As captured January 22, 2025

author: nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> 2025-01-22 04:17:40 -0800
committer: nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> 2025-01-22 04:17:40 -0800
commit: 0ec54def8fe2e434b77f2621231ce232d0f8fe8f (patch)
tree: 707c5c02eb0041262092b12efe9175b0ca6b33a0
parent: b3ccdbae62bcdf289a42ea29add0595682afbd44 (diff)
39 files changed, 32557 insertions, 16694 deletions
diff --git a/67476-0.txt b/67476-0.txt
index d457bf5..a15efde 100644
--- a/67476-0.txt
+++ b/67476-0.txt
@@ -1,6865 +1,6491 @@
-The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches,
-by Florence McLandburgh
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
-will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
-using this eBook.
-
-Title: The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches
-
-Author: Florence McLandburgh
-
-Release Date: February 22, 2022 [eBook #67476]
-
-Language: English
-
-Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading
-             Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from
-             images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
-
-*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER
-SKETCHES ***
-
-
-
-
-
-                                  THE
-                             AUTOMATON EAR,
-                                  AND
-                            OTHER SKETCHES.
-
-
-                                   BY
-
-                         FLORENCE McLANDBURGH.
-
-
-                                CHICAGO:
-                         JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.
-                                 1876.
-
-
-
-
-                               COPYRIGHT,
-                        BY FLORENCE McLANDBURGH,
-                              A. D. 1876.
-
-[Illustration: _LAKESIDE PUBLISHING & PRINTING CO. CHICAGO._]
-
-
-
-
-                               Dedicated
-
-                                   TO
-
-                           JOHN McLANDBURGH.
-
-
-
-
-NOTE.—Some of the sketches and tales in this volume were contributed to
-“Scribner’s Monthly,” “Appleton’s Journal,” and the “Lakeside Magazine,”
-and are used here, in a revised form, by the kind permission of the
-editors. Others appear now for the first time.
-
-                                                                 F. McL.
-
-CHICAGO, _April, 1876_.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                               CONTENTS.
-
-
-                                                PAGE
-                    THE AUTOMATON EAR,             7
-
-                    THE PATHS OF THE SEA,         44
-
-                    REINHART, THE GERMAN,         89
-
-                    SILVER ISLET,                103
-
-                    BOYDELL, THE STROLLER,       129
-
-                    THE DEATH-WATCH,             149
-
-                    THE MAN AT THE CRIB,         161
-
-                    PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL,  183
-
-                    THE FEVERFEW,                201
-
-                    OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER,     213
-
-                    THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA,         243
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                           THE AUTOMATON EAR.
-
-
-The day was hardly different from many another day, though I will likely
-recall it even when the mist of years has shrouded the past in an
-undefined hueless cloud. The sunshine came in at my open window. Out of
-doors it flooded all the land in its warm summer light—the spires of the
-town and the bare college campus; farther, the tall bearded barley and
-rustling oats; farther still, the wild grass and the forest, where the
-river ran and the blue haze dipped from the sky.
-
-The temptation was greater than I could stand, and taking my book I shut
-up the “study,” as the students called my small apartment, leaving it
-for one bounded by no walls or ceiling.
-
-The woods rang with the hum and chirp of insects and birds. I threw
-myself down beneath a tall, broad-spreading tree. Against its
-moss-covered trunk I could hear the loud tap of the woodpecker secreted
-high up among its leaves, and off at the end of a tender young twig a
-robin trilled, swinging himself to and fro through the checkered
-sunlight. I never grew weary listening to the changeful voice of the
-forest and the river, and was hardly conscious of reading until I came
-upon this paragraph:—
-
-  “As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound is never
-  lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will vibrate in the air
-  forever and ever, decreasing according to a fixed ratio. The diffusion
-  of the agitation extends in all directions, like the waves in a pool,
-  but the ear is unable to detect it beyond a certain point. It is well
-  known that some individuals can distinguish sounds which to others
-  under precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the fault
-  is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing, and a tone
-  once in existence is always in existence.”
-
-This was nothing new to me. I had read it before, though I had never
-thought of it particularly; but while I listened to the robin, it seemed
-singular to know that all the sounds ever uttered, ever born, were
-floating in the air _now_—all music, every tone, every bird-song—and we,
-alas! could not hear them.
-
-Suddenly a strange idea shot through my brain—Why not? Ay, _why not
-hear_? Men had constructed instruments which could magnify to the eye
-and—was it possible?—Why not?
-
-I looked up and down the river, but saw neither it, nor the sky, nor the
-moss that I touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted among the
-leaves, and the robin sing, and the hum of insects run along the bank as
-before? I can not recollect, I can not recollect anything, only Mother
-Flinse, the deaf and dumb old crone that occasionally came to beg, and
-sell nuts to the students, was standing in the gateway. I nodded to her
-as I passed, and walked up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path.
-It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly into my head and
-startled me. I hardly dared to think of it, but I could think of nothing
-else. It could not be possible, and yet—why not?
-
-Over and over in the restless hours of the night I asked myself, I said
-aloud, Why not? Then I laughed at my folly, and wondered what I was
-thinking of and tried to sleep—but if it _could_ be done?
-
-The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in class hours and made
-confusion in the lessons. Some said the professor was ill those two or
-three days before the vacation; perhaps I was. I scarcely slept; only
-the one thought grew stronger—Men had done more wonderful things; it
-certainly was possible, and I would accomplish this grand invention. I
-would construct the king of all instruments—I would construct an
-instrument which could catch these faint tones vibrating in the air and
-render them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly until it was
-perfected, or the world might laugh.
-
-The session closed and the college was deserted, save by the few musty
-students whom, even in imagination, one could hardly separate or
-distinguish from the old books on the library shelves. I could wish for
-no better opportunity to begin my great work. The first thing would be
-to prepare for it by a careful study of acoustics, and I buried myself
-among volumes on the philosophy of sound.
-
-I went down to London and purchased a common ear-trumpet. My own ear was
-exceedingly acute, and to my great delight I found that, with the aid of
-the trumpet just as it was, I could distinguish sounds at a much greater
-distance, and those nearer were magnified in power. I had only to
-improve upon this instrument; careful study, careful work, careful
-experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly be realized.
-
-Back to my old room in the college I went with a complete set of tools.
-So days and weeks I shut myself in, and every day and every week brought
-nothing but disappointment. The instrument seemed only to diminish sound
-rather than increase it, yet still I worked on and vowed I would not
-grow discouraged.
-
-Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my narrow window. The fields
-of barley and waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too had ripened
-and gone, but I did not notice. I sprang up with a joyful
-exclamation—Strange never to have thought of it before! Perhaps I
-had not spent my time in vain, after all. How could I expect to test
-my instrument in this close room with only that little window? It
-should be removed from immediate noises, high up in the open air,
-where there would be no obstructions. I would never succeed here—but
-where should I go? It must be some place in which I would never be
-liable to interruption, for my first object was to be shielded and
-work in secret.
-
-I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate spot without success, when
-it occurred to me that I had heard some one say the old gray church was
-shut up. This church was situated just beyond the suburbs of the town.
-It was built of rough stone, mottled and stained by unknown years. The
-high, square tower, covered by thick vines that clung and crept round
-its base, was the most venerable monument among all the slabs and tombs
-where it stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared for by the
-living kept it company. People said the place was too damp for use, and
-talked of rebuilding, but it had never been done. Now if I could gain
-access to the tower, that was the very place for my purpose.
-
-I found the door securely fastened, and walked round and round without
-discovering any way of entrance; but I made up my mind, if it were
-possible to get inside of that church I would do it, and without the
-help of keys. The high windows were not to be thought of; but in the
-rear of the building, lower down, where the fuel had probably been kept,
-there was a narrow opening which was boarded across. With very little
-difficulty I knocked out the planks and crept through. It was a cellar,
-and, as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After feeling about, I
-found a few rough steps which led to a door that was unlocked and
-communicated with the passage back of the vestry-room.
-
-The tower I wished to explore was situated in the remote corner of the
-building. I passed on to the church. Its walls were discolored by green
-mould, and blackened where the water had dripped through. The sun, low
-down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows on the west, and made
-yellow strips across the long aisles, over the faded pews with their
-stiff, straight backs, over the chancel rail, over the altar with its
-somber wood-work; but there was no warmth; only the cheerless glare
-seemed to penetrate the cold, dead atmosphere,—only the cheerless glare
-without sparkle, without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary where
-the organ slept. At the right of the vestibule a staircase led to the
-tower; it ascended to a platform laid on a level with the four windows
-and a little above the point of the church roof. These four windows were
-situated one on each side of the tower, running high up, and the lower
-casement folding inward.
-
-Here was my place. Above the tree-tops, in the free open air, with no
-obstacle to obstruct the wind, I could work unmolested by people or
-noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face was cool and pleasant. An
-hour ago I had been tired, disappointed, and depressed; but now, buoyant
-with hope, I was ready to begin work again—work that I was determined to
-accomplish.
-
-The sun had gone. I did not see the broken slabs and urns in the shadow
-down below; I did not see the sunken graves and the rank grass and the
-briers. I looked over them and saw the gorgeous fringes along the
-horizon, scarlet and gold and pearl; saw them quiver and brighten to
-flame, and the white wings of pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening
-glow.
-
-I closed the windows, and when I had crawled out of the narrow hole,
-carefully reset the boards just as I had found them. In another day all
-the tools and books that I considered necessary were safely deposited in
-the tower. I only intended to make this my workshop, still, of course,
-occupying my old room in the college.
-
-Here I matured plan after plan. I studied, read, worked, knowing,
-_feeling_ that at last I must succeed; but failure followed failure, and
-I sank into despondency only to begin again with a kind of desperation.
-When I went down to London and wandered about, hunting up different
-metals and hard woods, I never entered a concert-room or an opera-house.
-Was there not music in store for me, such as no mortal ear had ever
-heard? _All_ the music, every strain that had sounded in the past ages?
-Ah, I could wait; I would work patiently and wait.
-
-I was laboring now upon a theory that I had not tried heretofore. It was
-my last resource; if this failed, then—but it would not fail! I resolved
-not to make any test, not to put it near my ear until it was completed.
-I discarded all woods and used only the metals which best transmitted
-sound. Finally it was finished, even to the ivory ear-piece. I held the
-instrument all ready—I held it and looked eastward and westward and back
-again. Suddenly all control over the muscles of my hand was gone, it
-felt like stone; then the strange sensation passed away. I stood up and
-lifted the trumpet to my ear—What! Silence? No, no—I was faint, my brain
-was confused, whirling. I would not believe it; I would wait a moment
-until this dizziness was gone, and then—then I would be able to hear. I
-was deaf now. I still held the instrument; in my agitation the ivory tip
-shook off and rolled down rattling on the floor. I gazed at it
-mechanically, as if it had been a pebble; I never thought of replacing
-it, and, mechanically, I raised the trumpet a second time to my ear. A
-crash of discordant sounds, a confused jarring noise broke upon me and I
-drew back trembling, dismayed.
-
-Fool! O fool of fools never to have thought of this, which a child, a
-dunce would not have overlooked! My great invention was nothing, was
-worse than nothing, was worse than a failure. I might have known that my
-instrument would magnify present sounds in the air to such a degree as
-to make them utterly drown all others, and, clashing together, produce
-this noise like the heavy rumble of thunder.
-
-The college reopened, and I took up my old line of duties, or at least
-attempted them, for the school had grown distasteful to me. I was
-restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to forget my disappointment,
-but the effort was vain.
-
-The spires of the town and the college campus glittered white, the
-fields of barley and oats were fields of snow, the forest leaves had
-withered and fallen, and the river slumbered, wrapped in a sheeting of
-ice. Still I brooded over my failure, and when again the wild grass
-turned green I no longer cared. I was not the same man that had looked
-out at the waving grain and the blue haze only a year before. A gloomy
-despondency had settled upon me, and I grew to hate the students, to
-hate the college, to hate society. In the first shock of discovered
-failure I had given up all hope, and the Winter passed I knew not how. I
-never wondered if the trouble could be remedied. Now it suddenly
-occurred to me, perhaps it was no failure after all. The instrument
-might be made adjustable, so as to be sensible to faint or severe
-vibrations at pleasure of the operator, and thus separate the sounds. I
-remembered how but for the accidental removal of the ivory my instrument
-perhaps would not have reflected any sound. I would work again and
-persevere.
-
-I would have resigned my professorship, only it might create suspicion.
-I knew not that already they viewed me with curious eyes and sober
-faces. When the session finally closed, they tried to persuade me to
-leave the college during vacation and travel on the continent. I would
-feel much fresher, they told me, in the Autumn. In the Autumn? Ay,
-perhaps I might, perhaps I might, and I would not go abroad.
-
-Once more the reapers came unnoticed. My work progressed slowly. Day by
-day I toiled up in the old church tower, and night by night I dreamed.
-In my sleep it often seemed that the instrument was suddenly completed,
-but before I could raise it to my ear I would always waken with a
-nervous start. So the feverish time went by, and at last I held it ready
-for a second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable, and I had also
-improved it so far as to be able to set it very accurately for any
-particular period, thus rendering it sensible only to sounds of that
-time, all heavier and fainter vibrations being excluded.
-
-I drew it out almost to its limits.
-
-All the maddening doubts that had haunted me like grinning specters
-died. I felt no tremor, my hand was steady, my pulse-beat regular.
-
-The soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf stirred in the quiet that
-seemed to await my triumph. Again the crimson splendor of sun-set
-illumined the western sky and made a glory overhead—and the dusk was
-thickening down below among the mouldering slabs. But that mattered not.
-
-I raised the trumpet to my ear.
-
-Hark!—The hum of mighty hosts! It rose and fell, fainter and more faint;
-then the murmur of water was heard and lost again, as it swelled and
-gathered and burst in one grand volume of sound like a hallelujah from
-myriad lips. Out of the resounding echo, out of the dying cadence a
-single female voice arose. Clear, pure, rich, it soared above the tumult
-of the host that hushed itself, a living thing. Higher, sweeter, it
-seemed to break the fetters of mortality and tremble in sublime
-adoration before the Infinite. My breath stilled with awe. Was it a
-spirit-voice—one of the glittering host in the jasper city “that had no
-need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it?” And the water, was
-it the river clear as crystal flowing from the great white throne? But
-no! The tone now floated out soft, sad, human. There was no sorrowful
-strain in that nightless land where the leaves of the trees were for the
-healing of the nations. The beautiful voice was of the earth and
-sin-stricken. From the sobbing that mingled with the faint ripple of
-water it went up once more, ringing gladly, joyfully; it went up
-inspired with praise to the sky, and—hark! the Hebrew tongue:—
-
-“The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.”
-
-Then the noise of the multitude swelled again, and a crash of music
-broke forth from innumerable timbrels. I raised my head quickly—it was
-the song of Miriam after the passage of the Red Sea.
-
-I knew not whether I lived.
-
-I bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again and heard—the soft rustle,
-the breathing as of a sleeping forest. A plaintive note stole gently
-out, more solemn and quiet than the chant of the leaves. The mournful
-lay, forlorn, frightened, trembled on the air like the piteous wail of
-some wounded creature. Then it grew stronger. Clear, brilliant, it burst
-in a shower of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in the glitter
-of the tropical sunlight. But the mournful wail crept back, and the
-lonely heartbroken strain was lost, while the leaves still whispered to
-one another in the midnight.
-
-Like the light of a distant star came to me this song of some
-nightingale, thousands of years after the bird had mouldered to nothing.
-
-At last my labor had been rewarded. As sound travels in waves, and these
-waves are continually advancing as they go round and round the world,
-therefore I would never hear the same sound over again at the same time,
-but it passed beyond and another came in its stead.
-
-All night I listened with my ear pressed to the instrument. I heard the
-polished, well-studied compliments, the rustle of silks, and the quick
-music of the dance at some banquet. I could almost see the brilliant
-robes and glittering jewels of the waltzers, and the sheen of light, and
-the mirrors. But hush! a cry, a stifled moan. Was that at the——No, the
-music and the rustle of silk were gone.
-
-“Mother, put your hand here,—I am tired, and my head feels hot and
-strange. Is it night, already, that it has grown so dark? I am resting
-now, for my book is almost done, and then, mother, we can go back to the
-dear old home where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles are
-heavy with perfume. And, mother, we will never be poor any more. I know
-you are weary, for your cheeks are pale and your fingers are thin; but
-they shall not touch a needle then, and you will grow better, mother,
-and we will forget these long, long, bitter years. I will not write in
-the evenings then, but sit with you and watch the twilight fade as we
-used to do, and listen to the murmur of the frogs. I described the
-little stream, our little stream, mother, in my book.—Hark! I hear the
-splash of its waves now. Hold me by the hand tight, mother. I am tired,
-but we are almost there. See! the house glimmers white through the
-trees, and the red bird has built its nest again in the cedar. Put your
-arm around me, mother, mother—”
-
-Then single, echoless, the mother’s piercing cry went up—“O my God!”
-
-Great Heaven! It would not always be music that I should hear. Into this
-ear, where all the world poured its tales, sorrow and suffering and
-death would come in turn with mirth and gladness.
-
-I listened again. The long-drawn ahoy!—ahoy!—of the sailor rang out in
-slumbrous musical monotone, now free, now muffled—gone. The gleeful
-laugh of children at play, then the drunken boisterous shout of the
-midnight reveler—What was that? A chime of bells, strange, sublime,
-swimming in the air they made a cold, solemn harmony. But even over them
-dashed the storm-blast of passion that sweeps continually up and down
-the earth, and the harmony that bound them in peace broke up in a wild,
-angry clamor, that set loose shrill screams which were swallowed up in a
-savage tumult of discord, like a mad carnival of yelling demons. Then,
-as if terrified by their own fiendish rage, they retreated shivering,
-remorseful, and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers about the gray
-belfry. It was the Carillonneur, Matthias Vander Gheyn, playing at
-Louvain on the first of July, 1745.
-
-Yes, my invention had proved a grand success. I had worked and worked in
-order to give this instrument to the world; but now when it was
-finished, strange to say, all my ambition, all my desire for fame left
-me, and I was anxious only to guard it from discovery, to keep it
-secret, to keep it more jealously than a miser hoards his gold. An
-undefinable delight filled my soul that I alone out of all humanity
-possessed this treasure, this great Ear of the World, for which kings
-might have given up their thrones. Ah! they dreamed not of the wonders I
-could relate. It was a keen, intense pleasure to see the public for
-which I had toiled live on, deaf forever save to the few transient
-sounds of the moment, while I, their slave, reveled in another world
-above, beyond their’s. But they should never have this instrument; no,
-not for kingdoms would I give it up, not for life itself.
-
-It exerted a strange fascination over me, and in my eager desire to
-preserve my secret a tormenting fear suddenly took possession of me that
-some one might track me to the tower and discover all. It seemed as if
-the people looked after me with curious faces as I passed. I went no
-longer on the main road that led to the church, but, when I left my
-room, took an opposite direction until out of sight, and then made a
-circuit across the fields. I lived in a continual fear of betraying
-myself, so that at night I closed my window and door lest I might talk
-aloud in my sleep. I could never again bear the irksome duties of my
-office, and when the college reopened I gave up my situation and took
-lodgings in town. Still the dread of detection haunted me. Every day I
-varied my route to the church, and every day the people seemed to stare
-at me with a more curious gaze. Occasionally some of my old pupils came
-to visit me, but they appeared constrained in my presence and were soon
-gone. However, no one seemed to suspect my secret; perhaps all this was
-merely the work of my imagination, for I had grown watchful and
-reticent.
-
-I hardly ate or slept. I lived perpetually in the past listening to the
-echoing song of the Alpine shepherd; the rich, uncultivated soprano of
-the Southern slave making strange wild melody. I heard grand organ
-fugues rolling, sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in awe, while a
-choir of voices broke into a gloria that seemed to sway the great
-cathedral. The thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang again,
-making my listening soul tremble in their magnificent harmony. It was
-music of which we could not dream.
-
-Then suddenly I determined to try the opera once more; perhaps I was
-prejudiced: I had not been inside of a concert-room for more than a
-year.
-
-I went down to London. It was just at the opening of the season. I could
-hardly wait that evening until the curtain rose; the orchestra was harsh
-and discordant, the house hot and disagreeable, the gas painfully
-bright. My restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch before the prima
-donna made her appearance. Surely that voice was not the one before
-which the world bowed! Malibran’s song stood out in my memory clearly
-defined and complete, like a magnificent cathedral of pure marble, with
-faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings, where the minarets
-rose from wreaths of lilies and vine-leaves cut in bas-relief, and the
-slender spire shot high, glittering yellow in the upper sunlight, its
-golden arrow, burning like flame, pointing towards the East. But this
-prima donna built only a flat, clumsy structure of wood ornamented by
-gaudily painted lattice. I left the opera amid the deafening applause of
-the audience with a smile of scorn upon my lips. Poor deluded creatures!
-they knew nothing of music, they knew not what they were doing.
-
-I went to St. Paul’s on the Sabbath. There was no worship in the
-operatic voluntary sung by hired voices; it did not stir my soul, and
-their cold hymns did not warm with praise to the Divine Creator, or sway
-the vast pulseless congregation that came and went without one quickened
-breath.
-
-All this time I felt a singular, inexpressible pleasure in the
-consciousness of my great secret, and I hurried back with eager haste.
-In London I had accidentally met two or three of my old acquaintances. I
-was not over glad to see them myself: as I have said, I had grown
-utterly indifferent to society; but I almost felt ashamed when they
-offered me every attention within their power, for I had not anticipated
-it, nor was it deserved on my part. Now, when I returned, every body in
-the street stopped to shake hands with me and inquire for my health. At
-first, although I was surprised at the interest they manifested, I took
-it merely as the common civility on meeting, but when the question was
-repeated so particularly by each one, I thought it appeared strange, and
-asked if they had ever heard to the contrary; no, oh no, they said, but
-still I was astonished at the unusual care with which they all made the
-same inquiry.
-
-I went up to my room and walked directly to the glass. It was the first
-time I had consciously looked into a mirror for many weeks. Good
-Heavens! The mystery was explained now. _I could hardly recognize
-myself._ At first the shock was so great that I stood gazing, almost
-petrified. The demon of typhus fever could not have wrought a more
-terrific change in my face if he had held it in his clutches for months.
-My hair hung in long straggling locks around my neck. I was thin and
-fearfully haggard. My eyes sunken far back in my head, looked out from
-dark, deep hollows; my heavy black eyebrows were knit together by
-wrinkles that made seams over my forehead; my fleshless cheeks clung
-tight to the bone, and a bright red spot on either one was half covered
-by thick beard. I had thought so little about my personal appearance
-lately that I had utterly neglected my hair, and I wondered now that it
-had given me no annoyance. I smiled while I still looked at myself. This
-was the effect of the severe study and loss of sleep, and the excitement
-under which I had labored for months, yes, for more than a year. I had
-not been conscious of fatigue, but my work was done now and I would soon
-regain my usual weight. I submitted myself immediately to the hands of a
-barber, dressed with considerable care, and took another look in the
-glass. My face appeared pinched and small since it had been freed from
-beard. The caverns around my eyes seemed even larger, and the bright
-color in my cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely sallow tint
-of my complexion. I turned away with an uncomfortable feeling, and
-started on a circuitous route to the church, for I never trusted my
-instrument in any other place.
-
-It was a sober autumn day. Every thing looked dreary with that cold,
-gray, sunless sky stretched overhead. The half-naked trees shivered a
-little in their seared garments of ragged leaves. Occasionally a cat
-walked along the fence-top, or stood trembling on three legs. Sometimes
-a depressed bird suddenly tried to cheer its drooping spirits and
-uttered a few sharp, discontented chirps. Just in front of me two boys
-were playing ball on the roadside. As I passed I accidentally caught
-this sentence:
-
-“They say the professor ain’t just right in his head.”
-
-For a moment I stood rooted to the ground; then wheeled round and cried
-out fiercely, “What did you say?”
-
-“Sir?”
-
-“What was that you said just now?” I repeated still more fiercely.
-
-The terrified boys looked at me an instant, then without answering
-turned and ran as fast as fright could carry them.
-
-So the mystery now was really explained! It was not sick the people
-thought me, but crazy. I walked on with a queer feeling and began
-vaguely to wonder why I had been so savage to those boys. The fact which
-I had learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock, but it was nothing
-to me. What did I care, even if the people did think me crazy? Ah!
-perhaps if I told my secret they would consider it a desperate case of
-insanity. But the child’s words kept ringing in my ears until an idea
-flashed upon me more terrifying than death itself. How did I know that I
-was _not_ insane? How did I know that my great invention might be only
-an hallucination of my brain?
-
-Instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded up like ghostly witnesses to
-affright me. I had studied myself to a shadow; my pallid face, with the
-red spots on the cheeks and the blue hollows around the eyes, came
-before my mental vision afresh. The fever in my veins told me I was
-unnaturally excited. I had not slept a sound, dreamless sleep for weeks.
-Perhaps in the long, long days and nights my brain, like my body, had
-been overwrought; perhaps in my eager desire to succeed, in my desperate
-determination, the power of my will had disordered my mind, and it was
-all deception: the sounds, the music I had heard, merely the creation of
-my diseased fancy, and the instrument I had handled useless metal. The
-very idea was inexpressible torture to me. I could not bear that a
-single doubt of its reality should exist; but, after once entering my
-head, how would I ever be able to free myself from distrust? I could not
-do it; I would be obliged to live always in uncertainty. It was
-maddening: now I felt as if I might have struck the child in my rage if
-I could have found him. Then suddenly it occurred to me, for the first
-time, that my invention could easily be tested by some other person.
-Almost instantly I rejected the thought, for it would compel me to
-betray my secret, and in my strange infatuation I would rather have
-destroyed the instrument. But the doubts of my sanity on this subject
-returned upon me with tenfold strength, and again I thought in despair
-of the only method left me by which they could ever be settled.
-
-In the first shock, when the unlucky sentence fell upon my ear, I had
-turned after the boys, and then walked on mechanically towards the town.
-Now, when I looked up I found myself almost at the college gate. No one
-was to be seen, only Mother Flinse with her basket on her arm was just
-raising the latch. Half bewildered I turned hastily round and bent my
-steps in the direction of my lodgings, while I absently wondered whether
-that old woman had stood there ever since, since—when? I did not
-recollect, but her shadow was long and slim—no, there were no shadows
-this afternoon; it was sunless.
-
-As I reached the stairs leading to my room, my trouble, which I had
-forgotten for the moment, broke upon me anew. I dragged myself up and
-sat down utterly overwhelmed. As I have said, I would sooner destroy the
-instrument than give it to a thankless world; but to endure the
-torturing doubt of its reality was impossible. Suddenly it occurred to
-me that Mother Flinse was mute. I might get her to test my invention
-without fear of betrayal, for she could neither speak nor write, and her
-signs on this subject, if she attempted to explain, would be altogether
-unintelligible to others. I sprang up in wild delight, then immediately
-fell back in my chair with a hoarse laugh—Mother Flinse was _deaf_ as
-well as dumb. I had not remembered that. I sat quietly a moment trying
-to calm myself and think. Why need this make any difference? The
-instrument ought to, at least it was possible that it might, remedy loss
-of hearing. I too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it made
-audible. They would have to be magnified to a greater degree for her. I
-might set it for the present and use the full power of the instrument:
-there certainly would be no harm in trying, at any rate, and if it
-failed it would prove nothing, if it did not fail it would prove every
-thing. Then a new difficulty presented itself. How could I entice the
-old woman into the church?
-
-I went back towards the college expecting to find her, but she was
-nowhere to be seen, and I smiled that only a few moments ago I had
-wondered if she did not always stand in the gateway. Once, I could not
-exactly recall the time, I had passed her hut. I remembered distinctly
-that there was a line full of old ragged clothes stretched across from
-the fence to a decayed tree, and a bright red flannel petticoat blew and
-flapped among the blackened branches. It was a miserable frame cabin,
-set back from the Spring road, about half a mile out of town. There I
-went in search of her.
-
-The blasted tree stood out in bold relief against the drab sky. There
-appeared no living thing about the dirty, besmoked hovel except one lean
-rat, that squatted with quivering nose and stared a moment, then
-retreated under the loose plank before the door, leaving its smellers
-visible until I stepped upon the board. I knocked loudly without
-receiving any reply; then, smiling at the useless ceremony I had
-performed, pushed it open. The old woman, dressed in her red petticoat
-and a torn calico frock, with a faded shawl drawn over her head, was
-standing with her back towards me, picking over a pile of rags. She did
-not move. I hesitated an instant, then walked in. The moment I put my
-foot upon the floor she sprang quickly round. At first she remained
-motionless, with her small, piercing gray eyes fixed upon me, holding a
-piece of orange-and-black spotted muslin; evidently she recognized me,
-for, suddenly dropping it, she began a series of wild gestures, grinning
-until all the wrinkles of her skinny face converged in the region of her
-mouth, where a few scattered teeth, long and sharp, gleamed strangely
-white. A rim of grizzled hair stood out round the edge of the turbaned
-shawl and set off the withered and watchful countenance of the
-speechless old crone. The yellow, shriveled skin hung loosely about her
-slim neck like leather, and her knotted hands were brown and dry as the
-claws of an eagle.
-
-I went through the motion of sweeping and pointed over my shoulder,
-making her understand that I wished her to do some cleaning. She drew
-the seams of her face into a new grimace by way of assent, and, putting
-the piece of orange-and-black spotted muslin around her shoulders in
-lieu of a cloak, preceded me out of the door. She started immediately in
-the direction of the college, and I was obliged to take hold of her
-before I could attract her attention; then, when I shook my head, she
-regarded me in surprise, and fell once more into a series of frantic
-gesticulations. With considerable trouble I made her comprehend that she
-was merely to follow me. The old woman was by no means dull, and her
-small, steel-gray eyes had a singular sharpness about them that is only
-found in the deaf-mute, where they perform the part of the ear and
-tongue. As soon as we came in sight of the church she was perfectly
-satisfied. I walked up to the main entrance, turned the knob and shook
-it, then suddenly felt in all my pockets, shook the door over, and felt
-through all my pockets again. This hypocritical pantomime had the
-desired effect. The old beldam slapped her hands together and poked her
-lean finger at the hole of the lock, apparently amused that I had
-forgotten the key. Then of her own accord she went round and tried the
-other doors, but without success. As we passed the narrow window in the
-rear I made a violent effort in knocking out the loose boards. The old
-woman seemed greatly delighted, and when I crawled through willingly
-followed. I gave her a brush, which fortunately one day I had discovered
-lying in the vestibule, and left her in the church to dust, while I went
-up in the tower to prepare and remove from sight all the tools which
-were scattered about. I put them in a recess and screened it from view
-by a map of the Holy Land. Then I took my instrument and carefully
-adjusted it, putting on its utmost power.
-
-In about an hour I went down and motioned to Mother Flinse that I wanted
-her up stairs. She came directly after me without hesitation, and I felt
-greatly relieved, for I saw that I would likely have no trouble with the
-old woman. When we got into the tower she pointed down to the trees and
-then upward, meaning, I presume, that it was high. I nodded, and taking
-the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment. A loud blast of music,
-like a dozen bands playing in concert, almost stunned me. She watched me
-very attentively, but when I made signs for her to come and try she drew
-back. I held up the instrument and went through all manner of motions
-indicating that it would not hurt her, but she only shook her head. I
-persevered in my endeavor to coax her until she seemed to gain courage
-and walked up within a few feet of me, then suddenly stopped and
-stretched out her hands for the instrument. As she did not seem afraid,
-provided she had it herself, I saw that she took firm hold.
-
-In my impatience to know the result of this experiment, I was obliged to
-repeat my signs again and again before I could prevail upon her to raise
-it to her ear. Then breathlessly I watched her face, a face I thought
-which looked as if it might belong to some mummy that had been withering
-for a thousand years. Suddenly it was convulsed as if by a galvanic
-shock, then the shriveled features seemed to dilate, and a great light
-flashed through them, transforming them almost into the radiance of
-youth; a strange light as of some seraph had taken possession of the
-wrinkled old frame and looked out at the gray eyes, making them shine
-with unnatural beauty. No wonder the dumb countenance reflected a
-brightness inexpressible, for the Spirit of Sound had just alighted with
-silvery wings upon a silence of seventy years.
-
-A heavy weight fell unconsciously from my breast while I stood almost
-awed before this face, which was transfigured, as if it might have
-caught a glimmer of that mystical morn when, in a moment, in the
-twinkling of an eye, we shall all be changed.
-
-My instrument had stood the test; it was proved forever. I could no
-longer cherish any doubts of its reality, and an indescribable peace
-came into my soul, like a sudden awakening from some frightful dream. I
-had not noticed the flight of time. A pale shadow hung already over the
-trees—yes, and under them on the slime-covered stones. Ay! and a heavier
-shadow than the coming night was even then gathering unseen its rayless
-folds. The drab sky had blanched and broken, and the sinking sun poured
-a fading light through its ragged fissures.
-
-The old woman, as if wrapped in an enchantment, had hardly moved. I
-tried vainly to catch her attention; she did not even appear conscious
-of my presence. I walked up and shook her gently by the shoulder, and,
-pointing to the setting sun, held out my hand for the instrument. She
-looked at me a moment, with the singular unearthly beauty shining
-through every feature; then suddenly clutching the trumpet tight between
-her skinny claws, sprang backward towards the stairs, uttering a sound
-that was neither human nor animal, that was not a wail or a scream, but
-it fell upon my ears like some palpable horror. Merciful Heaven! Was
-that thing yonder a woman? The shriveled, fleshless lips gaped apart,
-and a small pointed tongue lurked behind five glittering, fang-like
-teeth. The wild beast had suddenly been developed in the hag. Like a
-hungry tigress defending its prey, she stood hugging the trumpet to her,
-glaring at me with stretched neck and green eyes.
-
-A savage fierceness roused within me when I found she would not give up
-the instrument, and I rushed at her with hands ready to snatch back the
-prize I valued more than my life—_or hers_; but, quicker than a hunted
-animal, she turned and fled with it down the stairs, making the tower
-ring with the hideous cries of her wordless voice. Swiftly—it seemed as
-if the danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to fly in pursuit—I
-crossed the vestibule. She was not there. Every thing was silent, and I
-darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of the church, when
-suddenly the jarring idiotic sounds broke loose again, echoing up in the
-organ-pipes and rattling along the galleries. The fiend sprang from
-behind the altar, faced about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming
-teeth, then fled through the vestry-room into the passage. The sight of
-her was fresh fuel to my rage, and it flamed into a frenzy that seemed
-to burn the human element out of my soul. When I gained the steps
-leading into the coal-room she was already in the window, but I cleared
-the distance at a single bound and caught hold of her clothes as she
-leaped down. I crawled through, but she clutched the instrument tighter.
-I could not prize it out of her grasp; and in her ineffectual efforts to
-free herself from my hold she made loud, grating cries, that seemed to
-me to ring and reverberate all through the forest; but presently they
-grew smothered, gurgled, then ceased. Her clasp relaxed in a convulsive
-struggle, and the trumpet was in my possession. It was easily done, for
-her neck was small and lean, and my hands made a circle strong as a
-steel band.
-
-The tremor died out of her frame and left it perfectly still. Through
-the silence I could hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle-weeds, and
-the flapping wings of some night bird fanned my face as it rushed
-swiftly through the air in its low flight. The gray twilight had
-deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to have given up their tenants.
-The pale monuments stood out like shrouded specters. But all the dead in
-that church-yard were not under ground, for on the wet grass at my feet
-there was something stark and stiff, more frightful than any phantom of
-imagination—something that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly
-features. It must be put out of sight, yes, it must be hid, to save my
-invention from discovery. The old hag might be missed, and if she was
-found here it would ruin me and expose my secret. I placed the trumpet
-on the window-ledge, and, carrying the grim burden in my arms, plunged
-into the damp tangle of weeds and grass.
-
-In a lonesome corner far back from the church, in the dense shade of
-thorn-trees, among the wild brambles where poisonous vines grew,
-slippery with the mould of forgotten years, unsought, uncared for by any
-human hand, was a tomb. Its sides were half buried in the tall
-underbrush, and the long slab had been broken once, for a black fissure
-ran zigzag across the middle. In my muscles that night there was the
-strength of two men. I lifted off one-half of the stone and heard the
-lizards dart startled from their haunt, and felt the spiders crawl. When
-the stone was replaced it covered more than the lizards or the spiders
-in the dark space between the narrow walls.
-
-As I have said, the instrument possessed a singular fascination over me.
-I had grown to love it, not alone as a piece of mechanism for the
-transmission of sound, but like a _living_ thing, and I replaced it in
-the tower with the same pleasure one feels who has rescued a friend from
-death. My listening ear never grew weary, but now I drew quickly away.
-It was not music I heard, or the ripple of water, or the prattle of
-merry tongues, but the harsh grating cries that had echoed in the
-church, that had rattled and died out in the forest—that voice which was
-not a voice. I shivered while I readjusted the instrument; perhaps it
-was the night wind which chilled me, but the rasping sounds were louder
-than before. _I could not exclude them._ There was no element of
-superstition in my nature, and I tried it over again: still I heard
-them—sometimes sharp, sometimes only a faint rumbling. Had the soul of
-the deaf-mute come in retribution to haunt me and cry eternally in my
-instrument? Perhaps on the morrow it would not disturb me, but there was
-no difference. I could hear only it, though I drew out the trumpet for
-vibrations hundreds of years old. I had rid myself of the withered hag
-who would have stolen my treasure, but now I could not rid myself of her
-invisible ghost. She had conquered, even through death, and come from
-the spirit world to gain possession of the prize for which she had given
-up her life. The instrument was no longer of any value to me, though
-cherishing a vague hope I compelled myself to listen, even with
-chattering teeth; for it was a terrible thing to hear these hoarse,
-haunting cries of the dumb soul—of the soul I had strangled from its
-body, a soul which I would have killed itself if it were possible. But
-my hope was vain, and the trumpet had become not only worthless to me,
-but an absolute horror.
-
-Suddenly I determined to destroy it. I turned it over ready to dash it
-in pieces, but it cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life, and
-while I stood irresolute a small green-and-gold beetle crawled out of it
-and dropped like a stone to the floor. The insect was an electric flash
-to me, that dispelled the black gloom through which I had been battling.
-It had likely fallen into the instrument down in the church-yard, or
-when I laid it upon the window-sill, and the rasping of its wings,
-magnified, had produced the sounds which resembled the strange grating
-noise uttered by the deaf-mute.
-
-Instantly I put the trumpet to my ear. Once more the music of the past
-surged in. Voices, leaves, water, all murmured to me their changeful
-melody; every zephyr wafting by was filled with broken but melodious
-whispers.
-
-Relieved from doubts, relieved from fears and threatening dangers, I
-slept peacefully, dreamlessly as a child. With a feeling of rest to
-which I had long been unused, I walked out in the soft clear morning.
-Every thing seemed to have put on new life, for the sky was not gray or
-sober, and the leaves, if they were brown, trimmed their edges in
-scarlet, and if many had fallen, the squirrels played among them on the
-ground. But suddenly the sky and the leaves and the squirrels might have
-been blotted from existence. I did not see them, but I saw—_I saw Mother
-Flinse come through the college gateway and walk slowly down the road!_
-
-The large faded shawl pinned across her shoulders nearly covered the red
-flannel petticoat, and the orange-and-black spotted muslin was wrapped
-into a turban on her head. Without breathing, almost without feeling, I
-watched the figure until at the corner it turned out of sight, and a
-long dark outline on the grass behind it ran into the fence. The shadow!
-Then it was not a ghost. Had the grave given up its dead? I would see.
-
-At the church-yard the briers tore my face and clothes, but I plunged
-deeper where the shade thickened under the thorn-trees. There in the
-corner I stooped to lift the broken slab of a tomb, but all my strength
-would not avail to move it. As I leaned over, bruising my hands in a
-vain endeavor to raise it, my eyes fell for an instant on the stone, and
-with a start I turned quickly and ran to the church; then I stopped—the
-narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the slab on the tomb was filled
-with green moss, and this window was nailed up, and hung full of heavy
-cobwebs.
-
-And my instrument?
-
-Suddenly, while I stood there, some substance in my brain seemed to
-break up—it was the fetters of monomania which had bound me since that
-evening long ago, when, by the river in the oak-forest, I had heard the
-robin trill.
-
-No murder stained my soul: and there, beside the black waves of insanity
-through which I had passed unharmed, I gave praise to the great
-Creator—praise silent, but intense as Miriam’s song by the sea.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                         THE PATHS OF THE SEA.
-
-
-Around the porch there hung that day a crimson glory. It was the
-climbing rose about the door displaying its gorgeous bloom in a thousand
-crowns. Green, grass-green were the hills, but in front of the house the
-cliff fell abruptly, with a precipitous drop, to the sea. On either side
-the waving coast-line stretched away, a shining belt of yellow sand.
-There the breakers with unfurled banners of fleece followed each other
-in a never ending procession to the shore. But at the foot the billows,
-by day and night running in forever, dashed against the rock and chopped
-to a seething foam that threw up in one continual briny shower its white
-and glittering spray.
-
-The surf at this point, even in pleasant weather, sounded a constant
-roar, and in times of storm it increased to a deafening thunder that
-appalled the ear and made the heart tremble before the sea in its savage
-ferocity. Looking off to the right, perhaps the greater part of a mile
-distant, the harbor discovered itself, blue, bluer than the sky. A few
-vessels that had grown mysteriously upon the empty horizon, and come in
-over the vast waste of waters, were idly lying at anchor, each one
-biding her time to spread her sails in the breeze and recede upon her
-lonely course, going, as she had come, like some spirit of solitude,
-dropping down silently beyond the remote sea-reaches. There the Nereid
-swung herself gently over the long ground-swell, patiently awaiting the
-coming night when again to take up her watery track that would carry her
-over the great Atlantic to other lands and far-off harbors. Not a
-trimmer ship sailed the high seas.
-
-The sun had traveled almost down the western slope, and it lit up the
-mighty ocean with a splendor that burned in lances of flame along the
-waves, and floated in myriad rainbows over the surf. The pomp of the
-departing day passed across the boundless waters, a magnificent
-pageantry. As the sun went down, the sky became a scarlet canopy. The
-flying spray took up the color and spread out a thousand streamers to
-the wind. Long, gold-green lanes of sea ran out to where the distant
-mists let down their gorgeous drapery. The tireless gulls, shaking the
-red light from their wings, sailed and sailed and dipped and sailed
-again. A few fishing smacks loitered in the orange haze, and, leagues
-away, a single sloop in the humid north stood, like some wan
-water-wraith, with a garland of foam about its feet. Eastward, above the
-hills, the waiting moon hung her helmet, paler than pearl, and the land,
-transfigured by the evening light, looked on while the sea in its play
-flashed up a hundred hues.
-
-The widow Aber had lived there on the cliff and seen the tides ebb and
-flow for more now than the quarter of a century. She was not a young
-girl when, twenty-six years back, poor Jacob Aber had married her. It
-was a sudden fancy on his part and a great surprise to the place, for
-Jacob was well on towards fifty, and many a girl had set her cap to
-catch the handsome sailor in vain. But he never rued his bargain. He was
-not a rich man, because he had always been a generous man, and he was
-content with enough merely to bring him in a modest living. When he
-married he took what little he had and built this cottage, built it of
-brick good and strong, where he could feel the salt wind blow, right in
-the face of the sea—the sea that, until he met Miriam Drew with her soft
-gray eyes, he had loved better than every thing else in all the wide
-world.
-
-They were happy and prosperous for four long years. First a son, then a
-daughter had come to brighten their home, and it was on just such an
-evening as this that Miriam, holding her infant child in her arms, told
-Jacob good-bye two-and-twenty years ago.
-
-It would be his last cruise, he said. The vessel was his own, and in
-twelve months, or less, he would come back rich enough to stay always,
-and if the tears were in his voice he choked them down bravely, saying
-again it was but for a little while he should be gone, and she must
-cheer up for the long and happy years that would come after.
-
-Then she suddenly laid down her child and with a smothered sob put up
-her arms about his neck. It was the first time she had fairly given way,
-and she clung to him trembling violently, but uttering not one word. He
-smoothed her brow gently, with a caressing touch, for her sake keeping
-his own grief crushed within his heart, and said,—
-
-“Miriam don’t you remember once saying you could always tell a sailor by
-the dreamy far-off look in his eyes, an expression that came only to
-those that lived upon the sea and watched its wide, wide fields? And
-don’t you remember sometimes when I was sitting quietly at home you
-would come up suddenly and ask me what it was I saw miles and miles
-away, over the summer water, in that distant sunny land? Well, do not
-cry so, for even when my ship has vanished from your sight, when on
-every side there is no trace of shore, I can stand upon her deck and
-look beyond the far horizon at our peaceful, happy home. And when at
-evening, with your eyes upon the sea, you sit and hold the children in
-your lap, remember I will be watching you from across its glittering
-line. There, that is right! You are a good, brave girl! It is but for a
-little while. I can look beyond this parting—I can see your waiting face
-turn radiant as my boat sails safely back!”
-
-Then, when he had kissed her and the little ones, and turned and kissed
-them again, there was a faint smile struggling through her tears. So,
-striving to keep down her grief, she parted without saying one word of
-the terrible dread that lay upon her heart.
-
-And two-and-twenty years ago he had sailed away.
-
-Many days, many nights, many weeks, many months, Miriam had watched the
-sea with wistful eyes. For his sake she had very nearly grown to love
-it, and the color came again to her cheeks as the time went by and the
-year was almost up, when it would give back forever the one she valued
-more than life. In those days she scanned the water-line, and waited
-patiently, and went about the house singing. She chattered to her
-baby-daughter all how its father was sailing home, until it laughed and
-cooed in wild delight. Every morning she dressed little Tommy in his
-best, and tied about his waist the beautiful sea-green sash that Jacob
-had brought her from the distant Indies; and in the queer frosted vases
-on the mantel, that had come from some foreign port, she kept a fresh
-bouquet of sweet wild flowers.
-
-But poor Jacob never came back.
-
-Homeward bound, his vessel was wrecked off the treacherous Newfoundland
-shore. A storm drove her helpless, enshrouded in fog, against the rocks
-where she foundered, and captain and crew went down together. Only two
-men escaped from the terrible disaster.
-
-When the dreadful news came and they told Miriam as they met her on the
-porch, she made no reply. She did not moan or scream. She only looked
-out for a moment at the deceitful sea, smiling in its sheen of a
-thousand tints, then turned and went into the house and shut the door.
-
-She had always been a strange woman, and they left her to bear her grief
-alone. She asked nobody’s sympathy, she did not complain, she never
-spoke of Jacob. She did not, as the people had expected, sell her house.
-She made no change so far as the world could see, only that she held
-herself, if possible, more aloof from society than ever. But before
-three months had gone by they noticed that her brown and shining hair
-had turned white, and her gray eyes showed half concealed within their
-depths an unfathomed trouble. Then too, her figure, once erect and
-straight as a dart, grew bent and stooped across the shoulders, and
-nothing ever brought the color to her face any more that was always pale
-and thin. Otherwise, however, there appeared no difference. She lived
-economically, and sometimes took in a small amount of fine sewing, as,
-beside the house, she had little else, for the sea when it buried her
-husband had buried his earnings also in the same watery grave.
-
-She staid at home and watched the children in whom her life was now
-wholly bound up. They were her world, her all. She seemed to find in
-them her very existence, and after the queer frosted vases on the mantel
-had stood empty for years, their young hands filled them again with
-sweet wild flowers. So the house once more was bright and sunny, and,
-though Miriam herself never sang, Hannah’s voice was clear and happy.
-
-Hannah had grown up the very picture of her mother when in her early
-girlhood, but young Tom was like his father. He was like his father in
-more respects than one, and while still a boy the people said he too
-will prove a sailor. They were right; though Miriam had struggled
-against it and watched over him with an absorbing care. She saw again
-developed in him the same wild fascination for the sea. She knew its
-strength and that it must prevail, and when he came and begged so hard,
-with the well remembered far-off look in his eyes, she felt all
-opposition would be vain.
-
-She did not reproach herself that she had lived upon the coast and
-played with him upon the beach, for something in her heart told her that
-it could have been no different, even had she raised him up in another
-place where the sound of the sea would not have been always in his ears.
-She recognized in this fatal love the heritage he had received from his
-father. The thought that it could be eradicated, that he would ever be
-satisfied with any thing else she knew to be hopeless, and so the widow
-had given up, and he had gone at fourteen to seek his fortune, like his
-father before him, a sailor on the high seas.
-
-Now, ten years later, and two-and-twenty years since poor Jacob had
-started on his fateful cruise, young Tom was ready for his fourth
-voyage. He had climbed unaided several steps up the ladder in his
-calling, and the Nereid, waiting down in the harbor would carry him in a
-few hours, her first mate, out upon her long two years’ absence. It was
-a great lift to him, for, besides his promotion, Luke Denin, who this
-time commanded the ship, had been his early friend. There was but little
-difference in their age. They had been boys together, and together they
-had explored the shore for miles and fished for days, and they had
-rambled the hills and the woods over; so, as young Tom said, it would be
-just as good for him as if he commanded the Nereid himself.
-
-When he told his mother this she had only patted him on the head, and
-said in a choked voice,—“My little sailor boy!”
-
-The widow Aber, ever since her son took to following the sea, had been
-gradually breaking. From that time her health, heretofore always strong
-and robust, began perceptibly to decline. The people noticed it, but
-then she told them that she was getting old—how could they expect a
-woman well up into the sixties to be as active as a girl, and besides
-this she had the rheumatism. So she was constantly excusing her
-feebleness with anxious care, as if she feared they might attribute it
-to some other cause than age.
-
-This evening she was even weaker than usual, though she did not
-acknowledge it, but sitting at the supper table her hands trembled so
-badly that the cups and saucers rattled a little as she served the tea.
-Miriam, whose life had been one constant struggle, was struggling still.
-No wonder the widow was proud of her son, her only son. Her gray eyes,
-beautiful as in her youth, would wander to him again and again, and rest
-upon his face with a strange, yearning expression, but whenever he
-turned to her she would drop them quickly and move a little nervously in
-her chair, striving to conceal, as she had done so many years ago, the
-burden of grief that lay at her heart.
-
-It was a pleasant party to look at, for Luke Denin too was there, and
-the young people carefully avoided any allusion to the separation before
-them. Tom, always gay and happy, was more than handsome in his sailor’s
-dress, with the bronze of the tropical sun upon his face. And Luke, if
-he was not so tall by half a head, and if his hair, instead of being
-black and crisp with waves, was light and straight, had at least as
-honest and frank a pair of deep blue eyes as Hannah cared to see—not
-that Hannah looked at them, for she looked only at her plate, and once
-in a while anxiously at her mother. Young Tom was evidently determined
-that this last meal at home should not be a sorrowful one, as he kept up
-the conversation in his liveliest mood. He told wonderful tales in such
-an absurd vein of exaggeration, that sometimes it even called up a smile
-on the widow’s face; and when the meal was over he picked her up
-playfully in his strong arms and carried her out upon the porch. There
-together they all watched the moonlight gradually show itself out of the
-dissolving day, in long paths across the water. Then the hour came to
-say good-bye.
-
-It was a desperate battle for Miriam, as she clung to her son in that
-parting moment. Then it was, for the first time, that something in her
-face went to the man’s inmost heart like a chill. She was old and frail,
-and his absence would be long, perhaps he might never look upon her
-again. In his wild fascination for the sea, was he not sacrificing her?
-The anguish of the thought overcame him. Had it been possible then he
-would have given up this voyage and staid at home, but it was too late
-now, and when he had turned for a moment, and with a strong effort
-fought his grief under control, he said gently,—
-
-“No, no! Do not be so distressed, mother! It is all for the best; and
-when I come back this time, mother, I will never leave you any more.”
-
-But Miriam, thinking of that other parting so long ago, remembered that
-Jacob, too, had said when he came back he would never leave her any
-more, and with a half suppressed cry she clasped her hands tighter about
-his neck.
-
-“O, my son, you will come back! Only promise me you will come back, and
-I can wait patiently and long!”
-
-There was a wild energy in her voice that frightened him, as she went on
-hurriedly with an accent he had never heard till then,—
-
-“Once before, with this same dread at my heart, I parted two-and-twenty
-years ago, but I let _him_ go without saying a word. I waited patiently.
-I even sang and tried to be happy. As the time went by I laughed as I
-thought how pleased he would be when he saw how his children had grown.
-I tied about your waist a sash of his favorite color, that he had
-brought me from the distant Indies, and I kept every thing in readiness
-for—what? They came and told me that he had gone down at sea—No, no; do
-not interrupt me. I let him go without saying a word. I must speak this
-time!”
-
-She paused for a moment as if waiting until her excitement had calmed,
-and with her trembling hand put back the hair from his forehead, then
-went on unsteadily in a tone but little louder than a whisper,—
-
-“You have the same dreamy far-off look in your eyes. I know you must go
-my child, I know you can not resist—but when your father left he said it
-would be only for a little while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty
-years.”
-
-There was another moment of silence, as though her thoughts had gone
-back over that long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice, she went on
-once more, calling him again unconsciously by the name she had used when
-he was a little child,—
-
-“Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not
-say it, I can not bear it! You will come back, you must come back to
-me!”
-
-A wild terror had crept into her face, then she broke down completely.
-
-“There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I did not used to be so foolish.
-Do not mind me. I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not strong any
-more, but—I can wait again—”
-
-“Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,” he said, drawing his arm close
-about her, “how peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love it better
-than any thing else in the whole world. It has always been gentle to
-me—you need not fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if you can only
-wait.”
-
-Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as he added the last words, and
-when Miriam, anxious to atone for her past weakness, said quickly,—
-
-“Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made her repeat it. Then rallying
-himself he went on gaily,—
-
-“Why, I will come back, mother, I will come back so grand and rich that
-you shall be three times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And I will
-take care of you always then. But, mother,” he said, the choking
-sensation coming again in his throat,—“promise that you will not worry
-about me while I am gone, or I shall never be happy, not even in any of
-the beautiful lands I will see—won’t you promise me, mother? Promise me
-that you will wait patiently, promise me that—that you will not give
-up—”
-
-“Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come back, I can wait again—I can
-even wait a long while.”
-
-“It will not be so very long! why the time will slip by, and almost
-before you know it you will find me standing beside you here again, when
-I mean you to be so proud of me that it will well nigh turn my head.”
-
-“Ah, Tommy, you know I am proud of you now, so proud of you, that
-sometimes it fairly frightens me, and I dare not think of it.”
-
-“Heaven knows,” he said, all the gay sound dying from his voice, as,
-stricken with remorse, he remembered the many times he had left her with
-no thought beyond the parting moment, “I’m not much to be proud of, but,
-mother—” taking up her thin hand and passing it over his face, once more
-driven to the last extremity to command his voice—“you and Nan are all I
-have on earth to care for me, and out in midocean, or in the far-off
-foreign ports, your love, like a constant prayer to keep me from harm,
-will be with me always. When I am at home once more I am going to be a
-good boy to you, mother. Nothing, not even the sea, shall ever part us
-again.”
-
-“You have always been a good boy to me, Tommy—I only thought—I was
-afraid that—O never mind, I can wait for you, Tommy. I do not feel so
-nervous now.”
-
-“There, that is right! We will meet again, mother, and then we will be
-very, very happy.”
-
-He kissed her yearningly, reverentially. It seemed as if he stood awed
-before the heart that for a moment had disclosed itself in its most
-silent depths, and in that moment there had been revealed to him, with
-all its overwhelming strength, that divine love which is mightier than
-life. It seemed as if now, for the first time, and almost blinded by the
-revelation, he saw—his mother.
-
-After a little silence, taking her face between his hands, he said,
-gently,—
-
-“Mother, I want to see you smile once more before I go.”
-
-“I will wait for you, Tommy,” she said again.
-
-“And I will surely come back.”
-
-When Miriam looked up there was a faint smile struggling through her
-tears, as there had been once before, two-and-twenty years in the past.
-Then he was gone.
-
-Down by the gate Hannah stood, trying to hide in the shadow of the great
-honeysuckle the new shy beauty on her face that had been called there by
-the kiss of warmer lips than the gentle sea-breeze.
-
-“Good-bye, Nan,” said Tom, unsuspiciously, throwing his arms about her
-in his rough brotherly embrace,—“why how you are trembling! You are not
-going to cry? Don’t, I can’t stand it!”
-
-“No, no,” came uncertainly in a helpless voice, evidently, in her wild
-conflict of emotion, not knowing exactly what she was going to do.
-
-“There, that’s right! Don’t cry, or I’ll—I’ll break down too!” said Tom,
-hoarsely, fairly strangling in his throat, and almost worn out by the
-strain he had undergone.
-
-Hannah, surprised, raised her face, but Tom had already got the better
-of himself. “How your eyes shine to-night, Nan; I did not know how
-pretty you were before!” Down went her head again immediately, and
-changing his voice he said, with a sigh,—“Nannie, there ain’t many
-fellows that have as good a mother and sister as mine; you won’t forget
-me while I’m gone, or get tired waiting? I’ve been a worthless, roving
-chap; I’ve never been of much comfort to you or mother, but when I come
-back next time, I’m going to stay at home a while. Look up now and tell
-me you are glad.”
-
-“O, Tom, I am! You don’t know how glad I am, if it was only for mother’s
-sake.”
-
-Then, turning his head away to hide the anguish that had come over his
-face, he asked, slowly, trying rather ineffectually to keep his voice
-natural,—“You don’t think, Nan, any thing will happen to her while I am
-gone?”
-
-“What do you mean?” said Hannah, struck by the awe in his tone.
-
-“I mean,” he said, unwilling to trouble his sister by the thought that
-had so oppressed him, and speaking gaily again: “I mean that you must be
-a good girl, and keep up mother’s spirits, but don’t get so used to my
-absence, that neither of you will care when I come back.”
-
-“O, Tom!”
-
-“Come out into the moonlight where I can see you. I’m dreadfully proud
-of you, Nan, because you don’t take on like other girls. You see I
-couldn’t have stood it!” said Tom, in a frightfully uncertain state of
-mind, as to whether it was possible to swallow the lump in his throat.
-“I’m going now. Be good to mother, you know she’s—she’s not very
-strong—Have you told Captain Denin good-bye?”
-
-“No, she hasn’t. Not yet. I thought I’d let you do it first; but you’ll
-tell me good-bye now, until I come back never to say it again, won’t
-you, Nanine?” said Luke, coming up in his most masterly way, right under
-Tom’s very nose, and almost hiding his sister from view in an embrace
-that this time was neither rough nor brotherly.
-
-“Whew!” gasped Tom, as Hannah came in sight again, with no friendly
-honeysuckle near to conceal the carnation bloom upon her cheeks. “Is
-that the way the wind blows! I’ve been as blind as a bat. Kiss me,
-quick, both of you, or I’m a gone case!”
-
-“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down on the stone there, and recover
-yourself. You’ve said your good-bye, now just wait for me!” said the
-superior officer triumphantly. And Tom, spent, exhausted, sank down; but
-the next instant Hannah had her arms tight about his neck, and was
-hiding her face against the crisp waves of his black hair.
-
-“Tom, dear, you ain’t sorry?”
-
-“No, Nan, I couldn’t have wished for any thing better; but it was so
-sudden, it just kind of knocked the wind out of my sails for a minute.”
-Then, after a pause,—“I say, there’ll be a grand glorification when the
-Nereid comes back, won’t there?”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“I—I wish it was back now! I don’t know what’s upset me so—There, kiss
-her, Luke, and let’s be off, quick, or I’ll disgrace myself outright,
-before I know it!” and Tom, gulping down great quantities of air with
-all his might, got up from the stone hurriedly, as if he meditated
-making a sudden bolt.
-
-But he did not. He stood there quietly looking out at sea; and when, a
-moment after, the young captain, taking his arm, said, “Come, now I am
-ready,” he started as from a dream. Turning to his sister, with every
-trace of his rollicking manner lost, he said, as though he had not
-spoken of her before,—
-
-“You must take good care of mother—poor mother. Do not let her grieve
-while I am gone. Oh, Hannah, you will be very careful of her, and not
-allow any thing—not allow her to get tired, and tell her always, while
-she waits, that when I am with her again, I will never leave her.”
-
-Then they had passed through the gate and were going rapidly down the
-narrow foot-path to the bottom of the hill. Hannah strained her eyes
-after them, and when at the turn of the road both brother and lover were
-lost to view, still she lingered at the spot pondering over Tom’s
-unwonted emotion. It was not like him. Never before had she seen him so
-singularly affected, and now that he was gone, it came back to her with
-redoubled intensity. The unusual sorrow that had almost choked him, the
-strange tone in his voice that he had tried vainly to conceal, the
-sudden wish that the Nereid was back even now, his repeated charges
-about their mother, all troubled her.
-
-An uneasy feeling of dread oppressed her, she knew not why. The heavy
-perfume of the honeysuckle suddenly make her sick and faint. The tall
-and prickly cedar stood up straight and still, covered on one side with
-a fret-work of silver, on the other clothed with the very gloom of
-darkness, and somewhere from among its shadowy branches a dove, as if
-half wakened out of a dream, stirred, uttered its brooding note, then
-sank again to silence. Hannah had heard the same dove a hundred times
-before, she even knew that there were purple ripples on its neck, but
-this time she started violently and shivered. It seemed as if the summer
-night had suddenly grown cold and chilled her to the heart, and with
-hurried steps she ran back to the house.
-
-The porch was deserted and strangely lonesome when she passed across.
-Even the crimson bloom, with its thousand crowns, looked black through
-the shade, as if it had withered in the hour, and she heard its leaves
-make a weird rustle, like a complaint, as she closed the door. The sense
-of desolation was so strong upon her that she could hardly keep from
-crying out in the solitude, but she went on swiftly to her mother’s
-room, and entered with noiseless feet. A great sigh of relief came to
-her lips when she saw the peaceful face upon the pillow, for Miriam,
-overcome by the reaction, already slept calmly as a child. Hannah sat
-down beside the bed. There was a smile upon her mother’s lips. How long
-she sat there, whether one hour, or two hours, she did not know, but
-when she got up all the tumult in her heart had subsided.
-
-She kissed the sleeping face gently and went quietly up stairs to her
-own room. She threw the shutters open wide, and lo! out upon the sea
-with her wings spread, white as the plumage of a gull, the Nereid!
-Lonely, spirit-like, beyond the reach of voice, she stood upon the
-mighty desert of the ocean. Before her prow the waves held out their
-wreath of down, and above, solitary in the vast moonlit sky, hung the
-royal planet Jupiter. Steady, radiant, it burned like the magic Star in
-the East. Hannah, watching, saw the ship fade away in the far-off
-endless isles of silver mist. A great peace had come to her soul, and
-when she lay down to sleep there was no trouble on her face. Gone, the
-Nereid was gone, but still, even in her dreams, she knew that the star
-in the sky was shining.
-
-Slowly the days came and went. Miriam, yet a little feebler, was bright
-and happy. Never, since that night when she said good-bye, had she
-murmured or uttered a word of complaint. Every thing at the cottage
-glided smoothly on; for Hannah attended to the house, and waited upon
-her mother with an untiring care, but even while she went about
-performing her different duties her eyes, unconsciously, would wander
-off to sea. Often in the afternoon, when the widow nodded in the great
-rocking chair by the window, she would slip away down to the beach, and
-sit there by the hour.
-
-Those were pleasant days to Hannah. Then the sea, clear and calm,
-rounded out, a great circle of splendor, to the horizon; or on its
-surface the giant mists reared themselves, triumphant, in towering
-arches. Perhaps her thoughts went out beyond these mighty phantom
-aisles, seeking always the two loved ones across their portals, over the
-vast and solemn ocean. Sometimes when the sky was warm and the wind blew
-shoreward it seemed to bring faintly the scent of foreign flowers; for
-nearer now to her were those mystical lands where Summer, almighty
-Summer, sat upon an everlasting throne.
-
-Hannah knew every vessel that sailed into port; and sometimes a boat,
-returning, had spoken the Nereid at sea, sometimes at long intervals a
-letter came. Then when for weeks, for months it might be, there was no
-word, no sign, the royal planet, moving in its eternal orbit, hung again
-in the sky, a star of promise. To Hannah, as she watched it night after
-night above the sea, it came as a messenger bearing glad tidings of
-great joy.
-
-So the time waned. The peaceful days passed by and fierce storms broke
-with a savage roar upon the coast. The green upon the hill-sides faded
-out, and the freezing spray encrusted the cliff with ice where the
-wintry sea threw up its bitter brine—and sometimes, farther off upon the
-shelving beach, it threw up more than brine, or stiffened weed. Broken
-spars, dreary fragments of wrecks drifted in, told of the wild
-desolation out upon the hoarse wilderness of beaten waves.
-
-But even those days too passed, and the Spring clothed the land again
-with emerald. More than a year had worn away since the Nereid had faded
-out of the horizon, and presently another Fall set in.
-
-For five months no word had come from the absent wanderers. Still Miriam
-made not the least complaint. Even when the storms lashed the sea, until
-it sent up a roar that made the young girl shiver, the widow evinced no
-anxiety. Had she not promised that she would wait patiently? She talked
-very little, and generally sat quietly by the window from morning till
-evening. But Hannah, saying nothing, had grown heavy-hearted with the
-long silence.
-
-It was November, a dull, dreary day in November. Heavy clouds stretched
-themselves in a somber, leaden sky, that near the water gathered dark
-and frowning. The gray sea, cold and hoarse, uttered eternally its
-hollow roar. But for this it seemed as if a mighty silence would have
-brooded over earth and ocean, a silence vast and dreadful as the grave.
-Dead white, the hungry surf crawled sullenly up the sand. Leagues away
-the fishing smacks all headed to shore, and the gulls were flying
-landward, when Hannah looking out, counted a new sail in the harbor.
-
-Any word to break this long heart-sick watch?
-
-Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her mother sleeping tranquilly in
-the great chair, she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and started
-down the hill. Once at the bottom she slackened her pace a little to
-gain breath. A fine drizzle already blew through the air, and the waters
-running in upon the smooth beach did not rumble with a great noise as at
-the foot of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up endlessly a weary
-lamentation. The damp settled on her hair in minute globules, and
-enveloped all her clothing in its clammy embrace, but she did not heed
-the weather. She never looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she
-hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying, she went on swiftly
-with the one idea absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running,
-half-walking, she never paused until she reached the slippery wharf.
-
-A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So eager was she that she did
-not hear the sudden exclamations, or see the look of pity that had come
-upon more than one rough sunburnt face when she made her appearance; for
-living all her life in the same quiet village many of the sailors knew
-Hannah by sight, many by her gentle manner and kind words, and many a
-sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian angel when sickness and
-poverty had come upon them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing
-with expectation, saw only it was the good ship Bonibird that had come
-to port. Stephen, old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered him
-well. Often when she was a child had he given her curious shells, and
-once he had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater, a tiny,
-live fish that glittered all over with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she
-remembered him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to look for him
-among the groups of sailors, but the old man was already at her side.
-
-Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood there with his cap off,
-shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and when with an
-exclamation of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it eagerly between
-his rough palms.
-
-“God bless you! God bless you!” broke from his lips in a thick
-utterance; then he dropped her hand nervously, and drawing his breath
-hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face.
-
-“I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she said. “You’ve been gone a long
-time.”
-
-“Yes, you beant so tall then.”
-
-“Is there any news from the Nereid?” she asked eagerly, hardly noticing
-his last reply.
-
-The old man seemed fairly to break out in a violent perspiration. He
-moved again uneasily on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped
-his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve.
-
-“I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’ up, Miss. Those clouds over the
-water do look ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.”
-
-“Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!” she said, impatiently.
-
-“Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in this nasty drizzle.”
-
-“No, no, I don’t care! I want to know if you heard any thing from the
-Nereid. Why don’t you tell me?” an alarm gathering quickly in her voice
-as the first sickening suspicion came over her. “O Stephen,” she said,
-with a terrified cry that fairly frightened the man, “you have, and
-there is something wrong! O the Nereid—the Nereid is not lost! Say it is
-not lost!”
-
-She had caught the man’s arm in her wild excitement, and clung to him
-trembling like a leaf from head to foot.
-
-“Why, no, no!” he said, scared by the girl’s dreadful agitation; “the
-Nereid be all right, she be all right! I didn’t think of sich an idee
-comin’ to you, or I’d a said afore she be all right. Thar beant nothin’
-the matter with her, nothin’, I was aboard o’ her myself—I’m afeard
-it’ll make you sick, Miss, a standin’ here in the drizzle like this, an’
-with nothin’ to keep off the wet,”—trying to appear as if he had settled
-the trouble, but all the time keeping his face turned carefully from
-her.
-
-In the first instant of relief Hannah had let go of his arm and put her
-hands to her head without one word, so intense had been the strain;
-then, looking up suddenly, and drawing a quick breath, she faced round
-to him.
-
-“Stephen, is this the truth that you have told me? You are not deceiving
-me? Is there _nothing_ the matter?”
-
-“Lord, no, Miss, it beant no lie,” but the old sailor hesitated
-painfully while she looked at him, worked his hands nervously about his
-neck, put them irresolutely to his pockets once or twice, till unable to
-stand it any longer, he suddenly made an end to his indecision by
-jerking out a letter, at the same time muttering some half-coherent
-sentence about how it had been given to him for her on board the Nereid.
-
-“O, a letter!” she cried, joyfully, breaking the seal, while her face
-that had been so clouded lighted up radiantly.
-
-As she looked up for a second, with a smile upon her lips, the old
-sailor became more distressed in his manner than ever; and when she
-unfolded the paper he even put out his hand once or twice, as if he
-would have taken it back. Evidently he could not bear to see her read it
-then; he had not thought she would open it there. Troubled, he looked
-about, shuffling again with that uneasy movement on his feet. If only he
-could find some means to prevail upon her first to take it home, and
-driven to desperation he turned once more to her, and said in an
-appealing voice,—
-
-“I’m feared thar be a bad storm comin’ up, Miss; the sea it really do
-look ugly, and may hap you’d better run home first; thar beant much time
-to lose noways.”
-
-But alas! it was too late. Hannah, utterly oblivious to the old man’s
-entreaty, was already eagerly reading down the sheet. Suddenly the color
-fled from her face. She appeared dazed and confused. For an instant she
-held the paper in a convulsive grasp, staring at it with a stony glare.
-Then she uttered a long, shivering sound, and her fingers gradually
-relaxed their hold.
-
-In a second the letter was gone. A savage wind broke loose with a tiger
-roar from the sea. The billows, in swift rage and with frightful tumult,
-piled up their fierce scrolls in a chaos of towering surge. Mist and
-spray and foam whirled in a blinding froth to the sky.
-
-Old Steve, half-carrying, half-dragging—for the girl seemed hardly able
-to take a step unassisted—drew Hannah back into the one long low
-building by the wharf, where most of the people that were standing about
-a few moments before had taken shelter from the storm. Quickly half a
-dozen rough hands drew out a small packing-box and placed it for a seat,
-and some one threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.
-
-She kept her lips closed tight. She looked at no one, she shivered
-constantly. The howling blast swept its brine up the wharf—“Washed
-overboard at sea.” The cruel breakers lifted and struck with
-thunder-crash—“Washed overboard at sea.” Bitter cold, the salt surf
-leaped and writhed and reached out with demoniac fury—“Washed overboard
-at sea.” Giant waves opened and shut with a grinding wrath their hungry
-jaws. Relentless, appalling, the mighty waters filled earth and sky with
-the terror of their strength.
-
-And Tom, poor Tom, had been washed overboard at sea!
-
-It was horrible. The awful words rang constantly in her ears. They
-repeated themselves over and over. Where, how—she knew naught, only the
-one sentence, with its dreadful import. After that she had read nothing,
-and before it she forgot all. Rocking a little back and forth on her
-seat, she sat there pale and dumb. Like her mother, two-and-twenty years
-in the past, she asked no sympathy, she heeded no comment.
-
-The ashen clouds, racing before the wind like the scud of the sea, drove
-swiftly down behind the hills, and the blinding fury of the storm had
-spent itself. Drearily the gray sky let down again its endless drizzle,
-when Stephen, his honest voice painfully choked by emotion, prevailed
-upon her to go home. At first looking at him blankly, she seemed hardly
-to comprehend what he said, and it was only when he spoke of her mother
-that she gave any heed to his entreaty. Her mother! how could she tell
-her the terrible news, her patient, waiting mother! Old Stephen, many
-times after, used to say how in that moment, when she looked at him, he
-wished he had been dead before ever he brought her such a letter.
-
-Shivering, always shivering, she drew the shawl tight about her
-shoulders, and slipped down off the fishy box without a word. The old
-sailor in his anxious care would have followed too, but she only shook
-her head, and without having opened her lips, he saw her go alone.
-
-The sullen mist hung its reeking folds along the shore, and the tide,
-running out, left a wide dank stretch of yellow slime. Above it, where,
-in Summer, the green swords of the sea-wrack grew, the storm had washed
-up clammy masses, heavy with ooze, of the pale and sticky tangle.
-Fiercely the treacherous waters had swept over the shore and covered it
-with their bitter dregs; but more fiercely had they surged, a dreary
-desolation, over the girl’s young heart.
-
-Upon the bloated girdles, on the wet sand, in the chilly damp, with the
-salt spray clinging to her clothes, she went, and the wild sea, calming
-down, mourned again at her feet, like a sinister mockery of grief, in
-loud lamentation. When she went up the narrow foot-path on the hill, and
-came to the garden gate, she stopped a moment, she hardly knew why. It
-was a mechanical action with her. She scarcely felt or thought. Her
-heart was heavy as a stone.
-
-The branches of the great honeysuckle were black and bare. She looked at
-the old rock by the path now slippery with rain. She looked at the tall
-and prickly cedar drenched with mist and spray. She looked out at the
-storm-beaten sea, then she looked back once more at the dripping
-evergreen. The dove in its thorny spire was gone—the dove with the
-purple ripples on its neck. It had never built another nest. Shivering,
-shivering, she went on, crossed the porch, where the arms of the
-bloomless rose, weird and gaunt, flung down great heavy tears at her
-feet, and, still shivering, she went into the house and shut the door.
-
-Miriam, used to the tumult of the sea, sat patiently in the chair by the
-window, as she had done so many, many times in the past. When Hannah
-came in she looked up with surprise. The girl would have avoided her,
-but Miriam, seeing her so wet became alarmed, and, rising from her seat,
-had met Hannah in the hall before she could escape.
-
-“I thought you were up stairs! What took you out in such stormy weather?
-You’re all wet and shivering with the cold, and—why, child, your face is
-as white as a sheet! What is the matter?”
-
-“Nothing, I—I—was caught in the rain, and—and got a little damp.” The
-words came uncertainly in a deep voice, for Hannah could hardly trust
-herself to speak, lest some unguarded tone should abruptly betray the
-terrible truth. The girl felt as if it was written all over her, or that
-she might disclose it in every movement; but she had turned her back to
-her mother, and with trembling hands was hurriedly shaking out the wet
-shawl. “I’ll go and change my clothes. It will not hurt me.”
-
-“Well, do it quickly, and come down to the fire right away. I’m afraid
-it will make you cough.”
-
-Hannah, eager to escape, gathered the shawl on her arm; but at the foot
-of the stairs she stopped and looked back.
-
-“You—you’ve had a nice sleep, mother?”
-
-“Yes, dear, so very sound that I only heard the wind like a gentle
-zephyr.”
-
-“And you feel well?”
-
-“Oh yes, better to-day than I have for a long, long time. I’m going to
-get stronger now steadily,” she said, with a smile that, for a moment,
-brought into the wan face a strange beauty, like a gleam of the same
-radiance that so far in the past poor Jacob had placed upon the shrine
-of his heart.
-
-Hannah, turning her head quickly, almost overpowered by sudden
-faintness, went up stairs, staggered across the room, and sank down by
-the window in a silent agony of grief. She did not sob or cry audibly,
-her whole being was one mental wail of despair—her mother! her gentle,
-waiting mother! Fierce unspoken rebellion had taken possession of the
-girl’s soul. To one that had been always as a ministering spirit to
-those about her, why had Providence allotted so cruel a destiny? She,
-whose life had been but a long heart-struggle; she, that had done no
-evil, that had suffered without a murmur; she, feeble and bent with
-years, marked with the silver brand of sorrow and age; she, far down the
-avenue of her days, almost where the mighty mists of eternity close up
-their impenetrable curtains, she must yet be compelled to go on, to the
-last, through the darkness of new trouble! Was there no mercy, no
-justice?
-
-Bitterly Hannah looked out, dry-eyed, at the relentless sea. There was
-no distant line against the sky; above, below, drear and empty, the gray
-stretched to infinity—not a sail on all the waters, and the tides were
-out—aye, the tides _were_ out for her.
-
-She had never shed a tear. Forgetful of her wet clothing, she leaned a
-long time upon the window-sill, motionless, and the lines in her young
-face were hard and strained. Perhaps the memory of that night came back
-to her with its vision of the royal planet that had seemed a star of
-promise—a star of promise? A mockery it had been, a cruel mockery!
-
-Then Miriam’s voice calling from the foot of the stairs roused her, and
-hurriedly she changed her damp dress, but she could not yet meet her
-mother. She lingered about the room. She fell upon her knees; she tried
-to pray, but her heart refused to utter a single petition, and Miriam
-had called again and yet again before Hannah went down.
-
-“Come close to the fire. You were so long I am afraid it will make you
-sick.”
-
-“No, mother, I am cold a little, that is all.”
-
-Miriam did not ask again what had taken her out, and Hannah, shading her
-eyes with her hand, sat by the grate trying to prepare herself for the
-dreadful duty that awaited her. She knew her mother must be told, lest
-it should come upon her abruptly from the lips of a stranger with a
-shock greater than she could bear. It was a hard struggle for Hannah;
-the girl would gladly have borne all the trouble herself, but that could
-not be.
-
-Just how she said it she never remembered, only suddenly she felt calm
-and strong for the duty, and with a strange desperation on her face,
-slowly, gently as human means could do, she told the terrible news.
-
-And Miriam?
-
-Sitting in her chair she did not scream, or moan, or faint. She leaned a
-little forward with her elbow on her knee, and looked at Hannah, looked
-at her long and steadily, with a strange wavering light in her eyes.
-
-“Mother, mother, speak to me!” the girl cried, frightened at this light
-in her eyes, terrified that she said nothing, did nothing.
-
-“Yes, dear, I am better to-day, yesterday I walked to the garden gate. I
-will even be strong enough to go down to the wharf when the Nereid comes
-in, and it will be such a glad surprise for him, such a glad surprise!”
-
-She had leaned back in her chair again, and her face, like a revelation,
-was radiant once more almost with the lost beauty of her girlhood.
-
-Hannah, dropping her head in her hands, could scarcely speak for the
-awful beating of her heart.
-
-“No, no, Mother, you do not understand. He is—dead. He will—never
-come—home—”
-
-The same wavering light flickered a second time in Miriam’s eyes as the
-girl spoke. She put up her thin hands for a moment and wearily stroked
-the silver hair back from her forehead. She looked slowly, with a
-bewildered expression about the room, then, smiling again, she said,—
-
-“Home? Yes, the time is nearly up. In the Spring, in the early Spring,
-he shall be home, home to stay always. I know he will not disappoint me.
-I promised to wait patiently, and I have not complained, have I Hannah?”
-
-“No, no——”
-
-“And I shall be stronger then, and we must make the house pleasant for
-him. It will never be lonely any more when he is here. Why do you cry
-so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for him now.”
-
-Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs, slipped down on the floor
-with her face covered, and Miriam talked on and on of the happy times
-they would have when “Tommy” came back in the Spring.
-
-She could be made to comprehend nothing of the dreadful tidings. He had
-promised her he would come back, and her faith never faltered. But there
-was a distinct change in her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner
-that had been with her always a marked characteristic, seldom
-volunteering a sentence to a stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly
-of her son. She would tell every person she met how much stronger she
-was getting, and how she meant to go and meet him at the wharf when the
-Nereid came in.
-
-So months went by, and Miriam did get stronger every day. She had not
-been so well in years, not since long ago when poor Tom had first taken
-to following the sea. Bright and happy she seemed from morning till
-night, only Hannah noticed that sometimes when speaking most earnestly
-she would stop suddenly for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered
-way, with that same wavering light flickering up in her eyes.
-
-All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of the Widow Aber’s waiting
-so trustfully for “Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come back,
-and they were good to Hannah that Winter. The girl had not cast her
-bread upon the waters in vain. When she found herself weak and faint a
-dozen hands were ready with some kind office, and there was little left
-for her to do about the house. Those bitter months as they waxed and
-waned were one long, mute agony, but the girl did not break down under
-the terrible strain. Trouble does not kill the young; thin and pale she
-grew, but strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for Miriam’s sake,
-and with something of Miriam’s early nature, she kept her grief crushed
-within her heart. She seldom went out of the house now. She staid always
-with her mother, as if fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who
-went to the house from the village, told how dreadful it was to see her
-sitting quietly, even sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips
-when the widow would say,—
-
-“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and well, are you not glad? He
-said he liked to see me smile, and he must find us bright and cheerful
-when he comes in the Spring.”
-
-The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think what might happen then. Every
-day, as she watched her mother, the dread upon her grew stronger. She
-would have held back the coming of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid,
-that now, with its white wings, might return only as the angel of death
-to Miriam. She would understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful
-shock! It was the terror of this that haunted Hannah day and night.
-
-The last winter month had gone by, and the chilly winds of March were
-whistling along the coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly
-up the hill to the house. He brought the news that Hannah had so long
-dreaded. The Nereid was even then heading round the cliff. She had asked
-him to let her know in time, that she might keep it from her mother, at
-least till after the boat had landed. But while he was in the very act
-of telling, he stopped suddenly, and a look of fright came over his
-face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and saw her mother standing in
-the open doorway. She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank in her
-breast like a stone.
-
-Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from going to the wharf, but
-Miriam, radiant as a child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste,
-paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was cold, that it was too
-far, that she would go in her place, until Hannah, driven to
-desperation, told her mother again of the dreadful disaster, and how
-poor Tom could not be there to meet her. Then the widow stayed her
-trembling hands for a moment in their flurried effort to tie her bonnet,
-and looked at Hannah, looked at her long and steadily, as she had done
-before, with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always seemed as if
-she was dimly conscious, for the instant, that something was wrong, but
-even as the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.
-
-“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant with eager excitement,
-“hurry, we must not be late. I feel young and strong, and it will be
-such a glad surprise for him!”
-
-Hannah, powerless to keep Miriam back, gave up the endeavor, and went
-on, with a mortal agony in her heart, beside the frail woman who, in all
-faith, was going to welcome home her son—her son out upon the silent sea
-of eternity, where even a mother’s voice could never reach. No wonder
-the girl’s grief made her dumb. Was there no escape? She heard the
-waters running in, it seemed to her for a thousand leagues, sounding
-their dreadful dirge. At that moment gladly would she have lain down
-forever in the same boundless grave with father and brother, where the
-waves, slow and sad, were playing for them this requiem on every shore
-of every land. But Miriam, in the extremity of her haste, never
-stopping, went on steadily over the wet ground, bending, sometimes
-almost staggering, before the raw March wind that swept in fierce gusts
-from the still frozen north.
-
-A sudden hush fell upon all the people at the wharf as they came down.
-With her gray hair blown about in strands, her eyes fever-bright, and
-her breath coming quick and short, paying no heed to any one, the widow
-Aber glided silently among them, like an apparition. Unconscious of
-every thing but the ship, even then in the mouth of the harbor, she
-stood, her face so thin and worn, all quivering with excitement, and her
-pale lips moving constantly with some inarticulate sound. Once or twice
-she stretched out her trembling hands toward the vessel, then, gathering
-her shawl, held them tight against her breast, as if she would keep down
-the throbbing of her heart. Frail and shadowy, she seemed hardly human,
-as she waited, with her garments fluttering in the bitter wind, with her
-very soul reaching, struggling, looking out eagerly in her gray eyes.
-
-Slowly the ship sailed up the harbor, slowly it reached the dock, and
-after almost two years’ wandering, the Nereid rested once more in her
-native waters. As the boat touched the wharf, Hannah had taken her
-mother’s arm, perhaps that she might hold her back, but Miriam made no
-effort to move. The girl could feel her trembling, trembling, but she
-only put up her hand unsteadily and brushed the hair away from her face.
-
-Too well Hannah knew poor Tom would not be there, and, as through a
-mist, she saw the sailors swing themselves down. In the dreadful trouble
-that had come upon her, she had almost forgotten Luke. During all these
-weeks of anguish she had thought only of her mother, but this morning
-the strain had been too severe. She had given up the battle, and now
-waited stonily; she would have waited on all day, when Miriam, suddenly
-breaking loose from her, in a voice half stifled by a wild delight,
-cried,—
-
-“O, Tommy, my boy, my only boy!”
-
-It was Luke that stood beside her, whom she had strangely mistaken for
-her son. She would have fallen to the ground had he not caught her in
-his arms. Unable to speak for a moment, she clung to him trembling
-violently. Clasping her hands tight about his neck, she closed her eyes,
-and, with a quivering sigh, laid her head against his shoulder. Hannah,
-looking at Luke quickly, made a gesture that kept him silent, then
-Miriam, without moving, said, brokenly,—
-
-“I have waited for you, Tommy. It was such a long, long time, but I knew
-you would come—”
-
-She paused, while a slight struggle in her breath escaped, like a sob,
-from her lips, then went on once more still in an unsteady tone,—
-
-“I am so glad, so glad! I am well and strong, Tommy. I feel a little
-tired now, but I am well and strong. You will never leave me, never
-leave me any more—”
-
-There was another feeble struggle in her throat; then when she spoke
-again, her voice, growing fainter at every effort, seemed to come from
-some far-off distance, drifting in to them as from the desert spaces of
-an illimitable sea.
-
-“Do not let me go. It is cold, and the wind—Hark! Listen, oh listen how
-sweet and soft the waters wash! Hold me close, Tommy. I am weary. Why,
-it is Summer! Look! see the land, the foreign land! Stay, Tommy, I am
-tired—so tired—”
-
-Her head had drooped back heavily on the man’s arm, but her lips still
-moved, and suddenly her face lighted up with a radiant smile.
-
-“Nearer,—come nearer—How bright the sunlight shines upon your face!
-Tommy, my boy—my sailor boy—”
-
-So, on that bleak March morning when the Nereid came in, Miriam had
-indeed gone to meet her son, her sailor son, on that far, far off
-foreign shore that is girdled by the mightier ocean of eternity.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                         REINHART, THE GERMAN.
-
-
-Poor Reinhart! He certainly was a brilliant fellow. Even the German
-Professors overlooked his English origin, and felt proud of him.
-Probably they argued that if he was born in Yorkshire, it was not his
-fault. And, besides, as the name showed, his family, no matter where
-they had since strayed, must have been, at some period of the past, true
-children of the Fatherland.
-
-As far as he was concerned, he seemed to have very little attachment for
-his native country. Indeed, he never evinced very much of an attachment
-for any place or any body. We had been together the greater part of ten
-years. He possessed a singular influence over me. I hardly know what I
-would not have done for Reinhart. But he was in disposition not the
-least demonstrative; and whether he ever saw any attraction in me, I can
-not tell. I simply imagined so, because time wore away without drifting
-us apart.
-
-A profound interest in metaphysics absorbed his whole being; and through
-this channel he had crept into the good graces of the college
-authorities. During his long study upon this subject, he had woven about
-himself all the labyrinthine meshes of the subtile German philosophy.
-Though only a tutor of twenty-five, the doctors of metaphysics touched
-their hats to him; all the students bowed before him; and I—I felt sorry
-for him.
-
-Why? I can hardly tell. But he had grown thin and pale and nervous
-within the last year; and I could not help wishing that all Germany was
-as ignorant of psychology as in the days when the Suabians danced their
-dryad dances upon the very spot where now the great University lifted up
-its towers—this great University whose walls were built not of stone
-from the quarry, but of the labors of many lives, some of whose proudest
-pinnacles, reaching into a light of dazzling splendor, had been reared
-only by the everlasting sacrifice of reason.
-
-A vague idea had floated into my mind, but so very terrible it was that
-I had never dared acknowledge its existence even to myself;
-nevertheless, it oppressed me constantly. Finally, it grew into such a
-burden that I could bear it no longer, and so made up my mind to do what
-little I could to relieve myself at any rate. A plan occurred to me
-whereby I might accomplish my chief design, which was to draw him away
-from this study that was consuming him; to draw him away from his myriad
-theories into life. But before I had said a word, while I was still
-meditating how it could best be done, Reinhart settled the trouble
-himself.
-
-I never was more astonished or more pleased than when he proposed the
-very thing I had been trying to broach, that the two of us should spend
-the next six months in traveling. What had suggested it to him, or what
-his reasons were, I never asked. Had _he_ any suspicions of this strange
-fancy that I would not admit to myself, and yet had been vainly striving
-to drive from my mind? Since then I have sometimes thought so, and
-sometimes thought not. To the proposition I consented eagerly, and did
-my best in hastening all the arrangements; therefore no time was lost
-before we found ourselves _en route_ for the south of Europe.
-
-As I have said, Reinhart was not in the least demonstrative. Very likely
-his natural reserve had been greatly increased by his sedentary life.
-But I noticed, early in our trip, that he seemed laboring to throw off
-his abstracted manner. I felt encouraged, notwithstanding I knew it was
-an effort to him, and determined, not only that he should see something
-of the world, but, what would be of much more benefit, that he should
-see something of society.
-
-In the beautiful Italian scenery my own spirits rose perceptibly. The
-great load which had been burdening me lessened and finally raised
-itself altogether, as I saw this shadow of the German University that
-had been resting on my companion break. But I know now I was mistaken.
-It was only the battalion preparing for action; the marshalling of the
-forces before the conflict.
-
-It had been almost a month since we left Germany. Many of the English
-and American gentlemen residing in Florence had shown us not only
-attention but hospitality. One thing I noticed quickly that Reinhart
-cared almost nothing for the society of ladies. He endured it; never
-sought it. The most beautiful faces he would pass without any notice, or
-with merely an indifferent glance. I was sorry for this, because here
-was a channel, I had thought, wherein might be turned the current of his
-existence.
-
-With this subject still uppermost in my mind, I determined one morning I
-would bring my sounding-line into play, if it were only on account of my
-own satisfaction. We were sitting upon the deep sill of the open window,
-smoking our cigars and enjoying the utter tranquillity of the southern
-day, when I asked, indifferently, as if the question had been wholly
-unpremeditated,—
-
-“Reinhart, were you ever in love?”
-
-He looked up quickly, waited a moment, as though at first he had not
-exactly understood, then answered,—
-
-“No.”
-
-Now, I knew very well he never had been; for, as I have said, the last
-ten years we had spent together; but at present I was bent upon the
-intent of discovering what probability there was that such a catastrophe
-could ever be brought about; so I said again,—
-
-“Reinhart, do you think you _ever will_ be in love?”
-
-I expected a repetition of my former answer, but, to my surprise,
-without any hesitation, he replied,—
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“Indeed!” I gasped, with my breath almost gone,—“and when may it come to
-pass?”
-
-Looking up, I dropped the tone of raillery I had been using immediately,
-for I saw it was a serious matter to him; and overcome by astonishment,
-I subsided into complete silence.
-
-The perfume of roses came in on the breeze, and a scarlet-cloaked
-flower-girl carrying her wares, the only person on the street, turned
-out of sight. A small bird, with red plumes in its wings, lighted nearly
-within reach, upon the tree, and broke into song, but, checking the
-strain almost in the first note, it flew away, settling, a mere speck,
-upon the northern spire of the Cathedral. Then Reinhart said, as though
-there had been no pause in the conversation,—
-
-“I do not know; it may never come in this life.”
-
-I looked at him, thoroughly puzzled, almost frightened. Then, thinking
-perhaps I had not heard aright, said,—“What?” But, without heeding my
-interrogation, he continued,—
-
-“Perhaps it never will come in this life.”
-
-Yes, I had heard aright. Possibly we were each talking of different
-things; and as a last resource, I said,—
-
-“Perhaps _what_ will never come in this life?”
-
-“Why, love,” he replied, making a slight gesture of impatience, as
-though I had been unpardonably dull.
-
-“But,” I persisted, determined to understand, “then it will never be at
-all, for they neither marry nor are given in marriage in the next
-world.”
-
-“No,” he repeated, “they ‘neither marry nor are given in marriage.’” He
-said the words over slowly but mechanically, exactly as if he might have
-said, or thought, the same words over a hundred times before.
-
-That he believed in the immortality of the soul, I quite well knew, for
-it was the one shoot of his English education, which, springing in early
-boyhood, had survived, like a foreign plant, amid all the German
-sophisms. I did not like the strange aspect of his face, and, somewhat
-ill at ease, I said,—
-
-“Then, what do you mean?” I waited a moment for the answer.
-
-“I can hardly tell you. I have always had a theory of my own—no, not a
-theory, a belief. I have never undertaken to express it in language, and
-do not know whether I can render myself intelligible. I think every soul
-has somewhere in the universe an affinity—I am obliged to use the word
-for lack of a better one—and I believe that before complete happiness
-can be attained the two are merged into one. It is not marriage: that is
-purely earthly. These affinities may possibly meet in this life, though
-it is hardly probable; but in the ages to come it will occur just as
-certainly as there is an eternity. Mind, I do not call it marriage. It
-is the fusing together of two souls, a masculine and feminine, just as
-they combine chemicals, producing a new substance. I believe, as I said,
-these two souls may sometimes meet in this life; but it is a destiny
-that comes to few in centuries, and those few should kneel in
-everlasting gratitude before their Creator.”
-
-When Reinhart ceased speaking, I could see that he had worked himself
-almost into a fever, for his eyes were bright and restless, and the
-blood surged in waves across his usually colorless face. With a rough
-hand, I had struck the chord whose undecided vibrations had, a month
-ago, appalled me. The great burden which had so oppressed me settled
-down again heavier than before. It was not so much what he had said as
-the expression of his face that filled me anew with anxiety. And
-struggling under this burden, I made a poor attempt to laugh the matter
-off.
-
-“Reinhart, this is some of your German metaphysics.”
-
-“No; though you are at liberty to call it what you please; but I have
-never read such a theory in any place.”
-
-“Well, it is an absurd idea,” I retorted, “and sounds exactly like some
-of your humbug philosophers, who never believe in any thing but
-fantasies; and I would advise you to let them alone.”
-
-This was hardly wise on my part. I should not have allowed myself to
-express any impatience when I saw it excited him, and only augmented
-what I was striving to allay. The blood rushed again over his face, but
-he said nothing; only, rising from his seat, he walked several times
-across the room.
-
-In the silence that followed, a strain of joyful music broke suddenly
-upon us. It was the swell of the Cathedral organ, sounding a prelude for
-some wedding. But if the strain was ever finished, we did not hear it,
-for the next moment a crash of terrific discord drowned the music,
-shaking the very ground. Some object flew swiftly past my face, struck
-the wall and fell upon the floor. I sprang up and shut the window
-quickly. Half the sky was covered with a black cloud, and from the
-carpet at my feet I picked up a dead bird, a small bird with red plumes
-in its wings.
-
-The storm passed over in less than half an hour, leaving the sky
-perfectly clear again; but for the remainder of the day I could not
-recover my spirits. Whether Reinhart suffered from a like oppression, I
-know not; but he seemed possessed by the very demon of unrest. He was
-not still a moment. He had little to say; and quite late in the evening
-proposed a walk. Without any remark upon the unusual hour, I acquiesced.
-
-The night was quiet and beautiful, beautiful even for that southern
-clime. There was no moon, and still the sky was filled with a soft
-light, brighter than the trembling rays of the stars alone. I remember
-it because it was a peculiar luminous haze, that I had seen only in
-Italy, and because, though no clouds swept over the sky, and the haze
-never paled until lost in the crimson glow of morning, that night, to
-me, was the blackest night of my life, whose vision sometimes yet rises
-before me, even at noon-day, with appalling reality. Ah! why were the
-sky and stars beautiful? O, cruel sky! O, cruel stars! Was the sorrow on
-earth nothing to you, that you gave no warning?
-
-We had walked perhaps two squares, when Reinhart stopped just as
-suddenly as if he might have come in contact with a stone wall,
-invisible to me. Alarmed, I said, quickly, “What is the matter? Are you
-ill?”
-
-“No,” he replied, still standing motionless. Then, in a moment, without
-another word, he turned and began retracing his steps.
-
-“Are you going home already?” I inquired, puzzled by his strange
-conduct.
-
-“No; I am going to the Cathedral.”
-
-We had just passed the Cathedral, when he had made no motion to enter;
-but now I tried in vain to dissuade him from it. I told him that there
-was no service at this hour; that we might as well not have left home as
-to go inside of any house. All to no purpose; he was just as determined
-as at first, until finally he turned fiercely upon me and said, with a
-strange emphasis in his tone,—
-
-“I will go; I must go; I feel something within me that _compels_ me to
-go!”
-
-Was this again the vibration of that terrible chord in his nature—that
-terrible chord that threatened to destroy forever the harmony of his
-life?
-
-Powerless to turn him from his intent, together we crossed the northern
-portal and entered the nave. It was so dim that the heavy shadows
-clustered in a rayless cloud among the arches, and at the end, far
-off—they looked like stars in the gloom—flickered a few tapers at the
-altar, while higher up swung the sacred but sickly flame that had been
-burning for centuries. There was not a stir, not a sound. I trembled all
-over with a singular sensation of weakness that came upon me as I
-followed Reinhart, who went steadily down the long aisle to where the
-transepts met, then stopped as abruptly as he had stopped a few moments
-before in the street.
-
-It was, as I have said, just where the transepts met. There, upon a low
-platform or dais, stood a bier covered by a velvet pall, whose heavy
-border fell in waveless folds. And upon it rested a casket with silver
-mountings. Beside it two tapers burned, one at the head and one at the
-foot; and two monks kneeled, motionless. Beyond the choir I saw the
-gleam of the organ-pipes, wavering, come and go. The altar lights
-circled about each other, and they, too, receded in infinite space; they
-grew dim; they vanished; they sprang again; they fled again. The great
-tombs loomed out and faded; the figure on an ebon crucifix, inspired
-with life, writhed in fearful agony, then once more became transfixed,
-and the weak, trembling sensation under which I had been laboring was
-gone.
-
-I saw that we were standing by the dead of some noble family, for the
-repose of whose soul the monks were offering up their prayers. I drew a
-little nearer. Upon the snow-like cushions within the casket a young
-girl lay sleeping the last deep and solemn sleep. Or was it a
-vision?—one of that mystical land, whose white portals are beyond the
-sun; that land where there is no shadow, no stain; where there is beauty
-celestial, peace everlasting? No, it was all the future we ever see; it
-was still this side the gates of eternity; it was death.
-
-A chaplet of flowers crowned her brow, all colorless as marble, and
-garlands of flowers wreathed her robe, that was purer than fleece; but
-her hands held no lilies, no jasmine; more sacred than these, they held
-a small golden crucifix, an emblem imperishable, holy. The burning
-tapers threw not over the face, turned slightly toward the altar, that
-beautiful dream-light; it was the last inscription written by the
-spirit, even after it had seen down the radiant vista of immortal
-happiness.
-
-Ah! why offer prayers for a soul beyond the troubled sea, beyond the
-dread valley? O, frail humanity! Even then beside the pall, where rested
-the solemn silence no voice could break, stood one for whom the kneeling
-monks might have told a thousand _aves_.
-
-Reinhart raised his face suddenly. Straightening himself, he extended
-his arm with a wild gesture, uttering a laugh that grated clear up to
-the dome.
-
-“Did I not tell you?” he cried. “Did I not feel the mysterious summons
-that brought me to this spot? Do you see her? _It is she!_ It is her
-soul and mine that will abide together through all eternity.”
-
-The startled monks rose to their feet. The great arches of the Cathedral
-threw back his voice in terrible groans. Quick as thought I sprang
-toward him, but was hurled off with the ease of a giant. He stooped for
-a moment and put one hand to his head, as if a sudden faintness might
-have swept over him; but he did not touch the casket. Then, dropping on
-one knee beside it, he raised his face and said softly, so softly that
-the last word seemed to come to us from a great distance,—
-
-“O, beautiful soul, part of my spirit, I will not keep you waiting!”
-
-We gathered around and raised him up. It needed no force now; and when
-they laid him down again, with a great throbbing in my breast, I folded
-his hands. He had taken his life.
-
-O, Germany! like this fair day you lured a bird high up into your
-sunshine, a bird with brilliant plumes in its wings; then, before it had
-sung one song from the pinnacle where it rested, blackening suddenly
-into a storm, you killed it. Reinhart, poor Reinhart! you lured high up
-into the fantastic light of psychology; then before he had reared one
-minaret upon the temple where he climbed, you darkened suddenly into a
-gigantic gloom that, rising up like a storm, overwhelmed him.
-
-Yes, better had it been for Reinhart were the Suabians still dancing
-their dryad dances.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                             SILVER ISLET.
-
-
-In Lake Superior, near its northern shore, a mere speck of land,
-scarcely two hundred feet square, barely shows itself above the water.
-This is Silver Islet, and on it sinks the shaft of the richest silver
-mine in the world. Covering almost its entire dimensions, stand two
-buildings. One, a low frame house, encloses the mouth of the mine, and
-the other, immediately adjacent, a small wooden structure, forms the
-watch-tower.
-
-Through this tower, every evening, the miners, when dismissed for the
-day, are compelled to pass out one by one, and submit themselves to an
-examination, where their clothes are thoroughly searched, that none of
-the precious metal may be carried away secreted upon the person. So
-extreme is the vigilance employed that visitors are never allowed,
-except by special permit, and though isolated upon the waters, the place
-is kept by day and night under this strict martial surveillance.
-
-To the north, about a quarter of a mile distant, is another island,
-perhaps six or eight acres in extent. It is high and rocky, and in one
-place reaches up more than a hundred feet. Here, built upon its sloping
-side, is the little settlement that could count up altogether, it might
-be, thirty houses. Here the miners live with their families. Here, too,
-every thing that pertains to the business of the place carries itself
-on; and here it was that father had brought me to stay.
-
-I was about eighteen years old then. I do not know how father happened
-to receive the position of assistant overseer at the mine. I never knew
-very much about father. Indeed I had hardly seen him more than half a
-dozen times in my life, until that day he came to take me from the farm.
-I could not remember my mother, who died in my infancy, and brother or
-sister I had none. Father was a morose, unsociable man by nature, and I
-think he cared but very little for me. I had been left at my uncle’s to
-grow up, and so, as I said, about him I knew almost nothing.
-
-Uncle George lived on a poverty-stricken farm upon the flattest of
-prairies. I hardly know how I did grow up there, it was such a wretched,
-miserable place. Although I had never experienced any thing different,
-it was so forlorn an existence, that I chafed inwardly against it every
-hour. I possessed a kind of dumb consciousness that surely, surely I
-must be made for something better than this. I saw nothing of the world,
-nothing of humanity outside of my uncle’s family, and the two or three
-rough farm hands that he occasionally employed. I would rather have had
-the cattle, the poor half-starved cattle, for companions than these.
-They were none of them kind to me. I know not whether father ever paid
-any thing for my board; but I know I worked far harder than any hired
-servant. I did not rebel outwardly, but I was constantly unhappy. Was I
-to live on all my days in this hopeless, miserable way? Was there never
-to be any thing better? Looking out of the window, I thought of the
-great, busy world, and the far-off, unknown cities; but before my eyes
-there was only a dead level of the hateful yellow prairie, and above,
-the colorless sky stretched itself out in a gigantic, measureless blank.
-
-From this life it was that father came, without word or warning, and
-took me. I know now that he only wanted me with him as a convenience,
-but then I was wild with delight. In my great craving for human sympathy
-I would have loved father with all my heart, had he given me any
-encouragement. I did love him for this one good deed. I knew not where
-he was taking me, but I was sure it could be no worse place. With an
-intense joy I went up and surveyed, for the last time, the miserable
-little room where I had vainly cried so many hot tears over my weary
-existence. I stayed my steps a moment beside the one window, a little
-window facing westward. From here I had seen the only beauty that ever
-came before my passionate eyes flame up with a splendor, as of gold,
-along the sky when the sun went down. A thousand times my yearning heart
-had watched the short-lived glory fade, like a mockery, into the dreary
-blank. From here, too, year by year, with a rank rebellion in my soul, I
-had looked out at the shadowless prairie that lay over all the earth, a
-great, glaring, uncovered, yellow blister.
-
-So it was with nothing but glad emotion that I stood upon the spot
-consciously for the last time. I had a keen, absorbing love of the
-beautiful, a hunger insatiable, that unfed was sapping my life. This
-wretched existence had almost killed me; but for the change I believe
-that my longing spirit, like my mother’s in the far past, would have
-broken its wings. Now there was an avenue of escape suddenly opened up
-before me—of escape from the dreadful monotony, from the intolerable
-agony of everlasting sameness that, by day and night, recurring forever,
-had made up the tiresome years as they passed. My whole being was turned
-to my father with one inspiration of gratitude.
-
-Had I known any thing of Pythagoras then, almost I could have believed
-in the transmigration of souls, or that my spirit had passed into some
-different body, so utterly strange and new I felt at Silver Islet. Here
-father had rented a little house that stood apart from the rest, upon
-the very highest point. The whole settlement was grouped within the
-least possible compass, and considerable of the island, small as it was,
-still remained in its original condition. There were no trees
-immediately about our house, but to the right, and running thinly all
-the way down on the other side to the water, a few straggling pines
-clung, with their rope-like roots, to the rocks. It was no trouble to me
-to keep house for only one. I got the breakfast and supper, and every
-morning put up a dinner for father, which he took with him to the mine.
-So all day I was left wholly to myself.
-
-As I said, so strange and new I felt it seemed to me for a while as if I
-had lost my own identity. Here, for the first time in my life, there lay
-before my eyes a vast expanse of glittering waves—the mighty mystery of
-far-reaching waters! Rolling, moving, changing, remaining for endless
-ages, attracting, terrifying—only the mightier mystery of eternity can
-fathom the hidden secret of this unceasing problem. A hush fell upon my
-fluttering spirits, a hush of profound awe before this symbol, this
-vision of the unknown infinite. At last the cry of my soul for food was
-silenced, the dreadful hunger of my heart, that through all my life I
-could not allay, was pacified.
-
-At dawn I saw the timid light creep up along the east and wait and
-brighten, until it set an emblazoned standard in the sky, and below, far
-out, covered with the pomp of the rising sun, the distant billows
-clashed their blood-red shields. At noon, I saw the mid-day radiance,
-falling through the air in torrents of splendor, float far and near,
-changing into gorgeous mosaics upon the sea. At night I saw the long
-line of mighty cliffs upon the silent Canadian shore reach out their
-giant shadow through the dusk of evening that, slowly, softly, gathered
-into a twilight sweeter than the luminous haze of a dream.
-
-I had no one to care for me, no friend, no lover, but I needed none now.
-I was happy, happy as in a new and glorious world. I forgot the dreadful
-prairie, dry and parched—the vast, staring, level of land that for so
-many years had oppressed me by its terrible, never ending monotony. I
-even forgot the thousand times I had longed and longed to see a great
-city, to live among its busy throng.
-
-It was November, and presently the wind, keen and cold, swept down, like
-the wind from the Arctic zone. Mad, pitiless, the boundless waters piled
-themselves in towering billows. They leaped and menaced. They broke over
-Silver Islet with a frightful roar and drenched it with their freezing
-spray. They danced about it in savage fury. They beat against it
-continually, and the howling gale, swift and strong, dashed the foam in
-blinding sheets. Already the long, fierce winter of the North was
-rapidly setting in.
-
-Great layers of ice formed and broke, and ground up and formed again,
-until December, still and frigid, locked us within the impenetrable
-barriers of a vast, frozen sea. To the east, to the west, to the south,
-an illimitable wilderness of snow, the mighty Superior for miles lay
-wrapped in a silence profound as the grave. To the north, shrouded in
-their eternal solitude, cold, white and spectral, the cliffs upon the
-long Canadian shore held up their stony battlement, sheeted in ice, as
-in a pall. Utterly devoid of warmth, the sunlight blazed with a
-brilliance indescribable through an atmosphere that, clearer than
-crystal, glittered as with the scintillations of feldspar. But the
-nights—the nights swinging in their long winter arc, were illuminated by
-a glory more gorgeous than the unreal splendor wrought in the loom of
-dreams. The stars, myriads upon myriads, studded the whole heaven with
-drops of intense light, and the planets, magnified through the vast
-laboratory of the air, showed great balls of molten silver against a
-vault of jet. Sometimes when the night was at its blackest, suddenly
-there shot up, flaming from the white battlements of the Canadian shore,
-a thousand lances. Like the parade of an army, like the marshalling of
-far-reaching cohorts, the mighty processions swept the semicircle of the
-sky. They rose and fell. They wavered like the spears of troops in
-battle. Then the vast battalions, closing together, ran up in a towering
-shaft to the zenith. A river of ice-cold fire, it divided the heaven. It
-overflowed and spread out in a sea of gorgeous color that receded, wave
-upon wave, until it burned, a deep blue flame upon the frozen crown of
-the Canadian cliffs. I have watched this aurora in its changeful mood a
-hundred times. I have watched the illimitable fields of snow beneath,
-while the reflected light played upon them in weird rays, far out to the
-remote horizon.
-
-During the Winter, unused to the severe climate, I rarely left the
-house. So far as was possible, I held myself aloof from the people, the
-people, that, as I said, were only the rough families of miners.
-Ignorant and uneducated, painfully ignorant and uneducated I was myself,
-still I could not associate with such as these. I did not grow tired,
-but yet I was glad when the long, frozen months had passed by. As the
-late Spring opened, Winter even then did not yield its supremacy without
-a fierce contest, but in the contest—the savage storms from the
-north—the ice broke. The huge cakes, drifting about, slowly, gradually,
-wore themselves away, and the wind dropped its javelins of frost.
-
-Late it was in June before the last vestige was gone of the bitter cold
-that had held us in its frigid clasp for more than two-thirds of a year.
-Then there opened for me an unfailing source of enjoyment. I learned to
-row, and father allowed me to buy a small boat. It was almost the only
-favor I ever asked of him, and how much have I to be thankful for that
-he did not deny me! Though slight of figure, my muscles were strong, and
-after awhile, with constant practice, I could row twenty miles in a day
-without exhaustion, and every day now, and all the day, I spent my time
-upon the water.
-
-The Summer, beautiful to me beyond description, was like a perpetual
-Spring. In my little boat, alone, I explored the shore far and near. I
-rowed to the very ledges of those cliffs that I had watched all Winter
-long lifting themselves, like a huge, jagged spine, against the sky. A
-thousand, sometimes twelve hundred feet, they reached up, gray and
-naked, a sheer, barren wall of rock from the water. With the cold waves
-forever at their feet, gloomy, silent, they stood in their drear
-majesty, and the chilly fog wrapped them round with the folds of its
-clammy garb. Only in the most beautiful weather did this fog lift from
-about them its clinging skirts, and slowly the damp mists trailed
-themselves off in long white plumes of down. At such times, floating
-idly in my skiff, I felt oppressed by the vast burden of their dreadful
-silence. I believe there is no greater solitude than that which
-sometimes at noon, when sea and sky are unwrinkled by wave or cloud,
-sits upon this mighty shore of desolate, desert rock. Yet here, where
-this profound silence broods, upon these tawny bastions of stone,
-occasionally fierce thunder storms play, and the waters in wild tumult
-dash against their base with a noise like the roar of heavy artillery.
-
-So the weeks slipped by, and it was in the early part of October that
-first I saw a change had come over father. As I have said, he was by
-nature a reserved, unsociable, even morose man. He was never
-communicative, and to me sometimes spoke hardly two dozen words in a
-day. I had grown used to this, and felt that I had nothing to complain
-about, as he laid no restrictions upon me in any respect. But now I
-could not help noticing a decided alteration, both in his looks and
-manner. Constitutionally a thin man, his face appeared thinner to me
-than ever. So exceedingly pale and worn was he, that I do not know that
-I had ever seen a more haggard countenance. His eyes, which were very
-light in color and deep-set in his head, had an unnatural brightness, a
-strange expression I can hardly describe, a peculiar, watching
-wakefulness. His manner was restless and uneasy in the extreme, and he
-spoke even less frequently than usual. He staid out much later than had
-been his ordinary habit, often not coming home until early in the
-morning; and several times I heard him with a slow step walk back and
-forth, back and forth, over the floor of his room all night.
-
-As I have said, I knew nothing of his duties, nor did I know any thing
-of the miners. When first I noticed the change upon father, I thought he
-was over fatigued perhaps, then I became alarmed lest he was ill. Little
-as he cared for me, he was the only human being on earth upon whom I had
-the slightest claim, and I would have done any thing for him. I could
-not bear to see him look so badly. He had never manifested any thing
-towards me but utter indifference, and so strangely reserved was he that
-I, in my great dread that he might be harsh some time, had hardly ever
-volunteered a single sentence to him. I was troubled, and did not know
-what to do. That night at supper I said, gently,—
-
-“Father, do you feel well?”
-
-At first he did not appear to hear, and I repeated my question, then he
-turned his pale eyes upon me suddenly with a quick, startled look in
-them that frightened me,—
-
-“What?”
-
-“I asked if you felt well,” I said again, embarrassed by his strange
-manner. “You look so badly lately I thought maybe there was something
-the matter.”
-
-He did not speak at all for a moment, but sat there staring at me
-wildly. Catching his breath slightly, he looked all round the room and
-brought his eyes, his pale eyes, with an angry gleam in them now, back
-to my face, then said, fiercely,—
-
-“See here, don’t you meddle in my matters! I am able to take care of
-myself.”
-
-“Oh, father, I only thought—”
-
-“Do you hear me?” he said, savagely. “Mind your own business. There is
-nothing the matter with me. If you can’t do any thing better than
-interfere in my affairs, you can go back. See that you don’t do it
-again, or—”
-
-He broke off abruptly, and I, my heart throbbing as if it might break,
-got up and went into my own room. I had not interfered in his affairs. I
-had done nothing wrong, said nothing to call up such an outburst of
-passion, and his dreadful anger had terrified me. I went to the window
-to try and calm myself. I put up the sash and leaned out.
-
-The twilight had almost dissolved itself in night, a night so soft and
-gentle that the very waters, wooed from their troubled toil, ceased
-their long complaint and slept. The pine trees, slim and black,
-whispered to each other in their mysterious language with peaceful
-cadence, telling, perhaps, of the time when they would shed their
-countless needles. In the west, shining like a harvest sickle, hung the
-yellow crescent of the new October moon. Trying to still the throbbing
-in my veins, I watched it grow and change and deepen as it sank, until
-above the water it poised, a great Moorish sword of blood-red fire, and
-a long line of vermilion light ran out upon the quiet sea. Then suddenly
-it was blotted in darkness.
-
-The figure of a man obstructed my range of vision.
-
-Instantly the dreadful throbbing in my heart leaped up again. I drew
-back noiselessly from the window. The man, only a few feet distant—I
-could almost have put out my hand and touched him—stopped, hesitated
-irresolutely for a moment, turned about as if to see that no one watched
-him, then with stealthy step went across the open space and began to
-climb, catching from tree to tree, down the precipitous rocks towards
-the lake. Once or twice I heard a stone loosen from beneath his feet,
-and presently I heard the plash of oars in the water, then it died out,
-and straining my ears I could detect no sound but the quiet, mysterious
-whisperings of the pines. I laid my head upon the window-sill sick and
-faint. The figure of the man I had seen was father.
-
-Too well I knew now that he was neither tired, nor ill. Why should he
-have crept down so stealthily over these wild, almost perpendicular
-rocks to the lake? Why not have gone by the ordinary path through the
-settlement? Ah, why? Something was wrong—but what? I turned cold and
-dizzy. I would not, I _dared_ not think.
-
-I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted by a thousand forebodings, I
-could not even close my eyes, and it was almost day-break when I heard
-father come in quietly and go to his room.
-
-I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did he, but somehow I could
-not help thinking that from this time he watched me a little
-suspiciously. I felt hurt that he imagined I would play the spy upon his
-actions. Whatever he might do, whatever he might say, he was still my
-father, and I could not give him up. It was dreadful, those days that
-followed. It seemed like living upon the verge of a precipice, or that
-some unseen calamity hung above my head ready to fall at any moment and
-crush me.
-
-One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp and put it on the supper
-table, I went, as was my usual habit, to draw down the blinds. Father
-had not yet come home. As I crossed his room I saw through the window a
-man standing close beside it on the outside, so close that I could not
-have seen him more distinctly had he been within reach of my touch. His
-arms were folded across his chest, and his head dropped a little in the
-attitude of one waiting. His figure was large and thick-set, almost that
-of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and passed his hand over his
-short-cut, bristly hair, and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse,
-heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I noticed that the window
-sash was down and bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind. I
-went back with an uneasy feeling into the dining-room.
-
-A few moments afterward father came in. He took up the light hurriedly,
-saying some thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried it into his
-room and shut the door. I heard him walking about in there, opening and
-closing drawers, and after a little I thought I heard a sound as if he
-were raising the window-sash gently. Then he came out. He looked at me
-sharply for a moment, and remarked that he had been hunting for a key.
-Strange! He was not in the habit of accounting for his actions. After he
-got up from the table he did not leave the house again, but went to bed
-almost immediately.
-
-In the morning when I put up his dinner and handed it to him as usual,
-he said,—
-
-“You need not get any supper for me to-night. I have office work to do
-at the mine and will not be back.”
-
-I was surprised. He had frequently not come home to the evening meal,
-but never before had he thought it worth his while to give me notice. I
-stood looking after him as he went out of the gate, when suddenly an
-idea flashed into my head that made my heart sink in my breast like a
-stone. I do not know why it should have come to me then so suddenly,
-with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned and ran into father’s
-room. I looked about. I opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his clothing
-was gone! It was as I thought. He did not mean to come back at
-all—Deserted! The dreadful word choked up my throat. I knew nothing of
-father’s actions, I knew not what he had done, but I would gladly have
-gone with him, have stood disgrace with him even, if that were
-necessary. I am sure I can not tell why I clung to him with such
-desperation. Though I was ignorant and inexperienced, I was also young
-and strong, and I was not afraid I would fail to make my living alone in
-the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid my head upon the foot of
-the bedstead, and heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably I
-would never see him again, and if he did not love me, at least, except
-that one time, he had not been harsh to me, and he was my father.
-
-At first I thought I would follow him; I would go to the mine and see if
-he might not still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries about
-him would probably only increase the danger that threatened, whatever
-that danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing him for some
-crime, I would have shielded him still. I was powerless. I could do
-nothing to recall him; I could do nothing but wait. Wandering about with
-only the one thought in my mind, after awhile the house became
-positively intolerable. I must do something at least to keep myself
-employed, or I should absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably, and
-I had a compressed feeling across my chest.
-
-I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it over my arm. I do not know
-why I should have taken this one, for I wore it generally only in the
-bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange feeling of dread when any one
-looked at me, I went down hurriedly through the settlement to the wharf.
-I got into my boat and pushed off. On the water I could breathe better.
-
-I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily, taking note of nothing. My
-only relief lay in violent exercise. How many miles up the shore I went
-I do not know, but it was farther than I had ever reached before, and
-when I drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration, the red
-embers of the sun-set’s fire were dying down along the sky.
-
-In this region of the lake, from a quarter to two miles from shore, at
-wide intervals isolated rocks rise up out of the water, or mere points
-of land covered with a thick growth of underbrush show themselves, so
-small they look from a distance like a floating fleck of green that the
-waves could drift about at pleasure. The gulls rest upon them
-undisturbed by man or beast. Lonely, a thousand times more lonely, these
-islands make it seem than a clear, open stretch of water. A few of them,
-perhaps, are fifteen or twenty feet in extent. On a dark night it would
-have been dangerous to row here.
-
-I felt weak and tired. The lake stretched itself out, quiet and peaceful
-as a painted ocean. Not a ripple disturbed the tranquil surface that
-mirrored the sky like a glass. I drew my cloak over me and lay down in
-my boat. I cared not when I got back, the later the better, for I still
-clung to a forlorn hope, that perhaps in the morning father would
-return. I was not afraid, for the moon had reached its full and would be
-up even as the last halo of the departing day was fading from the west.
-Out of the water I saw it come. An enormous globe of maroon fire, it sat
-upon the horizon and stained the lake with its magenta rays. Fatigued
-and exhausted, I think I must have slept, for when next I looked, bright
-and yellow, it was swung high up in the sky, shedding through the air a
-splendor like pearl.
-
-I felt glad I had brought my cloak, for it was cold, very cold, and I
-would have been almost numb without it. I knew by the position of the
-moon that it must be somewhere near eleven o’clock. I sat up, shivered a
-little, drew my wrap closer about me and reached out one hand for the
-oars—when suddenly, midway in the action, I held it suspended,
-motionless! Sometimes there is nothing so startling as the sound of a
-human voice. I heard two men talking. For an instant I was paralyzed. My
-boat lay close beside one of these little knolls of land I have
-described. I could have put out my arm and touched the rank sword-grass
-that grew along its border. I did catch hold of it and noiselessly drew
-my skiff nearer, into a kind of curve, so that, though I was on the
-bright side, the overhanging brambles threw me into shadow, and another
-skiff, passing by, would hardly have detected me, when instantly I found
-that the men were not on the water. A cold terror crept over me. They
-were distant scarcely three yards. I could not see them, but I could
-almost feel the underbrush crackling beneath their feet. They evidently,
-though, had no knowledge of my presence, and I, not daring to stir,
-fairly held my breath. They seemed to be removing something from the
-ground and transferring it to their boat which, as I supposed, lay upon
-the other side. I could hear them lift and carry, what, I did not know.
-It sounded sometimes like stones falling with a partially muffled thud
-when they put them down. One of the men in a rough voice said, with a
-loud, harsh laugh, evidently resting for a moment,—
-
-“This repays for lots o’ trouble! That was a neat slip we gave ’em all
-to-night. By —— I’m glad to be quit o’ the place! Its ——”
-
-“Be quiet can’t you!”
-
-My heart, at a single bound, leaped into my mouth. In these few words,
-spoken low and stern, I instantly recognized the voice. It was father’s.
-The other man did not reply, but muttered a half intelligible curse.
-They were both in the boat now, for I heard the plash of their oars.
-Presently father said, in a sharp, quick tone,—
-
-“Take care! Sit down, sit down I tell you!”
-
-Again the man muttered something between his shut teeth. The next moment
-they came round into the light and passed me, pulling hard. Then I
-recognized the thick-set, burly figure that I had seen last night. He
-was in the stern of the boat, and I saw his face again, the same
-repulsive face, but with a sullen scowl upon the brutish features.
-
-They were heavily loaded and rowed slowly. They had got well past me
-when I heard father say something; what, I did not understand; but the
-man, dropping his oars, turned his head and replied, savagely,—
-
-“Look’e yer! You’ve did nothin’ but boss, an’ boss, an’ I’m tired o’ it!
-This yer’s as much mine as yourn, and by —— I’d jes as lief make it all
-mine!”
-
-Quick as the movement of a cat he changed his position, facing round to
-father. Quicker still, he stooped and caught up something in his hand
-that by the glint of the moonlight explained their heavy load, and all
-the mystery which had been hanging over father’s actions. It was a
-rough, jagged piece of silver ore. He raised his powerful arm and struck
-father with it on the head. He struck him two or three times. I
-screamed. There was a dreadful struggle, and at the same second that I
-saw the gleam of father’s pistol I heard its report. The man raised up
-his huge figure for an instant, wavered, and fell back heavily with a
-cry like a wounded tiger. The boat, without capsizing, tilted beneath
-the shock, filled with water, and went down like a stone.
-
-I absolutely do not know how I pushed out from my hiding-place, but with
-two or three swift strokes I was on the spot. For an instant there was
-most frightful silence. I can see the waves widening their circle yet.
-Then, right at my boat’s head, father came to the surface. I was made
-strong by the energy of desperation.
-
-With a wild, straining reach I leaned over and caught him by the arm,
-and with the other hand I rowed backward towards the knoll. I would have
-capsized and gone down rather than have let go my grasp. I was within a
-skiff’s length of the little island when just at my side I saw the huge
-form of the miner come up. He struggled and made one mighty effort to
-catch hold of my boat. No more terrible can the faces of the damned look
-than this face that glared up at me from the water. It has haunted me
-waking and sleeping. God forgive me, I could do nothing else! I struck
-him with the flat side of my oar. Evidently weakened by loss of blood,
-exhausted and nearly gone, he fell back and sank almost instantly from
-sight.
-
-I worked round to a place where there was only grass growing, and
-catching by it drew close to its border. I could never have lifted
-father up but that he was sensible and could help himself somewhat. I
-got him on the ground, and from the ground into my boat. Then he
-fainted.
-
-His head was terribly wounded. I knew I had no time to waste. I was
-afraid he would die in the coming hours before I could reach assistance.
-I rubbed his hands. I loosened and took off some of his wet clothing. I
-folded my cloak over him carefully and seized the oars. Inspired by my
-strange burden with a strength superhuman, my boat shot swiftly almost
-as if it had been propelled by steam. But the east was already
-brightening again with Indian colors when I reached the wharf at last,
-at last!
-
-They raised him softly and carried him up to the house. I paid no
-attention to their thousand questions. I do not know what I said—I said
-it was an accident.
-
-In the weeks of his long fever and delirium, I watched over him day and
-night. He did not die. He came back to life. How many times I had
-wondered would he be kind, would he be gentle to me now? Ah, poor
-father! He was never harsh to any one after that.
-
-When the people came and spoke to him, he would laugh a gentle,
-meaningless laugh, and sometimes, holding to me tight, he would point to
-a button or color on their dress and say,—
-
-“Pretty, pretty!”
-
-He grew well and strong again, but it had shattered his mind forever.
-
-How he had avoided the officers at the tower in carrying away the
-precious metal which he had secreted from time to time, I do not know,
-but they suspected nothing. I held utter silence about the incident, and
-if the people did connect the missing miner with his mysterious
-“accident,” what was there to do? They pitied me that he was simple.
-Shall I say it? Perhaps it was better so. A strange, new joy came to me,
-as every day I saw the pale eyes, innocent now as those of a child,
-follow me about with a grateful look. He was easily managed, and he
-seemed to cling to me with an affection that would atone for the long
-blank in the past.
-
-I waited until the bitter Winter had gone by, and the first steamer came
-in the Summer.
-
-What would become of us in the big, untried city? I had my youth, I had
-my health.
-
-I stood upon the deck of the great vessel and saw this mere speck of
-land recede in the distance. Father, standing by my side, touched my
-arm, and holding out his open hand, said,—
-
-“Pretty, pretty!”
-
-There was a shell in it clean and white, and he looked up at me and
-smiled.
-
-Yes, better so, it was better so!
-
-He had gone there a man, strong and wicked. By the strange mysteries of
-Providence, he came from it a child, weak and innocent, with a soul
-white as the shell which for the moment he cherished in his simple
-delight.
-
-When next I raised my eyes, only the cold waters of Lake Superior washed
-the horizon, and Silver Islet had vanished from my sight forever.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                         BOYDELL, THE STROLLER.
-
-
-He was a strolling player. During the month of February, 1868, I was at
-Chicago, gathering up a theatrical troupe to do the provinces. I found
-no difficulty in getting my general utility people, but still lacked a
-“first old man.” Every person wanted leading business—that was exactly
-the trouble. When I was in the midst of my perplexity, I stumbled across
-Carey, whom I knew to be out of a job, and offered him the position.
-
-Now I felt that this act was a real charity, for I knew poor Carey had
-never received such a chance in all his theatrical days—years, I should
-say; for he was well on the shady side of forty. I was amazed,
-dumb-founded, when Carey refused it, absolutely, positively refused
-it,—Carey? What could explain this astounding fact? There was an odd
-twinkle in his eye, and presently the truth leaked out. He had just
-married a pretty, young girl, and—and—well, he had promised to quit the
-stage; that was the whole of it. But Carey suited me exactly, and I did
-not give up. I told him it was all nonsense; his wife would be glad
-enough for him to accept the position. Carey evidently began to waver;
-the old love for his profession threatened to out-weigh that other love
-which had crept into his heart. However, it was finally determined that
-I should call upon his wife and submit the matter to her decision.
-
-I found her really young and really pretty, but, also, really in
-earnest. Carey could not go, that was certain; at the very first mention
-of the subject, she burst into tears. There was nothing left for me
-except to retreat, which I did with many apologies.
-
-Then, to soften my despair, Carey told me he knew of a person, one
-Boydell, whom he thought would be glad to fill the position. A few days
-after, Carey brought him up and gave me an introduction. A tall man he
-was, six feet-one or two, with a fine presence, heightened by a peculiar
-dignity of manner and voice. There was dramatic power stamped upon his
-English face, with its square, massive jaw, firm mouth, and deep-set
-eyes. I had no idea of Boydell’s age. I could not have guessed it by
-fifteen years one way or the other. He was one of those singular
-individuals who might be twenty-five, thirty-five, or fifty. There were
-a few wrinkles about his bronzed features, but they were surely not the
-wrinkles of time. His thick, brown hair was combed straight back, and
-hung down behind his ears. His dress was what might be called the
-shabby-genteel. Black from head to foot, nothing in it was new, and one
-would almost think nothing ever had been new. The garments had
-apparently existed in just their present condition of wear from time
-immemorial. The coat was shiny across the back, and a trifle small too,
-as though it had originally been cut for a man of less length both in
-body and arms. On his feet he wore queer, English shoes, with broad
-spreading soles, and the extra space at the toes turned up after the
-fashion of a rocker. A silk hat, bell-crowned, with curved rim, such as
-we see in pictures of Beau Brummel, was set well back upon his head.
-
-But, notwithstanding these peculiarities, there was something in his
-bearing that gave Boydell the appearance of a finished gentleman, and
-his fine address added to the impression he created of eminent
-respectability. He accepted the position, and our business was speedily
-accomplished. I requested him to call on the following day, when I would
-be able to make the final arrangements for our departure, and he left
-with a dignified bow.
-
-Gathering together a company of actors and actresses from nowhere in
-particular, and attempting to form them into something like an organized
-troupe, is not by any means the most encouraging work with which one
-might employ himself. Again and again my patience was exhausted, and
-again and again I resolved to persevere. Several times we had almost
-been ready for action, when somebody would “back out,” and throw us once
-more into confusion. Now, however, I determined to surmount every
-difficulty, no matter what, so that the next train might bear us _en
-route_ for the West.
-
-In the midst of the morning’s turmoil, Boydell made his appearance. I
-informed him of our arrangements, inquired where he kept his baggage,
-and told him I would send for it immediately.
-
-“That will be unnecessary, as I have it with me. This, Sir, is my
-baggage.”
-
-While Boydell spoke, he put his hand back into his coat-tail pocket and
-quietly drew out a scratch wig. I looked at his face to find something
-which might belie the dignified voice, but there was not even the shadow
-of a smile breaking up its gravity. His countenance was as composed when
-he returned the wig to his pocket as though he had just shown to my
-admiring gaze a complete wardrobe of great magnificence. Indeed, I was
-so impressed by his aristocratic manner, that the ludicrous aspect of
-the interview hardly presented itself to me until it was over.
-
-But I had no time to be amused, and, with the annoying trials that would
-turn up where I least expected them, no inclination. When I sent round
-for the luggage I found that two of the boys had “shoved up their trunks
-at their uncle’s,” and, as it was the last moment, I was compelled to
-redeem them. Then I hired a carriage, and went to conduct the
-_soubrette_, to the depot. When I arrived in front of the house,
-_Madame_, _la mere_, came out and informed me that her daughter could
-not go, would not go, unless I gave them fifteen dollars to get her
-front teeth away from the dentist’s! What could we do without a
-_soubrette_? With a groan I handed over the fifteen dollars.
-
-Playing in the smaller towns along our route, we cleared our traveling
-expenses, and got into pretty good working order.
-
-When we arrived at St. Joseph we gathered up all our strength, and came
-out in full glory as “The New York Star Company.” There we played for
-three weeks to crowded audiences. On “salary days” the money was
-forthcoming, a rare occurrence with strolling actors, and of course we
-were all greatly delighted.
-
-Under such circumstances our spirits ran high, and each one began to
-tell of the particular _rôles_ in which he or she had, in days gone by,
-electrified an audience and won applause. Boydell caught the infection.
-It happened that we had been running plays in which the “first old man”
-was, at best, only a “stick” part, and Boydell fretted considerably at
-his ill-luck. One night he came into the green-room, and to his
-inexpressible joy found himself cast for the part of “Colonel Damas” in
-Bulwer’s comedy of the “Lady of Lyons.” Now this was his pet _rôle_, and
-at the intelligence he felt all his dramatic genius kindle into a fresh
-flame.
-
-“Boys,” he said, straightening up his dignified form, “Boys, you will
-see me make a great hit to-night. The passage commencing, ‘The man who
-sets his heart upon a woman is a chameleon, and doth feed on air,’ has
-never been to my mind rightly given.”
-
-Many of us had seen him do pretty well before, but now we looked forward
-to such an effort as the stage in St. Joseph had never witnessed.
-
-The next evening I repaired to the theater half an hour earlier than
-usual, but found Boydell already dressed for the play. His shabby black
-coat looked more eminently respectable than ever, and was buttoned over
-smooth white linen, or what he made answer the purpose of linen,—half a
-yard of paper muslin folded into tucks, and pinned to his paper collar.
-In his hand ready for use he held his one valuable—the scratch wig. It
-still lacked a few minutes before he would be called, and he
-disappeared, as he said, to “steady his nerves.” Various winks and
-knowing looks passed among the boys; such disappearances on his part at
-this time of the evening were by no means rare or unaccountable.
-
-Boydell came back and went directly on the stage. The excitement behind
-the scenes grew, for, although few of us would admit it, we all knew
-Boydell was a born actor, and we clustered eagerly around the wings in
-breathless expectation.
-
-He started out with dramatic gesture,—
-
-               “‘The man who sets his heart upon a woman
-               Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air—
-                                 On air—air—’”
-
-Suddenly his voice grew fainter, and his sentences incoherent. Those few
-moments he had spent in “steadying his nerves” had taken every line of
-the text from his memory. He could barely keep upon his feet and blunder
-through his part with thick voice and uncertain step. He was fully aware
-of his powerless condition, and came off with a moody, crestfallen
-countenance.
-
-When the curtain finally dropped, as it was Monday night, they all
-assembled to receive their salary. Boydell stood a little apart from the
-others, leaning against a flat. One of the boys came forward and
-delivering a long, elaborate speech in the name of all the members,
-presented Boydell with a tin snuff-box to hold his wardrobe—“As a token
-of their appreciation of the great ‘hit’ he had made, and the glory it
-would reflect upon the troupe.”
-
-That night Boydell, from some unknown source, had scraped up two
-shillings.
-
-He could take twice the quantity of liquor that would intoxicate any
-other man, and beyond a redness of the nose and a flushed glistening
-appearance about the “gills,” he manifested no symptom of intemperance.
-He had a trick of using his hand as a shield around the glass and
-pouring in whisky to the very brim, so he always got a double drink for
-one price. When the boys asked him why he held the tumbler in that
-peculiar manner, “It was habit,” he said, “merely habit.” I remember at
-Lawrence, Kansas, they had unusually small glasses, and he went into a
-logical discussion with the bar-keeper to show the evil of the thing. It
-was wrong; it looked mean; it would ruin his custom. Not that he
-(Boydell) cared; it was nothing to him, it was only the _principle_ he
-objected to; it appeared penurious.
-
-Boxing, I found, was the one thing—aside from his acting—upon which
-Boydell prided himself. If he heard of a person about the neighborhood
-who made any pretentions in this respect, he would walk miles through
-rain or mud to vanquish the “presumptuous fool.” I could not keep from
-feeling interested in this singular man. Reared in the English colleges,
-with the polish of the classics upon him, destined and trained for the
-British army, he had given it all up for this worthless, roving,
-vagabond life. And yet—although degraded, intemperate, and often
-profane—there was still a natural reserve about Boydell that commanded
-respect.
-
-Our expenses had been steadily increasing, and our finances did not
-prove equal to the demand; at least they would not justify a longer run.
-We played two weeks at Leavenworth City, and disbanded, scattering in
-all directions.
-
-I went home to M—— with a feeling of unutterable relief. My theatrical
-experience had brought me to the determination of letting the stage
-alone for the present, or trying it in a different capacity. Devoting my
-whole time to a more lucrative business, I heard nothing about any of
-the old troupe, and I did not care to see one of them again, unless it
-was Boydell. I had little hope of ever meeting him; it would be mere
-chance if I did, and I knew he might just as likely now be in Europe or
-Australia as in this country. But we were destined once more to come in
-contact.
-
-M—— was a flat, muddy, thriving little town in Western Illinois. It had
-built a theater, and was a focus for strolling actors and adventurers—a
-kind of center, where the remnant of theatrical troupes that had come to
-grief straggled in to recruit. The citizens did not consider this a very
-distinguishing characteristic to boast of, but in reality it was what
-raised the place out of oblivion; otherwise its few thousand inhabitants
-might, like their neighbors, have lived for ever in obscurity.
-
-Early last Summer a business engagement took me to the suburbs of this
-town. The atmosphere was clear as crystal and glittering with sunshine.
-The cherries hung dead-ripe upon the trees; the blackbirds chattered
-about them to each other with red-stained bills, and the cats, stretched
-lazily in the sunshine, watched the winged robbers with no charitable
-feelings. The leaves, if they were thirsty, complained but gently, and
-in the dry and pleasant fields the grasshoppers, without flagging, held
-a jubilee, and from the level pastures farther off came the sound of
-distant bells, and sometimes, close by the roadside, the farmers whetted
-their scythes.
-
-Coming towards me a man upon the turnpike was approaching the town on
-foot. As we neared each other, old recollections came back upon me. Yes,
-that tall erect figure seemed familiar—it was Boydell coming into M——
-from parts unknown.
-
-The same coat I had seen do such good service, only a little shinier
-now, was buttoned over the same—no, it was likely another piece of paper
-muslin. On his feet were a pair of shoes, a present undoubtedly, which
-lacked a size or more in length; but this trouble had been remedied by
-cutting out the counters, and strapping down his pantaloons to cover his
-naked heels. The fact that I knew his high silk hat, the one of olden
-times, had lost its crown, was owing entirely to the elevation I gained
-by being on horseback. Under other circumstances it would never have
-been discovered, for the edges were trimmed smoothly round, and Boydell,
-as I said, was tall.
-
-And so I met him again, the same courtly vagabond, the same Boydell of
-former days. His bearing was majestic, almost regal; his dress was—a
-respectable shell. But there seemed to be a change, too. He did not look
-any older, although I noticed a little silver had sprinkled itself
-through his thick waving hair since we had parted, but there was
-something about his eyes that did not appear natural, and a tired, a
-weary expression sat upon his face—an expression I had never seen there
-before. Perhaps he had walked many miles.
-
-I looked after him as he went on towards the town, thinking what an
-unsettled, wild, worthless life he led, this man with the divine gift of
-genius, this vagrant with the clinging air of gentility. Maybe fate was
-against him; maybe he really had higher aspirations; but without
-friends, without home, the cold, unsympathetic world had crushed them;
-and still watching, it suddenly entered my head how easily I could guess
-the contents of his coat-tail pocket!
-
-Some little time after this meeting, when Boydell had almost passed out
-of my mind, a gentleman called at my office, and during our conversation
-told me about a case of destitution that had accidentally come to his
-knowledge. At first I listened with well-bred indifference, for the
-experience I had acquired thoroughly cured all my philanthropic symptoms
-with which I had once been afflicted, but when he related the
-circumstances my interest awakened.
-
-A man, a stranger, had stopped at the tavern on the suburbs of the town
-and fallen sick. He had no money, no friends, indeed he had not even a
-shirt to his back, and the landlord threatened to turn him out, utterly
-helpless as he was. I suddenly thought of Boydell, and inquired the
-man’s name. My friend could not recall it, but said he represented
-himself as an actor; though the landlord did not place much reliance on
-this statement, for the fellow had no wardrobe of any description, and
-the only thing in his possession was a scratch wig, which a black-leg
-would be as likely to own as an actor. This dispelled what little doubt
-had remained in my mind. It was Boydell, and something must be done at
-once for his relief.
-
-Generosity does not prevail in any profession to a greater extent,
-especially among the lower members, than it does in the dramatic. As it
-was the hour for rehearsal, we went up to the theater. We told of
-Boydell’s condition, and I related what I knew of his history. One
-appeal was sufficient; the contribution they made up would at least
-relieve his present wants.
-
-There, at the tavern, we found him in a stupor. Neglected, without the
-barest necessities, he had had no medical attendance of any kind. In a
-room high up under the roof he was lying across a broken bedstead, on a
-worn-out husk mattress, with nothing to shade him from the fierce,
-blazing sun or the crawling flies that kept up a loud, incessant buzz.
-And he had been sick eight days. On the floor old Mounse had crammed
-himself into the one shady corner.
-
-Old Mounse was a besotted beggar round town who had arrived at the state
-where the rims of his eyelids appeared to be turned inside out and
-resembled raw beefsteak. The landlady, who was somewhat more
-compassionate than her worser half, fearing that Boydell might die on
-her hands, had sent up old Mounse, an hour ago, with a little gruel
-which he had swallowed himself, and was then peacefully snoring in the
-corner.
-
-We sent immediately for a physician, and employed ourselves in having
-Boydell removed to another apartment, where, at least, he might escape
-being broiled to death by the sun, or devoured by flies. When the doctor
-arrived, we had him fixed in quite comfortable quarters. Boydell’s
-disease, as we feared, was a severe form of the typhoid fever. From the
-lifeless stupor, he suddenly broke into the wild ravings of delirium, so
-that our combined strength could hardly avail to keep him upon the bed.
-
-We reinstated old Mounse on his watch, only with strict orders that the
-granulated eyelids were to be kept wide open. Old Mounse was one of
-those rare persons with the _delirium tremens_, who had hovered on the
-verge of dissolution for thirty years, and still lived along. Palsied
-and feeble, and crippled and unshaven, and dirty and whiny, he just
-managed to keep himself on this side of the grave. The adjective “old,”
-which had become a prefix to his name, could not have been better
-applied, for his clothes, too, were ready at any moment to keep him
-company and return to their original element. Old Mounse’s one merit
-was, he had become so aged that he could just do what he was told and
-nothing more. The case had assumed altogether a new aspect to him, now
-that Boydell seemed to have friends.
-
-Every day the doctor reported the condition of his patient, which grew
-more and more unfavorable, until one morning he came and told us he
-thought Boydell had not over twenty-four hours to live. We went
-immediately to the tavern with him. Boydell, for the first time since
-his illness, was perfectly conscious. Here, in the silence of this
-barren room, unhallowed by the presence of sorrowing ones, the wild,
-reckless life was drawing to a close. It seemed as if the specter hands
-of death were already stretched out to snap the last binding thread. The
-face on the pillow, haggard and ghastly with its hollow cheeks, very
-little resembled the one over which that weary, indefinable expression,
-the shadow, the forerunner of the fever, had crept but three weeks ago.
-Boydell recognized me, and motioned to a chair beside the bed. He made
-two or three efforts before he spoke.
-
-“I am going to die—”
-
-We could only answer by silence. It was something terrible to see this
-strong man, now weaker than an infant, lie calmly on the brink of
-eternity; even old Mounse dropped his beefy lids, and drew back with a
-subdued sniffle of awe. We asked if there was any thing that he wished
-done. After a little he turned his head that his voice might the better
-reach us.
-
-“I have relatives—it will not matter to them that I am gone; they hold
-themselves up in the world; it will only be a disgrace wiped out; but—I
-would like them to know, and when I am dead, why—I wish you would please
-write to—to my brother. I have not heard from him for nearly fifteen
-years.”
-
-He closed his eyes, and seemed to dream, but presently roused himself,
-and looked anxiously about the room.
-
-“There was something else—oh, yes. Tell him that—I am gone. He is rector
-of St. Paul’s Church, S——, Lower Canada.” He paused and then said
-slowly, as though repeating his words for the first time, “It is no
-matter—but tell him I am—dead.”
-
-He felt up and down the seam of the quilt feebly with his fingers, then
-closed his eyes again in unconsciousness.
-
-All day the dread phantom hands seemed to hover closer to that quivering
-thread of life, until sometimes we almost thought it broken; but at
-nightfall they receded, and the shred strengthened. There was a change
-for the better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural slumber.
-
-Several days after this it occurred to me that if Boydell had relatives
-in Canada who were well off, they ought to help him in his time of need.
-Without making him or any one else acquainted with my intention, I wrote
-a letter setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute condition
-among strangers. As they held no communication with Boydell, they would
-hardly be willing to send him the money. I was unknown, and to assure
-them it was no imposition, I wrote if they wished to send any
-assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, M——,
-Illinois.”
-
-About a week later that minister came to me and showed a letter
-post-marked S——, which contained a check for three hundred dollars. It
-specified that the money was to be given to Boydell only on condition
-that he would promise to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as he
-was able to travel, come home to his relatives. I felt delighted at the
-success of my plan, for of course he would accept the money, and whether
-he fulfilled his promise afterwards by renouncing the stage and going
-home to Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I considered was no
-business of mine.
-
-When we entered his room, Boydell was propped up almost in a sitting
-posture by pillows. The window-shutter had been thrown partly open to
-admit the air, and a narrow streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We
-told him of the good news, and after we had made him understand how it
-had all come about, read the letter aloud. He listened in perfect
-silence, without changing position, and when it was finished, took the
-check and said,—
-
-“Three hundred dollars?”
-
-“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”
-
-He held the slip of paper in his emaciated hands, that trembled with
-weakness, and repeated,—
-
-“Three hundred dollars—”
-
-He seemed trying to convince himself of its reality; but suddenly a
-bewildered expression broke over his face, and he looked from the check
-to the letter, which still laid open. We asked Boydell if he wished to
-hear it again, but at the second reading his bewilderment only seemed to
-increase. He looked at us with an inquiring gaze that wandered round the
-bare, desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue sky in the window.
-Then he said, as if asking himself the question,—
-
-“Give up the stage? Renounce the stage?”
-
-His eyes came back to the money in his hand. Presently he folded it up,
-pressing the creases with his thin fingers, and slowly holding it out,
-shook his head saying,—
-
-“Send it back.”
-
-The ribbon of sunlight had crept further and further round until it
-stretched itself across the broad, white forehead, and we stood in
-greater awe than when the angel of death had hovered there. Suddenly
-before us a dazzling ray had flashed out from the black waste of that
-sinful life. The unbroken check went back to Canada.
-
-A month later I was riding in the country. A purple light overhung the
-shadowy prairie, which stretched away, broad, level and without bound.
-Occasionally a wild bird rose up and darted with swift wings, seeking a
-resting place, for already the September moon waited the coming night.
-Nearer, the tall weeds raised themselves from the great, soundless ocean
-of grass, like the masts of receding vessels. A single wagon, the only
-object on all the void prairie, stood out bold and sharp against the
-bright line of the horizon, and clearly defined above the driver, high
-up on top of the hay, the figure of a man cut the sky. Even at that
-distance I knew it was Boydell.
-
-Some one had given him a little money, and with renewed health and
-spirits he was going out of M——. Whither?
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                            THE DEATH-WATCH.
-
-
-“Didn’t you hear it?”
-
-“When?”
-
-“Just now.”
-
-“No.”
-
-“They say it foretells death. Hush!”
-
-The two men sat motionless. Not a sound broke the silence, not even a
-creak of the old boards in the floor, or a sigh of the wind, or a
-flapping shutter.
-
-“They say it foretells death. I heard it last night and the night
-before. What’s that?”
-
-“Nothing. It’s stiller than a graveyard.”
-
-“I heard it last night, and the night before about this time, near one.
-’Taint a very pleasant sound, and this old garret’s dismal enough any
-way.”
-
-“Monk, you’re afeard. It’s nothing. Don’t waste no more time. I’m
-dead-tired and sleepy. You wouldn’t have been in this old hole now if it
-hadn’t been for Peters.”
-
-“No, if it hadn’t been for Peters, the strike, like enough, would have
-took. But he won’t stand in nobody’s way again.”
-
-While Monk spoke, he drew out a sharp, slender knife, and ran his finger
-along the blade.
-
-“I tell you, Shiflet, we must do it the night after this blast’s done,
-and the men in the shed say the coal will run out on the 6th, that’s
-to-morrow. When Peters is fixed, the managers will have to give in or
-quit runnin’ the furnace.”
-
-Both men sat with their arms leaning on the table, and the flickering
-light of the tallow candle between them showed two faces, rough,
-begrimed by smoke and soot, and disfigured by evil passions, that grew
-fiercer as they calmly plotted against the life of a fellow-being.
-
-“We’ll meet at one, where the roads cross. It’ll be quiet then, and
-Peters’s house is alone.”
-
-“I’ll be all right,” said Shiflet, with a grin that rendered his
-brute-like countenance doubly repulsive. “I’m confounded tired. Bring
-your candle and light me down them infernal stairs.”
-
-The men stood up. Monk, small and slim, was dwarfed by the almost giant
-stature of his companion. With a few parting words as to secrecy and
-silence, they separated.
-
-Monk stood on the upper step until Shiflet disappeared, then closed the
-door and replaced the candle on the table.
-
-The room, neither large nor small, was a mere hole, smoked, dirty, and
-unplastered, high up in a frame tenement-house. Two or three chairs, an
-old chest of drawers, a rickety bedstead, and pine table, composed its
-furniture. Some old boots and broken pieces of pig-iron lay scattered
-about. The small, box-shaped window was set just below where the ceiling
-or roof sloped to the wall. The only door led directly to the stairs
-that went down two, three flights to the ground. There were many such
-places in Agatha, where the furnace-hands lived.
-
-Monk walked rapidly up and down the room, as if making an effort to wear
-off the excitement that the last few moments had brought upon him. His
-features had lost much of the malignant expression, which was by no
-means habitual. His countenance was not hardened or stamped with the
-impress of crime like Shiflet’s, who had just parted from him at the
-door—a countenance in which every trace of conscience had long ago been
-erased. Monk’s face was neither good nor bad, neither bright nor dull;
-but he was a man easily wrought into a passion, governed by impulse.
-
-Crossing to the table, he slung his coat over a chair, and stretched out
-his hand to extinguish the light. Midway in the action he suddenly
-checked himself, looked hurriedly around the room for an instant, and
-stood motionless, with inclined head, listening intently. Not a sound
-disturbed the stillness. Pinching out the light, he threw himself on the
-bed, and in the darkness there soon came the heavy, regular respiration
-of sleep.
-
-The house at Agatha nestled under the north cliff. A hundred feet above
-them the railroad lost itself in the black mouth of a tunnel and
-reappeared beyond, a high wall of trestlework stretching southward down
-the valley to Ely’s Mines. Hours ago, the toiling men and cattle had
-lain down to rest, and now the wild, rocky hills around slept in the
-moonlight. No sound broke upon the stillness but the muffled puff, puff,
-of the furnace, and a murmur of frogs that rose and fell interruptedly
-along the shrunken water-course. The cabins under the cliff shone white
-and sharp; the iron on the metal-switch flashed with a million gems; the
-rails upon the trestle, receding, turned to silver, and the foliage of
-early Summer glittered on the trees. A few passionless stars blinked
-feebly in the yellow light, where the hill-tops cut against the sky, and
-sank below the verge. Calmly, peacefully waned the night—calmly and
-peacefully, as though the spirit of evil had not stalked abroad plotting
-the death and ruin of men’s bodies and souls.
-
-That narrow spot of ground, with the houses down in the valley, formed
-the world for four hundred people. The furnace-hands and their families
-saw nothing beyond the hills and rocks that hemmed in their village;
-knew nothing of the mad tumults outside. An untaught, sturdy race of
-men, they differed little one from another. Every day, when the sun
-rose, they went forth to toil, and every night, when the great furnace
-over the creek glimmered red, they lay down to sleep. But ignorance and
-superstition filled their hearts, and anger, and hate, and jealousy,
-were as rife among them as in the crowded cities.
-
-Another day passed, and the night which followed it was dark and cloudy.
-Near midnight, the great bell signalled for the last run of iron.
-Occasionally blue flames leaped up from the furnace, lurid as the fiery
-tongues of a volcano. The long and narrow roof brooded over the sand-bed
-like the black wings of some monster bird hovering in the air. Under its
-shadow groups of men were but wavering, dusky figures. Suddenly, as an
-electric flash, a dazzling yellow glare broke out, and a fierce,
-scorching, withering blast swept from an opening that seemed the mouth
-of hell itself. Slowly out of the burning cavern a hissing stream of
-molten iron came creeping down. It crawled, and turned and crawled, rib
-after rib, until it lay like some huge skeleton stretched upon the
-ground. A thin vapor floated up in the sulphurous air and quivered with
-reflected splendor. The scarlet-shirted men looked weird in the
-unearthly brightness. The yellow glow faded to red, that deepened to a
-blood-colored spot in the night. The bell rang to discharge the hands,
-and squads of men broke up, scattering in the dark.
-
-Monk went to his garret-room, hesitated a moment at the door, then
-passed in and shut it so violently that the floor shook. He struck a
-match. In the brimstone light a horrible demon countenance wavered, blue
-and ghastly; but, when the candle flamed, it grew into Monk’s face,
-covered by the black scowl of rage that had disfigured it once before—a
-rage that was freshly roused.
-
-“If I’d had my knife, I’d have done it just now, when I stumbled against
-him. But he dies to-morrow night at—”
-
-The words froze on his lips, and his black scowling face was suddenly
-overspread by a strange pallor. He stood motionless, as if chained to
-the floor, his eyes darted quickly about, and he seemed to suspend his
-very breath.
-
-A clear, distinct, ticking sound occurred at regular intervals for a
-minute, and left profound silence.
-
-Monk raised his head.
-
-“It’s a sign of coming death. That’s for Peters. There it is again!”
-
-The strange sound, like a faint metallic click, repeated itself several
-times.
-
-“D—n it! I don’t like to hear the thing. But there _will_ be a sudden
-death.”
-
-Time after time Monk heard at intervals the same faint sound, like the
-ticking of a watch for a minute, and it made his blood run cold. He
-found himself listening to it with terror, and in the long silence,
-always straining his ears to catch it, always expecting, dreading its
-repetition, until the thing grew more horrible to him than a nightmare.
-Sometimes he would fall into a doze, and, wakening with a start, hear
-it, while cold perspiration broke in drops on his forehead.
-
-It grew intolerable. He swore he would find the thing and kill it, but
-it mocked him in his search. The sound seemed to come from the table,
-but when he stood beside the table it ticked so distinctly at the window
-that he thought he could put his finger on the spot; but when he tried
-to, it had changed again, and sounded at the head of his bed. Sometimes
-it seemed close at his right, and he turned only to hear it on the other
-side, then in front, then behind. Again and again he searched, and swore
-in his exasperation and disappointment.
-
-The sound became exaggerated by his distempered imagination, till he
-trembled lest some one else should hear this omen which so plainly
-foretold his anticipated crime. Once an hour dragged by, and his unseen
-tormentor was silent. His eyes, that had glittered with deathly hatred,
-now wore a startled look, and wandered restlessly about the room.
-
-An owl, that perched on the topmost branch of a high tree near by,
-screamed loud and long. A bat flew in at the open window, banged against
-the ceiling, and darted out.
-
-Monk shivered. Leaning his head between his arms, he drummed nervously
-on the table with his fingers. Instantly the clear metallic click
-sounded again. He looked up, and a strange light broke into his face, a
-mixed expression of amazement and fright. For a moment he seemed
-stupefied, then raising his hand he tapped lightly against the wood with
-his finger-nail. The last tap had not died until it was answered by what
-seemed like a fainter repetition of itself.
-
-Uttering a fearful oath, Monk recoiled from the table, but, as if drawn
-back and held by a weird fascination, he sat an hour striking the hard
-surface with his nails, and pausing for the response that each time came
-clear and distinct.
-
-Gray streaks crept along the east, and quivered like a faded fringe
-bordering the black canopy. Still he sat tapping, but no answer came. He
-waited, listened vainly; no echo, no sound, and the dull, hueless light
-of the cloudy morning glimmered at his window. Then he threw himself on
-his bed, and fell into restless slumbers.
-
-A damp thick fog enveloped the houses in its slimy embrace. At nightfall
-its reeking folds gathered themselves from the ground, and a noiseless
-drizzle came sullenly down.
-
-Monk had not stirred from his room all day. The feverish sleep into
-which he had fallen fled from him before noon, and now he stood at his
-window looking out into the blackness. A clammy air blew against his
-face. He stretched out his hand and drew it back suddenly, as if he had
-touched the dead. It was cold and moist. He rubbed it violently against
-his clothes, as though he could not wipe off the dampness. A tremor
-seized upon him. Hark! was that the dripping of water? No. A sickly
-smile played over his countenance. He went to the table and tapped
-lightly with his fingers, as he had done before. In another moment the
-taps were answered, and he involuntarily counted as they came,
-one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—then all was silent. He made the call
-a second time, he tried it over and over, and at each response it ticked
-seven times, never more, never less, but seven times clearly,
-distinctly. Suddenly he sprang up, and through shut teeth hissed,—
-
-“The seventh day, by Heaven! But I’ll cheat you—I’ll not kill him!”
-
-He darted noiselessly down the stairs, and struck out through the woods.
-In half an hour he emerged on the edge of a clearing, a dozen yards from
-a chopper’s cabin. Creeping stealthily to the door he shook it, then
-after a moment’s irresolution cried out,—
-
-“Peters! Peters! look out for Shiflet. He has sworn to murder you
-to-night.”
-
-Without waiting for a reply he sprang away, and was quickly lost among
-the trees.
-
-A moment afterward a tall form arose out of the shadow of a stump near
-the cabin, and passed rapidly in an opposite direction.
-
-At the summit of the hill east of Agatha, a steep precipice is formed by
-a great, bare, projecting rock. From the valley, its outline resembles
-an enormous face in profile, and they call it “The Devil’s Head.” The
-full moon rendered the unbroken mass of cloud translucent, producing a
-peculiar sinister effect. The mist still blew through the air, but in
-the zenith there was a dull ashen hue, and the surrounding cloud was the
-color of earth. The far-off hills loomed up majestic, terrible, against
-the gloom; nearer objects were strangely magnified in the tawny light.
-At the foot of this phantom crag, on a terrace, is the ore-bank and
-blackened coal-shed. Below rose the metal-stack, from whose stone hearth
-a waste of sand sloped gently to the creek. The furnace squatted grim
-and black. Its blood-shot eye was shut; its gaping throat uttered no
-sigh, no groan; its throbbing pulse was stilled—the fierce, struggling
-monster was dead. The only bright spot in all the valley was the yellow
-circle made by the watchman’s lantern in the coal-shed.
-
-After leaving the “choppings,” Monk threaded his way through the forest,
-coming out at last on the open road. This road led directly over the
-“Devil’s Head,” and entered the valley by a steep descent half a mile to
-the south. At the precipice Monk paused. The wind eddied with a mournful
-wail, and the constant motion of tall trees gave the scene almost the
-wavering, unsubstantial appearance of a vision. There was something
-oppressive in this strange midnight twilight, but Monk did not feel it.
-He only felt relief, inexpressible relief; he only stopped there to
-breathe, to breathe freely once more with the heavy weight thrown from
-him.
-
-After a moment he ran carelessly down the hill, passed under the
-ore-cars and into the coal-shed. He hailed Patterson, the watchman, and
-the lantern threw gigantic shadows of the two men over the ground. Then
-he walked along the narrow cinder-road leading to the bridge over the
-creek. Sometimes the willows, that grew on either side, swept their damp
-hair against his face. An hour ago he would have started convulsively,
-now he heeded not, for he was free and light of heart.
-
-Monk reached the stairs, and ascended to his room. As he passed in, the
-powerful figure of Shiflet sprang upon him from behind. There was a
-scuffle, some muttered oaths, then a heavy fall. Monk lay stretched upon
-the floor motionless, lifeless, and the echo of fleeing steps died away,
-leaving the place still as the now silent death-watch.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                        THE MAN AT THE CRIB.[1]
-
-
-One morning in the Spring of 1867—whether in April or May I am now
-unable certainly to determine, but think it was in the latter month—I
-was sitting at the breakfast-table, leisurely reading the morning paper,
-and enjoying my last cup of coffee, when my eye accidentally fell upon
-the following advertisement:—
-
-  “WANTED—A reliable man to take charge of the Crib. An unmarried German
-  preferred. One who can come well recommended, and give bond for
-  faithful performance of duty, will receive a liberal salary. Apply
-  immediately to the Board of Public Works, Pumping Department, Nos. 15
-  and 17 South Wells Street.”
-
-Footnote 1:
-
-  The Crib is the name given to the isolated structure at the opening of
-  the Chicago Water Works tunnel, in the lake, two miles from the shore.
-
-My attention was arrested by the thought of so strange an occupation,
-and whether any one would be found willing to accept the situation and
-live alone in the crib two miles from the shore. There all companionship
-would be cut off, and I wondered what effect the utter solitude and
-confinement in the small round building rising out of the water, with
-little in the scenery to relieve the eye, and nothing to rest the ear
-from the continual dashing of the waves against the frame sides—I
-wondered what effect it would have upon the occupant.
-
-It happened I had been lecturing before a class of medical students in
-one of our colleges upon the relation of mind to body, and it occurred
-to me that this crib-tender might prove an illustration of my theory.
-His mind would have afforded it an opportunity to prey upon itself, and
-might become perverted. Under certain circumstances the mental exerts an
-influence over the physical system, aside from the voluntary volition of
-the will, and it frequently transpires that what is mere illusion in the
-spiritual nature appears a reality to the material, so closely are the
-two linked together.
-
-My interest being awakened, I secretly determined that I would try to
-discover who accepted this situation, and notice, if possible, what
-effect it would produce upon the keeper. Some time later I learned that
-the above advertisement had been answered the same day (the exact date I
-can not remember) by a German, one Gustav Stahlmann, who presented
-himself at the address indicated, and applied for the situation. After a
-slight examination he proved satisfactory in every respect. His
-recommendations were of the highest kind and bore testimony to his
-strict integrity and upright character.
-
-The position was accordingly offered to him, provided he would be
-willing to comply with certain conditions. First, that in accepting it
-he would bind himself to remain in the situation at least two years;
-and, secondly, that during that period, he would upon no occasion or
-pretense whatever, leave the crib. He manifested little hesitation in
-assenting to these requirements, as the salary was good, and an
-opportunity afforded for resting from the severe labor to which he had
-been accustomed.
-
-All necessary arrangements were completed, and upon the following day,
-with his dog for the sole companion of his future home, he had been
-taken out and instructed in the duties of his office. These were few and
-light, consisting mainly of attention to the water-gates of the tunnel,
-opening and closing them as required, and removing any obstructions
-which might clog their action. At night he was to trim and light the
-lamp which had been placed on the apex of the roof as a warning to
-passing vessels. This was all; the remainder of the time lay at his own
-disposal. A boy might readily have accomplished this labor, and he
-congratulated himself upon his good luck in securing so easy a
-berth—one, too, which yielded a good income.
-
-The first time I saw Stahlmann myself was soon after he had accepted the
-situation. If I recollect rightly, he told me he had been a month on the
-Crib. I had rowed myself out from the foot of Twelfth Street in a small
-boat.
-
-At this early period in its history the Crib was not so well finished
-and comfortable as now, but was bare and barn-like, being in fact
-nothing more than a round unplastered house, rising out of the lake. The
-wooden floor, which was some fifteen feet above the water, contained in
-its center a well about six feet in diameter, around which arose the
-iron rods of the water-gates. A small room, the only apartment, had been
-partitioned off by three plank walls from the southeastern part of the
-circular interior, and furnished for the abode of the keeper. If it were
-rough, there was all present that he could reasonably desire for his
-comfort. A sufficient supply of provisions were delivered to him once a
-month by a tug-boat from the city.
-
-I found Stahlmann to be a man rather above the medium height, with a
-broad muscular frame, but there were no evidences of sluggishness in his
-movements; on the contrary, his elasticity and gracefulness betokened
-great powers of endurance, and indicated to me activity both of body and
-mind. He was perhaps thirty-five years of age, and his frank, open
-countenance was marked by regular features of a somewhat intellectual
-cast; honesty and principle were plainly visible in his face, and a
-ready command of language betrayed considerable education. He impressed
-me as superior to the majority of men in his rank of life, and from this
-conclusion I was none the less driven by the appearance of his coarse
-and soiled clothing. I engaged him in conversation, into which he was
-easily drawn, and I was surprised by the native love of the beautiful
-which he evidently possessed. He seemed to take great pleasure in
-pointing out the beauties in the scene that laid before our view.
-
-The sun was scarcely an hour high, and we could hardly turn our eyes
-eastward for the splendor of his rays reflected on the water. To the
-north the sea-like horizon was flecked by the white sails of retreating
-vessels, some hull-down in the distance, others uncertain specks
-vanishing from our range of vision. Stretching along the shore to the
-westward, Chicago shot a hundred spires, glistening and glorified, into
-the morning sunlight, while just opposite us stood the grim lighthouse,
-a motionless sentinel keeping watch over the harbor.
-
-I admitted the attraction of the scene, and made an effort to turn the
-conversation to his private life. He was easily led to talk of himself,
-although he did it in a natural and unaffected manner. I gathered that
-he was born in Bavaria, and that when he had attained his sixteenth
-year, some difficulty had driven his parents to this country. They were
-well educated, but misfortune compelled them, on their arrival, to put
-their son to labor. The instruction he had received in the Fatherland
-had evidently strengthened his powers of observation and quickened his
-understanding.
-
-I asked him if he did not find his life at the Crib very tiresome, and
-what he did to pass away the time. I remarked that I believed, if I were
-in his place, I would be smitten most fearfully with the blues. He
-laughed good humoredly, and said he had never been troubled in that
-manner, that there were daily a great number of visitors,
-curiosity-seekers, which the Crib attracted, as it was altogether novel,
-and had but just been completed. Then he said he had his dog for
-companionship, and that they lived very pleasantly together. He was
-evidently much attached to this animal, whom he called Caspar, for he
-frequently interrupted the conversation to stroke it on the head. I was
-astonished to find him well acquainted with the current news of the day,
-but he readily explained this, for usually some one who came out carried
-a paper, which was willingly given to him, and having nothing else to
-occupy his time he read it much more carefully than we do who are in the
-turmoil of the city.
-
-Towards the middle of the day I left him, almost envying his peaceful
-life and happy contentment, yet doubting if this would last long, for,
-after the novelty wore away, I could not help thinking that he might
-find his solitary existence less pleasing. I had become wonderfully
-interested in this man, and determined to pay him another visit when I
-could again find half a day to devote to pleasure.
-
-It was not, however, until the following September that I could spare
-time for another trip to the Crib. This visit, as I said, had been
-prompted out of curiosity to watch the effects of this solitary life
-upon Stahlmann. Although four months had elapsed, I found him situated
-just as I had left him, and by the appearance of the surroundings, I
-might have almost believed it was but yesterday I had looked upon him.
-When I remarked this to him, I noticed a peculiar smile play across his
-features, and it struck me that his face had not the same happy
-expression which had so pleased me before. I observed, too, that he
-carried himself in a listless manner, very unlike his former erect
-bearing. I found him, however, just as readily drawn into conversation,
-although some of his old enthusiasm was gone, and he manifested an
-evident disinclination to speak of himself, for when I made an effort to
-bring up the subject, he displayed considerable skill in evading it.
-This was repeated again and again until I found that he would not be
-forced to it, but I saw full well by his actions that he had already
-grown tired of his monotonous life. All my jokes about the solitude,
-which he had laughed at before, were now received in silence and with
-furtive glances. Evidently it had become a serious matter, and I dropped
-the disagreeable subject.
-
-He inquired most eagerly for any news, and said he had not seen a paper
-for almost a week, as the wet weather had interfered with visitors,
-preventing any one from coming out. When I left he repeatedly invited me
-to come again, which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse we
-had struck up a mutual friendship. My interest, too, had been increased,
-as I plainly saw that his life had become distasteful to him, and I had
-considerable curiosity to ascertain whether he would, according to his
-promise, remain the two full years upon the Crib; at any rate, I
-concluded that I would not lose sight of him.
-
-Directly after this visit, business arrangements called me away from
-home, and detained me in New York City without interruption until last
-May. During this period, of course, I had no means of learning any thing
-whatever concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return, the first glimpse I
-caught of the familiar lake recalled him to my memory, and revived the
-old interest. I determined to renew our former acquaintance, but found,
-to my great disappointment, that all visitors to the Crib had been
-prohibited by the authorities soon after I was called from home; yet I
-did not give up in my attempt to find out if he still remained in his
-situation. After many fruitless inquiries, I finally learned that he was
-dead. This was the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed by the
-sad intelligence, I dismissed the subject from my mind.
-
-A week ago I made the startling discovery that the Crib at the eastern
-terminus of the lake tunnel, within the year following its completion,
-had been the scene of a tragedy, the particulars of which, when I
-learned them, thrilled me with horror, and called forth my profoundest
-sympathy for the poor victim. The whole circumstance had been so
-carefully kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part of the
-authorities, that beyond two or three individuals no one in Chicago had
-the slightest suspicion of the sickening drama which was enacted but two
-miles from her shores.
-
-I was walking through the Court House looking at the arrangement of the
-newly erected portion of the building, and while in the rooms occupied
-by the Water Board, I accidentally stumbled upon an old memorandum book
-which had evidently been misplaced during the recent removal of this
-department from their old quarters on Wells Street to the first floor of
-the west wing. Upon examination it proved to be a kind of diary, and was
-written with pencil in the German character. On the inside of the front
-cover, near the upper right hand corner, was inscribed the name Gustav
-Stahlmann, and underneath a date—1865. A small portion of the book, the
-first part, was filled with accounts, some of them of expenditures,
-others memoranda of days’ work in different parts of the city, and under
-various foremen. But it was to the body of the book that my attention
-was particularly called. This was in the journal form, being a record of
-successive occurrences with the attending thoughts. The entries were
-made at irregular intervals and without any regard to system. Sometimes
-it had been written in daily for a considerable period, then dropped,
-and taken up again apparently at the whim of the owner. In places there
-appeared no connection between the parts separated by a break of even
-short duration; at others the sense was obscure, and could only be
-attained by implication. The earliest records in the second part were in
-June, 1867, and I found dates regularly inserted as late as the November
-following. In December they ceased entirely; afterward the diary, if
-such it might then be called, was either by the day or the week, or
-without any direct evidence as to the time when the circumstances
-therein narrated had occurred. In fact, throughout the whole of the
-concluding portion there was nothing to indicate that the matter had not
-been written on a single occasion, except the variations which almost
-every person’s hand-writing exhibits when produced under different
-degrees of nervous excitement.
-
-From this black morocco memorandum book; from the hand-writing of Gustav
-Stahlmann himself, I learned the incidents of his career after I parted
-from him. They constitute the history of a fate so horrible in every
-respect, that I shudder at the thought that any human being was doomed
-to experience it.
-
-The main facts in this narrative I have translated, sometimes literally,
-at others using my own language, where the thoughts in the original were
-so carelessly or obscurely expressed as to render any other course
-simply impossible.
-
-It seems, as I supposed, that when Stahlmann was first settled in the
-Crib, he was greatly pleased with his situation. The weather was mild
-and beautiful; the fresh air blowing across the water was a grateful
-change from the close and dusty atmosphere of Chicago. Many of his old
-friends came out to take a look at his new quarters, and almost surveyed
-them with envy while listening to an account of his easy, untroubled
-life. At dusk, after he had lighted his lamp, and it threw out its rays,
-he would watch to see how suddenly in the distance, as if to keep it
-company, the great white beacon in the lighthouse would flash out,
-burning bright and clear. Then along the western shore the city lights,
-one by one, would kindle up, multiplying into a thousand twinkling stars
-that threw a halo against the sky. Afterwards the soughing of the waves
-as they washed up the sides of his abode, fell pleasantly on his ear,
-and lulled him to sleep with Caspar lying at his feet.
-
-But it seemed as if the same day came again and again, for still the
-waters broke around him, and still night after night the same lights
-flashed and burned. Then the time appeared to become longer, and he
-watched more eagerly for the arrival of some visitors, but, if his
-watching had been in vain, he went wearily to sleep at night with a
-feeling of disappointment, only to waken and go through the same
-cheerless routine. Sometimes for a whole week he would not see a single
-human being nor hear the sound of a human voice, save his own when he
-spoke to the dog, who seemed by sagacious instinct to sympathize in his
-master’s lonesome position, and capered about until he would attract his
-attention, and be rewarded by an approving word and caress upon the
-head.
-
-Visitors had become less and less frequent until the last of September,
-when they ceased altogether. Stahlmann in trying to explain this to
-himself correctly concluded that the authorities must have prohibited
-them, as he had heard some time previously they entertained such an
-intention, although he had been reluctant to believe it, and still
-vainly hoped that it might not be true. But time only confirmed the
-suspicion which he had been so unwilling to accept, and although within
-two miles of a crowded city, he found himself completely isolated, cut
-off, as it were, from the human race.
-
-Then he searched for something that might amuse him and help wear away
-the interminable days, but he found nothing. He would have been glad
-even if only the old newspapers had been preserved that he might re-read
-them, but they were destroyed, and he owned no books. His former severe
-labor, performed in company with his fellow men, was now far preferable
-in his eyes to this complete solitude, with nothing to occupy his hands
-or mind. He saw the vessels pass until they seemed to become companions
-for him in his loneliness; he had watched them all the Summer, but the
-winds grew chill and rough, sweeping out of sullen clouds, and
-boisterously drove home the ships.
-
-Stahlmann found himself utterly alone on the wide lake, and the fierce
-blasts howled around his frame house, covering it with spray from the
-lashing billows that seemed ready to engulf it. Crusts of ice formed and
-snapped, rattling down to the waves. Heavy snow fell, but did not whiten
-the unchanging scenery, for it was drowned in the waste of waters. Night
-after night he lit the beacon and looked yearningly westward to the
-starred city. Then the solitude grew intolerable. It was like the vision
-of heaven to the lost spirits shut out in darkness forever. He was
-alone, all alone, craving even for the sound of a kindred voice, so that
-he cried out in his anguish. The flickering lights he was watching threw
-their rays over thousands of human beings, yet there was not one to
-answer his despairing call.
-
-Sleep would no longer allow him to forget that he was shut out from all
-human society, for he lost consciousness of his lonesome position only
-to find himself struggling in some nightmare ocean, where there was no
-eye to see his distress. Then he would be awakened by the dog rubbing
-his nose against his face, and knew he had groaned aloud in his troubled
-slumber, and Caspar had crawled closer, as if to comfort his unhappy
-master. Sometimes the tempter whispered escape—escape from this Crib,
-which had been so correctly named, for it had, indeed, become a dismal
-cage. He felt himself strong to combat the waves in flying from the
-horrible solitude; he could swim twice the distance in his eagerness to
-be once again among his fellow beings; but his high principles shrank in
-horror from the thought of violating a promise. He had solemnly given
-his word that he would remain upon the place, and it bound him stronger
-than chains of iron. He cast the thought, which had dared to arise in
-his mind, from him with a sense of shame that it had been a moment
-entertained.
-
-Early on one bitter cold night, when his house was thick-ribbed with
-ice, Stahlmann noticed a great light, which increased until it illumined
-all the western sky. He saw the city spires as plainly as though bathed
-in the rays of the setting sun, and the lurid glare lit up the waters,
-making the surrounding blackness along the lake shore appear more
-terrible. The fire brightened and waned, brightened and waned again. He
-watched it far into the night, and thought of the thousands of anxious
-faces that were turned toward the same light, until he fell into a
-troubled sleep, yearning for the sight of a single countenance. This
-fire which he witnessed must have been the great conflagration on Lake
-Street that occurred in February, 1868.
-
-He was sitting one dull, cloudy afternoon, looking out over the dreary
-waves, when his attention was attracted by the strange behavior of
-Caspar. The dog was greatly excited; it would jump about him, whining
-and howling, then run to the door, which stood partly open, and look
-down into the water, at the same time giving a short, quick yelp. This
-was repeated so frequently that Stahlmann was aroused from his gloomy
-reverie. He followed it to the threshold, and saw for an instant some
-black object that the waves threw up against the Crib. A second time it
-arose, and Stahlmann plunged into the water with the quick instinct that
-prompts a brave man to peril his own life in attempting to save another
-from drowning. In one moment more he had grasped the body, and fastened
-it to the rope ladder that hung down the western side of the Crib. Then
-mounting it himself, he drew it up after him on to the floor.
-
-It was the form of a young man, and Stahlmann eagerly kneeled over it,
-hoping yet to find a faint spark of vitality. A glance showed him that
-the body must have been in the water several hours, for it was already
-somewhat bloated; but even then, in his mad desire to restore life, he
-rubbed the stiffened limbs; but the rigid muscles did not relax. He
-wrung the water from the black hair, which in places was short and
-crisp, looking as if it might have been singed by fire. The features
-were not irregular, but the open eyes had a stony, death-glaze on them,
-and the broad forehead was cut across in gashes which had evidently been
-made by the waves beating it against the walls of the Crib. The hands
-were clenched and slightly blistered.
-
-Stahlmann’s frenzied exertions could not call back the departed spirit,
-and he sat gazing wildly upon it in his bitter disappointment. Then a
-startling thought broke suddenly into his mind—What, out in his desolate
-and watery home, could he do with the dead? Where could he put the
-stiffened corpse? But as the night came on, he arose to light the
-beacon; then descended again immediately, taking up his former position
-by the lifeless form, for it appeared to exert a peculiar fascination
-over him; he felt a strange kind of pleasure in the presence of the form
-of a human being, even though it were dead. He seemed to have found a
-companion, and the thought, which had startled him at first died from
-his memory.
-
-Hour after hour as he sat beside the corpse; its strange influence
-increased, until it gradually filled up in his troubled heart the aching
-void which had so yearned for society. He left it only as necessity
-called him away to attend to his duties, each time returning with
-increasing haste. Day by day the spell continued, and he grew to regard
-the dead body with all the tenderness he would have manifested toward a
-living brother. He did not shrink from the cold, clammy skin when he
-raised the head to place it on a stool, but sat and talked to it. He
-asked why it looked at him with that stony glare, and why its face had
-turned that dark and ugly color; but when no answer came, he said he
-realized that it was dead and could not speak. Then the terrible truth
-flashed upon him. With a groan he saw that he could keep the corpse no
-longer, and the thought which had startled him once before crept in
-again with increased significance. Where could he bury it? In the bottom
-of the lake, where nothing would disturb its peace. He gently let it
-down into the water, and, as he saw it disappear, he awoke to wild grief
-at losing it, and would have plunged in to rescue it the second time,
-but it was gone from sight forever.
-
-Might not this body have been one of the lost from the ill-fated Sea
-Bird, which burned in the beginning of April, 1868, a few miles north of
-the city? Stahlmann must have found it about this time.
-
-His grief for the loss of his dead companion grew upon him each day, and
-rendered the solitude more unendurable. Solitude? It was no longer
-solitude, for the place was peopled by the phantom creations of his
-inflamed imagination. Here a part of the diary is altogether incoherent,
-showing into what utter confusion his intellect had been thrown.
-
-The waves roared at him in anger, and the winds joined them in their
-rage. Fiendish spirits seemed to rise up before him that were fierce to
-clutch him and gloat over his terror. The lights in the west danced
-together and glared at him in mockery, and his own beacon threw its cold
-white rays over the familiar aperture where the iron rods of the
-water-gates rose; but that opening had suddenly become an undefined
-horror to him. The very terror with which he regarded it drew him to its
-verge. He cast his eyes into its depths, down upon the troubled but
-black and silent water, and glared at the vision which met his strained
-sight, for the ghostly face of the man who had been murdered in the
-tunnel peered at him through the uncertain light.
-
-There was only the dog that he could fly to in his agony, but it, too,
-had a strange appearance and answered his call by low plaintive howls
-that sent a shiver through his frame. He repeated its name aloud, and
-Caspar crawled closer to his master, still at times making moans that
-sounded sorrowful—almost like the pleading of a human voice in distress,
-and he thought its eyes had a strange reproachful gaze. While he spoke
-to it, the dog uttered a prolonged wail. Stahlmann shivered, and a cold
-chill crept through his blood; all his superstition was roused afresh.
-The wind lost its rage and died down to funeral-sobs. The sound of the
-waves fell into a dirge-like cadence, and that melancholy wail which had
-chilled his blood rang in his ears—it rang with the awful significance
-of an evil omen long after it had died upon the air. The dog lay
-perfectly motionless; he stooped to stroke it, but it did not move. He
-stared at it with a bewildered gaze, when suddenly the horrible reality
-with the fearful explanation, broke upon his half-crazed brain, and he
-staggered back with a wild shriek. In the utter misery of his solitude,
-in his strange grief for the loss of the drowned corpse, and his terror
-from the hallucinations of a disordered intellect, he had neglected to
-feed his faithful dog, and had starved to death the only living creature
-that existed for him in the world. Caspar was dead.
-
-Stahlmann in his agony seemed to hear once more the piteous cry which
-the dog had uttered with its expiring breath, and to him the wail
-sounded in its pathetic mournfulness like the mysterious herald of
-another death.
-
-The diary is so blurred at this point that it is hardly legible. What
-can be read is incomprehensible from broken, incoherent sentences—the
-empty language of a lunatic. Save one remaining passage, I could make
-out nothing further. This entry must have been written in a lucid
-interval when he realized to what a fearful condition he had been
-reduced by unbroken solitude. Because it is the last record, I translate
-it literally, as follows:
-
-  “That cry again—what have I come through? Hell with its host of furies
-  can not be worse than this awful Crib—I kill myself.
-
-                                                          G. STAHLMANN.”
-
-What remains is soon told. A few inquiries in the proper direction
-revealed that on the morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
-boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the Crib to supply provisions,
-the dog was discovered dead upon the floor, and near by—just to the
-right of the entrance, and about ten feet distant from it—hung the dead
-body of Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck from one of the rafters.
-It was at once cut down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among his few
-effects was found the memorandum book which so curiously came into my
-possession.
-
-The authorities were in no way to blame for this unfortunate occurrence.
-On that day they placed several persons in charge of this lonely
-structure and have changed them at regular intervals ever since. Because
-if the circumstance were known, they were fearful they could get no one
-to fill the situation, either on account of the solitude or from the
-fact that many persons are afraid to live in a house that has been the
-scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded to say nothing whatever about
-the melancholy event, and, as I said before, few persons in the city are
-acquainted with its details.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                      PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL.
-
-
-It had snowed persistently all day, and now, at night, the wind had
-risen and blew in furious gusts against the windows, a bleak December
-gale.
-
-The Professor tramped steadily up and down his floor, up and down his
-floor, from wall to wall and back again. It was not a cheerful room;
-with but one strip of carpet, a chair or two, a table and bedstead, and
-one dim tallow candle, flickering in a vain struggle to give any thing
-better than a sickly light, which was afflicted, at uncertain intervals,
-with violent convulsions. No, it was not a pleasant place, for the
-Professor was poor, and lived a lonely, hermit-like life in the heart of
-the great German city.
-
-He had no relations—no friends. He was not a popular man, though he had
-once been well known, and the public had all applauded his great
-scholarship. His books, one after another, as they came out, if they
-brought him no money, had brought him some fame then; but the last one
-had appeared years ago, and been commented upon, and conscientiously put
-aside, and the public, never very much interested in the author
-personally, had about forgotten him.
-
-During these long years he had been living secluded, waging a perpetual
-war with himself. Entangled in the meshes of the subtile German
-infidelity, which was at variance with his earlier training, he found
-himself encompassed about by unbelief—unbelief in the orthodox theology
-of his youth, unbelief, also, in the philosophy of this metaphysical
-land. A man of vast learning, and a close student, he discovered his
-knowledge to be always conflicting; and thus the long debate within him
-was no nearer a termination than at the moment when the first doubt had
-asserted itself.
-
-Preyed upon by this harassing mental anxiety, and by encroaching
-poverty, he was seized by a nervous fever, which had gradually
-undermined his health, and almost disordered his mind.
-
-And now, this night, in a condition of exhaustion, weary of life and its
-ceaseless struggle—without friends, without money, without hope—his
-black despair, like the evil tempter, rose before him and suggested a
-thought from which he had at first drawn back appalled. But it was only
-for a moment. Why not put an end forever to all these troubles? Had he
-not worked for years, and had he ever done the world any good, or had
-the world ever done him any good? No! The world was retrograding daily.
-The selfishness of humanity, instead of lessening, was constantly
-growing worse. How had they repaid him for his long studies? He had shut
-himself up and labored over heavy questions in metaphysics—sifting,
-searching, reading, thinking—only for a few thankless ones, who had
-glanced at his works, smiled a faint smile of praise, and straightway
-left them and him to be lost again in obscurity!
-
-The future was dark, the present a labyrinth of care and suffering, from
-which there was but the one escape. Then why not accept it? So he had
-been arguing with himself all the evening, and, in his growing
-excitement, pacing the floor of his garret to and fro with a quick,
-nervous tread. But there had another cause risen in his mind which he,
-at first, would hardly acknowledge to himself.
-
-A faint, undefined shadow, as it were, of his early faith stirred within
-him, and before him the “oblivion” of death was peopled with a thousand
-appalling fancies, illumined by the red flame of an eternal torment. In
-vain he strove to dispel it by remembering the more rational doctrine of
-reason, that death is but a dreamless sleep, lasting forever.
-
-Suddenly, feeling conscious of the heinousness of the crime he was
-meditating, and knowing that he was in an unnatural feverish condition,
-he paused abruptly in his hurried tramp, stood a few moments utterly
-motionless, then, dropping on his knees, he made a vow that he would
-take twenty-four hours to consider the deed, and, if it were done, it
-should not be done rashly. “Hear me, O Heaven!” Springing up, he cried;
-“Heaven! Heaven!—There is no Heaven! Vow!—to whom did I vow? There is no
-God!” Muttering a faint laugh, he said, after a moment: “I vowed to
-myself; and the vow shall be kept. Not all the theories and philosophies
-of Germany shall cheat me out of it.”
-
-It seemed like the last struggle of his soul to assert itself. Almost
-staggering with exhaustion, he fell upon the bed and slept.
-
-A gentle breeze from the far past blew around him in his native land. He
-saw the white cliff at whose base the sea-foam threw up its glittering
-spray with a ceaseless strain of music. He saw the green meadows, where
-the quiet, meek-eyed cattle found a pasture, stretching away to the
-green hills, where flocks of sheep browsed in the pleasant shade beneath
-the tall oak trees. He saw, far off on the highest summit of the wavy
-ridge, the turrets of the great castle rear themselves above the foliage
-like a crown—the royal diadem upon all these sun-bathed hills and
-valleys. He stood within the cottage, the happy cottage under the
-sheltering sycamores; and, brighter, clearer, more beautiful than all
-these, he saw a face look down upon him with a calm and earnest smile.
-It was the home of his childhood, it was the face of his mother, all
-raised in the mirage of sleep—a radiant vision lifted from the heavy
-gloom of forty years, years upon which Immanuel Kant, years upon which
-the Transcendental school had crept with their baleful influence,
-poisonous as the deadly nightshade.
-
-He struggled to speak, and wakened. A dream, yes, all a dream! He
-pressed his hands against his brow—A dream? Yes, childhood had been but
-a dream. Life itself is but an unhappy dream!
-
-The wild December wind still blew with a rattling noise against the
-windows, and sometimes swept round the corner with a dreary,
-half-smothered cry. The candle had burned down almost to the socket, and
-was seized more frequently than before with its painful spasms, making
-each gaunt shadow of the few pieces of furniture writhe in a weird,
-silent dance on the wall. As the Professor sat on the bed, they appeared
-to him like voiceless demons, performing some diabolical ceremony,
-luring his soul to destruction. Then they seemed moving in fantastic
-measure to a soundless dirge, which he strained his ears to hear, when
-the candle burned steadily, and they paused in their dumb incantation.
-
-A loud knock, which shook the door, made the Professor start up amazed,
-and the shadows re-begin their uncanny pantomime. For a moment he stood
-stupefied with surprise. It was far in the small hours of the night, and
-visitors at any time were unknown. He had lived there for months an
-utter stranger, and no footsteps but his own had ever crossed the floor.
-An uncontrollable fit of trembling came upon him, and he lay down once
-more, thinking it all the creation of his overwrought fancy. But the
-knock was repeated louder than before, and the gaunt shadows again made
-violent signals to each other in their speechless dialect, as though
-their grim desires were just then upon the eve of accomplishment.
-
-With an effort the Professor got up and said “Come!” but the word died
-away in his throat, a faint whisper. He tried it a second time; then,
-partially overruling the weakness that had seized upon him, crossed the
-room and opened the door.
-
-“Good gracious! What’s the matter with you?” said a voice from out of
-the dark on the landing.
-
-It was the son of the undertaker, who lived down stairs. They were not
-acquainted, and had never spoken, but they had often passed each other
-in the street—though, until that moment, the Professor was not aware
-that he had ever even noticed him; but now he recognized him and drew
-back. The young man, however, entered uninvited.
-
-“I say, what the deuce is the matter with you?”
-
-“Nothing! What do you want, sir?”
-
-“Want? Why your face is as white as a sheet, and your eyes, your eyes
-are—confound me if I want any thing!” he said, backing to the door in
-alarm.
-
-Indeed, the expression which rested on the features of the Professor was
-hardly pleasant to look at alone, and in the night. But, having followed
-his instinct, so far as to his bodily preservation, and having backed
-into the hall so that the Professor could hardly distinguish the outline
-of his figure, the young man’s courage got the better of his fright. He
-came to a standstill, passed his hand nervously round his neck, cleared
-his throat several times, and then, in a husky voice—caused, evidently,
-by his recent alarm, and not by the message, singular as it was, that he
-came to deliver—said,—
-
-“We want you. It is Christmas—we want you for a corpse.”
-
-It may have been a very ordinary thing to them, considering their
-profession, to want people for corpses, either at Christmas or any other
-time; but it was hardly an ordinary thing to the Professor to be wanted
-for one; and the announcement was certainly somewhat startling, made in
-a sepulchral tone from out the gloom. It was still stranger that the
-young man himself appeared rather faint-hearted for one who entertained
-so malevolent a desire, and had the boldness to make the assertion
-outright. The Professor for a moment fairly thought him in league with
-the shadows, for they were at work once more, beckoning and pointing
-fiercely, as the wind swept up the staircase, to the indistinct figure
-out in the dusk, that was the son of the undertaker, and who said
-again,—
-
-“We want you, sir, for a corpse—”
-
-Here he paused abruptly, to clear his throat anew, as though he found
-himself disagreeably embarrassed by the unfriendly appearance of his
-host, whose face, if it had been pale at first, was of a gray, ashen
-color now. He evidently could not see why his request should have been
-taken in such ill part, and he stammered and stuttered, and was about
-ready to begin again, when the Professor said,—
-
-“You will likely get me.”
-
-The peculiar expression that rested upon the Professor’s mouth as he
-uttered these words, was hardly encouraging; but the young man—as though
-every body would recognize that it was absolutely essential to them, in
-order that they might celebrate the great gala-day with their family, to
-have a corpse, just as other people have a tree—immediately brightened
-up, and, advancing a step or two, said gratefully,—
-
-“I am very glad, sir; I am very glad. It is Christmas, you know, and I
-told them as how I thought you’d do, for you are spare, sir, and—”
-
-Here he found another blockade in his throat, which, after a slight
-struggle, he swallowed, and went on,—
-
-“I told them as how I thought you’d do, sir, for you see we want
-somebody that is small and thin, and will be light to carry after he is
-all fixed up. Hans Blauroch did for us last time; but this year, instead
-of parading Santa Claus up and down the street, we’ve concluded to bury
-him. It will be something new this Christmas; and Hans is too heavy to
-carry; and when I thought of you, sir, I just took the liberty of coming
-right up; because it’s near daylight, and there ain’t no great while
-left to get the funeral ready.”
-
-So the blockhead had finally jerked out what he came for, which was not
-so malevolent after all as he had at first made it appear. He deserved,
-rather, to be praised for his persistency than censured for his
-awkwardness, considering the difficulties under which he had labored.
-
-The Professor did not show whether he felt relieved by this
-_denouement_. He had listened without moving; and when the young man
-finished speaking he hesitated a moment, then, with the same peculiar
-expression visible about his mouth, said he would be glad to place
-himself at their service; he would be with them directly; that he had
-not been feeling well; indeed, he only an hour ago almost fainted, and
-had not yet recovered when he heard the knock upon his door; but he was
-feeling better, and would come down immediately.
-
-The young man laughed good-naturedly as he replied,—
-
-“I am obliged to say I did not like the looks of you at first. You must
-have been out of your head.”
-
-The Professor waited until the last echo of the retreating footsteps
-died away down at the bottom of the stairs, then shut his door.
-
-“A strange thing,” he muttered; “what have I to do with Christmas? I,
-who have studied, studied! I had forgotten there was any time called
-Christmas. What is it to a scholar? Philosophy says nothing about it;
-and reason would teach that—ah, yes, it too is a dream, a dream within
-the dream called life. Then what have I to do with it? Why did I
-promise? I will not go. Yet my vow—twenty-four hours. I dare not trust
-myself alone. A funeral, did he say? I will see how it feels; yes, for I
-will probably need one in another day. They wanted me ‘for a corpse,’
-and I said they would likely get me, and I would be glad to ‘place
-myself at their service.’ Ha, ha! They can bury me twice. But my vow, my
-vow! I will not trust myself alone. It is nothing to me; I will go.”
-
-He had been tramping again rapidly up and down the room, when he
-suddenly turned, took up his hat, looked around for a moment at the
-shadows that were still making unintelligible signs to each other, then
-extinguished them in darkness and slowly went down stairs.
-
-The lodgings were directly over the undertaker’s establishment. Living
-so secluded, speaking to none, it had never occurred to the Professor
-before what a grim place he had chosen for his home. But now the
-silver-barred coffins in the show-case were ghastly as he passed.
-
-Night had not yet yielded up her supremacy. A heavy covering of snow,
-that clung to every roof, tower, and spire, made the place look unreal
-through the gloom, like some colorless apparition of a great specter
-city. Close-blinded, silent and cold, without one glimmer of life, the
-houses faced each other down the long street. Far off, the ghostly dome
-and pinnacles of the cathedral reached into the sky—the empty, soundless
-sky—for the wind had fallen away, leaving a gray expanse that seemed to
-stretch through infinitude. But, though the Professor did not notice,
-there was a rift that divided the dreary cloud down near the horizon,
-and disclosed, brighter than the pale light of the coming day, a star
-shining in the East.
-
-And it was Christmas morning.
-
-The Professor walked block after block, feeling unconsciously refreshed
-by the crisp air upon his heated brow. Then he turned back, and when he
-had reached the building went down an alley-way and entered by a door in
-the rear.
-
-A great confusion and general dimness, not lessened any by two or three
-candles that were burning, pervaded the room, which was long and ran
-almost across the house. Half a dozen men were standing or moving about,
-and some were sitting or leaning upon coffins and biers, that covered
-all the floor, except where they occasionally left narrow passages
-between, like irregular aisles.
-
-At the Professor’s entrance, the young man who had paid him so friendly
-a visit came up instantly, took hold of him by the arm, and turned him
-round, with the exclamation,—
-
-“Here he is father! He is thin enough to be easily carried.”
-
-The man denominated “father” by the young off-shoot of the establishment
-surveyed the Professor with a critical eye from head to foot, and, as
-there could be no better sample of physical spareness than he presented,
-said, laconically,—
-
-“He’ll do.”
-
-Then there was new confusion and bustling about, and two or three
-persons immediately seized the Professor, one by his hair, one by his
-feet, one by his arms. With a grim smile, he submitted, in perfect
-silence, to the operations of this dressing committee.
-
-He saw himself—him, Gustav Kellermann, the philosopher!—blossom into
-brilliant colors, scarlet and blue and orange. He saw them clasp a
-girdle round his waist, to which they hung gilded toys and bells in all
-directions, until he was fairly covered over with trinkets of every
-device. He felt them encase his head—his learned, metaphysical head—in a
-cap that was adorned at the point and round the sides with innumerable
-swinging-dolls.
-
-It had been daylight three or four hours when all the mysterious
-preparations, which had been done almost without speaking a single word,
-were finally completed, and every thing waited in readiness.
-
-There, strangely conspicuous in that dismal room, with its dismal
-paraphernalia of death, was a brilliant, half-human, half-monkey-like
-creature, standing up on its hind legs, and flaming all over in gaudy
-colors. To this grotesque figure, the important actor, evidently the
-chief agent in the contract, a man of brief speech, came up and said,
-brusquely,—
-
-“Now, you are dead, you know, and have nothing to do but be dead. You
-are not to be fidgeting, or stirring round, or peeping. When you are
-dead, you are dead, you know, and that is all.”
-
-O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Good reasoning! When you are
-dead, you are _dead_.
-
-Then they picked up this half-human, half-monkey-like object, which had
-uttered not one word, placed it in a coffin, and put upon it a
-mask-face. Carrying it out by the rear door, they raised it and set it
-down on a catafalque, draped in a black velvet pall, and ornamented with
-tall black funeral plumes.
-
-O vain pomp and grandeur of death! When you are dead, you are _dead_.
-
-A confused hurry and tramp of many feet was succeeded by a pause, and
-some one said,—“Ready.”
-
-The procession reached the open avenue and moved slowly down the street
-to the sound of a funeral march. Solemnly, with measured tread, they
-advanced, and the people flocked to the doors on every side. There was a
-cry of surprise and alarm. “What is it?” “Who is it?” ran from lip to
-lip. The crowd gathered. The procession, with its sable plumes and
-ribbons of _crepe_, still continued on its way. There was the sound of
-lamentation, and at every moment the throng and confusion increased, the
-multitude thickened, and men, women and children were held off by the
-guard. Do they go to the great cemetery? No, they turned eastward, and
-at the Rosenthal halted. There the wondering spectators saw, in its
-center, a pure white tomb. Before it the catafalque was brought to a
-stand, and the coffin solemnly lowered.
-
-Immediately a broken shout ran through the crowd, that was taken up and
-repeated until it grew into a laugh, and men and women, catching up the
-children, cried,—
-
-“It is Kriss Kringle! Ha! ha! See, child, it is Kriss Kringle! He is
-dead. Kriss Kringle is dead!”
-
-It was a great relief to the people, so suddenly alarmed, and they good
-humoredly held up the little ones, saying,—
-
-“See! Kriss Kringle is dead. He will never come any more. He is dead!”
-
-There was a silence; and many little faces, awe-stricken, looked
-sorrowfully down, and many little arms were stretched out, and many
-little voices, quivering, sobbed,—
-
-“No, no, no! He will come back. He brought us pretty things. He will
-come back to us.”
-
-O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Is your strength still
-greater than this?
-
-There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a voice—hark! a voice!—
-
-“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I have come back to you!” And
-from beneath the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang, all
-jingling with silver bells, and flashing with a thousand toys.
-
-Then again there was great confusion, but this time no sound of
-lamentation; and the solemn funeral march swept into a strain of joyful
-music. And the children! Oh, the children, in wild delight, played in
-circles about the queer, grotesque being, who set to work destroying the
-snow-tomb. He threw it at them in small crystal showers that called up,
-each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful laughter. He detached the
-bright toys from his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from his
-knees, and rained them down upon the little ones who raced round him in
-their mad frolic. Then he took off the false face and threw it far away,
-and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is the Professor!” and drew back
-awe-struck, to think they had taken such liberties with so renowned a
-scholar. But the children never paused in their romp; and he said, while
-they scrambled about him in merry laughter,—
-
-“I have come back to you, children. I have come back to you!”
-
-And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what life was; then how should I
-know of death?” O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Here are
-those who teach a philosophy of which you know nothing—a philosophy
-higher than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy of love; a
-philosophy of death that is no sleep!
-
-The sun came out and spread a jeweled splendor on the snow, over which,
-hand-in-hand, the happy children danced.
-
-
-The Professor is an old man now, and the fame of his learning has become
-great in the land. And all the people tell about his funeral; and how,
-every Christmas since, in his scarlet clothes and furs, laden with
-“pretty things,” he leads the children in their play, and scatters on
-them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful groups, join their hands
-and dance.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                             THE FEVERFEW.
-
-
-During my youth I suffered from a naturally delicate constitution. I was
-pale, feeble and sickly, but from no decided disease. A dreamy, quiet
-cast of temperament caused me to shrink from the rough sports of my
-brothers; the contact of strangers was equally disagreeable, and I
-seldom strayed from home. Indeed, I lived almost entirely within myself,
-although by no means devoid of natural affection; on the contrary, my
-emotions were strong, and my sympathy easily aroused.
-
-How it happened that I acquired a love of learning I do not know, all
-the outward circumstances by which I was surrounded tending to foster
-any thing rather than intellectual habits, for our family, although each
-member possessed a common education, were strictly practical; but this
-difference in my disposition cut me off from their pursuits, and I found
-my chief enjoyment in the volumes of a library to which I obtained
-access.
-
-Perhaps it was the sedentary life I led, the close confinement, and lack
-of exercise, that brought on a violent attack of sickness when I was in
-my nineteenth year, so that I lay for several weeks completely
-prostrated. During two or three days my life hung as in a balance, which
-a breath might have turned and launched me beyond the confines of time.
-However, the disease succumbed to the persevering attention of
-experienced nurses. I arose from my weary bed and found my physical
-health slowly improving, but from that period I was subject at irregular
-intervals to what the physician pronounced temporary delirium, which I
-knew he used as a milder term for insanity.
-
-But it was not insanity. I never lost control of my mind, but I lost
-control of my body. It obeyed a will that was not my own. A mighty
-antagonistic power seemed to creep over my brain, which impelled my
-movements and held my struggling soul in subjection. I presented the
-singular phenomenon of one person governed by two separate and distinct
-wills, for my mind was not disordered, but only mastered by superior
-strength. In this strange condition I would see familiar objects
-magnified, exaggerated, and contorted, in an atmosphere varying with all
-colors, at the same time being perfectly conscious of their real
-appearance. I would hear sounds sweet and musical grow into wails of
-heart-rending despair. I could recognize my friends when they were
-present, but was forced to regard them with the cold eye of a stranger.
-I would commit acts that no human agency could have compelled me to do
-when my faculties were untrammelled. I never submitted without a
-struggle, and always felt conscious that, if I could but once resist
-this seemingly invincible power, if I could but once disregard its
-promptings, I should be free.
-
-The attacks were never of long duration. They always left me utterly
-exhausted, and it would sometimes require a week to recruit my expended
-strength. I could afterward recall every incident with the most distinct
-minuteness, for they were branded in characters of fire on my memory.
-Vainly I asserted again and again that it was not delirium, that I was
-forced into subjection to some mysterious power I could not withstand;
-my statements made no impression upon the physician, who evidently
-considered mine but a common case of one suffering from attacks of
-temporary insanity, and, when I persisted in my statement, he forbade
-any further reference to the subject.
-
-However, I could not prevent my mind from continually dwelling upon it
-in secret. What was this so foreign, so antagonistic to myself that
-mastered my will, that controlled my actions, that made me literally
-another being? Why did I not shake off this evil influence and be free?
-I felt perfectly conscious of possessing the power, but was not able to
-arouse it from a latent condition.
-
-As I have said before, I was naturally of a studious disposition, and I
-now turned my attention to metaphysics. I read works, ancient and
-modern, on its different branches; I studied medical treatises on
-insanity, and, the more I learned, the more thoroughly convinced I
-became that I was not suffering from mental aberration. Constant
-brooding over my disease greatly wore upon my physical strength;
-traveling was recommended, in hopes that change of climate and scene
-might benefit my health. My old aversion to strangers clung to me, and,
-although possessed by a restlessness to which I was wholly unaccustomed,
-I persistently refused to leave home; no arguments could gain my
-consent, so that my friends were forced to give up the project in
-despair.
-
-One morning, when more than the usual gloom oppressed my spirits, I made
-an effort to arouse myself and throw off the melancholy that was
-settling upon me, which each day I felt to be growing more confirmed. I
-was sitting by a window, which stood wide open, and, just outside, a
-caged canary was singing and fluttering its feathers in the warm spring
-sunshine. The little bird was my particular property, and I regarded it
-with an affection which is rarely bestowed upon pets. With the exception
-of my young sister, a child about four years of age, this was the only
-living thing that I had taken any interest in since my sickness. I had
-trained the canary from the shell, and the little creature seemed to
-repay all my care, for from no other member of the family would it
-receive caresses. I was so much afraid of its being accidentally injured
-that I never allowed it to be freed from the cage, except in my
-presence. At my call it would fly about me, resting on my head,
-shoulders, or hands, and chirping in a perfect ecstasy of enjoyment.
-
-I arose and opened the door of its prison, then, reseating myself,
-softly whistled while it darted into the air, wheeled once or twice, and
-descended upon my hand. Stroking its spotless yellow plumage, I regarded
-the little thing with a degree of pleasure I had not experienced for
-several weeks. But sudden horror almost caused my heart to cease its
-beatings, and the perspiration started from my forehead in great drops,
-for I felt my fingers slowly closing over the delicate bird. Although I
-made an attempt greater than the racking effort we sometimes exert in
-the nightmare, I had no power to restrain them. The canary fluttered in
-my clasp. I would have dropped it, I would have shrieked for help, but
-my muscles, my voice, my _body_, obeyed me not, and my fingers, like the
-steady working of machinery, gradually tightened their relentless grasp.
-In my agony the veins of my face protruded like lines of cordage. I
-heard the frail bones breaking beneath the crushing pressure, then my
-involuntary grip suddenly relaxed, and the bird fell upon my knee, dead
-and mangled!
-
-At the same moment, I saw, through the open door, my little sister
-playing upon the grass-plat; and, almost before I was aware of moving,
-or of any volition, I found myself walking rapidly toward her, while my
-fingers twitched with a convulsive, clutching movement. Good Heavens! I
-already saw her face turn purple, and heard her gasping breath smothered
-by gurgling blood. With this terrible picture before my mental vision,
-my brain felt as if it would burst its bounds in the desperate, but
-unavailing effort I made to turn back, to fly from the spot. But I could
-not command myself. In that moment I endured suffering more intense than
-language can describe. Perhaps my strange and wild appearance frightened
-the child; for, in place of holding out her arms to me, her favorite
-brother, she fled crying to the nurse, who did not observe my approach,
-and carried her into the house. Saved! unconsciously saved—saved from a
-fate too terrible to contemplate.
-
-I sank insensible upon the ground, and, when I recovered, found myself
-surrounded by the family, each one applying some restorative, for I had
-been in a long and death-like swoon. Slowly, but distinctly, the
-recollections of the events which had reduced me to this condition
-presented themselves to my memory with all their appalling horror,
-nearly depriving me again of consciousness.
-
-I did not refer in any manner to the subject, which was also carefully
-avoided by all others in my presence, for fear that it might produce
-renewed excitement, and my friends had no suspicion of the circumstances
-which brought it about. The bird was found dead upon the floor, and the
-family imagined that it had met with some accident. They were evidently
-surprised, when the fact was communicated to me, that I made no remarks,
-for they had anticipated an outburst of grief.
-
-Grief! I did not suffer from grief; grief was overpowered by the horror
-that racked my brain—horror for the act I had committed, and the more
-fearful one which had been so mercifully prevented. I had committed? No,
-it was not _my_ mind or will which had prompted my hand to do the deed.
-I was innocent, even though my fingers had dripped with the blood of a
-sister; but the frightful thought filled me with a terror that wrung my
-soul. I pondered continually upon it. When might not this mysterious
-demon again assert its evil control over me? Strange as it may seem, I
-felt certain that it was some foreign agency—I knew not what—that
-mastered my will, and not the result of my own intellect, in a
-disordered condition.
-
-This overpowering dread of the future, of what might happen, which took
-possession of me, drove me to the decision of leaving home, as the best
-way of avoiding danger to my friends. Perhaps, too, if my physical
-health became better, I might gain strength enough to defy this infernal
-power; for, as I have said before, I possessed a singular consciousness
-that, if I could once successfully resist its promptings, my soul would
-be liberated from thraldom. I announced my determination of making a
-journey, without any explanation of my sudden change, and it was greeted
-with delight by my friends and relatives, who were anxious to hasten my
-departure while the humor was upon me; but they need not have feared any
-change of purpose on my part, for I was haunted by this terrible dread
-of the future, and I gladly said farewell for a time to my home and
-birthplace.
-
-The incidents of travel and of new scenes broke the monotony, and
-dispelled to some degree the gloom that had taken fast hold upon me. In
-a short period I found myself rapidly improving. Every week brought me
-an increase of strength, and I suffered less frequently from these
-frightful attacks. Although they occurred at longer intervals than
-formerly, they seemed to grow more severe in character; the conflict was
-fiercer, and my mind made a more desperate effort to gain the supremacy.
-My whole frame would be racked by the intense struggle which I
-constantly maintained, though I was constantly vanquished.
-
-The increasing delight I took in the scenery, the continued exercise and
-excitement, almost drove despair from me, and hope once more brightened
-my countenance. I began to look forward to the time when my health would
-be entirely restored, and my body and mind be in unison. I did not hope
-vainly, for the final conflict came, and with it a strange termination
-of my long sufferings.
-
-I stood upon the side of an Eastern mountain. Above my head vast rocks
-arose in solemn grandeur, their summits lost in canopied mists which,
-gray and clinging, wrapped them in obscurity. Below, a great chasm rent
-the mountain; a yawning, bottomless gulf. While I gazed, awed by the
-thought of its mysterious depths, where no human eye had seen, where no
-human foot had trod, a ray of light struggled in and rested on gaunt
-trees, on snake-like ferns, damp and cold, that clung to its slimy
-sides, and on one pale flower which nodded in the chill draught that
-came up, a palpable horror, from the blackness of darkness. I turned
-away. Near the western horizon dead clouds were piled one above another,
-and their heavy shadow lay brown and dark upon the sullen earth. No wind
-stirred the forests, or rustled their motionless leaves, and the awe of
-the unbroken silence fell, with a dread oppression, upon my heart.
-
-Suddenly I was seized by an ungovernable desire to possess the
-flower—the colorless flower that hung far down in the death-damp of the
-chasm. A freezing terror crept through my blood as I recognized this
-decree of a will I had never been able to disobey. I felt myself
-crawling closer to the verge of the precipice; nearer, yet nearer, until
-I sat within the very jaw of the savage gulf. The dead clouds heaved
-their shroud-like forms and wavered overhead. I heard the rush of
-subterranean waters sounding a muffled requiem. The sickly flower with
-its long stem writhed and twisted, as a serpent stretches his folds into
-the air. Slowly back and forth it swayed, glaring at me like a
-lustreless eye.
-
-My brain reeled, and all the forces of my nature gathered up their
-increased strength for one fierce and final conflict. I felt the blood
-rage through my veins with the headlong fury of cataracts. The very
-spring of life within me was stirred and troubled, when, with one mighty
-strain, I drew myself up and fell backward on the grass.
-
-The whole world went out in utter darkness. Before my eyes stretched a
-vast, illimitable gloom, when suddenly out of its impenetrable depths
-above my head there grew and glimmered faintly a thin and wavering mist.
-Folding upon itself, it hung down, white and luminous, a cloud of
-palpitating nebulæ. Pricked with a thousand points of fire it gathered
-slowly to a nucleus in the center—a flickering speck, a disc, it flamed,
-blazed into a star, and lo! poised midway in the air, an aureole of
-light, it rested upon the brow of a female figure.
-
-Her scornful eyes looked down upon me with a lurid gleam that seemed to
-burn my soul. A smile of derision sat upon her lips that were more vivid
-in hue than the vermilion dye. Her locks were yellow as the sun at
-noontide; her skin was white as the leper’s; her breath hot as the
-desert air, and the light of the star upon her forehead burned red with
-the frightful redness of fresh blood. Suddenly I saw that the murky
-clouds on either side her form swarmed with a thousand dwarfed and
-warted shapes. Black and hideous, they knotted, flitted to and fro, in
-and out, with their formless claws and tumultuous motion. She spread her
-wings. Immediately there gathered all the dusky shapes—the legion demons
-of delirium with their needle eyes—and settled down upon her sable
-plumes. A shrill phantom laugh rang out, mocked itself by echoes that
-ran up in thin shafts of sound to the skies, and the SPIRIT OF FEVER had
-fled from me forever!
-
-The rays of the sun as it sank to rest, slanting through rose-colored
-avenues, fell upon the gray mists, and crowned the mountain’s summit in
-a rainbow of glory. The rising breeze swept through the forests with a
-soothing sound, and, eastward, the eye was lost in mellow lines of
-golden haze, which to my soul freed from captivity, seemed cathedral
-aisles of peace.
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                        OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER.
-
-
-“You’re right! I ain’t got no relatives an’ nobody to look after, so
-thar isn’t any sense in workin’ too much. That’s just what I say.”
-
-And that is just what he always did say, poor Simlin, but he never
-ceased, notwithstanding. Nearly every body that knew him and spoke to
-him about it always found him quick to acquiesce: “Thar was nothin’
-plainer than what they said, and it was just what he said, too.” But it
-did not make the slightest difference, for he continued to work away all
-the same; so what else could be done but merely to give up the question?
-
-Now, if he had only expressed himself in decided opposition, there might
-have been something to hope for in the matter—at least, it would have
-opened the way for an argument upon the subject; and, then, there was
-always the possibility that he might be induced to change his mind.
-However, his provoking approval put the case wholly beyond reach. And so
-old Simlin, toiling early and late, quietly followed his vocation.
-
-There was not a better moulder in the whole foundry, or one that drew
-much higher wages. But, then, he was getting old. To be sure, he never
-had been young, so far as they knew any thing about him, even ten years
-ago, when, altogether unknown and friendless, he had first made his
-appearance in the village. But these ten years combined had not worn
-upon him like the last one. His head now, if once the soot had been
-removed, would not have shown a single black hair; and his voice was
-weak and cracked, and there was a visible trembling about the old man’s
-legs. Perhaps he did imbibe liquor; but nobody had any right to say so,
-for nobody could prove that it was true. Only of late he had a strangely
-confused manner when anyone addressed him, and, raising his unsteady
-hand nervously to his head, would repeat the sentence that had been on
-his lips a hundred, yes, a thousand times, until it had long ago grown
-into a stereotyped form—“I ain’t got no relatives an’ nobody to look
-after, so thar isn’t any sense in workin’ too much.”
-
-Perhaps he really thought that the people would never see that he was
-straining every effort, using every moment of his time, though, before
-the sun was up, and often after it was gone, the old man was at his
-place. And Simlin was always the first on hand if there was an extra job
-that would bring an extra cent.
-
-But, other than making the assertion that he had no relatives, and
-nobody depending upon him, and that he did not think it worth while to
-work over-much, he never carried on a conversation. That there was no
-one to look after _him_ was a self-evident fact. He lived utterly alone,
-in a small cabin on the brow of the hill. Rarely a soul but himself ever
-crossed its threshold. Under the step the gray gophers made their
-burrow, and, beneath the tall beech trees, that threw down their prickly
-nuts, the brown weasels played in peaceful groups. The shy quail,
-sounding their whistle, fled among the ferns; and above, from the myriad
-branches, the beautiful wild doves mourned out their perpetual sadness.
-At evening, when the sun went down, and the long line of the Scioto
-Hills flushed crimson with serene glory; when, by slow degrees, the
-pageant of departing day withdrew its gorgeous colors; even when the
-valley below was black with the gloom of night, the western radiance
-lingered, like the transforming light of some other land, upon the rude
-cabin, standing on its high and solitary perch.
-
-Empty and bare, it afforded but little protection from the weather, for
-through it the winds blew in Winter, and the rains dripped in Summer.
-Simlin’s wants, however, appeared to be few and simple. He seldom had a
-fire, even at the coldest season. What he subsisted upon, nobody knew.
-Once, perhaps, in two or three days, he would buy a loaf of coarse bread
-from the baker in the village, and his table evidently was supplied in
-the most frugal manner.
-
-The people put down his besetting sin to be avarice; and the hut, if it
-contained no furniture, was reported to contain wealth enough, hidden
-away in its obscure cracks and corners, to have draped its dreary boards
-in the most costly velvet and lace, and encased its walls with marble.
-Of course, he was a miser. More than ten years now he had been at the
-foundry, and not a cent of the wages which he drew regularly had he
-spent, or put so much as a farthing into the savings bank, where many of
-the hands had laid up quite a pile. But, unlike the majority of misers,
-the old man never complained of being poor; indeed, he never complained
-at all, or spoke of money in any way. If the subject was brought up in
-his presence, he either preserved utter silence or quietly got up and
-left; and, if driven to the last extremity, and made to say something,
-he would remark, running into the same old channel, that “It didn’t much
-matter—he hadn’t any relatives nor any body dependin’ upon him.”
-
-So lonely and forlorn did he seem, and so harmless withal—for the old
-man never was known to do a mean action, or resent an angry word—that
-many uncouth kindnesses had been shown him on the part of the hands,
-with whom he was by no means unpopular. Especially had this been the
-case latterly; for, though he himself was apparently unconscious of it,
-so terribly broken had he become that the change was sorrowful to
-behold; and, rude as were the foundry-workmen, what there was pathetic
-in the patient manner in which the feeble old man silently worked on
-told upon them by instinct.
-
-There had even been an interest taken in him up at the great house.
-Every season, “the colonel,” as the owner and sole proprietor of the
-Rocky Ford Foundry was called by all the employes, brought his family
-down from the city to spend a few months rusticating in the beautiful
-Scioto Valley, where he had built a summer residence for that purpose,
-and that he might be near his great iron-works at the same time. There
-was always gay company up at the house—visitors from town, who needed no
-second invitation to entice them from the dust of the city to this
-peaceful retreat among the lovely hills of Ohio. Besides, the colonel
-had a beautiful daughter, and every body liked the “young misses.”
-Seldom, though, did she ever go down to the foundry; never, indeed
-unless some special object took her there.
-
-Coming from her home a mile distant—this home for her embowered in
-perpetual Summer and wrapped in the peace that broods upon the
-everlasting hills, where she could see, far off, the golden meadow-lands
-and the more distant Paint Ridge, with its transparent veil of mist;
-this home from which she had often looked out and listened to the blue
-Scioto, unflecked with sail or skiff, struggling by day and night to
-tell its mysterious story, as it flowed forever on its lonely
-course—coming from this home, over the narrow path that led down the
-slope to the river’s edge, where the green rushes grew and the wild
-columbine hung its bells above the water—coming on, past the great
-rocks, where the scarlet lichens flamed in the sun and the blossoming
-alder displayed its drifted clusters; coming still with active feet over
-the velvet moss—coming from the lovely valley, coming from the tranquil
-hills, when she entered the foundry it seemed like stepping suddenly
-from the beautiful world into some haunt of evil spirits.
-
-Within the great dingy walls no shining sunlight brightened the air. Dim
-and cheerless, it hung laden with smoke and vapor, that floated in
-clouds to the rafters. The harsh clang of heavy machinery, together with
-the roar of the furnaces, seemed to shake the very building. Among the
-enormous wheels that whirled with frightful velocity, and the immense
-belts that whizzed above their heads, the workmen, black and begrimed,
-looked small, weird and unearthly, moving about upon the damp ground,
-with its jet-like covering of charred cinders. The place seemed an
-apparition of demons, performing in some cavern of the lower regions
-their evil incantations. No wonder the young lady seldom went there. Its
-gloom fell upon her with a heavy oppression, and her breath only came
-freely when once more she found herself out in the clear and open
-sunlight.
-
-It happened in this manner that she first came to take any notice of old
-Simlin: There were gathered quite a party of young folks; and the
-colonel, who had been in Cincinnati upon business, had returned the
-previous evening, bringing with him another gentleman, apparently a
-stranger to the family.
-
-It was at the breakfast-table that the company were discussing the
-“sights” of the neighborhood, and debating whether they would take him
-first over to Paint Creek upon a fishing-excursion, or across the river
-to Mount Logan, famous for having been the rendezvous of the great
-Indian chief, when the colonel spoke up,—
-
-“Why not begin at home?” he said. “Do not fatigue him to death the first
-day, and I am proud enough of my foundry to think it might be of
-interest even to Mr. Safford; at least I mean to have him shown over it
-before he leaves.”
-
-The young man, of course, immediately stated that it would give him
-great pleasure, and the whole company, to the most of whom it would
-prove a novelty, gladly acquiesced in the proposition. So it was
-decided, and two hours later they all started on their way.
-
-When they entered the foundry it seemed more gloomy than ever, the
-atmosphere more stifling, and the jar of the machinery more painfully
-loud and discordant. Even the gay young people who had chatted and
-laughed all the morning felt the sudden change that involuntarily
-subdued their merriment. They broke up and scattered in twos and threes
-over the place, following the lead of simple curiosity, but the
-stranger-gentleman staid beside Helen, the “young misses.”
-
-“What a queer, unreal place!” he said. “One would never expect to find
-any thing like it in this beautiful valley. Does it not make you think,
-coming upon it suddenly out of the sunlight, of the evil genii you have
-read about in some fairy-tale long ago? And the workmen, at whose
-bidding all this gigantic power is brought into action, how small and
-weird they look!”
-
-The two had been slowly approaching the great furnace, and, just as the
-gentleman ceased speaking, the immense door was thrown open,
-discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions, the seething flame
-within. Though they were not near enough to experience any inconvenience
-from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened exclamation and drew back; but
-the gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately in front of him
-from this opening streamed a broad but sharply defined streak of
-blood-red light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed the
-blackened cinders on the ground beneath his feet into a mass of living
-embers.
-
-As the old man straightened up, and was in the act of raising his hand
-to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination, they encountered the
-stranger, and a mingled expression of surprise and fright instantly
-struggled up through their weak color. For a moment, like an apparition,
-he stood transfixed. The red glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure;
-it showed his attenuated arms and death-like mouth, his tattered clothes
-and the few wisps of his scant hair.
-
-Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling effect which the glow of
-the furnace had produced, falling by accident upon a single workman.
-But, when the man rose up, he gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his
-strange behavior.
-
-For an instant, the old man stared without moving a muscle, then his
-lips began to work convulsively, and, raising his hand before his face,
-as if to screen it from view, he half uttered an unintelligible sentence
-and sank down. At the same time, the door of the furnace had been
-closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a moment had so
-strangely thrown him into violent relief.
-
-For a second, Safford almost thought the whole thing had been an optical
-illusion, or some hallucination of his own brain; then, stepping
-forward, he saw the old man lying in a heap upon the ground.
-
-The young lady, recovering immediately from her sudden fright at the
-unexpected blaze, had seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked, in a
-terrified voice,—
-
-“What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she exclaimed, kneeling down
-beside him.
-
-“No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!” Mr. Safford called to
-the nearest hand. Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the
-prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried it out into the open
-air.
-
-“I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,” said the man who had helped
-in carrying him. “We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.”
-
-“Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr. Safford, while he bathed the grimy
-forehead with his wet handkerchief.
-
-“Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been of a trembil all over; and he’s
-getting pretty much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping his
-voice, and significantly touching his forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not
-booked for this world much longer.”
-
-“Poor man!” said Miss Helen, leaning tenderly over the pale face that
-still showed no symptoms of returning consciousness; “how very thin and
-emaciated he is! Has he no wife or family to take care of him?”
-
-“That’s just it, ma’am! That’s just what he’s allus harpin’ on! He says
-he ain’t got no relatives, and nobody to look after, and—”
-
-The young lady suddenly raised her hand with a warning gesture; and,
-before the workman had ceased speaking, old Simlin opened his eyes. He
-looked around for a moment in a bewildered way; then his uncertain
-glance, falling upon the gentleman kneeling by his side, immediately
-became fixed, and grew into a wild stare. Raising himself unsteadily
-upon his elbow, still with his eyes fixed upon him, the old man threw
-out his trembling arm with a gesture as if addressing the whole
-company,—
-
-“It’s a lie! Who said I had any relatives, or any body to look after? I
-hain’t! It’s a lie—a _lie_, I say! I never seen you before. He’s a
-stranger!”—still keeping his arm extended, and appealing excitedly to
-those around him—“you all know he is a stranger. I ain’t got no
-relatives, nor any body to look after!”
-
-It was evident enough that what the workman had told them about his
-intellect was too true, they all thought, as they looked at each other
-with a quick glance.
-
-“I tell you I don’t know you, sir! It’s all a lie. I never seen you
-before! I—”
-
-“No, you never saw me before.”
-
-Mr. Safford had spoken, hoping to soothe him; but, instead, the sentence
-appeared to act upon the old man like an electric battery, for he raised
-himself into a sitting posture, and, with his head bobbing violently
-about, fairly screamed, his cracked voice running into high treble,—
-
-“That’s right!—that’s right! Do you all hear it? He says I never seen
-him before. It’s all a lie about my havin’ got any relatives. I hain’t!
-I never seen him before—You heerd him say so—you all heerd him?” he
-inquired, for the first time, taking his pale, watery eyes from the
-gentleman, and looking, in a frightened, appealing way, round the group.
-
-Then his strength seemed to fail suddenly, and he fell back upon the
-grass, panting for breath.
-
-At this moment the colonel came up, and knelt down by his side. He
-uttered his name several times, and even put his hand upon the wrinkled
-forehead; but the old man, with vacant eyes fixed on the sky, paid no
-heed, though his lips trembled.
-
-“I have ordered a wagon. It will be here directly. He must be taken to
-the house, where he can receive every attention. Poor man! I am afraid
-this will be about the last. I have expected it for a long time. Here,
-Safford, help me to lift him,” he added, as Hendricks came back with the
-wagon.
-
-“Safford! Safford! Who called me Safford?” said the old man, suddenly
-looking round in a terrified manner. “I—I’ve been a dreamin’,” uttering
-a weak laugh. “It’s not my—I mean nobody said it. I never heerd that
-name before. It’s darned funny, ain’t it? but I never even heerd that
-name before in my life! You know I didn’t”—growing wild and excited
-again—“you know it’s a lie! I ain’t got no relatives, nor nobody to look
-after.”
-
-The gentlemen, without speaking, stooped to raise him; but he struggled
-violently, and, keeping his eyes still fixed on the younger one, he
-cried, with such an extreme distress upon his face, that they
-involuntarily drew back,—
-
-“No, no! I’m not fit to be near you. Stand off! You’re a fine gentleman;
-it’s not for the likes of you to touch me!”
-
-Then turning toward the colonel, he muttered some inarticulate apology,
-and actually staggered, unaided, to his feet,—
-
-“I’m ’bliged to ye all,” he said, nodding his head up and down, and
-backing, with uncertain steps, toward the foundry, as if afraid to take
-his eyes from the party as long as he was within their sight. “Thar
-ain’t nothin’ the matter with me! I jest felt faint a spell from the
-heat—the heat. It ain’t nothin’, an’ it’s gone now! I’ll go back to my
-work agin—I’m all right—I’m ’bliged to ye! It was jest the heat as
-overcum me—jest the heat—” and, with a painful smile upon his thin lips,
-still muttering unintelligible excuses, he tottered into the building.
-
-For a moment, taken by surprise, the group remained motionless. Then
-Helen said; “Poor old man! I declare, it almost made me cry only to look
-at him!—Father, you will have him cared for; you will not allow him to
-work any more?”
-
-“No. He is dreadfully broken down, and I have heard the hands say that,
-latterly, he was breaking in his mind, too; but I did not know it was so
-bad. I will see that he does as little as possible; but he will never
-quit until he gives out utterly, and he can not hold on long in this
-condition. Strange, Safford, how the sight of you seemed to excite him!
-Did you notice with what a wild, terrified gaze he stared at you, as if
-he had been hunted down? and, when you stooped to raise him up, he
-almost drew himself into a knot. I did not suppose, when I saw him on
-the ground, that he had strength enough left to stand on his feet
-without help; and it seemed as if it was this fear of you that inspired
-him with the power.”
-
-The younger man stood leaning against the tree from which he had not
-moved.
-
-“Yes,” he replied, “it was strange; I noticed it. How long have you had
-him in your employ?”
-
-“More than ten years, and he has been about the most valuable hand in
-the foundry.”
-
-“Then I’m sure, father, you will take care of him, and not let him work
-any more?” said Helen, again.
-
-“Yes—yes, child! don’t bother yourself so—of course I will;” but the
-younger gentleman turned toward her quickly, while his face lighted up,
-then checked himself abruptly in what would have been an eager gesture
-of gratitude, and looked away without saying a word.
-
-They remained a few moments to hear that the old man had recovered, and
-when the messenger reported him working at his place quietly as usual,
-without re-entering the foundry, or waiting for their companions, the
-two started homeward. Helen’s reluctance to go back into the building
-again had been so manifest that the gentleman could hardly do otherwise.
-Not until the straggling little village and the smoke of the great
-foundry were left in the distance did she fairly draw a breath of
-relief, and even then they still walked on almost in silence.
-
-The day had reached its noon. On the river flowing past the lances of
-the sun broke into a thousand flakes of fire that followed each other
-over its surface in myriad ranks; and on either side, where the twisted
-birch reached out its branches, the waves with a grateful murmur turned
-up their cool white crests.
-
-There was no loud hum of grasshoppers. Hardly a leaf stirred upon the
-trees, hardly a bird fluttered its wings. Even the far-off mists had
-disappeared, and a hush was on the hills—a hush as of awe before the
-splendor of the sky. No wonder they spoke but little. Almost solemn was
-the glory of the day in its noon. Yet perhaps neither one felt this
-influence which rested upon the land, and subdued alike to silence the
-peewee and the bobolink. It may be that the girl was not wholly
-unconscious of the scene, but it was certainly some other influence that
-wrapped her companion in abstraction. He saw not even the checkered
-shade that fell in arch and groin upon their path.
-
-They were half-way home. Rousing himself suddenly with an effort, as if
-but just aware of this long abstraction, he said, for lack of any thing
-better,—
-
-“Miss Helen, do you like the country?”
-
-“Dearly. I love these hills and the river. The time I spend here is the
-happiest part of my life.”
-
-“And are you not always happy?” he inquired. “You should be.”
-
-A strange gentleness in his tone as he uttered the last words made Helen
-look up quickly as she answered him with a smile,—
-
-“I am. I never had a trouble in my life.”
-
-They had reached the turn where the path led up the slope from the foot
-of the hill.
-
-“Do not go back to the house,” he said; “let us sit down here a little
-while in the shade. I feel strangely oppressed, and the four walls of a
-room would suffocate me.”
-
-Apparently, he had uttered the last sentence involuntarily, as he took
-off his hat, and passed his hand several times across his forehead, for,
-catching his breath quickly, he added, as if by way of an apology,—
-
-“It is so much pleasanter in the open air, and I am less fortunate than
-you. I seldom have a chance to enjoy the country.”
-
-He had evidently spoken truly, however, when he said he felt strangely
-oppressed, for his eyes wandered up the valley, far off to the remote
-Paint Ridge, yet he did not see the glittering Scioto, or how Summer sat
-enthroned in royal pomp upon the hills.
-
-There was a thoughtful, almost anxious expression on his face. Presently
-he added, in a tone of voice as if they might have been discussing the
-subject at the moment, and which showed his mind was still occupied
-wholly by the incident at the foundry,—
-
-“Miss Helen, had you ever seen that man before?”
-
-“What man?” she inquired. “The workman, you mean?”
-
-“Yes, the old moulder.”
-
-“No. I have often heard them speak of him. I rarely go to the foundry;
-it is gloomy, and the hands are so rough father does not like to have me
-come in contact with them in any way, so I do not know one from another.
-I did not recollect at first, but I remember now hearing him say that
-old Simlin was queer, that he was a miser, and that he lived all alone
-on the Spring Hill. But I am sure father did not know he was so feeble,
-or how he was losing his mind. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It
-must be dreadfully sad, ignorant though he is, to grow old and have not
-a soul on the earth to care for him.”
-
-Again the gentleman turned to her, as she spoke, with a sudden emotion
-in his eyes that would have called the color to her cheeks had she seen
-it, but in another instant he had looked away, and the troubled cloud
-settled back once more upon his features.
-
-“The river _is_ beautiful,” he said, after a pause; “see how the fire
-dances down its surface.”
-
-He had dismissed the subject from their conversation, if not from his
-own thoughts. More than an hour later Helen sprang up with a conscious
-blush upon her face as the sound of approaching voices told her how the
-time had fled. Ah, for her at least it had been wafted by on silver
-wings! They both joined the party, and all went together to the house.
-There, almost immediately, Mr. Safford excused himself and went to his
-room.
-
-Shut in alone, the same anxious, troubled expression he had worn when he
-looked unconsciously up the river came back upon him as he walked
-thoughtfully to and fro across the floor. The incident at the foundry
-had affected him singularly. He could not throw off its depressing
-influence. Why, he asked himself—why did the face of the old man haunt
-him perpetually—the thin, wrinkled face, as it had looked at him with
-sudden surprise and terror struggling up through its watery eyes? Why
-did the cracked voice, with its accent of fright, ring constantly in his
-ears? If it were but the wild vagary of an unsettled mind, why should he
-give it any heed? “I am nervous,” he muttered to himself. “They said the
-man was crazy, and surely I never saw him before—no, I never saw him
-before. Then why should the sight of me have so excited him? Probably
-another stranger would have done the same. I am foolish—and they said
-the man was crazy—”
-
-He still paced the floor of his room up and down, while he tried to
-argue himself out of the unreasonable hold which the circumstance had
-taken on his mind. “I wish I could forget it!” he exclaimed. Then
-walking to the window, and looking out mechanically, he said slowly to
-himself, as if weighing well his words,—
-
-“It is not possible; no, it is not possible that here I am going to find
-any clew. The man _was_ crazy, that is all.”
-
-He returned again, however, not the least relieved, to his track over
-the carpet, and, before he went down stairs, he had determined that he
-would “wait and see.” He would not, as he had previously intended, leave
-the place within a day or two. He could not go away until he had
-satisfied himself about the matter wholly, and in the mean time he would
-find out what he could in regard to the old man.
-
-He did not make any inquiries of the family, and the only information he
-could gain was simply what he had been already told.
-
-His sleep that night was strangely disturbed. Over and over in his
-troubled slumber a thin, shrunken figure stood with its trembling arm
-stretched out toward him. It was always before him, even when sometimes
-there flitted through his dreams the form of one whose face was fair as
-the morning, whose hair was yellow as the reaper’s wheat. He rose
-feeling little refreshed. The night, instead of lessening, had but
-strengthened the hold which the incident of the previous day had taken
-upon him, and against which he struggled without avail.
-
-The colonel’s prophecy did not prove incorrect when he said Simlin could
-not last long, for, just as the family were rising from the
-breakfast-table, a messenger arrived, saying the old man was lying
-insensible in his cabin. It seemed he did not make his appearance at the
-foundry at his usual time, and, after waiting an hour in vain,
-Hendricks, who suspected something might be wrong, sent one of the hands
-to the hut, where he was found in this condition.
-
-“Tell Hendricks I will see to him immediately,” the colonel said to the
-messenger, as he retired; then turning to young Safford, who stood with
-his hat in his hand, inquired, “Are you going out?”
-
-“I will go with you, if you have no objection. I may be of some service,
-and I am in need of exercise at any rate.”
-
-He hesitated as he spoke, endeavoring to cover the unusual interest
-which he took in the matter, and the excitement he felt that the news
-had brought upon him.
-
-“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely pale this morning! Our country
-air ought to do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you would go with
-me. I don’t know exactly what is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill,
-he can not be moved, and anyhow there is no road leading up that side of
-the Spring Hill, nothing but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has
-worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that direction. The cabin
-must have been originally put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and
-inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail upon him to come
-down into the village. He is a strange man, almost a hermit in his
-habits.”
-
-“Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe I can do something for him,
-too, if he is sick.”
-
-“You, Helen?” said her father, smiling. “What can you do for such a
-person? No, no, child, it is no place for you. I do not like to have you
-go among any of these wretched people.”
-
-He stooped and kissed the fair countenance raised so entreatingly to
-his. A swift expression of pain had come across the younger gentleman’s
-face as the colonel spoke, but the girl persisted, and her father
-reluctantly gave his consent.
-
-“Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to put a few things into a
-basket with some wine and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it
-immediately. We may need him anyhow, and he has no work to do about the
-house this morning. I can not spare Hendricks from the foundry, and very
-likely, if we can not move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a
-little.”
-
-Losing no time, they started on their errand of mercy. The walk was
-long, but well shaded. Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all
-Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy. The little song-sparrows,
-wild with delight, united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called,
-and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad numbers, fluttered their
-golden wings; and sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in her
-flight to the far-off wheat fields.
-
-It seemed strange that there should be any misery, any suffering. The
-girl could not realize it until they came out on top of the Spring Hill
-to the little clearing where the cabin stood, which, in its utter
-desolation, appeared to overwhelm her. There was no sign of a human
-presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on the chimney-top, while
-its mate flitted wistfully over the sunburnt grass. The place was so
-lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother a sob. Below, the wide
-valley stretched away to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel, on
-this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one ostracized from society.
-
-“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel, “while I go in first, and I will
-come and tell you.”
-
-He left them in the shade of the tall beech trees, and they saw him go
-into the cabin. Though neither had spoken, they knew that upon each
-heart rested the same burden of dread. In the moment that followed there
-came over the young man an almost sickening anxiety, but the girl stood,
-awed only by the thought that perhaps even then the black wings of Death
-might be settling unknown within their very presence. Then she saw her
-father come to the door and beckon—the old man at least was not dead—and
-they went in together.
-
-The place was far more bare and desolate than even its exterior had
-appeared. The rough boards of the floor were shrunken apart. Through the
-windows, unshielded by even a plank, the glaring light poured in a
-pitiless flood. A broken chair or two were propped against the wall, and
-in the corner an old pine table stood in a precarious condition upon its
-uneven legs.
-
-There, stretched across the wretched bed dressed in his grimy clothes,
-just as they had seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago, the old
-man lay insensible. All their restoratives were powerless to rouse him
-from this heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to their efforts.
-The half-closed eyes were glazed. There was no quiver now about the
-bloodless lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner, more emaciated,
-for over all the features rested that sunk expression which those who
-look upon it behold with despair at their hearts. But for the slow rise
-and fall of his chest, they might have thought the last glimmer of life
-had died out of that frail form forever.
-
-It was plain that they could not dare to move him, and the colonel
-carefully shaded the window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving
-free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken all the things from the
-basket, and set them ready for use, though there was little chance now
-that they could be of any avail. Safford stood at the foot of the bed,
-utterly unconscious of every thing at the moment but the prostrate
-figure before him. Since he entered the room he had hardly changed his
-position, only that he folded his arms across his breast, and drooped
-his head a little, as if in that attitude he might the more intently
-watch the sleeper.
-
-When the colonel came and spoke to him he started up as if frightened,
-like one out of a dream, so that the elder man looked at him in
-surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling himself, said
-quickly, in a husky voice,— “I beg your pardon. You startled me!”
-
-“I only wanted to know how long you thought he could last?”
-
-“I can not tell. It may be until evening, hardly longer.”
-
-He was right. The day wore on without any apparent change until about
-the going down of the sun, when the old man moved a little. They had
-once or twice dropped a few drops of wine between his lips, but this was
-the first symptom of any break in the heavy stupor which had held him so
-long in its death-like embrace. His respiration quickened, and became
-audible. He muttered one or two incoherent sentences, then a tremor
-passed over his features, and he opened his eyes.
-
-Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored during the afternoon to
-persuade into going home, stood with her head turned away; and the
-colonel, too intent upon watching the dying man, did not notice Safford,
-from whose face, at the first struggle in the inanimate form, every
-particle of color fled, and who, trembling violently all over, clutched
-the bed for support.
-
-The old man for a moment looked about the room blankly, as if a haze
-obscured his vision. Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face
-lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but as suddenly the light
-faded out, his features quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying,
-brokenly, in an accent of despair,—
-
-“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”
-
-Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—
-
-“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you will kill me! It was not for
-the likes o’ me to have married you. Now you are so white an’ thin, an’,
-Hetty, when I took ye to the church, yer cheeks were redder nor the
-summer rose. Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”
-
-A terrible struggle in his throat compelled him to pause for a moment,
-then he went on with rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
-could hardly find expression in words:—
-
-“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one that; I can not bar
-it!—not that, not my name! I swear to ye, he shall not take after the
-likes of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty, I swear to ye, if I
-live, he shall never hear a low word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He
-shall have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman. Hetty, I’ve
-been a worthless dog—a brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
-darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer face—but hear me, Hetty,
-I swear to ye, the little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
-shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so still! O Hetty!—dead! she is
-dead—dead!”
-
-Both the colonel and Helen turned with astonishment to young Safford
-when the old man, in his delirium, had spoken his name; but the latter,
-unconscious of their surprise, with a single cry, sprang forward, and
-supported the exhausted figure in his arms as it sank back.
-
-“Father—my father!” The words broke from his lips in a voice painfully
-choked by emotion.
-
-There was another severe struggle for breath, then, with renewed
-strength, the old man raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
-looking round quickly, began in a hurried manner, fumbling about with
-his hands,—
-
-“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me agin! He mustn’t never know
-as I’m alivin’. He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’ me.” He
-paused a moment, and the expression of his face changed. “It’s a lie!”
-he cried, fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body to look
-after! It’s all a _lie_!” Then, shivering suddenly, he said, lowering
-his voice, and speaking softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not have
-no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a gentleman. I said he should be a
-gentleman—and he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No, no! I never seen
-you before—I never seen you before!”
-
-The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling sound in his throat.
-
-“Father, father, speak to me! It is I, George!”
-
-Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees. During the moment that
-followed there was profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes, and
-said, gently,—
-
-“George! the little George!” A radiant light rested upon his thin face.
-He raised his trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily over the man’s
-head. “Yer hair is soft an’ black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
-her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’, Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration]
-
-                          THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA.
-
-
-                                   I.
-
-At the foot of the hill stood a low, old-fashioned frame house, with a
-picket-fence round the yard, which ran down to a small stream that
-sometimes flowed along slowly, and sometimes with a great rush, and
-sometimes slept tranquilly beneath a sheeting of ice. Nearly a mile off,
-smooth and level, with pleasant streets, and a church whose spire shone
-in the sunlight long after the evening shade had crept over the ground,
-was the village of Pickaway, the gem of Paint Valley.
-
-From there, two days in every week, to the quaint old-fashioned house at
-the foot of the hill, the children wended their way with music folios,
-coming loiteringly in Summer over the narrow foot-path where the wild
-columbine grew by the creek, but in Winter walking hurriedly over the
-frozen turnpike, swinging their arms, blowing their fingers, and
-sometimes doing battle bravely with the snow.
-
-Here Franz Erckman lived in the plainest manner, with only his piano and
-his cottage-organ for companions. Wife and children he had none, nor any
-relative, nor any domestic pet. There was never a dog, or cat, or even
-so much as a chicken, to be seen about the premises. One servant he
-kept, to be sure, but she, a cross old woman, never opened her mouth for
-the purpose of speech more than a dozen times in a year, and then it was
-only upon some unusual provocation, as when the scholars broke a
-pitcher, or muddied her floor, when she would give utterance to some
-incoherent but disagreeable ejaculation.
-
-Franz Erckman had lived in this way for nearly twenty years, and was
-just as bluff in manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as when he
-had first come there, an unknown young foreigner, without friends, or
-acquaintances, or money, and commenced in a modest way giving
-music-lessons to a few pupils at first, to many after a time.
-
-When the new church was built, and a new organ with great gilded pipes
-put in, his services were engaged, as well they might, for no other
-person in the whole village could have made any thing whatever out of
-all those stops, and pedals, and keys.
-
-Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a town, with a very respectable
-hotel, many tourists came down in the summer season from the city to
-rusticate for a week or two, and they always heard the organist with
-astonishment. Inquiries about him were so often repeated by these
-cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had finally grown to feel proud of
-its musician, and it became as natural to them to show off Franz Erckman
-as it did to call attention to the beautiful scenery. It would have been
-hard to have overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape could
-rarely have been found.
-
-However, all this praise and adulation had apparently made little effect
-upon the village music-master, who had been again and again invited to
-come up for one season to the city by these friendly tourists. They held
-out to him the allurements of the orchestras and operas, and told
-wonderful tales of the superb voices of the great _prime donne_. It was
-all in vain. He always thanked them for their proffered hospitality, but
-never accepted it, and lived along, seemingly content enough to teach
-the village children, and play the church-organ. Only his one servant
-knew how at night, and sometimes all night through, he tried
-ineffectually to satisfy his great craving for music, and how, not until
-the pale light of morning was visible in the east, would he shut his
-cottage-organ. And when he turned from it there was always a strange
-expression of despair upon his features.
-
-The people of the town said he was penurious, for he invariably exacted
-the tuition of each scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time it
-was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the pupil without a word, and
-there were no more lessons given until the quarter had been paid.
-However, they grew to know him so well that every body fell into the
-habit, in his case at least, of being punctual.
-
-So, working steadily year after year, as he had done, with almost no
-expenses of living, Pickaway thought he must have laid by quite a
-fortune, and when the Widow Massey, poverty-stricken though she was,
-made up her mind to send her little daughter—her only child—the poor,
-weak, crippled little Alice, who went every Sunday to the church, and
-listened with such deep delight to the strains of the great organ—when
-the Widow Massey made up her mind to send her daughter to the
-music-master, and give her this one pleasure, that it might brighten
-somewhat the life so early blighted, all the people thought he would
-surely take the child for nothing. But he did not—he took the money, the
-full amount; and, if the people made sarcastic remarks about his
-penuriousness, _they_ never offered to pay for the little girl. And the
-mother never thought of asking a favor from any one. Though she earned
-by hard labor scarcely enough to keep them, still for the last year she
-had had this thought at heart, and quietly saved a little at a time,
-until finally the long-coveted sum was in her possession; and gladly she
-went and gave it to the music-master, who put it down at the bottom of
-his vest-pocket, and told her to send the little girl twice a week. And
-twice a week the little girl went.
-
-That was in the Summer. She was pale, and thin, and delicate, and the
-scholars all wondered how she would get there through the snow in the
-Winter. But before the bleak winds had blown one rude blast, the little
-Alice had a worse trouble. The Widow Massey suddenly fell ill and died,
-commending her beloved child to the care only of the great Guardian
-above.
-
-It was a terrible stroke, and the people all wondered what would become
-of the helpless daughter, who was too feeble to do any kind of work for
-a means of subsistence, and every person thought it strange that
-somebody else did not come to her relief.
-
-It was very sad. The poor little creature seemed fairly racked with
-grief, and had sat by the side of her dead mother day and night. On the
-afternoon of the funeral they tried in vain to take her away, until
-Franz Erckman came, and the people in surprise saw him lift her up in
-his arms without a struggle, and quietly carry her out of the house.
-They saw him, still with her arms clasped tight about his neck, crossing
-the green pastures, strike the narrow foot-path by the creek, and
-disappear as the path turned behind the heavy foliage that was brilliant
-in the scarlet dyes of October.
-
-It was not one of the days upon which he gave lessons. There was only
-the ripple of water over the stones and the rustle of leaves that
-occasionally blew down from the trees, to break the profound quiet of
-the place as he passed through his gate. Not one word had been spoken,
-and still in perfect silence he carried the frail little being, that he
-could feel trembling from head to foot—he carried her across the broad
-veranda and into the pleasant parlor—not the room that the scholars
-used, but where his cottage-organ stood. Then he drew the sofa up beside
-the instrument and laid her down upon it.
-
-Her fingers unclasped with a convulsive movement, and Franz turned his
-face away, for the child had not uttered a sound. Her eyes, dry and
-unnaturally bright, wore a startled look, a mute, beseeching expression,
-like the eyes of a wounded animal, and the pallor of her countenance,
-that had a wild grief branded upon it, was almost as ghastly in hue as
-death. It was suffering terrible to behold, and the hands of the strong
-man trembled as he opened the mahogany case of his organ.
-
-There was a moment’s silence; then music, soft and sorrowful, floated
-out on the air gently, almost timidly; so very mournful, that the
-strain, beautiful though it was, seemed to have in it a human cry of
-pain. It was a language that could appeal to the heart when word or lip
-failed.
-
-The child’s whole frame shook beneath the heavy sobs that swelled up in
-her throat, and the great grief had opened its flood-gates. Hour after
-hour he played untiringly, while the violence of the storm spent itself.
-The music, at first sorrowful, hurt, had cried out in its pain; then it
-grew into a measure so yearning, it seemed the very genius of sympathy.
-Making an intense appeal, it swelled into a great passion, which
-gradually became exhausted by its own intense vehemence, until about the
-going down of the sun it died. And the child slept.
-
-The wild storm of anguish was over. Upon the face, the thin, pale face
-of the little girl in her slumber, there shone an expression of such
-absolute rest that Franz, with a sudden movement, bent down his head and
-listened. Had she passed with the music to the land where there are
-strains that swell into a _gloria_ never ending? He held his breath. Was
-this the reflection of that peace eternal, that rest which endureth
-forever? A sob quivered for a moment on her features, and escaped from
-the lips of the sleeper. No, no, for sorrow showed its painful presence.
-She was not dead, and, at the sigh, sad though it was to see, the man
-arose with a smothered exclamation of relief.
-
-The quiet day was drawing to its close. Within the room the shadows were
-already thickening; without, long lines of mist festooned the hills in
-plumes of royal purple, and the red haze of Indian-summer had gathered
-into broad streamers that unfurled their splendor across the tranquil
-sky. The floating twilight hung over the wide and level pastures. Down
-by the creek the scarlet sage still showed its coral fringe, and
-sometimes the woodbine, close by the house, waved its painted leaves.
-Far off in the filmy vale the group of maples that had stood crowned
-with a golden glory now shrouded themselves in black; and beyond, like a
-long stretch of desolate shore, the great gloom lifted up its chilly
-banks.
-
-Many times from the window in his parlor Franz Erckman had watched the
-divine pageant of night ascend the valley in all the pomp and grandeur
-of its magnificence, in all the solemn majesty of its silence, in all
-the ineffable depths of its sadness. Many times in his loneliness he had
-seen it pass, when a vision of the fair Rhineland would come back to his
-heart. Many times through its profound solitude he had looked out with
-yearning eyes, with listening ears, striving to comprehend its sublime
-mystery. Many times he had turned to it with a soul oppressed by despair
-reaching toward the Infinite. For, though the people did not know it,
-beneath the rough exterior of this reserved German dwelt a love of the
-beautiful—a love so passionate sometimes, it seemed crushing his very
-spirit that he could not give it utterance in his music. Then it was
-that often he would rise from his organ in bitter disappointment, and go
-out with his trouble to seek consolation from the night—the night
-forever wan with her own unspoken sorrow.
-
-But he stood watching the face of the sleeper, paying no heed to the
-gathering shade. He stooped and arranged the cushions about the fragile
-form with the gentle touch of a woman, while upon his features there
-rested an expression more beautiful than they could ever borrow from the
-softened light of the evening.
-
-“She would have died,” he said to himself. “But for the music, I believe
-she would have died! The chords of the organ spoke to her when all
-earthly words failed. She, at least, can understand the language I have
-been striving to learn.”
-
-Frail little creature! She appeared, indeed, like a spirit of some other
-world. Her every nerve had vibrated in sympathy, and Franz could hardly
-help thinking, as he looked at her, that, soundless to human ears, there
-played about her ceaseless strains of melody. Music seemed to be the
-vitality that gave her life, the only nourishment that fed her soul.
-
-When she first came to him for instruction, he quickly discovered that
-she possessed not the least power of execution, and then had taken no
-special notice of her further. Wrapped up in his art, teaching the
-children had never been a pleasure to him. He compelled himself to
-endure it as a means of subsistence.
-
-The great object for which he worked was once to secure means enough to
-keep penury always from his door, and then give himself up unreservedly
-to this art which he loved better than his life. So he took no
-particular interest in any of his scholars, and it was only when he saw
-how eagerly the little Alice drank in every sound, that gradually he
-began to observe the child more narrowly. As he had at first seen, she
-possessed no power of execution whatever. She could not even learn to
-read the notes, and she would probably never be able to play a single
-bar correctly. But he had noticed how keenly alive she was to harmony,
-how peculiarly sensitive to discord. It seemed as though her lessons
-were a constant pain. Yet she came eagerly, and often lingered when they
-were finished.
-
-He had found her once, late in the day, when he had been playing
-dreamily to himself, sitting on the veranda near the window of his
-parlor, listening with a rapt attention, wholly unconscious of any thing
-but his music. Since that, when she came to take her lesson, he had
-always played for her, carelessly at first, but after a time with
-greater interest, until gradually he had given up altogether any effort
-to instruct her, and in its place each day played for her the oratorios
-and symphonies of the great composers. Then he had changed from the
-piano to his organ, and he had grown to wait nearly as anxiously for the
-hour to come round as the little girl herself.
-
-By degrees the visits of the child became to him almost indispensable.
-He seemed to feel always a strange inspiration come upon him in her
-presence. Why, he did not know; but it was then that sometimes the wild
-tumult, the infinite longings of his soul struggled into expression.
-But, when the child went, he would find himself again dejected, and
-wholly unable even to recall the strains which seemed to have died at
-the very moment of their birth.
-
-Franz stood, still watching her motionless form. The sobs, quivering
-through her sleep, had one by one exhausted themselves, and left her
-face strangely peaceful to look upon.
-
-“She is mine,” he muttered. “I will never part with her. She is my
-spirit of sound!”
-
-Suddenly he heard the grating noise of footsteps on the graveled walk.
-Turning quickly, he drew the curtain over the window to shield the
-sleeper from the damp night-air. Then he went softly out and closed the
-door after him, wrapped once more in his severe reserve, and with the
-old stern expression upon his features. His brows knit themselves into a
-frown, and his lips curled for a moment with a smile of contempt when he
-recognized the figure coming into the hall.
-
-“Ha! Erckman, good-evening,” said the man, in a loud and boisterous
-tone, which seemed to dissipate all the serenity of the night in its
-pompous swell.
-
-“Good-evening.”
-
-If it had been the first time they had ever met, Franz could not have
-spoken with colder formality as he showed his guest into the piano-room.
-
-Mr. Cory claimed to be the richest man in Pickaway, and very likely it
-was true. He owned hundreds of green and fertile acres, with cattle
-sleek and fat. He was ruling elder in the church, and his wife bought
-all her bonnets and flounces in the city, and they had built the finest
-house in the whole of Paint Valley. Indeed, nothing was done without his
-presence, and every one, from the minister to the sexton, received his
-advice, which he distributed far more liberally than he did his money.
-So it was that Franz had mentally guessed the object of his visit the
-instant he recognized him in the hall.
-
-“Fine weather, this.”
-
-The organist made no more audible reply to the remark than a
-half-uttered grunt, as he struck a match down the corner of the
-mantelpiece, and lighted the lamp. Mr. Cory sat uneasily on the hard,
-hair-cloth chair, dimly conscious of some obstruction in the usually
-smooth channel of his discourse.
-
-“Sad affair of the Widow Massey.”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-He looked about the room for a moment, as though expecting to discover
-the presence of some third person, then repeated,—
-
-“Sad affair! sad affair! We are all liable to sudden death, and she
-ought to have been saving up, in case of such an event. She left nothing
-to provide for the child at all. Nothing at all. The furniture will
-barely bring enough to pay for her funeral expenses.”
-
-Franz had sat down mechanically on the music-stool, and rested one hand
-on the keyboard of the piano. Just as the conversation had reached this
-point, he suddenly took his hand away, with a nervous movement that
-sounded three or four discordant bass-notes of the instrument as he did
-so, and Mr. Cory for the second time found himself laboring under an
-ill-defined sense of discomfort, something wholly unusual. But, seeing
-his host showed no symptoms of breaking the silence, after a slight
-cough, he went on,—
-
-“We have been talking this afternoon as to what is going to be done with
-the child. You’ve got her here, haven’t you?”
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“Well, one can’t do a great deal in this way, but you know it is such a
-sad case, and the child can’t do any work about a house, and my wife is
-so interested in her she thinks she’ll take the little girl—What did you
-say?”
-
-“Nothing.”
-
-“I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke. My wife is so interested in her
-she thinks she’ll take the little girl and send her for a year to the
-industrial school in the city, where she can learn to do fine sewing and
-embroidery. That will give her a chance to earn her living, and we can
-take up a collection in church to defray the expense.”
-
-“‘Fine sewing and embroidery’—_fine suffering and death_!” said Franz,
-suddenly letting loose his pent-up wrath. “Mr. Cory, would you kill the
-child? She is frailer than a flower, a sickly little thing, and
-crippled. One month’s stooping over a needle would put her in the grave.
-I thought for a moment, but an hour ago, that she was dead.” As he spoke
-the last word he left his seat, and, taking up the lamp, said,—“Come
-with me, and step lightly.”
-
-Utterly taken aback at the sudden outburst of the music-master, Mr. Cory
-followed him across the hall, saw him open the door of the opposite
-room, and motion him to enter. Then he said, in a quiet voice, while he
-shaded the lamp carefully with his hand, so that its rays did not fall
-directly upon the face of the child,—
-
-“Look at her.”
-
-The man stepped forward, but almost immediately drew back, with a
-shiver, from the sleeper, whose repose so strangely resembled death. She
-lay upon the sofa, with her hands folded across her breast, as when she
-had at first fallen into slumber.
-
-Franz stood intently regarding her, when suddenly his guest, coming up
-close to him, said, with his rough voice dropped into a frightened
-whisper, and his eyes looking quickly about the room,—
-
-“Where does it come from?”
-
-“What?” asked Franz, startled by his singular manner.
-
-“Do you hear it?”
-
-“Hear what?”
-
-“The music.”
-
-“Music!” exclaimed Franz, dropping his voice also to a whisper, and
-involuntarily suspending his breath for a moment—“no, I hear no music.”
-
-“It did not seem like the piano or organ. It must have been the wind in
-the trees outside, but it sounded just like a strain of music. We had
-better go, or we may waken her,” said Mr. Cory, as he turned to the
-door, and drew one hand across his forehead, where the perspiration had
-collected in drops, although the evening was cold and the air chilly.
-
-Franz followed him out, springing the latch gently with his hand as it
-caught, and they both went back to the piano-room. Here Mr. Cory seemed
-to recover somewhat of his usual composure.
-
-“Well, Erckman, she does look thin and delicate-like, but sewing won’t
-hurt her, not a bit. She’ll be better when she’s got something to do.
-She can’t exist on air, and she can’t live in idleness. She has got
-nothing, and it’s the only way I know of she can make her living. She
-must do work of some kind for support.”
-
-Before Franz’s eyes there floated visions of broad and fertile acres, of
-fine cattle, of fine clothes, of fine houses, but “she must do work of
-some kind for support,” so he said nothing, while the church-elder
-continued,—
-
-“There is James Maxwell going to the city to-morrow, and my wife said we
-had better send her to the school by him.”
-
-“Send her—, Mr. Cory,” said the organist, with a suppressed fierceness
-in his voice, “You saw how frail she is, how she looks as if, even now,
-the shadow of death might be upon her. You know how, from her birth, she
-has been crippled. I tell you one month in that school among strangers
-would kill her. Are there not strong arms enough in the world, is there
-not wealth enough already, that this unfortunate one, this perpetually
-enfeebled child, must wear out her brief span of life in a painful
-struggle to gain a little food?”
-
-“We are not, sir, expected to keep the ‘unfortunate one,’ as you call
-her,” blustered Mr. Cory, fairly purple with indignant astonishment.
-“What do you mean, sir? We are not under obligations to do any thing
-whatever for the girl. She should be thankful we interested ourselves in
-her behalf,” he said, partially choking with rage. “We will do this for
-her, but that is all. She is nothing to us.”
-
-“I had no intention of dictating,” said the organist, politely, who had
-quieted down as quickly as he had roused up. “You are right, sir, she is
-nothing to you, and you need not trouble yourself about the matter
-further. I will see that the child is provided for.”
-
-Then Mr. Cory looked at Franz as if he thought he had not heard aright,
-or that the music-master might be departing from his senses.
-
-“I repeat, I will see that the child is provided for, and you need not
-trouble yourself in regard to her further.”
-
-“Very well, sir, very well!” exclaimed the elder, rising, almost
-speechless with surprise. But when he reached the piazza he said,—“Then
-it is understood that I am not responsible in the case?”
-
-“It is understood.”
-
-Franz had had no intention of parting with the child. He would not have
-given her up had Mr. Cory offered all his grassy meadows. He watched him
-as he walked down the graveled path and disappeared in the darkness.
-“Charity!” he muttered. “Shut him out, O Night—hide him from view! Wrap
-your impenetrable mantle about him, that it may shield him from the eye
-of God and man!”
-
-The German stood for a moment looking out into the limitless gloom,
-which screened alike the evil and the good, then he turned again into
-the house.
-
-He went back, through the dining-room where his supper was spread
-untouched upon the table, to the kitchen, where Margery sat warming
-herself by the dying embers in the stove. The old servant was used to
-his irregular ways, and often saw his meals go untasted without a
-remark. But it was rarely the master ever intruded upon her premises,
-and she rose up as he came in, with an expression of surprise upon her
-quiet face.
-
-“Margery,” he said, “fix up the bedroom next to yours, then come down to
-me in the parlor.”
-
-The old woman heard him without a question, though never before could
-she remember when the guest-chamber had been used, or a visitor staid
-overnight at the house.
-
-When she had obeyed his instructions she presented herself at the
-parlor-door. There was no lamp in the room, only a narrow strip of light
-fell upon the floor from across the hall, but it did not penetrate the
-heavy shadow, and Margery, with a half-uttered apology upon her lips,
-drew back. At the sound of the woman’s steps, Franz came out of the
-gloom.
-
-“I beg your pardon, sir.”
-
-“What is the matter?”
-
-“I did not know you was playin’, or I would have waited,” said the
-servant, respectfully, who had learned long ago never under any
-circumstances to interrupt her master at his practice.
-
-“I was not playing.”
-
-“Warn’t it you, sir? It was so dark I could not see.”
-
-“Me? no; nor any body else. No one was playing.”
-
-“Why, I thought I heard—but it must have been the wind,” said Margery,
-glancing across her shoulder to the vacant piano-stool. “I thought I
-heard music just as I opened the door.—The room is ready, sir.” Franz
-bent over the sofa and raised the sleeping form in his arms. Turning to
-Margery, he said,—
-
-“She is light. Here, carry her up and put her to bed. Don’t waken her if
-you can help it, and go to her once or twice in the night to see that
-she sleeps, for she is not well.”
-
-Then he added, as an abrupt explanation,—
-
-“She will occupy that room always. This is to be her home, and I want
-you to see that she has every thing necessary.”
-
-“Yes, sir.”
-
-If the old servant was surprised at the announcement, she made no
-remark. She took her up, arranged every thing for the night, and the
-child never awakened.
-
-It was not an unpleasant expression that spread itself upon the face of
-the woman as she stooped over the bed, and laid with a careful hand
-every fold about the sleeper. With noiseless feet she came again and
-again to look once more at the unconscious form that seemed to possess
-for her a singular attraction. Taking up the lamp, she turned to go into
-her own (the adjoining) room, but, with an abrupt start, she checked
-herself midway in the action, held the light suspended, and stood with
-every muscle arrested, as if some unexpected sound had fallen suddenly
-on her ears. Then she bent her head for a moment over the sleeper,
-glanced quickly about the room, and hurriedly crossed to the hall.
-
-She ran down the flight of stairs, looked first into the piano-room,
-then into the parlor opposite. Both places were deserted, and the
-instruments closed. The front door was bolted, and the master had
-evidently retired. She went back to the guest-chamber. The child still
-slept, and Margery held every nerve in suspense, but there was not the
-least sound. She stepped to the window, pushed up the sash, then leaned
-out and listened. The night was perfectly calm. What gentle breeze there
-had been two hours before had died away and left a profound silence
-unbroken even by the chirp of an insect. She closed the shutter, went
-back to the bedside again for an instant; then, saying quietly to
-herself, “It must have been mere fancy,” passed out to her own room, and
-left the door partially open between the two apartments.
-
-
-                                  II.
-
-So the little Alice had found a home. All the people in Pickaway
-expressed their utter surprise at this unexpected generosity of the
-penurious music-master. He certainly was about the last person in the
-town from whom such an act might have been anticipated. Indeed, it was
-little short of an enigma to the place. But their astonishment knew no
-bounds when, within a few days after he had taken the little girl, he
-quietly dismissed all his pupils, and steadily refused to give any more
-lessons to a single soul. Nothing could prevail upon him, no entreaties
-whatever could persuade him, and he could never be induced to offer the
-least explanation.
-
-Some of the wealthier ones, unwilling to give him up, had voluntarily
-proposed to pay double the former price, but even money, which all the
-village had thought the god of his life, failed to move him from his
-determination. He was inexorable. Every body wondered what might be the
-reason. No person could discover any apparent cause why he should so
-suddenly give up teaching. They inquired about his health. It was very
-good, he said. Did he expect to leave home? No. He would continue to
-play the church-organ? Yes, oh, yes; he had no intention of stopping
-that. So they conjectured until tired of the task, while Franz Erckman
-paid no attention.
-
-However, as the days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, all the
-village saw that a change had come over the organist. He was less
-communicative than formerly, and more severely reserved.
-
-From the borders of the creek the fringe of scarlet flowers had
-vanished. The myriad leaves had lost their rainbowed glory, and dropped,
-one after another, in russet tatters to the ground. The woodbine had
-thrown off its vermilion raiment, and now stretched up unclothed its
-weird and snake-like arms. The group of maples had laid down its golden
-crown; the hills, too, had cast aside their tiara of brilliant emerald.
-The Summer and Fall, in all their emblazoned splendor, had passed by,
-and the gorgeous livery of Autumn faded to the grizzled hues of Winter.
-
-Up the tawny valley a bleak December wind swept, making a cheerless
-rattle among the naked trees, and the creek slumbered quietly beneath
-its covering of ice; but this time no children came over the frozen
-turnpike to the house at the foot of the hill. More secluded than ever
-it seemed. Before the bitter winds had risen, in the pleasant November
-days, Franz had often rambled through the woods, carrying the little
-Alice, when she felt tired, in his arms. But, as the air grew chill,
-they staid almost wholly within the house. After that Franz rarely left
-it except when his duties as organist called him to the church, and then
-he invariably took the little girl with him, wrapped carefully in a
-heavy cloak.
-
-The people noticed that he was never seen any where without the child.
-If the weather proved bad on the Sabbath, or on the days when he went
-sometimes during the week to play, he still carried her with him, but an
-additional fur mantle was thrown around her for protection. She had
-never grown stronger; but, since that first night, when the organist had
-broken down the great barrier of grief that was closing up like a strong
-wall about her heart, they were seldom separated in her waking hours.
-
-During all this time Franz had changed so strangely that the village
-gossips said one would hardly have known him for the same person. To be
-sure, he had always been silent and reserved, but now he had become
-absolutely inapproachable. His manner, which was naturally abrupt, was
-often now wild and feverish. His face, too, had grown thin, his cheeks
-hollow, his whole figure gaunt. His eyes, brilliant but sunken, had
-assumed a singular expression of unrest, a perpetually searching look,
-as if forever striving to see the invisible, and it began finally to be
-whispered about among the people that the church-organist was not quite
-right in his head. They noticed, besides, that he would never allow the
-child to be enticed out of his sight. The ladies often tried to pet her,
-but she shrank invariably from every one except Franz, to whom she clung
-as if he were the one prop that sustained her life.
-
-So the time had worn away at the musician’s home. Margery, respectful as
-ever in her manner, assiduously waited upon the little girl, who
-received all her attentions gratefully, and never voluntarily made a
-single demand. But there had passed a change over the old servant also.
-From her usually quiet ways she had become restless, as if there might
-be something upon her mind that rendered her constantly uneasy, or from
-which she was ineffectually trying to free herself. If she were sour or
-cross in disposition, as all the scholars used to tell, she had never
-shown it to the little orphan. She watched the child with a strange
-devotion. She would follow her about the house at a distance, and, if
-the little girl for a time sat down upon the veranda, Margery, too,
-farther off, would sit there with her sewing, or embrace that
-opportunity to trim the woodbine, and once or twice she had even found
-an excuse to intrude herself for a moment in the parlor.
-
-Every evening, when she put the little girl to bed, Margery, with a
-strange, expectant look upon her face, would linger about the room long
-after her charge had fallen into a peaceful sleep. Then, when she had
-retired, often in the very middle of the night, she would suddenly waken
-from a sound slumber, spring out of bed, and, before she was thoroughly
-conscious, discover herself standing beside the child, with her head
-bent down in a listening position, and every nerve strained to catch the
-slightest sound. Immediately she would rundown stairs into the
-music-rooms, only to find them both deserted and the instruments closed.
-With a white countenance she would return, pause once more in the
-child’s room, and then lie down again, saying to herself, for the
-hundredth time,—
-
-“It must be mere fancy. I have been dreaming.”
-
-There was no element of superstition in Margery, but this incident would
-recur over and over, night after night, until she began to ask herself
-if, before she had reached sixty years, she was already losing her mind,
-and this the first fancy of a disordered imagination. It was strange,
-she told herself, that she should dream the same thing so often, and
-every time it should be so vivid, for she heard a strain of music as
-distinctly as she ever heard a sound in her life, though it was not like
-the piano, organ, or, indeed, any instrument. And, though vivid, it was
-so evanescent it made her doubt the veracity of her senses. Then, too,
-it never came from down stairs, or out-of-doors, but always seemed
-apparently to emanate from the bedside of the little child, though, as
-soon as she had stooped to listen, it was gone, and the reign of silence
-again left supreme. Once or twice, even during the day, when standing
-beside the little Alice, Margery had heard, or thought she heard, a
-sudden waft of this soft melody sweep by her, but so fleeting that it
-was gone before she could catch her breath to listen, or be sure it was
-not simply all her own imagination.
-
-So, with this constantly upon her mind, Margery had grown restless, and
-found herself continually watching the little girl. She was not
-insensible either of the great change that had, by some means or other,
-been wrought in her master since the child had come into the house. She,
-as well as the people, had noticed that he would never, if possible,
-allow her out of his sight. He never played a night now by himself as he
-had been used to doing for years. After the child went to bed the
-instruments were always closed, for he never put his hand upon the
-keyboard unless she were present. And, even when he had her beside him,
-he did not seem happy.
-
-The people at church said, as he had changed, his music, too, had
-changed; but, as he had grown more wild and feverish in manner, his
-music had grown more softened and beautiful in style. And once, after he
-had played a dreamy harmony that held them all entranced, he had come
-down from the organ-gallery with a fierce fire burning in his eyes, and
-hands that trembled violently, though they were clasped tight over the
-little girl in his arms. When they had complimented him he looked
-bewildered, and spoke in a confused way, as though he could not remember
-what he had been playing. Now, more convinced than ever were the people
-that something was evidently wrong with the music-master, and,
-notwithstanding he had lost nothing in his art, many shook their heads,
-and whispered that poor Erckman was, beyond a doubt, going crazy.
-
-December had worn almost into Christmas. In every house of the village
-there were preparations for the approaching holiday. The church, too,
-was undergoing some mysterious process at the hands of the young people,
-who went in and out at all hours by the back way, and steadily refused
-admittance to any one. They had even closed the doors against the
-organist when he went there one morning to play, but he was easily
-persuaded to withdraw, as he cared far more for solitude than society.
-
-Franz sat moodily by the fire in his parlor, with the little girl upon a
-cushion at his feet. They were both naturally silent, and would often
-sit quietly together for hours. But now, though the musician gazed
-absently into the grate, and seemed to take no heed of the child, she
-looked up once or twice into his face, then said, in a timid voice,—
-
-“Father, to-morrow is Christmas.”
-
-Franz had long ago taught her to call him father, and he merely answered
-mechanically, without taking his eyes from the illuminated coals,—
-
-“Yes.”
-
-“How dark the night is out, and how shrill and bleak the wind blows!”
-She had risen from her seat and gone to the window. “But to-morrow is
-Christmas-day, and I know it will be bright then; oh, I am sure it will
-be bright!”
-
-She stood a moment longer by the casement without speaking, then came
-back and sat down again, looking almost as ethereal as some spirit, that
-might vanish any moment forever into the glow of the red firelight.
-
-“You will play something very beautiful to-morrow, will you not, father?
-You will make the voluntary better than all the service besides? Oh, for
-such a celebration, it ought to be the most magnificent music in the
-world, for, think, father, it will be Christmas, the grandest day in all
-the year! It seems to me I can hardly wait to hear you, I have been
-looking forward to it so long. But, father, you have not practised any
-for it, have you?” said the child, looking up suddenly with quick dismay
-upon her features.
-
-Franz, still without glancing at the little girl, or taking his eyes
-from the fire, said,—
-
-“No,” but he clasped his hands nervously together.
-
-“Oh, father, you did not forget about it, did you?” she asked eagerly.
-“I have so often and often thought of it, though I did not say any
-thing, but it is strange I never once thought about the practising. Oh,
-you could not have forgotten it, father?”
-
-She was so intensely earnest, it seemed as if her whole soul was in the
-question, trembling while it awaited the reply.
-
-“No, I have not forgotten it,” said Franz, “It has hardly been out of my
-mind one moment for many weeks; but I have nothing to play.”
-
-At first, her face had been perfectly radiant; but, when he added the
-last clause, she got up, put her arms about his neck, and said, with a
-kind of terror in her voice,—
-
-“Oh, no, no! You will play, father—tell me you will play!”
-
-Franz moved uneasily in his seat.
-
-“And it will be something grand, father. Oh, you will please everybody—I
-am not afraid of that. Quick, tell me you will play. Father, if you did
-not—I can not bear to think of it—oh, you will—say you will!”
-
-Her entreaty had fairly grown into wild desperation. Every fiber of her
-frame quivered as she clung to him. Alarmed at her singular agitation,
-he took her up on his knee, and said, hurriedly,—
-
-“Yes, yes; I will play. Do not be troubled about it; I will play.”
-
-“Oh, I am so glad! I knew you would, and it will be grand, I am sure,
-for to-morrow is Christmas!”
-
-Her face was radiant with pleasure; but so extreme had been her
-excitement that nearly an hour later, when Margery came to take her
-upstairs, she still trembled.
-
-Franz, left alone, paced the floor of his room up and down, sometimes
-stopping to look moodily into the fire. He had had this thing long upon
-his mind. Feeling the divine power of genius within him, he was not
-willing to play over again what generations had played over a hundred
-times before him. Yet he tried unavailingly to improvise. Once or twice,
-when playing, with the little Alice beside him, he had suddenly
-entranced even himself; but as soon as he undertook to reproduce the
-notes, either upon paper or upon the organ, he discovered them gone from
-his memory, and himself utterly powerless. It had only been latterly
-that he felt hampered in this way; yet he was conscious,
-notwithstanding, that his music at the same time had undergone a vast
-improvement. But he struggled against this one fault vainly. He had been
-determined to work out a new composition for this great occasion; and
-now, upon the very verge of Christmas-day, after all his unceasing
-anxiety, he found himself without a single idea—wholly unprepared. In
-his disappointment, he had almost been ready to absent himself
-altogether from the church; but the sudden appeal of the little girl had
-compelled him to give up this cowardly refuge, of which in a better mood
-he would have been ashamed.
-
-The child had not prophesied incorrectly. Under cover of night, the
-clouds marshaled themselves into gray battalions, which fled
-precipitately before the lances of the morning, that in resplendent
-array, column upon column, mounted the eastern sky; and Christmas—this
-day forever sacred to the world in its grand memories—dawned with the
-blaze of victorious colors.
-
-Bathed in sunlight, the crystal valley wreathed itself with brilliant
-jewels; the sparkling trees held up their embossed arches of frosted
-silver; and from the glittering hill-sides cold flakes of fire burned in
-diamond hues almost blinding to the eye—for a slight fall of snow during
-the night had spread itself over the land, and covered it as with a
-mantle of transfiguration.
-
-The bell in the tower had long been ringing out its invitation to
-worship, before Franz, carrying the little Alice on his arm, left the
-house. A singular eagerness rested on the face of the child, whose
-usually pale cheeks were now colored with a crimson flush that deepened
-almost to scarlet in the center. She held quietly to Franz, sometimes
-looking at him for a moment, then turning her eyes again toward the
-village.
-
-Though she said no word, it seemed as if she could hardly wait until
-they reached the church, but that her impatient spirit would break its
-bounds and fly. But Franz walked with a slow, unwilling step. A fierce
-despair appeared to be consuming him. His disappointment was made keener
-when he saw the wild expectation with which the little Alice looked
-forward to his music, and her confident belief that it would be far
-grander than any thing he had ever done before.
-
-The villagers, by groups, in twos, in threes, with happy faces, coming
-from far and near, poured into the church. Paying no heed to any one as
-he passed, Franz entered by the side door, and went immediately up into
-the organ-gallery. With glad eyes, the little Alice saw the church in
-its festival decorations. Beautiful wreaths of cedar coiled themselves
-around the great pillars, and crept in waving lines over altar, arch,
-and casement, their unfading green sometimes flecked with amber,
-sometimes dyed in violet light, as the rays of the sun caught the tints
-from the windows of stained glass. Resting against the center of the
-chancel rail, a magnificent cross of hot house flowers loaded the air
-with the perfumes of summer—an incense more pure and holy than the
-incense of myrrh; and on either side sprays of English ivy, in long and
-twining branches, displayed their wax-like leaves.
-
-The last vibrations of the bell died away. The congregation chanted its
-anthem; the minister read the Christmas service; and the first strains
-of the organ-voluntary, after the close of the litany, sounded through
-the church. The little Alice, with a throbbing pulse, crept close to
-Franz as he played; but it was only the familiar music, that the world
-already knew by heart, and had heard a thousand times before. Poor
-Franz, warring against himself, had been driven back to the composition
-of others, though he knew he possessed within him a power that should
-have created, that should have raised him above all written measure. But
-now even his execution was a dead, mechanical labor.
-
-A swift expression of keen disappointment fell upon the child’s face.
-She looked up at him, with a gesture, slight but strangely appealing,
-and with eyes filled by a sorrowful reproach—such a look as one might
-wear in the last moment, whose most cherished friend had suddenly turned
-and dealt him a death-blow.
-
-But Franz played on mechanically, with the pang of despair at his heart.
-Suddenly, half-way in a bar, in the very midst of a single note almost,
-a sensation of fear came upon him—an overwhelming awe that seemed to
-lock his muscles and turn his hands into stone. The organ ceased
-abruptly; he sat motionless as a statue; and a death-like silence
-reigned throughout the church. Had the same unaccountable awe fallen
-upon the congregation, too? The whole universe waited.
-
-Out of the profound silence a sound was born, a sound more beautiful
-than the music of a dream. Soft as a whisper, clear and distinct, it
-grew, wave upon wave, into a grand volume of harmony, that was not loud,
-though it seemed as if it reached beyond the church-walls and floated on
-through endless space. Was it, then, music from that land where the
-crystal air breathes a perpetual melody? The people by one impulse
-sprang to their feet, and turned with awe-stricken faces toward the
-gallery. Grander, more majestic, it swelled into a glad chorus, whose
-_gloria_, inspired with praise, rose up into heaven. It was an adoration
-of sublime joy that seemed too intense to be ascribed to mortal spirit;
-and the people fell upon their knees while they listened. Over plains,
-over hills, in the sky, it seemed to reverberate and answer back,
-sweeter than the sound of silver, vaster than the roll of ocean—the
-hallelujah of myriad voices, the song as of an innumerable multitude,—
-
-“Glory be to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward
-men—”
-
-Again and again the refrain gathered into a measure more triumphant than
-the strains of a victorious army. Then, ascending higher and higher, it
-fainted through infinite distance, and was gone as if it had passed
-beyond the very portals of eternity.
-
-The spellbound audience hardly moved for a moment, even after the music
-had died; but when the first stir broke the silence they collected about
-the organist with eager questions. Franz, still sitting at his
-instrument, had never turned. Anxious to testify their wild admiration,
-they were ready almost to bow down before him; but they were obliged to
-speak several times before he gave the slightest heed. Then he looked up
-abruptly and said with a strange impatience,—
-
-“Did not you see?”
-
-There was a confused expression in his eyes, as if they might have been
-blinded by a great light, and their vision not yet wholly recovered. The
-people looked at him, then at each other in bewilderment, but, as if he
-had suddenly comprehended their meaning, he went on quickly,—
-
-“It was not I. I did not play a note. It was the music of another world,
-the music of the first Christmas. Did not you see the host of angels in
-the sky, and the shepherds that watched their flocks by night upon the
-plains of Judea? It was the _gloria_ sung at the nativity of Christ by
-the angels centuries ago, beside the village of Bethlehem!”
-
-Then the people, regarding him with doubtful faces, drew back, and he
-said, with fierce excitement,—
-
-“If you do not believe, ask the little Alice there. She will tell you.”
-
-The little girl sat close to his bench, but when they turned to her she
-made no reply. They raised her up. Their question never received an
-answer, and Franz with a wild cry fell upon his knees by her side. The
-child was dead.
-
-For many years afterward the musician lived on in the old place at the
-foot of the hill, but he never again could be prevailed upon to strike a
-note of any instrument or listen to a strain of any music. More rarely
-than ever did he speak to a soul, and then it was only at the Christmas
-time, to tell again of the little Alice, his spirit of sound, to tell of
-that wonderful _gloria_ of immortal praise sung by a multitude of the
-heavenly hosts, whose splendor, almost blinding to his eyes, had lighted
-up earth and sky over the far-off plains of Palestine, where the
-shepherds, centuries ago, were watching their flocks by night.
-
-Strangers heard his tale with a scarcely concealed smile, and shook
-their heads sorrowfully as the old man, feeble and palsied, with a
-singular brilliance in his sunken eyes, turned away. But all the
-villagers spoke of him with respect, almost with awe, and the children
-learned to hush their mirth in reverence as he passed by. Margery, with
-a face quieter than ever, said little, but served her master with an
-untiring devotion, and after she had closed his eyes in death, when she
-was an old, old woman, sometimes in the evening she would suddenly break
-her long silence to tell a wondering group of Franz and the little
-Alice, and of the mysterious melody that played about the child.
-
-And so the people of Paint Valley relate the story yet, and show the
-graves in the long grass of the village church-yard, where, side by
-side, they wait to join at the last day the throng whose immortal
-_gloria_ shall surpass even that grand Christmas anthem—the song of the
-angels heard by the shepherds upon the plains of Judea.
-
-
-                                THE END.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-
-
-                              PUBLICATIONS
-
-                                   OF
-
-                         JANSEN, MCCLURG & CO.
-
-                           CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
-
-
-  =CATON.—A Summer in Norway=, with Notes on the Industries, Habits,
-    etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the Climate and
-    Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and Elk, by Hon. J. D.
-    CATON, LL.D. 8vo., 401 pages. Illustrated. Price, $2.50.
-
-“The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative
-and leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good
-nature with which the author pursued his way through unknown wilds. * *
-They are excellent specimens of terse and graphic composition,
-presenting a distinct image to the mind, without any superfluous
-details.”—_New York Tribune._
-
-“The book of travels, which Judge Caton has presented to the public, is
-of a high order of merit, and sets forth the interesting natural
-phenomena and popular characteristics of the land of the ‘unsetting sun’
-with great strength and clearness.”—_Boston Post._
-
-“He is, as far as we know, the first foreign traveler who has given
-anything like a correct statement of the nature of the union between
-Norway and Sweden.”—_The Nation._
-
-  =CHARD.—Across the Sea, and Other Poems.= By THOS. S. CHARD. Square
-    16mo., 55 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.00.
-
-“This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of _multum in
-parvo_ that has been furnished the reading public in a long time. * *
-The poetry is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul,
-and reads as though given by inspiration. * * There is a mysticism in
-the little book, which reminds us of the ‘Lotus Eaters’ or
-‘Festus.’”—_The Alliance._
-
-  =CLEVELAND.—Landscape Architecture=, as applied to the wants of the
-    West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the Great Plains. By H. W.
-    S. CLEVELAND, Landscape Architect. 16mo., 147 pages. Price, $1.00.
-
-“My object in these few pages is simply to show that, by whatever name
-it may be called, the subdivision and arrangement of land for the
-occupation of civilized men, is an art demanding the exercise of
-ingenuity, judgment and taste, and one which nearly concerns the
-interest of real estate proprietors, and the welfare and happiness of
-all future occupants.”—_Extract from Preface._
-
-  =CRAWFORD.—A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends.= By MRS. ALICE ARNOLD
-    CRAWFORD. Square 12mo., full gilt, tinted paper, 162 pages. Price,
-    $2.00.
-
-“There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle
-tenderness, as if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better
-life, had longed to leave some sweet remembrance here. They stand forth
-from the way-side of poetic literature like some peaceful chapel robed
-in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers, and the living steal in
-the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and
-pain.”—_Inter-Ocean._
-
-  =FOYE.—Tables for the Determination and Classification of Minerals
-    Found in the United States.= By JAMES C. FOYE, A.M., Professor of
-    Chemistry and Physics, Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin.
-    Flexible covers, 38 pages. Price, 75 cents.
-
-“Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from
-various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to
-furnish the student with such help as is needed in order to determine
-and classify the minerals of the United States. Some useful hints as to
-apparatus, and suitable notes upon other matters, precede the
-tables.”—_Journal of Education._
-
-  =GILES.—Out from the Shadows.= A Novel; by Miss ELLA A. GILES. 12mo.,
-    317 pages. Price, $1.50.
-
-“Miss Giles’ first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the
-attention of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book
-gives evidence of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the
-improvement which she has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and
-effect which are really uncommon.”—_Milwaukee News._
-
-“The characters are all well conceived, and the story is pleasantly
-written.”—_Inter-Ocean._
-
-  =GILES.—Bachelor Ben.= A Novel; by Miss ELLA A. GILES. 12mo., 308
-    pages. Price, $1.50.
-
-“A story of great descriptive and analytic mastery. * * A master-piece
-of free and natural handling of human life, and marks a new departure in
-fiction, in that the hero never marries, and the author has attempted to
-group the sympathies of readers about an unconventional man.”—_Home
-Journal_ (New York).
-
-“The book is refreshingly guiltless of all superfluous characters. The
-tone is good throughout. The moral apparent.”—_Chicago Times._
-
-  =HALL.—Poems of the Farm and Fireside.= By EUGENE J. HALL. 8vo., 114
-    pages. Fully illustrated. Plain, price, $1.75; full gilt, price,
-    $2.25.
-
-“In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal—we should say superior—to
-Carleton’s Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow
-Papers.”—_Interior._
-
-“There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too
-often overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems,
-because they smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner
-life of society at the fireside.”—_Pittsburgh Commercial._
-
-  =HEWITT.—“Our Bible.”= Three Lectures, delivered at Unity Church, Oak
-    Park, Ill., by Rev. J. O. M. HEWITT. 12mo., 109 pages. Price, $1.25.
-
-“This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the
-enunciation of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration
-which makes it infallible in all particulars.”—_Chicago Journal._
-
-  =LAMARTINE.—Graziella; a Story of Italian Love.= Translated from the
-    French of A. DE LAMARTINE by JAMES B. RUNNION. Small 4to, 235 pages,
-    red line, tinted paper, full gilt, uniform with holiday edition of
-    “Memories.” Price, $2.00.
-
-“‘Graziella’ is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both
-eminently poetic. * * * It glows with love of the beautiful in all
-nature. * * * It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect
-words. The sentences have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender
-fancy of the original. It is uniform with ‘Memories,’ the fifth edition
-of which has just been published, and it should stand side by side with
-that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong thoughts put in pure,
-strong words. ‘Graziella’ is a book to be loved.”—_Tribune._
-
-  =MASON.—Mae Madden.= A Story; by Mrs. MARY MURDOCH MASON, with an
-    introductory poem by JOAQUIN MILLER. 16mo., red edges. Price, $1.25.
-
-“There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh
-thought; some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or
-some charming description, deliciously feminine, and running over with
-the spirit of poetry.”—_Cincinnati Times._
-
-“We have read this little book with great pleasure. * * * It frequently
-reminds us of Mr. Howell’s delicately constructed stories, and in it, as
-in a mirror, we see reflected that true refinement and culture of the
-author’s mind.”—_New Haven Palladium._
-
-  =MASON AND LALOR.—The Primer of Political Economy=, in Sixteen
-    Definitions and Forty Propositions, by A. B. MASON and J. J. LALOR.
-    12mo., 67 pages. Price, 75 cents.
-
-“We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give
-the amount of information on the subject that has been put with such
-remarkable clearness into these sixty pages.”—_Hartford Courant._
-
-“For a short and comprehensive treatise, we know of nothing better than
-‘The Primer of Political Economy.’ The information is conveyed in a very
-concise and happy manner. The style is perfectly transparent, and the
-illustrations admirably chosen. We venture to believe that not a quarter
-of the men in the Lower House of Congress know as much about Political
-Economy as can be learned from this compact and interesting little
-treatise.”—_Christian Register._
-
-  =MILLER.—First Fam’lies of the Sierras.= A Novel; by JOAQUIN MILLER.
-    12mo., 258 pages. Price, $1.50.
-
-A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining cañon in the
-very earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are
-evidently drawn from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling
-interest. Bret. Harte has never worked this rich vein of American life
-to better advantage.
-
-  =MÜLLER.—Memories=; A Story of German Love. Translated from the German
-    of MAX MÜLLER, by GEO. P. UPTON. Small 4to., 173 pages, red line,
-    tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.00. The same, 16mo., red edges.
-    Price, $1.00.
-
-“‘Memories’ is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year.
-The story is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that
-effortless vraisemblance, which is so commonly a charm of German
-writers, and so seldom paralleled in English. * * * Scarcely could
-there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the invalid Princess,
-though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost to
-profane her.”—_Springfield (Mass.) Republican._
-
-  =McLANDBURGH.—The Automaton Ear and Other Sketches.= By MISS FLORENCE
-    MCLANDBURGH. 12mo., 282 pages. Price, $1.50.
-
-Any one of the many who have read “The Man at Crib,” “The Automaton
-Ear,” or “The Anthem of Judea,” which have been so widely copied in
-various periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this
-author, who is no less gifted than she is original and eccentric.
-
-  =SWING.—Truths for To-Day.= _First Series._ By PROFESSOR DAVID SWING.
-    12mo., 325 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.
-
-“The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are
-convinced that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare
-culture, and of genuine humanity. His forte is evidently not that of
-doctrinal discussion. He deals in no nice distinctions of creed. He has
-no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents a broad and
-generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and the
-purest motives of a lofty manhood.”—_New York Tribune._
-
-  =SWING.—Truths for To-Day.= _Second Series._ By PROFESSOR DAVID SWING.
-    12mo., 294 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.
-
-This volume will contain the latest discourses of PROF. SWING, some of
-them preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the
-Theatre to the New Central Church. It is universally conceded that these
-are the finest efforts he has ever made, and the general demand for
-their preservation in more permanent form than the newspaper reports,
-has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected, revised and
-arranged for publication by PROF. SWING himself.
-
-  =SWING.—Trial of Prof. Swing.= The _Official Report_ of this important
-    trial. 8vo., 286 pages. Price, $1.75.
-
-“It constitutes a complete record of one of the most remarkable
-ecclesiastical trials of modern times.”—_Boston Journal._
-
-“This volume will be a precious bit of history twenty-five years hence,
-and its pages will be read with mingled interest and surprise.”—_Golden
-Age._
-
-=Any of the books on this list sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of
-price by the publishers.=
-
-                                       JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.
-                                           117 & 119 STATE ST., CHICAGO.
-
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
-
-
-
-                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
-
-
- 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
-      spelling.
- 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
- 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
- 4. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.
-
-*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER
-SKETCHES ***
-
-Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
-be renamed.
-
-Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
-law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
-so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the
-United States without permission and without paying copyright
-royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
-of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
-concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
-and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
-the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
-of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
-copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
-easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
-of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
-Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
-do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
-by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
-license, especially commercial redistribution.
-
-START: FULL LICENSE
-
-THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
-PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
-
-To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
-distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
-(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
-Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
-Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
-www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-
-1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
-and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
-(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
-the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
-destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
-possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
-Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
-by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
-person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
-1.E.8.
-
-1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
-used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
-agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
-things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
-paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
-agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
-
-1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
-Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
-of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
-works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
-States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
-United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
-claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
-displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
-all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
-that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
-free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
-works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
-Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
-comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
-same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
-you share it without charge with others.
-
-1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
-what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
-in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
-check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
-agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
-distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
-other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
-representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
-country other than the United States.
-
-1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
-
-1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
-immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
-prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
-on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
-phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
-performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
-
-  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
-  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
-  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
-  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
-  United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
-  you are located before using this eBook.
-
-1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
-derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
-contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
-copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
-the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
-redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
-Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
-either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
-obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
-with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
-must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
-additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
-will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
-posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
-beginning of this work.
-
-1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
-License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
-work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
-
-1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
-electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
-prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
-active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm License.
-
-1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
-compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
-any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
-to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
-other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
-version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website
-(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
-to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
-of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
-Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
-full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
-
-1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
-performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
-unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
-access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-provided that:
-
-* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
-  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
-  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
-  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
-  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
-  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
-  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
-  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
-  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
-  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
-  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
-  Literary Archive Foundation."
-
-* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
-  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
-  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
-  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
-  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
-  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
-  works.
-
-* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
-  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
-  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
-  receipt of the work.
-
-* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
-  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
-
-1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
-are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
-from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
-the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
-forth in Section 3 below.
-
-1.F.
-
-1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
-effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
-works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
-Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
-contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
-or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
-intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
-other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
-cannot be read by your equipment.
-
-1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
-of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
-liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
-fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
-LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
-PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
-TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
-LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
-INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
-DAMAGE.
-
-1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
-defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
-receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
-written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
-received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
-with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
-with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
-lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
-or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
-opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
-the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
-without further opportunities to fix the problem.
-
-1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
-in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
-OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
-LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
-
-1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
-warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
-damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
-violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
-agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
-limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
-unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
-remaining provisions.
-
-1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
-trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
-providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
-accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
-production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
-including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
-the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
-or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
-additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
-Defect you cause.
-
-Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
-electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
-computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
-exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
-from people in all walks of life.
-
-Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
-assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
-goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
-remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
-and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
-generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
-Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
-www.gutenberg.org
-
-Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation
-
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
-501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
-state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
-Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
-number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
-U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
-
-The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
-Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
-to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website
-and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
-
-Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
-Literary Archive Foundation
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without
-widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
-increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
-freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
-array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
-($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
-status with the IRS.
-
-The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
-charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
-States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
-considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
-with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
-where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
-DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
-state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
-have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
-against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
-approach us with offers to donate.
-
-International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
-any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
-outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
-
-Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
-methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
-ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
-donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-
-Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
-freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
-distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
-volunteer support.
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
-editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
-the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
-necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
-edition.
-
-Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
-facility: www.gutenberg.org
-
-This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
-including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
-subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67476 ***
+
+                                  THE
+                             AUTOMATON EAR,
+                                  AND
+                            OTHER SKETCHES.
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                         FLORENCE McLANDBURGH.
+
+
+                                CHICAGO:
+                         JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.
+                                 1876.
+
+
+
+
+                               COPYRIGHT,
+                        BY FLORENCE McLANDBURGH,
+                              A. D. 1876.
+
+[Illustration: _LAKESIDE PUBLISHING & PRINTING CO. CHICAGO._]
+
+
+
+
+                               Dedicated
+
+                                   TO
+
+                           JOHN McLANDBURGH.
+
+
+
+
+NOTE.—Some of the sketches and tales in this volume were contributed to
+“Scribner’s Monthly,” “Appleton’s Journal,” and the “Lakeside Magazine,”
+and are used here, in a revised form, by the kind permission of the
+editors. Others appear now for the first time.
+
+                                                                 F. McL.
+
+CHICAGO, _April, 1876_.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                               CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                PAGE
+                    THE AUTOMATON EAR,             7
+
+                    THE PATHS OF THE SEA,         44
+
+                    REINHART, THE GERMAN,         89
+
+                    SILVER ISLET,                103
+
+                    BOYDELL, THE STROLLER,       129
+
+                    THE DEATH-WATCH,             149
+
+                    THE MAN AT THE CRIB,         161
+
+                    PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL,  183
+
+                    THE FEVERFEW,                201
+
+                    OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER,     213
+
+                    THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA,         243
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                           THE AUTOMATON EAR.
+
+
+The day was hardly different from many another day, though I will likely
+recall it even when the mist of years has shrouded the past in an
+undefined hueless cloud. The sunshine came in at my open window. Out of
+doors it flooded all the land in its warm summer light—the spires of the
+town and the bare college campus; farther, the tall bearded barley and
+rustling oats; farther still, the wild grass and the forest, where the
+river ran and the blue haze dipped from the sky.
+
+The temptation was greater than I could stand, and taking my book I shut
+up the “study,” as the students called my small apartment, leaving it
+for one bounded by no walls or ceiling.
+
+The woods rang with the hum and chirp of insects and birds. I threw
+myself down beneath a tall, broad-spreading tree. Against its
+moss-covered trunk I could hear the loud tap of the woodpecker secreted
+high up among its leaves, and off at the end of a tender young twig a
+robin trilled, swinging himself to and fro through the checkered
+sunlight. I never grew weary listening to the changeful voice of the
+forest and the river, and was hardly conscious of reading until I came
+upon this paragraph:—
+
+  “As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound is never
+  lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will vibrate in the air
+  forever and ever, decreasing according to a fixed ratio. The diffusion
+  of the agitation extends in all directions, like the waves in a pool,
+  but the ear is unable to detect it beyond a certain point. It is well
+  known that some individuals can distinguish sounds which to others
+  under precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the fault
+  is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing, and a tone
+  once in existence is always in existence.”
+
+This was nothing new to me. I had read it before, though I had never
+thought of it particularly; but while I listened to the robin, it seemed
+singular to know that all the sounds ever uttered, ever born, were
+floating in the air _now_—all music, every tone, every bird-song—and we,
+alas! could not hear them.
+
+Suddenly a strange idea shot through my brain—Why not? Ay, _why not
+hear_? Men had constructed instruments which could magnify to the eye
+and—was it possible?—Why not?
+
+I looked up and down the river, but saw neither it, nor the sky, nor the
+moss that I touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted among the
+leaves, and the robin sing, and the hum of insects run along the bank as
+before? I can not recollect, I can not recollect anything, only Mother
+Flinse, the deaf and dumb old crone that occasionally came to beg, and
+sell nuts to the students, was standing in the gateway. I nodded to her
+as I passed, and walked up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path.
+It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly into my head and
+startled me. I hardly dared to think of it, but I could think of nothing
+else. It could not be possible, and yet—why not?
+
+Over and over in the restless hours of the night I asked myself, I said
+aloud, Why not? Then I laughed at my folly, and wondered what I was
+thinking of and tried to sleep—but if it _could_ be done?
+
+The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in class hours and made
+confusion in the lessons. Some said the professor was ill those two or
+three days before the vacation; perhaps I was. I scarcely slept; only
+the one thought grew stronger—Men had done more wonderful things; it
+certainly was possible, and I would accomplish this grand invention. I
+would construct the king of all instruments—I would construct an
+instrument which could catch these faint tones vibrating in the air and
+render them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly until it was
+perfected, or the world might laugh.
+
+The session closed and the college was deserted, save by the few musty
+students whom, even in imagination, one could hardly separate or
+distinguish from the old books on the library shelves. I could wish for
+no better opportunity to begin my great work. The first thing would be
+to prepare for it by a careful study of acoustics, and I buried myself
+among volumes on the philosophy of sound.
+
+I went down to London and purchased a common ear-trumpet. My own ear was
+exceedingly acute, and to my great delight I found that, with the aid of
+the trumpet just as it was, I could distinguish sounds at a much greater
+distance, and those nearer were magnified in power. I had only to
+improve upon this instrument; careful study, careful work, careful
+experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly be realized.
+
+Back to my old room in the college I went with a complete set of tools.
+So days and weeks I shut myself in, and every day and every week brought
+nothing but disappointment. The instrument seemed only to diminish sound
+rather than increase it, yet still I worked on and vowed I would not
+grow discouraged.
+
+Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my narrow window. The fields
+of barley and waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too had ripened
+and gone, but I did not notice. I sprang up with a joyful
+exclamation—Strange never to have thought of it before! Perhaps I
+had not spent my time in vain, after all. How could I expect to test
+my instrument in this close room with only that little window? It
+should be removed from immediate noises, high up in the open air,
+where there would be no obstructions. I would never succeed here—but
+where should I go? It must be some place in which I would never be
+liable to interruption, for my first object was to be shielded and
+work in secret.
+
+I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate spot without success, when
+it occurred to me that I had heard some one say the old gray church was
+shut up. This church was situated just beyond the suburbs of the town.
+It was built of rough stone, mottled and stained by unknown years. The
+high, square tower, covered by thick vines that clung and crept round
+its base, was the most venerable monument among all the slabs and tombs
+where it stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared for by the
+living kept it company. People said the place was too damp for use, and
+talked of rebuilding, but it had never been done. Now if I could gain
+access to the tower, that was the very place for my purpose.
+
+I found the door securely fastened, and walked round and round without
+discovering any way of entrance; but I made up my mind, if it were
+possible to get inside of that church I would do it, and without the
+help of keys. The high windows were not to be thought of; but in the
+rear of the building, lower down, where the fuel had probably been kept,
+there was a narrow opening which was boarded across. With very little
+difficulty I knocked out the planks and crept through. It was a cellar,
+and, as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After feeling about, I
+found a few rough steps which led to a door that was unlocked and
+communicated with the passage back of the vestry-room.
+
+The tower I wished to explore was situated in the remote corner of the
+building. I passed on to the church. Its walls were discolored by green
+mould, and blackened where the water had dripped through. The sun, low
+down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows on the west, and made
+yellow strips across the long aisles, over the faded pews with their
+stiff, straight backs, over the chancel rail, over the altar with its
+somber wood-work; but there was no warmth; only the cheerless glare
+seemed to penetrate the cold, dead atmosphere,—only the cheerless glare
+without sparkle, without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary where
+the organ slept. At the right of the vestibule a staircase led to the
+tower; it ascended to a platform laid on a level with the four windows
+and a little above the point of the church roof. These four windows were
+situated one on each side of the tower, running high up, and the lower
+casement folding inward.
+
+Here was my place. Above the tree-tops, in the free open air, with no
+obstacle to obstruct the wind, I could work unmolested by people or
+noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face was cool and pleasant. An
+hour ago I had been tired, disappointed, and depressed; but now, buoyant
+with hope, I was ready to begin work again—work that I was determined to
+accomplish.
+
+The sun had gone. I did not see the broken slabs and urns in the shadow
+down below; I did not see the sunken graves and the rank grass and the
+briers. I looked over them and saw the gorgeous fringes along the
+horizon, scarlet and gold and pearl; saw them quiver and brighten to
+flame, and the white wings of pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening
+glow.
+
+I closed the windows, and when I had crawled out of the narrow hole,
+carefully reset the boards just as I had found them. In another day all
+the tools and books that I considered necessary were safely deposited in
+the tower. I only intended to make this my workshop, still, of course,
+occupying my old room in the college.
+
+Here I matured plan after plan. I studied, read, worked, knowing,
+_feeling_ that at last I must succeed; but failure followed failure, and
+I sank into despondency only to begin again with a kind of desperation.
+When I went down to London and wandered about, hunting up different
+metals and hard woods, I never entered a concert-room or an opera-house.
+Was there not music in store for me, such as no mortal ear had ever
+heard? _All_ the music, every strain that had sounded in the past ages?
+Ah, I could wait; I would work patiently and wait.
+
+I was laboring now upon a theory that I had not tried heretofore. It was
+my last resource; if this failed, then—but it would not fail! I resolved
+not to make any test, not to put it near my ear until it was completed.
+I discarded all woods and used only the metals which best transmitted
+sound. Finally it was finished, even to the ivory ear-piece. I held the
+instrument all ready—I held it and looked eastward and westward and back
+again. Suddenly all control over the muscles of my hand was gone, it
+felt like stone; then the strange sensation passed away. I stood up and
+lifted the trumpet to my ear—What! Silence? No, no—I was faint, my brain
+was confused, whirling. I would not believe it; I would wait a moment
+until this dizziness was gone, and then—then I would be able to hear. I
+was deaf now. I still held the instrument; in my agitation the ivory tip
+shook off and rolled down rattling on the floor. I gazed at it
+mechanically, as if it had been a pebble; I never thought of replacing
+it, and, mechanically, I raised the trumpet a second time to my ear. A
+crash of discordant sounds, a confused jarring noise broke upon me and I
+drew back trembling, dismayed.
+
+Fool! O fool of fools never to have thought of this, which a child, a
+dunce would not have overlooked! My great invention was nothing, was
+worse than nothing, was worse than a failure. I might have known that my
+instrument would magnify present sounds in the air to such a degree as
+to make them utterly drown all others, and, clashing together, produce
+this noise like the heavy rumble of thunder.
+
+The college reopened, and I took up my old line of duties, or at least
+attempted them, for the school had grown distasteful to me. I was
+restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to forget my disappointment,
+but the effort was vain.
+
+The spires of the town and the college campus glittered white, the
+fields of barley and oats were fields of snow, the forest leaves had
+withered and fallen, and the river slumbered, wrapped in a sheeting of
+ice. Still I brooded over my failure, and when again the wild grass
+turned green I no longer cared. I was not the same man that had looked
+out at the waving grain and the blue haze only a year before. A gloomy
+despondency had settled upon me, and I grew to hate the students, to
+hate the college, to hate society. In the first shock of discovered
+failure I had given up all hope, and the Winter passed I knew not how. I
+never wondered if the trouble could be remedied. Now it suddenly
+occurred to me, perhaps it was no failure after all. The instrument
+might be made adjustable, so as to be sensible to faint or severe
+vibrations at pleasure of the operator, and thus separate the sounds. I
+remembered how but for the accidental removal of the ivory my instrument
+perhaps would not have reflected any sound. I would work again and
+persevere.
+
+I would have resigned my professorship, only it might create suspicion.
+I knew not that already they viewed me with curious eyes and sober
+faces. When the session finally closed, they tried to persuade me to
+leave the college during vacation and travel on the continent. I would
+feel much fresher, they told me, in the Autumn. In the Autumn? Ay,
+perhaps I might, perhaps I might, and I would not go abroad.
+
+Once more the reapers came unnoticed. My work progressed slowly. Day by
+day I toiled up in the old church tower, and night by night I dreamed.
+In my sleep it often seemed that the instrument was suddenly completed,
+but before I could raise it to my ear I would always waken with a
+nervous start. So the feverish time went by, and at last I held it ready
+for a second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable, and I had also
+improved it so far as to be able to set it very accurately for any
+particular period, thus rendering it sensible only to sounds of that
+time, all heavier and fainter vibrations being excluded.
+
+I drew it out almost to its limits.
+
+All the maddening doubts that had haunted me like grinning specters
+died. I felt no tremor, my hand was steady, my pulse-beat regular.
+
+The soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf stirred in the quiet that
+seemed to await my triumph. Again the crimson splendor of sun-set
+illumined the western sky and made a glory overhead—and the dusk was
+thickening down below among the mouldering slabs. But that mattered not.
+
+I raised the trumpet to my ear.
+
+Hark!—The hum of mighty hosts! It rose and fell, fainter and more faint;
+then the murmur of water was heard and lost again, as it swelled and
+gathered and burst in one grand volume of sound like a hallelujah from
+myriad lips. Out of the resounding echo, out of the dying cadence a
+single female voice arose. Clear, pure, rich, it soared above the tumult
+of the host that hushed itself, a living thing. Higher, sweeter, it
+seemed to break the fetters of mortality and tremble in sublime
+adoration before the Infinite. My breath stilled with awe. Was it a
+spirit-voice—one of the glittering host in the jasper city “that had no
+need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it?” And the water, was
+it the river clear as crystal flowing from the great white throne? But
+no! The tone now floated out soft, sad, human. There was no sorrowful
+strain in that nightless land where the leaves of the trees were for the
+healing of the nations. The beautiful voice was of the earth and
+sin-stricken. From the sobbing that mingled with the faint ripple of
+water it went up once more, ringing gladly, joyfully; it went up
+inspired with praise to the sky, and—hark! the Hebrew tongue:—
+
+“The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.”
+
+Then the noise of the multitude swelled again, and a crash of music
+broke forth from innumerable timbrels. I raised my head quickly—it was
+the song of Miriam after the passage of the Red Sea.
+
+I knew not whether I lived.
+
+I bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again and heard—the soft rustle,
+the breathing as of a sleeping forest. A plaintive note stole gently
+out, more solemn and quiet than the chant of the leaves. The mournful
+lay, forlorn, frightened, trembled on the air like the piteous wail of
+some wounded creature. Then it grew stronger. Clear, brilliant, it burst
+in a shower of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in the glitter
+of the tropical sunlight. But the mournful wail crept back, and the
+lonely heartbroken strain was lost, while the leaves still whispered to
+one another in the midnight.
+
+Like the light of a distant star came to me this song of some
+nightingale, thousands of years after the bird had mouldered to nothing.
+
+At last my labor had been rewarded. As sound travels in waves, and these
+waves are continually advancing as they go round and round the world,
+therefore I would never hear the same sound over again at the same time,
+but it passed beyond and another came in its stead.
+
+All night I listened with my ear pressed to the instrument. I heard the
+polished, well-studied compliments, the rustle of silks, and the quick
+music of the dance at some banquet. I could almost see the brilliant
+robes and glittering jewels of the waltzers, and the sheen of light, and
+the mirrors. But hush! a cry, a stifled moan. Was that at the——No, the
+music and the rustle of silk were gone.
+
+“Mother, put your hand here,—I am tired, and my head feels hot and
+strange. Is it night, already, that it has grown so dark? I am resting
+now, for my book is almost done, and then, mother, we can go back to the
+dear old home where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles are
+heavy with perfume. And, mother, we will never be poor any more. I know
+you are weary, for your cheeks are pale and your fingers are thin; but
+they shall not touch a needle then, and you will grow better, mother,
+and we will forget these long, long, bitter years. I will not write in
+the evenings then, but sit with you and watch the twilight fade as we
+used to do, and listen to the murmur of the frogs. I described the
+little stream, our little stream, mother, in my book.—Hark! I hear the
+splash of its waves now. Hold me by the hand tight, mother. I am tired,
+but we are almost there. See! the house glimmers white through the
+trees, and the red bird has built its nest again in the cedar. Put your
+arm around me, mother, mother—”
+
+Then single, echoless, the mother’s piercing cry went up—“O my God!”
+
+Great Heaven! It would not always be music that I should hear. Into this
+ear, where all the world poured its tales, sorrow and suffering and
+death would come in turn with mirth and gladness.
+
+I listened again. The long-drawn ahoy!—ahoy!—of the sailor rang out in
+slumbrous musical monotone, now free, now muffled—gone. The gleeful
+laugh of children at play, then the drunken boisterous shout of the
+midnight reveler—What was that? A chime of bells, strange, sublime,
+swimming in the air they made a cold, solemn harmony. But even over them
+dashed the storm-blast of passion that sweeps continually up and down
+the earth, and the harmony that bound them in peace broke up in a wild,
+angry clamor, that set loose shrill screams which were swallowed up in a
+savage tumult of discord, like a mad carnival of yelling demons. Then,
+as if terrified by their own fiendish rage, they retreated shivering,
+remorseful, and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers about the gray
+belfry. It was the Carillonneur, Matthias Vander Gheyn, playing at
+Louvain on the first of July, 1745.
+
+Yes, my invention had proved a grand success. I had worked and worked in
+order to give this instrument to the world; but now when it was
+finished, strange to say, all my ambition, all my desire for fame left
+me, and I was anxious only to guard it from discovery, to keep it
+secret, to keep it more jealously than a miser hoards his gold. An
+undefinable delight filled my soul that I alone out of all humanity
+possessed this treasure, this great Ear of the World, for which kings
+might have given up their thrones. Ah! they dreamed not of the wonders I
+could relate. It was a keen, intense pleasure to see the public for
+which I had toiled live on, deaf forever save to the few transient
+sounds of the moment, while I, their slave, reveled in another world
+above, beyond their’s. But they should never have this instrument; no,
+not for kingdoms would I give it up, not for life itself.
+
+It exerted a strange fascination over me, and in my eager desire to
+preserve my secret a tormenting fear suddenly took possession of me that
+some one might track me to the tower and discover all. It seemed as if
+the people looked after me with curious faces as I passed. I went no
+longer on the main road that led to the church, but, when I left my
+room, took an opposite direction until out of sight, and then made a
+circuit across the fields. I lived in a continual fear of betraying
+myself, so that at night I closed my window and door lest I might talk
+aloud in my sleep. I could never again bear the irksome duties of my
+office, and when the college reopened I gave up my situation and took
+lodgings in town. Still the dread of detection haunted me. Every day I
+varied my route to the church, and every day the people seemed to stare
+at me with a more curious gaze. Occasionally some of my old pupils came
+to visit me, but they appeared constrained in my presence and were soon
+gone. However, no one seemed to suspect my secret; perhaps all this was
+merely the work of my imagination, for I had grown watchful and
+reticent.
+
+I hardly ate or slept. I lived perpetually in the past listening to the
+echoing song of the Alpine shepherd; the rich, uncultivated soprano of
+the Southern slave making strange wild melody. I heard grand organ
+fugues rolling, sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in awe, while a
+choir of voices broke into a gloria that seemed to sway the great
+cathedral. The thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang again,
+making my listening soul tremble in their magnificent harmony. It was
+music of which we could not dream.
+
+Then suddenly I determined to try the opera once more; perhaps I was
+prejudiced: I had not been inside of a concert-room for more than a
+year.
+
+I went down to London. It was just at the opening of the season. I could
+hardly wait that evening until the curtain rose; the orchestra was harsh
+and discordant, the house hot and disagreeable, the gas painfully
+bright. My restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch before the prima
+donna made her appearance. Surely that voice was not the one before
+which the world bowed! Malibran’s song stood out in my memory clearly
+defined and complete, like a magnificent cathedral of pure marble, with
+faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings, where the minarets
+rose from wreaths of lilies and vine-leaves cut in bas-relief, and the
+slender spire shot high, glittering yellow in the upper sunlight, its
+golden arrow, burning like flame, pointing towards the East. But this
+prima donna built only a flat, clumsy structure of wood ornamented by
+gaudily painted lattice. I left the opera amid the deafening applause of
+the audience with a smile of scorn upon my lips. Poor deluded creatures!
+they knew nothing of music, they knew not what they were doing.
+
+I went to St. Paul’s on the Sabbath. There was no worship in the
+operatic voluntary sung by hired voices; it did not stir my soul, and
+their cold hymns did not warm with praise to the Divine Creator, or sway
+the vast pulseless congregation that came and went without one quickened
+breath.
+
+All this time I felt a singular, inexpressible pleasure in the
+consciousness of my great secret, and I hurried back with eager haste.
+In London I had accidentally met two or three of my old acquaintances. I
+was not over glad to see them myself: as I have said, I had grown
+utterly indifferent to society; but I almost felt ashamed when they
+offered me every attention within their power, for I had not anticipated
+it, nor was it deserved on my part. Now, when I returned, every body in
+the street stopped to shake hands with me and inquire for my health. At
+first, although I was surprised at the interest they manifested, I took
+it merely as the common civility on meeting, but when the question was
+repeated so particularly by each one, I thought it appeared strange, and
+asked if they had ever heard to the contrary; no, oh no, they said, but
+still I was astonished at the unusual care with which they all made the
+same inquiry.
+
+I went up to my room and walked directly to the glass. It was the first
+time I had consciously looked into a mirror for many weeks. Good
+Heavens! The mystery was explained now. _I could hardly recognize
+myself._ At first the shock was so great that I stood gazing, almost
+petrified. The demon of typhus fever could not have wrought a more
+terrific change in my face if he had held it in his clutches for months.
+My hair hung in long straggling locks around my neck. I was thin and
+fearfully haggard. My eyes sunken far back in my head, looked out from
+dark, deep hollows; my heavy black eyebrows were knit together by
+wrinkles that made seams over my forehead; my fleshless cheeks clung
+tight to the bone, and a bright red spot on either one was half covered
+by thick beard. I had thought so little about my personal appearance
+lately that I had utterly neglected my hair, and I wondered now that it
+had given me no annoyance. I smiled while I still looked at myself. This
+was the effect of the severe study and loss of sleep, and the excitement
+under which I had labored for months, yes, for more than a year. I had
+not been conscious of fatigue, but my work was done now and I would soon
+regain my usual weight. I submitted myself immediately to the hands of a
+barber, dressed with considerable care, and took another look in the
+glass. My face appeared pinched and small since it had been freed from
+beard. The caverns around my eyes seemed even larger, and the bright
+color in my cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely sallow tint
+of my complexion. I turned away with an uncomfortable feeling, and
+started on a circuitous route to the church, for I never trusted my
+instrument in any other place.
+
+It was a sober autumn day. Every thing looked dreary with that cold,
+gray, sunless sky stretched overhead. The half-naked trees shivered a
+little in their seared garments of ragged leaves. Occasionally a cat
+walked along the fence-top, or stood trembling on three legs. Sometimes
+a depressed bird suddenly tried to cheer its drooping spirits and
+uttered a few sharp, discontented chirps. Just in front of me two boys
+were playing ball on the roadside. As I passed I accidentally caught
+this sentence:
+
+“They say the professor ain’t just right in his head.”
+
+For a moment I stood rooted to the ground; then wheeled round and cried
+out fiercely, “What did you say?”
+
+“Sir?”
+
+“What was that you said just now?” I repeated still more fiercely.
+
+The terrified boys looked at me an instant, then without answering
+turned and ran as fast as fright could carry them.
+
+So the mystery now was really explained! It was not sick the people
+thought me, but crazy. I walked on with a queer feeling and began
+vaguely to wonder why I had been so savage to those boys. The fact which
+I had learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock, but it was nothing
+to me. What did I care, even if the people did think me crazy? Ah!
+perhaps if I told my secret they would consider it a desperate case of
+insanity. But the child’s words kept ringing in my ears until an idea
+flashed upon me more terrifying than death itself. How did I know that I
+was _not_ insane? How did I know that my great invention might be only
+an hallucination of my brain?
+
+Instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded up like ghostly witnesses to
+affright me. I had studied myself to a shadow; my pallid face, with the
+red spots on the cheeks and the blue hollows around the eyes, came
+before my mental vision afresh. The fever in my veins told me I was
+unnaturally excited. I had not slept a sound, dreamless sleep for weeks.
+Perhaps in the long, long days and nights my brain, like my body, had
+been overwrought; perhaps in my eager desire to succeed, in my desperate
+determination, the power of my will had disordered my mind, and it was
+all deception: the sounds, the music I had heard, merely the creation of
+my diseased fancy, and the instrument I had handled useless metal. The
+very idea was inexpressible torture to me. I could not bear that a
+single doubt of its reality should exist; but, after once entering my
+head, how would I ever be able to free myself from distrust? I could not
+do it; I would be obliged to live always in uncertainty. It was
+maddening: now I felt as if I might have struck the child in my rage if
+I could have found him. Then suddenly it occurred to me, for the first
+time, that my invention could easily be tested by some other person.
+Almost instantly I rejected the thought, for it would compel me to
+betray my secret, and in my strange infatuation I would rather have
+destroyed the instrument. But the doubts of my sanity on this subject
+returned upon me with tenfold strength, and again I thought in despair
+of the only method left me by which they could ever be settled.
+
+In the first shock, when the unlucky sentence fell upon my ear, I had
+turned after the boys, and then walked on mechanically towards the town.
+Now, when I looked up I found myself almost at the college gate. No one
+was to be seen, only Mother Flinse with her basket on her arm was just
+raising the latch. Half bewildered I turned hastily round and bent my
+steps in the direction of my lodgings, while I absently wondered whether
+that old woman had stood there ever since, since—when? I did not
+recollect, but her shadow was long and slim—no, there were no shadows
+this afternoon; it was sunless.
+
+As I reached the stairs leading to my room, my trouble, which I had
+forgotten for the moment, broke upon me anew. I dragged myself up and
+sat down utterly overwhelmed. As I have said, I would sooner destroy the
+instrument than give it to a thankless world; but to endure the
+torturing doubt of its reality was impossible. Suddenly it occurred to
+me that Mother Flinse was mute. I might get her to test my invention
+without fear of betrayal, for she could neither speak nor write, and her
+signs on this subject, if she attempted to explain, would be altogether
+unintelligible to others. I sprang up in wild delight, then immediately
+fell back in my chair with a hoarse laugh—Mother Flinse was _deaf_ as
+well as dumb. I had not remembered that. I sat quietly a moment trying
+to calm myself and think. Why need this make any difference? The
+instrument ought to, at least it was possible that it might, remedy loss
+of hearing. I too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it made
+audible. They would have to be magnified to a greater degree for her. I
+might set it for the present and use the full power of the instrument:
+there certainly would be no harm in trying, at any rate, and if it
+failed it would prove nothing, if it did not fail it would prove every
+thing. Then a new difficulty presented itself. How could I entice the
+old woman into the church?
+
+I went back towards the college expecting to find her, but she was
+nowhere to be seen, and I smiled that only a few moments ago I had
+wondered if she did not always stand in the gateway. Once, I could not
+exactly recall the time, I had passed her hut. I remembered distinctly
+that there was a line full of old ragged clothes stretched across from
+the fence to a decayed tree, and a bright red flannel petticoat blew and
+flapped among the blackened branches. It was a miserable frame cabin,
+set back from the Spring road, about half a mile out of town. There I
+went in search of her.
+
+The blasted tree stood out in bold relief against the drab sky. There
+appeared no living thing about the dirty, besmoked hovel except one lean
+rat, that squatted with quivering nose and stared a moment, then
+retreated under the loose plank before the door, leaving its smellers
+visible until I stepped upon the board. I knocked loudly without
+receiving any reply; then, smiling at the useless ceremony I had
+performed, pushed it open. The old woman, dressed in her red petticoat
+and a torn calico frock, with a faded shawl drawn over her head, was
+standing with her back towards me, picking over a pile of rags. She did
+not move. I hesitated an instant, then walked in. The moment I put my
+foot upon the floor she sprang quickly round. At first she remained
+motionless, with her small, piercing gray eyes fixed upon me, holding a
+piece of orange-and-black spotted muslin; evidently she recognized me,
+for, suddenly dropping it, she began a series of wild gestures, grinning
+until all the wrinkles of her skinny face converged in the region of her
+mouth, where a few scattered teeth, long and sharp, gleamed strangely
+white. A rim of grizzled hair stood out round the edge of the turbaned
+shawl and set off the withered and watchful countenance of the
+speechless old crone. The yellow, shriveled skin hung loosely about her
+slim neck like leather, and her knotted hands were brown and dry as the
+claws of an eagle.
+
+I went through the motion of sweeping and pointed over my shoulder,
+making her understand that I wished her to do some cleaning. She drew
+the seams of her face into a new grimace by way of assent, and, putting
+the piece of orange-and-black spotted muslin around her shoulders in
+lieu of a cloak, preceded me out of the door. She started immediately in
+the direction of the college, and I was obliged to take hold of her
+before I could attract her attention; then, when I shook my head, she
+regarded me in surprise, and fell once more into a series of frantic
+gesticulations. With considerable trouble I made her comprehend that she
+was merely to follow me. The old woman was by no means dull, and her
+small, steel-gray eyes had a singular sharpness about them that is only
+found in the deaf-mute, where they perform the part of the ear and
+tongue. As soon as we came in sight of the church she was perfectly
+satisfied. I walked up to the main entrance, turned the knob and shook
+it, then suddenly felt in all my pockets, shook the door over, and felt
+through all my pockets again. This hypocritical pantomime had the
+desired effect. The old beldam slapped her hands together and poked her
+lean finger at the hole of the lock, apparently amused that I had
+forgotten the key. Then of her own accord she went round and tried the
+other doors, but without success. As we passed the narrow window in the
+rear I made a violent effort in knocking out the loose boards. The old
+woman seemed greatly delighted, and when I crawled through willingly
+followed. I gave her a brush, which fortunately one day I had discovered
+lying in the vestibule, and left her in the church to dust, while I went
+up in the tower to prepare and remove from sight all the tools which
+were scattered about. I put them in a recess and screened it from view
+by a map of the Holy Land. Then I took my instrument and carefully
+adjusted it, putting on its utmost power.
+
+In about an hour I went down and motioned to Mother Flinse that I wanted
+her up stairs. She came directly after me without hesitation, and I felt
+greatly relieved, for I saw that I would likely have no trouble with the
+old woman. When we got into the tower she pointed down to the trees and
+then upward, meaning, I presume, that it was high. I nodded, and taking
+the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment. A loud blast of music,
+like a dozen bands playing in concert, almost stunned me. She watched me
+very attentively, but when I made signs for her to come and try she drew
+back. I held up the instrument and went through all manner of motions
+indicating that it would not hurt her, but she only shook her head. I
+persevered in my endeavor to coax her until she seemed to gain courage
+and walked up within a few feet of me, then suddenly stopped and
+stretched out her hands for the instrument. As she did not seem afraid,
+provided she had it herself, I saw that she took firm hold.
+
+In my impatience to know the result of this experiment, I was obliged to
+repeat my signs again and again before I could prevail upon her to raise
+it to her ear. Then breathlessly I watched her face, a face I thought
+which looked as if it might belong to some mummy that had been withering
+for a thousand years. Suddenly it was convulsed as if by a galvanic
+shock, then the shriveled features seemed to dilate, and a great light
+flashed through them, transforming them almost into the radiance of
+youth; a strange light as of some seraph had taken possession of the
+wrinkled old frame and looked out at the gray eyes, making them shine
+with unnatural beauty. No wonder the dumb countenance reflected a
+brightness inexpressible, for the Spirit of Sound had just alighted with
+silvery wings upon a silence of seventy years.
+
+A heavy weight fell unconsciously from my breast while I stood almost
+awed before this face, which was transfigured, as if it might have
+caught a glimmer of that mystical morn when, in a moment, in the
+twinkling of an eye, we shall all be changed.
+
+My instrument had stood the test; it was proved forever. I could no
+longer cherish any doubts of its reality, and an indescribable peace
+came into my soul, like a sudden awakening from some frightful dream. I
+had not noticed the flight of time. A pale shadow hung already over the
+trees—yes, and under them on the slime-covered stones. Ay! and a heavier
+shadow than the coming night was even then gathering unseen its rayless
+folds. The drab sky had blanched and broken, and the sinking sun poured
+a fading light through its ragged fissures.
+
+The old woman, as if wrapped in an enchantment, had hardly moved. I
+tried vainly to catch her attention; she did not even appear conscious
+of my presence. I walked up and shook her gently by the shoulder, and,
+pointing to the setting sun, held out my hand for the instrument. She
+looked at me a moment, with the singular unearthly beauty shining
+through every feature; then suddenly clutching the trumpet tight between
+her skinny claws, sprang backward towards the stairs, uttering a sound
+that was neither human nor animal, that was not a wail or a scream, but
+it fell upon my ears like some palpable horror. Merciful Heaven! Was
+that thing yonder a woman? The shriveled, fleshless lips gaped apart,
+and a small pointed tongue lurked behind five glittering, fang-like
+teeth. The wild beast had suddenly been developed in the hag. Like a
+hungry tigress defending its prey, she stood hugging the trumpet to her,
+glaring at me with stretched neck and green eyes.
+
+A savage fierceness roused within me when I found she would not give up
+the instrument, and I rushed at her with hands ready to snatch back the
+prize I valued more than my life—_or hers_; but, quicker than a hunted
+animal, she turned and fled with it down the stairs, making the tower
+ring with the hideous cries of her wordless voice. Swiftly—it seemed as
+if the danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to fly in pursuit—I
+crossed the vestibule. She was not there. Every thing was silent, and I
+darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of the church, when
+suddenly the jarring idiotic sounds broke loose again, echoing up in the
+organ-pipes and rattling along the galleries. The fiend sprang from
+behind the altar, faced about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming
+teeth, then fled through the vestry-room into the passage. The sight of
+her was fresh fuel to my rage, and it flamed into a frenzy that seemed
+to burn the human element out of my soul. When I gained the steps
+leading into the coal-room she was already in the window, but I cleared
+the distance at a single bound and caught hold of her clothes as she
+leaped down. I crawled through, but she clutched the instrument tighter.
+I could not prize it out of her grasp; and in her ineffectual efforts to
+free herself from my hold she made loud, grating cries, that seemed to
+me to ring and reverberate all through the forest; but presently they
+grew smothered, gurgled, then ceased. Her clasp relaxed in a convulsive
+struggle, and the trumpet was in my possession. It was easily done, for
+her neck was small and lean, and my hands made a circle strong as a
+steel band.
+
+The tremor died out of her frame and left it perfectly still. Through
+the silence I could hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle-weeds, and
+the flapping wings of some night bird fanned my face as it rushed
+swiftly through the air in its low flight. The gray twilight had
+deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to have given up their tenants.
+The pale monuments stood out like shrouded specters. But all the dead in
+that church-yard were not under ground, for on the wet grass at my feet
+there was something stark and stiff, more frightful than any phantom of
+imagination—something that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly
+features. It must be put out of sight, yes, it must be hid, to save my
+invention from discovery. The old hag might be missed, and if she was
+found here it would ruin me and expose my secret. I placed the trumpet
+on the window-ledge, and, carrying the grim burden in my arms, plunged
+into the damp tangle of weeds and grass.
+
+In a lonesome corner far back from the church, in the dense shade of
+thorn-trees, among the wild brambles where poisonous vines grew,
+slippery with the mould of forgotten years, unsought, uncared for by any
+human hand, was a tomb. Its sides were half buried in the tall
+underbrush, and the long slab had been broken once, for a black fissure
+ran zigzag across the middle. In my muscles that night there was the
+strength of two men. I lifted off one-half of the stone and heard the
+lizards dart startled from their haunt, and felt the spiders crawl. When
+the stone was replaced it covered more than the lizards or the spiders
+in the dark space between the narrow walls.
+
+As I have said, the instrument possessed a singular fascination over me.
+I had grown to love it, not alone as a piece of mechanism for the
+transmission of sound, but like a _living_ thing, and I replaced it in
+the tower with the same pleasure one feels who has rescued a friend from
+death. My listening ear never grew weary, but now I drew quickly away.
+It was not music I heard, or the ripple of water, or the prattle of
+merry tongues, but the harsh grating cries that had echoed in the
+church, that had rattled and died out in the forest—that voice which was
+not a voice. I shivered while I readjusted the instrument; perhaps it
+was the night wind which chilled me, but the rasping sounds were louder
+than before. _I could not exclude them._ There was no element of
+superstition in my nature, and I tried it over again: still I heard
+them—sometimes sharp, sometimes only a faint rumbling. Had the soul of
+the deaf-mute come in retribution to haunt me and cry eternally in my
+instrument? Perhaps on the morrow it would not disturb me, but there was
+no difference. I could hear only it, though I drew out the trumpet for
+vibrations hundreds of years old. I had rid myself of the withered hag
+who would have stolen my treasure, but now I could not rid myself of her
+invisible ghost. She had conquered, even through death, and come from
+the spirit world to gain possession of the prize for which she had given
+up her life. The instrument was no longer of any value to me, though
+cherishing a vague hope I compelled myself to listen, even with
+chattering teeth; for it was a terrible thing to hear these hoarse,
+haunting cries of the dumb soul—of the soul I had strangled from its
+body, a soul which I would have killed itself if it were possible. But
+my hope was vain, and the trumpet had become not only worthless to me,
+but an absolute horror.
+
+Suddenly I determined to destroy it. I turned it over ready to dash it
+in pieces, but it cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life, and
+while I stood irresolute a small green-and-gold beetle crawled out of it
+and dropped like a stone to the floor. The insect was an electric flash
+to me, that dispelled the black gloom through which I had been battling.
+It had likely fallen into the instrument down in the church-yard, or
+when I laid it upon the window-sill, and the rasping of its wings,
+magnified, had produced the sounds which resembled the strange grating
+noise uttered by the deaf-mute.
+
+Instantly I put the trumpet to my ear. Once more the music of the past
+surged in. Voices, leaves, water, all murmured to me their changeful
+melody; every zephyr wafting by was filled with broken but melodious
+whispers.
+
+Relieved from doubts, relieved from fears and threatening dangers, I
+slept peacefully, dreamlessly as a child. With a feeling of rest to
+which I had long been unused, I walked out in the soft clear morning.
+Every thing seemed to have put on new life, for the sky was not gray or
+sober, and the leaves, if they were brown, trimmed their edges in
+scarlet, and if many had fallen, the squirrels played among them on the
+ground. But suddenly the sky and the leaves and the squirrels might have
+been blotted from existence. I did not see them, but I saw—_I saw Mother
+Flinse come through the college gateway and walk slowly down the road!_
+
+The large faded shawl pinned across her shoulders nearly covered the red
+flannel petticoat, and the orange-and-black spotted muslin was wrapped
+into a turban on her head. Without breathing, almost without feeling, I
+watched the figure until at the corner it turned out of sight, and a
+long dark outline on the grass behind it ran into the fence. The shadow!
+Then it was not a ghost. Had the grave given up its dead? I would see.
+
+At the church-yard the briers tore my face and clothes, but I plunged
+deeper where the shade thickened under the thorn-trees. There in the
+corner I stooped to lift the broken slab of a tomb, but all my strength
+would not avail to move it. As I leaned over, bruising my hands in a
+vain endeavor to raise it, my eyes fell for an instant on the stone, and
+with a start I turned quickly and ran to the church; then I stopped—the
+narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the slab on the tomb was filled
+with green moss, and this window was nailed up, and hung full of heavy
+cobwebs.
+
+And my instrument?
+
+Suddenly, while I stood there, some substance in my brain seemed to
+break up—it was the fetters of monomania which had bound me since that
+evening long ago, when, by the river in the oak-forest, I had heard the
+robin trill.
+
+No murder stained my soul: and there, beside the black waves of insanity
+through which I had passed unharmed, I gave praise to the great
+Creator—praise silent, but intense as Miriam’s song by the sea.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         THE PATHS OF THE SEA.
+
+
+Around the porch there hung that day a crimson glory. It was the
+climbing rose about the door displaying its gorgeous bloom in a thousand
+crowns. Green, grass-green were the hills, but in front of the house the
+cliff fell abruptly, with a precipitous drop, to the sea. On either side
+the waving coast-line stretched away, a shining belt of yellow sand.
+There the breakers with unfurled banners of fleece followed each other
+in a never ending procession to the shore. But at the foot the billows,
+by day and night running in forever, dashed against the rock and chopped
+to a seething foam that threw up in one continual briny shower its white
+and glittering spray.
+
+The surf at this point, even in pleasant weather, sounded a constant
+roar, and in times of storm it increased to a deafening thunder that
+appalled the ear and made the heart tremble before the sea in its savage
+ferocity. Looking off to the right, perhaps the greater part of a mile
+distant, the harbor discovered itself, blue, bluer than the sky. A few
+vessels that had grown mysteriously upon the empty horizon, and come in
+over the vast waste of waters, were idly lying at anchor, each one
+biding her time to spread her sails in the breeze and recede upon her
+lonely course, going, as she had come, like some spirit of solitude,
+dropping down silently beyond the remote sea-reaches. There the Nereid
+swung herself gently over the long ground-swell, patiently awaiting the
+coming night when again to take up her watery track that would carry her
+over the great Atlantic to other lands and far-off harbors. Not a
+trimmer ship sailed the high seas.
+
+The sun had traveled almost down the western slope, and it lit up the
+mighty ocean with a splendor that burned in lances of flame along the
+waves, and floated in myriad rainbows over the surf. The pomp of the
+departing day passed across the boundless waters, a magnificent
+pageantry. As the sun went down, the sky became a scarlet canopy. The
+flying spray took up the color and spread out a thousand streamers to
+the wind. Long, gold-green lanes of sea ran out to where the distant
+mists let down their gorgeous drapery. The tireless gulls, shaking the
+red light from their wings, sailed and sailed and dipped and sailed
+again. A few fishing smacks loitered in the orange haze, and, leagues
+away, a single sloop in the humid north stood, like some wan
+water-wraith, with a garland of foam about its feet. Eastward, above the
+hills, the waiting moon hung her helmet, paler than pearl, and the land,
+transfigured by the evening light, looked on while the sea in its play
+flashed up a hundred hues.
+
+The widow Aber had lived there on the cliff and seen the tides ebb and
+flow for more now than the quarter of a century. She was not a young
+girl when, twenty-six years back, poor Jacob Aber had married her. It
+was a sudden fancy on his part and a great surprise to the place, for
+Jacob was well on towards fifty, and many a girl had set her cap to
+catch the handsome sailor in vain. But he never rued his bargain. He was
+not a rich man, because he had always been a generous man, and he was
+content with enough merely to bring him in a modest living. When he
+married he took what little he had and built this cottage, built it of
+brick good and strong, where he could feel the salt wind blow, right in
+the face of the sea—the sea that, until he met Miriam Drew with her soft
+gray eyes, he had loved better than every thing else in all the wide
+world.
+
+They were happy and prosperous for four long years. First a son, then a
+daughter had come to brighten their home, and it was on just such an
+evening as this that Miriam, holding her infant child in her arms, told
+Jacob good-bye two-and-twenty years ago.
+
+It would be his last cruise, he said. The vessel was his own, and in
+twelve months, or less, he would come back rich enough to stay always,
+and if the tears were in his voice he choked them down bravely, saying
+again it was but for a little while he should be gone, and she must
+cheer up for the long and happy years that would come after.
+
+Then she suddenly laid down her child and with a smothered sob put up
+her arms about his neck. It was the first time she had fairly given way,
+and she clung to him trembling violently, but uttering not one word. He
+smoothed her brow gently, with a caressing touch, for her sake keeping
+his own grief crushed within his heart, and said,—
+
+“Miriam don’t you remember once saying you could always tell a sailor by
+the dreamy far-off look in his eyes, an expression that came only to
+those that lived upon the sea and watched its wide, wide fields? And
+don’t you remember sometimes when I was sitting quietly at home you
+would come up suddenly and ask me what it was I saw miles and miles
+away, over the summer water, in that distant sunny land? Well, do not
+cry so, for even when my ship has vanished from your sight, when on
+every side there is no trace of shore, I can stand upon her deck and
+look beyond the far horizon at our peaceful, happy home. And when at
+evening, with your eyes upon the sea, you sit and hold the children in
+your lap, remember I will be watching you from across its glittering
+line. There, that is right! You are a good, brave girl! It is but for a
+little while. I can look beyond this parting—I can see your waiting face
+turn radiant as my boat sails safely back!”
+
+Then, when he had kissed her and the little ones, and turned and kissed
+them again, there was a faint smile struggling through her tears. So,
+striving to keep down her grief, she parted without saying one word of
+the terrible dread that lay upon her heart.
+
+And two-and-twenty years ago he had sailed away.
+
+Many days, many nights, many weeks, many months, Miriam had watched the
+sea with wistful eyes. For his sake she had very nearly grown to love
+it, and the color came again to her cheeks as the time went by and the
+year was almost up, when it would give back forever the one she valued
+more than life. In those days she scanned the water-line, and waited
+patiently, and went about the house singing. She chattered to her
+baby-daughter all how its father was sailing home, until it laughed and
+cooed in wild delight. Every morning she dressed little Tommy in his
+best, and tied about his waist the beautiful sea-green sash that Jacob
+had brought her from the distant Indies; and in the queer frosted vases
+on the mantel, that had come from some foreign port, she kept a fresh
+bouquet of sweet wild flowers.
+
+But poor Jacob never came back.
+
+Homeward bound, his vessel was wrecked off the treacherous Newfoundland
+shore. A storm drove her helpless, enshrouded in fog, against the rocks
+where she foundered, and captain and crew went down together. Only two
+men escaped from the terrible disaster.
+
+When the dreadful news came and they told Miriam as they met her on the
+porch, she made no reply. She did not moan or scream. She only looked
+out for a moment at the deceitful sea, smiling in its sheen of a
+thousand tints, then turned and went into the house and shut the door.
+
+She had always been a strange woman, and they left her to bear her grief
+alone. She asked nobody’s sympathy, she did not complain, she never
+spoke of Jacob. She did not, as the people had expected, sell her house.
+She made no change so far as the world could see, only that she held
+herself, if possible, more aloof from society than ever. But before
+three months had gone by they noticed that her brown and shining hair
+had turned white, and her gray eyes showed half concealed within their
+depths an unfathomed trouble. Then too, her figure, once erect and
+straight as a dart, grew bent and stooped across the shoulders, and
+nothing ever brought the color to her face any more that was always pale
+and thin. Otherwise, however, there appeared no difference. She lived
+economically, and sometimes took in a small amount of fine sewing, as,
+beside the house, she had little else, for the sea when it buried her
+husband had buried his earnings also in the same watery grave.
+
+She staid at home and watched the children in whom her life was now
+wholly bound up. They were her world, her all. She seemed to find in
+them her very existence, and after the queer frosted vases on the mantel
+had stood empty for years, their young hands filled them again with
+sweet wild flowers. So the house once more was bright and sunny, and,
+though Miriam herself never sang, Hannah’s voice was clear and happy.
+
+Hannah had grown up the very picture of her mother when in her early
+girlhood, but young Tom was like his father. He was like his father in
+more respects than one, and while still a boy the people said he too
+will prove a sailor. They were right; though Miriam had struggled
+against it and watched over him with an absorbing care. She saw again
+developed in him the same wild fascination for the sea. She knew its
+strength and that it must prevail, and when he came and begged so hard,
+with the well remembered far-off look in his eyes, she felt all
+opposition would be vain.
+
+She did not reproach herself that she had lived upon the coast and
+played with him upon the beach, for something in her heart told her that
+it could have been no different, even had she raised him up in another
+place where the sound of the sea would not have been always in his ears.
+She recognized in this fatal love the heritage he had received from his
+father. The thought that it could be eradicated, that he would ever be
+satisfied with any thing else she knew to be hopeless, and so the widow
+had given up, and he had gone at fourteen to seek his fortune, like his
+father before him, a sailor on the high seas.
+
+Now, ten years later, and two-and-twenty years since poor Jacob had
+started on his fateful cruise, young Tom was ready for his fourth
+voyage. He had climbed unaided several steps up the ladder in his
+calling, and the Nereid, waiting down in the harbor would carry him in a
+few hours, her first mate, out upon her long two years’ absence. It was
+a great lift to him, for, besides his promotion, Luke Denin, who this
+time commanded the ship, had been his early friend. There was but little
+difference in their age. They had been boys together, and together they
+had explored the shore for miles and fished for days, and they had
+rambled the hills and the woods over; so, as young Tom said, it would be
+just as good for him as if he commanded the Nereid himself.
+
+When he told his mother this she had only patted him on the head, and
+said in a choked voice,—“My little sailor boy!”
+
+The widow Aber, ever since her son took to following the sea, had been
+gradually breaking. From that time her health, heretofore always strong
+and robust, began perceptibly to decline. The people noticed it, but
+then she told them that she was getting old—how could they expect a
+woman well up into the sixties to be as active as a girl, and besides
+this she had the rheumatism. So she was constantly excusing her
+feebleness with anxious care, as if she feared they might attribute it
+to some other cause than age.
+
+This evening she was even weaker than usual, though she did not
+acknowledge it, but sitting at the supper table her hands trembled so
+badly that the cups and saucers rattled a little as she served the tea.
+Miriam, whose life had been one constant struggle, was struggling still.
+No wonder the widow was proud of her son, her only son. Her gray eyes,
+beautiful as in her youth, would wander to him again and again, and rest
+upon his face with a strange, yearning expression, but whenever he
+turned to her she would drop them quickly and move a little nervously in
+her chair, striving to conceal, as she had done so many years ago, the
+burden of grief that lay at her heart.
+
+It was a pleasant party to look at, for Luke Denin too was there, and
+the young people carefully avoided any allusion to the separation before
+them. Tom, always gay and happy, was more than handsome in his sailor’s
+dress, with the bronze of the tropical sun upon his face. And Luke, if
+he was not so tall by half a head, and if his hair, instead of being
+black and crisp with waves, was light and straight, had at least as
+honest and frank a pair of deep blue eyes as Hannah cared to see—not
+that Hannah looked at them, for she looked only at her plate, and once
+in a while anxiously at her mother. Young Tom was evidently determined
+that this last meal at home should not be a sorrowful one, as he kept up
+the conversation in his liveliest mood. He told wonderful tales in such
+an absurd vein of exaggeration, that sometimes it even called up a smile
+on the widow’s face; and when the meal was over he picked her up
+playfully in his strong arms and carried her out upon the porch. There
+together they all watched the moonlight gradually show itself out of the
+dissolving day, in long paths across the water. Then the hour came to
+say good-bye.
+
+It was a desperate battle for Miriam, as she clung to her son in that
+parting moment. Then it was, for the first time, that something in her
+face went to the man’s inmost heart like a chill. She was old and frail,
+and his absence would be long, perhaps he might never look upon her
+again. In his wild fascination for the sea, was he not sacrificing her?
+The anguish of the thought overcame him. Had it been possible then he
+would have given up this voyage and staid at home, but it was too late
+now, and when he had turned for a moment, and with a strong effort
+fought his grief under control, he said gently,—
+
+“No, no! Do not be so distressed, mother! It is all for the best; and
+when I come back this time, mother, I will never leave you any more.”
+
+But Miriam, thinking of that other parting so long ago, remembered that
+Jacob, too, had said when he came back he would never leave her any
+more, and with a half suppressed cry she clasped her hands tighter about
+his neck.
+
+“O, my son, you will come back! Only promise me you will come back, and
+I can wait patiently and long!”
+
+There was a wild energy in her voice that frightened him, as she went on
+hurriedly with an accent he had never heard till then,—
+
+“Once before, with this same dread at my heart, I parted two-and-twenty
+years ago, but I let _him_ go without saying a word. I waited patiently.
+I even sang and tried to be happy. As the time went by I laughed as I
+thought how pleased he would be when he saw how his children had grown.
+I tied about your waist a sash of his favorite color, that he had
+brought me from the distant Indies, and I kept every thing in readiness
+for—what? They came and told me that he had gone down at sea—No, no; do
+not interrupt me. I let him go without saying a word. I must speak this
+time!”
+
+She paused for a moment as if waiting until her excitement had calmed,
+and with her trembling hand put back the hair from his forehead, then
+went on unsteadily in a tone but little louder than a whisper,—
+
+“You have the same dreamy far-off look in your eyes. I know you must go
+my child, I know you can not resist—but when your father left he said it
+would be only for a little while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty
+years.”
+
+There was another moment of silence, as though her thoughts had gone
+back over that long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice, she went on
+once more, calling him again unconsciously by the name she had used when
+he was a little child,—
+
+“Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not
+say it, I can not bear it! You will come back, you must come back to
+me!”
+
+A wild terror had crept into her face, then she broke down completely.
+
+“There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I did not used to be so foolish.
+Do not mind me. I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not strong any
+more, but—I can wait again—”
+
+“Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,” he said, drawing his arm close
+about her, “how peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love it better
+than any thing else in the whole world. It has always been gentle to
+me—you need not fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if you can only
+wait.”
+
+Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as he added the last words, and
+when Miriam, anxious to atone for her past weakness, said quickly,—
+
+“Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made her repeat it. Then rallying
+himself he went on gaily,—
+
+“Why, I will come back, mother, I will come back so grand and rich that
+you shall be three times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And I will
+take care of you always then. But, mother,” he said, the choking
+sensation coming again in his throat,—“promise that you will not worry
+about me while I am gone, or I shall never be happy, not even in any of
+the beautiful lands I will see—won’t you promise me, mother? Promise me
+that you will wait patiently, promise me that—that you will not give
+up—”
+
+“Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come back, I can wait again—I can
+even wait a long while.”
+
+“It will not be so very long! why the time will slip by, and almost
+before you know it you will find me standing beside you here again, when
+I mean you to be so proud of me that it will well nigh turn my head.”
+
+“Ah, Tommy, you know I am proud of you now, so proud of you, that
+sometimes it fairly frightens me, and I dare not think of it.”
+
+“Heaven knows,” he said, all the gay sound dying from his voice, as,
+stricken with remorse, he remembered the many times he had left her with
+no thought beyond the parting moment, “I’m not much to be proud of, but,
+mother—” taking up her thin hand and passing it over his face, once more
+driven to the last extremity to command his voice—“you and Nan are all I
+have on earth to care for me, and out in midocean, or in the far-off
+foreign ports, your love, like a constant prayer to keep me from harm,
+will be with me always. When I am at home once more I am going to be a
+good boy to you, mother. Nothing, not even the sea, shall ever part us
+again.”
+
+“You have always been a good boy to me, Tommy—I only thought—I was
+afraid that—O never mind, I can wait for you, Tommy. I do not feel so
+nervous now.”
+
+“There, that is right! We will meet again, mother, and then we will be
+very, very happy.”
+
+He kissed her yearningly, reverentially. It seemed as if he stood awed
+before the heart that for a moment had disclosed itself in its most
+silent depths, and in that moment there had been revealed to him, with
+all its overwhelming strength, that divine love which is mightier than
+life. It seemed as if now, for the first time, and almost blinded by the
+revelation, he saw—his mother.
+
+After a little silence, taking her face between his hands, he said,
+gently,—
+
+“Mother, I want to see you smile once more before I go.”
+
+“I will wait for you, Tommy,” she said again.
+
+“And I will surely come back.”
+
+When Miriam looked up there was a faint smile struggling through her
+tears, as there had been once before, two-and-twenty years in the past.
+Then he was gone.
+
+Down by the gate Hannah stood, trying to hide in the shadow of the great
+honeysuckle the new shy beauty on her face that had been called there by
+the kiss of warmer lips than the gentle sea-breeze.
+
+“Good-bye, Nan,” said Tom, unsuspiciously, throwing his arms about her
+in his rough brotherly embrace,—“why how you are trembling! You are not
+going to cry? Don’t, I can’t stand it!”
+
+“No, no,” came uncertainly in a helpless voice, evidently, in her wild
+conflict of emotion, not knowing exactly what she was going to do.
+
+“There, that’s right! Don’t cry, or I’ll—I’ll break down too!” said Tom,
+hoarsely, fairly strangling in his throat, and almost worn out by the
+strain he had undergone.
+
+Hannah, surprised, raised her face, but Tom had already got the better
+of himself. “How your eyes shine to-night, Nan; I did not know how
+pretty you were before!” Down went her head again immediately, and
+changing his voice he said, with a sigh,—“Nannie, there ain’t many
+fellows that have as good a mother and sister as mine; you won’t forget
+me while I’m gone, or get tired waiting? I’ve been a worthless, roving
+chap; I’ve never been of much comfort to you or mother, but when I come
+back next time, I’m going to stay at home a while. Look up now and tell
+me you are glad.”
+
+“O, Tom, I am! You don’t know how glad I am, if it was only for mother’s
+sake.”
+
+Then, turning his head away to hide the anguish that had come over his
+face, he asked, slowly, trying rather ineffectually to keep his voice
+natural,—“You don’t think, Nan, any thing will happen to her while I am
+gone?”
+
+“What do you mean?” said Hannah, struck by the awe in his tone.
+
+“I mean,” he said, unwilling to trouble his sister by the thought that
+had so oppressed him, and speaking gaily again: “I mean that you must be
+a good girl, and keep up mother’s spirits, but don’t get so used to my
+absence, that neither of you will care when I come back.”
+
+“O, Tom!”
+
+“Come out into the moonlight where I can see you. I’m dreadfully proud
+of you, Nan, because you don’t take on like other girls. You see I
+couldn’t have stood it!” said Tom, in a frightfully uncertain state of
+mind, as to whether it was possible to swallow the lump in his throat.
+“I’m going now. Be good to mother, you know she’s—she’s not very
+strong—Have you told Captain Denin good-bye?”
+
+“No, she hasn’t. Not yet. I thought I’d let you do it first; but you’ll
+tell me good-bye now, until I come back never to say it again, won’t
+you, Nanine?” said Luke, coming up in his most masterly way, right under
+Tom’s very nose, and almost hiding his sister from view in an embrace
+that this time was neither rough nor brotherly.
+
+“Whew!” gasped Tom, as Hannah came in sight again, with no friendly
+honeysuckle near to conceal the carnation bloom upon her cheeks. “Is
+that the way the wind blows! I’ve been as blind as a bat. Kiss me,
+quick, both of you, or I’m a gone case!”
+
+“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down on the stone there, and recover
+yourself. You’ve said your good-bye, now just wait for me!” said the
+superior officer triumphantly. And Tom, spent, exhausted, sank down; but
+the next instant Hannah had her arms tight about his neck, and was
+hiding her face against the crisp waves of his black hair.
+
+“Tom, dear, you ain’t sorry?”
+
+“No, Nan, I couldn’t have wished for any thing better; but it was so
+sudden, it just kind of knocked the wind out of my sails for a minute.”
+Then, after a pause,—“I say, there’ll be a grand glorification when the
+Nereid comes back, won’t there?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I—I wish it was back now! I don’t know what’s upset me so—There, kiss
+her, Luke, and let’s be off, quick, or I’ll disgrace myself outright,
+before I know it!” and Tom, gulping down great quantities of air with
+all his might, got up from the stone hurriedly, as if he meditated
+making a sudden bolt.
+
+But he did not. He stood there quietly looking out at sea; and when, a
+moment after, the young captain, taking his arm, said, “Come, now I am
+ready,” he started as from a dream. Turning to his sister, with every
+trace of his rollicking manner lost, he said, as though he had not
+spoken of her before,—
+
+“You must take good care of mother—poor mother. Do not let her grieve
+while I am gone. Oh, Hannah, you will be very careful of her, and not
+allow any thing—not allow her to get tired, and tell her always, while
+she waits, that when I am with her again, I will never leave her.”
+
+Then they had passed through the gate and were going rapidly down the
+narrow foot-path to the bottom of the hill. Hannah strained her eyes
+after them, and when at the turn of the road both brother and lover were
+lost to view, still she lingered at the spot pondering over Tom’s
+unwonted emotion. It was not like him. Never before had she seen him so
+singularly affected, and now that he was gone, it came back to her with
+redoubled intensity. The unusual sorrow that had almost choked him, the
+strange tone in his voice that he had tried vainly to conceal, the
+sudden wish that the Nereid was back even now, his repeated charges
+about their mother, all troubled her.
+
+An uneasy feeling of dread oppressed her, she knew not why. The heavy
+perfume of the honeysuckle suddenly make her sick and faint. The tall
+and prickly cedar stood up straight and still, covered on one side with
+a fret-work of silver, on the other clothed with the very gloom of
+darkness, and somewhere from among its shadowy branches a dove, as if
+half wakened out of a dream, stirred, uttered its brooding note, then
+sank again to silence. Hannah had heard the same dove a hundred times
+before, she even knew that there were purple ripples on its neck, but
+this time she started violently and shivered. It seemed as if the summer
+night had suddenly grown cold and chilled her to the heart, and with
+hurried steps she ran back to the house.
+
+The porch was deserted and strangely lonesome when she passed across.
+Even the crimson bloom, with its thousand crowns, looked black through
+the shade, as if it had withered in the hour, and she heard its leaves
+make a weird rustle, like a complaint, as she closed the door. The sense
+of desolation was so strong upon her that she could hardly keep from
+crying out in the solitude, but she went on swiftly to her mother’s
+room, and entered with noiseless feet. A great sigh of relief came to
+her lips when she saw the peaceful face upon the pillow, for Miriam,
+overcome by the reaction, already slept calmly as a child. Hannah sat
+down beside the bed. There was a smile upon her mother’s lips. How long
+she sat there, whether one hour, or two hours, she did not know, but
+when she got up all the tumult in her heart had subsided.
+
+She kissed the sleeping face gently and went quietly up stairs to her
+own room. She threw the shutters open wide, and lo! out upon the sea
+with her wings spread, white as the plumage of a gull, the Nereid!
+Lonely, spirit-like, beyond the reach of voice, she stood upon the
+mighty desert of the ocean. Before her prow the waves held out their
+wreath of down, and above, solitary in the vast moonlit sky, hung the
+royal planet Jupiter. Steady, radiant, it burned like the magic Star in
+the East. Hannah, watching, saw the ship fade away in the far-off
+endless isles of silver mist. A great peace had come to her soul, and
+when she lay down to sleep there was no trouble on her face. Gone, the
+Nereid was gone, but still, even in her dreams, she knew that the star
+in the sky was shining.
+
+Slowly the days came and went. Miriam, yet a little feebler, was bright
+and happy. Never, since that night when she said good-bye, had she
+murmured or uttered a word of complaint. Every thing at the cottage
+glided smoothly on; for Hannah attended to the house, and waited upon
+her mother with an untiring care, but even while she went about
+performing her different duties her eyes, unconsciously, would wander
+off to sea. Often in the afternoon, when the widow nodded in the great
+rocking chair by the window, she would slip away down to the beach, and
+sit there by the hour.
+
+Those were pleasant days to Hannah. Then the sea, clear and calm,
+rounded out, a great circle of splendor, to the horizon; or on its
+surface the giant mists reared themselves, triumphant, in towering
+arches. Perhaps her thoughts went out beyond these mighty phantom
+aisles, seeking always the two loved ones across their portals, over the
+vast and solemn ocean. Sometimes when the sky was warm and the wind blew
+shoreward it seemed to bring faintly the scent of foreign flowers; for
+nearer now to her were those mystical lands where Summer, almighty
+Summer, sat upon an everlasting throne.
+
+Hannah knew every vessel that sailed into port; and sometimes a boat,
+returning, had spoken the Nereid at sea, sometimes at long intervals a
+letter came. Then when for weeks, for months it might be, there was no
+word, no sign, the royal planet, moving in its eternal orbit, hung again
+in the sky, a star of promise. To Hannah, as she watched it night after
+night above the sea, it came as a messenger bearing glad tidings of
+great joy.
+
+So the time waned. The peaceful days passed by and fierce storms broke
+with a savage roar upon the coast. The green upon the hill-sides faded
+out, and the freezing spray encrusted the cliff with ice where the
+wintry sea threw up its bitter brine—and sometimes, farther off upon the
+shelving beach, it threw up more than brine, or stiffened weed. Broken
+spars, dreary fragments of wrecks drifted in, told of the wild
+desolation out upon the hoarse wilderness of beaten waves.
+
+But even those days too passed, and the Spring clothed the land again
+with emerald. More than a year had worn away since the Nereid had faded
+out of the horizon, and presently another Fall set in.
+
+For five months no word had come from the absent wanderers. Still Miriam
+made not the least complaint. Even when the storms lashed the sea, until
+it sent up a roar that made the young girl shiver, the widow evinced no
+anxiety. Had she not promised that she would wait patiently? She talked
+very little, and generally sat quietly by the window from morning till
+evening. But Hannah, saying nothing, had grown heavy-hearted with the
+long silence.
+
+It was November, a dull, dreary day in November. Heavy clouds stretched
+themselves in a somber, leaden sky, that near the water gathered dark
+and frowning. The gray sea, cold and hoarse, uttered eternally its
+hollow roar. But for this it seemed as if a mighty silence would have
+brooded over earth and ocean, a silence vast and dreadful as the grave.
+Dead white, the hungry surf crawled sullenly up the sand. Leagues away
+the fishing smacks all headed to shore, and the gulls were flying
+landward, when Hannah looking out, counted a new sail in the harbor.
+
+Any word to break this long heart-sick watch?
+
+Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her mother sleeping tranquilly in
+the great chair, she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and started
+down the hill. Once at the bottom she slackened her pace a little to
+gain breath. A fine drizzle already blew through the air, and the waters
+running in upon the smooth beach did not rumble with a great noise as at
+the foot of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up endlessly a weary
+lamentation. The damp settled on her hair in minute globules, and
+enveloped all her clothing in its clammy embrace, but she did not heed
+the weather. She never looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she
+hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying, she went on swiftly
+with the one idea absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running,
+half-walking, she never paused until she reached the slippery wharf.
+
+A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So eager was she that she did
+not hear the sudden exclamations, or see the look of pity that had come
+upon more than one rough sunburnt face when she made her appearance; for
+living all her life in the same quiet village many of the sailors knew
+Hannah by sight, many by her gentle manner and kind words, and many a
+sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian angel when sickness and
+poverty had come upon them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing
+with expectation, saw only it was the good ship Bonibird that had come
+to port. Stephen, old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered him
+well. Often when she was a child had he given her curious shells, and
+once he had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater, a tiny,
+live fish that glittered all over with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she
+remembered him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to look for him
+among the groups of sailors, but the old man was already at her side.
+
+Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood there with his cap off,
+shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and when with an
+exclamation of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it eagerly between
+his rough palms.
+
+“God bless you! God bless you!” broke from his lips in a thick
+utterance; then he dropped her hand nervously, and drawing his breath
+hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face.
+
+“I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she said. “You’ve been gone a long
+time.”
+
+“Yes, you beant so tall then.”
+
+“Is there any news from the Nereid?” she asked eagerly, hardly noticing
+his last reply.
+
+The old man seemed fairly to break out in a violent perspiration. He
+moved again uneasily on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped
+his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve.
+
+“I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’ up, Miss. Those clouds over the
+water do look ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.”
+
+“Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!” she said, impatiently.
+
+“Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in this nasty drizzle.”
+
+“No, no, I don’t care! I want to know if you heard any thing from the
+Nereid. Why don’t you tell me?” an alarm gathering quickly in her voice
+as the first sickening suspicion came over her. “O Stephen,” she said,
+with a terrified cry that fairly frightened the man, “you have, and
+there is something wrong! O the Nereid—the Nereid is not lost! Say it is
+not lost!”
+
+She had caught the man’s arm in her wild excitement, and clung to him
+trembling like a leaf from head to foot.
+
+“Why, no, no!” he said, scared by the girl’s dreadful agitation; “the
+Nereid be all right, she be all right! I didn’t think of sich an idee
+comin’ to you, or I’d a said afore she be all right. Thar beant nothin’
+the matter with her, nothin’, I was aboard o’ her myself—I’m afeard
+it’ll make you sick, Miss, a standin’ here in the drizzle like this, an’
+with nothin’ to keep off the wet,”—trying to appear as if he had settled
+the trouble, but all the time keeping his face turned carefully from
+her.
+
+In the first instant of relief Hannah had let go of his arm and put her
+hands to her head without one word, so intense had been the strain;
+then, looking up suddenly, and drawing a quick breath, she faced round
+to him.
+
+“Stephen, is this the truth that you have told me? You are not deceiving
+me? Is there _nothing_ the matter?”
+
+“Lord, no, Miss, it beant no lie,” but the old sailor hesitated
+painfully while she looked at him, worked his hands nervously about his
+neck, put them irresolutely to his pockets once or twice, till unable to
+stand it any longer, he suddenly made an end to his indecision by
+jerking out a letter, at the same time muttering some half-coherent
+sentence about how it had been given to him for her on board the Nereid.
+
+“O, a letter!” she cried, joyfully, breaking the seal, while her face
+that had been so clouded lighted up radiantly.
+
+As she looked up for a second, with a smile upon her lips, the old
+sailor became more distressed in his manner than ever; and when she
+unfolded the paper he even put out his hand once or twice, as if he
+would have taken it back. Evidently he could not bear to see her read it
+then; he had not thought she would open it there. Troubled, he looked
+about, shuffling again with that uneasy movement on his feet. If only he
+could find some means to prevail upon her first to take it home, and
+driven to desperation he turned once more to her, and said in an
+appealing voice,—
+
+“I’m feared thar be a bad storm comin’ up, Miss; the sea it really do
+look ugly, and may hap you’d better run home first; thar beant much time
+to lose noways.”
+
+But alas! it was too late. Hannah, utterly oblivious to the old man’s
+entreaty, was already eagerly reading down the sheet. Suddenly the color
+fled from her face. She appeared dazed and confused. For an instant she
+held the paper in a convulsive grasp, staring at it with a stony glare.
+Then she uttered a long, shivering sound, and her fingers gradually
+relaxed their hold.
+
+In a second the letter was gone. A savage wind broke loose with a tiger
+roar from the sea. The billows, in swift rage and with frightful tumult,
+piled up their fierce scrolls in a chaos of towering surge. Mist and
+spray and foam whirled in a blinding froth to the sky.
+
+Old Steve, half-carrying, half-dragging—for the girl seemed hardly able
+to take a step unassisted—drew Hannah back into the one long low
+building by the wharf, where most of the people that were standing about
+a few moments before had taken shelter from the storm. Quickly half a
+dozen rough hands drew out a small packing-box and placed it for a seat,
+and some one threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.
+
+She kept her lips closed tight. She looked at no one, she shivered
+constantly. The howling blast swept its brine up the wharf—“Washed
+overboard at sea.” The cruel breakers lifted and struck with
+thunder-crash—“Washed overboard at sea.” Bitter cold, the salt surf
+leaped and writhed and reached out with demoniac fury—“Washed overboard
+at sea.” Giant waves opened and shut with a grinding wrath their hungry
+jaws. Relentless, appalling, the mighty waters filled earth and sky with
+the terror of their strength.
+
+And Tom, poor Tom, had been washed overboard at sea!
+
+It was horrible. The awful words rang constantly in her ears. They
+repeated themselves over and over. Where, how—she knew naught, only the
+one sentence, with its dreadful import. After that she had read nothing,
+and before it she forgot all. Rocking a little back and forth on her
+seat, she sat there pale and dumb. Like her mother, two-and-twenty years
+in the past, she asked no sympathy, she heeded no comment.
+
+The ashen clouds, racing before the wind like the scud of the sea, drove
+swiftly down behind the hills, and the blinding fury of the storm had
+spent itself. Drearily the gray sky let down again its endless drizzle,
+when Stephen, his honest voice painfully choked by emotion, prevailed
+upon her to go home. At first looking at him blankly, she seemed hardly
+to comprehend what he said, and it was only when he spoke of her mother
+that she gave any heed to his entreaty. Her mother! how could she tell
+her the terrible news, her patient, waiting mother! Old Stephen, many
+times after, used to say how in that moment, when she looked at him, he
+wished he had been dead before ever he brought her such a letter.
+
+Shivering, always shivering, she drew the shawl tight about her
+shoulders, and slipped down off the fishy box without a word. The old
+sailor in his anxious care would have followed too, but she only shook
+her head, and without having opened her lips, he saw her go alone.
+
+The sullen mist hung its reeking folds along the shore, and the tide,
+running out, left a wide dank stretch of yellow slime. Above it, where,
+in Summer, the green swords of the sea-wrack grew, the storm had washed
+up clammy masses, heavy with ooze, of the pale and sticky tangle.
+Fiercely the treacherous waters had swept over the shore and covered it
+with their bitter dregs; but more fiercely had they surged, a dreary
+desolation, over the girl’s young heart.
+
+Upon the bloated girdles, on the wet sand, in the chilly damp, with the
+salt spray clinging to her clothes, she went, and the wild sea, calming
+down, mourned again at her feet, like a sinister mockery of grief, in
+loud lamentation. When she went up the narrow foot-path on the hill, and
+came to the garden gate, she stopped a moment, she hardly knew why. It
+was a mechanical action with her. She scarcely felt or thought. Her
+heart was heavy as a stone.
+
+The branches of the great honeysuckle were black and bare. She looked at
+the old rock by the path now slippery with rain. She looked at the tall
+and prickly cedar drenched with mist and spray. She looked out at the
+storm-beaten sea, then she looked back once more at the dripping
+evergreen. The dove in its thorny spire was gone—the dove with the
+purple ripples on its neck. It had never built another nest. Shivering,
+shivering, she went on, crossed the porch, where the arms of the
+bloomless rose, weird and gaunt, flung down great heavy tears at her
+feet, and, still shivering, she went into the house and shut the door.
+
+Miriam, used to the tumult of the sea, sat patiently in the chair by the
+window, as she had done so many, many times in the past. When Hannah
+came in she looked up with surprise. The girl would have avoided her,
+but Miriam, seeing her so wet became alarmed, and, rising from her seat,
+had met Hannah in the hall before she could escape.
+
+“I thought you were up stairs! What took you out in such stormy weather?
+You’re all wet and shivering with the cold, and—why, child, your face is
+as white as a sheet! What is the matter?”
+
+“Nothing, I—I—was caught in the rain, and—and got a little damp.” The
+words came uncertainly in a deep voice, for Hannah could hardly trust
+herself to speak, lest some unguarded tone should abruptly betray the
+terrible truth. The girl felt as if it was written all over her, or that
+she might disclose it in every movement; but she had turned her back to
+her mother, and with trembling hands was hurriedly shaking out the wet
+shawl. “I’ll go and change my clothes. It will not hurt me.”
+
+“Well, do it quickly, and come down to the fire right away. I’m afraid
+it will make you cough.”
+
+Hannah, eager to escape, gathered the shawl on her arm; but at the foot
+of the stairs she stopped and looked back.
+
+“You—you’ve had a nice sleep, mother?”
+
+“Yes, dear, so very sound that I only heard the wind like a gentle
+zephyr.”
+
+“And you feel well?”
+
+“Oh yes, better to-day than I have for a long, long time. I’m going to
+get stronger now steadily,” she said, with a smile that, for a moment,
+brought into the wan face a strange beauty, like a gleam of the same
+radiance that so far in the past poor Jacob had placed upon the shrine
+of his heart.
+
+Hannah, turning her head quickly, almost overpowered by sudden
+faintness, went up stairs, staggered across the room, and sank down by
+the window in a silent agony of grief. She did not sob or cry audibly,
+her whole being was one mental wail of despair—her mother! her gentle,
+waiting mother! Fierce unspoken rebellion had taken possession of the
+girl’s soul. To one that had been always as a ministering spirit to
+those about her, why had Providence allotted so cruel a destiny? She,
+whose life had been but a long heart-struggle; she, that had done no
+evil, that had suffered without a murmur; she, feeble and bent with
+years, marked with the silver brand of sorrow and age; she, far down the
+avenue of her days, almost where the mighty mists of eternity close up
+their impenetrable curtains, she must yet be compelled to go on, to the
+last, through the darkness of new trouble! Was there no mercy, no
+justice?
+
+Bitterly Hannah looked out, dry-eyed, at the relentless sea. There was
+no distant line against the sky; above, below, drear and empty, the gray
+stretched to infinity—not a sail on all the waters, and the tides were
+out—aye, the tides _were_ out for her.
+
+She had never shed a tear. Forgetful of her wet clothing, she leaned a
+long time upon the window-sill, motionless, and the lines in her young
+face were hard and strained. Perhaps the memory of that night came back
+to her with its vision of the royal planet that had seemed a star of
+promise—a star of promise? A mockery it had been, a cruel mockery!
+
+Then Miriam’s voice calling from the foot of the stairs roused her, and
+hurriedly she changed her damp dress, but she could not yet meet her
+mother. She lingered about the room. She fell upon her knees; she tried
+to pray, but her heart refused to utter a single petition, and Miriam
+had called again and yet again before Hannah went down.
+
+“Come close to the fire. You were so long I am afraid it will make you
+sick.”
+
+“No, mother, I am cold a little, that is all.”
+
+Miriam did not ask again what had taken her out, and Hannah, shading her
+eyes with her hand, sat by the grate trying to prepare herself for the
+dreadful duty that awaited her. She knew her mother must be told, lest
+it should come upon her abruptly from the lips of a stranger with a
+shock greater than she could bear. It was a hard struggle for Hannah;
+the girl would gladly have borne all the trouble herself, but that could
+not be.
+
+Just how she said it she never remembered, only suddenly she felt calm
+and strong for the duty, and with a strange desperation on her face,
+slowly, gently as human means could do, she told the terrible news.
+
+And Miriam?
+
+Sitting in her chair she did not scream, or moan, or faint. She leaned a
+little forward with her elbow on her knee, and looked at Hannah, looked
+at her long and steadily, with a strange wavering light in her eyes.
+
+“Mother, mother, speak to me!” the girl cried, frightened at this light
+in her eyes, terrified that she said nothing, did nothing.
+
+“Yes, dear, I am better to-day, yesterday I walked to the garden gate. I
+will even be strong enough to go down to the wharf when the Nereid comes
+in, and it will be such a glad surprise for him, such a glad surprise!”
+
+She had leaned back in her chair again, and her face, like a revelation,
+was radiant once more almost with the lost beauty of her girlhood.
+
+Hannah, dropping her head in her hands, could scarcely speak for the
+awful beating of her heart.
+
+“No, no, Mother, you do not understand. He is—dead. He will—never
+come—home—”
+
+The same wavering light flickered a second time in Miriam’s eyes as the
+girl spoke. She put up her thin hands for a moment and wearily stroked
+the silver hair back from her forehead. She looked slowly, with a
+bewildered expression about the room, then, smiling again, she said,—
+
+“Home? Yes, the time is nearly up. In the Spring, in the early Spring,
+he shall be home, home to stay always. I know he will not disappoint me.
+I promised to wait patiently, and I have not complained, have I Hannah?”
+
+“No, no——”
+
+“And I shall be stronger then, and we must make the house pleasant for
+him. It will never be lonely any more when he is here. Why do you cry
+so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for him now.”
+
+Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs, slipped down on the floor
+with her face covered, and Miriam talked on and on of the happy times
+they would have when “Tommy” came back in the Spring.
+
+She could be made to comprehend nothing of the dreadful tidings. He had
+promised her he would come back, and her faith never faltered. But there
+was a distinct change in her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner
+that had been with her always a marked characteristic, seldom
+volunteering a sentence to a stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly
+of her son. She would tell every person she met how much stronger she
+was getting, and how she meant to go and meet him at the wharf when the
+Nereid came in.
+
+So months went by, and Miriam did get stronger every day. She had not
+been so well in years, not since long ago when poor Tom had first taken
+to following the sea. Bright and happy she seemed from morning till
+night, only Hannah noticed that sometimes when speaking most earnestly
+she would stop suddenly for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered
+way, with that same wavering light flickering up in her eyes.
+
+All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of the Widow Aber’s waiting
+so trustfully for “Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come back,
+and they were good to Hannah that Winter. The girl had not cast her
+bread upon the waters in vain. When she found herself weak and faint a
+dozen hands were ready with some kind office, and there was little left
+for her to do about the house. Those bitter months as they waxed and
+waned were one long, mute agony, but the girl did not break down under
+the terrible strain. Trouble does not kill the young; thin and pale she
+grew, but strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for Miriam’s sake,
+and with something of Miriam’s early nature, she kept her grief crushed
+within her heart. She seldom went out of the house now. She staid always
+with her mother, as if fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who
+went to the house from the village, told how dreadful it was to see her
+sitting quietly, even sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips
+when the widow would say,—
+
+“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and well, are you not glad? He
+said he liked to see me smile, and he must find us bright and cheerful
+when he comes in the Spring.”
+
+The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think what might happen then. Every
+day, as she watched her mother, the dread upon her grew stronger. She
+would have held back the coming of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid,
+that now, with its white wings, might return only as the angel of death
+to Miriam. She would understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful
+shock! It was the terror of this that haunted Hannah day and night.
+
+The last winter month had gone by, and the chilly winds of March were
+whistling along the coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly
+up the hill to the house. He brought the news that Hannah had so long
+dreaded. The Nereid was even then heading round the cliff. She had asked
+him to let her know in time, that she might keep it from her mother, at
+least till after the boat had landed. But while he was in the very act
+of telling, he stopped suddenly, and a look of fright came over his
+face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and saw her mother standing in
+the open doorway. She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank in her
+breast like a stone.
+
+Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from going to the wharf, but
+Miriam, radiant as a child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste,
+paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was cold, that it was too
+far, that she would go in her place, until Hannah, driven to
+desperation, told her mother again of the dreadful disaster, and how
+poor Tom could not be there to meet her. Then the widow stayed her
+trembling hands for a moment in their flurried effort to tie her bonnet,
+and looked at Hannah, looked at her long and steadily, as she had done
+before, with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always seemed as if
+she was dimly conscious, for the instant, that something was wrong, but
+even as the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.
+
+“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant with eager excitement,
+“hurry, we must not be late. I feel young and strong, and it will be
+such a glad surprise for him!”
+
+Hannah, powerless to keep Miriam back, gave up the endeavor, and went
+on, with a mortal agony in her heart, beside the frail woman who, in all
+faith, was going to welcome home her son—her son out upon the silent sea
+of eternity, where even a mother’s voice could never reach. No wonder
+the girl’s grief made her dumb. Was there no escape? She heard the
+waters running in, it seemed to her for a thousand leagues, sounding
+their dreadful dirge. At that moment gladly would she have lain down
+forever in the same boundless grave with father and brother, where the
+waves, slow and sad, were playing for them this requiem on every shore
+of every land. But Miriam, in the extremity of her haste, never
+stopping, went on steadily over the wet ground, bending, sometimes
+almost staggering, before the raw March wind that swept in fierce gusts
+from the still frozen north.
+
+A sudden hush fell upon all the people at the wharf as they came down.
+With her gray hair blown about in strands, her eyes fever-bright, and
+her breath coming quick and short, paying no heed to any one, the widow
+Aber glided silently among them, like an apparition. Unconscious of
+every thing but the ship, even then in the mouth of the harbor, she
+stood, her face so thin and worn, all quivering with excitement, and her
+pale lips moving constantly with some inarticulate sound. Once or twice
+she stretched out her trembling hands toward the vessel, then, gathering
+her shawl, held them tight against her breast, as if she would keep down
+the throbbing of her heart. Frail and shadowy, she seemed hardly human,
+as she waited, with her garments fluttering in the bitter wind, with her
+very soul reaching, struggling, looking out eagerly in her gray eyes.
+
+Slowly the ship sailed up the harbor, slowly it reached the dock, and
+after almost two years’ wandering, the Nereid rested once more in her
+native waters. As the boat touched the wharf, Hannah had taken her
+mother’s arm, perhaps that she might hold her back, but Miriam made no
+effort to move. The girl could feel her trembling, trembling, but she
+only put up her hand unsteadily and brushed the hair away from her face.
+
+Too well Hannah knew poor Tom would not be there, and, as through a
+mist, she saw the sailors swing themselves down. In the dreadful trouble
+that had come upon her, she had almost forgotten Luke. During all these
+weeks of anguish she had thought only of her mother, but this morning
+the strain had been too severe. She had given up the battle, and now
+waited stonily; she would have waited on all day, when Miriam, suddenly
+breaking loose from her, in a voice half stifled by a wild delight,
+cried,—
+
+“O, Tommy, my boy, my only boy!”
+
+It was Luke that stood beside her, whom she had strangely mistaken for
+her son. She would have fallen to the ground had he not caught her in
+his arms. Unable to speak for a moment, she clung to him trembling
+violently. Clasping her hands tight about his neck, she closed her eyes,
+and, with a quivering sigh, laid her head against his shoulder. Hannah,
+looking at Luke quickly, made a gesture that kept him silent, then
+Miriam, without moving, said, brokenly,—
+
+“I have waited for you, Tommy. It was such a long, long time, but I knew
+you would come—”
+
+She paused, while a slight struggle in her breath escaped, like a sob,
+from her lips, then went on once more still in an unsteady tone,—
+
+“I am so glad, so glad! I am well and strong, Tommy. I feel a little
+tired now, but I am well and strong. You will never leave me, never
+leave me any more—”
+
+There was another feeble struggle in her throat; then when she spoke
+again, her voice, growing fainter at every effort, seemed to come from
+some far-off distance, drifting in to them as from the desert spaces of
+an illimitable sea.
+
+“Do not let me go. It is cold, and the wind—Hark! Listen, oh listen how
+sweet and soft the waters wash! Hold me close, Tommy. I am weary. Why,
+it is Summer! Look! see the land, the foreign land! Stay, Tommy, I am
+tired—so tired—”
+
+Her head had drooped back heavily on the man’s arm, but her lips still
+moved, and suddenly her face lighted up with a radiant smile.
+
+“Nearer,—come nearer—How bright the sunlight shines upon your face!
+Tommy, my boy—my sailor boy—”
+
+So, on that bleak March morning when the Nereid came in, Miriam had
+indeed gone to meet her son, her sailor son, on that far, far off
+foreign shore that is girdled by the mightier ocean of eternity.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         REINHART, THE GERMAN.
+
+
+Poor Reinhart! He certainly was a brilliant fellow. Even the German
+Professors overlooked his English origin, and felt proud of him.
+Probably they argued that if he was born in Yorkshire, it was not his
+fault. And, besides, as the name showed, his family, no matter where
+they had since strayed, must have been, at some period of the past, true
+children of the Fatherland.
+
+As far as he was concerned, he seemed to have very little attachment for
+his native country. Indeed, he never evinced very much of an attachment
+for any place or any body. We had been together the greater part of ten
+years. He possessed a singular influence over me. I hardly know what I
+would not have done for Reinhart. But he was in disposition not the
+least demonstrative; and whether he ever saw any attraction in me, I can
+not tell. I simply imagined so, because time wore away without drifting
+us apart.
+
+A profound interest in metaphysics absorbed his whole being; and through
+this channel he had crept into the good graces of the college
+authorities. During his long study upon this subject, he had woven about
+himself all the labyrinthine meshes of the subtile German philosophy.
+Though only a tutor of twenty-five, the doctors of metaphysics touched
+their hats to him; all the students bowed before him; and I—I felt sorry
+for him.
+
+Why? I can hardly tell. But he had grown thin and pale and nervous
+within the last year; and I could not help wishing that all Germany was
+as ignorant of psychology as in the days when the Suabians danced their
+dryad dances upon the very spot where now the great University lifted up
+its towers—this great University whose walls were built not of stone
+from the quarry, but of the labors of many lives, some of whose proudest
+pinnacles, reaching into a light of dazzling splendor, had been reared
+only by the everlasting sacrifice of reason.
+
+A vague idea had floated into my mind, but so very terrible it was that
+I had never dared acknowledge its existence even to myself;
+nevertheless, it oppressed me constantly. Finally, it grew into such a
+burden that I could bear it no longer, and so made up my mind to do what
+little I could to relieve myself at any rate. A plan occurred to me
+whereby I might accomplish my chief design, which was to draw him away
+from this study that was consuming him; to draw him away from his myriad
+theories into life. But before I had said a word, while I was still
+meditating how it could best be done, Reinhart settled the trouble
+himself.
+
+I never was more astonished or more pleased than when he proposed the
+very thing I had been trying to broach, that the two of us should spend
+the next six months in traveling. What had suggested it to him, or what
+his reasons were, I never asked. Had _he_ any suspicions of this strange
+fancy that I would not admit to myself, and yet had been vainly striving
+to drive from my mind? Since then I have sometimes thought so, and
+sometimes thought not. To the proposition I consented eagerly, and did
+my best in hastening all the arrangements; therefore no time was lost
+before we found ourselves _en route_ for the south of Europe.
+
+As I have said, Reinhart was not in the least demonstrative. Very likely
+his natural reserve had been greatly increased by his sedentary life.
+But I noticed, early in our trip, that he seemed laboring to throw off
+his abstracted manner. I felt encouraged, notwithstanding I knew it was
+an effort to him, and determined, not only that he should see something
+of the world, but, what would be of much more benefit, that he should
+see something of society.
+
+In the beautiful Italian scenery my own spirits rose perceptibly. The
+great load which had been burdening me lessened and finally raised
+itself altogether, as I saw this shadow of the German University that
+had been resting on my companion break. But I know now I was mistaken.
+It was only the battalion preparing for action; the marshalling of the
+forces before the conflict.
+
+It had been almost a month since we left Germany. Many of the English
+and American gentlemen residing in Florence had shown us not only
+attention but hospitality. One thing I noticed quickly that Reinhart
+cared almost nothing for the society of ladies. He endured it; never
+sought it. The most beautiful faces he would pass without any notice, or
+with merely an indifferent glance. I was sorry for this, because here
+was a channel, I had thought, wherein might be turned the current of his
+existence.
+
+With this subject still uppermost in my mind, I determined one morning I
+would bring my sounding-line into play, if it were only on account of my
+own satisfaction. We were sitting upon the deep sill of the open window,
+smoking our cigars and enjoying the utter tranquillity of the southern
+day, when I asked, indifferently, as if the question had been wholly
+unpremeditated,—
+
+“Reinhart, were you ever in love?”
+
+He looked up quickly, waited a moment, as though at first he had not
+exactly understood, then answered,—
+
+“No.”
+
+Now, I knew very well he never had been; for, as I have said, the last
+ten years we had spent together; but at present I was bent upon the
+intent of discovering what probability there was that such a catastrophe
+could ever be brought about; so I said again,—
+
+“Reinhart, do you think you _ever will_ be in love?”
+
+I expected a repetition of my former answer, but, to my surprise,
+without any hesitation, he replied,—
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Indeed!” I gasped, with my breath almost gone,—“and when may it come to
+pass?”
+
+Looking up, I dropped the tone of raillery I had been using immediately,
+for I saw it was a serious matter to him; and overcome by astonishment,
+I subsided into complete silence.
+
+The perfume of roses came in on the breeze, and a scarlet-cloaked
+flower-girl carrying her wares, the only person on the street, turned
+out of sight. A small bird, with red plumes in its wings, lighted nearly
+within reach, upon the tree, and broke into song, but, checking the
+strain almost in the first note, it flew away, settling, a mere speck,
+upon the northern spire of the Cathedral. Then Reinhart said, as though
+there had been no pause in the conversation,—
+
+“I do not know; it may never come in this life.”
+
+I looked at him, thoroughly puzzled, almost frightened. Then, thinking
+perhaps I had not heard aright, said,—“What?” But, without heeding my
+interrogation, he continued,—
+
+“Perhaps it never will come in this life.”
+
+Yes, I had heard aright. Possibly we were each talking of different
+things; and as a last resource, I said,—
+
+“Perhaps _what_ will never come in this life?”
+
+“Why, love,” he replied, making a slight gesture of impatience, as
+though I had been unpardonably dull.
+
+“But,” I persisted, determined to understand, “then it will never be at
+all, for they neither marry nor are given in marriage in the next
+world.”
+
+“No,” he repeated, “they ‘neither marry nor are given in marriage.’” He
+said the words over slowly but mechanically, exactly as if he might have
+said, or thought, the same words over a hundred times before.
+
+That he believed in the immortality of the soul, I quite well knew, for
+it was the one shoot of his English education, which, springing in early
+boyhood, had survived, like a foreign plant, amid all the German
+sophisms. I did not like the strange aspect of his face, and, somewhat
+ill at ease, I said,—
+
+“Then, what do you mean?” I waited a moment for the answer.
+
+“I can hardly tell you. I have always had a theory of my own—no, not a
+theory, a belief. I have never undertaken to express it in language, and
+do not know whether I can render myself intelligible. I think every soul
+has somewhere in the universe an affinity—I am obliged to use the word
+for lack of a better one—and I believe that before complete happiness
+can be attained the two are merged into one. It is not marriage: that is
+purely earthly. These affinities may possibly meet in this life, though
+it is hardly probable; but in the ages to come it will occur just as
+certainly as there is an eternity. Mind, I do not call it marriage. It
+is the fusing together of two souls, a masculine and feminine, just as
+they combine chemicals, producing a new substance. I believe, as I said,
+these two souls may sometimes meet in this life; but it is a destiny
+that comes to few in centuries, and those few should kneel in
+everlasting gratitude before their Creator.”
+
+When Reinhart ceased speaking, I could see that he had worked himself
+almost into a fever, for his eyes were bright and restless, and the
+blood surged in waves across his usually colorless face. With a rough
+hand, I had struck the chord whose undecided vibrations had, a month
+ago, appalled me. The great burden which had so oppressed me settled
+down again heavier than before. It was not so much what he had said as
+the expression of his face that filled me anew with anxiety. And
+struggling under this burden, I made a poor attempt to laugh the matter
+off.
+
+“Reinhart, this is some of your German metaphysics.”
+
+“No; though you are at liberty to call it what you please; but I have
+never read such a theory in any place.”
+
+“Well, it is an absurd idea,” I retorted, “and sounds exactly like some
+of your humbug philosophers, who never believe in any thing but
+fantasies; and I would advise you to let them alone.”
+
+This was hardly wise on my part. I should not have allowed myself to
+express any impatience when I saw it excited him, and only augmented
+what I was striving to allay. The blood rushed again over his face, but
+he said nothing; only, rising from his seat, he walked several times
+across the room.
+
+In the silence that followed, a strain of joyful music broke suddenly
+upon us. It was the swell of the Cathedral organ, sounding a prelude for
+some wedding. But if the strain was ever finished, we did not hear it,
+for the next moment a crash of terrific discord drowned the music,
+shaking the very ground. Some object flew swiftly past my face, struck
+the wall and fell upon the floor. I sprang up and shut the window
+quickly. Half the sky was covered with a black cloud, and from the
+carpet at my feet I picked up a dead bird, a small bird with red plumes
+in its wings.
+
+The storm passed over in less than half an hour, leaving the sky
+perfectly clear again; but for the remainder of the day I could not
+recover my spirits. Whether Reinhart suffered from a like oppression, I
+know not; but he seemed possessed by the very demon of unrest. He was
+not still a moment. He had little to say; and quite late in the evening
+proposed a walk. Without any remark upon the unusual hour, I acquiesced.
+
+The night was quiet and beautiful, beautiful even for that southern
+clime. There was no moon, and still the sky was filled with a soft
+light, brighter than the trembling rays of the stars alone. I remember
+it because it was a peculiar luminous haze, that I had seen only in
+Italy, and because, though no clouds swept over the sky, and the haze
+never paled until lost in the crimson glow of morning, that night, to
+me, was the blackest night of my life, whose vision sometimes yet rises
+before me, even at noon-day, with appalling reality. Ah! why were the
+sky and stars beautiful? O, cruel sky! O, cruel stars! Was the sorrow on
+earth nothing to you, that you gave no warning?
+
+We had walked perhaps two squares, when Reinhart stopped just as
+suddenly as if he might have come in contact with a stone wall,
+invisible to me. Alarmed, I said, quickly, “What is the matter? Are you
+ill?”
+
+“No,” he replied, still standing motionless. Then, in a moment, without
+another word, he turned and began retracing his steps.
+
+“Are you going home already?” I inquired, puzzled by his strange
+conduct.
+
+“No; I am going to the Cathedral.”
+
+We had just passed the Cathedral, when he had made no motion to enter;
+but now I tried in vain to dissuade him from it. I told him that there
+was no service at this hour; that we might as well not have left home as
+to go inside of any house. All to no purpose; he was just as determined
+as at first, until finally he turned fiercely upon me and said, with a
+strange emphasis in his tone,—
+
+“I will go; I must go; I feel something within me that _compels_ me to
+go!”
+
+Was this again the vibration of that terrible chord in his nature—that
+terrible chord that threatened to destroy forever the harmony of his
+life?
+
+Powerless to turn him from his intent, together we crossed the northern
+portal and entered the nave. It was so dim that the heavy shadows
+clustered in a rayless cloud among the arches, and at the end, far
+off—they looked like stars in the gloom—flickered a few tapers at the
+altar, while higher up swung the sacred but sickly flame that had been
+burning for centuries. There was not a stir, not a sound. I trembled all
+over with a singular sensation of weakness that came upon me as I
+followed Reinhart, who went steadily down the long aisle to where the
+transepts met, then stopped as abruptly as he had stopped a few moments
+before in the street.
+
+It was, as I have said, just where the transepts met. There, upon a low
+platform or dais, stood a bier covered by a velvet pall, whose heavy
+border fell in waveless folds. And upon it rested a casket with silver
+mountings. Beside it two tapers burned, one at the head and one at the
+foot; and two monks kneeled, motionless. Beyond the choir I saw the
+gleam of the organ-pipes, wavering, come and go. The altar lights
+circled about each other, and they, too, receded in infinite space; they
+grew dim; they vanished; they sprang again; they fled again. The great
+tombs loomed out and faded; the figure on an ebon crucifix, inspired
+with life, writhed in fearful agony, then once more became transfixed,
+and the weak, trembling sensation under which I had been laboring was
+gone.
+
+I saw that we were standing by the dead of some noble family, for the
+repose of whose soul the monks were offering up their prayers. I drew a
+little nearer. Upon the snow-like cushions within the casket a young
+girl lay sleeping the last deep and solemn sleep. Or was it a
+vision?—one of that mystical land, whose white portals are beyond the
+sun; that land where there is no shadow, no stain; where there is beauty
+celestial, peace everlasting? No, it was all the future we ever see; it
+was still this side the gates of eternity; it was death.
+
+A chaplet of flowers crowned her brow, all colorless as marble, and
+garlands of flowers wreathed her robe, that was purer than fleece; but
+her hands held no lilies, no jasmine; more sacred than these, they held
+a small golden crucifix, an emblem imperishable, holy. The burning
+tapers threw not over the face, turned slightly toward the altar, that
+beautiful dream-light; it was the last inscription written by the
+spirit, even after it had seen down the radiant vista of immortal
+happiness.
+
+Ah! why offer prayers for a soul beyond the troubled sea, beyond the
+dread valley? O, frail humanity! Even then beside the pall, where rested
+the solemn silence no voice could break, stood one for whom the kneeling
+monks might have told a thousand _aves_.
+
+Reinhart raised his face suddenly. Straightening himself, he extended
+his arm with a wild gesture, uttering a laugh that grated clear up to
+the dome.
+
+“Did I not tell you?” he cried. “Did I not feel the mysterious summons
+that brought me to this spot? Do you see her? _It is she!_ It is her
+soul and mine that will abide together through all eternity.”
+
+The startled monks rose to their feet. The great arches of the Cathedral
+threw back his voice in terrible groans. Quick as thought I sprang
+toward him, but was hurled off with the ease of a giant. He stooped for
+a moment and put one hand to his head, as if a sudden faintness might
+have swept over him; but he did not touch the casket. Then, dropping on
+one knee beside it, he raised his face and said softly, so softly that
+the last word seemed to come to us from a great distance,—
+
+“O, beautiful soul, part of my spirit, I will not keep you waiting!”
+
+We gathered around and raised him up. It needed no force now; and when
+they laid him down again, with a great throbbing in my breast, I folded
+his hands. He had taken his life.
+
+O, Germany! like this fair day you lured a bird high up into your
+sunshine, a bird with brilliant plumes in its wings; then, before it had
+sung one song from the pinnacle where it rested, blackening suddenly
+into a storm, you killed it. Reinhart, poor Reinhart! you lured high up
+into the fantastic light of psychology; then before he had reared one
+minaret upon the temple where he climbed, you darkened suddenly into a
+gigantic gloom that, rising up like a storm, overwhelmed him.
+
+Yes, better had it been for Reinhart were the Suabians still dancing
+their dryad dances.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                             SILVER ISLET.
+
+
+In Lake Superior, near its northern shore, a mere speck of land,
+scarcely two hundred feet square, barely shows itself above the water.
+This is Silver Islet, and on it sinks the shaft of the richest silver
+mine in the world. Covering almost its entire dimensions, stand two
+buildings. One, a low frame house, encloses the mouth of the mine, and
+the other, immediately adjacent, a small wooden structure, forms the
+watch-tower.
+
+Through this tower, every evening, the miners, when dismissed for the
+day, are compelled to pass out one by one, and submit themselves to an
+examination, where their clothes are thoroughly searched, that none of
+the precious metal may be carried away secreted upon the person. So
+extreme is the vigilance employed that visitors are never allowed,
+except by special permit, and though isolated upon the waters, the place
+is kept by day and night under this strict martial surveillance.
+
+To the north, about a quarter of a mile distant, is another island,
+perhaps six or eight acres in extent. It is high and rocky, and in one
+place reaches up more than a hundred feet. Here, built upon its sloping
+side, is the little settlement that could count up altogether, it might
+be, thirty houses. Here the miners live with their families. Here, too,
+every thing that pertains to the business of the place carries itself
+on; and here it was that father had brought me to stay.
+
+I was about eighteen years old then. I do not know how father happened
+to receive the position of assistant overseer at the mine. I never knew
+very much about father. Indeed I had hardly seen him more than half a
+dozen times in my life, until that day he came to take me from the farm.
+I could not remember my mother, who died in my infancy, and brother or
+sister I had none. Father was a morose, unsociable man by nature, and I
+think he cared but very little for me. I had been left at my uncle’s to
+grow up, and so, as I said, about him I knew almost nothing.
+
+Uncle George lived on a poverty-stricken farm upon the flattest of
+prairies. I hardly know how I did grow up there, it was such a wretched,
+miserable place. Although I had never experienced any thing different,
+it was so forlorn an existence, that I chafed inwardly against it every
+hour. I possessed a kind of dumb consciousness that surely, surely I
+must be made for something better than this. I saw nothing of the world,
+nothing of humanity outside of my uncle’s family, and the two or three
+rough farm hands that he occasionally employed. I would rather have had
+the cattle, the poor half-starved cattle, for companions than these.
+They were none of them kind to me. I know not whether father ever paid
+any thing for my board; but I know I worked far harder than any hired
+servant. I did not rebel outwardly, but I was constantly unhappy. Was I
+to live on all my days in this hopeless, miserable way? Was there never
+to be any thing better? Looking out of the window, I thought of the
+great, busy world, and the far-off, unknown cities; but before my eyes
+there was only a dead level of the hateful yellow prairie, and above,
+the colorless sky stretched itself out in a gigantic, measureless blank.
+
+From this life it was that father came, without word or warning, and
+took me. I know now that he only wanted me with him as a convenience,
+but then I was wild with delight. In my great craving for human sympathy
+I would have loved father with all my heart, had he given me any
+encouragement. I did love him for this one good deed. I knew not where
+he was taking me, but I was sure it could be no worse place. With an
+intense joy I went up and surveyed, for the last time, the miserable
+little room where I had vainly cried so many hot tears over my weary
+existence. I stayed my steps a moment beside the one window, a little
+window facing westward. From here I had seen the only beauty that ever
+came before my passionate eyes flame up with a splendor, as of gold,
+along the sky when the sun went down. A thousand times my yearning heart
+had watched the short-lived glory fade, like a mockery, into the dreary
+blank. From here, too, year by year, with a rank rebellion in my soul, I
+had looked out at the shadowless prairie that lay over all the earth, a
+great, glaring, uncovered, yellow blister.
+
+So it was with nothing but glad emotion that I stood upon the spot
+consciously for the last time. I had a keen, absorbing love of the
+beautiful, a hunger insatiable, that unfed was sapping my life. This
+wretched existence had almost killed me; but for the change I believe
+that my longing spirit, like my mother’s in the far past, would have
+broken its wings. Now there was an avenue of escape suddenly opened up
+before me—of escape from the dreadful monotony, from the intolerable
+agony of everlasting sameness that, by day and night, recurring forever,
+had made up the tiresome years as they passed. My whole being was turned
+to my father with one inspiration of gratitude.
+
+Had I known any thing of Pythagoras then, almost I could have believed
+in the transmigration of souls, or that my spirit had passed into some
+different body, so utterly strange and new I felt at Silver Islet. Here
+father had rented a little house that stood apart from the rest, upon
+the very highest point. The whole settlement was grouped within the
+least possible compass, and considerable of the island, small as it was,
+still remained in its original condition. There were no trees
+immediately about our house, but to the right, and running thinly all
+the way down on the other side to the water, a few straggling pines
+clung, with their rope-like roots, to the rocks. It was no trouble to me
+to keep house for only one. I got the breakfast and supper, and every
+morning put up a dinner for father, which he took with him to the mine.
+So all day I was left wholly to myself.
+
+As I said, so strange and new I felt it seemed to me for a while as if I
+had lost my own identity. Here, for the first time in my life, there lay
+before my eyes a vast expanse of glittering waves—the mighty mystery of
+far-reaching waters! Rolling, moving, changing, remaining for endless
+ages, attracting, terrifying—only the mightier mystery of eternity can
+fathom the hidden secret of this unceasing problem. A hush fell upon my
+fluttering spirits, a hush of profound awe before this symbol, this
+vision of the unknown infinite. At last the cry of my soul for food was
+silenced, the dreadful hunger of my heart, that through all my life I
+could not allay, was pacified.
+
+At dawn I saw the timid light creep up along the east and wait and
+brighten, until it set an emblazoned standard in the sky, and below, far
+out, covered with the pomp of the rising sun, the distant billows
+clashed their blood-red shields. At noon, I saw the mid-day radiance,
+falling through the air in torrents of splendor, float far and near,
+changing into gorgeous mosaics upon the sea. At night I saw the long
+line of mighty cliffs upon the silent Canadian shore reach out their
+giant shadow through the dusk of evening that, slowly, softly, gathered
+into a twilight sweeter than the luminous haze of a dream.
+
+I had no one to care for me, no friend, no lover, but I needed none now.
+I was happy, happy as in a new and glorious world. I forgot the dreadful
+prairie, dry and parched—the vast, staring, level of land that for so
+many years had oppressed me by its terrible, never ending monotony. I
+even forgot the thousand times I had longed and longed to see a great
+city, to live among its busy throng.
+
+It was November, and presently the wind, keen and cold, swept down, like
+the wind from the Arctic zone. Mad, pitiless, the boundless waters piled
+themselves in towering billows. They leaped and menaced. They broke over
+Silver Islet with a frightful roar and drenched it with their freezing
+spray. They danced about it in savage fury. They beat against it
+continually, and the howling gale, swift and strong, dashed the foam in
+blinding sheets. Already the long, fierce winter of the North was
+rapidly setting in.
+
+Great layers of ice formed and broke, and ground up and formed again,
+until December, still and frigid, locked us within the impenetrable
+barriers of a vast, frozen sea. To the east, to the west, to the south,
+an illimitable wilderness of snow, the mighty Superior for miles lay
+wrapped in a silence profound as the grave. To the north, shrouded in
+their eternal solitude, cold, white and spectral, the cliffs upon the
+long Canadian shore held up their stony battlement, sheeted in ice, as
+in a pall. Utterly devoid of warmth, the sunlight blazed with a
+brilliance indescribable through an atmosphere that, clearer than
+crystal, glittered as with the scintillations of feldspar. But the
+nights—the nights swinging in their long winter arc, were illuminated by
+a glory more gorgeous than the unreal splendor wrought in the loom of
+dreams. The stars, myriads upon myriads, studded the whole heaven with
+drops of intense light, and the planets, magnified through the vast
+laboratory of the air, showed great balls of molten silver against a
+vault of jet. Sometimes when the night was at its blackest, suddenly
+there shot up, flaming from the white battlements of the Canadian shore,
+a thousand lances. Like the parade of an army, like the marshalling of
+far-reaching cohorts, the mighty processions swept the semicircle of the
+sky. They rose and fell. They wavered like the spears of troops in
+battle. Then the vast battalions, closing together, ran up in a towering
+shaft to the zenith. A river of ice-cold fire, it divided the heaven. It
+overflowed and spread out in a sea of gorgeous color that receded, wave
+upon wave, until it burned, a deep blue flame upon the frozen crown of
+the Canadian cliffs. I have watched this aurora in its changeful mood a
+hundred times. I have watched the illimitable fields of snow beneath,
+while the reflected light played upon them in weird rays, far out to the
+remote horizon.
+
+During the Winter, unused to the severe climate, I rarely left the
+house. So far as was possible, I held myself aloof from the people, the
+people, that, as I said, were only the rough families of miners.
+Ignorant and uneducated, painfully ignorant and uneducated I was myself,
+still I could not associate with such as these. I did not grow tired,
+but yet I was glad when the long, frozen months had passed by. As the
+late Spring opened, Winter even then did not yield its supremacy without
+a fierce contest, but in the contest—the savage storms from the
+north—the ice broke. The huge cakes, drifting about, slowly, gradually,
+wore themselves away, and the wind dropped its javelins of frost.
+
+Late it was in June before the last vestige was gone of the bitter cold
+that had held us in its frigid clasp for more than two-thirds of a year.
+Then there opened for me an unfailing source of enjoyment. I learned to
+row, and father allowed me to buy a small boat. It was almost the only
+favor I ever asked of him, and how much have I to be thankful for that
+he did not deny me! Though slight of figure, my muscles were strong, and
+after awhile, with constant practice, I could row twenty miles in a day
+without exhaustion, and every day now, and all the day, I spent my time
+upon the water.
+
+The Summer, beautiful to me beyond description, was like a perpetual
+Spring. In my little boat, alone, I explored the shore far and near. I
+rowed to the very ledges of those cliffs that I had watched all Winter
+long lifting themselves, like a huge, jagged spine, against the sky. A
+thousand, sometimes twelve hundred feet, they reached up, gray and
+naked, a sheer, barren wall of rock from the water. With the cold waves
+forever at their feet, gloomy, silent, they stood in their drear
+majesty, and the chilly fog wrapped them round with the folds of its
+clammy garb. Only in the most beautiful weather did this fog lift from
+about them its clinging skirts, and slowly the damp mists trailed
+themselves off in long white plumes of down. At such times, floating
+idly in my skiff, I felt oppressed by the vast burden of their dreadful
+silence. I believe there is no greater solitude than that which
+sometimes at noon, when sea and sky are unwrinkled by wave or cloud,
+sits upon this mighty shore of desolate, desert rock. Yet here, where
+this profound silence broods, upon these tawny bastions of stone,
+occasionally fierce thunder storms play, and the waters in wild tumult
+dash against their base with a noise like the roar of heavy artillery.
+
+So the weeks slipped by, and it was in the early part of October that
+first I saw a change had come over father. As I have said, he was by
+nature a reserved, unsociable, even morose man. He was never
+communicative, and to me sometimes spoke hardly two dozen words in a
+day. I had grown used to this, and felt that I had nothing to complain
+about, as he laid no restrictions upon me in any respect. But now I
+could not help noticing a decided alteration, both in his looks and
+manner. Constitutionally a thin man, his face appeared thinner to me
+than ever. So exceedingly pale and worn was he, that I do not know that
+I had ever seen a more haggard countenance. His eyes, which were very
+light in color and deep-set in his head, had an unnatural brightness, a
+strange expression I can hardly describe, a peculiar, watching
+wakefulness. His manner was restless and uneasy in the extreme, and he
+spoke even less frequently than usual. He staid out much later than had
+been his ordinary habit, often not coming home until early in the
+morning; and several times I heard him with a slow step walk back and
+forth, back and forth, over the floor of his room all night.
+
+As I have said, I knew nothing of his duties, nor did I know any thing
+of the miners. When first I noticed the change upon father, I thought he
+was over fatigued perhaps, then I became alarmed lest he was ill. Little
+as he cared for me, he was the only human being on earth upon whom I had
+the slightest claim, and I would have done any thing for him. I could
+not bear to see him look so badly. He had never manifested any thing
+towards me but utter indifference, and so strangely reserved was he that
+I, in my great dread that he might be harsh some time, had hardly ever
+volunteered a single sentence to him. I was troubled, and did not know
+what to do. That night at supper I said, gently,—
+
+“Father, do you feel well?”
+
+At first he did not appear to hear, and I repeated my question, then he
+turned his pale eyes upon me suddenly with a quick, startled look in
+them that frightened me,—
+
+“What?”
+
+“I asked if you felt well,” I said again, embarrassed by his strange
+manner. “You look so badly lately I thought maybe there was something
+the matter.”
+
+He did not speak at all for a moment, but sat there staring at me
+wildly. Catching his breath slightly, he looked all round the room and
+brought his eyes, his pale eyes, with an angry gleam in them now, back
+to my face, then said, fiercely,—
+
+“See here, don’t you meddle in my matters! I am able to take care of
+myself.”
+
+“Oh, father, I only thought—”
+
+“Do you hear me?” he said, savagely. “Mind your own business. There is
+nothing the matter with me. If you can’t do any thing better than
+interfere in my affairs, you can go back. See that you don’t do it
+again, or—”
+
+He broke off abruptly, and I, my heart throbbing as if it might break,
+got up and went into my own room. I had not interfered in his affairs. I
+had done nothing wrong, said nothing to call up such an outburst of
+passion, and his dreadful anger had terrified me. I went to the window
+to try and calm myself. I put up the sash and leaned out.
+
+The twilight had almost dissolved itself in night, a night so soft and
+gentle that the very waters, wooed from their troubled toil, ceased
+their long complaint and slept. The pine trees, slim and black,
+whispered to each other in their mysterious language with peaceful
+cadence, telling, perhaps, of the time when they would shed their
+countless needles. In the west, shining like a harvest sickle, hung the
+yellow crescent of the new October moon. Trying to still the throbbing
+in my veins, I watched it grow and change and deepen as it sank, until
+above the water it poised, a great Moorish sword of blood-red fire, and
+a long line of vermilion light ran out upon the quiet sea. Then suddenly
+it was blotted in darkness.
+
+The figure of a man obstructed my range of vision.
+
+Instantly the dreadful throbbing in my heart leaped up again. I drew
+back noiselessly from the window. The man, only a few feet distant—I
+could almost have put out my hand and touched him—stopped, hesitated
+irresolutely for a moment, turned about as if to see that no one watched
+him, then with stealthy step went across the open space and began to
+climb, catching from tree to tree, down the precipitous rocks towards
+the lake. Once or twice I heard a stone loosen from beneath his feet,
+and presently I heard the plash of oars in the water, then it died out,
+and straining my ears I could detect no sound but the quiet, mysterious
+whisperings of the pines. I laid my head upon the window-sill sick and
+faint. The figure of the man I had seen was father.
+
+Too well I knew now that he was neither tired, nor ill. Why should he
+have crept down so stealthily over these wild, almost perpendicular
+rocks to the lake? Why not have gone by the ordinary path through the
+settlement? Ah, why? Something was wrong—but what? I turned cold and
+dizzy. I would not, I _dared_ not think.
+
+I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted by a thousand forebodings, I
+could not even close my eyes, and it was almost day-break when I heard
+father come in quietly and go to his room.
+
+I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did he, but somehow I could
+not help thinking that from this time he watched me a little
+suspiciously. I felt hurt that he imagined I would play the spy upon his
+actions. Whatever he might do, whatever he might say, he was still my
+father, and I could not give him up. It was dreadful, those days that
+followed. It seemed like living upon the verge of a precipice, or that
+some unseen calamity hung above my head ready to fall at any moment and
+crush me.
+
+One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp and put it on the supper
+table, I went, as was my usual habit, to draw down the blinds. Father
+had not yet come home. As I crossed his room I saw through the window a
+man standing close beside it on the outside, so close that I could not
+have seen him more distinctly had he been within reach of my touch. His
+arms were folded across his chest, and his head dropped a little in the
+attitude of one waiting. His figure was large and thick-set, almost that
+of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and passed his hand over his
+short-cut, bristly hair, and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse,
+heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I noticed that the window
+sash was down and bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind. I
+went back with an uneasy feeling into the dining-room.
+
+A few moments afterward father came in. He took up the light hurriedly,
+saying some thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried it into his
+room and shut the door. I heard him walking about in there, opening and
+closing drawers, and after a little I thought I heard a sound as if he
+were raising the window-sash gently. Then he came out. He looked at me
+sharply for a moment, and remarked that he had been hunting for a key.
+Strange! He was not in the habit of accounting for his actions. After he
+got up from the table he did not leave the house again, but went to bed
+almost immediately.
+
+In the morning when I put up his dinner and handed it to him as usual,
+he said,—
+
+“You need not get any supper for me to-night. I have office work to do
+at the mine and will not be back.”
+
+I was surprised. He had frequently not come home to the evening meal,
+but never before had he thought it worth his while to give me notice. I
+stood looking after him as he went out of the gate, when suddenly an
+idea flashed into my head that made my heart sink in my breast like a
+stone. I do not know why it should have come to me then so suddenly,
+with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned and ran into father’s
+room. I looked about. I opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his clothing
+was gone! It was as I thought. He did not mean to come back at
+all—Deserted! The dreadful word choked up my throat. I knew nothing of
+father’s actions, I knew not what he had done, but I would gladly have
+gone with him, have stood disgrace with him even, if that were
+necessary. I am sure I can not tell why I clung to him with such
+desperation. Though I was ignorant and inexperienced, I was also young
+and strong, and I was not afraid I would fail to make my living alone in
+the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid my head upon the foot of
+the bedstead, and heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably I
+would never see him again, and if he did not love me, at least, except
+that one time, he had not been harsh to me, and he was my father.
+
+At first I thought I would follow him; I would go to the mine and see if
+he might not still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries about
+him would probably only increase the danger that threatened, whatever
+that danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing him for some
+crime, I would have shielded him still. I was powerless. I could do
+nothing to recall him; I could do nothing but wait. Wandering about with
+only the one thought in my mind, after awhile the house became
+positively intolerable. I must do something at least to keep myself
+employed, or I should absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably, and
+I had a compressed feeling across my chest.
+
+I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it over my arm. I do not know
+why I should have taken this one, for I wore it generally only in the
+bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange feeling of dread when any one
+looked at me, I went down hurriedly through the settlement to the wharf.
+I got into my boat and pushed off. On the water I could breathe better.
+
+I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily, taking note of nothing. My
+only relief lay in violent exercise. How many miles up the shore I went
+I do not know, but it was farther than I had ever reached before, and
+when I drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration, the red
+embers of the sun-set’s fire were dying down along the sky.
+
+In this region of the lake, from a quarter to two miles from shore, at
+wide intervals isolated rocks rise up out of the water, or mere points
+of land covered with a thick growth of underbrush show themselves, so
+small they look from a distance like a floating fleck of green that the
+waves could drift about at pleasure. The gulls rest upon them
+undisturbed by man or beast. Lonely, a thousand times more lonely, these
+islands make it seem than a clear, open stretch of water. A few of them,
+perhaps, are fifteen or twenty feet in extent. On a dark night it would
+have been dangerous to row here.
+
+I felt weak and tired. The lake stretched itself out, quiet and peaceful
+as a painted ocean. Not a ripple disturbed the tranquil surface that
+mirrored the sky like a glass. I drew my cloak over me and lay down in
+my boat. I cared not when I got back, the later the better, for I still
+clung to a forlorn hope, that perhaps in the morning father would
+return. I was not afraid, for the moon had reached its full and would be
+up even as the last halo of the departing day was fading from the west.
+Out of the water I saw it come. An enormous globe of maroon fire, it sat
+upon the horizon and stained the lake with its magenta rays. Fatigued
+and exhausted, I think I must have slept, for when next I looked, bright
+and yellow, it was swung high up in the sky, shedding through the air a
+splendor like pearl.
+
+I felt glad I had brought my cloak, for it was cold, very cold, and I
+would have been almost numb without it. I knew by the position of the
+moon that it must be somewhere near eleven o’clock. I sat up, shivered a
+little, drew my wrap closer about me and reached out one hand for the
+oars—when suddenly, midway in the action, I held it suspended,
+motionless! Sometimes there is nothing so startling as the sound of a
+human voice. I heard two men talking. For an instant I was paralyzed. My
+boat lay close beside one of these little knolls of land I have
+described. I could have put out my arm and touched the rank sword-grass
+that grew along its border. I did catch hold of it and noiselessly drew
+my skiff nearer, into a kind of curve, so that, though I was on the
+bright side, the overhanging brambles threw me into shadow, and another
+skiff, passing by, would hardly have detected me, when instantly I found
+that the men were not on the water. A cold terror crept over me. They
+were distant scarcely three yards. I could not see them, but I could
+almost feel the underbrush crackling beneath their feet. They evidently,
+though, had no knowledge of my presence, and I, not daring to stir,
+fairly held my breath. They seemed to be removing something from the
+ground and transferring it to their boat which, as I supposed, lay upon
+the other side. I could hear them lift and carry, what, I did not know.
+It sounded sometimes like stones falling with a partially muffled thud
+when they put them down. One of the men in a rough voice said, with a
+loud, harsh laugh, evidently resting for a moment,—
+
+“This repays for lots o’ trouble! That was a neat slip we gave ’em all
+to-night. By —— I’m glad to be quit o’ the place! Its ——”
+
+“Be quiet can’t you!”
+
+My heart, at a single bound, leaped into my mouth. In these few words,
+spoken low and stern, I instantly recognized the voice. It was father’s.
+The other man did not reply, but muttered a half intelligible curse.
+They were both in the boat now, for I heard the plash of their oars.
+Presently father said, in a sharp, quick tone,—
+
+“Take care! Sit down, sit down I tell you!”
+
+Again the man muttered something between his shut teeth. The next moment
+they came round into the light and passed me, pulling hard. Then I
+recognized the thick-set, burly figure that I had seen last night. He
+was in the stern of the boat, and I saw his face again, the same
+repulsive face, but with a sullen scowl upon the brutish features.
+
+They were heavily loaded and rowed slowly. They had got well past me
+when I heard father say something; what, I did not understand; but the
+man, dropping his oars, turned his head and replied, savagely,—
+
+“Look’e yer! You’ve did nothin’ but boss, an’ boss, an’ I’m tired o’ it!
+This yer’s as much mine as yourn, and by —— I’d jes as lief make it all
+mine!”
+
+Quick as the movement of a cat he changed his position, facing round to
+father. Quicker still, he stooped and caught up something in his hand
+that by the glint of the moonlight explained their heavy load, and all
+the mystery which had been hanging over father’s actions. It was a
+rough, jagged piece of silver ore. He raised his powerful arm and struck
+father with it on the head. He struck him two or three times. I
+screamed. There was a dreadful struggle, and at the same second that I
+saw the gleam of father’s pistol I heard its report. The man raised up
+his huge figure for an instant, wavered, and fell back heavily with a
+cry like a wounded tiger. The boat, without capsizing, tilted beneath
+the shock, filled with water, and went down like a stone.
+
+I absolutely do not know how I pushed out from my hiding-place, but with
+two or three swift strokes I was on the spot. For an instant there was
+most frightful silence. I can see the waves widening their circle yet.
+Then, right at my boat’s head, father came to the surface. I was made
+strong by the energy of desperation.
+
+With a wild, straining reach I leaned over and caught him by the arm,
+and with the other hand I rowed backward towards the knoll. I would have
+capsized and gone down rather than have let go my grasp. I was within a
+skiff’s length of the little island when just at my side I saw the huge
+form of the miner come up. He struggled and made one mighty effort to
+catch hold of my boat. No more terrible can the faces of the damned look
+than this face that glared up at me from the water. It has haunted me
+waking and sleeping. God forgive me, I could do nothing else! I struck
+him with the flat side of my oar. Evidently weakened by loss of blood,
+exhausted and nearly gone, he fell back and sank almost instantly from
+sight.
+
+I worked round to a place where there was only grass growing, and
+catching by it drew close to its border. I could never have lifted
+father up but that he was sensible and could help himself somewhat. I
+got him on the ground, and from the ground into my boat. Then he
+fainted.
+
+His head was terribly wounded. I knew I had no time to waste. I was
+afraid he would die in the coming hours before I could reach assistance.
+I rubbed his hands. I loosened and took off some of his wet clothing. I
+folded my cloak over him carefully and seized the oars. Inspired by my
+strange burden with a strength superhuman, my boat shot swiftly almost
+as if it had been propelled by steam. But the east was already
+brightening again with Indian colors when I reached the wharf at last,
+at last!
+
+They raised him softly and carried him up to the house. I paid no
+attention to their thousand questions. I do not know what I said—I said
+it was an accident.
+
+In the weeks of his long fever and delirium, I watched over him day and
+night. He did not die. He came back to life. How many times I had
+wondered would he be kind, would he be gentle to me now? Ah, poor
+father! He was never harsh to any one after that.
+
+When the people came and spoke to him, he would laugh a gentle,
+meaningless laugh, and sometimes, holding to me tight, he would point to
+a button or color on their dress and say,—
+
+“Pretty, pretty!”
+
+He grew well and strong again, but it had shattered his mind forever.
+
+How he had avoided the officers at the tower in carrying away the
+precious metal which he had secreted from time to time, I do not know,
+but they suspected nothing. I held utter silence about the incident, and
+if the people did connect the missing miner with his mysterious
+“accident,” what was there to do? They pitied me that he was simple.
+Shall I say it? Perhaps it was better so. A strange, new joy came to me,
+as every day I saw the pale eyes, innocent now as those of a child,
+follow me about with a grateful look. He was easily managed, and he
+seemed to cling to me with an affection that would atone for the long
+blank in the past.
+
+I waited until the bitter Winter had gone by, and the first steamer came
+in the Summer.
+
+What would become of us in the big, untried city? I had my youth, I had
+my health.
+
+I stood upon the deck of the great vessel and saw this mere speck of
+land recede in the distance. Father, standing by my side, touched my
+arm, and holding out his open hand, said,—
+
+“Pretty, pretty!”
+
+There was a shell in it clean and white, and he looked up at me and
+smiled.
+
+Yes, better so, it was better so!
+
+He had gone there a man, strong and wicked. By the strange mysteries of
+Providence, he came from it a child, weak and innocent, with a soul
+white as the shell which for the moment he cherished in his simple
+delight.
+
+When next I raised my eyes, only the cold waters of Lake Superior washed
+the horizon, and Silver Islet had vanished from my sight forever.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         BOYDELL, THE STROLLER.
+
+
+He was a strolling player. During the month of February, 1868, I was at
+Chicago, gathering up a theatrical troupe to do the provinces. I found
+no difficulty in getting my general utility people, but still lacked a
+“first old man.” Every person wanted leading business—that was exactly
+the trouble. When I was in the midst of my perplexity, I stumbled across
+Carey, whom I knew to be out of a job, and offered him the position.
+
+Now I felt that this act was a real charity, for I knew poor Carey had
+never received such a chance in all his theatrical days—years, I should
+say; for he was well on the shady side of forty. I was amazed,
+dumb-founded, when Carey refused it, absolutely, positively refused
+it,—Carey? What could explain this astounding fact? There was an odd
+twinkle in his eye, and presently the truth leaked out. He had just
+married a pretty, young girl, and—and—well, he had promised to quit the
+stage; that was the whole of it. But Carey suited me exactly, and I did
+not give up. I told him it was all nonsense; his wife would be glad
+enough for him to accept the position. Carey evidently began to waver;
+the old love for his profession threatened to out-weigh that other love
+which had crept into his heart. However, it was finally determined that
+I should call upon his wife and submit the matter to her decision.
+
+I found her really young and really pretty, but, also, really in
+earnest. Carey could not go, that was certain; at the very first mention
+of the subject, she burst into tears. There was nothing left for me
+except to retreat, which I did with many apologies.
+
+Then, to soften my despair, Carey told me he knew of a person, one
+Boydell, whom he thought would be glad to fill the position. A few days
+after, Carey brought him up and gave me an introduction. A tall man he
+was, six feet-one or two, with a fine presence, heightened by a peculiar
+dignity of manner and voice. There was dramatic power stamped upon his
+English face, with its square, massive jaw, firm mouth, and deep-set
+eyes. I had no idea of Boydell’s age. I could not have guessed it by
+fifteen years one way or the other. He was one of those singular
+individuals who might be twenty-five, thirty-five, or fifty. There were
+a few wrinkles about his bronzed features, but they were surely not the
+wrinkles of time. His thick, brown hair was combed straight back, and
+hung down behind his ears. His dress was what might be called the
+shabby-genteel. Black from head to foot, nothing in it was new, and one
+would almost think nothing ever had been new. The garments had
+apparently existed in just their present condition of wear from time
+immemorial. The coat was shiny across the back, and a trifle small too,
+as though it had originally been cut for a man of less length both in
+body and arms. On his feet he wore queer, English shoes, with broad
+spreading soles, and the extra space at the toes turned up after the
+fashion of a rocker. A silk hat, bell-crowned, with curved rim, such as
+we see in pictures of Beau Brummel, was set well back upon his head.
+
+But, notwithstanding these peculiarities, there was something in his
+bearing that gave Boydell the appearance of a finished gentleman, and
+his fine address added to the impression he created of eminent
+respectability. He accepted the position, and our business was speedily
+accomplished. I requested him to call on the following day, when I would
+be able to make the final arrangements for our departure, and he left
+with a dignified bow.
+
+Gathering together a company of actors and actresses from nowhere in
+particular, and attempting to form them into something like an organized
+troupe, is not by any means the most encouraging work with which one
+might employ himself. Again and again my patience was exhausted, and
+again and again I resolved to persevere. Several times we had almost
+been ready for action, when somebody would “back out,” and throw us once
+more into confusion. Now, however, I determined to surmount every
+difficulty, no matter what, so that the next train might bear us _en
+route_ for the West.
+
+In the midst of the morning’s turmoil, Boydell made his appearance. I
+informed him of our arrangements, inquired where he kept his baggage,
+and told him I would send for it immediately.
+
+“That will be unnecessary, as I have it with me. This, Sir, is my
+baggage.”
+
+While Boydell spoke, he put his hand back into his coat-tail pocket and
+quietly drew out a scratch wig. I looked at his face to find something
+which might belie the dignified voice, but there was not even the shadow
+of a smile breaking up its gravity. His countenance was as composed when
+he returned the wig to his pocket as though he had just shown to my
+admiring gaze a complete wardrobe of great magnificence. Indeed, I was
+so impressed by his aristocratic manner, that the ludicrous aspect of
+the interview hardly presented itself to me until it was over.
+
+But I had no time to be amused, and, with the annoying trials that would
+turn up where I least expected them, no inclination. When I sent round
+for the luggage I found that two of the boys had “shoved up their trunks
+at their uncle’s,” and, as it was the last moment, I was compelled to
+redeem them. Then I hired a carriage, and went to conduct the
+_soubrette_, to the depot. When I arrived in front of the house,
+_Madame_, _la mere_, came out and informed me that her daughter could
+not go, would not go, unless I gave them fifteen dollars to get her
+front teeth away from the dentist’s! What could we do without a
+_soubrette_? With a groan I handed over the fifteen dollars.
+
+Playing in the smaller towns along our route, we cleared our traveling
+expenses, and got into pretty good working order.
+
+When we arrived at St. Joseph we gathered up all our strength, and came
+out in full glory as “The New York Star Company.” There we played for
+three weeks to crowded audiences. On “salary days” the money was
+forthcoming, a rare occurrence with strolling actors, and of course we
+were all greatly delighted.
+
+Under such circumstances our spirits ran high, and each one began to
+tell of the particular _rôles_ in which he or she had, in days gone by,
+electrified an audience and won applause. Boydell caught the infection.
+It happened that we had been running plays in which the “first old man”
+was, at best, only a “stick” part, and Boydell fretted considerably at
+his ill-luck. One night he came into the green-room, and to his
+inexpressible joy found himself cast for the part of “Colonel Damas” in
+Bulwer’s comedy of the “Lady of Lyons.” Now this was his pet _rôle_, and
+at the intelligence he felt all his dramatic genius kindle into a fresh
+flame.
+
+“Boys,” he said, straightening up his dignified form, “Boys, you will
+see me make a great hit to-night. The passage commencing, ‘The man who
+sets his heart upon a woman is a chameleon, and doth feed on air,’ has
+never been to my mind rightly given.”
+
+Many of us had seen him do pretty well before, but now we looked forward
+to such an effort as the stage in St. Joseph had never witnessed.
+
+The next evening I repaired to the theater half an hour earlier than
+usual, but found Boydell already dressed for the play. His shabby black
+coat looked more eminently respectable than ever, and was buttoned over
+smooth white linen, or what he made answer the purpose of linen,—half a
+yard of paper muslin folded into tucks, and pinned to his paper collar.
+In his hand ready for use he held his one valuable—the scratch wig. It
+still lacked a few minutes before he would be called, and he
+disappeared, as he said, to “steady his nerves.” Various winks and
+knowing looks passed among the boys; such disappearances on his part at
+this time of the evening were by no means rare or unaccountable.
+
+Boydell came back and went directly on the stage. The excitement behind
+the scenes grew, for, although few of us would admit it, we all knew
+Boydell was a born actor, and we clustered eagerly around the wings in
+breathless expectation.
+
+He started out with dramatic gesture,—
+
+               “‘The man who sets his heart upon a woman
+               Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air—
+                                 On air—air—’”
+
+Suddenly his voice grew fainter, and his sentences incoherent. Those few
+moments he had spent in “steadying his nerves” had taken every line of
+the text from his memory. He could barely keep upon his feet and blunder
+through his part with thick voice and uncertain step. He was fully aware
+of his powerless condition, and came off with a moody, crestfallen
+countenance.
+
+When the curtain finally dropped, as it was Monday night, they all
+assembled to receive their salary. Boydell stood a little apart from the
+others, leaning against a flat. One of the boys came forward and
+delivering a long, elaborate speech in the name of all the members,
+presented Boydell with a tin snuff-box to hold his wardrobe—“As a token
+of their appreciation of the great ‘hit’ he had made, and the glory it
+would reflect upon the troupe.”
+
+That night Boydell, from some unknown source, had scraped up two
+shillings.
+
+He could take twice the quantity of liquor that would intoxicate any
+other man, and beyond a redness of the nose and a flushed glistening
+appearance about the “gills,” he manifested no symptom of intemperance.
+He had a trick of using his hand as a shield around the glass and
+pouring in whisky to the very brim, so he always got a double drink for
+one price. When the boys asked him why he held the tumbler in that
+peculiar manner, “It was habit,” he said, “merely habit.” I remember at
+Lawrence, Kansas, they had unusually small glasses, and he went into a
+logical discussion with the bar-keeper to show the evil of the thing. It
+was wrong; it looked mean; it would ruin his custom. Not that he
+(Boydell) cared; it was nothing to him, it was only the _principle_ he
+objected to; it appeared penurious.
+
+Boxing, I found, was the one thing—aside from his acting—upon which
+Boydell prided himself. If he heard of a person about the neighborhood
+who made any pretentions in this respect, he would walk miles through
+rain or mud to vanquish the “presumptuous fool.” I could not keep from
+feeling interested in this singular man. Reared in the English colleges,
+with the polish of the classics upon him, destined and trained for the
+British army, he had given it all up for this worthless, roving,
+vagabond life. And yet—although degraded, intemperate, and often
+profane—there was still a natural reserve about Boydell that commanded
+respect.
+
+Our expenses had been steadily increasing, and our finances did not
+prove equal to the demand; at least they would not justify a longer run.
+We played two weeks at Leavenworth City, and disbanded, scattering in
+all directions.
+
+I went home to M—— with a feeling of unutterable relief. My theatrical
+experience had brought me to the determination of letting the stage
+alone for the present, or trying it in a different capacity. Devoting my
+whole time to a more lucrative business, I heard nothing about any of
+the old troupe, and I did not care to see one of them again, unless it
+was Boydell. I had little hope of ever meeting him; it would be mere
+chance if I did, and I knew he might just as likely now be in Europe or
+Australia as in this country. But we were destined once more to come in
+contact.
+
+M—— was a flat, muddy, thriving little town in Western Illinois. It had
+built a theater, and was a focus for strolling actors and adventurers—a
+kind of center, where the remnant of theatrical troupes that had come to
+grief straggled in to recruit. The citizens did not consider this a very
+distinguishing characteristic to boast of, but in reality it was what
+raised the place out of oblivion; otherwise its few thousand inhabitants
+might, like their neighbors, have lived for ever in obscurity.
+
+Early last Summer a business engagement took me to the suburbs of this
+town. The atmosphere was clear as crystal and glittering with sunshine.
+The cherries hung dead-ripe upon the trees; the blackbirds chattered
+about them to each other with red-stained bills, and the cats, stretched
+lazily in the sunshine, watched the winged robbers with no charitable
+feelings. The leaves, if they were thirsty, complained but gently, and
+in the dry and pleasant fields the grasshoppers, without flagging, held
+a jubilee, and from the level pastures farther off came the sound of
+distant bells, and sometimes, close by the roadside, the farmers whetted
+their scythes.
+
+Coming towards me a man upon the turnpike was approaching the town on
+foot. As we neared each other, old recollections came back upon me. Yes,
+that tall erect figure seemed familiar—it was Boydell coming into M——
+from parts unknown.
+
+The same coat I had seen do such good service, only a little shinier
+now, was buttoned over the same—no, it was likely another piece of paper
+muslin. On his feet were a pair of shoes, a present undoubtedly, which
+lacked a size or more in length; but this trouble had been remedied by
+cutting out the counters, and strapping down his pantaloons to cover his
+naked heels. The fact that I knew his high silk hat, the one of olden
+times, had lost its crown, was owing entirely to the elevation I gained
+by being on horseback. Under other circumstances it would never have
+been discovered, for the edges were trimmed smoothly round, and Boydell,
+as I said, was tall.
+
+And so I met him again, the same courtly vagabond, the same Boydell of
+former days. His bearing was majestic, almost regal; his dress was—a
+respectable shell. But there seemed to be a change, too. He did not look
+any older, although I noticed a little silver had sprinkled itself
+through his thick waving hair since we had parted, but there was
+something about his eyes that did not appear natural, and a tired, a
+weary expression sat upon his face—an expression I had never seen there
+before. Perhaps he had walked many miles.
+
+I looked after him as he went on towards the town, thinking what an
+unsettled, wild, worthless life he led, this man with the divine gift of
+genius, this vagrant with the clinging air of gentility. Maybe fate was
+against him; maybe he really had higher aspirations; but without
+friends, without home, the cold, unsympathetic world had crushed them;
+and still watching, it suddenly entered my head how easily I could guess
+the contents of his coat-tail pocket!
+
+Some little time after this meeting, when Boydell had almost passed out
+of my mind, a gentleman called at my office, and during our conversation
+told me about a case of destitution that had accidentally come to his
+knowledge. At first I listened with well-bred indifference, for the
+experience I had acquired thoroughly cured all my philanthropic symptoms
+with which I had once been afflicted, but when he related the
+circumstances my interest awakened.
+
+A man, a stranger, had stopped at the tavern on the suburbs of the town
+and fallen sick. He had no money, no friends, indeed he had not even a
+shirt to his back, and the landlord threatened to turn him out, utterly
+helpless as he was. I suddenly thought of Boydell, and inquired the
+man’s name. My friend could not recall it, but said he represented
+himself as an actor; though the landlord did not place much reliance on
+this statement, for the fellow had no wardrobe of any description, and
+the only thing in his possession was a scratch wig, which a black-leg
+would be as likely to own as an actor. This dispelled what little doubt
+had remained in my mind. It was Boydell, and something must be done at
+once for his relief.
+
+Generosity does not prevail in any profession to a greater extent,
+especially among the lower members, than it does in the dramatic. As it
+was the hour for rehearsal, we went up to the theater. We told of
+Boydell’s condition, and I related what I knew of his history. One
+appeal was sufficient; the contribution they made up would at least
+relieve his present wants.
+
+There, at the tavern, we found him in a stupor. Neglected, without the
+barest necessities, he had had no medical attendance of any kind. In a
+room high up under the roof he was lying across a broken bedstead, on a
+worn-out husk mattress, with nothing to shade him from the fierce,
+blazing sun or the crawling flies that kept up a loud, incessant buzz.
+And he had been sick eight days. On the floor old Mounse had crammed
+himself into the one shady corner.
+
+Old Mounse was a besotted beggar round town who had arrived at the state
+where the rims of his eyelids appeared to be turned inside out and
+resembled raw beefsteak. The landlady, who was somewhat more
+compassionate than her worser half, fearing that Boydell might die on
+her hands, had sent up old Mounse, an hour ago, with a little gruel
+which he had swallowed himself, and was then peacefully snoring in the
+corner.
+
+We sent immediately for a physician, and employed ourselves in having
+Boydell removed to another apartment, where, at least, he might escape
+being broiled to death by the sun, or devoured by flies. When the doctor
+arrived, we had him fixed in quite comfortable quarters. Boydell’s
+disease, as we feared, was a severe form of the typhoid fever. From the
+lifeless stupor, he suddenly broke into the wild ravings of delirium, so
+that our combined strength could hardly avail to keep him upon the bed.
+
+We reinstated old Mounse on his watch, only with strict orders that the
+granulated eyelids were to be kept wide open. Old Mounse was one of
+those rare persons with the _delirium tremens_, who had hovered on the
+verge of dissolution for thirty years, and still lived along. Palsied
+and feeble, and crippled and unshaven, and dirty and whiny, he just
+managed to keep himself on this side of the grave. The adjective “old,”
+which had become a prefix to his name, could not have been better
+applied, for his clothes, too, were ready at any moment to keep him
+company and return to their original element. Old Mounse’s one merit
+was, he had become so aged that he could just do what he was told and
+nothing more. The case had assumed altogether a new aspect to him, now
+that Boydell seemed to have friends.
+
+Every day the doctor reported the condition of his patient, which grew
+more and more unfavorable, until one morning he came and told us he
+thought Boydell had not over twenty-four hours to live. We went
+immediately to the tavern with him. Boydell, for the first time since
+his illness, was perfectly conscious. Here, in the silence of this
+barren room, unhallowed by the presence of sorrowing ones, the wild,
+reckless life was drawing to a close. It seemed as if the specter hands
+of death were already stretched out to snap the last binding thread. The
+face on the pillow, haggard and ghastly with its hollow cheeks, very
+little resembled the one over which that weary, indefinable expression,
+the shadow, the forerunner of the fever, had crept but three weeks ago.
+Boydell recognized me, and motioned to a chair beside the bed. He made
+two or three efforts before he spoke.
+
+“I am going to die—”
+
+We could only answer by silence. It was something terrible to see this
+strong man, now weaker than an infant, lie calmly on the brink of
+eternity; even old Mounse dropped his beefy lids, and drew back with a
+subdued sniffle of awe. We asked if there was any thing that he wished
+done. After a little he turned his head that his voice might the better
+reach us.
+
+“I have relatives—it will not matter to them that I am gone; they hold
+themselves up in the world; it will only be a disgrace wiped out; but—I
+would like them to know, and when I am dead, why—I wish you would please
+write to—to my brother. I have not heard from him for nearly fifteen
+years.”
+
+He closed his eyes, and seemed to dream, but presently roused himself,
+and looked anxiously about the room.
+
+“There was something else—oh, yes. Tell him that—I am gone. He is rector
+of St. Paul’s Church, S——, Lower Canada.” He paused and then said
+slowly, as though repeating his words for the first time, “It is no
+matter—but tell him I am—dead.”
+
+He felt up and down the seam of the quilt feebly with his fingers, then
+closed his eyes again in unconsciousness.
+
+All day the dread phantom hands seemed to hover closer to that quivering
+thread of life, until sometimes we almost thought it broken; but at
+nightfall they receded, and the shred strengthened. There was a change
+for the better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural slumber.
+
+Several days after this it occurred to me that if Boydell had relatives
+in Canada who were well off, they ought to help him in his time of need.
+Without making him or any one else acquainted with my intention, I wrote
+a letter setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute condition
+among strangers. As they held no communication with Boydell, they would
+hardly be willing to send him the money. I was unknown, and to assure
+them it was no imposition, I wrote if they wished to send any
+assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, M——,
+Illinois.”
+
+About a week later that minister came to me and showed a letter
+post-marked S——, which contained a check for three hundred dollars. It
+specified that the money was to be given to Boydell only on condition
+that he would promise to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as he
+was able to travel, come home to his relatives. I felt delighted at the
+success of my plan, for of course he would accept the money, and whether
+he fulfilled his promise afterwards by renouncing the stage and going
+home to Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I considered was no
+business of mine.
+
+When we entered his room, Boydell was propped up almost in a sitting
+posture by pillows. The window-shutter had been thrown partly open to
+admit the air, and a narrow streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We
+told him of the good news, and after we had made him understand how it
+had all come about, read the letter aloud. He listened in perfect
+silence, without changing position, and when it was finished, took the
+check and said,—
+
+“Three hundred dollars?”
+
+“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”
+
+He held the slip of paper in his emaciated hands, that trembled with
+weakness, and repeated,—
+
+“Three hundred dollars—”
+
+He seemed trying to convince himself of its reality; but suddenly a
+bewildered expression broke over his face, and he looked from the check
+to the letter, which still laid open. We asked Boydell if he wished to
+hear it again, but at the second reading his bewilderment only seemed to
+increase. He looked at us with an inquiring gaze that wandered round the
+bare, desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue sky in the window.
+Then he said, as if asking himself the question,—
+
+“Give up the stage? Renounce the stage?”
+
+His eyes came back to the money in his hand. Presently he folded it up,
+pressing the creases with his thin fingers, and slowly holding it out,
+shook his head saying,—
+
+“Send it back.”
+
+The ribbon of sunlight had crept further and further round until it
+stretched itself across the broad, white forehead, and we stood in
+greater awe than when the angel of death had hovered there. Suddenly
+before us a dazzling ray had flashed out from the black waste of that
+sinful life. The unbroken check went back to Canada.
+
+A month later I was riding in the country. A purple light overhung the
+shadowy prairie, which stretched away, broad, level and without bound.
+Occasionally a wild bird rose up and darted with swift wings, seeking a
+resting place, for already the September moon waited the coming night.
+Nearer, the tall weeds raised themselves from the great, soundless ocean
+of grass, like the masts of receding vessels. A single wagon, the only
+object on all the void prairie, stood out bold and sharp against the
+bright line of the horizon, and clearly defined above the driver, high
+up on top of the hay, the figure of a man cut the sky. Even at that
+distance I knew it was Boydell.
+
+Some one had given him a little money, and with renewed health and
+spirits he was going out of M——. Whither?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                            THE DEATH-WATCH.
+
+
+“Didn’t you hear it?”
+
+“When?”
+
+“Just now.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“They say it foretells death. Hush!”
+
+The two men sat motionless. Not a sound broke the silence, not even a
+creak of the old boards in the floor, or a sigh of the wind, or a
+flapping shutter.
+
+“They say it foretells death. I heard it last night and the night
+before. What’s that?”
+
+“Nothing. It’s stiller than a graveyard.”
+
+“I heard it last night, and the night before about this time, near one.
+’Taint a very pleasant sound, and this old garret’s dismal enough any
+way.”
+
+“Monk, you’re afeard. It’s nothing. Don’t waste no more time. I’m
+dead-tired and sleepy. You wouldn’t have been in this old hole now if it
+hadn’t been for Peters.”
+
+“No, if it hadn’t been for Peters, the strike, like enough, would have
+took. But he won’t stand in nobody’s way again.”
+
+While Monk spoke, he drew out a sharp, slender knife, and ran his finger
+along the blade.
+
+“I tell you, Shiflet, we must do it the night after this blast’s done,
+and the men in the shed say the coal will run out on the 6th, that’s
+to-morrow. When Peters is fixed, the managers will have to give in or
+quit runnin’ the furnace.”
+
+Both men sat with their arms leaning on the table, and the flickering
+light of the tallow candle between them showed two faces, rough,
+begrimed by smoke and soot, and disfigured by evil passions, that grew
+fiercer as they calmly plotted against the life of a fellow-being.
+
+“We’ll meet at one, where the roads cross. It’ll be quiet then, and
+Peters’s house is alone.”
+
+“I’ll be all right,” said Shiflet, with a grin that rendered his
+brute-like countenance doubly repulsive. “I’m confounded tired. Bring
+your candle and light me down them infernal stairs.”
+
+The men stood up. Monk, small and slim, was dwarfed by the almost giant
+stature of his companion. With a few parting words as to secrecy and
+silence, they separated.
+
+Monk stood on the upper step until Shiflet disappeared, then closed the
+door and replaced the candle on the table.
+
+The room, neither large nor small, was a mere hole, smoked, dirty, and
+unplastered, high up in a frame tenement-house. Two or three chairs, an
+old chest of drawers, a rickety bedstead, and pine table, composed its
+furniture. Some old boots and broken pieces of pig-iron lay scattered
+about. The small, box-shaped window was set just below where the ceiling
+or roof sloped to the wall. The only door led directly to the stairs
+that went down two, three flights to the ground. There were many such
+places in Agatha, where the furnace-hands lived.
+
+Monk walked rapidly up and down the room, as if making an effort to wear
+off the excitement that the last few moments had brought upon him. His
+features had lost much of the malignant expression, which was by no
+means habitual. His countenance was not hardened or stamped with the
+impress of crime like Shiflet’s, who had just parted from him at the
+door—a countenance in which every trace of conscience had long ago been
+erased. Monk’s face was neither good nor bad, neither bright nor dull;
+but he was a man easily wrought into a passion, governed by impulse.
+
+Crossing to the table, he slung his coat over a chair, and stretched out
+his hand to extinguish the light. Midway in the action he suddenly
+checked himself, looked hurriedly around the room for an instant, and
+stood motionless, with inclined head, listening intently. Not a sound
+disturbed the stillness. Pinching out the light, he threw himself on the
+bed, and in the darkness there soon came the heavy, regular respiration
+of sleep.
+
+The house at Agatha nestled under the north cliff. A hundred feet above
+them the railroad lost itself in the black mouth of a tunnel and
+reappeared beyond, a high wall of trestlework stretching southward down
+the valley to Ely’s Mines. Hours ago, the toiling men and cattle had
+lain down to rest, and now the wild, rocky hills around slept in the
+moonlight. No sound broke upon the stillness but the muffled puff, puff,
+of the furnace, and a murmur of frogs that rose and fell interruptedly
+along the shrunken water-course. The cabins under the cliff shone white
+and sharp; the iron on the metal-switch flashed with a million gems; the
+rails upon the trestle, receding, turned to silver, and the foliage of
+early Summer glittered on the trees. A few passionless stars blinked
+feebly in the yellow light, where the hill-tops cut against the sky, and
+sank below the verge. Calmly, peacefully waned the night—calmly and
+peacefully, as though the spirit of evil had not stalked abroad plotting
+the death and ruin of men’s bodies and souls.
+
+That narrow spot of ground, with the houses down in the valley, formed
+the world for four hundred people. The furnace-hands and their families
+saw nothing beyond the hills and rocks that hemmed in their village;
+knew nothing of the mad tumults outside. An untaught, sturdy race of
+men, they differed little one from another. Every day, when the sun
+rose, they went forth to toil, and every night, when the great furnace
+over the creek glimmered red, they lay down to sleep. But ignorance and
+superstition filled their hearts, and anger, and hate, and jealousy,
+were as rife among them as in the crowded cities.
+
+Another day passed, and the night which followed it was dark and cloudy.
+Near midnight, the great bell signalled for the last run of iron.
+Occasionally blue flames leaped up from the furnace, lurid as the fiery
+tongues of a volcano. The long and narrow roof brooded over the sand-bed
+like the black wings of some monster bird hovering in the air. Under its
+shadow groups of men were but wavering, dusky figures. Suddenly, as an
+electric flash, a dazzling yellow glare broke out, and a fierce,
+scorching, withering blast swept from an opening that seemed the mouth
+of hell itself. Slowly out of the burning cavern a hissing stream of
+molten iron came creeping down. It crawled, and turned and crawled, rib
+after rib, until it lay like some huge skeleton stretched upon the
+ground. A thin vapor floated up in the sulphurous air and quivered with
+reflected splendor. The scarlet-shirted men looked weird in the
+unearthly brightness. The yellow glow faded to red, that deepened to a
+blood-colored spot in the night. The bell rang to discharge the hands,
+and squads of men broke up, scattering in the dark.
+
+Monk went to his garret-room, hesitated a moment at the door, then
+passed in and shut it so violently that the floor shook. He struck a
+match. In the brimstone light a horrible demon countenance wavered, blue
+and ghastly; but, when the candle flamed, it grew into Monk’s face,
+covered by the black scowl of rage that had disfigured it once before—a
+rage that was freshly roused.
+
+“If I’d had my knife, I’d have done it just now, when I stumbled against
+him. But he dies to-morrow night at—”
+
+The words froze on his lips, and his black scowling face was suddenly
+overspread by a strange pallor. He stood motionless, as if chained to
+the floor, his eyes darted quickly about, and he seemed to suspend his
+very breath.
+
+A clear, distinct, ticking sound occurred at regular intervals for a
+minute, and left profound silence.
+
+Monk raised his head.
+
+“It’s a sign of coming death. That’s for Peters. There it is again!”
+
+The strange sound, like a faint metallic click, repeated itself several
+times.
+
+“D—n it! I don’t like to hear the thing. But there _will_ be a sudden
+death.”
+
+Time after time Monk heard at intervals the same faint sound, like the
+ticking of a watch for a minute, and it made his blood run cold. He
+found himself listening to it with terror, and in the long silence,
+always straining his ears to catch it, always expecting, dreading its
+repetition, until the thing grew more horrible to him than a nightmare.
+Sometimes he would fall into a doze, and, wakening with a start, hear
+it, while cold perspiration broke in drops on his forehead.
+
+It grew intolerable. He swore he would find the thing and kill it, but
+it mocked him in his search. The sound seemed to come from the table,
+but when he stood beside the table it ticked so distinctly at the window
+that he thought he could put his finger on the spot; but when he tried
+to, it had changed again, and sounded at the head of his bed. Sometimes
+it seemed close at his right, and he turned only to hear it on the other
+side, then in front, then behind. Again and again he searched, and swore
+in his exasperation and disappointment.
+
+The sound became exaggerated by his distempered imagination, till he
+trembled lest some one else should hear this omen which so plainly
+foretold his anticipated crime. Once an hour dragged by, and his unseen
+tormentor was silent. His eyes, that had glittered with deathly hatred,
+now wore a startled look, and wandered restlessly about the room.
+
+An owl, that perched on the topmost branch of a high tree near by,
+screamed loud and long. A bat flew in at the open window, banged against
+the ceiling, and darted out.
+
+Monk shivered. Leaning his head between his arms, he drummed nervously
+on the table with his fingers. Instantly the clear metallic click
+sounded again. He looked up, and a strange light broke into his face, a
+mixed expression of amazement and fright. For a moment he seemed
+stupefied, then raising his hand he tapped lightly against the wood with
+his finger-nail. The last tap had not died until it was answered by what
+seemed like a fainter repetition of itself.
+
+Uttering a fearful oath, Monk recoiled from the table, but, as if drawn
+back and held by a weird fascination, he sat an hour striking the hard
+surface with his nails, and pausing for the response that each time came
+clear and distinct.
+
+Gray streaks crept along the east, and quivered like a faded fringe
+bordering the black canopy. Still he sat tapping, but no answer came. He
+waited, listened vainly; no echo, no sound, and the dull, hueless light
+of the cloudy morning glimmered at his window. Then he threw himself on
+his bed, and fell into restless slumbers.
+
+A damp thick fog enveloped the houses in its slimy embrace. At nightfall
+its reeking folds gathered themselves from the ground, and a noiseless
+drizzle came sullenly down.
+
+Monk had not stirred from his room all day. The feverish sleep into
+which he had fallen fled from him before noon, and now he stood at his
+window looking out into the blackness. A clammy air blew against his
+face. He stretched out his hand and drew it back suddenly, as if he had
+touched the dead. It was cold and moist. He rubbed it violently against
+his clothes, as though he could not wipe off the dampness. A tremor
+seized upon him. Hark! was that the dripping of water? No. A sickly
+smile played over his countenance. He went to the table and tapped
+lightly with his fingers, as he had done before. In another moment the
+taps were answered, and he involuntarily counted as they came,
+one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—then all was silent. He made the call
+a second time, he tried it over and over, and at each response it ticked
+seven times, never more, never less, but seven times clearly,
+distinctly. Suddenly he sprang up, and through shut teeth hissed,—
+
+“The seventh day, by Heaven! But I’ll cheat you—I’ll not kill him!”
+
+He darted noiselessly down the stairs, and struck out through the woods.
+In half an hour he emerged on the edge of a clearing, a dozen yards from
+a chopper’s cabin. Creeping stealthily to the door he shook it, then
+after a moment’s irresolution cried out,—
+
+“Peters! Peters! look out for Shiflet. He has sworn to murder you
+to-night.”
+
+Without waiting for a reply he sprang away, and was quickly lost among
+the trees.
+
+A moment afterward a tall form arose out of the shadow of a stump near
+the cabin, and passed rapidly in an opposite direction.
+
+At the summit of the hill east of Agatha, a steep precipice is formed by
+a great, bare, projecting rock. From the valley, its outline resembles
+an enormous face in profile, and they call it “The Devil’s Head.” The
+full moon rendered the unbroken mass of cloud translucent, producing a
+peculiar sinister effect. The mist still blew through the air, but in
+the zenith there was a dull ashen hue, and the surrounding cloud was the
+color of earth. The far-off hills loomed up majestic, terrible, against
+the gloom; nearer objects were strangely magnified in the tawny light.
+At the foot of this phantom crag, on a terrace, is the ore-bank and
+blackened coal-shed. Below rose the metal-stack, from whose stone hearth
+a waste of sand sloped gently to the creek. The furnace squatted grim
+and black. Its blood-shot eye was shut; its gaping throat uttered no
+sigh, no groan; its throbbing pulse was stilled—the fierce, struggling
+monster was dead. The only bright spot in all the valley was the yellow
+circle made by the watchman’s lantern in the coal-shed.
+
+After leaving the “choppings,” Monk threaded his way through the forest,
+coming out at last on the open road. This road led directly over the
+“Devil’s Head,” and entered the valley by a steep descent half a mile to
+the south. At the precipice Monk paused. The wind eddied with a mournful
+wail, and the constant motion of tall trees gave the scene almost the
+wavering, unsubstantial appearance of a vision. There was something
+oppressive in this strange midnight twilight, but Monk did not feel it.
+He only felt relief, inexpressible relief; he only stopped there to
+breathe, to breathe freely once more with the heavy weight thrown from
+him.
+
+After a moment he ran carelessly down the hill, passed under the
+ore-cars and into the coal-shed. He hailed Patterson, the watchman, and
+the lantern threw gigantic shadows of the two men over the ground. Then
+he walked along the narrow cinder-road leading to the bridge over the
+creek. Sometimes the willows, that grew on either side, swept their damp
+hair against his face. An hour ago he would have started convulsively,
+now he heeded not, for he was free and light of heart.
+
+Monk reached the stairs, and ascended to his room. As he passed in, the
+powerful figure of Shiflet sprang upon him from behind. There was a
+scuffle, some muttered oaths, then a heavy fall. Monk lay stretched upon
+the floor motionless, lifeless, and the echo of fleeing steps died away,
+leaving the place still as the now silent death-watch.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                        THE MAN AT THE CRIB.[1]
+
+
+One morning in the Spring of 1867—whether in April or May I am now
+unable certainly to determine, but think it was in the latter month—I
+was sitting at the breakfast-table, leisurely reading the morning paper,
+and enjoying my last cup of coffee, when my eye accidentally fell upon
+the following advertisement:—
+
+  “WANTED—A reliable man to take charge of the Crib. An unmarried German
+  preferred. One who can come well recommended, and give bond for
+  faithful performance of duty, will receive a liberal salary. Apply
+  immediately to the Board of Public Works, Pumping Department, Nos. 15
+  and 17 South Wells Street.”
+
+Footnote 1:
+
+  The Crib is the name given to the isolated structure at the opening of
+  the Chicago Water Works tunnel, in the lake, two miles from the shore.
+
+My attention was arrested by the thought of so strange an occupation,
+and whether any one would be found willing to accept the situation and
+live alone in the crib two miles from the shore. There all companionship
+would be cut off, and I wondered what effect the utter solitude and
+confinement in the small round building rising out of the water, with
+little in the scenery to relieve the eye, and nothing to rest the ear
+from the continual dashing of the waves against the frame sides—I
+wondered what effect it would have upon the occupant.
+
+It happened I had been lecturing before a class of medical students in
+one of our colleges upon the relation of mind to body, and it occurred
+to me that this crib-tender might prove an illustration of my theory.
+His mind would have afforded it an opportunity to prey upon itself, and
+might become perverted. Under certain circumstances the mental exerts an
+influence over the physical system, aside from the voluntary volition of
+the will, and it frequently transpires that what is mere illusion in the
+spiritual nature appears a reality to the material, so closely are the
+two linked together.
+
+My interest being awakened, I secretly determined that I would try to
+discover who accepted this situation, and notice, if possible, what
+effect it would produce upon the keeper. Some time later I learned that
+the above advertisement had been answered the same day (the exact date I
+can not remember) by a German, one Gustav Stahlmann, who presented
+himself at the address indicated, and applied for the situation. After a
+slight examination he proved satisfactory in every respect. His
+recommendations were of the highest kind and bore testimony to his
+strict integrity and upright character.
+
+The position was accordingly offered to him, provided he would be
+willing to comply with certain conditions. First, that in accepting it
+he would bind himself to remain in the situation at least two years;
+and, secondly, that during that period, he would upon no occasion or
+pretense whatever, leave the crib. He manifested little hesitation in
+assenting to these requirements, as the salary was good, and an
+opportunity afforded for resting from the severe labor to which he had
+been accustomed.
+
+All necessary arrangements were completed, and upon the following day,
+with his dog for the sole companion of his future home, he had been
+taken out and instructed in the duties of his office. These were few and
+light, consisting mainly of attention to the water-gates of the tunnel,
+opening and closing them as required, and removing any obstructions
+which might clog their action. At night he was to trim and light the
+lamp which had been placed on the apex of the roof as a warning to
+passing vessels. This was all; the remainder of the time lay at his own
+disposal. A boy might readily have accomplished this labor, and he
+congratulated himself upon his good luck in securing so easy a
+berth—one, too, which yielded a good income.
+
+The first time I saw Stahlmann myself was soon after he had accepted the
+situation. If I recollect rightly, he told me he had been a month on the
+Crib. I had rowed myself out from the foot of Twelfth Street in a small
+boat.
+
+At this early period in its history the Crib was not so well finished
+and comfortable as now, but was bare and barn-like, being in fact
+nothing more than a round unplastered house, rising out of the lake. The
+wooden floor, which was some fifteen feet above the water, contained in
+its center a well about six feet in diameter, around which arose the
+iron rods of the water-gates. A small room, the only apartment, had been
+partitioned off by three plank walls from the southeastern part of the
+circular interior, and furnished for the abode of the keeper. If it were
+rough, there was all present that he could reasonably desire for his
+comfort. A sufficient supply of provisions were delivered to him once a
+month by a tug-boat from the city.
+
+I found Stahlmann to be a man rather above the medium height, with a
+broad muscular frame, but there were no evidences of sluggishness in his
+movements; on the contrary, his elasticity and gracefulness betokened
+great powers of endurance, and indicated to me activity both of body and
+mind. He was perhaps thirty-five years of age, and his frank, open
+countenance was marked by regular features of a somewhat intellectual
+cast; honesty and principle were plainly visible in his face, and a
+ready command of language betrayed considerable education. He impressed
+me as superior to the majority of men in his rank of life, and from this
+conclusion I was none the less driven by the appearance of his coarse
+and soiled clothing. I engaged him in conversation, into which he was
+easily drawn, and I was surprised by the native love of the beautiful
+which he evidently possessed. He seemed to take great pleasure in
+pointing out the beauties in the scene that laid before our view.
+
+The sun was scarcely an hour high, and we could hardly turn our eyes
+eastward for the splendor of his rays reflected on the water. To the
+north the sea-like horizon was flecked by the white sails of retreating
+vessels, some hull-down in the distance, others uncertain specks
+vanishing from our range of vision. Stretching along the shore to the
+westward, Chicago shot a hundred spires, glistening and glorified, into
+the morning sunlight, while just opposite us stood the grim lighthouse,
+a motionless sentinel keeping watch over the harbor.
+
+I admitted the attraction of the scene, and made an effort to turn the
+conversation to his private life. He was easily led to talk of himself,
+although he did it in a natural and unaffected manner. I gathered that
+he was born in Bavaria, and that when he had attained his sixteenth
+year, some difficulty had driven his parents to this country. They were
+well educated, but misfortune compelled them, on their arrival, to put
+their son to labor. The instruction he had received in the Fatherland
+had evidently strengthened his powers of observation and quickened his
+understanding.
+
+I asked him if he did not find his life at the Crib very tiresome, and
+what he did to pass away the time. I remarked that I believed, if I were
+in his place, I would be smitten most fearfully with the blues. He
+laughed good humoredly, and said he had never been troubled in that
+manner, that there were daily a great number of visitors,
+curiosity-seekers, which the Crib attracted, as it was altogether novel,
+and had but just been completed. Then he said he had his dog for
+companionship, and that they lived very pleasantly together. He was
+evidently much attached to this animal, whom he called Caspar, for he
+frequently interrupted the conversation to stroke it on the head. I was
+astonished to find him well acquainted with the current news of the day,
+but he readily explained this, for usually some one who came out carried
+a paper, which was willingly given to him, and having nothing else to
+occupy his time he read it much more carefully than we do who are in the
+turmoil of the city.
+
+Towards the middle of the day I left him, almost envying his peaceful
+life and happy contentment, yet doubting if this would last long, for,
+after the novelty wore away, I could not help thinking that he might
+find his solitary existence less pleasing. I had become wonderfully
+interested in this man, and determined to pay him another visit when I
+could again find half a day to devote to pleasure.
+
+It was not, however, until the following September that I could spare
+time for another trip to the Crib. This visit, as I said, had been
+prompted out of curiosity to watch the effects of this solitary life
+upon Stahlmann. Although four months had elapsed, I found him situated
+just as I had left him, and by the appearance of the surroundings, I
+might have almost believed it was but yesterday I had looked upon him.
+When I remarked this to him, I noticed a peculiar smile play across his
+features, and it struck me that his face had not the same happy
+expression which had so pleased me before. I observed, too, that he
+carried himself in a listless manner, very unlike his former erect
+bearing. I found him, however, just as readily drawn into conversation,
+although some of his old enthusiasm was gone, and he manifested an
+evident disinclination to speak of himself, for when I made an effort to
+bring up the subject, he displayed considerable skill in evading it.
+This was repeated again and again until I found that he would not be
+forced to it, but I saw full well by his actions that he had already
+grown tired of his monotonous life. All my jokes about the solitude,
+which he had laughed at before, were now received in silence and with
+furtive glances. Evidently it had become a serious matter, and I dropped
+the disagreeable subject.
+
+He inquired most eagerly for any news, and said he had not seen a paper
+for almost a week, as the wet weather had interfered with visitors,
+preventing any one from coming out. When I left he repeatedly invited me
+to come again, which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse we
+had struck up a mutual friendship. My interest, too, had been increased,
+as I plainly saw that his life had become distasteful to him, and I had
+considerable curiosity to ascertain whether he would, according to his
+promise, remain the two full years upon the Crib; at any rate, I
+concluded that I would not lose sight of him.
+
+Directly after this visit, business arrangements called me away from
+home, and detained me in New York City without interruption until last
+May. During this period, of course, I had no means of learning any thing
+whatever concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return, the first glimpse I
+caught of the familiar lake recalled him to my memory, and revived the
+old interest. I determined to renew our former acquaintance, but found,
+to my great disappointment, that all visitors to the Crib had been
+prohibited by the authorities soon after I was called from home; yet I
+did not give up in my attempt to find out if he still remained in his
+situation. After many fruitless inquiries, I finally learned that he was
+dead. This was the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed by the
+sad intelligence, I dismissed the subject from my mind.
+
+A week ago I made the startling discovery that the Crib at the eastern
+terminus of the lake tunnel, within the year following its completion,
+had been the scene of a tragedy, the particulars of which, when I
+learned them, thrilled me with horror, and called forth my profoundest
+sympathy for the poor victim. The whole circumstance had been so
+carefully kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part of the
+authorities, that beyond two or three individuals no one in Chicago had
+the slightest suspicion of the sickening drama which was enacted but two
+miles from her shores.
+
+I was walking through the Court House looking at the arrangement of the
+newly erected portion of the building, and while in the rooms occupied
+by the Water Board, I accidentally stumbled upon an old memorandum book
+which had evidently been misplaced during the recent removal of this
+department from their old quarters on Wells Street to the first floor of
+the west wing. Upon examination it proved to be a kind of diary, and was
+written with pencil in the German character. On the inside of the front
+cover, near the upper right hand corner, was inscribed the name Gustav
+Stahlmann, and underneath a date—1865. A small portion of the book, the
+first part, was filled with accounts, some of them of expenditures,
+others memoranda of days’ work in different parts of the city, and under
+various foremen. But it was to the body of the book that my attention
+was particularly called. This was in the journal form, being a record of
+successive occurrences with the attending thoughts. The entries were
+made at irregular intervals and without any regard to system. Sometimes
+it had been written in daily for a considerable period, then dropped,
+and taken up again apparently at the whim of the owner. In places there
+appeared no connection between the parts separated by a break of even
+short duration; at others the sense was obscure, and could only be
+attained by implication. The earliest records in the second part were in
+June, 1867, and I found dates regularly inserted as late as the November
+following. In December they ceased entirely; afterward the diary, if
+such it might then be called, was either by the day or the week, or
+without any direct evidence as to the time when the circumstances
+therein narrated had occurred. In fact, throughout the whole of the
+concluding portion there was nothing to indicate that the matter had not
+been written on a single occasion, except the variations which almost
+every person’s hand-writing exhibits when produced under different
+degrees of nervous excitement.
+
+From this black morocco memorandum book; from the hand-writing of Gustav
+Stahlmann himself, I learned the incidents of his career after I parted
+from him. They constitute the history of a fate so horrible in every
+respect, that I shudder at the thought that any human being was doomed
+to experience it.
+
+The main facts in this narrative I have translated, sometimes literally,
+at others using my own language, where the thoughts in the original were
+so carelessly or obscurely expressed as to render any other course
+simply impossible.
+
+It seems, as I supposed, that when Stahlmann was first settled in the
+Crib, he was greatly pleased with his situation. The weather was mild
+and beautiful; the fresh air blowing across the water was a grateful
+change from the close and dusty atmosphere of Chicago. Many of his old
+friends came out to take a look at his new quarters, and almost surveyed
+them with envy while listening to an account of his easy, untroubled
+life. At dusk, after he had lighted his lamp, and it threw out its rays,
+he would watch to see how suddenly in the distance, as if to keep it
+company, the great white beacon in the lighthouse would flash out,
+burning bright and clear. Then along the western shore the city lights,
+one by one, would kindle up, multiplying into a thousand twinkling stars
+that threw a halo against the sky. Afterwards the soughing of the waves
+as they washed up the sides of his abode, fell pleasantly on his ear,
+and lulled him to sleep with Caspar lying at his feet.
+
+But it seemed as if the same day came again and again, for still the
+waters broke around him, and still night after night the same lights
+flashed and burned. Then the time appeared to become longer, and he
+watched more eagerly for the arrival of some visitors, but, if his
+watching had been in vain, he went wearily to sleep at night with a
+feeling of disappointment, only to waken and go through the same
+cheerless routine. Sometimes for a whole week he would not see a single
+human being nor hear the sound of a human voice, save his own when he
+spoke to the dog, who seemed by sagacious instinct to sympathize in his
+master’s lonesome position, and capered about until he would attract his
+attention, and be rewarded by an approving word and caress upon the
+head.
+
+Visitors had become less and less frequent until the last of September,
+when they ceased altogether. Stahlmann in trying to explain this to
+himself correctly concluded that the authorities must have prohibited
+them, as he had heard some time previously they entertained such an
+intention, although he had been reluctant to believe it, and still
+vainly hoped that it might not be true. But time only confirmed the
+suspicion which he had been so unwilling to accept, and although within
+two miles of a crowded city, he found himself completely isolated, cut
+off, as it were, from the human race.
+
+Then he searched for something that might amuse him and help wear away
+the interminable days, but he found nothing. He would have been glad
+even if only the old newspapers had been preserved that he might re-read
+them, but they were destroyed, and he owned no books. His former severe
+labor, performed in company with his fellow men, was now far preferable
+in his eyes to this complete solitude, with nothing to occupy his hands
+or mind. He saw the vessels pass until they seemed to become companions
+for him in his loneliness; he had watched them all the Summer, but the
+winds grew chill and rough, sweeping out of sullen clouds, and
+boisterously drove home the ships.
+
+Stahlmann found himself utterly alone on the wide lake, and the fierce
+blasts howled around his frame house, covering it with spray from the
+lashing billows that seemed ready to engulf it. Crusts of ice formed and
+snapped, rattling down to the waves. Heavy snow fell, but did not whiten
+the unchanging scenery, for it was drowned in the waste of waters. Night
+after night he lit the beacon and looked yearningly westward to the
+starred city. Then the solitude grew intolerable. It was like the vision
+of heaven to the lost spirits shut out in darkness forever. He was
+alone, all alone, craving even for the sound of a kindred voice, so that
+he cried out in his anguish. The flickering lights he was watching threw
+their rays over thousands of human beings, yet there was not one to
+answer his despairing call.
+
+Sleep would no longer allow him to forget that he was shut out from all
+human society, for he lost consciousness of his lonesome position only
+to find himself struggling in some nightmare ocean, where there was no
+eye to see his distress. Then he would be awakened by the dog rubbing
+his nose against his face, and knew he had groaned aloud in his troubled
+slumber, and Caspar had crawled closer, as if to comfort his unhappy
+master. Sometimes the tempter whispered escape—escape from this Crib,
+which had been so correctly named, for it had, indeed, become a dismal
+cage. He felt himself strong to combat the waves in flying from the
+horrible solitude; he could swim twice the distance in his eagerness to
+be once again among his fellow beings; but his high principles shrank in
+horror from the thought of violating a promise. He had solemnly given
+his word that he would remain upon the place, and it bound him stronger
+than chains of iron. He cast the thought, which had dared to arise in
+his mind, from him with a sense of shame that it had been a moment
+entertained.
+
+Early on one bitter cold night, when his house was thick-ribbed with
+ice, Stahlmann noticed a great light, which increased until it illumined
+all the western sky. He saw the city spires as plainly as though bathed
+in the rays of the setting sun, and the lurid glare lit up the waters,
+making the surrounding blackness along the lake shore appear more
+terrible. The fire brightened and waned, brightened and waned again. He
+watched it far into the night, and thought of the thousands of anxious
+faces that were turned toward the same light, until he fell into a
+troubled sleep, yearning for the sight of a single countenance. This
+fire which he witnessed must have been the great conflagration on Lake
+Street that occurred in February, 1868.
+
+He was sitting one dull, cloudy afternoon, looking out over the dreary
+waves, when his attention was attracted by the strange behavior of
+Caspar. The dog was greatly excited; it would jump about him, whining
+and howling, then run to the door, which stood partly open, and look
+down into the water, at the same time giving a short, quick yelp. This
+was repeated so frequently that Stahlmann was aroused from his gloomy
+reverie. He followed it to the threshold, and saw for an instant some
+black object that the waves threw up against the Crib. A second time it
+arose, and Stahlmann plunged into the water with the quick instinct that
+prompts a brave man to peril his own life in attempting to save another
+from drowning. In one moment more he had grasped the body, and fastened
+it to the rope ladder that hung down the western side of the Crib. Then
+mounting it himself, he drew it up after him on to the floor.
+
+It was the form of a young man, and Stahlmann eagerly kneeled over it,
+hoping yet to find a faint spark of vitality. A glance showed him that
+the body must have been in the water several hours, for it was already
+somewhat bloated; but even then, in his mad desire to restore life, he
+rubbed the stiffened limbs; but the rigid muscles did not relax. He
+wrung the water from the black hair, which in places was short and
+crisp, looking as if it might have been singed by fire. The features
+were not irregular, but the open eyes had a stony, death-glaze on them,
+and the broad forehead was cut across in gashes which had evidently been
+made by the waves beating it against the walls of the Crib. The hands
+were clenched and slightly blistered.
+
+Stahlmann’s frenzied exertions could not call back the departed spirit,
+and he sat gazing wildly upon it in his bitter disappointment. Then a
+startling thought broke suddenly into his mind—What, out in his desolate
+and watery home, could he do with the dead? Where could he put the
+stiffened corpse? But as the night came on, he arose to light the
+beacon; then descended again immediately, taking up his former position
+by the lifeless form, for it appeared to exert a peculiar fascination
+over him; he felt a strange kind of pleasure in the presence of the form
+of a human being, even though it were dead. He seemed to have found a
+companion, and the thought, which had startled him at first died from
+his memory.
+
+Hour after hour as he sat beside the corpse; its strange influence
+increased, until it gradually filled up in his troubled heart the aching
+void which had so yearned for society. He left it only as necessity
+called him away to attend to his duties, each time returning with
+increasing haste. Day by day the spell continued, and he grew to regard
+the dead body with all the tenderness he would have manifested toward a
+living brother. He did not shrink from the cold, clammy skin when he
+raised the head to place it on a stool, but sat and talked to it. He
+asked why it looked at him with that stony glare, and why its face had
+turned that dark and ugly color; but when no answer came, he said he
+realized that it was dead and could not speak. Then the terrible truth
+flashed upon him. With a groan he saw that he could keep the corpse no
+longer, and the thought which had startled him once before crept in
+again with increased significance. Where could he bury it? In the bottom
+of the lake, where nothing would disturb its peace. He gently let it
+down into the water, and, as he saw it disappear, he awoke to wild grief
+at losing it, and would have plunged in to rescue it the second time,
+but it was gone from sight forever.
+
+Might not this body have been one of the lost from the ill-fated Sea
+Bird, which burned in the beginning of April, 1868, a few miles north of
+the city? Stahlmann must have found it about this time.
+
+His grief for the loss of his dead companion grew upon him each day, and
+rendered the solitude more unendurable. Solitude? It was no longer
+solitude, for the place was peopled by the phantom creations of his
+inflamed imagination. Here a part of the diary is altogether incoherent,
+showing into what utter confusion his intellect had been thrown.
+
+The waves roared at him in anger, and the winds joined them in their
+rage. Fiendish spirits seemed to rise up before him that were fierce to
+clutch him and gloat over his terror. The lights in the west danced
+together and glared at him in mockery, and his own beacon threw its cold
+white rays over the familiar aperture where the iron rods of the
+water-gates rose; but that opening had suddenly become an undefined
+horror to him. The very terror with which he regarded it drew him to its
+verge. He cast his eyes into its depths, down upon the troubled but
+black and silent water, and glared at the vision which met his strained
+sight, for the ghostly face of the man who had been murdered in the
+tunnel peered at him through the uncertain light.
+
+There was only the dog that he could fly to in his agony, but it, too,
+had a strange appearance and answered his call by low plaintive howls
+that sent a shiver through his frame. He repeated its name aloud, and
+Caspar crawled closer to his master, still at times making moans that
+sounded sorrowful—almost like the pleading of a human voice in distress,
+and he thought its eyes had a strange reproachful gaze. While he spoke
+to it, the dog uttered a prolonged wail. Stahlmann shivered, and a cold
+chill crept through his blood; all his superstition was roused afresh.
+The wind lost its rage and died down to funeral-sobs. The sound of the
+waves fell into a dirge-like cadence, and that melancholy wail which had
+chilled his blood rang in his ears—it rang with the awful significance
+of an evil omen long after it had died upon the air. The dog lay
+perfectly motionless; he stooped to stroke it, but it did not move. He
+stared at it with a bewildered gaze, when suddenly the horrible reality
+with the fearful explanation, broke upon his half-crazed brain, and he
+staggered back with a wild shriek. In the utter misery of his solitude,
+in his strange grief for the loss of the drowned corpse, and his terror
+from the hallucinations of a disordered intellect, he had neglected to
+feed his faithful dog, and had starved to death the only living creature
+that existed for him in the world. Caspar was dead.
+
+Stahlmann in his agony seemed to hear once more the piteous cry which
+the dog had uttered with its expiring breath, and to him the wail
+sounded in its pathetic mournfulness like the mysterious herald of
+another death.
+
+The diary is so blurred at this point that it is hardly legible. What
+can be read is incomprehensible from broken, incoherent sentences—the
+empty language of a lunatic. Save one remaining passage, I could make
+out nothing further. This entry must have been written in a lucid
+interval when he realized to what a fearful condition he had been
+reduced by unbroken solitude. Because it is the last record, I translate
+it literally, as follows:
+
+  “That cry again—what have I come through? Hell with its host of furies
+  can not be worse than this awful Crib—I kill myself.
+
+                                                          G. STAHLMANN.”
+
+What remains is soon told. A few inquiries in the proper direction
+revealed that on the morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
+boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the Crib to supply provisions,
+the dog was discovered dead upon the floor, and near by—just to the
+right of the entrance, and about ten feet distant from it—hung the dead
+body of Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck from one of the rafters.
+It was at once cut down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among his few
+effects was found the memorandum book which so curiously came into my
+possession.
+
+The authorities were in no way to blame for this unfortunate occurrence.
+On that day they placed several persons in charge of this lonely
+structure and have changed them at regular intervals ever since. Because
+if the circumstance were known, they were fearful they could get no one
+to fill the situation, either on account of the solitude or from the
+fact that many persons are afraid to live in a house that has been the
+scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded to say nothing whatever about
+the melancholy event, and, as I said before, few persons in the city are
+acquainted with its details.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                      PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL.
+
+
+It had snowed persistently all day, and now, at night, the wind had
+risen and blew in furious gusts against the windows, a bleak December
+gale.
+
+The Professor tramped steadily up and down his floor, up and down his
+floor, from wall to wall and back again. It was not a cheerful room;
+with but one strip of carpet, a chair or two, a table and bedstead, and
+one dim tallow candle, flickering in a vain struggle to give any thing
+better than a sickly light, which was afflicted, at uncertain intervals,
+with violent convulsions. No, it was not a pleasant place, for the
+Professor was poor, and lived a lonely, hermit-like life in the heart of
+the great German city.
+
+He had no relations—no friends. He was not a popular man, though he had
+once been well known, and the public had all applauded his great
+scholarship. His books, one after another, as they came out, if they
+brought him no money, had brought him some fame then; but the last one
+had appeared years ago, and been commented upon, and conscientiously put
+aside, and the public, never very much interested in the author
+personally, had about forgotten him.
+
+During these long years he had been living secluded, waging a perpetual
+war with himself. Entangled in the meshes of the subtile German
+infidelity, which was at variance with his earlier training, he found
+himself encompassed about by unbelief—unbelief in the orthodox theology
+of his youth, unbelief, also, in the philosophy of this metaphysical
+land. A man of vast learning, and a close student, he discovered his
+knowledge to be always conflicting; and thus the long debate within him
+was no nearer a termination than at the moment when the first doubt had
+asserted itself.
+
+Preyed upon by this harassing mental anxiety, and by encroaching
+poverty, he was seized by a nervous fever, which had gradually
+undermined his health, and almost disordered his mind.
+
+And now, this night, in a condition of exhaustion, weary of life and its
+ceaseless struggle—without friends, without money, without hope—his
+black despair, like the evil tempter, rose before him and suggested a
+thought from which he had at first drawn back appalled. But it was only
+for a moment. Why not put an end forever to all these troubles? Had he
+not worked for years, and had he ever done the world any good, or had
+the world ever done him any good? No! The world was retrograding daily.
+The selfishness of humanity, instead of lessening, was constantly
+growing worse. How had they repaid him for his long studies? He had shut
+himself up and labored over heavy questions in metaphysics—sifting,
+searching, reading, thinking—only for a few thankless ones, who had
+glanced at his works, smiled a faint smile of praise, and straightway
+left them and him to be lost again in obscurity!
+
+The future was dark, the present a labyrinth of care and suffering, from
+which there was but the one escape. Then why not accept it? So he had
+been arguing with himself all the evening, and, in his growing
+excitement, pacing the floor of his garret to and fro with a quick,
+nervous tread. But there had another cause risen in his mind which he,
+at first, would hardly acknowledge to himself.
+
+A faint, undefined shadow, as it were, of his early faith stirred within
+him, and before him the “oblivion” of death was peopled with a thousand
+appalling fancies, illumined by the red flame of an eternal torment. In
+vain he strove to dispel it by remembering the more rational doctrine of
+reason, that death is but a dreamless sleep, lasting forever.
+
+Suddenly, feeling conscious of the heinousness of the crime he was
+meditating, and knowing that he was in an unnatural feverish condition,
+he paused abruptly in his hurried tramp, stood a few moments utterly
+motionless, then, dropping on his knees, he made a vow that he would
+take twenty-four hours to consider the deed, and, if it were done, it
+should not be done rashly. “Hear me, O Heaven!” Springing up, he cried;
+“Heaven! Heaven!—There is no Heaven! Vow!—to whom did I vow? There is no
+God!” Muttering a faint laugh, he said, after a moment: “I vowed to
+myself; and the vow shall be kept. Not all the theories and philosophies
+of Germany shall cheat me out of it.”
+
+It seemed like the last struggle of his soul to assert itself. Almost
+staggering with exhaustion, he fell upon the bed and slept.
+
+A gentle breeze from the far past blew around him in his native land. He
+saw the white cliff at whose base the sea-foam threw up its glittering
+spray with a ceaseless strain of music. He saw the green meadows, where
+the quiet, meek-eyed cattle found a pasture, stretching away to the
+green hills, where flocks of sheep browsed in the pleasant shade beneath
+the tall oak trees. He saw, far off on the highest summit of the wavy
+ridge, the turrets of the great castle rear themselves above the foliage
+like a crown—the royal diadem upon all these sun-bathed hills and
+valleys. He stood within the cottage, the happy cottage under the
+sheltering sycamores; and, brighter, clearer, more beautiful than all
+these, he saw a face look down upon him with a calm and earnest smile.
+It was the home of his childhood, it was the face of his mother, all
+raised in the mirage of sleep—a radiant vision lifted from the heavy
+gloom of forty years, years upon which Immanuel Kant, years upon which
+the Transcendental school had crept with their baleful influence,
+poisonous as the deadly nightshade.
+
+He struggled to speak, and wakened. A dream, yes, all a dream! He
+pressed his hands against his brow—A dream? Yes, childhood had been but
+a dream. Life itself is but an unhappy dream!
+
+The wild December wind still blew with a rattling noise against the
+windows, and sometimes swept round the corner with a dreary,
+half-smothered cry. The candle had burned down almost to the socket, and
+was seized more frequently than before with its painful spasms, making
+each gaunt shadow of the few pieces of furniture writhe in a weird,
+silent dance on the wall. As the Professor sat on the bed, they appeared
+to him like voiceless demons, performing some diabolical ceremony,
+luring his soul to destruction. Then they seemed moving in fantastic
+measure to a soundless dirge, which he strained his ears to hear, when
+the candle burned steadily, and they paused in their dumb incantation.
+
+A loud knock, which shook the door, made the Professor start up amazed,
+and the shadows re-begin their uncanny pantomime. For a moment he stood
+stupefied with surprise. It was far in the small hours of the night, and
+visitors at any time were unknown. He had lived there for months an
+utter stranger, and no footsteps but his own had ever crossed the floor.
+An uncontrollable fit of trembling came upon him, and he lay down once
+more, thinking it all the creation of his overwrought fancy. But the
+knock was repeated louder than before, and the gaunt shadows again made
+violent signals to each other in their speechless dialect, as though
+their grim desires were just then upon the eve of accomplishment.
+
+With an effort the Professor got up and said “Come!” but the word died
+away in his throat, a faint whisper. He tried it a second time; then,
+partially overruling the weakness that had seized upon him, crossed the
+room and opened the door.
+
+“Good gracious! What’s the matter with you?” said a voice from out of
+the dark on the landing.
+
+It was the son of the undertaker, who lived down stairs. They were not
+acquainted, and had never spoken, but they had often passed each other
+in the street—though, until that moment, the Professor was not aware
+that he had ever even noticed him; but now he recognized him and drew
+back. The young man, however, entered uninvited.
+
+“I say, what the deuce is the matter with you?”
+
+“Nothing! What do you want, sir?”
+
+“Want? Why your face is as white as a sheet, and your eyes, your eyes
+are—confound me if I want any thing!” he said, backing to the door in
+alarm.
+
+Indeed, the expression which rested on the features of the Professor was
+hardly pleasant to look at alone, and in the night. But, having followed
+his instinct, so far as to his bodily preservation, and having backed
+into the hall so that the Professor could hardly distinguish the outline
+of his figure, the young man’s courage got the better of his fright. He
+came to a standstill, passed his hand nervously round his neck, cleared
+his throat several times, and then, in a husky voice—caused, evidently,
+by his recent alarm, and not by the message, singular as it was, that he
+came to deliver—said,—
+
+“We want you. It is Christmas—we want you for a corpse.”
+
+It may have been a very ordinary thing to them, considering their
+profession, to want people for corpses, either at Christmas or any other
+time; but it was hardly an ordinary thing to the Professor to be wanted
+for one; and the announcement was certainly somewhat startling, made in
+a sepulchral tone from out the gloom. It was still stranger that the
+young man himself appeared rather faint-hearted for one who entertained
+so malevolent a desire, and had the boldness to make the assertion
+outright. The Professor for a moment fairly thought him in league with
+the shadows, for they were at work once more, beckoning and pointing
+fiercely, as the wind swept up the staircase, to the indistinct figure
+out in the dusk, that was the son of the undertaker, and who said
+again,—
+
+“We want you, sir, for a corpse—”
+
+Here he paused abruptly, to clear his throat anew, as though he found
+himself disagreeably embarrassed by the unfriendly appearance of his
+host, whose face, if it had been pale at first, was of a gray, ashen
+color now. He evidently could not see why his request should have been
+taken in such ill part, and he stammered and stuttered, and was about
+ready to begin again, when the Professor said,—
+
+“You will likely get me.”
+
+The peculiar expression that rested upon the Professor’s mouth as he
+uttered these words, was hardly encouraging; but the young man—as though
+every body would recognize that it was absolutely essential to them, in
+order that they might celebrate the great gala-day with their family, to
+have a corpse, just as other people have a tree—immediately brightened
+up, and, advancing a step or two, said gratefully,—
+
+“I am very glad, sir; I am very glad. It is Christmas, you know, and I
+told them as how I thought you’d do, for you are spare, sir, and—”
+
+Here he found another blockade in his throat, which, after a slight
+struggle, he swallowed, and went on,—
+
+“I told them as how I thought you’d do, sir, for you see we want
+somebody that is small and thin, and will be light to carry after he is
+all fixed up. Hans Blauroch did for us last time; but this year, instead
+of parading Santa Claus up and down the street, we’ve concluded to bury
+him. It will be something new this Christmas; and Hans is too heavy to
+carry; and when I thought of you, sir, I just took the liberty of coming
+right up; because it’s near daylight, and there ain’t no great while
+left to get the funeral ready.”
+
+So the blockhead had finally jerked out what he came for, which was not
+so malevolent after all as he had at first made it appear. He deserved,
+rather, to be praised for his persistency than censured for his
+awkwardness, considering the difficulties under which he had labored.
+
+The Professor did not show whether he felt relieved by this
+_denouement_. He had listened without moving; and when the young man
+finished speaking he hesitated a moment, then, with the same peculiar
+expression visible about his mouth, said he would be glad to place
+himself at their service; he would be with them directly; that he had
+not been feeling well; indeed, he only an hour ago almost fainted, and
+had not yet recovered when he heard the knock upon his door; but he was
+feeling better, and would come down immediately.
+
+The young man laughed good-naturedly as he replied,—
+
+“I am obliged to say I did not like the looks of you at first. You must
+have been out of your head.”
+
+The Professor waited until the last echo of the retreating footsteps
+died away down at the bottom of the stairs, then shut his door.
+
+“A strange thing,” he muttered; “what have I to do with Christmas? I,
+who have studied, studied! I had forgotten there was any time called
+Christmas. What is it to a scholar? Philosophy says nothing about it;
+and reason would teach that—ah, yes, it too is a dream, a dream within
+the dream called life. Then what have I to do with it? Why did I
+promise? I will not go. Yet my vow—twenty-four hours. I dare not trust
+myself alone. A funeral, did he say? I will see how it feels; yes, for I
+will probably need one in another day. They wanted me ‘for a corpse,’
+and I said they would likely get me, and I would be glad to ‘place
+myself at their service.’ Ha, ha! They can bury me twice. But my vow, my
+vow! I will not trust myself alone. It is nothing to me; I will go.”
+
+He had been tramping again rapidly up and down the room, when he
+suddenly turned, took up his hat, looked around for a moment at the
+shadows that were still making unintelligible signs to each other, then
+extinguished them in darkness and slowly went down stairs.
+
+The lodgings were directly over the undertaker’s establishment. Living
+so secluded, speaking to none, it had never occurred to the Professor
+before what a grim place he had chosen for his home. But now the
+silver-barred coffins in the show-case were ghastly as he passed.
+
+Night had not yet yielded up her supremacy. A heavy covering of snow,
+that clung to every roof, tower, and spire, made the place look unreal
+through the gloom, like some colorless apparition of a great specter
+city. Close-blinded, silent and cold, without one glimmer of life, the
+houses faced each other down the long street. Far off, the ghostly dome
+and pinnacles of the cathedral reached into the sky—the empty, soundless
+sky—for the wind had fallen away, leaving a gray expanse that seemed to
+stretch through infinitude. But, though the Professor did not notice,
+there was a rift that divided the dreary cloud down near the horizon,
+and disclosed, brighter than the pale light of the coming day, a star
+shining in the East.
+
+And it was Christmas morning.
+
+The Professor walked block after block, feeling unconsciously refreshed
+by the crisp air upon his heated brow. Then he turned back, and when he
+had reached the building went down an alley-way and entered by a door in
+the rear.
+
+A great confusion and general dimness, not lessened any by two or three
+candles that were burning, pervaded the room, which was long and ran
+almost across the house. Half a dozen men were standing or moving about,
+and some were sitting or leaning upon coffins and biers, that covered
+all the floor, except where they occasionally left narrow passages
+between, like irregular aisles.
+
+At the Professor’s entrance, the young man who had paid him so friendly
+a visit came up instantly, took hold of him by the arm, and turned him
+round, with the exclamation,—
+
+“Here he is father! He is thin enough to be easily carried.”
+
+The man denominated “father” by the young off-shoot of the establishment
+surveyed the Professor with a critical eye from head to foot, and, as
+there could be no better sample of physical spareness than he presented,
+said, laconically,—
+
+“He’ll do.”
+
+Then there was new confusion and bustling about, and two or three
+persons immediately seized the Professor, one by his hair, one by his
+feet, one by his arms. With a grim smile, he submitted, in perfect
+silence, to the operations of this dressing committee.
+
+He saw himself—him, Gustav Kellermann, the philosopher!—blossom into
+brilliant colors, scarlet and blue and orange. He saw them clasp a
+girdle round his waist, to which they hung gilded toys and bells in all
+directions, until he was fairly covered over with trinkets of every
+device. He felt them encase his head—his learned, metaphysical head—in a
+cap that was adorned at the point and round the sides with innumerable
+swinging-dolls.
+
+It had been daylight three or four hours when all the mysterious
+preparations, which had been done almost without speaking a single word,
+were finally completed, and every thing waited in readiness.
+
+There, strangely conspicuous in that dismal room, with its dismal
+paraphernalia of death, was a brilliant, half-human, half-monkey-like
+creature, standing up on its hind legs, and flaming all over in gaudy
+colors. To this grotesque figure, the important actor, evidently the
+chief agent in the contract, a man of brief speech, came up and said,
+brusquely,—
+
+“Now, you are dead, you know, and have nothing to do but be dead. You
+are not to be fidgeting, or stirring round, or peeping. When you are
+dead, you are dead, you know, and that is all.”
+
+O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Good reasoning! When you are
+dead, you are _dead_.
+
+Then they picked up this half-human, half-monkey-like object, which had
+uttered not one word, placed it in a coffin, and put upon it a
+mask-face. Carrying it out by the rear door, they raised it and set it
+down on a catafalque, draped in a black velvet pall, and ornamented with
+tall black funeral plumes.
+
+O vain pomp and grandeur of death! When you are dead, you are _dead_.
+
+A confused hurry and tramp of many feet was succeeded by a pause, and
+some one said,—“Ready.”
+
+The procession reached the open avenue and moved slowly down the street
+to the sound of a funeral march. Solemnly, with measured tread, they
+advanced, and the people flocked to the doors on every side. There was a
+cry of surprise and alarm. “What is it?” “Who is it?” ran from lip to
+lip. The crowd gathered. The procession, with its sable plumes and
+ribbons of _crepe_, still continued on its way. There was the sound of
+lamentation, and at every moment the throng and confusion increased, the
+multitude thickened, and men, women and children were held off by the
+guard. Do they go to the great cemetery? No, they turned eastward, and
+at the Rosenthal halted. There the wondering spectators saw, in its
+center, a pure white tomb. Before it the catafalque was brought to a
+stand, and the coffin solemnly lowered.
+
+Immediately a broken shout ran through the crowd, that was taken up and
+repeated until it grew into a laugh, and men and women, catching up the
+children, cried,—
+
+“It is Kriss Kringle! Ha! ha! See, child, it is Kriss Kringle! He is
+dead. Kriss Kringle is dead!”
+
+It was a great relief to the people, so suddenly alarmed, and they good
+humoredly held up the little ones, saying,—
+
+“See! Kriss Kringle is dead. He will never come any more. He is dead!”
+
+There was a silence; and many little faces, awe-stricken, looked
+sorrowfully down, and many little arms were stretched out, and many
+little voices, quivering, sobbed,—
+
+“No, no, no! He will come back. He brought us pretty things. He will
+come back to us.”
+
+O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Is your strength still
+greater than this?
+
+There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a voice—hark! a voice!—
+
+“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I have come back to you!” And
+from beneath the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang, all
+jingling with silver bells, and flashing with a thousand toys.
+
+Then again there was great confusion, but this time no sound of
+lamentation; and the solemn funeral march swept into a strain of joyful
+music. And the children! Oh, the children, in wild delight, played in
+circles about the queer, grotesque being, who set to work destroying the
+snow-tomb. He threw it at them in small crystal showers that called up,
+each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful laughter. He detached the
+bright toys from his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from his
+knees, and rained them down upon the little ones who raced round him in
+their mad frolic. Then he took off the false face and threw it far away,
+and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is the Professor!” and drew back
+awe-struck, to think they had taken such liberties with so renowned a
+scholar. But the children never paused in their romp; and he said, while
+they scrambled about him in merry laughter,—
+
+“I have come back to you, children. I have come back to you!”
+
+And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what life was; then how should I
+know of death?” O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Here are
+those who teach a philosophy of which you know nothing—a philosophy
+higher than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy of love; a
+philosophy of death that is no sleep!
+
+The sun came out and spread a jeweled splendor on the snow, over which,
+hand-in-hand, the happy children danced.
+
+
+The Professor is an old man now, and the fame of his learning has become
+great in the land. And all the people tell about his funeral; and how,
+every Christmas since, in his scarlet clothes and furs, laden with
+“pretty things,” he leads the children in their play, and scatters on
+them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful groups, join their hands
+and dance.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                             THE FEVERFEW.
+
+
+During my youth I suffered from a naturally delicate constitution. I was
+pale, feeble and sickly, but from no decided disease. A dreamy, quiet
+cast of temperament caused me to shrink from the rough sports of my
+brothers; the contact of strangers was equally disagreeable, and I
+seldom strayed from home. Indeed, I lived almost entirely within myself,
+although by no means devoid of natural affection; on the contrary, my
+emotions were strong, and my sympathy easily aroused.
+
+How it happened that I acquired a love of learning I do not know, all
+the outward circumstances by which I was surrounded tending to foster
+any thing rather than intellectual habits, for our family, although each
+member possessed a common education, were strictly practical; but this
+difference in my disposition cut me off from their pursuits, and I found
+my chief enjoyment in the volumes of a library to which I obtained
+access.
+
+Perhaps it was the sedentary life I led, the close confinement, and lack
+of exercise, that brought on a violent attack of sickness when I was in
+my nineteenth year, so that I lay for several weeks completely
+prostrated. During two or three days my life hung as in a balance, which
+a breath might have turned and launched me beyond the confines of time.
+However, the disease succumbed to the persevering attention of
+experienced nurses. I arose from my weary bed and found my physical
+health slowly improving, but from that period I was subject at irregular
+intervals to what the physician pronounced temporary delirium, which I
+knew he used as a milder term for insanity.
+
+But it was not insanity. I never lost control of my mind, but I lost
+control of my body. It obeyed a will that was not my own. A mighty
+antagonistic power seemed to creep over my brain, which impelled my
+movements and held my struggling soul in subjection. I presented the
+singular phenomenon of one person governed by two separate and distinct
+wills, for my mind was not disordered, but only mastered by superior
+strength. In this strange condition I would see familiar objects
+magnified, exaggerated, and contorted, in an atmosphere varying with all
+colors, at the same time being perfectly conscious of their real
+appearance. I would hear sounds sweet and musical grow into wails of
+heart-rending despair. I could recognize my friends when they were
+present, but was forced to regard them with the cold eye of a stranger.
+I would commit acts that no human agency could have compelled me to do
+when my faculties were untrammelled. I never submitted without a
+struggle, and always felt conscious that, if I could but once resist
+this seemingly invincible power, if I could but once disregard its
+promptings, I should be free.
+
+The attacks were never of long duration. They always left me utterly
+exhausted, and it would sometimes require a week to recruit my expended
+strength. I could afterward recall every incident with the most distinct
+minuteness, for they were branded in characters of fire on my memory.
+Vainly I asserted again and again that it was not delirium, that I was
+forced into subjection to some mysterious power I could not withstand;
+my statements made no impression upon the physician, who evidently
+considered mine but a common case of one suffering from attacks of
+temporary insanity, and, when I persisted in my statement, he forbade
+any further reference to the subject.
+
+However, I could not prevent my mind from continually dwelling upon it
+in secret. What was this so foreign, so antagonistic to myself that
+mastered my will, that controlled my actions, that made me literally
+another being? Why did I not shake off this evil influence and be free?
+I felt perfectly conscious of possessing the power, but was not able to
+arouse it from a latent condition.
+
+As I have said before, I was naturally of a studious disposition, and I
+now turned my attention to metaphysics. I read works, ancient and
+modern, on its different branches; I studied medical treatises on
+insanity, and, the more I learned, the more thoroughly convinced I
+became that I was not suffering from mental aberration. Constant
+brooding over my disease greatly wore upon my physical strength;
+traveling was recommended, in hopes that change of climate and scene
+might benefit my health. My old aversion to strangers clung to me, and,
+although possessed by a restlessness to which I was wholly unaccustomed,
+I persistently refused to leave home; no arguments could gain my
+consent, so that my friends were forced to give up the project in
+despair.
+
+One morning, when more than the usual gloom oppressed my spirits, I made
+an effort to arouse myself and throw off the melancholy that was
+settling upon me, which each day I felt to be growing more confirmed. I
+was sitting by a window, which stood wide open, and, just outside, a
+caged canary was singing and fluttering its feathers in the warm spring
+sunshine. The little bird was my particular property, and I regarded it
+with an affection which is rarely bestowed upon pets. With the exception
+of my young sister, a child about four years of age, this was the only
+living thing that I had taken any interest in since my sickness. I had
+trained the canary from the shell, and the little creature seemed to
+repay all my care, for from no other member of the family would it
+receive caresses. I was so much afraid of its being accidentally injured
+that I never allowed it to be freed from the cage, except in my
+presence. At my call it would fly about me, resting on my head,
+shoulders, or hands, and chirping in a perfect ecstasy of enjoyment.
+
+I arose and opened the door of its prison, then, reseating myself,
+softly whistled while it darted into the air, wheeled once or twice, and
+descended upon my hand. Stroking its spotless yellow plumage, I regarded
+the little thing with a degree of pleasure I had not experienced for
+several weeks. But sudden horror almost caused my heart to cease its
+beatings, and the perspiration started from my forehead in great drops,
+for I felt my fingers slowly closing over the delicate bird. Although I
+made an attempt greater than the racking effort we sometimes exert in
+the nightmare, I had no power to restrain them. The canary fluttered in
+my clasp. I would have dropped it, I would have shrieked for help, but
+my muscles, my voice, my _body_, obeyed me not, and my fingers, like the
+steady working of machinery, gradually tightened their relentless grasp.
+In my agony the veins of my face protruded like lines of cordage. I
+heard the frail bones breaking beneath the crushing pressure, then my
+involuntary grip suddenly relaxed, and the bird fell upon my knee, dead
+and mangled!
+
+At the same moment, I saw, through the open door, my little sister
+playing upon the grass-plat; and, almost before I was aware of moving,
+or of any volition, I found myself walking rapidly toward her, while my
+fingers twitched with a convulsive, clutching movement. Good Heavens! I
+already saw her face turn purple, and heard her gasping breath smothered
+by gurgling blood. With this terrible picture before my mental vision,
+my brain felt as if it would burst its bounds in the desperate, but
+unavailing effort I made to turn back, to fly from the spot. But I could
+not command myself. In that moment I endured suffering more intense than
+language can describe. Perhaps my strange and wild appearance frightened
+the child; for, in place of holding out her arms to me, her favorite
+brother, she fled crying to the nurse, who did not observe my approach,
+and carried her into the house. Saved! unconsciously saved—saved from a
+fate too terrible to contemplate.
+
+I sank insensible upon the ground, and, when I recovered, found myself
+surrounded by the family, each one applying some restorative, for I had
+been in a long and death-like swoon. Slowly, but distinctly, the
+recollections of the events which had reduced me to this condition
+presented themselves to my memory with all their appalling horror,
+nearly depriving me again of consciousness.
+
+I did not refer in any manner to the subject, which was also carefully
+avoided by all others in my presence, for fear that it might produce
+renewed excitement, and my friends had no suspicion of the circumstances
+which brought it about. The bird was found dead upon the floor, and the
+family imagined that it had met with some accident. They were evidently
+surprised, when the fact was communicated to me, that I made no remarks,
+for they had anticipated an outburst of grief.
+
+Grief! I did not suffer from grief; grief was overpowered by the horror
+that racked my brain—horror for the act I had committed, and the more
+fearful one which had been so mercifully prevented. I had committed? No,
+it was not _my_ mind or will which had prompted my hand to do the deed.
+I was innocent, even though my fingers had dripped with the blood of a
+sister; but the frightful thought filled me with a terror that wrung my
+soul. I pondered continually upon it. When might not this mysterious
+demon again assert its evil control over me? Strange as it may seem, I
+felt certain that it was some foreign agency—I knew not what—that
+mastered my will, and not the result of my own intellect, in a
+disordered condition.
+
+This overpowering dread of the future, of what might happen, which took
+possession of me, drove me to the decision of leaving home, as the best
+way of avoiding danger to my friends. Perhaps, too, if my physical
+health became better, I might gain strength enough to defy this infernal
+power; for, as I have said before, I possessed a singular consciousness
+that, if I could once successfully resist its promptings, my soul would
+be liberated from thraldom. I announced my determination of making a
+journey, without any explanation of my sudden change, and it was greeted
+with delight by my friends and relatives, who were anxious to hasten my
+departure while the humor was upon me; but they need not have feared any
+change of purpose on my part, for I was haunted by this terrible dread
+of the future, and I gladly said farewell for a time to my home and
+birthplace.
+
+The incidents of travel and of new scenes broke the monotony, and
+dispelled to some degree the gloom that had taken fast hold upon me. In
+a short period I found myself rapidly improving. Every week brought me
+an increase of strength, and I suffered less frequently from these
+frightful attacks. Although they occurred at longer intervals than
+formerly, they seemed to grow more severe in character; the conflict was
+fiercer, and my mind made a more desperate effort to gain the supremacy.
+My whole frame would be racked by the intense struggle which I
+constantly maintained, though I was constantly vanquished.
+
+The increasing delight I took in the scenery, the continued exercise and
+excitement, almost drove despair from me, and hope once more brightened
+my countenance. I began to look forward to the time when my health would
+be entirely restored, and my body and mind be in unison. I did not hope
+vainly, for the final conflict came, and with it a strange termination
+of my long sufferings.
+
+I stood upon the side of an Eastern mountain. Above my head vast rocks
+arose in solemn grandeur, their summits lost in canopied mists which,
+gray and clinging, wrapped them in obscurity. Below, a great chasm rent
+the mountain; a yawning, bottomless gulf. While I gazed, awed by the
+thought of its mysterious depths, where no human eye had seen, where no
+human foot had trod, a ray of light struggled in and rested on gaunt
+trees, on snake-like ferns, damp and cold, that clung to its slimy
+sides, and on one pale flower which nodded in the chill draught that
+came up, a palpable horror, from the blackness of darkness. I turned
+away. Near the western horizon dead clouds were piled one above another,
+and their heavy shadow lay brown and dark upon the sullen earth. No wind
+stirred the forests, or rustled their motionless leaves, and the awe of
+the unbroken silence fell, with a dread oppression, upon my heart.
+
+Suddenly I was seized by an ungovernable desire to possess the
+flower—the colorless flower that hung far down in the death-damp of the
+chasm. A freezing terror crept through my blood as I recognized this
+decree of a will I had never been able to disobey. I felt myself
+crawling closer to the verge of the precipice; nearer, yet nearer, until
+I sat within the very jaw of the savage gulf. The dead clouds heaved
+their shroud-like forms and wavered overhead. I heard the rush of
+subterranean waters sounding a muffled requiem. The sickly flower with
+its long stem writhed and twisted, as a serpent stretches his folds into
+the air. Slowly back and forth it swayed, glaring at me like a
+lustreless eye.
+
+My brain reeled, and all the forces of my nature gathered up their
+increased strength for one fierce and final conflict. I felt the blood
+rage through my veins with the headlong fury of cataracts. The very
+spring of life within me was stirred and troubled, when, with one mighty
+strain, I drew myself up and fell backward on the grass.
+
+The whole world went out in utter darkness. Before my eyes stretched a
+vast, illimitable gloom, when suddenly out of its impenetrable depths
+above my head there grew and glimmered faintly a thin and wavering mist.
+Folding upon itself, it hung down, white and luminous, a cloud of
+palpitating nebulæ. Pricked with a thousand points of fire it gathered
+slowly to a nucleus in the center—a flickering speck, a disc, it flamed,
+blazed into a star, and lo! poised midway in the air, an aureole of
+light, it rested upon the brow of a female figure.
+
+Her scornful eyes looked down upon me with a lurid gleam that seemed to
+burn my soul. A smile of derision sat upon her lips that were more vivid
+in hue than the vermilion dye. Her locks were yellow as the sun at
+noontide; her skin was white as the leper’s; her breath hot as the
+desert air, and the light of the star upon her forehead burned red with
+the frightful redness of fresh blood. Suddenly I saw that the murky
+clouds on either side her form swarmed with a thousand dwarfed and
+warted shapes. Black and hideous, they knotted, flitted to and fro, in
+and out, with their formless claws and tumultuous motion. She spread her
+wings. Immediately there gathered all the dusky shapes—the legion demons
+of delirium with their needle eyes—and settled down upon her sable
+plumes. A shrill phantom laugh rang out, mocked itself by echoes that
+ran up in thin shafts of sound to the skies, and the SPIRIT OF FEVER had
+fled from me forever!
+
+The rays of the sun as it sank to rest, slanting through rose-colored
+avenues, fell upon the gray mists, and crowned the mountain’s summit in
+a rainbow of glory. The rising breeze swept through the forests with a
+soothing sound, and, eastward, the eye was lost in mellow lines of
+golden haze, which to my soul freed from captivity, seemed cathedral
+aisles of peace.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                        OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER.
+
+
+“You’re right! I ain’t got no relatives an’ nobody to look after, so
+thar isn’t any sense in workin’ too much. That’s just what I say.”
+
+And that is just what he always did say, poor Simlin, but he never
+ceased, notwithstanding. Nearly every body that knew him and spoke to
+him about it always found him quick to acquiesce: “Thar was nothin’
+plainer than what they said, and it was just what he said, too.” But it
+did not make the slightest difference, for he continued to work away all
+the same; so what else could be done but merely to give up the question?
+
+Now, if he had only expressed himself in decided opposition, there might
+have been something to hope for in the matter—at least, it would have
+opened the way for an argument upon the subject; and, then, there was
+always the possibility that he might be induced to change his mind.
+However, his provoking approval put the case wholly beyond reach. And so
+old Simlin, toiling early and late, quietly followed his vocation.
+
+There was not a better moulder in the whole foundry, or one that drew
+much higher wages. But, then, he was getting old. To be sure, he never
+had been young, so far as they knew any thing about him, even ten years
+ago, when, altogether unknown and friendless, he had first made his
+appearance in the village. But these ten years combined had not worn
+upon him like the last one. His head now, if once the soot had been
+removed, would not have shown a single black hair; and his voice was
+weak and cracked, and there was a visible trembling about the old man’s
+legs. Perhaps he did imbibe liquor; but nobody had any right to say so,
+for nobody could prove that it was true. Only of late he had a strangely
+confused manner when anyone addressed him, and, raising his unsteady
+hand nervously to his head, would repeat the sentence that had been on
+his lips a hundred, yes, a thousand times, until it had long ago grown
+into a stereotyped form—“I ain’t got no relatives an’ nobody to look
+after, so thar isn’t any sense in workin’ too much.”
+
+Perhaps he really thought that the people would never see that he was
+straining every effort, using every moment of his time, though, before
+the sun was up, and often after it was gone, the old man was at his
+place. And Simlin was always the first on hand if there was an extra job
+that would bring an extra cent.
+
+But, other than making the assertion that he had no relatives, and
+nobody depending upon him, and that he did not think it worth while to
+work over-much, he never carried on a conversation. That there was no
+one to look after _him_ was a self-evident fact. He lived utterly alone,
+in a small cabin on the brow of the hill. Rarely a soul but himself ever
+crossed its threshold. Under the step the gray gophers made their
+burrow, and, beneath the tall beech trees, that threw down their prickly
+nuts, the brown weasels played in peaceful groups. The shy quail,
+sounding their whistle, fled among the ferns; and above, from the myriad
+branches, the beautiful wild doves mourned out their perpetual sadness.
+At evening, when the sun went down, and the long line of the Scioto
+Hills flushed crimson with serene glory; when, by slow degrees, the
+pageant of departing day withdrew its gorgeous colors; even when the
+valley below was black with the gloom of night, the western radiance
+lingered, like the transforming light of some other land, upon the rude
+cabin, standing on its high and solitary perch.
+
+Empty and bare, it afforded but little protection from the weather, for
+through it the winds blew in Winter, and the rains dripped in Summer.
+Simlin’s wants, however, appeared to be few and simple. He seldom had a
+fire, even at the coldest season. What he subsisted upon, nobody knew.
+Once, perhaps, in two or three days, he would buy a loaf of coarse bread
+from the baker in the village, and his table evidently was supplied in
+the most frugal manner.
+
+The people put down his besetting sin to be avarice; and the hut, if it
+contained no furniture, was reported to contain wealth enough, hidden
+away in its obscure cracks and corners, to have draped its dreary boards
+in the most costly velvet and lace, and encased its walls with marble.
+Of course, he was a miser. More than ten years now he had been at the
+foundry, and not a cent of the wages which he drew regularly had he
+spent, or put so much as a farthing into the savings bank, where many of
+the hands had laid up quite a pile. But, unlike the majority of misers,
+the old man never complained of being poor; indeed, he never complained
+at all, or spoke of money in any way. If the subject was brought up in
+his presence, he either preserved utter silence or quietly got up and
+left; and, if driven to the last extremity, and made to say something,
+he would remark, running into the same old channel, that “It didn’t much
+matter—he hadn’t any relatives nor any body dependin’ upon him.”
+
+So lonely and forlorn did he seem, and so harmless withal—for the old
+man never was known to do a mean action, or resent an angry word—that
+many uncouth kindnesses had been shown him on the part of the hands,
+with whom he was by no means unpopular. Especially had this been the
+case latterly; for, though he himself was apparently unconscious of it,
+so terribly broken had he become that the change was sorrowful to
+behold; and, rude as were the foundry-workmen, what there was pathetic
+in the patient manner in which the feeble old man silently worked on
+told upon them by instinct.
+
+There had even been an interest taken in him up at the great house.
+Every season, “the colonel,” as the owner and sole proprietor of the
+Rocky Ford Foundry was called by all the employes, brought his family
+down from the city to spend a few months rusticating in the beautiful
+Scioto Valley, where he had built a summer residence for that purpose,
+and that he might be near his great iron-works at the same time. There
+was always gay company up at the house—visitors from town, who needed no
+second invitation to entice them from the dust of the city to this
+peaceful retreat among the lovely hills of Ohio. Besides, the colonel
+had a beautiful daughter, and every body liked the “young misses.”
+Seldom, though, did she ever go down to the foundry; never, indeed
+unless some special object took her there.
+
+Coming from her home a mile distant—this home for her embowered in
+perpetual Summer and wrapped in the peace that broods upon the
+everlasting hills, where she could see, far off, the golden meadow-lands
+and the more distant Paint Ridge, with its transparent veil of mist;
+this home from which she had often looked out and listened to the blue
+Scioto, unflecked with sail or skiff, struggling by day and night to
+tell its mysterious story, as it flowed forever on its lonely
+course—coming from this home, over the narrow path that led down the
+slope to the river’s edge, where the green rushes grew and the wild
+columbine hung its bells above the water—coming on, past the great
+rocks, where the scarlet lichens flamed in the sun and the blossoming
+alder displayed its drifted clusters; coming still with active feet over
+the velvet moss—coming from the lovely valley, coming from the tranquil
+hills, when she entered the foundry it seemed like stepping suddenly
+from the beautiful world into some haunt of evil spirits.
+
+Within the great dingy walls no shining sunlight brightened the air. Dim
+and cheerless, it hung laden with smoke and vapor, that floated in
+clouds to the rafters. The harsh clang of heavy machinery, together with
+the roar of the furnaces, seemed to shake the very building. Among the
+enormous wheels that whirled with frightful velocity, and the immense
+belts that whizzed above their heads, the workmen, black and begrimed,
+looked small, weird and unearthly, moving about upon the damp ground,
+with its jet-like covering of charred cinders. The place seemed an
+apparition of demons, performing in some cavern of the lower regions
+their evil incantations. No wonder the young lady seldom went there. Its
+gloom fell upon her with a heavy oppression, and her breath only came
+freely when once more she found herself out in the clear and open
+sunlight.
+
+It happened in this manner that she first came to take any notice of old
+Simlin: There were gathered quite a party of young folks; and the
+colonel, who had been in Cincinnati upon business, had returned the
+previous evening, bringing with him another gentleman, apparently a
+stranger to the family.
+
+It was at the breakfast-table that the company were discussing the
+“sights” of the neighborhood, and debating whether they would take him
+first over to Paint Creek upon a fishing-excursion, or across the river
+to Mount Logan, famous for having been the rendezvous of the great
+Indian chief, when the colonel spoke up,—
+
+“Why not begin at home?” he said. “Do not fatigue him to death the first
+day, and I am proud enough of my foundry to think it might be of
+interest even to Mr. Safford; at least I mean to have him shown over it
+before he leaves.”
+
+The young man, of course, immediately stated that it would give him
+great pleasure, and the whole company, to the most of whom it would
+prove a novelty, gladly acquiesced in the proposition. So it was
+decided, and two hours later they all started on their way.
+
+When they entered the foundry it seemed more gloomy than ever, the
+atmosphere more stifling, and the jar of the machinery more painfully
+loud and discordant. Even the gay young people who had chatted and
+laughed all the morning felt the sudden change that involuntarily
+subdued their merriment. They broke up and scattered in twos and threes
+over the place, following the lead of simple curiosity, but the
+stranger-gentleman staid beside Helen, the “young misses.”
+
+“What a queer, unreal place!” he said. “One would never expect to find
+any thing like it in this beautiful valley. Does it not make you think,
+coming upon it suddenly out of the sunlight, of the evil genii you have
+read about in some fairy-tale long ago? And the workmen, at whose
+bidding all this gigantic power is brought into action, how small and
+weird they look!”
+
+The two had been slowly approaching the great furnace, and, just as the
+gentleman ceased speaking, the immense door was thrown open,
+discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions, the seething flame
+within. Though they were not near enough to experience any inconvenience
+from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened exclamation and drew back; but
+the gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately in front of him
+from this opening streamed a broad but sharply defined streak of
+blood-red light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed the
+blackened cinders on the ground beneath his feet into a mass of living
+embers.
+
+As the old man straightened up, and was in the act of raising his hand
+to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination, they encountered the
+stranger, and a mingled expression of surprise and fright instantly
+struggled up through their weak color. For a moment, like an apparition,
+he stood transfixed. The red glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure;
+it showed his attenuated arms and death-like mouth, his tattered clothes
+and the few wisps of his scant hair.
+
+Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling effect which the glow of
+the furnace had produced, falling by accident upon a single workman.
+But, when the man rose up, he gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his
+strange behavior.
+
+For an instant, the old man stared without moving a muscle, then his
+lips began to work convulsively, and, raising his hand before his face,
+as if to screen it from view, he half uttered an unintelligible sentence
+and sank down. At the same time, the door of the furnace had been
+closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a moment had so
+strangely thrown him into violent relief.
+
+For a second, Safford almost thought the whole thing had been an optical
+illusion, or some hallucination of his own brain; then, stepping
+forward, he saw the old man lying in a heap upon the ground.
+
+The young lady, recovering immediately from her sudden fright at the
+unexpected blaze, had seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked, in a
+terrified voice,—
+
+“What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she exclaimed, kneeling down
+beside him.
+
+“No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!” Mr. Safford called to
+the nearest hand. Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the
+prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried it out into the open
+air.
+
+“I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,” said the man who had helped
+in carrying him. “We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.”
+
+“Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr. Safford, while he bathed the grimy
+forehead with his wet handkerchief.
+
+“Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been of a trembil all over; and he’s
+getting pretty much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping his
+voice, and significantly touching his forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not
+booked for this world much longer.”
+
+“Poor man!” said Miss Helen, leaning tenderly over the pale face that
+still showed no symptoms of returning consciousness; “how very thin and
+emaciated he is! Has he no wife or family to take care of him?”
+
+“That’s just it, ma’am! That’s just what he’s allus harpin’ on! He says
+he ain’t got no relatives, and nobody to look after, and—”
+
+The young lady suddenly raised her hand with a warning gesture; and,
+before the workman had ceased speaking, old Simlin opened his eyes. He
+looked around for a moment in a bewildered way; then his uncertain
+glance, falling upon the gentleman kneeling by his side, immediately
+became fixed, and grew into a wild stare. Raising himself unsteadily
+upon his elbow, still with his eyes fixed upon him, the old man threw
+out his trembling arm with a gesture as if addressing the whole
+company,—
+
+“It’s a lie! Who said I had any relatives, or any body to look after? I
+hain’t! It’s a lie—a _lie_, I say! I never seen you before. He’s a
+stranger!”—still keeping his arm extended, and appealing excitedly to
+those around him—“you all know he is a stranger. I ain’t got no
+relatives, nor any body to look after!”
+
+It was evident enough that what the workman had told them about his
+intellect was too true, they all thought, as they looked at each other
+with a quick glance.
+
+“I tell you I don’t know you, sir! It’s all a lie. I never seen you
+before! I—”
+
+“No, you never saw me before.”
+
+Mr. Safford had spoken, hoping to soothe him; but, instead, the sentence
+appeared to act upon the old man like an electric battery, for he raised
+himself into a sitting posture, and, with his head bobbing violently
+about, fairly screamed, his cracked voice running into high treble,—
+
+“That’s right!—that’s right! Do you all hear it? He says I never seen
+him before. It’s all a lie about my havin’ got any relatives. I hain’t!
+I never seen him before—You heerd him say so—you all heerd him?” he
+inquired, for the first time, taking his pale, watery eyes from the
+gentleman, and looking, in a frightened, appealing way, round the group.
+
+Then his strength seemed to fail suddenly, and he fell back upon the
+grass, panting for breath.
+
+At this moment the colonel came up, and knelt down by his side. He
+uttered his name several times, and even put his hand upon the wrinkled
+forehead; but the old man, with vacant eyes fixed on the sky, paid no
+heed, though his lips trembled.
+
+“I have ordered a wagon. It will be here directly. He must be taken to
+the house, where he can receive every attention. Poor man! I am afraid
+this will be about the last. I have expected it for a long time. Here,
+Safford, help me to lift him,” he added, as Hendricks came back with the
+wagon.
+
+“Safford! Safford! Who called me Safford?” said the old man, suddenly
+looking round in a terrified manner. “I—I’ve been a dreamin’,” uttering
+a weak laugh. “It’s not my—I mean nobody said it. I never heerd that
+name before. It’s darned funny, ain’t it? but I never even heerd that
+name before in my life! You know I didn’t”—growing wild and excited
+again—“you know it’s a lie! I ain’t got no relatives, nor nobody to look
+after.”
+
+The gentlemen, without speaking, stooped to raise him; but he struggled
+violently, and, keeping his eyes still fixed on the younger one, he
+cried, with such an extreme distress upon his face, that they
+involuntarily drew back,—
+
+“No, no! I’m not fit to be near you. Stand off! You’re a fine gentleman;
+it’s not for the likes of you to touch me!”
+
+Then turning toward the colonel, he muttered some inarticulate apology,
+and actually staggered, unaided, to his feet,—
+
+“I’m ’bliged to ye all,” he said, nodding his head up and down, and
+backing, with uncertain steps, toward the foundry, as if afraid to take
+his eyes from the party as long as he was within their sight. “Thar
+ain’t nothin’ the matter with me! I jest felt faint a spell from the
+heat—the heat. It ain’t nothin’, an’ it’s gone now! I’ll go back to my
+work agin—I’m all right—I’m ’bliged to ye! It was jest the heat as
+overcum me—jest the heat—” and, with a painful smile upon his thin lips,
+still muttering unintelligible excuses, he tottered into the building.
+
+For a moment, taken by surprise, the group remained motionless. Then
+Helen said; “Poor old man! I declare, it almost made me cry only to look
+at him!—Father, you will have him cared for; you will not allow him to
+work any more?”
+
+“No. He is dreadfully broken down, and I have heard the hands say that,
+latterly, he was breaking in his mind, too; but I did not know it was so
+bad. I will see that he does as little as possible; but he will never
+quit until he gives out utterly, and he can not hold on long in this
+condition. Strange, Safford, how the sight of you seemed to excite him!
+Did you notice with what a wild, terrified gaze he stared at you, as if
+he had been hunted down? and, when you stooped to raise him up, he
+almost drew himself into a knot. I did not suppose, when I saw him on
+the ground, that he had strength enough left to stand on his feet
+without help; and it seemed as if it was this fear of you that inspired
+him with the power.”
+
+The younger man stood leaning against the tree from which he had not
+moved.
+
+“Yes,” he replied, “it was strange; I noticed it. How long have you had
+him in your employ?”
+
+“More than ten years, and he has been about the most valuable hand in
+the foundry.”
+
+“Then I’m sure, father, you will take care of him, and not let him work
+any more?” said Helen, again.
+
+“Yes—yes, child! don’t bother yourself so—of course I will;” but the
+younger gentleman turned toward her quickly, while his face lighted up,
+then checked himself abruptly in what would have been an eager gesture
+of gratitude, and looked away without saying a word.
+
+They remained a few moments to hear that the old man had recovered, and
+when the messenger reported him working at his place quietly as usual,
+without re-entering the foundry, or waiting for their companions, the
+two started homeward. Helen’s reluctance to go back into the building
+again had been so manifest that the gentleman could hardly do otherwise.
+Not until the straggling little village and the smoke of the great
+foundry were left in the distance did she fairly draw a breath of
+relief, and even then they still walked on almost in silence.
+
+The day had reached its noon. On the river flowing past the lances of
+the sun broke into a thousand flakes of fire that followed each other
+over its surface in myriad ranks; and on either side, where the twisted
+birch reached out its branches, the waves with a grateful murmur turned
+up their cool white crests.
+
+There was no loud hum of grasshoppers. Hardly a leaf stirred upon the
+trees, hardly a bird fluttered its wings. Even the far-off mists had
+disappeared, and a hush was on the hills—a hush as of awe before the
+splendor of the sky. No wonder they spoke but little. Almost solemn was
+the glory of the day in its noon. Yet perhaps neither one felt this
+influence which rested upon the land, and subdued alike to silence the
+peewee and the bobolink. It may be that the girl was not wholly
+unconscious of the scene, but it was certainly some other influence that
+wrapped her companion in abstraction. He saw not even the checkered
+shade that fell in arch and groin upon their path.
+
+They were half-way home. Rousing himself suddenly with an effort, as if
+but just aware of this long abstraction, he said, for lack of any thing
+better,—
+
+“Miss Helen, do you like the country?”
+
+“Dearly. I love these hills and the river. The time I spend here is the
+happiest part of my life.”
+
+“And are you not always happy?” he inquired. “You should be.”
+
+A strange gentleness in his tone as he uttered the last words made Helen
+look up quickly as she answered him with a smile,—
+
+“I am. I never had a trouble in my life.”
+
+They had reached the turn where the path led up the slope from the foot
+of the hill.
+
+“Do not go back to the house,” he said; “let us sit down here a little
+while in the shade. I feel strangely oppressed, and the four walls of a
+room would suffocate me.”
+
+Apparently, he had uttered the last sentence involuntarily, as he took
+off his hat, and passed his hand several times across his forehead, for,
+catching his breath quickly, he added, as if by way of an apology,—
+
+“It is so much pleasanter in the open air, and I am less fortunate than
+you. I seldom have a chance to enjoy the country.”
+
+He had evidently spoken truly, however, when he said he felt strangely
+oppressed, for his eyes wandered up the valley, far off to the remote
+Paint Ridge, yet he did not see the glittering Scioto, or how Summer sat
+enthroned in royal pomp upon the hills.
+
+There was a thoughtful, almost anxious expression on his face. Presently
+he added, in a tone of voice as if they might have been discussing the
+subject at the moment, and which showed his mind was still occupied
+wholly by the incident at the foundry,—
+
+“Miss Helen, had you ever seen that man before?”
+
+“What man?” she inquired. “The workman, you mean?”
+
+“Yes, the old moulder.”
+
+“No. I have often heard them speak of him. I rarely go to the foundry;
+it is gloomy, and the hands are so rough father does not like to have me
+come in contact with them in any way, so I do not know one from another.
+I did not recollect at first, but I remember now hearing him say that
+old Simlin was queer, that he was a miser, and that he lived all alone
+on the Spring Hill. But I am sure father did not know he was so feeble,
+or how he was losing his mind. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It
+must be dreadfully sad, ignorant though he is, to grow old and have not
+a soul on the earth to care for him.”
+
+Again the gentleman turned to her, as she spoke, with a sudden emotion
+in his eyes that would have called the color to her cheeks had she seen
+it, but in another instant he had looked away, and the troubled cloud
+settled back once more upon his features.
+
+“The river _is_ beautiful,” he said, after a pause; “see how the fire
+dances down its surface.”
+
+He had dismissed the subject from their conversation, if not from his
+own thoughts. More than an hour later Helen sprang up with a conscious
+blush upon her face as the sound of approaching voices told her how the
+time had fled. Ah, for her at least it had been wafted by on silver
+wings! They both joined the party, and all went together to the house.
+There, almost immediately, Mr. Safford excused himself and went to his
+room.
+
+Shut in alone, the same anxious, troubled expression he had worn when he
+looked unconsciously up the river came back upon him as he walked
+thoughtfully to and fro across the floor. The incident at the foundry
+had affected him singularly. He could not throw off its depressing
+influence. Why, he asked himself—why did the face of the old man haunt
+him perpetually—the thin, wrinkled face, as it had looked at him with
+sudden surprise and terror struggling up through its watery eyes? Why
+did the cracked voice, with its accent of fright, ring constantly in his
+ears? If it were but the wild vagary of an unsettled mind, why should he
+give it any heed? “I am nervous,” he muttered to himself. “They said the
+man was crazy, and surely I never saw him before—no, I never saw him
+before. Then why should the sight of me have so excited him? Probably
+another stranger would have done the same. I am foolish—and they said
+the man was crazy—”
+
+He still paced the floor of his room up and down, while he tried to
+argue himself out of the unreasonable hold which the circumstance had
+taken on his mind. “I wish I could forget it!” he exclaimed. Then
+walking to the window, and looking out mechanically, he said slowly to
+himself, as if weighing well his words,—
+
+“It is not possible; no, it is not possible that here I am going to find
+any clew. The man _was_ crazy, that is all.”
+
+He returned again, however, not the least relieved, to his track over
+the carpet, and, before he went down stairs, he had determined that he
+would “wait and see.” He would not, as he had previously intended, leave
+the place within a day or two. He could not go away until he had
+satisfied himself about the matter wholly, and in the mean time he would
+find out what he could in regard to the old man.
+
+He did not make any inquiries of the family, and the only information he
+could gain was simply what he had been already told.
+
+His sleep that night was strangely disturbed. Over and over in his
+troubled slumber a thin, shrunken figure stood with its trembling arm
+stretched out toward him. It was always before him, even when sometimes
+there flitted through his dreams the form of one whose face was fair as
+the morning, whose hair was yellow as the reaper’s wheat. He rose
+feeling little refreshed. The night, instead of lessening, had but
+strengthened the hold which the incident of the previous day had taken
+upon him, and against which he struggled without avail.
+
+The colonel’s prophecy did not prove incorrect when he said Simlin could
+not last long, for, just as the family were rising from the
+breakfast-table, a messenger arrived, saying the old man was lying
+insensible in his cabin. It seemed he did not make his appearance at the
+foundry at his usual time, and, after waiting an hour in vain,
+Hendricks, who suspected something might be wrong, sent one of the hands
+to the hut, where he was found in this condition.
+
+“Tell Hendricks I will see to him immediately,” the colonel said to the
+messenger, as he retired; then turning to young Safford, who stood with
+his hat in his hand, inquired, “Are you going out?”
+
+“I will go with you, if you have no objection. I may be of some service,
+and I am in need of exercise at any rate.”
+
+He hesitated as he spoke, endeavoring to cover the unusual interest
+which he took in the matter, and the excitement he felt that the news
+had brought upon him.
+
+“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely pale this morning! Our country
+air ought to do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you would go with
+me. I don’t know exactly what is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill,
+he can not be moved, and anyhow there is no road leading up that side of
+the Spring Hill, nothing but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has
+worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that direction. The cabin
+must have been originally put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and
+inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail upon him to come
+down into the village. He is a strange man, almost a hermit in his
+habits.”
+
+“Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe I can do something for him,
+too, if he is sick.”
+
+“You, Helen?” said her father, smiling. “What can you do for such a
+person? No, no, child, it is no place for you. I do not like to have you
+go among any of these wretched people.”
+
+He stooped and kissed the fair countenance raised so entreatingly to
+his. A swift expression of pain had come across the younger gentleman’s
+face as the colonel spoke, but the girl persisted, and her father
+reluctantly gave his consent.
+
+“Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to put a few things into a
+basket with some wine and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it
+immediately. We may need him anyhow, and he has no work to do about the
+house this morning. I can not spare Hendricks from the foundry, and very
+likely, if we can not move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a
+little.”
+
+Losing no time, they started on their errand of mercy. The walk was
+long, but well shaded. Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all
+Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy. The little song-sparrows,
+wild with delight, united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called,
+and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad numbers, fluttered their
+golden wings; and sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in her
+flight to the far-off wheat fields.
+
+It seemed strange that there should be any misery, any suffering. The
+girl could not realize it until they came out on top of the Spring Hill
+to the little clearing where the cabin stood, which, in its utter
+desolation, appeared to overwhelm her. There was no sign of a human
+presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on the chimney-top, while
+its mate flitted wistfully over the sunburnt grass. The place was so
+lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother a sob. Below, the wide
+valley stretched away to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel, on
+this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one ostracized from society.
+
+“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel, “while I go in first, and I will
+come and tell you.”
+
+He left them in the shade of the tall beech trees, and they saw him go
+into the cabin. Though neither had spoken, they knew that upon each
+heart rested the same burden of dread. In the moment that followed there
+came over the young man an almost sickening anxiety, but the girl stood,
+awed only by the thought that perhaps even then the black wings of Death
+might be settling unknown within their very presence. Then she saw her
+father come to the door and beckon—the old man at least was not dead—and
+they went in together.
+
+The place was far more bare and desolate than even its exterior had
+appeared. The rough boards of the floor were shrunken apart. Through the
+windows, unshielded by even a plank, the glaring light poured in a
+pitiless flood. A broken chair or two were propped against the wall, and
+in the corner an old pine table stood in a precarious condition upon its
+uneven legs.
+
+There, stretched across the wretched bed dressed in his grimy clothes,
+just as they had seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago, the old
+man lay insensible. All their restoratives were powerless to rouse him
+from this heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to their efforts.
+The half-closed eyes were glazed. There was no quiver now about the
+bloodless lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner, more emaciated,
+for over all the features rested that sunk expression which those who
+look upon it behold with despair at their hearts. But for the slow rise
+and fall of his chest, they might have thought the last glimmer of life
+had died out of that frail form forever.
+
+It was plain that they could not dare to move him, and the colonel
+carefully shaded the window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving
+free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken all the things from the
+basket, and set them ready for use, though there was little chance now
+that they could be of any avail. Safford stood at the foot of the bed,
+utterly unconscious of every thing at the moment but the prostrate
+figure before him. Since he entered the room he had hardly changed his
+position, only that he folded his arms across his breast, and drooped
+his head a little, as if in that attitude he might the more intently
+watch the sleeper.
+
+When the colonel came and spoke to him he started up as if frightened,
+like one out of a dream, so that the elder man looked at him in
+surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling himself, said
+quickly, in a husky voice,— “I beg your pardon. You startled me!”
+
+“I only wanted to know how long you thought he could last?”
+
+“I can not tell. It may be until evening, hardly longer.”
+
+He was right. The day wore on without any apparent change until about
+the going down of the sun, when the old man moved a little. They had
+once or twice dropped a few drops of wine between his lips, but this was
+the first symptom of any break in the heavy stupor which had held him so
+long in its death-like embrace. His respiration quickened, and became
+audible. He muttered one or two incoherent sentences, then a tremor
+passed over his features, and he opened his eyes.
+
+Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored during the afternoon to
+persuade into going home, stood with her head turned away; and the
+colonel, too intent upon watching the dying man, did not notice Safford,
+from whose face, at the first struggle in the inanimate form, every
+particle of color fled, and who, trembling violently all over, clutched
+the bed for support.
+
+The old man for a moment looked about the room blankly, as if a haze
+obscured his vision. Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face
+lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but as suddenly the light
+faded out, his features quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying,
+brokenly, in an accent of despair,—
+
+“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”
+
+Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—
+
+“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you will kill me! It was not for
+the likes o’ me to have married you. Now you are so white an’ thin, an’,
+Hetty, when I took ye to the church, yer cheeks were redder nor the
+summer rose. Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”
+
+A terrible struggle in his throat compelled him to pause for a moment,
+then he went on with rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
+could hardly find expression in words:—
+
+“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one that; I can not bar
+it!—not that, not my name! I swear to ye, he shall not take after the
+likes of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty, I swear to ye, if I
+live, he shall never hear a low word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He
+shall have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman. Hetty, I’ve
+been a worthless dog—a brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
+darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer face—but hear me, Hetty,
+I swear to ye, the little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
+shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so still! O Hetty!—dead! she is
+dead—dead!”
+
+Both the colonel and Helen turned with astonishment to young Safford
+when the old man, in his delirium, had spoken his name; but the latter,
+unconscious of their surprise, with a single cry, sprang forward, and
+supported the exhausted figure in his arms as it sank back.
+
+“Father—my father!” The words broke from his lips in a voice painfully
+choked by emotion.
+
+There was another severe struggle for breath, then, with renewed
+strength, the old man raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
+looking round quickly, began in a hurried manner, fumbling about with
+his hands,—
+
+“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me agin! He mustn’t never know
+as I’m alivin’. He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’ me.” He
+paused a moment, and the expression of his face changed. “It’s a lie!”
+he cried, fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body to look
+after! It’s all a _lie_!” Then, shivering suddenly, he said, lowering
+his voice, and speaking softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not have
+no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a gentleman. I said he should be a
+gentleman—and he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No, no! I never seen
+you before—I never seen you before!”
+
+The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling sound in his throat.
+
+“Father, father, speak to me! It is I, George!”
+
+Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees. During the moment that
+followed there was profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes, and
+said, gently,—
+
+“George! the little George!” A radiant light rested upon his thin face.
+He raised his trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily over the man’s
+head. “Yer hair is soft an’ black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
+her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’, Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                          THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+At the foot of the hill stood a low, old-fashioned frame house, with a
+picket-fence round the yard, which ran down to a small stream that
+sometimes flowed along slowly, and sometimes with a great rush, and
+sometimes slept tranquilly beneath a sheeting of ice. Nearly a mile off,
+smooth and level, with pleasant streets, and a church whose spire shone
+in the sunlight long after the evening shade had crept over the ground,
+was the village of Pickaway, the gem of Paint Valley.
+
+From there, two days in every week, to the quaint old-fashioned house at
+the foot of the hill, the children wended their way with music folios,
+coming loiteringly in Summer over the narrow foot-path where the wild
+columbine grew by the creek, but in Winter walking hurriedly over the
+frozen turnpike, swinging their arms, blowing their fingers, and
+sometimes doing battle bravely with the snow.
+
+Here Franz Erckman lived in the plainest manner, with only his piano and
+his cottage-organ for companions. Wife and children he had none, nor any
+relative, nor any domestic pet. There was never a dog, or cat, or even
+so much as a chicken, to be seen about the premises. One servant he
+kept, to be sure, but she, a cross old woman, never opened her mouth for
+the purpose of speech more than a dozen times in a year, and then it was
+only upon some unusual provocation, as when the scholars broke a
+pitcher, or muddied her floor, when she would give utterance to some
+incoherent but disagreeable ejaculation.
+
+Franz Erckman had lived in this way for nearly twenty years, and was
+just as bluff in manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as when he
+had first come there, an unknown young foreigner, without friends, or
+acquaintances, or money, and commenced in a modest way giving
+music-lessons to a few pupils at first, to many after a time.
+
+When the new church was built, and a new organ with great gilded pipes
+put in, his services were engaged, as well they might, for no other
+person in the whole village could have made any thing whatever out of
+all those stops, and pedals, and keys.
+
+Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a town, with a very respectable
+hotel, many tourists came down in the summer season from the city to
+rusticate for a week or two, and they always heard the organist with
+astonishment. Inquiries about him were so often repeated by these
+cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had finally grown to feel proud of
+its musician, and it became as natural to them to show off Franz Erckman
+as it did to call attention to the beautiful scenery. It would have been
+hard to have overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape could
+rarely have been found.
+
+However, all this praise and adulation had apparently made little effect
+upon the village music-master, who had been again and again invited to
+come up for one season to the city by these friendly tourists. They held
+out to him the allurements of the orchestras and operas, and told
+wonderful tales of the superb voices of the great _prime donne_. It was
+all in vain. He always thanked them for their proffered hospitality, but
+never accepted it, and lived along, seemingly content enough to teach
+the village children, and play the church-organ. Only his one servant
+knew how at night, and sometimes all night through, he tried
+ineffectually to satisfy his great craving for music, and how, not until
+the pale light of morning was visible in the east, would he shut his
+cottage-organ. And when he turned from it there was always a strange
+expression of despair upon his features.
+
+The people of the town said he was penurious, for he invariably exacted
+the tuition of each scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time it
+was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the pupil without a word, and
+there were no more lessons given until the quarter had been paid.
+However, they grew to know him so well that every body fell into the
+habit, in his case at least, of being punctual.
+
+So, working steadily year after year, as he had done, with almost no
+expenses of living, Pickaway thought he must have laid by quite a
+fortune, and when the Widow Massey, poverty-stricken though she was,
+made up her mind to send her little daughter—her only child—the poor,
+weak, crippled little Alice, who went every Sunday to the church, and
+listened with such deep delight to the strains of the great organ—when
+the Widow Massey made up her mind to send her daughter to the
+music-master, and give her this one pleasure, that it might brighten
+somewhat the life so early blighted, all the people thought he would
+surely take the child for nothing. But he did not—he took the money, the
+full amount; and, if the people made sarcastic remarks about his
+penuriousness, _they_ never offered to pay for the little girl. And the
+mother never thought of asking a favor from any one. Though she earned
+by hard labor scarcely enough to keep them, still for the last year she
+had had this thought at heart, and quietly saved a little at a time,
+until finally the long-coveted sum was in her possession; and gladly she
+went and gave it to the music-master, who put it down at the bottom of
+his vest-pocket, and told her to send the little girl twice a week. And
+twice a week the little girl went.
+
+That was in the Summer. She was pale, and thin, and delicate, and the
+scholars all wondered how she would get there through the snow in the
+Winter. But before the bleak winds had blown one rude blast, the little
+Alice had a worse trouble. The Widow Massey suddenly fell ill and died,
+commending her beloved child to the care only of the great Guardian
+above.
+
+It was a terrible stroke, and the people all wondered what would become
+of the helpless daughter, who was too feeble to do any kind of work for
+a means of subsistence, and every person thought it strange that
+somebody else did not come to her relief.
+
+It was very sad. The poor little creature seemed fairly racked with
+grief, and had sat by the side of her dead mother day and night. On the
+afternoon of the funeral they tried in vain to take her away, until
+Franz Erckman came, and the people in surprise saw him lift her up in
+his arms without a struggle, and quietly carry her out of the house.
+They saw him, still with her arms clasped tight about his neck, crossing
+the green pastures, strike the narrow foot-path by the creek, and
+disappear as the path turned behind the heavy foliage that was brilliant
+in the scarlet dyes of October.
+
+It was not one of the days upon which he gave lessons. There was only
+the ripple of water over the stones and the rustle of leaves that
+occasionally blew down from the trees, to break the profound quiet of
+the place as he passed through his gate. Not one word had been spoken,
+and still in perfect silence he carried the frail little being, that he
+could feel trembling from head to foot—he carried her across the broad
+veranda and into the pleasant parlor—not the room that the scholars
+used, but where his cottage-organ stood. Then he drew the sofa up beside
+the instrument and laid her down upon it.
+
+Her fingers unclasped with a convulsive movement, and Franz turned his
+face away, for the child had not uttered a sound. Her eyes, dry and
+unnaturally bright, wore a startled look, a mute, beseeching expression,
+like the eyes of a wounded animal, and the pallor of her countenance,
+that had a wild grief branded upon it, was almost as ghastly in hue as
+death. It was suffering terrible to behold, and the hands of the strong
+man trembled as he opened the mahogany case of his organ.
+
+There was a moment’s silence; then music, soft and sorrowful, floated
+out on the air gently, almost timidly; so very mournful, that the
+strain, beautiful though it was, seemed to have in it a human cry of
+pain. It was a language that could appeal to the heart when word or lip
+failed.
+
+The child’s whole frame shook beneath the heavy sobs that swelled up in
+her throat, and the great grief had opened its flood-gates. Hour after
+hour he played untiringly, while the violence of the storm spent itself.
+The music, at first sorrowful, hurt, had cried out in its pain; then it
+grew into a measure so yearning, it seemed the very genius of sympathy.
+Making an intense appeal, it swelled into a great passion, which
+gradually became exhausted by its own intense vehemence, until about the
+going down of the sun it died. And the child slept.
+
+The wild storm of anguish was over. Upon the face, the thin, pale face
+of the little girl in her slumber, there shone an expression of such
+absolute rest that Franz, with a sudden movement, bent down his head and
+listened. Had she passed with the music to the land where there are
+strains that swell into a _gloria_ never ending? He held his breath. Was
+this the reflection of that peace eternal, that rest which endureth
+forever? A sob quivered for a moment on her features, and escaped from
+the lips of the sleeper. No, no, for sorrow showed its painful presence.
+She was not dead, and, at the sigh, sad though it was to see, the man
+arose with a smothered exclamation of relief.
+
+The quiet day was drawing to its close. Within the room the shadows were
+already thickening; without, long lines of mist festooned the hills in
+plumes of royal purple, and the red haze of Indian-summer had gathered
+into broad streamers that unfurled their splendor across the tranquil
+sky. The floating twilight hung over the wide and level pastures. Down
+by the creek the scarlet sage still showed its coral fringe, and
+sometimes the woodbine, close by the house, waved its painted leaves.
+Far off in the filmy vale the group of maples that had stood crowned
+with a golden glory now shrouded themselves in black; and beyond, like a
+long stretch of desolate shore, the great gloom lifted up its chilly
+banks.
+
+Many times from the window in his parlor Franz Erckman had watched the
+divine pageant of night ascend the valley in all the pomp and grandeur
+of its magnificence, in all the solemn majesty of its silence, in all
+the ineffable depths of its sadness. Many times in his loneliness he had
+seen it pass, when a vision of the fair Rhineland would come back to his
+heart. Many times through its profound solitude he had looked out with
+yearning eyes, with listening ears, striving to comprehend its sublime
+mystery. Many times he had turned to it with a soul oppressed by despair
+reaching toward the Infinite. For, though the people did not know it,
+beneath the rough exterior of this reserved German dwelt a love of the
+beautiful—a love so passionate sometimes, it seemed crushing his very
+spirit that he could not give it utterance in his music. Then it was
+that often he would rise from his organ in bitter disappointment, and go
+out with his trouble to seek consolation from the night—the night
+forever wan with her own unspoken sorrow.
+
+But he stood watching the face of the sleeper, paying no heed to the
+gathering shade. He stooped and arranged the cushions about the fragile
+form with the gentle touch of a woman, while upon his features there
+rested an expression more beautiful than they could ever borrow from the
+softened light of the evening.
+
+“She would have died,” he said to himself. “But for the music, I believe
+she would have died! The chords of the organ spoke to her when all
+earthly words failed. She, at least, can understand the language I have
+been striving to learn.”
+
+Frail little creature! She appeared, indeed, like a spirit of some other
+world. Her every nerve had vibrated in sympathy, and Franz could hardly
+help thinking, as he looked at her, that, soundless to human ears, there
+played about her ceaseless strains of melody. Music seemed to be the
+vitality that gave her life, the only nourishment that fed her soul.
+
+When she first came to him for instruction, he quickly discovered that
+she possessed not the least power of execution, and then had taken no
+special notice of her further. Wrapped up in his art, teaching the
+children had never been a pleasure to him. He compelled himself to
+endure it as a means of subsistence.
+
+The great object for which he worked was once to secure means enough to
+keep penury always from his door, and then give himself up unreservedly
+to this art which he loved better than his life. So he took no
+particular interest in any of his scholars, and it was only when he saw
+how eagerly the little Alice drank in every sound, that gradually he
+began to observe the child more narrowly. As he had at first seen, she
+possessed no power of execution whatever. She could not even learn to
+read the notes, and she would probably never be able to play a single
+bar correctly. But he had noticed how keenly alive she was to harmony,
+how peculiarly sensitive to discord. It seemed as though her lessons
+were a constant pain. Yet she came eagerly, and often lingered when they
+were finished.
+
+He had found her once, late in the day, when he had been playing
+dreamily to himself, sitting on the veranda near the window of his
+parlor, listening with a rapt attention, wholly unconscious of any thing
+but his music. Since that, when she came to take her lesson, he had
+always played for her, carelessly at first, but after a time with
+greater interest, until gradually he had given up altogether any effort
+to instruct her, and in its place each day played for her the oratorios
+and symphonies of the great composers. Then he had changed from the
+piano to his organ, and he had grown to wait nearly as anxiously for the
+hour to come round as the little girl herself.
+
+By degrees the visits of the child became to him almost indispensable.
+He seemed to feel always a strange inspiration come upon him in her
+presence. Why, he did not know; but it was then that sometimes the wild
+tumult, the infinite longings of his soul struggled into expression.
+But, when the child went, he would find himself again dejected, and
+wholly unable even to recall the strains which seemed to have died at
+the very moment of their birth.
+
+Franz stood, still watching her motionless form. The sobs, quivering
+through her sleep, had one by one exhausted themselves, and left her
+face strangely peaceful to look upon.
+
+“She is mine,” he muttered. “I will never part with her. She is my
+spirit of sound!”
+
+Suddenly he heard the grating noise of footsteps on the graveled walk.
+Turning quickly, he drew the curtain over the window to shield the
+sleeper from the damp night-air. Then he went softly out and closed the
+door after him, wrapped once more in his severe reserve, and with the
+old stern expression upon his features. His brows knit themselves into a
+frown, and his lips curled for a moment with a smile of contempt when he
+recognized the figure coming into the hall.
+
+“Ha! Erckman, good-evening,” said the man, in a loud and boisterous
+tone, which seemed to dissipate all the serenity of the night in its
+pompous swell.
+
+“Good-evening.”
+
+If it had been the first time they had ever met, Franz could not have
+spoken with colder formality as he showed his guest into the piano-room.
+
+Mr. Cory claimed to be the richest man in Pickaway, and very likely it
+was true. He owned hundreds of green and fertile acres, with cattle
+sleek and fat. He was ruling elder in the church, and his wife bought
+all her bonnets and flounces in the city, and they had built the finest
+house in the whole of Paint Valley. Indeed, nothing was done without his
+presence, and every one, from the minister to the sexton, received his
+advice, which he distributed far more liberally than he did his money.
+So it was that Franz had mentally guessed the object of his visit the
+instant he recognized him in the hall.
+
+“Fine weather, this.”
+
+The organist made no more audible reply to the remark than a
+half-uttered grunt, as he struck a match down the corner of the
+mantelpiece, and lighted the lamp. Mr. Cory sat uneasily on the hard,
+hair-cloth chair, dimly conscious of some obstruction in the usually
+smooth channel of his discourse.
+
+“Sad affair of the Widow Massey.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He looked about the room for a moment, as though expecting to discover
+the presence of some third person, then repeated,—
+
+“Sad affair! sad affair! We are all liable to sudden death, and she
+ought to have been saving up, in case of such an event. She left nothing
+to provide for the child at all. Nothing at all. The furniture will
+barely bring enough to pay for her funeral expenses.”
+
+Franz had sat down mechanically on the music-stool, and rested one hand
+on the keyboard of the piano. Just as the conversation had reached this
+point, he suddenly took his hand away, with a nervous movement that
+sounded three or four discordant bass-notes of the instrument as he did
+so, and Mr. Cory for the second time found himself laboring under an
+ill-defined sense of discomfort, something wholly unusual. But, seeing
+his host showed no symptoms of breaking the silence, after a slight
+cough, he went on,—
+
+“We have been talking this afternoon as to what is going to be done with
+the child. You’ve got her here, haven’t you?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, one can’t do a great deal in this way, but you know it is such a
+sad case, and the child can’t do any work about a house, and my wife is
+so interested in her she thinks she’ll take the little girl—What did you
+say?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke. My wife is so interested in her
+she thinks she’ll take the little girl and send her for a year to the
+industrial school in the city, where she can learn to do fine sewing and
+embroidery. That will give her a chance to earn her living, and we can
+take up a collection in church to defray the expense.”
+
+“‘Fine sewing and embroidery’—_fine suffering and death_!” said Franz,
+suddenly letting loose his pent-up wrath. “Mr. Cory, would you kill the
+child? She is frailer than a flower, a sickly little thing, and
+crippled. One month’s stooping over a needle would put her in the grave.
+I thought for a moment, but an hour ago, that she was dead.” As he spoke
+the last word he left his seat, and, taking up the lamp, said,—“Come
+with me, and step lightly.”
+
+Utterly taken aback at the sudden outburst of the music-master, Mr. Cory
+followed him across the hall, saw him open the door of the opposite
+room, and motion him to enter. Then he said, in a quiet voice, while he
+shaded the lamp carefully with his hand, so that its rays did not fall
+directly upon the face of the child,—
+
+“Look at her.”
+
+The man stepped forward, but almost immediately drew back, with a
+shiver, from the sleeper, whose repose so strangely resembled death. She
+lay upon the sofa, with her hands folded across her breast, as when she
+had at first fallen into slumber.
+
+Franz stood intently regarding her, when suddenly his guest, coming up
+close to him, said, with his rough voice dropped into a frightened
+whisper, and his eyes looking quickly about the room,—
+
+“Where does it come from?”
+
+“What?” asked Franz, startled by his singular manner.
+
+“Do you hear it?”
+
+“Hear what?”
+
+“The music.”
+
+“Music!” exclaimed Franz, dropping his voice also to a whisper, and
+involuntarily suspending his breath for a moment—“no, I hear no music.”
+
+“It did not seem like the piano or organ. It must have been the wind in
+the trees outside, but it sounded just like a strain of music. We had
+better go, or we may waken her,” said Mr. Cory, as he turned to the
+door, and drew one hand across his forehead, where the perspiration had
+collected in drops, although the evening was cold and the air chilly.
+
+Franz followed him out, springing the latch gently with his hand as it
+caught, and they both went back to the piano-room. Here Mr. Cory seemed
+to recover somewhat of his usual composure.
+
+“Well, Erckman, she does look thin and delicate-like, but sewing won’t
+hurt her, not a bit. She’ll be better when she’s got something to do.
+She can’t exist on air, and she can’t live in idleness. She has got
+nothing, and it’s the only way I know of she can make her living. She
+must do work of some kind for support.”
+
+Before Franz’s eyes there floated visions of broad and fertile acres, of
+fine cattle, of fine clothes, of fine houses, but “she must do work of
+some kind for support,” so he said nothing, while the church-elder
+continued,—
+
+“There is James Maxwell going to the city to-morrow, and my wife said we
+had better send her to the school by him.”
+
+“Send her—, Mr. Cory,” said the organist, with a suppressed fierceness
+in his voice, “You saw how frail she is, how she looks as if, even now,
+the shadow of death might be upon her. You know how, from her birth, she
+has been crippled. I tell you one month in that school among strangers
+would kill her. Are there not strong arms enough in the world, is there
+not wealth enough already, that this unfortunate one, this perpetually
+enfeebled child, must wear out her brief span of life in a painful
+struggle to gain a little food?”
+
+“We are not, sir, expected to keep the ‘unfortunate one,’ as you call
+her,” blustered Mr. Cory, fairly purple with indignant astonishment.
+“What do you mean, sir? We are not under obligations to do any thing
+whatever for the girl. She should be thankful we interested ourselves in
+her behalf,” he said, partially choking with rage. “We will do this for
+her, but that is all. She is nothing to us.”
+
+“I had no intention of dictating,” said the organist, politely, who had
+quieted down as quickly as he had roused up. “You are right, sir, she is
+nothing to you, and you need not trouble yourself about the matter
+further. I will see that the child is provided for.”
+
+Then Mr. Cory looked at Franz as if he thought he had not heard aright,
+or that the music-master might be departing from his senses.
+
+“I repeat, I will see that the child is provided for, and you need not
+trouble yourself in regard to her further.”
+
+“Very well, sir, very well!” exclaimed the elder, rising, almost
+speechless with surprise. But when he reached the piazza he said,—“Then
+it is understood that I am not responsible in the case?”
+
+“It is understood.”
+
+Franz had had no intention of parting with the child. He would not have
+given her up had Mr. Cory offered all his grassy meadows. He watched him
+as he walked down the graveled path and disappeared in the darkness.
+“Charity!” he muttered. “Shut him out, O Night—hide him from view! Wrap
+your impenetrable mantle about him, that it may shield him from the eye
+of God and man!”
+
+The German stood for a moment looking out into the limitless gloom,
+which screened alike the evil and the good, then he turned again into
+the house.
+
+He went back, through the dining-room where his supper was spread
+untouched upon the table, to the kitchen, where Margery sat warming
+herself by the dying embers in the stove. The old servant was used to
+his irregular ways, and often saw his meals go untasted without a
+remark. But it was rarely the master ever intruded upon her premises,
+and she rose up as he came in, with an expression of surprise upon her
+quiet face.
+
+“Margery,” he said, “fix up the bedroom next to yours, then come down to
+me in the parlor.”
+
+The old woman heard him without a question, though never before could
+she remember when the guest-chamber had been used, or a visitor staid
+overnight at the house.
+
+When she had obeyed his instructions she presented herself at the
+parlor-door. There was no lamp in the room, only a narrow strip of light
+fell upon the floor from across the hall, but it did not penetrate the
+heavy shadow, and Margery, with a half-uttered apology upon her lips,
+drew back. At the sound of the woman’s steps, Franz came out of the
+gloom.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir.”
+
+“What is the matter?”
+
+“I did not know you was playin’, or I would have waited,” said the
+servant, respectfully, who had learned long ago never under any
+circumstances to interrupt her master at his practice.
+
+“I was not playing.”
+
+“Warn’t it you, sir? It was so dark I could not see.”
+
+“Me? no; nor any body else. No one was playing.”
+
+“Why, I thought I heard—but it must have been the wind,” said Margery,
+glancing across her shoulder to the vacant piano-stool. “I thought I
+heard music just as I opened the door.—The room is ready, sir.” Franz
+bent over the sofa and raised the sleeping form in his arms. Turning to
+Margery, he said,—
+
+“She is light. Here, carry her up and put her to bed. Don’t waken her if
+you can help it, and go to her once or twice in the night to see that
+she sleeps, for she is not well.”
+
+Then he added, as an abrupt explanation,—
+
+“She will occupy that room always. This is to be her home, and I want
+you to see that she has every thing necessary.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+If the old servant was surprised at the announcement, she made no
+remark. She took her up, arranged every thing for the night, and the
+child never awakened.
+
+It was not an unpleasant expression that spread itself upon the face of
+the woman as she stooped over the bed, and laid with a careful hand
+every fold about the sleeper. With noiseless feet she came again and
+again to look once more at the unconscious form that seemed to possess
+for her a singular attraction. Taking up the lamp, she turned to go into
+her own (the adjoining) room, but, with an abrupt start, she checked
+herself midway in the action, held the light suspended, and stood with
+every muscle arrested, as if some unexpected sound had fallen suddenly
+on her ears. Then she bent her head for a moment over the sleeper,
+glanced quickly about the room, and hurriedly crossed to the hall.
+
+She ran down the flight of stairs, looked first into the piano-room,
+then into the parlor opposite. Both places were deserted, and the
+instruments closed. The front door was bolted, and the master had
+evidently retired. She went back to the guest-chamber. The child still
+slept, and Margery held every nerve in suspense, but there was not the
+least sound. She stepped to the window, pushed up the sash, then leaned
+out and listened. The night was perfectly calm. What gentle breeze there
+had been two hours before had died away and left a profound silence
+unbroken even by the chirp of an insect. She closed the shutter, went
+back to the bedside again for an instant; then, saying quietly to
+herself, “It must have been mere fancy,” passed out to her own room, and
+left the door partially open between the two apartments.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+So the little Alice had found a home. All the people in Pickaway
+expressed their utter surprise at this unexpected generosity of the
+penurious music-master. He certainly was about the last person in the
+town from whom such an act might have been anticipated. Indeed, it was
+little short of an enigma to the place. But their astonishment knew no
+bounds when, within a few days after he had taken the little girl, he
+quietly dismissed all his pupils, and steadily refused to give any more
+lessons to a single soul. Nothing could prevail upon him, no entreaties
+whatever could persuade him, and he could never be induced to offer the
+least explanation.
+
+Some of the wealthier ones, unwilling to give him up, had voluntarily
+proposed to pay double the former price, but even money, which all the
+village had thought the god of his life, failed to move him from his
+determination. He was inexorable. Every body wondered what might be the
+reason. No person could discover any apparent cause why he should so
+suddenly give up teaching. They inquired about his health. It was very
+good, he said. Did he expect to leave home? No. He would continue to
+play the church-organ? Yes, oh, yes; he had no intention of stopping
+that. So they conjectured until tired of the task, while Franz Erckman
+paid no attention.
+
+However, as the days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, all the
+village saw that a change had come over the organist. He was less
+communicative than formerly, and more severely reserved.
+
+From the borders of the creek the fringe of scarlet flowers had
+vanished. The myriad leaves had lost their rainbowed glory, and dropped,
+one after another, in russet tatters to the ground. The woodbine had
+thrown off its vermilion raiment, and now stretched up unclothed its
+weird and snake-like arms. The group of maples had laid down its golden
+crown; the hills, too, had cast aside their tiara of brilliant emerald.
+The Summer and Fall, in all their emblazoned splendor, had passed by,
+and the gorgeous livery of Autumn faded to the grizzled hues of Winter.
+
+Up the tawny valley a bleak December wind swept, making a cheerless
+rattle among the naked trees, and the creek slumbered quietly beneath
+its covering of ice; but this time no children came over the frozen
+turnpike to the house at the foot of the hill. More secluded than ever
+it seemed. Before the bitter winds had risen, in the pleasant November
+days, Franz had often rambled through the woods, carrying the little
+Alice, when she felt tired, in his arms. But, as the air grew chill,
+they staid almost wholly within the house. After that Franz rarely left
+it except when his duties as organist called him to the church, and then
+he invariably took the little girl with him, wrapped carefully in a
+heavy cloak.
+
+The people noticed that he was never seen any where without the child.
+If the weather proved bad on the Sabbath, or on the days when he went
+sometimes during the week to play, he still carried her with him, but an
+additional fur mantle was thrown around her for protection. She had
+never grown stronger; but, since that first night, when the organist had
+broken down the great barrier of grief that was closing up like a strong
+wall about her heart, they were seldom separated in her waking hours.
+
+During all this time Franz had changed so strangely that the village
+gossips said one would hardly have known him for the same person. To be
+sure, he had always been silent and reserved, but now he had become
+absolutely inapproachable. His manner, which was naturally abrupt, was
+often now wild and feverish. His face, too, had grown thin, his cheeks
+hollow, his whole figure gaunt. His eyes, brilliant but sunken, had
+assumed a singular expression of unrest, a perpetually searching look,
+as if forever striving to see the invisible, and it began finally to be
+whispered about among the people that the church-organist was not quite
+right in his head. They noticed, besides, that he would never allow the
+child to be enticed out of his sight. The ladies often tried to pet her,
+but she shrank invariably from every one except Franz, to whom she clung
+as if he were the one prop that sustained her life.
+
+So the time had worn away at the musician’s home. Margery, respectful as
+ever in her manner, assiduously waited upon the little girl, who
+received all her attentions gratefully, and never voluntarily made a
+single demand. But there had passed a change over the old servant also.
+From her usually quiet ways she had become restless, as if there might
+be something upon her mind that rendered her constantly uneasy, or from
+which she was ineffectually trying to free herself. If she were sour or
+cross in disposition, as all the scholars used to tell, she had never
+shown it to the little orphan. She watched the child with a strange
+devotion. She would follow her about the house at a distance, and, if
+the little girl for a time sat down upon the veranda, Margery, too,
+farther off, would sit there with her sewing, or embrace that
+opportunity to trim the woodbine, and once or twice she had even found
+an excuse to intrude herself for a moment in the parlor.
+
+Every evening, when she put the little girl to bed, Margery, with a
+strange, expectant look upon her face, would linger about the room long
+after her charge had fallen into a peaceful sleep. Then, when she had
+retired, often in the very middle of the night, she would suddenly waken
+from a sound slumber, spring out of bed, and, before she was thoroughly
+conscious, discover herself standing beside the child, with her head
+bent down in a listening position, and every nerve strained to catch the
+slightest sound. Immediately she would rundown stairs into the
+music-rooms, only to find them both deserted and the instruments closed.
+With a white countenance she would return, pause once more in the
+child’s room, and then lie down again, saying to herself, for the
+hundredth time,—
+
+“It must be mere fancy. I have been dreaming.”
+
+There was no element of superstition in Margery, but this incident would
+recur over and over, night after night, until she began to ask herself
+if, before she had reached sixty years, she was already losing her mind,
+and this the first fancy of a disordered imagination. It was strange,
+she told herself, that she should dream the same thing so often, and
+every time it should be so vivid, for she heard a strain of music as
+distinctly as she ever heard a sound in her life, though it was not like
+the piano, organ, or, indeed, any instrument. And, though vivid, it was
+so evanescent it made her doubt the veracity of her senses. Then, too,
+it never came from down stairs, or out-of-doors, but always seemed
+apparently to emanate from the bedside of the little child, though, as
+soon as she had stooped to listen, it was gone, and the reign of silence
+again left supreme. Once or twice, even during the day, when standing
+beside the little Alice, Margery had heard, or thought she heard, a
+sudden waft of this soft melody sweep by her, but so fleeting that it
+was gone before she could catch her breath to listen, or be sure it was
+not simply all her own imagination.
+
+So, with this constantly upon her mind, Margery had grown restless, and
+found herself continually watching the little girl. She was not
+insensible either of the great change that had, by some means or other,
+been wrought in her master since the child had come into the house. She,
+as well as the people, had noticed that he would never, if possible,
+allow her out of his sight. He never played a night now by himself as he
+had been used to doing for years. After the child went to bed the
+instruments were always closed, for he never put his hand upon the
+keyboard unless she were present. And, even when he had her beside him,
+he did not seem happy.
+
+The people at church said, as he had changed, his music, too, had
+changed; but, as he had grown more wild and feverish in manner, his
+music had grown more softened and beautiful in style. And once, after he
+had played a dreamy harmony that held them all entranced, he had come
+down from the organ-gallery with a fierce fire burning in his eyes, and
+hands that trembled violently, though they were clasped tight over the
+little girl in his arms. When they had complimented him he looked
+bewildered, and spoke in a confused way, as though he could not remember
+what he had been playing. Now, more convinced than ever were the people
+that something was evidently wrong with the music-master, and,
+notwithstanding he had lost nothing in his art, many shook their heads,
+and whispered that poor Erckman was, beyond a doubt, going crazy.
+
+December had worn almost into Christmas. In every house of the village
+there were preparations for the approaching holiday. The church, too,
+was undergoing some mysterious process at the hands of the young people,
+who went in and out at all hours by the back way, and steadily refused
+admittance to any one. They had even closed the doors against the
+organist when he went there one morning to play, but he was easily
+persuaded to withdraw, as he cared far more for solitude than society.
+
+Franz sat moodily by the fire in his parlor, with the little girl upon a
+cushion at his feet. They were both naturally silent, and would often
+sit quietly together for hours. But now, though the musician gazed
+absently into the grate, and seemed to take no heed of the child, she
+looked up once or twice into his face, then said, in a timid voice,—
+
+“Father, to-morrow is Christmas.”
+
+Franz had long ago taught her to call him father, and he merely answered
+mechanically, without taking his eyes from the illuminated coals,—
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How dark the night is out, and how shrill and bleak the wind blows!”
+She had risen from her seat and gone to the window. “But to-morrow is
+Christmas-day, and I know it will be bright then; oh, I am sure it will
+be bright!”
+
+She stood a moment longer by the casement without speaking, then came
+back and sat down again, looking almost as ethereal as some spirit, that
+might vanish any moment forever into the glow of the red firelight.
+
+“You will play something very beautiful to-morrow, will you not, father?
+You will make the voluntary better than all the service besides? Oh, for
+such a celebration, it ought to be the most magnificent music in the
+world, for, think, father, it will be Christmas, the grandest day in all
+the year! It seems to me I can hardly wait to hear you, I have been
+looking forward to it so long. But, father, you have not practised any
+for it, have you?” said the child, looking up suddenly with quick dismay
+upon her features.
+
+Franz, still without glancing at the little girl, or taking his eyes
+from the fire, said,—
+
+“No,” but he clasped his hands nervously together.
+
+“Oh, father, you did not forget about it, did you?” she asked eagerly.
+“I have so often and often thought of it, though I did not say any
+thing, but it is strange I never once thought about the practising. Oh,
+you could not have forgotten it, father?”
+
+She was so intensely earnest, it seemed as if her whole soul was in the
+question, trembling while it awaited the reply.
+
+“No, I have not forgotten it,” said Franz, “It has hardly been out of my
+mind one moment for many weeks; but I have nothing to play.”
+
+At first, her face had been perfectly radiant; but, when he added the
+last clause, she got up, put her arms about his neck, and said, with a
+kind of terror in her voice,—
+
+“Oh, no, no! You will play, father—tell me you will play!”
+
+Franz moved uneasily in his seat.
+
+“And it will be something grand, father. Oh, you will please everybody—I
+am not afraid of that. Quick, tell me you will play. Father, if you did
+not—I can not bear to think of it—oh, you will—say you will!”
+
+Her entreaty had fairly grown into wild desperation. Every fiber of her
+frame quivered as she clung to him. Alarmed at her singular agitation,
+he took her up on his knee, and said, hurriedly,—
+
+“Yes, yes; I will play. Do not be troubled about it; I will play.”
+
+“Oh, I am so glad! I knew you would, and it will be grand, I am sure,
+for to-morrow is Christmas!”
+
+Her face was radiant with pleasure; but so extreme had been her
+excitement that nearly an hour later, when Margery came to take her
+upstairs, she still trembled.
+
+Franz, left alone, paced the floor of his room up and down, sometimes
+stopping to look moodily into the fire. He had had this thing long upon
+his mind. Feeling the divine power of genius within him, he was not
+willing to play over again what generations had played over a hundred
+times before him. Yet he tried unavailingly to improvise. Once or twice,
+when playing, with the little Alice beside him, he had suddenly
+entranced even himself; but as soon as he undertook to reproduce the
+notes, either upon paper or upon the organ, he discovered them gone from
+his memory, and himself utterly powerless. It had only been latterly
+that he felt hampered in this way; yet he was conscious,
+notwithstanding, that his music at the same time had undergone a vast
+improvement. But he struggled against this one fault vainly. He had been
+determined to work out a new composition for this great occasion; and
+now, upon the very verge of Christmas-day, after all his unceasing
+anxiety, he found himself without a single idea—wholly unprepared. In
+his disappointment, he had almost been ready to absent himself
+altogether from the church; but the sudden appeal of the little girl had
+compelled him to give up this cowardly refuge, of which in a better mood
+he would have been ashamed.
+
+The child had not prophesied incorrectly. Under cover of night, the
+clouds marshaled themselves into gray battalions, which fled
+precipitately before the lances of the morning, that in resplendent
+array, column upon column, mounted the eastern sky; and Christmas—this
+day forever sacred to the world in its grand memories—dawned with the
+blaze of victorious colors.
+
+Bathed in sunlight, the crystal valley wreathed itself with brilliant
+jewels; the sparkling trees held up their embossed arches of frosted
+silver; and from the glittering hill-sides cold flakes of fire burned in
+diamond hues almost blinding to the eye—for a slight fall of snow during
+the night had spread itself over the land, and covered it as with a
+mantle of transfiguration.
+
+The bell in the tower had long been ringing out its invitation to
+worship, before Franz, carrying the little Alice on his arm, left the
+house. A singular eagerness rested on the face of the child, whose
+usually pale cheeks were now colored with a crimson flush that deepened
+almost to scarlet in the center. She held quietly to Franz, sometimes
+looking at him for a moment, then turning her eyes again toward the
+village.
+
+Though she said no word, it seemed as if she could hardly wait until
+they reached the church, but that her impatient spirit would break its
+bounds and fly. But Franz walked with a slow, unwilling step. A fierce
+despair appeared to be consuming him. His disappointment was made keener
+when he saw the wild expectation with which the little Alice looked
+forward to his music, and her confident belief that it would be far
+grander than any thing he had ever done before.
+
+The villagers, by groups, in twos, in threes, with happy faces, coming
+from far and near, poured into the church. Paying no heed to any one as
+he passed, Franz entered by the side door, and went immediately up into
+the organ-gallery. With glad eyes, the little Alice saw the church in
+its festival decorations. Beautiful wreaths of cedar coiled themselves
+around the great pillars, and crept in waving lines over altar, arch,
+and casement, their unfading green sometimes flecked with amber,
+sometimes dyed in violet light, as the rays of the sun caught the tints
+from the windows of stained glass. Resting against the center of the
+chancel rail, a magnificent cross of hot house flowers loaded the air
+with the perfumes of summer—an incense more pure and holy than the
+incense of myrrh; and on either side sprays of English ivy, in long and
+twining branches, displayed their wax-like leaves.
+
+The last vibrations of the bell died away. The congregation chanted its
+anthem; the minister read the Christmas service; and the first strains
+of the organ-voluntary, after the close of the litany, sounded through
+the church. The little Alice, with a throbbing pulse, crept close to
+Franz as he played; but it was only the familiar music, that the world
+already knew by heart, and had heard a thousand times before. Poor
+Franz, warring against himself, had been driven back to the composition
+of others, though he knew he possessed within him a power that should
+have created, that should have raised him above all written measure. But
+now even his execution was a dead, mechanical labor.
+
+A swift expression of keen disappointment fell upon the child’s face.
+She looked up at him, with a gesture, slight but strangely appealing,
+and with eyes filled by a sorrowful reproach—such a look as one might
+wear in the last moment, whose most cherished friend had suddenly turned
+and dealt him a death-blow.
+
+But Franz played on mechanically, with the pang of despair at his heart.
+Suddenly, half-way in a bar, in the very midst of a single note almost,
+a sensation of fear came upon him—an overwhelming awe that seemed to
+lock his muscles and turn his hands into stone. The organ ceased
+abruptly; he sat motionless as a statue; and a death-like silence
+reigned throughout the church. Had the same unaccountable awe fallen
+upon the congregation, too? The whole universe waited.
+
+Out of the profound silence a sound was born, a sound more beautiful
+than the music of a dream. Soft as a whisper, clear and distinct, it
+grew, wave upon wave, into a grand volume of harmony, that was not loud,
+though it seemed as if it reached beyond the church-walls and floated on
+through endless space. Was it, then, music from that land where the
+crystal air breathes a perpetual melody? The people by one impulse
+sprang to their feet, and turned with awe-stricken faces toward the
+gallery. Grander, more majestic, it swelled into a glad chorus, whose
+_gloria_, inspired with praise, rose up into heaven. It was an adoration
+of sublime joy that seemed too intense to be ascribed to mortal spirit;
+and the people fell upon their knees while they listened. Over plains,
+over hills, in the sky, it seemed to reverberate and answer back,
+sweeter than the sound of silver, vaster than the roll of ocean—the
+hallelujah of myriad voices, the song as of an innumerable multitude,—
+
+“Glory be to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward
+men—”
+
+Again and again the refrain gathered into a measure more triumphant than
+the strains of a victorious army. Then, ascending higher and higher, it
+fainted through infinite distance, and was gone as if it had passed
+beyond the very portals of eternity.
+
+The spellbound audience hardly moved for a moment, even after the music
+had died; but when the first stir broke the silence they collected about
+the organist with eager questions. Franz, still sitting at his
+instrument, had never turned. Anxious to testify their wild admiration,
+they were ready almost to bow down before him; but they were obliged to
+speak several times before he gave the slightest heed. Then he looked up
+abruptly and said with a strange impatience,—
+
+“Did not you see?”
+
+There was a confused expression in his eyes, as if they might have been
+blinded by a great light, and their vision not yet wholly recovered. The
+people looked at him, then at each other in bewilderment, but, as if he
+had suddenly comprehended their meaning, he went on quickly,—
+
+“It was not I. I did not play a note. It was the music of another world,
+the music of the first Christmas. Did not you see the host of angels in
+the sky, and the shepherds that watched their flocks by night upon the
+plains of Judea? It was the _gloria_ sung at the nativity of Christ by
+the angels centuries ago, beside the village of Bethlehem!”
+
+Then the people, regarding him with doubtful faces, drew back, and he
+said, with fierce excitement,—
+
+“If you do not believe, ask the little Alice there. She will tell you.”
+
+The little girl sat close to his bench, but when they turned to her she
+made no reply. They raised her up. Their question never received an
+answer, and Franz with a wild cry fell upon his knees by her side. The
+child was dead.
+
+For many years afterward the musician lived on in the old place at the
+foot of the hill, but he never again could be prevailed upon to strike a
+note of any instrument or listen to a strain of any music. More rarely
+than ever did he speak to a soul, and then it was only at the Christmas
+time, to tell again of the little Alice, his spirit of sound, to tell of
+that wonderful _gloria_ of immortal praise sung by a multitude of the
+heavenly hosts, whose splendor, almost blinding to his eyes, had lighted
+up earth and sky over the far-off plains of Palestine, where the
+shepherds, centuries ago, were watching their flocks by night.
+
+Strangers heard his tale with a scarcely concealed smile, and shook
+their heads sorrowfully as the old man, feeble and palsied, with a
+singular brilliance in his sunken eyes, turned away. But all the
+villagers spoke of him with respect, almost with awe, and the children
+learned to hush their mirth in reverence as he passed by. Margery, with
+a face quieter than ever, said little, but served her master with an
+untiring devotion, and after she had closed his eyes in death, when she
+was an old, old woman, sometimes in the evening she would suddenly break
+her long silence to tell a wondering group of Franz and the little
+Alice, and of the mysterious melody that played about the child.
+
+And so the people of Paint Valley relate the story yet, and show the
+graves in the long grass of the village church-yard, where, side by
+side, they wait to join at the last day the throng whose immortal
+_gloria_ shall surpass even that grand Christmas anthem—the song of the
+angels heard by the shepherds upon the plains of Judea.
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                              PUBLICATIONS
+
+                                   OF
+
+                         JANSEN, MCCLURG & CO.
+
+                           CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
+
+
+  =CATON.—A Summer in Norway=, with Notes on the Industries, Habits,
+    etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the Climate and
+    Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and Elk, by Hon. J. D.
+    CATON, LL.D. 8vo., 401 pages. Illustrated. Price, $2.50.
+
+“The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative
+and leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good
+nature with which the author pursued his way through unknown wilds. * *
+They are excellent specimens of terse and graphic composition,
+presenting a distinct image to the mind, without any superfluous
+details.”—_New York Tribune._
+
+“The book of travels, which Judge Caton has presented to the public, is
+of a high order of merit, and sets forth the interesting natural
+phenomena and popular characteristics of the land of the ‘unsetting sun’
+with great strength and clearness.”—_Boston Post._
+
+“He is, as far as we know, the first foreign traveler who has given
+anything like a correct statement of the nature of the union between
+Norway and Sweden.”—_The Nation._
+
+  =CHARD.—Across the Sea, and Other Poems.= By THOS. S. CHARD. Square
+    16mo., 55 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.00.
+
+“This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of _multum in
+parvo_ that has been furnished the reading public in a long time. * *
+The poetry is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul,
+and reads as though given by inspiration. * * There is a mysticism in
+the little book, which reminds us of the ‘Lotus Eaters’ or
+‘Festus.’”—_The Alliance._
+
+  =CLEVELAND.—Landscape Architecture=, as applied to the wants of the
+    West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the Great Plains. By H. W.
+    S. CLEVELAND, Landscape Architect. 16mo., 147 pages. Price, $1.00.
+
+“My object in these few pages is simply to show that, by whatever name
+it may be called, the subdivision and arrangement of land for the
+occupation of civilized men, is an art demanding the exercise of
+ingenuity, judgment and taste, and one which nearly concerns the
+interest of real estate proprietors, and the welfare and happiness of
+all future occupants.”—_Extract from Preface._
+
+  =CRAWFORD.—A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends.= By MRS. ALICE ARNOLD
+    CRAWFORD. Square 12mo., full gilt, tinted paper, 162 pages. Price,
+    $2.00.
+
+“There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle
+tenderness, as if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better
+life, had longed to leave some sweet remembrance here. They stand forth
+from the way-side of poetic literature like some peaceful chapel robed
+in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers, and the living steal in
+the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and
+pain.”—_Inter-Ocean._
+
+  =FOYE.—Tables for the Determination and Classification of Minerals
+    Found in the United States.= By JAMES C. FOYE, A.M., Professor of
+    Chemistry and Physics, Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin.
+    Flexible covers, 38 pages. Price, 75 cents.
+
+“Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from
+various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to
+furnish the student with such help as is needed in order to determine
+and classify the minerals of the United States. Some useful hints as to
+apparatus, and suitable notes upon other matters, precede the
+tables.”—_Journal of Education._
+
+  =GILES.—Out from the Shadows.= A Novel; by Miss ELLA A. GILES. 12mo.,
+    317 pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+“Miss Giles’ first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the
+attention of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book
+gives evidence of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the
+improvement which she has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and
+effect which are really uncommon.”—_Milwaukee News._
+
+“The characters are all well conceived, and the story is pleasantly
+written.”—_Inter-Ocean._
+
+  =GILES.—Bachelor Ben.= A Novel; by Miss ELLA A. GILES. 12mo., 308
+    pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+“A story of great descriptive and analytic mastery. * * A master-piece
+of free and natural handling of human life, and marks a new departure in
+fiction, in that the hero never marries, and the author has attempted to
+group the sympathies of readers about an unconventional man.”—_Home
+Journal_ (New York).
+
+“The book is refreshingly guiltless of all superfluous characters. The
+tone is good throughout. The moral apparent.”—_Chicago Times._
+
+  =HALL.—Poems of the Farm and Fireside.= By EUGENE J. HALL. 8vo., 114
+    pages. Fully illustrated. Plain, price, $1.75; full gilt, price,
+    $2.25.
+
+“In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal—we should say superior—to
+Carleton’s Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow
+Papers.”—_Interior._
+
+“There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too
+often overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems,
+because they smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner
+life of society at the fireside.”—_Pittsburgh Commercial._
+
+  =HEWITT.—“Our Bible.”= Three Lectures, delivered at Unity Church, Oak
+    Park, Ill., by Rev. J. O. M. HEWITT. 12mo., 109 pages. Price, $1.25.
+
+“This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the
+enunciation of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration
+which makes it infallible in all particulars.”—_Chicago Journal._
+
+  =LAMARTINE.—Graziella; a Story of Italian Love.= Translated from the
+    French of A. DE LAMARTINE by JAMES B. RUNNION. Small 4to, 235 pages,
+    red line, tinted paper, full gilt, uniform with holiday edition of
+    “Memories.” Price, $2.00.
+
+“‘Graziella’ is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both
+eminently poetic. * * * It glows with love of the beautiful in all
+nature. * * * It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect
+words. The sentences have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender
+fancy of the original. It is uniform with ‘Memories,’ the fifth edition
+of which has just been published, and it should stand side by side with
+that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong thoughts put in pure,
+strong words. ‘Graziella’ is a book to be loved.”—_Tribune._
+
+  =MASON.—Mae Madden.= A Story; by Mrs. MARY MURDOCH MASON, with an
+    introductory poem by JOAQUIN MILLER. 16mo., red edges. Price, $1.25.
+
+“There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh
+thought; some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or
+some charming description, deliciously feminine, and running over with
+the spirit of poetry.”—_Cincinnati Times._
+
+“We have read this little book with great pleasure. * * * It frequently
+reminds us of Mr. Howell’s delicately constructed stories, and in it, as
+in a mirror, we see reflected that true refinement and culture of the
+author’s mind.”—_New Haven Palladium._
+
+  =MASON AND LALOR.—The Primer of Political Economy=, in Sixteen
+    Definitions and Forty Propositions, by A. B. MASON and J. J. LALOR.
+    12mo., 67 pages. Price, 75 cents.
+
+“We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give
+the amount of information on the subject that has been put with such
+remarkable clearness into these sixty pages.”—_Hartford Courant._
+
+“For a short and comprehensive treatise, we know of nothing better than
+‘The Primer of Political Economy.’ The information is conveyed in a very
+concise and happy manner. The style is perfectly transparent, and the
+illustrations admirably chosen. We venture to believe that not a quarter
+of the men in the Lower House of Congress know as much about Political
+Economy as can be learned from this compact and interesting little
+treatise.”—_Christian Register._
+
+  =MILLER.—First Fam’lies of the Sierras.= A Novel; by JOAQUIN MILLER.
+    12mo., 258 pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining cañon in the
+very earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are
+evidently drawn from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling
+interest. Bret. Harte has never worked this rich vein of American life
+to better advantage.
+
+  =MÜLLER.—Memories=; A Story of German Love. Translated from the German
+    of MAX MÜLLER, by GEO. P. UPTON. Small 4to., 173 pages, red line,
+    tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.00. The same, 16mo., red edges.
+    Price, $1.00.
+
+“‘Memories’ is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year.
+The story is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that
+effortless vraisemblance, which is so commonly a charm of German
+writers, and so seldom paralleled in English. * * * Scarcely could
+there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the invalid Princess,
+though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost to
+profane her.”—_Springfield (Mass.) Republican._
+
+  =McLANDBURGH.—The Automaton Ear and Other Sketches.= By MISS FLORENCE
+    MCLANDBURGH. 12mo., 282 pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+Any one of the many who have read “The Man at Crib,” “The Automaton
+Ear,” or “The Anthem of Judea,” which have been so widely copied in
+various periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this
+author, who is no less gifted than she is original and eccentric.
+
+  =SWING.—Truths for To-Day.= _First Series._ By PROFESSOR DAVID SWING.
+    12mo., 325 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.
+
+“The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are
+convinced that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare
+culture, and of genuine humanity. His forte is evidently not that of
+doctrinal discussion. He deals in no nice distinctions of creed. He has
+no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents a broad and
+generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and the
+purest motives of a lofty manhood.”—_New York Tribune._
+
+  =SWING.—Truths for To-Day.= _Second Series._ By PROFESSOR DAVID SWING.
+    12mo., 294 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.
+
+This volume will contain the latest discourses of PROF. SWING, some of
+them preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the
+Theatre to the New Central Church. It is universally conceded that these
+are the finest efforts he has ever made, and the general demand for
+their preservation in more permanent form than the newspaper reports,
+has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected, revised and
+arranged for publication by PROF. SWING himself.
+
+  =SWING.—Trial of Prof. Swing.= The _Official Report_ of this important
+    trial. 8vo., 286 pages. Price, $1.75.
+
+“It constitutes a complete record of one of the most remarkable
+ecclesiastical trials of modern times.”—_Boston Journal._
+
+“This volume will be a precious bit of history twenty-five years hence,
+and its pages will be read with mingled interest and surprise.”—_Golden
+Age._
+
+=Any of the books on this list sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of
+price by the publishers.=
+
+                                       JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.
+                                           117 & 119 STATE ST., CHICAGO.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+
+
+ 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
+      spelling.
+ 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
+ 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
+ 4. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67476 ***
diff --git a/67476-h/67476-h.htm b/67476-h/67476-h.htm
index 0afdc25..e35109f 100644
--- a/67476-h/67476-h.htm
+++ b/67476-h/67476-h.htm
@@ -1,9829 +1,9372 @@
-<!DOCTYPE html>
-<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
-  <head>
-    <meta charset="UTF-8" />
-    <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, by Florence McLandburgh</title>
-    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" />
-    <style> /* <![CDATA[ */
-       body { margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 10%; }
-       h1 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; }
-       h2 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; }
-       h3 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: large; }
-       .pageno { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: silver;
-               text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute;
-               border: thin solid silver; padding: .1em .2em; font-style: normal;
-               font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; }
-       p { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-align: justify; }
-       sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; }
-       .fss { font-size: 75%; }
-       .sc { font-variant: small-caps; }
-       .large { font-size: large; }
-       .xlarge { font-size: x-large; }
-       .small { font-size: small; }
-       .lg-container-b { text-align: center; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  .lg-container-b { clear: both; }
-       .lg-container-r { text-align: right; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  .lg-container-r { clear: both; }
-       .linegroup { display: inline-block; text-align: justify; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  .linegroup { display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; }
-       .linegroup .group { margin: 1em auto; }
-       .linegroup .line { text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em; }
-       div.linegroup > :first-child { margin-top: 0; }
-       .linegroup .in18 { padding-left: 12.0em; }
-       .linegroup .in4 { padding-left: 5.0em; }
-       .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; }
-       ol.ol_1 {padding-left: 0; margin-left: 2.78%; margin-top: .5em;
-               margin-bottom: .5em; list-style-type: decimal; }
-       div.footnote > :first-child { margin-top: 1em; }
-       div.footnote p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       div.pbb { page-break-before: always; }
-       hr.pb { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; margin-bottom: 1em; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  hr.pb { display: none; }
-       .figcenter { clear: both; max-width: 100%; margin: 2em auto; text-align: center; }
-       .figcenter img { max-width: 100%; height: auto; }
-       .id001 { width:10%; }
-       .id002 { width:80%; }
-       .id003 { width:40%; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  .id001 { margin-left:45%; width:10%; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  .id002 { margin-left:10%; width:80%; }
-       .x-ebookmaker  .id003 { margin-left:30%; width:40%; }
-       .ig001 { width:100%; }
-       .table0 { margin: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
-       .nf-center { text-align: center; }
-       .nf-center-c0 { text-align: justify; margin: 0.5em 0; }
-       img.drop-capi { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; position: relative; z-index: 1; }
-       p.drop-capi_8 { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       p.drop-capi_8:first-letter { color: transparent; visibility: hidden;
-               margin-left: -.8em; }
-       .x-ebookmaker img.drop-capi { display: none; visibility: hidden; }
-       .x-ebookmaker p.drop-capi_8:first-letter { color: inherit; visibility: visible;
-               margin-left: 0em; }
-       .c000 { margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
-       .c001 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em; }
-       .c002 { margin-top: 2em; }
-       .c003 { margin-top: 1em; }
-       .c004 { margin-top: 4em; }
-       .c005 { margin-top: 4em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       .c006 { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       .c007 { page-break-before:auto; margin-top: 4em; }
-       .c008 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em;
-               padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; }
-       .c009 { vertical-align: top; text-align: right; }
-       .c010 { margin-top: 2em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       .c011 { font-size: .9em; text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em;
-               margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       .c012 { margin-top: 1em; font-size: .9em; }
-       .c013 { text-decoration: none; }
-       .c014 { font-size: .9em; }
-       .c015 { page-break-before: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
-       .c016 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
-       .c017 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 2em; }
-       .c018 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 2em;
-               margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
-       .c019 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 0.5em;
-               margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
-       div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA;
-              border:thin solid silver; margin:2em 10% 0 10%; font-family: Georgia, serif;
-               }
-       .covernote { visibility: hidden; display: none; }
-       div.tnotes p { text-align: justify; }
-       .x-ebookmaker .covernote { visibility: visible; display: block; }
-       .figcenter {font-size: .9em; page-break-inside: avoid; max-width: 100%; }
-       .x-ebookmaker img {max-height: 30em; max-width: 100%; }
-       .footnote {font-size: .9em; }
-       div.footnote p {text-indent: 2em; margin-bottom: .5em; }
-       .chapter  { clear: both; page-break-before: always; }
-       .ol_1 li {font-size: .9em; }
-       .x-ebookmaker .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 0em; }
-       body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; }
-       table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid;
-               clear: both; }
-       div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always;
-               page-break-after: always; }
-       div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold;
-               line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; }
-       .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto;
-               page-break-before: always; }
-       .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; }
-    /* ]]> */ </style>
-  </head>
-  <body>
-<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches, by Florence McLandburgh</p>
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
-at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
-country where you are located before using this eBook.
-</div>
-
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches</p>
-<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Florence McLandburgh</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 22, 2022 [eBook #67476]</p>
-<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
-  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p>
-<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER SKETCHES ***</div>
-
-<div class='tnotes covernote'>
-
-<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>
-
-<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='titlepage'>
-
-<div>
-  <h1 class='c001'><span class='large'>THE</span><br /> <span class='sc'>Automaton Ear</span>,<br /> <span class='small'>AND</span><br /> <span class='xlarge'>OTHER SKETCHES.</span></h1>
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div><span class='small'>BY</span></div>
-    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>FLORENCE McLANDBURGH.</span></div>
-    <div class='c002'>CHICAGO:</div>
-    <div>JANSEN, McCLURG &amp; CO.</div>
-    <div>1876.</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c004'>
-    <div><span class='small'>COPYRIGHT,</span></div>
-    <div><span class='small'><span class='sc'>By</span> FLORENCE McLANDBURGH,</span></div>
-    <div><span class='small'>A. D. 1876.</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id001'>
-<img src='images/i_002.jpg' alt='_LAKESIDE PUBLISHING &amp; PRINTING CO. CHICAGO._' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c004'>
-    <div>Dedicated</div>
-    <div class='c003'>TO</div>
-    <div class='c003'>JOHN McLANDBURGH.</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c005'><span class='sc'>Note.</span>—Some of the sketches and tales in this volume
-were contributed to “Scribner’s Monthly,” “Appleton’s
-Journal,” and the “Lakeside Magazine,” and are used
-here, in a revised form, by the kind permission of the
-editors. Others appear now for the first time.</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-r'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>F. McL.</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='sc'>Chicago</span>, <em>April, 1876</em>.</p>
-
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_005.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>CONTENTS.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<table class='table0'>
-  <tr>
-    <th class='c008'></th>
-    <th class='c009'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></th>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Automaton Ear</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Paths of the Sea</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_44'>44</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Reinhart, the German</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_89'>89</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Silver Islet</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Boydell, the Stroller</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Death-Watch</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_149'>149</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Man at the Crib</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Prof. Kellermann’s Funeral</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_183'>183</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Feverfew</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_201'>201</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Old Simlin, the Moulder</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
-    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
-  </tr>
-  <tr>
-    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Anthem of Judea</span>,</td>
-    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_243'>243</a></td>
-  </tr>
-</table>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_005b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
-<img src='images/i_007.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>THE AUTOMATON EAR.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_007.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-The day was hardly different from many
-another day, though I will likely recall
-it even when the mist of years has
-shrouded the past in an undefined hueless cloud.
-The sunshine came in at my open window.
-Out of doors it flooded all the land in its warm
-summer light—the spires of the town and the
-bare college campus; farther, the tall bearded
-barley and rustling oats; farther still, the wild
-grass and the forest, where the river ran and
-the blue haze dipped from the sky.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The temptation was greater than I could
-stand, and taking my book I shut up the
-“study,” as the students called my small apartment,
-leaving it for one bounded by no walls or
-ceiling.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The woods rang with the hum and chirp of
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>insects and birds. I threw myself down beneath
-a tall, broad-spreading tree. Against its
-moss-covered trunk I could hear the loud tap
-of the woodpecker secreted high up among its
-leaves, and off at the end of a tender young
-twig a robin trilled, swinging himself to and fro
-through the checkered sunlight. I never grew
-weary listening to the changeful voice of the
-forest and the river, and was hardly conscious
-of reading until I came upon this paragraph:—</p>
-
-<p class='c011'>“As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound
-is never lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will
-vibrate in the air forever and ever, decreasing according to
-a fixed ratio. The diffusion of the agitation extends in all
-directions, like the waves in a pool, but the ear is unable to
-detect it beyond a certain point. It is well known that some
-individuals can distinguish sounds which to others under
-precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the
-fault is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing,
-and a tone once in existence is always in existence.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>This was nothing new to me. I had read it
-before, though I had never thought of it particularly;
-but while I listened to the robin, it
-seemed singular to know that all the sounds
-ever uttered, ever born, were floating in the air
-<em>now</em>—all music, every tone, every bird-song—and
-we, alas! could not hear them.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly a strange idea shot through my
-brain—Why not? Ay, <em>why not hear</em>? Men
-had constructed instruments which could magnify
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>to the eye and—was it possible?—Why
-not?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I looked up and down the river, but saw
-neither it, nor the sky, nor the moss that I
-touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted
-among the leaves, and the robin sing, and the
-hum of insects run along the bank as before?
-I can not recollect, I can not recollect anything,
-only Mother Flinse, the deaf and dumb old
-crone that occasionally came to beg, and sell
-nuts to the students, was standing in the gateway.
-I nodded to her as I passed, and walked
-up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path.
-It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly
-into my head and startled me. I hardly dared
-to think of it, but I could think of nothing else.
-It could not be possible, and yet—why not?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Over and over in the restless hours of the
-night I asked myself, I said aloud, Why not?
-Then I laughed at my folly, and wondered what
-I was thinking of and tried to sleep—but if it
-<em>could</em> be done?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in
-class hours and made confusion in the lessons.
-Some said the professor was ill those two or
-three days before the vacation; perhaps I was.
-I scarcely slept; only the one thought grew
-stronger—Men had done more wonderful
-things; it certainly was possible, and I would
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>accomplish this grand invention. I would construct
-the king of all instruments—I would
-construct an instrument which could catch
-these faint tones vibrating in the air and render
-them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly
-until it was perfected, or the world might laugh.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The session closed and the college was deserted,
-save by the few musty students whom,
-even in imagination, one could hardly separate
-or distinguish from the old books on the library
-shelves. I could wish for no better opportunity
-to begin my great work. The first thing
-would be to prepare for it by a careful study of
-acoustics, and I buried myself among volumes
-on the philosophy of sound.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went down to London and purchased a
-common ear-trumpet. My own ear was exceedingly
-acute, and to my great delight I found
-that, with the aid of the trumpet just as it was,
-I could distinguish sounds at a much greater
-distance, and those nearer were magnified in
-power. I had only to improve upon this instrument;
-careful study, careful work, careful
-experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly
-be realized.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Back to my old room in the college I went
-with a complete set of tools. So days and weeks
-I shut myself in, and every day and every week
-brought nothing but disappointment. The instrument
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>seemed only to diminish sound rather
-than increase it, yet still I worked on and
-vowed I would not grow discouraged.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my
-narrow window. The fields of barley and
-waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too
-had ripened and gone, but I did not notice. I
-sprang up with a joyful exclamation—Strange
-never to have thought of it before! Perhaps
-I had not spent my time in vain, after all. How
-could I expect to test my instrument in this
-close room with only that little window? It
-should be removed from immediate noises, high
-up in the open air, where there would be no
-obstructions. I would never succeed here—but
-where should I go? It must be some place
-in which I would never be liable to interruption,
-for my first object was to be shielded and
-work in secret.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate
-spot without success, when it occurred to
-me that I had heard some one say the old gray
-church was shut up. This church was situated
-just beyond the suburbs of the town. It was
-built of rough stone, mottled and stained by
-unknown years. The high, square tower,
-covered by thick vines that clung and crept
-round its base, was the most venerable monument
-among all the slabs and tombs where it
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared
-for by the living kept it company. People
-said the place was too damp for use, and
-talked of rebuilding, but it had never been done.
-Now if I could gain access to the tower, that
-was the very place for my purpose.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I found the door securely fastened, and
-walked round and round without discovering
-any way of entrance; but I made up my mind, if
-it were possible to get inside of that church I
-would do it, and without the help of keys.
-The high windows were not to be thought of;
-but in the rear of the building, lower down,
-where the fuel had probably been kept, there
-was a narrow opening which was boarded across.
-With very little difficulty I knocked out the
-planks and crept through. It was a cellar, and,
-as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After
-feeling about, I found a few rough steps which
-led to a door that was unlocked and communicated
-with the passage back of the vestry-room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The tower I wished to explore was situated
-in the remote corner of the building. I passed
-on to the church. Its walls were discolored
-by green mould, and blackened where the
-water had dripped through. The sun, low
-down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows
-on the west, and made yellow strips across
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>the long aisles, over the faded pews with their
-stiff, straight backs, over the chancel rail, over
-the altar with its somber wood-work; but
-there was no warmth; only the cheerless glare
-seemed to penetrate the cold, dead atmosphere,—only
-the cheerless glare without sparkle,
-without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary
-where the organ slept. At the right of the
-vestibule a staircase led to the tower; it ascended
-to a platform laid on a level with the
-four windows and a little above the point of the
-church roof. These four windows were situated
-one on each side of the tower, running
-high up, and the lower casement folding inward.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Here was my place. Above the tree-tops, in
-the free open air, with no obstacle to obstruct
-the wind, I could work unmolested by people
-or noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face
-was cool and pleasant. An hour ago I had been
-tired, disappointed, and depressed; but now,
-buoyant with hope, I was ready to begin work
-again—work that I was determined to accomplish.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The sun had gone. I did not see the broken
-slabs and urns in the shadow down below; I
-did not see the sunken graves and the rank
-grass and the briers. I looked over them and
-saw the gorgeous fringes along the horizon,
-scarlet and gold and pearl; saw them quiver
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>and brighten to flame, and the white wings of
-pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening glow.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I closed the windows, and when I had crawled
-out of the narrow hole, carefully reset the
-boards just as I had found them. In another
-day all the tools and books that I considered
-necessary were safely deposited in the tower. I
-only intended to make this my workshop, still,
-of course, occupying my old room in the college.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Here I matured plan after plan. I studied,
-read, worked, knowing, <em>feeling</em> that at last I
-must succeed; but failure followed failure, and I
-sank into despondency only to begin again with
-a kind of desperation. When I went down to
-London and wandered about, hunting up different
-metals and hard woods, I never entered a
-concert-room or an opera-house. Was there
-not music in store for me, such as no mortal ear
-had ever heard? <em>All</em> the music, every strain
-that had sounded in the past ages? Ah, I
-could wait; I would work patiently and wait.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I was laboring now upon a theory that I had
-not tried heretofore. It was my last resource;
-if this failed, then—but it would not fail! I
-resolved not to make any test, not to put it
-near my ear until it was completed. I discarded
-all woods and used only the metals which
-best transmitted sound. Finally it was finished,
-even to the ivory ear-piece. I held the instrument
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>all ready—I held it and looked eastward
-and westward and back again. Suddenly all
-control over the muscles of my hand was gone,
-it felt like stone; then the strange sensation
-passed away. I stood up and lifted the trumpet
-to my ear—What! Silence? No, no—I was
-faint, my brain was confused, whirling. I
-would not believe it; I would wait a moment
-until this dizziness was gone, and then—then
-I would be able to hear. I was deaf now. I
-still held the instrument; in my agitation the
-ivory tip shook off and rolled down rattling on
-the floor. I gazed at it mechanically, as if it
-had been a pebble; I never thought of replacing
-it, and, mechanically, I raised the trumpet a
-second time to my ear. A crash of discordant
-sounds, a confused jarring noise broke upon me
-and I drew back trembling, dismayed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Fool! O fool of fools never to have thought
-of this, which a child, a dunce would not have
-overlooked! My great invention was nothing,
-was worse than nothing, was worse than a failure.
-I might have known that my instrument would
-magnify present sounds in the air to such a
-degree as to make them utterly drown all others,
-and, clashing together, produce this noise like
-the heavy rumble of thunder.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The college reopened, and I took up my old
-line of duties, or at least attempted them, for
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>the school had grown distasteful to me. I was
-restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to
-forget my disappointment, but the effort was
-vain.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The spires of the town and the college campus
-glittered white, the fields of barley and
-oats were fields of snow, the forest leaves had
-withered and fallen, and the river slumbered,
-wrapped in a sheeting of ice. Still I brooded
-over my failure, and when again the wild grass
-turned green I no longer cared. I was not the
-same man that had looked out at the waving
-grain and the blue haze only a year before. A
-gloomy despondency had settled upon me, and
-I grew to hate the students, to hate the college,
-to hate society. In the first shock of discovered
-failure I had given up all hope, and the
-Winter passed I knew not how. I never wondered
-if the trouble could be remedied. Now
-it suddenly occurred to me, perhaps it was
-no failure after all. The instrument might be
-made adjustable, so as to be sensible to faint or
-severe vibrations at pleasure of the operator,
-and thus separate the sounds. I remembered
-how but for the accidental removal of the ivory
-my instrument perhaps would not have reflected
-any sound. I would work again and persevere.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I would have resigned my professorship, only
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>it might create suspicion. I knew not that
-already they viewed me with curious eyes and
-sober faces. When the session finally closed,
-they tried to persuade me to leave the college
-during vacation and travel on the continent. I
-would feel much fresher, they told me, in the
-Autumn. In the Autumn? Ay, perhaps I
-might, perhaps I might, and I would not go
-abroad.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Once more the reapers came unnoticed. My
-work progressed slowly. Day by day I toiled
-up in the old church tower, and night by night
-I dreamed. In my sleep it often seemed that
-the instrument was suddenly completed, but
-before I could raise it to my ear I would always
-waken with a nervous start. So the feverish
-time went by, and at last I held it ready for a
-second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable,
-and I had also improved it so far as to be
-able to set it very accurately for any particular
-period, thus rendering it sensible only to sounds
-of that time, all heavier and fainter vibrations
-being excluded.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I drew it out almost to its limits.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>All the maddening doubts that had haunted
-me like grinning specters died. I felt no tremor,
-my hand was steady, my pulse-beat regular.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>stirred in the quiet that seemed to await my
-triumph. Again the crimson splendor of sun-set
-illumined the western sky and made a glory
-overhead—and the dusk was thickening down
-below among the mouldering slabs. But that
-mattered not.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I raised the trumpet to my ear.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hark!—The hum of mighty hosts! It rose
-and fell, fainter and more faint; then the murmur
-of water was heard and lost again, as it
-swelled and gathered and burst in one grand
-volume of sound like a hallelujah from myriad
-lips. Out of the resounding echo, out of the
-dying cadence a single female voice arose.
-Clear, pure, rich, it soared above the tumult
-of the host that hushed itself, a living thing.
-Higher, sweeter, it seemed to break the fetters
-of mortality and tremble in sublime adoration
-before the Infinite. My breath stilled with
-awe. Was it a spirit-voice—one of the glittering
-host in the jasper city “that had no
-need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine
-in it?” And the water, was it the river
-clear as crystal flowing from the great white
-throne? But no! The tone now floated out
-soft, sad, human. There was no sorrowful
-strain in that nightless land where the leaves
-of the trees were for the healing of the nations.
-The beautiful voice was of the earth and sin-stricken.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>From the sobbing that mingled with
-the faint ripple of water it went up once more,
-ringing gladly, joyfully; it went up inspired
-with praise to the sky, and—hark! the
-Hebrew tongue:—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The horse and his rider hath he thrown
-into the sea.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then the noise of the multitude swelled
-again, and a crash of music broke forth from
-innumerable timbrels. I raised my head quickly—it
-was the song of Miriam after the passage
-of the Red Sea.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I knew not whether I lived.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again
-and heard—the soft rustle, the breathing as of
-a sleeping forest. A plaintive note stole gently
-out, more solemn and quiet than the chant of
-the leaves. The mournful lay, forlorn, frightened,
-trembled on the air like the piteous wail
-of some wounded creature. Then it grew
-stronger. Clear, brilliant, it burst in a shower
-of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in
-the glitter of the tropical sunlight. But the
-mournful wail crept back, and the lonely heartbroken
-strain was lost, while the leaves still
-whispered to one another in the midnight.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Like the light of a distant star came to me
-this song of some nightingale, thousands of
-years after the bird had mouldered to nothing.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>At last my labor had been rewarded. As
-sound travels in waves, and these waves are continually
-advancing as they go round and round
-the world, therefore I would never hear the
-same sound over again at the same time, but it
-passed beyond and another came in its stead.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>All night I listened with my ear pressed to
-the instrument. I heard the polished, well-studied
-compliments, the rustle of silks, and
-the quick music of the dance at some banquet.
-I could almost see the brilliant robes and glittering
-jewels of the waltzers, and the sheen of
-light, and the mirrors. But hush! a cry, a
-stifled moan. Was that at the——No, the
-music and the rustle of silk were gone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Mother, put your hand here,—I am tired,
-and my head feels hot and strange. Is it night,
-already, that it has grown so dark? I am resting
-now, for my book is almost done, and then,
-mother, we can go back to the dear old home
-where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles
-are heavy with perfume. And, mother,
-we will never be poor any more. I know you
-are weary, for your cheeks are pale and your
-fingers are thin; but they shall not touch a
-needle then, and you will grow better, mother,
-and we will forget these long, long, bitter years.
-I will not write in the evenings then, but sit
-with you and watch the twilight fade as we
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>used to do, and listen to the murmur of the
-frogs. I described the little stream, our little
-stream, mother, in my book.—Hark! I hear
-the splash of its waves now. Hold me by the
-hand tight, mother. I am tired, but we are
-almost there. See! the house glimmers white
-through the trees, and the red bird has built its
-nest again in the cedar. Put your arm around
-me, mother, mother—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then single, echoless, the mother’s piercing
-cry went up—“O my God!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Great Heaven! It would not always be
-music that I should hear. Into this ear, where
-all the world poured its tales, sorrow and suffering
-and death would come in turn with mirth
-and gladness.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I listened again. The long-drawn ahoy!—ahoy!—of
-the sailor rang out in slumbrous
-musical monotone, now free, now muffled—gone.
-The gleeful laugh of children at play,
-then the drunken boisterous shout of the midnight
-reveler—What was that? A chime of
-bells, strange, sublime, swimming in the air they
-made a cold, solemn harmony. But even over
-them dashed the storm-blast of passion that
-sweeps continually up and down the earth, and
-the harmony that bound them in peace broke
-up in a wild, angry clamor, that set loose shrill
-screams which were swallowed up in a savage
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>tumult of discord, like a mad carnival of yelling
-demons. Then, as if terrified by their own
-fiendish rage, they retreated shivering, remorseful,
-and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers
-about the gray belfry. It was the Carillonneur,
-Matthias Vander Gheyn, playing at Louvain on
-the first of July, 1745.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Yes, my invention had proved a grand success.
-I had worked and worked in order to
-give this instrument to the world; but now
-when it was finished, strange to say, all my
-ambition, all my desire for fame left me, and
-I was anxious only to guard it from discovery,
-to keep it secret, to keep it more jealously than
-a miser hoards his gold. An undefinable delight
-filled my soul that I alone out of all
-humanity possessed this treasure, this great Ear
-of the World, for which kings might have given
-up their thrones. Ah! they dreamed not of
-the wonders I could relate. It was a keen, intense
-pleasure to see the public for which I had
-toiled live on, deaf forever save to the few
-transient sounds of the moment, while I, their
-slave, reveled in another world above, beyond
-their’s. But they should never have this instrument;
-no, not for kingdoms would I give it
-up, not for life itself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It exerted a strange fascination over me, and
-in my eager desire to preserve my secret a tormenting
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>fear suddenly took possession of me
-that some one might track me to the tower and
-discover all. It seemed as if the people looked
-after me with curious faces as I passed. I went
-no longer on the main road that led to the
-church, but, when I left my room, took an
-opposite direction until out of sight, and then
-made a circuit across the fields. I lived in a
-continual fear of betraying myself, so that at
-night I closed my window and door lest I might
-talk aloud in my sleep. I could never again
-bear the irksome duties of my office, and when
-the college reopened I gave up my situation
-and took lodgings in town. Still the dread of
-detection haunted me. Every day I varied my
-route to the church, and every day the people
-seemed to stare at me with a more curious gaze.
-Occasionally some of my old pupils came to
-visit me, but they appeared constrained in my
-presence and were soon gone. However, no
-one seemed to suspect my secret; perhaps all
-this was merely the work of my imagination,
-for I had grown watchful and reticent.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I hardly ate or slept. I lived perpetually in
-the past listening to the echoing song of the
-Alpine shepherd; the rich, uncultivated soprano
-of the Southern slave making strange
-wild melody. I heard grand organ fugues rolling,
-sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>awe, while a choir of voices broke into a gloria
-that seemed to sway the great cathedral. The
-thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang
-again, making my listening soul tremble in their
-magnificent harmony. It was music of which
-we could not dream.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then suddenly I determined to try the opera
-once more; perhaps I was prejudiced: I had
-not been inside of a concert-room for more
-than a year.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went down to London. It was just at
-the opening of the season. I could hardly
-wait that evening until the curtain rose; the
-orchestra was harsh and discordant, the house
-hot and disagreeable, the gas painfully bright.
-My restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch
-before the prima donna made her appearance.
-Surely that voice was not the one before which
-the world bowed! Malibran’s song stood out
-in my memory clearly defined and complete, like
-a magnificent cathedral of pure marble, with
-faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings,
-where the minarets rose from wreaths of lilies
-and vine-leaves cut in bas-relief, and the slender
-spire shot high, glittering yellow in the
-upper sunlight, its golden arrow, burning like
-flame, pointing towards the East. But this
-prima donna built only a flat, clumsy structure
-of wood ornamented by gaudily painted lattice.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>I left the opera amid the deafening applause of
-the audience with a smile of scorn upon my
-lips. Poor deluded creatures! they knew nothing
-of music, they knew not what they were
-doing.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went to St. Paul’s on the Sabbath. There
-was no worship in the operatic voluntary sung
-by hired voices; it did not stir my soul, and
-their cold hymns did not warm with praise to
-the Divine Creator, or sway the vast pulseless
-congregation that came and went without one
-quickened breath.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>All this time I felt a singular, inexpressible
-pleasure in the consciousness of my great secret,
-and I hurried back with eager haste. In London
-I had accidentally met two or three of my
-old acquaintances. I was not over glad to see
-them myself: as I have said, I had grown
-utterly indifferent to society; but I almost felt
-ashamed when they offered me every attention
-within their power, for I had not anticipated it,
-nor was it deserved on my part. Now, when I
-returned, every body in the street stopped to
-shake hands with me and inquire for my health.
-At first, although I was surprised at the interest
-they manifested, I took it merely as the
-common civility on meeting, but when the
-question was repeated so particularly by each
-one, I thought it appeared strange, and asked
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>if they had ever heard to the contrary; no, oh
-no, they said, but still I was astonished at the
-unusual care with which they all made the
-same inquiry.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went up to my room and walked directly to
-the glass. It was the first time I had consciously
-looked into a mirror for many weeks.
-Good Heavens! The mystery was explained
-now. <em>I could hardly recognize myself.</em> At first
-the shock was so great that I stood gazing,
-almost petrified. The demon of typhus fever
-could not have wrought a more terrific change
-in my face if he had held it in his clutches for
-months. My hair hung in long straggling locks
-around my neck. I was thin and fearfully haggard.
-My eyes sunken far back in my head,
-looked out from dark, deep hollows; my heavy
-black eyebrows were knit together by wrinkles
-that made seams over my forehead; my fleshless
-cheeks clung tight to the bone, and a bright
-red spot on either one was half covered by thick
-beard. I had thought so little about my personal
-appearance lately that I had utterly neglected
-my hair, and I wondered now that it had
-given me no annoyance. I smiled while I still
-looked at myself. This was the effect of the
-severe study and loss of sleep, and the excitement
-under which I had labored for months, yes,
-for more than a year. I had not been conscious
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>of fatigue, but my work was done now and I
-would soon regain my usual weight. I submitted
-myself immediately to the hands of a
-barber, dressed with considerable care, and
-took another look in the glass. My face appeared
-pinched and small since it had been
-freed from beard. The caverns around my eyes
-seemed even larger, and the bright color in my
-cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely
-sallow tint of my complexion. I turned away
-with an uncomfortable feeling, and started on
-a circuitous route to the church, for I never
-trusted my instrument in any other place.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was a sober autumn day. Every thing
-looked dreary with that cold, gray, sunless sky
-stretched overhead. The half-naked trees
-shivered a little in their seared garments of
-ragged leaves. Occasionally a cat walked
-along the fence-top, or stood trembling on
-three legs. Sometimes a depressed bird suddenly
-tried to cheer its drooping spirits and
-uttered a few sharp, discontented chirps. Just
-in front of me two boys were playing ball on
-the roadside. As I passed I accidentally
-caught this sentence:</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“They say the professor ain’t just right in
-his head.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>For a moment I stood rooted to the ground;
-then wheeled round and cried out fiercely,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>“What did you say?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Sir?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“What was that you said just now?” I repeated
-still more fiercely.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The terrified boys looked at me an instant,
-then without answering turned and ran as fast
-as fright could carry them.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So the mystery now was really explained!
-It was not sick the people thought me, but
-crazy. I walked on with a queer feeling and
-began vaguely to wonder why I had been so
-savage to those boys. The fact which I had
-learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock,
-but it was nothing to me. What did I care,
-even if the people did think me crazy? Ah!
-perhaps if I told my secret they would consider
-it a desperate case of insanity. But the child’s
-words kept ringing in my ears until an idea
-flashed upon me more terrifying than death
-itself. How did I know that I was <em>not</em> insane?
-How did I know that my great invention might
-be only an hallucination of my brain?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded
-up like ghostly witnesses to affright me. I had
-studied myself to a shadow; my pallid face,
-with the red spots on the cheeks and the blue
-hollows around the eyes, came before my mental
-vision afresh. The fever in my veins told
-me I was unnaturally excited. I had not slept
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>a sound, dreamless sleep for weeks. Perhaps
-in the long, long days and nights my brain, like
-my body, had been overwrought; perhaps in
-my eager desire to succeed, in my desperate
-determination, the power of my will had disordered
-my mind, and it was all deception: the
-sounds, the music I had heard, merely the creation
-of my diseased fancy, and the instrument
-I had handled useless metal. The very idea
-was inexpressible torture to me. I could not
-bear that a single doubt of its reality should
-exist; but, after once entering my head, how
-would I ever be able to free myself from distrust?
-I could not do it; I would be obliged
-to live always in uncertainty. It was maddening:
-now I felt as if I might have struck the
-child in my rage if I could have found him.
-Then suddenly it occurred to me, for the first
-time, that my invention could easily be tested by
-some other person. Almost instantly I rejected
-the thought, for it would compel me to
-betray my secret, and in my strange infatuation
-I would rather have destroyed the instrument.
-But the doubts of my sanity on this subject
-returned upon me with tenfold strength,
-and again I thought in despair of the only
-method left me by which they could ever be
-settled.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the first shock, when the unlucky sentence
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>fell upon my ear, I had turned after the boys,
-and then walked on mechanically towards the
-town. Now, when I looked up I found myself
-almost at the college gate. No one was to be
-seen, only Mother Flinse with her basket on her
-arm was just raising the latch. Half bewildered
-I turned hastily round and bent my steps in the
-direction of my lodgings, while I absently
-wondered whether that old woman had stood
-there ever since, since—when? I did not recollect,
-but her shadow was long and slim—no,
-there were no shadows this afternoon; it was
-sunless.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As I reached the stairs leading to my room,
-my trouble, which I had forgotten for the
-moment, broke upon me anew. I dragged myself
-up and sat down utterly overwhelmed.
-As I have said, I would sooner destroy the instrument
-than give it to a thankless world; but
-to endure the torturing doubt of its reality was
-impossible. Suddenly it occurred to me that
-Mother Flinse was mute. I might get her to
-test my invention without fear of betrayal, for
-she could neither speak nor write, and her
-signs on this subject, if she attempted to explain,
-would be altogether unintelligible to
-others. I sprang up in wild delight, then immediately
-fell back in my chair with a hoarse
-laugh—Mother Flinse was <em>deaf</em> as well as
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>dumb. I had not remembered that. I sat
-quietly a moment trying to calm myself and
-think. Why need this make any difference?
-The instrument ought to, at least it was possible
-that it might, remedy loss of hearing. I
-too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it
-made audible. They would have to be magnified
-to a greater degree for her. I might set it
-for the present and use the full power of the
-instrument: there certainly would be no harm
-in trying, at any rate, and if it failed it would
-prove nothing, if it did not fail it would prove
-every thing. Then a new difficulty presented
-itself. How could I entice the old woman into
-the church?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went back towards the college expecting to
-find her, but she was nowhere to be seen, and I
-smiled that only a few moments ago I had
-wondered if she did not always stand in the
-gateway. Once, I could not exactly recall the
-time, I had passed her hut. I remembered distinctly
-that there was a line full of old ragged
-clothes stretched across from the fence to a decayed
-tree, and a bright red flannel petticoat
-blew and flapped among the blackened branches.
-It was a miserable frame cabin, set back from
-the Spring road, about half a mile out of town.
-There I went in search of her.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The blasted tree stood out in bold relief
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>against the drab sky. There appeared no living
-thing about the dirty, besmoked hovel except
-one lean rat, that squatted with quivering nose
-and stared a moment, then retreated under the
-loose plank before the door, leaving its smellers
-visible until I stepped upon the board. I
-knocked loudly without receiving any reply;
-then, smiling at the useless ceremony I had performed,
-pushed it open. The old woman, dressed
-in her red petticoat and a torn calico frock,
-with a faded shawl drawn over her head, was
-standing with her back towards me, picking
-over a pile of rags. She did not move. I hesitated
-an instant, then walked in. The moment
-I put my foot upon the floor she sprang quickly
-round. At first she remained motionless, with
-her small, piercing gray eyes fixed upon me,
-holding a piece of orange-and-black spotted
-muslin; evidently she recognized me, for, suddenly
-dropping it, she began a series of wild
-gestures, grinning until all the wrinkles of her
-skinny face converged in the region of her
-mouth, where a few scattered teeth, long and
-sharp, gleamed strangely white. A rim of grizzled
-hair stood out round the edge of the
-turbaned shawl and set off the withered and
-watchful countenance of the speechless old
-crone. The yellow, shriveled skin hung loosely
-about her slim neck like leather, and her
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>knotted hands were brown and dry as the claws
-of an eagle.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went through the motion of sweeping and
-pointed over my shoulder, making her understand
-that I wished her to do some cleaning.
-She drew the seams of her face into a new
-grimace by way of assent, and, putting the piece
-of orange-and-black spotted muslin around her
-shoulders in lieu of a cloak, preceded me out of
-the door. She started immediately in the direction
-of the college, and I was obliged to take
-hold of her before I could attract her attention;
-then, when I shook my head, she regarded me
-in surprise, and fell once more into a series
-of frantic gesticulations. With considerable
-trouble I made her comprehend that she was
-merely to follow me. The old woman was by
-no means dull, and her small, steel-gray eyes
-had a singular sharpness about them that is only
-found in the deaf-mute, where they perform the
-part of the ear and tongue. As soon as we
-came in sight of the church she was perfectly
-satisfied. I walked up to the main entrance,
-turned the knob and shook it, then suddenly
-felt in all my pockets, shook the door over, and
-felt through all my pockets again. This hypocritical
-pantomime had the desired effect. The
-old beldam slapped her hands together and
-poked her lean finger at the hole of the lock,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>apparently amused that I had forgotten the key.
-Then of her own accord she went round and
-tried the other doors, but without success. As
-we passed the narrow window in the rear I
-made a violent effort in knocking out the loose
-boards. The old woman seemed greatly delighted,
-and when I crawled through willingly
-followed. I gave her a brush, which fortunately
-one day I had discovered lying in the vestibule,
-and left her in the church to dust, while I went
-up in the tower to prepare and remove from
-sight all the tools which were scattered about.
-I put them in a recess and screened it from view
-by a map of the Holy Land. Then I took my
-instrument and carefully adjusted it, putting on
-its utmost power.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In about an hour I went down and motioned
-to Mother Flinse that I wanted her up stairs.
-She came directly after me without hesitation,
-and I felt greatly relieved, for I saw that I would
-likely have no trouble with the old woman.
-When we got into the tower she pointed down
-to the trees and then upward, meaning, I presume,
-that it was high. I nodded, and taking
-the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment.
-A loud blast of music, like a dozen
-bands playing in concert, almost stunned me.
-She watched me very attentively, but when I
-made signs for her to come and try she drew
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>back. I held up the instrument and went
-through all manner of motions indicating that
-it would not hurt her, but she only shook her
-head. I persevered in my endeavor to coax
-her until she seemed to gain courage and walked
-up within a few feet of me, then suddenly
-stopped and stretched out her hands for the instrument.
-As she did not seem afraid, provided
-she had it herself, I saw that she took firm hold.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In my impatience to know the result of this
-experiment, I was obliged to repeat my signs
-again and again before I could prevail upon her
-to raise it to her ear. Then breathlessly I
-watched her face, a face I thought which looked
-as if it might belong to some mummy that had
-been withering for a thousand years. Suddenly
-it was convulsed as if by a galvanic shock, then
-the shriveled features seemed to dilate, and a
-great light flashed through them, transforming
-them almost into the radiance of youth; a
-strange light as of some seraph had taken possession
-of the wrinkled old frame and looked
-out at the gray eyes, making them shine with
-unnatural beauty. No wonder the dumb countenance
-reflected a brightness inexpressible, for
-the Spirit of Sound had just alighted with
-silvery wings upon a silence of seventy years.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A heavy weight fell unconsciously from my
-breast while I stood almost awed before this
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>face, which was transfigured, as if it might
-have caught a glimmer of that mystical morn
-when, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
-we shall all be changed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>My instrument had stood the test; it was
-proved forever. I could no longer cherish any
-doubts of its reality, and an indescribable peace
-came into my soul, like a sudden awakening
-from some frightful dream. I had not noticed
-the flight of time. A pale shadow hung already
-over the trees—yes, and under them on the
-slime-covered stones. Ay! and a heavier
-shadow than the coming night was even then
-gathering unseen its rayless folds. The drab
-sky had blanched and broken, and the sinking
-sun poured a fading light through its ragged
-fissures.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The old woman, as if wrapped in an enchantment,
-had hardly moved. I tried vainly to
-catch her attention; she did not even appear
-conscious of my presence. I walked up and
-shook her gently by the shoulder, and, pointing
-to the setting sun, held out my hand for the instrument.
-She looked at me a moment, with
-the singular unearthly beauty shining through
-every feature; then suddenly clutching the
-trumpet tight between her skinny claws, sprang
-backward towards the stairs, uttering a sound
-that was neither human nor animal, that was
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>not a wail or a scream, but it fell upon my ears
-like some palpable horror. Merciful Heaven!
-Was that thing yonder a woman? The shriveled,
-fleshless lips gaped apart, and a small pointed
-tongue lurked behind five glittering, fang-like
-teeth. The wild beast had suddenly been developed
-in the hag. Like a hungry tigress
-defending its prey, she stood hugging the
-trumpet to her, glaring at me with stretched
-neck and green eyes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A savage fierceness roused within me when
-I found she would not give up the instrument,
-and I rushed at her with hands ready to snatch
-back the prize I valued more than my life—<em>or
-hers</em>; but, quicker than a hunted animal, she
-turned and fled with it down the stairs, making
-the tower ring with the hideous cries of her
-wordless voice. Swiftly—it seemed as if the
-danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to
-fly in pursuit—I crossed the vestibule. She
-was not there. Every thing was silent, and I
-darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of
-the church, when suddenly the jarring idiotic
-sounds broke loose again, echoing up in the
-organ-pipes and rattling along the galleries.
-The fiend sprang from behind the altar, faced
-about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming
-teeth, then fled through the vestry-room
-into the passage. The sight of her was fresh
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>fuel to my rage, and it flamed into a frenzy that
-seemed to burn the human element out of my
-soul. When I gained the steps leading into the
-coal-room she was already in the window, but
-I cleared the distance at a single bound and
-caught hold of her clothes as she leaped down.
-I crawled through, but she clutched the instrument
-tighter. I could not prize it out of her
-grasp; and in her ineffectual efforts to free herself
-from my hold she made loud, grating cries,
-that seemed to me to ring and reverberate all
-through the forest; but presently they grew
-smothered, gurgled, then ceased. Her clasp
-relaxed in a convulsive struggle, and the trumpet
-was in my possession. It was easily done,
-for her neck was small and lean, and my hands
-made a circle strong as a steel band.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The tremor died out of her frame and left it
-perfectly still. Through the silence I could
-hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle-weeds,
-and the flapping wings of some night bird
-fanned my face as it rushed swiftly through the
-air in its low flight. The gray twilight had
-deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to
-have given up their tenants. The pale monuments
-stood out like shrouded specters. But
-all the dead in that church-yard were not under
-ground, for on the wet grass at my feet there
-was something stark and stiff, more frightful
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>than any phantom of imagination—something
-that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly
-features. It must be put out of sight, yes, it
-must be hid, to save my invention from discovery.
-The old hag might be missed, and if
-she was found here it would ruin me and expose
-my secret. I placed the trumpet on the
-window-ledge, and, carrying the grim burden
-in my arms, plunged into the damp tangle of
-weeds and grass.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In a lonesome corner far back from the
-church, in the dense shade of thorn-trees,
-among the wild brambles where poisonous vines
-grew, slippery with the mould of forgotten
-years, unsought, uncared for by any human
-hand, was a tomb. Its sides were half buried
-in the tall underbrush, and the long slab had
-been broken once, for a black fissure ran zigzag
-across the middle. In my muscles that night
-there was the strength of two men. I lifted
-off one-half of the stone and heard the lizards
-dart startled from their haunt, and felt the spiders
-crawl. When the stone was replaced it
-covered more than the lizards or the spiders in
-the dark space between the narrow walls.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As I have said, the instrument possessed a
-singular fascination over me. I had grown to
-love it, not alone as a piece of mechanism for
-the transmission of sound, but like a <em>living</em>
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>thing, and I replaced it in the tower with the
-same pleasure one feels who has rescued a
-friend from death. My listening ear never
-grew weary, but now I drew quickly away. It
-was not music I heard, or the ripple of water,
-or the prattle of merry tongues, but the harsh
-grating cries that had echoed in the church,
-that had rattled and died out in the forest—that
-voice which was not a voice. I shivered
-while I readjusted the instrument; perhaps it
-was the night wind which chilled me, but the
-rasping sounds were louder than before. <em>I
-could not exclude them.</em> There was no element
-of superstition in my nature, and I tried it over
-again: still I heard them—sometimes sharp,
-sometimes only a faint rumbling. Had the soul
-of the deaf-mute come in retribution to haunt
-me and cry eternally in my instrument? Perhaps
-on the morrow it would not disturb me,
-but there was no difference. I could hear only
-it, though I drew out the trumpet for vibrations
-hundreds of years old. I had rid myself of the
-withered hag who would have stolen my treasure,
-but now I could not rid myself of her invisible
-ghost. She had conquered, even through
-death, and come from the spirit world to gain
-possession of the prize for which she had given
-up her life. The instrument was no longer of
-any value to me, though cherishing a vague
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>hope I compelled myself to listen, even with
-chattering teeth; for it was a terrible thing to
-hear these hoarse, haunting cries of the dumb
-soul—of the soul I had strangled from its body,
-a soul which I would have killed itself if it
-were possible. But my hope was vain, and the
-trumpet had become not only worthless to me,
-but an absolute horror.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly I determined to destroy it. I
-turned it over ready to dash it in pieces, but it
-cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life,
-and while I stood irresolute a small green-and-gold
-beetle crawled out of it and dropped like
-a stone to the floor. The insect was an electric
-flash to me, that dispelled the black gloom
-through which I had been battling. It had
-likely fallen into the instrument down in the
-church-yard, or when I laid it upon the window-sill,
-and the rasping of its wings, magnified,
-had produced the sounds which resembled
-the strange grating noise uttered by the deaf-mute.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Instantly I put the trumpet to my ear. Once
-more the music of the past surged in. Voices,
-leaves, water, all murmured to me their changeful
-melody; every zephyr wafting by was filled
-with broken but melodious whispers.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Relieved from doubts, relieved from fears
-and threatening dangers, I slept peacefully,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>dreamlessly as a child. With a feeling of rest
-to which I had long been unused, I walked out
-in the soft clear morning. Every thing seemed
-to have put on new life, for the sky was not
-gray or sober, and the leaves, if they were
-brown, trimmed their edges in scarlet, and if
-many had fallen, the squirrels played among
-them on the ground. But suddenly the sky
-and the leaves and the squirrels might have been
-blotted from existence. I did not see them,
-but I saw—<em>I saw Mother Flinse come through
-the college gateway and walk slowly down the
-road!</em></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The large faded shawl pinned across her
-shoulders nearly covered the red flannel petticoat,
-and the orange-and-black spotted muslin
-was wrapped into a turban on her head. Without
-breathing, almost without feeling, I watched
-the figure until at the corner it turned out of
-sight, and a long dark outline on the grass behind
-it ran into the fence. The shadow! Then
-it was not a ghost. Had the grave given up
-its dead? I would see.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At the church-yard the briers tore my face
-and clothes, but I plunged deeper where the
-shade thickened under the thorn-trees. There
-in the corner I stooped to lift the broken slab
-of a tomb, but all my strength would not avail
-to move it. As I leaned over, bruising my hands
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>in a vain endeavor to raise it, my eyes fell for an
-instant on the stone, and with a start I turned
-quickly and ran to the church; then I stopped—the
-narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the
-slab on the tomb was filled with green moss,
-and this window was nailed up, and hung full
-of heavy cobwebs.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And my instrument?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly, while I stood there, some substance
-in my brain seemed to break up—it was
-the fetters of monomania which had bound me
-since that evening long ago, when, by the river
-in the oak-forest, I had heard the robin trill.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>No murder stained my soul: and there, beside
-the black waves of insanity through which
-I had passed unharmed, I gave praise to the
-great Creator—praise silent, but intense as
-Miriam’s song by the sea.</p>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_043.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_044.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>THE PATHS OF THE SEA.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_044.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-Around the porch there hung that day
-a crimson glory. It was the climbing
-rose about the door displaying its
-gorgeous bloom in a thousand crowns. Green,
-grass-green were the hills, but in front of the
-house the cliff fell abruptly, with a precipitous
-drop, to the sea. On either side the waving
-coast-line stretched away, a shining belt of
-yellow sand. There the breakers with unfurled
-banners of fleece followed each other in a never
-ending procession to the shore. But at the
-foot the billows, by day and night running in
-forever, dashed against the rock and chopped
-to a seething foam that threw up in one continual
-briny shower its white and glittering
-spray.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The surf at this point, even in pleasant
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>weather, sounded a constant roar, and in times
-of storm it increased to a deafening thunder
-that appalled the ear and made the heart tremble
-before the sea in its savage ferocity. Looking
-off to the right, perhaps the greater part of
-a mile distant, the harbor discovered itself, blue,
-bluer than the sky. A few vessels that had
-grown mysteriously upon the empty horizon,
-and come in over the vast waste of waters, were
-idly lying at anchor, each one biding her time
-to spread her sails in the breeze and recede upon
-her lonely course, going, as she had come, like
-some spirit of solitude, dropping down silently
-beyond the remote sea-reaches. There the
-Nereid swung herself gently over the long
-ground-swell, patiently awaiting the coming
-night when again to take up her watery track
-that would carry her over the great Atlantic
-to other lands and far-off harbors. Not a trimmer
-ship sailed the high seas.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The sun had traveled almost down the western
-slope, and it lit up the mighty ocean with
-a splendor that burned in lances of flame along
-the waves, and floated in myriad rainbows over
-the surf. The pomp of the departing day
-passed across the boundless waters, a magnificent
-pageantry. As the sun went down, the sky
-became a scarlet canopy. The flying spray
-took up the color and spread out a thousand
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>streamers to the wind. Long, gold-green lanes
-of sea ran out to where the distant mists let
-down their gorgeous drapery. The tireless
-gulls, shaking the red light from their wings,
-sailed and sailed and dipped and sailed again.
-A few fishing smacks loitered in the orange
-haze, and, leagues away, a single sloop in the
-humid north stood, like some wan water-wraith,
-with a garland of foam about its feet. Eastward,
-above the hills, the waiting moon hung
-her helmet, paler than pearl, and the land, transfigured
-by the evening light, looked on while
-the sea in its play flashed up a hundred hues.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The widow Aber had lived there on the
-cliff and seen the tides ebb and flow for more
-now than the quarter of a century. She was
-not a young girl when, twenty-six years back,
-poor Jacob Aber had married her. It was a
-sudden fancy on his part and a great surprise to
-the place, for Jacob was well on towards fifty,
-and many a girl had set her cap to catch the
-handsome sailor in vain. But he never rued
-his bargain. He was not a rich man, because
-he had always been a generous man, and he was
-content with enough merely to bring him in a
-modest living. When he married he took what
-little he had and built this cottage, built it of
-brick good and strong, where he could feel the
-salt wind blow, right in the face of the sea—the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>sea that, until he met Miriam Drew with
-her soft gray eyes, he had loved better than
-every thing else in all the wide world.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>They were happy and prosperous for four
-long years. First a son, then a daughter had
-come to brighten their home, and it was on just
-such an evening as this that Miriam, holding
-her infant child in her arms, told Jacob good-bye
-two-and-twenty years ago.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It would be his last cruise, he said. The
-vessel was his own, and in twelve months, or
-less, he would come back rich enough to stay
-always, and if the tears were in his voice he
-choked them down bravely, saying again it was
-but for a little while he should be gone, and she
-must cheer up for the long and happy years
-that would come after.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then she suddenly laid down her child and
-with a smothered sob put up her arms about his
-neck. It was the first time she had fairly given
-way, and she clung to him trembling violently,
-but uttering not one word. He smoothed her
-brow gently, with a caressing touch, for her
-sake keeping his own grief crushed within his
-heart, and said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Miriam don’t you remember once saying
-you could always tell a sailor by the dreamy
-far-off look in his eyes, an expression that came
-only to those that lived upon the sea and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>watched its wide, wide fields? And don’t you
-remember sometimes when I was sitting quietly
-at home you would come up suddenly and ask
-me what it was I saw miles and miles away, over
-the summer water, in that distant sunny land?
-Well, do not cry so, for even when my ship has
-vanished from your sight, when on every side
-there is no trace of shore, I can stand upon her
-deck and look beyond the far horizon at our
-peaceful, happy home. And when at evening,
-with your eyes upon the sea, you sit and hold
-the children in your lap, remember I will be
-watching you from across its glittering line.
-There, that is right! You are a good, brave girl!
-It is but for a little while. I can look beyond
-this parting—I can see your waiting face turn
-radiant as my boat sails safely back!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then, when he had kissed her and the little
-ones, and turned and kissed them again, there
-was a faint smile struggling through her tears.
-So, striving to keep down her grief, she parted
-without saying one word of the terrible dread
-that lay upon her heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And two-and-twenty years ago he had sailed
-away.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Many days, many nights, many weeks, many
-months, Miriam had watched the sea with wistful
-eyes. For his sake she had very nearly
-grown to love it, and the color came again to
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>her cheeks as the time went by and the year
-was almost up, when it would give back forever
-the one she valued more than life. In those
-days she scanned the water-line, and waited
-patiently, and went about the house singing.
-She chattered to her baby-daughter all how its
-father was sailing home, until it laughed and
-cooed in wild delight. Every morning she
-dressed little Tommy in his best, and tied about
-his waist the beautiful sea-green sash that Jacob
-had brought her from the distant Indies; and
-in the queer frosted vases on the mantel, that
-had come from some foreign port, she kept a
-fresh bouquet of sweet wild flowers.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But poor Jacob never came back.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Homeward bound, his vessel was wrecked
-off the treacherous Newfoundland shore. A
-storm drove her helpless, enshrouded in fog,
-against the rocks where she foundered, and
-captain and crew went down together. Only
-two men escaped from the terrible disaster.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When the dreadful news came and they told
-Miriam as they met her on the porch, she made
-no reply. She did not moan or scream. She
-only looked out for a moment at the deceitful
-sea, smiling in its sheen of a thousand tints, then
-turned and went into the house and shut the
-door.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She had always been a strange woman, and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>they left her to bear her grief alone. She
-asked nobody’s sympathy, she did not complain,
-she never spoke of Jacob. She did not,
-as the people had expected, sell her house. She
-made no change so far as the world could see,
-only that she held herself, if possible, more
-aloof from society than ever. But before three
-months had gone by they noticed that her
-brown and shining hair had turned white, and
-her gray eyes showed half concealed within
-their depths an unfathomed trouble. Then
-too, her figure, once erect and straight as a
-dart, grew bent and stooped across the shoulders,
-and nothing ever brought the color to her
-face any more that was always pale and thin.
-Otherwise, however, there appeared no difference.
-She lived economically, and sometimes
-took in a small amount of fine sewing, as,
-beside the house, she had little else, for the sea
-when it buried her husband had buried his
-earnings also in the same watery grave.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She staid at home and watched the children
-in whom her life was now wholly bound up.
-They were her world, her all. She seemed to
-find in them her very existence, and after the
-queer frosted vases on the mantel had stood
-empty for years, their young hands filled them
-again with sweet wild flowers. So the house
-once more was bright and sunny, and, though
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>Miriam herself never sang, Hannah’s voice was
-clear and happy.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah had grown up the very picture of
-her mother when in her early girlhood, but
-young Tom was like his father. He was like
-his father in more respects than one, and while
-still a boy the people said he too will prove a
-sailor. They were right; though Miriam had
-struggled against it and watched over him with
-an absorbing care. She saw again developed
-in him the same wild fascination for the sea.
-She knew its strength and that it must prevail,
-and when he came and begged so hard, with
-the well remembered far-off look in his eyes,
-she felt all opposition would be vain.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She did not reproach herself that she had
-lived upon the coast and played with him upon
-the beach, for something in her heart told her
-that it could have been no different, even had
-she raised him up in another place where the
-sound of the sea would not have been always
-in his ears. She recognized in this fatal love
-the heritage he had received from his father.
-The thought that it could be eradicated, that
-he would ever be satisfied with any thing else
-she knew to be hopeless, and so the widow had
-given up, and he had gone at fourteen to seek
-his fortune, like his father before him, a sailor
-on the high seas.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Now, ten years later, and two-and-twenty
-years since poor Jacob had started on his fateful
-cruise, young Tom was ready for his fourth
-voyage. He had climbed unaided several steps
-up the ladder in his calling, and the Nereid,
-waiting down in the harbor would carry him in
-a few hours, her first mate, out upon her long two
-years’ absence. It was a great lift to him, for,
-besides his promotion, Luke Denin, who this time
-commanded the ship, had been his early friend.
-There was but little difference in their age. They
-had been boys together, and together they had
-explored the shore for miles and fished for days,
-and they had rambled the hills and the woods
-over; so, as young Tom said, it would be just
-as good for him as if he commanded the
-Nereid himself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When he told his mother this she had only
-patted him on the head, and said in a choked
-voice,—“My little sailor boy!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The widow Aber, ever since her son took to
-following the sea, had been gradually breaking.
-From that time her health, heretofore always
-strong and robust, began perceptibly to decline.
-The people noticed it, but then she told them
-that she was getting old—how could they expect
-a woman well up into the sixties to be as
-active as a girl, and besides this she had the
-rheumatism. So she was constantly excusing
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>her feebleness with anxious care, as if she feared
-they might attribute it to some other cause
-than age.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>This evening she was even weaker than
-usual, though she did not acknowledge it, but
-sitting at the supper table her hands trembled
-so badly that the cups and saucers rattled a
-little as she served the tea. Miriam, whose life
-had been one constant struggle, was struggling
-still. No wonder the widow was proud of her
-son, her only son. Her gray eyes, beautiful as
-in her youth, would wander to him again and
-again, and rest upon his face with a strange,
-yearning expression, but whenever he turned
-to her she would drop them quickly and move
-a little nervously in her chair, striving to conceal,
-as she had done so many years ago, the
-burden of grief that lay at her heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was a pleasant party to look at, for Luke
-Denin too was there, and the young people
-carefully avoided any allusion to the separation
-before them. Tom, always gay and happy, was
-more than handsome in his sailor’s dress, with
-the bronze of the tropical sun upon his face.
-And Luke, if he was not so tall by half a head,
-and if his hair, instead of being black and crisp
-with waves, was light and straight, had at least
-as honest and frank a pair of deep blue eyes as
-Hannah cared to see—not that Hannah looked
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>at them, for she looked only at her plate, and
-once in a while anxiously at her mother. Young
-Tom was evidently determined that this last
-meal at home should not be a sorrowful one, as
-he kept up the conversation in his liveliest
-mood. He told wonderful tales in such an
-absurd vein of exaggeration, that sometimes it
-even called up a smile on the widow’s face;
-and when the meal was over he picked her up
-playfully in his strong arms and carried her out
-upon the porch. There together they all watched
-the moonlight gradually show itself out of
-the dissolving day, in long paths across the
-water. Then the hour came to say good-bye.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was a desperate battle for Miriam, as she
-clung to her son in that parting moment. Then
-it was, for the first time, that something in her
-face went to the man’s inmost heart like a chill.
-She was old and frail, and his absence would be
-long, perhaps he might never look upon her
-again. In his wild fascination for the sea, was
-he not sacrificing her? The anguish of the
-thought overcame him. Had it been possible
-then he would have given up this voyage and
-staid at home, but it was too late now, and
-when he had turned for a moment, and with a
-strong effort fought his grief under control, he
-said gently,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no! Do not be so distressed, mother!
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>It is all for the best; and when I come back
-this time, mother, I will never leave you any
-more.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But Miriam, thinking of that other parting
-so long ago, remembered that Jacob, too, had
-said when he came back he would never leave
-her any more, and with a half suppressed cry
-she clasped her hands tighter about his neck.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“O, my son, you will come back! Only
-promise me you will come back, and I can wait
-patiently and long!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a wild energy in her voice that
-frightened him, as she went on hurriedly with
-an accent he had never heard till then,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Once before, with this same dread at my
-heart, I parted two-and-twenty years ago, but
-I let <em>him</em> go without saying a word. I waited
-patiently. I even sang and tried to be happy.
-As the time went by I laughed as I thought
-how pleased he would be when he saw how his
-children had grown. I tied about your waist a
-sash of his favorite color, that he had brought
-me from the distant Indies, and I kept
-every thing in readiness for—what? They
-came and told me that he had gone down at
-sea—No, no; do not interrupt me. I let him
-go without saying a word. I must speak this
-time!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She paused for a moment as if waiting until
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>her excitement had calmed, and with her trembling
-hand put back the hair from his forehead,
-then went on unsteadily in a tone but little
-louder than a whisper,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You have the same dreamy far-off look in
-your eyes. I know you must go my child, I
-know you can not resist—but when your
-father left he said it would be only for a little
-while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty
-years.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was another moment of silence, as
-though her thoughts had gone back over that
-long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice,
-she went on once more, calling him again unconsciously
-by the name she had used when he
-was a little child,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if
-you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not say it, I
-can not bear it! You will come back, you must
-come back to me!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A wild terror had crept into her face, then
-she broke down completely.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I
-did not used to be so foolish. Do not mind me.
-I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not
-strong any more, but—I can wait again—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,”
-he said, drawing his arm close about her, “how
-peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>it better than any thing else in the whole world.
-It has always been gentle to me—you need not
-fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if
-you can only wait.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as
-he added the last words, and when Miriam,
-anxious to atone for her past weakness, said
-quickly,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made
-her repeat it. Then rallying himself he went
-on gaily,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why, I will come back, mother, I will come
-back so grand and rich that you shall be three
-times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And
-I will take care of you always then. But,
-mother,” he said, the choking sensation coming
-again in his throat,—“promise that you will not
-worry about me while I am gone, or I shall
-never be happy, not even in any of the beautiful
-lands I will see—won’t you promise me,
-mother? Promise me that you will wait
-patiently, promise me that—that you will not
-give up—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come
-back, I can wait again—I can even wait a long
-while.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It will not be so very long! why the time
-will slip by, and almost before you know it you
-will find me standing beside you here again,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>when I mean you to be so proud of me that it
-will well nigh turn my head.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Ah, Tommy, you know I am proud of you
-now, so proud of you, that sometimes it fairly
-frightens me, and I dare not think of it.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Heaven knows,” he said, all the gay sound
-dying from his voice, as, stricken with remorse,
-he remembered the many times he had left her
-with no thought beyond the parting moment,
-“I’m not much to be proud of, but, mother—”
-taking up her thin hand and passing it over his
-face, once more driven to the last extremity to
-command his voice—“you and Nan are all I
-have on earth to care for me, and out in midocean,
-or in the far-off foreign ports, your love,
-like a constant prayer to keep me from harm, will
-be with me always. When I am at home once
-more I am going to be a good boy to you,
-mother. Nothing, not even the sea, shall ever
-part us again.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You have always been a good boy to me,
-Tommy—I only thought—I was afraid that—O
-never mind, I can wait for you, Tommy. I
-do not feel so nervous now.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There, that is right! We will meet again,
-mother, and then we will be very, very happy.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He kissed her yearningly, reverentially. It
-seemed as if he stood awed before the heart
-that for a moment had disclosed itself in its
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>most silent depths, and in that moment there
-had been revealed to him, with all its overwhelming
-strength, that divine love which is
-mightier than life. It seemed as if now, for the
-first time, and almost blinded by the revelation,
-he saw—his mother.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>After a little silence, taking her face between
-his hands, he said, gently,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Mother, I want to see you smile once more
-before I go.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I will wait for you, Tommy,” she said
-again.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“And I will surely come back.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When Miriam looked up there was a faint
-smile struggling through her tears, as there had
-been once before, two-and-twenty years in the
-past. Then he was gone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Down by the gate Hannah stood, trying to
-hide in the shadow of the great honeysuckle
-the new shy beauty on her face that had been
-called there by the kiss of warmer lips than the
-gentle sea-breeze.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Good-bye, Nan,” said Tom, unsuspiciously,
-throwing his arms about her in his rough brotherly
-embrace,—“why how you are trembling!
-You are not going to cry? Don’t, I can’t
-stand it!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no,” came uncertainly in a helpless
-voice, evidently, in her wild conflict of emotion,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>not knowing exactly what she was going
-to do.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There, that’s right! Don’t cry, or I’ll—I’ll
-break down too!” said Tom, hoarsely, fairly
-strangling in his throat, and almost worn out by
-the strain he had undergone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah, surprised, raised her face, but Tom
-had already got the better of himself. “How
-your eyes shine to-night, Nan; I did not know
-how pretty you were before!” Down went her
-head again immediately, and changing his voice
-he said, with a sigh,—“Nannie, there ain’t many
-fellows that have as good a mother and sister
-as mine; you won’t forget me while I’m gone,
-or get tired waiting? I’ve been a worthless,
-roving chap; I’ve never been of much comfort
-to you or mother, but when I come back next
-time, I’m going to stay at home a while. Look
-up now and tell me you are glad.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“O, Tom, I am! You don’t know how glad
-I am, if it was only for mother’s sake.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then, turning his head away to hide the
-anguish that had come over his face, he asked,
-slowly, trying rather ineffectually to keep his
-voice natural,—“You don’t think, Nan, any
-thing will happen to her while I am gone?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“What do you mean?” said Hannah, struck
-by the awe in his tone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I mean,” he said, unwilling to trouble his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>sister by the thought that had so oppressed
-him, and speaking gaily again: “I mean that
-you must be a good girl, and keep up mother’s
-spirits, but don’t get so used to my absence,
-that neither of you will care when I come
-back.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“O, Tom!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Come out into the moonlight where I can
-see you. I’m dreadfully proud of you, Nan,
-because you don’t take on like other girls.
-You see I couldn’t have stood it!” said Tom,
-in a frightfully uncertain state of mind, as to
-whether it was possible to swallow the lump
-in his throat. “I’m going now. Be good to
-mother, you know she’s—she’s not very
-strong—Have you told Captain Denin good-bye?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, she hasn’t. Not yet. I thought I’d
-let you do it first; but you’ll tell me good-bye
-now, until I come back never to say it again,
-won’t you, Nanine?” said Luke, coming up in
-his most masterly way, right under Tom’s very
-nose, and almost hiding his sister from view in
-an embrace that this time was neither rough
-nor brotherly.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Whew!” gasped Tom, as Hannah came in
-sight again, with no friendly honeysuckle near
-to conceal the carnation bloom upon her cheeks.
-“Is that the way the wind blows! I’ve been
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>as blind as a bat. Kiss me, quick, both of you,
-or I’m a gone case!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down on
-the stone there, and recover yourself. You’ve
-said your good-bye, now just wait for me!” said
-the superior officer triumphantly. And Tom,
-spent, exhausted, sank down; but the next instant
-Hannah had her arms tight about his
-neck, and was hiding her face against the crisp
-waves of his black hair.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Tom, dear, you ain’t sorry?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, Nan, I couldn’t have wished for any
-thing better; but it was so sudden, it just kind
-of knocked the wind out of my sails for a minute.”
-Then, after a pause,—“I say, there’ll
-be a grand glorification when the Nereid comes
-back, won’t there?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I—I wish it was back now! I don’t
-know what’s upset me so—There, kiss her,
-Luke, and let’s be off, quick, or I’ll disgrace
-myself outright, before I know it!” and Tom,
-gulping down great quantities of air with all
-his might, got up from the stone hurriedly, as
-if he meditated making a sudden bolt.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But he did not. He stood there quietly looking
-out at sea; and when, a moment after, the
-young captain, taking his arm, said, “Come,
-now I am ready,” he started as from a dream.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>Turning to his sister, with every trace of his
-rollicking manner lost, he said, as though he
-had not spoken of her before,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You must take good care of mother—poor
-mother. Do not let her grieve while I am gone.
-Oh, Hannah, you will be very careful of her,
-and not allow any thing—not allow her to get
-tired, and tell her always, while she waits, that
-when I am with her again, I will never leave
-her.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then they had passed through the gate and
-were going rapidly down the narrow foot-path
-to the bottom of the hill. Hannah strained her
-eyes after them, and when at the turn of the
-road both brother and lover were lost to view,
-still she lingered at the spot pondering over
-Tom’s unwonted emotion. It was not like him.
-Never before had she seen him so singularly
-affected, and now that he was gone, it came
-back to her with redoubled intensity. The
-unusual sorrow that had almost choked him,
-the strange tone in his voice that he had tried
-vainly to conceal, the sudden wish that the
-Nereid was back even now, his repeated charges
-about their mother, all troubled her.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>An uneasy feeling of dread oppressed her,
-she knew not why. The heavy perfume of the
-honeysuckle suddenly make her sick and faint.
-The tall and prickly cedar stood up straight
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>and still, covered on one side with a fret-work
-of silver, on the other clothed with the very
-gloom of darkness, and somewhere from among
-its shadowy branches a dove, as if half wakened
-out of a dream, stirred, uttered its brooding
-note, then sank again to silence. Hannah had
-heard the same dove a hundred times before,
-she even knew that there were purple ripples
-on its neck, but this time she started violently
-and shivered. It seemed as if the summer
-night had suddenly grown cold and chilled her
-to the heart, and with hurried steps she ran
-back to the house.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The porch was deserted and strangely lonesome
-when she passed across. Even the crimson
-bloom, with its thousand crowns, looked
-black through the shade, as if it had withered
-in the hour, and she heard its leaves make a
-weird rustle, like a complaint, as she closed the
-door. The sense of desolation was so strong
-upon her that she could hardly keep from crying
-out in the solitude, but she went on swiftly
-to her mother’s room, and entered with noiseless
-feet. A great sigh of relief came to her
-lips when she saw the peaceful face upon the
-pillow, for Miriam, overcome by the reaction,
-already slept calmly as a child. Hannah sat
-down beside the bed. There was a smile upon
-her mother’s lips. How long she sat there,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>whether one hour, or two hours, she did not
-know, but when she got up all the tumult in
-her heart had subsided.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She kissed the sleeping face gently and went
-quietly up stairs to her own room. She threw
-the shutters open wide, and lo! out upon
-the sea with her wings spread, white as the
-plumage of a gull, the Nereid! Lonely, spirit-like,
-beyond the reach of voice, she stood upon
-the mighty desert of the ocean. Before her
-prow the waves held out their wreath of down,
-and above, solitary in the vast moonlit sky,
-hung the royal planet Jupiter. Steady, radiant,
-it burned like the magic Star in the East.
-Hannah, watching, saw the ship fade away in
-the far-off endless isles of silver mist. A great
-peace had come to her soul, and when she lay
-down to sleep there was no trouble on her face.
-Gone, the Nereid was gone, but still, even in
-her dreams, she knew that the star in the sky
-was shining.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Slowly the days came and went. Miriam, yet
-a little feebler, was bright and happy. Never,
-since that night when she said good-bye, had
-she murmured or uttered a word of complaint.
-Every thing at the cottage glided smoothly on;
-for Hannah attended to the house, and waited
-upon her mother with an untiring care, but
-even while she went about performing her different
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>duties her eyes, unconsciously, would
-wander off to sea. Often in the afternoon,
-when the widow nodded in the great rocking
-chair by the window, she would slip away
-down to the beach, and sit there by the hour.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Those were pleasant days to Hannah. Then
-the sea, clear and calm, rounded out, a great
-circle of splendor, to the horizon; or on its
-surface the giant mists reared themselves,
-triumphant, in towering arches. Perhaps her
-thoughts went out beyond these mighty phantom
-aisles, seeking always the two loved ones
-across their portals, over the vast and solemn
-ocean. Sometimes when the sky was warm
-and the wind blew shoreward it seemed to
-bring faintly the scent of foreign flowers; for
-nearer now to her were those mystical lands
-where Summer, almighty Summer, sat upon an
-everlasting throne.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah knew every vessel that sailed into
-port; and sometimes a boat, returning, had
-spoken the Nereid at sea, sometimes at
-long intervals a letter came. Then when for
-weeks, for months it might be, there was no
-word, no sign, the royal planet, moving in its
-eternal orbit, hung again in the sky, a star of
-promise. To Hannah, as she watched it night
-after night above the sea, it came as a messenger
-bearing glad tidings of great joy.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>So the time waned. The peaceful days
-passed by and fierce storms broke with a savage
-roar upon the coast. The green upon the hill-sides
-faded out, and the freezing spray encrusted
-the cliff with ice where the wintry sea threw
-up its bitter brine—and sometimes, farther off
-upon the shelving beach, it threw up more than
-brine, or stiffened weed. Broken spars, dreary
-fragments of wrecks drifted in, told of the wild
-desolation out upon the hoarse wilderness of
-beaten waves.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But even those days too passed, and the
-Spring clothed the land again with emerald.
-More than a year had worn away since the
-Nereid had faded out of the horizon, and presently
-another Fall set in.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>For five months no word had come from the
-absent wanderers. Still Miriam made not the
-least complaint. Even when the storms lashed
-the sea, until it sent up a roar that made the
-young girl shiver, the widow evinced no anxiety.
-Had she not promised that she would wait
-patiently? She talked very little, and generally
-sat quietly by the window from morning till
-evening. But Hannah, saying nothing, had
-grown heavy-hearted with the long silence.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was November, a dull, dreary day in November.
-Heavy clouds stretched themselves in
-a somber, leaden sky, that near the water
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>gathered dark and frowning. The gray sea,
-cold and hoarse, uttered eternally its hollow
-roar. But for this it seemed as if a mighty
-silence would have brooded over earth and
-ocean, a silence vast and dreadful as the grave.
-Dead white, the hungry surf crawled sullenly
-up the sand. Leagues away the fishing smacks
-all headed to shore, and the gulls were flying
-landward, when Hannah looking out, counted a
-new sail in the harbor.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Any word to break this long heart-sick
-watch?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her
-mother sleeping tranquilly in the great chair,
-she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and
-started down the hill. Once at the bottom she
-slackened her pace a little to gain breath. A
-fine drizzle already blew through the air, and
-the waters running in upon the smooth beach
-did not rumble with a great noise as at the foot
-of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up
-endlessly a weary lamentation. The damp
-settled on her hair in minute globules, and enveloped
-all her clothing in its clammy embrace,
-but she did not heed the weather. She never
-looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she
-hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying,
-she went on swiftly with the one idea
-absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>half-walking, she never paused until she reached
-the slippery wharf.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So
-eager was she that she did not hear the sudden
-exclamations, or see the look of pity that had
-come upon more than one rough sunburnt face
-when she made her appearance; for living all
-her life in the same quiet village many of the
-sailors knew Hannah by sight, many by her
-gentle manner and kind words, and many a
-sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian
-angel when sickness and poverty had come upon
-them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing
-with expectation, saw only it was the good
-ship Bonibird that had come to port. Stephen,
-old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered
-him well. Often when she was a child
-had he given her curious shells, and once he
-had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater,
-a tiny, live fish that glittered all over
-with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she remembered
-him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to
-look for him among the groups of sailors, but
-the old man was already at her side.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood
-there with his cap off, shifting uneasily from one
-foot to the other, and when with an exclamation
-of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it
-eagerly between his rough palms.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>“God bless you! God bless you!” broke from
-his lips in a thick utterance; then he dropped
-her hand nervously, and drawing his breath
-hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she
-said. “You’ve been gone a long time.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, you beant so tall then.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Is there any news from the Nereid?” she
-asked eagerly, hardly noticing his last reply.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The old man seemed fairly to break out in a
-violent perspiration. He moved again uneasily
-on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped
-his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’
-up, Miss. Those clouds over the water do look
-ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!”
-she said, impatiently.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in
-this nasty drizzle.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no, I don’t care! I want to know if
-you heard any thing from the Nereid. Why
-don’t you tell me?” an alarm gathering quickly
-in her voice as the first sickening suspicion
-came over her. “O Stephen,” she said, with a
-terrified cry that fairly frightened the man,
-“you have, and there is something wrong! O
-the Nereid—the Nereid is not lost! Say it is
-not lost!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>She had caught the man’s arm in her wild
-excitement, and clung to him trembling like a
-leaf from head to foot.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why, no, no!” he said, scared by the girl’s
-dreadful agitation; “the Nereid be all right,
-she be all right! I didn’t think of sich an idee
-comin’ to you, or I’d a said afore she be all
-right. Thar beant nothin’ the matter with her,
-nothin’, I was aboard o’ her myself—I’m
-afeard it’ll make you sick, Miss, a standin’ here
-in the drizzle like this, an’ with nothin’ to keep
-off the wet,”—trying to appear as if he had
-settled the trouble, but all the time keeping his
-face turned carefully from her.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the first instant of relief Hannah had let
-go of his arm and put her hands to her head
-without one word, so intense had been the
-strain; then, looking up suddenly, and drawing
-a quick breath, she faced round to him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Stephen, is this the truth that you have told
-me? You are not deceiving me? Is there
-<em>nothing</em> the matter?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Lord, no, Miss, it beant no lie,” but the old
-sailor hesitated painfully while she looked at
-him, worked his hands nervously about his neck,
-put them irresolutely to his pockets once or
-twice, till unable to stand it any longer, he suddenly
-made an end to his indecision by jerking
-out a letter, at the same time muttering some
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>half-coherent sentence about how it had been
-given to him for her on board the Nereid.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“O, a letter!” she cried, joyfully, breaking
-the seal, while her face that had been so
-clouded lighted up radiantly.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As she looked up for a second, with a smile
-upon her lips, the old sailor became more distressed
-in his manner than ever; and when she
-unfolded the paper he even put out his hand
-once or twice, as if he would have taken it back.
-Evidently he could not bear to see her read it
-then; he had not thought she would open it
-there. Troubled, he looked about, shuffling
-again with that uneasy movement on his feet.
-If only he could find some means to prevail upon
-her first to take it home, and driven to desperation
-he turned once more to her, and said in an
-appealing voice,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’m feared thar be a bad storm comin’ up,
-Miss; the sea it really do look ugly, and may
-hap you’d better run home first; thar beant
-much time to lose noways.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But alas! it was too late. Hannah, utterly
-oblivious to the old man’s entreaty, was already
-eagerly reading down the sheet. Suddenly the
-color fled from her face. She appeared dazed
-and confused. For an instant she held the
-paper in a convulsive grasp, staring at it with a
-stony glare. Then she uttered a long, shivering
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>sound, and her fingers gradually relaxed their
-hold.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In a second the letter was gone. A savage
-wind broke loose with a tiger roar from the sea.
-The billows, in swift rage and with frightful
-tumult, piled up their fierce scrolls in a chaos of
-towering surge. Mist and spray and foam
-whirled in a blinding froth to the sky.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Old Steve, half-carrying, half-dragging—for
-the girl seemed hardly able to take a step unassisted—drew
-Hannah back into the one long
-low building by the wharf, where most of the
-people that were standing about a few moments
-before had taken shelter from the storm. Quickly
-half a dozen rough hands drew out a small
-packing-box and placed it for a seat, and some
-one threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She kept her lips closed tight. She looked
-at no one, she shivered constantly. The howling
-blast swept its brine up the wharf—“Washed
-overboard at sea.” The cruel breakers
-lifted and struck with thunder-crash—“Washed
-overboard at sea.” Bitter cold, the
-salt surf leaped and writhed and reached out
-with demoniac fury—“Washed overboard at
-sea.” Giant waves opened and shut with a
-grinding wrath their hungry jaws. Relentless,
-appalling, the mighty waters filled earth and
-sky with the terror of their strength.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>And Tom, poor Tom, had been washed overboard
-at sea!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was horrible. The awful words rang constantly
-in her ears. They repeated themselves
-over and over. Where, how—she knew naught,
-only the one sentence, with its dreadful import.
-After that she had read nothing, and before it
-she forgot all. Rocking a little back and forth
-on her seat, she sat there pale and dumb. Like
-her mother, two-and-twenty years in the past,
-she asked no sympathy, she heeded no comment.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The ashen clouds, racing before the wind
-like the scud of the sea, drove swiftly down
-behind the hills, and the blinding fury of the
-storm had spent itself. Drearily the gray sky
-let down again its endless drizzle, when Stephen,
-his honest voice painfully choked by
-emotion, prevailed upon her to go home. At
-first looking at him blankly, she seemed hardly
-to comprehend what he said, and it was only
-when he spoke of her mother that she gave any
-heed to his entreaty. Her mother! how could
-she tell her the terrible news, her patient, waiting
-mother! Old Stephen, many times after,
-used to say how in that moment, when she
-looked at him, he wished he had been dead
-before ever he brought her such a letter.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Shivering, always shivering, she drew the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>shawl tight about her shoulders, and slipped
-down off the fishy box without a word. The
-old sailor in his anxious care would have followed
-too, but she only shook her head, and
-without having opened her lips, he saw her go
-alone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The sullen mist hung its reeking folds along
-the shore, and the tide, running out, left a wide
-dank stretch of yellow slime. Above it, where,
-in Summer, the green swords of the sea-wrack
-grew, the storm had washed up clammy
-masses, heavy with ooze, of the pale and sticky
-tangle. Fiercely the treacherous waters had
-swept over the shore and covered it with their
-bitter dregs; but more fiercely had they surged,
-a dreary desolation, over the girl’s young heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Upon the bloated girdles, on the wet sand,
-in the chilly damp, with the salt spray clinging
-to her clothes, she went, and the wild sea,
-calming down, mourned again at her feet, like
-a sinister mockery of grief, in loud lamentation.
-When she went up the narrow foot-path on the
-hill, and came to the garden gate, she stopped
-a moment, she hardly knew why. It was a
-mechanical action with her. She scarcely felt
-or thought. Her heart was heavy as a stone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The branches of the great honeysuckle were
-black and bare. She looked at the old rock by
-the path now slippery with rain. She looked
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>at the tall and prickly cedar drenched with
-mist and spray. She looked out at the storm-beaten
-sea, then she looked back once more at
-the dripping evergreen. The dove in its thorny
-spire was gone—the dove with the purple ripples
-on its neck. It had never built another
-nest. Shivering, shivering, she went on, crossed
-the porch, where the arms of the bloomless
-rose, weird and gaunt, flung down great heavy
-tears at her feet, and, still shivering, she went
-into the house and shut the door.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Miriam, used to the tumult of the sea, sat
-patiently in the chair by the window, as she
-had done so many, many times in the past.
-When Hannah came in she looked up with
-surprise. The girl would have avoided her,
-but Miriam, seeing her so wet became alarmed,
-and, rising from her seat, had met Hannah in
-the hall before she could escape.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I thought you were up stairs! What took
-you out in such stormy weather? You’re all
-wet and shivering with the cold, and—why,
-child, your face is as white as a sheet! What
-is the matter?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Nothing, I—I—was caught in the rain,
-and—and got a little damp.” The words came
-uncertainly in a deep voice, for Hannah could
-hardly trust herself to speak, lest some unguarded
-tone should abruptly betray the terrible
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>truth. The girl felt as if it was written all over
-her, or that she might disclose it in every movement;
-but she had turned her back to her
-mother, and with trembling hands was hurriedly
-shaking out the wet shawl. “I’ll go and
-change my clothes. It will not hurt me.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Well, do it quickly, and come down to the
-fire right away. I’m afraid it will make you
-cough.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah, eager to escape, gathered the shawl
-on her arm; but at the foot of the stairs she
-stopped and looked back.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You—you’ve had a nice sleep, mother?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, dear, so very sound that I only heard
-the wind like a gentle zephyr.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“And you feel well?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Oh yes, better to-day than I have for a
-long, long time. I’m going to get stronger
-now steadily,” she said, with a smile that, for
-a moment, brought into the wan face a strange
-beauty, like a gleam of the same radiance that
-so far in the past poor Jacob had placed upon
-the shrine of his heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah, turning her head quickly, almost
-overpowered by sudden faintness, went up
-stairs, staggered across the room, and sank
-down by the window in a silent agony of grief.
-She did not sob or cry audibly, her whole being
-was one mental wail of despair—her mother!
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>her gentle, waiting mother! Fierce unspoken
-rebellion had taken possession of the girl’s soul.
-To one that had been always as a ministering
-spirit to those about her, why had Providence
-allotted so cruel a destiny? She, whose life
-had been but a long heart-struggle; she, that
-had done no evil, that had suffered without a
-murmur; she, feeble and bent with years,
-marked with the silver brand of sorrow and age;
-she, far down the avenue of her days, almost
-where the mighty mists of eternity close up
-their impenetrable curtains, she must yet be
-compelled to go on, to the last, through the
-darkness of new trouble! Was there no
-mercy, no justice?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Bitterly Hannah looked out, dry-eyed, at the
-relentless sea. There was no distant line
-against the sky; above, below, drear and empty,
-the gray stretched to infinity—not a sail on all
-the waters, and the tides were out—aye, the
-tides <em>were</em> out for her.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She had never shed a tear. Forgetful of her
-wet clothing, she leaned a long time upon the
-window-sill, motionless, and the lines in her
-young face were hard and strained. Perhaps
-the memory of that night came back to her with
-its vision of the royal planet that had seemed
-a star of promise—a star of promise? A
-mockery it had been, a cruel mockery!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>Then Miriam’s voice calling from the foot of
-the stairs roused her, and hurriedly she changed
-her damp dress, but she could not yet meet
-her mother. She lingered about the room.
-She fell upon her knees; she tried to pray, but
-her heart refused to utter a single petition, and
-Miriam had called again and yet again before
-Hannah went down.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Come close to the fire. You were so long
-I am afraid it will make you sick.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, mother, I am cold a little, that is all.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Miriam did not ask again what had taken her
-out, and Hannah, shading her eyes with her
-hand, sat by the grate trying to prepare herself
-for the dreadful duty that awaited her. She
-knew her mother must be told, lest it should
-come upon her abruptly from the lips of a
-stranger with a shock greater than she could
-bear. It was a hard struggle for Hannah; the
-girl would gladly have borne all the trouble herself,
-but that could not be.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Just how she said it she never remembered,
-only suddenly she felt calm and strong for the
-duty, and with a strange desperation on her
-face, slowly, gently as human means could do,
-she told the terrible news.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And Miriam?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Sitting in her chair she did not scream, or
-moan, or faint. She leaned a little forward with
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>her elbow on her knee, and looked at Hannah,
-looked at her long and steadily, with a strange
-wavering light in her eyes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Mother, mother, speak to me!” the girl
-cried, frightened at this light in her eyes, terrified
-that she said nothing, did nothing.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, dear, I am better to-day, yesterday I
-walked to the garden gate. I will even be
-strong enough to go down to the wharf when
-the Nereid comes in, and it will be such a glad
-surprise for him, such a glad surprise!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She had leaned back in her chair again, and
-her face, like a revelation, was radiant once
-more almost with the lost beauty of her girlhood.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah, dropping her head in her hands,
-could scarcely speak for the awful beating of
-her heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no, Mother, you do not understand.
-He is—dead. He will—never come—home—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The same wavering light flickered a second
-time in Miriam’s eyes as the girl spoke. She
-put up her thin hands for a moment and wearily
-stroked the silver hair back from her forehead.
-She looked slowly, with a bewildered expression
-about the room, then, smiling again, she
-said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Home? Yes, the time is nearly up. In
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>the Spring, in the early Spring, he shall be
-home, home to stay always. I know he will
-not disappoint me. I promised to wait patiently,
-and I have not complained, have I
-Hannah?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no——”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“And I shall be stronger then, and we must
-make the house pleasant for him. It will never
-be lonely any more when he is here. Why do
-you cry so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for
-him now.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs,
-slipped down on the floor with her face covered,
-and Miriam talked on and on of the happy
-times they would have when “Tommy” came
-back in the Spring.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She could be made to comprehend nothing
-of the dreadful tidings. He had promised her
-he would come back, and her faith never
-faltered. But there was a distinct change in
-her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner
-that had been with her always a marked characteristic,
-seldom volunteering a sentence to a
-stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly of
-her son. She would tell every person she met
-how much stronger she was getting, and how
-she meant to go and meet him at the wharf
-when the Nereid came in.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So months went by, and Miriam did get
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>stronger every day. She had not been so well
-in years, not since long ago when poor Tom
-had first taken to following the sea. Bright
-and happy she seemed from morning till night,
-only Hannah noticed that sometimes when
-speaking most earnestly she would stop suddenly
-for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered
-way, with that same wavering light
-flickering up in her eyes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of
-the Widow Aber’s waiting so trustfully for
-“Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come
-back, and they were good to Hannah that
-Winter. The girl had not cast her bread upon
-the waters in vain. When she found herself
-weak and faint a dozen hands were ready with
-some kind office, and there was little left for
-her to do about the house. Those bitter
-months as they waxed and waned were one
-long, mute agony, but the girl did not break
-down under the terrible strain. Trouble does
-not kill the young; thin and pale she grew, but
-strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for
-Miriam’s sake, and with something of Miriam’s
-early nature, she kept her grief crushed within
-her heart. She seldom went out of the house
-now. She staid always with her mother, as if
-fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who
-went to the house from the village, told how
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>dreadful it was to see her sitting quietly, even
-sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips
-when the widow would say,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and
-well, are you not glad? He said he liked to
-see me smile, and he must find us bright and
-cheerful when he comes in the Spring.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think
-what might happen then. Every day, as she
-watched her mother, the dread upon her grew
-stronger. She would have held back the coming
-of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid, that
-now, with its white wings, might return only
-as the angel of death to Miriam. She would
-understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful
-shock! It was the terror of this that haunted
-Hannah day and night.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The last winter month had gone by, and the
-chilly winds of March were whistling along the
-coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly
-up the hill to the house. He brought
-the news that Hannah had so long dreaded.
-The Nereid was even then heading round the
-cliff. She had asked him to let her know in
-time, that she might keep it from her mother, at
-least till after the boat had landed. But while
-he was in the very act of telling, he stopped
-suddenly, and a look of fright came over his
-face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>saw her mother standing in the open doorway.
-She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank
-in her breast like a stone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from
-going to the wharf, but Miriam, radiant as a
-child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste,
-paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was
-cold, that it was too far, that she would go in
-her place, until Hannah, driven to desperation,
-told her mother again of the dreadful disaster,
-and how poor Tom could not be there to meet
-her. Then the widow stayed her trembling
-hands for a moment in their flurried effort to
-tie her bonnet, and looked at Hannah, looked
-at her long and steadily, as she had done before,
-with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always
-seemed as if she was dimly conscious, for the
-instant, that something was wrong, but even as
-the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant
-with eager excitement, “hurry, we must
-not be late. I feel young and strong, and it
-will be such a glad surprise for him!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hannah, powerless to keep Miriam back,
-gave up the endeavor, and went on, with a
-mortal agony in her heart, beside the frail
-woman who, in all faith, was going to welcome
-home her son—her son out upon the silent sea
-of eternity, where even a mother’s voice could
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>never reach. No wonder the girl’s grief made
-her dumb. Was there no escape? She heard
-the waters running in, it seemed to her for a
-thousand leagues, sounding their dreadful dirge.
-At that moment gladly would she have lain
-down forever in the same boundless grave with
-father and brother, where the waves, slow and
-sad, were playing for them this requiem on
-every shore of every land. But Miriam, in the
-extremity of her haste, never stopping, went on
-steadily over the wet ground, bending, sometimes
-almost staggering, before the raw March
-wind that swept in fierce gusts from the still
-frozen north.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A sudden hush fell upon all the people at the
-wharf as they came down. With her gray hair
-blown about in strands, her eyes fever-bright,
-and her breath coming quick and short, paying
-no heed to any one, the widow Aber glided
-silently among them, like an apparition. Unconscious
-of every thing but the ship, even then in
-the mouth of the harbor, she stood, her face so
-thin and worn, all quivering with excitement,
-and her pale lips moving constantly with some
-inarticulate sound. Once or twice she stretched
-out her trembling hands toward the vessel,
-then, gathering her shawl, held them tight
-against her breast, as if she would keep down
-the throbbing of her heart. Frail and shadowy,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>she seemed hardly human, as she waited, with
-her garments fluttering in the bitter wind, with
-her very soul reaching, struggling, looking
-out eagerly in her gray eyes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Slowly the ship sailed up the harbor, slowly
-it reached the dock, and after almost two years’
-wandering, the Nereid rested once more in her
-native waters. As the boat touched the wharf,
-Hannah had taken her mother’s arm, perhaps
-that she might hold her back, but Miriam made
-no effort to move. The girl could feel her
-trembling, trembling, but she only put up her
-hand unsteadily and brushed the hair away
-from her face.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Too well Hannah knew poor Tom would not
-be there, and, as through a mist, she saw the
-sailors swing themselves down. In the dreadful
-trouble that had come upon her, she had
-almost forgotten Luke. During all these weeks
-of anguish she had thought only of her mother,
-but this morning the strain had been too severe.
-She had given up the battle, and now waited
-stonily; she would have waited on all day,
-when Miriam, suddenly breaking loose from
-her, in a voice half stifled by a wild delight,
-cried,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“O, Tommy, my boy, my only boy!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was Luke that stood beside her, whom she
-had strangely mistaken for her son. She would
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>have fallen to the ground had he not caught her
-in his arms. Unable to speak for a moment, she
-clung to him trembling violently. Clasping
-her hands tight about his neck, she closed her
-eyes, and, with a quivering sigh, laid her head
-against his shoulder. Hannah, looking at Luke
-quickly, made a gesture that kept him silent,
-then Miriam, without moving, said, brokenly,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I have waited for you, Tommy. It was
-such a long, long time, but I knew you would
-come—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She paused, while a slight struggle in her
-breath escaped, like a sob, from her lips, then
-went on once more still in an unsteady tone,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I am so glad, so glad! I am well and strong,
-Tommy. I feel a little tired now, but I am
-well and strong. You will never leave me,
-never leave me any more—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was another feeble struggle in her
-throat; then when she spoke again, her voice,
-growing fainter at every effort, seemed to come
-from some far-off distance, drifting in to them
-as from the desert spaces of an illimitable sea.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Do not let me go. It is cold, and the wind—Hark!
-Listen, oh listen how sweet and
-soft the waters wash! Hold me close, Tommy.
-I am weary. Why, it is Summer! Look! see
-the land, the foreign land! Stay, Tommy, I
-am tired—so tired—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>Her head had drooped back heavily on the
-man’s arm, but her lips still moved, and suddenly
-her face lighted up with a radiant smile.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Nearer,—come nearer—How bright the
-sunlight shines upon your face! Tommy, my
-boy—my sailor boy—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So, on that bleak March morning when the
-Nereid came in, Miriam had indeed gone to
-meet her son, her sailor son, on that far, far off
-foreign shore that is girdled by the mightier
-ocean of eternity.</p>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_088.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_089.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>REINHART, THE GERMAN.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_089.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-Poor Reinhart! He certainly was a
-brilliant fellow. Even the German
-Professors overlooked his English
-origin, and felt proud of him. Probably they
-argued that if he was born in Yorkshire, it was
-not his fault. And, besides, as the name showed,
-his family, no matter where they had since
-strayed, must have been, at some period of the
-past, true children of the Fatherland.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As far as he was concerned, he seemed to
-have very little attachment for his native
-country. Indeed, he never evinced very much
-of an attachment for any place or any body.
-We had been together the greater part of ten
-years. He possessed a singular influence over
-me. I hardly know what I would not have
-done for Reinhart. But he was in disposition
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>not the least demonstrative; and whether he
-ever saw any attraction in me, I can not tell.
-I simply imagined so, because time wore away
-without drifting us apart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A profound interest in metaphysics absorbed
-his whole being; and through this channel he
-had crept into the good graces of the college
-authorities. During his long study upon this
-subject, he had woven about himself all the
-labyrinthine meshes of the subtile German
-philosophy. Though only a tutor of twenty-five,
-the doctors of metaphysics touched their
-hats to him; all the students bowed before
-him; and I—I felt sorry for him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Why? I can hardly tell. But he had grown
-thin and pale and nervous within the last year;
-and I could not help wishing that all Germany
-was as ignorant of psychology as in the days
-when the Suabians danced their dryad dances
-upon the very spot where now the great University
-lifted up its towers—this great University
-whose walls were built not of stone from
-the quarry, but of the labors of many lives,
-some of whose proudest pinnacles, reaching
-into a light of dazzling splendor, had been
-reared only by the everlasting sacrifice of reason.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A vague idea had floated into my mind, but
-so very terrible it was that I had never dared
-acknowledge its existence even to myself;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>nevertheless, it oppressed me constantly. Finally,
-it grew into such a burden that I could
-bear it no longer, and so made up my mind to
-do what little I could to relieve myself at any
-rate. A plan occurred to me whereby I might
-accomplish my chief design, which was to draw
-him away from this study that was consuming
-him; to draw him away from his myriad theories
-into life. But before I had said a word, while
-I was still meditating how it could best be done,
-Reinhart settled the trouble himself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I never was more astonished or more pleased
-than when he proposed the very thing I had
-been trying to broach, that the two of us should
-spend the next six months in traveling. What
-had suggested it to him, or what his reasons
-were, I never asked. Had <em>he</em> any suspicions
-of this strange fancy that I would not admit to
-myself, and yet had been vainly striving to drive
-from my mind? Since then I have sometimes
-thought so, and sometimes thought not. To
-the proposition I consented eagerly, and did my
-best in hastening all the arrangements; therefore
-no time was lost before we found ourselves
-<i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">en route</span></i> for the south of Europe.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As I have said, Reinhart was not in the least
-demonstrative. Very likely his natural reserve
-had been greatly increased by his sedentary
-life. But I noticed, early in our trip, that he
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>seemed laboring to throw off his abstracted
-manner. I felt encouraged, notwithstanding I
-knew it was an effort to him, and determined,
-not only that he should see something of the
-world, but, what would be of much more
-benefit, that he should see something of society.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the beautiful Italian scenery my own
-spirits rose perceptibly. The great load which
-had been burdening me lessened and finally
-raised itself altogether, as I saw this shadow of
-the German University that had been resting
-on my companion break. But I know now I
-was mistaken. It was only the battalion preparing
-for action; the marshalling of the forces
-before the conflict.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It had been almost a month since we left
-Germany. Many of the English and American
-gentlemen residing in Florence had shown us
-not only attention but hospitality. One thing
-I noticed quickly that Reinhart cared almost
-nothing for the society of ladies. He endured
-it; never sought it. The most beautiful faces
-he would pass without any notice, or with
-merely an indifferent glance. I was sorry for
-this, because here was a channel, I had thought,
-wherein might be turned the current of his
-existence.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>With this subject still uppermost in my mind,
-I determined one morning I would bring my
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>sounding-line into play, if it were only on account
-of my own satisfaction. We were sitting
-upon the deep sill of the open window, smoking
-our cigars and enjoying the utter tranquillity
-of the southern day, when I asked, indifferently,
-as if the question had been wholly unpremeditated,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, were you ever in love?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He looked up quickly, waited a moment, as
-though at first he had not exactly understood,
-then answered,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Now, I knew very well he never had been;
-for, as I have said, the last ten years we had
-spent together; but at present I was bent upon
-the intent of discovering what probability there
-was that such a catastrophe could ever be
-brought about; so I said again,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, do you think you <em>ever will</em> be in
-love?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I expected a repetition of my former answer,
-but, to my surprise, without any hesitation, he
-replied,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Indeed!” I gasped, with my breath almost
-gone,—“and when may it come to pass?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Looking up, I dropped the tone of raillery
-I had been using immediately, for I saw it
-was a serious matter to him; and overcome
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>by astonishment, I subsided into complete
-silence.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The perfume of roses came in on the breeze,
-and a scarlet-cloaked flower-girl carrying her
-wares, the only person on the street, turned
-out of sight. A small bird, with red plumes in
-its wings, lighted nearly within reach, upon the
-tree, and broke into song, but, checking the
-strain almost in the first note, it flew away, settling,
-a mere speck, upon the northern spire of
-the Cathedral. Then Reinhart said, as though
-there had been no pause in the conversation,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I do not know; it may never come in this
-life.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I looked at him, thoroughly puzzled, almost
-frightened. Then, thinking perhaps I had not
-heard aright, said,—“What?” But, without
-heeding my interrogation, he continued,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Perhaps it never will come in this life.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Yes, I had heard aright. Possibly we were
-each talking of different things; and as a last
-resource, I said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Perhaps <em>what</em> will never come in this
-life?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why, love,” he replied, making a slight
-gesture of impatience, as though I had been
-unpardonably dull.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“But,” I persisted, determined to understand,
-“then it will never be at all, for they
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>neither marry nor are given in marriage in the
-next world.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No,” he repeated, “they ‘neither marry nor
-are given in marriage.’” He said the words over
-slowly but mechanically, exactly as if he might
-have said, or thought, the same words over a
-hundred times before.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>That he believed in the immortality of the
-soul, I quite well knew, for it was the one
-shoot of his English education, which, springing
-in early boyhood, had survived, like a foreign
-plant, amid all the German sophisms. I did
-not like the strange aspect of his face, and,
-somewhat ill at ease, I said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Then, what do you mean?” I waited a
-moment for the answer.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I can hardly tell you. I have always had
-a theory of my own—no, not a theory, a belief.
-I have never undertaken to express it in
-language, and do not know whether I can
-render myself intelligible. I think every soul
-has somewhere in the universe an affinity—I
-am obliged to use the word for lack of a better
-one—and I believe that before complete happiness
-can be attained the two are merged into
-one. It is not marriage: that is purely earthly.
-These affinities may possibly meet in this life,
-though it is hardly probable; but in the ages
-to come it will occur just as certainly as there
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>is an eternity. Mind, I do not call it marriage.
-It is the fusing together of two souls, a masculine
-and feminine, just as they combine chemicals,
-producing a new substance. I believe, as
-I said, these two souls may sometimes meet in
-this life; but it is a destiny that comes to few
-in centuries, and those few should kneel in
-everlasting gratitude before their Creator.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When Reinhart ceased speaking, I could see
-that he had worked himself almost into a fever,
-for his eyes were bright and restless, and the
-blood surged in waves across his usually colorless
-face. With a rough hand, I had struck the
-chord whose undecided vibrations had, a month
-ago, appalled me. The great burden which
-had so oppressed me settled down again heavier
-than before. It was not so much what he had
-said as the expression of his face that filled me
-anew with anxiety. And struggling under this
-burden, I made a poor attempt to laugh the
-matter off.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, this is some of your German
-metaphysics.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No; though you are at liberty to call it
-what you please; but I have never read such a
-theory in any place.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Well, it is an absurd idea,” I retorted,
-“and sounds exactly like some of your humbug
-philosophers, who never believe in any thing
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>but fantasies; and I would advise you to let
-them alone.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>This was hardly wise on my part. I should
-not have allowed myself to express any impatience
-when I saw it excited him, and only
-augmented what I was striving to allay. The
-blood rushed again over his face, but he said
-nothing; only, rising from his seat, he walked
-several times across the room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the silence that followed, a strain of joyful
-music broke suddenly upon us. It was the
-swell of the Cathedral organ, sounding a prelude
-for some wedding. But if the strain was
-ever finished, we did not hear it, for the next
-moment a crash of terrific discord drowned the
-music, shaking the very ground. Some object
-flew swiftly past my face, struck the wall and
-fell upon the floor. I sprang up and shut the
-window quickly. Half the sky was covered
-with a black cloud, and from the carpet at my
-feet I picked up a dead bird, a small bird with
-red plumes in its wings.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The storm passed over in less than half an
-hour, leaving the sky perfectly clear again;
-but for the remainder of the day I could not
-recover my spirits. Whether Reinhart suffered
-from a like oppression, I know not; but he
-seemed possessed by the very demon of unrest.
-He was not still a moment. He had little to
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>say; and quite late in the evening proposed a
-walk. Without any remark upon the unusual
-hour, I acquiesced.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The night was quiet and beautiful, beautiful
-even for that southern clime. There was no
-moon, and still the sky was filled with a soft
-light, brighter than the trembling rays of the
-stars alone. I remember it because it was a
-peculiar luminous haze, that I had seen only in
-Italy, and because, though no clouds swept
-over the sky, and the haze never paled until
-lost in the crimson glow of morning, that night,
-to me, was the blackest night of my life, whose
-vision sometimes yet rises before me, even at
-noon-day, with appalling reality. Ah! why
-were the sky and stars beautiful? O, cruel
-sky! O, cruel stars! Was the sorrow on
-earth nothing to you, that you gave no warning?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>We had walked perhaps two squares, when
-Reinhart stopped just as suddenly as if he
-might have come in contact with a stone wall,
-invisible to me. Alarmed, I said, quickly,
-“What is the matter? Are you ill?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No,” he replied, still standing motionless.
-Then, in a moment, without another word, he
-turned and began retracing his steps.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Are you going home already?” I inquired,
-puzzled by his strange conduct.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>“No; I am going to the Cathedral.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>We had just passed the Cathedral, when he
-had made no motion to enter; but now I tried
-in vain to dissuade him from it. I told him
-that there was no service at this hour; that we
-might as well not have left home as to go inside
-of any house. All to no purpose; he was just
-as determined as at first, until finally he turned
-fiercely upon me and said, with a strange emphasis
-in his tone,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I will go; I must go; I feel something
-within me that <em>compels</em> me to go!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Was this again the vibration of that terrible
-chord in his nature—that terrible chord that
-threatened to destroy forever the harmony of
-his life?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Powerless to turn him from his intent,
-together we crossed the northern portal and
-entered the nave. It was so dim that the
-heavy shadows clustered in a rayless cloud
-among the arches, and at the end, far off—they
-looked like stars in the gloom—flickered
-a few tapers at the altar, while higher up
-swung the sacred but sickly flame that had
-been burning for centuries. There was not a
-stir, not a sound. I trembled all over with a
-singular sensation of weakness that came upon
-me as I followed Reinhart, who went steadily
-down the long aisle to where the transepts met,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>then stopped as abruptly as he had stopped a
-few moments before in the street.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was, as I have said, just where the transepts
-met. There, upon a low platform or dais,
-stood a bier covered by a velvet pall, whose
-heavy border fell in waveless folds. And upon
-it rested a casket with silver mountings. Beside
-it two tapers burned, one at the head and one
-at the foot; and two monks kneeled, motionless.
-Beyond the choir I saw the gleam of the
-organ-pipes, wavering, come and go. The altar
-lights circled about each other, and they, too,
-receded in infinite space; they grew dim; they
-vanished; they sprang again; they fled again.
-The great tombs loomed out and faded; the
-figure on an ebon crucifix, inspired with life,
-writhed in fearful agony, then once more
-became transfixed, and the weak, trembling
-sensation under which I had been laboring
-was gone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I saw that we were standing by the dead of
-some noble family, for the repose of whose soul
-the monks were offering up their prayers. I
-drew a little nearer. Upon the snow-like cushions
-within the casket a young girl lay sleeping
-the last deep and solemn sleep. Or was it a
-vision?—one of that mystical land, whose
-white portals are beyond the sun; that land
-where there is no shadow, no stain; where
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>there is beauty celestial, peace everlasting?
-No, it was all the future we ever see; it was
-still this side the gates of eternity; it was death.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A chaplet of flowers crowned her brow, all
-colorless as marble, and garlands of flowers
-wreathed her robe, that was purer than fleece;
-but her hands held no lilies, no jasmine; more
-sacred than these, they held a small golden
-crucifix, an emblem imperishable, holy. The
-burning tapers threw not over the face, turned
-slightly toward the altar, that beautiful dream-light;
-it was the last inscription written by the
-spirit, even after it had seen down the radiant
-vista of immortal happiness.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Ah! why offer prayers for a soul beyond the
-troubled sea, beyond the dread valley? O,
-frail humanity! Even then beside the pall,
-where rested the solemn silence no voice could
-break, stood one for whom the kneeling monks
-might have told a thousand <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">aves</span></i>.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Reinhart raised his face suddenly. Straightening
-himself, he extended his arm with a wild
-gesture, uttering a laugh that grated clear up
-to the dome.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Did I not tell you?” he cried. “Did I not
-feel the mysterious summons that brought me
-to this spot? Do you see her? <em>It is she!</em> It
-is her soul and mine that will abide together
-through all eternity.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>The startled monks rose to their feet. The
-great arches of the Cathedral threw back his
-voice in terrible groans. Quick as thought I
-sprang toward him, but was hurled off with the
-ease of a giant. He stooped for a moment and
-put one hand to his head, as if a sudden faintness
-might have swept over him; but he did
-not touch the casket. Then, dropping on one
-knee beside it, he raised his face and said softly,
-so softly that the last word seemed to come to
-us from a great distance,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“O, beautiful soul, part of my spirit, I will
-not keep you waiting!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>We gathered around and raised him up. It
-needed no force now; and when they laid him
-down again, with a great throbbing in my breast,
-I folded his hands. He had taken his life.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>O, Germany! like this fair day you lured a
-bird high up into your sunshine, a bird with
-brilliant plumes in its wings; then, before it
-had sung one song from the pinnacle where it
-rested, blackening suddenly into a storm, you
-killed it. Reinhart, poor Reinhart! you lured
-high up into the fantastic light of psychology;
-then before he had reared one minaret upon the
-temple where he climbed, you darkened suddenly
-into a gigantic gloom that, rising up like
-a storm, overwhelmed him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Yes, better had it been for Reinhart were the
-Suabians still dancing their dryad dances.</p>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_103.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>SILVER ISLET.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_103.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-In Lake Superior, near its northern shore,
-a mere speck of land, scarcely two
-hundred feet square, barely shows
-itself above the water. This is Silver Islet,
-and on it sinks the shaft of the richest silver
-mine in the world. Covering almost its entire
-dimensions, stand two buildings. One, a low
-frame house, encloses the mouth of the mine,
-and the other, immediately adjacent, a small
-wooden structure, forms the watch-tower.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Through this tower, every evening, the miners,
-when dismissed for the day, are compelled
-to pass out one by one, and submit themselves
-to an examination, where their clothes
-are thoroughly searched, that none of the precious
-metal may be carried away secreted upon
-the person. So extreme is the vigilance employed
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>that visitors are never allowed, except
-by special permit, and though isolated upon the
-waters, the place is kept by day and night under
-this strict martial surveillance.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>To the north, about a quarter of a mile distant,
-is another island, perhaps six or eight
-acres in extent. It is high and rocky, and in
-one place reaches up more than a hundred feet.
-Here, built upon its sloping side, is the little
-settlement that could count up altogether, it
-might be, thirty houses. Here the miners live
-with their families. Here, too, every thing that
-pertains to the business of the place carries
-itself on; and here it was that father had
-brought me to stay.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I was about eighteen years old then. I do
-not know how father happened to receive the
-position of assistant overseer at the mine. I
-never knew very much about father. Indeed I
-had hardly seen him more than half a dozen
-times in my life, until that day he came to take
-me from the farm. I could not remember my
-mother, who died in my infancy, and brother or
-sister I had none. Father was a morose, unsociable
-man by nature, and I think he cared but
-very little for me. I had been left at my
-uncle’s to grow up, and so, as I said, about him
-I knew almost nothing.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Uncle George lived on a poverty-stricken
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>farm upon the flattest of prairies. I hardly
-know how I did grow up there, it was such a
-wretched, miserable place. Although I had
-never experienced any thing different, it was so
-forlorn an existence, that I chafed inwardly
-against it every hour. I possessed a kind of
-dumb consciousness that surely, surely I must
-be made for something better than this. I saw
-nothing of the world, nothing of humanity outside
-of my uncle’s family, and the two or three
-rough farm hands that he occasionally employed.
-I would rather have had the cattle, the
-poor half-starved cattle, for companions than
-these. They were none of them kind to me.
-I know not whether father ever paid any thing
-for my board; but I know I worked far harder
-than any hired servant. I did not rebel outwardly,
-but I was constantly unhappy. Was I
-to live on all my days in this hopeless, miserable
-way? Was there never to be any thing better?
-Looking out of the window, I thought of the
-great, busy world, and the far-off, unknown
-cities; but before my eyes there was only a
-dead level of the hateful yellow prairie, and
-above, the colorless sky stretched itself out in a
-gigantic, measureless blank.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>From this life it was that father came, without
-word or warning, and took me. I know now
-that he only wanted me with him as a convenience,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>but then I was wild with delight. In
-my great craving for human sympathy I would
-have loved father with all my heart, had he
-given me any encouragement. I did love him
-for this one good deed. I knew not where he
-was taking me, but I was sure it could be no
-worse place. With an intense joy I went up
-and surveyed, for the last time, the miserable
-little room where I had vainly cried so many
-hot tears over my weary existence. I stayed
-my steps a moment beside the one window, a
-little window facing westward. From here I
-had seen the only beauty that ever came before
-my passionate eyes flame up with a splendor, as
-of gold, along the sky when the sun went down.
-A thousand times my yearning heart had
-watched the short-lived glory fade, like a mockery,
-into the dreary blank. From here, too,
-year by year, with a rank rebellion in my soul,
-I had looked out at the shadowless prairie that
-lay over all the earth, a great, glaring, uncovered,
-yellow blister.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So it was with nothing but glad emotion that
-I stood upon the spot consciously for the last
-time. I had a keen, absorbing love of the
-beautiful, a hunger insatiable, that unfed was
-sapping my life. This wretched existence had
-almost killed me; but for the change I believe
-that my longing spirit, like my mother’s in the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>far past, would have broken its wings. Now
-there was an avenue of escape suddenly opened
-up before me—of escape from the dreadful monotony,
-from the intolerable agony of everlasting
-sameness that, by day and night, recurring
-forever, had made up the tiresome years as they
-passed. My whole being was turned to my
-father with one inspiration of gratitude.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Had I known any thing of Pythagoras then,
-almost I could have believed in the transmigration
-of souls, or that my spirit had passed
-into some different body, so utterly strange and
-new I felt at Silver Islet. Here father had
-rented a little house that stood apart from the
-rest, upon the very highest point. The whole
-settlement was grouped within the least possible
-compass, and considerable of the island,
-small as it was, still remained in its original
-condition. There were no trees immediately
-about our house, but to the right, and running
-thinly all the way down on the other side to the
-water, a few straggling pines clung, with their
-rope-like roots, to the rocks. It was no trouble
-to me to keep house for only one. I got the
-breakfast and supper, and every morning put
-up a dinner for father, which he took with him
-to the mine. So all day I was left wholly to
-myself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As I said, so strange and new I felt it seemed
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>to me for a while as if I had lost my own
-identity. Here, for the first time in my life,
-there lay before my eyes a vast expanse of
-glittering waves—the mighty mystery of
-far-reaching waters! Rolling, moving, changing,
-remaining for endless ages, attracting, terrifying—only
-the mightier mystery of eternity
-can fathom the hidden secret of this unceasing
-problem. A hush fell upon my fluttering spirits,
-a hush of profound awe before this symbol, this
-vision of the unknown infinite. At last the cry
-of my soul for food was silenced, the dreadful
-hunger of my heart, that through all my life I
-could not allay, was pacified.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At dawn I saw the timid light creep up along
-the east and wait and brighten, until it set an
-emblazoned standard in the sky, and below, far
-out, covered with the pomp of the rising sun,
-the distant billows clashed their blood-red
-shields. At noon, I saw the mid-day radiance,
-falling through the air in torrents of splendor,
-float far and near, changing into gorgeous
-mosaics upon the sea. At night I saw the long
-line of mighty cliffs upon the silent Canadian
-shore reach out their giant shadow through the
-dusk of evening that, slowly, softly, gathered
-into a twilight sweeter than the luminous haze
-of a dream.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I had no one to care for me, no friend, no
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>lover, but I needed none now. I was happy,
-happy as in a new and glorious world. I forgot
-the dreadful prairie, dry and parched—the
-vast, staring, level of land that for so many
-years had oppressed me by its terrible, never
-ending monotony. I even forgot the thousand
-times I had longed and longed to see a great
-city, to live among its busy throng.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was November, and presently the wind,
-keen and cold, swept down, like the wind from
-the Arctic zone. Mad, pitiless, the boundless
-waters piled themselves in towering billows.
-They leaped and menaced. They broke over
-Silver Islet with a frightful roar and drenched
-it with their freezing spray. They danced about
-it in savage fury. They beat against it continually,
-and the howling gale, swift and strong,
-dashed the foam in blinding sheets. Already
-the long, fierce winter of the North was rapidly
-setting in.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Great layers of ice formed and broke, and
-ground up and formed again, until December,
-still and frigid, locked us within the impenetrable
-barriers of a vast, frozen sea. To the east,
-to the west, to the south, an illimitable wilderness
-of snow, the mighty Superior for miles lay
-wrapped in a silence profound as the grave.
-To the north, shrouded in their eternal solitude,
-cold, white and spectral, the cliffs upon the long
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>Canadian shore held up their stony battlement,
-sheeted in ice, as in a pall. Utterly devoid of
-warmth, the sunlight blazed with a brilliance
-indescribable through an atmosphere that,
-clearer than crystal, glittered as with the scintillations
-of feldspar. But the nights—the nights
-swinging in their long winter arc, were illuminated
-by a glory more gorgeous than the
-unreal splendor wrought in the loom of dreams.
-The stars, myriads upon myriads, studded the
-whole heaven with drops of intense light, and
-the planets, magnified through the vast laboratory
-of the air, showed great balls of molten
-silver against a vault of jet. Sometimes when
-the night was at its blackest, suddenly there
-shot up, flaming from the white battlements of
-the Canadian shore, a thousand lances. Like
-the parade of an army, like the marshalling of
-far-reaching cohorts, the mighty processions
-swept the semicircle of the sky. They rose and
-fell. They wavered like the spears of troops in
-battle. Then the vast battalions, closing together,
-ran up in a towering shaft to the zenith.
-A river of ice-cold fire, it divided the heaven.
-It overflowed and spread out in a sea of gorgeous
-color that receded, wave upon wave,
-until it burned, a deep blue flame upon the
-frozen crown of the Canadian cliffs. I have
-watched this aurora in its changeful mood a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>hundred times. I have watched the illimitable
-fields of snow beneath, while the reflected light
-played upon them in weird rays, far out to the
-remote horizon.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>During the Winter, unused to the severe climate,
-I rarely left the house. So far as was
-possible, I held myself aloof from the people,
-the people, that, as I said, were only the rough
-families of miners. Ignorant and uneducated,
-painfully ignorant and uneducated I was myself,
-still I could not associate with such as
-these. I did not grow tired, but yet I was glad
-when the long, frozen months had passed by.
-As the late Spring opened, Winter even then
-did not yield its supremacy without a fierce
-contest, but in the contest—the savage storms
-from the north—the ice broke. The huge cakes,
-drifting about, slowly, gradually, wore themselves
-away, and the wind dropped its javelins
-of frost.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Late it was in June before the last vestige
-was gone of the bitter cold that had held us in
-its frigid clasp for more than two-thirds of a
-year. Then there opened for me an unfailing
-source of enjoyment. I learned to row, and
-father allowed me to buy a small boat. It was
-almost the only favor I ever asked of him, and
-how much have I to be thankful for that he did
-not deny me! Though slight of figure, my
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>muscles were strong, and after awhile, with constant
-practice, I could row twenty miles in a
-day without exhaustion, and every day now, and
-all the day, I spent my time upon the water.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The Summer, beautiful to me beyond description,
-was like a perpetual Spring. In my little
-boat, alone, I explored the shore far and near.
-I rowed to the very ledges of those cliffs that I
-had watched all Winter long lifting themselves,
-like a huge, jagged spine, against the sky. A
-thousand, sometimes twelve hundred feet, they
-reached up, gray and naked, a sheer, barren
-wall of rock from the water. With the cold
-waves forever at their feet, gloomy, silent, they
-stood in their drear majesty, and the chilly fog
-wrapped them round with the folds of its
-clammy garb. Only in the most beautiful
-weather did this fog lift from about them its
-clinging skirts, and slowly the damp mists trailed
-themselves off in long white plumes of down.
-At such times, floating idly in my skiff, I felt
-oppressed by the vast burden of their dreadful
-silence. I believe there is no greater solitude
-than that which sometimes at noon, when sea
-and sky are unwrinkled by wave or cloud, sits
-upon this mighty shore of desolate, desert rock.
-Yet here, where this profound silence broods,
-upon these tawny bastions of stone, occasionally
-fierce thunder storms play, and the waters
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>in wild tumult dash against their base with a
-noise like the roar of heavy artillery.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So the weeks slipped by, and it was in the
-early part of October that first I saw a change
-had come over father. As I have said, he was
-by nature a reserved, unsociable, even morose
-man. He was never communicative, and to
-me sometimes spoke hardly two dozen words in
-a day. I had grown used to this, and felt that
-I had nothing to complain about, as he laid no
-restrictions upon me in any respect. But now
-I could not help noticing a decided alteration,
-both in his looks and manner. Constitutionally
-a thin man, his face appeared thinner to
-me than ever. So exceedingly pale and worn
-was he, that I do not know that I had ever
-seen a more haggard countenance. His eyes,
-which were very light in color and deep-set in
-his head, had an unnatural brightness, a strange
-expression I can hardly describe, a peculiar,
-watching wakefulness. His manner was restless
-and uneasy in the extreme, and he spoke
-even less frequently than usual. He staid out
-much later than had been his ordinary habit,
-often not coming home until early in the morning;
-and several times I heard him with a slow step
-walk back and forth, back and forth, over the
-floor of his room all night.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As I have said, I knew nothing of his duties,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>nor did I know any thing of the miners. When
-first I noticed the change upon father, I thought
-he was over fatigued perhaps, then I became
-alarmed lest he was ill. Little as he cared for
-me, he was the only human being on earth upon
-whom I had the slightest claim, and I would
-have done any thing for him. I could not bear
-to see him look so badly. He had never manifested
-any thing towards me but utter indifference,
-and so strangely reserved was he that I,
-in my great dread that he might be harsh some
-time, had hardly ever volunteered a single
-sentence to him. I was troubled, and did not
-know what to do. That night at supper I said,
-gently,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Father, do you feel well?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At first he did not appear to hear, and I repeated
-my question, then he turned his pale
-eyes upon me suddenly with a quick, startled
-look in them that frightened me,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“What?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I asked if you felt well,” I said again,
-embarrassed by his strange manner. “You look
-so badly lately I thought maybe there was
-something the matter.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He did not speak at all for a moment, but sat
-there staring at me wildly. Catching his
-breath slightly, he looked all round the room
-and brought his eyes, his pale eyes, with an
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>angry gleam in them now, back to my face,
-then said, fiercely,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“See here, don’t you meddle in my matters!
-I am able to take care of myself.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Oh, father, I only thought—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Do you hear me?” he said, savagely.
-“Mind your own business. There is nothing the
-matter with me. If you can’t do any thing
-better than interfere in my affairs, you can go
-back. See that you don’t do it again, or—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He broke off abruptly, and I, my heart throbbing
-as if it might break, got up and went into
-my own room. I had not interfered in his
-affairs. I had done nothing wrong, said nothing
-to call up such an outburst of passion, and
-his dreadful anger had terrified me. I went
-to the window to try and calm myself. I put
-up the sash and leaned out.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The twilight had almost dissolved itself in
-night, a night so soft and gentle that the very
-waters, wooed from their troubled toil, ceased
-their long complaint and slept. The pine trees,
-slim and black, whispered to each other in their
-mysterious language with peaceful cadence,
-telling, perhaps, of the time when they would
-shed their countless needles. In the west, shining
-like a harvest sickle, hung the yellow crescent
-of the new October moon. Trying to still
-the throbbing in my veins, I watched it grow
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>and change and deepen as it sank, until above
-the water it poised, a great Moorish sword of
-blood-red fire, and a long line of vermilion light
-ran out upon the quiet sea. Then suddenly it
-was blotted in darkness.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The figure of a man obstructed my range of
-vision.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Instantly the dreadful throbbing in my heart
-leaped up again. I drew back noiselessly from
-the window. The man, only a few feet distant—I
-could almost have put out my hand
-and touched him—stopped, hesitated irresolutely
-for a moment, turned about as if to see
-that no one watched him, then with stealthy
-step went across the open space and began to
-climb, catching from tree to tree, down the
-precipitous rocks towards the lake. Once or
-twice I heard a stone loosen from beneath his
-feet, and presently I heard the plash of oars in
-the water, then it died out, and straining my
-ears I could detect no sound but the quiet,
-mysterious whisperings of the pines. I laid my
-head upon the window-sill sick and faint. The
-figure of the man I had seen was father.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Too well I knew now that he was neither
-tired, nor ill. Why should he have crept down
-so stealthily over these wild, almost perpendicular
-rocks to the lake? Why not have gone
-by the ordinary path through the settlement?
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>Ah, why? Something was wrong—but what?
-I turned cold and dizzy. I would not, I <em>dared</em>
-not think.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted
-by a thousand forebodings, I could not even
-close my eyes, and it was almost day-break
-when I heard father come in quietly and go to
-his room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did
-he, but somehow I could not help thinking
-that from this time he watched me a little suspiciously.
-I felt hurt that he imagined I would
-play the spy upon his actions. Whatever he
-might do, whatever he might say, he was still
-my father, and I could not give him up. It was
-dreadful, those days that followed. It seemed
-like living upon the verge of a precipice, or
-that some unseen calamity hung above my head
-ready to fall at any moment and crush me.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp
-and put it on the supper table, I went, as was
-my usual habit, to draw down the blinds.
-Father had not yet come home. As I crossed
-his room I saw through the window a man
-standing close beside it on the outside, so close
-that I could not have seen him more distinctly
-had he been within reach of my touch. His
-arms were folded across his chest, and his head
-dropped a little in the attitude of one waiting.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>His figure was large and thick-set, almost that
-of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and
-passed his hand over his short-cut, bristly hair,
-and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse,
-heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I
-noticed that the window sash was down and
-bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind.
-I went back with an uneasy feeling into the
-dining-room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A few moments afterward father came in.
-He took up the light hurriedly, saying some
-thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried
-it into his room and shut the door. I
-heard him walking about in there, opening and
-closing drawers, and after a little I thought I
-heard a sound as if he were raising the window-sash
-gently. Then he came out. He looked at
-me sharply for a moment, and remarked that he
-had been hunting for a key. Strange! He was
-not in the habit of accounting for his actions.
-After he got up from the table he did not leave
-the house again, but went to bed almost immediately.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the morning when I put up his dinner and
-handed it to him as usual, he said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You need not get any supper for me to-night.
-I have office work to do at the mine and
-will not be back.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I was surprised. He had frequently not
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>come home to the evening meal, but never before
-had he thought it worth his while to give
-me notice. I stood looking after him as he
-went out of the gate, when suddenly an idea
-flashed into my head that made my heart sink
-in my breast like a stone. I do not know why
-it should have come to me then so suddenly,
-with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned
-and ran into father’s room. I looked about. I
-opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his
-clothing was gone! It was as I thought. He
-did not mean to come back at all—Deserted!
-The dreadful word choked up my throat. I
-knew nothing of father’s actions, I knew
-not what he had done, but I would gladly have
-gone with him, have stood disgrace with him
-even, if that were necessary. I am sure I can
-not tell why I clung to him with such desperation.
-Though I was ignorant and inexperienced,
-I was also young and strong, and I was not
-afraid I would fail to make my living alone in
-the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid
-my head upon the foot of the bedstead, and
-heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably
-I would never see him again, and if he did
-not love me, at least, except that one time, he
-had not been harsh to me, and he was my
-father.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At first I thought I would follow him; I
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>would go to the mine and see if he might not
-still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries
-about him would probably only increase
-the danger that threatened, whatever that
-danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing
-him for some crime, I would have shielded
-him still. I was powerless. I could do nothing
-to recall him; I could do nothing but wait.
-Wandering about with only the one thought in
-my mind, after awhile the house became positively
-intolerable. I must do something at
-least to keep myself employed, or I should
-absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably,
-and I had a compressed feeling across my
-chest.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it
-over my arm. I do not know why I should
-have taken this one, for I wore it generally only
-in the bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange
-feeling of dread when any one looked at me, I
-went down hurriedly through the settlement to
-the wharf. I got into my boat and pushed off.
-On the water I could breathe better.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily,
-taking note of nothing. My only relief lay in
-violent exercise. How many miles up the
-shore I went I do not know, but it was farther
-than I had ever reached before, and when I
-drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>the red embers of the sun-set’s fire
-were dying down along the sky.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In this region of the lake, from a quarter to
-two miles from shore, at wide intervals isolated
-rocks rise up out of the water, or mere points of
-land covered with a thick growth of underbrush
-show themselves, so small they look
-from a distance like a floating fleck of green
-that the waves could drift about at pleasure.
-The gulls rest upon them undisturbed by man
-or beast. Lonely, a thousand times more lonely,
-these islands make it seem than a clear, open
-stretch of water. A few of them, perhaps, are
-fifteen or twenty feet in extent. On a dark
-night it would have been dangerous to row here.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I felt weak and tired. The lake stretched
-itself out, quiet and peaceful as a painted ocean.
-Not a ripple disturbed the tranquil surface that
-mirrored the sky like a glass. I drew my cloak
-over me and lay down in my boat. I cared not
-when I got back, the later the better, for I still
-clung to a forlorn hope, that perhaps in the
-morning father would return. I was not afraid,
-for the moon had reached its full and would be
-up even as the last halo of the departing day
-was fading from the west. Out of the water I
-saw it come. An enormous globe of maroon
-fire, it sat upon the horizon and stained the lake
-with its magenta rays. Fatigued and exhausted,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>I think I must have slept, for when next I
-looked, bright and yellow, it was swung high up
-in the sky, shedding through the air a splendor
-like pearl.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I felt glad I had brought my cloak, for it was
-cold, very cold, and I would have been almost
-numb without it. I knew by the position of
-the moon that it must be somewhere near
-eleven o’clock. I sat up, shivered a little, drew
-my wrap closer about me and reached out one
-hand for the oars—when suddenly, midway in
-the action, I held it suspended, motionless!
-Sometimes there is nothing so startling as the
-sound of a human voice. I heard two men
-talking. For an instant I was paralyzed. My
-boat lay close beside one of these little knolls
-of land I have described. I could have put out
-my arm and touched the rank sword-grass that
-grew along its border. I did catch hold of it and
-noiselessly drew my skiff nearer, into a kind of
-curve, so that, though I was on the bright side,
-the overhanging brambles threw me into shadow,
-and another skiff, passing by, would hardly have
-detected me, when instantly I found that the
-men were not on the water. A cold terror
-crept over me. They were distant scarcely
-three yards. I could not see them, but I could
-almost feel the underbrush crackling beneath
-their feet. They evidently, though, had no
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>knowledge of my presence, and I, not daring to
-stir, fairly held my breath. They seemed to be
-removing something from the ground and transferring
-it to their boat which, as I supposed, lay
-upon the other side. I could hear them lift and
-carry, what, I did not know. It sounded sometimes
-like stones falling with a partially muffled
-thud when they put them down. One of the
-men in a rough voice said, with a loud, harsh
-laugh, evidently resting for a moment,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“This repays for lots o’ trouble! That was
-a neat slip we gave ’em all to-night. By ——
-I’m glad to be quit o’ the place! Its ——”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Be quiet can’t you!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>My heart, at a single bound, leaped into my
-mouth. In these few words, spoken low and
-stern, I instantly recognized the voice. It was
-father’s. The other man did not reply, but
-muttered a half intelligible curse. They were
-both in the boat now, for I heard the plash of
-their oars. Presently father said, in a sharp,
-quick tone,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Take care! Sit down, sit down I tell you!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Again the man muttered something between
-his shut teeth. The next moment they came
-round into the light and passed me, pulling hard.
-Then I recognized the thick-set, burly figure
-that I had seen last night. He was in the stern
-of the boat, and I saw his face again, the same
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>repulsive face, but with a sullen scowl upon the
-brutish features.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>They were heavily loaded and rowed slowly.
-They had got well past me when I heard father
-say something; what, I did not understand; but
-the man, dropping his oars, turned his head and
-replied, savagely,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Look’e yer! You’ve did nothin’ but boss,
-an’ boss, an’ I’m tired o’ it! This yer’s as
-much mine as yourn, and by —— I’d jes as lief
-make it all mine!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Quick as the movement of a cat he changed
-his position, facing round to father. Quicker
-still, he stooped and caught up something in his
-hand that by the glint of the moonlight explained
-their heavy load, and all the mystery
-which had been hanging over father’s actions.
-It was a rough, jagged piece of silver ore. He
-raised his powerful arm and struck father with
-it on the head. He struck him two or three
-times. I screamed. There was a dreadful
-struggle, and at the same second that I saw the
-gleam of father’s pistol I heard its report. The
-man raised up his huge figure for an instant,
-wavered, and fell back heavily with a cry like a
-wounded tiger. The boat, without capsizing,
-tilted beneath the shock, filled with water, and
-went down like a stone.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I absolutely do not know how I pushed out
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>from my hiding-place, but with two or three
-swift strokes I was on the spot. For an instant
-there was most frightful silence. I can see the
-waves widening their circle yet. Then, right at
-my boat’s head, father came to the surface. I
-was made strong by the energy of desperation.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>With a wild, straining reach I leaned over and
-caught him by the arm, and with the other
-hand I rowed backward towards the knoll. I
-would have capsized and gone down rather than
-have let go my grasp. I was within a skiff’s
-length of the little island when just at my side
-I saw the huge form of the miner come up.
-He struggled and made one mighty effort to
-catch hold of my boat. No more terrible can
-the faces of the damned look than this face that
-glared up at me from the water. It has haunted
-me waking and sleeping. God forgive me, I
-could do nothing else! I struck him with the
-flat side of my oar. Evidently weakened by
-loss of blood, exhausted and nearly gone, he fell
-back and sank almost instantly from sight.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I worked round to a place where there was
-only grass growing, and catching by it drew
-close to its border. I could never have lifted
-father up but that he was sensible and could
-help himself somewhat. I got him on the
-ground, and from the ground into my boat.
-Then he fainted.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>His head was terribly wounded. I knew I
-had no time to waste. I was afraid he would
-die in the coming hours before I could reach assistance.
-I rubbed his hands. I loosened and
-took off some of his wet clothing. I folded my
-cloak over him carefully and seized the oars.
-Inspired by my strange burden with a strength
-superhuman, my boat shot swiftly almost as if it
-had been propelled by steam. But the east
-was already brightening again with Indian
-colors when I reached the wharf at last, at last!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>They raised him softly and carried him up to
-the house. I paid no attention to their thousand
-questions. I do not know what I said—I said
-it was an accident.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the weeks of his long fever and delirium,
-I watched over him day and night. He did not
-die. He came back to life. How many times
-I had wondered would he be kind, would he be
-gentle to me now? Ah, poor father! He was
-never harsh to any one after that.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When the people came and spoke to him, he
-would laugh a gentle, meaningless laugh, and
-sometimes, holding to me tight, he would point
-to a button or color on their dress and say,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Pretty, pretty!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He grew well and strong again, but it had
-shattered his mind forever.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>How he had avoided the officers at the tower
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>in carrying away the precious metal which he
-had secreted from time to time, I do not know,
-but they suspected nothing. I held utter
-silence about the incident, and if the people did
-connect the missing miner with his mysterious
-“accident,” what was there to do? They
-pitied me that he was simple. Shall I say it?
-Perhaps it was better so. A strange, new joy
-came to me, as every day I saw the pale eyes,
-innocent now as those of a child, follow me
-about with a grateful look. He was easily
-managed, and he seemed to cling to me with
-an affection that would atone for the long blank
-in the past.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I waited until the bitter Winter had gone by,
-and the first steamer came in the Summer.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>What would become of us in the big, untried
-city? I had my youth, I had my health.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I stood upon the deck of the great vessel and
-saw this mere speck of land recede in the distance.
-Father, standing by my side, touched
-my arm, and holding out his open hand, said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Pretty, pretty!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a shell in it clean and white, and
-he looked up at me and smiled.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Yes, better so, it was better so!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He had gone there a man, strong and wicked.
-By the strange mysteries of Providence, he
-came from it a child, weak and innocent, with
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>a soul white as the shell which for the moment
-he cherished in his simple delight.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When next I raised my eyes, only the cold
-waters of Lake Superior washed the horizon,
-and Silver Islet had vanished from my sight
-forever.</p>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_128.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_129.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>BOYDELL, THE STROLLER.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_129.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-He was a strolling player. During the
-month of February, 1868, I was at
-Chicago, gathering up a theatrical
-troupe to do the provinces. I found no difficulty
-in getting my general utility people,
-but still lacked a “first old man.” Every person
-wanted leading business—that was exactly
-the trouble. When I was in the midst of my
-perplexity, I stumbled across Carey, whom I
-knew to be out of a job, and offered him the
-position.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Now I felt that this act was a real charity,
-for I knew poor Carey had never received such
-a chance in all his theatrical days—years, I
-should say; for he was well on the shady side
-of forty. I was amazed, dumb-founded, when
-Carey refused it, absolutely, positively refused
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>it,—Carey? What could explain this astounding
-fact? There was an odd twinkle in his
-eye, and presently the truth leaked out. He
-had just married a pretty, young girl, and—and—well,
-he had promised to quit the stage;
-that was the whole of it. But Carey suited
-me exactly, and I did not give up. I told
-him it was all nonsense; his wife would be glad
-enough for him to accept the position. Carey
-evidently began to waver; the old love for his
-profession threatened to out-weigh that other
-love which had crept into his heart. However,
-it was finally determined that I should call
-upon his wife and submit the matter to her
-decision.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I found her really young and really pretty,
-but, also, really in earnest. Carey could not
-go, that was certain; at the very first mention
-of the subject, she burst into tears. There was
-nothing left for me except to retreat, which I
-did with many apologies.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then, to soften my despair, Carey told me
-he knew of a person, one Boydell, whom he
-thought would be glad to fill the position. A
-few days after, Carey brought him up and gave
-me an introduction. A tall man he was, six
-feet-one or two, with a fine presence, heightened
-by a peculiar dignity of manner and voice.
-There was dramatic power stamped upon his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>English face, with its square, massive jaw, firm
-mouth, and deep-set eyes. I had no idea of
-Boydell’s age. I could not have guessed it by
-fifteen years one way or the other. He was one
-of those singular individuals who might be
-twenty-five, thirty-five, or fifty. There were a
-few wrinkles about his bronzed features, but
-they were surely not the wrinkles of time. His
-thick, brown hair was combed straight back,
-and hung down behind his ears. His dress
-was what might be called the shabby-genteel.
-Black from head to foot, nothing in it was new,
-and one would almost think nothing ever had
-been new. The garments had apparently existed
-in just their present condition of wear
-from time immemorial. The coat was shiny
-across the back, and a trifle small too, as though
-it had originally been cut for a man of less
-length both in body and arms. On his feet he
-wore queer, English shoes, with broad spreading
-soles, and the extra space at the toes turned
-up after the fashion of a rocker. A silk hat,
-bell-crowned, with curved rim, such as we see in
-pictures of Beau Brummel, was set well back
-upon his head.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But, notwithstanding these peculiarities,
-there was something in his bearing that gave
-Boydell the appearance of a finished gentleman,
-and his fine address added to the impression he
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>created of eminent respectability. He accepted
-the position, and our business was speedily accomplished.
-I requested him to call on the
-following day, when I would be able to make
-the final arrangements for our departure, and
-he left with a dignified bow.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Gathering together a company of actors and
-actresses from nowhere in particular, and attempting
-to form them into something like an
-organized troupe, is not by any means the most
-encouraging work with which one might employ
-himself. Again and again my patience was
-exhausted, and again and again I resolved to
-persevere. Several times we had almost been
-ready for action, when somebody would “back
-out,” and throw us once more into confusion.
-Now, however, I determined to surmount every
-difficulty, no matter what, so that the next train
-might bear us <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">en route</span></i> for the West.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>In the midst of the morning’s turmoil, Boydell
-made his appearance. I informed him of
-our arrangements, inquired where he kept his
-baggage, and told him I would send for it immediately.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“That will be unnecessary, as I have it with
-me. This, Sir, is my baggage.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>While Boydell spoke, he put his hand back
-into his coat-tail pocket and quietly drew out a
-scratch wig. I looked at his face to find something
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>which might belie the dignified voice, but
-there was not even the shadow of a smile breaking
-up its gravity. His countenance was as
-composed when he returned the wig to his
-pocket as though he had just shown to my
-admiring gaze a complete wardrobe of great
-magnificence. Indeed, I was so impressed by
-his aristocratic manner, that the ludicrous aspect
-of the interview hardly presented itself to
-me until it was over.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But I had no time to be amused, and, with
-the annoying trials that would turn up where I
-least expected them, no inclination. When I
-sent round for the luggage I found that two of
-the boys had “shoved up their trunks at their
-uncle’s,” and, as it was the last moment, I was
-compelled to redeem them. Then I hired a
-carriage, and went to conduct the <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soubrette</span></i>, to
-the depot. When I arrived in front of the
-house, <em>Madame</em>, <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la mere</span></i>, came out and informed
-me that her daughter could not go, would not
-go, unless I gave them fifteen dollars to get her
-front teeth away from the dentist’s! What
-could we do without a <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soubrette</span></i>? With a groan
-I handed over the fifteen dollars.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Playing in the smaller towns along our route,
-we cleared our traveling expenses, and got into
-pretty good working order.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When we arrived at St. Joseph we gathered
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>up all our strength, and came out in full glory
-as “The New York Star Company.” There we
-played for three weeks to crowded audiences.
-On “salary days” the money was forthcoming,
-a rare occurrence with strolling actors, and of
-course we were all greatly delighted.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Under such circumstances our spirits ran high,
-and each one began to tell of the particular
-<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôles</span></i> in which he or she had, in days gone by,
-electrified an audience and won applause. Boydell
-caught the infection. It happened that we
-had been running plays in which the “first old
-man” was, at best, only a “stick” part, and
-Boydell fretted considerably at his ill-luck.
-One night he came into the green-room, and
-to his inexpressible joy found himself cast for
-the part of “Colonel Damas” in Bulwer’s
-comedy of the “Lady of Lyons.” Now this
-was his pet <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</span></i>, and at the intelligence he
-felt all his dramatic genius kindle into a fresh
-flame.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Boys,” he said, straightening up his dignified
-form, “Boys, you will see me make a great
-hit to-night. The passage commencing, ‘The
-man who sets his heart upon a woman is a chameleon,
-and doth feed on air,’ has never been to
-my mind rightly given.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Many of us had seen him do pretty well
-before, but now we looked forward to such an
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>effort as the stage in St. Joseph had never
-witnessed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The next evening I repaired to the theater
-half an hour earlier than usual, but found Boydell
-already dressed for the play. His shabby
-black coat looked more eminently respectable
-than ever, and was buttoned over smooth white
-linen, or what he made answer the purpose of
-linen,—half a yard of paper muslin folded into
-tucks, and pinned to his paper collar. In his
-hand ready for use he held his one valuable—the
-scratch wig. It still lacked a few minutes
-before he would be called, and he disappeared,
-as he said, to “steady his nerves.” Various
-winks and knowing looks passed among the
-boys; such disappearances on his part at this
-time of the evening were by no means rare or
-unaccountable.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Boydell came back and went directly on the
-stage. The excitement behind the scenes grew,
-for, although few of us would admit it, we all
-knew Boydell was a born actor, and we clustered
-eagerly around the wings in breathless
-expectation.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He started out with dramatic gesture,—</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>“‘The man who sets his heart upon a woman</div>
-      <div class='line'>Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air—</div>
-      <div class='line in18'>On air—air—’”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly his voice grew fainter, and his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>sentences incoherent. Those few moments he
-had spent in “steadying his nerves” had taken
-every line of the text from his memory. He
-could barely keep upon his feet and blunder
-through his part with thick voice and uncertain
-step. He was fully aware of his powerless condition,
-and came off with a moody, crestfallen
-countenance.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When the curtain finally dropped, as it was
-Monday night, they all assembled to receive
-their salary. Boydell stood a little apart from
-the others, leaning against a flat. One of the
-boys came forward and delivering a long, elaborate
-speech in the name of all the members,
-presented Boydell with a tin snuff-box to hold
-his wardrobe—“As a token of their appreciation
-of the great ‘hit’ he had made, and the
-glory it would reflect upon the troupe.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>That night Boydell, from some unknown
-source, had scraped up two shillings.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He could take twice the quantity of liquor
-that would intoxicate any other man, and
-beyond a redness of the nose and a flushed
-glistening appearance about the “gills,” he
-manifested no symptom of intemperance. He
-had a trick of using his hand as a shield around
-the glass and pouring in whisky to the very
-brim, so he always got a double drink for one
-price. When the boys asked him why he held
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>the tumbler in that peculiar manner, “It was
-habit,” he said, “merely habit.” I remember
-at Lawrence, Kansas, they had unusually small
-glasses, and he went into a logical discussion
-with the bar-keeper to show the evil of the
-thing. It was wrong; it looked mean; it
-would ruin his custom. Not that he (Boydell)
-cared; it was nothing to him, it was only the
-<em>principle</em> he objected to; it appeared penurious.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Boxing, I found, was the one thing—aside
-from his acting—upon which Boydell prided
-himself. If he heard of a person about the
-neighborhood who made any pretentions in this
-respect, he would walk miles through rain or
-mud to vanquish the “presumptuous fool.” I
-could not keep from feeling interested in this
-singular man. Reared in the English colleges,
-with the polish of the classics upon him, destined
-and trained for the British army, he had
-given it all up for this worthless, roving, vagabond
-life. And yet—although degraded, intemperate,
-and often profane—there was still
-a natural reserve about Boydell that commanded
-respect.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Our expenses had been steadily increasing,
-and our finances did not prove equal to the
-demand; at least they would not justify a
-longer run. We played two weeks at Leavenworth
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>City, and disbanded, scattering in all
-directions.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I went home to M—— with a feeling of unutterable
-relief. My theatrical experience had
-brought me to the determination of letting the
-stage alone for the present, or trying it in a
-different capacity. Devoting my whole time
-to a more lucrative business, I heard nothing
-about any of the old troupe, and I did not care
-to see one of them again, unless it was Boydell.
-I had little hope of ever meeting him;
-it would be mere chance if I did, and I knew
-he might just as likely now be in Europe or
-Australia as in this country. But we were
-destined once more to come in contact.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>M—— was a flat, muddy, thriving little town
-in Western Illinois. It had built a theater, and
-was a focus for strolling actors and adventurers—a
-kind of center, where the remnant of
-theatrical troupes that had come to grief straggled
-in to recruit. The citizens did not consider
-this a very distinguishing characteristic
-to boast of, but in reality it was what raised
-the place out of oblivion; otherwise its few
-thousand inhabitants might, like their neighbors,
-have lived for ever in obscurity.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Early last Summer a business engagement
-took me to the suburbs of this town. The
-atmosphere was clear as crystal and glittering
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>with sunshine. The cherries hung dead-ripe
-upon the trees; the blackbirds chattered about
-them to each other with red-stained bills, and
-the cats, stretched lazily in the sunshine, watched
-the winged robbers with no charitable feelings.
-The leaves, if they were thirsty, complained
-but gently, and in the dry and pleasant
-fields the grasshoppers, without flagging, held
-a jubilee, and from the level pastures farther
-off came the sound of distant bells, and sometimes,
-close by the roadside, the farmers whetted
-their scythes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Coming towards me a man upon the turnpike
-was approaching the town on foot. As we
-neared each other, old recollections came back
-upon me. Yes, that tall erect figure seemed
-familiar—it was Boydell coming into M—— from
-parts unknown.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The same coat I had seen do such good
-service, only a little shinier now, was buttoned
-over the same—no, it was likely another piece
-of paper muslin. On his feet were a pair of
-shoes, a present undoubtedly, which lacked a
-size or more in length; but this trouble had
-been remedied by cutting out the counters, and
-strapping down his pantaloons to cover his
-naked heels. The fact that I knew his high
-silk hat, the one of olden times, had lost its
-crown, was owing entirely to the elevation I
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>gained by being on horseback. Under other
-circumstances it would never have been discovered,
-for the edges were trimmed smoothly
-round, and Boydell, as I said, was tall.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And so I met him again, the same courtly
-vagabond, the same Boydell of former days.
-His bearing was majestic, almost regal; his
-dress was—a respectable shell. But there
-seemed to be a change, too. He did not look
-any older, although I noticed a little silver had
-sprinkled itself through his thick waving hair
-since we had parted, but there was something
-about his eyes that did not appear natural,
-and a tired, a weary expression sat upon his
-face—an expression I had never seen there
-before. Perhaps he had walked many miles.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I looked after him as he went on towards the
-town, thinking what an unsettled, wild, worthless
-life he led, this man with the divine gift of
-genius, this vagrant with the clinging air of
-gentility. Maybe fate was against him; maybe
-he really had higher aspirations; but without
-friends, without home, the cold, unsympathetic
-world had crushed them; and still watching,
-it suddenly entered my head how easily I could
-guess the contents of his coat-tail pocket!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Some little time after this meeting, when
-Boydell had almost passed out of my mind, a
-gentleman called at my office, and during our
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>conversation told me about a case of destitution
-that had accidentally come to his knowledge.
-At first I listened with well-bred indifference,
-for the experience I had acquired thoroughly
-cured all my philanthropic symptoms with
-which I had once been afflicted, but when he
-related the circumstances my interest awakened.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A man, a stranger, had stopped at the tavern
-on the suburbs of the town and fallen sick. He
-had no money, no friends, indeed he had not
-even a shirt to his back, and the landlord
-threatened to turn him out, utterly helpless as
-he was. I suddenly thought of Boydell, and
-inquired the man’s name. My friend could not
-recall it, but said he represented himself as an
-actor; though the landlord did not place much
-reliance on this statement, for the fellow had no
-wardrobe of any description, and the only thing
-in his possession was a scratch wig, which a
-black-leg would be as likely to own as an actor.
-This dispelled what little doubt had remained in
-my mind. It was Boydell, and something must
-be done at once for his relief.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Generosity does not prevail in any profession
-to a greater extent, especially among the lower
-members, than it does in the dramatic. As it
-was the hour for rehearsal, we went up to the
-theater. We told of Boydell’s condition, and I
-related what I knew of his history. One appeal
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>was sufficient; the contribution they made up
-would at least relieve his present wants.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There, at the tavern, we found him in a
-stupor. Neglected, without the barest necessities,
-he had had no medical attendance of any
-kind. In a room high up under the roof he was
-lying across a broken bedstead, on a worn-out
-husk mattress, with nothing to shade him from
-the fierce, blazing sun or the crawling flies that
-kept up a loud, incessant buzz. And he had
-been sick eight days. On the floor old Mounse
-had crammed himself into the one shady corner.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Old Mounse was a besotted beggar round town
-who had arrived at the state where the rims of
-his eyelids appeared to be turned inside out and
-resembled raw beefsteak. The landlady, who
-was somewhat more compassionate than her
-worser half, fearing that Boydell might die on
-her hands, had sent up old Mounse, an hour ago,
-with a little gruel which he had swallowed himself,
-and was then peacefully snoring in the
-corner.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>We sent immediately for a physician, and
-employed ourselves in having Boydell removed
-to another apartment, where, at least, he might
-escape being broiled to death by the sun, or devoured
-by flies. When the doctor arrived, we
-had him fixed in quite comfortable quarters.
-Boydell’s disease, as we feared, was a severe
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>form of the typhoid fever. From the lifeless
-stupor, he suddenly broke into the wild ravings
-of delirium, so that our combined strength could
-hardly avail to keep him upon the bed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>We reinstated old Mounse on his watch, only
-with strict orders that the granulated eyelids
-were to be kept wide open. Old Mounse was
-one of those rare persons with the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">delirium
-tremens</span></i>, who had hovered on the verge of dissolution
-for thirty years, and still lived along.
-Palsied and feeble, and crippled and unshaven,
-and dirty and whiny, he just managed to keep
-himself on this side of the grave. The adjective
-“old,” which had become a prefix to his name,
-could not have been better applied, for his
-clothes, too, were ready at any moment to keep
-him company and return to their original
-element. Old Mounse’s one merit was, he had
-become so aged that he could just do what he
-was told and nothing more. The case had assumed
-altogether a new aspect to him, now that
-Boydell seemed to have friends.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Every day the doctor reported the condition
-of his patient, which grew more and more unfavorable,
-until one morning he came and told
-us he thought Boydell had not over twenty-four
-hours to live. We went immediately to the
-tavern with him. Boydell, for the first time
-since his illness, was perfectly conscious. Here,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>in the silence of this barren room, unhallowed
-by the presence of sorrowing ones, the wild,
-reckless life was drawing to a close. It seemed
-as if the specter hands of death were already
-stretched out to snap the last binding thread.
-The face on the pillow, haggard and ghastly
-with its hollow cheeks, very little resembled
-the one over which that weary, indefinable
-expression, the shadow, the forerunner of the
-fever, had crept but three weeks ago. Boydell
-recognized me, and motioned to a chair beside
-the bed. He made two or three efforts before
-he spoke.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I am going to die—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>We could only answer by silence. It was
-something terrible to see this strong man, now
-weaker than an infant, lie calmly on the brink
-of eternity; even old Mounse dropped his beefy
-lids, and drew back with a subdued sniffle of
-awe. We asked if there was any thing that he
-wished done. After a little he turned his head
-that his voice might the better reach us.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I have relatives—it will not matter to them
-that I am gone; they hold themselves up in the
-world; it will only be a disgrace wiped out;
-but—I would like them to know, and when I am
-dead, why—I wish you would please write to—to
-my brother. I have not heard from him for
-nearly fifteen years.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>He closed his eyes, and seemed to dream, but
-presently roused himself, and looked anxiously
-about the room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There was something else—oh, yes. Tell
-him that—I am gone. He is rector of St.
-Paul’s Church, S——, Lower Canada.” He
-paused and then said slowly, as though repeating
-his words for the first time, “It is no
-matter—but tell him I am—dead.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He felt up and down the seam of the quilt
-feebly with his fingers, then closed his eyes
-again in unconsciousness.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>All day the dread phantom hands seemed to
-hover closer to that quivering thread of life,
-until sometimes we almost thought it broken;
-but at nightfall they receded, and the shred
-strengthened. There was a change for the
-better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural
-slumber.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Several days after this it occurred to me that
-if Boydell had relatives in Canada who were
-well off, they ought to help him in his time of
-need. Without making him or any one else acquainted
-with my intention, I wrote a letter
-setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute
-condition among strangers. As they held
-no communication with Boydell, they would
-hardly be willing to send him the money. I
-was unknown, and to assure them it was no imposition,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>I wrote if they wished to send any
-assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First
-Presbyterian Church, M——, Illinois.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>About a week later that minister came to me
-and showed a letter post-marked S——, which
-contained a check for three hundred dollars.
-It specified that the money was to be given to
-Boydell only on condition that he would promise
-to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as
-he was able to travel, come home to his relatives.
-I felt delighted at the success of my
-plan, for of course he would accept the money,
-and whether he fulfilled his promise afterwards
-by renouncing the stage and going home to
-Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I
-considered was no business of mine.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When we entered his room, Boydell was
-propped up almost in a sitting posture by pillows.
-The window-shutter had been thrown
-partly open to admit the air, and a narrow
-streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We told
-him of the good news, and after we had made
-him understand how it had all come about, read
-the letter aloud. He listened in perfect silence,
-without changing position, and when it was
-finished, took the check and said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Three hundred dollars?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He held the slip of paper in his emaciated
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>hands, that trembled with weakness, and
-repeated,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Three hundred dollars—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He seemed trying to convince himself of its
-reality; but suddenly a bewildered expression
-broke over his face, and he looked from the
-check to the letter, which still laid open. We
-asked Boydell if he wished to hear it again, but
-at the second reading his bewilderment only
-seemed to increase. He looked at us with an
-inquiring gaze that wandered round the bare,
-desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue
-sky in the window. Then he said, as if asking
-himself the question,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Give up the stage? Renounce the stage?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>His eyes came back to the money in his hand.
-Presently he folded it up, pressing the creases
-with his thin fingers, and slowly holding it out,
-shook his head saying,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Send it back.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The ribbon of sunlight had crept further and
-further round until it stretched itself across the
-broad, white forehead, and we stood in greater
-awe than when the angel of death had hovered
-there. Suddenly before us a dazzling ray had
-flashed out from the black waste of that sinful
-life. The unbroken check went back to Canada.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A month later I was riding in the country.
-A purple light overhung the shadowy prairie,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>which stretched away, broad, level and without
-bound. Occasionally a wild bird rose up and
-darted with swift wings, seeking a resting place,
-for already the September moon waited the
-coming night. Nearer, the tall weeds raised
-themselves from the great, soundless ocean of
-grass, like the masts of receding vessels. A
-single wagon, the only object on all the void
-prairie, stood out bold and sharp against the
-bright line of the horizon, and clearly defined
-above the driver, high up on top of the hay, the
-figure of a man cut the sky. Even at that distance
-I knew it was Boydell.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Some one had given him a little money, and
-with renewed health and spirits he was going
-out of M——. Whither?</p>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_148.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_149.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>THE DEATH-WATCH.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_149.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-“Didn’t you hear it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“When?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Just now.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“They say it foretells death. Hush!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The two men sat motionless. Not a sound
-broke the silence, not even a creak of the old
-boards in the floor, or a sigh of the wind, or a
-flapping shutter.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“They say it foretells death. I heard it last
-night and the night before. What’s that?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Nothing. It’s stiller than a graveyard.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I heard it last night, and the night before
-about this time, near one. ’Taint a very pleasant
-sound, and this old garret’s dismal enough
-any way.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Monk, you’re afeard. It’s nothing. Don’t
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>waste no more time. I’m dead-tired and sleepy.
-You wouldn’t have been in this old hole now
-if it hadn’t been for Peters.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, if it hadn’t been for Peters, the strike,
-like enough, would have took. But he won’t
-stand in nobody’s way again.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>While Monk spoke, he drew out a sharp,
-slender knife, and ran his finger along the
-blade.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I tell you, Shiflet, we must do it the night
-after this blast’s done, and the men in the shed
-say the coal will run out on the 6th, that’s to-morrow.
-When Peters is fixed, the managers
-will have to give in or quit runnin’ the
-furnace.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Both men sat with their arms leaning on the
-table, and the flickering light of the tallow candle
-between them showed two faces, rough,
-begrimed by smoke and soot, and disfigured by
-evil passions, that grew fiercer as they calmly
-plotted against the life of a fellow-being.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We’ll meet at one, where the roads cross.
-It’ll be quiet then, and Peters’s house is alone.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’ll be all right,” said Shiflet, with a grin
-that rendered his brute-like countenance doubly
-repulsive. “I’m confounded tired. Bring
-your candle and light me down them infernal
-stairs.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The men stood up. Monk, small and slim,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>was dwarfed by the almost giant stature of his
-companion. With a few parting words as to
-secrecy and silence, they separated.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk stood on the upper step until Shiflet
-disappeared, then closed the door and replaced
-the candle on the table.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The room, neither large nor small, was a mere
-hole, smoked, dirty, and unplastered, high up
-in a frame tenement-house. Two or three
-chairs, an old chest of drawers, a rickety bedstead,
-and pine table, composed its furniture.
-Some old boots and broken pieces of pig-iron
-lay scattered about. The small, box-shaped
-window was set just below where the ceiling or
-roof sloped to the wall. The only door led directly
-to the stairs that went down two, three
-flights to the ground. There were many such
-places in Agatha, where the furnace-hands
-lived.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk walked rapidly up and down the room,
-as if making an effort to wear off the excitement
-that the last few moments had brought
-upon him. His features had lost much of the
-malignant expression, which was by no means
-habitual. His countenance was not hardened
-or stamped with the impress of crime like Shiflet’s,
-who had just parted from him at the door—a
-countenance in which every trace of conscience
-had long ago been erased. Monk’s face
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>was neither good nor bad, neither bright nor
-dull; but he was a man easily wrought into a
-passion, governed by impulse.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Crossing to the table, he slung his coat over
-a chair, and stretched out his hand to extinguish
-the light. Midway in the action he suddenly
-checked himself, looked hurriedly around
-the room for an instant, and stood motionless,
-with inclined head, listening intently. Not a
-sound disturbed the stillness. Pinching out
-the light, he threw himself on the bed, and in
-the darkness there soon came the heavy, regular
-respiration of sleep.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The house at Agatha nestled under the north
-cliff. A hundred feet above them the railroad
-lost itself in the black mouth of a tunnel and
-reappeared beyond, a high wall of trestlework
-stretching southward down the valley to Ely’s
-Mines. Hours ago, the toiling men and cattle
-had lain down to rest, and now the wild, rocky
-hills around slept in the moonlight. No sound
-broke upon the stillness but the muffled puff,
-puff, of the furnace, and a murmur of frogs that
-rose and fell interruptedly along the shrunken
-water-course. The cabins under the cliff shone
-white and sharp; the iron on the metal-switch
-flashed with a million gems; the rails upon the
-trestle, receding, turned to silver, and the
-foliage of early Summer glittered on the trees.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>A few passionless stars blinked feebly in the
-yellow light, where the hill-tops cut against
-the sky, and sank below the verge. Calmly,
-peacefully waned the night—calmly and peacefully,
-as though the spirit of evil had not stalked
-abroad plotting the death and ruin of men’s
-bodies and souls.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>That narrow spot of ground, with the houses
-down in the valley, formed the world for four
-hundred people. The furnace-hands and their
-families saw nothing beyond the hills and rocks
-that hemmed in their village; knew nothing of
-the mad tumults outside. An untaught, sturdy
-race of men, they differed little one from another.
-Every day, when the sun rose, they
-went forth to toil, and every night, when the
-great furnace over the creek glimmered red,
-they lay down to sleep. But ignorance and
-superstition filled their hearts, and anger, and
-hate, and jealousy, were as rife among them as
-in the crowded cities.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Another day passed, and the night which
-followed it was dark and cloudy. Near midnight,
-the great bell signalled for the last run
-of iron. Occasionally blue flames leaped up
-from the furnace, lurid as the fiery tongues of
-a volcano. The long and narrow roof brooded
-over the sand-bed like the black wings of some
-monster bird hovering in the air. Under its
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>shadow groups of men were but wavering,
-dusky figures. Suddenly, as an electric flash,
-a dazzling yellow glare broke out, and a fierce,
-scorching, withering blast swept from an opening
-that seemed the mouth of hell itself.
-Slowly out of the burning cavern a hissing
-stream of molten iron came creeping down. It
-crawled, and turned and crawled, rib after rib,
-until it lay like some huge skeleton stretched
-upon the ground. A thin vapor floated up in
-the sulphurous air and quivered with reflected
-splendor. The scarlet-shirted men looked
-weird in the unearthly brightness. The yellow
-glow faded to red, that deepened to a blood-colored
-spot in the night. The bell rang to
-discharge the hands, and squads of men broke
-up, scattering in the dark.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk went to his garret-room, hesitated a
-moment at the door, then passed in and shut it
-so violently that the floor shook. He struck a
-match. In the brimstone light a horrible demon
-countenance wavered, blue and ghastly; but,
-when the candle flamed, it grew into Monk’s
-face, covered by the black scowl of rage that
-had disfigured it once before—a rage that was
-freshly roused.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“If I’d had my knife, I’d have done it just
-now, when I stumbled against him. But he
-dies to-morrow night at—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>The words froze on his lips, and his black
-scowling face was suddenly overspread by a
-strange pallor. He stood motionless, as if
-chained to the floor, his eyes darted quickly
-about, and he seemed to suspend his very breath.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A clear, distinct, ticking sound occurred at
-regular intervals for a minute, and left profound
-silence.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk raised his head.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It’s a sign of coming death. That’s for
-Peters. There it is again!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The strange sound, like a faint metallic click,
-repeated itself several times.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“D—n it! I don’t like to hear the thing.
-But there <em>will</em> be a sudden death.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Time after time Monk heard at intervals the
-same faint sound, like the ticking of a watch for
-a minute, and it made his blood run cold. He
-found himself listening to it with terror, and
-in the long silence, always straining his ears to
-catch it, always expecting, dreading its repetition,
-until the thing grew more horrible to him
-than a nightmare. Sometimes he would fall
-into a doze, and, wakening with a start, hear it,
-while cold perspiration broke in drops on his
-forehead.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It grew intolerable. He swore he would find
-the thing and kill it, but it mocked him in his
-search. The sound seemed to come from the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>table, but when he stood beside the table it
-ticked so distinctly at the window that he
-thought he could put his finger on the spot;
-but when he tried to, it had changed again, and
-sounded at the head of his bed. Sometimes it
-seemed close at his right, and he turned only to
-hear it on the other side, then in front, then behind.
-Again and again he searched, and swore
-in his exasperation and disappointment.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The sound became exaggerated by his distempered
-imagination, till he trembled lest some
-one else should hear this omen which so plainly
-foretold his anticipated crime. Once an hour
-dragged by, and his unseen tormentor was silent.
-His eyes, that had glittered with deathly hatred,
-now wore a startled look, and wandered restlessly
-about the room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>An owl, that perched on the topmost branch
-of a high tree near by, screamed loud and long.
-A bat flew in at the open window, banged
-against the ceiling, and darted out.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk shivered. Leaning his head between
-his arms, he drummed nervously on the table
-with his fingers. Instantly the clear metallic
-click sounded again. He looked up, and a
-strange light broke into his face, a mixed expression
-of amazement and fright. For a moment
-he seemed stupefied, then raising his hand
-he tapped lightly against the wood with his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>finger-nail. The last tap had not died until it
-was answered by what seemed like a fainter
-repetition of itself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Uttering a fearful oath, Monk recoiled from
-the table, but, as if drawn back and held by a
-weird fascination, he sat an hour striking the
-hard surface with his nails, and pausing for the
-response that each time came clear and distinct.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Gray streaks crept along the east, and
-quivered like a faded fringe bordering the black
-canopy. Still he sat tapping, but no answer
-came. He waited, listened vainly; no echo, no
-sound, and the dull, hueless light of the cloudy
-morning glimmered at his window. Then he
-threw himself on his bed, and fell into restless
-slumbers.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A damp thick fog enveloped the houses in its
-slimy embrace. At nightfall its reeking folds
-gathered themselves from the ground, and a
-noiseless drizzle came sullenly down.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk had not stirred from his room all day.
-The feverish sleep into which he had fallen fled
-from him before noon, and now he stood at his
-window looking out into the blackness. A
-clammy air blew against his face. He stretched
-out his hand and drew it back suddenly, as if
-he had touched the dead. It was cold and
-moist. He rubbed it violently against his clothes,
-as though he could not wipe off the dampness.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>A tremor seized upon him. Hark! was that the
-dripping of water? No. A sickly smile played
-over his countenance. He went to the table
-and tapped lightly with his fingers, as he had
-done before. In another moment the taps were
-answered, and he involuntarily counted as they
-came, one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—then
-all was silent. He made the call
-a second time, he tried it over and over, and at
-each response it ticked seven times, never more,
-never less, but seven times clearly, distinctly.
-Suddenly he sprang up, and through shut teeth
-hissed,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The seventh day, by Heaven! But I’ll
-cheat you—I’ll not kill him!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He darted noiselessly down the stairs, and
-struck out through the woods. In half an hour
-he emerged on the edge of a clearing, a dozen
-yards from a chopper’s cabin. Creeping stealthily
-to the door he shook it, then after a moment’s
-irresolution cried out,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Peters! Peters! look out for Shiflet. He
-has sworn to murder you to-night.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Without waiting for a reply he sprang away,
-and was quickly lost among the trees.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A moment afterward a tall form arose out of
-the shadow of a stump near the cabin, and
-passed rapidly in an opposite direction.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At the summit of the hill east of Agatha, a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>steep precipice is formed by a great, bare, projecting
-rock. From the valley, its outline resembles
-an enormous face in profile, and they
-call it “The Devil’s Head.” The full moon
-rendered the unbroken mass of cloud translucent,
-producing a peculiar sinister effect. The
-mist still blew through the air, but in the zenith
-there was a dull ashen hue, and the surrounding
-cloud was the color of earth. The far-off
-hills loomed up majestic, terrible, against the
-gloom; nearer objects were strangely magnified
-in the tawny light. At the foot of this phantom
-crag, on a terrace, is the ore-bank and blackened
-coal-shed. Below rose the metal-stack,
-from whose stone hearth a waste of sand sloped
-gently to the creek. The furnace squatted grim
-and black. Its blood-shot eye was shut; its
-gaping throat uttered no sigh, no groan; its
-throbbing pulse was stilled—the fierce, struggling
-monster was dead. The only bright spot
-in all the valley was the yellow circle made by
-the watchman’s lantern in the coal-shed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>After leaving the “choppings,” Monk threaded
-his way through the forest, coming out at last
-on the open road. This road led directly over
-the “Devil’s Head,” and entered the valley by
-a steep descent half a mile to the south. At
-the precipice Monk paused. The wind eddied
-with a mournful wail, and the constant motion
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>of tall trees gave the scene almost the wavering,
-unsubstantial appearance of a vision.
-There was something oppressive in this strange
-midnight twilight, but Monk did not feel it.
-He only felt relief, inexpressible relief; he only
-stopped there to breathe, to breathe freely once
-more with the heavy weight thrown from him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>After a moment he ran carelessly down the
-hill, passed under the ore-cars and into the coal-shed.
-He hailed Patterson, the watchman, and
-the lantern threw gigantic shadows of the two
-men over the ground. Then he walked along
-the narrow cinder-road leading to the bridge
-over the creek. Sometimes the willows, that
-grew on either side, swept their damp hair
-against his face. An hour ago he would have
-started convulsively, now he heeded not, for he
-was free and light of heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Monk reached the stairs, and ascended to his
-room. As he passed in, the powerful figure of
-Shiflet sprang upon him from behind. There
-was a scuffle, some muttered oaths, then a heavy
-fall. Monk lay stretched upon the floor motionless,
-lifeless, and the echo of fleeing steps died
-away, leaving the place still as the now silent
-death-watch.</p>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_161.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>THE MAN AT THE CRIB.<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c013'><sup>[1]</sup></a></h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_161.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-One morning in the Spring of 1867—whether
-in April or May I am now
-unable certainly to determine, but
-think it was in the latter month—I was sitting
-at the breakfast-table, leisurely reading the
-morning paper, and enjoying my last cup of
-coffee, when my eye accidentally fell upon the
-following advertisement:—</p>
-
-<p class='c011'>“WANTED—A reliable man to take charge of the Crib.
-An unmarried German preferred. One who can come well
-recommended, and give bond for faithful performance of
-duty, will receive a liberal salary. Apply immediately to
-the Board of Public Works, Pumping Department, Nos. 15
-and 17 South Wells Street.”</p>
-
-<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
-<p class='c006'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. The Crib is the name given to the isolated structure at
-the opening of the Chicago Water Works tunnel, in the
-lake, two miles from the shore.</p>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c006'>My attention was arrested by the thought of
-so strange an occupation, and whether any one
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>would be found willing to accept the situation
-and live alone in the crib two miles from the
-shore. There all companionship would be cut
-off, and I wondered what effect the utter solitude
-and confinement in the small round building
-rising out of the water, with little in the
-scenery to relieve the eye, and nothing to rest
-the ear from the continual dashing of the waves
-against the frame sides—I wondered what
-effect it would have upon the occupant.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It happened I had been lecturing before a
-class of medical students in one of our colleges
-upon the relation of mind to body, and it occurred
-to me that this crib-tender might prove
-an illustration of my theory. His mind would
-have afforded it an opportunity to prey upon itself,
-and might become perverted. Under certain
-circumstances the mental exerts an influence
-over the physical system, aside from the voluntary
-volition of the will, and it frequently
-transpires that what is mere illusion in the
-spiritual nature appears a reality to the material,
-so closely are the two linked together.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>My interest being awakened, I secretly determined
-that I would try to discover who
-accepted this situation, and notice, if possible,
-what effect it would produce upon the keeper.
-Some time later I learned that the above advertisement
-had been answered the same day
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>(the exact date I can not remember) by a German,
-one Gustav Stahlmann, who presented
-himself at the address indicated, and applied for
-the situation. After a slight examination he
-proved satisfactory in every respect. His recommendations
-were of the highest kind and bore
-testimony to his strict integrity and upright
-character.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The position was accordingly offered to him,
-provided he would be willing to comply with
-certain conditions. First, that in accepting it
-he would bind himself to remain in the situation
-at least two years; and, secondly, that during
-that period, he would upon no occasion or
-pretense whatever, leave the crib. He manifested
-little hesitation in assenting to these
-requirements, as the salary was good, and an
-opportunity afforded for resting from the severe
-labor to which he had been accustomed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>All necessary arrangements were completed,
-and upon the following day, with his dog for
-the sole companion of his future home, he had
-been taken out and instructed in the duties of
-his office. These were few and light, consisting
-mainly of attention to the water-gates of the
-tunnel, opening and closing them as required,
-and removing any obstructions which might
-clog their action. At night he was to trim and
-light the lamp which had been placed on the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>apex of the roof as a warning to passing vessels.
-This was all; the remainder of the time lay at
-his own disposal. A boy might readily have
-accomplished this labor, and he congratulated
-himself upon his good luck in securing so easy
-a berth—one, too, which yielded a good income.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The first time I saw Stahlmann myself was
-soon after he had accepted the situation. If I
-recollect rightly, he told me he had been a
-month on the Crib. I had rowed myself out
-from the foot of Twelfth Street in a small boat.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At this early period in its history the Crib
-was not so well finished and comfortable as now,
-but was bare and barn-like, being in fact nothing
-more than a round unplastered house, rising out
-of the lake. The wooden floor, which was some
-fifteen feet above the water, contained in its
-center a well about six feet in diameter, around
-which arose the iron rods of the water-gates.
-A small room, the only apartment, had been
-partitioned off by three plank walls from the
-southeastern part of the circular interior, and
-furnished for the abode of the keeper. If it
-were rough, there was all present that he could
-reasonably desire for his comfort. A sufficient
-supply of provisions were delivered to him
-once a month by a tug-boat from the city.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I found Stahlmann to be a man rather above
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>the medium height, with a broad muscular
-frame, but there were no evidences of sluggishness
-in his movements; on the contrary, his
-elasticity and gracefulness betokened great
-powers of endurance, and indicated to me
-activity both of body and mind. He was perhaps
-thirty-five years of age, and his frank, open
-countenance was marked by regular features
-of a somewhat intellectual cast; honesty and
-principle were plainly visible in his face, and a
-ready command of language betrayed considerable
-education. He impressed me as superior
-to the majority of men in his rank of life, and
-from this conclusion I was none the less driven
-by the appearance of his coarse and soiled
-clothing. I engaged him in conversation, into
-which he was easily drawn, and I was surprised
-by the native love of the beautiful which he
-evidently possessed. He seemed to take great
-pleasure in pointing out the beauties in the
-scene that laid before our view.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The sun was scarcely an hour high, and we
-could hardly turn our eyes eastward for the
-splendor of his rays reflected on the water. To
-the north the sea-like horizon was flecked by
-the white sails of retreating vessels, some hull-down
-in the distance, others uncertain specks
-vanishing from our range of vision. Stretching
-along the shore to the westward, Chicago shot
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>a hundred spires, glistening and glorified, into
-the morning sunlight, while just opposite us
-stood the grim lighthouse, a motionless sentinel
-keeping watch over the harbor.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I admitted the attraction of the scene, and
-made an effort to turn the conversation to his
-private life. He was easily led to talk of himself,
-although he did it in a natural and unaffected
-manner. I gathered that he was born
-in Bavaria, and that when he had attained his
-sixteenth year, some difficulty had driven his
-parents to this country. They were well educated,
-but misfortune compelled them, on their
-arrival, to put their son to labor. The instruction
-he had received in the Fatherland had
-evidently strengthened his powers of observation
-and quickened his understanding.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I asked him if he did not find his life at the
-Crib very tiresome, and what he did to pass
-away the time. I remarked that I believed, if
-I were in his place, I would be smitten most
-fearfully with the blues. He laughed good
-humoredly, and said he had never been troubled
-in that manner, that there were daily a
-great number of visitors, curiosity-seekers,
-which the Crib attracted, as it was altogether
-novel, and had but just been completed. Then
-he said he had his dog for companionship, and
-that they lived very pleasantly together. He
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>was evidently much attached to this animal,
-whom he called Caspar, for he frequently interrupted
-the conversation to stroke it on the
-head. I was astonished to find him well acquainted
-with the current news of the day, but
-he readily explained this, for usually some one
-who came out carried a paper, which was willingly
-given to him, and having nothing else to
-occupy his time he read it much more carefully
-than we do who are in the turmoil of the city.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Towards the middle of the day I left him,
-almost envying his peaceful life and happy contentment,
-yet doubting if this would last long,
-for, after the novelty wore away, I could not
-help thinking that he might find his solitary
-existence less pleasing. I had become wonderfully
-interested in this man, and determined to
-pay him another visit when I could again find
-half a day to devote to pleasure.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was not, however, until the following September
-that I could spare time for another trip
-to the Crib. This visit, as I said, had been
-prompted out of curiosity to watch the effects
-of this solitary life upon Stahlmann. Although
-four months had elapsed, I found him situated
-just as I had left him, and by the appearance
-of the surroundings, I might have almost believed
-it was but yesterday I had looked upon
-him. When I remarked this to him, I noticed
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>a peculiar smile play across his features, and it
-struck me that his face had not the same happy
-expression which had so pleased me before. I
-observed, too, that he carried himself in a
-listless manner, very unlike his former erect
-bearing. I found him, however, just as readily
-drawn into conversation, although some
-of his old enthusiasm was gone, and he manifested
-an evident disinclination to speak of himself,
-for when I made an effort to bring up the
-subject, he displayed considerable skill in evading
-it. This was repeated again and again
-until I found that he would not be forced to it,
-but I saw full well by his actions that he had
-already grown tired of his monotonous life. All
-my jokes about the solitude, which he had
-laughed at before, were now received in silence
-and with furtive glances. Evidently it had
-become a serious matter, and I dropped the
-disagreeable subject.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He inquired most eagerly for any news, and
-said he had not seen a paper for almost a week,
-as the wet weather had interfered with visitors,
-preventing any one from coming out. When I
-left he repeatedly invited me to come again,
-which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse
-we had struck up a mutual friendship.
-My interest, too, had been increased, as I
-plainly saw that his life had become distasteful
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>to him, and I had considerable curiosity to
-ascertain whether he would, according to his
-promise, remain the two full years upon the
-Crib; at any rate, I concluded that I would
-not lose sight of him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Directly after this visit, business arrangements
-called me away from home, and detained
-me in New York City without interruption
-until last May. During this period, of course,
-I had no means of learning any thing whatever
-concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return,
-the first glimpse I caught of the familiar lake
-recalled him to my memory, and revived the
-old interest. I determined to renew our former
-acquaintance, but found, to my great disappointment,
-that all visitors to the Crib had
-been prohibited by the authorities soon after I
-was called from home; yet I did not give up in
-my attempt to find out if he still remained in
-his situation. After many fruitless inquiries,
-I finally learned that he was dead. This was
-the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed
-by the sad intelligence, I dismissed the
-subject from my mind.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A week ago I made the startling discovery
-that the Crib at the eastern terminus of the
-lake tunnel, within the year following its completion,
-had been the scene of a tragedy, the
-particulars of which, when I learned them,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>thrilled me with horror, and called forth my
-profoundest sympathy for the poor victim.
-The whole circumstance had been so carefully
-kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part
-of the authorities, that beyond two or three
-individuals no one in Chicago had the slightest
-suspicion of the sickening drama which was
-enacted but two miles from her shores.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I was walking through the Court House
-looking at the arrangement of the newly erected
-portion of the building, and while in the
-rooms occupied by the Water Board, I accidentally
-stumbled upon an old memorandum
-book which had evidently been misplaced during
-the recent removal of this department from
-their old quarters on Wells Street to the first
-floor of the west wing. Upon examination it
-proved to be a kind of diary, and was written
-with pencil in the German character. On the
-inside of the front cover, near the upper right
-hand corner, was inscribed the name Gustav
-Stahlmann, and underneath a date—1865. A
-small portion of the book, the first part, was
-filled with accounts, some of them of expenditures,
-others memoranda of days’ work in different
-parts of the city, and under various foremen.
-But it was to the body of the book that
-my attention was particularly called. This was
-in the journal form, being a record of successive
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>occurrences with the attending thoughts. The
-entries were made at irregular intervals and
-without any regard to system. Sometimes it
-had been written in daily for a considerable
-period, then dropped, and taken up again apparently
-at the whim of the owner. In places
-there appeared no connection between the parts
-separated by a break of even short duration;
-at others the sense was obscure, and could only
-be attained by implication. The earliest records
-in the second part were in June, 1867,
-and I found dates regularly inserted as late as
-the November following. In December they
-ceased entirely; afterward the diary, if such it
-might then be called, was either by the day or
-the week, or without any direct evidence as to
-the time when the circumstances therein narrated
-had occurred. In fact, throughout the
-whole of the concluding portion there was nothing
-to indicate that the matter had not been
-written on a single occasion, except the variations
-which almost every person’s hand-writing
-exhibits when produced under different degrees
-of nervous excitement.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>From this black morocco memorandum book;
-from the hand-writing of Gustav Stahlmann
-himself, I learned the incidents of his career
-after I parted from him. They constitute the
-history of a fate so horrible in every respect, that
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>I shudder at the thought that any human being
-was doomed to experience it.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The main facts in this narrative I have translated,
-sometimes literally, at others using my
-own language, where the thoughts in the
-original were so carelessly or obscurely expressed
-as to render any other course simply impossible.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It seems, as I supposed, that when Stahlmann
-was first settled in the Crib, he was greatly
-pleased with his situation. The weather was
-mild and beautiful; the fresh air blowing across
-the water was a grateful change from the close
-and dusty atmosphere of Chicago. Many of
-his old friends came out to take a look at his
-new quarters, and almost surveyed them with
-envy while listening to an account of his easy,
-untroubled life. At dusk, after he had lighted
-his lamp, and it threw out its rays, he would
-watch to see how suddenly in the distance, as
-if to keep it company, the great white beacon
-in the lighthouse would flash out, burning
-bright and clear. Then along the western shore
-the city lights, one by one, would kindle up,
-multiplying into a thousand twinkling stars that
-threw a halo against the sky. Afterwards the
-soughing of the waves as they washed up the
-sides of his abode, fell pleasantly on his ear, and
-lulled him to sleep with Caspar lying at his feet.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But it seemed as if the same day came again
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>and again, for still the waters broke around
-him, and still night after night the same lights
-flashed and burned. Then the time appeared
-to become longer, and he watched more eagerly
-for the arrival of some visitors, but, if his watching
-had been in vain, he went wearily to sleep
-at night with a feeling of disappointment, only
-to waken and go through the same cheerless
-routine. Sometimes for a whole week he would
-not see a single human being nor hear the sound
-of a human voice, save his own when he spoke
-to the dog, who seemed by sagacious instinct to
-sympathize in his master’s lonesome position,
-and capered about until he would attract his attention,
-and be rewarded by an approving word
-and caress upon the head.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Visitors had become less and less frequent
-until the last of September, when they ceased
-altogether. Stahlmann in trying to explain
-this to himself correctly concluded that the
-authorities must have prohibited them, as he
-had heard some time previously they entertained
-such an intention, although he had been reluctant
-to believe it, and still vainly hoped that it might
-not be true. But time only confirmed the suspicion
-which he had been so unwilling to accept,
-and although within two miles of a crowded
-city, he found himself completely isolated, cut
-off, as it were, from the human race.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>Then he searched for something that might
-amuse him and help wear away the interminable
-days, but he found nothing. He would have
-been glad even if only the old newspapers had
-been preserved that he might re-read them, but
-they were destroyed, and he owned no books.
-His former severe labor, performed in company
-with his fellow men, was now far preferable in
-his eyes to this complete solitude, with nothing
-to occupy his hands or mind. He saw the
-vessels pass until they seemed to become companions
-for him in his loneliness; he had watched
-them all the Summer, but the winds grew
-chill and rough, sweeping out of sullen clouds,
-and boisterously drove home the ships.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Stahlmann found himself utterly alone on the
-wide lake, and the fierce blasts howled around
-his frame house, covering it with spray from
-the lashing billows that seemed ready to engulf
-it. Crusts of ice formed and snapped, rattling
-down to the waves. Heavy snow fell, but did
-not whiten the unchanging scenery, for it was
-drowned in the waste of waters. Night after
-night he lit the beacon and looked yearningly
-westward to the starred city. Then the solitude
-grew intolerable. It was like the vision of
-heaven to the lost spirits shut out in darkness
-forever. He was alone, all alone, craving even
-for the sound of a kindred voice, so that he cried
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>out in his anguish. The flickering lights he
-was watching threw their rays over thousands
-of human beings, yet there was not one to
-answer his despairing call.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Sleep would no longer allow him to forget
-that he was shut out from all human society,
-for he lost consciousness of his lonesome position
-only to find himself struggling in some nightmare
-ocean, where there was no eye to see his
-distress. Then he would be awakened by the
-dog rubbing his nose against his face, and knew
-he had groaned aloud in his troubled slumber,
-and Caspar had crawled closer, as if to comfort
-his unhappy master. Sometimes the tempter
-whispered escape—escape from this Crib, which
-had been so correctly named, for it had, indeed,
-become a dismal cage. He felt himself strong
-to combat the waves in flying from the horrible
-solitude; he could swim twice the distance in
-his eagerness to be once again among his fellow
-beings; but his high principles shrank in horror
-from the thought of violating a promise. He
-had solemnly given his word that he would remain
-upon the place, and it bound him stronger
-than chains of iron. He cast the thought, which
-had dared to arise in his mind, from him with a
-sense of shame that it had been a moment entertained.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Early on one bitter cold night, when his
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>house was thick-ribbed with ice, Stahlmann
-noticed a great light, which increased until it
-illumined all the western sky. He saw the city
-spires as plainly as though bathed in the rays
-of the setting sun, and the lurid glare lit up the
-waters, making the surrounding blackness along
-the lake shore appear more terrible. The fire
-brightened and waned, brightened and waned
-again. He watched it far into the night, and
-thought of the thousands of anxious faces that
-were turned toward the same light, until he fell
-into a troubled sleep, yearning for the sight of
-a single countenance. This fire which he
-witnessed must have been the great conflagration
-on Lake Street that occurred in February,
-1868.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He was sitting one dull, cloudy afternoon,
-looking out over the dreary waves, when his
-attention was attracted by the strange behavior
-of Caspar. The dog was greatly excited; it
-would jump about him, whining and howling,
-then run to the door, which stood partly open,
-and look down into the water, at the same time
-giving a short, quick yelp. This was repeated
-so frequently that Stahlmann was aroused from
-his gloomy reverie. He followed it to the
-threshold, and saw for an instant some black
-object that the waves threw up against the Crib.
-A second time it arose, and Stahlmann plunged
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>into the water with the quick instinct that
-prompts a brave man to peril his own life in
-attempting to save another from drowning. In
-one moment more he had grasped the body,
-and fastened it to the rope ladder that hung
-down the western side of the Crib. Then
-mounting it himself, he drew it up after him
-on to the floor.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was the form of a young man, and Stahlmann
-eagerly kneeled over it, hoping yet to
-find a faint spark of vitality. A glance showed
-him that the body must have been in the water
-several hours, for it was already somewhat
-bloated; but even then, in his mad desire to
-restore life, he rubbed the stiffened limbs; but
-the rigid muscles did not relax. He wrung the
-water from the black hair, which in places was
-short and crisp, looking as if it might have been
-singed by fire. The features were not irregular,
-but the open eyes had a stony, death-glaze
-on them, and the broad forehead was cut across
-in gashes which had evidently been made by
-the waves beating it against the walls of the
-Crib. The hands were clenched and slightly
-blistered.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Stahlmann’s frenzied exertions could not call
-back the departed spirit, and he sat gazing
-wildly upon it in his bitter disappointment.
-Then a startling thought broke suddenly into
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>his mind—What, out in his desolate and watery
-home, could he do with the dead? Where
-could he put the stiffened corpse? But as the
-night came on, he arose to light the beacon;
-then descended again immediately, taking up
-his former position by the lifeless form, for it
-appeared to exert a peculiar fascination over
-him; he felt a strange kind of pleasure in the
-presence of the form of a human being, even
-though it were dead. He seemed to have found
-a companion, and the thought, which had
-startled him at first died from his memory.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Hour after hour as he sat beside the corpse;
-its strange influence increased, until it gradually
-filled up in his troubled heart the aching
-void which had so yearned for society. He left
-it only as necessity called him away to attend
-to his duties, each time returning with increasing
-haste. Day by day the spell continued,
-and he grew to regard the dead body with all
-the tenderness he would have manifested toward
-a living brother. He did not shrink from
-the cold, clammy skin when he raised the head
-to place it on a stool, but sat and talked to
-it. He asked why it looked at him with that
-stony glare, and why its face had turned that
-dark and ugly color; but when no answer came,
-he said he realized that it was dead and could
-not speak. Then the terrible truth flashed
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>upon him. With a groan he saw that he could
-keep the corpse no longer, and the thought
-which had startled him once before crept in
-again with increased significance. Where could
-he bury it? In the bottom of the lake, where
-nothing would disturb its peace. He gently
-let it down into the water, and, as he saw it
-disappear, he awoke to wild grief at losing it,
-and would have plunged in to rescue it the
-second time, but it was gone from sight forever.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Might not this body have been one of the
-lost from the ill-fated Sea Bird, which burned
-in the beginning of April, 1868, a few miles
-north of the city? Stahlmann must have found
-it about this time.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>His grief for the loss of his dead companion
-grew upon him each day, and rendered the
-solitude more unendurable. Solitude? It was
-no longer solitude, for the place was peopled
-by the phantom creations of his inflamed imagination.
-Here a part of the diary is altogether
-incoherent, showing into what utter
-confusion his intellect had been thrown.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The waves roared at him in anger, and the
-winds joined them in their rage. Fiendish
-spirits seemed to rise up before him that were
-fierce to clutch him and gloat over his terror.
-The lights in the west danced together and
-glared at him in mockery, and his own beacon
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>threw its cold white rays over the familiar
-aperture where the iron rods of the water-gates
-rose; but that opening had suddenly become
-an undefined horror to him. The very terror
-with which he regarded it drew him to its verge.
-He cast his eyes into its depths, down upon the
-troubled but black and silent water, and glared
-at the vision which met his strained sight, for
-the ghostly face of the man who had been murdered
-in the tunnel peered at him through the
-uncertain light.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was only the dog that he could fly to in
-his agony, but it, too, had a strange appearance
-and answered his call by low plaintive howls
-that sent a shiver through his frame. He repeated
-its name aloud, and Caspar crawled
-closer to his master, still at times making moans
-that sounded sorrowful—almost like the pleading
-of a human voice in distress, and he thought
-its eyes had a strange reproachful gaze. While
-he spoke to it, the dog uttered a prolonged wail.
-Stahlmann shivered, and a cold chill crept
-through his blood; all his superstition was
-roused afresh. The wind lost its rage and died
-down to funeral-sobs. The sound of the waves
-fell into a dirge-like cadence, and that melancholy
-wail which had chilled his blood rang in
-his ears—it rang with the awful significance
-of an evil omen long after it had died upon the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>air. The dog lay perfectly motionless; he
-stooped to stroke it, but it did not move. He
-stared at it with a bewildered gaze, when suddenly
-the horrible reality with the fearful explanation,
-broke upon his half-crazed brain, and
-he staggered back with a wild shriek. In the
-utter misery of his solitude, in his strange grief
-for the loss of the drowned corpse, and his
-terror from the hallucinations of a disordered
-intellect, he had neglected to feed his faithful
-dog, and had starved to death the only living
-creature that existed for him in the world.
-Caspar was dead.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Stahlmann in his agony seemed to hear once
-more the piteous cry which the dog had uttered
-with its expiring breath, and to him the wail
-sounded in its pathetic mournfulness like the
-mysterious herald of another death.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The diary is so blurred at this point that it is
-hardly legible. What can be read is incomprehensible
-from broken, incoherent sentences—the
-empty language of a lunatic. Save one
-remaining passage, I could make out nothing further.
-This entry must have been written in a
-lucid interval when he realized to what a fearful
-condition he had been reduced by unbroken
-solitude. Because it is the last record, I translate
-it literally, as follows:</p>
-
-<p class='c011'>“That cry again—what have I come through? Hell
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>with its host of furies can not be worse than this awful
-Crib—I kill myself.</p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-r c014'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>G. Stahlmann.</span>”</div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c006'>What remains is soon told. A few inquiries
-in the proper direction revealed that on the
-morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
-boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the
-Crib to supply provisions, the dog was discovered
-dead upon the floor, and near by—just to
-the right of the entrance, and about ten feet
-distant from it—hung the dead body of
-Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck
-from one of the rafters. It was at once cut
-down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among
-his few effects was found the memorandum book
-which so curiously came into my possession.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The authorities were in no way to blame for
-this unfortunate occurrence. On that day they
-placed several persons in charge of this lonely
-structure and have changed them at regular
-intervals ever since. Because if the circumstance
-were known, they were fearful they could
-get no one to fill the situation, either on account
-of the solitude or from the fact that many persons
-are afraid to live in a house that has been
-the scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded
-to say nothing whatever about the melancholy
-event, and, as I said before, few persons in the
-city are acquainted with its details.</p>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_183.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_183.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-It had snowed persistently all day, and
-now, at night, the wind had risen and
-blew in furious gusts against the
-windows, a bleak December gale.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The Professor tramped steadily up and down
-his floor, up and down his floor, from wall to
-wall and back again. It was not a cheerful
-room; with but one strip of carpet, a chair or
-two, a table and bedstead, and one dim tallow
-candle, flickering in a vain struggle to give any
-thing better than a sickly light, which was
-afflicted, at uncertain intervals, with violent
-convulsions. No, it was not a pleasant place,
-for the Professor was poor, and lived a lonely,
-hermit-like life in the heart of the great German
-city.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He had no relations—no friends. He was
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>not a popular man, though he had once been
-well known, and the public had all applauded
-his great scholarship. His books, one after
-another, as they came out, if they brought him
-no money, had brought him some fame then;
-but the last one had appeared years ago, and
-been commented upon, and conscientiously put
-aside, and the public, never very much interested
-in the author personally, had about forgotten
-him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>During these long years he had been living
-secluded, waging a perpetual war with himself.
-Entangled in the meshes of the subtile German
-infidelity, which was at variance with his earlier
-training, he found himself encompassed about
-by unbelief—unbelief in the orthodox theology
-of his youth, unbelief, also, in the philosophy
-of this metaphysical land. A man of vast learning,
-and a close student, he discovered his
-knowledge to be always conflicting; and thus
-the long debate within him was no nearer a
-termination than at the moment when the first
-doubt had asserted itself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Preyed upon by this harassing mental anxiety,
-and by encroaching poverty, he was seized by a
-nervous fever, which had gradually undermined
-his health, and almost disordered his mind.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And now, this night, in a condition of exhaustion,
-weary of life and its ceaseless struggle—without
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>friends, without money, without
-hope—his black despair, like the evil tempter,
-rose before him and suggested a thought from
-which he had at first drawn back appalled.
-But it was only for a moment. Why not put
-an end forever to all these troubles? Had he
-not worked for years, and had he ever done the
-world any good, or had the world ever done
-him any good? No! The world was retrograding
-daily. The selfishness of humanity,
-instead of lessening, was constantly growing
-worse. How had they repaid him for his long
-studies? He had shut himself up and labored
-over heavy questions in metaphysics—sifting,
-searching, reading, thinking—only for a few
-thankless ones, who had glanced at his works,
-smiled a faint smile of praise, and straightway
-left them and him to be lost again in obscurity!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The future was dark, the present a labyrinth
-of care and suffering, from which there was but
-the one escape. Then why not accept it? So
-he had been arguing with himself all the evening,
-and, in his growing excitement, pacing the
-floor of his garret to and fro with a quick,
-nervous tread. But there had another cause
-risen in his mind which he, at first, would
-hardly acknowledge to himself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A faint, undefined shadow, as it were, of his
-early faith stirred within him, and before him
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>the “oblivion” of death was peopled with a
-thousand appalling fancies, illumined by the
-red flame of an eternal torment. In vain he
-strove to dispel it by remembering the more
-rational doctrine of reason, that death is but a
-dreamless sleep, lasting forever.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly, feeling conscious of the heinousness
-of the crime he was meditating, and
-knowing that he was in an unnatural feverish
-condition, he paused abruptly in his hurried
-tramp, stood a few moments utterly motionless,
-then, dropping on his knees, he made a vow
-that he would take twenty-four hours to
-consider the deed, and, if it were done, it should
-not be done rashly. “Hear me, O Heaven!”
-Springing up, he cried; “Heaven! Heaven!—There
-is no Heaven! Vow!—to whom did I
-vow? There is no God!” Muttering a faint
-laugh, he said, after a moment: “I vowed to
-myself; and the vow shall be kept. Not all
-the theories and philosophies of Germany shall
-cheat me out of it.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It seemed like the last struggle of his soul to
-assert itself. Almost staggering with exhaustion,
-he fell upon the bed and slept.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A gentle breeze from the far past blew around
-him in his native land. He saw the white cliff
-at whose base the sea-foam threw up its glittering
-spray with a ceaseless strain of music. He
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>saw the green meadows, where the quiet, meek-eyed
-cattle found a pasture, stretching away to
-the green hills, where flocks of sheep browsed
-in the pleasant shade beneath the tall oak trees.
-He saw, far off on the highest summit of the
-wavy ridge, the turrets of the great castle rear
-themselves above the foliage like a crown—the
-royal diadem upon all these sun-bathed hills
-and valleys. He stood within the cottage, the
-happy cottage under the sheltering sycamores;
-and, brighter, clearer, more beautiful than all
-these, he saw a face look down upon him with
-a calm and earnest smile. It was the home of
-his childhood, it was the face of his mother, all
-raised in the mirage of sleep—a radiant vision
-lifted from the heavy gloom of forty years,
-years upon which Immanuel Kant, years upon
-which the Transcendental school had crept with
-their baleful influence, poisonous as the deadly
-nightshade.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He struggled to speak, and wakened. A
-dream, yes, all a dream! He pressed his hands
-against his brow—A dream? Yes, childhood
-had been but a dream. Life itself is but an
-unhappy dream!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The wild December wind still blew with a
-rattling noise against the windows, and sometimes
-swept round the corner with a dreary,
-half-smothered cry. The candle had burned
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>down almost to the socket, and was seized
-more frequently than before with its painful
-spasms, making each gaunt shadow of the few
-pieces of furniture writhe in a weird, silent
-dance on the wall. As the Professor sat on the
-bed, they appeared to him like voiceless demons,
-performing some diabolical ceremony, luring his
-soul to destruction. Then they seemed moving
-in fantastic measure to a soundless dirge, which
-he strained his ears to hear, when the candle
-burned steadily, and they paused in their dumb
-incantation.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A loud knock, which shook the door, made
-the Professor start up amazed, and the shadows
-re-begin their uncanny pantomime. For a
-moment he stood stupefied with surprise. It
-was far in the small hours of the night, and
-visitors at any time were unknown. He had
-lived there for months an utter stranger, and no
-footsteps but his own had ever crossed the floor.
-An uncontrollable fit of trembling came upon
-him, and he lay down once more, thinking it
-all the creation of his overwrought fancy. But
-the knock was repeated louder than before, and
-the gaunt shadows again made violent signals to
-each other in their speechless dialect, as though
-their grim desires were just then upon the eve
-of accomplishment.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>With an effort the Professor got up and said
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>“Come!” but the word died away in his throat,
-a faint whisper. He tried it a second time;
-then, partially overruling the weakness that had
-seized upon him, crossed the room and opened
-the door.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Good gracious! What’s the matter with
-you?” said a voice from out of the dark on the
-landing.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was the son of the undertaker, who lived
-down stairs. They were not acquainted, and
-had never spoken, but they had often passed
-each other in the street—though, until that
-moment, the Professor was not aware that he
-had ever even noticed him; but now he recognized
-him and drew back. The young man,
-however, entered uninvited.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I say, what the deuce is the matter with
-you?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Nothing! What do you want, sir?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Want? Why your face is as white as a
-sheet, and your eyes, your eyes are—confound
-me if I want any thing!” he said, backing to the
-door in alarm.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Indeed, the expression which rested on the
-features of the Professor was hardly pleasant to
-look at alone, and in the night. But, having
-followed his instinct, so far as to his bodily
-preservation, and having backed into the hall so
-that the Professor could hardly distinguish the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>outline of his figure, the young man’s courage
-got the better of his fright. He came to a
-standstill, passed his hand nervously round his
-neck, cleared his throat several times, and then,
-in a husky voice—caused, evidently, by his
-recent alarm, and not by the message, singular
-as it was, that he came to deliver—said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We want you. It is Christmas—we want
-you for a corpse.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It may have been a very ordinary thing to
-them, considering their profession, to want
-people for corpses, either at Christmas or any
-other time; but it was hardly an ordinary thing
-to the Professor to be wanted for one; and the
-announcement was certainly somewhat startling,
-made in a sepulchral tone from out the
-gloom. It was still stranger that the young
-man himself appeared rather faint-hearted for
-one who entertained so malevolent a desire, and
-had the boldness to make the assertion outright.
-The Professor for a moment fairly thought him
-in league with the shadows, for they were
-at work once more, beckoning and pointing
-fiercely, as the wind swept up the staircase, to
-the indistinct figure out in the dusk, that was
-the son of the undertaker, and who said again,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We want you, sir, for a corpse—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Here he paused abruptly, to clear his throat
-anew, as though he found himself disagreeably
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>embarrassed by the unfriendly appearance of
-his host, whose face, if it had been pale at first,
-was of a gray, ashen color now. He evidently
-could not see why his request should have been
-taken in such ill part, and he stammered and
-stuttered, and was about ready to begin again,
-when the Professor said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You will likely get me.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The peculiar expression that rested upon the
-Professor’s mouth as he uttered these words,
-was hardly encouraging; but the young man—as
-though every body would recognize that it
-was absolutely essential to them, in order that
-they might celebrate the great gala-day with
-their family, to have a corpse, just as other
-people have a tree—immediately brightened
-up, and, advancing a step or two, said gratefully,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I am very glad, sir; I am very glad. It is
-Christmas, you know, and I told them as how
-I thought you’d do, for you are spare, sir,
-and—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Here he found another blockade in his throat,
-which, after a slight struggle, he swallowed,
-and went on,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I told them as how I thought you’d do, sir,
-for you see we want somebody that is small and
-thin, and will be light to carry after he is all
-fixed up. Hans Blauroch did for us last time;
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>but this year, instead of parading Santa Claus
-up and down the street, we’ve concluded to
-bury him. It will be something new this
-Christmas; and Hans is too heavy to carry; and
-when I thought of you, sir, I just took the
-liberty of coming right up; because it’s near
-daylight, and there ain’t no great while left to
-get the funeral ready.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So the blockhead had finally jerked out what
-he came for, which was not so malevolent after
-all as he had at first made it appear. He
-deserved, rather, to be praised for his persistency
-than censured for his awkwardness, considering
-the difficulties under which he had labored.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The Professor did not show whether he felt
-relieved by this <em>denouement</em>. He had listened
-without moving; and when the young man
-finished speaking he hesitated a moment, then,
-with the same peculiar expression visible about
-his mouth, said he would be glad to place himself
-at their service; he would be with them
-directly; that he had not been feeling well;
-indeed, he only an hour ago almost fainted, and
-had not yet recovered when he heard the knock
-upon his door; but he was feeling better, and
-would come down immediately.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The young man laughed good-naturedly as he
-replied,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I am obliged to say I did not like the looks
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>of you at first. You must have been out of
-your head.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The Professor waited until the last echo of
-the retreating footsteps died away down at the
-bottom of the stairs, then shut his door.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“A strange thing,” he muttered; “what have
-I to do with Christmas? I, who have studied,
-studied! I had forgotten there was any time
-called Christmas. What is it to a scholar?
-Philosophy says nothing about it; and reason
-would teach that—ah, yes, it too is a dream,
-a dream within the dream called life. Then
-what have I to do with it? Why did I promise?
-I will not go. Yet my vow—twenty-four hours.
-I dare not trust myself alone. A funeral, did
-he say? I will see how it feels; yes, for I will
-probably need one in another day. They
-wanted me ‘for a corpse,’ and I said they would
-likely get me, and I would be glad to ‘place
-myself at their service.’ Ha, ha! They can
-bury me twice. But my vow, my vow! I will
-not trust myself alone. It is nothing to me; I
-will go.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He had been tramping again rapidly up and
-down the room, when he suddenly turned, took
-up his hat, looked around for a moment at the
-shadows that were still making unintelligible
-signs to each other, then extinguished them in
-darkness and slowly went down stairs.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>The lodgings were directly over the undertaker’s
-establishment. Living so secluded,
-speaking to none, it had never occurred to the
-Professor before what a grim place he had
-chosen for his home. But now the silver-barred
-coffins in the show-case were ghastly as he
-passed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Night had not yet yielded up her supremacy.
-A heavy covering of snow, that clung to every
-roof, tower, and spire, made the place look
-unreal through the gloom, like some colorless
-apparition of a great specter city. Close-blinded,
-silent and cold, without one glimmer of
-life, the houses faced each other down the long
-street. Far off, the ghostly dome and pinnacles
-of the cathedral reached into the sky—the
-empty, soundless sky—for the wind had fallen
-away, leaving a gray expanse that seemed to
-stretch through infinitude. But, though the
-Professor did not notice, there was a rift that
-divided the dreary cloud down near the horizon,
-and disclosed, brighter than the pale light of
-the coming day, a star shining in the East.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And it was Christmas morning.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The Professor walked block after block, feeling
-unconsciously refreshed by the crisp air upon
-his heated brow. Then he turned back, and
-when he had reached the building went down
-an alley-way and entered by a door in the rear.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>A great confusion and general dimness, not
-lessened any by two or three candles that were
-burning, pervaded the room, which was long
-and ran almost across the house. Half a dozen
-men were standing or moving about, and some
-were sitting or leaning upon coffins and biers,
-that covered all the floor, except where they
-occasionally left narrow passages between, like
-irregular aisles.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At the Professor’s entrance, the young man
-who had paid him so friendly a visit came up
-instantly, took hold of him by the arm, and
-turned him round, with the exclamation,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Here he is father! He is thin enough to be
-easily carried.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The man denominated “father” by the young
-off-shoot of the establishment surveyed the Professor
-with a critical eye from head to foot, and,
-as there could be no better sample of physical
-spareness than he presented, said, laconically,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“He’ll do.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then there was new confusion and bustling
-about, and two or three persons immediately
-seized the Professor, one by his hair, one by his
-feet, one by his arms. With a grim smile, he
-submitted, in perfect silence, to the operations
-of this dressing committee.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He saw himself—him, Gustav Kellermann,
-the philosopher!—blossom into brilliant colors,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>scarlet and blue and orange. He saw them
-clasp a girdle round his waist, to which they
-hung gilded toys and bells in all directions, until
-he was fairly covered over with trinkets of
-every device. He felt them encase his head—his
-learned, metaphysical head—in a cap that
-was adorned at the point and round the sides
-with innumerable swinging-dolls.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It had been daylight three or four hours when
-all the mysterious preparations, which had been
-done almost without speaking a single word,
-were finally completed, and every thing waited
-in readiness.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There, strangely conspicuous in that dismal
-room, with its dismal paraphernalia of death,
-was a brilliant, half-human, half-monkey-like
-creature, standing up on its hind legs, and flaming
-all over in gaudy colors. To this grotesque
-figure, the important actor, evidently the chief
-agent in the contract, a man of brief speech,
-came up and said, brusquely,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Now, you are dead, you know, and have
-nothing to do but be dead. You are not to be
-fidgeting, or stirring round, or peeping. When
-you are dead, you are dead, you know, and that
-is all.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school!
-Good reasoning! When you are dead, you are
-<em>dead</em>.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>Then they picked up this half-human, half-monkey-like
-object, which had uttered not one
-word, placed it in a coffin, and put upon it a
-mask-face. Carrying it out by the rear door,
-they raised it and set it down on a catafalque,
-draped in a black velvet pall, and ornamented
-with tall black funeral plumes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>O vain pomp and grandeur of death! When
-you are dead, you are <em>dead</em>.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A confused hurry and tramp of many feet
-was succeeded by a pause, and some one said,—“Ready.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The procession reached the open avenue and
-moved slowly down the street to the sound of
-a funeral march. Solemnly, with measured
-tread, they advanced, and the people flocked to
-the doors on every side. There was a cry of
-surprise and alarm. “What is it?” “Who is
-it?” ran from lip to lip. The crowd gathered.
-The procession, with its sable plumes and ribbons
-of <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">crepe</span></i>, still continued on its way. There
-was the sound of lamentation, and at every
-moment the throng and confusion increased,
-the multitude thickened, and men, women and
-children were held off by the guard. Do they
-go to the great cemetery? No, they turned
-eastward, and at the Rosenthal halted. There
-the wondering spectators saw, in its center, a
-pure white tomb. Before it the catafalque was
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>brought to a stand, and the coffin solemnly
-lowered.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Immediately a broken shout ran through the
-crowd, that was taken up and repeated until it
-grew into a laugh, and men and women, catching
-up the children, cried,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It is Kriss Kringle! Ha! ha! See, child,
-it is Kriss Kringle! He is dead. Kriss Kringle
-is dead!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was a great relief to the people, so suddenly
-alarmed, and they good humoredly held
-up the little ones, saying,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“See! Kriss Kringle is dead. He will never
-come any more. He is dead!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a silence; and many little faces,
-awe-stricken, looked sorrowfully down, and
-many little arms were stretched out, and many
-little voices, quivering, sobbed,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no, no! He will come back. He
-brought us pretty things. He will come back
-to us.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental
-school! Is your strength still greater than
-this?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a
-voice—hark! a voice!—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I
-have come back to you!” And from beneath
-the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>all jingling with silver bells, and flashing with
-a thousand toys.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then again there was great confusion, but
-this time no sound of lamentation; and the
-solemn funeral march swept into a strain of
-joyful music. And the children! Oh, the
-children, in wild delight, played in circles about
-the queer, grotesque being, who set to work
-destroying the snow-tomb. He threw it at
-them in small crystal showers that called up,
-each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful
-laughter. He detached the bright toys from
-his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from
-his knees, and rained them down upon the little
-ones who raced round him in their mad frolic.
-Then he took off the false face and threw it far
-away, and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is
-the Professor!” and drew back awe-struck, to
-think they had taken such liberties with so
-renowned a scholar. But the children never
-paused in their romp; and he said, while they
-scrambled about him in merry laughter,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I have come back to you, children. I have
-come back to you!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what
-life was; then how should I know of death?”
-O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school!
-Here are those who teach a philosophy of
-which you know nothing—a philosophy higher
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy
-of love; a philosophy of death that is no
-sleep!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The sun came out and spread a jeweled
-splendor on the snow, over which, hand-in-hand,
-the happy children danced.</p>
-
-<p class='c010'>The Professor is an old man now, and the
-fame of his learning has become great in the
-land. And all the people tell about his funeral;
-and how, every Christmas since, in his scarlet
-clothes and furs, laden with “pretty things,”
-he leads the children in their play, and scatters
-on them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful
-groups, join their hands and dance.</p>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_200.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_201.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>THE FEVERFEW.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_201.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-During my youth I suffered from a
-naturally delicate constitution. I was
-pale, feeble and sickly, but from no
-decided disease. A dreamy, quiet cast of temperament
-caused me to shrink from the rough
-sports of my brothers; the contact of strangers
-was equally disagreeable, and I seldom strayed
-from home. Indeed, I lived almost entirely
-within myself, although by no means devoid of
-natural affection; on the contrary, my emotions
-were strong, and my sympathy easily aroused.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>How it happened that I acquired a love of
-learning I do not know, all the outward circumstances
-by which I was surrounded tending to
-foster any thing rather than intellectual habits,
-for our family, although each member possessed
-a common education, were strictly practical;
-but this difference in my disposition cut me off
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>from their pursuits, and I found my chief enjoyment
-in the volumes of a library to which I
-obtained access.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Perhaps it was the sedentary life I led, the
-close confinement, and lack of exercise, that
-brought on a violent attack of sickness when I
-was in my nineteenth year, so that I lay for several
-weeks completely prostrated. During two
-or three days my life hung as in a balance,
-which a breath might have turned and launched
-me beyond the confines of time. However, the
-disease succumbed to the persevering attention
-of experienced nurses. I arose from my weary
-bed and found my physical health slowly improving,
-but from that period I was subject at
-irregular intervals to what the physician pronounced
-temporary delirium, which I knew he
-used as a milder term for insanity.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But it was not insanity. I never lost control
-of my mind, but I lost control of my body. It
-obeyed a will that was not my own. A mighty
-antagonistic power seemed to creep over my
-brain, which impelled my movements and held
-my struggling soul in subjection. I presented
-the singular phenomenon of one person governed
-by two separate and distinct wills, for my
-mind was not disordered, but only mastered by
-superior strength. In this strange condition I
-would see familiar objects magnified, exaggerated,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>and contorted, in an atmosphere varying
-with all colors, at the same time being perfectly
-conscious of their real appearance. I would
-hear sounds sweet and musical grow into wails
-of heart-rending despair. I could recognize my
-friends when they were present, but was forced
-to regard them with the cold eye of a stranger.
-I would commit acts that no human agency
-could have compelled me to do when my faculties
-were untrammelled. I never submitted
-without a struggle, and always felt conscious
-that, if I could but once resist this seemingly
-invincible power, if I could but once disregard
-its promptings, I should be free.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The attacks were never of long duration.
-They always left me utterly exhausted, and it
-would sometimes require a week to recruit my
-expended strength. I could afterward recall
-every incident with the most distinct minuteness,
-for they were branded in characters of fire on
-my memory. Vainly I asserted again and again
-that it was not delirium, that I was forced into
-subjection to some mysterious power I could
-not withstand; my statements made no impression
-upon the physician, who evidently considered
-mine but a common case of one suffering
-from attacks of temporary insanity, and, when I
-persisted in my statement, he forbade any further
-reference to the subject.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>However, I could not prevent my mind from
-continually dwelling upon it in secret. What
-was this so foreign, so antagonistic to myself
-that mastered my will, that controlled my
-actions, that made me literally another being?
-Why did I not shake off this evil influence and
-be free? I felt perfectly conscious of possessing
-the power, but was not able to arouse it
-from a latent condition.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As I have said before, I was naturally of a
-studious disposition, and I now turned my attention
-to metaphysics. I read works, ancient and
-modern, on its different branches; I studied
-medical treatises on insanity, and, the more I
-learned, the more thoroughly convinced I
-became that I was not suffering from mental
-aberration. Constant brooding over my disease
-greatly wore upon my physical strength; traveling
-was recommended, in hopes that change of
-climate and scene might benefit my health. My
-old aversion to strangers clung to me, and,
-although possessed by a restlessness to which I
-was wholly unaccustomed, I persistently refused
-to leave home; no arguments could gain my
-consent, so that my friends were forced to give
-up the project in despair.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>One morning, when more than the usual
-gloom oppressed my spirits, I made an effort to
-arouse myself and throw off the melancholy
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>that was settling upon me, which each day I
-felt to be growing more confirmed. I was
-sitting by a window, which stood wide open,
-and, just outside, a caged canary was singing
-and fluttering its feathers in the warm spring
-sunshine. The little bird was my particular
-property, and I regarded it with an affection
-which is rarely bestowed upon pets. With the
-exception of my young sister, a child about four
-years of age, this was the only living thing that
-I had taken any interest in since my sickness.
-I had trained the canary from the shell, and the
-little creature seemed to repay all my care, for
-from no other member of the family would it
-receive caresses. I was so much afraid of its
-being accidentally injured that I never allowed
-it to be freed from the cage, except in my presence.
-At my call it would fly about me, resting
-on my head, shoulders, or hands, and chirping
-in a perfect ecstasy of enjoyment.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I arose and opened the door of its prison,
-then, reseating myself, softly whistled while it
-darted into the air, wheeled once or twice, and
-descended upon my hand. Stroking its spotless
-yellow plumage, I regarded the little thing with
-a degree of pleasure I had not experienced for
-several weeks. But sudden horror almost
-caused my heart to cease its beatings, and the
-perspiration started from my forehead in great
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>drops, for I felt my fingers slowly closing over
-the delicate bird. Although I made an attempt
-greater than the racking effort we sometimes
-exert in the nightmare, I had no power to restrain
-them. The canary fluttered in my clasp.
-I would have dropped it, I would have shrieked
-for help, but my muscles, my voice, my <em>body</em>,
-obeyed me not, and my fingers, like the steady
-working of machinery, gradually tightened their
-relentless grasp. In my agony the veins of my
-face protruded like lines of cordage. I heard
-the frail bones breaking beneath the crushing
-pressure, then my involuntary grip suddenly
-relaxed, and the bird fell upon my knee, dead
-and mangled!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At the same moment, I saw, through the open
-door, my little sister playing upon the grass-plat;
-and, almost before I was aware of moving, or
-of any volition, I found myself walking rapidly
-toward her, while my fingers twitched with a
-convulsive, clutching movement. Good Heavens!
-I already saw her face turn purple, and
-heard her gasping breath smothered by gurgling
-blood. With this terrible picture before my
-mental vision, my brain felt as if it would burst
-its bounds in the desperate, but unavailing effort
-I made to turn back, to fly from the spot. But
-I could not command myself. In that moment
-I endured suffering more intense than language
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>can describe. Perhaps my strange and wild
-appearance frightened the child; for, in place
-of holding out her arms to me, her favorite
-brother, she fled crying to the nurse, who did
-not observe my approach, and carried her into
-the house. Saved! unconsciously saved—saved
-from a fate too terrible to contemplate.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I sank insensible upon the ground, and, when
-I recovered, found myself surrounded by the
-family, each one applying some restorative, for
-I had been in a long and death-like swoon.
-Slowly, but distinctly, the recollections of the
-events which had reduced me to this condition
-presented themselves to my memory with all
-their appalling horror, nearly depriving me again
-of consciousness.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I did not refer in any manner to the subject,
-which was also carefully avoided by all others
-in my presence, for fear that it might produce
-renewed excitement, and my friends had no
-suspicion of the circumstances which brought it
-about. The bird was found dead upon the floor,
-and the family imagined that it had met with
-some accident. They were evidently surprised,
-when the fact was communicated to me, that I
-made no remarks, for they had anticipated an
-outburst of grief.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Grief! I did not suffer from grief; grief was
-overpowered by the horror that racked my brain—horror
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>for the act I had committed, and the
-more fearful one which had been so mercifully
-prevented. I had committed? No, it was not
-<em>my</em> mind or will which had prompted my hand
-to do the deed. I was innocent, even though
-my fingers had dripped with the blood of a
-sister; but the frightful thought filled me with
-a terror that wrung my soul. I pondered continually
-upon it. When might not this mysterious
-demon again assert its evil control over me?
-Strange as it may seem, I felt certain that it was
-some foreign agency—I knew not what—that
-mastered my will, and not the result of my own
-intellect, in a disordered condition.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>This overpowering dread of the future, of
-what might happen, which took possession of
-me, drove me to the decision of leaving home,
-as the best way of avoiding danger to my
-friends. Perhaps, too, if my physical health
-became better, I might gain strength enough to
-defy this infernal power; for, as I have said before,
-I possessed a singular consciousness that,
-if I could once successfully resist its promptings,
-my soul would be liberated from thraldom. I
-announced my determination of making a
-journey, without any explanation of my sudden
-change, and it was greeted with delight by my
-friends and relatives, who were anxious to
-hasten my departure while the humor was upon
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>me; but they need not have feared any change
-of purpose on my part, for I was haunted by this
-terrible dread of the future, and I gladly said
-farewell for a time to my home and birthplace.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The incidents of travel and of new scenes
-broke the monotony, and dispelled to some degree
-the gloom that had taken fast hold upon
-me. In a short period I found myself rapidly
-improving. Every week brought me an increase
-of strength, and I suffered less frequently from
-these frightful attacks. Although they occurred
-at longer intervals than formerly, they seemed
-to grow more severe in character; the conflict
-was fiercer, and my mind made a more desperate
-effort to gain the supremacy. My whole frame
-would be racked by the intense struggle which
-I constantly maintained, though I was constantly
-vanquished.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The increasing delight I took in the scenery,
-the continued exercise and excitement, almost
-drove despair from me, and hope once more
-brightened my countenance. I began to look
-forward to the time when my health would be
-entirely restored, and my body and mind be in
-unison. I did not hope vainly, for the final
-conflict came, and with it a strange termination
-of my long sufferings.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>I stood upon the side of an Eastern mountain.
-Above my head vast rocks arose in solemn
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>grandeur, their summits lost in canopied mists
-which, gray and clinging, wrapped them in
-obscurity. Below, a great chasm rent the
-mountain; a yawning, bottomless gulf. While
-I gazed, awed by the thought of its mysterious
-depths, where no human eye had seen, where no
-human foot had trod, a ray of light struggled
-in and rested on gaunt trees, on snake-like
-ferns, damp and cold, that clung to its slimy
-sides, and on one pale flower which nodded in
-the chill draught that came up, a palpable
-horror, from the blackness of darkness. I turned
-away. Near the western horizon dead clouds
-were piled one above another, and their heavy
-shadow lay brown and dark upon the sullen
-earth. No wind stirred the forests, or rustled
-their motionless leaves, and the awe of the unbroken
-silence fell, with a dread oppression,
-upon my heart.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly I was seized by an ungovernable
-desire to possess the flower—the colorless flower
-that hung far down in the death-damp of the
-chasm. A freezing terror crept through my
-blood as I recognized this decree of a will I had
-never been able to disobey. I felt myself crawling
-closer to the verge of the precipice; nearer,
-yet nearer, until I sat within the very jaw of
-the savage gulf. The dead clouds heaved their
-shroud-like forms and wavered overhead. I
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>heard the rush of subterranean waters sounding
-a muffled requiem. The sickly flower with its
-long stem writhed and twisted, as a serpent
-stretches his folds into the air. Slowly back and
-forth it swayed, glaring at me like a lustreless
-eye.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>My brain reeled, and all the forces of my
-nature gathered up their increased strength for
-one fierce and final conflict. I felt the blood
-rage through my veins with the headlong fury
-of cataracts. The very spring of life within me
-was stirred and troubled, when, with one mighty
-strain, I drew myself up and fell backward on
-the grass.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The whole world went out in utter darkness.
-Before my eyes stretched a vast, illimitable
-gloom, when suddenly out of its impenetrable
-depths above my head there grew and glimmered
-faintly a thin and wavering mist. Folding
-upon itself, it hung down, white and luminous,
-a cloud of palpitating nebulæ. Pricked with a
-thousand points of fire it gathered slowly to a
-nucleus in the center—a flickering speck, a disc,
-it flamed, blazed into a star, and lo! poised
-midway in the air, an aureole of light, it rested
-upon the brow of a female figure.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Her scornful eyes looked down upon me with
-a lurid gleam that seemed to burn my soul. A
-smile of derision sat upon her lips that were
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>more vivid in hue than the vermilion dye. Her
-locks were yellow as the sun at noontide; her
-skin was white as the leper’s; her breath hot
-as the desert air, and the light of the star upon
-her forehead burned red with the frightful redness
-of fresh blood. Suddenly I saw that the
-murky clouds on either side her form swarmed
-with a thousand dwarfed and warted shapes.
-Black and hideous, they knotted, flitted to and
-fro, in and out, with their formless claws and
-tumultuous motion. She spread her wings.
-Immediately there gathered all the dusky shapes—the
-legion demons of delirium with their
-needle eyes—and settled down upon her sable
-plumes. A shrill phantom laugh rang out,
-mocked itself by echoes that ran up in thin
-shafts of sound to the skies, and the <span class='fss'>SPIRIT OF
-FEVER</span> had fled from me forever!</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The rays of the sun as it sank to rest, slanting
-through rose-colored avenues, fell upon the
-gray mists, and crowned the mountain’s summit
-in a rainbow of glory. The rising breeze swept
-through the forests with a soothing sound, and,
-eastward, the eye was lost in mellow lines of
-golden haze, which to my soul freed from captivity,
-seemed cathedral aisles of peace.</p>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_213.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<div class='c010'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_213.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-“You’re right! I ain’t got no relatives
-an’ nobody to look after, so thar
-isn’t any sense in workin’ too much.
-That’s just what I say.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And that is just what he always did say, poor
-Simlin, but he never ceased, notwithstanding.
-Nearly every body that knew him and spoke to
-him about it always found him quick to acquiesce:
-“Thar was nothin’ plainer than what
-they said, and it was just what he said, too.”
-But it did not make the slightest difference, for
-he continued to work away all the same; so
-what else could be done but merely to give up
-the question?</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Now, if he had only expressed himself in
-decided opposition, there might have been something
-to hope for in the matter—at least, it
-would have opened the way for an argument
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>upon the subject; and, then, there was always
-the possibility that he might be induced to
-change his mind. However, his provoking approval
-put the case wholly beyond reach. And
-so old Simlin, toiling early and late, quietly
-followed his vocation.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was not a better moulder in the whole
-foundry, or one that drew much higher wages.
-But, then, he was getting old. To be sure, he
-never had been young, so far as they knew any
-thing about him, even ten years ago, when,
-altogether unknown and friendless, he had first
-made his appearance in the village. But these
-ten years combined had not worn upon him like
-the last one. His head now, if once the soot
-had been removed, would not have shown a
-single black hair; and his voice was weak and
-cracked, and there was a visible trembling about
-the old man’s legs. Perhaps he did imbibe
-liquor; but nobody had any right to say so, for
-nobody could prove that it was true. Only of
-late he had a strangely confused manner when
-anyone addressed him, and, raising his unsteady
-hand nervously to his head, would repeat the
-sentence that had been on his lips a hundred,
-yes, a thousand times, until it had long ago
-grown into a stereotyped form—“I ain’t got no
-relatives an’ nobody to look after, so thar isn’t
-any sense in workin’ too much.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>Perhaps he really thought that the people
-would never see that he was straining every
-effort, using every moment of his time, though,
-before the sun was up, and often after it was
-gone, the old man was at his place. And Simlin
-was always the first on hand if there was an
-extra job that would bring an extra cent.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But, other than making the assertion that he
-had no relatives, and nobody depending upon
-him, and that he did not think it worth while
-to work over-much, he never carried on a conversation.
-That there was no one to look after
-<em>him</em> was a self-evident fact. He lived utterly
-alone, in a small cabin on the brow of the hill.
-Rarely a soul but himself ever crossed its threshold.
-Under the step the gray gophers made
-their burrow, and, beneath the tall beech trees,
-that threw down their prickly nuts, the brown
-weasels played in peaceful groups. The shy
-quail, sounding their whistle, fled among the
-ferns; and above, from the myriad branches,
-the beautiful wild doves mourned out their
-perpetual sadness. At evening, when the sun
-went down, and the long line of the Scioto
-Hills flushed crimson with serene glory; when,
-by slow degrees, the pageant of departing day
-withdrew its gorgeous colors; even when the
-valley below was black with the gloom of night,
-the western radiance lingered, like the transforming
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>light of some other land, upon the rude
-cabin, standing on its high and solitary perch.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Empty and bare, it afforded but little protection
-from the weather, for through it the
-winds blew in Winter, and the rains dripped in
-Summer. Simlin’s wants, however, appeared to
-be few and simple. He seldom had a fire, even
-at the coldest season. What he subsisted upon,
-nobody knew. Once, perhaps, in two or three
-days, he would buy a loaf of coarse bread from
-the baker in the village, and his table evidently
-was supplied in the most frugal manner.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The people put down his besetting sin to be
-avarice; and the hut, if it contained no furniture,
-was reported to contain wealth enough,
-hidden away in its obscure cracks and corners,
-to have draped its dreary boards in the most
-costly velvet and lace, and encased its walls
-with marble. Of course, he was a miser. More
-than ten years now he had been at the foundry,
-and not a cent of the wages which he drew
-regularly had he spent, or put so much as a
-farthing into the savings bank, where many of
-the hands had laid up quite a pile. But, unlike
-the majority of misers, the old man never complained
-of being poor; indeed, he never complained
-at all, or spoke of money in any way.
-If the subject was brought up in his presence,
-he either preserved utter silence or quietly got
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>up and left; and, if driven to the last extremity,
-and made to say something, he would remark,
-running into the same old channel, that “It
-didn’t much matter—he hadn’t any relatives
-nor any body dependin’ upon him.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So lonely and forlorn did he seem, and so
-harmless withal—for the old man never was
-known to do a mean action, or resent an angry
-word—that many uncouth kindnesses had been
-shown him on the part of the hands, with whom
-he was by no means unpopular. Especially had
-this been the case latterly; for, though he himself
-was apparently unconscious of it, so terribly
-broken had he become that the change was
-sorrowful to behold; and, rude as were the
-foundry-workmen, what there was pathetic in
-the patient manner in which the feeble old
-man silently worked on told upon them by
-instinct.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There had even been an interest taken in him
-up at the great house. Every season, “the
-colonel,” as the owner and sole proprietor of
-the Rocky Ford Foundry was called by all the
-employes, brought his family down from the
-city to spend a few months rusticating in the
-beautiful Scioto Valley, where he had built a
-summer residence for that purpose, and that he
-might be near his great iron-works at the same
-time. There was always gay company up at
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>the house—visitors from town, who needed no
-second invitation to entice them from the dust
-of the city to this peaceful retreat among the
-lovely hills of Ohio. Besides, the colonel had a
-beautiful daughter, and every body liked the
-“young misses.” Seldom, though, did she ever
-go down to the foundry; never, indeed unless
-some special object took her there.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Coming from her home a mile distant—this
-home for her embowered in perpetual Summer
-and wrapped in the peace that broods upon the
-everlasting hills, where she could see, far off,
-the golden meadow-lands and the more distant
-Paint Ridge, with its transparent veil of mist;
-this home from which she had often looked out
-and listened to the blue Scioto, unflecked with
-sail or skiff, struggling by day and night to tell
-its mysterious story, as it flowed forever on its
-lonely course—coming from this home, over
-the narrow path that led down the slope to the
-river’s edge, where the green rushes grew and
-the wild columbine hung its bells above the
-water—coming on, past the great rocks, where
-the scarlet lichens flamed in the sun and the
-blossoming alder displayed its drifted clusters;
-coming still with active feet over the velvet
-moss—coming from the lovely valley, coming
-from the tranquil hills, when she entered the
-foundry it seemed like stepping suddenly from
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>the beautiful world into some haunt of evil
-spirits.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Within the great dingy walls no shining sunlight
-brightened the air. Dim and cheerless, it
-hung laden with smoke and vapor, that floated
-in clouds to the rafters. The harsh clang of
-heavy machinery, together with the roar of the
-furnaces, seemed to shake the very building.
-Among the enormous wheels that whirled with
-frightful velocity, and the immense belts that
-whizzed above their heads, the workmen, black
-and begrimed, looked small, weird and unearthly,
-moving about upon the damp ground, with its
-jet-like covering of charred cinders. The place
-seemed an apparition of demons, performing in
-some cavern of the lower regions their evil incantations.
-No wonder the young lady seldom
-went there. Its gloom fell upon her with a
-heavy oppression, and her breath only came
-freely when once more she found herself out in
-the clear and open sunlight.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It happened in this manner that she first came
-to take any notice of old Simlin: There were
-gathered quite a party of young folks; and the
-colonel, who had been in Cincinnati upon business,
-had returned the previous evening, bringing
-with him another gentleman, apparently a
-stranger to the family.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was at the breakfast-table that the company
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>were discussing the “sights” of the neighborhood,
-and debating whether they would take
-him first over to Paint Creek upon a fishing-excursion,
-or across the river to Mount Logan,
-famous for having been the rendezvous of the
-great Indian chief, when the colonel spoke up,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why not begin at home?” he said. “Do
-not fatigue him to death the first day, and I
-am proud enough of my foundry to think it
-might be of interest even to Mr. Safford; at
-least I mean to have him shown over it before
-he leaves.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The young man, of course, immediately stated
-that it would give him great pleasure, and the
-whole company, to the most of whom it would
-prove a novelty, gladly acquiesced in the proposition.
-So it was decided, and two hours
-later they all started on their way.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When they entered the foundry it seemed
-more gloomy than ever, the atmosphere more
-stifling, and the jar of the machinery more painfully
-loud and discordant. Even the gay young
-people who had chatted and laughed all the
-morning felt the sudden change that involuntarily
-subdued their merriment. They broke
-up and scattered in twos and threes over the
-place, following the lead of simple curiosity,
-but the stranger-gentleman staid beside Helen,
-the “young misses.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>“What a queer, unreal place!” he said.
-“One would never expect to find any thing
-like it in this beautiful valley. Does it not
-make you think, coming upon it suddenly out
-of the sunlight, of the evil genii you have read
-about in some fairy-tale long ago? And the
-workmen, at whose bidding all this gigantic
-power is brought into action, how small and
-weird they look!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The two had been slowly approaching the
-great furnace, and, just as the gentleman ceased
-speaking, the immense door was thrown open,
-discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions,
-the seething flame within. Though they
-were not near enough to experience any inconvenience
-from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened
-exclamation and drew back; but the
-gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately
-in front of him from this opening streamed
-a broad but sharply defined streak of blood-red
-light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed
-the blackened cinders on the ground
-beneath his feet into a mass of living embers.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>As the old man straightened up, and was in
-the act of raising his hand to shield his eyes
-from the sudden illumination, they encountered
-the stranger, and a mingled expression of
-surprise and fright instantly struggled up
-through their weak color. For a moment, like
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>an apparition, he stood transfixed. The red
-glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure;
-it showed his attenuated arms and death-like
-mouth, his tattered clothes and the few wisps
-of his scant hair.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling
-effect which the glow of the furnace had
-produced, falling by accident upon a single
-workman. But, when the man rose up, he
-gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his strange
-behavior.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>For an instant, the old man stared without
-moving a muscle, then his lips began to work
-convulsively, and, raising his hand before his
-face, as if to screen it from view, he half uttered
-an unintelligible sentence and sank down. At
-the same time, the door of the furnace had been
-closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a
-moment had so strangely thrown him into
-violent relief.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>For a second, Safford almost thought the
-whole thing had been an optical illusion, or
-some hallucination of his own brain; then,
-stepping forward, he saw the old man lying in
-a heap upon the ground.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The young lady, recovering immediately from
-her sudden fright at the unexpected blaze, had
-seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked,
-in a terrified voice,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>“What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she
-exclaimed, kneeling down beside him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!”
-Mr. Safford called to the nearest hand.
-Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the
-prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried
-it out into the open air.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,”
-said the man who had helped in carrying him.
-“We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr.
-Safford, while he bathed the grimy forehead
-with his wet handkerchief.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been
-of a trembil all over; and he’s getting pretty
-much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping
-his voice, and significantly touching his
-forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not booked for
-this world much longer.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Poor man!” said Miss Helen, leaning tenderly
-over the pale face that still showed no
-symptoms of returning consciousness; “how
-very thin and emaciated he is! Has he no wife
-or family to take care of him?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“That’s just it, ma’am! That’s just what
-he’s allus harpin’ on! He says he ain’t got no
-relatives, and nobody to look after, and—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The young lady suddenly raised her hand
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>with a warning gesture; and, before the workman
-had ceased speaking, old Simlin opened his
-eyes. He looked around for a moment in a
-bewildered way; then his uncertain glance,
-falling upon the gentleman kneeling by his
-side, immediately became fixed, and grew into
-a wild stare. Raising himself unsteadily upon
-his elbow, still with his eyes fixed upon him,
-the old man threw out his trembling arm with
-a gesture as if addressing the whole company,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It’s a lie! Who said I had any relatives,
-or any body to look after? I hain’t! It’s a
-lie—a <em>lie</em>, I say! I never seen you before.
-He’s a stranger!”—still keeping his arm extended,
-and appealing excitedly to those around
-him—“you all know he is a stranger. I ain’t
-got no relatives, nor any body to look after!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was evident enough that what the workman
-had told them about his intellect was too
-true, they all thought, as they looked at each
-other with a quick glance.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I tell you I don’t know you, sir! It’s all
-a lie. I never seen you before! I—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, you never saw me before.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Mr. Safford had spoken, hoping to soothe
-him; but, instead, the sentence appeared to
-act upon the old man like an electric battery,
-for he raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
-with his head bobbing violently about, fairly
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>screamed, his cracked voice running into high
-treble,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“That’s right!—that’s right! Do you all
-hear it? He says I never seen him before. It’s
-all a lie about my havin’ got any relatives. I
-hain’t! I never seen him before—You heerd
-him say so—you all heerd him?” he inquired,
-for the first time, taking his pale, watery eyes
-from the gentleman, and looking, in a frightened,
-appealing way, round the group.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then his strength seemed to fail suddenly,
-and he fell back upon the grass, panting for
-breath.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At this moment the colonel came up, and
-knelt down by his side. He uttered his name
-several times, and even put his hand upon the
-wrinkled forehead; but the old man, with
-vacant eyes fixed on the sky, paid no heed,
-though his lips trembled.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I have ordered a wagon. It will be here
-directly. He must be taken to the house, where
-he can receive every attention. Poor man! I
-am afraid this will be about the last. I have
-expected it for a long time. Here, Safford, help
-me to lift him,” he added, as Hendricks came
-back with the wagon.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Safford! Safford! Who called me Safford?”
-said the old man, suddenly looking round in a
-terrified manner. “I—I’ve been a dreamin’,”
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>uttering a weak laugh. “It’s not my—I mean
-nobody said it. I never heerd that name before.
-It’s darned funny, ain’t it? but I never even
-heerd that name before in my life! You know
-I didn’t”—growing wild and excited again—“you
-know it’s a lie! I ain’t got no relatives,
-nor nobody to look after.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The gentlemen, without speaking, stooped
-to raise him; but he struggled violently, and,
-keeping his eyes still fixed on the younger one,
-he cried, with such an extreme distress upon his
-face, that they involuntarily drew back,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no! I’m not fit to be near you. Stand
-off! You’re a fine gentleman; it’s not for the
-likes of you to touch me!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then turning toward the colonel, he muttered
-some inarticulate apology, and actually
-staggered, unaided, to his feet,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’m ’bliged to ye all,” he said, nodding his
-head up and down, and backing, with uncertain
-steps, toward the foundry, as if afraid to
-take his eyes from the party as long as he was
-within their sight. “Thar ain’t nothin’ the
-matter with me! I jest felt faint a spell from
-the heat—the heat. It ain’t nothin’, an’ it’s
-gone now! I’ll go back to my work agin—I’m
-all right—I’m ’bliged to ye! It was jest
-the heat as overcum me—jest the heat—” and,
-with a painful smile upon his thin lips, still
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>muttering unintelligible excuses, he tottered
-into the building.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>For a moment, taken by surprise, the group
-remained motionless. Then Helen said; “Poor
-old man! I declare, it almost made me cry
-only to look at him!—Father, you will have
-him cared for; you will not allow him to work
-any more?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No. He is dreadfully broken down, and
-I have heard the hands say that, latterly, he
-was breaking in his mind, too; but I did not
-know it was so bad. I will see that he does as
-little as possible; but he will never quit until
-he gives out utterly, and he can not hold on
-long in this condition. Strange, Safford,
-how the sight of you seemed to excite him!
-Did you notice with what a wild, terrified gaze
-he stared at you, as if he had been hunted down?
-and, when you stooped to raise him up, he
-almost drew himself into a knot. I did not
-suppose, when I saw him on the ground, that
-he had strength enough left to stand on his feet
-without help; and it seemed as if it was this
-fear of you that inspired him with the power.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The younger man stood leaning against the
-tree from which he had not moved.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes,” he replied, “it was strange; I noticed
-it. How long have you had him in your
-employ?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>“More than ten years, and he has been
-about the most valuable hand in the foundry.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Then I’m sure, father, you will take care
-of him, and not let him work any more?” said
-Helen, again.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes—yes, child! don’t bother yourself so—of
-course I will;” but the younger gentleman
-turned toward her quickly, while his face
-lighted up, then checked himself abruptly in
-what would have been an eager gesture of
-gratitude, and looked away without saying a
-word.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>They remained a few moments to hear that
-the old man had recovered, and when the messenger
-reported him working at his place quietly
-as usual, without re-entering the foundry, or
-waiting for their companions, the two started
-homeward. Helen’s reluctance to go back into
-the building again had been so manifest that the
-gentleman could hardly do otherwise. Not
-until the straggling little village and the
-smoke of the great foundry were left in the
-distance did she fairly draw a breath of relief,
-and even then they still walked on almost in
-silence.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The day had reached its noon. On the river
-flowing past the lances of the sun broke into a
-thousand flakes of fire that followed each other
-over its surface in myriad ranks; and on either
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>side, where the twisted birch reached out its
-branches, the waves with a grateful murmur
-turned up their cool white crests.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was no loud hum of grasshoppers.
-Hardly a leaf stirred upon the trees, hardly a
-bird fluttered its wings. Even the far-off mists
-had disappeared, and a hush was on the hills—a
-hush as of awe before the splendor of the sky.
-No wonder they spoke but little. Almost
-solemn was the glory of the day in its noon.
-Yet perhaps neither one felt this influence which
-rested upon the land, and subdued alike to
-silence the peewee and the bobolink. It may
-be that the girl was not wholly unconscious of
-the scene, but it was certainly some other influence
-that wrapped her companion in abstraction.
-He saw not even the checkered shade
-that fell in arch and groin upon their path.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>They were half-way home. Rousing himself
-suddenly with an effort, as if but just aware of
-this long abstraction, he said, for lack of any
-thing better,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Miss Helen, do you like the country?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Dearly. I love these hills and the river.
-The time I spend here is the happiest part of
-my life.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“And are you not always happy?” he inquired.
-“You should be.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A strange gentleness in his tone as he uttered
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>the last words made Helen look up quickly as
-she answered him with a smile,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I am. I never had a trouble in my life.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>They had reached the turn where the path
-led up the slope from the foot of the hill.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Do not go back to the house,” he said; “let
-us sit down here a little while in the shade. I
-feel strangely oppressed, and the four walls of
-a room would suffocate me.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Apparently, he had uttered the last sentence
-involuntarily, as he took off his hat, and passed
-his hand several times across his forehead, for,
-catching his breath quickly, he added, as if by
-way of an apology,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It is so much pleasanter in the open air, and
-I am less fortunate than you. I seldom have a
-chance to enjoy the country.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He had evidently spoken truly, however,
-when he said he felt strangely oppressed, for
-his eyes wandered up the valley, far off to the
-remote Paint Ridge, yet he did not see the glittering
-Scioto, or how Summer sat enthroned in
-royal pomp upon the hills.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a thoughtful, almost anxious expression
-on his face. Presently he added, in a
-tone of voice as if they might have been discussing
-the subject at the moment, and which
-showed his mind was still occupied wholly by
-the incident at the foundry,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>“Miss Helen, had you ever seen that man
-before?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“What man?” she inquired. “The workman,
-you mean?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, the old moulder.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No. I have often heard them speak of him. I
-rarely go to the foundry; it is gloomy, and
-the hands are so rough father does not like to
-have me come in contact with them in any way,
-so I do not know one from another. I did not
-recollect at first, but I remember now hearing
-him say that old Simlin was queer, that he was
-a miser, and that he lived all alone on the Spring
-Hill. But I am sure father did not know he
-was so feeble, or how he was losing his mind.
-I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It must be
-dreadfully sad, ignorant though he is, to grow
-old and have not a soul on the earth to care for
-him.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Again the gentleman turned to her, as she
-spoke, with a sudden emotion in his eyes that
-would have called the color to her cheeks had
-she seen it, but in another instant he had looked
-away, and the troubled cloud settled back once
-more upon his features.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The river <em>is</em> beautiful,” he said, after a
-pause; “see how the fire dances down its
-surface.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He had dismissed the subject from their conversation,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>if not from his own thoughts. More
-than an hour later Helen sprang up with a conscious
-blush upon her face as the sound of
-approaching voices told her how the time had
-fled. Ah, for her at least it had been wafted
-by on silver wings! They both joined the
-party, and all went together to the house.
-There, almost immediately, Mr. Safford excused
-himself and went to his room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Shut in alone, the same anxious, troubled
-expression he had worn when he looked unconsciously
-up the river came back upon him as he
-walked thoughtfully to and fro across the floor.
-The incident at the foundry had affected him
-singularly. He could not throw off its depressing
-influence. Why, he asked himself—why
-did the face of the old man haunt him perpetually—the
-thin, wrinkled face, as it had looked
-at him with sudden surprise and terror struggling
-up through its watery eyes? Why did the
-cracked voice, with its accent of fright, ring
-constantly in his ears? If it were but the wild
-vagary of an unsettled mind, why should he
-give it any heed? “I am nervous,” he muttered
-to himself. “They said the man was crazy,
-and surely I never saw him before—no, I
-never saw him before. Then why should the
-sight of me have so excited him? Probably
-another stranger would have done the same.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>I am foolish—and they said the man was
-crazy—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He still paced the floor of his room up and
-down, while he tried to argue himself out of the
-unreasonable hold which the circumstance had
-taken on his mind. “I wish I could forget it!”
-he exclaimed. Then walking to the window,
-and looking out mechanically, he said slowly to
-himself, as if weighing well his words,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It is not possible; no, it is not possible that
-here I am going to find any clew. The man <em>was</em>
-crazy, that is all.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He returned again, however, not the least
-relieved, to his track over the carpet, and,
-before he went down stairs, he had determined
-that he would “wait and see.” He would not,
-as he had previously intended, leave the place
-within a day or two. He could not go away
-until he had satisfied himself about the matter
-wholly, and in the mean time he would find
-out what he could in regard to the old man.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He did not make any inquiries of the family,
-and the only information he could gain was
-simply what he had been already told.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>His sleep that night was strangely disturbed.
-Over and over in his troubled slumber a thin,
-shrunken figure stood with its trembling arm
-stretched out toward him. It was always before
-him, even when sometimes there flitted through
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>his dreams the form of one whose face was fair
-as the morning, whose hair was yellow as the
-reaper’s wheat. He rose feeling little refreshed.
-The night, instead of lessening, had but
-strengthened the hold which the incident of
-the previous day had taken upon him, and
-against which he struggled without avail.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The colonel’s prophecy did not prove incorrect
-when he said Simlin could not last long,
-for, just as the family were rising from the
-breakfast-table, a messenger arrived, saying the
-old man was lying insensible in his cabin. It
-seemed he did not make his appearance at the
-foundry at his usual time, and, after waiting an
-hour in vain, Hendricks, who suspected something
-might be wrong, sent one of the hands to
-the hut, where he was found in this condition.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Tell Hendricks I will see to him immediately,”
-the colonel said to the messenger, as he
-retired; then turning to young Safford, who
-stood with his hat in his hand, inquired, “Are
-you going out?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I will go with you, if you have no objection.
-I may be of some service, and I am in need of
-exercise at any rate.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He hesitated as he spoke, endeavoring to
-cover the unusual interest which he took in the
-matter, and the excitement he felt that the
-news had brought upon him.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely
-pale this morning! Our country air ought to
-do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you
-would go with me. I don’t know exactly what
-is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill, he can
-not be moved, and anyhow there is no road
-leading up that side of the Spring Hill, nothing
-but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has
-worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that
-direction. The cabin must have been originally
-put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and
-inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail
-upon him to come down into the village. He is
-a strange man, almost a hermit in his habits.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe
-I can do something for him, too, if he is sick.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You, Helen?” said her father, smiling.
-“What can you do for such a person? No, no,
-child, it is no place for you. I do not like to
-have you go among any of these wretched
-people.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He stooped and kissed the fair countenance
-raised so entreatingly to his. A swift expression
-of pain had come across the younger
-gentleman’s face as the colonel spoke, but the
-girl persisted, and her father reluctantly gave
-his consent.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to
-put a few things into a basket with some wine
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it
-immediately. We may need him anyhow, and
-he has no work to do about the house this
-morning. I can not spare Hendricks from
-the foundry, and very likely, if we can not
-move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a
-little.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Losing no time, they started on their errand
-of mercy. The walk was long, but well shaded.
-Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all
-Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy.
-The little song-sparrows, wild with delight,
-united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called,
-and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad
-numbers, fluttered their golden wings; and
-sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in
-her flight to the far-off wheat fields.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It seemed strange that there should be any
-misery, any suffering. The girl could not realize
-it until they came out on top of the Spring
-Hill to the little clearing where the cabin stood,
-which, in its utter desolation, appeared to overwhelm
-her. There was no sign of a human
-presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on
-the chimney-top, while its mate flitted wistfully
-over the sunburnt grass. The place was so
-lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother
-a sob. Below, the wide valley stretched away
-to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>on this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one
-ostracized from society.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel,
-“while I go in first, and I will come and tell
-you.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He left them in the shade of the tall beech
-trees, and they saw him go into the cabin.
-Though neither had spoken, they knew that
-upon each heart rested the same burden of
-dread. In the moment that followed there
-came over the young man an almost sickening
-anxiety, but the girl stood, awed only by the
-thought that perhaps even then the black wings
-of Death might be settling unknown within
-their very presence. Then she saw her father
-come to the door and beckon—the old man at
-least was not dead—and they went in together.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The place was far more bare and desolate than
-even its exterior had appeared. The rough boards
-of the floor were shrunken apart. Through
-the windows, unshielded by even a plank, the
-glaring light poured in a pitiless flood. A
-broken chair or two were propped against the
-wall, and in the corner an old pine table stood
-in a precarious condition upon its uneven legs.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There, stretched across the wretched bed
-dressed in his grimy clothes, just as they had
-seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago,
-the old man lay insensible. All their restoratives
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>were powerless to rouse him from this
-heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to
-their efforts. The half-closed eyes were glazed.
-There was no quiver now about the bloodless
-lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner,
-more emaciated, for over all the features rested
-that sunk expression which those who look upon
-it behold with despair at their hearts. But for
-the slow rise and fall of his chest, they might
-have thought the last glimmer of life had died
-out of that frail form forever.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was plain that they could not dare to move
-him, and the colonel carefully shaded the
-window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving
-free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken
-all the things from the basket, and set them
-ready for use, though there was little chance
-now that they could be of any avail. Safford
-stood at the foot of the bed, utterly unconscious
-of every thing at the moment but the prostrate
-figure before him. Since he entered the
-room he had hardly changed his position, only
-that he folded his arms across his breast, and
-drooped his head a little, as if in that attitude
-he might the more intently watch the sleeper.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When the colonel came and spoke to him he
-started up as if frightened, like one out of a
-dream, so that the elder man looked at him in
-surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>himself, said quickly, in a husky voice,—
-“I beg your pardon. You startled me!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I only wanted to know how long you thought
-he could last?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I can not tell. It may be until evening,
-hardly longer.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He was right. The day wore on without any
-apparent change until about the going down
-of the sun, when the old man moved a little.
-They had once or twice dropped a few drops of
-wine between his lips, but this was the first
-symptom of any break in the heavy stupor
-which had held him so long in its death-like
-embrace. His respiration quickened, and became
-audible. He muttered one or two incoherent
-sentences, then a tremor passed over
-his features, and he opened his eyes.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored
-during the afternoon to persuade into going
-home, stood with her head turned away; and
-the colonel, too intent upon watching the dying
-man, did not notice Safford, from whose face, at
-the first struggle in the inanimate form, every
-particle of color fled, and who, trembling
-violently all over, clutched the bed for support.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The old man for a moment looked about the
-room blankly, as if a haze obscured his vision.
-Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face
-lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>as suddenly the light faded out, his features
-quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying,
-brokenly, in an accent of despair,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you
-will kill me! It was not for the likes o’ me to
-have married you. Now you are so white an’
-thin, an’, Hetty, when I took ye to the church,
-yer cheeks were redder nor the summer rose.
-Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A terrible struggle in his throat compelled
-him to pause for a moment, then he went on with
-rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
-could hardly find expression in words:—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one
-that; I can not bar it!—not that, not my name!
-I swear to ye, he shall not take after the likes
-of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty,
-I swear to ye, if I live, he shall never hear a low
-word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He shall
-have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman.
-Hetty, I’ve been a worthless dog—a
-brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
-darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer
-face—but hear me, Hetty, I swear to ye, the
-little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
-shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so
-still! O Hetty!—dead! she is dead—dead!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>Both the colonel and Helen turned with
-astonishment to young Safford when the old
-man, in his delirium, had spoken his name;
-but the latter, unconscious of their surprise,
-with a single cry, sprang forward, and supported
-the exhausted figure in his arms as it
-sank back.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Father—my father!” The words broke
-from his lips in a voice painfully choked by
-emotion.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was another severe struggle for breath,
-then, with renewed strength, the old man raised
-himself into a sitting posture, and, looking
-round quickly, began in a hurried manner,
-fumbling about with his hands,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me
-agin! He mustn’t never know as I’m alivin’.
-He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’
-me.” He paused a moment, and the expression
-of his face changed. “It’s a lie!” he cried,
-fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body
-to look after! It’s all a <em>lie</em>!” Then, shivering
-suddenly, he said, lowering his voice, and speaking
-softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not
-have no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a
-gentleman. I said he should be a gentleman—and
-he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No,
-no! I never seen you before—I never seen you
-before!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling
-sound in his throat.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Father, father, speak to me! It is I,
-George!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees.
-During the moment that followed there was
-profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes,
-and said, gently,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“George! the little George!” A radiant
-light rested upon his thin face. He raised his
-trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily
-over the man’s head. “Yer hair is soft an’
-black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
-her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’,
-Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”</p>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_242.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span></div>
-<div class='chapter'>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id002'>
-<img src='images/i_243.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div>
-  <h2 class='c007'>THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA.</h2>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-<h3 class='c015'>I.</h3>
-
-<div class='c016'>
-  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_243.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
-</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
-At the foot of the hill stood a low, old-fashioned
-frame house, with a picket-fence
-round the yard, which ran down
-to a small stream that sometimes flowed along
-slowly, and sometimes with a great rush, and
-sometimes slept tranquilly beneath a sheeting
-of ice. Nearly a mile off, smooth and level,
-with pleasant streets, and a church whose spire
-shone in the sunlight long after the evening
-shade had crept over the ground, was the village
-of Pickaway, the gem of Paint Valley.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>From there, two days in every week, to the
-quaint old-fashioned house at the foot of the
-hill, the children wended their way with music
-folios, coming loiteringly in Summer over the
-narrow foot-path where the wild columbine
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>grew by the creek, but in Winter walking hurriedly
-over the frozen turnpike, swinging their
-arms, blowing their fingers, and sometimes doing
-battle bravely with the snow.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Here Franz Erckman lived in the plainest
-manner, with only his piano and his cottage-organ
-for companions. Wife and children he
-had none, nor any relative, nor any domestic
-pet. There was never a dog, or cat, or even so
-much as a chicken, to be seen about the premises.
-One servant he kept, to be sure, but she,
-a cross old woman, never opened her mouth for
-the purpose of speech more than a dozen times in
-a year, and then it was only upon some unusual
-provocation, as when the scholars broke a
-pitcher, or muddied her floor, when she would
-give utterance to some incoherent but disagreeable
-ejaculation.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz Erckman had lived in this way for
-nearly twenty years, and was just as bluff in
-manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as
-when he had first come there, an unknown
-young foreigner, without friends, or acquaintances,
-or money, and commenced in a modest
-way giving music-lessons to a few pupils at first,
-to many after a time.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When the new church was built, and a new
-organ with great gilded pipes put in, his services
-were engaged, as well they might, for no other
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>person in the whole village could have made
-any thing whatever out of all those stops, and
-pedals, and keys.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a
-town, with a very respectable hotel, many tourists
-came down in the summer season from the
-city to rusticate for a week or two, and they
-always heard the organist with astonishment.
-Inquiries about him were so often repeated by
-these cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had
-finally grown to feel proud of its musician, and it
-became as natural to them to show off Franz
-Erckman as it did to call attention to the beautiful
-scenery. It would have been hard to have
-overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape
-could rarely have been found.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>However, all this praise and adulation had
-apparently made little effect upon the village
-music-master, who had been again and again
-invited to come up for one season to the city by
-these friendly tourists. They held out to him
-the allurements of the orchestras and operas,
-and told wonderful tales of the superb voices of
-the great <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">prime donne</span></i>. It was all in vain. He
-always thanked them for their proffered hospitality,
-but never accepted it, and lived along,
-seemingly content enough to teach the village
-children, and play the church-organ. Only his
-one servant knew how at night, and sometimes
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>all night through, he tried ineffectually to satisfy
-his great craving for music, and how, not until
-the pale light of morning was visible in the east,
-would he shut his cottage-organ. And when
-he turned from it there was always a strange
-expression of despair upon his features.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The people of the town said he was penurious,
-for he invariably exacted the tuition of each
-scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time
-it was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the
-pupil without a word, and there were no more
-lessons given until the quarter had been paid.
-However, they grew to know him so well that
-every body fell into the habit, in his case at
-least, of being punctual.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So, working steadily year after year, as he had
-done, with almost no expenses of living, Pickaway
-thought he must have laid by quite a
-fortune, and when the Widow Massey, poverty-stricken
-though she was, made up her mind to
-send her little daughter—her only child—the
-poor, weak, crippled little Alice, who went
-every Sunday to the church, and listened with
-such deep delight to the strains of the great
-organ—when the Widow Massey made up her
-mind to send her daughter to the music-master,
-and give her this one pleasure, that it might
-brighten somewhat the life so early blighted,
-all the people thought he would surely take the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>child for nothing. But he did not—he took
-the money, the full amount; and, if the people
-made sarcastic remarks about his penuriousness,
-<em>they</em> never offered to pay for the little girl.
-And the mother never thought of asking a favor
-from any one. Though she earned by hard
-labor scarcely enough to keep them, still for the
-last year she had had this thought at heart, and
-quietly saved a little at a time, until finally the
-long-coveted sum was in her possession; and
-gladly she went and gave it to the music-master,
-who put it down at the bottom of his vest-pocket,
-and told her to send the little girl
-twice a week. And twice a week the little girl
-went.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>That was in the Summer. She was pale,
-and thin, and delicate, and the scholars all wondered
-how she would get there through the snow
-in the Winter. But before the bleak winds
-had blown one rude blast, the little Alice had
-a worse trouble. The Widow Massey suddenly
-fell ill and died, commending her beloved child
-to the care only of the great Guardian above.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was a terrible stroke, and the people all
-wondered what would become of the helpless
-daughter, who was too feeble to do any kind of
-work for a means of subsistence, and every
-person thought it strange that somebody else
-did not come to her relief.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>It was very sad. The poor little creature
-seemed fairly racked with grief, and had sat by
-the side of her dead mother day and night.
-On the afternoon of the funeral they tried in
-vain to take her away, until Franz Erckman
-came, and the people in surprise saw him lift
-her up in his arms without a struggle, and
-quietly carry her out of the house. They saw
-him, still with her arms clasped tight about
-his neck, crossing the green pastures, strike the
-narrow foot-path by the creek, and disappear
-as the path turned behind the heavy foliage
-that was brilliant in the scarlet dyes of October.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was not one of the days upon which he
-gave lessons. There was only the ripple of
-water over the stones and the rustle of leaves
-that occasionally blew down from the trees, to
-break the profound quiet of the place as he passed
-through his gate. Not one word had been
-spoken, and still in perfect silence he carried
-the frail little being, that he could feel trembling
-from head to foot—he carried her across
-the broad veranda and into the pleasant parlor—not
-the room that the scholars used, but where
-his cottage-organ stood. Then he drew the
-sofa up beside the instrument and laid her
-down upon it.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Her fingers unclasped with a convulsive
-movement, and Franz turned his face away, for
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>the child had not uttered a sound. Her eyes,
-dry and unnaturally bright, wore a startled
-look, a mute, beseeching expression, like the
-eyes of a wounded animal, and the pallor of
-her countenance, that had a wild grief branded
-upon it, was almost as ghastly in hue as death.
-It was suffering terrible to behold, and the
-hands of the strong man trembled as he opened
-the mahogany case of his organ.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a moment’s silence; then music,
-soft and sorrowful, floated out on the air gently,
-almost timidly; so very mournful, that the
-strain, beautiful though it was, seemed to have
-in it a human cry of pain. It was a language
-that could appeal to the heart when word or
-lip failed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The child’s whole frame shook beneath the
-heavy sobs that swelled up in her throat, and
-the great grief had opened its flood-gates. Hour
-after hour he played untiringly, while the violence
-of the storm spent itself. The music, at
-first sorrowful, hurt, had cried out in its pain;
-then it grew into a measure so yearning, it
-seemed the very genius of sympathy. Making
-an intense appeal, it swelled into a great passion,
-which gradually became exhausted by
-its own intense vehemence, until about the
-going down of the sun it died. And the child
-slept.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>The wild storm of anguish was over. Upon
-the face, the thin, pale face of the little girl in
-her slumber, there shone an expression of such
-absolute rest that Franz, with a sudden movement,
-bent down his head and listened. Had
-she passed with the music to the land where
-there are strains that swell into a <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> never
-ending? He held his breath. Was this the
-reflection of that peace eternal, that rest which
-endureth forever? A sob quivered for a moment
-on her features, and escaped from the lips
-of the sleeper. No, no, for sorrow showed its
-painful presence. She was not dead, and, at
-the sigh, sad though it was to see, the man
-arose with a smothered exclamation of relief.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The quiet day was drawing to its close.
-Within the room the shadows were already thickening;
-without, long lines of mist festooned the
-hills in plumes of royal purple, and the red haze
-of Indian-summer had gathered into broad
-streamers that unfurled their splendor across
-the tranquil sky. The floating twilight hung
-over the wide and level pastures. Down by
-the creek the scarlet sage still showed its coral
-fringe, and sometimes the woodbine, close by
-the house, waved its painted leaves. Far off in
-the filmy vale the group of maples that had
-stood crowned with a golden glory now shrouded
-themselves in black; and beyond, like a long
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>stretch of desolate shore, the great gloom lifted
-up its chilly banks.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Many times from the window in his parlor
-Franz Erckman had watched the divine pageant
-of night ascend the valley in all the pomp and
-grandeur of its magnificence, in all the solemn
-majesty of its silence, in all the ineffable depths
-of its sadness. Many times in his loneliness he
-had seen it pass, when a vision of the fair Rhineland
-would come back to his heart. Many times
-through its profound solitude he had looked out
-with yearning eyes, with listening ears, striving
-to comprehend its sublime mystery. Many
-times he had turned to it with a soul oppressed
-by despair reaching toward the Infinite. For,
-though the people did not know it, beneath the
-rough exterior of this reserved German dwelt a
-love of the beautiful—a love so passionate
-sometimes, it seemed crushing his very spirit
-that he could not give it utterance in his music.
-Then it was that often he would rise from his
-organ in bitter disappointment, and go out with
-his trouble to seek consolation from the night—the
-night forever wan with her own unspoken
-sorrow.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But he stood watching the face of the sleeper,
-paying no heed to the gathering shade. He
-stooped and arranged the cushions about the
-fragile form with the gentle touch of a woman,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>while upon his features there rested an expression
-more beautiful than they could ever borrow
-from the softened light of the evening.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“She would have died,” he said to himself.
-“But for the music, I believe she would have
-died! The chords of the organ spoke to her
-when all earthly words failed. She, at least,
-can understand the language I have been striving
-to learn.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Frail little creature! She appeared, indeed,
-like a spirit of some other world. Her every
-nerve had vibrated in sympathy, and Franz
-could hardly help thinking, as he looked at her,
-that, soundless to human ears, there played
-about her ceaseless strains of melody. Music
-seemed to be the vitality that gave her life, the
-only nourishment that fed her soul.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When she first came to him for instruction,
-he quickly discovered that she possessed not the
-least power of execution, and then had taken
-no special notice of her further. Wrapped up
-in his art, teaching the children had never been
-a pleasure to him. He compelled himself to
-endure it as a means of subsistence.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The great object for which he worked was
-once to secure means enough to keep penury
-always from his door, and then give himself up
-unreservedly to this art which he loved better
-than his life. So he took no particular interest
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>in any of his scholars, and it was only when
-he saw how eagerly the little Alice drank in
-every sound, that gradually he began to observe
-the child more narrowly. As he had at first
-seen, she possessed no power of execution
-whatever. She could not even learn to read
-the notes, and she would probably never be
-able to play a single bar correctly. But he had
-noticed how keenly alive she was to harmony,
-how peculiarly sensitive to discord. It seemed
-as though her lessons were a constant pain. Yet
-she came eagerly, and often lingered when they
-were finished.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He had found her once, late in the day, when
-he had been playing dreamily to himself, sitting
-on the veranda near the window of his parlor,
-listening with a rapt attention, wholly unconscious
-of any thing but his music. Since that,
-when she came to take her lesson, he had always
-played for her, carelessly at first, but after a
-time with greater interest, until gradually he
-had given up altogether any effort to instruct
-her, and in its place each day played for her the
-oratorios and symphonies of the great composers.
-Then he had changed from the piano to
-his organ, and he had grown to wait nearly as
-anxiously for the hour to come round as the
-little girl herself.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>By degrees the visits of the child became to
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>him almost indispensable. He seemed to feel
-always a strange inspiration come upon him in
-her presence. Why, he did not know; but it
-was then that sometimes the wild tumult, the
-infinite longings of his soul struggled into expression.
-But, when the child went, he would
-find himself again dejected, and wholly unable
-even to recall the strains which seemed to have
-died at the very moment of their birth.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz stood, still watching her motionless
-form. The sobs, quivering through her sleep,
-had one by one exhausted themselves, and left
-her face strangely peaceful to look upon.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“She is mine,” he muttered. “I will never
-part with her. She is my spirit of sound!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Suddenly he heard the grating noise of footsteps
-on the graveled walk. Turning quickly,
-he drew the curtain over the window to shield
-the sleeper from the damp night-air. Then he
-went softly out and closed the door after him,
-wrapped once more in his severe reserve, and
-with the old stern expression upon his features.
-His brows knit themselves into a frown, and
-his lips curled for a moment with a smile of
-contempt when he recognized the figure coming
-into the hall.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Ha! Erckman, good-evening,” said the man,
-in a loud and boisterous tone, which seemed to
-dissipate all the serenity of the night in its
-pompous swell.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>“Good-evening.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>If it had been the first time they had ever
-met, Franz could not have spoken with colder
-formality as he showed his guest into the piano-room.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Mr. Cory claimed to be the richest man in
-Pickaway, and very likely it was true. He
-owned hundreds of green and fertile acres, with
-cattle sleek and fat. He was ruling elder in
-the church, and his wife bought all her bonnets
-and flounces in the city, and they had built the
-finest house in the whole of Paint Valley. Indeed,
-nothing was done without his presence,
-and every one, from the minister to the sexton,
-received his advice, which he distributed far
-more liberally than he did his money. So it was
-that Franz had mentally guessed the object of his
-visit the instant he recognized him in the hall.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Fine weather, this.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The organist made no more audible reply to
-the remark than a half-uttered grunt, as he
-struck a match down the corner of the mantelpiece,
-and lighted the lamp. Mr. Cory sat
-uneasily on the hard, hair-cloth chair, dimly
-conscious of some obstruction in the usually
-smooth channel of his discourse.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Sad affair of the Widow Massey.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He looked about the room for a moment, as
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>though expecting to discover the presence of
-some third person, then repeated,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Sad affair! sad affair! We are all liable to
-sudden death, and she ought to have been saving
-up, in case of such an event. She left
-nothing to provide for the child at all. Nothing
-at all. The furniture will barely bring enough
-to pay for her funeral expenses.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz had sat down mechanically on the
-music-stool, and rested one hand on the keyboard
-of the piano. Just as the conversation
-had reached this point, he suddenly took his
-hand away, with a nervous movement that
-sounded three or four discordant bass-notes of
-the instrument as he did so, and Mr. Cory for
-the second time found himself laboring under
-an ill-defined sense of discomfort, something
-wholly unusual. But, seeing his host showed
-no symptoms of breaking the silence, after a
-slight cough, he went on,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We have been talking this afternoon as to
-what is going to be done with the child. You’ve
-got her here, haven’t you?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Well, one can’t do a great deal in this way,
-but you know it is such a sad case, and the child
-can’t do any work about a house, and my wife
-is so interested in her she thinks she’ll take the
-little girl—What did you say?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>“Nothing.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke.
-My wife is so interested in her she thinks she’ll
-take the little girl and send her for a year to
-the industrial school in the city, where she can
-learn to do fine sewing and embroidery. That
-will give her a chance to earn her living, and
-we can take up a collection in church to defray
-the expense.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“‘Fine sewing and embroidery’—<em>fine suffering
-and death</em>!” said Franz, suddenly letting
-loose his pent-up wrath. “Mr. Cory, would
-you kill the child? She is frailer than a flower,
-a sickly little thing, and crippled. One month’s
-stooping over a needle would put her in the
-grave. I thought for a moment, but an hour
-ago, that she was dead.” As he spoke the last
-word he left his seat, and, taking up the lamp,
-said,—“Come with me, and step lightly.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Utterly taken aback at the sudden outburst
-of the music-master, Mr. Cory followed him
-across the hall, saw him open the door of the
-opposite room, and motion him to enter. Then
-he said, in a quiet voice, while he shaded the
-lamp carefully with his hand, so that its rays
-did not fall directly upon the face of the
-child,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Look at her.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The man stepped forward, but almost immediately
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>drew back, with a shiver, from the
-sleeper, whose repose so strangely resembled
-death. She lay upon the sofa, with her hands
-folded across her breast, as when she had at first
-fallen into slumber.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz stood intently regarding her, when
-suddenly his guest, coming up close to him, said,
-with his rough voice dropped into a frightened
-whisper, and his eyes looking quickly about the
-room,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Where does it come from?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“What?” asked Franz, startled by his singular
-manner.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Do you hear it?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Hear what?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The music.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Music!” exclaimed Franz, dropping his
-voice also to a whisper, and involuntarily suspending
-his breath for a moment—“no, I hear
-no music.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It did not seem like the piano or organ. It
-must have been the wind in the trees outside,
-but it sounded just like a strain of music. We
-had better go, or we may waken her,” said Mr.
-Cory, as he turned to the door, and drew one
-hand across his forehead, where the perspiration
-had collected in drops, although the evening
-was cold and the air chilly.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz followed him out, springing the latch
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>gently with his hand as it caught, and they
-both went back to the piano-room. Here Mr.
-Cory seemed to recover somewhat of his usual
-composure.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Well, Erckman, she does look thin and delicate-like,
-but sewing won’t hurt her, not a bit.
-She’ll be better when she’s got something to
-do. She can’t exist on air, and she can’t live
-in idleness. She has got nothing, and it’s the
-only way I know of she can make her living.
-She must do work of some kind for support.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Before Franz’s eyes there floated visions of
-broad and fertile acres, of fine cattle, of fine
-clothes, of fine houses, but “she must do work
-of some kind for support,” so he said nothing,
-while the church-elder continued,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There is James Maxwell going to the city
-to-morrow, and my wife said we had better send
-her to the school by him.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Send her—, Mr. Cory,” said the organist,
-with a suppressed fierceness in his voice, “You
-saw how frail she is, how she looks as if, even
-now, the shadow of death might be upon her.
-You know how, from her birth, she has been
-crippled. I tell you one month in that school
-among strangers would kill her. Are there not
-strong arms enough in the world, is there not
-wealth enough already, that this unfortunate
-one, this perpetually enfeebled child, must wear
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>out her brief span of life in a painful struggle
-to gain a little food?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We are not, sir, expected to keep the ‘unfortunate
-one,’ as you call her,” blustered Mr.
-Cory, fairly purple with indignant astonishment.
-“What do you mean, sir? We are not under
-obligations to do any thing whatever for the
-girl. She should be thankful we interested ourselves
-in her behalf,” he said, partially choking
-with rage. “We will do this for her, but that
-is all. She is nothing to us.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I had no intention of dictating,” said the
-organist, politely, who had quieted down as
-quickly as he had roused up. “You are right,
-sir, she is nothing to you, and you need not
-trouble yourself about the matter further. I
-will see that the child is provided for.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then Mr. Cory looked at Franz as if he
-thought he had not heard aright, or that the
-music-master might be departing from his
-senses.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I repeat, I will see that the child is provided
-for, and you need not trouble yourself in
-regard to her further.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Very well, sir, very well!” exclaimed the
-elder, rising, almost speechless with surprise.
-But when he reached the piazza he said,—“Then
-it is understood that I am not responsible in the
-case?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>“It is understood.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz had had no intention of parting with
-the child. He would not have given her up had
-Mr. Cory offered all his grassy meadows. He
-watched him as he walked down the graveled
-path and disappeared in the darkness. “Charity!”
-he muttered. “Shut him out, O Night—hide
-him from view! Wrap your impenetrable
-mantle about him, that it may shield him
-from the eye of God and man!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The German stood for a moment looking out
-into the limitless gloom, which screened alike
-the evil and the good, then he turned again into
-the house.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>He went back, through the dining-room where
-his supper was spread untouched upon the
-table, to the kitchen, where Margery sat warming
-herself by the dying embers in the stove.
-The old servant was used to his irregular ways,
-and often saw his meals go untasted without a
-remark. But it was rarely the master ever
-intruded upon her premises, and she rose up as
-he came in, with an expression of surprise upon
-her quiet face.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Margery,” he said, “fix up the bedroom
-next to yours, then come down to me in the
-parlor.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The old woman heard him without a question,
-though never before could she remember when
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>the guest-chamber had been used, or a visitor
-staid overnight at the house.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>When she had obeyed his instructions she
-presented herself at the parlor-door. There
-was no lamp in the room, only a narrow strip of
-light fell upon the floor from across the hall, but
-it did not penetrate the heavy shadow, and
-Margery, with a half-uttered apology upon her
-lips, drew back. At the sound of the woman’s
-steps, Franz came out of the gloom.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“What is the matter?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I did not know you was playin’, or I would
-have waited,” said the servant, respectfully,
-who had learned long ago never under any
-circumstances to interrupt her master at his
-practice.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“I was not playing.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Warn’t it you, sir? It was so dark I could
-not see.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Me? no; nor any body else. No one was
-playing.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Why, I thought I heard—but it must have
-been the wind,” said Margery, glancing across
-her shoulder to the vacant piano-stool. “I
-thought I heard music just as I opened the door.—The
-room is ready, sir.” Franz bent over
-the sofa and raised the sleeping form in his
-arms. Turning to Margery, he said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>“She is light. Here, carry her up and put
-her to bed. Don’t waken her if you can help
-it, and go to her once or twice in the night to
-see that she sleeps, for she is not well.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then he added, as an abrupt explanation,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“She will occupy that room always. This is
-to be her home, and I want you to see that she
-has every thing necessary.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, sir.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>If the old servant was surprised at the announcement,
-she made no remark. She took
-her up, arranged every thing for the night, and
-the child never awakened.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>It was not an unpleasant expression that
-spread itself upon the face of the woman as she
-stooped over the bed, and laid with a careful
-hand every fold about the sleeper. With noiseless
-feet she came again and again to look once
-more at the unconscious form that seemed to
-possess for her a singular attraction. Taking
-up the lamp, she turned to go into her own (the
-adjoining) room, but, with an abrupt start, she
-checked herself midway in the action, held the
-light suspended, and stood with every muscle
-arrested, as if some unexpected sound had
-fallen suddenly on her ears. Then she bent her
-head for a moment over the sleeper, glanced
-quickly about the room, and hurriedly crossed
-to the hall.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>She ran down the flight of stairs, looked first
-into the piano-room, then into the parlor opposite.
-Both places were deserted, and the
-instruments closed. The front door was bolted,
-and the master had evidently retired. She
-went back to the guest-chamber. The child
-still slept, and Margery held every nerve in
-suspense, but there was not the least sound.
-She stepped to the window, pushed up the sash,
-then leaned out and listened. The night was
-perfectly calm. What gentle breeze there had
-been two hours before had died away and left
-a profound silence unbroken even by the chirp
-of an insect. She closed the shutter, went back
-to the bedside again for an instant; then, saying
-quietly to herself, “It must have been mere
-fancy,” passed out to her own room, and left
-the door partially open between the two apartments.</p>
-
-<div>
-  <span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>
-  <h3 class='c017'>II.</h3>
-</div>
-
-<p class='c016'>So the little Alice had found a home. All the
-people in Pickaway expressed their utter surprise
-at this unexpected generosity of the
-penurious music-master. He certainly was
-about the last person in the town from whom
-such an act might have been anticipated. Indeed,
-it was little short of an enigma to the
-place. But their astonishment knew no bounds
-when, within a few days after he had taken the
-little girl, he quietly dismissed all his pupils,
-and steadily refused to give any more lessons to
-a single soul. Nothing could prevail upon him,
-no entreaties whatever could persuade him, and
-he could never be induced to offer the least
-explanation.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Some of the wealthier ones, unwilling to give
-him up, had voluntarily proposed to pay double
-the former price, but even money, which all the
-village had thought the god of his life, failed to
-move him from his determination. He was inexorable.
-Every body wondered what might be
-the reason. No person could discover any apparent
-cause why he should so suddenly give
-up teaching. They inquired about his health.
-It was very good, he said. Did he expect to
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>leave home? No. He would continue to play
-the church-organ? Yes, oh, yes; he had no
-intention of stopping that. So they conjectured
-until tired of the task, while Franz Erckman
-paid no attention.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>However, as the days grew into weeks, and
-the weeks into months, all the village saw that
-a change had come over the organist. He was
-less communicative than formerly, and more
-severely reserved.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>From the borders of the creek the fringe of
-scarlet flowers had vanished. The myriad
-leaves had lost their rainbowed glory, and
-dropped, one after another, in russet tatters to
-the ground. The woodbine had thrown off its
-vermilion raiment, and now stretched up unclothed
-its weird and snake-like arms. The
-group of maples had laid down its golden crown;
-the hills, too, had cast aside their tiara of brilliant
-emerald. The Summer and Fall, in all their
-emblazoned splendor, had passed by, and the
-gorgeous livery of Autumn faded to the grizzled
-hues of Winter.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Up the tawny valley a bleak December wind
-swept, making a cheerless rattle among the
-naked trees, and the creek slumbered quietly
-beneath its covering of ice; but this time no
-children came over the frozen turnpike to the
-house at the foot of the hill. More secluded
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>than ever it seemed. Before the bitter winds
-had risen, in the pleasant November days, Franz
-had often rambled through the woods, carrying
-the little Alice, when she felt tired, in his arms.
-But, as the air grew chill, they staid almost
-wholly within the house. After that Franz
-rarely left it except when his duties as organist
-called him to the church, and then he invariably
-took the little girl with him, wrapped carefully
-in a heavy cloak.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The people noticed that he was never seen
-any where without the child. If the weather
-proved bad on the Sabbath, or on the days when
-he went sometimes during the week to play, he
-still carried her with him, but an additional fur
-mantle was thrown around her for protection.
-She had never grown stronger; but, since that
-first night, when the organist had broken down
-the great barrier of grief that was closing up like
-a strong wall about her heart, they were seldom
-separated in her waking hours.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>During all this time Franz had changed so
-strangely that the village gossips said one would
-hardly have known him for the same person.
-To be sure, he had always been silent and reserved,
-but now he had become absolutely
-inapproachable. His manner, which was naturally
-abrupt, was often now wild and feverish.
-His face, too, had grown thin, his cheeks hollow,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>his whole figure gaunt. His eyes, brilliant but
-sunken, had assumed a singular expression of
-unrest, a perpetually searching look, as if forever
-striving to see the invisible, and it began
-finally to be whispered about among the people
-that the church-organist was not quite right in
-his head. They noticed, besides, that he would
-never allow the child to be enticed out of his
-sight. The ladies often tried to pet her, but she
-shrank invariably from every one except Franz,
-to whom she clung as if he were the one prop
-that sustained her life.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So the time had worn away at the musician’s
-home. Margery, respectful as ever in her manner,
-assiduously waited upon the little girl, who
-received all her attentions gratefully, and never
-voluntarily made a single demand. But there
-had passed a change over the old servant also.
-From her usually quiet ways she had become
-restless, as if there might be something upon her
-mind that rendered her constantly uneasy, or
-from which she was ineffectually trying to free
-herself. If she were sour or cross in disposition,
-as all the scholars used to tell, she had never
-shown it to the little orphan. She watched the
-child with a strange devotion. She would follow
-her about the house at a distance, and, if the
-little girl for a time sat down upon the veranda,
-Margery, too, farther off, would sit there with
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>her sewing, or embrace that opportunity to trim
-the woodbine, and once or twice she had even
-found an excuse to intrude herself for a moment
-in the parlor.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Every evening, when she put the little girl to
-bed, Margery, with a strange, expectant look
-upon her face, would linger about the room long
-after her charge had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
-Then, when she had retired, often in the very
-middle of the night, she would suddenly waken
-from a sound slumber, spring out of bed, and,
-before she was thoroughly conscious, discover
-herself standing beside the child, with her head
-bent down in a listening position, and every
-nerve strained to catch the slightest sound.
-Immediately she would rundown stairs into the
-music-rooms, only to find them both deserted
-and the instruments closed. With a white
-countenance she would return, pause once more
-in the child’s room, and then lie down again,
-saying to herself, for the hundredth time,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It must be mere fancy. I have been dreaming.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was no element of superstition in Margery,
-but this incident would recur over and
-over, night after night, until she began to ask
-herself if, before she had reached sixty years,
-she was already losing her mind, and this the
-first fancy of a disordered imagination. It was
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>strange, she told herself, that she should dream
-the same thing so often, and every time it should
-be so vivid, for she heard a strain of music as
-distinctly as she ever heard a sound in her life,
-though it was not like the piano, organ, or,
-indeed, any instrument. And, though vivid,
-it was so evanescent it made her doubt the veracity
-of her senses. Then, too, it never came
-from down stairs, or out-of-doors, but always
-seemed apparently to emanate from the bedside
-of the little child, though, as soon as she had
-stooped to listen, it was gone, and the reign of
-silence again left supreme. Once or twice,
-even during the day, when standing beside the
-little Alice, Margery had heard, or thought she
-heard, a sudden waft of this soft melody sweep
-by her, but so fleeting that it was gone before
-she could catch her breath to listen, or be sure
-it was not simply all her own imagination.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>So, with this constantly upon her mind, Margery
-had grown restless, and found herself
-continually watching the little girl. She was
-not insensible either of the great change that
-had, by some means or other, been wrought in
-her master since the child had come into the
-house. She, as well as the people, had noticed
-that he would never, if possible, allow her out
-of his sight. He never played a night now by
-himself as he had been used to doing for years.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>After the child went to bed the instruments
-were always closed, for he never put his hand
-upon the keyboard unless she were present.
-And, even when he had her beside him, he did
-not seem happy.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The people at church said, as he had changed,
-his music, too, had changed; but, as he had
-grown more wild and feverish in manner, his
-music had grown more softened and beautiful in
-style. And once, after he had played a dreamy
-harmony that held them all entranced, he had
-come down from the organ-gallery with a
-fierce fire burning in his eyes, and hands that
-trembled violently, though they were clasped
-tight over the little girl in his arms. When
-they had complimented him he looked bewildered,
-and spoke in a confused way, as though he
-could not remember what he had been playing.
-Now, more convinced than ever were the people
-that something was evidently wrong with the
-music-master, and, notwithstanding he had lost
-nothing in his art, many shook their heads, and
-whispered that poor Erckman was, beyond a
-doubt, going crazy.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>December had worn almost into Christmas.
-In every house of the village there were preparations
-for the approaching holiday. The church,
-too, was undergoing some mysterious process
-at the hands of the young people, who went in
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>and out at all hours by the back way, and
-steadily refused admittance to any one. They
-had even closed the doors against the organist
-when he went there one morning to play, but
-he was easily persuaded to withdraw, as he
-cared far more for solitude than society.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz sat moodily by the fire in his parlor,
-with the little girl upon a cushion at his feet.
-They were both naturally silent, and would
-often sit quietly together for hours. But now,
-though the musician gazed absently into the
-grate, and seemed to take no heed of the child,
-she looked up once or twice into his face, then
-said, in a timid voice,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Father, to-morrow is Christmas.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz had long ago taught her to call him
-father, and he merely answered mechanically,
-without taking his eyes from the illuminated
-coals,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“How dark the night is out, and how shrill
-and bleak the wind blows!” She had risen
-from her seat and gone to the window. “But
-to-morrow is Christmas-day, and I know it
-will be bright then; oh, I am sure it will be
-bright!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She stood a moment longer by the casement
-without speaking, then came back and sat down
-again, looking almost as ethereal as some spirit,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>that might vanish any moment forever into the
-glow of the red firelight.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“You will play something very beautiful to-morrow,
-will you not, father? You will make
-the voluntary better than all the service besides?
-Oh, for such a celebration, it ought to be the
-most magnificent music in the world, for, think,
-father, it will be Christmas, the grandest day in
-all the year! It seems to me I can hardly wait
-to hear you, I have been looking forward to it
-so long. But, father, you have not practised
-any for it, have you?” said the child, looking
-up suddenly with quick dismay upon her features.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz, still without glancing at the little girl,
-or taking his eyes from the fire, said,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No,” but he clasped his hands nervously
-together.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Oh, father, you did not forget about it, did
-you?” she asked eagerly. “I have so often
-and often thought of it, though I did not say
-any thing, but it is strange I never once thought
-about the practising. Oh, you could not have
-forgotten it, father?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>She was so intensely earnest, it seemed as if
-her whole soul was in the question, trembling
-while it awaited the reply.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“No, I have not forgotten it,” said Franz,
-“It has hardly been out of my mind one moment
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>for many weeks; but I have nothing to
-play.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>At first, her face had been perfectly radiant;
-but, when he added the last clause, she got up,
-put her arms about his neck, and said, with a
-kind of terror in her voice,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Oh, no, no! You will play, father—tell
-me you will play!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz moved uneasily in his seat.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“And it will be something grand, father. Oh,
-you will please everybody—I am not afraid of
-that. Quick, tell me you will play. Father,
-if you did not—I can not bear to think of it—oh,
-you will—say you will!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Her entreaty had fairly grown into wild
-desperation. Every fiber of her frame quivered
-as she clung to him. Alarmed at her singular
-agitation, he took her up on his knee, and said,
-hurriedly,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes; I will play. Do not be troubled
-about it; I will play.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Oh, I am so glad! I knew you would, and
-it will be grand, I am sure, for to-morrow is
-Christmas!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Her face was radiant with pleasure; but so
-extreme had been her excitement that nearly an
-hour later, when Margery came to take her upstairs,
-she still trembled.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Franz, left alone, paced the floor of his room
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>up and down, sometimes stopping to look
-moodily into the fire. He had had this thing
-long upon his mind. Feeling the divine power
-of genius within him, he was not willing to play
-over again what generations had played over a
-hundred times before him. Yet he tried unavailingly
-to improvise. Once or twice, when
-playing, with the little Alice beside him, he had
-suddenly entranced even himself; but as soon
-as he undertook to reproduce the notes, either
-upon paper or upon the organ, he discovered
-them gone from his memory, and himself utterly
-powerless. It had only been latterly that he
-felt hampered in this way; yet he was conscious,
-notwithstanding, that his music at the same
-time had undergone a vast improvement. But
-he struggled against this one fault vainly. He
-had been determined to work out a new composition
-for this great occasion; and now, upon
-the very verge of Christmas-day, after all his
-unceasing anxiety, he found himself without a
-single idea—wholly unprepared. In his disappointment,
-he had almost been ready to
-absent himself altogether from the church; but
-the sudden appeal of the little girl had compelled
-him to give up this cowardly refuge, of
-which in a better mood he would have been
-ashamed.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The child had not prophesied incorrectly.
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>Under cover of night, the clouds marshaled
-themselves into gray battalions, which fled precipitately
-before the lances of the morning, that
-in resplendent array, column upon column,
-mounted the eastern sky; and Christmas—this
-day forever sacred to the world in its grand
-memories—dawned with the blaze of victorious
-colors.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Bathed in sunlight, the crystal valley wreathed
-itself with brilliant jewels; the sparkling
-trees held up their embossed arches of frosted
-silver; and from the glittering hill-sides cold
-flakes of fire burned in diamond hues almost
-blinding to the eye—for a slight fall of snow
-during the night had spread itself over the land,
-and covered it as with a mantle of transfiguration.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The bell in the tower had long been ringing
-out its invitation to worship, before Franz,
-carrying the little Alice on his arm, left the
-house. A singular eagerness rested on the face
-of the child, whose usually pale cheeks were
-now colored with a crimson flush that deepened
-almost to scarlet in the center. She held
-quietly to Franz, sometimes looking at him for
-a moment, then turning her eyes again toward
-the village.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Though she said no word, it seemed as if she
-could hardly wait until they reached the church,
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>but that her impatient spirit would break its
-bounds and fly. But Franz walked with a slow,
-unwilling step. A fierce despair appeared to be
-consuming him. His disappointment was made
-keener when he saw the wild expectation with
-which the little Alice looked forward to his
-music, and her confident belief that it would be
-far grander than any thing he had ever done
-before.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The villagers, by groups, in twos, in threes,
-with happy faces, coming from far and near,
-poured into the church. Paying no heed to
-any one as he passed, Franz entered by the side
-door, and went immediately up into the organ-gallery.
-With glad eyes, the little Alice saw
-the church in its festival decorations. Beautiful
-wreaths of cedar coiled themselves around the
-great pillars, and crept in waving lines over
-altar, arch, and casement, their unfading green
-sometimes flecked with amber, sometimes dyed
-in violet light, as the rays of the sun caught the
-tints from the windows of stained glass. Resting
-against the center of the chancel rail, a
-magnificent cross of hot house flowers loaded
-the air with the perfumes of summer—an incense
-more pure and holy than the incense of
-myrrh; and on either side sprays of English
-ivy, in long and twining branches, displayed
-their wax-like leaves.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>The last vibrations of the bell died away.
-The congregation chanted its anthem; the
-minister read the Christmas service; and the
-first strains of the organ-voluntary, after the
-close of the litany, sounded through the church.
-The little Alice, with a throbbing pulse, crept
-close to Franz as he played; but it was only the
-familiar music, that the world already knew by
-heart, and had heard a thousand times before.
-Poor Franz, warring against himself, had been
-driven back to the composition of others, though
-he knew he possessed within him a power that
-should have created, that should have raised
-him above all written measure. But now even
-his execution was a dead, mechanical labor.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A swift expression of keen disappointment
-fell upon the child’s face. She looked up at
-him, with a gesture, slight but strangely appealing,
-and with eyes filled by a sorrowful
-reproach—such a look as one might wear in the
-last moment, whose most cherished friend had
-suddenly turned and dealt him a death-blow.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>But Franz played on mechanically, with the
-pang of despair at his heart. Suddenly, half-way
-in a bar, in the very midst of a single note
-almost, a sensation of fear came upon him—an
-overwhelming awe that seemed to lock his
-muscles and turn his hands into stone. The
-organ ceased abruptly; he sat motionless as a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>statue; and a death-like silence reigned throughout
-the church. Had the same unaccountable
-awe fallen upon the congregation, too? The
-whole universe waited.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Out of the profound silence a sound was
-born, a sound more beautiful than the music
-of a dream. Soft as a whisper, clear and distinct,
-it grew, wave upon wave, into a grand
-volume of harmony, that was not loud, though
-it seemed as if it reached beyond the church-walls
-and floated on through endless space.
-Was it, then, music from that land where the
-crystal air breathes a perpetual melody? The
-people by one impulse sprang to their feet, and
-turned with awe-stricken faces toward the
-gallery. Grander, more majestic, it swelled
-into a glad chorus, whose <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i>, inspired with
-praise, rose up into heaven. It was an adoration
-of sublime joy that seemed too intense to be
-ascribed to mortal spirit; and the people fell
-upon their knees while they listened. Over
-plains, over hills, in the sky, it seemed to reverberate
-and answer back, sweeter than the
-sound of silver, vaster than the roll of ocean—the
-hallelujah of myriad voices, the song as of
-an innumerable multitude,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Glory be to God in the highest, and on
-earth peace, good-will toward men—”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Again and again the refrain gathered into a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>measure more triumphant than the strains of a
-victorious army. Then, ascending higher and
-higher, it fainted through infinite distance, and
-was gone as if it had passed beyond the very
-portals of eternity.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The spellbound audience hardly moved for a
-moment, even after the music had died; but
-when the first stir broke the silence they collected
-about the organist with eager questions.
-Franz, still sitting at his instrument, had never
-turned. Anxious to testify their wild admiration,
-they were ready almost to bow down
-before him; but they were obliged to speak
-several times before he gave the slightest heed.
-Then he looked up abruptly and said with a
-strange impatience,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Did not you see?”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>There was a confused expression in his eyes,
-as if they might have been blinded by a great
-light, and their vision not yet wholly recovered.
-The people looked at him, then at each other in
-bewilderment, but, as if he had suddenly comprehended
-their meaning, he went on quickly,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It was not I. I did not play a note. It
-was the music of another world, the music of
-the first Christmas. Did not you see the host
-of angels in the sky, and the shepherds that
-watched their flocks by night upon the plains
-of Judea? It was the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> sung at the
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>nativity of Christ by the angels centuries ago,
-beside the village of Bethlehem!”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Then the people, regarding him with doubtful
-faces, drew back, and he said, with fierce
-excitement,—</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“If you do not believe, ask the little Alice
-there. She will tell you.”</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>The little girl sat close to his bench, but when
-they turned to her she made no reply. They
-raised her up. Their question never received
-an answer, and Franz with a wild cry fell upon
-his knees by her side. The child was dead.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>For many years afterward the musician lived
-on in the old place at the foot of the hill, but
-he never again could be prevailed upon to strike
-a note of any instrument or listen to a strain of
-any music. More rarely than ever did he speak
-to a soul, and then it was only at the Christmas
-time, to tell again of the little Alice, his spirit
-of sound, to tell of that wonderful <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> of immortal
-praise sung by a multitude of the heavenly
-hosts, whose splendor, almost blinding to his
-eyes, had lighted up earth and sky over the
-far-off plains of Palestine, where the shepherds,
-centuries ago, were watching their flocks by
-night.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Strangers heard his tale with a scarcely concealed
-smile, and shook their heads sorrowfully
-as the old man, feeble and palsied, with a
-<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>singular brilliance in his sunken eyes, turned
-away. But all the villagers spoke of him with
-respect, almost with awe, and the children
-learned to hush their mirth in reverence as he
-passed by. Margery, with a face quieter than
-ever, said little, but served her master with an
-untiring devotion, and after she had closed his
-eyes in death, when she was an old, old woman,
-sometimes in the evening she would suddenly
-break her long silence to tell a wondering group
-of Franz and the little Alice, and of the mysterious
-melody that played about the child.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>And so the people of Paint Valley relate the
-story yet, and show the graves in the long grass
-of the village church-yard, where, side by side,
-they wait to join at the last day the throng
-whose immortal <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> shall surpass even that
-grand Christmas anthem—the song of the
-angels heard by the shepherds upon the plains
-of Judea.</p>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c002'>
-    <div>THE END.</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div  class='figcenter id003'>
-<img src='images/i_282.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
-</div>
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c003' />
-</div>
-
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span></div>
-<div class='chapter ph2'>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c004'>
-    <div><span class='large'>PUBLICATIONS</span></div>
-    <div class='c003'><span class='small'>OF</span></div>
-    <div class='c003'><span class='sc'>Jansen, McClurg &amp; Co.</span></div>
-    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.</span></div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
-<p class='c018'><strong>CATON.—A Summer in Norway</strong>, with Notes on the Industries,
-Habits, etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the
-Climate and Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and
-Elk, by Hon. <span class='sc'>J. D. Caton</span>, LL.D. 8vo., 401 pages. Illustrated.
-Price, $2.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative and
-leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good nature with which
-the author pursued his way through unknown wilds.&#160;*&#160;* They are excellent
-specimens of terse and graphic composition, presenting a distinct image to the
-mind, without any superfluous details.”—<cite>New York Tribune.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The book of travels, which Judge Caton has presented to the public, is of a
-high order of merit, and sets forth the interesting natural phenomena and popular
-characteristics of the land of the ‘unsetting sun’ with great strength and clearness.”—<cite>Boston
-Post.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“He is, as far as we know, the first foreign traveler who has given anything
-like a correct statement of the nature of the union between Norway and Sweden.”—<cite>The
-Nation.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>CHARD.—Across the Sea, and Other Poems.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Thos.
-S. Chard.</span> Square 16mo., 55 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.00.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">multum in parvo</span></i>
-that has been furnished the reading public in a long time.&#160;*&#160;* The poetry
-is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul, and reads as though given
-by inspiration.&#160;*&#160;* There is a mysticism in the little book, which reminds
-us of the ‘Lotus Eaters’ or ‘Festus.’”—<cite>The Alliance.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>CLEVELAND.—Landscape Architecture</strong>, as applied to
-the wants of the West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the
-Great Plains. By <span class='sc'>H. W. S. Cleveland</span>, Landscape Architect.
-16mo., 147 pages. Price, $1.00.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“My object in these few pages is simply to show that, by whatever name it may
-be called, the subdivision and arrangement of land for the occupation of civilized
-men, is an art demanding the exercise of ingenuity, judgment and taste, and one
-which nearly concerns the interest of real estate proprietors, and the welfare and
-happiness of all future occupants.”—<em>Extract from Preface.</em></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span><strong>CRAWFORD.—A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends.</strong>
-By <span class='sc'>Mrs. Alice Arnold Crawford</span>. Square 12mo., full gilt,
-tinted paper, 162 pages. Price, $2.00.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle tenderness, as
-if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better life, had longed to leave some
-sweet remembrance here. They stand forth from the way-side of poetic literature
-like some peaceful chapel robed in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers,
-and the living steal in the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and
-pain.”—<cite>Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>FOYE.—Tables for the Determination and Classification
-of Minerals Found in the United States.</strong>
-By <span class='sc'>James C. Foye</span>, A.M., Professor of Chemistry and Physics,
-Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin. Flexible covers, 38
-pages. Price, 75 cents.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from
-various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to furnish the
-student with such help as is needed in order to determine and classify the minerals
-of the United States. Some useful hints as to apparatus, and suitable notes upon
-other matters, precede the tables.”—<cite>Journal of Education.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>GILES.—Out from the Shadows.</strong> A Novel; by Miss
-<span class='sc'>Ella A. Giles</span>. 12mo., 317 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“Miss Giles’ first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the attention
-of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book gives evidence
-of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the improvement which she
-has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and effect which are really uncommon.”—<cite>Milwaukee
-News.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The characters are all well conceived, and the story is pleasantly written.”—<cite>Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>GILES.—Bachelor Ben.</strong> A Novel; by Miss <span class='sc'>Ella A. Giles</span>.
-12mo., 308 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“A story of great descriptive and analytic mastery.&#160;*&#160;* A master-piece of
-free and natural handling of human life, and marks a new departure in fiction, in
-that the hero never marries, and the author has attempted to group the sympathies
-of readers about an unconventional man.”—<cite>Home Journal</cite> (New York).</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The book is refreshingly guiltless of all superfluous characters. The tone is
-good throughout. The moral apparent.”—<cite>Chicago Times.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>HALL.—Poems of the Farm and Fireside.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Eugene
-J. Hall</span>. 8vo., 114 pages. Fully illustrated. Plain, price,
-$1.75; full gilt, price, $2.25.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal—we should say superior—to
-Carleton’s Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow Papers.”—<cite>Interior.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too often
-overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems, because they
-smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner life of society at the fireside.”—<cite>Pittsburgh
-Commercial.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span><strong>HEWITT.—“Our Bible.”</strong> Three Lectures, delivered at Unity
-Church, Oak Park, Ill., by Rev. <span class='sc'>J. O. M. Hewitt</span>. 12mo., 109
-pages. Price, $1.25.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the enunciation
-of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration which makes it infallible in
-all particulars.”—<cite>Chicago Journal.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>LAMARTINE.—Graziella; a Story of Italian Love.</strong>
-Translated from the French of <span class='sc'>A. De Lamartine</span> by <span class='sc'>James B.
-Runnion</span>. Small 4to, 235 pages, red line, tinted paper, full gilt,
-uniform with holiday edition of “Memories.” Price, $2.00.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“‘Graziella’ is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both
-eminently poetic.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It glows with love of the beautiful in all nature.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect words. The sentences
-have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender fancy of the original. It is
-uniform with ‘Memories,’ the fifth edition of which has just been published, and
-it should stand side by side with that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong
-thoughts put in pure, strong words. ‘Graziella’ is a book to be loved.”—<cite>Tribune.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>MASON.—Mae Madden.</strong> A Story; by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Mary Murdoch
-Mason</span>, with an introductory poem by <span class='sc'>Joaquin Miller</span>.
-16mo., red edges. Price, $1.25.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh thought;
-some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or some charming description,
-deliciously feminine, and running over with the spirit of poetry.”—<cite>Cincinnati
-Times.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We have read this little book with great pleasure.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It frequently
-reminds us of Mr. Howell’s delicately constructed stories, and in it, as in a mirror,
-we see reflected that true refinement and culture of the author’s mind.”—<cite>New
-Haven Palladium.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>MASON AND LALOR.—The Primer of Political
-Economy</strong>, in Sixteen Definitions and Forty Propositions, by
-<span class='sc'>A. B. Mason</span> and <span class='sc'>J. J. Lalor</span>. 12mo., 67 pages. Price, 75 cents.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give the
-amount of information on the subject that has been put with such remarkable
-clearness into these sixty pages.”—<cite>Hartford Courant.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“For a short and comprehensive treatise, we know of nothing better than ‘The
-Primer of Political Economy.’ The information is conveyed in a very concise and
-happy manner. The style is perfectly transparent, and the illustrations admirably
-chosen. We venture to believe that not a quarter of the men in the Lower House
-of Congress know as much about Political Economy as can be learned from this
-compact and interesting little treatise.”—<cite>Christian Register.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>MILLER.—First Fam’lies of the Sierras.</strong> A Novel; by
-<span class='sc'>Joaquin Miller</span>. 12mo., 258 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining cañon in the very
-earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are evidently drawn
-from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling interest. Bret. Harte has
-never worked this rich vein of American life to better advantage.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span><strong>MÜLLER.—Memories</strong>; A Story of German Love. Translated
-from the German of <span class='sc'>Max Müller</span>, by <span class='sc'>Geo. P. Upton</span>. Small
-4to., 173 pages, red line, tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.00.
-The same, 16mo., red edges. Price, $1.00.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“‘Memories’ is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year. The story
-is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that effortless vraisemblance, which
-is so commonly a charm of German writers, and so seldom paralleled in English.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* Scarcely could there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the
-invalid Princess, though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost
-to profane her.”—<cite>Springfield (Mass.) Republican.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>McLANDBURGH.—The Automaton Ear and Other
-Sketches.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Miss Florence McLandburgh</span>. 12mo., 282
-pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>Any one of the many who have read “The Man at Crib,” “The Automaton Ear,”
-or “The Anthem of Judea,” which have been so widely copied in various
-periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this author, who is no less
-gifted than she is original and eccentric.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Truths for To-Day.</strong> <em>First Series.</em> By <span class='sc'>Professor
-David Swing</span>. 12mo., 325 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are convinced
-that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare culture, and of genuine
-humanity. His forte is evidently not that of doctrinal discussion. He deals in no
-nice distinctions of creed. He has no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents
-a broad and generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and
-the purest motives of a lofty manhood.”—<cite>New York Tribune.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Truths for To-Day.</strong> <em>Second Series.</em> By <span class='sc'>Professor
-David Swing</span>. 12mo., 294 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>This volume will contain the latest discourses of <span class='sc'>Prof. Swing</span>, some of them
-preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the Theatre to the New
-Central Church. It is universally conceded that these are the finest efforts he has
-ever made, and the general demand for their preservation in more permanent form
-than the newspaper reports, has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected,
-revised and arranged for publication by <span class='sc'>Prof. Swing</span> himself.</p>
-
-<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Trial of Prof. Swing.</strong> The <em>Official Report</em> of this
-important trial. 8vo., 286 pages. Price, $1.75.</p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“It constitutes a complete record of one of the most remarkable ecclesiastical
-trials of modern times.”—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'>“This volume will be a precious bit of history twenty-five years hence, and its
-pages will be read with mingled interest and surprise.”—<cite>Golden Age.</cite></p>
-
-<p class='c006'><strong>Any of the books on this list sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt
-of price by the publishers.</strong></p>
-
-<div class='lg-container-r'>
-  <div class='linegroup'>
-    <div class='group'>
-      <div class='line'>JANSEN, McCLURG &amp; CO.</div>
-      <div class='line in4'><span class='sc'>117 &amp; 119 State St., Chicago.</span></div>
-    </div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-<div class='pbb'>
- <hr class='pb c003' />
-</div>
-<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span></div>
-<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>
-
-<div class='chapter ph2'>
-
-<div class='nf-center-c0'>
-<div class='nf-center c004'>
-    <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
-  </div>
-</div>
-
-</div>
-
- <ol class='ol_1 c002'>
-    <li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
-
-    </li>
-    <li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
-    </li>
-  </ol>
-
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER SKETCHES ***</div>
-<div style='text-align:left'>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Updated editions will replace the previous one&#8212;the old editions will
-be renamed.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
-law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
-so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
-States without permission and without paying copyright
-royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
-of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG&#8482;
-concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
-and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
-the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
-of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
-copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
-easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
-of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
-Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away&#8212;you may
-do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
-by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
-license, especially commercial redistribution.
-</div>
-
-<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br />
-<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br />
-PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span>
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-To protect the Project Gutenberg&#8482; mission of promoting the free
-distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
-(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase &#8220;Project
-Gutenberg&#8221;), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
-Project Gutenberg&#8482; License available with this file or online at
-www.gutenberg.org/license.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
-Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
-and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
-(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
-the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
-destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works in your
-possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
-Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
-by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
-or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.B. &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; is a registered trademark. It may only be
-used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
-agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
-things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
-even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
-paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works if you follow the terms of this
-agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (&#8220;the
-Foundation&#8221; or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
-of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works. Nearly all the individual
-works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
-States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
-United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
-claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
-displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
-all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
-that you will support the Project Gutenberg&#8482; mission of promoting
-free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
-Project Gutenberg&#8482; name associated with the work. You can easily
-comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
-same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License when
-you share it without charge with others.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
-what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
-in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
-check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
-agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
-distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
-other Project Gutenberg&#8482; work. The Foundation makes no
-representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
-country other than the United States.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
-immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License must appear
-prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg&#8482; work (any work
-on which the phrase &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; appears, or with which the
-phrase &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; is associated) is accessed, displayed,
-performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
-</div>
-
-<blockquote>
-  <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-    other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-    whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-    of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
-    at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
-    are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
-    of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
-  </div>
-</blockquote>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work is
-derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
-contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
-copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
-the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
-redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase &#8220;Project
-Gutenberg&#8221; associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
-either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
-obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work is posted
-with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
-must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
-additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
-will be linked to the Project Gutenberg&#8482; License for all works
-posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
-beginning of this work.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
-work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg&#8482;.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
-electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
-prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
-active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; License.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
-compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
-any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
-to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg&#8482; work in a format
-other than &#8220;Plain Vanilla ASCII&#8221; or other format used in the official
-version posted on the official Project Gutenberg&#8482; website
-(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
-to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
-of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original &#8220;Plain
-Vanilla ASCII&#8221; or other form. Any alternate format must include the
-full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
-performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg&#8482; works
-unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
-access to or distributing Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
-provided that:
-</div>
-
-<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'>
-    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
-        &#8226; You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
-        the use of Project Gutenberg&#8482; works calculated using the method
-        you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
-        to the owner of the Project Gutenberg&#8482; trademark, but he has
-        agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
-        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
-        within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
-        legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
-        payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
-        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
-        Section 4, &#8220;Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
-        Literary Archive Foundation.&#8221;
-    </div>
-
-    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
-        &#8226; You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
-        you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
-        does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-        License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
-        copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
-        all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-        works.
-    </div>
-
-    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
-        &#8226; You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
-        any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
-        electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
-        receipt of the work.
-    </div>
-
-    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
-        &#8226; You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
-        distribution of Project Gutenberg&#8482; works.
-    </div>
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work or group of works on different terms than
-are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
-from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
-the Project Gutenberg&#8482; trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
-forth in Section 3 below.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
-effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
-works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
-contain &#8220;Defects,&#8221; such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
-or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
-intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
-other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
-cannot be read by your equipment.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the &#8220;Right
-of Replacement or Refund&#8221; described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
-liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
-fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
-LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
-PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
-TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
-LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
-INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
-DAMAGE.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
-defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
-receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
-written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
-received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
-with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
-with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
-lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
-or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
-opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
-the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
-without further opportunities to fix the problem.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
-in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you &#8216;AS-IS&#8217;, WITH NO
-OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
-LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
-warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
-damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
-violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
-agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
-limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
-unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
-remaining provisions.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
-trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
-providing copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works in
-accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
-production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
-including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
-the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
-or any Project Gutenberg&#8482; work, (b) alteration, modification, or
-additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg&#8482; work, and (c) any
-Defect you cause.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
-Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Project Gutenberg&#8482; is synonymous with the free distribution of
-electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
-computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
-exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
-from people in all walks of life.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
-assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg&#8482;&#8217;s
-goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg&#8482; collection will
-remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
-and permanent future for Project Gutenberg&#8482; and future
-generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
-Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
-Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
-501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
-state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
-Revenue Service. The Foundation&#8217;s EIN or federal tax identification
-number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
-U.S. federal laws and your state&#8217;s laws.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-The Foundation&#8217;s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
-Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
-to date contact information can be found at the Foundation&#8217;s website
-and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
-Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Project Gutenberg&#8482; depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
-public support and donations to carry out its mission of
-increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
-freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
-array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
-($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
-status with the IRS.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
-charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
-States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
-considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
-with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
-where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
-DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
-visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
-have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
-against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
-approach us with offers to donate.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
-any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
-outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
-methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
-ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
-donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
-Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
-Gutenberg&#8482; concept of a library of electronic works that could be
-freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
-distributed Project Gutenberg&#8482; eBooks with only a loose network of
-volunteer support.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Project Gutenberg&#8482; eBooks are often created from several printed
-editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
-the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
-necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
-edition.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
-facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
-</div>
-
-<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
-This website includes information about Project Gutenberg&#8482;,
-including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
-subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
-</div>
-
-</div>
-  </body>
-  <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57c on 2022-02-01 21:44:13 GMT -->
-</html>
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8" />
+    <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, by Florence McLandburgh</title>
+    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" />
+    <style> /* <![CDATA[ */
+       body { margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 10%; }
+       h1 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; }
+       h2 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; }
+       h3 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: large; }
+       .pageno { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: silver;
+               text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute;
+               border: thin solid silver; padding: .1em .2em; font-style: normal;
+               font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; }
+       p { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-align: justify; }
+       sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; }
+       .fss { font-size: 75%; }
+       .sc { font-variant: small-caps; }
+       .large { font-size: large; }
+       .xlarge { font-size: x-large; }
+       .small { font-size: small; }
+       .lg-container-b { text-align: center; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .lg-container-b { clear: both; }
+       .lg-container-r { text-align: right; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .lg-container-r { clear: both; }
+       .linegroup { display: inline-block; text-align: justify; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .linegroup { display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; }
+       .linegroup .group { margin: 1em auto; }
+       .linegroup .line { text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em; }
+       div.linegroup > :first-child { margin-top: 0; }
+       .linegroup .in18 { padding-left: 12.0em; }
+       .linegroup .in4 { padding-left: 5.0em; }
+       .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; }
+       ol.ol_1 {padding-left: 0; margin-left: 2.78%; margin-top: .5em;
+               margin-bottom: .5em; list-style-type: decimal; }
+       div.footnote > :first-child { margin-top: 1em; }
+       div.footnote p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       div.pbb { page-break-before: always; }
+       hr.pb { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; margin-bottom: 1em; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  hr.pb { display: none; }
+       .figcenter { clear: both; max-width: 100%; margin: 2em auto; text-align: center; }
+       .figcenter img { max-width: 100%; height: auto; }
+       .id001 { width:10%; }
+       .id002 { width:80%; }
+       .id003 { width:40%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .id001 { margin-left:45%; width:10%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .id002 { margin-left:10%; width:80%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .id003 { margin-left:30%; width:40%; }
+       .ig001 { width:100%; }
+       .table0 { margin: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
+       .nf-center { text-align: center; }
+       .nf-center-c0 { text-align: justify; margin: 0.5em 0; }
+       img.drop-capi { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; position: relative; z-index: 1; }
+       p.drop-capi_8 { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       p.drop-capi_8:first-letter { color: transparent; visibility: hidden;
+               margin-left: -.8em; }
+       .x-ebookmaker img.drop-capi { display: none; visibility: hidden; }
+       .x-ebookmaker p.drop-capi_8:first-letter { color: inherit; visibility: visible;
+               margin-left: 0em; }
+       .c000 { margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+       .c001 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em; }
+       .c002 { margin-top: 2em; }
+       .c003 { margin-top: 1em; }
+       .c004 { margin-top: 4em; }
+       .c005 { margin-top: 4em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c006 { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c007 { page-break-before:auto; margin-top: 4em; }
+       .c008 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em;
+               padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; }
+       .c009 { vertical-align: top; text-align: right; }
+       .c010 { margin-top: 2em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c011 { font-size: .9em; text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em;
+               margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c012 { margin-top: 1em; font-size: .9em; }
+       .c013 { text-decoration: none; }
+       .c014 { font-size: .9em; }
+       .c015 { page-break-before: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
+       .c016 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c017 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 2em; }
+       .c018 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 2em;
+               margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+       .c019 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 0.5em;
+               margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+       div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA;
+              border:thin solid silver; margin:2em 10% 0 10%; font-family: Georgia, serif;
+               }
+       .covernote { visibility: hidden; display: none; }
+       div.tnotes p { text-align: justify; }
+       .x-ebookmaker .covernote { visibility: visible; display: block; }
+       .figcenter {font-size: .9em; page-break-inside: avoid; max-width: 100%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker img {max-height: 30em; max-width: 100%; }
+       .footnote {font-size: .9em; }
+       div.footnote p {text-indent: 2em; margin-bottom: .5em; }
+       .chapter  { clear: both; page-break-before: always; }
+       .ol_1 li {font-size: .9em; }
+       .x-ebookmaker .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 0em; }
+       body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; }
+       table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid;
+               clear: both; }
+       div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always;
+               page-break-after: always; }
+       div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold;
+               line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; }
+       .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto;
+               page-break-before: always; }
+       .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; }
+    /* ]]> */ </style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67476 ***</div>
+
+<div class='tnotes covernote'>
+
+<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>
+
+<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='titlepage'>
+
+<div>
+  <h1 class='c001'><span class='large'>THE</span><br /> <span class='sc'>Automaton Ear</span>,<br /> <span class='small'>AND</span><br /> <span class='xlarge'>OTHER SKETCHES.</span></h1>
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c002'>
+    <div><span class='small'>BY</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>FLORENCE McLANDBURGH.</span></div>
+    <div class='c002'>CHICAGO:</div>
+    <div>JANSEN, McCLURG &amp; CO.</div>
+    <div>1876.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div><span class='small'>COPYRIGHT,</span></div>
+    <div><span class='small'><span class='sc'>By</span> FLORENCE McLANDBURGH,</span></div>
+    <div><span class='small'>A. D. 1876.</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<img src='images/i_002.jpg' alt='_LAKESIDE PUBLISHING &amp; PRINTING CO. CHICAGO._' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div>Dedicated</div>
+    <div class='c003'>TO</div>
+    <div class='c003'>JOHN McLANDBURGH.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c005'><span class='sc'>Note.</span>—Some of the sketches and tales in this volume
+were contributed to “Scribner’s Monthly,” “Appleton’s
+Journal,” and the “Lakeside Magazine,” and are used
+here, in a revised form, by the kind permission of the
+editors. Others appear now for the first time.</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>F. McL.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='sc'>Chicago</span>, <em>April, 1876</em>.</p>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_005.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>CONTENTS.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<table class='table0'>
+  <tr>
+    <th class='c008'></th>
+    <th class='c009'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></th>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Automaton Ear</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Paths of the Sea</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_44'>44</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Reinhart, the German</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_89'>89</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Silver Islet</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Boydell, the Stroller</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Death-Watch</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_149'>149</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Man at the Crib</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Prof. Kellermann’s Funeral</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_183'>183</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Feverfew</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_201'>201</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Old Simlin, the Moulder</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Anthem of Judea</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_243'>243</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_005b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
+<img src='images/i_007.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE AUTOMATON EAR.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_007.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+The day was hardly different from many
+another day, though I will likely recall
+it even when the mist of years has
+shrouded the past in an undefined hueless cloud.
+The sunshine came in at my open window.
+Out of doors it flooded all the land in its warm
+summer light—the spires of the town and the
+bare college campus; farther, the tall bearded
+barley and rustling oats; farther still, the wild
+grass and the forest, where the river ran and
+the blue haze dipped from the sky.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The temptation was greater than I could
+stand, and taking my book I shut up the
+“study,” as the students called my small apartment,
+leaving it for one bounded by no walls or
+ceiling.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The woods rang with the hum and chirp of
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>insects and birds. I threw myself down beneath
+a tall, broad-spreading tree. Against its
+moss-covered trunk I could hear the loud tap
+of the woodpecker secreted high up among its
+leaves, and off at the end of a tender young
+twig a robin trilled, swinging himself to and fro
+through the checkered sunlight. I never grew
+weary listening to the changeful voice of the
+forest and the river, and was hardly conscious
+of reading until I came upon this paragraph:—</p>
+
+<p class='c011'>“As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound
+is never lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will
+vibrate in the air forever and ever, decreasing according to
+a fixed ratio. The diffusion of the agitation extends in all
+directions, like the waves in a pool, but the ear is unable to
+detect it beyond a certain point. It is well known that some
+individuals can distinguish sounds which to others under
+precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the
+fault is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing,
+and a tone once in existence is always in existence.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This was nothing new to me. I had read it
+before, though I had never thought of it particularly;
+but while I listened to the robin, it
+seemed singular to know that all the sounds
+ever uttered, ever born, were floating in the air
+<em>now</em>—all music, every tone, every bird-song—and
+we, alas! could not hear them.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly a strange idea shot through my
+brain—Why not? Ay, <em>why not hear</em>? Men
+had constructed instruments which could magnify
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>to the eye and—was it possible?—Why
+not?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I looked up and down the river, but saw
+neither it, nor the sky, nor the moss that I
+touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted
+among the leaves, and the robin sing, and the
+hum of insects run along the bank as before?
+I can not recollect, I can not recollect anything,
+only Mother Flinse, the deaf and dumb old
+crone that occasionally came to beg, and sell
+nuts to the students, was standing in the gateway.
+I nodded to her as I passed, and walked
+up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path.
+It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly
+into my head and startled me. I hardly dared
+to think of it, but I could think of nothing else.
+It could not be possible, and yet—why not?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Over and over in the restless hours of the
+night I asked myself, I said aloud, Why not?
+Then I laughed at my folly, and wondered what
+I was thinking of and tried to sleep—but if it
+<em>could</em> be done?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in
+class hours and made confusion in the lessons.
+Some said the professor was ill those two or
+three days before the vacation; perhaps I was.
+I scarcely slept; only the one thought grew
+stronger—Men had done more wonderful
+things; it certainly was possible, and I would
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>accomplish this grand invention. I would construct
+the king of all instruments—I would
+construct an instrument which could catch
+these faint tones vibrating in the air and render
+them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly
+until it was perfected, or the world might laugh.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The session closed and the college was deserted,
+save by the few musty students whom,
+even in imagination, one could hardly separate
+or distinguish from the old books on the library
+shelves. I could wish for no better opportunity
+to begin my great work. The first thing
+would be to prepare for it by a careful study of
+acoustics, and I buried myself among volumes
+on the philosophy of sound.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went down to London and purchased a
+common ear-trumpet. My own ear was exceedingly
+acute, and to my great delight I found
+that, with the aid of the trumpet just as it was,
+I could distinguish sounds at a much greater
+distance, and those nearer were magnified in
+power. I had only to improve upon this instrument;
+careful study, careful work, careful
+experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly
+be realized.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Back to my old room in the college I went
+with a complete set of tools. So days and weeks
+I shut myself in, and every day and every week
+brought nothing but disappointment. The instrument
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>seemed only to diminish sound rather
+than increase it, yet still I worked on and
+vowed I would not grow discouraged.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my
+narrow window. The fields of barley and
+waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too
+had ripened and gone, but I did not notice. I
+sprang up with a joyful exclamation—Strange
+never to have thought of it before! Perhaps
+I had not spent my time in vain, after all. How
+could I expect to test my instrument in this
+close room with only that little window? It
+should be removed from immediate noises, high
+up in the open air, where there would be no
+obstructions. I would never succeed here—but
+where should I go? It must be some place
+in which I would never be liable to interruption,
+for my first object was to be shielded and
+work in secret.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate
+spot without success, when it occurred to
+me that I had heard some one say the old gray
+church was shut up. This church was situated
+just beyond the suburbs of the town. It was
+built of rough stone, mottled and stained by
+unknown years. The high, square tower,
+covered by thick vines that clung and crept
+round its base, was the most venerable monument
+among all the slabs and tombs where it
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared
+for by the living kept it company. People
+said the place was too damp for use, and
+talked of rebuilding, but it had never been done.
+Now if I could gain access to the tower, that
+was the very place for my purpose.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I found the door securely fastened, and
+walked round and round without discovering
+any way of entrance; but I made up my mind, if
+it were possible to get inside of that church I
+would do it, and without the help of keys.
+The high windows were not to be thought of;
+but in the rear of the building, lower down,
+where the fuel had probably been kept, there
+was a narrow opening which was boarded across.
+With very little difficulty I knocked out the
+planks and crept through. It was a cellar, and,
+as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After
+feeling about, I found a few rough steps which
+led to a door that was unlocked and communicated
+with the passage back of the vestry-room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The tower I wished to explore was situated
+in the remote corner of the building. I passed
+on to the church. Its walls were discolored
+by green mould, and blackened where the
+water had dripped through. The sun, low
+down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows
+on the west, and made yellow strips across
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>the long aisles, over the faded pews with their
+stiff, straight backs, over the chancel rail, over
+the altar with its somber wood-work; but
+there was no warmth; only the cheerless glare
+seemed to penetrate the cold, dead atmosphere,—only
+the cheerless glare without sparkle,
+without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary
+where the organ slept. At the right of the
+vestibule a staircase led to the tower; it ascended
+to a platform laid on a level with the
+four windows and a little above the point of the
+church roof. These four windows were situated
+one on each side of the tower, running
+high up, and the lower casement folding inward.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here was my place. Above the tree-tops, in
+the free open air, with no obstacle to obstruct
+the wind, I could work unmolested by people
+or noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face
+was cool and pleasant. An hour ago I had been
+tired, disappointed, and depressed; but now,
+buoyant with hope, I was ready to begin work
+again—work that I was determined to accomplish.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun had gone. I did not see the broken
+slabs and urns in the shadow down below; I
+did not see the sunken graves and the rank
+grass and the briers. I looked over them and
+saw the gorgeous fringes along the horizon,
+scarlet and gold and pearl; saw them quiver
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>and brighten to flame, and the white wings of
+pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening glow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I closed the windows, and when I had crawled
+out of the narrow hole, carefully reset the
+boards just as I had found them. In another
+day all the tools and books that I considered
+necessary were safely deposited in the tower. I
+only intended to make this my workshop, still,
+of course, occupying my old room in the college.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here I matured plan after plan. I studied,
+read, worked, knowing, <em>feeling</em> that at last I
+must succeed; but failure followed failure, and I
+sank into despondency only to begin again with
+a kind of desperation. When I went down to
+London and wandered about, hunting up different
+metals and hard woods, I never entered a
+concert-room or an opera-house. Was there
+not music in store for me, such as no mortal ear
+had ever heard? <em>All</em> the music, every strain
+that had sounded in the past ages? Ah, I
+could wait; I would work patiently and wait.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was laboring now upon a theory that I had
+not tried heretofore. It was my last resource;
+if this failed, then—but it would not fail! I
+resolved not to make any test, not to put it
+near my ear until it was completed. I discarded
+all woods and used only the metals which
+best transmitted sound. Finally it was finished,
+even to the ivory ear-piece. I held the instrument
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>all ready—I held it and looked eastward
+and westward and back again. Suddenly all
+control over the muscles of my hand was gone,
+it felt like stone; then the strange sensation
+passed away. I stood up and lifted the trumpet
+to my ear—What! Silence? No, no—I was
+faint, my brain was confused, whirling. I
+would not believe it; I would wait a moment
+until this dizziness was gone, and then—then
+I would be able to hear. I was deaf now. I
+still held the instrument; in my agitation the
+ivory tip shook off and rolled down rattling on
+the floor. I gazed at it mechanically, as if it
+had been a pebble; I never thought of replacing
+it, and, mechanically, I raised the trumpet a
+second time to my ear. A crash of discordant
+sounds, a confused jarring noise broke upon me
+and I drew back trembling, dismayed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Fool! O fool of fools never to have thought
+of this, which a child, a dunce would not have
+overlooked! My great invention was nothing,
+was worse than nothing, was worse than a failure.
+I might have known that my instrument would
+magnify present sounds in the air to such a
+degree as to make them utterly drown all others,
+and, clashing together, produce this noise like
+the heavy rumble of thunder.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The college reopened, and I took up my old
+line of duties, or at least attempted them, for
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>the school had grown distasteful to me. I was
+restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to
+forget my disappointment, but the effort was
+vain.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The spires of the town and the college campus
+glittered white, the fields of barley and
+oats were fields of snow, the forest leaves had
+withered and fallen, and the river slumbered,
+wrapped in a sheeting of ice. Still I brooded
+over my failure, and when again the wild grass
+turned green I no longer cared. I was not the
+same man that had looked out at the waving
+grain and the blue haze only a year before. A
+gloomy despondency had settled upon me, and
+I grew to hate the students, to hate the college,
+to hate society. In the first shock of discovered
+failure I had given up all hope, and the
+Winter passed I knew not how. I never wondered
+if the trouble could be remedied. Now
+it suddenly occurred to me, perhaps it was
+no failure after all. The instrument might be
+made adjustable, so as to be sensible to faint or
+severe vibrations at pleasure of the operator,
+and thus separate the sounds. I remembered
+how but for the accidental removal of the ivory
+my instrument perhaps would not have reflected
+any sound. I would work again and persevere.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I would have resigned my professorship, only
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>it might create suspicion. I knew not that
+already they viewed me with curious eyes and
+sober faces. When the session finally closed,
+they tried to persuade me to leave the college
+during vacation and travel on the continent. I
+would feel much fresher, they told me, in the
+Autumn. In the Autumn? Ay, perhaps I
+might, perhaps I might, and I would not go
+abroad.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Once more the reapers came unnoticed. My
+work progressed slowly. Day by day I toiled
+up in the old church tower, and night by night
+I dreamed. In my sleep it often seemed that
+the instrument was suddenly completed, but
+before I could raise it to my ear I would always
+waken with a nervous start. So the feverish
+time went by, and at last I held it ready for a
+second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable,
+and I had also improved it so far as to be
+able to set it very accurately for any particular
+period, thus rendering it sensible only to sounds
+of that time, all heavier and fainter vibrations
+being excluded.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I drew it out almost to its limits.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All the maddening doubts that had haunted
+me like grinning specters died. I felt no tremor,
+my hand was steady, my pulse-beat regular.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>stirred in the quiet that seemed to await my
+triumph. Again the crimson splendor of sun-set
+illumined the western sky and made a glory
+overhead—and the dusk was thickening down
+below among the mouldering slabs. But that
+mattered not.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I raised the trumpet to my ear.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hark!—The hum of mighty hosts! It rose
+and fell, fainter and more faint; then the murmur
+of water was heard and lost again, as it
+swelled and gathered and burst in one grand
+volume of sound like a hallelujah from myriad
+lips. Out of the resounding echo, out of the
+dying cadence a single female voice arose.
+Clear, pure, rich, it soared above the tumult
+of the host that hushed itself, a living thing.
+Higher, sweeter, it seemed to break the fetters
+of mortality and tremble in sublime adoration
+before the Infinite. My breath stilled with
+awe. Was it a spirit-voice—one of the glittering
+host in the jasper city “that had no
+need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine
+in it?” And the water, was it the river
+clear as crystal flowing from the great white
+throne? But no! The tone now floated out
+soft, sad, human. There was no sorrowful
+strain in that nightless land where the leaves
+of the trees were for the healing of the nations.
+The beautiful voice was of the earth and sin-stricken.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>From the sobbing that mingled with
+the faint ripple of water it went up once more,
+ringing gladly, joyfully; it went up inspired
+with praise to the sky, and—hark! the
+Hebrew tongue:—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The horse and his rider hath he thrown
+into the sea.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then the noise of the multitude swelled
+again, and a crash of music broke forth from
+innumerable timbrels. I raised my head quickly—it
+was the song of Miriam after the passage
+of the Red Sea.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I knew not whether I lived.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again
+and heard—the soft rustle, the breathing as of
+a sleeping forest. A plaintive note stole gently
+out, more solemn and quiet than the chant of
+the leaves. The mournful lay, forlorn, frightened,
+trembled on the air like the piteous wail
+of some wounded creature. Then it grew
+stronger. Clear, brilliant, it burst in a shower
+of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in
+the glitter of the tropical sunlight. But the
+mournful wail crept back, and the lonely heartbroken
+strain was lost, while the leaves still
+whispered to one another in the midnight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Like the light of a distant star came to me
+this song of some nightingale, thousands of
+years after the bird had mouldered to nothing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>At last my labor had been rewarded. As
+sound travels in waves, and these waves are continually
+advancing as they go round and round
+the world, therefore I would never hear the
+same sound over again at the same time, but it
+passed beyond and another came in its stead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All night I listened with my ear pressed to
+the instrument. I heard the polished, well-studied
+compliments, the rustle of silks, and
+the quick music of the dance at some banquet.
+I could almost see the brilliant robes and glittering
+jewels of the waltzers, and the sheen of
+light, and the mirrors. But hush! a cry, a
+stifled moan. Was that at the——No, the
+music and the rustle of silk were gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Mother, put your hand here,—I am tired,
+and my head feels hot and strange. Is it night,
+already, that it has grown so dark? I am resting
+now, for my book is almost done, and then,
+mother, we can go back to the dear old home
+where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles
+are heavy with perfume. And, mother,
+we will never be poor any more. I know you
+are weary, for your cheeks are pale and your
+fingers are thin; but they shall not touch a
+needle then, and you will grow better, mother,
+and we will forget these long, long, bitter years.
+I will not write in the evenings then, but sit
+with you and watch the twilight fade as we
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>used to do, and listen to the murmur of the
+frogs. I described the little stream, our little
+stream, mother, in my book.—Hark! I hear
+the splash of its waves now. Hold me by the
+hand tight, mother. I am tired, but we are
+almost there. See! the house glimmers white
+through the trees, and the red bird has built its
+nest again in the cedar. Put your arm around
+me, mother, mother—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then single, echoless, the mother’s piercing
+cry went up—“O my God!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Great Heaven! It would not always be
+music that I should hear. Into this ear, where
+all the world poured its tales, sorrow and suffering
+and death would come in turn with mirth
+and gladness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I listened again. The long-drawn ahoy!—ahoy!—of
+the sailor rang out in slumbrous
+musical monotone, now free, now muffled—gone.
+The gleeful laugh of children at play,
+then the drunken boisterous shout of the midnight
+reveler—What was that? A chime of
+bells, strange, sublime, swimming in the air they
+made a cold, solemn harmony. But even over
+them dashed the storm-blast of passion that
+sweeps continually up and down the earth, and
+the harmony that bound them in peace broke
+up in a wild, angry clamor, that set loose shrill
+screams which were swallowed up in a savage
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>tumult of discord, like a mad carnival of yelling
+demons. Then, as if terrified by their own
+fiendish rage, they retreated shivering, remorseful,
+and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers
+about the gray belfry. It was the Carillonneur,
+Matthias Vander Gheyn, playing at Louvain on
+the first of July, 1745.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, my invention had proved a grand success.
+I had worked and worked in order to
+give this instrument to the world; but now
+when it was finished, strange to say, all my
+ambition, all my desire for fame left me, and
+I was anxious only to guard it from discovery,
+to keep it secret, to keep it more jealously than
+a miser hoards his gold. An undefinable delight
+filled my soul that I alone out of all
+humanity possessed this treasure, this great Ear
+of the World, for which kings might have given
+up their thrones. Ah! they dreamed not of
+the wonders I could relate. It was a keen, intense
+pleasure to see the public for which I had
+toiled live on, deaf forever save to the few
+transient sounds of the moment, while I, their
+slave, reveled in another world above, beyond
+their’s. But they should never have this instrument;
+no, not for kingdoms would I give it
+up, not for life itself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It exerted a strange fascination over me, and
+in my eager desire to preserve my secret a tormenting
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>fear suddenly took possession of me
+that some one might track me to the tower and
+discover all. It seemed as if the people looked
+after me with curious faces as I passed. I went
+no longer on the main road that led to the
+church, but, when I left my room, took an
+opposite direction until out of sight, and then
+made a circuit across the fields. I lived in a
+continual fear of betraying myself, so that at
+night I closed my window and door lest I might
+talk aloud in my sleep. I could never again
+bear the irksome duties of my office, and when
+the college reopened I gave up my situation
+and took lodgings in town. Still the dread of
+detection haunted me. Every day I varied my
+route to the church, and every day the people
+seemed to stare at me with a more curious gaze.
+Occasionally some of my old pupils came to
+visit me, but they appeared constrained in my
+presence and were soon gone. However, no
+one seemed to suspect my secret; perhaps all
+this was merely the work of my imagination,
+for I had grown watchful and reticent.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I hardly ate or slept. I lived perpetually in
+the past listening to the echoing song of the
+Alpine shepherd; the rich, uncultivated soprano
+of the Southern slave making strange
+wild melody. I heard grand organ fugues rolling,
+sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>awe, while a choir of voices broke into a gloria
+that seemed to sway the great cathedral. The
+thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang
+again, making my listening soul tremble in their
+magnificent harmony. It was music of which
+we could not dream.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then suddenly I determined to try the opera
+once more; perhaps I was prejudiced: I had
+not been inside of a concert-room for more
+than a year.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went down to London. It was just at
+the opening of the season. I could hardly
+wait that evening until the curtain rose; the
+orchestra was harsh and discordant, the house
+hot and disagreeable, the gas painfully bright.
+My restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch
+before the prima donna made her appearance.
+Surely that voice was not the one before which
+the world bowed! Malibran’s song stood out
+in my memory clearly defined and complete, like
+a magnificent cathedral of pure marble, with
+faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings,
+where the minarets rose from wreaths of lilies
+and vine-leaves cut in bas-relief, and the slender
+spire shot high, glittering yellow in the
+upper sunlight, its golden arrow, burning like
+flame, pointing towards the East. But this
+prima donna built only a flat, clumsy structure
+of wood ornamented by gaudily painted lattice.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>I left the opera amid the deafening applause of
+the audience with a smile of scorn upon my
+lips. Poor deluded creatures! they knew nothing
+of music, they knew not what they were
+doing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went to St. Paul’s on the Sabbath. There
+was no worship in the operatic voluntary sung
+by hired voices; it did not stir my soul, and
+their cold hymns did not warm with praise to
+the Divine Creator, or sway the vast pulseless
+congregation that came and went without one
+quickened breath.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All this time I felt a singular, inexpressible
+pleasure in the consciousness of my great secret,
+and I hurried back with eager haste. In London
+I had accidentally met two or three of my
+old acquaintances. I was not over glad to see
+them myself: as I have said, I had grown
+utterly indifferent to society; but I almost felt
+ashamed when they offered me every attention
+within their power, for I had not anticipated it,
+nor was it deserved on my part. Now, when I
+returned, every body in the street stopped to
+shake hands with me and inquire for my health.
+At first, although I was surprised at the interest
+they manifested, I took it merely as the
+common civility on meeting, but when the
+question was repeated so particularly by each
+one, I thought it appeared strange, and asked
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>if they had ever heard to the contrary; no, oh
+no, they said, but still I was astonished at the
+unusual care with which they all made the
+same inquiry.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went up to my room and walked directly to
+the glass. It was the first time I had consciously
+looked into a mirror for many weeks.
+Good Heavens! The mystery was explained
+now. <em>I could hardly recognize myself.</em> At first
+the shock was so great that I stood gazing,
+almost petrified. The demon of typhus fever
+could not have wrought a more terrific change
+in my face if he had held it in his clutches for
+months. My hair hung in long straggling locks
+around my neck. I was thin and fearfully haggard.
+My eyes sunken far back in my head,
+looked out from dark, deep hollows; my heavy
+black eyebrows were knit together by wrinkles
+that made seams over my forehead; my fleshless
+cheeks clung tight to the bone, and a bright
+red spot on either one was half covered by thick
+beard. I had thought so little about my personal
+appearance lately that I had utterly neglected
+my hair, and I wondered now that it had
+given me no annoyance. I smiled while I still
+looked at myself. This was the effect of the
+severe study and loss of sleep, and the excitement
+under which I had labored for months, yes,
+for more than a year. I had not been conscious
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>of fatigue, but my work was done now and I
+would soon regain my usual weight. I submitted
+myself immediately to the hands of a
+barber, dressed with considerable care, and
+took another look in the glass. My face appeared
+pinched and small since it had been
+freed from beard. The caverns around my eyes
+seemed even larger, and the bright color in my
+cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely
+sallow tint of my complexion. I turned away
+with an uncomfortable feeling, and started on
+a circuitous route to the church, for I never
+trusted my instrument in any other place.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a sober autumn day. Every thing
+looked dreary with that cold, gray, sunless sky
+stretched overhead. The half-naked trees
+shivered a little in their seared garments of
+ragged leaves. Occasionally a cat walked
+along the fence-top, or stood trembling on
+three legs. Sometimes a depressed bird suddenly
+tried to cheer its drooping spirits and
+uttered a few sharp, discontented chirps. Just
+in front of me two boys were playing ball on
+the roadside. As I passed I accidentally
+caught this sentence:</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“They say the professor ain’t just right in
+his head.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For a moment I stood rooted to the ground;
+then wheeled round and cried out fiercely,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>“What did you say?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Sir?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What was that you said just now?” I repeated
+still more fiercely.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The terrified boys looked at me an instant,
+then without answering turned and ran as fast
+as fright could carry them.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the mystery now was really explained!
+It was not sick the people thought me, but
+crazy. I walked on with a queer feeling and
+began vaguely to wonder why I had been so
+savage to those boys. The fact which I had
+learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock,
+but it was nothing to me. What did I care,
+even if the people did think me crazy? Ah!
+perhaps if I told my secret they would consider
+it a desperate case of insanity. But the child’s
+words kept ringing in my ears until an idea
+flashed upon me more terrifying than death
+itself. How did I know that I was <em>not</em> insane?
+How did I know that my great invention might
+be only an hallucination of my brain?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded
+up like ghostly witnesses to affright me. I had
+studied myself to a shadow; my pallid face,
+with the red spots on the cheeks and the blue
+hollows around the eyes, came before my mental
+vision afresh. The fever in my veins told
+me I was unnaturally excited. I had not slept
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>a sound, dreamless sleep for weeks. Perhaps
+in the long, long days and nights my brain, like
+my body, had been overwrought; perhaps in
+my eager desire to succeed, in my desperate
+determination, the power of my will had disordered
+my mind, and it was all deception: the
+sounds, the music I had heard, merely the creation
+of my diseased fancy, and the instrument
+I had handled useless metal. The very idea
+was inexpressible torture to me. I could not
+bear that a single doubt of its reality should
+exist; but, after once entering my head, how
+would I ever be able to free myself from distrust?
+I could not do it; I would be obliged
+to live always in uncertainty. It was maddening:
+now I felt as if I might have struck the
+child in my rage if I could have found him.
+Then suddenly it occurred to me, for the first
+time, that my invention could easily be tested by
+some other person. Almost instantly I rejected
+the thought, for it would compel me to
+betray my secret, and in my strange infatuation
+I would rather have destroyed the instrument.
+But the doubts of my sanity on this subject
+returned upon me with tenfold strength,
+and again I thought in despair of the only
+method left me by which they could ever be
+settled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the first shock, when the unlucky sentence
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>fell upon my ear, I had turned after the boys,
+and then walked on mechanically towards the
+town. Now, when I looked up I found myself
+almost at the college gate. No one was to be
+seen, only Mother Flinse with her basket on her
+arm was just raising the latch. Half bewildered
+I turned hastily round and bent my steps in the
+direction of my lodgings, while I absently
+wondered whether that old woman had stood
+there ever since, since—when? I did not recollect,
+but her shadow was long and slim—no,
+there were no shadows this afternoon; it was
+sunless.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I reached the stairs leading to my room,
+my trouble, which I had forgotten for the
+moment, broke upon me anew. I dragged myself
+up and sat down utterly overwhelmed.
+As I have said, I would sooner destroy the instrument
+than give it to a thankless world; but
+to endure the torturing doubt of its reality was
+impossible. Suddenly it occurred to me that
+Mother Flinse was mute. I might get her to
+test my invention without fear of betrayal, for
+she could neither speak nor write, and her
+signs on this subject, if she attempted to explain,
+would be altogether unintelligible to
+others. I sprang up in wild delight, then immediately
+fell back in my chair with a hoarse
+laugh—Mother Flinse was <em>deaf</em> as well as
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>dumb. I had not remembered that. I sat
+quietly a moment trying to calm myself and
+think. Why need this make any difference?
+The instrument ought to, at least it was possible
+that it might, remedy loss of hearing. I
+too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it
+made audible. They would have to be magnified
+to a greater degree for her. I might set it
+for the present and use the full power of the
+instrument: there certainly would be no harm
+in trying, at any rate, and if it failed it would
+prove nothing, if it did not fail it would prove
+every thing. Then a new difficulty presented
+itself. How could I entice the old woman into
+the church?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went back towards the college expecting to
+find her, but she was nowhere to be seen, and I
+smiled that only a few moments ago I had
+wondered if she did not always stand in the
+gateway. Once, I could not exactly recall the
+time, I had passed her hut. I remembered distinctly
+that there was a line full of old ragged
+clothes stretched across from the fence to a decayed
+tree, and a bright red flannel petticoat
+blew and flapped among the blackened branches.
+It was a miserable frame cabin, set back from
+the Spring road, about half a mile out of town.
+There I went in search of her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The blasted tree stood out in bold relief
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>against the drab sky. There appeared no living
+thing about the dirty, besmoked hovel except
+one lean rat, that squatted with quivering nose
+and stared a moment, then retreated under the
+loose plank before the door, leaving its smellers
+visible until I stepped upon the board. I
+knocked loudly without receiving any reply;
+then, smiling at the useless ceremony I had performed,
+pushed it open. The old woman, dressed
+in her red petticoat and a torn calico frock,
+with a faded shawl drawn over her head, was
+standing with her back towards me, picking
+over a pile of rags. She did not move. I hesitated
+an instant, then walked in. The moment
+I put my foot upon the floor she sprang quickly
+round. At first she remained motionless, with
+her small, piercing gray eyes fixed upon me,
+holding a piece of orange-and-black spotted
+muslin; evidently she recognized me, for, suddenly
+dropping it, she began a series of wild
+gestures, grinning until all the wrinkles of her
+skinny face converged in the region of her
+mouth, where a few scattered teeth, long and
+sharp, gleamed strangely white. A rim of grizzled
+hair stood out round the edge of the
+turbaned shawl and set off the withered and
+watchful countenance of the speechless old
+crone. The yellow, shriveled skin hung loosely
+about her slim neck like leather, and her
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>knotted hands were brown and dry as the claws
+of an eagle.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went through the motion of sweeping and
+pointed over my shoulder, making her understand
+that I wished her to do some cleaning.
+She drew the seams of her face into a new
+grimace by way of assent, and, putting the piece
+of orange-and-black spotted muslin around her
+shoulders in lieu of a cloak, preceded me out of
+the door. She started immediately in the direction
+of the college, and I was obliged to take
+hold of her before I could attract her attention;
+then, when I shook my head, she regarded me
+in surprise, and fell once more into a series
+of frantic gesticulations. With considerable
+trouble I made her comprehend that she was
+merely to follow me. The old woman was by
+no means dull, and her small, steel-gray eyes
+had a singular sharpness about them that is only
+found in the deaf-mute, where they perform the
+part of the ear and tongue. As soon as we
+came in sight of the church she was perfectly
+satisfied. I walked up to the main entrance,
+turned the knob and shook it, then suddenly
+felt in all my pockets, shook the door over, and
+felt through all my pockets again. This hypocritical
+pantomime had the desired effect. The
+old beldam slapped her hands together and
+poked her lean finger at the hole of the lock,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>apparently amused that I had forgotten the key.
+Then of her own accord she went round and
+tried the other doors, but without success. As
+we passed the narrow window in the rear I
+made a violent effort in knocking out the loose
+boards. The old woman seemed greatly delighted,
+and when I crawled through willingly
+followed. I gave her a brush, which fortunately
+one day I had discovered lying in the vestibule,
+and left her in the church to dust, while I went
+up in the tower to prepare and remove from
+sight all the tools which were scattered about.
+I put them in a recess and screened it from view
+by a map of the Holy Land. Then I took my
+instrument and carefully adjusted it, putting on
+its utmost power.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In about an hour I went down and motioned
+to Mother Flinse that I wanted her up stairs.
+She came directly after me without hesitation,
+and I felt greatly relieved, for I saw that I would
+likely have no trouble with the old woman.
+When we got into the tower she pointed down
+to the trees and then upward, meaning, I presume,
+that it was high. I nodded, and taking
+the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment.
+A loud blast of music, like a dozen
+bands playing in concert, almost stunned me.
+She watched me very attentively, but when I
+made signs for her to come and try she drew
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>back. I held up the instrument and went
+through all manner of motions indicating that
+it would not hurt her, but she only shook her
+head. I persevered in my endeavor to coax
+her until she seemed to gain courage and walked
+up within a few feet of me, then suddenly
+stopped and stretched out her hands for the instrument.
+As she did not seem afraid, provided
+she had it herself, I saw that she took firm hold.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In my impatience to know the result of this
+experiment, I was obliged to repeat my signs
+again and again before I could prevail upon her
+to raise it to her ear. Then breathlessly I
+watched her face, a face I thought which looked
+as if it might belong to some mummy that had
+been withering for a thousand years. Suddenly
+it was convulsed as if by a galvanic shock, then
+the shriveled features seemed to dilate, and a
+great light flashed through them, transforming
+them almost into the radiance of youth; a
+strange light as of some seraph had taken possession
+of the wrinkled old frame and looked
+out at the gray eyes, making them shine with
+unnatural beauty. No wonder the dumb countenance
+reflected a brightness inexpressible, for
+the Spirit of Sound had just alighted with
+silvery wings upon a silence of seventy years.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A heavy weight fell unconsciously from my
+breast while I stood almost awed before this
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>face, which was transfigured, as if it might
+have caught a glimmer of that mystical morn
+when, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
+we shall all be changed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My instrument had stood the test; it was
+proved forever. I could no longer cherish any
+doubts of its reality, and an indescribable peace
+came into my soul, like a sudden awakening
+from some frightful dream. I had not noticed
+the flight of time. A pale shadow hung already
+over the trees—yes, and under them on the
+slime-covered stones. Ay! and a heavier
+shadow than the coming night was even then
+gathering unseen its rayless folds. The drab
+sky had blanched and broken, and the sinking
+sun poured a fading light through its ragged
+fissures.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old woman, as if wrapped in an enchantment,
+had hardly moved. I tried vainly to
+catch her attention; she did not even appear
+conscious of my presence. I walked up and
+shook her gently by the shoulder, and, pointing
+to the setting sun, held out my hand for the instrument.
+She looked at me a moment, with
+the singular unearthly beauty shining through
+every feature; then suddenly clutching the
+trumpet tight between her skinny claws, sprang
+backward towards the stairs, uttering a sound
+that was neither human nor animal, that was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>not a wail or a scream, but it fell upon my ears
+like some palpable horror. Merciful Heaven!
+Was that thing yonder a woman? The shriveled,
+fleshless lips gaped apart, and a small pointed
+tongue lurked behind five glittering, fang-like
+teeth. The wild beast had suddenly been developed
+in the hag. Like a hungry tigress
+defending its prey, she stood hugging the
+trumpet to her, glaring at me with stretched
+neck and green eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A savage fierceness roused within me when
+I found she would not give up the instrument,
+and I rushed at her with hands ready to snatch
+back the prize I valued more than my life—<em>or
+hers</em>; but, quicker than a hunted animal, she
+turned and fled with it down the stairs, making
+the tower ring with the hideous cries of her
+wordless voice. Swiftly—it seemed as if the
+danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to
+fly in pursuit—I crossed the vestibule. She
+was not there. Every thing was silent, and I
+darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of
+the church, when suddenly the jarring idiotic
+sounds broke loose again, echoing up in the
+organ-pipes and rattling along the galleries.
+The fiend sprang from behind the altar, faced
+about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming
+teeth, then fled through the vestry-room
+into the passage. The sight of her was fresh
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>fuel to my rage, and it flamed into a frenzy that
+seemed to burn the human element out of my
+soul. When I gained the steps leading into the
+coal-room she was already in the window, but
+I cleared the distance at a single bound and
+caught hold of her clothes as she leaped down.
+I crawled through, but she clutched the instrument
+tighter. I could not prize it out of her
+grasp; and in her ineffectual efforts to free herself
+from my hold she made loud, grating cries,
+that seemed to me to ring and reverberate all
+through the forest; but presently they grew
+smothered, gurgled, then ceased. Her clasp
+relaxed in a convulsive struggle, and the trumpet
+was in my possession. It was easily done,
+for her neck was small and lean, and my hands
+made a circle strong as a steel band.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The tremor died out of her frame and left it
+perfectly still. Through the silence I could
+hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle-weeds,
+and the flapping wings of some night bird
+fanned my face as it rushed swiftly through the
+air in its low flight. The gray twilight had
+deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to
+have given up their tenants. The pale monuments
+stood out like shrouded specters. But
+all the dead in that church-yard were not under
+ground, for on the wet grass at my feet there
+was something stark and stiff, more frightful
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>than any phantom of imagination—something
+that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly
+features. It must be put out of sight, yes, it
+must be hid, to save my invention from discovery.
+The old hag might be missed, and if
+she was found here it would ruin me and expose
+my secret. I placed the trumpet on the
+window-ledge, and, carrying the grim burden
+in my arms, plunged into the damp tangle of
+weeds and grass.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In a lonesome corner far back from the
+church, in the dense shade of thorn-trees,
+among the wild brambles where poisonous vines
+grew, slippery with the mould of forgotten
+years, unsought, uncared for by any human
+hand, was a tomb. Its sides were half buried
+in the tall underbrush, and the long slab had
+been broken once, for a black fissure ran zigzag
+across the middle. In my muscles that night
+there was the strength of two men. I lifted
+off one-half of the stone and heard the lizards
+dart startled from their haunt, and felt the spiders
+crawl. When the stone was replaced it
+covered more than the lizards or the spiders in
+the dark space between the narrow walls.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said, the instrument possessed a
+singular fascination over me. I had grown to
+love it, not alone as a piece of mechanism for
+the transmission of sound, but like a <em>living</em>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>thing, and I replaced it in the tower with the
+same pleasure one feels who has rescued a
+friend from death. My listening ear never
+grew weary, but now I drew quickly away. It
+was not music I heard, or the ripple of water,
+or the prattle of merry tongues, but the harsh
+grating cries that had echoed in the church,
+that had rattled and died out in the forest—that
+voice which was not a voice. I shivered
+while I readjusted the instrument; perhaps it
+was the night wind which chilled me, but the
+rasping sounds were louder than before. <em>I
+could not exclude them.</em> There was no element
+of superstition in my nature, and I tried it over
+again: still I heard them—sometimes sharp,
+sometimes only a faint rumbling. Had the soul
+of the deaf-mute come in retribution to haunt
+me and cry eternally in my instrument? Perhaps
+on the morrow it would not disturb me,
+but there was no difference. I could hear only
+it, though I drew out the trumpet for vibrations
+hundreds of years old. I had rid myself of the
+withered hag who would have stolen my treasure,
+but now I could not rid myself of her invisible
+ghost. She had conquered, even through
+death, and come from the spirit world to gain
+possession of the prize for which she had given
+up her life. The instrument was no longer of
+any value to me, though cherishing a vague
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>hope I compelled myself to listen, even with
+chattering teeth; for it was a terrible thing to
+hear these hoarse, haunting cries of the dumb
+soul—of the soul I had strangled from its body,
+a soul which I would have killed itself if it
+were possible. But my hope was vain, and the
+trumpet had become not only worthless to me,
+but an absolute horror.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly I determined to destroy it. I
+turned it over ready to dash it in pieces, but it
+cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life,
+and while I stood irresolute a small green-and-gold
+beetle crawled out of it and dropped like
+a stone to the floor. The insect was an electric
+flash to me, that dispelled the black gloom
+through which I had been battling. It had
+likely fallen into the instrument down in the
+church-yard, or when I laid it upon the window-sill,
+and the rasping of its wings, magnified,
+had produced the sounds which resembled
+the strange grating noise uttered by the deaf-mute.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Instantly I put the trumpet to my ear. Once
+more the music of the past surged in. Voices,
+leaves, water, all murmured to me their changeful
+melody; every zephyr wafting by was filled
+with broken but melodious whispers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Relieved from doubts, relieved from fears
+and threatening dangers, I slept peacefully,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>dreamlessly as a child. With a feeling of rest
+to which I had long been unused, I walked out
+in the soft clear morning. Every thing seemed
+to have put on new life, for the sky was not
+gray or sober, and the leaves, if they were
+brown, trimmed their edges in scarlet, and if
+many had fallen, the squirrels played among
+them on the ground. But suddenly the sky
+and the leaves and the squirrels might have been
+blotted from existence. I did not see them,
+but I saw—<em>I saw Mother Flinse come through
+the college gateway and walk slowly down the
+road!</em></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The large faded shawl pinned across her
+shoulders nearly covered the red flannel petticoat,
+and the orange-and-black spotted muslin
+was wrapped into a turban on her head. Without
+breathing, almost without feeling, I watched
+the figure until at the corner it turned out of
+sight, and a long dark outline on the grass behind
+it ran into the fence. The shadow! Then
+it was not a ghost. Had the grave given up
+its dead? I would see.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the church-yard the briers tore my face
+and clothes, but I plunged deeper where the
+shade thickened under the thorn-trees. There
+in the corner I stooped to lift the broken slab
+of a tomb, but all my strength would not avail
+to move it. As I leaned over, bruising my hands
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>in a vain endeavor to raise it, my eyes fell for an
+instant on the stone, and with a start I turned
+quickly and ran to the church; then I stopped—the
+narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the
+slab on the tomb was filled with green moss,
+and this window was nailed up, and hung full
+of heavy cobwebs.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And my instrument?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly, while I stood there, some substance
+in my brain seemed to break up—it was
+the fetters of monomania which had bound me
+since that evening long ago, when, by the river
+in the oak-forest, I had heard the robin trill.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>No murder stained my soul: and there, beside
+the black waves of insanity through which
+I had passed unharmed, I gave praise to the
+great Creator—praise silent, but intense as
+Miriam’s song by the sea.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_043.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_044.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE PATHS OF THE SEA.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_044.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+Around the porch there hung that day
+a crimson glory. It was the climbing
+rose about the door displaying its
+gorgeous bloom in a thousand crowns. Green,
+grass-green were the hills, but in front of the
+house the cliff fell abruptly, with a precipitous
+drop, to the sea. On either side the waving
+coast-line stretched away, a shining belt of
+yellow sand. There the breakers with unfurled
+banners of fleece followed each other in a never
+ending procession to the shore. But at the
+foot the billows, by day and night running in
+forever, dashed against the rock and chopped
+to a seething foam that threw up in one continual
+briny shower its white and glittering
+spray.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The surf at this point, even in pleasant
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>weather, sounded a constant roar, and in times
+of storm it increased to a deafening thunder
+that appalled the ear and made the heart tremble
+before the sea in its savage ferocity. Looking
+off to the right, perhaps the greater part of
+a mile distant, the harbor discovered itself, blue,
+bluer than the sky. A few vessels that had
+grown mysteriously upon the empty horizon,
+and come in over the vast waste of waters, were
+idly lying at anchor, each one biding her time
+to spread her sails in the breeze and recede upon
+her lonely course, going, as she had come, like
+some spirit of solitude, dropping down silently
+beyond the remote sea-reaches. There the
+Nereid swung herself gently over the long
+ground-swell, patiently awaiting the coming
+night when again to take up her watery track
+that would carry her over the great Atlantic
+to other lands and far-off harbors. Not a trimmer
+ship sailed the high seas.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun had traveled almost down the western
+slope, and it lit up the mighty ocean with
+a splendor that burned in lances of flame along
+the waves, and floated in myriad rainbows over
+the surf. The pomp of the departing day
+passed across the boundless waters, a magnificent
+pageantry. As the sun went down, the sky
+became a scarlet canopy. The flying spray
+took up the color and spread out a thousand
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>streamers to the wind. Long, gold-green lanes
+of sea ran out to where the distant mists let
+down their gorgeous drapery. The tireless
+gulls, shaking the red light from their wings,
+sailed and sailed and dipped and sailed again.
+A few fishing smacks loitered in the orange
+haze, and, leagues away, a single sloop in the
+humid north stood, like some wan water-wraith,
+with a garland of foam about its feet. Eastward,
+above the hills, the waiting moon hung
+her helmet, paler than pearl, and the land, transfigured
+by the evening light, looked on while
+the sea in its play flashed up a hundred hues.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The widow Aber had lived there on the
+cliff and seen the tides ebb and flow for more
+now than the quarter of a century. She was
+not a young girl when, twenty-six years back,
+poor Jacob Aber had married her. It was a
+sudden fancy on his part and a great surprise to
+the place, for Jacob was well on towards fifty,
+and many a girl had set her cap to catch the
+handsome sailor in vain. But he never rued
+his bargain. He was not a rich man, because
+he had always been a generous man, and he was
+content with enough merely to bring him in a
+modest living. When he married he took what
+little he had and built this cottage, built it of
+brick good and strong, where he could feel the
+salt wind blow, right in the face of the sea—the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>sea that, until he met Miriam Drew with
+her soft gray eyes, he had loved better than
+every thing else in all the wide world.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They were happy and prosperous for four
+long years. First a son, then a daughter had
+come to brighten their home, and it was on just
+such an evening as this that Miriam, holding
+her infant child in her arms, told Jacob good-bye
+two-and-twenty years ago.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It would be his last cruise, he said. The
+vessel was his own, and in twelve months, or
+less, he would come back rich enough to stay
+always, and if the tears were in his voice he
+choked them down bravely, saying again it was
+but for a little while he should be gone, and she
+must cheer up for the long and happy years
+that would come after.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then she suddenly laid down her child and
+with a smothered sob put up her arms about his
+neck. It was the first time she had fairly given
+way, and she clung to him trembling violently,
+but uttering not one word. He smoothed her
+brow gently, with a caressing touch, for her
+sake keeping his own grief crushed within his
+heart, and said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Miriam don’t you remember once saying
+you could always tell a sailor by the dreamy
+far-off look in his eyes, an expression that came
+only to those that lived upon the sea and
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>watched its wide, wide fields? And don’t you
+remember sometimes when I was sitting quietly
+at home you would come up suddenly and ask
+me what it was I saw miles and miles away, over
+the summer water, in that distant sunny land?
+Well, do not cry so, for even when my ship has
+vanished from your sight, when on every side
+there is no trace of shore, I can stand upon her
+deck and look beyond the far horizon at our
+peaceful, happy home. And when at evening,
+with your eyes upon the sea, you sit and hold
+the children in your lap, remember I will be
+watching you from across its glittering line.
+There, that is right! You are a good, brave girl!
+It is but for a little while. I can look beyond
+this parting—I can see your waiting face turn
+radiant as my boat sails safely back!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, when he had kissed her and the little
+ones, and turned and kissed them again, there
+was a faint smile struggling through her tears.
+So, striving to keep down her grief, she parted
+without saying one word of the terrible dread
+that lay upon her heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And two-and-twenty years ago he had sailed
+away.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Many days, many nights, many weeks, many
+months, Miriam had watched the sea with wistful
+eyes. For his sake she had very nearly
+grown to love it, and the color came again to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>her cheeks as the time went by and the year
+was almost up, when it would give back forever
+the one she valued more than life. In those
+days she scanned the water-line, and waited
+patiently, and went about the house singing.
+She chattered to her baby-daughter all how its
+father was sailing home, until it laughed and
+cooed in wild delight. Every morning she
+dressed little Tommy in his best, and tied about
+his waist the beautiful sea-green sash that Jacob
+had brought her from the distant Indies; and
+in the queer frosted vases on the mantel, that
+had come from some foreign port, she kept a
+fresh bouquet of sweet wild flowers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But poor Jacob never came back.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Homeward bound, his vessel was wrecked
+off the treacherous Newfoundland shore. A
+storm drove her helpless, enshrouded in fog,
+against the rocks where she foundered, and
+captain and crew went down together. Only
+two men escaped from the terrible disaster.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the dreadful news came and they told
+Miriam as they met her on the porch, she made
+no reply. She did not moan or scream. She
+only looked out for a moment at the deceitful
+sea, smiling in its sheen of a thousand tints, then
+turned and went into the house and shut the
+door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She had always been a strange woman, and
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>they left her to bear her grief alone. She
+asked nobody’s sympathy, she did not complain,
+she never spoke of Jacob. She did not,
+as the people had expected, sell her house. She
+made no change so far as the world could see,
+only that she held herself, if possible, more
+aloof from society than ever. But before three
+months had gone by they noticed that her
+brown and shining hair had turned white, and
+her gray eyes showed half concealed within
+their depths an unfathomed trouble. Then
+too, her figure, once erect and straight as a
+dart, grew bent and stooped across the shoulders,
+and nothing ever brought the color to her
+face any more that was always pale and thin.
+Otherwise, however, there appeared no difference.
+She lived economically, and sometimes
+took in a small amount of fine sewing, as,
+beside the house, she had little else, for the sea
+when it buried her husband had buried his
+earnings also in the same watery grave.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She staid at home and watched the children
+in whom her life was now wholly bound up.
+They were her world, her all. She seemed to
+find in them her very existence, and after the
+queer frosted vases on the mantel had stood
+empty for years, their young hands filled them
+again with sweet wild flowers. So the house
+once more was bright and sunny, and, though
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>Miriam herself never sang, Hannah’s voice was
+clear and happy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah had grown up the very picture of
+her mother when in her early girlhood, but
+young Tom was like his father. He was like
+his father in more respects than one, and while
+still a boy the people said he too will prove a
+sailor. They were right; though Miriam had
+struggled against it and watched over him with
+an absorbing care. She saw again developed
+in him the same wild fascination for the sea.
+She knew its strength and that it must prevail,
+and when he came and begged so hard, with
+the well remembered far-off look in his eyes,
+she felt all opposition would be vain.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She did not reproach herself that she had
+lived upon the coast and played with him upon
+the beach, for something in her heart told her
+that it could have been no different, even had
+she raised him up in another place where the
+sound of the sea would not have been always
+in his ears. She recognized in this fatal love
+the heritage he had received from his father.
+The thought that it could be eradicated, that
+he would ever be satisfied with any thing else
+she knew to be hopeless, and so the widow had
+given up, and he had gone at fourteen to seek
+his fortune, like his father before him, a sailor
+on the high seas.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Now, ten years later, and two-and-twenty
+years since poor Jacob had started on his fateful
+cruise, young Tom was ready for his fourth
+voyage. He had climbed unaided several steps
+up the ladder in his calling, and the Nereid,
+waiting down in the harbor would carry him in
+a few hours, her first mate, out upon her long two
+years’ absence. It was a great lift to him, for,
+besides his promotion, Luke Denin, who this time
+commanded the ship, had been his early friend.
+There was but little difference in their age. They
+had been boys together, and together they had
+explored the shore for miles and fished for days,
+and they had rambled the hills and the woods
+over; so, as young Tom said, it would be just
+as good for him as if he commanded the
+Nereid himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When he told his mother this she had only
+patted him on the head, and said in a choked
+voice,—“My little sailor boy!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The widow Aber, ever since her son took to
+following the sea, had been gradually breaking.
+From that time her health, heretofore always
+strong and robust, began perceptibly to decline.
+The people noticed it, but then she told them
+that she was getting old—how could they expect
+a woman well up into the sixties to be as
+active as a girl, and besides this she had the
+rheumatism. So she was constantly excusing
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>her feebleness with anxious care, as if she feared
+they might attribute it to some other cause
+than age.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This evening she was even weaker than
+usual, though she did not acknowledge it, but
+sitting at the supper table her hands trembled
+so badly that the cups and saucers rattled a
+little as she served the tea. Miriam, whose life
+had been one constant struggle, was struggling
+still. No wonder the widow was proud of her
+son, her only son. Her gray eyes, beautiful as
+in her youth, would wander to him again and
+again, and rest upon his face with a strange,
+yearning expression, but whenever he turned
+to her she would drop them quickly and move
+a little nervously in her chair, striving to conceal,
+as she had done so many years ago, the
+burden of grief that lay at her heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a pleasant party to look at, for Luke
+Denin too was there, and the young people
+carefully avoided any allusion to the separation
+before them. Tom, always gay and happy, was
+more than handsome in his sailor’s dress, with
+the bronze of the tropical sun upon his face.
+And Luke, if he was not so tall by half a head,
+and if his hair, instead of being black and crisp
+with waves, was light and straight, had at least
+as honest and frank a pair of deep blue eyes as
+Hannah cared to see—not that Hannah looked
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>at them, for she looked only at her plate, and
+once in a while anxiously at her mother. Young
+Tom was evidently determined that this last
+meal at home should not be a sorrowful one, as
+he kept up the conversation in his liveliest
+mood. He told wonderful tales in such an
+absurd vein of exaggeration, that sometimes it
+even called up a smile on the widow’s face;
+and when the meal was over he picked her up
+playfully in his strong arms and carried her out
+upon the porch. There together they all watched
+the moonlight gradually show itself out of
+the dissolving day, in long paths across the
+water. Then the hour came to say good-bye.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a desperate battle for Miriam, as she
+clung to her son in that parting moment. Then
+it was, for the first time, that something in her
+face went to the man’s inmost heart like a chill.
+She was old and frail, and his absence would be
+long, perhaps he might never look upon her
+again. In his wild fascination for the sea, was
+he not sacrificing her? The anguish of the
+thought overcame him. Had it been possible
+then he would have given up this voyage and
+staid at home, but it was too late now, and
+when he had turned for a moment, and with a
+strong effort fought his grief under control, he
+said gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no! Do not be so distressed, mother!
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>It is all for the best; and when I come back
+this time, mother, I will never leave you any
+more.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But Miriam, thinking of that other parting
+so long ago, remembered that Jacob, too, had
+said when he came back he would never leave
+her any more, and with a half suppressed cry
+she clasped her hands tighter about his neck.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, my son, you will come back! Only
+promise me you will come back, and I can wait
+patiently and long!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a wild energy in her voice that
+frightened him, as she went on hurriedly with
+an accent he had never heard till then,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Once before, with this same dread at my
+heart, I parted two-and-twenty years ago, but
+I let <em>him</em> go without saying a word. I waited
+patiently. I even sang and tried to be happy.
+As the time went by I laughed as I thought
+how pleased he would be when he saw how his
+children had grown. I tied about your waist a
+sash of his favorite color, that he had brought
+me from the distant Indies, and I kept
+every thing in readiness for—what? They
+came and told me that he had gone down at
+sea—No, no; do not interrupt me. I let him
+go without saying a word. I must speak this
+time!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She paused for a moment as if waiting until
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>her excitement had calmed, and with her trembling
+hand put back the hair from his forehead,
+then went on unsteadily in a tone but little
+louder than a whisper,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You have the same dreamy far-off look in
+your eyes. I know you must go my child, I
+know you can not resist—but when your
+father left he said it would be only for a little
+while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty
+years.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was another moment of silence, as
+though her thoughts had gone back over that
+long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice,
+she went on once more, calling him again unconsciously
+by the name she had used when he
+was a little child,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if
+you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not say it, I
+can not bear it! You will come back, you must
+come back to me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A wild terror had crept into her face, then
+she broke down completely.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I
+did not used to be so foolish. Do not mind me.
+I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not
+strong any more, but—I can wait again—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,”
+he said, drawing his arm close about her, “how
+peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>it better than any thing else in the whole world.
+It has always been gentle to me—you need not
+fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if
+you can only wait.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as
+he added the last words, and when Miriam,
+anxious to atone for her past weakness, said
+quickly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made
+her repeat it. Then rallying himself he went
+on gaily,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, I will come back, mother, I will come
+back so grand and rich that you shall be three
+times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And
+I will take care of you always then. But,
+mother,” he said, the choking sensation coming
+again in his throat,—“promise that you will not
+worry about me while I am gone, or I shall
+never be happy, not even in any of the beautiful
+lands I will see—won’t you promise me,
+mother? Promise me that you will wait
+patiently, promise me that—that you will not
+give up—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come
+back, I can wait again—I can even wait a long
+while.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It will not be so very long! why the time
+will slip by, and almost before you know it you
+will find me standing beside you here again,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>when I mean you to be so proud of me that it
+will well nigh turn my head.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Ah, Tommy, you know I am proud of you
+now, so proud of you, that sometimes it fairly
+frightens me, and I dare not think of it.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Heaven knows,” he said, all the gay sound
+dying from his voice, as, stricken with remorse,
+he remembered the many times he had left her
+with no thought beyond the parting moment,
+“I’m not much to be proud of, but, mother—”
+taking up her thin hand and passing it over his
+face, once more driven to the last extremity to
+command his voice—“you and Nan are all I
+have on earth to care for me, and out in midocean,
+or in the far-off foreign ports, your love,
+like a constant prayer to keep me from harm, will
+be with me always. When I am at home once
+more I am going to be a good boy to you,
+mother. Nothing, not even the sea, shall ever
+part us again.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You have always been a good boy to me,
+Tommy—I only thought—I was afraid that—O
+never mind, I can wait for you, Tommy. I
+do not feel so nervous now.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There, that is right! We will meet again,
+mother, and then we will be very, very happy.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He kissed her yearningly, reverentially. It
+seemed as if he stood awed before the heart
+that for a moment had disclosed itself in its
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>most silent depths, and in that moment there
+had been revealed to him, with all its overwhelming
+strength, that divine love which is
+mightier than life. It seemed as if now, for the
+first time, and almost blinded by the revelation,
+he saw—his mother.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>After a little silence, taking her face between
+his hands, he said, gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Mother, I want to see you smile once more
+before I go.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I will wait for you, Tommy,” she said
+again.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And I will surely come back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When Miriam looked up there was a faint
+smile struggling through her tears, as there had
+been once before, two-and-twenty years in the
+past. Then he was gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Down by the gate Hannah stood, trying to
+hide in the shadow of the great honeysuckle
+the new shy beauty on her face that had been
+called there by the kiss of warmer lips than the
+gentle sea-breeze.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Good-bye, Nan,” said Tom, unsuspiciously,
+throwing his arms about her in his rough brotherly
+embrace,—“why how you are trembling!
+You are not going to cry? Don’t, I can’t
+stand it!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no,” came uncertainly in a helpless
+voice, evidently, in her wild conflict of emotion,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>not knowing exactly what she was going
+to do.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There, that’s right! Don’t cry, or I’ll—I’ll
+break down too!” said Tom, hoarsely, fairly
+strangling in his throat, and almost worn out by
+the strain he had undergone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, surprised, raised her face, but Tom
+had already got the better of himself. “How
+your eyes shine to-night, Nan; I did not know
+how pretty you were before!” Down went her
+head again immediately, and changing his voice
+he said, with a sigh,—“Nannie, there ain’t many
+fellows that have as good a mother and sister
+as mine; you won’t forget me while I’m gone,
+or get tired waiting? I’ve been a worthless,
+roving chap; I’ve never been of much comfort
+to you or mother, but when I come back next
+time, I’m going to stay at home a while. Look
+up now and tell me you are glad.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, Tom, I am! You don’t know how glad
+I am, if it was only for mother’s sake.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, turning his head away to hide the
+anguish that had come over his face, he asked,
+slowly, trying rather ineffectually to keep his
+voice natural,—“You don’t think, Nan, any
+thing will happen to her while I am gone?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What do you mean?” said Hannah, struck
+by the awe in his tone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I mean,” he said, unwilling to trouble his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>sister by the thought that had so oppressed
+him, and speaking gaily again: “I mean that
+you must be a good girl, and keep up mother’s
+spirits, but don’t get so used to my absence,
+that neither of you will care when I come
+back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, Tom!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Come out into the moonlight where I can
+see you. I’m dreadfully proud of you, Nan,
+because you don’t take on like other girls.
+You see I couldn’t have stood it!” said Tom,
+in a frightfully uncertain state of mind, as to
+whether it was possible to swallow the lump
+in his throat. “I’m going now. Be good to
+mother, you know she’s—she’s not very
+strong—Have you told Captain Denin good-bye?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, she hasn’t. Not yet. I thought I’d
+let you do it first; but you’ll tell me good-bye
+now, until I come back never to say it again,
+won’t you, Nanine?” said Luke, coming up in
+his most masterly way, right under Tom’s very
+nose, and almost hiding his sister from view in
+an embrace that this time was neither rough
+nor brotherly.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Whew!” gasped Tom, as Hannah came in
+sight again, with no friendly honeysuckle near
+to conceal the carnation bloom upon her cheeks.
+“Is that the way the wind blows! I’ve been
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>as blind as a bat. Kiss me, quick, both of you,
+or I’m a gone case!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down on
+the stone there, and recover yourself. You’ve
+said your good-bye, now just wait for me!” said
+the superior officer triumphantly. And Tom,
+spent, exhausted, sank down; but the next instant
+Hannah had her arms tight about his
+neck, and was hiding her face against the crisp
+waves of his black hair.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Tom, dear, you ain’t sorry?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, Nan, I couldn’t have wished for any
+thing better; but it was so sudden, it just kind
+of knocked the wind out of my sails for a minute.”
+Then, after a pause,—“I say, there’ll
+be a grand glorification when the Nereid comes
+back, won’t there?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I—I wish it was back now! I don’t
+know what’s upset me so—There, kiss her,
+Luke, and let’s be off, quick, or I’ll disgrace
+myself outright, before I know it!” and Tom,
+gulping down great quantities of air with all
+his might, got up from the stone hurriedly, as
+if he meditated making a sudden bolt.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But he did not. He stood there quietly looking
+out at sea; and when, a moment after, the
+young captain, taking his arm, said, “Come,
+now I am ready,” he started as from a dream.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>Turning to his sister, with every trace of his
+rollicking manner lost, he said, as though he
+had not spoken of her before,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You must take good care of mother—poor
+mother. Do not let her grieve while I am gone.
+Oh, Hannah, you will be very careful of her,
+and not allow any thing—not allow her to get
+tired, and tell her always, while she waits, that
+when I am with her again, I will never leave
+her.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then they had passed through the gate and
+were going rapidly down the narrow foot-path
+to the bottom of the hill. Hannah strained her
+eyes after them, and when at the turn of the
+road both brother and lover were lost to view,
+still she lingered at the spot pondering over
+Tom’s unwonted emotion. It was not like him.
+Never before had she seen him so singularly
+affected, and now that he was gone, it came
+back to her with redoubled intensity. The
+unusual sorrow that had almost choked him,
+the strange tone in his voice that he had tried
+vainly to conceal, the sudden wish that the
+Nereid was back even now, his repeated charges
+about their mother, all troubled her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>An uneasy feeling of dread oppressed her,
+she knew not why. The heavy perfume of the
+honeysuckle suddenly make her sick and faint.
+The tall and prickly cedar stood up straight
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>and still, covered on one side with a fret-work
+of silver, on the other clothed with the very
+gloom of darkness, and somewhere from among
+its shadowy branches a dove, as if half wakened
+out of a dream, stirred, uttered its brooding
+note, then sank again to silence. Hannah had
+heard the same dove a hundred times before,
+she even knew that there were purple ripples
+on its neck, but this time she started violently
+and shivered. It seemed as if the summer
+night had suddenly grown cold and chilled her
+to the heart, and with hurried steps she ran
+back to the house.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The porch was deserted and strangely lonesome
+when she passed across. Even the crimson
+bloom, with its thousand crowns, looked
+black through the shade, as if it had withered
+in the hour, and she heard its leaves make a
+weird rustle, like a complaint, as she closed the
+door. The sense of desolation was so strong
+upon her that she could hardly keep from crying
+out in the solitude, but she went on swiftly
+to her mother’s room, and entered with noiseless
+feet. A great sigh of relief came to her
+lips when she saw the peaceful face upon the
+pillow, for Miriam, overcome by the reaction,
+already slept calmly as a child. Hannah sat
+down beside the bed. There was a smile upon
+her mother’s lips. How long she sat there,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>whether one hour, or two hours, she did not
+know, but when she got up all the tumult in
+her heart had subsided.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She kissed the sleeping face gently and went
+quietly up stairs to her own room. She threw
+the shutters open wide, and lo! out upon
+the sea with her wings spread, white as the
+plumage of a gull, the Nereid! Lonely, spirit-like,
+beyond the reach of voice, she stood upon
+the mighty desert of the ocean. Before her
+prow the waves held out their wreath of down,
+and above, solitary in the vast moonlit sky,
+hung the royal planet Jupiter. Steady, radiant,
+it burned like the magic Star in the East.
+Hannah, watching, saw the ship fade away in
+the far-off endless isles of silver mist. A great
+peace had come to her soul, and when she lay
+down to sleep there was no trouble on her face.
+Gone, the Nereid was gone, but still, even in
+her dreams, she knew that the star in the sky
+was shining.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Slowly the days came and went. Miriam, yet
+a little feebler, was bright and happy. Never,
+since that night when she said good-bye, had
+she murmured or uttered a word of complaint.
+Every thing at the cottage glided smoothly on;
+for Hannah attended to the house, and waited
+upon her mother with an untiring care, but
+even while she went about performing her different
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>duties her eyes, unconsciously, would
+wander off to sea. Often in the afternoon,
+when the widow nodded in the great rocking
+chair by the window, she would slip away
+down to the beach, and sit there by the hour.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Those were pleasant days to Hannah. Then
+the sea, clear and calm, rounded out, a great
+circle of splendor, to the horizon; or on its
+surface the giant mists reared themselves,
+triumphant, in towering arches. Perhaps her
+thoughts went out beyond these mighty phantom
+aisles, seeking always the two loved ones
+across their portals, over the vast and solemn
+ocean. Sometimes when the sky was warm
+and the wind blew shoreward it seemed to
+bring faintly the scent of foreign flowers; for
+nearer now to her were those mystical lands
+where Summer, almighty Summer, sat upon an
+everlasting throne.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah knew every vessel that sailed into
+port; and sometimes a boat, returning, had
+spoken the Nereid at sea, sometimes at
+long intervals a letter came. Then when for
+weeks, for months it might be, there was no
+word, no sign, the royal planet, moving in its
+eternal orbit, hung again in the sky, a star of
+promise. To Hannah, as she watched it night
+after night above the sea, it came as a messenger
+bearing glad tidings of great joy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>So the time waned. The peaceful days
+passed by and fierce storms broke with a savage
+roar upon the coast. The green upon the hill-sides
+faded out, and the freezing spray encrusted
+the cliff with ice where the wintry sea threw
+up its bitter brine—and sometimes, farther off
+upon the shelving beach, it threw up more than
+brine, or stiffened weed. Broken spars, dreary
+fragments of wrecks drifted in, told of the wild
+desolation out upon the hoarse wilderness of
+beaten waves.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But even those days too passed, and the
+Spring clothed the land again with emerald.
+More than a year had worn away since the
+Nereid had faded out of the horizon, and presently
+another Fall set in.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For five months no word had come from the
+absent wanderers. Still Miriam made not the
+least complaint. Even when the storms lashed
+the sea, until it sent up a roar that made the
+young girl shiver, the widow evinced no anxiety.
+Had she not promised that she would wait
+patiently? She talked very little, and generally
+sat quietly by the window from morning till
+evening. But Hannah, saying nothing, had
+grown heavy-hearted with the long silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was November, a dull, dreary day in November.
+Heavy clouds stretched themselves in
+a somber, leaden sky, that near the water
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>gathered dark and frowning. The gray sea,
+cold and hoarse, uttered eternally its hollow
+roar. But for this it seemed as if a mighty
+silence would have brooded over earth and
+ocean, a silence vast and dreadful as the grave.
+Dead white, the hungry surf crawled sullenly
+up the sand. Leagues away the fishing smacks
+all headed to shore, and the gulls were flying
+landward, when Hannah looking out, counted a
+new sail in the harbor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Any word to break this long heart-sick
+watch?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her
+mother sleeping tranquilly in the great chair,
+she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and
+started down the hill. Once at the bottom she
+slackened her pace a little to gain breath. A
+fine drizzle already blew through the air, and
+the waters running in upon the smooth beach
+did not rumble with a great noise as at the foot
+of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up
+endlessly a weary lamentation. The damp
+settled on her hair in minute globules, and enveloped
+all her clothing in its clammy embrace,
+but she did not heed the weather. She never
+looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she
+hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying,
+she went on swiftly with the one idea
+absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>half-walking, she never paused until she reached
+the slippery wharf.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So
+eager was she that she did not hear the sudden
+exclamations, or see the look of pity that had
+come upon more than one rough sunburnt face
+when she made her appearance; for living all
+her life in the same quiet village many of the
+sailors knew Hannah by sight, many by her
+gentle manner and kind words, and many a
+sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian
+angel when sickness and poverty had come upon
+them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing
+with expectation, saw only it was the good
+ship Bonibird that had come to port. Stephen,
+old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered
+him well. Often when she was a child
+had he given her curious shells, and once he
+had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater,
+a tiny, live fish that glittered all over
+with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she remembered
+him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to
+look for him among the groups of sailors, but
+the old man was already at her side.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood
+there with his cap off, shifting uneasily from one
+foot to the other, and when with an exclamation
+of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it
+eagerly between his rough palms.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>“God bless you! God bless you!” broke from
+his lips in a thick utterance; then he dropped
+her hand nervously, and drawing his breath
+hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she
+said. “You’ve been gone a long time.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, you beant so tall then.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Is there any news from the Nereid?” she
+asked eagerly, hardly noticing his last reply.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old man seemed fairly to break out in a
+violent perspiration. He moved again uneasily
+on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped
+his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’
+up, Miss. Those clouds over the water do look
+ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!”
+she said, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in
+this nasty drizzle.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, I don’t care! I want to know if
+you heard any thing from the Nereid. Why
+don’t you tell me?” an alarm gathering quickly
+in her voice as the first sickening suspicion
+came over her. “O Stephen,” she said, with a
+terrified cry that fairly frightened the man,
+“you have, and there is something wrong! O
+the Nereid—the Nereid is not lost! Say it is
+not lost!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>She had caught the man’s arm in her wild
+excitement, and clung to him trembling like a
+leaf from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, no, no!” he said, scared by the girl’s
+dreadful agitation; “the Nereid be all right,
+she be all right! I didn’t think of sich an idee
+comin’ to you, or I’d a said afore she be all
+right. Thar beant nothin’ the matter with her,
+nothin’, I was aboard o’ her myself—I’m
+afeard it’ll make you sick, Miss, a standin’ here
+in the drizzle like this, an’ with nothin’ to keep
+off the wet,”—trying to appear as if he had
+settled the trouble, but all the time keeping his
+face turned carefully from her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the first instant of relief Hannah had let
+go of his arm and put her hands to her head
+without one word, so intense had been the
+strain; then, looking up suddenly, and drawing
+a quick breath, she faced round to him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Stephen, is this the truth that you have told
+me? You are not deceiving me? Is there
+<em>nothing</em> the matter?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Lord, no, Miss, it beant no lie,” but the old
+sailor hesitated painfully while she looked at
+him, worked his hands nervously about his neck,
+put them irresolutely to his pockets once or
+twice, till unable to stand it any longer, he suddenly
+made an end to his indecision by jerking
+out a letter, at the same time muttering some
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>half-coherent sentence about how it had been
+given to him for her on board the Nereid.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, a letter!” she cried, joyfully, breaking
+the seal, while her face that had been so
+clouded lighted up radiantly.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As she looked up for a second, with a smile
+upon her lips, the old sailor became more distressed
+in his manner than ever; and when she
+unfolded the paper he even put out his hand
+once or twice, as if he would have taken it back.
+Evidently he could not bear to see her read it
+then; he had not thought she would open it
+there. Troubled, he looked about, shuffling
+again with that uneasy movement on his feet.
+If only he could find some means to prevail upon
+her first to take it home, and driven to desperation
+he turned once more to her, and said in an
+appealing voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m feared thar be a bad storm comin’ up,
+Miss; the sea it really do look ugly, and may
+hap you’d better run home first; thar beant
+much time to lose noways.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But alas! it was too late. Hannah, utterly
+oblivious to the old man’s entreaty, was already
+eagerly reading down the sheet. Suddenly the
+color fled from her face. She appeared dazed
+and confused. For an instant she held the
+paper in a convulsive grasp, staring at it with a
+stony glare. Then she uttered a long, shivering
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>sound, and her fingers gradually relaxed their
+hold.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In a second the letter was gone. A savage
+wind broke loose with a tiger roar from the sea.
+The billows, in swift rage and with frightful
+tumult, piled up their fierce scrolls in a chaos of
+towering surge. Mist and spray and foam
+whirled in a blinding froth to the sky.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Old Steve, half-carrying, half-dragging—for
+the girl seemed hardly able to take a step unassisted—drew
+Hannah back into the one long
+low building by the wharf, where most of the
+people that were standing about a few moments
+before had taken shelter from the storm. Quickly
+half a dozen rough hands drew out a small
+packing-box and placed it for a seat, and some
+one threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She kept her lips closed tight. She looked
+at no one, she shivered constantly. The howling
+blast swept its brine up the wharf—“Washed
+overboard at sea.” The cruel breakers
+lifted and struck with thunder-crash—“Washed
+overboard at sea.” Bitter cold, the
+salt surf leaped and writhed and reached out
+with demoniac fury—“Washed overboard at
+sea.” Giant waves opened and shut with a
+grinding wrath their hungry jaws. Relentless,
+appalling, the mighty waters filled earth and
+sky with the terror of their strength.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>And Tom, poor Tom, had been washed overboard
+at sea!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was horrible. The awful words rang constantly
+in her ears. They repeated themselves
+over and over. Where, how—she knew naught,
+only the one sentence, with its dreadful import.
+After that she had read nothing, and before it
+she forgot all. Rocking a little back and forth
+on her seat, she sat there pale and dumb. Like
+her mother, two-and-twenty years in the past,
+she asked no sympathy, she heeded no comment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The ashen clouds, racing before the wind
+like the scud of the sea, drove swiftly down
+behind the hills, and the blinding fury of the
+storm had spent itself. Drearily the gray sky
+let down again its endless drizzle, when Stephen,
+his honest voice painfully choked by
+emotion, prevailed upon her to go home. At
+first looking at him blankly, she seemed hardly
+to comprehend what he said, and it was only
+when he spoke of her mother that she gave any
+heed to his entreaty. Her mother! how could
+she tell her the terrible news, her patient, waiting
+mother! Old Stephen, many times after,
+used to say how in that moment, when she
+looked at him, he wished he had been dead
+before ever he brought her such a letter.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Shivering, always shivering, she drew the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>shawl tight about her shoulders, and slipped
+down off the fishy box without a word. The
+old sailor in his anxious care would have followed
+too, but she only shook her head, and
+without having opened her lips, he saw her go
+alone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sullen mist hung its reeking folds along
+the shore, and the tide, running out, left a wide
+dank stretch of yellow slime. Above it, where,
+in Summer, the green swords of the sea-wrack
+grew, the storm had washed up clammy
+masses, heavy with ooze, of the pale and sticky
+tangle. Fiercely the treacherous waters had
+swept over the shore and covered it with their
+bitter dregs; but more fiercely had they surged,
+a dreary desolation, over the girl’s young heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Upon the bloated girdles, on the wet sand,
+in the chilly damp, with the salt spray clinging
+to her clothes, she went, and the wild sea,
+calming down, mourned again at her feet, like
+a sinister mockery of grief, in loud lamentation.
+When she went up the narrow foot-path on the
+hill, and came to the garden gate, she stopped
+a moment, she hardly knew why. It was a
+mechanical action with her. She scarcely felt
+or thought. Her heart was heavy as a stone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The branches of the great honeysuckle were
+black and bare. She looked at the old rock by
+the path now slippery with rain. She looked
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>at the tall and prickly cedar drenched with
+mist and spray. She looked out at the storm-beaten
+sea, then she looked back once more at
+the dripping evergreen. The dove in its thorny
+spire was gone—the dove with the purple ripples
+on its neck. It had never built another
+nest. Shivering, shivering, she went on, crossed
+the porch, where the arms of the bloomless
+rose, weird and gaunt, flung down great heavy
+tears at her feet, and, still shivering, she went
+into the house and shut the door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Miriam, used to the tumult of the sea, sat
+patiently in the chair by the window, as she
+had done so many, many times in the past.
+When Hannah came in she looked up with
+surprise. The girl would have avoided her,
+but Miriam, seeing her so wet became alarmed,
+and, rising from her seat, had met Hannah in
+the hall before she could escape.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I thought you were up stairs! What took
+you out in such stormy weather? You’re all
+wet and shivering with the cold, and—why,
+child, your face is as white as a sheet! What
+is the matter?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nothing, I—I—was caught in the rain,
+and—and got a little damp.” The words came
+uncertainly in a deep voice, for Hannah could
+hardly trust herself to speak, lest some unguarded
+tone should abruptly betray the terrible
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>truth. The girl felt as if it was written all over
+her, or that she might disclose it in every movement;
+but she had turned her back to her
+mother, and with trembling hands was hurriedly
+shaking out the wet shawl. “I’ll go and
+change my clothes. It will not hurt me.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, do it quickly, and come down to the
+fire right away. I’m afraid it will make you
+cough.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, eager to escape, gathered the shawl
+on her arm; but at the foot of the stairs she
+stopped and looked back.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You—you’ve had a nice sleep, mother?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, dear, so very sound that I only heard
+the wind like a gentle zephyr.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And you feel well?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh yes, better to-day than I have for a
+long, long time. I’m going to get stronger
+now steadily,” she said, with a smile that, for
+a moment, brought into the wan face a strange
+beauty, like a gleam of the same radiance that
+so far in the past poor Jacob had placed upon
+the shrine of his heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, turning her head quickly, almost
+overpowered by sudden faintness, went up
+stairs, staggered across the room, and sank
+down by the window in a silent agony of grief.
+She did not sob or cry audibly, her whole being
+was one mental wail of despair—her mother!
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>her gentle, waiting mother! Fierce unspoken
+rebellion had taken possession of the girl’s soul.
+To one that had been always as a ministering
+spirit to those about her, why had Providence
+allotted so cruel a destiny? She, whose life
+had been but a long heart-struggle; she, that
+had done no evil, that had suffered without a
+murmur; she, feeble and bent with years,
+marked with the silver brand of sorrow and age;
+she, far down the avenue of her days, almost
+where the mighty mists of eternity close up
+their impenetrable curtains, she must yet be
+compelled to go on, to the last, through the
+darkness of new trouble! Was there no
+mercy, no justice?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Bitterly Hannah looked out, dry-eyed, at the
+relentless sea. There was no distant line
+against the sky; above, below, drear and empty,
+the gray stretched to infinity—not a sail on all
+the waters, and the tides were out—aye, the
+tides <em>were</em> out for her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She had never shed a tear. Forgetful of her
+wet clothing, she leaned a long time upon the
+window-sill, motionless, and the lines in her
+young face were hard and strained. Perhaps
+the memory of that night came back to her with
+its vision of the royal planet that had seemed
+a star of promise—a star of promise? A
+mockery it had been, a cruel mockery!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>Then Miriam’s voice calling from the foot of
+the stairs roused her, and hurriedly she changed
+her damp dress, but she could not yet meet
+her mother. She lingered about the room.
+She fell upon her knees; she tried to pray, but
+her heart refused to utter a single petition, and
+Miriam had called again and yet again before
+Hannah went down.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Come close to the fire. You were so long
+I am afraid it will make you sick.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, mother, I am cold a little, that is all.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Miriam did not ask again what had taken her
+out, and Hannah, shading her eyes with her
+hand, sat by the grate trying to prepare herself
+for the dreadful duty that awaited her. She
+knew her mother must be told, lest it should
+come upon her abruptly from the lips of a
+stranger with a shock greater than she could
+bear. It was a hard struggle for Hannah; the
+girl would gladly have borne all the trouble herself,
+but that could not be.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Just how she said it she never remembered,
+only suddenly she felt calm and strong for the
+duty, and with a strange desperation on her
+face, slowly, gently as human means could do,
+she told the terrible news.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And Miriam?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Sitting in her chair she did not scream, or
+moan, or faint. She leaned a little forward with
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>her elbow on her knee, and looked at Hannah,
+looked at her long and steadily, with a strange
+wavering light in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Mother, mother, speak to me!” the girl
+cried, frightened at this light in her eyes, terrified
+that she said nothing, did nothing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, dear, I am better to-day, yesterday I
+walked to the garden gate. I will even be
+strong enough to go down to the wharf when
+the Nereid comes in, and it will be such a glad
+surprise for him, such a glad surprise!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She had leaned back in her chair again, and
+her face, like a revelation, was radiant once
+more almost with the lost beauty of her girlhood.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, dropping her head in her hands,
+could scarcely speak for the awful beating of
+her heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, Mother, you do not understand.
+He is—dead. He will—never come—home—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The same wavering light flickered a second
+time in Miriam’s eyes as the girl spoke. She
+put up her thin hands for a moment and wearily
+stroked the silver hair back from her forehead.
+She looked slowly, with a bewildered expression
+about the room, then, smiling again, she
+said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Home? Yes, the time is nearly up. In
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>the Spring, in the early Spring, he shall be
+home, home to stay always. I know he will
+not disappoint me. I promised to wait patiently,
+and I have not complained, have I
+Hannah?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no——”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And I shall be stronger then, and we must
+make the house pleasant for him. It will never
+be lonely any more when he is here. Why do
+you cry so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for
+him now.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs,
+slipped down on the floor with her face covered,
+and Miriam talked on and on of the happy
+times they would have when “Tommy” came
+back in the Spring.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She could be made to comprehend nothing
+of the dreadful tidings. He had promised her
+he would come back, and her faith never
+faltered. But there was a distinct change in
+her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner
+that had been with her always a marked characteristic,
+seldom volunteering a sentence to a
+stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly of
+her son. She would tell every person she met
+how much stronger she was getting, and how
+she meant to go and meet him at the wharf
+when the Nereid came in.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So months went by, and Miriam did get
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>stronger every day. She had not been so well
+in years, not since long ago when poor Tom
+had first taken to following the sea. Bright
+and happy she seemed from morning till night,
+only Hannah noticed that sometimes when
+speaking most earnestly she would stop suddenly
+for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered
+way, with that same wavering light
+flickering up in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of
+the Widow Aber’s waiting so trustfully for
+“Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come
+back, and they were good to Hannah that
+Winter. The girl had not cast her bread upon
+the waters in vain. When she found herself
+weak and faint a dozen hands were ready with
+some kind office, and there was little left for
+her to do about the house. Those bitter
+months as they waxed and waned were one
+long, mute agony, but the girl did not break
+down under the terrible strain. Trouble does
+not kill the young; thin and pale she grew, but
+strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for
+Miriam’s sake, and with something of Miriam’s
+early nature, she kept her grief crushed within
+her heart. She seldom went out of the house
+now. She staid always with her mother, as if
+fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who
+went to the house from the village, told how
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>dreadful it was to see her sitting quietly, even
+sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips
+when the widow would say,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and
+well, are you not glad? He said he liked to
+see me smile, and he must find us bright and
+cheerful when he comes in the Spring.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think
+what might happen then. Every day, as she
+watched her mother, the dread upon her grew
+stronger. She would have held back the coming
+of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid, that
+now, with its white wings, might return only
+as the angel of death to Miriam. She would
+understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful
+shock! It was the terror of this that haunted
+Hannah day and night.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The last winter month had gone by, and the
+chilly winds of March were whistling along the
+coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly
+up the hill to the house. He brought
+the news that Hannah had so long dreaded.
+The Nereid was even then heading round the
+cliff. She had asked him to let her know in
+time, that she might keep it from her mother, at
+least till after the boat had landed. But while
+he was in the very act of telling, he stopped
+suddenly, and a look of fright came over his
+face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>saw her mother standing in the open doorway.
+She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank
+in her breast like a stone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from
+going to the wharf, but Miriam, radiant as a
+child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste,
+paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was
+cold, that it was too far, that she would go in
+her place, until Hannah, driven to desperation,
+told her mother again of the dreadful disaster,
+and how poor Tom could not be there to meet
+her. Then the widow stayed her trembling
+hands for a moment in their flurried effort to
+tie her bonnet, and looked at Hannah, looked
+at her long and steadily, as she had done before,
+with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always
+seemed as if she was dimly conscious, for the
+instant, that something was wrong, but even as
+the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant
+with eager excitement, “hurry, we must
+not be late. I feel young and strong, and it
+will be such a glad surprise for him!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, powerless to keep Miriam back,
+gave up the endeavor, and went on, with a
+mortal agony in her heart, beside the frail
+woman who, in all faith, was going to welcome
+home her son—her son out upon the silent sea
+of eternity, where even a mother’s voice could
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>never reach. No wonder the girl’s grief made
+her dumb. Was there no escape? She heard
+the waters running in, it seemed to her for a
+thousand leagues, sounding their dreadful dirge.
+At that moment gladly would she have lain
+down forever in the same boundless grave with
+father and brother, where the waves, slow and
+sad, were playing for them this requiem on
+every shore of every land. But Miriam, in the
+extremity of her haste, never stopping, went on
+steadily over the wet ground, bending, sometimes
+almost staggering, before the raw March
+wind that swept in fierce gusts from the still
+frozen north.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A sudden hush fell upon all the people at the
+wharf as they came down. With her gray hair
+blown about in strands, her eyes fever-bright,
+and her breath coming quick and short, paying
+no heed to any one, the widow Aber glided
+silently among them, like an apparition. Unconscious
+of every thing but the ship, even then in
+the mouth of the harbor, she stood, her face so
+thin and worn, all quivering with excitement,
+and her pale lips moving constantly with some
+inarticulate sound. Once or twice she stretched
+out her trembling hands toward the vessel,
+then, gathering her shawl, held them tight
+against her breast, as if she would keep down
+the throbbing of her heart. Frail and shadowy,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>she seemed hardly human, as she waited, with
+her garments fluttering in the bitter wind, with
+her very soul reaching, struggling, looking
+out eagerly in her gray eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Slowly the ship sailed up the harbor, slowly
+it reached the dock, and after almost two years’
+wandering, the Nereid rested once more in her
+native waters. As the boat touched the wharf,
+Hannah had taken her mother’s arm, perhaps
+that she might hold her back, but Miriam made
+no effort to move. The girl could feel her
+trembling, trembling, but she only put up her
+hand unsteadily and brushed the hair away
+from her face.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Too well Hannah knew poor Tom would not
+be there, and, as through a mist, she saw the
+sailors swing themselves down. In the dreadful
+trouble that had come upon her, she had
+almost forgotten Luke. During all these weeks
+of anguish she had thought only of her mother,
+but this morning the strain had been too severe.
+She had given up the battle, and now waited
+stonily; she would have waited on all day,
+when Miriam, suddenly breaking loose from
+her, in a voice half stifled by a wild delight,
+cried,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, Tommy, my boy, my only boy!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was Luke that stood beside her, whom she
+had strangely mistaken for her son. She would
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>have fallen to the ground had he not caught her
+in his arms. Unable to speak for a moment, she
+clung to him trembling violently. Clasping
+her hands tight about his neck, she closed her
+eyes, and, with a quivering sigh, laid her head
+against his shoulder. Hannah, looking at Luke
+quickly, made a gesture that kept him silent,
+then Miriam, without moving, said, brokenly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have waited for you, Tommy. It was
+such a long, long time, but I knew you would
+come—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She paused, while a slight struggle in her
+breath escaped, like a sob, from her lips, then
+went on once more still in an unsteady tone,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am so glad, so glad! I am well and strong,
+Tommy. I feel a little tired now, but I am
+well and strong. You will never leave me,
+never leave me any more—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was another feeble struggle in her
+throat; then when she spoke again, her voice,
+growing fainter at every effort, seemed to come
+from some far-off distance, drifting in to them
+as from the desert spaces of an illimitable sea.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not let me go. It is cold, and the wind—Hark!
+Listen, oh listen how sweet and
+soft the waters wash! Hold me close, Tommy.
+I am weary. Why, it is Summer! Look! see
+the land, the foreign land! Stay, Tommy, I
+am tired—so tired—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>Her head had drooped back heavily on the
+man’s arm, but her lips still moved, and suddenly
+her face lighted up with a radiant smile.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nearer,—come nearer—How bright the
+sunlight shines upon your face! Tommy, my
+boy—my sailor boy—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So, on that bleak March morning when the
+Nereid came in, Miriam had indeed gone to
+meet her son, her sailor son, on that far, far off
+foreign shore that is girdled by the mightier
+ocean of eternity.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_088.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_089.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>REINHART, THE GERMAN.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_089.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+Poor Reinhart! He certainly was a
+brilliant fellow. Even the German
+Professors overlooked his English
+origin, and felt proud of him. Probably they
+argued that if he was born in Yorkshire, it was
+not his fault. And, besides, as the name showed,
+his family, no matter where they had since
+strayed, must have been, at some period of the
+past, true children of the Fatherland.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As far as he was concerned, he seemed to
+have very little attachment for his native
+country. Indeed, he never evinced very much
+of an attachment for any place or any body.
+We had been together the greater part of ten
+years. He possessed a singular influence over
+me. I hardly know what I would not have
+done for Reinhart. But he was in disposition
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>not the least demonstrative; and whether he
+ever saw any attraction in me, I can not tell.
+I simply imagined so, because time wore away
+without drifting us apart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A profound interest in metaphysics absorbed
+his whole being; and through this channel he
+had crept into the good graces of the college
+authorities. During his long study upon this
+subject, he had woven about himself all the
+labyrinthine meshes of the subtile German
+philosophy. Though only a tutor of twenty-five,
+the doctors of metaphysics touched their
+hats to him; all the students bowed before
+him; and I—I felt sorry for him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Why? I can hardly tell. But he had grown
+thin and pale and nervous within the last year;
+and I could not help wishing that all Germany
+was as ignorant of psychology as in the days
+when the Suabians danced their dryad dances
+upon the very spot where now the great University
+lifted up its towers—this great University
+whose walls were built not of stone from
+the quarry, but of the labors of many lives,
+some of whose proudest pinnacles, reaching
+into a light of dazzling splendor, had been
+reared only by the everlasting sacrifice of reason.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A vague idea had floated into my mind, but
+so very terrible it was that I had never dared
+acknowledge its existence even to myself;
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>nevertheless, it oppressed me constantly. Finally,
+it grew into such a burden that I could
+bear it no longer, and so made up my mind to
+do what little I could to relieve myself at any
+rate. A plan occurred to me whereby I might
+accomplish my chief design, which was to draw
+him away from this study that was consuming
+him; to draw him away from his myriad theories
+into life. But before I had said a word, while
+I was still meditating how it could best be done,
+Reinhart settled the trouble himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I never was more astonished or more pleased
+than when he proposed the very thing I had
+been trying to broach, that the two of us should
+spend the next six months in traveling. What
+had suggested it to him, or what his reasons
+were, I never asked. Had <em>he</em> any suspicions
+of this strange fancy that I would not admit to
+myself, and yet had been vainly striving to drive
+from my mind? Since then I have sometimes
+thought so, and sometimes thought not. To
+the proposition I consented eagerly, and did my
+best in hastening all the arrangements; therefore
+no time was lost before we found ourselves
+<i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">en route</span></i> for the south of Europe.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said, Reinhart was not in the least
+demonstrative. Very likely his natural reserve
+had been greatly increased by his sedentary
+life. But I noticed, early in our trip, that he
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>seemed laboring to throw off his abstracted
+manner. I felt encouraged, notwithstanding I
+knew it was an effort to him, and determined,
+not only that he should see something of the
+world, but, what would be of much more
+benefit, that he should see something of society.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the beautiful Italian scenery my own
+spirits rose perceptibly. The great load which
+had been burdening me lessened and finally
+raised itself altogether, as I saw this shadow of
+the German University that had been resting
+on my companion break. But I know now I
+was mistaken. It was only the battalion preparing
+for action; the marshalling of the forces
+before the conflict.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It had been almost a month since we left
+Germany. Many of the English and American
+gentlemen residing in Florence had shown us
+not only attention but hospitality. One thing
+I noticed quickly that Reinhart cared almost
+nothing for the society of ladies. He endured
+it; never sought it. The most beautiful faces
+he would pass without any notice, or with
+merely an indifferent glance. I was sorry for
+this, because here was a channel, I had thought,
+wherein might be turned the current of his
+existence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>With this subject still uppermost in my mind,
+I determined one morning I would bring my
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>sounding-line into play, if it were only on account
+of my own satisfaction. We were sitting
+upon the deep sill of the open window, smoking
+our cigars and enjoying the utter tranquillity
+of the southern day, when I asked, indifferently,
+as if the question had been wholly unpremeditated,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, were you ever in love?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He looked up quickly, waited a moment, as
+though at first he had not exactly understood,
+then answered,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now, I knew very well he never had been;
+for, as I have said, the last ten years we had
+spent together; but at present I was bent upon
+the intent of discovering what probability there
+was that such a catastrophe could ever be
+brought about; so I said again,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, do you think you <em>ever will</em> be in
+love?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I expected a repetition of my former answer,
+but, to my surprise, without any hesitation, he
+replied,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Indeed!” I gasped, with my breath almost
+gone,—“and when may it come to pass?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Looking up, I dropped the tone of raillery
+I had been using immediately, for I saw it
+was a serious matter to him; and overcome
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>by astonishment, I subsided into complete
+silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The perfume of roses came in on the breeze,
+and a scarlet-cloaked flower-girl carrying her
+wares, the only person on the street, turned
+out of sight. A small bird, with red plumes in
+its wings, lighted nearly within reach, upon the
+tree, and broke into song, but, checking the
+strain almost in the first note, it flew away, settling,
+a mere speck, upon the northern spire of
+the Cathedral. Then Reinhart said, as though
+there had been no pause in the conversation,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I do not know; it may never come in this
+life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I looked at him, thoroughly puzzled, almost
+frightened. Then, thinking perhaps I had not
+heard aright, said,—“What?” But, without
+heeding my interrogation, he continued,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Perhaps it never will come in this life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, I had heard aright. Possibly we were
+each talking of different things; and as a last
+resource, I said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Perhaps <em>what</em> will never come in this
+life?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, love,” he replied, making a slight
+gesture of impatience, as though I had been
+unpardonably dull.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“But,” I persisted, determined to understand,
+“then it will never be at all, for they
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>neither marry nor are given in marriage in the
+next world.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No,” he repeated, “they ‘neither marry nor
+are given in marriage.’” He said the words over
+slowly but mechanically, exactly as if he might
+have said, or thought, the same words over a
+hundred times before.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That he believed in the immortality of the
+soul, I quite well knew, for it was the one
+shoot of his English education, which, springing
+in early boyhood, had survived, like a foreign
+plant, amid all the German sophisms. I did
+not like the strange aspect of his face, and,
+somewhat ill at ease, I said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Then, what do you mean?” I waited a
+moment for the answer.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I can hardly tell you. I have always had
+a theory of my own—no, not a theory, a belief.
+I have never undertaken to express it in
+language, and do not know whether I can
+render myself intelligible. I think every soul
+has somewhere in the universe an affinity—I
+am obliged to use the word for lack of a better
+one—and I believe that before complete happiness
+can be attained the two are merged into
+one. It is not marriage: that is purely earthly.
+These affinities may possibly meet in this life,
+though it is hardly probable; but in the ages
+to come it will occur just as certainly as there
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>is an eternity. Mind, I do not call it marriage.
+It is the fusing together of two souls, a masculine
+and feminine, just as they combine chemicals,
+producing a new substance. I believe, as
+I said, these two souls may sometimes meet in
+this life; but it is a destiny that comes to few
+in centuries, and those few should kneel in
+everlasting gratitude before their Creator.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When Reinhart ceased speaking, I could see
+that he had worked himself almost into a fever,
+for his eyes were bright and restless, and the
+blood surged in waves across his usually colorless
+face. With a rough hand, I had struck the
+chord whose undecided vibrations had, a month
+ago, appalled me. The great burden which
+had so oppressed me settled down again heavier
+than before. It was not so much what he had
+said as the expression of his face that filled me
+anew with anxiety. And struggling under this
+burden, I made a poor attempt to laugh the
+matter off.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, this is some of your German
+metaphysics.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No; though you are at liberty to call it
+what you please; but I have never read such a
+theory in any place.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, it is an absurd idea,” I retorted,
+“and sounds exactly like some of your humbug
+philosophers, who never believe in any thing
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>but fantasies; and I would advise you to let
+them alone.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This was hardly wise on my part. I should
+not have allowed myself to express any impatience
+when I saw it excited him, and only
+augmented what I was striving to allay. The
+blood rushed again over his face, but he said
+nothing; only, rising from his seat, he walked
+several times across the room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the silence that followed, a strain of joyful
+music broke suddenly upon us. It was the
+swell of the Cathedral organ, sounding a prelude
+for some wedding. But if the strain was
+ever finished, we did not hear it, for the next
+moment a crash of terrific discord drowned the
+music, shaking the very ground. Some object
+flew swiftly past my face, struck the wall and
+fell upon the floor. I sprang up and shut the
+window quickly. Half the sky was covered
+with a black cloud, and from the carpet at my
+feet I picked up a dead bird, a small bird with
+red plumes in its wings.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The storm passed over in less than half an
+hour, leaving the sky perfectly clear again;
+but for the remainder of the day I could not
+recover my spirits. Whether Reinhart suffered
+from a like oppression, I know not; but he
+seemed possessed by the very demon of unrest.
+He was not still a moment. He had little to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>say; and quite late in the evening proposed a
+walk. Without any remark upon the unusual
+hour, I acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The night was quiet and beautiful, beautiful
+even for that southern clime. There was no
+moon, and still the sky was filled with a soft
+light, brighter than the trembling rays of the
+stars alone. I remember it because it was a
+peculiar luminous haze, that I had seen only in
+Italy, and because, though no clouds swept
+over the sky, and the haze never paled until
+lost in the crimson glow of morning, that night,
+to me, was the blackest night of my life, whose
+vision sometimes yet rises before me, even at
+noon-day, with appalling reality. Ah! why
+were the sky and stars beautiful? O, cruel
+sky! O, cruel stars! Was the sorrow on
+earth nothing to you, that you gave no warning?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We had walked perhaps two squares, when
+Reinhart stopped just as suddenly as if he
+might have come in contact with a stone wall,
+invisible to me. Alarmed, I said, quickly,
+“What is the matter? Are you ill?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No,” he replied, still standing motionless.
+Then, in a moment, without another word, he
+turned and began retracing his steps.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Are you going home already?” I inquired,
+puzzled by his strange conduct.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>“No; I am going to the Cathedral.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We had just passed the Cathedral, when he
+had made no motion to enter; but now I tried
+in vain to dissuade him from it. I told him
+that there was no service at this hour; that we
+might as well not have left home as to go inside
+of any house. All to no purpose; he was just
+as determined as at first, until finally he turned
+fiercely upon me and said, with a strange emphasis
+in his tone,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I will go; I must go; I feel something
+within me that <em>compels</em> me to go!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Was this again the vibration of that terrible
+chord in his nature—that terrible chord that
+threatened to destroy forever the harmony of
+his life?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Powerless to turn him from his intent,
+together we crossed the northern portal and
+entered the nave. It was so dim that the
+heavy shadows clustered in a rayless cloud
+among the arches, and at the end, far off—they
+looked like stars in the gloom—flickered
+a few tapers at the altar, while higher up
+swung the sacred but sickly flame that had
+been burning for centuries. There was not a
+stir, not a sound. I trembled all over with a
+singular sensation of weakness that came upon
+me as I followed Reinhart, who went steadily
+down the long aisle to where the transepts met,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>then stopped as abruptly as he had stopped a
+few moments before in the street.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was, as I have said, just where the transepts
+met. There, upon a low platform or dais,
+stood a bier covered by a velvet pall, whose
+heavy border fell in waveless folds. And upon
+it rested a casket with silver mountings. Beside
+it two tapers burned, one at the head and one
+at the foot; and two monks kneeled, motionless.
+Beyond the choir I saw the gleam of the
+organ-pipes, wavering, come and go. The altar
+lights circled about each other, and they, too,
+receded in infinite space; they grew dim; they
+vanished; they sprang again; they fled again.
+The great tombs loomed out and faded; the
+figure on an ebon crucifix, inspired with life,
+writhed in fearful agony, then once more
+became transfixed, and the weak, trembling
+sensation under which I had been laboring
+was gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I saw that we were standing by the dead of
+some noble family, for the repose of whose soul
+the monks were offering up their prayers. I
+drew a little nearer. Upon the snow-like cushions
+within the casket a young girl lay sleeping
+the last deep and solemn sleep. Or was it a
+vision?—one of that mystical land, whose
+white portals are beyond the sun; that land
+where there is no shadow, no stain; where
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>there is beauty celestial, peace everlasting?
+No, it was all the future we ever see; it was
+still this side the gates of eternity; it was death.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A chaplet of flowers crowned her brow, all
+colorless as marble, and garlands of flowers
+wreathed her robe, that was purer than fleece;
+but her hands held no lilies, no jasmine; more
+sacred than these, they held a small golden
+crucifix, an emblem imperishable, holy. The
+burning tapers threw not over the face, turned
+slightly toward the altar, that beautiful dream-light;
+it was the last inscription written by the
+spirit, even after it had seen down the radiant
+vista of immortal happiness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Ah! why offer prayers for a soul beyond the
+troubled sea, beyond the dread valley? O,
+frail humanity! Even then beside the pall,
+where rested the solemn silence no voice could
+break, stood one for whom the kneeling monks
+might have told a thousand <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">aves</span></i>.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Reinhart raised his face suddenly. Straightening
+himself, he extended his arm with a wild
+gesture, uttering a laugh that grated clear up
+to the dome.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Did I not tell you?” he cried. “Did I not
+feel the mysterious summons that brought me
+to this spot? Do you see her? <em>It is she!</em> It
+is her soul and mine that will abide together
+through all eternity.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>The startled monks rose to their feet. The
+great arches of the Cathedral threw back his
+voice in terrible groans. Quick as thought I
+sprang toward him, but was hurled off with the
+ease of a giant. He stooped for a moment and
+put one hand to his head, as if a sudden faintness
+might have swept over him; but he did
+not touch the casket. Then, dropping on one
+knee beside it, he raised his face and said softly,
+so softly that the last word seemed to come to
+us from a great distance,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, beautiful soul, part of my spirit, I will
+not keep you waiting!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We gathered around and raised him up. It
+needed no force now; and when they laid him
+down again, with a great throbbing in my breast,
+I folded his hands. He had taken his life.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O, Germany! like this fair day you lured a
+bird high up into your sunshine, a bird with
+brilliant plumes in its wings; then, before it
+had sung one song from the pinnacle where it
+rested, blackening suddenly into a storm, you
+killed it. Reinhart, poor Reinhart! you lured
+high up into the fantastic light of psychology;
+then before he had reared one minaret upon the
+temple where he climbed, you darkened suddenly
+into a gigantic gloom that, rising up like
+a storm, overwhelmed him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, better had it been for Reinhart were the
+Suabians still dancing their dryad dances.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_103.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>SILVER ISLET.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_103.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+In Lake Superior, near its northern shore,
+a mere speck of land, scarcely two
+hundred feet square, barely shows
+itself above the water. This is Silver Islet,
+and on it sinks the shaft of the richest silver
+mine in the world. Covering almost its entire
+dimensions, stand two buildings. One, a low
+frame house, encloses the mouth of the mine,
+and the other, immediately adjacent, a small
+wooden structure, forms the watch-tower.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Through this tower, every evening, the miners,
+when dismissed for the day, are compelled
+to pass out one by one, and submit themselves
+to an examination, where their clothes
+are thoroughly searched, that none of the precious
+metal may be carried away secreted upon
+the person. So extreme is the vigilance employed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>that visitors are never allowed, except
+by special permit, and though isolated upon the
+waters, the place is kept by day and night under
+this strict martial surveillance.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>To the north, about a quarter of a mile distant,
+is another island, perhaps six or eight
+acres in extent. It is high and rocky, and in
+one place reaches up more than a hundred feet.
+Here, built upon its sloping side, is the little
+settlement that could count up altogether, it
+might be, thirty houses. Here the miners live
+with their families. Here, too, every thing that
+pertains to the business of the place carries
+itself on; and here it was that father had
+brought me to stay.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was about eighteen years old then. I do
+not know how father happened to receive the
+position of assistant overseer at the mine. I
+never knew very much about father. Indeed I
+had hardly seen him more than half a dozen
+times in my life, until that day he came to take
+me from the farm. I could not remember my
+mother, who died in my infancy, and brother or
+sister I had none. Father was a morose, unsociable
+man by nature, and I think he cared but
+very little for me. I had been left at my
+uncle’s to grow up, and so, as I said, about him
+I knew almost nothing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Uncle George lived on a poverty-stricken
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>farm upon the flattest of prairies. I hardly
+know how I did grow up there, it was such a
+wretched, miserable place. Although I had
+never experienced any thing different, it was so
+forlorn an existence, that I chafed inwardly
+against it every hour. I possessed a kind of
+dumb consciousness that surely, surely I must
+be made for something better than this. I saw
+nothing of the world, nothing of humanity outside
+of my uncle’s family, and the two or three
+rough farm hands that he occasionally employed.
+I would rather have had the cattle, the
+poor half-starved cattle, for companions than
+these. They were none of them kind to me.
+I know not whether father ever paid any thing
+for my board; but I know I worked far harder
+than any hired servant. I did not rebel outwardly,
+but I was constantly unhappy. Was I
+to live on all my days in this hopeless, miserable
+way? Was there never to be any thing better?
+Looking out of the window, I thought of the
+great, busy world, and the far-off, unknown
+cities; but before my eyes there was only a
+dead level of the hateful yellow prairie, and
+above, the colorless sky stretched itself out in a
+gigantic, measureless blank.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From this life it was that father came, without
+word or warning, and took me. I know now
+that he only wanted me with him as a convenience,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>but then I was wild with delight. In
+my great craving for human sympathy I would
+have loved father with all my heart, had he
+given me any encouragement. I did love him
+for this one good deed. I knew not where he
+was taking me, but I was sure it could be no
+worse place. With an intense joy I went up
+and surveyed, for the last time, the miserable
+little room where I had vainly cried so many
+hot tears over my weary existence. I stayed
+my steps a moment beside the one window, a
+little window facing westward. From here I
+had seen the only beauty that ever came before
+my passionate eyes flame up with a splendor, as
+of gold, along the sky when the sun went down.
+A thousand times my yearning heart had
+watched the short-lived glory fade, like a mockery,
+into the dreary blank. From here, too,
+year by year, with a rank rebellion in my soul,
+I had looked out at the shadowless prairie that
+lay over all the earth, a great, glaring, uncovered,
+yellow blister.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So it was with nothing but glad emotion that
+I stood upon the spot consciously for the last
+time. I had a keen, absorbing love of the
+beautiful, a hunger insatiable, that unfed was
+sapping my life. This wretched existence had
+almost killed me; but for the change I believe
+that my longing spirit, like my mother’s in the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>far past, would have broken its wings. Now
+there was an avenue of escape suddenly opened
+up before me—of escape from the dreadful monotony,
+from the intolerable agony of everlasting
+sameness that, by day and night, recurring
+forever, had made up the tiresome years as they
+passed. My whole being was turned to my
+father with one inspiration of gratitude.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Had I known any thing of Pythagoras then,
+almost I could have believed in the transmigration
+of souls, or that my spirit had passed
+into some different body, so utterly strange and
+new I felt at Silver Islet. Here father had
+rented a little house that stood apart from the
+rest, upon the very highest point. The whole
+settlement was grouped within the least possible
+compass, and considerable of the island,
+small as it was, still remained in its original
+condition. There were no trees immediately
+about our house, but to the right, and running
+thinly all the way down on the other side to the
+water, a few straggling pines clung, with their
+rope-like roots, to the rocks. It was no trouble
+to me to keep house for only one. I got the
+breakfast and supper, and every morning put
+up a dinner for father, which he took with him
+to the mine. So all day I was left wholly to
+myself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I said, so strange and new I felt it seemed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>to me for a while as if I had lost my own
+identity. Here, for the first time in my life,
+there lay before my eyes a vast expanse of
+glittering waves—the mighty mystery of
+far-reaching waters! Rolling, moving, changing,
+remaining for endless ages, attracting, terrifying—only
+the mightier mystery of eternity
+can fathom the hidden secret of this unceasing
+problem. A hush fell upon my fluttering spirits,
+a hush of profound awe before this symbol, this
+vision of the unknown infinite. At last the cry
+of my soul for food was silenced, the dreadful
+hunger of my heart, that through all my life I
+could not allay, was pacified.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At dawn I saw the timid light creep up along
+the east and wait and brighten, until it set an
+emblazoned standard in the sky, and below, far
+out, covered with the pomp of the rising sun,
+the distant billows clashed their blood-red
+shields. At noon, I saw the mid-day radiance,
+falling through the air in torrents of splendor,
+float far and near, changing into gorgeous
+mosaics upon the sea. At night I saw the long
+line of mighty cliffs upon the silent Canadian
+shore reach out their giant shadow through the
+dusk of evening that, slowly, softly, gathered
+into a twilight sweeter than the luminous haze
+of a dream.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I had no one to care for me, no friend, no
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>lover, but I needed none now. I was happy,
+happy as in a new and glorious world. I forgot
+the dreadful prairie, dry and parched—the
+vast, staring, level of land that for so many
+years had oppressed me by its terrible, never
+ending monotony. I even forgot the thousand
+times I had longed and longed to see a great
+city, to live among its busy throng.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was November, and presently the wind,
+keen and cold, swept down, like the wind from
+the Arctic zone. Mad, pitiless, the boundless
+waters piled themselves in towering billows.
+They leaped and menaced. They broke over
+Silver Islet with a frightful roar and drenched
+it with their freezing spray. They danced about
+it in savage fury. They beat against it continually,
+and the howling gale, swift and strong,
+dashed the foam in blinding sheets. Already
+the long, fierce winter of the North was rapidly
+setting in.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Great layers of ice formed and broke, and
+ground up and formed again, until December,
+still and frigid, locked us within the impenetrable
+barriers of a vast, frozen sea. To the east,
+to the west, to the south, an illimitable wilderness
+of snow, the mighty Superior for miles lay
+wrapped in a silence profound as the grave.
+To the north, shrouded in their eternal solitude,
+cold, white and spectral, the cliffs upon the long
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>Canadian shore held up their stony battlement,
+sheeted in ice, as in a pall. Utterly devoid of
+warmth, the sunlight blazed with a brilliance
+indescribable through an atmosphere that,
+clearer than crystal, glittered as with the scintillations
+of feldspar. But the nights—the nights
+swinging in their long winter arc, were illuminated
+by a glory more gorgeous than the
+unreal splendor wrought in the loom of dreams.
+The stars, myriads upon myriads, studded the
+whole heaven with drops of intense light, and
+the planets, magnified through the vast laboratory
+of the air, showed great balls of molten
+silver against a vault of jet. Sometimes when
+the night was at its blackest, suddenly there
+shot up, flaming from the white battlements of
+the Canadian shore, a thousand lances. Like
+the parade of an army, like the marshalling of
+far-reaching cohorts, the mighty processions
+swept the semicircle of the sky. They rose and
+fell. They wavered like the spears of troops in
+battle. Then the vast battalions, closing together,
+ran up in a towering shaft to the zenith.
+A river of ice-cold fire, it divided the heaven.
+It overflowed and spread out in a sea of gorgeous
+color that receded, wave upon wave,
+until it burned, a deep blue flame upon the
+frozen crown of the Canadian cliffs. I have
+watched this aurora in its changeful mood a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>hundred times. I have watched the illimitable
+fields of snow beneath, while the reflected light
+played upon them in weird rays, far out to the
+remote horizon.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>During the Winter, unused to the severe climate,
+I rarely left the house. So far as was
+possible, I held myself aloof from the people,
+the people, that, as I said, were only the rough
+families of miners. Ignorant and uneducated,
+painfully ignorant and uneducated I was myself,
+still I could not associate with such as
+these. I did not grow tired, but yet I was glad
+when the long, frozen months had passed by.
+As the late Spring opened, Winter even then
+did not yield its supremacy without a fierce
+contest, but in the contest—the savage storms
+from the north—the ice broke. The huge cakes,
+drifting about, slowly, gradually, wore themselves
+away, and the wind dropped its javelins
+of frost.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Late it was in June before the last vestige
+was gone of the bitter cold that had held us in
+its frigid clasp for more than two-thirds of a
+year. Then there opened for me an unfailing
+source of enjoyment. I learned to row, and
+father allowed me to buy a small boat. It was
+almost the only favor I ever asked of him, and
+how much have I to be thankful for that he did
+not deny me! Though slight of figure, my
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>muscles were strong, and after awhile, with constant
+practice, I could row twenty miles in a
+day without exhaustion, and every day now, and
+all the day, I spent my time upon the water.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Summer, beautiful to me beyond description,
+was like a perpetual Spring. In my little
+boat, alone, I explored the shore far and near.
+I rowed to the very ledges of those cliffs that I
+had watched all Winter long lifting themselves,
+like a huge, jagged spine, against the sky. A
+thousand, sometimes twelve hundred feet, they
+reached up, gray and naked, a sheer, barren
+wall of rock from the water. With the cold
+waves forever at their feet, gloomy, silent, they
+stood in their drear majesty, and the chilly fog
+wrapped them round with the folds of its
+clammy garb. Only in the most beautiful
+weather did this fog lift from about them its
+clinging skirts, and slowly the damp mists trailed
+themselves off in long white plumes of down.
+At such times, floating idly in my skiff, I felt
+oppressed by the vast burden of their dreadful
+silence. I believe there is no greater solitude
+than that which sometimes at noon, when sea
+and sky are unwrinkled by wave or cloud, sits
+upon this mighty shore of desolate, desert rock.
+Yet here, where this profound silence broods,
+upon these tawny bastions of stone, occasionally
+fierce thunder storms play, and the waters
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>in wild tumult dash against their base with a
+noise like the roar of heavy artillery.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the weeks slipped by, and it was in the
+early part of October that first I saw a change
+had come over father. As I have said, he was
+by nature a reserved, unsociable, even morose
+man. He was never communicative, and to
+me sometimes spoke hardly two dozen words in
+a day. I had grown used to this, and felt that
+I had nothing to complain about, as he laid no
+restrictions upon me in any respect. But now
+I could not help noticing a decided alteration,
+both in his looks and manner. Constitutionally
+a thin man, his face appeared thinner to
+me than ever. So exceedingly pale and worn
+was he, that I do not know that I had ever
+seen a more haggard countenance. His eyes,
+which were very light in color and deep-set in
+his head, had an unnatural brightness, a strange
+expression I can hardly describe, a peculiar,
+watching wakefulness. His manner was restless
+and uneasy in the extreme, and he spoke
+even less frequently than usual. He staid out
+much later than had been his ordinary habit,
+often not coming home until early in the morning;
+and several times I heard him with a slow step
+walk back and forth, back and forth, over the
+floor of his room all night.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said, I knew nothing of his duties,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>nor did I know any thing of the miners. When
+first I noticed the change upon father, I thought
+he was over fatigued perhaps, then I became
+alarmed lest he was ill. Little as he cared for
+me, he was the only human being on earth upon
+whom I had the slightest claim, and I would
+have done any thing for him. I could not bear
+to see him look so badly. He had never manifested
+any thing towards me but utter indifference,
+and so strangely reserved was he that I,
+in my great dread that he might be harsh some
+time, had hardly ever volunteered a single
+sentence to him. I was troubled, and did not
+know what to do. That night at supper I said,
+gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, do you feel well?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At first he did not appear to hear, and I repeated
+my question, then he turned his pale
+eyes upon me suddenly with a quick, startled
+look in them that frightened me,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I asked if you felt well,” I said again,
+embarrassed by his strange manner. “You look
+so badly lately I thought maybe there was
+something the matter.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He did not speak at all for a moment, but sat
+there staring at me wildly. Catching his
+breath slightly, he looked all round the room
+and brought his eyes, his pale eyes, with an
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>angry gleam in them now, back to my face,
+then said, fiercely,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“See here, don’t you meddle in my matters!
+I am able to take care of myself.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, father, I only thought—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do you hear me?” he said, savagely.
+“Mind your own business. There is nothing the
+matter with me. If you can’t do any thing
+better than interfere in my affairs, you can go
+back. See that you don’t do it again, or—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He broke off abruptly, and I, my heart throbbing
+as if it might break, got up and went into
+my own room. I had not interfered in his
+affairs. I had done nothing wrong, said nothing
+to call up such an outburst of passion, and
+his dreadful anger had terrified me. I went
+to the window to try and calm myself. I put
+up the sash and leaned out.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The twilight had almost dissolved itself in
+night, a night so soft and gentle that the very
+waters, wooed from their troubled toil, ceased
+their long complaint and slept. The pine trees,
+slim and black, whispered to each other in their
+mysterious language with peaceful cadence,
+telling, perhaps, of the time when they would
+shed their countless needles. In the west, shining
+like a harvest sickle, hung the yellow crescent
+of the new October moon. Trying to still
+the throbbing in my veins, I watched it grow
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>and change and deepen as it sank, until above
+the water it poised, a great Moorish sword of
+blood-red fire, and a long line of vermilion light
+ran out upon the quiet sea. Then suddenly it
+was blotted in darkness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The figure of a man obstructed my range of
+vision.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Instantly the dreadful throbbing in my heart
+leaped up again. I drew back noiselessly from
+the window. The man, only a few feet distant—I
+could almost have put out my hand
+and touched him—stopped, hesitated irresolutely
+for a moment, turned about as if to see
+that no one watched him, then with stealthy
+step went across the open space and began to
+climb, catching from tree to tree, down the
+precipitous rocks towards the lake. Once or
+twice I heard a stone loosen from beneath his
+feet, and presently I heard the plash of oars in
+the water, then it died out, and straining my
+ears I could detect no sound but the quiet,
+mysterious whisperings of the pines. I laid my
+head upon the window-sill sick and faint. The
+figure of the man I had seen was father.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Too well I knew now that he was neither
+tired, nor ill. Why should he have crept down
+so stealthily over these wild, almost perpendicular
+rocks to the lake? Why not have gone
+by the ordinary path through the settlement?
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>Ah, why? Something was wrong—but what?
+I turned cold and dizzy. I would not, I <em>dared</em>
+not think.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted
+by a thousand forebodings, I could not even
+close my eyes, and it was almost day-break
+when I heard father come in quietly and go to
+his room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did
+he, but somehow I could not help thinking
+that from this time he watched me a little suspiciously.
+I felt hurt that he imagined I would
+play the spy upon his actions. Whatever he
+might do, whatever he might say, he was still
+my father, and I could not give him up. It was
+dreadful, those days that followed. It seemed
+like living upon the verge of a precipice, or
+that some unseen calamity hung above my head
+ready to fall at any moment and crush me.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp
+and put it on the supper table, I went, as was
+my usual habit, to draw down the blinds.
+Father had not yet come home. As I crossed
+his room I saw through the window a man
+standing close beside it on the outside, so close
+that I could not have seen him more distinctly
+had he been within reach of my touch. His
+arms were folded across his chest, and his head
+dropped a little in the attitude of one waiting.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>His figure was large and thick-set, almost that
+of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and
+passed his hand over his short-cut, bristly hair,
+and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse,
+heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I
+noticed that the window sash was down and
+bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind.
+I went back with an uneasy feeling into the
+dining-room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A few moments afterward father came in.
+He took up the light hurriedly, saying some
+thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried
+it into his room and shut the door. I
+heard him walking about in there, opening and
+closing drawers, and after a little I thought I
+heard a sound as if he were raising the window-sash
+gently. Then he came out. He looked at
+me sharply for a moment, and remarked that he
+had been hunting for a key. Strange! He was
+not in the habit of accounting for his actions.
+After he got up from the table he did not leave
+the house again, but went to bed almost immediately.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the morning when I put up his dinner and
+handed it to him as usual, he said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You need not get any supper for me to-night.
+I have office work to do at the mine and
+will not be back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was surprised. He had frequently not
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>come home to the evening meal, but never before
+had he thought it worth his while to give
+me notice. I stood looking after him as he
+went out of the gate, when suddenly an idea
+flashed into my head that made my heart sink
+in my breast like a stone. I do not know why
+it should have come to me then so suddenly,
+with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned
+and ran into father’s room. I looked about. I
+opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his
+clothing was gone! It was as I thought. He
+did not mean to come back at all—Deserted!
+The dreadful word choked up my throat. I
+knew nothing of father’s actions, I knew
+not what he had done, but I would gladly have
+gone with him, have stood disgrace with him
+even, if that were necessary. I am sure I can
+not tell why I clung to him with such desperation.
+Though I was ignorant and inexperienced,
+I was also young and strong, and I was not
+afraid I would fail to make my living alone in
+the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid
+my head upon the foot of the bedstead, and
+heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably
+I would never see him again, and if he did
+not love me, at least, except that one time, he
+had not been harsh to me, and he was my
+father.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At first I thought I would follow him; I
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>would go to the mine and see if he might not
+still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries
+about him would probably only increase
+the danger that threatened, whatever that
+danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing
+him for some crime, I would have shielded
+him still. I was powerless. I could do nothing
+to recall him; I could do nothing but wait.
+Wandering about with only the one thought in
+my mind, after awhile the house became positively
+intolerable. I must do something at
+least to keep myself employed, or I should
+absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably,
+and I had a compressed feeling across my
+chest.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it
+over my arm. I do not know why I should
+have taken this one, for I wore it generally only
+in the bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange
+feeling of dread when any one looked at me, I
+went down hurriedly through the settlement to
+the wharf. I got into my boat and pushed off.
+On the water I could breathe better.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily,
+taking note of nothing. My only relief lay in
+violent exercise. How many miles up the
+shore I went I do not know, but it was farther
+than I had ever reached before, and when I
+drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>the red embers of the sun-set’s fire
+were dying down along the sky.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In this region of the lake, from a quarter to
+two miles from shore, at wide intervals isolated
+rocks rise up out of the water, or mere points of
+land covered with a thick growth of underbrush
+show themselves, so small they look
+from a distance like a floating fleck of green
+that the waves could drift about at pleasure.
+The gulls rest upon them undisturbed by man
+or beast. Lonely, a thousand times more lonely,
+these islands make it seem than a clear, open
+stretch of water. A few of them, perhaps, are
+fifteen or twenty feet in extent. On a dark
+night it would have been dangerous to row here.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I felt weak and tired. The lake stretched
+itself out, quiet and peaceful as a painted ocean.
+Not a ripple disturbed the tranquil surface that
+mirrored the sky like a glass. I drew my cloak
+over me and lay down in my boat. I cared not
+when I got back, the later the better, for I still
+clung to a forlorn hope, that perhaps in the
+morning father would return. I was not afraid,
+for the moon had reached its full and would be
+up even as the last halo of the departing day
+was fading from the west. Out of the water I
+saw it come. An enormous globe of maroon
+fire, it sat upon the horizon and stained the lake
+with its magenta rays. Fatigued and exhausted,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>I think I must have slept, for when next I
+looked, bright and yellow, it was swung high up
+in the sky, shedding through the air a splendor
+like pearl.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I felt glad I had brought my cloak, for it was
+cold, very cold, and I would have been almost
+numb without it. I knew by the position of
+the moon that it must be somewhere near
+eleven o’clock. I sat up, shivered a little, drew
+my wrap closer about me and reached out one
+hand for the oars—when suddenly, midway in
+the action, I held it suspended, motionless!
+Sometimes there is nothing so startling as the
+sound of a human voice. I heard two men
+talking. For an instant I was paralyzed. My
+boat lay close beside one of these little knolls
+of land I have described. I could have put out
+my arm and touched the rank sword-grass that
+grew along its border. I did catch hold of it and
+noiselessly drew my skiff nearer, into a kind of
+curve, so that, though I was on the bright side,
+the overhanging brambles threw me into shadow,
+and another skiff, passing by, would hardly have
+detected me, when instantly I found that the
+men were not on the water. A cold terror
+crept over me. They were distant scarcely
+three yards. I could not see them, but I could
+almost feel the underbrush crackling beneath
+their feet. They evidently, though, had no
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>knowledge of my presence, and I, not daring to
+stir, fairly held my breath. They seemed to be
+removing something from the ground and transferring
+it to their boat which, as I supposed, lay
+upon the other side. I could hear them lift and
+carry, what, I did not know. It sounded sometimes
+like stones falling with a partially muffled
+thud when they put them down. One of the
+men in a rough voice said, with a loud, harsh
+laugh, evidently resting for a moment,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This repays for lots o’ trouble! That was
+a neat slip we gave ’em all to-night. By ——
+I’m glad to be quit o’ the place! Its ——”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Be quiet can’t you!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My heart, at a single bound, leaped into my
+mouth. In these few words, spoken low and
+stern, I instantly recognized the voice. It was
+father’s. The other man did not reply, but
+muttered a half intelligible curse. They were
+both in the boat now, for I heard the plash of
+their oars. Presently father said, in a sharp,
+quick tone,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Take care! Sit down, sit down I tell you!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Again the man muttered something between
+his shut teeth. The next moment they came
+round into the light and passed me, pulling hard.
+Then I recognized the thick-set, burly figure
+that I had seen last night. He was in the stern
+of the boat, and I saw his face again, the same
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>repulsive face, but with a sullen scowl upon the
+brutish features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They were heavily loaded and rowed slowly.
+They had got well past me when I heard father
+say something; what, I did not understand; but
+the man, dropping his oars, turned his head and
+replied, savagely,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Look’e yer! You’ve did nothin’ but boss,
+an’ boss, an’ I’m tired o’ it! This yer’s as
+much mine as yourn, and by —— I’d jes as lief
+make it all mine!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Quick as the movement of a cat he changed
+his position, facing round to father. Quicker
+still, he stooped and caught up something in his
+hand that by the glint of the moonlight explained
+their heavy load, and all the mystery
+which had been hanging over father’s actions.
+It was a rough, jagged piece of silver ore. He
+raised his powerful arm and struck father with
+it on the head. He struck him two or three
+times. I screamed. There was a dreadful
+struggle, and at the same second that I saw the
+gleam of father’s pistol I heard its report. The
+man raised up his huge figure for an instant,
+wavered, and fell back heavily with a cry like a
+wounded tiger. The boat, without capsizing,
+tilted beneath the shock, filled with water, and
+went down like a stone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I absolutely do not know how I pushed out
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>from my hiding-place, but with two or three
+swift strokes I was on the spot. For an instant
+there was most frightful silence. I can see the
+waves widening their circle yet. Then, right at
+my boat’s head, father came to the surface. I
+was made strong by the energy of desperation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>With a wild, straining reach I leaned over and
+caught him by the arm, and with the other
+hand I rowed backward towards the knoll. I
+would have capsized and gone down rather than
+have let go my grasp. I was within a skiff’s
+length of the little island when just at my side
+I saw the huge form of the miner come up.
+He struggled and made one mighty effort to
+catch hold of my boat. No more terrible can
+the faces of the damned look than this face that
+glared up at me from the water. It has haunted
+me waking and sleeping. God forgive me, I
+could do nothing else! I struck him with the
+flat side of my oar. Evidently weakened by
+loss of blood, exhausted and nearly gone, he fell
+back and sank almost instantly from sight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I worked round to a place where there was
+only grass growing, and catching by it drew
+close to its border. I could never have lifted
+father up but that he was sensible and could
+help himself somewhat. I got him on the
+ground, and from the ground into my boat.
+Then he fainted.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>His head was terribly wounded. I knew I
+had no time to waste. I was afraid he would
+die in the coming hours before I could reach assistance.
+I rubbed his hands. I loosened and
+took off some of his wet clothing. I folded my
+cloak over him carefully and seized the oars.
+Inspired by my strange burden with a strength
+superhuman, my boat shot swiftly almost as if it
+had been propelled by steam. But the east
+was already brightening again with Indian
+colors when I reached the wharf at last, at last!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They raised him softly and carried him up to
+the house. I paid no attention to their thousand
+questions. I do not know what I said—I said
+it was an accident.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the weeks of his long fever and delirium,
+I watched over him day and night. He did not
+die. He came back to life. How many times
+I had wondered would he be kind, would he be
+gentle to me now? Ah, poor father! He was
+never harsh to any one after that.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the people came and spoke to him, he
+would laugh a gentle, meaningless laugh, and
+sometimes, holding to me tight, he would point
+to a button or color on their dress and say,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Pretty, pretty!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He grew well and strong again, but it had
+shattered his mind forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>How he had avoided the officers at the tower
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>in carrying away the precious metal which he
+had secreted from time to time, I do not know,
+but they suspected nothing. I held utter
+silence about the incident, and if the people did
+connect the missing miner with his mysterious
+“accident,” what was there to do? They
+pitied me that he was simple. Shall I say it?
+Perhaps it was better so. A strange, new joy
+came to me, as every day I saw the pale eyes,
+innocent now as those of a child, follow me
+about with a grateful look. He was easily
+managed, and he seemed to cling to me with
+an affection that would atone for the long blank
+in the past.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I waited until the bitter Winter had gone by,
+and the first steamer came in the Summer.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>What would become of us in the big, untried
+city? I had my youth, I had my health.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I stood upon the deck of the great vessel and
+saw this mere speck of land recede in the distance.
+Father, standing by my side, touched
+my arm, and holding out his open hand, said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Pretty, pretty!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a shell in it clean and white, and
+he looked up at me and smiled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, better so, it was better so!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had gone there a man, strong and wicked.
+By the strange mysteries of Providence, he
+came from it a child, weak and innocent, with
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>a soul white as the shell which for the moment
+he cherished in his simple delight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When next I raised my eyes, only the cold
+waters of Lake Superior washed the horizon,
+and Silver Islet had vanished from my sight
+forever.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_128.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_129.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>BOYDELL, THE STROLLER.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_129.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+He was a strolling player. During the
+month of February, 1868, I was at
+Chicago, gathering up a theatrical
+troupe to do the provinces. I found no difficulty
+in getting my general utility people,
+but still lacked a “first old man.” Every person
+wanted leading business—that was exactly
+the trouble. When I was in the midst of my
+perplexity, I stumbled across Carey, whom I
+knew to be out of a job, and offered him the
+position.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now I felt that this act was a real charity,
+for I knew poor Carey had never received such
+a chance in all his theatrical days—years, I
+should say; for he was well on the shady side
+of forty. I was amazed, dumb-founded, when
+Carey refused it, absolutely, positively refused
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>it,—Carey? What could explain this astounding
+fact? There was an odd twinkle in his
+eye, and presently the truth leaked out. He
+had just married a pretty, young girl, and—and—well,
+he had promised to quit the stage;
+that was the whole of it. But Carey suited
+me exactly, and I did not give up. I told
+him it was all nonsense; his wife would be glad
+enough for him to accept the position. Carey
+evidently began to waver; the old love for his
+profession threatened to out-weigh that other
+love which had crept into his heart. However,
+it was finally determined that I should call
+upon his wife and submit the matter to her
+decision.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I found her really young and really pretty,
+but, also, really in earnest. Carey could not
+go, that was certain; at the very first mention
+of the subject, she burst into tears. There was
+nothing left for me except to retreat, which I
+did with many apologies.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, to soften my despair, Carey told me
+he knew of a person, one Boydell, whom he
+thought would be glad to fill the position. A
+few days after, Carey brought him up and gave
+me an introduction. A tall man he was, six
+feet-one or two, with a fine presence, heightened
+by a peculiar dignity of manner and voice.
+There was dramatic power stamped upon his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>English face, with its square, massive jaw, firm
+mouth, and deep-set eyes. I had no idea of
+Boydell’s age. I could not have guessed it by
+fifteen years one way or the other. He was one
+of those singular individuals who might be
+twenty-five, thirty-five, or fifty. There were a
+few wrinkles about his bronzed features, but
+they were surely not the wrinkles of time. His
+thick, brown hair was combed straight back,
+and hung down behind his ears. His dress
+was what might be called the shabby-genteel.
+Black from head to foot, nothing in it was new,
+and one would almost think nothing ever had
+been new. The garments had apparently existed
+in just their present condition of wear
+from time immemorial. The coat was shiny
+across the back, and a trifle small too, as though
+it had originally been cut for a man of less
+length both in body and arms. On his feet he
+wore queer, English shoes, with broad spreading
+soles, and the extra space at the toes turned
+up after the fashion of a rocker. A silk hat,
+bell-crowned, with curved rim, such as we see in
+pictures of Beau Brummel, was set well back
+upon his head.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But, notwithstanding these peculiarities,
+there was something in his bearing that gave
+Boydell the appearance of a finished gentleman,
+and his fine address added to the impression he
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>created of eminent respectability. He accepted
+the position, and our business was speedily accomplished.
+I requested him to call on the
+following day, when I would be able to make
+the final arrangements for our departure, and
+he left with a dignified bow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Gathering together a company of actors and
+actresses from nowhere in particular, and attempting
+to form them into something like an
+organized troupe, is not by any means the most
+encouraging work with which one might employ
+himself. Again and again my patience was
+exhausted, and again and again I resolved to
+persevere. Several times we had almost been
+ready for action, when somebody would “back
+out,” and throw us once more into confusion.
+Now, however, I determined to surmount every
+difficulty, no matter what, so that the next train
+might bear us <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">en route</span></i> for the West.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the midst of the morning’s turmoil, Boydell
+made his appearance. I informed him of
+our arrangements, inquired where he kept his
+baggage, and told him I would send for it immediately.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“That will be unnecessary, as I have it with
+me. This, Sir, is my baggage.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>While Boydell spoke, he put his hand back
+into his coat-tail pocket and quietly drew out a
+scratch wig. I looked at his face to find something
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>which might belie the dignified voice, but
+there was not even the shadow of a smile breaking
+up its gravity. His countenance was as
+composed when he returned the wig to his
+pocket as though he had just shown to my
+admiring gaze a complete wardrobe of great
+magnificence. Indeed, I was so impressed by
+his aristocratic manner, that the ludicrous aspect
+of the interview hardly presented itself to
+me until it was over.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But I had no time to be amused, and, with
+the annoying trials that would turn up where I
+least expected them, no inclination. When I
+sent round for the luggage I found that two of
+the boys had “shoved up their trunks at their
+uncle’s,” and, as it was the last moment, I was
+compelled to redeem them. Then I hired a
+carriage, and went to conduct the <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soubrette</span></i>, to
+the depot. When I arrived in front of the
+house, <em>Madame</em>, <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la mere</span></i>, came out and informed
+me that her daughter could not go, would not
+go, unless I gave them fifteen dollars to get her
+front teeth away from the dentist’s! What
+could we do without a <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soubrette</span></i>? With a groan
+I handed over the fifteen dollars.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Playing in the smaller towns along our route,
+we cleared our traveling expenses, and got into
+pretty good working order.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When we arrived at St. Joseph we gathered
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>up all our strength, and came out in full glory
+as “The New York Star Company.” There we
+played for three weeks to crowded audiences.
+On “salary days” the money was forthcoming,
+a rare occurrence with strolling actors, and of
+course we were all greatly delighted.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Under such circumstances our spirits ran high,
+and each one began to tell of the particular
+<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôles</span></i> in which he or she had, in days gone by,
+electrified an audience and won applause. Boydell
+caught the infection. It happened that we
+had been running plays in which the “first old
+man” was, at best, only a “stick” part, and
+Boydell fretted considerably at his ill-luck.
+One night he came into the green-room, and
+to his inexpressible joy found himself cast for
+the part of “Colonel Damas” in Bulwer’s
+comedy of the “Lady of Lyons.” Now this
+was his pet <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</span></i>, and at the intelligence he
+felt all his dramatic genius kindle into a fresh
+flame.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Boys,” he said, straightening up his dignified
+form, “Boys, you will see me make a great
+hit to-night. The passage commencing, ‘The
+man who sets his heart upon a woman is a chameleon,
+and doth feed on air,’ has never been to
+my mind rightly given.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Many of us had seen him do pretty well
+before, but now we looked forward to such an
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>effort as the stage in St. Joseph had never
+witnessed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The next evening I repaired to the theater
+half an hour earlier than usual, but found Boydell
+already dressed for the play. His shabby
+black coat looked more eminently respectable
+than ever, and was buttoned over smooth white
+linen, or what he made answer the purpose of
+linen,—half a yard of paper muslin folded into
+tucks, and pinned to his paper collar. In his
+hand ready for use he held his one valuable—the
+scratch wig. It still lacked a few minutes
+before he would be called, and he disappeared,
+as he said, to “steady his nerves.” Various
+winks and knowing looks passed among the
+boys; such disappearances on his part at this
+time of the evening were by no means rare or
+unaccountable.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Boydell came back and went directly on the
+stage. The excitement behind the scenes grew,
+for, although few of us would admit it, we all
+knew Boydell was a born actor, and we clustered
+eagerly around the wings in breathless
+expectation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He started out with dramatic gesture,—</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“‘The man who sets his heart upon a woman</div>
+      <div class='line'>Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air—</div>
+      <div class='line in18'>On air—air—’”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly his voice grew fainter, and his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>sentences incoherent. Those few moments he
+had spent in “steadying his nerves” had taken
+every line of the text from his memory. He
+could barely keep upon his feet and blunder
+through his part with thick voice and uncertain
+step. He was fully aware of his powerless condition,
+and came off with a moody, crestfallen
+countenance.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the curtain finally dropped, as it was
+Monday night, they all assembled to receive
+their salary. Boydell stood a little apart from
+the others, leaning against a flat. One of the
+boys came forward and delivering a long, elaborate
+speech in the name of all the members,
+presented Boydell with a tin snuff-box to hold
+his wardrobe—“As a token of their appreciation
+of the great ‘hit’ he had made, and the
+glory it would reflect upon the troupe.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That night Boydell, from some unknown
+source, had scraped up two shillings.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He could take twice the quantity of liquor
+that would intoxicate any other man, and
+beyond a redness of the nose and a flushed
+glistening appearance about the “gills,” he
+manifested no symptom of intemperance. He
+had a trick of using his hand as a shield around
+the glass and pouring in whisky to the very
+brim, so he always got a double drink for one
+price. When the boys asked him why he held
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>the tumbler in that peculiar manner, “It was
+habit,” he said, “merely habit.” I remember
+at Lawrence, Kansas, they had unusually small
+glasses, and he went into a logical discussion
+with the bar-keeper to show the evil of the
+thing. It was wrong; it looked mean; it
+would ruin his custom. Not that he (Boydell)
+cared; it was nothing to him, it was only the
+<em>principle</em> he objected to; it appeared penurious.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Boxing, I found, was the one thing—aside
+from his acting—upon which Boydell prided
+himself. If he heard of a person about the
+neighborhood who made any pretentions in this
+respect, he would walk miles through rain or
+mud to vanquish the “presumptuous fool.” I
+could not keep from feeling interested in this
+singular man. Reared in the English colleges,
+with the polish of the classics upon him, destined
+and trained for the British army, he had
+given it all up for this worthless, roving, vagabond
+life. And yet—although degraded, intemperate,
+and often profane—there was still
+a natural reserve about Boydell that commanded
+respect.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Our expenses had been steadily increasing,
+and our finances did not prove equal to the
+demand; at least they would not justify a
+longer run. We played two weeks at Leavenworth
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>City, and disbanded, scattering in all
+directions.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went home to M—— with a feeling of unutterable
+relief. My theatrical experience had
+brought me to the determination of letting the
+stage alone for the present, or trying it in a
+different capacity. Devoting my whole time
+to a more lucrative business, I heard nothing
+about any of the old troupe, and I did not care
+to see one of them again, unless it was Boydell.
+I had little hope of ever meeting him;
+it would be mere chance if I did, and I knew
+he might just as likely now be in Europe or
+Australia as in this country. But we were
+destined once more to come in contact.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>M—— was a flat, muddy, thriving little town
+in Western Illinois. It had built a theater, and
+was a focus for strolling actors and adventurers—a
+kind of center, where the remnant of
+theatrical troupes that had come to grief straggled
+in to recruit. The citizens did not consider
+this a very distinguishing characteristic
+to boast of, but in reality it was what raised
+the place out of oblivion; otherwise its few
+thousand inhabitants might, like their neighbors,
+have lived for ever in obscurity.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Early last Summer a business engagement
+took me to the suburbs of this town. The
+atmosphere was clear as crystal and glittering
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>with sunshine. The cherries hung dead-ripe
+upon the trees; the blackbirds chattered about
+them to each other with red-stained bills, and
+the cats, stretched lazily in the sunshine, watched
+the winged robbers with no charitable feelings.
+The leaves, if they were thirsty, complained
+but gently, and in the dry and pleasant
+fields the grasshoppers, without flagging, held
+a jubilee, and from the level pastures farther
+off came the sound of distant bells, and sometimes,
+close by the roadside, the farmers whetted
+their scythes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Coming towards me a man upon the turnpike
+was approaching the town on foot. As we
+neared each other, old recollections came back
+upon me. Yes, that tall erect figure seemed
+familiar—it was Boydell coming into M—— from
+parts unknown.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The same coat I had seen do such good
+service, only a little shinier now, was buttoned
+over the same—no, it was likely another piece
+of paper muslin. On his feet were a pair of
+shoes, a present undoubtedly, which lacked a
+size or more in length; but this trouble had
+been remedied by cutting out the counters, and
+strapping down his pantaloons to cover his
+naked heels. The fact that I knew his high
+silk hat, the one of olden times, had lost its
+crown, was owing entirely to the elevation I
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>gained by being on horseback. Under other
+circumstances it would never have been discovered,
+for the edges were trimmed smoothly
+round, and Boydell, as I said, was tall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And so I met him again, the same courtly
+vagabond, the same Boydell of former days.
+His bearing was majestic, almost regal; his
+dress was—a respectable shell. But there
+seemed to be a change, too. He did not look
+any older, although I noticed a little silver had
+sprinkled itself through his thick waving hair
+since we had parted, but there was something
+about his eyes that did not appear natural,
+and a tired, a weary expression sat upon his
+face—an expression I had never seen there
+before. Perhaps he had walked many miles.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I looked after him as he went on towards the
+town, thinking what an unsettled, wild, worthless
+life he led, this man with the divine gift of
+genius, this vagrant with the clinging air of
+gentility. Maybe fate was against him; maybe
+he really had higher aspirations; but without
+friends, without home, the cold, unsympathetic
+world had crushed them; and still watching,
+it suddenly entered my head how easily I could
+guess the contents of his coat-tail pocket!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Some little time after this meeting, when
+Boydell had almost passed out of my mind, a
+gentleman called at my office, and during our
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>conversation told me about a case of destitution
+that had accidentally come to his knowledge.
+At first I listened with well-bred indifference,
+for the experience I had acquired thoroughly
+cured all my philanthropic symptoms with
+which I had once been afflicted, but when he
+related the circumstances my interest awakened.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A man, a stranger, had stopped at the tavern
+on the suburbs of the town and fallen sick. He
+had no money, no friends, indeed he had not
+even a shirt to his back, and the landlord
+threatened to turn him out, utterly helpless as
+he was. I suddenly thought of Boydell, and
+inquired the man’s name. My friend could not
+recall it, but said he represented himself as an
+actor; though the landlord did not place much
+reliance on this statement, for the fellow had no
+wardrobe of any description, and the only thing
+in his possession was a scratch wig, which a
+black-leg would be as likely to own as an actor.
+This dispelled what little doubt had remained in
+my mind. It was Boydell, and something must
+be done at once for his relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Generosity does not prevail in any profession
+to a greater extent, especially among the lower
+members, than it does in the dramatic. As it
+was the hour for rehearsal, we went up to the
+theater. We told of Boydell’s condition, and I
+related what I knew of his history. One appeal
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>was sufficient; the contribution they made up
+would at least relieve his present wants.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There, at the tavern, we found him in a
+stupor. Neglected, without the barest necessities,
+he had had no medical attendance of any
+kind. In a room high up under the roof he was
+lying across a broken bedstead, on a worn-out
+husk mattress, with nothing to shade him from
+the fierce, blazing sun or the crawling flies that
+kept up a loud, incessant buzz. And he had
+been sick eight days. On the floor old Mounse
+had crammed himself into the one shady corner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Old Mounse was a besotted beggar round town
+who had arrived at the state where the rims of
+his eyelids appeared to be turned inside out and
+resembled raw beefsteak. The landlady, who
+was somewhat more compassionate than her
+worser half, fearing that Boydell might die on
+her hands, had sent up old Mounse, an hour ago,
+with a little gruel which he had swallowed himself,
+and was then peacefully snoring in the
+corner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We sent immediately for a physician, and
+employed ourselves in having Boydell removed
+to another apartment, where, at least, he might
+escape being broiled to death by the sun, or devoured
+by flies. When the doctor arrived, we
+had him fixed in quite comfortable quarters.
+Boydell’s disease, as we feared, was a severe
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>form of the typhoid fever. From the lifeless
+stupor, he suddenly broke into the wild ravings
+of delirium, so that our combined strength could
+hardly avail to keep him upon the bed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We reinstated old Mounse on his watch, only
+with strict orders that the granulated eyelids
+were to be kept wide open. Old Mounse was
+one of those rare persons with the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">delirium
+tremens</span></i>, who had hovered on the verge of dissolution
+for thirty years, and still lived along.
+Palsied and feeble, and crippled and unshaven,
+and dirty and whiny, he just managed to keep
+himself on this side of the grave. The adjective
+“old,” which had become a prefix to his name,
+could not have been better applied, for his
+clothes, too, were ready at any moment to keep
+him company and return to their original
+element. Old Mounse’s one merit was, he had
+become so aged that he could just do what he
+was told and nothing more. The case had assumed
+altogether a new aspect to him, now that
+Boydell seemed to have friends.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Every day the doctor reported the condition
+of his patient, which grew more and more unfavorable,
+until one morning he came and told
+us he thought Boydell had not over twenty-four
+hours to live. We went immediately to the
+tavern with him. Boydell, for the first time
+since his illness, was perfectly conscious. Here,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>in the silence of this barren room, unhallowed
+by the presence of sorrowing ones, the wild,
+reckless life was drawing to a close. It seemed
+as if the specter hands of death were already
+stretched out to snap the last binding thread.
+The face on the pillow, haggard and ghastly
+with its hollow cheeks, very little resembled
+the one over which that weary, indefinable
+expression, the shadow, the forerunner of the
+fever, had crept but three weeks ago. Boydell
+recognized me, and motioned to a chair beside
+the bed. He made two or three efforts before
+he spoke.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am going to die—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We could only answer by silence. It was
+something terrible to see this strong man, now
+weaker than an infant, lie calmly on the brink
+of eternity; even old Mounse dropped his beefy
+lids, and drew back with a subdued sniffle of
+awe. We asked if there was any thing that he
+wished done. After a little he turned his head
+that his voice might the better reach us.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have relatives—it will not matter to them
+that I am gone; they hold themselves up in the
+world; it will only be a disgrace wiped out;
+but—I would like them to know, and when I am
+dead, why—I wish you would please write to—to
+my brother. I have not heard from him for
+nearly fifteen years.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>He closed his eyes, and seemed to dream, but
+presently roused himself, and looked anxiously
+about the room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There was something else—oh, yes. Tell
+him that—I am gone. He is rector of St.
+Paul’s Church, S——, Lower Canada.” He
+paused and then said slowly, as though repeating
+his words for the first time, “It is no
+matter—but tell him I am—dead.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He felt up and down the seam of the quilt
+feebly with his fingers, then closed his eyes
+again in unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All day the dread phantom hands seemed to
+hover closer to that quivering thread of life,
+until sometimes we almost thought it broken;
+but at nightfall they receded, and the shred
+strengthened. There was a change for the
+better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural
+slumber.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Several days after this it occurred to me that
+if Boydell had relatives in Canada who were
+well off, they ought to help him in his time of
+need. Without making him or any one else acquainted
+with my intention, I wrote a letter
+setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute
+condition among strangers. As they held
+no communication with Boydell, they would
+hardly be willing to send him the money. I
+was unknown, and to assure them it was no imposition,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>I wrote if they wished to send any
+assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First
+Presbyterian Church, M——, Illinois.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>About a week later that minister came to me
+and showed a letter post-marked S——, which
+contained a check for three hundred dollars.
+It specified that the money was to be given to
+Boydell only on condition that he would promise
+to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as
+he was able to travel, come home to his relatives.
+I felt delighted at the success of my
+plan, for of course he would accept the money,
+and whether he fulfilled his promise afterwards
+by renouncing the stage and going home to
+Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I
+considered was no business of mine.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When we entered his room, Boydell was
+propped up almost in a sitting posture by pillows.
+The window-shutter had been thrown
+partly open to admit the air, and a narrow
+streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We told
+him of the good news, and after we had made
+him understand how it had all come about, read
+the letter aloud. He listened in perfect silence,
+without changing position, and when it was
+finished, took the check and said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Three hundred dollars?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He held the slip of paper in his emaciated
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>hands, that trembled with weakness, and
+repeated,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Three hundred dollars—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He seemed trying to convince himself of its
+reality; but suddenly a bewildered expression
+broke over his face, and he looked from the
+check to the letter, which still laid open. We
+asked Boydell if he wished to hear it again, but
+at the second reading his bewilderment only
+seemed to increase. He looked at us with an
+inquiring gaze that wandered round the bare,
+desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue
+sky in the window. Then he said, as if asking
+himself the question,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Give up the stage? Renounce the stage?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>His eyes came back to the money in his hand.
+Presently he folded it up, pressing the creases
+with his thin fingers, and slowly holding it out,
+shook his head saying,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Send it back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The ribbon of sunlight had crept further and
+further round until it stretched itself across the
+broad, white forehead, and we stood in greater
+awe than when the angel of death had hovered
+there. Suddenly before us a dazzling ray had
+flashed out from the black waste of that sinful
+life. The unbroken check went back to Canada.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A month later I was riding in the country.
+A purple light overhung the shadowy prairie,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>which stretched away, broad, level and without
+bound. Occasionally a wild bird rose up and
+darted with swift wings, seeking a resting place,
+for already the September moon waited the
+coming night. Nearer, the tall weeds raised
+themselves from the great, soundless ocean of
+grass, like the masts of receding vessels. A
+single wagon, the only object on all the void
+prairie, stood out bold and sharp against the
+bright line of the horizon, and clearly defined
+above the driver, high up on top of the hay, the
+figure of a man cut the sky. Even at that distance
+I knew it was Boydell.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Some one had given him a little money, and
+with renewed health and spirits he was going
+out of M——. Whither?</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_148.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_149.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE DEATH-WATCH.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_149.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+“Didn’t you hear it?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“When?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Just now.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“They say it foretells death. Hush!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The two men sat motionless. Not a sound
+broke the silence, not even a creak of the old
+boards in the floor, or a sigh of the wind, or a
+flapping shutter.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“They say it foretells death. I heard it last
+night and the night before. What’s that?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nothing. It’s stiller than a graveyard.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I heard it last night, and the night before
+about this time, near one. ’Taint a very pleasant
+sound, and this old garret’s dismal enough
+any way.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Monk, you’re afeard. It’s nothing. Don’t
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>waste no more time. I’m dead-tired and sleepy.
+You wouldn’t have been in this old hole now
+if it hadn’t been for Peters.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, if it hadn’t been for Peters, the strike,
+like enough, would have took. But he won’t
+stand in nobody’s way again.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>While Monk spoke, he drew out a sharp,
+slender knife, and ran his finger along the
+blade.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I tell you, Shiflet, we must do it the night
+after this blast’s done, and the men in the shed
+say the coal will run out on the 6th, that’s to-morrow.
+When Peters is fixed, the managers
+will have to give in or quit runnin’ the
+furnace.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Both men sat with their arms leaning on the
+table, and the flickering light of the tallow candle
+between them showed two faces, rough,
+begrimed by smoke and soot, and disfigured by
+evil passions, that grew fiercer as they calmly
+plotted against the life of a fellow-being.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We’ll meet at one, where the roads cross.
+It’ll be quiet then, and Peters’s house is alone.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’ll be all right,” said Shiflet, with a grin
+that rendered his brute-like countenance doubly
+repulsive. “I’m confounded tired. Bring
+your candle and light me down them infernal
+stairs.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The men stood up. Monk, small and slim,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>was dwarfed by the almost giant stature of his
+companion. With a few parting words as to
+secrecy and silence, they separated.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk stood on the upper step until Shiflet
+disappeared, then closed the door and replaced
+the candle on the table.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The room, neither large nor small, was a mere
+hole, smoked, dirty, and unplastered, high up
+in a frame tenement-house. Two or three
+chairs, an old chest of drawers, a rickety bedstead,
+and pine table, composed its furniture.
+Some old boots and broken pieces of pig-iron
+lay scattered about. The small, box-shaped
+window was set just below where the ceiling or
+roof sloped to the wall. The only door led directly
+to the stairs that went down two, three
+flights to the ground. There were many such
+places in Agatha, where the furnace-hands
+lived.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk walked rapidly up and down the room,
+as if making an effort to wear off the excitement
+that the last few moments had brought
+upon him. His features had lost much of the
+malignant expression, which was by no means
+habitual. His countenance was not hardened
+or stamped with the impress of crime like Shiflet’s,
+who had just parted from him at the door—a
+countenance in which every trace of conscience
+had long ago been erased. Monk’s face
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>was neither good nor bad, neither bright nor
+dull; but he was a man easily wrought into a
+passion, governed by impulse.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Crossing to the table, he slung his coat over
+a chair, and stretched out his hand to extinguish
+the light. Midway in the action he suddenly
+checked himself, looked hurriedly around
+the room for an instant, and stood motionless,
+with inclined head, listening intently. Not a
+sound disturbed the stillness. Pinching out
+the light, he threw himself on the bed, and in
+the darkness there soon came the heavy, regular
+respiration of sleep.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The house at Agatha nestled under the north
+cliff. A hundred feet above them the railroad
+lost itself in the black mouth of a tunnel and
+reappeared beyond, a high wall of trestlework
+stretching southward down the valley to Ely’s
+Mines. Hours ago, the toiling men and cattle
+had lain down to rest, and now the wild, rocky
+hills around slept in the moonlight. No sound
+broke upon the stillness but the muffled puff,
+puff, of the furnace, and a murmur of frogs that
+rose and fell interruptedly along the shrunken
+water-course. The cabins under the cliff shone
+white and sharp; the iron on the metal-switch
+flashed with a million gems; the rails upon the
+trestle, receding, turned to silver, and the
+foliage of early Summer glittered on the trees.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>A few passionless stars blinked feebly in the
+yellow light, where the hill-tops cut against
+the sky, and sank below the verge. Calmly,
+peacefully waned the night—calmly and peacefully,
+as though the spirit of evil had not stalked
+abroad plotting the death and ruin of men’s
+bodies and souls.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That narrow spot of ground, with the houses
+down in the valley, formed the world for four
+hundred people. The furnace-hands and their
+families saw nothing beyond the hills and rocks
+that hemmed in their village; knew nothing of
+the mad tumults outside. An untaught, sturdy
+race of men, they differed little one from another.
+Every day, when the sun rose, they
+went forth to toil, and every night, when the
+great furnace over the creek glimmered red,
+they lay down to sleep. But ignorance and
+superstition filled their hearts, and anger, and
+hate, and jealousy, were as rife among them as
+in the crowded cities.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Another day passed, and the night which
+followed it was dark and cloudy. Near midnight,
+the great bell signalled for the last run
+of iron. Occasionally blue flames leaped up
+from the furnace, lurid as the fiery tongues of
+a volcano. The long and narrow roof brooded
+over the sand-bed like the black wings of some
+monster bird hovering in the air. Under its
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>shadow groups of men were but wavering,
+dusky figures. Suddenly, as an electric flash,
+a dazzling yellow glare broke out, and a fierce,
+scorching, withering blast swept from an opening
+that seemed the mouth of hell itself.
+Slowly out of the burning cavern a hissing
+stream of molten iron came creeping down. It
+crawled, and turned and crawled, rib after rib,
+until it lay like some huge skeleton stretched
+upon the ground. A thin vapor floated up in
+the sulphurous air and quivered with reflected
+splendor. The scarlet-shirted men looked
+weird in the unearthly brightness. The yellow
+glow faded to red, that deepened to a blood-colored
+spot in the night. The bell rang to
+discharge the hands, and squads of men broke
+up, scattering in the dark.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk went to his garret-room, hesitated a
+moment at the door, then passed in and shut it
+so violently that the floor shook. He struck a
+match. In the brimstone light a horrible demon
+countenance wavered, blue and ghastly; but,
+when the candle flamed, it grew into Monk’s
+face, covered by the black scowl of rage that
+had disfigured it once before—a rage that was
+freshly roused.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“If I’d had my knife, I’d have done it just
+now, when I stumbled against him. But he
+dies to-morrow night at—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>The words froze on his lips, and his black
+scowling face was suddenly overspread by a
+strange pallor. He stood motionless, as if
+chained to the floor, his eyes darted quickly
+about, and he seemed to suspend his very breath.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A clear, distinct, ticking sound occurred at
+regular intervals for a minute, and left profound
+silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk raised his head.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It’s a sign of coming death. That’s for
+Peters. There it is again!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The strange sound, like a faint metallic click,
+repeated itself several times.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“D—n it! I don’t like to hear the thing.
+But there <em>will</em> be a sudden death.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Time after time Monk heard at intervals the
+same faint sound, like the ticking of a watch for
+a minute, and it made his blood run cold. He
+found himself listening to it with terror, and
+in the long silence, always straining his ears to
+catch it, always expecting, dreading its repetition,
+until the thing grew more horrible to him
+than a nightmare. Sometimes he would fall
+into a doze, and, wakening with a start, hear it,
+while cold perspiration broke in drops on his
+forehead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It grew intolerable. He swore he would find
+the thing and kill it, but it mocked him in his
+search. The sound seemed to come from the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>table, but when he stood beside the table it
+ticked so distinctly at the window that he
+thought he could put his finger on the spot;
+but when he tried to, it had changed again, and
+sounded at the head of his bed. Sometimes it
+seemed close at his right, and he turned only to
+hear it on the other side, then in front, then behind.
+Again and again he searched, and swore
+in his exasperation and disappointment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sound became exaggerated by his distempered
+imagination, till he trembled lest some
+one else should hear this omen which so plainly
+foretold his anticipated crime. Once an hour
+dragged by, and his unseen tormentor was silent.
+His eyes, that had glittered with deathly hatred,
+now wore a startled look, and wandered restlessly
+about the room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>An owl, that perched on the topmost branch
+of a high tree near by, screamed loud and long.
+A bat flew in at the open window, banged
+against the ceiling, and darted out.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk shivered. Leaning his head between
+his arms, he drummed nervously on the table
+with his fingers. Instantly the clear metallic
+click sounded again. He looked up, and a
+strange light broke into his face, a mixed expression
+of amazement and fright. For a moment
+he seemed stupefied, then raising his hand
+he tapped lightly against the wood with his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>finger-nail. The last tap had not died until it
+was answered by what seemed like a fainter
+repetition of itself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Uttering a fearful oath, Monk recoiled from
+the table, but, as if drawn back and held by a
+weird fascination, he sat an hour striking the
+hard surface with his nails, and pausing for the
+response that each time came clear and distinct.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Gray streaks crept along the east, and
+quivered like a faded fringe bordering the black
+canopy. Still he sat tapping, but no answer
+came. He waited, listened vainly; no echo, no
+sound, and the dull, hueless light of the cloudy
+morning glimmered at his window. Then he
+threw himself on his bed, and fell into restless
+slumbers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A damp thick fog enveloped the houses in its
+slimy embrace. At nightfall its reeking folds
+gathered themselves from the ground, and a
+noiseless drizzle came sullenly down.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk had not stirred from his room all day.
+The feverish sleep into which he had fallen fled
+from him before noon, and now he stood at his
+window looking out into the blackness. A
+clammy air blew against his face. He stretched
+out his hand and drew it back suddenly, as if
+he had touched the dead. It was cold and
+moist. He rubbed it violently against his clothes,
+as though he could not wipe off the dampness.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>A tremor seized upon him. Hark! was that the
+dripping of water? No. A sickly smile played
+over his countenance. He went to the table
+and tapped lightly with his fingers, as he had
+done before. In another moment the taps were
+answered, and he involuntarily counted as they
+came, one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—then
+all was silent. He made the call
+a second time, he tried it over and over, and at
+each response it ticked seven times, never more,
+never less, but seven times clearly, distinctly.
+Suddenly he sprang up, and through shut teeth
+hissed,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The seventh day, by Heaven! But I’ll
+cheat you—I’ll not kill him!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He darted noiselessly down the stairs, and
+struck out through the woods. In half an hour
+he emerged on the edge of a clearing, a dozen
+yards from a chopper’s cabin. Creeping stealthily
+to the door he shook it, then after a moment’s
+irresolution cried out,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Peters! Peters! look out for Shiflet. He
+has sworn to murder you to-night.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Without waiting for a reply he sprang away,
+and was quickly lost among the trees.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A moment afterward a tall form arose out of
+the shadow of a stump near the cabin, and
+passed rapidly in an opposite direction.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the summit of the hill east of Agatha, a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>steep precipice is formed by a great, bare, projecting
+rock. From the valley, its outline resembles
+an enormous face in profile, and they
+call it “The Devil’s Head.” The full moon
+rendered the unbroken mass of cloud translucent,
+producing a peculiar sinister effect. The
+mist still blew through the air, but in the zenith
+there was a dull ashen hue, and the surrounding
+cloud was the color of earth. The far-off
+hills loomed up majestic, terrible, against the
+gloom; nearer objects were strangely magnified
+in the tawny light. At the foot of this phantom
+crag, on a terrace, is the ore-bank and blackened
+coal-shed. Below rose the metal-stack,
+from whose stone hearth a waste of sand sloped
+gently to the creek. The furnace squatted grim
+and black. Its blood-shot eye was shut; its
+gaping throat uttered no sigh, no groan; its
+throbbing pulse was stilled—the fierce, struggling
+monster was dead. The only bright spot
+in all the valley was the yellow circle made by
+the watchman’s lantern in the coal-shed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>After leaving the “choppings,” Monk threaded
+his way through the forest, coming out at last
+on the open road. This road led directly over
+the “Devil’s Head,” and entered the valley by
+a steep descent half a mile to the south. At
+the precipice Monk paused. The wind eddied
+with a mournful wail, and the constant motion
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>of tall trees gave the scene almost the wavering,
+unsubstantial appearance of a vision.
+There was something oppressive in this strange
+midnight twilight, but Monk did not feel it.
+He only felt relief, inexpressible relief; he only
+stopped there to breathe, to breathe freely once
+more with the heavy weight thrown from him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>After a moment he ran carelessly down the
+hill, passed under the ore-cars and into the coal-shed.
+He hailed Patterson, the watchman, and
+the lantern threw gigantic shadows of the two
+men over the ground. Then he walked along
+the narrow cinder-road leading to the bridge
+over the creek. Sometimes the willows, that
+grew on either side, swept their damp hair
+against his face. An hour ago he would have
+started convulsively, now he heeded not, for he
+was free and light of heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk reached the stairs, and ascended to his
+room. As he passed in, the powerful figure of
+Shiflet sprang upon him from behind. There
+was a scuffle, some muttered oaths, then a heavy
+fall. Monk lay stretched upon the floor motionless,
+lifeless, and the echo of fleeing steps died
+away, leaving the place still as the now silent
+death-watch.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_161.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE MAN AT THE CRIB.<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c013'><sup>[1]</sup></a></h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_161.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+One morning in the Spring of 1867—whether
+in April or May I am now
+unable certainly to determine, but
+think it was in the latter month—I was sitting
+at the breakfast-table, leisurely reading the
+morning paper, and enjoying my last cup of
+coffee, when my eye accidentally fell upon the
+following advertisement:—</p>
+
+<p class='c011'>“WANTED—A reliable man to take charge of the Crib.
+An unmarried German preferred. One who can come well
+recommended, and give bond for faithful performance of
+duty, will receive a liberal salary. Apply immediately to
+the Board of Public Works, Pumping Department, Nos. 15
+and 17 South Wells Street.”</p>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
+<p class='c006'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. The Crib is the name given to the isolated structure at
+the opening of the Chicago Water Works tunnel, in the
+lake, two miles from the shore.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'>My attention was arrested by the thought of
+so strange an occupation, and whether any one
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>would be found willing to accept the situation
+and live alone in the crib two miles from the
+shore. There all companionship would be cut
+off, and I wondered what effect the utter solitude
+and confinement in the small round building
+rising out of the water, with little in the
+scenery to relieve the eye, and nothing to rest
+the ear from the continual dashing of the waves
+against the frame sides—I wondered what
+effect it would have upon the occupant.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It happened I had been lecturing before a
+class of medical students in one of our colleges
+upon the relation of mind to body, and it occurred
+to me that this crib-tender might prove
+an illustration of my theory. His mind would
+have afforded it an opportunity to prey upon itself,
+and might become perverted. Under certain
+circumstances the mental exerts an influence
+over the physical system, aside from the voluntary
+volition of the will, and it frequently
+transpires that what is mere illusion in the
+spiritual nature appears a reality to the material,
+so closely are the two linked together.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My interest being awakened, I secretly determined
+that I would try to discover who
+accepted this situation, and notice, if possible,
+what effect it would produce upon the keeper.
+Some time later I learned that the above advertisement
+had been answered the same day
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>(the exact date I can not remember) by a German,
+one Gustav Stahlmann, who presented
+himself at the address indicated, and applied for
+the situation. After a slight examination he
+proved satisfactory in every respect. His recommendations
+were of the highest kind and bore
+testimony to his strict integrity and upright
+character.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The position was accordingly offered to him,
+provided he would be willing to comply with
+certain conditions. First, that in accepting it
+he would bind himself to remain in the situation
+at least two years; and, secondly, that during
+that period, he would upon no occasion or
+pretense whatever, leave the crib. He manifested
+little hesitation in assenting to these
+requirements, as the salary was good, and an
+opportunity afforded for resting from the severe
+labor to which he had been accustomed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All necessary arrangements were completed,
+and upon the following day, with his dog for
+the sole companion of his future home, he had
+been taken out and instructed in the duties of
+his office. These were few and light, consisting
+mainly of attention to the water-gates of the
+tunnel, opening and closing them as required,
+and removing any obstructions which might
+clog their action. At night he was to trim and
+light the lamp which had been placed on the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>apex of the roof as a warning to passing vessels.
+This was all; the remainder of the time lay at
+his own disposal. A boy might readily have
+accomplished this labor, and he congratulated
+himself upon his good luck in securing so easy
+a berth—one, too, which yielded a good income.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The first time I saw Stahlmann myself was
+soon after he had accepted the situation. If I
+recollect rightly, he told me he had been a
+month on the Crib. I had rowed myself out
+from the foot of Twelfth Street in a small boat.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At this early period in its history the Crib
+was not so well finished and comfortable as now,
+but was bare and barn-like, being in fact nothing
+more than a round unplastered house, rising out
+of the lake. The wooden floor, which was some
+fifteen feet above the water, contained in its
+center a well about six feet in diameter, around
+which arose the iron rods of the water-gates.
+A small room, the only apartment, had been
+partitioned off by three plank walls from the
+southeastern part of the circular interior, and
+furnished for the abode of the keeper. If it
+were rough, there was all present that he could
+reasonably desire for his comfort. A sufficient
+supply of provisions were delivered to him
+once a month by a tug-boat from the city.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I found Stahlmann to be a man rather above
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>the medium height, with a broad muscular
+frame, but there were no evidences of sluggishness
+in his movements; on the contrary, his
+elasticity and gracefulness betokened great
+powers of endurance, and indicated to me
+activity both of body and mind. He was perhaps
+thirty-five years of age, and his frank, open
+countenance was marked by regular features
+of a somewhat intellectual cast; honesty and
+principle were plainly visible in his face, and a
+ready command of language betrayed considerable
+education. He impressed me as superior
+to the majority of men in his rank of life, and
+from this conclusion I was none the less driven
+by the appearance of his coarse and soiled
+clothing. I engaged him in conversation, into
+which he was easily drawn, and I was surprised
+by the native love of the beautiful which he
+evidently possessed. He seemed to take great
+pleasure in pointing out the beauties in the
+scene that laid before our view.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun was scarcely an hour high, and we
+could hardly turn our eyes eastward for the
+splendor of his rays reflected on the water. To
+the north the sea-like horizon was flecked by
+the white sails of retreating vessels, some hull-down
+in the distance, others uncertain specks
+vanishing from our range of vision. Stretching
+along the shore to the westward, Chicago shot
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>a hundred spires, glistening and glorified, into
+the morning sunlight, while just opposite us
+stood the grim lighthouse, a motionless sentinel
+keeping watch over the harbor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I admitted the attraction of the scene, and
+made an effort to turn the conversation to his
+private life. He was easily led to talk of himself,
+although he did it in a natural and unaffected
+manner. I gathered that he was born
+in Bavaria, and that when he had attained his
+sixteenth year, some difficulty had driven his
+parents to this country. They were well educated,
+but misfortune compelled them, on their
+arrival, to put their son to labor. The instruction
+he had received in the Fatherland had
+evidently strengthened his powers of observation
+and quickened his understanding.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I asked him if he did not find his life at the
+Crib very tiresome, and what he did to pass
+away the time. I remarked that I believed, if
+I were in his place, I would be smitten most
+fearfully with the blues. He laughed good
+humoredly, and said he had never been troubled
+in that manner, that there were daily a
+great number of visitors, curiosity-seekers,
+which the Crib attracted, as it was altogether
+novel, and had but just been completed. Then
+he said he had his dog for companionship, and
+that they lived very pleasantly together. He
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>was evidently much attached to this animal,
+whom he called Caspar, for he frequently interrupted
+the conversation to stroke it on the
+head. I was astonished to find him well acquainted
+with the current news of the day, but
+he readily explained this, for usually some one
+who came out carried a paper, which was willingly
+given to him, and having nothing else to
+occupy his time he read it much more carefully
+than we do who are in the turmoil of the city.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Towards the middle of the day I left him,
+almost envying his peaceful life and happy contentment,
+yet doubting if this would last long,
+for, after the novelty wore away, I could not
+help thinking that he might find his solitary
+existence less pleasing. I had become wonderfully
+interested in this man, and determined to
+pay him another visit when I could again find
+half a day to devote to pleasure.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was not, however, until the following September
+that I could spare time for another trip
+to the Crib. This visit, as I said, had been
+prompted out of curiosity to watch the effects
+of this solitary life upon Stahlmann. Although
+four months had elapsed, I found him situated
+just as I had left him, and by the appearance
+of the surroundings, I might have almost believed
+it was but yesterday I had looked upon
+him. When I remarked this to him, I noticed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>a peculiar smile play across his features, and it
+struck me that his face had not the same happy
+expression which had so pleased me before. I
+observed, too, that he carried himself in a
+listless manner, very unlike his former erect
+bearing. I found him, however, just as readily
+drawn into conversation, although some
+of his old enthusiasm was gone, and he manifested
+an evident disinclination to speak of himself,
+for when I made an effort to bring up the
+subject, he displayed considerable skill in evading
+it. This was repeated again and again
+until I found that he would not be forced to it,
+but I saw full well by his actions that he had
+already grown tired of his monotonous life. All
+my jokes about the solitude, which he had
+laughed at before, were now received in silence
+and with furtive glances. Evidently it had
+become a serious matter, and I dropped the
+disagreeable subject.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He inquired most eagerly for any news, and
+said he had not seen a paper for almost a week,
+as the wet weather had interfered with visitors,
+preventing any one from coming out. When I
+left he repeatedly invited me to come again,
+which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse
+we had struck up a mutual friendship.
+My interest, too, had been increased, as I
+plainly saw that his life had become distasteful
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>to him, and I had considerable curiosity to
+ascertain whether he would, according to his
+promise, remain the two full years upon the
+Crib; at any rate, I concluded that I would
+not lose sight of him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Directly after this visit, business arrangements
+called me away from home, and detained
+me in New York City without interruption
+until last May. During this period, of course,
+I had no means of learning any thing whatever
+concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return,
+the first glimpse I caught of the familiar lake
+recalled him to my memory, and revived the
+old interest. I determined to renew our former
+acquaintance, but found, to my great disappointment,
+that all visitors to the Crib had
+been prohibited by the authorities soon after I
+was called from home; yet I did not give up in
+my attempt to find out if he still remained in
+his situation. After many fruitless inquiries,
+I finally learned that he was dead. This was
+the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed
+by the sad intelligence, I dismissed the
+subject from my mind.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A week ago I made the startling discovery
+that the Crib at the eastern terminus of the
+lake tunnel, within the year following its completion,
+had been the scene of a tragedy, the
+particulars of which, when I learned them,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>thrilled me with horror, and called forth my
+profoundest sympathy for the poor victim.
+The whole circumstance had been so carefully
+kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part
+of the authorities, that beyond two or three
+individuals no one in Chicago had the slightest
+suspicion of the sickening drama which was
+enacted but two miles from her shores.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was walking through the Court House
+looking at the arrangement of the newly erected
+portion of the building, and while in the
+rooms occupied by the Water Board, I accidentally
+stumbled upon an old memorandum
+book which had evidently been misplaced during
+the recent removal of this department from
+their old quarters on Wells Street to the first
+floor of the west wing. Upon examination it
+proved to be a kind of diary, and was written
+with pencil in the German character. On the
+inside of the front cover, near the upper right
+hand corner, was inscribed the name Gustav
+Stahlmann, and underneath a date—1865. A
+small portion of the book, the first part, was
+filled with accounts, some of them of expenditures,
+others memoranda of days’ work in different
+parts of the city, and under various foremen.
+But it was to the body of the book that
+my attention was particularly called. This was
+in the journal form, being a record of successive
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>occurrences with the attending thoughts. The
+entries were made at irregular intervals and
+without any regard to system. Sometimes it
+had been written in daily for a considerable
+period, then dropped, and taken up again apparently
+at the whim of the owner. In places
+there appeared no connection between the parts
+separated by a break of even short duration;
+at others the sense was obscure, and could only
+be attained by implication. The earliest records
+in the second part were in June, 1867,
+and I found dates regularly inserted as late as
+the November following. In December they
+ceased entirely; afterward the diary, if such it
+might then be called, was either by the day or
+the week, or without any direct evidence as to
+the time when the circumstances therein narrated
+had occurred. In fact, throughout the
+whole of the concluding portion there was nothing
+to indicate that the matter had not been
+written on a single occasion, except the variations
+which almost every person’s hand-writing
+exhibits when produced under different degrees
+of nervous excitement.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From this black morocco memorandum book;
+from the hand-writing of Gustav Stahlmann
+himself, I learned the incidents of his career
+after I parted from him. They constitute the
+history of a fate so horrible in every respect, that
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>I shudder at the thought that any human being
+was doomed to experience it.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The main facts in this narrative I have translated,
+sometimes literally, at others using my
+own language, where the thoughts in the
+original were so carelessly or obscurely expressed
+as to render any other course simply impossible.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It seems, as I supposed, that when Stahlmann
+was first settled in the Crib, he was greatly
+pleased with his situation. The weather was
+mild and beautiful; the fresh air blowing across
+the water was a grateful change from the close
+and dusty atmosphere of Chicago. Many of
+his old friends came out to take a look at his
+new quarters, and almost surveyed them with
+envy while listening to an account of his easy,
+untroubled life. At dusk, after he had lighted
+his lamp, and it threw out its rays, he would
+watch to see how suddenly in the distance, as
+if to keep it company, the great white beacon
+in the lighthouse would flash out, burning
+bright and clear. Then along the western shore
+the city lights, one by one, would kindle up,
+multiplying into a thousand twinkling stars that
+threw a halo against the sky. Afterwards the
+soughing of the waves as they washed up the
+sides of his abode, fell pleasantly on his ear, and
+lulled him to sleep with Caspar lying at his feet.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But it seemed as if the same day came again
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>and again, for still the waters broke around
+him, and still night after night the same lights
+flashed and burned. Then the time appeared
+to become longer, and he watched more eagerly
+for the arrival of some visitors, but, if his watching
+had been in vain, he went wearily to sleep
+at night with a feeling of disappointment, only
+to waken and go through the same cheerless
+routine. Sometimes for a whole week he would
+not see a single human being nor hear the sound
+of a human voice, save his own when he spoke
+to the dog, who seemed by sagacious instinct to
+sympathize in his master’s lonesome position,
+and capered about until he would attract his attention,
+and be rewarded by an approving word
+and caress upon the head.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Visitors had become less and less frequent
+until the last of September, when they ceased
+altogether. Stahlmann in trying to explain
+this to himself correctly concluded that the
+authorities must have prohibited them, as he
+had heard some time previously they entertained
+such an intention, although he had been reluctant
+to believe it, and still vainly hoped that it might
+not be true. But time only confirmed the suspicion
+which he had been so unwilling to accept,
+and although within two miles of a crowded
+city, he found himself completely isolated, cut
+off, as it were, from the human race.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>Then he searched for something that might
+amuse him and help wear away the interminable
+days, but he found nothing. He would have
+been glad even if only the old newspapers had
+been preserved that he might re-read them, but
+they were destroyed, and he owned no books.
+His former severe labor, performed in company
+with his fellow men, was now far preferable in
+his eyes to this complete solitude, with nothing
+to occupy his hands or mind. He saw the
+vessels pass until they seemed to become companions
+for him in his loneliness; he had watched
+them all the Summer, but the winds grew
+chill and rough, sweeping out of sullen clouds,
+and boisterously drove home the ships.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stahlmann found himself utterly alone on the
+wide lake, and the fierce blasts howled around
+his frame house, covering it with spray from
+the lashing billows that seemed ready to engulf
+it. Crusts of ice formed and snapped, rattling
+down to the waves. Heavy snow fell, but did
+not whiten the unchanging scenery, for it was
+drowned in the waste of waters. Night after
+night he lit the beacon and looked yearningly
+westward to the starred city. Then the solitude
+grew intolerable. It was like the vision of
+heaven to the lost spirits shut out in darkness
+forever. He was alone, all alone, craving even
+for the sound of a kindred voice, so that he cried
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>out in his anguish. The flickering lights he
+was watching threw their rays over thousands
+of human beings, yet there was not one to
+answer his despairing call.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Sleep would no longer allow him to forget
+that he was shut out from all human society,
+for he lost consciousness of his lonesome position
+only to find himself struggling in some nightmare
+ocean, where there was no eye to see his
+distress. Then he would be awakened by the
+dog rubbing his nose against his face, and knew
+he had groaned aloud in his troubled slumber,
+and Caspar had crawled closer, as if to comfort
+his unhappy master. Sometimes the tempter
+whispered escape—escape from this Crib, which
+had been so correctly named, for it had, indeed,
+become a dismal cage. He felt himself strong
+to combat the waves in flying from the horrible
+solitude; he could swim twice the distance in
+his eagerness to be once again among his fellow
+beings; but his high principles shrank in horror
+from the thought of violating a promise. He
+had solemnly given his word that he would remain
+upon the place, and it bound him stronger
+than chains of iron. He cast the thought, which
+had dared to arise in his mind, from him with a
+sense of shame that it had been a moment entertained.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Early on one bitter cold night, when his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>house was thick-ribbed with ice, Stahlmann
+noticed a great light, which increased until it
+illumined all the western sky. He saw the city
+spires as plainly as though bathed in the rays
+of the setting sun, and the lurid glare lit up the
+waters, making the surrounding blackness along
+the lake shore appear more terrible. The fire
+brightened and waned, brightened and waned
+again. He watched it far into the night, and
+thought of the thousands of anxious faces that
+were turned toward the same light, until he fell
+into a troubled sleep, yearning for the sight of
+a single countenance. This fire which he
+witnessed must have been the great conflagration
+on Lake Street that occurred in February,
+1868.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He was sitting one dull, cloudy afternoon,
+looking out over the dreary waves, when his
+attention was attracted by the strange behavior
+of Caspar. The dog was greatly excited; it
+would jump about him, whining and howling,
+then run to the door, which stood partly open,
+and look down into the water, at the same time
+giving a short, quick yelp. This was repeated
+so frequently that Stahlmann was aroused from
+his gloomy reverie. He followed it to the
+threshold, and saw for an instant some black
+object that the waves threw up against the Crib.
+A second time it arose, and Stahlmann plunged
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>into the water with the quick instinct that
+prompts a brave man to peril his own life in
+attempting to save another from drowning. In
+one moment more he had grasped the body,
+and fastened it to the rope ladder that hung
+down the western side of the Crib. Then
+mounting it himself, he drew it up after him
+on to the floor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was the form of a young man, and Stahlmann
+eagerly kneeled over it, hoping yet to
+find a faint spark of vitality. A glance showed
+him that the body must have been in the water
+several hours, for it was already somewhat
+bloated; but even then, in his mad desire to
+restore life, he rubbed the stiffened limbs; but
+the rigid muscles did not relax. He wrung the
+water from the black hair, which in places was
+short and crisp, looking as if it might have been
+singed by fire. The features were not irregular,
+but the open eyes had a stony, death-glaze
+on them, and the broad forehead was cut across
+in gashes which had evidently been made by
+the waves beating it against the walls of the
+Crib. The hands were clenched and slightly
+blistered.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stahlmann’s frenzied exertions could not call
+back the departed spirit, and he sat gazing
+wildly upon it in his bitter disappointment.
+Then a startling thought broke suddenly into
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>his mind—What, out in his desolate and watery
+home, could he do with the dead? Where
+could he put the stiffened corpse? But as the
+night came on, he arose to light the beacon;
+then descended again immediately, taking up
+his former position by the lifeless form, for it
+appeared to exert a peculiar fascination over
+him; he felt a strange kind of pleasure in the
+presence of the form of a human being, even
+though it were dead. He seemed to have found
+a companion, and the thought, which had
+startled him at first died from his memory.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hour after hour as he sat beside the corpse;
+its strange influence increased, until it gradually
+filled up in his troubled heart the aching
+void which had so yearned for society. He left
+it only as necessity called him away to attend
+to his duties, each time returning with increasing
+haste. Day by day the spell continued,
+and he grew to regard the dead body with all
+the tenderness he would have manifested toward
+a living brother. He did not shrink from
+the cold, clammy skin when he raised the head
+to place it on a stool, but sat and talked to
+it. He asked why it looked at him with that
+stony glare, and why its face had turned that
+dark and ugly color; but when no answer came,
+he said he realized that it was dead and could
+not speak. Then the terrible truth flashed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>upon him. With a groan he saw that he could
+keep the corpse no longer, and the thought
+which had startled him once before crept in
+again with increased significance. Where could
+he bury it? In the bottom of the lake, where
+nothing would disturb its peace. He gently
+let it down into the water, and, as he saw it
+disappear, he awoke to wild grief at losing it,
+and would have plunged in to rescue it the
+second time, but it was gone from sight forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Might not this body have been one of the
+lost from the ill-fated Sea Bird, which burned
+in the beginning of April, 1868, a few miles
+north of the city? Stahlmann must have found
+it about this time.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>His grief for the loss of his dead companion
+grew upon him each day, and rendered the
+solitude more unendurable. Solitude? It was
+no longer solitude, for the place was peopled
+by the phantom creations of his inflamed imagination.
+Here a part of the diary is altogether
+incoherent, showing into what utter
+confusion his intellect had been thrown.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The waves roared at him in anger, and the
+winds joined them in their rage. Fiendish
+spirits seemed to rise up before him that were
+fierce to clutch him and gloat over his terror.
+The lights in the west danced together and
+glared at him in mockery, and his own beacon
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>threw its cold white rays over the familiar
+aperture where the iron rods of the water-gates
+rose; but that opening had suddenly become
+an undefined horror to him. The very terror
+with which he regarded it drew him to its verge.
+He cast his eyes into its depths, down upon the
+troubled but black and silent water, and glared
+at the vision which met his strained sight, for
+the ghostly face of the man who had been murdered
+in the tunnel peered at him through the
+uncertain light.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was only the dog that he could fly to in
+his agony, but it, too, had a strange appearance
+and answered his call by low plaintive howls
+that sent a shiver through his frame. He repeated
+its name aloud, and Caspar crawled
+closer to his master, still at times making moans
+that sounded sorrowful—almost like the pleading
+of a human voice in distress, and he thought
+its eyes had a strange reproachful gaze. While
+he spoke to it, the dog uttered a prolonged wail.
+Stahlmann shivered, and a cold chill crept
+through his blood; all his superstition was
+roused afresh. The wind lost its rage and died
+down to funeral-sobs. The sound of the waves
+fell into a dirge-like cadence, and that melancholy
+wail which had chilled his blood rang in
+his ears—it rang with the awful significance
+of an evil omen long after it had died upon the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>air. The dog lay perfectly motionless; he
+stooped to stroke it, but it did not move. He
+stared at it with a bewildered gaze, when suddenly
+the horrible reality with the fearful explanation,
+broke upon his half-crazed brain, and
+he staggered back with a wild shriek. In the
+utter misery of his solitude, in his strange grief
+for the loss of the drowned corpse, and his
+terror from the hallucinations of a disordered
+intellect, he had neglected to feed his faithful
+dog, and had starved to death the only living
+creature that existed for him in the world.
+Caspar was dead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stahlmann in his agony seemed to hear once
+more the piteous cry which the dog had uttered
+with its expiring breath, and to him the wail
+sounded in its pathetic mournfulness like the
+mysterious herald of another death.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The diary is so blurred at this point that it is
+hardly legible. What can be read is incomprehensible
+from broken, incoherent sentences—the
+empty language of a lunatic. Save one
+remaining passage, I could make out nothing further.
+This entry must have been written in a
+lucid interval when he realized to what a fearful
+condition he had been reduced by unbroken
+solitude. Because it is the last record, I translate
+it literally, as follows:</p>
+
+<p class='c011'>“That cry again—what have I come through? Hell
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>with its host of furies can not be worse than this awful
+Crib—I kill myself.</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>G. Stahlmann.</span>”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'>What remains is soon told. A few inquiries
+in the proper direction revealed that on the
+morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
+boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the
+Crib to supply provisions, the dog was discovered
+dead upon the floor, and near by—just to
+the right of the entrance, and about ten feet
+distant from it—hung the dead body of
+Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck
+from one of the rafters. It was at once cut
+down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among
+his few effects was found the memorandum book
+which so curiously came into my possession.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The authorities were in no way to blame for
+this unfortunate occurrence. On that day they
+placed several persons in charge of this lonely
+structure and have changed them at regular
+intervals ever since. Because if the circumstance
+were known, they were fearful they could
+get no one to fill the situation, either on account
+of the solitude or from the fact that many persons
+are afraid to live in a house that has been
+the scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded
+to say nothing whatever about the melancholy
+event, and, as I said before, few persons in the
+city are acquainted with its details.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_183.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_183.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+It had snowed persistently all day, and
+now, at night, the wind had risen and
+blew in furious gusts against the
+windows, a bleak December gale.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor tramped steadily up and down
+his floor, up and down his floor, from wall to
+wall and back again. It was not a cheerful
+room; with but one strip of carpet, a chair or
+two, a table and bedstead, and one dim tallow
+candle, flickering in a vain struggle to give any
+thing better than a sickly light, which was
+afflicted, at uncertain intervals, with violent
+convulsions. No, it was not a pleasant place,
+for the Professor was poor, and lived a lonely,
+hermit-like life in the heart of the great German
+city.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had no relations—no friends. He was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>not a popular man, though he had once been
+well known, and the public had all applauded
+his great scholarship. His books, one after
+another, as they came out, if they brought him
+no money, had brought him some fame then;
+but the last one had appeared years ago, and
+been commented upon, and conscientiously put
+aside, and the public, never very much interested
+in the author personally, had about forgotten
+him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>During these long years he had been living
+secluded, waging a perpetual war with himself.
+Entangled in the meshes of the subtile German
+infidelity, which was at variance with his earlier
+training, he found himself encompassed about
+by unbelief—unbelief in the orthodox theology
+of his youth, unbelief, also, in the philosophy
+of this metaphysical land. A man of vast learning,
+and a close student, he discovered his
+knowledge to be always conflicting; and thus
+the long debate within him was no nearer a
+termination than at the moment when the first
+doubt had asserted itself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Preyed upon by this harassing mental anxiety,
+and by encroaching poverty, he was seized by a
+nervous fever, which had gradually undermined
+his health, and almost disordered his mind.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And now, this night, in a condition of exhaustion,
+weary of life and its ceaseless struggle—without
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>friends, without money, without
+hope—his black despair, like the evil tempter,
+rose before him and suggested a thought from
+which he had at first drawn back appalled.
+But it was only for a moment. Why not put
+an end forever to all these troubles? Had he
+not worked for years, and had he ever done the
+world any good, or had the world ever done
+him any good? No! The world was retrograding
+daily. The selfishness of humanity,
+instead of lessening, was constantly growing
+worse. How had they repaid him for his long
+studies? He had shut himself up and labored
+over heavy questions in metaphysics—sifting,
+searching, reading, thinking—only for a few
+thankless ones, who had glanced at his works,
+smiled a faint smile of praise, and straightway
+left them and him to be lost again in obscurity!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The future was dark, the present a labyrinth
+of care and suffering, from which there was but
+the one escape. Then why not accept it? So
+he had been arguing with himself all the evening,
+and, in his growing excitement, pacing the
+floor of his garret to and fro with a quick,
+nervous tread. But there had another cause
+risen in his mind which he, at first, would
+hardly acknowledge to himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A faint, undefined shadow, as it were, of his
+early faith stirred within him, and before him
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>the “oblivion” of death was peopled with a
+thousand appalling fancies, illumined by the
+red flame of an eternal torment. In vain he
+strove to dispel it by remembering the more
+rational doctrine of reason, that death is but a
+dreamless sleep, lasting forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly, feeling conscious of the heinousness
+of the crime he was meditating, and
+knowing that he was in an unnatural feverish
+condition, he paused abruptly in his hurried
+tramp, stood a few moments utterly motionless,
+then, dropping on his knees, he made a vow
+that he would take twenty-four hours to
+consider the deed, and, if it were done, it should
+not be done rashly. “Hear me, O Heaven!”
+Springing up, he cried; “Heaven! Heaven!—There
+is no Heaven! Vow!—to whom did I
+vow? There is no God!” Muttering a faint
+laugh, he said, after a moment: “I vowed to
+myself; and the vow shall be kept. Not all
+the theories and philosophies of Germany shall
+cheat me out of it.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It seemed like the last struggle of his soul to
+assert itself. Almost staggering with exhaustion,
+he fell upon the bed and slept.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A gentle breeze from the far past blew around
+him in his native land. He saw the white cliff
+at whose base the sea-foam threw up its glittering
+spray with a ceaseless strain of music. He
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>saw the green meadows, where the quiet, meek-eyed
+cattle found a pasture, stretching away to
+the green hills, where flocks of sheep browsed
+in the pleasant shade beneath the tall oak trees.
+He saw, far off on the highest summit of the
+wavy ridge, the turrets of the great castle rear
+themselves above the foliage like a crown—the
+royal diadem upon all these sun-bathed hills
+and valleys. He stood within the cottage, the
+happy cottage under the sheltering sycamores;
+and, brighter, clearer, more beautiful than all
+these, he saw a face look down upon him with
+a calm and earnest smile. It was the home of
+his childhood, it was the face of his mother, all
+raised in the mirage of sleep—a radiant vision
+lifted from the heavy gloom of forty years,
+years upon which Immanuel Kant, years upon
+which the Transcendental school had crept with
+their baleful influence, poisonous as the deadly
+nightshade.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He struggled to speak, and wakened. A
+dream, yes, all a dream! He pressed his hands
+against his brow—A dream? Yes, childhood
+had been but a dream. Life itself is but an
+unhappy dream!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The wild December wind still blew with a
+rattling noise against the windows, and sometimes
+swept round the corner with a dreary,
+half-smothered cry. The candle had burned
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>down almost to the socket, and was seized
+more frequently than before with its painful
+spasms, making each gaunt shadow of the few
+pieces of furniture writhe in a weird, silent
+dance on the wall. As the Professor sat on the
+bed, they appeared to him like voiceless demons,
+performing some diabolical ceremony, luring his
+soul to destruction. Then they seemed moving
+in fantastic measure to a soundless dirge, which
+he strained his ears to hear, when the candle
+burned steadily, and they paused in their dumb
+incantation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A loud knock, which shook the door, made
+the Professor start up amazed, and the shadows
+re-begin their uncanny pantomime. For a
+moment he stood stupefied with surprise. It
+was far in the small hours of the night, and
+visitors at any time were unknown. He had
+lived there for months an utter stranger, and no
+footsteps but his own had ever crossed the floor.
+An uncontrollable fit of trembling came upon
+him, and he lay down once more, thinking it
+all the creation of his overwrought fancy. But
+the knock was repeated louder than before, and
+the gaunt shadows again made violent signals to
+each other in their speechless dialect, as though
+their grim desires were just then upon the eve
+of accomplishment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>With an effort the Professor got up and said
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>“Come!” but the word died away in his throat,
+a faint whisper. He tried it a second time;
+then, partially overruling the weakness that had
+seized upon him, crossed the room and opened
+the door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Good gracious! What’s the matter with
+you?” said a voice from out of the dark on the
+landing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was the son of the undertaker, who lived
+down stairs. They were not acquainted, and
+had never spoken, but they had often passed
+each other in the street—though, until that
+moment, the Professor was not aware that he
+had ever even noticed him; but now he recognized
+him and drew back. The young man,
+however, entered uninvited.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I say, what the deuce is the matter with
+you?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nothing! What do you want, sir?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Want? Why your face is as white as a
+sheet, and your eyes, your eyes are—confound
+me if I want any thing!” he said, backing to the
+door in alarm.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Indeed, the expression which rested on the
+features of the Professor was hardly pleasant to
+look at alone, and in the night. But, having
+followed his instinct, so far as to his bodily
+preservation, and having backed into the hall so
+that the Professor could hardly distinguish the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>outline of his figure, the young man’s courage
+got the better of his fright. He came to a
+standstill, passed his hand nervously round his
+neck, cleared his throat several times, and then,
+in a husky voice—caused, evidently, by his
+recent alarm, and not by the message, singular
+as it was, that he came to deliver—said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We want you. It is Christmas—we want
+you for a corpse.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It may have been a very ordinary thing to
+them, considering their profession, to want
+people for corpses, either at Christmas or any
+other time; but it was hardly an ordinary thing
+to the Professor to be wanted for one; and the
+announcement was certainly somewhat startling,
+made in a sepulchral tone from out the
+gloom. It was still stranger that the young
+man himself appeared rather faint-hearted for
+one who entertained so malevolent a desire, and
+had the boldness to make the assertion outright.
+The Professor for a moment fairly thought him
+in league with the shadows, for they were
+at work once more, beckoning and pointing
+fiercely, as the wind swept up the staircase, to
+the indistinct figure out in the dusk, that was
+the son of the undertaker, and who said again,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We want you, sir, for a corpse—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here he paused abruptly, to clear his throat
+anew, as though he found himself disagreeably
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>embarrassed by the unfriendly appearance of
+his host, whose face, if it had been pale at first,
+was of a gray, ashen color now. He evidently
+could not see why his request should have been
+taken in such ill part, and he stammered and
+stuttered, and was about ready to begin again,
+when the Professor said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You will likely get me.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The peculiar expression that rested upon the
+Professor’s mouth as he uttered these words,
+was hardly encouraging; but the young man—as
+though every body would recognize that it
+was absolutely essential to them, in order that
+they might celebrate the great gala-day with
+their family, to have a corpse, just as other
+people have a tree—immediately brightened
+up, and, advancing a step or two, said gratefully,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am very glad, sir; I am very glad. It is
+Christmas, you know, and I told them as how
+I thought you’d do, for you are spare, sir,
+and—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here he found another blockade in his throat,
+which, after a slight struggle, he swallowed,
+and went on,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I told them as how I thought you’d do, sir,
+for you see we want somebody that is small and
+thin, and will be light to carry after he is all
+fixed up. Hans Blauroch did for us last time;
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>but this year, instead of parading Santa Claus
+up and down the street, we’ve concluded to
+bury him. It will be something new this
+Christmas; and Hans is too heavy to carry; and
+when I thought of you, sir, I just took the
+liberty of coming right up; because it’s near
+daylight, and there ain’t no great while left to
+get the funeral ready.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the blockhead had finally jerked out what
+he came for, which was not so malevolent after
+all as he had at first made it appear. He
+deserved, rather, to be praised for his persistency
+than censured for his awkwardness, considering
+the difficulties under which he had labored.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor did not show whether he felt
+relieved by this <em>denouement</em>. He had listened
+without moving; and when the young man
+finished speaking he hesitated a moment, then,
+with the same peculiar expression visible about
+his mouth, said he would be glad to place himself
+at their service; he would be with them
+directly; that he had not been feeling well;
+indeed, he only an hour ago almost fainted, and
+had not yet recovered when he heard the knock
+upon his door; but he was feeling better, and
+would come down immediately.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young man laughed good-naturedly as he
+replied,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am obliged to say I did not like the looks
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>of you at first. You must have been out of
+your head.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor waited until the last echo of
+the retreating footsteps died away down at the
+bottom of the stairs, then shut his door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“A strange thing,” he muttered; “what have
+I to do with Christmas? I, who have studied,
+studied! I had forgotten there was any time
+called Christmas. What is it to a scholar?
+Philosophy says nothing about it; and reason
+would teach that—ah, yes, it too is a dream,
+a dream within the dream called life. Then
+what have I to do with it? Why did I promise?
+I will not go. Yet my vow—twenty-four hours.
+I dare not trust myself alone. A funeral, did
+he say? I will see how it feels; yes, for I will
+probably need one in another day. They
+wanted me ‘for a corpse,’ and I said they would
+likely get me, and I would be glad to ‘place
+myself at their service.’ Ha, ha! They can
+bury me twice. But my vow, my vow! I will
+not trust myself alone. It is nothing to me; I
+will go.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had been tramping again rapidly up and
+down the room, when he suddenly turned, took
+up his hat, looked around for a moment at the
+shadows that were still making unintelligible
+signs to each other, then extinguished them in
+darkness and slowly went down stairs.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>The lodgings were directly over the undertaker’s
+establishment. Living so secluded,
+speaking to none, it had never occurred to the
+Professor before what a grim place he had
+chosen for his home. But now the silver-barred
+coffins in the show-case were ghastly as he
+passed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Night had not yet yielded up her supremacy.
+A heavy covering of snow, that clung to every
+roof, tower, and spire, made the place look
+unreal through the gloom, like some colorless
+apparition of a great specter city. Close-blinded,
+silent and cold, without one glimmer of
+life, the houses faced each other down the long
+street. Far off, the ghostly dome and pinnacles
+of the cathedral reached into the sky—the
+empty, soundless sky—for the wind had fallen
+away, leaving a gray expanse that seemed to
+stretch through infinitude. But, though the
+Professor did not notice, there was a rift that
+divided the dreary cloud down near the horizon,
+and disclosed, brighter than the pale light of
+the coming day, a star shining in the East.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And it was Christmas morning.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor walked block after block, feeling
+unconsciously refreshed by the crisp air upon
+his heated brow. Then he turned back, and
+when he had reached the building went down
+an alley-way and entered by a door in the rear.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>A great confusion and general dimness, not
+lessened any by two or three candles that were
+burning, pervaded the room, which was long
+and ran almost across the house. Half a dozen
+men were standing or moving about, and some
+were sitting or leaning upon coffins and biers,
+that covered all the floor, except where they
+occasionally left narrow passages between, like
+irregular aisles.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the Professor’s entrance, the young man
+who had paid him so friendly a visit came up
+instantly, took hold of him by the arm, and
+turned him round, with the exclamation,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Here he is father! He is thin enough to be
+easily carried.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The man denominated “father” by the young
+off-shoot of the establishment surveyed the Professor
+with a critical eye from head to foot, and,
+as there could be no better sample of physical
+spareness than he presented, said, laconically,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“He’ll do.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then there was new confusion and bustling
+about, and two or three persons immediately
+seized the Professor, one by his hair, one by his
+feet, one by his arms. With a grim smile, he
+submitted, in perfect silence, to the operations
+of this dressing committee.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He saw himself—him, Gustav Kellermann,
+the philosopher!—blossom into brilliant colors,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>scarlet and blue and orange. He saw them
+clasp a girdle round his waist, to which they
+hung gilded toys and bells in all directions, until
+he was fairly covered over with trinkets of
+every device. He felt them encase his head—his
+learned, metaphysical head—in a cap that
+was adorned at the point and round the sides
+with innumerable swinging-dolls.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It had been daylight three or four hours when
+all the mysterious preparations, which had been
+done almost without speaking a single word,
+were finally completed, and every thing waited
+in readiness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There, strangely conspicuous in that dismal
+room, with its dismal paraphernalia of death,
+was a brilliant, half-human, half-monkey-like
+creature, standing up on its hind legs, and flaming
+all over in gaudy colors. To this grotesque
+figure, the important actor, evidently the chief
+agent in the contract, a man of brief speech,
+came up and said, brusquely,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Now, you are dead, you know, and have
+nothing to do but be dead. You are not to be
+fidgeting, or stirring round, or peeping. When
+you are dead, you are dead, you know, and that
+is all.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school!
+Good reasoning! When you are dead, you are
+<em>dead</em>.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>Then they picked up this half-human, half-monkey-like
+object, which had uttered not one
+word, placed it in a coffin, and put upon it a
+mask-face. Carrying it out by the rear door,
+they raised it and set it down on a catafalque,
+draped in a black velvet pall, and ornamented
+with tall black funeral plumes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O vain pomp and grandeur of death! When
+you are dead, you are <em>dead</em>.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A confused hurry and tramp of many feet
+was succeeded by a pause, and some one said,—“Ready.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The procession reached the open avenue and
+moved slowly down the street to the sound of
+a funeral march. Solemnly, with measured
+tread, they advanced, and the people flocked to
+the doors on every side. There was a cry of
+surprise and alarm. “What is it?” “Who is
+it?” ran from lip to lip. The crowd gathered.
+The procession, with its sable plumes and ribbons
+of <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">crepe</span></i>, still continued on its way. There
+was the sound of lamentation, and at every
+moment the throng and confusion increased,
+the multitude thickened, and men, women and
+children were held off by the guard. Do they
+go to the great cemetery? No, they turned
+eastward, and at the Rosenthal halted. There
+the wondering spectators saw, in its center, a
+pure white tomb. Before it the catafalque was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>brought to a stand, and the coffin solemnly
+lowered.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Immediately a broken shout ran through the
+crowd, that was taken up and repeated until it
+grew into a laugh, and men and women, catching
+up the children, cried,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It is Kriss Kringle! Ha! ha! See, child,
+it is Kriss Kringle! He is dead. Kriss Kringle
+is dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a great relief to the people, so suddenly
+alarmed, and they good humoredly held
+up the little ones, saying,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“See! Kriss Kringle is dead. He will never
+come any more. He is dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a silence; and many little faces,
+awe-stricken, looked sorrowfully down, and
+many little arms were stretched out, and many
+little voices, quivering, sobbed,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, no! He will come back. He
+brought us pretty things. He will come back
+to us.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental
+school! Is your strength still greater than
+this?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a
+voice—hark! a voice!—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I
+have come back to you!” And from beneath
+the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>all jingling with silver bells, and flashing with
+a thousand toys.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then again there was great confusion, but
+this time no sound of lamentation; and the
+solemn funeral march swept into a strain of
+joyful music. And the children! Oh, the
+children, in wild delight, played in circles about
+the queer, grotesque being, who set to work
+destroying the snow-tomb. He threw it at
+them in small crystal showers that called up,
+each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful
+laughter. He detached the bright toys from
+his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from
+his knees, and rained them down upon the little
+ones who raced round him in their mad frolic.
+Then he took off the false face and threw it far
+away, and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is
+the Professor!” and drew back awe-struck, to
+think they had taken such liberties with so
+renowned a scholar. But the children never
+paused in their romp; and he said, while they
+scrambled about him in merry laughter,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have come back to you, children. I have
+come back to you!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what
+life was; then how should I know of death?”
+O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school!
+Here are those who teach a philosophy of
+which you know nothing—a philosophy higher
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy
+of love; a philosophy of death that is no
+sleep!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun came out and spread a jeweled
+splendor on the snow, over which, hand-in-hand,
+the happy children danced.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The Professor is an old man now, and the
+fame of his learning has become great in the
+land. And all the people tell about his funeral;
+and how, every Christmas since, in his scarlet
+clothes and furs, laden with “pretty things,”
+he leads the children in their play, and scatters
+on them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful
+groups, join their hands and dance.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_200.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_201.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE FEVERFEW.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_201.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+During my youth I suffered from a
+naturally delicate constitution. I was
+pale, feeble and sickly, but from no
+decided disease. A dreamy, quiet cast of temperament
+caused me to shrink from the rough
+sports of my brothers; the contact of strangers
+was equally disagreeable, and I seldom strayed
+from home. Indeed, I lived almost entirely
+within myself, although by no means devoid of
+natural affection; on the contrary, my emotions
+were strong, and my sympathy easily aroused.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>How it happened that I acquired a love of
+learning I do not know, all the outward circumstances
+by which I was surrounded tending to
+foster any thing rather than intellectual habits,
+for our family, although each member possessed
+a common education, were strictly practical;
+but this difference in my disposition cut me off
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>from their pursuits, and I found my chief enjoyment
+in the volumes of a library to which I
+obtained access.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Perhaps it was the sedentary life I led, the
+close confinement, and lack of exercise, that
+brought on a violent attack of sickness when I
+was in my nineteenth year, so that I lay for several
+weeks completely prostrated. During two
+or three days my life hung as in a balance,
+which a breath might have turned and launched
+me beyond the confines of time. However, the
+disease succumbed to the persevering attention
+of experienced nurses. I arose from my weary
+bed and found my physical health slowly improving,
+but from that period I was subject at
+irregular intervals to what the physician pronounced
+temporary delirium, which I knew he
+used as a milder term for insanity.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But it was not insanity. I never lost control
+of my mind, but I lost control of my body. It
+obeyed a will that was not my own. A mighty
+antagonistic power seemed to creep over my
+brain, which impelled my movements and held
+my struggling soul in subjection. I presented
+the singular phenomenon of one person governed
+by two separate and distinct wills, for my
+mind was not disordered, but only mastered by
+superior strength. In this strange condition I
+would see familiar objects magnified, exaggerated,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>and contorted, in an atmosphere varying
+with all colors, at the same time being perfectly
+conscious of their real appearance. I would
+hear sounds sweet and musical grow into wails
+of heart-rending despair. I could recognize my
+friends when they were present, but was forced
+to regard them with the cold eye of a stranger.
+I would commit acts that no human agency
+could have compelled me to do when my faculties
+were untrammelled. I never submitted
+without a struggle, and always felt conscious
+that, if I could but once resist this seemingly
+invincible power, if I could but once disregard
+its promptings, I should be free.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The attacks were never of long duration.
+They always left me utterly exhausted, and it
+would sometimes require a week to recruit my
+expended strength. I could afterward recall
+every incident with the most distinct minuteness,
+for they were branded in characters of fire on
+my memory. Vainly I asserted again and again
+that it was not delirium, that I was forced into
+subjection to some mysterious power I could
+not withstand; my statements made no impression
+upon the physician, who evidently considered
+mine but a common case of one suffering
+from attacks of temporary insanity, and, when I
+persisted in my statement, he forbade any further
+reference to the subject.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>However, I could not prevent my mind from
+continually dwelling upon it in secret. What
+was this so foreign, so antagonistic to myself
+that mastered my will, that controlled my
+actions, that made me literally another being?
+Why did I not shake off this evil influence and
+be free? I felt perfectly conscious of possessing
+the power, but was not able to arouse it
+from a latent condition.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said before, I was naturally of a
+studious disposition, and I now turned my attention
+to metaphysics. I read works, ancient and
+modern, on its different branches; I studied
+medical treatises on insanity, and, the more I
+learned, the more thoroughly convinced I
+became that I was not suffering from mental
+aberration. Constant brooding over my disease
+greatly wore upon my physical strength; traveling
+was recommended, in hopes that change of
+climate and scene might benefit my health. My
+old aversion to strangers clung to me, and,
+although possessed by a restlessness to which I
+was wholly unaccustomed, I persistently refused
+to leave home; no arguments could gain my
+consent, so that my friends were forced to give
+up the project in despair.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>One morning, when more than the usual
+gloom oppressed my spirits, I made an effort to
+arouse myself and throw off the melancholy
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>that was settling upon me, which each day I
+felt to be growing more confirmed. I was
+sitting by a window, which stood wide open,
+and, just outside, a caged canary was singing
+and fluttering its feathers in the warm spring
+sunshine. The little bird was my particular
+property, and I regarded it with an affection
+which is rarely bestowed upon pets. With the
+exception of my young sister, a child about four
+years of age, this was the only living thing that
+I had taken any interest in since my sickness.
+I had trained the canary from the shell, and the
+little creature seemed to repay all my care, for
+from no other member of the family would it
+receive caresses. I was so much afraid of its
+being accidentally injured that I never allowed
+it to be freed from the cage, except in my presence.
+At my call it would fly about me, resting
+on my head, shoulders, or hands, and chirping
+in a perfect ecstasy of enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I arose and opened the door of its prison,
+then, reseating myself, softly whistled while it
+darted into the air, wheeled once or twice, and
+descended upon my hand. Stroking its spotless
+yellow plumage, I regarded the little thing with
+a degree of pleasure I had not experienced for
+several weeks. But sudden horror almost
+caused my heart to cease its beatings, and the
+perspiration started from my forehead in great
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>drops, for I felt my fingers slowly closing over
+the delicate bird. Although I made an attempt
+greater than the racking effort we sometimes
+exert in the nightmare, I had no power to restrain
+them. The canary fluttered in my clasp.
+I would have dropped it, I would have shrieked
+for help, but my muscles, my voice, my <em>body</em>,
+obeyed me not, and my fingers, like the steady
+working of machinery, gradually tightened their
+relentless grasp. In my agony the veins of my
+face protruded like lines of cordage. I heard
+the frail bones breaking beneath the crushing
+pressure, then my involuntary grip suddenly
+relaxed, and the bird fell upon my knee, dead
+and mangled!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the same moment, I saw, through the open
+door, my little sister playing upon the grass-plat;
+and, almost before I was aware of moving, or
+of any volition, I found myself walking rapidly
+toward her, while my fingers twitched with a
+convulsive, clutching movement. Good Heavens!
+I already saw her face turn purple, and
+heard her gasping breath smothered by gurgling
+blood. With this terrible picture before my
+mental vision, my brain felt as if it would burst
+its bounds in the desperate, but unavailing effort
+I made to turn back, to fly from the spot. But
+I could not command myself. In that moment
+I endured suffering more intense than language
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>can describe. Perhaps my strange and wild
+appearance frightened the child; for, in place
+of holding out her arms to me, her favorite
+brother, she fled crying to the nurse, who did
+not observe my approach, and carried her into
+the house. Saved! unconsciously saved—saved
+from a fate too terrible to contemplate.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I sank insensible upon the ground, and, when
+I recovered, found myself surrounded by the
+family, each one applying some restorative, for
+I had been in a long and death-like swoon.
+Slowly, but distinctly, the recollections of the
+events which had reduced me to this condition
+presented themselves to my memory with all
+their appalling horror, nearly depriving me again
+of consciousness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I did not refer in any manner to the subject,
+which was also carefully avoided by all others
+in my presence, for fear that it might produce
+renewed excitement, and my friends had no
+suspicion of the circumstances which brought it
+about. The bird was found dead upon the floor,
+and the family imagined that it had met with
+some accident. They were evidently surprised,
+when the fact was communicated to me, that I
+made no remarks, for they had anticipated an
+outburst of grief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Grief! I did not suffer from grief; grief was
+overpowered by the horror that racked my brain—horror
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>for the act I had committed, and the
+more fearful one which had been so mercifully
+prevented. I had committed? No, it was not
+<em>my</em> mind or will which had prompted my hand
+to do the deed. I was innocent, even though
+my fingers had dripped with the blood of a
+sister; but the frightful thought filled me with
+a terror that wrung my soul. I pondered continually
+upon it. When might not this mysterious
+demon again assert its evil control over me?
+Strange as it may seem, I felt certain that it was
+some foreign agency—I knew not what—that
+mastered my will, and not the result of my own
+intellect, in a disordered condition.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This overpowering dread of the future, of
+what might happen, which took possession of
+me, drove me to the decision of leaving home,
+as the best way of avoiding danger to my
+friends. Perhaps, too, if my physical health
+became better, I might gain strength enough to
+defy this infernal power; for, as I have said before,
+I possessed a singular consciousness that,
+if I could once successfully resist its promptings,
+my soul would be liberated from thraldom. I
+announced my determination of making a
+journey, without any explanation of my sudden
+change, and it was greeted with delight by my
+friends and relatives, who were anxious to
+hasten my departure while the humor was upon
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>me; but they need not have feared any change
+of purpose on my part, for I was haunted by this
+terrible dread of the future, and I gladly said
+farewell for a time to my home and birthplace.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The incidents of travel and of new scenes
+broke the monotony, and dispelled to some degree
+the gloom that had taken fast hold upon
+me. In a short period I found myself rapidly
+improving. Every week brought me an increase
+of strength, and I suffered less frequently from
+these frightful attacks. Although they occurred
+at longer intervals than formerly, they seemed
+to grow more severe in character; the conflict
+was fiercer, and my mind made a more desperate
+effort to gain the supremacy. My whole frame
+would be racked by the intense struggle which
+I constantly maintained, though I was constantly
+vanquished.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The increasing delight I took in the scenery,
+the continued exercise and excitement, almost
+drove despair from me, and hope once more
+brightened my countenance. I began to look
+forward to the time when my health would be
+entirely restored, and my body and mind be in
+unison. I did not hope vainly, for the final
+conflict came, and with it a strange termination
+of my long sufferings.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I stood upon the side of an Eastern mountain.
+Above my head vast rocks arose in solemn
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>grandeur, their summits lost in canopied mists
+which, gray and clinging, wrapped them in
+obscurity. Below, a great chasm rent the
+mountain; a yawning, bottomless gulf. While
+I gazed, awed by the thought of its mysterious
+depths, where no human eye had seen, where no
+human foot had trod, a ray of light struggled
+in and rested on gaunt trees, on snake-like
+ferns, damp and cold, that clung to its slimy
+sides, and on one pale flower which nodded in
+the chill draught that came up, a palpable
+horror, from the blackness of darkness. I turned
+away. Near the western horizon dead clouds
+were piled one above another, and their heavy
+shadow lay brown and dark upon the sullen
+earth. No wind stirred the forests, or rustled
+their motionless leaves, and the awe of the unbroken
+silence fell, with a dread oppression,
+upon my heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly I was seized by an ungovernable
+desire to possess the flower—the colorless flower
+that hung far down in the death-damp of the
+chasm. A freezing terror crept through my
+blood as I recognized this decree of a will I had
+never been able to disobey. I felt myself crawling
+closer to the verge of the precipice; nearer,
+yet nearer, until I sat within the very jaw of
+the savage gulf. The dead clouds heaved their
+shroud-like forms and wavered overhead. I
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>heard the rush of subterranean waters sounding
+a muffled requiem. The sickly flower with its
+long stem writhed and twisted, as a serpent
+stretches his folds into the air. Slowly back and
+forth it swayed, glaring at me like a lustreless
+eye.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My brain reeled, and all the forces of my
+nature gathered up their increased strength for
+one fierce and final conflict. I felt the blood
+rage through my veins with the headlong fury
+of cataracts. The very spring of life within me
+was stirred and troubled, when, with one mighty
+strain, I drew myself up and fell backward on
+the grass.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The whole world went out in utter darkness.
+Before my eyes stretched a vast, illimitable
+gloom, when suddenly out of its impenetrable
+depths above my head there grew and glimmered
+faintly a thin and wavering mist. Folding
+upon itself, it hung down, white and luminous,
+a cloud of palpitating nebulæ. Pricked with a
+thousand points of fire it gathered slowly to a
+nucleus in the center—a flickering speck, a disc,
+it flamed, blazed into a star, and lo! poised
+midway in the air, an aureole of light, it rested
+upon the brow of a female figure.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her scornful eyes looked down upon me with
+a lurid gleam that seemed to burn my soul. A
+smile of derision sat upon her lips that were
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>more vivid in hue than the vermilion dye. Her
+locks were yellow as the sun at noontide; her
+skin was white as the leper’s; her breath hot
+as the desert air, and the light of the star upon
+her forehead burned red with the frightful redness
+of fresh blood. Suddenly I saw that the
+murky clouds on either side her form swarmed
+with a thousand dwarfed and warted shapes.
+Black and hideous, they knotted, flitted to and
+fro, in and out, with their formless claws and
+tumultuous motion. She spread her wings.
+Immediately there gathered all the dusky shapes—the
+legion demons of delirium with their
+needle eyes—and settled down upon her sable
+plumes. A shrill phantom laugh rang out,
+mocked itself by echoes that ran up in thin
+shafts of sound to the skies, and the <span class='fss'>SPIRIT OF
+FEVER</span> had fled from me forever!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The rays of the sun as it sank to rest, slanting
+through rose-colored avenues, fell upon the
+gray mists, and crowned the mountain’s summit
+in a rainbow of glory. The rising breeze swept
+through the forests with a soothing sound, and,
+eastward, the eye was lost in mellow lines of
+golden haze, which to my soul freed from captivity,
+seemed cathedral aisles of peace.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_213.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_213.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+“You’re right! I ain’t got no relatives
+an’ nobody to look after, so thar
+isn’t any sense in workin’ too much.
+That’s just what I say.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And that is just what he always did say, poor
+Simlin, but he never ceased, notwithstanding.
+Nearly every body that knew him and spoke to
+him about it always found him quick to acquiesce:
+“Thar was nothin’ plainer than what
+they said, and it was just what he said, too.”
+But it did not make the slightest difference, for
+he continued to work away all the same; so
+what else could be done but merely to give up
+the question?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now, if he had only expressed himself in
+decided opposition, there might have been something
+to hope for in the matter—at least, it
+would have opened the way for an argument
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>upon the subject; and, then, there was always
+the possibility that he might be induced to
+change his mind. However, his provoking approval
+put the case wholly beyond reach. And
+so old Simlin, toiling early and late, quietly
+followed his vocation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was not a better moulder in the whole
+foundry, or one that drew much higher wages.
+But, then, he was getting old. To be sure, he
+never had been young, so far as they knew any
+thing about him, even ten years ago, when,
+altogether unknown and friendless, he had first
+made his appearance in the village. But these
+ten years combined had not worn upon him like
+the last one. His head now, if once the soot
+had been removed, would not have shown a
+single black hair; and his voice was weak and
+cracked, and there was a visible trembling about
+the old man’s legs. Perhaps he did imbibe
+liquor; but nobody had any right to say so, for
+nobody could prove that it was true. Only of
+late he had a strangely confused manner when
+anyone addressed him, and, raising his unsteady
+hand nervously to his head, would repeat the
+sentence that had been on his lips a hundred,
+yes, a thousand times, until it had long ago
+grown into a stereotyped form—“I ain’t got no
+relatives an’ nobody to look after, so thar isn’t
+any sense in workin’ too much.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>Perhaps he really thought that the people
+would never see that he was straining every
+effort, using every moment of his time, though,
+before the sun was up, and often after it was
+gone, the old man was at his place. And Simlin
+was always the first on hand if there was an
+extra job that would bring an extra cent.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But, other than making the assertion that he
+had no relatives, and nobody depending upon
+him, and that he did not think it worth while
+to work over-much, he never carried on a conversation.
+That there was no one to look after
+<em>him</em> was a self-evident fact. He lived utterly
+alone, in a small cabin on the brow of the hill.
+Rarely a soul but himself ever crossed its threshold.
+Under the step the gray gophers made
+their burrow, and, beneath the tall beech trees,
+that threw down their prickly nuts, the brown
+weasels played in peaceful groups. The shy
+quail, sounding their whistle, fled among the
+ferns; and above, from the myriad branches,
+the beautiful wild doves mourned out their
+perpetual sadness. At evening, when the sun
+went down, and the long line of the Scioto
+Hills flushed crimson with serene glory; when,
+by slow degrees, the pageant of departing day
+withdrew its gorgeous colors; even when the
+valley below was black with the gloom of night,
+the western radiance lingered, like the transforming
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>light of some other land, upon the rude
+cabin, standing on its high and solitary perch.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Empty and bare, it afforded but little protection
+from the weather, for through it the
+winds blew in Winter, and the rains dripped in
+Summer. Simlin’s wants, however, appeared to
+be few and simple. He seldom had a fire, even
+at the coldest season. What he subsisted upon,
+nobody knew. Once, perhaps, in two or three
+days, he would buy a loaf of coarse bread from
+the baker in the village, and his table evidently
+was supplied in the most frugal manner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people put down his besetting sin to be
+avarice; and the hut, if it contained no furniture,
+was reported to contain wealth enough,
+hidden away in its obscure cracks and corners,
+to have draped its dreary boards in the most
+costly velvet and lace, and encased its walls
+with marble. Of course, he was a miser. More
+than ten years now he had been at the foundry,
+and not a cent of the wages which he drew
+regularly had he spent, or put so much as a
+farthing into the savings bank, where many of
+the hands had laid up quite a pile. But, unlike
+the majority of misers, the old man never complained
+of being poor; indeed, he never complained
+at all, or spoke of money in any way.
+If the subject was brought up in his presence,
+he either preserved utter silence or quietly got
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>up and left; and, if driven to the last extremity,
+and made to say something, he would remark,
+running into the same old channel, that “It
+didn’t much matter—he hadn’t any relatives
+nor any body dependin’ upon him.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So lonely and forlorn did he seem, and so
+harmless withal—for the old man never was
+known to do a mean action, or resent an angry
+word—that many uncouth kindnesses had been
+shown him on the part of the hands, with whom
+he was by no means unpopular. Especially had
+this been the case latterly; for, though he himself
+was apparently unconscious of it, so terribly
+broken had he become that the change was
+sorrowful to behold; and, rude as were the
+foundry-workmen, what there was pathetic in
+the patient manner in which the feeble old
+man silently worked on told upon them by
+instinct.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There had even been an interest taken in him
+up at the great house. Every season, “the
+colonel,” as the owner and sole proprietor of
+the Rocky Ford Foundry was called by all the
+employes, brought his family down from the
+city to spend a few months rusticating in the
+beautiful Scioto Valley, where he had built a
+summer residence for that purpose, and that he
+might be near his great iron-works at the same
+time. There was always gay company up at
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>the house—visitors from town, who needed no
+second invitation to entice them from the dust
+of the city to this peaceful retreat among the
+lovely hills of Ohio. Besides, the colonel had a
+beautiful daughter, and every body liked the
+“young misses.” Seldom, though, did she ever
+go down to the foundry; never, indeed unless
+some special object took her there.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Coming from her home a mile distant—this
+home for her embowered in perpetual Summer
+and wrapped in the peace that broods upon the
+everlasting hills, where she could see, far off,
+the golden meadow-lands and the more distant
+Paint Ridge, with its transparent veil of mist;
+this home from which she had often looked out
+and listened to the blue Scioto, unflecked with
+sail or skiff, struggling by day and night to tell
+its mysterious story, as it flowed forever on its
+lonely course—coming from this home, over
+the narrow path that led down the slope to the
+river’s edge, where the green rushes grew and
+the wild columbine hung its bells above the
+water—coming on, past the great rocks, where
+the scarlet lichens flamed in the sun and the
+blossoming alder displayed its drifted clusters;
+coming still with active feet over the velvet
+moss—coming from the lovely valley, coming
+from the tranquil hills, when she entered the
+foundry it seemed like stepping suddenly from
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>the beautiful world into some haunt of evil
+spirits.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Within the great dingy walls no shining sunlight
+brightened the air. Dim and cheerless, it
+hung laden with smoke and vapor, that floated
+in clouds to the rafters. The harsh clang of
+heavy machinery, together with the roar of the
+furnaces, seemed to shake the very building.
+Among the enormous wheels that whirled with
+frightful velocity, and the immense belts that
+whizzed above their heads, the workmen, black
+and begrimed, looked small, weird and unearthly,
+moving about upon the damp ground, with its
+jet-like covering of charred cinders. The place
+seemed an apparition of demons, performing in
+some cavern of the lower regions their evil incantations.
+No wonder the young lady seldom
+went there. Its gloom fell upon her with a
+heavy oppression, and her breath only came
+freely when once more she found herself out in
+the clear and open sunlight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It happened in this manner that she first came
+to take any notice of old Simlin: There were
+gathered quite a party of young folks; and the
+colonel, who had been in Cincinnati upon business,
+had returned the previous evening, bringing
+with him another gentleman, apparently a
+stranger to the family.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was at the breakfast-table that the company
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>were discussing the “sights” of the neighborhood,
+and debating whether they would take
+him first over to Paint Creek upon a fishing-excursion,
+or across the river to Mount Logan,
+famous for having been the rendezvous of the
+great Indian chief, when the colonel spoke up,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why not begin at home?” he said. “Do
+not fatigue him to death the first day, and I
+am proud enough of my foundry to think it
+might be of interest even to Mr. Safford; at
+least I mean to have him shown over it before
+he leaves.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young man, of course, immediately stated
+that it would give him great pleasure, and the
+whole company, to the most of whom it would
+prove a novelty, gladly acquiesced in the proposition.
+So it was decided, and two hours
+later they all started on their way.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When they entered the foundry it seemed
+more gloomy than ever, the atmosphere more
+stifling, and the jar of the machinery more painfully
+loud and discordant. Even the gay young
+people who had chatted and laughed all the
+morning felt the sudden change that involuntarily
+subdued their merriment. They broke
+up and scattered in twos and threes over the
+place, following the lead of simple curiosity,
+but the stranger-gentleman staid beside Helen,
+the “young misses.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>“What a queer, unreal place!” he said.
+“One would never expect to find any thing
+like it in this beautiful valley. Does it not
+make you think, coming upon it suddenly out
+of the sunlight, of the evil genii you have read
+about in some fairy-tale long ago? And the
+workmen, at whose bidding all this gigantic
+power is brought into action, how small and
+weird they look!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The two had been slowly approaching the
+great furnace, and, just as the gentleman ceased
+speaking, the immense door was thrown open,
+discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions,
+the seething flame within. Though they
+were not near enough to experience any inconvenience
+from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened
+exclamation and drew back; but the
+gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately
+in front of him from this opening streamed
+a broad but sharply defined streak of blood-red
+light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed
+the blackened cinders on the ground
+beneath his feet into a mass of living embers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As the old man straightened up, and was in
+the act of raising his hand to shield his eyes
+from the sudden illumination, they encountered
+the stranger, and a mingled expression of
+surprise and fright instantly struggled up
+through their weak color. For a moment, like
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>an apparition, he stood transfixed. The red
+glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure;
+it showed his attenuated arms and death-like
+mouth, his tattered clothes and the few wisps
+of his scant hair.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling
+effect which the glow of the furnace had
+produced, falling by accident upon a single
+workman. But, when the man rose up, he
+gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his strange
+behavior.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For an instant, the old man stared without
+moving a muscle, then his lips began to work
+convulsively, and, raising his hand before his
+face, as if to screen it from view, he half uttered
+an unintelligible sentence and sank down. At
+the same time, the door of the furnace had been
+closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a
+moment had so strangely thrown him into
+violent relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For a second, Safford almost thought the
+whole thing had been an optical illusion, or
+some hallucination of his own brain; then,
+stepping forward, he saw the old man lying in
+a heap upon the ground.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young lady, recovering immediately from
+her sudden fright at the unexpected blaze, had
+seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked,
+in a terrified voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>“What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she
+exclaimed, kneeling down beside him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!”
+Mr. Safford called to the nearest hand.
+Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the
+prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried
+it out into the open air.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,”
+said the man who had helped in carrying him.
+“We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr.
+Safford, while he bathed the grimy forehead
+with his wet handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been
+of a trembil all over; and he’s getting pretty
+much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping
+his voice, and significantly touching his
+forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not booked for
+this world much longer.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Poor man!” said Miss Helen, leaning tenderly
+over the pale face that still showed no
+symptoms of returning consciousness; “how
+very thin and emaciated he is! Has he no wife
+or family to take care of him?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“That’s just it, ma’am! That’s just what
+he’s allus harpin’ on! He says he ain’t got no
+relatives, and nobody to look after, and—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young lady suddenly raised her hand
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>with a warning gesture; and, before the workman
+had ceased speaking, old Simlin opened his
+eyes. He looked around for a moment in a
+bewildered way; then his uncertain glance,
+falling upon the gentleman kneeling by his
+side, immediately became fixed, and grew into
+a wild stare. Raising himself unsteadily upon
+his elbow, still with his eyes fixed upon him,
+the old man threw out his trembling arm with
+a gesture as if addressing the whole company,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It’s a lie! Who said I had any relatives,
+or any body to look after? I hain’t! It’s a
+lie—a <em>lie</em>, I say! I never seen you before.
+He’s a stranger!”—still keeping his arm extended,
+and appealing excitedly to those around
+him—“you all know he is a stranger. I ain’t
+got no relatives, nor any body to look after!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was evident enough that what the workman
+had told them about his intellect was too
+true, they all thought, as they looked at each
+other with a quick glance.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I tell you I don’t know you, sir! It’s all
+a lie. I never seen you before! I—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, you never saw me before.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Mr. Safford had spoken, hoping to soothe
+him; but, instead, the sentence appeared to
+act upon the old man like an electric battery,
+for he raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
+with his head bobbing violently about, fairly
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>screamed, his cracked voice running into high
+treble,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“That’s right!—that’s right! Do you all
+hear it? He says I never seen him before. It’s
+all a lie about my havin’ got any relatives. I
+hain’t! I never seen him before—You heerd
+him say so—you all heerd him?” he inquired,
+for the first time, taking his pale, watery eyes
+from the gentleman, and looking, in a frightened,
+appealing way, round the group.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then his strength seemed to fail suddenly,
+and he fell back upon the grass, panting for
+breath.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At this moment the colonel came up, and
+knelt down by his side. He uttered his name
+several times, and even put his hand upon the
+wrinkled forehead; but the old man, with
+vacant eyes fixed on the sky, paid no heed,
+though his lips trembled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have ordered a wagon. It will be here
+directly. He must be taken to the house, where
+he can receive every attention. Poor man! I
+am afraid this will be about the last. I have
+expected it for a long time. Here, Safford, help
+me to lift him,” he added, as Hendricks came
+back with the wagon.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Safford! Safford! Who called me Safford?”
+said the old man, suddenly looking round in a
+terrified manner. “I—I’ve been a dreamin’,”
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>uttering a weak laugh. “It’s not my—I mean
+nobody said it. I never heerd that name before.
+It’s darned funny, ain’t it? but I never even
+heerd that name before in my life! You know
+I didn’t”—growing wild and excited again—“you
+know it’s a lie! I ain’t got no relatives,
+nor nobody to look after.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The gentlemen, without speaking, stooped
+to raise him; but he struggled violently, and,
+keeping his eyes still fixed on the younger one,
+he cried, with such an extreme distress upon his
+face, that they involuntarily drew back,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no! I’m not fit to be near you. Stand
+off! You’re a fine gentleman; it’s not for the
+likes of you to touch me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then turning toward the colonel, he muttered
+some inarticulate apology, and actually
+staggered, unaided, to his feet,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m ’bliged to ye all,” he said, nodding his
+head up and down, and backing, with uncertain
+steps, toward the foundry, as if afraid to
+take his eyes from the party as long as he was
+within their sight. “Thar ain’t nothin’ the
+matter with me! I jest felt faint a spell from
+the heat—the heat. It ain’t nothin’, an’ it’s
+gone now! I’ll go back to my work agin—I’m
+all right—I’m ’bliged to ye! It was jest
+the heat as overcum me—jest the heat—” and,
+with a painful smile upon his thin lips, still
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>muttering unintelligible excuses, he tottered
+into the building.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For a moment, taken by surprise, the group
+remained motionless. Then Helen said; “Poor
+old man! I declare, it almost made me cry
+only to look at him!—Father, you will have
+him cared for; you will not allow him to work
+any more?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No. He is dreadfully broken down, and
+I have heard the hands say that, latterly, he
+was breaking in his mind, too; but I did not
+know it was so bad. I will see that he does as
+little as possible; but he will never quit until
+he gives out utterly, and he can not hold on
+long in this condition. Strange, Safford,
+how the sight of you seemed to excite him!
+Did you notice with what a wild, terrified gaze
+he stared at you, as if he had been hunted down?
+and, when you stooped to raise him up, he
+almost drew himself into a knot. I did not
+suppose, when I saw him on the ground, that
+he had strength enough left to stand on his feet
+without help; and it seemed as if it was this
+fear of you that inspired him with the power.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The younger man stood leaning against the
+tree from which he had not moved.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes,” he replied, “it was strange; I noticed
+it. How long have you had him in your
+employ?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>“More than ten years, and he has been
+about the most valuable hand in the foundry.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Then I’m sure, father, you will take care
+of him, and not let him work any more?” said
+Helen, again.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes—yes, child! don’t bother yourself so—of
+course I will;” but the younger gentleman
+turned toward her quickly, while his face
+lighted up, then checked himself abruptly in
+what would have been an eager gesture of
+gratitude, and looked away without saying a
+word.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They remained a few moments to hear that
+the old man had recovered, and when the messenger
+reported him working at his place quietly
+as usual, without re-entering the foundry, or
+waiting for their companions, the two started
+homeward. Helen’s reluctance to go back into
+the building again had been so manifest that the
+gentleman could hardly do otherwise. Not
+until the straggling little village and the
+smoke of the great foundry were left in the
+distance did she fairly draw a breath of relief,
+and even then they still walked on almost in
+silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The day had reached its noon. On the river
+flowing past the lances of the sun broke into a
+thousand flakes of fire that followed each other
+over its surface in myriad ranks; and on either
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>side, where the twisted birch reached out its
+branches, the waves with a grateful murmur
+turned up their cool white crests.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was no loud hum of grasshoppers.
+Hardly a leaf stirred upon the trees, hardly a
+bird fluttered its wings. Even the far-off mists
+had disappeared, and a hush was on the hills—a
+hush as of awe before the splendor of the sky.
+No wonder they spoke but little. Almost
+solemn was the glory of the day in its noon.
+Yet perhaps neither one felt this influence which
+rested upon the land, and subdued alike to
+silence the peewee and the bobolink. It may
+be that the girl was not wholly unconscious of
+the scene, but it was certainly some other influence
+that wrapped her companion in abstraction.
+He saw not even the checkered shade
+that fell in arch and groin upon their path.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They were half-way home. Rousing himself
+suddenly with an effort, as if but just aware of
+this long abstraction, he said, for lack of any
+thing better,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Miss Helen, do you like the country?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Dearly. I love these hills and the river.
+The time I spend here is the happiest part of
+my life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And are you not always happy?” he inquired.
+“You should be.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A strange gentleness in his tone as he uttered
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>the last words made Helen look up quickly as
+she answered him with a smile,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am. I never had a trouble in my life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They had reached the turn where the path
+led up the slope from the foot of the hill.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not go back to the house,” he said; “let
+us sit down here a little while in the shade. I
+feel strangely oppressed, and the four walls of
+a room would suffocate me.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Apparently, he had uttered the last sentence
+involuntarily, as he took off his hat, and passed
+his hand several times across his forehead, for,
+catching his breath quickly, he added, as if by
+way of an apology,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It is so much pleasanter in the open air, and
+I am less fortunate than you. I seldom have a
+chance to enjoy the country.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had evidently spoken truly, however,
+when he said he felt strangely oppressed, for
+his eyes wandered up the valley, far off to the
+remote Paint Ridge, yet he did not see the glittering
+Scioto, or how Summer sat enthroned in
+royal pomp upon the hills.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a thoughtful, almost anxious expression
+on his face. Presently he added, in a
+tone of voice as if they might have been discussing
+the subject at the moment, and which
+showed his mind was still occupied wholly by
+the incident at the foundry,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>“Miss Helen, had you ever seen that man
+before?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What man?” she inquired. “The workman,
+you mean?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, the old moulder.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No. I have often heard them speak of him. I
+rarely go to the foundry; it is gloomy, and
+the hands are so rough father does not like to
+have me come in contact with them in any way,
+so I do not know one from another. I did not
+recollect at first, but I remember now hearing
+him say that old Simlin was queer, that he was
+a miser, and that he lived all alone on the Spring
+Hill. But I am sure father did not know he
+was so feeble, or how he was losing his mind.
+I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It must be
+dreadfully sad, ignorant though he is, to grow
+old and have not a soul on the earth to care for
+him.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Again the gentleman turned to her, as she
+spoke, with a sudden emotion in his eyes that
+would have called the color to her cheeks had
+she seen it, but in another instant he had looked
+away, and the troubled cloud settled back once
+more upon his features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The river <em>is</em> beautiful,” he said, after a
+pause; “see how the fire dances down its
+surface.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had dismissed the subject from their conversation,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>if not from his own thoughts. More
+than an hour later Helen sprang up with a conscious
+blush upon her face as the sound of
+approaching voices told her how the time had
+fled. Ah, for her at least it had been wafted
+by on silver wings! They both joined the
+party, and all went together to the house.
+There, almost immediately, Mr. Safford excused
+himself and went to his room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Shut in alone, the same anxious, troubled
+expression he had worn when he looked unconsciously
+up the river came back upon him as he
+walked thoughtfully to and fro across the floor.
+The incident at the foundry had affected him
+singularly. He could not throw off its depressing
+influence. Why, he asked himself—why
+did the face of the old man haunt him perpetually—the
+thin, wrinkled face, as it had looked
+at him with sudden surprise and terror struggling
+up through its watery eyes? Why did the
+cracked voice, with its accent of fright, ring
+constantly in his ears? If it were but the wild
+vagary of an unsettled mind, why should he
+give it any heed? “I am nervous,” he muttered
+to himself. “They said the man was crazy,
+and surely I never saw him before—no, I
+never saw him before. Then why should the
+sight of me have so excited him? Probably
+another stranger would have done the same.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>I am foolish—and they said the man was
+crazy—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He still paced the floor of his room up and
+down, while he tried to argue himself out of the
+unreasonable hold which the circumstance had
+taken on his mind. “I wish I could forget it!”
+he exclaimed. Then walking to the window,
+and looking out mechanically, he said slowly to
+himself, as if weighing well his words,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It is not possible; no, it is not possible that
+here I am going to find any clew. The man <em>was</em>
+crazy, that is all.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He returned again, however, not the least
+relieved, to his track over the carpet, and,
+before he went down stairs, he had determined
+that he would “wait and see.” He would not,
+as he had previously intended, leave the place
+within a day or two. He could not go away
+until he had satisfied himself about the matter
+wholly, and in the mean time he would find
+out what he could in regard to the old man.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He did not make any inquiries of the family,
+and the only information he could gain was
+simply what he had been already told.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>His sleep that night was strangely disturbed.
+Over and over in his troubled slumber a thin,
+shrunken figure stood with its trembling arm
+stretched out toward him. It was always before
+him, even when sometimes there flitted through
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>his dreams the form of one whose face was fair
+as the morning, whose hair was yellow as the
+reaper’s wheat. He rose feeling little refreshed.
+The night, instead of lessening, had but
+strengthened the hold which the incident of
+the previous day had taken upon him, and
+against which he struggled without avail.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The colonel’s prophecy did not prove incorrect
+when he said Simlin could not last long,
+for, just as the family were rising from the
+breakfast-table, a messenger arrived, saying the
+old man was lying insensible in his cabin. It
+seemed he did not make his appearance at the
+foundry at his usual time, and, after waiting an
+hour in vain, Hendricks, who suspected something
+might be wrong, sent one of the hands to
+the hut, where he was found in this condition.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Tell Hendricks I will see to him immediately,”
+the colonel said to the messenger, as he
+retired; then turning to young Safford, who
+stood with his hat in his hand, inquired, “Are
+you going out?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I will go with you, if you have no objection.
+I may be of some service, and I am in need of
+exercise at any rate.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He hesitated as he spoke, endeavoring to
+cover the unusual interest which he took in the
+matter, and the excitement he felt that the
+news had brought upon him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely
+pale this morning! Our country air ought to
+do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you
+would go with me. I don’t know exactly what
+is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill, he can
+not be moved, and anyhow there is no road
+leading up that side of the Spring Hill, nothing
+but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has
+worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that
+direction. The cabin must have been originally
+put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and
+inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail
+upon him to come down into the village. He is
+a strange man, almost a hermit in his habits.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe
+I can do something for him, too, if he is sick.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You, Helen?” said her father, smiling.
+“What can you do for such a person? No, no,
+child, it is no place for you. I do not like to
+have you go among any of these wretched
+people.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He stooped and kissed the fair countenance
+raised so entreatingly to his. A swift expression
+of pain had come across the younger
+gentleman’s face as the colonel spoke, but the
+girl persisted, and her father reluctantly gave
+his consent.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to
+put a few things into a basket with some wine
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it
+immediately. We may need him anyhow, and
+he has no work to do about the house this
+morning. I can not spare Hendricks from
+the foundry, and very likely, if we can not
+move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a
+little.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Losing no time, they started on their errand
+of mercy. The walk was long, but well shaded.
+Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all
+Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy.
+The little song-sparrows, wild with delight,
+united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called,
+and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad
+numbers, fluttered their golden wings; and
+sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in
+her flight to the far-off wheat fields.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It seemed strange that there should be any
+misery, any suffering. The girl could not realize
+it until they came out on top of the Spring
+Hill to the little clearing where the cabin stood,
+which, in its utter desolation, appeared to overwhelm
+her. There was no sign of a human
+presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on
+the chimney-top, while its mate flitted wistfully
+over the sunburnt grass. The place was so
+lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother
+a sob. Below, the wide valley stretched away
+to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>on this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one
+ostracized from society.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel,
+“while I go in first, and I will come and tell
+you.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He left them in the shade of the tall beech
+trees, and they saw him go into the cabin.
+Though neither had spoken, they knew that
+upon each heart rested the same burden of
+dread. In the moment that followed there
+came over the young man an almost sickening
+anxiety, but the girl stood, awed only by the
+thought that perhaps even then the black wings
+of Death might be settling unknown within
+their very presence. Then she saw her father
+come to the door and beckon—the old man at
+least was not dead—and they went in together.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The place was far more bare and desolate than
+even its exterior had appeared. The rough boards
+of the floor were shrunken apart. Through
+the windows, unshielded by even a plank, the
+glaring light poured in a pitiless flood. A
+broken chair or two were propped against the
+wall, and in the corner an old pine table stood
+in a precarious condition upon its uneven legs.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There, stretched across the wretched bed
+dressed in his grimy clothes, just as they had
+seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago,
+the old man lay insensible. All their restoratives
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>were powerless to rouse him from this
+heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to
+their efforts. The half-closed eyes were glazed.
+There was no quiver now about the bloodless
+lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner,
+more emaciated, for over all the features rested
+that sunk expression which those who look upon
+it behold with despair at their hearts. But for
+the slow rise and fall of his chest, they might
+have thought the last glimmer of life had died
+out of that frail form forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was plain that they could not dare to move
+him, and the colonel carefully shaded the
+window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving
+free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken
+all the things from the basket, and set them
+ready for use, though there was little chance
+now that they could be of any avail. Safford
+stood at the foot of the bed, utterly unconscious
+of every thing at the moment but the prostrate
+figure before him. Since he entered the
+room he had hardly changed his position, only
+that he folded his arms across his breast, and
+drooped his head a little, as if in that attitude
+he might the more intently watch the sleeper.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the colonel came and spoke to him he
+started up as if frightened, like one out of a
+dream, so that the elder man looked at him in
+surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>himself, said quickly, in a husky voice,—
+“I beg your pardon. You startled me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I only wanted to know how long you thought
+he could last?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I can not tell. It may be until evening,
+hardly longer.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He was right. The day wore on without any
+apparent change until about the going down
+of the sun, when the old man moved a little.
+They had once or twice dropped a few drops of
+wine between his lips, but this was the first
+symptom of any break in the heavy stupor
+which had held him so long in its death-like
+embrace. His respiration quickened, and became
+audible. He muttered one or two incoherent
+sentences, then a tremor passed over
+his features, and he opened his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored
+during the afternoon to persuade into going
+home, stood with her head turned away; and
+the colonel, too intent upon watching the dying
+man, did not notice Safford, from whose face, at
+the first struggle in the inanimate form, every
+particle of color fled, and who, trembling
+violently all over, clutched the bed for support.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old man for a moment looked about the
+room blankly, as if a haze obscured his vision.
+Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face
+lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>as suddenly the light faded out, his features
+quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying,
+brokenly, in an accent of despair,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you
+will kill me! It was not for the likes o’ me to
+have married you. Now you are so white an’
+thin, an’, Hetty, when I took ye to the church,
+yer cheeks were redder nor the summer rose.
+Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A terrible struggle in his throat compelled
+him to pause for a moment, then he went on with
+rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
+could hardly find expression in words:—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one
+that; I can not bar it!—not that, not my name!
+I swear to ye, he shall not take after the likes
+of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty,
+I swear to ye, if I live, he shall never hear a low
+word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He shall
+have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman.
+Hetty, I’ve been a worthless dog—a
+brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
+darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer
+face—but hear me, Hetty, I swear to ye, the
+little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
+shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so
+still! O Hetty!—dead! she is dead—dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>Both the colonel and Helen turned with
+astonishment to young Safford when the old
+man, in his delirium, had spoken his name;
+but the latter, unconscious of their surprise,
+with a single cry, sprang forward, and supported
+the exhausted figure in his arms as it
+sank back.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father—my father!” The words broke
+from his lips in a voice painfully choked by
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was another severe struggle for breath,
+then, with renewed strength, the old man raised
+himself into a sitting posture, and, looking
+round quickly, began in a hurried manner,
+fumbling about with his hands,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me
+agin! He mustn’t never know as I’m alivin’.
+He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’
+me.” He paused a moment, and the expression
+of his face changed. “It’s a lie!” he cried,
+fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body
+to look after! It’s all a <em>lie</em>!” Then, shivering
+suddenly, he said, lowering his voice, and speaking
+softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not
+have no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a
+gentleman. I said he should be a gentleman—and
+he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No,
+no! I never seen you before—I never seen you
+before!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling
+sound in his throat.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, father, speak to me! It is I,
+George!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees.
+During the moment that followed there was
+profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes,
+and said, gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“George! the little George!” A radiant
+light rested upon his thin face. He raised his
+trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily
+over the man’s head. “Yer hair is soft an’
+black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
+her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’,
+Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_242.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_243.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+<h3 class='c015'>I.</h3>
+
+<div class='c016'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_243.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+At the foot of the hill stood a low, old-fashioned
+frame house, with a picket-fence
+round the yard, which ran down
+to a small stream that sometimes flowed along
+slowly, and sometimes with a great rush, and
+sometimes slept tranquilly beneath a sheeting
+of ice. Nearly a mile off, smooth and level,
+with pleasant streets, and a church whose spire
+shone in the sunlight long after the evening
+shade had crept over the ground, was the village
+of Pickaway, the gem of Paint Valley.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From there, two days in every week, to the
+quaint old-fashioned house at the foot of the
+hill, the children wended their way with music
+folios, coming loiteringly in Summer over the
+narrow foot-path where the wild columbine
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>grew by the creek, but in Winter walking hurriedly
+over the frozen turnpike, swinging their
+arms, blowing their fingers, and sometimes doing
+battle bravely with the snow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here Franz Erckman lived in the plainest
+manner, with only his piano and his cottage-organ
+for companions. Wife and children he
+had none, nor any relative, nor any domestic
+pet. There was never a dog, or cat, or even so
+much as a chicken, to be seen about the premises.
+One servant he kept, to be sure, but she,
+a cross old woman, never opened her mouth for
+the purpose of speech more than a dozen times in
+a year, and then it was only upon some unusual
+provocation, as when the scholars broke a
+pitcher, or muddied her floor, when she would
+give utterance to some incoherent but disagreeable
+ejaculation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz Erckman had lived in this way for
+nearly twenty years, and was just as bluff in
+manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as
+when he had first come there, an unknown
+young foreigner, without friends, or acquaintances,
+or money, and commenced in a modest
+way giving music-lessons to a few pupils at first,
+to many after a time.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the new church was built, and a new
+organ with great gilded pipes put in, his services
+were engaged, as well they might, for no other
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>person in the whole village could have made
+any thing whatever out of all those stops, and
+pedals, and keys.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a
+town, with a very respectable hotel, many tourists
+came down in the summer season from the
+city to rusticate for a week or two, and they
+always heard the organist with astonishment.
+Inquiries about him were so often repeated by
+these cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had
+finally grown to feel proud of its musician, and it
+became as natural to them to show off Franz
+Erckman as it did to call attention to the beautiful
+scenery. It would have been hard to have
+overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape
+could rarely have been found.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>However, all this praise and adulation had
+apparently made little effect upon the village
+music-master, who had been again and again
+invited to come up for one season to the city by
+these friendly tourists. They held out to him
+the allurements of the orchestras and operas,
+and told wonderful tales of the superb voices of
+the great <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">prime donne</span></i>. It was all in vain. He
+always thanked them for their proffered hospitality,
+but never accepted it, and lived along,
+seemingly content enough to teach the village
+children, and play the church-organ. Only his
+one servant knew how at night, and sometimes
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>all night through, he tried ineffectually to satisfy
+his great craving for music, and how, not until
+the pale light of morning was visible in the east,
+would he shut his cottage-organ. And when
+he turned from it there was always a strange
+expression of despair upon his features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people of the town said he was penurious,
+for he invariably exacted the tuition of each
+scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time
+it was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the
+pupil without a word, and there were no more
+lessons given until the quarter had been paid.
+However, they grew to know him so well that
+every body fell into the habit, in his case at
+least, of being punctual.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So, working steadily year after year, as he had
+done, with almost no expenses of living, Pickaway
+thought he must have laid by quite a
+fortune, and when the Widow Massey, poverty-stricken
+though she was, made up her mind to
+send her little daughter—her only child—the
+poor, weak, crippled little Alice, who went
+every Sunday to the church, and listened with
+such deep delight to the strains of the great
+organ—when the Widow Massey made up her
+mind to send her daughter to the music-master,
+and give her this one pleasure, that it might
+brighten somewhat the life so early blighted,
+all the people thought he would surely take the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>child for nothing. But he did not—he took
+the money, the full amount; and, if the people
+made sarcastic remarks about his penuriousness,
+<em>they</em> never offered to pay for the little girl.
+And the mother never thought of asking a favor
+from any one. Though she earned by hard
+labor scarcely enough to keep them, still for the
+last year she had had this thought at heart, and
+quietly saved a little at a time, until finally the
+long-coveted sum was in her possession; and
+gladly she went and gave it to the music-master,
+who put it down at the bottom of his vest-pocket,
+and told her to send the little girl
+twice a week. And twice a week the little girl
+went.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That was in the Summer. She was pale,
+and thin, and delicate, and the scholars all wondered
+how she would get there through the snow
+in the Winter. But before the bleak winds
+had blown one rude blast, the little Alice had
+a worse trouble. The Widow Massey suddenly
+fell ill and died, commending her beloved child
+to the care only of the great Guardian above.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a terrible stroke, and the people all
+wondered what would become of the helpless
+daughter, who was too feeble to do any kind of
+work for a means of subsistence, and every
+person thought it strange that somebody else
+did not come to her relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>It was very sad. The poor little creature
+seemed fairly racked with grief, and had sat by
+the side of her dead mother day and night.
+On the afternoon of the funeral they tried in
+vain to take her away, until Franz Erckman
+came, and the people in surprise saw him lift
+her up in his arms without a struggle, and
+quietly carry her out of the house. They saw
+him, still with her arms clasped tight about
+his neck, crossing the green pastures, strike the
+narrow foot-path by the creek, and disappear
+as the path turned behind the heavy foliage
+that was brilliant in the scarlet dyes of October.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was not one of the days upon which he
+gave lessons. There was only the ripple of
+water over the stones and the rustle of leaves
+that occasionally blew down from the trees, to
+break the profound quiet of the place as he passed
+through his gate. Not one word had been
+spoken, and still in perfect silence he carried
+the frail little being, that he could feel trembling
+from head to foot—he carried her across
+the broad veranda and into the pleasant parlor—not
+the room that the scholars used, but where
+his cottage-organ stood. Then he drew the
+sofa up beside the instrument and laid her
+down upon it.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her fingers unclasped with a convulsive
+movement, and Franz turned his face away, for
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>the child had not uttered a sound. Her eyes,
+dry and unnaturally bright, wore a startled
+look, a mute, beseeching expression, like the
+eyes of a wounded animal, and the pallor of
+her countenance, that had a wild grief branded
+upon it, was almost as ghastly in hue as death.
+It was suffering terrible to behold, and the
+hands of the strong man trembled as he opened
+the mahogany case of his organ.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a moment’s silence; then music,
+soft and sorrowful, floated out on the air gently,
+almost timidly; so very mournful, that the
+strain, beautiful though it was, seemed to have
+in it a human cry of pain. It was a language
+that could appeal to the heart when word or
+lip failed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The child’s whole frame shook beneath the
+heavy sobs that swelled up in her throat, and
+the great grief had opened its flood-gates. Hour
+after hour he played untiringly, while the violence
+of the storm spent itself. The music, at
+first sorrowful, hurt, had cried out in its pain;
+then it grew into a measure so yearning, it
+seemed the very genius of sympathy. Making
+an intense appeal, it swelled into a great passion,
+which gradually became exhausted by
+its own intense vehemence, until about the
+going down of the sun it died. And the child
+slept.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>The wild storm of anguish was over. Upon
+the face, the thin, pale face of the little girl in
+her slumber, there shone an expression of such
+absolute rest that Franz, with a sudden movement,
+bent down his head and listened. Had
+she passed with the music to the land where
+there are strains that swell into a <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> never
+ending? He held his breath. Was this the
+reflection of that peace eternal, that rest which
+endureth forever? A sob quivered for a moment
+on her features, and escaped from the lips
+of the sleeper. No, no, for sorrow showed its
+painful presence. She was not dead, and, at
+the sigh, sad though it was to see, the man
+arose with a smothered exclamation of relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The quiet day was drawing to its close.
+Within the room the shadows were already thickening;
+without, long lines of mist festooned the
+hills in plumes of royal purple, and the red haze
+of Indian-summer had gathered into broad
+streamers that unfurled their splendor across
+the tranquil sky. The floating twilight hung
+over the wide and level pastures. Down by
+the creek the scarlet sage still showed its coral
+fringe, and sometimes the woodbine, close by
+the house, waved its painted leaves. Far off in
+the filmy vale the group of maples that had
+stood crowned with a golden glory now shrouded
+themselves in black; and beyond, like a long
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>stretch of desolate shore, the great gloom lifted
+up its chilly banks.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Many times from the window in his parlor
+Franz Erckman had watched the divine pageant
+of night ascend the valley in all the pomp and
+grandeur of its magnificence, in all the solemn
+majesty of its silence, in all the ineffable depths
+of its sadness. Many times in his loneliness he
+had seen it pass, when a vision of the fair Rhineland
+would come back to his heart. Many times
+through its profound solitude he had looked out
+with yearning eyes, with listening ears, striving
+to comprehend its sublime mystery. Many
+times he had turned to it with a soul oppressed
+by despair reaching toward the Infinite. For,
+though the people did not know it, beneath the
+rough exterior of this reserved German dwelt a
+love of the beautiful—a love so passionate
+sometimes, it seemed crushing his very spirit
+that he could not give it utterance in his music.
+Then it was that often he would rise from his
+organ in bitter disappointment, and go out with
+his trouble to seek consolation from the night—the
+night forever wan with her own unspoken
+sorrow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But he stood watching the face of the sleeper,
+paying no heed to the gathering shade. He
+stooped and arranged the cushions about the
+fragile form with the gentle touch of a woman,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>while upon his features there rested an expression
+more beautiful than they could ever borrow
+from the softened light of the evening.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“She would have died,” he said to himself.
+“But for the music, I believe she would have
+died! The chords of the organ spoke to her
+when all earthly words failed. She, at least,
+can understand the language I have been striving
+to learn.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Frail little creature! She appeared, indeed,
+like a spirit of some other world. Her every
+nerve had vibrated in sympathy, and Franz
+could hardly help thinking, as he looked at her,
+that, soundless to human ears, there played
+about her ceaseless strains of melody. Music
+seemed to be the vitality that gave her life, the
+only nourishment that fed her soul.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When she first came to him for instruction,
+he quickly discovered that she possessed not the
+least power of execution, and then had taken
+no special notice of her further. Wrapped up
+in his art, teaching the children had never been
+a pleasure to him. He compelled himself to
+endure it as a means of subsistence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The great object for which he worked was
+once to secure means enough to keep penury
+always from his door, and then give himself up
+unreservedly to this art which he loved better
+than his life. So he took no particular interest
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>in any of his scholars, and it was only when
+he saw how eagerly the little Alice drank in
+every sound, that gradually he began to observe
+the child more narrowly. As he had at first
+seen, she possessed no power of execution
+whatever. She could not even learn to read
+the notes, and she would probably never be
+able to play a single bar correctly. But he had
+noticed how keenly alive she was to harmony,
+how peculiarly sensitive to discord. It seemed
+as though her lessons were a constant pain. Yet
+she came eagerly, and often lingered when they
+were finished.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had found her once, late in the day, when
+he had been playing dreamily to himself, sitting
+on the veranda near the window of his parlor,
+listening with a rapt attention, wholly unconscious
+of any thing but his music. Since that,
+when she came to take her lesson, he had always
+played for her, carelessly at first, but after a
+time with greater interest, until gradually he
+had given up altogether any effort to instruct
+her, and in its place each day played for her the
+oratorios and symphonies of the great composers.
+Then he had changed from the piano to
+his organ, and he had grown to wait nearly as
+anxiously for the hour to come round as the
+little girl herself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>By degrees the visits of the child became to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>him almost indispensable. He seemed to feel
+always a strange inspiration come upon him in
+her presence. Why, he did not know; but it
+was then that sometimes the wild tumult, the
+infinite longings of his soul struggled into expression.
+But, when the child went, he would
+find himself again dejected, and wholly unable
+even to recall the strains which seemed to have
+died at the very moment of their birth.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz stood, still watching her motionless
+form. The sobs, quivering through her sleep,
+had one by one exhausted themselves, and left
+her face strangely peaceful to look upon.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“She is mine,” he muttered. “I will never
+part with her. She is my spirit of sound!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly he heard the grating noise of footsteps
+on the graveled walk. Turning quickly,
+he drew the curtain over the window to shield
+the sleeper from the damp night-air. Then he
+went softly out and closed the door after him,
+wrapped once more in his severe reserve, and
+with the old stern expression upon his features.
+His brows knit themselves into a frown, and
+his lips curled for a moment with a smile of
+contempt when he recognized the figure coming
+into the hall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Ha! Erckman, good-evening,” said the man,
+in a loud and boisterous tone, which seemed to
+dissipate all the serenity of the night in its
+pompous swell.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>“Good-evening.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>If it had been the first time they had ever
+met, Franz could not have spoken with colder
+formality as he showed his guest into the piano-room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Mr. Cory claimed to be the richest man in
+Pickaway, and very likely it was true. He
+owned hundreds of green and fertile acres, with
+cattle sleek and fat. He was ruling elder in
+the church, and his wife bought all her bonnets
+and flounces in the city, and they had built the
+finest house in the whole of Paint Valley. Indeed,
+nothing was done without his presence,
+and every one, from the minister to the sexton,
+received his advice, which he distributed far
+more liberally than he did his money. So it was
+that Franz had mentally guessed the object of his
+visit the instant he recognized him in the hall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Fine weather, this.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The organist made no more audible reply to
+the remark than a half-uttered grunt, as he
+struck a match down the corner of the mantelpiece,
+and lighted the lamp. Mr. Cory sat
+uneasily on the hard, hair-cloth chair, dimly
+conscious of some obstruction in the usually
+smooth channel of his discourse.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Sad affair of the Widow Massey.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He looked about the room for a moment, as
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>though expecting to discover the presence of
+some third person, then repeated,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Sad affair! sad affair! We are all liable to
+sudden death, and she ought to have been saving
+up, in case of such an event. She left
+nothing to provide for the child at all. Nothing
+at all. The furniture will barely bring enough
+to pay for her funeral expenses.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz had sat down mechanically on the
+music-stool, and rested one hand on the keyboard
+of the piano. Just as the conversation
+had reached this point, he suddenly took his
+hand away, with a nervous movement that
+sounded three or four discordant bass-notes of
+the instrument as he did so, and Mr. Cory for
+the second time found himself laboring under
+an ill-defined sense of discomfort, something
+wholly unusual. But, seeing his host showed
+no symptoms of breaking the silence, after a
+slight cough, he went on,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We have been talking this afternoon as to
+what is going to be done with the child. You’ve
+got her here, haven’t you?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, one can’t do a great deal in this way,
+but you know it is such a sad case, and the child
+can’t do any work about a house, and my wife
+is so interested in her she thinks she’ll take the
+little girl—What did you say?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>“Nothing.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke.
+My wife is so interested in her she thinks she’ll
+take the little girl and send her for a year to
+the industrial school in the city, where she can
+learn to do fine sewing and embroidery. That
+will give her a chance to earn her living, and
+we can take up a collection in church to defray
+the expense.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“‘Fine sewing and embroidery’—<em>fine suffering
+and death</em>!” said Franz, suddenly letting
+loose his pent-up wrath. “Mr. Cory, would
+you kill the child? She is frailer than a flower,
+a sickly little thing, and crippled. One month’s
+stooping over a needle would put her in the
+grave. I thought for a moment, but an hour
+ago, that she was dead.” As he spoke the last
+word he left his seat, and, taking up the lamp,
+said,—“Come with me, and step lightly.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Utterly taken aback at the sudden outburst
+of the music-master, Mr. Cory followed him
+across the hall, saw him open the door of the
+opposite room, and motion him to enter. Then
+he said, in a quiet voice, while he shaded the
+lamp carefully with his hand, so that its rays
+did not fall directly upon the face of the
+child,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Look at her.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The man stepped forward, but almost immediately
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>drew back, with a shiver, from the
+sleeper, whose repose so strangely resembled
+death. She lay upon the sofa, with her hands
+folded across her breast, as when she had at first
+fallen into slumber.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz stood intently regarding her, when
+suddenly his guest, coming up close to him, said,
+with his rough voice dropped into a frightened
+whisper, and his eyes looking quickly about the
+room,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Where does it come from?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What?” asked Franz, startled by his singular
+manner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do you hear it?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Hear what?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The music.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Music!” exclaimed Franz, dropping his
+voice also to a whisper, and involuntarily suspending
+his breath for a moment—“no, I hear
+no music.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It did not seem like the piano or organ. It
+must have been the wind in the trees outside,
+but it sounded just like a strain of music. We
+had better go, or we may waken her,” said Mr.
+Cory, as he turned to the door, and drew one
+hand across his forehead, where the perspiration
+had collected in drops, although the evening
+was cold and the air chilly.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz followed him out, springing the latch
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>gently with his hand as it caught, and they
+both went back to the piano-room. Here Mr.
+Cory seemed to recover somewhat of his usual
+composure.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, Erckman, she does look thin and delicate-like,
+but sewing won’t hurt her, not a bit.
+She’ll be better when she’s got something to
+do. She can’t exist on air, and she can’t live
+in idleness. She has got nothing, and it’s the
+only way I know of she can make her living.
+She must do work of some kind for support.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Before Franz’s eyes there floated visions of
+broad and fertile acres, of fine cattle, of fine
+clothes, of fine houses, but “she must do work
+of some kind for support,” so he said nothing,
+while the church-elder continued,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is James Maxwell going to the city
+to-morrow, and my wife said we had better send
+her to the school by him.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Send her—, Mr. Cory,” said the organist,
+with a suppressed fierceness in his voice, “You
+saw how frail she is, how she looks as if, even
+now, the shadow of death might be upon her.
+You know how, from her birth, she has been
+crippled. I tell you one month in that school
+among strangers would kill her. Are there not
+strong arms enough in the world, is there not
+wealth enough already, that this unfortunate
+one, this perpetually enfeebled child, must wear
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>out her brief span of life in a painful struggle
+to gain a little food?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We are not, sir, expected to keep the ‘unfortunate
+one,’ as you call her,” blustered Mr.
+Cory, fairly purple with indignant astonishment.
+“What do you mean, sir? We are not under
+obligations to do any thing whatever for the
+girl. She should be thankful we interested ourselves
+in her behalf,” he said, partially choking
+with rage. “We will do this for her, but that
+is all. She is nothing to us.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I had no intention of dictating,” said the
+organist, politely, who had quieted down as
+quickly as he had roused up. “You are right,
+sir, she is nothing to you, and you need not
+trouble yourself about the matter further. I
+will see that the child is provided for.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then Mr. Cory looked at Franz as if he
+thought he had not heard aright, or that the
+music-master might be departing from his
+senses.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I repeat, I will see that the child is provided
+for, and you need not trouble yourself in
+regard to her further.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Very well, sir, very well!” exclaimed the
+elder, rising, almost speechless with surprise.
+But when he reached the piazza he said,—“Then
+it is understood that I am not responsible in the
+case?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>“It is understood.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz had had no intention of parting with
+the child. He would not have given her up had
+Mr. Cory offered all his grassy meadows. He
+watched him as he walked down the graveled
+path and disappeared in the darkness. “Charity!”
+he muttered. “Shut him out, O Night—hide
+him from view! Wrap your impenetrable
+mantle about him, that it may shield him
+from the eye of God and man!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The German stood for a moment looking out
+into the limitless gloom, which screened alike
+the evil and the good, then he turned again into
+the house.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He went back, through the dining-room where
+his supper was spread untouched upon the
+table, to the kitchen, where Margery sat warming
+herself by the dying embers in the stove.
+The old servant was used to his irregular ways,
+and often saw his meals go untasted without a
+remark. But it was rarely the master ever
+intruded upon her premises, and she rose up as
+he came in, with an expression of surprise upon
+her quiet face.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Margery,” he said, “fix up the bedroom
+next to yours, then come down to me in the
+parlor.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old woman heard him without a question,
+though never before could she remember when
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>the guest-chamber had been used, or a visitor
+staid overnight at the house.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When she had obeyed his instructions she
+presented herself at the parlor-door. There
+was no lamp in the room, only a narrow strip of
+light fell upon the floor from across the hall, but
+it did not penetrate the heavy shadow, and
+Margery, with a half-uttered apology upon her
+lips, drew back. At the sound of the woman’s
+steps, Franz came out of the gloom.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, sir.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What is the matter?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I did not know you was playin’, or I would
+have waited,” said the servant, respectfully,
+who had learned long ago never under any
+circumstances to interrupt her master at his
+practice.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I was not playing.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Warn’t it you, sir? It was so dark I could
+not see.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Me? no; nor any body else. No one was
+playing.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, I thought I heard—but it must have
+been the wind,” said Margery, glancing across
+her shoulder to the vacant piano-stool. “I
+thought I heard music just as I opened the door.—The
+room is ready, sir.” Franz bent over
+the sofa and raised the sleeping form in his
+arms. Turning to Margery, he said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>“She is light. Here, carry her up and put
+her to bed. Don’t waken her if you can help
+it, and go to her once or twice in the night to
+see that she sleeps, for she is not well.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then he added, as an abrupt explanation,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“She will occupy that room always. This is
+to be her home, and I want you to see that she
+has every thing necessary.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>If the old servant was surprised at the announcement,
+she made no remark. She took
+her up, arranged every thing for the night, and
+the child never awakened.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was not an unpleasant expression that
+spread itself upon the face of the woman as she
+stooped over the bed, and laid with a careful
+hand every fold about the sleeper. With noiseless
+feet she came again and again to look once
+more at the unconscious form that seemed to
+possess for her a singular attraction. Taking
+up the lamp, she turned to go into her own (the
+adjoining) room, but, with an abrupt start, she
+checked herself midway in the action, held the
+light suspended, and stood with every muscle
+arrested, as if some unexpected sound had
+fallen suddenly on her ears. Then she bent her
+head for a moment over the sleeper, glanced
+quickly about the room, and hurriedly crossed
+to the hall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>She ran down the flight of stairs, looked first
+into the piano-room, then into the parlor opposite.
+Both places were deserted, and the
+instruments closed. The front door was bolted,
+and the master had evidently retired. She
+went back to the guest-chamber. The child
+still slept, and Margery held every nerve in
+suspense, but there was not the least sound.
+She stepped to the window, pushed up the sash,
+then leaned out and listened. The night was
+perfectly calm. What gentle breeze there had
+been two hours before had died away and left
+a profound silence unbroken even by the chirp
+of an insect. She closed the shutter, went back
+to the bedside again for an instant; then, saying
+quietly to herself, “It must have been mere
+fancy,” passed out to her own room, and left
+the door partially open between the two apartments.</p>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>
+  <h3 class='c017'>II.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c016'>So the little Alice had found a home. All the
+people in Pickaway expressed their utter surprise
+at this unexpected generosity of the
+penurious music-master. He certainly was
+about the last person in the town from whom
+such an act might have been anticipated. Indeed,
+it was little short of an enigma to the
+place. But their astonishment knew no bounds
+when, within a few days after he had taken the
+little girl, he quietly dismissed all his pupils,
+and steadily refused to give any more lessons to
+a single soul. Nothing could prevail upon him,
+no entreaties whatever could persuade him, and
+he could never be induced to offer the least
+explanation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Some of the wealthier ones, unwilling to give
+him up, had voluntarily proposed to pay double
+the former price, but even money, which all the
+village had thought the god of his life, failed to
+move him from his determination. He was inexorable.
+Every body wondered what might be
+the reason. No person could discover any apparent
+cause why he should so suddenly give
+up teaching. They inquired about his health.
+It was very good, he said. Did he expect to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>leave home? No. He would continue to play
+the church-organ? Yes, oh, yes; he had no
+intention of stopping that. So they conjectured
+until tired of the task, while Franz Erckman
+paid no attention.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>However, as the days grew into weeks, and
+the weeks into months, all the village saw that
+a change had come over the organist. He was
+less communicative than formerly, and more
+severely reserved.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From the borders of the creek the fringe of
+scarlet flowers had vanished. The myriad
+leaves had lost their rainbowed glory, and
+dropped, one after another, in russet tatters to
+the ground. The woodbine had thrown off its
+vermilion raiment, and now stretched up unclothed
+its weird and snake-like arms. The
+group of maples had laid down its golden crown;
+the hills, too, had cast aside their tiara of brilliant
+emerald. The Summer and Fall, in all their
+emblazoned splendor, had passed by, and the
+gorgeous livery of Autumn faded to the grizzled
+hues of Winter.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Up the tawny valley a bleak December wind
+swept, making a cheerless rattle among the
+naked trees, and the creek slumbered quietly
+beneath its covering of ice; but this time no
+children came over the frozen turnpike to the
+house at the foot of the hill. More secluded
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>than ever it seemed. Before the bitter winds
+had risen, in the pleasant November days, Franz
+had often rambled through the woods, carrying
+the little Alice, when she felt tired, in his arms.
+But, as the air grew chill, they staid almost
+wholly within the house. After that Franz
+rarely left it except when his duties as organist
+called him to the church, and then he invariably
+took the little girl with him, wrapped carefully
+in a heavy cloak.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people noticed that he was never seen
+any where without the child. If the weather
+proved bad on the Sabbath, or on the days when
+he went sometimes during the week to play, he
+still carried her with him, but an additional fur
+mantle was thrown around her for protection.
+She had never grown stronger; but, since that
+first night, when the organist had broken down
+the great barrier of grief that was closing up like
+a strong wall about her heart, they were seldom
+separated in her waking hours.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>During all this time Franz had changed so
+strangely that the village gossips said one would
+hardly have known him for the same person.
+To be sure, he had always been silent and reserved,
+but now he had become absolutely
+inapproachable. His manner, which was naturally
+abrupt, was often now wild and feverish.
+His face, too, had grown thin, his cheeks hollow,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>his whole figure gaunt. His eyes, brilliant but
+sunken, had assumed a singular expression of
+unrest, a perpetually searching look, as if forever
+striving to see the invisible, and it began
+finally to be whispered about among the people
+that the church-organist was not quite right in
+his head. They noticed, besides, that he would
+never allow the child to be enticed out of his
+sight. The ladies often tried to pet her, but she
+shrank invariably from every one except Franz,
+to whom she clung as if he were the one prop
+that sustained her life.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the time had worn away at the musician’s
+home. Margery, respectful as ever in her manner,
+assiduously waited upon the little girl, who
+received all her attentions gratefully, and never
+voluntarily made a single demand. But there
+had passed a change over the old servant also.
+From her usually quiet ways she had become
+restless, as if there might be something upon her
+mind that rendered her constantly uneasy, or
+from which she was ineffectually trying to free
+herself. If she were sour or cross in disposition,
+as all the scholars used to tell, she had never
+shown it to the little orphan. She watched the
+child with a strange devotion. She would follow
+her about the house at a distance, and, if the
+little girl for a time sat down upon the veranda,
+Margery, too, farther off, would sit there with
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>her sewing, or embrace that opportunity to trim
+the woodbine, and once or twice she had even
+found an excuse to intrude herself for a moment
+in the parlor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Every evening, when she put the little girl to
+bed, Margery, with a strange, expectant look
+upon her face, would linger about the room long
+after her charge had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
+Then, when she had retired, often in the very
+middle of the night, she would suddenly waken
+from a sound slumber, spring out of bed, and,
+before she was thoroughly conscious, discover
+herself standing beside the child, with her head
+bent down in a listening position, and every
+nerve strained to catch the slightest sound.
+Immediately she would rundown stairs into the
+music-rooms, only to find them both deserted
+and the instruments closed. With a white
+countenance she would return, pause once more
+in the child’s room, and then lie down again,
+saying to herself, for the hundredth time,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It must be mere fancy. I have been dreaming.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was no element of superstition in Margery,
+but this incident would recur over and
+over, night after night, until she began to ask
+herself if, before she had reached sixty years,
+she was already losing her mind, and this the
+first fancy of a disordered imagination. It was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>strange, she told herself, that she should dream
+the same thing so often, and every time it should
+be so vivid, for she heard a strain of music as
+distinctly as she ever heard a sound in her life,
+though it was not like the piano, organ, or,
+indeed, any instrument. And, though vivid,
+it was so evanescent it made her doubt the veracity
+of her senses. Then, too, it never came
+from down stairs, or out-of-doors, but always
+seemed apparently to emanate from the bedside
+of the little child, though, as soon as she had
+stooped to listen, it was gone, and the reign of
+silence again left supreme. Once or twice,
+even during the day, when standing beside the
+little Alice, Margery had heard, or thought she
+heard, a sudden waft of this soft melody sweep
+by her, but so fleeting that it was gone before
+she could catch her breath to listen, or be sure
+it was not simply all her own imagination.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So, with this constantly upon her mind, Margery
+had grown restless, and found herself
+continually watching the little girl. She was
+not insensible either of the great change that
+had, by some means or other, been wrought in
+her master since the child had come into the
+house. She, as well as the people, had noticed
+that he would never, if possible, allow her out
+of his sight. He never played a night now by
+himself as he had been used to doing for years.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>After the child went to bed the instruments
+were always closed, for he never put his hand
+upon the keyboard unless she were present.
+And, even when he had her beside him, he did
+not seem happy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people at church said, as he had changed,
+his music, too, had changed; but, as he had
+grown more wild and feverish in manner, his
+music had grown more softened and beautiful in
+style. And once, after he had played a dreamy
+harmony that held them all entranced, he had
+come down from the organ-gallery with a
+fierce fire burning in his eyes, and hands that
+trembled violently, though they were clasped
+tight over the little girl in his arms. When
+they had complimented him he looked bewildered,
+and spoke in a confused way, as though he
+could not remember what he had been playing.
+Now, more convinced than ever were the people
+that something was evidently wrong with the
+music-master, and, notwithstanding he had lost
+nothing in his art, many shook their heads, and
+whispered that poor Erckman was, beyond a
+doubt, going crazy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>December had worn almost into Christmas.
+In every house of the village there were preparations
+for the approaching holiday. The church,
+too, was undergoing some mysterious process
+at the hands of the young people, who went in
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>and out at all hours by the back way, and
+steadily refused admittance to any one. They
+had even closed the doors against the organist
+when he went there one morning to play, but
+he was easily persuaded to withdraw, as he
+cared far more for solitude than society.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz sat moodily by the fire in his parlor,
+with the little girl upon a cushion at his feet.
+They were both naturally silent, and would
+often sit quietly together for hours. But now,
+though the musician gazed absently into the
+grate, and seemed to take no heed of the child,
+she looked up once or twice into his face, then
+said, in a timid voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, to-morrow is Christmas.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz had long ago taught her to call him
+father, and he merely answered mechanically,
+without taking his eyes from the illuminated
+coals,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“How dark the night is out, and how shrill
+and bleak the wind blows!” She had risen
+from her seat and gone to the window. “But
+to-morrow is Christmas-day, and I know it
+will be bright then; oh, I am sure it will be
+bright!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She stood a moment longer by the casement
+without speaking, then came back and sat down
+again, looking almost as ethereal as some spirit,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>that might vanish any moment forever into the
+glow of the red firelight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You will play something very beautiful to-morrow,
+will you not, father? You will make
+the voluntary better than all the service besides?
+Oh, for such a celebration, it ought to be the
+most magnificent music in the world, for, think,
+father, it will be Christmas, the grandest day in
+all the year! It seems to me I can hardly wait
+to hear you, I have been looking forward to it
+so long. But, father, you have not practised
+any for it, have you?” said the child, looking
+up suddenly with quick dismay upon her features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz, still without glancing at the little girl,
+or taking his eyes from the fire, said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No,” but he clasped his hands nervously
+together.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, father, you did not forget about it, did
+you?” she asked eagerly. “I have so often
+and often thought of it, though I did not say
+any thing, but it is strange I never once thought
+about the practising. Oh, you could not have
+forgotten it, father?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She was so intensely earnest, it seemed as if
+her whole soul was in the question, trembling
+while it awaited the reply.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, I have not forgotten it,” said Franz,
+“It has hardly been out of my mind one moment
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>for many weeks; but I have nothing to
+play.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At first, her face had been perfectly radiant;
+but, when he added the last clause, she got up,
+put her arms about his neck, and said, with a
+kind of terror in her voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, no, no! You will play, father—tell
+me you will play!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz moved uneasily in his seat.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And it will be something grand, father. Oh,
+you will please everybody—I am not afraid of
+that. Quick, tell me you will play. Father,
+if you did not—I can not bear to think of it—oh,
+you will—say you will!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her entreaty had fairly grown into wild
+desperation. Every fiber of her frame quivered
+as she clung to him. Alarmed at her singular
+agitation, he took her up on his knee, and said,
+hurriedly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes; I will play. Do not be troubled
+about it; I will play.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, I am so glad! I knew you would, and
+it will be grand, I am sure, for to-morrow is
+Christmas!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her face was radiant with pleasure; but so
+extreme had been her excitement that nearly an
+hour later, when Margery came to take her upstairs,
+she still trembled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz, left alone, paced the floor of his room
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>up and down, sometimes stopping to look
+moodily into the fire. He had had this thing
+long upon his mind. Feeling the divine power
+of genius within him, he was not willing to play
+over again what generations had played over a
+hundred times before him. Yet he tried unavailingly
+to improvise. Once or twice, when
+playing, with the little Alice beside him, he had
+suddenly entranced even himself; but as soon
+as he undertook to reproduce the notes, either
+upon paper or upon the organ, he discovered
+them gone from his memory, and himself utterly
+powerless. It had only been latterly that he
+felt hampered in this way; yet he was conscious,
+notwithstanding, that his music at the same
+time had undergone a vast improvement. But
+he struggled against this one fault vainly. He
+had been determined to work out a new composition
+for this great occasion; and now, upon
+the very verge of Christmas-day, after all his
+unceasing anxiety, he found himself without a
+single idea—wholly unprepared. In his disappointment,
+he had almost been ready to
+absent himself altogether from the church; but
+the sudden appeal of the little girl had compelled
+him to give up this cowardly refuge, of
+which in a better mood he would have been
+ashamed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The child had not prophesied incorrectly.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>Under cover of night, the clouds marshaled
+themselves into gray battalions, which fled precipitately
+before the lances of the morning, that
+in resplendent array, column upon column,
+mounted the eastern sky; and Christmas—this
+day forever sacred to the world in its grand
+memories—dawned with the blaze of victorious
+colors.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Bathed in sunlight, the crystal valley wreathed
+itself with brilliant jewels; the sparkling
+trees held up their embossed arches of frosted
+silver; and from the glittering hill-sides cold
+flakes of fire burned in diamond hues almost
+blinding to the eye—for a slight fall of snow
+during the night had spread itself over the land,
+and covered it as with a mantle of transfiguration.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The bell in the tower had long been ringing
+out its invitation to worship, before Franz,
+carrying the little Alice on his arm, left the
+house. A singular eagerness rested on the face
+of the child, whose usually pale cheeks were
+now colored with a crimson flush that deepened
+almost to scarlet in the center. She held
+quietly to Franz, sometimes looking at him for
+a moment, then turning her eyes again toward
+the village.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Though she said no word, it seemed as if she
+could hardly wait until they reached the church,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>but that her impatient spirit would break its
+bounds and fly. But Franz walked with a slow,
+unwilling step. A fierce despair appeared to be
+consuming him. His disappointment was made
+keener when he saw the wild expectation with
+which the little Alice looked forward to his
+music, and her confident belief that it would be
+far grander than any thing he had ever done
+before.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The villagers, by groups, in twos, in threes,
+with happy faces, coming from far and near,
+poured into the church. Paying no heed to
+any one as he passed, Franz entered by the side
+door, and went immediately up into the organ-gallery.
+With glad eyes, the little Alice saw
+the church in its festival decorations. Beautiful
+wreaths of cedar coiled themselves around the
+great pillars, and crept in waving lines over
+altar, arch, and casement, their unfading green
+sometimes flecked with amber, sometimes dyed
+in violet light, as the rays of the sun caught the
+tints from the windows of stained glass. Resting
+against the center of the chancel rail, a
+magnificent cross of hot house flowers loaded
+the air with the perfumes of summer—an incense
+more pure and holy than the incense of
+myrrh; and on either side sprays of English
+ivy, in long and twining branches, displayed
+their wax-like leaves.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>The last vibrations of the bell died away.
+The congregation chanted its anthem; the
+minister read the Christmas service; and the
+first strains of the organ-voluntary, after the
+close of the litany, sounded through the church.
+The little Alice, with a throbbing pulse, crept
+close to Franz as he played; but it was only the
+familiar music, that the world already knew by
+heart, and had heard a thousand times before.
+Poor Franz, warring against himself, had been
+driven back to the composition of others, though
+he knew he possessed within him a power that
+should have created, that should have raised
+him above all written measure. But now even
+his execution was a dead, mechanical labor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A swift expression of keen disappointment
+fell upon the child’s face. She looked up at
+him, with a gesture, slight but strangely appealing,
+and with eyes filled by a sorrowful
+reproach—such a look as one might wear in the
+last moment, whose most cherished friend had
+suddenly turned and dealt him a death-blow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But Franz played on mechanically, with the
+pang of despair at his heart. Suddenly, half-way
+in a bar, in the very midst of a single note
+almost, a sensation of fear came upon him—an
+overwhelming awe that seemed to lock his
+muscles and turn his hands into stone. The
+organ ceased abruptly; he sat motionless as a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>statue; and a death-like silence reigned throughout
+the church. Had the same unaccountable
+awe fallen upon the congregation, too? The
+whole universe waited.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Out of the profound silence a sound was
+born, a sound more beautiful than the music
+of a dream. Soft as a whisper, clear and distinct,
+it grew, wave upon wave, into a grand
+volume of harmony, that was not loud, though
+it seemed as if it reached beyond the church-walls
+and floated on through endless space.
+Was it, then, music from that land where the
+crystal air breathes a perpetual melody? The
+people by one impulse sprang to their feet, and
+turned with awe-stricken faces toward the
+gallery. Grander, more majestic, it swelled
+into a glad chorus, whose <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i>, inspired with
+praise, rose up into heaven. It was an adoration
+of sublime joy that seemed too intense to be
+ascribed to mortal spirit; and the people fell
+upon their knees while they listened. Over
+plains, over hills, in the sky, it seemed to reverberate
+and answer back, sweeter than the
+sound of silver, vaster than the roll of ocean—the
+hallelujah of myriad voices, the song as of
+an innumerable multitude,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Glory be to God in the highest, and on
+earth peace, good-will toward men—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Again and again the refrain gathered into a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>measure more triumphant than the strains of a
+victorious army. Then, ascending higher and
+higher, it fainted through infinite distance, and
+was gone as if it had passed beyond the very
+portals of eternity.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The spellbound audience hardly moved for a
+moment, even after the music had died; but
+when the first stir broke the silence they collected
+about the organist with eager questions.
+Franz, still sitting at his instrument, had never
+turned. Anxious to testify their wild admiration,
+they were ready almost to bow down
+before him; but they were obliged to speak
+several times before he gave the slightest heed.
+Then he looked up abruptly and said with a
+strange impatience,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Did not you see?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a confused expression in his eyes,
+as if they might have been blinded by a great
+light, and their vision not yet wholly recovered.
+The people looked at him, then at each other in
+bewilderment, but, as if he had suddenly comprehended
+their meaning, he went on quickly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It was not I. I did not play a note. It
+was the music of another world, the music of
+the first Christmas. Did not you see the host
+of angels in the sky, and the shepherds that
+watched their flocks by night upon the plains
+of Judea? It was the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> sung at the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>nativity of Christ by the angels centuries ago,
+beside the village of Bethlehem!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then the people, regarding him with doubtful
+faces, drew back, and he said, with fierce
+excitement,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“If you do not believe, ask the little Alice
+there. She will tell you.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The little girl sat close to his bench, but when
+they turned to her she made no reply. They
+raised her up. Their question never received
+an answer, and Franz with a wild cry fell upon
+his knees by her side. The child was dead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For many years afterward the musician lived
+on in the old place at the foot of the hill, but
+he never again could be prevailed upon to strike
+a note of any instrument or listen to a strain of
+any music. More rarely than ever did he speak
+to a soul, and then it was only at the Christmas
+time, to tell again of the little Alice, his spirit
+of sound, to tell of that wonderful <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> of immortal
+praise sung by a multitude of the heavenly
+hosts, whose splendor, almost blinding to his
+eyes, had lighted up earth and sky over the
+far-off plains of Palestine, where the shepherds,
+centuries ago, were watching their flocks by
+night.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Strangers heard his tale with a scarcely concealed
+smile, and shook their heads sorrowfully
+as the old man, feeble and palsied, with a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>singular brilliance in his sunken eyes, turned
+away. But all the villagers spoke of him with
+respect, almost with awe, and the children
+learned to hush their mirth in reverence as he
+passed by. Margery, with a face quieter than
+ever, said little, but served her master with an
+untiring devotion, and after she had closed his
+eyes in death, when she was an old, old woman,
+sometimes in the evening she would suddenly
+break her long silence to tell a wondering group
+of Franz and the little Alice, and of the mysterious
+melody that played about the child.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And so the people of Paint Valley relate the
+story yet, and show the graves in the long grass
+of the village church-yard, where, side by side,
+they wait to join at the last day the throng
+whose immortal <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> shall surpass even that
+grand Christmas anthem—the song of the
+angels heard by the shepherds upon the plains
+of Judea.</p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c002'>
+    <div>THE END.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_282.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c003' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span></div>
+<div class='chapter ph2'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div><span class='large'>PUBLICATIONS</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='small'>OF</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='sc'>Jansen, McClurg &amp; Co.</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class='c018'><strong>CATON.—A Summer in Norway</strong>, with Notes on the Industries,
+Habits, etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the
+Climate and Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and
+Elk, by Hon. <span class='sc'>J. D. Caton</span>, LL.D. 8vo., 401 pages. Illustrated.
+Price, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative and
+leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good nature with which
+the author pursued his way through unknown wilds.&#160;*&#160;* They are excellent
+specimens of terse and graphic composition, presenting a distinct image to the
+mind, without any superfluous details.”—<cite>New York Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The book of travels, which Judge Caton has presented to the public, is of a
+high order of merit, and sets forth the interesting natural phenomena and popular
+characteristics of the land of the ‘unsetting sun’ with great strength and clearness.”—<cite>Boston
+Post.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“He is, as far as we know, the first foreign traveler who has given anything
+like a correct statement of the nature of the union between Norway and Sweden.”—<cite>The
+Nation.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>CHARD.—Across the Sea, and Other Poems.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Thos.
+S. Chard.</span> Square 16mo., 55 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">multum in parvo</span></i>
+that has been furnished the reading public in a long time.&#160;*&#160;* The poetry
+is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul, and reads as though given
+by inspiration.&#160;*&#160;* There is a mysticism in the little book, which reminds
+us of the ‘Lotus Eaters’ or ‘Festus.’”—<cite>The Alliance.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>CLEVELAND.—Landscape Architecture</strong>, as applied to
+the wants of the West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the
+Great Plains. By <span class='sc'>H. W. S. Cleveland</span>, Landscape Architect.
+16mo., 147 pages. Price, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“My object in these few pages is simply to show that, by whatever name it may
+be called, the subdivision and arrangement of land for the occupation of civilized
+men, is an art demanding the exercise of ingenuity, judgment and taste, and one
+which nearly concerns the interest of real estate proprietors, and the welfare and
+happiness of all future occupants.”—<em>Extract from Preface.</em></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span><strong>CRAWFORD.—A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends.</strong>
+By <span class='sc'>Mrs. Alice Arnold Crawford</span>. Square 12mo., full gilt,
+tinted paper, 162 pages. Price, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle tenderness, as
+if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better life, had longed to leave some
+sweet remembrance here. They stand forth from the way-side of poetic literature
+like some peaceful chapel robed in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers,
+and the living steal in the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and
+pain.”—<cite>Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>FOYE.—Tables for the Determination and Classification
+of Minerals Found in the United States.</strong>
+By <span class='sc'>James C. Foye</span>, A.M., Professor of Chemistry and Physics,
+Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin. Flexible covers, 38
+pages. Price, 75 cents.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from
+various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to furnish the
+student with such help as is needed in order to determine and classify the minerals
+of the United States. Some useful hints as to apparatus, and suitable notes upon
+other matters, precede the tables.”—<cite>Journal of Education.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>GILES.—Out from the Shadows.</strong> A Novel; by Miss
+<span class='sc'>Ella A. Giles</span>. 12mo., 317 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Miss Giles’ first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the attention
+of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book gives evidence
+of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the improvement which she
+has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and effect which are really uncommon.”—<cite>Milwaukee
+News.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The characters are all well conceived, and the story is pleasantly written.”—<cite>Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>GILES.—Bachelor Ben.</strong> A Novel; by Miss <span class='sc'>Ella A. Giles</span>.
+12mo., 308 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“A story of great descriptive and analytic mastery.&#160;*&#160;* A master-piece of
+free and natural handling of human life, and marks a new departure in fiction, in
+that the hero never marries, and the author has attempted to group the sympathies
+of readers about an unconventional man.”—<cite>Home Journal</cite> (New York).</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The book is refreshingly guiltless of all superfluous characters. The tone is
+good throughout. The moral apparent.”—<cite>Chicago Times.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>HALL.—Poems of the Farm and Fireside.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Eugene
+J. Hall</span>. 8vo., 114 pages. Fully illustrated. Plain, price,
+$1.75; full gilt, price, $2.25.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal—we should say superior—to
+Carleton’s Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow Papers.”—<cite>Interior.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too often
+overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems, because they
+smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner life of society at the fireside.”—<cite>Pittsburgh
+Commercial.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span><strong>HEWITT.—“Our Bible.”</strong> Three Lectures, delivered at Unity
+Church, Oak Park, Ill., by Rev. <span class='sc'>J. O. M. Hewitt</span>. 12mo., 109
+pages. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the enunciation
+of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration which makes it infallible in
+all particulars.”—<cite>Chicago Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>LAMARTINE.—Graziella; a Story of Italian Love.</strong>
+Translated from the French of <span class='sc'>A. De Lamartine</span> by <span class='sc'>James B.
+Runnion</span>. Small 4to, 235 pages, red line, tinted paper, full gilt,
+uniform with holiday edition of “Memories.” Price, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“‘Graziella’ is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both
+eminently poetic.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It glows with love of the beautiful in all nature.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect words. The sentences
+have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender fancy of the original. It is
+uniform with ‘Memories,’ the fifth edition of which has just been published, and
+it should stand side by side with that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong
+thoughts put in pure, strong words. ‘Graziella’ is a book to be loved.”—<cite>Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>MASON.—Mae Madden.</strong> A Story; by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Mary Murdoch
+Mason</span>, with an introductory poem by <span class='sc'>Joaquin Miller</span>.
+16mo., red edges. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh thought;
+some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or some charming description,
+deliciously feminine, and running over with the spirit of poetry.”—<cite>Cincinnati
+Times.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We have read this little book with great pleasure.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It frequently
+reminds us of Mr. Howell’s delicately constructed stories, and in it, as in a mirror,
+we see reflected that true refinement and culture of the author’s mind.”—<cite>New
+Haven Palladium.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>MASON AND LALOR.—The Primer of Political
+Economy</strong>, in Sixteen Definitions and Forty Propositions, by
+<span class='sc'>A. B. Mason</span> and <span class='sc'>J. J. Lalor</span>. 12mo., 67 pages. Price, 75 cents.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give the
+amount of information on the subject that has been put with such remarkable
+clearness into these sixty pages.”—<cite>Hartford Courant.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“For a short and comprehensive treatise, we know of nothing better than ‘The
+Primer of Political Economy.’ The information is conveyed in a very concise and
+happy manner. The style is perfectly transparent, and the illustrations admirably
+chosen. We venture to believe that not a quarter of the men in the Lower House
+of Congress know as much about Political Economy as can be learned from this
+compact and interesting little treatise.”—<cite>Christian Register.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>MILLER.—First Fam’lies of the Sierras.</strong> A Novel; by
+<span class='sc'>Joaquin Miller</span>. 12mo., 258 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining cañon in the very
+earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are evidently drawn
+from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling interest. Bret. Harte has
+never worked this rich vein of American life to better advantage.</p>
+
+<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span><strong>MÜLLER.—Memories</strong>; A Story of German Love. Translated
+from the German of <span class='sc'>Max Müller</span>, by <span class='sc'>Geo. P. Upton</span>. Small
+4to., 173 pages, red line, tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.00.
+The same, 16mo., red edges. Price, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“‘Memories’ is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year. The story
+is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that effortless vraisemblance, which
+is so commonly a charm of German writers, and so seldom paralleled in English.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* Scarcely could there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the
+invalid Princess, though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost
+to profane her.”—<cite>Springfield (Mass.) Republican.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>McLANDBURGH.—The Automaton Ear and Other
+Sketches.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Miss Florence McLandburgh</span>. 12mo., 282
+pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Any one of the many who have read “The Man at Crib,” “The Automaton Ear,”
+or “The Anthem of Judea,” which have been so widely copied in various
+periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this author, who is no less
+gifted than she is original and eccentric.</p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Truths for To-Day.</strong> <em>First Series.</em> By <span class='sc'>Professor
+David Swing</span>. 12mo., 325 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are convinced
+that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare culture, and of genuine
+humanity. His forte is evidently not that of doctrinal discussion. He deals in no
+nice distinctions of creed. He has no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents
+a broad and generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and
+the purest motives of a lofty manhood.”—<cite>New York Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Truths for To-Day.</strong> <em>Second Series.</em> By <span class='sc'>Professor
+David Swing</span>. 12mo., 294 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This volume will contain the latest discourses of <span class='sc'>Prof. Swing</span>, some of them
+preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the Theatre to the New
+Central Church. It is universally conceded that these are the finest efforts he has
+ever made, and the general demand for their preservation in more permanent form
+than the newspaper reports, has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected,
+revised and arranged for publication by <span class='sc'>Prof. Swing</span> himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Trial of Prof. Swing.</strong> The <em>Official Report</em> of this
+important trial. 8vo., 286 pages. Price, $1.75.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It constitutes a complete record of one of the most remarkable ecclesiastical
+trials of modern times.”—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This volume will be a precious bit of history twenty-five years hence, and its
+pages will be read with mingled interest and surprise.”—<cite>Golden Age.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'><strong>Any of the books on this list sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt
+of price by the publishers.</strong></p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>JANSEN, McCLURG &amp; CO.</div>
+      <div class='line in4'><span class='sc'>117 &amp; 119 State St., Chicago.</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c003' />
+</div>
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span></div>
+<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>
+
+<div class='chapter ph2'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+ <ol class='ol_1 c002'>
+    <li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
+
+    </li>
+    <li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
+    </li>
+  </ol>
+
+</div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67476 ***</div>
+  </body>
+  <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57c on 2022-02-01 21:44:13 GMT -->
+</html>
diff --git a/old/67476-0.txt b/old/67476-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f11c38f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,6865 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches,
+by Florence McLandburgh
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches
+
+Author: Florence McLandburgh
+
+Release Date: February 22, 2022 [eBook #67476]
+
+Language: English
+
+Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+             Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from
+             images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER
+SKETCHES ***
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                             AUTOMATON EAR,
+                                  AND
+                            OTHER SKETCHES.
+
+
+                                   BY
+
+                         FLORENCE McLANDBURGH.
+
+
+                                CHICAGO:
+                         JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.
+                                 1876.
+
+
+
+
+                               COPYRIGHT,
+                        BY FLORENCE McLANDBURGH,
+                              A. D. 1876.
+
+[Illustration: _LAKESIDE PUBLISHING & PRINTING CO. CHICAGO._]
+
+
+
+
+                               Dedicated
+
+                                   TO
+
+                           JOHN McLANDBURGH.
+
+
+
+
+NOTE.—Some of the sketches and tales in this volume were contributed to
+“Scribner’s Monthly,” “Appleton’s Journal,” and the “Lakeside Magazine,”
+and are used here, in a revised form, by the kind permission of the
+editors. Others appear now for the first time.
+
+                                                                 F. McL.
+
+CHICAGO, _April, 1876_.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                               CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                PAGE
+                    THE AUTOMATON EAR,             7
+
+                    THE PATHS OF THE SEA,         44
+
+                    REINHART, THE GERMAN,         89
+
+                    SILVER ISLET,                103
+
+                    BOYDELL, THE STROLLER,       129
+
+                    THE DEATH-WATCH,             149
+
+                    THE MAN AT THE CRIB,         161
+
+                    PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL,  183
+
+                    THE FEVERFEW,                201
+
+                    OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER,     213
+
+                    THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA,         243
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                           THE AUTOMATON EAR.
+
+
+The day was hardly different from many another day, though I will likely
+recall it even when the mist of years has shrouded the past in an
+undefined hueless cloud. The sunshine came in at my open window. Out of
+doors it flooded all the land in its warm summer light—the spires of the
+town and the bare college campus; farther, the tall bearded barley and
+rustling oats; farther still, the wild grass and the forest, where the
+river ran and the blue haze dipped from the sky.
+
+The temptation was greater than I could stand, and taking my book I shut
+up the “study,” as the students called my small apartment, leaving it
+for one bounded by no walls or ceiling.
+
+The woods rang with the hum and chirp of insects and birds. I threw
+myself down beneath a tall, broad-spreading tree. Against its
+moss-covered trunk I could hear the loud tap of the woodpecker secreted
+high up among its leaves, and off at the end of a tender young twig a
+robin trilled, swinging himself to and fro through the checkered
+sunlight. I never grew weary listening to the changeful voice of the
+forest and the river, and was hardly conscious of reading until I came
+upon this paragraph:—
+
+  “As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound is never
+  lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will vibrate in the air
+  forever and ever, decreasing according to a fixed ratio. The diffusion
+  of the agitation extends in all directions, like the waves in a pool,
+  but the ear is unable to detect it beyond a certain point. It is well
+  known that some individuals can distinguish sounds which to others
+  under precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the fault
+  is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing, and a tone
+  once in existence is always in existence.”
+
+This was nothing new to me. I had read it before, though I had never
+thought of it particularly; but while I listened to the robin, it seemed
+singular to know that all the sounds ever uttered, ever born, were
+floating in the air _now_—all music, every tone, every bird-song—and we,
+alas! could not hear them.
+
+Suddenly a strange idea shot through my brain—Why not? Ay, _why not
+hear_? Men had constructed instruments which could magnify to the eye
+and—was it possible?—Why not?
+
+I looked up and down the river, but saw neither it, nor the sky, nor the
+moss that I touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted among the
+leaves, and the robin sing, and the hum of insects run along the bank as
+before? I can not recollect, I can not recollect anything, only Mother
+Flinse, the deaf and dumb old crone that occasionally came to beg, and
+sell nuts to the students, was standing in the gateway. I nodded to her
+as I passed, and walked up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path.
+It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly into my head and
+startled me. I hardly dared to think of it, but I could think of nothing
+else. It could not be possible, and yet—why not?
+
+Over and over in the restless hours of the night I asked myself, I said
+aloud, Why not? Then I laughed at my folly, and wondered what I was
+thinking of and tried to sleep—but if it _could_ be done?
+
+The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in class hours and made
+confusion in the lessons. Some said the professor was ill those two or
+three days before the vacation; perhaps I was. I scarcely slept; only
+the one thought grew stronger—Men had done more wonderful things; it
+certainly was possible, and I would accomplish this grand invention. I
+would construct the king of all instruments—I would construct an
+instrument which could catch these faint tones vibrating in the air and
+render them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly until it was
+perfected, or the world might laugh.
+
+The session closed and the college was deserted, save by the few musty
+students whom, even in imagination, one could hardly separate or
+distinguish from the old books on the library shelves. I could wish for
+no better opportunity to begin my great work. The first thing would be
+to prepare for it by a careful study of acoustics, and I buried myself
+among volumes on the philosophy of sound.
+
+I went down to London and purchased a common ear-trumpet. My own ear was
+exceedingly acute, and to my great delight I found that, with the aid of
+the trumpet just as it was, I could distinguish sounds at a much greater
+distance, and those nearer were magnified in power. I had only to
+improve upon this instrument; careful study, careful work, careful
+experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly be realized.
+
+Back to my old room in the college I went with a complete set of tools.
+So days and weeks I shut myself in, and every day and every week brought
+nothing but disappointment. The instrument seemed only to diminish sound
+rather than increase it, yet still I worked on and vowed I would not
+grow discouraged.
+
+Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my narrow window. The fields
+of barley and waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too had ripened
+and gone, but I did not notice. I sprang up with a joyful
+exclamation—Strange never to have thought of it before! Perhaps I
+had not spent my time in vain, after all. How could I expect to test
+my instrument in this close room with only that little window? It
+should be removed from immediate noises, high up in the open air,
+where there would be no obstructions. I would never succeed here—but
+where should I go? It must be some place in which I would never be
+liable to interruption, for my first object was to be shielded and
+work in secret.
+
+I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate spot without success, when
+it occurred to me that I had heard some one say the old gray church was
+shut up. This church was situated just beyond the suburbs of the town.
+It was built of rough stone, mottled and stained by unknown years. The
+high, square tower, covered by thick vines that clung and crept round
+its base, was the most venerable monument among all the slabs and tombs
+where it stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared for by the
+living kept it company. People said the place was too damp for use, and
+talked of rebuilding, but it had never been done. Now if I could gain
+access to the tower, that was the very place for my purpose.
+
+I found the door securely fastened, and walked round and round without
+discovering any way of entrance; but I made up my mind, if it were
+possible to get inside of that church I would do it, and without the
+help of keys. The high windows were not to be thought of; but in the
+rear of the building, lower down, where the fuel had probably been kept,
+there was a narrow opening which was boarded across. With very little
+difficulty I knocked out the planks and crept through. It was a cellar,
+and, as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After feeling about, I
+found a few rough steps which led to a door that was unlocked and
+communicated with the passage back of the vestry-room.
+
+The tower I wished to explore was situated in the remote corner of the
+building. I passed on to the church. Its walls were discolored by green
+mould, and blackened where the water had dripped through. The sun, low
+down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows on the west, and made
+yellow strips across the long aisles, over the faded pews with their
+stiff, straight backs, over the chancel rail, over the altar with its
+somber wood-work; but there was no warmth; only the cheerless glare
+seemed to penetrate the cold, dead atmosphere,—only the cheerless glare
+without sparkle, without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary where
+the organ slept. At the right of the vestibule a staircase led to the
+tower; it ascended to a platform laid on a level with the four windows
+and a little above the point of the church roof. These four windows were
+situated one on each side of the tower, running high up, and the lower
+casement folding inward.
+
+Here was my place. Above the tree-tops, in the free open air, with no
+obstacle to obstruct the wind, I could work unmolested by people or
+noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face was cool and pleasant. An
+hour ago I had been tired, disappointed, and depressed; but now, buoyant
+with hope, I was ready to begin work again—work that I was determined to
+accomplish.
+
+The sun had gone. I did not see the broken slabs and urns in the shadow
+down below; I did not see the sunken graves and the rank grass and the
+briers. I looked over them and saw the gorgeous fringes along the
+horizon, scarlet and gold and pearl; saw them quiver and brighten to
+flame, and the white wings of pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening
+glow.
+
+I closed the windows, and when I had crawled out of the narrow hole,
+carefully reset the boards just as I had found them. In another day all
+the tools and books that I considered necessary were safely deposited in
+the tower. I only intended to make this my workshop, still, of course,
+occupying my old room in the college.
+
+Here I matured plan after plan. I studied, read, worked, knowing,
+_feeling_ that at last I must succeed; but failure followed failure, and
+I sank into despondency only to begin again with a kind of desperation.
+When I went down to London and wandered about, hunting up different
+metals and hard woods, I never entered a concert-room or an opera-house.
+Was there not music in store for me, such as no mortal ear had ever
+heard? _All_ the music, every strain that had sounded in the past ages?
+Ah, I could wait; I would work patiently and wait.
+
+I was laboring now upon a theory that I had not tried heretofore. It was
+my last resource; if this failed, then—but it would not fail! I resolved
+not to make any test, not to put it near my ear until it was completed.
+I discarded all woods and used only the metals which best transmitted
+sound. Finally it was finished, even to the ivory ear-piece. I held the
+instrument all ready—I held it and looked eastward and westward and back
+again. Suddenly all control over the muscles of my hand was gone, it
+felt like stone; then the strange sensation passed away. I stood up and
+lifted the trumpet to my ear—What! Silence? No, no—I was faint, my brain
+was confused, whirling. I would not believe it; I would wait a moment
+until this dizziness was gone, and then—then I would be able to hear. I
+was deaf now. I still held the instrument; in my agitation the ivory tip
+shook off and rolled down rattling on the floor. I gazed at it
+mechanically, as if it had been a pebble; I never thought of replacing
+it, and, mechanically, I raised the trumpet a second time to my ear. A
+crash of discordant sounds, a confused jarring noise broke upon me and I
+drew back trembling, dismayed.
+
+Fool! O fool of fools never to have thought of this, which a child, a
+dunce would not have overlooked! My great invention was nothing, was
+worse than nothing, was worse than a failure. I might have known that my
+instrument would magnify present sounds in the air to such a degree as
+to make them utterly drown all others, and, clashing together, produce
+this noise like the heavy rumble of thunder.
+
+The college reopened, and I took up my old line of duties, or at least
+attempted them, for the school had grown distasteful to me. I was
+restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to forget my disappointment,
+but the effort was vain.
+
+The spires of the town and the college campus glittered white, the
+fields of barley and oats were fields of snow, the forest leaves had
+withered and fallen, and the river slumbered, wrapped in a sheeting of
+ice. Still I brooded over my failure, and when again the wild grass
+turned green I no longer cared. I was not the same man that had looked
+out at the waving grain and the blue haze only a year before. A gloomy
+despondency had settled upon me, and I grew to hate the students, to
+hate the college, to hate society. In the first shock of discovered
+failure I had given up all hope, and the Winter passed I knew not how. I
+never wondered if the trouble could be remedied. Now it suddenly
+occurred to me, perhaps it was no failure after all. The instrument
+might be made adjustable, so as to be sensible to faint or severe
+vibrations at pleasure of the operator, and thus separate the sounds. I
+remembered how but for the accidental removal of the ivory my instrument
+perhaps would not have reflected any sound. I would work again and
+persevere.
+
+I would have resigned my professorship, only it might create suspicion.
+I knew not that already they viewed me with curious eyes and sober
+faces. When the session finally closed, they tried to persuade me to
+leave the college during vacation and travel on the continent. I would
+feel much fresher, they told me, in the Autumn. In the Autumn? Ay,
+perhaps I might, perhaps I might, and I would not go abroad.
+
+Once more the reapers came unnoticed. My work progressed slowly. Day by
+day I toiled up in the old church tower, and night by night I dreamed.
+In my sleep it often seemed that the instrument was suddenly completed,
+but before I could raise it to my ear I would always waken with a
+nervous start. So the feverish time went by, and at last I held it ready
+for a second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable, and I had also
+improved it so far as to be able to set it very accurately for any
+particular period, thus rendering it sensible only to sounds of that
+time, all heavier and fainter vibrations being excluded.
+
+I drew it out almost to its limits.
+
+All the maddening doubts that had haunted me like grinning specters
+died. I felt no tremor, my hand was steady, my pulse-beat regular.
+
+The soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf stirred in the quiet that
+seemed to await my triumph. Again the crimson splendor of sun-set
+illumined the western sky and made a glory overhead—and the dusk was
+thickening down below among the mouldering slabs. But that mattered not.
+
+I raised the trumpet to my ear.
+
+Hark!—The hum of mighty hosts! It rose and fell, fainter and more faint;
+then the murmur of water was heard and lost again, as it swelled and
+gathered and burst in one grand volume of sound like a hallelujah from
+myriad lips. Out of the resounding echo, out of the dying cadence a
+single female voice arose. Clear, pure, rich, it soared above the tumult
+of the host that hushed itself, a living thing. Higher, sweeter, it
+seemed to break the fetters of mortality and tremble in sublime
+adoration before the Infinite. My breath stilled with awe. Was it a
+spirit-voice—one of the glittering host in the jasper city “that had no
+need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it?” And the water, was
+it the river clear as crystal flowing from the great white throne? But
+no! The tone now floated out soft, sad, human. There was no sorrowful
+strain in that nightless land where the leaves of the trees were for the
+healing of the nations. The beautiful voice was of the earth and
+sin-stricken. From the sobbing that mingled with the faint ripple of
+water it went up once more, ringing gladly, joyfully; it went up
+inspired with praise to the sky, and—hark! the Hebrew tongue:—
+
+“The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.”
+
+Then the noise of the multitude swelled again, and a crash of music
+broke forth from innumerable timbrels. I raised my head quickly—it was
+the song of Miriam after the passage of the Red Sea.
+
+I knew not whether I lived.
+
+I bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again and heard—the soft rustle,
+the breathing as of a sleeping forest. A plaintive note stole gently
+out, more solemn and quiet than the chant of the leaves. The mournful
+lay, forlorn, frightened, trembled on the air like the piteous wail of
+some wounded creature. Then it grew stronger. Clear, brilliant, it burst
+in a shower of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in the glitter
+of the tropical sunlight. But the mournful wail crept back, and the
+lonely heartbroken strain was lost, while the leaves still whispered to
+one another in the midnight.
+
+Like the light of a distant star came to me this song of some
+nightingale, thousands of years after the bird had mouldered to nothing.
+
+At last my labor had been rewarded. As sound travels in waves, and these
+waves are continually advancing as they go round and round the world,
+therefore I would never hear the same sound over again at the same time,
+but it passed beyond and another came in its stead.
+
+All night I listened with my ear pressed to the instrument. I heard the
+polished, well-studied compliments, the rustle of silks, and the quick
+music of the dance at some banquet. I could almost see the brilliant
+robes and glittering jewels of the waltzers, and the sheen of light, and
+the mirrors. But hush! a cry, a stifled moan. Was that at the——No, the
+music and the rustle of silk were gone.
+
+“Mother, put your hand here,—I am tired, and my head feels hot and
+strange. Is it night, already, that it has grown so dark? I am resting
+now, for my book is almost done, and then, mother, we can go back to the
+dear old home where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles are
+heavy with perfume. And, mother, we will never be poor any more. I know
+you are weary, for your cheeks are pale and your fingers are thin; but
+they shall not touch a needle then, and you will grow better, mother,
+and we will forget these long, long, bitter years. I will not write in
+the evenings then, but sit with you and watch the twilight fade as we
+used to do, and listen to the murmur of the frogs. I described the
+little stream, our little stream, mother, in my book.—Hark! I hear the
+splash of its waves now. Hold me by the hand tight, mother. I am tired,
+but we are almost there. See! the house glimmers white through the
+trees, and the red bird has built its nest again in the cedar. Put your
+arm around me, mother, mother—”
+
+Then single, echoless, the mother’s piercing cry went up—“O my God!”
+
+Great Heaven! It would not always be music that I should hear. Into this
+ear, where all the world poured its tales, sorrow and suffering and
+death would come in turn with mirth and gladness.
+
+I listened again. The long-drawn ahoy!—ahoy!—of the sailor rang out in
+slumbrous musical monotone, now free, now muffled—gone. The gleeful
+laugh of children at play, then the drunken boisterous shout of the
+midnight reveler—What was that? A chime of bells, strange, sublime,
+swimming in the air they made a cold, solemn harmony. But even over them
+dashed the storm-blast of passion that sweeps continually up and down
+the earth, and the harmony that bound them in peace broke up in a wild,
+angry clamor, that set loose shrill screams which were swallowed up in a
+savage tumult of discord, like a mad carnival of yelling demons. Then,
+as if terrified by their own fiendish rage, they retreated shivering,
+remorseful, and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers about the gray
+belfry. It was the Carillonneur, Matthias Vander Gheyn, playing at
+Louvain on the first of July, 1745.
+
+Yes, my invention had proved a grand success. I had worked and worked in
+order to give this instrument to the world; but now when it was
+finished, strange to say, all my ambition, all my desire for fame left
+me, and I was anxious only to guard it from discovery, to keep it
+secret, to keep it more jealously than a miser hoards his gold. An
+undefinable delight filled my soul that I alone out of all humanity
+possessed this treasure, this great Ear of the World, for which kings
+might have given up their thrones. Ah! they dreamed not of the wonders I
+could relate. It was a keen, intense pleasure to see the public for
+which I had toiled live on, deaf forever save to the few transient
+sounds of the moment, while I, their slave, reveled in another world
+above, beyond their’s. But they should never have this instrument; no,
+not for kingdoms would I give it up, not for life itself.
+
+It exerted a strange fascination over me, and in my eager desire to
+preserve my secret a tormenting fear suddenly took possession of me that
+some one might track me to the tower and discover all. It seemed as if
+the people looked after me with curious faces as I passed. I went no
+longer on the main road that led to the church, but, when I left my
+room, took an opposite direction until out of sight, and then made a
+circuit across the fields. I lived in a continual fear of betraying
+myself, so that at night I closed my window and door lest I might talk
+aloud in my sleep. I could never again bear the irksome duties of my
+office, and when the college reopened I gave up my situation and took
+lodgings in town. Still the dread of detection haunted me. Every day I
+varied my route to the church, and every day the people seemed to stare
+at me with a more curious gaze. Occasionally some of my old pupils came
+to visit me, but they appeared constrained in my presence and were soon
+gone. However, no one seemed to suspect my secret; perhaps all this was
+merely the work of my imagination, for I had grown watchful and
+reticent.
+
+I hardly ate or slept. I lived perpetually in the past listening to the
+echoing song of the Alpine shepherd; the rich, uncultivated soprano of
+the Southern slave making strange wild melody. I heard grand organ
+fugues rolling, sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in awe, while a
+choir of voices broke into a gloria that seemed to sway the great
+cathedral. The thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang again,
+making my listening soul tremble in their magnificent harmony. It was
+music of which we could not dream.
+
+Then suddenly I determined to try the opera once more; perhaps I was
+prejudiced: I had not been inside of a concert-room for more than a
+year.
+
+I went down to London. It was just at the opening of the season. I could
+hardly wait that evening until the curtain rose; the orchestra was harsh
+and discordant, the house hot and disagreeable, the gas painfully
+bright. My restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch before the prima
+donna made her appearance. Surely that voice was not the one before
+which the world bowed! Malibran’s song stood out in my memory clearly
+defined and complete, like a magnificent cathedral of pure marble, with
+faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings, where the minarets
+rose from wreaths of lilies and vine-leaves cut in bas-relief, and the
+slender spire shot high, glittering yellow in the upper sunlight, its
+golden arrow, burning like flame, pointing towards the East. But this
+prima donna built only a flat, clumsy structure of wood ornamented by
+gaudily painted lattice. I left the opera amid the deafening applause of
+the audience with a smile of scorn upon my lips. Poor deluded creatures!
+they knew nothing of music, they knew not what they were doing.
+
+I went to St. Paul’s on the Sabbath. There was no worship in the
+operatic voluntary sung by hired voices; it did not stir my soul, and
+their cold hymns did not warm with praise to the Divine Creator, or sway
+the vast pulseless congregation that came and went without one quickened
+breath.
+
+All this time I felt a singular, inexpressible pleasure in the
+consciousness of my great secret, and I hurried back with eager haste.
+In London I had accidentally met two or three of my old acquaintances. I
+was not over glad to see them myself: as I have said, I had grown
+utterly indifferent to society; but I almost felt ashamed when they
+offered me every attention within their power, for I had not anticipated
+it, nor was it deserved on my part. Now, when I returned, every body in
+the street stopped to shake hands with me and inquire for my health. At
+first, although I was surprised at the interest they manifested, I took
+it merely as the common civility on meeting, but when the question was
+repeated so particularly by each one, I thought it appeared strange, and
+asked if they had ever heard to the contrary; no, oh no, they said, but
+still I was astonished at the unusual care with which they all made the
+same inquiry.
+
+I went up to my room and walked directly to the glass. It was the first
+time I had consciously looked into a mirror for many weeks. Good
+Heavens! The mystery was explained now. _I could hardly recognize
+myself._ At first the shock was so great that I stood gazing, almost
+petrified. The demon of typhus fever could not have wrought a more
+terrific change in my face if he had held it in his clutches for months.
+My hair hung in long straggling locks around my neck. I was thin and
+fearfully haggard. My eyes sunken far back in my head, looked out from
+dark, deep hollows; my heavy black eyebrows were knit together by
+wrinkles that made seams over my forehead; my fleshless cheeks clung
+tight to the bone, and a bright red spot on either one was half covered
+by thick beard. I had thought so little about my personal appearance
+lately that I had utterly neglected my hair, and I wondered now that it
+had given me no annoyance. I smiled while I still looked at myself. This
+was the effect of the severe study and loss of sleep, and the excitement
+under which I had labored for months, yes, for more than a year. I had
+not been conscious of fatigue, but my work was done now and I would soon
+regain my usual weight. I submitted myself immediately to the hands of a
+barber, dressed with considerable care, and took another look in the
+glass. My face appeared pinched and small since it had been freed from
+beard. The caverns around my eyes seemed even larger, and the bright
+color in my cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely sallow tint
+of my complexion. I turned away with an uncomfortable feeling, and
+started on a circuitous route to the church, for I never trusted my
+instrument in any other place.
+
+It was a sober autumn day. Every thing looked dreary with that cold,
+gray, sunless sky stretched overhead. The half-naked trees shivered a
+little in their seared garments of ragged leaves. Occasionally a cat
+walked along the fence-top, or stood trembling on three legs. Sometimes
+a depressed bird suddenly tried to cheer its drooping spirits and
+uttered a few sharp, discontented chirps. Just in front of me two boys
+were playing ball on the roadside. As I passed I accidentally caught
+this sentence:
+
+“They say the professor ain’t just right in his head.”
+
+For a moment I stood rooted to the ground; then wheeled round and cried
+out fiercely, “What did you say?”
+
+“Sir?”
+
+“What was that you said just now?” I repeated still more fiercely.
+
+The terrified boys looked at me an instant, then without answering
+turned and ran as fast as fright could carry them.
+
+So the mystery now was really explained! It was not sick the people
+thought me, but crazy. I walked on with a queer feeling and began
+vaguely to wonder why I had been so savage to those boys. The fact which
+I had learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock, but it was nothing
+to me. What did I care, even if the people did think me crazy? Ah!
+perhaps if I told my secret they would consider it a desperate case of
+insanity. But the child’s words kept ringing in my ears until an idea
+flashed upon me more terrifying than death itself. How did I know that I
+was _not_ insane? How did I know that my great invention might be only
+an hallucination of my brain?
+
+Instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded up like ghostly witnesses to
+affright me. I had studied myself to a shadow; my pallid face, with the
+red spots on the cheeks and the blue hollows around the eyes, came
+before my mental vision afresh. The fever in my veins told me I was
+unnaturally excited. I had not slept a sound, dreamless sleep for weeks.
+Perhaps in the long, long days and nights my brain, like my body, had
+been overwrought; perhaps in my eager desire to succeed, in my desperate
+determination, the power of my will had disordered my mind, and it was
+all deception: the sounds, the music I had heard, merely the creation of
+my diseased fancy, and the instrument I had handled useless metal. The
+very idea was inexpressible torture to me. I could not bear that a
+single doubt of its reality should exist; but, after once entering my
+head, how would I ever be able to free myself from distrust? I could not
+do it; I would be obliged to live always in uncertainty. It was
+maddening: now I felt as if I might have struck the child in my rage if
+I could have found him. Then suddenly it occurred to me, for the first
+time, that my invention could easily be tested by some other person.
+Almost instantly I rejected the thought, for it would compel me to
+betray my secret, and in my strange infatuation I would rather have
+destroyed the instrument. But the doubts of my sanity on this subject
+returned upon me with tenfold strength, and again I thought in despair
+of the only method left me by which they could ever be settled.
+
+In the first shock, when the unlucky sentence fell upon my ear, I had
+turned after the boys, and then walked on mechanically towards the town.
+Now, when I looked up I found myself almost at the college gate. No one
+was to be seen, only Mother Flinse with her basket on her arm was just
+raising the latch. Half bewildered I turned hastily round and bent my
+steps in the direction of my lodgings, while I absently wondered whether
+that old woman had stood there ever since, since—when? I did not
+recollect, but her shadow was long and slim—no, there were no shadows
+this afternoon; it was sunless.
+
+As I reached the stairs leading to my room, my trouble, which I had
+forgotten for the moment, broke upon me anew. I dragged myself up and
+sat down utterly overwhelmed. As I have said, I would sooner destroy the
+instrument than give it to a thankless world; but to endure the
+torturing doubt of its reality was impossible. Suddenly it occurred to
+me that Mother Flinse was mute. I might get her to test my invention
+without fear of betrayal, for she could neither speak nor write, and her
+signs on this subject, if she attempted to explain, would be altogether
+unintelligible to others. I sprang up in wild delight, then immediately
+fell back in my chair with a hoarse laugh—Mother Flinse was _deaf_ as
+well as dumb. I had not remembered that. I sat quietly a moment trying
+to calm myself and think. Why need this make any difference? The
+instrument ought to, at least it was possible that it might, remedy loss
+of hearing. I too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it made
+audible. They would have to be magnified to a greater degree for her. I
+might set it for the present and use the full power of the instrument:
+there certainly would be no harm in trying, at any rate, and if it
+failed it would prove nothing, if it did not fail it would prove every
+thing. Then a new difficulty presented itself. How could I entice the
+old woman into the church?
+
+I went back towards the college expecting to find her, but she was
+nowhere to be seen, and I smiled that only a few moments ago I had
+wondered if she did not always stand in the gateway. Once, I could not
+exactly recall the time, I had passed her hut. I remembered distinctly
+that there was a line full of old ragged clothes stretched across from
+the fence to a decayed tree, and a bright red flannel petticoat blew and
+flapped among the blackened branches. It was a miserable frame cabin,
+set back from the Spring road, about half a mile out of town. There I
+went in search of her.
+
+The blasted tree stood out in bold relief against the drab sky. There
+appeared no living thing about the dirty, besmoked hovel except one lean
+rat, that squatted with quivering nose and stared a moment, then
+retreated under the loose plank before the door, leaving its smellers
+visible until I stepped upon the board. I knocked loudly without
+receiving any reply; then, smiling at the useless ceremony I had
+performed, pushed it open. The old woman, dressed in her red petticoat
+and a torn calico frock, with a faded shawl drawn over her head, was
+standing with her back towards me, picking over a pile of rags. She did
+not move. I hesitated an instant, then walked in. The moment I put my
+foot upon the floor she sprang quickly round. At first she remained
+motionless, with her small, piercing gray eyes fixed upon me, holding a
+piece of orange-and-black spotted muslin; evidently she recognized me,
+for, suddenly dropping it, she began a series of wild gestures, grinning
+until all the wrinkles of her skinny face converged in the region of her
+mouth, where a few scattered teeth, long and sharp, gleamed strangely
+white. A rim of grizzled hair stood out round the edge of the turbaned
+shawl and set off the withered and watchful countenance of the
+speechless old crone. The yellow, shriveled skin hung loosely about her
+slim neck like leather, and her knotted hands were brown and dry as the
+claws of an eagle.
+
+I went through the motion of sweeping and pointed over my shoulder,
+making her understand that I wished her to do some cleaning. She drew
+the seams of her face into a new grimace by way of assent, and, putting
+the piece of orange-and-black spotted muslin around her shoulders in
+lieu of a cloak, preceded me out of the door. She started immediately in
+the direction of the college, and I was obliged to take hold of her
+before I could attract her attention; then, when I shook my head, she
+regarded me in surprise, and fell once more into a series of frantic
+gesticulations. With considerable trouble I made her comprehend that she
+was merely to follow me. The old woman was by no means dull, and her
+small, steel-gray eyes had a singular sharpness about them that is only
+found in the deaf-mute, where they perform the part of the ear and
+tongue. As soon as we came in sight of the church she was perfectly
+satisfied. I walked up to the main entrance, turned the knob and shook
+it, then suddenly felt in all my pockets, shook the door over, and felt
+through all my pockets again. This hypocritical pantomime had the
+desired effect. The old beldam slapped her hands together and poked her
+lean finger at the hole of the lock, apparently amused that I had
+forgotten the key. Then of her own accord she went round and tried the
+other doors, but without success. As we passed the narrow window in the
+rear I made a violent effort in knocking out the loose boards. The old
+woman seemed greatly delighted, and when I crawled through willingly
+followed. I gave her a brush, which fortunately one day I had discovered
+lying in the vestibule, and left her in the church to dust, while I went
+up in the tower to prepare and remove from sight all the tools which
+were scattered about. I put them in a recess and screened it from view
+by a map of the Holy Land. Then I took my instrument and carefully
+adjusted it, putting on its utmost power.
+
+In about an hour I went down and motioned to Mother Flinse that I wanted
+her up stairs. She came directly after me without hesitation, and I felt
+greatly relieved, for I saw that I would likely have no trouble with the
+old woman. When we got into the tower she pointed down to the trees and
+then upward, meaning, I presume, that it was high. I nodded, and taking
+the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment. A loud blast of music,
+like a dozen bands playing in concert, almost stunned me. She watched me
+very attentively, but when I made signs for her to come and try she drew
+back. I held up the instrument and went through all manner of motions
+indicating that it would not hurt her, but she only shook her head. I
+persevered in my endeavor to coax her until she seemed to gain courage
+and walked up within a few feet of me, then suddenly stopped and
+stretched out her hands for the instrument. As she did not seem afraid,
+provided she had it herself, I saw that she took firm hold.
+
+In my impatience to know the result of this experiment, I was obliged to
+repeat my signs again and again before I could prevail upon her to raise
+it to her ear. Then breathlessly I watched her face, a face I thought
+which looked as if it might belong to some mummy that had been withering
+for a thousand years. Suddenly it was convulsed as if by a galvanic
+shock, then the shriveled features seemed to dilate, and a great light
+flashed through them, transforming them almost into the radiance of
+youth; a strange light as of some seraph had taken possession of the
+wrinkled old frame and looked out at the gray eyes, making them shine
+with unnatural beauty. No wonder the dumb countenance reflected a
+brightness inexpressible, for the Spirit of Sound had just alighted with
+silvery wings upon a silence of seventy years.
+
+A heavy weight fell unconsciously from my breast while I stood almost
+awed before this face, which was transfigured, as if it might have
+caught a glimmer of that mystical morn when, in a moment, in the
+twinkling of an eye, we shall all be changed.
+
+My instrument had stood the test; it was proved forever. I could no
+longer cherish any doubts of its reality, and an indescribable peace
+came into my soul, like a sudden awakening from some frightful dream. I
+had not noticed the flight of time. A pale shadow hung already over the
+trees—yes, and under them on the slime-covered stones. Ay! and a heavier
+shadow than the coming night was even then gathering unseen its rayless
+folds. The drab sky had blanched and broken, and the sinking sun poured
+a fading light through its ragged fissures.
+
+The old woman, as if wrapped in an enchantment, had hardly moved. I
+tried vainly to catch her attention; she did not even appear conscious
+of my presence. I walked up and shook her gently by the shoulder, and,
+pointing to the setting sun, held out my hand for the instrument. She
+looked at me a moment, with the singular unearthly beauty shining
+through every feature; then suddenly clutching the trumpet tight between
+her skinny claws, sprang backward towards the stairs, uttering a sound
+that was neither human nor animal, that was not a wail or a scream, but
+it fell upon my ears like some palpable horror. Merciful Heaven! Was
+that thing yonder a woman? The shriveled, fleshless lips gaped apart,
+and a small pointed tongue lurked behind five glittering, fang-like
+teeth. The wild beast had suddenly been developed in the hag. Like a
+hungry tigress defending its prey, she stood hugging the trumpet to her,
+glaring at me with stretched neck and green eyes.
+
+A savage fierceness roused within me when I found she would not give up
+the instrument, and I rushed at her with hands ready to snatch back the
+prize I valued more than my life—_or hers_; but, quicker than a hunted
+animal, she turned and fled with it down the stairs, making the tower
+ring with the hideous cries of her wordless voice. Swiftly—it seemed as
+if the danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to fly in pursuit—I
+crossed the vestibule. She was not there. Every thing was silent, and I
+darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of the church, when
+suddenly the jarring idiotic sounds broke loose again, echoing up in the
+organ-pipes and rattling along the galleries. The fiend sprang from
+behind the altar, faced about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming
+teeth, then fled through the vestry-room into the passage. The sight of
+her was fresh fuel to my rage, and it flamed into a frenzy that seemed
+to burn the human element out of my soul. When I gained the steps
+leading into the coal-room she was already in the window, but I cleared
+the distance at a single bound and caught hold of her clothes as she
+leaped down. I crawled through, but she clutched the instrument tighter.
+I could not prize it out of her grasp; and in her ineffectual efforts to
+free herself from my hold she made loud, grating cries, that seemed to
+me to ring and reverberate all through the forest; but presently they
+grew smothered, gurgled, then ceased. Her clasp relaxed in a convulsive
+struggle, and the trumpet was in my possession. It was easily done, for
+her neck was small and lean, and my hands made a circle strong as a
+steel band.
+
+The tremor died out of her frame and left it perfectly still. Through
+the silence I could hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle-weeds, and
+the flapping wings of some night bird fanned my face as it rushed
+swiftly through the air in its low flight. The gray twilight had
+deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to have given up their tenants.
+The pale monuments stood out like shrouded specters. But all the dead in
+that church-yard were not under ground, for on the wet grass at my feet
+there was something stark and stiff, more frightful than any phantom of
+imagination—something that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly
+features. It must be put out of sight, yes, it must be hid, to save my
+invention from discovery. The old hag might be missed, and if she was
+found here it would ruin me and expose my secret. I placed the trumpet
+on the window-ledge, and, carrying the grim burden in my arms, plunged
+into the damp tangle of weeds and grass.
+
+In a lonesome corner far back from the church, in the dense shade of
+thorn-trees, among the wild brambles where poisonous vines grew,
+slippery with the mould of forgotten years, unsought, uncared for by any
+human hand, was a tomb. Its sides were half buried in the tall
+underbrush, and the long slab had been broken once, for a black fissure
+ran zigzag across the middle. In my muscles that night there was the
+strength of two men. I lifted off one-half of the stone and heard the
+lizards dart startled from their haunt, and felt the spiders crawl. When
+the stone was replaced it covered more than the lizards or the spiders
+in the dark space between the narrow walls.
+
+As I have said, the instrument possessed a singular fascination over me.
+I had grown to love it, not alone as a piece of mechanism for the
+transmission of sound, but like a _living_ thing, and I replaced it in
+the tower with the same pleasure one feels who has rescued a friend from
+death. My listening ear never grew weary, but now I drew quickly away.
+It was not music I heard, or the ripple of water, or the prattle of
+merry tongues, but the harsh grating cries that had echoed in the
+church, that had rattled and died out in the forest—that voice which was
+not a voice. I shivered while I readjusted the instrument; perhaps it
+was the night wind which chilled me, but the rasping sounds were louder
+than before. _I could not exclude them._ There was no element of
+superstition in my nature, and I tried it over again: still I heard
+them—sometimes sharp, sometimes only a faint rumbling. Had the soul of
+the deaf-mute come in retribution to haunt me and cry eternally in my
+instrument? Perhaps on the morrow it would not disturb me, but there was
+no difference. I could hear only it, though I drew out the trumpet for
+vibrations hundreds of years old. I had rid myself of the withered hag
+who would have stolen my treasure, but now I could not rid myself of her
+invisible ghost. She had conquered, even through death, and come from
+the spirit world to gain possession of the prize for which she had given
+up her life. The instrument was no longer of any value to me, though
+cherishing a vague hope I compelled myself to listen, even with
+chattering teeth; for it was a terrible thing to hear these hoarse,
+haunting cries of the dumb soul—of the soul I had strangled from its
+body, a soul which I would have killed itself if it were possible. But
+my hope was vain, and the trumpet had become not only worthless to me,
+but an absolute horror.
+
+Suddenly I determined to destroy it. I turned it over ready to dash it
+in pieces, but it cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life, and
+while I stood irresolute a small green-and-gold beetle crawled out of it
+and dropped like a stone to the floor. The insect was an electric flash
+to me, that dispelled the black gloom through which I had been battling.
+It had likely fallen into the instrument down in the church-yard, or
+when I laid it upon the window-sill, and the rasping of its wings,
+magnified, had produced the sounds which resembled the strange grating
+noise uttered by the deaf-mute.
+
+Instantly I put the trumpet to my ear. Once more the music of the past
+surged in. Voices, leaves, water, all murmured to me their changeful
+melody; every zephyr wafting by was filled with broken but melodious
+whispers.
+
+Relieved from doubts, relieved from fears and threatening dangers, I
+slept peacefully, dreamlessly as a child. With a feeling of rest to
+which I had long been unused, I walked out in the soft clear morning.
+Every thing seemed to have put on new life, for the sky was not gray or
+sober, and the leaves, if they were brown, trimmed their edges in
+scarlet, and if many had fallen, the squirrels played among them on the
+ground. But suddenly the sky and the leaves and the squirrels might have
+been blotted from existence. I did not see them, but I saw—_I saw Mother
+Flinse come through the college gateway and walk slowly down the road!_
+
+The large faded shawl pinned across her shoulders nearly covered the red
+flannel petticoat, and the orange-and-black spotted muslin was wrapped
+into a turban on her head. Without breathing, almost without feeling, I
+watched the figure until at the corner it turned out of sight, and a
+long dark outline on the grass behind it ran into the fence. The shadow!
+Then it was not a ghost. Had the grave given up its dead? I would see.
+
+At the church-yard the briers tore my face and clothes, but I plunged
+deeper where the shade thickened under the thorn-trees. There in the
+corner I stooped to lift the broken slab of a tomb, but all my strength
+would not avail to move it. As I leaned over, bruising my hands in a
+vain endeavor to raise it, my eyes fell for an instant on the stone, and
+with a start I turned quickly and ran to the church; then I stopped—the
+narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the slab on the tomb was filled
+with green moss, and this window was nailed up, and hung full of heavy
+cobwebs.
+
+And my instrument?
+
+Suddenly, while I stood there, some substance in my brain seemed to
+break up—it was the fetters of monomania which had bound me since that
+evening long ago, when, by the river in the oak-forest, I had heard the
+robin trill.
+
+No murder stained my soul: and there, beside the black waves of insanity
+through which I had passed unharmed, I gave praise to the great
+Creator—praise silent, but intense as Miriam’s song by the sea.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         THE PATHS OF THE SEA.
+
+
+Around the porch there hung that day a crimson glory. It was the
+climbing rose about the door displaying its gorgeous bloom in a thousand
+crowns. Green, grass-green were the hills, but in front of the house the
+cliff fell abruptly, with a precipitous drop, to the sea. On either side
+the waving coast-line stretched away, a shining belt of yellow sand.
+There the breakers with unfurled banners of fleece followed each other
+in a never ending procession to the shore. But at the foot the billows,
+by day and night running in forever, dashed against the rock and chopped
+to a seething foam that threw up in one continual briny shower its white
+and glittering spray.
+
+The surf at this point, even in pleasant weather, sounded a constant
+roar, and in times of storm it increased to a deafening thunder that
+appalled the ear and made the heart tremble before the sea in its savage
+ferocity. Looking off to the right, perhaps the greater part of a mile
+distant, the harbor discovered itself, blue, bluer than the sky. A few
+vessels that had grown mysteriously upon the empty horizon, and come in
+over the vast waste of waters, were idly lying at anchor, each one
+biding her time to spread her sails in the breeze and recede upon her
+lonely course, going, as she had come, like some spirit of solitude,
+dropping down silently beyond the remote sea-reaches. There the Nereid
+swung herself gently over the long ground-swell, patiently awaiting the
+coming night when again to take up her watery track that would carry her
+over the great Atlantic to other lands and far-off harbors. Not a
+trimmer ship sailed the high seas.
+
+The sun had traveled almost down the western slope, and it lit up the
+mighty ocean with a splendor that burned in lances of flame along the
+waves, and floated in myriad rainbows over the surf. The pomp of the
+departing day passed across the boundless waters, a magnificent
+pageantry. As the sun went down, the sky became a scarlet canopy. The
+flying spray took up the color and spread out a thousand streamers to
+the wind. Long, gold-green lanes of sea ran out to where the distant
+mists let down their gorgeous drapery. The tireless gulls, shaking the
+red light from their wings, sailed and sailed and dipped and sailed
+again. A few fishing smacks loitered in the orange haze, and, leagues
+away, a single sloop in the humid north stood, like some wan
+water-wraith, with a garland of foam about its feet. Eastward, above the
+hills, the waiting moon hung her helmet, paler than pearl, and the land,
+transfigured by the evening light, looked on while the sea in its play
+flashed up a hundred hues.
+
+The widow Aber had lived there on the cliff and seen the tides ebb and
+flow for more now than the quarter of a century. She was not a young
+girl when, twenty-six years back, poor Jacob Aber had married her. It
+was a sudden fancy on his part and a great surprise to the place, for
+Jacob was well on towards fifty, and many a girl had set her cap to
+catch the handsome sailor in vain. But he never rued his bargain. He was
+not a rich man, because he had always been a generous man, and he was
+content with enough merely to bring him in a modest living. When he
+married he took what little he had and built this cottage, built it of
+brick good and strong, where he could feel the salt wind blow, right in
+the face of the sea—the sea that, until he met Miriam Drew with her soft
+gray eyes, he had loved better than every thing else in all the wide
+world.
+
+They were happy and prosperous for four long years. First a son, then a
+daughter had come to brighten their home, and it was on just such an
+evening as this that Miriam, holding her infant child in her arms, told
+Jacob good-bye two-and-twenty years ago.
+
+It would be his last cruise, he said. The vessel was his own, and in
+twelve months, or less, he would come back rich enough to stay always,
+and if the tears were in his voice he choked them down bravely, saying
+again it was but for a little while he should be gone, and she must
+cheer up for the long and happy years that would come after.
+
+Then she suddenly laid down her child and with a smothered sob put up
+her arms about his neck. It was the first time she had fairly given way,
+and she clung to him trembling violently, but uttering not one word. He
+smoothed her brow gently, with a caressing touch, for her sake keeping
+his own grief crushed within his heart, and said,—
+
+“Miriam don’t you remember once saying you could always tell a sailor by
+the dreamy far-off look in his eyes, an expression that came only to
+those that lived upon the sea and watched its wide, wide fields? And
+don’t you remember sometimes when I was sitting quietly at home you
+would come up suddenly and ask me what it was I saw miles and miles
+away, over the summer water, in that distant sunny land? Well, do not
+cry so, for even when my ship has vanished from your sight, when on
+every side there is no trace of shore, I can stand upon her deck and
+look beyond the far horizon at our peaceful, happy home. And when at
+evening, with your eyes upon the sea, you sit and hold the children in
+your lap, remember I will be watching you from across its glittering
+line. There, that is right! You are a good, brave girl! It is but for a
+little while. I can look beyond this parting—I can see your waiting face
+turn radiant as my boat sails safely back!”
+
+Then, when he had kissed her and the little ones, and turned and kissed
+them again, there was a faint smile struggling through her tears. So,
+striving to keep down her grief, she parted without saying one word of
+the terrible dread that lay upon her heart.
+
+And two-and-twenty years ago he had sailed away.
+
+Many days, many nights, many weeks, many months, Miriam had watched the
+sea with wistful eyes. For his sake she had very nearly grown to love
+it, and the color came again to her cheeks as the time went by and the
+year was almost up, when it would give back forever the one she valued
+more than life. In those days she scanned the water-line, and waited
+patiently, and went about the house singing. She chattered to her
+baby-daughter all how its father was sailing home, until it laughed and
+cooed in wild delight. Every morning she dressed little Tommy in his
+best, and tied about his waist the beautiful sea-green sash that Jacob
+had brought her from the distant Indies; and in the queer frosted vases
+on the mantel, that had come from some foreign port, she kept a fresh
+bouquet of sweet wild flowers.
+
+But poor Jacob never came back.
+
+Homeward bound, his vessel was wrecked off the treacherous Newfoundland
+shore. A storm drove her helpless, enshrouded in fog, against the rocks
+where she foundered, and captain and crew went down together. Only two
+men escaped from the terrible disaster.
+
+When the dreadful news came and they told Miriam as they met her on the
+porch, she made no reply. She did not moan or scream. She only looked
+out for a moment at the deceitful sea, smiling in its sheen of a
+thousand tints, then turned and went into the house and shut the door.
+
+She had always been a strange woman, and they left her to bear her grief
+alone. She asked nobody’s sympathy, she did not complain, she never
+spoke of Jacob. She did not, as the people had expected, sell her house.
+She made no change so far as the world could see, only that she held
+herself, if possible, more aloof from society than ever. But before
+three months had gone by they noticed that her brown and shining hair
+had turned white, and her gray eyes showed half concealed within their
+depths an unfathomed trouble. Then too, her figure, once erect and
+straight as a dart, grew bent and stooped across the shoulders, and
+nothing ever brought the color to her face any more that was always pale
+and thin. Otherwise, however, there appeared no difference. She lived
+economically, and sometimes took in a small amount of fine sewing, as,
+beside the house, she had little else, for the sea when it buried her
+husband had buried his earnings also in the same watery grave.
+
+She staid at home and watched the children in whom her life was now
+wholly bound up. They were her world, her all. She seemed to find in
+them her very existence, and after the queer frosted vases on the mantel
+had stood empty for years, their young hands filled them again with
+sweet wild flowers. So the house once more was bright and sunny, and,
+though Miriam herself never sang, Hannah’s voice was clear and happy.
+
+Hannah had grown up the very picture of her mother when in her early
+girlhood, but young Tom was like his father. He was like his father in
+more respects than one, and while still a boy the people said he too
+will prove a sailor. They were right; though Miriam had struggled
+against it and watched over him with an absorbing care. She saw again
+developed in him the same wild fascination for the sea. She knew its
+strength and that it must prevail, and when he came and begged so hard,
+with the well remembered far-off look in his eyes, she felt all
+opposition would be vain.
+
+She did not reproach herself that she had lived upon the coast and
+played with him upon the beach, for something in her heart told her that
+it could have been no different, even had she raised him up in another
+place where the sound of the sea would not have been always in his ears.
+She recognized in this fatal love the heritage he had received from his
+father. The thought that it could be eradicated, that he would ever be
+satisfied with any thing else she knew to be hopeless, and so the widow
+had given up, and he had gone at fourteen to seek his fortune, like his
+father before him, a sailor on the high seas.
+
+Now, ten years later, and two-and-twenty years since poor Jacob had
+started on his fateful cruise, young Tom was ready for his fourth
+voyage. He had climbed unaided several steps up the ladder in his
+calling, and the Nereid, waiting down in the harbor would carry him in a
+few hours, her first mate, out upon her long two years’ absence. It was
+a great lift to him, for, besides his promotion, Luke Denin, who this
+time commanded the ship, had been his early friend. There was but little
+difference in their age. They had been boys together, and together they
+had explored the shore for miles and fished for days, and they had
+rambled the hills and the woods over; so, as young Tom said, it would be
+just as good for him as if he commanded the Nereid himself.
+
+When he told his mother this she had only patted him on the head, and
+said in a choked voice,—“My little sailor boy!”
+
+The widow Aber, ever since her son took to following the sea, had been
+gradually breaking. From that time her health, heretofore always strong
+and robust, began perceptibly to decline. The people noticed it, but
+then she told them that she was getting old—how could they expect a
+woman well up into the sixties to be as active as a girl, and besides
+this she had the rheumatism. So she was constantly excusing her
+feebleness with anxious care, as if she feared they might attribute it
+to some other cause than age.
+
+This evening she was even weaker than usual, though she did not
+acknowledge it, but sitting at the supper table her hands trembled so
+badly that the cups and saucers rattled a little as she served the tea.
+Miriam, whose life had been one constant struggle, was struggling still.
+No wonder the widow was proud of her son, her only son. Her gray eyes,
+beautiful as in her youth, would wander to him again and again, and rest
+upon his face with a strange, yearning expression, but whenever he
+turned to her she would drop them quickly and move a little nervously in
+her chair, striving to conceal, as she had done so many years ago, the
+burden of grief that lay at her heart.
+
+It was a pleasant party to look at, for Luke Denin too was there, and
+the young people carefully avoided any allusion to the separation before
+them. Tom, always gay and happy, was more than handsome in his sailor’s
+dress, with the bronze of the tropical sun upon his face. And Luke, if
+he was not so tall by half a head, and if his hair, instead of being
+black and crisp with waves, was light and straight, had at least as
+honest and frank a pair of deep blue eyes as Hannah cared to see—not
+that Hannah looked at them, for she looked only at her plate, and once
+in a while anxiously at her mother. Young Tom was evidently determined
+that this last meal at home should not be a sorrowful one, as he kept up
+the conversation in his liveliest mood. He told wonderful tales in such
+an absurd vein of exaggeration, that sometimes it even called up a smile
+on the widow’s face; and when the meal was over he picked her up
+playfully in his strong arms and carried her out upon the porch. There
+together they all watched the moonlight gradually show itself out of the
+dissolving day, in long paths across the water. Then the hour came to
+say good-bye.
+
+It was a desperate battle for Miriam, as she clung to her son in that
+parting moment. Then it was, for the first time, that something in her
+face went to the man’s inmost heart like a chill. She was old and frail,
+and his absence would be long, perhaps he might never look upon her
+again. In his wild fascination for the sea, was he not sacrificing her?
+The anguish of the thought overcame him. Had it been possible then he
+would have given up this voyage and staid at home, but it was too late
+now, and when he had turned for a moment, and with a strong effort
+fought his grief under control, he said gently,—
+
+“No, no! Do not be so distressed, mother! It is all for the best; and
+when I come back this time, mother, I will never leave you any more.”
+
+But Miriam, thinking of that other parting so long ago, remembered that
+Jacob, too, had said when he came back he would never leave her any
+more, and with a half suppressed cry she clasped her hands tighter about
+his neck.
+
+“O, my son, you will come back! Only promise me you will come back, and
+I can wait patiently and long!”
+
+There was a wild energy in her voice that frightened him, as she went on
+hurriedly with an accent he had never heard till then,—
+
+“Once before, with this same dread at my heart, I parted two-and-twenty
+years ago, but I let _him_ go without saying a word. I waited patiently.
+I even sang and tried to be happy. As the time went by I laughed as I
+thought how pleased he would be when he saw how his children had grown.
+I tied about your waist a sash of his favorite color, that he had
+brought me from the distant Indies, and I kept every thing in readiness
+for—what? They came and told me that he had gone down at sea—No, no; do
+not interrupt me. I let him go without saying a word. I must speak this
+time!”
+
+She paused for a moment as if waiting until her excitement had calmed,
+and with her trembling hand put back the hair from his forehead, then
+went on unsteadily in a tone but little louder than a whisper,—
+
+“You have the same dreamy far-off look in your eyes. I know you must go
+my child, I know you can not resist—but when your father left he said it
+would be only for a little while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty
+years.”
+
+There was another moment of silence, as though her thoughts had gone
+back over that long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice, she went on
+once more, calling him again unconsciously by the name she had used when
+he was a little child,—
+
+“Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not
+say it, I can not bear it! You will come back, you must come back to
+me!”
+
+A wild terror had crept into her face, then she broke down completely.
+
+“There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I did not used to be so foolish.
+Do not mind me. I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not strong any
+more, but—I can wait again—”
+
+“Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,” he said, drawing his arm close
+about her, “how peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love it better
+than any thing else in the whole world. It has always been gentle to
+me—you need not fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if you can only
+wait.”
+
+Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as he added the last words, and
+when Miriam, anxious to atone for her past weakness, said quickly,—
+
+“Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made her repeat it. Then rallying
+himself he went on gaily,—
+
+“Why, I will come back, mother, I will come back so grand and rich that
+you shall be three times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And I will
+take care of you always then. But, mother,” he said, the choking
+sensation coming again in his throat,—“promise that you will not worry
+about me while I am gone, or I shall never be happy, not even in any of
+the beautiful lands I will see—won’t you promise me, mother? Promise me
+that you will wait patiently, promise me that—that you will not give
+up—”
+
+“Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come back, I can wait again—I can
+even wait a long while.”
+
+“It will not be so very long! why the time will slip by, and almost
+before you know it you will find me standing beside you here again, when
+I mean you to be so proud of me that it will well nigh turn my head.”
+
+“Ah, Tommy, you know I am proud of you now, so proud of you, that
+sometimes it fairly frightens me, and I dare not think of it.”
+
+“Heaven knows,” he said, all the gay sound dying from his voice, as,
+stricken with remorse, he remembered the many times he had left her with
+no thought beyond the parting moment, “I’m not much to be proud of, but,
+mother—” taking up her thin hand and passing it over his face, once more
+driven to the last extremity to command his voice—“you and Nan are all I
+have on earth to care for me, and out in midocean, or in the far-off
+foreign ports, your love, like a constant prayer to keep me from harm,
+will be with me always. When I am at home once more I am going to be a
+good boy to you, mother. Nothing, not even the sea, shall ever part us
+again.”
+
+“You have always been a good boy to me, Tommy—I only thought—I was
+afraid that—O never mind, I can wait for you, Tommy. I do not feel so
+nervous now.”
+
+“There, that is right! We will meet again, mother, and then we will be
+very, very happy.”
+
+He kissed her yearningly, reverentially. It seemed as if he stood awed
+before the heart that for a moment had disclosed itself in its most
+silent depths, and in that moment there had been revealed to him, with
+all its overwhelming strength, that divine love which is mightier than
+life. It seemed as if now, for the first time, and almost blinded by the
+revelation, he saw—his mother.
+
+After a little silence, taking her face between his hands, he said,
+gently,—
+
+“Mother, I want to see you smile once more before I go.”
+
+“I will wait for you, Tommy,” she said again.
+
+“And I will surely come back.”
+
+When Miriam looked up there was a faint smile struggling through her
+tears, as there had been once before, two-and-twenty years in the past.
+Then he was gone.
+
+Down by the gate Hannah stood, trying to hide in the shadow of the great
+honeysuckle the new shy beauty on her face that had been called there by
+the kiss of warmer lips than the gentle sea-breeze.
+
+“Good-bye, Nan,” said Tom, unsuspiciously, throwing his arms about her
+in his rough brotherly embrace,—“why how you are trembling! You are not
+going to cry? Don’t, I can’t stand it!”
+
+“No, no,” came uncertainly in a helpless voice, evidently, in her wild
+conflict of emotion, not knowing exactly what she was going to do.
+
+“There, that’s right! Don’t cry, or I’ll—I’ll break down too!” said Tom,
+hoarsely, fairly strangling in his throat, and almost worn out by the
+strain he had undergone.
+
+Hannah, surprised, raised her face, but Tom had already got the better
+of himself. “How your eyes shine to-night, Nan; I did not know how
+pretty you were before!” Down went her head again immediately, and
+changing his voice he said, with a sigh,—“Nannie, there ain’t many
+fellows that have as good a mother and sister as mine; you won’t forget
+me while I’m gone, or get tired waiting? I’ve been a worthless, roving
+chap; I’ve never been of much comfort to you or mother, but when I come
+back next time, I’m going to stay at home a while. Look up now and tell
+me you are glad.”
+
+“O, Tom, I am! You don’t know how glad I am, if it was only for mother’s
+sake.”
+
+Then, turning his head away to hide the anguish that had come over his
+face, he asked, slowly, trying rather ineffectually to keep his voice
+natural,—“You don’t think, Nan, any thing will happen to her while I am
+gone?”
+
+“What do you mean?” said Hannah, struck by the awe in his tone.
+
+“I mean,” he said, unwilling to trouble his sister by the thought that
+had so oppressed him, and speaking gaily again: “I mean that you must be
+a good girl, and keep up mother’s spirits, but don’t get so used to my
+absence, that neither of you will care when I come back.”
+
+“O, Tom!”
+
+“Come out into the moonlight where I can see you. I’m dreadfully proud
+of you, Nan, because you don’t take on like other girls. You see I
+couldn’t have stood it!” said Tom, in a frightfully uncertain state of
+mind, as to whether it was possible to swallow the lump in his throat.
+“I’m going now. Be good to mother, you know she’s—she’s not very
+strong—Have you told Captain Denin good-bye?”
+
+“No, she hasn’t. Not yet. I thought I’d let you do it first; but you’ll
+tell me good-bye now, until I come back never to say it again, won’t
+you, Nanine?” said Luke, coming up in his most masterly way, right under
+Tom’s very nose, and almost hiding his sister from view in an embrace
+that this time was neither rough nor brotherly.
+
+“Whew!” gasped Tom, as Hannah came in sight again, with no friendly
+honeysuckle near to conceal the carnation bloom upon her cheeks. “Is
+that the way the wind blows! I’ve been as blind as a bat. Kiss me,
+quick, both of you, or I’m a gone case!”
+
+“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down on the stone there, and recover
+yourself. You’ve said your good-bye, now just wait for me!” said the
+superior officer triumphantly. And Tom, spent, exhausted, sank down; but
+the next instant Hannah had her arms tight about his neck, and was
+hiding her face against the crisp waves of his black hair.
+
+“Tom, dear, you ain’t sorry?”
+
+“No, Nan, I couldn’t have wished for any thing better; but it was so
+sudden, it just kind of knocked the wind out of my sails for a minute.”
+Then, after a pause,—“I say, there’ll be a grand glorification when the
+Nereid comes back, won’t there?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I—I wish it was back now! I don’t know what’s upset me so—There, kiss
+her, Luke, and let’s be off, quick, or I’ll disgrace myself outright,
+before I know it!” and Tom, gulping down great quantities of air with
+all his might, got up from the stone hurriedly, as if he meditated
+making a sudden bolt.
+
+But he did not. He stood there quietly looking out at sea; and when, a
+moment after, the young captain, taking his arm, said, “Come, now I am
+ready,” he started as from a dream. Turning to his sister, with every
+trace of his rollicking manner lost, he said, as though he had not
+spoken of her before,—
+
+“You must take good care of mother—poor mother. Do not let her grieve
+while I am gone. Oh, Hannah, you will be very careful of her, and not
+allow any thing—not allow her to get tired, and tell her always, while
+she waits, that when I am with her again, I will never leave her.”
+
+Then they had passed through the gate and were going rapidly down the
+narrow foot-path to the bottom of the hill. Hannah strained her eyes
+after them, and when at the turn of the road both brother and lover were
+lost to view, still she lingered at the spot pondering over Tom’s
+unwonted emotion. It was not like him. Never before had she seen him so
+singularly affected, and now that he was gone, it came back to her with
+redoubled intensity. The unusual sorrow that had almost choked him, the
+strange tone in his voice that he had tried vainly to conceal, the
+sudden wish that the Nereid was back even now, his repeated charges
+about their mother, all troubled her.
+
+An uneasy feeling of dread oppressed her, she knew not why. The heavy
+perfume of the honeysuckle suddenly make her sick and faint. The tall
+and prickly cedar stood up straight and still, covered on one side with
+a fret-work of silver, on the other clothed with the very gloom of
+darkness, and somewhere from among its shadowy branches a dove, as if
+half wakened out of a dream, stirred, uttered its brooding note, then
+sank again to silence. Hannah had heard the same dove a hundred times
+before, she even knew that there were purple ripples on its neck, but
+this time she started violently and shivered. It seemed as if the summer
+night had suddenly grown cold and chilled her to the heart, and with
+hurried steps she ran back to the house.
+
+The porch was deserted and strangely lonesome when she passed across.
+Even the crimson bloom, with its thousand crowns, looked black through
+the shade, as if it had withered in the hour, and she heard its leaves
+make a weird rustle, like a complaint, as she closed the door. The sense
+of desolation was so strong upon her that she could hardly keep from
+crying out in the solitude, but she went on swiftly to her mother’s
+room, and entered with noiseless feet. A great sigh of relief came to
+her lips when she saw the peaceful face upon the pillow, for Miriam,
+overcome by the reaction, already slept calmly as a child. Hannah sat
+down beside the bed. There was a smile upon her mother’s lips. How long
+she sat there, whether one hour, or two hours, she did not know, but
+when she got up all the tumult in her heart had subsided.
+
+She kissed the sleeping face gently and went quietly up stairs to her
+own room. She threw the shutters open wide, and lo! out upon the sea
+with her wings spread, white as the plumage of a gull, the Nereid!
+Lonely, spirit-like, beyond the reach of voice, she stood upon the
+mighty desert of the ocean. Before her prow the waves held out their
+wreath of down, and above, solitary in the vast moonlit sky, hung the
+royal planet Jupiter. Steady, radiant, it burned like the magic Star in
+the East. Hannah, watching, saw the ship fade away in the far-off
+endless isles of silver mist. A great peace had come to her soul, and
+when she lay down to sleep there was no trouble on her face. Gone, the
+Nereid was gone, but still, even in her dreams, she knew that the star
+in the sky was shining.
+
+Slowly the days came and went. Miriam, yet a little feebler, was bright
+and happy. Never, since that night when she said good-bye, had she
+murmured or uttered a word of complaint. Every thing at the cottage
+glided smoothly on; for Hannah attended to the house, and waited upon
+her mother with an untiring care, but even while she went about
+performing her different duties her eyes, unconsciously, would wander
+off to sea. Often in the afternoon, when the widow nodded in the great
+rocking chair by the window, she would slip away down to the beach, and
+sit there by the hour.
+
+Those were pleasant days to Hannah. Then the sea, clear and calm,
+rounded out, a great circle of splendor, to the horizon; or on its
+surface the giant mists reared themselves, triumphant, in towering
+arches. Perhaps her thoughts went out beyond these mighty phantom
+aisles, seeking always the two loved ones across their portals, over the
+vast and solemn ocean. Sometimes when the sky was warm and the wind blew
+shoreward it seemed to bring faintly the scent of foreign flowers; for
+nearer now to her were those mystical lands where Summer, almighty
+Summer, sat upon an everlasting throne.
+
+Hannah knew every vessel that sailed into port; and sometimes a boat,
+returning, had spoken the Nereid at sea, sometimes at long intervals a
+letter came. Then when for weeks, for months it might be, there was no
+word, no sign, the royal planet, moving in its eternal orbit, hung again
+in the sky, a star of promise. To Hannah, as she watched it night after
+night above the sea, it came as a messenger bearing glad tidings of
+great joy.
+
+So the time waned. The peaceful days passed by and fierce storms broke
+with a savage roar upon the coast. The green upon the hill-sides faded
+out, and the freezing spray encrusted the cliff with ice where the
+wintry sea threw up its bitter brine—and sometimes, farther off upon the
+shelving beach, it threw up more than brine, or stiffened weed. Broken
+spars, dreary fragments of wrecks drifted in, told of the wild
+desolation out upon the hoarse wilderness of beaten waves.
+
+But even those days too passed, and the Spring clothed the land again
+with emerald. More than a year had worn away since the Nereid had faded
+out of the horizon, and presently another Fall set in.
+
+For five months no word had come from the absent wanderers. Still Miriam
+made not the least complaint. Even when the storms lashed the sea, until
+it sent up a roar that made the young girl shiver, the widow evinced no
+anxiety. Had she not promised that she would wait patiently? She talked
+very little, and generally sat quietly by the window from morning till
+evening. But Hannah, saying nothing, had grown heavy-hearted with the
+long silence.
+
+It was November, a dull, dreary day in November. Heavy clouds stretched
+themselves in a somber, leaden sky, that near the water gathered dark
+and frowning. The gray sea, cold and hoarse, uttered eternally its
+hollow roar. But for this it seemed as if a mighty silence would have
+brooded over earth and ocean, a silence vast and dreadful as the grave.
+Dead white, the hungry surf crawled sullenly up the sand. Leagues away
+the fishing smacks all headed to shore, and the gulls were flying
+landward, when Hannah looking out, counted a new sail in the harbor.
+
+Any word to break this long heart-sick watch?
+
+Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her mother sleeping tranquilly in
+the great chair, she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and started
+down the hill. Once at the bottom she slackened her pace a little to
+gain breath. A fine drizzle already blew through the air, and the waters
+running in upon the smooth beach did not rumble with a great noise as at
+the foot of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up endlessly a weary
+lamentation. The damp settled on her hair in minute globules, and
+enveloped all her clothing in its clammy embrace, but she did not heed
+the weather. She never looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she
+hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying, she went on swiftly
+with the one idea absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running,
+half-walking, she never paused until she reached the slippery wharf.
+
+A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So eager was she that she did
+not hear the sudden exclamations, or see the look of pity that had come
+upon more than one rough sunburnt face when she made her appearance; for
+living all her life in the same quiet village many of the sailors knew
+Hannah by sight, many by her gentle manner and kind words, and many a
+sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian angel when sickness and
+poverty had come upon them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing
+with expectation, saw only it was the good ship Bonibird that had come
+to port. Stephen, old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered him
+well. Often when she was a child had he given her curious shells, and
+once he had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater, a tiny,
+live fish that glittered all over with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she
+remembered him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to look for him
+among the groups of sailors, but the old man was already at her side.
+
+Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood there with his cap off,
+shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, and when with an
+exclamation of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it eagerly between
+his rough palms.
+
+“God bless you! God bless you!” broke from his lips in a thick
+utterance; then he dropped her hand nervously, and drawing his breath
+hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face.
+
+“I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she said. “You’ve been gone a long
+time.”
+
+“Yes, you beant so tall then.”
+
+“Is there any news from the Nereid?” she asked eagerly, hardly noticing
+his last reply.
+
+The old man seemed fairly to break out in a violent perspiration. He
+moved again uneasily on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped
+his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve.
+
+“I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’ up, Miss. Those clouds over the
+water do look ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.”
+
+“Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!” she said, impatiently.
+
+“Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in this nasty drizzle.”
+
+“No, no, I don’t care! I want to know if you heard any thing from the
+Nereid. Why don’t you tell me?” an alarm gathering quickly in her voice
+as the first sickening suspicion came over her. “O Stephen,” she said,
+with a terrified cry that fairly frightened the man, “you have, and
+there is something wrong! O the Nereid—the Nereid is not lost! Say it is
+not lost!”
+
+She had caught the man’s arm in her wild excitement, and clung to him
+trembling like a leaf from head to foot.
+
+“Why, no, no!” he said, scared by the girl’s dreadful agitation; “the
+Nereid be all right, she be all right! I didn’t think of sich an idee
+comin’ to you, or I’d a said afore she be all right. Thar beant nothin’
+the matter with her, nothin’, I was aboard o’ her myself—I’m afeard
+it’ll make you sick, Miss, a standin’ here in the drizzle like this, an’
+with nothin’ to keep off the wet,”—trying to appear as if he had settled
+the trouble, but all the time keeping his face turned carefully from
+her.
+
+In the first instant of relief Hannah had let go of his arm and put her
+hands to her head without one word, so intense had been the strain;
+then, looking up suddenly, and drawing a quick breath, she faced round
+to him.
+
+“Stephen, is this the truth that you have told me? You are not deceiving
+me? Is there _nothing_ the matter?”
+
+“Lord, no, Miss, it beant no lie,” but the old sailor hesitated
+painfully while she looked at him, worked his hands nervously about his
+neck, put them irresolutely to his pockets once or twice, till unable to
+stand it any longer, he suddenly made an end to his indecision by
+jerking out a letter, at the same time muttering some half-coherent
+sentence about how it had been given to him for her on board the Nereid.
+
+“O, a letter!” she cried, joyfully, breaking the seal, while her face
+that had been so clouded lighted up radiantly.
+
+As she looked up for a second, with a smile upon her lips, the old
+sailor became more distressed in his manner than ever; and when she
+unfolded the paper he even put out his hand once or twice, as if he
+would have taken it back. Evidently he could not bear to see her read it
+then; he had not thought she would open it there. Troubled, he looked
+about, shuffling again with that uneasy movement on his feet. If only he
+could find some means to prevail upon her first to take it home, and
+driven to desperation he turned once more to her, and said in an
+appealing voice,—
+
+“I’m feared thar be a bad storm comin’ up, Miss; the sea it really do
+look ugly, and may hap you’d better run home first; thar beant much time
+to lose noways.”
+
+But alas! it was too late. Hannah, utterly oblivious to the old man’s
+entreaty, was already eagerly reading down the sheet. Suddenly the color
+fled from her face. She appeared dazed and confused. For an instant she
+held the paper in a convulsive grasp, staring at it with a stony glare.
+Then she uttered a long, shivering sound, and her fingers gradually
+relaxed their hold.
+
+In a second the letter was gone. A savage wind broke loose with a tiger
+roar from the sea. The billows, in swift rage and with frightful tumult,
+piled up their fierce scrolls in a chaos of towering surge. Mist and
+spray and foam whirled in a blinding froth to the sky.
+
+Old Steve, half-carrying, half-dragging—for the girl seemed hardly able
+to take a step unassisted—drew Hannah back into the one long low
+building by the wharf, where most of the people that were standing about
+a few moments before had taken shelter from the storm. Quickly half a
+dozen rough hands drew out a small packing-box and placed it for a seat,
+and some one threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.
+
+She kept her lips closed tight. She looked at no one, she shivered
+constantly. The howling blast swept its brine up the wharf—“Washed
+overboard at sea.” The cruel breakers lifted and struck with
+thunder-crash—“Washed overboard at sea.” Bitter cold, the salt surf
+leaped and writhed and reached out with demoniac fury—“Washed overboard
+at sea.” Giant waves opened and shut with a grinding wrath their hungry
+jaws. Relentless, appalling, the mighty waters filled earth and sky with
+the terror of their strength.
+
+And Tom, poor Tom, had been washed overboard at sea!
+
+It was horrible. The awful words rang constantly in her ears. They
+repeated themselves over and over. Where, how—she knew naught, only the
+one sentence, with its dreadful import. After that she had read nothing,
+and before it she forgot all. Rocking a little back and forth on her
+seat, she sat there pale and dumb. Like her mother, two-and-twenty years
+in the past, she asked no sympathy, she heeded no comment.
+
+The ashen clouds, racing before the wind like the scud of the sea, drove
+swiftly down behind the hills, and the blinding fury of the storm had
+spent itself. Drearily the gray sky let down again its endless drizzle,
+when Stephen, his honest voice painfully choked by emotion, prevailed
+upon her to go home. At first looking at him blankly, she seemed hardly
+to comprehend what he said, and it was only when he spoke of her mother
+that she gave any heed to his entreaty. Her mother! how could she tell
+her the terrible news, her patient, waiting mother! Old Stephen, many
+times after, used to say how in that moment, when she looked at him, he
+wished he had been dead before ever he brought her such a letter.
+
+Shivering, always shivering, she drew the shawl tight about her
+shoulders, and slipped down off the fishy box without a word. The old
+sailor in his anxious care would have followed too, but she only shook
+her head, and without having opened her lips, he saw her go alone.
+
+The sullen mist hung its reeking folds along the shore, and the tide,
+running out, left a wide dank stretch of yellow slime. Above it, where,
+in Summer, the green swords of the sea-wrack grew, the storm had washed
+up clammy masses, heavy with ooze, of the pale and sticky tangle.
+Fiercely the treacherous waters had swept over the shore and covered it
+with their bitter dregs; but more fiercely had they surged, a dreary
+desolation, over the girl’s young heart.
+
+Upon the bloated girdles, on the wet sand, in the chilly damp, with the
+salt spray clinging to her clothes, she went, and the wild sea, calming
+down, mourned again at her feet, like a sinister mockery of grief, in
+loud lamentation. When she went up the narrow foot-path on the hill, and
+came to the garden gate, she stopped a moment, she hardly knew why. It
+was a mechanical action with her. She scarcely felt or thought. Her
+heart was heavy as a stone.
+
+The branches of the great honeysuckle were black and bare. She looked at
+the old rock by the path now slippery with rain. She looked at the tall
+and prickly cedar drenched with mist and spray. She looked out at the
+storm-beaten sea, then she looked back once more at the dripping
+evergreen. The dove in its thorny spire was gone—the dove with the
+purple ripples on its neck. It had never built another nest. Shivering,
+shivering, she went on, crossed the porch, where the arms of the
+bloomless rose, weird and gaunt, flung down great heavy tears at her
+feet, and, still shivering, she went into the house and shut the door.
+
+Miriam, used to the tumult of the sea, sat patiently in the chair by the
+window, as she had done so many, many times in the past. When Hannah
+came in she looked up with surprise. The girl would have avoided her,
+but Miriam, seeing her so wet became alarmed, and, rising from her seat,
+had met Hannah in the hall before she could escape.
+
+“I thought you were up stairs! What took you out in such stormy weather?
+You’re all wet and shivering with the cold, and—why, child, your face is
+as white as a sheet! What is the matter?”
+
+“Nothing, I—I—was caught in the rain, and—and got a little damp.” The
+words came uncertainly in a deep voice, for Hannah could hardly trust
+herself to speak, lest some unguarded tone should abruptly betray the
+terrible truth. The girl felt as if it was written all over her, or that
+she might disclose it in every movement; but she had turned her back to
+her mother, and with trembling hands was hurriedly shaking out the wet
+shawl. “I’ll go and change my clothes. It will not hurt me.”
+
+“Well, do it quickly, and come down to the fire right away. I’m afraid
+it will make you cough.”
+
+Hannah, eager to escape, gathered the shawl on her arm; but at the foot
+of the stairs she stopped and looked back.
+
+“You—you’ve had a nice sleep, mother?”
+
+“Yes, dear, so very sound that I only heard the wind like a gentle
+zephyr.”
+
+“And you feel well?”
+
+“Oh yes, better to-day than I have for a long, long time. I’m going to
+get stronger now steadily,” she said, with a smile that, for a moment,
+brought into the wan face a strange beauty, like a gleam of the same
+radiance that so far in the past poor Jacob had placed upon the shrine
+of his heart.
+
+Hannah, turning her head quickly, almost overpowered by sudden
+faintness, went up stairs, staggered across the room, and sank down by
+the window in a silent agony of grief. She did not sob or cry audibly,
+her whole being was one mental wail of despair—her mother! her gentle,
+waiting mother! Fierce unspoken rebellion had taken possession of the
+girl’s soul. To one that had been always as a ministering spirit to
+those about her, why had Providence allotted so cruel a destiny? She,
+whose life had been but a long heart-struggle; she, that had done no
+evil, that had suffered without a murmur; she, feeble and bent with
+years, marked with the silver brand of sorrow and age; she, far down the
+avenue of her days, almost where the mighty mists of eternity close up
+their impenetrable curtains, she must yet be compelled to go on, to the
+last, through the darkness of new trouble! Was there no mercy, no
+justice?
+
+Bitterly Hannah looked out, dry-eyed, at the relentless sea. There was
+no distant line against the sky; above, below, drear and empty, the gray
+stretched to infinity—not a sail on all the waters, and the tides were
+out—aye, the tides _were_ out for her.
+
+She had never shed a tear. Forgetful of her wet clothing, she leaned a
+long time upon the window-sill, motionless, and the lines in her young
+face were hard and strained. Perhaps the memory of that night came back
+to her with its vision of the royal planet that had seemed a star of
+promise—a star of promise? A mockery it had been, a cruel mockery!
+
+Then Miriam’s voice calling from the foot of the stairs roused her, and
+hurriedly she changed her damp dress, but she could not yet meet her
+mother. She lingered about the room. She fell upon her knees; she tried
+to pray, but her heart refused to utter a single petition, and Miriam
+had called again and yet again before Hannah went down.
+
+“Come close to the fire. You were so long I am afraid it will make you
+sick.”
+
+“No, mother, I am cold a little, that is all.”
+
+Miriam did not ask again what had taken her out, and Hannah, shading her
+eyes with her hand, sat by the grate trying to prepare herself for the
+dreadful duty that awaited her. She knew her mother must be told, lest
+it should come upon her abruptly from the lips of a stranger with a
+shock greater than she could bear. It was a hard struggle for Hannah;
+the girl would gladly have borne all the trouble herself, but that could
+not be.
+
+Just how she said it she never remembered, only suddenly she felt calm
+and strong for the duty, and with a strange desperation on her face,
+slowly, gently as human means could do, she told the terrible news.
+
+And Miriam?
+
+Sitting in her chair she did not scream, or moan, or faint. She leaned a
+little forward with her elbow on her knee, and looked at Hannah, looked
+at her long and steadily, with a strange wavering light in her eyes.
+
+“Mother, mother, speak to me!” the girl cried, frightened at this light
+in her eyes, terrified that she said nothing, did nothing.
+
+“Yes, dear, I am better to-day, yesterday I walked to the garden gate. I
+will even be strong enough to go down to the wharf when the Nereid comes
+in, and it will be such a glad surprise for him, such a glad surprise!”
+
+She had leaned back in her chair again, and her face, like a revelation,
+was radiant once more almost with the lost beauty of her girlhood.
+
+Hannah, dropping her head in her hands, could scarcely speak for the
+awful beating of her heart.
+
+“No, no, Mother, you do not understand. He is—dead. He will—never
+come—home—”
+
+The same wavering light flickered a second time in Miriam’s eyes as the
+girl spoke. She put up her thin hands for a moment and wearily stroked
+the silver hair back from her forehead. She looked slowly, with a
+bewildered expression about the room, then, smiling again, she said,—
+
+“Home? Yes, the time is nearly up. In the Spring, in the early Spring,
+he shall be home, home to stay always. I know he will not disappoint me.
+I promised to wait patiently, and I have not complained, have I Hannah?”
+
+“No, no——”
+
+“And I shall be stronger then, and we must make the house pleasant for
+him. It will never be lonely any more when he is here. Why do you cry
+so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for him now.”
+
+Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs, slipped down on the floor
+with her face covered, and Miriam talked on and on of the happy times
+they would have when “Tommy” came back in the Spring.
+
+She could be made to comprehend nothing of the dreadful tidings. He had
+promised her he would come back, and her faith never faltered. But there
+was a distinct change in her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner
+that had been with her always a marked characteristic, seldom
+volunteering a sentence to a stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly
+of her son. She would tell every person she met how much stronger she
+was getting, and how she meant to go and meet him at the wharf when the
+Nereid came in.
+
+So months went by, and Miriam did get stronger every day. She had not
+been so well in years, not since long ago when poor Tom had first taken
+to following the sea. Bright and happy she seemed from morning till
+night, only Hannah noticed that sometimes when speaking most earnestly
+she would stop suddenly for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered
+way, with that same wavering light flickering up in her eyes.
+
+All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of the Widow Aber’s waiting
+so trustfully for “Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come back,
+and they were good to Hannah that Winter. The girl had not cast her
+bread upon the waters in vain. When she found herself weak and faint a
+dozen hands were ready with some kind office, and there was little left
+for her to do about the house. Those bitter months as they waxed and
+waned were one long, mute agony, but the girl did not break down under
+the terrible strain. Trouble does not kill the young; thin and pale she
+grew, but strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for Miriam’s sake,
+and with something of Miriam’s early nature, she kept her grief crushed
+within her heart. She seldom went out of the house now. She staid always
+with her mother, as if fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who
+went to the house from the village, told how dreadful it was to see her
+sitting quietly, even sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips
+when the widow would say,—
+
+“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and well, are you not glad? He
+said he liked to see me smile, and he must find us bright and cheerful
+when he comes in the Spring.”
+
+The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think what might happen then. Every
+day, as she watched her mother, the dread upon her grew stronger. She
+would have held back the coming of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid,
+that now, with its white wings, might return only as the angel of death
+to Miriam. She would understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful
+shock! It was the terror of this that haunted Hannah day and night.
+
+The last winter month had gone by, and the chilly winds of March were
+whistling along the coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly
+up the hill to the house. He brought the news that Hannah had so long
+dreaded. The Nereid was even then heading round the cliff. She had asked
+him to let her know in time, that she might keep it from her mother, at
+least till after the boat had landed. But while he was in the very act
+of telling, he stopped suddenly, and a look of fright came over his
+face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and saw her mother standing in
+the open doorway. She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank in her
+breast like a stone.
+
+Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from going to the wharf, but
+Miriam, radiant as a child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste,
+paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was cold, that it was too
+far, that she would go in her place, until Hannah, driven to
+desperation, told her mother again of the dreadful disaster, and how
+poor Tom could not be there to meet her. Then the widow stayed her
+trembling hands for a moment in their flurried effort to tie her bonnet,
+and looked at Hannah, looked at her long and steadily, as she had done
+before, with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always seemed as if
+she was dimly conscious, for the instant, that something was wrong, but
+even as the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.
+
+“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant with eager excitement,
+“hurry, we must not be late. I feel young and strong, and it will be
+such a glad surprise for him!”
+
+Hannah, powerless to keep Miriam back, gave up the endeavor, and went
+on, with a mortal agony in her heart, beside the frail woman who, in all
+faith, was going to welcome home her son—her son out upon the silent sea
+of eternity, where even a mother’s voice could never reach. No wonder
+the girl’s grief made her dumb. Was there no escape? She heard the
+waters running in, it seemed to her for a thousand leagues, sounding
+their dreadful dirge. At that moment gladly would she have lain down
+forever in the same boundless grave with father and brother, where the
+waves, slow and sad, were playing for them this requiem on every shore
+of every land. But Miriam, in the extremity of her haste, never
+stopping, went on steadily over the wet ground, bending, sometimes
+almost staggering, before the raw March wind that swept in fierce gusts
+from the still frozen north.
+
+A sudden hush fell upon all the people at the wharf as they came down.
+With her gray hair blown about in strands, her eyes fever-bright, and
+her breath coming quick and short, paying no heed to any one, the widow
+Aber glided silently among them, like an apparition. Unconscious of
+every thing but the ship, even then in the mouth of the harbor, she
+stood, her face so thin and worn, all quivering with excitement, and her
+pale lips moving constantly with some inarticulate sound. Once or twice
+she stretched out her trembling hands toward the vessel, then, gathering
+her shawl, held them tight against her breast, as if she would keep down
+the throbbing of her heart. Frail and shadowy, she seemed hardly human,
+as she waited, with her garments fluttering in the bitter wind, with her
+very soul reaching, struggling, looking out eagerly in her gray eyes.
+
+Slowly the ship sailed up the harbor, slowly it reached the dock, and
+after almost two years’ wandering, the Nereid rested once more in her
+native waters. As the boat touched the wharf, Hannah had taken her
+mother’s arm, perhaps that she might hold her back, but Miriam made no
+effort to move. The girl could feel her trembling, trembling, but she
+only put up her hand unsteadily and brushed the hair away from her face.
+
+Too well Hannah knew poor Tom would not be there, and, as through a
+mist, she saw the sailors swing themselves down. In the dreadful trouble
+that had come upon her, she had almost forgotten Luke. During all these
+weeks of anguish she had thought only of her mother, but this morning
+the strain had been too severe. She had given up the battle, and now
+waited stonily; she would have waited on all day, when Miriam, suddenly
+breaking loose from her, in a voice half stifled by a wild delight,
+cried,—
+
+“O, Tommy, my boy, my only boy!”
+
+It was Luke that stood beside her, whom she had strangely mistaken for
+her son. She would have fallen to the ground had he not caught her in
+his arms. Unable to speak for a moment, she clung to him trembling
+violently. Clasping her hands tight about his neck, she closed her eyes,
+and, with a quivering sigh, laid her head against his shoulder. Hannah,
+looking at Luke quickly, made a gesture that kept him silent, then
+Miriam, without moving, said, brokenly,—
+
+“I have waited for you, Tommy. It was such a long, long time, but I knew
+you would come—”
+
+She paused, while a slight struggle in her breath escaped, like a sob,
+from her lips, then went on once more still in an unsteady tone,—
+
+“I am so glad, so glad! I am well and strong, Tommy. I feel a little
+tired now, but I am well and strong. You will never leave me, never
+leave me any more—”
+
+There was another feeble struggle in her throat; then when she spoke
+again, her voice, growing fainter at every effort, seemed to come from
+some far-off distance, drifting in to them as from the desert spaces of
+an illimitable sea.
+
+“Do not let me go. It is cold, and the wind—Hark! Listen, oh listen how
+sweet and soft the waters wash! Hold me close, Tommy. I am weary. Why,
+it is Summer! Look! see the land, the foreign land! Stay, Tommy, I am
+tired—so tired—”
+
+Her head had drooped back heavily on the man’s arm, but her lips still
+moved, and suddenly her face lighted up with a radiant smile.
+
+“Nearer,—come nearer—How bright the sunlight shines upon your face!
+Tommy, my boy—my sailor boy—”
+
+So, on that bleak March morning when the Nereid came in, Miriam had
+indeed gone to meet her son, her sailor son, on that far, far off
+foreign shore that is girdled by the mightier ocean of eternity.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         REINHART, THE GERMAN.
+
+
+Poor Reinhart! He certainly was a brilliant fellow. Even the German
+Professors overlooked his English origin, and felt proud of him.
+Probably they argued that if he was born in Yorkshire, it was not his
+fault. And, besides, as the name showed, his family, no matter where
+they had since strayed, must have been, at some period of the past, true
+children of the Fatherland.
+
+As far as he was concerned, he seemed to have very little attachment for
+his native country. Indeed, he never evinced very much of an attachment
+for any place or any body. We had been together the greater part of ten
+years. He possessed a singular influence over me. I hardly know what I
+would not have done for Reinhart. But he was in disposition not the
+least demonstrative; and whether he ever saw any attraction in me, I can
+not tell. I simply imagined so, because time wore away without drifting
+us apart.
+
+A profound interest in metaphysics absorbed his whole being; and through
+this channel he had crept into the good graces of the college
+authorities. During his long study upon this subject, he had woven about
+himself all the labyrinthine meshes of the subtile German philosophy.
+Though only a tutor of twenty-five, the doctors of metaphysics touched
+their hats to him; all the students bowed before him; and I—I felt sorry
+for him.
+
+Why? I can hardly tell. But he had grown thin and pale and nervous
+within the last year; and I could not help wishing that all Germany was
+as ignorant of psychology as in the days when the Suabians danced their
+dryad dances upon the very spot where now the great University lifted up
+its towers—this great University whose walls were built not of stone
+from the quarry, but of the labors of many lives, some of whose proudest
+pinnacles, reaching into a light of dazzling splendor, had been reared
+only by the everlasting sacrifice of reason.
+
+A vague idea had floated into my mind, but so very terrible it was that
+I had never dared acknowledge its existence even to myself;
+nevertheless, it oppressed me constantly. Finally, it grew into such a
+burden that I could bear it no longer, and so made up my mind to do what
+little I could to relieve myself at any rate. A plan occurred to me
+whereby I might accomplish my chief design, which was to draw him away
+from this study that was consuming him; to draw him away from his myriad
+theories into life. But before I had said a word, while I was still
+meditating how it could best be done, Reinhart settled the trouble
+himself.
+
+I never was more astonished or more pleased than when he proposed the
+very thing I had been trying to broach, that the two of us should spend
+the next six months in traveling. What had suggested it to him, or what
+his reasons were, I never asked. Had _he_ any suspicions of this strange
+fancy that I would not admit to myself, and yet had been vainly striving
+to drive from my mind? Since then I have sometimes thought so, and
+sometimes thought not. To the proposition I consented eagerly, and did
+my best in hastening all the arrangements; therefore no time was lost
+before we found ourselves _en route_ for the south of Europe.
+
+As I have said, Reinhart was not in the least demonstrative. Very likely
+his natural reserve had been greatly increased by his sedentary life.
+But I noticed, early in our trip, that he seemed laboring to throw off
+his abstracted manner. I felt encouraged, notwithstanding I knew it was
+an effort to him, and determined, not only that he should see something
+of the world, but, what would be of much more benefit, that he should
+see something of society.
+
+In the beautiful Italian scenery my own spirits rose perceptibly. The
+great load which had been burdening me lessened and finally raised
+itself altogether, as I saw this shadow of the German University that
+had been resting on my companion break. But I know now I was mistaken.
+It was only the battalion preparing for action; the marshalling of the
+forces before the conflict.
+
+It had been almost a month since we left Germany. Many of the English
+and American gentlemen residing in Florence had shown us not only
+attention but hospitality. One thing I noticed quickly that Reinhart
+cared almost nothing for the society of ladies. He endured it; never
+sought it. The most beautiful faces he would pass without any notice, or
+with merely an indifferent glance. I was sorry for this, because here
+was a channel, I had thought, wherein might be turned the current of his
+existence.
+
+With this subject still uppermost in my mind, I determined one morning I
+would bring my sounding-line into play, if it were only on account of my
+own satisfaction. We were sitting upon the deep sill of the open window,
+smoking our cigars and enjoying the utter tranquillity of the southern
+day, when I asked, indifferently, as if the question had been wholly
+unpremeditated,—
+
+“Reinhart, were you ever in love?”
+
+He looked up quickly, waited a moment, as though at first he had not
+exactly understood, then answered,—
+
+“No.”
+
+Now, I knew very well he never had been; for, as I have said, the last
+ten years we had spent together; but at present I was bent upon the
+intent of discovering what probability there was that such a catastrophe
+could ever be brought about; so I said again,—
+
+“Reinhart, do you think you _ever will_ be in love?”
+
+I expected a repetition of my former answer, but, to my surprise,
+without any hesitation, he replied,—
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Indeed!” I gasped, with my breath almost gone,—“and when may it come to
+pass?”
+
+Looking up, I dropped the tone of raillery I had been using immediately,
+for I saw it was a serious matter to him; and overcome by astonishment,
+I subsided into complete silence.
+
+The perfume of roses came in on the breeze, and a scarlet-cloaked
+flower-girl carrying her wares, the only person on the street, turned
+out of sight. A small bird, with red plumes in its wings, lighted nearly
+within reach, upon the tree, and broke into song, but, checking the
+strain almost in the first note, it flew away, settling, a mere speck,
+upon the northern spire of the Cathedral. Then Reinhart said, as though
+there had been no pause in the conversation,—
+
+“I do not know; it may never come in this life.”
+
+I looked at him, thoroughly puzzled, almost frightened. Then, thinking
+perhaps I had not heard aright, said,—“What?” But, without heeding my
+interrogation, he continued,—
+
+“Perhaps it never will come in this life.”
+
+Yes, I had heard aright. Possibly we were each talking of different
+things; and as a last resource, I said,—
+
+“Perhaps _what_ will never come in this life?”
+
+“Why, love,” he replied, making a slight gesture of impatience, as
+though I had been unpardonably dull.
+
+“But,” I persisted, determined to understand, “then it will never be at
+all, for they neither marry nor are given in marriage in the next
+world.”
+
+“No,” he repeated, “they ‘neither marry nor are given in marriage.’” He
+said the words over slowly but mechanically, exactly as if he might have
+said, or thought, the same words over a hundred times before.
+
+That he believed in the immortality of the soul, I quite well knew, for
+it was the one shoot of his English education, which, springing in early
+boyhood, had survived, like a foreign plant, amid all the German
+sophisms. I did not like the strange aspect of his face, and, somewhat
+ill at ease, I said,—
+
+“Then, what do you mean?” I waited a moment for the answer.
+
+“I can hardly tell you. I have always had a theory of my own—no, not a
+theory, a belief. I have never undertaken to express it in language, and
+do not know whether I can render myself intelligible. I think every soul
+has somewhere in the universe an affinity—I am obliged to use the word
+for lack of a better one—and I believe that before complete happiness
+can be attained the two are merged into one. It is not marriage: that is
+purely earthly. These affinities may possibly meet in this life, though
+it is hardly probable; but in the ages to come it will occur just as
+certainly as there is an eternity. Mind, I do not call it marriage. It
+is the fusing together of two souls, a masculine and feminine, just as
+they combine chemicals, producing a new substance. I believe, as I said,
+these two souls may sometimes meet in this life; but it is a destiny
+that comes to few in centuries, and those few should kneel in
+everlasting gratitude before their Creator.”
+
+When Reinhart ceased speaking, I could see that he had worked himself
+almost into a fever, for his eyes were bright and restless, and the
+blood surged in waves across his usually colorless face. With a rough
+hand, I had struck the chord whose undecided vibrations had, a month
+ago, appalled me. The great burden which had so oppressed me settled
+down again heavier than before. It was not so much what he had said as
+the expression of his face that filled me anew with anxiety. And
+struggling under this burden, I made a poor attempt to laugh the matter
+off.
+
+“Reinhart, this is some of your German metaphysics.”
+
+“No; though you are at liberty to call it what you please; but I have
+never read such a theory in any place.”
+
+“Well, it is an absurd idea,” I retorted, “and sounds exactly like some
+of your humbug philosophers, who never believe in any thing but
+fantasies; and I would advise you to let them alone.”
+
+This was hardly wise on my part. I should not have allowed myself to
+express any impatience when I saw it excited him, and only augmented
+what I was striving to allay. The blood rushed again over his face, but
+he said nothing; only, rising from his seat, he walked several times
+across the room.
+
+In the silence that followed, a strain of joyful music broke suddenly
+upon us. It was the swell of the Cathedral organ, sounding a prelude for
+some wedding. But if the strain was ever finished, we did not hear it,
+for the next moment a crash of terrific discord drowned the music,
+shaking the very ground. Some object flew swiftly past my face, struck
+the wall and fell upon the floor. I sprang up and shut the window
+quickly. Half the sky was covered with a black cloud, and from the
+carpet at my feet I picked up a dead bird, a small bird with red plumes
+in its wings.
+
+The storm passed over in less than half an hour, leaving the sky
+perfectly clear again; but for the remainder of the day I could not
+recover my spirits. Whether Reinhart suffered from a like oppression, I
+know not; but he seemed possessed by the very demon of unrest. He was
+not still a moment. He had little to say; and quite late in the evening
+proposed a walk. Without any remark upon the unusual hour, I acquiesced.
+
+The night was quiet and beautiful, beautiful even for that southern
+clime. There was no moon, and still the sky was filled with a soft
+light, brighter than the trembling rays of the stars alone. I remember
+it because it was a peculiar luminous haze, that I had seen only in
+Italy, and because, though no clouds swept over the sky, and the haze
+never paled until lost in the crimson glow of morning, that night, to
+me, was the blackest night of my life, whose vision sometimes yet rises
+before me, even at noon-day, with appalling reality. Ah! why were the
+sky and stars beautiful? O, cruel sky! O, cruel stars! Was the sorrow on
+earth nothing to you, that you gave no warning?
+
+We had walked perhaps two squares, when Reinhart stopped just as
+suddenly as if he might have come in contact with a stone wall,
+invisible to me. Alarmed, I said, quickly, “What is the matter? Are you
+ill?”
+
+“No,” he replied, still standing motionless. Then, in a moment, without
+another word, he turned and began retracing his steps.
+
+“Are you going home already?” I inquired, puzzled by his strange
+conduct.
+
+“No; I am going to the Cathedral.”
+
+We had just passed the Cathedral, when he had made no motion to enter;
+but now I tried in vain to dissuade him from it. I told him that there
+was no service at this hour; that we might as well not have left home as
+to go inside of any house. All to no purpose; he was just as determined
+as at first, until finally he turned fiercely upon me and said, with a
+strange emphasis in his tone,—
+
+“I will go; I must go; I feel something within me that _compels_ me to
+go!”
+
+Was this again the vibration of that terrible chord in his nature—that
+terrible chord that threatened to destroy forever the harmony of his
+life?
+
+Powerless to turn him from his intent, together we crossed the northern
+portal and entered the nave. It was so dim that the heavy shadows
+clustered in a rayless cloud among the arches, and at the end, far
+off—they looked like stars in the gloom—flickered a few tapers at the
+altar, while higher up swung the sacred but sickly flame that had been
+burning for centuries. There was not a stir, not a sound. I trembled all
+over with a singular sensation of weakness that came upon me as I
+followed Reinhart, who went steadily down the long aisle to where the
+transepts met, then stopped as abruptly as he had stopped a few moments
+before in the street.
+
+It was, as I have said, just where the transepts met. There, upon a low
+platform or dais, stood a bier covered by a velvet pall, whose heavy
+border fell in waveless folds. And upon it rested a casket with silver
+mountings. Beside it two tapers burned, one at the head and one at the
+foot; and two monks kneeled, motionless. Beyond the choir I saw the
+gleam of the organ-pipes, wavering, come and go. The altar lights
+circled about each other, and they, too, receded in infinite space; they
+grew dim; they vanished; they sprang again; they fled again. The great
+tombs loomed out and faded; the figure on an ebon crucifix, inspired
+with life, writhed in fearful agony, then once more became transfixed,
+and the weak, trembling sensation under which I had been laboring was
+gone.
+
+I saw that we were standing by the dead of some noble family, for the
+repose of whose soul the monks were offering up their prayers. I drew a
+little nearer. Upon the snow-like cushions within the casket a young
+girl lay sleeping the last deep and solemn sleep. Or was it a
+vision?—one of that mystical land, whose white portals are beyond the
+sun; that land where there is no shadow, no stain; where there is beauty
+celestial, peace everlasting? No, it was all the future we ever see; it
+was still this side the gates of eternity; it was death.
+
+A chaplet of flowers crowned her brow, all colorless as marble, and
+garlands of flowers wreathed her robe, that was purer than fleece; but
+her hands held no lilies, no jasmine; more sacred than these, they held
+a small golden crucifix, an emblem imperishable, holy. The burning
+tapers threw not over the face, turned slightly toward the altar, that
+beautiful dream-light; it was the last inscription written by the
+spirit, even after it had seen down the radiant vista of immortal
+happiness.
+
+Ah! why offer prayers for a soul beyond the troubled sea, beyond the
+dread valley? O, frail humanity! Even then beside the pall, where rested
+the solemn silence no voice could break, stood one for whom the kneeling
+monks might have told a thousand _aves_.
+
+Reinhart raised his face suddenly. Straightening himself, he extended
+his arm with a wild gesture, uttering a laugh that grated clear up to
+the dome.
+
+“Did I not tell you?” he cried. “Did I not feel the mysterious summons
+that brought me to this spot? Do you see her? _It is she!_ It is her
+soul and mine that will abide together through all eternity.”
+
+The startled monks rose to their feet. The great arches of the Cathedral
+threw back his voice in terrible groans. Quick as thought I sprang
+toward him, but was hurled off with the ease of a giant. He stooped for
+a moment and put one hand to his head, as if a sudden faintness might
+have swept over him; but he did not touch the casket. Then, dropping on
+one knee beside it, he raised his face and said softly, so softly that
+the last word seemed to come to us from a great distance,—
+
+“O, beautiful soul, part of my spirit, I will not keep you waiting!”
+
+We gathered around and raised him up. It needed no force now; and when
+they laid him down again, with a great throbbing in my breast, I folded
+his hands. He had taken his life.
+
+O, Germany! like this fair day you lured a bird high up into your
+sunshine, a bird with brilliant plumes in its wings; then, before it had
+sung one song from the pinnacle where it rested, blackening suddenly
+into a storm, you killed it. Reinhart, poor Reinhart! you lured high up
+into the fantastic light of psychology; then before he had reared one
+minaret upon the temple where he climbed, you darkened suddenly into a
+gigantic gloom that, rising up like a storm, overwhelmed him.
+
+Yes, better had it been for Reinhart were the Suabians still dancing
+their dryad dances.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                             SILVER ISLET.
+
+
+In Lake Superior, near its northern shore, a mere speck of land,
+scarcely two hundred feet square, barely shows itself above the water.
+This is Silver Islet, and on it sinks the shaft of the richest silver
+mine in the world. Covering almost its entire dimensions, stand two
+buildings. One, a low frame house, encloses the mouth of the mine, and
+the other, immediately adjacent, a small wooden structure, forms the
+watch-tower.
+
+Through this tower, every evening, the miners, when dismissed for the
+day, are compelled to pass out one by one, and submit themselves to an
+examination, where their clothes are thoroughly searched, that none of
+the precious metal may be carried away secreted upon the person. So
+extreme is the vigilance employed that visitors are never allowed,
+except by special permit, and though isolated upon the waters, the place
+is kept by day and night under this strict martial surveillance.
+
+To the north, about a quarter of a mile distant, is another island,
+perhaps six or eight acres in extent. It is high and rocky, and in one
+place reaches up more than a hundred feet. Here, built upon its sloping
+side, is the little settlement that could count up altogether, it might
+be, thirty houses. Here the miners live with their families. Here, too,
+every thing that pertains to the business of the place carries itself
+on; and here it was that father had brought me to stay.
+
+I was about eighteen years old then. I do not know how father happened
+to receive the position of assistant overseer at the mine. I never knew
+very much about father. Indeed I had hardly seen him more than half a
+dozen times in my life, until that day he came to take me from the farm.
+I could not remember my mother, who died in my infancy, and brother or
+sister I had none. Father was a morose, unsociable man by nature, and I
+think he cared but very little for me. I had been left at my uncle’s to
+grow up, and so, as I said, about him I knew almost nothing.
+
+Uncle George lived on a poverty-stricken farm upon the flattest of
+prairies. I hardly know how I did grow up there, it was such a wretched,
+miserable place. Although I had never experienced any thing different,
+it was so forlorn an existence, that I chafed inwardly against it every
+hour. I possessed a kind of dumb consciousness that surely, surely I
+must be made for something better than this. I saw nothing of the world,
+nothing of humanity outside of my uncle’s family, and the two or three
+rough farm hands that he occasionally employed. I would rather have had
+the cattle, the poor half-starved cattle, for companions than these.
+They were none of them kind to me. I know not whether father ever paid
+any thing for my board; but I know I worked far harder than any hired
+servant. I did not rebel outwardly, but I was constantly unhappy. Was I
+to live on all my days in this hopeless, miserable way? Was there never
+to be any thing better? Looking out of the window, I thought of the
+great, busy world, and the far-off, unknown cities; but before my eyes
+there was only a dead level of the hateful yellow prairie, and above,
+the colorless sky stretched itself out in a gigantic, measureless blank.
+
+From this life it was that father came, without word or warning, and
+took me. I know now that he only wanted me with him as a convenience,
+but then I was wild with delight. In my great craving for human sympathy
+I would have loved father with all my heart, had he given me any
+encouragement. I did love him for this one good deed. I knew not where
+he was taking me, but I was sure it could be no worse place. With an
+intense joy I went up and surveyed, for the last time, the miserable
+little room where I had vainly cried so many hot tears over my weary
+existence. I stayed my steps a moment beside the one window, a little
+window facing westward. From here I had seen the only beauty that ever
+came before my passionate eyes flame up with a splendor, as of gold,
+along the sky when the sun went down. A thousand times my yearning heart
+had watched the short-lived glory fade, like a mockery, into the dreary
+blank. From here, too, year by year, with a rank rebellion in my soul, I
+had looked out at the shadowless prairie that lay over all the earth, a
+great, glaring, uncovered, yellow blister.
+
+So it was with nothing but glad emotion that I stood upon the spot
+consciously for the last time. I had a keen, absorbing love of the
+beautiful, a hunger insatiable, that unfed was sapping my life. This
+wretched existence had almost killed me; but for the change I believe
+that my longing spirit, like my mother’s in the far past, would have
+broken its wings. Now there was an avenue of escape suddenly opened up
+before me—of escape from the dreadful monotony, from the intolerable
+agony of everlasting sameness that, by day and night, recurring forever,
+had made up the tiresome years as they passed. My whole being was turned
+to my father with one inspiration of gratitude.
+
+Had I known any thing of Pythagoras then, almost I could have believed
+in the transmigration of souls, or that my spirit had passed into some
+different body, so utterly strange and new I felt at Silver Islet. Here
+father had rented a little house that stood apart from the rest, upon
+the very highest point. The whole settlement was grouped within the
+least possible compass, and considerable of the island, small as it was,
+still remained in its original condition. There were no trees
+immediately about our house, but to the right, and running thinly all
+the way down on the other side to the water, a few straggling pines
+clung, with their rope-like roots, to the rocks. It was no trouble to me
+to keep house for only one. I got the breakfast and supper, and every
+morning put up a dinner for father, which he took with him to the mine.
+So all day I was left wholly to myself.
+
+As I said, so strange and new I felt it seemed to me for a while as if I
+had lost my own identity. Here, for the first time in my life, there lay
+before my eyes a vast expanse of glittering waves—the mighty mystery of
+far-reaching waters! Rolling, moving, changing, remaining for endless
+ages, attracting, terrifying—only the mightier mystery of eternity can
+fathom the hidden secret of this unceasing problem. A hush fell upon my
+fluttering spirits, a hush of profound awe before this symbol, this
+vision of the unknown infinite. At last the cry of my soul for food was
+silenced, the dreadful hunger of my heart, that through all my life I
+could not allay, was pacified.
+
+At dawn I saw the timid light creep up along the east and wait and
+brighten, until it set an emblazoned standard in the sky, and below, far
+out, covered with the pomp of the rising sun, the distant billows
+clashed their blood-red shields. At noon, I saw the mid-day radiance,
+falling through the air in torrents of splendor, float far and near,
+changing into gorgeous mosaics upon the sea. At night I saw the long
+line of mighty cliffs upon the silent Canadian shore reach out their
+giant shadow through the dusk of evening that, slowly, softly, gathered
+into a twilight sweeter than the luminous haze of a dream.
+
+I had no one to care for me, no friend, no lover, but I needed none now.
+I was happy, happy as in a new and glorious world. I forgot the dreadful
+prairie, dry and parched—the vast, staring, level of land that for so
+many years had oppressed me by its terrible, never ending monotony. I
+even forgot the thousand times I had longed and longed to see a great
+city, to live among its busy throng.
+
+It was November, and presently the wind, keen and cold, swept down, like
+the wind from the Arctic zone. Mad, pitiless, the boundless waters piled
+themselves in towering billows. They leaped and menaced. They broke over
+Silver Islet with a frightful roar and drenched it with their freezing
+spray. They danced about it in savage fury. They beat against it
+continually, and the howling gale, swift and strong, dashed the foam in
+blinding sheets. Already the long, fierce winter of the North was
+rapidly setting in.
+
+Great layers of ice formed and broke, and ground up and formed again,
+until December, still and frigid, locked us within the impenetrable
+barriers of a vast, frozen sea. To the east, to the west, to the south,
+an illimitable wilderness of snow, the mighty Superior for miles lay
+wrapped in a silence profound as the grave. To the north, shrouded in
+their eternal solitude, cold, white and spectral, the cliffs upon the
+long Canadian shore held up their stony battlement, sheeted in ice, as
+in a pall. Utterly devoid of warmth, the sunlight blazed with a
+brilliance indescribable through an atmosphere that, clearer than
+crystal, glittered as with the scintillations of feldspar. But the
+nights—the nights swinging in their long winter arc, were illuminated by
+a glory more gorgeous than the unreal splendor wrought in the loom of
+dreams. The stars, myriads upon myriads, studded the whole heaven with
+drops of intense light, and the planets, magnified through the vast
+laboratory of the air, showed great balls of molten silver against a
+vault of jet. Sometimes when the night was at its blackest, suddenly
+there shot up, flaming from the white battlements of the Canadian shore,
+a thousand lances. Like the parade of an army, like the marshalling of
+far-reaching cohorts, the mighty processions swept the semicircle of the
+sky. They rose and fell. They wavered like the spears of troops in
+battle. Then the vast battalions, closing together, ran up in a towering
+shaft to the zenith. A river of ice-cold fire, it divided the heaven. It
+overflowed and spread out in a sea of gorgeous color that receded, wave
+upon wave, until it burned, a deep blue flame upon the frozen crown of
+the Canadian cliffs. I have watched this aurora in its changeful mood a
+hundred times. I have watched the illimitable fields of snow beneath,
+while the reflected light played upon them in weird rays, far out to the
+remote horizon.
+
+During the Winter, unused to the severe climate, I rarely left the
+house. So far as was possible, I held myself aloof from the people, the
+people, that, as I said, were only the rough families of miners.
+Ignorant and uneducated, painfully ignorant and uneducated I was myself,
+still I could not associate with such as these. I did not grow tired,
+but yet I was glad when the long, frozen months had passed by. As the
+late Spring opened, Winter even then did not yield its supremacy without
+a fierce contest, but in the contest—the savage storms from the
+north—the ice broke. The huge cakes, drifting about, slowly, gradually,
+wore themselves away, and the wind dropped its javelins of frost.
+
+Late it was in June before the last vestige was gone of the bitter cold
+that had held us in its frigid clasp for more than two-thirds of a year.
+Then there opened for me an unfailing source of enjoyment. I learned to
+row, and father allowed me to buy a small boat. It was almost the only
+favor I ever asked of him, and how much have I to be thankful for that
+he did not deny me! Though slight of figure, my muscles were strong, and
+after awhile, with constant practice, I could row twenty miles in a day
+without exhaustion, and every day now, and all the day, I spent my time
+upon the water.
+
+The Summer, beautiful to me beyond description, was like a perpetual
+Spring. In my little boat, alone, I explored the shore far and near. I
+rowed to the very ledges of those cliffs that I had watched all Winter
+long lifting themselves, like a huge, jagged spine, against the sky. A
+thousand, sometimes twelve hundred feet, they reached up, gray and
+naked, a sheer, barren wall of rock from the water. With the cold waves
+forever at their feet, gloomy, silent, they stood in their drear
+majesty, and the chilly fog wrapped them round with the folds of its
+clammy garb. Only in the most beautiful weather did this fog lift from
+about them its clinging skirts, and slowly the damp mists trailed
+themselves off in long white plumes of down. At such times, floating
+idly in my skiff, I felt oppressed by the vast burden of their dreadful
+silence. I believe there is no greater solitude than that which
+sometimes at noon, when sea and sky are unwrinkled by wave or cloud,
+sits upon this mighty shore of desolate, desert rock. Yet here, where
+this profound silence broods, upon these tawny bastions of stone,
+occasionally fierce thunder storms play, and the waters in wild tumult
+dash against their base with a noise like the roar of heavy artillery.
+
+So the weeks slipped by, and it was in the early part of October that
+first I saw a change had come over father. As I have said, he was by
+nature a reserved, unsociable, even morose man. He was never
+communicative, and to me sometimes spoke hardly two dozen words in a
+day. I had grown used to this, and felt that I had nothing to complain
+about, as he laid no restrictions upon me in any respect. But now I
+could not help noticing a decided alteration, both in his looks and
+manner. Constitutionally a thin man, his face appeared thinner to me
+than ever. So exceedingly pale and worn was he, that I do not know that
+I had ever seen a more haggard countenance. His eyes, which were very
+light in color and deep-set in his head, had an unnatural brightness, a
+strange expression I can hardly describe, a peculiar, watching
+wakefulness. His manner was restless and uneasy in the extreme, and he
+spoke even less frequently than usual. He staid out much later than had
+been his ordinary habit, often not coming home until early in the
+morning; and several times I heard him with a slow step walk back and
+forth, back and forth, over the floor of his room all night.
+
+As I have said, I knew nothing of his duties, nor did I know any thing
+of the miners. When first I noticed the change upon father, I thought he
+was over fatigued perhaps, then I became alarmed lest he was ill. Little
+as he cared for me, he was the only human being on earth upon whom I had
+the slightest claim, and I would have done any thing for him. I could
+not bear to see him look so badly. He had never manifested any thing
+towards me but utter indifference, and so strangely reserved was he that
+I, in my great dread that he might be harsh some time, had hardly ever
+volunteered a single sentence to him. I was troubled, and did not know
+what to do. That night at supper I said, gently,—
+
+“Father, do you feel well?”
+
+At first he did not appear to hear, and I repeated my question, then he
+turned his pale eyes upon me suddenly with a quick, startled look in
+them that frightened me,—
+
+“What?”
+
+“I asked if you felt well,” I said again, embarrassed by his strange
+manner. “You look so badly lately I thought maybe there was something
+the matter.”
+
+He did not speak at all for a moment, but sat there staring at me
+wildly. Catching his breath slightly, he looked all round the room and
+brought his eyes, his pale eyes, with an angry gleam in them now, back
+to my face, then said, fiercely,—
+
+“See here, don’t you meddle in my matters! I am able to take care of
+myself.”
+
+“Oh, father, I only thought—”
+
+“Do you hear me?” he said, savagely. “Mind your own business. There is
+nothing the matter with me. If you can’t do any thing better than
+interfere in my affairs, you can go back. See that you don’t do it
+again, or—”
+
+He broke off abruptly, and I, my heart throbbing as if it might break,
+got up and went into my own room. I had not interfered in his affairs. I
+had done nothing wrong, said nothing to call up such an outburst of
+passion, and his dreadful anger had terrified me. I went to the window
+to try and calm myself. I put up the sash and leaned out.
+
+The twilight had almost dissolved itself in night, a night so soft and
+gentle that the very waters, wooed from their troubled toil, ceased
+their long complaint and slept. The pine trees, slim and black,
+whispered to each other in their mysterious language with peaceful
+cadence, telling, perhaps, of the time when they would shed their
+countless needles. In the west, shining like a harvest sickle, hung the
+yellow crescent of the new October moon. Trying to still the throbbing
+in my veins, I watched it grow and change and deepen as it sank, until
+above the water it poised, a great Moorish sword of blood-red fire, and
+a long line of vermilion light ran out upon the quiet sea. Then suddenly
+it was blotted in darkness.
+
+The figure of a man obstructed my range of vision.
+
+Instantly the dreadful throbbing in my heart leaped up again. I drew
+back noiselessly from the window. The man, only a few feet distant—I
+could almost have put out my hand and touched him—stopped, hesitated
+irresolutely for a moment, turned about as if to see that no one watched
+him, then with stealthy step went across the open space and began to
+climb, catching from tree to tree, down the precipitous rocks towards
+the lake. Once or twice I heard a stone loosen from beneath his feet,
+and presently I heard the plash of oars in the water, then it died out,
+and straining my ears I could detect no sound but the quiet, mysterious
+whisperings of the pines. I laid my head upon the window-sill sick and
+faint. The figure of the man I had seen was father.
+
+Too well I knew now that he was neither tired, nor ill. Why should he
+have crept down so stealthily over these wild, almost perpendicular
+rocks to the lake? Why not have gone by the ordinary path through the
+settlement? Ah, why? Something was wrong—but what? I turned cold and
+dizzy. I would not, I _dared_ not think.
+
+I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted by a thousand forebodings, I
+could not even close my eyes, and it was almost day-break when I heard
+father come in quietly and go to his room.
+
+I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did he, but somehow I could
+not help thinking that from this time he watched me a little
+suspiciously. I felt hurt that he imagined I would play the spy upon his
+actions. Whatever he might do, whatever he might say, he was still my
+father, and I could not give him up. It was dreadful, those days that
+followed. It seemed like living upon the verge of a precipice, or that
+some unseen calamity hung above my head ready to fall at any moment and
+crush me.
+
+One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp and put it on the supper
+table, I went, as was my usual habit, to draw down the blinds. Father
+had not yet come home. As I crossed his room I saw through the window a
+man standing close beside it on the outside, so close that I could not
+have seen him more distinctly had he been within reach of my touch. His
+arms were folded across his chest, and his head dropped a little in the
+attitude of one waiting. His figure was large and thick-set, almost that
+of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and passed his hand over his
+short-cut, bristly hair, and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse,
+heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I noticed that the window
+sash was down and bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind. I
+went back with an uneasy feeling into the dining-room.
+
+A few moments afterward father came in. He took up the light hurriedly,
+saying some thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried it into his
+room and shut the door. I heard him walking about in there, opening and
+closing drawers, and after a little I thought I heard a sound as if he
+were raising the window-sash gently. Then he came out. He looked at me
+sharply for a moment, and remarked that he had been hunting for a key.
+Strange! He was not in the habit of accounting for his actions. After he
+got up from the table he did not leave the house again, but went to bed
+almost immediately.
+
+In the morning when I put up his dinner and handed it to him as usual,
+he said,—
+
+“You need not get any supper for me to-night. I have office work to do
+at the mine and will not be back.”
+
+I was surprised. He had frequently not come home to the evening meal,
+but never before had he thought it worth his while to give me notice. I
+stood looking after him as he went out of the gate, when suddenly an
+idea flashed into my head that made my heart sink in my breast like a
+stone. I do not know why it should have come to me then so suddenly,
+with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned and ran into father’s
+room. I looked about. I opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his clothing
+was gone! It was as I thought. He did not mean to come back at
+all—Deserted! The dreadful word choked up my throat. I knew nothing of
+father’s actions, I knew not what he had done, but I would gladly have
+gone with him, have stood disgrace with him even, if that were
+necessary. I am sure I can not tell why I clung to him with such
+desperation. Though I was ignorant and inexperienced, I was also young
+and strong, and I was not afraid I would fail to make my living alone in
+the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid my head upon the foot of
+the bedstead, and heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably I
+would never see him again, and if he did not love me, at least, except
+that one time, he had not been harsh to me, and he was my father.
+
+At first I thought I would follow him; I would go to the mine and see if
+he might not still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries about
+him would probably only increase the danger that threatened, whatever
+that danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing him for some
+crime, I would have shielded him still. I was powerless. I could do
+nothing to recall him; I could do nothing but wait. Wandering about with
+only the one thought in my mind, after awhile the house became
+positively intolerable. I must do something at least to keep myself
+employed, or I should absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably, and
+I had a compressed feeling across my chest.
+
+I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it over my arm. I do not know
+why I should have taken this one, for I wore it generally only in the
+bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange feeling of dread when any one
+looked at me, I went down hurriedly through the settlement to the wharf.
+I got into my boat and pushed off. On the water I could breathe better.
+
+I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily, taking note of nothing. My
+only relief lay in violent exercise. How many miles up the shore I went
+I do not know, but it was farther than I had ever reached before, and
+when I drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration, the red
+embers of the sun-set’s fire were dying down along the sky.
+
+In this region of the lake, from a quarter to two miles from shore, at
+wide intervals isolated rocks rise up out of the water, or mere points
+of land covered with a thick growth of underbrush show themselves, so
+small they look from a distance like a floating fleck of green that the
+waves could drift about at pleasure. The gulls rest upon them
+undisturbed by man or beast. Lonely, a thousand times more lonely, these
+islands make it seem than a clear, open stretch of water. A few of them,
+perhaps, are fifteen or twenty feet in extent. On a dark night it would
+have been dangerous to row here.
+
+I felt weak and tired. The lake stretched itself out, quiet and peaceful
+as a painted ocean. Not a ripple disturbed the tranquil surface that
+mirrored the sky like a glass. I drew my cloak over me and lay down in
+my boat. I cared not when I got back, the later the better, for I still
+clung to a forlorn hope, that perhaps in the morning father would
+return. I was not afraid, for the moon had reached its full and would be
+up even as the last halo of the departing day was fading from the west.
+Out of the water I saw it come. An enormous globe of maroon fire, it sat
+upon the horizon and stained the lake with its magenta rays. Fatigued
+and exhausted, I think I must have slept, for when next I looked, bright
+and yellow, it was swung high up in the sky, shedding through the air a
+splendor like pearl.
+
+I felt glad I had brought my cloak, for it was cold, very cold, and I
+would have been almost numb without it. I knew by the position of the
+moon that it must be somewhere near eleven o’clock. I sat up, shivered a
+little, drew my wrap closer about me and reached out one hand for the
+oars—when suddenly, midway in the action, I held it suspended,
+motionless! Sometimes there is nothing so startling as the sound of a
+human voice. I heard two men talking. For an instant I was paralyzed. My
+boat lay close beside one of these little knolls of land I have
+described. I could have put out my arm and touched the rank sword-grass
+that grew along its border. I did catch hold of it and noiselessly drew
+my skiff nearer, into a kind of curve, so that, though I was on the
+bright side, the overhanging brambles threw me into shadow, and another
+skiff, passing by, would hardly have detected me, when instantly I found
+that the men were not on the water. A cold terror crept over me. They
+were distant scarcely three yards. I could not see them, but I could
+almost feel the underbrush crackling beneath their feet. They evidently,
+though, had no knowledge of my presence, and I, not daring to stir,
+fairly held my breath. They seemed to be removing something from the
+ground and transferring it to their boat which, as I supposed, lay upon
+the other side. I could hear them lift and carry, what, I did not know.
+It sounded sometimes like stones falling with a partially muffled thud
+when they put them down. One of the men in a rough voice said, with a
+loud, harsh laugh, evidently resting for a moment,—
+
+“This repays for lots o’ trouble! That was a neat slip we gave ’em all
+to-night. By —— I’m glad to be quit o’ the place! Its ——”
+
+“Be quiet can’t you!”
+
+My heart, at a single bound, leaped into my mouth. In these few words,
+spoken low and stern, I instantly recognized the voice. It was father’s.
+The other man did not reply, but muttered a half intelligible curse.
+They were both in the boat now, for I heard the plash of their oars.
+Presently father said, in a sharp, quick tone,—
+
+“Take care! Sit down, sit down I tell you!”
+
+Again the man muttered something between his shut teeth. The next moment
+they came round into the light and passed me, pulling hard. Then I
+recognized the thick-set, burly figure that I had seen last night. He
+was in the stern of the boat, and I saw his face again, the same
+repulsive face, but with a sullen scowl upon the brutish features.
+
+They were heavily loaded and rowed slowly. They had got well past me
+when I heard father say something; what, I did not understand; but the
+man, dropping his oars, turned his head and replied, savagely,—
+
+“Look’e yer! You’ve did nothin’ but boss, an’ boss, an’ I’m tired o’ it!
+This yer’s as much mine as yourn, and by —— I’d jes as lief make it all
+mine!”
+
+Quick as the movement of a cat he changed his position, facing round to
+father. Quicker still, he stooped and caught up something in his hand
+that by the glint of the moonlight explained their heavy load, and all
+the mystery which had been hanging over father’s actions. It was a
+rough, jagged piece of silver ore. He raised his powerful arm and struck
+father with it on the head. He struck him two or three times. I
+screamed. There was a dreadful struggle, and at the same second that I
+saw the gleam of father’s pistol I heard its report. The man raised up
+his huge figure for an instant, wavered, and fell back heavily with a
+cry like a wounded tiger. The boat, without capsizing, tilted beneath
+the shock, filled with water, and went down like a stone.
+
+I absolutely do not know how I pushed out from my hiding-place, but with
+two or three swift strokes I was on the spot. For an instant there was
+most frightful silence. I can see the waves widening their circle yet.
+Then, right at my boat’s head, father came to the surface. I was made
+strong by the energy of desperation.
+
+With a wild, straining reach I leaned over and caught him by the arm,
+and with the other hand I rowed backward towards the knoll. I would have
+capsized and gone down rather than have let go my grasp. I was within a
+skiff’s length of the little island when just at my side I saw the huge
+form of the miner come up. He struggled and made one mighty effort to
+catch hold of my boat. No more terrible can the faces of the damned look
+than this face that glared up at me from the water. It has haunted me
+waking and sleeping. God forgive me, I could do nothing else! I struck
+him with the flat side of my oar. Evidently weakened by loss of blood,
+exhausted and nearly gone, he fell back and sank almost instantly from
+sight.
+
+I worked round to a place where there was only grass growing, and
+catching by it drew close to its border. I could never have lifted
+father up but that he was sensible and could help himself somewhat. I
+got him on the ground, and from the ground into my boat. Then he
+fainted.
+
+His head was terribly wounded. I knew I had no time to waste. I was
+afraid he would die in the coming hours before I could reach assistance.
+I rubbed his hands. I loosened and took off some of his wet clothing. I
+folded my cloak over him carefully and seized the oars. Inspired by my
+strange burden with a strength superhuman, my boat shot swiftly almost
+as if it had been propelled by steam. But the east was already
+brightening again with Indian colors when I reached the wharf at last,
+at last!
+
+They raised him softly and carried him up to the house. I paid no
+attention to their thousand questions. I do not know what I said—I said
+it was an accident.
+
+In the weeks of his long fever and delirium, I watched over him day and
+night. He did not die. He came back to life. How many times I had
+wondered would he be kind, would he be gentle to me now? Ah, poor
+father! He was never harsh to any one after that.
+
+When the people came and spoke to him, he would laugh a gentle,
+meaningless laugh, and sometimes, holding to me tight, he would point to
+a button or color on their dress and say,—
+
+“Pretty, pretty!”
+
+He grew well and strong again, but it had shattered his mind forever.
+
+How he had avoided the officers at the tower in carrying away the
+precious metal which he had secreted from time to time, I do not know,
+but they suspected nothing. I held utter silence about the incident, and
+if the people did connect the missing miner with his mysterious
+“accident,” what was there to do? They pitied me that he was simple.
+Shall I say it? Perhaps it was better so. A strange, new joy came to me,
+as every day I saw the pale eyes, innocent now as those of a child,
+follow me about with a grateful look. He was easily managed, and he
+seemed to cling to me with an affection that would atone for the long
+blank in the past.
+
+I waited until the bitter Winter had gone by, and the first steamer came
+in the Summer.
+
+What would become of us in the big, untried city? I had my youth, I had
+my health.
+
+I stood upon the deck of the great vessel and saw this mere speck of
+land recede in the distance. Father, standing by my side, touched my
+arm, and holding out his open hand, said,—
+
+“Pretty, pretty!”
+
+There was a shell in it clean and white, and he looked up at me and
+smiled.
+
+Yes, better so, it was better so!
+
+He had gone there a man, strong and wicked. By the strange mysteries of
+Providence, he came from it a child, weak and innocent, with a soul
+white as the shell which for the moment he cherished in his simple
+delight.
+
+When next I raised my eyes, only the cold waters of Lake Superior washed
+the horizon, and Silver Islet had vanished from my sight forever.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                         BOYDELL, THE STROLLER.
+
+
+He was a strolling player. During the month of February, 1868, I was at
+Chicago, gathering up a theatrical troupe to do the provinces. I found
+no difficulty in getting my general utility people, but still lacked a
+“first old man.” Every person wanted leading business—that was exactly
+the trouble. When I was in the midst of my perplexity, I stumbled across
+Carey, whom I knew to be out of a job, and offered him the position.
+
+Now I felt that this act was a real charity, for I knew poor Carey had
+never received such a chance in all his theatrical days—years, I should
+say; for he was well on the shady side of forty. I was amazed,
+dumb-founded, when Carey refused it, absolutely, positively refused
+it,—Carey? What could explain this astounding fact? There was an odd
+twinkle in his eye, and presently the truth leaked out. He had just
+married a pretty, young girl, and—and—well, he had promised to quit the
+stage; that was the whole of it. But Carey suited me exactly, and I did
+not give up. I told him it was all nonsense; his wife would be glad
+enough for him to accept the position. Carey evidently began to waver;
+the old love for his profession threatened to out-weigh that other love
+which had crept into his heart. However, it was finally determined that
+I should call upon his wife and submit the matter to her decision.
+
+I found her really young and really pretty, but, also, really in
+earnest. Carey could not go, that was certain; at the very first mention
+of the subject, she burst into tears. There was nothing left for me
+except to retreat, which I did with many apologies.
+
+Then, to soften my despair, Carey told me he knew of a person, one
+Boydell, whom he thought would be glad to fill the position. A few days
+after, Carey brought him up and gave me an introduction. A tall man he
+was, six feet-one or two, with a fine presence, heightened by a peculiar
+dignity of manner and voice. There was dramatic power stamped upon his
+English face, with its square, massive jaw, firm mouth, and deep-set
+eyes. I had no idea of Boydell’s age. I could not have guessed it by
+fifteen years one way or the other. He was one of those singular
+individuals who might be twenty-five, thirty-five, or fifty. There were
+a few wrinkles about his bronzed features, but they were surely not the
+wrinkles of time. His thick, brown hair was combed straight back, and
+hung down behind his ears. His dress was what might be called the
+shabby-genteel. Black from head to foot, nothing in it was new, and one
+would almost think nothing ever had been new. The garments had
+apparently existed in just their present condition of wear from time
+immemorial. The coat was shiny across the back, and a trifle small too,
+as though it had originally been cut for a man of less length both in
+body and arms. On his feet he wore queer, English shoes, with broad
+spreading soles, and the extra space at the toes turned up after the
+fashion of a rocker. A silk hat, bell-crowned, with curved rim, such as
+we see in pictures of Beau Brummel, was set well back upon his head.
+
+But, notwithstanding these peculiarities, there was something in his
+bearing that gave Boydell the appearance of a finished gentleman, and
+his fine address added to the impression he created of eminent
+respectability. He accepted the position, and our business was speedily
+accomplished. I requested him to call on the following day, when I would
+be able to make the final arrangements for our departure, and he left
+with a dignified bow.
+
+Gathering together a company of actors and actresses from nowhere in
+particular, and attempting to form them into something like an organized
+troupe, is not by any means the most encouraging work with which one
+might employ himself. Again and again my patience was exhausted, and
+again and again I resolved to persevere. Several times we had almost
+been ready for action, when somebody would “back out,” and throw us once
+more into confusion. Now, however, I determined to surmount every
+difficulty, no matter what, so that the next train might bear us _en
+route_ for the West.
+
+In the midst of the morning’s turmoil, Boydell made his appearance. I
+informed him of our arrangements, inquired where he kept his baggage,
+and told him I would send for it immediately.
+
+“That will be unnecessary, as I have it with me. This, Sir, is my
+baggage.”
+
+While Boydell spoke, he put his hand back into his coat-tail pocket and
+quietly drew out a scratch wig. I looked at his face to find something
+which might belie the dignified voice, but there was not even the shadow
+of a smile breaking up its gravity. His countenance was as composed when
+he returned the wig to his pocket as though he had just shown to my
+admiring gaze a complete wardrobe of great magnificence. Indeed, I was
+so impressed by his aristocratic manner, that the ludicrous aspect of
+the interview hardly presented itself to me until it was over.
+
+But I had no time to be amused, and, with the annoying trials that would
+turn up where I least expected them, no inclination. When I sent round
+for the luggage I found that two of the boys had “shoved up their trunks
+at their uncle’s,” and, as it was the last moment, I was compelled to
+redeem them. Then I hired a carriage, and went to conduct the
+_soubrette_, to the depot. When I arrived in front of the house,
+_Madame_, _la mere_, came out and informed me that her daughter could
+not go, would not go, unless I gave them fifteen dollars to get her
+front teeth away from the dentist’s! What could we do without a
+_soubrette_? With a groan I handed over the fifteen dollars.
+
+Playing in the smaller towns along our route, we cleared our traveling
+expenses, and got into pretty good working order.
+
+When we arrived at St. Joseph we gathered up all our strength, and came
+out in full glory as “The New York Star Company.” There we played for
+three weeks to crowded audiences. On “salary days” the money was
+forthcoming, a rare occurrence with strolling actors, and of course we
+were all greatly delighted.
+
+Under such circumstances our spirits ran high, and each one began to
+tell of the particular _rôles_ in which he or she had, in days gone by,
+electrified an audience and won applause. Boydell caught the infection.
+It happened that we had been running plays in which the “first old man”
+was, at best, only a “stick” part, and Boydell fretted considerably at
+his ill-luck. One night he came into the green-room, and to his
+inexpressible joy found himself cast for the part of “Colonel Damas” in
+Bulwer’s comedy of the “Lady of Lyons.” Now this was his pet _rôle_, and
+at the intelligence he felt all his dramatic genius kindle into a fresh
+flame.
+
+“Boys,” he said, straightening up his dignified form, “Boys, you will
+see me make a great hit to-night. The passage commencing, ‘The man who
+sets his heart upon a woman is a chameleon, and doth feed on air,’ has
+never been to my mind rightly given.”
+
+Many of us had seen him do pretty well before, but now we looked forward
+to such an effort as the stage in St. Joseph had never witnessed.
+
+The next evening I repaired to the theater half an hour earlier than
+usual, but found Boydell already dressed for the play. His shabby black
+coat looked more eminently respectable than ever, and was buttoned over
+smooth white linen, or what he made answer the purpose of linen,—half a
+yard of paper muslin folded into tucks, and pinned to his paper collar.
+In his hand ready for use he held his one valuable—the scratch wig. It
+still lacked a few minutes before he would be called, and he
+disappeared, as he said, to “steady his nerves.” Various winks and
+knowing looks passed among the boys; such disappearances on his part at
+this time of the evening were by no means rare or unaccountable.
+
+Boydell came back and went directly on the stage. The excitement behind
+the scenes grew, for, although few of us would admit it, we all knew
+Boydell was a born actor, and we clustered eagerly around the wings in
+breathless expectation.
+
+He started out with dramatic gesture,—
+
+               “‘The man who sets his heart upon a woman
+               Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air—
+                                 On air—air—’”
+
+Suddenly his voice grew fainter, and his sentences incoherent. Those few
+moments he had spent in “steadying his nerves” had taken every line of
+the text from his memory. He could barely keep upon his feet and blunder
+through his part with thick voice and uncertain step. He was fully aware
+of his powerless condition, and came off with a moody, crestfallen
+countenance.
+
+When the curtain finally dropped, as it was Monday night, they all
+assembled to receive their salary. Boydell stood a little apart from the
+others, leaning against a flat. One of the boys came forward and
+delivering a long, elaborate speech in the name of all the members,
+presented Boydell with a tin snuff-box to hold his wardrobe—“As a token
+of their appreciation of the great ‘hit’ he had made, and the glory it
+would reflect upon the troupe.”
+
+That night Boydell, from some unknown source, had scraped up two
+shillings.
+
+He could take twice the quantity of liquor that would intoxicate any
+other man, and beyond a redness of the nose and a flushed glistening
+appearance about the “gills,” he manifested no symptom of intemperance.
+He had a trick of using his hand as a shield around the glass and
+pouring in whisky to the very brim, so he always got a double drink for
+one price. When the boys asked him why he held the tumbler in that
+peculiar manner, “It was habit,” he said, “merely habit.” I remember at
+Lawrence, Kansas, they had unusually small glasses, and he went into a
+logical discussion with the bar-keeper to show the evil of the thing. It
+was wrong; it looked mean; it would ruin his custom. Not that he
+(Boydell) cared; it was nothing to him, it was only the _principle_ he
+objected to; it appeared penurious.
+
+Boxing, I found, was the one thing—aside from his acting—upon which
+Boydell prided himself. If he heard of a person about the neighborhood
+who made any pretentions in this respect, he would walk miles through
+rain or mud to vanquish the “presumptuous fool.” I could not keep from
+feeling interested in this singular man. Reared in the English colleges,
+with the polish of the classics upon him, destined and trained for the
+British army, he had given it all up for this worthless, roving,
+vagabond life. And yet—although degraded, intemperate, and often
+profane—there was still a natural reserve about Boydell that commanded
+respect.
+
+Our expenses had been steadily increasing, and our finances did not
+prove equal to the demand; at least they would not justify a longer run.
+We played two weeks at Leavenworth City, and disbanded, scattering in
+all directions.
+
+I went home to M—— with a feeling of unutterable relief. My theatrical
+experience had brought me to the determination of letting the stage
+alone for the present, or trying it in a different capacity. Devoting my
+whole time to a more lucrative business, I heard nothing about any of
+the old troupe, and I did not care to see one of them again, unless it
+was Boydell. I had little hope of ever meeting him; it would be mere
+chance if I did, and I knew he might just as likely now be in Europe or
+Australia as in this country. But we were destined once more to come in
+contact.
+
+M—— was a flat, muddy, thriving little town in Western Illinois. It had
+built a theater, and was a focus for strolling actors and adventurers—a
+kind of center, where the remnant of theatrical troupes that had come to
+grief straggled in to recruit. The citizens did not consider this a very
+distinguishing characteristic to boast of, but in reality it was what
+raised the place out of oblivion; otherwise its few thousand inhabitants
+might, like their neighbors, have lived for ever in obscurity.
+
+Early last Summer a business engagement took me to the suburbs of this
+town. The atmosphere was clear as crystal and glittering with sunshine.
+The cherries hung dead-ripe upon the trees; the blackbirds chattered
+about them to each other with red-stained bills, and the cats, stretched
+lazily in the sunshine, watched the winged robbers with no charitable
+feelings. The leaves, if they were thirsty, complained but gently, and
+in the dry and pleasant fields the grasshoppers, without flagging, held
+a jubilee, and from the level pastures farther off came the sound of
+distant bells, and sometimes, close by the roadside, the farmers whetted
+their scythes.
+
+Coming towards me a man upon the turnpike was approaching the town on
+foot. As we neared each other, old recollections came back upon me. Yes,
+that tall erect figure seemed familiar—it was Boydell coming into M——
+from parts unknown.
+
+The same coat I had seen do such good service, only a little shinier
+now, was buttoned over the same—no, it was likely another piece of paper
+muslin. On his feet were a pair of shoes, a present undoubtedly, which
+lacked a size or more in length; but this trouble had been remedied by
+cutting out the counters, and strapping down his pantaloons to cover his
+naked heels. The fact that I knew his high silk hat, the one of olden
+times, had lost its crown, was owing entirely to the elevation I gained
+by being on horseback. Under other circumstances it would never have
+been discovered, for the edges were trimmed smoothly round, and Boydell,
+as I said, was tall.
+
+And so I met him again, the same courtly vagabond, the same Boydell of
+former days. His bearing was majestic, almost regal; his dress was—a
+respectable shell. But there seemed to be a change, too. He did not look
+any older, although I noticed a little silver had sprinkled itself
+through his thick waving hair since we had parted, but there was
+something about his eyes that did not appear natural, and a tired, a
+weary expression sat upon his face—an expression I had never seen there
+before. Perhaps he had walked many miles.
+
+I looked after him as he went on towards the town, thinking what an
+unsettled, wild, worthless life he led, this man with the divine gift of
+genius, this vagrant with the clinging air of gentility. Maybe fate was
+against him; maybe he really had higher aspirations; but without
+friends, without home, the cold, unsympathetic world had crushed them;
+and still watching, it suddenly entered my head how easily I could guess
+the contents of his coat-tail pocket!
+
+Some little time after this meeting, when Boydell had almost passed out
+of my mind, a gentleman called at my office, and during our conversation
+told me about a case of destitution that had accidentally come to his
+knowledge. At first I listened with well-bred indifference, for the
+experience I had acquired thoroughly cured all my philanthropic symptoms
+with which I had once been afflicted, but when he related the
+circumstances my interest awakened.
+
+A man, a stranger, had stopped at the tavern on the suburbs of the town
+and fallen sick. He had no money, no friends, indeed he had not even a
+shirt to his back, and the landlord threatened to turn him out, utterly
+helpless as he was. I suddenly thought of Boydell, and inquired the
+man’s name. My friend could not recall it, but said he represented
+himself as an actor; though the landlord did not place much reliance on
+this statement, for the fellow had no wardrobe of any description, and
+the only thing in his possession was a scratch wig, which a black-leg
+would be as likely to own as an actor. This dispelled what little doubt
+had remained in my mind. It was Boydell, and something must be done at
+once for his relief.
+
+Generosity does not prevail in any profession to a greater extent,
+especially among the lower members, than it does in the dramatic. As it
+was the hour for rehearsal, we went up to the theater. We told of
+Boydell’s condition, and I related what I knew of his history. One
+appeal was sufficient; the contribution they made up would at least
+relieve his present wants.
+
+There, at the tavern, we found him in a stupor. Neglected, without the
+barest necessities, he had had no medical attendance of any kind. In a
+room high up under the roof he was lying across a broken bedstead, on a
+worn-out husk mattress, with nothing to shade him from the fierce,
+blazing sun or the crawling flies that kept up a loud, incessant buzz.
+And he had been sick eight days. On the floor old Mounse had crammed
+himself into the one shady corner.
+
+Old Mounse was a besotted beggar round town who had arrived at the state
+where the rims of his eyelids appeared to be turned inside out and
+resembled raw beefsteak. The landlady, who was somewhat more
+compassionate than her worser half, fearing that Boydell might die on
+her hands, had sent up old Mounse, an hour ago, with a little gruel
+which he had swallowed himself, and was then peacefully snoring in the
+corner.
+
+We sent immediately for a physician, and employed ourselves in having
+Boydell removed to another apartment, where, at least, he might escape
+being broiled to death by the sun, or devoured by flies. When the doctor
+arrived, we had him fixed in quite comfortable quarters. Boydell’s
+disease, as we feared, was a severe form of the typhoid fever. From the
+lifeless stupor, he suddenly broke into the wild ravings of delirium, so
+that our combined strength could hardly avail to keep him upon the bed.
+
+We reinstated old Mounse on his watch, only with strict orders that the
+granulated eyelids were to be kept wide open. Old Mounse was one of
+those rare persons with the _delirium tremens_, who had hovered on the
+verge of dissolution for thirty years, and still lived along. Palsied
+and feeble, and crippled and unshaven, and dirty and whiny, he just
+managed to keep himself on this side of the grave. The adjective “old,”
+which had become a prefix to his name, could not have been better
+applied, for his clothes, too, were ready at any moment to keep him
+company and return to their original element. Old Mounse’s one merit
+was, he had become so aged that he could just do what he was told and
+nothing more. The case had assumed altogether a new aspect to him, now
+that Boydell seemed to have friends.
+
+Every day the doctor reported the condition of his patient, which grew
+more and more unfavorable, until one morning he came and told us he
+thought Boydell had not over twenty-four hours to live. We went
+immediately to the tavern with him. Boydell, for the first time since
+his illness, was perfectly conscious. Here, in the silence of this
+barren room, unhallowed by the presence of sorrowing ones, the wild,
+reckless life was drawing to a close. It seemed as if the specter hands
+of death were already stretched out to snap the last binding thread. The
+face on the pillow, haggard and ghastly with its hollow cheeks, very
+little resembled the one over which that weary, indefinable expression,
+the shadow, the forerunner of the fever, had crept but three weeks ago.
+Boydell recognized me, and motioned to a chair beside the bed. He made
+two or three efforts before he spoke.
+
+“I am going to die—”
+
+We could only answer by silence. It was something terrible to see this
+strong man, now weaker than an infant, lie calmly on the brink of
+eternity; even old Mounse dropped his beefy lids, and drew back with a
+subdued sniffle of awe. We asked if there was any thing that he wished
+done. After a little he turned his head that his voice might the better
+reach us.
+
+“I have relatives—it will not matter to them that I am gone; they hold
+themselves up in the world; it will only be a disgrace wiped out; but—I
+would like them to know, and when I am dead, why—I wish you would please
+write to—to my brother. I have not heard from him for nearly fifteen
+years.”
+
+He closed his eyes, and seemed to dream, but presently roused himself,
+and looked anxiously about the room.
+
+“There was something else—oh, yes. Tell him that—I am gone. He is rector
+of St. Paul’s Church, S——, Lower Canada.” He paused and then said
+slowly, as though repeating his words for the first time, “It is no
+matter—but tell him I am—dead.”
+
+He felt up and down the seam of the quilt feebly with his fingers, then
+closed his eyes again in unconsciousness.
+
+All day the dread phantom hands seemed to hover closer to that quivering
+thread of life, until sometimes we almost thought it broken; but at
+nightfall they receded, and the shred strengthened. There was a change
+for the better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural slumber.
+
+Several days after this it occurred to me that if Boydell had relatives
+in Canada who were well off, they ought to help him in his time of need.
+Without making him or any one else acquainted with my intention, I wrote
+a letter setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute condition
+among strangers. As they held no communication with Boydell, they would
+hardly be willing to send him the money. I was unknown, and to assure
+them it was no imposition, I wrote if they wished to send any
+assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, M——,
+Illinois.”
+
+About a week later that minister came to me and showed a letter
+post-marked S——, which contained a check for three hundred dollars. It
+specified that the money was to be given to Boydell only on condition
+that he would promise to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as he
+was able to travel, come home to his relatives. I felt delighted at the
+success of my plan, for of course he would accept the money, and whether
+he fulfilled his promise afterwards by renouncing the stage and going
+home to Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I considered was no
+business of mine.
+
+When we entered his room, Boydell was propped up almost in a sitting
+posture by pillows. The window-shutter had been thrown partly open to
+admit the air, and a narrow streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We
+told him of the good news, and after we had made him understand how it
+had all come about, read the letter aloud. He listened in perfect
+silence, without changing position, and when it was finished, took the
+check and said,—
+
+“Three hundred dollars?”
+
+“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”
+
+He held the slip of paper in his emaciated hands, that trembled with
+weakness, and repeated,—
+
+“Three hundred dollars—”
+
+He seemed trying to convince himself of its reality; but suddenly a
+bewildered expression broke over his face, and he looked from the check
+to the letter, which still laid open. We asked Boydell if he wished to
+hear it again, but at the second reading his bewilderment only seemed to
+increase. He looked at us with an inquiring gaze that wandered round the
+bare, desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue sky in the window.
+Then he said, as if asking himself the question,—
+
+“Give up the stage? Renounce the stage?”
+
+His eyes came back to the money in his hand. Presently he folded it up,
+pressing the creases with his thin fingers, and slowly holding it out,
+shook his head saying,—
+
+“Send it back.”
+
+The ribbon of sunlight had crept further and further round until it
+stretched itself across the broad, white forehead, and we stood in
+greater awe than when the angel of death had hovered there. Suddenly
+before us a dazzling ray had flashed out from the black waste of that
+sinful life. The unbroken check went back to Canada.
+
+A month later I was riding in the country. A purple light overhung the
+shadowy prairie, which stretched away, broad, level and without bound.
+Occasionally a wild bird rose up and darted with swift wings, seeking a
+resting place, for already the September moon waited the coming night.
+Nearer, the tall weeds raised themselves from the great, soundless ocean
+of grass, like the masts of receding vessels. A single wagon, the only
+object on all the void prairie, stood out bold and sharp against the
+bright line of the horizon, and clearly defined above the driver, high
+up on top of the hay, the figure of a man cut the sky. Even at that
+distance I knew it was Boydell.
+
+Some one had given him a little money, and with renewed health and
+spirits he was going out of M——. Whither?
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                            THE DEATH-WATCH.
+
+
+“Didn’t you hear it?”
+
+“When?”
+
+“Just now.”
+
+“No.”
+
+“They say it foretells death. Hush!”
+
+The two men sat motionless. Not a sound broke the silence, not even a
+creak of the old boards in the floor, or a sigh of the wind, or a
+flapping shutter.
+
+“They say it foretells death. I heard it last night and the night
+before. What’s that?”
+
+“Nothing. It’s stiller than a graveyard.”
+
+“I heard it last night, and the night before about this time, near one.
+’Taint a very pleasant sound, and this old garret’s dismal enough any
+way.”
+
+“Monk, you’re afeard. It’s nothing. Don’t waste no more time. I’m
+dead-tired and sleepy. You wouldn’t have been in this old hole now if it
+hadn’t been for Peters.”
+
+“No, if it hadn’t been for Peters, the strike, like enough, would have
+took. But he won’t stand in nobody’s way again.”
+
+While Monk spoke, he drew out a sharp, slender knife, and ran his finger
+along the blade.
+
+“I tell you, Shiflet, we must do it the night after this blast’s done,
+and the men in the shed say the coal will run out on the 6th, that’s
+to-morrow. When Peters is fixed, the managers will have to give in or
+quit runnin’ the furnace.”
+
+Both men sat with their arms leaning on the table, and the flickering
+light of the tallow candle between them showed two faces, rough,
+begrimed by smoke and soot, and disfigured by evil passions, that grew
+fiercer as they calmly plotted against the life of a fellow-being.
+
+“We’ll meet at one, where the roads cross. It’ll be quiet then, and
+Peters’s house is alone.”
+
+“I’ll be all right,” said Shiflet, with a grin that rendered his
+brute-like countenance doubly repulsive. “I’m confounded tired. Bring
+your candle and light me down them infernal stairs.”
+
+The men stood up. Monk, small and slim, was dwarfed by the almost giant
+stature of his companion. With a few parting words as to secrecy and
+silence, they separated.
+
+Monk stood on the upper step until Shiflet disappeared, then closed the
+door and replaced the candle on the table.
+
+The room, neither large nor small, was a mere hole, smoked, dirty, and
+unplastered, high up in a frame tenement-house. Two or three chairs, an
+old chest of drawers, a rickety bedstead, and pine table, composed its
+furniture. Some old boots and broken pieces of pig-iron lay scattered
+about. The small, box-shaped window was set just below where the ceiling
+or roof sloped to the wall. The only door led directly to the stairs
+that went down two, three flights to the ground. There were many such
+places in Agatha, where the furnace-hands lived.
+
+Monk walked rapidly up and down the room, as if making an effort to wear
+off the excitement that the last few moments had brought upon him. His
+features had lost much of the malignant expression, which was by no
+means habitual. His countenance was not hardened or stamped with the
+impress of crime like Shiflet’s, who had just parted from him at the
+door—a countenance in which every trace of conscience had long ago been
+erased. Monk’s face was neither good nor bad, neither bright nor dull;
+but he was a man easily wrought into a passion, governed by impulse.
+
+Crossing to the table, he slung his coat over a chair, and stretched out
+his hand to extinguish the light. Midway in the action he suddenly
+checked himself, looked hurriedly around the room for an instant, and
+stood motionless, with inclined head, listening intently. Not a sound
+disturbed the stillness. Pinching out the light, he threw himself on the
+bed, and in the darkness there soon came the heavy, regular respiration
+of sleep.
+
+The house at Agatha nestled under the north cliff. A hundred feet above
+them the railroad lost itself in the black mouth of a tunnel and
+reappeared beyond, a high wall of trestlework stretching southward down
+the valley to Ely’s Mines. Hours ago, the toiling men and cattle had
+lain down to rest, and now the wild, rocky hills around slept in the
+moonlight. No sound broke upon the stillness but the muffled puff, puff,
+of the furnace, and a murmur of frogs that rose and fell interruptedly
+along the shrunken water-course. The cabins under the cliff shone white
+and sharp; the iron on the metal-switch flashed with a million gems; the
+rails upon the trestle, receding, turned to silver, and the foliage of
+early Summer glittered on the trees. A few passionless stars blinked
+feebly in the yellow light, where the hill-tops cut against the sky, and
+sank below the verge. Calmly, peacefully waned the night—calmly and
+peacefully, as though the spirit of evil had not stalked abroad plotting
+the death and ruin of men’s bodies and souls.
+
+That narrow spot of ground, with the houses down in the valley, formed
+the world for four hundred people. The furnace-hands and their families
+saw nothing beyond the hills and rocks that hemmed in their village;
+knew nothing of the mad tumults outside. An untaught, sturdy race of
+men, they differed little one from another. Every day, when the sun
+rose, they went forth to toil, and every night, when the great furnace
+over the creek glimmered red, they lay down to sleep. But ignorance and
+superstition filled their hearts, and anger, and hate, and jealousy,
+were as rife among them as in the crowded cities.
+
+Another day passed, and the night which followed it was dark and cloudy.
+Near midnight, the great bell signalled for the last run of iron.
+Occasionally blue flames leaped up from the furnace, lurid as the fiery
+tongues of a volcano. The long and narrow roof brooded over the sand-bed
+like the black wings of some monster bird hovering in the air. Under its
+shadow groups of men were but wavering, dusky figures. Suddenly, as an
+electric flash, a dazzling yellow glare broke out, and a fierce,
+scorching, withering blast swept from an opening that seemed the mouth
+of hell itself. Slowly out of the burning cavern a hissing stream of
+molten iron came creeping down. It crawled, and turned and crawled, rib
+after rib, until it lay like some huge skeleton stretched upon the
+ground. A thin vapor floated up in the sulphurous air and quivered with
+reflected splendor. The scarlet-shirted men looked weird in the
+unearthly brightness. The yellow glow faded to red, that deepened to a
+blood-colored spot in the night. The bell rang to discharge the hands,
+and squads of men broke up, scattering in the dark.
+
+Monk went to his garret-room, hesitated a moment at the door, then
+passed in and shut it so violently that the floor shook. He struck a
+match. In the brimstone light a horrible demon countenance wavered, blue
+and ghastly; but, when the candle flamed, it grew into Monk’s face,
+covered by the black scowl of rage that had disfigured it once before—a
+rage that was freshly roused.
+
+“If I’d had my knife, I’d have done it just now, when I stumbled against
+him. But he dies to-morrow night at—”
+
+The words froze on his lips, and his black scowling face was suddenly
+overspread by a strange pallor. He stood motionless, as if chained to
+the floor, his eyes darted quickly about, and he seemed to suspend his
+very breath.
+
+A clear, distinct, ticking sound occurred at regular intervals for a
+minute, and left profound silence.
+
+Monk raised his head.
+
+“It’s a sign of coming death. That’s for Peters. There it is again!”
+
+The strange sound, like a faint metallic click, repeated itself several
+times.
+
+“D—n it! I don’t like to hear the thing. But there _will_ be a sudden
+death.”
+
+Time after time Monk heard at intervals the same faint sound, like the
+ticking of a watch for a minute, and it made his blood run cold. He
+found himself listening to it with terror, and in the long silence,
+always straining his ears to catch it, always expecting, dreading its
+repetition, until the thing grew more horrible to him than a nightmare.
+Sometimes he would fall into a doze, and, wakening with a start, hear
+it, while cold perspiration broke in drops on his forehead.
+
+It grew intolerable. He swore he would find the thing and kill it, but
+it mocked him in his search. The sound seemed to come from the table,
+but when he stood beside the table it ticked so distinctly at the window
+that he thought he could put his finger on the spot; but when he tried
+to, it had changed again, and sounded at the head of his bed. Sometimes
+it seemed close at his right, and he turned only to hear it on the other
+side, then in front, then behind. Again and again he searched, and swore
+in his exasperation and disappointment.
+
+The sound became exaggerated by his distempered imagination, till he
+trembled lest some one else should hear this omen which so plainly
+foretold his anticipated crime. Once an hour dragged by, and his unseen
+tormentor was silent. His eyes, that had glittered with deathly hatred,
+now wore a startled look, and wandered restlessly about the room.
+
+An owl, that perched on the topmost branch of a high tree near by,
+screamed loud and long. A bat flew in at the open window, banged against
+the ceiling, and darted out.
+
+Monk shivered. Leaning his head between his arms, he drummed nervously
+on the table with his fingers. Instantly the clear metallic click
+sounded again. He looked up, and a strange light broke into his face, a
+mixed expression of amazement and fright. For a moment he seemed
+stupefied, then raising his hand he tapped lightly against the wood with
+his finger-nail. The last tap had not died until it was answered by what
+seemed like a fainter repetition of itself.
+
+Uttering a fearful oath, Monk recoiled from the table, but, as if drawn
+back and held by a weird fascination, he sat an hour striking the hard
+surface with his nails, and pausing for the response that each time came
+clear and distinct.
+
+Gray streaks crept along the east, and quivered like a faded fringe
+bordering the black canopy. Still he sat tapping, but no answer came. He
+waited, listened vainly; no echo, no sound, and the dull, hueless light
+of the cloudy morning glimmered at his window. Then he threw himself on
+his bed, and fell into restless slumbers.
+
+A damp thick fog enveloped the houses in its slimy embrace. At nightfall
+its reeking folds gathered themselves from the ground, and a noiseless
+drizzle came sullenly down.
+
+Monk had not stirred from his room all day. The feverish sleep into
+which he had fallen fled from him before noon, and now he stood at his
+window looking out into the blackness. A clammy air blew against his
+face. He stretched out his hand and drew it back suddenly, as if he had
+touched the dead. It was cold and moist. He rubbed it violently against
+his clothes, as though he could not wipe off the dampness. A tremor
+seized upon him. Hark! was that the dripping of water? No. A sickly
+smile played over his countenance. He went to the table and tapped
+lightly with his fingers, as he had done before. In another moment the
+taps were answered, and he involuntarily counted as they came,
+one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—then all was silent. He made the call
+a second time, he tried it over and over, and at each response it ticked
+seven times, never more, never less, but seven times clearly,
+distinctly. Suddenly he sprang up, and through shut teeth hissed,—
+
+“The seventh day, by Heaven! But I’ll cheat you—I’ll not kill him!”
+
+He darted noiselessly down the stairs, and struck out through the woods.
+In half an hour he emerged on the edge of a clearing, a dozen yards from
+a chopper’s cabin. Creeping stealthily to the door he shook it, then
+after a moment’s irresolution cried out,—
+
+“Peters! Peters! look out for Shiflet. He has sworn to murder you
+to-night.”
+
+Without waiting for a reply he sprang away, and was quickly lost among
+the trees.
+
+A moment afterward a tall form arose out of the shadow of a stump near
+the cabin, and passed rapidly in an opposite direction.
+
+At the summit of the hill east of Agatha, a steep precipice is formed by
+a great, bare, projecting rock. From the valley, its outline resembles
+an enormous face in profile, and they call it “The Devil’s Head.” The
+full moon rendered the unbroken mass of cloud translucent, producing a
+peculiar sinister effect. The mist still blew through the air, but in
+the zenith there was a dull ashen hue, and the surrounding cloud was the
+color of earth. The far-off hills loomed up majestic, terrible, against
+the gloom; nearer objects were strangely magnified in the tawny light.
+At the foot of this phantom crag, on a terrace, is the ore-bank and
+blackened coal-shed. Below rose the metal-stack, from whose stone hearth
+a waste of sand sloped gently to the creek. The furnace squatted grim
+and black. Its blood-shot eye was shut; its gaping throat uttered no
+sigh, no groan; its throbbing pulse was stilled—the fierce, struggling
+monster was dead. The only bright spot in all the valley was the yellow
+circle made by the watchman’s lantern in the coal-shed.
+
+After leaving the “choppings,” Monk threaded his way through the forest,
+coming out at last on the open road. This road led directly over the
+“Devil’s Head,” and entered the valley by a steep descent half a mile to
+the south. At the precipice Monk paused. The wind eddied with a mournful
+wail, and the constant motion of tall trees gave the scene almost the
+wavering, unsubstantial appearance of a vision. There was something
+oppressive in this strange midnight twilight, but Monk did not feel it.
+He only felt relief, inexpressible relief; he only stopped there to
+breathe, to breathe freely once more with the heavy weight thrown from
+him.
+
+After a moment he ran carelessly down the hill, passed under the
+ore-cars and into the coal-shed. He hailed Patterson, the watchman, and
+the lantern threw gigantic shadows of the two men over the ground. Then
+he walked along the narrow cinder-road leading to the bridge over the
+creek. Sometimes the willows, that grew on either side, swept their damp
+hair against his face. An hour ago he would have started convulsively,
+now he heeded not, for he was free and light of heart.
+
+Monk reached the stairs, and ascended to his room. As he passed in, the
+powerful figure of Shiflet sprang upon him from behind. There was a
+scuffle, some muttered oaths, then a heavy fall. Monk lay stretched upon
+the floor motionless, lifeless, and the echo of fleeing steps died away,
+leaving the place still as the now silent death-watch.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                        THE MAN AT THE CRIB.[1]
+
+
+One morning in the Spring of 1867—whether in April or May I am now
+unable certainly to determine, but think it was in the latter month—I
+was sitting at the breakfast-table, leisurely reading the morning paper,
+and enjoying my last cup of coffee, when my eye accidentally fell upon
+the following advertisement:—
+
+  “WANTED—A reliable man to take charge of the Crib. An unmarried German
+  preferred. One who can come well recommended, and give bond for
+  faithful performance of duty, will receive a liberal salary. Apply
+  immediately to the Board of Public Works, Pumping Department, Nos. 15
+  and 17 South Wells Street.”
+
+Footnote 1:
+
+  The Crib is the name given to the isolated structure at the opening of
+  the Chicago Water Works tunnel, in the lake, two miles from the shore.
+
+My attention was arrested by the thought of so strange an occupation,
+and whether any one would be found willing to accept the situation and
+live alone in the crib two miles from the shore. There all companionship
+would be cut off, and I wondered what effect the utter solitude and
+confinement in the small round building rising out of the water, with
+little in the scenery to relieve the eye, and nothing to rest the ear
+from the continual dashing of the waves against the frame sides—I
+wondered what effect it would have upon the occupant.
+
+It happened I had been lecturing before a class of medical students in
+one of our colleges upon the relation of mind to body, and it occurred
+to me that this crib-tender might prove an illustration of my theory.
+His mind would have afforded it an opportunity to prey upon itself, and
+might become perverted. Under certain circumstances the mental exerts an
+influence over the physical system, aside from the voluntary volition of
+the will, and it frequently transpires that what is mere illusion in the
+spiritual nature appears a reality to the material, so closely are the
+two linked together.
+
+My interest being awakened, I secretly determined that I would try to
+discover who accepted this situation, and notice, if possible, what
+effect it would produce upon the keeper. Some time later I learned that
+the above advertisement had been answered the same day (the exact date I
+can not remember) by a German, one Gustav Stahlmann, who presented
+himself at the address indicated, and applied for the situation. After a
+slight examination he proved satisfactory in every respect. His
+recommendations were of the highest kind and bore testimony to his
+strict integrity and upright character.
+
+The position was accordingly offered to him, provided he would be
+willing to comply with certain conditions. First, that in accepting it
+he would bind himself to remain in the situation at least two years;
+and, secondly, that during that period, he would upon no occasion or
+pretense whatever, leave the crib. He manifested little hesitation in
+assenting to these requirements, as the salary was good, and an
+opportunity afforded for resting from the severe labor to which he had
+been accustomed.
+
+All necessary arrangements were completed, and upon the following day,
+with his dog for the sole companion of his future home, he had been
+taken out and instructed in the duties of his office. These were few and
+light, consisting mainly of attention to the water-gates of the tunnel,
+opening and closing them as required, and removing any obstructions
+which might clog their action. At night he was to trim and light the
+lamp which had been placed on the apex of the roof as a warning to
+passing vessels. This was all; the remainder of the time lay at his own
+disposal. A boy might readily have accomplished this labor, and he
+congratulated himself upon his good luck in securing so easy a
+berth—one, too, which yielded a good income.
+
+The first time I saw Stahlmann myself was soon after he had accepted the
+situation. If I recollect rightly, he told me he had been a month on the
+Crib. I had rowed myself out from the foot of Twelfth Street in a small
+boat.
+
+At this early period in its history the Crib was not so well finished
+and comfortable as now, but was bare and barn-like, being in fact
+nothing more than a round unplastered house, rising out of the lake. The
+wooden floor, which was some fifteen feet above the water, contained in
+its center a well about six feet in diameter, around which arose the
+iron rods of the water-gates. A small room, the only apartment, had been
+partitioned off by three plank walls from the southeastern part of the
+circular interior, and furnished for the abode of the keeper. If it were
+rough, there was all present that he could reasonably desire for his
+comfort. A sufficient supply of provisions were delivered to him once a
+month by a tug-boat from the city.
+
+I found Stahlmann to be a man rather above the medium height, with a
+broad muscular frame, but there were no evidences of sluggishness in his
+movements; on the contrary, his elasticity and gracefulness betokened
+great powers of endurance, and indicated to me activity both of body and
+mind. He was perhaps thirty-five years of age, and his frank, open
+countenance was marked by regular features of a somewhat intellectual
+cast; honesty and principle were plainly visible in his face, and a
+ready command of language betrayed considerable education. He impressed
+me as superior to the majority of men in his rank of life, and from this
+conclusion I was none the less driven by the appearance of his coarse
+and soiled clothing. I engaged him in conversation, into which he was
+easily drawn, and I was surprised by the native love of the beautiful
+which he evidently possessed. He seemed to take great pleasure in
+pointing out the beauties in the scene that laid before our view.
+
+The sun was scarcely an hour high, and we could hardly turn our eyes
+eastward for the splendor of his rays reflected on the water. To the
+north the sea-like horizon was flecked by the white sails of retreating
+vessels, some hull-down in the distance, others uncertain specks
+vanishing from our range of vision. Stretching along the shore to the
+westward, Chicago shot a hundred spires, glistening and glorified, into
+the morning sunlight, while just opposite us stood the grim lighthouse,
+a motionless sentinel keeping watch over the harbor.
+
+I admitted the attraction of the scene, and made an effort to turn the
+conversation to his private life. He was easily led to talk of himself,
+although he did it in a natural and unaffected manner. I gathered that
+he was born in Bavaria, and that when he had attained his sixteenth
+year, some difficulty had driven his parents to this country. They were
+well educated, but misfortune compelled them, on their arrival, to put
+their son to labor. The instruction he had received in the Fatherland
+had evidently strengthened his powers of observation and quickened his
+understanding.
+
+I asked him if he did not find his life at the Crib very tiresome, and
+what he did to pass away the time. I remarked that I believed, if I were
+in his place, I would be smitten most fearfully with the blues. He
+laughed good humoredly, and said he had never been troubled in that
+manner, that there were daily a great number of visitors,
+curiosity-seekers, which the Crib attracted, as it was altogether novel,
+and had but just been completed. Then he said he had his dog for
+companionship, and that they lived very pleasantly together. He was
+evidently much attached to this animal, whom he called Caspar, for he
+frequently interrupted the conversation to stroke it on the head. I was
+astonished to find him well acquainted with the current news of the day,
+but he readily explained this, for usually some one who came out carried
+a paper, which was willingly given to him, and having nothing else to
+occupy his time he read it much more carefully than we do who are in the
+turmoil of the city.
+
+Towards the middle of the day I left him, almost envying his peaceful
+life and happy contentment, yet doubting if this would last long, for,
+after the novelty wore away, I could not help thinking that he might
+find his solitary existence less pleasing. I had become wonderfully
+interested in this man, and determined to pay him another visit when I
+could again find half a day to devote to pleasure.
+
+It was not, however, until the following September that I could spare
+time for another trip to the Crib. This visit, as I said, had been
+prompted out of curiosity to watch the effects of this solitary life
+upon Stahlmann. Although four months had elapsed, I found him situated
+just as I had left him, and by the appearance of the surroundings, I
+might have almost believed it was but yesterday I had looked upon him.
+When I remarked this to him, I noticed a peculiar smile play across his
+features, and it struck me that his face had not the same happy
+expression which had so pleased me before. I observed, too, that he
+carried himself in a listless manner, very unlike his former erect
+bearing. I found him, however, just as readily drawn into conversation,
+although some of his old enthusiasm was gone, and he manifested an
+evident disinclination to speak of himself, for when I made an effort to
+bring up the subject, he displayed considerable skill in evading it.
+This was repeated again and again until I found that he would not be
+forced to it, but I saw full well by his actions that he had already
+grown tired of his monotonous life. All my jokes about the solitude,
+which he had laughed at before, were now received in silence and with
+furtive glances. Evidently it had become a serious matter, and I dropped
+the disagreeable subject.
+
+He inquired most eagerly for any news, and said he had not seen a paper
+for almost a week, as the wet weather had interfered with visitors,
+preventing any one from coming out. When I left he repeatedly invited me
+to come again, which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse we
+had struck up a mutual friendship. My interest, too, had been increased,
+as I plainly saw that his life had become distasteful to him, and I had
+considerable curiosity to ascertain whether he would, according to his
+promise, remain the two full years upon the Crib; at any rate, I
+concluded that I would not lose sight of him.
+
+Directly after this visit, business arrangements called me away from
+home, and detained me in New York City without interruption until last
+May. During this period, of course, I had no means of learning any thing
+whatever concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return, the first glimpse I
+caught of the familiar lake recalled him to my memory, and revived the
+old interest. I determined to renew our former acquaintance, but found,
+to my great disappointment, that all visitors to the Crib had been
+prohibited by the authorities soon after I was called from home; yet I
+did not give up in my attempt to find out if he still remained in his
+situation. After many fruitless inquiries, I finally learned that he was
+dead. This was the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed by the
+sad intelligence, I dismissed the subject from my mind.
+
+A week ago I made the startling discovery that the Crib at the eastern
+terminus of the lake tunnel, within the year following its completion,
+had been the scene of a tragedy, the particulars of which, when I
+learned them, thrilled me with horror, and called forth my profoundest
+sympathy for the poor victim. The whole circumstance had been so
+carefully kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part of the
+authorities, that beyond two or three individuals no one in Chicago had
+the slightest suspicion of the sickening drama which was enacted but two
+miles from her shores.
+
+I was walking through the Court House looking at the arrangement of the
+newly erected portion of the building, and while in the rooms occupied
+by the Water Board, I accidentally stumbled upon an old memorandum book
+which had evidently been misplaced during the recent removal of this
+department from their old quarters on Wells Street to the first floor of
+the west wing. Upon examination it proved to be a kind of diary, and was
+written with pencil in the German character. On the inside of the front
+cover, near the upper right hand corner, was inscribed the name Gustav
+Stahlmann, and underneath a date—1865. A small portion of the book, the
+first part, was filled with accounts, some of them of expenditures,
+others memoranda of days’ work in different parts of the city, and under
+various foremen. But it was to the body of the book that my attention
+was particularly called. This was in the journal form, being a record of
+successive occurrences with the attending thoughts. The entries were
+made at irregular intervals and without any regard to system. Sometimes
+it had been written in daily for a considerable period, then dropped,
+and taken up again apparently at the whim of the owner. In places there
+appeared no connection between the parts separated by a break of even
+short duration; at others the sense was obscure, and could only be
+attained by implication. The earliest records in the second part were in
+June, 1867, and I found dates regularly inserted as late as the November
+following. In December they ceased entirely; afterward the diary, if
+such it might then be called, was either by the day or the week, or
+without any direct evidence as to the time when the circumstances
+therein narrated had occurred. In fact, throughout the whole of the
+concluding portion there was nothing to indicate that the matter had not
+been written on a single occasion, except the variations which almost
+every person’s hand-writing exhibits when produced under different
+degrees of nervous excitement.
+
+From this black morocco memorandum book; from the hand-writing of Gustav
+Stahlmann himself, I learned the incidents of his career after I parted
+from him. They constitute the history of a fate so horrible in every
+respect, that I shudder at the thought that any human being was doomed
+to experience it.
+
+The main facts in this narrative I have translated, sometimes literally,
+at others using my own language, where the thoughts in the original were
+so carelessly or obscurely expressed as to render any other course
+simply impossible.
+
+It seems, as I supposed, that when Stahlmann was first settled in the
+Crib, he was greatly pleased with his situation. The weather was mild
+and beautiful; the fresh air blowing across the water was a grateful
+change from the close and dusty atmosphere of Chicago. Many of his old
+friends came out to take a look at his new quarters, and almost surveyed
+them with envy while listening to an account of his easy, untroubled
+life. At dusk, after he had lighted his lamp, and it threw out its rays,
+he would watch to see how suddenly in the distance, as if to keep it
+company, the great white beacon in the lighthouse would flash out,
+burning bright and clear. Then along the western shore the city lights,
+one by one, would kindle up, multiplying into a thousand twinkling stars
+that threw a halo against the sky. Afterwards the soughing of the waves
+as they washed up the sides of his abode, fell pleasantly on his ear,
+and lulled him to sleep with Caspar lying at his feet.
+
+But it seemed as if the same day came again and again, for still the
+waters broke around him, and still night after night the same lights
+flashed and burned. Then the time appeared to become longer, and he
+watched more eagerly for the arrival of some visitors, but, if his
+watching had been in vain, he went wearily to sleep at night with a
+feeling of disappointment, only to waken and go through the same
+cheerless routine. Sometimes for a whole week he would not see a single
+human being nor hear the sound of a human voice, save his own when he
+spoke to the dog, who seemed by sagacious instinct to sympathize in his
+master’s lonesome position, and capered about until he would attract his
+attention, and be rewarded by an approving word and caress upon the
+head.
+
+Visitors had become less and less frequent until the last of September,
+when they ceased altogether. Stahlmann in trying to explain this to
+himself correctly concluded that the authorities must have prohibited
+them, as he had heard some time previously they entertained such an
+intention, although he had been reluctant to believe it, and still
+vainly hoped that it might not be true. But time only confirmed the
+suspicion which he had been so unwilling to accept, and although within
+two miles of a crowded city, he found himself completely isolated, cut
+off, as it were, from the human race.
+
+Then he searched for something that might amuse him and help wear away
+the interminable days, but he found nothing. He would have been glad
+even if only the old newspapers had been preserved that he might re-read
+them, but they were destroyed, and he owned no books. His former severe
+labor, performed in company with his fellow men, was now far preferable
+in his eyes to this complete solitude, with nothing to occupy his hands
+or mind. He saw the vessels pass until they seemed to become companions
+for him in his loneliness; he had watched them all the Summer, but the
+winds grew chill and rough, sweeping out of sullen clouds, and
+boisterously drove home the ships.
+
+Stahlmann found himself utterly alone on the wide lake, and the fierce
+blasts howled around his frame house, covering it with spray from the
+lashing billows that seemed ready to engulf it. Crusts of ice formed and
+snapped, rattling down to the waves. Heavy snow fell, but did not whiten
+the unchanging scenery, for it was drowned in the waste of waters. Night
+after night he lit the beacon and looked yearningly westward to the
+starred city. Then the solitude grew intolerable. It was like the vision
+of heaven to the lost spirits shut out in darkness forever. He was
+alone, all alone, craving even for the sound of a kindred voice, so that
+he cried out in his anguish. The flickering lights he was watching threw
+their rays over thousands of human beings, yet there was not one to
+answer his despairing call.
+
+Sleep would no longer allow him to forget that he was shut out from all
+human society, for he lost consciousness of his lonesome position only
+to find himself struggling in some nightmare ocean, where there was no
+eye to see his distress. Then he would be awakened by the dog rubbing
+his nose against his face, and knew he had groaned aloud in his troubled
+slumber, and Caspar had crawled closer, as if to comfort his unhappy
+master. Sometimes the tempter whispered escape—escape from this Crib,
+which had been so correctly named, for it had, indeed, become a dismal
+cage. He felt himself strong to combat the waves in flying from the
+horrible solitude; he could swim twice the distance in his eagerness to
+be once again among his fellow beings; but his high principles shrank in
+horror from the thought of violating a promise. He had solemnly given
+his word that he would remain upon the place, and it bound him stronger
+than chains of iron. He cast the thought, which had dared to arise in
+his mind, from him with a sense of shame that it had been a moment
+entertained.
+
+Early on one bitter cold night, when his house was thick-ribbed with
+ice, Stahlmann noticed a great light, which increased until it illumined
+all the western sky. He saw the city spires as plainly as though bathed
+in the rays of the setting sun, and the lurid glare lit up the waters,
+making the surrounding blackness along the lake shore appear more
+terrible. The fire brightened and waned, brightened and waned again. He
+watched it far into the night, and thought of the thousands of anxious
+faces that were turned toward the same light, until he fell into a
+troubled sleep, yearning for the sight of a single countenance. This
+fire which he witnessed must have been the great conflagration on Lake
+Street that occurred in February, 1868.
+
+He was sitting one dull, cloudy afternoon, looking out over the dreary
+waves, when his attention was attracted by the strange behavior of
+Caspar. The dog was greatly excited; it would jump about him, whining
+and howling, then run to the door, which stood partly open, and look
+down into the water, at the same time giving a short, quick yelp. This
+was repeated so frequently that Stahlmann was aroused from his gloomy
+reverie. He followed it to the threshold, and saw for an instant some
+black object that the waves threw up against the Crib. A second time it
+arose, and Stahlmann plunged into the water with the quick instinct that
+prompts a brave man to peril his own life in attempting to save another
+from drowning. In one moment more he had grasped the body, and fastened
+it to the rope ladder that hung down the western side of the Crib. Then
+mounting it himself, he drew it up after him on to the floor.
+
+It was the form of a young man, and Stahlmann eagerly kneeled over it,
+hoping yet to find a faint spark of vitality. A glance showed him that
+the body must have been in the water several hours, for it was already
+somewhat bloated; but even then, in his mad desire to restore life, he
+rubbed the stiffened limbs; but the rigid muscles did not relax. He
+wrung the water from the black hair, which in places was short and
+crisp, looking as if it might have been singed by fire. The features
+were not irregular, but the open eyes had a stony, death-glaze on them,
+and the broad forehead was cut across in gashes which had evidently been
+made by the waves beating it against the walls of the Crib. The hands
+were clenched and slightly blistered.
+
+Stahlmann’s frenzied exertions could not call back the departed spirit,
+and he sat gazing wildly upon it in his bitter disappointment. Then a
+startling thought broke suddenly into his mind—What, out in his desolate
+and watery home, could he do with the dead? Where could he put the
+stiffened corpse? But as the night came on, he arose to light the
+beacon; then descended again immediately, taking up his former position
+by the lifeless form, for it appeared to exert a peculiar fascination
+over him; he felt a strange kind of pleasure in the presence of the form
+of a human being, even though it were dead. He seemed to have found a
+companion, and the thought, which had startled him at first died from
+his memory.
+
+Hour after hour as he sat beside the corpse; its strange influence
+increased, until it gradually filled up in his troubled heart the aching
+void which had so yearned for society. He left it only as necessity
+called him away to attend to his duties, each time returning with
+increasing haste. Day by day the spell continued, and he grew to regard
+the dead body with all the tenderness he would have manifested toward a
+living brother. He did not shrink from the cold, clammy skin when he
+raised the head to place it on a stool, but sat and talked to it. He
+asked why it looked at him with that stony glare, and why its face had
+turned that dark and ugly color; but when no answer came, he said he
+realized that it was dead and could not speak. Then the terrible truth
+flashed upon him. With a groan he saw that he could keep the corpse no
+longer, and the thought which had startled him once before crept in
+again with increased significance. Where could he bury it? In the bottom
+of the lake, where nothing would disturb its peace. He gently let it
+down into the water, and, as he saw it disappear, he awoke to wild grief
+at losing it, and would have plunged in to rescue it the second time,
+but it was gone from sight forever.
+
+Might not this body have been one of the lost from the ill-fated Sea
+Bird, which burned in the beginning of April, 1868, a few miles north of
+the city? Stahlmann must have found it about this time.
+
+His grief for the loss of his dead companion grew upon him each day, and
+rendered the solitude more unendurable. Solitude? It was no longer
+solitude, for the place was peopled by the phantom creations of his
+inflamed imagination. Here a part of the diary is altogether incoherent,
+showing into what utter confusion his intellect had been thrown.
+
+The waves roared at him in anger, and the winds joined them in their
+rage. Fiendish spirits seemed to rise up before him that were fierce to
+clutch him and gloat over his terror. The lights in the west danced
+together and glared at him in mockery, and his own beacon threw its cold
+white rays over the familiar aperture where the iron rods of the
+water-gates rose; but that opening had suddenly become an undefined
+horror to him. The very terror with which he regarded it drew him to its
+verge. He cast his eyes into its depths, down upon the troubled but
+black and silent water, and glared at the vision which met his strained
+sight, for the ghostly face of the man who had been murdered in the
+tunnel peered at him through the uncertain light.
+
+There was only the dog that he could fly to in his agony, but it, too,
+had a strange appearance and answered his call by low plaintive howls
+that sent a shiver through his frame. He repeated its name aloud, and
+Caspar crawled closer to his master, still at times making moans that
+sounded sorrowful—almost like the pleading of a human voice in distress,
+and he thought its eyes had a strange reproachful gaze. While he spoke
+to it, the dog uttered a prolonged wail. Stahlmann shivered, and a cold
+chill crept through his blood; all his superstition was roused afresh.
+The wind lost its rage and died down to funeral-sobs. The sound of the
+waves fell into a dirge-like cadence, and that melancholy wail which had
+chilled his blood rang in his ears—it rang with the awful significance
+of an evil omen long after it had died upon the air. The dog lay
+perfectly motionless; he stooped to stroke it, but it did not move. He
+stared at it with a bewildered gaze, when suddenly the horrible reality
+with the fearful explanation, broke upon his half-crazed brain, and he
+staggered back with a wild shriek. In the utter misery of his solitude,
+in his strange grief for the loss of the drowned corpse, and his terror
+from the hallucinations of a disordered intellect, he had neglected to
+feed his faithful dog, and had starved to death the only living creature
+that existed for him in the world. Caspar was dead.
+
+Stahlmann in his agony seemed to hear once more the piteous cry which
+the dog had uttered with its expiring breath, and to him the wail
+sounded in its pathetic mournfulness like the mysterious herald of
+another death.
+
+The diary is so blurred at this point that it is hardly legible. What
+can be read is incomprehensible from broken, incoherent sentences—the
+empty language of a lunatic. Save one remaining passage, I could make
+out nothing further. This entry must have been written in a lucid
+interval when he realized to what a fearful condition he had been
+reduced by unbroken solitude. Because it is the last record, I translate
+it literally, as follows:
+
+  “That cry again—what have I come through? Hell with its host of furies
+  can not be worse than this awful Crib—I kill myself.
+
+                                                          G. STAHLMANN.”
+
+What remains is soon told. A few inquiries in the proper direction
+revealed that on the morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
+boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the Crib to supply provisions,
+the dog was discovered dead upon the floor, and near by—just to the
+right of the entrance, and about ten feet distant from it—hung the dead
+body of Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck from one of the rafters.
+It was at once cut down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among his few
+effects was found the memorandum book which so curiously came into my
+possession.
+
+The authorities were in no way to blame for this unfortunate occurrence.
+On that day they placed several persons in charge of this lonely
+structure and have changed them at regular intervals ever since. Because
+if the circumstance were known, they were fearful they could get no one
+to fill the situation, either on account of the solitude or from the
+fact that many persons are afraid to live in a house that has been the
+scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded to say nothing whatever about
+the melancholy event, and, as I said before, few persons in the city are
+acquainted with its details.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                      PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL.
+
+
+It had snowed persistently all day, and now, at night, the wind had
+risen and blew in furious gusts against the windows, a bleak December
+gale.
+
+The Professor tramped steadily up and down his floor, up and down his
+floor, from wall to wall and back again. It was not a cheerful room;
+with but one strip of carpet, a chair or two, a table and bedstead, and
+one dim tallow candle, flickering in a vain struggle to give any thing
+better than a sickly light, which was afflicted, at uncertain intervals,
+with violent convulsions. No, it was not a pleasant place, for the
+Professor was poor, and lived a lonely, hermit-like life in the heart of
+the great German city.
+
+He had no relations—no friends. He was not a popular man, though he had
+once been well known, and the public had all applauded his great
+scholarship. His books, one after another, as they came out, if they
+brought him no money, had brought him some fame then; but the last one
+had appeared years ago, and been commented upon, and conscientiously put
+aside, and the public, never very much interested in the author
+personally, had about forgotten him.
+
+During these long years he had been living secluded, waging a perpetual
+war with himself. Entangled in the meshes of the subtile German
+infidelity, which was at variance with his earlier training, he found
+himself encompassed about by unbelief—unbelief in the orthodox theology
+of his youth, unbelief, also, in the philosophy of this metaphysical
+land. A man of vast learning, and a close student, he discovered his
+knowledge to be always conflicting; and thus the long debate within him
+was no nearer a termination than at the moment when the first doubt had
+asserted itself.
+
+Preyed upon by this harassing mental anxiety, and by encroaching
+poverty, he was seized by a nervous fever, which had gradually
+undermined his health, and almost disordered his mind.
+
+And now, this night, in a condition of exhaustion, weary of life and its
+ceaseless struggle—without friends, without money, without hope—his
+black despair, like the evil tempter, rose before him and suggested a
+thought from which he had at first drawn back appalled. But it was only
+for a moment. Why not put an end forever to all these troubles? Had he
+not worked for years, and had he ever done the world any good, or had
+the world ever done him any good? No! The world was retrograding daily.
+The selfishness of humanity, instead of lessening, was constantly
+growing worse. How had they repaid him for his long studies? He had shut
+himself up and labored over heavy questions in metaphysics—sifting,
+searching, reading, thinking—only for a few thankless ones, who had
+glanced at his works, smiled a faint smile of praise, and straightway
+left them and him to be lost again in obscurity!
+
+The future was dark, the present a labyrinth of care and suffering, from
+which there was but the one escape. Then why not accept it? So he had
+been arguing with himself all the evening, and, in his growing
+excitement, pacing the floor of his garret to and fro with a quick,
+nervous tread. But there had another cause risen in his mind which he,
+at first, would hardly acknowledge to himself.
+
+A faint, undefined shadow, as it were, of his early faith stirred within
+him, and before him the “oblivion” of death was peopled with a thousand
+appalling fancies, illumined by the red flame of an eternal torment. In
+vain he strove to dispel it by remembering the more rational doctrine of
+reason, that death is but a dreamless sleep, lasting forever.
+
+Suddenly, feeling conscious of the heinousness of the crime he was
+meditating, and knowing that he was in an unnatural feverish condition,
+he paused abruptly in his hurried tramp, stood a few moments utterly
+motionless, then, dropping on his knees, he made a vow that he would
+take twenty-four hours to consider the deed, and, if it were done, it
+should not be done rashly. “Hear me, O Heaven!” Springing up, he cried;
+“Heaven! Heaven!—There is no Heaven! Vow!—to whom did I vow? There is no
+God!” Muttering a faint laugh, he said, after a moment: “I vowed to
+myself; and the vow shall be kept. Not all the theories and philosophies
+of Germany shall cheat me out of it.”
+
+It seemed like the last struggle of his soul to assert itself. Almost
+staggering with exhaustion, he fell upon the bed and slept.
+
+A gentle breeze from the far past blew around him in his native land. He
+saw the white cliff at whose base the sea-foam threw up its glittering
+spray with a ceaseless strain of music. He saw the green meadows, where
+the quiet, meek-eyed cattle found a pasture, stretching away to the
+green hills, where flocks of sheep browsed in the pleasant shade beneath
+the tall oak trees. He saw, far off on the highest summit of the wavy
+ridge, the turrets of the great castle rear themselves above the foliage
+like a crown—the royal diadem upon all these sun-bathed hills and
+valleys. He stood within the cottage, the happy cottage under the
+sheltering sycamores; and, brighter, clearer, more beautiful than all
+these, he saw a face look down upon him with a calm and earnest smile.
+It was the home of his childhood, it was the face of his mother, all
+raised in the mirage of sleep—a radiant vision lifted from the heavy
+gloom of forty years, years upon which Immanuel Kant, years upon which
+the Transcendental school had crept with their baleful influence,
+poisonous as the deadly nightshade.
+
+He struggled to speak, and wakened. A dream, yes, all a dream! He
+pressed his hands against his brow—A dream? Yes, childhood had been but
+a dream. Life itself is but an unhappy dream!
+
+The wild December wind still blew with a rattling noise against the
+windows, and sometimes swept round the corner with a dreary,
+half-smothered cry. The candle had burned down almost to the socket, and
+was seized more frequently than before with its painful spasms, making
+each gaunt shadow of the few pieces of furniture writhe in a weird,
+silent dance on the wall. As the Professor sat on the bed, they appeared
+to him like voiceless demons, performing some diabolical ceremony,
+luring his soul to destruction. Then they seemed moving in fantastic
+measure to a soundless dirge, which he strained his ears to hear, when
+the candle burned steadily, and they paused in their dumb incantation.
+
+A loud knock, which shook the door, made the Professor start up amazed,
+and the shadows re-begin their uncanny pantomime. For a moment he stood
+stupefied with surprise. It was far in the small hours of the night, and
+visitors at any time were unknown. He had lived there for months an
+utter stranger, and no footsteps but his own had ever crossed the floor.
+An uncontrollable fit of trembling came upon him, and he lay down once
+more, thinking it all the creation of his overwrought fancy. But the
+knock was repeated louder than before, and the gaunt shadows again made
+violent signals to each other in their speechless dialect, as though
+their grim desires were just then upon the eve of accomplishment.
+
+With an effort the Professor got up and said “Come!” but the word died
+away in his throat, a faint whisper. He tried it a second time; then,
+partially overruling the weakness that had seized upon him, crossed the
+room and opened the door.
+
+“Good gracious! What’s the matter with you?” said a voice from out of
+the dark on the landing.
+
+It was the son of the undertaker, who lived down stairs. They were not
+acquainted, and had never spoken, but they had often passed each other
+in the street—though, until that moment, the Professor was not aware
+that he had ever even noticed him; but now he recognized him and drew
+back. The young man, however, entered uninvited.
+
+“I say, what the deuce is the matter with you?”
+
+“Nothing! What do you want, sir?”
+
+“Want? Why your face is as white as a sheet, and your eyes, your eyes
+are—confound me if I want any thing!” he said, backing to the door in
+alarm.
+
+Indeed, the expression which rested on the features of the Professor was
+hardly pleasant to look at alone, and in the night. But, having followed
+his instinct, so far as to his bodily preservation, and having backed
+into the hall so that the Professor could hardly distinguish the outline
+of his figure, the young man’s courage got the better of his fright. He
+came to a standstill, passed his hand nervously round his neck, cleared
+his throat several times, and then, in a husky voice—caused, evidently,
+by his recent alarm, and not by the message, singular as it was, that he
+came to deliver—said,—
+
+“We want you. It is Christmas—we want you for a corpse.”
+
+It may have been a very ordinary thing to them, considering their
+profession, to want people for corpses, either at Christmas or any other
+time; but it was hardly an ordinary thing to the Professor to be wanted
+for one; and the announcement was certainly somewhat startling, made in
+a sepulchral tone from out the gloom. It was still stranger that the
+young man himself appeared rather faint-hearted for one who entertained
+so malevolent a desire, and had the boldness to make the assertion
+outright. The Professor for a moment fairly thought him in league with
+the shadows, for they were at work once more, beckoning and pointing
+fiercely, as the wind swept up the staircase, to the indistinct figure
+out in the dusk, that was the son of the undertaker, and who said
+again,—
+
+“We want you, sir, for a corpse—”
+
+Here he paused abruptly, to clear his throat anew, as though he found
+himself disagreeably embarrassed by the unfriendly appearance of his
+host, whose face, if it had been pale at first, was of a gray, ashen
+color now. He evidently could not see why his request should have been
+taken in such ill part, and he stammered and stuttered, and was about
+ready to begin again, when the Professor said,—
+
+“You will likely get me.”
+
+The peculiar expression that rested upon the Professor’s mouth as he
+uttered these words, was hardly encouraging; but the young man—as though
+every body would recognize that it was absolutely essential to them, in
+order that they might celebrate the great gala-day with their family, to
+have a corpse, just as other people have a tree—immediately brightened
+up, and, advancing a step or two, said gratefully,—
+
+“I am very glad, sir; I am very glad. It is Christmas, you know, and I
+told them as how I thought you’d do, for you are spare, sir, and—”
+
+Here he found another blockade in his throat, which, after a slight
+struggle, he swallowed, and went on,—
+
+“I told them as how I thought you’d do, sir, for you see we want
+somebody that is small and thin, and will be light to carry after he is
+all fixed up. Hans Blauroch did for us last time; but this year, instead
+of parading Santa Claus up and down the street, we’ve concluded to bury
+him. It will be something new this Christmas; and Hans is too heavy to
+carry; and when I thought of you, sir, I just took the liberty of coming
+right up; because it’s near daylight, and there ain’t no great while
+left to get the funeral ready.”
+
+So the blockhead had finally jerked out what he came for, which was not
+so malevolent after all as he had at first made it appear. He deserved,
+rather, to be praised for his persistency than censured for his
+awkwardness, considering the difficulties under which he had labored.
+
+The Professor did not show whether he felt relieved by this
+_denouement_. He had listened without moving; and when the young man
+finished speaking he hesitated a moment, then, with the same peculiar
+expression visible about his mouth, said he would be glad to place
+himself at their service; he would be with them directly; that he had
+not been feeling well; indeed, he only an hour ago almost fainted, and
+had not yet recovered when he heard the knock upon his door; but he was
+feeling better, and would come down immediately.
+
+The young man laughed good-naturedly as he replied,—
+
+“I am obliged to say I did not like the looks of you at first. You must
+have been out of your head.”
+
+The Professor waited until the last echo of the retreating footsteps
+died away down at the bottom of the stairs, then shut his door.
+
+“A strange thing,” he muttered; “what have I to do with Christmas? I,
+who have studied, studied! I had forgotten there was any time called
+Christmas. What is it to a scholar? Philosophy says nothing about it;
+and reason would teach that—ah, yes, it too is a dream, a dream within
+the dream called life. Then what have I to do with it? Why did I
+promise? I will not go. Yet my vow—twenty-four hours. I dare not trust
+myself alone. A funeral, did he say? I will see how it feels; yes, for I
+will probably need one in another day. They wanted me ‘for a corpse,’
+and I said they would likely get me, and I would be glad to ‘place
+myself at their service.’ Ha, ha! They can bury me twice. But my vow, my
+vow! I will not trust myself alone. It is nothing to me; I will go.”
+
+He had been tramping again rapidly up and down the room, when he
+suddenly turned, took up his hat, looked around for a moment at the
+shadows that were still making unintelligible signs to each other, then
+extinguished them in darkness and slowly went down stairs.
+
+The lodgings were directly over the undertaker’s establishment. Living
+so secluded, speaking to none, it had never occurred to the Professor
+before what a grim place he had chosen for his home. But now the
+silver-barred coffins in the show-case were ghastly as he passed.
+
+Night had not yet yielded up her supremacy. A heavy covering of snow,
+that clung to every roof, tower, and spire, made the place look unreal
+through the gloom, like some colorless apparition of a great specter
+city. Close-blinded, silent and cold, without one glimmer of life, the
+houses faced each other down the long street. Far off, the ghostly dome
+and pinnacles of the cathedral reached into the sky—the empty, soundless
+sky—for the wind had fallen away, leaving a gray expanse that seemed to
+stretch through infinitude. But, though the Professor did not notice,
+there was a rift that divided the dreary cloud down near the horizon,
+and disclosed, brighter than the pale light of the coming day, a star
+shining in the East.
+
+And it was Christmas morning.
+
+The Professor walked block after block, feeling unconsciously refreshed
+by the crisp air upon his heated brow. Then he turned back, and when he
+had reached the building went down an alley-way and entered by a door in
+the rear.
+
+A great confusion and general dimness, not lessened any by two or three
+candles that were burning, pervaded the room, which was long and ran
+almost across the house. Half a dozen men were standing or moving about,
+and some were sitting or leaning upon coffins and biers, that covered
+all the floor, except where they occasionally left narrow passages
+between, like irregular aisles.
+
+At the Professor’s entrance, the young man who had paid him so friendly
+a visit came up instantly, took hold of him by the arm, and turned him
+round, with the exclamation,—
+
+“Here he is father! He is thin enough to be easily carried.”
+
+The man denominated “father” by the young off-shoot of the establishment
+surveyed the Professor with a critical eye from head to foot, and, as
+there could be no better sample of physical spareness than he presented,
+said, laconically,—
+
+“He’ll do.”
+
+Then there was new confusion and bustling about, and two or three
+persons immediately seized the Professor, one by his hair, one by his
+feet, one by his arms. With a grim smile, he submitted, in perfect
+silence, to the operations of this dressing committee.
+
+He saw himself—him, Gustav Kellermann, the philosopher!—blossom into
+brilliant colors, scarlet and blue and orange. He saw them clasp a
+girdle round his waist, to which they hung gilded toys and bells in all
+directions, until he was fairly covered over with trinkets of every
+device. He felt them encase his head—his learned, metaphysical head—in a
+cap that was adorned at the point and round the sides with innumerable
+swinging-dolls.
+
+It had been daylight three or four hours when all the mysterious
+preparations, which had been done almost without speaking a single word,
+were finally completed, and every thing waited in readiness.
+
+There, strangely conspicuous in that dismal room, with its dismal
+paraphernalia of death, was a brilliant, half-human, half-monkey-like
+creature, standing up on its hind legs, and flaming all over in gaudy
+colors. To this grotesque figure, the important actor, evidently the
+chief agent in the contract, a man of brief speech, came up and said,
+brusquely,—
+
+“Now, you are dead, you know, and have nothing to do but be dead. You
+are not to be fidgeting, or stirring round, or peeping. When you are
+dead, you are dead, you know, and that is all.”
+
+O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Good reasoning! When you are
+dead, you are _dead_.
+
+Then they picked up this half-human, half-monkey-like object, which had
+uttered not one word, placed it in a coffin, and put upon it a
+mask-face. Carrying it out by the rear door, they raised it and set it
+down on a catafalque, draped in a black velvet pall, and ornamented with
+tall black funeral plumes.
+
+O vain pomp and grandeur of death! When you are dead, you are _dead_.
+
+A confused hurry and tramp of many feet was succeeded by a pause, and
+some one said,—“Ready.”
+
+The procession reached the open avenue and moved slowly down the street
+to the sound of a funeral march. Solemnly, with measured tread, they
+advanced, and the people flocked to the doors on every side. There was a
+cry of surprise and alarm. “What is it?” “Who is it?” ran from lip to
+lip. The crowd gathered. The procession, with its sable plumes and
+ribbons of _crepe_, still continued on its way. There was the sound of
+lamentation, and at every moment the throng and confusion increased, the
+multitude thickened, and men, women and children were held off by the
+guard. Do they go to the great cemetery? No, they turned eastward, and
+at the Rosenthal halted. There the wondering spectators saw, in its
+center, a pure white tomb. Before it the catafalque was brought to a
+stand, and the coffin solemnly lowered.
+
+Immediately a broken shout ran through the crowd, that was taken up and
+repeated until it grew into a laugh, and men and women, catching up the
+children, cried,—
+
+“It is Kriss Kringle! Ha! ha! See, child, it is Kriss Kringle! He is
+dead. Kriss Kringle is dead!”
+
+It was a great relief to the people, so suddenly alarmed, and they good
+humoredly held up the little ones, saying,—
+
+“See! Kriss Kringle is dead. He will never come any more. He is dead!”
+
+There was a silence; and many little faces, awe-stricken, looked
+sorrowfully down, and many little arms were stretched out, and many
+little voices, quivering, sobbed,—
+
+“No, no, no! He will come back. He brought us pretty things. He will
+come back to us.”
+
+O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Is your strength still
+greater than this?
+
+There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a voice—hark! a voice!—
+
+“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I have come back to you!” And
+from beneath the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang, all
+jingling with silver bells, and flashing with a thousand toys.
+
+Then again there was great confusion, but this time no sound of
+lamentation; and the solemn funeral march swept into a strain of joyful
+music. And the children! Oh, the children, in wild delight, played in
+circles about the queer, grotesque being, who set to work destroying the
+snow-tomb. He threw it at them in small crystal showers that called up,
+each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful laughter. He detached the
+bright toys from his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from his
+knees, and rained them down upon the little ones who raced round him in
+their mad frolic. Then he took off the false face and threw it far away,
+and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is the Professor!” and drew back
+awe-struck, to think they had taken such liberties with so renowned a
+scholar. But the children never paused in their romp; and he said, while
+they scrambled about him in merry laughter,—
+
+“I have come back to you, children. I have come back to you!”
+
+And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what life was; then how should I
+know of death?” O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school! Here are
+those who teach a philosophy of which you know nothing—a philosophy
+higher than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy of love; a
+philosophy of death that is no sleep!
+
+The sun came out and spread a jeweled splendor on the snow, over which,
+hand-in-hand, the happy children danced.
+
+
+The Professor is an old man now, and the fame of his learning has become
+great in the land. And all the people tell about his funeral; and how,
+every Christmas since, in his scarlet clothes and furs, laden with
+“pretty things,” he leads the children in their play, and scatters on
+them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful groups, join their hands
+and dance.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                             THE FEVERFEW.
+
+
+During my youth I suffered from a naturally delicate constitution. I was
+pale, feeble and sickly, but from no decided disease. A dreamy, quiet
+cast of temperament caused me to shrink from the rough sports of my
+brothers; the contact of strangers was equally disagreeable, and I
+seldom strayed from home. Indeed, I lived almost entirely within myself,
+although by no means devoid of natural affection; on the contrary, my
+emotions were strong, and my sympathy easily aroused.
+
+How it happened that I acquired a love of learning I do not know, all
+the outward circumstances by which I was surrounded tending to foster
+any thing rather than intellectual habits, for our family, although each
+member possessed a common education, were strictly practical; but this
+difference in my disposition cut me off from their pursuits, and I found
+my chief enjoyment in the volumes of a library to which I obtained
+access.
+
+Perhaps it was the sedentary life I led, the close confinement, and lack
+of exercise, that brought on a violent attack of sickness when I was in
+my nineteenth year, so that I lay for several weeks completely
+prostrated. During two or three days my life hung as in a balance, which
+a breath might have turned and launched me beyond the confines of time.
+However, the disease succumbed to the persevering attention of
+experienced nurses. I arose from my weary bed and found my physical
+health slowly improving, but from that period I was subject at irregular
+intervals to what the physician pronounced temporary delirium, which I
+knew he used as a milder term for insanity.
+
+But it was not insanity. I never lost control of my mind, but I lost
+control of my body. It obeyed a will that was not my own. A mighty
+antagonistic power seemed to creep over my brain, which impelled my
+movements and held my struggling soul in subjection. I presented the
+singular phenomenon of one person governed by two separate and distinct
+wills, for my mind was not disordered, but only mastered by superior
+strength. In this strange condition I would see familiar objects
+magnified, exaggerated, and contorted, in an atmosphere varying with all
+colors, at the same time being perfectly conscious of their real
+appearance. I would hear sounds sweet and musical grow into wails of
+heart-rending despair. I could recognize my friends when they were
+present, but was forced to regard them with the cold eye of a stranger.
+I would commit acts that no human agency could have compelled me to do
+when my faculties were untrammelled. I never submitted without a
+struggle, and always felt conscious that, if I could but once resist
+this seemingly invincible power, if I could but once disregard its
+promptings, I should be free.
+
+The attacks were never of long duration. They always left me utterly
+exhausted, and it would sometimes require a week to recruit my expended
+strength. I could afterward recall every incident with the most distinct
+minuteness, for they were branded in characters of fire on my memory.
+Vainly I asserted again and again that it was not delirium, that I was
+forced into subjection to some mysterious power I could not withstand;
+my statements made no impression upon the physician, who evidently
+considered mine but a common case of one suffering from attacks of
+temporary insanity, and, when I persisted in my statement, he forbade
+any further reference to the subject.
+
+However, I could not prevent my mind from continually dwelling upon it
+in secret. What was this so foreign, so antagonistic to myself that
+mastered my will, that controlled my actions, that made me literally
+another being? Why did I not shake off this evil influence and be free?
+I felt perfectly conscious of possessing the power, but was not able to
+arouse it from a latent condition.
+
+As I have said before, I was naturally of a studious disposition, and I
+now turned my attention to metaphysics. I read works, ancient and
+modern, on its different branches; I studied medical treatises on
+insanity, and, the more I learned, the more thoroughly convinced I
+became that I was not suffering from mental aberration. Constant
+brooding over my disease greatly wore upon my physical strength;
+traveling was recommended, in hopes that change of climate and scene
+might benefit my health. My old aversion to strangers clung to me, and,
+although possessed by a restlessness to which I was wholly unaccustomed,
+I persistently refused to leave home; no arguments could gain my
+consent, so that my friends were forced to give up the project in
+despair.
+
+One morning, when more than the usual gloom oppressed my spirits, I made
+an effort to arouse myself and throw off the melancholy that was
+settling upon me, which each day I felt to be growing more confirmed. I
+was sitting by a window, which stood wide open, and, just outside, a
+caged canary was singing and fluttering its feathers in the warm spring
+sunshine. The little bird was my particular property, and I regarded it
+with an affection which is rarely bestowed upon pets. With the exception
+of my young sister, a child about four years of age, this was the only
+living thing that I had taken any interest in since my sickness. I had
+trained the canary from the shell, and the little creature seemed to
+repay all my care, for from no other member of the family would it
+receive caresses. I was so much afraid of its being accidentally injured
+that I never allowed it to be freed from the cage, except in my
+presence. At my call it would fly about me, resting on my head,
+shoulders, or hands, and chirping in a perfect ecstasy of enjoyment.
+
+I arose and opened the door of its prison, then, reseating myself,
+softly whistled while it darted into the air, wheeled once or twice, and
+descended upon my hand. Stroking its spotless yellow plumage, I regarded
+the little thing with a degree of pleasure I had not experienced for
+several weeks. But sudden horror almost caused my heart to cease its
+beatings, and the perspiration started from my forehead in great drops,
+for I felt my fingers slowly closing over the delicate bird. Although I
+made an attempt greater than the racking effort we sometimes exert in
+the nightmare, I had no power to restrain them. The canary fluttered in
+my clasp. I would have dropped it, I would have shrieked for help, but
+my muscles, my voice, my _body_, obeyed me not, and my fingers, like the
+steady working of machinery, gradually tightened their relentless grasp.
+In my agony the veins of my face protruded like lines of cordage. I
+heard the frail bones breaking beneath the crushing pressure, then my
+involuntary grip suddenly relaxed, and the bird fell upon my knee, dead
+and mangled!
+
+At the same moment, I saw, through the open door, my little sister
+playing upon the grass-plat; and, almost before I was aware of moving,
+or of any volition, I found myself walking rapidly toward her, while my
+fingers twitched with a convulsive, clutching movement. Good Heavens! I
+already saw her face turn purple, and heard her gasping breath smothered
+by gurgling blood. With this terrible picture before my mental vision,
+my brain felt as if it would burst its bounds in the desperate, but
+unavailing effort I made to turn back, to fly from the spot. But I could
+not command myself. In that moment I endured suffering more intense than
+language can describe. Perhaps my strange and wild appearance frightened
+the child; for, in place of holding out her arms to me, her favorite
+brother, she fled crying to the nurse, who did not observe my approach,
+and carried her into the house. Saved! unconsciously saved—saved from a
+fate too terrible to contemplate.
+
+I sank insensible upon the ground, and, when I recovered, found myself
+surrounded by the family, each one applying some restorative, for I had
+been in a long and death-like swoon. Slowly, but distinctly, the
+recollections of the events which had reduced me to this condition
+presented themselves to my memory with all their appalling horror,
+nearly depriving me again of consciousness.
+
+I did not refer in any manner to the subject, which was also carefully
+avoided by all others in my presence, for fear that it might produce
+renewed excitement, and my friends had no suspicion of the circumstances
+which brought it about. The bird was found dead upon the floor, and the
+family imagined that it had met with some accident. They were evidently
+surprised, when the fact was communicated to me, that I made no remarks,
+for they had anticipated an outburst of grief.
+
+Grief! I did not suffer from grief; grief was overpowered by the horror
+that racked my brain—horror for the act I had committed, and the more
+fearful one which had been so mercifully prevented. I had committed? No,
+it was not _my_ mind or will which had prompted my hand to do the deed.
+I was innocent, even though my fingers had dripped with the blood of a
+sister; but the frightful thought filled me with a terror that wrung my
+soul. I pondered continually upon it. When might not this mysterious
+demon again assert its evil control over me? Strange as it may seem, I
+felt certain that it was some foreign agency—I knew not what—that
+mastered my will, and not the result of my own intellect, in a
+disordered condition.
+
+This overpowering dread of the future, of what might happen, which took
+possession of me, drove me to the decision of leaving home, as the best
+way of avoiding danger to my friends. Perhaps, too, if my physical
+health became better, I might gain strength enough to defy this infernal
+power; for, as I have said before, I possessed a singular consciousness
+that, if I could once successfully resist its promptings, my soul would
+be liberated from thraldom. I announced my determination of making a
+journey, without any explanation of my sudden change, and it was greeted
+with delight by my friends and relatives, who were anxious to hasten my
+departure while the humor was upon me; but they need not have feared any
+change of purpose on my part, for I was haunted by this terrible dread
+of the future, and I gladly said farewell for a time to my home and
+birthplace.
+
+The incidents of travel and of new scenes broke the monotony, and
+dispelled to some degree the gloom that had taken fast hold upon me. In
+a short period I found myself rapidly improving. Every week brought me
+an increase of strength, and I suffered less frequently from these
+frightful attacks. Although they occurred at longer intervals than
+formerly, they seemed to grow more severe in character; the conflict was
+fiercer, and my mind made a more desperate effort to gain the supremacy.
+My whole frame would be racked by the intense struggle which I
+constantly maintained, though I was constantly vanquished.
+
+The increasing delight I took in the scenery, the continued exercise and
+excitement, almost drove despair from me, and hope once more brightened
+my countenance. I began to look forward to the time when my health would
+be entirely restored, and my body and mind be in unison. I did not hope
+vainly, for the final conflict came, and with it a strange termination
+of my long sufferings.
+
+I stood upon the side of an Eastern mountain. Above my head vast rocks
+arose in solemn grandeur, their summits lost in canopied mists which,
+gray and clinging, wrapped them in obscurity. Below, a great chasm rent
+the mountain; a yawning, bottomless gulf. While I gazed, awed by the
+thought of its mysterious depths, where no human eye had seen, where no
+human foot had trod, a ray of light struggled in and rested on gaunt
+trees, on snake-like ferns, damp and cold, that clung to its slimy
+sides, and on one pale flower which nodded in the chill draught that
+came up, a palpable horror, from the blackness of darkness. I turned
+away. Near the western horizon dead clouds were piled one above another,
+and their heavy shadow lay brown and dark upon the sullen earth. No wind
+stirred the forests, or rustled their motionless leaves, and the awe of
+the unbroken silence fell, with a dread oppression, upon my heart.
+
+Suddenly I was seized by an ungovernable desire to possess the
+flower—the colorless flower that hung far down in the death-damp of the
+chasm. A freezing terror crept through my blood as I recognized this
+decree of a will I had never been able to disobey. I felt myself
+crawling closer to the verge of the precipice; nearer, yet nearer, until
+I sat within the very jaw of the savage gulf. The dead clouds heaved
+their shroud-like forms and wavered overhead. I heard the rush of
+subterranean waters sounding a muffled requiem. The sickly flower with
+its long stem writhed and twisted, as a serpent stretches his folds into
+the air. Slowly back and forth it swayed, glaring at me like a
+lustreless eye.
+
+My brain reeled, and all the forces of my nature gathered up their
+increased strength for one fierce and final conflict. I felt the blood
+rage through my veins with the headlong fury of cataracts. The very
+spring of life within me was stirred and troubled, when, with one mighty
+strain, I drew myself up and fell backward on the grass.
+
+The whole world went out in utter darkness. Before my eyes stretched a
+vast, illimitable gloom, when suddenly out of its impenetrable depths
+above my head there grew and glimmered faintly a thin and wavering mist.
+Folding upon itself, it hung down, white and luminous, a cloud of
+palpitating nebulæ. Pricked with a thousand points of fire it gathered
+slowly to a nucleus in the center—a flickering speck, a disc, it flamed,
+blazed into a star, and lo! poised midway in the air, an aureole of
+light, it rested upon the brow of a female figure.
+
+Her scornful eyes looked down upon me with a lurid gleam that seemed to
+burn my soul. A smile of derision sat upon her lips that were more vivid
+in hue than the vermilion dye. Her locks were yellow as the sun at
+noontide; her skin was white as the leper’s; her breath hot as the
+desert air, and the light of the star upon her forehead burned red with
+the frightful redness of fresh blood. Suddenly I saw that the murky
+clouds on either side her form swarmed with a thousand dwarfed and
+warted shapes. Black and hideous, they knotted, flitted to and fro, in
+and out, with their formless claws and tumultuous motion. She spread her
+wings. Immediately there gathered all the dusky shapes—the legion demons
+of delirium with their needle eyes—and settled down upon her sable
+plumes. A shrill phantom laugh rang out, mocked itself by echoes that
+ran up in thin shafts of sound to the skies, and the SPIRIT OF FEVER had
+fled from me forever!
+
+The rays of the sun as it sank to rest, slanting through rose-colored
+avenues, fell upon the gray mists, and crowned the mountain’s summit in
+a rainbow of glory. The rising breeze swept through the forests with a
+soothing sound, and, eastward, the eye was lost in mellow lines of
+golden haze, which to my soul freed from captivity, seemed cathedral
+aisles of peace.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                        OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER.
+
+
+“You’re right! I ain’t got no relatives an’ nobody to look after, so
+thar isn’t any sense in workin’ too much. That’s just what I say.”
+
+And that is just what he always did say, poor Simlin, but he never
+ceased, notwithstanding. Nearly every body that knew him and spoke to
+him about it always found him quick to acquiesce: “Thar was nothin’
+plainer than what they said, and it was just what he said, too.” But it
+did not make the slightest difference, for he continued to work away all
+the same; so what else could be done but merely to give up the question?
+
+Now, if he had only expressed himself in decided opposition, there might
+have been something to hope for in the matter—at least, it would have
+opened the way for an argument upon the subject; and, then, there was
+always the possibility that he might be induced to change his mind.
+However, his provoking approval put the case wholly beyond reach. And so
+old Simlin, toiling early and late, quietly followed his vocation.
+
+There was not a better moulder in the whole foundry, or one that drew
+much higher wages. But, then, he was getting old. To be sure, he never
+had been young, so far as they knew any thing about him, even ten years
+ago, when, altogether unknown and friendless, he had first made his
+appearance in the village. But these ten years combined had not worn
+upon him like the last one. His head now, if once the soot had been
+removed, would not have shown a single black hair; and his voice was
+weak and cracked, and there was a visible trembling about the old man’s
+legs. Perhaps he did imbibe liquor; but nobody had any right to say so,
+for nobody could prove that it was true. Only of late he had a strangely
+confused manner when anyone addressed him, and, raising his unsteady
+hand nervously to his head, would repeat the sentence that had been on
+his lips a hundred, yes, a thousand times, until it had long ago grown
+into a stereotyped form—“I ain’t got no relatives an’ nobody to look
+after, so thar isn’t any sense in workin’ too much.”
+
+Perhaps he really thought that the people would never see that he was
+straining every effort, using every moment of his time, though, before
+the sun was up, and often after it was gone, the old man was at his
+place. And Simlin was always the first on hand if there was an extra job
+that would bring an extra cent.
+
+But, other than making the assertion that he had no relatives, and
+nobody depending upon him, and that he did not think it worth while to
+work over-much, he never carried on a conversation. That there was no
+one to look after _him_ was a self-evident fact. He lived utterly alone,
+in a small cabin on the brow of the hill. Rarely a soul but himself ever
+crossed its threshold. Under the step the gray gophers made their
+burrow, and, beneath the tall beech trees, that threw down their prickly
+nuts, the brown weasels played in peaceful groups. The shy quail,
+sounding their whistle, fled among the ferns; and above, from the myriad
+branches, the beautiful wild doves mourned out their perpetual sadness.
+At evening, when the sun went down, and the long line of the Scioto
+Hills flushed crimson with serene glory; when, by slow degrees, the
+pageant of departing day withdrew its gorgeous colors; even when the
+valley below was black with the gloom of night, the western radiance
+lingered, like the transforming light of some other land, upon the rude
+cabin, standing on its high and solitary perch.
+
+Empty and bare, it afforded but little protection from the weather, for
+through it the winds blew in Winter, and the rains dripped in Summer.
+Simlin’s wants, however, appeared to be few and simple. He seldom had a
+fire, even at the coldest season. What he subsisted upon, nobody knew.
+Once, perhaps, in two or three days, he would buy a loaf of coarse bread
+from the baker in the village, and his table evidently was supplied in
+the most frugal manner.
+
+The people put down his besetting sin to be avarice; and the hut, if it
+contained no furniture, was reported to contain wealth enough, hidden
+away in its obscure cracks and corners, to have draped its dreary boards
+in the most costly velvet and lace, and encased its walls with marble.
+Of course, he was a miser. More than ten years now he had been at the
+foundry, and not a cent of the wages which he drew regularly had he
+spent, or put so much as a farthing into the savings bank, where many of
+the hands had laid up quite a pile. But, unlike the majority of misers,
+the old man never complained of being poor; indeed, he never complained
+at all, or spoke of money in any way. If the subject was brought up in
+his presence, he either preserved utter silence or quietly got up and
+left; and, if driven to the last extremity, and made to say something,
+he would remark, running into the same old channel, that “It didn’t much
+matter—he hadn’t any relatives nor any body dependin’ upon him.”
+
+So lonely and forlorn did he seem, and so harmless withal—for the old
+man never was known to do a mean action, or resent an angry word—that
+many uncouth kindnesses had been shown him on the part of the hands,
+with whom he was by no means unpopular. Especially had this been the
+case latterly; for, though he himself was apparently unconscious of it,
+so terribly broken had he become that the change was sorrowful to
+behold; and, rude as were the foundry-workmen, what there was pathetic
+in the patient manner in which the feeble old man silently worked on
+told upon them by instinct.
+
+There had even been an interest taken in him up at the great house.
+Every season, “the colonel,” as the owner and sole proprietor of the
+Rocky Ford Foundry was called by all the employes, brought his family
+down from the city to spend a few months rusticating in the beautiful
+Scioto Valley, where he had built a summer residence for that purpose,
+and that he might be near his great iron-works at the same time. There
+was always gay company up at the house—visitors from town, who needed no
+second invitation to entice them from the dust of the city to this
+peaceful retreat among the lovely hills of Ohio. Besides, the colonel
+had a beautiful daughter, and every body liked the “young misses.”
+Seldom, though, did she ever go down to the foundry; never, indeed
+unless some special object took her there.
+
+Coming from her home a mile distant—this home for her embowered in
+perpetual Summer and wrapped in the peace that broods upon the
+everlasting hills, where she could see, far off, the golden meadow-lands
+and the more distant Paint Ridge, with its transparent veil of mist;
+this home from which she had often looked out and listened to the blue
+Scioto, unflecked with sail or skiff, struggling by day and night to
+tell its mysterious story, as it flowed forever on its lonely
+course—coming from this home, over the narrow path that led down the
+slope to the river’s edge, where the green rushes grew and the wild
+columbine hung its bells above the water—coming on, past the great
+rocks, where the scarlet lichens flamed in the sun and the blossoming
+alder displayed its drifted clusters; coming still with active feet over
+the velvet moss—coming from the lovely valley, coming from the tranquil
+hills, when she entered the foundry it seemed like stepping suddenly
+from the beautiful world into some haunt of evil spirits.
+
+Within the great dingy walls no shining sunlight brightened the air. Dim
+and cheerless, it hung laden with smoke and vapor, that floated in
+clouds to the rafters. The harsh clang of heavy machinery, together with
+the roar of the furnaces, seemed to shake the very building. Among the
+enormous wheels that whirled with frightful velocity, and the immense
+belts that whizzed above their heads, the workmen, black and begrimed,
+looked small, weird and unearthly, moving about upon the damp ground,
+with its jet-like covering of charred cinders. The place seemed an
+apparition of demons, performing in some cavern of the lower regions
+their evil incantations. No wonder the young lady seldom went there. Its
+gloom fell upon her with a heavy oppression, and her breath only came
+freely when once more she found herself out in the clear and open
+sunlight.
+
+It happened in this manner that she first came to take any notice of old
+Simlin: There were gathered quite a party of young folks; and the
+colonel, who had been in Cincinnati upon business, had returned the
+previous evening, bringing with him another gentleman, apparently a
+stranger to the family.
+
+It was at the breakfast-table that the company were discussing the
+“sights” of the neighborhood, and debating whether they would take him
+first over to Paint Creek upon a fishing-excursion, or across the river
+to Mount Logan, famous for having been the rendezvous of the great
+Indian chief, when the colonel spoke up,—
+
+“Why not begin at home?” he said. “Do not fatigue him to death the first
+day, and I am proud enough of my foundry to think it might be of
+interest even to Mr. Safford; at least I mean to have him shown over it
+before he leaves.”
+
+The young man, of course, immediately stated that it would give him
+great pleasure, and the whole company, to the most of whom it would
+prove a novelty, gladly acquiesced in the proposition. So it was
+decided, and two hours later they all started on their way.
+
+When they entered the foundry it seemed more gloomy than ever, the
+atmosphere more stifling, and the jar of the machinery more painfully
+loud and discordant. Even the gay young people who had chatted and
+laughed all the morning felt the sudden change that involuntarily
+subdued their merriment. They broke up and scattered in twos and threes
+over the place, following the lead of simple curiosity, but the
+stranger-gentleman staid beside Helen, the “young misses.”
+
+“What a queer, unreal place!” he said. “One would never expect to find
+any thing like it in this beautiful valley. Does it not make you think,
+coming upon it suddenly out of the sunlight, of the evil genii you have
+read about in some fairy-tale long ago? And the workmen, at whose
+bidding all this gigantic power is brought into action, how small and
+weird they look!”
+
+The two had been slowly approaching the great furnace, and, just as the
+gentleman ceased speaking, the immense door was thrown open,
+discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions, the seething flame
+within. Though they were not near enough to experience any inconvenience
+from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened exclamation and drew back; but
+the gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately in front of him
+from this opening streamed a broad but sharply defined streak of
+blood-red light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed the
+blackened cinders on the ground beneath his feet into a mass of living
+embers.
+
+As the old man straightened up, and was in the act of raising his hand
+to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination, they encountered the
+stranger, and a mingled expression of surprise and fright instantly
+struggled up through their weak color. For a moment, like an apparition,
+he stood transfixed. The red glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure;
+it showed his attenuated arms and death-like mouth, his tattered clothes
+and the few wisps of his scant hair.
+
+Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling effect which the glow of
+the furnace had produced, falling by accident upon a single workman.
+But, when the man rose up, he gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his
+strange behavior.
+
+For an instant, the old man stared without moving a muscle, then his
+lips began to work convulsively, and, raising his hand before his face,
+as if to screen it from view, he half uttered an unintelligible sentence
+and sank down. At the same time, the door of the furnace had been
+closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a moment had so
+strangely thrown him into violent relief.
+
+For a second, Safford almost thought the whole thing had been an optical
+illusion, or some hallucination of his own brain; then, stepping
+forward, he saw the old man lying in a heap upon the ground.
+
+The young lady, recovering immediately from her sudden fright at the
+unexpected blaze, had seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked, in a
+terrified voice,—
+
+“What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she exclaimed, kneeling down
+beside him.
+
+“No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!” Mr. Safford called to
+the nearest hand. Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the
+prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried it out into the open
+air.
+
+“I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,” said the man who had helped
+in carrying him. “We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.”
+
+“Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr. Safford, while he bathed the grimy
+forehead with his wet handkerchief.
+
+“Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been of a trembil all over; and he’s
+getting pretty much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping his
+voice, and significantly touching his forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not
+booked for this world much longer.”
+
+“Poor man!” said Miss Helen, leaning tenderly over the pale face that
+still showed no symptoms of returning consciousness; “how very thin and
+emaciated he is! Has he no wife or family to take care of him?”
+
+“That’s just it, ma’am! That’s just what he’s allus harpin’ on! He says
+he ain’t got no relatives, and nobody to look after, and—”
+
+The young lady suddenly raised her hand with a warning gesture; and,
+before the workman had ceased speaking, old Simlin opened his eyes. He
+looked around for a moment in a bewildered way; then his uncertain
+glance, falling upon the gentleman kneeling by his side, immediately
+became fixed, and grew into a wild stare. Raising himself unsteadily
+upon his elbow, still with his eyes fixed upon him, the old man threw
+out his trembling arm with a gesture as if addressing the whole
+company,—
+
+“It’s a lie! Who said I had any relatives, or any body to look after? I
+hain’t! It’s a lie—a _lie_, I say! I never seen you before. He’s a
+stranger!”—still keeping his arm extended, and appealing excitedly to
+those around him—“you all know he is a stranger. I ain’t got no
+relatives, nor any body to look after!”
+
+It was evident enough that what the workman had told them about his
+intellect was too true, they all thought, as they looked at each other
+with a quick glance.
+
+“I tell you I don’t know you, sir! It’s all a lie. I never seen you
+before! I—”
+
+“No, you never saw me before.”
+
+Mr. Safford had spoken, hoping to soothe him; but, instead, the sentence
+appeared to act upon the old man like an electric battery, for he raised
+himself into a sitting posture, and, with his head bobbing violently
+about, fairly screamed, his cracked voice running into high treble,—
+
+“That’s right!—that’s right! Do you all hear it? He says I never seen
+him before. It’s all a lie about my havin’ got any relatives. I hain’t!
+I never seen him before—You heerd him say so—you all heerd him?” he
+inquired, for the first time, taking his pale, watery eyes from the
+gentleman, and looking, in a frightened, appealing way, round the group.
+
+Then his strength seemed to fail suddenly, and he fell back upon the
+grass, panting for breath.
+
+At this moment the colonel came up, and knelt down by his side. He
+uttered his name several times, and even put his hand upon the wrinkled
+forehead; but the old man, with vacant eyes fixed on the sky, paid no
+heed, though his lips trembled.
+
+“I have ordered a wagon. It will be here directly. He must be taken to
+the house, where he can receive every attention. Poor man! I am afraid
+this will be about the last. I have expected it for a long time. Here,
+Safford, help me to lift him,” he added, as Hendricks came back with the
+wagon.
+
+“Safford! Safford! Who called me Safford?” said the old man, suddenly
+looking round in a terrified manner. “I—I’ve been a dreamin’,” uttering
+a weak laugh. “It’s not my—I mean nobody said it. I never heerd that
+name before. It’s darned funny, ain’t it? but I never even heerd that
+name before in my life! You know I didn’t”—growing wild and excited
+again—“you know it’s a lie! I ain’t got no relatives, nor nobody to look
+after.”
+
+The gentlemen, without speaking, stooped to raise him; but he struggled
+violently, and, keeping his eyes still fixed on the younger one, he
+cried, with such an extreme distress upon his face, that they
+involuntarily drew back,—
+
+“No, no! I’m not fit to be near you. Stand off! You’re a fine gentleman;
+it’s not for the likes of you to touch me!”
+
+Then turning toward the colonel, he muttered some inarticulate apology,
+and actually staggered, unaided, to his feet,—
+
+“I’m ’bliged to ye all,” he said, nodding his head up and down, and
+backing, with uncertain steps, toward the foundry, as if afraid to take
+his eyes from the party as long as he was within their sight. “Thar
+ain’t nothin’ the matter with me! I jest felt faint a spell from the
+heat—the heat. It ain’t nothin’, an’ it’s gone now! I’ll go back to my
+work agin—I’m all right—I’m ’bliged to ye! It was jest the heat as
+overcum me—jest the heat—” and, with a painful smile upon his thin lips,
+still muttering unintelligible excuses, he tottered into the building.
+
+For a moment, taken by surprise, the group remained motionless. Then
+Helen said; “Poor old man! I declare, it almost made me cry only to look
+at him!—Father, you will have him cared for; you will not allow him to
+work any more?”
+
+“No. He is dreadfully broken down, and I have heard the hands say that,
+latterly, he was breaking in his mind, too; but I did not know it was so
+bad. I will see that he does as little as possible; but he will never
+quit until he gives out utterly, and he can not hold on long in this
+condition. Strange, Safford, how the sight of you seemed to excite him!
+Did you notice with what a wild, terrified gaze he stared at you, as if
+he had been hunted down? and, when you stooped to raise him up, he
+almost drew himself into a knot. I did not suppose, when I saw him on
+the ground, that he had strength enough left to stand on his feet
+without help; and it seemed as if it was this fear of you that inspired
+him with the power.”
+
+The younger man stood leaning against the tree from which he had not
+moved.
+
+“Yes,” he replied, “it was strange; I noticed it. How long have you had
+him in your employ?”
+
+“More than ten years, and he has been about the most valuable hand in
+the foundry.”
+
+“Then I’m sure, father, you will take care of him, and not let him work
+any more?” said Helen, again.
+
+“Yes—yes, child! don’t bother yourself so—of course I will;” but the
+younger gentleman turned toward her quickly, while his face lighted up,
+then checked himself abruptly in what would have been an eager gesture
+of gratitude, and looked away without saying a word.
+
+They remained a few moments to hear that the old man had recovered, and
+when the messenger reported him working at his place quietly as usual,
+without re-entering the foundry, or waiting for their companions, the
+two started homeward. Helen’s reluctance to go back into the building
+again had been so manifest that the gentleman could hardly do otherwise.
+Not until the straggling little village and the smoke of the great
+foundry were left in the distance did she fairly draw a breath of
+relief, and even then they still walked on almost in silence.
+
+The day had reached its noon. On the river flowing past the lances of
+the sun broke into a thousand flakes of fire that followed each other
+over its surface in myriad ranks; and on either side, where the twisted
+birch reached out its branches, the waves with a grateful murmur turned
+up their cool white crests.
+
+There was no loud hum of grasshoppers. Hardly a leaf stirred upon the
+trees, hardly a bird fluttered its wings. Even the far-off mists had
+disappeared, and a hush was on the hills—a hush as of awe before the
+splendor of the sky. No wonder they spoke but little. Almost solemn was
+the glory of the day in its noon. Yet perhaps neither one felt this
+influence which rested upon the land, and subdued alike to silence the
+peewee and the bobolink. It may be that the girl was not wholly
+unconscious of the scene, but it was certainly some other influence that
+wrapped her companion in abstraction. He saw not even the checkered
+shade that fell in arch and groin upon their path.
+
+They were half-way home. Rousing himself suddenly with an effort, as if
+but just aware of this long abstraction, he said, for lack of any thing
+better,—
+
+“Miss Helen, do you like the country?”
+
+“Dearly. I love these hills and the river. The time I spend here is the
+happiest part of my life.”
+
+“And are you not always happy?” he inquired. “You should be.”
+
+A strange gentleness in his tone as he uttered the last words made Helen
+look up quickly as she answered him with a smile,—
+
+“I am. I never had a trouble in my life.”
+
+They had reached the turn where the path led up the slope from the foot
+of the hill.
+
+“Do not go back to the house,” he said; “let us sit down here a little
+while in the shade. I feel strangely oppressed, and the four walls of a
+room would suffocate me.”
+
+Apparently, he had uttered the last sentence involuntarily, as he took
+off his hat, and passed his hand several times across his forehead, for,
+catching his breath quickly, he added, as if by way of an apology,—
+
+“It is so much pleasanter in the open air, and I am less fortunate than
+you. I seldom have a chance to enjoy the country.”
+
+He had evidently spoken truly, however, when he said he felt strangely
+oppressed, for his eyes wandered up the valley, far off to the remote
+Paint Ridge, yet he did not see the glittering Scioto, or how Summer sat
+enthroned in royal pomp upon the hills.
+
+There was a thoughtful, almost anxious expression on his face. Presently
+he added, in a tone of voice as if they might have been discussing the
+subject at the moment, and which showed his mind was still occupied
+wholly by the incident at the foundry,—
+
+“Miss Helen, had you ever seen that man before?”
+
+“What man?” she inquired. “The workman, you mean?”
+
+“Yes, the old moulder.”
+
+“No. I have often heard them speak of him. I rarely go to the foundry;
+it is gloomy, and the hands are so rough father does not like to have me
+come in contact with them in any way, so I do not know one from another.
+I did not recollect at first, but I remember now hearing him say that
+old Simlin was queer, that he was a miser, and that he lived all alone
+on the Spring Hill. But I am sure father did not know he was so feeble,
+or how he was losing his mind. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It
+must be dreadfully sad, ignorant though he is, to grow old and have not
+a soul on the earth to care for him.”
+
+Again the gentleman turned to her, as she spoke, with a sudden emotion
+in his eyes that would have called the color to her cheeks had she seen
+it, but in another instant he had looked away, and the troubled cloud
+settled back once more upon his features.
+
+“The river _is_ beautiful,” he said, after a pause; “see how the fire
+dances down its surface.”
+
+He had dismissed the subject from their conversation, if not from his
+own thoughts. More than an hour later Helen sprang up with a conscious
+blush upon her face as the sound of approaching voices told her how the
+time had fled. Ah, for her at least it had been wafted by on silver
+wings! They both joined the party, and all went together to the house.
+There, almost immediately, Mr. Safford excused himself and went to his
+room.
+
+Shut in alone, the same anxious, troubled expression he had worn when he
+looked unconsciously up the river came back upon him as he walked
+thoughtfully to and fro across the floor. The incident at the foundry
+had affected him singularly. He could not throw off its depressing
+influence. Why, he asked himself—why did the face of the old man haunt
+him perpetually—the thin, wrinkled face, as it had looked at him with
+sudden surprise and terror struggling up through its watery eyes? Why
+did the cracked voice, with its accent of fright, ring constantly in his
+ears? If it were but the wild vagary of an unsettled mind, why should he
+give it any heed? “I am nervous,” he muttered to himself. “They said the
+man was crazy, and surely I never saw him before—no, I never saw him
+before. Then why should the sight of me have so excited him? Probably
+another stranger would have done the same. I am foolish—and they said
+the man was crazy—”
+
+He still paced the floor of his room up and down, while he tried to
+argue himself out of the unreasonable hold which the circumstance had
+taken on his mind. “I wish I could forget it!” he exclaimed. Then
+walking to the window, and looking out mechanically, he said slowly to
+himself, as if weighing well his words,—
+
+“It is not possible; no, it is not possible that here I am going to find
+any clew. The man _was_ crazy, that is all.”
+
+He returned again, however, not the least relieved, to his track over
+the carpet, and, before he went down stairs, he had determined that he
+would “wait and see.” He would not, as he had previously intended, leave
+the place within a day or two. He could not go away until he had
+satisfied himself about the matter wholly, and in the mean time he would
+find out what he could in regard to the old man.
+
+He did not make any inquiries of the family, and the only information he
+could gain was simply what he had been already told.
+
+His sleep that night was strangely disturbed. Over and over in his
+troubled slumber a thin, shrunken figure stood with its trembling arm
+stretched out toward him. It was always before him, even when sometimes
+there flitted through his dreams the form of one whose face was fair as
+the morning, whose hair was yellow as the reaper’s wheat. He rose
+feeling little refreshed. The night, instead of lessening, had but
+strengthened the hold which the incident of the previous day had taken
+upon him, and against which he struggled without avail.
+
+The colonel’s prophecy did not prove incorrect when he said Simlin could
+not last long, for, just as the family were rising from the
+breakfast-table, a messenger arrived, saying the old man was lying
+insensible in his cabin. It seemed he did not make his appearance at the
+foundry at his usual time, and, after waiting an hour in vain,
+Hendricks, who suspected something might be wrong, sent one of the hands
+to the hut, where he was found in this condition.
+
+“Tell Hendricks I will see to him immediately,” the colonel said to the
+messenger, as he retired; then turning to young Safford, who stood with
+his hat in his hand, inquired, “Are you going out?”
+
+“I will go with you, if you have no objection. I may be of some service,
+and I am in need of exercise at any rate.”
+
+He hesitated as he spoke, endeavoring to cover the unusual interest
+which he took in the matter, and the excitement he felt that the news
+had brought upon him.
+
+“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely pale this morning! Our country
+air ought to do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you would go with
+me. I don’t know exactly what is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill,
+he can not be moved, and anyhow there is no road leading up that side of
+the Spring Hill, nothing but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has
+worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that direction. The cabin
+must have been originally put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and
+inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail upon him to come
+down into the village. He is a strange man, almost a hermit in his
+habits.”
+
+“Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe I can do something for him,
+too, if he is sick.”
+
+“You, Helen?” said her father, smiling. “What can you do for such a
+person? No, no, child, it is no place for you. I do not like to have you
+go among any of these wretched people.”
+
+He stooped and kissed the fair countenance raised so entreatingly to
+his. A swift expression of pain had come across the younger gentleman’s
+face as the colonel spoke, but the girl persisted, and her father
+reluctantly gave his consent.
+
+“Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to put a few things into a
+basket with some wine and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it
+immediately. We may need him anyhow, and he has no work to do about the
+house this morning. I can not spare Hendricks from the foundry, and very
+likely, if we can not move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a
+little.”
+
+Losing no time, they started on their errand of mercy. The walk was
+long, but well shaded. Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all
+Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy. The little song-sparrows,
+wild with delight, united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called,
+and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad numbers, fluttered their
+golden wings; and sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in her
+flight to the far-off wheat fields.
+
+It seemed strange that there should be any misery, any suffering. The
+girl could not realize it until they came out on top of the Spring Hill
+to the little clearing where the cabin stood, which, in its utter
+desolation, appeared to overwhelm her. There was no sign of a human
+presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on the chimney-top, while
+its mate flitted wistfully over the sunburnt grass. The place was so
+lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother a sob. Below, the wide
+valley stretched away to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel, on
+this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one ostracized from society.
+
+“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel, “while I go in first, and I will
+come and tell you.”
+
+He left them in the shade of the tall beech trees, and they saw him go
+into the cabin. Though neither had spoken, they knew that upon each
+heart rested the same burden of dread. In the moment that followed there
+came over the young man an almost sickening anxiety, but the girl stood,
+awed only by the thought that perhaps even then the black wings of Death
+might be settling unknown within their very presence. Then she saw her
+father come to the door and beckon—the old man at least was not dead—and
+they went in together.
+
+The place was far more bare and desolate than even its exterior had
+appeared. The rough boards of the floor were shrunken apart. Through the
+windows, unshielded by even a plank, the glaring light poured in a
+pitiless flood. A broken chair or two were propped against the wall, and
+in the corner an old pine table stood in a precarious condition upon its
+uneven legs.
+
+There, stretched across the wretched bed dressed in his grimy clothes,
+just as they had seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago, the old
+man lay insensible. All their restoratives were powerless to rouse him
+from this heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to their efforts.
+The half-closed eyes were glazed. There was no quiver now about the
+bloodless lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner, more emaciated,
+for over all the features rested that sunk expression which those who
+look upon it behold with despair at their hearts. But for the slow rise
+and fall of his chest, they might have thought the last glimmer of life
+had died out of that frail form forever.
+
+It was plain that they could not dare to move him, and the colonel
+carefully shaded the window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving
+free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken all the things from the
+basket, and set them ready for use, though there was little chance now
+that they could be of any avail. Safford stood at the foot of the bed,
+utterly unconscious of every thing at the moment but the prostrate
+figure before him. Since he entered the room he had hardly changed his
+position, only that he folded his arms across his breast, and drooped
+his head a little, as if in that attitude he might the more intently
+watch the sleeper.
+
+When the colonel came and spoke to him he started up as if frightened,
+like one out of a dream, so that the elder man looked at him in
+surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling himself, said
+quickly, in a husky voice,— “I beg your pardon. You startled me!”
+
+“I only wanted to know how long you thought he could last?”
+
+“I can not tell. It may be until evening, hardly longer.”
+
+He was right. The day wore on without any apparent change until about
+the going down of the sun, when the old man moved a little. They had
+once or twice dropped a few drops of wine between his lips, but this was
+the first symptom of any break in the heavy stupor which had held him so
+long in its death-like embrace. His respiration quickened, and became
+audible. He muttered one or two incoherent sentences, then a tremor
+passed over his features, and he opened his eyes.
+
+Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored during the afternoon to
+persuade into going home, stood with her head turned away; and the
+colonel, too intent upon watching the dying man, did not notice Safford,
+from whose face, at the first struggle in the inanimate form, every
+particle of color fled, and who, trembling violently all over, clutched
+the bed for support.
+
+The old man for a moment looked about the room blankly, as if a haze
+obscured his vision. Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face
+lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but as suddenly the light
+faded out, his features quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying,
+brokenly, in an accent of despair,—
+
+“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”
+
+Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—
+
+“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you will kill me! It was not for
+the likes o’ me to have married you. Now you are so white an’ thin, an’,
+Hetty, when I took ye to the church, yer cheeks were redder nor the
+summer rose. Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”
+
+A terrible struggle in his throat compelled him to pause for a moment,
+then he went on with rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
+could hardly find expression in words:—
+
+“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one that; I can not bar
+it!—not that, not my name! I swear to ye, he shall not take after the
+likes of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty, I swear to ye, if I
+live, he shall never hear a low word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He
+shall have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman. Hetty, I’ve
+been a worthless dog—a brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
+darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer face—but hear me, Hetty,
+I swear to ye, the little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
+shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so still! O Hetty!—dead! she is
+dead—dead!”
+
+Both the colonel and Helen turned with astonishment to young Safford
+when the old man, in his delirium, had spoken his name; but the latter,
+unconscious of their surprise, with a single cry, sprang forward, and
+supported the exhausted figure in his arms as it sank back.
+
+“Father—my father!” The words broke from his lips in a voice painfully
+choked by emotion.
+
+There was another severe struggle for breath, then, with renewed
+strength, the old man raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
+looking round quickly, began in a hurried manner, fumbling about with
+his hands,—
+
+“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me agin! He mustn’t never know
+as I’m alivin’. He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’ me.” He
+paused a moment, and the expression of his face changed. “It’s a lie!”
+he cried, fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body to look
+after! It’s all a _lie_!” Then, shivering suddenly, he said, lowering
+his voice, and speaking softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not have
+no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a gentleman. I said he should be a
+gentleman—and he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No, no! I never seen
+you before—I never seen you before!”
+
+The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling sound in his throat.
+
+“Father, father, speak to me! It is I, George!”
+
+Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees. During the moment that
+followed there was profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes, and
+said, gently,—
+
+“George! the little George!” A radiant light rested upon his thin face.
+He raised his trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily over the man’s
+head. “Yer hair is soft an’ black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
+her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’, Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+                          THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA.
+
+
+                                   I.
+
+At the foot of the hill stood a low, old-fashioned frame house, with a
+picket-fence round the yard, which ran down to a small stream that
+sometimes flowed along slowly, and sometimes with a great rush, and
+sometimes slept tranquilly beneath a sheeting of ice. Nearly a mile off,
+smooth and level, with pleasant streets, and a church whose spire shone
+in the sunlight long after the evening shade had crept over the ground,
+was the village of Pickaway, the gem of Paint Valley.
+
+From there, two days in every week, to the quaint old-fashioned house at
+the foot of the hill, the children wended their way with music folios,
+coming loiteringly in Summer over the narrow foot-path where the wild
+columbine grew by the creek, but in Winter walking hurriedly over the
+frozen turnpike, swinging their arms, blowing their fingers, and
+sometimes doing battle bravely with the snow.
+
+Here Franz Erckman lived in the plainest manner, with only his piano and
+his cottage-organ for companions. Wife and children he had none, nor any
+relative, nor any domestic pet. There was never a dog, or cat, or even
+so much as a chicken, to be seen about the premises. One servant he
+kept, to be sure, but she, a cross old woman, never opened her mouth for
+the purpose of speech more than a dozen times in a year, and then it was
+only upon some unusual provocation, as when the scholars broke a
+pitcher, or muddied her floor, when she would give utterance to some
+incoherent but disagreeable ejaculation.
+
+Franz Erckman had lived in this way for nearly twenty years, and was
+just as bluff in manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as when he
+had first come there, an unknown young foreigner, without friends, or
+acquaintances, or money, and commenced in a modest way giving
+music-lessons to a few pupils at first, to many after a time.
+
+When the new church was built, and a new organ with great gilded pipes
+put in, his services were engaged, as well they might, for no other
+person in the whole village could have made any thing whatever out of
+all those stops, and pedals, and keys.
+
+Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a town, with a very respectable
+hotel, many tourists came down in the summer season from the city to
+rusticate for a week or two, and they always heard the organist with
+astonishment. Inquiries about him were so often repeated by these
+cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had finally grown to feel proud of
+its musician, and it became as natural to them to show off Franz Erckman
+as it did to call attention to the beautiful scenery. It would have been
+hard to have overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape could
+rarely have been found.
+
+However, all this praise and adulation had apparently made little effect
+upon the village music-master, who had been again and again invited to
+come up for one season to the city by these friendly tourists. They held
+out to him the allurements of the orchestras and operas, and told
+wonderful tales of the superb voices of the great _prime donne_. It was
+all in vain. He always thanked them for their proffered hospitality, but
+never accepted it, and lived along, seemingly content enough to teach
+the village children, and play the church-organ. Only his one servant
+knew how at night, and sometimes all night through, he tried
+ineffectually to satisfy his great craving for music, and how, not until
+the pale light of morning was visible in the east, would he shut his
+cottage-organ. And when he turned from it there was always a strange
+expression of despair upon his features.
+
+The people of the town said he was penurious, for he invariably exacted
+the tuition of each scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time it
+was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the pupil without a word, and
+there were no more lessons given until the quarter had been paid.
+However, they grew to know him so well that every body fell into the
+habit, in his case at least, of being punctual.
+
+So, working steadily year after year, as he had done, with almost no
+expenses of living, Pickaway thought he must have laid by quite a
+fortune, and when the Widow Massey, poverty-stricken though she was,
+made up her mind to send her little daughter—her only child—the poor,
+weak, crippled little Alice, who went every Sunday to the church, and
+listened with such deep delight to the strains of the great organ—when
+the Widow Massey made up her mind to send her daughter to the
+music-master, and give her this one pleasure, that it might brighten
+somewhat the life so early blighted, all the people thought he would
+surely take the child for nothing. But he did not—he took the money, the
+full amount; and, if the people made sarcastic remarks about his
+penuriousness, _they_ never offered to pay for the little girl. And the
+mother never thought of asking a favor from any one. Though she earned
+by hard labor scarcely enough to keep them, still for the last year she
+had had this thought at heart, and quietly saved a little at a time,
+until finally the long-coveted sum was in her possession; and gladly she
+went and gave it to the music-master, who put it down at the bottom of
+his vest-pocket, and told her to send the little girl twice a week. And
+twice a week the little girl went.
+
+That was in the Summer. She was pale, and thin, and delicate, and the
+scholars all wondered how she would get there through the snow in the
+Winter. But before the bleak winds had blown one rude blast, the little
+Alice had a worse trouble. The Widow Massey suddenly fell ill and died,
+commending her beloved child to the care only of the great Guardian
+above.
+
+It was a terrible stroke, and the people all wondered what would become
+of the helpless daughter, who was too feeble to do any kind of work for
+a means of subsistence, and every person thought it strange that
+somebody else did not come to her relief.
+
+It was very sad. The poor little creature seemed fairly racked with
+grief, and had sat by the side of her dead mother day and night. On the
+afternoon of the funeral they tried in vain to take her away, until
+Franz Erckman came, and the people in surprise saw him lift her up in
+his arms without a struggle, and quietly carry her out of the house.
+They saw him, still with her arms clasped tight about his neck, crossing
+the green pastures, strike the narrow foot-path by the creek, and
+disappear as the path turned behind the heavy foliage that was brilliant
+in the scarlet dyes of October.
+
+It was not one of the days upon which he gave lessons. There was only
+the ripple of water over the stones and the rustle of leaves that
+occasionally blew down from the trees, to break the profound quiet of
+the place as he passed through his gate. Not one word had been spoken,
+and still in perfect silence he carried the frail little being, that he
+could feel trembling from head to foot—he carried her across the broad
+veranda and into the pleasant parlor—not the room that the scholars
+used, but where his cottage-organ stood. Then he drew the sofa up beside
+the instrument and laid her down upon it.
+
+Her fingers unclasped with a convulsive movement, and Franz turned his
+face away, for the child had not uttered a sound. Her eyes, dry and
+unnaturally bright, wore a startled look, a mute, beseeching expression,
+like the eyes of a wounded animal, and the pallor of her countenance,
+that had a wild grief branded upon it, was almost as ghastly in hue as
+death. It was suffering terrible to behold, and the hands of the strong
+man trembled as he opened the mahogany case of his organ.
+
+There was a moment’s silence; then music, soft and sorrowful, floated
+out on the air gently, almost timidly; so very mournful, that the
+strain, beautiful though it was, seemed to have in it a human cry of
+pain. It was a language that could appeal to the heart when word or lip
+failed.
+
+The child’s whole frame shook beneath the heavy sobs that swelled up in
+her throat, and the great grief had opened its flood-gates. Hour after
+hour he played untiringly, while the violence of the storm spent itself.
+The music, at first sorrowful, hurt, had cried out in its pain; then it
+grew into a measure so yearning, it seemed the very genius of sympathy.
+Making an intense appeal, it swelled into a great passion, which
+gradually became exhausted by its own intense vehemence, until about the
+going down of the sun it died. And the child slept.
+
+The wild storm of anguish was over. Upon the face, the thin, pale face
+of the little girl in her slumber, there shone an expression of such
+absolute rest that Franz, with a sudden movement, bent down his head and
+listened. Had she passed with the music to the land where there are
+strains that swell into a _gloria_ never ending? He held his breath. Was
+this the reflection of that peace eternal, that rest which endureth
+forever? A sob quivered for a moment on her features, and escaped from
+the lips of the sleeper. No, no, for sorrow showed its painful presence.
+She was not dead, and, at the sigh, sad though it was to see, the man
+arose with a smothered exclamation of relief.
+
+The quiet day was drawing to its close. Within the room the shadows were
+already thickening; without, long lines of mist festooned the hills in
+plumes of royal purple, and the red haze of Indian-summer had gathered
+into broad streamers that unfurled their splendor across the tranquil
+sky. The floating twilight hung over the wide and level pastures. Down
+by the creek the scarlet sage still showed its coral fringe, and
+sometimes the woodbine, close by the house, waved its painted leaves.
+Far off in the filmy vale the group of maples that had stood crowned
+with a golden glory now shrouded themselves in black; and beyond, like a
+long stretch of desolate shore, the great gloom lifted up its chilly
+banks.
+
+Many times from the window in his parlor Franz Erckman had watched the
+divine pageant of night ascend the valley in all the pomp and grandeur
+of its magnificence, in all the solemn majesty of its silence, in all
+the ineffable depths of its sadness. Many times in his loneliness he had
+seen it pass, when a vision of the fair Rhineland would come back to his
+heart. Many times through its profound solitude he had looked out with
+yearning eyes, with listening ears, striving to comprehend its sublime
+mystery. Many times he had turned to it with a soul oppressed by despair
+reaching toward the Infinite. For, though the people did not know it,
+beneath the rough exterior of this reserved German dwelt a love of the
+beautiful—a love so passionate sometimes, it seemed crushing his very
+spirit that he could not give it utterance in his music. Then it was
+that often he would rise from his organ in bitter disappointment, and go
+out with his trouble to seek consolation from the night—the night
+forever wan with her own unspoken sorrow.
+
+But he stood watching the face of the sleeper, paying no heed to the
+gathering shade. He stooped and arranged the cushions about the fragile
+form with the gentle touch of a woman, while upon his features there
+rested an expression more beautiful than they could ever borrow from the
+softened light of the evening.
+
+“She would have died,” he said to himself. “But for the music, I believe
+she would have died! The chords of the organ spoke to her when all
+earthly words failed. She, at least, can understand the language I have
+been striving to learn.”
+
+Frail little creature! She appeared, indeed, like a spirit of some other
+world. Her every nerve had vibrated in sympathy, and Franz could hardly
+help thinking, as he looked at her, that, soundless to human ears, there
+played about her ceaseless strains of melody. Music seemed to be the
+vitality that gave her life, the only nourishment that fed her soul.
+
+When she first came to him for instruction, he quickly discovered that
+she possessed not the least power of execution, and then had taken no
+special notice of her further. Wrapped up in his art, teaching the
+children had never been a pleasure to him. He compelled himself to
+endure it as a means of subsistence.
+
+The great object for which he worked was once to secure means enough to
+keep penury always from his door, and then give himself up unreservedly
+to this art which he loved better than his life. So he took no
+particular interest in any of his scholars, and it was only when he saw
+how eagerly the little Alice drank in every sound, that gradually he
+began to observe the child more narrowly. As he had at first seen, she
+possessed no power of execution whatever. She could not even learn to
+read the notes, and she would probably never be able to play a single
+bar correctly. But he had noticed how keenly alive she was to harmony,
+how peculiarly sensitive to discord. It seemed as though her lessons
+were a constant pain. Yet she came eagerly, and often lingered when they
+were finished.
+
+He had found her once, late in the day, when he had been playing
+dreamily to himself, sitting on the veranda near the window of his
+parlor, listening with a rapt attention, wholly unconscious of any thing
+but his music. Since that, when she came to take her lesson, he had
+always played for her, carelessly at first, but after a time with
+greater interest, until gradually he had given up altogether any effort
+to instruct her, and in its place each day played for her the oratorios
+and symphonies of the great composers. Then he had changed from the
+piano to his organ, and he had grown to wait nearly as anxiously for the
+hour to come round as the little girl herself.
+
+By degrees the visits of the child became to him almost indispensable.
+He seemed to feel always a strange inspiration come upon him in her
+presence. Why, he did not know; but it was then that sometimes the wild
+tumult, the infinite longings of his soul struggled into expression.
+But, when the child went, he would find himself again dejected, and
+wholly unable even to recall the strains which seemed to have died at
+the very moment of their birth.
+
+Franz stood, still watching her motionless form. The sobs, quivering
+through her sleep, had one by one exhausted themselves, and left her
+face strangely peaceful to look upon.
+
+“She is mine,” he muttered. “I will never part with her. She is my
+spirit of sound!”
+
+Suddenly he heard the grating noise of footsteps on the graveled walk.
+Turning quickly, he drew the curtain over the window to shield the
+sleeper from the damp night-air. Then he went softly out and closed the
+door after him, wrapped once more in his severe reserve, and with the
+old stern expression upon his features. His brows knit themselves into a
+frown, and his lips curled for a moment with a smile of contempt when he
+recognized the figure coming into the hall.
+
+“Ha! Erckman, good-evening,” said the man, in a loud and boisterous
+tone, which seemed to dissipate all the serenity of the night in its
+pompous swell.
+
+“Good-evening.”
+
+If it had been the first time they had ever met, Franz could not have
+spoken with colder formality as he showed his guest into the piano-room.
+
+Mr. Cory claimed to be the richest man in Pickaway, and very likely it
+was true. He owned hundreds of green and fertile acres, with cattle
+sleek and fat. He was ruling elder in the church, and his wife bought
+all her bonnets and flounces in the city, and they had built the finest
+house in the whole of Paint Valley. Indeed, nothing was done without his
+presence, and every one, from the minister to the sexton, received his
+advice, which he distributed far more liberally than he did his money.
+So it was that Franz had mentally guessed the object of his visit the
+instant he recognized him in the hall.
+
+“Fine weather, this.”
+
+The organist made no more audible reply to the remark than a
+half-uttered grunt, as he struck a match down the corner of the
+mantelpiece, and lighted the lamp. Mr. Cory sat uneasily on the hard,
+hair-cloth chair, dimly conscious of some obstruction in the usually
+smooth channel of his discourse.
+
+“Sad affair of the Widow Massey.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He looked about the room for a moment, as though expecting to discover
+the presence of some third person, then repeated,—
+
+“Sad affair! sad affair! We are all liable to sudden death, and she
+ought to have been saving up, in case of such an event. She left nothing
+to provide for the child at all. Nothing at all. The furniture will
+barely bring enough to pay for her funeral expenses.”
+
+Franz had sat down mechanically on the music-stool, and rested one hand
+on the keyboard of the piano. Just as the conversation had reached this
+point, he suddenly took his hand away, with a nervous movement that
+sounded three or four discordant bass-notes of the instrument as he did
+so, and Mr. Cory for the second time found himself laboring under an
+ill-defined sense of discomfort, something wholly unusual. But, seeing
+his host showed no symptoms of breaking the silence, after a slight
+cough, he went on,—
+
+“We have been talking this afternoon as to what is going to be done with
+the child. You’ve got her here, haven’t you?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Well, one can’t do a great deal in this way, but you know it is such a
+sad case, and the child can’t do any work about a house, and my wife is
+so interested in her she thinks she’ll take the little girl—What did you
+say?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+“I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke. My wife is so interested in her
+she thinks she’ll take the little girl and send her for a year to the
+industrial school in the city, where she can learn to do fine sewing and
+embroidery. That will give her a chance to earn her living, and we can
+take up a collection in church to defray the expense.”
+
+“‘Fine sewing and embroidery’—_fine suffering and death_!” said Franz,
+suddenly letting loose his pent-up wrath. “Mr. Cory, would you kill the
+child? She is frailer than a flower, a sickly little thing, and
+crippled. One month’s stooping over a needle would put her in the grave.
+I thought for a moment, but an hour ago, that she was dead.” As he spoke
+the last word he left his seat, and, taking up the lamp, said,—“Come
+with me, and step lightly.”
+
+Utterly taken aback at the sudden outburst of the music-master, Mr. Cory
+followed him across the hall, saw him open the door of the opposite
+room, and motion him to enter. Then he said, in a quiet voice, while he
+shaded the lamp carefully with his hand, so that its rays did not fall
+directly upon the face of the child,—
+
+“Look at her.”
+
+The man stepped forward, but almost immediately drew back, with a
+shiver, from the sleeper, whose repose so strangely resembled death. She
+lay upon the sofa, with her hands folded across her breast, as when she
+had at first fallen into slumber.
+
+Franz stood intently regarding her, when suddenly his guest, coming up
+close to him, said, with his rough voice dropped into a frightened
+whisper, and his eyes looking quickly about the room,—
+
+“Where does it come from?”
+
+“What?” asked Franz, startled by his singular manner.
+
+“Do you hear it?”
+
+“Hear what?”
+
+“The music.”
+
+“Music!” exclaimed Franz, dropping his voice also to a whisper, and
+involuntarily suspending his breath for a moment—“no, I hear no music.”
+
+“It did not seem like the piano or organ. It must have been the wind in
+the trees outside, but it sounded just like a strain of music. We had
+better go, or we may waken her,” said Mr. Cory, as he turned to the
+door, and drew one hand across his forehead, where the perspiration had
+collected in drops, although the evening was cold and the air chilly.
+
+Franz followed him out, springing the latch gently with his hand as it
+caught, and they both went back to the piano-room. Here Mr. Cory seemed
+to recover somewhat of his usual composure.
+
+“Well, Erckman, she does look thin and delicate-like, but sewing won’t
+hurt her, not a bit. She’ll be better when she’s got something to do.
+She can’t exist on air, and she can’t live in idleness. She has got
+nothing, and it’s the only way I know of she can make her living. She
+must do work of some kind for support.”
+
+Before Franz’s eyes there floated visions of broad and fertile acres, of
+fine cattle, of fine clothes, of fine houses, but “she must do work of
+some kind for support,” so he said nothing, while the church-elder
+continued,—
+
+“There is James Maxwell going to the city to-morrow, and my wife said we
+had better send her to the school by him.”
+
+“Send her—, Mr. Cory,” said the organist, with a suppressed fierceness
+in his voice, “You saw how frail she is, how she looks as if, even now,
+the shadow of death might be upon her. You know how, from her birth, she
+has been crippled. I tell you one month in that school among strangers
+would kill her. Are there not strong arms enough in the world, is there
+not wealth enough already, that this unfortunate one, this perpetually
+enfeebled child, must wear out her brief span of life in a painful
+struggle to gain a little food?”
+
+“We are not, sir, expected to keep the ‘unfortunate one,’ as you call
+her,” blustered Mr. Cory, fairly purple with indignant astonishment.
+“What do you mean, sir? We are not under obligations to do any thing
+whatever for the girl. She should be thankful we interested ourselves in
+her behalf,” he said, partially choking with rage. “We will do this for
+her, but that is all. She is nothing to us.”
+
+“I had no intention of dictating,” said the organist, politely, who had
+quieted down as quickly as he had roused up. “You are right, sir, she is
+nothing to you, and you need not trouble yourself about the matter
+further. I will see that the child is provided for.”
+
+Then Mr. Cory looked at Franz as if he thought he had not heard aright,
+or that the music-master might be departing from his senses.
+
+“I repeat, I will see that the child is provided for, and you need not
+trouble yourself in regard to her further.”
+
+“Very well, sir, very well!” exclaimed the elder, rising, almost
+speechless with surprise. But when he reached the piazza he said,—“Then
+it is understood that I am not responsible in the case?”
+
+“It is understood.”
+
+Franz had had no intention of parting with the child. He would not have
+given her up had Mr. Cory offered all his grassy meadows. He watched him
+as he walked down the graveled path and disappeared in the darkness.
+“Charity!” he muttered. “Shut him out, O Night—hide him from view! Wrap
+your impenetrable mantle about him, that it may shield him from the eye
+of God and man!”
+
+The German stood for a moment looking out into the limitless gloom,
+which screened alike the evil and the good, then he turned again into
+the house.
+
+He went back, through the dining-room where his supper was spread
+untouched upon the table, to the kitchen, where Margery sat warming
+herself by the dying embers in the stove. The old servant was used to
+his irregular ways, and often saw his meals go untasted without a
+remark. But it was rarely the master ever intruded upon her premises,
+and she rose up as he came in, with an expression of surprise upon her
+quiet face.
+
+“Margery,” he said, “fix up the bedroom next to yours, then come down to
+me in the parlor.”
+
+The old woman heard him without a question, though never before could
+she remember when the guest-chamber had been used, or a visitor staid
+overnight at the house.
+
+When she had obeyed his instructions she presented herself at the
+parlor-door. There was no lamp in the room, only a narrow strip of light
+fell upon the floor from across the hall, but it did not penetrate the
+heavy shadow, and Margery, with a half-uttered apology upon her lips,
+drew back. At the sound of the woman’s steps, Franz came out of the
+gloom.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir.”
+
+“What is the matter?”
+
+“I did not know you was playin’, or I would have waited,” said the
+servant, respectfully, who had learned long ago never under any
+circumstances to interrupt her master at his practice.
+
+“I was not playing.”
+
+“Warn’t it you, sir? It was so dark I could not see.”
+
+“Me? no; nor any body else. No one was playing.”
+
+“Why, I thought I heard—but it must have been the wind,” said Margery,
+glancing across her shoulder to the vacant piano-stool. “I thought I
+heard music just as I opened the door.—The room is ready, sir.” Franz
+bent over the sofa and raised the sleeping form in his arms. Turning to
+Margery, he said,—
+
+“She is light. Here, carry her up and put her to bed. Don’t waken her if
+you can help it, and go to her once or twice in the night to see that
+she sleeps, for she is not well.”
+
+Then he added, as an abrupt explanation,—
+
+“She will occupy that room always. This is to be her home, and I want
+you to see that she has every thing necessary.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+If the old servant was surprised at the announcement, she made no
+remark. She took her up, arranged every thing for the night, and the
+child never awakened.
+
+It was not an unpleasant expression that spread itself upon the face of
+the woman as she stooped over the bed, and laid with a careful hand
+every fold about the sleeper. With noiseless feet she came again and
+again to look once more at the unconscious form that seemed to possess
+for her a singular attraction. Taking up the lamp, she turned to go into
+her own (the adjoining) room, but, with an abrupt start, she checked
+herself midway in the action, held the light suspended, and stood with
+every muscle arrested, as if some unexpected sound had fallen suddenly
+on her ears. Then she bent her head for a moment over the sleeper,
+glanced quickly about the room, and hurriedly crossed to the hall.
+
+She ran down the flight of stairs, looked first into the piano-room,
+then into the parlor opposite. Both places were deserted, and the
+instruments closed. The front door was bolted, and the master had
+evidently retired. She went back to the guest-chamber. The child still
+slept, and Margery held every nerve in suspense, but there was not the
+least sound. She stepped to the window, pushed up the sash, then leaned
+out and listened. The night was perfectly calm. What gentle breeze there
+had been two hours before had died away and left a profound silence
+unbroken even by the chirp of an insect. She closed the shutter, went
+back to the bedside again for an instant; then, saying quietly to
+herself, “It must have been mere fancy,” passed out to her own room, and
+left the door partially open between the two apartments.
+
+
+                                  II.
+
+So the little Alice had found a home. All the people in Pickaway
+expressed their utter surprise at this unexpected generosity of the
+penurious music-master. He certainly was about the last person in the
+town from whom such an act might have been anticipated. Indeed, it was
+little short of an enigma to the place. But their astonishment knew no
+bounds when, within a few days after he had taken the little girl, he
+quietly dismissed all his pupils, and steadily refused to give any more
+lessons to a single soul. Nothing could prevail upon him, no entreaties
+whatever could persuade him, and he could never be induced to offer the
+least explanation.
+
+Some of the wealthier ones, unwilling to give him up, had voluntarily
+proposed to pay double the former price, but even money, which all the
+village had thought the god of his life, failed to move him from his
+determination. He was inexorable. Every body wondered what might be the
+reason. No person could discover any apparent cause why he should so
+suddenly give up teaching. They inquired about his health. It was very
+good, he said. Did he expect to leave home? No. He would continue to
+play the church-organ? Yes, oh, yes; he had no intention of stopping
+that. So they conjectured until tired of the task, while Franz Erckman
+paid no attention.
+
+However, as the days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, all the
+village saw that a change had come over the organist. He was less
+communicative than formerly, and more severely reserved.
+
+From the borders of the creek the fringe of scarlet flowers had
+vanished. The myriad leaves had lost their rainbowed glory, and dropped,
+one after another, in russet tatters to the ground. The woodbine had
+thrown off its vermilion raiment, and now stretched up unclothed its
+weird and snake-like arms. The group of maples had laid down its golden
+crown; the hills, too, had cast aside their tiara of brilliant emerald.
+The Summer and Fall, in all their emblazoned splendor, had passed by,
+and the gorgeous livery of Autumn faded to the grizzled hues of Winter.
+
+Up the tawny valley a bleak December wind swept, making a cheerless
+rattle among the naked trees, and the creek slumbered quietly beneath
+its covering of ice; but this time no children came over the frozen
+turnpike to the house at the foot of the hill. More secluded than ever
+it seemed. Before the bitter winds had risen, in the pleasant November
+days, Franz had often rambled through the woods, carrying the little
+Alice, when she felt tired, in his arms. But, as the air grew chill,
+they staid almost wholly within the house. After that Franz rarely left
+it except when his duties as organist called him to the church, and then
+he invariably took the little girl with him, wrapped carefully in a
+heavy cloak.
+
+The people noticed that he was never seen any where without the child.
+If the weather proved bad on the Sabbath, or on the days when he went
+sometimes during the week to play, he still carried her with him, but an
+additional fur mantle was thrown around her for protection. She had
+never grown stronger; but, since that first night, when the organist had
+broken down the great barrier of grief that was closing up like a strong
+wall about her heart, they were seldom separated in her waking hours.
+
+During all this time Franz had changed so strangely that the village
+gossips said one would hardly have known him for the same person. To be
+sure, he had always been silent and reserved, but now he had become
+absolutely inapproachable. His manner, which was naturally abrupt, was
+often now wild and feverish. His face, too, had grown thin, his cheeks
+hollow, his whole figure gaunt. His eyes, brilliant but sunken, had
+assumed a singular expression of unrest, a perpetually searching look,
+as if forever striving to see the invisible, and it began finally to be
+whispered about among the people that the church-organist was not quite
+right in his head. They noticed, besides, that he would never allow the
+child to be enticed out of his sight. The ladies often tried to pet her,
+but she shrank invariably from every one except Franz, to whom she clung
+as if he were the one prop that sustained her life.
+
+So the time had worn away at the musician’s home. Margery, respectful as
+ever in her manner, assiduously waited upon the little girl, who
+received all her attentions gratefully, and never voluntarily made a
+single demand. But there had passed a change over the old servant also.
+From her usually quiet ways she had become restless, as if there might
+be something upon her mind that rendered her constantly uneasy, or from
+which she was ineffectually trying to free herself. If she were sour or
+cross in disposition, as all the scholars used to tell, she had never
+shown it to the little orphan. She watched the child with a strange
+devotion. She would follow her about the house at a distance, and, if
+the little girl for a time sat down upon the veranda, Margery, too,
+farther off, would sit there with her sewing, or embrace that
+opportunity to trim the woodbine, and once or twice she had even found
+an excuse to intrude herself for a moment in the parlor.
+
+Every evening, when she put the little girl to bed, Margery, with a
+strange, expectant look upon her face, would linger about the room long
+after her charge had fallen into a peaceful sleep. Then, when she had
+retired, often in the very middle of the night, she would suddenly waken
+from a sound slumber, spring out of bed, and, before she was thoroughly
+conscious, discover herself standing beside the child, with her head
+bent down in a listening position, and every nerve strained to catch the
+slightest sound. Immediately she would rundown stairs into the
+music-rooms, only to find them both deserted and the instruments closed.
+With a white countenance she would return, pause once more in the
+child’s room, and then lie down again, saying to herself, for the
+hundredth time,—
+
+“It must be mere fancy. I have been dreaming.”
+
+There was no element of superstition in Margery, but this incident would
+recur over and over, night after night, until she began to ask herself
+if, before she had reached sixty years, she was already losing her mind,
+and this the first fancy of a disordered imagination. It was strange,
+she told herself, that she should dream the same thing so often, and
+every time it should be so vivid, for she heard a strain of music as
+distinctly as she ever heard a sound in her life, though it was not like
+the piano, organ, or, indeed, any instrument. And, though vivid, it was
+so evanescent it made her doubt the veracity of her senses. Then, too,
+it never came from down stairs, or out-of-doors, but always seemed
+apparently to emanate from the bedside of the little child, though, as
+soon as she had stooped to listen, it was gone, and the reign of silence
+again left supreme. Once or twice, even during the day, when standing
+beside the little Alice, Margery had heard, or thought she heard, a
+sudden waft of this soft melody sweep by her, but so fleeting that it
+was gone before she could catch her breath to listen, or be sure it was
+not simply all her own imagination.
+
+So, with this constantly upon her mind, Margery had grown restless, and
+found herself continually watching the little girl. She was not
+insensible either of the great change that had, by some means or other,
+been wrought in her master since the child had come into the house. She,
+as well as the people, had noticed that he would never, if possible,
+allow her out of his sight. He never played a night now by himself as he
+had been used to doing for years. After the child went to bed the
+instruments were always closed, for he never put his hand upon the
+keyboard unless she were present. And, even when he had her beside him,
+he did not seem happy.
+
+The people at church said, as he had changed, his music, too, had
+changed; but, as he had grown more wild and feverish in manner, his
+music had grown more softened and beautiful in style. And once, after he
+had played a dreamy harmony that held them all entranced, he had come
+down from the organ-gallery with a fierce fire burning in his eyes, and
+hands that trembled violently, though they were clasped tight over the
+little girl in his arms. When they had complimented him he looked
+bewildered, and spoke in a confused way, as though he could not remember
+what he had been playing. Now, more convinced than ever were the people
+that something was evidently wrong with the music-master, and,
+notwithstanding he had lost nothing in his art, many shook their heads,
+and whispered that poor Erckman was, beyond a doubt, going crazy.
+
+December had worn almost into Christmas. In every house of the village
+there were preparations for the approaching holiday. The church, too,
+was undergoing some mysterious process at the hands of the young people,
+who went in and out at all hours by the back way, and steadily refused
+admittance to any one. They had even closed the doors against the
+organist when he went there one morning to play, but he was easily
+persuaded to withdraw, as he cared far more for solitude than society.
+
+Franz sat moodily by the fire in his parlor, with the little girl upon a
+cushion at his feet. They were both naturally silent, and would often
+sit quietly together for hours. But now, though the musician gazed
+absently into the grate, and seemed to take no heed of the child, she
+looked up once or twice into his face, then said, in a timid voice,—
+
+“Father, to-morrow is Christmas.”
+
+Franz had long ago taught her to call him father, and he merely answered
+mechanically, without taking his eyes from the illuminated coals,—
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“How dark the night is out, and how shrill and bleak the wind blows!”
+She had risen from her seat and gone to the window. “But to-morrow is
+Christmas-day, and I know it will be bright then; oh, I am sure it will
+be bright!”
+
+She stood a moment longer by the casement without speaking, then came
+back and sat down again, looking almost as ethereal as some spirit, that
+might vanish any moment forever into the glow of the red firelight.
+
+“You will play something very beautiful to-morrow, will you not, father?
+You will make the voluntary better than all the service besides? Oh, for
+such a celebration, it ought to be the most magnificent music in the
+world, for, think, father, it will be Christmas, the grandest day in all
+the year! It seems to me I can hardly wait to hear you, I have been
+looking forward to it so long. But, father, you have not practised any
+for it, have you?” said the child, looking up suddenly with quick dismay
+upon her features.
+
+Franz, still without glancing at the little girl, or taking his eyes
+from the fire, said,—
+
+“No,” but he clasped his hands nervously together.
+
+“Oh, father, you did not forget about it, did you?” she asked eagerly.
+“I have so often and often thought of it, though I did not say any
+thing, but it is strange I never once thought about the practising. Oh,
+you could not have forgotten it, father?”
+
+She was so intensely earnest, it seemed as if her whole soul was in the
+question, trembling while it awaited the reply.
+
+“No, I have not forgotten it,” said Franz, “It has hardly been out of my
+mind one moment for many weeks; but I have nothing to play.”
+
+At first, her face had been perfectly radiant; but, when he added the
+last clause, she got up, put her arms about his neck, and said, with a
+kind of terror in her voice,—
+
+“Oh, no, no! You will play, father—tell me you will play!”
+
+Franz moved uneasily in his seat.
+
+“And it will be something grand, father. Oh, you will please everybody—I
+am not afraid of that. Quick, tell me you will play. Father, if you did
+not—I can not bear to think of it—oh, you will—say you will!”
+
+Her entreaty had fairly grown into wild desperation. Every fiber of her
+frame quivered as she clung to him. Alarmed at her singular agitation,
+he took her up on his knee, and said, hurriedly,—
+
+“Yes, yes; I will play. Do not be troubled about it; I will play.”
+
+“Oh, I am so glad! I knew you would, and it will be grand, I am sure,
+for to-morrow is Christmas!”
+
+Her face was radiant with pleasure; but so extreme had been her
+excitement that nearly an hour later, when Margery came to take her
+upstairs, she still trembled.
+
+Franz, left alone, paced the floor of his room up and down, sometimes
+stopping to look moodily into the fire. He had had this thing long upon
+his mind. Feeling the divine power of genius within him, he was not
+willing to play over again what generations had played over a hundred
+times before him. Yet he tried unavailingly to improvise. Once or twice,
+when playing, with the little Alice beside him, he had suddenly
+entranced even himself; but as soon as he undertook to reproduce the
+notes, either upon paper or upon the organ, he discovered them gone from
+his memory, and himself utterly powerless. It had only been latterly
+that he felt hampered in this way; yet he was conscious,
+notwithstanding, that his music at the same time had undergone a vast
+improvement. But he struggled against this one fault vainly. He had been
+determined to work out a new composition for this great occasion; and
+now, upon the very verge of Christmas-day, after all his unceasing
+anxiety, he found himself without a single idea—wholly unprepared. In
+his disappointment, he had almost been ready to absent himself
+altogether from the church; but the sudden appeal of the little girl had
+compelled him to give up this cowardly refuge, of which in a better mood
+he would have been ashamed.
+
+The child had not prophesied incorrectly. Under cover of night, the
+clouds marshaled themselves into gray battalions, which fled
+precipitately before the lances of the morning, that in resplendent
+array, column upon column, mounted the eastern sky; and Christmas—this
+day forever sacred to the world in its grand memories—dawned with the
+blaze of victorious colors.
+
+Bathed in sunlight, the crystal valley wreathed itself with brilliant
+jewels; the sparkling trees held up their embossed arches of frosted
+silver; and from the glittering hill-sides cold flakes of fire burned in
+diamond hues almost blinding to the eye—for a slight fall of snow during
+the night had spread itself over the land, and covered it as with a
+mantle of transfiguration.
+
+The bell in the tower had long been ringing out its invitation to
+worship, before Franz, carrying the little Alice on his arm, left the
+house. A singular eagerness rested on the face of the child, whose
+usually pale cheeks were now colored with a crimson flush that deepened
+almost to scarlet in the center. She held quietly to Franz, sometimes
+looking at him for a moment, then turning her eyes again toward the
+village.
+
+Though she said no word, it seemed as if she could hardly wait until
+they reached the church, but that her impatient spirit would break its
+bounds and fly. But Franz walked with a slow, unwilling step. A fierce
+despair appeared to be consuming him. His disappointment was made keener
+when he saw the wild expectation with which the little Alice looked
+forward to his music, and her confident belief that it would be far
+grander than any thing he had ever done before.
+
+The villagers, by groups, in twos, in threes, with happy faces, coming
+from far and near, poured into the church. Paying no heed to any one as
+he passed, Franz entered by the side door, and went immediately up into
+the organ-gallery. With glad eyes, the little Alice saw the church in
+its festival decorations. Beautiful wreaths of cedar coiled themselves
+around the great pillars, and crept in waving lines over altar, arch,
+and casement, their unfading green sometimes flecked with amber,
+sometimes dyed in violet light, as the rays of the sun caught the tints
+from the windows of stained glass. Resting against the center of the
+chancel rail, a magnificent cross of hot house flowers loaded the air
+with the perfumes of summer—an incense more pure and holy than the
+incense of myrrh; and on either side sprays of English ivy, in long and
+twining branches, displayed their wax-like leaves.
+
+The last vibrations of the bell died away. The congregation chanted its
+anthem; the minister read the Christmas service; and the first strains
+of the organ-voluntary, after the close of the litany, sounded through
+the church. The little Alice, with a throbbing pulse, crept close to
+Franz as he played; but it was only the familiar music, that the world
+already knew by heart, and had heard a thousand times before. Poor
+Franz, warring against himself, had been driven back to the composition
+of others, though he knew he possessed within him a power that should
+have created, that should have raised him above all written measure. But
+now even his execution was a dead, mechanical labor.
+
+A swift expression of keen disappointment fell upon the child’s face.
+She looked up at him, with a gesture, slight but strangely appealing,
+and with eyes filled by a sorrowful reproach—such a look as one might
+wear in the last moment, whose most cherished friend had suddenly turned
+and dealt him a death-blow.
+
+But Franz played on mechanically, with the pang of despair at his heart.
+Suddenly, half-way in a bar, in the very midst of a single note almost,
+a sensation of fear came upon him—an overwhelming awe that seemed to
+lock his muscles and turn his hands into stone. The organ ceased
+abruptly; he sat motionless as a statue; and a death-like silence
+reigned throughout the church. Had the same unaccountable awe fallen
+upon the congregation, too? The whole universe waited.
+
+Out of the profound silence a sound was born, a sound more beautiful
+than the music of a dream. Soft as a whisper, clear and distinct, it
+grew, wave upon wave, into a grand volume of harmony, that was not loud,
+though it seemed as if it reached beyond the church-walls and floated on
+through endless space. Was it, then, music from that land where the
+crystal air breathes a perpetual melody? The people by one impulse
+sprang to their feet, and turned with awe-stricken faces toward the
+gallery. Grander, more majestic, it swelled into a glad chorus, whose
+_gloria_, inspired with praise, rose up into heaven. It was an adoration
+of sublime joy that seemed too intense to be ascribed to mortal spirit;
+and the people fell upon their knees while they listened. Over plains,
+over hills, in the sky, it seemed to reverberate and answer back,
+sweeter than the sound of silver, vaster than the roll of ocean—the
+hallelujah of myriad voices, the song as of an innumerable multitude,—
+
+“Glory be to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward
+men—”
+
+Again and again the refrain gathered into a measure more triumphant than
+the strains of a victorious army. Then, ascending higher and higher, it
+fainted through infinite distance, and was gone as if it had passed
+beyond the very portals of eternity.
+
+The spellbound audience hardly moved for a moment, even after the music
+had died; but when the first stir broke the silence they collected about
+the organist with eager questions. Franz, still sitting at his
+instrument, had never turned. Anxious to testify their wild admiration,
+they were ready almost to bow down before him; but they were obliged to
+speak several times before he gave the slightest heed. Then he looked up
+abruptly and said with a strange impatience,—
+
+“Did not you see?”
+
+There was a confused expression in his eyes, as if they might have been
+blinded by a great light, and their vision not yet wholly recovered. The
+people looked at him, then at each other in bewilderment, but, as if he
+had suddenly comprehended their meaning, he went on quickly,—
+
+“It was not I. I did not play a note. It was the music of another world,
+the music of the first Christmas. Did not you see the host of angels in
+the sky, and the shepherds that watched their flocks by night upon the
+plains of Judea? It was the _gloria_ sung at the nativity of Christ by
+the angels centuries ago, beside the village of Bethlehem!”
+
+Then the people, regarding him with doubtful faces, drew back, and he
+said, with fierce excitement,—
+
+“If you do not believe, ask the little Alice there. She will tell you.”
+
+The little girl sat close to his bench, but when they turned to her she
+made no reply. They raised her up. Their question never received an
+answer, and Franz with a wild cry fell upon his knees by her side. The
+child was dead.
+
+For many years afterward the musician lived on in the old place at the
+foot of the hill, but he never again could be prevailed upon to strike a
+note of any instrument or listen to a strain of any music. More rarely
+than ever did he speak to a soul, and then it was only at the Christmas
+time, to tell again of the little Alice, his spirit of sound, to tell of
+that wonderful _gloria_ of immortal praise sung by a multitude of the
+heavenly hosts, whose splendor, almost blinding to his eyes, had lighted
+up earth and sky over the far-off plains of Palestine, where the
+shepherds, centuries ago, were watching their flocks by night.
+
+Strangers heard his tale with a scarcely concealed smile, and shook
+their heads sorrowfully as the old man, feeble and palsied, with a
+singular brilliance in his sunken eyes, turned away. But all the
+villagers spoke of him with respect, almost with awe, and the children
+learned to hush their mirth in reverence as he passed by. Margery, with
+a face quieter than ever, said little, but served her master with an
+untiring devotion, and after she had closed his eyes in death, when she
+was an old, old woman, sometimes in the evening she would suddenly break
+her long silence to tell a wondering group of Franz and the little
+Alice, and of the mysterious melody that played about the child.
+
+And so the people of Paint Valley relate the story yet, and show the
+graves in the long grass of the village church-yard, where, side by
+side, they wait to join at the last day the throng whose immortal
+_gloria_ shall surpass even that grand Christmas anthem—the song of the
+angels heard by the shepherds upon the plains of Judea.
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                              PUBLICATIONS
+
+                                   OF
+
+                         JANSEN, MCCLURG & CO.
+
+                           CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
+
+
+  =CATON.—A Summer in Norway=, with Notes on the Industries, Habits,
+    etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the Climate and
+    Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and Elk, by Hon. J. D.
+    CATON, LL.D. 8vo., 401 pages. Illustrated. Price, $2.50.
+
+“The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative
+and leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good
+nature with which the author pursued his way through unknown wilds. * *
+They are excellent specimens of terse and graphic composition,
+presenting a distinct image to the mind, without any superfluous
+details.”—_New York Tribune._
+
+“The book of travels, which Judge Caton has presented to the public, is
+of a high order of merit, and sets forth the interesting natural
+phenomena and popular characteristics of the land of the ‘unsetting sun’
+with great strength and clearness.”—_Boston Post._
+
+“He is, as far as we know, the first foreign traveler who has given
+anything like a correct statement of the nature of the union between
+Norway and Sweden.”—_The Nation._
+
+  =CHARD.—Across the Sea, and Other Poems.= By THOS. S. CHARD. Square
+    16mo., 55 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.00.
+
+“This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of _multum in
+parvo_ that has been furnished the reading public in a long time. * *
+The poetry is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul,
+and reads as though given by inspiration. * * There is a mysticism in
+the little book, which reminds us of the ‘Lotus Eaters’ or
+‘Festus.’”—_The Alliance._
+
+  =CLEVELAND.—Landscape Architecture=, as applied to the wants of the
+    West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the Great Plains. By H. W.
+    S. CLEVELAND, Landscape Architect. 16mo., 147 pages. Price, $1.00.
+
+“My object in these few pages is simply to show that, by whatever name
+it may be called, the subdivision and arrangement of land for the
+occupation of civilized men, is an art demanding the exercise of
+ingenuity, judgment and taste, and one which nearly concerns the
+interest of real estate proprietors, and the welfare and happiness of
+all future occupants.”—_Extract from Preface._
+
+  =CRAWFORD.—A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends.= By MRS. ALICE ARNOLD
+    CRAWFORD. Square 12mo., full gilt, tinted paper, 162 pages. Price,
+    $2.00.
+
+“There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle
+tenderness, as if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better
+life, had longed to leave some sweet remembrance here. They stand forth
+from the way-side of poetic literature like some peaceful chapel robed
+in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers, and the living steal in
+the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and
+pain.”—_Inter-Ocean._
+
+  =FOYE.—Tables for the Determination and Classification of Minerals
+    Found in the United States.= By JAMES C. FOYE, A.M., Professor of
+    Chemistry and Physics, Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin.
+    Flexible covers, 38 pages. Price, 75 cents.
+
+“Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from
+various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to
+furnish the student with such help as is needed in order to determine
+and classify the minerals of the United States. Some useful hints as to
+apparatus, and suitable notes upon other matters, precede the
+tables.”—_Journal of Education._
+
+  =GILES.—Out from the Shadows.= A Novel; by Miss ELLA A. GILES. 12mo.,
+    317 pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+“Miss Giles’ first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the
+attention of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book
+gives evidence of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the
+improvement which she has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and
+effect which are really uncommon.”—_Milwaukee News._
+
+“The characters are all well conceived, and the story is pleasantly
+written.”—_Inter-Ocean._
+
+  =GILES.—Bachelor Ben.= A Novel; by Miss ELLA A. GILES. 12mo., 308
+    pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+“A story of great descriptive and analytic mastery. * * A master-piece
+of free and natural handling of human life, and marks a new departure in
+fiction, in that the hero never marries, and the author has attempted to
+group the sympathies of readers about an unconventional man.”—_Home
+Journal_ (New York).
+
+“The book is refreshingly guiltless of all superfluous characters. The
+tone is good throughout. The moral apparent.”—_Chicago Times._
+
+  =HALL.—Poems of the Farm and Fireside.= By EUGENE J. HALL. 8vo., 114
+    pages. Fully illustrated. Plain, price, $1.75; full gilt, price,
+    $2.25.
+
+“In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal—we should say superior—to
+Carleton’s Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow
+Papers.”—_Interior._
+
+“There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too
+often overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems,
+because they smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner
+life of society at the fireside.”—_Pittsburgh Commercial._
+
+  =HEWITT.—“Our Bible.”= Three Lectures, delivered at Unity Church, Oak
+    Park, Ill., by Rev. J. O. M. HEWITT. 12mo., 109 pages. Price, $1.25.
+
+“This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the
+enunciation of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration
+which makes it infallible in all particulars.”—_Chicago Journal._
+
+  =LAMARTINE.—Graziella; a Story of Italian Love.= Translated from the
+    French of A. DE LAMARTINE by JAMES B. RUNNION. Small 4to, 235 pages,
+    red line, tinted paper, full gilt, uniform with holiday edition of
+    “Memories.” Price, $2.00.
+
+“‘Graziella’ is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both
+eminently poetic. * * * It glows with love of the beautiful in all
+nature. * * * It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect
+words. The sentences have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender
+fancy of the original. It is uniform with ‘Memories,’ the fifth edition
+of which has just been published, and it should stand side by side with
+that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong thoughts put in pure,
+strong words. ‘Graziella’ is a book to be loved.”—_Tribune._
+
+  =MASON.—Mae Madden.= A Story; by Mrs. MARY MURDOCH MASON, with an
+    introductory poem by JOAQUIN MILLER. 16mo., red edges. Price, $1.25.
+
+“There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh
+thought; some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or
+some charming description, deliciously feminine, and running over with
+the spirit of poetry.”—_Cincinnati Times._
+
+“We have read this little book with great pleasure. * * * It frequently
+reminds us of Mr. Howell’s delicately constructed stories, and in it, as
+in a mirror, we see reflected that true refinement and culture of the
+author’s mind.”—_New Haven Palladium._
+
+  =MASON AND LALOR.—The Primer of Political Economy=, in Sixteen
+    Definitions and Forty Propositions, by A. B. MASON and J. J. LALOR.
+    12mo., 67 pages. Price, 75 cents.
+
+“We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give
+the amount of information on the subject that has been put with such
+remarkable clearness into these sixty pages.”—_Hartford Courant._
+
+“For a short and comprehensive treatise, we know of nothing better than
+‘The Primer of Political Economy.’ The information is conveyed in a very
+concise and happy manner. The style is perfectly transparent, and the
+illustrations admirably chosen. We venture to believe that not a quarter
+of the men in the Lower House of Congress know as much about Political
+Economy as can be learned from this compact and interesting little
+treatise.”—_Christian Register._
+
+  =MILLER.—First Fam’lies of the Sierras.= A Novel; by JOAQUIN MILLER.
+    12mo., 258 pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining cañon in the
+very earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are
+evidently drawn from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling
+interest. Bret. Harte has never worked this rich vein of American life
+to better advantage.
+
+  =MÜLLER.—Memories=; A Story of German Love. Translated from the German
+    of MAX MÜLLER, by GEO. P. UPTON. Small 4to., 173 pages, red line,
+    tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.00. The same, 16mo., red edges.
+    Price, $1.00.
+
+“‘Memories’ is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year.
+The story is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that
+effortless vraisemblance, which is so commonly a charm of German
+writers, and so seldom paralleled in English. * * * Scarcely could
+there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the invalid Princess,
+though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost to
+profane her.”—_Springfield (Mass.) Republican._
+
+  =McLANDBURGH.—The Automaton Ear and Other Sketches.= By MISS FLORENCE
+    MCLANDBURGH. 12mo., 282 pages. Price, $1.50.
+
+Any one of the many who have read “The Man at Crib,” “The Automaton
+Ear,” or “The Anthem of Judea,” which have been so widely copied in
+various periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this
+author, who is no less gifted than she is original and eccentric.
+
+  =SWING.—Truths for To-Day.= _First Series._ By PROFESSOR DAVID SWING.
+    12mo., 325 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.
+
+“The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are
+convinced that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare
+culture, and of genuine humanity. His forte is evidently not that of
+doctrinal discussion. He deals in no nice distinctions of creed. He has
+no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents a broad and
+generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and the
+purest motives of a lofty manhood.”—_New York Tribune._
+
+  =SWING.—Truths for To-Day.= _Second Series._ By PROFESSOR DAVID SWING.
+    12mo., 294 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.
+
+This volume will contain the latest discourses of PROF. SWING, some of
+them preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the
+Theatre to the New Central Church. It is universally conceded that these
+are the finest efforts he has ever made, and the general demand for
+their preservation in more permanent form than the newspaper reports,
+has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected, revised and
+arranged for publication by PROF. SWING himself.
+
+  =SWING.—Trial of Prof. Swing.= The _Official Report_ of this important
+    trial. 8vo., 286 pages. Price, $1.75.
+
+“It constitutes a complete record of one of the most remarkable
+ecclesiastical trials of modern times.”—_Boston Journal._
+
+“This volume will be a precious bit of history twenty-five years hence,
+and its pages will be read with mingled interest and surprise.”—_Golden
+Age._
+
+=Any of the books on this list sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of
+price by the publishers.=
+
+                                       JANSEN, McCLURG & CO.
+                                           117 & 119 STATE ST., CHICAGO.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
+
+
+ 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
+      spelling.
+ 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
+ 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
+ 4. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER
+SKETCHES ***
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
+be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
+law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
+so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the
+United States without permission and without paying copyright
+royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
+of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
+and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
+the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
+of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
+copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
+easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
+of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
+Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may
+do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
+by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
+license, especially commercial redistribution.
+
+START: FULL LICENSE
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
+Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
+www.gutenberg.org/license.
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
+destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
+possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
+Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
+by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
+person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
+1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
+agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
+Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
+of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
+works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
+States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
+United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
+claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
+displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
+all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
+that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
+free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
+works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
+Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
+comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
+same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
+you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
+in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
+check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
+agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
+distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
+other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
+representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
+country other than the United States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
+immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
+prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
+on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
+performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
+
+  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
+  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
+  United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
+  you are located before using this eBook.
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
+derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
+contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
+copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
+the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
+redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
+either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
+obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
+trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
+additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
+will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
+posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
+beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
+any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
+to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
+other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
+version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website
+(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
+to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
+of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
+Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
+full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+provided that:
+
+* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
+  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
+  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
+  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
+  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
+  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
+  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
+  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
+  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
+  Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
+  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
+  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
+  works.
+
+* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
+  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
+  receipt of the work.
+
+* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
+are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
+from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
+the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
+forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
+Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
+contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
+or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
+other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
+cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
+with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
+with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
+lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
+or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
+opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
+the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
+without further opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
+OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
+damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
+violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
+agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
+limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
+unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
+remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
+accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
+production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
+including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
+the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
+or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
+additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
+Defect you cause.
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
+computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
+exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
+from people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
+generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
+Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
+www.gutenberg.org
+
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
+U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
+Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
+to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website
+and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without
+widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
+DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
+state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
+donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
+freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
+distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
+volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
+the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
+necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
+edition.
+
+Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
+facility: www.gutenberg.org
+
+This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
diff --git a/67476-0.zip b/old/67476-0.zip
index 66edbae..66edbae 100644
--- a/67476-0.zip
+++ b/old/67476-0.zip
diff --git a/67476-h.zip b/old/67476-h.zip
index 837d525..837d525 100644
--- a/67476-h.zip
+++ b/old/67476-h.zip
diff --git a/old/67476-h/67476-h.htm b/old/67476-h/67476-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9b4210f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/67476-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,9829 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8" />
+    <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, by Florence McLandburgh</title>
+    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" />
+    <style> /* <![CDATA[ */
+       body { margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 10%; }
+       h1 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; }
+       h2 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; }
+       h3 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: large; }
+       .pageno { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: silver;
+               text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute;
+               border: thin solid silver; padding: .1em .2em; font-style: normal;
+               font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; }
+       p { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-align: justify; }
+       sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; }
+       .fss { font-size: 75%; }
+       .sc { font-variant: small-caps; }
+       .large { font-size: large; }
+       .xlarge { font-size: x-large; }
+       .small { font-size: small; }
+       .lg-container-b { text-align: center; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .lg-container-b { clear: both; }
+       .lg-container-r { text-align: right; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .lg-container-r { clear: both; }
+       .linegroup { display: inline-block; text-align: justify; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .linegroup { display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; }
+       .linegroup .group { margin: 1em auto; }
+       .linegroup .line { text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em; }
+       div.linegroup > :first-child { margin-top: 0; }
+       .linegroup .in18 { padding-left: 12.0em; }
+       .linegroup .in4 { padding-left: 5.0em; }
+       .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; }
+       ol.ol_1 {padding-left: 0; margin-left: 2.78%; margin-top: .5em;
+               margin-bottom: .5em; list-style-type: decimal; }
+       div.footnote > :first-child { margin-top: 1em; }
+       div.footnote p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       div.pbb { page-break-before: always; }
+       hr.pb { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; margin-bottom: 1em; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  hr.pb { display: none; }
+       .figcenter { clear: both; max-width: 100%; margin: 2em auto; text-align: center; }
+       .figcenter img { max-width: 100%; height: auto; }
+       .id001 { width:10%; }
+       .id002 { width:80%; }
+       .id003 { width:40%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .id001 { margin-left:45%; width:10%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .id002 { margin-left:10%; width:80%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker  .id003 { margin-left:30%; width:40%; }
+       .ig001 { width:100%; }
+       .table0 { margin: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
+       .nf-center { text-align: center; }
+       .nf-center-c0 { text-align: justify; margin: 0.5em 0; }
+       img.drop-capi { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; position: relative; z-index: 1; }
+       p.drop-capi_8 { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       p.drop-capi_8:first-letter { color: transparent; visibility: hidden;
+               margin-left: -.8em; }
+       .x-ebookmaker img.drop-capi { display: none; visibility: hidden; }
+       .x-ebookmaker p.drop-capi_8:first-letter { color: inherit; visibility: visible;
+               margin-left: 0em; }
+       .c000 { margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+       .c001 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em; }
+       .c002 { margin-top: 2em; }
+       .c003 { margin-top: 1em; }
+       .c004 { margin-top: 4em; }
+       .c005 { margin-top: 4em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c006 { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c007 { page-break-before:auto; margin-top: 4em; }
+       .c008 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em;
+               padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; }
+       .c009 { vertical-align: top; text-align: right; }
+       .c010 { margin-top: 2em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c011 { font-size: .9em; text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em;
+               margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c012 { margin-top: 1em; font-size: .9em; }
+       .c013 { text-decoration: none; }
+       .c014 { font-size: .9em; }
+       .c015 { page-break-before: auto; margin-top: 2em; }
+       .c016 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; }
+       .c017 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 2em; }
+       .c018 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 2em;
+               margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+       .c019 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 0.5em;
+               margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+       div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA;
+              border:thin solid silver; margin:2em 10% 0 10%; font-family: Georgia, serif;
+               }
+       .covernote { visibility: hidden; display: none; }
+       div.tnotes p { text-align: justify; }
+       .x-ebookmaker .covernote { visibility: visible; display: block; }
+       .figcenter {font-size: .9em; page-break-inside: avoid; max-width: 100%; }
+       .x-ebookmaker img {max-height: 30em; max-width: 100%; }
+       .footnote {font-size: .9em; }
+       div.footnote p {text-indent: 2em; margin-bottom: .5em; }
+       .chapter  { clear: both; page-break-before: always; }
+       .ol_1 li {font-size: .9em; }
+       .x-ebookmaker .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 0em; }
+       body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; }
+       table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid;
+               clear: both; }
+       div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always;
+               page-break-after: always; }
+       div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold;
+               line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; }
+       .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto;
+               page-break-before: always; }
+       .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; }
+    /* ]]> */ </style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches, by Florence McLandburgh</p>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Automaton Ear, and Other Sketches</p>
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Florence McLandburgh</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 22, 2022 [eBook #67476]</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
+  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</p>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER SKETCHES ***</div>
+
+<div class='tnotes covernote'>
+
+<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>
+
+<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='titlepage'>
+
+<div>
+  <h1 class='c001'><span class='large'>THE</span><br /> <span class='sc'>Automaton Ear</span>,<br /> <span class='small'>AND</span><br /> <span class='xlarge'>OTHER SKETCHES.</span></h1>
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c002'>
+    <div><span class='small'>BY</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>FLORENCE McLANDBURGH.</span></div>
+    <div class='c002'>CHICAGO:</div>
+    <div>JANSEN, McCLURG &amp; CO.</div>
+    <div>1876.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div><span class='small'>COPYRIGHT,</span></div>
+    <div><span class='small'><span class='sc'>By</span> FLORENCE McLANDBURGH,</span></div>
+    <div><span class='small'>A. D. 1876.</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id001'>
+<img src='images/i_002.jpg' alt='_LAKESIDE PUBLISHING &amp; PRINTING CO. CHICAGO._' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div>Dedicated</div>
+    <div class='c003'>TO</div>
+    <div class='c003'>JOHN McLANDBURGH.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c005'><span class='sc'>Note.</span>—Some of the sketches and tales in this volume
+were contributed to “Scribner’s Monthly,” “Appleton’s
+Journal,” and the “Lakeside Magazine,” and are used
+here, in a revised form, by the kind permission of the
+editors. Others appear now for the first time.</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>F. McL.</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='sc'>Chicago</span>, <em>April, 1876</em>.</p>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_005.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>CONTENTS.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<table class='table0'>
+  <tr>
+    <th class='c008'></th>
+    <th class='c009'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></th>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Automaton Ear</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Paths of the Sea</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_44'>44</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Reinhart, the German</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_89'>89</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Silver Islet</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Boydell, the Stroller</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Death-Watch</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_149'>149</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Man at the Crib</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Prof. Kellermann’s Funeral</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_183'>183</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Feverfew</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_201'>201</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Old Simlin, the Moulder</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_213'>213</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'>&#160;</td>
+    <td class='c009'>&#160;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Anthem of Judea</span>,</td>
+    <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_243'>243</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_005b.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
+<img src='images/i_007.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE AUTOMATON EAR.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_007.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+The day was hardly different from many
+another day, though I will likely recall
+it even when the mist of years has
+shrouded the past in an undefined hueless cloud.
+The sunshine came in at my open window.
+Out of doors it flooded all the land in its warm
+summer light—the spires of the town and the
+bare college campus; farther, the tall bearded
+barley and rustling oats; farther still, the wild
+grass and the forest, where the river ran and
+the blue haze dipped from the sky.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The temptation was greater than I could
+stand, and taking my book I shut up the
+“study,” as the students called my small apartment,
+leaving it for one bounded by no walls or
+ceiling.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The woods rang with the hum and chirp of
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>insects and birds. I threw myself down beneath
+a tall, broad-spreading tree. Against its
+moss-covered trunk I could hear the loud tap
+of the woodpecker secreted high up among its
+leaves, and off at the end of a tender young
+twig a robin trilled, swinging himself to and fro
+through the checkered sunlight. I never grew
+weary listening to the changeful voice of the
+forest and the river, and was hardly conscious
+of reading until I came upon this paragraph:—</p>
+
+<p class='c011'>“As a particle of the atmosphere is never lost, so sound
+is never lost. A strain of music or a simple tone will
+vibrate in the air forever and ever, decreasing according to
+a fixed ratio. The diffusion of the agitation extends in all
+directions, like the waves in a pool, but the ear is unable to
+detect it beyond a certain point. It is well known that some
+individuals can distinguish sounds which to others under
+precisely similar circumstances are wholly lost. Thus the
+fault is not in the sound itself, but in our organ of hearing,
+and a tone once in existence is always in existence.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This was nothing new to me. I had read it
+before, though I had never thought of it particularly;
+but while I listened to the robin, it
+seemed singular to know that all the sounds
+ever uttered, ever born, were floating in the air
+<em>now</em>—all music, every tone, every bird-song—and
+we, alas! could not hear them.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly a strange idea shot through my
+brain—Why not? Ay, <em>why not hear</em>? Men
+had constructed instruments which could magnify
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>to the eye and—was it possible?—Why
+not?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I looked up and down the river, but saw
+neither it, nor the sky, nor the moss that I
+touched. Did the woodpecker still tap secreted
+among the leaves, and the robin sing, and the
+hum of insects run along the bank as before?
+I can not recollect, I can not recollect anything,
+only Mother Flinse, the deaf and dumb old
+crone that occasionally came to beg, and sell
+nuts to the students, was standing in the gateway.
+I nodded to her as I passed, and walked
+up her long, slim shadow that lay on the path.
+It was a strange idea that had come so suddenly
+into my head and startled me. I hardly dared
+to think of it, but I could think of nothing else.
+It could not be possible, and yet—why not?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Over and over in the restless hours of the
+night I asked myself, I said aloud, Why not?
+Then I laughed at my folly, and wondered what
+I was thinking of and tried to sleep—but if it
+<em>could</em> be done?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The idea clung to me. It forced itself up in
+class hours and made confusion in the lessons.
+Some said the professor was ill those two or
+three days before the vacation; perhaps I was.
+I scarcely slept; only the one thought grew
+stronger—Men had done more wonderful
+things; it certainly was possible, and I would
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>accomplish this grand invention. I would construct
+the king of all instruments—I would
+construct an instrument which could catch
+these faint tones vibrating in the air and render
+them audible. Yes, and I would labor quietly
+until it was perfected, or the world might laugh.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The session closed and the college was deserted,
+save by the few musty students whom,
+even in imagination, one could hardly separate
+or distinguish from the old books on the library
+shelves. I could wish for no better opportunity
+to begin my great work. The first thing
+would be to prepare for it by a careful study of
+acoustics, and I buried myself among volumes
+on the philosophy of sound.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went down to London and purchased a
+common ear-trumpet. My own ear was exceedingly
+acute, and to my great delight I found
+that, with the aid of the trumpet just as it was,
+I could distinguish sounds at a much greater
+distance, and those nearer were magnified in
+power. I had only to improve upon this instrument;
+careful study, careful work, careful
+experiment, and my hopes would undoubtedly
+be realized.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Back to my old room in the college I went
+with a complete set of tools. So days and weeks
+I shut myself in, and every day and every week
+brought nothing but disappointment. The instrument
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>seemed only to diminish sound rather
+than increase it, yet still I worked on and
+vowed I would not grow discouraged.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hour after hour I sat, looking out of my
+narrow window. The fields of barley and
+waving oats had been reaped, the wheat too
+had ripened and gone, but I did not notice. I
+sprang up with a joyful exclamation—Strange
+never to have thought of it before! Perhaps
+I had not spent my time in vain, after all. How
+could I expect to test my instrument in this
+close room with only that little window? It
+should be removed from immediate noises, high
+up in the open air, where there would be no
+obstructions. I would never succeed here—but
+where should I go? It must be some place
+in which I would never be liable to interruption,
+for my first object was to be shielded and
+work in secret.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I scoured the neighborhood for an appropriate
+spot without success, when it occurred to
+me that I had heard some one say the old gray
+church was shut up. This church was situated
+just beyond the suburbs of the town. It was
+built of rough stone, mottled and stained by
+unknown years. The high, square tower,
+covered by thick vines that clung and crept
+round its base, was the most venerable monument
+among all the slabs and tombs where it
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>stood sentinel. Only graves deserted and uncared
+for by the living kept it company. People
+said the place was too damp for use, and
+talked of rebuilding, but it had never been done.
+Now if I could gain access to the tower, that
+was the very place for my purpose.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I found the door securely fastened, and
+walked round and round without discovering
+any way of entrance; but I made up my mind, if
+it were possible to get inside of that church I
+would do it, and without the help of keys.
+The high windows were not to be thought of;
+but in the rear of the building, lower down,
+where the fuel had probably been kept, there
+was a narrow opening which was boarded across.
+With very little difficulty I knocked out the
+planks and crept through. It was a cellar, and,
+as I had anticipated, the coal receptacle. After
+feeling about, I found a few rough steps which
+led to a door that was unlocked and communicated
+with the passage back of the vestry-room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The tower I wished to explore was situated
+in the remote corner of the building. I passed
+on to the church. Its walls were discolored
+by green mould, and blackened where the
+water had dripped through. The sun, low
+down in the sky, lit the tall arched windows
+on the west, and made yellow strips across
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>the long aisles, over the faded pews with their
+stiff, straight backs, over the chancel rail, over
+the altar with its somber wood-work; but
+there was no warmth; only the cheerless glare
+seemed to penetrate the cold, dead atmosphere,—only
+the cheerless glare without sparkle,
+without life, came into that voiceless sanctuary
+where the organ slept. At the right of the
+vestibule a staircase led to the tower; it ascended
+to a platform laid on a level with the
+four windows and a little above the point of the
+church roof. These four windows were situated
+one on each side of the tower, running
+high up, and the lower casement folding inward.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here was my place. Above the tree-tops, in
+the free open air, with no obstacle to obstruct
+the wind, I could work unmolested by people
+or noise. The fresh breeze that fanned my face
+was cool and pleasant. An hour ago I had been
+tired, disappointed, and depressed; but now,
+buoyant with hope, I was ready to begin work
+again—work that I was determined to accomplish.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun had gone. I did not see the broken
+slabs and urns in the shadow down below; I
+did not see the sunken graves and the rank
+grass and the briers. I looked over them and
+saw the gorgeous fringes along the horizon,
+scarlet and gold and pearl; saw them quiver
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>and brighten to flame, and the white wings of
+pigeons whirl and circle in the deepening glow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I closed the windows, and when I had crawled
+out of the narrow hole, carefully reset the
+boards just as I had found them. In another
+day all the tools and books that I considered
+necessary were safely deposited in the tower. I
+only intended to make this my workshop, still,
+of course, occupying my old room in the college.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here I matured plan after plan. I studied,
+read, worked, knowing, <em>feeling</em> that at last I
+must succeed; but failure followed failure, and I
+sank into despondency only to begin again with
+a kind of desperation. When I went down to
+London and wandered about, hunting up different
+metals and hard woods, I never entered a
+concert-room or an opera-house. Was there
+not music in store for me, such as no mortal ear
+had ever heard? <em>All</em> the music, every strain
+that had sounded in the past ages? Ah, I
+could wait; I would work patiently and wait.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was laboring now upon a theory that I had
+not tried heretofore. It was my last resource;
+if this failed, then—but it would not fail! I
+resolved not to make any test, not to put it
+near my ear until it was completed. I discarded
+all woods and used only the metals which
+best transmitted sound. Finally it was finished,
+even to the ivory ear-piece. I held the instrument
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>all ready—I held it and looked eastward
+and westward and back again. Suddenly all
+control over the muscles of my hand was gone,
+it felt like stone; then the strange sensation
+passed away. I stood up and lifted the trumpet
+to my ear—What! Silence? No, no—I was
+faint, my brain was confused, whirling. I
+would not believe it; I would wait a moment
+until this dizziness was gone, and then—then
+I would be able to hear. I was deaf now. I
+still held the instrument; in my agitation the
+ivory tip shook off and rolled down rattling on
+the floor. I gazed at it mechanically, as if it
+had been a pebble; I never thought of replacing
+it, and, mechanically, I raised the trumpet a
+second time to my ear. A crash of discordant
+sounds, a confused jarring noise broke upon me
+and I drew back trembling, dismayed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Fool! O fool of fools never to have thought
+of this, which a child, a dunce would not have
+overlooked! My great invention was nothing,
+was worse than nothing, was worse than a failure.
+I might have known that my instrument would
+magnify present sounds in the air to such a
+degree as to make them utterly drown all others,
+and, clashing together, produce this noise like
+the heavy rumble of thunder.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The college reopened, and I took up my old
+line of duties, or at least attempted them, for
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>the school had grown distasteful to me. I was
+restless, moody, and discontented. I tried to
+forget my disappointment, but the effort was
+vain.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The spires of the town and the college campus
+glittered white, the fields of barley and
+oats were fields of snow, the forest leaves had
+withered and fallen, and the river slumbered,
+wrapped in a sheeting of ice. Still I brooded
+over my failure, and when again the wild grass
+turned green I no longer cared. I was not the
+same man that had looked out at the waving
+grain and the blue haze only a year before. A
+gloomy despondency had settled upon me, and
+I grew to hate the students, to hate the college,
+to hate society. In the first shock of discovered
+failure I had given up all hope, and the
+Winter passed I knew not how. I never wondered
+if the trouble could be remedied. Now
+it suddenly occurred to me, perhaps it was
+no failure after all. The instrument might be
+made adjustable, so as to be sensible to faint or
+severe vibrations at pleasure of the operator,
+and thus separate the sounds. I remembered
+how but for the accidental removal of the ivory
+my instrument perhaps would not have reflected
+any sound. I would work again and persevere.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I would have resigned my professorship, only
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>it might create suspicion. I knew not that
+already they viewed me with curious eyes and
+sober faces. When the session finally closed,
+they tried to persuade me to leave the college
+during vacation and travel on the continent. I
+would feel much fresher, they told me, in the
+Autumn. In the Autumn? Ay, perhaps I
+might, perhaps I might, and I would not go
+abroad.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Once more the reapers came unnoticed. My
+work progressed slowly. Day by day I toiled
+up in the old church tower, and night by night
+I dreamed. In my sleep it often seemed that
+the instrument was suddenly completed, but
+before I could raise it to my ear I would always
+waken with a nervous start. So the feverish
+time went by, and at last I held it ready for a
+second trial. Now the instrument was adjustable,
+and I had also improved it so far as to be
+able to set it very accurately for any particular
+period, thus rendering it sensible only to sounds
+of that time, all heavier and fainter vibrations
+being excluded.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I drew it out almost to its limits.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All the maddening doubts that had haunted
+me like grinning specters died. I felt no tremor,
+my hand was steady, my pulse-beat regular.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The soft breeze had fallen away. No leaf
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>stirred in the quiet that seemed to await my
+triumph. Again the crimson splendor of sun-set
+illumined the western sky and made a glory
+overhead—and the dusk was thickening down
+below among the mouldering slabs. But that
+mattered not.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I raised the trumpet to my ear.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hark!—The hum of mighty hosts! It rose
+and fell, fainter and more faint; then the murmur
+of water was heard and lost again, as it
+swelled and gathered and burst in one grand
+volume of sound like a hallelujah from myriad
+lips. Out of the resounding echo, out of the
+dying cadence a single female voice arose.
+Clear, pure, rich, it soared above the tumult
+of the host that hushed itself, a living thing.
+Higher, sweeter, it seemed to break the fetters
+of mortality and tremble in sublime adoration
+before the Infinite. My breath stilled with
+awe. Was it a spirit-voice—one of the glittering
+host in the jasper city “that had no
+need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine
+in it?” And the water, was it the river
+clear as crystal flowing from the great white
+throne? But no! The tone now floated out
+soft, sad, human. There was no sorrowful
+strain in that nightless land where the leaves
+of the trees were for the healing of the nations.
+The beautiful voice was of the earth and sin-stricken.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>From the sobbing that mingled with
+the faint ripple of water it went up once more,
+ringing gladly, joyfully; it went up inspired
+with praise to the sky, and—hark! the
+Hebrew tongue:—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The horse and his rider hath he thrown
+into the sea.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then the noise of the multitude swelled
+again, and a crash of music broke forth from
+innumerable timbrels. I raised my head quickly—it
+was the song of Miriam after the passage
+of the Red Sea.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I knew not whether I lived.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I bent my ear eagerly to the instrument again
+and heard—the soft rustle, the breathing as of
+a sleeping forest. A plaintive note stole gently
+out, more solemn and quiet than the chant of
+the leaves. The mournful lay, forlorn, frightened,
+trembled on the air like the piteous wail
+of some wounded creature. Then it grew
+stronger. Clear, brilliant, it burst in a shower
+of silver sounds like a whole choir of birds in
+the glitter of the tropical sunlight. But the
+mournful wail crept back, and the lonely heartbroken
+strain was lost, while the leaves still
+whispered to one another in the midnight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Like the light of a distant star came to me
+this song of some nightingale, thousands of
+years after the bird had mouldered to nothing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>At last my labor had been rewarded. As
+sound travels in waves, and these waves are continually
+advancing as they go round and round
+the world, therefore I would never hear the
+same sound over again at the same time, but it
+passed beyond and another came in its stead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All night I listened with my ear pressed to
+the instrument. I heard the polished, well-studied
+compliments, the rustle of silks, and
+the quick music of the dance at some banquet.
+I could almost see the brilliant robes and glittering
+jewels of the waltzers, and the sheen of
+light, and the mirrors. But hush! a cry, a
+stifled moan. Was that at the——No, the
+music and the rustle of silk were gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Mother, put your hand here,—I am tired,
+and my head feels hot and strange. Is it night,
+already, that it has grown so dark? I am resting
+now, for my book is almost done, and then,
+mother, we can go back to the dear old home
+where the sun shines so bright and the honeysuckles
+are heavy with perfume. And, mother,
+we will never be poor any more. I know you
+are weary, for your cheeks are pale and your
+fingers are thin; but they shall not touch a
+needle then, and you will grow better, mother,
+and we will forget these long, long, bitter years.
+I will not write in the evenings then, but sit
+with you and watch the twilight fade as we
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>used to do, and listen to the murmur of the
+frogs. I described the little stream, our little
+stream, mother, in my book.—Hark! I hear
+the splash of its waves now. Hold me by the
+hand tight, mother. I am tired, but we are
+almost there. See! the house glimmers white
+through the trees, and the red bird has built its
+nest again in the cedar. Put your arm around
+me, mother, mother—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then single, echoless, the mother’s piercing
+cry went up—“O my God!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Great Heaven! It would not always be
+music that I should hear. Into this ear, where
+all the world poured its tales, sorrow and suffering
+and death would come in turn with mirth
+and gladness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I listened again. The long-drawn ahoy!—ahoy!—of
+the sailor rang out in slumbrous
+musical monotone, now free, now muffled—gone.
+The gleeful laugh of children at play,
+then the drunken boisterous shout of the midnight
+reveler—What was that? A chime of
+bells, strange, sublime, swimming in the air they
+made a cold, solemn harmony. But even over
+them dashed the storm-blast of passion that
+sweeps continually up and down the earth, and
+the harmony that bound them in peace broke
+up in a wild, angry clamor, that set loose shrill
+screams which were swallowed up in a savage
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>tumult of discord, like a mad carnival of yelling
+demons. Then, as if terrified by their own
+fiendish rage, they retreated shivering, remorseful,
+and hushed themselves in hoarse whispers
+about the gray belfry. It was the Carillonneur,
+Matthias Vander Gheyn, playing at Louvain on
+the first of July, 1745.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, my invention had proved a grand success.
+I had worked and worked in order to
+give this instrument to the world; but now
+when it was finished, strange to say, all my
+ambition, all my desire for fame left me, and
+I was anxious only to guard it from discovery,
+to keep it secret, to keep it more jealously than
+a miser hoards his gold. An undefinable delight
+filled my soul that I alone out of all
+humanity possessed this treasure, this great Ear
+of the World, for which kings might have given
+up their thrones. Ah! they dreamed not of
+the wonders I could relate. It was a keen, intense
+pleasure to see the public for which I had
+toiled live on, deaf forever save to the few
+transient sounds of the moment, while I, their
+slave, reveled in another world above, beyond
+their’s. But they should never have this instrument;
+no, not for kingdoms would I give it
+up, not for life itself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It exerted a strange fascination over me, and
+in my eager desire to preserve my secret a tormenting
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>fear suddenly took possession of me
+that some one might track me to the tower and
+discover all. It seemed as if the people looked
+after me with curious faces as I passed. I went
+no longer on the main road that led to the
+church, but, when I left my room, took an
+opposite direction until out of sight, and then
+made a circuit across the fields. I lived in a
+continual fear of betraying myself, so that at
+night I closed my window and door lest I might
+talk aloud in my sleep. I could never again
+bear the irksome duties of my office, and when
+the college reopened I gave up my situation
+and took lodgings in town. Still the dread of
+detection haunted me. Every day I varied my
+route to the church, and every day the people
+seemed to stare at me with a more curious gaze.
+Occasionally some of my old pupils came to
+visit me, but they appeared constrained in my
+presence and were soon gone. However, no
+one seemed to suspect my secret; perhaps all
+this was merely the work of my imagination,
+for I had grown watchful and reticent.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I hardly ate or slept. I lived perpetually in
+the past listening to the echoing song of the
+Alpine shepherd; the rich, uncultivated soprano
+of the Southern slave making strange
+wild melody. I heard grand organ fugues rolling,
+sweeping over multitudes that kneeled in
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>awe, while a choir of voices broke into a gloria
+that seemed to sway the great cathedral. The
+thrilling artistic voices of the far past rang
+again, making my listening soul tremble in their
+magnificent harmony. It was music of which
+we could not dream.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then suddenly I determined to try the opera
+once more; perhaps I was prejudiced: I had
+not been inside of a concert-room for more
+than a year.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went down to London. It was just at
+the opening of the season. I could hardly
+wait that evening until the curtain rose; the
+orchestra was harsh and discordant, the house
+hot and disagreeable, the gas painfully bright.
+My restlessness had acquired a feverish pitch
+before the prima donna made her appearance.
+Surely that voice was not the one before which
+the world bowed! Malibran’s song stood out
+in my memory clearly defined and complete, like
+a magnificent cathedral of pure marble, with
+faultless arches and skillfully chiseled carvings,
+where the minarets rose from wreaths of lilies
+and vine-leaves cut in bas-relief, and the slender
+spire shot high, glittering yellow in the
+upper sunlight, its golden arrow, burning like
+flame, pointing towards the East. But this
+prima donna built only a flat, clumsy structure
+of wood ornamented by gaudily painted lattice.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>I left the opera amid the deafening applause of
+the audience with a smile of scorn upon my
+lips. Poor deluded creatures! they knew nothing
+of music, they knew not what they were
+doing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went to St. Paul’s on the Sabbath. There
+was no worship in the operatic voluntary sung
+by hired voices; it did not stir my soul, and
+their cold hymns did not warm with praise to
+the Divine Creator, or sway the vast pulseless
+congregation that came and went without one
+quickened breath.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All this time I felt a singular, inexpressible
+pleasure in the consciousness of my great secret,
+and I hurried back with eager haste. In London
+I had accidentally met two or three of my
+old acquaintances. I was not over glad to see
+them myself: as I have said, I had grown
+utterly indifferent to society; but I almost felt
+ashamed when they offered me every attention
+within their power, for I had not anticipated it,
+nor was it deserved on my part. Now, when I
+returned, every body in the street stopped to
+shake hands with me and inquire for my health.
+At first, although I was surprised at the interest
+they manifested, I took it merely as the
+common civility on meeting, but when the
+question was repeated so particularly by each
+one, I thought it appeared strange, and asked
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>if they had ever heard to the contrary; no, oh
+no, they said, but still I was astonished at the
+unusual care with which they all made the
+same inquiry.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went up to my room and walked directly to
+the glass. It was the first time I had consciously
+looked into a mirror for many weeks.
+Good Heavens! The mystery was explained
+now. <em>I could hardly recognize myself.</em> At first
+the shock was so great that I stood gazing,
+almost petrified. The demon of typhus fever
+could not have wrought a more terrific change
+in my face if he had held it in his clutches for
+months. My hair hung in long straggling locks
+around my neck. I was thin and fearfully haggard.
+My eyes sunken far back in my head,
+looked out from dark, deep hollows; my heavy
+black eyebrows were knit together by wrinkles
+that made seams over my forehead; my fleshless
+cheeks clung tight to the bone, and a bright
+red spot on either one was half covered by thick
+beard. I had thought so little about my personal
+appearance lately that I had utterly neglected
+my hair, and I wondered now that it had
+given me no annoyance. I smiled while I still
+looked at myself. This was the effect of the
+severe study and loss of sleep, and the excitement
+under which I had labored for months, yes,
+for more than a year. I had not been conscious
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>of fatigue, but my work was done now and I
+would soon regain my usual weight. I submitted
+myself immediately to the hands of a
+barber, dressed with considerable care, and
+took another look in the glass. My face appeared
+pinched and small since it had been
+freed from beard. The caverns around my eyes
+seemed even larger, and the bright color in my
+cheeks contrasted strangely with the extremely
+sallow tint of my complexion. I turned away
+with an uncomfortable feeling, and started on
+a circuitous route to the church, for I never
+trusted my instrument in any other place.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a sober autumn day. Every thing
+looked dreary with that cold, gray, sunless sky
+stretched overhead. The half-naked trees
+shivered a little in their seared garments of
+ragged leaves. Occasionally a cat walked
+along the fence-top, or stood trembling on
+three legs. Sometimes a depressed bird suddenly
+tried to cheer its drooping spirits and
+uttered a few sharp, discontented chirps. Just
+in front of me two boys were playing ball on
+the roadside. As I passed I accidentally
+caught this sentence:</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“They say the professor ain’t just right in
+his head.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For a moment I stood rooted to the ground;
+then wheeled round and cried out fiercely,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>“What did you say?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Sir?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What was that you said just now?” I repeated
+still more fiercely.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The terrified boys looked at me an instant,
+then without answering turned and ran as fast
+as fright could carry them.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the mystery now was really explained!
+It was not sick the people thought me, but
+crazy. I walked on with a queer feeling and
+began vaguely to wonder why I had been so
+savage to those boys. The fact which I had
+learned so suddenly certainly gave me a shock,
+but it was nothing to me. What did I care,
+even if the people did think me crazy? Ah!
+perhaps if I told my secret they would consider
+it a desperate case of insanity. But the child’s
+words kept ringing in my ears until an idea
+flashed upon me more terrifying than death
+itself. How did I know that I was <em>not</em> insane?
+How did I know that my great invention might
+be only an hallucination of my brain?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Instantly a whole army of thoughts crowded
+up like ghostly witnesses to affright me. I had
+studied myself to a shadow; my pallid face,
+with the red spots on the cheeks and the blue
+hollows around the eyes, came before my mental
+vision afresh. The fever in my veins told
+me I was unnaturally excited. I had not slept
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>a sound, dreamless sleep for weeks. Perhaps
+in the long, long days and nights my brain, like
+my body, had been overwrought; perhaps in
+my eager desire to succeed, in my desperate
+determination, the power of my will had disordered
+my mind, and it was all deception: the
+sounds, the music I had heard, merely the creation
+of my diseased fancy, and the instrument
+I had handled useless metal. The very idea
+was inexpressible torture to me. I could not
+bear that a single doubt of its reality should
+exist; but, after once entering my head, how
+would I ever be able to free myself from distrust?
+I could not do it; I would be obliged
+to live always in uncertainty. It was maddening:
+now I felt as if I might have struck the
+child in my rage if I could have found him.
+Then suddenly it occurred to me, for the first
+time, that my invention could easily be tested by
+some other person. Almost instantly I rejected
+the thought, for it would compel me to
+betray my secret, and in my strange infatuation
+I would rather have destroyed the instrument.
+But the doubts of my sanity on this subject
+returned upon me with tenfold strength,
+and again I thought in despair of the only
+method left me by which they could ever be
+settled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the first shock, when the unlucky sentence
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>fell upon my ear, I had turned after the boys,
+and then walked on mechanically towards the
+town. Now, when I looked up I found myself
+almost at the college gate. No one was to be
+seen, only Mother Flinse with her basket on her
+arm was just raising the latch. Half bewildered
+I turned hastily round and bent my steps in the
+direction of my lodgings, while I absently
+wondered whether that old woman had stood
+there ever since, since—when? I did not recollect,
+but her shadow was long and slim—no,
+there were no shadows this afternoon; it was
+sunless.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I reached the stairs leading to my room,
+my trouble, which I had forgotten for the
+moment, broke upon me anew. I dragged myself
+up and sat down utterly overwhelmed.
+As I have said, I would sooner destroy the instrument
+than give it to a thankless world; but
+to endure the torturing doubt of its reality was
+impossible. Suddenly it occurred to me that
+Mother Flinse was mute. I might get her to
+test my invention without fear of betrayal, for
+she could neither speak nor write, and her
+signs on this subject, if she attempted to explain,
+would be altogether unintelligible to
+others. I sprang up in wild delight, then immediately
+fell back in my chair with a hoarse
+laugh—Mother Flinse was <em>deaf</em> as well as
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>dumb. I had not remembered that. I sat
+quietly a moment trying to calm myself and
+think. Why need this make any difference?
+The instrument ought to, at least it was possible
+that it might, remedy loss of hearing. I
+too was deaf to these sounds in the air that it
+made audible. They would have to be magnified
+to a greater degree for her. I might set it
+for the present and use the full power of the
+instrument: there certainly would be no harm
+in trying, at any rate, and if it failed it would
+prove nothing, if it did not fail it would prove
+every thing. Then a new difficulty presented
+itself. How could I entice the old woman into
+the church?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went back towards the college expecting to
+find her, but she was nowhere to be seen, and I
+smiled that only a few moments ago I had
+wondered if she did not always stand in the
+gateway. Once, I could not exactly recall the
+time, I had passed her hut. I remembered distinctly
+that there was a line full of old ragged
+clothes stretched across from the fence to a decayed
+tree, and a bright red flannel petticoat
+blew and flapped among the blackened branches.
+It was a miserable frame cabin, set back from
+the Spring road, about half a mile out of town.
+There I went in search of her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The blasted tree stood out in bold relief
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>against the drab sky. There appeared no living
+thing about the dirty, besmoked hovel except
+one lean rat, that squatted with quivering nose
+and stared a moment, then retreated under the
+loose plank before the door, leaving its smellers
+visible until I stepped upon the board. I
+knocked loudly without receiving any reply;
+then, smiling at the useless ceremony I had performed,
+pushed it open. The old woman, dressed
+in her red petticoat and a torn calico frock,
+with a faded shawl drawn over her head, was
+standing with her back towards me, picking
+over a pile of rags. She did not move. I hesitated
+an instant, then walked in. The moment
+I put my foot upon the floor she sprang quickly
+round. At first she remained motionless, with
+her small, piercing gray eyes fixed upon me,
+holding a piece of orange-and-black spotted
+muslin; evidently she recognized me, for, suddenly
+dropping it, she began a series of wild
+gestures, grinning until all the wrinkles of her
+skinny face converged in the region of her
+mouth, where a few scattered teeth, long and
+sharp, gleamed strangely white. A rim of grizzled
+hair stood out round the edge of the
+turbaned shawl and set off the withered and
+watchful countenance of the speechless old
+crone. The yellow, shriveled skin hung loosely
+about her slim neck like leather, and her
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>knotted hands were brown and dry as the claws
+of an eagle.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went through the motion of sweeping and
+pointed over my shoulder, making her understand
+that I wished her to do some cleaning.
+She drew the seams of her face into a new
+grimace by way of assent, and, putting the piece
+of orange-and-black spotted muslin around her
+shoulders in lieu of a cloak, preceded me out of
+the door. She started immediately in the direction
+of the college, and I was obliged to take
+hold of her before I could attract her attention;
+then, when I shook my head, she regarded me
+in surprise, and fell once more into a series
+of frantic gesticulations. With considerable
+trouble I made her comprehend that she was
+merely to follow me. The old woman was by
+no means dull, and her small, steel-gray eyes
+had a singular sharpness about them that is only
+found in the deaf-mute, where they perform the
+part of the ear and tongue. As soon as we
+came in sight of the church she was perfectly
+satisfied. I walked up to the main entrance,
+turned the knob and shook it, then suddenly
+felt in all my pockets, shook the door over, and
+felt through all my pockets again. This hypocritical
+pantomime had the desired effect. The
+old beldam slapped her hands together and
+poked her lean finger at the hole of the lock,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>apparently amused that I had forgotten the key.
+Then of her own accord she went round and
+tried the other doors, but without success. As
+we passed the narrow window in the rear I
+made a violent effort in knocking out the loose
+boards. The old woman seemed greatly delighted,
+and when I crawled through willingly
+followed. I gave her a brush, which fortunately
+one day I had discovered lying in the vestibule,
+and left her in the church to dust, while I went
+up in the tower to prepare and remove from
+sight all the tools which were scattered about.
+I put them in a recess and screened it from view
+by a map of the Holy Land. Then I took my
+instrument and carefully adjusted it, putting on
+its utmost power.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In about an hour I went down and motioned
+to Mother Flinse that I wanted her up stairs.
+She came directly after me without hesitation,
+and I felt greatly relieved, for I saw that I would
+likely have no trouble with the old woman.
+When we got into the tower she pointed down
+to the trees and then upward, meaning, I presume,
+that it was high. I nodded, and taking
+the instrument placed my ear to it for a moment.
+A loud blast of music, like a dozen
+bands playing in concert, almost stunned me.
+She watched me very attentively, but when I
+made signs for her to come and try she drew
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>back. I held up the instrument and went
+through all manner of motions indicating that
+it would not hurt her, but she only shook her
+head. I persevered in my endeavor to coax
+her until she seemed to gain courage and walked
+up within a few feet of me, then suddenly
+stopped and stretched out her hands for the instrument.
+As she did not seem afraid, provided
+she had it herself, I saw that she took firm hold.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In my impatience to know the result of this
+experiment, I was obliged to repeat my signs
+again and again before I could prevail upon her
+to raise it to her ear. Then breathlessly I
+watched her face, a face I thought which looked
+as if it might belong to some mummy that had
+been withering for a thousand years. Suddenly
+it was convulsed as if by a galvanic shock, then
+the shriveled features seemed to dilate, and a
+great light flashed through them, transforming
+them almost into the radiance of youth; a
+strange light as of some seraph had taken possession
+of the wrinkled old frame and looked
+out at the gray eyes, making them shine with
+unnatural beauty. No wonder the dumb countenance
+reflected a brightness inexpressible, for
+the Spirit of Sound had just alighted with
+silvery wings upon a silence of seventy years.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A heavy weight fell unconsciously from my
+breast while I stood almost awed before this
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>face, which was transfigured, as if it might
+have caught a glimmer of that mystical morn
+when, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
+we shall all be changed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My instrument had stood the test; it was
+proved forever. I could no longer cherish any
+doubts of its reality, and an indescribable peace
+came into my soul, like a sudden awakening
+from some frightful dream. I had not noticed
+the flight of time. A pale shadow hung already
+over the trees—yes, and under them on the
+slime-covered stones. Ay! and a heavier
+shadow than the coming night was even then
+gathering unseen its rayless folds. The drab
+sky had blanched and broken, and the sinking
+sun poured a fading light through its ragged
+fissures.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old woman, as if wrapped in an enchantment,
+had hardly moved. I tried vainly to
+catch her attention; she did not even appear
+conscious of my presence. I walked up and
+shook her gently by the shoulder, and, pointing
+to the setting sun, held out my hand for the instrument.
+She looked at me a moment, with
+the singular unearthly beauty shining through
+every feature; then suddenly clutching the
+trumpet tight between her skinny claws, sprang
+backward towards the stairs, uttering a sound
+that was neither human nor animal, that was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>not a wail or a scream, but it fell upon my ears
+like some palpable horror. Merciful Heaven!
+Was that thing yonder a woman? The shriveled,
+fleshless lips gaped apart, and a small pointed
+tongue lurked behind five glittering, fang-like
+teeth. The wild beast had suddenly been developed
+in the hag. Like a hungry tigress
+defending its prey, she stood hugging the
+trumpet to her, glaring at me with stretched
+neck and green eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A savage fierceness roused within me when
+I found she would not give up the instrument,
+and I rushed at her with hands ready to snatch
+back the prize I valued more than my life—<em>or
+hers</em>; but, quicker than a hunted animal, she
+turned and fled with it down the stairs, making
+the tower ring with the hideous cries of her
+wordless voice. Swiftly—it seemed as if the
+danger of losing the trumpet gave me wings to
+fly in pursuit—I crossed the vestibule. She
+was not there. Every thing was silent, and I
+darted with fleet steps down the dusky aisle of
+the church, when suddenly the jarring idiotic
+sounds broke loose again, echoing up in the
+organ-pipes and rattling along the galleries.
+The fiend sprang from behind the altar, faced
+about an instant with flashing eyes and gleaming
+teeth, then fled through the vestry-room
+into the passage. The sight of her was fresh
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>fuel to my rage, and it flamed into a frenzy that
+seemed to burn the human element out of my
+soul. When I gained the steps leading into the
+coal-room she was already in the window, but
+I cleared the distance at a single bound and
+caught hold of her clothes as she leaped down.
+I crawled through, but she clutched the instrument
+tighter. I could not prize it out of her
+grasp; and in her ineffectual efforts to free herself
+from my hold she made loud, grating cries,
+that seemed to me to ring and reverberate all
+through the forest; but presently they grew
+smothered, gurgled, then ceased. Her clasp
+relaxed in a convulsive struggle, and the trumpet
+was in my possession. It was easily done,
+for her neck was small and lean, and my hands
+made a circle strong as a steel band.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The tremor died out of her frame and left it
+perfectly still. Through the silence I could
+hear the hiss of a snake in the nettle-weeds,
+and the flapping wings of some night bird
+fanned my face as it rushed swiftly through the
+air in its low flight. The gray twilight had
+deepened to gloom and the graves seemed to
+have given up their tenants. The pale monuments
+stood out like shrouded specters. But
+all the dead in that church-yard were not under
+ground, for on the wet grass at my feet there
+was something stark and stiff, more frightful
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>than any phantom of imagination—something
+that the daylight would not rob of its ghastly
+features. It must be put out of sight, yes, it
+must be hid, to save my invention from discovery.
+The old hag might be missed, and if
+she was found here it would ruin me and expose
+my secret. I placed the trumpet on the
+window-ledge, and, carrying the grim burden
+in my arms, plunged into the damp tangle of
+weeds and grass.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In a lonesome corner far back from the
+church, in the dense shade of thorn-trees,
+among the wild brambles where poisonous vines
+grew, slippery with the mould of forgotten
+years, unsought, uncared for by any human
+hand, was a tomb. Its sides were half buried
+in the tall underbrush, and the long slab had
+been broken once, for a black fissure ran zigzag
+across the middle. In my muscles that night
+there was the strength of two men. I lifted
+off one-half of the stone and heard the lizards
+dart startled from their haunt, and felt the spiders
+crawl. When the stone was replaced it
+covered more than the lizards or the spiders in
+the dark space between the narrow walls.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said, the instrument possessed a
+singular fascination over me. I had grown to
+love it, not alone as a piece of mechanism for
+the transmission of sound, but like a <em>living</em>
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>thing, and I replaced it in the tower with the
+same pleasure one feels who has rescued a
+friend from death. My listening ear never
+grew weary, but now I drew quickly away. It
+was not music I heard, or the ripple of water,
+or the prattle of merry tongues, but the harsh
+grating cries that had echoed in the church,
+that had rattled and died out in the forest—that
+voice which was not a voice. I shivered
+while I readjusted the instrument; perhaps it
+was the night wind which chilled me, but the
+rasping sounds were louder than before. <em>I
+could not exclude them.</em> There was no element
+of superstition in my nature, and I tried it over
+again: still I heard them—sometimes sharp,
+sometimes only a faint rumbling. Had the soul
+of the deaf-mute come in retribution to haunt
+me and cry eternally in my instrument? Perhaps
+on the morrow it would not disturb me,
+but there was no difference. I could hear only
+it, though I drew out the trumpet for vibrations
+hundreds of years old. I had rid myself of the
+withered hag who would have stolen my treasure,
+but now I could not rid myself of her invisible
+ghost. She had conquered, even through
+death, and come from the spirit world to gain
+possession of the prize for which she had given
+up her life. The instrument was no longer of
+any value to me, though cherishing a vague
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>hope I compelled myself to listen, even with
+chattering teeth; for it was a terrible thing to
+hear these hoarse, haunting cries of the dumb
+soul—of the soul I had strangled from its body,
+a soul which I would have killed itself if it
+were possible. But my hope was vain, and the
+trumpet had become not only worthless to me,
+but an absolute horror.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly I determined to destroy it. I
+turned it over ready to dash it in pieces, but it
+cost me a struggle to crush this work of my life,
+and while I stood irresolute a small green-and-gold
+beetle crawled out of it and dropped like
+a stone to the floor. The insect was an electric
+flash to me, that dispelled the black gloom
+through which I had been battling. It had
+likely fallen into the instrument down in the
+church-yard, or when I laid it upon the window-sill,
+and the rasping of its wings, magnified,
+had produced the sounds which resembled
+the strange grating noise uttered by the deaf-mute.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Instantly I put the trumpet to my ear. Once
+more the music of the past surged in. Voices,
+leaves, water, all murmured to me their changeful
+melody; every zephyr wafting by was filled
+with broken but melodious whispers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Relieved from doubts, relieved from fears
+and threatening dangers, I slept peacefully,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>dreamlessly as a child. With a feeling of rest
+to which I had long been unused, I walked out
+in the soft clear morning. Every thing seemed
+to have put on new life, for the sky was not
+gray or sober, and the leaves, if they were
+brown, trimmed their edges in scarlet, and if
+many had fallen, the squirrels played among
+them on the ground. But suddenly the sky
+and the leaves and the squirrels might have been
+blotted from existence. I did not see them,
+but I saw—<em>I saw Mother Flinse come through
+the college gateway and walk slowly down the
+road!</em></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The large faded shawl pinned across her
+shoulders nearly covered the red flannel petticoat,
+and the orange-and-black spotted muslin
+was wrapped into a turban on her head. Without
+breathing, almost without feeling, I watched
+the figure until at the corner it turned out of
+sight, and a long dark outline on the grass behind
+it ran into the fence. The shadow! Then
+it was not a ghost. Had the grave given up
+its dead? I would see.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the church-yard the briers tore my face
+and clothes, but I plunged deeper where the
+shade thickened under the thorn-trees. There
+in the corner I stooped to lift the broken slab
+of a tomb, but all my strength would not avail
+to move it. As I leaned over, bruising my hands
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>in a vain endeavor to raise it, my eyes fell for an
+instant on the stone, and with a start I turned
+quickly and ran to the church; then I stopped—the
+narrow fissure that cut zigzag across the
+slab on the tomb was filled with green moss,
+and this window was nailed up, and hung full
+of heavy cobwebs.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And my instrument?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly, while I stood there, some substance
+in my brain seemed to break up—it was
+the fetters of monomania which had bound me
+since that evening long ago, when, by the river
+in the oak-forest, I had heard the robin trill.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>No murder stained my soul: and there, beside
+the black waves of insanity through which
+I had passed unharmed, I gave praise to the
+great Creator—praise silent, but intense as
+Miriam’s song by the sea.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_043.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_044.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE PATHS OF THE SEA.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_044.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+Around the porch there hung that day
+a crimson glory. It was the climbing
+rose about the door displaying its
+gorgeous bloom in a thousand crowns. Green,
+grass-green were the hills, but in front of the
+house the cliff fell abruptly, with a precipitous
+drop, to the sea. On either side the waving
+coast-line stretched away, a shining belt of
+yellow sand. There the breakers with unfurled
+banners of fleece followed each other in a never
+ending procession to the shore. But at the
+foot the billows, by day and night running in
+forever, dashed against the rock and chopped
+to a seething foam that threw up in one continual
+briny shower its white and glittering
+spray.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The surf at this point, even in pleasant
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>weather, sounded a constant roar, and in times
+of storm it increased to a deafening thunder
+that appalled the ear and made the heart tremble
+before the sea in its savage ferocity. Looking
+off to the right, perhaps the greater part of
+a mile distant, the harbor discovered itself, blue,
+bluer than the sky. A few vessels that had
+grown mysteriously upon the empty horizon,
+and come in over the vast waste of waters, were
+idly lying at anchor, each one biding her time
+to spread her sails in the breeze and recede upon
+her lonely course, going, as she had come, like
+some spirit of solitude, dropping down silently
+beyond the remote sea-reaches. There the
+Nereid swung herself gently over the long
+ground-swell, patiently awaiting the coming
+night when again to take up her watery track
+that would carry her over the great Atlantic
+to other lands and far-off harbors. Not a trimmer
+ship sailed the high seas.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun had traveled almost down the western
+slope, and it lit up the mighty ocean with
+a splendor that burned in lances of flame along
+the waves, and floated in myriad rainbows over
+the surf. The pomp of the departing day
+passed across the boundless waters, a magnificent
+pageantry. As the sun went down, the sky
+became a scarlet canopy. The flying spray
+took up the color and spread out a thousand
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>streamers to the wind. Long, gold-green lanes
+of sea ran out to where the distant mists let
+down their gorgeous drapery. The tireless
+gulls, shaking the red light from their wings,
+sailed and sailed and dipped and sailed again.
+A few fishing smacks loitered in the orange
+haze, and, leagues away, a single sloop in the
+humid north stood, like some wan water-wraith,
+with a garland of foam about its feet. Eastward,
+above the hills, the waiting moon hung
+her helmet, paler than pearl, and the land, transfigured
+by the evening light, looked on while
+the sea in its play flashed up a hundred hues.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The widow Aber had lived there on the
+cliff and seen the tides ebb and flow for more
+now than the quarter of a century. She was
+not a young girl when, twenty-six years back,
+poor Jacob Aber had married her. It was a
+sudden fancy on his part and a great surprise to
+the place, for Jacob was well on towards fifty,
+and many a girl had set her cap to catch the
+handsome sailor in vain. But he never rued
+his bargain. He was not a rich man, because
+he had always been a generous man, and he was
+content with enough merely to bring him in a
+modest living. When he married he took what
+little he had and built this cottage, built it of
+brick good and strong, where he could feel the
+salt wind blow, right in the face of the sea—the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>sea that, until he met Miriam Drew with
+her soft gray eyes, he had loved better than
+every thing else in all the wide world.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They were happy and prosperous for four
+long years. First a son, then a daughter had
+come to brighten their home, and it was on just
+such an evening as this that Miriam, holding
+her infant child in her arms, told Jacob good-bye
+two-and-twenty years ago.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It would be his last cruise, he said. The
+vessel was his own, and in twelve months, or
+less, he would come back rich enough to stay
+always, and if the tears were in his voice he
+choked them down bravely, saying again it was
+but for a little while he should be gone, and she
+must cheer up for the long and happy years
+that would come after.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then she suddenly laid down her child and
+with a smothered sob put up her arms about his
+neck. It was the first time she had fairly given
+way, and she clung to him trembling violently,
+but uttering not one word. He smoothed her
+brow gently, with a caressing touch, for her
+sake keeping his own grief crushed within his
+heart, and said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Miriam don’t you remember once saying
+you could always tell a sailor by the dreamy
+far-off look in his eyes, an expression that came
+only to those that lived upon the sea and
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>watched its wide, wide fields? And don’t you
+remember sometimes when I was sitting quietly
+at home you would come up suddenly and ask
+me what it was I saw miles and miles away, over
+the summer water, in that distant sunny land?
+Well, do not cry so, for even when my ship has
+vanished from your sight, when on every side
+there is no trace of shore, I can stand upon her
+deck and look beyond the far horizon at our
+peaceful, happy home. And when at evening,
+with your eyes upon the sea, you sit and hold
+the children in your lap, remember I will be
+watching you from across its glittering line.
+There, that is right! You are a good, brave girl!
+It is but for a little while. I can look beyond
+this parting—I can see your waiting face turn
+radiant as my boat sails safely back!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, when he had kissed her and the little
+ones, and turned and kissed them again, there
+was a faint smile struggling through her tears.
+So, striving to keep down her grief, she parted
+without saying one word of the terrible dread
+that lay upon her heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And two-and-twenty years ago he had sailed
+away.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Many days, many nights, many weeks, many
+months, Miriam had watched the sea with wistful
+eyes. For his sake she had very nearly
+grown to love it, and the color came again to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>her cheeks as the time went by and the year
+was almost up, when it would give back forever
+the one she valued more than life. In those
+days she scanned the water-line, and waited
+patiently, and went about the house singing.
+She chattered to her baby-daughter all how its
+father was sailing home, until it laughed and
+cooed in wild delight. Every morning she
+dressed little Tommy in his best, and tied about
+his waist the beautiful sea-green sash that Jacob
+had brought her from the distant Indies; and
+in the queer frosted vases on the mantel, that
+had come from some foreign port, she kept a
+fresh bouquet of sweet wild flowers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But poor Jacob never came back.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Homeward bound, his vessel was wrecked
+off the treacherous Newfoundland shore. A
+storm drove her helpless, enshrouded in fog,
+against the rocks where she foundered, and
+captain and crew went down together. Only
+two men escaped from the terrible disaster.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the dreadful news came and they told
+Miriam as they met her on the porch, she made
+no reply. She did not moan or scream. She
+only looked out for a moment at the deceitful
+sea, smiling in its sheen of a thousand tints, then
+turned and went into the house and shut the
+door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She had always been a strange woman, and
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>they left her to bear her grief alone. She
+asked nobody’s sympathy, she did not complain,
+she never spoke of Jacob. She did not,
+as the people had expected, sell her house. She
+made no change so far as the world could see,
+only that she held herself, if possible, more
+aloof from society than ever. But before three
+months had gone by they noticed that her
+brown and shining hair had turned white, and
+her gray eyes showed half concealed within
+their depths an unfathomed trouble. Then
+too, her figure, once erect and straight as a
+dart, grew bent and stooped across the shoulders,
+and nothing ever brought the color to her
+face any more that was always pale and thin.
+Otherwise, however, there appeared no difference.
+She lived economically, and sometimes
+took in a small amount of fine sewing, as,
+beside the house, she had little else, for the sea
+when it buried her husband had buried his
+earnings also in the same watery grave.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She staid at home and watched the children
+in whom her life was now wholly bound up.
+They were her world, her all. She seemed to
+find in them her very existence, and after the
+queer frosted vases on the mantel had stood
+empty for years, their young hands filled them
+again with sweet wild flowers. So the house
+once more was bright and sunny, and, though
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>Miriam herself never sang, Hannah’s voice was
+clear and happy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah had grown up the very picture of
+her mother when in her early girlhood, but
+young Tom was like his father. He was like
+his father in more respects than one, and while
+still a boy the people said he too will prove a
+sailor. They were right; though Miriam had
+struggled against it and watched over him with
+an absorbing care. She saw again developed
+in him the same wild fascination for the sea.
+She knew its strength and that it must prevail,
+and when he came and begged so hard, with
+the well remembered far-off look in his eyes,
+she felt all opposition would be vain.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She did not reproach herself that she had
+lived upon the coast and played with him upon
+the beach, for something in her heart told her
+that it could have been no different, even had
+she raised him up in another place where the
+sound of the sea would not have been always
+in his ears. She recognized in this fatal love
+the heritage he had received from his father.
+The thought that it could be eradicated, that
+he would ever be satisfied with any thing else
+she knew to be hopeless, and so the widow had
+given up, and he had gone at fourteen to seek
+his fortune, like his father before him, a sailor
+on the high seas.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Now, ten years later, and two-and-twenty
+years since poor Jacob had started on his fateful
+cruise, young Tom was ready for his fourth
+voyage. He had climbed unaided several steps
+up the ladder in his calling, and the Nereid,
+waiting down in the harbor would carry him in
+a few hours, her first mate, out upon her long two
+years’ absence. It was a great lift to him, for,
+besides his promotion, Luke Denin, who this time
+commanded the ship, had been his early friend.
+There was but little difference in their age. They
+had been boys together, and together they had
+explored the shore for miles and fished for days,
+and they had rambled the hills and the woods
+over; so, as young Tom said, it would be just
+as good for him as if he commanded the
+Nereid himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When he told his mother this she had only
+patted him on the head, and said in a choked
+voice,—“My little sailor boy!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The widow Aber, ever since her son took to
+following the sea, had been gradually breaking.
+From that time her health, heretofore always
+strong and robust, began perceptibly to decline.
+The people noticed it, but then she told them
+that she was getting old—how could they expect
+a woman well up into the sixties to be as
+active as a girl, and besides this she had the
+rheumatism. So she was constantly excusing
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>her feebleness with anxious care, as if she feared
+they might attribute it to some other cause
+than age.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This evening she was even weaker than
+usual, though she did not acknowledge it, but
+sitting at the supper table her hands trembled
+so badly that the cups and saucers rattled a
+little as she served the tea. Miriam, whose life
+had been one constant struggle, was struggling
+still. No wonder the widow was proud of her
+son, her only son. Her gray eyes, beautiful as
+in her youth, would wander to him again and
+again, and rest upon his face with a strange,
+yearning expression, but whenever he turned
+to her she would drop them quickly and move
+a little nervously in her chair, striving to conceal,
+as she had done so many years ago, the
+burden of grief that lay at her heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a pleasant party to look at, for Luke
+Denin too was there, and the young people
+carefully avoided any allusion to the separation
+before them. Tom, always gay and happy, was
+more than handsome in his sailor’s dress, with
+the bronze of the tropical sun upon his face.
+And Luke, if he was not so tall by half a head,
+and if his hair, instead of being black and crisp
+with waves, was light and straight, had at least
+as honest and frank a pair of deep blue eyes as
+Hannah cared to see—not that Hannah looked
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>at them, for she looked only at her plate, and
+once in a while anxiously at her mother. Young
+Tom was evidently determined that this last
+meal at home should not be a sorrowful one, as
+he kept up the conversation in his liveliest
+mood. He told wonderful tales in such an
+absurd vein of exaggeration, that sometimes it
+even called up a smile on the widow’s face;
+and when the meal was over he picked her up
+playfully in his strong arms and carried her out
+upon the porch. There together they all watched
+the moonlight gradually show itself out of
+the dissolving day, in long paths across the
+water. Then the hour came to say good-bye.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a desperate battle for Miriam, as she
+clung to her son in that parting moment. Then
+it was, for the first time, that something in her
+face went to the man’s inmost heart like a chill.
+She was old and frail, and his absence would be
+long, perhaps he might never look upon her
+again. In his wild fascination for the sea, was
+he not sacrificing her? The anguish of the
+thought overcame him. Had it been possible
+then he would have given up this voyage and
+staid at home, but it was too late now, and
+when he had turned for a moment, and with a
+strong effort fought his grief under control, he
+said gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no! Do not be so distressed, mother!
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>It is all for the best; and when I come back
+this time, mother, I will never leave you any
+more.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But Miriam, thinking of that other parting
+so long ago, remembered that Jacob, too, had
+said when he came back he would never leave
+her any more, and with a half suppressed cry
+she clasped her hands tighter about his neck.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, my son, you will come back! Only
+promise me you will come back, and I can wait
+patiently and long!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a wild energy in her voice that
+frightened him, as she went on hurriedly with
+an accent he had never heard till then,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Once before, with this same dread at my
+heart, I parted two-and-twenty years ago, but
+I let <em>him</em> go without saying a word. I waited
+patiently. I even sang and tried to be happy.
+As the time went by I laughed as I thought
+how pleased he would be when he saw how his
+children had grown. I tied about your waist a
+sash of his favorite color, that he had brought
+me from the distant Indies, and I kept
+every thing in readiness for—what? They
+came and told me that he had gone down at
+sea—No, no; do not interrupt me. I let him
+go without saying a word. I must speak this
+time!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She paused for a moment as if waiting until
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>her excitement had calmed, and with her trembling
+hand put back the hair from his forehead,
+then went on unsteadily in a tone but little
+louder than a whisper,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You have the same dreamy far-off look in
+your eyes. I know you must go my child, I
+know you can not resist—but when your
+father left he said it would be only for a little
+while, and I—I have waited two-and-twenty
+years.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was another moment of silence, as
+though her thoughts had gone back over that
+long, long watch, then, in a wavering voice,
+she went on once more, calling him again unconsciously
+by the name she had used when he
+was a little child,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Tommy, Tommy! my boy, my only boy! if
+you—if the cruel sea—O, I can not say it, I
+can not bear it! You will come back, you must
+come back to me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A wild terror had crept into her face, then
+she broke down completely.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There, forgive me, Tommy, forgive me! I
+did not used to be so foolish. Do not mind me.
+I am getting old and feeble, Tommy—I am not
+strong any more, but—I can wait again—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, mother, there is no danger. Look,”
+he said, drawing his arm close about her, “how
+peaceful is the sea! After you, mother, I love
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>it better than any thing else in the whole world.
+It has always been gentle to me—you need not
+fear, I will surely come back, surely—if—if
+you can only wait.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Tom’s voice had grown thick and choked, as
+he added the last words, and when Miriam,
+anxious to atone for her past weakness, said
+quickly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes, Tommy, I can wait—” he made
+her repeat it. Then rallying himself he went
+on gaily,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, I will come back, mother, I will come
+back so grand and rich that you shall be three
+times as proud of me, you shall, indeed! And
+I will take care of you always then. But,
+mother,” he said, the choking sensation coming
+again in his throat,—“promise that you will not
+worry about me while I am gone, or I shall
+never be happy, not even in any of the beautiful
+lands I will see—won’t you promise me,
+mother? Promise me that you will wait
+patiently, promise me that—that you will not
+give up—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes, Tommy, if you will only come
+back, I can wait again—I can even wait a long
+while.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It will not be so very long! why the time
+will slip by, and almost before you know it you
+will find me standing beside you here again,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>when I mean you to be so proud of me that it
+will well nigh turn my head.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Ah, Tommy, you know I am proud of you
+now, so proud of you, that sometimes it fairly
+frightens me, and I dare not think of it.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Heaven knows,” he said, all the gay sound
+dying from his voice, as, stricken with remorse,
+he remembered the many times he had left her
+with no thought beyond the parting moment,
+“I’m not much to be proud of, but, mother—”
+taking up her thin hand and passing it over his
+face, once more driven to the last extremity to
+command his voice—“you and Nan are all I
+have on earth to care for me, and out in midocean,
+or in the far-off foreign ports, your love,
+like a constant prayer to keep me from harm, will
+be with me always. When I am at home once
+more I am going to be a good boy to you,
+mother. Nothing, not even the sea, shall ever
+part us again.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You have always been a good boy to me,
+Tommy—I only thought—I was afraid that—O
+never mind, I can wait for you, Tommy. I
+do not feel so nervous now.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There, that is right! We will meet again,
+mother, and then we will be very, very happy.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He kissed her yearningly, reverentially. It
+seemed as if he stood awed before the heart
+that for a moment had disclosed itself in its
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>most silent depths, and in that moment there
+had been revealed to him, with all its overwhelming
+strength, that divine love which is
+mightier than life. It seemed as if now, for the
+first time, and almost blinded by the revelation,
+he saw—his mother.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>After a little silence, taking her face between
+his hands, he said, gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Mother, I want to see you smile once more
+before I go.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I will wait for you, Tommy,” she said
+again.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And I will surely come back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When Miriam looked up there was a faint
+smile struggling through her tears, as there had
+been once before, two-and-twenty years in the
+past. Then he was gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Down by the gate Hannah stood, trying to
+hide in the shadow of the great honeysuckle
+the new shy beauty on her face that had been
+called there by the kiss of warmer lips than the
+gentle sea-breeze.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Good-bye, Nan,” said Tom, unsuspiciously,
+throwing his arms about her in his rough brotherly
+embrace,—“why how you are trembling!
+You are not going to cry? Don’t, I can’t
+stand it!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no,” came uncertainly in a helpless
+voice, evidently, in her wild conflict of emotion,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>not knowing exactly what she was going
+to do.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There, that’s right! Don’t cry, or I’ll—I’ll
+break down too!” said Tom, hoarsely, fairly
+strangling in his throat, and almost worn out by
+the strain he had undergone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, surprised, raised her face, but Tom
+had already got the better of himself. “How
+your eyes shine to-night, Nan; I did not know
+how pretty you were before!” Down went her
+head again immediately, and changing his voice
+he said, with a sigh,—“Nannie, there ain’t many
+fellows that have as good a mother and sister
+as mine; you won’t forget me while I’m gone,
+or get tired waiting? I’ve been a worthless,
+roving chap; I’ve never been of much comfort
+to you or mother, but when I come back next
+time, I’m going to stay at home a while. Look
+up now and tell me you are glad.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, Tom, I am! You don’t know how glad
+I am, if it was only for mother’s sake.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, turning his head away to hide the
+anguish that had come over his face, he asked,
+slowly, trying rather ineffectually to keep his
+voice natural,—“You don’t think, Nan, any
+thing will happen to her while I am gone?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What do you mean?” said Hannah, struck
+by the awe in his tone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I mean,” he said, unwilling to trouble his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>sister by the thought that had so oppressed
+him, and speaking gaily again: “I mean that
+you must be a good girl, and keep up mother’s
+spirits, but don’t get so used to my absence,
+that neither of you will care when I come
+back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, Tom!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Come out into the moonlight where I can
+see you. I’m dreadfully proud of you, Nan,
+because you don’t take on like other girls.
+You see I couldn’t have stood it!” said Tom,
+in a frightfully uncertain state of mind, as to
+whether it was possible to swallow the lump
+in his throat. “I’m going now. Be good to
+mother, you know she’s—she’s not very
+strong—Have you told Captain Denin good-bye?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, she hasn’t. Not yet. I thought I’d
+let you do it first; but you’ll tell me good-bye
+now, until I come back never to say it again,
+won’t you, Nanine?” said Luke, coming up in
+his most masterly way, right under Tom’s very
+nose, and almost hiding his sister from view in
+an embrace that this time was neither rough
+nor brotherly.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Whew!” gasped Tom, as Hannah came in
+sight again, with no friendly honeysuckle near
+to conceal the carnation bloom upon her cheeks.
+“Is that the way the wind blows! I’ve been
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>as blind as a bat. Kiss me, quick, both of you,
+or I’m a gone case!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’ll do nothing of the sort. Sit down on
+the stone there, and recover yourself. You’ve
+said your good-bye, now just wait for me!” said
+the superior officer triumphantly. And Tom,
+spent, exhausted, sank down; but the next instant
+Hannah had her arms tight about his
+neck, and was hiding her face against the crisp
+waves of his black hair.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Tom, dear, you ain’t sorry?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, Nan, I couldn’t have wished for any
+thing better; but it was so sudden, it just kind
+of knocked the wind out of my sails for a minute.”
+Then, after a pause,—“I say, there’ll
+be a grand glorification when the Nereid comes
+back, won’t there?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I—I wish it was back now! I don’t
+know what’s upset me so—There, kiss her,
+Luke, and let’s be off, quick, or I’ll disgrace
+myself outright, before I know it!” and Tom,
+gulping down great quantities of air with all
+his might, got up from the stone hurriedly, as
+if he meditated making a sudden bolt.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But he did not. He stood there quietly looking
+out at sea; and when, a moment after, the
+young captain, taking his arm, said, “Come,
+now I am ready,” he started as from a dream.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>Turning to his sister, with every trace of his
+rollicking manner lost, he said, as though he
+had not spoken of her before,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You must take good care of mother—poor
+mother. Do not let her grieve while I am gone.
+Oh, Hannah, you will be very careful of her,
+and not allow any thing—not allow her to get
+tired, and tell her always, while she waits, that
+when I am with her again, I will never leave
+her.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then they had passed through the gate and
+were going rapidly down the narrow foot-path
+to the bottom of the hill. Hannah strained her
+eyes after them, and when at the turn of the
+road both brother and lover were lost to view,
+still she lingered at the spot pondering over
+Tom’s unwonted emotion. It was not like him.
+Never before had she seen him so singularly
+affected, and now that he was gone, it came
+back to her with redoubled intensity. The
+unusual sorrow that had almost choked him,
+the strange tone in his voice that he had tried
+vainly to conceal, the sudden wish that the
+Nereid was back even now, his repeated charges
+about their mother, all troubled her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>An uneasy feeling of dread oppressed her,
+she knew not why. The heavy perfume of the
+honeysuckle suddenly make her sick and faint.
+The tall and prickly cedar stood up straight
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>and still, covered on one side with a fret-work
+of silver, on the other clothed with the very
+gloom of darkness, and somewhere from among
+its shadowy branches a dove, as if half wakened
+out of a dream, stirred, uttered its brooding
+note, then sank again to silence. Hannah had
+heard the same dove a hundred times before,
+she even knew that there were purple ripples
+on its neck, but this time she started violently
+and shivered. It seemed as if the summer
+night had suddenly grown cold and chilled her
+to the heart, and with hurried steps she ran
+back to the house.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The porch was deserted and strangely lonesome
+when she passed across. Even the crimson
+bloom, with its thousand crowns, looked
+black through the shade, as if it had withered
+in the hour, and she heard its leaves make a
+weird rustle, like a complaint, as she closed the
+door. The sense of desolation was so strong
+upon her that she could hardly keep from crying
+out in the solitude, but she went on swiftly
+to her mother’s room, and entered with noiseless
+feet. A great sigh of relief came to her
+lips when she saw the peaceful face upon the
+pillow, for Miriam, overcome by the reaction,
+already slept calmly as a child. Hannah sat
+down beside the bed. There was a smile upon
+her mother’s lips. How long she sat there,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>whether one hour, or two hours, she did not
+know, but when she got up all the tumult in
+her heart had subsided.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She kissed the sleeping face gently and went
+quietly up stairs to her own room. She threw
+the shutters open wide, and lo! out upon
+the sea with her wings spread, white as the
+plumage of a gull, the Nereid! Lonely, spirit-like,
+beyond the reach of voice, she stood upon
+the mighty desert of the ocean. Before her
+prow the waves held out their wreath of down,
+and above, solitary in the vast moonlit sky,
+hung the royal planet Jupiter. Steady, radiant,
+it burned like the magic Star in the East.
+Hannah, watching, saw the ship fade away in
+the far-off endless isles of silver mist. A great
+peace had come to her soul, and when she lay
+down to sleep there was no trouble on her face.
+Gone, the Nereid was gone, but still, even in
+her dreams, she knew that the star in the sky
+was shining.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Slowly the days came and went. Miriam, yet
+a little feebler, was bright and happy. Never,
+since that night when she said good-bye, had
+she murmured or uttered a word of complaint.
+Every thing at the cottage glided smoothly on;
+for Hannah attended to the house, and waited
+upon her mother with an untiring care, but
+even while she went about performing her different
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>duties her eyes, unconsciously, would
+wander off to sea. Often in the afternoon,
+when the widow nodded in the great rocking
+chair by the window, she would slip away
+down to the beach, and sit there by the hour.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Those were pleasant days to Hannah. Then
+the sea, clear and calm, rounded out, a great
+circle of splendor, to the horizon; or on its
+surface the giant mists reared themselves,
+triumphant, in towering arches. Perhaps her
+thoughts went out beyond these mighty phantom
+aisles, seeking always the two loved ones
+across their portals, over the vast and solemn
+ocean. Sometimes when the sky was warm
+and the wind blew shoreward it seemed to
+bring faintly the scent of foreign flowers; for
+nearer now to her were those mystical lands
+where Summer, almighty Summer, sat upon an
+everlasting throne.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah knew every vessel that sailed into
+port; and sometimes a boat, returning, had
+spoken the Nereid at sea, sometimes at
+long intervals a letter came. Then when for
+weeks, for months it might be, there was no
+word, no sign, the royal planet, moving in its
+eternal orbit, hung again in the sky, a star of
+promise. To Hannah, as she watched it night
+after night above the sea, it came as a messenger
+bearing glad tidings of great joy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>So the time waned. The peaceful days
+passed by and fierce storms broke with a savage
+roar upon the coast. The green upon the hill-sides
+faded out, and the freezing spray encrusted
+the cliff with ice where the wintry sea threw
+up its bitter brine—and sometimes, farther off
+upon the shelving beach, it threw up more than
+brine, or stiffened weed. Broken spars, dreary
+fragments of wrecks drifted in, told of the wild
+desolation out upon the hoarse wilderness of
+beaten waves.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But even those days too passed, and the
+Spring clothed the land again with emerald.
+More than a year had worn away since the
+Nereid had faded out of the horizon, and presently
+another Fall set in.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For five months no word had come from the
+absent wanderers. Still Miriam made not the
+least complaint. Even when the storms lashed
+the sea, until it sent up a roar that made the
+young girl shiver, the widow evinced no anxiety.
+Had she not promised that she would wait
+patiently? She talked very little, and generally
+sat quietly by the window from morning till
+evening. But Hannah, saying nothing, had
+grown heavy-hearted with the long silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was November, a dull, dreary day in November.
+Heavy clouds stretched themselves in
+a somber, leaden sky, that near the water
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>gathered dark and frowning. The gray sea,
+cold and hoarse, uttered eternally its hollow
+roar. But for this it seemed as if a mighty
+silence would have brooded over earth and
+ocean, a silence vast and dreadful as the grave.
+Dead white, the hungry surf crawled sullenly
+up the sand. Leagues away the fishing smacks
+all headed to shore, and the gulls were flying
+landward, when Hannah looking out, counted a
+new sail in the harbor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Any word to break this long heart-sick
+watch?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Quick she had her hat, and glancing at her
+mother sleeping tranquilly in the great chair,
+she ran out, without shawl or wrapping, and
+started down the hill. Once at the bottom she
+slackened her pace a little to gain breath. A
+fine drizzle already blew through the air, and
+the waters running in upon the smooth beach
+did not rumble with a great noise as at the foot
+of the cliff, but washed, washed, keeping up
+endlessly a weary lamentation. The damp
+settled on her hair in minute globules, and enveloped
+all her clothing in its clammy embrace,
+but she did not heed the weather. She never
+looked out once at the desolate, rainy sea, she
+hardly heard its solemn moan. Hurrying, hurrying,
+she went on swiftly with the one idea
+absorbing every power. Rapidly, half-running,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>half-walking, she never paused until she reached
+the slippery wharf.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A group of sailors parted to let her pass. So
+eager was she that she did not hear the sudden
+exclamations, or see the look of pity that had
+come upon more than one rough sunburnt face
+when she made her appearance; for living all
+her life in the same quiet village many of the
+sailors knew Hannah by sight, many by her
+gentle manner and kind words, and many a
+sailor’s wife had to thank her as a guardian
+angel when sickness and poverty had come upon
+them unawares. She, flurried, her heart throbbing
+with expectation, saw only it was the good
+ship Bonibird that had come to port. Stephen,
+old Steve, belonged to it now! She remembered
+him well. Often when she was a child
+had he given her curious shells, and once he
+had brought her, in a little bowl filled with seawater,
+a tiny, live fish that glittered all over
+with beautiful colors. Oh yes, she remembered
+him well! Surprised and pleased she turned to
+look for him among the groups of sailors, but
+the old man was already at her side.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stained and weather-beaten old Steve stood
+there with his cap off, shifting uneasily from one
+foot to the other, and when with an exclamation
+of joy Hannah held out her hand, he took it
+eagerly between his rough palms.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>“God bless you! God bless you!” broke from
+his lips in a thick utterance; then he dropped
+her hand nervously, and drawing his breath
+hard passed his sleeve hurriedly across his face.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m glad to see you back, Stephen,” she
+said. “You’ve been gone a long time.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, you beant so tall then.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Is there any news from the Nereid?” she
+asked eagerly, hardly noticing his last reply.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old man seemed fairly to break out in a
+violent perspiration. He moved again uneasily
+on his feet and, turning his head from her, mopped
+his face once more hurriedly with his sleeve.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m——I’m feared thar be a storm comin’
+up, Miss. Those clouds over the water do look
+ugly, and the gulls be all flyin’ land’ard.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Never mind, I’m not afraid of the storm!”
+she said, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why you be all wet now, standin’ out in
+this nasty drizzle.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, I don’t care! I want to know if
+you heard any thing from the Nereid. Why
+don’t you tell me?” an alarm gathering quickly
+in her voice as the first sickening suspicion
+came over her. “O Stephen,” she said, with a
+terrified cry that fairly frightened the man,
+“you have, and there is something wrong! O
+the Nereid—the Nereid is not lost! Say it is
+not lost!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>She had caught the man’s arm in her wild
+excitement, and clung to him trembling like a
+leaf from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, no, no!” he said, scared by the girl’s
+dreadful agitation; “the Nereid be all right,
+she be all right! I didn’t think of sich an idee
+comin’ to you, or I’d a said afore she be all
+right. Thar beant nothin’ the matter with her,
+nothin’, I was aboard o’ her myself—I’m
+afeard it’ll make you sick, Miss, a standin’ here
+in the drizzle like this, an’ with nothin’ to keep
+off the wet,”—trying to appear as if he had
+settled the trouble, but all the time keeping his
+face turned carefully from her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the first instant of relief Hannah had let
+go of his arm and put her hands to her head
+without one word, so intense had been the
+strain; then, looking up suddenly, and drawing
+a quick breath, she faced round to him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Stephen, is this the truth that you have told
+me? You are not deceiving me? Is there
+<em>nothing</em> the matter?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Lord, no, Miss, it beant no lie,” but the old
+sailor hesitated painfully while she looked at
+him, worked his hands nervously about his neck,
+put them irresolutely to his pockets once or
+twice, till unable to stand it any longer, he suddenly
+made an end to his indecision by jerking
+out a letter, at the same time muttering some
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>half-coherent sentence about how it had been
+given to him for her on board the Nereid.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, a letter!” she cried, joyfully, breaking
+the seal, while her face that had been so
+clouded lighted up radiantly.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As she looked up for a second, with a smile
+upon her lips, the old sailor became more distressed
+in his manner than ever; and when she
+unfolded the paper he even put out his hand
+once or twice, as if he would have taken it back.
+Evidently he could not bear to see her read it
+then; he had not thought she would open it
+there. Troubled, he looked about, shuffling
+again with that uneasy movement on his feet.
+If only he could find some means to prevail upon
+her first to take it home, and driven to desperation
+he turned once more to her, and said in an
+appealing voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m feared thar be a bad storm comin’ up,
+Miss; the sea it really do look ugly, and may
+hap you’d better run home first; thar beant
+much time to lose noways.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But alas! it was too late. Hannah, utterly
+oblivious to the old man’s entreaty, was already
+eagerly reading down the sheet. Suddenly the
+color fled from her face. She appeared dazed
+and confused. For an instant she held the
+paper in a convulsive grasp, staring at it with a
+stony glare. Then she uttered a long, shivering
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>sound, and her fingers gradually relaxed their
+hold.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In a second the letter was gone. A savage
+wind broke loose with a tiger roar from the sea.
+The billows, in swift rage and with frightful
+tumult, piled up their fierce scrolls in a chaos of
+towering surge. Mist and spray and foam
+whirled in a blinding froth to the sky.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Old Steve, half-carrying, half-dragging—for
+the girl seemed hardly able to take a step unassisted—drew
+Hannah back into the one long
+low building by the wharf, where most of the
+people that were standing about a few moments
+before had taken shelter from the storm. Quickly
+half a dozen rough hands drew out a small
+packing-box and placed it for a seat, and some
+one threw a woolen shawl around her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She kept her lips closed tight. She looked
+at no one, she shivered constantly. The howling
+blast swept its brine up the wharf—“Washed
+overboard at sea.” The cruel breakers
+lifted and struck with thunder-crash—“Washed
+overboard at sea.” Bitter cold, the
+salt surf leaped and writhed and reached out
+with demoniac fury—“Washed overboard at
+sea.” Giant waves opened and shut with a
+grinding wrath their hungry jaws. Relentless,
+appalling, the mighty waters filled earth and
+sky with the terror of their strength.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>And Tom, poor Tom, had been washed overboard
+at sea!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was horrible. The awful words rang constantly
+in her ears. They repeated themselves
+over and over. Where, how—she knew naught,
+only the one sentence, with its dreadful import.
+After that she had read nothing, and before it
+she forgot all. Rocking a little back and forth
+on her seat, she sat there pale and dumb. Like
+her mother, two-and-twenty years in the past,
+she asked no sympathy, she heeded no comment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The ashen clouds, racing before the wind
+like the scud of the sea, drove swiftly down
+behind the hills, and the blinding fury of the
+storm had spent itself. Drearily the gray sky
+let down again its endless drizzle, when Stephen,
+his honest voice painfully choked by
+emotion, prevailed upon her to go home. At
+first looking at him blankly, she seemed hardly
+to comprehend what he said, and it was only
+when he spoke of her mother that she gave any
+heed to his entreaty. Her mother! how could
+she tell her the terrible news, her patient, waiting
+mother! Old Stephen, many times after,
+used to say how in that moment, when she
+looked at him, he wished he had been dead
+before ever he brought her such a letter.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Shivering, always shivering, she drew the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>shawl tight about her shoulders, and slipped
+down off the fishy box without a word. The
+old sailor in his anxious care would have followed
+too, but she only shook her head, and
+without having opened her lips, he saw her go
+alone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sullen mist hung its reeking folds along
+the shore, and the tide, running out, left a wide
+dank stretch of yellow slime. Above it, where,
+in Summer, the green swords of the sea-wrack
+grew, the storm had washed up clammy
+masses, heavy with ooze, of the pale and sticky
+tangle. Fiercely the treacherous waters had
+swept over the shore and covered it with their
+bitter dregs; but more fiercely had they surged,
+a dreary desolation, over the girl’s young heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Upon the bloated girdles, on the wet sand,
+in the chilly damp, with the salt spray clinging
+to her clothes, she went, and the wild sea,
+calming down, mourned again at her feet, like
+a sinister mockery of grief, in loud lamentation.
+When she went up the narrow foot-path on the
+hill, and came to the garden gate, she stopped
+a moment, she hardly knew why. It was a
+mechanical action with her. She scarcely felt
+or thought. Her heart was heavy as a stone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The branches of the great honeysuckle were
+black and bare. She looked at the old rock by
+the path now slippery with rain. She looked
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>at the tall and prickly cedar drenched with
+mist and spray. She looked out at the storm-beaten
+sea, then she looked back once more at
+the dripping evergreen. The dove in its thorny
+spire was gone—the dove with the purple ripples
+on its neck. It had never built another
+nest. Shivering, shivering, she went on, crossed
+the porch, where the arms of the bloomless
+rose, weird and gaunt, flung down great heavy
+tears at her feet, and, still shivering, she went
+into the house and shut the door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Miriam, used to the tumult of the sea, sat
+patiently in the chair by the window, as she
+had done so many, many times in the past.
+When Hannah came in she looked up with
+surprise. The girl would have avoided her,
+but Miriam, seeing her so wet became alarmed,
+and, rising from her seat, had met Hannah in
+the hall before she could escape.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I thought you were up stairs! What took
+you out in such stormy weather? You’re all
+wet and shivering with the cold, and—why,
+child, your face is as white as a sheet! What
+is the matter?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nothing, I—I—was caught in the rain,
+and—and got a little damp.” The words came
+uncertainly in a deep voice, for Hannah could
+hardly trust herself to speak, lest some unguarded
+tone should abruptly betray the terrible
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>truth. The girl felt as if it was written all over
+her, or that she might disclose it in every movement;
+but she had turned her back to her
+mother, and with trembling hands was hurriedly
+shaking out the wet shawl. “I’ll go and
+change my clothes. It will not hurt me.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, do it quickly, and come down to the
+fire right away. I’m afraid it will make you
+cough.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, eager to escape, gathered the shawl
+on her arm; but at the foot of the stairs she
+stopped and looked back.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You—you’ve had a nice sleep, mother?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, dear, so very sound that I only heard
+the wind like a gentle zephyr.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And you feel well?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh yes, better to-day than I have for a
+long, long time. I’m going to get stronger
+now steadily,” she said, with a smile that, for
+a moment, brought into the wan face a strange
+beauty, like a gleam of the same radiance that
+so far in the past poor Jacob had placed upon
+the shrine of his heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, turning her head quickly, almost
+overpowered by sudden faintness, went up
+stairs, staggered across the room, and sank
+down by the window in a silent agony of grief.
+She did not sob or cry audibly, her whole being
+was one mental wail of despair—her mother!
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>her gentle, waiting mother! Fierce unspoken
+rebellion had taken possession of the girl’s soul.
+To one that had been always as a ministering
+spirit to those about her, why had Providence
+allotted so cruel a destiny? She, whose life
+had been but a long heart-struggle; she, that
+had done no evil, that had suffered without a
+murmur; she, feeble and bent with years,
+marked with the silver brand of sorrow and age;
+she, far down the avenue of her days, almost
+where the mighty mists of eternity close up
+their impenetrable curtains, she must yet be
+compelled to go on, to the last, through the
+darkness of new trouble! Was there no
+mercy, no justice?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Bitterly Hannah looked out, dry-eyed, at the
+relentless sea. There was no distant line
+against the sky; above, below, drear and empty,
+the gray stretched to infinity—not a sail on all
+the waters, and the tides were out—aye, the
+tides <em>were</em> out for her.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She had never shed a tear. Forgetful of her
+wet clothing, she leaned a long time upon the
+window-sill, motionless, and the lines in her
+young face were hard and strained. Perhaps
+the memory of that night came back to her with
+its vision of the royal planet that had seemed
+a star of promise—a star of promise? A
+mockery it had been, a cruel mockery!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>Then Miriam’s voice calling from the foot of
+the stairs roused her, and hurriedly she changed
+her damp dress, but she could not yet meet
+her mother. She lingered about the room.
+She fell upon her knees; she tried to pray, but
+her heart refused to utter a single petition, and
+Miriam had called again and yet again before
+Hannah went down.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Come close to the fire. You were so long
+I am afraid it will make you sick.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, mother, I am cold a little, that is all.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Miriam did not ask again what had taken her
+out, and Hannah, shading her eyes with her
+hand, sat by the grate trying to prepare herself
+for the dreadful duty that awaited her. She
+knew her mother must be told, lest it should
+come upon her abruptly from the lips of a
+stranger with a shock greater than she could
+bear. It was a hard struggle for Hannah; the
+girl would gladly have borne all the trouble herself,
+but that could not be.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Just how she said it she never remembered,
+only suddenly she felt calm and strong for the
+duty, and with a strange desperation on her
+face, slowly, gently as human means could do,
+she told the terrible news.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And Miriam?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Sitting in her chair she did not scream, or
+moan, or faint. She leaned a little forward with
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>her elbow on her knee, and looked at Hannah,
+looked at her long and steadily, with a strange
+wavering light in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Mother, mother, speak to me!” the girl
+cried, frightened at this light in her eyes, terrified
+that she said nothing, did nothing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, dear, I am better to-day, yesterday I
+walked to the garden gate. I will even be
+strong enough to go down to the wharf when
+the Nereid comes in, and it will be such a glad
+surprise for him, such a glad surprise!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She had leaned back in her chair again, and
+her face, like a revelation, was radiant once
+more almost with the lost beauty of her girlhood.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, dropping her head in her hands,
+could scarcely speak for the awful beating of
+her heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, Mother, you do not understand.
+He is—dead. He will—never come—home—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The same wavering light flickered a second
+time in Miriam’s eyes as the girl spoke. She
+put up her thin hands for a moment and wearily
+stroked the silver hair back from her forehead.
+She looked slowly, with a bewildered expression
+about the room, then, smiling again, she
+said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Home? Yes, the time is nearly up. In
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>the Spring, in the early Spring, he shall be
+home, home to stay always. I know he will
+not disappoint me. I promised to wait patiently,
+and I have not complained, have I
+Hannah?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no——”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And I shall be stronger then, and we must
+make the house pleasant for him. It will never
+be lonely any more when he is here. Why do
+you cry so, Hannah? It is not long to wait for
+him now.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, trying to smother her choking sobs,
+slipped down on the floor with her face covered,
+and Miriam talked on and on of the happy
+times they would have when “Tommy” came
+back in the Spring.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She could be made to comprehend nothing
+of the dreadful tidings. He had promised her
+he would come back, and her faith never
+faltered. But there was a distinct change in
+her from that day. The quiet, reserved manner
+that had been with her always a marked characteristic,
+seldom volunteering a sentence to a
+stranger, was gone. She talked incessantly of
+her son. She would tell every person she met
+how much stronger she was getting, and how
+she meant to go and meet him at the wharf
+when the Nereid came in.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So months went by, and Miriam did get
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>stronger every day. She had not been so well
+in years, not since long ago when poor Tom
+had first taken to following the sea. Bright
+and happy she seemed from morning till night,
+only Hannah noticed that sometimes when
+speaking most earnestly she would stop suddenly
+for a moment, and look at her in a bewildered
+way, with that same wavering light
+flickering up in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All the villagers knew the sorrowful story of
+the Widow Aber’s waiting so trustfully for
+“Tommy,” her sailor son that could never come
+back, and they were good to Hannah that
+Winter. The girl had not cast her bread upon
+the waters in vain. When she found herself
+weak and faint a dozen hands were ready with
+some kind office, and there was little left for
+her to do about the house. Those bitter
+months as they waxed and waned were one
+long, mute agony, but the girl did not break
+down under the terrible strain. Trouble does
+not kill the young; thin and pale she grew, but
+strong in her youth, stronger in her love, for
+Miriam’s sake, and with something of Miriam’s
+early nature, she kept her grief crushed within
+her heart. She seldom went out of the house
+now. She staid always with her mother, as if
+fearful to leave her for an hour; and those who
+went to the house from the village, told how
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>dreadful it was to see her sitting quietly, even
+sometimes forcing a smile to her trembling lips
+when the widow would say,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not look so sad, Hannah. I am strong and
+well, are you not glad? He said he liked to
+see me smile, and he must find us bright and
+cheerful when he comes in the Spring.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Spring! Hannah hardly dared to think
+what might happen then. Every day, as she
+watched her mother, the dread upon her grew
+stronger. She would have held back the coming
+of the Nereid, the beautiful Nereid, that
+now, with its white wings, might return only
+as the angel of death to Miriam. She would
+understand it all then, and the shock, the dreadful
+shock! It was the terror of this that haunted
+Hannah day and night.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The last winter month had gone by, and the
+chilly winds of March were whistling along the
+coast, when, one morning, old Steve came hurriedly
+up the hill to the house. He brought
+the news that Hannah had so long dreaded.
+The Nereid was even then heading round the
+cliff. She had asked him to let her know in
+time, that she might keep it from her mother, at
+least till after the boat had landed. But while
+he was in the very act of telling, he stopped
+suddenly, and a look of fright came over his
+face. Hannah turned to find the cause, and
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>saw her mother standing in the open doorway.
+She had overheard it all. The girl’s heart sank
+in her breast like a stone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Vainly she endeavored to dissuade her from
+going to the wharf, but Miriam, radiant as a
+child in her joy, nervous in her pitiful haste,
+paid no heed to her remonstrances, that it was
+cold, that it was too far, that she would go in
+her place, until Hannah, driven to desperation,
+told her mother again of the dreadful disaster,
+and how poor Tom could not be there to meet
+her. Then the widow stayed her trembling
+hands for a moment in their flurried effort to
+tie her bonnet, and looked at Hannah, looked
+at her long and steadily, as she had done before,
+with the same strange gaze in her eyes. It always
+seemed as if she was dimly conscious, for the
+instant, that something was wrong, but even as
+the shadow flitted over her face, it was gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Come,” she said, her countenance all brilliant
+with eager excitement, “hurry, we must
+not be late. I feel young and strong, and it
+will be such a glad surprise for him!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hannah, powerless to keep Miriam back,
+gave up the endeavor, and went on, with a
+mortal agony in her heart, beside the frail
+woman who, in all faith, was going to welcome
+home her son—her son out upon the silent sea
+of eternity, where even a mother’s voice could
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>never reach. No wonder the girl’s grief made
+her dumb. Was there no escape? She heard
+the waters running in, it seemed to her for a
+thousand leagues, sounding their dreadful dirge.
+At that moment gladly would she have lain
+down forever in the same boundless grave with
+father and brother, where the waves, slow and
+sad, were playing for them this requiem on
+every shore of every land. But Miriam, in the
+extremity of her haste, never stopping, went on
+steadily over the wet ground, bending, sometimes
+almost staggering, before the raw March
+wind that swept in fierce gusts from the still
+frozen north.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A sudden hush fell upon all the people at the
+wharf as they came down. With her gray hair
+blown about in strands, her eyes fever-bright,
+and her breath coming quick and short, paying
+no heed to any one, the widow Aber glided
+silently among them, like an apparition. Unconscious
+of every thing but the ship, even then in
+the mouth of the harbor, she stood, her face so
+thin and worn, all quivering with excitement,
+and her pale lips moving constantly with some
+inarticulate sound. Once or twice she stretched
+out her trembling hands toward the vessel,
+then, gathering her shawl, held them tight
+against her breast, as if she would keep down
+the throbbing of her heart. Frail and shadowy,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>she seemed hardly human, as she waited, with
+her garments fluttering in the bitter wind, with
+her very soul reaching, struggling, looking
+out eagerly in her gray eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Slowly the ship sailed up the harbor, slowly
+it reached the dock, and after almost two years’
+wandering, the Nereid rested once more in her
+native waters. As the boat touched the wharf,
+Hannah had taken her mother’s arm, perhaps
+that she might hold her back, but Miriam made
+no effort to move. The girl could feel her
+trembling, trembling, but she only put up her
+hand unsteadily and brushed the hair away
+from her face.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Too well Hannah knew poor Tom would not
+be there, and, as through a mist, she saw the
+sailors swing themselves down. In the dreadful
+trouble that had come upon her, she had
+almost forgotten Luke. During all these weeks
+of anguish she had thought only of her mother,
+but this morning the strain had been too severe.
+She had given up the battle, and now waited
+stonily; she would have waited on all day,
+when Miriam, suddenly breaking loose from
+her, in a voice half stifled by a wild delight,
+cried,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, Tommy, my boy, my only boy!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was Luke that stood beside her, whom she
+had strangely mistaken for her son. She would
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>have fallen to the ground had he not caught her
+in his arms. Unable to speak for a moment, she
+clung to him trembling violently. Clasping
+her hands tight about his neck, she closed her
+eyes, and, with a quivering sigh, laid her head
+against his shoulder. Hannah, looking at Luke
+quickly, made a gesture that kept him silent,
+then Miriam, without moving, said, brokenly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have waited for you, Tommy. It was
+such a long, long time, but I knew you would
+come—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She paused, while a slight struggle in her
+breath escaped, like a sob, from her lips, then
+went on once more still in an unsteady tone,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am so glad, so glad! I am well and strong,
+Tommy. I feel a little tired now, but I am
+well and strong. You will never leave me,
+never leave me any more—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was another feeble struggle in her
+throat; then when she spoke again, her voice,
+growing fainter at every effort, seemed to come
+from some far-off distance, drifting in to them
+as from the desert spaces of an illimitable sea.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not let me go. It is cold, and the wind—Hark!
+Listen, oh listen how sweet and
+soft the waters wash! Hold me close, Tommy.
+I am weary. Why, it is Summer! Look! see
+the land, the foreign land! Stay, Tommy, I
+am tired—so tired—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>Her head had drooped back heavily on the
+man’s arm, but her lips still moved, and suddenly
+her face lighted up with a radiant smile.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nearer,—come nearer—How bright the
+sunlight shines upon your face! Tommy, my
+boy—my sailor boy—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So, on that bleak March morning when the
+Nereid came in, Miriam had indeed gone to
+meet her son, her sailor son, on that far, far off
+foreign shore that is girdled by the mightier
+ocean of eternity.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_088.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_089.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>REINHART, THE GERMAN.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_089.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+Poor Reinhart! He certainly was a
+brilliant fellow. Even the German
+Professors overlooked his English
+origin, and felt proud of him. Probably they
+argued that if he was born in Yorkshire, it was
+not his fault. And, besides, as the name showed,
+his family, no matter where they had since
+strayed, must have been, at some period of the
+past, true children of the Fatherland.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As far as he was concerned, he seemed to
+have very little attachment for his native
+country. Indeed, he never evinced very much
+of an attachment for any place or any body.
+We had been together the greater part of ten
+years. He possessed a singular influence over
+me. I hardly know what I would not have
+done for Reinhart. But he was in disposition
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>not the least demonstrative; and whether he
+ever saw any attraction in me, I can not tell.
+I simply imagined so, because time wore away
+without drifting us apart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A profound interest in metaphysics absorbed
+his whole being; and through this channel he
+had crept into the good graces of the college
+authorities. During his long study upon this
+subject, he had woven about himself all the
+labyrinthine meshes of the subtile German
+philosophy. Though only a tutor of twenty-five,
+the doctors of metaphysics touched their
+hats to him; all the students bowed before
+him; and I—I felt sorry for him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Why? I can hardly tell. But he had grown
+thin and pale and nervous within the last year;
+and I could not help wishing that all Germany
+was as ignorant of psychology as in the days
+when the Suabians danced their dryad dances
+upon the very spot where now the great University
+lifted up its towers—this great University
+whose walls were built not of stone from
+the quarry, but of the labors of many lives,
+some of whose proudest pinnacles, reaching
+into a light of dazzling splendor, had been
+reared only by the everlasting sacrifice of reason.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A vague idea had floated into my mind, but
+so very terrible it was that I had never dared
+acknowledge its existence even to myself;
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>nevertheless, it oppressed me constantly. Finally,
+it grew into such a burden that I could
+bear it no longer, and so made up my mind to
+do what little I could to relieve myself at any
+rate. A plan occurred to me whereby I might
+accomplish my chief design, which was to draw
+him away from this study that was consuming
+him; to draw him away from his myriad theories
+into life. But before I had said a word, while
+I was still meditating how it could best be done,
+Reinhart settled the trouble himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I never was more astonished or more pleased
+than when he proposed the very thing I had
+been trying to broach, that the two of us should
+spend the next six months in traveling. What
+had suggested it to him, or what his reasons
+were, I never asked. Had <em>he</em> any suspicions
+of this strange fancy that I would not admit to
+myself, and yet had been vainly striving to drive
+from my mind? Since then I have sometimes
+thought so, and sometimes thought not. To
+the proposition I consented eagerly, and did my
+best in hastening all the arrangements; therefore
+no time was lost before we found ourselves
+<i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">en route</span></i> for the south of Europe.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said, Reinhart was not in the least
+demonstrative. Very likely his natural reserve
+had been greatly increased by his sedentary
+life. But I noticed, early in our trip, that he
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>seemed laboring to throw off his abstracted
+manner. I felt encouraged, notwithstanding I
+knew it was an effort to him, and determined,
+not only that he should see something of the
+world, but, what would be of much more
+benefit, that he should see something of society.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the beautiful Italian scenery my own
+spirits rose perceptibly. The great load which
+had been burdening me lessened and finally
+raised itself altogether, as I saw this shadow of
+the German University that had been resting
+on my companion break. But I know now I
+was mistaken. It was only the battalion preparing
+for action; the marshalling of the forces
+before the conflict.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It had been almost a month since we left
+Germany. Many of the English and American
+gentlemen residing in Florence had shown us
+not only attention but hospitality. One thing
+I noticed quickly that Reinhart cared almost
+nothing for the society of ladies. He endured
+it; never sought it. The most beautiful faces
+he would pass without any notice, or with
+merely an indifferent glance. I was sorry for
+this, because here was a channel, I had thought,
+wherein might be turned the current of his
+existence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>With this subject still uppermost in my mind,
+I determined one morning I would bring my
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>sounding-line into play, if it were only on account
+of my own satisfaction. We were sitting
+upon the deep sill of the open window, smoking
+our cigars and enjoying the utter tranquillity
+of the southern day, when I asked, indifferently,
+as if the question had been wholly unpremeditated,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, were you ever in love?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He looked up quickly, waited a moment, as
+though at first he had not exactly understood,
+then answered,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now, I knew very well he never had been;
+for, as I have said, the last ten years we had
+spent together; but at present I was bent upon
+the intent of discovering what probability there
+was that such a catastrophe could ever be
+brought about; so I said again,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, do you think you <em>ever will</em> be in
+love?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I expected a repetition of my former answer,
+but, to my surprise, without any hesitation, he
+replied,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Indeed!” I gasped, with my breath almost
+gone,—“and when may it come to pass?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Looking up, I dropped the tone of raillery
+I had been using immediately, for I saw it
+was a serious matter to him; and overcome
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>by astonishment, I subsided into complete
+silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The perfume of roses came in on the breeze,
+and a scarlet-cloaked flower-girl carrying her
+wares, the only person on the street, turned
+out of sight. A small bird, with red plumes in
+its wings, lighted nearly within reach, upon the
+tree, and broke into song, but, checking the
+strain almost in the first note, it flew away, settling,
+a mere speck, upon the northern spire of
+the Cathedral. Then Reinhart said, as though
+there had been no pause in the conversation,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I do not know; it may never come in this
+life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I looked at him, thoroughly puzzled, almost
+frightened. Then, thinking perhaps I had not
+heard aright, said,—“What?” But, without
+heeding my interrogation, he continued,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Perhaps it never will come in this life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, I had heard aright. Possibly we were
+each talking of different things; and as a last
+resource, I said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Perhaps <em>what</em> will never come in this
+life?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, love,” he replied, making a slight
+gesture of impatience, as though I had been
+unpardonably dull.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“But,” I persisted, determined to understand,
+“then it will never be at all, for they
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>neither marry nor are given in marriage in the
+next world.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No,” he repeated, “they ‘neither marry nor
+are given in marriage.’” He said the words over
+slowly but mechanically, exactly as if he might
+have said, or thought, the same words over a
+hundred times before.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That he believed in the immortality of the
+soul, I quite well knew, for it was the one
+shoot of his English education, which, springing
+in early boyhood, had survived, like a foreign
+plant, amid all the German sophisms. I did
+not like the strange aspect of his face, and,
+somewhat ill at ease, I said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Then, what do you mean?” I waited a
+moment for the answer.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I can hardly tell you. I have always had
+a theory of my own—no, not a theory, a belief.
+I have never undertaken to express it in
+language, and do not know whether I can
+render myself intelligible. I think every soul
+has somewhere in the universe an affinity—I
+am obliged to use the word for lack of a better
+one—and I believe that before complete happiness
+can be attained the two are merged into
+one. It is not marriage: that is purely earthly.
+These affinities may possibly meet in this life,
+though it is hardly probable; but in the ages
+to come it will occur just as certainly as there
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>is an eternity. Mind, I do not call it marriage.
+It is the fusing together of two souls, a masculine
+and feminine, just as they combine chemicals,
+producing a new substance. I believe, as
+I said, these two souls may sometimes meet in
+this life; but it is a destiny that comes to few
+in centuries, and those few should kneel in
+everlasting gratitude before their Creator.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When Reinhart ceased speaking, I could see
+that he had worked himself almost into a fever,
+for his eyes were bright and restless, and the
+blood surged in waves across his usually colorless
+face. With a rough hand, I had struck the
+chord whose undecided vibrations had, a month
+ago, appalled me. The great burden which
+had so oppressed me settled down again heavier
+than before. It was not so much what he had
+said as the expression of his face that filled me
+anew with anxiety. And struggling under this
+burden, I made a poor attempt to laugh the
+matter off.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Reinhart, this is some of your German
+metaphysics.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No; though you are at liberty to call it
+what you please; but I have never read such a
+theory in any place.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, it is an absurd idea,” I retorted,
+“and sounds exactly like some of your humbug
+philosophers, who never believe in any thing
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>but fantasies; and I would advise you to let
+them alone.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This was hardly wise on my part. I should
+not have allowed myself to express any impatience
+when I saw it excited him, and only
+augmented what I was striving to allay. The
+blood rushed again over his face, but he said
+nothing; only, rising from his seat, he walked
+several times across the room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the silence that followed, a strain of joyful
+music broke suddenly upon us. It was the
+swell of the Cathedral organ, sounding a prelude
+for some wedding. But if the strain was
+ever finished, we did not hear it, for the next
+moment a crash of terrific discord drowned the
+music, shaking the very ground. Some object
+flew swiftly past my face, struck the wall and
+fell upon the floor. I sprang up and shut the
+window quickly. Half the sky was covered
+with a black cloud, and from the carpet at my
+feet I picked up a dead bird, a small bird with
+red plumes in its wings.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The storm passed over in less than half an
+hour, leaving the sky perfectly clear again;
+but for the remainder of the day I could not
+recover my spirits. Whether Reinhart suffered
+from a like oppression, I know not; but he
+seemed possessed by the very demon of unrest.
+He was not still a moment. He had little to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>say; and quite late in the evening proposed a
+walk. Without any remark upon the unusual
+hour, I acquiesced.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The night was quiet and beautiful, beautiful
+even for that southern clime. There was no
+moon, and still the sky was filled with a soft
+light, brighter than the trembling rays of the
+stars alone. I remember it because it was a
+peculiar luminous haze, that I had seen only in
+Italy, and because, though no clouds swept
+over the sky, and the haze never paled until
+lost in the crimson glow of morning, that night,
+to me, was the blackest night of my life, whose
+vision sometimes yet rises before me, even at
+noon-day, with appalling reality. Ah! why
+were the sky and stars beautiful? O, cruel
+sky! O, cruel stars! Was the sorrow on
+earth nothing to you, that you gave no warning?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We had walked perhaps two squares, when
+Reinhart stopped just as suddenly as if he
+might have come in contact with a stone wall,
+invisible to me. Alarmed, I said, quickly,
+“What is the matter? Are you ill?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No,” he replied, still standing motionless.
+Then, in a moment, without another word, he
+turned and began retracing his steps.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Are you going home already?” I inquired,
+puzzled by his strange conduct.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>“No; I am going to the Cathedral.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We had just passed the Cathedral, when he
+had made no motion to enter; but now I tried
+in vain to dissuade him from it. I told him
+that there was no service at this hour; that we
+might as well not have left home as to go inside
+of any house. All to no purpose; he was just
+as determined as at first, until finally he turned
+fiercely upon me and said, with a strange emphasis
+in his tone,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I will go; I must go; I feel something
+within me that <em>compels</em> me to go!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Was this again the vibration of that terrible
+chord in his nature—that terrible chord that
+threatened to destroy forever the harmony of
+his life?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Powerless to turn him from his intent,
+together we crossed the northern portal and
+entered the nave. It was so dim that the
+heavy shadows clustered in a rayless cloud
+among the arches, and at the end, far off—they
+looked like stars in the gloom—flickered
+a few tapers at the altar, while higher up
+swung the sacred but sickly flame that had
+been burning for centuries. There was not a
+stir, not a sound. I trembled all over with a
+singular sensation of weakness that came upon
+me as I followed Reinhart, who went steadily
+down the long aisle to where the transepts met,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>then stopped as abruptly as he had stopped a
+few moments before in the street.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was, as I have said, just where the transepts
+met. There, upon a low platform or dais,
+stood a bier covered by a velvet pall, whose
+heavy border fell in waveless folds. And upon
+it rested a casket with silver mountings. Beside
+it two tapers burned, one at the head and one
+at the foot; and two monks kneeled, motionless.
+Beyond the choir I saw the gleam of the
+organ-pipes, wavering, come and go. The altar
+lights circled about each other, and they, too,
+receded in infinite space; they grew dim; they
+vanished; they sprang again; they fled again.
+The great tombs loomed out and faded; the
+figure on an ebon crucifix, inspired with life,
+writhed in fearful agony, then once more
+became transfixed, and the weak, trembling
+sensation under which I had been laboring
+was gone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I saw that we were standing by the dead of
+some noble family, for the repose of whose soul
+the monks were offering up their prayers. I
+drew a little nearer. Upon the snow-like cushions
+within the casket a young girl lay sleeping
+the last deep and solemn sleep. Or was it a
+vision?—one of that mystical land, whose
+white portals are beyond the sun; that land
+where there is no shadow, no stain; where
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>there is beauty celestial, peace everlasting?
+No, it was all the future we ever see; it was
+still this side the gates of eternity; it was death.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A chaplet of flowers crowned her brow, all
+colorless as marble, and garlands of flowers
+wreathed her robe, that was purer than fleece;
+but her hands held no lilies, no jasmine; more
+sacred than these, they held a small golden
+crucifix, an emblem imperishable, holy. The
+burning tapers threw not over the face, turned
+slightly toward the altar, that beautiful dream-light;
+it was the last inscription written by the
+spirit, even after it had seen down the radiant
+vista of immortal happiness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Ah! why offer prayers for a soul beyond the
+troubled sea, beyond the dread valley? O,
+frail humanity! Even then beside the pall,
+where rested the solemn silence no voice could
+break, stood one for whom the kneeling monks
+might have told a thousand <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">aves</span></i>.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Reinhart raised his face suddenly. Straightening
+himself, he extended his arm with a wild
+gesture, uttering a laugh that grated clear up
+to the dome.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Did I not tell you?” he cried. “Did I not
+feel the mysterious summons that brought me
+to this spot? Do you see her? <em>It is she!</em> It
+is her soul and mine that will abide together
+through all eternity.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>The startled monks rose to their feet. The
+great arches of the Cathedral threw back his
+voice in terrible groans. Quick as thought I
+sprang toward him, but was hurled off with the
+ease of a giant. He stooped for a moment and
+put one hand to his head, as if a sudden faintness
+might have swept over him; but he did
+not touch the casket. Then, dropping on one
+knee beside it, he raised his face and said softly,
+so softly that the last word seemed to come to
+us from a great distance,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“O, beautiful soul, part of my spirit, I will
+not keep you waiting!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We gathered around and raised him up. It
+needed no force now; and when they laid him
+down again, with a great throbbing in my breast,
+I folded his hands. He had taken his life.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O, Germany! like this fair day you lured a
+bird high up into your sunshine, a bird with
+brilliant plumes in its wings; then, before it
+had sung one song from the pinnacle where it
+rested, blackening suddenly into a storm, you
+killed it. Reinhart, poor Reinhart! you lured
+high up into the fantastic light of psychology;
+then before he had reared one minaret upon the
+temple where he climbed, you darkened suddenly
+into a gigantic gloom that, rising up like
+a storm, overwhelmed him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, better had it been for Reinhart were the
+Suabians still dancing their dryad dances.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_103.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>SILVER ISLET.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_103.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+In Lake Superior, near its northern shore,
+a mere speck of land, scarcely two
+hundred feet square, barely shows
+itself above the water. This is Silver Islet,
+and on it sinks the shaft of the richest silver
+mine in the world. Covering almost its entire
+dimensions, stand two buildings. One, a low
+frame house, encloses the mouth of the mine,
+and the other, immediately adjacent, a small
+wooden structure, forms the watch-tower.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Through this tower, every evening, the miners,
+when dismissed for the day, are compelled
+to pass out one by one, and submit themselves
+to an examination, where their clothes
+are thoroughly searched, that none of the precious
+metal may be carried away secreted upon
+the person. So extreme is the vigilance employed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>that visitors are never allowed, except
+by special permit, and though isolated upon the
+waters, the place is kept by day and night under
+this strict martial surveillance.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>To the north, about a quarter of a mile distant,
+is another island, perhaps six or eight
+acres in extent. It is high and rocky, and in
+one place reaches up more than a hundred feet.
+Here, built upon its sloping side, is the little
+settlement that could count up altogether, it
+might be, thirty houses. Here the miners live
+with their families. Here, too, every thing that
+pertains to the business of the place carries
+itself on; and here it was that father had
+brought me to stay.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was about eighteen years old then. I do
+not know how father happened to receive the
+position of assistant overseer at the mine. I
+never knew very much about father. Indeed I
+had hardly seen him more than half a dozen
+times in my life, until that day he came to take
+me from the farm. I could not remember my
+mother, who died in my infancy, and brother or
+sister I had none. Father was a morose, unsociable
+man by nature, and I think he cared but
+very little for me. I had been left at my
+uncle’s to grow up, and so, as I said, about him
+I knew almost nothing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Uncle George lived on a poverty-stricken
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>farm upon the flattest of prairies. I hardly
+know how I did grow up there, it was such a
+wretched, miserable place. Although I had
+never experienced any thing different, it was so
+forlorn an existence, that I chafed inwardly
+against it every hour. I possessed a kind of
+dumb consciousness that surely, surely I must
+be made for something better than this. I saw
+nothing of the world, nothing of humanity outside
+of my uncle’s family, and the two or three
+rough farm hands that he occasionally employed.
+I would rather have had the cattle, the
+poor half-starved cattle, for companions than
+these. They were none of them kind to me.
+I know not whether father ever paid any thing
+for my board; but I know I worked far harder
+than any hired servant. I did not rebel outwardly,
+but I was constantly unhappy. Was I
+to live on all my days in this hopeless, miserable
+way? Was there never to be any thing better?
+Looking out of the window, I thought of the
+great, busy world, and the far-off, unknown
+cities; but before my eyes there was only a
+dead level of the hateful yellow prairie, and
+above, the colorless sky stretched itself out in a
+gigantic, measureless blank.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From this life it was that father came, without
+word or warning, and took me. I know now
+that he only wanted me with him as a convenience,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>but then I was wild with delight. In
+my great craving for human sympathy I would
+have loved father with all my heart, had he
+given me any encouragement. I did love him
+for this one good deed. I knew not where he
+was taking me, but I was sure it could be no
+worse place. With an intense joy I went up
+and surveyed, for the last time, the miserable
+little room where I had vainly cried so many
+hot tears over my weary existence. I stayed
+my steps a moment beside the one window, a
+little window facing westward. From here I
+had seen the only beauty that ever came before
+my passionate eyes flame up with a splendor, as
+of gold, along the sky when the sun went down.
+A thousand times my yearning heart had
+watched the short-lived glory fade, like a mockery,
+into the dreary blank. From here, too,
+year by year, with a rank rebellion in my soul,
+I had looked out at the shadowless prairie that
+lay over all the earth, a great, glaring, uncovered,
+yellow blister.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So it was with nothing but glad emotion that
+I stood upon the spot consciously for the last
+time. I had a keen, absorbing love of the
+beautiful, a hunger insatiable, that unfed was
+sapping my life. This wretched existence had
+almost killed me; but for the change I believe
+that my longing spirit, like my mother’s in the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>far past, would have broken its wings. Now
+there was an avenue of escape suddenly opened
+up before me—of escape from the dreadful monotony,
+from the intolerable agony of everlasting
+sameness that, by day and night, recurring
+forever, had made up the tiresome years as they
+passed. My whole being was turned to my
+father with one inspiration of gratitude.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Had I known any thing of Pythagoras then,
+almost I could have believed in the transmigration
+of souls, or that my spirit had passed
+into some different body, so utterly strange and
+new I felt at Silver Islet. Here father had
+rented a little house that stood apart from the
+rest, upon the very highest point. The whole
+settlement was grouped within the least possible
+compass, and considerable of the island,
+small as it was, still remained in its original
+condition. There were no trees immediately
+about our house, but to the right, and running
+thinly all the way down on the other side to the
+water, a few straggling pines clung, with their
+rope-like roots, to the rocks. It was no trouble
+to me to keep house for only one. I got the
+breakfast and supper, and every morning put
+up a dinner for father, which he took with him
+to the mine. So all day I was left wholly to
+myself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I said, so strange and new I felt it seemed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>to me for a while as if I had lost my own
+identity. Here, for the first time in my life,
+there lay before my eyes a vast expanse of
+glittering waves—the mighty mystery of
+far-reaching waters! Rolling, moving, changing,
+remaining for endless ages, attracting, terrifying—only
+the mightier mystery of eternity
+can fathom the hidden secret of this unceasing
+problem. A hush fell upon my fluttering spirits,
+a hush of profound awe before this symbol, this
+vision of the unknown infinite. At last the cry
+of my soul for food was silenced, the dreadful
+hunger of my heart, that through all my life I
+could not allay, was pacified.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At dawn I saw the timid light creep up along
+the east and wait and brighten, until it set an
+emblazoned standard in the sky, and below, far
+out, covered with the pomp of the rising sun,
+the distant billows clashed their blood-red
+shields. At noon, I saw the mid-day radiance,
+falling through the air in torrents of splendor,
+float far and near, changing into gorgeous
+mosaics upon the sea. At night I saw the long
+line of mighty cliffs upon the silent Canadian
+shore reach out their giant shadow through the
+dusk of evening that, slowly, softly, gathered
+into a twilight sweeter than the luminous haze
+of a dream.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I had no one to care for me, no friend, no
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>lover, but I needed none now. I was happy,
+happy as in a new and glorious world. I forgot
+the dreadful prairie, dry and parched—the
+vast, staring, level of land that for so many
+years had oppressed me by its terrible, never
+ending monotony. I even forgot the thousand
+times I had longed and longed to see a great
+city, to live among its busy throng.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was November, and presently the wind,
+keen and cold, swept down, like the wind from
+the Arctic zone. Mad, pitiless, the boundless
+waters piled themselves in towering billows.
+They leaped and menaced. They broke over
+Silver Islet with a frightful roar and drenched
+it with their freezing spray. They danced about
+it in savage fury. They beat against it continually,
+and the howling gale, swift and strong,
+dashed the foam in blinding sheets. Already
+the long, fierce winter of the North was rapidly
+setting in.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Great layers of ice formed and broke, and
+ground up and formed again, until December,
+still and frigid, locked us within the impenetrable
+barriers of a vast, frozen sea. To the east,
+to the west, to the south, an illimitable wilderness
+of snow, the mighty Superior for miles lay
+wrapped in a silence profound as the grave.
+To the north, shrouded in their eternal solitude,
+cold, white and spectral, the cliffs upon the long
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>Canadian shore held up their stony battlement,
+sheeted in ice, as in a pall. Utterly devoid of
+warmth, the sunlight blazed with a brilliance
+indescribable through an atmosphere that,
+clearer than crystal, glittered as with the scintillations
+of feldspar. But the nights—the nights
+swinging in their long winter arc, were illuminated
+by a glory more gorgeous than the
+unreal splendor wrought in the loom of dreams.
+The stars, myriads upon myriads, studded the
+whole heaven with drops of intense light, and
+the planets, magnified through the vast laboratory
+of the air, showed great balls of molten
+silver against a vault of jet. Sometimes when
+the night was at its blackest, suddenly there
+shot up, flaming from the white battlements of
+the Canadian shore, a thousand lances. Like
+the parade of an army, like the marshalling of
+far-reaching cohorts, the mighty processions
+swept the semicircle of the sky. They rose and
+fell. They wavered like the spears of troops in
+battle. Then the vast battalions, closing together,
+ran up in a towering shaft to the zenith.
+A river of ice-cold fire, it divided the heaven.
+It overflowed and spread out in a sea of gorgeous
+color that receded, wave upon wave,
+until it burned, a deep blue flame upon the
+frozen crown of the Canadian cliffs. I have
+watched this aurora in its changeful mood a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>hundred times. I have watched the illimitable
+fields of snow beneath, while the reflected light
+played upon them in weird rays, far out to the
+remote horizon.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>During the Winter, unused to the severe climate,
+I rarely left the house. So far as was
+possible, I held myself aloof from the people,
+the people, that, as I said, were only the rough
+families of miners. Ignorant and uneducated,
+painfully ignorant and uneducated I was myself,
+still I could not associate with such as
+these. I did not grow tired, but yet I was glad
+when the long, frozen months had passed by.
+As the late Spring opened, Winter even then
+did not yield its supremacy without a fierce
+contest, but in the contest—the savage storms
+from the north—the ice broke. The huge cakes,
+drifting about, slowly, gradually, wore themselves
+away, and the wind dropped its javelins
+of frost.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Late it was in June before the last vestige
+was gone of the bitter cold that had held us in
+its frigid clasp for more than two-thirds of a
+year. Then there opened for me an unfailing
+source of enjoyment. I learned to row, and
+father allowed me to buy a small boat. It was
+almost the only favor I ever asked of him, and
+how much have I to be thankful for that he did
+not deny me! Though slight of figure, my
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>muscles were strong, and after awhile, with constant
+practice, I could row twenty miles in a
+day without exhaustion, and every day now, and
+all the day, I spent my time upon the water.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Summer, beautiful to me beyond description,
+was like a perpetual Spring. In my little
+boat, alone, I explored the shore far and near.
+I rowed to the very ledges of those cliffs that I
+had watched all Winter long lifting themselves,
+like a huge, jagged spine, against the sky. A
+thousand, sometimes twelve hundred feet, they
+reached up, gray and naked, a sheer, barren
+wall of rock from the water. With the cold
+waves forever at their feet, gloomy, silent, they
+stood in their drear majesty, and the chilly fog
+wrapped them round with the folds of its
+clammy garb. Only in the most beautiful
+weather did this fog lift from about them its
+clinging skirts, and slowly the damp mists trailed
+themselves off in long white plumes of down.
+At such times, floating idly in my skiff, I felt
+oppressed by the vast burden of their dreadful
+silence. I believe there is no greater solitude
+than that which sometimes at noon, when sea
+and sky are unwrinkled by wave or cloud, sits
+upon this mighty shore of desolate, desert rock.
+Yet here, where this profound silence broods,
+upon these tawny bastions of stone, occasionally
+fierce thunder storms play, and the waters
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>in wild tumult dash against their base with a
+noise like the roar of heavy artillery.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the weeks slipped by, and it was in the
+early part of October that first I saw a change
+had come over father. As I have said, he was
+by nature a reserved, unsociable, even morose
+man. He was never communicative, and to
+me sometimes spoke hardly two dozen words in
+a day. I had grown used to this, and felt that
+I had nothing to complain about, as he laid no
+restrictions upon me in any respect. But now
+I could not help noticing a decided alteration,
+both in his looks and manner. Constitutionally
+a thin man, his face appeared thinner to
+me than ever. So exceedingly pale and worn
+was he, that I do not know that I had ever
+seen a more haggard countenance. His eyes,
+which were very light in color and deep-set in
+his head, had an unnatural brightness, a strange
+expression I can hardly describe, a peculiar,
+watching wakefulness. His manner was restless
+and uneasy in the extreme, and he spoke
+even less frequently than usual. He staid out
+much later than had been his ordinary habit,
+often not coming home until early in the morning;
+and several times I heard him with a slow step
+walk back and forth, back and forth, over the
+floor of his room all night.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said, I knew nothing of his duties,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>nor did I know any thing of the miners. When
+first I noticed the change upon father, I thought
+he was over fatigued perhaps, then I became
+alarmed lest he was ill. Little as he cared for
+me, he was the only human being on earth upon
+whom I had the slightest claim, and I would
+have done any thing for him. I could not bear
+to see him look so badly. He had never manifested
+any thing towards me but utter indifference,
+and so strangely reserved was he that I,
+in my great dread that he might be harsh some
+time, had hardly ever volunteered a single
+sentence to him. I was troubled, and did not
+know what to do. That night at supper I said,
+gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, do you feel well?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At first he did not appear to hear, and I repeated
+my question, then he turned his pale
+eyes upon me suddenly with a quick, startled
+look in them that frightened me,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I asked if you felt well,” I said again,
+embarrassed by his strange manner. “You look
+so badly lately I thought maybe there was
+something the matter.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He did not speak at all for a moment, but sat
+there staring at me wildly. Catching his
+breath slightly, he looked all round the room
+and brought his eyes, his pale eyes, with an
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>angry gleam in them now, back to my face,
+then said, fiercely,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“See here, don’t you meddle in my matters!
+I am able to take care of myself.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, father, I only thought—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do you hear me?” he said, savagely.
+“Mind your own business. There is nothing the
+matter with me. If you can’t do any thing
+better than interfere in my affairs, you can go
+back. See that you don’t do it again, or—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He broke off abruptly, and I, my heart throbbing
+as if it might break, got up and went into
+my own room. I had not interfered in his
+affairs. I had done nothing wrong, said nothing
+to call up such an outburst of passion, and
+his dreadful anger had terrified me. I went
+to the window to try and calm myself. I put
+up the sash and leaned out.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The twilight had almost dissolved itself in
+night, a night so soft and gentle that the very
+waters, wooed from their troubled toil, ceased
+their long complaint and slept. The pine trees,
+slim and black, whispered to each other in their
+mysterious language with peaceful cadence,
+telling, perhaps, of the time when they would
+shed their countless needles. In the west, shining
+like a harvest sickle, hung the yellow crescent
+of the new October moon. Trying to still
+the throbbing in my veins, I watched it grow
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>and change and deepen as it sank, until above
+the water it poised, a great Moorish sword of
+blood-red fire, and a long line of vermilion light
+ran out upon the quiet sea. Then suddenly it
+was blotted in darkness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The figure of a man obstructed my range of
+vision.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Instantly the dreadful throbbing in my heart
+leaped up again. I drew back noiselessly from
+the window. The man, only a few feet distant—I
+could almost have put out my hand
+and touched him—stopped, hesitated irresolutely
+for a moment, turned about as if to see
+that no one watched him, then with stealthy
+step went across the open space and began to
+climb, catching from tree to tree, down the
+precipitous rocks towards the lake. Once or
+twice I heard a stone loosen from beneath his
+feet, and presently I heard the plash of oars in
+the water, then it died out, and straining my
+ears I could detect no sound but the quiet,
+mysterious whisperings of the pines. I laid my
+head upon the window-sill sick and faint. The
+figure of the man I had seen was father.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Too well I knew now that he was neither
+tired, nor ill. Why should he have crept down
+so stealthily over these wild, almost perpendicular
+rocks to the lake? Why not have gone
+by the ordinary path through the settlement?
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>Ah, why? Something was wrong—but what?
+I turned cold and dizzy. I would not, I <em>dared</em>
+not think.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I tried vainly to sleep that night. Haunted
+by a thousand forebodings, I could not even
+close my eyes, and it was almost day-break
+when I heard father come in quietly and go to
+his room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I never referred again to his ill looks, nor did
+he, but somehow I could not help thinking
+that from this time he watched me a little suspiciously.
+I felt hurt that he imagined I would
+play the spy upon his actions. Whatever he
+might do, whatever he might say, he was still
+my father, and I could not give him up. It was
+dreadful, those days that followed. It seemed
+like living upon the verge of a precipice, or
+that some unseen calamity hung above my head
+ready to fall at any moment and crush me.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>One evening, just after I had lighted the lamp
+and put it on the supper table, I went, as was
+my usual habit, to draw down the blinds.
+Father had not yet come home. As I crossed
+his room I saw through the window a man
+standing close beside it on the outside, so close
+that I could not have seen him more distinctly
+had he been within reach of my touch. His
+arms were folded across his chest, and his head
+dropped a little in the attitude of one waiting.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>His figure was large and thick-set, almost that
+of a giant. As I looked he took off his cap and
+passed his hand over his short-cut, bristly hair,
+and in the action I saw his face,—a coarse,
+heavy, brutish face, that made me shudder. I
+noticed that the window sash was down and
+bolted, and I did not go near to touch the blind.
+I went back with an uneasy feeling into the
+dining-room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A few moments afterward father came in.
+He took up the light hurriedly, saying some
+thing about wanting it for a moment, and carried
+it into his room and shut the door. I
+heard him walking about in there, opening and
+closing drawers, and after a little I thought I
+heard a sound as if he were raising the window-sash
+gently. Then he came out. He looked at
+me sharply for a moment, and remarked that he
+had been hunting for a key. Strange! He was
+not in the habit of accounting for his actions.
+After he got up from the table he did not leave
+the house again, but went to bed almost immediately.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the morning when I put up his dinner and
+handed it to him as usual, he said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You need not get any supper for me to-night.
+I have office work to do at the mine and
+will not be back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was surprised. He had frequently not
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>come home to the evening meal, but never before
+had he thought it worth his while to give
+me notice. I stood looking after him as he
+went out of the gate, when suddenly an idea
+flashed into my head that made my heart sink
+in my breast like a stone. I do not know why
+it should have come to me then so suddenly,
+with such strong conviction. Quickly I turned
+and ran into father’s room. I looked about. I
+opened the drawers. Yes—the most of his
+clothing was gone! It was as I thought. He
+did not mean to come back at all—Deserted!
+The dreadful word choked up my throat. I
+knew nothing of father’s actions, I knew
+not what he had done, but I would gladly have
+gone with him, have stood disgrace with him
+even, if that were necessary. I am sure I can
+not tell why I clung to him with such desperation.
+Though I was ignorant and inexperienced,
+I was also young and strong, and I was not
+afraid I would fail to make my living alone in
+the world. But kneeling upon the floor I laid
+my head upon the foot of the bedstead, and
+heavy, suffocating sobs came to my lips. Probably
+I would never see him again, and if he did
+not love me, at least, except that one time, he
+had not been harsh to me, and he was my
+father.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At first I thought I would follow him; I
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>would go to the mine and see if he might not
+still be there. Then I knew that to make inquiries
+about him would probably only increase
+the danger that threatened, whatever that
+danger might be, and though it was justice pursuing
+him for some crime, I would have shielded
+him still. I was powerless. I could do nothing
+to recall him; I could do nothing but wait.
+Wandering about with only the one thought in
+my mind, after awhile the house became positively
+intolerable. I must do something at
+least to keep myself employed, or I should
+absolutely go wild. My head ached unbearably,
+and I had a compressed feeling across my
+chest.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I took my heavy, scarlet cloak and threw it
+over my arm. I do not know why I should
+have taken this one, for I wore it generally only
+in the bitter cold of midwinter. With a strange
+feeling of dread when any one looked at me, I
+went down hurriedly through the settlement to
+the wharf. I got into my boat and pushed off.
+On the water I could breathe better.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I rowed, rowed, rowed, steadily, steadily,
+taking note of nothing. My only relief lay in
+violent exercise. How many miles up the
+shore I went I do not know, but it was farther
+than I had ever reached before, and when I
+drew in my oars to rest, like a mighty conflagration,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>the red embers of the sun-set’s fire
+were dying down along the sky.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In this region of the lake, from a quarter to
+two miles from shore, at wide intervals isolated
+rocks rise up out of the water, or mere points of
+land covered with a thick growth of underbrush
+show themselves, so small they look
+from a distance like a floating fleck of green
+that the waves could drift about at pleasure.
+The gulls rest upon them undisturbed by man
+or beast. Lonely, a thousand times more lonely,
+these islands make it seem than a clear, open
+stretch of water. A few of them, perhaps, are
+fifteen or twenty feet in extent. On a dark
+night it would have been dangerous to row here.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I felt weak and tired. The lake stretched
+itself out, quiet and peaceful as a painted ocean.
+Not a ripple disturbed the tranquil surface that
+mirrored the sky like a glass. I drew my cloak
+over me and lay down in my boat. I cared not
+when I got back, the later the better, for I still
+clung to a forlorn hope, that perhaps in the
+morning father would return. I was not afraid,
+for the moon had reached its full and would be
+up even as the last halo of the departing day
+was fading from the west. Out of the water I
+saw it come. An enormous globe of maroon
+fire, it sat upon the horizon and stained the lake
+with its magenta rays. Fatigued and exhausted,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>I think I must have slept, for when next I
+looked, bright and yellow, it was swung high up
+in the sky, shedding through the air a splendor
+like pearl.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I felt glad I had brought my cloak, for it was
+cold, very cold, and I would have been almost
+numb without it. I knew by the position of
+the moon that it must be somewhere near
+eleven o’clock. I sat up, shivered a little, drew
+my wrap closer about me and reached out one
+hand for the oars—when suddenly, midway in
+the action, I held it suspended, motionless!
+Sometimes there is nothing so startling as the
+sound of a human voice. I heard two men
+talking. For an instant I was paralyzed. My
+boat lay close beside one of these little knolls
+of land I have described. I could have put out
+my arm and touched the rank sword-grass that
+grew along its border. I did catch hold of it and
+noiselessly drew my skiff nearer, into a kind of
+curve, so that, though I was on the bright side,
+the overhanging brambles threw me into shadow,
+and another skiff, passing by, would hardly have
+detected me, when instantly I found that the
+men were not on the water. A cold terror
+crept over me. They were distant scarcely
+three yards. I could not see them, but I could
+almost feel the underbrush crackling beneath
+their feet. They evidently, though, had no
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>knowledge of my presence, and I, not daring to
+stir, fairly held my breath. They seemed to be
+removing something from the ground and transferring
+it to their boat which, as I supposed, lay
+upon the other side. I could hear them lift and
+carry, what, I did not know. It sounded sometimes
+like stones falling with a partially muffled
+thud when they put them down. One of the
+men in a rough voice said, with a loud, harsh
+laugh, evidently resting for a moment,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This repays for lots o’ trouble! That was
+a neat slip we gave ’em all to-night. By ——
+I’m glad to be quit o’ the place! Its ——”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Be quiet can’t you!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My heart, at a single bound, leaped into my
+mouth. In these few words, spoken low and
+stern, I instantly recognized the voice. It was
+father’s. The other man did not reply, but
+muttered a half intelligible curse. They were
+both in the boat now, for I heard the plash of
+their oars. Presently father said, in a sharp,
+quick tone,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Take care! Sit down, sit down I tell you!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Again the man muttered something between
+his shut teeth. The next moment they came
+round into the light and passed me, pulling hard.
+Then I recognized the thick-set, burly figure
+that I had seen last night. He was in the stern
+of the boat, and I saw his face again, the same
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>repulsive face, but with a sullen scowl upon the
+brutish features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They were heavily loaded and rowed slowly.
+They had got well past me when I heard father
+say something; what, I did not understand; but
+the man, dropping his oars, turned his head and
+replied, savagely,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Look’e yer! You’ve did nothin’ but boss,
+an’ boss, an’ I’m tired o’ it! This yer’s as
+much mine as yourn, and by —— I’d jes as lief
+make it all mine!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Quick as the movement of a cat he changed
+his position, facing round to father. Quicker
+still, he stooped and caught up something in his
+hand that by the glint of the moonlight explained
+their heavy load, and all the mystery
+which had been hanging over father’s actions.
+It was a rough, jagged piece of silver ore. He
+raised his powerful arm and struck father with
+it on the head. He struck him two or three
+times. I screamed. There was a dreadful
+struggle, and at the same second that I saw the
+gleam of father’s pistol I heard its report. The
+man raised up his huge figure for an instant,
+wavered, and fell back heavily with a cry like a
+wounded tiger. The boat, without capsizing,
+tilted beneath the shock, filled with water, and
+went down like a stone.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I absolutely do not know how I pushed out
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>from my hiding-place, but with two or three
+swift strokes I was on the spot. For an instant
+there was most frightful silence. I can see the
+waves widening their circle yet. Then, right at
+my boat’s head, father came to the surface. I
+was made strong by the energy of desperation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>With a wild, straining reach I leaned over and
+caught him by the arm, and with the other
+hand I rowed backward towards the knoll. I
+would have capsized and gone down rather than
+have let go my grasp. I was within a skiff’s
+length of the little island when just at my side
+I saw the huge form of the miner come up.
+He struggled and made one mighty effort to
+catch hold of my boat. No more terrible can
+the faces of the damned look than this face that
+glared up at me from the water. It has haunted
+me waking and sleeping. God forgive me, I
+could do nothing else! I struck him with the
+flat side of my oar. Evidently weakened by
+loss of blood, exhausted and nearly gone, he fell
+back and sank almost instantly from sight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I worked round to a place where there was
+only grass growing, and catching by it drew
+close to its border. I could never have lifted
+father up but that he was sensible and could
+help himself somewhat. I got him on the
+ground, and from the ground into my boat.
+Then he fainted.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>His head was terribly wounded. I knew I
+had no time to waste. I was afraid he would
+die in the coming hours before I could reach assistance.
+I rubbed his hands. I loosened and
+took off some of his wet clothing. I folded my
+cloak over him carefully and seized the oars.
+Inspired by my strange burden with a strength
+superhuman, my boat shot swiftly almost as if it
+had been propelled by steam. But the east
+was already brightening again with Indian
+colors when I reached the wharf at last, at last!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They raised him softly and carried him up to
+the house. I paid no attention to their thousand
+questions. I do not know what I said—I said
+it was an accident.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the weeks of his long fever and delirium,
+I watched over him day and night. He did not
+die. He came back to life. How many times
+I had wondered would he be kind, would he be
+gentle to me now? Ah, poor father! He was
+never harsh to any one after that.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the people came and spoke to him, he
+would laugh a gentle, meaningless laugh, and
+sometimes, holding to me tight, he would point
+to a button or color on their dress and say,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Pretty, pretty!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He grew well and strong again, but it had
+shattered his mind forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>How he had avoided the officers at the tower
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>in carrying away the precious metal which he
+had secreted from time to time, I do not know,
+but they suspected nothing. I held utter
+silence about the incident, and if the people did
+connect the missing miner with his mysterious
+“accident,” what was there to do? They
+pitied me that he was simple. Shall I say it?
+Perhaps it was better so. A strange, new joy
+came to me, as every day I saw the pale eyes,
+innocent now as those of a child, follow me
+about with a grateful look. He was easily
+managed, and he seemed to cling to me with
+an affection that would atone for the long blank
+in the past.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I waited until the bitter Winter had gone by,
+and the first steamer came in the Summer.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>What would become of us in the big, untried
+city? I had my youth, I had my health.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I stood upon the deck of the great vessel and
+saw this mere speck of land recede in the distance.
+Father, standing by my side, touched
+my arm, and holding out his open hand, said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Pretty, pretty!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a shell in it clean and white, and
+he looked up at me and smiled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Yes, better so, it was better so!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had gone there a man, strong and wicked.
+By the strange mysteries of Providence, he
+came from it a child, weak and innocent, with
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>a soul white as the shell which for the moment
+he cherished in his simple delight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When next I raised my eyes, only the cold
+waters of Lake Superior washed the horizon,
+and Silver Islet had vanished from my sight
+forever.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_128.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_129.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>BOYDELL, THE STROLLER.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_129.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+He was a strolling player. During the
+month of February, 1868, I was at
+Chicago, gathering up a theatrical
+troupe to do the provinces. I found no difficulty
+in getting my general utility people,
+but still lacked a “first old man.” Every person
+wanted leading business—that was exactly
+the trouble. When I was in the midst of my
+perplexity, I stumbled across Carey, whom I
+knew to be out of a job, and offered him the
+position.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now I felt that this act was a real charity,
+for I knew poor Carey had never received such
+a chance in all his theatrical days—years, I
+should say; for he was well on the shady side
+of forty. I was amazed, dumb-founded, when
+Carey refused it, absolutely, positively refused
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>it,—Carey? What could explain this astounding
+fact? There was an odd twinkle in his
+eye, and presently the truth leaked out. He
+had just married a pretty, young girl, and—and—well,
+he had promised to quit the stage;
+that was the whole of it. But Carey suited
+me exactly, and I did not give up. I told
+him it was all nonsense; his wife would be glad
+enough for him to accept the position. Carey
+evidently began to waver; the old love for his
+profession threatened to out-weigh that other
+love which had crept into his heart. However,
+it was finally determined that I should call
+upon his wife and submit the matter to her
+decision.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I found her really young and really pretty,
+but, also, really in earnest. Carey could not
+go, that was certain; at the very first mention
+of the subject, she burst into tears. There was
+nothing left for me except to retreat, which I
+did with many apologies.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, to soften my despair, Carey told me
+he knew of a person, one Boydell, whom he
+thought would be glad to fill the position. A
+few days after, Carey brought him up and gave
+me an introduction. A tall man he was, six
+feet-one or two, with a fine presence, heightened
+by a peculiar dignity of manner and voice.
+There was dramatic power stamped upon his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>English face, with its square, massive jaw, firm
+mouth, and deep-set eyes. I had no idea of
+Boydell’s age. I could not have guessed it by
+fifteen years one way or the other. He was one
+of those singular individuals who might be
+twenty-five, thirty-five, or fifty. There were a
+few wrinkles about his bronzed features, but
+they were surely not the wrinkles of time. His
+thick, brown hair was combed straight back,
+and hung down behind his ears. His dress
+was what might be called the shabby-genteel.
+Black from head to foot, nothing in it was new,
+and one would almost think nothing ever had
+been new. The garments had apparently existed
+in just their present condition of wear
+from time immemorial. The coat was shiny
+across the back, and a trifle small too, as though
+it had originally been cut for a man of less
+length both in body and arms. On his feet he
+wore queer, English shoes, with broad spreading
+soles, and the extra space at the toes turned
+up after the fashion of a rocker. A silk hat,
+bell-crowned, with curved rim, such as we see in
+pictures of Beau Brummel, was set well back
+upon his head.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But, notwithstanding these peculiarities,
+there was something in his bearing that gave
+Boydell the appearance of a finished gentleman,
+and his fine address added to the impression he
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>created of eminent respectability. He accepted
+the position, and our business was speedily accomplished.
+I requested him to call on the
+following day, when I would be able to make
+the final arrangements for our departure, and
+he left with a dignified bow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Gathering together a company of actors and
+actresses from nowhere in particular, and attempting
+to form them into something like an
+organized troupe, is not by any means the most
+encouraging work with which one might employ
+himself. Again and again my patience was
+exhausted, and again and again I resolved to
+persevere. Several times we had almost been
+ready for action, when somebody would “back
+out,” and throw us once more into confusion.
+Now, however, I determined to surmount every
+difficulty, no matter what, so that the next train
+might bear us <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">en route</span></i> for the West.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>In the midst of the morning’s turmoil, Boydell
+made his appearance. I informed him of
+our arrangements, inquired where he kept his
+baggage, and told him I would send for it immediately.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“That will be unnecessary, as I have it with
+me. This, Sir, is my baggage.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>While Boydell spoke, he put his hand back
+into his coat-tail pocket and quietly drew out a
+scratch wig. I looked at his face to find something
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>which might belie the dignified voice, but
+there was not even the shadow of a smile breaking
+up its gravity. His countenance was as
+composed when he returned the wig to his
+pocket as though he had just shown to my
+admiring gaze a complete wardrobe of great
+magnificence. Indeed, I was so impressed by
+his aristocratic manner, that the ludicrous aspect
+of the interview hardly presented itself to
+me until it was over.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But I had no time to be amused, and, with
+the annoying trials that would turn up where I
+least expected them, no inclination. When I
+sent round for the luggage I found that two of
+the boys had “shoved up their trunks at their
+uncle’s,” and, as it was the last moment, I was
+compelled to redeem them. Then I hired a
+carriage, and went to conduct the <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soubrette</span></i>, to
+the depot. When I arrived in front of the
+house, <em>Madame</em>, <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la mere</span></i>, came out and informed
+me that her daughter could not go, would not
+go, unless I gave them fifteen dollars to get her
+front teeth away from the dentist’s! What
+could we do without a <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">soubrette</span></i>? With a groan
+I handed over the fifteen dollars.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Playing in the smaller towns along our route,
+we cleared our traveling expenses, and got into
+pretty good working order.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When we arrived at St. Joseph we gathered
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>up all our strength, and came out in full glory
+as “The New York Star Company.” There we
+played for three weeks to crowded audiences.
+On “salary days” the money was forthcoming,
+a rare occurrence with strolling actors, and of
+course we were all greatly delighted.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Under such circumstances our spirits ran high,
+and each one began to tell of the particular
+<i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôles</span></i> in which he or she had, in days gone by,
+electrified an audience and won applause. Boydell
+caught the infection. It happened that we
+had been running plays in which the “first old
+man” was, at best, only a “stick” part, and
+Boydell fretted considerably at his ill-luck.
+One night he came into the green-room, and
+to his inexpressible joy found himself cast for
+the part of “Colonel Damas” in Bulwer’s
+comedy of the “Lady of Lyons.” Now this
+was his pet <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rôle</span></i>, and at the intelligence he
+felt all his dramatic genius kindle into a fresh
+flame.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Boys,” he said, straightening up his dignified
+form, “Boys, you will see me make a great
+hit to-night. The passage commencing, ‘The
+man who sets his heart upon a woman is a chameleon,
+and doth feed on air,’ has never been to
+my mind rightly given.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Many of us had seen him do pretty well
+before, but now we looked forward to such an
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>effort as the stage in St. Joseph had never
+witnessed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The next evening I repaired to the theater
+half an hour earlier than usual, but found Boydell
+already dressed for the play. His shabby
+black coat looked more eminently respectable
+than ever, and was buttoned over smooth white
+linen, or what he made answer the purpose of
+linen,—half a yard of paper muslin folded into
+tucks, and pinned to his paper collar. In his
+hand ready for use he held his one valuable—the
+scratch wig. It still lacked a few minutes
+before he would be called, and he disappeared,
+as he said, to “steady his nerves.” Various
+winks and knowing looks passed among the
+boys; such disappearances on his part at this
+time of the evening were by no means rare or
+unaccountable.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Boydell came back and went directly on the
+stage. The excitement behind the scenes grew,
+for, although few of us would admit it, we all
+knew Boydell was a born actor, and we clustered
+eagerly around the wings in breathless
+expectation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He started out with dramatic gesture,—</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>“‘The man who sets his heart upon a woman</div>
+      <div class='line'>Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air—</div>
+      <div class='line in18'>On air—air—’”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly his voice grew fainter, and his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>sentences incoherent. Those few moments he
+had spent in “steadying his nerves” had taken
+every line of the text from his memory. He
+could barely keep upon his feet and blunder
+through his part with thick voice and uncertain
+step. He was fully aware of his powerless condition,
+and came off with a moody, crestfallen
+countenance.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the curtain finally dropped, as it was
+Monday night, they all assembled to receive
+their salary. Boydell stood a little apart from
+the others, leaning against a flat. One of the
+boys came forward and delivering a long, elaborate
+speech in the name of all the members,
+presented Boydell with a tin snuff-box to hold
+his wardrobe—“As a token of their appreciation
+of the great ‘hit’ he had made, and the
+glory it would reflect upon the troupe.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That night Boydell, from some unknown
+source, had scraped up two shillings.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He could take twice the quantity of liquor
+that would intoxicate any other man, and
+beyond a redness of the nose and a flushed
+glistening appearance about the “gills,” he
+manifested no symptom of intemperance. He
+had a trick of using his hand as a shield around
+the glass and pouring in whisky to the very
+brim, so he always got a double drink for one
+price. When the boys asked him why he held
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>the tumbler in that peculiar manner, “It was
+habit,” he said, “merely habit.” I remember
+at Lawrence, Kansas, they had unusually small
+glasses, and he went into a logical discussion
+with the bar-keeper to show the evil of the
+thing. It was wrong; it looked mean; it
+would ruin his custom. Not that he (Boydell)
+cared; it was nothing to him, it was only the
+<em>principle</em> he objected to; it appeared penurious.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Boxing, I found, was the one thing—aside
+from his acting—upon which Boydell prided
+himself. If he heard of a person about the
+neighborhood who made any pretentions in this
+respect, he would walk miles through rain or
+mud to vanquish the “presumptuous fool.” I
+could not keep from feeling interested in this
+singular man. Reared in the English colleges,
+with the polish of the classics upon him, destined
+and trained for the British army, he had
+given it all up for this worthless, roving, vagabond
+life. And yet—although degraded, intemperate,
+and often profane—there was still
+a natural reserve about Boydell that commanded
+respect.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Our expenses had been steadily increasing,
+and our finances did not prove equal to the
+demand; at least they would not justify a
+longer run. We played two weeks at Leavenworth
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>City, and disbanded, scattering in all
+directions.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I went home to M—— with a feeling of unutterable
+relief. My theatrical experience had
+brought me to the determination of letting the
+stage alone for the present, or trying it in a
+different capacity. Devoting my whole time
+to a more lucrative business, I heard nothing
+about any of the old troupe, and I did not care
+to see one of them again, unless it was Boydell.
+I had little hope of ever meeting him;
+it would be mere chance if I did, and I knew
+he might just as likely now be in Europe or
+Australia as in this country. But we were
+destined once more to come in contact.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>M—— was a flat, muddy, thriving little town
+in Western Illinois. It had built a theater, and
+was a focus for strolling actors and adventurers—a
+kind of center, where the remnant of
+theatrical troupes that had come to grief straggled
+in to recruit. The citizens did not consider
+this a very distinguishing characteristic
+to boast of, but in reality it was what raised
+the place out of oblivion; otherwise its few
+thousand inhabitants might, like their neighbors,
+have lived for ever in obscurity.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Early last Summer a business engagement
+took me to the suburbs of this town. The
+atmosphere was clear as crystal and glittering
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>with sunshine. The cherries hung dead-ripe
+upon the trees; the blackbirds chattered about
+them to each other with red-stained bills, and
+the cats, stretched lazily in the sunshine, watched
+the winged robbers with no charitable feelings.
+The leaves, if they were thirsty, complained
+but gently, and in the dry and pleasant
+fields the grasshoppers, without flagging, held
+a jubilee, and from the level pastures farther
+off came the sound of distant bells, and sometimes,
+close by the roadside, the farmers whetted
+their scythes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Coming towards me a man upon the turnpike
+was approaching the town on foot. As we
+neared each other, old recollections came back
+upon me. Yes, that tall erect figure seemed
+familiar—it was Boydell coming into M—— from
+parts unknown.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The same coat I had seen do such good
+service, only a little shinier now, was buttoned
+over the same—no, it was likely another piece
+of paper muslin. On his feet were a pair of
+shoes, a present undoubtedly, which lacked a
+size or more in length; but this trouble had
+been remedied by cutting out the counters, and
+strapping down his pantaloons to cover his
+naked heels. The fact that I knew his high
+silk hat, the one of olden times, had lost its
+crown, was owing entirely to the elevation I
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>gained by being on horseback. Under other
+circumstances it would never have been discovered,
+for the edges were trimmed smoothly
+round, and Boydell, as I said, was tall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And so I met him again, the same courtly
+vagabond, the same Boydell of former days.
+His bearing was majestic, almost regal; his
+dress was—a respectable shell. But there
+seemed to be a change, too. He did not look
+any older, although I noticed a little silver had
+sprinkled itself through his thick waving hair
+since we had parted, but there was something
+about his eyes that did not appear natural,
+and a tired, a weary expression sat upon his
+face—an expression I had never seen there
+before. Perhaps he had walked many miles.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I looked after him as he went on towards the
+town, thinking what an unsettled, wild, worthless
+life he led, this man with the divine gift of
+genius, this vagrant with the clinging air of
+gentility. Maybe fate was against him; maybe
+he really had higher aspirations; but without
+friends, without home, the cold, unsympathetic
+world had crushed them; and still watching,
+it suddenly entered my head how easily I could
+guess the contents of his coat-tail pocket!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Some little time after this meeting, when
+Boydell had almost passed out of my mind, a
+gentleman called at my office, and during our
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>conversation told me about a case of destitution
+that had accidentally come to his knowledge.
+At first I listened with well-bred indifference,
+for the experience I had acquired thoroughly
+cured all my philanthropic symptoms with
+which I had once been afflicted, but when he
+related the circumstances my interest awakened.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A man, a stranger, had stopped at the tavern
+on the suburbs of the town and fallen sick. He
+had no money, no friends, indeed he had not
+even a shirt to his back, and the landlord
+threatened to turn him out, utterly helpless as
+he was. I suddenly thought of Boydell, and
+inquired the man’s name. My friend could not
+recall it, but said he represented himself as an
+actor; though the landlord did not place much
+reliance on this statement, for the fellow had no
+wardrobe of any description, and the only thing
+in his possession was a scratch wig, which a
+black-leg would be as likely to own as an actor.
+This dispelled what little doubt had remained in
+my mind. It was Boydell, and something must
+be done at once for his relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Generosity does not prevail in any profession
+to a greater extent, especially among the lower
+members, than it does in the dramatic. As it
+was the hour for rehearsal, we went up to the
+theater. We told of Boydell’s condition, and I
+related what I knew of his history. One appeal
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>was sufficient; the contribution they made up
+would at least relieve his present wants.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There, at the tavern, we found him in a
+stupor. Neglected, without the barest necessities,
+he had had no medical attendance of any
+kind. In a room high up under the roof he was
+lying across a broken bedstead, on a worn-out
+husk mattress, with nothing to shade him from
+the fierce, blazing sun or the crawling flies that
+kept up a loud, incessant buzz. And he had
+been sick eight days. On the floor old Mounse
+had crammed himself into the one shady corner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Old Mounse was a besotted beggar round town
+who had arrived at the state where the rims of
+his eyelids appeared to be turned inside out and
+resembled raw beefsteak. The landlady, who
+was somewhat more compassionate than her
+worser half, fearing that Boydell might die on
+her hands, had sent up old Mounse, an hour ago,
+with a little gruel which he had swallowed himself,
+and was then peacefully snoring in the
+corner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We sent immediately for a physician, and
+employed ourselves in having Boydell removed
+to another apartment, where, at least, he might
+escape being broiled to death by the sun, or devoured
+by flies. When the doctor arrived, we
+had him fixed in quite comfortable quarters.
+Boydell’s disease, as we feared, was a severe
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>form of the typhoid fever. From the lifeless
+stupor, he suddenly broke into the wild ravings
+of delirium, so that our combined strength could
+hardly avail to keep him upon the bed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We reinstated old Mounse on his watch, only
+with strict orders that the granulated eyelids
+were to be kept wide open. Old Mounse was
+one of those rare persons with the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">delirium
+tremens</span></i>, who had hovered on the verge of dissolution
+for thirty years, and still lived along.
+Palsied and feeble, and crippled and unshaven,
+and dirty and whiny, he just managed to keep
+himself on this side of the grave. The adjective
+“old,” which had become a prefix to his name,
+could not have been better applied, for his
+clothes, too, were ready at any moment to keep
+him company and return to their original
+element. Old Mounse’s one merit was, he had
+become so aged that he could just do what he
+was told and nothing more. The case had assumed
+altogether a new aspect to him, now that
+Boydell seemed to have friends.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Every day the doctor reported the condition
+of his patient, which grew more and more unfavorable,
+until one morning he came and told
+us he thought Boydell had not over twenty-four
+hours to live. We went immediately to the
+tavern with him. Boydell, for the first time
+since his illness, was perfectly conscious. Here,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>in the silence of this barren room, unhallowed
+by the presence of sorrowing ones, the wild,
+reckless life was drawing to a close. It seemed
+as if the specter hands of death were already
+stretched out to snap the last binding thread.
+The face on the pillow, haggard and ghastly
+with its hollow cheeks, very little resembled
+the one over which that weary, indefinable
+expression, the shadow, the forerunner of the
+fever, had crept but three weeks ago. Boydell
+recognized me, and motioned to a chair beside
+the bed. He made two or three efforts before
+he spoke.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am going to die—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>We could only answer by silence. It was
+something terrible to see this strong man, now
+weaker than an infant, lie calmly on the brink
+of eternity; even old Mounse dropped his beefy
+lids, and drew back with a subdued sniffle of
+awe. We asked if there was any thing that he
+wished done. After a little he turned his head
+that his voice might the better reach us.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have relatives—it will not matter to them
+that I am gone; they hold themselves up in the
+world; it will only be a disgrace wiped out;
+but—I would like them to know, and when I am
+dead, why—I wish you would please write to—to
+my brother. I have not heard from him for
+nearly fifteen years.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>He closed his eyes, and seemed to dream, but
+presently roused himself, and looked anxiously
+about the room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There was something else—oh, yes. Tell
+him that—I am gone. He is rector of St.
+Paul’s Church, S——, Lower Canada.” He
+paused and then said slowly, as though repeating
+his words for the first time, “It is no
+matter—but tell him I am—dead.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He felt up and down the seam of the quilt
+feebly with his fingers, then closed his eyes
+again in unconsciousness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All day the dread phantom hands seemed to
+hover closer to that quivering thread of life,
+until sometimes we almost thought it broken;
+but at nightfall they receded, and the shred
+strengthened. There was a change for the
+better, and Boydell fell into soft, natural
+slumber.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Several days after this it occurred to me that
+if Boydell had relatives in Canada who were
+well off, they ought to help him in his time of
+need. Without making him or any one else acquainted
+with my intention, I wrote a letter
+setting forth Boydell’s illness and utterly destitute
+condition among strangers. As they held
+no communication with Boydell, they would
+hardly be willing to send him the money. I
+was unknown, and to assure them it was no imposition,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>I wrote if they wished to send any
+assistance, direct “To the Pastor of the First
+Presbyterian Church, M——, Illinois.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>About a week later that minister came to me
+and showed a letter post-marked S——, which
+contained a check for three hundred dollars.
+It specified that the money was to be given to
+Boydell only on condition that he would promise
+to renounce the stage forever, and so soon as
+he was able to travel, come home to his relatives.
+I felt delighted at the success of my
+plan, for of course he would accept the money,
+and whether he fulfilled his promise afterwards
+by renouncing the stage and going home to
+Canada, which would be extremely doubtful, I
+considered was no business of mine.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When we entered his room, Boydell was
+propped up almost in a sitting posture by pillows.
+The window-shutter had been thrown
+partly open to admit the air, and a narrow
+streak of sunlight fell across the bed. We told
+him of the good news, and after we had made
+him understand how it had all come about, read
+the letter aloud. He listened in perfect silence,
+without changing position, and when it was
+finished, took the check and said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Three hundred dollars?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes,” we said, “it is three hundred dollars.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He held the slip of paper in his emaciated
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>hands, that trembled with weakness, and
+repeated,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Three hundred dollars—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He seemed trying to convince himself of its
+reality; but suddenly a bewildered expression
+broke over his face, and he looked from the
+check to the letter, which still laid open. We
+asked Boydell if he wished to hear it again, but
+at the second reading his bewilderment only
+seemed to increase. He looked at us with an
+inquiring gaze that wandered round the bare,
+desolate room, and settled on the strip of blue
+sky in the window. Then he said, as if asking
+himself the question,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Give up the stage? Renounce the stage?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>His eyes came back to the money in his hand.
+Presently he folded it up, pressing the creases
+with his thin fingers, and slowly holding it out,
+shook his head saying,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Send it back.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The ribbon of sunlight had crept further and
+further round until it stretched itself across the
+broad, white forehead, and we stood in greater
+awe than when the angel of death had hovered
+there. Suddenly before us a dazzling ray had
+flashed out from the black waste of that sinful
+life. The unbroken check went back to Canada.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A month later I was riding in the country.
+A purple light overhung the shadowy prairie,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>which stretched away, broad, level and without
+bound. Occasionally a wild bird rose up and
+darted with swift wings, seeking a resting place,
+for already the September moon waited the
+coming night. Nearer, the tall weeds raised
+themselves from the great, soundless ocean of
+grass, like the masts of receding vessels. A
+single wagon, the only object on all the void
+prairie, stood out bold and sharp against the
+bright line of the horizon, and clearly defined
+above the driver, high up on top of the hay, the
+figure of a man cut the sky. Even at that distance
+I knew it was Boydell.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Some one had given him a little money, and
+with renewed health and spirits he was going
+out of M——. Whither?</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_148.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_149.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE DEATH-WATCH.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_149.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+“Didn’t you hear it?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“When?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Just now.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“They say it foretells death. Hush!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The two men sat motionless. Not a sound
+broke the silence, not even a creak of the old
+boards in the floor, or a sigh of the wind, or a
+flapping shutter.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“They say it foretells death. I heard it last
+night and the night before. What’s that?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nothing. It’s stiller than a graveyard.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I heard it last night, and the night before
+about this time, near one. ’Taint a very pleasant
+sound, and this old garret’s dismal enough
+any way.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Monk, you’re afeard. It’s nothing. Don’t
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>waste no more time. I’m dead-tired and sleepy.
+You wouldn’t have been in this old hole now
+if it hadn’t been for Peters.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, if it hadn’t been for Peters, the strike,
+like enough, would have took. But he won’t
+stand in nobody’s way again.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>While Monk spoke, he drew out a sharp,
+slender knife, and ran his finger along the
+blade.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I tell you, Shiflet, we must do it the night
+after this blast’s done, and the men in the shed
+say the coal will run out on the 6th, that’s to-morrow.
+When Peters is fixed, the managers
+will have to give in or quit runnin’ the
+furnace.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Both men sat with their arms leaning on the
+table, and the flickering light of the tallow candle
+between them showed two faces, rough,
+begrimed by smoke and soot, and disfigured by
+evil passions, that grew fiercer as they calmly
+plotted against the life of a fellow-being.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We’ll meet at one, where the roads cross.
+It’ll be quiet then, and Peters’s house is alone.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’ll be all right,” said Shiflet, with a grin
+that rendered his brute-like countenance doubly
+repulsive. “I’m confounded tired. Bring
+your candle and light me down them infernal
+stairs.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The men stood up. Monk, small and slim,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>was dwarfed by the almost giant stature of his
+companion. With a few parting words as to
+secrecy and silence, they separated.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk stood on the upper step until Shiflet
+disappeared, then closed the door and replaced
+the candle on the table.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The room, neither large nor small, was a mere
+hole, smoked, dirty, and unplastered, high up
+in a frame tenement-house. Two or three
+chairs, an old chest of drawers, a rickety bedstead,
+and pine table, composed its furniture.
+Some old boots and broken pieces of pig-iron
+lay scattered about. The small, box-shaped
+window was set just below where the ceiling or
+roof sloped to the wall. The only door led directly
+to the stairs that went down two, three
+flights to the ground. There were many such
+places in Agatha, where the furnace-hands
+lived.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk walked rapidly up and down the room,
+as if making an effort to wear off the excitement
+that the last few moments had brought
+upon him. His features had lost much of the
+malignant expression, which was by no means
+habitual. His countenance was not hardened
+or stamped with the impress of crime like Shiflet’s,
+who had just parted from him at the door—a
+countenance in which every trace of conscience
+had long ago been erased. Monk’s face
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>was neither good nor bad, neither bright nor
+dull; but he was a man easily wrought into a
+passion, governed by impulse.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Crossing to the table, he slung his coat over
+a chair, and stretched out his hand to extinguish
+the light. Midway in the action he suddenly
+checked himself, looked hurriedly around
+the room for an instant, and stood motionless,
+with inclined head, listening intently. Not a
+sound disturbed the stillness. Pinching out
+the light, he threw himself on the bed, and in
+the darkness there soon came the heavy, regular
+respiration of sleep.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The house at Agatha nestled under the north
+cliff. A hundred feet above them the railroad
+lost itself in the black mouth of a tunnel and
+reappeared beyond, a high wall of trestlework
+stretching southward down the valley to Ely’s
+Mines. Hours ago, the toiling men and cattle
+had lain down to rest, and now the wild, rocky
+hills around slept in the moonlight. No sound
+broke upon the stillness but the muffled puff,
+puff, of the furnace, and a murmur of frogs that
+rose and fell interruptedly along the shrunken
+water-course. The cabins under the cliff shone
+white and sharp; the iron on the metal-switch
+flashed with a million gems; the rails upon the
+trestle, receding, turned to silver, and the
+foliage of early Summer glittered on the trees.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>A few passionless stars blinked feebly in the
+yellow light, where the hill-tops cut against
+the sky, and sank below the verge. Calmly,
+peacefully waned the night—calmly and peacefully,
+as though the spirit of evil had not stalked
+abroad plotting the death and ruin of men’s
+bodies and souls.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That narrow spot of ground, with the houses
+down in the valley, formed the world for four
+hundred people. The furnace-hands and their
+families saw nothing beyond the hills and rocks
+that hemmed in their village; knew nothing of
+the mad tumults outside. An untaught, sturdy
+race of men, they differed little one from another.
+Every day, when the sun rose, they
+went forth to toil, and every night, when the
+great furnace over the creek glimmered red,
+they lay down to sleep. But ignorance and
+superstition filled their hearts, and anger, and
+hate, and jealousy, were as rife among them as
+in the crowded cities.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Another day passed, and the night which
+followed it was dark and cloudy. Near midnight,
+the great bell signalled for the last run
+of iron. Occasionally blue flames leaped up
+from the furnace, lurid as the fiery tongues of
+a volcano. The long and narrow roof brooded
+over the sand-bed like the black wings of some
+monster bird hovering in the air. Under its
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>shadow groups of men were but wavering,
+dusky figures. Suddenly, as an electric flash,
+a dazzling yellow glare broke out, and a fierce,
+scorching, withering blast swept from an opening
+that seemed the mouth of hell itself.
+Slowly out of the burning cavern a hissing
+stream of molten iron came creeping down. It
+crawled, and turned and crawled, rib after rib,
+until it lay like some huge skeleton stretched
+upon the ground. A thin vapor floated up in
+the sulphurous air and quivered with reflected
+splendor. The scarlet-shirted men looked
+weird in the unearthly brightness. The yellow
+glow faded to red, that deepened to a blood-colored
+spot in the night. The bell rang to
+discharge the hands, and squads of men broke
+up, scattering in the dark.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk went to his garret-room, hesitated a
+moment at the door, then passed in and shut it
+so violently that the floor shook. He struck a
+match. In the brimstone light a horrible demon
+countenance wavered, blue and ghastly; but,
+when the candle flamed, it grew into Monk’s
+face, covered by the black scowl of rage that
+had disfigured it once before—a rage that was
+freshly roused.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“If I’d had my knife, I’d have done it just
+now, when I stumbled against him. But he
+dies to-morrow night at—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>The words froze on his lips, and his black
+scowling face was suddenly overspread by a
+strange pallor. He stood motionless, as if
+chained to the floor, his eyes darted quickly
+about, and he seemed to suspend his very breath.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A clear, distinct, ticking sound occurred at
+regular intervals for a minute, and left profound
+silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk raised his head.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It’s a sign of coming death. That’s for
+Peters. There it is again!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The strange sound, like a faint metallic click,
+repeated itself several times.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“D—n it! I don’t like to hear the thing.
+But there <em>will</em> be a sudden death.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Time after time Monk heard at intervals the
+same faint sound, like the ticking of a watch for
+a minute, and it made his blood run cold. He
+found himself listening to it with terror, and
+in the long silence, always straining his ears to
+catch it, always expecting, dreading its repetition,
+until the thing grew more horrible to him
+than a nightmare. Sometimes he would fall
+into a doze, and, wakening with a start, hear it,
+while cold perspiration broke in drops on his
+forehead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It grew intolerable. He swore he would find
+the thing and kill it, but it mocked him in his
+search. The sound seemed to come from the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>table, but when he stood beside the table it
+ticked so distinctly at the window that he
+thought he could put his finger on the spot;
+but when he tried to, it had changed again, and
+sounded at the head of his bed. Sometimes it
+seemed close at his right, and he turned only to
+hear it on the other side, then in front, then behind.
+Again and again he searched, and swore
+in his exasperation and disappointment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sound became exaggerated by his distempered
+imagination, till he trembled lest some
+one else should hear this omen which so plainly
+foretold his anticipated crime. Once an hour
+dragged by, and his unseen tormentor was silent.
+His eyes, that had glittered with deathly hatred,
+now wore a startled look, and wandered restlessly
+about the room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>An owl, that perched on the topmost branch
+of a high tree near by, screamed loud and long.
+A bat flew in at the open window, banged
+against the ceiling, and darted out.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk shivered. Leaning his head between
+his arms, he drummed nervously on the table
+with his fingers. Instantly the clear metallic
+click sounded again. He looked up, and a
+strange light broke into his face, a mixed expression
+of amazement and fright. For a moment
+he seemed stupefied, then raising his hand
+he tapped lightly against the wood with his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>finger-nail. The last tap had not died until it
+was answered by what seemed like a fainter
+repetition of itself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Uttering a fearful oath, Monk recoiled from
+the table, but, as if drawn back and held by a
+weird fascination, he sat an hour striking the
+hard surface with his nails, and pausing for the
+response that each time came clear and distinct.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Gray streaks crept along the east, and
+quivered like a faded fringe bordering the black
+canopy. Still he sat tapping, but no answer
+came. He waited, listened vainly; no echo, no
+sound, and the dull, hueless light of the cloudy
+morning glimmered at his window. Then he
+threw himself on his bed, and fell into restless
+slumbers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A damp thick fog enveloped the houses in its
+slimy embrace. At nightfall its reeking folds
+gathered themselves from the ground, and a
+noiseless drizzle came sullenly down.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk had not stirred from his room all day.
+The feverish sleep into which he had fallen fled
+from him before noon, and now he stood at his
+window looking out into the blackness. A
+clammy air blew against his face. He stretched
+out his hand and drew it back suddenly, as if
+he had touched the dead. It was cold and
+moist. He rubbed it violently against his clothes,
+as though he could not wipe off the dampness.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>A tremor seized upon him. Hark! was that the
+dripping of water? No. A sickly smile played
+over his countenance. He went to the table
+and tapped lightly with his fingers, as he had
+done before. In another moment the taps were
+answered, and he involuntarily counted as they
+came, one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—then
+all was silent. He made the call
+a second time, he tried it over and over, and at
+each response it ticked seven times, never more,
+never less, but seven times clearly, distinctly.
+Suddenly he sprang up, and through shut teeth
+hissed,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The seventh day, by Heaven! But I’ll
+cheat you—I’ll not kill him!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He darted noiselessly down the stairs, and
+struck out through the woods. In half an hour
+he emerged on the edge of a clearing, a dozen
+yards from a chopper’s cabin. Creeping stealthily
+to the door he shook it, then after a moment’s
+irresolution cried out,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Peters! Peters! look out for Shiflet. He
+has sworn to murder you to-night.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Without waiting for a reply he sprang away,
+and was quickly lost among the trees.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A moment afterward a tall form arose out of
+the shadow of a stump near the cabin, and
+passed rapidly in an opposite direction.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the summit of the hill east of Agatha, a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>steep precipice is formed by a great, bare, projecting
+rock. From the valley, its outline resembles
+an enormous face in profile, and they
+call it “The Devil’s Head.” The full moon
+rendered the unbroken mass of cloud translucent,
+producing a peculiar sinister effect. The
+mist still blew through the air, but in the zenith
+there was a dull ashen hue, and the surrounding
+cloud was the color of earth. The far-off
+hills loomed up majestic, terrible, against the
+gloom; nearer objects were strangely magnified
+in the tawny light. At the foot of this phantom
+crag, on a terrace, is the ore-bank and blackened
+coal-shed. Below rose the metal-stack,
+from whose stone hearth a waste of sand sloped
+gently to the creek. The furnace squatted grim
+and black. Its blood-shot eye was shut; its
+gaping throat uttered no sigh, no groan; its
+throbbing pulse was stilled—the fierce, struggling
+monster was dead. The only bright spot
+in all the valley was the yellow circle made by
+the watchman’s lantern in the coal-shed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>After leaving the “choppings,” Monk threaded
+his way through the forest, coming out at last
+on the open road. This road led directly over
+the “Devil’s Head,” and entered the valley by
+a steep descent half a mile to the south. At
+the precipice Monk paused. The wind eddied
+with a mournful wail, and the constant motion
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>of tall trees gave the scene almost the wavering,
+unsubstantial appearance of a vision.
+There was something oppressive in this strange
+midnight twilight, but Monk did not feel it.
+He only felt relief, inexpressible relief; he only
+stopped there to breathe, to breathe freely once
+more with the heavy weight thrown from him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>After a moment he ran carelessly down the
+hill, passed under the ore-cars and into the coal-shed.
+He hailed Patterson, the watchman, and
+the lantern threw gigantic shadows of the two
+men over the ground. Then he walked along
+the narrow cinder-road leading to the bridge
+over the creek. Sometimes the willows, that
+grew on either side, swept their damp hair
+against his face. An hour ago he would have
+started convulsively, now he heeded not, for he
+was free and light of heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Monk reached the stairs, and ascended to his
+room. As he passed in, the powerful figure of
+Shiflet sprang upon him from behind. There
+was a scuffle, some muttered oaths, then a heavy
+fall. Monk lay stretched upon the floor motionless,
+lifeless, and the echo of fleeing steps died
+away, leaving the place still as the now silent
+death-watch.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_161.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE MAN AT THE CRIB.<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c013'><sup>[1]</sup></a></h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_161.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+One morning in the Spring of 1867—whether
+in April or May I am now
+unable certainly to determine, but
+think it was in the latter month—I was sitting
+at the breakfast-table, leisurely reading the
+morning paper, and enjoying my last cup of
+coffee, when my eye accidentally fell upon the
+following advertisement:—</p>
+
+<p class='c011'>“WANTED—A reliable man to take charge of the Crib.
+An unmarried German preferred. One who can come well
+recommended, and give bond for faithful performance of
+duty, will receive a liberal salary. Apply immediately to
+the Board of Public Works, Pumping Department, Nos. 15
+and 17 South Wells Street.”</p>
+
+<div class='footnote' id='f1'>
+<p class='c006'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. The Crib is the name given to the isolated structure at
+the opening of the Chicago Water Works tunnel, in the
+lake, two miles from the shore.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'>My attention was arrested by the thought of
+so strange an occupation, and whether any one
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>would be found willing to accept the situation
+and live alone in the crib two miles from the
+shore. There all companionship would be cut
+off, and I wondered what effect the utter solitude
+and confinement in the small round building
+rising out of the water, with little in the
+scenery to relieve the eye, and nothing to rest
+the ear from the continual dashing of the waves
+against the frame sides—I wondered what
+effect it would have upon the occupant.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It happened I had been lecturing before a
+class of medical students in one of our colleges
+upon the relation of mind to body, and it occurred
+to me that this crib-tender might prove
+an illustration of my theory. His mind would
+have afforded it an opportunity to prey upon itself,
+and might become perverted. Under certain
+circumstances the mental exerts an influence
+over the physical system, aside from the voluntary
+volition of the will, and it frequently
+transpires that what is mere illusion in the
+spiritual nature appears a reality to the material,
+so closely are the two linked together.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My interest being awakened, I secretly determined
+that I would try to discover who
+accepted this situation, and notice, if possible,
+what effect it would produce upon the keeper.
+Some time later I learned that the above advertisement
+had been answered the same day
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>(the exact date I can not remember) by a German,
+one Gustav Stahlmann, who presented
+himself at the address indicated, and applied for
+the situation. After a slight examination he
+proved satisfactory in every respect. His recommendations
+were of the highest kind and bore
+testimony to his strict integrity and upright
+character.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The position was accordingly offered to him,
+provided he would be willing to comply with
+certain conditions. First, that in accepting it
+he would bind himself to remain in the situation
+at least two years; and, secondly, that during
+that period, he would upon no occasion or
+pretense whatever, leave the crib. He manifested
+little hesitation in assenting to these
+requirements, as the salary was good, and an
+opportunity afforded for resting from the severe
+labor to which he had been accustomed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>All necessary arrangements were completed,
+and upon the following day, with his dog for
+the sole companion of his future home, he had
+been taken out and instructed in the duties of
+his office. These were few and light, consisting
+mainly of attention to the water-gates of the
+tunnel, opening and closing them as required,
+and removing any obstructions which might
+clog their action. At night he was to trim and
+light the lamp which had been placed on the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>apex of the roof as a warning to passing vessels.
+This was all; the remainder of the time lay at
+his own disposal. A boy might readily have
+accomplished this labor, and he congratulated
+himself upon his good luck in securing so easy
+a berth—one, too, which yielded a good income.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The first time I saw Stahlmann myself was
+soon after he had accepted the situation. If I
+recollect rightly, he told me he had been a
+month on the Crib. I had rowed myself out
+from the foot of Twelfth Street in a small boat.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At this early period in its history the Crib
+was not so well finished and comfortable as now,
+but was bare and barn-like, being in fact nothing
+more than a round unplastered house, rising out
+of the lake. The wooden floor, which was some
+fifteen feet above the water, contained in its
+center a well about six feet in diameter, around
+which arose the iron rods of the water-gates.
+A small room, the only apartment, had been
+partitioned off by three plank walls from the
+southeastern part of the circular interior, and
+furnished for the abode of the keeper. If it
+were rough, there was all present that he could
+reasonably desire for his comfort. A sufficient
+supply of provisions were delivered to him
+once a month by a tug-boat from the city.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I found Stahlmann to be a man rather above
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>the medium height, with a broad muscular
+frame, but there were no evidences of sluggishness
+in his movements; on the contrary, his
+elasticity and gracefulness betokened great
+powers of endurance, and indicated to me
+activity both of body and mind. He was perhaps
+thirty-five years of age, and his frank, open
+countenance was marked by regular features
+of a somewhat intellectual cast; honesty and
+principle were plainly visible in his face, and a
+ready command of language betrayed considerable
+education. He impressed me as superior
+to the majority of men in his rank of life, and
+from this conclusion I was none the less driven
+by the appearance of his coarse and soiled
+clothing. I engaged him in conversation, into
+which he was easily drawn, and I was surprised
+by the native love of the beautiful which he
+evidently possessed. He seemed to take great
+pleasure in pointing out the beauties in the
+scene that laid before our view.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun was scarcely an hour high, and we
+could hardly turn our eyes eastward for the
+splendor of his rays reflected on the water. To
+the north the sea-like horizon was flecked by
+the white sails of retreating vessels, some hull-down
+in the distance, others uncertain specks
+vanishing from our range of vision. Stretching
+along the shore to the westward, Chicago shot
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>a hundred spires, glistening and glorified, into
+the morning sunlight, while just opposite us
+stood the grim lighthouse, a motionless sentinel
+keeping watch over the harbor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I admitted the attraction of the scene, and
+made an effort to turn the conversation to his
+private life. He was easily led to talk of himself,
+although he did it in a natural and unaffected
+manner. I gathered that he was born
+in Bavaria, and that when he had attained his
+sixteenth year, some difficulty had driven his
+parents to this country. They were well educated,
+but misfortune compelled them, on their
+arrival, to put their son to labor. The instruction
+he had received in the Fatherland had
+evidently strengthened his powers of observation
+and quickened his understanding.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I asked him if he did not find his life at the
+Crib very tiresome, and what he did to pass
+away the time. I remarked that I believed, if
+I were in his place, I would be smitten most
+fearfully with the blues. He laughed good
+humoredly, and said he had never been troubled
+in that manner, that there were daily a
+great number of visitors, curiosity-seekers,
+which the Crib attracted, as it was altogether
+novel, and had but just been completed. Then
+he said he had his dog for companionship, and
+that they lived very pleasantly together. He
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>was evidently much attached to this animal,
+whom he called Caspar, for he frequently interrupted
+the conversation to stroke it on the
+head. I was astonished to find him well acquainted
+with the current news of the day, but
+he readily explained this, for usually some one
+who came out carried a paper, which was willingly
+given to him, and having nothing else to
+occupy his time he read it much more carefully
+than we do who are in the turmoil of the city.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Towards the middle of the day I left him,
+almost envying his peaceful life and happy contentment,
+yet doubting if this would last long,
+for, after the novelty wore away, I could not
+help thinking that he might find his solitary
+existence less pleasing. I had become wonderfully
+interested in this man, and determined to
+pay him another visit when I could again find
+half a day to devote to pleasure.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was not, however, until the following September
+that I could spare time for another trip
+to the Crib. This visit, as I said, had been
+prompted out of curiosity to watch the effects
+of this solitary life upon Stahlmann. Although
+four months had elapsed, I found him situated
+just as I had left him, and by the appearance
+of the surroundings, I might have almost believed
+it was but yesterday I had looked upon
+him. When I remarked this to him, I noticed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>a peculiar smile play across his features, and it
+struck me that his face had not the same happy
+expression which had so pleased me before. I
+observed, too, that he carried himself in a
+listless manner, very unlike his former erect
+bearing. I found him, however, just as readily
+drawn into conversation, although some
+of his old enthusiasm was gone, and he manifested
+an evident disinclination to speak of himself,
+for when I made an effort to bring up the
+subject, he displayed considerable skill in evading
+it. This was repeated again and again
+until I found that he would not be forced to it,
+but I saw full well by his actions that he had
+already grown tired of his monotonous life. All
+my jokes about the solitude, which he had
+laughed at before, were now received in silence
+and with furtive glances. Evidently it had
+become a serious matter, and I dropped the
+disagreeable subject.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He inquired most eagerly for any news, and
+said he had not seen a paper for almost a week,
+as the wet weather had interfered with visitors,
+preventing any one from coming out. When I
+left he repeatedly invited me to come again,
+which I promised to do, as in our slight intercourse
+we had struck up a mutual friendship.
+My interest, too, had been increased, as I
+plainly saw that his life had become distasteful
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>to him, and I had considerable curiosity to
+ascertain whether he would, according to his
+promise, remain the two full years upon the
+Crib; at any rate, I concluded that I would
+not lose sight of him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Directly after this visit, business arrangements
+called me away from home, and detained
+me in New York City without interruption
+until last May. During this period, of course,
+I had no means of learning any thing whatever
+concerning Gustav Stahlmann. On my return,
+the first glimpse I caught of the familiar lake
+recalled him to my memory, and revived the
+old interest. I determined to renew our former
+acquaintance, but found, to my great disappointment,
+that all visitors to the Crib had
+been prohibited by the authorities soon after I
+was called from home; yet I did not give up in
+my attempt to find out if he still remained in
+his situation. After many fruitless inquiries,
+I finally learned that he was dead. This was
+the only knowledge I could gain, and, disappointed
+by the sad intelligence, I dismissed the
+subject from my mind.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A week ago I made the startling discovery
+that the Crib at the eastern terminus of the
+lake tunnel, within the year following its completion,
+had been the scene of a tragedy, the
+particulars of which, when I learned them,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>thrilled me with horror, and called forth my
+profoundest sympathy for the poor victim.
+The whole circumstance had been so carefully
+kept secret by an enforced reticence on the part
+of the authorities, that beyond two or three
+individuals no one in Chicago had the slightest
+suspicion of the sickening drama which was
+enacted but two miles from her shores.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I was walking through the Court House
+looking at the arrangement of the newly erected
+portion of the building, and while in the
+rooms occupied by the Water Board, I accidentally
+stumbled upon an old memorandum
+book which had evidently been misplaced during
+the recent removal of this department from
+their old quarters on Wells Street to the first
+floor of the west wing. Upon examination it
+proved to be a kind of diary, and was written
+with pencil in the German character. On the
+inside of the front cover, near the upper right
+hand corner, was inscribed the name Gustav
+Stahlmann, and underneath a date—1865. A
+small portion of the book, the first part, was
+filled with accounts, some of them of expenditures,
+others memoranda of days’ work in different
+parts of the city, and under various foremen.
+But it was to the body of the book that
+my attention was particularly called. This was
+in the journal form, being a record of successive
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>occurrences with the attending thoughts. The
+entries were made at irregular intervals and
+without any regard to system. Sometimes it
+had been written in daily for a considerable
+period, then dropped, and taken up again apparently
+at the whim of the owner. In places
+there appeared no connection between the parts
+separated by a break of even short duration;
+at others the sense was obscure, and could only
+be attained by implication. The earliest records
+in the second part were in June, 1867,
+and I found dates regularly inserted as late as
+the November following. In December they
+ceased entirely; afterward the diary, if such it
+might then be called, was either by the day or
+the week, or without any direct evidence as to
+the time when the circumstances therein narrated
+had occurred. In fact, throughout the
+whole of the concluding portion there was nothing
+to indicate that the matter had not been
+written on a single occasion, except the variations
+which almost every person’s hand-writing
+exhibits when produced under different degrees
+of nervous excitement.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From this black morocco memorandum book;
+from the hand-writing of Gustav Stahlmann
+himself, I learned the incidents of his career
+after I parted from him. They constitute the
+history of a fate so horrible in every respect, that
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>I shudder at the thought that any human being
+was doomed to experience it.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The main facts in this narrative I have translated,
+sometimes literally, at others using my
+own language, where the thoughts in the
+original were so carelessly or obscurely expressed
+as to render any other course simply impossible.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It seems, as I supposed, that when Stahlmann
+was first settled in the Crib, he was greatly
+pleased with his situation. The weather was
+mild and beautiful; the fresh air blowing across
+the water was a grateful change from the close
+and dusty atmosphere of Chicago. Many of
+his old friends came out to take a look at his
+new quarters, and almost surveyed them with
+envy while listening to an account of his easy,
+untroubled life. At dusk, after he had lighted
+his lamp, and it threw out its rays, he would
+watch to see how suddenly in the distance, as
+if to keep it company, the great white beacon
+in the lighthouse would flash out, burning
+bright and clear. Then along the western shore
+the city lights, one by one, would kindle up,
+multiplying into a thousand twinkling stars that
+threw a halo against the sky. Afterwards the
+soughing of the waves as they washed up the
+sides of his abode, fell pleasantly on his ear, and
+lulled him to sleep with Caspar lying at his feet.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But it seemed as if the same day came again
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>and again, for still the waters broke around
+him, and still night after night the same lights
+flashed and burned. Then the time appeared
+to become longer, and he watched more eagerly
+for the arrival of some visitors, but, if his watching
+had been in vain, he went wearily to sleep
+at night with a feeling of disappointment, only
+to waken and go through the same cheerless
+routine. Sometimes for a whole week he would
+not see a single human being nor hear the sound
+of a human voice, save his own when he spoke
+to the dog, who seemed by sagacious instinct to
+sympathize in his master’s lonesome position,
+and capered about until he would attract his attention,
+and be rewarded by an approving word
+and caress upon the head.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Visitors had become less and less frequent
+until the last of September, when they ceased
+altogether. Stahlmann in trying to explain
+this to himself correctly concluded that the
+authorities must have prohibited them, as he
+had heard some time previously they entertained
+such an intention, although he had been reluctant
+to believe it, and still vainly hoped that it might
+not be true. But time only confirmed the suspicion
+which he had been so unwilling to accept,
+and although within two miles of a crowded
+city, he found himself completely isolated, cut
+off, as it were, from the human race.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>Then he searched for something that might
+amuse him and help wear away the interminable
+days, but he found nothing. He would have
+been glad even if only the old newspapers had
+been preserved that he might re-read them, but
+they were destroyed, and he owned no books.
+His former severe labor, performed in company
+with his fellow men, was now far preferable in
+his eyes to this complete solitude, with nothing
+to occupy his hands or mind. He saw the
+vessels pass until they seemed to become companions
+for him in his loneliness; he had watched
+them all the Summer, but the winds grew
+chill and rough, sweeping out of sullen clouds,
+and boisterously drove home the ships.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stahlmann found himself utterly alone on the
+wide lake, and the fierce blasts howled around
+his frame house, covering it with spray from
+the lashing billows that seemed ready to engulf
+it. Crusts of ice formed and snapped, rattling
+down to the waves. Heavy snow fell, but did
+not whiten the unchanging scenery, for it was
+drowned in the waste of waters. Night after
+night he lit the beacon and looked yearningly
+westward to the starred city. Then the solitude
+grew intolerable. It was like the vision of
+heaven to the lost spirits shut out in darkness
+forever. He was alone, all alone, craving even
+for the sound of a kindred voice, so that he cried
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>out in his anguish. The flickering lights he
+was watching threw their rays over thousands
+of human beings, yet there was not one to
+answer his despairing call.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Sleep would no longer allow him to forget
+that he was shut out from all human society,
+for he lost consciousness of his lonesome position
+only to find himself struggling in some nightmare
+ocean, where there was no eye to see his
+distress. Then he would be awakened by the
+dog rubbing his nose against his face, and knew
+he had groaned aloud in his troubled slumber,
+and Caspar had crawled closer, as if to comfort
+his unhappy master. Sometimes the tempter
+whispered escape—escape from this Crib, which
+had been so correctly named, for it had, indeed,
+become a dismal cage. He felt himself strong
+to combat the waves in flying from the horrible
+solitude; he could swim twice the distance in
+his eagerness to be once again among his fellow
+beings; but his high principles shrank in horror
+from the thought of violating a promise. He
+had solemnly given his word that he would remain
+upon the place, and it bound him stronger
+than chains of iron. He cast the thought, which
+had dared to arise in his mind, from him with a
+sense of shame that it had been a moment entertained.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Early on one bitter cold night, when his
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>house was thick-ribbed with ice, Stahlmann
+noticed a great light, which increased until it
+illumined all the western sky. He saw the city
+spires as plainly as though bathed in the rays
+of the setting sun, and the lurid glare lit up the
+waters, making the surrounding blackness along
+the lake shore appear more terrible. The fire
+brightened and waned, brightened and waned
+again. He watched it far into the night, and
+thought of the thousands of anxious faces that
+were turned toward the same light, until he fell
+into a troubled sleep, yearning for the sight of
+a single countenance. This fire which he
+witnessed must have been the great conflagration
+on Lake Street that occurred in February,
+1868.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He was sitting one dull, cloudy afternoon,
+looking out over the dreary waves, when his
+attention was attracted by the strange behavior
+of Caspar. The dog was greatly excited; it
+would jump about him, whining and howling,
+then run to the door, which stood partly open,
+and look down into the water, at the same time
+giving a short, quick yelp. This was repeated
+so frequently that Stahlmann was aroused from
+his gloomy reverie. He followed it to the
+threshold, and saw for an instant some black
+object that the waves threw up against the Crib.
+A second time it arose, and Stahlmann plunged
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>into the water with the quick instinct that
+prompts a brave man to peril his own life in
+attempting to save another from drowning. In
+one moment more he had grasped the body,
+and fastened it to the rope ladder that hung
+down the western side of the Crib. Then
+mounting it himself, he drew it up after him
+on to the floor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was the form of a young man, and Stahlmann
+eagerly kneeled over it, hoping yet to
+find a faint spark of vitality. A glance showed
+him that the body must have been in the water
+several hours, for it was already somewhat
+bloated; but even then, in his mad desire to
+restore life, he rubbed the stiffened limbs; but
+the rigid muscles did not relax. He wrung the
+water from the black hair, which in places was
+short and crisp, looking as if it might have been
+singed by fire. The features were not irregular,
+but the open eyes had a stony, death-glaze
+on them, and the broad forehead was cut across
+in gashes which had evidently been made by
+the waves beating it against the walls of the
+Crib. The hands were clenched and slightly
+blistered.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stahlmann’s frenzied exertions could not call
+back the departed spirit, and he sat gazing
+wildly upon it in his bitter disappointment.
+Then a startling thought broke suddenly into
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>his mind—What, out in his desolate and watery
+home, could he do with the dead? Where
+could he put the stiffened corpse? But as the
+night came on, he arose to light the beacon;
+then descended again immediately, taking up
+his former position by the lifeless form, for it
+appeared to exert a peculiar fascination over
+him; he felt a strange kind of pleasure in the
+presence of the form of a human being, even
+though it were dead. He seemed to have found
+a companion, and the thought, which had
+startled him at first died from his memory.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Hour after hour as he sat beside the corpse;
+its strange influence increased, until it gradually
+filled up in his troubled heart the aching
+void which had so yearned for society. He left
+it only as necessity called him away to attend
+to his duties, each time returning with increasing
+haste. Day by day the spell continued,
+and he grew to regard the dead body with all
+the tenderness he would have manifested toward
+a living brother. He did not shrink from
+the cold, clammy skin when he raised the head
+to place it on a stool, but sat and talked to
+it. He asked why it looked at him with that
+stony glare, and why its face had turned that
+dark and ugly color; but when no answer came,
+he said he realized that it was dead and could
+not speak. Then the terrible truth flashed
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>upon him. With a groan he saw that he could
+keep the corpse no longer, and the thought
+which had startled him once before crept in
+again with increased significance. Where could
+he bury it? In the bottom of the lake, where
+nothing would disturb its peace. He gently
+let it down into the water, and, as he saw it
+disappear, he awoke to wild grief at losing it,
+and would have plunged in to rescue it the
+second time, but it was gone from sight forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Might not this body have been one of the
+lost from the ill-fated Sea Bird, which burned
+in the beginning of April, 1868, a few miles
+north of the city? Stahlmann must have found
+it about this time.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>His grief for the loss of his dead companion
+grew upon him each day, and rendered the
+solitude more unendurable. Solitude? It was
+no longer solitude, for the place was peopled
+by the phantom creations of his inflamed imagination.
+Here a part of the diary is altogether
+incoherent, showing into what utter
+confusion his intellect had been thrown.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The waves roared at him in anger, and the
+winds joined them in their rage. Fiendish
+spirits seemed to rise up before him that were
+fierce to clutch him and gloat over his terror.
+The lights in the west danced together and
+glared at him in mockery, and his own beacon
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>threw its cold white rays over the familiar
+aperture where the iron rods of the water-gates
+rose; but that opening had suddenly become
+an undefined horror to him. The very terror
+with which he regarded it drew him to its verge.
+He cast his eyes into its depths, down upon the
+troubled but black and silent water, and glared
+at the vision which met his strained sight, for
+the ghostly face of the man who had been murdered
+in the tunnel peered at him through the
+uncertain light.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was only the dog that he could fly to in
+his agony, but it, too, had a strange appearance
+and answered his call by low plaintive howls
+that sent a shiver through his frame. He repeated
+its name aloud, and Caspar crawled
+closer to his master, still at times making moans
+that sounded sorrowful—almost like the pleading
+of a human voice in distress, and he thought
+its eyes had a strange reproachful gaze. While
+he spoke to it, the dog uttered a prolonged wail.
+Stahlmann shivered, and a cold chill crept
+through his blood; all his superstition was
+roused afresh. The wind lost its rage and died
+down to funeral-sobs. The sound of the waves
+fell into a dirge-like cadence, and that melancholy
+wail which had chilled his blood rang in
+his ears—it rang with the awful significance
+of an evil omen long after it had died upon the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>air. The dog lay perfectly motionless; he
+stooped to stroke it, but it did not move. He
+stared at it with a bewildered gaze, when suddenly
+the horrible reality with the fearful explanation,
+broke upon his half-crazed brain, and
+he staggered back with a wild shriek. In the
+utter misery of his solitude, in his strange grief
+for the loss of the drowned corpse, and his
+terror from the hallucinations of a disordered
+intellect, he had neglected to feed his faithful
+dog, and had starved to death the only living
+creature that existed for him in the world.
+Caspar was dead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Stahlmann in his agony seemed to hear once
+more the piteous cry which the dog had uttered
+with its expiring breath, and to him the wail
+sounded in its pathetic mournfulness like the
+mysterious herald of another death.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The diary is so blurred at this point that it is
+hardly legible. What can be read is incomprehensible
+from broken, incoherent sentences—the
+empty language of a lunatic. Save one
+remaining passage, I could make out nothing further.
+This entry must have been written in a
+lucid interval when he realized to what a fearful
+condition he had been reduced by unbroken
+solitude. Because it is the last record, I translate
+it literally, as follows:</p>
+
+<p class='c011'>“That cry again—what have I come through? Hell
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>with its host of furies can not be worse than this awful
+Crib—I kill myself.</p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r c014'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'><span class='sc'>G. Stahlmann.</span>”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c006'>What remains is soon told. A few inquiries
+in the proper direction revealed that on the
+morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
+boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the
+Crib to supply provisions, the dog was discovered
+dead upon the floor, and near by—just to
+the right of the entrance, and about ten feet
+distant from it—hung the dead body of
+Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck
+from one of the rafters. It was at once cut
+down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among
+his few effects was found the memorandum book
+which so curiously came into my possession.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The authorities were in no way to blame for
+this unfortunate occurrence. On that day they
+placed several persons in charge of this lonely
+structure and have changed them at regular
+intervals ever since. Because if the circumstance
+were known, they were fearful they could
+get no one to fill the situation, either on account
+of the solitude or from the fact that many persons
+are afraid to live in a house that has been
+the scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded
+to say nothing whatever about the melancholy
+event, and, as I said before, few persons in the
+city are acquainted with its details.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_183.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>PROF. KELLERMANN’S FUNERAL.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_183.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+It had snowed persistently all day, and
+now, at night, the wind had risen and
+blew in furious gusts against the
+windows, a bleak December gale.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor tramped steadily up and down
+his floor, up and down his floor, from wall to
+wall and back again. It was not a cheerful
+room; with but one strip of carpet, a chair or
+two, a table and bedstead, and one dim tallow
+candle, flickering in a vain struggle to give any
+thing better than a sickly light, which was
+afflicted, at uncertain intervals, with violent
+convulsions. No, it was not a pleasant place,
+for the Professor was poor, and lived a lonely,
+hermit-like life in the heart of the great German
+city.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had no relations—no friends. He was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>not a popular man, though he had once been
+well known, and the public had all applauded
+his great scholarship. His books, one after
+another, as they came out, if they brought him
+no money, had brought him some fame then;
+but the last one had appeared years ago, and
+been commented upon, and conscientiously put
+aside, and the public, never very much interested
+in the author personally, had about forgotten
+him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>During these long years he had been living
+secluded, waging a perpetual war with himself.
+Entangled in the meshes of the subtile German
+infidelity, which was at variance with his earlier
+training, he found himself encompassed about
+by unbelief—unbelief in the orthodox theology
+of his youth, unbelief, also, in the philosophy
+of this metaphysical land. A man of vast learning,
+and a close student, he discovered his
+knowledge to be always conflicting; and thus
+the long debate within him was no nearer a
+termination than at the moment when the first
+doubt had asserted itself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Preyed upon by this harassing mental anxiety,
+and by encroaching poverty, he was seized by a
+nervous fever, which had gradually undermined
+his health, and almost disordered his mind.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And now, this night, in a condition of exhaustion,
+weary of life and its ceaseless struggle—without
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>friends, without money, without
+hope—his black despair, like the evil tempter,
+rose before him and suggested a thought from
+which he had at first drawn back appalled.
+But it was only for a moment. Why not put
+an end forever to all these troubles? Had he
+not worked for years, and had he ever done the
+world any good, or had the world ever done
+him any good? No! The world was retrograding
+daily. The selfishness of humanity,
+instead of lessening, was constantly growing
+worse. How had they repaid him for his long
+studies? He had shut himself up and labored
+over heavy questions in metaphysics—sifting,
+searching, reading, thinking—only for a few
+thankless ones, who had glanced at his works,
+smiled a faint smile of praise, and straightway
+left them and him to be lost again in obscurity!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The future was dark, the present a labyrinth
+of care and suffering, from which there was but
+the one escape. Then why not accept it? So
+he had been arguing with himself all the evening,
+and, in his growing excitement, pacing the
+floor of his garret to and fro with a quick,
+nervous tread. But there had another cause
+risen in his mind which he, at first, would
+hardly acknowledge to himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A faint, undefined shadow, as it were, of his
+early faith stirred within him, and before him
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>the “oblivion” of death was peopled with a
+thousand appalling fancies, illumined by the
+red flame of an eternal torment. In vain he
+strove to dispel it by remembering the more
+rational doctrine of reason, that death is but a
+dreamless sleep, lasting forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly, feeling conscious of the heinousness
+of the crime he was meditating, and
+knowing that he was in an unnatural feverish
+condition, he paused abruptly in his hurried
+tramp, stood a few moments utterly motionless,
+then, dropping on his knees, he made a vow
+that he would take twenty-four hours to
+consider the deed, and, if it were done, it should
+not be done rashly. “Hear me, O Heaven!”
+Springing up, he cried; “Heaven! Heaven!—There
+is no Heaven! Vow!—to whom did I
+vow? There is no God!” Muttering a faint
+laugh, he said, after a moment: “I vowed to
+myself; and the vow shall be kept. Not all
+the theories and philosophies of Germany shall
+cheat me out of it.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It seemed like the last struggle of his soul to
+assert itself. Almost staggering with exhaustion,
+he fell upon the bed and slept.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A gentle breeze from the far past blew around
+him in his native land. He saw the white cliff
+at whose base the sea-foam threw up its glittering
+spray with a ceaseless strain of music. He
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>saw the green meadows, where the quiet, meek-eyed
+cattle found a pasture, stretching away to
+the green hills, where flocks of sheep browsed
+in the pleasant shade beneath the tall oak trees.
+He saw, far off on the highest summit of the
+wavy ridge, the turrets of the great castle rear
+themselves above the foliage like a crown—the
+royal diadem upon all these sun-bathed hills
+and valleys. He stood within the cottage, the
+happy cottage under the sheltering sycamores;
+and, brighter, clearer, more beautiful than all
+these, he saw a face look down upon him with
+a calm and earnest smile. It was the home of
+his childhood, it was the face of his mother, all
+raised in the mirage of sleep—a radiant vision
+lifted from the heavy gloom of forty years,
+years upon which Immanuel Kant, years upon
+which the Transcendental school had crept with
+their baleful influence, poisonous as the deadly
+nightshade.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He struggled to speak, and wakened. A
+dream, yes, all a dream! He pressed his hands
+against his brow—A dream? Yes, childhood
+had been but a dream. Life itself is but an
+unhappy dream!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The wild December wind still blew with a
+rattling noise against the windows, and sometimes
+swept round the corner with a dreary,
+half-smothered cry. The candle had burned
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>down almost to the socket, and was seized
+more frequently than before with its painful
+spasms, making each gaunt shadow of the few
+pieces of furniture writhe in a weird, silent
+dance on the wall. As the Professor sat on the
+bed, they appeared to him like voiceless demons,
+performing some diabolical ceremony, luring his
+soul to destruction. Then they seemed moving
+in fantastic measure to a soundless dirge, which
+he strained his ears to hear, when the candle
+burned steadily, and they paused in their dumb
+incantation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A loud knock, which shook the door, made
+the Professor start up amazed, and the shadows
+re-begin their uncanny pantomime. For a
+moment he stood stupefied with surprise. It
+was far in the small hours of the night, and
+visitors at any time were unknown. He had
+lived there for months an utter stranger, and no
+footsteps but his own had ever crossed the floor.
+An uncontrollable fit of trembling came upon
+him, and he lay down once more, thinking it
+all the creation of his overwrought fancy. But
+the knock was repeated louder than before, and
+the gaunt shadows again made violent signals to
+each other in their speechless dialect, as though
+their grim desires were just then upon the eve
+of accomplishment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>With an effort the Professor got up and said
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>“Come!” but the word died away in his throat,
+a faint whisper. He tried it a second time;
+then, partially overruling the weakness that had
+seized upon him, crossed the room and opened
+the door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Good gracious! What’s the matter with
+you?” said a voice from out of the dark on the
+landing.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was the son of the undertaker, who lived
+down stairs. They were not acquainted, and
+had never spoken, but they had often passed
+each other in the street—though, until that
+moment, the Professor was not aware that he
+had ever even noticed him; but now he recognized
+him and drew back. The young man,
+however, entered uninvited.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I say, what the deuce is the matter with
+you?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Nothing! What do you want, sir?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Want? Why your face is as white as a
+sheet, and your eyes, your eyes are—confound
+me if I want any thing!” he said, backing to the
+door in alarm.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Indeed, the expression which rested on the
+features of the Professor was hardly pleasant to
+look at alone, and in the night. But, having
+followed his instinct, so far as to his bodily
+preservation, and having backed into the hall so
+that the Professor could hardly distinguish the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>outline of his figure, the young man’s courage
+got the better of his fright. He came to a
+standstill, passed his hand nervously round his
+neck, cleared his throat several times, and then,
+in a husky voice—caused, evidently, by his
+recent alarm, and not by the message, singular
+as it was, that he came to deliver—said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We want you. It is Christmas—we want
+you for a corpse.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It may have been a very ordinary thing to
+them, considering their profession, to want
+people for corpses, either at Christmas or any
+other time; but it was hardly an ordinary thing
+to the Professor to be wanted for one; and the
+announcement was certainly somewhat startling,
+made in a sepulchral tone from out the
+gloom. It was still stranger that the young
+man himself appeared rather faint-hearted for
+one who entertained so malevolent a desire, and
+had the boldness to make the assertion outright.
+The Professor for a moment fairly thought him
+in league with the shadows, for they were
+at work once more, beckoning and pointing
+fiercely, as the wind swept up the staircase, to
+the indistinct figure out in the dusk, that was
+the son of the undertaker, and who said again,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We want you, sir, for a corpse—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here he paused abruptly, to clear his throat
+anew, as though he found himself disagreeably
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>embarrassed by the unfriendly appearance of
+his host, whose face, if it had been pale at first,
+was of a gray, ashen color now. He evidently
+could not see why his request should have been
+taken in such ill part, and he stammered and
+stuttered, and was about ready to begin again,
+when the Professor said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You will likely get me.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The peculiar expression that rested upon the
+Professor’s mouth as he uttered these words,
+was hardly encouraging; but the young man—as
+though every body would recognize that it
+was absolutely essential to them, in order that
+they might celebrate the great gala-day with
+their family, to have a corpse, just as other
+people have a tree—immediately brightened
+up, and, advancing a step or two, said gratefully,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am very glad, sir; I am very glad. It is
+Christmas, you know, and I told them as how
+I thought you’d do, for you are spare, sir,
+and—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here he found another blockade in his throat,
+which, after a slight struggle, he swallowed,
+and went on,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I told them as how I thought you’d do, sir,
+for you see we want somebody that is small and
+thin, and will be light to carry after he is all
+fixed up. Hans Blauroch did for us last time;
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>but this year, instead of parading Santa Claus
+up and down the street, we’ve concluded to
+bury him. It will be something new this
+Christmas; and Hans is too heavy to carry; and
+when I thought of you, sir, I just took the
+liberty of coming right up; because it’s near
+daylight, and there ain’t no great while left to
+get the funeral ready.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the blockhead had finally jerked out what
+he came for, which was not so malevolent after
+all as he had at first made it appear. He
+deserved, rather, to be praised for his persistency
+than censured for his awkwardness, considering
+the difficulties under which he had labored.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor did not show whether he felt
+relieved by this <em>denouement</em>. He had listened
+without moving; and when the young man
+finished speaking he hesitated a moment, then,
+with the same peculiar expression visible about
+his mouth, said he would be glad to place himself
+at their service; he would be with them
+directly; that he had not been feeling well;
+indeed, he only an hour ago almost fainted, and
+had not yet recovered when he heard the knock
+upon his door; but he was feeling better, and
+would come down immediately.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young man laughed good-naturedly as he
+replied,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am obliged to say I did not like the looks
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>of you at first. You must have been out of
+your head.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor waited until the last echo of
+the retreating footsteps died away down at the
+bottom of the stairs, then shut his door.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“A strange thing,” he muttered; “what have
+I to do with Christmas? I, who have studied,
+studied! I had forgotten there was any time
+called Christmas. What is it to a scholar?
+Philosophy says nothing about it; and reason
+would teach that—ah, yes, it too is a dream,
+a dream within the dream called life. Then
+what have I to do with it? Why did I promise?
+I will not go. Yet my vow—twenty-four hours.
+I dare not trust myself alone. A funeral, did
+he say? I will see how it feels; yes, for I will
+probably need one in another day. They
+wanted me ‘for a corpse,’ and I said they would
+likely get me, and I would be glad to ‘place
+myself at their service.’ Ha, ha! They can
+bury me twice. But my vow, my vow! I will
+not trust myself alone. It is nothing to me; I
+will go.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had been tramping again rapidly up and
+down the room, when he suddenly turned, took
+up his hat, looked around for a moment at the
+shadows that were still making unintelligible
+signs to each other, then extinguished them in
+darkness and slowly went down stairs.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>The lodgings were directly over the undertaker’s
+establishment. Living so secluded,
+speaking to none, it had never occurred to the
+Professor before what a grim place he had
+chosen for his home. But now the silver-barred
+coffins in the show-case were ghastly as he
+passed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Night had not yet yielded up her supremacy.
+A heavy covering of snow, that clung to every
+roof, tower, and spire, made the place look
+unreal through the gloom, like some colorless
+apparition of a great specter city. Close-blinded,
+silent and cold, without one glimmer of
+life, the houses faced each other down the long
+street. Far off, the ghostly dome and pinnacles
+of the cathedral reached into the sky—the
+empty, soundless sky—for the wind had fallen
+away, leaving a gray expanse that seemed to
+stretch through infinitude. But, though the
+Professor did not notice, there was a rift that
+divided the dreary cloud down near the horizon,
+and disclosed, brighter than the pale light of
+the coming day, a star shining in the East.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And it was Christmas morning.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The Professor walked block after block, feeling
+unconsciously refreshed by the crisp air upon
+his heated brow. Then he turned back, and
+when he had reached the building went down
+an alley-way and entered by a door in the rear.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>A great confusion and general dimness, not
+lessened any by two or three candles that were
+burning, pervaded the room, which was long
+and ran almost across the house. Half a dozen
+men were standing or moving about, and some
+were sitting or leaning upon coffins and biers,
+that covered all the floor, except where they
+occasionally left narrow passages between, like
+irregular aisles.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the Professor’s entrance, the young man
+who had paid him so friendly a visit came up
+instantly, took hold of him by the arm, and
+turned him round, with the exclamation,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Here he is father! He is thin enough to be
+easily carried.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The man denominated “father” by the young
+off-shoot of the establishment surveyed the Professor
+with a critical eye from head to foot, and,
+as there could be no better sample of physical
+spareness than he presented, said, laconically,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“He’ll do.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then there was new confusion and bustling
+about, and two or three persons immediately
+seized the Professor, one by his hair, one by his
+feet, one by his arms. With a grim smile, he
+submitted, in perfect silence, to the operations
+of this dressing committee.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He saw himself—him, Gustav Kellermann,
+the philosopher!—blossom into brilliant colors,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>scarlet and blue and orange. He saw them
+clasp a girdle round his waist, to which they
+hung gilded toys and bells in all directions, until
+he was fairly covered over with trinkets of
+every device. He felt them encase his head—his
+learned, metaphysical head—in a cap that
+was adorned at the point and round the sides
+with innumerable swinging-dolls.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It had been daylight three or four hours when
+all the mysterious preparations, which had been
+done almost without speaking a single word,
+were finally completed, and every thing waited
+in readiness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There, strangely conspicuous in that dismal
+room, with its dismal paraphernalia of death,
+was a brilliant, half-human, half-monkey-like
+creature, standing up on its hind legs, and flaming
+all over in gaudy colors. To this grotesque
+figure, the important actor, evidently the chief
+agent in the contract, a man of brief speech,
+came up and said, brusquely,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Now, you are dead, you know, and have
+nothing to do but be dead. You are not to be
+fidgeting, or stirring round, or peeping. When
+you are dead, you are dead, you know, and that
+is all.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school!
+Good reasoning! When you are dead, you are
+<em>dead</em>.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>Then they picked up this half-human, half-monkey-like
+object, which had uttered not one
+word, placed it in a coffin, and put upon it a
+mask-face. Carrying it out by the rear door,
+they raised it and set it down on a catafalque,
+draped in a black velvet pall, and ornamented
+with tall black funeral plumes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O vain pomp and grandeur of death! When
+you are dead, you are <em>dead</em>.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A confused hurry and tramp of many feet
+was succeeded by a pause, and some one said,—“Ready.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The procession reached the open avenue and
+moved slowly down the street to the sound of
+a funeral march. Solemnly, with measured
+tread, they advanced, and the people flocked to
+the doors on every side. There was a cry of
+surprise and alarm. “What is it?” “Who is
+it?” ran from lip to lip. The crowd gathered.
+The procession, with its sable plumes and ribbons
+of <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">crepe</span></i>, still continued on its way. There
+was the sound of lamentation, and at every
+moment the throng and confusion increased,
+the multitude thickened, and men, women and
+children were held off by the guard. Do they
+go to the great cemetery? No, they turned
+eastward, and at the Rosenthal halted. There
+the wondering spectators saw, in its center, a
+pure white tomb. Before it the catafalque was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>brought to a stand, and the coffin solemnly
+lowered.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Immediately a broken shout ran through the
+crowd, that was taken up and repeated until it
+grew into a laugh, and men and women, catching
+up the children, cried,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It is Kriss Kringle! Ha! ha! See, child,
+it is Kriss Kringle! He is dead. Kriss Kringle
+is dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a great relief to the people, so suddenly
+alarmed, and they good humoredly held
+up the little ones, saying,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“See! Kriss Kringle is dead. He will never
+come any more. He is dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a silence; and many little faces,
+awe-stricken, looked sorrowfully down, and
+many little arms were stretched out, and many
+little voices, quivering, sobbed,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, no! He will come back. He
+brought us pretty things. He will come back
+to us.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental
+school! Is your strength still greater than
+this?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a stir under the heavy pall, and a
+voice—hark! a voice!—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, children, I will come back to you. I
+have come back to you!” And from beneath
+the sable funeral drapery, Kriss Kringle sprang,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>all jingling with silver bells, and flashing with
+a thousand toys.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then again there was great confusion, but
+this time no sound of lamentation; and the
+solemn funeral march swept into a strain of
+joyful music. And the children! Oh, the
+children, in wild delight, played in circles about
+the queer, grotesque being, who set to work
+destroying the snow-tomb. He threw it at
+them in small crystal showers that called up,
+each time as they fell, a burst of gleeful
+laughter. He detached the bright toys from
+his girdle, from his cap, from his elbows, from
+his knees, and rained them down upon the little
+ones who raced round him in their mad frolic.
+Then he took off the false face and threw it far
+away, and the people, in surprise, cried, “It is
+the Professor!” and drew back awe-struck, to
+think they had taken such liberties with so
+renowned a scholar. But the children never
+paused in their romp; and he said, while they
+scrambled about him in merry laughter,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have come back to you, children. I have
+come back to you!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And in his heart he cried, “I knew not what
+life was; then how should I know of death?”
+O, Immanuel Kant! O, transcendental school!
+Here are those who teach a philosophy of
+which you know nothing—a philosophy higher
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>than the critics; a philosophy of life; a philosophy
+of love; a philosophy of death that is no
+sleep!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The sun came out and spread a jeweled
+splendor on the snow, over which, hand-in-hand,
+the happy children danced.</p>
+
+<p class='c010'>The Professor is an old man now, and the
+fame of his learning has become great in the
+land. And all the people tell about his funeral;
+and how, every Christmas since, in his scarlet
+clothes and furs, laden with “pretty things,”
+he leads the children in their play, and scatters
+on them a thousand toys, while they, in gleeful
+groups, join their hands and dance.</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_200.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_201.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE FEVERFEW.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_201.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+During my youth I suffered from a
+naturally delicate constitution. I was
+pale, feeble and sickly, but from no
+decided disease. A dreamy, quiet cast of temperament
+caused me to shrink from the rough
+sports of my brothers; the contact of strangers
+was equally disagreeable, and I seldom strayed
+from home. Indeed, I lived almost entirely
+within myself, although by no means devoid of
+natural affection; on the contrary, my emotions
+were strong, and my sympathy easily aroused.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>How it happened that I acquired a love of
+learning I do not know, all the outward circumstances
+by which I was surrounded tending to
+foster any thing rather than intellectual habits,
+for our family, although each member possessed
+a common education, were strictly practical;
+but this difference in my disposition cut me off
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>from their pursuits, and I found my chief enjoyment
+in the volumes of a library to which I
+obtained access.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Perhaps it was the sedentary life I led, the
+close confinement, and lack of exercise, that
+brought on a violent attack of sickness when I
+was in my nineteenth year, so that I lay for several
+weeks completely prostrated. During two
+or three days my life hung as in a balance,
+which a breath might have turned and launched
+me beyond the confines of time. However, the
+disease succumbed to the persevering attention
+of experienced nurses. I arose from my weary
+bed and found my physical health slowly improving,
+but from that period I was subject at
+irregular intervals to what the physician pronounced
+temporary delirium, which I knew he
+used as a milder term for insanity.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But it was not insanity. I never lost control
+of my mind, but I lost control of my body. It
+obeyed a will that was not my own. A mighty
+antagonistic power seemed to creep over my
+brain, which impelled my movements and held
+my struggling soul in subjection. I presented
+the singular phenomenon of one person governed
+by two separate and distinct wills, for my
+mind was not disordered, but only mastered by
+superior strength. In this strange condition I
+would see familiar objects magnified, exaggerated,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>and contorted, in an atmosphere varying
+with all colors, at the same time being perfectly
+conscious of their real appearance. I would
+hear sounds sweet and musical grow into wails
+of heart-rending despair. I could recognize my
+friends when they were present, but was forced
+to regard them with the cold eye of a stranger.
+I would commit acts that no human agency
+could have compelled me to do when my faculties
+were untrammelled. I never submitted
+without a struggle, and always felt conscious
+that, if I could but once resist this seemingly
+invincible power, if I could but once disregard
+its promptings, I should be free.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The attacks were never of long duration.
+They always left me utterly exhausted, and it
+would sometimes require a week to recruit my
+expended strength. I could afterward recall
+every incident with the most distinct minuteness,
+for they were branded in characters of fire on
+my memory. Vainly I asserted again and again
+that it was not delirium, that I was forced into
+subjection to some mysterious power I could
+not withstand; my statements made no impression
+upon the physician, who evidently considered
+mine but a common case of one suffering
+from attacks of temporary insanity, and, when I
+persisted in my statement, he forbade any further
+reference to the subject.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>However, I could not prevent my mind from
+continually dwelling upon it in secret. What
+was this so foreign, so antagonistic to myself
+that mastered my will, that controlled my
+actions, that made me literally another being?
+Why did I not shake off this evil influence and
+be free? I felt perfectly conscious of possessing
+the power, but was not able to arouse it
+from a latent condition.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As I have said before, I was naturally of a
+studious disposition, and I now turned my attention
+to metaphysics. I read works, ancient and
+modern, on its different branches; I studied
+medical treatises on insanity, and, the more I
+learned, the more thoroughly convinced I
+became that I was not suffering from mental
+aberration. Constant brooding over my disease
+greatly wore upon my physical strength; traveling
+was recommended, in hopes that change of
+climate and scene might benefit my health. My
+old aversion to strangers clung to me, and,
+although possessed by a restlessness to which I
+was wholly unaccustomed, I persistently refused
+to leave home; no arguments could gain my
+consent, so that my friends were forced to give
+up the project in despair.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>One morning, when more than the usual
+gloom oppressed my spirits, I made an effort to
+arouse myself and throw off the melancholy
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>that was settling upon me, which each day I
+felt to be growing more confirmed. I was
+sitting by a window, which stood wide open,
+and, just outside, a caged canary was singing
+and fluttering its feathers in the warm spring
+sunshine. The little bird was my particular
+property, and I regarded it with an affection
+which is rarely bestowed upon pets. With the
+exception of my young sister, a child about four
+years of age, this was the only living thing that
+I had taken any interest in since my sickness.
+I had trained the canary from the shell, and the
+little creature seemed to repay all my care, for
+from no other member of the family would it
+receive caresses. I was so much afraid of its
+being accidentally injured that I never allowed
+it to be freed from the cage, except in my presence.
+At my call it would fly about me, resting
+on my head, shoulders, or hands, and chirping
+in a perfect ecstasy of enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I arose and opened the door of its prison,
+then, reseating myself, softly whistled while it
+darted into the air, wheeled once or twice, and
+descended upon my hand. Stroking its spotless
+yellow plumage, I regarded the little thing with
+a degree of pleasure I had not experienced for
+several weeks. But sudden horror almost
+caused my heart to cease its beatings, and the
+perspiration started from my forehead in great
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>drops, for I felt my fingers slowly closing over
+the delicate bird. Although I made an attempt
+greater than the racking effort we sometimes
+exert in the nightmare, I had no power to restrain
+them. The canary fluttered in my clasp.
+I would have dropped it, I would have shrieked
+for help, but my muscles, my voice, my <em>body</em>,
+obeyed me not, and my fingers, like the steady
+working of machinery, gradually tightened their
+relentless grasp. In my agony the veins of my
+face protruded like lines of cordage. I heard
+the frail bones breaking beneath the crushing
+pressure, then my involuntary grip suddenly
+relaxed, and the bird fell upon my knee, dead
+and mangled!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At the same moment, I saw, through the open
+door, my little sister playing upon the grass-plat;
+and, almost before I was aware of moving, or
+of any volition, I found myself walking rapidly
+toward her, while my fingers twitched with a
+convulsive, clutching movement. Good Heavens!
+I already saw her face turn purple, and
+heard her gasping breath smothered by gurgling
+blood. With this terrible picture before my
+mental vision, my brain felt as if it would burst
+its bounds in the desperate, but unavailing effort
+I made to turn back, to fly from the spot. But
+I could not command myself. In that moment
+I endured suffering more intense than language
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>can describe. Perhaps my strange and wild
+appearance frightened the child; for, in place
+of holding out her arms to me, her favorite
+brother, she fled crying to the nurse, who did
+not observe my approach, and carried her into
+the house. Saved! unconsciously saved—saved
+from a fate too terrible to contemplate.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I sank insensible upon the ground, and, when
+I recovered, found myself surrounded by the
+family, each one applying some restorative, for
+I had been in a long and death-like swoon.
+Slowly, but distinctly, the recollections of the
+events which had reduced me to this condition
+presented themselves to my memory with all
+their appalling horror, nearly depriving me again
+of consciousness.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I did not refer in any manner to the subject,
+which was also carefully avoided by all others
+in my presence, for fear that it might produce
+renewed excitement, and my friends had no
+suspicion of the circumstances which brought it
+about. The bird was found dead upon the floor,
+and the family imagined that it had met with
+some accident. They were evidently surprised,
+when the fact was communicated to me, that I
+made no remarks, for they had anticipated an
+outburst of grief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Grief! I did not suffer from grief; grief was
+overpowered by the horror that racked my brain—horror
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>for the act I had committed, and the
+more fearful one which had been so mercifully
+prevented. I had committed? No, it was not
+<em>my</em> mind or will which had prompted my hand
+to do the deed. I was innocent, even though
+my fingers had dripped with the blood of a
+sister; but the frightful thought filled me with
+a terror that wrung my soul. I pondered continually
+upon it. When might not this mysterious
+demon again assert its evil control over me?
+Strange as it may seem, I felt certain that it was
+some foreign agency—I knew not what—that
+mastered my will, and not the result of my own
+intellect, in a disordered condition.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This overpowering dread of the future, of
+what might happen, which took possession of
+me, drove me to the decision of leaving home,
+as the best way of avoiding danger to my
+friends. Perhaps, too, if my physical health
+became better, I might gain strength enough to
+defy this infernal power; for, as I have said before,
+I possessed a singular consciousness that,
+if I could once successfully resist its promptings,
+my soul would be liberated from thraldom. I
+announced my determination of making a
+journey, without any explanation of my sudden
+change, and it was greeted with delight by my
+friends and relatives, who were anxious to
+hasten my departure while the humor was upon
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>me; but they need not have feared any change
+of purpose on my part, for I was haunted by this
+terrible dread of the future, and I gladly said
+farewell for a time to my home and birthplace.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The incidents of travel and of new scenes
+broke the monotony, and dispelled to some degree
+the gloom that had taken fast hold upon
+me. In a short period I found myself rapidly
+improving. Every week brought me an increase
+of strength, and I suffered less frequently from
+these frightful attacks. Although they occurred
+at longer intervals than formerly, they seemed
+to grow more severe in character; the conflict
+was fiercer, and my mind made a more desperate
+effort to gain the supremacy. My whole frame
+would be racked by the intense struggle which
+I constantly maintained, though I was constantly
+vanquished.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The increasing delight I took in the scenery,
+the continued exercise and excitement, almost
+drove despair from me, and hope once more
+brightened my countenance. I began to look
+forward to the time when my health would be
+entirely restored, and my body and mind be in
+unison. I did not hope vainly, for the final
+conflict came, and with it a strange termination
+of my long sufferings.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>I stood upon the side of an Eastern mountain.
+Above my head vast rocks arose in solemn
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>grandeur, their summits lost in canopied mists
+which, gray and clinging, wrapped them in
+obscurity. Below, a great chasm rent the
+mountain; a yawning, bottomless gulf. While
+I gazed, awed by the thought of its mysterious
+depths, where no human eye had seen, where no
+human foot had trod, a ray of light struggled
+in and rested on gaunt trees, on snake-like
+ferns, damp and cold, that clung to its slimy
+sides, and on one pale flower which nodded in
+the chill draught that came up, a palpable
+horror, from the blackness of darkness. I turned
+away. Near the western horizon dead clouds
+were piled one above another, and their heavy
+shadow lay brown and dark upon the sullen
+earth. No wind stirred the forests, or rustled
+their motionless leaves, and the awe of the unbroken
+silence fell, with a dread oppression,
+upon my heart.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly I was seized by an ungovernable
+desire to possess the flower—the colorless flower
+that hung far down in the death-damp of the
+chasm. A freezing terror crept through my
+blood as I recognized this decree of a will I had
+never been able to disobey. I felt myself crawling
+closer to the verge of the precipice; nearer,
+yet nearer, until I sat within the very jaw of
+the savage gulf. The dead clouds heaved their
+shroud-like forms and wavered overhead. I
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>heard the rush of subterranean waters sounding
+a muffled requiem. The sickly flower with its
+long stem writhed and twisted, as a serpent
+stretches his folds into the air. Slowly back and
+forth it swayed, glaring at me like a lustreless
+eye.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>My brain reeled, and all the forces of my
+nature gathered up their increased strength for
+one fierce and final conflict. I felt the blood
+rage through my veins with the headlong fury
+of cataracts. The very spring of life within me
+was stirred and troubled, when, with one mighty
+strain, I drew myself up and fell backward on
+the grass.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The whole world went out in utter darkness.
+Before my eyes stretched a vast, illimitable
+gloom, when suddenly out of its impenetrable
+depths above my head there grew and glimmered
+faintly a thin and wavering mist. Folding
+upon itself, it hung down, white and luminous,
+a cloud of palpitating nebulæ. Pricked with a
+thousand points of fire it gathered slowly to a
+nucleus in the center—a flickering speck, a disc,
+it flamed, blazed into a star, and lo! poised
+midway in the air, an aureole of light, it rested
+upon the brow of a female figure.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her scornful eyes looked down upon me with
+a lurid gleam that seemed to burn my soul. A
+smile of derision sat upon her lips that were
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>more vivid in hue than the vermilion dye. Her
+locks were yellow as the sun at noontide; her
+skin was white as the leper’s; her breath hot
+as the desert air, and the light of the star upon
+her forehead burned red with the frightful redness
+of fresh blood. Suddenly I saw that the
+murky clouds on either side her form swarmed
+with a thousand dwarfed and warted shapes.
+Black and hideous, they knotted, flitted to and
+fro, in and out, with their formless claws and
+tumultuous motion. She spread her wings.
+Immediately there gathered all the dusky shapes—the
+legion demons of delirium with their
+needle eyes—and settled down upon her sable
+plumes. A shrill phantom laugh rang out,
+mocked itself by echoes that ran up in thin
+shafts of sound to the skies, and the <span class='fss'>SPIRIT OF
+FEVER</span> had fled from me forever!</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The rays of the sun as it sank to rest, slanting
+through rose-colored avenues, fell upon the
+gray mists, and crowned the mountain’s summit
+in a rainbow of glory. The rising breeze swept
+through the forests with a soothing sound, and,
+eastward, the eye was lost in mellow lines of
+golden haze, which to my soul freed from captivity,
+seemed cathedral aisles of peace.</p>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_213.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>OLD SIMLIN, THE MOULDER.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class='c010'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_213.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+“You’re right! I ain’t got no relatives
+an’ nobody to look after, so thar
+isn’t any sense in workin’ too much.
+That’s just what I say.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And that is just what he always did say, poor
+Simlin, but he never ceased, notwithstanding.
+Nearly every body that knew him and spoke to
+him about it always found him quick to acquiesce:
+“Thar was nothin’ plainer than what
+they said, and it was just what he said, too.”
+But it did not make the slightest difference, for
+he continued to work away all the same; so
+what else could be done but merely to give up
+the question?</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now, if he had only expressed himself in
+decided opposition, there might have been something
+to hope for in the matter—at least, it
+would have opened the way for an argument
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>upon the subject; and, then, there was always
+the possibility that he might be induced to
+change his mind. However, his provoking approval
+put the case wholly beyond reach. And
+so old Simlin, toiling early and late, quietly
+followed his vocation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was not a better moulder in the whole
+foundry, or one that drew much higher wages.
+But, then, he was getting old. To be sure, he
+never had been young, so far as they knew any
+thing about him, even ten years ago, when,
+altogether unknown and friendless, he had first
+made his appearance in the village. But these
+ten years combined had not worn upon him like
+the last one. His head now, if once the soot
+had been removed, would not have shown a
+single black hair; and his voice was weak and
+cracked, and there was a visible trembling about
+the old man’s legs. Perhaps he did imbibe
+liquor; but nobody had any right to say so, for
+nobody could prove that it was true. Only of
+late he had a strangely confused manner when
+anyone addressed him, and, raising his unsteady
+hand nervously to his head, would repeat the
+sentence that had been on his lips a hundred,
+yes, a thousand times, until it had long ago
+grown into a stereotyped form—“I ain’t got no
+relatives an’ nobody to look after, so thar isn’t
+any sense in workin’ too much.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>Perhaps he really thought that the people
+would never see that he was straining every
+effort, using every moment of his time, though,
+before the sun was up, and often after it was
+gone, the old man was at his place. And Simlin
+was always the first on hand if there was an
+extra job that would bring an extra cent.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But, other than making the assertion that he
+had no relatives, and nobody depending upon
+him, and that he did not think it worth while
+to work over-much, he never carried on a conversation.
+That there was no one to look after
+<em>him</em> was a self-evident fact. He lived utterly
+alone, in a small cabin on the brow of the hill.
+Rarely a soul but himself ever crossed its threshold.
+Under the step the gray gophers made
+their burrow, and, beneath the tall beech trees,
+that threw down their prickly nuts, the brown
+weasels played in peaceful groups. The shy
+quail, sounding their whistle, fled among the
+ferns; and above, from the myriad branches,
+the beautiful wild doves mourned out their
+perpetual sadness. At evening, when the sun
+went down, and the long line of the Scioto
+Hills flushed crimson with serene glory; when,
+by slow degrees, the pageant of departing day
+withdrew its gorgeous colors; even when the
+valley below was black with the gloom of night,
+the western radiance lingered, like the transforming
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>light of some other land, upon the rude
+cabin, standing on its high and solitary perch.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Empty and bare, it afforded but little protection
+from the weather, for through it the
+winds blew in Winter, and the rains dripped in
+Summer. Simlin’s wants, however, appeared to
+be few and simple. He seldom had a fire, even
+at the coldest season. What he subsisted upon,
+nobody knew. Once, perhaps, in two or three
+days, he would buy a loaf of coarse bread from
+the baker in the village, and his table evidently
+was supplied in the most frugal manner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people put down his besetting sin to be
+avarice; and the hut, if it contained no furniture,
+was reported to contain wealth enough,
+hidden away in its obscure cracks and corners,
+to have draped its dreary boards in the most
+costly velvet and lace, and encased its walls
+with marble. Of course, he was a miser. More
+than ten years now he had been at the foundry,
+and not a cent of the wages which he drew
+regularly had he spent, or put so much as a
+farthing into the savings bank, where many of
+the hands had laid up quite a pile. But, unlike
+the majority of misers, the old man never complained
+of being poor; indeed, he never complained
+at all, or spoke of money in any way.
+If the subject was brought up in his presence,
+he either preserved utter silence or quietly got
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>up and left; and, if driven to the last extremity,
+and made to say something, he would remark,
+running into the same old channel, that “It
+didn’t much matter—he hadn’t any relatives
+nor any body dependin’ upon him.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So lonely and forlorn did he seem, and so
+harmless withal—for the old man never was
+known to do a mean action, or resent an angry
+word—that many uncouth kindnesses had been
+shown him on the part of the hands, with whom
+he was by no means unpopular. Especially had
+this been the case latterly; for, though he himself
+was apparently unconscious of it, so terribly
+broken had he become that the change was
+sorrowful to behold; and, rude as were the
+foundry-workmen, what there was pathetic in
+the patient manner in which the feeble old
+man silently worked on told upon them by
+instinct.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There had even been an interest taken in him
+up at the great house. Every season, “the
+colonel,” as the owner and sole proprietor of
+the Rocky Ford Foundry was called by all the
+employes, brought his family down from the
+city to spend a few months rusticating in the
+beautiful Scioto Valley, where he had built a
+summer residence for that purpose, and that he
+might be near his great iron-works at the same
+time. There was always gay company up at
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>the house—visitors from town, who needed no
+second invitation to entice them from the dust
+of the city to this peaceful retreat among the
+lovely hills of Ohio. Besides, the colonel had a
+beautiful daughter, and every body liked the
+“young misses.” Seldom, though, did she ever
+go down to the foundry; never, indeed unless
+some special object took her there.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Coming from her home a mile distant—this
+home for her embowered in perpetual Summer
+and wrapped in the peace that broods upon the
+everlasting hills, where she could see, far off,
+the golden meadow-lands and the more distant
+Paint Ridge, with its transparent veil of mist;
+this home from which she had often looked out
+and listened to the blue Scioto, unflecked with
+sail or skiff, struggling by day and night to tell
+its mysterious story, as it flowed forever on its
+lonely course—coming from this home, over
+the narrow path that led down the slope to the
+river’s edge, where the green rushes grew and
+the wild columbine hung its bells above the
+water—coming on, past the great rocks, where
+the scarlet lichens flamed in the sun and the
+blossoming alder displayed its drifted clusters;
+coming still with active feet over the velvet
+moss—coming from the lovely valley, coming
+from the tranquil hills, when she entered the
+foundry it seemed like stepping suddenly from
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>the beautiful world into some haunt of evil
+spirits.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Within the great dingy walls no shining sunlight
+brightened the air. Dim and cheerless, it
+hung laden with smoke and vapor, that floated
+in clouds to the rafters. The harsh clang of
+heavy machinery, together with the roar of the
+furnaces, seemed to shake the very building.
+Among the enormous wheels that whirled with
+frightful velocity, and the immense belts that
+whizzed above their heads, the workmen, black
+and begrimed, looked small, weird and unearthly,
+moving about upon the damp ground, with its
+jet-like covering of charred cinders. The place
+seemed an apparition of demons, performing in
+some cavern of the lower regions their evil incantations.
+No wonder the young lady seldom
+went there. Its gloom fell upon her with a
+heavy oppression, and her breath only came
+freely when once more she found herself out in
+the clear and open sunlight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It happened in this manner that she first came
+to take any notice of old Simlin: There were
+gathered quite a party of young folks; and the
+colonel, who had been in Cincinnati upon business,
+had returned the previous evening, bringing
+with him another gentleman, apparently a
+stranger to the family.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was at the breakfast-table that the company
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>were discussing the “sights” of the neighborhood,
+and debating whether they would take
+him first over to Paint Creek upon a fishing-excursion,
+or across the river to Mount Logan,
+famous for having been the rendezvous of the
+great Indian chief, when the colonel spoke up,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why not begin at home?” he said. “Do
+not fatigue him to death the first day, and I
+am proud enough of my foundry to think it
+might be of interest even to Mr. Safford; at
+least I mean to have him shown over it before
+he leaves.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young man, of course, immediately stated
+that it would give him great pleasure, and the
+whole company, to the most of whom it would
+prove a novelty, gladly acquiesced in the proposition.
+So it was decided, and two hours
+later they all started on their way.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When they entered the foundry it seemed
+more gloomy than ever, the atmosphere more
+stifling, and the jar of the machinery more painfully
+loud and discordant. Even the gay young
+people who had chatted and laughed all the
+morning felt the sudden change that involuntarily
+subdued their merriment. They broke
+up and scattered in twos and threes over the
+place, following the lead of simple curiosity,
+but the stranger-gentleman staid beside Helen,
+the “young misses.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>“What a queer, unreal place!” he said.
+“One would never expect to find any thing
+like it in this beautiful valley. Does it not
+make you think, coming upon it suddenly out
+of the sunlight, of the evil genii you have read
+about in some fairy-tale long ago? And the
+workmen, at whose bidding all this gigantic
+power is brought into action, how small and
+weird they look!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The two had been slowly approaching the
+great furnace, and, just as the gentleman ceased
+speaking, the immense door was thrown open,
+discovering, like a glimpse of the infernal regions,
+the seething flame within. Though they
+were not near enough to experience any inconvenience
+from the heat, Helen uttered a frightened
+exclamation and drew back; but the
+gentleman stood as if spellbound, for immediately
+in front of him from this opening streamed
+a broad but sharply defined streak of blood-red
+light, that fell full upon old Simlin, and transformed
+the blackened cinders on the ground
+beneath his feet into a mass of living embers.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>As the old man straightened up, and was in
+the act of raising his hand to shield his eyes
+from the sudden illumination, they encountered
+the stranger, and a mingled expression of
+surprise and fright instantly struggled up
+through their weak color. For a moment, like
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>an apparition, he stood transfixed. The red
+glare showed the old man’s shrunken figure;
+it showed his attenuated arms and death-like
+mouth, his tattered clothes and the few wisps
+of his scant hair.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Mr. Safford had stopped simply at the startling
+effect which the glow of the furnace had
+produced, falling by accident upon a single
+workman. But, when the man rose up, he
+gazed at him, utterly taken aback by his strange
+behavior.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For an instant, the old man stared without
+moving a muscle, then his lips began to work
+convulsively, and, raising his hand before his
+face, as if to screen it from view, he half uttered
+an unintelligible sentence and sank down. At
+the same time, the door of the furnace had been
+closed, shutting off the brilliant light that for a
+moment had so strangely thrown him into
+violent relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For a second, Safford almost thought the
+whole thing had been an optical illusion, or
+some hallucination of his own brain; then,
+stepping forward, he saw the old man lying in
+a heap upon the ground.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young lady, recovering immediately from
+her sudden fright at the unexpected blaze, had
+seen the workman fall, and, coming up, asked,
+in a terrified voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>“What is the matter? Oh, he is dead!” she
+exclaimed, kneeling down beside him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, he is not dead. Run for some brandy—quick!”
+Mr. Safford called to the nearest hand.
+Then, assisted by one of the men, he raised the
+prostrate figure, not a heavy burden, and carried
+it out into the open air.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I allus thought old Simlin’d come to this,”
+said the man who had helped in carrying him.
+“We all knowd he was over-workin’ himself.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why? Was he so feeble?” asked Mr.
+Safford, while he bathed the grimy forehead
+with his wet handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Feebil? He’s that feebil he’s just been
+of a trembil all over; and he’s getting pretty
+much used up here, too,” said the man, dropping
+his voice, and significantly touching his
+forehead. “It’s my idee he’s not booked for
+this world much longer.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Poor man!” said Miss Helen, leaning tenderly
+over the pale face that still showed no
+symptoms of returning consciousness; “how
+very thin and emaciated he is! Has he no wife
+or family to take care of him?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“That’s just it, ma’am! That’s just what
+he’s allus harpin’ on! He says he ain’t got no
+relatives, and nobody to look after, and—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The young lady suddenly raised her hand
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>with a warning gesture; and, before the workman
+had ceased speaking, old Simlin opened his
+eyes. He looked around for a moment in a
+bewildered way; then his uncertain glance,
+falling upon the gentleman kneeling by his
+side, immediately became fixed, and grew into
+a wild stare. Raising himself unsteadily upon
+his elbow, still with his eyes fixed upon him,
+the old man threw out his trembling arm with
+a gesture as if addressing the whole company,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It’s a lie! Who said I had any relatives,
+or any body to look after? I hain’t! It’s a
+lie—a <em>lie</em>, I say! I never seen you before.
+He’s a stranger!”—still keeping his arm extended,
+and appealing excitedly to those around
+him—“you all know he is a stranger. I ain’t
+got no relatives, nor any body to look after!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was evident enough that what the workman
+had told them about his intellect was too
+true, they all thought, as they looked at each
+other with a quick glance.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I tell you I don’t know you, sir! It’s all
+a lie. I never seen you before! I—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, you never saw me before.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Mr. Safford had spoken, hoping to soothe
+him; but, instead, the sentence appeared to
+act upon the old man like an electric battery,
+for he raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
+with his head bobbing violently about, fairly
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>screamed, his cracked voice running into high
+treble,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“That’s right!—that’s right! Do you all
+hear it? He says I never seen him before. It’s
+all a lie about my havin’ got any relatives. I
+hain’t! I never seen him before—You heerd
+him say so—you all heerd him?” he inquired,
+for the first time, taking his pale, watery eyes
+from the gentleman, and looking, in a frightened,
+appealing way, round the group.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then his strength seemed to fail suddenly,
+and he fell back upon the grass, panting for
+breath.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At this moment the colonel came up, and
+knelt down by his side. He uttered his name
+several times, and even put his hand upon the
+wrinkled forehead; but the old man, with
+vacant eyes fixed on the sky, paid no heed,
+though his lips trembled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I have ordered a wagon. It will be here
+directly. He must be taken to the house, where
+he can receive every attention. Poor man! I
+am afraid this will be about the last. I have
+expected it for a long time. Here, Safford, help
+me to lift him,” he added, as Hendricks came
+back with the wagon.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Safford! Safford! Who called me Safford?”
+said the old man, suddenly looking round in a
+terrified manner. “I—I’ve been a dreamin’,”
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>uttering a weak laugh. “It’s not my—I mean
+nobody said it. I never heerd that name before.
+It’s darned funny, ain’t it? but I never even
+heerd that name before in my life! You know
+I didn’t”—growing wild and excited again—“you
+know it’s a lie! I ain’t got no relatives,
+nor nobody to look after.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The gentlemen, without speaking, stooped
+to raise him; but he struggled violently, and,
+keeping his eyes still fixed on the younger one,
+he cried, with such an extreme distress upon his
+face, that they involuntarily drew back,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no! I’m not fit to be near you. Stand
+off! You’re a fine gentleman; it’s not for the
+likes of you to touch me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then turning toward the colonel, he muttered
+some inarticulate apology, and actually
+staggered, unaided, to his feet,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’m ’bliged to ye all,” he said, nodding his
+head up and down, and backing, with uncertain
+steps, toward the foundry, as if afraid to
+take his eyes from the party as long as he was
+within their sight. “Thar ain’t nothin’ the
+matter with me! I jest felt faint a spell from
+the heat—the heat. It ain’t nothin’, an’ it’s
+gone now! I’ll go back to my work agin—I’m
+all right—I’m ’bliged to ye! It was jest
+the heat as overcum me—jest the heat—” and,
+with a painful smile upon his thin lips, still
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>muttering unintelligible excuses, he tottered
+into the building.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For a moment, taken by surprise, the group
+remained motionless. Then Helen said; “Poor
+old man! I declare, it almost made me cry
+only to look at him!—Father, you will have
+him cared for; you will not allow him to work
+any more?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No. He is dreadfully broken down, and
+I have heard the hands say that, latterly, he
+was breaking in his mind, too; but I did not
+know it was so bad. I will see that he does as
+little as possible; but he will never quit until
+he gives out utterly, and he can not hold on
+long in this condition. Strange, Safford,
+how the sight of you seemed to excite him!
+Did you notice with what a wild, terrified gaze
+he stared at you, as if he had been hunted down?
+and, when you stooped to raise him up, he
+almost drew himself into a knot. I did not
+suppose, when I saw him on the ground, that
+he had strength enough left to stand on his feet
+without help; and it seemed as if it was this
+fear of you that inspired him with the power.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The younger man stood leaning against the
+tree from which he had not moved.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes,” he replied, “it was strange; I noticed
+it. How long have you had him in your
+employ?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>“More than ten years, and he has been
+about the most valuable hand in the foundry.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Then I’m sure, father, you will take care
+of him, and not let him work any more?” said
+Helen, again.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes—yes, child! don’t bother yourself so—of
+course I will;” but the younger gentleman
+turned toward her quickly, while his face
+lighted up, then checked himself abruptly in
+what would have been an eager gesture of
+gratitude, and looked away without saying a
+word.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They remained a few moments to hear that
+the old man had recovered, and when the messenger
+reported him working at his place quietly
+as usual, without re-entering the foundry, or
+waiting for their companions, the two started
+homeward. Helen’s reluctance to go back into
+the building again had been so manifest that the
+gentleman could hardly do otherwise. Not
+until the straggling little village and the
+smoke of the great foundry were left in the
+distance did she fairly draw a breath of relief,
+and even then they still walked on almost in
+silence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The day had reached its noon. On the river
+flowing past the lances of the sun broke into a
+thousand flakes of fire that followed each other
+over its surface in myriad ranks; and on either
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>side, where the twisted birch reached out its
+branches, the waves with a grateful murmur
+turned up their cool white crests.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was no loud hum of grasshoppers.
+Hardly a leaf stirred upon the trees, hardly a
+bird fluttered its wings. Even the far-off mists
+had disappeared, and a hush was on the hills—a
+hush as of awe before the splendor of the sky.
+No wonder they spoke but little. Almost
+solemn was the glory of the day in its noon.
+Yet perhaps neither one felt this influence which
+rested upon the land, and subdued alike to
+silence the peewee and the bobolink. It may
+be that the girl was not wholly unconscious of
+the scene, but it was certainly some other influence
+that wrapped her companion in abstraction.
+He saw not even the checkered shade
+that fell in arch and groin upon their path.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They were half-way home. Rousing himself
+suddenly with an effort, as if but just aware of
+this long abstraction, he said, for lack of any
+thing better,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Miss Helen, do you like the country?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Dearly. I love these hills and the river.
+The time I spend here is the happiest part of
+my life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And are you not always happy?” he inquired.
+“You should be.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A strange gentleness in his tone as he uttered
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>the last words made Helen look up quickly as
+she answered him with a smile,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I am. I never had a trouble in my life.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>They had reached the turn where the path
+led up the slope from the foot of the hill.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not go back to the house,” he said; “let
+us sit down here a little while in the shade. I
+feel strangely oppressed, and the four walls of
+a room would suffocate me.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Apparently, he had uttered the last sentence
+involuntarily, as he took off his hat, and passed
+his hand several times across his forehead, for,
+catching his breath quickly, he added, as if by
+way of an apology,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It is so much pleasanter in the open air, and
+I am less fortunate than you. I seldom have a
+chance to enjoy the country.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had evidently spoken truly, however,
+when he said he felt strangely oppressed, for
+his eyes wandered up the valley, far off to the
+remote Paint Ridge, yet he did not see the glittering
+Scioto, or how Summer sat enthroned in
+royal pomp upon the hills.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a thoughtful, almost anxious expression
+on his face. Presently he added, in a
+tone of voice as if they might have been discussing
+the subject at the moment, and which
+showed his mind was still occupied wholly by
+the incident at the foundry,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>“Miss Helen, had you ever seen that man
+before?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What man?” she inquired. “The workman,
+you mean?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, the old moulder.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No. I have often heard them speak of him. I
+rarely go to the foundry; it is gloomy, and
+the hands are so rough father does not like to
+have me come in contact with them in any way,
+so I do not know one from another. I did not
+recollect at first, but I remember now hearing
+him say that old Simlin was queer, that he was
+a miser, and that he lived all alone on the Spring
+Hill. But I am sure father did not know he
+was so feeble, or how he was losing his mind.
+I can’t help feeling sorry for him. It must be
+dreadfully sad, ignorant though he is, to grow
+old and have not a soul on the earth to care for
+him.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Again the gentleman turned to her, as she
+spoke, with a sudden emotion in his eyes that
+would have called the color to her cheeks had
+she seen it, but in another instant he had looked
+away, and the troubled cloud settled back once
+more upon his features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The river <em>is</em> beautiful,” he said, after a
+pause; “see how the fire dances down its
+surface.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had dismissed the subject from their conversation,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>if not from his own thoughts. More
+than an hour later Helen sprang up with a conscious
+blush upon her face as the sound of
+approaching voices told her how the time had
+fled. Ah, for her at least it had been wafted
+by on silver wings! They both joined the
+party, and all went together to the house.
+There, almost immediately, Mr. Safford excused
+himself and went to his room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Shut in alone, the same anxious, troubled
+expression he had worn when he looked unconsciously
+up the river came back upon him as he
+walked thoughtfully to and fro across the floor.
+The incident at the foundry had affected him
+singularly. He could not throw off its depressing
+influence. Why, he asked himself—why
+did the face of the old man haunt him perpetually—the
+thin, wrinkled face, as it had looked
+at him with sudden surprise and terror struggling
+up through its watery eyes? Why did the
+cracked voice, with its accent of fright, ring
+constantly in his ears? If it were but the wild
+vagary of an unsettled mind, why should he
+give it any heed? “I am nervous,” he muttered
+to himself. “They said the man was crazy,
+and surely I never saw him before—no, I
+never saw him before. Then why should the
+sight of me have so excited him? Probably
+another stranger would have done the same.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>I am foolish—and they said the man was
+crazy—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He still paced the floor of his room up and
+down, while he tried to argue himself out of the
+unreasonable hold which the circumstance had
+taken on his mind. “I wish I could forget it!”
+he exclaimed. Then walking to the window,
+and looking out mechanically, he said slowly to
+himself, as if weighing well his words,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It is not possible; no, it is not possible that
+here I am going to find any clew. The man <em>was</em>
+crazy, that is all.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He returned again, however, not the least
+relieved, to his track over the carpet, and,
+before he went down stairs, he had determined
+that he would “wait and see.” He would not,
+as he had previously intended, leave the place
+within a day or two. He could not go away
+until he had satisfied himself about the matter
+wholly, and in the mean time he would find
+out what he could in regard to the old man.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He did not make any inquiries of the family,
+and the only information he could gain was
+simply what he had been already told.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>His sleep that night was strangely disturbed.
+Over and over in his troubled slumber a thin,
+shrunken figure stood with its trembling arm
+stretched out toward him. It was always before
+him, even when sometimes there flitted through
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>his dreams the form of one whose face was fair
+as the morning, whose hair was yellow as the
+reaper’s wheat. He rose feeling little refreshed.
+The night, instead of lessening, had but
+strengthened the hold which the incident of
+the previous day had taken upon him, and
+against which he struggled without avail.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The colonel’s prophecy did not prove incorrect
+when he said Simlin could not last long,
+for, just as the family were rising from the
+breakfast-table, a messenger arrived, saying the
+old man was lying insensible in his cabin. It
+seemed he did not make his appearance at the
+foundry at his usual time, and, after waiting an
+hour in vain, Hendricks, who suspected something
+might be wrong, sent one of the hands to
+the hut, where he was found in this condition.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Tell Hendricks I will see to him immediately,”
+the colonel said to the messenger, as he
+retired; then turning to young Safford, who
+stood with his hat in his hand, inquired, “Are
+you going out?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I will go with you, if you have no objection.
+I may be of some service, and I am in need of
+exercise at any rate.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He hesitated as he spoke, endeavoring to
+cover the unusual interest which he took in the
+matter, and the excitement he felt that the
+news had brought upon him.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“Why, my dear fellow, you are absolutely
+pale this morning! Our country air ought to
+do better for you than this. Yes, I wish you
+would go with me. I don’t know exactly what
+is to be done. If old Simlin is very ill, he can
+not be moved, and anyhow there is no road
+leading up that side of the Spring Hill, nothing
+but a narrow foot-path, which I guess he has
+worn himself, for nobody else ever goes in that
+direction. The cabin must have been originally
+put up by hunters. The place is so lonely and
+inaccessible, I have often tried in vain to prevail
+upon him to come down into the village. He is
+a strange man, almost a hermit in his habits.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, can not I go along with you? Maybe
+I can do something for him, too, if he is sick.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You, Helen?” said her father, smiling.
+“What can you do for such a person? No, no,
+child, it is no place for you. I do not like to
+have you go among any of these wretched
+people.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He stooped and kissed the fair countenance
+raised so entreatingly to his. A swift expression
+of pain had come across the younger
+gentleman’s face as the colonel spoke, but the
+girl persisted, and her father reluctantly gave
+his consent.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, well, as you will! Tell Margaret to
+put a few things into a basket with some wine
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>and brandy, and tell Jake to follow us with it
+immediately. We may need him anyhow, and
+he has no work to do about the house this
+morning. I can not spare Hendricks from
+the foundry, and very likely, if we can not
+move Simlin, the hut will have to be fixed up a
+little.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Losing no time, they started on their errand
+of mercy. The walk was long, but well shaded.
+Down the hill, along the valley, up the hill, all
+Nature seemed reveling in an excess of joy.
+The little song-sparrows, wild with delight,
+united in a jubilant choir; the blackbirds called,
+and called, and called; the orioles, in myriad
+numbers, fluttered their golden wings; and
+sometimes a chaffinch loitered for a moment in
+her flight to the far-off wheat fields.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It seemed strange that there should be any
+misery, any suffering. The girl could not realize
+it until they came out on top of the Spring
+Hill to the little clearing where the cabin stood,
+which, in its utter desolation, appeared to overwhelm
+her. There was no sign of a human
+presence any where. A silent robin sat idly on
+the chimney-top, while its mate flitted wistfully
+over the sunburnt grass. The place was so
+lonely that the gentle wind seemed to smother
+a sob. Below, the wide valley stretched away
+to the remote sky. And in this wretched hovel,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>on this solitary site, old Simlin lived, like one
+ostracized from society.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Wait here a moment,” said the colonel,
+“while I go in first, and I will come and tell
+you.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He left them in the shade of the tall beech
+trees, and they saw him go into the cabin.
+Though neither had spoken, they knew that
+upon each heart rested the same burden of
+dread. In the moment that followed there
+came over the young man an almost sickening
+anxiety, but the girl stood, awed only by the
+thought that perhaps even then the black wings
+of Death might be settling unknown within
+their very presence. Then she saw her father
+come to the door and beckon—the old man at
+least was not dead—and they went in together.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The place was far more bare and desolate than
+even its exterior had appeared. The rough boards
+of the floor were shrunken apart. Through
+the windows, unshielded by even a plank, the
+glaring light poured in a pitiless flood. A
+broken chair or two were propped against the
+wall, and in the corner an old pine table stood
+in a precarious condition upon its uneven legs.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There, stretched across the wretched bed
+dressed in his grimy clothes, just as they had
+seen him at the foundry twenty-four hours ago,
+the old man lay insensible. All their restoratives
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>were powerless to rouse him from this
+heavy stupor. Not even a muscle responded to
+their efforts. The half-closed eyes were glazed.
+There was no quiver now about the bloodless
+lips. The thin, emaciated face seemed thinner,
+more emaciated, for over all the features rested
+that sunk expression which those who look upon
+it behold with despair at their hearts. But for
+the slow rise and fall of his chest, they might
+have thought the last glimmer of life had died
+out of that frail form forever.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was plain that they could not dare to move
+him, and the colonel carefully shaded the
+window with a few pieces of plank, still leaving
+free access to the air. Helen had quietly taken
+all the things from the basket, and set them
+ready for use, though there was little chance
+now that they could be of any avail. Safford
+stood at the foot of the bed, utterly unconscious
+of every thing at the moment but the prostrate
+figure before him. Since he entered the
+room he had hardly changed his position, only
+that he folded his arms across his breast, and
+drooped his head a little, as if in that attitude
+he might the more intently watch the sleeper.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the colonel came and spoke to him he
+started up as if frightened, like one out of a
+dream, so that the elder man looked at him in
+surprise; but Safford, with a strong effort controlling
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>himself, said quickly, in a husky voice,—
+“I beg your pardon. You startled me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I only wanted to know how long you thought
+he could last?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I can not tell. It may be until evening,
+hardly longer.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He was right. The day wore on without any
+apparent change until about the going down
+of the sun, when the old man moved a little.
+They had once or twice dropped a few drops of
+wine between his lips, but this was the first
+symptom of any break in the heavy stupor
+which had held him so long in its death-like
+embrace. His respiration quickened, and became
+audible. He muttered one or two incoherent
+sentences, then a tremor passed over
+his features, and he opened his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Helen, whom her father had vainly endeavored
+during the afternoon to persuade into going
+home, stood with her head turned away; and
+the colonel, too intent upon watching the dying
+man, did not notice Safford, from whose face, at
+the first struggle in the inanimate form, every
+particle of color fled, and who, trembling
+violently all over, clutched the bed for support.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old man for a moment looked about the
+room blankly, as if a haze obscured his vision.
+Raising himself slowly on his elbow, his face
+lighted up, and he opened his lips to speak, but
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>as suddenly the light faded out, his features
+quivered pitiably, and he sank down, saying,
+brokenly, in an accent of despair,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Dead—she is dead! She is dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then, starting up wildly, he cried out,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you
+will kill me! It was not for the likes o’ me to
+have married you. Now you are so white an’
+thin, an’, Hetty, when I took ye to the church,
+yer cheeks were redder nor the summer rose.
+Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A terrible struggle in his throat compelled
+him to pause for a moment, then he went on with
+rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
+could hardly find expression in words:—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one
+that; I can not bar it!—not that, not my name!
+I swear to ye, he shall not take after the likes
+of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty,
+I swear to ye, if I live, he shall never hear a low
+word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He shall
+have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman.
+Hetty, I’ve been a worthless dog—a
+brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
+darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer
+face—but hear me, Hetty, I swear to ye, the
+little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
+shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so
+still! O Hetty!—dead! she is dead—dead!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>Both the colonel and Helen turned with
+astonishment to young Safford when the old
+man, in his delirium, had spoken his name;
+but the latter, unconscious of their surprise,
+with a single cry, sprang forward, and supported
+the exhausted figure in his arms as it
+sank back.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father—my father!” The words broke
+from his lips in a voice painfully choked by
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was another severe struggle for breath,
+then, with renewed strength, the old man raised
+himself into a sitting posture, and, looking
+round quickly, began in a hurried manner,
+fumbling about with his hands,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me
+agin! He mustn’t never know as I’m alivin’.
+He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’
+me.” He paused a moment, and the expression
+of his face changed. “It’s a lie!” he cried,
+fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body
+to look after! It’s all a <em>lie</em>!” Then, shivering
+suddenly, he said, lowering his voice, and speaking
+softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not
+have no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a
+gentleman. I said he should be a gentleman—and
+he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No,
+no! I never seen you before—I never seen you
+before!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling
+sound in his throat.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, father, speak to me! It is I,
+George!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees.
+During the moment that followed there was
+profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes,
+and said, gently,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“George! the little George!” A radiant
+light rested upon his thin face. He raised his
+trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily
+over the man’s head. “Yer hair is soft an’
+black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
+her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’,
+Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”</p>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_242.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span></div>
+<div class='chapter'>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id002'>
+<img src='images/i_243.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div>
+  <h2 class='c007'>THE ANTHEM OF JUDEA.</h2>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+<h3 class='c015'>I.</h3>
+
+<div class='c016'>
+  <img class='drop-capi' src='images/di_243.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
+</div><p class='drop-capi_8'>
+At the foot of the hill stood a low, old-fashioned
+frame house, with a picket-fence
+round the yard, which ran down
+to a small stream that sometimes flowed along
+slowly, and sometimes with a great rush, and
+sometimes slept tranquilly beneath a sheeting
+of ice. Nearly a mile off, smooth and level,
+with pleasant streets, and a church whose spire
+shone in the sunlight long after the evening
+shade had crept over the ground, was the village
+of Pickaway, the gem of Paint Valley.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From there, two days in every week, to the
+quaint old-fashioned house at the foot of the
+hill, the children wended their way with music
+folios, coming loiteringly in Summer over the
+narrow foot-path where the wild columbine
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>grew by the creek, but in Winter walking hurriedly
+over the frozen turnpike, swinging their
+arms, blowing their fingers, and sometimes doing
+battle bravely with the snow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Here Franz Erckman lived in the plainest
+manner, with only his piano and his cottage-organ
+for companions. Wife and children he
+had none, nor any relative, nor any domestic
+pet. There was never a dog, or cat, or even so
+much as a chicken, to be seen about the premises.
+One servant he kept, to be sure, but she,
+a cross old woman, never opened her mouth for
+the purpose of speech more than a dozen times in
+a year, and then it was only upon some unusual
+provocation, as when the scholars broke a
+pitcher, or muddied her floor, when she would
+give utterance to some incoherent but disagreeable
+ejaculation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz Erckman had lived in this way for
+nearly twenty years, and was just as bluff in
+manner, and just as reserved in disposition, as
+when he had first come there, an unknown
+young foreigner, without friends, or acquaintances,
+or money, and commenced in a modest
+way giving music-lessons to a few pupils at first,
+to many after a time.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When the new church was built, and a new
+organ with great gilded pipes put in, his services
+were engaged, as well they might, for no other
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>person in the whole village could have made
+any thing whatever out of all those stops, and
+pedals, and keys.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Now that Pickaway had grown to be quite a
+town, with a very respectable hotel, many tourists
+came down in the summer season from the
+city to rusticate for a week or two, and they
+always heard the organist with astonishment.
+Inquiries about him were so often repeated by
+these cultivated strangers, that Pickaway had
+finally grown to feel proud of its musician, and it
+became as natural to them to show off Franz
+Erckman as it did to call attention to the beautiful
+scenery. It would have been hard to have
+overlooked either, for a more picturesque landscape
+could rarely have been found.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>However, all this praise and adulation had
+apparently made little effect upon the village
+music-master, who had been again and again
+invited to come up for one season to the city by
+these friendly tourists. They held out to him
+the allurements of the orchestras and operas,
+and told wonderful tales of the superb voices of
+the great <i><span lang="it" xml:lang="it">prime donne</span></i>. It was all in vain. He
+always thanked them for their proffered hospitality,
+but never accepted it, and lived along,
+seemingly content enough to teach the village
+children, and play the church-organ. Only his
+one servant knew how at night, and sometimes
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>all night through, he tried ineffectually to satisfy
+his great craving for music, and how, not until
+the pale light of morning was visible in the east,
+would he shut his cottage-organ. And when
+he turned from it there was always a strange
+expression of despair upon his features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people of the town said he was penurious,
+for he invariably exacted the tuition of each
+scholar in advance, and if at the appointed time
+it was not forthcoming, he quietly dismissed the
+pupil without a word, and there were no more
+lessons given until the quarter had been paid.
+However, they grew to know him so well that
+every body fell into the habit, in his case at
+least, of being punctual.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So, working steadily year after year, as he had
+done, with almost no expenses of living, Pickaway
+thought he must have laid by quite a
+fortune, and when the Widow Massey, poverty-stricken
+though she was, made up her mind to
+send her little daughter—her only child—the
+poor, weak, crippled little Alice, who went
+every Sunday to the church, and listened with
+such deep delight to the strains of the great
+organ—when the Widow Massey made up her
+mind to send her daughter to the music-master,
+and give her this one pleasure, that it might
+brighten somewhat the life so early blighted,
+all the people thought he would surely take the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>child for nothing. But he did not—he took
+the money, the full amount; and, if the people
+made sarcastic remarks about his penuriousness,
+<em>they</em> never offered to pay for the little girl.
+And the mother never thought of asking a favor
+from any one. Though she earned by hard
+labor scarcely enough to keep them, still for the
+last year she had had this thought at heart, and
+quietly saved a little at a time, until finally the
+long-coveted sum was in her possession; and
+gladly she went and gave it to the music-master,
+who put it down at the bottom of his vest-pocket,
+and told her to send the little girl
+twice a week. And twice a week the little girl
+went.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>That was in the Summer. She was pale,
+and thin, and delicate, and the scholars all wondered
+how she would get there through the snow
+in the Winter. But before the bleak winds
+had blown one rude blast, the little Alice had
+a worse trouble. The Widow Massey suddenly
+fell ill and died, commending her beloved child
+to the care only of the great Guardian above.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was a terrible stroke, and the people all
+wondered what would become of the helpless
+daughter, who was too feeble to do any kind of
+work for a means of subsistence, and every
+person thought it strange that somebody else
+did not come to her relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>It was very sad. The poor little creature
+seemed fairly racked with grief, and had sat by
+the side of her dead mother day and night.
+On the afternoon of the funeral they tried in
+vain to take her away, until Franz Erckman
+came, and the people in surprise saw him lift
+her up in his arms without a struggle, and
+quietly carry her out of the house. They saw
+him, still with her arms clasped tight about
+his neck, crossing the green pastures, strike the
+narrow foot-path by the creek, and disappear
+as the path turned behind the heavy foliage
+that was brilliant in the scarlet dyes of October.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was not one of the days upon which he
+gave lessons. There was only the ripple of
+water over the stones and the rustle of leaves
+that occasionally blew down from the trees, to
+break the profound quiet of the place as he passed
+through his gate. Not one word had been
+spoken, and still in perfect silence he carried
+the frail little being, that he could feel trembling
+from head to foot—he carried her across
+the broad veranda and into the pleasant parlor—not
+the room that the scholars used, but where
+his cottage-organ stood. Then he drew the
+sofa up beside the instrument and laid her
+down upon it.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her fingers unclasped with a convulsive
+movement, and Franz turned his face away, for
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>the child had not uttered a sound. Her eyes,
+dry and unnaturally bright, wore a startled
+look, a mute, beseeching expression, like the
+eyes of a wounded animal, and the pallor of
+her countenance, that had a wild grief branded
+upon it, was almost as ghastly in hue as death.
+It was suffering terrible to behold, and the
+hands of the strong man trembled as he opened
+the mahogany case of his organ.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a moment’s silence; then music,
+soft and sorrowful, floated out on the air gently,
+almost timidly; so very mournful, that the
+strain, beautiful though it was, seemed to have
+in it a human cry of pain. It was a language
+that could appeal to the heart when word or
+lip failed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The child’s whole frame shook beneath the
+heavy sobs that swelled up in her throat, and
+the great grief had opened its flood-gates. Hour
+after hour he played untiringly, while the violence
+of the storm spent itself. The music, at
+first sorrowful, hurt, had cried out in its pain;
+then it grew into a measure so yearning, it
+seemed the very genius of sympathy. Making
+an intense appeal, it swelled into a great passion,
+which gradually became exhausted by
+its own intense vehemence, until about the
+going down of the sun it died. And the child
+slept.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>The wild storm of anguish was over. Upon
+the face, the thin, pale face of the little girl in
+her slumber, there shone an expression of such
+absolute rest that Franz, with a sudden movement,
+bent down his head and listened. Had
+she passed with the music to the land where
+there are strains that swell into a <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> never
+ending? He held his breath. Was this the
+reflection of that peace eternal, that rest which
+endureth forever? A sob quivered for a moment
+on her features, and escaped from the lips
+of the sleeper. No, no, for sorrow showed its
+painful presence. She was not dead, and, at
+the sigh, sad though it was to see, the man
+arose with a smothered exclamation of relief.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The quiet day was drawing to its close.
+Within the room the shadows were already thickening;
+without, long lines of mist festooned the
+hills in plumes of royal purple, and the red haze
+of Indian-summer had gathered into broad
+streamers that unfurled their splendor across
+the tranquil sky. The floating twilight hung
+over the wide and level pastures. Down by
+the creek the scarlet sage still showed its coral
+fringe, and sometimes the woodbine, close by
+the house, waved its painted leaves. Far off in
+the filmy vale the group of maples that had
+stood crowned with a golden glory now shrouded
+themselves in black; and beyond, like a long
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>stretch of desolate shore, the great gloom lifted
+up its chilly banks.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Many times from the window in his parlor
+Franz Erckman had watched the divine pageant
+of night ascend the valley in all the pomp and
+grandeur of its magnificence, in all the solemn
+majesty of its silence, in all the ineffable depths
+of its sadness. Many times in his loneliness he
+had seen it pass, when a vision of the fair Rhineland
+would come back to his heart. Many times
+through its profound solitude he had looked out
+with yearning eyes, with listening ears, striving
+to comprehend its sublime mystery. Many
+times he had turned to it with a soul oppressed
+by despair reaching toward the Infinite. For,
+though the people did not know it, beneath the
+rough exterior of this reserved German dwelt a
+love of the beautiful—a love so passionate
+sometimes, it seemed crushing his very spirit
+that he could not give it utterance in his music.
+Then it was that often he would rise from his
+organ in bitter disappointment, and go out with
+his trouble to seek consolation from the night—the
+night forever wan with her own unspoken
+sorrow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But he stood watching the face of the sleeper,
+paying no heed to the gathering shade. He
+stooped and arranged the cushions about the
+fragile form with the gentle touch of a woman,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>while upon his features there rested an expression
+more beautiful than they could ever borrow
+from the softened light of the evening.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“She would have died,” he said to himself.
+“But for the music, I believe she would have
+died! The chords of the organ spoke to her
+when all earthly words failed. She, at least,
+can understand the language I have been striving
+to learn.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Frail little creature! She appeared, indeed,
+like a spirit of some other world. Her every
+nerve had vibrated in sympathy, and Franz
+could hardly help thinking, as he looked at her,
+that, soundless to human ears, there played
+about her ceaseless strains of melody. Music
+seemed to be the vitality that gave her life, the
+only nourishment that fed her soul.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When she first came to him for instruction,
+he quickly discovered that she possessed not the
+least power of execution, and then had taken
+no special notice of her further. Wrapped up
+in his art, teaching the children had never been
+a pleasure to him. He compelled himself to
+endure it as a means of subsistence.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The great object for which he worked was
+once to secure means enough to keep penury
+always from his door, and then give himself up
+unreservedly to this art which he loved better
+than his life. So he took no particular interest
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>in any of his scholars, and it was only when
+he saw how eagerly the little Alice drank in
+every sound, that gradually he began to observe
+the child more narrowly. As he had at first
+seen, she possessed no power of execution
+whatever. She could not even learn to read
+the notes, and she would probably never be
+able to play a single bar correctly. But he had
+noticed how keenly alive she was to harmony,
+how peculiarly sensitive to discord. It seemed
+as though her lessons were a constant pain. Yet
+she came eagerly, and often lingered when they
+were finished.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He had found her once, late in the day, when
+he had been playing dreamily to himself, sitting
+on the veranda near the window of his parlor,
+listening with a rapt attention, wholly unconscious
+of any thing but his music. Since that,
+when she came to take her lesson, he had always
+played for her, carelessly at first, but after a
+time with greater interest, until gradually he
+had given up altogether any effort to instruct
+her, and in its place each day played for her the
+oratorios and symphonies of the great composers.
+Then he had changed from the piano to
+his organ, and he had grown to wait nearly as
+anxiously for the hour to come round as the
+little girl herself.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>By degrees the visits of the child became to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>him almost indispensable. He seemed to feel
+always a strange inspiration come upon him in
+her presence. Why, he did not know; but it
+was then that sometimes the wild tumult, the
+infinite longings of his soul struggled into expression.
+But, when the child went, he would
+find himself again dejected, and wholly unable
+even to recall the strains which seemed to have
+died at the very moment of their birth.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz stood, still watching her motionless
+form. The sobs, quivering through her sleep,
+had one by one exhausted themselves, and left
+her face strangely peaceful to look upon.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“She is mine,” he muttered. “I will never
+part with her. She is my spirit of sound!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Suddenly he heard the grating noise of footsteps
+on the graveled walk. Turning quickly,
+he drew the curtain over the window to shield
+the sleeper from the damp night-air. Then he
+went softly out and closed the door after him,
+wrapped once more in his severe reserve, and
+with the old stern expression upon his features.
+His brows knit themselves into a frown, and
+his lips curled for a moment with a smile of
+contempt when he recognized the figure coming
+into the hall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Ha! Erckman, good-evening,” said the man,
+in a loud and boisterous tone, which seemed to
+dissipate all the serenity of the night in its
+pompous swell.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>“Good-evening.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>If it had been the first time they had ever
+met, Franz could not have spoken with colder
+formality as he showed his guest into the piano-room.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Mr. Cory claimed to be the richest man in
+Pickaway, and very likely it was true. He
+owned hundreds of green and fertile acres, with
+cattle sleek and fat. He was ruling elder in
+the church, and his wife bought all her bonnets
+and flounces in the city, and they had built the
+finest house in the whole of Paint Valley. Indeed,
+nothing was done without his presence,
+and every one, from the minister to the sexton,
+received his advice, which he distributed far
+more liberally than he did his money. So it was
+that Franz had mentally guessed the object of his
+visit the instant he recognized him in the hall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Fine weather, this.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The organist made no more audible reply to
+the remark than a half-uttered grunt, as he
+struck a match down the corner of the mantelpiece,
+and lighted the lamp. Mr. Cory sat
+uneasily on the hard, hair-cloth chair, dimly
+conscious of some obstruction in the usually
+smooth channel of his discourse.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Sad affair of the Widow Massey.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He looked about the room for a moment, as
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>though expecting to discover the presence of
+some third person, then repeated,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Sad affair! sad affair! We are all liable to
+sudden death, and she ought to have been saving
+up, in case of such an event. She left
+nothing to provide for the child at all. Nothing
+at all. The furniture will barely bring enough
+to pay for her funeral expenses.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz had sat down mechanically on the
+music-stool, and rested one hand on the keyboard
+of the piano. Just as the conversation
+had reached this point, he suddenly took his
+hand away, with a nervous movement that
+sounded three or four discordant bass-notes of
+the instrument as he did so, and Mr. Cory for
+the second time found himself laboring under
+an ill-defined sense of discomfort, something
+wholly unusual. But, seeing his host showed
+no symptoms of breaking the silence, after a
+slight cough, he went on,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We have been talking this afternoon as to
+what is going to be done with the child. You’ve
+got her here, haven’t you?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, one can’t do a great deal in this way,
+but you know it is such a sad case, and the child
+can’t do any work about a house, and my wife
+is so interested in her she thinks she’ll take the
+little girl—What did you say?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>“Nothing.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, I thought you spoke.
+My wife is so interested in her she thinks she’ll
+take the little girl and send her for a year to
+the industrial school in the city, where she can
+learn to do fine sewing and embroidery. That
+will give her a chance to earn her living, and
+we can take up a collection in church to defray
+the expense.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“‘Fine sewing and embroidery’—<em>fine suffering
+and death</em>!” said Franz, suddenly letting
+loose his pent-up wrath. “Mr. Cory, would
+you kill the child? She is frailer than a flower,
+a sickly little thing, and crippled. One month’s
+stooping over a needle would put her in the
+grave. I thought for a moment, but an hour
+ago, that she was dead.” As he spoke the last
+word he left his seat, and, taking up the lamp,
+said,—“Come with me, and step lightly.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Utterly taken aback at the sudden outburst
+of the music-master, Mr. Cory followed him
+across the hall, saw him open the door of the
+opposite room, and motion him to enter. Then
+he said, in a quiet voice, while he shaded the
+lamp carefully with his hand, so that its rays
+did not fall directly upon the face of the
+child,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Look at her.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The man stepped forward, but almost immediately
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>drew back, with a shiver, from the
+sleeper, whose repose so strangely resembled
+death. She lay upon the sofa, with her hands
+folded across her breast, as when she had at first
+fallen into slumber.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz stood intently regarding her, when
+suddenly his guest, coming up close to him, said,
+with his rough voice dropped into a frightened
+whisper, and his eyes looking quickly about the
+room,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Where does it come from?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What?” asked Franz, startled by his singular
+manner.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Do you hear it?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Hear what?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The music.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Music!” exclaimed Franz, dropping his
+voice also to a whisper, and involuntarily suspending
+his breath for a moment—“no, I hear
+no music.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It did not seem like the piano or organ. It
+must have been the wind in the trees outside,
+but it sounded just like a strain of music. We
+had better go, or we may waken her,” said Mr.
+Cory, as he turned to the door, and drew one
+hand across his forehead, where the perspiration
+had collected in drops, although the evening
+was cold and the air chilly.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz followed him out, springing the latch
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>gently with his hand as it caught, and they
+both went back to the piano-room. Here Mr.
+Cory seemed to recover somewhat of his usual
+composure.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Well, Erckman, she does look thin and delicate-like,
+but sewing won’t hurt her, not a bit.
+She’ll be better when she’s got something to
+do. She can’t exist on air, and she can’t live
+in idleness. She has got nothing, and it’s the
+only way I know of she can make her living.
+She must do work of some kind for support.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Before Franz’s eyes there floated visions of
+broad and fertile acres, of fine cattle, of fine
+clothes, of fine houses, but “she must do work
+of some kind for support,” so he said nothing,
+while the church-elder continued,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is James Maxwell going to the city
+to-morrow, and my wife said we had better send
+her to the school by him.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Send her—, Mr. Cory,” said the organist,
+with a suppressed fierceness in his voice, “You
+saw how frail she is, how she looks as if, even
+now, the shadow of death might be upon her.
+You know how, from her birth, she has been
+crippled. I tell you one month in that school
+among strangers would kill her. Are there not
+strong arms enough in the world, is there not
+wealth enough already, that this unfortunate
+one, this perpetually enfeebled child, must wear
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>out her brief span of life in a painful struggle
+to gain a little food?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We are not, sir, expected to keep the ‘unfortunate
+one,’ as you call her,” blustered Mr.
+Cory, fairly purple with indignant astonishment.
+“What do you mean, sir? We are not under
+obligations to do any thing whatever for the
+girl. She should be thankful we interested ourselves
+in her behalf,” he said, partially choking
+with rage. “We will do this for her, but that
+is all. She is nothing to us.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I had no intention of dictating,” said the
+organist, politely, who had quieted down as
+quickly as he had roused up. “You are right,
+sir, she is nothing to you, and you need not
+trouble yourself about the matter further. I
+will see that the child is provided for.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then Mr. Cory looked at Franz as if he
+thought he had not heard aright, or that the
+music-master might be departing from his
+senses.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I repeat, I will see that the child is provided
+for, and you need not trouble yourself in
+regard to her further.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Very well, sir, very well!” exclaimed the
+elder, rising, almost speechless with surprise.
+But when he reached the piazza he said,—“Then
+it is understood that I am not responsible in the
+case?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>“It is understood.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz had had no intention of parting with
+the child. He would not have given her up had
+Mr. Cory offered all his grassy meadows. He
+watched him as he walked down the graveled
+path and disappeared in the darkness. “Charity!”
+he muttered. “Shut him out, O Night—hide
+him from view! Wrap your impenetrable
+mantle about him, that it may shield him
+from the eye of God and man!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The German stood for a moment looking out
+into the limitless gloom, which screened alike
+the evil and the good, then he turned again into
+the house.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>He went back, through the dining-room where
+his supper was spread untouched upon the
+table, to the kitchen, where Margery sat warming
+herself by the dying embers in the stove.
+The old servant was used to his irregular ways,
+and often saw his meals go untasted without a
+remark. But it was rarely the master ever
+intruded upon her premises, and she rose up as
+he came in, with an expression of surprise upon
+her quiet face.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Margery,” he said, “fix up the bedroom
+next to yours, then come down to me in the
+parlor.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The old woman heard him without a question,
+though never before could she remember when
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>the guest-chamber had been used, or a visitor
+staid overnight at the house.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>When she had obeyed his instructions she
+presented herself at the parlor-door. There
+was no lamp in the room, only a narrow strip of
+light fell upon the floor from across the hall, but
+it did not penetrate the heavy shadow, and
+Margery, with a half-uttered apology upon her
+lips, drew back. At the sound of the woman’s
+steps, Franz came out of the gloom.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I beg your pardon, sir.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“What is the matter?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I did not know you was playin’, or I would
+have waited,” said the servant, respectfully,
+who had learned long ago never under any
+circumstances to interrupt her master at his
+practice.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“I was not playing.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Warn’t it you, sir? It was so dark I could
+not see.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Me? no; nor any body else. No one was
+playing.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Why, I thought I heard—but it must have
+been the wind,” said Margery, glancing across
+her shoulder to the vacant piano-stool. “I
+thought I heard music just as I opened the door.—The
+room is ready, sir.” Franz bent over
+the sofa and raised the sleeping form in his
+arms. Turning to Margery, he said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>“She is light. Here, carry her up and put
+her to bed. Don’t waken her if you can help
+it, and go to her once or twice in the night to
+see that she sleeps, for she is not well.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then he added, as an abrupt explanation,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“She will occupy that room always. This is
+to be her home, and I want you to see that she
+has every thing necessary.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>If the old servant was surprised at the announcement,
+she made no remark. She took
+her up, arranged every thing for the night, and
+the child never awakened.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>It was not an unpleasant expression that
+spread itself upon the face of the woman as she
+stooped over the bed, and laid with a careful
+hand every fold about the sleeper. With noiseless
+feet she came again and again to look once
+more at the unconscious form that seemed to
+possess for her a singular attraction. Taking
+up the lamp, she turned to go into her own (the
+adjoining) room, but, with an abrupt start, she
+checked herself midway in the action, held the
+light suspended, and stood with every muscle
+arrested, as if some unexpected sound had
+fallen suddenly on her ears. Then she bent her
+head for a moment over the sleeper, glanced
+quickly about the room, and hurriedly crossed
+to the hall.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>She ran down the flight of stairs, looked first
+into the piano-room, then into the parlor opposite.
+Both places were deserted, and the
+instruments closed. The front door was bolted,
+and the master had evidently retired. She
+went back to the guest-chamber. The child
+still slept, and Margery held every nerve in
+suspense, but there was not the least sound.
+She stepped to the window, pushed up the sash,
+then leaned out and listened. The night was
+perfectly calm. What gentle breeze there had
+been two hours before had died away and left
+a profound silence unbroken even by the chirp
+of an insect. She closed the shutter, went back
+to the bedside again for an instant; then, saying
+quietly to herself, “It must have been mere
+fancy,” passed out to her own room, and left
+the door partially open between the two apartments.</p>
+
+<div>
+  <span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>
+  <h3 class='c017'>II.</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p class='c016'>So the little Alice had found a home. All the
+people in Pickaway expressed their utter surprise
+at this unexpected generosity of the
+penurious music-master. He certainly was
+about the last person in the town from whom
+such an act might have been anticipated. Indeed,
+it was little short of an enigma to the
+place. But their astonishment knew no bounds
+when, within a few days after he had taken the
+little girl, he quietly dismissed all his pupils,
+and steadily refused to give any more lessons to
+a single soul. Nothing could prevail upon him,
+no entreaties whatever could persuade him, and
+he could never be induced to offer the least
+explanation.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Some of the wealthier ones, unwilling to give
+him up, had voluntarily proposed to pay double
+the former price, but even money, which all the
+village had thought the god of his life, failed to
+move him from his determination. He was inexorable.
+Every body wondered what might be
+the reason. No person could discover any apparent
+cause why he should so suddenly give
+up teaching. They inquired about his health.
+It was very good, he said. Did he expect to
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>leave home? No. He would continue to play
+the church-organ? Yes, oh, yes; he had no
+intention of stopping that. So they conjectured
+until tired of the task, while Franz Erckman
+paid no attention.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>However, as the days grew into weeks, and
+the weeks into months, all the village saw that
+a change had come over the organist. He was
+less communicative than formerly, and more
+severely reserved.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>From the borders of the creek the fringe of
+scarlet flowers had vanished. The myriad
+leaves had lost their rainbowed glory, and
+dropped, one after another, in russet tatters to
+the ground. The woodbine had thrown off its
+vermilion raiment, and now stretched up unclothed
+its weird and snake-like arms. The
+group of maples had laid down its golden crown;
+the hills, too, had cast aside their tiara of brilliant
+emerald. The Summer and Fall, in all their
+emblazoned splendor, had passed by, and the
+gorgeous livery of Autumn faded to the grizzled
+hues of Winter.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Up the tawny valley a bleak December wind
+swept, making a cheerless rattle among the
+naked trees, and the creek slumbered quietly
+beneath its covering of ice; but this time no
+children came over the frozen turnpike to the
+house at the foot of the hill. More secluded
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>than ever it seemed. Before the bitter winds
+had risen, in the pleasant November days, Franz
+had often rambled through the woods, carrying
+the little Alice, when she felt tired, in his arms.
+But, as the air grew chill, they staid almost
+wholly within the house. After that Franz
+rarely left it except when his duties as organist
+called him to the church, and then he invariably
+took the little girl with him, wrapped carefully
+in a heavy cloak.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people noticed that he was never seen
+any where without the child. If the weather
+proved bad on the Sabbath, or on the days when
+he went sometimes during the week to play, he
+still carried her with him, but an additional fur
+mantle was thrown around her for protection.
+She had never grown stronger; but, since that
+first night, when the organist had broken down
+the great barrier of grief that was closing up like
+a strong wall about her heart, they were seldom
+separated in her waking hours.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>During all this time Franz had changed so
+strangely that the village gossips said one would
+hardly have known him for the same person.
+To be sure, he had always been silent and reserved,
+but now he had become absolutely
+inapproachable. His manner, which was naturally
+abrupt, was often now wild and feverish.
+His face, too, had grown thin, his cheeks hollow,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>his whole figure gaunt. His eyes, brilliant but
+sunken, had assumed a singular expression of
+unrest, a perpetually searching look, as if forever
+striving to see the invisible, and it began
+finally to be whispered about among the people
+that the church-organist was not quite right in
+his head. They noticed, besides, that he would
+never allow the child to be enticed out of his
+sight. The ladies often tried to pet her, but she
+shrank invariably from every one except Franz,
+to whom she clung as if he were the one prop
+that sustained her life.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So the time had worn away at the musician’s
+home. Margery, respectful as ever in her manner,
+assiduously waited upon the little girl, who
+received all her attentions gratefully, and never
+voluntarily made a single demand. But there
+had passed a change over the old servant also.
+From her usually quiet ways she had become
+restless, as if there might be something upon her
+mind that rendered her constantly uneasy, or
+from which she was ineffectually trying to free
+herself. If she were sour or cross in disposition,
+as all the scholars used to tell, she had never
+shown it to the little orphan. She watched the
+child with a strange devotion. She would follow
+her about the house at a distance, and, if the
+little girl for a time sat down upon the veranda,
+Margery, too, farther off, would sit there with
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>her sewing, or embrace that opportunity to trim
+the woodbine, and once or twice she had even
+found an excuse to intrude herself for a moment
+in the parlor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Every evening, when she put the little girl to
+bed, Margery, with a strange, expectant look
+upon her face, would linger about the room long
+after her charge had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
+Then, when she had retired, often in the very
+middle of the night, she would suddenly waken
+from a sound slumber, spring out of bed, and,
+before she was thoroughly conscious, discover
+herself standing beside the child, with her head
+bent down in a listening position, and every
+nerve strained to catch the slightest sound.
+Immediately she would rundown stairs into the
+music-rooms, only to find them both deserted
+and the instruments closed. With a white
+countenance she would return, pause once more
+in the child’s room, and then lie down again,
+saying to herself, for the hundredth time,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It must be mere fancy. I have been dreaming.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was no element of superstition in Margery,
+but this incident would recur over and
+over, night after night, until she began to ask
+herself if, before she had reached sixty years,
+she was already losing her mind, and this the
+first fancy of a disordered imagination. It was
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>strange, she told herself, that she should dream
+the same thing so often, and every time it should
+be so vivid, for she heard a strain of music as
+distinctly as she ever heard a sound in her life,
+though it was not like the piano, organ, or,
+indeed, any instrument. And, though vivid,
+it was so evanescent it made her doubt the veracity
+of her senses. Then, too, it never came
+from down stairs, or out-of-doors, but always
+seemed apparently to emanate from the bedside
+of the little child, though, as soon as she had
+stooped to listen, it was gone, and the reign of
+silence again left supreme. Once or twice,
+even during the day, when standing beside the
+little Alice, Margery had heard, or thought she
+heard, a sudden waft of this soft melody sweep
+by her, but so fleeting that it was gone before
+she could catch her breath to listen, or be sure
+it was not simply all her own imagination.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>So, with this constantly upon her mind, Margery
+had grown restless, and found herself
+continually watching the little girl. She was
+not insensible either of the great change that
+had, by some means or other, been wrought in
+her master since the child had come into the
+house. She, as well as the people, had noticed
+that he would never, if possible, allow her out
+of his sight. He never played a night now by
+himself as he had been used to doing for years.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>After the child went to bed the instruments
+were always closed, for he never put his hand
+upon the keyboard unless she were present.
+And, even when he had her beside him, he did
+not seem happy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The people at church said, as he had changed,
+his music, too, had changed; but, as he had
+grown more wild and feverish in manner, his
+music had grown more softened and beautiful in
+style. And once, after he had played a dreamy
+harmony that held them all entranced, he had
+come down from the organ-gallery with a
+fierce fire burning in his eyes, and hands that
+trembled violently, though they were clasped
+tight over the little girl in his arms. When
+they had complimented him he looked bewildered,
+and spoke in a confused way, as though he
+could not remember what he had been playing.
+Now, more convinced than ever were the people
+that something was evidently wrong with the
+music-master, and, notwithstanding he had lost
+nothing in his art, many shook their heads, and
+whispered that poor Erckman was, beyond a
+doubt, going crazy.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>December had worn almost into Christmas.
+In every house of the village there were preparations
+for the approaching holiday. The church,
+too, was undergoing some mysterious process
+at the hands of the young people, who went in
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>and out at all hours by the back way, and
+steadily refused admittance to any one. They
+had even closed the doors against the organist
+when he went there one morning to play, but
+he was easily persuaded to withdraw, as he
+cared far more for solitude than society.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz sat moodily by the fire in his parlor,
+with the little girl upon a cushion at his feet.
+They were both naturally silent, and would
+often sit quietly together for hours. But now,
+though the musician gazed absently into the
+grate, and seemed to take no heed of the child,
+she looked up once or twice into his face, then
+said, in a timid voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Father, to-morrow is Christmas.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz had long ago taught her to call him
+father, and he merely answered mechanically,
+without taking his eyes from the illuminated
+coals,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“How dark the night is out, and how shrill
+and bleak the wind blows!” She had risen
+from her seat and gone to the window. “But
+to-morrow is Christmas-day, and I know it
+will be bright then; oh, I am sure it will be
+bright!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She stood a moment longer by the casement
+without speaking, then came back and sat down
+again, looking almost as ethereal as some spirit,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>that might vanish any moment forever into the
+glow of the red firelight.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“You will play something very beautiful to-morrow,
+will you not, father? You will make
+the voluntary better than all the service besides?
+Oh, for such a celebration, it ought to be the
+most magnificent music in the world, for, think,
+father, it will be Christmas, the grandest day in
+all the year! It seems to me I can hardly wait
+to hear you, I have been looking forward to it
+so long. But, father, you have not practised
+any for it, have you?” said the child, looking
+up suddenly with quick dismay upon her features.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz, still without glancing at the little girl,
+or taking his eyes from the fire, said,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No,” but he clasped his hands nervously
+together.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, father, you did not forget about it, did
+you?” she asked eagerly. “I have so often
+and often thought of it, though I did not say
+any thing, but it is strange I never once thought
+about the practising. Oh, you could not have
+forgotten it, father?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>She was so intensely earnest, it seemed as if
+her whole soul was in the question, trembling
+while it awaited the reply.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“No, I have not forgotten it,” said Franz,
+“It has hardly been out of my mind one moment
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>for many weeks; but I have nothing to
+play.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>At first, her face had been perfectly radiant;
+but, when he added the last clause, she got up,
+put her arms about his neck, and said, with a
+kind of terror in her voice,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, no, no! You will play, father—tell
+me you will play!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz moved uneasily in his seat.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“And it will be something grand, father. Oh,
+you will please everybody—I am not afraid of
+that. Quick, tell me you will play. Father,
+if you did not—I can not bear to think of it—oh,
+you will—say you will!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her entreaty had fairly grown into wild
+desperation. Every fiber of her frame quivered
+as she clung to him. Alarmed at her singular
+agitation, he took her up on his knee, and said,
+hurriedly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Yes, yes; I will play. Do not be troubled
+about it; I will play.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Oh, I am so glad! I knew you would, and
+it will be grand, I am sure, for to-morrow is
+Christmas!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Her face was radiant with pleasure; but so
+extreme had been her excitement that nearly an
+hour later, when Margery came to take her upstairs,
+she still trembled.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Franz, left alone, paced the floor of his room
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>up and down, sometimes stopping to look
+moodily into the fire. He had had this thing
+long upon his mind. Feeling the divine power
+of genius within him, he was not willing to play
+over again what generations had played over a
+hundred times before him. Yet he tried unavailingly
+to improvise. Once or twice, when
+playing, with the little Alice beside him, he had
+suddenly entranced even himself; but as soon
+as he undertook to reproduce the notes, either
+upon paper or upon the organ, he discovered
+them gone from his memory, and himself utterly
+powerless. It had only been latterly that he
+felt hampered in this way; yet he was conscious,
+notwithstanding, that his music at the same
+time had undergone a vast improvement. But
+he struggled against this one fault vainly. He
+had been determined to work out a new composition
+for this great occasion; and now, upon
+the very verge of Christmas-day, after all his
+unceasing anxiety, he found himself without a
+single idea—wholly unprepared. In his disappointment,
+he had almost been ready to
+absent himself altogether from the church; but
+the sudden appeal of the little girl had compelled
+him to give up this cowardly refuge, of
+which in a better mood he would have been
+ashamed.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The child had not prophesied incorrectly.
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>Under cover of night, the clouds marshaled
+themselves into gray battalions, which fled precipitately
+before the lances of the morning, that
+in resplendent array, column upon column,
+mounted the eastern sky; and Christmas—this
+day forever sacred to the world in its grand
+memories—dawned with the blaze of victorious
+colors.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Bathed in sunlight, the crystal valley wreathed
+itself with brilliant jewels; the sparkling
+trees held up their embossed arches of frosted
+silver; and from the glittering hill-sides cold
+flakes of fire burned in diamond hues almost
+blinding to the eye—for a slight fall of snow
+during the night had spread itself over the land,
+and covered it as with a mantle of transfiguration.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The bell in the tower had long been ringing
+out its invitation to worship, before Franz,
+carrying the little Alice on his arm, left the
+house. A singular eagerness rested on the face
+of the child, whose usually pale cheeks were
+now colored with a crimson flush that deepened
+almost to scarlet in the center. She held
+quietly to Franz, sometimes looking at him for
+a moment, then turning her eyes again toward
+the village.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Though she said no word, it seemed as if she
+could hardly wait until they reached the church,
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>but that her impatient spirit would break its
+bounds and fly. But Franz walked with a slow,
+unwilling step. A fierce despair appeared to be
+consuming him. His disappointment was made
+keener when he saw the wild expectation with
+which the little Alice looked forward to his
+music, and her confident belief that it would be
+far grander than any thing he had ever done
+before.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The villagers, by groups, in twos, in threes,
+with happy faces, coming from far and near,
+poured into the church. Paying no heed to
+any one as he passed, Franz entered by the side
+door, and went immediately up into the organ-gallery.
+With glad eyes, the little Alice saw
+the church in its festival decorations. Beautiful
+wreaths of cedar coiled themselves around the
+great pillars, and crept in waving lines over
+altar, arch, and casement, their unfading green
+sometimes flecked with amber, sometimes dyed
+in violet light, as the rays of the sun caught the
+tints from the windows of stained glass. Resting
+against the center of the chancel rail, a
+magnificent cross of hot house flowers loaded
+the air with the perfumes of summer—an incense
+more pure and holy than the incense of
+myrrh; and on either side sprays of English
+ivy, in long and twining branches, displayed
+their wax-like leaves.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>The last vibrations of the bell died away.
+The congregation chanted its anthem; the
+minister read the Christmas service; and the
+first strains of the organ-voluntary, after the
+close of the litany, sounded through the church.
+The little Alice, with a throbbing pulse, crept
+close to Franz as he played; but it was only the
+familiar music, that the world already knew by
+heart, and had heard a thousand times before.
+Poor Franz, warring against himself, had been
+driven back to the composition of others, though
+he knew he possessed within him a power that
+should have created, that should have raised
+him above all written measure. But now even
+his execution was a dead, mechanical labor.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A swift expression of keen disappointment
+fell upon the child’s face. She looked up at
+him, with a gesture, slight but strangely appealing,
+and with eyes filled by a sorrowful
+reproach—such a look as one might wear in the
+last moment, whose most cherished friend had
+suddenly turned and dealt him a death-blow.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>But Franz played on mechanically, with the
+pang of despair at his heart. Suddenly, half-way
+in a bar, in the very midst of a single note
+almost, a sensation of fear came upon him—an
+overwhelming awe that seemed to lock his
+muscles and turn his hands into stone. The
+organ ceased abruptly; he sat motionless as a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>statue; and a death-like silence reigned throughout
+the church. Had the same unaccountable
+awe fallen upon the congregation, too? The
+whole universe waited.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Out of the profound silence a sound was
+born, a sound more beautiful than the music
+of a dream. Soft as a whisper, clear and distinct,
+it grew, wave upon wave, into a grand
+volume of harmony, that was not loud, though
+it seemed as if it reached beyond the church-walls
+and floated on through endless space.
+Was it, then, music from that land where the
+crystal air breathes a perpetual melody? The
+people by one impulse sprang to their feet, and
+turned with awe-stricken faces toward the
+gallery. Grander, more majestic, it swelled
+into a glad chorus, whose <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i>, inspired with
+praise, rose up into heaven. It was an adoration
+of sublime joy that seemed too intense to be
+ascribed to mortal spirit; and the people fell
+upon their knees while they listened. Over
+plains, over hills, in the sky, it seemed to reverberate
+and answer back, sweeter than the
+sound of silver, vaster than the roll of ocean—the
+hallelujah of myriad voices, the song as of
+an innumerable multitude,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Glory be to God in the highest, and on
+earth peace, good-will toward men—”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Again and again the refrain gathered into a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>measure more triumphant than the strains of a
+victorious army. Then, ascending higher and
+higher, it fainted through infinite distance, and
+was gone as if it had passed beyond the very
+portals of eternity.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The spellbound audience hardly moved for a
+moment, even after the music had died; but
+when the first stir broke the silence they collected
+about the organist with eager questions.
+Franz, still sitting at his instrument, had never
+turned. Anxious to testify their wild admiration,
+they were ready almost to bow down
+before him; but they were obliged to speak
+several times before he gave the slightest heed.
+Then he looked up abruptly and said with a
+strange impatience,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Did not you see?”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>There was a confused expression in his eyes,
+as if they might have been blinded by a great
+light, and their vision not yet wholly recovered.
+The people looked at him, then at each other in
+bewilderment, but, as if he had suddenly comprehended
+their meaning, he went on quickly,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It was not I. I did not play a note. It
+was the music of another world, the music of
+the first Christmas. Did not you see the host
+of angels in the sky, and the shepherds that
+watched their flocks by night upon the plains
+of Judea? It was the <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> sung at the
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>nativity of Christ by the angels centuries ago,
+beside the village of Bethlehem!”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Then the people, regarding him with doubtful
+faces, drew back, and he said, with fierce
+excitement,—</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“If you do not believe, ask the little Alice
+there. She will tell you.”</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>The little girl sat close to his bench, but when
+they turned to her she made no reply. They
+raised her up. Their question never received
+an answer, and Franz with a wild cry fell upon
+his knees by her side. The child was dead.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>For many years afterward the musician lived
+on in the old place at the foot of the hill, but
+he never again could be prevailed upon to strike
+a note of any instrument or listen to a strain of
+any music. More rarely than ever did he speak
+to a soul, and then it was only at the Christmas
+time, to tell again of the little Alice, his spirit
+of sound, to tell of that wonderful <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> of immortal
+praise sung by a multitude of the heavenly
+hosts, whose splendor, almost blinding to his
+eyes, had lighted up earth and sky over the
+far-off plains of Palestine, where the shepherds,
+centuries ago, were watching their flocks by
+night.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Strangers heard his tale with a scarcely concealed
+smile, and shook their heads sorrowfully
+as the old man, feeble and palsied, with a
+<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>singular brilliance in his sunken eyes, turned
+away. But all the villagers spoke of him with
+respect, almost with awe, and the children
+learned to hush their mirth in reverence as he
+passed by. Margery, with a face quieter than
+ever, said little, but served her master with an
+untiring devotion, and after she had closed his
+eyes in death, when she was an old, old woman,
+sometimes in the evening she would suddenly
+break her long silence to tell a wondering group
+of Franz and the little Alice, and of the mysterious
+melody that played about the child.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>And so the people of Paint Valley relate the
+story yet, and show the graves in the long grass
+of the village church-yard, where, side by side,
+they wait to join at the last day the throng
+whose immortal <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">gloria</span></i> shall surpass even that
+grand Christmas anthem—the song of the
+angels heard by the shepherds upon the plains
+of Judea.</p>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c002'>
+    <div>THE END.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div  class='figcenter id003'>
+<img src='images/i_282.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
+</div>
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c003' />
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span></div>
+<div class='chapter ph2'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div><span class='large'>PUBLICATIONS</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='small'>OF</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='sc'>Jansen, McClurg &amp; Co.</span></div>
+    <div class='c003'><span class='large'>CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.</span></div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class='c018'><strong>CATON.—A Summer in Norway</strong>, with Notes on the Industries,
+Habits, etc., of the People, the History of the Country, the
+Climate and Productions, and of the Red Deer, Reindeer, and
+Elk, by Hon. <span class='sc'>J. D. Caton</span>, LL.D. 8vo., 401 pages. Illustrated.
+Price, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The tone of the book is frank, almost colloquial, always communicative and
+leaves a favorable impression both of the intelligence and good nature with which
+the author pursued his way through unknown wilds.&#160;*&#160;* They are excellent
+specimens of terse and graphic composition, presenting a distinct image to the
+mind, without any superfluous details.”—<cite>New York Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The book of travels, which Judge Caton has presented to the public, is of a
+high order of merit, and sets forth the interesting natural phenomena and popular
+characteristics of the land of the ‘unsetting sun’ with great strength and clearness.”—<cite>Boston
+Post.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“He is, as far as we know, the first foreign traveler who has given anything
+like a correct statement of the nature of the union between Norway and Sweden.”—<cite>The
+Nation.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>CHARD.—Across the Sea, and Other Poems.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Thos.
+S. Chard.</span> Square 16mo., 55 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This little gem of a book is one of the best instances of <i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">multum in parvo</span></i>
+that has been furnished the reading public in a long time.&#160;*&#160;* The poetry
+is of a kind not often seen now-a-days; it is of the soul, and reads as though given
+by inspiration.&#160;*&#160;* There is a mysticism in the little book, which reminds
+us of the ‘Lotus Eaters’ or ‘Festus.’”—<cite>The Alliance.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>CLEVELAND.—Landscape Architecture</strong>, as applied to
+the wants of the West; with an Essay on Forest Planting on the
+Great Plains. By <span class='sc'>H. W. S. Cleveland</span>, Landscape Architect.
+16mo., 147 pages. Price, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“My object in these few pages is simply to show that, by whatever name it may
+be called, the subdivision and arrangement of land for the occupation of civilized
+men, is an art demanding the exercise of ingenuity, judgment and taste, and one
+which nearly concerns the interest of real estate proprietors, and the welfare and
+happiness of all future occupants.”—<em>Extract from Preface.</em></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span><strong>CRAWFORD.—A Few Thoughts for a Few Friends.</strong>
+By <span class='sc'>Mrs. Alice Arnold Crawford</span>. Square 12mo., full gilt,
+tinted paper, 162 pages. Price, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is about these poems an air of trusting faith, of gentle tenderness, as
+if of one who, soaring upon the confines of a better life, had longed to leave some
+sweet remembrance here. They stand forth from the way-side of poetic literature
+like some peaceful chapel robed in ivy, where the dead are strewn with flowers,
+and the living steal in the shadows of the evening to seek a rest from weariness and
+pain.”—<cite>Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>FOYE.—Tables for the Determination and Classification
+of Minerals Found in the United States.</strong>
+By <span class='sc'>James C. Foye</span>, A.M., Professor of Chemistry and Physics,
+Lawrence University, Appleton, Wisconsin. Flexible covers, 38
+pages. Price, 75 cents.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Following Dana, our chief American authority, and gathering aid from
+various distinguished European writers, this brief manual aims to furnish the
+student with such help as is needed in order to determine and classify the minerals
+of the United States. Some useful hints as to apparatus, and suitable notes upon
+other matters, precede the tables.”—<cite>Journal of Education.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>GILES.—Out from the Shadows.</strong> A Novel; by Miss
+<span class='sc'>Ella A. Giles</span>. 12mo., 317 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“Miss Giles’ first work has had a very large sale, and has attracted the attention
+of readers and critics throughout the country. Her second book gives evidence
+of the ripening powers of the authoress, and shows the improvement which she
+has made as a writer, and a mastery of style and effect which are really uncommon.”—<cite>Milwaukee
+News.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The characters are all well conceived, and the story is pleasantly written.”—<cite>Inter-Ocean.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>GILES.—Bachelor Ben.</strong> A Novel; by Miss <span class='sc'>Ella A. Giles</span>.
+12mo., 308 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“A story of great descriptive and analytic mastery.&#160;*&#160;* A master-piece of
+free and natural handling of human life, and marks a new departure in fiction, in
+that the hero never marries, and the author has attempted to group the sympathies
+of readers about an unconventional man.”—<cite>Home Journal</cite> (New York).</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The book is refreshingly guiltless of all superfluous characters. The tone is
+good throughout. The moral apparent.”—<cite>Chicago Times.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>HALL.—Poems of the Farm and Fireside.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Eugene
+J. Hall</span>. 8vo., 114 pages. Fully illustrated. Plain, price,
+$1.75; full gilt, price, $2.25.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“In vigor and pathos they are certainly equal—we should say superior—to
+Carleton’s Farm Ballads; in humor scarcely inferior to the Biglow Papers.”—<cite>Interior.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is a nobility of mind even among the toilers of the land too often
+overlooked, and for this reason we like the flavor of these poems, because they
+smell of the field and forest, as well as portray the inner life of society at the fireside.”—<cite>Pittsburgh
+Commercial.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span><strong>HEWITT.—“Our Bible.”</strong> Three Lectures, delivered at Unity
+Church, Oak Park, Ill., by Rev. <span class='sc'>J. O. M. Hewitt</span>. 12mo., 109
+pages. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This volume is rich in erudition and conspicuously clear in the enunciation
+of the objections to the orthodox idea of an inspiration which makes it infallible in
+all particulars.”—<cite>Chicago Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>LAMARTINE.—Graziella; a Story of Italian Love.</strong>
+Translated from the French of <span class='sc'>A. De Lamartine</span> by <span class='sc'>James B.
+Runnion</span>. Small 4to, 235 pages, red line, tinted paper, full gilt,
+uniform with holiday edition of “Memories.” Price, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“‘Graziella’ is a poem in prose. The subject and the treatment are both
+eminently poetic.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It glows with love of the beautiful in all nature.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It is pure literature, a perfect story, couched in perfect words. The sentences
+have the rhythm and flow, the sweetness and tender fancy of the original. It is
+uniform with ‘Memories,’ the fifth edition of which has just been published, and
+it should stand side by side with that on the shelves of every lover of pure, strong
+thoughts put in pure, strong words. ‘Graziella’ is a book to be loved.”—<cite>Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>MASON.—Mae Madden.</strong> A Story; by Mrs. <span class='sc'>Mary Murdoch
+Mason</span>, with an introductory poem by <span class='sc'>Joaquin Miller</span>.
+16mo., red edges. Price, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“There is hardly a page in which you may not find some bright, fresh thought;
+some little generalization full of the flavor of true wit, or some charming description,
+deliciously feminine, and running over with the spirit of poetry.”—<cite>Cincinnati
+Times.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We have read this little book with great pleasure.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* It frequently
+reminds us of Mr. Howell’s delicately constructed stories, and in it, as in a mirror,
+we see reflected that true refinement and culture of the author’s mind.”—<cite>New
+Haven Palladium.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>MASON AND LALOR.—The Primer of Political
+Economy</strong>, in Sixteen Definitions and Forty Propositions, by
+<span class='sc'>A. B. Mason</span> and <span class='sc'>J. J. Lalor</span>. 12mo., 67 pages. Price, 75 cents.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“We know of no other work anywhere of sixty pages that begins to give the
+amount of information on the subject that has been put with such remarkable
+clearness into these sixty pages.”—<cite>Hartford Courant.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“For a short and comprehensive treatise, we know of nothing better than ‘The
+Primer of Political Economy.’ The information is conveyed in a very concise and
+happy manner. The style is perfectly transparent, and the illustrations admirably
+chosen. We venture to believe that not a quarter of the men in the Lower House
+of Congress know as much about Political Economy as can be learned from this
+compact and interesting little treatise.”—<cite>Christian Register.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>MILLER.—First Fam’lies of the Sierras.</strong> A Novel; by
+<span class='sc'>Joaquin Miller</span>. 12mo., 258 pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>A most graphic and realistic sketch of life in a mining cañon in the very
+earliest days of California. The rough heroes and heroines are evidently drawn
+from life, and the dramatic scenes are full of thrilling interest. Bret. Harte has
+never worked this rich vein of American life to better advantage.</p>
+
+<p class='c019'><span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span><strong>MÜLLER.—Memories</strong>; A Story of German Love. Translated
+from the German of <span class='sc'>Max Müller</span>, by <span class='sc'>Geo. P. Upton</span>. Small
+4to., 173 pages, red line, tinted paper, full gilt. Price, $2.00.
+The same, 16mo., red edges. Price, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“‘Memories’ is one of the prettiest and worthiest books of the year. The story
+is full of that indescribable half-naturalness, that effortless vraisemblance, which
+is so commonly a charm of German writers, and so seldom paralleled in English.&#160;*&#160;*&#160;* Scarcely could there be drawn a more lovely figure than that of the
+invalid Princess, though it is so nearly pure spirit that earthly touch seems almost
+to profane her.”—<cite>Springfield (Mass.) Republican.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>McLANDBURGH.—The Automaton Ear and Other
+Sketches.</strong> By <span class='sc'>Miss Florence McLandburgh</span>. 12mo., 282
+pages. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>Any one of the many who have read “The Man at Crib,” “The Automaton Ear,”
+or “The Anthem of Judea,” which have been so widely copied in various
+periodicals, will look with the highest anticipations to this author, who is no less
+gifted than she is original and eccentric.</p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Truths for To-Day.</strong> <em>First Series.</em> By <span class='sc'>Professor
+David Swing</span>. 12mo., 325 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“The preacher makes no display of his rich resources, but you are convinced
+that you are listening to a man of earnest thought, of rare culture, and of genuine
+humanity. His forte is evidently not that of doctrinal discussion. He deals in no
+nice distinctions of creed. He has no taste for hair-splitting subtleties, but presents
+a broad and generous view of human duty, appealing to the highest instincts and
+the purest motives of a lofty manhood.”—<cite>New York Tribune.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Truths for To-Day.</strong> <em>Second Series.</em> By <span class='sc'>Professor
+David Swing</span>. 12mo., 294 pages, tinted paper. Price, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>This volume will contain the latest discourses of <span class='sc'>Prof. Swing</span>, some of them
+preached at the Fourth Church, but most of them spoken at the Theatre to the New
+Central Church. It is universally conceded that these are the finest efforts he has
+ever made, and the general demand for their preservation in more permanent form
+than the newspaper reports, has led to their issue in this volume. They are selected,
+revised and arranged for publication by <span class='sc'>Prof. Swing</span> himself.</p>
+
+<p class='c019'><strong>SWING.—Trial of Prof. Swing.</strong> The <em>Official Report</em> of this
+important trial. 8vo., 286 pages. Price, $1.75.</p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“It constitutes a complete record of one of the most remarkable ecclesiastical
+trials of modern times.”—<cite>Boston Journal.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'>“This volume will be a precious bit of history twenty-five years hence, and its
+pages will be read with mingled interest and surprise.”—<cite>Golden Age.</cite></p>
+
+<p class='c006'><strong>Any of the books on this list sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt
+of price by the publishers.</strong></p>
+
+<div class='lg-container-r'>
+  <div class='linegroup'>
+    <div class='group'>
+      <div class='line'>JANSEN, McCLURG &amp; CO.</div>
+      <div class='line in4'><span class='sc'>117 &amp; 119 State St., Chicago.</span></div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<div class='pbb'>
+ <hr class='pb c003' />
+</div>
+<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span></div>
+<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>
+
+<div class='chapter ph2'>
+
+<div class='nf-center-c0'>
+<div class='nf-center c004'>
+    <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+ <ol class='ol_1 c002'>
+    <li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
+
+    </li>
+    <li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
+    </li>
+  </ol>
+
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AUTOMATON EAR, AND OTHER SKETCHES ***</div>
+<div style='text-align:left'>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Updated editions will replace the previous one&#8212;the old editions will
+be renamed.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
+law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
+so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
+States without permission and without paying copyright
+royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
+of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG&#8482;
+concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
+and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
+the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
+of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
+copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
+easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
+of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
+Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away&#8212;you may
+do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
+by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
+license, especially commercial redistribution.
+</div>
+
+<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br />
+<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br />
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span>
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+To protect the Project Gutenberg&#8482; mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase &#8220;Project
+Gutenberg&#8221;), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; License available with this file or online at
+www.gutenberg.org/license.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
+destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works in your
+possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
+by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
+or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.B. &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works if you follow the terms of this
+agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (&#8220;the
+Foundation&#8221; or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
+of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works. Nearly all the individual
+works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
+States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
+United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
+claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
+displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
+all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
+that you will support the Project Gutenberg&#8482; mission of promoting
+free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; name associated with the work. You can easily
+comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
+same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License when
+you share it without charge with others.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
+in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
+check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
+agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
+distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
+other Project Gutenberg&#8482; work. The Foundation makes no
+representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
+country other than the United States.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
+immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License must appear
+prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg&#8482; work (any work
+on which the phrase &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; appears, or with which the
+phrase &#8220;Project Gutenberg&#8221; is associated) is accessed, displayed,
+performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
+</div>
+
+<blockquote>
+  <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+    other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+    whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+    of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+    at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+    are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
+    of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
+  </div>
+</blockquote>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work is
+derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
+contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
+copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
+the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
+redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase &#8220;Project
+Gutenberg&#8221; associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
+either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
+obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
+additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
+will be linked to the Project Gutenberg&#8482; License for all works
+posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
+beginning of this work.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg&#8482;.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; License.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
+any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
+to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg&#8482; work in a format
+other than &#8220;Plain Vanilla ASCII&#8221; or other format used in the official
+version posted on the official Project Gutenberg&#8482; website
+(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
+to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
+of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original &#8220;Plain
+Vanilla ASCII&#8221; or other form. Any alternate format must include the
+full Project Gutenberg&#8482; License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg&#8482; works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+provided that:
+</div>
+
+<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'>
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+        the use of Project Gutenberg&#8482; works calculated using the method
+        you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
+        to the owner of the Project Gutenberg&#8482; trademark, but he has
+        agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
+        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
+        within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
+        legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
+        payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
+        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
+        Section 4, &#8220;Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
+        Literary Archive Foundation.&#8221;
+    </div>
+
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+        you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+        does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+        License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
+        copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
+        all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+        works.
+    </div>
+
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
+        any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+        electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
+        receipt of the work.
+    </div>
+
+    <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'>
+        &#8226; You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+        distribution of Project Gutenberg&#8482; works.
+    </div>
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work or group of works on different terms than
+are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
+from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
+the Project Gutenberg&#8482; trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
+forth in Section 3 below.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
+contain &#8220;Defects,&#8221; such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
+or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
+other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
+cannot be read by your equipment.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the &#8220;Right
+of Replacement or Refund&#8221; described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
+with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
+with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
+lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
+or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
+opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
+the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
+without further opportunities to fix the problem.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you &#8216;AS-IS&#8217;, WITH NO
+OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
+damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
+violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
+agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
+limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
+unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
+remaining provisions.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works in
+accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
+production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
+including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
+the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
+or any Project Gutenberg&#8482; work, (b) alteration, modification, or
+additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg&#8482; work, and (c) any
+Defect you cause.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg&#8482;
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
+computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
+exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
+from people in all walks of life.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg&#8482;&#8217;s
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg&#8482; collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg&#8482; and future
+generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
+Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation&#8217;s EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
+U.S. federal laws and your state&#8217;s laws.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+The Foundation&#8217;s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
+Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
+to date contact information can be found at the Foundation&#8217;s website
+and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
+public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
+DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
+visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
+donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'>
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg&#8482; electronic works
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
+Gutenberg&#8482; concept of a library of electronic works that could be
+freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
+distributed Project Gutenberg&#8482; eBooks with only a loose network of
+volunteer support.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Project Gutenberg&#8482; eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
+the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
+necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
+edition.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
+facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
+</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This website includes information about Project Gutenberg&#8482;,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+</div>
+
+</div>
+  </body>
+  <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57c on 2022-02-01 21:44:13 GMT -->
+</html>
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9d5a816
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_007.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_007.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fc6a70c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_007.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_044.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_044.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9cec17c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_044.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_089.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_089.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0905a05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_089.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_103.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_103.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c7ee7ec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_103.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_129.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_129.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83a5aa8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_129.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_149.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_149.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f768770
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_149.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_161.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_161.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..860ebbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_161.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_183.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_183.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2235c4d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_183.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_201.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_201.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..479475e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_201.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_213.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_213.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7fd7477
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_213.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/di_243.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/di_243.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6480e2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/di_243.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_002.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_002.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1fa9faa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_002.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_005.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_005.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05ec3cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_005.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_005b.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_005b.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b9d36c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_005b.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_007.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_007.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c148f96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_007.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_043.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_043.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0b4b330
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_043.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_044.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_044.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e95244d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_044.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_088.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_088.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b2387ff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_088.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_089.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_089.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d9a3e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_089.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_103.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_103.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..664dcd2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_103.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_128.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_128.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a6ae425
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_128.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_129.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_129.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1cd6a6f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_129.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_148.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_148.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..90e261b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_148.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_149.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_149.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5b4689a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_149.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_161.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_161.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..608d00e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_161.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_183.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_183.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b73d8b7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_183.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_200.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_200.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f1d9c1a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_200.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_201.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_201.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7bd45cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_201.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_213.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_213.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..438959d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_213.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_242.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_242.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0d9df5b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_242.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_243.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_243.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2685c1c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_243.jpg
diff --git a/old/67476-h/images/i_282.jpg b/old/67476-h/images/i_282.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b6f35e8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/67476-h/images/i_282.jpg
author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-22 04:17:40 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-22 04:17:40 -0800
commit	0ec54def8fe2e434b77f2621231ce232d0f8fe8f (patch)
tree	707c5c02eb0041262092b12efe9175b0ca6b33a0
parent	b3ccdbae62bcdf289a42ea29add0595682afbd44 (diff)