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394
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
WHICH P
BT ETTA ETON.
• ”
CHAPTER L
We three —no, that’s a mistake, there were
only two of us, seeing I was of no consequence
and didn’t count at all; well, then, we two
Nona, Isabel, and I, composed the family of Miss
Jane, an old maid—a wealthy one—who had
taken us when we were mere fledglings, and
raised us to our present well-fledged maturity.
And we were all, save only a queer little thing
that some linnet must have dropped at the door
six years before, but she didn’t count either; so
that, after all, there were only three in the
house. Besides these, there came occasionally
on a visit of several weeks, an old bachelor
brother—but neither was he anybody, and not
worth mentioning, except to show that it some
times takes six to make three, even when none
of the couples have been “ done up’’ into one by
the combined virtue of a parson and a license.
Nena and Isabel were respectively seventeen
and nineteen, I coming just between them; nor
was this the only instance, by the way, in
which I came between them. Many’s the time
when they have had their vials of wrath charged
against each other; many’s the time have I be
come a kind of lightning-rod to draw off the
superabundance of electricity. And so heavy
have been charges I have received, that I verily
believe it only required an insulating stool to
have had my hair standing a la porcupine, and
my eyes, nose, &c., snapping fire.
Nena was a regular blue-eyed darling, with
dimpled cheeks,flaxen —no, cream-colored —hair,
undulating in billowy wavc3 around her snowy
neck and bosom, a low forehead, dumpy figure—
but airy notwithstanding—and a light, springy
step. She was continual!}’ laughing (in company)
and giving her head a quick, pretty little shake,
(in company, too,) which caused her to appear
extremely vivacious, and suggested the thought
that when she was made, Milton must have
stood by and repeated his L’Allegro as a formu
la from which she was to be taken —if so, he
must have laid particular stress upon the lines—
“ Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and quirks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles.”
Then, for some thirty lines the poet’s memory
must have failed him, for Nena was “ o’er fond’’
of a morning nap, and not at all addicted to ris
ing with the lark, or even to hear the chanticleer
“ scatter the rear of darkness thin.”
Isabel had large, slumberous, black eyes—
black, pshaw I Os course black and blue eyes
have their respective concomitants, black and
light hair. You’ve seen Isabel dozens of times,
so it’s only necessary to add that she was taken
to this hospitable abode because, forsooth, she
was so different from Nena, yet so beautiful
withal, that Miss Jane, being unable to choose
' between the “ black eyes and blue,” concluded
to have both. The poet, too, must have attended
her creation, and invoked the spirit of II Pense
roso—
“Come, pensive nun, devout and pure—
Sober, skillful, and demure.”
The third member of the household, Miss
Jane, was, according to her own teachings, an
amalgation of the four cardinal virtues and three
Graces, with a strong flavoring of all other desi
rable qualities—physical, mental and moral—
in short, a mixtry of all the goods. As for the
nooontities—t.baf’o nowhere nor there —i ..«o
a sort of hodge podge. And little Astnca, so
called because she was supposed to have drop
ped from the stars, was a kind of nondescript
thing, all eyes and no ears or tongue, save when
she is alone with me, when she generally mana
ges to find a small pair of ears and tongue suffi
cient to ask questions which would startle me
with their uniqueness; but even then she re
mains, mostly eyes, still. Somehow those eyes
of hers always seemed to be performing the triple"
duty of seeing, hearing, and talking. There
is but one thing in the world it is possible to
compare her to; that is, one of those missionary
" boxes so constructed that you may put in as
many deposits as you please, but “ ne’er a one”
cfiib you take out, without, indeed, you demolish
the box; and in this way I had gotten a vague
idea that one of these days, when a post-mortem
examination of her remains shall take place,
that, stowed away in the cells of her brain, rare
deposits would be found. There this differ
ence, however, between them: Astraea was al
ways receiving, whilst the box, alas! is only al
ways ready to receive. From the size of her
ocular organs, and her tendency to keep near
me, Nena had dubbed us “ Minerva and her at
tendant owl” —not that she considered me very
belligerent in disposition, or Astnca very wise,
for she bestowed very few thoughts, I fancy, on
either of us. *
One June evening, we had taken tea early.
Miss Jane had gone off on some charitable er
rand, to be absent several hours; Nena and Isa
bel were up stairs, deep in “fuss and feathers,”
preparing fora party the next night; I and my
owl had the whole lower part of the house to
ourselves. As we sat out on the verandah, at
that blessed evening time, oblivious of every
thing save the panorama that was passing before
us, the leaves seemed tote fluttering with more
than ordinary gladness, wafting to us now and
then from the village, a mile distant, little bits
and waifs of sound; but gradually this ceased,
and now comes on that dim, uncertain hour,
when the star “Hesperus ushers Twilight in.”
The earth is wrapped in demi-darkness, univer--
sal man has hushed his voice, and universal Na
ture begins her song. “Praise God” seems one
unchanging anthem. The Katy-did, the chirp
ing cricket* the croaking frog, jdin in the joyful
chorus. Yes, and the tree*—the grand old
oaks—lift up their arms-in silent adoration. The
leaves, hitherto drooping beneath the heat of a
midsummer sun, now raise their faces i-°aven
ward and whisper their thanks for the life-giv
ing dews. The little viofl&t lifts ns head in mod
est thanksgiving. The jessamine, which the
livelong day has been pallid with suppressed
fragrance, now sheds around a sweet perfume, as
if gratefully to join in Nature’s homage.
But “ Btarry Night” is “ silently gathering her
jewelled robe ” about her—star after star, planet
after planet, and constellation after constellation,
has come forth to heighten by their individual
lustre the general magnificence. ’Tis a moon
less night. The “ sable goddess ” with her star
gemmed diadem sits on her “ ebon throne.”—
The anthem “Praise God, for He is good,” has
changed into “He is powerful.” This feeling of
Omnipotence seems to have sunken deep into
Astraea’s soul; her hold on my dress has been
gradually lightening. I turn to look at her.
Her large eyes seem luminous through the dark,
the little white face lifted heavenward. Just
then a pale meteor shot across the starry round
and an eager, suppressed voice whispered:
‘Look, Mildred, look; what is it?”
“ Nothing, dear; only Mercury, perhaps, who
has been over there to light his torch at one of
those worlds, preparatory to coming to earth on
some God-sent mission.”
m sotmsß mu ui msios.
Here a “Bless my soul a’ body, Miss Mildred,
you and that little one will catch your death a’
cold, a settin’ there this dewy evening. Why*
ain’t you up stairs now, a fixin’ for the party ?
What are you a gwine to wear if you don’t suth
in’T” and I looked up to see Jude a-standing in
the door with quite a “ bless my soul ” air.
“ Never mind, Jude, I dare say I shall find
something to wear.”
And the discomfitted old aunty departed,
muttering discontentedly. After a while a mys
terious little voice inquired,—
“ Where'll you find it, Mildred ?”
“ Where ?—oh! perhaps Mercury, whose
torch we saw sail through the air, is coming
down to tell me I can have a dress of the beau
tiful bow you saw in the heavens yesterday, and
a scarf of the Milky Way over there.”
“ Where did the bow come from, Mildred ?”
“ Tasso says, dear, that it was ‘ wove in Heav
en’s loom.’ ”
“ Do they have looms in heaven, Mildred, and
did that weave the Milky Way, too ?”
“ No, little one, but when Mercury was a
baba and Juno, his nurse, was feeding him, she
carelessly spilt the food she was carrying to his
mouth. This ran down on the blue sky, stained
it, and took the color out, forming that white
stream over there which we call the ‘ Milky
Way.’ ”
“ Then, Mildred, if I were you, I wouldn’t
have it I’d rather have a piece that isn’t stain
ed. Besides, the milk must have soured by thi
time, and it won’t smell nicely.”
(An unthought of objection.)
“Well, then, Astraea, I guess I had better get
him to bring me Aphrodite’s girdle.”
“What’s that?”
“ Oh, it’s a girdle which, if I wear, everybody
will be obliged to love me. It belonged to
Aphrodite, whose other name is Venus. Don’t
you remember t You have aeen her statue yon
der in the library.”
“ Yes. But, Mildred, it will be a great deal
too little for you. She ain’t no bigger than my
arm. How long will it be before Mercury gets
here, Mildred? Is that him?” she added in a
half frightened, half eager voice, as a light
flashed up the gravelly walk, and a hand was
placed on the gate latch.
“Scarcely 1” thoughUl, but said nothing, as
two figures, preceded by a colored boy, bearing
a lantern, approached the door. On reaching
the steps, a voice I did not know, directed the
boy to “drive back,” they “ would walk home.”
Astnca, unable to look at the celestial visitant
she surmised was drawing near, had buried her
head in the folds of my dress. I remained per
fectly still, hoping thus to escape their attention.
Yes, the hand of one of them was laid upon the
knob to ring, but just then a flood of light from.
the lantern flashed over me. The hand was
withdrawn, a step approached, and a voice I
recognized said, —
“ Ah! Miss Mildred. How do you do ?”
“ Good evening, sir,” said I, emerging from
my nook, bearing Astraea with me, still envel
oped in my dress. We walked back—he threw
open the door, and as we entered the lighted
hall, turned and presented to me “ Mr. Philip
Granville.” They placedlheir hats on the stand,
and as we were waiting there in the dimly
lighted hall for Jude to light the parlor gas, in
answer to a summons from the parlor bell, James
Cameron observed for the first time the outline
of little Astnea’s white frock against the dark
barege I wore.
“ Ah! my little friend, is this you? What are
you hiding for? Not afraid of your Sabbath
Unhnol toooLor, oro rou Aud lio JUISCU ner
face between his palm. Such a stare 1 we all
laughed.
“ Why, Astnca, did you take me for a bur
glar, that you look so startled ?”
“Oh! sir, is it only you?” with n sigh of
mingled relief and disappointment.
“ Only —m-e !” *
“ Yes, sir. I thought it was Mercury, coming
to bring Mildred a dress. We saw his torch
. coming down the sky just now, and he’s going
to give Ler a dress of the rainbow.”
1 joined James in the laugh that followed, but
my cheek burned at having my vagueries thus
told to a stranger. For the first time I looked
quickly up in Mr. Granville'S face, and met a
dark pair of eyes bent on mine, which seemed
to say, “Ah 1 what have we here ?” I looked
away in quick confusion. The light blazing up
at that instant, I ushered them in the parlor, re
questing them to be seated, and, saying I would
send the young ladies down, hastened away.
I sent Jude to Nena and Isabel, and went to
my own room, feeling in no mood to hear their
questions and comments. My head seemed to
be in a perfect whirl, or, rather, I doubted but
that I hadn’t lost my head altogether. I sat
down and tried to quiet myself, but somehow,
everywhere I looked I saw a pair of eyes look
ing down into mine, with “What have we here ?”
speaking from them. “ What have we here ?
What have we here ?” seemed to come from all
parts of the room. I got up and shobk myself
—it was of no avail. I walked to the window
and looked out—two tremulous stars from their
far-off heights looked down into my soul and
seemed to ask, “ What have we hero?" I turn
ed away as a tap at my door brought me partly
to my senses. It was only Astra'a who enter
ed, saying, /
“ Mildred, Mr.,Cameron says, make haste mid
carry that ‘ dress of many colors’ there; tharhe
and Mr. Granville are very anxious to see it.
And then, Mildred, (her voice sinking,) he whis
pered in my ear to ‘ tell you they came to see
you.’ ”
“Did he, Astriea?” I asked, in an eager
voice, and then—“ Oh 1 pshaw, child, he was
only jesting —and besides, I do not wish to go
down.”
“ Why, Mildred, Jude says she thought Nena
would go beside herself with joy when she
heard Mr. Granville was in the parlor, and that
Isabel was just as glad, for, though she didn’t
say anything, she was all of a tremor. And
Jude says he is very rich—just moved up yon
der in that large brick house, and that he will
be sure to fall in love with Nena or Isabel—one,
but sba doesn't know which. I asked Jude if
he mightn’t, fall in love with you, and she laugh
ed and told me to go along. But mayn’t be,
Mildred? Wdqldn't you like him, too?”
“ Nonsense, Astraea. Come here, child, and
never think of such a thing again,” and stand
ing her up on my bureau, I placed myself di-
Tectly iu front of her, so that the gaslight shone
full on me. “ Look at that face, child, and see
if you think anybody could love it.”
For a moment she looked at me intently, and
then —
“ You ain't ugly to-night, Mildred. You
ain’t a bit ugly. You’re heap prettier than
you were to-day. You look so glad. I guess
it's because you’re going to have that beautiful
dress: and I guess you’ve got that girdle (her
little hands sliding down from my shoulders to
my w’aist). Oh 1 Mildred, if you keep on, you’ll
be real pretty in the morning.”
At her first words a new pleasure stole into
my heart, —a feeling that I had possibly in
adequately appreciated my personal attractions,
wlieu a peculiarly suggestive laugh reached me
from the door. I looked up to see Nena stand
ing there. She did not enter, but said,
“ What! Mildred, is Astnca trying to flatter
you? Mr. Cameron ; asked if you did not intend
returning to the parlor, and said something
about wishing to tease you; so I came to see if
you are in a mood to bear teasing. Will you
go?”
“ No, I thank you. - ’ And without waiting to
hear more, she hastened back. Her tone had
said, “ You had better not go; he only asked
from politeness,” and this, coupled with her
laugh, took all nonsense out of me.
Catching up a veil and twining it around my
head, and another around Astnea’s, I took her
hand, ran down the steps and out of the back
door for a brisk walk, hoping thus to clear my
brain of all fantastic ideas which might be lurk
ing there. A cool, bracing breeze had sprung
up, and after a few minutes rapid exercise I was
myself again, but I walked on, with little
Astrxa clinging to my hand and bounding along
to keep pace with me—now a skip, then a hop,
then a jump, but all the time as demure as
mother Puss herself.
We had been walking thus for I don’t know
how long, when I suddenly recollected • that a
heavy dew was falling, and we were both but
thinly clad.
“Come, Astnca, we must go back.”
We were not far from the house, having been
walking around a kind of park.
“ Here, let us go the shortest route, the dew is
thickening!”
“ Where does the dew come from Mildred?”
“Where? Oh! up there.”
“ Out of the stars, Mildred ?"
“ No, little Curiosity-box, not out of them;
but there lives up there among them a sprite,
who is called the “ Queen of Shade,” and who is
the daughter of Night. So, when the day is
closed she comes out from among them towards
the earth, and shaking over it her 1 humid veil,’
scatters down a shower of ‘starlight dews,’which
falling, impearls every leaf and shrub I”
The little mystified face was turned towards
me as if doubtful of my meaning.
“Humid, Mildred?”
“Yes, Astnca; watery —wet veil.”
“Oh 1 Does she dip the water up in her veil
and pour it down ? Won’t it spoil her veil ?”
Here was a curious combination of the ideal
and practical. Miss Jane seems to have suc
ceeded in engrafting the matter-of-fact on the
ideal.
“ Never mind, now; let us haste; the winds
are growing cooler.”
“ Where do the winds come from, Mildred ?
What makes them?”
“ This, that you feel, is the breeze caused by
a fan which Night holds in her hand, fanning
*To dulcet peace and sleep, the o'erwcaried world.’ ”
We were just emerging from a clump of trees
when I saw, though but dimly, two forms ap
proaching. I drew back hastily, at the- same
time placing my hand over Astraea’s mouth to
stop* her tongue, which seemed to have “ got a
going” to-night. We, came near meeting thap,
and in my fright lest they had seen us, I aid
not hear a word they were saying, though they
brushed by us, until they had passed some dis
tance ; then, I heard a rich, deep voice, which
seemed to grow deeper as he said it, and which
must have been in reply to some raillery from
the other, say; •
“ Nonsense 1 lam not one to fall in love at
fi*Bt sight. But 1 never saw a more interest
ing face, and if I may judge in so u.icf » *i«c,
thero nro rmo gems of thought in that mind.
“ Which ,” and that was all I heard; the
rest died away in the distance. It might have
been an unfinished sentence, but my imagination
had placed the interrogation point after it, and
in my eagerness to know which f I found my
self involuntarily leaning in that direction to
catch the reply. But a clear laugh from James
Cameron startled me, and I hastily turned and
pursued my walk. I was vexed with myself for
playing the listener, vexed at the interest I felt
in the reply; but, after all, it was not strange
that I should feel sufficiently interested in my
friends to wish to know which of them had
made an impression—it was only natural. Yes,
so natural that the question which ? kept recur
ring to my mind again and again, and I finally
fell asleep, dreaming that 1 was throwing dice
all night to determine it, and every time threw
the same number.
The next morning when I awoke, I had a
strange feeling of mingled pain and pleasure.—
I remained perfectly still a few moments to col
lect my thoughts, and as the events of the pre
vious evening passed through my mind, I sprang
up. “A precious simpleton I made of myself,
last night,”—and I laughed gaily. Morning
had dispelled the futile visions of the night. I
dressed myself quickly and ran out for a walk.
The pure morning air cleared my brain entirely,
so when I went into breakfast I was prepared
to hear the comments and ecstacies of Nena
and Isabel. Still, I was very anxious to haye
the question of last evening solved. Which f
And I thought that from their conversation I
could probably gather, which had made the
impression. But I was mistaken. Had I heard
only one side of the story, I should certainly
have concluded that she who was telling it had
been the fortunate one, but it was impossible
to decide, hearing both at the same time,
each of them evidently thinking, and wishing
to have us think, that it was herself. I sat
there listening, almost holding my breath
waiting to hear them say something—not even
knowing myself what it was I wanted, until
thought whispered as we left the table—“ then
it was only James Cameron who asked for you,
he did not wish to see you,” for which I men
tally boxed my ears, and resolutely set about
work, resolving not to think of him any more
that day; and I didn’t, only now and‘then I
would catch myself looking at Nena and Isa
bel, and wondering which ) You know we
had been raised together, like sisters, and I
couldn’t help feeling an interest in them.
[to be concluded next week.]
Great excitement is now existing in France
among liberal men of letters as to the probable
fate of Voltaire’s literary relics. Through his
niece, (the first legatee), and the Marquis de
Villette, the entire personal property of Vol
taire has descended to a French Prelate. Mgr.
de Dreux Breze, Bishop of Meaux, oue of the
most intolerant and retrogade members of the
Galiician hierarchy, to whom the very name of
the great writer must be a bugbear. “ What
will he do with it ?” is the question uppermost
in the minds of the liberals. Considering the
precious bequest, which includes even the heart
of Voltaire preserved in a silver urn, an Auto
da Fe of the invaluable relics, papers, etc., is
more than hinted at, and seems to bo quite
within the power of the uncongenial possessor.
—i> i■ i i
Cromwell’s Motto. —The words “ resistance
to tyrants is obedience to God," was the motto
used by the Protector oi England. Thomas
Jefferson adopted the sentiment, and had it en
graved upon his private seal. He did not, as is
supposed, originate the thought.
• *
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
“ RAGS V*
by nnt
Mr. Phil Tatter having come to town to seek
his fortune, begad his researches by renting an
observatory in the garret of a five-storied house*
thus, at one bound, exalting himself at least
fifty feet above the multitude of pedestrians in
the street below. Aside from its advantages in
an astrological point of view, his abode was
suggestive of like apartments once tenanted by
those who subsequently became great, either in
literature, statemanship, arms, or commerce. A
pleasant similarity, truly. It lent a spring to
his step as he mounted the weary length of
stairs, a piquant savor to his undainty fare, and,
while being quite a feather in his cap, seemed to
supply his hard pillow with that luxurious ar
ticle. Mr. Phil Tatter was proud of a manner of
living so often consecrated by men of genius
— quorum paro suit! Egad! thonght he, I am
as sure of becoming great as an acorn is to grow
into the majestic oak! forgetting how many
acorns are devoured by the swinish multitude.
Phil’s father had given him fifty dollars from
his “ stored earns,” and a paternal warning
against the fast ways and loose habits of city
life. The money was now gone; his last “quar
ter”, being of a social disposition, or rather
being socially disposed, had betaken itself to
other quarters; and the warning—why it; of
course, had expired as the usual month’s notice.
Unlucky days had come upon Phil Tatter;
evory day seemed a Friday; and if any young
American was a particularly fast liver, Mr. Tat
ter was surely a faster—when he had nothing to
eat, and ate it His hat was as napless as a
“sleepless sentinel of freedom,” and held its an
cient crown by the most precarious of tenures;
indeed, its condition was so “ bad” that an elec
trician might have used it as a battery—for
“ shocking.” His coat was threadbare, faded,
and seedy. It#collar was a “ shining mark,”
enough so for Death to fall in love with it. The
coat had also risen in arms, emancipating his
wrists, and breaking out at the elbows. His
pants were full of breaches, and were as nearly
“airy nothings” as Tatter —being a poet—could
name. It was shrewdly suspected that Tatter
still wore the shirt he was born in, but proof to
the contrary was patent, superfluously, to all
observers who chanced to follow him for the
space of half a square. Mr. Tatter’s boots were
a curious collection of holes, ornamented spar
ingly with bits of leather —the rents being to
the full as great as the tenants were able to foot.
Thus was the acorn becoming the oak ! It being
January, however, Phil Tatter took things
coolly.
He was sitting in his little attic, shivering
over his hearth, and wishing heartily that
Gray had given less rhyme or more reason, _
where he says:
“ Ev’n in our ashes lived their wanted fires.”
The chair he sat in was by no means an easy
one; it was of wood, old, cold and hard. Ano
ther chair in the corner served as a washstand.
The other “cheer” was wanting. A single bed,
scantily furnished, a small table, a trunk valise,
a dirty mirror, three empty bottles, four pipes,
a few books, and innumerable cobwebs, were
the setting-forth of the room. A_dirty window
was at few panes to shed “a dim, religious light”
into the unsightly den, and upon the sinner who
inhabited it The view was sublime —“all heav
ens opened on the sight,” not to mention sundry
chimneys and house-tops; it should have been
recommended, per advertisement, to
ing youths,” and “maids who love the moon.”
Here Mr. Phil Tatter had lived for several
months, and here, he feared, as he leant moodily
against the chimney, he was likely to starve.
Out of funds, without work, almost without
hope, he saw nothing before him but suicide or
involuntary starvation. The idea of death very
naturally brought with it that of coffin, shroud,
grave, funeral.
“It all costs money," said the considerate fel
low to himself, “jand where is it to come from?
Dying is too extrayagant a proceeding for a man
in my circumstances. Decidedly more economi
cal to live awhile 1 Deuced hard—Death, even,
won’t do a favor gratis— can’t even settle the
little matter with Nature ‘ without costs.’ I’ll
wait till she demands payment of the debt, and
then I’ll down with the dust!”
“Eureka!” shouted Tatter, triumphantly,
“I’ll enlist!” He glanced at his dress and in
stantly gave up the notion. “ Heigho I ’ sighed
he, “Falstaff is no longer on the recruiting ser
vice, and no one else forms ragged regiments.
‘ Food for powder’ is better dressed now-a
daysl”
It was in vain that our hero reviewed every
source of livelihood presented in real life or in
poetic imagination. Marriage ? —a fee to State,
and another to the parson, forbade —unless, in
deed, one were in South Carolina, where the
simple ceremony of jumping over a broom is a
legal initiation to the connubial mysteries of the
broom-handle. The Stage?—true, were it
Christmas, the tragic role of John O’Cooner
offered him a means of “pleasing the children,”
and raising “the scented gale;” or, were he a
robustious, periwig-pated feilow, he might, in
appropriate costume, “tear a passion to tatters—
to very rags.” The newspapers had columns of
“Wants;” people avowed a desire for clerks,
servants, Ac., but the very sight of Phil put
those worthy people out of the notion. He had
applied to a railroad contractor for employment.
That gentleman declared that he would not have
a man under him who was so evidently “too
big for bis breeches.”
“That’s not it,” replied Tatter, “the breeches
are too small for me.”
“It’s all the same in Dutch,” said the R. R.
man, who, from his remark, was. clearly a Ger
man, “ here’s a dime to get you a dinner.”
“ Do you take me for a beggar ?” asked Tatter,
angrily refusing the money.
“Your pardon!” said the contractor, with
mock politeness,, as he glanced at Tatter’s
clothes, “appearances are so deceitful—some
times 1”
He had already tried literature. His best
performance—one whereof the peculiar humor
was, that the writer affected to be as old as Me
thusalab, and made birds, beasts and creeping
things talk in a manner that hardly eclipsed
Esop—was peremptorily rejected by an astute
editor, who wrote upon the occasion, that,
“ though the article was quite as bad as the
great majority of pieces offered to his consider
ation, yet he did not feel able to offer the writer
a price correspondent to his merits; therefore,
he politely declined ‘ The Bug in the Bed-Tick.’
He would suggest, however, the artistic fitness
and propriety, in any future revival of the 1 Bed
in the Bug-Tick,’ of not introducing the author
in human form and circumstance, but, rather, in
propria persona —as a jack-ass 1”
Tatter thought to write ballads, and sing
them about the streets; but it was as impossible
for him to raise a note as a bank-bill—though
he had plenty of uncurrent “ rags ” about his
old clothes. Upon a private trial of his vocal
organs he found himself ns totally wanting in
melodious capacity, as though he had been one
of those ancient Romans, who gave their
“ voices” to Coriolanus. He even doubted hav
ing the musical talent to play upon the fantastic
hurdy-gurdy—provided he could by any means
get possession of one of those rare instruments.
To speculate in pea-nuts required capital.
“ Yer want rags here ?” The door of Tatter’s
room was pushed open unceremoniously by the
shabby-looking lad who asked the question. He
held a bundle in his hands.
“ No!” was the savage answer. A new ideq
occurred to Mr. Phil Tatter. “ What do you
get for rags, ray little man ?”
“Four cent a-pound,” replied the youth.
“ I believe, Mr. Truck, on the next floor be
low," said Tatter, “ buys rags and things. You’ll
find his door under the stairs.”
“A special providence- sent that boy here!”
mused Mr. Tatter. Many a time and oft had he
noticed Mr. Truck’s little establishment: and he
remembered, too, that on the second floor old
Judas Ananias bought old clo’es; yet he had
never, until this moment, thought of a commer
cial transaction with either of those respectable
men.
“The last cow gives good milk!" said Phil,
with revived hope. Within the ensuing hour
he had negotiated a sale of such of his wardrobe
as he could possibly spare. He was no longer
penniless—he had exactly thirty-five cents in his
pocket! The precious metal really warmed him
all over; he began to fear that it would actually
bum holes through his clothes, and so be lost.
To prevent so lamentable an occurrence, he be
took himself to a saloon, where, for twenty-five
cents, he procured a substantial meal, the re
maining dime soon following for a stout drink
of whiskey, and a segar so modest that it scorn
ed to be puffed, giving Tatter at the same time
a crick in his neck. There, at the comer, he
stood; the painful character of the spasmodic
affection causing him to be perfectly still, and to
hold his head away. His attitude gave a highly
ludicrous aspect to his shabby tout ensemble. A
crowd gradually gathered around him.
“ He’s a runaway scarf-crow from the coun
try,” said some one; “ five cents reward offered
for him, and no thanks!”
“ He’s agent for a paper mill,” said another.
“ He’s the man who took the rag off the bush,”
said a third.
“Goody, goody, gout," began a saucy boy.
Tatter, in despair, endeavored to rush from his
taunters, but, in crossing the street, confused at
once by pain of body ancl of mind, he got di
rectly before an advancing barouche-and-pair,
which knocked him down and passed over his
prostrate form. The carriage stopped instantly,
and a gentleman, descending, examined the in
sensible youth.
“ His left arm is broken, that is all,” said this
gentleman to the bystanders; “ his conscious
ness will soon return. Allow me to take charge
. of him.” No one demurring, Mr. Phil Tatter
was lifted into the barouche and borne to a more
retired part of the town.
When he came to, Tatter found himself re
clining upon an easy couch, in an apartment
which seemed, at the time, to be almost sumptu
ously furnished. Were the stories of enchant
ment true, despite the bald teachings of philoso- 9
phy ? Dr. Brown very soon apprised him of,the
event that had brought him thither. Tatter at
tempted to rise, but found himself too weak.
The Doctor easily learned from poor Phil who
his father was, and where Mr. Tatter, Sr., re
sided. M. D.’s have away of discovering every
thing that they wish to know, and Dr. Brown
became readily acquainted with his patient’s at
tic story and his fifth-story attic. Day after day
he sat for awhile at the bedside, listening to
Tatter’s humorous account of hig’pursuit of for
tune under difficulties; and when Phil, at
length, was well enough to move, the Doctor
bad laughed himself into a hearty friendship for
the funny fellow.
For the first time our hero ate at table with
the doctor. It was breakfast, and several other
gentlemen were present, also guests, apparent
ly. Mr. Tatter was more neatly dressed than
we have seen him hitherto. The occasion was
enlivened by a genial flow of conversation —ev-
ery one engaging in it sensibly and gracefully.
The repast concluded, all still sat in an agreeable
discussion; Tatter feeling that he had never
spent his time more rationally; the Doctor, ex
cusing himself, withdrew. Immediately there
was an ominous silence, which was at last bro
ken by the mysterious question,—
“ How did he get you ?” put to Tatter, by his
nearest neighbor.
“Who?” asked the surprised young man.
“ He,” replied the gentleman, nodding his head
as if referring to the Doctor.
Tatter related the accident that had happen
ed to him, and its consequences, calling atten
tion, alas! to his bandaged arm.
“ Nobody can escape his arts!” sighed the
first speaker.
“Nobody, nobody!” was echoed plaintively
around.
“ Unhappy man!” began a second gentleman,
addressing Tatter, “ you are trepanned by a dia
*bolical tyrant who will torment you forever.
Every moment of a. miserable existence, hence
forth, is subject to his moody temper. He will
fierce your body with continual aud ever-renew
ing agonies, and fill your soul through day and
■ night with stupendous horrors. The infliction
of inconceivable tortures is the especial amuse
ment of the unfeeling monster who imprisons
us. And you never can escape hence, never!”
“Never!” repeated the others, solemnly.
“ Ha, ha! gentlemen*” said Tatter, making an
abortive effort to laugh, “ this joke is decidedly
rich, and well sustained.”'
The manners and protestations of the party
fully convinced him that they were terribly in
earnest. Nor were Mr. Tatter’s experiences,
during the previous few days, of a kind particu
larly calculated to clear and satisfy his intellect.
A tremor of alarm vibrated through him. His
thoughts scattered wildly, and would not col
lect.
“ You cannot get away from here, once having
entered,” said the person who had first spoken;
“ for he lias a powerful magnet in this castle,
which, acting upon a ball of iron that he inserts
into our stomachs, keepo us fatally chained by
its cursed attraction. We go round and round,
like planets around the sun, but we can’t get
out. In that trance to which he subjected you,
he doubtless provided you with an iron ball,”
and so saying, he suddenly placed his hand upon
Mr. Tatter’s stomach, adding, as he felt, " and
here it is 1”
Poor Tatter actually felt a globe of heavy me
tal among his intestines —as he thought at the
moment. He didn’t know what to make of it.
Were all these intelligent men suddenly and
simultaneously gone crazy, or lay the fault with
himself ? It was inexplicable to his confused
mind. A servant entering, informed him that
Dr. Brown wished to see him. *
“For God’s sake do not go! ” exclaimed the
gantleman; “he will break another of your
limbs.”
But the frightened youth was glad enough to
follow the servant. The Doctor explained. He
was Superintendent of the Lunatic Asylum.—