CHAPTER XXIX.

BUSTLE IN THE PARISH.

The announcement of the definite engagement of two such bright

particular stars in the hemisphere of the Doctor's small parish excited

the interest that such events usually create among the faithful of the

flock.

There was a general rustle and flutter, as when a covey of wild pigeons

has been started; and all the little elves who rejoice in the name of

"says he" and "says I" and "do tell" and "have you heard" were speedily

flying through the consecrated air of the parish.

The fact was discussed by matrons and maidens, at the spinning-wheel,

in the green clothes-yard, and at the foamy wash-tub, out of which rose

weekly a new birth of freshness and beauty. Many a rustic Venus of the

foam, as she splashed her dimpled elbows in the rainbow-tinted froth,

talked of what should be done for the forthcoming solemnities, and

wondered what Mary would have on when she was married, and whether she

(the Venus) should get an invitation to the wedding, and whether Ethan

would go,--not, of course, that she cared in the least whether he did or

not.

Grave, elderly matrons talked about the prosperity of Zion, which

they imagined intimately connected with the event of their minister's

marriage; and descending from Zion, speculated on bed-quilts and

table-cloths, and rummaged their own clean, sweet-smelling stores,

fragrant with balm and rose-leaves, to lay out a bureau-cover, or a pair

of sheets, or a dozen napkins for the wedding outfit.

The solemnest of solemn quillings was resolved upon. Miss Prissy

declared that she fairly couldn't sleep nights with the responsibility

of the wedding-dresses on her mind, but yet she must give one day to

getting on that quilt.

The _grand monde_ also was in motion. Mrs. General Wilcox called in her

own particular carriage, bearing present of a Cashmere shawl for the

bride, with the General's best compliments,--also an oak-leaf pattern

for quilting, which had been sent her from England, and which was

authentically established to be that used on a petticoat belonging to

the Princess Royal. And Mrs. Major Seaforth came also, bearing a

scarf of wrought India muslin; and Mrs. Vernon sent a splendid China

punch-bowl. Indeed, to say the truth, the notables high and mighty of

Newport, whom the Doctor had so unceremoniously accused of building

their houses with blood and establishing their city with iniquity,

considering that nobody seemed to take his words to heart, and that they

were making money as fast as old Tyre, rather assumed the magnanimous,

and patted themselves on the shoulder for this opportunity to show the

Doctor that after all they were good fellows, though they did make money

at the expense of thirty _per cent_. on human life.

Simeon Brown was the only exception. He stood aloof, grim and sarcastic,

and informed some good middle-aged ladies who came to see if he would,

as they phrased it, "esteem it a privilege to add his mite" to the

Doctor's outfit, that he would give him a likely negro boy, if he wanted

him, and, if he was too conscientious to keep him, he might sell him at

a fair profit,--a happy stroke of humor which he was fond of relating

many years after.

The quilting was in those days considered the most solemn and important

recognition of a betrothal. And for the benefit of those not to the

manner born, a little preliminary instruction may be necessary.

The good wives of New England, impressed with that thrifty orthodoxy of

economy which forbids to waste the merest trifle, had a habit of saving

every scrap clipped out in the fashioning of household garments, and

these they cut into fanciful patterns and constructed of them rainbow

shapes and quaint traceries, the arrangement of which became one

of their few fine arts. Many a maiden, as she sorted and arranged

fluttering bits of green, yellow, red, and blue, felt rising in her

breast a passion for somewhat vague and unknown, which came out at

length in a new pattern of patchwork. Collections of these tiny

fragments were always ready to fill an hour when there was nothing else

to do; and as the maiden chatted with her beau, her busy flying needle

stitched together those pretty bits, which, little in themselves, were

destined, by gradual unions and accretions, to bring about at last

substantial beauty, warmth, and comfort,--emblems thus of that household

life which is to be brought to stability and beauty by reverent economy

in husbanding and tact in arranging the little useful and agreeable

morsels of daily existence.

When a wedding was forthcoming, there was a solemn review of the stores

of beauty and utility thus provided, and the patchwork-spread best

worthy of such distinction was chosen for the quilting. Thereto, duly

summoned, trooped all intimate female friends of the bride, old and

young; and the quilt being spread on a frame, and wadded with cotton,

each vied with the others in the delicacy of the quilting she could put

upon it. For the quilting also was a fine art, and had its delicacies

and nice points,--which grave elderly matrons discussed with judicious

care. The quilting generally began at an early hour in the afternoon,

and ended at dark with a great supper and general jubilee, at which that

ignorant and incapable sex which could not quilt was allowed to appear

and put in claims for consideration of another nature. It may, perhaps,

be surmised that this expected reinforcement was often alluded to by

the younger maidens, whose wickedly coquettish toilettes exhibited

suspicious marks of that willingness to get a chance to say "No" which

has been slanderously attributed to mischievous maidens.

In consideration of the tremendous responsibilities involved in this

quilting, the reader will not be surprised to learn, that, the evening

before, Miss Prissy made her appearance at the brown cottage, armed with

thimble, scissors, and pin-cushion, in order to relieve her mind by a

little preliminary confabulation.

"You see me, Miss Scudder, run 'most to death," she said; "but I thought

I would just run up to Miss Major Seaforth's, and see her best bed-room

quilt, 'cause I wanted to have all the ideas we possibly could, before I

decided on the pattern. Hers is in shells,--just common shells,--nothing

to be compared with Miss Wilcox's oak-leaves; and I suppose there isn't

the least doubt that Miss Wilcox's sister, in London, did get that from

a lady who had a cousin who was governess in the royal family; and I

just quilted a little bit to-day on an old piece of silk, and it comes

out beautiful; and so I thought I would just come and ask you if you did

not think it was best for us to have the oak-leaves."

"Well, certainly, Miss Prissy, if you think so," said Mrs. Scudder, who

was as pliant to the opinions of this wise woman of the parish as New

England matrons generally are to a reigning dress-maker and _factotum_.

Miss Prissy had the happy consciousness, always, that her early advent

under any roof was considered a matter of especial grace; and therefore

it was with rather a patronizing tone that she announced that she would

stay and spend the night with them.

"I knew," she added, "that your spare chamber was full, with that Madame

de ------, what do you call her?--if I was to die, I could not remember

the woman's name. Well, I thought I could curl in with you, Mary, 'most

anywhere."

"That's right, Miss Prissy," said Mary; "you shall be welcome to half my

bed any time."

"Well, I knew you would say so, Mary; I never saw the thing you

would not give away one half of, since you was that high," said Miss

Prissy,--illustrating her words by placing her hand about two feet from

the floor.

Just at this moment, Madame de Frontignac entered and asked Mary to come

into her room and give her advice as to a piece of embroidery. When she

was gone out, Miss Prissy looked after her and sunk her voice once more

to the confidential whisper which we before described.

"I have heard strange stories about that Frenchwoman," she said; "but as

she is here with you and Mary, I suppose there cannot be any truth in

them. Dear me! the world is so censorious about women! But then, you

know, we don't expect much from French women. I suppose she is a Roman

Catholic, and worships pictures and stone images; but then, after all,

she has got an immortal soul, and I can't help hoping Mary's influence

may be blest to her. They say, when she speaks French, she swears every

few minutes; and if that is the way she was brought up, may-be she isn't

accountable. I think we can't be too charitable for people that a'n't

privileged as we are. Miss Vernon's Polly told me she had seen her sew

Sundays,--sew Sabbath-day! She came into her room sudden, and she was

working on her embroidery there; and she never winked nor blushed, nor

offered to put it away, but sat there just as easy! Polly said she never

was so beat in all her life; she felt kind o' scared, every time she

thought of it. But now she has come here, who knows but she may be

converted?"

"Mary has not said much about her state of mind," said Mrs. Scudder;

"but something of deep interest has passed between them. Mary is such an

uncommon child, that I trust everything to her."

We will not dwell further on the particulars of this evening,--nor

describe how Madame de Frontignac reconnoitred Miss Prissy with keen,

amused eyes,--nor how Miss Prissy assured Mary, in the confidential

solitude of her chamber, that her fingers just itched to get hold of

that trimming on Madame de Frog--something's dress, because she was

pretty nigh sure she could make some just like it, for she never saw any

trimming she could not make.

The robin that lived in the apple-tree was fairly outgeneralled the next

morning; for Miss Prissy was up before him, tripping about the chamber

on the points of her toes, knocking down all the movable things in the

room, in her efforts to be still, so as not to wake Mary; and it was not

until she had finally upset the stand by the bed, with the candlestick,

snuffers, and Bible on it, that Mary opened her eyes.

"Miss Prissy! dear me! what is it you are doing?"

"Why, I am trying to be still, Mary, so as not to wake you up; and it

seems to me as if everything was possessed, to tumble down so. But it is

only half past three,--so you turn over and go to sleep."

"But, Miss Prissy," said Mary, sitting up in bed, "you are all dressed;

where are you going?"

"Well, to tell the truth, Mary, I am just one of those people that can't

sleep when they have got responsibility on their minds; and I have been

lying awake more than an hour here, thinking about that quilt. There is

a new way of getting it on to the frame that I want to try; 'cause, you

know, when we quilted Cerinthy Stebbins's, it _would_ trouble us in the

rolling; and I have got a new way that I want to try, and I mean just to

get it on to the frame before breakfast. I was in hopes I should get out

without waking any of you. I am in hopes I shall get by your mother's

door without waking her,--'cause I know she works hard and needs her

rest,--but that bed-room door squeaks like a cat, enough to raise the

dead!

"Mary," she added, with sudden energy, "if I had the least drop of

oil in a teacup, and a bit of quill, I'd stop that door making such a

noise." And Miss Prissy's eyes glowed with resolution.

"I don't know where you could find any at this time," said Mary.

"Well, never mind; I'll just go and open the door as slow and careful as

I can," said Miss Prissy, as she trotted out of the apartment.

The result of her carefulness was very soon announced to Mary by a

protracted sound resembling the mewing of a hoarse cat, accompanied by

sundry audible grunts from Miss Prissy, terminating in a grand finale

of clatter, occasioned by her knocking down all the pieces of the

quilting-frame that stood in the corner of the room, with a concussion

that roused everybody in the house.

"What is that?" called out Mrs. Scudder, from her bed-room.

She was answered by two streams of laughter,--one from Mary, sitting up

in bed, and the other from Miss Prissy, holding her sides, as she sat

dissolved in merriment on the sanded floor,

[To be continued.]

OLD PAPERS.

As who, in idly searching o'er

Some seldom-entered garret-shed,

Might, with strange pity, touch the poor

Moth-eaten garments of the dead,--

Thus (to their wearer once allied)

I lift these weeds of buried woe,--

These relics of a self that died

So sadly and so long ago!

'Tis said that seven short years can change,

Through nerve and bone, this knitted frame,

Cellule by cellule waxing strange,

Till not an atom is the same.

By what more subtile, slow degrees

Thus may the mind transmute its all,

That calmly it should dwell on these,

As on another's fate and fall!

So far remote from joy or bale,

Wherewith each dusky page is rife,

I seem to read some piteous tale

Of strange romance, but true to life.

Too daring thoughts! too idle deeds!

A soul that questioned, loved, and sinned!

And hopes, that stand like last year's weeds,

And shudder in the dead March wind!

Grave of gone dreams!--could such convulse

Youth's fevered trance?--The plot grows thick;--

Was it this cold and even pulse

That thrilled with life so fierce and quick?

Well, I can smile at all this now,--

But cannot smile when I recall

The heart of faith, the open brow,

The trust that once was all in all;--

Nor when--Ah, faded, spectral sheet,

Wraith of long-perished wrong and time,

Forbear! the spirit starts to meet

The resurrection of its crime!

Starts,--from its human world shut out,--

As some detected changeling elf,

Doomed, with strange agony and doubt,

To enter on his former self.

Ill-omened leaves, still rust apart!

No further!--'tis a page turned o'er,

And the long dead and coffined heart

Throbs into wretched life once more.

RIFLED GUNS.[1]

When, nearly fifty years ago, England was taught one of the bloodiest

lessons her history has to record, before the cotton-bale breastworks

of New Orleans, a lesson, too, which was only the demonstration of a

proposition laid down more than a hundred years ago by one of her own

philosophers,[2] who would have believed that she, aiming to be the

first military power in the world, would have left the first advantage

of that lesson to be gained by her rival, France?

When the troops that had defeated Napoleon stopped, baffled, before a

breast-work defended by raw militiamen; when, finding that the heads of

their columns melted away like wax in fire as they approached the

blaze of those hunters' rifles, they finally recoiled, terribly

defeated,--saved from total destruction, perhaps, only by the fact that

their enemy had not enough of a military organization to enable them to

pursue effectively; when, in brief, a battle with men who never before

had seen a skirmish of regular troops was turned into a slaughter almost

unparalleled for disproportioned losses in the history of civilized

warfare, the English loss being about twelve hundred, the American some

fifteen all told; one would have thought that such a demonstration of

the power of the rifle would have brought Robins's words to the memory

of England,--"will perhaps fall but little short of the wonderful

effects which histories relate to have been formerly produced by the

first inventors of fire-arms." What more astonishing disparity of

military power does the history of fire-arms record? twelve hundred to

fifteen! But this lesson, so terrible and so utterly ignored by English

pride, was simply that of the value of the rifle intelligently used.

They tell a story which makes a capital foot-note to the history of

the battle:--that General Jackson, having invited some of the English

officers to dine with him, had on the table a robin-pie which he

informed the guests contained twelve robins whose heads had all been

shot off by one of his marksmen, who, in shooting the twelve, used but

thirteen balls. The result of the battle must be mainly attributed to

the deadly marksmanship of the hunters who composed the American forces;

but the same men armed with muskets would not only not have shown the

same accuracy in firing, but they would not have felt the moral force

which a complete reliance on their weapons gave,--a certainty that they

held the life of any antagonist in their hands, as soon as enough of him

appeared to "draw a bead on." Put the same men in the open field where a

charge of bayonets was to be met, and they would doubtless have broken and

fled without crossing steel. Nor, on the other hand, could any musketry

have kept the English columns out of the cotton-bale breast-work;--they

had often in the Peninsula stormed stronger works than that,--without

faltering for artillery, musketry, or bayonet. But here they were

literally unable to reach the works; the fatal rifle-bullet drew a line at

which bravery and cowardice, nonchalant veterans and trembling boys, were

equalized in the dust.

[Footnote 1: _Instructions to Young Marksmen_ in all that relates to the

General Construction, Practical Manipulation, etc., etc., as exhibited

in the Improved American Rifle. By John Ratcliffe Chapman, C. E. New

York: D. Appleton &. Co. 1848.

_Rifle-Practice_. By Lieut.-Col. John Jacob, C. B., of the Bombay

Artillery. London: Smith, Elder, & Co. 1857.

_The Rifle; and how to use it_. Comprising a Description of that

Admirable Weapon, etc., etc. By Hans Busk, M.A. First Lieut. Victoria

Rifles. London: J. Routledge & Co. 1858.

_Report of the U. S. Commission on Rifles_. 1856.]

[Footnote 2: Robins {on Projectiles) said in 1748, "Whatever state shall

thoroughly comprehend the nature and advantages of rifle-pieces, and,

having facilitated and completed their construction, shall introduce

into their armies their general use, with a dexterity in the management

of them, will by this means acquire a superiority which will almost

equal anything that has been done at any time by the particular

excellence of any one kind of arms, and will perhaps fall but little

short of the wonderful effects which histories relate to have been

formerly produced by the first inventors of fire-arms." Words, we now

see, how prophetic!]

We remember once to have met an old hunter who was one of the volunteers

at Hattsburg, (another rifle battle, fought by militiamen mainly,) a man

who never spoiled his furs by shooting his game in the body, and who

carried into the battle his hunting-rifle. Being much questioned as to

his share in the day's deeds, he told us that he, with a body of men,

all volunteers, and mainly hunters like himself, was stationed at a ford

on the Saranac, where a British column attempted to cross. Their captain

ordered no one to fire until the enemy were half-way across; "and then,"

said he, "none of 'em ever got across, and not many of them that got

into the water got out again. They found out it wa'n't of any kind of

use to try to get across there, and after a while they give it up and

went farther down the river; and by-and-by an officer come and told

us to go to the other ford, and we went there, and so they didn't get

across there either." We were desirous of getting the estimate of an

expert as to the effect of such firing, and asked him directly how many

men he had killed. "I don't know," said he, modestly; "I rather guess I

killed one fellow, _certain_; but how many more I can't say. I was going

down to the river with another volunteer to get some water, and I heerd

a shot right across the river, and I peeked out of the bushes, and see

a red-coat sticking his head out of the bushes on the other side, and

looking down the river, as if he'd been firing at somebody on our side,

and pretty soon he stuck his head out agin, and took aim at something

in that way; and I thought, of course, it must be some of our folks. I

couldn't stand that, so I just drawed up and fired at him. He dropped

his gun, and pitched head-first into the water. I guess I hit him

amongst the waistcoat-buttons; but then, you know, if I hadn't shot

him, he might have killed somebody on our side." We put the question in

another form, asking how many shots he fired that day. "About sixteen,

I guess, or maybe twenty." "And how far off were the enemy?" "Well, I

should think about twenty rod." We suggested that he did not waste many

of his bullets; to which he replied, that "he didn't often miss a deer

at that distance."

But these were the exploits of fifty years ago; the weapon, the old

heavy-metalled, long-barrelled "Kentucky" rifle; and the missile, the

old round bullet, sent home with a linen patch. It is a form of the

rifled gun not got up by any board of ordnance or theoretic engineers,

but which, as is generally the case with excellent tools, was the result

of the trials and experience of a race of practical men, something which

had grown up to supply the needs of hunters; and with the improvements

which greater mechanical perfection in gun-making has effected, it

stands at this day the king of weapons, unapproached for accuracy by the

work of any nation beside our own, very little surpassed in its range by

any of the newly invented modifications of the rifle. The Kentucky[1]

[Footnote 1: The technical name for the long, heavy, small-calibred

rifle, in which the thickness of the metal outside the bore is about

equal to the diameter of the bore.] rifle is to American mechanism what

the chronometer is to English, a speciality in which rivalry by any

other nation is at this moment out of the question. An English board of

ordnance may make a series of experiments, and in a year or two

contrive an Enfield rifle, which, to men who know of nothing better,

is wonderful; but here we have the result of experiments of nearly a

hundred years, by generations whose daily subsistence depended on the

accuracy and excellence of their rifles, and who all experimented

on the value of an inch in the length of the barrel, an ounce in its

weight, or a grain in the weight of the ball. They tried all methods of

creasing, all variations of the spiral of the groove; every town had

its gunsmith, who experimented in almost every gun he made, and who was

generally one of the best shots and hunters in the neighborhood; and

often the hunter, despairing of getting a gun to suit him in any other

way, went to work himself, and wrought out a clumsy, but unerring gun,

in which, perhaps, was the germ of some of the latest improvements in

scientific gunnery. The different gun-makers had shooting-matches, at

which the excellence of the work of each was put to the severest tests,

and by which their reputations were established. The result is a rifle,

compared with which, as manufactured by a dozen rifle-makers in the

United States, the Minié, the Enfield, the Lancaster, or even the

Sharpe's, and more recent breech-loaders, are bungling muskets. The last

adopted form of missile, the sugar-loaf-shaped, of which the Minie,

Enfieid, Colonel Jacob's, and all the conical forms are partial

adaptations, has been, to our personal knowledge, in use among our

riflemen more than twenty years. In one of our earliest visits to that

most fascinating of _ateliers_ to most American youth, a gunsmith's

shop, a collection of "slugs" was shown to us, in which the varieties of

forms, ovate, conical, elliptical, and all nameless forms in which the

length is greater than the diameter, had been exhausted in the effort to

find that shape which would range farthest; and the shape (very nearly)

which Colonel (late General) Jacob alludes to, writing in 1854, in these

terms, "This shape, after hundreds of thousands of experiments,

proves to be quite perfect," had been adopted by this unorganized

ordnance-board, composed of hundreds of gun-makers, stimulated by the

most powerful incentives to exertion. The experiments by which they

arrived at their conclusion not only anticipated by years the trials

of the European experimenters, but far surpass, in laboriousness and

nicety, all the experiments of Hythe, Vincennes, and Jacobabad. The

resulting curve, which the longitudinal section of the perfect "slug"

shows, is as subtile and incapable of modification, without loss, as

that of the boomerang; no hair's thickness could be taken away or added

without injury to its range. Such a weapon and such a missile, in their

perfection, could never have come into existence except in answer to the

demand of a nation of hunters to whom a shade of greater accuracy is

the means of subsistence. No man who is not a first-rate shot can judge

justly of the value of a rifle; and one of our backwoodsmen would never

use any rifle but the Kentucky _of American manufacture_, if it were

given him. An Adirondack hunter would not thank the best English

rifle-maker for one of his guns any more warmly than a sea-captain in

want of a chronometer would thank his owners for a Swiss lepine watch.

The gun which we thus eulogize we shall describe, and compare the

results which its use shows with those shown by the other known

varieties of rifle, and this without any consideration of the powers of

American marksmen as compared with European. The world is full of fables

of shooting-exploits as absurd as those told of Robin Hood. Cooper tells

of Leatherstocking's driving the nail with unfailing aim at a hundred

paces,--a degree of skill no man out of romance has ever been _reported_

to possess amongst riflemen. We have seen the best marksmen the

continent holds attempt to drive the nail at fifty yards, and take

fifty balls to drive one nail. A story is current of a French rifleman

shooting an Arab chief a mile distant, which, if true, was only a chance

shot; for no human vision will serve the truest rifle ever made and the

steadiest nerves ever strung to perform such a feat with any certainty.

Lieutenant Busk informs us that Captain Minié "will undertake to hit a

man at a distance of 1420 yards three times out of five shots,"--a

feat Captain Minié or any other man will "undertake" many times before

accomplishing, for the simple reason, that, supposing the rifle

_perfect_, at _that_ distance a man is too small a mark to be found in

the sights of a rifle, except by the aid of the telescope.[1] [Footnote

1: A man, five feet ten inches high, at 1450 yards, will, in the

buck-sight of the Minie rifle, at fourteen inches from the eye, appear

1/53 of an inch in height and 1/185 in breadth of shoulders. If the

reader will look at these measures on a finely divided scale, he will

appreciate the absurdity of such a boast. A man at that distance could

hardly be found in the sights.] We could fill a page with marvellous

shots _quos nidi et quorum pars_, etc. We have seen a bird no larger

than a half-grown chicken killed off-hand at eighty rods (nearly

fourteen hundred feet); have known a deer to be killed at a good half

mile; have shot off the skull-cap of a duck at thirty rods; at twenty

rods have shot a loon through the head, putting the ball in at one eye

and out at the other, without breaking the skin;--but such shooting,

ordinarily, is a physical impossibility, as any experienced rifleman

knows. These were chance shots, or so nearly so that they could not be

repeated in a hundred shots. The impossibility lies in the marksman and

in human vision.

In comparing the effects of rifles, then, we shall suppose them, as in

government trials and long-range shooting-matches, to be fired from a

"dead rest,"--the only way in which the absolute power of a rifle can be

shown. First, for the gun itself. There are two laws of gunnery which

must be kept in sight in comparing the results of such trials:--1st,

that the shape and material of two missiles being the same, the heavier

will range the farther, because in proportion to its momentum it meets

less resistance from the atmosphere; 2d, that the less the recoil of the

gun, the greater will be the initial velocity of the ball, since the

motion lost in recoil is taken from the velocity of the ball. Of course,

then, the larger the bore of the rifle, the greater will be its range,

supposing always the best form of missile and a proportionate weight of

gun. As the result of these two laws, we see that of two guns throwing

the same weight and description of missile, the heavier will throw its

missile the farther; while of two guns of the same weight, that one

which throws the smaller missile will give it the greater initial

velocity,--supposing the gun free to recoil, as it must, fired from the

shoulder. But the smaller ball will yield the sooner to the resistance

of the atmosphere, owing to its greater proportional surface presented.

Suppose, then, two balls of different weights to be fired from guns of

the same weight;--the smaller ball will start with the higher rate of

speed, but will finally be overtaken and passed by the larger ball; and

the great problem of rifle-gauge is to ascertain that relation of weight

of gun to weight of projectile which will give the greatest velocity at

the longest range at which the object fired at can be seen distinctly

enough to give a reasonable chance of hitting it. This problem the maker

of the Kentucky rifle solves, by accepting, as a starting-point, the

greatest weight of gun which a man may reasonably be expected to

carry,--say, ten to twelve pounds,--and giving to that weight the

heaviest ball it will throw, without serious recoil,--for no matter what

the proportion, there will be _some_ recoil. This proportion of the

weight of gun to that of projectile, as found by experience, is about

five hundred to one; so that if a gun weigh ten pounds, the ball should

weigh about 19/500 of a pound. Of course, none of these gun-makers have

ever made a mathematical formula expressing this relation; but hundreds

of thousands of shots have pretty well determined it to be the most

effective for all hunting needs (and the best hunting-rifles are the

best for a rifle-corps, acting as sharp-shooters). By putting this

weight of ball into a conical form of good proportions, the calibre

of the gun may be made about ninety gauge. which, for a range of four

hundred yards, cannot be excelled in accuracy with that weight of gun.

But in a rifle the grooving is of the utmost importance; for velocity

without accuracy is useless. To determine the best kind of groove has

been, accordingly, the object of the most laborious investigations. The

ball requires an initial rotary motion sufficient to keep it "spinning"

up to its required range, and is found to gain in accuracy by increasing

this rotatory speed; but if the pitch of the grooves be too great,

the ball will refuse to follow them; but, being driven across them,

"strips,"--that is, the lead in the grooves is torn off, and the ball

goes out without rotation. The English gunsmiths have avoided the

dilemma by giving the requisite pitch and making the grooves very deep,

and even by having wings cast on the ball to keep it in the grooves,

expedients which increase the friction in the barrel and the resistance

of the air enormously.

The American gun-makers have solved the problem by adopting the "gaining

twist," in which the grooves start from the breech nearly parallel to

the axis of the barrel, and gradually increase the spiral, until, at the

muzzle, it has the pitch of one revolution in three to four; _the pitch

being greater as the bore is less_. This gives, as a result, safety from

stripping, and a rapid revolution at the exit, with comparatively little

friction and shallow groove-marks on the ball,--accomplishing what is

demanded of a rifled barrel, to a degree that no other combination of

groove and form of missile ever has.

English makers have experimented somewhat on the rifling of barrels, but

with no results which compare with those shown by the improved Kentucky.

English hunting-rifles, and _all_ military rifles, are made with

complete disregard of the law of relation between the weights of ball

and barrel. The former seems to be determined by dividing the weight of

ammunition a soldier may carry in his cartridge-box by the number of

charges he is required to have, and then the gun is made as light as

will stand the test of firing,--blunders all the way through; for we

never want a rifle-ball to range much farther than it is possible to hit

a single man with it; and a missile of the proper shape from a barrel of

sixty gauge will kill a man at a mile's distance, if it strike a vital

part. The consequence is, that the rifles are so light in proportion to

their load that the recoil seriously diminishes the force of the ball,

and entirely prevents accuracy of aim; and at the same time their

elastic metal springs so much under the pressure of the gas generated

by the explosion of the powder that anything like exactitude becomes

impossible.[1][Footnote 1: Experiments have shown, that, with a barrel

about the thickness of that of our "regulation rifles," the spring will

throw a ball nearly two feet from the aim in a range of six hundred

yards, if the barrel be firmly held in a machine.] This the English

gunsmiths do not seem to have learned, since their best authorities

recommend a gun of sixty-four gauge to have a barrel of four pounds

weight, and that is considered heavy,--while ours, of sixty gauge, would

weigh at least twice that. To get the best possible shooting, we find

not only weight of barrel requisite, but a thickness of the metal nearly

or quite equal to the diameter of the bore.

Mr. Whitworth, of Manchester, revived the old polygonal bore, and, by

a far more perfect boring of barrel than was ever before attained in

England, has succeeded in doing some very accurate shooting; but the

pitch of his grooves requisite to give sufficient rotation to his

polygonal missile to enable it to rotate to the end of its flight is so

great, that the friction and recoil are enormous, and the liability

to burst very great, Mr. Whitworth's missile is a twisted prism,

corresponding to the bore, of two and a half diameters, with a cone at

the front of one half the diameter. Such a gun, in a firing-machine,

with powder enough to overcome all the friction, and heavy enough to

counteract torsion and springing, would give very great accuracy, if

perfectly made, or as well made as American rifles generally; but no

maker in England, not even Mr. Whitworth, has attained _that_ point

yet; and even so made, they would never be available as service--or

hunting-guns.

The Lancaster rifle avoids grooves (nominally) altogether, and

substitutes an elliptical bore, twisted to Mr. Whitworth's pitch (twenty

inches). General Jacob says, very justly, of this gun: "The mode of

rifling is the _very worst possible. It is only the two-grooved rifle in

disguise_. Let the shoulders of the grooves of a two-grooved rifle be

removed, and you have the Lancaster rifle. But by the removal of

these shoulders, the friction, if the twist be considerable, becomes

enormous." To compare this twist with the rifled bore, one has only to

take a lead tube, made slightly elliptical in its cross-section, and,

fitting a plug to its ellipse, turn the plug round, and he will see that

the result is to enlarge the whole bore to the longest diameter of the

ellipse, which, if it were a gun-barrel, unelastic, would be equivalent

to bursting it. But this is exactly the action which the ball has on the

barrel, so that, to use General Jacob's words, "the heat developed by

the friction must be very great, and the tendency of the gun to burst

also very great." Lieutenant Busk--who seems, if we may judge from the

internal evidence of his book, to know little or nothing of good rifles

or rifle-practice, and to have no greater qualification for writing the

book than the reading of what has been written on the subject and an

acquaintance of great extent with gunsmiths--remarks, in reply to the

veteran of English riflemen: "Having given the matter the very closest

attention, I am enabled confidently to state that the whole of this

supposition [quoted above] is founded in error.... So far from the

friction being enormous, it is less than that generated in any other

kind of rifle. It is also utterly impossible for the bullet to act

destructively on the barrel in the way suggested." Such cool assurance,

in an unsupported contradiction of experience and the dictates of the

simplest mechanical common-sense, would seem to promise little real

value in the book, and promises no less than it really has.

The same objection which lies against the Lancaster rifle (?) applies

to the Whitworth in a less degree. If the reader, having tried the

lead-pipe experiment above, will next hammer the tube hexagonal and try

the plug again, he will find the same result; but if he will try it with

a round bore grooved, and with a plug fitting the grooves, he will see

that the pressure is against the wall of the groove, and acts at right

angles to the radius of the bore, having only a tendency to twist the

barrel in order to straighten the grooves,--a tendency which the barrel

meets in the direction of its greatest stability. We may see, then,

that, in theory at least, there is no way of rifling so secure as that

in which the walls of the grooves are parts of radii of the bore. They

should be numerous, that the hold of the lands (the projection left

between the grooves) may divide the friction and resistance as much as

possible, and so permit the grooves to be as shallow as may be. The

figure

[Illustration: ]

represents, on one side of the dotted line, three grooves, 1, 1, 1, cut

in this way, exaggerated to show more clearly their character. In the

Kentucky rifle this law is followed, except that, for convenience in

cutting, the grooves are made of the same width at the bottom and top,

as shown at 2, 2, 2, which is, for grooves of the depth of which they

are made, practically the same, as the dotted circle will show. Our

gun-makers use from six to ten grooves.

To sum up our conditions,--the model rifle will conform to the following

description:--Its weight will be from ten to twelve pounds; the length

of barrel not less than thirty inches,[1] and of calibre from ninety to

sixty gauge; six to ten freed grooves, about .005 inch deep, angular at

bottom and top, with the lands of the same width as the grooves; twist

increasing from six feet to three feet; barrel, of cast steel,[2] fitted

to the stock with a patent breech, with back action set lock, and open

or hunting and globe and peek sights. Mr. Chapman, whose book is the

most interesting and intelligent, by far, of all hitherto published,

recommends a straighter stock than those generally used by American

hunters. Here we differ;--the Swiss stock, crooking, on an average, two

inches more than ours, is preferable for quick shooting, though in a

_light_ rifle much crook in the stock will throw the muzzle up by the

recoil. With such a gun,--the best for hunting that the ingenuity and

skill of man have ever yet contrived and made,--one may depend on

his shot, if he have skill, as he cannot on the Minié, Enfield, or

Lancaster; and whether he be in the field against a foe, or in the

forest against the deer, he holds the life of man or deer in his power

at the range of rifle-sighting.

[Footnote 1: There is much difference of opinion amongst gun-makers as

to the length of barrel most desirable. We believe in a long barrel, for

the following reasons: 1st, a longer distance between sights is given,

and the back sight can be put farther from the eye, so that finer

sighting is possible; 2d, a long barrel is steadier in off-hand

shooting; 3d, it permits a slower powder to be used, so that the ball

starts more slowly and yet allows the full strength of the powder to be

used before it leaves the barrel, getting a high initial velocity with

little recoil, and without "upsetting" the ball, as we shall explain

farther on. The experiments of the United States government show that

the increasing of the length of the barrel from thirty-three to forty

inches (we speak from memory as to numbers) increased the initial

velocity fifty feet per second; but this will, in long ranges, be no

advantage, except with such a shape of missile as will maintain a high

speed.]

[Footnote 2: Hunters still dispute as to iron or steel; and we have used

iron barrels made by Amsden, of Saratoga Springs, which for accuracy and

wear were unexceptionable; though gunsmiths generally take less pains

with iron than steel barrels. But give us steel.]

Of all the variations of the rifle, for the sake of obtaining force of

penetration, nothing yet compares with the Accelerating Rifle, invented

some years since by a New York mechanic. In this the ball was started by

an ordinary charge, and at a certain distance down the barrel received

a new charge, by a side chamber, which produced an almost incredible

effect. An ellipsoidal missile of ninety gauge and several diameters

long, made of brass, was driven through thirty-six inches of oak and

twenty-four inches of green spruce timber, or fifty inches of the most

impenetrable of timbers. The same principle of acceleration has, it is

said, been most successfully applied in Boston by the use of a hollow

_tige_ or tube fixed at the bottom of the bore with the inside of which

the cap-fire communicates,--so that, when the gun is charged, part of

the powder falls into the _tige_, and the remainder into the barrel

outside of it. The ball being driven down until it rests on the top of

the _tige_, receives its first impulse from the small charge contained

in it,--after which, the fire, flashing back, communicates to the powder

outside the _tige_, producing an enormous accelerating effect. But it is

doubtful if the gun can be brought into actual service, from being so

difficult to clean.

It is questionable if any greater range in rifles will be found

desirable. With a good Kentucky rifle, we are even now obliged to use

telescope sights to avail ourselves of its full range and accuracy of

fire. The accelerating inventions may be made use of in artillery, for

throwing shells, and for siege trains, but promise nothing for small

arms.

Then, as the secondary point, comes the form of projectile, that in

which the greatest weight (and thence momentum) combines with least

resistance from the atmosphere. In the pursuit of this result every

experimenter since the fifteenth century has worked. Lautmann, writing

in 1729, recommends an elliptical missile, hollow behind, from a

notion that the hollow gathered the explosive force, Robins recommends

elongated balls; and they were used in many varieties of form. Theory

would assign, as the shape of highest rapidity, one like that which

would be made by the revolution of the waterline section of a fast

ship on its longitudinal axis; and supposing the force _to have been_

applied, this would doubtless be capable of the greatest speed; but the

rifle-missile must first be fitted to receive the action of the powder

in the most effective way. An ellipsoid cone would leave the air behind

it most smoothly, but it would not receive the pressure of the gas in a

line with its direction of motion; and so of the hollow butt; the gas,

acting and reacting in every way perpendicularly to the surface it acts

on, wastes its force in straining outwardly. The perfectly flat butt

would take as much forward impetus at the edge of the cone base, where

the soft lead would yield slightly. And so we find the best form to be

a base which receives the force of the powder in such a way that the

resultant of the forces acting on each point in the base would be

coincident with the axis of the missile. And this, in practice, was the

shape which the American experiments gave to the butt of the ball, the

condition in which it left the air being found of minor importance,

compared with its capacity of receiving the force of the powder. The

point of the cone was found objectionable in practice, and was gradually

brought to the curve of the now universally used sugar-loaf missile or

flat-ended picket shown in fig. 1.

[Illustration: Figure 1]

This picket has but a single point of bearing, and is driven down with

a greased linen patch, filling up the grooves entirely, and preventing

"leading" of the barrel, as well as keeping the picket firm in

the barrel. This is of vital importance; for no breech-loading or

loose-loading and expanding ball can ever fly so truly as a solid ball

whose position in the barrel is accurately fixed. A longitudinal missile

must rotate with its axis coincident with its line of flight as it

leaves the barrel, or else every rotation will throw the point into

wider circles, until finally it becomes more eccentric than a round

ball. It is a mistaken notion that a conical missile is more accurate in

flight than a round; on the contrary, hunters always prefer the ball for

_short shots_,--and a "slug," as the longer missile is called by them,

is well known to err more than a ball, if put down untruly.

[Illustration: Figure 2]

The improved Minié ball (fig. 2) was intended to obviate the danger of

the missile's turning in flight, by hollowing the butt, and so putting

the centre of gravity in front of the centre of resistance, so that

it flies like a heavy-headed arrow, while at the same time the powder

expands the hollow butt and fills the grooves, securing perfect rotation

with easy loading. But the hollow in the ball diminishes the gravity and

momentum; the liability of the lead to expand unequally, and so throw

the point of the missile out of line, makes a long bearing necessary,

producing enormous friction. This objection obtains equally with all

pickets having expanding butts, and is a sufficient reason for their

inferior accuracy to that of solid pickets fitted to the grooves at the

muzzle with a patch. General Jacob says,--"I have tried every expedient

I could think of as a substitute for the greased patch for rifle-balls,

but had always to return to this"; and every experienced rifleman will

agree with him. Yet both English and American (governmental) experiments

ignore the fact, that the expansible bullets increase friction

enormously; and the Enfield bullet (fig. 3) is as badly contrived as

possible, being round-pointed, expansible, and with very long bearings,

without the bands which in the French and American bullets reduce the

friction somewhat. The Harper's Ferry bullet (fig. 4) is better than

either the English or the French, and is as good as a loose-loading

bullet can be.

[Illustration: Figure 3]

[Illustration: Fig 4]

Besides all the objections we have urged against the bullet with long

bearings, another still remains of a serious nature. No missile that has

two points of bearing can be used with the gaining twist, as the change

in the direction of the ridges on the shot formed by the grooves will

necessarily tend to change the position of the axis of the shot; and

the gaining twist is the greatest improvement made since grooving was

successfully applied;--to reject it is to reject something indispensable

to the _best_ performance of the rifle. The flat-ended picket complies

with all the requisites laid down; and we will venture to say, that,

if any government will give it a thorough trial, side by side with any

loose-loading bullet, it will be found preferable to any other bullet,

despite the disadvantage of slow loading from using a patch and a

tight-fitting ball.

To make the statement conclusive, we give the results of the United

States experiments, and a statement of the European as compared with the

United States firing, and then the results of Kentucky rifle-firing.

With the new trial-rifle at Harper's Ferry, (a target 1 X 216 feet being

put up at two hundred yards,) with the American ball, (fig. 4,) the best

string of twenty-five shots averaged 3.2 inches vertical deviation, 2.4

in. horizontal deviation. At five hundred yards, the best string of

twenty-five shots averaged 10.8 inches vertical deviation, 14 in.

horizontal deviation. At one thousand yards, 26.4 vertical deviation,

16.8 horizontal deviation. In another trial with the new musket-rifle,

the mean deviation at two hundred yards was 4.4 vertical, 3.4

horizontal.

In a comparison of the power of French, English, and American rifles,

it was found that at two hundred yards the American gun averaged 4.8

vertical and 4.5 horizontal deviation. The Enfield rifle gave 7 in.

vertical, 11.3 horizontal; the French rifle _a tige_, 8 vertical, 7.6

horizontal. A Swiss rifle, at the same distance, gave 5.3 vertical and

4.3 horizontal deviation.

At five hundred yards, the following was the result:--

American gun, 13. in. vert. dev. 11.5 hor. dev.

Enfield, " 20.4 " 19.2 "

Rifle _à tige_, 18.5 " 17.1 "

At one thousand yards,--

American gun, 31.5 in. vert. dev. 20.1 hor. dev.

Enfield, " 42 " 52.8 "

Rifle_à tige_(874 yds.),47.2 " 37.4 "

The only detailed reports of General Jacob's practice are at one

thousand yards or over, at which his _shell_ averaged 31.2 in.

horizontal deviation, 55.2 in. vertical; not far from the range of the

Enfield. His bullet is fig. 5.

[Illustration: Fig 5.]

But long ranges test less fairly the _accuracy_ of a rifle than short

ones, because in long flights they are more subject to drift, of the

wind, etc. We shall compare the government reports of shooting at two

hundred yards with that of the Kentucky rifle at two hundred and twenty,

the usual trying distance. At that distance, the American gun gave

4.8 in. vert dev. and 4.5 hor. dev.

Enfield, 7 " 11.3 "

French _à tige_, 8 " 7.6 "

Swiss, 5.3 " 4.3 "

Kentucky, (according to Mr. Chapman,) 1.06 absolute deviation.

At 500 yards, the comparison stands,--

American, (government,) 13 in. vertical deviation, 11.5 in. horizontal.

(About 17 in. absolute.)

Kentucky, (550 yards,) 11 in. absolute deviation

We give cuts of two targets, of which we have duplicates in our

possession, made by rifles manufactured by Morgan James, of Utica, New

York, that the reader may appreciate the marvellous accuracy of this

weapon; the first was made by a rifle of 60 gauge, twenty-five shots

being fired, the average deviation being 1.4 in.; the second by a 90

gauge, the average being [Illustration]

[Illustration]

.8 in.; both at two hundred and twenty yards, and better than Mr.

Chapman's report. In the northern part of the State of New York, the

practice at shooting-matches is, at turkeys at one hundred rods, (five

hundred and fifty yards,) and a good marksman is expected to kill one

turkey, on an average, in three shots,--and this with a bullet weighing

from two hundred and forty to one hundred and sixty grains, while the

army bullet weighs five hundred and fifty-seven. The easily fatal range

of the bullet of two hundred and forty grains is a thousand yards; and

farther than that, no bullet can be relied on as against single men.

In breech-loading guns, much must be sacrificed, in point of accuracy,

to mere facility of loading; and here there seems room for doubt whether

a breech-loader offers any advantage compensating for its complication

of mechanism and the danger of its being disabled by accident in hurried

loading. No breech-loading gun is so trustworthy in its execution as a

muzzle-loader; for, in spite of all precautions, the bullets will go

out irregularly. We have cut out too many balls of Sharpe's rifle from

the target, which had entered sidewise, not to be certain on this point;

and we know of no other breech-loader so little likely to err in this

respect, when the ball is crowded down into the grooves, and the powder

poured on the ball,--as we always use it. The government reports on

breech-loaders are adverse to their adoption, mainly because they are so

likely to get out of working order and to get clogged. We have used one

of Sharpe's two years in hunting, and found it, with a round ball at

short shots, perfectly reliable; while with the belted picket perhaps

one shot in five or six would wander. Used with the cartridge, they

are much less reliable. They may be apt to clog, but we have used one

through a day's hunting, and found the oil on the slide at night: and we

are inclined to believe, that, when fitted with gas rings, they will

not clog, if used with good powder. The Maynard rifle is perfectly

unexceptionable in this respect, and an excellent gun, in its way. The

powder does not flash out any more than in a muzzle-loader. Of the other

kinds of breech-loaders we can say nothing from experience, and should

scarcely recommend using one for a hunting-gun. One who has used a

rifle of James, of Lewis (of Troy, New York), Amsden of Saratoga, (and

doubtless others in the West are equally famous in their sections,) will

hardly be willing to use the best breech-loader. There is no time saved,

when the important shot is lost; and the gun that is always true is the

only one for a rifleman, _if it take twice, the time to load_.

In the rifling of cannon, there seems to be no reason why the same rules

should not hold good as in small arms. The gaining twist seems more

important, from the greater tendency of the heavy balls to strip; and

there being less object in extreme lightness, the gun may be made a

large-sized Kentucky rifle on wheels; and there is less difficulty in

loading with the precision that the flat-ended picket requires. In the

cannon, even more than in the rifle for the line, there is no gain in

getting facility of loading at the expense of precision. If, by careful

loading, we hit the given mark twice as often as when we load in haste,

it is clear how much we gain. The breech-loader seems to be useless as a

cannon, because that in which it has the advantage, namely, rapidity of

loading, is useless in a field-piece, where, even now, artillery-men can

load faster than they can fire safely. Napoleon III. has made his rifled

cannon to load at the muzzle, and practical artillerists commend

his decision. The Armstrong gun, of which so much is expected, we

confidently predict, will prove a failure, when tried in field-practice

in the hurry of battle, if it is ever so tried. It is a breech-loader of

the clumsiest kind, taking twice as long to load as a common gun,

and very complicated. Its wonderful range is owing to its great

calibre,--sixty-four pounds; but even at that, it furnishes no results

proportionate to those given by the Napoleon cannon, or by our General

James's recent gun.

The great anticipations raised by the general introduction of the rifle,

and its greater range, of such a change in warfare as to make the

bayonet useless, seem to have met with disappointment in the recent

wars. No matter how perfect the gun, men, in the heat and excitement of

battle, will hardly be deliberate in aim, or effective enough in firing

to stop a charge of determined men; the bayonet, with the most of

mankind, will always be the queen of weapons in a pitched battle; only

for skirmishing, for sharp-shooting, and artillery, will the rifle equal

theoretical expectations. Men, not brought up from boyhood to such

constant use of the rifle as to make sure aim an act of instinct with

them, will never repel with certainty a charge of the bayonet by

rifle-balls. With men whose rifles come to an aim with the instinctive

accuracy with which a hawk strikes his prey, firing is equivalent to

hitting, and excitement only makes the aim surer and more prompt; but

such must have been hunters from youth; and no training of the army can

give this second nature. American volunteers are the only material,

outside the little districts of Switzerland and the Tyrol, who can ever

be trained to this point, because they are the only nation of hunters

beside the Swiss and Tyrolese. The English game-laws, which prevent the

common people from using fire-arms _ad libitum_, have done and are doing

more to injure the efficacy of the individual soldier than all their

militia-training can ever mend. In the hands of an English peasant,

"Brown Bess" is as good as a rifle; for he would only throw the ball of

either at random. Discipline is wonderful and wondrously effective; but,

in the first place, it won't make a man a ready and accurate shot, in

time of excitement; and, in the second place, it won't make his bayonet

a shield for a ball from the rifle of a man who has learned, by the

practice of years, not to throw away a ball or to fire at random;--it

couldn't carry the bravest men in Wellington's army over a cotton-bale

intrenchment, in the face of a double line of Kentucky rifles. It is

very well to sing,

"Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen, form!"

but where are the riflemen? Can Britannia stamp them out of the dust? or

has she a store of "dragon's teeth" to sow? God grant she may never have

to defend those English homes against the guns of Vincennes! but if

she must, it is on a comparatively undisciplined militia she must

depend;--and then she may remember, with bitter self-reproach, the

lesson of New Orleans.

A TRIP TO CUBA.

COMPANY AT THE HOTEL.--SERVANTS.--OUR DRIVE.--DON PEPE.

I do not mean to give portraits of the individuals at our hotel. My

chance acquaintance with them confers on me no right to appropriate

their several characteristics for my own convenience and the diversion

of the public. I will give only such general sketches as one may make of

a public body at a respectful distance, marking no features that fix or

offend.

Our company is almost entirely composed of two classes,--invalids and

men of business, with or without their families. The former are easily

recognizable by their sad eyes and pallid countenances; even the hectic

of disease does not deceive you,--it has no affinity to the rose of

health. There is the cough, too,--the cruel cough that would not be

left at the North, that breaks out through all the smothering by day,

and shakes the weak frame with uneasy rocking by night.

The men of business are apt to name their firm, when they introduce

themselves to you.

"My name is Norval, Sir,--Norval, Grampian, & Company. I suppose you

know the firm."

We do not, indeed; but we murmur, in return, that we have an uncle or a

cousin in business, who may, very likely, know it.

"What is your uncle's firm?" will be the next question.

"Philpots Brothers."

"Excellent people,--we have often done business with them. Happy to make

your acquaintance, Sir."

And so, the first preliminaries being established, and each party

assured of the other's solvency, we glide easily into a relation of chat

and kind little mutualities which causes the periods of contact to pass

smoothly enough.

We found among these some manly, straight-forward fellows, to whom one

would confide one's fortunes, or even one's widow and orphans, with

small fear of any flaw In their trustworthiness. Nor was the more

slippery class, we judged, without its representatives; but of this we

had only hints, not experience. There were various day-boarders, who

frequented only our table, and lodged elsewhere. A few of these were

decorous Spaniards, who did not stare, nor talk, nor gobble their

meals with unbecoming vivacity of appetite. They were obviously staid

business-men, differing widely in character from the street Spaniard,

whom I have already copiously described. Some were Germans, thinned by

the climate, and sharpened up to the true Yankee point of competition;

very little smack of Fatherland was left about them,--no song, no

sentimentality, not much quivering of the heart-strings at remembering

the old folks at home, whom some of them have not seen in twenty years,

and never will see again. To be sure, in such a hard life as theirs,

with no social surroundings, and grim death meeting them at every

corner, there is nothing for it but to be as hard and tough as one's

circumstances. But give me rather the German heart in the little old

German village, with the small earnings and spendings, the narrow sphere

of life and experience, and the great vintage of geniality which is laid

up from youth to age, and handed down with the old wine from father to

son. I don't like your cosmopolitan German any better than I do your

Englishman done to death with travel. I prize the home-flavor in all the

races that are capable of home. There are very many Germans scattered

throughout Cuba, in various departments of business. They are generally

successful, and make very good Yankees, in the technical acceptation

of the word. Their original soundness of constitution enables them to

resist the climate better than Americans, and though they lose flesh

and color, they rarely give that evidence of a disordered liver which

foreign residents in tropical countries are so apt to show.

The ladies at the hotel were all our own countrywomen, as we see them at

home and abroad. I have already spoken of their diligence in sewing, and

of their enthusiasm in shopping. Their other distinctive features are

too familiar to us to require illustration. Yet upon one trait I will

adventure. A group of them sat peaceably together, one day, when a

file of newspapers arrived, with full details of a horrible Washington

scandal, and the murder consequent upon it. Now I must say that no swarm

of bees ever settled upon a bed of roses more eagerly than our fair

sisters pounced upon the carrion of that foul and dreadful tale. It

flew from hand to hand and from mouth to mouth, as if it had been glad

tidings of great joy,--and the universal judgment upon it caused our

heart to shudder with the remembrance, that it had heard some one

somewhere propose that female offenders should be tried by a jury of

their own sex.

It was a real comfort, a few days later, to hear this sad subject

discussed by a circle of intelligent Englishwomen, with good sense and

good feeling, and with true appreciation of the twofold crime, the

domestic treason and the public assassination. In passing, I must say of

this English circle, that it is charming, and that the Britannic Consul

has the key of it in his pocket. Wherefore, if any of you, my friends,

would desire to know four of the most charming women in Havana, he is to

lay hold upon Mr. Consul Crawford, and compel him to be his friend.

Mr. Dana recounts his shopping in Havana, whereof the beginning and

ending were one dress, white and blue, which he commendably purchased

for his wife. But does Dana know what he had to be thankful for, in

getting off with one dress? Tell him, ye patient husbands, whose pockets

seem to be made like lemons, only to be squeezed! Tell him, ye insatiate

ones, who have new wants and new ideas every day! Dana's dress was,

probably, an _holan batista_, which he calls "_Bolan_";--it was, in

other words, a figured linen cambric. But you have bought those cambrics

by the piece, and also _piñas_, thin, gossamer fabrics, of all degrees

of color and beauty, sometimes with _pattern flounces_,--do you hear?

And you have bought Spanish table-cloths with red or blue edges, with

bull-fights on them, and balloon-ascensions, and platoons of soldiery in

review, and with bull-fighting and ballooning napkins to match. And you

have secured such bales of transparent white muslins, that one would

think you intended to furnish a whole troupe of ballet-girls with

saucer petticoats. Catalan lace you have got, to trim curtains, sheets,

pillow-cases, and kitchen-towels with. And as for your fans, we only

hope that the stories you tell about them are true, and that Kitty,

Julia, and Jemima at home are to divide them with you; for we shrewdly

suspect that you mean, after all, to keep them, and to have a fan for

every day in the year. Let a man reflect upon all this, added to the

inevitable three dollars and fifty cents _per diem_, with the frequent

refreshment of _volantes_ and ices at the Dominica, and then say whether

it pays to take a partner not of a frugal mind to Havana for the season.

I had intended to give some account of the servants at Mrs. Almy's;

but my gossip runs to such lengths that I must dismiss them with a few

words. Ramon, the porter, never leaves the vestibule; he watches there

all day, takes his meals there, plays cards there in the evening with

his fellow-servants, and at night spreads his cot there, and lies down

to sleep. He is white, as are most of the others. If I have occasion to

go into the kitchen at night, I find a cot there also, with no bed, and

a twisted sheet upon it, which, I am told, is the chrysalis of the cook.

Said cook is a free yellow, from Nassau, who has wrought in this

kitchen for many years past. Heat, hard work, and they say drink, have

altogether brought him to a bad pass. His legs are frightfully swollen,

and in a few days he leaves, unable to continue his function. Somebody

asks after his wife. "She has got a white husband now," he tells us,

with a dejected air. She might have waited a little,--he is to die soon.

Garcia is the kind waiter with the rather expressive face, who is never

weary of bringing us the rice and fried plantain, which form, after all,

the staple of our existence in Cuba. The waiters all do as well as they

can, considering the length of the table, and the extremely short staple

of the boarders' patience. As a general rule, they understand good

English better than bad Spanish; but comparative philology has obviously

been neglected among them.

Luis is a negro boy of twelve, fearfully black in the face and white

in the eye; his wool cropped to entire bareness. He is chiefly good at

dodging your orders,--disappears when anything is asked for, but does

not return with it.

Rosalia is the chambermaid, of whom I have already spoken, as dexterous

in sweeping the mosquitos from the nets,--her afternoon service. She

brings, too, the morning cup of coffee, and always says, "Good morning,

Sir; you want coffee?"--the only English she can speak. Her voice and

smile are particularly sweet, her person tall and well-formed, and her

face comely and modest. She is not altogether black,--about mahogany

color. I mention her modesty, because, so far as I saw, the good-looking

ones among the black women have an air of assumption, and almost of

impudence,--probably the result of flattery.

With all this array of very respectable "help," our hostess avers that

she has not a single person about her whom she can trust. Hence the

weary look about her eyes and brow, speaking of a load never laid down.

She attends to every detail of business herself, and is at work over her

books long after her boarders have retired to rest.

But the one of all the servants who interests us most is Alexander, Mrs.

Almy's own slave. He is, like Rosalia, of mahogany color, with a broad

forehead and intelligent eyes. His proud, impatient nature is little

suited to his position, and every day brings some new account of his

petulant outbreaks. To-day he quarrelled with the new cook, and drew a

knife upon him. Mrs. Almy threatens continually to sell him, and at this

the hearts of some of us grow very sick,--for she always says that his

spirit must be broken, that only the severest punishment will break it,

and that she cannot endure to send him to receive that punishment. What

that mysterious ordeal may be, we dare not question,--we who cannot help

him from it; we can only wish that he might draw that knife across his

own throat before he undergoes it. He is trying to buy his own freedom,

and has something saved towards it. He looks as if he would do good

service, with sufficient training. As it is, he probably knows no law,

save the two conflicting ones, of necessity and his own wild passions.

One of the sad thoughts we shall carry away from here will be, that

Alexander is to be sold and his spirit broken. Good Mrs. Almy, do have a

little patience with him! Enlighten his dark mind; let Christianity be

taught him, which will show him, even in his slave's estate, that he can

conquer his fellow-servant better than by drawing a knife upon him. Set

him free? Ah! that is past praying for; but, as he has the right to buy

himself, give him every chance of doing so, and we, your petitioners,

will pray for him, and for you, who need it, with that heavy brow of

care.

I have called the negroes of Nassau ugly, clumsy, and unserviceable. The

Cuban negroes make, so far, a very different impression upon me. One

sees among them considerable beauty of form, and their faces are more

expressive and better cut than those of the Nassau blacks. The women are

well-made, and particularly well-poised, standing perfectly straight

from top to toe, with no hitch or swing in their gait. Beauty of feature

is not so common among them; still, one meets with it here and there.

There is a massive sweep in the bust and arms of the women which is very

striking. Even in their faces, there is a certain weight of feature and

of darkness, which makes its own impression. The men have less grace

of movement, though powerful and athletic in their make. Those who are

employed at hard work, within-doors, wear very little clothing, being

stripped to the loins. One often has a glimpse of them, in passing the

open smithies and wheelwrights' shops. The greatest defect among the

men is the want of calf. The narrow boots of the postilions make this

particularly discernible. Such a set of spindle-shanks I never saw, not

even in Trumbull's famous Declaration of Independence, in which we have

the satisfaction of assuring ourselves that the fathers of our liberty

had two legs apiece, and crossed them in concert with the utmost

regularity. One might think, at first, that these narrow boots were as

uncomfortable to the _calesero_ as the Scottish instrument of torture of

that name; but his little swagger when he is down, and his freedom in

kicking when he is up, show that he has ample room in them.

Very jolly groups of Spanish artisans does one see in the open shops at

noon, gathered around a table. The board is chiefly adorned with earthen

jars of an ancient pattern filled with oil and wine, platters of bread

and sausage, and the ever fragrant onion is generally perceptible. The

personal qualities of these men are quite unknown to us; but they have

an air of good-fellowship which gives pleasure.

We hired a carriage this afternoon,--we and two others from Boston. We

had a four-wheeled barouche, with two horses, which costs two dollars an

hour; whereas a _volante_ can be hired only at eight dollars and a half

per whole afternoon,--no less time, no less money. As it holds but two,

or, at the utmost, three, this is paying rather dear for the glory of

showing one's self on the Paseo. The moment we were in the carriage, our

coachman nodded to us, and saying, "_A la tropa_," galloped off with us

in an unknown direction. We soon fell in with a line of other carriages,

and concluded that there was something to be seen somewhere, and that we

were going to see it. Nor were we mistaken; for in due time, ascending a

steep acclivity, we came upon "_la tropa_" and found some ten thousand

soldiers undergoing review, in their seersucker coats and Panama hats,

which, being very like the costume of an easy Wall-Street man in August,

had a very peaceful appearance on so military an occasion. The cavalry

and infantry had nearly concluded their evolutions when we arrived. The

troops were spread out on a vast plateau. The view was magnificent.

The coachman pointed to one immovable figure on horseback, and said,

"Concha." We found it was indeed the Captain-General; for as the

different bands passed, they all saluted him, and he returned their

courtesy. Unluckily, his back was towards us, and so remained until he

rode off in an opposite direction. He was mounted on a white horse, and

was dressed like the others. He seemed erect and well-made; but his

back, after all, was very like any one else's back. _Query_,--Did we

see Concha, or did we not? When all was over, the coachman carefully

descended the hill. He had come hither in haste, wishing to witness the

sport himself; but now he drove slowly, and indulged in every sort of

roundabout to spin out his time and our money. We met with a friend

who, on our complaint, expostulated with him, and said,--"Señor, these

gentlemen say that you drive them very slowly (_muy poco á poco_)." To

the which he,--"Señor, if gentlemen will hire a carriage by the

hour, and not by the afternoon, they must expect to get on very

softly."--_Mem_. A white driver is always addressed as _Señor_, and I

have occasionally heard such monologues as the following:--"Señor, why

do you drive me this way? Curse you, Señor! You don't know anything,

Señor! You are the greatest ass I ever encountered." The coachman takes

it all coolly enough; the "Señor" spares his dignity, and he keeps his

feelings to himself.

The writer of this has already spoken of various disappointments, in the

way of seeing things, incidental to the position of the sex in Cuba.

She came abroad prepared for microscopic, telescopic, and stereoscopic

investigation,--but, hedged in on all sides by custom and convenience,

she often observed only four very bare walls and two or three very

stupid people. What could she see? Prisons? No. Men, naked and filthy,

lying about, using very unedifying language, and totally unaccustomed to

the presence of lady-visitors. She invoked the memory of Mrs. Fry and

the example of Miss Dix. "Oh, they were saints, you know." "Only because

they went to prisons, which you won't let me do."--Bull-fight? No. "How

could you go back to Boston after seeing a bull-fight, eh?" "As if

married life were anything else, eh?" And so on.--Negro ball? "Not

exactly the place for a lady." "Miss Bremer went." "Very differently

behaved woman from you." "Yes, virtue with a nose, impregnable."

But there is something she can go to see,--at least, some one,--the

angelic man, Don Pepe, the wise, the gentle, the fearless, whom all the

good praise. Yes, she shall go to see Don Pepe; and one burning Sunday

noon she makes a pilgrimage through the scorching streets, and comes

where he may be inquired for, and is shown up a pair of stairs, at the

head of which stands the angelic man, mild and bland, with great, dark

eyes, and a gracious countenance. He ushers us into a room furnished

with nothing but books, and finds two chairs for us and one for himself,

not without research.

Now I will not pretend to say that Don Pepe occupied himself with me

after the first kind greeting, nor that, my presence occasioned him

either pleasure or surprise. My companion was a man after his own heart,

and, at first sight, the two mounted their humanitarian hobbies, and

rode them till they were tired. And when this came, I went away and said

nothing. Yet I knew that I had seen a remarkable man.

Don Pepe de la Luz is a Cuban by birth, and his age may number some

sixty years. He inherited wealth and its advantages, having received

somewhere a first-rate education, to which he copiously added in

subsequent years. He is a Liberal in politics and religion, a man of

great reason and of great heart. In affairs of state, however, he

meddles not, but contents himself with making statesmen. Like all wise

philanthropists, he sees the chief source of good to man in education,

and devotes his life, and, in a degree, his fortune, to this object. The

building in which we found him was a large school, or rather college,

founded by himself, and carried on in a great measure through his

efforts. This college is upon the same literary footing as the

University of Havana; and Don Pepe's graduates pass examinations and

receive diplomas in the last-named institution. He himself rarely leaves

its walls; and though he has house and wife elsewhere, and the great

world is everywhere open to him, he leads here a more congenial life of

ascetic seclusion, study, and simplicity.

"Oh, noble instinct of good men, to stay and do their duty!

This let us celebrate above all daring, wit, and beauty."

Don Pepe has been abroad as much as it profits a man to be,--but has not

lost his own soul there, as an American is apt to do. He has known the

best men in Europe and America. The best languages, he possesses them;

the best books, here they are, piled all about his room. The floor is

carpeted with them; there are cases all around the walls; and a large

parallelogramic arrangement in the middle of the room, stuck all

with books, as a pin-cushion with pins. True, there is not in their

arrangement that ornateness of order observable in Northern libraries;

dust even lies and blows about; and though he can find his favorites, we

should be much puzzled to find any volume where it ought to be. But it

looks as if the master were happy and undisturbed here, and as if the

housemaid and her hated broom were as far off as the snow and frost.

In person, Don Pepe is not above the middle height. He is a fairly

developed man, but looks thin and worn, and his shoulders have the stoop

of age, which scholars mostly anticipate. His face is much corrugated,

but it bears the traces of vivacious thought and emotion, not the

withering print of passion. Of his eyes I have already spoken; they are

wise, kind, and full of Southern fire.

Don Pepe has had some annoyances from the government,--probably in the

more sanguine period of his life. The experience of years has taught him

the secret of living peaceably with all men. He can be great and good

himself, without perpetually quarrelling with those who can be neither.

He spoke with warm interest of his scholars. "They have much capacity,"

he said; "but we want a little more of that _air_ you spoke of just now,

Doctor." That air was Liberty. Reader, have you ever been in a place

where her name was contraband? All such places are alike. Here, as in

Rome, men who have thoughts disguise them; and painful circumlocution

conveys the meaning of friend to friend. For treachery lies hid, like

the scorpion, under your pillow, and your most trusted companion will

betray your head, to save his own. I am told that this sub-treason

reached, in the days of Lopez, an incredible point. After every secret

meeting of those affected to the invaders, each conspirator ran to save

himself by denouncing all others. One Cuban, of large fortune and small

reputation, being implicated in these matters, brought General Concha

a list of all his confederates, which Concha burned before his face,

unread. Piteous, laughable spectacle! Better be monkeys than such men;

yet such work does Absolutism in government and religion make of the

noble human creature! God preserve us ever from tyrants, spies, and

Jesuits!

Don Pepe does not tell us this; but we have much pleasant talk with him

about books, about great men in Europe, and, lastly, about Prescott,

whom he knew and honored. We took leave of him with regret. He

accompanied us to the head of the stairs, and then said, "Ah! my dear

Madam, my liver will not suffer me to go down." "I am glad it is not

your heart," I rejoined, and we parted,--to meet again, in my thoughts,

and perhaps elsewhere, in the dim vista of the future.

BLONDEL.

At the castle's outer door

Stood Blondel, the Troubadour.

Up the marble stairs the crowd,

Pressing, talked and laughed aloud.

Upward with the throng he went;

With a heart of discontent,

Timed his sullen instrument;

Tried to sing of mirth and jest,

As the knights around him pressed;

But across his heart a pang

Struck him wordless ere he sang.

Then the guests and vassals roared,

Sitting round the oaken board,

"If thou canst not wake our mirth,

Touch some softer rhyme of earth:

Sing of knights in ladies' bowers,--

Twine a lay of love and flowers."

"Can I sing of love?" he said,--

And a moment bowed his head,

Then looked upward, out of space,

With a strange light in his face.

Said Blondel, the Troubadour,

"When I hear the battle roar,

And the trumpet-tones of war,

Can I tinkle my guitar?"

"But the war is o'er," said all;

"Silent now the bugle's call.

Love should be the warrior's dream,--

Love alone the minstrel's theme.

Sing us _Rose-leaves on a stream_."

Said Blondel, "Not roses now,--

Leafless thorns befit the brow.

In this crowd my voice is weak,

But ye force me now to speak.

Know ye not King Richard groans

Chained 'neath Austria's dungeon-stones?

What care I to sing of aught

Save what presses on my thought?

Over laughter, song, and shout

From these windows swelling out,

Over passion's tender words

Intonating through the chords,

"Rings the prisoned monarch's lay,

Through and through me, night and day;

And the only strain I know

Haunts my brain where'er I go,--

Trumpet-tones that ring and ring

Till I see my Richard king!

"Gallants, hear my song of love,

Deeper tones than courtiers move,--

Hear my royal captive's sigh,--

England, Home, and Liberty!"

Then he struck his lute and sang,

Till the shields and lances rang:

How for Christ and Holy Land

Fought the Lion Heart and Hand,--

How the craft of Leopold

Trapped him in a castle old,--

How one balmy morn in May,

Singing to beguile the day,

In his tower, the minstrel heard

Every note and every word,--

How he answered back the song,

"Let thy hope, my king, be strong!

We will bring thee help ere long!"

Still he sang,--"Who goes with me?

Who is it wills King Richard free?

He who bravely toils and dares,

Pain and danger with me shares,--

He whose heart is true and warm,

Though the night perplex with storm

Forest, plain, and dark morass,

Hanging-rock and mountain-pass,

And the thunder bursts ablaze,--

Is the lover that I praise!"

As the minstrel left the hall,

Silent, sorrowing, sat they all.

"Well they knew his banner-sign,

The Lion-Heart of Palestine.

Like a flame the song had swept

O'er them;--then the warriors leapt

Up from the feast with one accord,--

Pledged around their knightly word,--

From the castle-windows rang

The last verse the minstrel sang,

And from out the castle-door

Followed they the Troubadour.

THE WONDERSMITH.

I.

GOLOSH STREET AND ITS PEOPLE.

A small lane, the name of which I have forgotten, or do not choose to

remember, slants suddenly off from Chatham Street, (before that headlong

thoroughfare reaches into the Park,) and retreats suddenly down towards

the East River, as if it were disgusted with the smell of old clothes,

and had determined to wash itself clean. This excellent intention it

has, however, evidently contributed towards the making of that imaginary

pavement mentioned in the old adage; for it is still emphatically a

dirty street. It has never been able to shake off the Hebraic taint of

filth which it inherits from the ancestral thoroughfare. It is slushy

and greasy, as if it were twin brother of the Roman Ghetto.

I like a dirty slum; not because I am naturally unclean,--I have not a

drop of Neapolitan blood in my veins,--but because I generally find a

certain sediment of philosophy precipitated in its gutters. A clean

street is terribly prosaic. There is no food for thought in carefully

swept pavements, barren kennels, and vulgarly spotless houses. But when

I go down a street which has been left so long to itself that it has

acquired a distinct outward character, I find plenty to think about. The

scraps of sodden letters lying in the ash-barrel have their meaning:

desperate appeals, perhaps, from Tom, the baker's assistant, to Amelia,

the daughter of the dry-goods retailer, who is always selling at a

sacrifice in consequence of the late fire. That may be Tom himself who

is now passing me in a white apron, and I look up at the windows of

the house (which does not, however, give any signs of a recent

conflagration) and almost hope to see Amelia wave a white

pocket-handkerchief. The bit of orange-peel lying on the sidewalk

inspires thought. Who will fall over it? who but the industrious mother

of six children, the eldest of which is only nine months old, all of

whom are dependent on her exertions for support? I see her slip and

tumble. I see the pale face convulsed with agony, and the vain struggle

to get up; the pitying crowd closing her off from all air; the anxious

young doctor who happened to be passing by; the manipulation of the

broken limb, the shake of the head, the moan of the victim, the litter

borne on men's shoulders, the gates of the New York Hospital unclosing,

the subscription taken up on the spot. There is some food for

speculation in that three-year-old, tattered child, masked with dirt,

who is throwing a brick at another three-year-old, tattered child,

masked with dirt. It is not difficult to perceive that he is destined to

lurk, as it were, through life. His bad, flat face--or, at least, what

can be seen of it--does not look as if it were made for the light of

day. The mire in which he wallows now is but a type of the moral mire in

which he will wallow hereafter. The feeble little hand lifted at this

instant to smite his companion, half in earnest, half in jest, will be

raised against his fellow-beings forevermore.

Golosh Street--as I will call this nameless lane before alluded to--is

an interesting locality. All the oddities of trade seem to have found

their way thither and made an eccentric mercantile settlement. There

is a bird-shop at one corner, wainscoted with little cages containing

linnets, waxwings, canaries, blackbirds, Mino-birds, with a hundred

other varieties, known only to naturalists. Immediately opposite is an

establishment where they sell nothing but ornaments made out of the

tinted leaves of autumn, varnished and gummed into various forms.

Farther down is a second-hand book-stall, which looks like a sentry-box

mangled out flat, and which is remarkable for not containing a

complete set of any work. There is a small chink between two

ordinary-sized houses, in which a little Frenchman makes and sells

artificial eyes, specimens of which, ranged on a black velvet cushion,

stare at you unwinkingly through the window as you pass, until you

shudder and hurry on, thinking how awful the world would be, if every

one went about without eyelids. There are junk-shops in Golosh Street

that seem to have got hold of all the old nails in the Ark and all the

old brass of Corinth. Madame Filomel, the fortune-teller, lives at No.

12 Golosh Street, second story front, pull the bell on the left-hand

side. Next door to Madame is the shop of Herr Hippe, commonly called the

Wondersmith.

Herr Hippe's shop is the largest in Golosh Street, and to all appearance

is furnished with the smallest stock. Beyond a few packing-cases, a

turner's lathe, and a shelf laden with dissected maps of Europe, the

interior of the shop is entirely unfurnished. The window, which is lofty

and wide, but much begrimed with dirt, contains the only pleasant object

in the place. This is a beautiful little miniature theatre,--that is

to say, the orchestra and stage. It is fitted with charmingly painted

scenery and all the appliances for scenic changes. There are tiny

traps, and delicately constructed "lifts," and real footlights fed with

burning-fluid, and in the orchestra sits a diminutive conductor before

his desk, surrounded by musical manikins, all provided with the smallest

of violoncellos, flutes, oboes, drums, and such like. There are

characters also on the stage. A Templar in a white cloak is dragging a

fainting female form to the parapet of a ruined bridge, while behind a

great black rock on the left one can see a man concealed, who, kneeling,

levels an arquebuse at the knight's heart. But the orchestra is silent;

the conductor never beats the time, the musicians never play a note. The

Templar never drags his victim an inch nearer to the bridge, the masked

avenger takes an eternal aim with his weapon. This repose appears

unnatural; for so admirably are the figures executed, that they seem

replete with life. One is almost led to believe, in looking on them,

that they are resting beneath some spell which hinders their motion. One

expects every moment to hear the loud explosion of the arquebuse,--to

see the blue smoke curling, the Templar falling,--to hear the orchestra

playing the requiem of the guilty.

Few people knew what Herr Hippe's business or trade really was. That he

worked at something was evident; else why the shop? Some people inclined

to the belief that he was an inventor, or mechanician. His workshop was

in the rear of the store, and into that sanctuary no one but himself had

admission. He arrived in Golosh Street eight or ten years ago, and one

fine morning, the neighbors, taking down their shutters, observed that

No. 13 had got a tenant. A tall, thin, sallow-faced man stood on a

ladder outside the shop-entrance, nailing up a large board, on which

"Herr Hippe, Wondersmith," was painted in black letters on a yellow

ground. The little theatre stood in the window, where it stood ever

after, and Herr Hippe was established.

But what was a Wondersmith? people asked each other. No one could reply.

Madame Filomel was consulted, but she looked grave, and said that it was

none of her business. Mr. Pippel, the bird-fancier, who was a German,

and ought to know best, thought it was the English for some singular

Teutonic profession; but his replies were so vague, that Golosh Street

was as unsatisfied as ever. Solon, the little humpback, who kept the

odd-volume book-stall at the lowest corner, could throw no light upon

it. And at length people had to come to the conclusion, that Herr Hippe

was either a coiner or a magician, and opinions were divided.

II.

A BOTTLEFUL OF SOULS.

It was a dull December evening. There was little trade doing in Golosh

Street, and the shutters were up at most of the shops. Hippe's store had

been closed at least an hour, and the Mino-birds and Bohemian waxwings

at Mr. Pippel's had their heads tucked under their wings in their first

sleep.

Herr Hippe sat in his parlor, which was lit by a pleasant wood-fire.

There were no candles in the room, and the flickering blaze played

fantastic tricks on the pale gray walls. It seemed the festival of

shadows. Processions of shapes, obscure and indistinct, passed across

the leaden-hued panels and vanished in the dusk corners. Every fresh

blaze flung up by the wayward logs created new images. Now it was a

funeral throng, with the bowed figures of mourners, the shrouded

coffin, the plumes that waved like extinguished torches; now a knightly

cavalcade with flags and lances, and weird horses, that rushed silently

along until they met the angle of the room, when they pranced through

the wall and vanished.

On a table close to where Herr Hippe sat was placed a large square

box of some dark wood, while over it was spread a casing of steel, so

elaborately wrought in an open arabesque pattern that it seemed like a

shining blue lace which was lightly stretched over its surface.

Herr Hippe lay luxuriously in his armchair, looking meditatively into

the fire. He was tall and thin, and his skin was of a dull saffron hue.

Long, straight hair,--sharply cut, regular features,--a long, thin

moustache, that curled like a dark asp around his mouth, the expression

of which was so bitter and cruel that it seemed to distil the venom

of the ideal serpent,--and a bony, muscular form, were the prominent

characteristics of the Wondersmith.

The profound silence that reigned in the chamber was broken by a

peculiar scratching at the panel of the door, like that which at the

French court was formerly substituted for the ordinary knock, when it

was necessary to demand admission to the royal apartments. Herr Hippe

started, raised his head, which vibrated on his long neck like the head

of a cobra when about to strike, and after a moment's silence uttered a

strange guttural sound. The door unclosed, and a squat, broad-shouldered

woman, with large, wild, Oriental eyes, entered softly.

"Ah! Filomel, you are come!" said the Wondersmith, sinking back in his

chair. "Where are the rest of them?"

"They will be here presently," answered Madame Filomel, seating herself

in an arm-chair much too narrow for a person of her proportions, and

over the sides of which she bulged like a pudding.

"Have you brought the souls?" asked the Wondersmith.

"They are here," said the fortune-teller, drawing a large pot-bellied

black bottle from under her cloak. "Ah! I have had such trouble with

them!"

"Are they of the right brand,--wild, tearing, dark, devilish fellows? We

want no essence of milk and honey, you know. None but souls bitter as

hemlock or scorching as lightning will suit our purpose."

"You will see, you will see, Grand Duke of Egypt! They are ethereal

demons, every one of them. They are the pick of a thousand births. Do

you think that I, old midwife that I am, don't know the squall of the

demon child from that of the angel child, the very moment they are

delivered? Ask a musician, how he knows, even in the dark, a note struck

by Thalberg from one struck by Listz!"

"I long to test them," cried the Wondersmith, rubbing his hands

joyfully. "I long to see how the little devils will behave when I give

them their shapes. Ah! it will be a proud day for us when we let them

loose upon the cursed Christian children! Through the length and breadth

of the land they will go; wherever our wandering people set foot, and

wherever they are, the children of the Christians shall die. Then we,

the despised Bohemians, the gypsies, as they call us, will be once more

lords of the earth, as we were in the days when the accursed things

called cities did not exist, and men lived in the free woods and

hunted the game of the forest. Toys indeed! Ay, ay, we will give the

little dears toys! toys that all day will sleep calmly in their boxes,

seemingly stiff and wooden and without life,--but at night, when the

souls enter them, will arise and surround the cots of the sleeping

children, and pierce their hearts with their keen, envenomed blades!

Toys indeed! oh, yes! I will sell them toys!"

And the Wondersmith laughed horribly, while the snaky moustache on his

upper lip writhed as if it had truly a serpent's power and could sting.

"Have you got your first batch, Herr Hippe?" asked Madame Filomel. "Are

they all ready?"

"Oh, ay! they are ready," answered the Wondersmith with gusto, opening,

as he spoke, the box covered with the blue steel lace-work; "they are

here."

The box contained a quantity of exquisitely carved wooden manikins of

both sexes, painted with great dexterity so as to present a miniature

resemblance to Nature. They were, in fact, nothing more than admirable

specimens of those toys which children delight in placing in various

positions on the table,--in regiments, or sitting at meals, or grouped

under the stiff green trees which always accompany them in the boxes in

which they are sold at the toy-shops.

The peculiarity, however, about the manikins of Herr Hippe was not alone

the artistic truth with which the limbs and the features were gifted;

but on the countenance of each little puppet the carver's art had

wrought an expression of wickedness that was appalling. Every tiny face

had its special stamp of ferocity. The lips were thin and brimful of

malice; the small black bead-like eyes glittered with the fire of a

universal hate. There was not one of the manikins, male or female, that

did not hold in his or her hand some miniature weapon. The little men,

scowling like demons, clasped in their wooden fingers swords delicate as

a housewife's needle. The women, whose countenances expressed treachery

and cruelty, clutched infinitesimal daggers, with which they seemed

about to take some terrible vengeance.

"Good!" said Madame Filomel, taking one of the manikins out of the box

and examining it attentively; "you work well, Duke Balthazar! These

little ones are of the right stamp; they look as if they had mischief in

them. Ah! here come our brothers."

At this moment the same scratching that preceded the entrance of Madame

Filomel was heard at the door, and Herr Hippe replied with a hoarse,

guttural cry. The next moment two men entered. The first was a small man

with very brilliant eyes. He was wrapt in a long shabby cloak, and wore

a strange nondescript species of cap on his head, such a cap as one

sees only in the low billiard-rooms in Paris. His companion was tall,

long-limbed, and slender; and his dress, although of the ordinary cut,

either from the disposition of colors, or from the careless, graceful

attitudes of the wearer, assumed a certain air of picturesqueness. Both

the men possessed the same marked Oriental type of countenance which

distinguished the Wondersmith and Madame Filomel. True gypsies they

seemed, who would not have been out of place telling fortunes, or

stealing chickens in the green lanes of England, or wandering with their

wild music and their sleight-of-hand tricks through Bohemian villages.

"Welcome, brothers!" said the Wondersmith; "you are in time. Sister

Filomel has brought the souls, and we are about to test them. Monsieur

Kerplonne, take off your cloak. Brother Oaksmith, take a chair. I

promise you some amusement this evening; so make yourselves comfortable.

Here is something to aid you."

And while the Frenchman Kerplonne, and his tall companion, Oaksmith,

were obeying Hippe's invitation, he reached over to a little closet let

into the wall, and took thence a squat bottle and some glasses, which he

placed on the table.

"Drink, brothers!" he said; "it is not Christian blood, but good stout

wine of Oporto. It goes right to the heart, and warms one like the

sunshine of the South."

"It is good," said Kerplonne, smacking his lips with enthusiasm.

"Why don't you keep brandy? Hang wine!" cried Oaksmith, after having

swallowed two bumpers in rapid succession.

"Bah! Brandy has been the ruin of our race. It has made us sots and

thieves. It shall never cross my threshold," cried the Wondersmith, with

a sombre indignation.

"A little of it is not bad, though, Duke," said the fortune-teller. "It

consoles us for our misfortunes; it gives us the crowns we once wore; it

restores to us the power we once wielded; it carries us back, as if by

magic, to that land of the sun from which fate has driven us; it darkens

the memory of all the evils that we have for centuries suffered."

"It is a devil; may it be cursed!" cried Herr Hippe, passionately. "It

is a demon that stole from me my son, the finest youth in all Courland.

Yes! my son, the son of the Waywode Balthazar, Grand Duke of Lower

Egypt, died raving in a gutter, with an empty brandy-bottle in his

hands. Were it not that the plant is a sacred one to our race, I would

curse the grape and the vine that bore it."

This outburst was delivered with such energy that the three gypsies

kept silence. Oaksmith helped himself to another glass of Port, and the

fortune-teller rocked to and fro in her chair, too much overawed by

the Wondersmith's vehemence of manner to reply. The little Frenchman,

Kerplonne, took no part in the discussion, but seemed lost in admiration

of the manikins, which he took from the box in which they lay, handling

them with the greatest care. After the silence had lasted for about a

minute, Herr Hippe broke it with the sudden question,--

"How does your eye get on, Kerplonne?"

"Excellently, Duke. It is finished. I have it here." And the little

Frenchman put his hand into his breeches-pocket and pulled out a large

artificial human eye. Its great size was the only thing in this eye that

would lead any one to suspect its artificiality. It was at least twice

the size of life; but there was a fearful speculative light in its iris,

which seemed to expand and contract like the eye of a living being, that

rendered it a horrible staring paradox. It looked like the naked eye of

the Cyclops, torn from his forehead, and still burning with wrath and

the desire for vengeance.

The little Frenchman laughed pleasantly as he held the eye in his hand,

and gazed down on that huge dark pupil, that stared back at him, it

seemed, with an air of defiance and mistrust.

"It is a devil of an eye," said the little man, wiping the enamelled

surface with an old silk pocket-handkerchief; "it reads like a demon. My

niece--the unhappy one--has a wretch of a lover, and I have a long

time feared that she would run away with him. I could not read her

correspondence, for she kept her writing-desk closely locked. But I

asked her yesterday to keep this eye in some very safe place for me. She

put it, as I knew she would, into her desk, and by its aid I read every

one of her letters. She was to run away next Monday, the ungrateful! but

she will find herself disappointed."

And the little man laughed heartily at the success of his stratagem, and

polished and fondled the great eye until that optic seemed to grow sore

with rubbing.

"And you have been at work, too, I see, Herr Hippe. Your manikins are

excellent. But where are the souls?"

"In that bottle," answered the Wondersmith, pointing to the pot-bellied

black bottle that Madame Filomel had brought with her. "Yes, Monsieur

Kerplonne," he continued, "my manikins are well made. I invoked the aid

of Abigor, the demon of soldiery, and he inspired me. The little fellows

will be famous assassins when they are animated. We will try them

to-night."

"Good!" cried Kerplonne, rubbing his hands joyously. "It is close upon

New Year's Day. We will fabricate millions of the little murderers

by New Year's Eve, and sell them in large quantities; and when the

households are all asleep, and the Christian children are waiting for

Santa Claus to come, the small ones will troop from their boxes and the

Christian children will die. It is famous! Health to Abigor!"

"Let us try them at once," said Oaksmith. "Is your daughter, Zonéla, in

bed, Herr Hippe? Are we secure from intrusion?"

"No one is stirring about the house," replied the Wondersmith, gloomily.

Filomel leaned over to Oaksmith, and said, in an undertone,--

"Why do you mention his daughter? You know he does not like to have her

spoken about."

"I will take care that we are not disturbed," said Kerplonne, rising. "I

will put my eye outside the door, to watch."

He went to the door and placed his great eye upon the floor with tender

care. As he did so, a dark form, unseen by him or his second vision,

glided along the passage noiselessly and was lost in the darkness.

"Now for it!'" exclaimed Madame Filomel, taking up her fat black bottle.

"Herr Hippe, prepare your manikins!"

The Wondersmith took the little dolls out, one by one, and set them upon

the table. Such an array of villanous countenances was never seen. An

army of Italian bravos, seen through the wrong end of a telescope, or a

hand of prisoners at the galleys in Liliput, will give some faint idea

of the appearance they presented. While Madame Filomel uncorked the

black bottle, Herr Hippe covered the dolls over with a species of linen

tent, which he took also from the box. This done, the fortune-teller

held the mouth of the bottle to the door of the tent, gathering the

loose cloth closely round the glass neck. Immediately, tiny noises

were heard inside the tent. Madame Filomel removed the bottle, and the

Wondersmith lifted the covering in which he had enveloped his little

people.

A wonderful transformation had taken place. Wooden and inflexible no

longer, the crowd of manikins were now in full motion. The beadlike eyes

turned, glittering, on all sides; the thin, wicked lips quivered with

bad passions; the tiny hands sheathed and unsheathed the little swords

and daggers. Episodes, common to life, were taking place in every

direction. Here two martial manikins paid court to a pretty sly-faced

female, who smiled on each alternately, but gave her hand to be kissed

to a third manikin, an ugly little scoundrel, who crouched behind her

back. There a pair of friendly dolls walked arm in arm, apparently on

the best terms, while, all the time, one was watching his opportunity to

stab the other in the back.

"I think they'll do," said the Wondersmith, chuckling, as he watched

these various incidents. "Treacherous, cruel, bloodthirsty. All goes

marvellously well. But stay! I will put the grand test to them."

So saying, he drew a gold dollar from his pocket, and let it fall on the

table in the very midst of the throng of manikins. It had hardly touched

the table, when there was a pause on all sides. Every head was turned

towards the dollar. Then about twenty of the little creatures rushed

towards the glittering coin. One, fleeter than the rest, leaped upon it,

and drew his sword. The entire crowd of little people had now gathered

round this new centre of attraction. Men and women struggled and shoved

to get nearer to the piece of gold. Hardly had the first Liliputian

mounted upon the treasure, when a hundred blades flashed back a defiant

answer to his, and a dozen men, sword in hand, leaped upon the yellow

platform and drove him off at the sword's point. Then commenced a

general battle. The miniature faces were convulsed with rage and

avarice. Each furious doll tried to plunge dagger or sword into his or

her neighbor, and the women seemed possessed by a thousand devils.

"They will break themselves into atoms," cried Filomel, as she

watched with eagerness this savage _mélée_. "You had better gather them

up, Herr Hippe. I will exhaust my bottle and suck all the souls back

from them."

"Oh, they are perfect devils! they are magnificent little demons!" cried

the Frenchman, with enthusiasm. "Hippe, you are a wonderful man. Brother

Oaksmith, you have no such man as Hippe among your English gypsies."

"Not exactly," answered Oaksmith, rather sullenly, "not exactly. But

we have men there who can make a twelve-year-old horse look like a

four-year-old,--and who can take you and Herr Hippe up with one hand,

and throw you over their shoulders."

"The good God forbid!" said the little Frenchman. "I do not love such

play. It is incommodious."

While Oaksmith and Kerplonne were talking, the Wondersmith had placed

the linen tent over the struggling dolls, and Madame Filomel, who had

been performing some mysterious manipulations with her black bottle, put

the mouth once more to the door of the tent. In an instant the confused

murmur within ceased. Madame Filomel corked the bottle quickly. The

Wondersmith withdrew the tent, and, lo! the furious dolls were once

more wooden-jointed and inflexible; and the old sinister look was again

frozen on their faces.