The Snow Image

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  THE DEVIL IN MANUSCRIPT

  On a bitter evening of December, I arrived by mail in a large town,which was then the residence of an intimate friend, one of those giftedyouths who cultivate poetry and the belles-lettres, and call themselvesstudents at law. My first business, after supper, was to visit him atthe office of his distinguished instructor. As I have said, it was abitter night, clear starlight, but cold as Nova Zembla,--theshop-windows along the street being frosted, so as almost to hide thelights, while the wheels of coaches thundered equally loud over frozenearth and pavements of stone. There was no snow, either on the groundor the roofs of the houses. The wind blew so violently, that I had butto spread my cloak like a main-sail, and scud along the street at therate of ten knots, greatly envied by other navigators, who were beatingslowly up, with the gale right in their teeth. One of these I capsized,but was gone on the wings of the wind before he could even vociferatean oath.

  After this picture of an inclement night, behold us seated by a greatblazing fire, which looked so comfortable and delicious that I feltinclined to lie down and roll among the hot coals. The usual furnitureof a lawyer's office was around us,--rows of volumes in sheepskin, anda multitude of writs, summonses, and other legal papers, scattered overthe desks and tables. But there were certain objects which seemed tointimate that we had little dread of the intrusion of clients, or ofthe learned counsellor himself, who, indeed, was attending court in adistant town. A tall, decanter-shaped bottle stood on the table,between two tumblers, and beside a pile of blotted manuscripts,altogether dissimilar to any law documents recognized in our courts. Myfriend, whom I shall call Oberon,--it was a name of fancy andfriendship between him and me,--my friend Oberon looked at these paperswith a peculiar expression of disquietude.

  "I do believe," said he, soberly, "or, at least, I could believe, if Ichose, that there is a devil in this pile of blotted papers. You haveread them, and know what I mean,--that conception in which I endeavoredto embody the character of a fiend, as represented in our traditionsand the written records of witchcraft. Oh, I have a horror of what wascreated in my own brain, and shudder at the manuscripts in which I gavethat dark idea a sort of material existence! Would they were out of mysight!"

  "And of mine, too," thought I.

  "You remember," continued Oberon, "how the hellish thing used to suckaway the happiness of those who, by a simple concession that seemedalmost innocent, subjected themselves to his power. Just so my peace isgone, and all by these accursed manuscripts. Have you felt nothing ofthe same influence?"

  "Nothing," replied I, "unless the spell be hid in a desire to turnnovelist, after reading your delightful tales."

  "Novelist!" exclaimed Oberon, half seriously. "Then, indeed, my devilhas his claw on you! You are gone! You cannot even pray fordeliverance! But we will be the last and only victims; for this night Imean to burn the manuscripts, and commit the fiend to his retributionin the flames."

  "Burn your tales!" repeated I, startled at the desperation of the idea.

  "Even so," said the author, despondingly. "You cannot conceive what aneffect the composition of these tales has had on me. I have becomeambitious of a bubble, and careless of solid reputation. I amsurrounding myself with shadows, which bewilder me, by aping therealities of life. They have drawn me aside from the beaten path of theworld, and led me into a strange sort of solitude,--a solitude in themidst of men,-where nobody wishes for what I do, nor thinks nor feelsas I do. The tales have done all this. When they are ashes, perhaps Ishall be as I was before they had existence. Moreover, the sacrifice isless than you may suppose, since nobody will publish them."

  "That does make a difference, indeed," said I.

  "They have been offered, by letter," continued Oberon, reddening withvexation, "to some seventeen booksellers. It would make you stare toread their answers; and read them you should, only that I burnt them asfast as they arrived. One man publishes nothing but school-books;another has five novels already under examination."

  "What a voluminous mass the unpublished literature of America must be!"cried I.

  "Oh, the Alexandrian manuscripts were nothing to it!" said my friend."Well, another gentleman is just giving up business, on purpose, Iverily believe, to escape publishing my book. Several, however, wouldnot absolutely decline the agency, on my advancing half the cost of anedition, and giving bonds for the remainder, besides a high percentageto themselves, whether the book sells or not. Another advises asubscription."

  "The villain!" exclaimed I.

  "A fact!" said Oberon. "In short, of all the seventeen booksellers,only one has vouchsafed even to read my tales; and he--a literarydabbler himself, I should judge--has the impertinence to criticisethem, proposing what he calls vast improvements, and concluding, aftera general sentence of condemnation, with the definitive assurance thathe will not be concerned on any terms."

  "It might not be amiss to pull that fellow's nose," remarked I.

  "If the whole 'trade' had one common nose, there would be somesatisfaction in pulling it," answered the author. "But, there does seemto be one honest man among these seventeen unrighteous ones; and hetells me fairly, that no American publisher will meddle with anAmerican work,--seldom if by a known writer, and never if by a newone,--unless at the writer's risk."

  "The paltry rogues!" cried I. "Will they live by literature, and yetrisk nothing for its sake? But, after all, you might publish on yourown account."

  "And so I might," replied Oberon. "But the devil of the business isthis. These people have put me so out of conceit with the tales, that Iloathe the very thought of them, and actually experience a physicalsickness of the stomach, whenever I glance at them on the table. I tellyou there is a demon in them! I anticipate a wild enjoyment in seeingthem in the blaze; such as I should feel in taking vengeance on anenemy, or destroying something noxious."

  I did not very strenuously oppose this determination, being privatelyof opinion, in spite of my partiality for the author, that his taleswould make a more brilliant appearance in the fire than anywhere else.Before proceeding to execution, we broached the bottle of champagne,which Oberon had provided for keeping up his spirits in this dolefulbusiness. We swallowed each a tumblerful, in sparkling commotion; itwent bubbling down our throats, and brightened my eyes at once, butleft my friend sad and heavy as before. He drew the tales towards him,with a mixture of natural affection and natural disgust, like a fathertaking a deformed infant into his arms.

  "Pooh! Pish! Pshaw!" exclaimed he, holding them at arm's-length. "Itwas Gray's idea of heaven, to lounge on a sofa and read new novels.Now, what more appropriate torture would Dante himself have contrived,for the sinner who perpetrates a bad book, than to be continuallyturning over the manuscript?"

  "It would fail of effect," said I, "because a bad author is always hisown great admirer."

  "I lack that one characteristic of my tribe,--the only desirable one,"observed Oberon. "But how many recollections throng upon me, as I turnover these leaves! This scene came into my fancy as I walked along ahilly road, on a starlight October evening; in the pure and bracingair, I became all soul, and felt as if I could climb the sky, and run arace along the Milky Way. Here is another tale, in which I wrapt myselfduring a dark and dreary night-ride in the month of March, till therattling of the wheels and the voices of my companions seemed likefaint sounds of a dream, and my visions a bright reality. Thatscribbled page describes shadows which I summoned to my bedside atmidnight: they would not depart when I bade them; the gray dawn came,and found me wide awake and feverish, the victim of my ownenchantments!"

  "There must have been a sort of happiness in all this," said I, smittenwith a strange longing to make proof of it.

  "There may be happiness in a fever fit," replied the author. "And thenthe various moods in which I wrote! Sometimes my ideas were likeprecious stones under the earth, requiring toil to dig them up, andcare to polish and brighten them; but often a delicious stream ofthought would gush out upon the page at once, like water s
parkling upsuddenly in the desert; and when it had passed, I gnawed my penhopelessly, or blundered on with cold and miserable toil, as if therewere a wall of ice between me and my subject."

  "Do you now perceive a corresponding difference," inquired I, "betweenthe passages which you wrote so coldly, and those fervid flashes of themind?"

  "No," said Oberon, tossing the manuscripts on the table. "I find notraces of the golden pen with which I wrote in characters of fire. Mytreasure of fairy coin is changed to worthless dross. My picture,painted in what seemed the loveliest hues, presents nothing but a fadedand indistinguishable surface. I have been eloquent and poetical andhumorous in a dream,--and behold! it is all nonsense, now that I amawake."

  My friend now threw sticks of wood and dry chips upon the fire, andseeing it blaze like Nebuchadnezzar's furnace, seized the champagnebottle, and drank two or three brimming bumpers, successively. Theheady liquor combined with his agitation to throw him into a species ofrage. He laid violent hands on the tales. In one instant more, theirfaults and beauties would alike have vanished in a glowing purgatory.But, all at once, I remembered passages of high imagination, deeppathos, original thoughts, and points of such varied excellence, thatthe vastness of the sacrifice struck me most forcibly. I caught his arm.

  "Surely, you do not mean to burn them!" I exclaimed.

  "Let me alone!" cried Oberon, his eyes flashing fire. "I will burnthem! Not a scorched syllable shall escape! Would you have me a damnedauthor?--To undergo sneers, taunts, abuse, and cold neglect, and faintpraise, bestowed, for pity's sake, against the giver's conscience! Ahissing and a laughing-stock to my own traitorous thoughts! An outlawfrom the protection of the grave,--one whose ashes every careless footmight spurn, unhonored in life, and remembered scornfully in death! AmI to bear all this, when yonder fire will insure me from the whole? No!There go the tales! May my hand wither when it would write another!"

  The deed was done. He had thrown the manuscripts into the hottest ofthe fire, which at first seemed to shrink away, but soon curled aroundthem, and made them a part of its own fervent brightness. Oberon stoodgazing at the conflagration, and shortly began to soliloquize, in thewildest strain, as if Fancy resisted and became riotous, at the momentwhen he would have compelled her to ascend that funeral pile. His wordsdescribed objects which he appeared to discern in the fire, fed by hisown precious thoughts; perhaps the thousand visions which the writer'smagic had incorporated with these pages became visible to him in thedissolving heat, brightening forth ere they vanished forever; while thesmoke, the vivid sheets of flame, the ruddy and whitening coals, caughtthe aspect of a varied scenery.

  "They blaze," said he, "as if I had steeped them in the intensestspirit of genius. There I see my lovers clasped in each other's arms.How pure the flame that bursts from their glowing hearts! And yonderthe features of a villain writhing in the fire that shall torment himto eternity. My holy men, my pious and angelic women, stand likemartyrs amid the flames, their mild eyes lifted heavenward. Ring outthe bells! A city is on fire. See!--destruction roars through my darkforests, while the lakes boil up in steaming billows, and the mountainsare volcanoes, and the sky kindles with a lurid brightness! Allelements are but one pervading flame! Ha! The fiend!"

  I was somewhat startled by this latter exclamation. The tales werealmost consumed, but just then threw forth a broad sheet of fire, whichflickered as with laughter, making the whole room dance in itsbrightness, and then roared portentously up the chimney.

  "You saw him? You must have seen him!" cried Oberon. "How he glared atme and laughed, in that last sheet of flame, with just the featuresthat I imagined for him! Well! The tales are gone."

  The papers were indeed reduced to a heap of black cinders, with amultitude of sparks hurrying confusedly among them, the traces of thepen being now represented by white lines, and the whole mass flutteringto and fro in the draughts of air. The destroyer knelt down to look atthem.

  "What is more potent than fire!" said he, in his gloomiest tone. "Eventhought, invisible and incorporeal as it is, cannot escape it. In thislittle time, it has annihilated the creations of long nights and days,which I could no more reproduce, in their first glow and freshness,than cause ashes and whitened bones to rise up and live. There, too, Isacrificed the unborn children of my mind. All that I hadaccomplished--all that I planned for future years--has perished by onecommon ruin, and left only this heap of embers! The deed has been myfate. And what remains? A weary and aimless life,--a long repentance ofthis hour,--and at last an obscure grave, where they will bury andforget me!"

  As the author concluded his dolorous moan, the extinguished embersarose and settled down and arose again, and finally flew up thechimney, like a demon with sable wings. Just as they disappeared, therewas a loud and solitary cry in the street below us. "Fire!" Fire! Othervoices caught up that terrible word, and it speedily became the shoutof a multitude. Oberon started to his feet, in fresh excitement.

  "A fire on such a night!" cried he. "The wind blows a gale, andwherever it whirls the flames, the roofs will flash up like gunpowder.Every pump is frozen up, and boiling water would turn to ice the momentit was flung from the engine. In an hour, this wooden town will be onegreat bonfire! What a glorious scene for my next--Pshaw!"

  The street was now all alive with footsteps, and the air full ofvoices. We heard one engine thundering round a corner, and anotherrattling from a distance over the pavements. The bells of threesteeples clanged out at once, spreading the alarm to many a neighboringtown, and expressing hurry, confusion, and terror, so inimitably that Icould almost distinguish in their peal the burden of the universalcry,--"Fire! Fire! Fire!"

  "What is so eloquent as their iron tongues!" exclaimed Oberon. "Myheart leaps and trembles, but not with fear. And that other sound,too,--deep and awful as a mighty organ,--the roar and thunder of themultitude on the pavement below! Come! We are losing time. I will cryout in the loudest of the uproar, and mingle my spirit with the wildestof the confusion, and be a bubble on the top of the ferment!"

  From the first outcry, my forebodings had warned me of the true objectand centre of alarm. There was nothing now but uproar, above, beneath,and around us; footsteps stumbling pell-mell up the public staircase,eager shouts and heavy thumps at the door, the whiz and dash of waterfrom the engines, and the crash of furniture thrown upon the pavement.At once, the truth flashed upon my friend. His frenzy took the hue ofjoy, and, with a wild gesture of exultation, he leaped almost to theceiling of the chamber.

  "My tales!" cried Oberon. "The chimney! The roof! The Fiend has goneforth by night, and startled thousands in fear and wonder from theirbeds! Here I stand,--a triumphant author! Huzza! Huzza! My brain hasset the town on fire! Huzza!"

  MY KINSMAN, MAJOR MOLINEUX

  After the kings of Great Britain had assumed the right of appointingthe colonial governors, the measures of the latter seldom met with theready and generous approbation which had been paid to those of theirpredecessors, under the original charters. The people looked with mostjealous scrutiny to the exercise of power which did not emanate fromthemselves, and they usually rewarded their rulers with slendergratitude for the compliances by which, in softening their instructionsfrom beyond the sea, they had incurred the reprehension of those whogave them. The annals of Massachusetts Bay will inform us, that of sixgovernors in the space of about forty years from the surrender of theold charter, under James II, two were imprisoned by a popularinsurrection; a third, as Hutchinson inclines to believe, was drivenfrom the province by the whizzing of a musket-ball; a fourth, in theopinion of the same historian, was hastened to his grave by continualbickerings with the House of Representatives; and the remaining two, aswell as their successors, till the Revolution, were favored with fewand brief intervals of peaceful sway. The inferior members of the courtparty, in times of high political excitement, led scarcely a moredesirable life. These remarks may serve as a preface to the followingadventures, which chanced upon a summer night, not far from a hundredyears ago. The rea
der, in order to avoid a long and dry detail ofcolonial affairs, is requested to dispense with an account of the trainof circumstances that had caused much temporary inflammation of thepopular mind.

  It was near nine o'clock of a moonlight evening, when a boat crossedthe ferry with a single passenger, who had obtained his conveyance atthat unusual hour by the promise of an extra fare. While he stood onthe landing-place, searching in either pocket for the means offulfilling his agreement, the ferryman lifted a lantern, by the aid ofwhich, and the newly risen moon, he took a very accurate survey of thestranger's figure. He was a youth of barely eighteen years, evidentlycountry-bred, and now, as it should seem, upon his first visit to town.He was clad in a coarse gray coat, well worn, but in excellent repair;his under garments were durably constructed of leather, and fittedtight to a pair of serviceable and well-shaped limbs; his stockings ofblue yarn were the incontrovertible work of a mother or a sister; andon his head was a three-cornered hat, which in its better days hadperhaps sheltered the graver brow of the lad's father. Under his leftarm was a heavy cudgel formed of an oak sapling, and retaining a partof the hardened root; and his equipment was completed by a wallet, notso abundantly stocked as to incommode the vigorous shoulders on whichit hung. Brown, curly hair, well-shaped features, and bright, cheerfuleyes were nature's gifts, and worth all that art could have done forhis adornment.

  The youth, one of whose names was Robin, finally drew from his pocketthe half of a little province bill of five shillings, which, in thedepreciation in that sort of currency, did but satisfy the ferryman'sdemand, with the surplus of a sexangular piece of parchment, valued atthree pence. He then walked forward into the town, with as light a stepas if his day's journey had not already exceeded thirty miles, and withas eager an eye as if he were entering London city, instead of thelittle metropolis of a New England colony. Before Robin had proceededfar, however, it occurred to him that he knew not whither to direct hissteps; so he paused, and looked up and down the narrow street,scrutinizing the small and mean wooden buildings that were scattered oneither side.

  "This low hovel cannot be my kinsman's dwelling," thought he, "noryonder old house, where the moonlight enters at the broken casement;and truly I see none hereabouts that might be worthy of him. It wouldhave been wise to inquire my way of the ferryman, and doubtless hewould have gone with me, and earned a shilling from the Major for hispains. But the next man I meet will do as well."

  He resumed his walk, and was glad to perceive that the street nowbecame wider, and the houses more respectable in their appearance. Hesoon discerned a figure moving on moderately in advance, and hastenedhis steps to overtake it. As Robin drew nigh, he saw that the passengerwas a man in years, with a full periwig of gray hair, a wide-skirtedcoat of dark cloth, and silk stockings rolled above his knees. Hecarried a long and polished cane, which he struck down perpendicularlybefore him at every step; and at regular intervals he uttered twosuccessive hems, of a peculiarly solemn and sepulchral intonation.Having made these observations, Robin laid hold of the skirt of the oldman's coat just when the light from the open door and windows of abarber's shop fell upon both their figures.

  "Good evening to you, honored sir," said he, making a low bow, andstill retaining his hold of the skirt. "I pray you tell me whereaboutsis the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux."

  The youth's question was uttered very loudly; and one of the barbers,whose razor was descending on a well-soaped chin, and another who wasdressing a Ramillies wig, left their occupations, and came to the door.The citizen, in the mean time, turned a long-favored countenance uponRobin, and answered him in a tone of excessive anger and annoyance. Histwo sepulchral hems, however, broke into the very centre of his rebuke,with most singular effect, like a thought of the cold grave obtrudingamong wrathful passions.

  "Let go my garment, fellow! I tell you, I know not the man you speakof. What! I have authority, I have--hem, hem--authority; and if this bethe respect you show for your betters, your feet shall be broughtacquainted with the stocks by daylight, tomorrow morning!"

  Robin released the old man's skirt, and hastened away, pursued by anill-mannered roar of laughter from the barber's shop. He was at firstconsiderably surprised by the result of his question, but, being ashrewd youth, soon thought himself able to account for the mystery.

  "This is some country representative," was his conclusion, "who hasnever seen the inside of my kinsman's door, and lacks the breeding toanswer a stranger civilly. The man is old, or verily--I might betempted to turn back and smite him on the nose. Ah, Robin, Robin! eventhe barber's boys laugh at you for choosing such a guide! You will bewiser in time, friend Robin."

  He now became entangled in a succession of crooked and narrow streets,which crossed each other, and meandered at no great distance from thewater-side. The smell of tar was obvious to his nostrils, the masts ofvessels pierced the moonlight above the tops of the buildings, and thenumerous signs, which Robin paused to read, informed him that he wasnear the centre of business. But the streets were empty, the shops wereclosed, and lights were visible only in the second stories of a fewdwelling-houses. At length, on the corner of a narrow lane, throughwhich he was passing, he beheld the broad countenance of a British heroswinging before the door of an inn, whence proceeded the voices of manyguests. The casement of one of the lower windows was thrown back, and avery thin curtain permitted Robin to distinguish a party at supper,round a well-furnished table. The fragrance of the good cheer steamedforth into the outer air, and the youth could not fail to recollectthat the last remnant of his travelling stock of provision had yieldedto his morning appetite, and that noon had found and left himdinnerless.

  "Oh, that a parchment three-penny might give me a right to sit down atyonder table!" said Robin, with a sigh. "But the Major will make mewelcome to the best of his victuals; so I will even step boldly in, andinquire my way to his dwelling."

  He entered the tavern, and was guided by the murmur of voices and thefumes of tobacco to the public-room. It was a long and low apartment,with oaken walls, grown dark in the continual smoke, and a floor whichwas thickly sanded, but of no immaculate purity. A number ofpersons--the larger part of whom appeared to be mariners, or in someway connected with the sea--occupied the wooden benches, orleatherbottomed chairs, conversing on various matters, and occasionallylending their attention to some topic of general interest. Three orfour little groups were draining as many bowls of punch, which the WestIndia trade had long since made a familiar drink in the colony. Others,who had the appearance of men who lived by regular and laborioushandicraft, preferred the insulated bliss of an unshared potation, andbecame more taciturn under its influence. Nearly all, in short, evinceda predilection for the Good Creature in some of its various shapes, forthis is a vice to which, as Fast Day sermons of a hundred years agowill testify, we have a long hereditary claim. The only guests to whomRobin's sympathies inclined him were two or three sheepish countrymen,who were using the inn somewhat after the fashion of a Turkishcaravansary; they had gotten themselves into the darkest corner of theroom, and heedless of the Nicotian atmosphere, were supping on thebread of their own ovens, and the bacon cured in their ownchimney-smoke. But though Robin felt a sort of brotherhood with thesestrangers, his eyes were attracted from them to a person who stood nearthe door, holding whispered conversation with a group of ill-dressedassociates. His features were separately striking almost togrotesqueness, and the whole face left a deep impression on the memory.The forehead bulged out into a double prominence, with a vale between;the nose came boldly forth in an irregular curve, and its bridge was ofmore than a finger's breadth; the eyebrows were deep and shaggy, andthe eyes glowed beneath them like fire in a cave.

  While Robin deliberated of whom to inquire respecting his kinsman'sdwelling, he was accosted by the innkeeper, a little man in a stainedwhite apron, who had come to pay his professional welcome to thestranger. Being in the second generation from a French Protestant, heseemed to have inherited the courtesy of his parent nation
; but novariety of circumstances was ever known to change his voice from theone shrill note in which he now addressed Robin.

  "From the country, I presume, sir?" said he, with a profound bow. "Begleave to congratulate you on your arrival, and trust you intend a longstay with us. Fine town here, sir, beautiful buildings, and much thatmay interest a stranger. May I hope for the honor of your commands inrespect to supper?"

  "The man sees a family likeness! the rogue has guessed that I amrelated to the Major!" thought Robin, who had hitherto experiencedlittle superfluous civility.

  All eyes were now turned on the country lad, standing at the door, inhis worn three-cornered hat, gray coat, leather breeches, and blue yarnstockings, leaning on an oaken cudgel, and bearing a wallet on his back.

  Robin replied to the courteous innkeeper, with such an assumption ofconfidence as befitted the Major's relative. "My honest friend," hesaid, "I shall make it a point to patronize your house on someoccasion, when"--here he could not help lowering his voice--"when I mayhave more than a parchment three-pence in my pocket. My presentbusiness," continued he, speaking with lofty confidence, "is merely toinquire my way to the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux."

  There was a sudden and general movement in the room, which Robininterpreted as expressing the eagerness of each individual to becomehis guide. But the innkeeper turned his eyes to a written paper on thewall, which he read, or seemed to read, with occasional recurrences tothe young man's figure.

  "What have we here?" said he, breaking his speech into little dryfragments. "'Left the house of the subscriber, bounden servant,Hezekiah Mudge,--had on, when he went away, gray coat, leatherbreeches, master's third-best hat. One pound currency reward towhosoever shall lodge him in any jail of the providence.' Bettertrudge, boy; better trudge!"

  Robin had begun to draw his hand towards the lighter end of the oakcudgel, but a strange hostility in every countenance induced him torelinquish his purpose of breaking the courteous innkeeper's head. Ashe turned to leave the room, he encountered a sneering glance from thebold-featured personage whom he had before noticed; and no sooner washe beyond the door, than he heard a general laugh, in which theinnkeeper's voice might be distinguished, like the dropping of smallstones into a kettle.

  "Now, is it not strange," thought Robin, with his usual shrewdness, "isit not strange that the confession of an empty pocket should outweighthe name of my kinsman, Major Molineux? Oh, if I had one of thosegrinning rascals in the woods, where I and my oak sapling grew uptogether, I would teach him that my arm is heavy though my purse belight!"

  On turning the corner of the narrow lane, Robin found himself in aspacious street, with an unbroken line of lofty houses on each side,and a steepled building at the upper end, whence the ringing of a bellannounced the hour of nine. The light of the moon, and the lamps fromthe numerous shop-windows, discovered people promenading on thepavement, and amongst them Robin had hoped to recognize his hithertoinscrutable relative. The result of his former inquiries made himunwilling to hazard another, in a scene of such publicity, and hedetermined to walk slowly and silently up the street, thrusting hisface close to that of every elderly gentleman, in search of the Major'slineaments. In his progress, Robin encountered many gay and gallantfigures. Embroidered garments of showy colors, enormous periwigs,gold-laced hats, and silver-hilted swords glided past him and dazzledhis optics. Travelled youths, imitators of the European fine gentlemenof the period, trod jauntily along, half dancing to the fashionabletunes which they hummed, and making poor Robin ashamed of his quiet andnatural gait. At length, after many pauses to examine the gorgeousdisplay of goods in the shop-windows, and after suffering some rebukesfor the impertinence of his scrutiny into people's faces, the Major'skinsman found himself near the steepled building, still unsuccessful inhis search. As yet, however, he had seen only one side of the throngedstreet; so Robin crossed, and continued the same sort of inquisitiondown the opposite pavement, with stronger hopes than the philosopherseeking an honest man, but with no better fortune. He had arrived aboutmidway towards the lower end, from which his course began, when heoverheard the approach of some one who struck down a cane on theflag-stones at every step, uttering at regular intervals, twosepulchral hems.

  "Mercy on us!" quoth Robin, recognizing the sound.

  Turning a corner, which chanced to be close at his right hand, hehastened to pursue his researches in some other part of the town. Hispatience now was wearing low, and he seemed to feel more fatigue fromhis rambles since he crossed the ferry, than from his journey ofseveral days on the other side. Hunger also pleaded loudly within him,and Robin began to balance the propriety of demanding, violently, andwith lifted cudgel, the necessary guidance from the first solitarypassenger whom he should meet. While a resolution to this effect wasgaining strength, he entered a street of mean appearance, on eitherside of which a row of ill-built houses was straggling towards theharbor. The moonlight fell upon no passenger along the whole extent,but in the third domicile which Robin passed there was a half-openeddoor, and his keen glance detected a woman's garment within.

  "My luck may be better here," said he to himself.

  Accordingly, he approached the doors and beheld it shut closer as hedid so; yet an open space remained, sufficing for the fair occupant toobserve the stranger, without a corresponding display on her part. Allthat Robin could discern was a strip of scarlet petticoat, and theoccasional sparkle of an eye, as if the moonbeams were trembling onsome bright thing.

  "Pretty mistress," for I may call her so with a good conscience thoughtthe shrewd youth, since I know nothing to the contrary,--"my sweetpretty mistress, will you be kind enough to tell me whereabouts I mustseek the dwelling of my kinsman, Major Molineux?"

  Robin's voice was plaintive and winning, and the female, seeing nothingto be shunned in the handsome country youth, thrust open the door, andcame forth into the moonlight. She was a dainty little figure with awhite neck, round arms, and a slender waist, at the extremity of whichher scarlet petticoat jutted out over a hoop, as if she were standingin a balloon. Moreover, her face was oval and pretty, her hair darkbeneath the little cap, and her bright eyes possessed a sly freedom,which triumphed over those of Robin.

  "Major Molineux dwells here," said this fair woman.

  Now, her voice was the sweetest Robin had heard that night, yet hecould not help doubting whether that sweet voice spoke Gospel truth. Helooked up and down the mean street, and then surveyed the house beforewhich they stood. It was a small, dark edifice of two stories, thesecond of which projected over the lower floor, and the front apartmenthad the aspect of a shop for petty commodities.

  "Now, truly, I am in luck," replied Robin, cunningly, "and so indeed ismy kinsman, the Major, in having so pretty a housekeeper. But I pritheetrouble him to step to the door; I will deliver him a message from hisfriends in the country, and then go back to my lodgings at the inn."

  "Nay, the Major has been abed this hour or more," said the lady of thescarlet petticoat; "and it would be to little purpose to disturb himto-night, seeing his evening draught was of the strongest. But he is akind-hearted man, and it would be as much as my life's worth to let akinsman of his turn away from the door. You are the good oldgentleman's very picture, and I could swear that was his rainy-weatherhat. Also he has garments very much resembling those leathersmall-clothes. But come in, I pray, for I bid you hearty welcome in hisname."

  So saying, the fair and hospitable dame took our hero by the hand; andthe touch was light, and the force was gentleness, and though Robinread in her eyes what he did not hear in her words, yet theslender-waisted woman in the scarlet petticoat proved stronger than theathletic country youth. She had drawn his half-willing footsteps nearlyto the threshold, when the opening of a door in the neighborhoodstartled the Major's housekeeper, and, leaving the Major's kinsman, shevanished speedily into her own domicile. A heavy yawn preceded theappearance of a man, who, like the Moonshine of Pyramus and Thisbe,carried a lantern, needlessly aiding his sister lumin
ary in theheavens. As he walked sleepily up the street, he turned his broad, dullface on Robin, and displayed a long staff, spiked at the end.

  "Home, vagabond, home!" said the watchman, in accents that seemed tofall asleep as soon as they were uttered. "Home, or we'll set you inthe stocks by peep of day!"

  "This is the second hint of the kind," thought Robin. "I wish theywould end my difficulties, by setting me there to-night."

  Nevertheless, the youth felt an instinctive antipathy towards theguardian of midnight order, which at first prevented him from askinghis usual question. But just when the man was about to vanish behindthe corner, Robin resolved not to lose the opportunity, and shoutedlustily after him, "I say, friend! will you guide me to the house of mykinsman, Major Molineux?"

  The watchman made no reply, but turned the corner and was gone; yetRobin seemed to hear the sound of drowsy laughter stealing along thesolitary street. At that moment, also, a pleasant titter saluted himfrom the open window above his head; he looked up, and caught thesparkle of a saucy eye; a round arm beckoned to him, and next he heardlight footsteps descending the staircase within. But Robin, being ofthe household of a New England clergyman, was a good youth, as well asa shrewd one; so he resisted temptation, and fled away.

  He now roamed desperately, and at random, through the town, almostready to believe that a spell was on him, like that by which a wizardof his country had once kept three pursuers wandering, a whole winternight, within twenty paces of the cottage which they sought. Thestreets lay before him, strange and desolate, and the lights wereextinguished in almost every house. Twice, however, little parties ofmen, among whom Robin distinguished individuals in outlandish attire,came hurrying along; but, though on both occasions, they paused toaddress him such intercourse did not at all enlighten his perplexity.They did but utter a few words in some language of which Robin knewnothing, and perceiving his inability to answer, bestowed a curse uponhim in plain English and hastened away. Finally, the lad determined toknock at the door of every mansion that might appear worthy to beoccupied by his kinsman, trusting that perseverance would overcome thefatality that had hitherto thwarted him. Firm in this resolve, he waspassing beneath the walls of a church, which formed the corner of twostreets, when, as he turned into the shade of its steeple, heencountered a bulky stranger muffled in a cloak. The man was proceedingwith the speed of earnest business, but Robin planted himself fullbefore him, holding the oak cudgel with both hands across his body as abar to further passage.

  "Halt, honest man, and answer me a question," said he, very resolutely."Tell me, this instant, whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman,Major Molineux!"

  "Keep your tongue between your teeth, fool, and let me pass!" said adeep, gruff voice, which Robin partly remembered. "Let me pass, or I'llstrike you to the earth!"

  "No, no, neighbor!" cried Robin, flourishing his cudgel, and thenthrusting its larger end close to the man's muffled face. "No, no, I'mnot the fool you take me for, nor do you pass till I have an answer tomy question. Whereabouts is the dwelling of my kinsman, MajorMolineux?" The stranger, instead of attempting to force his passage,stepped back into the moonlight, unmuffled his face, and stared fullinto that of Robin.

  "Watch here an hour, and Major Molineux will pass by," said he.

  Robin gazed with dismay and astonishment on the unprecedentedphysiognomy of the speaker. The forehead with its double prominence thebroad hooked nose, the shaggy eyebrows, and fiery eyes were those whichhe had noticed at the inn, but the man's complexion had undergone asingular, or, more properly, a twofold change. One side of the faceblazed an intense red, while the other was black as midnight, thedivision line being in the broad bridge of the nose; and a mouth whichseemed to extend from ear to ear was black or red, in contrast to thecolor of the cheek. The effect was as if two individual devils, a fiendof fire and a fiend of darkness, had united themselves to form thisinfernal visage. The stranger grinned in Robin's face, muffled hisparty-colored features, and was out of sight in a moment.

  "Strange things we travellers see!" ejaculated Robin.

  He seated himself, however, upon the steps of the church-door,resolving to wait the appointed time for his kinsman. A few momentswere consumed in philosophical speculations upon the species of man whohad just left him; but having settled this point shrewdly, rationally,and satisfactorily, he was compelled to look elsewhere for hisamusement. And first he threw his eyes along the street. It was of morerespectable appearance than most of those into which he had wandered,and the moon, creating, like the imaginative power, a beautifulstrangeness in familiar objects, gave something of romance to a scenethat might not have possessed it in the light of day. The irregular andoften quaint architecture of the houses, some of whose roofs werebroken into numerous little peaks, while others ascended, steep andnarrow, into a single point, and others again were square; the puresnow-white of some of their complexions, the aged darkness of others,and the thousand sparklings, reflected from bright substances in thewalls of many; these matters engaged Robin's attention for a while, andthen began to grow wearisome. Next he endeavored to define the forms ofdistant objects, starting away, with almost ghostly indistinctness,just as his eye appeared to grasp them, and finally he took a minutesurvey of an edifice which stood on the opposite side of the street,directly in front of the church-door, where he was stationed. It was alarge, square mansion, distinguished from its neighbors by a balcony,which rested on tall pillars, and by an elaborate Gothic window,communicating therewith.

  "Perhaps this is the very house I have been seeking," thought Robin.

  Then he strove to speed away the time, by listening to a murmur whichswept continually along the street, yet was scarcely audible, except toan unaccustomed ear like his; it was a low, dull, dreamy sound,compounded of many noises, each of which was at too great a distance tobe separately heard. Robin marvelled at this snore of a sleeping town,and marvelled more whenever its continuity was broken by now and then adistant shout, apparently loud where it originated. But altogether itwas a sleep-inspiring sound, and, to shake off its drowsy influence,Robin arose, and climbed a window-frame, that he might view theinterior of the church. There the moonbeams came trembling in, and felldown upon the deserted pews, and extended along the quiet aisles. Afainter yet more awful radiance was hovering around the pulpit, and onesolitary ray had dared to rest upon the open page of the great Bible.Had nature, in that deep hour, become a worshipper in the house whichman had builded? Or was that heavenly light the visible sanctity of theplace,--visible because no earthly and impure feet were within thewalls? The scene made Robin's heart shiver with a sensation ofloneliness stronger than he had ever felt in the remotest depths of hisnative woods; so he turned away and sat down again before the door.There were graves around the church, and now an uneasy thought obtrudedinto Robin's breast. What if the object of his search, which had beenso often and so strangely thwarted, were all the time mouldering in hisshroud? What if his kinsman should glide through yonder gate, and nodand smile to him in dimly passing by?

  "Oh that any breathing thing were here with me!" said Robin.

  Recalling his thoughts from this uncomfortable track, he sent them overforest, hill, and stream, and attempted to imagine how that evening ofambiguity and weariness had been spent by his father's household. Hepictured them assembled at the door, beneath the tree, the great oldtree, which had been spared for its huge twisted trunk and venerableshade, when a thousand leafy brethren fell. There, at the going down ofthe summer sun, it was his father's custom to perform domestic worshipthat the neighbors might come and join with him like brothers of thefamily, and that the wayfaring man might pause to drink at thatfountain, and keep his heart pure by freshening the memory of home.Robin distinguished the seat of every individual of the littleaudience; he saw the good man in the midst, holding the Scriptures inthe golden light that fell from the western clouds; he beheld him closethe book and all rise up to pray. He heard the old thanksgivings fordaily mercies, the old supplications for t
heir continuance to which hehad so often listened in weariness, but which were now among his dearremembrances. He perceived the slight inequality of his father's voicewhen he came to speak of the absent one; he noted how his mother turnedher face to the broad and knotted trunk; how his elder brother scorned,because the beard was rough upon his upper lip, to permit his featuresto be moved; how the younger sister drew down a low hanging branchbefore her eyes; and how the little one of all, whose sports hadhitherto broken the decorum of the scene, understood the prayer for herplaymate, and burst into clamorous grief. Then he saw them go in at thedoor; and when Robin would have entered also, the latch tinkled intoits place, and he was excluded from his home.

  "Am I here, or there?" cried Robin, starting; for all at once, when histhoughts had become visible and audible in a dream, the long, wide,solitary street shone out before him.

  He aroused himself, and endeavored to fix his attention steadily uponthe large edifice which he had surveyed before. But still his mind keptvibrating between fancy and reality; by turns, the pillars of thebalcony lengthened into the tall, bare stems of pines, dwindled down tohuman figures, settled again into their true shape and size, and thencommenced a new succession of changes. For a single moment, when hedeemed himself awake, he could have sworn that a visage--one which heseemed to remember, yet could not absolutely name as his kinsman's--waslooking towards him from the Gothic window. A deeper sleep wrestledwith and nearly overcame him, but fled at the sound of footsteps alongthe opposite pavement. Robin rubbed his eyes, discerned a man passingat the foot of the balcony, and addressed him in a loud, peevish, andlamentable cry.

  "Hallo, friend! must I wait here all night for my kinsman, MajorMolineux?"

  The sleeping echoes awoke, and answered the voice; and the passenger,barely able to discern a figure sitting in the oblique shade of thesteeple, traversed the street to obtain a nearer view. He was himself agentleman in his prime, of open, intelligent, cheerful, and altogetherprepossessing countenance. Perceiving a country youth, apparentlyhomeless and without friends, he accosted him in a tone of realkindness, which had become strange to Robin's ears.

  "Well, my good lad, why are you sitting here?" inquired he. "Can I beof service to you in any way?"

  "I am afraid not, sir," replied Robin, despondingly; "yet I shall takeit kindly, if you'll answer me a single question. I've been searching,half the night, for one Major Molineux, now, sir, is there really sucha person in these parts, or am I dreaming?"

  "Major Molineux! The name is not altogether strange to me," said thegentleman, smiling. "Have you any objection to telling me the nature ofyour business with him?"

  Then Robin briefly related that his father was a clergyman, settled ona small salary, at a long distance back in the country, and that he andMajor Molineux were brothers' children. The Major, having inheritedriches, and acquired civil and military rank, had visited his cousin,in great pomp, a year or two before; had manifested much interest inRobin and an elder brother, and, being childless himself, had thrownout hints respecting the future establishment of one of them in life.The elder brother was destined to succeed to the farm which his fathercultivated in the interval of sacred duties; it was thereforedetermined that Robin should profit by his kinsman's generousintentions, especially as he seemed to be rather the favorite, and wasthought to possess other necessary endowments.

  "For I have the name of being a shrewd youth," observed Robin, in thispart of his story.

  "I doubt not you deserve it," replied his new friend, good-naturedly;"but pray proceed."

  "Well, sir, being nearly eighteen years old, and well grown, as yousee," continued Robin, drawing himself up to his full height, "Ithought it high time to begin in the world. So my mother and sister putme in handsome trim, and my father gave me half the remnant of his lastyear's salary, and five days ago I started for this place, to pay theMajor a visit. But, would you believe it, sir! I crossed the ferry alittle after dark, and have yet found nobody that would show me the wayto his dwelling; only, an hour or two since, I was told to wait here,and Major Molineux would pass by."

  "Can you describe the man who told you this?" inquired the gentleman.

  "Oh, he was a very ill-favored fellow, sir," replied Robin, "with twogreat bumps on his forehead, a hook nose, fiery eyes; and, what struckme as the strangest, his face was of two different colors. Do youhappen to know such a man, sir?"

  "Not intimately," answered the stranger, "but I chanced to meet him alittle time previous to your stopping me. I believe you may trust hisword, and that the Major will very shortly pass through this street. Inthe mean time, as I have a singular curiosity to witness your meeting,I will sit down here upon the steps and bear you company."

  He seated himself accordingly, and soon engaged his companion inanimated discourse. It was but of brief continuance, however, for anoise of shouting, which had long been remotely audible, drew so muchnearer that Robin inquired its cause.

  "What may be the meaning of this uproar?" asked he. "Truly, if yourtown be always as noisy, I shall find little sleep while I am aninhabitant."

  "Why, indeed, friend Robin, there do appear to be three or four riotousfellows abroad to-night," replied the gentleman. "You must not expectall the stillness of your native woods here in our streets. But thewatch will shortly be at the heels of these lads and--"

  "Ay, and set them in the stocks by peep of day," interrupted Robinrecollecting his own encounter with the drowsy lantern-bearer. "But,dear sir, if I may trust my ears, an army of watchmen would never makehead against such a multitude of rioters. There were at least athousand voices went up to make that one shout."

  "May not a man have several voices, Robin, as well as two complexions?"said his friend.

  "Perhaps a man may; but Heaven forbid that a woman should!" respondedthe shrewd youth, thinking of the seductive tones of the Major'shousekeeper.

  The sounds of a trumpet in some neighboring street now became soevident and continual, that Robin's curiosity was strongly excited. Inaddition to the shouts, he heard frequent bursts from many instrumentsof discord, and a wild and confused laughter filled up the intervals.Robin rose from the steps, and looked wistfully towards a point whitherpeople seemed to be hastening.

  "Surely some prodigious merry-making is going on," exclaimed he "I havelaughed very little since I left home, sir, and should be sorry to losean opportunity. Shall we step round the corner by that darkish houseand take our share of the fun?"

  "Sit down again, sit down, good Robin," replied the gentleman, layinghis hand on the skirt of the gray coat. "You forget that we must waithere for your kinsman; and there is reason to believe that he will passby, in the course of a very few moments."

  The near approach of the uproar had now disturbed the neighborhood;windows flew open on all sides; and many heads, in the attire of thepillow, and confused by sleep suddenly broken, were protruded to thegaze of whoever had leisure to observe them. Eager voices hailed eachother from house to house, all demanding the explanation, which not asoul could give. Half-dressed men hurried towards the unknown commotionstumbling as they went over the stone steps that thrust themselves intothe narrow foot-walk. The shouts, the laughter, and the tuneless braythe antipodes of music, came onwards with increasing din, tillscattered individuals, and then denser bodies, began to appear round acorner at the distance of a hundred yards.

  "Will you recognize your kinsman, if he passes in this crowd?" inquiredthe gentleman.

  "Indeed, I can't warrant it, sir; but I'll take my stand here, and keepa bright lookout," answered Robin, descending to the outer edge of thepavement.

  A mighty stream of people now emptied into the street, and came rollingslowly towards the church. A single horseman wheeled the corner in themidst of them, and close behind him came a band of fearful windinstruments, sending forth a fresher discord now that no interveningbuildings kept it from the ear. Then a redder light disturbed themoonbeams, and a dense multitude of torches shone along the street,concealing, by their gl
are, whatever object they illuminated. Thesingle horseman, clad in a military dress, and bearing a drawn sword,rode onward as the leader, and, by his fierce and variegatedcountenance, appeared like war personified; the red of one cheek was anemblem of fire and sword; the blackness of the other betokened themourning that attends them. In his train were wild figures in theIndian dress, and many fantastic shapes without a model, giving thewhole march a visionary air, as if a dream had broken forth from somefeverish brain, and were sweeping visibly through the midnight streets.A mass of people, inactive, except as applauding spectators, hemmed theprocession in; and several women ran along the sidewalk, piercing theconfusion of heavier sounds with their shrill voices of mirth or terror.

  "The double-faced fellow has his eye upon me," muttered Robin, with anindefinite but an uncomfortable idea that he was himself to bear a partin the pageantry.

  The leader turned himself in the saddle, and fixed his glance full uponthe country youth, as the steed went slowly by. When Robin had freedhis eyes from those fiery ones, the musicians were passing before him,and the torches were close at hand; but the unsteady brightness of thelatter formed a veil which he could not penetrate. The rattling ofwheels over the stones sometimes found its way to his ear, and confusedtraces of a human form appeared at intervals, and then melted into thevivid light. A moment more, and the leader thundered a command to halt:the trumpets vomited a horrid breath, and then held their peace; theshouts and laughter of the people died away, and there remained only auniversal hum, allied to silence. Right before Robin's eyes was anuncovered cart. There the torches blazed the brightest, there the moonshone out like day, and there, in tar-and-feathery dignity, sat hiskinsman, Major Molineux!

  He was an elderly man, of large and majestic person, and strong, squarefeatures, betokening a steady soul; but steady as it was, his enemieshad found means to shake it. His face was pale as death, and far moreghastly; the broad forehead was contracted in his agony, so that hiseyebrows formed one grizzled line; his eyes were red and wild, and thefoam hung white upon his quivering lip. His whole frame was agitated bya quick and continual tremor, which his pride strove to quell, even inthose circumstances of overwhelming humiliation. But perhaps thebitterest pang of all was when his eyes met those of Robin; for heevidently knew him on the instant, as the youth stood witnessing thefoul disgrace of a head grown gray in honor. They stared at each otherin silence, and Robin's knees shook, and his hair bristled, with amixture of pity and terror. Soon, however, a bewildering excitementbegan to seize upon his mind; the preceding adventures of the night,the unexpected appearance of the crowd, the torches, the confused dinand the hush that followed, the spectre of his kinsman reviled by thatgreat multitude,--all this, and, more than all, a perception oftremendous ridicule in the whole scene, affected him with a sort ofmental inebriety. At that moment a voice of sluggish merriment salutedRobin's ears; he turned instinctively, and just behind the corner ofthe church stood the lantern-bearer, rubbing his eyes, and drowsilyenjoying the lad's amazement. Then he heard a peal of laughter like theringing of silvery bells; a woman twitched his arm, a saucy eye methis, and he saw the lady of the scarlet petticoat. A sharp, drycachinnation appealed to his memory, and, standing on tiptoe in thecrowd, with his white apron over his head, he beheld the courteouslittle innkeeper. And lastly, there sailed over the heads of themultitude a great, broad laugh, broken in the midst by two sepulchralhems; thus, "Haw, haw, haw,--hem, hem,--haw, haw, haw, haw!"

  The sound proceeded from the balcony of the opposite edifice, andthither Robin turned his eyes. In front of the Gothic window stood theold citizen, wrapped in a wide gown, his gray periwig exchanged for anightcap, which was thrust back from his forehead, and his silkstockings hanging about his legs. He supported himself on his polishedcane in a fit of convulsive merriment, which manifested itself on hissolemn old features like a funny inscription on a tombstone. Then Robinseemed to hear the voices of the barbers, of the guests of the inn, andof all who had made sport of him that night. The contagion wasspreading among the multitude, when all at once, it seized upon Robin,and he sent forth a shout of laughter that echoed through thestreet,--every man shook his sides, every man emptied his lungs, butRobin's shout was the loudest there. The cloud-spirits peeped fromtheir silvery islands, as the congregated mirth went roaring up thesky! The Man in the Moon heard the far bellow. "Oho," quoth he, "theold earth is frolicsome to-night!"

  When there was a momentary calm in that tempestuous sea of sound, theleader gave the sign, the procession resumed its march. On they went,like fiends that throng in mockery around some dead potentate, mightyno more, but majestic still in his agony. On they went, incounterfeited pomp, in senseless uproar, in frenzied merriment,trampling all on an old man's heart. On swept the tumult, and left asilent street behind.

  * * * * *

  "Well, Robin, are you dreaming?" inquired the gentleman, laying hishand on the youth's shoulder.

  Robin started, and withdrew his arm from the stone post to which he hadinstinctively clung, as the living stream rolled by him. His cheek wassomewhat pale, and his eye not quite as lively as in the earlier partof the evening.

  "Will you be kind enough to show me the way to the ferry?" said he,after a moment's pause.

  "You have, then, adopted a new subject of inquiry?" observed hiscompanion, with a smile.

  "Why, yes, sir," replied Robin, rather dryly. "Thanks to you, and to myother friends, I have at last met my kinsman, and he will scarce desireto see my face again. I begin to grow weary of a town life, sir. Willyou show me the way to the ferry?"

  "No, my good friend Robin,--not to-night, at least," said thegentleman. "Some few days hence, if you wish it, I will speed you onyour journey. Or, if you prefer to remain with us, perhaps, as you area shrewd youth, you may rise in the world without the help of yourkinsman, Major Molineux."