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OLD FARM FAIRIES.
A SUMMER CAMPAIGN IN BROWNIELAND
AGAINST
KING COBWEAVER'S PIXIES.
A Story for Young People,
BY
HENRY CHRISTOPHER MCCOOK,
AUTHOR OF
"Tenants of an Old Farm," "American Spiders and Their Spinningwork,"
etc., etc.
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY ILLUSTRATIONS.
PHILADELPHIA:
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.,
103 South 15th Street.
A. D. 1895.
Copyright, 1895,
by
Henry Christopher McCook.
PRESS OF
AVIL PRINTING COMPANY,
PHILADELPHIA.
In Tender Recollection of
Boyhood's Home, Loves, Joys, and Trials Among the Hills
of ever dear Ohio,
I dedicate this Book
to the
MEMORY OF MY BROTHER
RODERICK SHELDON MCCOOK
Late Commander United States Navy.
An able, honorable and patriotic officer, he waxed valiant in fight
both on sea and land
for his Country's honor and defence.
On this page
The Author would keep green his Name
as the
Roommate, Playmate and Companion of Early Days.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE v
INTRODUCTION viii
CHAPTER
I. HOW THE BROWNIES CAME TO HILLSIDE 3
II. SPITE THE SPY 11
III. ADVENTURES OF THE BROWNIE SCOUTS 19
IV. THE BROWNIES VISIT GOVERNOR WILLE 36
V. MADAM BREEZE COMES TO THE RESCUE 42
VI. ATTACK ON THE OLD LODGE 50
VII. HOW THE FORT WAS SAVED 58
VIII. THE SANITARY CORPS 74
IX. NIGHT WATCHES 82
X. THE GOLDEN MOTTOES 95
XI. ON THE TRAIL 101
XII. THE LOST TRAIL 106
XIII. RAFT THE SMUGGLER 110
XIV. A PALACE AND A PRISON 118
XV. A PIXIE INSURRECTION 125
XVI. BROWNIES ON A LARK 139
XVII. HOW THE LARK ENDED 153
XVIII. WOOED BUT NOT WON 170
XIX. A BATTLE ON LAKE KATRINE 179
XX. A NAVAL MONSTER 192
XXI. THE CHARGE OF ENSIGN LAWE 203
XXII. "HAIR-BREADTH 'SCAPES BY FLOOD AND FIELD" 210
XXIII. A GHOST STORY 228
XXIV. THE WISDOM OF THE PIXIES 240
XXV. BLYTHE'S FLUTE 246
XXVI. THE HAUNTED GROUND 259
XXVII. THE DISENCHANTMENT 268
XXVIII. OUT OF THE PIT 276
XXIX. BREAKING CAMP 287
XXX. THE GRAND ALLIANCE WITH SCALY, TWIST AND SLYMOUSIE 298
XXXI. HOME AGAIN 321
XXXII. ENSIGN LAWE'S MISSION 340
XXXIII. HOW THE MISSION ENDED 359
APPENDIX 385
PREFACE.
This preface shall be a personal explanation. The following book was
written during the winter of 1876-77, more than eighteen years ago. Its
origin was in this wise: Some of my readers will know that for more than
twenty years I have studied the habits of our spider fauna. During the
first years of these studies, the thought came to me to write a book for
youth wherein my observations should be personified in the imaginary
creatures of fairy lore, and thus float into the young mind some of my
natural history findings in such pleasant form that they would be
received quite unconsciously, and at least an impression thereof
retained with sufficient accuracy to open the way to more serious
lessons in the future.
It further seemed to me that the fairies of Scotland, with whom I had
been familiar from childhood, might afford vivid personalities for my
plan. Accordingly, the spiders were assigned the part of Pixies or
goblins, the ill-natured fairies of Scotland and Northern England. The
Brownies, or friendly folk, the "gude neebours," or household fairies,
were made to personify those insect forms, especially those useful to
man, against which spiders wage continual war. Moreover, to express the
relations of the lower creatures to human life, and their actual as well
as imaginary interdependence, human characters were introduced, and
conflicts between Pixies and Brownies were interwoven with their
behaviour.
This purely personal statement has been intruded upon the reader to
explain that the Brownies, as represented in this book, are not
imitations. They antedated, by a number of years, the popular creations
of Mr. Palmer Cox. The writer well understands as a naturalist that
priority depends not upon originality of intention or invention, or even
of preparation, but upon precedence in publication. It will be found,
however, that my conception and treatment of these wee folk differ from
those of Mr. Cox. As they appear to me from the recollections of
childhood, they have a more serious aspect, a more human-like nature,
which ought not to be wholly sacrificed to their jovial characteristics.
I have therefore presented the Brownies as beings with humanized
affections, passions and methods reflected in miniature.
I confess some qualms, on the scientific side of my conscience, at
compelling my friends, the spiders, to play the part of Pixies. But
there seemed no other course out of regard both to common belief and the
necessity imposed by the facts. As I went on with the work, I wondered
at the ductility with which the current habits of the aranead tribes
yielded to personification. The water spiders permitted the introduction
of smugglers, pirates and sailors; the burrowing and trapdoor spiders
opened up tales of caves and subterranean abodes; the ballooning spiders
permitted an adaptation of modern military methods of reconnoissance;
and so on through a long list of aranead habits.
In order to make this more apparent, and to give adult readers, parents
and teachers, and the older class of youthful readers, a scientific key
to the various situations, brief notes have been added in an Appendix,
to which foot-note references have been made in most of the chapters.
Moreover, the natural habits personified are interpreted by figures set
into the text with no explanation but the legend written thereunder.
The crudely drawn cuts which figure in the pages as "The Boy's
Illustrations" are exact reproductions of sketches made by a lad in my
own family, between eight and nine years old, to whom, with others, the
manuscript was read as a sort of test of its quality. Encouraged by the
advice of one of the keenest and most sympathetic students of child life
in America, I have ventured to give a few of these drawings to the
public, as a curious study in the operations of child-mind.
I had agreed with myself not to print the Brownie Book until my
scientific work upon the spiders was finished, and the manuscript
remained untouched until the winter of 1885-6. At that time I seemed to
see the nearing end of my studies, and portions of the Brownie-Pixie
story were distributed to various artists, among them Mr. Dan. C. Beard
and Mr. Harry L. Poore. Some of the illustrations at that time made,
appear in the following pages, bearing date 1886. "Tenants of an Old
Farm" had now appeared, and was so well received that it was thought
advisable to connect this book with that by an "Introductory Chapter"
intended for older readers, and which gives the key to the motive of the
story. Early in 1886 I recalled all contracts and arrangements for
publication, as a prolonged sickness compelled me to drop scientific
work and defer the issue of the "American Spiders." On the very day that
the binders placed the first finished copy of the third and last volume
of that work in my hands, the "copy" of "Old Farm Fairies" went to the
printer.
H. C. McC.
THE MANSE, PHILADELPHIA, _May 21, A. D. 1895._
THE INTRODUCTION.
AN INTRODUCTION.
[Illustration: pointing finger] This Chapter is for Grownups only.
Children will please skip it.
THE SCHOOLMISTRESS AND THE FAIRIES.
In the south yard of the Old Farm at Highwood there stands a noble Elm
tree. Its massive proportions, the stately pose of its furrowed trunk
and the graceful outlines of its drooping branches have often drawn my
pleased eyes and awakened admiration. There is nothing in Nature that
better serves to stir up human enthusiasm than a fine tree; and as our
vicinage for miles around abounds in worthy examples of American forest
growths, there is ample opportunity for such sentiment to be kept aglow
in the hearts of the Tenants at the Old Farm. Yet it must be confessed
that there is also occasion at times for a kindling of quite another
sort, when the stupidity, perversity, and penuriousness of men wage a
vandal war against the noble monarchs of the woods.
The fall of a huge tree is a touching sight. See! the trunk trembles
upon the last few fibres that stand in the gap which the axman has made.
A shiver runs through the foliage to the summit and circumference of the
branches. The tree-top bows with slightest trace of a lurch to one
side. Then it sinks--slowly, faster, fast! With no undignified rush, but
with a stately sweep it descends to the earth. Crash! The ground
trembles at the fall. The nethermost branches in their breakage explode
sharply like a farewell volley of soldiers over a comrade's grave.
Boughs, twigs and leaves vibrate, as with a passionate earnestness of
grief, for a few moments, and then are still. There, prone upon the
forest mould the glorious monarch lies, majestic even in its fallen
estate. A few bunches of human muscle, a keen steel edge and a scant
fraction of time have destroyed two centuries of Nature's cunning work.
Well, one is inclined to so vary the version of a certain Scripture Text
that it shall read "a man was infamous" rather than "a man was famous
according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees."[A]
Of course Mr. Gladstone, and the multitude of undistinguished axmen who
delight to fall a tree, have an honorable and lawful vocation. Trees
ripen, like other animate things, and when they are full ripe they may
be felled; when their time has come they ought to fall; when the
exigencies of higher intelligences truly require, they also must fall
before their time. But, this brings no justification of that murderous
idiocy which sets so many citizen sovereigns of America to slaughtering
the grand sovereigns of the plant world.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--The Forest Monarch's Fall. The Brownie's Grief
and Anger Thereat.]
However, all this perhaps has little to do with our great Elm, except,
that one must be grateful that it has been spared to cause the eyes to
rejoice in its beauty and to refresh us with its shade. We built a
rustic seat, against its trunk, and there in the warm summer days and
evenings which succeeded the winter of our coming to the Old Farm, I was
wont to sit and meditate, and sometimes doze. It was a favorite spot
with me, but others of the family often shared it with me, or enjoyed it
by themselves. This will well enough introduce a matter which I have now
to lay before the reader. It came to me from the Schoolmistress, who, I
venture to hope, is not forgotten by the readers of "The Tenants of An
Old Farm."
My dear Mr. Mayfield:
The package that I herewith send you has a strange history which
I beg to recite ere you break the wrappings and examine the
contents of the parcel.
It happened during one of the warm days of last June that I sat
on the rustic bench under the Great Elm and read Mr. Lowell's
"Vision of Sir Launfal." I closed the book and thought, with an
exquisite sense of its beauty and fitness, upon the poet's
opening verses which contain a description of June, and in which
are these lines:
"'Tis Heaven alone that is given away,
'Tis only God may be had for the asking;
There is no price set on the lavish Summer,
And June may be had by the poorest comer."
As I conned the words my eyes slowly wandered along the
landscape, and my heart rejoiced in the royal bounty of beauty
which the poet sings. Then my vision returned to the objects just
around me, and gradually became fixed upon some of the living
things about which you have kindly told us so much new and
interesting. Indeed, they seemed already like old friends, and I
watched with keen zest their various movements.
How bright everything was, and how peaceful the tone of Nature!
Butterflies flitted by, beating the air in their leisurely way,
then rested on leaf or flower while they opened and closed their
wings with graceful, fanlike movements. The winged Hymenoptera
dashed by with the sharp, quick wingstroke of their kind, or hung
humming above the flowers. Honey-bees, Carpenter-bees,
Digger-wasps, the blue Mud-dauber, the brown Paper-wasp, Hornets
and Yellow-jackets were busy at their various occupations. One
dusted pollen into its "basket;" another dumped aromatic pellets
of sawdust from a cedar rail; another scooped up mandible
hodfulls of mortar at the edge of the brook; others plucked
chiplets of old wood from a weathered fence post; all seemed
happy, and devoted to peaceful industry.
The great green Grasshopper was in hearing, if not in sight, the
veritable "hopper" whose long threadlike antennae and wedge shaped
head you have taught us to recognize as marking the true from the
so called grasshopper or locust. He sat upon the tall grass on
the bank of the Run close by the spring house, and shrilled his
piping love call to his mate. The annual Cicada, too ("Pruinosa"
you called it), was sounding his amorous drum from the trees with
a volume and sharpness of sound that far exceed those of his
cousin german the Seventeen Year Cicada. His silent ladylove
might occasionally be seen flitting from bough to bough. An
Orbweaving spider's web was spun upon an adjacent bush, and three
courtiers were established at different parts of the margin of
the snare awaiting the complaisance of Madam Aranea the
housekeeper. Near my feet a bevy of Fuscous Ants[B] were tugging
with great to-do at a crumb of sweet cake, while their fellow
formicarians were equally concerned in covering and screening the
gate of their nest that lay to the right under the verge of the
Elm's shadow. Birds of several species were near by; Robins
whistled in the meadow, a Vireo sang in the tree tops, Sparrows
twittered around the birdcote; Hens cackled in the barnyard, and
wakened the hearty, answering "Tuk-aw, tuk-aw!" of the big red
Rooster. Out in the lane Sarah's conch shell was sending a
melodious call to Hugh whom the Mistress had bidden her to summon
from the wood pasture. The whole aspect of Nature, indeed, was so
charming that I was soothed into a delicious repose of body and
mind.
I am conscious, dear Sir, that I shall lay a heavy tax upon your
credulity by what I am now to relate. Or, perhaps, you will smile
and say that your friend Abby has fallen to dreams and visions,
and like some of her young pupils has imagination so little
disciplined as to be quite unable to distinguish between a vivid
waking fancy or dream of sleep, and a real occurrence. Very well,
I must bear your unbelief as best I may, and at all events you
will listen to my story.
Will you believe that among the Tenants of our Old Farm is a
nation of Fairies? You have not suspected their existence
heretofore; but then, neither did I suspect that legions of
curious beings are all around us until the wand of your knowledge
had touched my eyes, and opened them to the wonderful life
histories that are being wrought out among our fellow tenants of
the insect world.
[Illustration: THE BOY'S ILLUSTRATION.
FIG. 2.--Queen Fancy and the Schoolmistress.[C]]
Such, at least, was my own thought as I saw several wee dainty
bodies spring from the backs of some Honey-bees hovering over the
white clover, after the fashion of a rider dismounting from his
horse, and another group alight from a bevy of yellow Butterflies
that fluttered low down and just above the walk. They were joined
by many others of like appearance, who suddenly emerged from the
grass, from the flower border, from the drooping leaves of the
Elm, and approached me. They clambered up the English Ivy that
clings to the south side of the tree; they climbed upon the
rustic bench, and a few even ventured upon the gnarled arm
against which my elbow rested. This seemed a novel occurrence,
certainly; but I assure you that I was rather pleased than
surprised thereby, for it at once linked itself with your strange
histories of insects, and seemed a natural and matter-of-course
affair. Really, I have come to think that Nature has so many rare
and beautiful facts hidden away in her secret places that one
must never be surprised to see or hear of the most marvelous
happenings. One of the brightest and most prettily robed of these
tiny people, who seemed to be a sort of queen among them, drew
quite near and addressed me.
"You are not alarmed at our appearance. Good! Fairies do not
visit those who doubt or fear them. We are pleased to see you
smile upon us. Thanks! We give you greeting! Would you like to
know who we are? Yes? Well, we are called Brownies. Our folk came
from Scotland. You know where that is?"
"Oh, yes," I replied, speaking, I suppose, quite mechanically,
"Scotland is the northern part of the island of Great Britain; it
is bounded on the south by England, on the east by the Ger----"
"Never mind the boundary," interrupted the Brownie with a
dainty, tinkling laugh, "we are not a Schoolmistress and her
Committee, and you needn't say your lesson now. It's enough for
us that you know where Scotland is,--the dear auld land o' cakes!
We're Scotch fairies--Brownies."
"But how came you here?" I asked.
"Oh! there's nothing odd about that; we follow our wandering
Sawnies wherever they go. We have all been interested with you in
Mr. Mayfield's accounts of insect life, and have been present at
many of your walks and talks when you little suspected such
company. Ah! we could give the Tenant some hints well worth
following up! Although, he does very well, very well indeed! But
we wish you to know that there are other tenants on the old farm
than those Mr. Mayfield knows. _We_ are here, you see! And,
alack-a-day! there are other folk here not so agreeable as we!"
"Many thanks," I said, "for the pleasure of your acquaintance. I
am delighted and honored by your action, Madam--Madam? what shall
I call you?"
"Fancy; Queen Fancy, if you please; so I am called, although, to
be sure, there is not much royal state among our folk."
"I beg your pardon, Madam Fancy! And now I--fancy that I can
explain the beautiful repose that lies over the face of Nature in
this royal month of June. I have just been meditating upon it
with delight. How peaceful, how lovely in their peacefulness are
all things around us! Yes, I see how it is! The good Brownies are
abroad upon the landscape, and they have thrown the light and
sweetness of their own natures upon these scenes. What a happy
people you are, free from all conflict and care, and how happy
those who feel the spell of your influence!"
"Oh! O-o-oh!" A chorus of exclamations uttered in a deprecating
tone broke from the whole Brownie company.
I started, and looked around surprised beyond measure at this
outburst of protesting voices. Then followed a moment of silence.
Queen Fancy spoke at last. "Yes, it is just as I supposed," she
said. "You are yet a novice in Nature lore. You have much to
learn, all you mortals have, ere you can know the true life of
the inferior creatures. There is another side to Nature, I assure
you, a very sad side, too. Come, I must teach you to read between
the lines!"
She touched me with a tiny staff or wand. My mind at once was
wide awake and all its faculties more alert than usual. But,
curiously, the Brownies had disappeared! I wondered at this, but
presently a series of incidents caught my attention which for the
time quite banished all thought of my new acquaintances.
A long line of Sanguine Ants,[D] the Red Slavemakers, filed by me
in irregular columns and crossed the walk to their nest which, as
you know, is placed close by the fence nearly opposite the barn.
The warriors carried in their jaws the plunder of a nest of
Fuscous Ants which I have already said lies to the right under
the verge of the Elm's shadow. Some warriors had yellowish
cocoons, some white larvae, a few carried the bodies (living or
dead I could not determine) of their victims, and several bore
upon their legs the severed heads of the poor blacks who had been
slain in defence of their home, and whose decapitated heads still
clung to their foes fixed in the rigor of death. I rose and
followed up the column of Sanguines to the nest which they were
plundering. Some of the kidnappers were plunging into the opened
gates, others issuing therefrom laden with their stolen booty,
others were engaged in fierce battle with groups of the invaded
Fuscas. Only a few of the latter were inclined to fight. They
seemed, for the most part, dazed by their misfortune. Numbers
hung to the topmost leaves and stalks of the surrounding grass
and weeds, holding in their jaws baby larvae and cocoon cradles
rescued from the invaders, with which they had hurriedly fled to
the nearest elevated objects. It was truly a pitiful sight, and I
began to wax indignant at the Sanguine wretches who could work
such domestic misery and ruin.
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--A Red Slavemaker Ant with its Plunder.]
"Ah!" said a faint voice close by my ear, "yet this is Nature!"
I could see no one, but recognized the tone of Queen Fancy.
"True, most true!" I thought, and looked further. A little way
from the Fuscas' nest, just outside the circle of confusion, I
saw a solitary ant of an amber hue, the Schaufuss ant,[E] which
you have told us is also sometimes enslaved. She was moving back
and forth with cautious mien, and I easily perceived was putting
finishing touches to the closure of a little hole that marked the
gate of her formicary hut. A tiny pebble was placed, then a few
pellets of soil were added. Then the worker walked away, took a
few turns as though surveying the surroundings, and cautiously
came back. The coast was clear! Now she deftly crawled into the
small open space, and I could see from the movements inside, and
an occasional glimpse of a tip of her antennae, that she was
completing the work of concealment from the inside. At last her
task was done, and all was quiet. Just then a single Sanguine
warrior, perhaps a straggler from the invaders' army, or some
independent scout, it may be, approached the spot. It walked
about the nest, which certainly looked much like the surrounding
surface; sounded or felt here and there with its antennae; passed
over the very door into which the Schaufuss ant had disappeared,
and although it evidently had its suspicion awakened, at last
moved away.
[Illustration: FIG. 4.--"It was Swathed Like a Mummy at Last"
(p. xxiii).]
"Good!" I exclaimed heartily. "Baffled, Sir Sanguine, baffled! I
am glad that the instinct of home protection has proved too much
for your wretched kidnapping cunning!"
"Aye, aye!" again spoke the voice of my unseen fairy, "baffled
this time, perhaps. But can you be sure that the slaveholder
scout will not be back again, with a host of its fellows, and do
its work more surely?"
[Illustration: FIG. 5.--The Orbweaver Captured by a Wasp.]
I had not thought of that, and indeed, I was pained to think it
when suggested. Now I left the two nests, the plundered one and
its preserved neighbor, and followed the column of Sanguines
which stretched a nearly straight line of red and black for
several rods, to their home. The kidnappers were bearing their
prey into the open gates. Look at this! Crowds of blacks in a
high state of agitation came forth to meet and greet the
plunderers of their own fellows! Yes, these were the domesticated
slaves of the Sanguines, themselves Fuscous ants, the same
species and perhaps from the very nest that was now being
desolated. And there they were rejoicing in the booty, welcoming
home the robbers, and if naturalists tell us truly, had even
urged them forth upon the Expedition.
[Illustration: FIG. 6.--"The Clay Sarcophagus on Yonder Barn."]
"That's the worst of all!" I exclaimed aloud, unable to suppress
my indignation. "One might find excuse for the Sanguines, but for
this unnatural behavior--"
"Unnatural!" echoed the unseen Brownie Queen, "unnatural? No,
this, too, is Nature. You are only reading between the poet's
lines of peaceful beauty. You will learn your lesson by and by."
[Illustration: FIG. 7.--"For a Ravenous Wasp Larva to Devour."]
I went back to the rustic seat beneath the Elm, and thought. A
butterfly flew by. I followed its flight. "Oh! that is too bad!"
I cried involuntarily. It had struck the snare of the Orbweaving
spider. It struggled helplessly in the toils. Swiftly the aranead
sped from its pretty leafy tent along its trap line, and in a
moment seized and began swathing its victim. A thick ribbon of
pure white silk streamed from the spinnerets, and enwrapped the
butterfly round and round as it was revolved by the spider's
feet. It was swathed like a mummy at last, and left lashed and
hanging to the cross lines, while its captor mounted to her nest
and began leisurely to haul up the captive preparatory to a
sumptuous meal.
[Illustration: FIG. 8.--The Cicada Wasp, Sphecius speciosus.]
My pity had hardly time to express itself ere another insect form
swept by. It was a blue wasp, a Mud-dauber. It flew to the
Orbweaver's web. Another victim? It is within the toils! The
spider leaves her prey and darts along the trap line. What? will
she not venture? No! she recoils. But too late! The Wasp has
seized her, plunged its sharp sting into her body, and shaking
the bits of web from its feet flies away. I know what that means.
The clay sarcophagus on yonder barn wall shall receive another
morsel of preserved meat for a ravenous wasp larva to devour.
What had I to say about this incident? This; I found myself
unconsciously asking, "What will destroy the Wasp, in its turn?"
But I had no leisure to meditate an answer. A beautiful creature
flitted past me, whose colors of orange and black were distinct
even in flight. It was the fine, large Digger-wasp,[F] the
largest of that family among our indigenous insects. Just then
from the branch of a small oak a Cicada sounded his rolling love
call. A note not very melodious to human ear, it is true, but it
throbs with the passion of affection, and must have been sweet
music to his mate on the branch near by. Unlucky lover! your love
sonnet has sounded your doom. It shall be your death song. See!
my beautiful Wasp has pounced upon the amorous Cicada, and
pierced and paralyzed like the spider before him, he is being
borne to a grave in that grassy bank. There, in the Wasp's
burrow, buried alive though with a semblance of death, he shall
feed the maw of a hungry worm.
"It is mother love!" exclaimed the unseen Brownie Queen, sadly I
thought and tenderly. "But mother love seems cruel sometimes; and
it alone has not taught the Wasp to spare the mating love of its
fellow insects."
This is not all that I saw, but this is such as I saw on that
memorable occasion. My experience started a train of meditation
that was the reverse of agreeable. But what could I say? I had
been observing the facts of Nature, nothing more nor less. I
looked away over the landscape again and my feelings were not
what they were before. Underneath the surface of all this beauty
and summer repose I seemed to feel the beating of a fevered
pulse. Yes, the Doctor of the Gentiles spake truly: "The whole
creation groaneth and travaileth in pain."[G] Yes, I was
beginning to read between the lines! Verily, I perceived that the
insect world in the matter of anxiety, struggles and sufferings,
in passions of love, hate and covetousness, is after all in some
sort a miniature of our own world of human beings.
I do not know how long I sat pondering these things, but I was
presently conscious that my Brownie friends had returned.
"You have changed your opinion about some of the inferior
creatures, have you not?" began Queen Fancy. "I know that it must
be so. And now it remains for you to change your opinion about
us. You think we are perfectly happy, never touched by such
conflicts and cares as mortals and insects have. No! it is with
us as it is with you and all the rest. One idea runs through all
Nature and all her creatures high and low. All alike, from gnats
and fairies to mastodons and men, have friends and foes, perils
and pleasures, pains and joys, loves and hates, bitter
disappointments and proud attainments; watchings, cares, strifes,
battles, defeats, heart desolations, sickness, oppressions,
despoilment, death--all these and the reverse of all these happen
to us all."
"It is true!" I answered, "I see now that it is quite true. The
fact that creatures are small and unknown to us, and outside our
ordinary region of feeling and thought, does not hinder them from
having joys and sorrows, trials and triumphs even as we have. I
will never think of Nature again, and of the insect world in
particular, without remembering this double side of its life
history."
"That is very good," said Queen Fancy, "and now we wish you to
remember also that Brownies are a part of Nature and share the
general rule. Our lives are so interwoven with all natural
surroundings, and with yourselves as well, that we feel keenly
everything that goes on around us. But enough for this time. I
promised you something further about our history. Now I make the
promise good. I am to deliver to you the records of some of our
kin which have lately fallen into our hands. You will read them;
write them out carefully, and give them to Mr. Mayfield to edit
and print. Nobody can do that so well as he. Indeed, his name and
his stories about our Old Farm Tenants have gone among our people
on the far Ohio border; and that is the reason why these records
of the Brownies and their wars have been sent hither to be given
into his care. There, I have done."
Queen Fancy clapped her hands and a herald at her side blew upon
a tiny shell, a wee miniature, for all the world, of the conch
shell which Sarah the cook blows for dinner. Suddenly, a vast
host of little folk issued from the grass plat along the slope
toward the springhouse. They were arranged rank upon rank, whole
companies in column, and they all were drawing at ropes no bigger
than a lady's hair. Presently, I saw the round top of a rolled
parcel emerge above the summit of the slope. It moved slowly, and
I was puzzled to know by what force it was impelled, until I saw
that it was mounted upon a toy cart which was being drawn by the
Brownie host. On the night before I had been reading (it was a
curious coincidence!) Wilkinson's account of the Ancient
Egyptians, and had been especially interested in the manner in
which their bulky architecture had been reared, and particularly
in a picture that showed a colossal stone statue of some
sovereign being drawn upon a sled by an army of laborers. The
Brownie exploit reminded me of these old Egyptians. Here were the
little folk of our Old Farm showing mimic reproduction of life on
the Nile in the days of Abraham! Strange!
The Brownie host never stopped until the parcel reached my feet.
Then the Queen called a halt, and, turning to me, said: "Abby,
Schoolmistress, we commit this precious roll to you. Receive it
as a sacred trust; do our will concerning it, and be forevermore
the Brownies' good friend." She clapped her hands, the herald
blew his shell bugle, and in a moment the entire host had melted
away into the foliage and were lost to sight.
[Illustration: (handwritten) NOTICE (pointing hand) 52 Brownies here.
THE BOY'S ILLUSTRATION.
FIG. 9.--Brownies Bringing the Roll of Records.]
I have not seen them since, but I have tried to fulfill my part
of the trust which came to me so curiously in the drowsy hours of
that June day, and now I deliver my work to you that you in turn
may fulfill your portion of the apportioned duty. That you will
not fail is the confident hope of
Your obedient servant,
ABBY BRADFORD.
"What do you think of that?" I asked, as I finished Abby's letter, for I
had read it aloud to the Mistress.
"Perhaps," said the Mistress, looking up from her embroidery, "we had
better open the parcel."
A familiar twinkle colored her smile, that raised a momentary suspicion
that she perhaps knew something more of the contents than she chose to
tell. The advice was good, albeit deftly dodging my question, so I cut
the wrappings and exposed a roll of fair manuscript. "It is a story," I
remarked, after glancing over the pages, "a sort of historical fairy
tale, I fancy. But, hold! what is this?" My eye had fallen upon some
sentences that arrested attention, and I read several continuous pages.
The Mistress interrupted the reading: "Well, what has interested you?
And what have you to say about the whole affair?"
"I have been reading here a curious adaptation of the habits of my
spider pets, and it is neatly put. And here is another of the same
sort." I turned to a chapter further on, and read with great
satisfaction a few pages more. "Really," I exclaimed, "the natural
history is good, and is fairly inwoven with the tale. I have changed my
opinion of the work; it is evidently an attempt to bring out some of the
most interesting habits of our American spider fauna by personifying
them with the imaginary creatures of fairy lore. You want to know my
opinion of the matter? As to the manuscript I shall not, of course,
venture an opinion until I have read it with some care. As to the
author--well, perhaps you can tell better than I. When did Abby write
it?"
The Mistress waited a moment or two and then in her quiet way replied,
"Pray, how should I know? Abby is of age, ask her; she can speak for
herself."
Thus the affair of the Brownie records rested until I had gone over the
manuscript more carefully. Then the Mistress was again consulted.
"Will you print the papers?" she asked.
"I am in doubt what to do. I think that it might find a kindly welcome,
but--I fear the verdict of the public, especially the clientage upon
whose favor its fate most depends--the young people. Though, to be sure,
it is evidently not written wholly for them."
"I have a suggestion," the Mistress remarked. "Let us take two evenings
in the week and read it to our farm people. They form a typical
audience, I am sure, and their judgment will be a fair test of the
possible verdict of the public at large."
"The very idea!" I cried. "You have come to my help, my dear, with your
usual practical wisdom. Let us have the readings."
Behold us, then, the entire Old Farm family, with the exception of Abby,
who was absent on a visit to New England friends, seated around the
great Elm during the long June evenings, trying the merits of the
Fairies' history. When the early tea was over, we took our seats (or
rather positions, for some of the party preferred to recline upon the
grass), around the tree, and the reading began, and continued until
twilight. Sometimes I read, sometimes the Mistress, and in three weeks
the story was finished.
"Now for the verdict," I said. "The children first. What say you? Shall
we print the Brownie book?"
"To be sure," said Joe, "why not, Sir? I think those wars and adventures
with the Pixies are just the thing for boys like me."
"I would print it," said Jennie modestly. "I think the Brownies' love
stories are pretty indeed; though I don't like so much fighting, and the
Pixies are just horrid."
"Print it, Sir!" cried Harry enthusiastically. "I'm sure boys like me
will want to hear all about the Moth, Wasp, Bee and Butterfly ponies,
and the curious, wise tricks of the Spider-pixies."
"As for me," said Hugh, "I'm young enough yit to relish a fairy story uv
mos' any sort. So I vote with the youngsters to prent the book."
"My 'pinion hain't much good, I reckon," said Sarah, who stood half
concealed behind the Elm with her hands upon her hips in her favorite
posture. "An' I hain't no sort uv notion uv witches an' sich, no way.
Tho' laws-a-massy! I b'lieve in 'em; 'v course I do! But somehow, I
don't feel over comfo'ble to hev sech things a-prentin' about our Ole
Farm. W'at's people goin' to say about sech goins-on, any way? I don't
mind about the Brownies; like es not ther be sech folk. An' w'y not here
as well as other places? I don't know w'ere they'd find a nicer home
than jes' aroun' here; an' I'm pos'tive my kitchen's trig enough fer any
kind o' fairies as ever was. Folks as hev sense enough to use a conch
shell, now, as them Brownie heralds do, would be jes' likely to settle
at the Ole Farm. But es for them Pixies--w'at's the use uv sech
critters, anyhow? 'Tain't no ways comfo'ble to think thet they mought be
squattin' on our premises. Howsomever, I'd prent the book, I reckon.
Leastways, ye kin do it, fer all me, 'f ye're a mine ter. My notion is
it's a sight more interestener nor the Say-an-says. Though, they was
worth prentin' too, that's a fac'!"
"Now, Dan, it's your turn," I said; "what say you?"
The old colored man sat on a low stool at the outer margin of the family
circle, with his face leaning upon his hands. He raised his head, laid
his palms upon his knees, rolled his eyes expressively and gave his
verdict with all the solemnity of a judge passing sentence on a capital
offender.
"'Pears to me, Mars Mayfiel' an' Misses," he began, "dat dat's a
powerful good story, an' a true one, too! W'y, I've seed dem wery
Brownies myse'f. Uv coorse I hev!" he exclaimed emphatically, turning an
indignant glance upon Sarah, who had uttered a significant guttural
expression of unbelief. "W'at do you know aboout Brownies, Sary Ann, I'd
jes' like to know? Pixies is more in your line, a heap sight! Down in
ole Marylan', now, dar's a power ob Brownies and Fairies an' all sech
folkses. 'Tain't ebry one as gits to see 'em, dough. Dey's mighty
'tickler 'boout w'at company dey keeps, I kin tell _you_!
"I doan say es I eber seed any on 'em roun' dis Ole Farm,--an' I doan
say es I didn't. But dat's needer hyar nur dar. Dey's hyar, I knows.
I've done seed de signs ob 'em, many's de time. W'y, lookee hyar! How
d'ye tink dem insecks an' bugs and tings w'at Mars Mayfiel' tole us
aboout, done foun' out how to do dar peert tricks? Hit stans to reason
dat sech critters ain't got de larnin' fer sech cunnin' doins. W'at wid
dar nes's, an' burrows, an' cobwebs, an' cute little housens, an' all
dat, dey show heap moah sense dan some w'ite folks es I could name. Now,
whar dey gwine to fin' out all dat, I ax agin, an' how is dey gwine to
do it, unless de Fairies helps 'em? Dey jes' kine ob obersee de job;
dat's how it 'pears to me.
"Den dar's dat gubner Wille--shoo! He ain't no sucumstance ter w'at I
knows 'boout how de insecks, an' fairies, an' goblins an' dem kine ob
beins hes to do wid we uns. No, no!"--and he shook his head with serious
gravity--"no, Sah! hit won't do ter go back on dat. We cullud folks
knows heaps ob larnin' aboout dem critters; an' dey's jes' wove in, an'
in, an' in, an' out ob dese yere mohtal libes ob ourn! Dar's de
Deaf's-head moff, an' de catumpillars, an' de antemires, an' de death
watch, an' de cricket, an' de money-spinners, an' de measurin'
worm--sakes-alive! Dar's signs an' warnins fer we uns in dem critters
agin all de Pixies, worl' widout en'. Amen. Yes, Sah, hit's all right;
dat's a true story, an' no mistake."
"But, Dan," I said, "you haven't told us yet what you think about
printing the story."
[Illustration: FIG. 10.--Our Farm Family in Literary Council.]
"Needer I have, Sah!" the old man replied, rolling up the whites of his
eyes and shaking his shaggy, gray poll. "Needer I have! an' wat's moah,
I ain't gwine ter. I doan see much good in dem kine ob books no
how--specially de picters. Dar's like to be bad work aboout dem tings.
Hit doan do ter be too fumwiliar wid such tings. W'at's de good? Dar's
no tellin' w'at dey mought do ter we'ns, ef dey gits sot agin us. You
bes' keep clar ob dat business, Mars Mayfiel'. De ole Bible's good
'nough fer me, Sah; an' hit says dat much larnin' makes a man mad, an'
books is a-wearisome to de flesh. An' dat's a fac', Sah,--leastways,
readin' an' a-studyin' on 'em is. You kin do w'at you's a mine ter, an'
I 'low you'll prent de Brownie book, any way. Hit's mighty good hearin',
I'll say dat fer it, but--" he shook his head once more, and was silent.
The next day I wrote to the Schoolmistress as follows:
The Old Farm.
My dear Miss Abby:
I have gone over the manuscript that you sent, and on the whole I
approve of it, and agree to print it with such editorial notes as
Queen Fancy has suggested. We have also--the Mistress and I--read
it to the Farm family, having revived our last winter's
"Say-an-says" for that purpose. I have even translated bits of
the story into simpler form and speech for the youngest member of
our household, four-year-old Dorothy. Our young people are
enthusiastic in their admiration, and vote to print the book. So
do the others, with the exception of Dan, who is noncommittal.
But the old fellow enjoyed the reading as much as the rest. He
thinks the story a true one, and declares that he has seen the
Brownies! You know his boundless superstition, and his odd habits
of personifying all living things and talking aloud to them as
he goes about his work. I have no doubt that he has peopled his
little world with many queer imaginary creatures who may well
stand to his undisciplined fancy for Fairies and Goblins,
Brownies and Pixies. He has unwavering faith, also, in the occult
influence of such beings and of insects generally upon the
destinies of human kind.
By the way, this unexpected deliverance of Dan's has eased my
mind as to one feature of the story, viz: the manner in which the
life and behavior of the Willes are interwoven with, and
interdependent upon, the movements of the Brownies and Pixies.
Since I have thought more about it, I have greatly abated the
fear that the verisimilitude of such relations might not
sufficiently appear to readers.
In point of fact, the creatures of the Insect World, as
personified in the story, have had and shall have much to do with
determining the lot of man. The plagues of Egypt as written in
the Book of Exodus, furnish an example; as also the incursions of
cankerworm, locust, caterpillar and palmerworm recorded elsewhere
in Scripture. African travelers tell us that the tetze fly has so
circumscribed the geographical bounds within which certain
domestic animals can live, as to greatly limit or modify
civilization. We all know examples of the effects of mosquito
supremacy at certain points of our country in determining the
fortunes of men or places. The familiar stories of Bruce and the
Spider, and Mahomet and the Spider, are also in point as showing
how great interests may hinge upon the behavior of an humble
animal. Here are facts enough, surely, to justify us in facing
the public with Governor Wille and his relations to the imaginary
folk of the story.
In conclusion, I must say that I have been greatly interested to
note how admirably the habits of my spider friends admit of
personification. The so-called engineering, ballooning,
cavemaking, sailing, and other operations, are so accurately
described by those words, that the manlike qualities, motives and
passions attributed to the actors seem almost natural. At one
moment I find myself accepting the representations as a matter of
course, and anticipating the conduct described on the very ground
of known natural habits. At another time I am startled at the
strong tone of human behavior that the descriptions so easily
admit. Certainly, this is something more than what the
naturalists have called "anthropomorphism." What is the
mysterious ligature that binds in this sympathy of movements the
sovereign will of immortal man and the automatic brain cell of a
spider?
Pardon me! it was not in my purpose to start so profound a
question of philosophy and physiology. I only meant to say that
the wishes of yourself and your Brownie acquaintances shall be
cheerfully granted, and the manuscript be given to the public.
I am, very truly,
Your Friend,
FIELDING MAYFIELD.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: Psalm lxxiv, 5.]
[Footnote B: Formica fusca.]
[Footnote C: In the little company referred to further on, to whom the
manuscript of this book was read, was a friend's lad, eight years old, a
visitor at the Old Farm. The Mistress noticed him during the intervals
of the readings busy with pencil and paper, amusing himself with such
drawings as children are wont to make. A number of these had been made
and thrown away ere it occurred to the good woman to call my attention
thereto. I was much surprised and delighted to find that the boy had
been engaged in illustrating the Brownie Book (as we then familiarly
called it). It was a good sign of the value of the work that it could
produce such an impression upon a child of his tender years. Moreover,
the rude figures were so apt and interesting to my own mind, that I
fancied others might be equally interested therein. "Why not print
them?" suggested the Mistress. And upon mature deliberation that is just
what I resolved to do. No one but a child could make such pictures. Let
the adult, however good an artist, try as much as he may, he could not
reproduce such drawings. Indeed the better the artist, the further would
he come from achievement. That children will take at once to these
reflections of a child's mind, appears quite probable. Moreover, to the
thinking adult they must have a special value as a psychological study.
With all our knowledge of children, it is still marvellous how little we
know of a child's mind. These little tokens of its workings perhaps may
help us to a better knowledge. At all events, a few of these "Boy's
Illustrations" have been selected for engraving, and the editor will be
disappointed if they do not give to both his adult and youthful readers
as much pleasure as they gave to himself.--THE EDITOR.]
[Footnote D: Formica sanguinea.]
[Footnote E: Formica Schaufussii.]
[Footnote F: Sphecius speciosus.]
[Footnote G: Romans viii. 22.]
THE BOOK.
Old Farm Fairies.
A SUMMER CAMPAIGN IN BROWNIELAND
AGAINST
KING COBWEAVER'S PIXIES.
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE BROWNIES CAME TO HILLSIDE.
Not many years ago a company of Brownies lived on the lawn at Hillside,
the home of Governor Wille. Since the Brownies are Scotch fairies, one
must ask how they came to be dwelling so far away from their native
heather upon the green hummocks of the Ohio.
The question takes us back to the early part of the Nineteenth Century,
and to a Manse and glebe on the banks of Loch Achray, the beautiful
little lake that lies at the entrance to Trosachs Glen, quite near the
foot of Loch Katrine in Scotland. Here dwelt Governor Wille's
grandfather, a godly minister of the Gospel; and here he lived until
there grew up around him a large family of sturdy lads and lasses. Often
had the good minister looked over his household as they sat around the
table eating with keen relish their cakes and oatmeal porridge, and
wondered: "How shall I provide for them all? How shall I find fitting
duty and engagement for these eager hearts, restless hands, and busy
brains?"
At last he answered: "I will go with them to America, and join my
brother there on the banks of the Ohio River."
Now the Manse and glebe were the seat of a nation of the wee fairyfolk
whom Scotchmen call Brownies. The Manse site is on the skirt of Ben An's
lowest slope; and across the Trosachs road, upon a point that pushes
into the Loch, stands the kirk amid its kirkyard. The Brownies were fond
of this home, but they loved the Manse folk much more dearly; and so
when they heard the plan to emigrate to the New World, they resolved not
to allow their friends to go to America without an escort of their fairy
companions and caretakers.
A General Assembly of all the Manse Brownies was therefore called, to
meet under the "hats" of a clump of broad toadstools growing on the
mountain slope, close by the barn. The place was crowded from the stem
of the central toadstool to the rim of the outer hat. Outside this clump
the spears of grass, the drooping bluebells, and purple blossoms of
heather were covered with boy Brownies, who climbed up delicate stems,
smooth blades and gnarled stalks, much as city lads mount lampposts,
trees and awnings to gaze upon a procession. From these points they
looked upon their elders, quite as anxious and earnest, if not as well
informed as they.
When the Assembly had been called to order, the King of the Brownies
asked, "Who will volunteer to go to America with our dear friends, the
Willes?"
There was a mighty shout; not one present failed to answer: "I!!"
The explosion fairly shook the roof of their toadstool tabernacle.
Thereat the old monarch sprang to his feet, removed his plumed hat, and
stood uncovered, bowing his white hairs and venerable beard before the
Assembly, in honor of their noble response. The elders waved their tiny
blue Scotch bonnets, wept, laughed and hallooed in turn. The youngsters
danced upon the heather bells and swung from the grass blades until the
tops swayed to and fro, and cheered again and again for the Willes, for
the King, for the Brownies, for everybody!
By and by the King brought the Assembly to order, and proposed that a
colony be drafted from the whole company to go to the New World. "I
shall claim the privilege of naming the leader of the Expedition," said
he, "and I name Murray Bruce. The rest may go by lot."
Whereat the Brownies cheered again, for they were always pleased to
respect their good sovereign's wishes, and Bruce was one of the wisest,
steadiest, and bravest of their number. He was tall, strong, comely, and
in the prime of his years. Then the lot was cast. The names of all the
active Brownies were placed in the tiny corol of a blue bell, which
served as a voting urn. The King drew out fifty names, and these were
the elect members of the colony. The interest was intense as the drawing
went on. Again and again the King's hand sank into the urn, and came out
holding the wee billet that decided some Brownie's destiny. As the name
was announced, there was silence; but thereupon a flutter of excitement
ran through the company; a whirl of noisy demonstration marked the spot
where the fortunate nominee was receiving the congratulations of his
friends; sometimes a cheer was given when a favorite or familiar name
was announced.
"How many names have been drawn?" asked the King.
"Forty-nine," answered the Lord Keeper. Amid profound silence the last
name was drawn and announced:
"Rodney Bruce!"
It was the Captain's brother, a young and promising sailor, who had won
much praise for daring adventures with water pixies on "the stream that
joins Loch Katrine and Achray." His name was welcomed with cheers, and
then a buzz of disappointment arose from the crowd who heartily envied
the "Fortunate Fifty." However, the disappointment soon passed away,
for Brownies are a cheerful and contented folk. The hum of voices
ceased, and the people waited to know what might be needed to forward
the comfort and success of the emigrant escort.
"How shall we get off?" said Captain Bruce. "Has your Majesty any orders
or counsel? Has the Assembly any advice?"
That was a puzzling question. The Lord Keeper, Lord Herald, and all the
other lords and nobles shook their heads wisely and said nothing. Some
one called out the name of "Rodney, the sailor," whereat the old Lord
Admiral turned up his little red nose, looked contemptuously at the
speaker, and muttered something about "land lubbers." As no one had any
advice to venture, all waited for their sovereign's opinion.
"Hoot!" said the King at last, "Ye shall juist gae your ain gait.
Howiver, ye maun steal awa' unbeknowns, I'se warrant ye; for Parson
Wille, good heart! will never allow ye to risk anything for him. But
how? Well, I dinna ken; ye maun e'en settle that, amang yoursels."
The difficulty was no nearer solution than before. There was another
long pause. It was broken by a voice that called from the outer edge of
the Assembly.
"I can tell you how!" It was Walter MacWhirlie who spoke, one of the
chosen escort.
"Come to the front, then," said the King, "and say your say."
Every eye was at once fixed on the bold speaker. But MacWhirlie, nothing
abashed, leaped from the heather stalk on which he stood, and making a
double somersault above the whole company, landed erect upon the edge of
a leaf whereon sat the King and lords.
[Illustration: FIG. 11.--Brownie MacWhirlie Comes to the Front by a
Double Somersault.]
"Ugh!" said the monarch, starting back; for MacWhirlie had well nigh
alighted on his toes.
"Queak!" cried the Queen; and "queak, queak!" screamed the Princesses,
tumbling over one another in their fright.
"You rude beast!" growled the Lord Keeper, laying his hand upon his
broadsword.
But the youth and boys cheered, the young Princesses began to giggle,
the old folks laughed outright, the Queen smoothed down her ruffles, the
good King composed his countenance and smiled, and the Lord Keeper
smothered his indignation and put up his sword.
"Speak up, laddie," said the King. MacWhirlie bowed low first to the
royal party, and then to the lords. (My Lord Keeper's brow cleared up
somewhat at that.)
"I was passin' thro' the barn the morn," he began, "and saw the gardener
packin' the auld kist that lies on the barn floor, with tools, seeds,
roots and herbs. It's a gude place for hidin', is yon kist."
"That it is," exclaimed the Queen laughing, "I've had mony a game o'
bo-peep in 't mysel'."
"Aye, aye, so it is!" was the hearty assent from all parts of the hall,
while the lads on the outside signified their approval by cheers for the
old chest.
"A gude place for hidin' is yon auld kist," continued MacWhirlie. "I ken
naethin' like it for Brownies. An' if your Majesty please, we can a'
ride to America safe eneugh in that."
"It is gude counsel," cried the King, clapping his hands. "Forbye, I
would na thoct it frae sic a giddy pate as yoursel', MacWhirlie. Many
thanks, however, and mak' ready quarters in the auld kist for your
journey to the New World. Herald, dismiss the Assembly."
Lord Herald skipped to the front and sounded a bugle, which in sooth was
nothing more than a tiny shell fitted with a dainty mouthpiece.
"Hi-e-iero! ee-roo!"
[Illustration: FIG. 12.--The Old Chest on its Journey Across the
Allegheny Mountains.]
Then he struck his staff thrice, and cried, or rather intoned in a loud
voice these words:
O-eez; O-eez; O-eez!
Bide by the King's decrees!
Brownies-O-bonnie, and Brownies-O-braw,
Hither gae, hame gae, Brownies awa'!
At the last word the Assembly arose, and speaking all together,
responded,
Brownies aye, Brownies a
Leal and true, awa', awa'!
Then they separated, the elders moving soberly, the youth scampering off
hither and thither, leaping, chattering, cheering, making the grass
blades twinkle with their good natured frolic. In a moment the
toadstools were deserted, and a great spider-pixie crept under the
vacant central hat, and began to shake his head and talk to himself
while uttering a low, harsh, chuckling laugh.
Bruce, Rodney, MacWhirlie and all the elect escort, together with their
families, made the voyage across the Atlantic safely though somewhat
uncomfortably. But their trials were not over when they landed in
Philadelphia. The chest was hoisted into a big road wagon covered with
canvas, known as a "Conestoga wagon," and wheeled on for many days over
the Allegheny mountains. Down by old Fort Pitt it trundled, along the
banks of the beautiful river Ohio, to the frontier village of
Steubenville. There the wagon stopped. Parson Wille built his cabin on
Hillside. The Brownies, happy as the beasts and birds that were turned
out of Noah's Ark after the flood, were released from their prison in
the old chest, and took up once more old duties and pleasures in the
clearings, cornfields and garden of the new home.
That was many years ago. The good parson has long since been received to
a fairer Home than either Scotland or America ever gave; but his
grandson, Governor Wille, lives at Hillside. It is not the same Hillside
that the brave and godly minister first built his log cabin upon, you
may be sure. Great changes have occurred. But the same Brownies are
there; as good natured, as frolicsome, as fond of their friends and as
true to them as ever, yet, we are sorry to say, not so fortunate and
happy. What has troubled them?