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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miscellanea, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Miscellanea
+
+Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+Release Date: July 22, 2005 [EBook #16347]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISCELLANEA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Ereaut and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEA.
+
+
+BY
+
+JULIANA HORATIA EWING.
+
+
+SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,
+London: Northumberland Avenue, W.C.
+43, Queen Victoria Street, E.C.
+Brighton: 129, North Street.
+New York: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.
+
+
+[Published under the direction of the General Literature
+Committee.]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+The contents of this volume are republished in order to make the Edition
+a complete collection of Mrs. Ewing's works, rather than because of
+their intrinsic worth. The fact that she did not republish the papers
+during her life shows that she did not estimate them very highly
+herself; but as each one has a special interest connected with it, I
+feel I am not violating her wishes in bringing the collection before the
+public.
+
+One of Mrs. Ewing's strongest gifts was her power of mimicry; this made
+her an actor above the average of amateurs, and also enabled her to
+imitate any special style of writing that she wished. The first four
+stories in this volume are instances of this power. _The Mystery of the
+Bloody Hand_ was an attempt to vie with some of the early sensational
+novels, such as _Lady Audley's Secret_ and _The Moonstone_;--tales in
+which a glimpse of the supernatural is introduced amongst scenes of
+every-day life.
+
+During my sister's girlhood we had a family MS. Magazine (as our Mother
+had done in her young days), and two of the stories in Mrs. Gatty's
+"Aunt Judy's Letters," _The Flatlands Fun Gazette_ and _The Black Bag_,
+were founded on this custom, Mrs. Ewing being the typical "Aunt Judy" of
+the book. Mrs. Gatty described how the children were called upon each to
+contribute a tale for _The Black Bag_, and how No. 5 remonstrated by
+saying--"I've been sitting over the fire this evening trying to think,
+but what _could_ come, with only the coals and the fire-place before one
+to look at? I dare say neither Hans Andersen nor Grimm nor any of those
+fellows would have written anything, if they had not gone about into
+caves and forests and those sort of places, or boated in the North
+Seas!" Aunt Judy replied that she also had been looking into the fire,
+and the longer she did so, the more she decided "that Hans Andersen was
+not beholden to caves or forests or any curious things or people for his
+story-telling inspirations"; but as it was difficult for the "little
+ones" to write she enclosed three tales as "jokes, imitations, in fact,
+of the Andersenian power of spinning gold threads out of old tow-ropes."
+So far this was Mrs. Gatty's own writing, but the three tales were the
+work of the real Aunt Judy, Mrs. Ewing herself. These three are (1)
+_The Smut_, (2) _The Crick_, (3) _The Brothers_. The last sentence in
+_The Brothers_ recalls the last entry in Mrs. Ewing's commonplace book,
+which is quoted in her Life--"If we still love those we lose, can we
+altogether lose those we love?"
+
+_Cousin Peregrine's Wonder Stories_ and _Traveller's Tales_ were written
+after Mrs. Ewing's marriage, with the help of her husband; he supplied
+the facts and descriptions from things which he had seen during his long
+residence abroad. Colonel Ewing also helped my sister in translating the
+_Tales of the Khoja_ from the Turkish. The illustrations now reproduced
+were drawn by our brother, Alfred Scott-Gatty.
+
+In _Little Woods_ and _May-Day Customs_ Mrs. Ewing showed her ready
+ability to take up any subject of interest that came under her
+notice--botany, horticulture, archaeology, folk-lore, or whatever it
+might be. The same readiness was shown in her adaptation of the various
+versions of the _Mumming Play_, or _The Peace Egg_.
+
+_In Memoriam_ was written under considerable restraint soon after our
+Mother's death. My sister knew that she did not wish her biography to be
+written, but still it was impossible to let the originator and editor of
+_Aunt Judy's Magazine_ pass away without some little record being given
+to the many children who loved her writings. In Ecclesfield Church
+there is a tablet erected to Mrs. Gatty's memory by one thousand
+children, who each contributed sixpence.
+
+_The Snarling Princess_ and _The Little Parsnip Man_ are adaptations of
+two fairy tales which appeared in a German magazine; and as both the
+tales and their illustrations took Mrs. Ewing's fancy, she made a free
+rendering of them for _Aunt Judy's Magazine_.
+
+_A Child's Wishes_ and _War and the Dead_ are more accurate
+translations, but it may be said they have not suffered in their
+transmission from one language to another. My sister's selection of the
+last sketch for translation is noticeable, as giving a foretaste of her
+keen sympathy with military interests.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+The Mystery of the Bloody Hand
+
+The Smut
+
+The Crick
+
+The Brothers
+
+Cousin Peregrine's Wonder Stories:
+     1. The Chinese Jugglers, and the Englishman's Hands
+
+     2. Waves of the Great South Seas
+
+Cousin Peregrine's Traveller's Tales:
+     Jack of Pera
+
+The Princes of Vegetation
+
+Little Woods
+
+May-Day, Old Style and New Style
+
+In Memoriam, Margaret Gatty
+
+Tales of the Khoja (_from the Turkish_)
+
+The Snarling Princess (_adapted from the German_)
+
+The Little Parsnip-Man (_adapted from the German_)
+
+A Child's Wishes (_from the German of R. Reinick_)
+
+War and the Dead (_from the French of Jean Mace_)
+
+
+
+
+THE MYSTERY OF THE BLOODY HAND.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+A MEMORABLE NEW YEAR'S DAY.
+
+
+_Dorothy to Eleanor_,
+
+Dearest Eleanor,
+
+You have so often reminded me how rapidly the most startling facts pass
+from the memory of man, and I have so often thereupon promised to write
+down a full account of that mysterious affair in which I was
+providentially called upon to play so prominent a part, that it is with
+shame I reflect that the warning has been unheeded and the promise
+unfulfilled. Do not, dear friend, accuse my affection, but my engrossing
+duties and occupations, for this neglect, and believe that I now take
+advantage of my first quiet evening for many months to fulfil your wish.
+
+Betty has just brought me a cup of tea, and I have told the girl to be
+within call; for once a heroine is not always a heroine, dear Nell. I am
+full of childish terrors, and I assure you it is with no small mental
+effort that I bring myself to recall the terrible events of the year
+1813.
+
+Oddly enough, it was on the first day of this year that I made the
+acquaintance of Mr. George Manners; and I think I can do no better than
+begin by giving you an extract from the first page of my journal at that
+time.
+
+"_Jan. 1, 1813_.--It is mid-day, and very fine, but it was no easy
+matter to be at service this morning after all good Dr. Penn's
+injunctions, as last night's dancing, and the long drive home, made me
+sleepy, and Harriet is still in bed.
+
+"Though I am not so handsome as Harriet, and boast of no conquests, and
+though the gentlemen do not say the wonderfully pretty things to me that
+they seem to do to her, I have much enjoyed several balls since my
+introduction into society. But for ever first and foremost on my list of
+dances must be Lady Lucy Topham's party on New Year's Eve. Let me say
+New Year's Day, for the latter part of the evening was the happy one to
+me. During the first part I danced a little and watched the others much.
+To sit still is mortifying, and yet I almost think the dancing was the
+greater penance, since I never had much to say to men of whom I know
+nothing: the dances seem interminable, and I am ever haunted by a vague
+feeling that my partner is looking out over my head for some one
+prettier and more lively, which is not inspiring. I must not forget a
+little incident, as we came up the stairs into the ball-room. With my
+customary awkwardness I dropped my fan, and was about to stoop for it,
+when some one who had been following us darted forward and presented it
+to me. I curtsied low, he bowed lower; our eyes met for a moment, and
+then he fell behind. It was by his eyes that I recognized him afterwards
+in the ball-room, for in the momentary glance on the stairs I had not
+had time to observe his prominent height and fine features. How
+strangely one's fancy is sometimes seized upon by a foolish wish! My
+modest desire last night was to dance with this Mr. George Manners, the
+handsomest man and best dancer of the room, to be whose partner even
+Harriet was proud. Though I had not a word for my second-rate partners,
+I fancied that I could talk to _him_. Oh, foolish heart! how I chid
+myself for my folly in watching his tall figure thread the dances, in
+fancying that I had met his eyes many times that evening, and, above
+all, for the throb of jealous disappointment that came with every dance
+when he did not do what I never soberly expected he would--ask me. A
+little before twelve I was sitting out among the turbans, when I saw him
+standing at some distance, and unmistakably looking at me. A sudden
+horror seized me that something was wrong--my hair coming down, my dress
+awry--and I was not comforted by Harriet passing at this moment with--
+
+"'What! sitting out still? You should be more lively, child! Men don't
+like dancing with dummies.'
+
+"When her dress had whisked past me I looked up and saw him again, but
+at that moment he sharply turned his back on me and walked into the
+card-room. I was sitting still when he came out again with Mr. Topham.
+The music had just struck up, the couples were gathering; he was going
+to dance then. I looked down at my bouquet with tears in my eyes, and
+was trying hard to subdue my folly and to count the petals of a white
+camellia, when Mr. Topham's voice close by me said--
+
+"'Miss Dorothy Lascelles, may I introduce Mr. Manners to you?' and in
+two seconds more my hand was in his arm, and he was saying in a voice as
+commonplace as if the world had not turned upside down--
+
+"'I think it is Sir Roger.'
+
+"It is a minor satisfaction to me to reflect that, for once in my life,
+I was right. I did talk to Mr. George Manners. The first thing I said
+was--
+
+"'I am very much obliged to you for picking up my fan.' To which he
+replied (if it can be called a reply)--
+
+"'I wish I had known sooner that you were Miss Lascelles' sister.'
+
+"I said, 'Did you not see her with me on the stairs?' and he answered--
+
+"'I saw no one but you.'
+
+"Which, as it is the nearest approach to a pretty speech that ever was
+made to me, I confide solemnly to this my fine new diary, which is to be
+my dearest friend and confidante this year. Why the music went so fast,
+and the dance was so short on this particular occasion, I never could
+fathom; both had just ceased, and we were still chatting, when midnight
+struck, deep-toned or shrill, from all the clocks in the house; and, in
+the involuntary impressive pause, we could hear through the open window
+the muffled echo from the village church. Then Mr. Topham ran in with a
+huge loving-cup, and, drinking all our good healths, it was passed
+through the company.
+
+"When the servant brought it to me, Mr. Manners took it from him, and
+held it for me himself by both handles, saying--
+
+"'It is too heavy for your hands;' and I drank, he quoting in jest from
+_Hamlet_--
+
+"'Nymph, in thine orisons be all my sins remembered.'
+
+"Then he said, '_I_ shall wish in silence,' and paused a full minute
+before putting it to his lips. When the servant had taken it away, he
+heaved so profound a sigh that (we then being very friendly) I said--
+
+"'What is the matter?'
+
+"'Do you believe in presentiments, Miss Lascelles?' he said.
+
+"'I don't think I ever had a presentiment,' I answered.
+
+"'Don't think me a fool,' he said, 'but I have had the most intense
+dread of the coming of this year. I have a presentiment (for which there
+is no reason) that it will bring me a huge, overwhelming misfortune: and
+yet I have just wished for a blessing of which I am vastly unworthy, but
+which, if it does come, will probably come this year, and which would
+make it the brightest one that I have ever seen. Be a prophet, Miss
+Lascelles, and tell me--which will it be?--the joy or the sorrow?'
+
+"He gazed so intently that I had some difficulty in answering with
+composure--
+
+"'Perhaps both. We are taught to believe that life is chequered.'
+
+"'See,' he went on. 'This is the beginning of the year. We are standing
+here safe and happy. Miss Lascelles, where shall we be when the year
+ends?'
+
+"The question seemed to me faithless in a Christian, and puerile in a
+brave man: I did not say so; but my face may have expressed it, for he
+changed the subject suddenly, and could not be induced to return to it.
+I danced twice with him afterwards; and when we parted I said,
+emphatically--
+
+"'A happy new year to you, Mr. Manners.'
+
+"He forced a smile as he answered, 'Amen!'
+
+"Mrs. Dallas (who kindly chaperoned us) slept all the way home; and Miss
+Dallas and Harriet chatted about their partners. Once only they appealed
+to me. What first drew my attention was Mr. Manners' name.
+
+"'Poor Mr. Manners!' Harriet said; 'I am afraid I was very rude to him.
+He had to console himself with you, eh, Dolly?--on the principle of love
+me love my dog, I suppose?'
+
+"Am I so conceited that this had never struck me? And yet--but here
+comes Harriet, and I must put you away, dear diary. I blush at my
+voluminousness. If every evening is to take up so many pages, my book
+will be full at Midsummer! But was not this a red-letter day?"
+
+Well may I blush, dear Nell, to re-read this girlish nonsense. And yet
+it contains not the least strange part of this strange story--poor Mr.
+Manners' presentiment of evil. After this he called constantly, and we
+met him often in society; and, blinded by I know not what delusion,
+Harriet believed him to be devoted to herself, up to the period, as I
+fancy, when he asked me to be his wife. I was staying with the Tophams
+at the time. I believe that they had asked me there on purpose, being
+his friends. Ah, George! what a happy time that was! How, in the sweet
+days of the sweetest of summers, I laughed at your "presentiment"! How
+you told me that the joy had come, and, reminding me of my own sermon on
+the chequered nature of life, asked if the sorrow would yet tread it
+down. Too soon, my love! too soon!
+
+Nelly! forgive me this outburst. I must write more calmly. It is sad to
+speak ill of a sister; but surely it was cruel, that she, who had so
+many lovers, should grudge me my happiness; should pursue George with
+such unreasonable malice; should rouse the senseless but immovable
+obstinacy of our poor brother against him. Oh, Eleanor! think of my
+position! Our father and mother dead; under the care of our only
+brother, who, as you know, dear Nell, was at one time feared to be a
+complete idiot, and had, poor boy! only so much sense as to make him
+sane in the eyes of the law. You know the fatal obstinacy with which he
+pursued an idea once instilled; the occasional fits of rage that were
+not less than insanity. Knowing all this, my dear, imagine what I must
+have suffered when angrily recalled home. I was forbidden to think of
+Mr. Manners again. In vain I asked for reasons. They had none, and yet a
+thousand to give me. When I think of the miserable stories that were
+raked up against him,--the misconstruction of everything he did, or
+said, or left undone,--my own impotent indignation, and my poor
+brother's senseless rage, and the insulting way in which I was watched,
+and taunted, and tortured,--oh, Nelly! it is agony to write. I did the
+only thing left to me--I gave him up, and prayed for peace. I do not say
+that I was right: I say that I did the best I could in a state of things
+that threatened to deprive me of reason.
+
+My submission did not produce an amount of harmony in the house in any
+way proportionate to the price I paid for it. Harriet was obliged to
+keep the slanders of my lover constantly in view, to quiet the
+self-reproach which I think she must sometimes have experienced. As to
+Edmund, my obedience had somewhat satisfied him, and made way for
+another subject of interest which was then engrossing his mind.
+
+A man on his estate, renting a farm close to us, who was a Quaker, and
+very "strict" in his religious profession, had been for a long time
+grossly cheating him, relying, no doubt, on my poor brother's deficient
+intellect. But minds that are intellectually and in reason deficient,
+are often endowed with a large share of cunning and caution, especially
+in monetary affairs. Edmund guessed, watched, and discovered; but when
+the proof was in his hands, his proceedings were characteristically
+peculiar. He did not discharge the man, and have done with it; he
+retained him in his place, but seemed to take a--let me say--insane
+delight in exposing him to the religious circle in which he had been a
+star, and from which he was ignominiously expelled; and in heaping every
+possible annoyance and disgrace upon him that the circumstances
+admitted. My dear, I think I should have preferred his wrath upon
+myself, to being the witness of my brother's miserable exultation over
+the wretched man, Parker. His chief gratification lay in the thought
+that, exquisite as were the vexations he heaped upon him, the man was
+obliged to express gratitude for his master's forbearance as regarded
+the law.
+
+"He said he should never forget my consideration for him till death! Ha!
+ha!"
+
+"My only puzzle," I said, "is, what can induce him to stay with you."
+
+And then the storm turned upon me, Eleanor.
+
+You will ask me, my dear, how, meanwhile, had Mr. Manners taken my
+letter of dismissal. I know now, Nell, and so will not revive the
+mystery that then added weight to my distress. He wrote me many
+letters,--but I never saw one!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And now, dear friend, let me pause and gather courage to relate the
+terrible events of that sultry, horrible--that accursed June.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+THE TERRIBLE JUNE.
+
+
+It was about the middle of the month. Harriet was spending some hours
+with a friend, Edmund was out, and I had been left alone all day for the
+first time since I came home. I remember everything that happened with
+the utmost distinctness. I spent the day chiefly in the garden,
+gathering roses for pot-pourri, being disinclined for any more
+reasonable occupation, partly by the thundery oppressiveness of the air,
+partly by a vague, dull feeling of dread that made me restless, and
+which was yet one of those phases of feeling in which, if life depended
+on an energetic movement, one must trifle. In this mood, when the
+foreclouded mind instinctively shrinks from its own great troubles,
+little things assume an extraordinary distinctness. I trode carefully in
+the patterns of the terrace pavement, counted the roses on the white
+bush by the dial (there were twenty-six), and seeing a beetle on the
+path, moved it to a bank at some distance. There it crept into a hole,
+and such a wild, weary desire seized on me to creep after it and hide
+from what was coming, that--I thought it wise to go in.
+
+As I sat in the drawing-room there was a rose still whole in my lap. I
+had begun to pluck off the petals, when the door-bell rang. Though I
+heard the voice distinctly when the door was opened, I vow to you, dear
+Nell, that my chief desire was to get the rose pulled to pieces before I
+was disturbed. I had flung the last petal into my lap, when the door
+opened and Mr. Manners came into the room.
+
+He did not speak; he opened his arms, and I ran straight into them,
+roses and all. The petals rained over us and over the floor. He talked
+very fast, and I did nothing but cling to him, and endure in silence the
+weight which his presence could not remove from my mind, while he
+pleaded passionately for our marriage. He said that it was the extreme
+of all that was unreasonable, that our lives' happiness should be
+sacrificed to the insane freak of a hardly responsible mind. He
+complained bitterly (though I could but confess justly!) of the
+insulting and intolerable treatment that he had received. He had come,
+he said, in the first place, to assure himself of my constancy--in the
+second, for a powerful and final remonstrance with my brother--and, if
+that failed, to remind me that I should be of age next month; and to
+convey the entreaty of the Tophams that, as a last resource, I would
+come to them and be married from their house. I made up my mind, and
+promised: then I implored him to be careful in his interview with my
+brother, for my sake--to calm his own natural anger, and to remember
+Edmund's infirmity. He promised, but I saw that he was slightly piqued
+by my dwelling so much on Edmund's feelings rather than on his. Ah!
+Nelly, he had never seen one of the poor boy's rages.
+
+It may have been half-past six when Mr. Manners arrived; it had just
+struck a quarter to nine when Edmund came in and found us together. He
+paused for a minute, clicking his tongue in his mouth, in a way he had
+when excited; and then he turned upon me, and heaped abuse on insult,
+loading me with accusations and reproaches. George, white with
+suppressed rage, called incessantly upon me to go; and at last I dared
+disobey no longer; but as I went I touched his arm and whispered,
+"Remember! for my sake." His intense "I promise, my darling," comforted
+me then--and afterwards, Nelly. I went into a little room that opened
+into the hall and waited.
+
+In about twenty minutes the drawing-room door opened, and they came out.
+I heard George's voice saying this or something equivalent (afterwards
+I could not accurately recall the words)--
+
+"Good-night, Mr. Lascelles; I trust our next meeting may be a different
+one."
+
+The next sentences on both sides I lost. Edmund seems to have refused to
+shake hands with Mr. Manners. The last words I heard were George's
+half-laughing--
+
+"Next time, Lascelles, I shall not ask for your hand--I shall take it."
+
+Then the door shut, and Edmund went into his study. An hour later he
+also went out, and I was left alone once more. I went back into the
+drawing-room; the rose-leaves were fading on the floor; and on the table
+lay George Manners' penknife. It was a new one, that he had been showing
+to me, and had left behind him. I kissed it and put it in my pocket:
+then I knelt down by the chair, Nell, and wept till I prayed; and then
+prayed till I wept again; and then I got up and tidied the room, and got
+some sewing; and, like other women, sat down with my trouble, waiting
+for the storm to break.
+
+It broke at eleven o'clock that night, when two men carried the dead
+body of my brother into his own kitchen--foully murdered.
+
+But when I knelt by the poor body, lying awfully still upon the table;
+when I kissed the face, which in death had curiously regained the
+appearance of reason as well as beauty; when I saw and knew that life
+had certainly gone till the Resurrection:--that was not all. The storm
+had not fully broken till I turned and saw, standing by the fire, George
+Manners, with his hands and coat dabbled with blood. I did not speak or
+scream; but a black horror seemed to settle down like mist upon me.
+Through it came Mr. Manners' voice (I had not looked again at him)--
+
+"Miss Dorothy Lascelles, why do you not ask who did it?"
+
+I gave a sharp cry, and one of the labourers who had helped to bring
+Edmund in said gravely--
+
+"Eh, Master! the less you say the better. God forgive you this
+night's work!"
+
+George's hoarse voice spoke again.
+
+"Do you hear him?" and then it faltered a little--"Dorolice, do you
+think this?"
+
+It was his pet name for me (he was an Italian scholar), and touched me
+inexpressibly, and a conviction seized upon me that if he had done it,
+he would not have dared to appeal to my affection. I tried to clear my
+mind that I might see the truth, and then I looked up at him. Our eyes
+met, and we looked at each other for a full minute, and I was content.
+Oh! there are times when the instinctive trust of one's heart is, so far
+more powerful than any proofs or reasons, that faith seems a higher
+knowledge. I would have pledged ten thousand lives, if I had had them,
+on the honesty of those eyes, that had led me like a will-o'-the-wisp in
+the ball-room half a year ago! The new-year's dance came back on me as I
+stood there--my ball-dress was in the drawer up-stairs--and now! oh
+dear! was I going mad?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+THE TIME OF TRIAL.
+
+
+Meanwhile he was waiting for my answer. I stepped forward, intending to
+take his hand, but the stains drove me back again. Where so much depends
+upon a right--or a mis-understanding, the only way is to speak the fair
+truth. I did so; by a sort of forced calm holding back the seething of
+my brain.
+
+"George, I should like to touch you, but--I cannot! I beg you to forgive
+the selfishness of my grief--my mind is confused--I shall be better
+soon. God has sent us a great sorrow, in which I know you are
+as innocent as I am. I am very sorry--I think that is all." And I put my
+hand to my head, where a sharp pain was beginning to throb. Mr. Manners
+spoke, emphatically--
+
+"God bless you, Dorolice! You know I promised. Thank you, for
+ever!"
+
+"If you fancy you have any reason to thank me," I said, "do me this
+favour. Whatever happens, believe that I believe!"
+
+I could bear no more, so I went out of the kitchen. As I went I heard a
+murmur of pity run through the room, and I knew that they were
+pitying--not the dead man, but me; and me--not for my dead brother, but
+for his murderer. When I got into the passage, the mist that had still
+been dark before my eyes suddenly became darker, and I remember no more.
+
+When my senses returned, Harriet had come home. From the first she would
+never hear George's name except to accuse him with frantic bitterness of
+poor Edmund's death; and as nothing would induce me to credit his guilt,
+the subject was as much as possible avoided. I cannot dwell on those
+terrible days. I was very ill for some time, and after I had come
+down-stairs, one day I found a newspaper containing the following
+paragraph, which I copy here, as it is the shortest and least painful
+way of telling you the facts of poor Edmund's death.
+
+"THE MURDER AT CROSSDALE HALL.
+
+"Universal horror has been excited in the neighbourhood by the murder of
+Edmund Lascelles, Esq., of Crossdale Hall. Mr. Lascelles was last seen
+alive a little after ten o'clock on Friday night, at which time he left
+the house alone, and was not seen again living. At the inquest on
+Saturday, James Crosby, a farm labourer, gave the following evidence:--
+
+"'I had been sent into the village for some medicine for a sick beast,
+and was returning to the farm by the park a little before eleven, when
+near the low gate I saw a man standing with his back to me. The moon was
+shining, and I recognized him at once for Mr. George Manners, of
+Beckfield. When Mr. Manners saw me he seemed much excited, and called
+out, "Quick! help! Mr. Lascelles has been murdered." I said, "Good
+God! who did it?" He said, "I don't know; I found him in the
+ditch; help me to carry him in." By this time I had come up and saw Mr.
+Lascelles on the ground, lying on his side. I said, "How do you know
+he's dead?" He said, "I fear there's very little hope; he has bled so
+profusely. I am covered with blood." I was examining the body, and as I
+turned it over I found that the right hand was gone. It had been cut off
+at the wrist. I said, "Look here! Did you know this?" He spoke very low,
+and only said, "How horrible!" I said, "Let us look for the hand; it may
+be in the ditch." He said, "No, no! we are wasting time. Bring him in,
+and let us send for the doctor." I ran to the ditch, however, but could
+see nothing but a pool of blood. Coming back, I found on the ground a
+thick hedge-stake covered with blood. The grass by the ditch was very
+much stamped and trodden. I said, "There has been a desperate struggle."
+He said, "Mr. Lascelles was a very strong man." I said, "Yes; as strong
+as you, Mr. Manners." He said, "Not quite; very nearly though." He said
+nothing more till we got to the hall; then he said, "Who can break it to
+his sister?" I said, "They will have to know. It's them that killed him
+has brought this misery upon them." The low gate is a quarter of a mile,
+or more, from the hall.'
+
+"Death seems to have been inflicted by two instruments--a wounding and a
+cutting one. As yet, no other weapon but the stake has been discovered,
+and a strict search for the missing hand has also proved fruitless. No
+motive for this wanton outrage suggests itself, except that the unhappy
+gentleman was in the habit of wearing on his right hand a sapphire ring
+of great value." (An heirloom; it is on my finger as I write, dear Nell.
+Oh! my poor boy.) "All curiosity is astir to discover the perpetrator of
+this horrible deed; and it is with the deepest regret that we are
+obliged to state that every fresh link in the chain of evidence points
+with fatal accuracy to one whose position, character, and universal
+popularity would seem to place him above suspicion. We would not
+willingly intrude upon the privacy of domestic interests, but the
+following facts will too soon be matters of public notoriety.
+
+"A younger sister of the deceased appears to have formed a matrimonial
+engagement with George Manners, Esq., of Beckfield. It was strongly
+opposed by Mr. Lascelles, and the objection (which at the time appeared
+unreasonable) may have been founded on a more intimate knowledge of the
+suitor's character than was then possessed by others. The match was
+broken off, and all intercourse was suspended till the night of the
+murder, when Mr. Manners gained admittance to the hall in the absence of
+Mr. Lascelles, and was for some hours alone in the young lady's company.
+They were found together a little before nine o'clock by Mr. Lascelles,
+and a violent scene ensued, in the course of which the young lady left
+the apartment. (Miss Lascelles has been ill ever since the unhappy
+event, and is so still. Her deposition was taken in writing at the
+hall.) From the young lady's evidence it appears, first, that the
+passions of both were strongly excited, and she admits having felt
+sufficient apprehension to induce her to twice warn Mr. Manners to
+self-control. Secondly, that Mr. Manners avowed himself prepared to defy
+Mr. Lascelles' authority in the matter of the marriage; and thirdly, the
+two sentences of their final conversation that she overheard (both Mr.
+Manners') were what can hardly be interpreted otherwise than as a
+threat, that 'their next meeting should be a different one,' and that
+then '_he would not ask for Mr. Lascelles' hand, but take it_.' The
+diabolical character of determined and premeditated vindictiveness thus
+given to an otherwise unaccountable outrage upon his victim, goes far to
+take away the feeling of pity which we should otherwise have felt for
+the murderer, regarding him as under the maddening influences of
+disappointed love and temporary passion. Perhaps, however, the most
+fatally conclusive evidence against Mr. Manners lies in the time that
+elapsed between his leaving the hall and being found in the park by the
+murdered body. He left the house at a quarter past nine--he was found by
+the body of the deceased a little before eleven; so that either it must
+have taken him more than an hour and a half to walk a quarter of a
+mile--which is obviously absurd--or he must have been waiting for nearly
+two hours in the grounds. Why did he not return at once to the house of
+Mr. Topham? (where it appears that he was staying). For what--or for
+whom--was he waiting? If he were in the park at the time of the murder,
+how came it that he heard no cries, gave the unhappy gentleman no
+assistance, and offers no suggestion or clue to the mystery beyond the
+obstinate denial of his own guilt, though he confesses to having been in
+the grounds during the whole time of the deadly struggle, and though he
+was found alone with scratched hands and blood-stained clothes beside
+the corpse of his avowed enemy? We leave these questions to the
+consideration of our readers, as they will be for that of a
+conscientious and impartial jury, not, we trust, blinded by the wealth
+and position of the criminal to the hideous nature of the crime.
+
+"The funeral is to take place to-morrow; George Manners is fully
+committed to take his trial for wilful murder at the ensuing assizes."
+
+The above condemning extract only too well represented the state of
+public feeling. All Middlesex--nay, all England--was roused to
+indignation, and poor Edmund's youth and infirmities made the crime
+appear the more cowardly and detestable.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+DRIFTING TO THE END.
+
+
+My misery between the time of the murder and the trial was terrible from
+many causes: my brother's death; George's position; the knowledge of his
+sufferings, and my inability to see or soothe them--and, worst of all,
+the firm conviction of his guilt in every one's mind, and Harriet's
+ceaseless reproaches. I do not think that I should have lived through
+it, but for Dr. Penn. That excellent and revered man's kindness will, I
+trust, ever be remembered by me with due gratitude. He went up to town
+constantly, at his own expense, and visited my dear George in Newgate,
+administering all the consolations of his high office and long
+experience, and being the bearer of our messages to each other. From him
+also I gleaned all the news of which otherwise I should have been kept
+in ignorance; how George's many friends were making every possible
+exertion on his behalf, and how an excellent counsel was retained for
+him. But far beyond all his great kindness, was to me the simple fact
+that he shared my belief in George's innocence; for there were times
+when the universal persuasion of his guilt almost shook, not my faith,
+but my reason.
+
+There were early prayers in our little church in the morning; too early,
+Harriet said, for her to attend much, especially of late, when Dr.
+Penn's championship of George Manners had led her to discover more
+formalism in his piety, and northern broadness in his accent, than
+before. But these quiet services were my daily comfort in those
+troublous days; and in the sweet fresh walk home across the park, my
+more than father and I hatched endless conspiracies on George's behalf
+between the church porch and the rectory gate. Our chief difficulty, I
+confess, lay in the question that the world had by this time so terribly
+answered--who did it? If George were innocent, who was guilty? My poor
+brother had not been popular, and I do not say that one's mind could not
+have fixed on a man more likely to commit the crime than George, under
+not less provocation. But it was an awful deed, Nelly, to lay to any
+man's charge, even in thought; and no particle of evidence arose to fix
+the guilt on any one else, or even to suggest an accomplice. As the time
+wore on, suspense became sickening.
+
+"Sir," I said to him one day, "I am breaking down. I have brought some
+plants to set in your garden. I wish you would give me something to do
+for you. Your shirts to make, your stockings to darn. If I were a poor
+woman I should work down my trouble. As it is--"
+
+"Hush!" said the doctor; you are what God has made you. My dear
+madam, Janet tells me, what my poor eyes have hardly observed, that my
+ruffles are more worn than beseems a doctor in divinity. Now for
+myself--"
+
+"Hush!" said I, mimicking him. "My dear sir, you have taught me to plot
+and conspire, and this very afternoon I shall hold a secret interview
+with Mistress Janet. But say something about my trouble. What will
+happen?--How will it end?--What shall we do?"
+
+"My love," he said, "keep heart. I fully believe in his innocence. There
+is heavy evidence against him, but there are also some strong points in
+his favour; and you must believe that the jury have no object to do
+anything but justice, or believe anything but the truth, and that they
+will find accordingly. And God defend the right!"
+
+Eleanor!--they found him Guilty.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I have asked Dr. Penn to permit me to make an extract from his journal
+in this place. It is less harrowing to copy than to recall. I omit the
+pious observations and reflections which grace the original. Comforting
+as they are to me, it seems a profanity to make them public; besides, it
+is his wish that I should withhold them, which is sufficient.
+
+_From the Diary of the Rev. Arthur Penn, D.D.,
+Rector of Crossdale, Middlesex._
+
+"When he came into the dock he looked (so it seemed to me) altered since
+I had last seen him; more anxious and worn, that is, but yet composed
+and dignified. Doubtless I am but a prejudiced witness; but his face to
+me lacks both the confusion and the effrontery of guilt. He looks like
+one pressed by a heavy affliction, but enduring it with fortitude. I
+think his appearance affected and astonished many in the court. Those
+who were prepared to see a hardened ruffian, or, at best, a cowering
+criminal, must have been startled by the intellectual and noble style of
+his beauty, the grace and dignity of his carriage, and the modest
+simplicity of his behaviour. I am but a doting old man; for I think on
+no evidence could I convict him in the face of those good eyes of his,
+to which sorrow has given a wistful look that at times is terrible; as
+if now and then the agony within showed its face at the windows of the
+soul. Once only every trace of composure vanished--it was when sweet
+Mistress Dorothy was called; then he looked simply mad. I wonder--but
+no! no!--he did not commit this great crime,--not even in a fit of
+insanity.
+
+"Mr. A---- is a very able advocate, and, in his cross-examination of the
+man Crosby and of Mistress Dorothy, did his best to atone for the cruel
+law which keeps the prisoner's counsel at such disadvantage. The counsel
+for the prosecution had pressed hard on my dear lady, especially in
+reference to those farewell words overheard by her, which seem to give
+the only (though that, I say, an incredible) clue to what remains the
+standing mystery of the event--the missing hand. Then Mr. A---- rose to
+cross-examine. He said--
+
+"'During that part of the quarrel when you were present, did the
+prisoner use any threats or suggestions of personal violence?'
+
+"'No.'
+
+"'In the fragment of conversation that you overheard at the last, did
+you at the time understand the prisoner to be conveying taunts or
+threats?'
+
+"'No.'
+
+"'How did you interpret the unaccountable anxiety on the prisoner's part
+to shake hands with a man by whom he believed himself to be injured, and
+with whom he was quarrelling!'
+
+"'Mr. Manners' tone was such as one uses to a spoilt child. I believed
+that he was determined to avoid a quarrel at any price, in deference to
+my brother's infirmity and his own promise to me. He was very angry
+before Edmund came in; but I believe that afterwards he was shocked and
+sobered at the obviously irresponsible condition of my poor brother when
+enraged. He had never seen him so before.'
+
+"'Is it true that Mr. Manners' pocket-knife was in your possession at
+the time of the murder?'
+
+"'It is.'
+
+"'Does your window look upon the "Honeysuckle Walk," where the prisoner
+says that he spent the time between leaving your house and the finding
+of the body?'
+
+"'Yes.'
+
+"'Was the prisoner likely to have any attractive associations connected
+with it, in reference to yourself?'
+
+"'We had often been there together before we were engaged. It was a
+favourite walk of mine.'
+
+"'Do you suppose that any one in this walk could hear cries proceeding
+from the low gate?'
+
+"'Certainly not.'
+
+"The cross-examination of Crosby was as follows:--
+
+"Mr. A.---- 'Were the prisoner's clothes much disordered, as if
+he had been struggling?'
+
+"'No; he looked much as usual; but he was covered with blood.'
+
+"'So we have heard you say. Do you think that a man, in perfectly clean
+clothes, could have lifted the body out of the ditch without being
+covered with blood?'
+
+"'No: perhaps not.'
+
+"'Was there any means by which so much blood could have been accumulated
+in the ditch, unless the body had been thrown there?'
+
+"'I think not. The pool were too big.'
+
+"'I have two more questions to ask, and I beg the special attention of
+the jury to the answers. Is the ditch, or is it not, very thickly
+overgrown with brambles and brushwood?'
+
+"'Yes; there be a many brambles.'
+
+"'Do you think that any single man could drag a heavy body from the
+bottom of the ditch on to the bank, without severely scratching his
+hands?'
+
+"'No; I don't suppose he could.'
+
+"'That is all I wish to ask.'
+
+"Not being permitted to address the jury, it was all that he could do.
+Then the Recorder summed up. God forgive him the fatal accuracy
+with which he placed every link in a chain of evidence so condemning
+that I confess poor George seemed almost to have been taken _in
+flagrante delicto_. The jury withdrew; and my sweet Mistress Dorothy,
+who had remained in court against my wish, suddenly dropped like an
+apple-blossom, and I carried her out in my arms. When I had placed her
+in safety, I came back, and pressed through the crowd to hear the
+verdict.
+
+"As I got in, the Recorder's voice fell on my ear, every word like a
+funeral knell,--'_May the Lord have mercy on your soul!_'
+
+"I think for a few minutes I lost my senses. I have a confused
+remembrance of swaying hither and thither in a crowd; of execration, and
+pity, and gaping curiosity; and then I got out, and some one passed me,
+whose arm I grasped. It was Mr. A----.
+
+"'Tell me,' I said, 'is there no hope? No recommendation to mercy?
+Nothing?'
+
+"He dragged me into a room, and, seizing me by the button, exclaimed--
+
+"'We don't want mercy; we want justice! I say, sir, curse the present
+condition of the law! It _must_ be altered, and I shall live to see it.
+If I might have addressed the jury--there were a dozen points--we should
+have carried him through. Besides,' he added, in a tone that seemed to
+apologize for such a secondary consideration, 'I may say to you that I
+fully believe that he is innocent, and am as sorry on his account as on
+my own that we have lost the case.'
+
+"And so the day is ended. _Fiat voluntas Domini!_"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Yes, Eleanor! Dr. Penn was right. The day did end--and the next--and
+the next; and drop by drop the cup of sorrow was drained. And when the
+draught is done, should we be the better, Nelly, if it had been nectar?
+
+I had neither died nor gone mad when the day came--the last complete day
+that George was to see on earth. It was Sunday; and, after a sleepless
+night, I saw the red sun break through the grey morning. I always sleep
+with my window open; and, as I lay and watched the sunrise, I thought--
+
+"He will see this sunrise, and to-morrow's sunrise; but no other! No,
+no!--never more!"
+
+But then a stronger thought seemed to rise involuntarily against that
+one--
+
+"Peace, fool! If this be the sorrow, it is one that must come to all
+men."
+
+And then, Nelly (it is strange, but it was so), there broke out in the
+stone pine by my window a chorus of little birds whom the sunbeams had
+awakened; and they sang so sweet and so loud (like the white bird that
+sang to the monk Felix), that earthly cares seemed to fade away, and I
+fell asleep, and slept the first sound, dreamless sleep that had blessed
+me since our great trouble came.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+BETWEEN TWO WORLDS.
+
+
+Dr. Penn was with George this day, and was to be with him to the last.
+His duty was taken by a curate.
+
+I will not attempt to describe my feelings at this terrible time, but
+merely narrate circumstantially the wonderful events (or illusions, call
+them which you will) of the evening.
+
+We sat up-stairs in the blue room, and Harriet fell asleep on the sofa.
+
+It was about half-past ten o'clock when she awoke with a scream, and in
+such terror that I had much difficulty in soothing her. She seemed very
+unwilling to tell me the cause of her distress; but at last confessed
+that on the two preceding nights she had had a vivid and alarming dream,
+on each night the same. Poor Edmund's hand (she recognized it by the
+sapphire ring) seemed to float in the air before her; and even after she
+awoke, she still seemed to see it floating towards the door, and then
+coming back again, till it vanished altogether. She had seen it again
+now in her sleep. I sat silent, struggling with a feeling of
+indignation. Why had she not spoken of it before? I do not know how long
+it might have been before I should have broken the silence, but that my
+eyes turned to the partially-open window and the dark night that lay
+beyond. Then I shrieked, louder than she had done--
+
+"Harriet! _There it is!_"
+
+There it was--to my eyes--the detached hand, round which played a pale
+light--the splendid sapphire gleaming unearthlily, like the flame of a
+candle that is burning blue. But Harriet could see nothing. She said
+that I frightened her, and shook her nerves, and took pleasure in doing
+so; that I was the author of all our trouble, and she wished I would
+drop the dreadful subject. She would have said much more, but that I
+startled her by the vehemence of my interruption. I said that the day
+was past when I would sacrifice my peace or my duty to her whims; and
+she ventured no remonstrance when I announced that I intended to follow
+the hand so long as it moved, and discover the meaning of the
+apparition. I then flew downstairs and out into the garden, where it
+still gleamed, and commenced a slow movement towards the gate. But my
+flight had been observed, Nelly, by Robert, our old butler. I had
+always been his favourite in the family, and since my grief, his humble
+sympathy had only been second to that of Dr. Penn. I had noticed the
+anxious watch he had kept over me since the trial, with a sort of sad
+amusement. I afterwards learnt that all his fears had culminated to a
+point when he saw me rush wildly from the house that night. He had
+thought I was going to drown myself. He concealed his fears at the time,
+however, and only said--
+
+"What be the matter, Miss Dorothy?"
+
+"Is that you, Robert?" I said. "Come here. Look! Do you see?"
+
+"See what?" he said.
+
+"Don't you see anything?" I said. "No light? Nothing?"
+
+"Nothin' whatever," said Robert, decidedly; "it be as dark as pitch."
+
+I stood silent, gazing at the apparition, which, having reached the
+gate, was slowly re-advancing. If it were fancy, why did it not vanish?
+I rubbed my eyes, but it was there still. Robert interrupted me,
+solemnly--
+
+"Miss Dorothy, do _you_ see anything?"
+
+"Robert," I said, "you are a faithful friend. Listen! I see before me
+the lost hand of your dead master. I know it by the sapphire ring. It is
+surrounded by a pale light, and moves slowly. My sister has seen it
+three times in her sleep; and I see it now with my waking eyes. You may
+laugh, Robert; but it is too true."
+
+I was not prepared for the indignant reply:
+
+"Laugh, Miss Dorothy! The Lord forbid! If so be you do see anything, and
+it should be the Lord's will to reveal anything about poor dear Master
+Edmund to you as loved him, and is his sister, who am I that I should
+laugh? My mother had a cousin (many a time has she told me the story) as
+married a sailor (he was mate on board a vessel bound for the West
+Indies), and one night, about three weeks after her husband had--"
+
+"Robert!" I said, "you shall tell me that story another day with
+pleasure; but no time is to be lost now. I mean to follow the hand: will
+you come with me and take care of me?"
+
+"Go in, ma'am," he said; "wrap up warm, and put on thick shoes, and come
+quietly down to this door. I'll just slip in and quiet the servants, and
+meet you."
+
+"And bring a lantern," I said; "this light does not light you."
+
+In five minutes we were there again; and the hand was vivid as ever.
+
+"Do you see it now?" whispered the butler, anxiously.
+
+"Yes," I said; "it is moving."
+
+"Go on," he said; "I will keep close behind you."
+
+It was pitch dark, and, except for the gleaming hand, and the erratic
+circles of light cast by the lantern, we could see nothing. The hand
+gradually moved faster, increasing to a good walking pace, passing over
+the garden-gate and leading us on till I completely lost knowledge of
+our position; but still we went steadily forward. At last we got into a
+road, and went along by a wall; and, after a few steps, the hand, which
+was before me, moved sharply aside.
+
+"Robert," I said, "it has gone over a gate--we must go too! Where are
+we?"
+
+He answered, in a tone of the deepest horror--
+
+"Miss Dorothy! for the Lord's sake, think what you are doing, and let us
+turn back while we can! You've had sore affliction; but it's an awful
+thing to bring an innocent man to trouble."
+
+"The innocent man _is_ in trouble!" I said, passionately. "Is it nothing
+that he should die, if truth could save him? You may go back if you
+like; but I shall go on. Tell me, whose place is this?"
+
+"Never mind, my dear young lady," he said, soothingly. "Go on, and the
+Lord be with you! But be careful. You're sure you see it now?"
+
+"Certain," I said. "It is moving. Come on."
+
+We went forward, and I heard a click behind me.
+
+"What is that?" I said.
+
+"Hush!" he whispered; "make no noise! It was my pistol. Go gently, my
+dear young lady. It is a farmyard, and you may stumble."
+
+"It has stopped over a building!" I whispered.
+
+"Not the house!" he returned, hoarsely.
+
+"I am going on," I said. "Here we are. What is it? Whose is it?"
+
+He came close to me, and whispered solemnly--
+
+"Miss Dorothy! be brave, and make no noise! We are in Farmer Parker's
+yard; and this is a barn."
+
+Then the terror came over me.
+
+"Let us turn back," I said. "You are right. One may bear one's own
+troubles, but not drag in other people. Take me home!"
+
+But Robert would not take me home; and my courage came back, and I held
+the lantern whilst he unfastened the door. Then the ghastly hand passed
+into the barn, and we followed it.
+
+"It has stopped in the far corner," I said. "There seems to be wood or
+something."
+
+"It's bundles of wood," he whispered. "I know the place. Sit down, and
+tell me if it moves."
+
+I sat down, and waited long and wearily, while he moved heavy bundles of
+firewood, pausing now and then to ask, "Is it here still?" At last he
+asked no more; and in a quarter of an hour he only spoke once: then it
+was to say--
+
+"This plank has been moved."
+
+After a while he came away to look for a spade. He found one, and went
+back again. At last a smothered sound made me spring up and rush to him;
+but he met me, driving me back.
+
+"I beg of you, dear Miss Dorothy, keep away. Have you a handkerchief
+with you?"
+
+I had one, and gave it to him. His hands were covered with earth. He had
+only just gone back again when I gave a cry--
+
+"Robert! _It has gone!_"
+
+He came up to me, keeping one hand behind him.
+
+"Miss Dorothy, if ever you were good and brave, hold out now!"
+
+I beat my hands together--"It has gone! It has gone!"
+
+"It has not gone!" he said. "Master Edmund's hand is in this
+handkerchief. It has been buried under a plank of the flooring!"
+
+I gasped, "Let me see it!"
+
+But he would not. "No, no! my dear lady, you must not--cannot. I only
+knew it by the ring!"
+
+Then he made me sit down again, whilst he replaced the firewood; and
+then, with the utmost quietness, we set out to return, I holding the
+lantern in one hand, and with the other clinging to his arm (for the
+apparition that had been my guide before was gone), and he carrying the
+awful relic in his other hand. Once, as we were leaving the yard, he
+whispered--
+
+"Look!"
+
+"I see nothing," said I.
+
+"Hold up your lantern," he whispered.
+
+"There is nothing but the dog-kennel," I said.
+
+"Miss Dorothy," he said, "_the dog has not barked tonight!_"
+
+By the time we reached home, my mind had fully realized the importance
+of our discovery, and the terribly short time left us in which to profit
+by it, supposing, as I fully believed, that it was the first step to the
+vindication of George's innocence. As we turned into the gate, Robert,
+who had been silent for some time broke out--
+
+"Miss Dorothy! Mr. George Manners is as innocent as I am; and
+God forgive us all for doubting him! What shall we do?"
+
+"I am going up to town," I said, "and you are going with me. We will go
+to Dr. Penn. He has a lodging close by the prison: I have the address.
+At eight o'clock to-morrow the king himself could not undo this
+injustice. We have, let me see, how many hours?"
+
+Robert pulled out his old silver watch and brought it to the lantern.
+
+"It is twenty minutes to twelve."
+
+"Rather more than eight hours. Heaven help us! You will get something to
+eat, Robert, and put the horses at once into the chariot. I will be
+ready."
+
+I went straight up-stairs, and met Harriet at the door. I pushed her back
+into the room and took her hands.
+
+"Harriet! Robert has found poor Edmund's hand, _with the ring_, buried
+under some wood in Thomas Parker's barn. I am going up to town with him
+at once, to put the matter into Dr. Penn's hands, and save George
+Manners' life, if it be not too late."
+
+She wrenched her hands away, and flung herself at my feet. I never saw
+such a change come over any face. She had had time in the (what must
+have been) anxious interval of our absence, for some painful enough
+reflection, and my announcement had broken through the blindness of a
+selfish mind, and found its way where she seldom let anything come--to
+her feelings.
+
+"Oh, Dolly! Dolly! will you ever forgive me? Why did I not tell you
+before? But I thought it was only a dream. And indeed, indeed I thought
+Mr. Manners had done it. But that man Parker! If it had not been for
+Mr. Manners being found there, I should have sworn that Parker had done
+it. Dolly! I saw him that night. He came in and helped. And once I saw
+him look at Mr. Manners with such a strange expression, and he seemed so
+anxious to make him say that it was a quarrel, and that he had done it
+in self-defence. But you know I thought it must be Mr. Manners--and I
+did so love poor Edmund!"
+
+And she lay sobbing in agony on the ground. I said--
+
+"My love, I pray that it is not too late: but we must not waste time.
+Help me _now_, Harriet!"
+
+She sprang up at once.
+
+"Yes! you must have food. You shall go. I shall not go with you. I am
+not worthy, but I will pray till you come back again."
+
+I said, "There is one most important thing for you to do. Let no soul go
+out or come into the house till I return, or some gossip will bring it
+to Parker's ears that we have gone to London."
+
+Harriet promised, and rushed off to get me food and wine. With her own
+hands she filled a hot-water bottle for my feet in the chariot, supplied
+my purse with gold, and sewed some notes up in my stays; and (as if
+anxious to crowd into this one occasion all the long-withheld offices
+of sisterly kindness) came in with her arms full of a beautiful set of
+sables that belonged to her--cloak, cuffs, muff, etc.--and in these she
+dressed me. And then we fell into each others arms, and I wept upon her
+neck the first tears I had shed that day. As I stood on the doorstep,
+she held up the candle and looked at me.
+
+"My dear!" she said, "how pretty your sweet face does look out of those
+great furs! You shall keep them always."
+
+Dear Harriet! Her one idea--beauty. I suppose the "ruling passion,"
+whatever it may be, is strong with all of us, even in the face of death.
+Moreover, hers was one of those shallow minds that seem instinctively to
+escape by any avenue from a painful subject; and by the time that I was
+in the chariot, she had got over the first shock, and there was an
+almost infectious cheerfulness in her farewell.
+
+"It _must_ be all right, Dolly!"
+
+Then I fell back, and we started. The warm light of the open door became
+a speck, and then nothing; and in the long dark drive, when every
+footfall of the horses seemed to consume an age, the sickening agony of
+suspense was almost intolerable. Oh, my dear! never, never shall I
+forget that night. The black trees and hedges whirling past us in the
+darkness, always the same, like an enchanted drive; then the endless
+suburbs, and at last the streets where people lounged in corners and
+stopped the way, as if every second of time were not worth a king's
+ransom; and sedan-chairs trotted lightly home from gay parties as if
+life were not one long tragedy. Once the way was stopped, once we lost
+it. That mistake nearly killed me. At last a watchman helped us to the
+little by-street where Dr. Penn was lodging, near which a loud sound of
+carpenters' work and hurrying groups of people puzzled me exceedingly.
+After much knocking, an upper window was opened and a head put out, and
+my dear friend's dear voice called to us. I sprang out on to the
+pavement and cried--
+
+"Dr. Penn, this is Dorothy."
+
+He came down and took us in, and then (my voice failing) Robert
+explained to him the nature of our errand, and showed him the ghastly
+proof. Dr. Penn came back to me.
+
+"My love," he said, "you must come up-stairs and rest."
+
+"Rest!" I shrieked, "never! Get your hat, doctor, and come quickly. Let
+us go to the king. Let us do something. We have very little time, and he
+must be saved."
+
+I believe I was very unreasonable; I fear that I delayed them some
+minutes before good Dr. Penn could persuade me that I should only be a
+hindrance, that he would do everything that was possible, and could do
+so much better with no one but Robert.
+
+"My love," he said, "trust me. To obey is better than sacrifice!"
+
+I went up-stairs into the dingy little sitting-room, and he went to call
+his landlady--"a good woman," he said: "I have known her long." Then he
+went away, and Robert with him, to the house of the Home Secretary.
+
+It was three o'clock. Five hours still!
+
+I sat staring at the sprawling paper on the walls, and at the long snuff
+of the candle that Dr. Penn had lighted, and at a framed piece of
+embroidery, representing Abraham sacrificing Isaac, that hung upon the
+wall. Were there no succouring angels now?
+
+The door opened, and I looked wearily round. A motherly woman, with
+black eyes, fat cheeks, and a fat wedding-ring, stood curtseying at the
+door. I said, "I think you are Dr. Penn's landlady? He says you are very
+good. Pray come in."
+
+Then I dropped my head on my hand again, and stared vacantly as before.
+Exhaustion had almost become stupor, and it was in a sort of dream that
+I watched the stout figure moving softly to and fro, lighting the fire,
+and bringing an air of comfort over the dreary little parlour. Then she
+was gone for a little bit, and I felt a little more lonely and weary;
+and then I heard that cheerful clatter, commonly so grateful to
+feminine exhaustion, and the good woman entered with a toasted glow upon
+her face, bearing a tray with tea, and such hospitable accompaniments as
+she could command. She set them down and came up to me with an air of
+determination.
+
+"My dear, you must be a good young lady and take some tea. We all have
+our troubles, but a good heart goes a long way."
+
+Her pitying face broke me down. How sadly without feminine sympathy I
+had been through all my troubles I had never felt as I felt it now that
+it had come. I fairly dropped my head upon her shoulder and sobbed out
+the apparently irrelevant remark--
+
+"Dear madam, I have no mother!"
+
+She understood me, and flinging her arms round me sobbed louder than I.
+It would have been wicked to offer further resistance. She brought down
+pillows, covered them with a red shawl, and propped me up till the
+horsehair sofa became an easy couch, and with mixed tears and smiles I
+contrived to swallow a few mouthfuls, a feat which she exalted to an act
+of sublime virtue.
+
+"And now, my dear," she said, "you will have some warm water and wash
+your hands and face and smooth your hair, and go to sleep for a bit."
+
+"I cannot sleep," I said.
+
+But Mrs. Smith was not to be baffled.
+
+"I shall give you something to make you," said she.
+
+And so, when the warm water had done its work, I had to swallow a
+sleeping-draught and be laid easily upon the sofa. Her last words as she
+"tucked me up" were, oddly enough--
+
+"The tea's brought back a bit of colour to your cheeks, miss, and I will
+say you do look pretty in them beautiful sables!"
+
+A very different thought was working in my head as the sleeping-draught
+tingled through my veins.
+
+"Will the birds sing at sunrise?"
+
+Nelly, I slept twelve long hours without a dream. It was four o'clock in
+the afternoon of Monday when I awoke, and only then, I believe, from the
+mesmeric influence of being gazed at. Eleanor! there is only one such
+pair of eyes in all the world! George Manners was kneeling by my side.
+
+Abraham was still sacrificing his son upon the wall, but my Isaac was
+restored to me. I sat up and flung myself into his arms. It was long,
+long before either of us could speak, and, oddly enough, one of the
+first things he said was (twitching my cloak with the quaint curiosity
+of a man very ignorant about feminine belongings), "My darling, you seem
+sadly ill, but yet, Doralice, your sweet face does look so pretty in
+these great furs."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My story is ended, Nelly, and my promise fulfilled. The rest you know.
+How the detective, who left London before four o'clock that morning,
+found the rusty knife that had been buried with the hand, and
+apprehended Parker, who confessed his guilt. The wretched man said, that
+being out on the fatal night about some sick cattle, he had met poor
+Edmund by the low gate; that Edmund had begun, as usual, to taunt him;
+that the opportunity of revenge was too strong, and he had murdered him.
+His first idea had been flight, and being unable to drag the ring from
+Edmund's hand, which was swollen, he had cut it off, and thrown the body
+into the ditch. On hearing of the finding of the body, and of poor
+George's position, he determined to brave it out, with what almost fatal
+success we have seen. He dared not then sell the ring, and so buried it
+in his barn. Two things respecting his end were singular: First, at the
+last he sent for Dr. Penn, imploring him to stay with him till he died.
+That good man, as ever, obeyed the call of duty and kindness, but he was
+not fated to see the execution of my brother's murderer. The night
+before, Thomas Parker died in prison; not by his own hand, Nelly. A fit
+of apoplexy, the result of intense mental excitement, forestalled the
+vengeance of the law.
+
+Need I tell you, dear friend, who know it so well, that I am happy?
+
+Not, my love, that such tragedies can be forgotten--these deep wounds
+leave a scar. This one brought my husband's first white hairs, and took
+away my girlhood for ever. But if the first blush of careless gaiety has
+gone from life, if we are a little "old before our time," it may be that
+this state of things has its advantages. Perhaps, having known together
+such real affliction, we cannot now afford to be disturbed by the petty
+vexations and worthless misunderstandings that form the troubles of
+smoother lives. Perhaps, having been all but so awfully parted, we can
+never afford, in this short life, to be otherwise than of one heart and
+one soul. Perhaps, my dear, in short, the love that kept faith through
+shame, and was cemented by fellow-suffering, can hardly do otherwise
+than flourish to our heart's best content in the sunshine of prosperity
+with which God has now blessed us.
+
+
+
+
+THE SMUT.
+
+
+The councillor's chimney smoked. It always did smoke when the wind was
+in the north. A Smut came down and settled on a brass knob of the
+fender, which the councillor's housekeeper had polished that very
+morning. The shining surface reflected the Smut, and he seemed to
+himself to be two.
+
+"How large I am!" said he, with complacency. "I am quite a double Smut.
+I am bigger than any other. If I were a little harder, I should be a
+cinder, not to say a coal. Decidedly my present position is too low for
+so important an individual. Will no one recognize my merit and elevate
+me?"
+
+But no one did. So the Smut determined to raise himself, and taking
+advantage of a draught under the door, he rose upwards and alighted on
+the nose of the councillor, who was reading the newspaper.
+
+"This is a throne, a crimson one," said the Smut, "made on purpose for
+me. But somehow I do not seem so large as I was."
+
+The truth is that the councillor (though a great man) was, in respect
+of his nose, but mortal. It was not made of brass; it would not (as the
+cabinet-makers say) take a polish. It did not reflect the object seated
+on it.
+
+"It is unfortunate," said the Smut. "But it is not fit that an
+individual of my position (almost, as I may say, a coal) should have a
+throne that does not shine. I must certainly go higher."
+
+But unhappily for the Smut, at this moment the councillor became aware
+of something on his nose. He put up his hand and rubbed the place. In an
+instant the poor Smut was destroyed. But it died on the throne, which
+was some consolation.
+
+
+Moral.
+
+More chimneys smoke than the councillor's chimney, and there are many
+Smuts in the world. Let those who have found a brass knob be satisfied.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRICK.
+
+
+It was a Crick in the wall, a very small Crick too. But it is not always
+the biggest people who have the strongest affections.
+
+When the wind was in the east, it blew the Dust into the Crick, and when
+it set the other way, the Dust was blown out of it. The Crick was of a
+warm and passionate temperament, and was devotedly attached to the Dust.
+
+"I love you," he whispered. "I am your husband. I protect, surround,
+defend, cherish you, and house you, you poor fragile Dust. You are my
+wife. You fill all the vacant space of my heart. I adore you. I am all
+heart!"
+
+And if vacant space is heart, this last assertion was quite true.
+
+"Remain with me always," said the Crick.
+
+"Ever with thee," said the Dust, who spoke like a valentine.
+
+But the most loving couples cannot control destiny. The wind went round
+to the west, and the Crick was emptied in a moment. In the first thrill
+of agony he stretched himself and became much wider.
+
+"I am empty," he cried; "I shall never be filled again. This is the
+greatest misfortune that could possibly have happened."
+
+The Crick was wrong. He was not to remain empty; and a still greater
+misfortune was in store. The owner of the wall was a careful man, and
+came round his premises with a trowel of mortar.
+
+"What a crack!" said he; "it must be the frost. A stitch in time saves
+nine, however." And so saying he slapped a lump of mortar into the Crick
+with the dexterity of a mason.
+
+In due time the wind went back to the east, and with it came the Dust.
+
+"Cruel Crick!" she wept. "You have taken another wife to your heart!"
+
+And the Crick could not answer, for he had ceased to exist.
+
+This is a tragedy of real life, and cannot fail to excite sympathy.
+
+
+
+
+THE BROTHERS.
+
+
+They were brothers--twin brothers, and the most intense fraternal
+affection subsisted between them. They were Peas--Sweet-peas, born
+together in the largest end of the same Pod. When they were little,
+flat, skinny, green things, they regarded the Pod in which they were
+born with the same awful dread which the greatest of men have at one
+time felt for nursery authority. They believed that the Pod ruled the
+world.
+
+It was impossible to conceive a limit to the power of a thing that could
+hold so tight. But in due time the Peas became large and round and
+black, and the Pod got yellow and shrunken, and was thoroughly despised.
+
+"It is time we left the nursery," said the brothers. "Where shall we go
+to, when we enter the world?" they inquired of the mother plant.
+
+"You will fall on the ground," said she, "in the south border, where we
+now are. The soil is good, and the situation favourable. You will then
+lie quiet for the winter, and in the spring you will come up and flower,
+and bear pods as I have done. That will be your fate. Not eventful
+perhaps, but prosperous; and it comforts me to think that you are so
+well provided for."
+
+But the best of parents cannot foresee everything in the future career
+of their children, and the mother plant was wrong.
+
+The Peas burst from the Pod, it is true; but they fell, not into the
+south border, but into the hand of the seedsman to whom the garden
+belonged.
+
+"This is an adventure," said the brothers.
+
+They were put with a lot of other Sweet-peas, and a brown paper bag was
+ready to receive them.
+
+"Any way we are together," said they.
+
+But at that moment one of the brothers rolled from the bag on the floor.
+The seedsman picked him up, and he found himself tossed into a bag of
+peas.
+
+"It is all right," said he; "I shall find my brother in time."
+
+But though he rolled about as much as he could, he could not find him;
+for the truth is, that he had been put by mistake into a paper of eating
+peas; but he did not know this.
+
+"Patience!" cried he; "we shall be sown shortly, and when we come up we
+shall find each other, if not before."
+
+The other Pea thought that his brother was in the bag with him, and when
+he could not find him he consoled himself in the same manner.
+
+"When we come up we shall find each other, if not before."
+
+They were both sold in company with others, and they were both sown. No.
+1 was sown in a cosy little garden near a cosy little cottage in the
+country. No. 2 was sown in a field, being intended for the market.
+
+They both came up and made leaves, and budded and blossomed, and the
+first thing each did when he opened his petals was to look round for his
+brother.
+
+No. 1 found himself among other Sweet-peas, but his brother was not
+there; and soon a beautiful girl, who came into a garden to gather a
+nosegay, plucked him from his stalk.
+
+No. 2 found himself also among Peas--a field full--but they were all
+white ones, and had no scent whatever. He had been sown near the wall,
+and he leant against it and wept.
+
+Just then a young sailor came whistling down the road. He was sunburnt
+but handsome, and he was picking flowers from the roadside. When he saw
+the Sweet-pea he shouted.
+
+"That's the best of the bunch," said he, and put it with the others.
+Then he went whistling down the road into the village, past the old grey
+church, and up to a cosy little cottage in a cosy little garden. He
+opened the door and went into a room where a beautiful girl was
+arranging some flowers that lay on the table. When she saw him they gave
+a cry and embraced each other. After a while he said, "I have brought
+you some wild flowers; but this is the best," and he held up the
+Sweet-pea.
+
+"This is not a wild flower," said she; "it is a garden flower, and must
+have been sown by accident. It shall be put with the other garden
+flowers."
+
+And she laid the Sweet-pea among the rest on the table, and so the
+brothers met at last.
+
+The young couple sat hand in hand in the sunshine, and talked of the
+past.
+
+"Time seemed to go slowly while we were parted," said the young man;
+"and now, to look back upon, all our misery seems but a dream."
+
+"That is just what _we_ feel," said the Sweet-peas.
+
+"I was very sad," said the young girl softly, "very sad indeed; for, I
+thought you might be dead, or have married some one else, and that we
+might never meet again. But in spite of everything I couldn't quite
+despair. It seemed impossible that those who really loved each other
+should be separated for ever."
+
+Meanwhile the Sweet-peas lay on the table. They were very happy, but
+just a little anxious, for the lovers had forgotten to put them in
+water, and they were fading fast.
+
+"We are very happy," they murmured, "very happy. This moment alone is
+worth all that we have endured. It is true we are fading before we have
+ever fully bloomed, and after this we do not know what will happen to
+us. But the young girl is right. One cannot quite despair. It seems
+impossible that those who really love each other should be separated for
+ever."
+
+
+
+
+COUSIN PEREGRINE'S WONDER STORIES.
+
+
+THE CHINESE JUGGLERS, AND THE ENGLISHMAN'S HANDS.
+
+(_Founded on Fact_.)
+
+
+Cousin Peregrine had never been away quite so long before. He had been
+in the East, and the latter part of his absence from home had been spent
+not only in a foreign country, but in parts of it where Englishmen had
+seldom been before, and amid the miserable scenes of war.
+
+However, he was at home at last, very much to the satisfaction of his
+young cousins, and also to his own. They had been assured by him, in a
+highly illustrated letter, that his arms were safe and sound in his
+coat-sleeves, that he had no wooden legs, and that they might feel him
+all over for wounds as hard as they liked. Only Maggie, the eldest,
+could even fancy she remembered Cousin Peregrine, but they all seemed
+to know him by his letters, even before he arrived. At last he came.
+
+Cousin Peregrine was dressed like other people, much to the
+disappointment of his young relatives, who when they burst (with more or
+less attention to etiquette) into the dining-room with the dessert, were
+in full expectation of seeing him in his uniform, or at least with his
+latest medal pinned to his dress-coat.
+
+Perhaps it was because Cousin Peregrine was so very seldom troubled by
+chubby English children with a claim on his good nature that he was
+particularly indulgent to his young cousins. However this may be, they
+soon stood in no awe of him, and a chorus cried around him--
+
+"Where's your new medal, Cousin? What's it about? What's on it?"
+
+"Taku Forts," said Cousin Peregrine, smiling grimly.
+
+"What's Tar--Koo?" inquired the young people.
+
+"Taku is the name of a place in China, and you know I've just come from
+China," said Cousin Peregrine.
+
+On which six voices cried--
+
+"Did you drink nothing but tea?"
+
+"Did you buy lots of old China dragons?"
+
+"Did you see any ladies with half their feet cut off?"
+
+"Did you live in a house with bells hanging from the roof?"
+
+"Are the Chinese like the people on Mamma's fan?"
+
+"Did you wear a pigtail?"
+
+Cousin Peregrine's hair was so very short that the last question raised
+a roar of laughter, after which the chorus spoke with one voice--
+
+"Do tell us all about China!"
+
+At which he put on a serio-comic countenance, and answered with much
+gravity--
+
+"Oh, certainly, with all my heart. It will be rather a long story, but
+never mind. By the way, I am afraid I can hardly begin much before the
+birth of Confucius, but as that happened in or about the year 550
+B.C., you will still have to hear about two thousand four
+hundred years of its history or so, which will keep us going for a few
+months".
+
+"Confucius--whose real name was Kwang-Foo-Tsz (and if you can pronounce
+that last word properly you can do more than many eminent Chinese
+scholars can)--was born in the province of Kan Tang ----.
+
+"Oh, not about Confuse-us!" pleaded a little maid on Cousin Peregrine's
+knee. "Tell us what you did."
+
+"But tell us _wonderful_ things," stipulated a young gentleman, fresh
+from _The Boy Hunters_ and kindred works.
+
+If young bachelors have a weak point when they are kind to children, it
+is that they are apt to puzzle them with paradoxes. Even Cousin
+Peregrine did "sometimes tease," so his cousins said.
+
+On this occasion he began a long rambling speech, in which he pretended
+not to know what things are and what are not _wonderful_. The _Boy
+Hunters_ young gentleman fell headlong into the quagmire of definitions,
+but the oldest sister, who had her own ideas about things, said firmly--
+
+"Wonderful things are things which surprise you very much, and which you
+never saw before, and which you don't understand. Like as if you saw a
+lot of giants coming out of a hole in the road. At least that's what
+_we_ mean by wonderful."
+
+"Upon my word, Maggie," said Cousin Peregrine, "your definition is most
+admirable. I cannot say that I have met with giants in China, even in
+the north, where the men are taller than in the south. But I can tell
+you of something I saw in China which surprised me very much, which I
+had never seen before, and which, I give you my word, I don't understand
+to this hour, but which I have no doubt was not in the least wonderful
+to the poor half-naked Chinaman who did it in my courtyard. And then, if
+you like, I will tell you something else which surprised some Chinese
+country-folk very much, which they never saw before, and which they
+certainly did not understand when they did see it. Will that do?"
+
+"Oh yes, yes! Thank you, yes!" cried the chorus, and Maggie said--
+
+"First all about the thing _you_ thought wonderful, you know."
+
+"Well, the thing I thought wonderful was a conjuring trick done by a
+Chinese juggler."
+
+"Did he only do one trick?" said the little maid on Cousin Peregrine's
+knee.
+
+"Oh, he did lots of tricks," said Cousin Peregrine, "many of them common
+Eastern ones, which are now familiar in England, but which he certainly
+performed in a wonderful way: because, you see, he had not the advantage
+of doing his tricks on a stage fitted up by himself, he did them in the
+street, or in my courtyard, with very little apparatus, and naked to the
+waist. For instance, the common trick of bringing a glass bowl full of
+water and fish out of a seemingly empty shawl is not so marvellous if
+the conjurer has a well-draped table near him from behind which he can
+get such things, or even good wide sleeves to hide them in. But my poor
+conjurer was almost naked, and the bit of carpet, about the size of this
+hearthrug, which he carried with him, did not seem capable of holding
+glass bowls of water, most certainly. Besides which he shook it, and
+spread it on the ground close by me, after which he threw himself down
+and rolled on it. And yet from underneath this he drew out a glass bowl
+of water with gold-fish swimming in it. But that trick and many others
+one can see very well done in London now, though not so utterly without
+apparatus. The trick which he did so particularly well, and which
+puzzled me so much, I have never seen in Europe. This is the one I am
+going to describe to you."
+
+"Describe the conjurer a bit more first, Cousin Peregrine."
+
+"There is nothing more to describe. He was not at all a grand conjurer,
+he was only a poor common juggler, exhibiting his tricks in the public
+streets many times in the day for the few small coins which the
+bystanders chose to give him. He was a very merry fellow, and all the
+time he was about his performance he kept making fun and jokes; and
+these amused the audience so much that you may believe that I was sorry
+my ignorance of his language hindered me from understanding them.
+
+"All sorts of people used to stop and look at the juggler: brawny
+porters, with loads of merchandise, or boxes of tea, or bars of silver,
+which they carried in boxes or baskets slung on bamboo poles over their
+shoulders."
+
+"Like the pictures on the tea-boxes," whispered little Bessy.
+
+"There's a figure of it in the grocer's window," said her brother, who
+had seen more of the world than Bessy; "not a picture, a figure dressed
+in silk; and they're square boxes, not baskets, that he's got--wooden
+panniers I call them."
+
+"Who else used to stop, Cousin Peregrine?" asked Maggie.
+
+"Street confectioners, Maggie, with small movable sweetmeat stalls,
+which they carry on their backs. Men with portable stoves too, who
+always have a cup of tea ready for you for a small coin worth about the
+twentieth part of a penny. Tiny-footed women toddling awkwardly along,
+with children--also cramp-footed--toddling awkwardly after them, dressed
+in all the colours of the rainbow, and with their poor little arms stuck
+out at right angles with their bodies, to help them to keep their
+balance. Even the blind beggars, who go along striking on a bell to let
+people know that they are blind, as otherwise they might be knocked
+over, even they used to stop and listen to my juggler's jokes, though
+they could not see his tricks.
+
+"All this was in the street; but sometimes I got him to come into my own
+courtyard to do his tricks there, that I might watch him more carefully.
+But watch as I might, I could never see how he did this particular
+feat. He used to do it with no clothes on except a pair of short
+trousers, for in the hot season, you must know, the lower classes of
+Chinese go about naked to the waist. Indeed, hot as it is, they don't
+wear hats. The juggler possessed both a hat and a jacket, as it
+happened, but he took them off when he did his trick."
+
+"And what _was_ the trick?" asked several impatient voices. "What did he
+do?"
+
+"He used to swallow ten or twelve needles one after the other, and 'wash
+them down' with a ball of thread, which he swallowed next, and by and by
+he used to draw the thread slowly out of his mouth, yard after yard, and
+it had all the needles threaded on it."
+
+"Oh, Cousin Peregrine!"
+
+"He used to come quite close to me, Maggie, as close as I am to you now,
+and take each needle--one after the other--between the finger and thumb
+of his right hand--keeping all the other fingers away from it, stick the
+point of it for a moment into his other palm, to show that it was sharp,
+and then to all appearance swallow it bodily before your eyes. In this
+way he seemed to swallow successively all the twelve needles. Then he
+opened his mouth, that you might ascertain that they were not there, and
+you certainly could not see them. He next swallowed a little ball of
+thread, not much bigger than a pea. This being done, he seemed to be
+very uneasy (as well he might be!), and he made fearful faces and
+violent gestures, and stamped on the ground, and muttered incantations,
+and threw up his hands and eyes to the sky; and presently the end of a
+thread was to be seen coming out between his teeth, upon which he took
+hold of this end, and carefully drew out the thread with all the needles
+threaded on it. Then there was always much applause, and the small coins
+used to be put pretty liberally into the hat which he handed round to
+receive them."
+
+"Was that all?" asked the young gentleman of the adventure books.
+
+"All what, Fred?"
+
+"All that you thought wonderful."
+
+"Yes," said Cousin Peregrine. "Don't you think it curious?"
+
+"Oh, very, Cousin, and I like it very much indeed, only if that's all
+_you_ thought wonderful, now I want you to tell us what _you_ did that
+_the Chinese_ thought wonderful."
+
+"It's not very easy to surprise a town-bred Chinaman," said Cousin
+Peregrine. "What I am going to tell you about now happened in the
+country. It was up in the north, and in a part where Europeans had very
+rarely been seen."
+
+"How came you to be there, Cousin Peregrine?"
+
+"I was not on duty. I had got leave for a few days to go up and see
+Pekin. Therefore I was not in uniform, remember, but in plain clothes.
+
+"On this particular occasion I was on the river Peiho, in one of the
+clumsy Chinese river-boats. If the wind were favourable, we sailed; if
+we went with the stream--well and good. If neither stream nor wind were
+in our favour, the boat was towed."
+
+"Like a barge--with a horse--Cousin Peregrine?"
+
+"Like a barge, Maggie, but not with a horse. One or two of the Chinamen
+put the rope round them and pulled us along. It was not a quick way of
+travelling, as you may believe, and when the Peiho was slow and winding,
+I got out and walked by the paths among the fields."
+
+"Paths and fields--like ours?"
+
+"Yes. Very like some bits of the agricultural parts of England. But no
+pretty meadows. Every scrap of land seemed to be cultivated for crops.
+You know the population of China is enormous, and the Chinese are very
+economical in using their land to produce food, and as they are not
+great meat-eaters--as we are--their fields are mostly ploughed and sown,
+so I walked along among rice-fields and cotton-fields, and with little
+villages here and there, where the cottages are built of mud or stone
+with tile roofs."
+
+"Did you see any of the villagers?"
+
+"Most certainly I did. You must know that the inhospitable way in which
+the Chinese and Japanese have for many long years received strangers has
+come from misunderstandings, and ignorance, and suspicion, and perhaps
+from some other reasons; but the Chinese and Japanese villagers who see
+strangers for the first time, and have lived quiet country lives out of
+the way of politics, are often very hospitable and friendly. I am bound,
+however, to except the women; not because they wished us ill, but they
+are afraid of strangers, and they kept well out of our way."
+
+"Do the village Chinese women have those funny smashed-up feet, Cousin
+Peregrine?"
+
+"In the north of China they have. In the south only ladies deform
+themselves in this fashion; and the Tartar women always leave their own
+beautiful little feet uninjured. Well, the men came out of their
+cottages and fields, and pressed eagerly but good-naturedly round me."
+
+"Do the village men wear pigtails?"
+
+"Every Chinaman wears a pigtail. A Chinaman without a pigtail would be
+as great a rarity as a Manx cat, or rather, I ought to say, he would be
+like the tailless fox in the fable; only you would never catch a
+Chinaman trying to persuade his friends that it was creditable to have
+no tail! For I must tell you that pigtails are sometimes cut off--as a
+degradation--when a man has committed some crime. But as soon as he can,
+he gets the barber to put him on a false pigtail, as a closely-cropped
+convict might wear a wig. They roll them up when they are at work if
+they are in the way, but if a servant came into your room with his tail
+tucked up you would be very angry with him, It would be like a
+housemaid coming in with her sleeves and skirt tucked up for
+house-cleaning--_most_ disrespectful!"
+
+"Were these the men you showed something to that _they_ thought
+wonderful?"
+
+"Yes, Fred. And now I'll tell you what it was. You must know that I
+could speak no Chinese, and my new friends could speak no English, so
+they chattered like magpies to each other, and laughed like children or
+Chinamen--for the Chinese are very fond of a joke. When they laughed I
+laughed, and we bowed and shook hands, and they turned me round and felt
+me all over, and _felt my hands_."
+
+"What about your hands, Cousin?"
+
+"I had on dog-skin gloves, yellow ones. Now when all the male population
+of the hamlet had stroked these very carefully, I perceived that they
+had never seen gloves before, and that they believed themselves to be
+testing the feel of a barbarian's skin."
+
+"Barbarian?"
+
+"Certainly, Bessie. They give us the same polite name that we feel
+ourselves more justified in applying to them. Well, when they had
+laughed, and I had laughed, and we had shaken hands afresh, laughing
+heartily as we did so, and I began to feel it was time to go on and
+catch up my boat, which was floating sluggishly down the winding stream
+of the Peiho, I resolved on one final effect, like the last scene of a
+dramatic performance. Making vigorous signs and noises, to intimate that
+something was coming, and they must look out sharp, and feeling very
+much like a conjurer who has requested his audience to keep their eyes
+on him and 'see how it's done'--I slyly unbuttoned my gloves, and then
+with much parade began to draw one off by the finger-tips.
+
+"'Eyah! Eyah!' cried the Chinamen on all the notes of the gamut, as they
+fell back over each other. _They thought I was skinning my hands_. I
+'smiled superior,' as I took the gloves off, and made an effect almost
+as great by putting them on again."
+
+"Oh, Cousin Peregrine, weren't they astonished?"
+
+"They were, Maggie, And unless they are more familiar with Europeans
+now, the mystery is probably to this day as unsolved to them as the
+trick of the ball of thread and the twelve needles still is to me. By
+this time, however, my boat was
+
+'Far off, a blot upon the stream,'
+
+and I had to hasten away as fast as I could to catch it up. I parted on
+the most friendly terms from my narrow-eyed acquaintance, but when I had
+nearly regained my boat I could still see them in their blue-cotton
+dresses and long pigtails, gazing open-mouthed at my vanishing figure
+across the rice-fields."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a few seconds' silence, during which Maggie had sat with her eyes
+thoughtfully fixed on the fire, she said, "Cousin Peregrine, you said in
+your letters that it was very cold in the north of China. If Chinamen
+know nothing about gloves, how can they keep their hands warm?" Maggie
+had a little the air of regarding this question as a poser, but Cousin
+Peregrine was not disconcerted.
+
+"My dear Maggie, your question reminds me of another occasion, when I
+astonished a most respectable old China gentleman by my gloves. I will
+tell you about it, as it will show you how the Chinese keep their hands
+warm.
+
+"It was on this very same expedition. We were at Tung-Chow, about eight
+miles from Pekin. At this place we had to leave the river, and take to
+our Tartar ponies, which our Chinese horse-boys had ridden up to this
+point to meet us. We had hired a little cart to convey our baggage, and
+I was sitting on my pony watching the lading up of the cart, when a dear
+old Chinaman, dressed in blue wadded silk, handsomely lined with fur,
+came up to me, and with that air of gentlemanly courtesy which is by no
+means confined to Europe, began to explain and expound in his own
+language for my benefit."
+
+"What was he talking about? Could you tell?"
+
+"I soon guessed. The fact is I am not very apt to wear gloves when I can
+help it, especially if I am working at anything. At the moment the old
+Chinese gentleman came up I was holding the reins of my pony with bare
+hands (my gloves being in my pocket), and as the morning was cold, my
+fingers looked rather blue. Having ascertained by feeling that my
+coat-sleeves would not turn down any lower than my wrists, he touched my
+hands softly, and made courteous signs, indicating that he was about to
+do me a good turn. Having signalled a polite disapprobation of the
+imperfect nature of my sleeves, he drew my attention to his own deep
+wide ones. Turning them back so as to expose the hands, the fine fur
+lining lay like a rich trimming above his wrists. Then with a glance of
+infinite triumph he bespoke my close attention as, shivering, to express
+cold, he turned the long sleeves, each a quarter of a yard, over his
+hands, and stuffing each hand into the opposite sleeve they were warm
+and comfortable, as it were in a muff, which was a part of his coat.
+More sensible than our muffs too, the fur was inside instead of out.
+
+"He was the very pink of politeness, but at this point his pride of
+superior intelligence could not be restrained, and he broke into fits of
+delighted laughter, in which the horse-boys, the spectators, my friends,
+and (as is customary in China) everybody within sight and hearing
+joined.
+
+"I took good care to laugh heartily too. After which I made signs the
+counterpart of his. He looked anxious. I put my hand in my pocket, and
+drew out my gloves. He stared. _I put them on_, and nodded, to show that
+that was the way we barbarians did it.
+
+"'Eyah!' cried the silk-robed old gentleman.
+
+"'Eyah!' echoed the horse-boys and the crowd.
+
+"Then I laughed, and the horse-boys laughed loudly, and the crowd louder
+still, and finally the old gentleman doubled himself up in his blue silk
+fur-lined robe in fits of laughter.
+
+"An Asiatic only relishes one thing better than being outwitted--that is
+to outwit.
+
+"'Eyah! Eyah! Ha! ha! ha!' they cried as we rode away.
+
+"'Ha! ha! ha!' replied I, waving a well-gloved hand, on my road to
+Pekin."
+
+
+
+
+WAVES OF THE GREAT SOUTH SEAS.
+
+(_Founded on Fact_.)
+
+
+"Very likely the man who drew it had been nearly drowned by one
+himself."
+
+"Very likely nothing of the sort!"
+
+"How could he draw it if he hadn't seen it?"
+
+"Why, they always do. Look at Uncle Alfred, he drew a splendid picture
+of a shipwreck. Don't you remember his doing it at the dining-room
+table, and James coming in to lay the cloth, and he would have a bit of
+the table left clear for him, because he was in the middle of putting in
+the drowning men, and wanted to get them in before luncheon? And Uncle
+Herbert wrote a beautiful poem to it, and they were both put into a real
+magazine. And Uncle Alfred and Uncle Herbert never were in shipwrecks.
+So there!"
+
+"Well, Uncle Alfred drew it very well, and he made very big waves. So
+there!"
+
+"Ah, but he didn't make waves like a great wall. He did it very
+naturally, and he draws a great deal better than those rubbishy old
+pictures in Father's _Robinson Crusoe_."
+
+"Well, I don't care. The Bible says that when the Children of Israel
+went through the Red Sea the waters were a wall to them on their right
+hand and on their left. And I believe they were great waves like the
+wave in _Robinson Crusoe_, only they weren't allowed to fall down till
+Pharaoh and his host came, and then they washed them all away."
+
+"But that's a miracle. I don't believe there are waves like that now."
+
+"I believe there are in other countries. Uncle Alfred's shipwreck was
+only an English shipwreck, with waves like the waves at the seaside."
+
+"Let's ask Cousin Peregrine. He's been in foreign countries, and he's
+been at sea."
+
+The point in dispute between Maggie and her brother was this:--The
+nursery copy of _Robinson Crusoe_ was an old one which had belonged to
+their father, with very rough old wood-cuts, one of which represented
+Robinson Crusoe cowering under a huge wave, which towered far above his
+head, and threatened to overwhelm him. This wave Maggie had declared to
+be unnatural and impossible, whilst the adventure-book young gentleman
+clung to and defended an illustration which had helped him so vividly to
+realize the sea-perils of his hero.
+
+It was the day following that of Cousin Peregrine's arrival, and when
+evening arrived the two children carried the book down with them to
+dessert, and attacked Cousin Peregrine simultaneously.
+
+"Cousin Peregrine, you've been at sea: isn't that an impossible wave?"
+
+"Cousin Peregrine, you've been at sea: aren't there sometimes waves like
+that in foreign places?"
+
+"It's not very cleverly drawn," said Cousin Peregrine, examining the
+wood-cut; "but making allowance for that, I have seen waves not at all
+unlike this one."
+
+"There!" cried the young gentleman triumphantly. "Maggie laughed at it,
+and said it was like a wall."
+
+"Some waves are very like walls, but those are surf-waves, as they are
+called, that is, waves which break upon a shore. The waves I am thinking
+of just now are more like mountains--translucent blackish-blue
+mountains--mountains that look as if they were made of bottle-green
+glass, like the glass mountain in the fairy tale, or shining mountains
+of phosphorescent light--meeting you as if, they would overwhelm you,
+passing under you, and tossing you like the old woman in the blanket,
+and then running away behind you as you go to meet another. Every wave
+with a little running white crest on its ridge; though not quite such a
+curling frill as this one has which is engulfing poor Robinson Crusoe.
+But his is a surf-wave, of course. Those I am speaking of are waves in
+mid-ocean."
+
+"Not as tall as a man, Cousin Peregrine?"
+
+"As tall as many men piled one upon another, Maggie."
+
+"It certainly is very funny that the children should choose this subject
+to tease you about tonight, Peregrine," said Mamma.
+
+We are all apt to speak inaccurately. Mamma did not mean that the
+subject was a comical one, but that it was remarkable that the children
+should have started it at dessert, when the grown-up people had been
+discussing it at dinner.
+
+They had not been talking about Robinson Crusoe's wave, but about the
+loss of an Australian vessel, in sad circumstances which were in every
+one's mouth. A few people only had been saved. They had spent many days
+in an open boat in great suffering, and the particular question
+discussed at dinner was, whether the captain of a certain vessel which
+had passed without rescuing them had been so inhuman as to see and yet
+to leave them.
+
+"How could he help seeing them?" Mamma had indignantly asked. "It was
+daylight, and of course somebody was on the deck, even if the captain
+was still in bed. Don't talk to me, Peregrine! You would say black is
+white for the sake of argument, especially if it was to defend somebody.
+But little as I know about the sea, I know that it's flat."
+
+"And that's flat!" interposed Papa.
+
+"It's all very well making fun of me," Mamma had continued with
+good-humoured vehemence, "but there were no Welsh hills and valleys to
+block the view of castaway fellow-creatures not a mile off, and it was
+daylight, and he _must_ have seen them."
+
+"I'm not quite sure about the hills and valleys," Cousin Peregrine had
+replied; "and hills of water are quite as troublesome to see through as
+hills of earth."
+
+At this moment the dining-room door had opened to admit the children,
+Maggie coming first, and making her courtesy in the doorway, with the
+old fat, brown-calf-bound _Robinson Crusoe_ under her arm. It opened
+without the slightest difficulty at the picture of the big wave, and the
+children appealed to Cousin Peregrine as has been related.
+
+Maggie was a little taken aback by a decision which was in favour of her
+brother's judgment. She was apt to think rather highly of her own, and
+even now she pondered, and then put another question--
+
+"But if the waves were so very, very big, Cousin, they would swallow up
+the ships!"
+
+"No, Maggie, not if the sailors manage their ship properly, and turn her
+about so that she meets the wave in the right way. Then she rides over
+it instead of being buried under it."
+
+"It would be dreadful if they didn't!" said Maggie.
+
+"I remember being in a ship that didn't meet one of these waves in the
+right way," said Cousin Peregrine.
+
+"Tell us all about it," said Fred, settling himself with two or three
+severe fidgets into the seat of his chair.
+
+"I _was_ going to have protested against the children asking you for
+another story so soon, Peregrine," said Mamma, "but now I feel selfish,
+for your wave-story will be quite as much for me as for the little
+ones."
+
+"Where was it, Cousin Peregrine?"
+
+"Where was the wave, do you mean? It was in the great South Seas. As to
+where I was, I was in a sailing-vessel bound for South Australia. To
+begin at the beginning, I must explain to you that this vessel was one
+of those whose captains accepted the instruments offered by the Board of
+Trade to any ship that would keep a meteorological log. I was fond of
+such matters, and I took the trouble off the captain's hands, by keeping
+his meteorological log for him."
+
+"What is a meteorological log, Cousin?"
+
+"A kind of diary, in which you put down the temperature of the sea and
+air, how cold or hot they are--the way the wind blows, how the barometer
+is, and anything special and interesting about the weather overhead or
+the currents in the sea. Now I must tell you that there had been a good
+deal of talk about currents of warm water in the Southern Ocean, like
+the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic, which keeps the west coasts of Great
+Britain so warm. But these South Sea currents had not been very
+accurately observed, and information on the subject was desired. Well,
+one day we got right into a warm current."
+
+"How did you know, Cousin?"
+
+"By drawing up a bucket of water out of the sea, and putting the
+thermometer into it. But I ought to tell you what a thermometer is--"
+
+"We know quite well," said Maggie. "Nurse always put it into Baby's bath
+when he had fits, to see if the water was the right warmth."
+
+"Very good, Maggie. Then let me tell you that the water of the sea got
+nearly thirty degrees warmer on that day between noon and midnight."
+
+"How did you know about midnight?" Maggie inquired doubtfully; "weren't
+you in bed?"
+
+"No, I was not, I was very busy all day 'taking observations' every hour
+or two, and it was at twelve o'clock this very night that the 'comber'
+broke on deck."
+
+"What _is_ a 'comber'?"
+
+"A 'comber' is the name for a large wave with a comb or crest of foam, a
+sort of wave over which our ship ought to have ridden; but I must tell
+you that it was no easy matter to meet them on this occasion, because
+(owing to the cross currents) the waves did not all go one way, but came
+at us from various points. The sea was very heavy, and the night was
+very dark. I tried the heat of the water for the last time that evening,
+and having bade good-night to the officer whose watch was just over, I
+stayed for a few minutes to talk to the officer whose watch was just
+beginning, before going below to go to bed. We were standing aft, and,
+fortunately for us, near one of the masts, when through the darkness we
+saw the sloping sides of a great South Sea wave coming at the fore part
+of the ship, but sideways. 'The rigging!' shouted the officer of the
+watch, and as we both clung to the ropes the wave broke on our bows,
+smashed the jib-boom, and swept the decks from stem to stern."
+
+"And if you hadn't held on by the rigging you would have been washed
+away?"
+
+"I am afraid we should, Fred, for every loose thing on deck was swept
+off in less than a minute. The bull kept his feet, by the bye; but then
+he had four, and I have only two."
+
+"The bull! what bull?"
+
+"We were taking some cattle out to Australia. There was a bull who lived
+in a stable that had been made for him on deck. When this comber broke
+over us it tore up the bull's house, and carried it overboard, but I met
+the bull himself taking a walk at large as I went below to change my
+clothes and get some sleep."
+
+"Were you wet?"
+
+"Drenched, my dear Maggie; but when I got to my cabin I found that there
+was no hope of rest for some hours. The wave had flooded the cabins,
+broken in doors, and washed everything and everybody about. So we all
+had to set to work to bale out water, and mop up our bed-rooms; and as
+the wave had also put out what lights there were, we had to work in the
+dark, and very uncomfortable work it was! What the women and children
+did, and the poor people who were sea-sick, I hardly know. Of course we
+who could keep our feet did the work."
+
+"Weren't you ever sea-sick?"
+
+"Never, I am thankful to say."
+
+"Not when it's very, very rough?"
+
+"Not in a gale. I have once or twice on that voyage been the captain's
+only companion at dinner, tied to the mast to keep myself steady, and
+with the sherry in one pocket and my wine-glass in another to keep
+_them_ steady, and quite ashamed of my appetite, for if the sea doesn't
+make you feel very ill it makes you feel very well."
+
+"I had no idea there were such very big waves really," said Maggie,
+thoughtfully.
+
+"I see that they are quite big enough to shelter the captain's
+character, Peregrine," said Mamma, smiling, "and I am much obliged to
+you for correcting my ignorance. I don't _wish_ to believe that any
+English sailor would pass a boat in distress without giving help, if he
+saw it."
+
+"I am quite sure no English sailor would, and very few real sailors of
+any nation, I think. A real seaman knows too well what sea-perils are,
+and that what is another man's case one day may be his the next; and
+cowardice and cold-heartedness are the last sins that can be laid at
+Jack Tar's door as a rule. But I will finish my story by telling the
+children what happened next morning, as it goes to illustrate both my
+statements, that it is not easy to see an open boat in a heavy sea, and
+that sailors are very ready to risk their lives for each other."
+
+"You're like Captain Marryat, Cousin Peregrine," said Fred.
+
+"He's not a sailor captain, he's a soldier captain," said Maggie. "Go
+on, Cousin."
+
+"As I told you, we had two or three hours of very disagreeable work
+before our cabins were even tolerably comfortable; but it made us more
+tired than ever, and when I did turn in I slept like a top, and the
+rolling of the ship only rocked me to sounder slumbers. I was awakened
+at seven o'clock next morning by a fellow-passenger, who popped in to
+cry, 'There's a man overboard!' 'Who?' shouted I as I jumped up.
+'Giovanni,' he replied as he vanished, leaving me to follow him on deck
+as quickly as possible. Now, Fred, picture to yourself a grey morning,
+the damp deck of our vessel being rapidly crowded with everybody on
+board, and all eyes strained towards a heavy sea, with big blue-black
+mountains of water running at us, and under us, and away from us all
+along; every wave had a white crest: but there were some other patches
+of snowy white hovering over the dark sea, on which all the experienced
+eyes were soon fixed!"
+
+"What were they?" whispered Fred.
+
+"Albatross," said Cousin Peregrine. "They had been following us for
+days, hovering, swooping, and whirling those great white wings of
+theirs, which sometimes measure nine feet from tip to tip."
+
+"What did they follow you for?"
+
+"They came to pick up anything that may be thrown overboard, and they
+came now, as we knew, after poor Giovanni, whose curly black head kept
+ducking out of their way as he swam with desperate courage in our wake."
+
+"Oh, Cousin Peregrine! Didn't the captain stop the ship?"
+
+"Certainly, Maggie, though, quickly as it was done, it left the poor
+fellow far away behind. And heavy as the sea was, they were lowering a
+boat when I got on deck, and the captain had called for volunteers among
+the sailors to man it."
+
+"Oh, I hope he got them!"
+
+"I hope you won't insult a noble and gallant profession by having any
+doubt about it, Maggie. He might have had the ship's crew bodily if he
+had wanted them, and if the waves had run twice as high."
+
+"Spare me!" said Mamma.
+
+"As it was the few men needed were soon ready. The boat was launched
+without being upset, and the men got in without mishap. Then they laid
+themselves to their oars, we gave them a parting cheer, and they
+vanished from our sight."
+
+"_Drowned_, Cousin Peregrine?"
+
+"No, no. Though I can tell you we were as anxious for them as for
+Giovanni now. But when they had crossed the first water-mountains, and
+gone down into the water-valleys beyond, they were quite out of sight of
+the crowd on the deck of the ship, daylight though it was."
+
+"I retract everything I ever said," cried Mamma impetuously.
+
+"And not only could we not see them, but they could not see the man they
+were risking their lives to save. Those crested mountains which hid them
+from us hid him from them."
+
+"What _did_ you do?"
+
+"Men were sent up the masts to look out from such a height that they
+could look over the waves. _They_ could see both Giovanni and the boat,
+and as they were so high up the men in the boat could see them. So the
+men on the masts kept their eyes on Giovanni, and the men in the boat
+kept their eyes on the men on the masts, and steered their course
+according to the signals from the look-out."
+
+"And they saved him?"
+
+"Yes, they brought him back; and if we cheered when they went away, you
+may believe we cheered when they got safe to the ship's side again."
+
+"And who was Giovanni? and did he get all right?"
+
+"Giovanni was one of the sailors, an Italian. He was a fine young
+fellow, and appeared to think nothing whatever of his adventure. I
+remember he resolutely refused to go below and change his clothes till
+he had helped to haul up the boat. With his white teeth shining through
+a broad grin, he told us in his broken English that he had been
+overboard every voyage he had taken. He said he didn't mind anything
+except the swooping and pecking of the albatross. They obliged him to
+dive so constantly, to keep his eyes from their beaks."
+
+"Was it a comber washed him overboard?"
+
+"No. He was mending the jib-boom, and lost his hold and fell into the
+sea. He really had a very narrow escape. A less active swimmer might
+easily have been drowned. I always think, too, that he had an advantage
+in the fact that the water was warm."
+
+"I am so glad the nasty albatross were disappointed."
+
+"The nasty albatross were probably disappointed when they found that
+Giovanni was not a piece of spoilt pork. However, they set their
+beautiful wings, and went their way, and we set our sails, and went our
+way, which was to Adelaide, South Australia."
+
+
+
+
+COUSIN PEREGRINE'S TRAVELLER'S TALES.
+
+JACK OF PERA.
+
+(_Founded on Fact_.)
+
+
+"Cousin Peregrine, oughtn't we to love our neighbour, whether he's a
+nice neighbour or a nasty neighbour?"
+
+"Certainly, Maggie."
+
+"But need we when he's a nasty _next-door_ neighbour?" asked Fred, in
+such rueful tones that Cousin Peregrine burst out laughing and said,
+"Who is your nasty next-door neighbour, Fred, and what has he done?"
+
+"Well, his name is Mackinnon, Cousin; and everybody says he's always
+quarrelling; and he complained of our screaming and the cockatoo
+playing--no, of the cockatoo's screaming and our playing prisoners'
+base, and he kept our ball once, and now he has complained of poor dear
+Ponto's going into his garden, and the dear darling old thing has to be
+tied up, except when we take him out for stiff walks."
+
+"I didn't notice anything stiff about his walk yesterday, Fred, He took
+the fence into your nasty neighbour's garden at one bound, and came back
+with another."
+
+"I don't know what can make him go there!" cried Fred; "I wish he
+understood about keeping to his own grounds."
+
+"Ponto never lived in Constantinople, that is evident," said Cousin
+Peregrine.
+
+"Did you ever live in Constantinople, Cousin?" asked Maggie.
+
+"Yes, Maggie, I am happy to say I have."
+
+"Why are you glad, Cousin?"
+
+"Because in some respects it is the loveliest city on earth, and I am
+glad to have seen it."
+
+"Tell us what it is like."
+
+"And tell us why you say Ponto never lived there."
+
+"I was a good deal younger than I am now," said Cousin Peregrine, "when
+I saw Constantinople for the first time, and had seen much less of the
+world than I have seen since; but even now I remember nothing in my
+travels with greater delight than my first sight of that lovely city. It
+was from the sea. Do you know anything about the Sea of Marmora, Fred?"
+
+"I don't think I know much," said Fred doubtfully.
+
+"But we've got an atlas," said Maggie, "so you can show it us, you
+know."
+
+"Well, give me the map. Here is the Sea of Marmora, with
+Turkey-in-Europe on one side of it, and Turkey-in-Asia on the other side
+of it. This narrower part that you come into it by is called the
+Dardanelles, that narrower part that you go out of it by is called the
+Bosphorus. The Bosphorus is about two miles broad; it is salt water, you
+know, and leads from the Sea of Marmora to the Black Sea, which is
+farther north. This narrow piece of water going westward out of the
+Bosphorous is called the Golden Horn. Constantinople--which is built,
+like Rome, on hills--rises above the shores of the Bosphorus and on both
+sides of the Golden Horn. The part of it which is south of the Golden
+Horn is called Stamboul, and is the especially Turkish Quarter. Across
+the Golden Horn from Stamboul lies the Quarter called Galata--the
+commercial port--and beyond that Pera--beautiful Pera!--the Quarter
+where English people live when they live at Constantinople. North of
+these are more suburbs, and then detached Turkish villages and gay
+gardens dotting the banks of the Bosphorus."
+
+"But you lived at Pera?"
+
+"Yes, I lived at Pera; in a house looking into the Turkish cemetery."
+
+"Was it nice, Cousin, like our churchyard? or do the Turks do horrid
+things with their dead people, like those Chinese you told us about, who
+put them in boxes high up in the air?"
+
+"The Turks bury their dead as we do, my dear Maggie, and they plant
+their graveyards with cypresses, which, standing tall and dark among the
+headstones of the graves, have a very picturesque effect. The cemetery
+in all Turkish towns is a favourite place of public resort, but I cannot
+say that it is kept in very nice order, as a rule. For the sake of a
+water-colour sketch I made in one, I was very glad that the upright
+headstones were tumbling about in all directions, it took away the look
+of stiffness and monotony; but I am bound to say that the graves looked
+neglected as well as picturesque. The cemetery at Pera had too much
+refuse, and too many cocks, hens, and dogs in it. It looked very pretty,
+however, from my windows, sloping down towards the Golden Horn, beyond
+which I could catch a glimpse of Stamboul on the heights across the
+water. But I have not yet told you what Constantinople looked like when
+I first saw it."
+
+"You began about the Sea of Marmora, Cousin, and here it is. I've had
+my middle finger on it ever since we found it, to keep the place."
+
+"Very good, Maggie. We were coming up the Sea of Marmora one evening,
+and drew near to Constantinople about sunrise. I knew we were near, but
+I could not see anything, because a thick white mist hung in front of us
+like a veil resting on the sea. We were near the mouth of the Bosphorus
+when the sun broke out, the white mist rose slowly, like the curtain of
+a theatre, and--more beautiful than any scene that human hands can ever
+paint--I saw the Queen of Cities glittering in the sunshine."
+
+"What made it glitter? Are the houses built of shiny stuff?"
+
+"The houses are built of wood, but they are painted in many colours. The
+rounded domes of the mosques are white, and the minarets, tall, slender,
+and fretted, are white, with golden tops, or white and blue. I can give
+you no idea how beautifully the shapes of the mosques and minarets break
+the uniformity of the mass of houses, nor how the gay colours, the white
+and the gold, shone like gems against a cloudless blue sky when the mist
+rose. No princess in an Eastern fairy-tale ever dazzled and delighted
+the beholder by lifting her veil and displaying her beauty and her
+jewels more than my eyes were charmed when the veil was lifted from
+Constantinople, and I saw her lovely and sparkling in the sun."
+
+"Are the streets very beautiful when you get into them?"
+
+"Ah, Fred, I am sorry to say--no. They are very dirty, and very narrow.
+But they are picturesque, and made doubly so by the fact that in them
+you meet people of all nations, in every kind of dress, gay with all
+colours of the rainbow."
+
+"Are there shops in the streets?"
+
+"Most of the shops are all together in certain streets by themselves,
+forming what is called a Bazaar. But in the other streets there are a
+few, such as sweetmeat shops and coffee shops, where the old Turks go to
+drink thick black coffee, and smoke, and hear the news; and (if they
+wish it) to be shaved."
+
+"I thought Turks wore long beards?"
+
+"The lower-class Turks, and the country ones, and those who like to
+follow the old fashions, wear beards, but they have their heads shaved,
+and wear the turban. Most modern Turks, Government officials, and so
+forth, shave off their beards and whiskers, and wear short hair and a
+moustache, with the fez, or cloth cap. The old-fashioned dress is much
+the handsomest, I think, and I am sorry it is dying out."
+
+"The poor women-Turks aren't allowed to go out, are they, Cousin
+Peregrine?"
+
+"Oh yes, they are, but they have to be veiled, and so bundled up that
+you can not only not tell one woman from another, but they hardly look
+like women at all--more like unsteady balloons, or inflated sacks of
+different colours. They wear yellow leather boots, and no stockings.
+Over the boots they wear large slippers, in which they shuffle along
+with a gait very little less awkward than the toddle of a cramp-footed
+lady in China. If they are ungraceful on foot, matters are not much
+better when they ride. Sitting astride a donkey (for they do not use
+side-saddles), a Turkish lady is about as comical an object as you could
+wish to behold, though I have no doubt she is quite unconscious of
+looking anything but dignified, as she presses on to her shopping in the
+Bazaar, screaming to the half-naked Arab donkey-boy to urge on her steed
+with his stick. As the great cloak dress, in which women envelop
+themselves from head to foot when they go out, is all of one colour,
+they have this advantage over Englishwomen out shopping, that they do
+not look ugly from being bedizened with ill-assorted hues and frippery
+trimmings. In fact a mass of Turkish women, each clothed in one shade of
+colour, looks very like a flower-bed--a flower-bed of sole-coloured
+tulips without stalks!"
+
+"The Bazaars are bigger than Charity Bazaars, I suppose," said Maggie
+thoughtfully; "are they as big as the Baker Street Bazaar?"
+
+"The Bazaar of Stamboul, the Turkish Quarter of Constantinople, is
+almost a Quarter by itself. It takes up many, many streets, Maggie. I am
+sure I wish with all my heart I could take you children through it. You
+would think yourselves in fairy-land, or rather in some of those
+underground caves full of dazzling treasures such as Aladdin found
+himself in."
+
+"But why, Cousin Peregrine? Do the Turks have very wonderful things in
+their shops?"
+
+"I fancy, Maggie, that in no place in the world can one see such a
+collection of valuable merchandise gathered from all quarters of the
+globe. But it is not only the gold, the jewels, the ivories, the
+gorgeous silks and brocades, morocco leathers, and priceless furs, which
+make these great Eastern markets unlike ours. The common wares for
+everyday use are often of a much more picturesque kind than with us.
+There is no great beauty in an English boot-shop, but the shoe-bazaar in
+Stamboul is gay with slippers of all colours, embroidered with gold and
+silver thread, to say nothing of the ladies' yellow leather boots. A
+tobacconist's shop with us is interesting to none but smokers, but
+Turkish pipes have stems several feet long, made of various kinds of
+wood, and these and the amber mouth-pieces, which are often of very
+great value, and enriched with jewels, make the pipe-seller's wares
+ornamental as well as useful. Nor can our gunsmiths' shops compete for
+picturesqueness with the Bazaar devoted to arms, of all sorts and kinds,
+elaborately mounted, decorated, sheathed, and jewelled. Turkey and
+Persian carpets and rugs are common enough in England now, and you know
+how handsome they are. Turbans, and even fezes, you will allow to look
+prettier than English hats. Then some of the shops display things that
+one does not see at all at home, such as the glass lamps for hanging in
+the mosques and Greek churches. Nor is it the things for sale alone
+which make the Bazaar so wonderful a sight. The buyers and sellers are
+at least as picturesque as what they sell and buy. The floor of each
+shop is raised two or three feet from the ground, and on a gay rug the
+turbaned Turk who keeps it sits cross-legged and smokes his pipe and
+makes his bargains, whilst down the narrow street (which in many
+instances is arched overhead with stone) there struggle, and swarm, and
+scream, and fight, black slaves, obstinate camels, primitive-looking
+chariots full of Turkish ladies, people of all colours in all costumes,
+and from every part of the world."
+
+"It must be a wonderful place," sighed Maggie; "streets full of
+beautiful shoes, and streets full of beautiful carpets."
+
+"Just so, Maggie."
+
+"Not at all like a London Bazaar, then. I thought perhaps it was a place
+that shut up to itself, with a beadle sitting at the door?"
+
+"I never was in Stamboul at night, but my belief is that the Bazaar is
+secured at night by the locking up of gates. You know the people who own
+the shops do not live in them, and as most valuable merchandise remains
+in the Bazaar, it must be protected in some way. I suppose the watchmen
+look after it."
+
+"Have the Turks watchmen like the old London watchmen, Cousin? With
+nightcaps, and rattles, and lanterns, and big coats?"
+
+"The Turkish watchmen wear turbans--not nightcaps; but they have
+lanterns and big coats, and in one respect they are remarkably like the
+old 'Charlies,' as the London watchmen used to be called. Their object
+is not (like policemen) to find robbers and misdoers, but to frighten
+them away. Just as the old Charlies used to spring their wooden rattles
+that the thieves might get out of their way, so the Turkish watchman
+strikes the ground with an iron-shod staff, that makes a great noise,
+for the same purpose. In one respect, however, the Turkish watchmen are
+most useful--they give warning of fires."
+
+"Are there often fires in Constantinople?"
+
+"Very often, Fred. And when a big straggling city is built of wood in a
+hot climate which keeps the wood so dry that a spark will set it ablaze,
+when the water-supply is small, and the water-carriers, who feed the
+fire-engines from their leathern water-pots, are chiefly bent upon
+securing their pay for the help they give; and when, to crown all, the
+sufferers themselves are generally of the belief that what is to happen
+will happen, and that there is very little use in trying to avert
+calamity--you may believe that a fire, once started, spreads not by
+houses, but by streets, leaving acres of black ruins dotted with the
+still standing chimneys. However, I fancy that of late years wider
+streets and stone buildings are becoming commoner. There were stone
+houses, built by Europeans, in Constantinople even when I was there."
+
+"Did you see a fire whilst you were there?"
+
+"Yes, indeed. One came so near the house where I lived that I had
+everything packed up ready for a start, but fortunately my house
+escaped. I must tell you that the Turks have one very sensible custom in
+connection with these fires. They have what are called fire-towers, on
+which men are stationed to give warning when a fire breaks out in any
+part of the town. They have a system of signals, by which they show in
+what quarter of the city the fire is. At night the signalling is done by
+lamps. There is an old Genoese tower between Pera and Galata which has
+been made into a fire-tower. The one at Stamboul I think is modern.
+These buildings are tall--like light-houses--so that the signals can be
+seen from all parts of Constantinople, and so that the men stationed on
+them have the whole city in view. Besides these signals, it is part of
+the watchman's duty, as I told you, to give warning of a fire, and the
+quarter in which it has broken out. I assure you one listens with some
+anxiety when the ring of his iron-tipped staff on the rough pavement
+is followed by the cry, '_Yan ghun vah! Stamboul-dah_' ('There is a
+fire! In Stamboul'); or '_Yan ghun vah! Pera-dah_' ('There is a fire!
+In Pera')."
+
+"But there are fire-engines?"
+
+"There may be very good ones now. In my time nothing could be more
+futile than the trumpery one which was carried on men's shoulders.
+Indeed, until the streets are much less rough, narrow, and steep, I do
+not see how one could be _driven_ at any speed."
+
+"Did the men who carried the engine run?"
+
+"Yes, and at a good swinging pace too, their half-naked bodies streaming
+with perspiration, and (I should have thought) their labours quite
+doubled by yelling as they ran. Their cries are echoed by the
+formidable-looking band which follows, waving long poles armed with
+hooks, &c., for pulling down houses to stop the progress of the flames.
+On the heels of these figures follow mounted officials, whose dignity is
+in a fixed proportion to the extent of the calamity. If the fire is a
+very very extensive one, the Sultan himself has to be upon the spot."
+
+"It must be very exciting," said Fred, in a tone of relish.
+
+"You've told us lots about Constantinople now, Cousin Peregrine," said
+Maggie, who had the air of having heard quite enough on the subject;
+"now tell us about why you said Ponto never was in Constantinople. Don't
+the Turks keep dogs?"
+
+"Not as we do, for pets and friends; and yet the dog population of
+Constantinople is more numerous and powerful, and infinitely more noisy,
+than I can easily describe to you."
+
+"Whom do they belong to then?"
+
+"They have no special masters or mistresses. They are more like troops
+of wolves than a collection of Pontos."
+
+"But who gives them their dinners?"
+
+"They live on offal and the offscourings of the city, and though the
+Turks freely throw all their refuse into their streets, there are so
+many dogs that they are all half-starved. They are very fierce, and have
+as a rule a great dislike to strangers. At night they roam about the
+streets, and are said to fall upon any one who does not carry a
+lantern."
+
+"But does anybody carry a lantern--except the watchmen?"
+
+"Everybody does. Coloured paper lanterns, like the Chinese ones, with a
+bit of candle inside. With one of these in one hand and a heavy stone or
+stick in the other, you may get safely through a night-walk among the
+howling dogs of Stamboul."
+
+"What horrible beasts!"
+
+"I think you would pity them if you were there. They are half starved,
+and have no friends."
+
+"There isn't a home for lost and starving dogs in Constantinople then?"
+
+"The whole city may be considered as the headquarters of starving dogs,
+but not of lost ones. That reminds me why I said Ponto had not lived
+there. If he had he would know his own grounds, and keep to them."
+
+"But, Cousin Peregrine, I thought you said the Turkish dogs had no
+particular homes?"
+
+"Every dog in Constantinople belongs to a particular Quarter of the
+town, which he knows, and to which he confines himself with marvellous
+sagacity. In the Quarter in which he was born, there he must live, and
+there (if he wishes to die peaceably) he must die. If he strays on any
+pretext into another Quarter, the dogs of the Quarter he has invaded
+will tear him to pieces, and dine upon his bones."
+
+"How does he know where his own part of the town begins and ends?"
+
+"I cannot tell you, Maggie. But I can tell you of my own knowledge that
+he does. Jack did, though we tried to deceive him over and over again."
+
+"Who was Jack?"
+
+"The handsomest dog I ever saw in Constantinople. The Turkish dogs are
+by no means beautiful as a rule, they are too much like jackals, and as
+they are apt to be maimed and covered with scars from fights with each
+other, they do not make much of what good looks they have. However, Jack
+was rather less wild and wolfish-looking than most of his friends. He
+was of a fine tawny yellow, and had an intelligent face, poor fellow. He
+belonged to our Quarter--in fact the cemetery was his home till he took
+to lying at our door."
+
+"Then he was a Pera dog?"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"Yes, and I and the brother-officers who were living with me made friends
+with him. We gave him food and spoke kindly to him, and he laid aside his
+prejudices against foreigners, and laid his tawny limbs on our threshold.
+We became really attached to each other. He received the very British
+name of Jack, and seemed quite contented with it. He took walks with us.
+It was then that again and again we tried to deceive him about the limits
+of his Quarter, and get him into another one unawares. He never was
+misled. But later on, as he grew tame, less fearful of things in general,
+and more unwilling to quit us when we were out together, he sometimes
+strayed beyond his bounds, not because he was deceived as to his limits,
+but he ventured on the risk for our sakes. Even then, however, he would
+not walk in the public thoroughfares, he 'dodged' through gardens, empty
+courtyards and quiet by-places where he was not likely to meet the
+outraged dogs of the Quarter he was invading. The moment we were safe back
+'in bounds' he came freely and happily to our side once more. I have often
+wondered, since I left Constantinople, how long Jack lived, and how he
+died."
+
+"Oh, didn't you take him away?"
+
+"I couldn't, my dear. And you must not think, Maggie, that if Turks do
+not pet dogs they are cruel to them. It is not the case. A Turk would
+never dream of petting a dog, but if he saw one looking hot and thirsty
+in the street he would be more likely to take trouble to get it a dish
+of water than many English people who feed their own particular pets on
+mutton-chops. Jack was not likely to be ill-treated after our departure,
+but I sometimes have a heart-sore suspicion that we may have raised
+dreams in his doggish heart never again to be realized. If he were at
+all like other dogs (and the more we knew of him the more companionable
+he became), he must have waited many a long hour in patient faithfulness
+at our deserted threshold. He must have felt his own importance as a dog
+with a name, in that wild and nameless tribe to which he belonged. He
+must have dreamed of his foreign friends on many a blazing summer's
+afternoon. Perhaps he stole cautiously into other Quarters to look for
+us. I hope he did not venture too far--Maggie--my dear Maggie! You are
+not fretting about poor Jack? I assure you that really the most probable
+thing is that our successors made friends with him."
+
+"Do you really and truly think so, Cousin Peregrine?"
+
+"On my word of honour I do, Maggie. You must remember that Jack was not
+a Stamboul dog. He belonged to Pera, where Europeans live, so there is a
+strong probability that his unusual tameness and beauty won other
+friends for him when we had gone."
+
+"I hope somebody very nice lived in your house when you went away."
+
+"I hope so, Maggie."
+
+"Cousin Peregrine, do you think we could teach Ponto to know his own
+quarter?"
+
+"I think you could, Fred. I once lived next door to a man who was very
+fond of his garden. It was a mere strip in front of his hut--for we were
+quartered in camp at this time--and not even a paling separated it from
+a similar strip in front of my quarters. My bit, I regret to say, was
+not like his in any respect but shape. I had a rather ragged bit of
+turf, and he had a glowing mass of flowers. The monotony of my
+grass-plat was only broken by the marrow-bones and beef-ribs which my
+dog first picked and then played with under my windows. I was as fond of
+him as my brother-officer was of his flowers. I am sorry to say that
+Dash had a fancy for the gayer garden, and for some time my
+good-tempered neighbour bore patiently with his inroads, and with a sigh
+buried the beef-bone that Dash had picked among the mignonette at the
+roots of a magnificent rose which he often alluded to as 'John Hopper,'
+and seemed to treat as a friend. Mr. Hopper certainly throve on Dash's
+bones, but unfortunately Dash took to applying them himself to the roots
+of plants for which I believe that bone manure is not recommended. When
+he made a hole two foot deep in the Nemophila bed, and laid a sheep's
+head by in it against a rainy day, I felt that something must be done.
+After the humblest apologies to my neighbour, I begged for a few days'
+grace. He could not have spoken more feelingly of the form, scent, and
+colour of his friend John Hopper than I ventured to do in favour of the
+intelligence of my friend Dash. In short I begged for a week's patience
+on his part, that I might teach Dash to know his own garden. If I failed
+to do so, I promised to put him on the chain, much as I dislike tying up
+dogs."
+
+"How did you manage, Cousin?"
+
+"Whenever Dash strayed into the next garden, I began to scold him in the
+plainest English, and covered him with reproaches, till he slunk
+gradually back to his own untidy grass-plat. When he touched his own
+grounds, I changed my tone at once, to approbation. At first this change
+simply brought him flying to my feet again, if I was standing with my
+friend in his garden. But after a plentiful application of, 'How dare
+you, Sir? Go back' (pointing), 'go back to your garden. If this
+gentleman catches you here again, he'll grind your bones to make John
+Hopper's bread. That's a good dog. No! Down! Stay where you are!'--Dash
+began to understand. It took many a wistful gaze of his brown eyes
+before he fully comprehended what I meant, but he learned it at last. He
+never put paw into Major E----'s garden without looking thoroughly
+ashamed of himself. He would lie on his own ragged lawn and wistfully
+watch me sitting and smoking among the roses; but when I returned to our
+own quarters he welcomed me with an extravagant delight which seemed to
+congratulate me on my escape from the enemy's country."
+
+"Oh, Cousin Peregrine! We must try and teach Ponto to know his own
+garden."
+
+"I strongly advise you to do so. Ponto is a gentleman of honour and
+intelligence, I feel convinced. I think he will learn his neighbourly
+duties, and if he does do so as well as Dash did--whatever you may think
+of Mr. Mackinnon--I think Mr. Mackinnon will soon cease to regard Ponto
+as--a nasty next-door neighbour."
+
+
+
+
+THE PRINCES OF VEGETATION.
+
+
+This fanciful and high-sounding title was given by the great Swedish
+botanist, Linnaeus, to a race of plants which are in reality by no means
+distantly allied to a very humble family--the family of Rushes.
+
+The great race of Palms puzzled the learned Swede. He did not know where
+to put them in his system; so he gave them an appendix all to
+themselves, and called them the Princes of Vegetation.
+
+The appendix cannot have been a small one, for the Order of Palms is
+very large. About five hundred different species are known and named,
+but there are probably many more.
+
+They are a very beautiful order of plants; indeed, the striking elegance
+of their forms has secured them a prominence in pictures, poetry, and
+proverbs, which makes them little less familiar to those who live in
+countries too cold for them to grow in, than to those whose home, like
+theirs, is in the tropics. The name Palm (Latin, _Palma_) is supposed to
+have been applied to them from a likeness in the growth of their
+branches to the outspread palm of the hand; and the fronds of some of
+the fan-palms are certainly not unlike the human hand, as commonly drawn
+by street-boys upon doors and walls.
+
+So beautiful a tree, when it flourished in the symbol-loving East, was
+sure to be invested with poetical and emblematical significance.
+Conquerors were crowned with wreaths of palm, which is said to have been
+chosen as a symbol of victory, because of the elasticity with which it
+rises after the pressure of the heaviest weight--an explanation,
+perhaps, more appropriate to it as the emblem of spiritual triumphs--the
+Palm of Martyrdom and the Palms of the Blessed.
+
+But as a religious symbol it is not confined to the Church triumphant.
+Not only is the "great multitude which no man can number" represented to
+us as "clothed in white robes, and palms in their hands"--the word
+"palmer" records the fact that he who returned from a pilgrimage to the
+Holy Land was known, not only by the cockle-shell on his gown, but by
+the staff of palm on which he leant. St. Gregory also alludes to the
+palm-tree as an accepted emblem of the life of the righteous, and adds
+that it may well be so, since it is rough and bare below, and expands
+above into greenness and beauty.
+
+The palm here alluded to is evidently the date palm (_Phoenix
+dactylifera_). This is pre-eminently the palm-tree of the Bible, and was
+in ancient times abundant in the Holy Land, though, curiously enough, it
+is now comparatively rare. Jericho was known as "the city of palm-trees"
+in the time of Moses (Deut. xxxiv. 3). It is alluded to again in the
+times of the Judges (Judges i. 11; iii. 13), and it bore the same title
+in the days of Ahaz (2 Chron. xxviii. 15). Josephus speaks of it as
+still famous for its palm-groves in his day, but it is said that a few
+years ago only one tree remained, which is now gone.
+
+It was under a palm that Deborah the prophetess sat when all Israel came
+up to her for judgment; and to an audience under the shadow of this
+tree, which bore her name, that she summoned Barak out of
+Kedesh-naphtali. Bethany means "the House of Dates," and the branches of
+palm which the crowd cut down to strew before our Lord as He rode into
+Jerusalem were no doubt of this particular species.
+
+Women--as well as places--were often named after the Princes of
+Vegetation, whose graceful and stately forms approved them to lovers and
+poets as fit types of feminine beauty.
+
+Usefulness, however, even more than ornament, is the marked
+characteristic of the tribe. "From this order (_Palmae_)," says one
+writer, "are obtained wine, oil, wax, flour, sugar, salt, thread,
+utensils, weapons, habitations, and food"--a goodly list of the
+necessaries of life, to which one may add many smaller uses, such as
+that of "vegetable ivory" for a variety of purposes, and the materials
+for walking-sticks, canework, marine soap, &c., &c.
+
+The Princes of Vegetation are to be found in all parts of the world
+where the climate is adapted to the tropical tastes of their Royal
+Highnesses.
+
+They have come into our art, our literature, and our familiar knowledge
+from the East; but they abound in the tropics of the West, and some
+species are now common in South America whose original home was in
+India.
+
+The cocoa-nut palm (_Cocos nucifera_) is an Indian and South Sea Islands
+Prince; but his sway extends now over all tropical countries. The
+cocoa-nut palm begins to bear fruit in from seven to eight years after
+planting, and it bears on for no less than seventy to eighty years.
+
+Length of days, you see, as well as beauty and beneficence, mark this
+royal race which Linnaeus placed alone!
+
+Cocoa-nuts are useful in many ways. The milk is pleasant, and in hot
+and thirsty countries is no doubt often a great boon. The white flesh--a
+familiar school-boy dainty--is eaten raw and cooked. It produces oil,
+and is used in the manufacture of stearine candles. It is also used to
+make _marine soap_, which will lather in salt water. The wood of the
+palm is used for ornamental joinery, the leaves for thatch and
+basket-work, the fibre for cordage and cocoa-nut matting, and the husk
+for fuel and brushes.
+
+Cocoa and chocolate come from another palm (_Theobroma cacao_), which is
+cultivated largely in South America and the West Indies.
+
+Sago and tapioca are made from the starch yielded by several species of
+palm. The little round balls of sago are formed from a white powder
+(sago flour, as it is called), just as homoeopathic pillules are
+formed from sugar. It is possible to see chemists make pills from
+boluses to globules, but the Malay Indians are said jealously to keep
+the process of "pearling" sago a trade secret. Tapioca is only another
+form of sago starch. Sago flour is now imported into England in
+considerable quantities. It is used for "dressing" calicoes.
+
+Among those products of the palm which we import most liberally is
+"vegetable ivory."
+
+Vegetable ivory is the kernel of the fruit of one of the most beautiful
+of palms (_Phytelephas macrocarpa_).
+
+This Prince of Vegetation is a native of South America. "It is
+short-stemmed and procumbent, but has a magnificent crown of light green
+ostrich-feather-like leaves, which rise from thirty to forty feet high."
+The fruit is as big as a man's head. Two or three millions of the nuts
+are imported by us every year, and applied to all the purposes of use
+and ornament for which real ivory is available.
+
+The Coquilla-nut palm (_Attalea funifera_), whose fruit is about the
+size of an ostrich-egg, also supplies a kind of vegetable ivory.
+
+Our ideas of palm-trees are so much derived from the date palm of Judaea,
+that an erect and stately growth is probably inseparably connected in
+our minds with the Princes of Vegetation. But some of the most beautiful
+are short-stemmed and creeping; whilst others fling giant arms from tree
+to tree of the tropical forests, now drooping to the ground, and then
+climbing up again in very luxuriance of growth. Many of the rattan palms
+(_Calamus_) are of this character. They wind in and out, hanging in
+festoons from the branches, on which they lean in princely
+condescension, with stems upwards of a thousand feet in length.
+
+There is something comical in having to add that these clinging rattan
+stems, which cannot support their own weight, have a proverbial fame,
+and are in great request for the manufacture of walking-sticks. They
+are also largely imported into Great Britain for canework.
+
+Another very striking genus (_Astrocaryum_) is remarkable for being
+clothed in every part--stem, leaves, and spathe--with sharp spines,
+which are sometimes twelve inches long. _Astrocaryum murumura_ is
+edible. The pulp of the fruit is said to be like that of a melon, and it
+has a musky odour. It is a native of tropical America, and abundant on
+the Amazon. Cattle wander about the forests in search of it, and pigs
+fatten on the nut, which they crunch with their teeth, though it is
+exceedingly hard.
+
+The date palm yields a wine called toddy, or palm wine, and from the
+Princes of Vegetation is also distilled a strong spirit called arrack.
+
+And speaking again of the Judaean palms, I must here say a word of those
+which we associate with Palm Sunday--the willow palms--for which we used
+to hunt when we were children.
+
+It is hardly necessary to state that these willow branches, with their
+soft silvery catkins, the crown of the earliest spring nosegays which
+the hedges afford, are not even distantly related to the Princes of
+Vegetation, though we call them palms. They are called palms simply from
+having taken the place of real palm-branches in the ceremonies of the
+Sunday of our Lord's Entry into Jerusalem, where these do not grow.
+
+A very old writer, speaking of the Jews strewing palm-branches before
+Christ, says: "And thus we take palm and flowers in procession as they
+did ... in the worship and mind of Him that was done on the cross,
+worshipping and welcoming Him with song into the Church, as the people
+did our Lord into the city of Jerusalem. It is called Palm Sunday for
+because the palm betokeneth victory; wherefore all Christian people
+should bear palm in procession, in token that He hath foughten with the
+fiend our enemy, and hath the victory of hym."
+
+A curious old Scotch custom is recorded in Lanark, as "kept by the boys
+of the Grammar-school, beyond all memory in regard to date, on the
+Saturday before Palm Sunday. They then parade the streets with a palm,
+or its substitute, a large tree of the willow kind (_Salix caprea_), in
+blossom, ornamented with daffodils, mezereon, and box-tree. This day is
+called Palm Saturday, and the custom is certainly a popish relic of very
+ancient standing."
+
+But to return to palms proper. Before taking leave of them, there is one
+more word to be said in their praise which may endear this noble race to
+eyes which will never be permitted to see the wonders of tropical
+forests.
+
+As pot-plants they are not less remarkable for the picturesqueness of
+their forms, than for the patience with which they endure those
+vicissitudes of stuffiness and chill, dryness, dust, and gas, which
+prove fatal to so many inmates of the flower-stand or the window-sill.
+Pot-palms may be bought of any good nurseryman at prices varying from
+two or three shillings to two or three pounds. _Latania borbonica_ and
+_Phoenix reclinata_ are good and cheap. Sandy-peaty soil, with a
+little leaf-mould, is what they like, and this should be renewed (with a
+larger pot) every second year. Thus, with the most moderate care, and an
+occasional sponging, or a stand-out in a soft shower, the exiled Princes
+of Vegetation, whose shoots in their native forests would have been of
+giant luxuriance, will live for years, patiently adapting themselves by
+slow growth to the rooms which they adorn, easier of management than the
+next fern you dig up on your rambles, and, in the incomparable beauty of
+their forms, the perpetual delight of an artistic eye.
+
+
+
+
+LITTLE WOODS.
+
+
+By little woods are here meant--not woods of small extent, but--woods in
+which the trees never grow big, woods that are to grown-up woods as
+children to grown-up people, woods that seem made on purpose for
+children, and dwarfs, and dolls, and fairies.
+
+These little woods have many names, varying with the trees of which they
+are composed, or the districts in which they are found. One of the
+best-known names is that of copse or coppice, and it brings with it
+remembrances of the fresh beauty of spring days, on which--sheltered by
+the light copse-wood from winds that are still keen--we have revelled in
+sunshine warm enough to persuade us that summer was come "for good," as
+we picked violets and primroses to the tolling of the cuckoo.
+
+Things "in miniature" have a natural charm for little people, and most
+of my young readers have probably been familiar with favourite copses,
+or miniature pine-forests. Perhaps some of them would like to know why
+these little woods never grow into big ones, and something also of the
+history and uses of those trees of which little woods are composed.
+
+They are not made of dwarf trees. There are little woods, as well as big
+woods, of oak, elm, ash, pine, willow, birch, beech, and larch. In some
+cases the little woods are composed of the growth which shoots up when
+the principal trunk of the tree has been cut down, but they are
+generally little merely because they are young, and are cut down for use
+before they have time to grow into forest-trees. The object of this
+little paper is to give some account of their growth and uses. It will
+be convenient to take them alphabetically, by their English names.
+
+The Ash (_Fraxinus excelsior_ and other varieties) is a particularly
+graceful and fine tree at its full growth. It is a native of Great
+Britain, and of many other parts of the world. It is long lived. The
+most profitable age for felling it as a forest-tree is from eighty to a
+hundred years. The flower comes out before the leaves, which are late,
+like those of the oak. The bunches of seed-vessels, or "ash-keys," as
+they are fancifully called, were pickled in salt and water and eaten in
+old times. The Greeks and Romans made their spears of ash-wood. The wood
+is not so durable as that of some other trees, but it is tough, and is
+thus employed for work subject to sudden strains. It is good for
+kitchen-tables, as it scours well and does not easily splinter.
+
+In little woods, or ash-holts, or ash-coppices, the ash is very
+valuable. They are either cut over entirely at certain intervals, or
+divided into portions which are cut yearly in succession. At four or
+five years old the ash makes good walking-sticks, crates to pack glass
+and china in, hoops, basket handles, fences, and hurdles.
+Croquet-mallets are also made of ash. At twelve or fourteen it is strong
+enough for hop-poles. There are many old superstitions in connection
+with the ash, and there is a midland counties saying that if there are
+no keys on the ash, within a twelvemonth there will be no king.
+
+There are several fine American varieties, and both in the States and in
+Canada the wood is used for purposes similar to ours.
+
+The Alder (_Alnus glutinosa_, &c.) is never a very large tree. It is
+supposed to be in maturity when it is sixty years old. It will grow in
+wetter places than any other tree in Europe--even than the willow.
+Though the wood is soft, it is very durable in water. Virgil speaks of
+it as being used for boats. It is highly valued in Holland for piles,
+and it is said that the famous bridge of the Rialto at Venice is built
+on piles of alder-wood. Though invaluable for water-pipes, pump-barrels,
+foundations for bridges, &c., alder-wood is of little use on dry land
+unless it can be kept _perfectly_ dry. Wooden vessels and sabots,
+however, are made of it.
+
+Alders are chiefly grown in little woods. Planted by the side of rivers,
+too, their tough and creeping roots bind and support the banks.
+Alder-coppices are very valuable to the makers of--gunpowder! Every five
+or six years the little alders are cut down and burned to charcoal, and
+the charcoal of alder-wood is reckoned particularly good by gunpowder
+manufacturers.
+
+The Aspen, or Trembling Poplar (_Populus tremula_), like the alder, is
+fond of damp situations. It has also a white soft wood, used by the
+turner and engraver, and for such small articles as clogs, butchers'
+trays, &c, &c.
+
+The quivering of its leaves is a favourite topic with poets, and there
+is a curious old Highland superstition that the Cross of Christ was made
+of aspen-wood, and that thenceforward the tree could never rest.
+
+In "little woods" it may be cut every seven or eight years for faggots,
+and at fifteen or twenty years old for poles.
+
+The Beech (_Fagus sylvatica_). With this beautiful tree all our young
+readers must be familiar. There may be those whose minds are not quite
+clear about wych-elms and sycamores, but the appearance of the
+beech-tree is too strongly marked to allow of any confusion on the
+subject.
+
+The beech is spoken of by Greek and Roman writers, and old writers on
+British agriculture count it among the four timber trees indigenous to
+England: the beech, the oak, the ash, and the elm.
+
+It is said, however, not to be a native of Scotland or Ireland. It
+attains its full growth in from sixty to eighty years, but is believed
+to live to be as old as two hundred. The timber is not so valuable as
+that of the other three British trees, but it is used for a great
+variety of purposes. Like the alder, it will bear the action of water
+well, and has thus been used for piles, flood-gates, mill-wheels, &c. It
+is largely used by cabinet-makers for house furniture. It is employed
+also by carriage-makers and turners, and for various small articles,
+from rolling-pins to croquet-balls. The dried leaves are used in
+Switzerland to fill beds with, and very nice such beds must be! Long ago
+they were used for this purpose in England. Evelyn says that they remain
+sweet and elastic for seven or eight years, by which time a straw
+mattress would have become hard and musty. They have a pleasant
+restorative scent, something like that of green tea. When we think how
+many poor people lie on musty mattresses, or have none at all, whilst
+the beech-leaves lie in the woods and go very slowly to decay, we see
+one more of the many instances of people remaining uncomfortable when
+they need not be so, because of their ignorance. The fact that
+beech-leaves are very slow to rot makes them useful in the garden for
+mulching and protecting plants from frost.
+
+In Scotland the beech-chips and branches are burned to smoke herrings,
+and pyroligneous acid (a form of which is probably known to any of our
+young readers who suffer from toothache as _creosote_!) is distilled
+from them. Mr. Loudon tells us that the word "book" comes from the
+German word _buch_, which, in the first instance, means a beech, and was
+applied to books because the old German bookbinders used beech-wood
+instead of paste-board for the sides of thick volumes. Beech-wood is
+especially good for fuel. Only the sycamore, the Scotch pine, and the
+ash give out more heat and light when they burn. Beech-nuts--or
+beech-mast, as it is called--are eaten by many animals. Pigs, deer,
+poultry, &c., are turned into beech-woods to fatten on the mast.
+Squirrels and dormice delight in it. In France it is used to make
+beech-oil. This oil is used both for cooking and burning, and for the
+latter purpose has the valuable property of having no nasty smell.
+
+Of the beauty of the beech as a forest-tree--let artists rave! Its
+smooth and shapely bole does not tempt the sketcher's eye alone. To the
+lover and the school-boy (and, alas! to that inartistic animal the
+British holiday-maker) it offers an irresistible surface for cutting
+names and dates. Upon its branches and beneath its shadow grow many
+_fungi_, several of which are eatable. Truffles are found there; those
+underground dainties which dogs (and sometimes pigs!) are trained to
+grub up for our benefit. They discover the whereabouts of the truffle by
+scent, for there is no sign of it above ground. Nothing else will grow
+under beech-trees, except holly.
+
+Scarcely less charming than the beech-forests are beech-hedges. They cut
+and thrive with cutting like yew-hedges.
+
+"Little woods" of beech are common in Buckinghamshire. They are chiefly
+grown for the charcoal, which is valuable for gunpowder.
+
+"Copper-Beeches"--red-leaved beech-trees, very beautiful for ornamental
+purposes--all come from one red-leaved beech, a sort of freak of nature,
+which was found about a century ago in a wood in Germany.
+
+The Birch (_Betula alba_, &c.) is also a tree of very distinctive
+appearance. The silver-white bark, which peels so delightfully under
+childish fingers, is not less charming to the sketcher's eye, whether as
+a near study or as gleaming points of high light against the grey
+greens and misty purples of a Highland hillside. It is emphatically the
+tree of the Highlands of the North. It bends and breaks not under the
+wildest winds, it thrives on poor soil, and defies mist and cold. So
+varied are its uses that it has been said that the Scotch Highlander
+makes everything of birch, from houses to candles, and beds to ropes!
+The North American Indians and the Laplanders apply it almost as
+universally as the Chinese use paper. The wigwams or huts of the North
+American Indians are made of birch-bark laid over a framework of
+birch-poles or trunks, and their canoes or boats are cased in it. The
+Laplander makes his great-coat of it,--a circular _poncho_ with a hole
+for his head,--as well as his houses and his boots and shoes. It will be
+easily believed that birch-bark was used in ancient times for writing on
+before the invention of paper.
+
+Birch-wood makes good fuel. It is also used by cabinet-makers. Its uses
+in "little woods" are many. The charcoal is good for gunpowder, and it
+is that of which _crayons_ are made. Birch-coppices are cut for brooms,
+hoops, &c., at five to six years old, and at ten to twelve for
+faggot-wood, poles, fencing, and bark for the tanners. Birch-spray (that
+is, the twigs and leaves) is used for smoking hams and herrings, and for
+brooms to sweep grass. It is also used to make birch-rods; but as we
+think very ill of the discipline of any household in which the children
+and the pets cannot be kept in order without being beaten, we hope our
+own young readers are only familiar with birch-rods in picture-books.
+
+The (Sweet or Spanish) Chestnut (_Castanca vesca_) is grown in "little
+woods" for hop-poles, fence-wood, and hoops. The wood of the full-grown
+tree is also valuable.
+
+Evelyn says, "A decoction of the rind of the tree tinctures hair of a
+golden colour, esteemed a beauty in some countries." It would be
+entertaining to know if this is the foundation of the "auricomous
+fluids" advertised by hair-dressers!
+
+Amongst "little woods" the dearest of all to the school-boy must surely
+be the hazel-copse! The Hazel (_Corylus avellana_) is never a large
+tree. It is, however, long lived, and of luxuriant growth. When cut it
+"stoles" or throws up shoots very freely, and when treated so will live
+a hundred years. With a single stem, Mr. Loudon assures us, it would
+live much longer. Filbert-hazels are a variety with longer nuts. Hazels
+are cultivated not only for the nuts, but for corf-rods,[1] hoops,
+fencing, &c., and hazel-charcoal, like beech-charcoal, is used for
+crayons. Like many other plants, the hazel has two kinds of flowers,
+which come out before the leaves. The long pale catkins appear first,
+and a little later tiny crimson flowers come where the nuts are
+afterwards to be.
+
+Many old superstitions are connected with the hazel. Hazel-rods were
+used to "divine" for water and minerals by professors of an art which
+received the crack-jaw title of Rhabdomancy. Having tried our own hand
+at Rhabdomancy, we are able to say that the freaks of the divining-rod
+in sensitive fingers are sometimes as curious as those of a table among
+table-turners; and are probably susceptible of similar explanations.
+
+The Larch (_Larix Europaea_, &c.). Though traceable in England for two
+hundred years, it is within this century that the larch has been
+extensively cultivated for profit. The exact date of its introduction
+from the mountain ranges of some other part of Europe is not known, but
+there is a popular tradition that it was first brought to Scotland with
+some orange-trees from Italy, and having begun to wither under hot-house
+treatment, was thrown outside, where it took root and throve thereafter.
+The wood of full-grown larch-trees is very valuable. To John, Duke of
+Athol, Scotland is indebted for the introduction of larch plantations on
+an enormous scale. He is said to have planted 6500 acres of
+mountain-ground with these valuable trees, which not only bring in heavy
+returns as timber, but so enrich the ground on which they grow, by the
+decayed _spicula_ or spines which fall from them, as to increase its
+value in the course of some years eight or tenfold. The Duke was buried
+in a coffin made of larch-wood! This sounds as if the merits of the
+larch-tree had been indeed a hobby with him, but when one comes to
+enumerate them one does not wonder that a man should feel his life very
+usefully devoted to establishing so valuable a tree in his native
+country, and that the pains and pride it brought him should have
+awakened sentiment enough to make him desire to make his last cradle
+from his favourite tree.
+
+Larch-wood is light, strong, and durable. It is used for beams and for
+ship-building, for railroad-sleepers and mill-axles, for water-pipes,
+and for panels for pictures. Evelyn says that Raphael, the great
+painter, painted many of his pictures on larch-wood. It will stand in
+heat and wet, under water and above ground. It yields good turpentine,
+but trees that have been tapped to procure this are of no use afterwards
+for building purposes. The larch is said not to make good masts for
+ships, but its durability in all varieties of temperature and changes of
+weather make it valuable for vine-props. When made of larch-poles these
+are never taken up as hop-poles are. Year after year the vines climb
+them and fade at their feet, and they are said to have outlasted at
+least one generation of vine-growers.
+
+In "little woods" the larches are planted very close, so that they may
+"spindle up" and become tall before they grow thick. They are then used
+for hop-poles and props of various kinds.
+
+The Oak (_Quercus robur_, &c.) is pre-eminently a British tree. Of its
+beauty, size, the venerable age it will attain, and its historical
+associations, we have no space to speak here, and our young readers are
+probably not ignorant on the subject.
+
+The durability of its wood is proverbial. The bark is also of great
+value, and though the slow growth of the oak in its earlier years
+postpones profit to the planter, it does so little harm to other wood
+grown with it (being in this respect very different from the beech),
+that profitable coppice-wood and other trees may be grown in the same
+plantation.
+
+The age at which the oak should be felled for ship-timber, &c., depends
+on many circumstances, and is fixed by different authorities at from
+eighty to a hundred and fifty years.
+
+Oaks are said to be more liable than other trees to be struck by
+lightning.
+
+Oak-coppices or "little woods" are cut over at from twelve to thirty
+years old. The bark is valuable as well as the wood.
+
+The Pine (_Pinus sylvestris_, &c.), like the larch, will flourish on
+poor soils. It is valuable as a protection for other trees. The
+varieties and variations of this tree are very numerous.
+
+It is a very valuable timber-tree, the wood being loosely known as
+"deal"; but "deals" are, properly speaking, planks of pine-wood of a
+certain thickness, "boards" being the technical name for a thicker kind.
+Pine trunks are used for the masts of ships. "In the north of Russia and
+in Lapland the outer bark is used, like that of the birch, for covering
+huts, for lining them inside, and as a substitute for cork for floating
+the nets of fishermen; and the inner bark is woven into mats like those
+made from the lime-tree. Ropes are also made from the bark, which are
+said to be very strong and elastic, and are generally used by the
+fishermen."
+
+In the north of Europe great quantities of tar are procured from the
+Scotch pine. Torches are made from the roots and trunk.
+
+Varieties of the pine are grown in "little woods" for hop-poles.
+
+_Pinus sylvestris_ (the "Scotch Pine"), though a native of Scotland, has
+only been planted and cultivated in Great Britain for about a century.
+
+On the subject of "thinning and pruning" in plantations planters--like
+doctors--differ. An amusing story was sent to Mr. Loudon by the Duke of
+Bedford, in reference to his grandfather, who was an advocate for
+vigorous thinning in the pine plantations.
+
+"The Duke perceived that the plantation required thinning, in order to
+admit a free circulation of air, and give health and vigour to the young
+trees. He accordingly gave instructions to his gardener, and directed
+him as to the mode and extent of the thinning required. The gardener
+paused and hesitated, and at length said: 'Your Grace must pardon me if
+I humbly remonstrate against your orders, but I cannot possibly do what
+you desire; it would at once destroy the young plantation; and,
+moreover, it would be seriously injurious to my reputation as a
+planter.' My grandfather, who was of an impetuous and decided character,
+but always just, instantly replied, 'Do as I desire you, and I will take
+care of your reputation.' The plantation was accordingly thinned
+according to the instructions of the Duke, who caused a board to be
+fixed in the plantation, facing the wood, on which was inscribed, '_This
+plantation has been thinned by John, Duke of Bedford, contrary to the
+advice and opinion of his gardener._'"
+
+The Willow (_Salix caprea_, &c.). The species of willow are so numerous
+that we shall not attempt to give a list of them.
+
+Willow-wood wears well in water, and has been used in shipbuilding and
+carpentery, and especially for small ware, cricket-bats and toys.
+Full-grown willows of all kinds are picturesque and very graceful trees.
+The growth of the tree kinds when young is very rapid.
+
+Willows are largely cultivated in "little woods" for basket-making,
+hoops, &c. Shoots of the _Salix caprea_ of only a year's growth are
+large enough to be valuable for wicker-work. It appears to be held by
+cultivators that the poorer the soil in which they are grown the oftener
+these willows should be cut over. "In a good soil a coppice of this
+species will produce the greatest return in poles, hoops, and rods every
+five, six, seven, or eight years; and in middling soil, where it is
+grown chiefly for faggot-wood, it will produce the greatest return every
+three, four, or five years."
+
+Horses and cattle are fed on the leaves of the willow in some parts of
+France.
+
+Willows are often "pollarded." That is, their tops are cut off, which
+makes a large crop of young shoots spring out, giving a shock-headed
+effect which in gnarled old pollards by river-banks is picturesque
+enough.
+
+The "little woods" of willow on the river Thames and the Cam are well
+known. They are small islands planted entirely with willows, and are
+called osier-holts.
+
+Osier-beds of all kinds are very attractive "little woods." One always
+fancies one ought to be able to make something of the long pliable
+"sally-withys"--as the Wiltshire folk call willow switches. Indeed, as a
+matter of fact, the making of rough garden-baskets is a very simple art,
+especially on the Scotch and German system. Let any ingenious little
+prowler in an osier-bed get two thickish willow-rods and fasten them at
+the ends with a bit of wire, so as to make two hoops. These hoops are
+then to intersect each other half-way up, one being perpendicular, to
+form the handle and the bottom of the basket, the other being placed
+horizontally, to form the rim. More wire will be needed to fix them in
+their positions. Much finer willow-wands are used to wattle, or weave,
+the basket-work; ribs of split osiers are added, and the wattling goes
+in and out among them, and at once secures them and rests upon them.
+
+This account is not likely to be enough to teach the most intelligent of
+our readers! But one fancies that a rough sort of basket-making might
+almost be devised out of one's own head, especially if he had been
+taught (as we were, by a favourite nursemaid) to plait rushes.
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 1: A corf is a large basket used for carrying coals or other
+minerals in a mine.]
+
+
+
+
+MAY-DAY,
+
+OLD STYLE AND NEW STYLE.
+
+    "Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
+    Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
+    The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws
+    The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose."--Milton.
+
+
+On the whole, perhaps, May is the most beautiful of the English months,
+especially the latter half of it; and yet I suppose very few May-days
+come round on which we are not disposed to wonder why our ancestors did
+not choose a warmer, and indeed a more flowery season for Maypoles and
+garlands and out-door festivities.
+
+Children who live in the north of England especially must have a
+painfully large proportion of disappointments out of the few May-days of
+childhood.
+
+Books and pictures, old stories told by Papa or Mamma of clattering
+chimney-sweeps and dancing May Queens, such as they saw in their young
+days, or heard of from their elders, have perhaps roused in us two of
+the strongest passions of childhood--the love of imitation and the love
+of flowers. We are determined to have a May-bush round the
+nursery-window, duly gathered before sunrise. "Pretty Bessy," our
+nursemaid, can do anything with flowers, from a cowslip ball to a
+growing forget-me-not garland. The girls are apt pupils, and pride
+themselves on their birthday wreaths. The boys are admirably adapted for
+May sweeps. Clatter is melodious in their ears. They would rather be
+black than white. Burnt cork will disguise them effectually; but they
+would prefer soot. A pole is forthcoming; ribbons are not wanting; the
+poodle will dance with the best of us. We have a whole holiday on
+Saints' Days, and the 1st of May is SS. Philip and James'.
+
+What then hinders our enjoyment, and makes it impossible to keep May-day
+according to our hopes?
+
+Too often this. It is "too cold to dawdle about." Flowers are by no
+means plentiful; they are pinched by the east wind. The May Queen would
+have to dance in her winter clothes, and would probably catch cold even
+then. It is not improbable that it will rain, and it is possible that it
+may snow. Worse than all, the hawthorn-trees are behind time, and are as
+obstinate as the head-nurse in not thinking the weather fit for coming
+out. The May is not in blossom on May-day.
+
+And yet May-day used to be kept in the north of England as well as in
+warmer nooks and corners. The truth is that one reason why we find the
+weather less pleasant, and the flowers fewer than our forefathers did,
+is that we keep May-day eleven days earlier in the year than they used
+to do.
+
+To explain how this is, I must try and explain what Old Style and New
+Style--in reckoning the days of the year--mean.
+
+First let me ask you how you can count the days. Supposing you wish to
+remain just one day and night in a certain place, how will you know when
+you have stayed the proper time? In one of two ways. Either you will
+count twenty-four hours on the clock, or you will stay through all the
+light of one day, and all the darkness of one night. That is, you will
+count time either by the Clock or by the Sun.
+
+Now we say that there are 365 days in the year. But there are really a
+few odd hours and minutes and seconds into the bargain. The reason of
+this is that the Sun does not go by the Clock in making the days and
+nights. Sometimes he spends rather more than twenty-four hours by the
+Clock over a day and night; sometimes he takes less. On the whole,
+during the year, he uses up more time than the Clock does.
+
+The Clock makes exactly 365 days of 24 hours each. The Sun makes 365
+days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, 49 seconds, and a tiny bit besides.
+
+Now in time these odd hours added together would come to days, and the
+days to years. About fifteen hundred years of this little difference
+between the Sun and the Clock would bring it up to a year. So that if
+you went by the Clock you would say, "It is fifteen hundred years since
+such a thing happened." And if you went by the Sun you would say, "It is
+fifteen hundred and one years since it happened."
+
+Men who could think and calculate saw how inconvenient this would be,
+and what mistakes it would lead to. If the difference did not come to
+much in their lifetime, they could see that it would come to a serious
+error for other people some day. So Julius Caesar thought he would pull
+the Clock and the Sun together by adding one day every four years to the
+Clock's year to make up for the odd hours the Sun had been spinning out
+during the three years before. The odd day was added to the month of
+February, and that year (in which there are three hundred and sixty-six
+days) is called Leap Year.
+
+You remember the old saw--
+
+    "Thirty days hath September,
+    April, June, and November;
+    February hath twenty-eight alone,
+    All the rest have thirty-one;
+    _Except in Leap Year, at which time
+    February's days are twenty-nine_."
+
+This is called the Old Style of reckoning.
+
+Now I dare say you think the matter was quite settled; but it was not,
+unfortunately--the odd day every four years was just a tiny little bit
+too much, and now the Clock was spending more time over her years than
+the Sun. After more than sixteen hundred years the small mistake was
+becoming serious, and Pope Gregory XIII decided that we must not have so
+many leap years. For the future, in every four hundred years, three of
+the Clock's extra days must be given up, and ten days were to be left
+out of count at once to make up for the mistakes of years past.
+
+This change is what is called the New Style of Reckoning. Pope Gregory
+began it in the year 1582, but we did not adopt it in England till 1752,
+and as we had then nearly two hundred years more of the little mistake
+to correct, _we_ had to leave _eleven_ days out of count. In Russia,
+where our new Princess comes from, they have not got it yet. The New
+Style was begun in England on September the 2nd. The next day, instead
+of being called September the 3rd, was called September the 14th. Since
+then we have gone on quite steadily, and played no more tricks with
+either the Sun's year or the Clock's year.
+
+I wonder what happened in the year 1752 to all the children whose
+birthdays came between September the 2nd and September the 14th! I hope
+their birthday presents did not drop through because his Majesty George
+the Second had let eleven birthdays slip out of that year's calendar, to
+get the Clock and the Sun to work comfortably together.
+
+Now I think you will be able to see that in the next year after this
+change, May-day was kept eleven days earlier in the Sun's year than the
+year before; and it has been at an earlier season ever since, and
+therefore in colder weather. May-day in the Old Style would have come
+this year about the middle of the month; and as years rolled on it would
+have been kept later and later in the summer, and thus in warmer and
+warmer weather, because of that little mistake of Julius Caesar. At last,
+instead of complaining that the May is not out by May-day, people would
+have had to complain that it was over.
+
+Now in the New Style we keep May-day almost in Spring, and, thanks to
+Pope Gregory's clever arrangement, we shall always keep it at the same
+season.
+
+It is not always cold on a May-day even in the north of England. I have
+a vivid remembrance of at least one which was most balmy; and, when they
+are warm enough for out-door enjoyment, the early days of the year seem,
+like the early hours of the day, to have an exquisite freshness
+peculiarly their own. Then the month of May, as a whole, is certainly
+the month of flowers in the woods and fields. Autumn is the gayest
+season of the garden, but Spring and early Summer give us the prettiest
+of the wild-flowers.
+
+    "Among the changing months May stands confest
+    The sweetest, and in fairest colours drest."
+
+That fine weather is not quite to be relied upon for May-day, even in
+the Old Style, some of the old May-day customs seem to suggest. In the
+Isle of Man it was the custom not only to have a "Queen of May," but
+also a "Queen of Winter." The May Queen was, as elsewhere, some pretty
+and popular damsel, gaily dressed, and with a retinue of maids of
+honour. The Winter Queen was a man or boy dressed in woman's clothes of
+the warmest kind--"woollen hood, fur tippet," &c. Fiddles and flutes
+were played before the May Queen and her followers, whilst the Queen of
+Winter and her troop marched to the sound of the tongs and cleaver. The
+rival companies met on a common and had a mock battle, symbolizing the
+struggle of Winter and Summer for supremacy. If the Queen of Winter's
+forces contrived to capture the Queen of May, her floral majesty had to
+be ransomed by payment of the expenses of the day's festivity.
+
+Whether the Queen of Winter conquered in bad weather, and her fairer
+rival when the season was warm and the flowers abundant, we are not
+told.
+
+This ceremony was probably learnt from the Danes and Norwegians, who
+were long masters of the Isle of Man. _Olaus Magnus_, speaking of the
+May-day customs of the Goths and Southern Swedes, says, "The captain of
+one band hath the name and appearance of Winter, is clothed in skins of
+beasts, and he and his band armed with fire-forks. They fling about
+ashes, by way of prolonging the reign of Winter; while another band,
+whose captain is called Florro, represents Spring, with green boughs
+such as the season affords. These parties skirmish in sport, and the
+mimic contest concludes with a general feast."
+
+A few years ago in the Isle of Man the hillsides blazed with bonfires
+and resounded to horns on the 11th of May (May-eve, Old Style). "May
+flowers" were put at the doors of houses and cattle-sheds, and these
+were not hawthorn blossoms, but the flowers of the kingcup, or marsh
+marigold. Crosses made of sprays of mountain ash were worn the same
+night, and they, the bonfires and May flowers, were reckoned charms
+against "wizards, witches, enchanters, and mountain hags."
+
+At Helston, in Cornwall, May-day seems to have been known by the name of
+Furry Day. Perhaps a corruption of "Flora's Day." People wore hawthorn
+in their hats, and danced hand-in-hand through the town to the sound of
+a fiddle. This particular performance was known as a "faddy."
+
+It is probable that some of our May-day customs came from the Romans,
+who kept the festival of Flora, the goddess of flowers, at this season.
+Others, perhaps, have a different, if not an older source. One custom
+was certainly common to both nations. When the feast of Flora was
+celebrated, the young Romans went into the woods and brought back green
+boughs with which they decked the houses.
+
+To "go a-Maying" is in fact the principal ceremony of the day wherever
+kept, and for whatever reason. In the north of England children and
+young folk "were wont to rise a little after midnight on the morning of
+May-day, and walk to some neighbouring wood accompanied with music and
+the blowing of horns, where they broke down branches from the trees, and
+adorned them with nosegays and crowns of flowers. This done, they
+returned homewards with their booty about the time of sunrise, and made
+their doors and windows triumph in the flowery spoil." Stubbs, in the
+_Anatomie of Abuses_ (A.D. 1585), speaks of this custom as
+common to "every parish, town, and village." The churches, as well as
+the houses, seem in some places to have been dressed with flowers and
+greenery.
+
+In an old MS. of the sixteenth century it is said that on the feast of
+SS. Philip and James, the Eton boys were allowed to go out at four
+o'clock in the morning to gather May to dress their rooms, and sweet
+herbs to perfume them, "if they can do it without wetting their feet!"
+
+Thirty or forty years ago May-day decorations, in some country places,
+consisted of strewing the cottage doorsteps with daisies, or other
+flowers.
+
+In Hertfordshire a curious custom obtained of decking the neighbours'
+doors with May if they were popular, and with nettles if they were the
+reverse.
+
+In Lancashire rustic wags put boughs of various trees at the doors of
+the girls of the neighbourhood. Each tree had a meaning (well known in
+the district), sometimes complimentary, and sometimes the reverse.
+
+In France it was customary for lovers to deck over-night the houses of
+the ladies they wished to please, and school-boys paid a like compliment
+to their masters. They do not seem, however, to have been satisfied with
+nosegays or even with green branches; they transplanted young trees from
+the woods to the side of the door they wished to honour, and then decked
+them with ribbons, &c. There is a curious record that "Henry II.,
+wishing to recompense the clerks of Bazoche for their good services in
+quelling an insurrection in Guienne, offered them money; but they would
+only accept the permission granted them by the king, of cutting in the
+royal woods such trees as they might choose for the planting of the
+May--a privilege which existed at the commencement of the French
+Revolution." In Cornwall, too, it seems to have been the custom to plant
+"stumps of trees" before the houses, as well as to decorate them with
+boughs and blossoms. And Mr. Aubrey (1686) says, "At Woodstock in Oxon
+they every May-eve goe into the parke, and fetch away a number of
+haw-thorne-trees, which they set before their dores; 'tis a pity that
+they make such a destruction of so fine a tree."
+
+One certainly agrees with Mr. Aubrey. Thorns are slow to grow, hard to
+transplant, and very lovely when they are old. It is not to be regretted
+that such ruthless destruction of them has gone out of fashion.
+
+In Ireland "tall slender trees" seem to have been set up before the
+doors, as well as "a green bush, strewed over with yellow flowers, which
+the meadows yield plentifully." A writer, speaking of this in 1682,
+adds, "A stranger would go nigh to imagine that they were all signs of
+ale-sellers, and that all houses were ale-houses," referring to the old
+custom of a bunch of green as the sign of an inn, which is illustrated
+by the proverb, "Good wine needs no bush." I have an old etching of a
+river-side inn, in which the sign is a garland hanging on a pole.
+
+I fancy the yellow flowers must have been cowslips, which the green
+fields of Erin do indeed "yield plentifully."
+
+Besides these private May-trees, every village had its common Maypole,
+gaily adorned with wreaths and flags and ribbons, and sometimes painted
+in spiral lines of colour. The Welsh Maypoles seem to have been made
+from birch-trees, elms were used in Cornwall, and young oaks in other
+parts of England. Round these Maypoles the young villagers danced, and
+green booths were often set up on the grass near them.
+
+In many villages the Maypole was as much a fixture as the parish stocks,
+but when a new one was required, it was brought home on May-eve in grand
+procession with songs and instrumental music. I am afraid there is a
+good deal of evidence to show that the Maypoles were not always honestly
+come by! However, the Puritan writers (from whose bitter and detailed
+complaints we learn most of what we know about the early English May-day
+customs) are certainly prejudiced, and perhaps not quite trustworthy
+witnesses. One good man groans lamentably: "What adoe make our young men
+at the time of May? Do they not use night watchings to rob and steale
+young trees out of other men's grounde, and bring them into their
+parishe, with minstrels playing before?"
+
+But as the theft must have been committed with all the publicity that a
+fixed day, a large crowd, and a full band could ensure, and as we seem
+to have no record of interference at the time, or prosecutions
+afterwards, I hope we may infer that the owners of the woods did not
+grudge one tree for the village Maypole. A quainter vengeance seems to
+have sometimes followed the trespass. Honesty was at a discount. What
+had been once stolen was liable to be re-stolen. There seems to have
+been great rivalry among the villages as to which had the best Maypole.
+The happy parish which could boast the finest was not left at ease in
+its supremacy, for the lads of the other villages were always on the
+watch to steal it. A record of this custom amongst the Welsh reminds one
+that Wales was at once the land of bards and the home of Taffy the
+Thief. "If successful," says Owen, speaking of these Maypole robbers,
+they "had their feats recorded in songs."
+
+In old times oxen were commonly used for farmwork, and it seems that
+they had their share in the May fun. Another Puritan writer says, "They
+have twentie or fortie yoke of oxen, every oxe having a sweete nosegaie
+of flowers tyed on the tippe of his hornes, and these oxen draw home
+this Maie poole."
+
+How well one can imagine their slow swinging pace, unmoved by the
+shouts and music which would stir a horse's more delicate nerves! Their
+broad moist noses; their large, liquid eyes, and, doubtless, a certain
+sense of pride in their "sweet nosegaies," like the pride of the Beast
+of a Regiment in his badge.
+
+Horses, too, came in for their share of May decorations. It was an old
+custom to give the waggoner a ribbon for his team at every inn he passed
+on May-day.
+
+In the last century there was a fixed Maypole near Horncastle, in
+Lincolnshire, to which the boys made a pilgrimage in procession every
+May-day with May-gads in their hands. May-gads are white willow wands,
+peeled, and dressed with cowslips.
+
+There was a fixed Maypole in the Strand for many years--or rather a
+succession of Maypoles. One, when only four years old, was given to Sir
+Isaac Newton to make a stand for his telescope, and another seems to
+have had a narrow escape from being handed over to a less celebrated
+astronomer, some years later.
+
+The wandering Maypole, with its Queen of the May and her chimney-sweeps,
+is a modern compound of the village Maypole and May Queen with the May
+games in which (as in the Christmas festivities) morris-dancers played a
+part. The May-day morris-dancers, like the Christmas mummers, performed
+sword-dances and sang appropriate doggerels in costume. The characters
+represented at one time or another were Maid Marian or the May Queen,
+Robin Hood or Lord of the May, Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet, Little John
+Stokesley, Tom the Piper, Mad Moll and her Husband, Mutch, the Fool and
+the Hobby Horse. Archery was amongst the May-day sports, especially in
+the company of Robin Hood. The Summer King and Queen were perhaps the
+oldest characters. They seem to be identical with the Lord and Lady, and
+sometimes to have been merged in Robin Hood and Maid Marian.
+
+    "Maid Marian fair as ivory bone,
+    Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John."
+
+The King and Queen of May are spoken of in the thirteenth century, but
+morris-dancing at May-time does not seem to date earlier than Henry
+VII., and is not so old a custom as the immemorial one of going a-Maying
+
+    "To bring the summer home
+    The summer and the May-O!"
+
+This was not confined to young people or to country-folk. Chaucer says
+that on May-day early "fourth goth al the court, both most and lest, to
+fetche the flowres fresh, and braunch, and blome," and Henry VIII. kept
+May-day very orthodoxly in the early years of his reign.
+
+Milkmaids have been connected with May-day customs from an early period.
+Perhaps because syllabub and cream were the recognized dainties of the
+festival. In Northumberland a ring used to be dropped into the syllabub
+and fished for with a ladle. Whoever got it was to be the first married
+of the party. An odd old custom in Suffolk suggests that the hawthorn
+was not always ready even for the Old Style May-day. Any farm-servant
+who could find a branch in full blossom might claim a dish of cream for
+breakfast. The milkmaids who supplied London and other places used to
+dress themselves gaily on May-day and go round from house to house
+performing a dance, and receiving gratuities from their customers. On
+their heads--instead of a milk-pail--they carried a curious trophy,
+called the "Milkmaids' Garland," made of silver or pewter jugs, cups,
+and other pieces of plate, which they borrowed for the occasion, and
+which shone out of a mass of greenery and flowers. Possibly these were
+at first the pewter measures with which they served out the milk. The
+music to which the milkmaids' dance was performed, was the jangling of
+bells of different tones depending from a round plate of brass mounted
+upon a Maydecked pole; but a bag-pipe or fiddle was sometimes
+substituted.
+
+Cream, syllabub, and dainties compounded with milk, belong in England to
+the May festival. In Germany there is a "May drink" (said to be very
+nice) made by putting woodruff into white Rhine wine, in the proportion
+of a handful to a quart. Black currant, balm, or peppermint leaves are
+sometimes added, and water and sugar.
+
+The milkmaids' place has been completely usurped by the sweeps, who
+clatter a shovel and broom instead of the old plate and bells, and who
+seem to have added the popular Jack-in-the-green to the entertainment.
+Jack-in-the-green's costume is very simple. A wicker-work frame of an
+extinguisher shape, thickly covered with green, is supported by the man
+who carries it, and who peeps through a hole left for the purpose.
+May-day has become the Sweeps' Carnival. Mrs. Montague (whose son is
+said to have been stolen for a sweep in his childhood, and afterwards
+found) used to give the sweeps of London a good dinner every May-day, on
+the lawn before her house in Portman Square.
+
+Another May-day custom is that of the choristers assembling at five
+o'clock in the morning on the top of the beautiful tower of Magdalen
+College, Oxford, and ushering in the day with singing. At the same time
+boys of the city armed with tin trumpets, called "May-horns," assemble
+beneath the tower, and contribute more sound than harmony to the
+celebration. Let us hope that it is not strictly a part of the old
+ceremony, but rather a minor manifestation of "Town and Gown" feeling,
+that the town boys jeer the choristers, and in return are pelted with
+rotten eggs. The origin of this special Oxford custom is said to be a
+requiem which was sung on the tower for the soul of Henry VII., founder
+of the College. In the villages girls used to carry round May-garlands.
+The party consisted of four children. Two girls in white dresses and gay
+ribbons carried the garland, and were followed by a boy and girl called
+"Lord and Lady," linked together by a white handkerchief, of which each
+held an end. The Lady carried the purse, and when she received a
+donation the Lord doffed his cap and kissed her. They sang a doggerel
+rhyme, and the form in which money was asked was, "Please to handsel the
+Lord and Lady's purse."
+
+One cannot help thinking that some of our flowers, such as Milkmaids,
+Lords and Ladies, and Jack-in-the-green Primrose, bear traces of having
+got their common names at the great flower festival of the year.
+
+In Cornwall boys carried the May-garland, which was adorned with painted
+birds' eggs. Old custom gave these young rogues the privilege of
+drenching with water from a bucket any one whom they caught abroad on
+May-morning without a sprig of May.
+
+Mr. Aubrey says (1686): "At Oxford, the boyes do blow cows' horns all
+night; and on May-day the young maids of every parish carry about their
+parish garlands of flowers, which afterwards they hang up in their
+churches."
+
+A generation or more ago the little boys of Oxford used to blow horns
+early on May-day--as they said--"to call up the old maids." There was
+once a custom in Lynn for the workhouse children to be allowed to go out
+with horns and garlands every May-day, after which a certain worthy
+gentleman gave them a good dinner.
+
+In Cambridgeshire, within the present century, the children had a doll
+dressed as the "May Lady," before which they set a table with wine and
+food on it; they also begged money and garlands for "the poor May Lady."
+
+There are some quaint superstitions connected with May-day and
+May-blossom. To bathe the face in the dew of a May morning was reckoned
+an infallible recipe for a good complexion. A bath of May dew was also
+supposed to strengthen weakly children. Girls divined for dreams of
+their future husbands with a sprig of hawthorn gathered before dusk on
+May-eve, and carried home in the mouth without speaking. Hawthorn rods
+were used at all seasons of the year to divine for water and minerals.
+Bunches of May fastened against houses were supposed to keep away
+witches and venomous reptiles, and to bring prosperity in various
+shapes.
+
+The Irish of the neighbourhood of Killarney have a pretty superstition
+that on May-day the O'Donoghue, a popular prince of by-gone days,
+returns from the land of Immortal Youth beneath the water to bless the
+country over which he once ruled.
+
+Some curious customs among the Scotch Highlanders (who call May 1st
+_Beltan_ Day) have nothing in common with our Green Festival except as
+celebrating the Spring. They seem to be the remains of very ancient
+heathen sacrifices to Baal. They were performed by the herdsmen of the
+district, and included an open-air feast of cakes and custard, to which
+every one contributed, and which was cooked upon a fire on a turf left
+in the centre of a square trench which had been dug for the purpose.
+Some custard was poured out by way of libation. Every one then took a
+cake of oatmeal, on which nine knobs had been pinched up before baking,
+and turning his face to the fire threw the knobs over his shoulder, some
+as offerings to the supposed guardians of the flock, and the rest in
+propitiation of beasts and birds of prey, with the form "This to thee,
+O Fox! spare my lambs! This to thee, O hooded Crow!" &c. In some places
+the boys of the hamlet met on the moors for a similar feast, but the
+turf table was round, and the oatcake divided into bits, one of which
+was blackened with charcoal. These being drawn from a bonnet, the holder
+of the black bit was held _devoted_ to Baal, and had to leap three times
+over the bonfire.
+
+I do not know of any children's games that were peculiar to May-day. In
+France they had a May-day game called _Sans-vert_. Those who played had
+to wear leaves of the hornbeam-tree, and these were to be kept fresh,
+under penalty of a fine. The chief object of the players was to surprise
+each other without the proper leaves, or with faded specimens.
+
+A stupid old English custom of making fools of your friends on the 1st
+of May as well as on the 1st of April hardly deserves the title of a
+game. The victims were called "May goslings."
+
+One certainly would not expect to meet with anything like "Aunt Sally"
+among May-day games, especially with the "May Lady" for butt! But not
+the least curious part of a very curious account of May-day in
+Huntingdonshire, which was sent to _Notes and Queries_ some years ago,
+is the pelting of the May Lady as a final ceremony of the festival. The
+May-garlands carried round in Huntingdonshire villages appear to have
+been more like the "milkmaids' garland" than genuine wreaths. They were
+four to five feet high, extinguisher-shaped, with every kind of spring
+flower in the apex, and with ribbons and gay kerchiefs hanging down from
+the base, by the round rim of which the garland was carried; the
+flower-peak towering above, and the gay streamers depending below.
+Against this erection (not unlike the "mistletoe boughs" of the North of
+England) was fastened a gaily-dressed doll. The bearers were two little
+girls, who acted as maids of honour to the May Queen. Mr. Cuthbert Bede
+describes her Majesty as he saw her twenty years ago. She wore a white
+frock, and a bonnet with a white veil. A wreath of real flowers lay on
+the bonnet. She carried a pocket-handkerchief bag and a parasol (the
+latter being regarded as a special mark of dignity). An "Odd Fellows'"
+ribbon and badge completed her costume. The maids of honour bore the
+garland after her, whose peak was crowned with "tulips, anemones,
+cowslips, kingcups, meadow-orchis, wall-flower, primrose,
+crown-imperial, lilac, laburnum," and "other bright flowers." Votive
+offerings were dropped into the pocket-handkerchief bag, and with these
+a feast was provided for the children. If the gifts had been liberal,
+"goodies" were proportionately plentiful. Finally, the May-garland was
+suspended from a rope hung across the village street, and the children
+pelted the May-doll with balls provided for the occasion. Their chief
+aim was to hit her nose.
+
+Another correspondent of _Notes and Queries_ speaks of ropes with dolls
+suspended from them as being stretched across every village street in
+Huntingdonshire on May-day, and adds, that not only ribbons and flowers
+were attached to these swinging May Ladies, but articles of every
+description, including "candlesticks, snuffers, spoons, and forks."
+
+There are no May carols rivalling those of Christmas, and the verses
+which children sing with their garlands are very bald as a rule.
+
+A Maypole song of the Gloucestershire children would do very well to
+dance to--
+
+    "Round the Maypole, trit-trit-trot!
+    See what a Maypole we have got;
+            Fine and gay,
+            Trip away,
+    Happy is our New May-day."
+
+I have read of a pretty old Italian custom for the friends of prisoners
+to assemble outside the prison walls on May-day and join with them in
+songs. They are also said to have permission to have a May-day feast
+with them.
+
+Under all its various shapes, and however adapted to the service of
+particular heathen deities, or to very rude social festivity, the root
+of the May-day festival lies in the expression of feelings both natural
+and right. Thankfulness for the return of Spring, anxiety for the coming
+harvests of the fruits of the earth, and that sense of exhilaration and
+hopefulness which the most exquisite of seasons naturally brings--brings
+more strongly perhaps in the youth of a nation, in those earlier stages
+of civilization when men are very dependent upon the weather, and upon
+the produce of their own particular neighbourhood--brings most strongly
+of all to one's own youth, to the light heart, the industrious fancy,
+the uncorrupted taste of childhood.
+
+May-day seems to me so essentially a children's festival, that I think
+it is a great pity that English children should allow it to fall into
+disuse. One certainly does not love flowers less as one grows up, but
+they are more like persons, and their ways are more mysterious to one in
+childhood. The cares of grown-up life, too, are not of the kind from
+which we can easily get a whole holiday. We should do well to try
+oftener than we do. Wreaths do not become us, and we have allowed our
+joints to grow too stiff for Maypole dancing. But we who used to sigh
+for whole holidays can give them! We can prepare the cakes and cream,
+and provide ribbons for the Maypole, and show how garlands were made in
+our young days. We are very grateful for wild-flowers for the
+drawing-room. To say the truth, they last longer with us than with the
+children, and perhaps we combine the delicate hues of spring, and
+lighten our nosegays by grass and sword-flags and rushes with more
+cunning fingers than those of the little ones who gathered them.
+
+For these is reserved the real bloom of May-day! And the orthodox
+customs are so various, that families of any size or age may pick and
+choose. One brother and sister can be Lord and Lady of the May. One
+sister among many brothers must be May Queen without opposition. Those
+of the party most apt to catch cold in the treacherous sunshine and damp
+winds of spring should certainly represent the Winter Queen and her
+attendants, in the warmest possible clothing and the thickest of boots.
+The morning air will then probably only do them a great deal of good. It
+is not desirable to dig up the hawthorn-trees, or to try to do so, even
+with wooden spades. The votive offering of flowers for her drawing-room
+should undoubtedly await Mamma when she comes down to breakfast, and I
+heartily wish her as abundant a variety as Mr. Cuthbert Bede saw on the
+Huntingdonshire garland. That Nurse should have a bunch of May is only
+her due; and of course the nursery must be decorated. Long strips of
+coloured calico form good ribbons for the Maypole. Bows and arrows are
+easily made. It is also easy to cut one's fingers in notching the
+arrows. When you are tired of dancing, you can be Robin Hood's merry
+men, and shoot. When all the arrows are lost, and you have begun to
+quarrel about the target, it will be well to hang up an old doll and
+throw balls at her nose. Dressing-up is, at any time, a delightful
+amusement, and there is a large choice among May-day characters. No
+wardrobe can fail to provide the perfectly optional costumes of Mad Moll
+and her husband. There are generally some children who never will learn
+their parts, and who go astray from every pre-arranged plan. By any two
+such the last-named characters should be represented. In these, as in
+all children's games, "the more the merrier"; and as there is no limit
+to the number of sweeps, the largest of families may revel in burnt
+cork, even if dust-pans in proportion fail. If a bonfire is more
+appropriate to the weather than a Maypole, we have the comfort of
+feeling that it is equally correct.
+
+It is hardly needful to impress upon the boys what vigour the blowing of
+horns and penny trumpets will impart to the ceremonies; but they may
+require to be reminded that Eton men in old days were only allowed to go
+a-Maying on condition that they did not wet their feet!
+
+Above all, out-door May Fun is no fun unless the weather is fine; and I
+hope this little paper will show that if the 1st of May is chilly, and
+the flowers are backward, nothing can be more proper than to keep our
+feast on the 12th of May--_May-day, Old Style_. If the Clerk of the
+Weather Office is unkind on both these days, give up out-door fun at
+once, and prepare for a fancy-ball in the nursery; all the guests to be
+dressed as May-day characters. Garland-making and country expeditions
+can then be deferred till Midsummer-day. It is not _very_ long to wait,
+and penny trumpets do not spoil with keeping.
+
+But do not be defrauded of at least one early ramble in the woods and
+fields. It is well, in the impressionable season of life, to realize, if
+only occasionally, how much of the sweetest air, the brightest and best
+hours of the day, people spend in bed. Any one who goes out every day
+before breakfast knows how very seldom he is kept in by bad weather. For
+one day when it rains very early there are three or four when it rains
+later. But we wait till the world has got dirty, and the air full of the
+smoke of thousands of breakfasts, and clouds are beginning to gather,
+and then we say England has a horrible climate. I do not believe in many
+quack medical prescriptions, but I have the firmest faith in May dew as
+a wash for the complexion. Any morning dew is nearly as efficacious if
+it is gathered in warm clothes, thick boots, and at a sufficient
+distance from home.
+
+There are some households in which there are no children, and there are
+some in which the good things of this life are very abundant. To these
+it may not be very impertinent to suggest a remembrance of the old
+alderman of Lynn's kindly benefaction. To beg leave for the children of
+the workhouse to gather May-day nosegays for you, and to give them a May
+feast afterwards, would be to give pleasure of a kind in which such
+unhomely lives are most deficient. A country ramble "with an object,"
+and the grace-in-memory of a traditionary holiday and feast, shared in
+common with many homes and with other children.
+
+To go a-Maying "to fetche the flowres fresh" is indeed the best part of
+the whole affair.
+
+But, when the sunny bank under the hedge is pale with primroses, when
+dog-violets spread a mauve carpet over clearings in the little wood, if
+cowslips be plentiful though oxslips are few, and rare orchids bless the
+bogs of our locality, pushing strange insect heads, through beds of
+_Drosera_ bathed in perpetual dew--then, dear children, restrain the
+natural impulse to grub everything up and take the whole flora of the
+neighbourhood home in your pinafores. In the first place, you can't. In
+the second place, it would be very hard on other people if you could.
+Cull skilfully, tenderly, unselfishly, and remember what my mother used
+to say to me and my brothers and sisters when we were "collecting"
+anything, from fresh-water algae to violet roots for our very own
+gardens, "_Leave some for the Naiads and Dryads_."
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIUM, MARGARET GATTY
+
+      In Memoriam.
+
+      MARGARET,
+
+      [Daughter of the Rev. Alexander John Scott, D.D.]
+
+      (LORD NELSON'S CHAPLAIN, AND THE FRIEND IN WHOSE ARMS HE DIED AT
+      TRAFALGAR),
+
+      was Born June 3rd, 1809.
+
+      In 1839 she was Married to the Rev. Alfred Gatty,
+
+      OF ECCLESFIELD, YORKSHIRE,
+
+      where she Died on October the 4th, 1873, aged 64.
+
+My mother became editor of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ in May 1866. It was
+named after one of her most popular books--_Aunt Judy's Tales_; and Aunt
+Judy became a name for herself with her numerous child-correspondents.
+
+The ordinary work of editorship was heavily increased by her kindness to
+tyro authors, and to children in want of everything, from advice on a
+life-vocation to old foreign postage stamps. No consideration of the
+value of her own time could induce her to deal summarily with what one
+may call her magazine children, and her correspondents were of all ages
+and acquirements, from nursery aspirants barely beyond pothooks to such
+writers as the author of _A Family Man for Six Days_, and other charming
+Australian reminiscences, who still calls her his "literary godmother."
+
+The peculiar relation in which she stood to so many of the readers of
+_Aunt Judy_ has been urged upon me as a reason for telling them
+something more about her than that she is dead and gone, especially as
+by her peremptory wish no larger record of her life will ever be made
+public. I need hardly disclaim any thought of expressing an opinion on
+her natural powers, or the value of those labours from which she rests;
+but whatever of good there was in them she devoted with real
+affectionate interest to the service of a much larger circle of children
+than of those who now stand desolate before her empty chair. And those
+whom she has so long taught have, perhaps, some claim upon the lessons
+of her good example.
+
+Most well-loved pursuits, perhaps most good habits of our lives, owe
+their origin to our being stirred at one time or another to the
+imitation of some one better, or better gifted than ourselves. We can
+remember dates at which we began to copy what our present friends may
+fancy to be innate peculiarities of our own character. The conviction of
+this truth, and of the strong influence which little details of lives
+we admire have in forming our characters in childhood, persuade me to
+the hard task of writing at all of my dear mother, and guide me in
+choosing those of the things that we remember about her which may help
+her magazine children on matters about which they have oftenest asked
+her counsel.
+
+Many of her own innumerable hobbies had such origins, I know. The
+influence of German literature on some of her writings is very obvious,
+and this most favourite study sprang chiefly from a very early fit of
+hero-worship for Elizabeth Smith, whose precocious and unusual
+acquirements she was stirred to emulate, and whose enthusiasm for
+Klopstock she caught. The fly-leaf of her copy of the Smith _Remains_
+bears (in her handwriting) the date 1820, with her name as Meta Scott; a
+form of her own Christian name which she probably adopted in honour of
+Margaretta--or Meta--Klopstock, and by which she was well known to
+friends of her youth.
+
+She often told us, too, of the origin of another of her accomplishments.
+She was an exquisite caligraphist. Not only did she write the most
+beautiful and legible of handwritings, but, long before illuminating was
+"fashionable," she illuminated on vellum; not by filling up printed
+texts or copying ornamental letters from handbooks of the art, but in
+valiant emulation of ancient MSS.; designing her own initial letters,
+with all varieties of characters, with "strawberry" borders, and gold
+raised and burnished as in the old models. I do not know when she first
+saw specimens of the old illuminations, for which she had always the
+deepest admiration, but it was in a Dante fever that she had resolved to
+write beautifully, because fine penmanship had been among the
+accomplishments of the great Italian poet. How well she succeeded her
+friends and her printers knew to their comfort! To Dante she dedicated
+some of her best efforts in this art. In 1826, when she was seventeen,
+she began to translate the _Inferno_ into English verse. She made fair
+copies of each canto in exquisite writing, and dedicated them to various
+friends on covers which she illuminated. The most highly-finished was
+that dedicated to an old friend, Lord Tyrconnel, and the only plain one
+was the one dedicated to another friend, Sir Thomas Lawrence. The
+dedication was written in fine long characters, but there was no
+painting on the cover of the canto dedicated to the painter.
+
+I do not know at what date my mother began to etch on copper. It was a
+very favourite pursuit through many years of her life, both before and
+after her marriage. She never sketched much in colour, but her
+pencil-drawings are amongst the most valuable legacies she has left us.
+Trees were her favourite subjects. One of her most beautiful drawings in
+my possession is of a tree, marked to fall, beneath which she wrote:
+
+    "Das ist das Loos des Schoenen auf der Erde."[2]
+
+Of another talent nothing now remains to us but her old music-books and
+memories of long evenings when she played Weber and Mozart.
+
+But to a large circle of friends, most of whom have gone before her, she
+was best known as a naturalist in the special department of phycology.
+She has left a fine collection of British and foreign sea-weeds and
+zoophytes. Never permitted the privilege of foreign travel--for which
+she so often longed--her sea-spoils have been gathered from all shores
+by those who loved her; and there are sea-weeds yet in press sent by
+_Aunt Judy_ friends from Tasmania, which gave pleasure to the last days
+of her life. She did so keenly enjoy everything at which she worked that
+it is difficult to say in which of her hobbies she found most happiness;
+but I am disposed to give her natural history pursuits the palm.
+
+Natural history brought her some of her dearest friends. Dr. Johnston,
+of Berwick-on-Tweed, to whom she dedicated the first volume of the
+_Parables from Nature_, was one of these; and with Dr. Harvey (author of
+the _Phycologia Britannica_, &c.) she corresponded for ten years before
+they met. Like herself, he combined a playful and poetical fancy with
+the scientific faculty, and they had sympathy together in the
+distinctive character of their religious belief, and in the worship of
+God in His works. But these, and many others, have "gone
+before."
+
+One of her "collections" was an unusual one. Through nearly forty years
+she collected the mottoes on old sun-dials, and made sketches of the
+dials themselves. In this also she had many helpers, and the collection,
+which had swelled to about four hundred, was published last year.
+Amateur bookbinding and mowing were among the more eccentric of her
+hobbies. With the latter she infected Mr. Tennyson, and sent him a light
+Scotch scythe like her own.
+
+The secret of her success and of her happiness in her labours was her
+thoroughness. It was a family joke that in the garden she was never
+satisfied to dabble in her flower-beds like other people, but would
+always clear out what she called "the Irish corners," and attack bits of
+waste or neglected ground from which everybody else shrank. And amongst
+our neighbours in the village, those with whom, day after day, time
+after time, she would plead "the Lord's controversy," were those with
+whom every one else had failed. Some old village would-be sceptic, half
+shame-faced, half conceited, who had not prayed for half a lifetime, or
+been inside a church except at funerals; careworn mothers fossilized in
+the long neglect, of religious duties; sinners whom every one else
+thought hopeless, and who most-of all counted themselves so--if
+God indeed permits us hereafter to bless those who led us to
+Him here, how many of these will rise up and call her blessed!
+
+Her strong powers of sympathy were not confined to human beings alone. A
+more devoted lover of "beasts" can hardly exist. The household pets were
+about her to the end; and she only laughed when the dogs stole the bread
+and butter from her helpless hands.
+
+Her long illness, perhaps, did less to teach us to do without her, than
+long illnesses commonly do; because her sick-room was so little like a
+sick-room, and her interests never narrowed to the fretful circle of
+mere invalid fears and fancies. The strong sense of humour, which never
+left her, helped her through many a petty annoyance; and to the last she
+kept one of her most striking qualities, so well described by Trench--
+
+    ---- "a child's pure delight in little things."
+
+Whatever interest this little record of some of my mother's tastes and
+acquirements may have for her young readers, its value must be in her
+example.
+
+Whatever genius she may have had, her industry was far more remarkable.
+The pen of a ready writer is not grasped by all fingers, and gifts are
+gifts, not earnings. But to cultivate the faculties God has
+given us to His glory, to lose petty cares, ignoble pleasures, and small
+grievances, in the joy of studying His great works, to be good to His
+creatures, to be truthful beyond fear or flattery, to be pure of heart
+and tongue far beyond the common, to keep up an honest, zealous war with
+wickedness, and never to lose heart or hope for wicked men--these things
+are within the power as well as the ambition of us all.
+
+I must point out to some of the young aspirants after her literary fame,
+that though the date in Elizabeth Smith's _Remains_ shows my mother to
+have been only eleven years old when she got it, and though she worked
+and studied indefatigably all her girlhood, her first original work was
+not published till she was forty-two years old.
+
+Of the lessons of her long years of suffering I cannot speak. A form of
+paralysis which left her brain as vigorous as ever, stole the cunning
+from her hand, and the use of her limbs and voice, through ten years of
+pain and privation, in which she made a willing sacrifice of her powers
+to the will of God.
+
+If some of her magazine children who enjoy "advantages" she never had,
+who visit places and see sights for which she longed in vain, and who
+are spared the cross she bore so patiently, are helped by this short
+record of their old friend, it may somewhat repay the pain it has cost
+in writing.
+
+Trench's fine sonnet was a great favourite of my mother's--
+
+    "To leave unseen so many a glorious sight,
+    To leave so many lands unvisited,
+    To leave so many books unread,
+    Unrealized so many visions bright;--
+    Oh! wretched yet inevitable spite
+    Of our short span, and we must yield our breath,
+    And wrap us in the unfeeling coil of death,
+    So much remaining of unproved delight,
+    But hush, my soul, and vain regrets be still'd;
+    Find rest in Him Who is the complement
+    Of whatsoe'er transcends our mortal doom,
+    Of broken hope and frustrated intent;
+    In the clear vision and aspect of Whom
+    All wishes and all longings are fulfill'd."
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 2: "Such is the lost of the beautiful upon
+earth."--_Wallenstein's Tod_.]
+
+
+
+
+TALES OF THE KHOJA.[3]
+
+(_Adapted from the Turkish._)
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+"O my children!" said the story-teller, "do you indeed desire amusement
+by the words of my lips? Then shut your mouths, that the noise you make
+may be abated, and I may hear myself speak; and open your ears, that you
+may be entertained by the tales that I shall tell you. Shut your mouths
+and open your ears, I say, and you will, without doubt, receive pleasure
+from what I shall have to relate of Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen-Effendi.
+
+"This Khoja was not altogether a wise man, nor precisely a fool, nor
+entirely a knave.
+
+"It is true, O children, that his wisdom was flecked with folly, but
+what saith the proverb? 'No one so wise but he has some folly to spare.'
+Moreover, in his foolishness there was often a hidden meaning, as a
+letter is hid in a basket of dates--not for every eye.
+
+"As to his knaveries, they were few, and more humorous than injurious.
+Though be it far from me, O children, as a man of years and probity, to
+defend the conduct of the Khoja to the Jew money-lender.
+
+"What about the Jew money-lender, do you ask?
+
+"This is the tale."
+
+
+_Tale_ 1.--The Khoja and the Nine Hundred and Ninety-nine Pieces of
+Gold.
+
+This Khoja was very poor.
+
+One day, wishing for a piece of gold, he corrected himself, saying: "It
+costs no more to wish for a thousand pieces than for one. I wish for a
+thousand gold pieces."
+
+And he repeated aloud--"I wish for a thousand pieces of gold. _I would
+not accept one less._"
+
+Now it so happened that he was overheard by a certain covetous Jew
+money-lender. This man was of a malicious disposition; and the poverty
+of the Khoja was a satisfaction to him. When he heard what the Khoja
+said he chuckled to himself, saying, "Truly this Khoja is a funny
+fellow, and it would be a droll thing to see him refuse nine hundred and
+ninety-nine pieces of gold. For without doubt he would keep his word."
+
+And as he spoke, the Jew put nine hundred and ninety-nine gold pieces
+into a purse, and dropped the purse down the Khoja's chimney, with the
+intention of giving him annoyance.
+
+The Khoja picked up the purse and opened it.
+
+"Allah be praised!" he cried, "for the fulfilment of my desires. Here
+are the thousand pieces."
+
+Meanwhile the Jew was listening at the chimney-top, and he heard the
+Khoja begin to count the coins. When he got to the nine hundred and
+ninety-ninth, and had satisfied himself that there was not another, he
+paused, and the Jew merchant held his breath.
+
+At last the Khoja spoke.
+
+"O my soul!" said he, "is it decent to spit in the face of good fortune
+for the sake of one gold piece in a thousand? Without doubt it is an
+oversight, and he who sent these will send the missing one also." Saying
+which, the Khoja put the money into his sash and sat down to smoke.
+
+The Jew now became fidgety, and he hastened down to the Khoja's door, at
+which he knocked, and entering, said, "Good-day, Khoja Effendi. May I
+ask you to be good enough to restore to me my nine hundred and
+ninety-nine gold pieces?"
+
+"Are you mad, O Jew money-lender?" replied the Khoja. "Is it likely
+that you would throw gold down my chimney? These pieces fell from heaven
+in fulfilment of my lawful desires."
+
+"O my soul, Khoja!" cried the Jew, "I did it, indeed! It was a jest, O
+Khoja! You said, 'I will not take one less than a thousand,' wherefore I
+put nine hundred and ninety-nine pieces in the purse, and it was for a
+joke."
+
+"I do not see the joke," said the Khoja, "but I have accepted the gold
+pieces." And he went on smoking.
+
+The Jew money-lender now became desperate.
+
+"Let us go to the magistrate," he cried. "The Cadi Effendi shall decide
+between us."
+
+"It is well said," replied the Khoja. "But it would not beseem a Khoja
+like myself to go through the public streets to the court on foot; and I
+am poor, and have no mule."
+
+"O my soul!" said the Jew, "let not that trouble you. I will send and
+fetch one of my mules."
+
+But when the mule was at the door, the Khoja said: "Is it fitting, O
+money-lender, that a Khoja like myself should appear in these rags
+before a Cadi Effendi? But I am poor, and have no suitable dress."
+
+"Let not that be a hindrance, O Khoja!" said the Jew. "For I have a
+pelisse made of the most beautiful fur, which I will send for without
+delay."
+
+In due time this arrived, and, richly clothed, the Khoja rode through
+the streets with a serene countenance, the Jew money-lender running
+after him in the greatest anxiety.
+
+When they came before the Cadi, the Jew prostrated himself, and cried in
+piteous tones, "Help, O most noble Dispenser of Justice! This Khoja has
+stolen from me nine hundred and ninety-nine pieces of gold--and now he
+denies it."
+
+Then the Cadi turned to the Khoja, who said: "O Cadi Effendi, I did
+indeed earnestly desire a thousand pieces of gold, and this purse came
+to me in fulfilment of my wishes. But when I counted the pieces I found
+one short. Then I said, 'The bountiful giver of these will certainly
+send the other also.' So I accepted what was given to me. But in this
+Jew money-lender is the spirit of covetousness. For half a farthing, O
+Cadi, he would, without doubt, lay claim to the beast I ride, or to the
+coat on my back."
+
+"O my soul!" screamed the Jew. "It is indeed true that they are mine.
+The mule and the fur pelisse belong to me, O Cadi!"
+
+"O you covetous rascal!" said the Cadi, "you will lay claim to my turban
+next, or to the Sultan's horses." And he commanded the Jew to be driven
+from his presence.
+
+But the Khoja rode home again, and--he accepted the mule and the fur
+pelisse, as well as the nine hundred and ninety-nine pieces of gold.
+
+
+_Tale_ 2.--The Khoja at the Marriage Feast.
+
+On the following day Khoja Effendi went to a marriage feast, dressed in
+his old clothes.
+
+His appearance was indeed very shabby, and the attendants were almost
+disposed to refuse him admission, but he slipped in whilst honours and
+compliments were being paid on the arrival of some grander guests. Even
+those who knew him well were so much ashamed of his dress as to be glad
+to look another way to avoid saluting him.
+
+All this was quickly observed by the Khoja, and after a few moments
+(during which no one asked him to be seated) he slipped out and ran
+home, where he put on the splendid fur pelisse which he had accepted
+from the Jew money-lender, and so returned to the door of the house of
+feasting.
+
+Seeing a guest so richly apparelled draw near, the servants ran out to
+meet him with all signs of respect, and the master of the feast came out
+also to meet him with other guests, saluting him and saying, "Welcome,
+O most learned Khoja!" And all who knew him saluted him in like manner,
+and secretly blessed themselves that his acquaintance did them credit.
+
+But the Khoja looked neither to the right hand nor to the left, and he
+made no reply.
+
+Then they led him to the upper end of the table, crying, "Please to be
+seated, Khoja Effendi!"
+
+Whereupon the Khoja seated himself, but he did not speak, and the guests
+stood round him, waiting to hear what should fall from his lips.
+
+And when the Khoja had been served with food, he took hold of the sleeve
+of his pelisse and pulled it towards the dish, saying, in a tone of
+respect, "O most worthy and honourable pelisse! be good enough to
+partake of this dish. In the name of the Prophet I beseech you do not
+refuse to taste what has been hospitably provided."
+
+"What is this, Khoja?" cried the people, "and what do you mean by
+offering food to a fur pelisse that can neither hear nor eat?"
+
+"O most courteous entertainers!" replied the Khoja, "since the pelisse
+has commanded such respect at your hands, is it not proper that it
+should also partake of the food?"
+
+
+_Tale_ 3.--The Khoja's Slippers.
+
+One day, when the idle boys of the neighbourhood were gathered together
+and ready for mischief, they perceived the Khoja approaching.
+
+"Here comes this mad Khoja!" they said. "Let us now persuade him to
+climb the largest of these mulberry-trees, and whilst he is climbing we
+will steal his slippers."
+
+And when the Khoja drew near, they cried, "O Khoja, here is indeed a
+tree which it is not possible to climb."
+
+The Khoja looked at the mulberry-tree and said, "You are in error, my
+children, any one of you could climb that tree."
+
+But they said, "We cannot."
+
+Then said the Khoja, "I, who am an old man, could climb that
+mulberry-tree."
+
+Then the boys cried, "O most illustrious Khoja! we beseech of you to
+climb the tree before our eyes, that we may believe what you say, and
+also be encouraged to try ourselves."
+
+"I will climb it," said the Khoja. Thereupon he kicked off his slippers
+as the children had anticipated; and tucking his skirts into his girdle,
+he prepared to climb.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA'S SLIPPERS.]
+
+But whilst they were waiting to steal his slippers, the Khoja put them
+into his pocket.
+
+"Effendi Khoja," said the children, "wherefore do you not leave your
+slippers on the ground? What will you do with slippers up in the
+mulberry-tree?"
+
+"O my children!" said the Khoja dryly, "it is good to be provided
+against everything. I may come upon a road further up."
+
+
+_Tale_ 4.--The Khoja and the Three Wise Men.
+
+In the days of Effendi Nasr-ed-Deen Khoja there appeared in the world
+three Sages, who excelled in every science and in all wisdom.
+
+Now it came to pass that in their journeys these wise men passed through
+the country of the Sultan Ala-ed-Deen, who desired to see them, and to
+make them partake of his hospitality.
+
+And when the Sultan had seen and heard them, he said: "O Sages, there is
+indeed nothing wanting to you but that you should embrace the faith and
+become Turks, and remain in my kingdom. Wherefore I beseech of you to do
+this without further delay."
+
+Then the wise men replied to the Padisha: "We will, if it please you,
+ask three questions of your learned men. One question shall be asked by
+each of us, and if they are able to answer these questions, we will
+embrace your faith, and remain with you as you desire. And if not, we
+will depart in peace, and prolong our journeys as heretofore."
+
+Then the Padisha replied: "So be it." And he assembled the learned men
+and counsellors of his kingdom, and the Sages put questions to them,
+which they could not answer.
+
+Then the Sultan Ala-ed-Deen was full of wrath, and he said, "Is this my
+kingdom, and am I the ruler of it; and is there not indeed one man of my
+subjects wise enough to answer the questions of these unbelieving
+Sages?"
+
+And his servants replied: "There is indeed no one who could answer these
+questions, except it be Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi."
+
+Then the Sultan commanded, and they despatched a Tatar in all haste to
+summon Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi to the presence of the Padisha.
+
+When the messenger arrived, he told his errand to the Khoja, who at once
+rose up, saddled his donkey, took a stick in his hand, and mounted,
+saying to the Tatar, "Go before me!"
+
+Thus they came to the palace, and the Khoja entered the presence of the
+Sultan, and gave the salaam and received it in return. Then he was shown
+where to sit, and being seated, and having made a prayer for the
+Padisha, "O most noble Sultan," said he, "wherefore have you brought me
+hither, and what is your will with me?"
+
+Then the Sultan explained the circumstances of the case, and the Khoja
+cried, "What are the questions? Let me hear them."
+
+Then the first wise man came forward and said: "_My_ question, most
+worshipful Effendi, is this: Where is the middle of the world?"
+
+The Khoja, without an instant's hesitation, pointed with his stick to a
+fore-hoof of his donkey.
+
+"There," said he, "exactly where my donkey's foot is placed--there is
+the centre of the earth."
+
+"How do you know that?" asked the Sage.
+
+"If you do not believe me," replied the Khoja, "measure for yourself. If
+you find it wrong one way or the other, I will acknowledge my error."
+
+The second Sage now came forward and said: "O Khoja Effendi, how many
+stars are there on the face of this sky?"
+
+"The same number," replied the Khoja, "as there are hairs on my donkey."
+
+"How do you know that?" asked the wise man.
+
+"If you do not believe me," replied the Khoja, "count for yourself. If
+there is a hair too few or too many, I will acknowledge my error."
+
+"O most learned Khoja!" said the wise man, "have you indeed counted the
+hairs on your donkey?"
+
+"O most venerable Sage!" replied the Khoja, "have you indeed numbered
+the stars of the sky?"
+
+But as the Khoja spoke the third wise man came forward and said: "Most
+worshipful Effendi! Be pleased now to hear my question, and if you can
+answer it, we will conform to the wishes of the Sultan. How many hairs
+are there in my beard?"
+
+"As many," replied the Khoja, "as there are hairs in my donkey's tail."
+
+"How do you know that?" asked the wise man.
+
+"If you do not believe me, count for yourself," said the Khoja.
+
+But the wise man replied: "It is for you to count, and to prove to me
+the truth of what you say."
+
+"With all my heart," replied the Khoja. "And I will do it in a way that
+cannot possibly fail. I shall first pull out a hair from your beard, and
+then one from my donkey's tail, and then another from your beard, and so
+on. Thus at the end it will be seen whether the number of the hairs of
+each kind exactly correspond."
+
+But the wise man did not wait for this method of proof to be enforced by
+the Sultan. He hastily announced himself as a convert to the Padisha's
+wishes. The other two Sages followed his example, and their wisdom was
+for many years the light of the court of the Sultan Ala-ed-Deen.
+
+Moreover, they became disciples of the Khoja.
+
+
+_Tale_ 5.--The Khoja's Donkey.
+
+One day there came a man to the house of the Khoja to ask him for the
+loan of his donkey.
+
+"The donkey is not at home," replied the Khoja, who was unwilling to
+lend his beast.
+
+At this moment the donkey brayed loudly from within.
+
+"O Khoja Effendi!" cried the man, "what you say cannot be true, for I
+can hear your donkey quite distinctly as I stand here."
+
+"What a strange man you must be," said the Effendi. "Is it possible that
+you believe a donkey rather than me, who am grey-haired and a Khoja?"
+
+
+_Tale_ 6.--The Khoja's Gown.
+
+One day the Khoja's wife, having washed her husband's gown, hung it out
+in the garden to dry.
+
+Now in the dusk of the evening the Khoja repaired to his garden, where
+he saw, as he believed, a thief standing with outstretched arms.
+
+"O you rascal!" he cried, "is it you who steal my fruit? But you shall
+do so no more."
+
+And having called to his wife for his bow and arrows, the Khoja took
+aim and pierced his gown through the middle. Then without waiting to see
+the result he hastened into his house, secured the door with much care,
+and retired to rest.
+
+When morning dawned, the Khoja went out into the garden, where
+perceiving that what he had hit was his own gown, he seated himself and
+returned thanks to the All-merciful Disposer of Events.
+
+"Truly," said he, "I have had a narrow escape. If I had been inside it,
+I should have been dead long before this!"
+
+
+_Tale_ 7.--The Khoja and the Fast of Ramadan.
+
+In a certain year, when the holy month of the fast of Ramadan was
+approaching, Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen took counsel with himself and resolved
+not to observe it.
+
+"Truly," said he, "there is no necessity that I should fast like the
+common people. I will rather provide myself with a vase into which I
+will drop a stone every day. When there are thirty pebbles in the vase,
+I shall know that Ramadan is over, and I shall then be able to keep the
+feast of Bairam at the proper season."
+
+Accordingly, on the first day of the month the Khoja dropped a stone
+into the vase, and so he continued to do day by day.
+
+Now the Khoja had a little daughter, and it came to pass that one day
+the child, having observed the pebbles in the vase, went out and
+gathered a handful and added them to the rest. But her father was not
+aware of it.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA COUNTS.]
+
+On the twenty-fifth day of Ramadan the Khoja met at the Bazaar with
+certain of his neighbours, who said to him, "Be good enough, most
+learned Khoja, to tell us what day of the month it is."
+
+"Wait a bit, and I will see," replied the Khoja. Saying this, he ran to
+his house, emptied the vase, and began to count the stones. To his
+amazement he found that there were a hundred and twenty!
+
+"If I say as much as this," thought the Khoja, "they will call me a
+fool. Even half would be more than could be believed."
+
+So he went back to the Bazaar and said, "It is the full forty-fifth of
+the month, quite that."
+
+"O Khoja!" the neighbours replied, "there are only thirty days in a
+complete month, and do you tell us to-day is the forty-fifth?"
+
+"O neighbours!" answered the Khoja, "believe me, I speak with
+moderation. If you look into the vase, you will find that according to
+its account to-day is the one hundred and twentieth."
+
+
+_Tale_ 8.--The Khoja and the Thief.
+
+One day a thief got into the Khoja's house, and the Khoja watched him.
+
+The thief poked here, there, and everywhere, and after collecting all
+that he could carry, he put the load on his back and went off.
+
+The Khoja then came out, and hastily gathering up the few things which
+were left of his property, he put them on his own back, and hurried
+after the thief.
+
+At last he arrived before the door of the thief's house, at which he
+knocked.
+
+"What do you want?" said the thief.
+
+"Why, we are moving into this house, aren't we?" said the Khoja. "I've
+brought the rest of the things."
+
+
+_Tale_ 9.--The Bird of Prey and the Piece of Soap.
+
+One day the Khoja went with his wife to wash clothes at the head of a
+spring.
+
+They had placed the soap beside them on the ground, and were just about
+to begin, when a black bird of prey swooped suddenly down, and snatching
+up the soap, flew away with it, believing it to be some kind of food.
+
+"Run, Khoja, run!" cried the distracted wife. "Make haste, I beseech
+you, and catch that thief of a bird. He has carried off my soap."
+
+"O wife!" replied the Khoja, "let him alone. He wants it more than we
+do, poor fellow! Our clothes are not half so black as what he has got
+on."
+
+
+_Tale_ 10.--The Khoja and the Wolves.
+
+"Wife!" said the Khoja one day, "how do you know when a man is dead?"
+
+"When his hands and feet have become cold, Khoja," replied the good
+woman, "I know that it is all over then. The man is dead."
+
+Some time afterwards the Khoja went to the mountain to cut wood. It was
+in the winter, and after he had worked for an hour or two his hands and
+feet became very cold.
+
+"It is really a melancholy thing," said he; "but I fear that there can
+be no doubt that I am dead. If this is the case, however, I have no
+business to be on my feet, much less to be chopping firewood which I
+have not lived to require." So he went and lay down under a tree.
+
+By and by came the wolves, and they fell upon the Khoja's donkey, and
+devoured it.
+
+The Khoja watched them from the place where he was lying.
+
+"Ah, you brutes!" said he, "it is lucky for you that you have found a
+donkey whose master is dead, and cannot interfere."
+
+
+_Tale_ 11.--A Penny a Head.
+
+The Turks shave their heads and allow their beards to grow. Thus the
+Khoja went every week to the barber to have his head shaved, and when it
+was done, the barber held out the mirror to him, that, having looked at
+himself, he might place a penny fee on the mirror as the custom is.
+
+Now as he grew old the Khoja became very bald.
+
+One day when he was about to be shaved, passing his hand over his head,
+he perceived that the crown was completely bald. But he said nothing,
+and having paid his penny, took his departure as usual.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA IS SHAVED.]
+
+Next week Khoja Effendi went again to the barber's.
+
+When his head had been shaved he looked in the mirror as before; but he
+put nothing on it.
+
+As he rose to depart, the barber stopped him, saying, "Most worshipful
+Effendi, you have forgotten to pay."
+
+"My head is now half bald," said the Khoja; "will not one penny do for
+two shavings?"
+
+
+_Tale_ 12.--The Khoja a Cadi.
+
+The late Khoja Effendi when he filled the office of Cadi had some
+puzzling cases to decide.
+
+One day two men came before him, and one of them said, "This fellow has
+bitten my ear, O Cadi!"
+
+"No, no, most learned Cadi!" said the other; "that is not true. He bit
+his own ear, and now tries to lay the blame upon me."
+
+"One cannot bite his own ear," said the first man; "wherefore the lies
+of this scoundrel are obvious."
+
+"Begone, both of you," said the Khoja; "but come back to-morrow, when I
+will give judgment."
+
+When the men had gone, the Khoja withdrew to a quiet place, where he
+would be undisturbed, that he might try if he could bite his own ear.
+Taking the ear in his fingers, he made many efforts to seize it with his
+teeth, crying, "Can I bite it?"
+
+But in the vehemence of his efforts the Khoja lost his balance and fell
+backwards, wounding his head.
+
+The following day he took his seat with his head bound up in a linen
+cloth, and the men coming before him related their dispute as before,
+and cried, "Now, is it possible, O Cadi?"
+
+"O, you fellows!" said the Khoja, "biting is easy enough, and you can
+fall and break your own head into the bargain."
+
+
+_Tale_ 13.--The Khoja's Quilt.
+
+One night after Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen had retired to rest he was disturbed
+by a man making a great noise before his door in the street outside.
+
+"O wife!" said he, "get up, I pray you, and light a candle, that I may
+discover what this noise in the street is about."
+
+"Lie still, man," said his wife. "What have we to do with street
+brawlers? Keep quiet and go to sleep."
+
+But the Khoja would not listen to her advice, and taking the bed-quilt,
+he threw it round his shoulders, and went out to see what was the
+matter.
+
+Then the rascal who was making the disturbance, seeing a fine quilt
+floating from the Khoja's shoulders, came behind him and snatched it
+away, and ran off with it.
+
+After a while the Khoja felt thoroughly chilled, and he went back to
+bed.
+
+"Well, Effendi," said his wife: "what have you discovered?"
+
+"We were more concerned in the noise than you thought," said the Khoja.
+
+"What was it about, O Khoja?" asked his wife.
+
+"It must have been about our quilt," he replied; "for when the man got
+that he went off quietly enough."
+
+
+_Tale_ 14.--The Khoja and the Beggar.
+
+One day whilst Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi was in his house, a man knocked at
+the door.
+
+The Khoja looked out from an upper window.
+
+"What dost thou want?" said he. But the man was a beggar by trade, and
+fearing that the Khoja might refuse to give alms when he was so well
+beyond reach of the mendicant's importunities, he would not state his
+business, but continued to cry, "Come down, come down!" as if he had
+something of importance to relate.
+
+So the Khoja went down, and on his again saying "What dost thou
+want?" the beggar began to beg, crying, "The Inciter of Compassion move
+thee to enable me to purchase food for my supper! I am the guest of the
+Prophet!" with other exclamations of a like nature.
+
+"Come up-stairs," replied the Khoja, turning back into his house.
+
+Well pleased, the beggar followed him, but when they reached the upper
+room the Khoja turned round and dismissed him, saying, "Heaven supply
+your necessities. I have nothing for you."
+
+"O Effendi!" said the beggar, "why did you not tell me this whilst I was
+below?"
+
+"O Beggar!" replied the Khoja, "why did you call me down when I was
+up-stairs?"
+
+
+_Tale_ 15.--The Khoja Turned Nightingale.
+
+One day the Khoja went into a garden which did not belong to him, and
+seeing an apricot-tree laden with delicious fruit, he climbed up among
+the branches and began to help himself.
+
+Whilst he was eating the apricots the owner of the garden came in and
+discovered him.
+
+"What are you doing up there, Khoja?" said he.
+
+"O my soul!" said the Khoja, "I am not the person you imagine me to be.
+Do you not see that I am a nightingale? I am singing in the
+apricot-tree."
+
+"Let me hear you sing," said the gardener.
+
+The Khoja began to trill like a bird; but the noise he made was so
+uncouth that the man burst out laughing.
+
+"What kind of a song is this?" said he. "I never heard a nightingale's
+note like that before."
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA SINGS.]
+
+"It is not the voice of a native songster," said the Khoja demurely,
+"but the foreign nightingale sings so."
+
+
+_Tale_ 16.--The Khoja's Donkey and The Woollen Pelisse.
+
+One day the Khoja mounted his donkey to ride to the garden, but on the
+way there he had business which obliged him to dismount and leave the
+donkey for a short time.
+
+When he got down he took off his woollen pelisse, and throwing it over
+the saddle, went about his affairs. But he had hardly turned his back
+when a thief came by who stole the woollen pelisse, and made off with
+it.
+
+When the Khoja returned and found that the pelisse was gone, he became
+greatly enraged, and beat the donkey with his stick. Then, dragging the
+saddle from the poor beast's back, he put it on his own shoulders,
+crying, "Find my pelisse, you careless rascal, and then you shall have
+your saddle again!"
+
+
+_Tale_ 17.--A Ladder To Sell.
+
+There was a certain garden into which the Khoja was desirous to enter,
+but the gate was fastened, and he could not.
+
+One day, therefore, he took a ladder upon his shoulder, and repaired to
+the place, where he put the ladder against the garden-wall, and having
+climbed to the top, drew the ladder over, and by this means descended
+into the garden.
+
+As he was prying about in came the gardener.
+
+"Who are you?" said he to the Khoja. "And what do you want?"
+
+"I sell ladders," replied the Khoja, running hastily back to the wall,
+and throwing the ladder once more upon his shoulders.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA TRESPASSES.]
+
+"Come, come!" said the gardener, "that answer will not do. This is not a
+place for selling ladders."
+
+"You must be very ignorant," replied the Khoja gravely, "if you do not
+know that ladders are salable anywhere."
+
+
+_Tale_ 18.--The Cat and the Khoja's Supper.
+
+The Khoja, like many another man, was fond of something nice for his
+supper.
+
+But no matter how often he bought a piece of liver to make a tasty dish,
+his wife always gave it away to a certain friend of hers, and when the
+Khoja came home in the evening he got nothing to eat but cakes.
+
+"Wife," said he at last, "I bring home some liver every day that we may
+have a good supper, and you put nothing but pastry before me. What
+becomes of the meat?"
+
+"The cat steals it, O Khoja!" replied his wife.
+
+On this the Khoja rose from his seat, and taking the axe proceeded to
+lock it up in a box.
+
+"What are you doing with the axe, Khoja?" said his wife.
+
+"I am hiding it from the cat," replied the Khoja. "The sort of cat who
+steals two pennyworth of liver is not likely to spare an axe worth forty
+pence."
+
+
+_Tale_ 19.--The Cadi's Ferejeh.
+
+One day a certain Cadi of Sur-Hissar, being very drunk, lay down in a
+garden and fell asleep. The Khoja, having gone out for a walk, passed
+by the spot and saw the Cadi lying dead drunk and senseless, with his
+ferejeh--or overcoat--half off his back.
+
+It was a very valuable ferejeh, of rich material, and the Khoja took it
+and went home remarkably well dressed.
+
+When the Cadi recovered his senses he found that his ferejeh was gone.
+Thereupon he called his officers and commanded them, saying: "On
+whomsoever ye shall see my ferejeh, bring the fellow before me."
+
+Meanwhile the Khoja wore it openly, and at last the officers took him
+and brought him before the Cadi.
+
+"O Khoja!" said the Cadi, "how came you by what belongs to me? Where did
+you find that ferejeh?"
+
+"Most exemplary Cadi," replied the Khoja, "I went out yesterday for a
+short time before sunset, and as I walked I perceived a
+disreputable-looking fellow lying shamefully drunk, and exposed to the
+derision of passers-by in the public gardens. His ferejeh was half off
+his back, and I said within myself, 'This valuable ferejeh will
+certainly be stolen, whilst he to whom it belongs is sleeping the sleep
+of drunkenness. I will therefore take it and wear it, and when the owner
+has his senses restored to him, he will be able to see and reclaim it.'
+So I took the ferejeh, and if it be thine, O Cadi, take it!"
+
+"It cannot be my ferejeh, of course," said the Cadi hastily; "though
+there is a similarity which at first deceived me."
+
+"Then I will keep it till the man claims it," said the Khoja.
+
+And he did so.
+
+
+_Tale_ 20.--The Two Pans.
+
+One day the Khoja borrowed a big pan of his next-door neighbour.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA IS ARTFUL.]
+
+When he had done with it he put a smaller pan inside it, and carried it
+back.
+
+"What is this?" said the neighbour.
+
+"It is a young pan," replied the Khoja. "It is the child of your big
+pan, and therefore belongs to you."
+
+The neighbour laughed in his sleeve.
+
+"If this Khoja is mad," said he, "a sensible man like myself need not
+refuse to profit by his whims."
+
+So he replied, "It is well, O Khoja! The pan is a very good pan. May its
+posterity be increased!"
+
+And he took the Khoja's pan as well as his own, and the Khoja departed.
+
+After a few days the Khoja came again to borrow the big pan, which his
+neighbour lent him willingly, saying to himself, "Doubtless
+something else will come back in it." But after he had waited
+two--three--four--and five days, and the Khoja did not return it, the
+neighbour betook himself to the Khoja's house and asked for his pan.
+
+The Khoja came to the door with a sad countenance.
+
+"Allah preserve you, neighbour!" said he. "May your health be better
+than that of our departed friend, who will return to you no more. The
+big pan is dead."
+
+"Nonsense, Khoja Effendi!" said the neighbour, "You know well enough
+that a pan cannot die."
+
+"You were quite willing to believe that it had had a child," said the
+Khoja; "it seems odd you cannot believe that it is dead."
+
+
+_Tale_ 21.--The Day of the Month.
+
+One day Khoja Effendi walked into the bazaar. As he went about among the
+buyers and sellers, a man came up to him and said, "Is it the third or
+fourth day of the month to-day?"
+
+"How should I know?" replied the Khoja. "I don't deal in the moon."
+
+
+_Tale_ 22.--The Khoja's Dream.
+
+One night when he was asleep the Khoja dreamed that he found nine pieces
+of money.
+
+"Bountiful heaven!" said he, "let me have been mistaken. I will count
+them afresh. Let there be ten!" And when he counted them there were ten.
+Then he said, "Let there be nineteen!" And vehemently contending for
+nineteen he awoke. But when he was awake and found that there was
+nothing in his hands, he shut his eyes again, and stretching his hands
+out said, "Make it nine pieces, I'll not say another word."
+
+
+_Tale_ 23.--The Old Moon.
+
+One day some of the neighbours said, "Let us ask this Khoja something
+that will puzzle him, and see what he will say." So they came to the
+Khoja and said, "The moon is on the wane, Khoja Effendi, and we shall
+soon have a new one; what will be done with the old moon?"
+
+"They will break it up and make stars of it," said the Khoja.
+
+
+_Tale_ 24.--The Short Piece of Muslin.
+
+One day Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi was tying a new piece of muslin for his
+turban, when to his annoyance he discovered that it was too short. He
+tried a second time, but still it was not long enough, and he spoiled
+his turban, and lost his temper. Much vexed with the muslin, the Khoja
+took it to the bazaar, and gave it in to be sold by auction.
+
+By and by the sale began, and after a time the muslin was put up, and a
+man came forward and began to bid. Another man bid against him, and the
+first man continued to raise his price.
+
+The Khoja was standing near, and at last he could bear it no longer.
+"That rascal of a muslin has cheated me and put me to infinite
+inconvenience," said he; "it played me false; and am I bound to conceal
+its deficiencies?"
+
+Then he came softly up to the highest bidder, and whispered, "Take care
+what you are about, brother, in buying that muslin. It's a short
+length."
+
+
+_Tale_ 25.--The Khoja Peeps Into Futurity.
+
+Having need of a stout piece of wood, the Khoja one day decided to cut
+off a certain branch from a tree that belonged to him, as he perceived
+that it would serve his purpose.
+
+Taking, therefore, his axe in his hand, and tucking his skirts into his
+girdle, he climbed the tree, and the branch he desired being firm and
+convenient, he seated himself upon it, and then began to hack and hew.
+
+As he sat and chopped a man passed by below him, who called out and
+said, "O stupid man! What are you doing? When the branch is cut through
+you will certainly fall to the ground."
+
+"Are the decrees of the future less veiled from this man than from me,
+who am a Khoja?" said Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi to himself, and he made the
+man no reply, but chopped on.
+
+In a few moments the branch gave way, and the Khoja fell to the ground.
+
+When he recovered himself he jumped up, and ran after the man who had
+warned him.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA FALLS.]
+
+"O you fellow!" cried he. "It has happened to me even as you foretold.
+At the moment when the branch was cut through I fell to the ground. Now,
+therefore, since the future is open to thee, I beseech thee to tell me
+the day of my death."
+
+"This madness is greater than the other," replied the man. "The day of
+death is among the hidden counsels of the Most High."
+
+But the Khoja held him by the gown and continued to urge him, saying,
+"You told me when I should fall from the tree, and it came to pass to
+the moment. Tell me now how long I have to live." And as he would not
+release him, but kept crying, "How much time have I left?" the man lost
+patience, and said, "O fool! there is no more time left to thee. The
+days of the years of thy life are numbered."
+
+"Then I am dead, lo I am dead!" said the Khoja, and he lay down, and
+stiffened himself, and did not move.
+
+By and by his neighbours came and stood at his head, and having observed
+him, they brought a bier and laid him on it, saying, "Let us take him to
+his own house."
+
+Now in the way thither there was in the road a boggy place, which it was
+difficult to pass, and the bearers of the bier stood still and
+consulted, saying, "Which way shall we go?"
+
+And they hesitated so long that the Khoja, becoming impatient, raised
+his head from the bier, and said, "_That's_ the way I used to go myself,
+when I was alive."
+
+
+_Tale_ 26.--The Two Moons.
+
+On a certain day when the Khoja went to Sur-Hissar he saw a group of
+persons looking at the new moon.
+
+"What extraordinary people the men of this place must be!" said he, "In
+our country the moon may be seen as large as a plate, and no one
+troubles his head about it, and here people stare at it when it is only
+a quarter the size."
+
+
+_Tale_ 27.--The Khoja Preaching.
+
+One of the Khoja's duties--as a religious teacher--was to preach to the
+people. But once upon a time he became very lazy about this, and was
+always seeking an excuse to shorten or omit his sermons.
+
+On a certain day about this time he mounted into the pulpit, and looking
+down on the congregation assembled to listen to him, he stretched forth
+his hands and cried, "Ah, Believers! what shall I say to you?"
+
+And the men beat upon their breasts, and replied with one voice, "We do
+not know, most holy Khoja! we do not know."
+
+"Oh, if you don't know--" said the Khoja indignantly, and gathering his
+robe about him, he quitted the pulpit without another word.
+
+The men looked at each other in dismay, for the Khoja was a very
+popular preacher.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA PREACHES.]
+
+"We have done wrong," said they, "though we know not how; without doubt
+our ignorance is an offence to his learning. Wherefore, if he comes
+again, whatever he says to us we will seem as if we knew all about it."
+
+The following week the Khoja got again into the pulpit, from which he
+could see a larger assembly than before.
+
+"O ye Muslims!" he began, "what am I to say--"
+
+But before the words were fairly out of his mouth the congregation cried
+out with one voice, "_We_ know, good Khoja! We know!"
+
+"Oh, if you _know_--" said the Khoja sarcastically, and shrugging his
+shoulders, and lifting his eyebrows, he left the place as one who feels
+that he can be of no further use.
+
+"This is worse than before," said the Muslims in despair. But after a
+while they took counsel, and said, "Let him come once more, and we will
+not lose our sermon this time. If he asks the same question we will
+reply that some of us know, but that some of us do not know."
+
+So when the Khoja next appeared before the congregation, and after he
+had cried as before, "O Brethren! do ye know what I am about to say?"
+they answered, "Some of us know, but some of us do not know."
+
+"How nice!" said the Khoja, smiling benevolently upon the crowd beneath
+him, as he prepared to take his departure. "Then those of you who know
+can explain it all to those who do not know."
+
+
+_Tale_ 28.--The Khoja and the Horsemen.
+
+One day when Khoja Effendi was crossing a certain desert plain a troop
+of horsemen suddenly appeared riding towards him.
+
+"No doubt these are Bedawee robbers," thought the Khoja, "who will kill
+me without remorse for the sake of the Cadi's ferejeh which I wear." And
+in much alarm he hastened towards a cemetery which he had perceived to
+be near. Here he quickly stripped off his clothes, and, having hidden
+them, crept naked into an empty tomb and lay down.
+
+But the horsemen pursued after him, and by and by they came into the
+cemetery, and one of them peeped into the tomb and saw the Khoja.
+
+"Here is the man we saw!" cried the horseman; and he said to the Khoja,
+"What are you lying there for, and where are your clothes?"
+
+"The dead have no possessions, O Bedawee!" replied the Khoja. "I am
+buried here. If you saw me on the plain as I used to appear in life,
+without doubt you are one of those who can see ghosts and apparitions."
+
+
+_Tale_ 29.--The Ox Trespassing.
+
+One day Khoja Effendi, repairing to a piece of ground which belonged to
+him, found that a strange ox had got into the enclosure. The Khoja took
+a thick stick to beat it with, but the beast, seeing him coming, ran
+away and escaped.
+
+Next week the Khoja met a Turk driving the ox, which was harnessed to a
+waggon.
+
+Thereupon the Khoja took a stick in his hand, and, running after the ox,
+belaboured it soundly. "O man!" cried the Turk, "what are you beating my
+beast for?"
+
+"Hold your tongue, you fool," said the Khoja, "and don't meddle with
+what doesn't concern you. _The ox knows well enough._"
+
+
+_Tale_ 30.--The Khoja's Camel.
+
+The next time Khoja Effendi was obliged to take a journey he resolved to
+accompany a caravan for protection.
+
+Now the Khoja had lately become possessed of a valuable camel, and he
+said to himself, "I will ride my camel instead of going on foot; the
+journey will then be a pleasure, and I shall not be fatigued." So he
+mounted the camel and set forth.
+
+But as he was riding with the caravan the camel stumbled, and the Khoja
+was thrown off and severely hurt. The people of the caravan coming to
+his assistance found that he was stunned, but after a while they
+succeeded in restoring him.
+
+When the Khoja came to his senses he tore his clothes, and cried in
+great rage and indignation, "O Muslims! you do not know what care I have
+taken of this camel, and this is how I am rewarded! Will no one kill it
+for me? It has done its best to kill me."
+
+But his friends said, "Be appeased, most worthy Effendi, we could not
+kill your valuable camel."
+
+"O benefactors!" replied the Khoja, "since you desire the brute's life
+it must be spared. But it shall have no home with me. I am about to
+drive it into the desert, where it may stumble to its heart's content."
+
+So the Khoja drove the camel away; but before he did so he tore the
+furniture and trappings furiously from its back, crying, "I won't leave
+you a rag, you ungrateful beast!"
+
+And he pursued his journey on foot, carrying the camel's furniture as
+best as he might.
+
+
+_Tale_ 31.--An Open Question.
+
+The Khoja wanted vegetables for cooking, so he took a sack and slipped
+into a neighbouring garden, which was abundantly supplied. He picked
+some herbs, and pulled up some turnips, and got a little of everything
+he could find to fill his bag. Both hands were full, when the gardener
+suddenly appeared and seized him.
+
+"What are you doing here?" said the gardener.
+
+The Khoja was confounded, and not being able to find a good excuse, he
+said, "A very strong wind blew during the night. Having driven me a long
+way, it blew me here."
+
+"Oh," said the gardener; "but who plucked these herbs which I see in
+your hands?"
+
+"The wind was so very strong," answered the Khoja, "that when it blew me
+into this place I clutched with both hands at the first things I could
+lay hold of, lest it should drive me further. And so they remain in my
+grasp."
+
+"Oh," said the gardener; "but who put these into the sack, I wonder?"
+
+"That is just what puzzles me," the Khoja replied; "I was thinking about
+it when you came in."
+
+
+_Tale_ 32.--The Spurting Fountain.
+
+One summer's day the Khoja had come a long way, and was very hot and
+thirsty. By and by he perceived a fountain, of which the pipe was
+stopped up with a piece of wood.
+
+"Now I shall quench my thirst," said the Khoja, and he pulled out the
+stopper, on which the water rushed out with vehement force over the
+Khoja's head, and drenched him in a moment.
+
+"Ah!" cried the Khoja angrily, "it's because of your running so madly
+that they have stuck that stick into you, I suppose."
+
+
+_Tale_ 33.--Well-meant Soup.
+
+One day as the Khoja was returning home he met a party of students
+walking together.
+
+"Good-evening, Effendis!" said he. "Pray come home with me, and we will
+have some soup."
+
+The students did not think twice about accepting the invitation, and
+they followed the Khoja home to his house.
+
+"Pray be seated," said the Khoja, and when they had seated themselves he
+went to the upper room. "Wife," said he, "I have brought home some
+guests. Let us give them a good bowl of soup."
+
+"O Effendi!" cried the wife, "is there any butter in the house? Is there
+any rice? Have you brought anything home for me to make it of, that you
+ask for soup?"
+
+"Give me the soup-bowl," said the Khoja. Then taking the empty bowl in
+his hand he returned to the students.
+
+"O Effendis!" said he, "be good enough, I beseech you, to take the will
+for the deed. You are indeed most welcome, and if there had been butter
+or rice, or anything else in our house, you would have had excellent
+soup out of this very bowl."
+
+
+_Tale_ 34.--The Khoja and the Ten Blind Men.
+
+Once upon a time Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen, wandering by the banks of a river,
+came to a certain ford near which he seated himself to rest.
+
+By and by came ten blind men, who were desirous of crossing the river,
+and they agreed with the Khoja that he should help them across for the
+payment of one penny each.
+
+The Khoja accordingly exerted himself to the utmost of his power, and he
+got nine of the blind men safely across; but as he was helping the
+tenth, the man lost his footing, and in spite of the Khoja's efforts the
+river overpowered him, and bore him away.
+
+Thereupon the nine blind men on the opposite shore set up a lamentable
+wail, crying, "What has happened, O Khoja?"
+
+"One penny less to pay than you expected," said the Khoja.
+
+
+_Tale_ 35.--The End of the World.
+
+Now Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi had a lamb which he brought up and
+fattened with much care.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA RECOMPENSES HIS FRIENDS.]
+
+Some of his friends were very desirous to get hold of this lamb and make
+a feast of it. So they came to the Khoja and begged him earnestly to
+give up the lamb for a feast, but the Khoja would not consent.
+
+At last one day came one of them and said, "O Khoja! to-morrow is the
+end of the world. What will you do with this lamb on the last day? We
+may as well eat it this evening."
+
+"If it be so, let us do as you say," replied the Khoja, for he thought
+that the man was in earnest. So they lighted the fire and roasted the
+lamb, and had an excellent feast. But the Khoja perceived that they had
+played a trick upon him.
+
+By and by his friends went to some little distance to play games
+together, but the Khoja would not accompany them, so they left their
+upper garments in his charge and departed to their amusements.
+
+When they were gone the Khoja took the clothes and put them on to the
+fire where the lamb had been roasted, and burnt them all.
+
+After a while the friends returned and found their robes burnt to ashes.
+
+"O Khoja!" they cried, "who has burnt our clothes? Alas, alas! what
+shall we do?"
+
+"Never mind," said the Khoja, "to-morrow the world comes to an end, you
+know. You would not have wanted them for long."
+
+
+_Tale_ 36.--The Dog on the Tomb.
+
+One day the Khoja was wandering among the tombs. As he strolled along he
+perceived a dog lying upon a grave-stone.
+
+Indignant at this profanation of a tomb, the Khoja took a stout stick
+and made up his mind to chastise the intruder. But the dog, who saw what
+was coming, got up and prepared to fly at him.
+
+The Khoja never ran any unnecessary risk. When he perceived that the dog
+was about to attack him, and that he would have the worst of it, he
+lowered his stick.
+
+"Pray don't disturb yourself," said he; "I give in."
+
+
+_Tale_ 37.--The Khoja and the Mullas.
+
+Once upon a time the Khoja, riding on his donkey, was proceeding to a
+certain place to give public instruction, when he was followed by
+several law-students, who walked behind him.
+
+Perceiving this, the Khoja dismounted, and got up again with his face to
+the donkey's tail.
+
+"O Khoja!" cried the Mullas, "why do you ride backwards?"
+
+"It is the only way in which we can show each other proper civility,"
+replied the Khoja; "for when I ride in the usual fashion, if you walk
+behind me I turn my back on you, and if you walk before me you turn your
+backs on me."
+
+
+_Tale_ 38.--The Students and the Khoja's Wife.
+
+Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi met a party of students who were walking
+together.
+
+"Allow me to join you, worthy Effendis," said he, "and if it is
+agreeable to you we will proceed to my house."
+
+"With the greatest possible pleasure," replied all the students, and the
+Khoja, beguiling the way with smart sayings and agreeable compliments,
+led them to the door of his dwelling.
+
+"Be good enough to wait an instant," said the Khoja, and the students
+waited whilst the Khoja entered his house, where--being in a mischievous
+mood--he said to his wife, "O wife, go down and send those men away who
+are hanging about the door. If they want me, say that I have not come
+home."
+
+So the woman went down and said, "The Khoja has not come home,
+gentlemen."
+
+"What are you talking about?" cried the students; "he came home with
+us."
+
+"He's not at home, I tell you," said the Khoja's wife.
+
+"We know that he is," said the students.
+
+"He's not," repeated the woman.
+
+"He is," reiterated the students.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA IS NOT AT HOME.]
+
+And so they contradicted each other and bandied words, till the Khoja,
+who was listening from above, put his head out of the window and cried,
+"Neither you nor my wife have any sense in your heads. Don't you see
+there are two doors to the place? If he did come in by one he may have
+gone out again through the other."
+
+
+_Tale_ 39.--The Khoja and His Guest.
+
+One day a man came to the Khoja and became his guest for the night.
+
+When they had had supper they lay down to sleep.
+
+After a while the light went out; but the Khoja was lazy, and pretended
+not to observe it, for he did not want to get up.
+
+"Khoja! Khoja!" cried the guest.
+
+"What's the matter?" said the Khoja.
+
+"Don't you see that the light's gone out?" said the guest.
+
+"I see nothing," said the Khoja.
+
+"It's pitch dark," complained the guest: "do get up and see if you have
+a candle in the house."
+
+"You must be mad," replied the Khoja; "am I a cat? If it is really as
+dark as you say how can I possibly see whether I have got any or not?"
+
+
+_Tale_ 40.--The Wise Donkey.
+
+Once upon a time the Khoja was smoking in his garden, when a certain man
+came to borrow his donkey.
+
+Now this man was cruel to animals, therefore the Khoja did not like to
+lend him his beast; but as he was also a man of some consideration, the
+Khoja hesitated to refuse point blank.
+
+"O Effendi!" said he, "I will gladly lend you my donkey, but he is a
+very wise animal, and knows what is about to befall him. If he foresees
+good luck for this journey all will be well, and you could not have a
+better beast. But if he foresees evil he will be of no use, and I should
+be ashamed to offer him to you."
+
+"Be good enough to inquire of him," said the borrower.
+
+Thereupon the Khoja departed on pretence of taking counsel with his
+donkey. But he only smoked another pipe in his garden, and then returned
+to the man, who was anxiously awaiting him, and whom he saluted with all
+possible politeness, saying--
+
+"May it be far from you, most worthy Effendi, ever to experience such
+misfortune as my wise donkey foresees on this occasion!"
+
+"What does he foresee?" inquired the borrower.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA AND HIS DONKEY.]
+
+"Broken knees, sore ribs, aching bones, long marches, and short meals,"
+said the Khoja.
+
+Then the man looked foolish, and sneaked away without reply.
+
+But the Khoja went back to his pipe.
+
+
+_Tale_ 41.--The Khoja's Horse.
+
+Once upon a time the Khoja was travelling in company with a caravan,
+when they halted for the night at a certain place, and all the horses
+were tied up together.
+
+Next morning the Khoja could not for the life of him remember which was
+his own horse, and he was much afraid of being cheated if he confessed
+this to the rest.
+
+So, as they were all coming out, he seized his bow and arrow, and aimed
+among the horses at random.
+
+"Don't shoot!" cried the men; "what is the matter?"
+
+"I am desperate," replied the Khoja; "I am determined to kill somebody's
+horse, so let every one look to his own."
+
+Laughing at the Khoja's folly, each man untied his own horse as quickly
+as possible, and took it away.
+
+Then the Khoja knew that the one left was his own.
+
+He at once proceeded to mount, but putting his right foot into the
+stirrup, he came round with his face to the tail.
+
+"What makes you get up backwards, Khoja?" said his friends.
+
+"It is not I who am in the wrong," said the Khoja, "but the horse that
+is left-handed."
+
+
+_Tale_ 42.--The Khoja on the Bey's Horse.
+
+On a certain occasion Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen went to see the Bey, and the
+Bey invited him to go out hunting.
+
+The Khoja agreed, but when they were about to start he found that he had
+been mounted on a horse which would not move out of a snail's pace. He
+said nothing, however, for it is not well to be too quick in seeing
+affronts.
+
+By and by it began to rain heavily. The Bey and the rest of the party
+galloped off with all speed towards shelter, and the Khoja was left in
+the lurch.
+
+When they were all out of sight the Khoja got down and took off all his
+clothes and folded them neatly together, and put them on the saddle.
+Then he got up again and sat on his clothes, to keep them dry.
+
+By and by the rain ceased, and the Khoja dressed himself and went
+leisurely home. When he reached the Bey's palace all the guests were
+assembled, and presently the Bey perceived him and cried out, "Why, here
+is the worthy Khoja! And--how extraordinary!--his clothes are not as wet
+as ours."
+
+"Why do you not praise the horse on which you mounted me?" answered the
+Khoja; "it carried me through the storm without a single thread of my
+clothes being wet."
+
+"They must have made a mistake about the horses," thought the Bey to
+himself, and he invited the Khoja to go hunting on the following day.
+
+The Khoja accepted, and when the time came he was mounted on the horse
+which the Bey had ridden the day before, and the Bey seated himself on
+that which had carried the Khoja with dry clothes through the shower.
+
+By and by it began to rain; every one rode off as usual, and this time
+the Khoja among them.
+
+The Bey, however, could not induce his horse to stir out of a foot's
+pace, and when he arrived at his palace he was drenched to the skin.
+
+"Wretched man!" he cried to the Khoja, "is it not through you that I
+was induced to ride this useless horse?"
+
+"Most eminent Bey," replied the Khoja, "the beast has treated you no
+worse than he served me. But perhaps your Eminence did not think of
+taking off your clothes and sitting on them?"
+
+
+_Tale_ 43.--The Khoja's Donkey brays to Good Purpose.
+
+One day the Khoja dismounted at the door of a shop, and threw his
+woollen pelisse on the donkey's back till he should return. He then went
+in to buy sweetmeats.
+
+In a few minutes there passed a man, who snatched the woollen pelisse
+from the donkey's back, and went off with it. At this moment the donkey
+began to bray.
+
+"O bawl away!" cried the Khoja, who had come out just in time to see his
+pelisse disappear; "much good that will do."
+
+But as it happened, when the man heard the noise he was afraid of being
+caught, and, throwing the pelisse back on to the donkey, he ran away as
+hard as he could.
+
+[Illustration: THE KHOJA PRAYS.]
+
+
+_Tale_ 44.--The Khoja's Left Leg.
+
+During one very hot season there was a scarcity of water in the city.
+
+One day, the Khoja was performing his religious ablutions: he washed
+himself all over with the exception of his left leg, but before that
+could be washed the water was all used up.
+
+When the Khoja began to recite the customary prayers he stood on one leg
+like a goose.
+
+"O Khoja Effendi!" cried the people, "why do you pray standing on your
+right leg?"
+
+"I could not pray on my left leg," said the Khoja; "it has not performed
+the appointed ablutions."
+
+
+_Tale_ 45.--"Figs Would Be More Acceptable."
+
+Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi had some plums, of which he resolved to make a
+present to the Bey. He therefore took three of them, and putting them on
+a fine tray, he carried them into the royal presence, and duly offered
+them for the Bey's acceptance.
+
+Being in a good humour, the Bey took the present in good part, and gave
+the Khoja several pence in return.
+
+After some days the Khoja thought he would take something else to the
+Bey, and having some fine large beetroots, he set off as before.
+
+On his way to the palace he met a man, who saluted him.
+
+"What are you doing with all those beetroots?" said he.
+
+"I am about to present them to the Bey," replied the Khoja.
+
+"Figs would be more acceptable, I should think," said the man.
+
+The Khoja pursued his journey, but as he went the man's words troubled
+him--"Figs would be more acceptable."
+
+At last he perceived a fig-tree by the roadside, so, throwing away all
+the beetroots, he put two or three figs in their place, and having
+arrived at the palace, he presented them to the Bey.
+
+But this time the Bey was not in a good humour.
+
+"What madman is this," he cried, "who mocks me by the gift of a few
+worthless figs? Throw them at his head and drive him away!"
+
+So they pelted the Khoja with his figs, and drove him out. But as he
+ran, instead of cursing his ill luck, the Khoja gave thanks for his good
+fortune.
+
+"This is indeed madness," cried the servants of the Bey; "for what, O
+Khoja, do you return thanks, after this ignominious treatment?"
+
+"O ignorant time-servers," replied the Khoja, "I have good reason to
+give thanks. For I was bringing beetroots to the Bey--large beetroots,
+and many of them--and I met a man who persuaded me, saying, "Figs would
+be more acceptable," so I brought figs; and you have cast them at my
+head. But there were few of them, and they are soft, and I am none the
+worse. If, however, I had not by good luck thrown away the beetroots,
+which are hard, my skull would certainly have been cracked."
+
+
+_Tale_ 46.--Timur and the One-legged Geese.
+
+One day the Khoja caused a goose to be cooked. He was about to present
+it to the King.
+
+When it was nicely done he set off with it, but on the road he became
+very hungry. If the smell of it were to be trusted it was a most
+delicious bird! At last the Khoja could resist no longer, and he tore
+off a leg and ate it with much relish.
+
+On arriving in the royal presence he placed the goose before Timur the
+King, who, when he had examined the Khoja's gift, was exceedingly
+annoyed.
+
+"This Khoja is deriding me!" said he. And then in a voice of thunder he
+demanded, "_Where is the other leg?_"
+
+"The geese of our country are one-legged," replied Nasr-ed-Deen, with
+much gravity. "If your Majesty does not believe me, be good enough to
+let your eyes be informed of the truth of what I say by looking at the
+geese at yonder spring."
+
+As it happened there were a number of geese at the fountain, and they
+were all standing on one leg.
+
+The King could not help laughing, but he called to his drummers and
+said, "March towards yonder fountain, and lay your drumsticks well about
+your drums."
+
+The drummers forthwith began to drum, and they rattled away so heartily
+that all the geese put down their legs and ran off in alarm.
+
+"O Khoja!" cried Timur, "how is this? All your geese have become
+two-legged!"
+
+"It is the effect of your Majesty's wonderful drumsticks," replied the
+Khoja. "If you were to eat one of them, you yourself would undoubtedly
+become four-legged."
+
+
+_Tale_ 47.--The Khoja Rewards the Frogs.
+
+Khoja Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi had been riding his donkey for some miles. It
+was very hot, and the Khoja dismounted to ease his beast. At this moment
+they came within sight of a pond, and the donkey smelling the water set
+off towards it as hard as he could canter.
+
+The side of the pond was very steep, and in its haste the donkey would
+probably have fallen in, but that the frogs set up such a terrific
+croaking at its approach that the beast, in alarm, turned sharply round,
+and was caught by its master.
+
+The Khoja was not wanting in grateful and liberal feelings.
+
+"Well done, my little pond-birds!" said he, throwing a handful of coins
+into the water. "Divide that among you to buy sweetmeats with."
+
+
+_Tale_ 48.--The Khoja reproaches his Cock.
+
+Once upon a time the Khoja was carrying his fowls in a cage to the city
+for sale.
+
+As he went along he began to feel sorry for them.
+
+"O my soul!" said he, "these poor fowls are sadly imprisoned. I will let
+them go a little." So he opened the cage, and the birds scrambled out.
+One ran one way, and another another; but the Khoja contrived to keep up
+with the cock, which he drove before him with his stick, the poor bird
+waddling hither and thither, and fluttering from side to side with
+distress and indecision pitiable to behold.
+
+On seeing this the Khoja began to reproach him. "You never thought it
+would come to this, my fine bird, did you?" said he. "And yet what a
+wiseacre you are! You know when it's day better than the sun himself,
+and can crow loud enough for all the world to hear your wisdom."
+
+The poor cock made no reply, but waddled on with hoarse cries and
+flapping wings.
+
+"You're a poor prophet!" said the Khoja. "You know that it is morning in
+the middle of the night: how is it you could not foresee that you were
+to be driven to market? Thus--and thus!" And turning him at every corner
+by which he would escape, the Khoja drove the distracted cock into the
+city.
+
+
+_Tale_ 49.--Hare-soup.
+
+One day there came a man from the village who made the Khoja a present
+of a hare.
+
+The Khoja brought him in, treating him with all honour and hospitality,
+and gave him some rich and excellent soup.
+
+In a week's time the man called again; but the Khoja had forgotten him,
+and said, "Who are you?"
+
+"I am the man who brought the hare," he replied. The Khoja entertained
+him as before, though the soup was not quite so rich.
+
+After a few days came some men who desired to be guests to the Khoja.
+
+"Who are you?" said he.
+
+"We are neighbours of the man who brought the hare," said they.
+
+This time the soup was certainly thin, but that did not hinder the
+arrival of some fresh guests in a very few days.
+
+"Who are you?" said the Khoja.
+
+"We are neighbours of the neighbours of the man who brought the hare,"
+was the reply.
+
+"You are welcome," said their host; and he set a bowl of clear water
+before them.
+
+"What is this, O Khoja?" cried the men.
+
+"It is soup of soup of soup of the hare-soup," answered the Khoja.
+
+
+_Tale_ 50.--The Khoja out Fishing.
+
+One day the Khoja accompanied some men who were going a-fishing, and he
+became much excited in watching the sport.
+
+Suddenly, as they cast the net into the sea, the Khoja threw himself
+into it.
+
+"What can you be thinking of, Effendi?" cried the fishermen.
+
+"I forgot," said the Khoja; "I was thinking I was a fish."
+
+
+_Tale_ 51.--A Desire Satisfied.
+
+Nasr-ed-Deen Effendi had an old cow with horns so exceedingly broad that
+one could certainly sit between them if he had a mind to do so.
+
+"I should very much like to try," the Khoja kept thinking; "I should
+exceedingly like to sit for once between those horns."
+
+The notion haunted him, and he kept saying to himself, "I certainly
+should like it, just for once."
+
+One day the cow came before the house, and after a while lay down.
+
+"The opportunity has arrived," cried the Khoja, and running out, he
+seated himself between the cow's horns. "It is just as I thought," said
+he; but as he spoke the cow got up, and tossed the Khoja violently to
+the ground.
+
+The Khoja was stunned, and when his wife hastened to the spot she found
+him lying senseless. After some time he opened his eyes, and perceived
+his wife weeping near him.
+
+"O wife!" said the Khoja, "weep not; I am not less fortunate than other
+men. I have suffered for it, but I have had my desire."
+
+
+_Tale_ 52.--The Khoja and the Incompetent Barber.
+
+On one occasion the Khoja was shaved by a most incompetent barber. At
+every stroke the man cut his head with the razor, and kept sticking on
+bits of cotton to stop the bleeding.
+
+At last the Khoja lost patience.
+
+"That will do," said he, jumping up: "you've sown cotton on half my
+head, I'll keep the other half for flax;" and he ran out of the shop
+with his head half shaved.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[Footnote 3: A _Khoja_ is a religious teacher, and sometimes a
+school-master also.]
+
+
+
+
+THE SNARLING PRINCESS.
+
+(_Freely adapted from the German._)
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+Ever so long ago there lived a certain king, at whose court great
+rejoicings were held for the birth of a child. But this joy was soon
+turned to sorrow, when the young queen died, and left her infant
+daughter motherless. As the body of the young queen lay in state,
+wrapped in a shroud of gold all embroidered with flowers, and with so
+sweet a smile upon her face that she looked like one who dreams happy
+dreams in sleep, the sorrowing king took the child in his arms, and
+kneeling by the bier vowed never to marry again, but to make his wife's
+only child the heir of his crown and kingdom. This promise he faithfully
+fulfilled, and remaining a widower, he devoted his life to the
+upbringing of his daughter.
+
+It is true that the young princess had a fairy godmother--a distant
+cousin of the deceased queen--but the king could not endure that any one
+but himself should have a voice in the management of his child, and the
+fairy godmother, who was accustomed to the utmost deference to her
+opinions, very soon quitted the court in a huff, and left the king as
+supreme in the nursery as he was in the council-chamber.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+When the precious baby was washed, this was done with no common care.
+The bath itself was made of gold, and the two chief physicians of the
+kingdom assisted the king by their counsels. When hot water of crystal
+clearness had been poured into the bath, the more celebrated of the two
+physicians dipped the tip of his little finger in, and looking
+inquiringly at his colleague, said "_Hum_." On which the physician of
+lesser degree dipped in his little finger and said "_Hem_." And after
+this the water always proved to be of the right temperature, and did the
+young princess no harm whatever. The king himself on these occasions
+always dropped--with much state--a few drops of exquisite scent into the
+bath, from a golden flask studded with diamonds. The chief
+lady-in-waiting brought the baby, wrapped in gorgeous robes, and put it
+into the bath. The court doctors laid their fingers on their noses, and
+looked very important, whilst the king--who was short-sighted--put on
+his spectacles to enjoy the sight of the little princess, who gambolled
+in the water like a fish. The rest of her toilette was carried out with
+no less formality, and as the same scrupulous care watched over every
+incident of her daily life, the child grew every day more healthy and
+beautiful.
+
+Time passed on without lessening the king's devotion to his daughter.
+Her beauty was the standing theme of conversation in every corner of the
+palace where the king was likely to overhear it, and the courtiers
+rivalled each other in trying to read the wishes of the little princess
+in her blue eyes, and in endeavouring to forestall them.
+
+No wonder the little lady grew up exceedingly self-willed, and with no
+thought of any one's pleasure but her own.
+
+The king hired governesses, it is true, but he strictly forbade them
+ever to say a harsh word to his darling; and one who had so far
+transgressed this order as to reprove the princess for some fault, was
+dismissed in disgrace. Thus it came about that the child grew daily more
+and more wilful and capricious. Do what every one would, it was
+impossible to please her, and as she was allowed to fly into a rage
+about the most trifling matters, and as she sulked and scolded, and
+growled and grumbled for the smallest annoyances, her voice gradually
+acquired a peculiar snarling tone, which was as painful to listen to as
+it was unbecoming in a young and pretty princess.
+
+The whole court suffered from the depressing effects of the young
+lady's ill-temper. Behind the king's back, the courtiers complained
+pretty freely, but before his face no one dared show his annoyance, and
+two old court ladies, whose nerves were not so strong as they had been,
+and who feared to betray themselves, were obliged to employ a celebrated
+professor of cosmetics to paint smiles on their faces that could not be
+disturbed by the snarling and grumbling of the princess; but the Lord
+Chamberlain concealed his feelings by a free use of his gold snuff-box,
+and snuffed away his annoyance pretty successfully.
+
+As his daughter grew up, the king was not without his share of suffering
+from her ill-temper. But he bore it all very patiently,--"She will be a
+queen," said he to himself, "and it is fit that she should have a will
+of her own." The king himself was of an imperious temper, but such was
+his love for his only child, that he bent it completely to her caprices.
+
+In private, the courtiers were by no means so indulgent in their views,
+and the future queen was known amongst them, behind her back, as the
+Snarling Princess.
+
+In spite of her ill-temper and unpleasing voice, however, she was so
+beautiful, that--being also heir to the throne of a large kingdom--many
+princes sought her hand in marriage. But the Snarling Princess was
+resolved to reign alone, and she refused every suitor who appeared.
+
+The princess's rooms were, of course, the most beautiful in the palace.
+One of these, which looked out on to the forest, was her favourite
+chamber, but it was also the source of her greatest vexation.
+
+Never did she look out of the window towards the wood without snarling
+in her harshest tone, "Hateful! Intolerable!"
+
+The source of her annoyance was this:
+
+On the edge of the forest, clearly to be seen from her window, there
+stood a tiny cottage, in which lived an aged woman who was known amongst
+the poor folks of the neighbourhood as the "Three-legged Wood-wife."
+This was because of a wooden staff on which she leaned to eke out the
+failing strength of her own limbs. The wood-wife was both feared and
+hated by the people, amongst whom she bore the character of a very
+malicious witch. The king's daughter hated not only her, but her
+tumble-down house, and had sent again and again, with large offers of
+gold, to try and purchase the cottage. But the wood-wife laughed
+spitefully at the messengers, and only replied that the cottage suited
+her, and that for no money would she quit it whilst she lived.
+
+The poor have their rights, however, as well as the rich, and even the
+Snarling Princess was obliged to submit to the disappointment at which
+she could only grumble.
+
+At one time she resolved never to go into her favourite room again. But
+she could not keep her resolution. Back she went, and some irresistible
+power always seemed to draw her to the window to irritate herself by the
+sight of the wretched hovel which belonged to the Three-legged Witch.
+
+At last, however, by constantly snarling and complaining to the king,
+she induced him to turn the old woman by force out of her cottage. The
+king, who was just and upright, did so very unwillingly, and he built
+her a new and much better cottage elsewhere.
+
+The wood-wife could not resist, but she never put her foot across the
+threshold of the new house. Meanwhile the old hovel was swept away as
+fast as possible, and by the princess's wish a pretty summer-house was
+built on the spot where it had stood, and there she and her court ladies
+were wont to amuse themselves on warm summer evenings to their hearts'
+content.
+
+One evening the princess strolled out by herself into the forest. She
+had been in several distinct rages; first with her court ladies,
+secondly with her dressmaker, thirdly with the sky, which, in spite of
+her wishes for fine weather, had become overcast with clouds.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+In this ill-humour nothing in all the beautiful green forest gave her
+any satisfaction. She snarled at the birds because they sang so merrily.
+The rustling of the green fir-tops in the evening breeze annoyed her:
+"Why should pine-trees have needles instead of leaves?" she asked
+angrily; and then she grumbled because there were no roses on the
+juniper bushes. Still snarling, she wandered on, till she came to a spot
+where she stood still and silent in sheer amazement.
+
+In an open space there was a circle of grotesque-looking stones,
+strangely linked together by creeping plants and ferns of curious
+growth. And as the Snarling Princess looked at them, it seemed to her
+that the stones took dwarf-like shapes, and glared about them with weird
+elfin faces. The princess seemed rooted to the spot. An invisible power
+appeared to draw her towards the group, and to attract her by a
+beautiful flower, whose calyx opened at her approach. Unable to resist
+the impulse, she stepped into the circle and plucked the flower.
+
+No sooner had she done so than her feet took deep root in the earth, her
+hair stiffened into fir-needles, and her arms became branches. She was
+now firmly fixed in the centre of the group of stones, a slender,
+swaying pine-tree, which creaked and croaked, and snapped and snarled
+with every gust of wind, as the princess had hardly ever done in her
+most ill-tempered moments. And as her limbs stiffened under their
+magical transformation, the hideous figure of the wood-wife might have
+been seen hovering round the charmed circle, her arms half changed into
+bird's wings, and her hands into claws. And as the king's daughter
+fairly turned into a pine-tree, the wood-wife took the form of an owl,
+and for a moment rested triumphantly on her branches. Then with a shrill
+"Tu-whit! tu-whoo!" it vanished into the forest.
+
+When the princess did not return to the palace, and all search after her
+proved utterly vain, the poor old king fell into a state of the deepest
+melancholy, and spent most of his time in the summer-house, bewailing
+the mysterious loss of his only child.
+
+One day, many months afterwards, he wandered into the forest. A storm
+was raging, of which he took no heed. But suddenly he stopped beneath a
+pine-tree, and looked up--"How like my poor dear daughter's voice!" said
+he; "especially when she was the least bit in the world--" He did not
+like to finish the sentence, but sat down under the tree and wept
+bitterly. And for every tear he shed, the pine-tree dropped a shower of
+needles. For the Snarling Princess recognized her father, and heartily
+lamented the pain he suffered now, and had so often suffered before on
+her account.
+
+"Tu-whit! tu-whoo!" said a voice, from a hole beneath the pine-tree.
+
+"Who speaks?" said the king.
+
+"It is I, cousin," said the owl, hopping into the daylight, and
+gradually assuming the form and features of the fairy godmother. "You
+did not know me as the Three-legged Wood-wife, whom you so unjustly
+sacrificed to your daughter's caprices. But I have had a hand in her
+education after all! For twelve months has she croaked and creaked,
+snapped and snarled, beneath the summer heat, the winter snow, and the
+storms of spring and autumn. Her punishment--and yours--is over."
+
+As the fairy godmother spoke, the pine-tree became a princess once more,
+and fell into her father's arms.
+
+But the wood-wife took again the shape of an owl, and the enchanted
+stones became bats, and they all disappeared into the shadows of the
+forest.
+
+And as the princess shortly afterwards married a very charming prince,
+she no doubt changed her name.
+
+Certainly she was never more known as the Snarling Princess.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE PARSNIP-MAN.
+
+(_Freely adapted from the German._)
+
+WHAT PETER FOUND IN THE PAN--AN UGLY SMILE--THE WIDOW'S RECKONINGS--REST
+BY RUSHLIGHT.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+On a cold winter's evening it is very cosy to sit by a warm hearth,
+where the fire crackles pleasantly, and the old saucepan, which Mother
+has set on the fire, sings monotonously to itself between-whiles.
+
+On such a night the wind howled in the street without, beat upon the
+window-panes, and rustled through the trees, which stood, tall and
+leafless, in the big garden over the way.
+
+Little Peter did not trouble his head on the subject. He sat indoors on
+a little footstool, near the fire, and close also to his mother, who was
+busy cutting up parsnips for next day's dinner.
+
+Peter paid great attention as his mother took a well-boiled parsnip out
+of the saucepan, scraped it, cut it, and laid the pieces on a clean
+white dish.
+
+His mother's thoughts were elsewhere. She looked sad and pensive. Only
+from time to time she nodded across the dish towards her little Peter,
+and when he got up and came and laid his head in her lap, she gently
+smoothed his fair hair from his brow, and then she smiled too.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Peter had no idea that his mother was sad. He had got another parsnip
+out of the pan, and wanted to scrape it all by himself; but he was not
+very skilful, and he worked so slowly that in the end his mother had to
+finish it for him.
+
+The next thing he did was to upset the saucepan; the parsnips fell out,
+and Peter began to count them.
+
+All at once he gave a cry that made his mother jump. He had found a
+parsnip-root that looked exactly like a little man. It had a regular
+head of its own, with a long nose, its body was short, and it had two
+shrivelled stringy little legs; arms it had none.
+
+"That's a little Parsnip-man," said his mother, when Peter showed it to
+her.
+
+"A Parsnip-man?" muttered Peter below his breath, and he gazed
+doubtfully at the odd-looking root in his hand.
+
+It seemed to him that the little man was smiling at him; but with a very
+ugly kind of smile.
+
+Suddenly the stove gave such a loud crack, that Peter let the parsnip
+fall out of his hands with a start.
+
+"What's the matter?" asked his mother, as Peter buried his face in her
+arms; for he began to feel frightened.
+
+"The little Parsnip-man grinned so nastily at me, and such a loud noise
+came out of the stove--and I let him fall!" His mother laughed at him.
+
+"You've been dreaming," said she. "The little man could not smile if he
+tried. The Parsnip-mannikins are only roots in the day-time, you know.
+It is at midnight, when you have long, long been asleep, and the church
+clock strikes twelve, that they come to life. Then away they all go to
+the great cave where the queen dwells in state, and here they hold high
+festival. There they dance, sing, play, and eat out of golden dishes.
+But as soon as the clock strikes one, all is over, and the Parsnip-men
+are only roots once more.
+
+"But you've fallen asleep," she added. "Come, my child, and I'll put you
+to bed. You are tired, are you not?"
+
+"Yes, I'll go to bed," said little Peter, rubbing his drowsy eyes. So
+his mother took him into the bedroom and lighted the rushlight. Then she
+undressed him and put him to bed. And Peter had hardly touched the
+pillow before he was fast asleep.
+
+But the mother went back to the kitchen-table, and seated herself once
+more by the light of the dimly-burning lamp. The parsnips were all cut
+up long ago. She put the dish aside and began to sew. Now and then she
+paused in her work to lean back in her chair, and tears welled up in her
+eyes. Perhaps she remembered that the rent was due, or she may have been
+reflecting that Peter's jacket was past further patching. In either case
+she began to count over in her mind a certain small stock of savings
+which she had laid by in a money-box, and to puzzle her poor head what
+she should turn her hand to next to earn the wherewithal to buy the boy
+some decent clothes. Nothing likely suggested itself, however, and with
+a heavy sigh she bent once more over her work and stitched away faster
+than ever. For the work she was doing had to be taken home next morning;
+and there was a great deal yet to do if she hoped to get it finished in
+time, and to pay her rent with the price of it.
+
+After sitting like this for a while, she got up. Her eyes ached, and it
+was getting late. The big kitchen clock was on the stroke of twelve. She
+put her sewing away in her work-basket, and carried the saucepan and the
+dish of parsnips into the scullery. Then she swept up the spare roots
+into a corner of the hearth, and put the little stool tidily away under
+the table.
+
+But she could not see anything of the parsnip which Peter had let fall.
+Possibly it had rolled behind the stove.
+
+"I shall be sure to find it in the morning, when I light the fire," she
+thought.
+
+She put out the lamp, and stepped softly into the chamber where the
+rushlight burned dimly. Then with one passing glance at the sleeping
+boy, she undressed herself and prepared for bed.
+
+In a few moments more all her cares and troubles had vanished in
+slumber.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE MAN IN THE YELLOW COAT--A MOUSE-RIDE AT MIDNIGHT--THE HOLE
+IN THE WALL--AMONG THE PARSNIP-MEN--QUEEN MARY--THE BLUE DRESS--A
+CAKE-FEAST--ONE!
+
+Little Peter had been asleep for a long time, when all at once he found
+himself suddenly twitched by the arm. He rolled over, rubbed his eyes,
+and then, to his amazement, saw the little Parsnip-man sitting by him on
+the quilt.
+
+He did not look a bit like a parsnip now. He had on a long yellow coat,
+and a little green hat on his head; and he nodded in quite a friendly
+way to Peter.
+
+"Come along! Be quick!" he said. "We must be off. But wrap up well, for
+it's cold outside."
+
+"Where are we going to?" asked little Peter. "Into the cave? And is
+Mamma going too?"
+
+"No," said the little man. "She's stopping at home. But do be quick, for
+the feast has begun."
+
+And with that he gave such a jump on to the floor that the boards fairly
+creaked again, and little Peter, slipped out of bed after him. The
+little Parsnip-man helped him on with his shoes and stockings, and Peter
+put on the rest of his clothes himself.
+
+Then the Mannikin pulled out a little whistle and blew on it.
+Immediately there was a rustling under the bed, and then two mice peeped
+out.
+
+In a moment the Parsnip-man caught one, and vaulted on to its back.
+
+"You get on the other," he said to Peter.
+
+"But it isn't big enough to carry me," said Peter doubtfully.
+
+"Get up, I tell you!" said the little man, laughing.
+
+Peter did as he was told. Doubtless he had been growing smaller, for
+when he was fairly astride he sat the mouse as if it had been made for
+him. As to the mouse, it kept perfectly still for Peter to mount.
+
+"Now, sit fast!" cried the Mannikin; and Peter had hardly seized the
+ears of the mouse (for want of reins), when his new steed ran away with
+him under the bed.
+
+Then all of a sudden it became quite dark.
+
+"Where are we?" cried Peter, for the mouse galloped on, and Peter was
+getting frightened.
+
+"We are in the cellar," the voice of the Parsnip-man replied at his
+side. "Don't be frightened; it will be light again in a minute or two."
+
+Accordingly, in a few moments, Peter could see all around him. They had
+emerged from the cellar, and were now in the street. The wind had
+fallen, and there was a dead calm. The street-lamps were burning with a
+somewhat dim light, however.
+
+Peter could now plainly see the form of the little Parsnip-man riding
+beside him. The mice scampered on and on.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+A watchman was standing in the doorway of a house. His halberd reposed
+against the wall beside him. Probably the watchman himself was reposing,
+for he never moved when the mice and their riders went by. They rode to
+the end of the street, and there, before an old deserted house which
+Peter had often shuddered to look at in the daytime, the mice stopped.
+
+"Here we are!" said the Parsnip-man, jumping down from his mouse.
+
+Peter dismounted more leisurely, and the two mice ran off.
+
+It was almost pitch dark by the old house. Only one distant lamp gave a
+feeble glimmer. The Parsnip-man whistled as before. By and by Peter
+heard a sound like "Bst! bst!"
+
+He looked all round, but could see nothing. At this moment the Mannikin
+caught him by the arm and pointed upwards to a hole in the wall of the
+old house. Peter then perceived that something was moving higher up, and
+very shortly he heard a rustling noise as if a ladder of ropes were
+being let down from above.
+
+"Come quickly!" said a shrill, slender voice. "The chimes have sounded
+once since the hour. The Queen is waiting."
+
+"Climb on to my shoulders, Peter," said the Parsnip-man, stooping as he
+spoke. Peter did so, and held fast by the little man's neck, who climbed
+nimbly up the rope-ladder to the opening in the wall above; and there
+Peter got down.
+
+Here there stood another Parsnip-man with a little lantern in his hand,
+which he turned on Peter's face, and then nodded to him in a friendly
+way. After which he unhooked the rope-ladder and drew it up.
+
+The two Parsnip-men now took Peter between them, each holding a hand.
+They went through long dark passages, and then they began to go
+down-stairs. Peter counted a hundred steps, but still they went down,
+down, and he could count no more.
+
+All at once he heard music, which sounded as if it came from a distance.
+They were now at the bottom of the steps, and walking on level ground.
+The further they went the louder grew the music, and at last the
+Parsnip-men came to a standstill.
+
+The one who held the lantern threw its light upon the wall till it
+disclosed a knob, on which he pressed. Then he put out his lantern, and
+all was dark. But the music sounded louder than before.
+
+Suddenly the wall parted and moved aside, and Peter could hardly
+restrain his cries of astonishment, for what he now saw was like nothing
+he had ever seen before. He was looking into a great big hall. It was as
+light as day. Dazzling lustres of crystal, with thousands and thousands
+of wax tapers, whose flames were reflected from the mirrors suspended
+round the room, hung from the roof. Strange music shook the walls, and
+to the time of this music hundreds and hundreds of little Parsnip-men
+twirled and danced. All of them were dressed in yellow coats and green
+hats, and many of them wore long white beards. And oh, how they chirped
+and smirked, and laughed and jumped about, as if they were mad!
+
+For a long time Peter stood bewildered. At last the little Parsnip-men
+who had brought him so far led him right into the room, and the wall
+closed behind them.
+
+"Now for the Queen!" whispered one of them. "Come along."
+
+They went down the side of the room, against the wall of which were
+ranged chairs with grand purple coverings and gilded arms. Once or twice
+Peter nearly slipped, so polished was the floor. From time to time some
+little Parsnip-man in the company nodded to him; otherwise no one paid
+much attention to him.
+
+In this way they reached the farther end of the hall, where there was a
+throne, raised on a dais and covered by a canopy hung with purple. It
+was something like the throne Peter once saw when his aunt took him with
+her to the palace. A few steps led up to the throne, with a wonderfully
+elaborate balustrade made of gold.
+
+The little mannikins seized his hands and led him up the steps between
+them. Then they drew back the purple curtains, and displayed a grand
+throne on which was seated a little girl in a snow-white dress. On her
+head she wore a little gold crown, from which hung a long transparent
+veil. She was resting her head on her hand, and did not look up till
+Peter and the Parsnip-men were quite close to her. Then she gave a cry
+of joy.
+
+"So you've come at last, Peter!" she cried, her eyes brightening with
+delight; and as she took his hand, he saw that she was no other than his
+favourite playfellow and neighbour, little Mary.
+
+There was a second seat beside her, and to this she drew Peter. Then she
+beckoned to the Parsnip-men, and said, "You have got everything ready,
+have you not?" The Parsnip-men bowed low, and hurried away.
+
+In a minute or two they returned, followed by about thirty mannikins
+like themselves, who bore a magnificent dress which they deposited
+before Peter. There was a coat of blue silk, turned up with fur, and
+trimmed with precious stones. Besides this there were knee-breeches of
+the same material, slashed with white and fringed with gold, white silk
+stockings, and smart shoes with gold buckles. To complete the whole,
+there lay on the top a cap, with a heron's plume fastened by an aigrette
+of gold.
+
+But Peter's attention all this time had been fixed upon Mary. He fancied
+she looked bigger than usual and unfamiliar in some way.
+
+"Take the clothes into that room," said she to the little men; "and you,
+Peter," she added, "go with them and dress. Then we will go to supper."
+
+"But--er--does your mamma know you're here?" asked Peter. He could not
+get over his amazement at the style and tone in which little Mary
+issued her orders in this strange place.
+
+"I should think not!" laughed the little girl. "But never mind, Peter:
+we shall soon be at home again. What you've got to do just now is to put
+on your things."
+
+As if in a dream, Peter went into the room into which the clothes had
+been taken, and where the little men helped him to take off his things
+and dress himself in his new-finery. Some of them then brought a long
+mirror, in which Peter could see himself from head to foot, and he
+fairly laughed with delight at his fine appearance in his new clothes.
+
+Then the little men led him back to the Queen, who looked him well over,
+and she also smiled complacently.
+
+"Did you bring your doll, Mary?" said Peter presently.
+
+"That's not very likely," replied she. "It would not do for a queen to
+play at dolls."
+
+"Have you been a queen very long?" Peter inquired.
+
+"For several years," said Mary.
+
+"But you and I were playing together only yesterday," said poor Peter,
+in puzzled tones.
+
+But Mary had turned her back to him, and was pulling a bell at the back
+of her throne.
+
+Although the music was still going on, the clear tone of the bell which
+the Queen had rung was heard above every other sound.
+
+The music and the dancing stopped at once.
+
+"Come, Peter, give me your arm," said Mary. "We're going into the
+supper-room."
+
+They stepped down into the hall, where all the Parsnip-men had now
+ranged themselves in two long rows, down the centre of which the Queen
+and her companion now passed, and then the Parsnip-men closed in and
+formed a long procession behind them.
+
+In this way they came to the other end of the hall. The large
+folding-doors swung open, and Peter fancied he was looking into a large
+garden. But it was only another hall in which tall foreign-looking trees
+were planted, whilst many-tinted flowers of gorgeous colours and strange
+shapes hung from the walls, and hither and thither among them flitted
+curious birds of many hues. As in the first hall, crystal lustres with
+wax tapers descended from the roof, and in the middle of the room, to
+which they now advanced, was a long table covered with a white
+table-cloth, and laid out with gold and silver plate of all sorts. There
+were golden vases with handles, golden tankards, golden dessert-dishes
+filled with splendid fruits; silver plates and goblets and
+drinking-cups, and beside them stood crystal flasks. Hundreds of chairs
+were placed round the table, and in every place was a little silver
+knife and a plate.
+
+Peter could not gaze long enough. He wanted to stop every moment, but
+Mary only laughed, and dragged him on.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+About the middle of the long table there was a dais raised above the
+level on which the other chairs and table stood. It was covered by a
+canopy of yellow silk, and under this was a table more richly laid out
+than the big one, and two seats of pure gold. To this Mary led Peter,
+and then said emphatically--"These are _our_ seats."
+
+Up they climbed, and then Mary dropped Peter's arm and sat down on one
+of the seats, and he seated himself beside her on the other.
+
+From his present elevation Peter was well able to observe the
+Parsnip-men as they passed by in procession, and took their places on
+the chairs.
+
+When all were seated the music recommenced. Then out of a side door came
+about fifty mannikins carrying large cakes on silver dishes, which they
+set down on the long table, and having cut them up handed them round to
+the guests. Others poured red or golden wine from the vases into the
+goblets. Everybody ate and drank, and chatted and laughed
+between-whiles.
+
+Among the golden dishes on the golden table where Peter and Mary sat,
+was one which held a cake which had a particularly inviting smell. Mary
+cut a piece off and put it on to Peter's golden plate. Then, from a
+beautiful golden goblet, she poured ruby-coloured wine into their
+crystal glasses.
+
+Peter ate and drank with great relish, and soon disposed of the cake and
+wine.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+"I should like to have some of that beautiful fruit, too, if I may,"
+said he. And as he spoke Mary filled his plate with grapes, apples, and
+pears.
+
+"Eat away, Peter!" said she, laughing till her white teeth shone through
+her lips. "Don't be afraid of emptying the dish. There is plenty more
+fruit if we want it."
+
+"I should like to take some home to Mamma," said Peter, biting into an
+apple. "May I, Mary?"
+
+Mary nodded kindly, and handed him a golden dish full of sweetmeats,
+saying, "Put as many of these into your pocket as you like." And he
+filled his pockets accordingly.
+
+Peter felt as happy as a king. His head was quite turned. He shouted
+aloud for joy, and swung his legs backwards and forwards as he sat on
+his golden chair.
+
+"But I say, Mary," said he, laughing, "we shall go on playing together
+the same as ever, sha'n't we? I shall bring my leaden soldiers, and
+you'll bring your dolls again, won't you?"
+
+But at this moment Mary seized his arm, and whispered in a frightened
+voice--"Hush, Peter, hush! Don't you hear?"
+
+The music had suddenly ceased, and with it all the talking and laughing
+at the long table, and in the silence the sound of the church clock
+could be distinctly heard. _It struck one._
+
+At one stroke--the lights went out, a blast of wind blew through the
+banqueting-room, and then all was as still as death.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+LEFT ALONE IN THE DARK--MOTHER--THE PARSNIP-MAN BY DAYLIGHT--THREE
+POUNDS.
+
+Peter sat in his chair, as if petrified with terror, Mary still holding
+fast by his arm.
+
+"Quick, quick!" she cried, breathlessly. "We must get away from here."
+Then she let his arm go, and hurried away from him.
+
+"Wait, wait!" he cried, anxiously; "I don't know where I am. Take me
+with you, Mary! I can't see my way. Mary! Mary! Mary!"
+
+Nobody replied.
+
+Peter slid down from his chair and groped his way forward till he
+knocked against the corner of the table. Terror fairly overcame him, and
+he cried--"Mother! Mother! Mother!"
+
+"What's the matter, dear?" said his mother's gentle voice.
+
+"I am here, Mother," cried Peter; "but I am so frightened! Mary has run
+away and left me all alone in the dark hall."
+
+"Come, Peter, come; collect yourself," said his mother, who was
+standing by the bed where poor Peter was sitting straight up with an
+anxious face, down which big tears were running.
+
+"You're here, Peter, you know; in your own little bed," said his mother,
+putting her arms round him.
+
+Peter began to take heart a little, and looked round him with big
+wide-open eyes.
+
+"But how did I get here?" he asked, still stupefied with sleep.
+
+"You've never been anywhere else, you know," said his mother.
+
+"But I know the Parsnip-man took me away, and I rode on the mouse, too,"
+said little Peter.
+
+"Nonsense, nonsense; you're still dreaming. There, get up and put on
+your clothes."
+
+"But I want the other clothes, the beautiful blue dress. These things
+are so dreadfully patched and darned," said Peter, in a lamentable tone.
+"And I have brought something nice for you too, Mother dear. It's in the
+pockets of the blue coat."
+
+"You haven't got a blue coat, child," said his mother. "Come, come. Put
+on your clothes and come into the warm kitchen." And she carried Peter
+out into the arm-chair by the breakfast-table, and began to pour out
+some coffee for him. And she put the Parsnip-man (who had been lying all
+night behind the stove) into his hand. "See," she continued, "here's
+your Parsnip-man, about whom you have been dreaming all this fine
+nonsense."
+
+Peter examined it with eager eyes. It looked exactly the same as it had
+done the night before.
+
+"But Mary was there too," he said, still doubtfully. "She is the Queen
+of the Parsnip-men, you know. And she gave me cake and wine and fruit."
+
+"Well, we'll ask her about it next time she comes," said his mother,
+laughing.
+
+Just then there was a knock at the door. The mother hastened to open it,
+and found a messenger waiting with a letter in his hand which had
+several seals on it. It was addressed to herself, and beside the address
+was written, "_Three pounds enclosed._" Having given a small sum to the
+messenger for his trouble, the widow broke the seals of the letter with
+trembling fingers. The three pounds were duly enclosed, but no letter
+accompanied the welcome money.
+
+Overcome with joy, the widow seized Peter, who had crept curiously to
+her side, in her arms and exclaimed with delight, "Ah! you shall have a
+nice blue dress, after all, my child."
+
+But when the boy asked, "Who has sent us all this money, Mother?" all
+she could say was, "I wish I knew, my dear. But you see there is no
+letter with it."
+
+Then Peter smiled expressively, but said nothing, for he
+thought--"Mother won't believe me, I know. But who can the money have
+come from, except from the little Parsnip-man?"
+
+
+
+
+A CHILD'S WISHES.
+
+(_From the German of R. Reinick._)
+
+
+A certain old knight had a little daughter called Gertrude; and when his
+brother died, leaving an only son, he took the boy into his castle, and
+treated him as his own son. The boy's name was Walter. The two children
+lived together like brother and sister; they only played where they
+could play together, and were of one heart and of one soul. But one day,
+when Gertrude had gone out alone to pick flowers beyond the castle gate,
+some gipsies came along the high-road, who stole the child and took her
+away. No one knew what had become of her; the poor old father died of
+grief, and Walter wept long days and nights for his Gertrude.
+
+At last there came a warm spring day, when the trees began to bud, and
+Walter went out into the wood. There, in a beautiful green spot, a brook
+bubbled under the trees, where he had often sat with Gertrude, floating
+little boats of nutshells on the stream. He sat down there now, cut
+himself a hazel stick for a hobby-horse, and as he did so he said to
+himself--
+
+"Ah! if I were but a grown-up knight, as tall and stately as those who
+used to come to my uncle's castle, I would ride out into the wide world
+and look for Gertrude!"
+
+Meanwhile, he heard something screaming near him, and when he looked up
+he saw a raven, which was stuck so fast between two branches of a tree
+that it could not move, whilst a snake was gliding towards it to devour
+it. Walter hastily seized his stick, beat the snake to death, and set
+the raven free.
+
+"A thousand thanks, my dear child!" said the raven, who had flown up
+into a tree, from which he spoke--"a thousand thanks! And now, since you
+have saved my life, wish for whatever you like, and it shall be granted
+immediately. A year hence we will speak of this again."
+
+When Walter heard this, he saw at once that the raven was an enchanted
+bird, and exclaimed with joy--
+
+"I should like to be a noble knight with a helmet and a shield, a
+charger and a sword!"
+
+All happened just as he wished. In an instant he was a tall, stately
+knight; his shield stood near him, and his hobby-horse became a proud
+charger, which, to show that it was no ghost, but a real horse of flesh
+and blood, began then and there to drink out of the stream.
+
+At first, Walter could not think what had happened to him, but stood as
+if he were in a dream. Soon, however, a new life seemed to wake within
+him; he swung himself on to his horse with all the energy of youth, and
+rode far out into the land to look for little Gertrude.
+
+Like other knights, he met with many adventures on his way. There was
+always something to contend with, either wild beasts or else knights,
+who, like himself, roved about the country delighting to find any one
+with whom they could do battle. On every occasion, however, Walter came
+off conqueror, for he was far more valiant than any of his opponents.
+
+At last, one day he came within sight of a mountain, on which stood a
+high castle belonging to a certain queen. As he reached the summit, he
+saw from afar a little maiden, who sat playing with her doll before the
+castle gate, and when he drew nearer he found that it was his little
+Gertrude. Then he put spurs to his horse and shouted joyfully--
+
+"Good-day, dear Gertrude!" But the child knew him not. As he drew
+nearer, he called again: "It is I indeed!--it is Cousin Walter!" but the
+child believed him not. And when he sprang from his horse to kiss her,
+and his armour, sword, and spurs rattled and clashed as he did so, the
+child was afraid that this strange man would hurt her, and she ran away
+back into the castle.
+
+Poor Walter was very much troubled. He went in, however, and presented
+himself to the queen, who received him very graciously. He told her all
+that had happened, and learnt from her that she had bought Gertrude from
+the gipsies. But when he begged that she would let him take his dear
+little cousin away with him, she consented only on condition that the
+child herself should be willing, for Gertrude had become very dear to
+the old queen. So she called the little maid in, and said--
+
+"Now look here, my child: this really is your Cousin Walter. Do you no
+longer love him, and will you not go away with him?"
+
+The child looked at the knight from head to foot, and then said in a
+troubled voice--
+
+"Since you both declare that it is Walter, I suppose I must believe it.
+Ah! if only he were still as little as he was a year ago, I would go
+into the wide world with him, wherever he wanted; but now, I never can.
+It would be no good, whilst he is like that. If I wanted to play
+hide-and-seek, as we used to do, his armour would shine, and his spurs
+rattle, and I should know where he was directly. If I wanted to go to
+school with him, he could not sit by me on the little benches at the
+little tables. Then what could a poor child like me do for such a
+stately knight? If I tried to work for him, I should burn my little
+hands; if I tried to make his clothes, I should prick my little fingers;
+and if I ran races with him, I should hurt my little feet. If I were a
+grown-up princess, indeed, it would be a different thing."
+
+Walter could not but feel that what Gertrude said was true. So he took
+leave of them both, mounted his horse, and rode away; but the queen and
+Gertrude watched him from the battlements of the castle.
+
+He had not ridden many steps when a voice from a tree called "Walter!
+Walter!" and when he looked up, there was the raven, who said--
+
+"A year has passed since you wished to be a knight. If you have another
+wish, speak, and it shall be granted; but observe, what you wished
+before will then be at an end."
+
+To these last words Walter paid no attention. The raven had no sooner
+said that he might have another wish than he interrupted it, exclaiming:
+"Then I wish Gertrude to be a grown-up princess!"
+
+But even as he spoke he himself became a child again, and his horse a
+hobby-horse, just as they had been a year ago. But when he looked up to
+the battlements, there stood by the queen a wonderfully beautiful
+princess, tall and slim and stately; and this was--his Gertrude! Then
+the boy, taking his hobby-horse, went back up to the castle steps, and
+wept bitterly. But the queen was sorry for him, took him in, and tried
+to comfort him.
+
+And now there was another trouble. Dearly as the Princess Gertrude and
+the boy Walter loved each other, they were not so happy as they should
+have been. If Walter said to her, "Come, Gertrude, and we'll run races,
+and jump over the ditches," she would answer, "Oh! that would never do
+for a princess; what would people say?"
+
+If Walter said, "Come and play hide-and-seek," Gertrude would answer
+again, "Oh! but that would never do for a princess; I should leave my
+train hanging on the thorns, and my coronet would be tumbling off my
+head."
+
+Then if Gertrude asked Walter to bring in some venison for the table,
+the boy would bring her a mouse instead; and if a bull or a mad dog came
+after them, Gertrude must snatch Walter up in her arms, and run off with
+him, for she was so much bigger than he, and could run a great deal
+quicker. Meanwhile he remained in the castle, and the boy became very
+dear to the old queen.
+
+Another year passed by, and one morning Gertrude sat under a tree in the
+garden with her embroidery, whilst Walter played at her feet. Then, as
+before, a voice called out of the tree, "Walter! Walter!" And when the
+boy looked up, the raven was sitting on a branch, who said: "Now once
+more you may wish, and it shall be granted; but this is the last time,
+therefore think it well over."
+
+But Walter did not think long before he answered: "Ah! let us both be
+children all our lives long."
+
+And as he wished so it happened. They both became children as before,
+played together more happily than ever, and were of one heart and of one
+soul.
+
+But when another year had passed by, and the children sat plucking
+flowers and singing together in the garden, an angel flew down from
+heaven, who took them both in his arms and carried them away--away to
+the celestial gardens of Paradise, where they are yet together,
+gathering the flowers that never fade, and singing songs so wondrously
+beautiful, that even the blessed angels hear with joy.
+
+
+
+
+WAR AND THE DEAD.
+
+A DRAMATIC DIALOGUE.
+
+(_From the French of Jean Mace._)
+
+
+Dramatis Personae.
+
+Peace.
+War.
+A French Grenadier.
+A German Hussar.
+A Scotch Highlander.
+A Cossack.
+A Russian Peasant Woman.
+A French Peasant Woman.
+A German Peasant Woman.
+An English Peasant Woman.
+
+
+Soldiers _are lying on the ground._ Peace _is seated
+at the back, leaning her elbow on one knee, her head resting on her
+hand_.
+
+_Enter_ War.
+
+
+War. To-day is the 18th of June, the anniversary of the battle
+of Waterloo, the day of a wrath which still mutters, and of a hatred yet
+unappeased. Let us employ it in re-animating this torpid century, which
+succumbs to the coward sweetness of an inglorious peace. After forty
+years of forced repose brighter days seemed at last to have returned to
+me. Twice did I unfurl the old colours in the breeze; twice I made
+hearts beat as of old at the magic din of battles; and twice that
+hateful Peace, rising suddenly before me, snatched the yet rusty sword
+from my hands.
+
+Up! up! O heroes of great battles! you whom twenty-five years of warfare
+did not satiate: rise from your graves and shame your degenerate
+successors. Up! up! Bid some remember that they have a revenge to take,
+and tell others that they are not yet enough avenged.
+
+Peace _rises_.
+
+Peace. What do you want here, relentless War? Dispute the world
+of the living with me if you will, but at least respect the peace of the
+grave.
+
+War. I have a right to summon the Dead when it is in the name
+of their country.
+
+Peace. The Dead are with God; they have but one
+country among them.
+
+War. You may dispense with set speeches, most eloquent Peace,
+for I pay no attention to them. I go forward, and leave talk to
+chatterers. The world belongs to the brave.
+
+Peace. The world belongs to those who are in the right. Since,
+however, you will not listen to me, you shall hear the Dead themselves,
+and see if they agree with you. (_Turns to the_ Dead.) Arise,
+my children; come and confound those who wish to fight with the bones of
+the departed.
+
+_The_ Dead _rise_.
+
+Grenadier. I have slept a long time since Austerlitz. Who are
+you, comrades?
+
+Hussar. I come from the battle-field of Leipsic, where the
+great German race broke the yoke which your Emperor had laid upon it.
+
+Grenadier. You were left upon the field?
+
+Hussar. I am proud to say so.
+
+Grenadier. And you are right, old fellow; every man owes
+himself to his country. We others have done just the same. If you had
+let us alone in '92 we should not have come to you.
+
+Cossack. I was killed under the walls of Paris, where great
+Russia went to return the insult she had received at Moscow.
+
+Highlander. I fell at Waterloo, avenging the great English
+people for the threats of the camp at Boulogne. I drowned in my blood
+the last effort of your Imperial Eagle.
+
+Grenadier. Well! we are well matched. My blood reddened the
+plain of Austerlitz, where the great French nation was avenged on
+Brunswick and Souwaroff. We have all perished, buried in a triumph. We
+can shake hands upon it.
+
+Cossack. Brave men are equals, in whatever dress. Let us shake
+hands.
+
+Hussar. We have all died for our country. Let us be brothers.
+
+Highlander. Let us be brothers. The hatreds of earth do not
+extend beyond the grave.
+
+[_They join hands._
+
+Grenadier. And now Peace is proclaimed, let us tell each other
+what we used to do before we became warriors.
+
+Cossack. I cultivated a piece of ground in the steppes and took
+care of my old mother.
+
+Highlander. I brought up my daughter by farming a piece of
+ground which I had cleared on my native heath.
+
+Hussar. I lived with my wife on the piece of land which we
+cultivated.
+
+Grenadier. I tilled a piece of ground also, and supported my
+sister. It seems that we were all four of the same way of life. How did
+we come to kill one another?
+
+Cossack. The Czar spoke, and I marched.
+
+Highlander. Parliament voted for war, and I marched.
+
+Hussar. Our princes cried, "To arms!" and I marched.
+
+Grenadier. As for me, my comrades cried, "To arms!" and I put
+on my best sabots. But after all, what have we against each other? Where
+was the quarrel between our respective ploughshares? (_To the_
+Hussar.) You, for instance, who began, what did you come into
+my country for?
+
+Hussar. We came to destroy brigands.
+
+Grenadier. Brigands! That is to say, my unfortunate self, and
+other labourers like you and me. After this, well might we be made to
+sing about
+
+"Vile blood soaking our furrows!"
+
+I see now this "vile blood" was yours, my friend, and that of brave men
+like you. Cursed be those who forced us to fight together!
+
+Hussar. Cursed be the contrivers of War!
+
+War (_advancing_). Shame on you, degraded warriors! Your very
+wives would disown you. (_The_ Dead _gaze fixedly._) You are
+silent! What have you to answer?
+
+Peace. The Dead do not reply. (_Points with her hand to the
+stage entrance._) These shall answer for them.
+
+_Enter_ Four Veiled Women.
+
+[_One of the_ Veiled Women _slowly advances. When in front of
+the stage she lifts her veil, and is seen by the audience. The others
+afterwards do the same._
+
+First Woman. Oh, my brother! where are you now? If you are ill,
+who nurses you? If you are wounded, who watches over you? If you are a
+prisoner, who comforts you? If you are dead--Alas! every night I go to
+rest weeping, because I have had no news of you; and every morning I
+awake dreading to receive it. We were so happy! We lived so comfortably
+together! and now I sit at our little table, with your empty place
+before me, and cannot eat for looking at it. Yet I made you promise to
+come back when we said good-bye. Ah! unkind! Why are you so long in
+fulfilling your promise?
+
+[_She closes her veil and crosses to one side of the stage. The others
+afterwards do the same._
+
+Grenadier. It is my sister, friends. She is repeating the words
+of our last adieu.
+
+Second Woman. Oh, my father! why have you left your child?
+Alas! when you went away I played--poor fool!--with your brilliant
+uniform. (Dark livery of death, would that I had never seen thee!) I
+said I should be proud of you when you came back to me, having killed a
+great many of your enemies. Child that I was to speak of killing, not
+knowing what it meant! And now, when will you return? What have they
+done with you, dear Father? What has become of that revered head, which
+my lips never approached but with respect? Perhaps at this very moment
+it is dragged, all stained and livid, through the dust or in the mud.
+Oh, God! if my prayers may still avail for him, withdraw him
+speedily from those frightful conflicts, where every blow falls upon a
+father, a son, a brother, or a husband. Pity the many tears that flow
+for every drop of blood!
+
+Highlander. It is my daughter! I yet hear the last farewell
+her innocent mouth sent after me.
+
+Third Woman. Oh, my beloved! where can I go to look for you?
+Little did we think, when we vowed before God never in this
+life to forsake each other, that War would come and carry you away as a
+leaf is driven before the wind. Perhaps at this moment you are stretched
+upon an armful of bloody straw, and other hands than mine dress your
+glorious wounds. Ah, miserable me! of what does my tender jealousy
+complain? Who knows if you are not by this time safe from wounds for
+ever? Oh, my God! if Thou hast taken him, take me also. I
+promised to follow him when I received his parting kiss.
+
+Hussar. It is my wife beyond a doubt! I recognize the words her
+sweet voice murmured that very day in my ear.
+
+Fourth Woman. I said, "Go, and bear yourself like a man." He
+went, and he has not returned. Ah, merciless tigers! we rear our
+children with fear and weeping. We pass whole nights bent over their
+little cradles, and when we have made men of them you come and take them
+away from us that you may send them to death. And we, miserable women!
+must encourage them to die if we would not have them dishonoured. Poor
+dear boy! so strong! so handsome! so good to his mother! Ah! if there be
+a God of vengeance, surely the cries of desolate mothers will
+allow no sleep to those who provoke such massacres. They will haunt them
+to the grave, and rise behind them to the foot of that throne where the
+great Judge of all awaits them.
+
+[_She buries her face in her hands._
+
+Cossack. It is my mother! I recognize her last words. (_He
+springs towards her_.) It is I, Mother, it is I! (_She raises her
+head_.) What do I see? A stranger! and it is an Englishwoman!
+
+Highlander (_raising the daughter's veil_). Good heavens! She
+is a German.
+
+Hussar (_raising the wife's veil_). It is not she! It is a
+Frenchwoman.
+
+Grenadier (_raising the sister's veil_). She is a Russian! It
+is not for us that they are weeping; perhaps it is for some of those
+whom we have killed. How could we be so deceived?
+
+Peace (_advancing_). There are sisters, wives, daughters, and
+mothers everywhere, my children, and Nature has but one language in all
+countries. (_To WAR_.) As for you, go and sound your trumpet in
+barracks and drinking-houses, but invoke the Dead no more, and do not
+reckon upon women.
+
+
+Note.--The battle of Austerlitz was fought December 2, 1805.
+The battle of Leipsic, August 16-19, 1813. The Allies took Paris March
+30, 1814.
+
+
+
+
+_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._
+
+_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorised,
+complete, and uniform Edition published._
+
+_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol.,
+issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will
+appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series
+will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was
+specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._
+
+_The following is a list of the books included in the Series--_
+
+1.  MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+2.  MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.
+
+3.  OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES.
+
+4.  A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.
+
+5.  THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+6.  SIX TO SIXTEEN.
+
+7.  LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+8.  JAN OF THE WINDMILL.
+
+9.  VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.
+
+10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE
+THEATRICALS, &c.
+
+11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES.
+
+12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN.
+
+13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I.
+
+14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.
+
+15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.
+
+16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.
+
+17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--Wonder
+Stories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations.
+
+18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from
+Mrs. Ewing's Letters.
+
+S.P.C.K., Northumberland Avenue, London, W.C.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miscellanea, by Juliana Horatia Ewing
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISCELLANEA ***
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