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The Continental Monthly, Vol 3 No 3, March 1863

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Title: The Continental Monthly, Vol 3 No 3, March 1863

Author: Various


        
Release date: April 27, 2008 [eBook #25191]

Language: English

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produced from images generously made available by Cornell
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THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

DEVOTED TO

LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.


VOL. III.--MARCH, 1863.--No. III.




TURKEY.


The decline of the Turkish Empire has furnished an eloquent theme for
historians, who have ever made it the 'point and commendation of their
tale.' Judging from its decline, they have predicted its fall. Half a
century ago, the historian of the middle ages expected with an assurance
that 'none can deem extravagant,' the approaching subversion of the
Ottoman power. Although deprived of some of its richest possessions and
defeated in many a well-fought field, the house of Othman still
stands--amid crumbling monarchies and subjugated countries; the crescent
still glitters on the Bosphorus, and still the 'tottering arch of
conquest spans the ample region from Bagdad to Belgrade.'

Yet, how sadly changed is Turkey from her former self--how varied the
fortunes of her classic fields! The physical features of the country are
the same as in the days of Solyman the Magnificent; the same noble
rivers water the fertile valleys, and the same torrents sweep down the
mountain sides; the waves of the Ægean and Mediterranean wash the same
shores, fertile in vines and olive trees; the same heaven smiles over
the tombs of the storied brave--but here no longer is the abode of the
rulers and lawgivers of one half the world.

It has been said, and with some degree of truth, that the Turks are
encamped, not settled in Europe. In their political and social
institutions they have never comported themselves as if they anticipated
to make it their continuing home. Their oriental legends relate how the
belief arose in the very hour of conquest that the standard of the Cross
should at some future day be carried to the Bosphorus, and that the
European portion of the empire would he regained by Christians. From
this superstitious belief they selected the Asiatic shore for the burial
of true Mussulmans; nor was it altogether a fanciful belief, for in the
sudden rise of Russia, Turkey foresaw the harbinger of her fall, and
recognized in Muscovite warriors the antagonists of fate.

A nation to be long-lived must rise higher and higher in the scale of
civilization; must approach nearer and nearer its meridian, but never
culminate. The Athenians reached the zenith of their glory in the age of
Pericles, and lost in fifty years what they had acquired in centuries.
The Turks attained their meridian greatness in the reign of Solyman the
Magnificent--from which time dates their decline.

If we make a comparison between Turkey and her formidable neighbor,
Russia, we shall find that the latter adopted, while the former resisted
reforms. Turkey was in the fulness of her power when Russia had not yet
a name. The spirit of the Ottomans was remarkably exclusive. They
regarded themselves as a separate and distinct people; they were
conquerors, and as such thought themselves a superior race--men who were
to teach and not to learn. In their intercourse with other nations, they
borrowed nothing, and out of themselves looked for nothing. Their
feeling of national glory was not extinguished by national degradation,
but cherished through ages of slavery and shame. But the world is a
world of progress. A nation cannot remain stationary; she must advance
or retrograde. Turkey is not what she was, while Russia, with the rest
of Christendom, has advanced; her faults grew with her strength, but did
not die with her decay. It will not be sufficient for her merely to
regain her former power; she must overtake Christendom in the progress
made during her decadence. Her spirit of vitality is not yet extinct; it
wants guidance and development to strengthen and elevate it. There is
still hope of reforming the Turkish empire without that baptism of blood
which many have urged and are still urging. Indeed, Lord Palmerston
declared in Parliament that Turkey has made a more rapid advance and
been improved more during the last ten years (he made this statement in
1854, and Turkey has been rapidly progressing since) than any other
country in Europe.

Before considering the question of reform, it will be necessary to take
a cursory view of Turkish history and character.

While the monarchs of Constantinople were waging war with Persia, and
both empires were tottering; while the Christian religion gave rise to
different sects, hating each other with intense and fanatical hatred, a
silent power was rising among the Turks, which was destined to subvert
empires and found a new religion. Their original seat was among the
Altai mountains, where they were employed by their masters in working
iron mines. They rose in rebellion, threw off their allegiance, and made
incursions into Persia and China, proving themselves formidable enemies.
From being a weak and enslaved people they became the allies and
conquerors of the Byzantine emperors. 'With the Koran in one hand,' says
Macaulay, 'and the sword in the other, they went forth conquering and
converting eastward to the Bay of Bengal, and westward to the Pillars of
Hercules.' They became a terror to the nations that had beheld with
contempt their rising greatness. Amid the expiring glories of the Roman
world they made Constantinople the capital of their empire. It was all
that the oriental imagination could desire. Rendered by its
fortifications impregnable, and situated on the Bosphorus, whose dark
blue waters flow between shores of unrivalled beauty, where nature and
art had reared their grandest monuments, it surpassed in wealth and
grandeur Nineveh and Babylon.

From this stronghold, which had been the cradle of Christianity, and
which had witnessed the dying struggle of the Roman empire, the
conquerors, maddened with the victories and crowned with the wealth
which years of perpetual war had heaped upon them, mustered their armies
and sallied forth. They subjugated many countries, but copied none of
their virtues; and to-day their degenerate descendants still retain most
of their original traits of character. Their religious sense is deep,
but theirs is a religion which blunts and stupefies the intellectual
faculties, and makes man fit only to perform a score of prostrations
each day. It inspires courage in war, but it also teaches blind
resignation to defeat and disgrace: it teaches morality, but sensuality
and ferocity are not inconsistent with its doctrines. Eat, drink,
smoke--indulge all the passions to-day, for immortality begins
to-morrow! No Turk is so high that he has not a master, none so low that
he has not a slave; the grand vizier kisses the sultan's foot, the pasha
kisses the vizier's, the bey the pasha's, and so on. Yet their many
virtues half redeem their faults. They are proverbial for their
hospitality, and charity, which 'covereth a multitude of sins,' is an
oriental virtue. They have, too, great love of nationality. The beggar
who seeks alms of the Turk with cries and entreaties, will not ask a
single para of the Frank (a name applied to all foreigners).

Turkey in Europe, though smaller in extent than the Asiatic division of
the empire, is by far the wealthier and more important. It extends from
Russia to the Adriatic, and from Hungary to the Euxine sea, the command
of which it shares jointly with Russia. The Straits of Constantinople,
the Dardanelles, and the Sea of Marmora are free to all friendly
nations. The situation of the country, its numerous and safe harbors,
are all favorable to commerce. There is every variety of climate, and
the soil in every part of the empire is fertile, and, when cultivated,
yields productions in the greatest abundance. The agricultural, like the
manufacturing industry, owing to the indolence of the people, is much
neglected. This indolence is, in a great measure, the result of
oppression. Before Russia extended her protection over the provinces,
the Turks left agriculture to their tributaries, whom, when wealthy and
prosperous, they plundered.

Let us now consider the causes which led to the decline of the empire.
In the reign of Solyman, poetry, science, and art flourished. New
privileges were conferred upon the ministers of religion; the
Janissaries received increased pay; the coffers of the empire were
filled to overflowing; the condition of the rayas was ameliorated;
security to life, honor, and property was given to all, without
distinction of creed or race. But even then there were causes at work
destined to effect a decline. The sultan in person was ever at the head
of his troops. Thus the vizier, or prime minister, who remained in the
capital, became, by degrees, a more influential personage than 'the
grand seignior' himself. The intrigues of the eunuchs in the imperial
harem began to exert their baneful influences on the administration. The
seraglio--in which many hundred females are immured, the most beautiful
that can be found in the contiguous realms of Europe and Asia, wherever
the Turk bears sway--from being the most beautiful appendage, became the
moving spring of the Ottoman Porte. The inmates formed a faction hostile
to the ministers of religion. The administration was transferred to
Greeks, Jews, and Armenians, who filled the treasury of the sultan and
enriched themselves by impoverishing the people, who, since they could
no longer enjoy the fruits of their labor, became indolent. The army was
more eager for booty and captives than for glory; slaves were
multiplied; the higher classes revelled in wealth and luxury, while the
poorer classes with difficulty obtained a livelihood.

It would be strange, indeed, if in an empire so extensive and with an
immense and motley population, we did not find it difficult to introduce
reforms, and instruct the people in the arts of more civilized nations,
and remove old abuses, guarded by the fanaticism of the clergy.
Political reforms can be made only by those in high places of authority;
and to be sanctioned by the prejudiced and infatuated Ottoman they must
assume the garb of religion. The sultan himself, wielding the sceptre
over millions of subjects, uniting in his own person all the powers of
the state, claiming to reign by divine commission, and profanely styling
himself the shadow of God--even he dares not venture to vary one iota
from the teachings of the Koran and the Sunnah.

Selim III was the first royal reformer. While Europe was shaken to its
very centre, and the continental monarchs trembled on their thrones, he
applied himself assiduously to those civil and military reforms, which
his successors promoted, and without which Turkey could not have
maintained her position as a European power. Selim made a new
organization of the army, made innovations in the judicial and
administrative branches of the government, changed the system of
taxation, and gave a decidedly new organization to the divan, where
reform was most needed. He also attempted to make innovations in the
financial department, but by depreciating the coin, in order to fill an
exhausted treasury, signally failed. He deposed the then reigning
hospodars of the Moldo-Wallachian provinces, and established others more
favorable to his work of reform. Russia and England remonstrated at this
measure, and war was declared. The Turkish army was defeated and driven
across the Danube. The Janissaries, ignorantly attributing their defeat
to Selim's reforms in military discipline, rose in rebellion. The
well-meant but too mild sultan fell a victim to their violence, and was
succeeded by Mustapha, who had instigated the insurgents to revolt. His
short reign is signalized by the vigorous measures he took to destroy
Selim's reforms. Shortly after his accession to the throne, the defeat
of the Turkish fleet by the Russians spread consternation and terror
through the capital. It was at this critical juncture that an Asiatic
pasha, a friend of the deposed sultan, advanced with a powerful army,
and laid siege to Constantinople, which yielded to him after a vigorous
resistance of one year. Mahmoud ascended the throne. From Selim, his
cousin, he had learned the lamentable condition of the empire and the
necessity of reform. He had no sooner ascended the throne, than the
Janissaries began to manifest a feverish anxiety for revolt. No time was
to be lost; and Mahmoud acted with that energy which was one of the few
redeeming traits of his character. Mustapha, the murderer of Selim and
the destroyer of the work of a lifetime, was put to death; his son and
wives shared his fate. Mahmoud was now firmly established. He was the
last scion of the Othman race, and as such was vested with _sacrosancta
potestas_. He resolved to annihilate the unruly corps and anathematize
their name. He engaged the services of their aga, or commander-in-chief,
to whom he made known his plans. His next step was to issue an order
commanding each regiment to furnish one hundred and fifty men to be
drilled after the manner of European soldiers. The friends of Mahmoud
asked: 'Is he mad?' The soldiers exclaimed: 'Bismillah! he wants to make
infidels of us. Does he think we are no better than infidel dogs?' The
Janissaries reversed their kettles (the signal of revolt) in the
Byzantine hippodrome, and calling upon their patron saint, proceeded to
attack the royal palace. But Mahmoud was prepared to receive them. All
his other troops, artillery, marines, and infantry, were under arms and
at his command. The ulemas pronounced a curse of eternal dissolution
upon the insurgents. Mahmoud unfurled the sacred standard of the
prophet, and called on his people for assistance. A hundred cannon
opened fire upon their barracks, and in an hour twenty-five thousand
Janissaries were mowed down by grapeshot and scimitars. Their bodies
broke the lingering fast of the hungry dogs, or were cast into the
Bosphorus, and hurried by its rapid currents into the Sea of Marmora.
The annihilation of the Janissaries took place in 1826.

It is more than probable that Mahmoud could have effected a salutary
reform in the military system without resorting to extreme violence. He
was naturally of a cruel disposition, and was also deficient in prudence
and moderation. He gave the Janissaries cause to revolt; he made
frivolous innovations in their long-cherished customs, by commanding
them to shave their beards and forbidding them to wear the turban, a
beautiful headdress, an ornament at once national and religious. These
measures excited the disgust of all 'true believers,' while his enemies
called him an infidel, and his warmest supporters and the strongest
advocates of reform despaired of success. Innovations are expedient only
when they remove evil, and when men are prepared to receive them.
Command a Turk to shave his beard--by which he swears--the idol of his
life. As well bid him cut off his right arm or pluck out an eye--he
would obey one as soon as the other. The impolicy of changing the
customs and dress of a half-civilized, warlike nation, has been made
obvious in many instances--none more impressive than the mutiny of the
Anglo-Indian army at Velore in 1806.

Mahmoud in destroying the Janissaries took for his model Peter the
Great. Never were two sovereigns more unlike each other. Peter, generous
and humane, leaving his throne and travelling in disguise to educate
himself, stands in bold contrast with the parsimonious and cruel sultan.
Moreover, Mahmoud's was a more difficult undertaking. The Strelitzes
whom the czar annihilated were unsupported, were famous by no
illustrious victory, and had not an enthusiastic religious feeling. The
Janissaries, on the other hand, had strong family interests; they, too,
had decided the fate of the empire at the battle of Varna, where their
bravery established the Ottoman power, whose brightest triumphs were
clustered around their names; they had fought many a bloody battle, and
had never turned their backs to the foe; their leader was chosen from
their own ranks, and no nobility controlled their ambition or prevented
them from receiving the honor due to enterprise and valor; they held the
sultan in check; the ulemas gave sanction to their laws, and they in
turn sustained the authority of the ulemas with their swords. As long as
they experienced no change in their discipline and customs they were
invincible. But they too had participated in the universal degeneracy.
Like the Prætorian bands of Rome, they had become the absolute masters
of the empire. They pulled down and set up sultans at their will; their
valor had departed, but their unconquerable pride remained as part of
their heritage. Their ranks were filled with crowds of Greeks, Jews, and
Moslems, without discipline and without order. Many who had purchased
the privilege of being numbered in this formidable body, lived outside
of the barracks, and assembled only on pay day or in times of tumult and
rebellion. They despised all laws, civil and religious, and were a
constant source of annoyance to the people, whose lives and property
were at their mercy. Such were the subjects upon whom Mahmoud was to
operate. In the destruction of the Strelitzes and the Janissaries, Peter
and Mahmoud may be compared to two physicians: one practises on a
healthy savage, while the other attempts to cut out a malignant cancer
reaching the vitals, from the pampered sensualist. In annihilating these
troops, as in his other reforms, Mahmoud began where he should have
ended his labors; he mistook the end for the means.

Had he stopped with this act of violence, his supporters might defend
him on the doubtful ground of expediency; but he did not stop here. For
centuries the tyranny of the sultans had been restrained by the
derebeys, or lords of the valleys. They had been confirmed in the
possession of their lands by Mohammed II, from which time they had
continued to pay tribute to the sultan, and furnished him with quotas of
troops. The sultan had no control over their lives or property. The
subjects who tilled the productive lands of the valleys were suitably
rewarded for their labor. The happiest and wealthiest peasants of the
empire were found among the vassals of the beys, to whom they showed
great devotion. These feudal lords, at a moment's warning, could summon
twenty thousand men before their palace gates. They furnished the
greater part of the sultan's cavalry force in war; and, unlike the
pashas, had never raised the standard of rebellion; they had never
wished for revolutions, and had never sanctioned insurrections. The
possession of their property was guaranteed to them by inheritance, and
they had no need of money with which to bribe the Sublime Porte.

Mahmoud was bent on depriving them of their wealth and curtailing their
privileges. They were rich, did not bribe him, and held hereditary
possessions. These were unpardonable crimes in the sight of this
exemplary reformer. The beys, who never dealt in treachery, were
unsuspicious of others, and fell an easy prey. The peasants ceased to
cultivate the lands from which they could no longer profit; and many of
the wealthiest possessions became desolate. We must not think it
strange, therefore, that the military power was prostrated, when, after
having annihilated the Janissaries, Mahmoud deprived the derebeys of
their ancient authority; for the military power of the empire rested
chiefly in these two bodies. These innovations were made in the midst of
a destructive Greek war, and at a time when the Danube and the Balkan
were no longer formidable barriers to the Muscovite descendants of Ivan
the Terrible, who brought back memories of the past, and threatened to
avenge deeply treasured wrongs. Even at this critical period, when his
army was annihilated, his fleet defeated, and the legions of Russia
within a few days' march of Constantinople, Mahmoud threatened to feed
his horses at the high altar of St. Peter's, and proclaim the religion
of the prophet in the Muscovite capital. A threat that savored more of
the seraglio than of the throne!

His next step was to assail the privileges of the great provincial
cities, the inhabitants of which elected from their own number ayans, or
magistrates, distinguished for their wisdom and virtue. These
magistrates had much influence among the people; they had always
resisted exorbitant taxes and unjust decrees; their protection was
extended to Mussulmans and Christians without distinction. Their power
of veto was almost as effective as that of the _tribuni plebis_ of Rome;
they could point back to Solyman, the Solon of his time, as the author
of their protective system. But their power originated with the people.
To this Mahmoud would not submit. All power must emanate from him, the
all-wise and innovating sultan, who raised the low and humbled the
great, not as they were honest or corrupt, but as they fawned upon him,
or refused to yield implicit obedience to his nod.

In their endeavors to institute a new financial system, the predecessors
of Mahmoud reduced the standard of money gradually, in order not to
produce a panic. But he wished to accomplish in one day the work of
years. He issued a decree commanding the people to bring all their coin,
gold and silver, to their respective governors--where they would receive
less than half its value! He threatened the refractory with death. The
capital resounded with the dreaded cry of rebellion; and the exasperated
multitude that had surrounded the royal palace was not appeased until it
witnessed the public execution of the mint officers, whose only crime
was obedience to their master. This impolitic measure in the financial
department impoverished the people, and left the treasury still empty.
Foreign speculators bought the money--the circulation of which had
become illegal--and resold it to the sultan for sterling value!

Shortly after this he expelled about thirty thousand Christians from the
capital, which they had embellished and enriched by their labor. Their
fidelity had never been doubted. For this despicable act--their
expulsion--Mahmoud could adduce no better reason than that 'it was
solely on political grounds.' Strange politics this, for a sovereign,
who professed to have the magnanimity of Christian rulers! On the
expulsion of the Christians, Russia commenced hostilities, and a war
followed, in which the sultan paid dearly for his rashness.

In short, Mahmoud could not have given a better lesson to his subjects
than by reforming himself. He was cruel beyond measure--if the grand
seignior can ever be so called, who is taught that he may lop off a
score of heads each day 'for divine inspiration.' Still if he had been
as thoroughly skilled as he professed to have been, he should have shown
himself a humane as well as an innovating sovereign. Those who assisted
him in his reforms, he rewarded with the bowstring. His character was
blackened by ingratitude, an instinctive vice in oriental rulers.
Obstinate as he was suspicious, deceitful as he was cunning, he could
not rule his own passions, much less could he control the corrupt morals
of his people. He was to an extraordinary degree avaricious, a quality
everywhere odious, but especially in a land where generosity measures
love--where in the highest and in the lowest stations liberality is the
moving spring. While he mistook parsimony for economy, he did not
scruple to make war on trifling pretexts and waste his amassed treasures
in a hopeless cause.

In every attempted reform he wounded Ottoman pride and prejudice. Unlike
his cousin, he did not humor the faults of the people while making
innovations; he neither amused them with imposing shows, nor flattered
them by the pompous spectacle of his appearance in public--in one word,
he wanted the tact of a reformer. Selim, while he increased the navy and
established manufactories, built gorgeous palaces, and by his
magnificence dazzled the people, who were blind to his real designs;
they even permitted him to set up printing presses in the large cities,
on receiving assurance that the Koran would not be submitted to the
unholy process of squeezing!

Mahmoud thought, or pretended to think, that he could reform the empire
by imitating only the vices of Christianity, and manifesting a contempt
for Moslem virtues. While he drank wine--and in many other breaches of
the teachings of the sacred book provoked the faithful--his
proclamations breathed a most orthodox and fanatical spirit. He was a
sceptic; neither Mussulman nor Christian, but surprisingly inconsistent
and capricious. His, we fear, were 'hangman's hands,' and 'not ordained
to build a temple unto peace.'

Under Solyman the Magnificent, at once the most warlike monarch and
munificent patron of literature and art, the constitution of the
Janissaries was wise and effective. The children of Christians, taken by
the Turks in war or in their predatory incursions, were exposed in the
public markets of Constantinople, whence any person was at liberty to
take them into his service, on making a contract with the government to
return them at the demand of the sultan. These children were instructed
in Islamism, and were trained by manly exercise and labor, calculated to
strengthen the body and give elasticity to the spirits. From these hardy
orphans the ranks of the Janissaries were recruited. They came eagerly
to the camp; for they had been taught to regard it as the theatre of
their future glory. From earliest infancy they looked forward with joy
to the time when they should be numbered among those brave soldiers,
whose arms had maintained for a long series of years the supremacy of
the crescent. There was no rank, no dignity in the Turkish army to which
a Janissary could not aspire--a strong incentive to the display of
bravery. Such was the constitution of the army when it was the most
powerful in Europe: then it gained its victories, not by force of
numbers, but by superior military discipline and valor. In the middle of
the nineteenth century the capture of Christian children was abandoned.
The land forces degenerated into a wretchedly organized army of less
than three hundred thousand men, drafted from the lowest classes.
Mothers put their children to death that they might be spared the pangs
of seeing them torn away to pass their days in scenes of shame and
dissipation.

Not till the army had become a laughing stock to the weakest European
power did the sultans perceive the necessity of military reform. Selim
III established a school for artillery and naval officers, and engaged
Europeans, especially Frenchmen, as instructors in military science. We
can readily comprehend the degeneracy of the Turkish army, when we
remember that since the establishment of the school at Sulitzi for
engineers, the Turks have learned from foreign teachers military tactics
of which their own ancestors were the inventors, and which had been
forgotten, although full accounts of them lay hidden in musty volumes in
their military archives.

Foreign officers were at first regarded with contempt by Turkish
soldiers, whose unconquerable pride has ever proved a great impediment
to the regeneration of the empire. Moslem talent was not equal to the
exigencies that arose from the impolitic measures of Mahmoud. We find a
parallel case in Russia. Had Peter trusted to Muscovite genius to form
and command the troops which superseded the Strelitzes, Charles XII
would have quartered in the Kremlin.

Kutchuk Husseyin, the relative and favorite of Selim, made valuable
additions to the navy in which his master took such pride. Husseyin, who
had the welfare of his country at heart, was liberal and disinterested.
Vested with the office of captain pasha, he sent to Greece for
architects and engineers, with whose assistance he fortified Stamboul,
Sinope, and Rhodes; he built arsenals and extensive docks, which he
supplied with the necessary equipments of a powerful fleet. In a short
time, twenty sail of the line, constructed on the newest European
models, rode at anchor within sight of his palace. He also erected
barracks for the troops, and greatly improved the naval school. The
sudden death of Selim paralyzed the navy, which soon resumed its
accustomed languor.

The events of 1821, in which the Turkish fleet was defeated by armed
merchant vessels of Greece, gave a fresh impulse to the navy.
Experienced officers were placed in command, who, as they grew in
strength, grew in confidence, and trusted more to their own resources
than to the protection of Allah. Six years after the defeat, the navy
was in a state of greater practical efficiency than at any other time.
After a protracted struggle of five years it had gained the undisputed
supremacy of the Archipelago; and had it not been for the disastrous
defeat at Navarino, it would have proved equal, if not superior, to the
Russian fleet in the Black sea. The Turkish navy, to-day, numbers about
sixty war vessels, six of which are ships of the line, and six steam
frigates, built partly at London and Toulon.

The standing army in times of peace consists of 150,000 regulars; 60,000
auxiliaries (such as the Egyptian forces); and those of the northern
provinces, 110,000; with a corps de reserve of 150,000--an aggregate of
470,000 men. The army is recruited by lot and conscription (as in
France), and not as formerly, by arbitrary compulsion. Christians are
excluded from service in the infidel ranks, but pay a military tax.
Partial infringements, however, have been made in this exclusion, by
employing Armenians in the marine service and at the arsenals. Active
service in the army continues for a period of seven years; and the
discharged soldiers belong to the reserved force for five years more.
The organization of the corps de reserve is the same as that of the
regular army. Their arms and equipments are kept in the state arsenals,
and are produced only when the soldiers are called out, which takes
place once a year, after the harvest season. During one month, the
members of this corps de reserve lead a military life, and receive
regular pay.

The army is divided into six divisions of 25,000 each. The artillery is
modelled after the most approved Prussian system, while the infantry and
cavalry drill according to French tactics, and use French accoutrements
and arms. Thus, Turkey, with a standing army of 150,000 men, can muster
a force of nearly 500,000 at a few hours' notice; provided, however, she
has money to pay the troops, for the religious prejudices of the
Osmanlee do not tolerate the system of loans. So that Turkey, though she
has neither the formidable land force of France nor the navy of England,
is not crushed by the weight of a public debt, the principal of which
can never be paid. This military system is the result of the labors of
Rija Pasha and Redschid Pasha, by turn rivals and colleagues, disputing
on matters of secondary importance, but ever cordially cooperating in
the regeneration of the empire.

More attention has been given to military than to political reforms. The
intolerant Moslem spirit manifests direct opposition to all innovation
in the administration. As their fathers were, so they wish to be. Before
the time of Selim no reform movements of importance had been made in the
administrative branches. For five centuries the sultans had received, as
an aphorism in their political education, that the subjects existed for
the good of the sultan, and not the sultan for the welfare of the
people. Selim proclaimed the rights of his subjects and their supremacy;
and his words were confirmed by his deeds.

The administrative system was purely oriental, and bore scarcely any
analogy to that of any other country. From the reign of Solyman to that
of Selim--the protector (from whom there is no appeal) was kept closely
confined in the seraglio walls; indeed, he was a state prisoner from his
cradle to the day when he girt around him the imperial sabre. As the
sultan reigned by divine commission, no education was considered good
enough for him. Moreover, since his power was absolute, it had been
received as a recognized principle of state policy that he should be as
ignorant as possible, in order that he might prove more faithful to the
will of Allah. Selim banished these antiquated notions, and instituted a
new system--not that he lessened his own power, but established
representative bodies to assist him in making laws, and tribunals to
pass judgment upon and execute them.

The sultan is assisted by a divan; or council of ministers, and others,
who are nominated to that dignity by himself. The grand vizier presides
over this body, and is responsible for all measures adopted by it.

The legislative as well as the military system is borrowed from the
French; but the sultan is the source of all law, civil and military; he
is the summit, while the municipal institutions are the base, of the
political fabric. In theory at least, these institutions are established
on the broadest principles of freedom. Each community, like the communes
of France, sends an aga, or representative, to the supreme council. By
the famous ordinance of Gulhana, Mussulmans, Jews, and Christians are
represented, without distinction, in proportion to their number.

The administration of the interior belongs to the prime minister, who
appoints civil governors to take charge of the general administration.
The pashas had hitherto been both civil and military officers; purchased
their appointments at extravagant prices, and repaid themselves by
extortions practised upon the unfortunate subjects over whom they ruled.
The appointment of civil governors removed this old abuse, and left the
pashas vested only with military power. Each of the military chiefs has
command of one of the six divisions of which the army is composed. All
these officers receive a fixed salary; and the people, no longer subject
to their avarice and tyranny, pay regular rates of taxation.

The reforms I have mentioned, great as they were, were only preliminary
to the publishing of the hatti-scheriff of Gulhana, the magna charta and
bill of rights of Turkey. The son of Mahmoud, Abdul Medjid, on ascending
the throne, published this ordinance, which was to effect a reform in
the internal administration more beneficial than any other, either
before or after the destruction of the Janissaries. The ulemas, state
officers, foreign ambassadors, and a vast multitude of subjects had
assembled on the plains of Gulhana. The illustrious writings (as the
name signifies) were read aloud in the presence of this solemn assembly
by Redschid Pasha. The sultan, 'under the direct inspiration of the Most
High and of his prophet,' desired to look for the prosperity of the
empire in a good administration. The ulemas addressed a thanksgiving to
heaven amid the acclamations of the assembled thousands. These reforms
were threefold: The first guaranteed security to life, honor, and
property; the second is a new system of taxation; the third, a
remodelled plan for levying soldiers, and defining their time of
service. The subject can best be illustrated by quoting a few extracts
from the hatti-scheriff itself:

     'The cause of every accused person shall be adjudged publicly, in
     conformity to our divine law, after due inquiry and investigation;
     and as long as sentence shall not have been regularly pronounced,
     no one shall, either publicly or privately, cause another to perish
     by prison or any other deadly means.'

     'It shall not be permitted to any one to injure another,
     _whosoever_ he may be.'

     'Every man shall possess his own property, and shall dispose of it
     with the most entire liberty. Thus, for example, the innocent heirs
     of a criminal shall not be deprived of their legal rights, and the
     goods of the criminal shall not be confiscated.'

     'The imperial concessions extend to _all_ subjects, whatever may be
     their religion or sect; they shall reap the benefit of them without
     exception.'

     'As to the other points, since they must be regulated by the
     concourse of enlightened opinion, our council of justice, with whom
     shall assemble, on certain days to be fixed by us, the notables of
     the land, shall meet together to lay down guiding laws on the
     points that affect the security of life, honor, and fortune, and
     the assessment of imposts.'

     'As soon as a law shall be defined, in order to render it valid and
     binding, it shall be laid before us to receive our sanction, which
     we Will write with our imperial hand.'

     'As these present institutions have no other object than to give
     fresh life and vigor to religion, the government, the nation, and
     the empire, we pledge ourselves to do nothing to counteract them.
     Whoever of the ulemas or chief men of the empire, or any other sort
     of person, shall violate these institutions, shall undergo the
     punishment awarded to his offence, without respect to his rank, or
     personal consideration and credit.'

     'As all the functionaries of the government receive at the present
     day suitable salaries, and as those that are not sufficient shall
     be increased, a vigorous law shall be enacted against traffic in
     posts and favors, which the divine law reprobates, and which is one
     of the principal causes of the decline of the empire.'

As a pledge of his promise, the sultan, after having deposited the
documents in the hall that contains the 'glorious mantle' of the
prophet, in the presence of the ulemas and chief men, swore to them in
the name of God, and administered the same oath to the priests and
officers. The hatti-scheriff was published in every part of the empire,
and was well received, except by a few of the retrograde party, who
lived by the old abuses, and vigorously resisted all attempts at
reformation.

By this ordinance, the sources of the revenue consist of the frontier
customs, the tithes, and a property tax. In two of these three sources
of revenue there are great abuses. In collecting the taxes, the tax
gatherers make exhorbitant demands, for which (owing to the partiality
of justice) there is no redress, The salguin, or land tax, is also the
cause of constant complaint. It presses equally upon the richest and the
poorest provinces; in consequence of which many of the most fertile
districts have been deserted. The government is not ignorant of these
facts. Abdul Medjid, a short time previous to his death, ordered a new
registration of property to be made, which will, in a great measure,
remedy this evil. This new registration caused not a little astonishment
and fear among the peasants, who could not approve of persons taking an
inventory of their property and their flocks. We must not be surprised
at this, for a parallel case is close at hand. When the Emperor Joseph
endeavored to introduce the mode of distinguishing houses in the
principal streets of _Vienna_, by numbers instead of the antiquated mode
by printed signs, the people were impressed with the idea that the
numbers were affixed for the purpose of more conveniently collecting a
new house tax!

The new system of farming the revenue proved especially beneficial to
the Christians. Under the old regime the Turks had been greatly favored.
The poll tax formerly levied on all who were not professed followers of
the prophet, has been abolished.

The empire is wealthy--immensely wealthy; but the money is in the hands
of the few. If we except the province of Servia, feudal lords, and tax
collectors, the whole Turkish population consists of peasants, who till
the soil on an equality of wretchedness. Yet it is to these same
suffering peasants, the bone and sinew of the land, that reformers must
look for support. It was the peasantry of Servia, headed by George the
Black, that in 1800-1812, rose in rebellion, and whose success infused
life and vigor into the more passive provinces. They, too, were
peasants--those brave and resolute men who expelled from the provinces
the robber princes, and almost gained a national existence. Many of
these same peasants, men in whose breasts still lingered the valor that
made their ancestors famous, joined the Grecian army in the successful
struggle for independence; even Moslem peasants left their ploughs in
the furrow and their herds unattended, to join the insurgents, to whose
success they greatly contributed. The heroes of all Turkish rebellions
have been peasants--the men of strong arms and unswerving energy. They
are naturally of a passive disposition, but when once roused to action
by religion or patriotism, they are as firm and unyielding in their
purpose as their own

                       'Pontic sea,
   Whose icy currents and compulsive course
   Ne'er feels returning ebb, but keeps due on
   To the Propontic and the Hellespont.'

In the hands of the peasantry lies the destiny of the empire, its
regeneration or its fall. By ameliorating their condition and gaining
their good will, the sultans cannot fail to succeed in their reforms. By
working in opposition to them and exciting their enmity, success is
impossible.

The social system introduced by the victorious Othmans among the
conquered nations was not as oppressive as is generally believed. The
Turks, unlike the Germanic nations, the Huns and Normans, did not take
forcible possession of private property and divide it among their
conquering hordes. From those who acknowledged themselves subject to
their rule, the Turks exacted tribute, but protected their liberties and
political institutions. The conquerors introduced their laws into the
country, but not forcibly. To those who still adhered to the Christian
religion, they extended the rights of self-government, subject, however,
to a military tax. This was very far from degrading the cultivators of
the soil to servitude; this did not deprive them of their possessions,
inherited or purchased. But by a gradual change in the government this
civil equality and liberty in the possession of property was superseded
by an aristocratic and almost absolute despotism. The Ottomans came in
contact with a people ruling under Byzantine law, of which (as of the
feudal system) they had but a confused knowledge. The feudal system
having taken root in Greece, and having been already introduced into
Albania, had necessarily much influence on the contiguous provinces of
Moldavia and Wallachia, Servia and Bulgaria. Here the Greek emperors,
with correct notions of right and wrong, had governed wisely and justly
in a simple administration, which gave place to a complicated system of
laws and refinements, as unintelligible as they were useless and
ineffective. In the double heritage of Greece and Rome, the conquerors
imitated only their faults, moral and intellectual, and thus made more
prominent the fall of the two countries. The Turks were not sufficiently
enlightened to understand the laws and customs of the Greeks and Romans,
and profit thereby; nor could they resist the charm thrown around
aristocracy and venality, but succumbed to their baneful influences. The
degeneracy of the laws caused the misery of the peasantry, and paralyzed
the energies of the empire. The pashas gained almost unlimited power,
founded on the ruins of civil liberty. They did not scruple to persecute
the suffering peasant, even in the sanctuary of his family--held in the
highest veneration by the Turk. The peasants in many instances had no
other alternative than to fly to the mountains for safety, and lead a
wretched existence by rapine and murder. Some left Turkey to settle in
Russia and Austria, in search of that liberty and protection which was
denied them at home.

The Turkish peasants are not insensible to the degradation in which they
are languishing. But accustomed, in suffering and privation, to find
consolation in fatalism--which teaches implicit acquiescence in and
obedience to the will of Allah--they drag out their days in passive
submission. Seditions are almost always excited by unbelievers, who feel
their wrongs more deeply. The devout Turkish peasant seeks no better
fortune than the means wherewith to build a little cabin, with windows
and doors religiously closed to vulgar eyes. He finds comfort in the
words of his holy book: 'He is the happiest of mortals to whom God has
given contentment.' He performs his daily labor, makes his prostrations,
smokes his chibouk, and lives oblivious of care. He is far from being
indifferent to reforms, but is loth to take the initiative in political
innovations and social wars. His heart is with the cause, but here also
he is resigned: 'God is great--His will be done.' This same spirit of
resignation and submission to the divine will, from being a virtue
becomes his greatest curse.

The Servians, a hardy and vigorous race, who pride themselves on their
victories over the Moslems, stand in the van of the reform movement. By
the new constitution given to Servia in 1838, there exists no longer any
distinction of classes. All pay taxes, in proportion to the value of
their property, to the municipal and general government. All the
peasants are proprietors, and all the proprietors are peasants. The
Servians and Albanians have never refused foreign aid. They gave a kind
welcome to the legions that Nicholas sent across the Pruth, and worked
in concert with the brave warriors of the north, in the hope of gaining
a nationality and a recognized name.

The moral condition of the Bulgarians does not differ essentially from
that of the Servians; but there is a wide difference in their political
organization. The Bulgarians are yet only peasants, unprotected against
the violence and exactions of the sultan. They are more enterprising
than the Servians, and, could they enjoy an equitable legislation, would
soon vie with them in wealth and prosperity. They envy the national and
democratic institutions of the Servians, who are related to them by
blood, by religion, and a common tongue. They are eager for reforms,
both social and political, which shall give them a constitution similar
to that of Servia. In this they must ultimately succeed. The two people
are one in their sympathies: one cannot enjoy privileges without
exciting the jealousy of the other. Unless concessions are made, the day
is not far distant when the Bulgarians will revolt, as the Servians did
under Tzerny George, and gain the right of self-government.

The Illyrian peasants have not as promising a future. They are divided
among themselves, both in politics and religion; the several clans and
parties are engaged in ceaseless strife and bickering. On the most
trivial pretence a community will rise in arms and carry ruin and
desolation to its neighbor. The face of the country everywhere shows
signs of the terror under which it groans. In many districts the
humblest dwellings are fortified citadels, gloomy and threatening;
observatories are stationed in trees and on high cliffs, to guard
against surprisals; the streets of the towns and villages are traversed
by gloomy figures of athletic savage warriors, with fierce and sinister
expression of countenance, and their right hand resting on a belt
garnished with its brace of pistols. They are in such a deplorable state
of ignorance, and so blinded by mutual hatred, that they are incapable
of perceiving their wants and obtaining their rights by concerted
action.

The Servians and Bulgarians, although by nature not less warlike than
the Illyrians, are more pacific. This quality is, to a certain degree,
attributable to a better government; but their great advantage consists
in their being friends of labor. They are not divided by internal
factions; their pistols serve for ornaments, not offensive weapons;
their rude exterior hides within a gentle, childlike nature. Though
laborious, they seek not to amass wealth; kind to each other, to
strangers they are hospitable and generous. They are extremely courteous
and polite, and theirs is not the humility of the Austrian peasant, who
kisses the scornful hand of his superior; it is the deference and
respect that youth bears to age, or the attention which the host gives
to a welcome guest.

In Servia and Bulgaria, Christianity has gained the ascendancy; the
light of the gospel imparts comfort and happiness to all; but the
Illyrians, through a blind zeal in their social dissensions, have
debarred themselves from its vivifying and soothing influence.

During the early part of the last century, the peasants of the
Moldo-Wallachian provinces were enfranchised, but have not yet obtained
the right of property legislation. Being contiguous to Poland and
Hungary, their attention is naturally called to all the noise of reform
and to all the social questions that agitate the two countries. Unless
concessions are made, unless the peasant is recognized as proprietor of
the soil of which to-day he is but the farmer, a revolution will take
place, in which the Sublime Porte will lose these provinces as
effectually as it did the pashalies. It is not absolutely necessary,
though it would be judicious, to give Moldavia and Wallachia the same
political organization as Servia enjoys. The question now, is not of
rulers, whether they shall be sent from the divan or chosen from the
people; but is of property legislation and municipal institutions.

In all his reforms, the sultan should remember that the material upon
which he is to operate lies in the peasantry.

The empire, however, cannot be thoroughly reformed merely by
enfranchising the peasants, by introducing European customs, by
organizing new armies, building barracks, and establishing custom
houses. These improvements are the sign of a vigorous national impulse
and prosperity; they are the result, not the rudiments of civilization.
The fact that the sultan wears French boots and supplies his seraglio
with the latest Parisian modes signifies nothing.

In its palmy days, Turkey relied for success on its courage and love of
military glory; now its welfare and very existence depend upon the
peaceful arts of civilized life. The prosperity of the people measures
the condition of the empire. But how can an ignorant people prosper? The
time has come when a reform in the educational system of Turkey is
emphatically demanded. There must be intelligence among the people, and
educated men in the cabinet as well as brave men in the field. The
innovating sultans of the last century have done much for the
reconstruction of the broken political fabric of the empire; they have
organized a new and powerful army and navy; they have facilitated
commercial intercourse, but have done scarcely anything for the
diffusion of knowledge among their subjects.

All the knowledge in the empire is concentrated in the ulemas and
lawyers. The members of the Sublime Porte and other state officers, with
but few exceptions, are unlettered men, who owe their elevation, to
partiality or bribery. Under Mahmoud, beauty of person was the best
recommendation to favor and promotion!

But Turkey has had her golden age of letters as well as her age of
military glory. Her libraries and archives are filled with unread, musty
manuscripts, comprising treatises on philosophy and metaphysics,
histories, biographies, and poems, rich in the classic erudition of the
Orient. In 1336, Sultan Orkan found leisure from war and conquest to
establish, at Brusa, a literary institution, which became so famous for
its learning, that Persians and Arabians did not disdain to avail
themselves of its instruction. But with the death of its founder its
glory passed away. It was no longer the fountain head of learning in the
East.

The Turks, forgetful of the fact that antiquity is the youth of the
world, still follow Aristotle as their guide in philosophy and
metaphysics, and Ptolemy in geography! Missionaries have succeeded in
introducing modern text books into some of the schools, but owing to the
peculiar system of Turkish education, the result has not been so
favorable as was anticipated.

To each mosque is attached a school, where the pupils devote several
years in acquiring the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic;
which completes their education. But few foreign instructors are
employed to teach in the schools, because the government is unwilling to
pay a suitable salary. While on state officers wealth is lavished with
the prodigality of oriental munificence, instructors receive only a
nominal recompense, often not exceeding six cents a day!

A few favored youths receive a European education, especially in French
and Austrian colleges. The oriental academy, established at Vienna by
Maria Theresa for the education of diplomatists to conduct intercourse
with the Porte, has formed many illustrious Turkish scholars. It is a
singular but not unpleasant commentary on the vicissitudes of fortune,
that Turkey should send her sons to be educated at Vienna, which only
two centuries ago a sultan besieged at the head of an army of two
hundred thousand men, and before whose gates he was defeated by the
combined Christian forces, who recovered eighty thousand Christian
captives, among whom were fourteen thousand maidens, and fifty thousand
children of both sexes!

The Christian subjects of the empire have made visible progress in their
educational system, although it is yet in a very imperfect state. In the
middle of the last century a body of Armenian monks formed a society for
promoting the educational interests of their countrymen. These pious and
benevolent men dwell alone on the little island of San Lazzaro, and
publish works on literature, science, and religion, which are
distributed among the Turkish Armenians.

Printing presses have lately been set up in the large cities, and books
are rapidly multiplying. In Constantinople several newspapers are
printed in French, Turkish, and Arabic; they are read in every coffee
house and barber shop, the common lounging places of the Ottoman, where
he smokes his pipe and discusses politics. Their columns are chiefly
devoted to the discussion of state affairs, and notices of public
functionaries. The sultan is the virtual editor, and consequently the
papers are popular, as containing opinions on state policy _ex
cathedra_. These presses were established with the reluctant sanction of
the ulemas, and the vigorous opposition of the scribes, an influential
body, protesting against the introduction of machinery, which was to
supersede the use of their fingers.

The council of public instruction at Constantinople has established a
medical and polytechnic school; in both, French, English, and German
teachers are employed. To the medical college is attached a botanical
garden and a natural history museum. The medical library consists
chiefly of French works. The implements used to experiment in the
physical sciences were made at Paris, London, and Vienna, and are of the
most approved kind. The number of students in attendance, on an average,
is seven hundred, comprising Turks, Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, all of
whom not only pay no tuition, but receive pecuniary assistance from the
government. As science cannot well be taught in Turkish, French is the
language of the school.

It should be borne in mind that Turkey, in her reform movement,
commenced this century, four hundred years behind Europe. When we
consider this, her advance in educational reformation appears in a
better light. The present law makes it a penal offence in a Turkish
parent not to send his children to school.

The universities, as well as the mosques and hospitals, are under the
control of the ulemas, who have always been a privileged and a
sanctioned order, and by their sanctity and great wealth are rendered
the most formidable body in the empire. Selim and his successors
somewhat lessened their power. By the innovations of 1854 an important
change was effected in the vacoof, or church property. The church had
hitherto held enormous possessions; and had not a check been placed on
the system, in the course of a few centuries all the lands would have
belonged to the priests. The property annexed to the mosques is held
sacred by all, both high and low. True believers, Greeks, Armenians, and
Jews, alike, by a reversion of their property on failure of male issue,
transferred it to the ulemas. The decree above mentioned restricted this
privilege of the priests. The entire system will soon be abolished.

As before stated, the ulemas have charge of the schools connected with
the principal mosques. The average number of scholars in each school, in
the reign of Mahmoud, was four hundred. They were, for the most part,
worthless, indolent fellows, and entirely under the control of the
ulemas, who used them as tools, and made them figure conspicuously in
all tumults and revolts. Their attempted assassination of Abdul Medjid
was their death warrant. Each ulema was restricted to four, in place of
four hundred scholars. This measure caused not a little ill feeling
among those opposed to reform; but as the most successful attempt at
restricting the despotic power of the religious order, the decree was of
vital importance, and gave the ulemas to understand that the power on
the throne was paramount to theirs.

The ulemas--whose functions do not differ materially from those of the
old doctors of the law among the Hebrews--have always claimed and
enjoyed both magisterial and ecclesiastical authority; and, indeed,
since the Mussulman's law and religion are convertible terms, we would
expect priests to be vested with the same powers, and performing the
same duties. Mohammed designed it should be so, and as long as war was
waged in the name of religion, as long as the Koran and the sword went
hand in hand together, the two professions were not incompatible; but
when Islamism had gained undisputed ascendency, there arose an obvious
discrepancy between the peaceful adoration of Allah and the settlements
of disputes between man and man. Priest and jurist, each had distinct
and qualified duties to perform. Before justice can be administered
properly the religious and legal professions must be separated; the
statutes must be distinct from the Koran and Sunnah, in the obscurities
of which they are at present involved. The sheik-ul-Islam (pontifex
maximus) is the head of the church and the bar; he appoints the bishops
and the judges; and in his twofold character of minister and lawyer, he
is the expounder of the Koran, the source of all laws, civil and
religious; his decisions serve as precedents, and are as
incontrovertible as the Koran itself.

By the late reforms, Christian testimony is admitted in courts of
justice. But this is merely a nominal privilege; for what avails it that
Christian evidence is received, if the Koran and Sunnah are to
constitute the law, and a Mussulman judge is to be the expounder? Is it
not evident that the 'true believer,' whether right or wrong, will be
shielded by the strong arm of prejudice at the expense of the Christian?
The purity of Turkish justice may be understood from the following
humorous account given by Dr. Hamlin:

     'I once had a case of law with a Turkish judge. It was tried nine
     times, and each time decided against me. After the ninth trial, the
     judge sent me word that if I gave him 9,000 piastres (about $800),
     he would decide the case in my favor, for all the world knew that
     justice was on my side!'

I look, however, upon the religious toleration extended to Christians in
1854 as the most important of all reforms; it is the keystone of the
arch. Christianity has been on a gradual increase in Turkey; and it may
not be deemed extravagant to hope that when a few generations shall have
passed away, its supremacy will be acknowledged. As Constantine, finding
the Christian element predominant in the Roman empire, made the religion
of Christ that of his people, so some Selim or Abdul Medjid, urged by a
power behind the throne, and more potent than the throne itself, will
substitute the Bible for the Koran!

The fall of Islamism does not imply the downfall of Turkish rule. The
one is religious, the other a civil power; the one may wane, the other
rise.

The wars which brought the European powers in Turkish waters made a deep
impression upon the Turks, and convinced them that they had been rescued
from annihilation by foreign arms. This led to an important measure,
viz.: the promulgation of the imperial edict of 1850, which was
translated into all the languages of the empire, and read in all the
mosques and churches. Besides securing the freedom of conscience and the
equality of rights, it grants the right of apostasy, which had hitherto
been a capital offence: 'As all forms of religious worship are and shall
be freely professed in the empire, no person shall be hindered in the
practice of the religion which he professes; nor shall he in any way be
annoyed in this kind: in the matter of a man _changing_ his religion,
and _joining_ another, no force shall be applied to him.' The decree
bore directly upon Islamism. Turks, both private and official, now
discuss freely the doctrines of the New Testament. The Bible, to-day, is
widely circulated among the Turks. About seven thousand copies are sold
annually to Mohammedans, while ten years ago they would not have been
accepted as gifts. By all classes of people the Bible is purchased,
read, and made the subject of discussion. The sultan himself reads it.
Discussion leads to investigation, and investigation to the
establishment of truth. This is one of the causes that have been
silently at work, destined to effect the fall of Islamism.

In all parts of the empire, the Christian element is growing stronger
and stronger; the Mohammedan weaker. Even in Asia, the chosen abode of
the faithful, we find Christian cities and villages prosperous, and
Mohammedan cities falling to decay. In another century the Sublime Porte
will depend chiefly on the Christian element for its influence. To-day,
the Mussulman mosque, the pagoda of the Hindoo, the fire temple of the
Parsee, the Roman and Greek churches, meet together.

The adoration and prostrations of the Turk afford an imposing sight even
to the Christian. 'Praises be to God, for He is great,' resounds at
sunrise and at sunset, from ship to ship at sea, from kiosk to minaret
on land.

According to the Koran, there is a paradise for all true believers. This
paradise, Al Janat, signifies a pleasure garden, from which flows a
river, the river of life, whose water is clear as crystal, cold as snow,
and sweet as nectar. The believer who takes a draught shall thirst no
more. Even the oriental imagination fails to describe the glories of
this paradise--its fountains and flowers, pearls and gems, nectar and
ambrosia, all in unmeasured profusion. To crown the enchantment of the
place, to each faithful Moslem is allotted seventy-two houris,
resplendent beings, free from every human defect, perpetually renewing
their youth and beauty. Such is the Mohammedan conception of the future
world.

The Turks, in common with other Mohammedans, believe in angels, and in
the prophets Adam, Noah, Moses, and _Jesus_. One might suppose that such
a belief would assist missionaries in converting the infidel; but far
from assisting, its tendency is to make more difficult the inculcation
of Christian doctrines. When asked to accept the religion of Christ, the
Turk's ready answer is: 'We believe in Jesus! we believe in him already;
you know only a part of the true faith; Mohammed has superseded Jesus.'
Notwithstanding this, many Turks in Europe and Asia believe that in a
long series of years, Jesus will return to earth, reanimate their faith
and ancient valor, and with one unbroken religion, give them dominion to
the end of the world. They, in short, expect Jesus--the same Jesus whom
Christians worship--in the fullness of time to accomplish the work which
their prophet only began. Christian missionaries should avail themselves
of this remarkable belief, and turn it to the spiritual advantage of
those who entertain it.

     'Let the Turkish Government remain, if by her standing Islamism may
     fall! that we may carry back a purer literature to the land of
     Homer, a purer law to the land of Moses, and the Gospel of Christ
     to the land of the apostles.'

It only remains for me to say one word in regard to the now reigning
sovereign. The ulemas--who have become what the Janissaries were, the
hotbed of fanaticism--in their endeavors to overthrow the late sultan,
Abdul Medjid, looked upon the present sultan as their champion. If he
permits himself to become a tool in their hands, Turkey will lose
during his reign what she gained in a century. If, on the other hand, he
has the energy of Mahmoud, the humanity of Selim, and practises the
conciliatory policy of his brother, a glorious future awaits the empire.




FALSE ESTIMATIONS.


   As one, who under pay of priest or pope,
   Painteth an altar picture boldly bad,
   Yet winning worship from the common eye,
   Is less than one, who faltering day by day
   Before the untouched canvas, dreams, and feels
   An unaccomplished greatness: so is he
   Who scrapes the skies and cleaves the patient air
   For rhyming ecstasies to cheat the crowd,
   That sees not in the stiller worshipper
   The truer genius, who, in heights lone lost,
   Forgets to interpret to a lesser sense.

   O there do dwell among us minds divine,
   In which th' etherial is so subtly mixed,
   That only matter in its outward mien
   To the observer shows. Such ever live
   Unto themselves alone, in sweet still lives,
   And die by all men misinterpreted.

   Within a churchyard rise two honored urns
   O'er graves not far removed. The one records
   The 'genius of a Poet,' whose fitter fame
   Lies in the volumes which his facile pen
   Filled with the measure of redundant verse:
   Before this urn the oft frequented sod
   Is flattened with the tread of pensive feet.
   The other simply bears the name and age
   Of one who was 'a Merchant,' and bequeathed
   A fair estate with numerous charities:
   Before this urn the grass grows rank and green.

   I knew them both in life, and thus to me
   They measured in their lives their effigies:
   He who the pen did wield with facile power,
   Created what he wrote, and to the ear
   With tact, not inspiration, wrought the sounds
   To careful cadence; but the heart was cold
   As the chill marble where the sculptor traced
   Curious conceits of fancy. Let him pass,
   His name not undervalued, for his fame
   Shall in maturer ages lie as still
   As doth his neighbor's now.

                              Turn we to him.
   He was a man to whom the general eye
   Bent with the confidence of daily trust
   In things of daily use: a man 'of means,
   --Sagacious, honest, plodding, punctual,--
   Revolving in the rank of those whose shields
   Bear bags of argent on a field of gold,
   His life, to most men, was what most men's are,--
   Unceasing calculation and keen thrift;
   Unvarying as the ever-plying loom,
   Which, moving in same limits day by day,
   Weaves mesh on mesh, in tireless gain of goods.
   But I, that knew him better than the herd,
   Yet saw him less, knew that in him which lives
   Still gracious and still plentiful to me
   Now he hath passed away from me and them.
   This man, whose talk on busy marts to men
   Teemed with the current coin of thrifty trade,
   --Exchanges, credits, money rates, and all,--
   Hath stood with me upon a silent hill,
   When the last flush of the dissolving day
   Fainted before the moonlight, and, as 'twere
   Unconscious of my listening, uttered there
   The comprehensions of a soul true poised
   With elemental beauty, giving tongue
   Unto the dumbness of the blissful air.
   So have I seen him, too, within his home,
   When, newspaper on knee, his earnest gaze
   Seemed scanning issues from the money list;
   But comments came not, till my curious eye
   Led out his meditation into words,
   Thought-winding upward into sphery light,
   So utterly unearthly and sublime,
   That all the man of fact fled out of sense,
   And visual refinement filled the space.
   Oft hath he told me, nothing was so blind
   As the far-seeing wisdom of the world,
   And none within it knew him, save himself,
   And that so scantily, that but for faith
   In a redeeming knowledge yet to come,
   He would lie down and let his weakness die
   In self-reclaiming dust.

                           After his death,
   I searched his papers, vainly, for a scrap
   Whereon some dropped memento might record
   His inner nature; but he nothing left--
   Nothing of that deep life whose wondrous light
   Guided him onward through the realms of sense,
   And in a world of practical self-need
   Sustained him with a glory unexpressed.

   And thus it is that round the Poet's urn,
   The sod is beaten down with pensive feet:
   And thus it is that where the Merchant lies,
   The grass, untrodden, groweth rank and green.




THE BLUE HANDKERCHIEF.


I had passed my last examinations, and had received my diploma
authorizing me to practise medicine, and I still lingered in the
vicinity of Edinburgh, partly because my money was nearly exhausted, and
partly from the very natural aversion I felt from quitting a place where
three very happy and useful years had been spent. After waiting many
weeks--for the communication between the opposite shores of the Atlantic
were not then so rapid as now--I received a large packet of letters from
'home,' all of them filled with congratulations on my success, and among
them were letters from my dear father and a beloved uncle, at whose
instance (he was himself a physician) my father had sent me abroad to
complete my medical education. My father's letter was even more
affectionate than usual, for he was highly gratified with my success,
and he counselled me to take advantage of the peace secured by the
battle of Waterloo to visit the continent, which for many years (with
the exception of a brief period) had been closed to all persons from
Great Britain; he enclosed me a draft on a London banker for a thousand
pounds. My uncle's letter was scarcely less affectionate; my Latin
thesis (I had sent my father and him a copy) had especially pleased him;
and after urging me to take advantage of my father's kindness, he added
that he had placed a thousand pounds at my disposition, with the same
London banker on whom my draft was drawn. A letter of introduction to a
French family was enclosed in the letter, and he engaged me to visit
them, for they had been his guests for a long time when the first
Revolution caused them to fly France, and they were under other
obligations to him; which I afterward learned from themselves was a
pecuniary favor more than once renewed during their residence with him.
Ten thousand dollars was a good deal of money to be placed at the
disposition of a young man as his pocket money for eighteen months, even
after a large deduction had been made from it for a library and
professional instruments.

Before I quitted Edinburgh, I received a letter from the gentleman to
whom my uncle had given me an introduction; he acquainted me that my
uncle had informed him that I was about visiting France, and that he had
taken the liberty of introducing me to him. The Marquis de ---- (such
was his title--his name I omit for obvious reasons) expressed with
great warmth his delight at having it in his power to exhibit the
gratitude he felt to my uncle, and urged me with the most pressing terms
to come at once to his home, and pass away there at least so much time
as might accustom me to the _spoken_ French language (I could easily
read it), that my visit to Paris might be more profitable and
agreeable--and it should be both, he was so good as to say, at least as
far as it depended on himself and his friends. I wrote him by the return
mail to thank him for his kindness, and to inform him that I should at
once set out for his hospitable home. I shall never forget the six
months I passed away in the Chateau de Bardy: the happiness of those
days was checkered only by my departure and by the incident I shall
presently relate. And even after I quitted that noble mansion, the
kindness of its inmates still watched over me, and opened homes to me
even in that great Maelstrom of life--Paris.

It was toward the end of the month of October--the most delightful month
of the seasons in France--as I was returning on foot from Orleans to the
Chateau de Bardy, from a rather prolonged pedestrian exploration in that
interesting neighborhood, where I had accurately examined all of the
curiosities, thanks to an ample memoir of my noble host (in those days
'Handbooks' were unknown, and Murray was busy publishing Byron and
Moore), when I thought I caught a glimpse of some soldiers. I was not
mistaken: on the road before me a Prussian regiment was marching. I
quickened my pace to hear the military music, for I was extremely
partial to it; but the band ceased playing, and no sound was heard
except an occasional roll of the kettle-drum at long intervals to mark
the uniform step of the soldiers. After following them for a half hour,
I saw the regiment enter a small plain, surrounded by a fir grove. I
asked a captain, whose acquaintance I had made, if his men were about to
be drilled.

'No,' said he, 'they are about to try, and perhaps to shoot, a soldier
of my company for having stolen something from the house where he was
billeted.'

'What,' said I, 'are they going to try, condemn, and execute him, all in
the same moment?'

'Yes,' said he, 'those are the provisions of the capitulation.'

This word 'capitulation' was to him an unanswerable argument, as if
everything had been provided for in the capitulation, the crime and the
punishment, justice and humanity.

'And if you have any curiosity to see it,' added the captain, 'I will
place you where you may see everything. It won't be long.'

It may be from my professional education, but the truth is, I have
always been fond of witnessing these melancholy spectacles; I persuade
myself that I shall discover the solution of the enigma--death--on the
face of a man in full health, whose life is suddenly severed. I followed
the captain. The regiment was formed in a hollow square; in the rear of
the second rank and near the edge of the grove, some soldiers were
digging a grave. They were commanded by the third lieutenant, for in the
regiment everything was done with order, and there is a certain form
observed even in the digging of a man's grave. In the centre of the
hollow square eight officers were seated on drums; a ninth officer was
on their right, and some distance before them, negligently writing
something, and using his knees as his desk; he was evidently filling up
the forms simply because it was against the 'regulations' that a man
should be killed without the usual forms. The accused was called up. He
was a tall, fine-looking young man, with a noble and gentle face. A
woman (the only witness in the cause) came up with him. But when the
colonel began the examination of the woman, the soldier stopped him,
saying:

'It is useless asking her any questions. I am going to confess
everything: I stole a handkerchief in that lady's house.

THE COLONEL. What! Piter! You have been stealing! We all thought _you_
incapable of such a thing!

PITER. It is true, Colonel, I have always tried to pass as an honest
man, and a good fellow. Oh! I tell you, it wan't for me I stole the
handkerchief. 'Twas for Mary.

THE COLONEL. Who is Mary?

PITER. Mary? Oh! she lives yonder.... at home.... just outside of
Areneberg.... don't you remember the big apple-tree?.... Oh! I shall
never see her again....

THE COLONEL. I don't understand you, Piter; explain yourself.

PITER. Why, Colonel.... but read this letter.

He gave the colonel a letter, which the latter read aloud, and every
word of which was engraved on my mind, and still is as present to my
memory as though I heard them an hour ago. It was as follows:

MY DEAR, DEAR PITER:--I take advantage of recruit Arnold's leaving, for
he has enlisted in your regiment, to send you this letter, and a silk
purse I have made for you. Oh! I have hidden from father to work it, for
he is always scolding me for loving you so much, and is always telling
me that you will never come back. But you will come back, won't you!
Even if you never come back, I will always love you just the same. I
promised myself to you the day you picked up my blue handkerchief at the
Areneberg dance, and brought it to me. Oh! when shall I see you again?
The only pleasure I have is to hear that your officers esteem you, and
your comrades love you. Everybody says you are an honest man and a good
fellow. But you have still two years to serve. Serve them quickly,
because then we shall be married. Good-by, dear, dear Piter, and believe
me, your own dear

     MARY.

P.S. Try to send me, too, something from France, not because I'm afraid
I shall forget you, but I want something from you to carry always about
me. Kiss what you send me. I know I shall find at once where you kissed
it.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the colonel finished reading the letter, Piter said:

'Arnold gave me this letter last night when I received my billet paper.
For my life's sake I could not sleep; I lay awake all night long,
thinking of home and of Mary. She asked for something from France. I had
no money. I drew three months' advance last week to send home to my
brother and my cousin. This morning, when I got up to go, I opened my
window. A blue handkerchief was hanging on a clothes line; it looked
like Mary's; it was the same color, the same white lines; I was so weak
as to take it, and put it in my knapsack. I went out into the street; I
was sorry for what I had done; I was going back to the house with it
just when this lady ran after me. The handkerchief was found in my
knapsack. This is all the truth. The capitulation orders me to be shot.
Shoot me, but don't despise me.'

The judges could not conceal their emotion; but when the balloting took
place, he was unanimously condemned to death. He heard his sentence with
sang-froid; after it was passed on him, he went up to his captain and
asked him to lend him four francs. The captain gave them to him. I then
saw Piter go to the woman to whom the blue handkerchief had been
restored, and I heard him say:

'Madame, here are four francs; I don't know whether your handkerchief is
worth more, but even if it is, I pay dear enough for it to engage you to
knock off the rest.'

Taking the handkerchief from her, he kissed it, and gave it to the
captain.

'Captain,' said he, 'in two years you'll be returning home; when you go
toward Areneberg, ask for Mary; give her this blue handkerchief, but
don't tell her how dearly I purchased it.'

Piter then kneeled and prayed fervently; when his prayers were ended, he
arose and walked with a firm step to the place of execution. I forgot
that I was a scientific man, and I walked down into the woods to avoid
seeing the end of this cruel tragedy. A volley of musketry soon told me
that all was over.

I returned to the fatal spot an hour afterward; the regiment had marched
away; all was calm and silent. While following the edge of the grove,
going to the highway, I perceived at a short distance before me traces
of blood, and a mound of freshly heaped earth. I took a branch from one
of the fir trees, and made a rude cross.

I placed it at the head of poor Piter's grave, now forgotten by every
body except by me, and perhaps by Mary.




GOLD.


Gold, next to iron, is the most widely diffused metal upon the surface
of our globe. It occurs in granite, the oldest rock known to us, and in
all the rocks derived from it; it is also found in the veinstones which
traverse other geological formations, but has never been found in any
secondary formation. It is, however, much more common in alluvial
grounds than among primitive and pyrogenous rocks. It is found
disseminated, under the form of spangles, in the silicious,
argillaceous, and ferruginous sands of certain plains and rivers,
especially in their junction, at the season of low water, and after
storms and temporary floods. It is the only metal of a yellow color; it
is readily crystallizable, and always assumes one or more of the
symmetrical shapes, such as the cube or regular octahedron. It affords a
resplendent polish, and may be exposed to the atmosphere for any length
of time, without suffering any change; it is remarkable for its beauty;
is nineteen times heavier than water, and, next to platinum, the
heaviest known substance; its malleability is such, that a cubic inch
will cover thirty-five hundred square feet; its ductility is such, that
a lump of the value of four hundred dollars could be drawn into a wire
which would extend around the globe. It is first mentioned in Genesis
ii, 11. It was found in the country of Havilah, where the rivers
Euphrates and Tigris unite and discharge their waters into the Persian
gulf.

The relative value of gold to silver in the days of the patriarch
Abraham was one to eight; at the period of B.C. 1000, it was one to
twelve; B.C. 500, it was one to thirteen; at the commencement of the
Christian era, it was one to nine; A.D. 500, it was one to eighteen;
A.D. 1100, it was one to eight; A.D. 1400, it was one to eleven; A.D.
1613, it was one to thirteen; A.D. 1700, it was one to fifteen and a
half; which latter ratio, with but slight variation, it has maintained
to the present day. Gold was considered bullion in Palestine for a long
period after silver had been current as money. The first mention of gold
money in the Bible is in David's reign (B.C. 1056), when that king
purchased the threshing floor of Oman for six hundred shekels of gold by
weight. In the early period of Grecian history the quantity of the
precious metals increased but slowly; the circulating medium did not
increase in proportion with the quantity of bullion. In the earliest
days of Greece, the precious metals existed in great abundance in the
Levant. Cabul and Little Thibet (B.C. 500) were abundant in gold. It
seems to be a well ascertained fact, that it was obtained near the
surface; so that countries, which formerly yielded the metal in great
abundance, are now entirely destitute of it. Croesus (B.C. 560) coined
the golden _stater_, which contained one hundred and thirty-three grains
of pure metal. Darius, son of Hystaspes (B.C. 538), coined _darics_,
containing one hundred and twenty-one grains of pure metal, which were
preferred, for several ages throughout the East, for their fineness.
Next to the _darics_ were some coins of the reigns of the tyrants of
Sicily: of Gelo (B.C. 491); of Hiero (B.C. 478); and of Dionysius (B.C,
404). Specimens of the two former are still preserved in modern
cabinets. _Darics_ are supposed to be mentioned in the latter books of
the Old Testament, under the name of _drams_. Very few specimens of the
_daric_ have come down to us; their scarcity may he accounted for by the
fact that they were melted down under the type of Alexander. Gold coin
was by no means plenty in Greece until Philip of Macedon had put the
mines of Thrace into full operation, about B.C. 360. Gold was also
obtained by the Greeks from Asia Minor, the adjacent islands, which
possessed it in abundance, and from India, Arabia, Armenia, Colchis, and
Troas. It was found mixed with the sands of the Pactolus and other
rivers. There are only about a dozen Greek coins in existence, three of
which are in the British Museum; and of the latter, two are _staters_,
of the weight of one hundred and twenty-nine grains each. About B.C.
207, gold coins were first struck off at Rome, and were denominated
_aurei_, four specimens of which are in the institution before alluded
to. Their weight was one hundred and twenty-one grains. Gold coins were
first issued in France by Clovis, A.D. 489; about the same time they
were issued in Spain by Amalric, the Gothic king; in both kingdoms they
were called _trientes_. They were first issued in England A.D. 1257, in
the shape of a penny. Florins were next issued, in 1344, of the value of
six shillings. The guinea was first issued in 1663, of Guinea gold. In
1733 all the gold coins--nobles, angels, rials, crowns, units, lions,
exurgats, etc., etc., were called in and forbidden to circulate. The
present sovereign was first issued in 1817.

From the commencement of the Christian era to the discovery of America,
the amount of gold obtained from the surface and bowels of the earth is
estimated to be thirty-eight hundred millions of dollars; from the date
of the latter event to the close of 1842, an addition of twenty-eight
hundred millions was obtained. The discovery and extensive working of
the Russian mines added, to the close of 1852, six hundred millions
more. The double discovery of the California mines in 1848, and of the
Australia mines in 1851 has added, to the present time, twenty-one
hundred millions; making a grand total of ninety-three hundred millions
of dollars. The average loss by wear and tear of coin is estimated to be
one-tenth of one per cent, per annum; and the loss by consumption in the
arts, by fire and shipwreck, at from one to three millions per annum.

A cubic inch of gold is worth (at £3 17_s._ 10-1/2_d._, or $18.69 per
ounce) two hundred and ten dollars; a cubic foot, three hundred and
sixty-two thousand eight hundred and eighty dollars; a cubic yard, nine
millions nine hundred and seventeen thousand seven hundred and sixty
dollars. The amount of gold in existence, at the commencement of the
Christian era, is estimated to be four hundred and twenty-seven millions
of dollars; at the period of the discovery of America, it had diminished
to fifty-seven millions; after the occurrence of that event, it
gradually increased, and in 1600, it attained to one hundred and five
millions; in 1700, to three hundred and fifty-one millions; in 1800, to
eleven hundred and twenty-five millions; in 1843, to two thousand
millions; in 1853 to three thousand millions; and at the present time,
the amount of gold in existence is estimated to be forty-eight hundred
millions of dollars; which, welded into one mass, could be contained in
a cube of twenty-four feet. Of the amount now in existence, three
thousand millions is estimated to be in coin and bullion, and the
remainder in watches, jewelry, plate, etc., etc.

The Russian gold mines were discovered in 1819, and extend over one
third of the circumference of the globe, upon the parallel of 55° of
north latitude. Their product, since their discovery to the present
time, has amounted to eight hundred millions of dollars. The California
gold mines were discovered by William Marshall, on the ninth day of
February, 1848, at Sutter's Mill, upon the American Fork, a tributary of
the Sacramento, and extend from 34° to 49° of north latitude. Their
product, since their discovery to the present time, has amounted to one
thousand and forty-seven millions of dollars. The Australia gold mines
were discovered by Edward Hammond Hargraves, on the twelfth day of
February, 1851, in the Bathurst and Wellington districts, and extend
from 30° to 38° of south latitude. Their product, since their discovery
to the present time, has amounted to nine hundred and eleven millions of
dollars. The finest gold is obtained at Ballurat, and the largest nugget
yet obtained weighed twenty-two hundred and seventeen ounces, valued at
forty-one thousand dollars. In shape it resembled a continent with a
peninsula attached by a narrow isthmus. The annual product of gold at
the commencement of the Christian era is estimated at eight hundred
thousand dollars; at the period of the discovery of America it had
diminished to one hundred thousand dollars; after the occurrence of that
event it gradually increased, and in 1600 it attained to two millions;
and in 1700, to five millions; in 1800, to fifteen millions; in 1843, to
thirty-four millions; in 1850, to eighty-eight millions; in 1852, to two
hundred and thirty-six millions; but owing to the falling off of the
California as well as the Australia mines, the product of the present
year will not probably exceed one hundred and ninety millions.

Since 1792 to the present time, the gold coinage of the United States
mint has amounted to seven hundred and forty millions of dollars, of
which six hundred and fifty-five millions have been issued since 1850.
The gold coinage of the French mint, since 1726, has amounted to
eighty-seven hundred millions of francs, of which fifty-two hundred and
fifty millions have been issued since 1850. The gold coinage of the
British mint, since 1603, has amounted to two hundred and eighty
millions of pounds sterling; of which seventy-five millions have been
issued since 1850. The gold coinage of the Russian mint, since 1664, has
amounted to five hundred and twenty-six millions of roubles, of which
two hundred and sixty millions have been issued since 1850. The
sovereign of England contains one hundred and twelve grains of pure
metal; the new doubloon of Spain, one hundred and fifteen; the half
eagle of the United States, one hundred and sixteen; the gold lion of
the Netherlands, and the double ounce of Sicily, one hundred and
seventeen grains each; the ducat of Austria, one hundred and six; the
twenty-franc piece of France, ninety; and the half imperial of Russia,
ninety-one grains. A commissioner has been despatched by the United
States Government to England, France, and other countries of Europe, to
confer with their respective governments upon the expediency of adopting
a uniform system of coinage throughout the world, so that the coins of
one country may circulate in any other, without the expense of
recoinage--a consummation most devoutly to be wished.

The fact that the large amount of gold which has been thrown into the
monetary circulation of the world within the last fourteen years, has
exercised so little influence upon the money market or prices generally,
is at variance with the predictions of financial writers upon both sides
of the Atlantic. The increase in the present production of gold,
compared with former periods, is enormous; and it would not be
surprising if, in view of the explorations which are going on in Africa,
Japan, Borneo, and other countries bordering upon the equator, the
product of the precious metals within the next decade should be a
million of dollars _daily_. The price of gold has not diminished,
although the annual product has increased fivefold within twenty years.




LAST WORDS.


I am at last resolved. This taunting devil shall possess me no longer.
At least I will meet him face to face. I have read that the face of a
dead man is as though he understood the cause of all things, and was
therefore profoundly at rest, _I_ will know the cause of my wretched
fate, and will be at rest. My pistols lie loaded by my side--I shall die
to-night. To-morrow, twelve awestruck and trembling men will come and
look at me. They will ask each other: 'What could have been his motive
for the rash act.' Rash! my face will be calmer than theirs, for my
struggles in this life will be over; and I shall have gained--perhaps
knowledge, perhaps oblivion, but certainly victory. And to-night, as the
clock strikes twelve, there will be shrieks and horror in this room. No
matter: I shall have been more kind to those who utter them than they
know of, for they will not have known the cause until they have read
these lines.

And yet most people would esteem me a happy man. I am rich in all that
the world calls riches. I sit in a room filled with luxuries; a few
steps would bring me into the midst of guests, among whom are noble men
and women, sweet music, rare perfumes, glitter and costly show. My life
has been spent amid the influences of kind friends, good parents, and
culture in all that is highest and worthiest in literature and art; and
I can recall scenes as I write, of days that would have been most happy
but for the blight that has been upon me always. I think I see now the
pleasant parlor in the old house at home. Here sits our mother, a little
gray, but brisk and merry as a cricket; there our father, a
well-preserved gentleman of fifty, rather gratified at feeling the first
aristocratic twinges of gout, and whose double eyeglass is a chief
feature in all he says; there is Bill, poring over Sir William Napier's
'Peninsular War;' there is Charles, just rushing in, with a face the
principal features in which are redness and hair, to tell us that there
is another otter in the mill stream in the meadow; there is my little
sister, holding grave talk with dear Dollie, and best (or worst) of all,
there is cousin Lucy--cousin Lucy, with her brown hair, and soft, loving
eyes and quiet ways. Where are they all now? Charley went to London, was
first the favorite of the clubs, next a heartless rake, and finally,
being worn out, and, like Solomon, convinced that all was vanity, went
into the Church to become that most contemptible of all creatures, a
fashionable preacher; my father and mother are laid side by side in the
aisle of the old church on the hill, where their virtues are sculptured
in marble, for the information of anxiously curious mankind; sister Mary
no longer talks to dolls, though a flock of little girls, who call her
mother, do. Bill, poor Bill, lies far away in the Crimea, with the
bullet of a gray-coated Russian in his heart. And Lucy--but it is to her
I owe what I am, and what I am about to do.

I loved her--love her still. Will she _know_ what these words mean, when
she finds them here? I cannot tell. They are enough for me. Not for you
are they written, ball-room lounger, whispering of endless devotion
between every qaudrille; not to you, proud beauty, taking and absorbing
declarations as you would an ice; not for you, chattering monkey of the
Champs Elyseés, raving of your _grande passion_ for Eloise, so
_charmante_, so _spirituelle_; nor for you, Eloise aforesaid, with your
devilish devices, stringing hearts in your girdle as Indians do scalps;
not for you, dancing Spaniard, with your eternal castagnets, whispering
just one word to your dark-eyed señorita, as you hand her another
perfumed cigarette; not for you, lounging Italian, hissing intrigues
under the shadow of an Athenian portico, or stealing after your veiled
incognita, as her shadow flits over the place where the blood of Cæsar
dyed the floor of the Capitol, or where the knife of Virginius flashed
in the summer sun--not for one of you, for I have seen and despise you
all. To you all love is a sealed book, which you shall never open--a
tree of knowledge that will never turn into a curse for you--a beautiful
serpent that, as you gaze upon its changing hues, will never sting you
to the death.

I never told her. I would wait for hours to see her pass, if she went
out alone--but I never told her. I would trace her footsteps where she
had taken her daily walk; I would wait beneath her window at night, to
see but her shadow upon the blind, until she put out her lamp, and left
the stars and myself the only watchers there--but I never told her. I
would lay flowers in her way, happy if she wore them on her bosom, or
wreathed them in her hair, as she sometimes would--but she never knew
from whom they came. I sickened at my heart for her; I pined, oh! how I
pined for her, and worshipped her as a saint, the hope, the glory, the
heaven of my life--but I never told her.

Did she love me? No. And, while I loved, I feared her. She never made me
her companion, never took my arm; would always sit opposite me in the
carriage instead of by my side; if in a game of forfeits, I forced the
embrace I had won, she would struggle with tears of anger, though she
had given her cheek to William with a blush but a few minutes before. If
I had not been her abject slave, I could have torn her in pieces. Alas!
alas! we were but boys, and she a girl still. How many, long years I
have suffered since then!

One night I could not sleep, but sat up in my room thinking. Why should
she not love me? I am esteemed well-looking and intelligent, thought I,
looking into the glass, as if to confirm my satisfactory judgment of
myself. I gazed long and earnestly. Yes, certainly handsome, said I with
my lips, but--fool! fool! said my mocking eyes; for at that moment there
came out of their depths--there came a devil! Yes, a devil that glared
at me from the glass! a devil that was, and yet was not, myself! a devil
that had my form, and looked out of my face, but with its own cruel,
mocking eyes! And he and I confronted each other in that horrible glass.
I know not how long, but they told me afterward that I was found next
morning making ghastly faces at myself.

And then I was carried by spirits into a land of visions, where for a
hundred years, or for a moment of time, I was flying through space, and
clouds, and fire!--groping through dark caverns, millions of miles
long, crying wildly for light and air; now a giant, entangled in myriads
of chains that I could not break; now a reptile, writhing away from
footsteps that made the earth reel and tremble beneath their tread; and
at last waking, as if out of sleep, a poor, puny thing, with limbs like
shadows, laughing or crying by turns for very feebleness.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I arose from that bed I knew that I was changed. It was a secret
thought, a secret that I have kept till now. I was not quite sure at
first, but it thus fell out that I knew it well:

One day William and I had been sitting for some time in the library, he
reading and I looking at the faces that glowed in the red-hot coal, and
thinking of Lucy and him.

'Where is Lucy?' said I, at length,

'Gone out into the village,' he answered, without looking from the book;
'first to buy gloves, then to see Miss Trip, the dancing mistress, who
is ill, then to Hurst Park to tea, whence I am to fetch her at nine
o'clock.'

'You seem to know all her movements,' I said, with a sneer.

'Certainly, he rejoined, 'she told me all that I have told you.'

'You always _are_ in her confidence,' said I, very angrily, as my blood
rose.

'I believe so,' said he, calmly; though he looked at me with some
surprise.

'And I never,' said I, between my teeth.

'That,' he said, 'is a matter with which I have no concern.'

I ground my teeth, but I kept quiet. I kept quiet, though every nerve in
my body tingled with rage, and my boiling blood rushed into my eyes till
I could hardly see. 'Do you know,' I shouted, 'do you know that I love
her--would die a thousand deaths for her?'

He clasped his hands with a quick motion, as he said in a low voice,
'And so do I; and so would I.'

'Beast, fiend!' I screamed, 'does she--does she----' I could not get out
the accursed words.

'We have been engaged,' he answered, divining what I would have asked,
'we have been engaged for some time, and----'

He did not finish the sentence, for I sprang at him, crushed him to the
floor, squeezed his throat till his face grew black and the froth oozed
out from his lips, beat his head upon the hearthstones till he lay still
and bleeding, and then sought my knife. It was up stairs. I flew to get
it. It lay upon my dressing table before the glass, and I snatched at
it. Great God! as I did so, another arm was thrust forth--not mine, I
swear, if I live a thousand years; and as I recoiled, I saw in that
glass a fiend step back. Not me, not me!--but a fiend with bloody hands,
and a foul leer upon its face, and a fierce, cruel laugh in its
glittering eyes. It was he, it was he! It was the devil that had
possessed me before, come back again. And as I shuddered and gasped, and
turned away, and then looked again into those eyes that pierced _me_
through, and saw the cold, bitter smile that was on the face before me,
I knew that the fiend would leave me never more, and that I was mad!

What was a quarrel with my brother now? I stole back, and, lifting him
up, carried him to his room, where I washed the blood from his face.
When he came to himself I fell at his feet and besought his pardon, and
that he would keep what had happened a secret. He forgave me. And I
believe the only lie he ever told in all his life was when he told Lucy
that he had cut his head by falling on a jagged stone.

Oh, how often after that my fingers itched to be at his throat again;
but I always quailed before his steady eye.

I pass over the next few years, except to say that I went to college,
where I was shunned by all, though never alone: was a dunce, and plucked
twice. Perhaps it was I who shunned others, for had I not society in
the constant presence of my Familiar? I was of course a dunce, for my
brain was never steady enough to carry me over the _Pons Asinorum_, or
to make a Latin verse with even decent correctness. I went away in
disgust. I think if I had stayed longer I should have torn somebody, or
else myself.

I went next into the army. It was a new era in my life, and, strange to
say, my devil left me for a while, so that I was able to master the
details of my profession, and to be esteemed a good and careful officer.
There was hope, too, of active service; for the Russian Eagle was slowly
unfolding his vast wings for a new descent into the plains of Europe.
William, married to Her now, who was a lieutenant in the Foot Guards,
wrote to me to say that he hoped we should be really brothers, now that
we were to meet before an enemy; and the next day out came the
declaration of war. When I had read it, I drew my sword, and, as I ran
my eye along its cold, sharp blade from hilt to point, I thought how
strange was its power to let out a man's life, and turn him, in a
moment, into a heap of inanimate carrion.

Of course I am not going to tell the history of the great siege in the
Crimea, for every child knows by heart the tale of the clambering fight
up the Alma's steeps, of the withering volley that suddenly crashed out
of the gray twilight on the hill of Inkerman, of the long months of
starvation, of the final _feu d'enfer_, beneath which the Russian host
crowded over the narrow bridge that saved them from their foe. But of
the fatal charge of the Six Hundred I must speak, for I was one of them,
and I have cursed its memory a thousand times.

I well remember that day--how restless I was the night before, and how I
listened to the dropping shots on either side, hoping almost that one
would find its way to my heart.

We were brigaded by daylight. Some manoeuvres on an extensive scale
were to be attempted, I believe, one of which was to outflank some
batteries of field artillery by which we had suffered much loss. They
were drawn up at the side and end of the valley of Balaklava, and we
were at the other end, and were ordered, it has since been said in
error, to charge down the valley upon them.

How beautiful the sun rose that day! The dewy odors from a thousand
flowers came floating up from that green valley as he rolled away the
mists from the mountain tops, and showed us the dusky masses far below,
from which the shot came whizzing every now and then. Gods! how we
exulted at the sight. Along our line rose a wild cheer, as our horses
tugged and strained at their bits, and every man's bridle was drawn
tight. Soon a puff of smoke came from a hillock near, and the stern
command 'draw swords' ran along from troop to troop, as the bright steel
flashed in the sunshine like a river of light. Then out pealed the
trumpets, and away we went, amidst a storm of ringing harness, and
clashing scabbards, and flying banners, and thundering hoofs that made
the ground shake. On we dashed, straight across the valley, in front of
a point-blank fire, that emptied many a saddle as we flew along,
straight upon the mass of smoke and flame which hid those fatal
batteries--straight at the gunners, dealing out wild blows upon them,
while they fought with swords, or axes, or clubbed muskets, or gun
spongers, or anything that could cut or strike a blow.

As for me, I only know that I was in the first line, and among the first
in the mêlée; where my first blow lighted upon the bare head of a
Russian, whose blood spouted high as I cut at him with all my force; for
after that a mist came over my eyes, and I fought in the dark, and then
came oblivion.

When I awoke to consciousness, which I did not for several days, I found
that I was wounded, and had been in danger of my life, though I should
most probably recover. As soon as I was strong enough to talk much, I
was told that my bravery had been very conspicuous, and that I had been
honorably mentioned in the order of the day. Four Russians, it seemed,
had died by my hand, and being at last cut on the head by a sabre, I was
with difficulty held on my horse when the retreat was sounded. I had
raved, it also appeared, incessantly; but now the fever had left me.
Good. It was fever, they thought, which had held possession of me. But
those who said so did not know what power it was that nerved my arm, and
then, having worked his devilish wile, flung me away like a broken toy.
Fever! They did not know that it was a 'fever' that had cursed me for
twelve long years.

But I got well, as those who were about me said, and, having been
reported fit for duty, made my appearance at parade, and afterward, the
same day, at mess.

My brother was dead. One day, while I lay ill, he and a party of his
brother officers were idly chatting in one of the more advanced
trenches, when a minié ball struck him, and he died without a word or
groan. They carried him out, and he lies at the little graveyard at
Scutari, with thousands of others who fell in the Great Siege. His sword
and other relics had been kept for me, and among them was a portrait of
Cousin Lucy, which he had worn next his heart. I should have to take it
to her. The general in command had already written to her, with the news
of her bereavement.

I was saying that I rejoined the mess. All my comrades congratulated me
but one. He was a young fellow, recently exchanged from another
regiment, who would one day wear the strawberry leaf upon his coronet--a
cold, supercilious, prying puppy, whom I hated at once. When we were
introduced, our mutual bow was studied in its cold formality--on his
side so much so as to be almost insulting, considering the place and
circumstances. To this day I believe that he, the only one of all there,
had suspected me, and I felt that I must be perpetually on my guard
against his curious glances. I was sure that one day we should have to
strive for the mastery. And we did--sooner than I expected; for, as the
colonel filled his glass, and, calling upon the rest to follow his
example, drank a welcome to me back among them, this knave, sitting
opposite at the time, fixed his eyes upon me as he lifted his glass to
his lips, and did not drink. As our looks met, I knew that he mocked me,
and I flung my wine in his face, and raved.

Those present forced me away, and took me to my tent, where they made me
lie down. I was supposed to be delirious from weakness and the effects
of my wound, and I heard them say, 'He has come out too soon; that wine
he drank at dinner was too much for him.' Good again! It was the wine!
'But,' thought I, 'as soon as this arm shall be able to strike or
thrust, I will have the life of that sneering devil, or he mine.' And I
kept my word. I met him within ten days afterward, walking at some
distance from the camp, quite alone, as I was myself.

'Good morning,' said he; 'you are about again, as I am glad to see.'

I said to him, 'Do you forget the time when I was out before?'

'Surely not,' said he; 'but I knew that you had been ill, and was not
master of yourself.'

'And so forgave me?' I rejoined, in a passion.

'And so forgave,' said he; 'why not?'

'Then learn,' said I, 'that I _was_ master of myself; that I am now;
that you insulted me grossly; that the only words I have for you
are--draw, sir, draw!'

'Stop!' he cried, as I drew my sword; 'pray come back with me to the
camp. You are ill; pray, come back; I have no quarrel with you, believe
me.'

But I struck him on the breast with my swordhilt, so that he nearly
fell. Then he recovered himself, and, still crying out that he had no
quarrel with me, drew and stood upon his guard, while I rushed upon him.

He was cool, and I furious. I believe he could have killed me easily if
he had wished, but he only parried my rapid blows. At last, however, as
I pressed him more closely, he grew paler, and began to fight in
earnest. What _then_ could he do against a madman? I bore him back, step
by step, till a mass of rock stopped him; and there I kept him, with the
hissing steel playing about his head, until he dropped upon one knee and
his sword fell from his hand. Then I paused, waiting to see him die as I
would a wounded hare, as die I knew he must, for I had pierced him with
twenty wounds. He knelt thus, and looked, not at me, but at the setting
sun; and then his head drooped and he rolled over, and was dead.

And as I wiped my sword on the grass, I shouted with glee.

Of course, I told no one. It was but another secret added to the many
that had torn my heart and brain. Nor, when the body was found, stripped
by camp followers, and supposed to be killed by a reconnoitring party of
the enemy, did I betray myself by word or look.

At last the war was over, and we were ordered home. I bade farewell to
the blue hills of the Crimea with secret joy, and as the shore faded
from my sight, the memory of all that had happened to me during the
Great Siege faded from my memory like a dream.

Upon our landing, I went as soon as possible home. How green the hedges
were, how sweet the scent of the violets, how soft the grass, how grand
the arching oaks and giant elms, as I journeyed along on foot. Surely I
have suffered enough, I said to myself, as I passed through meadow, and
copse, and lane, and over stiles, and to the old park at last. Surely I
have suffered enough, I said, as I came to the lodge gate, where the
keeper's wife looked curiously at my uniform and bronzed face, and the
crape on my arm, and then ran into the lodge to tell her husband that
here was Master Horace come back. Surely there was peace in that old
house, with its pointed gables, and moss-clad turrets, and ivied walls,
and little gothic windows--where the old butler grasped my hand; and the
maids came peeping out; and the old dog licked my face; where poor Lucy
wept upon my breast--wept for that I had come back alone; and then put
her little girl into my arms, to kiss dear Uncle Horace, come home once
more.

But, when I went to bed that night, in the same glass that showed me my
Enemy years before, I saw him looking at me, with his cruel smile,
shining out of my own eyes.

What more remains to be told? But little; for it was but the old story.
It is enough to say that I struggled on, hoping against hope; that I
cheated myself with the maddest hope of all--that she might be brought
to love me; that I one day prayed her to become my wife, and that she
broke from me with terror and loathing; that I fled her presence, and
was once more a wanderer over the earth; that my weary feet dragged me
over the snows of Siberia, where the furred noble and the chained serf
worked side by side; over the burning sands, where the brown Arab
careers along upon his steed, his white burnous fluttering in the hot
wind; over the broad prairies of America, where the Indian prowls with
his trusty rifle, waiting for the wild beast; over the paths of the
trackless deep; over the still wilder deserts and still more lonely
deeps of revelry and vice;--what more than that I have come back again;
that many guests are here to do honor to my return; that these are the
last words which I shall ever write!




PARTING

   When 'mid the loud notes of the drum
     And fife tones shrilling on the ear,
   The music of our nation's hymns
     Rose 'neath the elm trees loud and clear;
   When on the Common's grassy plain
     The city poured her countless throng,
   And blessings fell like April rain
     On each one as he marched along;

   We parted,--hand close clasped in hand,
     Telling the thoughts tongue could not speak;
   Was it unmanly that our eyes
     O'erflowed with love upon the cheek?
   I hear thy cheery voice outspeak,
     'Courage, the months will quickly fly,
   And ere November chill and bleak
     We meet at home, Ned, you and I.'

   A livelier strain came from the band,
     'God bless you' went from each to each;
   A gazing eye, a waving hand,
     Where hearts were all too full for speech.
   He marched, obeying duty's call,
     Of noblest nature, first to hear;
   I, bound by fond domestic thrall,
     In path of duty lingered here.

   Slowly the summer months rolled on,
     October harvested the corn,
   November came with shortening days,
     Passed by in mist and rain,--was gone,--
   Yet still he came not; winter's snow
     In feathery vesture clothed the trees,
   Or, iceclad in a jewelled glow,
     They sparkled in the chilly breeze.

   Spring glowed along Potomac vales,
     While north her footsteps tardier came,
   For him the golden jasmine trails
     O'er bright azaleas all aflame;
   Still upon Yorktown's trampled fields,
     O'er grassy plain and wooded swell,
   Her sunny wealth the summer yields,
     And still the word comes, 'All is well.'




A MERCHANT'S STORY.


     'All of which I saw, and part of which I was.'


CHAPTER XII.

In the afternoon the exercises at the meeting house were conducted by
Preston, who publicly catechized the negroes very much in the manner
that is practised in Northern Sunday schools. When the services were
over, and the family had gathered around the supper table, I said to
him:

'I've an idea of passing the evening with Joe; he has invited me. Would
it be proper for you and Mrs. Preston to go?'

'Oh, yes; and we will. I would like to have you see his mother. She is a
wonderful woman, and, if in the mood, will astonish you.'

'I think you told me she is a native African?'

'Yes, she is. She was brought from Africa when a child. She has a dim
recollection of her life there, and retains the language and
superstitions of her race,' replied Preston, rising from the table. 'I
think you had better go at once, for she retires early; Lucy and I will
follow you as soon as we can.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Joe's cabin was located nearly in the centre of the little collection of
negro houses, and a few hundred yards from the mansion. It was of logs,
a story and a half high, and had originally been only about twenty feet
square. To the primitive structure, however, an addition of the same
dimensions had been made, and as it then stretched for more than forty
feet along the narrow bypath which separated the two rows of negro
shanties, it presented quite an imposing appearance. A second addition
in its rear, though it did not increase its dignity in the eyes of
'street' observers, added largely to its proportions and convenience.

The various epochs in Joe's history were plainly written on his
dwelling. The original building noted the time when, a common field
hand, he had married a wife, and set up housekeeping; the front addition
marked the era when his industry, intelligence, and devotion to his
master's interest had raised him above the dead level of black
servitude, and given him the management of the plantation; and the rear
structure spoke pleasantly of the time when old Deborah, disabled by age
from longer service at 'the great house,' and too infirm to clamber up
the steep ladder which led to Joe's attic bedrooms, had come to doze
away the remainder of her days under her son's roof.

The cabin was furnished with two entrance doors, and suspecting that the
one in the older portion led directly into the kitchen, I rapped lightly
at the other. In a moment it opened, and Joe ushered me into the living
room.

That apartment occupied the whole of the newer front, and had a
cheerful, cosy appearance. Its floor was covered with a tidy rag carpet,
evidently of home manufacture, and its plastered walls were decorated
with tasteful paper, and hung with a number of neatly framed engravings.
Opposite the doorway stood a large mahogany bureau, and over it,
suspended from the ceiling by leathern cords, was a curiously contrived
shelving, containing a score or more of well-worn books. Among them I
noticed a small edition of 'Shakespeare,' Milton's 'Poems,' Goldsmith's
'England,' the six volumes of 'Comprehensive Commentary,' Taylor's 'Holy
Living and Dying,' the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' a 'United States
Gazetteer,' and a complete set of the theological writings of
Swedenborg. Neat chintz curtains covered the small windows, a number of
brightly burnished brass candlesticks ornamented a plain wooden mantle
over the broad fireplace, and a yellow-pine table, oiled and varnished,
on which the 'tea things' were still standing, occupied the centre of
the apartment.

Through an open door, at the right of the bureau, I caught a glimpse of
the dormitory of the aged Africaness. As on the exterior of the building
a brief epitome of Joe's history was written, so in that room a portion
of his character was traced. Its comfortable and almost elegant
furnishings told, plainer than any words, that he was a devoted and
affectionate son. With its rich Brussels carpet, red window hangings,
cosy lounge, neat centre table, and small black-walnut bureau, it might
have been mistaken for the private apartment of a white lady of some
pretensions.

It was a little after nightfall when I entered the cabin, but a bright
fire, blazing on the hearth, gave me a full view of its occupants. Aggy,
a tidily clad, middle-aged yellow woman, was clearing away the supper
table, and Joe's mother was smoking a pipe in a large arm chair, in the
chimney corner.

The old negress wore a black levantine gown, open in front, and gathered
about the waist by a silken cord; a red and yellow turban, from
underneath which escaped a few frosted locks, and a white cambric
neckerchief that fell carelessly over her shoulders, and almost hid her
withered, scrawny neck. She was upward of seventy, but so infirm that
she appeared nearly a hundred. One of her lean, skinny arms, escaping
from the loose sleeve of her dress, rested on her knee; and her bowed,
bony frame leaned against the arm of her chair, as if incapable of
sitting upright. Her features, with the exception of her nose, which
curved slightly upward, were thin and regular; and her eyes were large,
deep, and densely black, and seemed turned inward, as if gazing with a
half-wondering stare at the strange mechanism which held together her
queer frame-work of bones and gutta percha.

She was the old woman who had greeted Preston so affectionately on our
arrival.

Turning to her as he tendered me a chair, Joe said:

'Mudder, dis am Mr. Kirke.'

Making a feeble effort to rise, and reaching out her trembling hand she
exclaimed, in a voice just above a whisper:

'You'm welcome yere, right welcome, sar.'

'Thank you, aunty. Pray keep your seat; don't rise on my account.'

'Tank _you_, massa Kirke, fur comin' yere. It'm bery good ob you. Ole
missy lub you, sar; you'm so good ter massa Robert. He'm my own chile,
sar!'

This was undoubtedly a figure of speech, for the old woman's skin was
altogether too black not to have given a trifle of its shading to the
complexion of her children. It was not only black, but blue black, and
of that peculiar hue which is seen only on the faces of native Africans.

Seeing that she had relinquished smoking, I said:

'Never mind me, aunty; I smoke myself sometimes.'

'Tank you, sar,' she replied, resuming her pipe, and relapsing into her
previous position; 'ole wimmin lub 'backer, sar.'

The low tone in which this was said made me conclude that further
conversation would be exhausting to her, so turning to Joe and Aggy--the
latter had hurried through her domestic employments, and taken a seat
near the fire--I entered into a general discussion of the old worthies
that occupied Joe's book shelves.

I found the negro had taxed them for house room. He had levied on their
best thoughts, and I soon experienced the uneasy sensation which one
feels when he encounters a man who can 'talk him dry' on almost any
subject. On the single topic of the business to which I was educated, I
might have displayed, had it not been Sunday night, a greater amount of
information; but in the knowledge of every subject that was broached,
the black was my superior.

The conversation had rambled on for a full half hour, the old negress
meanwhile puffing steadily away, and giving no heed to it; when suddenly
her pipe dropped from her mouth, her eyes closed, her bent figure became
erect, and a quick, convulsive shiver passed over her. Thinking she was
about to fall in a fit, I exclaimed:

'Joe! See! your mother!'

'Neber mind, sar,' he quietly replied; 'it'm nuffin'. Only de power am
on her.'

A few more convulsive spasms succeeded, when the old woman's face
assumed a settled expression; and swaying her body back and forth with a
slow, steady motion, she commenced humming a low chant. Gradually it
grew louder, till it broke into a strange, wild song, filling the room,
and coming back in short, broken echoes from the adjoining apartments.
Struck with astonishment, I was about to speak, when Joe, laying his
hand on my arm, said:

'Hush, sar! It am de song ob de kidnap slave!'

It was sung in the African tongue, but I thought I heard, as it rose and
fell in a wild, irregular cadence, the thrilling story of the stolen
black; his smothered cries, and fevered moans in the slaver's hold; the
shriek of the wind, and the sullen sound of the surging waves as they
broke against the accursed ship; and, then--as the old negress rose and
poured forth quick, broken volumes of song--the loud mirth of the
drunken crew, mingling with what seemed dying groans, and the heavy
splash of falling bodies striking the sea.

As she concluded, with a firm, stately step--showing none of her
previous decrepitude--she approached me:

Seeing that I regarded her movements with a look of startled interest,
Joe said:

'Leff har do what she likes, sar. She hab suffin' to say to you.'

Taking a small bag[1] from her bosom, and placing it in the open front
of my waistcoat, she reached out her long, skinny arm, and placing her
skeleton hand on the top of my head, chanted a low song. The words were
mostly English, and the few I caught were something as follows:

   'Oh, bress de swanga buckra man;
   Bress wife an' chile ob buckra man.'
   Bress all dat b'long to buckra man;
   Barimo[2] bress de buckra man;
   De good Lord bress de buckra man;
   Bress, bress de swanga buckra man.'

As she finished the invocation, she took both my hands in hers, and
leaning forward, and muttering a few low words, seemed trying to read
the story imprinted on my palms. Her eyes were closed, and thinking she
might be troubled to see me without the use of those organs, I looked
inquiringly at her son.

'She don't need eyes, sar,' said Joe, answering my thought; 'she'll tell
all 'bout you widout dem.'

As he said this, she dropped one of my hands, and raising her right arm,
made several passes over my head, then resting her hand again upon it,
she began chanting another low song:

'What der yer see, mudder?' asked Joe, leaning forward, with a look of
intense interest on his face.

'A tall gemman-de swanga gemman--in a big city. De night am dark an'
cole--bery cole. Pore little chile am wid him, an' he cole--bery cole;
him cloes pore--bery pore. Dey come to a big hous'n--great light in de
winders--an' dey gwo in--swanga gemman an' pore chile. A great room
dar, wid big fire, an' oh! sweet young missus. She jump up-swanga gemman
speak to har, an' show de pore chile. She look sorry like, an' cry; den
she frow har arm 'roun' de pore chile; take him to de fire, an' kiss
him--kiss him ober an' ober agin.'

It was the scene when Kate first saw Frank, on the night of his mother's
death. I said nothing, but Joe asked:

'Any more, mudder?'

'Yas. I sees a big city, anoder city, in de daytime. In dark room,
upstars, am swanga gemman an' anoder buckra man--he bad buckra man.
Buckra angel dar, too, a standin' 'side de swanga gemman, but swanga
gemman doan't see har. She look jess like de pore chile. De swanga
gemman git up, an' 'pear angry, bery angry, but he keep in. Talk hard to
oder buckra man, who shake him head, an' look down. Swanga gemman den
walk de room, an' talk fasser yit, but bad buckra man keep shakin' him
head. Den swanga gemman stan' right ober de oder buckra man, an' de
strong words come inter him froat. Him 'pears gwine to curse de buckra
man, but de angel put har han' ober him moufh, an' say suffin' to him.
Swanga gemman yeres, dough he doan't see har. Den he say nuffin' more,
but gwo right 'way.'

It was the scene in Hallet's office, when I told him of his victim's
death, and entreated him to provide for, if he did not acknowledge his
child. The words which flashed upon my brain, and stayed the curse which
rose to my lips, were those of the dying girl: 'Leave him to GOD!'

'Go on. Tell me what she _said_,' I exclaimed.

'Mudder doan't _yere_; she only see de pictur ob what hab been. Listen!'
said Joe; and the old woman again spoke:

'I sees a big city--de fuss city, an' great hous'n--de fuss hous'n. De
young missus am dar, wid de pore chile, an' a little chile dat look jess
like she do; an' dar'm anoder bery little chile dar, too. Dey'm upstars
in a room, wid a bed an' a candle burnin'. Dey'm gwine to bed. Young
missus kneel down wid de two chil'ren, an' pray. An' side de pore chile,
an' kneelin' down wid har arm roun' him neck, am de buckra angel. She
pray, too. Swanga gemman in anoder room yere dem aprayin', an' he come
an' look. He say nuffin', but he stan' dar, an' de big tear run down him
cheek. De time come back to him when _he_ wus a little chile, an' he
pray like dem. He doan't pray 'nuff now!'

It was the last night I had passed at home. A feeling of indescribable
awe crept over me, and I rose halfway from my seat.

'Sit still, sar,' said Joe, almost forcing me back into the chair.
'You'll break de power.'

'You know the past, old woman,' I exclaimed. 'Tell me the future!'

'Hush!' she replied, with an imperious tone. 'Dey'm comin'.'

During all this time she had stood with her hand on my head, as
immovable as a marble statue. Her voice had a deep, strong tone, and her
face wore a look of calm power. Nothing about her reminded me of the
weak, decrepit old woman she had been but an hour before.

'Dey'm yere!' she said; and in another moment the door opened, and
Preston and his wife entered.

Without rising or speaking, Joe motioned them to two vacant chairs. As
they seated themselves, I exclaimed:

'She has told me all things that ever I did!'

'She has strange powers,' replied Preston.

'Hush, Robert Preston! De swanga gemman ax fur de future!'

Shading then her closed eyes with one hand, and leaning forward, as if
peering into the far distance, the old negress laid her other hand again
on my head, and continued:

'I see a deep, wide riber flowin' on to de great sea. De swanga gemman,
in strong boat, am on it; an' de young missus, an' de pore chile, an'
one, two oder chile, am wid him. De storm strike de riber, an' raise de
big wave, but de boat gwo on jess de same. De swanga gemman he doan't
keer fur de storm, or de big wave, fur he got 'em all dar! An' I see
anoder riber--not so deep, not so wide--flowin' on 'side de big riber,
to de great sea; an' you' (looking at Preston), 'an' de good missus, an'
one, two, free, four chile am dar. De wind blow ober dat riber an' raise
de big wave, but de swanga gemman reach out him hand, an' de wave gwo
down. An' I see a little riber flow out ob de big riber, an' de pore
chile in a little boat am on it. An' a little riber come out ob de oder
riber an' gwo into de oder little riber, an' a chile am on dat, too. De
two little boats meet, an' de two chile gwo on togedder, but--de storm
come dar, an'--de great rocks--oh! oh!' and, covering her face with her
hands, she turned away.

'What more do you see? Tell me, Deborah!' exclaimed Preston, bending
forward with breathless eagerness.

She raised her head, and seemed to look again in the same direction;
then, in a low tone, said:

'I sees no more.'

'What of the other river? What of that?' he exclaimed, with the same
breathless anxiety.

'I sees--de boat 'mong de rocks--de great rocks--an' you--dar--all by
you'seff--all by you'seff--an'--O Barimo!' and, giving a low scream, she
started back as if palsied with dread.

Springing to his feet, Preston seized her by both arms, and screamed
out:

'What more! Tell me WHAT MORE!'

Drawing her tall form up to its full height, and looking at him with her
closed eyes, she said, in a voice inexpressibly sad and tender:

'I sees de great rocks--de great fall--de great sea!' then pausing a
moment, and pointing upward, she added: 'Robert Preston! Trust in GOD!'

Overcome with emotion, she staggered back to her seat. A few convulsive
shudders passed over her; her eyes slowly opened, and--she was the same
weak, old woman as before.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning I bade adieu to my kind friends, and started again on
my journey. Preston accompanied me as far as Wilmington, where we
parted; he going on to Whitesville, in search of the new turpentine
location; and I, proceeding by the Charleston boat, southward.


CHAPTER XIII

On my return to my home, a few weeks after the events narrated in the
previous chapter, in pursuance of a promise made to Preston, I inserted
an advertisement in the papers, which read somewhat as follows:

     'WANTED, a suitable person to go South, as governess in a planter's
     family. She must be thoroughly educated, and competent to instruct
     a boy of twelve. Such a one may apply by letter;' etc., etc.

A score of replies flowed in within the few following days, but being
excessively occupied with a mass of personal business, which had
accumulated in my absence, I laid them all aside, till more than one
week had elapsed. Then, one evening I took them home, and Kate and I
opened the batch. As each one was read by my wife or myself, we
commented on the character of the writers as indicated by the
handwriting and general style of the epistles. Rejecting about two
thirds as altogether unworthy of attention, we reserved the remaining
half dozen for a second inspection. Among these, the one with the
cramped, precise chirography was thought to come from an old maid.
Another, whose five lines of rail fence covered a sheet nearly as large
as a ten-acre lot, was the production of a strong-minded woman. A third,
on tinted paper, and dotted with blots and erasures, was from a fat
lady, who wore her shoes down at the heel, and got up too late for
breakfast. 'But here, Kate,' I exclaimed, as I opened the fourth
missive, 'this one, in this firm yet lady-like hand--this one will do.
Hear what it says:

     SIR:--I think I can answer your requirements. A line addressed to
     Catharine Walley, B----, N.H., with full particulars, will receive
     immediate attention.

'That's the woman, Kate. A business man in petticoats! _She_ can manage
a boy of twelve!'

'Or a man of twice that age,' said Kate, quietly reading the letter. 'I
wouldn't have that woman in _my_ house.'

'Why not? She has character--take my word for it. Her letter is as short
and sweet as a 'promise to pay.''

'She has too much character, and not of the right sort. There is no
womanliness about her.'

'You women are always hard on your own sex. She'll have to manage Joe,
and she'll need to be half man to do that. I think I had better write
her to come here. I can tell what she is when I see her. I can read a
woman like a book.'

There was a slight twinkle in my wife's eyes when I said this, and she
made some further objections, but I overruled them; and, on the
following morning, dispatched a letter, inviting Miss Walley to the
city.

Returning to my office from ''Change,' one afternoon, a few days
afterward, I found a lady awaiting me. She rose as I entered, and gave
her name as Miss Walley. She was prepossessing and lady-like in
appearance, and there was a certain ease and self-possession in her
manner, which I was surprised to see in one directly from a remote
country town. She wore a plain gray dress, with a cape of the same
material; a straw hat, neatly trimmed with brown ribbon, and, on the
inside, a bunch of deep pink flowers, which gave a slight coloring to
her otherwise pale and sallow but intellectual face. Her whole dress
bespoke refinement and taste. She was tall and slender, with an almost
imperceptible stoop in the shoulders, indicative of a studious habit;
but you forgot this seeming defect in her easy and graceful movements.
Her brown hair was combed plainly over a rather low and narrow forehead;
her face was long and thin, and her small, clear gray eyes were shaded
by brown eyebrows meeting together, and, when she was talking earnestly,
or listening attentively, slightly contracting, and deepening her keen
and thoughtful expression. Her nose was long and rather prominent; and
her mouth and chin were large, showing character and will; but their
masculine expression was relieved by a short upper lip, which displayed
to full advantage the finest set of teeth I ever saw.

Referring at once to the object of her visit, she handed me a number of
credentials, highly commendatory of her character and ability as a
teacher. I glanced over them, and assured her they were satisfactory.
She then questioned me as to the compensation she would receive, and the
position of the family needing her services. Answering these inquiries,
I added that I was prepared to engage her on the terms I had named.

'I have been in receipt of the same salary as assistant in a school in
my native village, sir,' she replied; 'but what you say of the family of
Mr. Preston, and a desire to visit the South, will induce me to accept
the situation.'

'When will you be ready to go, madam?' I asked.

'At once, sir. To-day, if necessary.'

Surprised and yet pleased with her promptness, I said:

'And are you entirely ready to go so far on so short notice?'

'Yes, sir. The cars leave in the morning, I am told. I will start
then.'

'And alone?'

'Yes, sir. We Yankee girls are accustomed to taking care of ourselves.'

'I admire your independence. But you pass the night in town; you will, I
trust, spend it at my residence?'

'Thank you, sir.'

Ordering a carriage and stopping on the way at a hotel to get the single
trunk which contained her wardrobe, I conveyed her at once to my
residence.

After supper we all gathered in the parlor, and I set about entertaining
our guest. I had to make little effort to do that, for her conversation
soon displayed a knowledge of books and people, and a wit and keenness
of intellect, as decidedly entertained me. She was not only brilliant,
but agreeable; and in the course of the evening made some pleasant
overtures to the children. Frank, with a book in his hand, had drawn his
chair off to another part of the room, and showed, at first, uncommon
reserve for a lad of his warm and genial nature; but gradually, as if in
spite of himself, he edged his chair nearer to her. Our little 'four
year old,' however, resisting the offered temptation of watch and chain,
and even sugar-plums, repelled her advances, and hid his curly head only
the more closely in the folds of his mother's dress. Kate listened and
laughed, but I caught occasionally, as her eyes studied the visitor
attentively, a troubled expression, which I well understood. After a
while the lady expressed a readiness to retire that she might obtain the
rest needed for an early start by the morning train, and Kate conducted
her to her apartment.

I felt highly delighted with the idea of being able to send Mrs. Preston
so agreeable a companion, and not a little vexed with my wife for not
sharing my enthusiasm. When she returned to the parlor, I said:

'Kate, why do you not like her?'

'I can hardly tell _why_,' she replied, 'but my first impression is
confirmed. I would not trust her. Why does she go South for the same
salary she has had in New Hampshire?'

'Because she wants to see the world; she's a stirring Yankee woman.'

'No; because you told her of Mr. Preston's position in society; and
because she hopes to win a plantation and a rich planter.'

'Nonsense,' I replied. 'You misjudge her.'

'I tell you, Edmund, she is a cold, selfish, sordid woman; all
intellect, and no heart. If I had never seen her face, I should have
known that by her voice, and the shake of her hand.'

But it was too late--I had engaged her; and at seven o'clock on the
following morning she was on her way to the South.

I soon received information of her safe arrival at her destination, and
the warm thanks of Preston for having sent him so agreeable a person,
and one so well fitted to instruct his children.

       *       *       *       *       *

The turpentine location was soon secured, and early in the following
spring, Joe, with about a hundred 'prime hands,' commenced operations in
the new field. Constantly increasing shipments soon gave evidence of the
energy with which the negro entered upon his work; and by the end of the
year, Preston had not only paid the advances we made on receiving the
deed of the land, but also the note I had given for the purchase of
Phyllis. For the first time in five years he was entirely out of our
debt.

The next season he hired a force of nearly two hundred negroes, and
generously gave Joe a small interest in the new business, with a view to
the black's ultimately buying his freedom. His transactions soon became
large and profitable both to him and to us. Shortly afterward he paid
off the last of his floating debt, and his balances in our hands grew
from nothing till they reached five and seven and often ten thousand
dollars.

But heavy affliction overtook him in the midst of his prosperity. His
wife and two eldest daughters were stricken down by a prevailing
epidemic, and died within a fortnight of each other. A letter which I
received from him at this time, will best relate these events. It was as
follows:

     MY DEAR FRIEND:--I have sad, very sad news to tell you. A week ago
     to-day I followed the remains of my beloved wife to the grave.
     Overcome by watching with our children, and grief at their loss,
     about three weeks since she took their disease, and sinking
     rapidly, soon resigned her spotless spirit to the hands of her
     MAKER. Overwhelmed by this treble affliction, I have not been able
     to write you before. Even now I can hardly hold a pen. I am
     perfectly paralyzed; I can neither act nor think--I can only
     _feel_.

     You, who have seen her in our home, can realize what she was to my
     family, but none can know what she was to me: companion, friend,
     guide! My stay and support through long years of trial, she is
     taken from me just as prosperity is dawning on me, and I was hoping
     to repay, by a life of devotion, some part of what she had borne
     and suffered on my account. Another angel has been welcomed in
     heaven, but I am left here alone--alone with my grief and my
     remorse!

     My son is inconsolable, and even little Selly seems to realize the
     full extent of her loss. The poor little thing will not leave me
     for a moment. She is now the only comfort I have. Miss Walley has
     been unremitting in her kindness and attention, taking the burden
     of everything upon herself. Indeed, I do not know what I should
     have done without her.

     Time may temper my affliction, but _now_, my dear friend, I am not

          ROBERT PRESTON.



Nothing worthy of special mention occurred to the persons whose history
I am relating till about a year after the death of Mrs. Preston. Then,
one day late in the autumn, I received information of her husband's
approaching marriage with the governess. In the letter which invited me
to be present at the ceremony, Preston said: 'No one can ever fill the
place in my heart that is occupied, and ever will be occupied by the
memory of my sainted wife; but Miss Walley has rendered herself
indispensable to me and my family. My studious habits and ignorance of
business made me, as you know, even in my full health and strength, a
poor manager; and during the past year, grief has so broken my spirits
that I have been utterly unfitted for attending to the commonest duties.
But for Miss Walley, everything would have gone to waste and ruin. With
the efficiency of a business man, she has attended to my household,
overseen my plantation, and managed my entire affairs. In the first
moments of my bereavement, when grief so entirely overwhelmed me that I
saw no one, I did not know to what censurious remark her disinterested
devotion to my interests was subjecting her; but recently I have
realized the impropriety of a young, unmarried woman occupying the
position she holds in my household. Miss Walley, also, has felt this,
and some time since notified me, though with evident reluctance, that
she felt it imperatively necessary to leave my service. What, then,
could I do? My people needed a mistress; my children a mother. She was
both. Only one course seemed open, and after mature deliberation I
offered her my hand, frankly stating that my heart was with the angel
who, lost to me here, will be mine hereafter. Satisfied with my
friendship and esteem, she has accepted me; and we are to be married on
the 26th inst.; when I most sincerely trust that you, my dear friend,
and your estimable wife, will be present.

That night I took the letter home to my wife. She read it, and laying it
down, sadly said:

'Oh, Edmund! He is, indeed, 'among the rocks!''

       *       *       *       *       *

Two years went by, and I did not meet Preston, but our business
relations kept us in frequent correspondence, and his letters
occasionally alluded to his domestic affairs.

Very soon after his marriage with the governess, his son went to live
with his uncle, Mr. James Preston, of Mobile, a wealthy bachelor, who
long before had expressed the intention of having the boy succeed to his
business and estate. 'Boss Joe' continued in charge of the turpentine
plantation, and had built him a house, and removed his wife and aged
mother to his new home. On one of my visits to the South I stopped
overnight with him, and was delighted with his model establishment. Two
hundred as cheerful-looking darkies as ever swung a turpentine axe, were
gathered in tents and small shanties around his neat log cabin, and Joe
seemed as happy as if he were governor of a province.

His operations had grown to such magnitude that Preston then ranked
among the largest producers of the North Carolina staple, and his
'account' had become one of the most valuable on our books. Though we
sent 'account currents' and duplicates of each 'account sales' to his
master, our regular 'returns' were made to Joe, and no one of our
correspondents held us to so strict an accountability, or so often
expressed dissatisfaction with the result of his shipments, as he.

'I thinks a heap of you, Mr. Kirke,' he said at the close of one of his
letters about this time; 'but the fact am, thar's no friendship in
trade, and you _did_ sell that lass pile of truck jess one day too
sudden.'


CHAPTER XIV.

Two more years rolled away. Frank was nearly sixteen. He had grown up a
fine, manly lad, and never for one moment had Kate or I regretted the
care we had bestowed on his education and training. He was all we could
have wished for in our own son, and in his warm love and cheerful
obedience we both found the blessing invoked on us by his dying mother.

His affection for Kate was something more than the common feeling of a
child for a parent. With that was blended a sort of half worship, which
made him listen to her every word, and hang on her every look, as if she
were a being of some higher order than he. They were inseparable. He
preferred her society to that of his young companions, and often, when
he was a child, seated by her knee, and listening, when she told of his
'other mother' in the 'beautiful heaven,' have I seen his eye wander to
her face with an expression, which plainly said: 'My heart knows no
'other mother' than you.' Kate was proud of him, and well she might be,
for he was a comely youth; and his straight, closely knit, sinewy frame;
dark, deepset eyes; and broad, open forehead, overhung with thick, brown
hair; only outshadowed a beautiful mind, an open, upright, manly nature,
whose firm and steady integrity nothing could shake.

About this time I received a letter from his father, which, as it had an
important bearing on the lad's future career, I give to the reader:

   BOSTON, _September 20th, 185-._

DEAR SIR:--A recent illness has brought my past life in its true light
before me. I see its sin, and I would make all the atonement in my
power. I cannot undo the wrong I have done to one who is gone, but I can
do my duty to her child. You, I am told, have been a father to him. _I_
would now assume that relation, and make you such recompense for what
you have done, as you may require. I am too weak to travel, or indeed,
to leave my house, but I am impatient to see my son. May I not ask you
to bring him to me at once? Then I will arrange all things to your
satisfaction.

I need not tell you, after saying what I have, that I should feel
greatly gratified to once more possess your confidence, and regard.

   I am, sincerely yours,
        JOHN HALLET.


In another hand was the following postscript:

MY DEAR BOY:--John is sincere. Thee can trust him. He has told me _all_.
He will do the right thing. Come on with the lad as soon as thee can.
Love to Kate. Thy old friend,

   DAVID.


After conferring with my wife, I sent the following reply to these
communications:

   NEW YORK, _September 22d, 185-._

DAVID OF OLD;--Thou man after the Lord's own heart. I have Hallet's
letter, seasoned with your P.S. He is shrewd; he knew that nothing but
your old-fashioned hand would draw a reply from _me_, to anything
written by _him_.

I've no faith in sick-bed repentances; and none in John Hallet, sick or
well:

   'When the devil was sick,
   The devil a monk would be;
   When the devil got well,
   The devil a monk was he.'


However, as Hallet is capable of cheating his best friend, even the
devil, I will take his letter into consideration; but it having taken
him sixteen years to make up his mind to do a right action, it may take
me as many days to come to a decision on this subject.

Frank is everything to us, and nothing but the clearest conviction that
his ultimate good will be promoted by going to his father, will induce
us to consent to it.

I do not write Hallet. You may give him as much or as little of this
letter as you think will be good for him.

Kate sends love to you and to Alice; and dear David, with all the love I
felt for you when I wore a short jacket, and sat on the old stool,

   I am your devoted friend.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a dingy old sign. It had hung there in sun and rain till its
letters were faint and its face was furrowed. It had looked down on a
generation that had passed away, and seen those who placed it there go
out of that doorway never to return; still it clung to that dingy old
warehouse, and still Russell, Rollins & Co. was signed in the dingy old
counting room at the head of the stairway. It was known the world over.
It was heard of on the cotton fields of Texas, in the canebrakes of
Cuba, and amid the rice swamps of Carolina. The Chinaman spoke of it as
he sipped his tea and plied his chopsticks in the streets of Canton, and
the half-naked negro rattled its gold as he gathered palm oil and the
copal gum on the western coast of Africa. Its plain initials, painted in
black on a white ground, waved from tall masts over many seas, and its
simple 'promise to pay,' scrawled in a bad hand on a narrow strip of
paper, unlocked the vaults of the best bankers in Europe. And yet it was
a dingy old sign! Men looked up to it as they passed by, and wondered
that a cracked, weather-beaten board, that would not sell for a dollar,
should be counted 'good for a million.'

It was a dingy old warehouse, with narrow, dark, cobwebbed windows, and
wide, rusty iron shutters, which, as the bleak October wind swept up old
Long Wharf, swung slowly on their hinges with a sharp, grating creak. I
heard them in my boyhood. Perched on a tall stool at that old desk, I
used to listen, in the long winter nights, to those strange, wild cries,
till I fancied they were voices of the uneasy dead, come back to take
the vacant seats beside me, and to pace again, with ghostly tread, the
floor of that dark old counting room. They were a mystery and a terror
to me; but they never creaked so harshly, or cried so wildly, as on that
October night, when for the first time in nine years I turned my steps
up the trembling old stairway.

It was just after nightfall. A single gas burner threw a dim, uncertain
light over the old desk, and lit up the figure of a tall, gray-haired
man, who was bending over it. He had round, stooping shoulders, and
long, spindling limbs. One of his large feet, encased in a thick,
square-toed shoe, rested on the round of the desk; the other, planted
squarely on the floor, upheld his spare, gaunt frame. His face was thin
and long, and two deep, black lines under his eyes contrasted strangely
with the pallid whiteness of his features. His clothes were of the
fashion of those good people called 'Friends,' and had served long as
his 'Sunday best' before being degraded to daily duty. They were of
plain brown, and, though not shabby, were worn and threadbare, and of
decidedly economical appearance. Everything about him, indeed, wore an
economical look. His scant coat tails, narrow pants, and short waistcoat
showed that the cost of each inch of material had been counted, while
his thin hair, brushed carefully over his bald head, had not a lock to
spare; and even his large, sharp bones were covered with only just
enough flesh to hold them comfortably together. He had stood there till
his eye was dim and his step feeble, and though he had, for twenty
years--when handing in each semiannual trial balance to the head of the
house--declared that was his last, everybody said he would continue to
stand there till his own trial balance was struck, and his earthly
accounts were closed forever.

As I entered, he turned his mild blue eye upon me, and, taking my hand
warmly in his, exclaimed:

'My dear boy, I am glad to see thee!'

'I am glad to see _you_, David. Is Alice well?'

'Very well. And Kate, and thy babies?'

'All well,' I replied.

'Thee has come to see John?'

'Yes. How is he?'

'Oh, better; he got out several days ago. He's inside now,' and opening
the door of an inner office, separated from the outer one by a glass
partition, he said, 'John, Edmund is here.'

A tall, dark man came to the door, and, with a slightly flurried and
embarrassed manner, said:

'Ah, Mr. Kirke! I'm glad to see you. Please step in.'

As he tendered me a chair, a shorter and younger gentleman, who was
writing at another desk, sprang from his seat, and slapping me
familiarly on the back, exclaimed:

'My dear fellow, how are you?'

'Very well, Cragin; how are _you_?' I replied, returning his cordial
greeting.

'Good as new--never better in my life. It's good for one's health to see
you _here_.'

'I have come at Mr. Hallet's invitation.'

'Yes, I know, Hallet has told me you've a smart boy you want us to take.
Send him along. Boston's the place to train a youngster to business.'

The last speaker was not more than thirty, but a bald spot on the top of
his head, and a slight falling-in of his mouth, caused by premature
decay of the front teeth, made him seem several years older. He had
marked but not regular features, and a restless, dark eye, that opened
and shut with a peculiar wink, which kept time with the motion of his
lips in speaking. His clothes were cut in a loose, jaunty style, and his
manner, though brusque and abrupt, betokened, like his face, a free,
frank, whole-souled character. He was several years the junior of the
other, and as unlike him as one man can be unlike another.

The older gentleman, as I have said, was tall and dark. He had a high,
bold forehead, a pale, sallow complexion, and wore heavy gray whiskers,
trimmed with the utmost nicety, and meeting under a sharp, narrow chin.
His face was large, his jaws wide, and his nose pointed and prominent,
but his mouth was small and gathered in at the corners like a rat's;
and, as if to add to the rat resemblance, its puny, white teeth seemed
borrowed from that animal. There was a stately precision in his manner
and a stealthy softness in his tread not often seen in combination,
which might have impressed a close observer as indicative of a bold,
pompous, and yet cunning character.

These two gentlemen--Mr. Hallet and Mr. Cragin--were the only surviving
partners of the great house of Russell, Rollins & Co.

'Have you brought him with you?' asked Hallet, his voice trembling a
little, and his pale face flushing slightly as he spoke.

'No, sir,' I replied; 'I thought I would confer with you first. I have
not yet broached the subject to the lad.'

Some unimportant conversation followed, when Hallet, turning to Cragin,
asked:

'Are all the letters written for tomorrow's steamers?'

'Yes,' said Cragin, rising; 'and I believe I'll leave you two together.
As you've not spoken for ten years, you must have a good deal to say.
Come, David,' he called out, as he drew on his outside coat, 'let's go.'

'No, don't take David,' I exclaimed; 'I want to talk with the old
gentleman.'

'But you can see him to-morrow.'

'No, I return in the morning.'

'Well, David, I'll tell Alice you'll be home by nine.'

'Oh, that's it,' I said, laughing. 'It's Alice who makes you leave so
early on steamer night.'

'Yes, _sir_; Alice that _is_, and Mrs. Augustus Cragin that is _to
be_--when I get a new set of teeth. Good night,' and saying this, he
took up his cane, and left the office.

When he was gone, Hallet said to me:

'Do you desire to have David a witness to our conversation?'

'I want him to be a _party_ to it. We can come to no arrangement without
his coöperation.'

Hallet asked the bookkeeper in. When he was seated, I said:

'Well, Mr. Hallet, what do you propose to do for your son?'

'To treat him as I do my other children. Do all but acknowledge him.
That would injure _him_.'

'That is not important. But please be explicit as to what you will do.'

'David tells me that his inclinations tend to business, and that you
have meant to take him into your office. I will take him into _mine_,
and when he is twenty-one, if he has conducted himself properly, I will
give him an interest.'

'I shall be satisfied with no _contingent_ arrangement, sir. I know
Frank will prove worthy of the position.'

'Very well; then I will agree definitely to make him a partner when he
is of age.'

'Well, Mr. Hallet, if Frank will consent to come, I will agree to that
with certain conditions. I told his mother, when she was dying, that I
would consider him my own child; therefore I cannot give up the control
of him. He must regard me and depend on me as he does now. Again, I
cannot let him come here, and have no home whose influence shall protect
him from the temptations which beset young men in a large city. David
must take him into his family, and treat him as he treated me when I was
a boy, and--this must be reduced to writing.'

Hallet showed some emotion when I spoke of Frank's mother, but his face
soon assumed its usual expression, and he promptly replied:

'I will agree to all that, but I would suggest that the fact of his
being my son should not be communicated to him; that it be confined to
us three. I ask this, believe me, only for the sake of my family.

'I see no objection to that, sir, and I think, Frank, for his own sake,
should not know what his prospects are.'

Hallet signified assent, and turning to David, I asked:

'David, what do _you_ say? Will you take him?'

'I will,' said the old bookkeeper, showing in his expenditure of breath
the close economy which was the rule of his life.

'Nothing remains but to arrange his salary and the share he shall have
when he becomes a partner,' I remarked to Hallet.

'Will an average of seven hundred a year, and an eighth interest when
he's twenty-one, be satisfactory?'

'Entirely so. An eighth in your house will be better than a quarter in
ours. As it is now all understood, let David draw up the papers. We will
sign them, and leave them with him till I see Frank.'

'Very well. David, please to draw them up,' said Hallet; and then, his
voice again trembling a little, he added, 'All is understood, Mr. Kirke,
but the compensation I shall make you for your fatherly care of my much
neglected son. Money cannot pay for such service, but it will relieve me
to reimburse you for your expenditures.'

'I have had my pay, sir, in the love of the boy. I ask no more.'

Hallet was sensibly affected, but without speaking, he turned to the
desk, and took down his bankbook. In a few moments he handed me a check.
It was for five thousand dollars. I took it, and, hesitating an instant,
said:

'I will keep this, sir; not for myself, but for Frank. It may be of
service to him at some future time.'

'Keep it for yourself, sir, not for him. He will not need it. He shall
share equally with my other children.'

'I am glad to see this spirit in you, sir. Frank will be worthy of all
you may do for him.'

'It is not for _his_ sake that I will do it,' replied Hallet, his voice
tremulous with emotion; 'it is that I may have the forgiveness of the
one I--I--' He said no more, but leaning his head on his hand, he wept!

If there is joy among the angels over one that repents, was there not,
then, forgiveness in _her_ heart for _him_?

No one spoke for some minutes; then David rose, and handing me one of
the papers, laid the other before Hallet.

'This appears right,' I said, after reading it over carefully.

'Yes,' replied Hallet, taking up a pen and signing the other. Passing it
to me, he added: 'Keep them both--take them now.'

'But Frank may not wish to come.'

'Then I will find some other way of helping him. He is my son! Take the
papers.'

'Well, as you say,' I replied. 'David, please to witness this.'

Hallet pressed me to pass the night at his house, but I declined, and
rode out to Cambridge with the old bookkeeper. With many injunctions to
watch carefully over Frank, I left him about twelve o'clock, rode into
town with Cragin, and the next morning started for New York.

That night, as I recounted the interview to Kate, I said:

'I never did believe in these double-quick conversions; but Hallet _is_
an altered man.'

'Then, indeed, can the leopard change his spots.'

As usual, her womanly intuitions were right; my worldly wisdom was
wrong!


CHAPTER XV.

Not long after the events I have just related, the mail brought me the
following letter from Preston:

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND:--Circumstances, which I cannot explain by letter,
render it _imperatively_ necessary that I should provide another home
for my daughter. Her education has been sadly neglected, and she should
be where she can have experienced tutors, and good social surroundings.
With her delicate organization, and sensitive and susceptible nature,
she needs _motherly_ care and affection, and I shrink from committing
her to the hands of strangers. I should feel at rest about her only with
_you_. You have been my steadfast friend through many years; you have
stood by me in, sore trials--may I not then ask you to do me now a
greater service than you have ever done, by receiving my little daughter
into your family? I know this is an unusual, almost presumptuous
request; but if you knew her as she is--gentle, loving, obedient--the
light and joy of all about her, I am sure you, and your excellent lady,
would love her, and be willing to make her the companion of your
children. She is my only earthly comfort, and it will rend my heart to
part with her, but--I _must_.

Write me at once. You are yourself a father--_do not refuse me_.

       *       *       *       *       *

To this, on the next day, I sent the following reply:

MY DEAR FRIEND:--I would most cheerfully take your daughter into my
family, did my wife's health, which has been failing all the summer,
allow of her assuming any additional care.

I think, however, I can provide Selma with a home equally as good as my
own; one where good influences will be about her, and she will have the
best educational advantages. I refer to the family of Mr. David Gray, of
Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was my father's friend. The years I was a
boy with Russell, Rollins & Co., I was an inmate of his house, and my
adopted son, Frank, is now in his care. His daughter Alice is a most
suitable person to have charge of a young girl. She is like a sister to
me, and to oblige me, would no doubt take Selma.

Please advise me of your wishes; and believe, my dear friend, I will do
all in my power to serve you.

I was sitting down at supper, one evening, about a fortnight after
sending this letter, when a gentleman was announced as wishing to see
me. I rose and went into the parlor. It was Preston, and with him was
Selma, then a beautiful little girl of about eleven years.

Asking Preston to lay aside his outside coat, I was struck by his
altered appearance. It was four years since we had met, but looking at
him, I imagined it might be ten. His eyes were sunken, deep furrows were
about his mouth, and his brown hair was thickly streaked with gray.

'My dear friend,' I exclaimed, as I grasped his hand a second time, 'you
are not well!'

'I am as well as usual, Kirke. Time has not done this!'

Fatigued with the long journey, Selma had retired, and our own little
ones were in bed, when Kate joined us in the parlor.

'You _do_ look ill, Mr. Preston,' she said, seating herself beside him.
'You must stay a while with us, and rest.'

'I would be glad to stay here, madam--anywhere away from home.'

'The care of two plantations, such as yours, must be a burden!'

'It is not that, madam; Joe relieves me entirely from oversight of one
of them. My difficulty is at home--mine is not what yours is.'

Kate's sympathizing words soon drew him out (she has a way of winning
the confidence of people, and is the depositary of more family secrets
than any other woman in the State); and he told us what his home had
become since his union with the governess.

Within two months after the marriage her real character began to display
itself, and she soon developed into a genuine Xantippe. Getting control
of Mulock, who had been made overseer, she had the negroes dreadfully
whipped and overworked; she treated young master Joe so badly that the
lad rebelled, and in his father's absence ran away to his uncle at
Mobile; and locking Selma up in a dark room without food, or beating her
till her back was actually discolored, she made the child's home
intolerable to her.

After master Joe went away, no one dared complain; and shut up in his
library, brooding over his still fresh grief for the death of his wife,
Preston knew nothing of the real state of affairs till more than a year
had elapsed. Then one day he found Selma in tears. He questioned her,
and learned the whole. A scene followed, in which Mrs. Preston asserted
her rights as mistress of the plantation, and defied him. She had run
into all sorts of extravagance, the yearly bills which had come in a
short time previous were appallingly large, but to secure peace, Preston
consented to buy and furnish a winter residence at Newbern. To that she
had removed, but with the coming spring she would return to the
plantation, and in the mean time Selma must be provided with another
home.

'Feel no anxiety about her, sir,' said Kate, as he concluded; 'if Alice
Gray will not take her, we will.'

'I thank you, madam; I cannot thank you enough for saying that,' replied
Preston, his eyes filling with tears.

I wrote at once to David, and soon received a letter from Alice
consenting to take charge of the little girl. Thanksgiving, at which
time Kate made annual visits to her early home, was approaching, and it
was decided that Selma should accompany her to Boston.

This being arranged, Preston, at the end of a fortnight, took leave of
us, and returned to the South. The parting between the father and the
child gave evidence of what they were to each other. Preston wept like a
woman; but as Kate brushed back the brown curls from the broad forehead
of little Selly, she raised her eyes to my wife's face, and while her
thin nostrils dilated, and her sensitive chin slightly quivered, said;

'I must not cry for poor papa's sake--it is so _very_ hard for him to go
home alone; and he will miss his little girl _so_ much.'

'You are right, dear child,' said Kate, and, as if looking into the far
future of the woman, and feeling that such a nature must suffer as well
as enjoy keenly, she inwardly thanked God that with her delicate
organization He had given her the unselfish and brave heart which those
words expressed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Four years had wrought great changes in David's quiet home. Alice had
become Mrs. Augustus Cragin, and a little Alice tottled about the floor;
but after supper, David still found his evening cigar on the oak stand,
his needle-work slippers--wrought by Alice's own hand--in their place
before the fender, and his big armchair rolled up close to the gas
burner in the little back parlor at Cambridge.

Frank was twenty, and had fulfilled all the promises of his boyhood. His
father, after the honeymoon of his repentance was over, showed no great
interest in him, but Cragin, who knew nothing of my arrangement with
Hallet, had given him all the advantages in his power.

Selma was only fifteen, but, like the flowers of her own South, she had
blossomed early, and was already a woman. Preston had visited her every
summer, but she never returned with him, having preferred passing her
vacations at my house.

In David's loving household nothing had occurred to disturb her peaceful
life. Beloved by her teachers and schoolmates, she everywhere received
the homage due to her beauty and her goodness; and in the gay world into
which her joyous nature often led her, she was the acknowledged and
_unenvied_ queen! Her father had spared no pains in her education; the
best tutors had trained her fine ear and sweet voice, and taught her to
give form and coloring to the pictures her glowing imagination created;
and, whether her fingers ran over the keys of a musical instrument, or
wielded the brush, there was a delicacy and yet _spirit_ in her touch
which were the wonder and admiration of all.

I was not surprised, when visiting Boston about this time, to have Frank
tell me that he loved her, and ask my consent to his regarding her as
his future wife.

       *       *       *       *       *

Kate and I were to leave for home the following day, and, calling at the
office in the afternoon, I said to Frank:

'I have tickets for the opera, including Selma; of course you'd like to
have her go.'

'Yes, father; she has never been, and I have promised to take her this
winter. She'll be able now to appreciate it.'

The box I had selected was at a happy distance from the stage, and we
gave Selma a front seat, that she might see to the best advantage. She
was in high spirits; indeed, she was radiant in her beauty. She wore a
dark blue dress of silk, fitting closely to her neck, and its short
sleeves allowed the plump, fair arms to half disclose themselves from
beneath the scarlet mantle Which fell around her shoulders. Her hair
fell over her neck in the same simple fashion as in her childhood,
except that the thick curls, which had lost their golden tint, and were
darker and longer, were looped back from her broad brow, with a few
simple flowers. There was the same contour of face and feature, but
ennobled by thought and culture; the same sensitive mouth, only that the
lips were fuller and of a deeper color; and as she talked or listened,
the same rose tint deepened and faded beneath her rich, soft, dark skin,
as sunlight shifts and fades across the evening sky. Her eyes, in whose
dark depths the soul was reflected, met a stranger's calmly, but took a
soft look of loving trust when meeting Frank's. They were shaded by long
lashes, as black as the night; and when the lids fell suddenly, as they
often did, and her face became quiet, and almost sad, you felt that she
was communing with the angels.

The overture burst forth, and with glowing face, and eyes fixed upon the
stage, Selma seemed lost to all but the enrapturing sounds; even Frank's
whispered words were unheeded. As the opera--'Lucia di
Lammermoor'--proceeded, I saw that every eye was attracted to our box,
and, bending forward to catch Selma's expression, I called Kate's
attention to her. With her head thrown slightly back, a bright spot
burning on either cheek, her breath suspended, the large tears coursing
from her eyes, and motionless as a statue, she sat with her small hands
clasped on the front of the box, as if entranced, and all unconscious of
the hundred eyes that were fixed upon her. I thought of the pictures I
had seen in the old galleries of Europe, but I said, 'Surely, art cannot
equal nature!'

When it was over, she took Frank's arm; I turned to question her, but
Kate said:

'Let her alone; she cannot talk now.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The transactions of Russell, Rollins & Co. extended the world over; but,
since the death of Mr. Rollins, which occurred prior to Frank's going
with them, they had cultivated particularly the Southern trade, and
their operations in cotton had grown to be enormous. They bought largely
of that staple on their own account, and for some extensive
manufacturing establishments in England. Their purchases were mainly
made in New Orleans, and, to attend to this business, Hallet had passed
the winters in that city for several years.

His wealth had grown rapidly, and at the date of which I am writing, he
ranked among the 'solid men' of Boston. Cragin was not nearly so
wealthy. Being on intimate terms with the latter, I remarked, as we were
enjoying a cigar together one evening at David's, on the occasion of
the visit to which I have referred in the last chapter:

'How is it, Cragin, that you pass for only a hundred thousand, when
Hallet is rated at a million?'

'Because, Ned, I'm not worth any more.'

'But how is that, when you have two fifths of the concern?'

'Well, Hallet went into cotton like the devil some eight years ago; and
I told him I wouldn't stand it; I like to feel the ground under me.
Since then he has speculated on his own account--he and old Roye go it
strong, and I guess they've made some pretty heavy lifts.'

'That's uncertain business.'

'Yes, devilish uncertain; but somehow they manage always to hold winning
cards. Hallet has told me his New Orleans operations have netted him
five hundred thousand.'

'And that, with what he got by his wife, has rolled him into a
millionaire before he's forty-five! He's a lucky fellow.'

'Lucky! I wouldn't stand in his boots. What goes up _may_ come down. He
has no peace. His wife's a hyena. She makes home too hot for him; and
somehow he's never easy. He walks about as if treading on torpedoes.

'If you dislike speculation, why don't you increase your legitimate
business?'

'Hallet's away so much, I can't do it. I'm glued to the old office. I
should have been in Europe half of the time the last three years, but I
haven't been able to get away.'

'Why not send Frank? He's old enough now.'

'I mean to, in the spring, and I'm d--d if he shan't be a partner soon,
and take some of this load off my shoulders. But do you know that Hallet
has a decided dislike to him?'

'No! On what account?' I exclaimed. I had met Hallet only twice during
four years, but on both occasions he had spoken favorably of his son.
Frank himself had never alluded in other than respectful terms to his
father.

'Well, I don't know, and it makes no difference. I'm captain at this end
of the towline, and I swear he shall go in.

'As you feel so kindly toward Frank, I'll give him a chance to
conciliate Hallet. I'll take him South this winter, and introduce him to
our correspondents. With his address he ought to do something with them.
Will you let him go?'

'Yes, and be right down glad to have him. When do you start?'

'About the middle of December.'

A fortnight afterward, with Selma and Frank, I again visited Preston's
plantation.


CHAPTER XVI.

It was Christmas morning when we rode up the long, winding avenue, and
halted before the doorway of 'Silver Lake'--the new name which the
Yankee schoolmistress, aping the custom of her Yankee cousins, had
bestowed on Preston's plantation. The day was mild and sunshiny, and the
whole population of the little patriarchate was gathered on the green in
front of the mansion, distributing Christmas presents among the negroes.
When we came in sight, from behind the thick cluster of live oaks which
bordered the miniature lake, the whole assemblage sent up a glad shout,
and hurried up to welcome us. And such a welcome! As she sprang from the
carriage, Selma was caught in her father's arms, then in 'master Joe's,'
and then, encircled by a cloud of dark beauties, each one vieing with
the others in boisterous expressions of affection, she was the victim of
such a demonstration as would have done the heart of Hogarth good to
witness. In the midst of it a slight, delicate woman rushed from the
house, and, crowding into the thick group around Selma, threw her arms
about her neck, and, nearly smothering her with kisses, exclaimed:

'My chile! my chile! I sees you at last!'

'Yes, Phylly!' said Selma, returning her caresses; 'and haven't I grown?
I thought you wouldn't know me.'

'Know you! Ain't you my chile--my own dear chile!' and pressing Selma's
cheeks between her two hands, and gazing at her beautiful face for a
moment, she kissed her over and over again.

My arms had been nearly shaken off, when I noticed 'Boss Joe' limping
toward me, his head uncovered, and his broad face shining from out his
gray wool like the full moon breaking through a mass of clouds.

'How are you, old gentleman?' I exclaimed, grasping him warmly by the
hand.

'Right smart! right smart, massa Kirke. Glad you'm come, sar.'

'And you're home for Christmas?'

'Yes, sar. I'se come to see massa Robert, an' to tend to hirin' a new
gang. But darkies 'am high dis yar, sar.'

'How much are they?'

'Well, dey ax, round yere, one fifty, an' 'spences dar an' back; an'
it'm a pile, when you tink we hab used up 'most all de new trees.'

'But you must have many second-year cuttings.'

'Yas, right smart; but No. 2 rosum doan't pay at sech prices fur
darkies.'

Turning to Preston in a moment, I said:

'Do not let us interfere with the 'doin's'--it's just what we want to
see.'

'Well, come, you folks,' said Joe, hobbling back to the green; 'leff us
gwo on now.'

Preston, Selma, and Phylly went into the house, but the rest of us
followed the grinning group of Africans to the centre of the lawn, where
several large packing boxes, and a long table, something like a
carpenter's bench, were piled high with a miscellaneous assortment of
dry goods and groceries.

'Now, all you dat hab heads, come up yere,' shouted Joe, seating himself
on the bench; 'but don't all come ter onst.'

One by one the men and boys filed past him, and, selecting a hat or cap
from a couple of boxes near, he adjusted a covering to each woolly
cranium that presented itself; interspersing the exercise with humorous
remarks on their respective phrenological developments:

'Pomp, you's made fur a preacher, shore. Dat dar head ob your'n gwoes up
jess like a steeple. I'll hab ter gib you a cap, Dave; you'm so big
ahind de yeres none ob dese hats'll fit, nohow. Jess show de back ob
you' head to any gemman, an' he'll say you'm one ob de great ones ob de
'arth. None ob dese am big 'nuff fur you, Ally,' he continued, as a
tall, well-clad mulatto man stepped up to him. 'You' bumps hab growed so
sense you took to de swamp, dat nuffin'll cober you 'cept massa Robert's
hat, or de gal Rosey's sunshade.'

The yellow man laughed, but kept on trying the hats. Finding one at last
of suitable dimensions, he turned away to make room for another
candidate for cranial honors. As I caught a full view of his face, I
exclaimed:

'Why, Ally, is that you?'

'Yas, massa; it'm me,' he replied, making a respectful bow.

'And you live here yet?'

'Yas, massa. Hope you's well, massa?'

'Very well; and your mother--how is she?'

'Oh, she'm right smart, sar.'

'Yas, massa, I'se right smart; an' I'se bery glad ter see 'ou, massa,'
said a voice at my elbow. It was Dinah, no longer clad in coarse
osnaburg, but arrayed in a worsted gown, and a little grayer and a
little bulkier than when I saw her eight years before.

'Why, Dinah, how well you look!' I exclaimed, giving her my hand. 'And
you've come up to spend Christmas with Ally?'

'No, massa, I _libs_ yere. I'se FREE now, massa!'

'Free! So you've made enough to buy yourself? I'm glad to hear it.'

'No, massa. Ally--de good chile--he done it, massa.'

'Ally did it! How could he? He's not more than twenty now!'

'No more'n he hain't, massa; but he'm two yar in massa Preston's swamp,
wid a hired gang. Massa Preston put de chile ober 'em, an' gib him a
haff ob all he make, an' he'm doin' a heap dar, massa.'

'And with his first earnings he bought his mother!'

'Yas, massa; wid de bery fuss.'

'Ally, give me your hand,' I exclaimed, with unaffected pleasure;
'you're a man! You're worthy of such a mother!'

'Yas, he am dat, massa! He'm wordy ob anyting, an' he'm gwine to hab a
wife ter day, massa. Boss Joe am gwine ter marry 'em, an' ter gib 'em
him own cabin fur dar Chrismus giff.'

'Well, Joe _is_ a trump. I'll remember him in my will for that, aunty,
sure.'

'Dat'm bery good ob 'ou, massa; but I reckon 'ou can't tink who Ally'm
gwine ter hab, massa,' said the old woman, her face beaming all over.

'No, I can't, Dinah. Who is she?'

'It'm little Rosey, dat 'ou buy ob de trader, massa; an' she'm de
pootiest little gal all roun' yere; ebery one say dat, massa.'

'Indeed! And they are to be married to-day?'

'Yas, massa, ter day--dis evenin'. 'Ou'll be dar, woan't 'ou, massa?'

'Yes, certainly I will.'

The old woman and Ally then mingled with the crowd of negroes, and I
turned my attention once more to Joe's operations. The men had been
supplied with head gear, and the women were receiving their
turbans--gaudy pieces of red and yellow muslin.

'Now, all you boys an' gals,' shouted Joe, as he dealt out a
handkerchief to the last of the dusky demoiselles, 'you all squat on de
groun', an' shovel off you' shoes.'

Down they went in every conceivable attitude, and, uncovering their
feet, commenced pelting each other with the cast-off leathers. When the
sport had lasted a few minutes, Joe sang out:

'Come! 'nuff ob dat; now ter bisness. Yere, you yaller monkeys (to
several small specimens of copper and chrome yellow), tote dese 'mong
'em.'

The young chattels did as they were bidden, and, as each heavy brogan
was fitted to the pedal extremity of some one of the darkies, the
newly-shod individual sprang to his feet, and commenced dancing about as
if he were the happiest mortal in existence.

'Dat'm it,' shouted Joe; 'frow up you' heels; an' some ob you gwo
an' fotch de big fiddle. We'll hab a dance, an' show dese Nordern
gemmen de raal poker.'

'But we hain't hed de dresses--nor de soogar--nor de 'backer--nor none
ob de whiskey,' cried a dozen voices.

'Shet up, you brack crows! You can't hab anudder ting till ye'se hed a
high ole heel-scrapin'. Yere, massa Joe; you come up yere, an' holp me
wid de 'strumentals,' said Boss Joe, grinning widely, and getting up on
the carpenter's bench.

In a few moments, the 'big fiddle,' one or two smaller fiddles, and
three or four banjoes were brought out, and the two Joes, and several
ebony gentlemen, seating themselves on the boxes of clothing, began
tuning the instruments. Soon 'Boss Joe' commenced sawing away with a
gusto that might have been somewhat out of keeping with his gray hairs,
his sixty years, and his clerical profession. 'Massa Joe' and the others
striking in, the male and female darkies paired off two by two, and to a
lively air began dancing a sort of 'cotillion breakdown.' Other dances
followed, in which the little negroes joined, and soon the air rang with
the creak of the fiddles and the merry shouts of the negroes. In the
midst of it my arm was touched lightly, and, turning round, I saw Rosey
and Dinah.

'I'se got de little gal yere, massa,' said the latter, looking as proud
as a hen over her first brood of chickens. 'She glad to see 'ou, massa.'

I gave Rosey my hand, and made a few good-natured compliments on her
beauty and her tidy appearance. She had a simple, guileless expression,
and met my half-bantering remarks with an innocent frankness that
charmed me. She was only sixteen, but had developed into a beautiful
woman. Her form was slight and graceful, with just enough _embonpoint_
to give the appearance of full health; and her thin, delicate features,
large, wide-set eyes, and clear, rosy complexion bore a strong
resemblance to Selma's. It was evident they were children of the same
father; and yet, one was to be the wife of a poor negro, the other to
marry the son of a 'merchant prince.'

As the dancing concluded, Boss Joe's fiddle gave out a dying scream,
and, turning to me, he sang out:

'War dar eber sprightlier nigs dan dese, massa Kirke? Don't dey beat
you' country folks all holler?'

'Yes, they do, Joe. They handle their heels as nimbly as elephants.'

I spoke the truth; most of them did.

The distribution of the presents was resumed; and, as each negro
received his full supply of flour, sugar, tea, coffee, molasses,
tobacco, and calico, grinning with joy over his new acquisitions, he
staggered off to his quarters. When the last box was nearly emptied,
with young Preston and Frank, I adjourned to the mansion.

The exterior of the 'great house' was unchanged, but its interior had
undergone a complete transformation. The plain oak flooring of the hall
had been replaced by porcelain tiling, and the neat, simple furniture of
the parlors by huge mirrors; rosewood and brocatelle sofas and lounges;
velvet tapestry carpets, in which one's feet sank almost out of sight;
and immense paintings, whose aggregate cost might have paid off one half
of the mortgage that encumbered the plantation.

Selma and her father were engaged in earnest conversation when we
entered the drawing room, and, being unwilling to interrupt them, I was
about to retire, but he rose, and said:

'Come in, Kirke; I will call Mrs. Preston. She will be glad to see you.'

The lady soon entered. It was eight years since we had met, but time had
touched her gently. Her face wore its old, decided, yet quiet
expression, and her manner showed the easy self-possession I had noticed
at our first interview. She was richly dressed, and had on a heavy satin
pelisse, and a blue velvet bonnet, as if about to ride out.

When the usual greetings were over, she remarked:

'You have been here some time, sir?'

'Yes, madam; we arrived about two hours ago; but I met some old friends
outside, and the pleasure of seeing them has made me a little tardy in
paying my respects to you.'

'The negroes, you mean, sir,' she replied, with a slight toss of the
head, and a look of cool dignity which well became her.

'Yes, madam. I have many friends among the blacks. On many plantations
they look for my coming as they do for Christmas.'

'It is quite rare to find a white gentleman so fond of negroes,' she
rejoined, with an air slightly more supercilious.

I remembered her as the humble schoolmistress, whose entire possessions
were packed in one trunk; and, forgetting myself, said, in a tone which
bore a slight trace of indignation:

'More rare, I fear, than it should be; and you and I, madam, who are
Yankees, and have 'worked for a living,' surely cannot despise the
negroes because they are _compelled_ to work for theirs.'

'Oh! no, sir! not by any means! But you must excuse me; the carriage is
waiting to take me to church;' and, rising, she bowed herself stiffly
out of the door.

'Ah, you hit her there!' exclaimed Joe, springing to his feet in great
glee, and striding to the window. 'See here, Mr. Kirke! See what a
turnout the Yankee 'schulemarm' has worried out of father!'

'My son, you must not speak so; she is your mother!' said Preston.

'No, I'm d--d if she is! Call her anything but that, father; that's
an--'he checked himself; but I thought he would have added--'insult to
my dead mother!'

Preston made no reply.

Looking out of the window, I saw Mrs. Preston being handed into a
magnificent barouche by one of the black gentry she so much despised.
Another one in gaudy gold livery sat on the box, and a mounted outrider,
also bound up in gold braid, stood behind the carriage.

'There's a two-thousand-dollar turnout, and two fifteen-hundred-dollar
niggers, to tote a woman who ought to go afoot. It's a poor investment,
I swear,' said Joe, turning away from the window.

Preston made no reply; but I laughingly remarked:

'Come, Joe, she isn't _your_ wife. Let your father spend his money as he
pleases; he can afford it.'

'He _can't_ afford it; that woman is running him to the devil at a
two-forty gait. You have more influence with him than any one, Mr.
Kirke--_do_ try to stop it!'

The young man spoke in a decided but regretful tone, and his manner
showed more respect to his father than his words implied. Unwilling to
interfere in such an affair, I said nothing; but Preston, in a moment,
remarked:

'It is true, Kirke! Her extravagance has ruined my credit at home, and
forced me to use Joe's indorsements; besides, I have had to borrow ten
thousand dollars of him to keep my head above water.'

[Mr. James Preston--the Squire's uncle--had died the year before, and
the young man had succeeded to his large property and business.]

I was thunderstruck; but, before I could reply, Joe said:

'I don't care a rush for the money. Father can have every dollar I've
got; but I _do_ want to see him rid of that woman. I've been here sick
for two months, and I've seen the whole. She is worrying the very life
out of him. She's made him an old man at forty.'

It was true. His face was lean and haggard, and his hair already thickly
streaked with white.

Preston rose, and, walking the room, said:

'But what am I to do? You yourself, Joe, would not have all this made
public. You've as much pride about it as I have.'

'I've not a bit of pride about it, father; and it's public now.
Everybody knows it, and everybody says you ought to cut her adrift.'

'What had I better do? Tell me, my friend,' said Preston, still walking
the room.

'I cannot advise, you, Preston. An outsider should express no opinion on
such matters.'

In a moment Preston said:

'Well, Joe, no more of this now. I'll do what is right, however much it
may wound my pride.'

The conversation turned to other subjects, till Mrs. Preston's return
from church, shortly after which dinner was announced. The lady presided
at the table with as much ease and grace as if she had been born to the
position; and in her charming conversation, I almost forgot the
revelations of the morning. The rest of the day I spent with Joe and
Frank, strolling over the plantation and mingling among the negroes,
who, freed from work, were enjoying themselves in a very 'miscellaneous
manner.' Preston remained at the house with Selma.


CHAPTER XVII.

It was nearly dark when we returned to the mansion. Looking in at the
parlor, and not finding his father there, Joe led the way at once to the
library. The door was ajar, and, as we entered the passage way, loud
voices were issuing from it.

'I tell you, Mr. Preston, I am mistress of this plantation. He shall NOT
go!'

'Pardon me, madam, he _shall_, and to-night,' returned a mild but
decided voice, which I recognized as Preston's. Being unwilling to
overhear more, I turned away, but Joe caught me by the arm, exclaiming:

'If you are my father's friend, go in. If you don't, he will back down;
he has done so forty times.'

Preston was a man of more than ordinary firmness, but his wife had the
stronger will. She seemed possessed of a sort of magnetic power, which
enabled her to control others almost arbitrarily.

Reluctantly I followed the young man into the room. Preston was seated
before the fire; and Selma, with her arm around his neck, was standing
near him. Mulock, better clad than when I witnessed his purchase by the
'fast' young planter, and wearing a sullen, dogged expression, was
leaning against the centre table; and Mrs. Preston, gesticulating
wildly, and her face glowing with mingled rage and defiance, stood
within a few feet of her husband. Not heeding our entrance, she
exclaimed:

'I _will_ have my way. If you send him off, I will never darken your
doors again.'

'That is as you please, madam,' replied Preston. 'Mr. Kirke and Frank,
pray be seated.'

Stung by her husband's coolness, the lady turned fiercely upon Joe, and,
shaking her clenched hand in his face, cried out:

'This is _your_ work. I will teach you better than to meddle with my
affairs.'

       *       *       *       *       *

'Madam, you act well,' said the young man, taking a step toward the
door. 'Pray come out to the quarters; poor as they are, every negro will
give a bit to see _you_ play.'

In uncontrollable rage, she struck him a smart blow in the face, and
rushed from the room.

When she had gone, Preston turned to Mulock:

'Now go. The amount due you I shall retain to offset, in part, what you
have tempted the negroes to steal. You can come here once a week--on
Sunday--to see Phylly; but if you have any more dealings with the hands,
I will prosecute you on the instant.'

Mulock rose, put on his slouched hat, and, a dull fire burning in his
cold, snake-like eyes, slowly said:

'Wall, Squire, I'll gwo, but 'counts 'tween you an' me ain't settled
yit.'

As he went, Selma leaned forward, and, kissing Preston's cheek, said;

'O father! I'm so glad _you_ didn't speak harshly to her.'

Preston put his arm about her, and replied:

'You helped me, my child. I should be a better, happier man, if you were
with me.'

'And I will be, father; I won't go away any more.'

'But Frank?' said Preston, again kissing her.

'Oh, you know we're not to be married for a good while yet. I'll stay
with you _till then_, father.'

'Ah! there she goes,' said Joe, looking out at the window, which
commanded a view of the _porte cochere_; 'she can't get to Newbern till
ten, but the night air won't hurt _her_.'

'Then she makes Newbern her home now?'

'Yes, she spends the winters there; she came here only yesterday.'


CHAPTER XVIII.

Ally and Rosey were to be married[3] in the little church, and, directly
after supper, we all went to the wedding. The seats had been removed
from the centre of the building, for, though duly consecrated to the use
of the saints, the sinners were to exercise their heels in it after the
ceremony was over. At its farther extremity, the carpenter's bench of
which I have spoken, elongated at both ends, and covered with a white
table cloth, was piled high with eatables; indicating that a time of
'great refreshment' was at hand. The bounteous supply of ham, chicken,
wild duck, roast pig, fish, hoecake, wheat bread, tea, coffee, milk, and
pumpkin and sweet-potato pies under which the bench groaned, showed that
some liberal hand had catered for the occasion.

Black Joe, dressed in his 'Sunday best,' was seated on the rustic settee
at the back of the desk, and Phyllis and Dinah occupied chairs inside
the low railing, which faced the pulpit. Phyllis looked careworn and
sad, but Ally's mother was as radiant as a brass kettle in a blaze of
light wood. She wore a white dress, stiffly starched and expanded by
immense hoops, and a crimped nightcap, whose broad border flapped about
like the wings of a crowing rooster; and she looked, for all the world,
like a black ghost in a winding sheet, escaped from below, and bound on
a 'good time generally.' Two 'shining lights,' on either side of the
pulpit, held aloft blazing torches of pine, which illuminated the sea of
grinning darkness, and sent up a smoke like that arising from the pit
which is said to be bottomless. About a hundred darkies were present;
and the number of glossy coats, fancy turbans, gaudy bonnets, red
shawls, and flaming dresses, which the light disclosed, was amazing. The
poor worm that grubbed in the earth, had appeared ('for that occasion
only') as a butterfly; and Lazarus, rid of his rags, had come forth
dressed like a Broadway dandy.

Any person of sensitive olfactories would have halted in the doorway;
but I elbowed through the woolly gathering, and followed Frank and Selma
to the family pew. Tittering, laughing, and flaunting their red and
yellow kerchiefs, the black people were enjoying themselves amazingly,
when 'Dar dey comes,' 'Dar'm de happy pussons,' went round the
assemblage, and the bride and groom, attended by two sable couples,
entered the building. After some ludicrous mistakes, they got 'into
position' in front of the railing, and Black Joe took a stand before
them.

Rosey was dressed in white, with a neat fillet of pink and blue ribbon
about her head; and Ally wore a black frock coat, with white vest, and
white cotton gloves. One of the groomsmen--a rustic beau from a
neighboring plantation--wore an immensely long-tailed blue coat with
brass buttons, a flaming red waistcoat, yellow woollen mittens, and a
neckerchief that looked like a secession flag hugging a lamp-post. Both
of these gentry had hats of stove-pipe pattern, very tall, and with
narrow brims; and--they wore them during the ceremony.

'Silence in de meetin',' cried Joe.

The boisterous sea of black wool subsided to a dead calm. Those not
already standing rose, and Joe commenced reading the marriage service of
the Episcopal Church.

The parties immediately interested appeared to have conned their lessons
well; for they made all the responses with great propriety; but some of
the congregation seemed less familiar with the service. When Joe
repeated the words, 'If any man kin show cause why dese folks should not
be lawfully jined togedder, leff him now speak, or else foreber hole
his peace,' Dinah turned to the audience, and cried out:

'Yas, jess leff him come out wid it _now_. I'd like ter see de man dat's
got onyting agin it.'

No one appeared to have 'onyting agin it,' and Joe proceeded to read the
words: 'I require and charge you, if either of you know any impediment,'
etc. In the midst of it a voice called out:

'Dar ain't no 'pedimen', Boss Joe; I knows dat. Gwo on, sar!' 'Dat's so,
brudder,' said another voice. 'Dat's de Lord's trufh,' echoed a third.
'Doan't be 'sturbin' de meetin'; de young folks want de 'splicin' done,'
cried a fourth; and 'Amen,' shouted a dozen.

'Shet up, all on you,' yelled Joe, turning on them with an imperious
gesture; 'ef you hain't no more manners dan dat, clar out.'

Silence soon ensued, and Joe went on without interruption to the place
where the minister asks the bride-groom: 'Wilt thou have this woman to
thy wedded wife?' Then Dinah, unable to contain herself longer, joyfully
exclaimed:

'Ob course he will--ony youn' feller'd be glad to hab _har_.'

[Never having gone through the ceremony herself, the poor woman could
not be expected to know what was appropriate to the occasion.]

No further interruption occurred, and soon the happy couple were 'bone
of one bone, and flesh of one flesh.' The assemblage still standing, Joe
then turned to Ally and Rosey, and, with a manner so solemn and
impressive that he seemed altogether a different person from the merry
darky who had entered so heartily into the 'high ole heel scrapin'' of
the morning; he spoke somewhat as follows:

'My chil'ren, love one anoder; bar wid one anoder; be faithful to one
anoder. You hab started on a long journey; many rough places am in de
road; many trubbles will spring up by de wayside; but gwo on hand an'
hand togedder; love one anoder; an' no matter what come onter you, you
will be happy--fur love will sweeten ebery sorrer, lighten ebery load,
make de sun shine in eben de bery cloudiest wedder. I knows it will, my
chil'ren, 'case I'se been ober de groun'. Ole Aggy an' I hab trabbled de
road. Hand in hand we hab gone ober de rocks; fru de mud; in de hot,
burnin' sand; ben out togedder in the cole, an' de rain, an' de storm,
fur nigh onter forty yar, but we hab clung to one anoder; we hab loved
one anoder; and fru eberyting, in de bery darkest days, de sun ob joy
an' peace hab broke fru de clouds, an' sent him blessed rays down inter
our hearts. We started jess like two young saplin's you's seed a growin'
side by side in de woods. At fust we seemed way 'part, fur de brambles,
an' de tick bushes, an' de ugly forns--dem war our bad ways--war atween
us; but love, like de sun, shone down on us, and we grow'd. We grow'd
till our heads got above de bushes; till dis little branch an' dat
little branch--dem war our holy feelin's--put out toward one anoder, an'
we come closer an' closer togedder. And dough we'm old trees now, an'
sometime de wind blow, an' de storm rage fru de tops, and freaten to
tear off de limbs, an' to pull up de bery roots, we'm growin' closer an'
closer, an' nearer an' nearer togedder ebery day. And soon de old tops
will meet; soon de ole branches, all cobered ober wid de gray moss, will
twine round one anoder; soon de two ole trunks will come togedder and
grow inter _one_ foreber--grow inter one up dar in de sky, whar de wind
neber'll blow, whar de storm neber'll beat; whar we shill blossom an'
bar fruit to de glory ob de Lord, an' in His heabenly kingdom foreber!

'Yas, my chil'r

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