Professor Shaw. The babbling of the rills which came down the hill sides
and washed the pebbles at his feet, were soothing to the sense, and the
birds sang sweetly on the trees, which were covered with the blossoms of
the spring. Only a single dwelling was seen on one of those swelling hills
which rose above each other, gently and far away, till their last
undulating lines were limited by the horizon's blue verge. The eye
wandered with pleasure over the diversified prospect, which included the
boundaries of three sovereign states, with various rivers, valleys and
fertile fields. On such a spot, where Nature reigned and developed herself
in quiet beauty, whether in the voluptuous budding of the spring, or in
the year's gorgeous decline, Charity had taken the hint and erected an
asylum for the insane. Happy invocation of Nature, most kind and gentle
saviour of the sick, who meeting her in her quiet haunts may touch her
beautiful garments and be whole! In the exhilarating sunshine, in the
fields garnished so exquisitely by our good God, in the religious woods,
the circling hills, and the unbounded sky, there is a force of healing,
when Art has consigned the victim to despair, and the soothing hand
aggravates the deep-rooted sorrow. Nature gently re-conducts the lost mind
through its labyrinth of error, speaking sweet consolation in the passing
breeze, and a volume of beauty in each unclasping flower.
Professor Shaw was doubling up his grotesque figure over the stones,
gathering garnets. With the intent look of a gold digger, or an alchymist
prying into his crucible, he was seeking for treasures, cracking up rocks
into the size of sugar-lumps, and Macadamizing all the place for yards
round. His shadow stalked with him with colossal strides, according to the
declension of the sun, and the hammer in his shadowy arm fell on the
projection of the shadowy rocks. But not farther off than where his
grotesque head and slanting extremity were measured on the next wall, two
clowns had gee'd their oxen under a tree, and left their basket of
potatoes in the furrow, (w--hoy--gee, there--I tell yer to gee!) for the
sake of giving their undivided attention to the Professor. Geology they
had never heard of, beyond its application to stone fence; so they
considered the conduct of a man very queer indeed, who was muttering to
himself, and filling his pocket full of stones. After a little silence,
they nodded to each other with a knowing look, and said with one consent,
'He's as crazy as a coot.' They approached Mr. Shaw, dubiously. 'See his
eyes!' said they; 'aint they wild? Mister?' said the elder clown.
Shaw made no reply.
'Mister, look a-here; aint you--aint you----?'
'Fel-spar,' said Shaw, cabalistically.
'Oh dear me! that's enough! My dear feller, we've got a duty to perform. I
guess we know where you come from. Mister, aint you----?'
'Are you addressing me?' said Professor Shaw, mildly, looking up. 'Are you
addressing your remarks to me, my friend?
'Wonderful cunnin', but it wont do. 'T wont sarve you; I'm a-feard we
shall have to----'
'Well, Sir, my name is Shaw.'
'What's that you got onto your cane? What you doin' in Queens ceounty? Do
tell, aint you----got loose from somewhar? Honor bright!'
The professor, lost in amazement, answered only by a broad stare. He then
bethought him that two lunatics had escaped from yonder mansion. The idea
satisfied his mind, and surprise gave way at once to a smile, full of
benevolence and pity. 'My poor friends,' said he, 'do go back; you have
surely wandered from home; do go up the hill--do go up the hill.' Then
stamping his foot with an air of authority, he exclaimed, stretching out
the hammer of his cane, 'Go back to the asylum, in-stan-taneously!'
'I guess the one in the loft will be long enough,' whispered the rustic;
'but fetch the longest of the two _ropes_, and make haste. Oh, he's
stark!'
'Ah! how sad!' soliloquized Professor Shaw, as both of his new friends
retreated, and one hurried out of sight, 'how sad a spectacle! the
deluded, wandering mind, told by such unerring symptoms; the wild eye,
strange words, and fantastic pleasantness; reason hurled from her own
throne, and that steady light exchanged for the fitful flickering over
decay! They mistake me for one of their melancholy fraternity, poor
lunatics! whereas my lamp of life, and reason, it appears to me, never
shone brighter. I shall yet work out something of which my country will be
proud, and which shall inscribe on an enduring pedestal the name of SHAW.'
The professor (with his hammer) split a rock. 'If those men come back,
what had I better do with them? I will contemplate the remarkable
phenomenon of the mind in ruins. Humanity suggests to me that I ought to
coax them back with sophistry as far as the garden-gate, and then holler
for help.' Shaw was the best hearted of men; he would not hurt a human
being in the world, cruel as he was to bugs, and to centipedes an 'outer
barbarian.' In the course of ten minutes he was at the base of a large
rock, scooping out garnets, and thinking casually of that 'great work
which his country would not willingly let die,' when a rope was let over
his head and shoulders from above, and the professor was noosed. The
countrymen jumped down, and began to drag him from the other end,
squeezing his bowels, and winding him round and round, till coming to
close quarters, they knocked his hat off, wrested his hammer out of his
hand, and seizing him by the collar, almost throttled him with the
knuckles of their immense fists.
SHAW. (Kicking violently.) Murder! murder! murder!
RUSTICS. It won't do no good; we got yer; you may as well come fust as
last. You're crazy as a coot, and wuss now than when we fus see you. Your
eyes shows it.
SHAW. I'll go with you, my friends, but don't kill me; oh! I beseech you
don't kill me!
RUSTICS. No, we wont hurt you; only come along to the house. Come along.
SHAW. Take your knuckles out of my throat, please. _Aside._ Their
hallucination is extreme; the symptoms of their disease have taken a form
the most vindictive. Yes, my friends, conduct me safe. We shall soon reach
the house; then all will be explained.
At this very hour an amusing scene was enacting among the lunatics in the
large hall of the asylum. One who professed magnetism was trying his skill
upon a subject, to the great entertainment of his fellows. He was making
the passes after a singular fashion, upon a docile fellow who sat bolt
upright in a chair with a face of the most stolid gravity. Standing at a
distance, he would rush up with long strides, make a wavy flourish with
his hands over the face of the subject, and retreat as rapidly. Then with
eager, swelling eyes, aiming with the fore-finger of each hand, he would
run up and point at some phrenological bump upon the cranium. But the
patient sat immovable, and was neither to be soothed into slumber, nor
coaxed into giving any indication that the organs were excited; as is the
case with the well-drilled _proteges_ of your itinerant lecturers.
Nearly all the inmates were witnesses of this scene, except a few who were
restricted, and one fair girl who walked in the garden sobbing; and never
did tears fall out of more beautiful eyes, or shed over such a sweet face
the interest of sorrow. They gushed profusely on the rosebud in her hand;
fit emblem of herself; for she had not yet broke into the bloom of
womanhood. Where tears flow, despair has been already softened to sorrow,
and smiles may yet shine out of the darkness, as the bow of promise
bridges only a firmament of cloud. This poor creature, frightened at a
disturbance at the gate, fled like a fawn to her own apartment. The
professor was lugged in by the head and ears, with unnecessary roughness.
Appearances were much against him, as he always had a crazy look. His
strange dress and equipments, his unshaven beard, his long hair straggling
over his forehead, his long nose and long legs, his much-abused and
bunged-up hat, which yawned wide open at the crown and showed the lining,
wore the external tokens of a mind ill at ease. Added to this, a sickly
smile shed a yellow glare over his features, of which the effect was
neither natural nor pleasant; and as the lunatics pressed around, and the
clowns still clutched him by the throat, even that passed away, and left
an expression of bewilderment and undisguised dismay. At that moment the
physician arrived, and glancing at the new subject just brought to the
establishment, and concluding that his present wildness would need some
coercion at first, requested him to be brought into the nearest apartment.
The four formed a singular group. 'Sit down,' said the doctor, nodding
calmly to the professor, as he prepared to study the case. 'Ha! ha!'
exclaimed Professor Shaw, dropping into a chair, and striving hard to be
amused at his predicament, 'ha! ha! ha! My dear Sir, ha! ha! yes, I think
I may say ha! ha! ha!'--and he laughed so obstreperously as to set the
whole company in a roar. 'This excursion for scientific purposes; near
coming to an unpleasant termination; some of your poor fellows, doctor,'
casting a knowing look at the clowns, 'are strongly possessed they brought
me here against my will.'
The doctor smiled.
'Let me explain all,' said Mr. Shaw, recovering breath, and speaking with
preternatural calmness. 'Oblige me first by having those men removed.
Their presence disturbs me. I pity them from my lowest soul; but they
have--it is ridiculous--ha! ha! ha! yes, it _is_ ridiculous--but they have
hurt me very much and disturbed my equanimity. You should confine them
more strictly, Sir, and not let them go at large to murder strangers by
the way-side.'
The doctor smiled.
'In search of relaxation, during the intervals of a great work which I
have in hand, having been made an honorary member of the Tinnecum
Association, I came here for the prosecution of scientific purposes, and
for the collection of botanical and mineralogical specimens, which I have
at present in my breeches pocket.'
RUSTICS. He! he! he! that's enough--see his eyes!
SHAW. (_Smiling._) Doctor, how long have these subjects been in your
institution? Their insanity has not taken a very mild form. Will you
oblige me by removing them from the room? Indeed it hurts me to see the
immortal mind astray.
The doctor smiled.
SHAW. (_Enthusiastically._) As I entered these doors, a most lovely being
shot across my path. It was but an instant; a quick light, a momentary
flash, and all was gone! But it was enough! I saw her! I never shall
forget her. Who is she? That sweet girl has impressed her image on my
soul!
DOCTOR. My friend, be calm.
SHAW. Oh, my dear Sir! understand me. I _am_ calm, I _am_ calm.
DOCTOR. Perhaps you will be so kind as to inform me where your _friends_
reside, and when you left them upon this journey.
'My friends!' exclaimed the professor, with a bitter sneer; 'who are my
friends? Where have I found any whose friendship was other than a name? My
books, my cabinet, my studies, the great work on which I am now
laboring--these are my friends; it is only through these that I shall be
raised to fame. _Sic itur ad astra._'
DOCTOR. I am satisfied that we had better secure----
SHAW. Do you want any assistance, Sir? I will willingly help you to get
these poor fellows to their rooms.
RUSTICS. He's the cunningest we ever seen.
DOCTOR. Yes, he would deceive any one. Wait a minute my men.
SHAW. If you don't need me I'll bid you good day; I can't stay any longer.
DOCTOR. Oh no, we can't let you go, in common humanity, till we have
communicated with your friends.
Professor Shaw, in the utmost alarm, attempted to plunge out of the room.
He was laid violent hands on by all three; his indignation boiled over; he
struggled most desperately, knocked down the doctor, and attempted to jump
out of the window, but in the end was overcome, a straight-jacket put on
him, the stones were taken out of his pocket, he was conducted to a
separate apartment, and as the shades of night fell around him, he almost
doubted himself whether he was in his sound mind. His wits seemed to be
indeed scattered. In vain he tried to collect them, and to realize his
present position, which was the most false and unfortunate one in which he
had ever been placed. He charged the Devil with conspiracy. He had already
sneered at the suggestion of having friends; how should he be the victim
and laughter of his enemies! He imagined them holding their gaunt sides
and shaking with a spectre-like malignity. Then he thought of the fair
girl whom he had seen in the garden shedding tears on roses, and strove to
weave a chaplet of verse which should be more unfading than flowers. What
a strange destiny was his! The victim of untoward accidents, persecuted by
some evil spirit, and leading an aimless, desultory life, which he yet
feared would lead on to lunacy. What should he do in the present instance?
Be patient? Yes, he would be calm, forgiving, philosophical as ever.
Footsteps are approaching; the door of his cell opens; perhaps it is
already the token of his release. Yes, one of his own townsmen enters.
Alas! he owed the professor a grudge, and assured the doctor that he was
cracked, and begged him to hold on to him by all means; he would go and
inform his friends. 'Ha! ha! ha!' exclaimed Shaw, as the door closed;
'there it is again; in luck as usual; ha! ha! ha!--ha! ha! ha!'
As it grew dark, and he lay on his pallet, a crowd of thoughts and
imaginations pursued him through a long sleep, and when he opened his eyes
to the morning light, he gazed around the strange place with astonishment,
and tried in vain to persuade himself that his present position was not a
dream.
In three days he was released from limbo; retracing his steps, with all
the bugs and specimens which he had collected. And, for those who feel an
interest in Professor Shaw, it may be agreeable to know, that in his
wanderings, having discovered in a green lane, on the margin of a
duck-pond, a district school in want of a pedagogue, he forthwith assumed
the birch, and may be now seen at almost any hour of the day, in the midst
of his noisy populace, commanding silence, or dusting them on their least
honorable parts. 'Tough, are you? I'll see if I can find a tender spot.
Come, no bawling, or I'll flog you till you stop. Thomas Jones, take your
book, and stick your nose in the c-o-rner. First division may go out.
First class in geography----'
F. W. S.
STANZAS
TO THE SPIRITS OF MY THREE DEPARTED SISTERS.
WRITTEN AT MID-WINTER.
Sweet sisters! ye have passed away,
In solemn silence one by one,
And left a brother here to stray,
In doubt and darkness--and alone!
For like three lamps of holy flame,
Ye shone upon my weary way,
Till a chill breath from heaven came,
And quenched for aye the kindly ray.
Where are ye now?--where are ye now?
Those loving hearts and spirits, where!
O'er three new graves in grief I bow,
But ye are gone--ye are not there!
The winds that sigh while wandering by,
Curl the bright snow in many a wreath,
And sing in mournful melody,
O'er the cold dust that sleeps beneath.
The birds that sang when ye were here,
Are singing in another clime;
Have left the hedge and forest sere,
And gone where all is summer-time.
The frail bright flowers that bloom'd around,
When ye were blooming bright as they,
Lie crushed and withered on the ground,
Their fragrance heavenward passed away.
And ye are gone where genial skies
And radiant suns eternal shine,
Where peaceful songs forever rise,
From saintly tongues and lips divine.
And like the flowers whose sweet perfume
Has left the soil and risen above,
Has risen from your silent tomb
The holy fragrance of your love.
But often when the silver beams
Of the pale stars are on my bed,
Ye come among my sweetest dreams,
And bend in silence o'er my head;
And throngs of bright imaginings
Float round and o'er me till the dawn;
I hear the fluttering of wings!
I start--I wake! but ye are gone.
Oh! I am sad; yet still the thought
That when this tired though willing hand
Its earthly destiny hath wrought,
Ye wait me in that distant land,
And that ye long to have me there,
More that I pine your absence here,
Shall heal the touch of every care
And quench the sting of every fear.
No marble stands with towering shaft
To catch the stranger's curious eye;
No tablet graved with flattering craft,
Tells where your silent ashes lie;
But there is one secluded spot
In the deep shadows of my soul,
Where stranger foot intrudeth not,
Nor winter's wanton tempests roll.
And there in Friendship's burial-ground
The willow of remembrance bends,
And ye my sisters there have found
A home among my choicest friends;
And modelled with etherial grace,
The form of HOPE with heavenward eyes,
Stands calmly on your burial-place,
And points her finger to the skies.
I. G. HOLLAND.
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE PRAIRIE HERMIT.
EDITED BY PETER VON GEIST.
It happened on the twenty-seventh day of July, in the year of our Lord one
thousand eight hundred and forty-two, that I, PETER VON GEIST, found
myself, in the natural course of events, journeying on horse-back along
the northern bank of the Ohio river, in the state of Illinois. The space
between me and the house where I designed to stop, and the time between
then and sun-down, were somewhat disproportionate; so I pricked gallantly
forward; as gallantly at least as could be expected from a tired horse,
and a knight whose recreant thoughts were intensely fixed on dollars and
cents, supper, and other trifling affairs. By dint however of much
patience in the steed, and much impatience in the rider, we got over the
ground, and approached a house that had been in sight for some distance.
It was placed on the summit of a steep, conical hill; there was no smoke
from its chimney, or voices to be heard, or persons to be seen, or other
signs of life, in its precincts. The grass grew high and green all around
the hillock, and there was no road, not even a foot-path, visible on its
side. Nevertheless, I dismounted, left my horse to improve the opportunity
of snatching a light repast on the abundant herbage, and forced my way up
to the top of the knoll.
The building was constructed in the rude fashion of the country; but the
chinking had fallen out from between the logs; the chimney had partly
tumbled down; tall weeds sprung up between the stones of the door-steps;
the door itself was fastened with a huge padlock; the windows were nearly
all beaten in, and every thing about it gave evidence that it had not been
inhabited for several years. The summit of the hill was smooth and level.
A few stumps grew around the edge; and the ground seemed to have been, at
some former time, a garden.
The situation was exceedingly fine, and the view on all sides very
beautiful. The eminence commanded on one hand three or four miles of the
river, and on the other an unlimited tract of prairie. At the particular
moment when I first visited it, the level sun-light came glancing over the
face of flood and field, tinging every thing that it touched with its own
mellow hue, and casting gigantic and ill-defined shadows of the hill, the
house, and myself, on the plain beyond. At the distance of a mile and a
half below, stood a couple of one-story houses, the logs of which they
were built newly hewed, evidently of recent construction. The inhabitants
of this old building, then, must have stood where I am standing, and gazed
over the vast extent of country that is spread out before me, without
meeting a single habitation of man, or any thing having life, except
perhaps a wolf or a buffalo. And it could not have been desire of wealth
that induced a family of refinement and taste, such as the little
decorations and ornaments show that this was, to select this solitude for
their home; for not more than an acre of land, at the foot of the hill,
had ever been invaded by the plough.
There were several circumstances like these, that were unusual and
unaccountable; but not being in a mood just then to be much perplexed
about it, I descended the knoll, remounted, and hurried on towards the
more hospitable dwellings below.
Of course, the traveller was received with a welcome, and his bodily wants
speedily and abundantly cared for. After this most important duty had been
satisfactorily performed, and quietude of spirit consequent thereon was
restored to my breast, it chanced that the host and his blue-eyed,
golden-haired, neatly-dressed, smiling-faced, half-matron, and
half-girlish young wife, who had lately set up business on their own
account, and I, seated ourselves without the door, to feel the cool air of
the evening. It chanced too that the door faced the east; and the old
house towered up darkly in the distance before us. In answer to my
inquiries, they were able to give but little information concerning it,
and that chiefly derived from others.
It appeared that there was on the other side of the river, and a little
lower down, a small settlement. It had stood there from time immemorial;
at least, the memory of the tidy little wife did not run to the contrary,
and she had received her birth and education there, and ought to know. She
remembered, one of the first things that she could remember, a middle-aged
gentleman, in a black hat and coat, who used to row over the river from
the other shore in a small skiff, and walk into her father's store to make
his purchases, with a grave, but not cold or forbidding face, and used to
pat her on the head, with such a fatherly smile, and say a few words in
such a kind tone, as to fill her little breast quite full with delight.
She remembered more distinctly, a few years later, how this same gentleman
used to come into the settlement as often as once-a-week, and how glad
every one appeared to meet him and shake hands with him. The villagers
seemed to repose unlimited confidence in him. The moment he landed,
half-a-dozen were ready to ask his advice, or to show him papers, to see
if all were correctly done. He was the umpire in all differences and
quarrels, and seldom failed to send away the disputants at peace with each
other. If there was a wedding, he of course must be present. On May-day,
when the boys and girls went out into the woods to romp, and afterward to
sit down to a rustic pic-nic, he was sure to walk into their midst, just
at the right moment, bearing in his hand a wreath of flowers, so
beautiful, and so tastefully made, that all the girls cried when at length
it fell to pieces; and he would place it on the head of the Queen of May
with such a gentle, sweet little speech, that she would blush up to the
tips of her ears, and all her subjects would clap their hands and laugh
out with pleasure.
At Christmas parties his place was never empty; and while he was there,
mirth never flagged. Perhaps their sports were not so boisterous as they
would have been if he had not been a spectator; but they were quite as
pleasant at the time, and a great deal pleasanter when looked back upon
from the next day. He used to sit in one corner, by the huge, roaring
fire, and look on, apparently as much interested as they themselves were.
Nothing went amiss; and there was never wanting some slight, good-natured
remark or act, to rectify mistakes and set them all going again.
But much as he was loved by the villagers, he was no less respected. They
did not even know his name. Many would have been glad to, and wearied
themselves by indirect methods to find it out. But as no one had courage
to ask him, and as it never happened to fall from him incidentally, they
remained in the dark about it. He was known and addressed however, by the
appellation of 'the Lawyer,' as their conversation with him was chiefly
asking his advice on points of law too knotty for them, which he freely
gave. He affected no mystery or reserve; yet there was something in his
bearing, affable and unaristocratic as it was, that caused those very
men--who, if the governor of the state had come among them, would have
slapped him on the back, and offered him a glass of liquor--to rise in his
presence and approach him with respect.