of beings were never assembled together. 
 The convent, too, was calculated to awaken sad and soli- 
 tary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of 
 those mountains away south of Vesuvius. All distant 
 views were shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A 
 mountain-stream raved beneath its walls, and eagles 
 screamed about its turrets. 
 
 I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as 
 soon to lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had 
 left behind. As my mind expanded, therefore, it formed 
 its idea of the world from the convent and its vicinity, 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 103 
 
 and a dreary world it appeared to me. An early tinge of 
 melancholy was thus infused into my character ; and the 
 dismal stories of the monks, about devils and evil spirits, 
 with which they affrighted my young imagination, gave 
 me a tendency to superstition which I could never ef- 
 fectually shake off. They took the same delight to work 
 upon my ardent feelings, that had been so mischievously 
 executed by my father's household. I can recollect the 
 horrors with which they fed my heated fancy during an 
 eruption of Vesuvius. We were distant from that vol- 
 cano, with mountains between us ; but its convulsive 
 throes shook the solid foundations of nature. Earth- 
 quakes threatened to topple down our convent-towers. 
 A lurid, baleful light hung in the heavens at night, and 
 showers of ashes, borne by the wind, fell in our narrow 
 valley. The monks talked of the earth being honey- 
 combed beneath us ; of streams of molten lava raging 
 through its veins ; of caverns of sulphurous flames roar- 
 ing in the centre, the abodes of demons and the damned ; 
 of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our feet. All these 
 tales were told to the doleful accompaniment of the 
 mountain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the walls 
 of our convent vibrate. 
 
 One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired 
 from the world, and embraced this dismal life in expia- 
 tion of some crime. He was a melancholy man, who pur- 
 sued his art in the solitude of his cell, but made it t. 
 source of penance to him. His enjoyment was to por- 
 
104 2 ALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 tray, either on canvas or in waxen models, the human 
 face and human form, in the agonies of death, and in all 
 the stages of dissolution and decay. The fearful mys 
 teries of the charnel-house were unfolded in his labors ; 
 the loathsome banquet of the beetle and the worm. I 
 turn with shuddering even from the recollection of his 
 works ; yet, at the time, my strong but ill-directed imagi- 
 nation seized with ardor upon his instructions in his art. 
 Anything was a variety from the dry studies and monoto- 
 nous duties of the cloister. In a little while I became 
 expert with my pencil, and my gloomy productions were 
 thought worthy of decorating some of the altars of the 
 chapel. 
 
 In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy 
 brought up. Everything genial and amiable in my na- 
 ture was repressed, and nothing brought out but what 
 was unprofitable and ungracious. I was ardent in my 
 temperament ; quick, mercurial, impetuous, formed to be 
 a creature all love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was 
 laid on all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing but 
 fear and hatred. I hated my uncle. I hated the monks. 
 I hated the convent in which I was immured. I hated 
 the world ; and I almost hated myself for being, as I sup= 
 posed, so hating and hateful an animal. 
 
 When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I was 
 suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of the breth- 
 ren on a mission to a distant part of the country. We 
 soon left behind us the gloomy valley in which I had 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 105 
 
 been pent up for so many years, and after a short journey 
 among the mountains, emerged upon the voluptuous 
 landscape that spreads itself about the Bay of Naples, 
 Heavens ! how transported was I, when I stretched my 
 gaze over a vast reach of delicious sunny country, gay 
 with groves and vineyards : with Vesuvius rearing its 
 forked summit to my right ; the blue Mediterranean to 
 my left, with its enchanting coast, studded with shining 
 towns and sumptuous villas ; and Naples, my native 
 Naples, gleaming far, far in the distance. 
 
 Good God ! was this the lovely world from which I had 
 been excluded ! I had reached that age when the sensi- 
 bilities are in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had 
 been checked and chilled. They now burst forth with 
 the suddenness of a retarded spring-time. My heart, 
 hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, expanded into a riot of 
 vague but delicious emotions. The beauty of nature in- 
 toxicated — bewildered me. The song of the peasants ; 
 their cheerful looks ; their happy avocations ; the pic- 
 turesque gayety of their dresses ; their rustic music ; 
 their dances ; all broke upon me like witchcraft. My 
 soul responded to the music, my heart danced in my 
 bosom. All the men appeared amiable, all the women 
 lovely. 
 
 I returned to the convent ; that is to say, my body re- 
 turned, but my heart and soul never entered there again. 
 T could not forget this glimpse of a beautiful and a happy 
 world — a world so suited to my natural character. I had 
 
106 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 felt so happy while in it ; so different a being from what 
 I felt myself when in the convent — that tomb of the living. 
 I contrasted the countenances of the beings I had seen, 
 full of fire and freshness and enjoyment, with the pallid, 
 leaden, lack-lustre visages of the monks : the dance with 
 the droning chant of the chapel. I had before found the 
 exercises of the cloister wearisome, they now became 
 intolerable. The dull round of duties wore away my 
 spirit ; my nerves became irritated by the fretful tinkling 
 of the convent-bell, evermore dinging among the moun- 
 tain-echoes, evermore calling me from my repose at 
 night, my pencil by day, to attend to some tedious and 
 mechanical ceremony of devotion. 
 
 I was not of a nature to meditate long without putting 
 my thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly 
 aroused, and was now all awake within me. I watched 
 an opportunity, fled from the convent, and made my way 
 on foot to Naples. As I entered its gay and crowded 
 streets, and beheld the variety and stir of life around me, 
 the luxury of palaces, the splendor of equipages, and the 
 pantomimic animation of the motley populace, I seemed 
 as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and solemnly 
 vowed that nothing should force me back to the mo- 
 notony of the cloister. 
 
 I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I 
 had been so young on leaving it that I knew not its situ- 
 ation. I found some difficulty in getting admitted to my 
 father's presence ; for the domestics scarcely knew thai 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 1Q7 
 
 there was such a being as myself in existence, and my 
 monastic dress did not operate in my favor. Even my 
 father entertained no recollection of my person. I told 
 him my name, threw myself at his feet, implored his for- 
 giveness, and entreated that I might not be sent back to 
 the convent. 
 
 He received me with the condescension of a patron, 
 rather than the fondness of a parent ; listened patiently, 
 but coldly, to my tale of monastic grievances and dis- 
 gusts, and promised to think what else could be done for 
 me. This coldness blighted and drove back all the frank 
 affection of my nature, that was ready to spring forth at 
 the least warmth of parental kindness. All my early feel- 
 ings towards my father revived. I again looked up to 
 him as the stately magnificent being that had daunted 
 my childish imagination, and felt as if I had no preten- 
 sions to his sympathies. My brother engrossed all his 
 care and love ; he inherited his nature, and carried him- 
 self towards me with a protecting rather than a fraternal 
 air. It wounded my pride, which was great. I could 
 brook condescension from my father, for I looked up to 
 him with awe, as a superior being ; but I could not brook 
 patronage from a brother, who I felt was intellectually 
 my inferior. The servants perceived that I was an un- 
 welcome intruder in the paternal mansion, and, menial- 
 like, they treated me with neglect. Thus baffled at every 
 point, my affections outraged wherever they would attach 
 themselves, I became sullen, silent, and desponding. My 
 
108 TA L E8 OF A TEA 1 'EL L EE. 
 
 feelings, driven back upon myself, entered and preyed 
 upon my own heart. I remained for some days an un- 
 welcome guest rather than a restored son in my fati. 
 house. I was doomed never to be properly known tb 
 I was made, by wrong treatment, strange even to mys 
 and they judged of me from my strangem 
 
 I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks 
 of my convent gliding d I my father's room. He saw 
 me, but pretended not to notice me, and this very hypoc- 
 risy made me suspect something. I had become sore 
 and susceptible in my feelings, everything inflict' 
 wound on them. In this state of mind. I was 
 with marked disrespect by a pampered minion, the 
 favorite servant of my father. All the pride and pass 
 of my nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to the 
 earth. My father was passing by; he stopped not to in- 
 quire the reason, nor indeed could he read the long 
 course of mental sufferings which were the real cause. 
 He rebuked me with anger and scorn: summoning all 
 the haughtiness of his nature and grandeur of his look to 
 give weight to the contumely with which he treated me. 
 I felt that I had not deserved it. I felt that I was not 
 appreciated. I felt that I had that within me which 
 merited better treatment. My heart swelled against a 
 father's injustice. I broke through my habitual awe of 
 him — I replied to him with impatience. My hot spirit 
 flushed in my cheek and kindled in my eye ; but my sen- 
 sitive heart swelled as quickly and before I had half 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 109 
 
 vented my passion, I felt it suffocated and quenched in 
 my tears. My father was astonished and incensed at 
 this turning of the worm, and ordered me to my cham- 
 ber. I retired in silence, choking with contending 
 emotions. 
 
 I had not been long there when I overheard voices in 
 an adjoining apartment. It was a consultation between 
 my father and the monk, about the means of getting me 
 back quietly to the convent. My resolution was taken. 
 I had no longer a home nor a father. That very night I 
 left the paternal roof. I got on board a vessel about 
 making sail from the harbor, and abandoned myself to 
 the wide world. No matter to what port she steered ; 
 any part of so beautiful a world was better than my con- 
 vent. No matter where I was cast by fortune ; any place 
 would be more a home to me than the home I had left 
 behind. The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived 
 there after a voyage of a few days. 
 
 As I entered the harbor between the moles which em- 
 brace it, and beheld the amphitheatre of palaces, and 
 churches, and splendid gardens, rising one above an- 
 other, I felt at once its title to the appellation of Genoa 
 the Superb. I landed on the mole an utter stranger, 
 without knowing what to do, or whither to direct my 
 steps. No matter : I was released from the thraldom of 
 the convent and the humiliations of home. When I trav- 
 ersed the Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova, those 
 streets of palaces, and gazed at the wonders of architec- 
 
HO TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 ture around me ; when I wandered at close of day amid 
 a gay throng of the brilliant and the beautiful, through 
 the green alleys of the Acquaverde, or among the colon- 
 nades and terraces of the magnificent Doria gardens; 
 I thought it impossible to be ever otherwise than happy 
 in Genoa. A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. 
 My scanty purse was exhausted, and for the first time in 
 my life I experienced the sordid distress of penury. I 
 had never known the want of money, and had never ad- 
 verted to the possibility of such an evil. I was ignorant 
 of the world and all its ways ; and when first the idea of 
 destitution came over my mind, its effect was withering. 
 I was wandering penniless through the streets which no 
 longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my steps into 
 the magnificent church of the Annunciata. 
 
 A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment 
 superintending the placing of one of his pictures over an 
 altar. The proficiency which I had acquired in his art 
 during my residence in the convent, had made me an en- 
 thusiastic amateur. I was struck, at the first glance, with 
 the painting. It was the face of a Madonna. So inno- 
 cent, so lovely, such a divine expression of maternal ten- 
 derness ! I lost, for the moment, all recollection of myself 
 in the enthusiasm of my art. I clasped my hands to- 
 gether, and uttered an ejaculation of delight. The painter 
 perceived my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by 
 it. My air and manner pleased him, and he accosted 
 me. I felt too much the want of friendship to repel the 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. \\\ 
 
 advances of a stranger ; and there was something in this 
 one so benevolent and winning, that in a moment he 
 g ined my confidence. 
 
 I told him my story and my situation, concealing only 
 my name and rank. He appeared strongly interested by 
 my recital, invited me to his house, and from that time I 
 became his favorite pupil. He thought he perceived in 
 me extraordinary talents for the art, and his encomiums 
 awakened all my ardor. What a blissful period of my 
 existence was it that I passed beneath his roof ! Another 
 being seemed created within me ; or rather, all that was 
 amiable and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse 
 as ever I had been at the convent, but how different was 
 my seclusion! My time was spent in storing my mind 
 with lofty and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that 
 was striking and noble in history and fiction ; in studying 
 and tracing all that was sublime and beautiful in nature. 
 I was always a visionary, imaginative being, but now my 
 reveries and imaginings all elevated me to rapture. I 
 looked up to my master zz to a benevolent genius that 
 had opened to me a region of enchantment. He was not 
 a native of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by the 
 solicitations of several of the nobility, and had resided 
 there but a few years, for the completion of certain 
 works. His health was delicate, and he had to confide 
 much of the filling up of his -designs to the pencils of his 
 scholars. He considered me as particularly happy in 
 delineating the human countenance ; in seizing upon 
 
112 TALES OF A TJRA VELLEM. 
 
 characteristic though fleeting expressions, and fixing 
 them powerfully upon my canvas. I was employed con- 
 tinually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often, when 
 some particular grace or beauty of expression was wanted 
 in a countenance, it was intrusted to my pencil. My 
 benefactor was fond of bringing me forward ; and partly, 
 perhaps, through my actual skill, and partly through his 
 partial praises, I began to be noted for the expressions of 
 my countenances. 
 
 Among the various works which he had undertaken, 
 was an historical piece for one of the palaces of Genoa, 
 in which were to be introduced the likenesses of several 
 of the family. Among these was one intrusted to my 
 pencil. It was that of a young girl, as yet in a convent 
 for her education. She came out for the purpose of sit- 
 ting for the picture. I first saw her in an apartment of 
 one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. She stood be- 
 fore a casement that looked out upon the bay ; a stream 
 of vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of glory 
 round her, as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. She 
 was but sixteen years of age — and oh, how lovely ! The 
 scene broke upon me like a mere vision of spring and 
 youth and beauty. I could have fallen down and wor- 
 shipped her. She was like one of those fictions of poets 
 and painters, when they would express the beau ideal that 
 haunts their minds with shapes of indescribable perfec- 
 tion. I was permitted to watch her countenance in vari- 
 ous positions, and I fondly protracted the study that was 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 113 
 
 undoing me. The more I gazed on her, the more I be- 
 came enamoured ; there was something almost painful in 
 my intense admiration. I was but nineteen years of age, 
 shy, diffident, and inexperienced. I was treated with 
 attention by her mother ; for my youth and my enthu- 
 siasm in my art had won favor for me ; and I am inclined 
 to think something in my air and manner inspired inter- 
 est and respect. Still the kindness with which I was 
 treated could not dispel the embarrassment into which 
 my own imagination threw me when in presence of this 
 lovely being. It elevated her into something almost 
 more than mortal. She seemed too exquisite for earthly 
 use ; too delicate and exalted for human attainment. As 
 I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my eyes 
 occasionally riveted on her features, I drank in deli- 
 cious poison that made me giddy. My heart alternately 
 gushed with tenderness, and ached with despair. Now 
 I became more than ever sensible of the violent fires 
 that had lain dormant at the bottom of my soul. You 
 who were born in a more temperate climate, and under a 
 cooler sky, have little idea of the violence of passion in 
 our southern bosoms. 
 
 A few days finished my task. Bianca returned to her 
 convent, but her image remained indelibly impressed 
 upon my heart. It dwelt in my imagination ; it became 
 my pervading idea of beauty. It had an effect even upon 
 my pencil. I became noted for my felicity in depicting 
 female loveliness : it was but because I multiplied the 
 
114 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 image of Bianca, I soothed and yet fed my fancy by 
 introducing her in all the productions of my master, I 
 have stood, with delight, in one of the chapels of the 
 Annunciata, and heard the crowd extol the seraphic 
 beauty of a saint which I had painted. I have seen them 
 bow down in adoration before the painting; they were 
 bowing before the loveliness of Bianca. 
 
 I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost say 
 delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of 
 my imagination, that the image formed in it continued in 
 all its power and freshness. Indeed, I was a solitary, 
 meditative being, much given to reverie, and apt to foster 
 ideas which had once taken strong possession of me. I 
 was roused from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream 
 by the death of my worthy benefactor. I cannot de- 
 scribe the pangs his death occasioned me. It left me 
 alone, and almost broken-hearted. He bequeathed to 
 me his little property, which, from the liberality of his 
 disposition, and his expensive style of living, was indeed 
 but small; and he most particularly recommended me, 
 in dying, to the protection of a nobleman who had been 
 his patron. 
 
 The latter was a man who passed for munificent. He 
 was a lover and an encourager of the arts, and evidently 
 wished to be thought so. He fancied he saw in me indi- 
 cations of future excellence ; my pencil had already at- 
 tracted attention ; he took me at once under his protec- 
 tion. Seeing that I was overwhelmed with grief, and 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 115 
 
 incapable of exerting myself in the mansion of my late 
 benefactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time at a villa 
 which he possessed on the border of the sea, in the pic- 
 turesque neighborhood of Sestri di Ponente. 
 
 I found at the villa the count's only son, Filippo. He 
 was nearly of my age ; prepossessing in his a,ppearance, 
 and fascinating in his manners, he attached himself to 
 me, and seemed to court my good opinion. I thought 
 there was something of profession in his kindness, and of 
 caprice in his disposition ; but I had nothing else near 
 me to attach myself to, and my heart felt the need of 
 something to repose upon. His education had been 
 neglected ; he looked upon me as his superior in mental 
 powers and acquirements, and tacitly acknowledged my 
 superiority. I felt that I was his equal in birth, and 
 that gave independence to my manners, which had its 
 effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw sometimes exer- 
 cised on others, over whom he had power, were never 
 manifested towards me. We became intimate friends and 
 frequent companions. Still I loved to be alone, and to 
 indulge in the reveries of my own imagination among the 
 scenery by which I was surrounded. The villa com- 
 manded a wide view of the Mediterranean, and of the 
 picturesque Ligurian coast. It stood alone in the midst 
 of ornamented grounds, finely decorated with statues and 
 fountains, and laid out in groves and alleys and shady 
 lawns. Everything was assembled here that could gratify 
 the taste, or agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the 
 
116 TALES OF A TEA TELLER. 
 
 tranquillity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my 
 feelings gradually subsided, and blending with the ro- 
 mantic spell which still reigned over my imagination, 
 produced a soft, voluptuous melancholy. 
 
 I had not been long under the roof of the count, when 
 our solitude was enlivened by another inhabitant. It was 
 a daughter of a relative of the count, who had lately died 
 in reduced circumstances, bequeathing this only child to 
 his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from 
 Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one 
 idea of beauty, as not to admit of any other. We were in 
 the central saloon of the villa when she arrived. She was 
 still in mourning, and approached, leaning on the count's 
 arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck 
 by the elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace 
 with which the rnezzaro, the bewitching veil of Genoa, was 
 folded about her slender form. They entered. Heav- 
 ens ! what was my surprise when I beheld Bianca be- 
 fore me ! It was herself ; pale with grief, but still more 
 matured in loveliness than when I had last beheld her. 
 The time that had elapsed had developed the graces 
 of her person, and the sorrow she had undergone had 
 diffused over her countenance an irresistible tenderness. 
 
 She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears 
 rushed into her eyes, for she remembered in whose 
 company she had been accustomed to behold me. For 
 my part, I cannot express what were my emotions. By 
 degrees I overcame the extreme shyness that had for- 
 
TEE YOUNG ITALIAN. 117 
 
 merly paralyzed me in her presence. "We were drawn 
 together by sympathy of situation. We had each lost our 
 best friend in the world ; we were each, in some meas- 
 ure, thrown upon the kindness of others. When I came 
 to know her intellectually, all my ideal picturings of her 
 were confirmed. Her newness to the world, her delight- 
 ful susceptibility to everything beautiful and agreeable 
 in nature, reminded me of my own emotions when first I 
 escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking 
 delighted my judgment; the sweetness of her nature 
 wrapped itself round my heart ; and then her young, and 
 tender, and budding loveliness, sent a delicious madness 
 to my brain. 
 
 I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something 
 more than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at the idea of 
 my comparative un worthiness. Yet she was mortal ; and 
 one of mortality's most susceptible and loving com- 
 pounds ; — for she loved me ! 
 
 How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot 
 recollect. I believe it stole upon me by degrees as a 
 wonder past hope or belief. We were both at such a 
 tender and loving age ; in constant intercourse with each 
 other ; mingling in the same elegant pursuits, — for 
 music, poetry, and painting were our mutual delights ; 
 and we were almost separated from society among lovely 
 and romantic scenery. Is it strange that two young 
 hearts, thus brought together, should readily twine 
 round each other? 
 
118 TALES OF A TfiA VELLER. 
 
 Oh, gods ! what a dream — a transient dream of unal- 
 loyed delight, then passed oyer my soul! Then it was 
 that the world around me was indeed a paradise ; for I 
 had woman — lovely, delicious woman, to share it with 
 me ! How often have I rambled along the picturesque 
 shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild mountains, with the 
 coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea far below me, 
 and the slender Faro of Genoa on its romantic promon- 
 tory in the distance ; and as I sustained the faltering 
 steps of Bianca, have thought there could no unhappi- 
 ness enter into so beautiful a world! How often have 
 we listened together to the nightingale, as it poured forth 
 its rich notes among the moonlight bowers of the garden, 
 and have wondered that poets could ever have fancied 
 anything melancholy in its song ! Why, oh why is this 
 budding season of life and tenderness so transient ! why 
 is this rosy cloud of love, that sheds such a glow over the 
 morning of our days, so prone to brew up into the whirl- 
 wind and the storm ! 
 
 I was the first to awaken from this blissful delirium of 
 the affections. I had gained Bianca's heart, what was 
 I to do with it ? I had no wealth nor prospect to entitle 
 ■ _ le to her hand ; was I to take advantage of her igno- 
 rance of the world, of her confiding affection, and draw 
 her down to my own poverty ? Was this requiting the 
 hospitality of the count? was this requiting the love of 
 Bianca ? 
 
 Now first I began to feel that even successful love may 
 
TEE YOUNG ITALIAN. 119 
 
 have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about 
 my heart. I moved about the palace like a guilty being. 
 I felt as if I had abused its hospitality, as if I were a 
 thief within its walls. I could no longer look with un- 
 embarrassed mien in the countenance of the count. I 
 accused myself of perfidy to him, and I thought he read 
 it in my looks, and began to distrust and despise me. 
 His manner had always been ostentatious and conde- 
 scending ; it now appeared cold and haughty. Filippo, 
 too, became reserved and distant ; or at least I suspected 
 him to be so. Heavens ! was this the mere coinage of 
 my brain ? Was I to become suspicious of all the world ? 
 a poor, surmising wretch ; watching looks and gestures ; 
 and torturing myself with misconstructions ? Or, if true, 
 was I to remain beneath a roof where I was merely toler- 
 ated, and linger there on sufferance ? " This is not to be 
 endured!" exclaimed I: "I will tear myself from this 
 state of self-abasement — I will break through this 
 fascination and fly — Fly! — Whither? from the world? 
 for where is the world when I leave Bianca behind 
 me?" 
 
 My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me 
 at the idea of being looked upon with contumely. Many 
 times I was on the point of declaring my family and 
 rank, and asserting my equality in the presence of 
 Bianca, when I thought her relations assumed an air of 
 superiority. But the feeling was transient I consid- 
 ered myself discarded and condemned by my family ; 
 
120 TALES OP A TEA TELLER, 
 
 and had solemnly vowed never to own relationship to 
 them until they themselves should claim it. 
 
 The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness 
 and my health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being 
 loved would be less intolerable than thus to be assured 
 of it, and yet not dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no 
 longer the enraptured admirer of Bianca; I no longer 
 hung in ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor drank in 
 with insatiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. Her 
 very smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in 
 having won them. 
 
 She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and 
 inquired the cause with her usual frankness and sim- 
 plicity. I could not evade the inquiry, for my heart was 
 full to aching. I told her all the conflict of my soul ; my 
 devouring passion, my bitter self-upbraiding. " Yes," 
 said I, " I am unworthy of you. I am an offcast from 
 my family — a wanderer — a nameless, homeless wanderer 
 — with nothing but poverty for my portion ; and yet I 
 have dared to love you — have dared to aspire to your 
 love." 
 
 My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw noth- 
 ing in my situation so hopeless as I had depicted it 
 Brought up in a convent, she knew nothing of the world 
 — its wants — its cares : and indeed what woman is a 
 worldly casuist in the matters of the heart ? Nay, more, 
 she kindled into sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my 
 fortunes and myself. We had dwelt together on the 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 121 
 
 works of the famous masters. I related to her their his- 
 tories ; the high reputation, the influence, the magnifi- 
 cence to which they had attained. The companions of 
 princes, the favorites of kings, the pride and boast of na- 
 tions. All this she applied to me. Her love saw nothing 
 in all their great productions that I was not able to 
 achieve ; and when I beheld the lovely creature glow with 
 fervor, and her whole countenance radiant with visions 
 of my glory, I was snatched up for the moment into the 
 heaven of her own imagination. 
 
 I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story ; yet 
 I cannot help lingering over a period of my life on which, 
 with all its cares and conflicts, I look back with fondness, 
 for as yet my soul was unstained by a crime. I do not 
 know what might have been the result of this struggle 
 between pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a 
 Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden death of my 
 brother. It was accompanied by an earnest inquiry for 
 intelligence concerning me, and a prayer, should this 
 meet my eye, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort 
 an infirm and afflicted father. 
 
 I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but my 
 brother had never been as a brother to me. I had long 
 considered myself as disconnected from him, and his 
 death caused me but little emotion. The thoughts of my 
 father, infirm and suffering, touched me, however, to the 
 quick ; and when I thought of him, that lofty, magnificent 
 being, now bowed down and desolate, and suing to me for 
 
122 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 comfort, all my resentment for past neglect was subdued, 
 and a glow of filial affection was awakened within me. 
 
 The predominant feeling, however, that overpowered 
 all others, was transport at the sudden change in my 
 whole fortunes. A home, a name, rank, wealth, awaited 
 me ; and love painted a still more rapturous prospect in 
 the distance. I hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at 
 her feet. " Oh, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " at length I can 
 claim you for my own. I am no longer a nameless ad- 
 venturer, a neglected, rejected outcast. Look — read — be- 
 hold the tidings that restore me to my name and to my- 
 self!" 
 
 I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca re- 
 joiced in the reverse of my situation, because she saw it 
 lightened my heart of a load of care ; for her own part, 
 she had loved me for myself, and had never doubted that 
 my own merits would command both fame and fortune. 
 
 I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me. I 
 no longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust; hope 
 elevated them to the skies — my soul was lit up with fresh 
 fires, and beamed from my countenance. 
 
 I wished to impart the change in my circumstances to 
 the count ; to let him know who and what I was — and to 
 make formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but he 
 was absent on a distant estate. I opened my whole soul 
 to Filippo. Now first I told him of my passion, of the 
 doubts and fears that had distracted me, and of the 
 tidings that had suddenly dispelled them. He over- 
 
TBE YOUNG ITALIAN. \§§ 
 
 whelmed me with congratulations, and with the warmest 
 expressions of sympathy ; I embraced him in the fulness 
 <A my heart ; — I felt compunctions for having suspected 
 him of coldness, and asked his forgiveness for ever hav- 
 ing doubted his friendship. 
 
 Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden 
 expansion of the heart between young men. Filippo en- 
 tered into our concerns with the most eager interest. He 
 was our confidant and counsellor. It was determined 
 that I should hasten at once to Naples, to reestablish 
 myself in my father's affections, and my paternal home ; 
 and the moment the reconciliation was effected, and my 
 father's consent insured, I should return and demand 
 Bianca of the count. Filippo engaged to secure his 
 father's acquiescence ; indeed he undertook to watch over 
 our interest, and to be the channel through which we 
 might correspond. 
 
 My parting with Bianca was tender — delicious — agoniz- 
 ing. It was in a little pavilion of the garden which had 
 been one of our favorite resorts. How often and often 
 did I return to have one more adieu, to have her look 
 once more on me in speechless emotion ; to enjoy once 
 more the rapturous sight of those tears streaming down 
 her lovely cheeks ; to seize once more on that delicate 
 hand, the frankly accorded pledge of love, and cover it 
 with tears and kisses ? Heavens ! there is a delight even 
 in the parting agony of two lovers, worth a thousand 
 tame pleasures of the world. I have her at this moment 
 
124 TALES OF A TRAVELLED. 
 
 before my eyes, at the window of the pavilion, putting 
 aside the vines which clustered about the casement, hei 
 form beaming forth in virgin light, her countenance all 
 tears and smiles, sending a thousand and a thousand 
 adieus after me, as hesitating, in a delirium of fondness 
 and agitation, I faltered my way down the avenue. 
 
 As the bark bore me out of the harbor of Genoa, how 
 eagerly my eye stretched along the coast of Sestri till it 
 discovered the villa gleaming from among the trees at 
 the foot of the mountain. As long as day lasted I gazed 
 and gazed upon it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere 
 white speck in the distance ; and still my intense and 
 fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of the 
 coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost 
 in the evening gloom. 
 
 On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. 
 My heart yearned for the long-withheld blessing of a 
 father's love. As I entered the proud portal of the an- 
 cestral palace, my emotions were so great that I could 
 not speak. No one knew me, the servants gazed at me 
 with curiosity and surprise. A few years of intellectual 
 elevation and development had made a prodigious change 
 in the poor fugitive stripling from the convent. Still, 
 that no one should know me in my rightful home was 
 overpowering. I felt like the prodigal son returned. I 
 was a stranger in the house of my father. I burst into 
 tears and wept aloud. When I made myself known, how- 
 ever, all was changed. I, who had once been almost re- 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 125 
 
 pulsed from its walls, and forced to fly as an exile, was 
 welcomed back with acclamation, with servility. One of 
 the servants hastened to prepare my father for my ie° 
 ception ; my eagerness to receive the paternal embrace 
 was so great that I could not await his return, but 
 hurried after him. What a spectacle met my eyes as I 
 entered the chamber ! My father, whom I had left in the 
 pride of vigorous age, whose noble and majestic bearing 
 had so awed my young imagination, was bowed down and 
 withered into decrepitude. A paralysis had ravaged his 
 stately form, and left it a shaking ruin. He sat propped 
 up in his chair, with pale, relaxed visage, and glassy, 
 wandering eye. His intellect had evidently shared in 
 the ravages of his frame. The servant was endeavoring 
 to make him comprehend that a visitor was at hand. I 
 tottered up to him, and sank at his feet. All his past 
 coldness and neglect were forgotten in his present suffer- 
 ings. I remembered only that he was my parent, and 
 that I had deserted him. I clasped his knee : my voice 
 was almost filled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon — par- 
 don ! oh ! my father ! " was all that I could utter. His 
 apprehension seemed slowly to return to him. He gazed 
 at me for some moments with a vague, inquiring look ; a 
 convulsive tremor quivered about his lips ; he feebly 
 extended a shaking hand ; laid it upon my head, and 
 burst into an infantine flow of tears. 
 
 From that moment he would scarcely spare me from 
 his sight. I appeared the only object that his heart 
 
126 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 responded to in the world ; all else was as a blank to 
 him. He had almost lost the power of speech, and the 
 reasoning faculty seemed at an end. He was mute and 
 passive, excepting that fits of childlike weeping would 
 sometimes come over him without any immediate cause. 
 If I left the room at any time, his eye was incessantly 
 fixed on the door till my return, and on my entrance 
 there was another gush of tears. 
 
 To talk with him of all my concerns, in this ruined 
 state of mind, would have been worse than useless ; to 
 have left him for ever so short a time would have been 
 cruel, unnatural. Here then was a new trial for my 
 affections. I wrote to Bianca an account of my return, 
 and of my actual situation, painting in colors vivid, for 
 they were true, the torments I suffered at our being thus 
 separated ; for the youthful lover every day of absence is 
 an age of love lost. I enclosed the letter in one to Fi- 
 lippo, who was the channel of our correspondence. I 
 received a reply from him full of friendship and sympa- 
 thy ; from Bianca, full of assurances of affection and con- 
 stancy. Week after week, month after month elapsed, 
 without making any change in my circumstances. The 
 vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct when first I 
 met my father, kept fluttering on without any apparent 
 diminution. I watched him constantly, faithfully, I had 
 almost said patiently. I knew that his death alone 
 would set me free — yet I never at any moment wished it. 
 I felt too glad to be able to make any atonement for past 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 127 
 
 disobedience ; and denied, as I had been, all endearments 
 of relationship in my early days, my heart yearned 
 towards a father, who in his age and helplessness had 
 thrown himself entirely on me for comfort. 
 
 My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from 
 absence : by constant meditation it wore itself a deeper 
 and deeper channel. I made no new friends nor acquaint- 
 ances ; sought none of the pleasures of Naples, which my 
 rank and fortune threw open to me. Mine was a heart 
 that confined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon them 
 with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, adminis- 
 ter to his wants, and to meditate on Bianca in the silence 
 of his chamber, was my constant habit. Sometimes I 
 amused myself with my pencil, in portraying the image 
 ever present to my imagination. I transferred to canvas 
 every look and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I 
 showed them to my father, in hopes of awakening an in- 
 terest in his bosom for the mere shadow of my love ; but 
 he was too far sunk in intellect to take any notice of 
 them. "When I received a letter from Bianca, it was a 
 new source of solitary luxury. Her letters, it is true, 
 were less and less frequent, but they were always full of 
 assurances of unabated affection. They breathed not the 
 frank and innocent warmth with which she expressed 
 herself in conversation, but I accounted for it from the 
 embarrassment which inexperienced minds have often to 
 express themselves upon paper. Filippo assured me of 
 her unaltered constancy. They both lamented, in the 
 
128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 strongest terms, our continued separation, though they 
 did justice to the filial piety that kept me by my father's 
 side. 
 
 Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted exile. To 
 me they were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by 
 nature, I scarcely know how I should have supported so 
 long an absence, had I not felt assured that the faith of 
 Bianca was equal to my own. At length my father died. 
 Life went from him almost imperceptibly. I hung over 
 him in mute affliction, and watched the expiring spasms 
 of nature. His last faltering accents whispered re- 
 peatedly a blessing on me. Alas ! how has it been ful- 
 filled! 
 
 When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid 
 them in the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged briefly my 
 affairs, put them in a posture to be easily at my com- 
 mand from a distance, and embarked once more with a 
 bounding heart for Genoa. 
 
 Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was my rap- 
 ture, when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the shad- 
 owy summits of the Apennines rising almost like clouds 
 above the horizon! The sweet breath of summer just 
 moved us over the long wavering billows that were roll- 
 ing us on towards Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri 
 rose like a creation of enchantment from the silver bosom 
 of the deep. I beheld the line of villages and palaces 
 studding its borders. My eye reverted to a well-known 
 point, and at length, from the confusion of distant objects, 
 
v\aP 
 
 THE YOUNG ITALIAN, 129 
 
 it singled out the villa which contained Bianca. It was a 
 mere speck in the landscape, but glimmering from afar, 
 the polar star of my heart. 
 
 Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day, but 
 oh ! how different the emotions between departure and re- 
 turn. It now kept growing and growing, instead of les- 
 sening and lessening on my sight. My heart seemed to 
 dilate with it. I looked at it through a telescope. 1 
 gradually denned one feature after another. The balco- 
 nies of the central saloon where first I met Bianca be- 
 neath its roof ; the terrace where we so often had passed 
 the delightful summer evenings; the awning which 
 shaded her chamber-window ; I almost fancied I saw her 
 form beneath it. Could she but know her lover was in 
 the bark whose white sail now gleamed on the sunny 
 bosom of the sea ! My fond impatience increased as we 
 neared the coast ; the ship seemed to lag lazily over the 
 billows; I could almost have sprang into the sea, and 
 swam to the desired shore. 
 
 The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene ; 
 but the moon arose in all her fulness and beauty, and 
 shed the tender light so dear to lovers, over the romantic 
 coast of Sestri. My soul was bathed in unutterable ten- 
 derness. I anticipated the heavenly evenings I should 
 pass in once more wandering with Bianca by the light of 
 that blessed moon. 
 
 It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As 
 early next morning as I could get released from the for- 
 
130 TALES OF A TEA TELLER. 
 
 malities of landing, I threw myself on horseback, and 
 hastened to the villa. As I galloped round the rocky 
 promontory on which stands the Faro, and saw the coast 
 of Sestri opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and 
 doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There is 
 something fearful in returning to those we love, while 
 yet uncertain what ills or changes absence may have 
 effected. The turbulence of my agitation shook my very 
 frame. I spurred my horse to redoubled speed ; he was 
 covered with foam when we both arrived panting at the 
 gateway that opened to the grounds around the villa. I 
 left my horse at a cottage, and walked through the 
 grounds, that I might regain tranquillity for the ap- 
 proaching interview. I chid myself for having suffered 
 mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to overcome 
 me ; but I was always prone to be carried away by gusts 
 of the feelings. 
 
 On entering the garden, everything bore the same look 
 as when I had left it ; and this unchanged aspect of 
 things reassured me. There were the alleys in which I 
 had so often walked with Bianca, as we listened to the 
 song of the nightingale ; the same shades under which 
 we had so often sat during the noontide heat. There 
 were the same flowers of which she was so fond ; and 
 which appeared still to be under the ministry of her 
 hand. Everything looked and breathed of Bianca ; hope 
 and joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a 
 little arbor, in which we had often sat and read together ; 
 
THE TOUJSfO ITALIAN. 131 
 
 —a book and glove lay on the bench ; — it was Bianca's 
 glove ; it was a volume of the " Metastasio " I had given 
 her. The glove lay in my favorite passage. I clasped 
 them to my heart with rapture. "All is safe ! " exclaimed 
 I ; " she loves me, she is still my own ! " 
 
 I bounded lightly along the avenue, down which I had 
 faltered slowly at my departure. I beheld her favorite 
 pavilion, which had witnessed our parting-scene. TIig 
 window was open, with the same vine clambering about 
 it, precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. 
 O how transporting was the contrast in my situation ! 
 As I passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a 
 female voice : they thrilled through me with an appeal 
 to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I 
 felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, over- 
 powered with agitation. I feared to break so suddenly 
 upon her. I softly ascended the steps of the pavilion. 
 The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; 
 her back was towards me, she was warbling a soft mel- 
 ancholy air, and was occupied in drawing. A glance 
 sufficed to show me that she was copying one of my 
 own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a deli- 
 cious tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing .- 
 a heavy sigh, almost a sob, followed. I could no longer 
 contain myself. " Bianca ! " exclaimed I, in a half-smoth- 
 ered voice. She started at the sound, brushed back the 
 ringlets that hung clustering about her face, darted a 
 glance at me, uttered a piercing shriek, and would 
 
132 TALES OF A TRA YELL EH. 
 
 have fallen to the earth, had I not caught her in my 
 arms. 
 
 " Bianca ! my own Bianca ! " exclaimed I, folding hex 
 to my bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. 
 She lay in my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed 
 at the effects of my precipitation, I scarce knew what to 
 do. I tried by a thousand endearing words to call her 
 back to consciousness. She slowly recovered, and half 
 opened her eyes. — " "Where am I ? " murmured she faint- 
 ly. " Here ! " exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom, 
 " here — close to the heart that adores you — in the arms 
 of your faithful Ottavio ! " " Oh no ! no ! no ! " shrieked 
 she, starting into sudden life and terror, — " away ! away \ 
 leave me ! leave me ! " 
 
 She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a corner of 
 the saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if 
 the very sight of me were baleful. I was thunderstruck. 
 I could not believe my senses. I followed her, trembling 
 — confounded. I endeavored to take her hand ; but she 
 shrunk from my very touch with horror. 
 
 "Good heavens, Bianca!" exclaimed I, "what is the 
 meaning of this ? Is this my reception after so long an 
 absence ? Is this the love you professed for me ? " 
 
 At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. 
 She turned to me a face wild with anguish : " No more 
 of that — no more of that ! " gasped she : "talk not to me 
 of love — I — I — am married ! " 
 
 I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow — a sickness 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 133 
 
 struck to my very heart. I caught at a window-frame for 
 support. For a moment or two everything was chaos 
 around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on 
 a sofa, her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing convul- 
 sively. Indignation for her fickleness for a moment over- 
 powered every other feeling. 
 
 "Faithless! perjured!" cried I, striding across the 
 room. But another glance at that beautiful being in dis- 
 tress checked all my wrath. Anger could not dwell to- 
 gether with her idea in my soul. 
 
 " Oh ! Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have 
 dreamt of this? Could I have suspected you would 
 have been false to me ? " 
 
 She raised her face all streaming with tears, all dis- 
 ordered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look. 
 " False to you ? — They told me you were dead ! " 
 
 " What," said I, " in spite of our constant correspond- 
 ence ? " 
 
 She gazed wildly at me : " Correspondence ? what cor- 
 respondence ! " 
 
 " Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my 
 letters?" 
 
 She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor. "As 
 I hope for mercy — never ! " 
 
 A horrible surmise shot through my brain. " Who told 
 you I was dead ? " 
 
 " It was reported that the ship in which you embarked 
 for Naples perished at sea." 
 
134 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 " But who told you the report? " 
 
 She paused for an instant, and trembled ; — " Filippo ! " 
 
 " May the God of heaven curse him ! " cried I, extend* 
 ing my clinched fists aloft. 
 
 " Oh do not curse him, do not curse him ! " exclaimed 
 she, " he is — he is — my husband ! " 
 
 This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that 
 had been practised upon me. My blood boiled like liquid 
 fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utter- 
 ance — I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of 
 horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind. The 
 poor victim of deception before me thought it was with 
 her I was incensed. She faintly murmured forth her 
 exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more 
 than she meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how both 
 of us had been betrayed. 
 
 " 'Tis well," muttered I to myself in smothered accents 
 of concentrated fury. " He shall render ar: account of all 
 this." 
 
 Bianca overheard me. New tenor flashed in her coun- 
 tenance. " For mercy's sake, do not meet him ! — say 
 nothing of what has passed — for my sake say nothing to 
 him — I only shall be the sufferer ! " 
 
 A new suspicion darted across my mind. — " What ! " 
 exclaimed I, " do you then fear him ? is he unkind to 
 you? Tell me," reiterated I, grasping her hand, and 
 looking her eagerly in the face, "tell me — dares he to use 
 you harshly ? " 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 135 
 
 "No! no! no!" cried she, faltering and embarrassed; 
 but the glance at her face had told volumes. I saw in her 
 pallid and wasted features, in the prompt terror and sub- 
 dued agony of her eye, a whole history of a mind broken 
 down by tyranny. Great God! and was this beauteous 
 flower snatched from me to be thus trampled upon ? The 
 idea roused me to madness. I clinched my teeth and 
 hands ; I foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed to 
 have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled 
 within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless 
 affright. As I strode by the window, my eye darted 
 down the alley. Fatal moment ! I beheld Filippo at a 
 distance ! my brain was in delirium — I sprang from the 
 pavilion, and was before him with the quickness of light- 
 ning. He saw me as I came rushing upon him — he 
 turned pale, looked wildly to right and left, as if he 
 would have fled, and trembling, drew his sword. 
 
 " "Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw your 
 weapon ! " 
 
 I spoke not another word — I snatched forth a stiletto, 
 put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried 
 my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my 
 rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the blood- 
 thirsty feeling of a tiger ; redoubled my blows ; mangled 
 him in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until, with 
 reiterated wounds and strangling convulsions, he expired 
 in my grasp. I remained glaring on the countenance, 
 horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its pro- 
 
136 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 traded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from 
 my delirium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying 
 distractedly towards us. My brain whirled — I waited not 
 to meet her ; but fled from the ocene of horror. I fled 
 forth from the garden like another Cain, — a hell within 
 my bosom, and a curse upon my head. I fled without 
 knowing whither, almost without knowing why. My only 
 idea was to get farther and farther from the horrors 1 
 had left behind ; as if I could throw space between my-» 
 self and my conscience. I fled to the Apennines, and 
 wandered for days and days among their savage heights. 
 How I existed, I cannot tell ; what rocks and precipices 1 
 braved, and how I braved them, I know not. I kept on 
 and on, trying to out-travel the curse that clung to me. 
 Alas ! the shrieks of Bianca rang forever in my ears. 
 The horrible countenance of my victim was forever before 
 my eyes. The blood of Filippo cried to me from the 
 ground. Rocks, trees, and torrents, all resounded with 
 my crime. Then it was I felt how much more insupport- 
 able is the anguish of remorse than every other mental 
 pang. Oh ! could I but have cast off this crime that fes- 
 tered in my heart — could I but have regained the inno- 
 cence that reigned in my breast as I entered the garden 
 at Sestri — could I have but restored my victim to life, I 
 felt as if I could look on with transport, even though 
 Bianca were in his arms. 
 
 By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse settled into a 
 permanent malady of the mind — into one of the most 
 
TUB tO UNO ITALIAN. 137 
 
 horrible that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wher- 
 ever I went, the countenance of him I had slain appeared 
 to follow me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it 
 behind me, hideous with the contortions of the dying 
 moment. I have tried in every way to escape from this 
 horrible phantom, but in vain. I know not whether it 
 be an illusion of the mind, the consequence of my dismal 
 education at the convent, or whether a phantom really 
 sent by Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is — at all 
 times — in all places. Nor has time nor habit had any 
 effect in familiarizing me with its terrors. I have trav- 
 elled from place to place — plunged into amusements — 
 tried dissipation and distraction of every kind — all — all 
 in vain. I once had recourse to my pencil, as a desper- 
 ate experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of this 
 phantom-face. I placed it before me, in hopes that by 
 constantly contemplating the copy, I might diminish the 
 effect of the original. But I only doubled instead of 
 diminishing the misery. Such is the curse that has 
 clung to my footsteps — that has made my life a burden, 
 but the thought of death terrible. God knows what I 
 have suffered — what days and days, and nights and 
 nights of sleepless torment — what a never-dying worm 
 has preyed upon my heart — what an unquenchable fire 
 has burned within my brain ! He knows the wrongs that 
 wrought upon my poor weak nature ; that converted the 
 tenderest of affections into the deadliest of fury. He 
 kno vvs best whether a frail erring creature has expiated 
 
138 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 by long-enduring torture and measureless remorse the 
 crime of a moment of madness. Often, often have I pros- 
 trated myself in the dust, and implored that he would 
 give me a sign of his forgiveness, and let me die 
 
 Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant 
 to leave this record of misery and crime with you, to be 
 read when I should be no more. 
 
 My prayer to Heaven has at length been heard. You 
 were witness to my emotions last evening at the church, 
 when the vaulted temple resounded with the words of 
 atonement and redemption. I heard a voice speaking to 
 me from the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above 
 the pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir — it 
 spoke to me in tones of celestial melody — it promised 
 mercy and forgiveness, but demanded from me full expi- 
 ation. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on my 
 way to Genoa, to surrender myself to justice. You who 
 have pitied my sufferings, who have poured the balm of 
 sympathy into my wounds, do not shrink from my 
 memory with abhorrence now that you know my story. 
 Recollect, that when you read of my crime I shall have 
 atoned for it with my blood ! 
 
 When the Baronet had finished, there was a universal 
 desire expressed to see the painting of this frightful vis- 
 age. After much entreaty the Baronet consented, on 
 condition that they should only visit it one by one. He 
 
THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 139 
 
 called his housekeeper, and gave her charge to conduct 
 the gentlemen, singly, to the chamber. They all returned 
 varying in their stories : some affected in one way, some 
 in another ; some more, some less ; but all agreeing that 
 there was a certain something about the painting that 
 had a very odd effect upon the feelings. 
 
 I stood in a deep bow-window with the Baronet, and 
 could not help expressing my wonder. " After all," said 
 I, " there are certain mysteries in our nature, certain 
 inscrutable impulses and influences, which warrant one 
 in being superstitious. Who can account for so many 
 persons of different characters being thus strangely 
 affected by a mere painting? " 
 
 " And especially when not one of them has seen it ! " 
 said the Baronet, with a smile. 
 
 " How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ? " 
 
 "Not one of them! " replied he, laying his finger or. 
 his lips, in sign of secrecy. "I saw that some of them 
 were in a bantering vein, and did not choose that the 
 memento of the poor Italian should be made a jest of, 
 So I gave the housekeeper a hint to show them all to 
 a different chamber ! " 
 
 Thus end the stories of the Nervous Gentleman. 
 
PAET SECOND. 
 
 BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS 
 
 This world is the best that we live in, 
 
 To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 
 
 But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 
 
 'Tfe the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. 
 
 Lines from an Inn Window. 
 
LITERARY LIFE. 
 
 SIpplMONG other subjects of a traveller's curiosity, 
 sPeS-I I had at one time a great craving after anec- 
 !JP5k| dotes of literary life ; and being at London, one 
 of the most noted places for the production of books, I 
 was excessively anxious to know something of the animals 
 which produced them. Chance fortunately threw me in 
 the way of a literary man by the name of Buckthorne, an 
 eccentric personage, who had lived much in the metropo- 
 lis, and could give me the natural history of every odd 
 animal to be met with in that wilderness of men. He 
 readily imparted to me some useful hints upon the sub- 
 ject of my inquiry. 
 
 "The literary world," said he, "is made up of little 
 confederacies, each looking upon its own members as the 
 lights of the universe ; and considering all others as mere 
 transient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, 
 while its own luminaries are to shine steadily on to im- 
 mortality." 
 
 " And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep into 
 those confederacies you speak of ? I presume an inter= 
 course with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, 
 where one must bring his commodities to barter, and 
 always give a quid pro quo." 
 
144 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake," said Buckthorne, 
 smiling; "you must never think to become popular 
 among wits by shining. They go into society to shine 
 themselves, not to admire the brilliancy of others. I 
 once thought as you do, and never went into literarj 
 society without studying my j3art beforehand ; the con- 
 sequence was, that I soon got the name of an intolerable 
 proser, and should in a little while have been completely 
 excommunicated, had I not changed my plan of oper- 
 ations. No, sir, no character succeeds so well among wits 
 as that of a good listener ; or if ever you are eloquent, 
 let it be when tete-a-tete with an author, and then in 
 praise of his own works, or, what is nearly as acceptable, 
 in disparagement of the works of his contemporaries. If 
 ever he speaks favorably of the productions of a particu- 
 lar friend, dissent boldly from him ; pronounce his friend 
 to be a blockhead ; never fear his being vexed. Much 
 as people speak of the irritability of authors, I never 
 found one to take offence at such contradictions. No, no, 
 sir, authors are particularly candid in admitting the 
 faults of their friends. 
 
 " Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing 
 of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic 
 observations on the most distinguished writers of the 
 day." 
 
 " Faith," said I, " I'll praise none that have not been 
 dead for at least half a century." 
 
 "Even then," observed Mr. Buckthorne, "I would 
 
LITERARY LIFE. 145 
 
 advise you to be rather cautious ; for you must know 
 that many old writers have been enlisted under the ban- 
 ners of different sects, and their merits have become as 
 completely topics of party discussion as the merits of 
 living statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have been 
 whole periods of literature absolutely taboo'd, to use a 
 South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's 
 critical reputation is worth in some circles, to say a word 
 in praise of any of the writers of the reign of Charles the 
 Second, or even of Queen Anne, they being all declared 
 Frenchmen in disguise." 
 
 " And pray," said I, " when am I then to know that I 
 am on safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the 
 literary landmarks, and the boundary-line of fashionable 
 taste?" 
 
 " Oh ! " replied he, " there is fortunately one tract of 
 literature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which 
 all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the excess 
 of their good-humor ; and this is in the reigns of Eliza- 
 beth and James. Here you may praise away at random. 
 Here it is ' cut and come again ; ' and the more obscure 
 the author, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, 
 the more your admiration will smack of the real relish of 
 the connoisseur ; whose taste, like that of an epicure, is 
 always for game that has an antiquated flavor. 
 
 " But," continued he, " as you seem anxious to know 
 
 something of literary society, I will take an opportunity 
 
 to introduce you to some coterie, where the talents of the 
 10 
 
146 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 day are assembled. I cannot promise you, however, that 
 they will all be of the first order. Somehow or other, our 
 great geniuses are not gregarious ; they do not go in 
 flocks, but fly singly in general society. They prefer 
 mingling like common men with the multitude, and are 
 apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the 
 reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd to- 
 gether, acquire strength and importance by their con- 
 federacies, and bear all the distinctive characteristics of 
 their species." 
 
A LITEEAKY DINNER. 
 
 FEW clays after this conversation with Mr. 
 Buckthorne, he called upon me, and took me 
 with him to a regular literary dinner. It was 
 given by a great bookseller, or rather a company of book- 
 sellers, whose firm surpassed in length that of Shadrach, 
 Meshech, and Abednego. 
 
 I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty 
 guests assembled, most of whom I had never seen before. 
 Mr. Buckthorne explained this to me, by informing me 
 that this was a business-dinner, or kind of field-day 
 which the house gave about twice a year to its authors. 
 It is true they did occasionally give snug dinners to three 
 or four literary men at a time ; but then these were gen- 
 erally select authors, favorites of the public, such as had 
 arrived at their sixth or seventh editions. " There are,'* 
 said he, " certain geographical boundaries in the land of 
 literature, and you may judge tolerably well of an 
 author's popularity "b*y the wine his bookseller gives him. 
 An author crosses the port line about the third edition, 
 and gets into claret ; and when he has reached the sixth 
 
 or seventh, he may revel in champagne and burgundy." 
 
 147 
 
148 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 "And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen 
 have reached that I see around me? are any of these 
 claret-drinkers ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great din- 
 ners the common steady run of authors, one or two 
 edition men ; or if any others are invited, they are aware 
 that it is a kind of republican meeting, — you understand 
 me — a meeting of the republic of letters ; and that they 
 must expect nothing but plain, substantial fare." 
 
 These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 
 arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied 
 by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to 
 have adopted Addison's idea as to the literary prece- 
 dence of his guests. A popular poet had the post of 
 honor ; opposite to whom was a hot-pressed traveller in 
 quarto with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, who 
 had produced several solid works, that were much quoted 
 and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated 
 next to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had 
 written a thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo on political 
 economy, that was getting into fashion. Several three- 
 volumed duodecimo men, of fair currency, were placed 
 about the centre of the table ; while the lower end was 
 taken up with small poets, translators, and authors who 
 had not as yet risen into much notoriety. 
 
 The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; 
 breaking out here and there in various parts of the table 
 in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who 
 
A LITERARY DINNER. 149 
 
 had the confidence of a man on good terms with the 
 world, and independent of his bookseller, was very gay 
 and brilliant, and said many clever things which set the 
 partner next him in a roar, and delighted all the com- 
 pany. The other partner, however, maintained his 
 sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a 
 thorough man of business, intent upon the occupation of 
 the moment. His gravity was explained to me by my 
 friend Buckthorne. He informed me that the concerns 
 of the house were admirably distributed among the part- 
 ners. "Thus, for instance," said he, "the grave gentle- 
 man is the carving partner, who attends to the joints ; 
 and the other is the laughing partner, who attends to the 
 jokes." 
 
 The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the 
 upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to 
 possess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the 
 crew at the lower end, if they did not make much figure 
 in talking, they did in eating. Never was there a more 
 determined, inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on 
 the trencher than by this phalanx of masticators. When 
 the cloth was removed, and the wine began to circulate, 
 they grew very merry and jocose among themselves. 
 Their jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached 
 the upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. 
 Even the laughing partner did not think it necessary to 
 honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor Buck- 
 thorne accounted for, by informing me that there was a 
 
150 TALES OF A TEA VELLER 
 
 certain degree of popularity to be obtained before a 
 bookseller could afford to laugh at an author's jokes. 
 
 Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated 
 below the salt, my eye singled out one in particular. He 
 was rather shabbily dressed ; though he had evidently 
 made the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt- 
 frill plaited and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. 
 His face was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little too florid, 
 particularly about the nose ; though the rosy hue gave 
 the greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a 
 little the look of a boon companion, with that dash of 
 the poor devil in it which gives an inexpressible mellow 
 tone to a man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of 
 richer promise ; but never was promise so ill kept. He 
 said nothing, ate and drank with the keen appetite of a 
 garreteer, and scarcely stopped to laugh, even at the good 
 jokes from the upper end of the table. I inquired who 
 he was. Buckthorne looked at him attentively : " Gad," 
 said he, " I have seen that face before, but where I can- 
 not recollect. He cannot be an author of any note. I 
 suppose some writer of sermons, or grinder of foreign 
 travels." 
 
 After dinner we retired to another room to take tea 
 and coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of 
 inferior guests, — authors of small volumes in boards, 
 and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. These had not 
 as yet arrived to the importance of a dinner-invitation, 
 but were invited occasionally to pass the evening in a 
 
A LITERARY DINNER. 151 
 
 friendly way. They were very respectful to the partners, 
 and, indeed, seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but 
 they paid devoted court to the lady of the house, and 
 were extravagantly fond of the children. Some few, who 
 did not feel confidence enough to make such advances, 
 stood shyly off in corners, talking to one another ; or 
 turned over portfolios of prints which they had not seen 
 above H\e thousand times, or moused over the music on 
 the forte-piano. 
 
 The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the per- 
 sons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room ; 
 being men evidently of circulation in the West End. 
 They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid 
 her a thousand compliments and civilities, at some of 
 which I thought she would have expired with delight. 
 Everything they said and did had the odor of fashiona- 
 ble life. I looked round in vain for the poor-devil author 
 in the rusty black coat ; he had disappeared immediately 
 after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the 
 glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing fur- 
 ther to interest my attention, I took my departure soon 
 after coffee had been served, leaving the poet, and the 
 thin, genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentleman, masters of 
 the field. 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 
 
 THINK it was the very next evening that, in 
 coming out of Covent Garden Theatre with my 
 eccentric friend Buckthorne, he proposed to 
 give me another peep at life and character. Finding me 
 willing for any research of the kind, he took me through 
 a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent 
 Garden, until we stopped before a tavern, from which we 
 heard the bursts of merriment of a jovial party. There 
 would be a loud peal of laughter, then an interval, then 
 another peal, as if a prime wag were telling a story. 
 After a little while there was a song, and at the close of 
 each stanza a hearty roar, and a vehement thumping on 
 the table. 
 
 " This is the place," whispered Buckthorne ; " it is the 
 club of queer fellows, a great resort of the small wits, 
 third-rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres. 
 Any one can go in on paying a sixpence at the bar for the 
 use of the club." 
 
 We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our 
 seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner of the room. The 
 club was assembled round a table, on which stood bever- 
 
 152 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 153 
 
 ages of various kinds, according to the tastes of the indi- 
 viduals. The members were a set of queer fellows indeed ; 
 but what was my surprise on recognizing, in the prime 
 wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author whom I had 
 remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promising 
 face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, 
 were entirely changed with him. There he was a mere 
 cipher; here he was lord of the ascendant, the choice 
 spirit, the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the 
 table with his hat on, and an eye beaming even more 
 luminously than his nose. He had a quip and a fillip for 
 every one, and a good thing on every occasion. Nothing 
 could be said or done without eliciting a spark from him : 
 and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse wit 
 even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, 
 were rather wet, but they suited the circle over which 
 he presided. The company were in that maudlin mood, 
 when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he opened 
 his lips there was sure to be a roar ; and even sometimes 
 before he had time to speak. 
 
 "We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee 
 composed by him expressly for the club, and which he 
 sung with two boon companions, who would have been 
 worthy subjects for Hogarth's pencil. As they were each 
 provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure 
 the reading of it. 
 
 " Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 
 And merrily troll the glee, 
 
154 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass, 
 So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 
 
 " Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose, 
 Until it right rosy shall be ; 
 For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 
 Is a sign of good company." 
 
 We waited until the party broke up, and no one but 
 the wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs 
 stretched under it, and wide apart; his hands in his 
 breeches-pockets ; his head drooped upon his breast ; and 
 gazing with lack-lustre countenance on an empty tankard. 
 His gayety was gone, his fire completely quenched. 
 
 My companion approached, and startled him from his 
 fit of brown study, introducing himself on the strength of 
 their having dined together at the booksellers'. 
 
 " By the way," said he, " it seems to me I have seen 
 you before ; your face is surely that of an old acquaint- 
 ance, though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have 
 known you." 
 
 " Very likely," replied he, with a smile ; " many of my 
 old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, 
 my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, 
 however, it will assist your recollection in any way, my 
 name is Thomas Dribble, at your service." 
 
 " What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's schooJ 
 in Warwickshire ?" 
 
 " The same," said the other, coolly. 
 
THE CLUB OF QlTEEB FELLOWS. \^ 
 
 "Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though it's no 
 wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by 
 several years; don't you recollect little Jack Buck- 
 thorne ? " 
 
 Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow recognition, 
 and a world of talk about old school-times and school- 
 pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy 
 sigh, " that times were sadly changed since those days." 
 
 " Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a differ- 
 ent man here from what you were at dinner. I had no 
 idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were 
 all silence, but here you absolutely keep the table in a 
 roar." 
 
 "Ah! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the 
 head, and a shrug of the shoulder, " I am a mere glow- 
 worm. I never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard 
 thing for a poor devil of an author to shine at the table of 
 a rich bookseller. Who do you think would laugh at any- 
 thing I could say, when I had some of the current wits 
 of the day about me ? But here, though a poor devil, I 
 am among still poorer devils than myself ; men who look 
 up to me as a man of letters, and a bel-esprit, and all 
 my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint. 
 
 " You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; " I 
 have certainly heard more good things from you this 
 evening, than from any of those beaux-esprits by whom 
 you appear to have been so daunted." 
 
 " All, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they are 
 
156 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 in the fashion — there's nothing like being in fashion 
 A man that has once got his character up for a wit is 
 always sure of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter 
 as much nonsense as he pleases, and all will pass cur- 
 rent. No one stops to question the coin of a rich man ; 
 but a poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea, 
 without its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin 
 are always doubted with a threadbare coat. 
 
 " For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch 
 a little more on one side, — " for my part, I hate your fine 
 dinners ; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chop- 
 house. I'd rather, any time, have my steak and tankard 
 among my own set, than drink claret and eat venison 
 with your cursed civil, elegant company, who never laugh 
 at a good joke from a poor devil for fear of its being 
 vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in 
 low places, but withers on your d — d high, dry grounds. 
 I once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined my- 
 self; I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing 
 saved me but being arrested by my landlady, and thrown 
 into prison; where a course of catch-clubs, eightpenny 
 ale, and poor-devil company, manured my mind, and 
 brought it back to itself again." 
 
 As it was now growing late, we parted for the evening, 
 though I felt anxious to know more of this practical phi- 
 losopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne pro- 
 posed to have another meeting, to talk over old school- 
 times, and inquired his schoolmate's address. The lattex 
 
THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 157 
 
 seemed at first a little shy of naming liis lodgings ; but 
 suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood — " Green-arbor 
 
 Court, sir," exclaimed he — " Number in Green-arbor 
 
 Court. You must know the place. Classic ground, 
 sir, classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith wrote his 
 'Vicar of Wakefield,' — I always like to live in literary 
 haunts." 
 
 I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby 
 quarters. On our way homeward, Buckthorne assured 
 me that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great 
 wag of the school in their boyish days, and one of those 
 unlucky urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he 
 perceived me curious respecting his old schoolmate, he 
 promised to take me with him in his proposed visit to 
 Green-arbor Court. 
 
 A few mornings afterward he called upon me, and we 
 jet forth on our expedition. He led me through a vari- 
 ety of singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages ; 
 for he appeared to be perfectly versed in all the intricate 
 geography of the metropolis. At length we came out 
 upon Fleet Market, and traversing it, turned up a narrow 
 street to the bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps, 
 called Break-neck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to 
 Green-arbor Court, and that down them poor Goldsmith 
 might many a time have risked his neck. When we 
 entered the court, I could not but smile to think in what 
 out-of-the-way corners genius produces her bantlings! 
 And the muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, 
 
158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile 
 to votaries in splendid studies, and gilded drawing- 
 rooms, — what holes and burrows will they frequent to 
 lavish their favors on some ragged disciple ! 
 
 This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small square, 
 surrounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intes- 
 tines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from 
 the old garments and frippery fluttering from every win- 
 dow. It appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and 
 lines were stretched about the little square, on which 
 clothes were dangling to dry. 
 
 Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place 
 between two viragoes about a disputed right to a wash- 
 tub, and immediately the whole community was in a hub- 
 bub. Heads in mob-caps popped out of every window, 
 and such a clamor of tongues ensued, that I was fain to 
 stop my ears. Every amazon took part with one or other 
 of the disputants, and brandished her arms, dripping 
 with soap-suds, and fired away from her window as from 
 the embrazure of a fortress ; while the swarms of children 
 nestled and cradled in every procreant chamber of this 
 hive, waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to 
 swell the general concert. 
 
 Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have had of it, 
 with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up 
 in this den of noise and vulgarity! How strange, that, 
 while every sight and sound was sufficient to embitter 
 the heart, and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be 
 
TEE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 159 
 
 dropping the honey of Hybla ! Yet it is more than proba- 
 ble that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of low 
 life from the scenes which surrounded him in this abode. 
 The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to wash 
 her husband's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who 
 refused to lend her wash-tub, may have been no sport of 
 fancy, but a fact passing under his own eye. His land- 
 lady may have sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs's 
 scanty wardrobe have been a, facsimile of his own. 
 
 It was with some difficulty that we found our way to 
 Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in 
 a room that looked upon the court ; and when we entered, 
 he was seated on the edge of his bed, writing at a broken 
 table. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor- 
 devil air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first 
 appear slightly confused; buttoned up his waistcoat a 
 little higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But 
 he recollected himself in an instant ; gave a half swagger, 
 half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three- 
 legged stool for Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lum- 
 bering old damask chair, that looked like a dethroned 
 monarch in exile ; and bade us welcome to his garret. 
 
 We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne 
 and he had much to say about early school-scenes ; and 
 as nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections 
 of the kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his 
 literary career. 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 
 
 BEGAN life unluckily by being the wag and 
 bright fellow at school ; and I had the further 
 misfortune of becoming the great genius of my 
 native village. My father was a country attorney, and 
 intended I should succeed him in business ; but I had too 
 much genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius 
 to force it into the traces ; so I fell into bad company, 
 and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me, I mean 
 that I fell into the company of village-literati, and vil- 
 lage-blues, and took to writing village-poetry. 
 
 It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary 
 There was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who 
 assembled frequently together, formed ourselves into a 
 Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society, and fan- 
 cied ourselves the most learned Philos in existence. 
 Every one had a great character assigned him, suggested 
 by some casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow 
 drank an enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his arm- 
 chair, talked sententiously, pronounced dogmatically, and 
 was considered a second Dr. Johnson; another, who 
 
 happened to be a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote 
 
 160 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 161 
 
 doggerel rhymes, and was the Swift of our association. 
 Thus we had also our Popes, and Goldsmiths, and Ad- 
 disons; and a blue-stocking lady, whose drawing-room 
 we frequented, who corresponded about nothing with all 
 the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness and for- 
 mality of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs. 
 Montagu. I was, by common consent, the juvenile 
 prodigy, the poetical youth, the great genius, the pride 
 and hope of the village, through whom it was to become 
 one day as celebrated as Stratford-on-Avon. 
 
 My father died, and left me his blessing and his busi- 
 ness. His blessing brought no money into my pocket ; 
 and as to his business, it soon deserted me ; for I was 
 busy writing poetry, and could not attend to law, and 
 my clients, though they had great respect for my talents, 
 had no faith in a poetical attorney. 
 
 I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and 
 finished my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melancholy, 
 and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. The 
 Pleasures of Imagination, the Pleasures of Hope, and 
 the Pleasures of Memory, though each had placed its 
 author in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in 
 comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from 
 beginning to end. It was pronounced by all the mem- 
 bers of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical So- 
 ciety the greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated 
 the noise it would make in the great world. There was 
 not a doubt but the London booksellers would be mad 
 
162 TALES OF A TEA VELLEtt. 
 
 after it ; and the only fear of my friends was, that 1 
 would make a sacrifice by selling it too cheap. Every 
 time they talked the matter over, they increased the 
 price. They reckoned up the great sums given for the 
 poems of certain popular writers, and determined that 
 mine was worth more than all put together, and ought to 
 be paid for accordingly. For my part, I was modest in 
 my expectations, and determined that I would be satis- 
 fied with a thousand guineas. So I put my poem in my 
 pocket, and set off for London. 
 
 My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my 
 purse, and my head full of anticipations of fame and for- 
 tune. With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes 
 upon old London from the heights of Highgate ! I was 
 like a general, looking down upon a place he expects to 
 conquer. The great metropolis lay stretched before me, 
 buried under a home-made cloud of murky smoke, that 
 wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and 
 formed for it a kind of artificial bad weather. At the 
 outskirts of the city, away to the west, the smoke grad- 
 ually decreased until all was clear and sunny, and the 
 view stretched uninterrupted to the blue line of the 
 Kentish hills. 
 
 My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of 
 St. Paul's swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I 
 pictured to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies 
 about its base. How soon should the Pleasures of 
 Melancholy throw this world of booksellers and printers 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. \^ 
 
 into a bustle of business and delight ! How soon should 
 I hear my name repeated by printers' devils throughout 
 Paternoster Row, and Angel Court, and Ave Maria Lane, 
 until Amen Corner should echo back the sound ! 
 
 Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fash- 
 ionable publisher. Every new author patronizes him of 
 course. In fact, it had been determined in the village 
 circle that he should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell 
 you how vain-gloriously I walked the streets. My head 
 was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven playing 
 about it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo of 
 literary glory. As I passed by the windows of book- 
 shops, I anticipated the time when my work would be 
 shining among the hot-pressed wonders of the day ; and 
 my face, scratched on copper, or cut on wood, figuring in 
 fellowship with those of Scott, and Byron, and Moore. 
 
 When I applied at the publisher's house, there was 
 something in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of 
 my dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They 
 doubtless took me for some person of consequence ; prob- 
 ably a digger of Greek roots, or a penetrator of pyra- 
 mids. A proud man in a dirty shirt is always an impos- 
 ing character in the world of letters ; one must feel 
 intellectually secure before he can venture to dress shab- 
 bily ; none but a great genius, or a great scholar, dares 
 to be dirty ; so I was ushered at once to the sanctum 
 sanctorum of this high-priest of Minerva. 
 
 The publishing of books is a very different affair now- 
 
164 TALES OF A TBAVELLER 
 
 aclays from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot. 
 I found the publisher a fashionably dressed man, in an 
 elegant drawing-room, furnished with sofas, and portraits 
 of celebrated authors, and cases of splendidly bound 
 books. He was writing letters at an elegant table. This 
 was transacting business in style. The place seemed 
 suited to the magnificent publications that issued from 
 it. I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, 
 for I always liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. 
 
 I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port 
 I had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle ; 
 though I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such 
 as one feels when about to make a man's fortune. The 
 publisher paused with his pen in hand, and seemed wait- 
 ing in mute suspense to know what was to be announced 
 by so singular an apparition. 
 
 I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that I had 
 but to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name, 
 and the name of my poem ; produced my precious roll of 
 blotted manuscript ; laid it on the table with an empha- 
 sis ; and told him at once, to save time, and come directly 
 to the point, the price was one thousand guineas. 
 
 I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so 
 inclined. He continued looking at me for a moment 
 with an air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned me from 
 head to foot; looked down at the manuscript, then up 
 again at me, then pointed to a chair ; and whistling 
 softly to himself, went on writing his letter. 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 165 
 
 I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he 
 was making up his mind ; but he only paused occasion- 
 ally to take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the 
 tip of his nose, and then resumed his writing. It was 
 evident his mind was intently occupied upon some other 
 subject ; but I had no idea that any other subject could 
 be attended to, and my poem lie unnoticed on the table. 
 I had supposed that everything would make way for the 
 " Pleasures of Melancholy." 
 
 My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my 
 manuscript, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of 
 the room ; making some noise as I went out, to let my 
 departure be heard. The publisher, however, was too 
 much buried in minor concerns to notice it. I was suf- 
 fered to walk down-stairs without being called back. I 
 sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent after 
 me ; nor did the publisher call after me from the draw- 
 ing-room window. I have been told since, that he con- 
 sidered me either a madman or a fool. I leave you to 
 judge how much he was in the wrong in his opinion. 
 
 When I turned the corner, my crest fell. I cooled 
 down in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my 
 terms with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I 
 had no better success; nor with a third, nor with a 
 fourth. I then desired the booksellers to make an offer 
 themselves ; but the deuce an offer would they make. 
 They told me poetry was a mere drug ; everybody wrote 
 poetry ; the market was overstocked with it. And then 
 
166 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 they said, the title of my poem was not taking; that 
 pleasures of all kinds were worn threadbare, nothing but 
 horrors did nowadays, and even those were almost worn 
 out. Tales of Pirates, Robbers, and bloody Turks, might 
 answer tolerably well ; but then they must come from 
 some established, well-known name, or the public would 
 not look at them. 
 
 At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller to 
 read it, and judge for himself. " Why, really, my dear 
 
 Mr. a — a — I forget your name," said he, casting his 
 
 eye at my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, " really, sir, we 
 are so pressed with business just now, and have so many 
 manuscripts on hand to read, that we have not time to 
 look at any new productions ; but if you can call again in 
 a week or two, or say the middle of next month, we may 
 be able to look over your writings, and give you an an- 
 swer. Don't forget, the month after next ; good morning, 
 sir ; happy to see you any time you are passing this 
 way/' So saying, he bowed me out in the civilest way 
 imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager competi- 
 tion to secure my poem, I could not even get it read ! In 
 the meantime I was harassed by letters from my friends, 
 wanting to know when the work was to appear ; who was 
 to be my publisher ; and above all things, warning me 
 not to let it go too cheap. 
 
 There was but one alternative left. I determined to 
 publish the poem myself ; and to have my triumph over 
 the booksellers when it should become the fashion of the 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. \ffl 
 
 day. I accordingly published the " Pleasures of Melan- 
 choly," — and ruined myself. Excepting the copies sent 
 to the reviews, and to my friends in the country, not one, 
 I believe, ever left the bookseller's warehouse. The 
 printer's bill drained my purse ; and the only notice that 
 was taken of my work was contained in the advertise- 
 ments paid for by myself. 
 
 I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as 
 usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the 
 want of taste in the public ; and could have made the 
 usual appeal to posterity ; but my village friends would 
 not let me rest in quiet. They were picturing me to 
 themselves feasting with the great, communing with the 
 literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. 
 Every little while, some one would call on me with a 
 letter of introduction from the village circle, recommend- 
 ing him to my attentions, and requesting that I would 
 make him known in society ; with a hint, that an intro- 
 duction to a celebrated literary nobleman would be ex- 
 tremely agreeable. I determined, therefore, to change 
 my lodgings, drop my correspondence, and disappear 
 altogether from the view of my village admirers. Be- 
 sides, I was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. 
 I was by no means disheartened by the failure of my 
 first. My poem was evidently too didactic. The public 
 was wise enough. It no longer read for instruction. 
 "They want horrors, do they?" said I: "I'faith! then 
 they shall have enough of them." So I looked out for 
 
168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 some quiet, retired place, where I might be out of the 
 reach of my friends, and have leisure to cook up some 
 delectable dish of poetical "hell-broth." 
 
 I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, 
 when chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. 
 It is an ancient brick tower, hard by " merry Islington " ; 
 the remains of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, where 
 she took the pleasure of the country when the neighbor- 
 hood was all woodland. What gave it particular interest 
 in my eyes was the circumstance that it had been the 
 residence of a poet. 
 
 It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his 
 "Deserted Village." I was shown the very apartment. 
 It was a relic of the original style of the castle, with 
 panelled wainscots and Gothic windows. I was pleased 
 with its air of antiquity, and with its having been the 
 residence of poor Goldy. 
 
 " Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, " a 
 very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did 
 not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowadays ; 
 but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and hot 
 heads, he would no doubt have written quite differently." 
 
 In a few days I was quietly established in my new 
 quarters ; my books all arranged ; my writing-desk placed 
 by a window looking out into the fields ; and I felt as 
 snug as Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his 
 bower. For several days I enjoyed all the novelty of the 
 change and the charms which grace new lodgings, before 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL A UTHOR. 169 
 
 one has found out their defects. I rambled about the 
 fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I ex- 
 plored merry Islington ; ate my solitary dinner at the 
 Black Bull, which, according to tradition, was a country- 
 seat of Sir Walter Kaleigh ; and would sit and sip my 
 wine, and muse on old times, in a quaint old room, where 
 many a council had been held. 
 
 All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated 
 by novelty ; inspired by the associations awakened in my 
 mind by these curious haunts ; and began to think I felt 
 the spirit of composition stirring within me. But Sun- 
 day came, and with it the whole city world, swarming 
 about Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window 
 but I was stunned with shouts and noises from the 
 cricket-ground ; the late quiet road beneath my window 
 was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues ; 
 and, to complete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat 
 was absolutely a " show-house," the tower and its con- 
 tents being shown to strangers at sixpence a head. 
 
 There was a perpetual tramping up-stairs of citizens 
 and their families, to look about the country from the 
 top of the tower, and to take a peep at the city through 
 the telescope, to try if they could discern their own 
 chimneys. And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, 
 or a moment of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my 
 ideas put to flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping 
 at the door, and asking me if I would " just please to let 
 a lady and gentleman come in, to take a look at Mr. 
 
170 TALES OF A TBAVELLEM. 
 
 Goldsmith's room." If you know anything of what an 
 author's study is, and what an author is himself, you 
 must know that there was no standing this. I put posi- 
 tive interdict on my room's being exhibited ; but then it 
 was shown when I was absent, and my papers put in 
 confusion ; and, on returning home one day, I absolutely 
 found a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over 
 my manuscripts, and my landlady in a panic at my 
 api3earance. I tried to make out a little longer, by 
 taking the key in my pocket ; but it would not do. I 
 overheard mine hostess one day telling some of her 
 customers on the stairs, that the room was occupied 
 by an author, who was always in a tantrum if inter- 
 rupted ; and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise 
 at the door, that they were peeping at me through the 
 key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was quite too 
 much ! With all my eagerness for fame, and my ambi- 
 tion of the stare of the million, I had no idea of being 
 exhibited by retail, at sixpence a head, and that through 
 a key-hole. So I bid adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry 
 Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without 
 having advanced a single line in my labors. 
 
 My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cot- 
 tage, which stands not far from Hampstead, just on the 
 brow of a hill; looking over Chalk Farm and Camden 
 Town, remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Ked 
 Cap and Mother Black Cap; and so across Crackskull 
 Common to the distant city. 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 171 
 
 The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself ; but I 
 regarded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of 
 a persecuted author. Hither poor Steele had retreated, 
 and laid perdu, when persecuted by creditors and 
 bailiffs— those immemorial plagues of authors and free- 
 spirited gentlemen ; and here he had written many num- 
 bers of the " Spectator." It was hence, too, that he had 
 dispatched those little notes to his lady, so full of affec- 
 tion and whimsicality, in which the fond husband, the 
 careless gentleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so 
 oddly blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window 
 of his apartment, that I could sit within it and write 
 volumes. 
 
 No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, as ill 
 luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage 
 was a little ale-house, with the sign of the Load of Hay. 
 Whether it was there in Steele's time, I cannot say ; but 
 it set all attempts at conception or inspiration at de- 
 fiance. It was the resort of all the Irish haymakers who 
 mow the broad fields in the neighborhood ; and of dro- 
 vers and teamsters who travel that road. Here they 
 would gather in the endless summer twilight, or by the 
 light of the harvest moon, and sit around a table at the 
 door ; and tipple, and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and 
 sing drowsy songs, and dawdle away the hours, until the 
 deep solemn notes of St. Paul's clock would warn the 
 varlets home. 
 
 In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad 
 
172 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and 
 the perfume of the new-mown hay brought with it the 
 recollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining 
 in my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose 
 Hill, and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd's Fields, 
 and all those Arcadian scenes so celebrated by London 
 bards. I cannot tell you how many delicious hours I 
 have passed, lying on the cocks of the new-mown hay, on 
 the pleasant slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the 
 fragrance of the fields, while the summer-fly buzzed 
 about me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom ; 
 and how I have gazed with half-shut eye upon the 
 smoky mass of London, and listened to the distant sound 
 of its population, and pitied the poor sons of earth, 
 toiling in its bowels, like Gnomes in the "dark gold- 
 mines." 
 
 People may say what they please about cockney pas- 
 torals, but, after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty 
 about the western vicinity of London ; and any one that 
 has looked down upon the valley of the West End, with 
 its soft bosom of green pasturage lying open to the south, 
 and dotted with cattle ; the steeple of Hampstead rising 
 among rich groves on the brow of the hill ; and the 
 learned height of Harrow in the distance ; will confess 
 that never has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape 
 in the vicinity of a great metropolis. 
 
 Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off 
 for my frequent change of lodgings ; and I began to dis- 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 173 
 
 cover, that in literature, as in trade, the old proverb 
 holds good, " a rolling stone gathers no moss." 
 
 The tranquil beauty of the country played the very 
 vengeance with me. I could not mount my fancy into 
 the termagant vein. I could not conceive, amidst the 
 smiling landscape, a scene of blood and murder ; and the 
 smug citizens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of he- 
 roes and bandits out of my brain. I could think of noth- 
 ing but dulcet subjects, " the Pleasures of Spring "— 
 " the Pleasures of Solitude " — " the Pleasures of Tran- 
 quillity" — "the Pleasures of Sentiment" — nothing but 
 pleasures ; and I had the painful experience of " the 
 Pleasures of Melancholy" too strongly in my recollec- 
 tion to be beguiled by them. 
 
 Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently, in 
 my ramblings, loitered about Hampstead Hill, which is a 
 kind of Parnassus of the metropolis. At such times I 
 occasionally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is 
 a country inn so named ; the very spot where that noto- 
 rious rebel and his followers held their council of war. 
 It is a favorite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, as 
 it commands fine fresh air, and a good view of the city. 
 I sat one day in the public room of this inn, ruminating 
 over a beefsteak and a pint of porter, when my imagina- 
 tion kindled up with ancient and heroic images. I had 
 long wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke 
 upon my mind. I determined to write a poem on the 
 history of Jack Straw. I was so full of the subject, that 1 
 
174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 was fearful ot being anticipated. I wondered that none 
 of the poets of the day in their search after ruffian 
 heroes, had never thought of Jack Straw. I went to work 
 pell-mell, blotted several sheets of paper with choice 
 floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be 
 ready at a moment's warning. In a few days' time I 
 sketched out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was 
 wanting but to give it flesh and blood. I used to take 
 my manuscript and stroll about Caen Wood, and read 
 aloud ; and would dine at the Castle, by way of keeping 
 up the vein of thought. 
 
 I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public 
 room. There was no other company but one man, who 
 sat enjoying his pint of porter at the window, and notic- 
 ing the passers-by. He was dressed in a green shoot- 
 ing-coat. His countenance was strongly marked : he had 
 a hooked nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had 
 something of a squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a 
 poetical style of head. I was quite taken with the man, 
 for you must know I am a little of a physiognomist; I set 
 him down at once for either a poet or a philosopher. 
 
 As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every 
 man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conver- 
 sation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was 
 by no means difficult of access. After I had dined, I 
 joined him at the window, and we became so sociable 
 that I proposed a bottle of wine together, to which he 
 most cheerfully assented. 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 175 
 
 I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the 
 subject, and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, 
 and the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaint- 
 ance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump 
 exactly with my humor in every respect. I became ele- 
 vated by the wine and the conversation. In the fulness 
 of an author's feelings, I told him of my projected poem, 
 and repeated some passages, and he was in raptures. He 
 was evidently of a strong poetical turn. 
 
 " Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, "our 
 poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go 
 out of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. 
 I like your Jack Straw, sir, — he's a home-made hero. I 
 like him, sir — I like him exceedingly. He's English to 
 the backbone — damme — Give me honest old England 
 after all ! Them's my sentiments, sir." 
 
 " I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously ; " it is 
 exactly my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian 
 for poetry as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archipel- 
 ago ; but it is hard to make our poets think so." 
 
 " More shame for them ! " replied the man in green. 
 " What a plague would they have ? What have we to do 
 with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't 
 we heaths and commons and highways on our own little 
 island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof over them 
 too? Stick to home, I say, — them's my sentiments. — 
 Come, sir, my service to you — I agree with you per- 
 fectly." 
 
176 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 " Poets, in old times, had right notions on this sub- 
 ject," continued I ; " witness the fine old ballads about 
 Robin Hood, Allan a'Dale, and other stanch blades of 
 yore." 
 
 " Right, sir, right," interrupted he ; " Robin Hood ! he 
 was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, and never to flinch." 
 
 " Ah, sir," said I, " they had famous bands of robbers 
 in the good old times ; those were glorious poetical days. 
 The merry crew of Sherwood Forest, who led such a 
 roving picturesque life, 'under the greenwood tree.' I 
 have often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the 
 scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymm of the 
 Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie." 
 
 "Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had 
 several very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant 
 dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighbor- 
 hood of London, about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and 
 Blackheath, for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. 
 You don't drink." 
 
 " I suppose," cried I, emptying my glass, " I suppose 
 you have heard of the famous Turpin, who was born in 
 this very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk 
 with his gang in Epping Forest about a hundred years 
 since ? " 
 
 " Have I ? " cried he, " to be sure I have ! A hearty 
 old blade that. Sound as pitch. Old Turpentine ! as we 
 used to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir." 
 
 " Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited Waltham 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 177 
 
 Abbey and Chingford Cliurch merely from the stories 
 I heard when a boy of his exploits there, and I have 
 searched EjDping Forest for the cavern where he nsed 
 to conceal himself. You must know," added I, " that 
 I am a sort of amateur of highwaymen. They were 
 dashing daring fellows : the best apologies that we had 
 for the knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir ! the country 
 has been sinking gradually into tameness and com- 
 monplace. We are losing the old English spirit. The 
 bold knights of the Post have all dwindled down into 
 lurking footpads, and sneaking pickpockets ; there's no 
 such thing as a dashing, gentleman-like robbery com- 
 mitted nowadays on the King's highway : a man may roll 
 from one end of England to the other in a drowsy 
 coach, or jingling post-chaise, without any other adven- 
 ture than that of being occasionally overturned, sleep- 
 ing in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner. 
 We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and 
 robbed by a well-mounted gang of resolute fellows, 
 with pistols in their hands, and crapes over their faces. 
 What a pretty poetical incident was it, for example, 
 in domestic life, for a family-carriage, on its way to 
 a country-seat, to be attacked about dark; the old gen- 
 tleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of 
 their necklaces and ear-rings, by a politely - spoken 
 highwayman on a blood-mare, who afterwards leaped 
 the hedge and galloped across the country, to the 
 admiration of Miss Caroline, the daughter, who would 
 
178 TALES OF A TBA VELLER, 
 
 write a long and romantic account of the adventure to 
 her friend, Miss Juliana, in town. Ah, sir ! we meet 
 with nothing of such incidents nowadays." 
 
 " That, sir," said my companion, taking advantage of a 
 pause, when I skypped to recover breath, and to take a 
 glass of wine which he had just poured out, " that, sir, 
 craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old 
 English pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of 
 banking. People do not travel with bags of gold as they 
 did formerly. They have post-notes, and drafts on bank- 
 ers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you 
 have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. 
 But a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish 
 galleon. It turned out the yellow boys bravely. And a 
 private carriage was a cool hundred or two at least." 
 
 I cannot express how much I was delighted with the 
 sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he 
 often frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know 
 more of me ; and I proposed myself many a pleasant 
 afternoon with him, when I should read him my poem as 
 it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; for it was evi- 
 dent he had the true poetical feeling. 
 
 " Gome, sir," said he, pushing the bottle : " Damme, I 
 like you ! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed 
 slow in making new acquaintances. One must be on the 
 reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your 
 kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's 
 my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. I79 
 
 health! I presume one can drink it nowadays without 
 treason ! " 
 
 "With all my heart," said I, gayly, "and Dick Turpin's 
 into the bargain ! " 
 
 " Ah, sir," said the man in green, " those are the kind 
 of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar, sir! the 
 Newgate Calendar is your only reading! There's the 
 place to look for bold deeds and dashing fellows." 
 
 We were so much pleased with each other that we sat 
 until a late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both 
 my purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he 
 should pay the score at our next meeting. As the 
 coaches had all gone that run between Hampstead and 
 London, we had to return on foot. He was so delighted 
 with the idea of my poem, that he could talk of nothing 
 else. He made me repeat such passages as I could re- 
 member ; and though I did it in a very mangled manner, 
 having a wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. 
 
 Every now and then he would break out with some 
 scrap which he would misquote most terribly, would rub 
 his hands and exclaim, "By Jupiter, that's fine, that's 
 noble ! Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit upon 
 such ideas ! " 
 
 I must confess I did not always relish his misquota- 
 tions, which sometimes made absolute nonsense of the 
 passages ; but what author stands upon trifles when he is 
 praised ? 
 
 Never had I Spent a more delightful evening. I did 
 
180 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 not perceive how the time flew. I could not bear to 
 separate, but continued walking on, arm in arm, with 
 him, past my lodgings, through Camden Town, and across 
 Crackskull Common, talking the whole way about my 
 poem. 
 
 When we were half-way across the common, he inter- 
 rupted me in the midst of a quotation, by telling me that 
 this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still 
 occasionally infested by them ; and that a man had 
 recently been shot there in attempting to defend himself. 
 — " The more fool he ! " cried I ; " a man is an idiot to 
 risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. 
 It's quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's 
 honor is concerned. For my part," added I, " I should 
 never think of making resistance against one of those 
 desperadoes." 
 
 " Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, turning sud- 
 denly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast ; " why, 
 then, have at you, my lad ! — come — disburse ! empty ! 
 unsack ! " 
 
 In a word, I found that the muse had played me an- 
 other of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands 
 of a footpad. There was no time to parley ; he made me 
 turn my pockets inside out ; and hearing the sound of 
 distant footsteps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, 
 watch, and all ; gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate 
 that laid me sprawling on the ground, and scampered 
 away with his booty. 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 181 
 
 I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two 
 afterwards ; when I caught sight of his poetical counte- 
 nance among a crew of scapegraces heavily ironed, who 
 were on the way for transportation. He recognized me 
 at once, tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how 
 I came on with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. 
 
 The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an end 
 to my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical 
 enthusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I was 
 put out of conceit of my subject, and, what was worse, I 
 was lightened of my purse, in which was almost every 
 farthing I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard 
 Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated, 
 though no less poetical and airy lodgings in a garret in 
 town. 
 
 I now determined to cultivate the society of the liter- 
 ary, and to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. 
 It is by the constant collision of mind, thought I, that 
 authors strike out the sparks of genius, and kindle up 
 with glorious conceptions. Poetry is evidently a conta- 
 gious complaint. I will keep company with poets ; who 
 knows but I may catch it as others have done ? 
 
 I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary ac- 
 quaintances, not having the sin of success lying at my 
 door : indeed the failure of my poem was a kind of recom- 
 mendation to their favor. It is true my new friends were 
 not of the most brilliant names in literature ; but then if 
 you would take their words for it, they were like the 
 
182 TALES OF A TEA YELLER. 
 
 prophets of old, men of whom the world was not worthy ; 
 and who were to live in future ages, when the ephemeral 
 favorites of the day should be forgotten. 
 
 I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled in 
 literary society, the less I felt capable of writing ; that 
 poetry was not so catching as I imagined ; and that in 
 familiar life there was often nothing less poetical than a 
 poet. Besides, I wanted the esprit de corps to turn these 
 literary fellowships to any account. I could not bring 
 myself to enlist in any particular sect. I saw something 
 to like in them all, but found that would never do, for 
 that the tacit condition on which a man enters into one 
 of these sects is, that he abuses all the rest. 
 
 I perceived that there were little knots of authors who 
 lived with, and for, and by one another. They consid- 
 ered themselves the salt of the earth. They fostered and 
 kept up a conventional vein of thinking and talking, and 
 joking on all subjects ; and they cried each other up to 
 the skies. Each sect had its particular creed; and set 
 up certain authors as divinities, and fell down and wor- 
 shipped them ; and considered every one who did not 
 worship them, or who worshipped any other, as a here- 
 tic, and an infidel. 
 
 In quoting the writers of the day, I generally found 
 them extolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and 
 talking slightingly of others who were the favorites of 
 the public. If I mentioned any recent work from the 
 pen of a first-rate author, they had not read it ; they had 
 
TEE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 183 
 
 not time to read all that was spawned from the press ; 
 he wrote too much to write well ; — and then they would 
 break out into raptures about some Mr. Timson, or Tom- 
 son, or Jackson, whose works were neglected at the pres- 
 ent day, but who was to be the wonder and delight of 
 posterity! Alas! what heavy debts is this neglectful 
 world daily accumulating on the shoulders of poor pos- 
 terity ! 
 
 But, above all, it was edifying to hear with what con- 
 tempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how im- 
 measurably the great are despised by the small fry of 
 literature ! It is true, an exception was now and then 
 made of some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had 
 casually shaken hands at an election, or hob or nobbed 
 at a public dinner, and was pronounced a " devilish good 
 fellow," and "no humbug"; but, in general, it was 
 enough for a man to have a title, to be the object of their 
 sovereign disdain : you have no idea how poetically and 
 philosophically they would talk of nobility. 
 
 For my part, this affected me but little ; for though I 
 had no bitterness against the great, and did not think the 
 worse of a man for having innocently been born to a title, 
 yet I did not feel myself at present called upon to resent 
 the indignities poured upon them by the little. But the 
 hostility to the great writers of the day went sore against 
 the grain with me. I could not* enter into such feuds, 
 nor participate in such animosities. I had not become 
 author sufficiently to hate other authors. I could still 
 
184 TALEb OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could find 
 it in my heart to praise a contemporary, even though he 
 were successful. Indeed I was miscellaneous in my taste, 
 and could not confine it to any age or growth of writers. 
 I could turn with delight from the glowing pages of 
 Byron to the cool and polished raillery of Pope; and 
 after wandering among the sacred groves of " Paradise 
 Lost," I could give myself up to voluptuous abandonment 
 in the enchanted bowers of " Lalla Rookh." 
 
 " I would have my authors," said I, " as various as my 
 wines, and, in relishing the strong and the racy, would 
 never decry the sparkling and exhilarating. Port and 
 Sherry are excellent standbys, and so is Madeira; but 
 Claret and Burgundy may be drunk now and then with- 
 out disparagement to one's palate, and Champagne is a 
 beverage by no means to be despised." 
 
 Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little 
 flushed with ale at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with 
 something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever 
 one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer 
 and hated Pope ; so my figure about wines went for 
 nothing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as 
 downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon became like a 
 freethinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and 
 fair game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences 
 of not hating in literature. 
 
 I see you are growing weary, so I will be brief with the 
 residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 185 
 
 a detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus ; 
 of the poems I have written which were never printed, 
 the plays I have presented which were never performed, 
 and the tracts I have published which were never pur- 
 chased. It seemed as if booksellers, managers, and the 
 very public, had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. 
 Still I could not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, 
 nor abandon those dreams of renown in which I had 
 indulged. How should I be able to look the literary 
 circle of my native village in the face, if I were so com- 
 pletely to falsify their predictions? For some time 
 longer, therefore, I continued to write for fame, and Avas, 
 of course, the most miserable dog in existence, besides 
 being in continual risk of starvation. I accumulated 
 loads of literary treasure on my shelves — loads which 
 were to be treasures to posterity ; but, alas ! they put not 
 a penny into my purse. What was all this wealth to my 
 present necessities ? I could not patch my elbows with 
 an ode ; nor satisfy my hunger with blank verse. " Shall 
 a man fill his belly with the east wind ? " says the prov- 
 erb. He may as well do so as with poetry. 
 
 I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a 
 sad heart and an empty stomach, about . &ye o'clock, and 
 looked wistfully down the areas in the west end of the 
 town, and seen through the kitchen-windows the fires 
 gleaming, and the joints of meat turning on the spits and 
 dripping with gravy, and the cook-maids beating up 
 puddings, or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment 
 
136 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 that if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens, 
 Apollo and the Muses might have the hungry heights of 
 Parnassus for me. Oh, sir ! talk of meditations among 
 the tombs, — they are nothing so melancholy as the 
 meditations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, 
 along a line of kitchen- windows towards dinner-time. 
 
 At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, 
 the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I was 
 not so clever a fellow as the village and myself had sup- 
 posed. It was the salvation of me. The moment the 
 idea popped into my brain it brought conviction and 
 comfort with it. I awoke as from a dream : I gave up 
 immortal fame to those who could live on air ; took to 
 writing for mere bread ; and have ever since had a very 
 tolerable life of it. There is no man of letters so much at 
 his ease, sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. 
 I had to train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings 
 short at first, or they would have carried me up into 
 poetry in spite of myself. So I determined to begin by 
 the opposite extreme, and abandoning the higher regions 
 of the craft, I came plump down to the lowest, and 
 turned creeper. 
 
 " Creeper ! and pray what is that ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the 
 craft; a creeper is one who furnishes the newspapers 
 with paragraphs at so much a line ; and who goes about 
 in quest of misfortunes ; attends the Bow Street Office ; 
 the Courts of Justice, and every other den of mischief 
 
THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 187 
 
 and iniquity. We are paid at the rate of a penny a line, 
 and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost every 
 paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. 
 Now and then the Muse is unkind, or the day uncom- 
 monly quiet, and then we rather starve ; and sometimes 
 the unconscionable editors will clip our paragraphs when 
 they are a little too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or 
 threepence at a go. I have many a time had my pot of 
 porter snipped off my dinner in this way, and have had 
 to dine with dry lips. However, I cannot complain. I 
 rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am 
 now, I think, in the most comfortable region of litera- 
 ture." 
 
 " And pray," said I, " what may you be at present ? " 
 " At present," said he, " I am a regular job-writer, and 
 turn my hand to anything. I work up the writings of 
 others at so much a sheet, turn off translations ; write 
 second-rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines ; 
 compile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical criti- 
 cisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, you per- 
 ceive, is anonymous ; it gives me no reputation, except 
 among the trade ; where I am considered an author of all 
 work, and am always sure of employ. That's the only 
 reputation I want. I sleep soundly, without dread of 
 duns or critics, and leave immortal fame to those that 
 choose to fret and fight about it. Take my word for it, 
 the only happy author in this world is he who is below 
 the care of reputation." 
 
NOTOEIETY. 
 
 HEN we had emerged from the literary nest of 
 honest Dribble, and had passed safely through 
 the dangers of Breakneck Stairs, and the laby- 
 rinths of Fleet Market, Buckthorne indulged in many 
 comments upon the peep into literary life which he had 
 furnished me. 
 
 I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a 
 world from what I had imagined. " It is always so," said 
 he, "with strangers. The land of literature is a fairy 
 land to those who view it at a distance, but, like all other 
 landscapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and 
 the thorns and briars become visible. The republic of 
 letters is the most factious and discordant of all repub- 
 lics, ancient or modern." 
 
 " Yet," said I, smiling, " you would not have me take 
 honest Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He 
 is but a mousing owl ; a mere groundling. We should 
 have quite a different strain from one of those fortu- 
 nate authors whom we see sporting about the empyreal 
 heights of fashion, like swallows in the blue sky of a 
 summer's day." 
 
 188 
 
NOTORIETY. 189 
 
 "Perhaps we might," replied he, "but I doubt it. 1 
 doubt whether, if any one, even of the most successful, 
 were to tell his actual feelings, you would not find the 
 truth of friend Dribble's philosophy with respect to rep- 
 utation. One you would find carrying a gay face to the 
 world, while some vulture critic was preying upon his 
 very liver. Another, who was simple enough to mistake 
 fashion for fame, you would find watching countenances, 
 and cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in 
 the beau monde than the world of letters, and apt to be 
 rendered wretched by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or 
 a dissipated duchess. Those who were rising to fame, 
 you would find tormented with anxiety to get higher; 
 and those who had gained the summit, in constant appre- 
 hension of a decline. 
 
 " Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of noto- 
 riety, and the farce of fashion, are not much better off, 
 being incessantly harassed by intrusions on their leisure, 
 and interruptions of their pursuits ; for, whatever may be 
 his feelings, when once an author is launched into noto- 
 riety, he must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of the 
 day is satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make way for 
 some new caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know but 
 he is most fortunate who engages in the whirl through 
 ambition, however tormenting ; as it is doubly irksome to 
 be obliged to join in the game without being interested 
 in the stake. 
 
 " There is a constant demand in the fashionable world 
 
190 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 for novelty ; every nine days must have its wonder, no 
 matter of what kind. At one time it is an author ; at 
 another, a fire-eater ; at another, a composer, an Indian 
 juggler, or an Indian chief ; a man from the North Pole 
 or the Pyramids ; each figures through his brief term of 
 notoriety, and then makes way for the succeeding won- 
 der. You must know that we have oddity fanciers 
 among our ladies of rank, who collect about them all 
 kinds of remarkable beings ; fiddlers, statesmen, singers, 
 warriors, artists, philosophers, actors, and poets; every 
 kind of personage, in short, who is noted for something 
 peculiar ; so that their routs are like fancy-balls, where 
 every one comes 'in character.' 
 
 " I have had infinite amusement at these parties in 
 noticing how industriously every one was playing a part, 
 and acting out of his natural line. There is not a more 
 complete game at cross purposes than the intercourse of 
 the literary and the great. The fine gentleman is always 
 anxious to be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and 
 talk learnedly with a man of letters, who was aiming at a 
 fashionable air, and the tone of a man who had lived 
 about town. The peer quoted a score or two learned 
 authors, with whom he would fain be thought intimate, 
 while the author talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry 
 that, and extolled the Burgundy he had drunk at Lord 
 Such-a-one's. Each seemed to forget that he could only 
 
NOTORIETY. 191 
 
 be interesting to the other in his proper character. Had 
 the peer been merely a man of erudition, the author 
 would never have listened to his prosing ; and had the 
 author known all the nobility in the Court Calendar, it 
 would have given him no interest in the eyes of the peer. 
 " In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable 
 for beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics, 
 while the philosopher put on an awkward air of gal- 
 lantry, played with her fan, and prattled about the 
 Opera. I have heard a sentimental poet talk very 
 stupidly with a statesman about the national debt ; and 
 on joining a knot of scientific old gentlemen conversing 
 in a corner, expecting to hear the discussion of some 
 valuable discovery, I found they were only amusing 
 themselves with a fat story." 
 
A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 HE anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's 
 early schoolmate, together with a variety of 
 peculiarities which I had remarked in himself, 
 gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his own 
 history. I am a traveller of the good old school, and am 
 fond of the custom laid down in books, according to 
 which, whenever travellers met, they sat down forthwith, 
 and gave a history of themselves and their adventures. 
 This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to my taste ; he 
 had seen the world, and mingled with society, yet re- 
 tained the strong eccentricities of a man who had lived 
 much alone. There was a careless dash of good-humor 
 about him, which pleased me exceedingly ; and at times 
 an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his humor, and 
 gave it an additional zest. He was apt to run into long 
 speculations upon society and manners, and to indulge in 
 whimsical views of human nature ; yet there was nothing 
 ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon the follies 
 than the vices of mankind ; and even the follies of his fel- 
 low-man were treated with the leniency of one who felt 
 himself to be but frail. He had evidently been a little 
 
 192 
 
A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. 193 
 
 chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being soured 
 thereby : as some fruits become mellower and more 
 generous in their flavor from having been bruised and 
 frost-bitten. 
 
 I have always had a great relish for the conversation of 
 practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited 
 by the "sweet uses" of adversity without imbibing its 
 bitterness ; who have learned to estimate the world 
 rightly, yet good-humoredly ; and who, while they per- 
 ceive the truth of the saying, that " all is vanity," are yet 
 able to do so without vexation of spirit. 
 
 Such a man was Buckthorne. In general a laughing 
 philosopher ; and if at any time a shade of sadness stole 
 across his brow, it was but transient; like a summer 
 cloud, which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the 
 fields over which it passes. 
 
 I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gar- 
 dens, — for he was a knowing epicure in all the cheap 
 pleasures and rural haunts within reach of the metropo- 
 lis. It was a delightful warm morning in spring ; and he 
 was in the happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just 
 turned loose into grass and sunshine. He had been 
 watching a lark which, rising from a bed of daisies and 
 yellow-cups, had sung his way up to a bright snowy 
 cloud floating in the deep blue sky. 
 
 "Of all birds," said he, "I should like to be a lark. 
 He revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happi- 
 est season of the year, among fresh meadows and opening 
 13 
 
194 TALES OF A TRA VELLE&. 
 
 flowers ; and when he has sated himself with the sweet- 
 ness of earth, he wings his flight up to heaven as if he 
 would drink in the melody of the morning stars. Hark tc 
 that note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear ! 
 What a stream of music, note falling over note, in delicious 
 cadence ! Who would trouble his head about operas and 
 concerts when he could walk in the fields and hear such 
 music for nothing? These are the enjoyments which set 
 riches at scorn, and make even a poor man independent : 
 
 " ' I care not, Fortune, what you me deny : 
 
 You cannot rob me of free nature's grace ; 
 You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
 
 Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face ; 
 
 You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
 The woods and lawns by living streams at eve ' 
 
 " Sir, there are homilies in nature's works worth all the 
 wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them rightly, 
 and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received in time 
 of trouble, was from hearing the notes of the lark." 
 
 I profited by this communicative vein to intimate to 
 Buckthorne a wish to know something of the events of 
 his life, which I fancied must have been an eventful one. 
 
 He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I have no 
 great story," said he, " to relate. A mere tissue of errors 
 and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch 
 of it, by which you may judge of the rest." And so, 
 without any further prelude, he gave me the following 
 anecdotes of his early adventures. 
 
BUCKTHOENE: 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 
 
 WAS born to very little property, but to great 
 expectations — which is, perhaps, one of the 
 most nnlucky fortunes a man can be born to. 
 My father was a country gentleman, the last of a very 
 ancient and honorable, but decayed family, and resided 
 in an old hunting-lodge in Warwickshire. He was a keen 
 sportsman, and lived to the extent of his moderate 
 income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter ; 
 but then I had a rich uncle by the mother's side, a penu- 
 rious, accumulating curmudgeon, who it was confidently 
 expected would make me his heir, because he was an old 
 bachelor, because I was named after him, and because he 
 hated all the world except myself. 
 
 He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in 
 misanthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. 
 Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had 
 never forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom 
 he had a cold, still, immovable pique, which had lain at 
 the bottom of his heart, like a stone in a well, ever since 
 
 195 
 
196 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 they had been school-boys together. My mother, how- 
 ever, considered me as the intermediate being that was 
 to bring everything again into harmony, for she looked 
 upon me as a prodigy — God bless her ! my heart over- 
 flows whenever I recall her tenderness. She was the 
 most excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. I was 
 her only child : it was a pity she had no more, for she 
 had fondness of heart enough to have spoiled a dozen ! 
 
 I was sent at an early age to a public school, sorely 
 against my mother's wishes ; but my father insisted that 
 it was the only way to make boys hardy. The school was 
 kept by a conscientious prig of the ancient system, who 
 did his duty by the boys intrusted to his care, — that is 
 to say, we were flogged soundly when we did not get our 
 lessons. We were put in classes, and thus flogged on in 
 droves along the highway of knowledge, in much the 
 same manner as cattle are driven to market ; where those 
 that are heavy in gait, or short in leg. have to suffer for 
 the superior alertness or longer limbs of their compan- 
 ions. 
 
 For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incor- 
 rigible laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling, 
 that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow, and 
 prone to play the vagabond. I used to get away from 
 my books and school whenever I could, and ramble 
 about the fields. I was surrounded by seductions for 
 such a temperament. The school-house was an old- 
 fashioned whitewashed mansion, of wood and plaster, 
 
BUGETHOBNE. I97 
 
 standing on the skirts of a beautiful village : close by it 
 was the venerable church, with a tall Gothic spire ; 
 before it spread a lovely green valley, with a little stream 
 glistening along through willow groves ; while a line of 
 blue hills bounding the landscape gave rise to many a 
 (Aimmer-day-dream as to the fairy land that lay beyond. 
 
 In sjDite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school 
 to make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon 
 the place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this fre- 
 quent flagellation as the common lot of humanity, and 
 the regular mode in which scholars were made. 
 
 My kind mother used to lament over my details of the 
 sore trials I underwent in the cause of learning ; but my 
 father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had 
 been flogged through school himself, and he swore there 
 was no other way of making a man of parts ; though, let 
 me speak it with all due reverence, my father was but an 
 indifferent illustration of his theory, for he was consid- 
 ered a grievous blockhead. 
 
 My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early 
 period. The village church was attended every Sunday 
 by a neighboring squire, the lord of the manor, whose 
 park stretched quite to the village, and whose spacious 
 country-seat seemed to take the church under its pro- 
 tection. Indeed, you would have thought the church 
 had been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. 
 The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the vergers 
 humbled themselves unto the dust in his presence. He 
 
198 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 always entered a little late, and with some stir ; striking 
 his cane emphatically on the ground, swaying his hat in 
 his hand, and looking loftily to the right and left as he 
 walked slowly np the aisle ; and the parson, who always 
 ate his Sunday dinner with him, never commenced ser- 
 vice until he appeared. He sat with his family in a 
 large pew, gorgeously lined, humbling himself devoutly 
 on velvet cushions, and reading lessons of meekness and 
 lowliness of spirit out of splendid gold and morocco 
 prayer-books. Whenever the parson spoke of the diffi- 
 culty of a rich man's entering the kingdom of heaven, the 
 eyes of the congregation would turn towards the "grand 
 pew," and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the 
 application. 
 
 The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical air of the 
 family struck my imagination wonderfully ; and I fell 
 desperately in love with a little daughter of the squire's, 
 about twelve years of age. This freak of fancy made me 
 more truant from my studies than ever. I used to stroll 
 about the squire's park, and lurk near the house, to 
 catch glimpses of this damsel at the windows, or playing 
 about the lawn, or walking out with her governess. 
 
 I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to venture 
 from my concealment. Indeed I felt like an arrant 
 poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's Metamor- 
 phoses, when I pictured myself as some sylvan deity, and 
 she a coy wood-nymph of whom I was in pursuit. There 
 is something extremely delicious in these early awaken- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 199 
 
 ings of the tender passion. I can feel even at this 
 moment the throbbing in my boyish bosom, whenever by 
 chance I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering 
 among the shrubbery. I carried about in my bosom 
 a volume of Waller, which I had purloined from my 
 mother's library ; and I applied to my little fair one all 
 the compliments lavished upon Sacharissa. 
 
 At length I danced with her at a school-ball. I was 
 so awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak to her ; 
 I was filled with awe and embarrassment in her pres- 
 ence ; but I was so inspired, that my poetical tempera- 
 ment for the first time broke out in verse, and I fabri- 
 cated some glowing rhymes, in which I berhymed the 
 little lady under the favorite name of Sacharissa. I 
 slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into her 
 hand the next Sunday as she came out of church. The 
 little prude handed them to her mamma ; the mamma 
 handed them to the squire ; the squire, who had no soul 
 for poetry, sent them in dudgeon to the schoolmaster ; 
 and the schoolmaster, with a barbarity worthy of the 
 dark ages, gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating 
 flogging for thus trespassing upon Parnassus. This was 
 a sad outset for a votary of the Muse ; it ought to have 
 cured me of my passion for poetry ; but it only confirmed 
 it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr rising within me. 
 What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my passion for 
 the young lady ; for I felt so indignant at the ignomini- 
 ous horsing I had incurred in celebrating her charms, 
 
200 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 that I could not hold up my head in church. Fortu- 
 nately for my wounded sensibility, the Midsummer holi- 
 days came on, and I returned home. My mother, as 
 usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little 
 pleasures, and cares, and sorrows ; for boyhood has its 
 share of the one as well as of the other. I told her all, 
 and she was indignant at the treatment I had experi- 
 enced. She fired up at the arrogance of the squire, and 
 the prudery of the daughter ; and as to the schoolmas- 
 ter, she wondered where was the use of having school- 
 masters, and why boys could not remain at home, and be 
 educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She 
 asked to see the verses I had written, and she was de- 
 lighted with them ; for, to confess the truth, she had a 
 pretty taste for poetry. She even showed them to the 
 parson's wife, who protested they were charming; and 
 the parson's three daughters insisted on each having a 
 copy of them. 
 
 All this was exceedingly balsamic ; and I was still 
 more consoled and encouraged when the young ladies, 
 who were the bluestockings of the neighborhood, and 
 had read Dr. Johnson's Lives quite through, assured 
 my mother that great geniuses never studied, but were 
 always idle ; upon which I began to surmise that I was 
 myself something out of the common run. My father, 
 however, was of a very different opinion; for when my 
 mother, in the pride of her heart, showed him my copy 
 of verses, he threw them out of the window, asking her 
 
BTtCKTHORNE. 201 
 
 i: if she meant to make a ballad-monger of the boy ? " 
 But he was a careless, common-thinking man, and I can- 
 not say that I ever loved him much ; my mother absorbed 
 all my filial affection. 
 
 I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on short 
 visits to the uncle who was to make me his heir ; they 
 thought it would keep me in his mind, and render him 
 fond of me. He was a withered, anxious-looking, old fel- 
 low, and lived in a desolate old country-seat, which he 
 suffered to go to ruin from absolute niggardliness. He 
 kept but one man-servant, who had lived, or rather 
 starved with him for years. No woman was allowed to 
 sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived 
 by the gate, in what had been a porter's lodge, and was 
 permitted to come into the house about an hour each 
 day, to make the beds and cook a morsel of provisions. 
 The park that surrounded the house was all run wild : 
 the trees were grown out of shape ; the fish-ponds stag- 
 nant; the urns and statues fallen from their pedestals, 
 and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheas- 
 ants were so little molested, except by poachers, that 
 they bred in great abundance, and sported about the 
 rough lawns and weedy avenues. To guard the premises, 
 and frighten off lobbers, of whom he was somewhat 
 apprehensive, and visitors, of whom he was in almost 
 equal awe, my uncle kept two or three bloodhounds, who 
 were always prowling round the house, and were the 
 dread of the neighboring peasantry. They were gaunt 
 
202 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 and half starved, seemed ready to devour one from mere 
 hunger, and were an effectual check on any stranger's 
 approach to this wizard castle. 
 
 Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now 
 and then during the holidays. I was, as I before said, 
 the old man's favorite ; that is to say, he did not hate me 
 so much as he did the rest of the world. I had been 
 apprised of his character, and cautioned to cultivate his 
 good will ; but I was too young and careless to be a cour- 
 tier, and, indeed, have never been sufficiently studious of 
 my interests to let them govern my feelings. However, 
 we jogged on very well together, and as my visits cost 
 him almost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwel- 
 come. I brought with me my fishing-rod, and half sup- 
 plied the table from the fish-ponds. 
 
 Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely 
 spoke ; he pointed to whatever he wanted, and the ser- 
 vant perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, 01 
 Iron John, as he was called in the neighborhood, was a 
 counterpart of his master. He was a tall, bony old fel- 
 low, with a dry wig, that seemed made of cow's-tail, and 
 a face as tough as though it had been made of cow's- 
 hicle. He was generally clad in a long, patched livery 
 coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the house, and which 
 bagged loosely about him, having evidently belonged to 
 some corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous days 
 of the mansion. From long habits of taciturnity the 
 hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 203 
 
 rusty, and it cost him as inucli effort to set them ajar, and 
 to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have done to 
 set open the iron gates of the park, and let out the old 
 family carriage, that was dropping to pieces in the coach- 
 house. 
 
 I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time 
 amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very 
 desolateness of the establishment had something in it 
 that hit my fancy. When the weather was fine, I used to 
 amuse myself in a solitary way, by rambling about the 
 park, and coursing like a colt across its lawns. The 
 hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise to see 
 a human being walking these forbidden grounds by day- 
 light. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or 
 shooting at birds with a bow and arrows ; for to have 
 used a gun would have been treason. Now and then my 
 path was crossed by a little red-headed ragged-tailed 
 urchin, the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild 
 about the premises. I tried to draw him into familiarity, 
 and to make a companion of him, but he seemed to have 
 imbibed the strange unsociable character of everything 
 around him, and always kept aloof ; so I considered him 
 as another Orson, and amused myself with shooting at 
 him with my bow and arrows, and he would hold up his 
 breeches with one hand, and scamper away like a deer. 
 
 There was something in all this loneliness and wild- 
 ness strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty 
 and weather-broken, with the names of favorite horses 
 
204 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 over the vacant stalls ; the windows bricked and boarded 
 up ; the broken roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws, 
 all had a singularly forlorn appearance. One would have 
 concluded the house to be totally uninhabited, were it 
 not for the little thread of blue smoke which now and 
 then curled up, like a corkscrew, from the centre of one 
 of the wide chimneys where my uncle's starveling meal 
 was cooking. 
 
 My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the build- 
 ing, strongly secured, and generally locked. I was never 
 admitted into this strong-hold, where the old man would 
 remain for the greater part of the time, drawn up, like a 
 veteran spider, in the citadel of his web. The rest of the 
 mansion, however, was open to me, and I wandered 
 about it unconstrained. The damp and rain which beat 
 in through the broken windows, crumbled the paper from 
 the walls, mouldered the pictures, and gradually de- 
 stroyed the furniture. I loved to roam about the wide 
 waste chambers in bad weather, and listen to the howl- 
 ing of the wind, and the banging about of the doors and 
 window-shutters. I pleased myself with the idea how 
 completely, when I came to the estate, I would renovate 
 all things, and make the old building ring with merri- 
 ment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity. 
 
 The chamber which I occupied on these visits, had 
 been my mother's when a girl. There was still the toilet- 
 table of her own adorning, the landscapes of her own 
 drawing. She had never seen it since her marriage, but 
 
BUCKTHORNS, 205 
 
 would often ask me, if everything was still the same. All 
 was just the same, for I loved that chamber on her 
 account, and had taken pains to put everything in order, 
 and to mend all the flaws in the windows with my own 
 hands. I anticipated the time when I should once more 
 welcome her to the house of her fathers, and restore her 
 to this little nestling-place of her childhood. 
 
 At length my evil genius, or what, perhaps, is the 
 same thing, the Muse, inspired me with the notion of 
 rhyming again. My uncle, who never went to church, 
 used on Sundays to read chapters out of the Bible ; 
 and Iron John, the woman from the lodge, and myself, 
 were his congregation. It seemed to be all one to him 
 what he read, so long as it was something from the 
 Bible. Sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of 
 Solomon, and this withered anatomy would read about 
 being " stayed with flagons, and comforted with apples, 
 for he was sick of love." Sometimes he would hobble, 
 with spectacles on nose, through whole chapters of 
 hard Hebrew names in Deuteronomy, at which the poor 
 woman would sigh and groan, as if wonderfully moved. 
 His favorite book, however, was " The Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress " ; and when he came to that part which treats of 
 Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invariably 
 of him and his desolate old country-seat. So much did 
 the idea amuse me, that I took to scribbling about it 
 under the trees in the park ; and in a few days had made 
 some progress in a poem, in which I had given a clescrip- 
 
•206 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 tion of the place, under the name of Doubting Castle, 
 and personified my nncle as Giant Despair. 
 
 I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I 
 soon suspected that my uncle had found it, as he harshly 
 intimated to me that I could return home, and that I need 
 not come and see him again till he should send for me. 
 
 Just about this time my mother died. I cannot dwell 
 upon the circumstance. My heart, careless and wayward 
 as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an 
 event that perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. 
 With her died all that made home attractive. I had no 
 longer anybody whom I was ambitious to please, or fear- 
 ful to offend. My father was a good kind of a man in his 
 way, but he had bad maxims in education, and we dif- 
 fered in material points. It makes a vast difference in 
 opinion about the utility of the rod, which end happens 
 to fall to one's share. I never could be brought into my 
 father's way of thinking on the subject. 
 
 I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient of 
 remaining at school, to be flogged for things that I did 
 not like. I longed for variety, especially now that I had 
 not my uncle's house to resort to, by way of diversifying 
 the dulness of school with the dreariness of his country- 
 seat. 
 
 I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, and full of 
 idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to 
 see different kinds of life, and different orders of society ; 
 and this vagrant humor had been fostered in me by Tom 
 
BUCKTHORNS. 207 
 
 Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of the school, 
 who had all the rambling propensities of a poet. 
 
 I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine sum- 
 mer's day, and instead of studying the book which lay 
 open before me, my eye was gazing through the windows 
 on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the 
 happy groups on the tops of stage-coaches, chatting, and 
 joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the school- 
 house on their way to the metropolis. Even the wagon- 
 ers, trudging along beside their ponderous teams, and 
 traversing the kingdom from one end to the other, were 
 objects of envy to me : I fancied to myself what adven- 
 tures they must experience, and what odd scenes of life 
 they must witness. All this was, doubtless, the poetical 
 temperament working within me, and tempting me forth 
 into a world of its own creation, which I mistook for the 
 world of real life. 
 
 While my mother lived, this strong propensity to rove 
 was counteracted by the stronger attractions of home, 
 and by the powerful ties of affection which drew me to 
 her side ; but now that she was gone, the attraction had 
 ceased ; the ties were severed. I had no longer an an- 
 chorage-ground for my heart, but was at the mercy of 
 every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow allow- 
 ance on which my father kept me, and the consequent 
 penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting to the 
 top of a stage-coach, and launching myself adrift on the 
 great ocean of life. 
 
208 TALES OF A IRA VELLER. 
 
 Just about this time the village was agitated for a day 
 or two, by the passing through of several caravans, con- 
 taining wild beasts, and other spectacles, for a great fair 
 annually held at a neighboring town. 
 
 I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and rny 
 curiosity was powerfully awakened by this bustle of prep- 
 aration. I gazed with respect and wonder at the vagrant 
 personages who accompanied these caravans. I loitered 
 about the village inn, listening with curiosity and delight 
 to the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and their 
 followers ; and I felt an eager desire to witness this fair, 
 which my fancy decked out as something wonderfully 
 fine. 
 
 A holiday afternoon presented, when I could be absent 
 from noon until evening. A wagon was going from the 
 village to the fair; I could not resist the temptation, 
 nor the eloquence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to 
 the very heart's core. We hired seats, and set off full of 
 boyish expectation. I promised myself that I would but 
 take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again 
 before my absence should be noticed. 
 
 Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the fair ! 
 How I was enchanted with the world of fun and pag- 
 eantry around me ! The humors of Punch, the feats of 
 the equestrians, the magical tricks of the conjurers ! But 
 what principally caught my attention was an itinerant 
 theatre, where a tragedy, pantomime, and farce were all 
 acted in the course of half an hour, and more of the 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 209 
 
 dramatis persons murdered than at either Drury Lane 
 or Covent Garden in the course of a whole evening. I 
 have since seen many a play performed by the best actors 
 in the world, but never have I derived half the delight 
 from any that I did from this first representation. 
 
 There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like an 
 inverted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnifi- 
 cently embroidered with gilt leather ; with his face so 
 bewhiskered, and his eyebrows so knit and expanded 
 with burnt cork, that he made my heart quake within 
 me, as he stamped about the little stage. I was enrap- 
 tured too with the surpassing beauty of a distressed 
 damsel in a faded pink silk, and dirty white muslin, 
 whom he held in cruel captivity by way of gaining her 
 affections, and who wept, and wrung her hands, and flour- 
 ished a ragged white handkerchief, from the top of an 
 impregnable tower of the size of a bandbox. 
 
 Even after I had come out from the play, I could not 
 tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre, but lingered, 
 gazing and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis per- 
 sonse as they performed their antics, or danced upon a 
 stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spec- 
 tators. 
 
 I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the 
 crowd of sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I 
 was like one entranced. I lost my companion, Tom 
 Dribble, in a tumult and scuffle that took place near one 
 of the shows ; but I was too much occupied in mind to 
 14 
 
210 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 tliink long about him. I strolled about until dark, when 
 the fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic opened 
 upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths, the 
 brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with 
 dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy dresses, 
 contrasted splendidly with the surrounding darkness ; 
 while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, 
 and cymbals, mingled with the harangues of the show- 
 men, the squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laugh- 
 ter of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy dis- 
 traction. 
 
 Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to 
 myself and thought of the school, I hastened to return. 
 I inquired for the wagon in which I had come : it had 
 been gone for hours ! I asked the time : it was almost 
 midnight ! A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to 
 get back to school? I was too weary to make the 
 journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply for a 
 conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I venture 
 to disturb the school-house long after midnight — to 
 arouse that sleeping lion the usher in the very midst of 
 his night's rest? — the idea was too dreadful for a delin- 
 quent school-boy. All the horrors of return rushed upon 
 me. My absence must long before this have been re- 
 marked ; — and absent for a whole night ! — a deed of dark- 
 ness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the pedagogue 
 budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affrighted 
 fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humiliation 
 
BUCKTHORN E. 211 
 
 in every variety of form, and my heart sickened at the 
 picture. Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boyhood 
 as painful to our tender natures as are the sterner evils 
 of manhood to our robuster minds. 
 
 I wandered about among the booths, and I might have 
 derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the 
 charms of this world depend upon ourselves ; for I no 
 longer saw anything gay or delightful in the revelry 
 around me. At length I lay down, wearied and per- 
 plexed, behind one of the large tents, and, covering my- 
 self with the margin of the tent-cloth, to keep off the 
 night chill, I soon fell asleep. 
 
 I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the 
 noise of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was 
 the itinerant theatre, rudely constructed of boards and 
 canvas. I peeped through an aperture, and saw the 
 whole dramatis persons, tragedy, comedy, and panto- 
 mime, all refreshing themselves after the final dismissal 
 of their auditors. They were merry and gamesome, and 
 made the flimsy theatre ring with their laughter. I was 
 astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and 
 fierce whiskers, who had made my heart quake as he 
 strutted about the boards, now transformed into a fat, 
 good-humored fellow ; the beaming porringer laid aside 
 from his brow, and his jolly face washed from all the 
 terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, to see the 
 distressed damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, who 
 had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted me so much 
 
212 TALES OF A TRA TELLER. 
 
 by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and 
 quaffing from the same tankard. Harlequin lay asleep 
 on one of the benches ; and monks, satyrs, and vestal 
 virgins were grouped together, laughing outrageously at 
 a broad story told by an unhappy count, who had been 
 barbarously murdered in the tragedy. 
 
 This was indeed novelty to me. It was a peep into 
 another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curi- 
 osity and enjoyment. They had a thousand odd stories 
 and jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque 
 descriptions and mimickings of the spectators who had 
 been admiring them. Their conversation was full of allu- 
 sions to their adventures at different places where they 
 had exhibited ; the characters they had met with in dif- 
 ferent villages ; and the ludicrous difficulties in which 
 they had occasionally been involved. All past cares and 
 troubles were now turned, by these thoughtless beings, 
 into matters of merriment, and made to contribute to the 
 gayety of the moment. They had been moving from fair 
 to fair about the kingdom, and were the next morning to 
 set out on their way to London. My resolution was 
 taken. I stole from my nest, and crept through a hedge 
 into a neighboring field, where I went to work to make a 
 tatterdemalion of myself. I tore my clothes ; soiled them 
 with dirt; begrimed my face and hands, and crawling 
 near one of the booths, purloined, an old hat, and left my 
 new one in its place. It was an honest theft, and I hope 
 may not hereafter rise up in judgment against me, 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 213 
 
 I now ventured to the scene of merry-making,, and pre- 
 senting myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself 
 as a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for 
 never before "stood I in such a presence." I had ad- 
 dressed myself to the manager of the company. He 
 was a fat man, dressed in dirty white, with a red sash 
 fringed with tinsel swathed round his body ; his face was 
 smeared with paint, and a majestic plume towered from 
 an old spangled black bonnet. He was the Jupiter To- 
 nans of this Olympus, and was surrounded by the inferior 
 gods and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of a 
 bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo, and the other 
 extended to the handle of a tankard, which he had slowly 
 set down from his lips, as he surveyed me from head to 
 foot. It was a moment of awful scrutiny ; and I fancied 
 the groups around, all watching as in silent suspense, and 
 waiting for the imperial nod. 
 
 He questioned me as to who I was ; what were my 
 qualifications ; and what terms I expected. I passed 
 myself off for a discharged servant from a gentleman's 
 family ; and as, happily, one does not require a special 
 recommendation to get admitted into bad company, the 
 questions on that head were easily satisfied. As to my 
 accomplishments, I could spout a little poetry, and knew 
 several scenes of plays, which I had learnt at school 
 
 exhibitions; I could dance . That was enough. No 
 
 further questions were asked me as to accomplishments ; 
 it was the very thing they wanted ; and as I asked no 
 
214 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 wages but merely meat and drink, and safe conduct 
 about the world, a bargain was struck in a moment. 
 
 Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden from a 
 gentleman student to a dancing buffoon ; for such, in 
 fact, was the character in which I made my debut. 
 I was one of those who formed the groups in the 
 dramas, and was principally employed on the stage in 
 front of the booth to attract company. I was equipped 
 as a satyr, in a dress of drab frieze that fitted to my 
 shape, with a great laughing mask, ornamented with 
 huge ears and short horns. I was pleased with the 
 disguise, because it kept me from the danger of being 
 discovered, whilst we were in that part of the country ; 
 and as I had merely to dance and make antics, the 
 character was favorable to a debutant — being almost on 
 a par with Snug's part of the lion, which required nothing 
 but roaring. 
 
 I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden 
 change in my situation. I felt no degradation, for I had 
 seen too little of society to be thoughtful about the dif- 
 ference of rank ; and a boy of sixteen is seldom aristo- 
 cratical. I had given up no friend, for there seemed to 
 be no one in the world that cared for me, now that my 
 poor mother was dead ; I had given up no pleasure, for 
 my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the flow of 
 a poetical imagination, and I now enjoyed it in perfec- 
 tion. There is no life so truly poetical as that of a 
 dancing buffoon. 
 
BUCKTHORNS. 215 
 
 It may be said that all this argued grovelling inclina- 
 tions. I do not think so. Not that I mean to vindicate 
 myself in any great degree : I know too well what a 
 whimsical compound I am. But in this instance I was 
 seduced by no love of low company, nor disposition to 
 indulge in low vices. I have always despised the bru- 
 tally vulgar, and had a disgust at vice, whether in high 
 or low life. I was governed merely by a sudden and 
 thoughtless impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this 
 profession as a mode of life, or of attaching myself to 
 these people, as my future class of society. I thought 
 merely of a temporary gratification to my curiosity, and 
 an indulgence of my humors. I had already a strong 
 relish for the peculiarities of character and the varieties 
 of situation, and I have always been fond of the comedy 
 of life, and desirous of seeing it through all its shifting 
 scenes. 
 
 In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buf- 
 foons, I was protected by the very vivacity of imagina- 
 tion which had led me among them; I moved about, 
 enveloped, as it were, in a protecting delusion, which my 
 fancy spread around me. I assimilated to these people 
 only as they struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways 
 and a certain picturesqueness in their mode of life enter- 
 tained me ; but I was neither amused nor corrupted by 
 their vices. In short, I mingled among them, as Prince 
 Hal did among his graceless associates, merely to gratify 
 my humor. 
 
 < 
 
216 TALES OF A TRA TELLER. 
 
 I did not investigate my motives in this manner, at the 
 time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason 
 about the matter ; but I do so now, when I look back 
 with trembling to think of the ordeal to which I unthink- 
 ingly exposed myself, and the manner in which I passed 
 through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the j>oetical 
 temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, brought 
 me out of it without my becoming an arrant vagabond. 
 
 Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the 
 wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I 
 capered, I danced, I played a thousand fantastic tricks 
 about the stage, in the villages in which we exhibited; 
 and I was universally pronounced the most agreeable 
 monster that had ever been seen in those parts. My 
 disappearance from school had awakened my father's 
 anxiety; for I one day heard a description of myself 
 cried before the very booth in which I was exhibiting, 
 with the offer of a reward for any intelligence of me. I 
 had no great scruple about letting my father suffer a 
 little uneasiness on my account ; it would punish him for 
 past indifference, and would make him value me the 
 more when he found me again. 
 
 I have wondered that some of my comrades did not 
 recognize me in the stray sheep that was cried ; but they 
 were all, no doubt, occupied by their own concerns. 
 They were all laboring seriously in their antic vocation ; 
 for folly was a mere trade with most of them, and they 
 often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. With me, 
 
BTTCKTHORNE. 217 
 
 on the contrary, it was all real. I acted con amove, and 
 rattled and laughed from the irrepressible gayety of my 
 spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and 
 looked grave on receiving a sudden thwack from the 
 wooden sword of Harlequin in the course of my gambols, 
 as it brought to mind the birch of my schoolmaster. But 
 I soon got accustomed to it, and bore all the cuffing, and 
 kicking, and tumbling about, which form the practical wit 
 of your itinerant pantomime, with a good-humor that 
 made me a prodigious favorite* 
 
 The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, 
 and we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs 
 which are held in its vicinity. The greater part of our 
 theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a state of 
 preparation for the opening of the fairs ; while a detach- 
 ment of the company travelled slowly on, foraging among 
 the villages. I was amused with the desultory, hap-haz- 
 ard kind of life we led ; here to-day and gone to-morrow. 
 Sometimes revelling in ale-houses, sometimes feasting 
 under hedges in the green fields. When audiences were 
 crowded, and business profitable, we fared well ; and 
 when otherwise, we fared scantily, consoled ourselves, 
 and made up with anticipations of the next day's suc- 
 cess. 
 
 At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurry- 
 ing past us, covered with passengers ; the increasing 
 number of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle 
 and flocks of sheep, all thronging the road ; the snug 
 
218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 country boxes with trim flower-gardens, twelve feet 
 square, and their trees twelve feet high, all powdered 
 with dust, and the innumerable seminaries for young 
 ladies and gentlemen situated along the road for the 
 benefit of country air and rural retirement ; all these 
 insignia announced that the mighty London was at hand. 
 The hurry, and the crowd, and the bustle, and the noise, 
 and the dust, increased as we proceeded, until I saw the 
 great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, like a canopy of 
 state, over this queen of cities. 
 
 In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, a stroll- 
 ing vagabond, on the top of a caravan, with a crew of 
 vagabonds about me ; but I was as happy as a prince ; 
 for, like Prince Hal, I felt myself superior to my situa- 
 tion, and knew that I could at any time cast it off, and 
 emerge into my proper sphere. 
 
 How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde Park Cor- 
 ner, and I saw splendid equipages rolling by; with 
 powdered footmen behind, in rich liveries, with fine 
 nosegays, and gold-headed canes ; and with lovely women 
 within, so sumptuously dressed, and so surpassingly 
 fair ! I was always extremely sensible to female beauty, 
 and here I saw it in all its powers of fascination : for 
 whatever may be said of " beauty unadorned," there is 
 something almost awful in female loveliness decked out 
 in jewelled state. The swanlike neck encircled with dia- 
 monds ; the raven locks clustered with pearls ; the ruby 
 glowing on the snowy bosom, are objects which I could 
 
BUCKTHORtfE. 219 
 
 never contemplate without emotion ; and a dazzling 
 white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper, transpar- 
 ent fingers, laden with sparkling rings, are to me irre- 
 sistible. 
 
 My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly 
 beauty before me. It surpassed all that my imagination 
 had conceived of the sex. I shrank, for a moment, into 
 shame at the company in which I was placed, and re- 
 pined at the vast distance that seemed to intervene 
 between me and these magnificent beings. 
 
 I forbear to give a detail of the happy life I led about 
 the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs 
 held there during the latter part of spring, and the be- 
 ginning of summer. This continued change from place 
 to place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with 
 novelties, and kept my spirits in a perpetual state of 
 excitement. As I was tall of my age, I aspired, at one 
 time, to play heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three 
 trials, I was pronounced by the manager totally unfit for 
 the line ; and our first tragic actress, who was a large 
 woman, and held a small hero in abhorrence, confirmed 
 his decision. 
 
 The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language 
 which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no 
 nature. They said I did not fill out my characters ; and 
 they were right. The characters had all been prepared 
 for a different sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a 
 round, robustious fellow, with an amazing voice; who 
 
220 TALES OF A TEA TELLER 
 
 stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook 
 again; and who roared and bellowed out his bombast 
 until every phrase swelled upon the ear like the sound of 
 a kettle-drum. I might as well have attempted to fill out 
 his clothes as his characters. When we had a dialogue 
 together, I was nothing before him, with my slender 
 voice and discriminating manner. I might as well have 
 attempted to parry a cudgel with a small-sword. If he 
 found me in any way gaining ground upon him, he would 
 take refuge in his mighty voice, and throw his tones like 
 peals of thunder at me, until they were drowned in the 
 still louder thunders of applause from the audience. 
 
 To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair 
 play, and that there was management at the bottom ; for 
 without vanity I think I was a better actor than he. As 
 I had not embarked in the vagabond line through ambi- 
 tion, I did not repine at lack of preferment ; but I was 
 grieved to find that a vagrant life was not without its 
 cares and anxieties ; and that jealousies, intrigues, and 
 mad ambition, were to be found even among vagabonds. 
 
 Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, 
 and the delusions of fancy gradually faded away, I began 
 to find that my associates were not the happy careless 
 creatures I had at first imagined them. They were jeal- 
 ous of each other's talents ; they quarrelled about parts, 
 the same as the actors on the grand theatres ; they quar- 
 relled about dresses ; and there was one robe of yellow 
 silk, trimmed with red, and a head-dress of three rum- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 221 
 
 pled ostrich-feathers, which were continually setting the 
 ladies of the company by the ears. Even those who had 
 attained the highest honors were not more happy than 
 the rest ; for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedian^ 
 and apparently a jovial good-humored fellow, confessed 
 to me one day, in the fulness of his heart, that he was a 
 miserable man. He had a brother-in-law, a relative by 
 marriage, though not by blood, who was manager of a 
 theatre in a small country town. And this same brother 
 ("a little more than kin but less than kind") looked 
 down upon him, and treated him with contumely, be- 
 cause, forsooth, he was but a strolling player. I tried to 
 console him with the thoughts of the vast applause he 
 daily received, but it was all in vain. He declared that 
 it gave him no delight, and that he should never be a 
 happy man, until the name of Flimsey rivalled the name 
 of Crimp. 
 
 How little do those before the scenes know of what 
 passes behind ! how little can they judge, from the coun- 
 tenances of actors, of what is passing in their hearts ! I 
 have known two lovers quarrel like cats behind the 
 scenes, who were, the moment after, to fly into each 
 other's embraces. And I have dreaded, when our Belvi- 
 dera was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier, lest she 
 should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our tragedian was 
 a rough joker off the stage ; our prime clown the most 
 peevish mortal living. The latter used to go about snap- 
 ping and snarling, with a broad laugh painted on his 
 
222 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 countenance ; and I can assure you, that, whatever may 
 be said of the gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of 
 a gibed cat, there is no more melancholy creature in ex- 
 istence than a mountebank off duty. 
 
 The only thing in which all parties agreed, was to 
 backbite the manager, and cabal against his regulations. 
 This, however, I have since discovered to be a common 
 trait of human nature, and to take place in all communi- 
 ties. It would seem to be the main business of man to 
 repine at government. In all situations of life, into which 
 I have looked, I have found mankind divided into two 
 grand parties : those who ride, and those who are ridden. 
 The great struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in 
 the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental 
 principle of politics, whether in great or little life. 
 However, I do not mean to moralize — but one cannot 
 always sink the philosopher. 
 
 Well, then, to return to myself, it was determined, as I 
 said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and unluckily, as 
 my study was bad, having a very poor memory, I was 
 pronounced unfit for comedy also ; besides, the line of 
 young gentlemen was already engrossed by an actor 
 with whom I could not pretend to enter into competition, 
 he having filled it for almost half a century. I came 
 down again, therefore, to pantomime. In consequence, 
 however, of the good offices of the manager's lady, who 
 had taken a liking to me, I was promoted from the part 
 of the satyr to that of the lover ; and with my face 
 
BUCKTHORNE, 223 
 
 patched and painted, a huge cravat of paper, a steeple- 
 crowned hat, and dangling long-skirted sky-blue coat, 
 was metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. My 
 part did not call for much of the tender and sentimental 
 I had merely to pursue the fugitive fair one ; to have a 
 door now and then slammed in my face ; fco run my 
 head occasionally against a post ; to tumble and roll 
 about with Pantaloon and the Clown ; and to endure the 
 hearty thwacks of Hailequin's wooden sword. 
 
 As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament 
 began to ferment within me, and to work out new 
 troubles. The inflammatory air of a great metropolis, 
 added to the rural scenes in which the fairs were held, 
 such as Greenwich Park, Epping Forest, and the lovely 
 valley of the West End, had a powerful effect upon me. 
 While in Greenwich Park, I was witness to the old 
 holiday games of running down-hill, and kissing in the 
 ring ; and then the firmament of blooming faces and blue 
 eyes that would be turned towards me, as I was playing 
 antics on the stage ; all these set my young blood and 
 my poetical vein in full flow. In short, I played the 
 character to the life, and became desperately enamored 
 of Columbine. She was a trim, well-made, tempting 
 girl, with a roguish dimpling face, and fine chestnut 
 hair clustering all about it. The moment I got fairly 
 smitten, there was an end to all playing. I was such 
 a creature of fancy and feeling, that I could not put on a 
 pretended, when I was powerfully affected by a real 
 
224 TALES OF A TRA TELLER. 
 
 emotion. I could not sport with a fiction that came sg 
 near to the fact. I became too natural in my acting to 
 succeed. And then, what a situation for a lover ! I was 
 a mere stripling, and she played with my passion ; for 
 girls soon grow more adroit and knowing in these mat- 
 ters than your awkward youngsters. What agonies had 
 I to suffer ! Every time that she danced in front of the 
 booth, and made such liberal displays of her charms, I 
 was in torment. To complete my misery, I had a real 
 rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, knowing varlet, of 
 six-and-twenty. What had a raw, inexperienced young- 
 ster like me to hope from such a competition ? 
 
 I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In 
 spite of my change of life, I retained that indescribable 
 something which always distinguishes the gentleman: 
 that something which dwells in a man's air and deport- 
 ment, and not in his clothes ; and which is as difficult for 
 a gentleman to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put on. 
 The company generally felt it, and used to call me Little 
 Gentleman Jack. The girl felt it too, and, in spite of her 
 predilection for my powerful rival, she liked to flirt with 
 me. This only aggravated my troubles, by increasing my 
 passion, and awakening the jealousy of her party-colored 
 lover. 
 
 Alas ! think what I suffered at being obliged to keep 
 up an ineffectual chase after my Columbine through 
 whole pantomimes ; to see her carried off in the vigorous 
 arms of the happy Harlequin ; and to be obliged, instead 
 
BUGKTHOBNE. 225 
 
 of snatching her from him, to tumble sprawling with 
 Pantaloon and the Clown, and bear the infernal and de- 
 grading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath, which, may 
 heaven confound him! (excuse my passion,) the villain 
 laid on with a malicious good-will: nay, I could abso- 
 lutely hear him chuckle and laugh beneath his accursed 
 mask — I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my nar- 
 rative — I wish to be cool, but these recollections will 
 sometimes agitate me. I have heard and read of many 
 desperate and deplorable situations of lovers, but none, I 
 think, in which true love was ever exposed to so severe 
 and peculiar a trial. 
 
 This could not last long ; flesh and blood, at least such 
 flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had re- 
 peated heart-burnings and quarrels with my rival, in 
 which he treated me with the mortifying forbearance of a 
 man towards a child. Had he quarrelled outright with 
 me, I could have stomached it, at least I should have 
 known what part to take ; but to be humored and treated 
 as a child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt all 
 the bantam spirit of a little man swelling within me — 
 Gods ! it was insufferable ! 
 
 At length, we were exhibiting one day at West End 
 fair, which was at that time a very fashionable resort, 
 and often beleaguered with gay equipages from town. 
 Among the spectators that filled the first row of our little 
 canvas theatre oue afternoon, when I had to figure in a 
 pantomime, were a number of young ladies from a board- 
 15 
 
226 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 ing-school, with their governess. Guess my confusion, 
 when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld among the 
 number my quondam flame ; her whom I had berhymed 
 at school, her for whose charms I had smarted so 
 severely, the cruel Sacharissa! What was worse, I 
 fancied she recollected me, and was repeating the story 
 of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her whispering 
 to her companions and her governess. I lost all con- 
 sciousness of the part I was acting, and of the place 
 where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could have 
 crept into a rat-hole, — unluckily, none was open to re- 
 ceive me. Before I could recover from my confusion, I 
 was tumbled over by Pantaloon and the Clown, and I felt 
 the sword of Harlequin making vigorous assaults in a 
 manner most degrading to my dignity. 
 
 Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyrdom in 
 this ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even be- 
 fore the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most dis- 
 dainful of fair ones? All my long-smothered wrath broke 
 out at once ; the dormant feelings of the gentleman arose 
 within me. Stung to the quick by intolerable mortifica- 
 tion, I sprang on my feet in an instant ; leaped upon 
 Harlequin like a young tiger ; tore off his mask ; buffeted 
 him in the face ; and soon shed more blood on the stage 
 than had been spilt upon it during a whole tragic cam- 
 paign of battles and murders. 
 
 As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise, he 
 returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his 
 
BXTGKTHORNE. 227 
 
 hands. I was game, to be sure, for I was a gentleman ; 
 but he had the clownish advantage of bone and muscle. 
 I felt as if I could have fought even unto the death ; and 
 I was likely to do so, for he was, according to the boxing 
 phrase, "putting my head into chancery," when the 
 gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. God bless the 
 women! they are always on the side of the weak and 
 the oppressed! 
 
 The battle now became general ; the dramatis persons 
 ranged on either side. The manager interposed in vain ; 
 in vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering 
 white feathers seen whisking about, and nodding, and 
 bobbing in the thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, 
 priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and goddesses, all 
 joined pell-mell in the affray; never, since the conflict 
 under the walls of Troy, had there been such a chance- 
 medley warfare of combatants, human and divine. The 
 audience applauded, the ladies shrieked, and fled from 
 the theatre ; and a scene of discord ensued that baffles all 
 description. 
 
 Nothing but the interference of the peace-officers 
 restored some degree of order. The havoc, however, 
 among dresses and decorations, put an end to all further 
 acting for that day. The battle over, the next thing was 
 to inquire why it was begun : a common question among 
 politicians after a bloody and unprofitable war, and one 
 not always easy to be answered. It was soon traced to 
 me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, which 
 
228 TALES OF A TRAVELLED 
 
 they could only attribute to my having run a muck. The 
 manager was judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bar- 
 gain; and in such cases justice is always speedily admin- 
 istered. He came out of the fight as sublime a wreck as 
 the Santissima Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which 
 once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears ; his 
 robe of state hung in ribbons from his back, and but ill 
 concealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear. He 
 had received kicks and cuffs from all sides during the 
 tumult ; for every one took the opportunity of slyly grati- 
 fying some lurking grudge on his fat carcass. He was a 
 discreet man, and did not choose to declare war with all 
 his company, so he swore all those kicks and cuffs had 
 been given by me, and I let him enjoy the opinion. 
 Some wounds he bore, however, which were the incon- 
 testable traces of a woman's warfare : his sleek rosy cheek 
 was scored by trickling furrows, which were ascribed to 
 the nails of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire 
 of the monarch was not to be appeased ; he had suffered 
 in his person, and he had suffered in his purse ; his dig- 
 nity, too, had been insulted, and that went for something ; 
 for dignity is always more irascible, the more petty tne 
 potentate. He wreaked his wrath upon the beginners of 
 the affray, and Columbine and myself were discharged, at 
 once, from the company. 
 
 Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little more 
 than sixteen, a gentleman by birth, a vagabond by trade, 
 turned adrift upon the world, making the best of my way 
 
BUCKTHOBNE. 229 
 
 through, the crowd of West End fair; my mountebank 
 dress fluttering in rags about me ; the weeping Colum- 
 bine hanging upon my arm, in splendid but tattered 
 finery ; the tears coursing one by one down her face, car- 
 rying off the reel paint in torrents, and literally " preying 
 upon her damask cheek." 
 
 The crowd made way for us as we passed, and hooted 
 in our rear. I felt the ridicule of my situation, but had 
 too much gallantry to desert this fair one, who had sac- 
 rificed everything for me. Having wandered through 
 the fair, we emerged, like another Adam and Eve, into 
 unknown regions, and " had the world before us where to 
 choose." Never was a more disconsolate pair seen in the 
 soft valley of West End. The luckless Columbine cast 
 many a lingering look at the fair, which seemed to put on 
 a more than usual splendor : its tents, and booths, and 
 party-colored groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and 
 gleaming among the trees ; and its gay flags and stream- 
 ers fluttering in the light summer airs. With a heavy 
 sigh she would lean on my arm and proceed. I had no 
 hope nor consolation to give her ; but she had linked 
 herself to my fortunes, and she was too much of a woman 
 to desert me. 
 
 Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beautiful 
 fields which lie behind Hampstead, and wandered on, 
 until the fiddle, and the hautboy, and the shout, and the 
 laugh, were swallowed up in the deep sound of the big 
 bass-drum, and even that died away into a distant rum- 
 
230 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 ble. "We passed along the pleasant, sequestered walk &l 
 Nightingale Lane. For a pair of lovers, what scene 
 could be more propitious? — But such a pair of lovers! 
 Not a nightingale sang to soothe us : the very gypsies, 
 who were encamped there during the fair, made no offer 
 to tell the fortunes of such an ill-omened couple, whose 
 fortunes, I suppose, they thought too legibly written to 
 need an interpreter ; and the gypsy children crawled into 
 their cabins, and peeped out fearfully at us as we went 
 by. For a moment I paused, and was almost tempted to 
 turn gypsy, but the poetical feeling, for the present, was 
 ^Tilly satisfied, and I passed on. Thus we travelled and 
 travelled, like a prince and princess in a nursery tale, 
 until we had traversed a part of Hampstead Heath, and 
 arrived in the vicinity of Jack Straw's Castle. Here, 
 wearied and dispirited, we seated ourselves on the mar- 
 gin of the hill, hard by the very milestone where "Whit- 
 tington of yore heard the Bow-bells ring out the presage 
 of his future greatness. Alas ! no bell rung an invitation 
 to us, as we looked disconsolately upon the distant city. 
 Old London seemed to wrap itself unsociably in its man- 
 tle of brown smoke, and to offer no encouragement to 
 such a couple of tatterdemalions. 
 
 For once, at least, the usual course of the pantomime 
 was reversed, Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had 
 carried off Columbine in good earnest. But what was 
 I to do with her ? I could not take her in my hand, 
 return to my father, throw myself on my knees, and 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 231 
 
 crave his forgiveness and blessing, according to dramatic 
 usage. The very dogs would have chased such a drag- 
 gled-tailed beauty from the grounds. 
 
 In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one tapped 
 me on the shoulder, and, looking up, I saw a couple of 
 rough sturdy fellows standing behind me. Not knowing 
 what to expect, I jumped on my legs, and was preparing 
 again to make battle, but was tripped up and secured in 
 a twinkling. 
 
 " Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows 
 in a gruff but good-humored tone, " don't let's have any 
 of your tantrums ; one would have thought you had had 
 swing enough for this bout. Come ; it's high time to 
 leave off harlequinading, and go home to your father." 
 
 In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorseless 
 men. The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I was, 
 and that a reward had been offered throughout the coun- 
 try for any tidings of me ; and they had seen a descrip- 
 tion of me which had been inserted in the public papers. 
 Those harpies, therefore, for the mere sake of filthy 
 lucre, were resolved to deliver me over into the hands of 
 my father, and the clutches of my pedagogue. 
 
 In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful and 
 afflicted Columbine. In vain I tore myself from their 
 grasp, and flew to her, and vowed to protect her ; and 
 wiped the tears from her cheek, and with them a whole 
 blush that might have vied with the carnation for bril- 
 liancy. My persecutors were inflexible ; they even 
 
232 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 seemed to exult in our distress ; and to enjoy this the- 
 atrical display of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. 1 
 was carried off in despair, leaving my Columbine desti- 
 tute in the wide world ; but many a look of agony did I 
 cast back at her as she stood gazing piteously after me 
 from the brink of Hampstead Hill ; so forlorn, so fine, so 
 ragged, so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 
 
 Thus ended my first peep into the world. I returned 
 home, rich in good-for-nothing experience, and dreading 
 the reward I was to receive for my improvement. My 
 reception, however, was quite different from what I had 
 expected. My father had a spice of the devil in him, and 
 did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, which he 
 termed " sowing my wild oats." He happened to have 
 some of his sporting friends to dine the very day of my 
 return ; they made me tell some of my adventures, and 
 laughed heartily at them. 
 
 One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, took to 
 me hugely. I heard him whisper to my father that I was 
 a lad of mettle, and might make something clever ; to 
 which my father replied, that I had good points, but was 
 an ill-broken whelp, and required a great deal of the 
 whip. Perhaps this very conversation raised me a little 
 in his esteem, fori found the rea -nosed old gentleman 
 was a veteran fox-hunter of the neighborhood, for whose 
 opinion my father had vast deference. Indeed, I be- 
 lieve he would have pardoned anything in me more 
 readily than poetry, which he called a cursed, sneaking. 
 
BTTCKTHORNE. 233 
 
 puling, housekeeping employment, the bane of all fine 
 manhood. He swore it was unworthy of a youngster of 
 my expectations, who was one day to have so great an 
 estate, and would be able to keep horses and hounds, and 
 hire poets to write songs for him into the bargain. 
 
 I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propensity. 
 I had exhausted the poetical feeling. I had been heart- 
 ily buffeted out of my love for theatrical display. I 
 felt humiliated by my exposure, and willing to hide my 
 head anywhere for a season, so that I might be out of 
 the way of the ridicule of the world; for I found folks 
 not altogether so indulgent abroad as they were at my 
 father's table. I could not stay at home ; the house was 
 intolerably doleful now that my mother was no longer 
 there to cherish me. Everything around spoke mourn- 
 fully of her. The little flower-garden in which she de- 
 lighted, was all in disorder and overrun with weeds. I 
 attempted for a day or two to arrange it, but my heart 
 grew heavier and heavier as I labored. Every little 
 broken-down flower, that I had seen her rear so ten- 
 derly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence to my feelings. 
 There was a favorite honeysuckle which I had seen her 
 often training with assiduity, and had heard her say it 
 would be the pride of her garden. I found it grovelling 
 along the ground, tangled and wild, and twining round 
 every worthless weed ; and it struck me as an emblem of 
 df, a mere scatterling, running to waste and useless- 
 I could work no longer in the garden. 
 
234 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by way 
 of keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I was re- 
 ceived, as usual, without any expression of discontent, 
 which we always considered equivalent to a hearty wel- 
 come. Whether he had ever heard of my strolling freak 
 or not, I could not discover, he and his man were both so 
 taciturn. I spent a day or two roaming about the dreary 
 mansion and neglected park, and felt at one time, I be- 
 lieve, a touch of poetry, for I was tempted to drown my- 
 self in a fish-pond ; I rebuked the evil spirit, however, 
 and it left me. I found the same red-headed boy running 
 wild about the park, but I ielt in no humor to hunt him 
 at present. On the contrary, I tried to coax him to me, 
 and to make friends with him ; but the young savage was 
 untamable. 
 
 When I returned from my uncle's, I remained at home 
 for some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to 
 make a man of me. He took me out hunting with him, 
 and I became a great favorite of the red-nosed squire, 
 because I rode at everything, never refused the boldest 
 leap, and was always sure to be in at the death. I used 
 often, however, to offend my father at hunting-dinners, 
 by taking the wrong side in politics. My father was 
 amazingly ignorant, so ignorant, in fact, as not to know 
 that he knew nothing. He was stanch, however, to 
 church and king, and full of old-fashioned prejudices. 
 Now I had picked up a little knowledge in politics and 
 religion during my rambles with the strollers, and found 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 235 
 
 myself capable of setting him right as to many of his 
 antiquated notions. I felt it my duty to do so ; we were 
 apt, therefore, to differ occasionally in the political dis- 
 cussions which sometimes arose at those hunting-din- 
 ners. 
 
 I was at that age when a man knows least, and is most 
 vain of his knowledge, and when he is extremely tena- 
 cious in defending his opinion upon subjects about which 
 he knows nothing. My father was a hard man for any 
 one to argue with, for he never knew when he was re- 
 futed. I sometimes posed him a little, but then he had 
 one argument that always settled the question ; he would 
 threaten to knock me down. I believe he at last grew 
 tired of me, because I both out-talked and out-rode him. 
 The red-nosed squire, too, got out of conceit with me, 
 because, in the heat of the chase, I rode over him one 
 day as he and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt : so I 
 found myself getting into disgrace with all the world, and 
 would have got heartily out of humor with myself, had I 
 not been kept in tolerable self-conceit by the parson's 
 three daughters. 
 
 They were the same who had admired my poetry on a 
 former occasion, when it had brought me into disgrace at 
 school ; and I had ever since retained an exalted idea 
 of their judgment. Indeed, they were young ladies not 
 merely of taste but of science. Their education had been 
 superintended by their mother, who was a blue-stocking. 
 They knew enough of botany to tell the technical names 
 
236 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of all the flowers in the garden, and all their secret con- 
 cerns into the bargain. They knew music, too, not mere 
 commonplace music, but Rossini and Mozart, and they 
 sang Moore's Irish Melodies to perfection. They had 
 pretty little work-tables, covered with all kinds of objects 
 of taste : specimens of lava, and painted eggs, and work- 
 boxes, painted and varnished by themselves. They ex- 
 celled in knotting and netting, and painted in water- 
 colors ; and made ^feather fans, and fire-screens, and 
 worked in silks and worsteds; and talked French and 
 Italian, and knew Shakspeare by heart. They even 
 knew something of geology and mineralogy ; and went 
 about the neighborhood knocking stones to pieces, to the 
 great admiration and perplexity of the country folk. 
 
 I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing their 
 accomplishments, but I wish to let you see that these 
 were not commonplace young ladies, but had pretensions 
 quite above the ordinary run. It was some consolation 
 to me, therefore, to find favor in such eyes. Indeed, they 
 had always marked me out for a genius, and considered 
 my late vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. They 
 observed that Shakspeare himself had been a mere pickle 
 in his youth; that he had stolen a deer, as every one 
 knew, and kept loose company, and consorted with 
 actors : so I comforted myself marvellously with the 
 idea of having so decided a Shakspearian trait in my 
 character. 
 
 The youngest of the three, however, was my grand con- 
 
BVCKTBOItNE. 237 
 
 solation. She was a pale, sentimental girl, with long 
 " hyacinthine " ringlets hanging about her face. She 
 wrote poetry herself, and we kept up a poetical corre- 
 spondence. She had a taste for the drama, too, and I 
 taught her how to act several of the scenes in " Romeo 
 and Juliet." I used to rehearse the garden-scene under 
 her lattice, which looked out from among woodbine and 
 honeysuckles into the church-yard. I began to think 
 her amazingly pretty as well as clever, and I believe I 
 should have finished by falling in love with her, had not 
 her father discovered our theatrical studies. He was a 
 studious, abstracted man, generally too much absorbed 
 in his learned and religious labors to notice the little 
 foibles of his daughters, and perhaps blinded by a 
 father's fondness ; but he unexpectedly put his head out 
 of his study-window one day in the midst of a scene, and 
 put a stop to our rehearsals. He had a vast deal of that 
 prosaic good sense which I forever found a stumbling- 
 block in my poetical path. My rambling freak had not 
 struck the good man as poetically as it had his daughters. 
 He drew his comparison from a different manual. He 
 looked upon me as a prodigal son, and doubted whether 
 I should ever arrive at the happy catastrophe of the 
 fatted calf. 
 
 I fancy some intimation was given to my father of this 
 new breaking out of my poetical temperament, for he 
 suddenly intimated that it was high time I should pre- 
 pare for the university. I dreaded a return to the 
 
238 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 school whence I had eloped : the ridicule of my fellow- 
 scholars, and the glance from the squire's pew, would 
 have been worse than death to me. I was fortunately 
 spared the humiliation. My father sent me to board 
 with a country gentleman, who had three or four boys 
 under his care. I went to him joyfully, for I had often 
 heard my mother mention him with esteem. In fact he 
 had been an admirer of hers in his younger days, though 
 too humble in fortune and modest in pretentions to 
 aspire to her hand ; but he had ever retained a tender 
 regard for her. He was a good man ; a worthy specimen 
 of that valuable body of our country clergy who silently 
 and unostentatiously do a vast deal of good ; who are, as 
 it were, woven into the whole system of rural life, and 
 operate upon it with the steady yet unobtrusive influence 
 of temperate piety and learned good sense. He lived in 
 a small village not far from Warwick, one of those little 
 communities where the scanty flock is, in a manner, 
 folded into the bosom of the pastor. The venerable 
 church, in its grass-grown cemetery, was one of those 
 rural temples scattered about our country as if to sanc- 
 tify the land. 
 
 I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye at this 
 moment, with his mild benevolent countenance, rendered 
 still more venerable by his silver hairs. I have him be- 
 fore me, as I saw him on my arrival, seated in the embow- 
 ered porch of his small parsonage, with a flower-garden 
 before it, and his pupils gathered round him like his 
 
&TJCKTHOBNE. 239 
 
 children. I shall never forget his reception of me ; for I 
 believe he thought of my poor mother at the time, and 
 his heart yearned towards her child. His eye glistened 
 when he received me at the door, and he took me into 
 his arms as the adopted child of his affections. Never 
 had I been so fortunately _placed. He was one of those 
 excellent members of our church, who help out their 
 narrow salaries by instructing a few gentlemen's sons. I 
 am convinced those little seminaries are among the best 
 nurseries of talent and virtue in the land. Both heart 
 and mind are cultivated and improved. The preceptor 
 is the companion and the friend of his pupils. His 
 sacred character gives him dignity in their eyes, and his 
 solemn functions produce that elevation of mind and 
 sobriety of conduct necessary to those who are to teach 
 youth to think and act worthily. 
 
 I speak from my own random observation and experi- 
 ence ; but I think I speak correctly. At any rate, I can 
 trace much of what is good in my own heterogeneous 
 compound to the short time I was under the instruction 
 of that good man. He entered into the cares and occu- 
 pations and amusements of his pupils ; and won his way 
 into our confidence, and studied our hearts and minds 
 more intently than we did our books. 
 
 He soon sounded the depth of my character. I had 
 become, as I have already hinted, a little liberal in my 
 notions, and apt to philosophize on both politics and 
 religion ; having seen something of men and things, and 
 
240 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 learnt, from my fellow-philosophers, the strollers, to 
 despise all vulgar prejudices. He did not attempt to 
 cast down my vainglory, nor to question my right view of 
 things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little infor- 
 mation on these topics ; though in a quiet unobtrusive 
 way, that never ruffled a feather of my self-conceit. I 
 was astonished to find what a change a little knowledge 
 makes in one's mode of viewing matters ; and how differ- 
 ent a subject is when one thinks, or when one only talks 
 about it. I conceived a vast deference for my teacher, 
 and was ambitious of his good oj)inion. In my zeal to 
 make a favorable impression, I presented him with a 
 whole ream of my poetry. He read it attentively, 
 smiled, and pressed my hand when he returned it to me, 
 but said nothing. The next day he set me at mathe- 
 matics. 
 
 Somehow or other the process of teaching seemed 
 robbed by him of all its austerity. I was not conscious 
 that he thwarted an inclination or opposed a wish ; but 
 I felt that, for the time, my inclinations were entirely 
 changed. I became fond of study, and zealous to im- 
 prove myself. I made tolerable advances in studies 
 which I had before considered as unattainable, and I 
 wondered at my own proficiency. I thought, too, I 
 astonished my preceptor ; for I often caught his eyes 
 fixed upon me with a peculiar expression. I suspect, 
 since, that he was pensively tracing in my countenance 
 the early lineaments of my mother. 
 
BUCKTEORNE. 241 
 
 Education was not apportioned by him into tasks, and 
 enjoined as a labor, to be abandoned with joy the moment 
 the hour of study was expired. We had, it is true, our 
 allotted hours of occupation, to give us habits of method, 
 and of the distribution of time ; but they were made 
 pleasant to us, and our feelings were enlisted in the 
 cause. When they were over, education still went on. 
 It pervaded all our relaxations and amusements. There 
 was a steady march of improvement. Much of his in- 
 struction was given during pleasant rambles, or when 
 seated on the margin of the Avon ; and information 
 received in that way, often makes a deeper impression 
 than when acquired by poring over books. I have 
 many of the pure and eloquent precepts that flowed 
 from his lips associated in my mind with lovely scenes 
 in nature, which make the recollection of them indescri- 
 bably delightful. 
 
 I do not pretend to say that any miracle was effected 
 with me. After all said and done, I was but a weak 
 disciple. My poetical temperament still wrought within 
 me and wrestled hard with wisdom, and, I fear, main- 
 tained the mastery. I found mathematics an intolerable 
 task in fine weather. I would be prone to forget my prob- 
 lems, to watch the birds hopping about the windows, 
 or the bees humming about the honeysuckles ; and 
 whenever I could steal away, I would wander about the 
 grassy borders of the Avon, and excuse this truant pro- 
 pensity to myself with the idea that I was treading 
 16 
 
242 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 classic ground, over which Shakspeare had wandered 
 What luxurious idleness have I indulged, as I lay undei 
 the trees and watched the silver waves rippling through 
 the arches of the broken bridge, and laving the rocky 
 bases of old Warwick Castle; and how often have I 
 thought of sweet Shakspeare, and in my boyish enthusi- 
 asm have kissed the waves which had washed his native 
 village. 
 
 My good preceptor would often accompany me in these 
 desultory rambles. He sought to get hold of this 
 vagrant mood of mind and turn it to some account. He 
 endeavored to teach me to mingle thought with mere 
 sensation ; to moralize on the scenes around ; and to 
 make the beauties of nature administer to the under- 
 standing of the heart. He endeavored to direct my 
 imagination to high and noble objects, and to fill it with 
 lofty images. In a word, he did all he could to make the 
 best of a poetical temperament, and to counteract the 
 mischief which had been done to me by my great expec- 
 tations. 
 
 Had I been earlier put under the care of the good pas- 
 tor, or remained with him a longer time, I really believe 
 he would have made something of me. He had already 
 brought a great deal of what had been flogged into me 
 into tolerable order, and had weeded out much of the 
 unprofitable wisdom which had sprung up in my vaga- 
 bondizing. I already began to find that with all my 
 genius a little study would be no disadvantage to me ; 
 
BUCKTHORNS. 243 
 
 and, in spite of my vagrant freaks, I began to doubt my 
 being a second Sliakspeare. 
 
 Just as I was making these precious discoveries, the 
 good parson died. It was a melancholy day throughout 
 the neighborhood. He had his little flock of scholars, 
 his children, as he used to call us, gathered round him in 
 his dying moments ; and he gave us the parting advice of 
 a father, now that he had to leave us, and we were to be 
 separated from each other, and scattered about in the 
 world. He took me by the hand, and talked with me 
 earnestly and affectionately, and called to my mind my 
 mother, and used her name to enforce his dying exhorta- 
 tions; for I rather think he considered me the most 
 erring and heedless of his flock. He held my hand in 
 his, long after he had done speaking, and kept his eye 
 fixed on me tenderly and almost piteously : his lips 
 moved as if he were silently praying for me ; and he 
 died away, still holding me by the hand. 
 
 There was not a dry eye in the church when the fune- 
 ral service was read from the pulpit from which he had so 
 often preached. When the body was committed to the 
 earth, our little band gathered round it, and watched the 
 coffin as it was lowered into the grave. The parishioners 
 looked at us with sympathy ; for we were mourners not 
 merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about the grave, 
 and clung to one another for a time, weeping and speech- 
 less, and then parted, like a band of brothers parting 
 from the paternal hearth, never to assemble there again. 
 
244 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 How had the gentle spirit of that good man sweetened 
 our natures, and linked our young hearts together by the 
 kindest ties ! I have always had a throb of pleasure at 
 meeting with an old schoolmate, even though one of my 
 truant associates ; but whenever, in the course of my life, 
 I have encountered one of that little flock with which I 
 was folded on the banks of the Avon, it has been with a 
 gush of affection, and a glow of virtue, that for the mo- 
 ment have made me a better man. 
 
 I was now sent to Oxford, and was wonderfully im- 
 pressed on first entering it as a student. Learning here 
 puts on all its majesty. It is lodged in palaces ; it is 
 sanctified by the sacred ceremonies of religion ; it has 
 a pomp and circumstance which powerfully affect the 
 imagination. Such, at least, it had in my eyes, thought- 
 less as I was. My previous studies with the worthy pas- 
 tor had prepared me to regard it with deference and awe. 
 He had been educated here, and always spoke of the 
 University with filial fondness and classic veneration. 
 When I beheld the clustering spires and pinnacles of 
 this most august of cities rising from the plain, I hailed 
 them in my enthusiasm as the points of a diadem, which 
 the nation had placed upon the brows of science. 
 
 For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment for me. 
 There was a charm about its monastic buildings; its 
 great Gothic quadrangles ; its solemn halls, and shadowy 
 cloisters. I delighted, in the evenings, to get in places 
 surrounded by the colleges, where all modern buildings 
 
BUGKTHOBNE. 245 
 
 were screened from the sight ; and to see the Professors 
 and students sweeping along in the dusk in their anti- 
 quated caps and gowns. I seemed for a time to be trans- 
 ported among the people and edifices of the old times. I 
 was a frequent attendant, also, of the evening service in 
 the New College Hall; to hear the fine organ, and the 
 choir swelling an anthem in that solemn building, where 
 painting, music, and architecture are in such admirable 
 unison. 
 
 A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk bordered 
 by lofty elms along the river, behind the gray walls of 
 Magdalen College, which goes by the name of Addison's 
 Walk, from being his favorite resort when an Oxford stu- 
 dent. I became also a lounger in the Bodleian library, 
 and a great dipper into books, though I cannot say that I 
 studied them ; in fact, being no longer under direction or 
 control, I was gradually relapsing into mere indulgence 
 of the fancy. Still this would have been pleasant and 
 harmless enough, and I might have awakened from mere 
 literary dreaming to something better. The chances 
 were in my favor, for the riotous times of the University 
 were past. The days of hard drinking were at an end. 
 The old feuds of "Town and Gown," like the civil wars 
 of the White and Eed Eose, had died away ; and student 
 and citizen slept in peace and whole skins, without risk 
 of being summoned in the night to bloody brawl. It had 
 become the fashion to study at the University, and the 
 odds were always in favor of my following the fashion. 
 
246 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Unluckily, however, I fell in company with a special knot 
 of young fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, who had 
 lived occasionally upon town, and become initiated intc 
 the Fancy. They voted study to be the toil of dull 
 minds, by which they slowly crept up the hill, while 
 genius arrived at it at a bound. I felt ashamed to play 
 the owl among such gay birds ; so I threw by my books, 
 and became a man of spirit. 
 
 As my father made me a tolerable allowance, notwith- 
 standing the narrowness of his income, having an eye 
 always to my great expectations, I was enabled to appear 
 to advantage among my companions. I cultivated all 
 kinds of sport and exercises. I was one of the most ex- 
 pert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis. I boxed, fenced, 
 angled, shot, and hunted, and my rooms in college were 
 always decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, fowling- 
 pieces, fishing-rods, foils, and boxing-gloves. A pair of 
 leather breeches would seem to be throwing one leg out 
 of the half-open drawers, and empty bottles lumbered 
 the bottom of every closet. 
 
 My father came to see me at college when I was in the 
 height of my career. He asked me how I came on with 
 my studies, and what kind of hunting there was in the 
 neighborhood. He examined my various sporting appa- 
 ratus with a curious eye ; wanted to know if any of the 
 Professors were fox-hunters, and whether they were gen- 
 erally good shots, for he suspected their studying so 
 much must be hurtful to the sight. We had a day's 
 

 BUCKTHORNE. ■ 247 
 
 shooting together : I delighted him with my skill, and 
 astonished him by my learned disquisitions on horse- 
 flesh, and on Manton's guns; so, upon the whole, he 
 departed highly satisfied with my improvement at col- 
 lege. 
 
 I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long 
 without getting in love. I had not been a very long 
 time a man of spirit, therefore, before I became deeply 
 enamored of a shopkeeper's daughter in the High-Street, 
 who, in fact, was the admiration of many of the students. 
 I wrote several sonnets in praise of her, and spent half of 
 my pocket-money at the shop, in buying articles which I 
 did not want, that I might have an opportunity of sj)eak- 
 ing to her. Her father, a severe-looking old gentleman, 
 with bright silver buckles, and a crisp-curled wig, kept a 
 strict guard on her, as the fathers generally do upon 
 their daughters in Oxford ; and well they may. I tried to 
 get into his good graces, and to be sociable with him, but 
 all in vain. I said several good things in his shop, but 
 he never laughed : he had no relish for wit and humor. 
 He was one of those dry old gentlemen who keep young- 
 sters at bay. He had already brought up two or three 
 daughters, and was experienced in the ways of students. 
 He was as knowing and wary as a gray old badger that 
 has often been hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff 
 and starched in his demeanor, so precise in his dress, 
 with his daughter under his arm, was enough to deter all 
 graceless youngsters from approaching. 
 
248 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to have 
 several conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened 
 articles in the shop. I made terrible long bargains, and 
 examined the articles over and over before I purchasedo 
 In the meantime, I would convey a sonnet or an acrostic 
 under cover of a piece of cambric, or slipped into a pair 
 of stockings ; I would whisper soft nonsense into her ear 
 as I haggled about the price ; and would squeeze her 
 hand tenderly as I received my half-pence of change in a 
 bit of whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint to 
 all haberdashers who have pretty daughters for shop- 
 girls, and young students for customers. I do not know 
 whether my words and looks were very eloquent, but my 
 poetry was irresistible ; for, to tell the truth, the girl had 
 some literary taste, and was seldom without a book from 
 the circulating library. 
 
 By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is so 
 potent with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of this 
 fair little haberdasher. We carried on a sentimental 
 correspondence for a time across the counter, and I sup- 
 plied her with rhyme by the stocking-full. At length I 
 prevailed on her to grant an assignation. But how was 
 this to be effected ? Her father kept her always under 
 his eye ; she never walked out alone ; and the house was 
 locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All these 
 difficulties served bat to give zest to the adventure. I 
 proposed that the assignation should be in her own 
 chamber, into which I would climb at night. The plan 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 249 
 
 was irresistible. — A cruel father, a secret lover, and a 
 clandestine meeting ! All the little girl's studies from 
 the circulating library seemed about to be realized. 
 
 But what had I in view in making this assignation? 
 Indeed, I know not. I had no evil intentions, nor can I 
 say that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and 
 wanted to have an opportunity of seeing more of her; 
 and the assignation was made, as I have done many 
 things else, heedlessly and without forethought. I asked 
 myself a few questions of the kind, after all my arrange- 
 ments were made, but the answers were very unsatis- 
 factory. "Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless girl? " said 
 I to myself. " No ! " was the prompt and indignant 
 answer. " Am I to run away with her ? " — " whither, 
 and to what purpose ? " — " Well, then, am I to marry 
 her?" — "Poll! a man of my expectations marry a shop- 
 keeper's daughter ! " " What then am I to do with 
 her?" "Hum — why — let me get into the chamber 
 first, and then consider" — and so the self-examination 
 ended. 
 
 Well, sir, " come what come might," I stole under 
 cover of the darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea. 
 All was quiet. At the concerted signal her window was 
 gently opened. It was just above the projecting bow- 
 window of her father's shop, which assisted me in 
 mounting. The house was low, and I was enabled to 
 scale the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered with 
 a beating heart ; I reached the casement ; I hoisted my 
 
250 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 body half into the chamber ; and was welcomed, not by 
 the embraces of my expecting fair one, but by the grasp 
 of the crabbed-looking old father in the crisp-curled wig. 
 I extricated myself from his clutches, and endeavored 
 to make my retreat ; but I was confounded by his cries 
 of thieves ! and robbers ! I was bothered too by his 
 Sunday cane, which was amazingly busy about my head 
 as I descended, and against which my hat was but a poor 
 protection. Never before had I an idea of the activity of 
 an old man's arm, and the hardness of the knob of an 
 ivory-headed cane. In my hurry and confusion I missed 
 my footing, and fell sprawling on the pavement. I was 
 immediately surrounded by myrmidons, who, I doubt 
 not, were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no 
 situation to escape, for I had sprained my ankle in the 
 fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a house- 
 breaker ; and to exonerate myself of a greater crime, I 
 had to accuse myself of a less. I made known who I 
 was, and why I came there. Alas ! the varlets knew it 
 already, and were only amusing themselves at my ex- 
 pense. My perfidious Muse had been playing me one of 
 her slippery tricks. The old curmudgeon of a father had 
 found my sonnets and acrostics hid away in holes and 
 corners of his shop ; he had no taste for poetry like his 
 daughter, and had instituted a rigorous though silent 
 observation. He had moused upon our letters, detected 
 our plans, and prepared everything for my reception 
 Thus was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the 
 
&UCKTHORME. 251 
 
 Muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a secret amour 
 in poetry ! 
 
 The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by 
 the pommelling of my head and the anguish of my 
 sprain ; so he did not put me to death on the spot. He 
 was even humane enough to furnish a shutter, on which 
 I was carried back to college like a wounded warrior. 
 The porter was roused to admit me. The college gate 
 was thrown open for my entry. The affair was blazed 
 about the next morning, and became the joke of the col- 
 lege from the buttery to the hall. 
 
 I had leisure to repent during several weeks' confine- 
 ment by my sprain, which I passed in translating Boe- 
 thius's " Consolations of Philosophy." I received a most 
 tender and ill-spelled letter from my mistress, who had 
 been sent to a relation in Coventry. She protested her 
 innocence of my misfortune, and vowed to be true to me 
 " till cleth." I took no notice of the letter, for I was 
 cured for the present, both of love and poetry. Women, 
 however, are more constant in their attachments than 
 men, whatever philosophers may say to the contrary. I 
 am assured that she actually remained faithful to her 
 vow for several months ; but she had to deal with a cruel 
 father, whose heart was as hard as the knob of his cane. 
 He was not to be touched by tears nor poetry, but abso- 
 lutely compelled her to marry a reputable young trades- 
 man, who made her a happy woman in spite of herself 
 and* of all the rules of romance, and, what is more, the 
 
252 TALES OP A TEA VELLER. 
 
 mother of several children. They are at this very daj 
 a thriving couple, and keep a snug corner-shop just 
 opposite the figure of Peeping Tom, at Coventry. 
 
 I will not fatigue you by a,ny more details of my 
 studies at Oxford; though they were not always as 
 severe as these, nor did I always pay as dear for my 
 lessons. To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual mis- 
 cellaneous manner, gradually getting knowledge of good 
 and evil, until I had attained my twenty-first year. I 
 had scarcely come of age when I heard of the sudden 
 death of my father. The shock was severe, for though 
 he had never treated me with much kindness, still he 
 was my father, and at his death I felt alone in the 
 world. 
 
 I returned home, and found myself the solitary master 
 of the paternal mansion. A crowd of gloomy feelings 
 came thronging upon me. It was a place that always so- 
 bered me, and brought me to reflection ; now especially ; 
 it looked so deserted and melancholy. I entered the 
 little breakf as ting-room. There were my father's whip 
 and spurs, hanging by the fireplace ; the " Stud-Book," 
 "Sporting Magazine," and "Racing Calendar," his only 
 reading. His favorite spaniel lay on the hearth-rug. 
 The poor animal, who had never before noticed me, now 
 came fondling about me, licked my hand, then looked 
 round the room, whined, wagged his tail slightly, and 
 gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the full force of the 
 appeal. " Poor Dash," said I, " we are both alone in the 
 
BUCKTHORNE, 253 
 
 world, with nobody to care for us, and will take care of 
 one another." — The dog never quitted me afterwards. 
 
 I could not go into ray mother's room — my heart 
 swelled when I passed within sight of the door. Her 
 portrait hung in the parlor, just over the place where she 
 used to sit. As I cast my eyes on it, I thought that it 
 looked at me with tenderness, and I burst into tears. I 
 was a careless dog, it is true, hardened a little, perhaps, 
 by living in public schools, and buffeting about among 
 strangers, who cared nothing for me ; but the recollection 
 of a mother's tenderness was overcoming. 
 
 I was not of an age or a temperament to be long de- 
 pressed. There was a reaction in my system, that always 
 brought me up again after every pressure ; and, indeed, 
 my spirits were always most buoyant after a temporary 
 prostration. I settled the concerns of the estate as soon 
 as possible ; realized my property, which was not very 
 considerable, but which appeared a vast deal to me, hav- 
 ing a poetical eye that magnified everything ; and finding 
 myself, at the end of a few months, free of all further 
 business or restraint, I determined to go to London and 
 enjoy myself. Why should I not? — I was young, ani- 
 mated, joyous ; had plenty of funds for present pleasures, 
 and my uncle's estate in the perspective. Let those mope 
 at college, and pore over books, thought I, who have their 
 way to make in the world ; it would be ridiculous drudg- 
 ery in a youth of my expectations. Away to London, 
 therefore. I rattled in a tandem, determined to take the 
 
254 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 town gayly. I passed through several of the villages 
 where I had played the Jack Pudding a few years before ; 
 and I visited the scenes of many of my adventures and 
 follies merely from that feeling of melancholy pleasure 
 which we have in stepping again the footprints of fore- 
 gone existence, even when they have passed among weeds 
 and briers. I made a circuit in the latter part of my 
 journey, so as to take in West End and Hampstead, the 
 scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of the battle royal 
 of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hampstead 
 Hill, by Jack Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where 
 Columbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in our 
 ragged finery, and had looked dubiously on London. I 
 almost expected to see her again, standing on the hill's 
 brink, " like Niobe, all tears ; " — mournful as Babylon in 
 ruins ! 
 
 " Poor Columbine ! " said I, with a heavy sigh, " thou 
 wert a gallant, generous girl — a true woman ; — faithful to 
 the distressed, and ready to sacrifice thyself in the cause 
 of worthless man! " 
 
 I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, for there 
 was always something of self-reproach with it. I drove 
 gayly along the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and 
 stable-boys, as I managed my horses knowingly down 
 the steep street of Hampstead ; when, just at the skirts 
 of the village, one of the traces of my leader came loose. 
 I pulled up, and as the animal was restive, and my ser- 
 vant a bungler, I called for assistance to the robustious 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 255 
 
 master of a snug ale-house, who stood at his door with a 
 tankard in his hand. He came readily to assist me, fol- 
 lowed by his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in 
 her arms, and two more at her heels. I stared for a 
 moment, as if doubting my eyes. I could not be mis- 
 taken : in the fat, beer-blown landlord of the ale-house I 
 recollected my old rival Harlequin, and in his slattern 
 spouse the once trim and dimpling Columbine. 
 
 The change of my looks from youth to manhood, and 
 the change in my circumstances, prevented them from 
 recognizing me. They could not suspect in the dashing 
 young buck, fashionably dressed and driving his own 
 equipage, the painted beau, with old peaked hat, and 
 long, flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with 
 kindness towards Columbine, and I was glad to see her 
 establishment a thriving one. As soon as the harness 
 was adjusted, I tossed a small purse of gold into her 
 ample bosom ; and then, pretending to give my horses a 
 hearty cut of the whip, I made the lash curl with a 
 whistling about the sleek sides of ancient Harlequin. 
 The horses dashed off like lightning, and I was whirled 
 out of sight before either of the parties could get over 
 their surprise at my liberal donations. I have always 
 considered this as one of the greatest proofs of my 
 poetical genius ; it was distributing poetical justice in 
 perfection. 
 
 I now entered London en cavalier, and became a blood 
 upon town. I took fashionable lodgings, in the West 
 
256 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 End ; employed the first tailor ; frequented the regulax 
 lounges ; gambled a little ; lost my money good-humor- 
 edly ; and gained a number of fashionable, good-for-noth- 
 ing acquaintances. I gained some reputation also for a 
 man of science, having become an expert boxer in the 
 course of my studies at Oxford. I was distinguished, 
 therefore, among the gentlemen of the Fancy; became 
 hand and glove with certain boxing noblemen, and was 
 the admiration of the Fives Court. A gentleman's sci- 
 ence, however, is apt to get him into bad scrapes ; he 
 is too prone to play the knight-errant, and to pick up 
 quarrels which less scientifical gentlemen would quietly 
 avoid. I undertook one day to punish the insolence of a 
 porter. He was a Hercules of a fellow, but then I was so 
 secure in my science ! I gained the victory of course. 
 The porter pocketed his humiliation, bound up his 
 broken head, and went about his business as unconcern- 
 edly as though nothing had happened ; while I went to 
 bed with my victory, and did not dare to show my bat- 
 tered face for a fortnight : by which I discovered that a 
 gentleman may have the worst of the battle even when 
 victorious. 
 
 I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can moralize 
 better after a misfortune has taken place ; so I lay on my 
 bed and moralized on this sorry ambition, which levels 
 the gentleman with the clown. I know it is the opinion 
 of many sages, who have thought deeply on these mat- 
 ters, that the noble science of boxing keeps up the bull- 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 257 
 
 dog courage of the nation ; and far be it from me to decry 
 the advantage of becoming a nation of bull-dogs ; but I 
 now saw clearly that it was calculated to keep up the 
 breed of English ruffians. " What is the Fives Court," 
 said I to myself, as I turned uncomfortably in bed, " but 
 a college of scoundrelism, where every bully-ruffian in 
 the land may gain a fellowship ? What is the slang lan- 
 guage of the Fancy but a jargon by which fools and 
 knaves commune and understand each other, and enjoy 
 a kind of superiority over the uninitiated? What is a 
 boxing-match but an arena, where the noble and the 
 illustrious are jostled into familiarity with the infamous 
 and the vulgar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy itself, but 
 a chain of easy communication, extending from the peer 
 down to the pickpocket, through the medium of which a 
 man of rank may find he has shaken hands, at three 
 removes, with the murderer on the gibbet? — 
 
 "Enough!" ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced through 
 the force of my philosophy, and the pain of my bruises, — 
 " I'll have nothing more to do with the Fancy." So when 
 I had recovered from my victory, I turned my attention 
 to softer themes, and became a devoted admirer of the 
 ladies. Had I had more industry and ambition in my 
 nature, I might have worked my way to the very height 
 of fashion, as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing 
 around me. But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an 
 unhappy life ; there are few things so sleepless and mis- 
 erable as your cultivators of fashionable smiles. I was 
 17 
 
258 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 quite content with that kind of society which forms the 
 frontiers of fashion, and may be easily taken possession 
 of. I found it a light, easy, productive soil. I had but 
 to go about and sow visiting-cards, and I reaped a whole 
 harvest of invitations. Indeed, my figure and address 
 were by no means against me. It was whispered, too, 
 among the young ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, 
 and wrote poetry; and the old ladies had ascertained 
 that I was a young gentleman of good family, handsome 
 fortune, and " great expectations." 
 
 I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so 
 intoxicating to a young man, and which a man of poetical 
 temperament enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it ; 
 that rapid variety of sensations ; that whirl of brilliant 
 objects ; that succession of pungent pleasures ! I had 
 no time for thought. I only felt. I never attempted to 
 write poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off by trans- 
 piration. I lived poetry ; it was all a poetical dream to 
 me. A mere sensualist knows nothing of the delights of 
 a splendid metropolis. He lives in a round of animal 
 gratifications and heartless habits. But to a young man 
 of poetical feelings, it is an ideal world, a scene of en- 
 chantment and delusion ; his imagination is in perpetual 
 excitement, and gives a spiritual zest to every pleasure. 
 
 A season of town life, however, somewhat sobered 
 me of my intoxication ; or rather I was rendered more 
 serious by one of my old complaints — I fell in love. It 
 was with a very pretty, though a very haughty fair one, 
 
hUCKTHORNE, 259 
 
 who had come to London under the care of an old 
 maiden aunt to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in town, 
 and to get married. There was not a doubt of her com- 
 manding a choice of lovers ; for she had long been the 
 belle of a little cathedral city, and one of the poets of 
 the place had absolutely celebrated her beauty in a copy 
 of Latin verses. The most extravagant anticipations 
 were formed by her friends of the sensation she would 
 produce. It was feared by some that she might be pre- 
 cipitate in her choice, and take up with some inferior 
 title. The aunt was determined nothing should gain her 
 under a lord. 
 
 Alas ! with all her charms, the young lady lacked the 
 one thing needful — she had no money. So she waited in 
 vain for duke, marquis, or earl, to throw himself at her 
 feet. As the season waned, so did the lady's expecta- 
 tions ; when, just towards the close, I made my advances. 
 
 I was most favorably received by both the young lady 
 and her aunt. It is true, I had no title ; but then such 
 great expectations. A marked preference was immedi- 
 ately shown me over two rivals, the younger son of a 
 needy baronet, and a captain of dragoons on half-pay. 
 I did not absolutely take the field in form, for I was de- 
 termined not to be precipitate ; but I drove my equipage 
 frequently through the street in which she lived, and was 
 always sure to see her at the window, generally with a 
 book in her hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and 
 sent her a long copy of verses ; anonymously, to be sure, 
 
260 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 but she knew my handwriting. Both aunt and niece, 
 however, displayed the most delightful ignorance on the 
 subject. The young lady showed them to me ; wondered 
 who they could be written by ; and declared there was 
 nothing in this world she loved so much as poetry ; 
 while the maiden aunt would put her pinching spectacles 
 on her nose, and read them, with blunders in sense and 
 sound, excruciating to an author's ears ; protesting there 
 was nothing equal to them in the whole Elegant Ex- 
 tracts. 
 
 The fashionable season closed without my adventuring 
 to make a declaration, though I certainly had encourage- 
 ment. I was not perfectly sure that I had effected a 
 lodgment in the young lady's heart; and, to tell the 
 truth, the aunt overdid her part, and was a little too ex- 
 travagant in her liking of me. I knew that maiden aunts 
 were not to be captivated by the mere personal merits of 
 their nieces' admirers ; and I wanted to ascertain how 
 much of all this favor I owed to driving an equipage, and 
 having great expectations. 
 
 I had received many hints how charming their native 
 place was during the summer months ; what pleasant 
 society they had ; and what beautiful drives about the 
 neighborhood. They had not, therefore, returned home 
 long, before I made my appearance in dashing style, 
 driving down the principal street. The very next morn- 
 ing I was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with 
 the reigning belle. Questions were whispered about the 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 261 
 
 aisles, after service, "Who is lie?" and "What is he?" 
 And the replies were as usual, "A young gentleman of 
 good family and fortune, and great expectations." 
 
 I was much struck with the peculiarities of this rev- 
 erend little place. A cathedral, with its dependencies 
 and regulations, presents a picture of other times, and of 
 a different order of things. It is a rich relic of a more 
 poetical age. There still linger about it the silence and 
 .solemnity of the cloister. In the present instance espe- 
 cially, where the cathedral was large, and the town 
 small, its influence was the more apparent. The solemn 
 pomp of the service, performed twice a day, with the 
 grand intonations of the organ, and the voices of the 
 choir swelling through the magnificent pile, diffused, as 
 it were, a perpetual Sabbath over the place. This rou- 
 tine of solemn ceremony continually going on, indepen- 
 dent, as it were, of the world ; this daily offering of melody 
 and praise, ascending like incense from the altar, had a 
 powerful effect upon my imagination. 
 
 The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed of 
 families connected with the cathedral, and others of mod- 
 erate fortune, but high respectability, who had nestled 
 themselves under the wings of the cathedral to enjoy 
 good society at moderate expense. It was a highly aris- 
 tocratical little circle ; scrupulous in its intercourse with 
 others, and jealously cautious about admitting anything 
 common or unclean. 
 
 It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school had 
 
TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 taken refuge here. There were continual interchanges of 
 civilities, and of small presents of fruits and delicacies, 
 and of complimentary crow-quill billets; for in a quiet, 
 well-bred community like this, living entirely at ease, 
 little duties, and little amusements, and little civilities, 
 filled up the day. I have seen, in the midst of a warm 
 day, a corpulent, powdered footman, issuing from the 
 iron gateway of a stately mansion, and traversing the 
 little place with an air of mighty import, bearing a small 
 tart on a large silver salver. 
 
 Their evening amusements were sober and primitive. 
 They assembled at a moderate hour; the young ladies 
 played music, and the old ladies, whist ; and at an early 
 hour they dispersed. There was no parade on these 
 social occasions. Two or three old sedan chairs were in 
 constant activity, though the greater part made their exit 
 in clogs and pattens, with a footman or waiting-maid 
 carrying a lantern in advance ; and long before midnight 
 the clank of pattens and gleam of lanterns about the quiet 
 little place told that the evening party had dissolved. 
 
 Still I did not feel myself altogether so much at my 
 ease as I had anticipated considering the smallness of 
 the place. I found it very different from other country 
 places, and that it was not so easy to make a dash there. 
 Sinner that I was ! the very dignity and decorum of the 
 little community was rebuking to me. I feared my past 
 idleness and folly would rise in judgment against me. I 
 stood in awe of the dignitaries of the cathedral, whom I 
 
BUCKTHORNE. 263 
 
 saw mingling familiarly in society. I became nervous on 
 this point. The creak of a prebendary's shoes, sounding 
 from one end of a quiet street to another, was appalling 
 to me ; and the sight of a shovel hat was sufficient at any 
 time to check me in the midst of my boldest poetical 
 soarings. 
 
 And then the good aunt could not be quiet, but would 
 cry me up for a genius, and extol my poetry to every 
 one. So long as she confined this to the ladies it did 
 well enough, because they were able to feel and appreci- 
 ate poetry of the new romantic school. Nothing would 
 content the good lady, however, but she must read my 
 verses to a prebendary, who had long been the un- 
 doubted critic of the place. He was a thin," delicate old 
 gentleman, of mild, polished manners, steeped to the lips 
 in classic lore, and not easily put in a heat by any hot- 
 blooded poetry of the day. He listened to my most 
 fervid thoughts and fervid words without a glow ; shook 
 his head with a smile, and condemned them as not being 
 according to Horace, as not being legitimate poetry. 
 
 Several old ladies, who had heretofore been my ad- 
 mirers, shook their heais at hearing this : they could 
 not think of praising any poetry that was not according 
 to Horace ; and as to anything illegitimate, it was not to 
 be countenanced in good society. Thanks to my stars, 
 however, I had youth and novelty on my side : so the 
 young ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in despite 
 of Horace and illegitimacy. 
 
264 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I consoled myself with the good opinion of the young 
 ladies, whom I had always found to be the best judges of 
 poetry. As to these old scholars, said I, they are apt to 
 be chilled by being steeped in the cold fountains of the 
 classics. Still I felt that I was losing ground, and that 
 it was necessary to bring matters to a point. Just at 
 this time there was a public ball, attended by the best 
 society of the place, and by the gentry of the neighbor- 
 hood : I took great pains with my toilet on the occasion, 
 and I had never looked better. I had determined that 
 night to make my grand assault on the heart of the 
 young lady, to battle it with all my forces, and the next 
 morning to demand a surrender in due form. 
 
 I entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and flutter, 
 which generally took place among the young ladies on 
 my appearance. I was in fine spirits ; for, to tell the 
 truth, I had exhilarated myself by a cheerful glass of 
 wine on the occasion. I talked, and rattled, and said a 
 thousand silly things, slap-dash, with all the confidence of 
 a man sure of his auditors, — and everything had its effect. 
 
 In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot 
 gathering together in the upper part of the room. By 
 degrees it increased. A tittering broke out here and • 
 there, and glances were cast round at me, and then there 
 would be fresh tittering. Some of the young ladies 
 would hurry away to distant parts of the room, and 
 whisper to their friends. Wherever they went, there 
 was still this tittering and glancing at me. I did not 
 
BUCKTHORNS. 265 
 
 know what to make of all this. I looked at myself from 
 head to foot, and peeped at my back in a glass, to see if 
 anything was odd about my person ; any awkward expo- 
 sure, any whimsical tag hanging out; — no — everything 
 was right — I was a perfect picture. I determined that it 
 must be some choice saying of mine that was bandied 
 about in this knot of merry beauties, and I determined 
 to enjoy one of my good things in the rebound. I 
 stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smiling at every 
 one as I passed, who, I must say, all smiled and tittered 
 in return. I approached the group, smirking and perk- 
 ing my chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, 
 and sure of being well received. The cluster of little 
 belles opened as I advanced. 
 
 Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in the 
 midst of them but my early and tormenting flame, the 
 everlasting Sacharissa ! She was grown, it is true, into 
 the full beauty of womanhood ; but showed, by the pro- 
 voking merriment of her countenance, that she perfectly 
 recollected me, and the ridiculous flagellations of which 
 she had twice been the cause. 
 
 I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridicule burst- 
 ing over me. My crest fell. The flame of love went sud- 
 denly out, or was extinguished by overwhelming shame. 
 How I got down the room I know not ; I fancied every 
 one tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught 
 a glance of my mistress and her aunt listening to the 
 whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady raising her hands 
 
266 TALES OF A TRAVELLED 
 
 and eyes, and the face of the young one lighted up, as I 
 imagined, with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no more, 
 but made two steps from the top of the stairs to the bot- 
 tom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat, 
 and did not feel the blushes cool from my tingling cheeks, 
 until I had lost sight of the old towers of the cathedral. 
 
 I now returned to town thoughtful and crestfallen. 
 My money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and 
 without calculation. The dream of love was over, and 
 the reign of pleasure at an end. I determined to retrench 
 while I had yet a trifle left ; so selling my equipage and 
 horses for half their value, I quietly put the money in my 
 pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, 
 with my great expectations, I could at any time raise 
 funds, either on usury or by borrowing ; but I was prin- 
 cipled against both, and resolved by strict economy to 
 make my slender purse hold out until my uncle should 
 give up the ghost, or rather the estate. I stayed at home 
 therefore and read, and would have written, but I had 
 already suffered too much from my poetical productions, 
 which had generally involved me in some ridiculous 
 scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had a 
 straitened money-borrowing air, upon which the world 
 began to shy me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel 
 with the world for its conduct ; it has always used me 
 well. When I have been flush and gay, and disposed for 
 society, it has caressed me ; and when I have been 
 pinched and reduced, and wished to be alone, why, it has 
 
HUCKTHORNE. 267 
 
 left me alone ; and what more could a man desire ? Take 
 my word for it, this world is a more obliging world than 
 people generally represent it. 
 
 Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retire- 
 ment, and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle 
 was dangerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's 
 affections to receive his dying breath and his last testa- 
 ment. I found him attended by his faithful valet, old 
 Iron John ; by the woman who occasionally worked about 
 the house, and by the foxy-headed boy, young Orson, 
 whom I had occasionally hunted about the park. Iron 
 John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered 
 the room, and received me with something almost like a 
 smile of welcome. The woman sat blubbering at the foot 
 of the bed; and the foxy-headed Orson, who had now 
 grown up to be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in stupid 
 vacancy at a distance. 
 
 My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber 
 was without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick-room. 
 The cobwebs flaunted from the ceiling. The tester was 
 covered with dust, and the curtains were tattered. From 
 underneath the bed peeped out one end of his strong box. 
 Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blunder- 
 busses, horse-pistols, and a cut-and-thrust sword, with 
 which he had fortified his room to defend his life and 
 treasure. He had employed no physician during his ill- 
 ness ; and from the scanty relics lying on the table, seemed 
 almost to have denied himself the assistance of a cook. 
 
268 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 When I entered the room, he was lying motionless ; his 
 eyes fixed and his mouth open : at the first look I thought 
 him a corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn 
 his head. At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over 
 his face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfaction. 
 It was the only smile he had ever given me, and it went 
 to my heart. " Poor old man ! " thought I, " why should 
 you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that 
 my presence has the power to cheer you ? " 
 
 "Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low 
 gasping voice, — " I am glad you are come. I shall now 
 die with satisfaction. Look," said he, raising his with- 
 ered hand, and pointing, — " look in that box on the table : 
 you will find that I have not forgotten you." 
 
 I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in 
 my eyes. I sat down by his bedside, and watched him, 
 but he never spoke again. My presence, however, gave 
 him evident satisfaction ; for every now and then, as he 
 looked to me, a vague smile would come over his visage, 
 and he would feebly point to the sealed box on the table. 
 As the day wore away, his life appeared to wear away 
 with it. Towards sunset his head sank on the bed, and 
 lay motionless, his eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained 
 open, and thus he gradually died. 
 
 I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction 
 of my kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this 
 strange old man, who had thus reserved the smile of 
 kindness to his death-bed, — like an evening sun after a 
 
BUCKTHORNS. 269 
 
 gloomy day, just shining out to set in darkness. Leav- 
 ing the corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for 
 the night. 
 
 It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing 
 my uncle's requiem about the mansion, and the "blood- 
 hounds howled without, as if they knew of the death of 
 their old master. Iron John almost grudged me the tal- 
 low candle to burn in my apartment, and light up its 
 dreariness, so accustomed had he been to starveling 
 economy. I could not sleep. The recollection of my 
 uncle's dying-scene, and the dreary sounds about the 
 house, affected my mind. These, however, were suc- 
 ceeded by plans for the future, and I lay awake the 
 greater part of the night, indulging the poetical anticipa- 
 tion how soon I should make these old walls ring with 
 cheerful life, and restore the hospitality of my mother's 
 ancestors. 
 
 My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew 
 that nobody respected his memory, and I was determined 
 none should be summoned to sneer over his funeral, and 
 make merry at his grave. He was buried in the church 
 of the neighboring village, though it was not the bury- 
 ing-place of his race ; but he had expressly enjoined that 
 he should not be buried with his family ; he had quar- 
 relled with most of them when living, and he carried his 
 resentments even into the grave. 
 
 I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of my own 
 purse, that I might have done with the undertakers at 
 
270 TALES OF A TRA VELLEH. 
 
 once, and clear the ill-omened birds from the premises. 
 I invited the parson of the parish, and the lawyer from 
 the village, to attend at the house the next morning, and 
 hear the reading of the will. I treated them to an excel- 
 lent breakfast, a profusion that had not been seen at the 
 house for many a year. As soon as the breakfast things 
 were removed, I summoned Iron John, the woman, and 
 the boy, for I was particular in having every one present 
 and proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the 
 table — all was silence — I broke the seal — raised the lid, 
 and beheld — not the will — but my accursed poem of 
 Doubting Castle and Giant Despair ! 
 
 Could any mortal have conceived that this old with- 
 ered man, so taciturn, and apparently so lost to feeling, 
 could have treasured up for years the thoughtless pleas- 
 antry of a boy, to punish him with such cruel ingenuity ? 
 I now could account for his dying smile, the only one he 
 had ever given me. He had been a grave man all his 
 life, it was strange that he should die in the enjoyment 
 of a joke, and it was hard that that joke should be at my 
 expense. 
 
 The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to com- 
 prehend the matter. " Here must be some mistake," 
 said the lawyer ; " there is no will here." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty jaws, 
 "if it is a will you are looking for, I believe I can find 
 one." 
 
 He retired with the same singular smile with which he 
 
BVCKTHORN& 271 
 
 had greeted me on my arrival, and which I now appre- 
 hended boded me no good. In a little while he returned 
 with a will perfect at all points, properly signed and 
 sealed, and witnessed and worded with horrible correct- 
 ness ; in which the deceased left large legacies to Iron 
 John and his daughter, and the residue of his fortune to 
 the foxy-headed boy, who, to my utter astonishment, was 
 his son by this very woman; he having married her 
 privately, and, as I verily believe, for no other purpose 
 than to have an heir, and so balk my father and his 
 issue of the inheritance. There was one little proviso, in 
 which he mentioned, that, having discovered his nephew 
 to have a pretty turn for poetry, he presumed he had no 
 occasion for wealth; he recommended him, however, to 
 the patronage of his heir, and requested that he might 
 have a garret, rent-free, in Doubting Castle. 
 
GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAP 
 POINTED MAN. 
 
 R. BUCKTHORNE had paused at the death of 
 his uncle, and the downfall of his great expec- 
 tations, which formed, as he said, an epoch in 
 his history ; and it was not until some little time after- 
 wards, and in a very sober mood, that he resumed his 
 party-colored narrative. 
 
 After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle, said he, 
 when the gate closed between me and what was once to 
 have been mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, 
 and completely abandoned to fortune. What was to be- 
 come of me? I had been brought up to nothing but ex- 
 pectations, and they had all been disappointed. I had no 
 relations to look to for counsel or assistance. The world 
 seemed all to have died away from me. Wave after wave 
 of relationship had ebbed off, and I was left a mere hulk 
 upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly cast clown, 
 but at this time I felt sadly disheartened. I could not 
 realize my situation, nor form a conjecture how I was 
 to get forward. I was now to endeavor to make 
 
 money. The idea was new and strange to me. It was 
 
 272 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 273 
 
 like being asked to discover the philosopher's stone. I 
 had never thought about money otherwise than to put 
 my hand into my pocket and find it ; or if there were 
 none there, to wait until a new supply came from home. 
 I had considered life as a mere space of time to be filled 
 up with enjoyments ; but to have it portioned out into 
 long hours and days of toil, merely that I might gain 
 bread to give me strength to toil on— to labor but for the 
 purpose of perpetuating a life of labor, was new and 
 appalling to me. This may appear a very simple matter 
 to some ; but it will be understood by every unlucky 
 wight in my predicament, who has had the misfortune of 
 being born to great expectations. 
 
 I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of 
 my boyhood; partly because I absolutely did not know 
 what to do with myself, and partly because I did not 
 know that I should ever see them again. I clung to them 
 as one clings to a wreck, though he knows he must 
 eventually cast himself loose and swim for his life. I sat 
 down on a little hill within sight of my paternal home, but 
 I did not venture to approach it, for I felt compunction 
 at the thoughtlessness with which I had dissipated my 
 patrimony ; yet was I to blame when I had the rich pos- 
 sessions of my curmudgeon of an uncle in expectation ? 
 
 The new possessor of the place was making great 
 alterations, The house was almost rebuilt. The trees 
 which stood about it were cut down ; my mother's flower- 
 garden was thrown into a lawn,— all was undergoing a 
 18 
 
274 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 change. I turned my back upon it with a sigh, and 
 rambled to another part of the country. 
 
 How thoughtful a little adversity makes one ! As I 
 came within sight of the schoolhouse where I had so 
 often been flogged in the cause of wisdom, you would 
 hardly have recognized the truant boy, who, but a few 
 years since, had eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I 
 leaned over the paling of the play-ground, and watched 
 the scholars at their games, and looked to see if there 
 might not be some urchin among them like I was once, 
 full of gay dreams about life and the world. The play- 
 ground seemed smaller than when I used to sport about 
 it. The house and park, too, of the neighboring squire, 
 the father of the cruel Sacharissa, had shrunk in size and 
 diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no longer 
 appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer awakened ideas 
 of a fairy land beyond. 
 
 As I was rambling pensively through a neighboring 
 meadow, in which I had many a time gathered primroses, 
 I met the very pedagogue who had been the tyrant and 
 dread of my boyhood. I had sometimes vowed to myself, 
 when suffering under his rod, that I would have my re- 
 venge if ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. 
 The time had come ; but I had no disposition to keep my 
 vow. The few years which had matured me into a 
 vigorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He 
 appeared to have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at 
 him, and wondered that this poor helpless mortal could 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 275 
 
 have been an object of terror to me ; that I should have 
 watched with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or 
 dreaded the power of that trembling hand. He tottered 
 feebly along the path, and had some difficulty in getting 
 over a stile. I ran and assisted him. He looked at me 
 with surprise, but did not recognize me, and made a low 
 bow of humility and thanks. I had no disposition to 
 make myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to 
 boast of. The pains he had taken, and the pains he had 
 inflicted, had been equally useless. His repeated pre- 
 dictions were fully verified, and I felt that little Jack 
 Buckthorne, the idle boy, had grown to be a very good- 
 for-nothing man. 
 
 This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I have told 
 you of my follies, it is meet that I show you how for once 
 I was schooled for them. The most thoughtless of mor- 
 tals will some time or other have his day of gloom, when 
 he will be compelled to reflect. 
 
 I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to 
 perform, and I made a pilgrimage in expiation of my past 
 levity. Having passed a night at Leamington, I set off 
 by a private path, which leads up a hill through a grove 
 and across quiet fields, till I came to the small village, 
 or rather hamlet, of Lenington. I sought the village 
 church. It is an old low edifice of gray stone, on the 
 brow of a small hill, looking over fertile fields, towards 
 where the proud towers of Warwick castle lift them- 
 selves against the distant horizon. 
 
276 TALES OF A TEA VELLER 
 
 A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. 
 Under one of them my mother lay buried. You have no 
 doubt thought me a light, heartless being. I thought 
 myself so ; but there are moments of adversity which let 
 us into some feelings of our nature to which we might 
 otherwise remain perpetual strangers. 
 
 I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were already 
 matted over it, and the tombstone was half hid among 
 nettles. I cleared them away, and they stung my hands ; 
 but I was heedless of the pain, for my heart ached too 
 severely. I sat down on the grave, and read over and 
 over again the epitaph on the stone. 
 
 It was simple, — but it was true. I had written it my- 
 self. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain ; 
 my feelings refused to utter themselves in rhyme. My 
 heart had gradually been filling during my lonely wan- 
 derings ; it was now charged to the brim, and overflowed. 
 I sank upon the grave, and buried my face in the tall 
 grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in manhood 
 upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the bosom of 
 my mother. Alas ! how little do we appreciate a moth- 
 er's tenderness while living ! how heedless are we in 
 youth of all her anxieties and kindness ! But when she 
 is dead and gone ; when the cares and coldness of the 
 world come withering to our hearts ; when we find how 
 hard it is to meet with true sympathy ; how few love us 
 for ourselves ; how few will befriend us in our misfor- 
 tunes ; then it is that we think of the mother we have 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 277 
 
 lost. It is true I had always loved my mother, even in 
 my most heedless days ; but I felt how inconsiderate and 
 ineffectual had been my love. My heart melted as I re- 
 traced the days of infancy, when I was led by a mother's 
 hand, and rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, and was 
 without care or sorrow. " my mother ! " exclaimed I, 
 burying my face again in the grass of the grave ; "oh that 
 I were once more by your side ; sleeping never to wake 
 again on the cares and troubles of this world." 
 
 I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and the 
 violence of my emotion gradually exhausted itself. It 
 was a hearty, honest, natural discharge of grief which 
 had been slowly accumulating, and gave me wonderful 
 relief. I rose from the grave as if I had been offering up 
 a sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice had been ac- 
 cepted. 
 
 I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by 
 one, the weeds from her grave : the tears trickled more 
 slowly down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was 
 a comfort to think that she had died before sorrow and 
 poverty came upon her child and all his great expecta- 
 tions were blasted. 
 
 I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked upon the 
 landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whistle 
 of a peasant from an adjoining field came cheerily to 
 my ear. I seemed to respire hope and comfort with the 
 free air that whispered through the leaves, and played 
 lightly with my hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek. 
 
278 TALES OF A TUA VELLEB. 
 
 A lark, rising from the field before me, and leaving as it 
 were a stream of song behind him as he rose, lifted my 
 fancy with him. He hovered in the air just above the 
 place where the towers of Warwick castle marked the 
 horizon, and seemed as if fluttering with delight at his 
 own melody. " Surely," thought I, " if there was such a 
 thing as transmigration of souls, this might be taken for 
 some poet let loose from earth, but still revelling in song, 
 and carolling about fair fields and lordly towers." 
 
 At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of poetry 
 rose within me. A thought sprang at once into my 
 mind. — " I will become an author ! " said I. " I have 
 hitherto indulged in poetry as a pleasure, and it has 
 brought me nothing but pain ; let me try what it will do 
 when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit." 
 
 The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me 
 heaved a load from off my heart. I felt a confidence in 
 it from the very place where it was formed. It seemed 
 as though my mother's spirit whispered it to me from 
 the grave. " I will henceforth," said I, " endeavor to be 
 all that she fondly imagined me. I will endeavor to act 
 as if she were witness of my actions ; I will endeavor to 
 acquit myself in such a manner that, when I revisit her 
 grave, there may at least be no compunctious bitterness 
 with my tears." 
 
 I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attesta- 
 tion of my vow. I plucked some primroses that were 
 growing there, and laid them next my heart. I left the 
 
A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 279 
 
 churchyard with my spirit once more lifted up, and set 
 out a third time for London in the character of an 
 author. 
 
 Here my companion made a pause and I waited in 
 anxious suspense, hoping to have a whole volume of 
 literary life unfolded to me. He seemed, however, to 
 have sunk into a fit of pensive musing, and wheiij, after 
 some time, I gently roused him by a question or two as 
 to his literary career, 
 
 " No," said he, smiling : " over that part of my story 
 I wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft 
 rest sacred for me. Let those who have never ventured 
 into the republic of letters still look upon it as a fairy 
 land. Let them suppose the author the very being they 
 picture him from his works — I am not the man to mar 
 their illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is 
 admiring the silken web of Persia, that it has been spun 
 from the entrails of a miserable worm." 
 
 " Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of your 
 literary history, let me know at least if you have had any 
 further intelligence from Doubting Castle." 
 
 " Willingly," replied he, " though I have but little to 
 communicate." 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 
 
 LONG time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without 
 my receiving any accounts of my cousin and 
 his estate. Indeed, I felt so much soreness on 
 the subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut it from my 
 thoughts. At length, chance took me to that part of the 
 country, and I could not refrain from making some 
 inquiries. 
 
 I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self- 
 willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness 
 had prevented his mingling with the neighboring gentry : 
 in spite of his great fortune, he had been unsuccessful in 
 an attempt to gain the hand of the daughter of the par- 
 son, and had at length shrunk into the limits of such a 
 society as a mere man of wealth can gather in a country 
 neighborhood. 
 
 He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring table, at 
 which were collected the loose livers of the country 
 round, and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the 
 vicinity. When he could get no other company, he 
 would smoke and drink with his own servants, who in 
 turn fleeced and despised him. Still, with all his appa- 
 
 280 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE 281 
 
 rent prodigality, he had a leaven of the old man in him, 
 which showed that he was his trueborn son. He lived 
 far within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and 
 penurious in many points wherein a gentleman would be 
 extravagant. His house-servants were obliged occasion- 
 ally to work on his estate, and part of the pleasure- 
 grounds were ploughed up and devoted to husbandry. 
 
 His table, though plentiful, was coarse; his liquors 
 were strong and bad; and more ale and whiskey were 
 expended in his establishment than generous wine. He 
 was loud and arrogant at his own table, and exacted a 
 rich man's homage from his vulgar and obsequious 
 guests. 
 
 As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown 
 impatient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over 
 him, and quarrelled with him soon after he came to the 
 estate. The old man had retired to the neighboring 
 village, where he lived on the legacy of his late master, 
 in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen out of it as a 
 rat out of his hole in daylight. 
 
 The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinctive 
 attachment to his mother. She resided with him, but, 
 from long habit, she acted more as a servant than as a 
 mistress of the mansion ; for she toiled in all the domes- 
 tic drudgery, and was oftener in the kitchen than the 
 parlor. Such was the information which I collected of 
 my rival cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me 
 out of my expectations. 
 
282 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to 
 this scene of my boyhood, and to get a peep at the odd 
 kind of life that was passing within the mansion of my 
 maternal ancestors. I determined to do so in disguise. 
 My booby cousin had never seen enough of me to be very 
 familiar with my countenance, and a few years make a 
 great difference between youth and manhood. I under- 
 stood he was a breeder of cattle, and proud of his stock ; 
 I dressed myself therefore as a substantial farmer, and 
 with the assistance of a red scratch that came low down 
 on my forehead, made a complete change in my physi- 
 ognomy. 
 
 It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of 
 the park, and was admitted by an old woman who was 
 washing in a dilapidated building, which had once been a 
 porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble 
 avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down 
 and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely 
 better keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. The 
 grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted 
 pruning and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were 
 grazing about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming 
 in the fish-ponds. The road to the house bore very few 
 traces of carriage-wheels, as my cousin received few visi- 
 tors but such as came on foot or horseback, and never 
 used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he 
 had the old family carriage drawn out from among the 
 dust and cobwebs of the coach-house, and furbished up, 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 283 
 
 and driven, with his mother, to the village church, to 
 take formal possession of the family pew ; but there was 
 such hooting and laughing after them, as they passed 
 through the village, and such giggling and bantering 
 about the church-door, that the pageant had never made 
 a reappearance. 
 
 As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied 
 out, barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, 
 rather than barking, of two old worn-out blood-hounds, 
 which I recognized for the ancient lifeguards of my 
 uncle. The house had still a neglected random appear- 
 ance, though much altered for the better since my last 
 visit. Several of the windows were broken and patched 
 up with boards, and others had been bricked up to save 
 taxes. I observed smoke, however, rising from the 
 chimneys, a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient 
 establishment. On passing that part of the house where 
 the dining-room was situated, I heard the sound of bois- 
 terous merriment, where three or four voices were talking 
 at once, and oaths and laughter were horribly mingled. 
 
 The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the 
 door, a tall hard-fisted country clown, with a livery coat 
 put over the under garments of a ploughman. I re- 
 quested to see the master of the house, but was told that 
 he was at dinner with some " gemmen " of the neighbor- 
 hood. I made known my business, and sent in to 
 know if I might talk with the master about his cattle, for 
 I felt a great desire to have a peep at him in his orgies. 
 
284 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Word was returned that he was engaged with com- 
 pany, and could not attend to business, but that if I 
 would step in and take a drink of something, I was 
 heartily welcome. I accordingly entered the hall, where 
 whips and hats of all kinds and shapes were lying on an 
 oaken table ; two or three clownish servants were loung- 
 ing about ; everything had a look of confusion and care- 
 lessness. 
 
 The apartments through which I passed had the same 
 air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The 
 once rich curtains were faded and dusty ; the furniture 
 greased and tarnished. On entering the dining-room, I 
 found a number of odd, vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen, 
 seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, 
 tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were lying 
 about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, 
 and one was gnawing a bone under a side-table. The 
 master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was 
 greatly altered. He had grown thickset and rather 
 gummy, with a fiery foxy head of hair. There was a 
 singular mixture of foolishness, arrogance, and conceit 
 in his countenance. He was dressed in a vulgarly fine 
 style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and green 
 coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed 
 with drinking, The whole company stared at me with a 
 whimsical muzzy look, like men whose senses were a 
 little obfuscated by beer rather than wine. 
 
 My cousin, (God forgive me ! the appellation sticks in 
 
THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 285 
 
 my throat), my cousin invited me with awkward civility, 
 or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table 
 and drink. We talked, as usual, about the weather, the 
 crops, politics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud 
 politician, and evidently accustomed to talk without con- 
 tradiction at his own table. He was amazingly loyal, 
 and talked of standing by the throne to the last guinea, 
 " as every gentleman of fortune should do." The village 
 exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate 
 " very true " to everything he said. The conversation 
 turned upon cattle ; he boasted of his breed, his mode of 
 crossing it, and of the general management of his estate. 
 This unluckily drew out a history of the place and of the 
 family. He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest 
 irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned 
 my name, and my blood began to boil. He described 
 my frequent visits to my uncle, when I was a lad, and I 
 found the varlet, even at that time, imp as he was, had 
 known that he was to inherit the estate. He described 
 the scene of my uncle's death, and the opening of the will, 
 with a degree of coarse humor that I had not expected 
 from him ; and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining 
 in the laugh, for I have always relished a joke, even 
 though made at my own expense. He went on to speak 
 of my various pursuits, my strolling freak; and that 
 somewhat nettled me ; at length he talked of my par- 
 ents. He ridiculed my father ; I stomached even that, 
 though with great difficulty. He mentioned my mother 
 
286 TALES OF A TBA VELLER. 
 
 with a sneer, and in an instant lie lay sprawling at my 
 feet. 
 
 Here a tumult succeeded : the table was nearly over- 
 turned ; bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled crashing 
 and clattering about the floor. The company seized hold 
 of both of us, to keep us from doing any further mischief. 
 I struggled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My 
 cousin defied me to strip and fight him on the lawn. I 
 agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant in me, and I 
 longed to pommel him soundly. 
 
 Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. I had 
 a second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, 
 as he advanced to fight, said something about his gene- 
 rosity in showing me such fair play, when I had made 
 such an unprovoked attack upon him at his own table. 
 " Stop there," cried I, in a rage. " Unprovoked ? know 
 that I am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted the 
 memory of my mother." 
 
 The lout was suddenly struck by what I said : he drew 
 back, and thought for a moment. 
 
 " Nay, damn it," said he, " that's too much — that's 
 clean another thing — I've a mother myself — and no one 
 shall speak ill of her, bad as she is." 
 
 He paused again: nature seemed to have a rough 
 struggle in his rude bosom. 
 
 " Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I'm sorry for what I 
 said. Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, and 
 I like thee the better for it. Here's my hand : come and 
 
THE BOOBY SqUIBE. 287 
 
 live with me, and damn me but the best room in the 
 house, and the best horse in the stable, shall be at thy 
 service." 
 
 I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance 
 of nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. 
 I forgave the fellow in a moment his two heinous crimes, 
 of having been born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. 
 I shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I 
 bore him no ill-will ; and then making my way through 
 the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade adieu to my uncle's 
 domains forever. — This is the last I have seen or heard 
 of my cousin, or of the domestic concerns of Doubting 
 Castle, 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 
 
 S I was walking one morning with Buckthorne 
 near one of the principal theatres, he directed 
 my attention to a group of those equivocal be- 
 ings that may often be seen hovering about the stage- 
 doors of theatres. They were marvellously ill-favored in 
 their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; yet 
 they wore their hats smartly on one side, and had a cer- 
 tain knowing, dirty-gentlemanlike air, which is commoD 
 to the subalterns of the drama. Buckthorne knew them 
 well by early experience. 
 
 " These," said he, " are the ghosts of departed kings 
 and heroes ; fellows who sway sceptres and truncheons ; 
 command kingdoms and armies ; and after giving away 
 realms and treasures over night, have scarce a shilling to 
 pay for a breakfast in the morning. Yet they have the 
 true vagabond abhorrence of all useful and industrious 
 employment ; and they have their pleasures too ; one of 
 which is to lounge in this way in the sunshine, at the 
 stage-door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed thea- 
 trical jokes on all passers-by. Nothing is more traditional 
 and legitimate than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, 
 
 288 
 
We strolling manageu. 289 
 
 old sentiments, old ranting, and old jokes, are handed 
 down from generation to generation ; and will probably 
 continue to be so until time shall be no more. Every 
 hanger-on of a theatre becomes a wag by inheritance, and 
 flourishes about at tap-rooms and sixpenny clubs with the 
 property jokes of the green-room." 
 
 While amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this group, 
 we noticed one in particular who appeared to be the ora- 
 cle. He was a weather-beaten veteran, a little bronzed 
 by time and beer, who had no doubt grown gray in the 
 parts of robbers, cardinals, Eoman senators, and walking 
 noblemen. 
 
 "There is something in the set of that hat, and the 
 turn of that physiognomy, extremely familiar to me," 
 said Buckthorne. He looked a little closer, — "I cannot 
 be mistaken, that must be my old brother of the trun- 
 cheon, Flimsey, the tragic hero of the Strolling Com- 
 pany." 
 
 It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident 
 signs that times went hard with him, he was so finely 
 and shabbily dressed. His coat was somewhat thread- 
 bare, and of the Lord Townly cut ; single breasted,, and 
 scarcely capable of meeting in front of his body, which, 
 from long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and 
 robustness of a beer-barrel. He wore a pair of dingy- 
 white stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to reach 
 his waistcoat, a great quantity of dirty cravat ; and a pair 
 of old russet-colored tragedy boots. 
 19 
 
290 TALES OF A TEA VELLEH. 
 
 When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew 
 him aside, and made himself known to him. The tragic 
 veteran could scarcely recognize him, or believe that he 
 was really his quondam associate, "little Gentleman 
 Jack." Buckthorne invited him to a neighboring coffee- 
 house to talk over old times ; and in the course of a little 
 while we were put in possession of his history in brief. 
 
 He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling 
 company for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or 
 rather had been driven from it so abruptly. At length 
 the manager died, and the troop was thrown into confu- 
 sion. Every one aspired to the crown, every one was for 
 taking the lead; and the manager's widow, although a 
 tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, pronounced it 
 utterly impossible for a woman to keep any control over 
 such a set of tempestuous rascallions. 
 
 "Upon this hint, I spoke," said Flimsey. I stepped 
 forward, and offered my services in the most effectual 
 way. They were accepted. In a week's time I married 
 the widow, and succeeded to the throne. "The funeral 
 baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage table," 
 as Hamlet says. But the ghost of my predecessor never 
 haunted me; and I inherited crowns, sceptres, bowls, 
 daggers, and all the stage trappings and trumpery, not 
 omitting the widow, without the least molestation. 
 
 I now led a flourishing life of it ; for our company was 
 pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took 
 the heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER 291 
 
 treasury. We carried off the palm from all the rival 
 shows at country fairs ; and I assure you we have even 
 drawn full houses, and been applauded by the critics at 
 Bartlemy Fair itself, though we had Astley's troop, the 
 Irish giant, and "the death of Nelson" in wax work, to 
 contend against. 
 
 I soon began to experience, however, the cares of com- 
 mand. I discovered that there were cabals breaking out 
 in the company, headed by the clown, who you may 
 recollect was a terribly peevish, fractious fellow, and 
 always in ill-humor. I had a great mind to turn him off 
 at once, but I could not do without him, for there was 
 not a droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape was 
 comic, for he had but to turn his back upon the audi- 
 ence, and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. 
 He felt his importance, and took advantage of it. He 
 would keep the audience in a continual roar, and then 
 come behind the scenes, and fret and fume, and play the 
 very devil. I excused a great deal in him, however, 
 knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this in- 
 firmity of temper. 
 
 I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nature to 
 struggle with, which was the affection of my wife. As 
 ill luck would have it, she took it into her head to be 
 very fond of me, and became intolerably jealous. I could 
 not keep a pretty girl in the company, and hardly dared 
 embrace an ugly one, even when my part required it. I 
 have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters, " to very 
 
292 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one of 
 the very best dresses in the wardrobe, merely because 
 she saw me kiss her at the side scenes ; though I give 
 you my honor it was done merely by way of rehearsal. 
 
 This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural 
 liking to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me ; 
 and because they are indispensable to the success of a 
 company at a fair, where one has to vie with so many 
 rival theatres. But when once a jealous wife gets a freak 
 in her head, there's no use in talking of interest or any- 
 thing else. Egad, sir, I have more than once trembled 
 when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was playing high 
 tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest 
 she should give way to her humor, and stab some fancied 
 rival in good earnest. 
 
 I went on better, however, than could be expected, con- 
 sidering the weakness of my flesh, and the violence of 
 my rib. I had not a much worse time of it than old 
 Jupiter, whose spouse was continually ferreting out some 
 new intrigue, and making the heavens almost too hot to 
 hold him. 
 
 At length, as luck would have it, we were performing 
 at a country fair, when I understood the theatre of a 
 neighboring town to be vacant. I had always been 
 desirous to be enrolled in a settled company, and the 
 height of my desire was to get on a par with a brother- 
 in-law, who was manager of a regular theatre, and who 
 had looked down upon me. Here was an opportunity 
 
THE STROLLINQ MANAGER. 293 
 
 not to be neglected. I concluded an agreement with the 
 proprietors, and in a few days opened the theatre with 
 great eclat. 
 
 Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, " the 
 high top-gallant of my joy," as Romeo says. No longer 
 a chieftain of a wandering tribe, but a monarch of a legi- 
 timate throne, and entitled to call even the great poten- 
 tates of Covent Garden and Drury Lane cousins. You, 
 no doubt, think my happiness complete. Alas, sir ! I 
 was one of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No one 
 knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a manager ; 
 but above all of a country manager. No one can con- 
 ceive the contentions and quarrels within doors, the 
 oppressions and vexations from without. I was pestered 
 with the bloods and loungers of a country town, who 
 infested my green-room, and played the mischief among 
 my actresses. But there was no shaking them off. It 
 would have been ruin to affront them ; for though 
 troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous 
 enemies. Then there was the village critics and vil- 
 lage amateurs, who were continually tormenting me with 
 advice, and getting into a passion if I would not take it ; 
 especially the village doctor and the village attorney, 
 who had both been to London occasionally, and knew 
 what acting should be. 
 
 I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces 
 as ever were collected together within the walls of a 
 theatre. I had been obliged to combine my original 
 
294 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 troop with some of the former troop of the theatre, who 
 were favorites of the public. Here was a mixture that 
 produced perpetual ferment. They were all the time 
 either fighting or frolicking with each other, and I 
 scarcely know which mood was least troublesome. If 
 they quarrelled, everything went wrong, and if they were 
 friends, they were continually playing off some prank 
 upon each other, or upon me ; for I had unhappily 
 acquired among them the character of an easy, good- 
 natured fellow, — the worst character that a manager can 
 possess. 
 
 Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy ; for 
 there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks 
 and hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band of the- 
 atrical vagabonds. I relished them well enough, it is 
 true, while I was merely one of the company, but as a 
 manager I found them detestable. They were inces- 
 santly bringing some disgrace upon the theatre by 
 their tavern frolics and their pranks about the country 
 town. All my lectures about the importance of keeping 
 up the dignity of the profession and the respectability of 
 the company were in vain. The villains could not sym- 
 pathize with the delicate feelings of a man in station. 
 They even trifled with the seriousness of stage business. 
 I have had the whole piece interrupted, and a crowded 
 audience of at least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, 
 because the actors had hid away the breeches of Kosa- 
 lind; and have known Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 295 
 
 deliver his soliloquy, with a dish-clout pinned to his 
 skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of a man- 
 ager's getting a character for good-nature. 
 
 I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors 
 who came down starring, as it is called, from London. 
 Of all baneful influences, keep me from that of a London 
 star. A first-rate actress going the rounds of the coun- 
 try theatres is as bad as a blazing comet whisking about 
 the heavens, and shaking fire and plagues and discords 
 from its tail. 
 
 The moment one of these " heavenly bodies " appeared 
 in my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. My thea- 
 tre was overrun by provincial dandies, copper-washed 
 counterfeits of Bond Street loungers, who are always 
 proud to be in the train of an actress from town, and 
 anxious to be thought on exceeding good terms with her. 
 It was really a relief to me when some random young 
 nobleman would come in pursuit of the bait, and awe all 
 this small fry at a distance. I have always felt myself 
 more at ease with a nobleman than with the dandy of a 
 country town. 
 
 And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity 
 and my managerial authority from the visits of these 
 great London actors ! 'Sblood, sir, I was no longer mas- 
 ter of myself on my throne. I was hectored and lectured 
 in my own green-room, and made an absolute nincom- 
 poop on my own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute 
 and capricious as a London star at a country theatre. J 
 
296 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 dreaded the sight of all of them, and yet if I did not 
 engage them, I was sure of having the public clamorous 
 against me. They drew full houses, and appeared to be 
 making my fortune ; but they swallowed up all the profits 
 by their insatiable demands. They were absolute tape- 
 worms to my little theatre; the more it took in the 
 poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me with an 
 exhausted public, empty benches, and a score or two of 
 affronts to settle among the townsfolk, in consequence of 
 misunderstandings about the taking of places. 
 
 But the worst thing I had to undergo in my manage- 
 rial career was patronage. Oh, sir! of all things deliver 
 me from the patronage of the great people of a country 
 town. It was my ruin. You must know that this town, 
 though small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and 
 great folks ; being a busy little trading and manufacturing 
 town. The mischief was that their greatness was of a 
 kind not to be settled by reference to the court calendar, 
 or college of heraldry ; it was therefore the most quarrel- 
 some kind of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but 
 let me tell you there are no feuds more furious than the 
 frontier feuds which take place in these "debatable 
 lands" of gentility. The most violent dispute that I ever 
 knew in high life was one which occurred at a country 
 town, on a question of precedence between the ladies of a 
 manufacturer of pins and a manufacturer of needles. 
 
 At the town where I was situated there were perpetual 
 altercations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 297 
 
 for instance, was at daggers-drawings with the head 
 shopkeeper's, and both were too rich and had too many 
 friends to be treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's 
 ladies held their heads still higher ; but they in turn were 
 kept in check by the wife of a country banker, who kept 
 her own carriage; while a masculine widow of cracked 
 character and second-handed fashion, who lived in a 
 large house and claimed to be in some way related to 
 nobility, looked clown upon them all. To be sure, her 
 manners were not over-elegant, nor her fortune over- 
 large ; but then, sir, her blood — oh, her blood carried it 
 all hollow; there was no withstanding a woman with 
 such blood in her veins. 
 
 After all, her claims to high connection were ques- 
 tioned, and she had frequent battles for precedence at 
 balls and assemblies with some of the sturdy dames of 
 the neighborhood, who stood upon their wealth and their 
 virtue ; but then she had two dashing daughters, who 
 dressed as fine as dragoons, and had as high blood as 
 their mother, and seconded her in everything ; so they 
 carried their point with high heads, and everybody hated, 
 abused, and stood in awe of the Fantadlins. 
 
 Such was the state of the fashionable world in this self- 
 important little town. Unluckily, I was not as well ac- 
 quainted with its politics as I should have been. I had 
 found myself a stranger and in great perplexities during 
 my first season ; I determined, therefore, to put myself 
 under the patronage of some powerful name, and thus to 
 
298 TALES OF A TEA VELLEU. 
 
 take the field with the prejudices of the public in my 
 favor. I cast around my thoughts for that purpose, and 
 in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one 
 seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in the world 
 of fashion. I had always noticed that her party slammed 
 the box-door the loudest at the theatre ; and had the 
 most beaux attending on them, and talked and laughed 
 loudest during the performance ; and then the Miss Fan- 
 tadlins wore always more feathers and flowers than any 
 other ladies ; and used quizzing-glasses incessantly. The 
 first evening of my theatre's re-opening, therefore, was 
 announced in staring capitals on the play-bills, as under 
 the patronage of " The Honorable Mrs. Fantadlin." 
 
 Sir, the whole community flew to arms ! the banker's 
 wife felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having 
 the preference ; her husband being high bailiff and the 
 richest man in the place. She immediately issued invi- 
 tations for a large party, for the night of the performance, 
 and asked many a lady to it whom she never had noticed 
 before. Presume to patronize the theatre ! insufferable ! 
 And then for me to dare to term her " The Honorable ! " 
 What claim had she to the title forsooth ? The fashion- 
 able world had long groaned under the tyranny of the 
 Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common cause 
 against this new instance of assumption. Those, too, 
 who had never before been noticed by the banker's lady 
 were ready to enlist in any quarrel for the honor of her 
 acquaintance. All minor feuds were forgotten. The 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 299 
 
 doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met together, and the 
 manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed 
 each other ; and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted 
 the theatre a bore, and determined to encourage noth- 
 ing but the Indian Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidou- 
 
 ranion. 
 
 Alas for poor Pillgarlick ! I knew little the mischief 
 that was brewing against me. My box-book remained 
 blank ; the evening arrived ; but no audience. The music 
 struck up to a tolerable pit and gallery, but no fashion- 
 ables ! I peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but 
 the time passed away ; the play was retarded, until pit 
 and gallery became furious; and I had to raise the cur- 
 tain, and play my greatest part in tragedy to " a beggarly 
 account of empty boxes." 
 
 It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, 
 and entered like a tempest, with a nutter of feathers and 
 red shawls ; but they were evidently disconcerted at find- 
 ing they had no one to admire and envy them, and were 
 enraged at this glaring defection of their fashionable fol- 
 lowers. All the beau-monde were engaged at the banker's 
 lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary 
 and uncomfortable state ; and though they had the thea- 
 tre almost to themselves, yet, for the first time, they 
 talked in whispers. They left the house at the end of the 
 first piece, and I never saw them afterwards. 
 
 Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over 
 the patronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was 
 
300 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 deserted ; my actors grew discontented because they were 
 ill paid ; my door became a hammering place for every 
 bailiff in the country ; and my wife became more and 
 more shrewish and tormenting the more I wanted com- 
 fort. 
 
 I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed 
 and henpecked man ; I took to the bottle, and tried to 
 tipple away my cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry 
 the bottle ; it is no doubt an excellent remedy in many 
 cases, but it did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, 
 coppered my nose, but neither improved my wife nor my 
 affairs. My establishment became a scene of confusion 
 and peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of 
 course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one 
 plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the troop 
 deserted, and, like deserting soldiers, carried off their 
 arms and accoutrements with them. In this manner my 
 wardrobe took legs and walked away, my finery strolled 
 all over the country, my swords and daggers glittered 
 in every barn, until, at last, my tailor made " one fell 
 swoop," and carried off three dress-coats, half a dozen 
 doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh-colored pantaloons. 
 This was the " be all and the end all " of my fortune. 
 I no longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since 
 stealing is the order of the day, I'll steal too; so I 
 secretly gathered together the jewels of my wardrobe, 
 packed up a hero's dress in a handkerchief, slung it on 
 the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly stole off at dead 
 
TEE STROLLING MANAGER. 301 
 
 of niglit, " the bell then beating one," leaving my queen 
 and kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, and 
 my merciless foes the bumbailiffs. 
 
 Such, sir, was the " end of all my greatness." I was 
 heartily cured of all passion for governing,- and re- 
 turned once more into the ranks. I had for some time 
 the usual run of an actor's life. I played in various coun- 
 try theatres, at fairs, and in barns ; sometimes hard 
 pushed, sometimes flush, until, on one occasion, I came 
 within an ace of making my fortune, and becoming one of 
 the wonders of the age. 
 
 I was playing the part of Richard the Third in a coun- 
 try barn, and in my best style ; for, to tell the truth, I 
 was a little in liquor, and the critics of the company 
 always observed that I played with most effect when I 
 had a glass too much. There was a thunder of applause 
 when I came to that part where Richard cries for " a 
 horse ! a horse ! " My cracked voice had always a 
 wonderful effect here ; it was like two voices run into 
 one ; you would have thought two men had been calling 
 for a horse, or that Richard had called for two horses. 
 And when I flung the taunt at Richmond, " Richard is 
 hoarse with calling thee to arms," I thought the barn 
 would have come down about my ears with the raptures 
 of the audience. 
 
 The very next morning a person waited upon me at my 
 lodgings. I saw at once he was a gentleman by his 
 dress ; for he had a large brooch in his bosom, thick 
 
502 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 rings on his fingers, and used a quizzing-glass. And a 
 gentleman he proved to be ; for I soon ascertained that 
 he was a kept author, or kind of literary tailor to one of 
 the great London theatres ; one who worked under the 
 manager's directions, and cut up and cut down plays, and 
 patched and pieced, and new faced, and turned them 
 inside out ; in short, he was one of the readiest and 
 greatest writers of the day. 
 
 He was now on a foraging excursion in quest of some- 
 thing that might be got up for a prodigy. The theatre, 
 it seems, was in desperate condition — nothing but a 
 miracle could save it. He had seen me act Richard the 
 night before, and had pitched upon me for that miracle. 
 I had a remarkable bluster in my style and swagger in 
 my gait. I certainly differed from all other heroes of the 
 barn : so the thought struck the agent to bring me out as 
 a theatrical wonder, as the restorer of natural and legiti- 
 mate acting, as the only one who could understand and 
 act Shakspeare rightly. 
 
 When he opened his plan I shrunk from it with becom- 
 ing modesty, for well as I thought of myself, I doubted 
 my competency to such an undertaking. 
 
 I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shakspeare, 
 having played his characters only after mutilated copies, 
 interlarded with a great deal of my own talk by way of 
 helping memory or heightening the effect. 
 
 " So much the better ! " cried the gentleman with 
 rings on his fingers ; "so much the better ! New read- 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER. 303 
 
 ings, sir ! — new readings ! Don't study a line — let ■ us 
 have Shakspeare after your own fashion." 
 
 " But then my voice was cracked ; it could not fill a 
 London theatre." 
 
 " So much the better ! so much the better ! The pub- 
 lic is tired of intonation — the ore rotundo has had its day. 
 No, sir, your cracked voice is the very thing ; — spit and 
 splutter, and snap and snarl, and ' play the very dog ' 
 about the stage, and you'll be the making of us." 
 
 " But then,"— I could not help blushing to the end of 
 my very nose as I said it, but I was determined to be 
 candid,— "but then," added I, "there is one awkward 
 circumstance : I have an unlucky habit — my misfor- 
 tunes, and the exposures to which one is subjected in 
 country barns, have obliged me now and then to — to — 
 take a drop of something comfortable — and so — and 
 so" 
 
 " What ! you drink ? " cried the agent, eagerly. 
 
 I bowed my head in blushing acknowledgment. 
 
 " So much the better ! so much the better ! The irreg- 
 ularities of genius! A sober fellow is commonplace. 
 The public like an actor that drinks. Give me your 
 hand, sir. You're the very man to make a dash with." 
 
 I still hung back with lingering diffidence, declaring 
 myself unworthy of such praise. 
 
 " 'Sblood, man," cried he, " no praise at all. You 
 don't imagine I think you a wonder ; I only want the 
 public to think so. Nothing is so easy as to gull the 
 
304 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 public, if you only set up a prodigy. Common taleni 
 anybody can measure by common rule ; but a prodigy 
 sets all rule and measurement at defiance." 
 
 These words opened my eyes in an instant : we now 
 came to a proper understanding, less flattering, it is true, 
 to my vanity, but much more satisfactory to my judg- 
 ment. 
 
 It was agreed that I should make my appearance 
 before a London audience, as a dramatic sun just burst- 
 ing from behind the clouds : one that was to banish all 
 the lesser lights and false fires of the stage. Every pre- 
 caution was to be taken to possess the public mind at 
 every avenue. The pit was to be packed with sturdy 
 clappers ; the newspapers secured by vehement puffers ; 
 every theatrical resort to be haunted by hireling talkers. 
 In a word, every engine of theatrical humbug was to be 
 put in action. "Wherever I differed from former actors, 
 it was to be maintained that I was right and they were 
 wrong. If I ranted, it was to be pure passion ; if I were 
 vulgar, it was to be pronounced a familiar touch of 
 nature ; if I made any queer blunder, it was to be a new 
 reading. If my voice cracked, or I got out in my part, I 
 was only to bounce, and grin, and snarl at the audience, 
 and make any horrible grimace that came into my 
 head, and my admirers were to call it " a great point," 
 and to fall back and shout and yell with rapture. 
 
 "In short," said the gentleman with the quizzing- 
 glass, " strike out boldly and bravely : no matter how or 
 
THE STROLLLNO MANAGER. 305 
 
 what you do, so that it be but odd and strange. If you 
 do but escape pelting the first night, your fortune and 
 the fortune of the theatre is made." 
 
 I set off for London, therefore, in company with the 
 kept author, full of new plans and new hopes. I was to 
 be the restorer of Shakspeare and Nature, and the legiti- 
 mate drama ; my very swagger was to be heroic, and my 
 cracked voice the standard of elocution. Alas, sir, my 
 usual luck attended me : before I arrived at the metro- 
 polis a rival wonder had appeared ; a woman who could 
 dance the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage 
 to the gallery with fireworks all round her. She was 
 seized on by the manager with avidity. She was the 
 saving of the great national theatre for the season. 
 Nothing was talked of but Madame Saqui's fireworks 
 and flesh-colored pantaloons ; and Nature, Shakspeare, 
 the legitimate drama, and poor Pillgarlick, were com- 
 pletely left in the lurch. 
 
 When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale, other 
 wonders succeeded: horses, and harlequinades, and 
 mummery of all kinds ; until another dramatic prodigy 
 was brought forward to play the very game for which I 
 had been intended. I called upon the kept author for an 
 explanation, but he was deeply engaged in writing a 
 melodrama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy on 
 being interrupted in his studies. However, as the 
 theatre was in some measure pledged to provide for me, 
 the manager acted, according to the usual phrase, "like 
 20 
 
306 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 a man of honor," and I received an appointment in the 
 corps. It had been a turn of a die whether I should be 
 Alexander the Great or Alexander the coppersmith — the 
 hitter carried it. I could not be put at the head of the 
 drama, so I was put at the tail of it. In other words, I 
 was enrolled among the number of what are called vsefvl 
 men; those who enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's 
 shadowy line. I was perfectly satisfied with my lot ; for 
 I have always been a bit of a philosopher. If my situa- 
 tion was not splendid, it at least was secure ; and in fact 
 I have seen half a dozen prodigies appear, dazzle, burst 
 like bubbles, and pass away, and yet here I am, snug, 
 unenvied, and unmolested, at the foot of the profession. 
 
 You may smile; but let me tell you, we "useful men" 
 are the only comfortable actors on the stage. "We are 
 safe from hisses, and below the hope of applause. We 
 fear not the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's 
 pen. So long as we get the words of our parts, and they 
 are not often many, it is all we care for. We have our 
 own merriment, our own friends, and our own admirers, 
 — for every actor has his friends and admirers, from the 
 highest to the lowest. The first-rate actor dines with the 
 noble amateur, and entertains a fashionable table with 
 scraps and songs and theatrical slip-slop. The second- 
 rate actors have their second-rate friends and admirers, 
 with whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk slip- 
 slop ; — and so down even to us ; who have our friends and 
 admirers among spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER 397 
 
 who treat us to a dinner now and then, and enjoy at 
 tenth hand the same scraps and songs and slip-slop that 
 have been served up by our more fortunate brethren at 
 the tables of the great. 
 
 I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, ex- 
 perience what true pleasure is. I have known enough of 
 notoriety to pity the poor devils who are called favorites 
 of the public. I would rather be a kitten in the arms of 
 a spoiled child, to be one moment patted and pampered 
 and the next moment thumped over the head with the 
 spoon. I smile to see our leading actors fretting them- 
 selves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery renown, 
 questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its duration. 
 I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at the bustle 
 and importance, and trouble and perplexities of our 
 manager — who is harassing himself to death in the hope- 
 less effort to please everybody. 
 
 I have found among my fellow-subalterns two or three 
 quondam managers, who like myself have wielded the 
 sceptres of country theatres, and we have many a sly 
 joke together at the expense of the manager and the 
 public. Sometimes, too, we meet, like deposed and 
 exiled kings, talk over the events of our respective 
 reigns, moralize over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the 
 humbug of the great and little world ; which, I take it, is 
 the essence of j)ractical philosophy. 
 
 Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends- 
 
308 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 It grieves me much that I could not procure from him 
 further particulars of his history, and especially of that 
 part of it which passed in town. He had evidently seen 
 much of literary life ; and, as he had never risen to emi- 
 nence in letters, and yet was free from the gall of disap- 
 pointment, I had hoped to gain some candid intelligence 
 concerning his contemporaries. The testimony of such 
 an honest chronicler would have been particularly val- 
 uable at the present time ; when, owing to the extreme 
 fecundity of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criti- 
 cisms, and biographical sketches that are daily poured 
 forth concerning public characters, it is extremely diffi- 
 cult to get at any truth concerning them. 
 
 He was always, however, excessively reserved and fas- 
 tidious on this point, at which I very much wondered, 
 authors in general appearing to think each other fair 
 game, and being ready to serve each other up for the 
 amusement of the public. 
 
 A few mornings after hearing the history of the ex- 
 manager, I was surprised by a visit from Buckthorne 
 before I was out of bed. He was dressed for travelling. 
 
 " Give me joy ! give me joy ! " said he, rubbing his 
 hands with the utmost glee, " my great expectations are 
 realized ! " 
 
 I gazed at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. 
 
 " My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he ; " may he rest 
 in peace ! he nearly broke his neck in a fall from his 
 torse in a fox-chase. By good luck, he lived long 
 
THE STROLLING MANAGER, 309 
 
 enough to make his will. He has made me his heir, 
 partly out of an odd feeling of retributive justice, and 
 partly because, as he says, none of his own family nor 
 friends know how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the 
 country to take possession. I've done with authorship. 
 That for the critics!" said he, snapping his finger. 
 " Come down to Doubting Castle, when I get settled, 
 and, egad, I'll give you a rouse." So saying, he shook 
 me heartily by the hand, and bounded off in high spirits. 
 A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. 
 Indeed, it was but lately that I received a letter, written 
 in the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate in 
 fine order ; everything went to his wishes ; and what was 
 more, he was married to Sacharissa, who it seems had 
 always entertained an ardent though secret attachment 
 for him, which he fortunately discovered just after com- 
 ing to his estate. 
 
 " I find," said he, " you are a little given to the sin of 
 authorship, which I renounce : if the anecdotes I have 
 given you of my story are of any interest, you may make 
 use of them ; but come down to Doubting Castle, and see 
 how we live, and I'll give you my whole London life over 
 a social glass ; and a rattling history it shall be about 
 authors and reviewers." 
 
 If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the history he 
 promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. 
 
PART THIRD. 
 
 THE ITALIAN BANDITTI 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 
 
 RACK ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 
 
 " Here comes the estafette from Naples," said 
 mine host of the inn at Terracina ; " bring out 
 the relay." 
 
 The estafette came galloping up the road according to 
 custom, brandishing over his head a short-handled whip, 
 with a long, knotted lash, every smack of which made a 
 report like a pistol. He was a tight, square-set young 
 fellow, in the usual uniform : a smart blue coat, orna- 
 mented with facings and gold lace, but so short behind 
 as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up 
 not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with 
 gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding-boots ; but, instead of the 
 usual leathern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of 
 drawers, that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty 
 to hide behind. 
 
 The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped 
 from his horse. 
 
 " A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of 
 breeches," said he, " and quickly, per Vamor di Bio, I am 
 behind my time, and must be off! " 
 
 313 
 
314 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " San Gennaro ! " replied the host ; " why, where hast 
 thou left thy garment ? " 
 
 " Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 
 
 " What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly. 
 "What could they hope to get from thee ? " 
 
 " My leather breeches ! " replied the estafette. " They 
 were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of 
 the captain." 
 
 " Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To med- 
 dle with an estafette ! and that merely for the sake of a 
 pair of leather breeches ! " 
 
 The robbing of the government messenger seemed 
 to strike the host with more astonishment than any 
 other enormity that had taken place on the road; and, 
 indeed, it was the first time so wanton an outrage 
 had been committed ; the robbers generally taking 
 care not to meddle with anything belonging to govern- 
 ment. 
 
 The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had not 
 lost an instant in making his preparations while talking. 
 The relay was ready ; the rosolio tossed off ; he grasped 
 the reins and the stirrup. 
 
 " Were there many robbers in the band ? " said a 
 handsome, dark young man, stepping forward from the 
 door of the inn. 
 
 " As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the esta- 
 fette, springing into the saddle. 
 
 " Are they cruel to travellers ? " said a beautiful young 
 
THE INN AT TFMRAC1NA. 315 
 
 Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's 
 arm. 
 
 " Cruel, signora ! " echoed the estafette, giving a glance 
 at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. " Corpo di 
 Bacco ! They stiletto all the men ; and, as to the 
 
 women " Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack !— - 
 
 The last words were drowned in the smacking of the 
 whip, and away galloped the estafette along the road to 
 the Pontine marshes. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " ejaculated the fair Venetian, " what 
 will become of us ! " 
 
 The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside of 
 the walls of Terracina, under a vast precipitous height of 
 rocks, crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theodoric 
 the Goth. The situation of Terracina is remarkable. It 
 is a little, ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of 
 the Roman territory. There seems to be an idle jmuse 
 in everything about the place. The Mediterranean 
 spreads before it — that sea without flux or reflux. The 
 port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a 
 solitary felucca may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of 
 baccala, or codfish, the meagre provision for the quare- 
 sima, or Lent. The inhabitants are apparently a listless, 
 heedless race, as people of soft sunny climates are apt to 
 be ; but under this passive, indolent exterior are said to 
 lurk dangerous qualities. They are supposed by many 
 to be little better than the banditti of the neighboring 
 mountains, and indeed to hold a secret correspondence 
 
316 TALES OP A TRAVELLER. 
 
 with tliem. The solitary watch-towers, erected here and 
 there along the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs that 
 hover about these shores ; while the low huts, as stations 
 for soldiers, which dot the distant road, as it winds up 
 through an olive grove, intimate that in the ascent there 
 is danger for the traveller, and facility for the bandit. In- 
 deed, it is between this town and Fondi that the road to 
 Naples is most infested by banditti. It has several wind- 
 ings and solitary places, where the robbers are enabled 
 to see the traveller from a distance, from the brows of 
 hills or impending precipices, and to lie in wait for him 
 at lonely and difficult passes. 
 
 The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that 
 have almost formed themselves into an order of society. 
 They wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which 
 openly designates their profession. This is probably 
 done to diminish its skulking, lawless character, and to 
 give it something of a military air in the eyes of the 
 common people ; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show 
 and finery the fancies of the young men of the villages, 
 and thus to gain recruits. Their dresses are often very 
 rich and picturesque. They wear jackets and breeches 
 of bright colors, sometimes gayly embroidered; their 
 breasts are covered with medals and relics; their hats 
 are broad-brimmed, with conical crowns, decorated with 
 feathers, of variously-colored ribands ; their hair is some- 
 times gathered in silk nets ; they wear a kind of sandal of 
 cloth or leather, bound round the legs with thongs, and 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 317 
 
 extremely flexible, to enable them to scramble with ease 
 and celerity among the mountain precipices ; a broad 
 belt of cloth, or a sash of silk net, is stuck full of pistols 
 and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at the back; while about 
 them is generally thrown, in a negligent manner, a great 
 dingy mantle, which serves as a protection in storms, or 
 a bed in their bivouacs among the mountains. 
 
 They range over a great extent of wild country, along 
 the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states; 
 they know all the difficult passes, the short cuts for 
 retreat, and the impracticable forests of the mountain 
 summits, where no force dare follow them. They are 
 secure of the good-will of the inhabitants of those regions, 
 a poor and semi-barbarous race, whom they never disturb 
 and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered as a sort 
 of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and 
 in certain frontier towns where they dispose of their 
 plunder. Thus countenanced, and sheltered, and secure 
 in the fastnesses of their mountains, the robbers have set 
 the weak police of the Italian states at defiance. It is in 
 vain that their names and descriptions are posted on the 
 doors of country churches, and rewards offered for them 
 alive or dead ; the villagers are either too much awed by 
 the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted by the bri- 
 gands, or have too good an understanding with them to be 
 their betrayers. It is true they are now and then hunted 
 and shot down like beasts of prey by the gens-cCarmes, 
 their heads put in iron cages, and stuck upon posts by 
 
318 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 the roadside, or their limbs hung up to blacken in the 
 trees near the places where they have committed their 
 atrocities ; but these ghastly spectacles only serve to 
 make some dreary pass of the road still more dreary, 
 and to dismay the traveller, without deterring the 
 bandit. 
 
 At the time that the estafette made his sudden appear- 
 ance almost en cuerpo, as has been mentioned, the 
 audacity of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled 
 height. They had laid villas under contribution; they 
 had sent messages into country towns, to tradesmen and 
 rich burghers, demanding supplies of money, of clothing, 
 or even of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case of 
 refusal. They had their spies and emissaries in every 
 town, village, and inn, along the principal roads, to give 
 them notice of the movements and quality of travellers. 
 They had plundered carriages, carried people of rank 
 and fortune into the mountains, and obliged them to 
 write for heavy ransoms, and had committed outrages on 
 females who had fallen into their hands. 
 
 Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or rather 
 such was the account of the rumors prevalent concerning 
 them, when the scene took place at the inn of Terracina. 
 The dark handsome young man and the Venetian lady, 
 incidentally mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon 
 in a private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by a 
 single servant. They had been recently married, were 
 spending the honey-moon in travelling through these 
 
THE INN AT TEERAGINA. 319 
 
 delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich 
 aunt of the bride at Naples. 
 
 The lady was young, and tender, and timid. The 
 stories she had heard along the road had filled her with 
 apprehension, not more for herself than for her husband ; 
 for though she had been married almost a month, she 
 still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached 
 Terracina, the rumors of the road had increased to an 
 alarming magnitude ; and the sight of two robbers' skulls, 
 grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gateway of 
 the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband had 
 tried in vain to reassure her ; they had lingered all the 
 afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of 
 starting that evening, and the parting words of the 
 estafette completed her affright. 
 
 " Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her arm 
 within her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for 
 protection. "Let us return to Rome, and give up this 
 visit to Naples." 
 
 " And give up the visit to your aunt, too ? " said the 
 husband. 
 
 "Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with your 
 safety ? " said she, looking up tenderly in his face. 
 
 There was something in her tone and manner that 
 showed she really was thinking more of her husband's 
 safety at the moment than of her own; and being so 
 recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is 
 very possible that she was ; at least her husband thought 
 
320 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet musical 
 tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of 
 a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Vene- 
 tian eye, would not wonder at the husband's believing 
 whatever they professed. He clasped the white hand that 
 had been laid within his, put his arm round her slen- 
 der wiist, and drawing her fondly to his bosom, " This 
 night, at least," said he, " we will pass at Terracina." 
 
 Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! Another appari- 
 tion of the road attracted the attention of mine host and 
 his guests. From the direction of the Pontine marshes, 
 a carriage, drawn by half a dozen horses, came driving 
 at a furious rate; the postilions smacking their whips 
 like mad, as is the case when conscious of the greatness 
 or of the munificence of their fare. It was a landaulet 
 with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, 
 highly finished, yet proudly simple construction of the 
 carriage ; the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and 
 conveniences ; the loads of box-coats on the dickey ; the 
 fresh, burly, bluff-looking face of the master at the win- 
 dow; and the ruddy, round-headed servant, in close- 
 cropped hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters, 
 all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage of an 
 Englishman. 
 
 " Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as the land- 
 lord came bowing to the carriage-door. 
 
 " Would not his Excellenza alight, and take some re- 
 freshments ? " 
 
THE INN AT TERBACINA. 321 
 
 uff No — lie did not mean to eat until lie got to Fondi." 
 " But the horses will be some time in getting ready." 
 " Ah ! that's always the way ; nothing but delay in this 
 cursed country ! " 
 
 " If his Excellenza would only walk into the house " — 
 " No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want nothing but 
 horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the 
 horses are got ready, and don't let us be kept here an 
 hour or two. Tell him if we're delayed over the time, 
 I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster." 
 
 John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's 
 orders with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. 
 In the meantime the Englishman got out of the car- 
 riage, and walked up and down before the inn, with his 
 hands in his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of 
 idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He was 
 tall, stout, and well made ; dressed with neatness and 
 precision ; wore a travelling cap of the color of ginger- 
 bread ; and had rather an unhappy expression about the 
 corners of his mouth : partly from not having yet made 
 his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get 
 on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that 
 he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman's 
 usual hurry to get to the end of a journey ; or, to use the 
 regular phrase, " to get on." Perhaps, too, ha was a lit- 
 tle sore from having been fleeced at every stage. 
 
 After some time the servant returned from the stable 
 with a look of some perplexity. 
 31 
 
322 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " Are tlie horses ready, John ? " 
 
 " No, sir — I never saw such a place. Theie's no get- 
 ting anything done. I think your honor had better step 
 into the house and get something to eat ; it will be a long 
 while before we get to Fundy." 
 
 " D — n the house — it's a mere trick — I'll not eat any- 
 thing, just to spite them," said the Englishman, still 
 more crusty at the prospect of being so long without his 
 dinner. 
 
 " They say your honor's very wrong," said John, " to 
 set off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." 
 
 " Mere tales to get custom." 
 
 " The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole 
 gang," said John, increasing his emphasis with each ad- 
 ditional piece of information. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 " They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving 
 at the same time a hitch to his own waistband. 
 
 "All humbug!" 
 
 Here the dark handsome young man stepped forward, 
 and addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken 
 English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about 
 to make. 
 
 " Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands 
 deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side-glance 
 of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought, from his 
 civility, he must have a design upon his purse. 
 
 " We shall be most happy, if you will do us the favor, " 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 323 
 
 said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a 
 sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The 
 Englishman cast a look upon her countenance ; her beauty 
 was still more eloquent. His features instantly relaxed. 
 He made a polite bow. " With great pleasure, Signora," 
 said he. 
 
 In short, the eagerness to " get on " was suddenly 
 slackened ; the determination to famish himself as far as 
 Fondi, by way of punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; 
 John chose an apartment in the inn for his master's 
 reception ; and preparations were made to remain there 
 until morning. 
 
 The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as 
 were indispensable for the night. There was the usual 
 parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios and 
 dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences 
 which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiter- 
 ers about the inn-door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored 
 cloaks, with only a hawk's-eye uncovered, made many 
 remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage that 
 seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn 
 talked with wonder of the splendid dressing-case, with its 
 gold and silver furniture, that was spread out on the toi- 
 iet table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it was taken 
 out of the trunk. The strange Milor's wealth, and the 
 treasures he carried about him, were the .talk, that even- 
 ing, over all Terracina. 
 
 The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions 
 
324 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 and arrange his dress for table ; and, after considerable 
 labor and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his 
 appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from 
 the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He 
 made a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing Eng- 
 lish way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed to the com- 
 plimentary salutations of the Continent, considered ex- 
 tremely cold. 
 
 The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, 
 as the Englishman called it, was now served : heaven and 
 earth, and the waters under the earth, had been moved to 
 furnish it ; for there were birds of the air, and beasts of 
 the field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's servant, 
 too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to 
 cook his master a beefsteak ; and made his appearance, 
 loaded with ketchup, and soy, and Cayenne pepper, and 
 Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that ware- 
 house, the carriage, in which his master seemed desirous 
 of carrying England about the world with him. Indeed 
 the repast was one of those Italian farragoes which re- 
 quire a little qualifying. The tureen of soup was a black 
 sea, with livers, and limbs, and fragments of all kinds of 
 birds, and beasts floating like wrecks about it. A meagre- 
 winged animal, which my host called a delicate chicken, 
 had evidently died of a consumption. The macaroni was 
 smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh. There 
 was what appeared to be a dish of stewed eels, of which 
 the Englishman ate with great relish ; but had nearly re- 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 325 
 
 funded them when told that they were vipers,caught among 
 the rocks of Terracina, and esteemed a great delicacy. 
 
 Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen sooner 
 than eating, whatever may be the cookery ; and nothing 
 brings him into good-humor with his company sooner 
 than eating together ; the Englishman, therefore, had not 
 half finished his repast and his bottle, before he began to 
 think the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner, 
 and his wife almost handsome enough to be an English- 
 woman. 
 
 In the course of the repast, the usual topics of travel- 
 lers were discussed, and among others, the reports of 
 robbers, which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian. 
 The landlord and waiter dipped into the conversation 
 with that familiarit}^ permitted on the Continent, and 
 served up so many bloody tales as they served up 
 the dishes, that they almost frightened away the poor 
 lady's appetite. The Englishman, who had a national 
 antipathy to everything technically called " humbug," 
 listened to them all with a certain screw of the mouth, 
 expressive of incredulity. There was the well-known 
 story of the school of Terracina, captured by the robbers ; 
 and one of the scholars cruelly massacred, in order to 
 bring the parents to terms for the ransom of the rest. 
 And another, of a gentleman of Kome, who received 
 his son's ear in a letter, with information, that his son 
 would be remitted to him in this way, by instalments, 
 until he paid the required ransom. 
 
TALES OF A TEA TELLER 
 
 The fair Venetian shudder- - she heard these ta 
 and the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible, 
 doubled the dose when he saw how it operated- He was 
 just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of 
 lish lord and his family, when the Englishman, tir~ 
 
 volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced these 
 accounts to be mere travelle. iie exag_ 
 
 of ignorant pea- jning innkeepers. The 
 
 landlord was indignant at the doubt levelled at his 
 
 nd the innuendo levelled at his cloth ; he c: 
 in corroboration, half a dozen tales still more terrible. 
 
 ■• I i n*t believe a word of them," said * ishman. 
 
 " But the robbers have been tried and execute 
 
 • All a fare- 
 
 :: their hea ;ek up along the roa 
 
 " Old skulls accumulated during a eenturv. ? 
 
 The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at 
 uiaro! quanto sono singolari qu 
 Tngl- b 
 
 A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the 
 arrival of more travellers ; and, from the variety of 
 voices, or rather of clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the 
 rattling of wheels, and the general uproar both within 
 and without, the arrival seemed to be numerous. 
 
 It -*-as. in fact, the procaccio and its convoy : a kind of 
 caravan which a is it on certain days for the transpor- 
 tation of merchandise, with an escort of soldiery to pro- 
 it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves of 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 327 
 
 its protection, and a long file of carriages generally 
 accompany it. 
 
 A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or 
 waiter returned ; being hurried hither and thither by 
 that tempest of noise and bustle, which takes place in an 
 Italian inn on the arrival of any considerable accession 
 of custom. When mine host reappeared, there was a 
 smile of triumph on his countenance. 
 
 " Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table, " perhaps 
 the signor has not heard of what has happened ? " 
 
 "What?" said the Englishman, dryly. 
 
 " Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh 
 exploits of the robbers." 
 
 "Pish!" 
 
 " There's more news of the English Milor and his fam- 
 ily," said the host, exultingly. 
 
 " An English lord ? What English lord ? " 
 
 " Milor Popkin." 
 
 " Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a title ! " 
 
 " O ! sicuro a great nobleman, who passed through 
 here lately with mi ladi and her daughters. A magnifico, 
 one of the grand counsellors of London, an almanno ! " 
 
 " Almanno — almanno ? — tut — he means alderman." 
 
 "Sicuro — Aldermanno Popkin, and the Principessa 
 Popkin, and the Signorine Popkin ! " said mine host, tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 He now put himself into an attitude, and would have 
 launched into a full detail, had he not been thwarted by 
 
328 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 the Englishman, who seemed determined neither to cre- 
 dit nor indulge him in his stories, but dryly motioned 
 for him to clear away the table. 
 
 An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked ; 
 that of mine host continued to wag with increasing volu- 
 bility, as he conveyed the relics of the repast out of the 
 room ; and the last that could be distinguished of his 
 voice, as it died away along the corridor, was the itera- 
 tion of the favorite word, Popkin — Popkin — Popkin — pop 
 —pop— pop. 
 
 The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the 
 house with stories, as it had with guests. The English- 
 man and his companions walked after supper up and 
 down the large hall, or common room of the inn, which 
 ran through the centre of the building. It was spacious 
 and somewhat dirty, with tables placed in various parts, 
 at which groups of travellers were seated ; while others 
 strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their 
 evening's meal. 
 
 It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all 
 ranks and countries, who had arrived in all kinds of 
 vehicles. Though distinct knots of travellers, yet the 
 travelling together, under one common escort, had jum- 
 bled them into a certain degree of companionship on the 
 road ; besides, on the Continent travellers are always 
 familiar, and nothing is more motley than the groups 
 which gather casually together in sociable conversation 
 in the public rooms of inns. 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 329 
 
 The formidable number, and formidable guard of the 
 procaccio had prevented any molestation from banditti ; 
 but every party of travellers had its tale of wonder, and 
 one carriage vied with another in its budget of assertions 
 and surmises. Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen 
 peering over the rocks ; carbines and stilettos gleaming 
 from among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fellows, with 
 flapped hats, and scowling eyes, had occasionally recon- 
 noitred a straggling carriage, but had disappeared on 
 seeing the guard. 
 
 The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that 
 avidity with which we always pamper any feeling of 
 alarm ; even the Englishman began to feel interested in 
 the common topic, desirous of getting more correct infor- 
 mation than mere flying reports. Conquering, therefore, 
 that shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman soli- 
 tary in crowds, he approached one of the talking groups, 
 the oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with long 
 aquiline nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent eye, 
 beaming from under a green velvet travelling-cap, with 
 gold tassel. He was of Kome, a surgeon by profession, a 
 poet by choice, and something of an improvisatore. 
 
 In the present instance, however, he was talking in 
 plain prose, but holding forth with the fluency of one 
 who talks well, and likes to exert his talent. A question 
 or two from the Englishman drew copious replies ; for 
 an Englishman sociable among strangers is regarded as 
 a phenomenon on the Continent, and always treated with 
 
330 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 attention for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave 
 much the same account of the banditti that I have 
 already furnished. 
 
 " But why does not the police exert itself, and root 
 them out ? " demanded the Englishman. 
 
 " Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are 
 too strong," replied the other. " To root them out 
 would be a more difficult task than you imagine. They 
 are connected and almost identified with the mountain 
 peasantry and the people of the villages. The numerous 
 bands have an understanding with each other, and with 
 the country round. A gendarme cannot stir without 
 their being aware of it. They have their scouts every- 
 where, who lurk about towns, villages, and inns, mingle 
 in every crowd, and pervade every place of resort. 1 
 should not be surprised if some one should be super- 
 vising us at this moment." 
 
 The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned 
 pale. 
 
 Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively 
 Neapolitan lawyer. 
 
 " By the way," said he, " I recollect a little adventure 
 of a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in 
 this very neighborhood ; not far from the ruins of Theo- 
 doric's Castle, which are on the top of those great rock} T 
 heights above the town." 
 
 A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure 
 of the doctor, b} r all excepting the improvisatore, who, 
 
THE INN AT TERRACINA. 331 
 
 being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and 
 accustomed, moreover, to harangue without interruption, 
 looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full 
 career. The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
 chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 
 
ADVENTUKE OF THE LITTLE AN- 
 TIQUARY. 
 
 Y friend, the Doctor, was a thorough antiquary; 
 a little rusty, musty, old fellow, always grop- 
 ing among ruins. He relished a building as 
 you Englishmen relish a cheese, — the more mouldy and 
 crumbling it was, the more it suited his taste. A shell of 
 an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a broken- 
 down amphitheatre, would throw him into raptures; 
 and he took more delight in these crusts and cheese- 
 parings of antiquity than in the best-conditioned modern 
 palaces. 
 
 He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just 
 gained an accession of wealth that almost turned his 
 brain. He had picked up, for instance, several Roman 
 Consulars, half a Roman As, two Punics, which had doubt- 
 less belonged to the soldiers of Hannibal, having been 
 found on the very spot where they had encamped among 
 the Apennines. He had, moreover, one Samnite, struck 
 after the Social War, and a Philistis, a queen that never 
 existed; but above all, he valued himself upon a coin, 
 indescribable to any but the initiated in these matters, 
 
 333 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 333 
 
 bearing a cross on one side, and a pegasus on the other, 
 and which, by some antiquarian logic, the little man 
 adduced as an historical document, illustrating the prog- 
 ress of Christianity. 
 
 All these precious coins he carried about him in a 
 leathern purse, buried deep in a pocket of his little black 
 breeches. 
 
 The last maggot he had taken into his brain was to 
 hunt after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi, which are 
 said to exist to this day among the mountains of the 
 Abruzzi ; but about which a singular degree of obscurity 
 prevails.* He had made many discoveries concerning 
 
 * Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that of the exist- 
 ence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the Apennines; and 
 many a wistful eye is cast by the traveller, versed in antiquarian lore, at 
 the richly wooded mountains of the Abruzzi, as a forbidden fairy land of 
 research. These spots, so beautiful, yet so inaccessible, from the rude- 
 ness of their inhabitants and the hordes of banditti which infest them, are 
 a region of fable to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy virtuoso, whose 
 purse and whose consequence could command a military escort, has pene- 
 trated to some individual point among the mountains; and sometimes a 
 wandering artist or student, under protection of poverty or insignificance, 
 has brought away some vague account, only calculated to give a keener 
 edge to curiosity and conjecture. 
 
 By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, it is 
 affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in the Peloponnesus 
 gradually caused the expulsion thence of the Pelasgi; but that their great 
 migration may be dated from the finishing the wall around Acropolis, and 
 that at this period they came to Italy. To these, in the spirit of theory, 
 they would ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts into the country. 
 It is evident, however, that, as barbarians flying before the first dawn of 
 civilization, they could bring little with them superior to the inventions 
 of the aborigines, and nothing that would have survived to the anti- 
 
334 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 tliem, and had recorded a great many valuable notes and 
 memorandums on the subject, in a voluminous book, 
 which he always carried about with him ; either for the 
 purpose of frequent reference, or through fear lest the 
 precious document should fall into the hands of brother 
 antiquaries. He had, therefore, a large pocket in the 
 skirt of his coat, where he bore about this inestimable 
 tome, banging against his rear as he walked. 
 
 Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, the 
 good little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted 
 one day the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit 
 the castle of Theodoric. He was groping about the ruins 
 towards the hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, his 
 wits no doubt wool-gathering among the Goths and Ro- 
 mans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 
 
 He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of 
 rough, saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half 
 peasant, half huntsman, with carbines in their hands. 
 
 quarian through such a lapse of ages. It would appear more probable, 
 that these cities, improperly termed Pelasgian, were coeval with many 
 that have been discovered. The romantic Aricia, built by Hippolytus 
 before the siege of Troy, and the poetic Tibur, iEsculate and Prseneste, 
 built by Telegonus after the dispersion of the Greeks ;— these, lying con- 
 tiguous to inhabited and cultivated spots, have been discovered. There 
 are others, too, on the ruins of which the latter and more civilized 
 Grecian colonists have ingrafted themselves, and which have become 
 known by their merits or their medals. But that there are many still un- 
 discovered, imbedded in the Abruzzi, it is the delight of the antiquarians 
 to fancy. Strange that such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown 
 realm of knowledge, should at this day remain in the very centre of hack- 
 neyed Italy ! 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 335 
 
 Their whole appearance and carriage left him no doubt 
 into what company he had fallen. 
 
 The Doctor was a feeble little man, poor in look, and 
 poor in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be 
 robbed of ; but then he had his curious ancient coin in 
 his breeches-pocket. He had, moreover, certain other 
 valuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, 
 with figures on it large enough for a clock ; and a set of 
 seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling half-way down 
 to his knees. All these were of precious esteem, being 
 family relics. He had also a seal ring, a veritable an- 
 tique intaglio, that covered half his knuckles. It was a 
 Venus, which the old man almost worshipped with the 
 zeal of a voluptuary. But what he most valued was his 
 inestimable collection of hints relative to the Pelasgian 
 cities, which he would gladly have given all the money 
 in his pocket to have had safe at the bottom of his trunk 
 in Terracina. 
 
 However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout 
 a heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little 
 man at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a 
 " buon giorno." They returned his salutation, giving the 
 old gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his 
 heart leap into his throat. 
 
 They fell into conversation, and walked for some time 
 together among the heights, the Doctor wishing them all 
 the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At 
 length they came to a small osteria on the mountain, 
 
336 u'ALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine 
 together ; the Doctor consented, though he would as 
 soon have been invited to drink hemlock. 
 
 One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; the 
 others swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the 
 corner of the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto 
 out of his belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew 
 benches round the board, called lustily for wine, and, 
 hailing the Doctor as though he had been a boon com- 
 panion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down 
 and making merry. 
 
 The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but 
 with fear and trembling ; sitting uneasily on the edge of 
 his chair : eying ruefully the black-muzzled pistols, and 
 cold, naked stilettos ; and supping down heartburn with 
 every drop of liquor. His new comrades, however, 
 pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. 
 They sang, they laughed ; told excellent stories of their 
 robberies and combats, mingled with many ruffian jokes ; 
 and the little Doctor was fain to laugh at all their cut- 
 throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying away at 
 the very bottom of his bosom. 
 
 By their own account, they were young men from the 
 villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out of 
 the wild caprice of youth. They talked of their murder- 
 ous exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements: to 
 shoot down a traveller seemed of little more consequence 
 to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 337 
 
 of the glorious roving life they led, free as birds ; here 
 to-day, gone to-morrow ; ranging the forests, climbing the 
 rocks, scouring the valleys ; the world their own wherever 
 they could lay hold of it ; full purses — merry companions 
 — pretty women. The little antiquary got fuddled with 
 their talk and their wine, for they did not spare bumpers. 
 He half forgot his fears, his seal ring, and his family 
 watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which 
 was warming under him, for a time faded from his mem- 
 ory in the glowing picture that they drew. He declares 
 that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this rob- 
 ber mania among the mountains ; for he felt at the time, 
 that, had he been a young man, and a strong man, and 
 had there been no danger of the galleys in the back- 
 ground, he should have been half tempted himself to turn 
 bandit. 
 
 At length the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor 
 was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the 
 robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his 
 valuables, and, above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He 
 endeavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned ; and 
 drew from out his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern 
 purse, far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a 
 few coin chinked with the trembling of his hand. 
 
 The chief of the party observed his movement, and lay- 
 ing his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder, " Harkee ! 
 Signor Dottore ! " said he, " we have drunk together as 
 friends and comrades; let us part as such. We under- 
 
338 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 stand you. We know who and what you are, for we know 
 who everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts 
 foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry 
 all your wealth in your head : we cannot get at it, and we 
 should not know what to do with it if we could. I see 
 you are uneasy about your ring ; but don't worry your- 
 self, it is not worth taking ; you think it an antique, but 
 it's a counterfeit — a mere sham." 
 
 Here the ire of the antiquary rose : the Doctor forgot 
 himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven 
 and earth ! His Venus a sham. Had they pronounced 
 the wife of his bosom " no better than she should be," 
 he could not have been more indignant. He fired up in 
 vindication of his intaglio. 
 
 " Nay, nay," continued the robber, " we have no time 
 to dispute about it; value it as you please. Come, 
 you're a brave little old signor — one more cup of wine, 
 and we'll pay the reckoning. No compliments — you 
 shall not pay a grain — you are our guest — I insist upon 
 it. So — now make the best of your way back to Terra- 
 cina ; it's growing late. Buon viaggio ! And harkee ! 
 take care how you wander among these mountains, — you 
 may not always fall into such good company." 
 
 They shouldered their guns ; sprang gayly up the 
 rocks ; and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina, 
 rejoicing that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, 
 and his treatise, unmolested ; but still indignant that 
 they should have pronounced his Yenus an impostor. 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 339 
 
 The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of im- 
 patience during this recital. He saw his theme in 
 danger of being taken out of his hands, which to an able 
 talker is always a grievance, but to an improvisatore is 
 an absolute calamity : and then for it to be taken away 
 by a Neapolitan was still more vexatious; the inhabit- 
 ants of the different Italian states having an implacable 
 jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He 
 took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to 
 catch hold again of the thread of the conversation. 
 
 " As I observed before," said he, " the prowlings of 
 the banditti are so extensive ; they are so much in league 
 with one another, and so interwoven with various ranks 
 of society " 
 
 " For that matter," said the Neapolitan, " I have 
 heard that your government has had some understand- 
 ing with those gentry ; or, at least, has winked at their 
 misdeeds." 
 
 " My government ? " said the Roman, impatiently. 
 
 " Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi " — 
 
 " Hush ! " said the Roman, holding up his finger, and 
 rolling his large eyes about the room. 
 
 " Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored 
 in Rome," replied the Neapolitan, sturdily. " It was 
 openly said, that the Cardinal had been up to the moun- 
 tains, and had an interview with some of the chiefs. 
 And I have been told, moreover, that, while honest 
 people have been kicking their heels in the Cardinal's 
 
340 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 ante-chamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one 
 of those stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his way 
 through the crowd, and entered without ceremony into 
 the Cardinal's presence." 
 
 " I know," observed the improvisatore, " that there 
 have been such reports, and it is not impossible that gov- 
 ernment may have made use of these men at particular 
 periods : such as at the time of your late abortive revo- 
 lution, when your carbonari were so busy with their 
 machinations all over the country. The information 
 which such men could collect, who were familiar, not 
 merely with the recesses and secret places of the moun- 
 tains, but also Avith the dark and dangerous recesses of 
 society ; who knew every suspicious character, and all 
 his movements and all his lurkings ; in a word, who 
 knew all that was plotting in a world of mischief ; — the 
 utility of such men as instruments in the hands of gov- 
 ernment was too obvious to be overlooked ; and Cardinal 
 Gonsalvi, as a politic statesman, may, perhaps, have 
 made use of them. Besides, he knew that, with all their 
 atrocities, the robbers were always respectful towards 
 the Church, and devout in their religion." 
 
 " Religion ! religion ! " echoed the Englishman. 
 
 "Yes, religion," repeated the Roman. "They have 
 each their patron saint. They will cross themselves and 
 say their prayers, whenever, in their mountain haunts, 
 they hear the matin or the Ave-Maria bells sounding 
 from the valleys ; and will often descend from their 
 
THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 341 
 
 retreats, and run imminent risks to visit some favorite 
 shrine. I recollect an instance in point. 
 
 " I was one evening in the village of Frascati, which 
 stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising from the 
 Campagna, just below the Abruzzi Mountains. The peo- 
 ple, as is usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns and 
 villages, were recreating themselves in the open air, and 
 chatting in groups in the public square. While I was 
 conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall fellow, 
 wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the square, 
 but skulking along in the dusk, as if anxious to avoid 
 observation. The people drew back as he passed. It 
 was whispered to me that he was a notorious bandit." 
 
 " But why was he not immediately seized ? " said the 
 Englishman. 
 
 " Because it was nobody's business ; because nobody 
 wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; because 
 there were not sufficient gendarmes near to insure secu- 
 rity against the number of desperadoes he might have at 
 hand; because the gendarmes might not have received 
 particular instructions with respect to him, and might 
 not feel disposed to engage in a hazardous conflict with- 
 out compulsion. In short, I might give you a thousand 
 reasons rising out of the state of our government and 
 manners, not one of which after all might appear satis- 
 factory." 
 
 The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of 
 contempt. 
 
342 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 "I have been told," added the Eoman, rather quickly, 
 " that even in your metropolis of London, notorious 
 thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the 
 streets at noonday in search of their prey, and are 
 not molested unless caught in the very act of robbery." 
 
 The Englishman gave another shrug but with a differ- 
 ent expression. 
 
 " Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf, thus 
 prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. 
 I was curious to witness his devotion. You know our 
 spacious magnificent churches. The one in which he 
 entered was vast, and shrouded in the dusk of evening. 
 At the extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers 
 feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side 
 chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of 
 a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated 
 himself. His mantle partly falling off from his shoulders 
 as he knelt, revealed a form of Herculean strength ; a 
 stiletto and pistol glittered in his belt; and the light 
 falling on his countenance, showed features not unhand- 
 some, but strongly and fiercely characterized. As he 
 prayed, he became vehemently agitated; his lips quiv- 
 ered ; sighs and murmurs, almost groans, burst from 
 him ; he beat his breast with violence ; then clasped his 
 hands and wrung them convulsively, as he extended 
 them towards the image. Never had I seen such a ter- 
 rific picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered 
 watching him, and withdrew. Shortly afterwards I saw 
 
THE LITTLE AMTIQUARY. 343 
 
 him issue from tlie church wrapped in his mantle. He 
 recrossed the square, and no doubt returned to the 
 mountains with a disburdened conscience, ready to incur 
 a fresh arrear of crime." 
 
 Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the 
 conversation, and had just preluded with the ominous 
 remark, "That puts me in mind of a circumstance," 
 when the improvisatore, too adroit to suffer himself to 
 be again superseded, went on, pretending not to hear the 
 interruption. 
 
 "Among the many circumstances connected with the 
 banditti, which serve to render the traveller uneasy and 
 insecure, is the understanding which they sometimes 
 have with inn-keepers. Many an isolated inn among 
 the lonely parts of the Koman territories, and especially 
 about the mountains, is of a dangerous and perfidious 
 character. They are places where the banditti gather 
 information, and where the unwary traveller, remote from 
 hearing or assistance, is betrayed to the midnight dagger. 
 The robberies committed at such inns are often accom- 
 panied by the most atrocious murders ; for it is only by 
 the complete extermination of their victims that the 
 assassins can escape detection. I recollect an adven- 
 ture," added he, " which occurred at one of these solitary 
 mountain inns, which, as you all seem in a mood for rob- 
 ber anecdotes, may not be uninteresting." 
 
 Having secured the attention and awakened the curi- 
 osity of the by-standers, he paused for a moment, rolled 
 
344 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 up his large eyes as improvisatori are apt to clo when 
 they would recollect an impromptu, and then related 
 with great dramatic effect the following story, which 
 had, doubtless, been well prepared and digested before^ 
 hand. 
 
THE BELATED TKAVELLEKS. 
 
 T was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by 
 mules, slowly toiled its way up one of the 
 passes of the Apennines. It was through one 
 of the wildest defiles, where a hamlet occurred only at 
 distant intervals, perched on the summit of some rocky 
 height, or the white towers of a convent peeped out from 
 among the thick mountain foliage. The carriage was of 
 ancient and ponderous construction. Its faded embel- 
 lishments spoke of former splendor, but its crazy springs 
 and axle-trees creaked out the tale of present decline. 
 Within was seated a tall, thin old gentleman, in a kind of 
 military travel ling-dress, and a foraging-cap trimmed 
 with fur, though the gray locks which stole from under it 
 hinted that his fighting days were over. Beside him was 
 a pale, beautiful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of 
 a northern or Polish costume. One servant was seated 
 in front, a rusty, crusty looking fellow, with a scar across 
 his face, an orange-tawny schnurbart or pair of mous- 
 taches, bristling from under his nose, and altogether the 
 air of an old soldier. 
 
 It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; a 
 
 345 
 
346 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 wreck of one of those princely families once of almost 
 oriental magnificence, but broken down and impover- 
 ished by the disasters of Poland. The Count, like many 
 other generous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime 
 of patriotism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his 
 country. He had resided for some time in the first cities 
 of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom all 
 his cares and pleasures were now centred. He had 
 taken her into society, where her beauty and her accom- 
 plishments gained her many admirers ; and had she not 
 been the daughter of a poor broken-down Polish noble- 
 man, it is more than probable many would have con- 
 tended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her health be- 
 came delicate and drooping ; her gayety fled with the 
 roses of her cheek, and she sank into silence and debil- 
 ity. The old Count saw the change with the solicitude 
 of a parent. " We must try a change of air and scene," 
 said he ; and .'n a few days the old family carriage was 
 rumbling among the Apennines. 
 
 Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had 
 been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. 
 He had followed his master in all his fortunes ; had 
 fought by his side ; had stood over him when fallen in 
 battle ; and had received, in his defence, the sabre-cut 
 which added such grimness to his countenance. He was 
 now his valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. The 
 only being that rivalled his master in his affections was 
 his youthful mistress. She had grown up under his eye, 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 347 
 
 he Lad led lier by the hand when she was a child, and he 
 now looked upon her with the fondness of a parent. 
 Nay, he even took the freedom of a parent in giving his 
 blunt opinion on all matters which he thought were for 
 her good; and felt a parent's vanity at seeing her gazed 
 at and admired. 
 
 The evening was thickening ; they had been for some 
 time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, 
 along the edges of a tumbling stream. The scenery was 
 lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the 
 road, with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks, 
 and gazing down upon the travellers. They had between 
 two or three leagues yet to go before they could reach 
 any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro, a tippling old fel- 
 low, who had refreshed himself at the last halting-place 
 with a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing 
 and talking alternately to his mules, and suffering them 
 to lag on at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent en- 
 treaties of the Count and maledictions of Caspar. 
 
 The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the 
 mountains, shrouding their summits from view. The air 
 was damp and chilly. The Count's solicitude on his 
 daughter's account overcame his usual patience. He 
 leaned from the carriage, and called to old Pietro in an 
 angry tone. 
 
 " Forward ! " said he. "It will be midnight before we 
 arrive at our inn." 
 
 "Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. 
 
348 TALES OF A TEA VELLE& 
 
 " Where ? " demanded the Count. 
 
 " Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pil« 
 about a quarter of a league distant. 
 
 " That the place ? — why, it looks more like a ruin than 
 an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night at a 
 comfortable village." 
 
 Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations 
 and ejaculations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue 
 of a delinquent muleteer. " Such roads ! and such moun- 
 tains ! and then his poor animals were way-worn, and 
 leg-weary ; they would fall lame ; they would never be 
 able to reach the village. And then what could his 
 Excellenza wish for better than the inn ; a perfect cas- 
 tello — a palazzo — and such people! — and such a larder! 
 — and such beds ! — His Excellenza might fare as sumptu- 
 ously, and sleep as soundly there as a prince ! " 
 
 The Count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious 
 to get his daughter out of the night air ; so in a little 
 while the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great 
 gateway of the inn. 
 
 The building did certainly in some measure answer 
 to the muleteer's description. It was large enough for 
 either castle or palace ; built in a strong, but simple and 
 almost rude style ; with a great quantity of waste room. 
 It had in fact been, in former times, a hunting-seat of 
 one of the Italian princes. There was space enough 
 within its walls and outbuildings to have accommodated 
 a little army. A scanty household seemed now to peo- 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 349 
 
 pie this dreary mansion. The faces that presented them- 
 selves on the arrival of the travellers were begrimed with 
 dirt, and scowling in their expression. They all knew 
 old Pietro, however, and gave him a welcome as he 
 entered, singing and talking, and almost whooping, into 
 the gateway. 
 
 The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the Count 
 and his daughter, to show them the apartments. They 
 were conducted through a long gloomy corridor, and then 
 through a suite of chambers opening into each other, with 
 lofty ceilings, and great beams extending across them. 
 Everything, however, had a wretched, squalid look. The 
 walls wen damp and bare, excepting that here and there 
 hung some great painting, large enough for a chapel, and 
 blackened out of all distinction. 
 
 They chose two bedrooms, one within another ; the in- 
 ner one for he daughter. The bedsteads were massive 
 and misshapen ; but on examining the beds so vaunted by 
 old Pietro, they found them stuffed with fibres of hemp 
 knotted in great lumps. The Count shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, but there was no choce left. 
 
 The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones ; 
 and they were glad to return to a common chamber or 
 kind of hall, where was a fire burning in a huge cavern, 
 miscalled a chimney. A quantity of green wood, just 
 thrown on, puffed out volumes of smoke. The room cor- 
 responded to the rest of the mansion. The floor was 
 paved and dirty. A great oaken table stood in the centre, 
 
350 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 immovable from its size and weight. The only thing th^ 
 contradicted this prevalent air of indigence was the dress 
 of the hostess. She was a slattern of course ; yet her 
 garments, though dirty and negligent, were of costly ma- 
 terials. She wore several rings of great value on her 
 fingers, and jewels in her ears, and round her neck was a 
 string of large pearls, to which was attached a sparkling 
 crucifix. She had the remains of beauty, yet there was 
 something in the expression of her countenance that in- 
 spired the young lady with singular aversion. She was 
 officious and obsequious in her attentions, and both the 
 Count and his daughter felt relieved, when she consigned 
 them to the care of a dark, sullen-looking servant-maid, 
 and went off to superintend the supper. 
 
 Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, either 
 through negligence or design, subjected his master and 
 mistress to such quarters ; and vowed by his moustaches 
 to have revenge on the old varlet the moment they were 
 safe out from among the mountains. He kept up a con- 
 tinual quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, which only 
 served to increase the sinister expression with which she 
 regarded the travellers, from under her strong dark eye- 
 brows. 
 
 As to the Count, he was a good-humored passive travel- 
 ler. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his spirit, 
 and rendered him tolerant of many of those petty evils 
 which make prosperous men miserable. He drew a large 
 broken arm-chair to the fireside for his daughter, and 
 
f THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 35X 
 
 another for himself, and seizing an enormous pair of 
 tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to produce 
 a blaze. His efforts, however, were only repaid by thicker 
 puffs of smoke, which almost overcame the good gentle- 
 man's patience. He would draw back, cast a look upon 
 his delicate daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid 
 apartment, and, shrugging his shoulders, would give a 
 fresh stir to the fire. 
 
 Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there 
 is none greater than sulky attendance ; the good Count 
 for some time bore the smoke in silence, rather than 
 address himself to the scowling servant-maid. At length 
 he was compelled to beg for drier firewood. The woman 
 retired muttering. On reentering the room hastily, with 
 an armful of fagots, her foot slipped; she fell, and strik- 
 ing her head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple 
 severely. 
 
 The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled 
 profusely. "When she recovered, she found the Count's 
 daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up 
 with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as 
 any woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded ; but 
 perhaps there was something in the appearance of the 
 lovely being who bent over her, or in the tones of her 
 voice, that touched the heart of the woman, unused to be 
 administered to by such hands. Certain it is, she was 
 strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of the 
 Polonaise, and pressed it fervently to her lips. 
 
352 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 "May San Francesco watch over you, Signora!" ex- 
 claimed she. 
 
 A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a 
 Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The court- 
 yard was in an uproar; the house in a bustle. The land- 
 lady hurried to attend such distinguished guests; and 
 the poor Count and his daughter, and their supper, were 
 for a moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered 
 Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear; 
 but it was impossible to convince the hostess of the 
 superiority of his old master and young mistress to the 
 whole nobility of Spain. 
 
 The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to 
 the window just as the new-comers had alighted. A 
 young cavalier sprang out of the carriage and handed out 
 the Princess. -The latter was a little shrivelled old lady, 
 with a face of parchment and sparkling black eye; she 
 was richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the assist- 
 ance of a golden-beaded cane as high as herself. The 
 young man was tall and elegantly formed. The Count's 
 daughter shrank back at the sight of him, though the 
 deep frame of the window screened her from observation. 
 She gave a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What 
 that sigh meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the con- 
 trast between the splendid equipage of the Princess, and 
 the crazy rheumatic-looking old vehicle of her father, 
 which stood hard by. Whatever might be the reason, 
 the young lady closed the casement with a sigh. She 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 353 
 
 returned to her chair, — a slight shivering passed over 
 her delicate frame : she leaned her elbow on the arm of 
 the chair, rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, 
 and looked mournfully into the fire. 
 
 The Count thought she appeared paler than usual. 
 
 " Does anything ail thee, my child ? " said he. 
 
 " Nothing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her hand 
 within his, and looking up smiling in his face ; but as she 
 said so, a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and 
 she turned away her head. 
 
 " The air of the window has chilled thee," said the 
 Count, fondly, " but a good night's rest will make all well 
 again." 
 
 The supper-table was at length laid, and the supper 
 about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with 
 her usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in 
 the new-comers ; but the night air was cold, and there 
 was no other chamber in the inn with a fire in it. 
 She had scarcely made the apology when the Prin- 
 cess entered, leaning on the arm of the elegant young 
 man. 
 
 The Count immediately recognized her for a lady 
 whom he had met frequently in society, both at Rome 
 and Naples ; and at whose conversaziones, in fact, he 
 had been constantly invited. The cavalier, too, was her 
 nephew and heir, who had been greatly admired in the 
 gay circles both for his merits and prospects, and who 
 had once been on a visit at the same time with his 
 
354 TALES OF A TBA VELLER. 
 
 daughter and himself at the villa of a nobleman near 
 Naples. Report had recently affianced him to a rich 
 Spanish heiress. 
 
 The meeting was agreeable to both the Count and the 
 Princess. The former was a gentleman of the old 
 school, courteous in the extreme ; the Princess had been 
 a belle in her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, 
 and liked to be attended to. 
 
 The young man approached the daughter, and began 
 something of a complimentary observation ; but his man- 
 ner was embarrassed, and his compliment ended in an 
 indistinct murmur ; while the daughter bowed without 
 looking up, moved her lips without articulating a word, 
 and sank again into her chair, where she sat gazing into 
 the fire, with a thousand varying expressions passing 
 over her countenance. 
 
 This singular greeting of the young people was not 
 perceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the time 
 with their own courteous salutations. It was arranged 
 that they should sup together ; and as the Princess 
 travelled with her own cook, a very tolerable supper 
 soon smoked upon the board. This, too, was assisted 
 by choice wines, and liquors, and delicate confitures 
 brought from one of her carriages ; for she was a vet- 
 eran epicure, and curious in her relish for the good 
 things of this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious little 
 old lady, who mingled the woman of dissipation with the 
 devotee. She was actually on her way to Loretto to 
 
 V 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 355 
 
 expiate a long life of gallantries and peccadilloes by a 
 rich offering at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, 
 rather a luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the primi- 
 tive pilgrims, with scrip and staif, and cockle-shell ; but 
 then it would be unreasonable to expect such self-denial 
 from people of fashion ; and there was not a doubt of the 
 ample efficacy of the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, 
 and jewelled ornaments, which she was bearing to the 
 treasury of the blessed Virgin. 
 
 The Princess and the Count chatted much during sup- 
 per about the scenes and society in which they had 
 mingled, and did not notice that they had all the conver- 
 sation to themselves : the young people were silent and 
 constrained. The daughter ate nothing in spite of the 
 politeness of the Princess, who continually pressed her 
 to taste of one or other of the delicacies. The Count 
 shook his head. 
 
 " She is not well this evening," said he. " I thought 
 she would have fainted just now as she was looking out 
 of the window at your carriage on its arrival." 
 
 A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the 
 [laughter ; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses 
 3ast a shade over her countenance. 
 
 When supper was over, they drew their chairs about 
 the great fireplace. The flame and smoke had subsided, 
 and a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. 
 A guitar, which had been brought from the Count's car- 
 riage, leaned against the wall ; the Princess perceived it. — 
 
356 TALES OF A TRA VELLEH. 
 
 "Can we not have a little music before parting for the 
 night?" demanded she. 
 
 The Count was proud of his daughter's accomplish- 
 ment, and joined in the request. The young man made 
 an effort of £>oliteness, and taking up the guitar, pre- 
 sented it, though in an embarrassed manner, to the 
 fair musician. She would have declined it, but was too 
 much confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nervous and 
 agitated, that she dared not trust her voice, to make an 
 excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering 
 hand, and, after preluding a little, accompanied herself in 
 several Polish airs. Her father's eyes glistened as he sat 
 gazing on her. Even the crusty Caspar lingered in the 
 room, partly through a fondness for the music of his 
 native country, but chiefly through his pride in the musi- 
 cian. Indeed the melody of the voice, and the delicacy 
 of the touch, were enough to have charmed more fastid- 
 ious ears. The little Princess nodded her head and 
 tapped her hand to the music, though exceedingly out of 
 time ; while the nephew sat buried in profound contem- 
 plation of a black picture on the opposite wall. 
 
 "And now," said the Count, patting her cheek fondly, 
 "one more favor. Let the Princess hear that little 
 Spanish air you were so fond of. You can't think," 
 added he, "what a proficiency she has made in your lan- 
 guage ; though she has been a sad girl, and neglected it 
 of late." 
 
 The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter She 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 357 
 
 hesitated, murmured something ; but with sudden effort, 
 collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It 
 was a Spanish romance, with something of love and 
 melancholy in it. She gave the first stanza with great 
 expression, for the tremulous, melting tones of her 
 voice went to the heart ; but her articulation failed, her 
 lips quivered, the song died away, and she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 The Count folded her tenderly in his arms. " Thou 
 art not well, my child," said he, " and I am tasking thee 
 cruelly. Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee ! " 
 She bowed to the company without raising her eyes, and 
 glided out of the room. 
 
 The Count shook his head as the door closed. " Some- 
 thing is the matter with that child," said he, " which I 
 cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately. 
 She was always a tender flower, and I had much pains to 
 rear he\ Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he, 
 " but I have seen much trouble in mv family ; and this 
 poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and she used to be 
 so lively " 
 
 " Maybe she's in love ! " said the little Princess, with a 
 shrewd nod of the head. 
 
 " Impossible ! " replied the good Count, artlessly. 
 "She has never mentioned a word of such a thins to 
 
 o 
 
 me. 
 
 How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the 
 thousand cares, and griefs, and mighty love concerns 
 
358 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 which agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl 
 scarcely breathes unto herself. 
 
 The nephew of the Princess rose abruptly and walked 
 about the room. 
 
 When she found herself alone in her chamber, the feel- 
 ings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke forth 
 with violence. She opened the casement that the cool air 
 might blow upon her throbbing temples. Perhaps there 
 was some little pride or pique mingled with her emotions ; 
 though her gentle nature did not seem calculated to har- 
 bor any such angry inmate. 
 
 "He saw me weep ! " said she, with a sudden mantling 
 of the cheek, and a swelling of the throat, — "but no mat- 
 ter ! — no matter ! " 
 
 And so saying, she threw her white arms across the 
 window-frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned 
 herself to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a 
 reverie, until the sound of her father's and Caspar's 
 voices in the adjoining room gave token that the party 
 had retired for the night. The lights gleaming from win- 
 dow to window, showed that they were conducting the 
 Princess to her apartments, which were in the opposite 
 wing of the inn ; and she distinctly saw the figure of the 
 nephew as he passed one of the casements. 
 
 She heaved a deep heart-drawn sigh, and was about to 
 close the lattice, when her attention was caught by words 
 spoken below her window by two persons who had just 
 turned an angle of the building. 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 359 
 
 " But wliat will become of the poor young lady? " said 
 a voice, which she recognized for that of the servant- 
 woman. 
 
 " Pooh ! she must take her chance," was the reply from 
 old Pietro. 
 
 " But cannot she be spared ? " asked the other, entreat- 
 ingly ; " she's so kind-hearted ! " 
 
 " Cospetto ! what has got into thee ? " replied the 
 other, petulantly : " would you mar the whole business 
 for the sake of a silly girl ? " By this time they had got 
 so far from the window that the Polonaise could hear 
 nothing further. There was something in this fragment 
 of conversation calculated to alarm. Did it relate to 
 herself? — and if so, what was this impending danger 
 from which it was entreated that she might be spared ? 
 She was several times on the point of tapping at her 
 father's door, to tell him what she had heard, but she 
 might have been mistaken ; she might have heard indis- 
 tinctly ; the conversation might have alluded to some one 
 else ; at any rate, it was too indefinite to lead to any con- 
 clusion. While in this state of irresolution, she was 
 startled by a low knock against the wainscot in a remote 
 part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light, 
 she beheld a small door there, which she had not before 
 remarked. It was bolted on the inside. She advanced, 
 and demanded who knocked, and was answered in a voice 
 of the female domestic. On opening the door, the woman 
 stood before it pale and agitated. She entered softly, 
 
360 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 laying her finger on her lips as in sign of caution and 
 secrecy. 
 
 " Fly ! " said she : " leave this house instantly, or you 
 are lost ! " 
 
 The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded an 
 explanation. 
 
 " I have no time," replied the woman, " I dare not — I 
 shall be missed if I linger here — but fly instantly, or you 
 are lost." 
 
 " And leave my father ? " 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 " In the adjoining chamber." 
 
 " Call him, then, but lose no time." 
 
 The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was 
 not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and 
 told him of the fearful warnings she had received. The 
 Count returned with her into the chamber, followed by 
 Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the 
 embarrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset 
 by robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, 
 when the attendants of the Princess and the rest of the 
 travellers were sleeping, and would be an easy prey. 
 
 "But we can barricade the inn, we can defend our- 
 selves," said the Count. 
 
 " What ! when the people of the inn are in league with 
 the banditti ? " 
 
 " How then are we to escape ? Can we not order out 
 the carriage and depart ? " 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. ggl 
 
 " San Francesco ! for what ? to give the alarm that the 
 plot is discovered ? That would make the robbers des- 
 perate, and bring them on you at once. They have had 
 notice of the rich booty in the inn, and will not easily let 
 it escape them." 
 
 "But how else are we to get off ? " 
 
 " There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, 
 " from which the man has just dismounted who has been 
 to summon the aid of part of the band at a distance." 
 
 " One horse ; and there are three of us ! " said the 
 Count. 
 
 " And the Spanish Princess ! " cried the daughter, anx- 
 iously. "How can she be extricated from the danger ? " 
 
 "Diavolo! what is she to me?" said the woman, in 
 sudden passion. " It is you I come to save, and you will 
 betray me, and we shall all be lost ! Hark ! " continued 
 she, "I am called — I shall be discovered — one word 
 more. This door leads by a staircase to the courtyard. 
 Under the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small door 
 leading out to the fields. You will find a horse there ; 
 mount it ; make a circuit under the shadow of a ridge of 
 rocks that you will see ; proceed cautiously and quietly 
 until you cross a brook, and find yourself on the road 
 just where there are three white crosses nailed against a 
 tree ; then put your horse to his speed, and make the 
 best of your way to the village — but recollect, my life is 
 in your hands — say nothing of what you have heard or 
 seen, whatever may happen at this inn." 
 
362 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 
 
 The woman hurried away. A short and agitated con- 
 sultation took place between the Count, his daughter, 
 and the veteran Caspar. The young lady seemed to 
 have lost all apprehension for herself in her solicitude 
 for the safety of the Princess. " To fly in selfish silence, 
 and leave her to be massacred ! " — A shuddering seized 
 her at the very thought. The gallantry of the Count, 
 too, revolted at the idea. He could not consent to turn 
 his back upon a party of helpless travellers, and leave 
 them in ignorance of the danger which hung over them. 
 
 " But what is to become of the young lady," said Cas- 
 par, "if the alarm is given, and the inn thrown in a 
 tumult? What may happen to her in a chance-medley 
 affray ?" 
 
 Here the feelings of the father were aroused ; he 
 looked upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at 
 the chance of her falling into the hands of ruffians. 
 
 The daughter, however, thought nothing of herself. 
 " The Princess ! the Princess ! — only let the Princess 
 know her danger." She was willing to share it with 
 her. 
 
 At length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faithful 
 old servant. No time was to be lost — the first thing 
 was to get the young lady out of danger. " Mount the 
 horse," said he to the Count, " take her behind you, and 
 fly! Make for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and 
 send assistance. Leave me here to give the alarm to 
 the Princess and her people. I am an old soldier, and 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS. 363 
 
 I think we shall be able to stand siege until you send 
 us aid." 
 
 The daughter would again have insisted on staying 
 with the Princess — 
 
 " For what ? " said old Caspar, bluntly. " You could 
 do no good — you would be in the way ; — we should have 
 to take care of you instead of ourselves." 
 
 There was no answering these objections ; the Count 
 seized his pistols, and taking his daughter under his 
 arm, moved towards the staircase. The young lady 
 paused, stepped back, and said, faltering with agita- 
 tion — " There is a young cavalier with the Princess — 
 her nephew — perhaps he may " — 
 
 "I understand you, Mademoiselle," replied old Cas- 
 par, with a significant nod ; " not a hair of his head shall 
 suffer harm if I can help it." 
 
 The young lady blushed deeper than ever; she had 
 not anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the 
 blunt old servant. 
 
 " That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She 
 would have added something, or made some explanation, 
 but the moments were precious and her father hurried 
 her away. 
 
 They found their way through the courtyard to the 
 small postern gate where the horse stood, fastened to a 
 ring in the wall. The Count mounted, took his daughter 
 behind him, and they proceeded as quietly as possible in 
 the direction which the woman had pointed out. Many 
 
364 TALES OF A TRA TELLER. 
 
 a fearful and anxious look did the daughter cast back 
 upon the gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly 
 twinkled through the dusky casements were one by one 
 disappearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually 
 sinking to repose ; and she trembled with impatience, 
 lest succor should not arrive until that repose had been 
 fatally interrupted. 
 
 They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the 
 rocks, protected from observation by their overhanging 
 shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the 
 place where three white crosses nailed against a tree 
 told of some murder that had been committed there. 
 Just as they had reached this ill-omened spot they 
 beheld several men in the gloom coming down a craggy 
 defile among the rocks. 
 
 " Who goes there ? " exclaimed a voice. The Count 
 put spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang forward 
 and seized the bridle. The horse started back, and 
 reared ; and had not the young lady clung to her father, 
 she would have been thrown off. The Count leaned 
 forward, put a pistol to the very head of the ruffian, and 
 fired. The latter fell dead. The horse sprang forward 
 Two or three shots were fired which whistled by the 
 fugitives, but only served to augment their speed. They 
 reached the village in safety. 
 
 The whole place was soon roused ; but such was the 
 awe in which the banditti were held, that the inhabitants 
 shrunk at the idea of encountering them. A desperate 
 
THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 365 
 
 band had for some time infested that pass through the 
 mountains, and the inn had long been suspected of being- 
 one oi those horrible places where the unsuspicious 
 wayfarer is entrapped and silently disposed of. The 
 rich ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn 
 had excited heavy suspicions. Several instances had 
 occurred of small parties of travellers disappearing mys- 
 teriously on that road, who, it was supposed at first, 
 had been carried off by the robbers for the purpose 
 of ransom, but who had never been heard of more. 
 Such were the tales buzzed in the ears of the Count 
 by the villagers, as he endeavored to rouse them to the 
 rescue of the Princess and her train from their perilous 
 situation. The daughter seconded the exertions of her 
 father with all the eloquence of prayers, and tears, and 
 beauty. Every moment that elapsed increased her anxi- 
 ety until it became agonizing. Fortunately there was a 
 body of gendarmes resting at the village. A number of 
 the young villagers volunteered to accompany them, and 
 the little army was put in motion. The Count having 
 deposited his daughter in a place of safety, was too much 
 of the old soldier not to hasten to the scene of danger. 
 It would be difficult to paint the anxious agitation of the 
 young lady while awaiting the result. 
 
 The party arrived at the inn just in time. The rob- 
 bers, finding their plans discovered, and the travellers 
 prepared for their reception, had become open and furi- 
 ous in their attack. The Princess's party had barricaded 
 
366 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 themselves in one suite of apartments, and repulsed the 
 robbers from the doors and windows. Caspar had shown 
 the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew of the 
 Princess the dashing valor of a young soldier. Their 
 ammunition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they 
 would have found it difficult to hold out much longer, 
 when a discharge from the musketry of the gendarmes 
 gave them the joyful tidings of succor. 
 
 A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were sur- 
 prised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn ; 
 while their comrades made desperate attempts to relieve 
 them from under cover of the neighboring rocks and 
 thickets. 
 
 I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the fight, 
 as I have heard it related in a variety of ways. Suffice 
 it to say, the robbers were defeated ; several of them 
 killed, and several taken prisoners ; which last, together 
 with the people of the inn, were either executed or sent 
 to the galleys. 
 
 I picked up these particulars in the course of a jour- 
 ney which I made some time after the event had taken 
 place. I passed by the very inn. It was then disman- 
 tled, excepting one wing, in which a body of gendarmes 
 was stationed. They pointed out to me the shot-holes 
 in the window-frames, the walls, and the panels of the 
 doors. There were a number of withered limbs dangling 
 from the branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening 
 in the air, which I was told were the limbs of the rob- 
 
TEE BELATED TRAVELLERS 367 
 
 bers who had been slain, and the culprits who had been 
 executed. The whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn 
 look. 
 
 " Were any of the Princess's party killed ? " inquired 
 the Englishman. 
 
 " As far as I can recollect, there were two or three=" 
 
 "Not the nephew, I trust? " said the fair Venetian. 
 
 " Oh no : he hastened with the Count to relieve the 
 anxiety of the daughter by the assurances of victory. 
 The young lady had been sustained through the interval 
 of suspense by the very intensity of her feelings. The 
 moment she saw her father returning in safety, accom- 
 panied by the nephew of the Princess, she uttered a cry 
 of rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she soon 
 recovered, and what is more, was married shortly after- 
 wards to the young cavalier ; and the whole party accom- 
 panied the old Princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, 
 where her votive offerings may still be seen in the treas- 
 ury of the Santa Casa." 
 
 It would be tedious to follow the devious course of the 
 conversation as it wound through a maze of stories of the 
 kind, until it was taken up by two other travellers who 
 had come under convoy of the procaccio : Mr. Hobbs and 
 Mr. Dobbs, a linen-draper and a green-grocer, just re' 
 turning from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy Land. 
 They were full of the story of Alderman Popkins. They 
 were astonished that the robbers should dare to molest a 
 
368 TALES OP A THA VBLLER. 
 
 man of his importance on 'Change, he being an eminent 
 dry-salter of Throgmorton Street, and a magistrate to 
 boot. 
 
 In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too 
 true. It was attested by too many present to be for a 
 moment doubted ; and from the contradictory and con- 
 cordant testimony of half a score, all eager to relate it, 
 and all talking at the same time, the Englishman was 
 enabled to gather the following particulars. 
 

 ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. 
 
 T was but a few days before, that the carriage of 
 Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of 
 Terracina. Those who have seen an English 
 family-carriage on the Continent must have remarked the 
 sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England ; a 
 little morsel of the old Island rolling about the world. 
 Everything about it compact, snug, finished, and fitting. 
 The wheels turning on patent axles without rattling ; the 
 body, hanging so well on its springs, yielding to every 
 motion, yet protecting from every shock ; the ruddy faces 
 gaping from the windows, — sometimes of a portly old cit- 
 izen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, and sometimes 
 of a fine fresh hoyden just from boarding-school. And 
 then the dickeys loaded with well-dressed servants, beef- 
 fed and bluff ; looking down from their heights with con- 
 tempt on all the world around; profoundly ignorant of 
 the country and the people, and devoutly certain that 
 everything not English must be wrong. 
 
 Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made 
 its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had pre- 
 ceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had 
 34 369 
 
370 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 given a magnificent account of the richness and greatness 
 of his master ; blundering with an Italian's splendor of 
 imagination about the Alderman's titles and dignities. 
 The host had added his usual share of exaggeration ; so 
 that by the time the Alderman drove up to the door, he 
 was a Milor — Magnifico — Principe — the Lord knows 
 what! 
 
 The Alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi 
 and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life 
 was worth, he said, to stop him on the king's highway : 
 he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he 
 would make a national affair of it. The Principessa Pop- 
 kins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in 
 the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man in 
 the city. The Signorines Popkins, two fine bouncing 
 girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons 
 in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scar- 
 amouch of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with 
 an Englishman, The landlord shrugged his shoulders, 
 and turned out the palms of his hands with a true Ital- 
 ian grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 
 
 They passed through several very suspicious places 
 without any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were 
 very romantic, and had learnt to draw in water-colors, 
 were enchanted with the savage scenery around ; it was so 
 like what they had read in Mrs. Radcliff's romances ; they 
 should like, of all things, to make sketches. At length 
 the carriage arrived at a place where the road wound up 
 
THE POPKINS FAMILY. 371 
 
 a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep ; the 
 young ladies were lost in the "Loves of the Angels"; 
 and the dandy was hectoring the postilions from the 
 coach-box. The Alderman got out, as he said, to stretch 
 his legs up the hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and 
 obliged him every now and then to stop and blow and 
 wipe his forehead, with many a pish! and phew! being 
 rather pursy and short of wind. As the carriage, how- 
 ever, was far behind him, and moved slowly under the 
 weight of so many well-stuffed trunks, and well-stuffed 
 travellers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure. 
 
 On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road, 
 nearly, at the summit of the hill, just where the road 
 began again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, 
 who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins 
 was one of your shrewd travellers who always like to 
 be picking up small information along the road; so he 
 thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man, and 
 have a little talk with him by way of learning the news 
 and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the 
 peasant, he did not half like his looks. He was partly 
 reclining on the rocks, wrapped in the usual long mantle, 
 which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of a 
 swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and 
 a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled several 
 times to his dog, which was roving about the side of the 
 hill. As the Alderman approached, he arose and greeted 
 him. When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, 
 
372 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however, 
 being a short man, might be deceived. 
 
 The latter would gladly now have been back in the 
 carriage, or even en 'Change in London ; for he was by 
 no means well pleased with his company. However, he 
 determined to put the best face on matters, and was 
 beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, 
 the baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in 
 that part of the country, when he heard a violent scream- 
 ing. He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, 
 beheld his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held 
 down the fat footman, another had the dandy by his 
 starched cravat, with a pistol to his head ; one was rum- 
 maging a portmanteau, another rummaging the Princi- 
 pessa's pockets ; while the two Misses Popkins were 
 screaming from each window of the carriage, and their 
 waiting-maid squalling from the dickey. 
 
 Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and the 
 magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane, 
 and was on the point of scrambling down the rocks 
 either to assault the robbers or to read the riot act, 
 when he was suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his 
 friend the goatherd, whose cloak falling open, discovered 
 a belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he 
 found himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, 
 who had stationed himself on the rock to look out for 
 travellers and to give notice to his men. 
 
 A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned 
 
THE POP KINS FAMILY, 373 
 
 inside out, and all the finery and frippery of the Popkins 
 family scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Yenice 
 beads and Roman mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the 
 young ladies, mingled with the Alderman's nightcaps and 
 lambs'-wool stockings, and the dandy's hair-brushes, 
 stays, and starched cravats. 
 
 The gentlemen were eased of their purses and their 
 watches, the ladies of their jewels ; and the whole party 
 were on the point of being carried up into the mountain, 
 when fortunately the appearance of soldiers at a distance 
 obliged the robbers to make off with the spoils they had 
 secured, and leave the Popkins family to gather together 
 the remnants of their effects, and make the best of their 
 way to Fondi. 
 
 When safe arrived, the Alderman made a terrible blus- 
 tering at the inn ; threatened to complain to the ambas- 
 sador at Naples, and was ready to shake his cane at the 
 whole country. The dandy had many stories to tell of 
 his scuffles with the brigands, who overpowered him 
 merely by numbers. As to the Misses Popkins, they 
 were quite delighted with the adventure, and were occu- 
 pied the whole evening in writing it in their journals. 
 They declared the captain of the band to be a most 
 romantic-looking man, they dared to say some unfortu- 
 nate lover or exiled nobleman ; and several of the band 
 to be very handsome young men — " quite picturesque ! " 
 
 " In verity," said mine host of Terracina, " they say 
 the captain of the band is un galant uomo." 
 
374 TALES OF A TRA VELLER 
 
 "A gallant man!" said the Englishman, indignantly, 
 " I'd have your gallant man hanged like a dog ! " 
 
 "To dare to meddle with Englishmen! " said Mr 
 Hobbs. 
 
 " And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said Mr 
 Dobbs. 
 
 " They ought to come upon the country for damages ! " 
 said Mr. Hobbs. 
 
 " Our ambassador should make a complaint to the 
 government of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. 
 
 " They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of 
 the country," said Hobbs. 
 
 "And if they did not, we should declare war against 
 them," said Dobbs. 
 
 " Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the Englishman to him- 
 self, and walked away. 
 
 The Englishman had been a little wearied by this 
 story, and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was 
 glad when a summons to their supper relieved him from 
 the crowd of travellers. He walked out with his Vene- 
 tian friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting 
 demeanor, who had become sociable with them in the 
 course of the conversation. They directed their steps 
 towards the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. 
 
 As they strolled along the beach they came to where a 
 party of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were 
 guarding a number of galley slaves, who were permitted 
 
THE POP KIN H FAMILY. 375 
 
 to refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and sport 
 and roll upon the sand. 
 
 The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the group of 
 wretches at their sports. " It is difficult," said he, " to 
 conceive a more frightful mass of crime than is here col- 
 lected. Many of these have probably been robbers, such 
 as you have heard described. Such is, too often, the 
 career of crime in this country. The parricide, the fra- 
 tricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, first 
 flies from justice and turns mountain bandit ; and then, 
 when wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his 
 brother desperadoes ; betrays them to punishment, and 
 thus buys a commutation of his own sentence from death 
 to the galleys ; happy in the privilege of wallowing on 
 the shore an hour a day, in this mere state of animal 
 enjoyment." 
 
 The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the 
 horde of wretches at their evening amusement. " They 
 seemed," she said, "like so many serpents writhing to- 
 gether." And yet the idea that some of them had been 
 robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her imag- 
 ination, made her still cast another fearful glance, as wo 
 contemplate some terrible beast of prey, with a degree 
 of awe and horror, even though caged and chained. 
 
 The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti 
 which they had heard at the inn. The Englishman con- 
 demned some of them as fabrications, others as exagger- 
 ations. As to the story of the improvisatore, he pro- 
 
376 TALES OF A TEA VELLEU. 
 
 nounced it a mere piece of romance, originating in the 
 heated brain of the narrator. 
 
 " And yet," said the Frenchman, " there is so much 
 romance about the real life of those beings, and about the 
 singular country they infest, that it is hard to tell what 
 to reject on the ground of improbability. I have had an 
 adventure happen to myself which gave me an oppor- 
 tunity of getting some insight into their manners and 
 habits, which I found altogether out of the common run 
 of existence." 
 
 There was an air ol mingled frankness and modesty 
 about the Frenchman which had gained the goodwill of 
 the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman. 
 They all eagerly inquired after the particulars of the cir- 
 cumstances he alluded to, and as they strolled slowly up 
 and down the sea-shore, he related the following adven- 
 ture. 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 
 
 AM an historical painter by profession, and 
 resided for some time in the family of a foreign 
 Prince at his villa, about fifteen miles from 
 Rome, among some of the most interesting scenery of 
 Italy. It is situated on the heights of ancient Tusculum. 
 In its neighborhood are the ruins of the villas^ of Cicero, 
 Sylla, Lucullus, Rufinus, and other illustrious Romans, 
 who sought refuge here occasionally from their toils, in 
 the bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. From the 
 midst of delightful bowers, refreshed by the pure moun- 
 tain breeze, the eye looks over a romantic landscape full 
 of poetical and historical associations. The Albanian 
 Mountains; Tivoli, once the favorite residence of Horace 
 and Mecsenas ; the vast, deserted, melancholy Campagna, 
 with the Tiber winding through it, and St. Peter's dome 
 swelling in the midst, the monument, as it were, over the 
 grave of ancient Rome. 
 
 I assisted the Prince in researches which he was 
 making among the classic ruins of his vicinity : his exer- 
 tions were highly successful. Many wrecks of admirable 
 
 statues and fragments of exquisite sculpture were dug 
 
 377 
 
378 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 up; monuments of the taste and magnificence that 
 reigned in the ancient Tusculan abodes. He had studded 
 his villa and its grounds with statues, relievos, vases, and 
 sarcophagi, thus retrieved from the bosom of the earth. 
 
 The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully 
 serene, diversified by interesting occupations and elegant 
 leisure. Every one passed the day according to his pleas- 
 ure or pursuits ; and we all assembled in a cheerful din- 
 nerparty at sunset. 
 
 It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful serene 
 day, that we had assembled in the saloon at the sound of 
 the first dinner-bell. The family were surprised at the 
 absence of the Prince's confessor. They waited for him 
 in vain, and at length placed themselves at table. They 
 at first attributed his absence to his having prolonged his 
 customary walk ; and the early part of the dinner passed 
 without any uneasiness. When the dessert was served, 
 however, without his making his appearance, they began 
 to feel anxious. They feared he might have been taken 
 ill in some alley of the woods, or might have fallen into 
 the hands of robbers. Not far from the villa, with the 
 interval of a small valley, rose the mountains of the 
 Abruzzi, the strong-hold of banditti. Indeed, the neigh- 
 borhood had for some time past been infested by them ; 
 and Barbone, a notorious bandit chief, had often been met 
 prowling about the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring 
 enterprises of these ruffians were well known : the objects 
 of their cupidity or vengeance were insecure even in 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. £79 
 
 palaces. As yet they had respected the possessions of 
 the Prince ; but the idea of such dangerous spirits hover- 
 ing about the neighborhood was sufficient to occasion 
 alarm. 
 
 The fears of the company increased as evening closed 
 in. The Prince ordered out forest guards and domestics 
 with flambeaux to search for the confessor. They had 
 not departed long when a slight noise was heard in the 
 corridor of the ground-floor. The family were dining on 
 the first floor, and the remaining domestics were occupied 
 in attendance. There was no one on the ground-floor at 
 this moment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and 
 three field-laborers, who were resting themselves, and 
 conversing with the women. 
 
 I heard the noise from below, and presuming it to be 
 occasioned by the return of the absentee, I left the table 
 and hastened down-stairs, eager to gain intelligence that 
 might relieve the anxiety of the Prince and Princess. I 
 had scarcely reached the last step, when I beheld before 
 me a man dressed as a bandit ; a carbine in his hand, and 
 a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His countenance had a 
 mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation : he sprang 
 upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, " Ecco il principe ! " 
 
 I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but en- 
 deavored to summon up coolness and presence of mind. 
 A glance towards the lower end of the corridor showed 
 me several ruffians, clothed and armed in the same man- 
 ner with the one who had seized me. They were guard- 
 
380 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 ing the two females and the field-laborers. The robber, 
 who held me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly 
 whether or not I were the Prince : his object evidently 
 was to carry off the Prince, and extort an immense ran- 
 som. He was enraged at receiving none but vague re- 
 plies, for I felt the importance of misleading him. 
 
 A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate 
 myself from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but 
 I was vigorous. His companions were at a distance. 
 By a sudden exertion I might wrest myself from him, 
 and spring up the staircase, whither he would not dare 
 to follow me singly. The idea was put in practice as 
 soon as conceived. The ruffian's throat was bare ; with 
 my right hand I seized him by it, with my left hand I 
 grasped the arm which held the carbine. The sudden- 
 ness of my attack took him completely unawares, and the 
 strangling nature of my grasp paralyzed him. He 
 choked and faltered. I felt his hand relaxing its hold, 
 and was on the point of jerking myself away, and darting 
 up the staircase, before he could recover himself, when I 
 was suddenly seized by some one from behind. 
 
 I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once released, 
 fell upon me with fury, and gave me several blows with 
 the butt end of his carbine, one of which wounded me 
 severely in the forehead and covered me with blood. 
 He took advantage of my being stunned to rifle me of my 
 watch, and whatever valuables I had about my person. 
 
 When I recovered from the effect of the blow, I heard 
 
THE PAINTER '8 AD VENTURE. 381 
 
 the voice of the chief of the banditti, who exclaimed — 
 " Quello e il principe ; siamo contente ; andiamo ! " (It 
 is the Prince ; enough ; let us be off.) The band imme- 
 diately closed around me and dragged me out of the 
 palace, bearing off the three laborers likewise. 
 
 I had no hat on, and the blood flowed from my 
 wound ; I managed to stanch it, however, with my 
 pocket-handkerchief, which I bound round my fore- 
 head. The captain of the band conducted me in tri- 
 umph, supposing me to be the Prince. We had gone 
 some distance before he learnt his mistake from one of 
 the laborers. His rage was terrible. It was too late to 
 return to the villa and endeavor to retrieve his error, for 
 by this time the alarm must have been given, and every 
 one in arms. He darted at me a ferocious look, — swore 
 I had deceived him, and caused him to miss his fortune, 
 — and told me to prepare for death. The rest of the 
 robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands upon 
 their poniards, and I knew that death was seldom an 
 empty threat with these ruffians. The laborers saw the 
 peril into which their information had betrayed me, and 
 eagerly assured the captain that I was a man for Whom 
 the Prince would pay a great ransom. This produced a 
 pause. For my part, I cannot say that I had been much 
 dismayed by their menaces. I mean not to make any 
 boast of courage ; but I have been so schooled to hard- 
 ship during the late revolutions, and have beheld death 
 around me in so many perilous and disastrous scenes, 
 
382 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 that I have become in some measure callous to its 
 terrors. The frequent hazard of life makes a man at 
 length as reckless of it as a gambler of his money. To 
 their threat of death, I replied, " that the sooner it 
 was executed the better." This reply seemed to as- 
 tonish the captain ; and the prospect of ransom held out 
 by the laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect on 
 him. He considered for a moment, assumed a calmer 
 manner, and made a sign to his companions, who had 
 remained waiting for my death-warrant. "Forward!" 
 said he ; " we will see about this matter by and by ! " 
 
 We descended rapidly towards the road of La Molara, 
 which leads to "Eocca Priore. In the midst of this road 
 is a solitary inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt 
 at the distance of a pistol-shot from it, and enjoined 
 profound silence. He approached the threshold alone, 
 with noiseless steps. He examined the outside of the 
 door very narrowly, and then returning precipitately, 
 made a sign for the troop to continue its march in 
 silence. It has since been ascertained, that this was one 
 of those infamous inns which are the secret resorts of 
 banditti. The innkeeper had an understanding with the 
 captain, as he most probably had with the chiefs of the 
 different bands. When any of the patroles and gens- 
 d'armes were quartered at his house, the brigands were 
 warned of it by a preconcerted signal on the door ; when 
 there was no such signal, they might enter with safety, 
 and be sure of welcome. 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 383 
 
 After pursuing our road a little further, we struck off 
 towards the woody mountains which envelop Bocca 
 Priore. Our march was long and painful ; with many 
 circuits and windings ; at length we clambered a steep 
 ascent, covered with a thick forest ; and when we had 
 reached the centre, I was told to seat myself on the 
 ground. No sooner had I done so, than, at a sign from 
 their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and spreading 
 their great cloaks from one to the other, formed a kind of 
 pavilion of mantles, to which their bodies might be said 
 to serve as columns. The captain then struck a light, 
 and a flambeau was lit immediately. The mantles were 
 extended to prevent the light of the flambeau from being 
 seen through the forest. Anxious as was my situation, I 
 could not look round upon this screen of dusky drapery, 
 relieved by the bright colors of the robbers' garments, 
 the gleaming of their weapons, and the variety of strong 
 marked countenances, lit up by the flambeau, without 
 admiring the picturesque effect of the scene. It was 
 quite theatrical. 
 
 The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving me pen 
 and paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate. 
 I obeyed. It was a demand, couched in the style of 
 robber eloquence, " that the Prince should send three 
 thousand dollars for my ransom ; or that my death 
 should be the consequence of a refusal." 
 
 I knew enough of the desperate character of these 
 beings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. 
 
384 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 Their only mode of insuring attention to their demands 
 is to make the infliction of the penalty inevitable. I saw 
 at once, however, that the demand was preposterous, and 
 made in improper language. 
 
 I told the captain so, and assured him that so extrava 
 gant a sum would never be granted. — "That I was neither 
 a friend nor relative of the Prince, but a mere artist, em- 
 ployed to execute certain paintings. That I had nothing 
 to offer as a ransom, but the price of my labors ; if this 
 were not sufficient, my life was at their disposal ; it was a 
 thing on which I set but little value." 
 
 I was the more hardy in my reply, because I saw that 
 coolness and hardihood had an effect upon the robbers. 
 It is true, as I finished speaking, the captain laid his hand 
 upon his stiletto ; but he restrained himself, and snatch- 
 ing the letter, folded it, and ordered me, in a peremptory 
 tone, to address it to the Prince. He then dispatched 
 one of the laborers with it to Tusculum, who promised to 
 return with all possible speed. 
 
 The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I 
 was told that I might do the same. They spread their 
 great cloaks on the ground, and lay down around me. 
 One was stationed at a little distance to keep watch, and 
 was relieved every two hours. The strangeness and wilcl- 
 ness of this mountain bivouac among lawless beings, 
 whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and 
 with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough to 
 banish repose. The coldness of the earth, and of the dew, 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 385 
 
 however, had a still greater effect than mental causes in 
 disturbing my rest. The airs wafted to these mountains 
 from the distant Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness 
 as the night advanced. An expedient suggested itself. I 
 called one of my fellow-prisoners, the laborers, and made 
 him lie down beside me. Whenever one of my limbs be- 
 came chilled, I approached it to the robust limb of my 
 neighbor, and borrowed some of his warmth. In this way 
 I was able to obtain a little sleep. 
 
 Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slum- 
 ber by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise 
 and follow him. I obeyed. On considering his physiog- 
 nomy attentively, it appeared a little softened. He even 
 assisted me in scrambling up the steep forest, among 
 rocks and brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous 
 mountaineer ; but I found it excessively toilsome to 
 climb these rugged heights. We arrived at length at the 
 summit of the mountain. 
 
 Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art 
 
 suddenly awakened ; and I forgot in an instant all my 
 
 perils and fatigues at this magnificent view of the sunrise 
 
 in the midst of the mountains of the Abruzzi. It was on 
 
 these heights that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and 
 
 pointed out Rome to his followers. The eye embraces a 
 
 vast extent of country. The minor height of Tusculum, 
 
 with its villas and its sacred ruins, lie below ; the Sabine 
 
 Hills and the Albanian Mountains stretch on either hand ; 
 
 and beyond Tusculum and Frascati spreads out the im- 
 25 
 
386 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 mense Campagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and 
 there a broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the 
 towers and domes of the eternal city in the midst. 
 
 Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, 
 and bursting upon my sight as I looked forth from among 
 the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the sav- 
 age foreground, made still more savage by groups of ban- 
 ditti, armed and dressed in their wild picturesque man- 
 ner, and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a 
 painter for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. 
 
 The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a 
 scene which familiarity had made so common in their 
 eyes. I took advantage of their halting at this spot, 
 drew forth a quire of drawing-paper, and began to sketch 
 the features of the landscape. The height on which I 
 was seated was wild and solitary, separated from the 
 ridge of Tusculum by a valley nearly three miles wide, 
 though the distance appeared less from the purity of the 
 atmosphere. This height was one of the favorite re- 
 treats of the banditti, commanding a look-out over the 
 country ; while at the same time it was covered with 
 forests, and distant from the populous haunts of men. 
 
 While I was sketching, my attention was called off for a 
 moment by the cries of birds, and the bleatings of sheep. 
 I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals 
 which uttered them. They were repeated, and appeared 
 to come from the summits of the trees. On looking 
 more narrowly, I perceived six of the robbers perched in 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 337 
 
 the tops of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of the 
 mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted prospect. 
 They were keeping a look-out like so many vultures ; 
 casting their eyes into the depths of the valley below us ; 
 communicating with each other by signs, or holding dis- 
 course in sounds which might be mistaken by the way- 
 farer for the cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of 
 the mountain flocks. After they had reconnoitred the 
 neighborhood, and finished their singular discourse, they 
 descended from their airy perch, and returned to their 
 prisoners. The captain posted three of them at three 
 naked sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard 
 us with what appeared his most trusty companion. 
 
 I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he requested 
 to see it, and after having run his eye over it, expressed 
 himself convinced of the truth of my assertion that I was 
 a painter. I thought I saw a gleam of good feeling 
 dawning in him, and determined to avail myself of it. I 
 knew that the worst of men have their good points and 
 their accessible sides, if one would but study them care- 
 fully. Indeed, there is a singular mixture in the char- 
 acter of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity he 
 often mingles traits of kindness and good-humor. He is 
 not always radically bad ; but driven to his course of life 
 by some unpremeditated crime, the effect of those sud- 
 den bursts of passion to which the Italian temperament 
 is prone. This has compelled him to take to the moun- 
 tains, or, as it is technically termed among them, " an- 
 
^88 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 dare in campagna." He has become a robber by pro- 
 fession ; but, like a soldier, when not in action he can 
 lay aside his weapon and his fierceness, and become like 
 other men. 
 
 I took occasion, from the observations of the captain 
 on my sketchings, to fall into conversation with him, and 
 found him sociable and communicative. By degrees I 
 became completely at my ease with him. I had fancied 
 I perceived about him a degree of self-love, which I 
 determined to make use of. I assumed an air of careless 
 frankness, and told him, that, as an artist, I pretended to 
 the power of judging of the physiognomy ; that I thought 
 I perceived something in his features and demeanor 
 which announced him worthy of higher fortunes ; that he 
 was not formed to exercise the profession to which he 
 had abandoned himself ; that he had talents and qualities 
 fitted for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to 
 change his course of life, and, in a legitimate career, the 
 same courage and endowments which now made him an 
 object of terror, would assure him the applause and ad- 
 miration of society. 
 
 I had not mistaken my man ; my discourse both 
 touched and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed 
 it, and replied with strong emotion, " You have guessed 
 the truth ; you have judged of me rightly." He remained 
 for a moment silent ; then, with a kind of effort, he 
 resumed, — " I will tell you some particulars of my life, 
 and you will perceive that it was the oppression of 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 389 
 
 others, rather than my own crimes, which drove me to 
 the mountains. I sought to serve my fellow-men, and 
 they have persecuted me from among them." We seated 
 ourselves on the grass, and the robber gave me the fol- 
 lowing anecdotes of his history. 
 
THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 
 
 AM a native of the village of Prossecli. My 
 father was easy enough in circumstances, and 
 we lived peaceably and independently, cultivat- 
 ing our fields. All went on well with us, until a new 
 chief of the Sbirri was sent to our village to take com- 
 mand of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying 
 into everything, and practising all sorts of vexations and 
 oppressions in the discharge of his office. I was at that 
 time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love of jus- 
 tice and good neighborhood. I had also a little educa- 
 tion, and knew something of history, so as to be able to 
 judge a little of men and their actions. All this inspired 
 me with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, 
 also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and 
 felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. 
 These things worked together in my mind, and I gasped 
 after vengeance. My character was always ardent and 
 energetic, and, acted upon by the love of justice, de- 
 termined me, by one blow, to rid the country of the 
 tyrant. 
 
 Full of my project, I rose one morning before peep of 
 
 390 
 
THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 391 
 
 day, and concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat, — here 
 you see it ! — (and lie drew forth a long, keen poniard,) I 
 lay in wait for him in the outskirts of the village. I 
 knew all his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds 
 and prowling about like a wolf in the gray of the morn- 
 ing. At length I met him, and attacked him with fury. 
 He was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full 
 of youth and vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make 
 sure work, and laid him lifeless at my feet. 
 
 When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I re- 
 turned with all haste to the village, but had the ill luck 
 to meet two of the Sbirri as I entered it. They accosted 
 me, and asked if I had seen their chief. I assumed an air 
 of tranquillity, and told them I had not. They continued 
 on their way, and within a few hours brought back the 
 dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me being 
 already awakened, I was arrested and thrown into pris- 
 on. Here I lay several weeks, when the Prince, who 
 was Seigneur of Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings 
 against me. I was brought to trial, and a witness was 
 produced, who pretended to have seen me flying with 
 precipitation not far from the bleeding body ; and so I 
 was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. 
 
 " Curse on such laws ! " vociferated the bandit, foaming 
 with rage: "Curse on such a government! and ten thou- 
 sand curses on the Prince who caused me to be adjudged 
 so rigorously, while so many other Roman Princes har- 
 bor and protect assassins a thousand times more culpa- 
 
392 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 ble ! What Lad I clone but what was inspired by a love 
 of justice and my country ? Why was my act more culpa- 
 ble than that of Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar to the 
 cause of liberty and justice ? " 
 
 There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous 
 in the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating 
 himself with one of the great names of antiquity. It 
 showed, however, that he had at least the merit of know- 
 ing the remarkable facts in the history of his country. 
 He became more calm, and resumed his narrative. 
 
 "I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My 
 heart was burning with rage. I had been married scarce 
 six months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and 
 who was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a 
 long time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. 
 At length I found a morsel of iron, which I hid care- 
 fully, and endeavored, with a pointed flint, to fashion it 
 into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work during 
 the night-time, and when it was finished, I made out, 
 after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. 
 My flight was successful. 
 
 " I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which 
 surround Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife 
 of the place where I was concealed. She came often to 
 see me. I had determined to put myself at the head of 
 an armed band. She endeavored, for a long time, to dis- 
 suade me, but finding my resolution fixed, she at length 
 united in my project of vengeance, and brought me, her- 
 
THE BANDIT CHTEFTAW. 393 
 
 self, my poniard. By her means I communicated with 
 several brave fellows of the neighboring villages, whom I 
 knew to be ready to take to the mountains, and only 
 panting for an opportunity to exercise their daring 
 spirits. We soon formed a combination, procured arms, 
 and we have had ample opportunities of revenging our- 
 selves for the wrongs and injuries which most of us have 
 suffered. Everything has succeeded with us until now ; 
 and had it not been for our blunder in mistaking you for 
 the Prince, our fortunes would have been made." 
 
 Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked 
 himself into complete companionship, and assured me he 
 no longer bore me any grudge for the error of which I 
 had been the innocent cause. He even professed a kind- 
 ness for me, and wished me to remain some time with 
 them. He promised to give me a sight of certain grottos 
 which they occupied beyond Velletri, and whither they 
 resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. 
 
 He assured me that they led a jovial life there ; had 
 plenty of good cheer ; slept on beds of moss ; and were 
 waited upon by young and beautiful females, whom I 
 might take for models. 
 
 I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descriptions 
 of the grottos and their inhabitants : they realized those 
 scenes in robber story which I had always looked upon 
 as mere creations of the fancy. I should gladly have ac- 
 cepted his invitation, and paid a visit to these caverns, 
 could I have felt more secure in my company. 
 
394 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 I began to find my situation less painful. I bad e\\ 
 dently propitiated the good-will of the chieftain, and 
 hoped that he might release me for a moderate ransom. 
 A new alarm, however, awaited me. While the captain 
 was looking out with impatience for the return of the 
 messenger, who had been sent to the Prince, the sentinel 
 posted on the side of the mountain facing the plain of 
 La Molara came running towards us. " We are be- 
 trayed ! " exclaimed he. " The police of Frascati are af- 
 ter us. A party of carabineers have just stopped at the 
 inn below the mountain." Then, laying his hand on his 
 stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that if they 
 made the least movement towards the mountain, my life 
 and the lives of my fellow - prisoners should answer 
 for it. 
 
 The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and 
 approved of what his comj^anion said ; but when the lat- 
 ter had returned to his post, he turned to me with a soft- 
 ened air : " I must act as chief," said he, " and humor 
 my dangerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill our 
 prisoners rather than suffer them to be rescued ; but do 
 not be alarmed. In case we are surprised, keep by me ; 
 fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible for 
 your life." 
 
 There was nothing very consolatory in this arrange- 
 ment, which would have placed me between two dangers. 
 I scarcely knew, in case of flight, from which I should 
 have the most to apprehend, the carbines of the pursuers, 
 
THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 395 
 
 or the stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, how- 
 ever, and endeavored to maintain a look of tranquillity. 
 
 For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and 
 anxiety. The robbers, crouching among their leafy cov- 
 erts, kept an eagle watch upon the carabineers below, 
 as they loitered about the inn ; sometimes lolling about 
 the portal ; sometimes disappearing for several minutes ; 
 then sallying out, examining their weapons, pointing in 
 different directions, and apparently asking questions 
 about the neighborhood. Not a movement, a gesture, 
 was lost upon the keen eyes of the brigands. At length 
 we were relieved from our apprehensions. The carabi- 
 neers having finished their refreshment, seized their 
 arms, continued along the valley towards the great road, 
 and gradually left the mountain behind them. " I felt 
 almost certain," said the chief, " that they could not be 
 sent after us. They know too well how prisoners have 
 fared in our hands on similar occasions. Our laws in this 
 respect are inflexible, and are necessary for our safety. 
 If we once flinched from them, there would no longer be 
 such a thing as a ransom to be procured." 
 
 There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I 
 was preparing to resume my sketching, when the captain 
 drew a quire of paper from his knapsack. " Come," said 
 he, laughing, "you are a painter, — take my likeness. The 
 leaves of your portfolio are small, — draw it on this." I 
 gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents 
 itself to a painter. I recollected that Salvator Rosa in 
 
396 TALES OF A TRA VELLER 
 
 his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among the 
 banditti of Calabria, and had filled his mind with the 
 savage scenery and savage associates by which he was 
 surrounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the 
 thought. I found the captain the most docile of sub- 
 jects, and, after various shiftings of position, placed him 
 in an attitude to my mind. 
 
 Picture to yourself a stern muscular figure, in fanciful 
 bandit costume ; with pistols and poniard in belt ; his 
 brawny neck bare ; a handkerchief loosely thrown around 
 it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all 
 kinds, the spoils of travellers ; relics and medals hanging 
 on his breast; his hat decorated with various colored 
 ribbons ; his vest and short breeches of bright colors, 
 and finely embroidered ; his legs in buskins or leggins. 
 Fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and 
 rugged oaks, leaning on his carbine, as if meditating some 
 exploit; while far below are beheld villages and villas, 
 the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Campagna 
 dimly extending in the distance. 
 
 The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to 
 admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished, when 
 the laborer arrived who had been sent for my ransom. 
 He had reached Tusculum two hours after midnight. 
 He had brought me a letter from the Prince, who was in 
 bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predicted, he 
 treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hun- 
 dred dollars for my ransom. Having no money by him 
 
TEE PAINTER'S ADVENTVRE. 397 
 
 at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, pay- 
 able to whomsoever should conduct me safe and sound to 
 Kome. I presented the note of hand to the chieftain ; he 
 received it with a shrug. " Of what use are notes of hand 
 to us?" said he. "Who can we send with you to Borne 
 to receive it ? We are all marked men ; known and de- 
 scribed at every gate, and military post, and village 
 church-door. No ; we must have gold and silver ; let the 
 sum be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to lib- 
 
 ertjr." 
 
 The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to 
 
 communicate his determination to the Prince. When I 
 
 had finished the letter, and took the sheet from the 
 
 quire, I found on the opposite side of it the portrait 
 
 which I had just been tracing. I was about to tear it off 
 
 and give it to the chief. 
 
 " Hold ! " said he, " let it go to Kome ; let them see 
 what kind of a looking fellow I am. Perhaps the Prince 
 and his friends may form as good an opinion of me from 
 my face as you have done." 
 
 This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was 
 vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrust- 
 ful chief of banditti forgot for a moment his usual fore- 
 sight and precaution, in the common wish to be admired. 
 He never reflected what use might be made of this por- 
 trait in his pursuit and conviction. 
 
 The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger 
 departed again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock 
 
398 TALES OF A TRAVELLED 
 
 in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In 
 spite of all my anxiety, I began to feel a craving appe- 
 tite. I was glad therefore to hear the captain talk some- 
 thing about eating. He observed that for three days 
 and nights they had been lurking about among rocks 
 and woods, meditating their expedition to Tusculum, 
 during which time all their provisions had been ex- 
 hausted. He should now take measures to procure a 
 supply. Leaving me, therefore, in charge of his com- 
 rade, in whom he appeared to have implicit confidence, 
 he departed, assuring me that in less than two hours 
 I should make a good dinner. Where it was to come 
 from was an enigma to me, though it was evident these 
 beings had their secret friends and agents throughout 
 the country. 
 
 Indeed the inhabitants of these mountains, and of the 
 valleys which they embosom, are a rude, half-civilized 
 set. The towns and villages among the forests of the 
 Abruzzi, shut up from the rest of the world, are almost 
 like savage dens. It is wonderful that such rude abodes, 
 so little known and visited, should be embosomed in the 
 midst of one of the most travelled and civilized countries 
 of Europe. Among these regions the robber prowls 
 unmolested ; not a mountaineer hesitates to give him 
 secret harbor and assistance. The shepherds, however, 
 who tend their flocks among the mountains, are the favor- 
 ite emissaries of the robbers, when they would send mes- 
 sages down to the valleys either for ransom or supplies. 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 399 
 
 The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as the scenes 
 they frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or 
 brown sheepskin ; they have high conical hats, and 
 coarse sandals of cloth bound around their legs with 
 thongs, similar to those worn by the robbers. They 
 carry long staves, on which, as they lean, they form 
 picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and they 
 are followed by their ever-constant companion, the dog. 
 They are a curious, questioning set, glad at any time to 
 relieve the monotony of their solitude by the conversa- 
 tion of the passer-by ; and the dog will lend an attentive 
 ear, and put on as sagacious and inquisitive a look as his 
 master. 
 
 But I am wandering from my story. I was now left 
 alone with one of the robbers, the confidential companion 
 of the chief. He was the youngest and most vigorous 
 of the band ; and though his countenance had something 
 of that dissolute fierceness which seems natural to this 
 desperate, lawless mode of life, yet there were traces of 
 manly beauty about it. As an artist I could not but 
 admire it. I had remarked in him an air of abstraction 
 and reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffering 
 and impatience. He now sat on the ground, his elbows 
 on his knees, his head resting between his clenched fists, 
 and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of 
 sadness and bitter rumination. I had grown familiar 
 with him from repeated conversations, and had found 
 him superior in mind to the rest of the band. I was 
 
400 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 anxious to seize any opportunity of sounding the feel- 
 ings of these singular beings. I fancied I read in the 
 countenance of this one traces of self-condemnation and 
 remorse ; and the ease with which I had drawn forth the 
 confidence of the chieftain, encouraged me to hope the 
 same with his follower. 
 
 After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to 
 ask him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his 
 family, and taken to this dangerous profession. "I feel," 
 replied he, "but one regret, and that will end only with 
 my life." 
 
 As he said this, he pressed his clenched fists upon his 
 bosom, drew his breath through his set teeth, and added, 
 with a deep emotion, "I have something within here that 
 stifles me ; it is like a burning iron consuming my very 
 heart. I could tell you a miserable story — but not now 
 — another time." 
 
 He relapsed into his former position, and sat with his 
 head between his hands, muttering to himself in broken 
 ejaculations, and what appeared at times to be curses and 
 maledictions. I saw he was not in a mood to be dis- 
 turbed, so I left him to himself. In a little while the 
 exhaustion of his feelings, and probably the fatigues he 
 had undergone in this expedition, began to produce 
 drowsiness. He struggled with it for a time, but the 
 warmth and stillness of mid-clay made it irresistible, and 
 he at length stretched himself upon the herbage and fell 
 asleep. 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 401 
 
 I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My 
 guard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous limbs 
 relaxed by sleep — his bosom open for the blow — his car- 
 bine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and lying by his 
 side — his stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was 
 usually carried. Two only of his comrades were in sight, 
 and those at a considerable distance on the edge of the 
 mountain, their backs turned to us, and their attention 
 occupied in keeping a lookout upon the plain. Through 
 a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep 
 descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priore. To have 
 secured the carbine of the sleeping brigand; to have 
 seized upon his poniard, and have plunged it in his 
 heart, would have been the work of an instant. Should 
 he die without noise, I might dart through the forest, 
 and down to Rocca Priori before my flight might be dis- 
 covered. In case of alarm, I should still have a fair start 
 of the robbers, and a chance of getting beyond the reach 
 of their shot. 
 
 Here then was an opportunity for both escape and ven- 
 geance ; perilous indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had 
 my situation been more critical, I could not have resisted 
 it. I reflected, however, for a moment. The attempt, if 
 successful, would be followed by the sacrifice of my 
 two fellow-prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly, and 
 could not be awakened in time to escape. The laborer 
 who had gone after the ransom might also fall a victim to 
 the rage of the rob' :rs, without the money which he 
 
402 TALES OF A TRA VELLER 
 
 brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of the chief 
 towards me made me feel confident of speedy deliverance. 
 These reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, and 
 I calmed the turbulent agitation which it had awakened. 
 
 I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused 
 myself with sketching the magnificent prospect. It was 
 now about noon, and everything had sunk into repose, 
 like the sleeping bandit before me. The noontide still- 
 ness that reigned over these mountains, the vast land- 
 scape below gleaming with distant towns, and dotted 
 with various habitations and signs of life, yet all so 
 silent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. The inter- 
 mediate valleys, too, which lie among the mountains, 
 have a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are heard at 
 mid-day to break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the 
 whistle of a solitary muleteer, lagging with his lazy 
 animal along the road which winds through the centre of 
 the valley; sometimes the faint piping of a shepherd's 
 reed from the side of the mountain, or sometimes the 
 bell of an ass slowly pacing along, followed by a monk 
 with bare feet, and bare, shining head, and carrying pro- 
 visions to his convent. 
 
 I had continued to sketch for some time among my 
 sleeping companions, when at length I saw the captain of 
 the band approaching, followed by a peasant leading a 
 mule, on which was a well-filled sack. I at first appre- 
 hended that this was some new prey fallen into the hands 
 of the robber ; but the contented look of the peasant soon 
 
THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 403 
 
 relieved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our 
 promised repast. The brigands now came running from 
 the three sides of the mountain, having the quick scent 
 of vultures. Every one busied himself in unloading the 
 mule, and relieving the sack of its contents. 
 
 The first thing that made its appearance was an enor- 
 mous ham, of a color and plumpness that would have 
 inspired the pencil of Teniers ; it was followed by a large 
 cheese, a bag of boiled chestnuts, a little barrel of wine, 
 and a quantity of good household bread. Everything 
 was arranged on the grass with a degree of symmetry; 
 and the captain, presenting me with his knife, requested 
 me to help myself. We all seated ourselves around the 
 viands, and nothing was heard for a time but the sound 
 of vigorous mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of 
 wine as it revolved briskly about the circle. My long 
 fasting, and mountain air and exercise, had given me a 
 keen appetite ; and never did repast appear to me more 
 excellent or picturesque. 
 
 From time to time one of the band was dispatched to 
 keep a lookout upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, 
 and the dinner was undisturbed. The peasant received 
 nearly three times the value of his provisions, and set oft 
 down the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. 
 I felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, and 
 notwithstanding that the wound I had received the even- 
 ing before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely 
 interested and gratified by the singular scenes contiii- 
 
404 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 uaily presented to me. Everything was picturesque 
 about these wild beings and their haunts. Their bi- 
 vouacs ; their groups on guard ; their indolent noontide 
 repose on the mountain-brow ; their rude repast on the 
 herbage among rocks and trees ; everything presented a 
 study for a painter : but it was towards the approach of 
 evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. 
 
 The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, 
 shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summit of the 
 Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow shone 
 brilliantly in the distance, contrasting their brightness 
 with others, which, thrown into shade, assumed deep 
 tints of purple and violet. As the evening advanced, the 
 landscape darkened into a sterner character. The im- 
 mense solitude around ; the wild mountains broken into 
 rocks and precipices, intermingled with vast oaks, corks, 
 and chestnuts ; and the groups of banditti in the fore- 
 ground, reminded me of the savage scenes of Salvator 
 Eosa. 
 
 To beguile the time, the captain proposed to his com- 
 rades to spread before me their jewels and cameos, as 
 I must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to 
 form an estimate of their value. He set the example, 
 the others followed it ; and in a few moments I saw the 
 grass before me sparkling with jewels and gems that 
 would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine 
 lady. 
 
 Among them were several precious jewels and antique 
 
TEE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 405 
 
 intaglios and cameos of great value, the spoils, doubt- 
 less, of travellers of distinction. I found that they were 
 in the habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns ; 
 but as these, in general, were thinly and poorly peopled, 
 and little frequented by travellers, they could offer no 
 market for such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I 
 suggested to them the certainty of their readily obtain- 
 ing great prices for these gems among the rich strangers 
 with whom Rome was thronged. 
 
 The impression made upon their greedy minds was 
 immediately apparent. One of the band, a young man, 
 and the least known, requested permission of the captain 
 to depart the following day, in disguise, for Rome, for 
 the purpose of traffic, promising, on the faith of a bandit, 
 (a sacred pledge among them), to return in two days to 
 any place that he might appoint. The captain consented, 
 and a curious scene took place ; the robbers crowded 
 round him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels 
 as they wished to dispose of, and giving him instruc- 
 tions what to demand. There was much bargaining and 
 exchanging and selling of trinkets among them ; and I 
 behold my watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, 
 purchased by the young robber-merchant of the ruffian 
 who had plundered me, for sixty dollars. I now con- 
 ceived a faint hope, that if it went to Rome, I might 
 somehow or other regain possession of it.* 
 
 * The hopes of the artist were not disappointed : the robber was 
 stopped at one of the gates of Rome. Something in his looks or deport- 
 
406 TALES OF A TEA VELLER 
 
 In the meantime day declined, and no messenger re- 
 turned from Tusculum. The idea of passing another 
 night in the woods was extremely disheartening, for I 
 began to be satisfied with what I had seen of robber-life. 
 The chieftain now ordered his men to follow him, that he 
 might station them at their posts; adding, that, if the 
 messenger did not return before night, they must shift 
 their quarters to some other place. 
 
 I was again left alone with the young bandit who had 
 before guarded me ; he had the same gloomy air and hag- 
 gard eye, with now and then a bitter sardonic smile. I 
 determined to probe this ulcerated heart, and reminded 
 him of a kind promise he had given me to tell me the 
 cause of his suffering. It seemed to me as if these 
 troubled spirits were glad of any opportunity to disbur- 
 den themselves, and of having some fresh, undiseased 
 mind, with which they could communicate. I had hardly 
 made the request, when he seated himself by my side, 
 and gave me his story in, as near as I can recollect, the 
 following words. 
 
 ment had excited suspicion. He was searched, and the valuable trinkets 
 found on him sufficiently evinced his character. On applying to the 
 police, the artist's watch was returned to him. 
 
THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 
 
 li^ip^ l WAS born in tlie little town of Frosinone? 
 
 I^Pp which lies at the skirts of the Abruzzi. My 
 |ffM?J father had made a little property in trade, and 
 gave me some education, as he intended me for the 
 Church; but I had kept gay company too much to 
 relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. 
 I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, 
 but good-humored in the main ; so I made my way very 
 well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived in our 
 town a surveyor or land-bailiff of the Prince, who had e 
 young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen ; she was 
 looked upon as something better than the common run 
 of our townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely at home. 
 I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with 
 heir— she looked so fresh and tender, and so different 
 from the sunburnt females to whom I had been accus- 
 tomed. 
 
 As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, 
 and took all opportunities of showing myself off to advan- 
 tage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her 
 at church ; and as I could play a little upon the guitar, 
 
 407 
 
408 TALES OF A TBA VELLEU. 
 
 I gave a tune sometimes under her window of an even- 
 ing ; and I tried to have interviews with her in hei 
 father's vineyard, not far from the town, where she 
 sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased with me, 
 but she was young and shy ; and her father kept a strict 
 eye upon her, and took alarm at my attentions, for he 
 had a bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match 
 for his daughter. I became furious at the difficulties 
 thrown in my way, having been accustomed always to 
 easy success among the women, being considered one of 
 the smartest young fellows of the place. 
 
 Her father brought home a suitor for her, — a rich 
 farmer from a neighboring town. The wedding-day was 
 appointed, and preparations were making. I got sight 
 of her at the window, and I thought she looked sadly at 
 me. I determined the match should not take place, cost 
 what it might. I met her intended bridegroom in the 
 market-place, and could not restrain the expression of 
 my rage. A few hot words passed between us, when I 
 drew my stiletto and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to 
 a neighboring church for refuge, and with a little money 
 I obtained absolution, but I did not dare to venture 
 from my asylum. 
 
 At that time our captain was forming his troop. He 
 had known me from boyhood ; and hearing of my situa- 
 tion, came to me in secret, and made such offers, that I 
 agreed to enroll myself among his followers. Indeed, I 
 had more than once thought of taking to this mode of 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. 409 
 
 life, having known several brave fellows of the moun- 
 tains, who used to spend their money freely among us 
 youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my asyiam 
 late one night, repaired to the appointed place of meet- 
 ing, took the oaths prescribed, and became one of 
 the troop. We were for some time in a distant part of 
 the mountains, and our wild adventurous kind of life hit 
 my fancy wonderfully, and diverted my thoughts. At 
 length they returned with all their violence to the recol- 
 lection of Rosetta ; the solitude in which I often found 
 myself gave me time to brood over her image ; and, as I 
 have kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in the 
 mountains, my feelings have been aroused almost to a 
 fever. 
 
 At length we shifted our ground, and determined to 
 make a descent upon the road behveen Terracina and 
 Naples. In the course of our expedition we passed a day 
 or two in the woody mountains which rise above Frosi- 
 none. I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked down 
 upon that place, and distinguished the residence of Eo- 
 setta. I determined to have an interview with her ; — but 
 to what purpose ? I could not expect that she would 
 quit her home, and accompany me in my hazardous life 
 among the mountains. She had been brought up too 
 tenderly for that ; when I looked upon the women who 
 were associated with some of our troop, I could not have 
 borne the thoughts of her being their companion. All 
 return to my former life was likewise hopeless, for a 
 
410 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 price was set upon my head. Still I determined to see 
 lier ; the very hazard and fruitlessness of the thing made 
 me furious to accomplish it. 
 
 About three weeks since, I persuaded our captain to 
 draw down t:> the vicinity of Frosinone, suggesting the 
 chance of entrapping some of its principal inhabitants, 
 and compelling them to a ransom. We were lying in 
 ambush towards evening, not far from the vineyard of 
 Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my companions, 
 and drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent 
 walks. How my heart beat when among the vines I be- 
 held the gleaming of a white dress ! I knew it must be 
 Rosetta's ; it being rare for any female of that place to 
 dress in white. I advanced secretly and without noise, 
 until, putting aside the vines, I stood suddenly before 
 her. She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in 
 my arms, put my hand upon her mouth, and conjured her 
 to be silent. I poured out all the frenzy of my passion ; 
 offered to renounce my mode of life ; to put my fate in 
 her hands ; to fly where we might live in safety together. 
 All that I could say or do would not pacify her. Instead 
 of love, horror and affright seemed to have taken posses- 
 sion of her breast. She struggled partly from my grasp, 
 and filled the air with her cries. 
 
 In an instant the captain and the rest of my com- 
 panions were around us. I would have given anything 
 at that moment had she been safe out of our hands, and 
 in her father's house. It was too late. The captain pro- 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. ±\\ 
 
 nounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be 
 borne to the mountains. I represented to him that she 
 was my prize ; that I had a previous claim to her ; and I 
 mentioned my former attachment. He sneered bitterly 
 in reply; observed that brigands had no business with 
 village intrigues, and that, according to the laws of the 
 troop, all spoils of the kind were determined by lot. 
 Love and jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to 
 choose between obedience and death. I surrendered her 
 to the captain, and we made for the mountains. 
 
 She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so 
 feeble and faltering that it was necessary to support her. 
 I could not endure the idea that my comrades should 
 touch her, and assuming a forced tranquillity, begged she 
 might be confided to me, as one to whom she was more 
 accustomed. The captain regarded me, for a moment, 
 with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching, and 
 he consented. I took her in my arms, she was almost 
 senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder ; I felt her 
 breath on my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which 
 devoured me. Oh God ! to have this glowing treasure in 
 my arms, and yet to think it was not mine ! 
 
 We arrived at the foot of the mountain ; I ascended it 
 with difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, 
 but I would not relinquish my delicious burden. I re- 
 flected with rage, however, that I must soon do so. The 
 thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned 
 to my rude companions maddened me. I felt tempted, 
 
412 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, 
 and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the 
 idea before I saw its rashness ; but my brain was fevered 
 with the thought that any but myself should enjoy her 
 charms. I endeavored to outstrip my companions by the 
 quickness of my movements, and to get a little distance 
 ahead, in case any favorable opportunity of escape should 
 present. Yain effort ! The voice of the captain sud- 
 denly ordered a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The 
 poor girl partly opened a languid eye, but was without 
 strength or motion. I laid her upon the grass. The 
 captain darted on me a terrible look of suspicion, and 
 ordered me to scour the woods with my companions in 
 search of some shepherd, who might be sent to her 
 father's to demand a ransom. 
 
 I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was 
 certain death, but to leave her alone, in the power of the 
 captain — I spoke out then with a fervor, inspired by my 
 passion and by despair. I reminded the captain that I 
 was the first to seize her ; that she was my prize ; and 
 that my previous attachment to her ought to make her 
 sacred among my companions. I insisted, therefore, that 
 he should pledge me his word to respect her, otherwise I 
 would refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply 
 was to cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades 
 did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impo- 
 tent rage. What could I do ? I felt the madness of re- 
 sistance. I was menaced on all hands, and my compan- 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER 413 
 
 ions obliged me to follow them. She remained alone 
 with the chief — yes, alone — and almost lifeless ! — 
 
 Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered 
 by his emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his 
 forehead ; he panted rather than breathed ; his brawny 
 bosom rose and fell like the waves of the troubled sea. 
 When he had become a little calm, he continued his re- 
 cital. 
 
 I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran 
 with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back 
 before what I dreaded might take place. I had left 
 my companions far behind, and I rejoined them before 
 they had reached one half the distance I had made. I 
 hurried them back to the place where we had left the 
 captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the 
 side of Rosetta. His triumphant look, and the desolate 
 condition of the unfortunate girl, left me no doubt of her 
 fate. I know not how I restrained my fury. 
 
 It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her 
 hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, re- 
 questing her father to send three hundred dollars as her 
 ransom. The letter was dispatched by the shepherd. 
 When he was gone, the chief turned sternly to me 
 a You have set an example," said he, "of mutiny and 
 self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the 
 troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this bul- 
 let would have been driven through your brain. But 
 you are an old friend. I have borne patiently with your 
 
^14 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 fury and your folly. I have even protected you from a 
 foolish passion that would have unmanned you. As to 
 this girl, the laws of our association must have their 
 course." So saying, he gave his commands : lots were 
 drawn, and the helpless girl was abandoned to the 
 troop. 
 
 Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and 
 it was some moments before he could resume his story. 
 
 Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld the 
 impossibility of avenging myself; and I felt that, ac- 
 cording to the articles in which we stood bound to one 
 another, the captain was in the right. I rushed with 
 frenzy from the place ; I threw myself upon the earth ; 
 tore up the grass with my hands ; and beat my head and 
 gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I 
 returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, dishevelled, 
 her dress torn and disordered. An emotion of pity, for 
 a moment, subdued my fiercer feelings. I bore her to 
 the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I 
 took my gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying 
 it to her lips, endeavored to make her swallow a little. 
 To what a condition was she reduced ! she, whom I had 
 once seen the pride of Frosinone, whom but a short time 
 before I had beheld sporting in her father's vineyard, 
 so fresh, and beautiful, and happy ! Her teeth were 
 clenched; her eyes fixed on the ground; her form with- 
 out motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility. I 
 hung over her in an agony of recollection at all that she 
 
THE YOUNG ROBBER. 4l5 
 
 had been, and of anguish of what I now beheld her. I 
 darted around a look of horror at my companions, who 
 seemed like so many fiends exulting in the downfall of 
 an angel ; and I felt a horror at being myself their ac- 
 complice. 
 
 The captain, always suspicious, saw, with his usual 
 penetration, what was passing within me, and ordered 
 me to go upon the ridge of the woods, to keep a look- 
 out over the neighborhood, and await the return of the 
 shepherd. I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that 
 raged within me, though I felt, for the moment, that he 
 was my most deadly foe. 
 
 On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across 
 my mind. I perceived that the captain was but follow- 
 ing, with strictness, the terrible laws to which we had 
 sworn fidelity; that the passion by which I had been 
 blinded might, with justice, have been fatal to me, but 
 for his forbearance ; that he had penetrated my soul, and 
 had taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to 
 prevent my committing any excess in my anger. From 
 that instant I felt that I was capable of pardoning him. 
 
 Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of 
 the mountain. The country was solitary and secure, and 
 in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance 
 crossing the plain. I hastened to meet him. He had 
 obtained nothing. He had found the father plunged in 
 the deepest distress. He had read the letter with violent 
 emotion, and then, calming himself with a sudden exer- 
 
416 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 tion, he had replied coldly : " My daughter has been dis« 
 honored by those wretches ; let her be returned without 
 ransom, — or let her die ! " 
 
 I shuddered at this reply. I knew that, according to 
 the laws of our troop, her death was inevitable. Our 
 oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that, not having 
 been able to have her to myself, I could be her execu- 
 tioner! 
 
 The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing 
 upon his last frightful words, which proved to what 
 excess the passions may be carried when escaped from 
 all moral restraint. There was a horrible verity in thir 
 story that reminded me of some of the tragic- fictions of 
 Dante. 
 
 We now come to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. 
 After the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, 
 and the chieftain received from his lips the refusal of her 
 father. At a signal which we all understood, we followed 
 him to some distance from the victim. He there pro- 
 nounced her sentence of death. Every one stood ready 
 to execute his orders, but I interfered. I observed that 
 there was something due to pity as well as to jus- 
 tice ; that I was as ready as any one to approve the im- 
 placable law, which was to serve as a warning to all 
 those who hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for 
 our prisoners ; but that though the sacrifice was proper, 
 it ought to be made without cruelty. ' The night is ap- 
 proaching,' continued I; 'she will soon be wrapped in 
 
THE PAINTER '8 AD VENTURE. 41 7 
 
 sleep ; let her then be dispatched. All I now claim on 
 the score of former kindness is, let me strike the blow. I 
 will do it as surely, though more tenderly than another.' 
 Several raised their voices against my proposition, but 
 the captain imposed silence on them. He told me I 
 might conduct her into a thicket- at some distance, and 
 he relied upon my promise. 
 
 I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn 
 kind of triumph at having at length become her exclusive 
 possessor. I bore her off into the thickness of the forest. 
 She remained in the same state of insensibility or stupor. 
 I was thankful that she did not recollect me, for had she 
 once murmured my name, I should have been overcome. 
 She slept at length in the arms of him who was to 
 poniard her. Many were the conflicts I underwent before 
 I could bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart 
 had become sore by the recent conflicts it had under- 
 gone, and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other 
 should become her executioner. When her repose had 
 continued for some time, I separated myself gently from 
 her, that I might not disturb her sleep, and seizing sud- 
 denly my poniard, plunged it into her bosom. A painful 
 and concentrated murmur, but without aoy convulsive 
 movement, accompanied her last sigh. — So perished this 
 unfortunate ! 
 
 He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-struck, covering my 
 face with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from 
 
 27 
 
118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 myself the frightful images he had presented to my 
 mind. I was roused from this silence by the voice of 
 the captain : " You sleep," said he, " and it is time to be 
 off. Come, we must abandon this height, as night is 
 setting in, and the messenger is not returned. I will 
 post some one on the mountain edge to conduct him to 
 the place where we shall pass the night." 
 
 This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at 
 heart with the dismal story I had heard. I was ha- 
 rassed and fatigued, and the sight of the banditti began 
 to grow insupportable to me. 
 
 The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly 
 descended the forest, which we had mounted with so 
 much difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in what 
 appeared to be a frequented road. The robbers pro- 
 ceeded with great caution, carrying their guns cocked, 
 and looking on every side with wary and suspicious 
 eyes. They were apprehensive of encountering the civic 
 patrole. We left Kocca Priori behind us. There was a 
 fountain near by, and as I was excessively thirsty, I 
 begged permission to stop and drink. The captain him- 
 self went and brought me water in his hat. We pursued 
 our route, when, at the extremity of an alley which 
 crossed the road, I perceived a female on horseback, 
 dressed in white. She was alone. I recollected the fate 
 of the poor girl in the story, and trembled for her 
 safety. 
 
 One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and 
 
TEE PAINTEU'S ADVENTURE. 419 
 
 plunging into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the 
 direction towards her. Stopping on the border of the 
 alley, he put one knee to the ground, presented his car- 
 bine ready to menace her, or to shoot her horse if she 
 attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her approach. 
 I kept my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I felt 
 tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, though my 
 own destruction would have been the consequence. It 
 was awful to see this tiger crouching ready for a bound, 
 and the poor innocent victim unconsciously near him. 
 Nothing but a mere chance could save her. To my joy 
 the chance turned in her favor. She seemed -almost acci- 
 dentally to take an opposite path, which led outside of 
 the woods, where the robber dared not venture. To this 
 casual deviation she owed her safety. 
 
 I could not imagine why the captain of the band had 
 ventured to such a distance from the height on which he 
 had placed the sentinel to watch the return of the mes- 
 senger. He seemed himself anxious at the risk to which 
 he exposed himself. His movements were rapid and un- 
 easy ; I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, after 
 three hours of what might be termed a forced march, we 
 mounted the extremity of the same woods, the summit 
 of which we had occupied during the day ; and I learnt 
 with satisfaction that we had reached our quarters for 
 the night. " You must be fatigued," said the chieftain ; 
 " but it was necessary to survey the environs so as not to 
 be surprised during the night. Had we met with the 
 
420 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 famous civic guard of Rocca Priori, you would have seen 
 fine sport." Such was the indefatigable precaution and 
 forethought of this robber chief, who really gave con 
 tinual evidence of military talent. 
 
 The night was magnificent. The moon, rising above 
 the horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand 
 features of the mountain, while lights twinkling here and 
 there, like terrestrial stars in the wide dusky expanse of 
 the landscape, betrayed the lonely cabins of the shep- 
 herds. Exhausted by fatigue, and by the many agita- 
 tions I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed by 
 the hope of approaching deliverance. The captain or- 
 dered his companions to collect some dry moss ; he ar- 
 ranged with his own hands a kind of mattress and pillow 
 of it, and gave me his ample mantle as a covering. I 
 could not but feel both surprised and gratified by such 
 unexpected attentions on the part of this benevolent cut- 
 throat ; for there is nothing more striking than to find 
 the ordinary charities, which are matters of course in 
 common life, flourishing by the side of such stern and 
 sterile crime. It is like finding tender flowers and fresh 
 herbage of the valley growing among the rocks and cin- 
 ders of the volcano. 
 
 Before I fell asleep I had some further discourse with 
 the captain, who seemed to feel great confidence in me. 
 He referred to our previous conversation of the morning ; 
 told me he was weary of his hazardous profession ; that 
 he had acquired sufficient property, and was anxious to 
 
THE PAINTER 'S AD VENTURE. 421 
 
 return to the world, and lead a peaceful life in the bosom 
 of his family. He wished to know whether it was not in 
 my power to procure for him a passport to the United 
 States of America. I applauded his good intentions, and 
 promised to do everything in my power to promote its 
 success. We then parted for the night. I stretched my- 
 self upon my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt 
 like a bed of down ; and, sheltered by the robber-mantle 
 from all humidity, I slept soundly, without waking, un- 
 til the signal to arise. 
 
 It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawn- 
 ing. As the place where we had passed the night was 
 too much exposed, we moved up into the thickness of the 
 woods. A fire was kindled. While there was any flame, 
 the mantles were again extended round it ; but when 
 nothing remained but glowing cinders, they were low- 
 ered, and the robbers seated themselves in a circle. 
 
 The scene before me reminded me of some of those de- 
 scribed by Homer. There wanted only the victim on the 
 coals, and the sacred knife to cut off the succulent parts, 
 and distribute them around. My companions might have 
 rivalled the grim warriors of Greece. In place of the 
 noble repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon, I 
 beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the ham 
 which had sustained so vigorous an attack on the pre- 
 ceding evening, accompanied by the relics of the bread, 
 cheese, and wine. We had scarcely commenced our 
 frugal breakfast, when I heard again an imitation of the 
 
422 TALES OF A TEA TELLER. 
 
 bleating of sheep, similar to what I had heard the day 
 before. The captain answered it in the same tone. Two 
 men were soon after seen descending from the woody 
 height, where we had passed the preceding evening. On 
 nearer approach, they proved to be the sentinel and the 
 messenger. The captain rose, and went to meet them. 
 He made a signal for his comrades to join him. They 
 had a short conference, and then returning to me with 
 great eagerness, "Your ransom is paid," said he, "you 
 are free ! " 
 
 Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell you 
 what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared 
 not to finish my repast, but prepared to depart. The 
 captain took me by the hand, requested permission to 
 write to me, and begged me not to forget the passport. I 
 replied, that I hoped to be of effectual service to him, 
 and that I relied on his honor to return the Prince's note 
 for five hundred dollars, now that the cash was paid. He 
 regarded me for a moment with surprise, then seeming to 
 recollect himself, " E giusto," said he, " ecco/o — adio ! " * 
 He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once more, 
 and we separated. The laborers were permitted to fol- 
 low me, and we resumed with joy our road toward Tus- 
 culum. 
 
 The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party continued, 
 * It is just — there it is — adieu! 
 
THE INN AT TERR AC IN A. 423 
 
 for a few moments, to pace the shore in silence. The 
 story had made a deep impression, particularly on the 
 Venetian lady. At that part which related to the young- 
 girl of Frosinone, she was violently affected. Sobs broke 
 from her ; she clung closer to her husband, and as she 
 looked up to him as if for protection, the moonbeams 
 shining on her beautifully fair countenance, showed it 
 paler than usual, while tears glittered in her fine dark 
 eyes. 
 
 " Corragio, mia vita I " said he, as he gently and fondly 
 tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm. 
 
 The party now returned to the inn, and separated for 
 the night. The fair Venetian, though of the sweetest 
 temperament, was half out of humor with the English- 
 man, for a certain slowness of faith which he had evinced 
 throughout the whole evening. She could not under- 
 stand this dislike to "humbug," as he termed it, which 
 held a kind of sway over him, and seemed to control his 
 opinions and his very actions. 
 
 "I'll warrant," said she to her husband, as they re- 
 tired for the night, — " I'll warrant, with all his affected 
 indifference, this Englishman's heart would quake at the 
 very sight of a bandit." 
 
 Her husband gently, and good-humoredly, checked 
 her. 
 
 "I have no patience with these Englishmen," said she, 
 as she got into bed, — " they are so cold and insensible ! " 
 
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 
 
 N the morning all was bustle in the inn at Ter- 
 racina. The procaccio had departed at day- 
 break on its route towards Rome, but the 
 Englishman was yet to start, and the departure of an 
 English equipage is always enough to keep an inn in a 
 bustle. On this occasion there was more than usual 
 stir, for the Englishman, having much property about 
 him, and having been convinced of the real danger of the 
 road, had applied to the police, and obtained, by dint of 
 liberal pay, an escort of eight dragoons and twelve foot- 
 soldiers, as far as Fondi. 
 
 Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostenta- 
 tion at bottom, though, to say the truth, he had noth- 
 ing of it in his manner. He moved about, taciturn and 
 reserved as usual, among the gaping crowd ; gave laconic 
 orders to John, as he packed away the thousand and one 
 indispensable conveniences of the night; double loaded 
 his pistols with great sang froid, and deposited them in 
 the pockets of the carriage ; taking no notice of a pair of 
 keen eyes gazing on him from among the herd of loiter- 
 ing idlers. 
 
 424 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 425 
 
 The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made 
 in her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage 
 to proceed under protection of his escort. The English- 
 man, who was busy loading another pair of pistols for 
 his servant, and held the ramrod between his teeth, 
 nodded assent, as a matter of course, but without lift- 
 ing up his eyes. The fair Venetian was a little piqued 
 at what she supposed indifference : — " O Dio ! " ejacu- 
 lated she softly as she retired ; " Quanto sono insensibili 
 questi Inglesi." 
 
 At length, off they set in gallant style. The eight dra- 
 goons prancing in front, the twelve foot-soldiers march- 
 ing in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in the centre, 
 to enable the infantry to keep pace with them. They 
 had proceeded but a few hundred yards, when it was 
 discovered that some indispensable article had been 
 left behind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was miss- 
 ing, and John was dispatched to the inn to search for 
 it. This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage 
 of the Venetians drove slowly on. John came back 
 out of breath and out of humor. The purse was not 
 to be found. His master was irritated ; he recollect- 
 ed the very [lace where it lay; he had not a doubt 
 the Italian servant had pocketed it. John was again 
 sent back. He returned once more without the purse, 
 but with the landlord and the whole household at his 
 heels. A thousand ejaculations and protestations, ac- 
 companied by all sorts of grimaces and contortions— 
 
426 TALES OF A TtiAVELLEfi. 
 
 " No purse had been seen — his excellenza must be mis- 
 taken." 
 
 " No — his excellenza was not mistaken — the purse lay 
 on the marble table, under the mirror, a green purse, 
 half full of gold and silver." Again a thousand grimaces 
 and contortions, and vows by San Gennaro, that no purse 
 of the kind had been seen. 
 
 The Englishman became furious. "The waiter had 
 pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — the inn a den 
 of thieves — it was a vile country — he had been cheated 
 and plundered from one end of it to the other — but he'd 
 have satisfaction — he'd drive right off to the police." 
 
 He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn 
 back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the 
 carriage, and the purse of money fell chinking to the 
 floor. 
 
 All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. 
 — " Curse the purse," said he, as he snatched it up. He 
 dashed a handful of money on the ground before the pale 
 cringing waiter, — "There, be off!" cried he. "John, 
 order the postilions to drive on." 
 
 About half an hour had been exhausted in this alterca- 
 tion. The Venetian carriage had loitered along ; its pas- 
 sengers looking out from time to time, and expecting the 
 escort every moment to follow. They had gradually 
 turned an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. 
 The little army was again in motion, and made a very 
 picturesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE. 427 
 
 of the rocks ; the morning sunshine beaming upon the 
 weapons of the soldiery. 
 
 The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed 
 with himself at what had passed, and consequently out 
 of humor with all the world. As this, however, is no 
 ul common case with gentlemen who travel for their 
 pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark. They had 
 wound up from the coast among the hills, and came to a 
 part of the road that admitted of some prospect ahead. 
 
 "I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, 
 leaning down from the coach -box. 
 
 "Pish!" said the Englishman, testily; "don't plague 
 me about the lady's carriage; must I be continually 
 pestered with the concerns of strangers?" John said not 
 another word, for he understood his master's mood. 
 
 The road grew more wild and lonely ; they were slowly 
 proceeding on a foot-pace up a hill ; the dragoons were 
 some distance ahead, and had just reached the summit 
 of the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or rather 
 shout, and galloped forward. The Englishman was 
 roused from his sulky reverie. He stretched his head 
 from the carriage, which had attained the brow of the 
 hill. Before him extended a long hollow defile, com- 
 manded on one side by rugged precipitous heights, 
 covered with bushes of scanty forest. At some distance 
 he beheld the carriage of the Venetians overturned. A 
 numerous gang of desperadoes were rifling it ; the young 
 man and his servant were overpowered, and partly 
 
428 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 stripped; and the lady was in the hands of two of the 
 ruffians. The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang from 
 the carriage, and called upon John to follow him. 
 
 In the meantime, as the dragoons came forward, the 
 robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quitted their 
 spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and 
 taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, 
 another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment 
 checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded 
 again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their 
 carbines, but without apparent effect. They received 
 another volley, which, though none fell, threw them again 
 into confusiou. The robbers were loading a second time 
 when they saw the foot - soldiers at hand. " Scampa 
 via!" was the word: they abandoned their prey, and 
 retreated up the rocks, the soldiers after them. They 
 fought from cliff to cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers 
 turning every now and then to fire upon their pursuers ; 
 the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their 
 muskets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a 
 soldier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling 
 among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below, 
 whenever a robber came in sight. 
 
 The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, 
 and the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled 
 past him as he advanced. One object, however, engrossed 
 his attention. It was the beautiful Venetian lady in the 
 hands of two of the robbers, who, during the confusion of 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE 429 
 
 the fight, carried her shrieking up the mountain. He 
 saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang 
 up the rocks to intercept the robbers, as they bore off 
 their prey. The ruggedness of the steep, and the entan- 
 glements of the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He 
 lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, 
 which grew fainter and fainter. They were off to the left, 
 while the reports of muskets showed that the battle was 
 raging to the right. At length he came upon what ap- 
 peared to be a rugged foot-path, faintly worn in a gulley 
 of the rocks, and beheld the ruffians at some distance 
 hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them hearing 
 his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, 
 and levelling the carbine which had been slung on his 
 back, fired. The ball whizzed through the Englishman's 
 hat, and carried with it some of his hair. He returned 
 the fire with one of his pistols, and the robber fell. The 
 other brigand now dropped the lady, and drawing a long 
 pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary with de- 
 liberate aim. The ball passed between his left arm and 
 his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Englishman 
 advanced, and discharged his remaining pistol, which 
 wounded the robber, but not severely. 
 
 The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his ad- 
 versary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight 
 wound, and defended himself with his pistol, which had 
 a spring bayonet. They closed with one another, and a 
 desperate struggle ensued. The robber was a square- 
 
430 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 built, thickset man, powerful, muscular, and active. The 
 Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength, 
 was less active, and less accustomed to athletic exercises 
 and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised 
 and skilled in the art of defence. They were on a craggy 
 height, and the Englishman perceived that his antagonist 
 was striving to press him to the edge. A side-glance 
 showed him also the robber whom he had first wounded, 
 scrambling up to the assistance of his comrade, stiletto in 
 hand. He had in fact attained the summit of the cliff, he 
 was within a few steps, and the Englishman felt that his 
 case was desperate, when he heard suddenly the report 
 of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came from 
 John, who had arrived just in time to save his master. 
 
 The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and 
 the violence of the contest, showed signs of faltering. 
 The Englishman pursued his advantage, pressed on him, 
 and as his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from 
 the precipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying 
 motionless among the rocks below. 
 
 The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He 
 found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's 
 assistance he bore her down to the road, where her hus- 
 band was raving like one distracted. He had sought her 
 in vain, and had given her over for lost ; and when he 
 beheld her thus brought back in safety, his joy was 
 equally wild and ungovernable. He would have caught 
 her insensible form to his bosom had not the Englishman 
 
THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE 431 
 
 restrained him. The latter, now really aroused, displayed 
 a true tenderness and manly gallantry, which one would 
 not have expected from his habitual phlegm. His kind- 
 ness, however, was practical, not wasted in words. He 
 dispatched John to the carriage for restoratives of all 
 kinds, and, totally thoughtless of himself, was anxious 
 only about his lovely charge. The occasional discharge 
 of firearms along the height, showed that a retreating 
 fight was still kept up by the robbers. The lady gave 
 signs of reviving animation. The Englishman, eager to 
 get her from this place of danger, conveyed her to his 
 own carriage, and, committing her to the care of her hus- 
 band, ordered the dragoons to escort them to Fondi. 
 The Venetian would have insisted on the Englishman's 
 getting into the carriage ; but the latter refused. He 
 poured forth a torrent of thanks and benedictions ; but 
 the Englishman beckoned to the postilions to drive on. 
 
 John now dressed his master's wounds, which were 
 found not to be serious, though he was faint with loss of 
 blood. The Yenetian carriage had been righted, and the 
 baggage replaced ; and, getting into it, they set out on 
 their way towards Fondi, leaving the foot-soldiers still 
 engaged in ferreting out the banditti. 
 
 Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian had com- 
 pletely recovered from her swoon. She made the usual 
 question, — 
 
 "Where was she?" 
 
 " In the Englishman's carriage," 
 
432 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " How had she escaped from the robbers ? n 
 
 " The Englishman had rescued her." 
 
 Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled with 
 them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her 
 deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach herself 
 for having accused him of coldness and insensibility. 
 The moment she saw him, she rushed into his arms with 
 the vivacity of her nation, and hung about his neck in 
 a speechless transport of gratitude. Never was man 
 more embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. 
 
 " Tut !— tut ! " said the Englishman. 
 
 "You are wounded!" shrieked the fair Venetian as 
 she saw blood upon his clothes. 
 
 " Pooh ! nothing at all ! " 
 
 " My deliverer ! — my angel ! " exclaimed she, clasping 
 him again round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom. 
 
 " Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-humored 
 tone, but looking somewhat foolish, "this is all hum- 
 bug." 
 
 The fair Venetian, however, has neyer since accused 
 the English of insensibility. 
 
PAET FOURTH. 
 
 THE MONEY-DIGGERS. 
 
 FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
 KNICKERBOCKER. 
 
 » Now I remember those old women's words, 
 Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : 
 And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night 
 About the place where treasure hath been hid." 
 
 Marlow's Jew of Matte 
 
HELL-GATE. 
 
 BOUT six miles from the renowned city of the 
 Manhattoes, in that Sound or arm of the sea 
 which passes between the mainland and Nas- 
 sau, or Long Island, there is a narrow strait, where the 
 current is violently compressed between shouldering pro- 
 montories, and horribly perplexed by rocks and shoals. 
 Being, at the best of times, a very violent, impetuous 
 current, it takes these impediments in mighty dudgeon ; 
 boiling in whirlpools ; brawling and fretting in ripples ; 
 raging and roaring in rapids and breakers ; and, in short, 
 indulging in all kinds of wrong-headed paroxysms. At 
 such times, woe to any unlucky vessel that ventures 
 within its clutches. 
 
 This termagant humor, however, prevails only at cer- 
 tain times of tide. At low water, for instance, it is as 
 pacific a stream as you would wish to see ; but as the tide 
 rises, it begins to fret ; at half-tide it roars with might 
 and main, like a bull bellowing for more drink ; but 
 when the tide is full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a 
 time, sleeps as soundly as an alderman after dinner. In 
 
 fact, it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who is 
 
 435 
 
436 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 a peaceable fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, 
 or when he has a skinfull ; but who, when half-seas-over, 
 plays the very devil. 
 
 This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little 
 strait was a place of great danger and perplexity to the 
 Dutch navigators of ancient days ; hectoring their tub- 
 built barks in a most unruly style ; whirling them about 
 in a manner to make any but a Dutchman giddy, and not 
 unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and reefs, as it 
 did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer, when 
 seeking a place to found the city of the Manhattoes. 
 Whereupon, out of sheer spleen, they denominated it 
 Helle-Gat, and solemnly gave it over to the devil. This 
 appellation has since been aptly rendered into English by 
 the name of Hell-gate, and into nonsense by the name of 
 Hurl-ghte, according to certain foreign intruders, who 
 neither understood Dutch nor English, — may St. Nicho- 
 las confound them ! 
 
 This strait of Hell-gate was a place of great awe and 
 perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been 
 much of a navigator on those small seas, and having more 
 than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning in the 
 course of certain holiday voyages, to which, in common 
 with other Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, 
 partly from the name, and partly from various strange 
 circumstances connected with it, this place had far more 
 terrors in the eyes of my truant companions and myself 
 than had Scylla and Charybdis for the navigators of yore. 
 
HELL-GATE. 437 
 
 In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of 
 rocks called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck 
 of a vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools 
 and stranded during a storm. There was a wild story 
 told to us of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some 
 tale of bloody murder which I cannot now recollect, 
 but which made us regard it with great awe, and keep 
 far from it in our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look 
 of the forlorn hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rot- 
 ting, were enough to awaken strange notions. A row of 
 timber-heads, blackened by time, just peered above the 
 surface at high water ; but at low tide a considerable 
 part of the hull was bare, and its great ribs or timbers, 
 partly stripped of their planks, and dripping with sea- 
 weeds, looked like the huge skeleton of some sea-mon- 
 ster. There was also the stump of a mast, with a few 
 ropes and blocks swinging about and whistling in the 
 wind, while the sea-gull wheeled and screamed around 
 the melancholy carcass. I have a faint recollection of 
 some hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being seen about 
 this wreck at night, with bare skulls, and blue lights in 
 their sockets instead of eyes, but I have forgotten all 
 the particulars. 
 
 In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the 
 straits of Pelorus of yore, a region of fable and ro- 
 mance to me. From the strait to the Manhattoes, the 
 borders of the Sound are greatly diversified, being 
 broken and indented by rocky nooks overhung with 
 
438 TALES OF A TRA VELLER 
 
 trees, which give them a wild and romantic look. In the 
 time of my boyhood, they abounded with traditions about 
 pirates, ghosts, smugglers, and buried money, which had 
 a wonderful effect upon the young minds of my compan- 
 ions and myself. 
 
 As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent re- 
 search after the truth of these strange traditions ; for I 
 have always been a curious investigator of the valuable 
 but obscure branches of the history of my native prov- 
 ince. I found infinite difficulty, however, in arriving at 
 any precise information. In seeking to dig up one fact, it 
 is incredible the number of fables that I unearthed. I 
 will say nothing of the devil's stepping-stones, by which 
 the arch-fiend made his retreat from Connecticut to Long 
 Island, across the Sound ; seeing the subject is likely to 
 be learnedly treated by a worthy friend and contempo- 
 rary historian whom I have furnished with particulars 
 thereof.* Neither will I say anything of the black man 
 in the three-cornered hat, seated in the stern of a jolly- 
 boat, who used to be seen about Hell-gate in stormy 
 weather, and who went by the name of the pirate's 
 spuke, (i. e. pirate's ghost,) and whom, it is said, old Gov- 
 ernor Stuy vesant once shot with a silver bullet ; be- 
 cause I never could meet with any person of stanch cred- 
 
 * For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil and his 
 Stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir read before the New York His- 
 torical Society, since the death of Mr. Knickerbocker, by his friend, an 
 eminent jurist of the place. 
 
BELL-GATE. 439 
 
 ibility who professed to have seen this spectrum, unless 
 it were the widow of Manus Conklen, the blacksmith, of 
 Frogsneck ; but then, poor woman, she was a little pur- 
 blind, and might have been mistaken ; though they say 
 she saw farther than other folks in the dark. 
 
 All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard 
 to the tales of pirates and their buried money, about 
 which I was most curious ; and the following is all that I 
 could, for a long time, collect, that had anything like an 
 air of authenticity. 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE. 
 
 N old times, just after the territory of the 
 New Netherlands had been wrested from the 
 hands of their High Mightinesses, the Lords 
 States-General of Holland, by King Charles the Second, 
 and while it was as yet in an unquiet state, the province 
 was a great resort of random adventurers, loose livers, 
 and all that class of hap-hazard fellows who live by their 
 wits, and dislike the old-fashioned restraint of law and 
 gospel. Among these, the foremost were the buccaneers. 
 These were rovers of the deep, who perhaps in time of 
 war had been educated in those schools of piracy, the 
 privateers ; but having once tasted the sweets of plun- 
 der, had ever retained a hankering after it. There is but 
 a slight step from the privateersman to the pirate ; both 
 fight for the love of plunder ; only that the latter is 
 the bravest, as he dares both the enemy and the gal- 
 lows. 
 
 But in whatever school they had been taught, the buc- 
 caneers that kept about the English colonies were dar- 
 ing fellows, and made sad work in times of peace among 
 the Spanish settlements and Spanish merchantmen. 
 
 440 
 
KIDD THE PIE ATE. 441 
 
 The easy access to the harbor of the Manhattoes, the 
 number of hiding-places about its waters, and the laxity 
 of its scarcely organized government, made it a great 
 rendezvous of the pirates ; where they might dispose of 
 their booty, and concert new depredations. As they 
 brought home with them wealthy lading of ail kinds, the 
 luxuries of the tropics, and the sumptuous spoils of the 
 Spanish provinces, and disposed of them with the pro- 
 verbial carelessness of freebooters, they were welcome 
 visitors to the thrifty traders of the Manhattoes. Crews 
 of these desperadoes, therefore, the runagates of every 
 country and every clime, might be seen swaggering in 
 open day about the streets of the little burgh, elbowing 
 its quiet mynheers ; trafficking away their rich outland- 
 ish plunder at half or quarter price to the wary mer- 
 chant; and then squandering their prize-money in tav- 
 erns, drinking, gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, 
 and astounding the neighborhood with midnight brawl 
 and ruffian revelry. 
 
 At length these excesses rose to such a height as to 
 become a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for 
 the interposition of government. Measures were accord- 
 ingly taken to put a stop to the widely extended evil, and 
 to ferret this vermin brood out of the colonies. 
 
 Among the agents employed to execute this purpose 
 was the notorious Captain Kidd. He had long been an 
 equivocal character ; one of those nondescript animals 
 of the ocean that are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He 
 
442 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 was somewhat of a trader, something more of a smug- 
 gler, with a considerable dash of the picaroon. He had 
 traded for many years among the pirates, in a little 
 rakish mosquito-built vessel, that could run into all 
 kinds of waters. He knew all their haunts and lurking- 
 places ; was always hooking about on mysterious voy- 
 ages, and was as busy as a Mother Cary's chicken in a 
 storm. 
 
 This nondescript personage was pitched upon by gov- 
 ernment as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, 
 upon the good old maxim of " setting a rogue to catch a 
 rogue " ; or as otters are sometimes used to catch their 
 cousins-german, the fish. 
 
 Kicld accordingly sailed for New York, in 1695, in a 
 gallant vessel called the Adventure Galley, well armed 
 and duly commissioned. On arriving at his old haunts, 
 however, he shipped his crew on new terms ; enlisted a 
 number of his old comrades, lads of the knife and the 
 pistol ; and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruis- 
 ing against pirates, he turned pirate himself ; steered to 
 the Madeiras, to Bonavista, and Madagascar, and cruised 
 about the entrance of the Red Sea. Here, among other 
 maritime robberies, he captured a rich Quedah mer- 
 chantman, manned by Moors, though commanded by an 
 Englishman. Kicld would fain have passed this off for a 
 worthy exploit, as being a kind of crusade against the 
 infidels ; but government had long since lost all relish 
 for such Christian triumphs. 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE. 443 
 
 After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, and 
 changing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to' 
 return to Boston, laden with booty, with a crew of swag- 
 gering companions at his heels. 
 
 Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could 
 no longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity. 
 The new Governor, Lord Bellamont, had signalized him- 
 self by his zeal in extirpating these offenders ; and was 
 doubly exasperated against Kidd, having been instru- 
 mental in appointing him to the trust which he had be- 
 trayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show himself in 
 Boston, than the alarm was given of his reappearance, 
 and measures were taken to arrest this cutpurse of the 
 ocean. The daring character which Kidd had acquired, 
 however, and the desperate fellows who followed like 
 bull-dogs at his heels, caused a little delay in his arrest. 
 He took advantage of this, it is said, to bury the greater 
 part of his treasures, and then carried a high head about 
 the streets of Boston. He even attempted to defend 
 himself when arrested, but was secured and thrown into 
 prison, with his followers. Such was the formidable 
 character of this pirate and his crew, that it was thought 
 advisable to dispatch a frigate to bring them to England. 
 Great exertions were made to screen him from justice, 
 but in vain ; he and his comrades were tried, condemned, 
 and hanged at Execution Dock in London. Kidd died 
 hard, for the rope with which he was first tied up 
 broke with his weight, and he tumbled to the ground. 
 
444 TALES OF A TRA VELLEB. 
 
 He was tied up a second time, and more effectually; 
 hence came, doubtless, the story of Kidd's having a 
 charmed life, and that he had to be twice hanged. 
 
 Such is the main outline of Kidd's history; but it 
 has given birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. 
 The report of his having buried great treasures of gold 
 and jewels before his arrest, set the brains of all the 
 good people along the coast in a ferment. There were 
 rumors on rumors of great sums of money found here 
 and there, sometimes in one part of the country, some- 
 times in another ; of coins with Moorish inscriptions, 
 doubtless the spoils of his eastern prizes, but which 
 the common people looked upon with superstitious awe, 
 regarding the Moorish letters as diabolical or magical 
 characters. 
 
 Some reported the treasure to have been buried in 
 solitary, unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape 
 Cod ; but by degrees various other parts, not only on 
 the eastern coast, but along the shores of the Sound, 
 and even of Manhattan and Long Island, were gilded 
 by these rumors. In fact, the rigorous measures of Lord 
 Bellamont spread sudden consternation among the > uc- 
 caneers in every part of the provinces : they secreted 
 their money and jewels in lonely out-of-the-way places, 
 about the wild shores of the rivers and sea-coast, and 
 dispersed themselves over the face of thecountry. The 
 hand of justice prevented many of them from ever return- 
 ing to regain their buried treasures, which remained, and 
 
K1DD THE PIRATE. 445 
 
 remain probably to this day, objects of enterprise for the 
 money-digger. 
 
 This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees 
 and rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indi- 
 cate the spots where treasures lay hidden ; and many 
 have been the ransackings after the pirate's booty. In 
 all the stories which once abounded of these enterprises 
 the devil played a conspicuous part. Either he was 
 conciliated by ceremonies and invocations, or some sol- 
 emn compact was made with him. Still he was ever 
 prone to play the money-diggers some slippery trick. 
 Some would dig so far as to come to an iron chest, 
 when some baffling circumstance was sure to take place. 
 Either the earth would fall in and fill up the pit, or 
 some direful noise or apparition would frighten the 
 party from the place : sometimes the devil himself 
 would appear, and bear off the prize when within their 
 very grasp ; and if they revisited the place the next day, 
 not a trace would be found of their labors of the preced- 
 ing night. 
 
 All these rumors, however, were extremely vague, and 
 for a long time tantalized, without gratifying, my curios- 
 ity. There is nothing in this world so hard to get at as 
 truth, and there is nothing in this world but truth that I 
 care for. I sought among all my favorite sources of au- 
 thentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and particu- 
 larly the old Dutch wives of the province ; but though I 
 flatter myself that I am better versed than most men in 
 
446 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 the curious history of my native province, yet for a long 
 time my inquiries were unattended with any substan- 
 tial result. 
 
 At length it happened that, one calm day in the latter 
 part of summer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of 
 severe study, by a day's amusement in fishing in those 
 waters which had been the favorite resort of my boy- 
 hood. I was in company with several worthy burghers 
 of my native city, among whom were more than one illus- 
 trious member of the corporation, whose names, did I 
 dare to mention them, would do honor to my humble 
 page. Our sport was indifferent. The fish did not bite 
 freely, and we frequently changed our fishing-ground 
 without bettering our luck. We were at length anchored 
 ?lose under a ledge of rocky coast, on the eastern side of 
 the island of Manhatta. It was a still, warm day. The 
 stream whirled and dimpled by us, without a wave or 
 even a ripple ; and everything was so calm and quiet, 
 that it was almost startling when the kingfisher would 
 pitch himself from the branch of some high tree, and 
 after suspending himself for a moment in the air, to take 
 his aim, would souse into the smooth water after his 
 prey. While we were lolling in our boat, half drowsy 
 with the warm stillness of the day, and the dulness of 
 our sport, one of our party, a worthy alderman, was over- 
 taken by a slumber, and, as he dozed, suffered the sinker 
 of his drop-line to lie upon the bottom of the river. On 
 waking, he found he had caught something of importance 
 
KIDD THE PIRATE. 447 
 
 from the weight. On drawing it to the surface, we were 
 much surprised to find it a long pistol of very curious 
 and outlandish fashion, which, from its rusted condition, 
 and its stock being worm-eaten and covered with barna- 
 cles, appeared to have lain a long time under water. The 
 unexpected appearance of this document of warfare occa- 
 sioned much speculation among my pacific companions. 
 One supposed it to have fallen there during the revolu- 
 tionary war ; another, from the peculiarity of its fashion, 
 attributed it to the voyagers in the earliest days of the 
 settlement ; perchance to the renowned Adriaen Block, 
 who explored the Sound, and discovered Block Island, 
 since so noted for its cheese. But a third, after regard- 
 ing it for some time, pronounced it to be of veritable 
 Spanish workmanship. 
 
 "I'll warrant," said he, "if this pistol could talk, it 
 would tell strange stories of hard fights among the 
 Spanish Dons. I've no doubt but it is a relic of the 
 buccaneers of old times, — who knows but it belonged to 
 Kidd himself?" 
 
 "Ah! that Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried an old 
 iron-faced Cape-Cod whaler. — "There's a fine old song 
 about him, all to the tune of — 
 
 My name is Captain Kidd, 
 As 1 sailed, as I sailed ; — 
 
 and then it tells about how he gained the devil's good 
 graces by burying the Bible : — 
 
448 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 I'd a Bible in my hand. 
 
 As I sailed, as I sailed, 
 And I sunk it in the sand, 
 
 As I sailed. — 
 
 "Odsfish, if I thought this pistol had belonged to 
 Kidd, I should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake. 
 By the way, I recollect a story about a fellow who once 
 dug up Kidd's buried money, which was written by a 
 neighbor of mine, and which I learnt by heart. As the 
 fish don't bite just now, I'll tell it to you, by way of pass- 
 ing away the time." — And so saying, he gave us the fol- 
 lowing narration. 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 
 
 FEW miles from Boston in Massachusetts, 
 there is a deep inlet, winding several miles 
 into the interior of the country from Charles 
 Bay, and terminating in a thickly-wooded swamp or 
 morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful dark 
 grove ; on the opposite side the land rises abruptly from 
 the water's edge into a high ridge, on which grow a few 
 scattered oaks of great age and immense size. Under 
 one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, there 
 was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the 
 pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money 
 in a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the 
 hill ; the elevation of the place permitted a good look- 
 out to be kept that no one was at hand; while the 
 remarkable trees formed good landmarks by which the 
 place might easily be found again. The old stories add, 
 moreover, that the devil presided at the hiding of the 
 money, and took it under his guardianship ; but this, it 
 is well known, he always does with buried treasure, par- 
 ticularly when it has been ill-gotten. Be that as it may, 
 
 Kidd never returned to recover his wealth ; being shortly 
 39 449 
 
450 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 after seized at Boston, sent out to England, and there 
 hanged for a pirate. 
 
 About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes 
 were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall 
 sinners down upon their knees, there lived near this 
 place a meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom 
 Walker. He had a wife as miserly as himself : they 
 were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each 
 other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she 
 hid away ; a hen could not cackle but she was on the 
 alert to secure the new-laid egg. Her husband was con- 
 tinually prying about to detect her secret hoards, and 
 many and fierce were the conflicts that took place about 
 what ought to have been common property. They lived 
 in a forlorn-looking house that stood alone, and had an 
 air of starvation. A few straggling savin-trees, emblems 
 of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever curled from its 
 chimney ; no traveller stopped at its door. A miserable 
 horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars of a 
 gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin carpet of 
 moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of pudding- 
 stone, tantalized and balked his hunger ; and sometimes 
 he would lean his head over the fence, look piteously at 
 the passer-by, and seem to petition deliverance from this 
 land of famine. 
 
 The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. 
 Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud 
 of tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 45I 
 
 in worcly warfare with her husband ; and his face some- 
 times showed signs that their conflicts were not confined 
 to words. No one ventured, however, to interfere be- 
 tween them. The lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself 
 at the horrid clamor and clapper-clawing ; eyed the den 
 of discord askance ; and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if 
 a bachelor, in his celibacy. 
 
 One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part 
 of the neighborhood, he took what he considered a short 
 cut homeward, through the swamp. Like most short 
 cuts, it was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly 
 grown with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of 
 them ninety feet high, which made it dark at noonday, 
 and a retreat for all the owls of the neighborhood. It 
 was full of pits and quagmires, partly covered with 
 weeds and mosses, where the green surface often be- 
 trayed the traveller into a gulf of black, smothering 
 mud : there were also dark and stagnant pools, the 
 abodes of the tadpole, the bull-frog, and the water- 
 snake ; where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay 
 half-drowned, half-rotting, looking like alligators sleep- 
 ing in the mire. 
 
 Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through 
 this treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft to tuft of 
 rushes and roots, which afforded precarious footholds 
 among deep sloughs ; or pacing carefully, like a cat, 
 along the prostrate trunks of trees ; startled now and 
 then by the sudden screaming of the bittern, or the 
 
452 TALES OF A TRA V ELL Eh. 
 
 quacking of a wild duck rising on the wing from some 
 solitary pool At length he arrived at a firm piece of 
 ground, which ran out like a peninsula into the deep 
 bosom of the swamp. It had been one of the strongholds 
 of the Indians during their wars with the first colonists. 
 Here they had thrown up a kind of fort, which they had 
 looked upon as almost impregnable, and had used as a 
 place of refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing 
 remained of the old Indian fort but a few embankments, 
 gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding earth, 
 and already overgrown in part by oaks and other forest 
 trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to the dark 
 pines and hemlocks of the swamp. 
 
 It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker 
 reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest 
 himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling to 
 linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common 
 people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed 
 down from the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- 
 serted that the savages held incantations here, and made 
 sacrifices to the evil spirit. 
 
 Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled 
 with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some 
 time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the 
 boding cry of the tree-toad, and delving with his walk- 
 ing-staff into a mound of black mould at his feet. As he 
 turned up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against 
 something hard. He raked it out of the vegetable 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 453 
 
 mould, and lo ! a cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk 
 buried deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the 
 weapon showed the time that had elapsed since this 
 death-blow had been given. It was a dreary memento of 
 the fierce struggle that had taken place in this last foot- 
 hold of the Indian warriors. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to 
 shake the dirt from it. 
 
 " Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. Tom lifted 
 up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly 
 opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceed- 
 ingly surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one 
 approach ; and he was still more perplexed on observ- 
 ing, as well as the gathering gloom would permit, that 
 the stranger was neither negro nor Indian. It is true he 
 was dressed in a rude half Indian garb, and had a red 
 belt or sash swathed round his body ; but his face was 
 neither black nor copper-color, but swarthy and dingy, 
 and begrimed with soot, as if he had been accustomed to 
 toil among fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse 
 black hair, that stood out from his head in all directions, 
 and bore an axe on his shoulder. 
 
 He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great 
 red eyes. 
 
 " What are you doing on my grounds? " said the black 
 man, with a hoarse growling voice. 
 
 " Your grounds ! " said Tom, with a sneer, " no more 
 your grounds than mine ; they belong to Deacon Peabody." 
 
454 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " Deacon Peabody be d d," said the stranger, "as 
 
 I flatter myself lie will be, if he does not look more to 
 his own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look 
 yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring." 
 
 Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, 
 and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing 
 without, but rotten at the core, and saw that it had been 
 nearly hewn through, so that the first high wind was 
 likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was 
 scored the name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, 
 who had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains 
 with the Indians. He now looked around, and found 
 most of the tall trees marked with the name of some 
 great man of the colony, and all more or less scored by 
 the axe. The one on which he had been seated, and 
 which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the name 
 of Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich man 
 of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth, 
 which it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneer- 
 ing. 
 
 " He's just ready for burning ! " said the black man, 
 with a growl of triumph. " You see I am likely to have 
 a good stock of firewood for winter." 
 
 "But what right have you," said Tom, "to cut down 
 Deacon Peabody's timber? " 
 
 " The right of a prior claim," said the other. " This 
 woodland belonged to me long before one of youi white- 
 faced race put foot apon the soil." 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 455 
 
 ,e And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold? ' said 
 Tom. 
 
 " Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild hunts- 
 man in some countries ; the black miner in others. In 
 this neighborhood I am known by the name of the black 
 woodsman. I am he to whom the red men consecrated 
 this spot, and in honor of whom they now and then 
 roasted a white man, by way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. 
 Since the red men have been exterminated by you white 
 savages, I amuse myself by presiding at the persecutions 
 of Quakers and Anabaptists ; I am the great patron and 
 prompter of slave -dealers, and the grand-master of the 
 Salem witches." 
 
 "The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake not," 
 said Tom, sturdily, "you are he commonly called Old 
 Scratch." 
 
 "The same, at your service!" replied the black man, 
 with a half civil nod. 
 
 Such was the opening of this interview, according to 
 the old story; though it has almost too familiar an air to 
 be credited. One would think that to meet with such a 
 singular personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have 
 shaken any man's nerves; but Tom was a hard-minded 
 fellow, not easily daunted, and he had lived so long with 
 a termagant wife, that he did not even fear the devil. 
 
 It is said that after this commencement they had a 
 long and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned 
 homeward. The black man told him of great sums of 
 
456 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 money buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak-trees on 
 the high ridge, not far from the morass. All these were 
 under his command, and protected by his power, so that 
 none could find them but such as propitiated his favor. 
 These he offered to place within Tom Walker's reach, 
 having conceived an especial kindness for him ; but they 
 were to be had only on certain conditions. What these 
 conditions were may be easily surmised, though Tom 
 never disclosed them publicly. They must have been 
 very hard, for he required time to think of them, and he 
 was not a man to stick at trifles when money was in view. 
 When they had reached the edge of the swamp, the 
 stranger paused. "What proof have I that all you have 
 been telling me is true?" said Tom. "There's my signa- 
 ture," said the black man, pressing his finger on Tom's 
 forehead. So saying, he turned off among the thickets of 
 the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, 
 down, into the earth, until nothing but his head and 
 shoulders could be seen, and so on, until he totally dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 When Tom reached home, he found the black print of 
 a finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which 
 nothing could obliterate. 
 
 The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden 
 death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It 
 was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that 
 "A great man had fallen in Israel." 
 
 Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 457 
 
 just hewn down, and which was ready for burning. "Let 
 the freebooter roast," said Tom, "who cares!" He now 
 felt convinced that all he had heard and seen was no 
 illusion. 
 
 He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; 
 but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it 
 with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention 
 of hidden gold, and she urged her husband to comply 
 with the black man's terms, and secure what would make 
 them wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt 
 disposed to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined 
 not to do so to oblige his wife ; so he flatly refused, out 
 of the mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter 
 were the quarrels they had on the subject; but the more 
 she talked, the more resolute was Tom not to be damned 
 to please her. 
 
 At length she determined to drive the bargain on her 
 own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to 
 herself. Being of the same fearless temper as her hus- 
 band, she set off for the old Indian fort towards the close 
 of a summer's day. She was many hours absent. When 
 she came back, she was reserved and sullen in her re- 
 plies. She spoke something of a black man, whom she 
 had met abou* twilight hewing at the root of a tall tree. 
 He was sulky, however, and would not come to terms : 
 she was to go again with a propitiatory offering, but what 
 it was she forbore to say. 
 
 The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with 
 
458 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, 
 but in vain j midnight came, but she did not make her 
 appearance : morning, noon, night returned, but still she 
 did not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, es- 
 pecially as he found she had carried off in her apron the 
 silver tea-pot and spoons, and every portable article of 
 value. Another night elapsed, another morning came ; 
 but no wife. In a word, she was never heard of more. 
 
 What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence 
 of so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts 
 which have become confounded by a variety of historians. 
 Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled 
 mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough ; 
 others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped 
 with the household booty, and made off to some other 
 province ; while others surmised that the tempter had 
 decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which 
 her hat was found lying. In confirmation of this, it 
 was said a great black man, with an axe on his shoulder, 
 was seen late that very evening coming out of the swamp, 
 carrying a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air of 
 surly triumph. 
 
 The most current and probable story, however, ob- 
 serves, that Tom "Walker grew so anxious about the fate 
 of his wife and his property, that he set out at length 
 to seek them both at the Indian fort. During a long 
 summer's afternoon he searched about the gloomy place, 
 but no wife was to be seen. He called her name repeat- 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 459 
 
 edly, but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern 
 alone responded to his voice, as he flew screaming by ; or 
 the bull-frog croaked dolefully from a neighboring pool. 
 At length, it is said, just in the brown hour of twilight, 
 when the owls began to hoot, and the bats to flit about, 
 his attention was attracted by the clamor of carrion crows 
 hovering about a cypress-tree. He looked up, and be- 
 held a bundle tied in a check apron, and hanging in the 
 branches of the tree, with a great vulture perched hard 
 by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped with joy ; for 
 he recognized his wife's apron, and supposed it to con- 
 tain the household valuables. 
 
 " Let us get hold of the property," said he, consol- 
 ingly to himself, "and we will endeavor to do without 
 the woman." 
 
 As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its 
 wide wings, and sailed off, screaming, into the deep 
 shadows of the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, 
 but, woful sight ! found nothing but a heart and liver 
 tied up in it ! 
 
 Such, according to this most authentic old story, was 
 all that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had prob- 
 ably attempted to deal with the black man as she had 
 been accustomed to deal with her husband ; but though 
 a female scold is generally considered a match for the 
 devil, yet in this instance she appears to have had the 
 worst of it. She must have died game, however ; for it 
 is said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply 
 
460 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 stamped about the tree, and found handfuls of hair, that 
 looked as if they had been plucked from the coarse black 
 shock of the woodman. Tom knew his wife's prow- 
 ess by experience. He shrugged his shoulders, as he 
 looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing. "Egad," 
 said he to himself, " Old Scratch must have had a tough 
 time of it ! " 
 
 Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with 
 the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He 
 even felt something like gratitude towards the black 
 woodman, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. 
 He sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance 
 with him, but for some time without success ; the old 
 black-legs played shy, for whatever people may think, he 
 is not always to be had for calling for : he knows how to 
 play his cards when pretty sure of his game. 
 
 At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's 
 eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to 
 anything rather than not gain the promised treasure, he 
 met the black man one evening in his usual woodman's 
 dress, with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the 
 swamp, and humming a tune. He affected to receive 
 Tom's advances with great indifference, made brief re- 
 plies, and went on humming his tune. 
 
 By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, 
 and they began to haggle about the terms on which the 
 former was to have the pirate's treasure. There was one 
 condition which need not be mentioned, being generally 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 461 
 
 understood in all cases where the devil grants favors ; 
 but there were others about which, though of less im- 
 portance, he was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that 
 the money found through his means should be employed 
 in his service. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should 
 employ it in the black traffic; that is to say, that he 
 should fit out a slave-ship. This, however, Tom reso- 
 lutely refused : he was bad enough in all conscience ; but 
 the devil himself could not tempt him to turn slave- 
 trader. 
 
 Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not 
 insist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn 
 usurer ; the devil being extremely anxious for the in- 
 crease of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar 
 people. 
 
 To this no objections were made, for it was just to 
 Tom's taste. 
 
 " You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next 
 month," said the black man. 
 
 " I'll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 
 
 " You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." 
 
 " Egad, I'll charge four! " replied Tom Walker. 
 
 " You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive 
 the merchants to bankruptcy " 
 
 " I'll drive them to the d 1," cried Tom Walker. 
 
 " You are the usurer for my money ! " said black -legs 
 with delight. " When will you want the rhino ? " 
 
 "This very night." 
 
462 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 " Done ! " said the devil. 
 
 " Done ! " said Tom Walker. — So they shook hand? 
 and struck a bargain. 
 
 A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his 
 desk in a counting-house in Boston. 
 
 His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who would 
 lend money out for a good consideration, soon spread 
 abroad. Everybody remembers the time of Governor 
 Belcher, when money was particularly scarce. It was a 
 time of paper credit. The country had been deluged 
 with government bills, the famous Land Bank had been 
 established ; there had been a rage for speculating ; the 
 people had run mad with schemes for new settlements ; 
 for building cities in the wilderness ; land-jobbers went 
 about with maps of grants, and townships, and Eldora- 
 dos, lying nobody knew where, but which everybody was 
 ready to purchase. In a word, the great speculating 
 fever which breaks out every now and then in the coun- 
 try, had raged to an alarming degree, and everybody was 
 dreaming of making sudden fortunes from nothing. As 
 usual the fever had subsided ; the dream had gone off, 
 and the imaginary fortunes with it ; the patients were 
 left in doleful plight, and the whole country resounded 
 with the consequent cry of " hard times." 
 
 At this propitious time of public distress did Tom 
 Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon 
 thronged by customers. The needy and adventurous: 
 the gambling speculator ; the dreaming land-jobber ; 
 
TEE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 463 
 
 the thriftless tradesman ; the merchant with cracked 
 credit ; in short, every one driven to raise money by 
 desperate means and desperate sacrifices, hurried to Tom 
 Walker. 
 
 Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and 
 acted like a " friend in need " ; that is to say, he always 
 exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to 
 the distress of the applicant was the hardness of his 
 terms. He accumulated bonds and mortgages ; gradu- 
 ally squeezed his customers closer and closer : and sent 
 them at length, dry as a sponge, from his door. 
 
 In this way he made money hand over hand ; became a 
 rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon 
 'Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out 
 of ostentation ; but left the greater part of it unfinished 
 and unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set "up a 
 carriage in the fulness of his vainglory, though he 
 nearly starved the horses which drew it ; and as the 
 nngreased wheels groaned and screeched on the axle- 
 trees, you would have thought you heard the souls of the 
 poor debtors he was squeezing. 
 
 As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. 
 Having secured the good things of this world, he began 
 to feel anxious about those of the next. He thought with 
 regret on the bargain he had made with his black friend, 
 and set his wits to work to cheat him out of the condi- 
 tions. He became, therefore, all of a sudden, a violent 
 church-goer. He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if 
 
464 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 heaven were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one 
 might always tell when he had sinned most during the 
 week, by the clamor of his Sunday devotion. The quiet 
 Christians who had been modestly and steadfastly travel- 
 ling Zionward, were struck with self-reproach at seeing 
 themselves so suddenly outstripped in their career by 
 this new-made convert. Tom was as rigid in religious 
 as in money matters ; he was a stern supervisor and cen- 
 surer of his neighbors, and seemed to think every sin 
 entered up to their account became a credit on his own 
 side of the page. He even talked of the expediency of 
 reviving the persecution of Quakers and Anabaptists. In 
 a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious as his riches. 
 
 Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, 
 Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would 
 have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, 
 therefore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in 
 his coat-pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his 
 counting-house desk, and would frequently be found read- 
 ing it when people called on business ; on such occasions 
 he would lay his green spectacles in the book, to mark 
 the place, while he turned round to drive some usurious 
 bargain. 
 
 Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his 
 old days, and that, fancying his end approaching, he had 
 his horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with 
 his feet uppermost ; because he supposed that at the last 
 day the world would be turned upside down ; in which 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 4(35 
 
 case he should find his horse standing ready for mount- 
 ing, and he was determined at the worst to give his old 
 friend a run for it This, however, is probably a mere 
 old wives' fable. If he really did take such a precaution, 
 it was totally superfluous ; at least so says the authen- 
 tic old legend; which closes his story in the following 
 manner. 
 
 One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, just as 
 a terrible black thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat 
 in his counting-house, in his white linen cap and India 
 silk morning-gown. He was on the point of foreclosing 
 a mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin of an 
 unlucky land-speculator for whom he had professed the 
 greatest friendship. The poor land-jobber begged him 
 to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy 
 and irritated, and refused another day. 
 
 " My family will be ruined, and brought upon the par- 
 ish," said the land-jobber. " Charity begins at home," 
 replied Tom ; " I must take care of myself in these hard 
 times." 
 
 " You have made so much money out of me," said the 
 speculator. 
 
 Tom lost his patience and his piety. " The devil take 
 me," said he, " if I have made a farthing ! " 
 
 Just then there were three loud knocks at the street- 
 door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black 
 man was holding a black horse, which neighed and 
 stamped with impatience, 
 30 
 
£66 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 " Tom, you're come for," said the black fellow, gruffly. 
 Tom shrank back, but too late. He had left his little 
 Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible 
 on the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to 
 foreclose : never was sinner taken more unawares. The 
 black man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave 
 the horse the lash, and away he galloped, with Tom on 
 his back, in the midst of the thunder-storm. The clerks 
 stuck their pens behind their ears, and stared after him 
 from the windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing 
 down the streets ; his white cap bobbing up and down ; 
 his morning-gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed 
 striking fire out of the pavement at every bound. When 
 the clerks turned to look for the black man, he had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. 
 A countryman, who lived on the border of the swamp, re- 
 ported that in the height of the thunder-gust he had 
 heard a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the 
 road, and running to the window caught sight of a figure, 
 such as I have described, on a horse that galloped like 
 mad across the fields, over the hills, and down into the 
 black hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort ; and 
 that shortly after a thunder-bolt falling in that direction 
 seemed to set the whole forest in a blaze. 
 
 The good people of Boston shook their heads and 
 shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much accus- 
 tomed to witches and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER, 467 
 
 all kinds of shapes, from the first settlement of the col- 
 ony, that they were not so much horror-struck as might 
 have been expected. Trustees were appointed to take 
 charge of Tom's effects. There was nothing, however, to 
 administer upon. On searching his coffers, all his bonds 
 and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In place 
 of gold and silver, his iron chest was filled with chips 
 and shavings ; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of 
 his half-starved horses, and the very next day his great 
 house took fire and was burnt to the ground. 
 
 Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten 
 wealth. Let all griping money -brokers lay this story 
 to heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The 
 very hole under the oak-trees, whence he dug Kidd's 
 money, is to be seen to this day ; and the neighboring 
 swamp and old Indian fort are often haunted in stormy 
 nights by a figure on horseback, in morning-gown and 
 white cap, which is doubtless the troubled spirit of the 
 usurer. In fact, the story has resolved itself into a 
 proverb, and is the origin of that popular saying, so prev- 
 alent throughout New England, of " The Devil and Tom 
 Walker." 
 
 h 
 Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the purport of 
 
 the tale told by the Cape-Cod whaler. There were di- 
 vers trivial particulars which I have omitted, and which 
 whiled away the morning very pleasantly, until the time 
 of tide favorable to fishing being passed, it was proposed 
 
468 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 to land, and refresh ourselves under the trees, till the 
 noontide heat should have abated. 
 
 "We accordingly landed on a delectable part of the 
 island of Manhatta, in that shady and embowered tract 
 formerly under the domain of the ancient family of the 
 Hardenbrooks. It was a spot well known to me in the 
 course of the aquatic expeditions of my boyhood. Not 
 far from where we landed there was an old Dutch family 
 vault, constructed in the side of a bank, which had been 
 an object of great awe and fable among my schoolboy 
 associates. We had peeped into it during one of our 
 coasting voyages, and been startled by the sight of 
 mouldering coffins and musty bones within; but what 
 had given it the most fearful interest in our eyes, was its 
 being in some way connected with the pirate wreck 
 which lay rotting among the rocks of Hell-gate. There 
 were stories also of smuggling connected with it, particu- 
 larly relating to a time when this retired spot was owned 
 by a noted burgher, called Eeady Money Provost ; a man 
 of whom it was whispered that he had many mysterious 
 dealings with parts beyond the seas. All these things, 
 however, had been jumbled together in our minds in that 
 vague way in which such themes are mingled up in the 
 tales of boyhood. 
 
 While I was pondering upon these matters, my com- 
 panions had spread a repast, from the contents of our 
 well-stored pannier, under a broad chestnut, on the green- 
 sward which swept down to the water's edge. Here we 
 
THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 469 
 
 solaced ourselves on the cool grassy carpet during the 
 warm sunny hours of mid-day. While lolling on the 
 grass, indulging in that kind of musing reverie of which 
 I am fond, I summoned up the dusky recollections of my 
 boyhood respecting this place, and repeated them like 
 the imperfectly remembered traces of a dream, for the 
 amusement of my companions. When I had finished, a 
 worthy old burgher, John Josse Yandermoere, the same 
 who once related to me the adventures of Dolph Hey- 
 liger, broke silence, and observed, that he recollected a 
 story of money - digging, which occurred in this very 
 neighborhood, and might account for some of the tradi- 
 tions which I had heard in my boyhood. As we knew 
 him to be one of the most authentic narrators in the 
 province, we begged him to let us have the particulars, 
 and accordingly, while we solaced ourselves with a clean 
 long pipe of Blase Moore's best tobacco, the authentic 
 John Josse Yandermoere related the following tale. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 
 
 N the year of grace one thousand seven hundred 
 and — blank — for I do not remember the precise 
 date ; however, it was somewhere in the early 
 part of the last century, there lived in the ancient city of 
 the Manhattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber by 
 name. He was descended from old Cobus Webber of the 
 Brill in Holland, one of the original settlers, famous for 
 introducing the cultivation of cabbages, and who came 
 over to the province during the protectorship of Oloffe 
 Van Kortlandt, otherwise called the Dreamer. 
 
 The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself 
 and his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, 
 who continued in the same line of husbandry, with that 
 praiseworthy perseverance for which our Dutch burghers 
 are noted. The whole family genius, during several 
 generations, was devoted to the study and development 
 of this one noble vegetable ; and to this concentration 
 of intellect may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious 
 renown to which the Webber cabbages attained. 
 
 The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted suc- 
 cession ; and never did a line give more unquestionable 
 
 470 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 471 
 
 proofs of legitimacy. The eldest son succeeded to the 
 looks, as well as the territory of his sire; and had the 
 portraits of this line of tranquil potentates been taken, 
 they would have presented a row of heads marvellously 
 resembling in shape and magnitude the vegetables over 
 which they reigned. 
 
 The seat of government continued unchanged in the 
 family mansion : — a Dutch-built house, with a front, or 
 rather gable-end of yellow brick, tapering to a point, 
 with the customary iron weathercock at the top. Every- 
 thing about the building bore the air of long-settled ease 
 and security. Flights of martins peopled the little 
 coops nailed against its walls, and swallows built their 
 nests under the eaves ; and every one knows that these 
 house-loving birds bring good luck to the dwelling 
 where they take up their abode. In a bright summer 
 morning in early summer, it was delectable to hear their 
 cheerful notes, as they sported about in the pure sweet 
 air, chirping forth, as it were, the greatness and prosper- 
 ity of the Webbers. 
 
 Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family 
 vegetate under the shade of a mighty button-wood tree, 
 which by little and little grew so great as entirely to 
 overshadow their palace. The city gradually spread its 
 suburbs round their domain. Houses sprang up to in- 
 terrupt their prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity 
 began to grow into the bustle and populousness of 
 streets ; in short, with all the habits of rustic life they 
 
472 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 began to find themselves the inhabitants of a city. Still, 
 however, they maintained their hereditary character, and 
 hereditary possessions, with all the tenacity of petty 
 German princes in the midst of the empire. Wolfert 
 was the last of the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal 
 bench at the door, under the family tree, and swayed the 
 sceptre of his fathers, a kind of rural potentate in the 
 midst of the metropolis. 
 
 To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had 
 taken unto himself a helpmate, one of that excellent kind 
 called stirring women ; that is to say, she was one of 
 those notable little housewives who are always busy 
 where there is nothing to do. Her activity, however, 
 took one particular direction : her whole life seemed de- 
 voted to intense knitting ; whether at home or abroad, 
 walking or sitting, her needles were continually in motion, 
 and it is even affirmed that by her unwearied industry 
 she very nearly supplied her household with stockings 
 throughout the year. This worthy couple were blessed 
 with one daughter, who was brought up with great ten- 
 derness and care ; uncommon pains had been taken 
 with her education, so that she could stitch in every 
 variety of way ; make all kinds of pickles and preserves, 
 and mark her own name on a sampler. The influence of 
 her taste was seen also in the family garden, where the 
 ornamental began to mingle with the useful ; whole rows 
 of fiery marigolds and splendid hollyhocks bordered the 
 cabbage-beds ; and gigantic sunflowers lolled their broad 
 
WOLFERT WEBBEB. 473 
 
 jolly faces over the fences, seeming to ogle most affection - 
 ately the passers-by. 
 
 Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his 
 paternal acres, peacefully and contentedly. Not but that, 
 like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares and 
 vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes 
 caused him annoyance. His little territory gradually be- 
 came hemmed in by streets and houses, which inter- 
 cepted air and sunshine. He was now and then subjected 
 to the irruptions of the border population that infest the 
 streets of a metropolis ; who would make midnight forays 
 into his dominions, and carry off captive whole platoons 
 of his noblest subjects. Yagrant swine would make a 
 descent, too, now and then, when the gate was left open, 
 and lay all waste before them ; and mischievous urchins 
 would decapitate the illustrious sunflowers, the glory of 
 the garden, as they lolled their heads so fondly over the 
 walls. Still all these were petty grievances, which might 
 now and then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a summer 
 breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill-pond ; but they 
 could not disturb the deep-seated quiet of his soul. He 
 would but seize a trusty staff, that stood behind the door, 
 issue suddenly out, and anoint the back of the aggressor, 
 whether pig or urchin, and then return within doors, 
 marvellously refreshed and tranquillized. 
 
 The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, however, 
 was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of 
 living doubled and trebled ; but he could not double and 
 
474 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 treble the magnitude of his cabbages ; and the number of 
 competitors prevented the increase of price ; thus, there- 
 fore, while every one around him grew richer, Wolfert 
 grew poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, per- 
 ceive how the evil was to be remedied. 
 
 This growing care, which increased from day to day, 
 had its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher ; inso- 
 much, that it at length implanted two or three wrinkles 
 in his brow ; things unknown before in the family of the 
 Webbers ; and it seemed to pinch up the corners of his 
 cocked hat into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite 
 to the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low-crowned beavers of 
 his illustrious progenitors. 
 
 Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed 
 the serenity of his mind, had he had only himself and 
 his wife to care for ; but there was his daughter grad- 
 ually growing to maturity ; and all the world knows that 
 when daughters begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower re- 
 quires so much looking after. I have no talent at de- 
 scribing female charms, else fain would I depict the 
 progress of this little Dutch beauty. How her blue eyes 
 grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and 
 redder ; and how she ripened and ripened, and rounded 
 and rounded in the opening breath of sixteen summers, 
 until, in her seventeenth spring, she seemed ready 
 to burst out of her bodice, like a half-blown rose- 
 bud. 
 
 Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she was then, 
 
WOLFERT WEBBEIi. 475 
 
 tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hereditary 
 finery of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which her 
 mother had confided to her the key. The wedding- 
 dress of her grandmother, modernized for use, with 
 sundry ornaments, handed down as heirlooms in the 
 family. Her pale brown hair smoothed with butter- 
 milk in flat waving lines on each side of her fair fore- 
 head. The chain of yellow virgin gold, that encircled 
 her neck : the little cross, that just rested at the en- 
 trance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it would sanc- 
 tify the place. The — but, pooh ! — it is not for an old 
 man like me to be prosing about female beauty ; suffice 
 it to say, Amy had attained her seventeenth year. 
 Long since had her sampler exhibited hearts in couples 
 desperately transfixed with arrows, and true lovers' 
 knots worked in deep blue silk ; and it was evident she 
 began to languish for some more interesting occupation 
 than the rearing of sunflowers or pickling of cucum- 
 bers. 
 
 At this critical period of female existence, when the 
 heart within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the min- 
 iature which hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a 
 single image, a new visitor began to make his appearance 
 under the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk 
 Waldron, the only son of a poor widow, but who could 
 boast of more fathers than any lad in the province ; for 
 his mother had had four husbands, and this only child ; 
 so that though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly 
 
476 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation* 
 This son of four fathers united the merits and the vigor 
 of all his sires. If he had not had a great family before 
 him, he seemed likely to have a great one after him ; for 
 you had only to look at the fresh bucksome youth, to 
 see that he was formed to be the founder of a mighty 
 race. 
 
 This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of 
 the family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled 
 the father's pipe when it was empty, gathered up the 
 mother's knitting-needle, or ball of worsted when it fell to 
 the ground ; stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell 
 cat, and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from 
 the bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. All 
 these quiet little offices may seem of trifling import ; but 
 when true love is translated into Low Dutch, it is in this 
 way that it eloquently expresses itself. They were not 
 lost uj)on the Webber family. The winning youngster 
 found marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother ; the 
 tortoise-shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure of 
 her kind, gave indubitable signs of approbation of his 
 visits ; the tea-kettle seemed to sing out a cheering note 
 of welcome at his apjDroach ; and if the sly glances of the 
 daughter might be rightly read, as she sat bridling and 
 dimpling, and sewing by her mother's side, she was not 
 a whit behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or the tea- 
 kettle, in good- will. 
 
 Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. Pro- 
 
WOLFEBT WEBBER 477 
 
 roundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the city 
 and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing 
 his pipe in silence. One night, however, as the gentle 
 Amy, according to custom, lighted her lover to the 
 outer door, and he, according to custom, took his parting- 
 salute, the smack resounded so vigorously through the 
 long, silent entry, as to startle even the dull ear of Wol- 
 fert. He was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. 
 It had never entered into his head that this mere child, 
 who, as it seemed, but the other day had been climbing 
 about his knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, 
 could all at once be thinking of lovers and matrimony. 
 He rubbed his eyes, examined into the fact, and really 
 found that, while he had been dreaming of other matters, 
 she had actually grown to be a woman, and what was 
 worse, had fallen in love. Here arose new cares for 
 Wolfert. He was a kind father, but he was a prudent 
 man. The young man was a lively, stirring lad ; but 
 then he had neither money nor land. Wolfert's ideas all 
 ran in one channel ; and he saw no alternative in case of 
 a marriage but to portion off the young couple with a 
 corner of his cabbage-garden, the whole of which was 
 barely sufficient for the support of his family. 
 
 Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip 
 this passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the 
 house ; though sorely did it go against his fatherly heart, 
 and many a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of 
 his daughter. She showed herself, however, a pattern 
 
478 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 of filial piety and obedience. She never pouted and 
 sulked ; she never flew in the face of parental authority ; 
 she never flew into a passion, nor fell into hysterics, as 
 many romantic novel-read young ladies would do. Not 
 she, indeed! She was none such heroical rebellious 
 trumpery, I'll warrant ye. On the contrary, she acqui- 
 esced like an obedient daughter, shut the street-door in 
 her lover's face, and if ever she did grant him an inter- 
 view, it was either out of the kitchen-window, or over 
 the garden-fence. 
 
 Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his 
 mind, and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he 
 wended his way one Saturday afternoon to a rural inn, 
 about two miles from the city. It was a favorite re- 
 sort of the Dutch part of the community, from being 
 always held by a Dutch line of landlords, and retaining 
 an air and relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch- 
 built house, that had probably been a country seat of 
 some opulent burgher in the early time of the settlement 
 It stood near a point of land called Corlear's Hook, 
 which stretches out into the Sound, and against which the 
 tide, at its flux and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapid- 
 ity. The venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was 
 distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and syca- 
 mores that seemed to wave a hospitable invitation, while 
 a few weeping willows, with their dank, drooping foliage, 
 resembling falling waters, gave an idea of coolness, that 
 rendered it an attractive spot during the heats of summer 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER, 479 
 
 Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old in- 
 habitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played 
 at shuffle-board and quoits and ninepins, others smoked 
 a deliberate pipe, and talked over public affairs. 
 
 It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert 
 made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows 
 was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rustling ed- 
 dies about the fields. The ninepin alley was deserted, for 
 the premature chilliness of the day had driven the com- 
 pany within doors. As it was Saturday afternoon, the 
 habitual club was in session, composed principally of 
 regular Dutch burghers, though mingled occasionally 
 with persons of various character and country, as is nat- 
 ural in a place of such motley population. 
 
 Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottomed arm- 
 chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the venerable 
 Rem, or, as it was pronounced, Kamm Rapelye. He was 
 a man of Walloon race, and illustrious for the antiquity 
 of his line : his great-grandmother having been the first 
 white child born in the province. But he was still more 
 illustrious for his wealth and dignity : he had long filled 
 the noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom the 
 governor himself took off his hat. He had maintained 
 possession of the leather-bottomed chair from time im- 
 memorial ; and had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat in 
 his seat of government, until in the course of years he 
 filled its whole magnitude. His word was decisive with 
 his subjects \ for he was so rich a man that he was never 
 
480 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 expected to support any opinion by argument. The land- 
 lord waited on him with peculiar officiousness ; not that 
 he paid better than his neighbors, but then the coin of 
 a rich man seems always to be so much more accept- 
 able. The landlord had ever a pleasant word and a joke 
 to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramni. It is true, 
 Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, ever maintained a 
 mastiff-like gravity, and even surliness of aspect ; yet 
 he now and then rewarded mine host with a token of 
 approbation ; which, though nothing more nor less than 
 a kind of grunt, still delighted the landlord more than 
 a broad laugh from a poorer man. 
 
 " This will be a rough night for the money-diggers," 
 said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the 
 house, and rattled at the windows. 
 
 "What! are they at their works again? " said an Eng- 
 lish half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a very fre- 
 quent attendant at the inn. 
 
 " Aye, are they," said the landlord, " and well may they 
 be. They've had luck of late. They say a great pot o\ 
 money has been dug up in the fields, just behind Stuy- 
 vesant's orchard. Folks think it must have been buried 
 there in old times^ by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch gov* 
 ernor." 
 
 "Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man of war, as he added 
 a small portion of water to a bottom of brandy* 
 
 : 'Weli 5 you may believe it or not, as you please," said 
 mine host, somewhat nettled ; " but everybody knows 
 
WOLFE RT WEBBER. ±%\ 
 
 that the old governor buried a great deal of his money 
 at the time of the Dutch troubles, when the English 
 red-coats seized on the province. They say, too, the old 
 gentleman walks ; aye, and in the very same dress that 
 he wears in the picture that hangs up in the family 
 house." 
 
 " Fudge ! " said the half-pay officer. 
 
 " Fudge, if you please ! — But didn't Corney Van Zandt 
 see him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with 
 his wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that 
 flashed like fire? And what can he be walking for, but 
 because people have been troubling the place where he 
 buried his money in old times ? " 
 
 Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural 
 sounds from Bamm Rapelye, betokening that he was 
 laboring with the unusual production of an idea. As he 
 was too great a man to be slighted by a prudent publi- 
 can, mine host respectfully paused until he should deliver 
 himself. The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher 
 now gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on 
 the point of an eruption. First, there was a certain heav- 
 ing of the abdomen, not unlike an earthquake ; then 
 was emitted a cloud of tobacco-smoke from that crater, 
 his mouth ; then there was a kind of rattle in the throat, 
 as if the idea were working its way up through a region 
 of phlagm ; then there were several disjointed members 
 of a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough ; at length 
 bis voice forced its way into a slow, but absolute tone 
 
482 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of a man who feels the weight of his purse, if not of his 
 ideas ; every portion of his speech being marked by a 
 testy puff of tobacco smoke. 
 
 "Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking? — puff- 
 Have people no respect for persons ? — puff — puff — Peter 
 Stuvv^sant knew better what to do with his money than 
 to bury it — puff — I know the Stuyvesant family — puff— 
 every one of them — puff — not a more respectable family 
 in the province — puff — old standards — puff— warm house- 
 holders — puff — none of your upstarts — puff— puff — puff. 
 — Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant's walking — puff — 
 puff— puff— puff." 
 
 Here the redoubtable Ranim contracted his brow, 
 clasped up bis mouth, till it wrinkled at each corner, and 
 redoubled his smoking with such vehemence, that the 
 cloudy volume soon wreathed round his head, as the 
 smoke envelops the awful summit of Mount iEtna. 
 
 A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this 
 very rich man. The subject, however, was too interesting 
 to be readily abandoned. The conversation soon broke 
 forth again from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, the 
 chronicler of the club, one of those prosing, narrative old 
 men who seem to be troubled with an incontinence of 
 words, as they grow old. 
 
 Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an 
 evening as his hearers could digest in a month. He now 
 resumed the conversation, by affirming that, to his knowl- 
 edge, money had, at different times, been digged up in 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 483 
 
 various parts of the island. The lucky persons who 
 had discovered them had always dreamt of them three 
 times beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, those 
 treasures had never been found but by some descendant 
 of the good old Dutch families, which clearly proved 
 that they had been buried by Dutchmen in the olden 
 time. 
 
 " Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen ! " cried the half- 
 pay officer. " The Dutch had nothing to do with them. 
 They were all buried by Kidd the pirate, and his crew." 
 
 Here a key-note was touched that roused the whole 
 company. The name of Captain Kidd was like a talis- 
 man in those times, and was associated with a thousand 
 marvellous stories. 
 
 The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations 
 fathered upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of 
 Morgan, Blackbeard, and the whole list of bloody buc- 
 caneers. 
 
 The officer was a man of great weight among the peace- 
 able members of the club, by reason of his warlike char- 
 acter and gunpowder tales. All his golden stories of 
 Kidd, however, and of the booty he had buried, were 
 obstinately rivalled by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, 
 rather than suffer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed 
 by a foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore in 
 the neighborhood with the hidden wealth of Peter Stuy- 
 vesant and his contemporaries. 
 
 Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert 
 
484 TALES OF A TEA VELLEU. 
 
 "Webber. He returned pensively home, full of magnifi- 
 cent ideas. The soil of his native island seemed to be 
 turned into gold dust ; and every field to teem with treas- 
 ure. His head almost reeled at the thought how often 
 he must have heedlessly rambled over places where 
 countless sums lay, scarcely covered by the turf beneath 
 his feet. His mind was in an uproar with this whirl of 
 new ideas. As he came in sight of the venerable mansion 
 of his forefathers, and the little realm where the Webbers 
 had so long, and so contentedly flourished, his gorge rose 
 at the narrowness of his destiny. 
 
 " Unlucky Wolfert ! " exclaimed he ; " others can go to 
 bed and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth; 
 they have but to seize a spade in the morning, and turn 
 up doubloons like potatoes ; but thou must dream of 
 hardships, and rise to £>overty, — must dig thy field from 
 year's end to year's end, and yet raise nothing but cab- 
 bages ! " 
 
 Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart ; and 
 it was long before the golden visions that disturbed his 
 brain permitted him to sink into repose. The same 
 visions, however, extended into his sleeping thoughts, 
 and assumed a more definite form. He dreamt that he 
 had discovered an immense treasure in the centre of his 
 garden. At every stroke of the spade he laid bare a 
 golden ingot ; diamond crosses sparkled out of the dust ; 
 bags of money turned up their bellies, corpulent with 
 pieces -of- eight, or venerable doubloons; and chests, 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 435 
 
 wedged close with moidores, ducats, and pistareens, 
 yawned before his ravished eyes, and vomited forth their 
 glittering contents. 
 
 Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no 
 heart to go about his daily concerns, which appeared so 
 paltry and profitless ; but sat all day long in the chimney- 
 corner, picturing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in 
 the fire. The next night his dream was repeated. He 
 was again in his garden, digging, and laying open stores 
 of hidden wealth. There was something very singular in 
 this repetition. He passed another day of reverie, and 
 though it was cleaning-day, and the house, as usual in 
 Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat un- 
 moved amidst the general uproar. 
 
 The third night he went to bed with a palpitating 
 heart. He put on his red night-cap wrongside outwards, 
 for good luck. It was deep midnight before his anxious 
 mind could settle itself into sleep. Again the golden 
 dream was repeated, and again he saw his garden teem- 
 ing with ingots and money-bags. 
 
 Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilder- 
 ment. A dream, three times repeated, was never known 
 to lie ; and if so, his fortune was made. 
 
 In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind 
 part before, and this was a corroboration of good luck. 
 He no longer doubted that a huge store of money lay 
 buried somewhere in^his cabbage-field, coyly waiting to 
 be sought for; and he repined at having so long been 
 
486 TALES OF A TBA VELLER. 
 
 scratching about the surface of the soil instead of digging 
 to the centre. 
 
 He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of these 
 sjDeculations ; asked his daughter to put a lump of gold 
 into his tea, and on handing his wife a plate of slap- 
 jacks, begged her to help herself to a doubloon. 
 
 His grand care now was how to secure this immense 
 treasure without its being known. Instead of his work- 
 ing regularly in his grounds in the daytime, he now stole 
 from his bed at night, and with spade and pickaxe went 
 to work to rip up and dig about his paternal acres, from 
 one end to the other. In a little time the whole garden, 
 which had presented such a goodly and regular appear- 
 ance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army 
 in battle array, was reduced to a scene of devastation; 
 while the relentless Wolfert, with night-cap on head, 
 and lantern and spade in hand, stalked through the 
 slaughtered ranks, the destroying angel of his own vege- 
 table world. 
 
 Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the 
 preceding night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, 
 from the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously 
 rooted from their quiet beds like worthless weeds, and 
 left to wither in the sunshine. In vain Wolfert's wife 
 remonstrated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over the 
 destruction of some favorite marigold. " Thou shalt 
 have gold of another guess sort," he would cry, chucking 
 her under the chin ; "thou shalt have a string of crooked 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 487 
 
 ducats for thy wedding necklace, my child." His family 
 began really to fear that the poor man's wits were dis- 
 eased. He muttered in his sleep at night about mines of 
 wealth, about pearls and diamonds, and bars of gold. In 
 the daytime he was moody and abstracted, and walked 
 about as if in a trace. Dame Webber held frequent coun- 
 cils with all the old women of the neighborhood ; scarce 
 an hour in the day but a knot of them might be seen 
 wagging their white caps together round her door, while 
 the poor woman made some piteous recital. The daugh- 
 ter, too, was fain to seek for more frequent consolation 
 from the stolen interviews of her favored swain, Dirk 
 Waldron. The delectable little Dutch songs, with which 
 she used to dulcify the house, grew less and less fre- 
 quent, and she would forget her sewing, and look wist- 
 fully in her father's face as he sat pondering by thfe fire- 
 side. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed on him thus 
 anxiously, and for a moment was roused from his golden 
 reveries. — "Cheer up, my girl," said he, exultingly ; 
 "why dost thou droop? — thou shalt hold up thy head one 
 day with the Brinckerhoffs and the Schermerhorns, the 
 Van Homes, and the Yan Dams. By Saint Nicholas, but 
 the patroon himself shall be glad to get thee for his son!" 
 
 Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and 
 was more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the 
 good man's intellect. 
 
 In the meantime Wolfert went on digging and dig- 
 ging ; but the field was extensive, and as his dream had 
 
488 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 indicated no precise spot, lie had to dig at random. The 
 winter set in before one-tenth of the scene of promise 
 had been explored. 
 
 The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too 
 cold for the labors of the spade. 
 
 No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of 
 spring loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe 
 in the meadows, but Wolfert resumed his labors with 
 renovated zeal. Still, however, the hours of industry 
 were reversed. 
 
 Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and set- 
 ting out his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, 
 until the shades of night summoned him to his secret 
 labors. In this way he continued to dig from night to 
 night, and week to week, and month to month, but not a 
 stiver did he find. On the contrary, the more he digged, 
 the poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden was 
 digged away, and the sand and gravel from beneath was 
 thrown to the surface, until the whole field presented an 
 aspect of sandy barrenness. 
 
 In the meantime, the seasons gradually rolled on. 
 The little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early 
 spring, croaked as bull-frogs during the summer heats, 
 and then sank into silence. The peach-tree budded, 
 blossomed, and bore its fruit. The swallows and mar- 
 tins came, twitted about the roof, built their nests, 
 reared their young, held their congress along the eaves, 
 and then winged their flight in search of another spring. 
 
WOLFEBT WEBBER. 489 
 
 The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet, dangled in it from 
 the great button-wood tree before the house; turned 
 into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of summer, 
 and disappeared ; and finally the leaves of the button- 
 wood tree turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one 
 by one to the ground, and whirling about in little eddies 
 of wind and dust, whispered that winter was at hand. 
 
 Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as 
 the year declined. He had reared no crop for the supply 
 of his household during the sterility of winter. The 
 season was long and severe, and for the first time the 
 family was really straitened in its comforts. By degrees 
 a revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert' s mind, 
 common to those whose golden dreams have been dis- 
 turbed by pinching realities. The idea gradually stole 
 upon him that he should come to want. He already con- 
 sidered himself one of the most unfortunate men in the 
 province, having lost such an incalculable amount of un- 
 discovered treasure, and now, when thousands of pounds 
 had eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings and 
 pence, was cruel in the extreme. 
 
 Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went about 
 with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downwards into 
 the dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men 
 are apt to do when they have nothing else to put into 
 them. He could not even pass the city almshouse with- 
 out giving it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his 
 future abode. 
 
490 TALES OF A TRA VELLm. 
 
 The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks occa- 
 sioned much speculation and remark. For a long time 
 he was suspected of being crazy, and then everybody 
 pitied him ; and at length it began to be suspected that 
 he was poor, and then everybody avoided him. 
 
 The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him 
 outside of the door when he called, entertained him hos- 
 pitably on the threshold, pressed him warmly by the 
 hand at parting, shook their heads as he walked away, 
 with the kind-hearted expression of " poor Wolfert," and 
 turned a corner nimbly if by chance they saw him ap- 
 proaching as they walked the streets. Even the barber 
 and the cobbler of the neighborhood, and a tattered 
 tailor in an alley hard by, three of the poorest and mer- 
 riest rogues in the world, eyed him with that abundant 
 sympathy which usually attends a lack of means ; and 
 there is not a doubt but their pockets would have been 
 at his command, only that they happened to be empty. 
 
 Thus everybody deserted the "Webber mansion, as if 
 poverty were contagious, like the plague ; everybody but 
 honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his stolen visits 
 to the daughter, and indeed seemed to wax more affec- 
 tionate as the fortunes of his mistress were in the wane. 
 
 Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had fre- 
 quented his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a 
 long lonely walk one Saturday afternoon, musing over 
 his wants and disappointments, when his feet took in- 
 stinctively their wonted direction, and on awaking out of 
 
WOLFE RT WEBBER. 491 
 
 a reverie, he found himself before the door of the inn. 
 For some moments he hesitated whether to enter, but 
 his heart yearned for companionship ; and where can a 
 ruined man find better companionship than at a tavern, 
 where there is neither sober example nor sober advice to 
 put him out of countenance ? 
 
 Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the inn 
 at their usual posts, and seated in their usual places ; 
 but one was missing, the great Kamm Rapelye, who for 
 many years had filled the leather-bottomed chair of state. 
 His place was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, how- 
 ever, completely at home in the chair and the tavern. 
 He was rather under size, but deep-chested, square, and 
 muscular. His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow 
 knees, gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face was 
 dark and weather-beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the 
 slash of a cutlass, had almost divided his nose, and made 
 a gash in his upper lip, through which his teeth shone 
 like a bull-dog's. A mop of iron-gray hair gave a grisly 
 finish to this hard-favored visage. His dress was of an 
 amphibious character. He wore an old hat edged with 
 tarnished lace, and cocked in martial style, on one side 
 of his head ; a rusty blue military coat with brass but- 
 tons, and a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather 
 breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. He 
 ordered everybody about him with an authoritative air ; 
 talking in a brattling voice, that sounded like the crack- 
 ling of thorns under a pot ; d d the landlord and 
 
492 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 servants with perfect impunity, and was waited upon 
 with greater obsequiousness than had ever been shown 
 to the mighty Ramm himself. 
 
 Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who and 
 what was this stranger who had thus usurped absolute 
 sway in this ancient domain. Peechy Prauw took him 
 aside, into a remote corner of the hall, and there, in an 
 under voice, and with great caution, imparted to him all 
 that he knew on the subject. The inn had been aroused 
 several months before, on a dark stormy night, by re- 
 peated long shouts, that seemed like the howlings of a 
 wolf. They came from the water-side, and at length were 
 distinguished to be hailing the house in the sea-faring 
 manner, " House-a-hoy ! " The landlord turned out with 
 his head waiter, tapster, hostler, and errand-boy, — that is 
 to say, with his old negro Cuff. On approaching the 
 place whence the voice proceeded, they found this am- 
 phibious-looking personage at the water's edge, quite 
 alone, and seated on a great oaken sea-chest. How he 
 came there, whether he had been set on shore from some 
 boat, or had floated to land on his chest, nobody could 
 tell, for he did not seem disposed to answer questions ; 
 and there was something in his looks and manners that 
 put a stop to all questioning. Suffice it to say, he took 
 possession of a corner-room of the inn, to which his chest 
 was removed with great difficulty. Here he had re- 
 mained ever since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity. 
 Sometimes, it is true, he disappeared for one, two, or 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER 493 
 
 three days at a time, going and returning without giving 
 any notice or account of his movements. He always ap- 
 peared to have plenty of money, though often of very 
 strange outlandish coinage ; and he regularly paid his 
 bill every evening before turning in. 
 
 He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having 
 slung a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and 
 decorated the walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of 
 foreign workmanship. A greater part of his time was 
 passed in this room, seated by the window, which com- 
 manded a wide view of the Sound, a short old-fashioned 
 pipe in his mouth, a glass of rum-toddy at his elbow, 
 and a pocket-telescope in his hand, with which he recon- 
 noitred every boat that moved upon the water. Large 
 square-rigged vessels seemed to excite but little atten- 
 tion ; but the moment he descried anything with a 
 shoulder-of-mutton sail, or that a barge, or yawl, or 
 jolly-boat hove in sight, up went the telescope, and he 
 examined it with the most scrupulous attention. 
 
 All this might have passed without much i: :tice, for in 
 those times the province was so much the resort of 
 adventurers of all characters and climes, that any oddity 
 in dress or behavior attracted but small attention. In 
 a little while, however, this strange sea -monster, thus 
 strangely cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon 
 the long-established customs and customers of the place, 
 and to interfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs 
 of the ninepin alley and the bar-room, until in the end 
 
494 TALES OF A THA VELLER. 
 
 he usurped an absolute command over the whole inn. 
 It was all in vain to attempt to withstand his authority. 
 He was not exactly quarrelsome, but boisterous and 
 peremptory, like one accustomed to tyrannize on a quar- 
 ter-deck ; and there was a dare-devil air about every- 
 thing he said and did, that inspired wariness in all by- 
 standers. Even the half-pay officer, so long the hero 
 of the club, was soon silenced by him ; and the quiet 
 burghers stared with wonder at seeing their inflammable 
 man of war so readily and quietly extinguished. 
 
 And then the tales that he would tell were enough 
 to make a peaceable man's hair stand on end. There 
 was not a sea-fight, nor marauding nor freebooting 
 adventure that had happened within the last twenty 
 years, but he seemed perfectly versed in it. He de- 
 lighted to talk of the exploits of the buccaneers in the 
 West Indies, and on the Spanish Main. How his eyes 
 would glisten as he described the waylaying of treasure- 
 ships, the desperate fights, yard-arm and yard-arm — 
 broadside and broadside — the boarding and captur- 
 ing huge Spanish galleons ! With what chuckling relish 
 would he describe the descent upon some rich Spanish 
 colony ; the rifling of a church ; the sacking of a con- 
 vent ! You would have thought you heard some gor- 
 mandizer dilating upon the roasting of a savory goose 
 at Michaelmas as he described the roasting of some 
 Spanish Don to make him discover his treasure, — a 
 detail given with a minuteness that made every rich 
 
WOLFfifiT WEBBxin. 495 
 
 old burgher present turn uncomfortable in his chair. 
 All this would be told with infinite glee, as if he con- 
 sidered it an excellent joke ; and then he would give such 
 a tyrannical leer in the face of his next neighbor, that 
 the poor man would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint- 
 heartedness. If any one, however, pretended to contra- 
 dict him in any of his stories, he was on fire in an 
 instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momentary 
 fierceness, and seemed to resent the contradiction. 
 " How the devil should you know as well as I ? — I tell 
 you it was as I say ; " and he would at the same time 
 let slip a broadside of thundering oaths and tremen- 
 dous sea-phrases, such as had never been heard before 
 within these peaceful walls. 
 
 Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he 
 knew more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day 
 after day their conjectures concerning him grew more 
 and more wild and fearful. The strangeness of his ar- 
 rival, the strangeness of his manners, the mystery that 
 surrounded him, all made him something incomprehen- 
 sible in their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the 
 deep to them — he was a merman — he was a behemoth- 
 he was a leviathan — in short, they knew not what he 
 was. 
 
 The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea-urchin 
 at length grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter 
 of persons ; he contradicted the richest burghers with- 
 out hesitation ; he took possession of the sacred elbow- 
 
496 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 chair, which, time out of mind, had been the seat of 
 sovereignty of the illustrious Ramra Rapelye. Nay, he 
 even went so far, in one of his rough jocular moods, as 
 to slap that mighty burgher on the back, drink his 
 toddy, and wink in his face, a thing scarcely to be 
 believed. From this time Ramm Rapelye appeared no 
 more at the inn ; his example was followed by several 
 of the most eminent customers, who were too rich to 
 tolerate being bullied out of their opinions, or being 
 obliged to laugh at another man's jokes. The landlord 
 was almost in despair ; but he knew not how to get rid 
 of this sea-monster and his sea-chest, who seemed both 
 to have grown like fixtures, or excrescences, on his es- 
 tablishment. 
 
 Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wol- 
 fert's ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held 
 him by the button in a corner of the hall, casting a 
 wary glance now and then towards the door of the bar- 
 room, lest he should be overheard by the terrible hero 
 of his tale. 
 
 Wolfert took his sea + in a remote part of the room in 
 silence ; impressed with profound awe of this unknown, 
 so versed in freebooting history. It was to him a won- 
 derful instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to 
 find the venerable Ramm Rapelye thus ousted from the 
 throne, and a rugged tarpauling dictating from his elbow- 
 chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil 
 little realm with brawl and bravado. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 497 
 
 The stranger was on this evening in a more than usu- 
 ally communicative mood, and was narrating a number 
 of astounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the 
 high seas. He dwelt upon them with peculiar relish, 
 heightening the frightful particulars in proportion to 
 their effect on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swag- 
 gering detail of the capture of a Spanish merchantman. 
 She was lying becalmed during a long summer's day, 
 just off from the island which was one of the lurking- 
 places of the pirates. They had reconnoitred her with 
 their spy-glasses from the shore, and ascertained her 
 character and force. At night a picked crew of daring 
 fellows set off for her in a whale-boat. They approached 
 with muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly with the undu- 
 lations of the sea, and her sails flapping against the 
 masts. They were close under the stern before the 
 guard on deck was aware of their approach. The alarm 
 was given ; the pirates threw hand-grenades on deck, 
 and sprang up the main chains, sword in hand. 
 
 The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; some 
 were shot down, others took refuge in the tops ; others 
 were driven overboard and drowned, while others fought 
 hand to hand from the main-deck to the quarter-deck, 
 disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were 
 three Spanish gentlemen on board with their ladies, who 
 made the most desperate resistance. They defended the 
 companion-way, cut down several of their assailants, and 
 fought like very devils, for they were maddened by the 
 33 
 
498 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons 
 was old, and soon dispatched. The other two kept their 
 ground vigorously, even though the captain of the pirates 
 was among their assailants. Just then there was a shout 
 of victory from the main-deck. " The ship is ours ! " 
 cried the pirates. 
 
 One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and 
 surrendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed young- 
 ster, and just married, gave the captain a slash in the 
 face that laid all open. The captain just made out to 
 articulate the words "no quarter." 
 
 " And what did they do with their prisoners ? " said 
 Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 
 
 " Threw them all overboard," was the answer. A dead 
 pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sunk quietly 
 back, like a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair 
 of a sleeping lion. The honesfc burghers cast fearful 
 glances at the deep scar slashed across the visage of the 
 st. anger, and moved the'r chairs a little farther off, The 
 seaman, however, smoked on without moving a muscle, 
 as though he either did not perceive or did not regard 
 the unfavorable effect he had produced upon his hearers. 
 
 The half-pay officer was the first to break the silence ; 
 for he was continually tempted to make ineffectual head 
 against this tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost con- 
 sequence in the eyes of his ancient companions. He 
 now tried to match the gunpowder tales of the stranger 
 by others equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his 
 
WOLFEBT WEBBER 499 
 
 hero, concerning whom lie seemed to have picked up 
 many of the floating traditions of the province. The 
 seaman had always evinced a settled pique against the 
 one-eyed warrior. On this occasion he listened with 
 peculiar impatience. He sat with one arm akimbo, the 
 other elbow on the table, the hand holding on to the 
 small pipe he was pettishly puffing ; his legs crossed ; 
 drumming with one foot on the ground, and casting 
 every now and then the side-glance of a basilisk at the 
 prosing captain. At length the latter spoke of Kidd's 
 having ascended the Hudson with some of his crew to 
 land his plunder in secrecy. 
 
 " Kidd up the Hudson ! " burst forth the seaman, with 
 a tremendous oath, — " Kidd never was up the Hudson ! " 
 
 " I tell you he was," said the other. " Aye, and they 
 say he buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat that 
 runs out into the river, called the Devil's Dans Ram- 
 mer." 
 
 " The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth ! " cried the 
 seaman. "I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson. 
 What a plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts? " 
 
 "What do I know?" echoed the half -pay officer. 
 " Why, I was in London at the time of his trial ; aye, 
 and I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execu- 
 tion Dock." 
 
 " Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a 
 fellow hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. Aye ! " putting 
 his face nearer to that of the officer, " and there was 
 
500 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 many a land-lubber looked on that might much better 
 have swung in his stead." 
 
 The half-pay officer was silenced ; but the indignation 
 thus pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehe- 
 mence in his single eye, which kindled like a coal. 
 
 Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, ob 
 served that the gentleman certainly was in the right. 
 Kidd never did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed 
 in any of those parts, though many affirmed such to be 
 the fact. It was Bradish and others of the buccaneers 
 who had buried money ; some said in Turtle Bay, others 
 on Long Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell gate. 
 Indeed, added he, I recollect an adventure of Sam, the 
 negro fisherman, many years ago, which some think had 
 something to do with the buccaneers. As we are all 
 friends here, and as it will go no further, I'll tell it to 
 you. 
 
 " Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam 
 was returning from fishing in Hell-gate " — 
 
 Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden 
 movement from the unknown, who laying his iron fist on 
 the table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force that 
 indented the very boards, and looking grimly over his 
 shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear, — " Heark'ee, 
 neighbor," said he, with significant nodding of the head, 
 " you'd better let the buccaneers and their money 
 alone, — they're not for old men and old women to med- 
 dle with. They fought hard for their money ; they 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 501 
 
 gave body and soul for it ; and wherever it lies buried, 
 depend upon it he must have a tug with the devil who 
 gets it ! " 
 
 This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank 
 silence throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk 
 within himself, and even the one-eyed officer turned pale. 
 Wolfert, who from a dark corner of the room had listened 
 with intense eagerness to all this talk about buried trea- 
 sure, looked with mingled awe and reverence at this 
 bold buccaneer; for such he really suspected him to be. 
 There was a chinking of gold and a sparkling of jewels in 
 all his stories about the Spanish Main that gave a value 
 to every period ; and Wolfert would have given anything 
 for the rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his 
 imagination crammed full of golden chalices, crucifixes, 
 and jolly round bags of doubloons. 
 
 The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company 
 was at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out 
 a prodigious watch of curious and ancient workmanship, 
 and which in Wolfert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish 
 look. On touching a spring it struck ten o'clock ; upon 
 which the sailor called for his reckoning, and having 
 paid it out of a handful of outlandish coin, he drank off 
 the remainder of his beverage, and without taking leave 
 of any one, rolled out of the room, muttering to himself, 
 as he stamped up-stairs to his chamber. 
 
 It was some time before the company could recover 
 from the silence into which they had been thrown. The 
 
502 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 very footsteps of the stranger, which were heard now and 
 then as he traversed his chamber, inspired awe. 
 
 Still the conversation in which they had been engaged 
 was too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder' 
 gust had gathered up unnoticed, while they were lost in 
 talk, and the torrents of rain that fell forbade all 
 thoughts of setting off for home until the storm should 
 subside. They drew nearer together, therefore, and en- 
 treated the worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale 
 which had been so discourteously interrupted. He 
 readily complied, whispering, however, in a tone scarcely 
 above his breath, and drowned occasionally by the roll- 
 ing of the thunder ; and he would pause every now and 
 then, and listen with evident awe, as he heard the heavy 
 footsteps of the stranger pacing overhead. 
 
 The following is the purport of his story : 
 
ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 
 
 VEBYBODY knows Black Sam, the old negro 
 fisherman, or, as lie is commonly called, Mud 
 Sam, who has fished about the Sound for the 
 
 last half century. It is now many years since Sam, who 
 was then as active a young negro as any in the province, 
 and worked on the farm of Killian Suydam on Long 
 Island, having finished his day's work at an early hour, 
 was fishing, one still summer evening, just about the 
 neighborhood of Hell-gate. 
 
 He was in a light skiff; and being well acquainted 
 with the currents and eddies, had shifted his station 
 according to the shifting of the tide, from the Hen and 
 Chickens to the Hog's Back, from the Hog's Back to the 
 Pot, and from the Pot to the Frying-Pan ; but in the 
 eagerness of his sport he did not see that the tide was 
 rapidly ebbing, until the roaring of the whirlpools and 
 eddies warned him of his danger ; and he had some diffi- 
 culty in shooting his skiff from among the rocks and 
 breakers, and getting to the point of Blackwell's Island. 
 Here he cast anchor for some time, waiting the turn of 
 the tide to enable him to return homewards. As the 
 
 503 
 
504 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 night set in, it grew blustering and gusty. Dark clouds 
 came bundling up in the west ; and now and then a growl 
 of thunder or a flash of lightning told that a summer 
 storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, therefore, under 
 the lee of Manhattan Island, and coasting along, came to 
 a snug nook, just under a steep beetling rock, where he 
 fastened his skiff to the root of a tree that shot out from 
 a cleft, and spread its broad branches like a canopy over 
 the water. The gust came scouring along; the wind 
 threw up the river in white surges ; the rain rattled 
 among the leaves ; the thunder bellowed worse than that 
 which is now bellowing ; the lightning seemed to lick up 
 the surges of the stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered 
 under rock and tree, lay crouching in his skiff, rocking 
 upon the billows until he fell asleep. When he woke 
 all was quiet. The gust had j3assed away, and only now 
 and then a faint gleam of lightning in the east showed 
 which way it had gone. The night was dark and moon- 
 less ; and from the state of the tide Sam concluded it was 
 near midnight. He was on the point of making loose 
 his skiff to return homewards, when he saw a light 
 gleaming along the water from a distance, which seemed 
 rapidly approaching. As it drew near he perceived it 
 came from a lantern in the bow of a boat gliding along 
 under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a small cove, 
 close to where he was. A man jumped on shore, and 
 searching about with the lantern, exclaimed, " This is the 
 place— here's the iron ring." The boat was then made 
 
THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 505 
 
 fast, and the man returning on board, assisted his com- 
 rades in conveying something heavy on shore. As the 
 light gleamed among them, Sam saw that they w<;re five 
 stout desperate-looking fellows, in red woollen caps, with 
 a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of them 
 were armed with dirks, or long knives, and pistols. They 
 talked low to one another, and occasionally in some out- 
 landish tongue which he could not understand. 
 
 On landing they made their way among the bushes, 
 taking turns to relieve each other in lugging their bur- 
 den up the rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was now fully 
 aroused ; so leaving his skiff he clambered silently up 
 a ridge that overlooked their path. They had stopped 
 to rest for a moment, and the leader was looking about 
 among the bushes with his lantern. " Have you brought 
 the spades ? " said one. " They are here," replied an- 
 other, who had them on his shoulder. " We must dig 
 deep, where there will be no risk of discovery," said a 
 third. 
 
 A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he 
 saw before him a gang of murderers, about to bury 
 their victim. His knees smote together. In his agita- 
 tion he shook the branch of a tree with which he was 
 supporting himself as he looked over the edge of the cliff. 
 
 " What's that ? " cried one of the gang. — " Some one 
 stirs among the bushes ! " 
 
 The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise. 
 One of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it to- 
 
506 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 wards the very place where Sam was standing. He 
 stood motionless — breathless ; expecting the next mo- 
 ment to be his last. Fortunately his dingy complexion 
 was in his favor, and made no glare among the leaves. 
 
 " 'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. " What 
 a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm 
 the country ! " 
 
 The pistol was uncocked ; the burden was resumed, and 
 the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched 
 them as they went ; the light sending back fitful gleams 
 through the dripping bushes, and it was not till they 
 were fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath 
 freely. He now thought of getting back to his boat, 
 and making his escape out of the reach of such danger- 
 ous neighbors ; but curiosity was all-powerful. He hesi- 
 tated and lingered and listened. By and by he heard the 
 strokes of spades. — " They are digging the grave ! " said 
 he to himself ; and the cold sweat started upon his fore- 
 head. Every stroke of a spade, as it sounded through the 
 silent groves, went to his heart ; it was evident there was 
 as little noise made as possible ; everything had an air 
 of terrible mystery and secrecy. Sam had a great rel- 
 ish for the horrible, — a tale of murder was a treat for 
 him ; and he was a constant attendant at executions. 
 He could not resist an impulse, in spite of every dan- 
 ger, to steal nearer to the scene of mystery, and overlook 
 the midnight fellows at their work. He crawled along 
 cautiously, therefore, inch by inch; stepping with the 
 
THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 507 
 
 utmost care among the dry leaves, lest their rustling 
 should betray him. He came at length to where a steep 
 rock intervened between him and the gang ; for he saw 
 the light of their lantern shining up against the branches 
 of the trees on the other side. Sam slowly and silently 
 clambered up the surface of the rock, and raising his 
 head above its naked edge, beheld the villains imme- 
 diately below him, and so near, that though he dreaded 
 discovery, he dared not withdraw lest the least movement 
 should be heard. In this way he remained, with his 
 round black face peering above the edge of the rock, 
 like the sun just emerging above the edge of the horizon^ 
 or the round-cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. 
 
 The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; the 
 grave was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the 
 turf. This done, they scattered dry leaves over the place. 
 "And now," said the leader, "I defy the devil himself to 
 find it out." 
 
 " The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam, involuntarily. 
 
 The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the 
 round black head of Sam just above them. His white 
 eyes strained half out of their orbits; his white teeth 
 chattering, and his whole visage shining with cold perspi- 
 ration. 
 
 " We're discovered ! " cried one. 
 
 " Down with him ! " cried another. 
 
 Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause 
 for the report. He scrambled over rock and stone, 
 
508 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 through brush and brier ; rolled down banks like a 
 hedge-hog ; scrambled up others like a catamount. In 
 every direction he heard some one or other of the gang 
 hemming him in. At length he reached the rocky ridge 
 along the river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind 
 him. A steep rock like a wall rose directly in his way ; 
 it seemed to cut off all retreat, when fortunately he 
 espied the strong cord-lik.9 branch of a grape-vine reach- 
 ing half way down it. He sprang at it with the force of 
 a desperate man, seized it with both hands, and being 
 young and agile, succeeded in swinging himself to the 
 summit of the cliff. Here he stood in full relief against 
 the sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. 
 The ball whistled by Sam's head. With the lucky 
 thought of a man in an emergency, he uttered a yell, fell 
 to the ground, and detached at the same time a frag- 
 ment of the rock, which tumbled with a loud splash into 
 the river. 
 
 " I've done his business," said the red-cap to one or 
 two of his comrades as they arrived panting. "He'll tell 
 no tales, except to the fishes in the river." 
 
 His pursuers now turned to meet their companions. 
 Sam, sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let 
 himself quietly into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and 
 abandoned himself to the rapid current, which in that 
 place runs like a mill-stream, and soon swept him off 
 from the neighborhood. It was not, however, until he 
 had drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply his 
 
THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 509 
 
 oars, when he made his skiff dart like an arrow through 
 the strait of Hell-gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, 
 Frying-Pan, nor Hog's Back itself : nor did he feel him- 
 self thoroughly secure until safely nestled in bed in the 
 cockloft of the ancient farm-house of the Suydams. 
 
 Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath, 
 and to take a sip of the gossip tankard that stood at his 
 elbow. His auditors remained with open mouths and 
 outstretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for an 
 additional mouthful. 
 
 " And is that all ? " exclaimed the half-pay officer. 
 
 " That's all that belongs to the story," said Peechy 
 I?rauw. 
 
 " And did Sam never find out what was buried by 
 the red-caps ? " said Wolfert, eagerly, whose mind was 
 haunted by nothing but ingots and doubloons. 
 
 " Not that I know of," said Peechy ; " he had no time 
 to sj3are from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did «not 
 like to run the risk of another race among the rocks. 
 Besides, how should he recollect the spot where the 
 grave had been digged ? everything would look so dif- 
 ferent by daylight. And then, where was the use of 
 looking for a dead body, when there was no chance of 
 hanging the murderers ? " 
 
 "Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they 
 buried?" said Wolfert. 
 
 " To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. " Does 
 it not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day ? " 
 
510 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 " Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, opening 
 their eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer. 
 
 "Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy; "have none of you 
 heard of father Eed-cap, who haunts the old burnt farm- 
 house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near 
 Hell-gate ? " 
 
 "Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the 
 kind, but then I took it for some old wives' fable." 
 
 " Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, " that 
 farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's been un- 
 occupied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of 
 the coast ; but those who fish in the neighborhood have 
 often heard strange noises there ; and lights have been 
 seen about the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red 
 cap has been seen at the windows more than once, which 
 people take to be the ghost of the body buried there. 
 Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the 
 building for the night, and rummaged it from top to bot- 
 tom, when they found old father Ked-cap astride of a 
 cider-barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a 
 goblet in the other. He offered them a drink out of his 
 goblet, but just as one of the soldiers was putting it to 
 his mouth — whew ! — a flash of fire blazed through the 
 cellar, blinded every mother's son of them for several 
 minutes, and when they recovered their eye-sight, jug, 
 goblet, and Eed-cap had vanished, and nothing but the 
 empty cider-barrel remained." 
 
 Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muzzy 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 5H 
 
 and sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half-ex- 
 tinguished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring 
 rushlight. 
 
 "That's all fudge!" said he, as Peechy finished his 
 last story. 
 
 "Well, I don t vouch for the truth of it myself," said 
 Peechy Prauw, " though all the world knows that there's 
 something strange about that house and grounds ; but as 
 to the story of Mud Sam, I believe it just as well as if it 
 had happened to myself. 
 
 The deep interest taken in this conversation by the 
 company had made them unconscious of the uproar 
 abroad among the elements, when suddenly they were 
 electrified by a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumber- 
 ing crash followed instantaneously, shaking the building 
 to its very foundation. All started from their seats, imag- 
 ining it the shock of an earthquake, or that old father 
 Red-cap was coming among them in all his terrors. They 
 listened for a moment, but only heard the rain pelting 
 against the windows, and the wind howling among the 
 trees. The explosion was soon explained by the appari- 
 tion of an old negro's bald head thrust in at the door, his 
 white goggle eyes contrasting with his jetty poll, which 
 was wet with rain, and shone like a bottle. In a jargon 
 but half intelligible, he announced that the kitchen-chim- 
 ney had been struck with lightning. 
 
 A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sunk 
 
512 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this inter- 
 val the report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, 
 almost like a yell, resounded from the shores. Every one 
 crowded to the window ; another musket-shot was heard, 
 and another long shout, mingled wildly with a rising 
 blast of wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from the 
 bosom of the waters; for though incessant flashes of 
 lightning spread a light about the shore, no one was to 
 be seen. 
 
 Suddenly the window of the room overhead was 
 opened, and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious 
 stranger. Several bailings passed from one party to the 
 other, but in a language which none of the company in 
 the bar-room could understand; and presently they 
 heard the window closed, and a great noise overhead, as 
 if all the furniture were pulled and hauled about the 
 room. The negro servant was summoned, and shortly 
 afterwards was seen assisting the veteran to lug the pon- 
 derous sea-chest down-stairs. 
 
 The landlord was in amazement. " What, you are not 
 going on the water in such a storm?" 
 
 " Storm ! " said the other, scornfully, " do you call such 
 a sputter of weather a storm ? " 
 
 " You'll get drenched to the skin, — you'll catch your 
 death ! " said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. 
 
 " Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, 
 "don't preach about weather to a man that has cruised 
 in whirlwinds and tornadoes." 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 513 
 
 The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The 
 voice from the water was heard once more in a tone of 
 impatience ; the by-standers stared with redoubled awe at 
 this man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of 
 the deep, and to be summoned back to it again. As, with 
 the assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous 
 sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it with a supersti- 
 tious feeling, — half doubting whether he were not really 
 about to embark upon it and launch forth upon the wild 
 waves. They followed him at a distance with a lantern. 
 
 " Dowse the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the 
 water. " No one wants light here ! " 
 
 " Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, turn- 
 ing short upon them ; " back to the house with you ! " 
 
 Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dismay. 
 Still their curiosity would not allow them entirely to 
 withdraw. A long sheet of lightning now nickered across 
 the waves, and discovered a boat, filled with men, just 
 under a rocky point, rising and sinking with the heaving 
 surges, and swashing the waters at every heave. It was 
 with difficulty held to the rocks by a boathook, for the 
 current rushed furiously round the point. The veteran 
 hoisted one end of the lumbering sea-chest on the gun- 
 wale of the boat, and seized the handle at the other end 
 to lift it in, when the motion propelled the boat from the 
 shore ; the chest slipped off from the gunwale, and, sink- 
 ing into the waves, pulled the veteran headlong after it. 
 A loud shriek was uttered by all on shore, and a volley 
 
514 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of execrations by those on board ; but boat and man were 
 hurried away by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A 
 pitchy darkness succeeded ; Wolfert Webber indeed fan- 
 cied that he distinguished a cry for help, and that he be- 
 held the drowning man beckoning for assistance ; but 
 when the lightning again gleamed along the water, all 
 was void ; neither man nor boat was to be seen ; nothing 
 but the dashing and weltering of the waves as they hur- 
 ried past. 
 
 The company returned to the tavern to await the sub- 
 siding of the storm. They resumed their seats, and 
 gazed on each other with dismay. The whole transac- 
 tion had not occupied five minutes, and not a dozen 
 words had been spoken. When they looked at the oaken 
 chair, they could scarcely realize the fact that the 
 strange being who had so lately tenanted it, full of life 
 and Herculean vigor, should already be a corpse. There 
 was the very glass he had just drunk from ; there lay the 
 ashes from the pipe which he had smoked, as it were, 
 with his last breath. As the worthy burghers pondered 
 on these things, they felt a terrible conviction of the un- 
 certainty of existence, and each felt as if the ground on 
 which he stood was rendered less stable by his awful 
 example. 
 
 As, however, the most of the company were possessed 
 of that valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear 
 up with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neigh- 
 bors, they soon managed to console themselves for the 
 
WOLFEBT WEBBER. 515 
 
 tragic end of the veteran. The landlord was particularly 
 happy that the poor dear man had paid his reckoning 
 before he went ; and made a kind of farewell speech on 
 the occasion. 
 
 "He came," said he, "in a storm, and he went in a 
 storm ; he came in the night, and he went in the night ; 
 he came nobody knows whence, and he has gone nobody 
 knows where. For aught I know he has gone to sea once 
 more on his chest, and may land to bother some people 
 on the other side of the world ! Though it's a thousand 
 pities," added he, " if he has gone to Davy Jones's locker, 
 that he had not left his own locker behind him." 
 
 " His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried Peechy 
 Prauw. " I'd not have had that sea-chest in the house 
 for any money ; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it 
 at nights, and making a haunted house of the inn. And, 
 as to his going to sea in his chest, I recollect what hap- 
 pened to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage from 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 " The boatswain died during a storm : so they wrapped 
 him up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and 
 threw him overboard ; but they neglected in their hurry- 
 skurry to say prayers over him — and the storm raged 
 and roared louder than ever, and they saw the dead man 
 seated in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, coming 
 hard after the ship ; and the sea breaking before him in 
 great sprays like fire ; and there they kept scudding day 
 after day, and night after night, expecting every mo- 
 
516 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 merit to go to wreck ; and every night they saw the dead 
 boatswain in his sea-chest trying to get np with them, 
 and they heard his whistle above the blasts of wind, and 
 he seemed to send great seas mountain-high after them, 
 that would have swamped the ship if they had not put 
 up the dead-lights. And so it went on till they lost sight 
 of him in the fogs off Newfoundland, and supposed he 
 had veered ship and stood for Dead Man's Isle. So 
 much for burying a man at sea without saying prayers 
 over him." 
 
 The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the 
 company was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the 
 hall told midnight ; every one pressed to depart, for 
 seldom was such a late hour of the night trespassed on 
 by these quiet burghers. As they sallied forth, they 
 found the heavens once more serene. The storm which 
 had lately obscured them had rolled away, and lay piled 
 up in fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the 
 bright crescent of the moon, which looked like a little 
 silver lamp hung up in a palace of clouds. 
 
 The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal 
 narrations they had made, had left a superstitious feeling 
 in every mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot 
 where the buccaneer had disappeared, almost expecting 
 to see him sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. 
 The trembling rays glittered along the waters, but all 
 was placid ; and the current dimpled over the spot where 
 he had gone down. The party huddled together in a 
 
WQLFMRT WEBBER. 517 
 
 little crowd as they repaired homewards; particularly 
 when they passed a lonely field where a man had been 
 murdered ; and even the sexton, who had to complete his 
 journey alone, though accustomed, one would think, to 
 ghosts and goblins, went a long way round, rather than 
 pass by his own church-yard. 
 
 Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of 
 stories and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of 
 pots of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and 
 there and everywhere, about the rocks and bays of these 
 wild shores, made him almost dizzy. "Blessed St. 
 Nicholas ! " ejaculated he, half aloud, " is it not possible 
 to come upon one of these golden hoards, and to make 
 one's self rich in a twinkling ? How hard that I must go 
 on, delving and delving, day in and day out, merely to 
 make a morsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a 
 spade might enable me to ride in my carriage for the rest 
 of my life ! " 
 
 As he turned over in his thoughts all that been told of 
 the singular adventure of the negro fisherman, his im- 
 agination gave a totally different complexion to the tale. 
 He saw in the gang of red-caps nothing but a crew of 
 pirates burying their spoils, and his cupidity was once 
 more awakened by the possibility of at length getting on 
 the traces of some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his 
 infected fancy tinged everything with gold. He felt like 
 the greedy inhabitant of Bagdad, when his eyes had been 
 greased with the magic ointment of the dervise, that gave 
 
518 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 
 
 him to see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of 
 buried jewels, chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish 
 coins, seemed to court him from their concealments, and 
 supplicate him to relieve them from their untimely graves. 
 
 On making private inquiries about the grounds said to 
 be haunted by Father Red-cap, he was more and more 
 confirmed in his surmise. He learned that the place had 
 several times been visited by experienced money-diggers, 
 who had heard black Sam's story, though none of them 
 had met with success. On the contrary, they had always 
 been dogged with ill-luck of some kind or other, in conse- 
 quence, as Wolfert concluded, of not going to work at the 
 proper time, and with the proper ceremonials. The last 
 attempt had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who dug 
 for a whole night, and met with incredible difficulty, for 
 as fast as he threw one shovelful of earth out of the hole, 
 two were thrown in by invisible hands. He succeeded 
 so far, however, as to uncover an iron chest, when there 
 was a terrible roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth 
 figures about the hole, and at length a shower of blows, 
 dealt by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him off of the 
 forbidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos had declared 
 on his death-bed, so that there could not be any doubt of 
 it. He was a man that had devoted many years of his 
 life to money-digging, and it was thought would have 
 ultimately succeeded, had he not died recently of a brain- 
 fever in the almshouse. 
 
 Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and 
 
WOLFERT WEBBEU. 519 
 
 impatience ; fearful lest some rival adventurer should get 
 a scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to 
 seek out the black fisherman, and get him to serve as 
 guide to the place where he had witnessed the mysterious 
 scene of interment. Sam was easily found ; for he was 
 one of those old habitual beings that live about a neigh- 
 borhood until they wear themselves a place in the public 
 mind, and become, in a manner, public characters. There 
 was not an unlucky urchin about town that did not know 
 Sam the fisherman, and think that he had a right to play 
 his tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibi- 
 ous life for more than half a century, about the shores 
 of the bay, and the fishing-grounds of the Sound. He 
 passed the greater part of his time on and in the water, 
 particularly about Hell-gate ; and might have been taken, 
 in bad weather, for one of the hobgoblins that used to 
 haunt that strait. There would he be seen, at all times, 
 and in all weathers ; sometimes in his skiff, anchored 
 among the eddies, or prowling like a shark about some 
 wreck, where the fish are supposed to be most abundant. 
 Sometimes seated on a rock from hour to hour, looking in 
 the mist and drizzle, like a solitary heron watching for 
 its prey. He was well acquainted with every hole and 
 corner of the Sound ; from the Wallabout to Hell-gate, 
 and from Hell-gate unto the Devil's Stepping-Stones ; 
 and it was even affirmed that he knew all the fish in the 
 river by their Christian names. 
 
 Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much 
 
520 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 
 
 larger titan a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely con- 
 structed of fragments of wrecks and drift-wood, and built 
 on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old fort, just about 
 what at present forms the point of the Battery. A " very 
 ancient and fish-like smell" pervaded the place. Oars, 
 paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the wall of 
 the fort ; a net was spread on the sand to dry ; a skiff was 
 drawn up on the beach ; and at the door of his cabin was 
 Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury of 
 sleeping in the sunshine. 
 
 Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's 
 youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had 
 grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly 
 recollected the circumstances, however, for he had often 
 been called upon to relate them, though in his version of 
 the story he differed in many points from Peechy Prauw ; 
 as is not unfrequently the case with authentic historians. 
 As to the subsequent researches of money-diggers, Sam 
 knew nothing about them ; they were matters quite out 
 of his line ; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to dis- 
 turb his thoughts on that point. His only wish was to 
 secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the spot ; and this 
 was readily effected. The long time that had intervened 
 since his nocturnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe 
 of the place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused 
 him at once from his sleep and his sunshine. 
 
 The tide was adverse to making the expedition by 
 water, and Wolfert was too impatient to get to the land 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 521 
 
 of promise, to wait for its turning; they set off, therefore^ 
 by land A walk of four or five miles brought them to 
 the edge of a wood, which at that time covered the 
 greater part of the eastern side of the island. It was just 
 beyond the pleasant region of Bloomen-daeL Here they 
 struck into a long lane, straggling among trees and 
 bushes, very much overgrown with weeds and mullein- 
 stalks, as if but seldom used, and so completely over- 
 shadowed as to enjoy but a kind of twilight. Wild vines 
 entangled the trees and flaunted in their faces ; brambles 
 and briers caught their clothes as they passed ; the gar- 
 ter-snake glided across their path ; the spotted toad 
 hopped and waddled before them, and the restless cat- 
 bird mewed at them from every thicket. Had Wolfert 
 Webber been deeply read in romantic legend, he might 
 have fancied himself entering upon forbidden, enchanted 
 ground ; or that these were some of the guardians set to 
 keep watch upon buried treasure. As it was, the loneli- 
 ness of the place, and the wild stories connected with it, 
 had their effect upon his mind. 
 
 On reaching the lower end of the lane, they found 
 themselves near the shore of the Sound in a kind of 
 amphitheatre, surrounded by forest-trees. The area had 
 once been a grass-plot, but was now shagged with briers 
 and rank weeds. At one end, and just on the river bank, 
 was a ruined building, little better than a heap of rub- 
 bish, with a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower 
 out of the centre. The current of the Sound rushed along 
 
622 Tales of a travelled 
 
 just below it ; with wildly gro' m trees drooping the:* : 
 branches into its waves. 
 
 Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted 
 house of Father Red-cap, and called to mind the story of 
 Pee dry Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the 
 light falling dubiously among the woody places, gave a 
 melancholy tone to the scene, well calculated to foster 
 any lurking feeling of awe or superstition. The night- 
 hawk, wheeling about in the highest regions of the air, 
 emitted his peevish, boding cry. The woodpecker gave 
 a lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the 
 fire-bird * streamed by them with his deep-red plumage. 
 
 They now came to an enclosure that had once been a 
 garden. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but 
 was little better than a wilderness of weeds, with here 
 and there a matted rose-bush, or a peach or plum tree 
 grown wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the 
 lower end of the garden they passed a kind of vault in 
 the side of a bank, facing the water. It had the loo's: of a 
 root-house. The door, though decayed, was still strong, 
 and appeared to have been recently patched up. Wolfert 
 pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, 
 and striking against something like a box, a rattling 
 ccund ensued, and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert 
 drew back shuddering, but was reassured on being in- 
 formed by the negro that this was a family vault, belong- 
 
 * Orchard Oriole. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 523 
 
 Ing to one of the old Dutch families that owned this 
 estate ; an assertion corroborated by the sight of coffins of 
 various sizes piled within. Sam had been familiar with 
 all these scenes when a boy, and now knew that he could 
 not be far from the place of which they were in quest. 
 
 They now made their way to the water's edge, scram- 
 bling along ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and 
 obliged often to hold by shrubs and grape-vines to avoid 
 slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length 
 they came to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
 It was protected by steep rocks, and overshadowed by a 
 thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered 
 and almost concealed. The beach shelved gradually 
 within the cove, but the current swept deep, and black, 
 and rapid, along its jutting points. The negro paused, 
 raised his remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled 
 poll for a moment, as he regarded this nook ; then sud- 
 denly clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly forward, 
 and pointed to a large iron ring, stapled firmly in the 
 rock, just where a broad shelf of stone furnished a com- 
 modious landing-place. It was the very spot where the 
 red-caps had landed. Years had changed the more per- 
 ishable features of the scene ; but rock and iron yield 
 slowly to the influence of time. On looking more closely, 
 Wolfert remarked three crosses cut in the rock just 
 above the ring, which had no doubt some mysterious 
 signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the over- 
 hanging rock under which his skiff had been sheltered 
 
524 TALES Ob A TRAVELLER. 
 
 during the thunder-gust. To follow up the course which 
 the midnight gang had taken, however, was a harder 
 task. His mind had been so much taken up on that 
 eventful occasion by the persons of the drama, as to pay 
 but little attention to the scenes ; and these places look 
 so different by night and day. After wandering about 
 for some time, however, they came to an opening among 
 the trees which Sam thought resembled the place. 
 There was a ledge of rock of moderate height like a wall 
 on one side, which he thought might be the very ridge 
 whence he had overlooked the diggers. Wolfert exam- 
 ined it narrowly, and at length discovered three crosses 
 similar to those on the above ring, cut deeply into the 
 face of the rock, but nearly obliterated by moss that had 
 grown over them. His heart leaped with joy, for he 
 doubted not they were the private marks of the buc- 
 caneers. All now that remained was to ascertain the 
 precise spot where the treasure lay buried ; for other- 
 wise he might dig at random in the neighborhood of 
 the crosses, without coming upon the spoils, and he had 
 already had enough of such profitless labor. Here, how- 
 ever, the old negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed 
 perplexed him by a variety of opinions ; for his recollec- 
 tions were all confused. Sometimes he declared it must 
 have been at the foot of a mulberry- tree hard by ; then 
 beside a great white stone ; then under a small green 
 knoll, a short distance from the ledge of rocks ; until 
 at length Wolfert became as bewildered as himself. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 525 
 
 The shadows of evening were now spreading them- 
 selves over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle 
 together. It was evidently too late to attempt anything 
 farther at present ; and, indeed, Wolfert had come unpro- 
 vided with implements to prosecute his researches. Sat- 
 isfied, therefore, with having ascertained the place, he 
 took note of all its landmarks, that he might recognize 
 it again, and set out on his return homewards, resolved 
 to prosecute this golden enterprise without delay. 
 
 The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed ev- 
 ery feeling, being now in some measure appeased, fancy 
 began to wander, and to conjure up a thousand shapes 
 and chimeras as he returned through this haunted re- 
 gion. Pirates hanging in chains seemed to swing from 
 every tree, and he almost expected to see some Spanish 
 Don, with his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly 
 out of the ground, and shaking the ghost of a money- 
 bag. 
 
 Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and 
 Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a state that 
 the flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling 
 of a nut, was enough to startle him. As they entered the 
 confines of the garden, they caught sight of a figure at a 
 distance advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bend- 
 ing under the weight of a burden. They paused and re- 
 garded him attentively. He wore what appeared to be 
 a woollen cap, and, still more alarming, of a most sangui- 
 nary red. 
 
526 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and 
 stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just 
 before entering it he looked around. What was the 
 affright of Wolfert when he recognized the grisly visage 
 of the drowned buccaneer ! He uttered an ejaculation of 
 horror. The figure slowly raised his iron fist, and shook 
 it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause to see 
 any more, but hurried off as fast as his legs could carry 
 him, nor was Sam slow in following at his heels, having 
 all his ancient terrors revived. Away, then, did they 
 scramble through bush and brake, horribly frightened at 
 every bramble that tugged at their skirts, nor did they 
 pause to breathe, until they had blundered their way 
 through this perilous wood, and fairly reached the high 
 road to the city. 
 
 Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon 
 courage enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much 
 had he been dismayed by the apparition, whether liv- 
 ing or dead, of the grisly buccaneer. In the mean- 
 time, what a conflict of mind did he suffer ! He neglected 
 all his concerns, was moody and restless ail day, lost his 
 appetite, wandered in his thoughts and words, and com- 
 mitted a thousand blunders. His rest was broken : and 
 when he fell asleep, the nightmare, in shape of a huge 
 money-bag, sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled 
 about incalculable sums ; fancied himself engaged in 
 money-digging ; threw the bedclothes right and left, in 
 the idea that he was shovelling away the dirt; groped 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 527 
 
 under the bed in quest of the treasure, and lugged forth, 
 as he supposed an inestimable pot of gold. 
 
 Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at 
 what they conceived a returning touch of insanity. 
 There are two family oracles, one or other of which 
 Dutch housewives consult in all cases of great doubt 
 and perplexity — the dominie and the doctor. In the 
 present instance they repaired to the doctor. There was 
 at that time a little dark mouldy man of medicine, famous 
 among the old wives of the Manhattoes for his skill, not 
 only in the healing art, but in all matters of strange and 
 mysterious nature. His name was Dr. Knipperhausen, 
 but he was more commonly known by the appellation of 
 the High-German Doctor.* To him did the poor women 
 repair for counsel and assistance touching the mental 
 vagaries of Wolfert Webber. 
 
 They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad 
 in his dark camlet robe of knowledge, with his black 
 velvet cap ; after the manner of Boerhaave, Van Helmont, 
 and other medical sages; a pair of green spectacles set 
 in black horn upon his clubbed nose, and poring over a 
 German folio that reflected back the darkness of his 
 physiognomy. The doctor listened to their statement 
 of the symptoms of Wolfert's malady with profound 
 attention; but when they came to mention his rav- 
 ing about buried money, the little man pricked up his 
 
 * The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history of 
 Dolph Heyliger. 
 
528 TALES OF A TRAVELLEll. 
 
 ears. Also, poor women! they little knew the aid they 
 had called in. 
 
 Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in 
 seeking the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so 
 many a long lifetime is wasted. He had passed some 
 years of his youth among the Harz mountains of Ger- 
 many, and had derived much valuable instruction from 
 the miners, touching the mode of seeking treasure buried 
 in the earth. He had prosecuted his studies also under 
 a travelling sage who united the mysteries of medicine 
 with magic and legerdemain. His mind therefore had 
 become stored with all kinds of mystic lore; he had 
 dabbled a little in astrology, alchemy, divination; knew 
 how to detect stolen money, and to tell where springs of 
 water lay hidden ; in a word, by the dark nature of his 
 knowledge he had acquired the name of the High-Ger- 
 man Doctor, which is pretty nearly equivalent to that of 
 necromancer. The doctor had often heard rumors of 
 treasure being buried in various parts of the island, and 
 had long been anxious to get on the traces of it. No 
 sooner were Wolfert's waking and sleeping vagaries con- 
 fided to him, than he beheld in them the confirmed symp- 
 toms of a case of money-digging, and lost no time in 
 probing it to the bottom. Wolfert had long been sorely 
 oppressed in mind by the golden secret, and as a family 
 physician is a kind of father confessor, he was glad 
 of any opportunity of unburdening himself. So far 
 from curing, the doctor caught the malady from his 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 529 
 
 patient. The circumstances unfolded to him awakened 
 all his cupidity; he had not a doubt of money being 
 buried somewhere in the neighborhood of the mysterious 
 crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the search. He 
 informed him that much secrecy and caution must be 
 observed in enterprises of the kind ; that money is only 
 to be digged for at night; with certain forms and cere- 
 monies, and burning of drugs; the repeating of mystic 
 words, and above all, that the seekers must first be pro- 
 vided with a divining rod, which had the wonderful 
 property of pointing to the very spot on the surface of 
 the earth under which treasure lay hidden. As the 
 doctor had given much of his mind to these matters, he 
 charged himself with all the necessary preparations, and, 
 as the quarter of the moon was propitious, he undertook 
 to have the divining rod ready by a certain night.* 
 
 * The following note was found appended to this passage in the hand- 
 writing of Mr. Knickerbocker. ' ' There has been much written against 
 the divining rod by those light minds who are ever ready to scoff at the 
 mysteries of nature ; but I fully join with Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it 
 my faith. I shall not insist upon its efficacy in discovering the conceal- 
 ment of stolen goods, the boundary stones of fields, the traces of robbers 
 and murderers, or even the existence of subterraneous springs and streams 
 of water : albeit, I think these properties not to be readily discredited ; but 
 of its potency in discovering veins of precious metal, and hidden sums of 
 money and jewels, I have not the least doubt. Some said that the rod 
 turned only in the hands of persons who had been born in particular 
 months of the year ; hence astrologers had recourse to planetary influence 
 when they would procure a talisman. Others declared that the properties 
 of the rod were either an effect of chance, or the fraud of the holder, or 
 the work of the devil. Thus saith the reverend father Kaspar Schott in 
 liis Treatise on Magic; ' Propter haec et similia argumenta audacter ego 
 34 
 
530 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 
 
 Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with 
 so learned and able a coadjutor. Everything went on 
 secretly, but swimmingly. The doctor had many consul- 
 tations with his patient, and the good woman of the 
 household lauded the comforting effect of his visits. In 
 the meantime the wonderful divining rod, that great key 
 to nature's secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor had 
 thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the occa- 
 sion ; and the black fisherman was engaged to take them 
 in his skiff to the scene of enterprise ; to work with spade 
 and pickaxe in unearthing the treasure ; and to freight his 
 bark with the weighty spoils they were certain of finding. 
 
 At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous 
 undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counselled 
 his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if 
 he should not return during the night. Like reasonable 
 women, on being told not to feel alarm they fell immedi- 
 
 promisero vim conversivam virgulae bifurcatae nequaquam naturalem esse, 
 sed vel caeu vel fraude virgulam tractantis vel ope diaboli,' &c. 
 
 " Georg Agricola also was of opinion that it was a mere delusion of 
 the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary into his clutches, and in 
 his treatise 'de re Metallica,' lays particular stress on the mysterious 
 words pronounced by those persons who employed the divining rod during 
 his time. But I make not a doubt that the divining rod is one of those 
 secrets of natural magic, the mystery of which is to be explained by the 
 sympathies existing between physical things operated upon by the planets, 
 and rendered efficacious by the strong faith of the individual. Let the 
 divining rod be properly gathered at the proper time of the moon, cut into 
 the proper form, used with the necessary ceremonies, and with a perfect 
 faith in its efficacy, and I can confidently recommend it to my fellow-citi- 
 zens as an infallible means of discovering the places on the Island of the 
 Manhattoes where treasure hath been buried in the olden time. D. K," 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 531 
 
 ately into a panic. They saw at once by his manner that 
 something unusual was in agitation ; all their fears about 
 the unsettled state of his mind were revived with tenfold 
 force ; they hung about him, entreating him not to expose 
 himself to the night air, but all in vain. When once Wol- 
 fert was mounted on his hobby, it was no easy matter to 
 get him out of the saddle. It was a clear starlight night, 
 when he issued out of the portal of the Webber palace. 
 He wore a large flapped hat tied under the chin with a 
 handkerchief of his daughter's, to secure him from the 
 night damp, while Dame Webber threw her long red 
 cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round his neck. 
 
 The doctor had been no less carefully armed and ac- 
 coutred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy ; and 
 sallied forth in his camlet robe by way of surcoat ; his 
 black velvet cap under his cocked hat, a thick clasped 
 book under his arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs 
 in one hand, and in the other the miraculous rod of div- 
 ination. 
 
 The great church-clock struck ten as Wolfert and the 
 doctor passed by the church-yard, and the watchman 
 bawled in hoarse voice a long and doleful "All's well!" 
 A deep sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little 
 burgh : nothing disturbed this awful silence, excepting 
 now and then the bark of some profligate night-walking 
 dog, or the serenade of some romantic cat. It is true, 
 Wolfert fancied more than once that he heard the sound 
 of a stealthy footfall at a distance behind them ; but it 
 
532 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 might have been merely the echo of their own steps 
 along the quiet streets. He thought also at one time 
 that he saw a tall figure skulking after them — stopping 
 when they stopped, and moving on as they proceeded ; 
 but the dim and uncertain lamp-light threw such vague 
 gleams and shadows, that this might all have been mere 
 fancy. 
 
 They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smok- 
 ing his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored 
 just in front of his little cabin. A pickaxe and spade 
 were lying in the bottom of the boat, with a dark lantern, 
 and a stone bottle of good Dutch courage, in which hon- 
 est Sam no doubt put even more faith than Dr. Knipper- 
 hausen in his drugs. 
 
 Thus then did these three worthies embark in their 
 cockle-shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with 
 a wisdom and valor equalled only by the three wise men 
 of Gotham, who adventured to sea in a bowl. The tide 
 was rising and running rapidly up the Sound. The cur- 
 rent bore them along, almost without the aid of an oar. 
 The profile of the town lay all in shadow. Here and 
 there a light feebly glimmered from some sick-chamber, 
 or from the cabin-window of some vessel at anchor in the 
 stream. Not a cloud obscured the deep starry firma- 
 ment, the lights of which wavered on the surface of the 
 placid river; and a shooting meteor, streaking its pale 
 course in the very direction they were taking, was inter- 
 preted by the doctor into a most propitious omen. 
 
WOLFE RT WEBBER. 533 
 
 In a little while they glided by the point of Corlaer's 
 Hook with the rural inn which had been the scene of 
 such night adventures. The family had retired to rest, 
 and the house was dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill 
 pass over him as they passed the point where the buc- 
 caneer had disappeared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knip- 
 perhausen. While regarding it, they thought they saw a 
 boat actually lurking at the very place; but the shore 
 cast such a shadow over the border of the water that 
 they could discern nothing distinctly. They had not 
 proceeded far when they heard the low sounds of distant 
 oars, as if cautiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with 
 redoubled vigor, and knowing all the eddies and cur- 
 rents of the stream, soon left their followers, if such they 
 were, far astern. In a little while they stretched across 
 Turtle Bay and Kip's Bay, then shrouded themselves in 
 the deep shadows of the Manhattan shore, and glided 
 swiftly along, secure from observation. At length the 
 negro shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly embowered 
 by trees, and made it fast to the well-known iron ring. 
 They now landed, and lighting the lantern, gathered 
 their various implements and proceeded slowly through 
 the bushes. Every sound startled them, even that of 
 their own footsteps among the dry leaves ; and the hoot- 
 ing of a screech owl, from the shattered chimney of the 
 neighboring ruin, made their blood run cold. 
 
 In spite of all "Wolfert's caution in taking note of the 
 landmarks, it was some time before they could find the 
 
534 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 open place among the trees, where the treasure was sup- 
 posed to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of 
 rock ; and on examining its surface by the aid of the lan- 
 tern, Wolfert recognized the three mystic crosses. Their 
 hearts beat quick, for the momentous trial was at hand 
 that was to determine their hopes. 
 
 The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, while 
 the doctor produced the divining rod. It was a forked 
 twig, one end of which was grasped firmly in each hand, 
 while the centre, forming the stem, pointed perpendicu- 
 larly upwards. The doctor moved this wand about, 
 within a certain distance of the earth, from place to 
 place, but for some time without any effect, while Wol- 
 fert kept the light of the lantern turned full upon it, and 
 watched it with the most breathless interest. At length 
 the rod began slowly to turn. The doctor grasped it 
 with greater earnestness, his hands trembling with the 
 agitation of his mind. The wand continued to turn 
 gradually, until at length the stem had reversed its po- 
 sition, and pointed perpendicularly downward, and re- 
 mained pointing to one spot as fixedly as the needle to 
 the pole. 
 
 " This is the spot ! " said the doctor, in an almost in- 
 audible tone. 
 
 Wolfert' s heart was in his throat. 
 
 " Shall I dig ? " said the negro, grasping the spade. 
 
 " Pots tausend, no ! " replied the little doctor, hastily. 
 He now ordered his companions to keep close by him, 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 535 
 
 and to maintain the most inflexible silence. That cer- 
 tain precautions must be taken and ceremonies used to 
 prevent the evil spirits which kept about buried treas- 
 ure from doing them any harm. He then drew a circle 
 about the place, enough to include the whole party. He 
 next gathered dry twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon 
 which he threw certain drugs and dried herbs which he 
 had brought in his basket. A thick smoke rose, diffus- 
 ing a potent odor, savoring marvellously of brimstone 
 and assafcetida, which, however grateful it might be to 
 the olfactory nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor 
 "Wolfert, and produced a fit of coughing and wheezing 
 that made the whole grove resound. Dr. Knipperhausen 
 then unclasped the volume which he had brought urder 
 his arm, which was printed in red and black characters 
 in German text. While Wolfert held the lantern, the 
 doctor, by the aid of his spectacles, read off several 
 forms of conjuration in Latin and German. He then 
 ordered Sam to seize the pickaxe and proceed to work. 
 The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs of not having 
 been disturbed for many a year. After having picked 
 his way through the surface, Sam came to a bed of sand 
 and gravel, which he threw briskly to right and left with 
 the spade. 
 
 " Hark ! " said Wolfert, who fancied he heard a tram- 
 pling among the dry leaves, and a rustling through the 
 bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and they listened. 
 No footstep was near. The bat flitted by them in 
 
536 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 
 
 silence ; a bird, roused from its roost by the light which 
 glared up among the trees, flew circling about the flame. 
 In the profound stillness of the woodland, they could dis- 
 tinguish the current rippling along the rocky shore, and 
 the distant murmuring and roaring of Hell-gate. 
 
 The negro continued his labors, and had already 
 digged a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the 
 edge, reading formulae every now and then from his 
 black-letter volume, or throwing more drugs and herbs 
 upon the fire ; while Wolfert bent anxiously over the pit, 
 watching every stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing 
 the scene thus lighted up by fire, lantern, and the reflec- 
 tion of Wolfert's red mantle, might have mistaken the 
 little doctor for some foul magician, busied in his incan- 
 tations, and the grizzly-headed negro for some swart gob- 
 lin, obedient to his commands. 
 
 At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon 
 something that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated 
 to Wolfert's heart. He struck his spade again. — 
 
 " 'Tis a chest," said Sam. 
 
 " Full of gold, I'll warrant it ! " cried Wolfert, clasping 
 his hands with rapture. 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from 
 above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by 
 the expiring light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk 
 of the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the 
 drowned buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him. 
 
 Wolfert gave a loud cry, and let fall the lantern. His 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 537 
 
 panic communicated itself to his companions. The negro 
 leaped out of the hole ; the doctor dropped his book and 
 basket, and began to pray in German. All was horror 
 and confusion. The fire was scattered about, the lantern 
 extinguished. In their hurry-scurry they ran against 
 and confounded one another. They fancied a legion of 
 hobgoblins let loose upon them, and that they saw, by 
 the fitful gleams of the scattered embers, strange figures, 
 in red caps, gibbering and ramping around them. The 
 doctor ran one way, the negro another, and "Wolfert made 
 for the water side. As he plunged struggling onwards 
 through brush and brake, he heard the tread of some 
 one in pursuit. He scrambled frantically forward. The 
 footsteps gained upon him. He felt himself grasped by 
 his cloak, when suddenly his pursuer was attacked in 
 turn : a fierce fight and struggle ensued — a pistol was 
 discharged that lit up rock and bush for a second, and 
 showed two figures grappling together — all was then 
 darker than ever. The contest continued — the combat- 
 ants clinched each other, and panted, and groaned, and 
 rolled among the rocks. There was snarling and growl- 
 ing as of a cur, mingled with curses, in which Wolfert 
 fancied he could recognize the voice of the buccaneer. 
 He would fain have fled, but he was on the brink of a 
 precipice, and could go no further. 
 
 Again the parties were on their feet ; again there was a 
 tugging and struggling, as if strength alone could decide 
 the combat, until one was precipitated from the brow oi 
 
538 TALES OF A TEA YELLKK 
 
 the cliff, and sent headlong into the deep stream that 
 whirled below. Wolfert heard the plunge, and a kind of 
 strangling, bubbling murmur, but the darkness of the 
 night hid everything from him, and the swiftness of the 
 current swept everything instantly out of hearing. One 
 of the combatants was disposed of, but whether friend or 
 foe, Wolfert could not tell, nor whether they might not 
 both be foes. He heard the survivor approach, and his 
 terror revived. He saw, where the profile of the rocks 
 rose against the horizon, a human form advancing. He 
 could not be mistaken : it must be the buccaneer. 
 "Whither should he fly! — a precipice was on one side — a 
 murderer on the other. The enemy approached — he was 
 close at hand. "Wolfert attempted to let himself down 
 the face of the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn that 
 grew on the edge. He was jerked from off his feet, and 
 held dangling in the air, half choked by the string with 
 which his careful wife had fastened the garment around 
 his neck. Wolfert thought his last moment was arrived ; 
 already had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when 
 the string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, bump- 
 ing from rock to rock, and bush to bush, and leaving 
 the red cloak fluttering like a bloody banner in the 
 air. 
 
 It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself. 
 When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning 
 were already shooting up the sky. He found himself 
 grievously battered, and lying in the bottom of a boat. 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 539 
 
 He attempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to 
 move. A voice requested liim in friendly accents to lie 
 still. He turned his eyes towards the speaker : it was 
 Dirk Waldron. He had dogged the party, at the earnest 
 request of Dame Webber and her daughter, who, with 
 the laudable curiosity of their sex, had pried into the 
 secret consultations of Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had 
 been completely distanced in following the light skiff of 
 the fisherman, and had just come in to rescue the poor 
 money-digger from his pursuer. 
 
 Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and 
 Black Sam severally found their way back to the Man- 
 hattoes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. 
 As to poor Wolfert, instead of returning in triumph 
 laden with bags of gold, he was borne home on a shutter, 
 followed by a rabble-rout of curious urchins. His wife 
 and daughter saw the dismal pageant from a distance, 
 and alarmed the neighborhood with their cries ; they 
 thought the poor man had suddenly settled the great 
 debt of nature in one of his wayward moods. Finding 
 him, however, still living, they had him speedily to bed, 
 and a jury of old matrons of the neighborhood assembled, 
 to determine how he should be doctored. The whole 
 town was in a buzz with the story of the money-diggers. 
 Many repaired to the scene of the previous night's ad- 
 ventures : but though they found the very place of the 
 digging, they discovered nothing that compensated them 
 for their trouble. Some say they found the fragments 
 
540 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 of an oaken chest, and an iron pot-lid, which savored 
 strongly of hidden money; and that in the old family 
 vault there were traces of bales and boxes : but this is 
 all very dubious. 
 
 In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this 
 day been discovered : whether any treasure were ever 
 actually buried at that place ; whether, if so, it were car- 
 ried off at night by those who had buried it ; or whether 
 it still remains there under the guardianshij) of gnomes 
 and spirits until it shall be properly sought for, is all 
 matter of conjecture. For my part, I incline to the lat- 
 ter opinion ; and make no doubt that great sums lie 
 buried, both there and in other parts of this island and 
 its neighborhood, ever since the times of the buccaneers 
 and the Dutch colonists ; and I would earnestly recom- 
 mend the search after them to such of my fellow-citizens 
 as are not engaged in any other speculations. 
 
 There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who 
 and what was the strange man of the seas who had domi- 
 neered over the little fraternity at Corlaer's Hook for a 
 time ; disappeared so strangely, and reappeared so fear- 
 fully. Some supposed him a smuggler stationed at that 
 place to assist his comrades in landing their goods 
 among the rocky coves of the island. Others, that he 
 was one of the ancient comrades of Kidcl or Bradish, 
 returned to convey away treasures formerly hidden in the 
 vicinity. The only circumstance that throws anything 
 like a vague light on this mysterious matter, is a report 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 541 
 
 which prevailed of a strange foreign-built shallop, with 
 much the look of a picaroon, having been seen hovering 
 about the Sound for several days without landing or re- 
 porting herself, though boats were seen going to and 
 from her at night : and that she was seen standing out of 
 the mouth of the harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after 
 the catastrophe of the money-diggers. 
 
 I must not omit to mention another report, also, which 
 I confess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer, who 
 was supposed to have been drowned, being seen before 
 daybreak with a lantern in his hand, seated astride of 
 his great sea-chest, and sailing through Hell-gate, which 
 just then began to roar and bellow with redoubled fury. 
 
 While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk 
 and rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowfully in his 
 bed, bruised in body and sorely beaten down in mind. 
 His wife and daughter did all they could to bind up his 
 wounds, both corporal and spiritual. The good old dame 
 never stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting 
 from morning till night-; while his daughter busied her- 
 self about him with the fondest care. Nor did they lack 
 assistance from abroad. Whatever may be said of the 
 desertion of friends in distress, they had no complaint of 
 the kind to make. Not an old wife of the neighborhood 
 but abandoned her work to crowd to the mansion of Wol- 
 fert Webber, to inquire after his health, and the particu- 
 lars of his story. Not one came moreover without her 
 little pipkin of pennyroyal, sage, balm, or other herb tea, 
 
542 TALES OF A TEA VELLEM. 
 
 delighted at an opportunity of signalizing her kindness 
 and her doctorship. What drenchings did not the poor 
 Wolfert undergo, and all in vain ! It was a moving sight 
 to behold him wasting away day by day ; growing thin- 
 ner and thinner, and ghastlier and ghastlier, and staring 
 with rueful visage from under an old patchwork coun- 
 terpane, upon the jury of matrons kindly assembled to 
 sigh and groan and look unhappy around him. 
 
 Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed 
 a ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came 
 in with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reani- 
 mate the expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it 
 was all in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If 
 anything was wanting to complete his despair, it was a 
 notice served upon him in the midst of his distress, that 
 the corporation were about to run a new street through 
 the very centre of his cabbage-garden. He now saw 
 nothing before him but poverty and ruin ; his last reli- 
 ance, the garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, 
 and what then was to become of his poor wife and 
 child? 
 
 His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful 
 Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was 
 seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed 
 after his daughter, and for the first time since his illness, 
 broke the silence he had maintained. 
 
 " I am going ! " said he, shaking his head feebly, " and 
 when I am gone — my poor daughter " 
 
WOLFERT WEBBER. 543 
 
 " Leave her to me, father ! " said Dirk, manfully, — " I'll 
 take care of her ! " 
 
 Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping 
 youngster, and saw there was none better able to take 
 care of a woman. 
 
 " Enough," said he, — " she is yours ! — and now fetch 
 me a lawyer — let me make my will and die." 
 
 The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, round- 
 headed little man, Roorback (or Eollebuck as it was pro- 
 nounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke 
 into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing 
 of a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert 
 made a feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy 
 buried her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame 
 Webber resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which 
 betrayed itself however in a pellucid tear, which trickled 
 silently down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose ; 
 while the cat, the only unconcerned member of the fam- 
 ily, played with the good dame's ball of worsted, as it 
 rolled about the floor. 
 
 Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his 
 forehead ; his eyes closed ; his whole visage the picture 
 of death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt 
 his end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. 
 The lawyer nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and 
 prepared to write. 
 
 "I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, "my 
 small farm" 
 
544 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 
 
 " What — all ! " exclaimed the lawyer. 
 
 Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Yes— all," said he. 
 
 " What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and 
 sun-flowers, which the corporation is just going to run a 
 main street through ? " 
 
 " The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and 
 sinking back upon his pillow. 
 
 " I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the little law- 
 yer, chuckling, and rubbing his hands involuntarily. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Wolfert, again opening his 
 eyes. 
 
 " That he'll be one of the richest men in the place ! " 
 cried little Eollebuck. 
 
 The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the 
 threshold of existence : his eyes again lighted up ; he 
 raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted 
 night-cap, and stared broadly at the lawyer. 
 
 " You don't say so ! " exclaimed he. 
 
 " Faith, but I do ! " rejoined the other. — "Why, when 
 that great field and that huge meadow come to be laid 
 out in streets, and cut up into snug building-lots — why, 
 whoever owns it need not pull off his hat to the pa- 
 troon ! " 
 
 "Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg 
 out of bed, " why, then I think I'll not make my will yet ! " 
 
 To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually 
 
WOLEERT WEBBEB. 545 
 
 recovered. The vital spark, which had glimmered faintly 
 in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of glad- 
 ness, which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It 
 once more burnt up into a flame. 
 
 Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the 
 body of a spirit-broken man ! In a few days Wolfert left 
 his room ; in a few days more his table was covered with 
 deeds, plans of streets, and building-lots. Little Rolle- 
 buck was constantly with him, his right-hand man and 
 adviser ; and instead of making his will, assisted in the 
 more agreeable task of making his fortune. In fact Wol- 
 fert Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of 
 the Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a 
 manner, in spite of themselves ; who have tenaciously 
 held on to their hereditary acres, raising turnips and 
 cabbages about the skirts of the city, hardly able to 
 make both ends meet, until the corporation has cruelly 
 driven streets through their abodes, and they have sud- 
 denly awakened out of their lethargy, and, to their aston- 
 ishment, found themselves rich men. 
 
 Before many months had elapsed, a great bustling 
 street passed through the very centre of the Webber 
 garden, just where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a 
 treasure. His golden dream was accomplished ; he did 
 indeed find an unlooked-for source of wealth ; for, when 
 his paternal lands were distributed into building-lots, 
 and rented out to safe tenants, instead of producing a 
 paltry crop of cabbages, they returned him an abundant 
 
546 TALES OF A TEA VELLEU. 
 
 crop of rent ; insomuch that on quarter-day it was a 
 goodly sight to see his tenants knocking at the door, 
 from morning till night, each with a little round-bellied 
 bag of money, a golden produce of the soil. 
 
 The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept 
 up ; but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch 
 house in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a 
 street, the grand home of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert 
 enlarged it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or 
 tea-room on top, where he might climb up and smoke 
 his pipe in hot weather ; and in the course of time the 
 whole mansion was overrun by the chubby-faced pro- 
 geny of Amy Webber and Dirk Waldron. 
 
 As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, he also 
 set up a great gingerbread- colored carriage, drawn by 
 a pair of black Flanders mares with tails that swept the 
 ground; and to commemorate the origin of his great- 
 ness, he had for his crest a full-blown cabbage painted 
 on the panels, with the pithy motto QUlcs fliopf, that is 
 to say, all head ; meaning thereby that he had risen by 
 sheer head-work. 
 
 To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fulness of 
 time the renowned Eamm Rapelye slept with his fathers, 
 and Wolfert Webber succeeded to the leather-bottomed 
 arm-chair, in the inn-parlor at Corlaer's Hook ; where 
 he long reigned greatly honored and respected, insomuch 
 that he was never known to tell a story without its being 
 believed, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at. 
 
 THE END. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Page 13 (Hippocrates). Born 460 B.C. He was called the Father 
 of Medicine ; there are countless traditions about him. 
 
 Page 19 (The Stout Gentleman). This amusing story in Brace- 
 bridge Hall should be read in order to understand fully the allusion 
 to the ' ' author of Waverley " immediately below. For an interesting 
 account of the origin of the tale The Stout Gentleman see Life and 
 Letters of Irving ', II, 55. 
 
 (Peveril of the Peak). This novel of Scott's was published in 1823. 
 Irving's remark that "he was himself the stout gentleman alluded 
 to," may be explained by the following extract from the introductory 
 matter to Peveril of the Peak, the Prefatory Letter from the Rev. Dr. 
 Dryasdust of York to Captain Clutterbuck : " It struck me forcibly, 
 as I gazed on his portly person, that he realized in my imagination, 
 the stout gentleman in No. II. who offered such subject of varying 
 speculation to our most amusing and elegant Utopian traveller, 
 Master Geoffrey Crayon. Indeed, but for one little trait in the con- 
 duct of the said Stout Gentleman — I mean the gallantry toward his 
 landlady, a thing which would derogate from our Senior's character 
 — I should be disposed to conclude that Master Crayon had, on that 
 memorable occasion, actually passed his time in the vicinity of the 
 Author of Waverley." 
 
 Page 24 (The standing rural amusement of eating.) It is inter- 
 esting to observe Irving's fondness in his works for constantly intro- 
 ducing eating and drinking. In this respect he is very similar to 
 Dickens. 
 
 Page 25 (Benshee). Often written Banshee or Benshie. A figure 
 
 547 
 
548 XOTES. 
 
 in Scotch and Irish superstitions. It is a being, who, by singing a 
 funereal song under the window, foretells the death of some one in 
 the household. 
 
 (Milesian). Irish— according to the Irish mythology, one who has 
 descended from the Spanish King Milesius, whose sons conquered 
 the island many years before Christ. 
 
 Page 28 (Pays de Caux). Once a part of the province of Nor- 
 mandy, and now in the department of the Seine-Inferieure. 
 
 Page 30 (Henry the Fourth). King Henry IV of France, 
 " Henry of Navarre," reigned from 1589 to 1610. He was a Protes- 
 tant when he became king, but afterward changed to Catholicism. 
 He made his title sure only by successful warfare with his enemies 
 in France. 
 
 Page 32 (The sad tenth of August). On the 10th of August, 1792, 
 the King's palace of the Tuileries in Paris was taken by the mob, and 
 many of the courtiers and guards slain. 
 
 (Sans-culottes). Literally, " without breeches." A name given to 
 the extreme republicans in the French Revolution, because they 
 despised knee-breeches as a mark of the aristocracy. They wore in- 
 stead long trousers, similar to those in universal use to-day. 
 
 Page 33 (John Baliol). John Baliol or Balliol, and Robert Bruce 
 were both claimants to the Scottish throne. King Edward I of 
 England was appointed arbitrator, and in 1292 he decided in favor of 
 Balliol. In 1296 the Scotch and English fought at Dunbar : Edward 
 won, and Balliol was carried away, never to see Scotland again. He 
 died at Castle Galliard in Normandy. 
 
 (His rival, Robert de Bruce). The Robert Bruce who won the 
 battle of Bannockburn in 1314, was really the grandson of Balliol's 
 rival. He had got himself crowned King of Scotland and defeated 
 King Edward II in a decisive battle at Bannockburn. Balliol died 
 shortly after this. 
 
 Page 33 (The Duke de Guise). Dukes Francis de Guise and 
 Henry his son led in succession the Roman Catholic party in France 
 in the latter half of the sixteenth century. Both were allies of the 
 fanatical King Philip II of Spain. Both were assassinated, the 
 former in 1563, the latter in 1588. 
 
 Page 38 (Ancien regime). The political system and state of 
 society in France before the great revolution of 1789. 
 
 Page 39 (Duchess de Longueville). Wife of the Duke de Longue- 
 ville, who was connected with the war of the Fronde. See below. 
 
NOTES. 549 
 
 (The Fronde). The literal meaning of the word is "sling" ; the 
 name was given in contempt to the popular party in 1648, who, led 
 by the great nobles, rebelled and fought against the court party. 
 They were compared in derision to bad boys who would fight with 
 slings even after the policeman had forbidden them to do so. The 
 war of the Fronde is an interesting episode in the early days of Louis 
 XIV, who succeeded to the throne in 1643, at five years of age. 
 During his minority, his mother, Anne of Austria, was appointed 
 Regent. She gave the practical guidance of affairs to Cardinal 
 Mazarin, the successor to the great Richelieu. Mazarin made him- 
 self unpopular with the people by his methods in raising money, and 
 hence, in 1648, the civil war of the Fronde broke out. 
 
 (Turenne). One of the most consummate military leaders of the 
 age. For a short time he aided the Fronde, but soon withdrew, and 
 fought against the great Conde, who, disgusted with Mazarin, had 
 first joined the Fronde and then allied himself with the Spaniards 
 against his own country. 
 
 (Coligni). The famous French admiral Coligny (1517-1572), and 
 leader of the Protestant party in France. He was killed in the 
 Massacre of St. Bartholomew. 
 
 (Duke de Longueville). The Duke de Longueville, the great 
 Conde, and Conti, brother of Conde, were all arrested by order of 
 Mazarin at the time of the Fronde disturbances, and imprisoned 
 at Vincennes. The Duchess of Longueville made the most heroic 
 efforts for their rescue. 
 
 Page 52 (Botany Bay). On the east coast of Australia ; it was a 
 British penal colony from 1788 to 1841, where criminals were sent 
 from England. 
 
 (If it 's ghosts you want). Observe Irving's skillful management 
 of the transition from one story to another. This is only one example 
 out of many. 
 
 Page 53 (My uncle Toby). The chief character in Sterne's 
 famous novel, Tristram Shandy (1759-1767). Corporal Trim was 
 uncle Toby's attendant. 
 
 Page 54 (Juffrouws). " Young women." Cf. German Jungfrau. 
 
 Page 55 (Hier Verkoopt Man Goeden Drank). " Good drink is 
 sold here." 
 
 Page 59 (What a proper man). Proper here means simply ' ' hand- 
 some," as commonly in Shakspere. 
 
 Page 61 The maid had warmed it too much). With the warming- 
 
550 NOTES. 
 
 pan — a brass pan with a cover and long handle, containing hot coals. 
 Before it became customary to heat bedrooms, this pan was rubbed 
 between the sheets of the bed to prevent too great a chill. 
 
 Page 62 (St. Anthony). An Egyptian monk, supposed to be the 
 founder of the system of monastic life. 
 
 (Making a leg). Bowing. This is a common phrase in the old 
 drama. 
 
 Page 63 (" The divil a bit of a dream ! ") Observe how neatly 
 Irving avoids the conventional ending to stories of this kind. Does 
 the reader notice any climax in the succession of these tales — do they 
 steadily become more and more interesting, or not ? 
 
 Page 66 (Swedenborg). Emanuel Swedenborg, the famous Swed- 
 ish theologian and mystic (1688-1772). His influence, although not 
 so strong now as formerly, is still powerful. 
 
 Page 67 (Sorbonne). So called from Robert de Sorbon, a poor 
 priest, who arrived in Paris during the reign of St. Louis (1226-1270), 
 and founded a small college for poor students. The college after- 
 wards became the meeting-place of all scholars and pupils who gath- 
 ered to hear the lectures of famous professors. It is now the seat of 
 the academie of Paris. 
 
 Page 74 (I saw him in a mad-house in Paris). A fine climax to 
 the story. The tale reminds one of Poe ; especially the last incident 
 of the head rolling on the floor. 
 
 Page 75 (With a loud and long-drawn yawn). Another skilful 
 transition. 
 
 Page 77 (The merry-thought of a capon). The merry-thought is 
 the wish-bone. A capon is a male chicken castrated for the purpose 
 of improving the flesh for eating ; it was and is considered a great 
 delicacj^. Cf. the line in the famous speech of Jaques in As You 
 Like It, Act II, Scene 7 
 
 " In fair round belly, with good capon lined." 
 
 Page 90 (He would turn his head slowly round). See note to 
 page 137. 
 
 Page 100 (The Story of the Young Italian). Does Irving's style 
 change any here to conform to the supposed letter ? 
 
 Page 134 (" 'T is well," etc.). A rather unfortunate touch of con- 
 ventional sensationalism. 
 
 Page 137 (Whenever I turned my head). This explains his habit 
 of constantly looking over his shoulder, mentioned on page 90, 
 
NOTES. 551 
 
 Page 139 (A different chamber). A clever touch. Irving is fond 
 of ending a sad story with a little sparkle of pleasant humor. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 Compare the realism of these stories with the romanticism of those 
 in Part I. This section had originally been intended for a separate 
 novel, and was afterward introduced into the Tales of a Traveller. 
 
 Page 14s (The writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or even 
 of Queen Anne, they being all declared Frenchmen in disguise). 
 During the general period from the Restoration of Charles II in 
 1660 to the death of Anne in 1714, the influence of France on English 
 literature was particularly strong. The French ideals of clearness 
 and obedience to critical rules were followed by the foremost English 
 writers, such as Dryclen, Pope, Swift, and Addison. Imagination 
 and passion in poetry died out ; wit and satire became supreme. 
 
 (The more quaint and crabbed his style). During the early years 
 of the seventeenth century, a group of poets flourished known as the 
 " Metaphysical School." They delighted in obscurity of phrase, and 
 in far-fetched comparisons and figures of speech. They wrote some 
 exquisite lyrics, along with much worthless stuff. The greatest man 
 in the group was Dr. John Donne (1573-1631). 
 
 Page 147 (Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego). These three men 
 were put into Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace. See the book Daniel, 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Page 148 (Addison's idea). See Spectator, No. 529. "To begin 
 with the Writers ; I have observed that the Author of a Folio, in all 
 Companies and Conversations, sets himself above the Author of a 
 Quarto ; the Author of a Quarto above the Author of an Octavo ; 
 and so on, by a gradual Descent and Subordination, to an Author in 
 Twenty Fours. This distinction is so well observed, that in an As- 
 sembly of the Learned, I have seen a Folio Writer place himself in 
 an Elbow-chair, when the Author of a Duodecimo has, out of a just 
 Deference to his superior Quality, seated himself upon a Squab. In 
 a word, Authors are usually ranged in Company after the same man- 
 ner as their Works are upon a Shelf." Irving was in this dinner 
 description inspired not only by Addison : part of it was taken from 
 real life, as we learn from Thomas Moore's Diary, extract 9 July 1821. 
 Irving had been reading some of Buckthorne to him, and Moore 
 writes : " He has given the der-cription of the booksellers' dinner so 
 
552 XOTES. 
 
 exactly like what I told him of one of the Longmans (the carving 
 partner, the partner to laugh at the popular author's jokes, the 
 twelve-edition writers treated with claret, etc.), that I very much 
 fear my friends in Paternoster Row will know themselves in the 
 picture." — Life and Letters of Washington Irving, II, 50. 
 
 Page 150 (Certain degree of popularity, etc. ). A charming touch 
 of humor. 
 
 Page 159 (Mrs. Tibbs). See Letters LIV and LV of Goldsmith's 
 Citizen of the World [Bohn edition, III., pp. 203-210]. They were 
 originally printed in the Public Ledger, 2 July and'l August 1760 ; 
 and were reprinted by Goldsmith in 1765 as Numbers X and XI of 
 his Essays. They are in the first and second editions of the Essays : 
 later editions differ greatly from these, both in arrangement and in 
 matter. Tibbs, of course, is the impecunious beau, who tries to 
 create the impression that he is a genuine swell. The following 
 passage is the one Irving had in mind : " When we were got in, he 
 welcomed me to his house with great ceremony, and turning to the 
 old woman, asked where her lady was. ' Good troth,' replied she 
 in the northern dialect, ' she 's washing your twa shirts at the next 
 door, because they have taken an oath against lending out the tub 
 any longer.' ' My two shirts ! ' cries he in a tone that faultered with 
 confusion, ' what does the ideot mean ? ' 'I ken what I mean well 
 enough,' replied the other; 'she's washing your twa shirts at the 
 
 next door, because ' 'Fire and fury, no more of thy stupid 
 
 explanations,' cried he.''— Essays, ed. 1765, pp. 93, 94. 
 
 Page 1G1 (Mrs. Montagu). The famous Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu (1689-1762). She was a learned and clever woman, and 
 associated with the most famous literary personages of her day. 
 She was not, however, exactly the sort of person that the word 
 "blue-stocking" at present connotes. She had too much beauty, 
 wit, and wickedness. 
 
 (The Pleasures of Melancholy). In the year 1744 appeared a long 
 poem called the Pleasures of Imagination, written by Mark Aken- 
 side. The title became popular, and for about a century the public- 
 was treated to " Pleasures" of all sorts. For example : The Pleasures 
 of Melancholy (1747), by Thomas Warton ; The Pleasures of Memory 
 (1792), by Samuel Rogers ; The Pleasures of Hope (1799), by Thomas 
 Campbell. 
 
 Page 163 (Paternoster Row, etc.). The streets where the promi- 
 nent publishers' establishments stood. 
 
NOTES. 553 
 
 Page I64. (Bernard Lintot). A famous publisher and bookseller 
 of Pope's time. 
 
 Page 168 (Poor Goldy). Oliver Goldsmith was usually addressed 
 as " Goldy " by Dr. Johnson and others. He did not always like the 
 appellation. 
 
 Page 173 (Jack Straw's Castle). Jack Straw was an associate 
 of Wat Tyler in the famous rebellion of 1381. He became a promi- 
 nent figure in poetry and fiction, both contemporary and later. See 
 Thomas Wright's Political Poems and Songs, London, 1859, Vol. I, 
 pages 224-226, On the Rebellion of Jack Straw. See also Chaucer's 
 Nonne Prestes Tale, line 573. 
 
 Page 176 (Robin Hood, Allan a' Dale). For full information 
 about these familiar names, see Child's English and Scottish Ballads 
 and Thoms's Prose Romances. 
 
 (Clymm of the Clough, and Sir William of Cloudeslie). These two 
 outlaws, along with the famous bowman Adam Bell, were as notori- 
 ous in the North of England as Robin Hood and his friends were in 
 the Midland counties. The first ballad in the second book of Percy's 
 Reliques gives an interesting account of their feats. 
 
 (The famous Turpin). Dick Turpin was born in Essex, and was 
 originally a butcher. Afterwards he became a noted highwayman, 
 and was finally executed for horse-stealing, 10 April 1739. He and 
 his steed Black Bess are well described in W. H. Ains worth's Rook- 
 wood, and in his Ballads. 
 
 Page 177 (Knights of the Post). Men who waited by the Posts 
 outside the doors of the Sheriffs. They could be bribed to swear to 
 any statement. Hence the term became general for all sharpers and 
 swindlers. 
 
 Page 178 (Yellow boys). This expression is still used in the 
 western part of the United States, for gold pieces. 
 
 Page 179 (Newgate Calendar). The list of the most famous 
 criminals at Newgate prison. 
 
 Page IS4. (Lalla Rookh). This poem, famous for its melody, and 
 still exceedingly popular, was published in 1817. For the relations 
 between its author, Thomas Moore, and Irving, see Introduction to 
 this volume. 
 
 Page 1S5 (" Shall a man fill his belly with the east wind ? "). 
 " Should a wise man utter vain knowledge, and fill his belly with the 
 east wind?" — Job, Chap. XV, verse 2. 
 
 Page 194 (" I care not, Fortune," etc.). The quotation is from 
 
554 NOTES. 
 
 Thomson's Castle of Indolence (1748), canto ii, stanza 3. The poem 
 was one of the best of the eighteenth century imitations of Spenser. 
 
 Page 199 (Waller. Sacharissa). Edmund Waller (1605-1687) 
 was a poet of great reputation up to the middle of the eighteenth 
 century, but is scarcely read at all to-day. Although he wrote for 
 many years, his " Poems" make a very small volume, owing to the 
 immense trouble he took in correcting and polishing. His ideal in 
 poetry was "smoothness," and his influence in preparing the way 
 for Dry den and Pope makes his historical importance much greater 
 than his intrinsic merit. Some of his love songs, however, are 
 beautiful. Sacharissa was Lady Dorothy Sidney, eldest daughter of 
 the Earl of Leicester and descended from Philip Sidney. Waller 
 loved her, or thought he did, wrote a number of poems addressed to 
 her, and gave her the sugary appellation Sacharissa ; but she cared 
 nothing for him. 
 
 Page 203 (Orson). A hero of the old romance, Valentine and 
 Orson. Being suckled by a bear, he naturally had bearish qualities. 
 
 Page 214 (Snug's part of the lion). Snug was the joiner in 
 Midsummer Night's Dream, who played the role of the Lion in the 
 court farce (Act V, Scene 1). 
 
 Page 215 (Prince Hal). Shakspere's favorite hero, who afterward 
 became King Henry V. For an account of him and his " graceless 
 associates," read King Henry IV, Part I. 
 
 Page 221 ("A little more than kin," etc.). Hamlet's first speech 
 in the play ; " A little more than kin, and less than kind" — referring 
 to his uncle Claudius. Hamlet, Act I, Scene 2. 
 
 Page 222 (The melancholy of a gibed cat). From King Henry 
 TV, Part I, Act I, Scene 2. "I am as melancholy as a gib cat." A 
 gib cat is a tom-cat. 
 
 Page 223 (Pantaloon). This word means simply " fool " ; it was 
 the buffoon in the Italian comedy. See Jaques' famous speech in 
 As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7, " The sixth age shifts into the lean 
 and slippered pantaloon." 
 
 Page 228 (Santissima Trinidad). The Santissima Trinidad, 
 was a ship Lord Nelson fought against in two battles , % at St Vincent 
 in 1797, and at Trafalgar in 1805. She was the largest man-of-war in 
 the world at that time, having four decks, and carrying 130 guns. 
 At Trafalgar, Nelson hammered her to pieces ; she was captured, 
 scuttled, and sunk, 
 
NOTES. 555 
 
 Page 229 ("Preying upon her damask cheek"). From the 
 speech of Viola in Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene 4. 
 
 " She never told her love, 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek." 
 
 (" Had the world before us where to choose.") See the closing 
 lines in Paradise Lost. 
 
 Page 230 (Whittington of yore heard the Bow-bells). Sir 
 Richard Whittington (died 1423), the Lord Mayor of London. The 
 Church of St. Mary le Bow had a celebrated peal of bells ; they rang 
 every night at nine o'clock to direct travellers to the city. 
 
 Page 236 (Moore's Irish Melodies). Thomas Moore's Irish 
 Melodies were published 1807-1834. 
 
 Page 238 (The worthy pastor). The pastor is evidently taken 
 from Goldsmith's Village Preacher, in the Deserted Village. 
 
 Page 246 (The Fancy). A name given to the "profession" of 
 pugilists. Often a general name for sporting men. Cf. " dog- 
 fancier." 
 
 Page 247 (Manton's guns). Joseph Manton (1766?-1835), kept a 
 gun-shop at 25 Davies Street, London, which was a familiar place to 
 sportsmen. He greatly improved the shot-gun, and took out many 
 patents. To own one of his guns was an object of ambition to all 
 Nimrods. His brother, John Manton (died 1834), also had a wide 
 reputation. His shop was at 6 Dover Street, Piccadilly. The busi- 
 ness was continued by his sons. 
 
 Page 253 (Overcoming). A rather unusual use of the word. We 
 should naturally say " overpowering." 
 
 Page 254 (" Like Niobe, all tears "). Hamlet's description of his 
 mother after his father's death. Hamlet, Act I, Scene 2. 
 
 Page 281 (Caliban). The deformed monster in Shakspere's Tem- 
 pest. The "foul witch Sycorax" was his mother. 
 
 Page 290 (" The funeral baked meats," etc.). Hamlet's remark to 
 Horatio, sarcastically explaining the " thrift " of his uncle in having 
 the queen's second marriage follow her first husband's funeral so 
 closely that the meats baked for one event could be served up cold 
 for the other. Hamlet, Act I, Scene 2. 
 
 Page 291 (A fine lady to tatters, " to very rags "). Hamlet's 
 speech to the players, cautioning them against ranting. " O, it 
 
556 NOTES. 
 
 offends me to the soul, to see a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear 
 a passion to tatters, to very rags." Hamlet, Act III, Scene 2. 
 
 Page 293 (" The high top-gallant of my joy "). Romeo's speech to 
 the nurse describing the rope-ladder on which he is to climb to Ju- 
 liet's chamber, "the high top-gallant." Romeo and Juliet, Act II, 
 Scene 4. 
 
 Page 291/, (The breeches of Rosalind). When Rosalind takes a 
 boy's part in As You Like It, she assumes male attire. 
 
 Page 299 (Eidouranion). A kind of orrery. An orrery is a 
 machine that represents the motions and phases of the planets. 
 
 Page 300 (" One fell swoop"). Macduff's expression, describing 
 the way his wife and children were slain by Macbeth's orders. Mac- 
 beth, Act IV, Scene 3. 
 
 (" Be all and the end all".) From Macbeth's soliloquy in Ins cas- 
 tle, the night of Duncan's murder : 
 
 " That but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, 
 We 'd jump the life to come." — Macbeth , Act I, Scene 7. 
 
 Page 301 (" The bell then beating one "). From the speech of 
 Bernardo, Hamlet, Act I, Scene 1. 
 
 ("End of all my greatness"). In the great speech of Cardinal 
 Wolsey, in Shakspere and Fletcher's King Henry VIII, Act III, 
 Scene 2. " Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! " 
 
 (" A horse! a horse! ") King Richard's cry at the battle of Bos- 
 worth field : " A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! " King 
 Richard III, Act V, Scene 4. 
 
 Page 303 (The irregularities of genius). This whole conversation 
 is an excellent satire on public taste in the theatres. 
 
 (S'blood.) Abbreviated expression for " God's blood ! " a familiar 
 oath. Compare " Zounds ! " for " God's wounds ! " 
 
 Page 306 (Alexander the Coppersmith). An opponent of St. 
 Paul's. " Alexander the Coppersmith did me much evil ; the Lord 
 will reward him according to his works." II Timothy, Chap. IV, 
 verse 14. 
 
 (Banquo's shadowy line). The apparitions that appeared to 
 Macbeth, representing the descendants of the murdered Banquo, who 
 were to reign over Scotland. King James I of England was sup- 
 posed to come in that "shadowy line." See Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I. 
 
NOTES. 557 
 
 Page 309 (He was married to Sacharissa). Irving always likes 
 to end happily. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 Page 313 (The estafette). A military courier, sent from one 
 part of the army to another. 
 
 Page 315 (Theodoric the Goth). Theodoric the Great (455?-526), 
 King of the Ostrogoths, established the Gothic kingdom of Italy, 
 and was a great patron of the arts. 
 
 Page 370 (Mrs. Radcliffe's romances). The wild and romantic 
 tales of Ann Radcliffe (1764-1823) were very popular during her life- 
 time and for some years after her death. Perhaps the most charac- 
 teristic is The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794). 
 
 Page 371 (" Loves of the Angels "). By Thomas Moore. It was 
 published in 1823. There are three allusions to works by Moore in 
 the Tales of a Traveller. 
 
 Page 389 (The robber gave me the following anecdotes of his 
 history). Another example of Irving's skill in managing a transition. 
 
 Page 403 (Teniers). David Teniers the Younger (1610-1690), a 
 famous Flemish painter. 
 
 Page 432 This conclusion forms a good climax to the Banditti 
 tales. 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 Page 436 (Oloffe the Dreamer). A minute description of Oloffe 
 the Dreamer will be found in Irving's Knickerbockers History of 
 New York, Book II, Chapter 3. 
 
 (Hurl-gate). This name is now not nearly so common as when 
 Irving wrote. 
 
 Page 437 (The straits of Pelorus). Cape di Faro, a N.E. promon- 
 tory of Sicily, near ^Stna. See Vergil, JEneid, hi, 6, 7. Also Milton, 
 Paradise Lost, i, 230-232 : 
 
 " As when the force 
 Of subterranean wind transports a hill 
 Torn from Pelorus." 
 
 Page 44o (Kidd). William Kidd, the famous American pirate, 
 was executed at London in 1701. 
 
558 XOTES. 
 
 Page 455 (The persecutions of Quakers and Anabaptists). It 
 is interesting to notice the kind of work Irving gives the devil to do : 
 it is a pleasant way of expressing his own abhorrence of religious 
 persecution, of the slave-trade, and of the old witchcraft mania. 
 His feelings on the slave-trade are still more strongly expressed on 
 page 461 . 
 
 Page 462 (The time of Governor Belcher). Jonathan Belcher 
 (1681-1757), was the colonial governor of Massachusetts 1730-1741, 
 and in 1747 was governor of the province of New Jersey. 
 
 Page 469 (Dolph Heyliger). One of Irving's best stories, in 
 Bracebridge Hall. 
 
 Page 470 (The Brill). Brille, or Brielle, or Briel ; a famous 
 town in Holland. 
 
 Page 433 (Morgan). A famous Welsh buccaneer of the seven- 
 teenth century. He was knighted by Charles II. 
 
 Page 484- (Pieces-of-eight). Piasters. The Spanish piaster is a 
 coin about the value of an American dollar. 
 
 (Doubloons). The doubloon is a Spanish and Portuguese coin 
 worth between fifteen and sixteen dollars. 
 
 Page 485 (Moidores). A gold coin of Portugal, valued at about 
 twenty-seven shillings, or about $6.50. 
 
 (Pistareen). A silver coin worth about nine pence, or 18 cents. 
 
 Page 486 (Of another guess sort). Of quite another kind. A still 
 common expression among German- Americans in Pennsylvania. 
 
 Page 4.91 (The crackling of thorns under a pot). "For as the 
 crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool." — 
 Ecclesiastes, Chap. VII, verse 6. 
 
 Page 494 (Michaelmas). The 29th of September. 
 
 Page 499 (Basilisk). A fabulous serpent. The glance of its 'eye 
 was supposed to cause death. 
 
 Page 520 (" A very ancient and fish-like smell "). Trinculo's 
 remark about Caliban in the Tempest, Act II, Scene 2. 
 
 Page 527 (Dr. Knipperhausen). This doctor is a character in the 
 tale Dolph Heyliger. 
 
 (Boerhaave). Hermann Boerhaave, one of the most celebrated 
 of Dutch physicians, was born 31 December 1668 at Woorhout, near 
 Ley den ; he died 23 September 1738. 
 
 (Van Helmont). Jean Baptiste van Helmont (1577-1644) was a 
 famous chemist and physician, born at Brussels. 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 igiiiiiiiiiwiiiiiiiiiiiiiui 
 
 015 988 220 2 
 
 ■WW 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■ 11 
 
 HI 
 
 
 H 
 
 ■B 
 
 
 II 
 
 H m m 
 
 B 
 
 Ai 
 
 ronuOSak 
 
 IfjK 
 
 Zanw^Ji<iftiW4>'WwwicwaHW 
 
 MM