Chapter 8

1. Drum, rum.2. Glass, lass.3. Glove, love.4. Molasses, O Lasses!5. Wheel, heel, eel.6. Sharper, harper.7. Spin, pin.8. Lace, ace.9. Toil, oil.10. Spear, pear, ear.

Sometimes they make them in rhyme.

Behead what is born in the fire,And lives but a moment or so,—For it can’t live long you know,—And you leave what all admire.Where grass so green doth grow,And trees in many a row.Behead this last, and you leave in its placeWhat once preserved the human race.

Spark, park, ark.

Behead a musical term so sweet,And you leave what runs without any feet.Behead again, and, sad to tell,You leave what is sick and never gets well.To what is left add the letter D,And you have a lawyer of high degree.

Trill, rill, ill, “LL D.”

I’ve got something a good deal funnier to tell, but I’m going to write all about that in Lucy Maria’s letter. I guess she’ll be very glad when she gets that letter, for ’twill tell her how to do something very funny. I will send her the story of it too, so she won’t have to make up anything herself. Don’t you think I had a pretty good time? I hope my sister is well, and hope you all are. Lucy Maria must read this letter. Shecould make those beheadings quicker’n lightning. I am well. Don’t believe I shall ever be sick.

From your affectionate Grandson,William Henry.

P. S. I’ve been to a lecture on good health. The man said there were two parts to the air, a good part and a poison part, and every time we breathe we keep in the good part, and breathe out the poison part. So if a room were sealed up, air-tight, a man living in it would soon die, for he would use up all the good part and leave the poison part. So we ought to always let fresh air in, that hasn’t been breathed. He says in a crowded room, if there is no fresh air coming in, we have to use over what other folks have breathed, whether they are sick or well.

W. H.

What with our young friend’s frequent visits to the Two Betseys, his attendance at the dancing-school, and going to parties and to lectures, it would seem as though his time was not wholly taken up with his studies. Among William Henry’s letters to Lucy Maria I find the following one about the Dwarf, and with it, in Lucy Maria’s handwriting, I find a copy of the Narrative alluded to.

Dear Cousin,—

I guess you will want to know how this was done, that I’m going to write about, so I will tell you about it, then you will know how to make one out of Tommy, but I guess a bigger boy would be better. It doesn’t make much difference about the size, if he can keep a soberface while somebody tells a story about him, and do the things he’s told to. I couldn’t guess how ’t was done till Bubby Short told me. Bubby Short was the dwarf. He was invited on purpose, because he is up to all kinds of fun, and can act dialogues, be an old man, or old woman, or anything you want him to. I will tell you exactly how ’t was done, so you will know. And I will send you the Narrative to copy. But you can’t keep it very long. It was given to Bubby Short. The showman was Maud Grey’s cousin. He was dressed in a turban, with long robes, and he had black rings made round his eyes, and his face was tatooed with a lead-pencil. Course he made up the story and made the pictures to it too. But he pretended he got them in the dwarf’s country, that was named “Empskutia.” I thought maybe you’d like to read it, then if you made one you could think of something to say. ’T was only meant for the little ones, he said, but we all liked to hear it. No matter if it was nonsense, we didn’t care. Now, I’ll begin.

First, they had a table, with a long table-cloth on it that touched the floor. It must touch the floor, so as to hide therealfeet of the one that’s going to be the dwarf. When Bubby Short was all ready he sat down to the table, same as if he’d been doing his examples or eating his dinner,—sat facing the company and waited for the curtain to rise. Course you have to have a curtain. The table-cloth covered the lower part of him. His own hands and arms were turned into feet and legs for the dwarf. I’ll tell you how. The arms had little trousers on them, and the hands were put into nice little button-boots,so they looked like legs and feet. He was all stuffed out above his waist, and had on a stiff shirt bosom, and breastpin, and necktie, and false whiskers, and a wig made of black curled hair, and a tasselled cap, with a gilt band round it. He crooked his arms at the elbows and laid them flat on the table, with the button-boots towards the curtain, so when the curtain went up it looked like a little dwarf sitting down, facing the company. Now I must tell you where the dwarf’s arms and hands came from. For you know that Bubby Short’s arms and hands were made into legs and feet for the dwarf. Now to make arms, he had on a little coat, with the sleeves of it stuffed out to look like arms, and then a stuffed pair of white cotton gloves was sewed on to the sleeves, to look like hands, and these gloves were pinned together by the fingers in front of his waist so as to look like clasped hands.

The showman asked him to do different things. Asked him to try to stand up. Then Bubby Short began to get up, very slow, as if ’t was tough work to do it, and let his arms straighten themselves down, and looked just as if there was a little short fellow standing on the table. I thought like enough you’d like to know how, so as to make one some time, out of Tommy or some bigger boy that knows how to whistle. The showman made his dwarf whistle a funny tune, and told us ’t was an air of his native country. Then made him step out the tune with his little button-boots, and it seemed just like a little dancing dwarf. The showman said that was the national dance of his country. I guess Uncle Jacob would like to see one. I guess his eyes would twinkle.

When the curtain went up you ought to ’ve heard the folks roar! Some of them thought ’t was real. When the company asked him if he could move his arms, he shook his head, no. Then the showman said he could make him do it, by whispering a charm in his ear. So he went close up and whispered, and took out the pin that pinned the gloves, in a secret way, and then the arms dropped apart. All the way he could move his arms was by shaking his body, and then only a little. The showman said the fearful accident that stopped his growth lost him the use of his arms, though he could dance and whistle and make a bow [here he made him make a bow], and could scratch his ear with his boot [here he scratched his ear with the button-boot-toe], but his brain was strong as anybody’s. Then afterwards he told how much he knew. But you can read about it in the Narrative. He made him crook his knees sideways. He could do this easy enough, for ’t was only the elbows bending outwards. Then he made him sit down again. I don’t believe any of you ever saw anything so funny. The showman kept a very sober face all the time, and ’most made us believe every word of his story was true, and at the end he spoke very loud and acted it out, like an orator.

Your affectionate Cousin,William Henry.

P. S. Will you please send back the picture of that creature we sent you once? We want to do something with it. I put in the Narrative some of the things the audience did.

My dear young Friends,—

Hyladdu Alizamrald, the unfortunate gentleman now before you, was born in the country of Empskutia, on the borders of the great unknown region of Phlezzogripotamia, which lies beyond the sources of the river Phlezzra. He was the only child of a nobleman, whose wealth was unbounded, and whose power was immense. The day of his birth was made a day of rejoicing throughout the city. Not only were fountains of wine set flowing, that none might go athirst (for the Empskutians are driest when they’re happiest), but living fountains of milk also, that every child might, on that happy day, drink its fill of the pure infantine fluid. It is perhaps needless to remark that these last were cows, driven in from the surrounding plains.

Hyladdu was an infant of great promise, and bade fair to become the pride of his native land, instead of being—of being—pardon my emotion. [Showman puts handkerchief to his eyes. Hyladdu wipes away a tear with his boot-toe.] Yes, gentlemen and ladies [calmer], at his birth there seemed to be no reason why Hyladdu’s head should not rise as far towards the clouds as will yours, my smiling young friends before me. Briefly, he was not born a dwarf. Shall I relate how this sweet flower of promise was nipped in the bud? [The audience cry, “Yes! yes!” Hyladdu takes his handkerchief in both boots and wipes his eyes.]

Listen, then. When Hyladdu had reached the age of eighty-one days—eighty-one being the third multipleof three—his parents, according to the custom of the country, summoned to the cradle of the young child a Thulsk.

The Thulski are a tall, mysterious race of prophets, known only in Empskutia, who attain to an unknown age. Many of them cannot even remember their own boyhood. These prophets are reverenced by all the people. As year after year is added to their life, they grow thin, dark, and shrivelled, like mummies. The skin is dry and hangs loose about the bones. The hair is long and white, and every year adds to its length and its whiteness, while the eyes seem blacker and more piercing. They wear very high black caps, square, and carry in the hand a peculiar flower, a snow-white flower, having five petals, which grows in secret places, and which, even if found, no other person ever dare to pluck, lest its peculiar smell should work a charm upon them. None but the Thulski themselves know when and where the Thulski die. If they have graves they are unknown graves, though it is a common belief in the country that the mysterious white-petalled flower blooms only in their burial-places. During life they live apart from all others, seldom speaking, even when mingled in the busy crowd.

The order of the Thulski is kept up in this way. Their chief, clad in long dark robes, wanders silently the streets, and when, among the children at play, he discovers one who has some peculiar mark about him,—the nature of this mark is unknown,—he beckons, and the child follows him. Must follow him. For that silent beckoning joins him to their order. He is from that moment a Thulsk, and has no wish to escape.

Now, although to be a Thulsk is to be certain of long life, yet no mother desires this fate for her child, but, on the contrary, children are warned against them, and have among themselves a secret sign, a rapid motion of the fingers, which means “scatter!” And if, when they are at play, the white-haired prophet is seen, though even at a great distance, this sign is rapidly made, and the little flock disappears so instantly, one would suppose the earth had swallowed them. You will see, before my melancholy story is finished, what all this has to do with Hyladdu’s misfortune.

As I was saying, when he had attained the age of eighty-one days,—eighty-one being the third multiple of three,—his parents, according to the custom of the Empskutians, summoned one of these prophets to the cradle of their child, that his fortunes might be foretold.

The weird, shrivelled old Thulsk, with his flowing white hair, wrapped his dark robes about him, and sat silently at the low cradle, gazing upon the sleeping child. At length he arose, with a look of sorrow, and would have departed without uttering a single word.

“Speak! speak!” cried the father.

“Ah, do not speak!” murmured the mother; for she perceived that the prophet foresaw evil. “Yet speak, yes, speak!” she cried. “Let us know the worst, that we may prepare ourselves.”

The prophet then made a reply, of which these five words are a translation:—

“Sorrow cometh sufficiently soon. Wait!”

But, on being very earnestly entreated, he disclosed that before the beautiful infant attained his sixth year—sixbeing the double of three—he would sustain injuries from a fall, by which either his mind or his body would be blighted. Which, it was not given him to say. He added that it grieved him to still further disclose that he himself would be in some way connected with the child’s misfortune, though in what way even his prophetic vision could not foresee.

Now it may readily be supposed that the parents spared no pains to ward off from their child this unknown danger. The upper windows were immediately fastened down, fresh air being secured by means of hinges on each square of glass. As soon as he could walk sentinels were placed at every flight of stairs, and to keep him out of the cellar, a neighboring wine-merchant was invited to store his goods there, so that wine-butts took up every inch of room, from floor to ceiling. Ladders and movable steps he was not allowed the sight of, and as it seems as natural for boys to climb trees as to breathe the air around them, every tree in the grounds was protected by sharp iron teeth.

The longing which every boy has to climb is called the climbing instinct. In Hyladdu the climbing instinct was nipped in the bud,—smothered, crushed, kept under. He was forbidden to swing on gates, taught to avoid fence-posts, lamp-posts, and flag-staffs, and to look upon hills as summits of danger. Of shinning, he knew but the name. And that the very idea of climbing might be kept from his mind, all climbing plants were rooted out from the grounds; not even a morning-glory was allowed to run up a string! By these means the anxious parents hoped to prevent what the Thulsk had foretold, fromcoming to pass. “For,” said they, “if he never goes up, he can never fall down.” But mark now how all these precautions were the very means of making the prophecy prove true. For, had he only been taught to climb, and had been accustomed to high places, that sad accident might not have taken place and the blighted individual before you might now have been one of the flowers of his country! [Emotion.] Pardon me, friends. Tears come unbidden. [Showman holds handkerchief to his eyes. Dwarf ditto, with boots.]

Imagine now the dear child, grown a beautiful boy of five summers,—a boy of beaming blue eyes, and a rosy cheek! of flaxen curls and a graceful motion! The idol of his parents, the joy of his friends! Sweet in disposition, of tender feelings, quick to learn, truthful, affectionate, gentle in his manners, winning in his ways, no wonder that he was so well beloved!

It was only one short week before his sixth birthday, and his friends were trembling with joy, that the fatal time had so nearly passed, when the calamity which had so long hung over him like a cloud descended upon him like a thunderbolt! In other words, he lacked but a week of six, and all were rejoicing that the danger was nearly passed, when the event happened.

Hyladdu, being, like most boys, of a playful turn of mind, was sometimes permitted to join in the games of other children, in front of his father’s mansion, attended always by a faithful servant. On this particular day they were amusing themselves by playing with some silver-coated marbles, a box of which had been presented to Hyladdu by his grandmother, who was one of the court ladies.

A very pretty group they were. The children of that country, like their fathers, were dressed in long white robes, with bright sashes. On their heads they wore caps of blue or scarlet, which turned up with points before, behind, and at each side. On each point a little silver bell was hung, that the servants might have less difficulty in following them about. Their shoes were pointed at the toes.

Among those silver marbles was an “alley” of great beauty, glistening with rubies, and inlaid with pearl. This alley never was played for in earnest. [Here the dwarf beckons to the showman, and whispers in his ear.] He informs me that the laws forbade playing in earnest. I will now finish as rapidly as possible.

In the course of the game, this precious “alley” rolled a long distance, until it came to a brick in the pavement, which was set slanting, or had become so by a sinking of the ground underneath. This brick gave the “alley” a turn sideways to the left, and it rolled at last through a crack in the garden fence, and hid itself in the grass. The servant, in great haste, darted through the gate in search of it.

Meanwhile, slowly down the street, though at a distance, a Thulsk was approaching. It was the same who had nearly six years before sat by Hyladdu’s cradle. He walked silently on, his eyes cast down, his hands clasped, holding between them the five-petalled flower. One of the boys, perceiving him, made the sign of warning. Instantly they scattered, like a flock of pigeons, leaving their little silver-belled caps on the ground. Hyladdu, seeing the cellar open, would have hidden himself there, but no space was left between the wine-butts.A much larger boy seized his hand and pulled him into a strange house, and then, in his fright, dragged him through long passage-ways, and up seven flights of stairs; for the Empskutians build their houses to an immense height. Here they sat down to breathe awhile, and Hyladdu begged the boy to go for the faithful servant, that he might lead him home.

Now no sooner was the boy gone than Hyladdu began to look about him, and presently he discovered a slender staircase going still higher. Having climbed seven flights with help, he felt no fear in attempting the eighth alone. This slender staircase conducted him to the roof of the building. [Emotion and handkerchief.] Excuse my emotion. But when I think what might have happened, if something else had not happened to prevent, when I think that he might have fallen from that immense height, to be dashed in pieces beneath, I—I—But I will let my story take its course.

And now let me tell you that the people of Empskutia were very fond of the beautiful. The streets were adorned with ornamental trees, and over the roofs of the houses were trained flowering vines, which ran to the highest peak of cupola or chimney, and, blooming sweetly there, filled the whole air with fragrance. It was the custom of the people to place stout iron hooks along the eaves of their dwellings, from which were suspended immense flower-pots of various beautiful designs. In these pots the flowering vines took root and from thence not only climbed the roof, but trailed gracefully down, thus giving the city a festive appearance, like a never-ending gala-day.

When Hyladdu looked out from the top of that last eighth flight, the long-smothered instinct of climbing burst out like a hidden fire. It would not be restrained. Ah, now will be seen the folly of crushing that instinct. Had he only have been accustomed to dizzy heights, made familiar with danger, how different might have been his fate! [Emotion.]

The instinct of climbing, as I said, was now strong upon him! No sooner did he perceive that there was still a height to gain than he resolved to gain that height. Nothing less would satisfy him than sitting astride the ridgepole, where a pair of bright-feathered birds had built their nest, and were then feeding their young. He ventured out, made his way cautiously up, holding on by the vines. Ah, could his parents have seen him then!

He arrived at the top, and there, seated on that lofty pinnacle, surrounded by beautiful flowers, he gazed on the scene below, and enjoyed a new happiness. For the first time in his life he looked down from a height! for the first time in his life he gazed abroad over a wide extended country!

Such pleasure he had never known, and the faithful servant, anxiously searching, might have found him there, still enjoying it, but for a pretty little bluebird, that flew suddenly down and startled him, while he was gazing at some object far away. This little bird came flying through the air, and alighted for an instant on the child’s head, thinking perhaps to make its nest in the soft curls, or it might have thought his rosy lips were cherries. The suddenness with which it came startledHyladdu. He trembled, he lost his hold, slipped, then caught by a vine, it gave way, he slipped again, but, having no skill in climbing, slipped lower and lower, and would have fallen from the roof and been dashed in pieces, but for that custom which was mentioned just now, of suspending large flower-pots from the eaves. It happened that his course lay directly towards one of these iron hooks. He dropped, therefore, into the immense flower-pot beneath, where he lay as secure as a babe in its cradle!

From this frightful position he was at length rescued by one of the hook and ladder company of that city, and placed in his mother’s arms. His own arms were nearly paralyzed by his frantic efforts to cling to some support, so that ever afterwards he could move them but very slightly, as you perceive. [Dwarf moves his arms slightly, by shaking his body.] And though the child’s life was spared, yet the terrible fright had the effect of stopping his growth! Yes, my young friends, Hyladdu never grew more, except in wisdom! The innocent cause of all this, the poor sorrowing grandmother, died of remorse!

And now my story becomes a more pleasing one to tell. Although the child’s body remained dwarfed in size, yet his heart grew in goodness, and his mind grew in knowledge, and he was beloved and respected by all. Debarred earthly mountains, he mounted the heights of learning. The climbing instinct, which his body could not satisfy, was developed in his mind. He craved books, he craved whole libraries. Teacher after teacher came, all exhausting upon him their treasures of knowledge.Music and drawing, studied scientifically, were his amusements. He mastered astronomy, mineralogy, algebra, conchology, trigonometry, physiology, engineering, metaphysics, technology, geology, phrenology, also foreign languages unnumbered, with all the literature belonging to each. [Sensation in the audience.] And when at last the storehouses of wisdom seemed exhausted, a report reached him of a great country beyond the seas, called the United States of America, in whose excellent schools there remains something yet to learn! [Applause from the audience.]

He studied the written language of that country, read its history, and resolved to seek its shores. For he longed to behold the land of the Revolutionary War; to read the Declaration of Independence, and to stand upon the grave of Old John Brown! [Applause.]

He had heard of Bunker’s Hill. Travellers said that upon whomsoever rested the shadow of its monument, that person possessed forever after the unflinching bravery of those who bled and perished there! [Cheers.] He had heard of Plymouth Rock [Cheers], and been told that his foot once planted firmly upon it, he would feel springing up within him all the heroism, the self-sacrifice, and the everlasting perseverance of the glorious Pilgrim Fathers! [Prolonged cheering.]

I have now, my young friends, told you, very briefly, the history of this remarkable character. His age is thirty-four years. He is of a cheerful disposition, having long ago resolved to look his misfortune steadily in the face and make the best of it. In books, where are treasures stored up by the scholars of all past time, hefinds a never-ending pleasure. Though dwarfed in stature, he is resolved to make a man of himself, and will fight it out on that line if it takes all summer. For he early adopted for his motto, these beautiful lines of Dr. Watts,—

“Were I so tall as to reach the pole,Or grasp the ocean in my span,I should be measured by my soul.The mind’s the standard of the man.”

[Applause.

(Curtain falls.)

I once heard the above narrative repeated by Joe in a truly theatrical manner. On the same occasion I also saw the picture of the “creature” to which William Henry refers in his postscript to the Dwarf Letter.

Uncle Jacob hailed me one day as I was coming from my office, and after driving close to the curbstone, informed me that Cousin Joe and his accordion had arrived, both in good health and spirits. Also, that Billy’s school had met with a very sudden vacation, caused either by flues, or furnaces, or both, having something the matter with them, and the young rascal would be at home that evening, and I must come without fail. “Of course you know,” said he, “’tis a pretty hard thing for Billy having to give up his studies, so he’s coming home to his friends. Nothing like being among friends when you’re in trouble?”

Now this was by no means a remarkable event. Only a boy coming home for a few days to see his folks. Still, an occasion which worked Grandmother up to the pitch of putting on her best cap should not be passed over in silence.

I went out to the Farm that evening, and on arriving found Cousin Joe, and the accordion, and Aunt Phebe’s family, with a few relatives whom I had never met before, all assembled at Grandmother’s. They had made up a fire in the “Franklinfireplace.” This “Franklin fireplace” was a sort of iron framework, projecting from the chimney into the room. The top was flat, with brass balls on the corners. It had iron sides, which “flared out,” and a rounded iron hearth of its own, about an inch above the brick hearth, and shining brass andirons.

No one could wish for a brighter room, I thought, for there was the light from the fire, the light from the “lights,” and the light from all those smiling faces! An inviting supper-table was set out, covered dishes were “keeping warm” on the hearth and “frame,” and everything was ready and waiting for William Henry. Mr. Carver had gone to the station, and they were expected back every moment.

Georgiana was very busy over a skein of blue sewing-silk. She informed me that that was the first whole skein of sewing-silk she ever had in all her life, and that it came from a bundle of all colors, which Cousin Joe gave to Hannah Jane. It brought trouble with it, as it is said all earthly possessions do, and snarled at all her attempts to coax it on to a spool. Tommy, sober as a judge, was holding it for her to wind. He sat in a little chair, with his legs crossed. His mother said he was very particular to cross his legs, so as to seem more like a man.

Lucy Maria had just persuaded Grandmother to put on her best, double stringed, white-ribboned cap, in honor of William Henry. It was the very one he brought her so long ago, but was still as good as new, having very seldom seen the light of day, or of evening, since it first came home in the bandbox. She had also been coaxed into her second-best dress, and then into the rocking-chair. Lucy Maria tied her cap under the chin, with the narrow strings, and smoothed down the wide ones.

“You have no idea, Grandmother,” said she. “You haven’t the faintest idea how well you look!”

“’T is too dressy for me,” said Grandmother. “It don’t feel natural on my head.”

“Now I should think,” said Uncle Jacob, “that a cap would feel more natural on anybody’s head than anywhere!”

“It looks natural,” said Lucy Maria, “I’m sure it does. Looks as if it grew there!”

“And only think how ’t will please Billy!” said Aunt. Phebe.

The “Map of the United States” had been brought out of the front room, and placed over the mantel-piece. And Lucy Maria, for fun, she said, and to pay a delicate compliment to the artist, had fastened a few sprays of upland cranberry around it. And, also, for fun, she pinned up near it a little picture, which I had quite a laugh over, and which, she said, was the renowned Megotharium, in the act of feeding drawn by the famous artist, William Henry, assisted by his brother artist, Dorry. The picture, she added, was not anoriginal, but merely a copy done by a female. A photograph of these two artists, sitting side by side, was exhibited, underneath the picture.

Cousin Joe said thatcreaturebeat all his going to sea. This young tailor, by the way, must have made a jolly shipmate. He was full of his jokes and his tricks. Tried to twirl Tommy round, by rubbing him between his two hands,as one does a top, telling him that was the way the Hottentots did to take the mischief out of boys!

Aunt Phebe said she thought if the Hottentots knew any way of taking the mischief out of boys, and were out of work, they might find employment in this country.

Tommy begged to play “one tune,” and was allowed to. Cousin Joe declared that “that accordion was played every wave of the way across the Atlantic,” either by himself or by one of the sailors, and that sometimes the mermaids sang to its music! Asked Tommy if he would like to bear the tune the mermaids sang? Tommy said he should rather wait till after supper. This was the way in which, company being present, the young chap let it be known that he was hungry.

Grandmother wondered, then, why they didn’t come, and went to look out of the window, putting up both hands, to keep the light of the room from her eyes; then opened the outside door, to listen for the whistle; then went to look at the kitchen clock; then came back, saying it was a good deal past the time, and what could be the matter?

She little knew who was behind, following her on tiptoe into the room. William Henry himself! He was creeping in at the sink room door, just as she turned to come back from looking at the clock, and followed softly behind. She didn’t notice how very smiling we all looked. Billy shook his finger at us, to hush us.

“I hope there hasn’t anything happened to the cars,” said she.

“I hope so too!” shouted Billy. And, by a miraculous jump, he planted himself, square foot, in front of his grandmother, who, of course, walked straight into his arms!

Then everybody shouted, and clapped, and shook hands, and kissed. The cap got twisted about, and as if there were not confusion enough, Cousin Joe began to caper about, and to play on his accordion tunes that were never played before!

Such a splendid fellow as Billy was! Such a hearty, laughing, breezy fellow, with his thick head of hair, “not so red as it was,” and his honest, good-natured face! I didn’t wonder they were all so glad to see him.

“Welcome home, shipmate!” shouted Cousin Joe. “Welcome home! How long’ll you be in port?” And worked away at Billy’s hand as if he’d been pumping out ship.

“’Most a week,” said Billy. “Mind my forefinger.”

“Don’t take long to stay at home a week,” said Cousin Joe, tossing up his accordion.

“That’s so,” said Uncle Jacob. “Come, let’s be doing something!”

“That means, let’s be eating something,” said Aunt Phebe. “Come, girls, put everything on the table! Billy, how tall and spruce you do look! Poor Grandmother, she’s losing her little Billy!”

“But what’s her loss is his gain!” said Uncle Jacob. “I speak to sit next the frosted cake. Where’s Tommy?”

Tommy came in, tugging Billy’s carpet-bag, which he found in the kitchen, hoping, no doubt, there were goodies inside for him.

We had a delightful “supper-time,” Grandmother, of course, piling Billy’s plate with everything good.

“I see,” said Mr. Carver, “that whatever boys eat at home grandmothers expect will agree with them!”

The happy “young rascal” meanwhile bore the separation from his studies with amazing fortitude! Told no end of funny stories about the boys, and about parties, and about the Two Betseys. And twice, during supper, he exclaimed, “I do hope nothing has happened to those cars. They were such good cars!”

My visits to the farm were always delightful, but during that supper-time, and during that evening, I grudged every moment as it flew away.

Uncle Jacob was in high glee, and insisted on being taught “the graces,” and on having his wife taught “the graces.” Then Lucy Maria “set her foot down” that every one should stand in the row, and Billy should be Mr. Tornero. And, being a girl of resolution, she coaxed every one into line, except Grandmother, who said her rheumatism should do her some service then, if never before.

“The graces” were then taught, and learned, amid shouts of laughter, Cousin Joe playing for us, and I’ll venture to say that had Mr. Tornero been present, he would have been astonished at our steps, and also at the music!

Afterwards we had the dwarf shown off, Cousin Joe being the showman. He declared after looking over the “Narrative,” that Empskutia was a place well known to him, and that he had often sailed up the “river Phlezzra,” to trade with the natives. Lucy Maria dressed him in a large-figured red and green bedspread, pinned on to look like a loose robe, with flowing sleeves, and girded about the waist with cords and tassels taken from Aunt Phebe’s parlor curtains. He wore an immense lace collar, and a turban made of a white muslin handkerchief (one that was Grandmother’s mother’s) and besprinkled with artificial flowers. His face was tattooed with a lead-pencil, and dark circles drawn around his eyes. He held in his hand a slender rod, or wand.

The dwarf was a young cousin of William Henry’s (not Tommy), and he did his part well, whistling, bowing, dancing, sneezing, rising, sitting, with a perfectly sober face.

The showman then read the “Narrative,” adding thereto such ridiculous incidents, and such comical remarks, that the audience were convulsed with laughter, and the face of the dwarf twitched alarmingly. These twitchings, he (the showman) said, were not unusual, and were the effects of the sad occurrence then being narrated. The closing portions of the story were declaimed in a powerful voice. He “acted out”the “pole” and the “span,” and at the third line, “I must be measured by mysoul,” laid his hand upon his heart in the most impressive manner, and remained in that position till the curtain fell.

After this “John Brown” was sung, and William Henry was permitted to roar out that “Glory Hallelujah” as loudly as he pleased.

The following letter must have been written some time after William Henry met with theafflictionwhich was so touchingly alluded to by Uncle Jacob, as above related, and which that wretched youth felt could only be endured in the bosom of his family! In the interval it appears that he had been removed from the Crooked Pond School, and that Dorry had left also, to finish preparing himself for college in some higher seminary of learning.

Dear Dorry,—

I didn’t know I was going to come away from school so soon after you did, but there was a new High School begun in our town about a mile and a half off, and my father thought I could learn there, and learn to farm it some too. But I don’t think much of farming it. Course ’t is fun to see things grow, after you’ve planted the seeds, and then watched ’em all the way up. My grandmother says my father likes his corn so well, that he pities it in a dry time, and when a gale blows it down he pities it as much as if he’d been blown down himself. Weeds are enough to make a feller mad, coming up fast as you kill ’em and sucking all the goodness out of the ground that don’t belong to them. Suppose they think ’t is as much theirs as anybody’s.

I suppose you are studying away for college. I don’t know whether I wish I could go or not. I guess my head wouldn’t hold all ’t would have to be put into it before I went, and in all that four years too! Now I want to know if a feller can remember all that? I mean remember the beginning after all the other has been piled top of it? I don’t know what I shall be yet. For there is something bad about everything, Grandmother says, and I believe it. Now I don’t want to be a farmer, because ’t is hard work and poor pay,—in these parts. I guess I should like to go to Kansas. But there are the Indians after your scalp, and fever and ague, and grasshoppers, and potato-bugs, and bean-bugs, and army-worms to eat up everything, and droughts to dry up everything, and floods to wash it away, and hurricanes to blow it down, and Uncle Jacob says if a man comes through all these alive, with a few grains of corn, the man that wants to buy ’em is a hundred miles off! But my father says, what is a man good for that don’t dare to go to sail without ’t is on a mill-pond! For smooth water can’t make a sailor. And if a man is scared of lions, how will he get through the woods. So I don’t know yet what I shall be. What should you, if you did n’ go to college? Go into a store? I tell you, Dorry, that if I was a dry-goods clerk, fenced in behind a counter, I do believe I should ache to jump over andputfor somewhere and go to doing something. But my father says you can’t always tell a man by what his business is. For you’ve got to allow for head work. And because he sells shoe-strings, ’t is no sign he hasn’t got anything in his head but shoe-strings; and because aman drives nails, ’t is no sign he hasn’t got anything but nails in his head. “Now suppose,” says he, “that a man sells dry goods all day, can’t he have some thoughts stowed away in his brains that he got out of books, or got up himself? And when he’s walking along home and back, and evenings, can’t he out with ’em and be thinking ’em over?” I s’pose ’t isn’t time for me to have thoughts yet, s’pose they’ll be dropping along in a year or two, “or three at the most,” as Lord Lovell said. One thing I mean to have, and that is a good house with all the fixings, and money to spend, and money to give away if I want to. So whatever I get started on, I mean to pitch in and shove up my sleeves, and go at it. Father says I must be thinking the matter over, and not make my mind up right off. They say going to sea is a dog’s life. I should like to go long enough to see what Spain looks like, and China, and other places. Maybe I shall learn a trade. Now, for instance, a carpenter’s. That don’t seem much of a trade. Mostly pounding. But they say if you keep on, and are smart at it, why, you get to taking houses, and then you are not a carpenter any longer, but a “builder,” and money comes in.

I’m going to let her rest a spell. Though I’m so old I can’t help looking ahead some sometimes, to see where I’m coming out.

Didn’t you feel homesick any when you were coming away from school? I did,—“quite some,” as W. B. used to say. I went round to all the places, and paddled in the pond, and lay down on the grass to take one more drink out of the brook, and climbed up in the Elm, and ran up and down our stairs much as half a dozentimes, without stopping, for I thought I never should again.

I whittled a great sliver off the base-ball field fence to fetch away; didn’t we use to have good times there? Bubby Short gave me his pocket-book, and I gave him mine. They had about equal, inside. I went to bid Gapper good-by, day before I came off, and gave Rosy my little penknife.

Then I went to bid the two Betseys good-by, and they wiped their eyes, and seemed about as if they’d been my grandmothers, and said Imustcome to eat supper with them that afternoon. So I went. Me all alone! Had a funny kind of a time. We sat at that round, three-legged stand, and I’ll tell you what we had. Bannock and butter, sausages, flapjacks, and scalloped cakes. All set on in saucers, for there wasn’t much room. They had about supper enough for forty. For they said they knew their appetites were nothing to judge a hungry boy by, and I must eat a good deal and not go by them, and kept handing things to me, and every once in a while they’d say, “Now don’t be scared of it, there’s more in the buttery?” George! Dorry, I wish you could have seen that punkin-pie they had! ’T was kept in a chair, a little ways off. I don’t see what ’t was baked in. The Other Betsey said that was just such a kind of a pie as her mother used to make. I out with my ruler, and asked if I might measure it. ’T was about two feet across, and about four inches thick. She said she thought ’t was a good time to make one, when they were going to have company. When I took my piece I had to hold my plate in my hand, for therewasn’t room on the stand. They wished you’d been there, and so did I, and so would you, if you’d seen that pie. They didn’t take down their best dishes, that we had that other time, but called me one of the family and used the poor ones. I had to look out about lifting up the spoon-holder, because the bottom had been off, once, and mind which sugar-bowl handle I took hold of, for one side it was glued on. But everything held. I can’t bear tea, but they said ’t was very warming and resting, and I’d better. I guess they put in about six spoonfuls of sugar! They wanted to know all about you, and said you were a smart fellow.

They wanted me to take some little thing out of the store, to remember them by. So I looked and looked to find something that didn’t cost very much, and at last I pitched upon a pocket-comb. The Other Betsey put on her glasses and scratched a B. on it, and said it could stand for the two of ’em. But I told her she better make two B.’s, for that would seem more like the Two Betseys, and she did. Lame Betsey said one B. ought to go lame, and the Other Betsey said she guessed they both would, for she had poor eyesight, and her hand shook, and nothing but a darning-needle to scratch with. If I do break the comb I shall keep the handle, for I think the Two Betseys are tip-top. I wish they could come and see my grandmother. Wouldn’t the three of ’em have a good time!

Send a feller a letter once in a while, can’t ye? Say, now, you Dorry, don’t get too knowing to write to a feller?

Your friend,William Henry.

At this point the correspondence properly closes. As a faithful editor, I have endeavored to let it tell its own story, but must frankly acknowledge that at times, the pleasant memories recalled by these Letters have tempted me, too far, perhaps, beyond editorial bounds. This fault I freely confess, hoping to be as freely forgiven. Were it known how much I have left unsaid, while longing to say it, I should receive not only forgiveness but praise.

In closing, I cannot do better than to add to the collection an extract from a letter written to Mr. Carver by the Principal of the Crooked Pond School.

It seems that William Henry’s new teacher proposed his taking up Latin, and that Mr. Carver being somewhat undecided about the matter, wrote to the Principal of the Crooked School, asking his opinion. The Principal’s reply, in as far as it discusses the Latin question, would scarcely be in order here. But the closing portion will, I know, be read with pleasure by all who have taken an interest in William Henry. He speaks of him thus:—

.... Allow me, sir, in concluding, to congratulate you on the many good qualities of your son. He is one of the boys that I feel sure of. We regret exceedingly his leaving us, and I assure you that he carries with him the best wishes of all here,—teachers, pupils, and townspeople. I shall watch his course with deep interest. A boy of his manly bearing, kind disposition, and high moral principle will surely win his way to all hearts, as he has done to ours.

With regard to his studies, though not, perhaps, a remarkably brilliant scholar, he has, on the whole, done well. For the first few months, it is true, we rather despaired of awakening an interest. He was too fond ofplay, too unwilling to come under our pretty strict discipline. Observing how heartily he entered into all games, and that he excelled in them, it occurred to us, that if the same ambition and pluck shown on the playground could be aroused in the schoolroom, our object would be gained. This, by various means, we have tried to accomplish, and I am happy to add, with good success. Your son, sir, is a boy to be proud of.

Very truly yours,—— ——

It so happened that I called at the Farm the very day on which this reply was received, and just as Grandmother had finished reading it.

As I entered the room she looked up, and without speaking handed me the letter. Tears stood in her eyes, and I saw that something had touched her deeply.

“Any bad news?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, in a tremulous voice. “But to think of that schoolmaster’s finding out what was in that child!”

Cambridge: Printed by Welch, Bigelow, and Company.

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