Story 8--Chapter I.

Story 8--Chapter I.STORY EIGHT—Piper’s News—A Fairy Tale.There was once a piper, called Alaister Mackinnon, and he lived in the town of Inverknickle; he played better than any other piper in all the country side, and was deservedly esteemed by the gude wives, as he always brought the earliest news of the events in the distant villages; for though Alaister called Inverknickle his home, he rarely stayed there long at a time, but wandered about, hearing and telling news, and playing at all the merry-makings that were held within twenty miles. At these he was always to be seen dressed in full Highland garb, with gay streamers floating from his pipes, and his bonnet set jauntily on the side of his head, surrounded by young and old, who listened with equal delight to his tunes and his stories. Alaister’s dancing was a thing of which he was very proud, as none of the lads could compete with him in it; he was, therefore, not so great a favourite with them as amongst the women, but none dared say a word against him, as it invariably reached his ears, and the next time he came to the village he was sure to have some story about them which turned the laugh against themselves. One day there was a wedding at a village some miles from Inverknickle, and of course Alaister was there, marching at the head of the party as it returned from the manse, dressed in his newest kilt and hose, and playing the most appropriate tunes, while the young men shouted and fired guns and pistols at irregular intervals to do honour to the occasion; and every time they fired, the women screamed, and the men laughed, and in short they were a very merry party. Then came the feast, which was more remarkable for quantity than quality, and was held in the house of the newly married pair; it was succeeded by dancing, the bride and bridegroom joining most energetically, but never being allowed to dance together.Reels were the usual dances; but when the lasses were tired, and sat down and fanned themselves with their handkerchiefs, the lads began to dance the sword-dance. The lasses soon asked Alaister to dance; and after a great deal of pressing, for he always feigned modesty on such occasions, he danced, the men looking on anxious to catch him making a false step, the women in silent admiration of his neat foot, silver buckles, and new hose, which, from the beautiful shape of his leg, did not require to be gartered.None of the women saw that he twice touched the sword; but it was not lost on the men, who looked at each other with pleased smiles, though no one ventured to say anything, and Alaister’s performance was finished amidst loud applause.Supper followed, which was much the same as the dinner, only there was more toddy, and therefore more noise; and Duncan Cameron, emboldened by the whisky, ventured to say that Alaister had not danced “clean” that night; to which Alaister answered, with a look of pity, that “Duncan, puir fellow, had never seen right since the night he had sic a fley wi’ the fairies on the moor, when they shot him into a peat-moss, and the Will-of-the-Wisps ran so near him that they singed his nose, and it had been red ever since.” This had the effect of silencing Duncan, who had fallen in as described when coming home tipsy from a wake, and had told many wonderful stories of his ill-treatment by the “gude fouk,” as he called the fairies.The conversation now turned on fairies, and all professed the deepest admiration and respect for them. Alaister, however, rather laughed at the idea of their doing anybody good or ill, and even hinted that he doubted their existence. Then began a warm discussion; and by degrees Alaister grew bolder, and expressed in plain terms his entire disbelief in these gentle spirits, challenging them to meet him that night on his way home, and let him play on the bagpipes heard by so many of his companions in the gloamin’ among the heather on the hill-side; at the same time drinking glass after glass to his success in the exploit.Soon after this the party broke up, and Alaister started for Inverknickle, playing what he intended for “Wooed and married and a’,” but it was a bad version of it, and sounded dismal and unearthly as it died away in the distance.He crossed the moor in the bright moonlight, and at last reached the birch wood, where the white stems shone like ghosts in their winding-sheets, and the branches swung noiselessly in the night breeze, and gave out their fresh sweet smell. Let it not be supposed that Alaister actually observed all this, but it had an influence on his mind, and made him feel eerie, it was so different from the noisy scene he had left.Just then he heard “Wooed and married and a’” played as well as he could play it (this he only confessed silently to himself, he would on no account have let any one else say so), but on a bagpipe of the softest and moat silvery tone, and soon a band of bright little creatures came from among the green grass and bracken, and stopped directly in his path. All wore the full Highland dress, but the checks in the tartan looked as if made of precious stones, for they sparkled and glittered in the moonlight, till Alaister was almost dazzled by their brilliancy; the red cherry tufts on their bonnets shone with a clear calm light, like glowworms, but as he had never seen one of these, he mentally said “like anything.” The party was headed by a piper, playing on pipes, the bag of which was a bluebell, the chaunter a hedgehog’s bristle, and the ribbons made of dragonflies’ wings. He was followed by the king and queen, who wore beautiful crowns, from which shot rays of variegated light; then came the train of followers, and round the whole ran three Will-of-the-Wisps. These were taller than the rest; from their hands, feet, and eyes came bright flashes like lightning, but their bodies were quite black and very slight.When they halted in front of Alaister, the piper stopped playing, and even the Will-of-the-Wisps did not run quite so fast; the king and queen stepped forward, and asked who it was who dared to disturb their midnight march through their own domain, but such a hubbub arose amongst their followers that, without waiting for his answer, they turned to inquire into the cause.This was very soon explained: it was an outburst of rage against the piper Alaister, with eager offers to bring forward proof of misconduct against him. These were immediately accepted, and an old fairy-elf was commanded to speak first.There was now a dead silence, except when the night wind rustled amongst the birch branches, and bent the waving bracken, or some night bird uttered a wild cry. The old elf stepped forward, and then, by suddenly twisting his legs and arms together, and sinking his head between them, he changed into the cup, with the picture of the real king in the bottom, which stood on the chimney-piece of the room where the wedding feast had been held, and from this cup came a voice which repeated all the scornful words of Alaister against the fairies. When he ceased he resumed his former shape and retired; others were then called forward in his place, and took the form of cups, bowls, toddy ladles, and glosses, each repeating the same tale; but last of all appeared a lovely girl, who changed into the little square looking-glass in a red frame, in which Alaister had from time to time arranged his hair during that evening; and there was his face reflected in it, and it was his own voice which he now heard, and he saw his lips moving so distinctly, that he put up his hand to feel if he were really speaking, but his lips were still, and the loud ringing laugh of the glittering band made him feel so angry, that he tried to move away, but he then found that he was spell-bound, and must remain to be laughed at or ill-treated by his little enemies. Now Alaister was a very sensible man, so when he found that he must stay, he tried to look as if he liked to stay, and when he heard the king command that he should have his wish, and might play on their bagpipes that night, he smiled blandly, and took the little instrument, which looked like a large spider as it lay in the palm of his hand. In an instant it changed, and became as large as his own, which was carried off by one of the Will-of-the-Wisps, to whom he tried to say something civil, but before he could make up his mind what it was to be, the sprite was glancing amongst the trees far away.Thinking it might be the wisest plan to conciliate the gude fouk, he played his best tunes, and never had they sounded so well, for the tones of the fairy pipe were far softer and sweeter than his own, and the fairies danced so lightly and nimbly, that he forgot it was against his will he had been ordered to play, and was sorry when the king waved his crystal sceptre, and, pointing to the moon, now fast sinking towards the distant hills, commanded his followers to return home. And now, of course, Alaister thought that he was to return home also, but no, he was commanded to follow, and in spite of himself he was obliged to run through the thick wood, down steep banks, and over rocks to the river-side, where a fleet of egg-shells came towards them at the fairies’ call, and each jumping into one, they shoved off, laughing to see how Alaister plunged into the cold water, and how the Will-of-the-Wisps jostled against him in the deepest parts of the stream.Wet and weary, he at length reached the cave, which seemed to be the home of the party, and where he found many already busily employed in making preparations for a meal.The cave was hung with the trailing moss, called tod’s-tail, while pieces of rock crystal, cairngorm, and amethyst reflected the light given out by the Will-of-the-Wisps, who suspended themselves like chandeliers from the stalactites which hung from the roof. The floor was thickly strewn with stag-horn moss, which formed a soft and elastic carpet. In the middle of the cave was a large mushroom, round which the fairies were now busy spreading the cloth, woven of the finest gossamer, and arranging the acorn-cups and dishes of delicate meats, which had been prepared during their absence by those who remained at home.When all was ready, numbers of green beetles ran forward to the table and ranged themselves round it; on these the fairies sat as they feasted.Never was there a merrier party; they laughed and talked, and pledged each other in bumpers of mountain dew, and sang sweetly while bunches of white hare-bells, which hung from the roof, chimed in as accompaniment.All this time Alaister had stood looking on, wondering what was to happen to him, and not feeling quite at his ease, for he knew it was a mark of displeasure when the gude fouk ate without offering anything to the mortal who was present, and besides, the younger fairies every now and then made faces at him. At length the feast was ended, and the king called together the oldest of his followers, and retired to some distance from the rest, where, for a time, they held eager consultation. The king then advanced to Alaister and told him that as he had played so well for them that night, they had determined not to change him into a Will-of-the-Wisp, as was the fate of all who spoke ill of them, and who afterwards fell into their power, but they would send him out into the world again, under a ban which would follow him to the end of his life, but which they would leave him to discover. While his sentence was being pronounced, the Will-of-the-Wisps were much agitated, darting about the roof, and giving out streams of pale cold light; the white hare-bells rang mournfully, shaken by a creeping blast which circled round and round; cold drops fell from the roof and trickled feebly down the sides of the cave, while the voices of the elves’ and fairies sounded harsh and shrill.A Will-of-the-Wisp was then commanded to be his guide to the birch wood, and Alaister was again led through the river, up the rocks, and through the woods he had passed on his way to the cave.Arrived at the wood, his guide vanished, and he found himself alone on a bright sunny morning, the dew-drops glistening on the grass, amongst which he joyfully discovered his pipes; but at the same time he saw that his clothes hung about him in tatters, and oh! how wet and tired he was with his night’s work! He could not, however, show himself at Inverknickle in so disordered a state, so was obliged to remain in the wood till the evening, when he thought it safer to go home, in case his tormentors should again carry him off. When he reached his cottage, he told his wife that he had lost his way in the dark, and had torn his clothes on the brambles and bushes, amongst which he had got entangled; but not a word did he say about the fairies, lest he should offend them, and be carried off, and turned into a black Will-of-the-Wisp, and have to dance about every night in the cold moonlight, which was not at all Alaister’s idea of real comfort.Now Mrs Mackinnon had what is called “an ill tongue,” and she did not spare poor Alaister as she turned over his torn garments; but he was well accustomed to her attacks, and had learnt that silence was his only safety, so he took one child on his knee as he sat by the fire, and rocked the cradle with his foot, in hopes of softening his wife’s temper. As the evening advanced, she became pretty tired of having all the talk to herself, so sat down opposite him, and with a cross face, and in a sharp voice, asked what made him sit there without speaking,—could not he tell her any news after being sae long away from his gude wife and the weans?When this question was put, Alaister was always sure the scold was over, however cross the voice was in which it was asked; so he began at once to tell all the events of a harvest home at which he said he had been the night before, but he was at once stopped by an angry “Hout!” from his wife, and then followed a storm of abuse for telling her about things which had happened three years before; then, pointing to the fields of green oats that were to be seen all around, she asked him what sort of harvest home there could be at that time of year. Alaister was sorely puzzled, for certainly the corn was still green; but yet he felt sure it was only yesterday he had been at the harvest feast, and if not at that—where had he been? He could remember nothing of the wedding, and stared at his wife, who at last began to be alarmed at his perfectly stupid look, and said, “Is the man fey?” As soon as she said this, his night’s adventure returned to his mind, and looking on the ground, he saw it alive with fairies, laughing and mocking him. Had it been earlier in the day, he would have run out of the house, but it was nearly dark, and the uncomfortable Will-of-the-Wisp came into his mind, so he sank down again in his chair, and shut his eyes, fully determined not to speak; but he could not keep this resolution. Again and again he was impelled to begin stories, and as often was he told that these things had happened years before. He then tried to play, but could remember none but the very oldest tunes, such as had been out of date for many years, and when, wearied in mind and body, he fell asleep, he dreamed of fairies and discomforts all night long.Next day he set out again on his wanderings, hoping that it was only in his own house that the fairies would haunt him; but no—go where he would they were by him, nor could he tell any story which was not at least three years old. His former admirers, the women, now asked him, jeeringly, for “three-year-old news;” when he was seen coming towards a farm, he was treated almost as a beggar, and was sent to the back door, where he got a piece of oat-cake and a drink of milk, but was never asked into the house. Occasionally the servants asked him why he did not carry a wallet like other “puir bodies;” but Alaister, though often really in want, never would condescend to a wallet. By degrees he became more and more impoverished; he was thin, and had a look of great unhappiness. His hose hung over the heels of his worn shoes, from which the silver buckles had long since disappeared; his second-best kilt was very much the worse for wear, nor had he money to buy a new one; and as to the one he had worn on the night from which his woes dated, it had even beat the thrifty Mrs Mackinnon to get it into tolerable repair again.In all the country side it had become the common expression, when any old story was told, “Hout! that’s Piper’s news;” and at last Alaister, feeling that he was despised where he had been respected, and laughed at by those at whom he had laughed, without even having a comfortable house in which to hide himself, for Mrs Mackinnon’s tongue was more abusive than ever, determined to retire from the world.Being in low spirits, of course he chose the most dismal spot he could find; it was a bleak glen, down which the north wind howled in winter, and in summer the sun hardly reached its depths; for the bare rocks were high and near each other, so that it was always cold and damp. But this suited Alaister’s frame of mind. One chill day in autumn he crept into a sort of hollow in the rock; there was a constant trickle, trickle, trickle, down the sides of this hole, and the water soaked through blackened patches of liver-wort and moss; the floor was damp and slippery, and on it Alaister sat down to think how very uncomfortable he was, and to abuse the fairies as the cause of all his misfortunes.It grew colder and colder, and darker and darker, and Alaister began half to repent of his determination to die in a cave, when a flash of light shone into the hollow, and in an instant his old acquaintances, the three Will-of-the-Wisps, were dancing round him in a more frenzied way than ever; now they were up in the roof, now out in the open air, now far back in the darkness where he thought there was only rock. But the cave seemed to become larger every moment, and the water dried up as the Will-of-the-Wisps darted along the sides, and then Alaister saw the well-remembered tod’s-tail moss hang where liver-wort had been before, and stag’s-horn moss again covered the dark floor. The air felt dry and warm, and a comfortable sleepy peace crept over the heart of the distressed piper; he began to think that, on the whole, it was more enjoyable to be in the fairies’ cave than in a hay-loft on a gusty autumn night; and when the glittering band sparkled into their hall he smiled, and offered to play to them again, and soon they were all dancing merrily on the moss, for it was now too cold, even for fairies, to spend the whole night in the woods.Then came the feast, and this time Alaister was given on acorn cup full of brightest mountain dew; and though he thought it a small allowance for a full-grown man, still he knew that the little creatures had no larger cups; and not to disappoint them or fail in his manners, he nodded to the king, and with a “Here’s your very gude health, sir,” emptied his cup. Immediately he sunk back on the floor and slept, for the dew that had been given him has, it is said, wonderful powers, making mortals forget their homes and former lives, and desire only to be with the fairies.How long he slept no one can tell; he never more was seen: but on calm summer nights his pipes can be heard droning under ground, or in the sweet birch wood. From their being heard to this day it is supposed that those who enter the service of the fairies become immortal; but no one has ventured to watch the gambols of the “gude fouk,” so as to ascertain whether it is Alaister himself who still leads their march, or whether another has succeeded him; indeed, the glen is more shunned than ever, and the cave goes by the name of the Piper’s Cave in all that district, while the expression “Piper’s news” is known over the whole world.

There was once a piper, called Alaister Mackinnon, and he lived in the town of Inverknickle; he played better than any other piper in all the country side, and was deservedly esteemed by the gude wives, as he always brought the earliest news of the events in the distant villages; for though Alaister called Inverknickle his home, he rarely stayed there long at a time, but wandered about, hearing and telling news, and playing at all the merry-makings that were held within twenty miles. At these he was always to be seen dressed in full Highland garb, with gay streamers floating from his pipes, and his bonnet set jauntily on the side of his head, surrounded by young and old, who listened with equal delight to his tunes and his stories. Alaister’s dancing was a thing of which he was very proud, as none of the lads could compete with him in it; he was, therefore, not so great a favourite with them as amongst the women, but none dared say a word against him, as it invariably reached his ears, and the next time he came to the village he was sure to have some story about them which turned the laugh against themselves. One day there was a wedding at a village some miles from Inverknickle, and of course Alaister was there, marching at the head of the party as it returned from the manse, dressed in his newest kilt and hose, and playing the most appropriate tunes, while the young men shouted and fired guns and pistols at irregular intervals to do honour to the occasion; and every time they fired, the women screamed, and the men laughed, and in short they were a very merry party. Then came the feast, which was more remarkable for quantity than quality, and was held in the house of the newly married pair; it was succeeded by dancing, the bride and bridegroom joining most energetically, but never being allowed to dance together.

Reels were the usual dances; but when the lasses were tired, and sat down and fanned themselves with their handkerchiefs, the lads began to dance the sword-dance. The lasses soon asked Alaister to dance; and after a great deal of pressing, for he always feigned modesty on such occasions, he danced, the men looking on anxious to catch him making a false step, the women in silent admiration of his neat foot, silver buckles, and new hose, which, from the beautiful shape of his leg, did not require to be gartered.

None of the women saw that he twice touched the sword; but it was not lost on the men, who looked at each other with pleased smiles, though no one ventured to say anything, and Alaister’s performance was finished amidst loud applause.

Supper followed, which was much the same as the dinner, only there was more toddy, and therefore more noise; and Duncan Cameron, emboldened by the whisky, ventured to say that Alaister had not danced “clean” that night; to which Alaister answered, with a look of pity, that “Duncan, puir fellow, had never seen right since the night he had sic a fley wi’ the fairies on the moor, when they shot him into a peat-moss, and the Will-of-the-Wisps ran so near him that they singed his nose, and it had been red ever since.” This had the effect of silencing Duncan, who had fallen in as described when coming home tipsy from a wake, and had told many wonderful stories of his ill-treatment by the “gude fouk,” as he called the fairies.

The conversation now turned on fairies, and all professed the deepest admiration and respect for them. Alaister, however, rather laughed at the idea of their doing anybody good or ill, and even hinted that he doubted their existence. Then began a warm discussion; and by degrees Alaister grew bolder, and expressed in plain terms his entire disbelief in these gentle spirits, challenging them to meet him that night on his way home, and let him play on the bagpipes heard by so many of his companions in the gloamin’ among the heather on the hill-side; at the same time drinking glass after glass to his success in the exploit.

Soon after this the party broke up, and Alaister started for Inverknickle, playing what he intended for “Wooed and married and a’,” but it was a bad version of it, and sounded dismal and unearthly as it died away in the distance.

He crossed the moor in the bright moonlight, and at last reached the birch wood, where the white stems shone like ghosts in their winding-sheets, and the branches swung noiselessly in the night breeze, and gave out their fresh sweet smell. Let it not be supposed that Alaister actually observed all this, but it had an influence on his mind, and made him feel eerie, it was so different from the noisy scene he had left.

Just then he heard “Wooed and married and a’” played as well as he could play it (this he only confessed silently to himself, he would on no account have let any one else say so), but on a bagpipe of the softest and moat silvery tone, and soon a band of bright little creatures came from among the green grass and bracken, and stopped directly in his path. All wore the full Highland dress, but the checks in the tartan looked as if made of precious stones, for they sparkled and glittered in the moonlight, till Alaister was almost dazzled by their brilliancy; the red cherry tufts on their bonnets shone with a clear calm light, like glowworms, but as he had never seen one of these, he mentally said “like anything.” The party was headed by a piper, playing on pipes, the bag of which was a bluebell, the chaunter a hedgehog’s bristle, and the ribbons made of dragonflies’ wings. He was followed by the king and queen, who wore beautiful crowns, from which shot rays of variegated light; then came the train of followers, and round the whole ran three Will-of-the-Wisps. These were taller than the rest; from their hands, feet, and eyes came bright flashes like lightning, but their bodies were quite black and very slight.

When they halted in front of Alaister, the piper stopped playing, and even the Will-of-the-Wisps did not run quite so fast; the king and queen stepped forward, and asked who it was who dared to disturb their midnight march through their own domain, but such a hubbub arose amongst their followers that, without waiting for his answer, they turned to inquire into the cause.

This was very soon explained: it was an outburst of rage against the piper Alaister, with eager offers to bring forward proof of misconduct against him. These were immediately accepted, and an old fairy-elf was commanded to speak first.

There was now a dead silence, except when the night wind rustled amongst the birch branches, and bent the waving bracken, or some night bird uttered a wild cry. The old elf stepped forward, and then, by suddenly twisting his legs and arms together, and sinking his head between them, he changed into the cup, with the picture of the real king in the bottom, which stood on the chimney-piece of the room where the wedding feast had been held, and from this cup came a voice which repeated all the scornful words of Alaister against the fairies. When he ceased he resumed his former shape and retired; others were then called forward in his place, and took the form of cups, bowls, toddy ladles, and glosses, each repeating the same tale; but last of all appeared a lovely girl, who changed into the little square looking-glass in a red frame, in which Alaister had from time to time arranged his hair during that evening; and there was his face reflected in it, and it was his own voice which he now heard, and he saw his lips moving so distinctly, that he put up his hand to feel if he were really speaking, but his lips were still, and the loud ringing laugh of the glittering band made him feel so angry, that he tried to move away, but he then found that he was spell-bound, and must remain to be laughed at or ill-treated by his little enemies. Now Alaister was a very sensible man, so when he found that he must stay, he tried to look as if he liked to stay, and when he heard the king command that he should have his wish, and might play on their bagpipes that night, he smiled blandly, and took the little instrument, which looked like a large spider as it lay in the palm of his hand. In an instant it changed, and became as large as his own, which was carried off by one of the Will-of-the-Wisps, to whom he tried to say something civil, but before he could make up his mind what it was to be, the sprite was glancing amongst the trees far away.

Thinking it might be the wisest plan to conciliate the gude fouk, he played his best tunes, and never had they sounded so well, for the tones of the fairy pipe were far softer and sweeter than his own, and the fairies danced so lightly and nimbly, that he forgot it was against his will he had been ordered to play, and was sorry when the king waved his crystal sceptre, and, pointing to the moon, now fast sinking towards the distant hills, commanded his followers to return home. And now, of course, Alaister thought that he was to return home also, but no, he was commanded to follow, and in spite of himself he was obliged to run through the thick wood, down steep banks, and over rocks to the river-side, where a fleet of egg-shells came towards them at the fairies’ call, and each jumping into one, they shoved off, laughing to see how Alaister plunged into the cold water, and how the Will-of-the-Wisps jostled against him in the deepest parts of the stream.

Wet and weary, he at length reached the cave, which seemed to be the home of the party, and where he found many already busily employed in making preparations for a meal.

The cave was hung with the trailing moss, called tod’s-tail, while pieces of rock crystal, cairngorm, and amethyst reflected the light given out by the Will-of-the-Wisps, who suspended themselves like chandeliers from the stalactites which hung from the roof. The floor was thickly strewn with stag-horn moss, which formed a soft and elastic carpet. In the middle of the cave was a large mushroom, round which the fairies were now busy spreading the cloth, woven of the finest gossamer, and arranging the acorn-cups and dishes of delicate meats, which had been prepared during their absence by those who remained at home.

When all was ready, numbers of green beetles ran forward to the table and ranged themselves round it; on these the fairies sat as they feasted.

Never was there a merrier party; they laughed and talked, and pledged each other in bumpers of mountain dew, and sang sweetly while bunches of white hare-bells, which hung from the roof, chimed in as accompaniment.

All this time Alaister had stood looking on, wondering what was to happen to him, and not feeling quite at his ease, for he knew it was a mark of displeasure when the gude fouk ate without offering anything to the mortal who was present, and besides, the younger fairies every now and then made faces at him. At length the feast was ended, and the king called together the oldest of his followers, and retired to some distance from the rest, where, for a time, they held eager consultation. The king then advanced to Alaister and told him that as he had played so well for them that night, they had determined not to change him into a Will-of-the-Wisp, as was the fate of all who spoke ill of them, and who afterwards fell into their power, but they would send him out into the world again, under a ban which would follow him to the end of his life, but which they would leave him to discover. While his sentence was being pronounced, the Will-of-the-Wisps were much agitated, darting about the roof, and giving out streams of pale cold light; the white hare-bells rang mournfully, shaken by a creeping blast which circled round and round; cold drops fell from the roof and trickled feebly down the sides of the cave, while the voices of the elves’ and fairies sounded harsh and shrill.

A Will-of-the-Wisp was then commanded to be his guide to the birch wood, and Alaister was again led through the river, up the rocks, and through the woods he had passed on his way to the cave.

Arrived at the wood, his guide vanished, and he found himself alone on a bright sunny morning, the dew-drops glistening on the grass, amongst which he joyfully discovered his pipes; but at the same time he saw that his clothes hung about him in tatters, and oh! how wet and tired he was with his night’s work! He could not, however, show himself at Inverknickle in so disordered a state, so was obliged to remain in the wood till the evening, when he thought it safer to go home, in case his tormentors should again carry him off. When he reached his cottage, he told his wife that he had lost his way in the dark, and had torn his clothes on the brambles and bushes, amongst which he had got entangled; but not a word did he say about the fairies, lest he should offend them, and be carried off, and turned into a black Will-of-the-Wisp, and have to dance about every night in the cold moonlight, which was not at all Alaister’s idea of real comfort.

Now Mrs Mackinnon had what is called “an ill tongue,” and she did not spare poor Alaister as she turned over his torn garments; but he was well accustomed to her attacks, and had learnt that silence was his only safety, so he took one child on his knee as he sat by the fire, and rocked the cradle with his foot, in hopes of softening his wife’s temper. As the evening advanced, she became pretty tired of having all the talk to herself, so sat down opposite him, and with a cross face, and in a sharp voice, asked what made him sit there without speaking,—could not he tell her any news after being sae long away from his gude wife and the weans?

When this question was put, Alaister was always sure the scold was over, however cross the voice was in which it was asked; so he began at once to tell all the events of a harvest home at which he said he had been the night before, but he was at once stopped by an angry “Hout!” from his wife, and then followed a storm of abuse for telling her about things which had happened three years before; then, pointing to the fields of green oats that were to be seen all around, she asked him what sort of harvest home there could be at that time of year. Alaister was sorely puzzled, for certainly the corn was still green; but yet he felt sure it was only yesterday he had been at the harvest feast, and if not at that—where had he been? He could remember nothing of the wedding, and stared at his wife, who at last began to be alarmed at his perfectly stupid look, and said, “Is the man fey?” As soon as she said this, his night’s adventure returned to his mind, and looking on the ground, he saw it alive with fairies, laughing and mocking him. Had it been earlier in the day, he would have run out of the house, but it was nearly dark, and the uncomfortable Will-of-the-Wisp came into his mind, so he sank down again in his chair, and shut his eyes, fully determined not to speak; but he could not keep this resolution. Again and again he was impelled to begin stories, and as often was he told that these things had happened years before. He then tried to play, but could remember none but the very oldest tunes, such as had been out of date for many years, and when, wearied in mind and body, he fell asleep, he dreamed of fairies and discomforts all night long.

Next day he set out again on his wanderings, hoping that it was only in his own house that the fairies would haunt him; but no—go where he would they were by him, nor could he tell any story which was not at least three years old. His former admirers, the women, now asked him, jeeringly, for “three-year-old news;” when he was seen coming towards a farm, he was treated almost as a beggar, and was sent to the back door, where he got a piece of oat-cake and a drink of milk, but was never asked into the house. Occasionally the servants asked him why he did not carry a wallet like other “puir bodies;” but Alaister, though often really in want, never would condescend to a wallet. By degrees he became more and more impoverished; he was thin, and had a look of great unhappiness. His hose hung over the heels of his worn shoes, from which the silver buckles had long since disappeared; his second-best kilt was very much the worse for wear, nor had he money to buy a new one; and as to the one he had worn on the night from which his woes dated, it had even beat the thrifty Mrs Mackinnon to get it into tolerable repair again.

In all the country side it had become the common expression, when any old story was told, “Hout! that’s Piper’s news;” and at last Alaister, feeling that he was despised where he had been respected, and laughed at by those at whom he had laughed, without even having a comfortable house in which to hide himself, for Mrs Mackinnon’s tongue was more abusive than ever, determined to retire from the world.

Being in low spirits, of course he chose the most dismal spot he could find; it was a bleak glen, down which the north wind howled in winter, and in summer the sun hardly reached its depths; for the bare rocks were high and near each other, so that it was always cold and damp. But this suited Alaister’s frame of mind. One chill day in autumn he crept into a sort of hollow in the rock; there was a constant trickle, trickle, trickle, down the sides of this hole, and the water soaked through blackened patches of liver-wort and moss; the floor was damp and slippery, and on it Alaister sat down to think how very uncomfortable he was, and to abuse the fairies as the cause of all his misfortunes.

It grew colder and colder, and darker and darker, and Alaister began half to repent of his determination to die in a cave, when a flash of light shone into the hollow, and in an instant his old acquaintances, the three Will-of-the-Wisps, were dancing round him in a more frenzied way than ever; now they were up in the roof, now out in the open air, now far back in the darkness where he thought there was only rock. But the cave seemed to become larger every moment, and the water dried up as the Will-of-the-Wisps darted along the sides, and then Alaister saw the well-remembered tod’s-tail moss hang where liver-wort had been before, and stag’s-horn moss again covered the dark floor. The air felt dry and warm, and a comfortable sleepy peace crept over the heart of the distressed piper; he began to think that, on the whole, it was more enjoyable to be in the fairies’ cave than in a hay-loft on a gusty autumn night; and when the glittering band sparkled into their hall he smiled, and offered to play to them again, and soon they were all dancing merrily on the moss, for it was now too cold, even for fairies, to spend the whole night in the woods.

Then came the feast, and this time Alaister was given on acorn cup full of brightest mountain dew; and though he thought it a small allowance for a full-grown man, still he knew that the little creatures had no larger cups; and not to disappoint them or fail in his manners, he nodded to the king, and with a “Here’s your very gude health, sir,” emptied his cup. Immediately he sunk back on the floor and slept, for the dew that had been given him has, it is said, wonderful powers, making mortals forget their homes and former lives, and desire only to be with the fairies.

How long he slept no one can tell; he never more was seen: but on calm summer nights his pipes can be heard droning under ground, or in the sweet birch wood. From their being heard to this day it is supposed that those who enter the service of the fairies become immortal; but no one has ventured to watch the gambols of the “gude fouk,” so as to ascertain whether it is Alaister himself who still leads their march, or whether another has succeeded him; indeed, the glen is more shunned than ever, and the cave goes by the name of the Piper’s Cave in all that district, while the expression “Piper’s news” is known over the whole world.

Story 9--Chapter I.STORY NINE—The Genius of the Atmosphere.High up on the side of a lofty mountain, overlooking the wide ocean, several boys were seated together on the moss and lichens which clothed the ground, and were the only vegetable productions of that elevated region. The bright sea sparkled in sunshine, far, far down below their feet, though hidden at times from their sight by the dark clouds which came rolling on, sometimes enveloping them in mist, and at others breaking asunder and floating away far inland towards other ranges of distant hills. High above their heads rose a succession of rugged peaks, black, barren, and fantastic in form, which the foot of man had never trod. The boys on a party of pleasure had climbed up from a town by the sea-side, and had brought with them, in knapsacks and baskets, a supply of provisions, which they now sat down to discuss. The keen pure air, and the exercise they had undergone, sharpened their appetites and raised their spirits, and they sat laughing and talking, and apparently enjoying themselves to the utmost. Far below their feet sea-fowl were skimming rapidly through the air, wheeling and circling, now descending to the bright water below, and then rising again up into the clear expanse of ether, rejoicing in their freedom. On a crag below them, near where she had built her nest, stood an osprey. With wings expanding she prepared to take her flight; then off with a cry of joy she flew, darting through the atmosphere, away, away, over the ocean, looking down upon the tall ships which sailed along slow and sluggishly compared to her rapid progress. The boys eagerly watched her till she was lost to sight in the distance.“Oh, how I wish that I could fly, that I might skim over the world like that sea eagle!” cried one, clapping his hands; “what glorious fun would it not be? I should never consent to walk again. All other amusements would be tame and tasteless in comparison. Truly yes, it mast be a fine thing to be able to fly like a bird. To fly!—to fly! Away!—away!” The speaker as he uttered these words rose and stretched out his arms over the ocean, as if in imagination at all events he was about to spring off from his lofty perch, and to follow the course of the osprey.His enthusiasm inspired his companions. One after the other exclaimed—“Yes, indeed, it would be grand to be able to fly. Glorious to mount up into the sky, without having tediously to climb up a hill as we have done to-day; or to plunge down beneath the waves, like those wild fowl; or to skim, as they can, over the crests of the raging seas when storms blow furiously, or to float in sunshine on the calm bosom of the ocean.”“Ay, of all things I would rather be a bird,” cried another. “An eagle, a hawk, an albatross; any bird which can fly far and swiftly. That is what I should like,—to fly, to fly, to fly!” Thus one after the other they all expressed themselves.Suddenly, as they were speaking, a loud crashing noise was heard, and as, alarmed, they turned their heads, the rocks behind them opened, disclosing a vast and glittering cavern, out of which was seen slowly to advance, a lady, whose garments shone with a dazzling radiance. Her form was commanding, her face beautiful and benignant. The astonished and bewildered boys scarcely dared to gaze at her; but trembling and holding on to each other, they kept their eyes cost on the ground. She spoke, and her voice reassured them.“You were all of you just now expressing a wish that you could fly,” she said, in a sweet silvery tone. “Why do you thus with to possess a power for which your All-wise Creator has not designed you? Even could you by any means secure wings to your body, of size sufficient to lift you from the ground, your muscular powers are totally inadequate to work them; your senses are not adapted to the existence of a fast-flying bird; your brain would grow dizzy, your eyes dim, you would be unable to draw breath in the upper regions, through which your ambition would induce you to wing your flight; you would speedily destroy all your other senses. Be content with your lot. Still, if you have a good object for your wishes, perhaps under certain limitations they may be granted. Let me hear why you wish to enjoy the power of flying?”The boys looked at each other, and then up at the face of the lady, and finding nothing in its calm expression to alarm them, one after the other replied, the eldest speaking first:—“Because I should like to see what people are doing in the world,” said he; “what nations are fighting with each other, and how the hostile armies are drawn up. I have read of fine processions, where priests walk with their sacred images, when kings come to be crowned, and when their subjects assemble to do them homage.”“You need not say more,” observed the lady, and pointed to another boy.“I should like to follow all those ships I see sailing out there,” he answered; “I should like to visit the strange lands to which they are going, and to examine the curious things they bring back.”“You can accomplish thus much without flying,” answered the lady; and passed on to another boy.“I should like to fly, because it would be so curious to hover about over cities, to look into houses, and to watch what the inmates are doing,” said the boy.The lady shook her head. “Such an employment is utterly unworthy of an intelligent being,” she answered; “you would make but an ill use of the power if you possessed it. What have you to urge as a reason for obtaining the power you wish for?” she inquired of a fourth boy.“Oh! it would be so delightful to feel oneself floating up and down in the air; now rising high, high up like a lark, now skimming along over the smooth sea,” he answered, giving expression to his words by the movement of his body.“You evidently place the gratification of the senses above the employment of the higher powers of your nature. Such is but a bad claim for the possession of a new one.”In this manner the lady questioned several other boys, but she did not appear satisfied with any of their replies. At last she asked a slight and thoughtful boy, who had been sitting a little apart from the rest, why he had wished to possess the power of flying?“That I may better comprehend the glories of nature, and understand what now appear the mysteries of the universe,” he answered quietly, yet promptly; “whence the rains, and mists, and winds come, and whither they go. I would fly far away on the wings of the wind. I would visit distant lands, to observe their conformation, to discover new territories fit for the habitation of man. I would bear messages of comfort and consolation from those in one place to relatives far away. Oh! if I could fly, I am certain that I should never weary of the work I had to do.”“Well and wisely answered,” replied the lady. “I am the Genius of the Atmosphere. The power you ask I cannot give you: but follow me; I may be able to afford you some of the gratification you so laudably desire.”The boy, without hesitation, followed the lady towards the rock from which she had emerged. It closed round him, and he found himself in a cavern of vast size, and glittering with gems of every hue, and of the richest water. The Genius cast on him a smiling look, when she saw that his attention was but little engrossed by these appearances.“I cannot enable you to fly,” she remarked, “but I can render you invisible, and bear you with me whither I go, even to the uttermost parts of the earth. Come, note well what you see. You may never again have the some opportunity of observing the wonders of nature.”As the Genius spoke, the boy found himself borne buoyantly from off the earth. He passed close by his companions, who were thoughtlessly laughing and talking as before, and on he rapidly floated, they neither observing him nor the Genius of the Atmosphere.“Child of Earth, follow me,” said the Genius; and the boy floated gently on, till he found himself in a region of perfect calms. Below him, as he looked towards the earth, he saw mountains of snow, and fields of ice glittering gloriously in the slanting rays of the sun.“We are at the north-pole of the earth,” said the Genius; “you desire to know the course of the winds, and how they are created—observe and learn.” As she spoke, she shook from her robes a shower of silvery particles, which floated buoyantly in the air. “See, at this point the silvery cloud does not partake of the diurnal motion of the globe, but a slight current of air, scarcely perceptible, is sending it forward. We will follow it towards the southern pole. You can scarcely see the earth, we are so high up. Lower down are currents rushing towards the pole, which would impede the progress of this silvery cloud.”On, on, on, rapidly the Genius flew. A golden cloud appeared. The two clouds met, but so softly, that there was no commotion. Attracted by the globe, probably, they both descended, slowly followed by the Genius and the boy, till once more the earth appeared in sight, clothed with the palm-tree, the orange, the pomegranate, the vine, and numberless tropical fruits and flowers.“We have reached a calm region, the tropic of Cancer,” said the Genius. “Now watch the earth. It is turning from west to east, while we move on in the direct line in which we started, so that we appear to be crossing the globe diagonally, and to the inhabitants of the earth that silvery cloud appears to be coming from the north-east, and going to the south-west. That silvery cloud is merely a portion, made visible to your eye, of a great mass of air, which is continually blowing, and which the inhabitants of the earth, from the facilities it affords their commerce, call the north-east trade-wind. Now see a golden cloud approaching us; that is a mass of air coming from the southern pole. We are arriving near the Equator. See, the two clouds meet. They have an equal impetus; neither can give way, but, gently and noiselessly pressed together, they rise to a higher stratum of the atmosphere.”On floated the boy and his guide, far up above the globe, still on, in rather a less direct line than before, till again a golden cloud was met, and gently that, and the cloud they followed, descended till the earth was seen once more.“We have reached the tropic of Capricorn, where these two opposing currents form a calm, almost continuous, except when certain interposing causes break it, and which I may hereafter explain to you.” Passing out of the calm region, away they floated towards the southern pole.“Remark,” observed the Genius. “The silvery cloud, having been pressed down by that other current from above, has a south-eastern direction given to it, and therefore appears to the people on earth to be coming, not from the north, but from the north-west.”A wide extent of ocean was seen beneath their feet. On they floated. Then fields of ice and icebergs, and wide extended lands covered with snow, and vast mountains of ice. Once more they moved on, slowly as before.“We are at the antarctic pole,” said the Genius. “See, our cloud of silver meets another of gold, pressing gently.” Up, up, they mount. “Once more we will move towards the tropic of Capricorn, high up above the globe. Now we descend in that calm region; and now close to the earth we are moving on. But see, coming from the southern pole, the globe moves as before, from west to east; and thus this mass of air, of which our silvery cloud, remember, is but a portion, seems to those on the earth to be coming from the south-east. As this wind is always blowing, and as ships by getting within its influence are borne easily forward, and it thus facilitates commerce, it is called the south-east trade-wind.”On they went, till again the calms of the equator were reached, or rather, till the air, exhausted by its long course, met another gentle current, and the two pressing together rose upwards, the silvery cloud going on towards the tropic of Cancer, till forced by another current, known by its golden hue, to descend, it went on close to the earth towards the northern pole, where a calm, caused by another gentle current meeting it, was created. Gently pressed up, however, the silvery cloud finally reached the higher region, whence the Genius and the boy had started with it on its long journey.“Had we started with the golden cloud, or rather with the mass of air which that cloud represents, from the southern pole, we should have seen precisely the same effects produced,” said the Genius. “You now understand what mortals call the theory of the trade-winds. You read in the sacred word of God, which in his mercy and goodness he gave to men to guide them in their passage through life, that, ‘The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits’ (Eccles. i. 6). Now, boy, you have seen how true and beautiful is that account written by the wise king of Israel.” The boy listened attentively. “We will fly back to the equatorial calms,” said the Genius; “see what effect the direct rays of the sun have on the earth, or that portion of its surface. They affect the air likewise; heat expands it, and then makes it rise; and it also changes its specific gravity. Cold contracts it, and also changes its specific gravity. These two causes are unceasingly at work to produce the currents of air whose courses we have been observing. The heat of the sun at the equator expands the air, and thus it rises and flows north and south; having arrived once more at the tropics, owing to the counter current it meets, it descends, as we saw, and flowing along near the earth, receives from it a rotatory motion, which increases as it approaches the pole, where, contracted by the cold, it masses into a dense body, and ultimately is whirled upwards, forming an ascending column, when it once more commences its never-ceasing journey.”As they flew towards the mountain whence they set out, the boy expressed his thanks to the Genius; if he did not comprehend all that she had shown him and told him, he knew more about the matter than he had before done. She saw by the expression of his countenance the gratification he had enjoyed. “’Tis well,” she continued; “as a drop of water is to the ocean which lies beneath us, so is the knowledge you may obtain in a lifetime to the wonders nature has to reveal. You desire to know more; gladly will I show you more. Whenever you climb up to this rocky height I will meet you, as I have done to-day, and each time unfold new wonders to your view. Ah, you think that I might descend to you, without making you toil up the mountain; but know that knowledge will not come to you; you must exert yourself, you must labour to attain it. You say that you will willingly climb the height. That is well. That is the spirit which ensures success. Return to your companions. They will not have missed you.”Suddenly the boy found himself as he had been before, sitting a little apart from his friends. He was silent and thoughtful as he descended the mountain, resolving to return as soon as possible, to learn from the Genius more of the wondrous mysteries of nature.

High up on the side of a lofty mountain, overlooking the wide ocean, several boys were seated together on the moss and lichens which clothed the ground, and were the only vegetable productions of that elevated region. The bright sea sparkled in sunshine, far, far down below their feet, though hidden at times from their sight by the dark clouds which came rolling on, sometimes enveloping them in mist, and at others breaking asunder and floating away far inland towards other ranges of distant hills. High above their heads rose a succession of rugged peaks, black, barren, and fantastic in form, which the foot of man had never trod. The boys on a party of pleasure had climbed up from a town by the sea-side, and had brought with them, in knapsacks and baskets, a supply of provisions, which they now sat down to discuss. The keen pure air, and the exercise they had undergone, sharpened their appetites and raised their spirits, and they sat laughing and talking, and apparently enjoying themselves to the utmost. Far below their feet sea-fowl were skimming rapidly through the air, wheeling and circling, now descending to the bright water below, and then rising again up into the clear expanse of ether, rejoicing in their freedom. On a crag below them, near where she had built her nest, stood an osprey. With wings expanding she prepared to take her flight; then off with a cry of joy she flew, darting through the atmosphere, away, away, over the ocean, looking down upon the tall ships which sailed along slow and sluggishly compared to her rapid progress. The boys eagerly watched her till she was lost to sight in the distance.

“Oh, how I wish that I could fly, that I might skim over the world like that sea eagle!” cried one, clapping his hands; “what glorious fun would it not be? I should never consent to walk again. All other amusements would be tame and tasteless in comparison. Truly yes, it mast be a fine thing to be able to fly like a bird. To fly!—to fly! Away!—away!” The speaker as he uttered these words rose and stretched out his arms over the ocean, as if in imagination at all events he was about to spring off from his lofty perch, and to follow the course of the osprey.

His enthusiasm inspired his companions. One after the other exclaimed—

“Yes, indeed, it would be grand to be able to fly. Glorious to mount up into the sky, without having tediously to climb up a hill as we have done to-day; or to plunge down beneath the waves, like those wild fowl; or to skim, as they can, over the crests of the raging seas when storms blow furiously, or to float in sunshine on the calm bosom of the ocean.”

“Ay, of all things I would rather be a bird,” cried another. “An eagle, a hawk, an albatross; any bird which can fly far and swiftly. That is what I should like,—to fly, to fly, to fly!” Thus one after the other they all expressed themselves.

Suddenly, as they were speaking, a loud crashing noise was heard, and as, alarmed, they turned their heads, the rocks behind them opened, disclosing a vast and glittering cavern, out of which was seen slowly to advance, a lady, whose garments shone with a dazzling radiance. Her form was commanding, her face beautiful and benignant. The astonished and bewildered boys scarcely dared to gaze at her; but trembling and holding on to each other, they kept their eyes cost on the ground. She spoke, and her voice reassured them.

“You were all of you just now expressing a wish that you could fly,” she said, in a sweet silvery tone. “Why do you thus with to possess a power for which your All-wise Creator has not designed you? Even could you by any means secure wings to your body, of size sufficient to lift you from the ground, your muscular powers are totally inadequate to work them; your senses are not adapted to the existence of a fast-flying bird; your brain would grow dizzy, your eyes dim, you would be unable to draw breath in the upper regions, through which your ambition would induce you to wing your flight; you would speedily destroy all your other senses. Be content with your lot. Still, if you have a good object for your wishes, perhaps under certain limitations they may be granted. Let me hear why you wish to enjoy the power of flying?”

The boys looked at each other, and then up at the face of the lady, and finding nothing in its calm expression to alarm them, one after the other replied, the eldest speaking first:—

“Because I should like to see what people are doing in the world,” said he; “what nations are fighting with each other, and how the hostile armies are drawn up. I have read of fine processions, where priests walk with their sacred images, when kings come to be crowned, and when their subjects assemble to do them homage.”

“You need not say more,” observed the lady, and pointed to another boy.

“I should like to follow all those ships I see sailing out there,” he answered; “I should like to visit the strange lands to which they are going, and to examine the curious things they bring back.”

“You can accomplish thus much without flying,” answered the lady; and passed on to another boy.

“I should like to fly, because it would be so curious to hover about over cities, to look into houses, and to watch what the inmates are doing,” said the boy.

The lady shook her head. “Such an employment is utterly unworthy of an intelligent being,” she answered; “you would make but an ill use of the power if you possessed it. What have you to urge as a reason for obtaining the power you wish for?” she inquired of a fourth boy.

“Oh! it would be so delightful to feel oneself floating up and down in the air; now rising high, high up like a lark, now skimming along over the smooth sea,” he answered, giving expression to his words by the movement of his body.

“You evidently place the gratification of the senses above the employment of the higher powers of your nature. Such is but a bad claim for the possession of a new one.”

In this manner the lady questioned several other boys, but she did not appear satisfied with any of their replies. At last she asked a slight and thoughtful boy, who had been sitting a little apart from the rest, why he had wished to possess the power of flying?

“That I may better comprehend the glories of nature, and understand what now appear the mysteries of the universe,” he answered quietly, yet promptly; “whence the rains, and mists, and winds come, and whither they go. I would fly far away on the wings of the wind. I would visit distant lands, to observe their conformation, to discover new territories fit for the habitation of man. I would bear messages of comfort and consolation from those in one place to relatives far away. Oh! if I could fly, I am certain that I should never weary of the work I had to do.”

“Well and wisely answered,” replied the lady. “I am the Genius of the Atmosphere. The power you ask I cannot give you: but follow me; I may be able to afford you some of the gratification you so laudably desire.”

The boy, without hesitation, followed the lady towards the rock from which she had emerged. It closed round him, and he found himself in a cavern of vast size, and glittering with gems of every hue, and of the richest water. The Genius cast on him a smiling look, when she saw that his attention was but little engrossed by these appearances.

“I cannot enable you to fly,” she remarked, “but I can render you invisible, and bear you with me whither I go, even to the uttermost parts of the earth. Come, note well what you see. You may never again have the some opportunity of observing the wonders of nature.”

As the Genius spoke, the boy found himself borne buoyantly from off the earth. He passed close by his companions, who were thoughtlessly laughing and talking as before, and on he rapidly floated, they neither observing him nor the Genius of the Atmosphere.

“Child of Earth, follow me,” said the Genius; and the boy floated gently on, till he found himself in a region of perfect calms. Below him, as he looked towards the earth, he saw mountains of snow, and fields of ice glittering gloriously in the slanting rays of the sun.

“We are at the north-pole of the earth,” said the Genius; “you desire to know the course of the winds, and how they are created—observe and learn.” As she spoke, she shook from her robes a shower of silvery particles, which floated buoyantly in the air. “See, at this point the silvery cloud does not partake of the diurnal motion of the globe, but a slight current of air, scarcely perceptible, is sending it forward. We will follow it towards the southern pole. You can scarcely see the earth, we are so high up. Lower down are currents rushing towards the pole, which would impede the progress of this silvery cloud.”

On, on, on, rapidly the Genius flew. A golden cloud appeared. The two clouds met, but so softly, that there was no commotion. Attracted by the globe, probably, they both descended, slowly followed by the Genius and the boy, till once more the earth appeared in sight, clothed with the palm-tree, the orange, the pomegranate, the vine, and numberless tropical fruits and flowers.

“We have reached a calm region, the tropic of Cancer,” said the Genius. “Now watch the earth. It is turning from west to east, while we move on in the direct line in which we started, so that we appear to be crossing the globe diagonally, and to the inhabitants of the earth that silvery cloud appears to be coming from the north-east, and going to the south-west. That silvery cloud is merely a portion, made visible to your eye, of a great mass of air, which is continually blowing, and which the inhabitants of the earth, from the facilities it affords their commerce, call the north-east trade-wind. Now see a golden cloud approaching us; that is a mass of air coming from the southern pole. We are arriving near the Equator. See, the two clouds meet. They have an equal impetus; neither can give way, but, gently and noiselessly pressed together, they rise to a higher stratum of the atmosphere.”

On floated the boy and his guide, far up above the globe, still on, in rather a less direct line than before, till again a golden cloud was met, and gently that, and the cloud they followed, descended till the earth was seen once more.

“We have reached the tropic of Capricorn, where these two opposing currents form a calm, almost continuous, except when certain interposing causes break it, and which I may hereafter explain to you.” Passing out of the calm region, away they floated towards the southern pole.

“Remark,” observed the Genius. “The silvery cloud, having been pressed down by that other current from above, has a south-eastern direction given to it, and therefore appears to the people on earth to be coming, not from the north, but from the north-west.”

A wide extent of ocean was seen beneath their feet. On they floated. Then fields of ice and icebergs, and wide extended lands covered with snow, and vast mountains of ice. Once more they moved on, slowly as before.

“We are at the antarctic pole,” said the Genius. “See, our cloud of silver meets another of gold, pressing gently.” Up, up, they mount. “Once more we will move towards the tropic of Capricorn, high up above the globe. Now we descend in that calm region; and now close to the earth we are moving on. But see, coming from the southern pole, the globe moves as before, from west to east; and thus this mass of air, of which our silvery cloud, remember, is but a portion, seems to those on the earth to be coming from the south-east. As this wind is always blowing, and as ships by getting within its influence are borne easily forward, and it thus facilitates commerce, it is called the south-east trade-wind.”

On they went, till again the calms of the equator were reached, or rather, till the air, exhausted by its long course, met another gentle current, and the two pressing together rose upwards, the silvery cloud going on towards the tropic of Cancer, till forced by another current, known by its golden hue, to descend, it went on close to the earth towards the northern pole, where a calm, caused by another gentle current meeting it, was created. Gently pressed up, however, the silvery cloud finally reached the higher region, whence the Genius and the boy had started with it on its long journey.

“Had we started with the golden cloud, or rather with the mass of air which that cloud represents, from the southern pole, we should have seen precisely the same effects produced,” said the Genius. “You now understand what mortals call the theory of the trade-winds. You read in the sacred word of God, which in his mercy and goodness he gave to men to guide them in their passage through life, that, ‘The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits’ (Eccles. i. 6). Now, boy, you have seen how true and beautiful is that account written by the wise king of Israel.” The boy listened attentively. “We will fly back to the equatorial calms,” said the Genius; “see what effect the direct rays of the sun have on the earth, or that portion of its surface. They affect the air likewise; heat expands it, and then makes it rise; and it also changes its specific gravity. Cold contracts it, and also changes its specific gravity. These two causes are unceasingly at work to produce the currents of air whose courses we have been observing. The heat of the sun at the equator expands the air, and thus it rises and flows north and south; having arrived once more at the tropics, owing to the counter current it meets, it descends, as we saw, and flowing along near the earth, receives from it a rotatory motion, which increases as it approaches the pole, where, contracted by the cold, it masses into a dense body, and ultimately is whirled upwards, forming an ascending column, when it once more commences its never-ceasing journey.”

As they flew towards the mountain whence they set out, the boy expressed his thanks to the Genius; if he did not comprehend all that she had shown him and told him, he knew more about the matter than he had before done. She saw by the expression of his countenance the gratification he had enjoyed. “’Tis well,” she continued; “as a drop of water is to the ocean which lies beneath us, so is the knowledge you may obtain in a lifetime to the wonders nature has to reveal. You desire to know more; gladly will I show you more. Whenever you climb up to this rocky height I will meet you, as I have done to-day, and each time unfold new wonders to your view. Ah, you think that I might descend to you, without making you toil up the mountain; but know that knowledge will not come to you; you must exert yourself, you must labour to attain it. You say that you will willingly climb the height. That is well. That is the spirit which ensures success. Return to your companions. They will not have missed you.”

Suddenly the boy found himself as he had been before, sitting a little apart from his friends. He was silent and thoughtful as he descended the mountain, resolving to return as soon as possible, to learn from the Genius more of the wondrous mysteries of nature.

Story 10--Chapter I.STORY TEN—A Terrible Blanket.Well, we were on the continent when I met with my terrible blanket. We were going up one of the passes on foot, and somehow I, as I usually do, lagged behind. I, of course, had an Alpine stock in my hand, and I went swinging it away, until at last it struck against a lump of rock overhanging a precipice, so deep that, sailor as I am, I trembled as I looked down. Well, the stick bounded from the granite against my shin, and so I made a vow that the lump of granite should take a run, or my name was not Theophilus.But it was a tough job, for the stone was very big, and well set in the rock; but after a deal of straining and pushing, down it went with dull thuds, as it fell from rock to rock, and at last it splashed into the water, which seethed up as though trying to get at and drown me.The job must have taken me longer than I thought for, for when I looked before me I could see no one, and as I looked I began to see that twilight was coming on.Now, I don’t know whether you have been much among our own high hills in Scotland or Wales; but, if you have, you must know how rapidly night comes on. It is day one moment and night the next, so to speak.Now I knew this, and made haste forward.I do not think I had gone twenty yards when I knew, by the great wuthering sound about me, that a storm was brewing, and it was on me in no time; and as the snow came down a great curtain seemed to be drawn over the sky, it grew dark so quickly.Well, I groped on, but I didn’t like it. If it had been a storm at sea now, I should not have cared much; if the mountains about me had only been of water, I should not have cared at all; but when I knew that a false step might send me toppling down as the rock had toppled before me, I don’t mind owning that I grew to like it all less and less.I stooped down to look at the path, as well as I was able in the little remaining light, and I found I was in no path at all.As the last rays of light died out, and as the snow whirled about me, I remember, as though it would be glad to make my winding-sheet, I turned cautiously towards a slope of rock, feeling with my stick before I took a step, for the snow will fill up a crevice in no time, and you may sink twenty feet before you know where you are; and at last I touched the rock.There was still an atom of light left, and by it I just discerned a black part of the rock, which I took, and rightly, to be a cave. So I crept towards it, into it, and crouched down on the ground to leeward; and I can tell you the wind was getting up.Well, I hadn’t lain there three minutes when it was as dark as you could wish it. I don’t know whether any of you have ever been in the dark when full of anxiety; but if you have, you will believe me when I say every precious minute seemed an hour.Suddenly I thought of my fusee-box, and I believe shouted as I thought of it, for a second idea came into my head. Suppose I struck the fusees about one a minute, they would not only help me through the darkness, but, luck willing, they might answer the purpose of a revolving light, and guide those who were looking for me to my place of shelter, or the light might be seen at the convent, from which I knew by the guide we were not far when I stopped to upset the rock.And I give you my honest word that not for one second did I feel any ill-will against my companions for leaving me behind; I somehow knew it was all right.So out came the fusee-box, and the next moment I had struck a light. Why I looked round the cave I can’t tell, but I did, and I caught my breath, as you may suppose, when away in the dark I saw two great yellowish-green balls of fire.I don’t think I moved for a moment, and then I began to question myself as to whether it was not all fancy.So I thought I would strike another light; but the box had fallen amongst the snow, and when I felt for the matches they were all mixed up with the powder, which is about the only name you can give the snow in those places; it is very different from the clammy snow we see here.Now, what was I to do? If I went out of the cavern I should be frozen to death, while to remain in the cave, and near those dreadful lights, was maddening.Well, one way or the other, I determined not to go either backwards or forwards; so I curled myself up as small as possible, and lay shivering. I had only lain for what I now know to be a very short time, but which I took to be hours, when something soft came up against my knees and elbows.You may believe I dashed out my fist, and felt it sink a foot deep in the soft snow, which I rightly guessed had drifted up against the opposite side of the cavern till it fell over and rolled up against me.Good, so I was being snowed up, and I saw I must either go nearer those dreadful balls, which by this time I was sure were no fancy, and which I felt certain were looking towards me through the darkness, or I must stay where I was to be buried alive.I don’t know how I came to the decision; but I did at last decide to go further into the cavern, and so I shuffled out of the way of the snow.And then I lay still again, waiting.In a moment or so, surrounded by danger as I was, I began to find myself actually going quietly to sleep. I had no idea then that that sleep might have been the sleep of death.Well, in another minute or so, I felt a warm air on my face; but I was too sleepy to move, and so I lay still.And then, believe me I do not exaggerate, I felt four weights press, one after the other, upon my body, and then a soft, heavy weight sunk down upon me. I had no doubt it was an animal of some kind; I felt quite sure of this when a muzzle was placed as near my mouth as possible.I dare say you will hardly believe it, but in a few moments all my fear had gone, and I found myself growing grateful to this creature, for he made me so good a blanket that the heat came back into my body, and I felt no longer that dull sleepiness of which I have spoken.I do not at all know how long I had thus lain, when a bark was heard, which disturbed the regular breathings of my hairy friend, and I felt his big heart beat above me. Again there was a bark, the broad loud bark of a big dog, and it sounded much nearer than the first.As my blanket heard it, he uttered a harsh sound, and leapt from off my back.The barking and the start of the animal roused me from what drowsiness still remained in me, and the next moment I was plunging through the snow in the entrance to the cave. It was above my head. I was nearly snowed up; but then the wall of snow had served to keep the cold out. When I got through the snow, I found the whole mountains were light again with the stars and the rising moon, for the storm was over.But a more blessed sight than all was that of a brave, big dog, who leapt upon me and placed a fore-paw upon each of my shoulders.Not far off was one of the good monks, coming towards me graciously and smilingly.It seemed, I learnt afterwards, that when my party discovered my loss, and affrightedly told the guide, he, being weatherwise, told of the coming storm, and said it would be impossible to turn back; they might think themselves fortunate if they reached the convent themselves, when the monks and their dogs would do their best for me.They had reached the convent just as the storm began, and the monks, it seemed, had but little hope for me.I shall pass over my arrival at the monastery. I was welcomed so kindly that I would not attempt to describe it, and as for my own party, you might, have supposed they had not seen me for a year.They were very willing to hear my adventures, but when I came to the two balls of fire, and the heavy animal who had made himself my blanket, they ventured to laugh out and say I was trying to impose a traveller’s tale on them.They were still laughing when my eyes fell on my great-coat, which was hanging on a chair, and I at once remarked a number of yellowish brown hairs clinging to it.This was proof positive, and I was more of a hero than ever.The next morning, when all of us travellers assembled for our simple breakfast, the young monk who had discovered me—and whom I still look up to, and I am glad he and his companions live high up in the mountains above us all—the young monk had a tale to tell. Out of curiosity he had gone down to the cave, which was a very little way from the convent, and in it he had found an immense wolf frozen and stark dead, for the cold of the night had been intense.And I am not afraid to tell you that I felt very sorry the poor old wolf was dead, and I don’t think you will think any the worse of me for being sorry.I went down myself to see the poor old fellow, and I declare he looked as large as a calf; as for his fangs, I do think they would have gone through a deal board.Well, and now how do you think I am going to end the story?Why, I’ve got the old fellow now.Oh no; he was really frozen to death, and didn’t come to life again; but I begged his body of the monks, had him skinned there and then, brought the skin home and had it stuffed; and I can tell you when I come into the room where he has a berth, and the sun is shining on his glass eyes, I often find myself giving a start, as if he were still alive and able to eat me up.

Well, we were on the continent when I met with my terrible blanket. We were going up one of the passes on foot, and somehow I, as I usually do, lagged behind. I, of course, had an Alpine stock in my hand, and I went swinging it away, until at last it struck against a lump of rock overhanging a precipice, so deep that, sailor as I am, I trembled as I looked down. Well, the stick bounded from the granite against my shin, and so I made a vow that the lump of granite should take a run, or my name was not Theophilus.

But it was a tough job, for the stone was very big, and well set in the rock; but after a deal of straining and pushing, down it went with dull thuds, as it fell from rock to rock, and at last it splashed into the water, which seethed up as though trying to get at and drown me.

The job must have taken me longer than I thought for, for when I looked before me I could see no one, and as I looked I began to see that twilight was coming on.

Now, I don’t know whether you have been much among our own high hills in Scotland or Wales; but, if you have, you must know how rapidly night comes on. It is day one moment and night the next, so to speak.

Now I knew this, and made haste forward.

I do not think I had gone twenty yards when I knew, by the great wuthering sound about me, that a storm was brewing, and it was on me in no time; and as the snow came down a great curtain seemed to be drawn over the sky, it grew dark so quickly.

Well, I groped on, but I didn’t like it. If it had been a storm at sea now, I should not have cared much; if the mountains about me had only been of water, I should not have cared at all; but when I knew that a false step might send me toppling down as the rock had toppled before me, I don’t mind owning that I grew to like it all less and less.

I stooped down to look at the path, as well as I was able in the little remaining light, and I found I was in no path at all.

As the last rays of light died out, and as the snow whirled about me, I remember, as though it would be glad to make my winding-sheet, I turned cautiously towards a slope of rock, feeling with my stick before I took a step, for the snow will fill up a crevice in no time, and you may sink twenty feet before you know where you are; and at last I touched the rock.

There was still an atom of light left, and by it I just discerned a black part of the rock, which I took, and rightly, to be a cave. So I crept towards it, into it, and crouched down on the ground to leeward; and I can tell you the wind was getting up.

Well, I hadn’t lain there three minutes when it was as dark as you could wish it. I don’t know whether any of you have ever been in the dark when full of anxiety; but if you have, you will believe me when I say every precious minute seemed an hour.

Suddenly I thought of my fusee-box, and I believe shouted as I thought of it, for a second idea came into my head. Suppose I struck the fusees about one a minute, they would not only help me through the darkness, but, luck willing, they might answer the purpose of a revolving light, and guide those who were looking for me to my place of shelter, or the light might be seen at the convent, from which I knew by the guide we were not far when I stopped to upset the rock.

And I give you my honest word that not for one second did I feel any ill-will against my companions for leaving me behind; I somehow knew it was all right.

So out came the fusee-box, and the next moment I had struck a light. Why I looked round the cave I can’t tell, but I did, and I caught my breath, as you may suppose, when away in the dark I saw two great yellowish-green balls of fire.

I don’t think I moved for a moment, and then I began to question myself as to whether it was not all fancy.

So I thought I would strike another light; but the box had fallen amongst the snow, and when I felt for the matches they were all mixed up with the powder, which is about the only name you can give the snow in those places; it is very different from the clammy snow we see here.

Now, what was I to do? If I went out of the cavern I should be frozen to death, while to remain in the cave, and near those dreadful lights, was maddening.

Well, one way or the other, I determined not to go either backwards or forwards; so I curled myself up as small as possible, and lay shivering. I had only lain for what I now know to be a very short time, but which I took to be hours, when something soft came up against my knees and elbows.

You may believe I dashed out my fist, and felt it sink a foot deep in the soft snow, which I rightly guessed had drifted up against the opposite side of the cavern till it fell over and rolled up against me.

Good, so I was being snowed up, and I saw I must either go nearer those dreadful balls, which by this time I was sure were no fancy, and which I felt certain were looking towards me through the darkness, or I must stay where I was to be buried alive.

I don’t know how I came to the decision; but I did at last decide to go further into the cavern, and so I shuffled out of the way of the snow.

And then I lay still again, waiting.

In a moment or so, surrounded by danger as I was, I began to find myself actually going quietly to sleep. I had no idea then that that sleep might have been the sleep of death.

Well, in another minute or so, I felt a warm air on my face; but I was too sleepy to move, and so I lay still.

And then, believe me I do not exaggerate, I felt four weights press, one after the other, upon my body, and then a soft, heavy weight sunk down upon me. I had no doubt it was an animal of some kind; I felt quite sure of this when a muzzle was placed as near my mouth as possible.

I dare say you will hardly believe it, but in a few moments all my fear had gone, and I found myself growing grateful to this creature, for he made me so good a blanket that the heat came back into my body, and I felt no longer that dull sleepiness of which I have spoken.

I do not at all know how long I had thus lain, when a bark was heard, which disturbed the regular breathings of my hairy friend, and I felt his big heart beat above me. Again there was a bark, the broad loud bark of a big dog, and it sounded much nearer than the first.

As my blanket heard it, he uttered a harsh sound, and leapt from off my back.

The barking and the start of the animal roused me from what drowsiness still remained in me, and the next moment I was plunging through the snow in the entrance to the cave. It was above my head. I was nearly snowed up; but then the wall of snow had served to keep the cold out. When I got through the snow, I found the whole mountains were light again with the stars and the rising moon, for the storm was over.

But a more blessed sight than all was that of a brave, big dog, who leapt upon me and placed a fore-paw upon each of my shoulders.

Not far off was one of the good monks, coming towards me graciously and smilingly.

It seemed, I learnt afterwards, that when my party discovered my loss, and affrightedly told the guide, he, being weatherwise, told of the coming storm, and said it would be impossible to turn back; they might think themselves fortunate if they reached the convent themselves, when the monks and their dogs would do their best for me.

They had reached the convent just as the storm began, and the monks, it seemed, had but little hope for me.

I shall pass over my arrival at the monastery. I was welcomed so kindly that I would not attempt to describe it, and as for my own party, you might, have supposed they had not seen me for a year.

They were very willing to hear my adventures, but when I came to the two balls of fire, and the heavy animal who had made himself my blanket, they ventured to laugh out and say I was trying to impose a traveller’s tale on them.

They were still laughing when my eyes fell on my great-coat, which was hanging on a chair, and I at once remarked a number of yellowish brown hairs clinging to it.

This was proof positive, and I was more of a hero than ever.

The next morning, when all of us travellers assembled for our simple breakfast, the young monk who had discovered me—and whom I still look up to, and I am glad he and his companions live high up in the mountains above us all—the young monk had a tale to tell. Out of curiosity he had gone down to the cave, which was a very little way from the convent, and in it he had found an immense wolf frozen and stark dead, for the cold of the night had been intense.

And I am not afraid to tell you that I felt very sorry the poor old wolf was dead, and I don’t think you will think any the worse of me for being sorry.

I went down myself to see the poor old fellow, and I declare he looked as large as a calf; as for his fangs, I do think they would have gone through a deal board.

Well, and now how do you think I am going to end the story?

Why, I’ve got the old fellow now.

Oh no; he was really frozen to death, and didn’t come to life again; but I begged his body of the monks, had him skinned there and then, brought the skin home and had it stuffed; and I can tell you when I come into the room where he has a berth, and the sun is shining on his glass eyes, I often find myself giving a start, as if he were still alive and able to eat me up.

Story 11--Chapter I.STORY ELEVEN—Ninco Nanco, the Neapolitan Brigand.Who has not heard of Ninco Nanco, the daring cut-purse, and sometimes cut-throat, of the Apennines, who, with his band of fifty chosen men, has long kept in awe the district of Basilicata in the once kingdom of Naples? Certainly, those who have travelled from the Adriatic to the Bay of Naples, across that mountainous region which in the map looks very like Italy’s ankle-bone, will retain a vivid recollection of the curiosity with which they examined every dry stick projecting from a bush or rock, lest it should prove the barrel of one of his followers’ rifles; and the respect which they felt for every shepherd they saw feeding his flocks on the mountain side, lest the said peaceable-avocation-following gentleman should suddenly jump down, joined by many more from among the rocks, who could salute them in the choicest Neapolitan with words, which may be freely translated, “Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” Yes; Ninco Nanco is not a hero of romance, but a veritable living, unkempt, unwashed, brown-cloaked, leather-gaitered, breeches-wearing, high-peaked-hatted Italian robber. Yet Ninco Nanco had not always been a cut-throat; for it may shrewdly be supposed that he was not born a brigand—that he did not begin life by shooting folks with a small bow and arrow when they crossed the precincts of his nursery.Ninco Nanco was once a Neapolitan gentleman of theancien régime, who got into trouble by running his stiletto, through a slight misapprehension, into the ribs of the wrong man, which wrong man having powerful friends, poor Ninco Nanco, bitterly complaining of his misfortune, and of the cruelty of fate in making two men so much alike, was condemned to the galleys for life. Had he killed the right man, no notice, he affirmed, would have been taken of his peccadillo. While thus suffering under the frowns of fortune, he formed the acquaintance of several personages, like-minded with himself, who spent their spare time in grumbling against their hard fate at being placed in durance vile, and in concocting plans for revenging themselves upon those who had been instrumental in depriving them of their liberty. There is a tide in the affairs of all men—that in the affairs of Ninco Nanco turned, so he thought, in his favour. An opportunity occurred of making his escape—he availed himself of it, as did a few choice spirits of his own kidney. They were compelled, to be sure, to knock three or four of their gaolers on the head; but to liberal-minded men, like themselves, that was a trifle. They expected soon to be provided with ample funds to buy absolution for that act, or for any other of a similar character they might be compelled to commit. Once free from the precincts of their prison, they were among friends, and by them assisted, hastened off inland, nor pulled rein till they had placed many a mountain range and dark ravine between themselves and those who ought to have pursued them, but did not. There Ninco Nanco raised his standard, and prepared to set the laws of “meum and tuum” at defiance. He and his associates soon made themselves at home in a hut, which they erected among some rocks, high up on the side of a lofty mountain, where no one was likely to come and look for them. They only mustered nine or ten men, however, and it was agreed that their band must be greatly increased before they could undertake any enterprise of consequence. Each of the party had friends on whom he could rely, so he said, to join them, but as they were rather out of the line of the penny postage, there was some difficulty in getting the letters conveyed to the persons with whom the band desired to communicate. Another difficulty existed in the fact that only Ninco Nanco and Giuseppe Greco, his lieutenant, could write. Their leader, for reasons best known to himself, declined putting his hand to paper; the task of inditing these epistles fell, therefore, on Giuseppe, while another of the band was commissioned to find messengers, by whom to despatch them to their several destinations.Meantime, as gentlemen of the profession these worthies were about to adopt cannot live without food any more than those of a less enterprising character, they proposed making a little expedition along the high road, for the purpose of obtaining funds to supply their immediate necessities. The proposal, emanating from Ninco Nanco himself, was so much to the taste of all, that it was immediately put into execution. True, the band mustered but few men; but they were hungry. They posted themselves on either side of the before-mentioned high road, among some rocks and bushes, and waited quietly for what fortune might send them. The chief injunction Ninco Nanco laid on his followers was, not to fire across the road lest they should hit each other, and rather to aim at the men than the horses, as the horses might prove useful, while the men, objecting to be robbed, might possibly prove troublesome. Before long, a carriage was seen approaching. It had a small body with a hood, and was open in front, and had high wheels. In the centre sat a man, with a chest on either side of him, the butt ends of pistols projecting from the pockets of the carriage, and a rifle across his knees. Ninco Nanco’s eyes brightened. “The Padrone has something worth defending,” he muttered, raising his rifle. He fired, and the traveller fell dead. The rest of the band, not being good shots, missed. The postilion lashed on his horses; but the robbers (the brigands, their pardon is asked), jumping out, stopped them, pulled him from his saddle, and commenced a hurried examination of the contents of the chest, the keys of which they found in their victim’s pocket. The dead man had been steward of the Prince Montefalcone, and was returning to Naples after collecting the rents on his employer’s estates. At the sound of the firing, a horseman who was following the calèche turned to fly; but his steed fell, and he was thrown. He was immediately seized on, and bound back to back with the postillion, while his horse was likewise caught. The brigands were rapid in their proceedings. The carriage was smashed to pieces, and its materials, with the body of the murdered man, being packed on the three horses and the two prisoners, the robbers themselves carrying what could not be thus transported, the whole party struck off up the mountain, their leader stopping behind for a moment to assure himself that no traces of the encounter remained. Having picked up a couple of balls and some splinters, and stamped over some drops of blood, he sprang after his comrades. They had reached a dark and secluded glen, with rocks and trees overhanging, when the chief called a halt. After a little consultation, two graves were dug under the moss. In one the body of the steward was deposited.“Now, friends,” said the chief, in his mild, bland way, addressing his prisoners, “we require recruits; are either of you inclined to join us?”“Not I, indeed!” exclaimed the steward’s servant. “You’ve murdered my good master, and I hope to see you all hung—especially you, Signor Ninco Nanco; I remember you in the Bagnio of Castellamare—rogue that you are!”“Very well, friend, take your way,” said Ninco Nanco, blandly, as before. “And you, Signor Postiglione, what do you say?”“That I am unprejudiced; but it depends on the offer you can make me, most worthy signori,” answered the postillion.“You see that grave; one of you two will fill it before ten minutes are over,” said the bandit, with terrible calmness.“Oh, oh! then I will join you or do anything you wish, most worthy and honourable gentlemen,” exclaimed the poor fellow, trembling in every limb.“You have selected wisely, friend,” said the bandit, with an unpleasant smile; “but you will understand that we require proof of your sincerity; vows are, like strings of macaroni, easily broken. You will have the goodness to take this pistol, and shoot yonder contumacious slave of the steward of the Prince Montefalcone. I wish that I could have given you the satisfaction of shooting the Prince himself.”The postillion took the pistol which the brigand handed to him, but hesitated to lift it towards the head of the victim.“Come, come! we are transacting business,” cried the brigand, with a terrible frown. “If you are in earnest, fire; if not, we will give him his choice of shooting you.”The servant, who had not seemed till this moment to understand the cruel fate prepared for him, turned an imploring glance at the brigands surrounding him; but no expression of commiseration could he discover in the countenances of any of them. He was in the act of lifting up his hands towards the blue sky above his head, when the report of a pistol was heard, and he fell flat on his face to the ground.Instantly the outer clothing was stripped off, the pockets rifled, and the yet warm corpse was thrown into the grave and covered up.“Put on this,” said the brigand, handing the murdered man’s jacket to the postillion; “you’ve made a good beginning, and, as your life is now not worth a half carline if you were to appear in Naples, when you have taken the oath you may consider yourself one of us; but you’ll remember, that if you ever turn traitor, though you were to fly to the centre of the Vatican, or to cling to the altar of Saint Peter’s, you would not be safe from our vengeance. Now, onward, comrades!”After climbing some way the band reached their huts, where, the remains of the carriage being piled in a heap, a fire was lighted, and they set to work to cook the remainder of their provisions, with the pleasant knowledge that they had now the means amply to replenish their supply. Having eaten and drunk their fill of salt fish, oil, garlic, macaroni, and sour wine, they stretched themselves, wrapped up in their cloaks, at their lengths inside the hut, while one stood sentry at a spot whence he could watch the only approach to this rocky domain. Such was the everyday life of these gentlemen. It would require a curious twist of the imagination to conceive Ninco Nanco a hero, or his followers otherwise than unmitigated villains.Poor Pietro, the postillion, soon discovered that he was to be a mere hewer of wood to the band.While awaiting a reply to their letters, Greco and a companion were sent occasionally into the neighbouring village to procure provisions and necessaries, for which they honestly paid, the traders not finding it convenient to give credit to gentlemen of their profession. Only two recruits joined them, invited by Greco, old hands at the trade. No answers were returned to the rest of their epistles.“We must take other means of recruiting our forces,” exclaimed Ninco Nanco, pulling his moustachios in a way which meant mischief.

Who has not heard of Ninco Nanco, the daring cut-purse, and sometimes cut-throat, of the Apennines, who, with his band of fifty chosen men, has long kept in awe the district of Basilicata in the once kingdom of Naples? Certainly, those who have travelled from the Adriatic to the Bay of Naples, across that mountainous region which in the map looks very like Italy’s ankle-bone, will retain a vivid recollection of the curiosity with which they examined every dry stick projecting from a bush or rock, lest it should prove the barrel of one of his followers’ rifles; and the respect which they felt for every shepherd they saw feeding his flocks on the mountain side, lest the said peaceable-avocation-following gentleman should suddenly jump down, joined by many more from among the rocks, who could salute them in the choicest Neapolitan with words, which may be freely translated, “Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” Yes; Ninco Nanco is not a hero of romance, but a veritable living, unkempt, unwashed, brown-cloaked, leather-gaitered, breeches-wearing, high-peaked-hatted Italian robber. Yet Ninco Nanco had not always been a cut-throat; for it may shrewdly be supposed that he was not born a brigand—that he did not begin life by shooting folks with a small bow and arrow when they crossed the precincts of his nursery.

Ninco Nanco was once a Neapolitan gentleman of theancien régime, who got into trouble by running his stiletto, through a slight misapprehension, into the ribs of the wrong man, which wrong man having powerful friends, poor Ninco Nanco, bitterly complaining of his misfortune, and of the cruelty of fate in making two men so much alike, was condemned to the galleys for life. Had he killed the right man, no notice, he affirmed, would have been taken of his peccadillo. While thus suffering under the frowns of fortune, he formed the acquaintance of several personages, like-minded with himself, who spent their spare time in grumbling against their hard fate at being placed in durance vile, and in concocting plans for revenging themselves upon those who had been instrumental in depriving them of their liberty. There is a tide in the affairs of all men—that in the affairs of Ninco Nanco turned, so he thought, in his favour. An opportunity occurred of making his escape—he availed himself of it, as did a few choice spirits of his own kidney. They were compelled, to be sure, to knock three or four of their gaolers on the head; but to liberal-minded men, like themselves, that was a trifle. They expected soon to be provided with ample funds to buy absolution for that act, or for any other of a similar character they might be compelled to commit. Once free from the precincts of their prison, they were among friends, and by them assisted, hastened off inland, nor pulled rein till they had placed many a mountain range and dark ravine between themselves and those who ought to have pursued them, but did not. There Ninco Nanco raised his standard, and prepared to set the laws of “meum and tuum” at defiance. He and his associates soon made themselves at home in a hut, which they erected among some rocks, high up on the side of a lofty mountain, where no one was likely to come and look for them. They only mustered nine or ten men, however, and it was agreed that their band must be greatly increased before they could undertake any enterprise of consequence. Each of the party had friends on whom he could rely, so he said, to join them, but as they were rather out of the line of the penny postage, there was some difficulty in getting the letters conveyed to the persons with whom the band desired to communicate. Another difficulty existed in the fact that only Ninco Nanco and Giuseppe Greco, his lieutenant, could write. Their leader, for reasons best known to himself, declined putting his hand to paper; the task of inditing these epistles fell, therefore, on Giuseppe, while another of the band was commissioned to find messengers, by whom to despatch them to their several destinations.

Meantime, as gentlemen of the profession these worthies were about to adopt cannot live without food any more than those of a less enterprising character, they proposed making a little expedition along the high road, for the purpose of obtaining funds to supply their immediate necessities. The proposal, emanating from Ninco Nanco himself, was so much to the taste of all, that it was immediately put into execution. True, the band mustered but few men; but they were hungry. They posted themselves on either side of the before-mentioned high road, among some rocks and bushes, and waited quietly for what fortune might send them. The chief injunction Ninco Nanco laid on his followers was, not to fire across the road lest they should hit each other, and rather to aim at the men than the horses, as the horses might prove useful, while the men, objecting to be robbed, might possibly prove troublesome. Before long, a carriage was seen approaching. It had a small body with a hood, and was open in front, and had high wheels. In the centre sat a man, with a chest on either side of him, the butt ends of pistols projecting from the pockets of the carriage, and a rifle across his knees. Ninco Nanco’s eyes brightened. “The Padrone has something worth defending,” he muttered, raising his rifle. He fired, and the traveller fell dead. The rest of the band, not being good shots, missed. The postilion lashed on his horses; but the robbers (the brigands, their pardon is asked), jumping out, stopped them, pulled him from his saddle, and commenced a hurried examination of the contents of the chest, the keys of which they found in their victim’s pocket. The dead man had been steward of the Prince Montefalcone, and was returning to Naples after collecting the rents on his employer’s estates. At the sound of the firing, a horseman who was following the calèche turned to fly; but his steed fell, and he was thrown. He was immediately seized on, and bound back to back with the postillion, while his horse was likewise caught. The brigands were rapid in their proceedings. The carriage was smashed to pieces, and its materials, with the body of the murdered man, being packed on the three horses and the two prisoners, the robbers themselves carrying what could not be thus transported, the whole party struck off up the mountain, their leader stopping behind for a moment to assure himself that no traces of the encounter remained. Having picked up a couple of balls and some splinters, and stamped over some drops of blood, he sprang after his comrades. They had reached a dark and secluded glen, with rocks and trees overhanging, when the chief called a halt. After a little consultation, two graves were dug under the moss. In one the body of the steward was deposited.

“Now, friends,” said the chief, in his mild, bland way, addressing his prisoners, “we require recruits; are either of you inclined to join us?”

“Not I, indeed!” exclaimed the steward’s servant. “You’ve murdered my good master, and I hope to see you all hung—especially you, Signor Ninco Nanco; I remember you in the Bagnio of Castellamare—rogue that you are!”

“Very well, friend, take your way,” said Ninco Nanco, blandly, as before. “And you, Signor Postiglione, what do you say?”

“That I am unprejudiced; but it depends on the offer you can make me, most worthy signori,” answered the postillion.

“You see that grave; one of you two will fill it before ten minutes are over,” said the bandit, with terrible calmness.

“Oh, oh! then I will join you or do anything you wish, most worthy and honourable gentlemen,” exclaimed the poor fellow, trembling in every limb.

“You have selected wisely, friend,” said the bandit, with an unpleasant smile; “but you will understand that we require proof of your sincerity; vows are, like strings of macaroni, easily broken. You will have the goodness to take this pistol, and shoot yonder contumacious slave of the steward of the Prince Montefalcone. I wish that I could have given you the satisfaction of shooting the Prince himself.”

The postillion took the pistol which the brigand handed to him, but hesitated to lift it towards the head of the victim.

“Come, come! we are transacting business,” cried the brigand, with a terrible frown. “If you are in earnest, fire; if not, we will give him his choice of shooting you.”

The servant, who had not seemed till this moment to understand the cruel fate prepared for him, turned an imploring glance at the brigands surrounding him; but no expression of commiseration could he discover in the countenances of any of them. He was in the act of lifting up his hands towards the blue sky above his head, when the report of a pistol was heard, and he fell flat on his face to the ground.

Instantly the outer clothing was stripped off, the pockets rifled, and the yet warm corpse was thrown into the grave and covered up.

“Put on this,” said the brigand, handing the murdered man’s jacket to the postillion; “you’ve made a good beginning, and, as your life is now not worth a half carline if you were to appear in Naples, when you have taken the oath you may consider yourself one of us; but you’ll remember, that if you ever turn traitor, though you were to fly to the centre of the Vatican, or to cling to the altar of Saint Peter’s, you would not be safe from our vengeance. Now, onward, comrades!”

After climbing some way the band reached their huts, where, the remains of the carriage being piled in a heap, a fire was lighted, and they set to work to cook the remainder of their provisions, with the pleasant knowledge that they had now the means amply to replenish their supply. Having eaten and drunk their fill of salt fish, oil, garlic, macaroni, and sour wine, they stretched themselves, wrapped up in their cloaks, at their lengths inside the hut, while one stood sentry at a spot whence he could watch the only approach to this rocky domain. Such was the everyday life of these gentlemen. It would require a curious twist of the imagination to conceive Ninco Nanco a hero, or his followers otherwise than unmitigated villains.

Poor Pietro, the postillion, soon discovered that he was to be a mere hewer of wood to the band.

While awaiting a reply to their letters, Greco and a companion were sent occasionally into the neighbouring village to procure provisions and necessaries, for which they honestly paid, the traders not finding it convenient to give credit to gentlemen of their profession. Only two recruits joined them, invited by Greco, old hands at the trade. No answers were returned to the rest of their epistles.

“We must take other means of recruiting our forces,” exclaimed Ninco Nanco, pulling his moustachios in a way which meant mischief.

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