text:
Jo's Boys/Chapter 20

The summer days that followed were full of rest and pleasure for young and old, as they did the honours of Plumfield to their happy guests. While Franz and Emil were busy with the affairs of Uncle Hermann and Captain Hardy, Mary and Ludmilla made friends everywhere; for, though very unlike, both were excellent and charming girls. Mrs Meg and Daisy found the German bride a Hausfrau after their own hearts, and had delightful times learning new dishes, hearing about the semi-yearly washes and the splendid linen-room at Hamburg, or discussing domestic life in all its branches. Ludmilla not only taught, but learned, many things, and went home with many new and useful ideas in her blonde head.

Mary had seen so much of the world that she was unusually lively for an English girl; while her various accomplishments made her a most agreeable companion. Much good sense gave her ballast; and the late experiences of danger and happiness added a sweet gravity at times, which contrasted well with her natural gaiety. Mrs Jo was quite satisfied with Emil's choice, and felt sure this true and tender pilot would bring him safe to port through fair or stormy weather. She had feared that Franz would settle down into a comfortable, moneymaking burgher, and be content with that; but she soon saw that his love of music and his placid Ludmilla put much poetry into his busy life, and kept it from being too prosaic. So she felt at rest about these boys, and enjoyed their visit with real, maternal satisfaction; parting with them in September most regretfully, yet hopefully, as they sailed away to the new life that lay before them.

Demi's engagement was confided to the immediate family only, as both were pronounced too young to do anything but love and wait. They were so happy that time seemed to stand still for them, and after a blissful week they parted bravely—Alice to home duties, with a hope that sustained and cheered her through many trials; and John to his business, full of a new ardour which made all things possible when such a reward was offered.

Daisy rejoiced over them, and was never tired of hearing her brother's plans for the future. Her own hope soon made her what she used to be—a cheery, busy creature, with a smile, kind word, and helping hand for all; and as she went singing about the house again, her mother felt that the right remedy for past sadness had been found. The dear Pelican still had doubts and fears, but kept them wisely to herself, preparing sundry searching tests to be applied when Nat came home, and keeping a sharp eye on the letters from London; for some mysterious hint had flown across the sea, and Daisy's content seemed reflected in Nat's present cheerful state of mind.

Having passed through the Werther period, and tried a little Faust—of which experience he spoke to his Marguerite as if it had included an acquaintance with Mephistopheles, Blocksburg, and Auerbach's wine-cellar—he now felt that he was a Wilhelm Meister, serving his apprenticeship to the great masters of life. As she knew the truth of his small sins and honest repentance, Daisy only smiled at the mixture of love and philosophy he sent her, knowing that it was impossible for a young man to live in Germany without catching the German spirit.

'His heart is all right; and his head will soon grow clear when he gets out of the fog of tobacco, beer, and metaphysics he's been living in. England will wake up his common sense, and good salt air blow his little follies all away,' said Mrs Jo, much pleased with the good prospects of her violinist—whose return was delayed till spring, to his private regret, but professional advancement.

Josie had a month with Miss Cameron at the seaside, and threw herself so heartily into the lesson given her that her energy, promise, and patience laid the foundation of a friendship which was of infinite value to her in the busy, brilliant years to come; for little Jo's instincts were right; and the dramatic talent of the Marches was to blossom by and by into an actress, virtuous, and beloved.

Tom and his Dora were peacefully ambling altar-ward; for Bangs senior was so afraid his son would change his mind again and try a third profession, that he gladly consented to an early marriage, as a sort of anchor to hold the mercurial Thomas fast. Aforesaid Thomas could not complain of cold shoulders now; for Dora was a most devoted and adoring little mate, and made life so pleasant to him that his gift for getting into scrapes seemed lost, and he bade fair to become a thriving man, with undeniable talent for the business he had chosen.

'We shall be married in the autumn, and live with my father for a while. The governor is getting on, you know, and my wife and I must look after him. Later we shall have an establishment of our own,' was a favourite speech of his about this time, and usually received with smiles; for the idea of Tommy Bangs at the head of an 'establishment' was irresistibly funny to all who knew him.

Things were in this flourishing condition, and Mrs Jo was beginning to think her trials were over for that year, when a new excitement came. Several postal cards had arrived at long intervals from Dan, who gave them 'Care of M. Mason, etc.', as his address. By this means he was able to gratify his longing for home news, and to send brief messages to quiet their surprise at his delay in settling. The last one, which came in September, was dated 'Montana', and simply said:

Here at last, trying mining again; but not going to stay long. All sorts of luck. Gave up the farm idea. Tell plans soon. Well, busy, and very happy. D. K.

If they had known what the heavy dash under 'happy' meant, that postal would have been a very eloquent bit of pasteboard; for Dan was free, and had gone straight away to the liberty he panted for. Meeting an old friend by accident, he obliged him at a pinch by acting as overseer for a time, finding the society even of rough miners very sweet, and something in the muscular work wonderfully pleasant, after being cooped up in the brush-shop so long. He loved to take a pick and wrestle with rock and earth till he was weary—which was very soon; for that year of captivity had told upon his splendid physique. He longed to go home, but waited week after week to get the prison taint off him and the haggard look out of his face. Meanwhile he made friends of masters and men; and as no one knew his story, he took his place again in the world gratefully and gladly—with little pride now, and no plans but to do some good somewhere, and efface the past.

Mrs Jo was having a grand clearing-out of her desk one October day, while the rain poured outside, and peace reigned in her mansion. Coming across the postals, she pondered over them, and then put them carefully away in the drawer labelled 'Boys' Letters', saying to herself, as she bundled eleven requests for autographs into the waste-paper basket:

'It is quite time for another card, unless he is coming to tell his plans. I'm really curious to know what he has been about all this year, and how he's getting on now.'

That last wish was granted within an hour; for Ted came rushing in, with a newspaper in one hand, a collapsed umbrella in the other, and a face full of excitement, announcing, all in one breathless jumble:

'Mine caved in—twenty men shut up—no way out—wives crying—water rising—Dan knew the old shaft—risked his life—got 'em out—most killed—papers full of it—I knew he'd be a hero—hurray for old Dan!'

'What? Where? When? Who? Stop roaring, and let me read!' commanded his mother, entirely bewildered.

Relinquishing the paper, Ted allowed her to read for herself, with frequent interruptions from him—and Rob, who soon followed, eager for the tale. It was nothing new; but courage and devotion always stir generous hearts, and win admiration; so the account was both graphic and enthusiastic; and the name of Daniel Kean, the brave man who saved the lives of others at the risk of his own, was on many lips that day. Very proud were the faces of these friends as they read how their Dan was the only one who, in the first panic of the accident, remembered the old shaft that led into the mine—walled up, but the only hope of escape, if the men could be got out before the rising water drowned them; how he was lowered down alone, telling the others to keep back till he saw if it was safe; how he heard the poor fellows picking desperately for their lives on the other side, and by knocks and calls guided them to the right spot; then headed the rescue party, and working like a hero, got the men out in time. On being drawn up last of all, the worn rope broke, and he had a terrible fall, being much hurt, but was still alive. How the grateful women kissed his blackened face and bloody hands, as the men bore him away in triumph, and the owners of the mine promised a handsome reward, if he lived to receive it!

'He must live; he shall, and come home to be nursed as soon as he can stir, if I go and bring him myself! I always knew he'd do something fine and brave, if he didn't get shot or hung for some wild prank instead,' cried Mrs Jo, much excited.

'Do go, and take me with you, Mum. I ought to be the one, Dan's so fond of me and I of him,' began Ted, feeling that this would be an expedition after his own heart.

Before his mother could reply, Mr Laurie came in, with almost as much noise and flurry as Teddy the second, exclaiming as he waved the evening paper:

'Seen the news, Jo? What do you think? Shall I go off at once, and see after that brave boy?'

'I wish you would. But the thing may not be all true—rumour lies so. Perhaps a few hours will bring an entirely new version of the story.'

'I've telephoned to Demi for all he can find out; and if it's true, I'll go at once. Should like the trip. If he's able, I'll bring him home; if not, I'll stay and see to him. He'll pull through. Dan will never die of a fall on his head. He's got nine lives, and not lost half of them yet.'

'If you go, uncle, mayn't I go with you? I'm just spoiling for a journey; and it would be such larks to go out there with you, and see the mines and Dan, and hear all about it, and help. I can nurse. Can't I, Rob?' cried Teddy, in his most wheedlesome tones.

'Pretty well. But if mother can't spare you, I'm ready if uncle needs anyone,' answered Rob, in his quiet way, looking much fitter for the trip than excitable Ted.

'I can't spare either of you. My boys get into trouble, unless I keep them close at home. I've no right to hold the others; but I won't let you out of my sight, or something will happen. Never saw such a year, with wrecks and weddings and floods and engagements, and every sort of catastrophe!' exclaimed Mrs Jo.

'If you deal in girls and boys, you must expect this sort of thing, ma'am. The worst is over, I hope, till these lads begin to go off. Then I'll stand by you; for you'll need every kind of support and comfort, specially if Ted bolts early,' laughed Mr Laurie, enjoying her lamentations.

'I don't think anything can surprise me now; but I am anxious about Dan, and feel that someone had better go to him. It's a rough place out there, and he may need careful nursing. Poor lad, he seems to get a good many hard knocks! But perhaps he needs them as "a mellerin' process", as Hannah used to say.'

'We shall hear from Demi before long, and then I'll be off.' With which cheerful promise Mr Laurie departed; and Ted, finding his mother firm, soon followed, to coax his uncle to take him.

Further inquiry confirmed and added interest to the news. Mr Laurie was off at once; and Ted went into town with him, still vainly imploring to be taken to his Dan. He was absent all day; but his mother said, calmly:

'Only a fit of the sulks because he is thwarted. He's safe with Tom or Demi, and will come home hungry and meek at night. I know him.'

But she soon found that she could still be surprised; for evening brought no Ted, and no one had seen him. Mr Bhaer was just setting off to find his lost son, when a telegram arrived, dated at one of the way-stations on Mr Laurie's route:

Found Ted in the cars. Take him along. Write tomorrow.

T. LAURENCE 'Ted bolted sooner than you expected, mother. Never mind—uncle will take good care of him, and Dan be very glad to see him,' said Rob, as Mrs Jo sat, trying to realize that her youngest was actually on his way to the wild West.

'Disobedient boy! He shall be severely punished, if I ever get him again. Laurie winked at this prank; I know he did. Just like him. Won't the two rascals have a splendid time? Wish I was with them! Don't believe that crazy boy took even a night-gown with him, or an overcoat. Well, there will be two patients for us to nurse when they get back, if they ever do. Those reckless express trains always go down precipices, and burn up, or telescope. Oh! my Ted, my precious boy, how can I let him go so far away from me?'

And mother-like, Mrs Jo forgot the threatened chastisement in tender lamentations over the happy scapegrace, now whizzing across the continent in high feather at the success of his first revolt. Mr Laurie was much amused at his insisting that those words, 'when Ted bolts', put the idea into his head; and therefore the responsibility rested upon his shoulders. He assumed it kindly from the moment he came upon the runaway asleep in a car, with no visible luggage but a bottle of wine for Dan and a blacking-brush for himself; and as Mrs Jo suspected, the 'two rascals' did have a splendid time. Penitent letters arrived in due season, and the irate parents soon forgot to chide in their anxiety about Dan, who was very ill, and did not know his friends for several days. Then he began to mend; and everyone forgave the bad boy when he proudly reported that the first conscious words Dan said were: 'Hallo, Ted!' with a smile of pleasure at seeing a familiar face bent over him.

'Glad he went, and I won't scold any more. Now, what shall we put in the box for Dan?' And Mrs Jo worked off her impatience to get hold of the invalid by sending comforts enough for a hospital.

Cheering accounts soon began to come, and at length Dan was pronounced able to travel, but seemed in no haste to go home, though never tired of hearing his nurses talk of it.

'Dan is strangely altered,' wrote Laurie to Jo; 'not by this illness alone, but by something which has evidently gone before. I don't know what, and leave you to ask; but from his ravings when delirious I fear he has been in some serious trouble the past year. He seems ten years older, but improved, quieter, and so grateful to us. It is pathetic to see the hunger in his eyes as they rest on Ted, as if he couldn't see enough of him. He says Kansas was a failure, but can't talk much; so I bide my time. The people here love him very much, and he cares for that sort of thing now; used to scorn any show of emotion, you know; now he wants everyone to think well of him, and can't do enough to win affection and respect. I may be all wrong. You will soon find out. Ted is in clover, and the trip has done him a world of good. Let me take him to Europe when we go? Apron-strings don't agree with him any better than they did with me when I proposed to run away to Washington with you some century ago. Aren't you sorry you didn't?'

This private letter set Mrs Jo's lively fancy in a ferment, and she imagined every known crime, affliction, and complication which could possibly have befallen Dan. He was too feeble to be worried with questions now, but she promised herself most interesting revelations when she got him safe at home; for the 'firebrand' was her most interesting boy. She begged him to come, and spent more time in composing a letter that should bring him, than she did over the most thrilling episodes in her 'works'.

No one but Dan saw the letter; but it did bring him, and one November day Mr Laurie helped a feeble man out of a carriage at the door of Plumfield, and Mother Bhaer received the wanderer like a recovered son; while Ted, in a disreputable-looking hat and an astonishing pair of boots, performed a sort of war-dance round the interesting group.

'Right upstairs and rest; I'm nurse now, and this ghost must eat before he talks to anyone,' commanded Mrs Jo, trying not to show how shocked she was at this shorn and shaven, gaunt and pallid shadow of the stalwart man she parted with.

He was quite content to obey, and lay on the long lounge in the room prepared for him, looking about as tranquilly as a sick child restored to its own nursery and mother's arms, while his new nurse fed and refreshed him, bravely controlling the questions that burned upon her tongue. Being weak and weary, he soon fell asleep; and then she stole away to enjoy the society of the 'rascals', whom she scolded and petted, pumped and praised, to her heart's content.

'Jo, I think Dan has committed some crime and suffered for it,' said Mr Laurie, when Ted had departed to show his boots and tell glowing tales of the dangers and delights of the miners' life to his mates. 'Some terrible experience has come to the lad, and broken his spirit. He was quite out of his head when we arrived, and I took the watching, so I heard more of those sad wanderings than anyone else. He talked of the "warden", some trail, a dead man, and Blair and Mason, and would keep offering me his hand, asking me if I would take it and forgive him. Once, when he was very wild, I held his arms, and he quieted in a moment, imploring me not to "put the handcuffs on". I declare, it was quite awful sometimes to hear him in the night talk of old Plum and you, and beg to be let out and go home to die.'

'He isn't going to die, but live to repent of anything he may have done; so don't harrow me up with these dark hints, Teddy. I don't care if he's broken the Ten Commandments, I'll stand by him, and so will you, and we'll set him on his feet and make a good man of him yet. I know he's not spoilt, by the look in his poor face. Don't say a word to anyone, and I'll have the truth before long,' answered Mrs Jo, still loyal to her bad boy, though much afflicted by what she had heard.

For some days Dan rested, and saw few people; then good care, cheerful surroundings, and the comfort of being at home began to tell, and he seemed more like himself, though still very silent as to his late experiences, pleading the doctor's orders not to talk much. Everyone wanted to see him; but he shrank from any but old friends, and 'wouldn't lionize worth a cent', Ted said, much disappointed that he could not show off his brave Dan.

'Wasn't a man there who wouldn't have done the same, so why make a row over me?' asked the hero, feeling more ashamed than proud of the broken arm, which looked so interesting in a sling.

'But isn't it pleasant to think that you saved twenty lives, Dan, and gave husbands, sons, and fathers back to the women who loved them?' asked Mrs Jo one evening as they were alone together after several callers had been sent away.

'Pleasant! it's all that kept me alive, I do believe; yes, I'd rather have done it than be made president or any other big bug in the world. No one knows what a comfort it is to think I've saved twenty men to more than pay for—' There Dan stopped short, having evidently spoken out of some strong emotion to which his hearer had no key.

'I thought you'd feel so. It is a splendid thing to save life at the risk of one's own, as you did, and nearly lose it,' began Mrs Jo, wishing he had gone on with that impulsive speech which was so like his old manner.

'"He that loseth his life shall gain it",' muttered Dan, staring at the cheerful fire which lighted the room, and shone on his thin face with a ruddy glow.

Mrs Jo was so startled at hearing such words from his lips that she exclaimed joyfully:

'Then you did read the little book I gave you, and kept your promise?'

'I read it a good deal after a while. I don't know much yet, but I'm ready to learn; and that's something.'

'It's everything. Oh, my dear, tell me about it! I know something lies heavy on your heart; let me help you bear it, and so make the burden lighter.'

'I know it would; I want to tell; but some things even you couldn't forgive; and if you let go of me, I'm afraid I can't keep afloat.'

'Mothers can forgive anything! Tell me all, and be sure that I will never let you go, though the whole world should turn from you.'

Mrs Jo took one of the big wasted hands in both of hers and held it fast, waiting silently till that sustaining touch warmed poor Dan's heart, and gave him courage to speak. Sitting in his old attitude, with his head in his hands, he slowly told it all, never once looking up till the last words left his lips.

'Now you know; can you forgive a murderer, and keep a jail-bird in your house?'

Her only answer was to put her arms about him, and lay the shorn head on her breast, with eyes so full of tears they could but dimly see the hope and fear that made his own so tragical.

That was better than any words; and poor Dan clung to her in speechless gratitude, feeling the blessedness of mother love—that divine gift which comforts, purifies, and strengthens all who seek it. Two or three great, bitter drops were hidden in the little woollen shawl where Dan's cheek rested, and no one ever knew how soft and comfortable it felt to him after the hard pillows he had known so long. Suffering of both mind and body had broken will and pride, and the lifted burden brought such a sense of relief that he paused a moment to enjoy it in dumb delight.

'My poor boy, how you have suffered all this year, when we thought you free as air! Why didn't you tell us, Dan, and let us help you? Did you doubt your friends?' asked Mrs Jo, forgetting all other emotions in sympathy, as she lifted up the hidden face, and looked reproachfully into the great hollow eyes that met her own frankly now.

'I was ashamed. I tried to bear it alone rather than shock and disappoint you, as I know I have, though you try not to show it. Don't mind; I must get used to it'; and Dan's eyes dropped again as if they could not bear to see the trouble and dismay his confession painted on his best friend's face.

'I am shocked and disappointed by the sin, but I am also very glad and proud and grateful that my sinner has repented, atoned, and is ready to profit by the bitter lesson. No one but Fritz and Laurie need ever know the truth; we owe it to them, and they will feel as I do,' answered Mrs Jo, wisely thinking that entire frankness would be a better tonic than too much sympathy.

'No, they won't; men never forgive like women. But it's right. Please tell 'em for me, and get it over. Mr Laurence knows it, I guess. I blabbed when my wits were gone; but he was very kind all the same. I can bear their knowing; but oh, not Ted and the girls!' Dan clutched her arm with such an imploring face that she hastened to assure him no one should know except the two old friends, and he calmed down as if ashamed of his sudden panic.

'It wasn't murder, mind you, it was in self-defence; he drew first, and I had to hit him. Didn't mean to kill him; but it doesn't worry me as much as it ought, I'm afraid. I've more than paid for it, and such a rascal is better out of the world than in it, showing boys the way to hell. Yes, I know you think that's awful in me; but I can't help it. I hate a scamp as I do a skulking coyote, and always want to get a shot at 'em. Perhaps it would have been better if he had killed me; my life is spoilt.'

All the old prison gloom seemed to settle like a black cloud on Dan's face as he spoke, and Mrs Jo was frightened at the glimpse it gave her of the fire through which he had passed to come out alive, but scarred for life. Hoping to turn his mind to happier things, she said cheerfully:

'No, it isn't; you have learned to value it more and use it better for this trial. It is not a lost year, but one that may prove the most helpful of any you ever know. Try to think so, and begin again; we will help, and have all the more confidence in you for this failure. We all do the same and struggle on.'

'I never can be what I was. I feel about sixty, and don't care for anything now I've got here. Let me stay till I'm on my legs, then I'll clear out and never trouble you any more,' said Dan despondently.

'You are weak and low in your mind; that will pass, and by and by you will go to your missionary work among the Indians with all the old energy and the new patience, self-control, and knowledge you have gained. Tell me more about that good chaplain and Mary Mason and the lady whose chance word helped you so much. I want to know all about the trials of my poor boy.'

Won by her tender interest, Dan brightened up and talked on till he had poured out all the story of that bitter year, and felt better for the load he lifted off.

If he had known how it weighed upon his hearer's heart, he would have held his peace; but she hid her sorrow till she had sent him to bed, comforted and calm; then she cried her heart out, to the great dismay of Fritz and Laurie, till they heard the tale and could mourn with her; after which they all cheered up and took counsel together how best to help this worst of all the 'catastrophes' the year had brought them.

title: Jo's Boys/Chapter 20


text:
Jo's Boys/Chapter 21

It was curious to see the change which came over Dan after that talk. A weight seemed off his mind; and though the old impetuous spirit flashed out at times, he seemed intent on trying to show his gratitude and love and honour to these true friends by a new humility and confidence very sweet to them, very helpful to him. After hearing the story from Mrs Jo, the Professor and Mr Laurie made no allusion to it beyond the hearty hand-grasp, the look of compassion, the brief word of good cheer in which men convey sympathy, and a redoubled kindness which left no doubt of pardon. Mr Laurie began at once to interest influential persons in Dan's mission, and set in motion the machinery which needs so much oiling before anything can be done where Government is concerned. Mr Bhaer, with the skill of a true teacher, gave Dan's hungry mind something to do, and helped him understand himself by carrying on the good chaplain's task so paternally that the poor fellow often said he felt as if he had found a father. The boys took him to drive, and amused him with their pranks and plans; while the women, old and young, nursed and petted him till he felt like a sultan with a crowd of devoted slaves, obedient to his lightest wish. A very little of this was enough for Dan, who had a masculine horror of 'molly-coddling', and so brief an acquaintance with illness that he rebelled against the doctor's orders to keep quiet; and it took all Mrs Jo's authority and the girls' ingenuity to keep him from leaving his sofa long before strained back and wounded head were well. Daisy cooked for him; Nan attended to his medicines; Josie read aloud to while away the long hours of inaction that hung so heavily on his hands; while Bess brought all her pictures and casts to amuse him, and, at his special desire, set up a modelling-stand in his parlour and began to mould the buffalo head he gave her. Those afternoons seemed the pleasantest part of his day; and Mrs Jo, busy in her study close by, could see the friendly trio and enjoy the pretty pictures they made. The girls were much flattered by the success of their efforts, and exerted themselves to be very entertaining, consulting Dan's moods with the feminine tact most women creatures learn before they are out of pinafores. When he was gay, the room rang with laughter; when gloomy, they read or worked in respectful silence till their sweet patience cheered him up again; and when in pain they hovered over him like 'a couple of angels', as he said. He often called Josie 'little mother', but Bess was always 'Princess'; and his manner to the two cousins was quite different. Josie sometimes fretted him with her fussy ways, the long plays she liked to read, and the maternal scoldings she administered when he broke the rules; for having a lord of creation in her power was so delightful to her that she would have ruled him with a rod of iron if he had submitted. To Bess, in her gentler ministrations, he never showed either impatience or weariness, but obeyed her least word, exerted himself to seem well in her presence, and took such interest in her work that he lay looking at her with unwearied eyes; while Josie read to him in her best style unheeded.

Mrs Jo observed this, and called them 'Una and the Lion', which suited them very well, though the lion's mane was shorn, and Una never tried to bridle him. The elder ladies did their part in providing delicacies and supplying all his wants; but Mrs Meg was busy at home, Mrs Amy preparing for the trip to Europe in the spring, and Mrs Jo hovering on the brink of a 'vortex'—for the forthcoming book had been sadly delayed by the late domestic events. As she sat at her desk, settling papers or meditatively nibbling her pen while waiting for the divine afflatus to descend upon her, she often forgot her fictitious heroes and heroines in studying the live models before her, and thus by chance looks, words, and gestures discovered a little romance unsuspected by anyone else.

The portiere between the rooms was usually drawn aside, giving a view of the group in the large bay-window—Bess at one side, in her grey blouse, busy with her tools; Josie at the other side with her book; and between, on the long couch, propped with many cushions, lay Dan in a many-hued eastern dressing-gown presented by Mr Laurie and worn to please the girls, though the invalid much preferred an old jacket 'with no confounded tail to bother over'. He faced Mrs Jo's room, but never seemed to see her, for his eyes were on the slender figure before him, with the pale winter sunshine touching her golden head, and the delicate hands that shaped the clay so deftly. Josie was just visible, rocking violently in a little chair at the head of the couch, and the steady murmur of her girlish voice was usually the only sound that broke the quiet of the room, unless a sudden discussion arose about the book or the buffalo.

Something in the big eyes, bigger and blacker than ever in the thin white face, fixed, so steadily on one object, had a sort of fascination for Mrs Jo after a time, and she watched the changes in them curiously; for Dan's mind was evidently not on the story, and he often forgot to laugh or exclaim at the comic or exciting crises. Sometimes they were soft and wistful, and the watcher was very glad that neither damsel caught that dangerous look for when they spoke it vanished; sometimes it was full of eager fire, and the colour came and went rebelliously, in spite of his attempt to hide it with an impatient gesture of hand or head; but oftenest it was dark, and sad, and stern, as if those gloomy eyes looked out of captivity at some forbidden light or joy. This expression came so often that it worried Mrs Jo, and she longed to go and ask him what bitter memory overshadowed those quiet hours. She knew that his crime and its punishment must lie heavy on his mind; but youth, and time, and new hopes would bring comfort, and help to wear away the first sharpness of the prison brand. It lifted at other times, and seemed almost forgotten when he joked with the boys, talked with old friends, or enjoyed the first snows as he drove out every fair day. Why should the shadow always fall so darkly on him in the society of these innocent and friendly girls? They never seemed to see it, and if either looked or spoke, a quick smile came like a sunburst through the clouds to answer them. So Mrs Jo went on watching, wondering, and discovering, till accident confirmed her fears.

Josie was called away one day, and Bess, tired of working, offered to take her place if he cared for more reading.

'I do; your reading suits me better than Jo's. She goes so fast my stupid head gets in a muddle and soon begins to ache. Don't tell her; she's a dear little soul, and so good to sit here with a bear like me.'

The smile was ready as Bess went to the table for a new book, the last story being finished.

'You are not a bear, but very good and patient, we think. It is always hard for a man to be shut up, mamma says, and must be terrible for you, who have always been so free.'

If Bess had not been reading titles she would have seen Dan shrink as if her last words hurt him. He made no answer; but other eyes saw and understood why he looked as if he would have liked to spring up and rush away for one of his long races up the hill, as he used to do when the longing for liberty grew uncontrollable. Moved by a sudden impulse, Mrs Jo caught up her work-basket and went to join her neighbours, feeling that a non-conductor might be needed; for Dan looked like a thundercloud full of electricity.

'What shall we read, Aunty? Dan doesn't seem to care. You know his taste; tell me something quiet and pleasant and short. Josie will be back soon,' said Bess, still turning over the books piled on the centre-table.

Before Mrs Jo could answer, Dan pulled a shabby little volume from under his pillow, and handing it to her said: 'Please read the third one; it's short and pretty—I'm fond of it.' The book opened at the right place, as if the third story had been often read, and Bess smiled as she saw the name.

'Why, Dan, I shouldn't think you'd care for this romantic German tale. There is fighting in it; but it is very sentimental, if I remember rightly.'

'I know it; but I've read so few stories, I like the simple ones best. Had nothing else to read sometimes; I guess I know it all by heart, and never seem to be tired of those fighting fellows, and the fiends and angels and lovely ladies. You read "Aslauga's Knight", and see if you don't like it. Edwald was rather too soft for my fancy; but Froda was first-rate and the spirit with the golden hair always reminded me of you.'

As Dan spoke Mrs Jo settled herself where she could watch him in the glass, and Bess took a large chair facing him, saying, as she put up her hands to retie the ribbon that held the cluster of thick, soft curls at the back of her head:

'I hope Aslauga's hair wasn't as troublesome as mine, for it's always tumbling down. I'll be ready in a minute.'

'Don't tie it up; please let it hang. I love to see it shine that way. It will rest your head, and be just right for the story, Goldilocks,' pleaded Dan, using the childish name and looking more like his boyish self than he had done for many a day.

Bess laughed, shook down her pretty hair, and began to read, glad to hide her face a little; for compliments made her shy, no matter who paid them. Dan listened intently on; and Mrs Jo, with eyes that went often from her needle to the glass, could see, without turning, how he enjoyed every word as if it had more meaning for him than for the other listeners. His face brightened wonderfully, and soon wore the look that came when anything brave or beautiful inspired and touched his better self. It was Fouque's charming story of the knight Froda, and the fair daughter of Sigurd, who was a sort of spirit, appearing to her lover in hours of danger and trial, as well as triumph and joy, till she became his guide and guard, inspiring him with courage, nobleness, and truth, leading him to great deeds in the field, sacrifices for those he loved, and victories over himself by the gleaming of her golden hair, which shone on him in battle, dreams, and perils by day and night, till after death he finds the lovely spirit waiting to receive and to reward him.

Of all the stories in the book this was the last one would have supposed Dan would like best, and even Mrs Jo was surprised at his perceiving the moral of the tale through the delicate imagery and romantic language by which it was illustrated. But as she looked and listened she remembered the streak of sentiment and refinement which lay concealed in Dan like the gold vein in a rock, making him quick to feel and to enjoy fine colour in a flower, grace in an animal, sweetness in women, heroism in men, and all the tender ties that bind heart to heart; though he was slow to show it, having no words to express the tastes and instincts which he inherited from his mother. Suffering of soul and body had tamed his stronger passions, and the atmosphere of love and pity now surrounding him purified and warmed his heart till it began to hunger for the food neglected or denied so long. This was plainly written in his too expressive face, as, fancying it unseen, he let it tell the longing after beauty, peace, and happiness embodied for him in the innocent fair girl before him.

The conviction of this sad yet natural fact came to Mrs Jo with a pang, for she felt how utterly hopeless such a longing was; since light and darkness were not farther apart than snow-white Bess and sin-stained Dan. No dream of such a thing disturbed the young girl, as her entire unconsciousness plainly showed. But how long would it be before the eloquent eyes betrayed the truth? And then what disappointment for Dan, what dismay for Bess, who was as cool and high and pure as her own marbles, and shunned all thought of love with maidenly reserve.

'How hard everything is made for my poor boy! How can I spoil his little dream, and take away the spirit of good he is beginning to love and long for? When my own dear lads are safely settled I'll never try another, for these things are heart-breaking, and I can't manage any more,' thought Mrs Jo, as she put the lining into Teddy's coat-sleeve upside down, so perplexed and grieved was she at this new catastrophe.

The story was soon done, and as Bess shook back her hair, Dan asked as eagerly as a boy:

'Don't you like it?'

'Yes, it's very pretty, and I see the meaning of it; but Undine was always my favourite.'

'Of course, that's like you—lilies and pearls and souls and pure water. Sintram used to be mine; but I took a fancy to this when I was—ahem—rather down on my luck one time, and it did me good, it was so cheerful and sort of spiritual in its meaning, you know.'

Bess opened her blue eyes in wonder at this fancy of Dan's for anything 'spiritual'; but she only nodded, saying: 'Some of the little songs are sweet and might be set to music.'

Dan laughed; 'I used to sing the last one to a tune of my own sometimes at sunset:

'"Listening to celestial lays,     Bending thy unclouded gaze      On the pure and living light,      Thou art blest, Aslauga's Knight!" 'And I was,' he added, under his breath, as he glanced towards the sunshine dancing on the wall.

'This one suits you better now'; and glad to please him by her interest, Bess read in her soft voice:

'"Healfast, healfast, ye hero wounds;     O knight, be quickly strong!      Beloved strife      For fame and life,      Oh, tarry not too long!"' 'I'm no hero, never can be, and "fame and life" can't do much for me. Never mind, read me that paper, please. This knock on the head has made a regular fool of me.'

Dan's voice was gentle; but the light was gone out of his face now, and he moved restlessly as if the silken pillows were full of thorns. Seeing that his mood had changed, Bess quietly put down the book, took up the paper, and glanced along the columns for something to suit him.

'You don't care for the money market, I know, nor musical news. Here's a murder; you used to like those; shall I read it? One man kills another—,'

'No!'

Only a word, but it gave Mrs Jo a thrill, and for a moment she dared not glance at the tell-tale mirror. When she did Dan lay motionless with one hand over his eyes, and Bess was happily reading the art news to ears that never heard a word. Feeling like a thief who has stolen something very precious, Mrs Jo slipped away to her study, and before long Bess followed to report that Dan was fast asleep.

Sending her home, with the firm resolve to keep her there as much as possible, Mother Bhaer had an hour of serious thought all alone in the red sunset; and when a sound in the next room led her there, she found that the feigned sleep had become real repose; for Dan lay breathing heavily, with a scarlet spot on either cheek, and one hand clinched on his broad breast. Yearning over him with a deeper pity than ever before, she sat in the little chair beside him, trying to see her way out of this tangle, till his hand slipped down, and in doing so snapped a cord he wore about his neck and let a small case drop to the floor.

Mrs Jo picked it up, and as he did not wake, sat looking at it, idly wondering what charm it held; for the case was of Indian workmanship and the broken cord, of closely woven grass, sweet scented and pale yellow.

'I won't pry into any more of the poor fellow's secrets. I'll mend and put it back, and never let him know I've seen his talisman.'

As she spoke she turned the little wallet to examine the fracture, and a card fell into her lap. It was a photograph, cut to fit its covering, and two words were written underneath the face, 'My Aslauga'. For an instant Mrs Jo fancied that it might be one of herself, for all the boys had them; but as the thin paper fell away, she saw the picture Demi took of Bess that happy summer day. There was no doubt now, and with a sigh she put it back, and was about to slip it into Dan's bosom so that not even a stitch should betray her knowledge, when as she leaned towards him, she saw that he was looking straight at her with an expression that surprised her more than any of the strange ones she had ever seen in that changeful face before.

'Your hand slipped down; it fell; I was putting it back,' explained Mrs Jo, feeling like a naughty child caught in mischief.

'You saw the picture?'

'Yes.'

'And know what a fool I am?'

'Yes, Dan, and am so grieved—'

'Don't worry about me. I'm all right—glad you know, though I never meant to tell you. Of course it is only a crazy fancy of mine, and nothing can ever come of it. Never thought there would. Good Lord! what could that little angel ever be to me but what she is—a sort of dream of all that's sweet and good?'

More afflicted by the quiet resignation of his look and tone than by the most passionate ardour, Mrs Jo could only say, with a face full of sympathy:

'It is very hard, dear, but there is no other way to look at it. You are wise and brave enough to see that, and to let the secret be ours alone.'

'I swear I will! not a word nor a look if I can help it. No one guesses, and if it troubles no one, is there any harm in my keeping this, and taking comfort in the pretty fancy that kept me sane in that cursed place?'

Dan's face was eager now, and he hid away the little worn case as if defying any hand to take it from him. Anxious to know everything before giving counsel or comfort, Mrs Jo said quietly:

'Keep it, and tell me all about the "fancy". Since I have stumbled on your secret, let me know how it came, and how I can help to make it lighter to bear.'

'You'll laugh; but I don't mind. You always did find out our secrets and give us a lift. Well, I never cared much for books, you know; but down yonder when the devil tormented me I had to do something or go stark mad, so I read both the books you gave me. One was beyond me, till that good old man showed me how to read it; but the other, this one, was a comfort, I tell you. It amused me, and was as pretty as poetry. I liked 'em all, and most wore out Sintram. See how used up he is! Then I came to this, and it sort of fitted that other happy part of my life, last summer—here.'

Dan stopped a moment as the words lingered on his lips; then, with a long breath, went on, as if it was hard to lay bare the foolish little romance he had woven about a girl, a picture, and a child's story there in the darkness of the place which was as terrible to him as Dante's Inferno, till he found his Beatrice.

'I couldn't sleep, and had to think about something, so I used to fancy I was Folko, and see the shining of Aslauga's hair in the sunset on the wall, the gum of the watchman's lamp, and the light that came in at dawn. My cell was high. I could see a bit of sky; sometimes there was a star in it, and that was most as good as a face. I set great store by that patch of blue, and when a white cloud went by, I thought it was the prettiest thing in all this world. I guess I was pretty near a fool; but those thoughts and things helped me through, so they are all solemn true to me, and I can't let them go. The dear shiny head, the white gown, the eyes like stars, and sweet, calm ways that set her as high above me as the moon in heaven. Don't take it away! it's only a fancy, but a man must love something, and I'd better love a spirit like her than any of the poor common girls who would care for me.'

The quiet despair in Dan's voice pierced Mrs Jo to the heart; but there was no hope and she gave none. Yet she felt that he was right, and that his hapless affection might do more to uplift and purify him than any other he might know. Few women would care to marry Dan now, except such as would hinder, not help, him in the struggle which life would always be to him; and it was better to go solitary to his grave than become what she suspected his father had been—a handsome, unprincipled, and dangerous man, with more than one broken heart to answer for.

'Yes, Dan, it is wise to keep this innocent fancy, if it helps and comforts you, till something more real and possible comes to make you happier. I wish I could give you any hope; but we both know that the dear child is the apple of her father's eye, the pride of her mother's heart, and that the most perfect lover they can find will hardly seem to them worthy of their precious daughter. Let her remain for you the high, bright star that leads you up and makes you believe in heaven.' Mrs Jo broke down there; it seemed so cruel to destroy the faint hope Dan's eyes betrayed, that she could not moralize when she thought of his hard life and lonely future. Perhaps it was the wisest thing she could have done, for in her hearty sympathy he found comfort for his own loss, and very soon was able to speak again in the manly tone of resignation to the inevitable that showed how honest was his effort to give up everything but the pale shadow of what, for another, might have been a happy possibility.

They talked long and earnestly in the twilight; and this second secret bound them closer than the first; for in it there was neither sin nor shame—only the tender pain and patience which has made saints and heroes of far worse men than our poor Dan. When at length they rose at the summons of a bell, all the sunset glory had departed, and in the wintry sky there hung one star, large, soft, and clear, above a snowy world. Pausing at the window before she dropped the curtains, Mrs Jo said cheerfully:

'Come and see how beautiful the evening star is, since you love it so.' And as he stood behind her, tall and pale, like the ghost of his former self, she added softly: 'And remember, dear, if the sweet girl is denied you, the old friend is always here—to love and trust and pray for you.'

This time she was not disappointed; and had she asked any reward for many anxieties and cares, she received it when Dan's strong arm came round her, as he said, in a voice which showed her that she had not laboured in vain to pluck her firebrand from the burning:

'I never can forget that; for she's helped to save my soul, and make me dare to look up there and say:

"God bless her!"

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: Jo's Boys/Chapter 21


text:
Jo's Boys/Chapter 22

'Upon my word, I feel as if I lived in a powder-magazine, and don't know which barrel will explode next, and send me flying,' said Mrs Jo to herself next day, as she trudged up to Parnassus to suggest to her sister that perhaps the most charming of the young nurses had better return to her marble gods before she unconsciously added another wound to those already won by the human hero. She told no secrets; but a hint was sufficient; for Mrs Amy guarded her daughter as a pearl of great price, and at once devised a very simple means of escape from danger. Mr Laurie was going to Washington on Dan's behalf, and was delighted to take his family with him when the idea was carelessly suggested. So the conspiracy succeeded finely; and Mrs Jo went home, feeling more like a traitor than ever. She expected an explosion; but Dan took the news so quietly, it was plain that he cherished no hope; and Mrs Amy was sure her romantic sister had been mistaken. If she had seen Dan's face when Bess went to say good-bye, her maternal eye would have discovered far more than the unconscious girl did. Mrs Jo trembled lest he should betray himself; but he had learned self-control in a stern school, and would have got through the hard moment bravely, only, when he took both hands, saying heartily:

'Good-bye, Princess. If we don't meet again, remember your old friend Dan sometimes,' she, touched by his late danger and the wistful look he wore, answered with unusual warmth: 'How can I help it, when you make us all so proud of you? God bless your mission, and bring you safely home to us again!'

As she looked up at him with a face full of frank affection and sweet regret, all that he was losing rose so vividly before him that Dan could not resist the impulse to take the 'dear goldy head' between his hands and kiss it, with a broken 'Good-bye'; then hurried back to his room, feeling as if it were the prison-cell again, with no glimpse of heaven's blue to comfort him.

This abrupt caress and departure rather startled Bess; for she felt with a girl's quick instinct that there was something in that kiss unknown before, and looked after him with sudden colour in her cheeks and new trouble in her eyes. Mrs Jo saw it, and fearing a very natural question answered it before it was put.

'Forgive him, Bess. He has had a great trouble, and it makes him tender at parting with old friends; for you know he may never come back from the wild world he is going to.'

'You mean the fall and danger of death?' asked Bess, innocently.

'No, dear; a greater trouble than that. But I cannot tell you any more—except that he has come through it bravely; so you may trust and respect him, as I do.'

'He has lost someone he loved. Poor Dan! We must be very kind to him.'

Bess did not ask the question, but seemed content with her solution of the mystery—which was so true that Mrs Jo confirmed it by a nod, and let her go away believing that some tender loss and sorrow wrought the great change all saw in Dan, and made him so slow to speak concerning the past year.

But Ted was less easily satisfied, and this unusual reticence goaded him to desperation. His mother had warned him not to trouble Dan with questions till he was quite well; but this prospect of approaching departure made him resolve to have a full, clear, and satisfactory account of the adventures which he felt sure must have been thrilling, from stray words Dan let fall in his fever. So one day when the coast was clear, Master Ted volunteered to amuse the invalid, and did so in the following manner:

'Look here, old boy, if you don't want me to read, you've got to talk, and tell me all about Kansas, and the farms, and that part. The Montana business I know, but you seem to forget what went before. Brace up, and let's have it,' he began, with an abruptness which roused Dan from a brown study most effectually.

'No, I don't forget; it isn't interesting to anyone but myself. I didn't see any farms—gave it up,' he said slowly.

'Why?'

'Other things to do.'

'What?'

'Well, brush-making for one thing.'

'Don't chaff a fellow. Tell true.'

'I truly did.'

'What for?'

'To keep out of mischief, as much as anything.'

'Well, of all the queer things—and you've done a lot—that's the queerest,' cried Ted, taken aback at this disappointing discovery. But he didn't mean to give up yet, and began again.

'What mischief, Dan?'

'Never you mind. Boys shouldn't bother.'

'But I do want to know, awfully, because I'm your pal, and care for you no end. Always did. Come, now, tell me a good yarn. I love scrapes. I'll be mum as an oyster if you don't want it known.'

'Will you?' and Dan looked at him, wondering how the boyish face would change if the truth were suddenly told him.

'I'll swear it on locked fists, if you like. I know it was jolly, and I'm aching to hear.'

'You are as curious as a girl. More than some—Josie and—and Bess never asked a question.'

'They don't care about rows and things; they liked the mine business, heroes, and that sort. So do I, and I'm as proud as Punch over it; but I see by your eyes that there was something else before that, and I'm bound to find out who Blair and Mason are, and who was hit and who ran away, and all the rest of it.'

'What!' cried Dan, in a tone that made Ted jump.

'Well, you used to mutter about 'em in your sleep, and Uncle Laurie wondered. So did I; but don't mind, if you can't remember, or would rather not.'

'What else did I say? Queer, what stuff a man will talk when his wits are gone.'

'That's all I heard; but it seemed interesting, and I just mentioned it, thinking it might refresh your memory a bit,' said Teddy, very politely; for Dan's frown was heavy at that moment.

It cleared off at this reply, and after a look at the boy squirming with suppressed impatience in his chair, Dan made up his mind to amuse him with a game of cross-purposes and half-truths, hoping to quench his curiosity, and so get peace.

'Let me see; Blair was a lad I met in the cars, and Mason a poor fellow who was in a—well, a sort of hospital where I happened to be. Blair ran off to his brothers, and I suppose I might say Mason was hit, because he died there. Does that suit you?'

'No, it doesn't. Why did Blair run? and who hit the other fellow? I'm sure there was a fight somewhere, wasn't there?'

'Yes!

'I guess I know what it was about.'

'The devil, you do! Let's hear you guess. Must be amusing,' said Dan, affecting an ease he did not feel.

Charmed to be allowed to free his mind, Ted at once unfolded the boyish solution of the mystery which he had been cherishing, for he felt that there was one somewhere.

'You needn't say yes, if I guess right and you are under oath to keep silent. I shall know by your face, and never tell. Now see if I'm not right. Out there they have wild doings, and it's my belief you were in some of 'em. I don't mean robbing mails, and KluKluxing, and that sort of thing; but defending the settlers, or hanging some scamp, or even shooting a few, as a fellow must sometimes, in self-defence. Ah, ha! I've hit it, I see. Needn't speak; I know the flash of your old eye, and the clench of your big fist.' And Ted pranced with satisfaction.

'Drive on, smart boy, and don't lose the trail,' said Dan, finding a curious sense of comfort in some of these random words, and longing, but not daring, to confirm the true ones. He might have confessed the crime, but not the punishment that followed, the sense of its disgrace was still so strong upon him.

'I knew I should get it; can't deceive me long,' began Ted, with such an air of pride Dan could not help a short laugh.

'It's a relief, isn't it, to have it off your mind? Now, just confide in me and it's all safe, unless you've sworn not to tell.'

'I have.'

'Oh, well, then don't'; and Ted's face fell, but he was himself again in a moment and said, with the air of a man of the world: 'It's all right—I understand—honour binds—silence to death, etc. Glad you stood by your mate in the hospital. How many did you kill?'

'Only one.'

'Bad lot, of course?'

'A damned rascal.'

'Well, don't look so fierce; I've no objection. Wouldn't mind popping at some of those bloodthirsty blackguards myself. Had to dodge and keep quiet after it, I suppose.'

'Pretty quiet for a long spell.'

'Got off all right in the end, and headed for your mines and did that jolly brave thing. Now, I call that decidedly interesting and capital. I'm glad to know it; but I won't blab.'

'Mind you don't. Look here. Ted, if you'd killed a man, would it trouble you—a bad one, I mean?'

The lad opened his mouth to say, 'Not a bit,' but checked that answer as if something in Dan's face made him change his mind. 'Well, if it was my duty in war or self-defence, I suppose I shouldn't; but if I'd pitched into him in a rage, I guess I should be very sorry. Shouldn't wonder if he sort of haunted me, and remorse gnawed me as it did Aram and those fellows. You don't mind, do you? It was a fair fight, wasn't it?'

'Yes, I was in the right; but I wish I'd been out of it. Women don't see it that way, and look horrified at such things. Makes it hard; but it don't matter.'

'Don't tell 'em; then they can't worry,' said Ted, with the nod of one versed in the management of the sex.

'Don't intend to. Mind you keep your notions to yourself, for some of 'em are wide of the mark. Now you may read if you like'; and there the talk ended; but Ted took great comfort in it, and looked as wise as an owl afterwards.

A few quiet weeks followed, during which Dan chafed at the delay; and when at length word came that his credentials were ready, he was eager to be off, to forget a vain love in hard work, and live for others, since he might not for himself.

So one wild March morning our Sintram rode away, with horse and hound, to face again the enemies who would have conquered him, but for Heaven's help and human pity.

'Ah, me! it does seem as if life was made of partings, and they get harder as we go on,' sighed Mrs Jo, a week later, as she sat in the long parlour at Parnassus one evening, whither the family had gone to welcome the travellers back.

'And meetings too, dear; for here we are, and Nat is on his way at last. Look for the silver lining, as Marmee used to say, and be comforted,' answered Mrs Amy, glad to be at home and find no wolves prowling near her sheepfold.

'I've been so worried lately, I can't help croaking. I wonder what Dan thought at not seeing you again? It was wise; but he would have enjoyed another look at home faces before he went into the wilderness,' said Mrs Jo regretfully.

'Much better so. We left notes and all we could think of that he might need, and slipped away before he came. Bess really seemed relieved; I'm sure I was'; and Mrs Amy smoothed an anxious line out of her white forehead, as she smiled at her daughter, laughing happily among her cousins.

Mrs Jo shook her head as if the silver lining of that cloud was hard to find; but she had no time to croak again, for just then Mr Laurie came in looking well pleased at something.

'A new picture has arrived; face towards the music-room, good people, and tell me how you like it. I call it "Only a fiddler", after Andersen's story. What name will you give it?'

As he spoke he threw open the wide doors, and just beyond they saw a young man standing, with a beaming face, and a violin in his hand. There was no doubt about the name to this picture, and with the cry 'Nat! Nat!' there was a general uprising. But Daisy reached him first, and seemed to have lost her usual composure somewhere on the way, for she clung to him, sobbing with the shock of a surprise and joy too great for her to bear quietly. Everything was settled by that tearful and tender embrace, for, though Mrs Meg speedily detached her daughter, it was only to take her place; while Demi shook Nat's hand with brotherly warmth, and Josie danced round them like Macbeth's three witches in one, chanting in her most tragic tones:

'Chirper thou wast; second violin thou art; first thou shalt be. Hail, all hail!'

This caused a laugh, and made things gay and comfortable at once. Then the usual fire of questions and answers began, to be kept up briskly while the boys admired Nat's blond beard and foreign clothes, the girls his improved appearance—for he was ruddy with good English beef and beer, and fresh with the sea-breezes which had blown him swiftly home—and the older folk rejoiced over his prospects. Of course all wanted to hear him play; and when tongues tired, he gladly did his best for them, surprising the most critical by his progress in music even more than by the energy and self-possession which made a new man of bashful Nat. By and by when the violin—that most human of all instruments—had sung to them the loveliest songs without words, he said, looking about him at these old friends with what Mr Bhaer called a 'feeling-full' expression of happiness and content:

'Now let me play something that you will all remember though you won't love it as I do'; and standing in the attitude which Ole Bull has immortalized, he played the street melody he gave them the first night he came to Plumfield. They remembered it, and joined in the plaintive chorus, which fitly expressed his own emotions:

'Oh my heart is sad and weary Everywhere I roam, Longing for the old plantation And for the old folks at home.' 'Now I feel better,' said Mrs Jo, as they all trooped down the hill soon after. 'Some of our boys are failures, but I think this one is going to be a success, and patient Daisy a happy girl at last. Nat is your work, Fritz, and I congratulate you heartily.'

'Ach, we can but sow the seed and trust that it falls on good ground. I planted, perhaps, but you watched that the fowls of the air did not devour it, and brother Laurie watered generously; so we will share the harvest among us, and be glad even for a small one, heart's-dearest.'

'I thought the seed had fallen on very stony ground with my poor Dan; but I shall not be surprised if he surpasses all the rest in the real success of life, since there is more rejoicing over one repentant sinner than many saints,' answered Mrs Jo, still clinging fast to her black sheep although a whole flock of white ones trotted happily before her.

It is a strong temptation to the weary historian to close the present tale with an earthquake which should engulf Plumfield and its environs so deeply in the bowels of the earth that no youthful Schliemann could ever find a vestige of it. But as that somewhat melodramatic conclusion might shock my gentle readers, I will refrain, and forestall the usual question, 'How did they end?' by briefly stating that all the marriages turned out well. The boys prospered in their various callings; so did the girls, for Bess and Josie won honours in their artistic careers, and in the course of time found worthy mates. Nan remained a busy, cheerful, independent spinster, and dedicated her life to her suffering sisters and their children, in which true woman's work she found abiding happiness. Dan never married, but lived, bravely and usefully, among his chosen people till he was shot defending them, and at last lay quietly asleep in the green wilderness he loved so well, with a lock of golden hair upon his breast, and a smile on his face which seemed to say that Aslauga's Knight had fought his last fight and was at peace. Stuffy became an alderman, and died suddenly of apoplexy after a public dinner. Dolly was a society man of mark till he lost his money, when he found congenial employment in a fashionable tailoring establishment. Demi became a partner, and lived to see his name above the door, and Rob was a professor at Laurence College; but Teddy eclipsed them all by becoming an eloquent and famous clergyman, to the great delight of his astonished mother. And now, having endeavoured to suit everyone by many weddings, few deaths, and as much prosperity as the eternal fitness of things will permit, let the music stop, the lights die out, and the curtain fall for ever on the March family.

title: Jo's Boys/Chapter 22


text:
Page:Democratic Ideals and Reality (1919).djvu/181

Rh been a great triple organisation of German domination over a mainly Slavonic population, though the extent of the German power, no doubt, varied in different parts. In this fact we have the key to the meaning of the volte-face of 1895, when was concluded the incongruous Franco-Russian alliance between Democracy and Despotism. When Russia allied herself with France against the Germans, much more was implied than merely a reshuffling of the cards on the play-table of Europe. Something fundamental had happened in East Europe from the point of view of Berlin. Prior to that great and significant event there had been long bickerings between the Russian and Austrian Governments as the result of their rivalry in the Balkans, but these were in the nature of family quarrels, no less than was the short war between Prussia and Austria in 1866. When Russia advanced to the Danube against Turkey in 1853 and Austria massed forces to threaten her from the Carpathians, the friendship of the Holy Alliance, which had subsisted since 1815, was, no doubt, suspended until Bismarck brought the three despotisms together again in his Three-Kaiser Alliance of 1872. But it so happened that, during the interval, Russia was not in a position to advance afresh against


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Page:Scientific American - Series 1 - Volume 001 - Issue 01.pdf/3

Speak gently!—It is better far To rule by love than fear: Speak gently!—let not harsh words mar The good we might do here!

Speak gently!—Love doth wisper low The vows that true hearts bind; And gently friendship's accents flow; Affliction's voice is kind.

Speak gently to the little child! Its love be sure to gain: Teach it in accents soft and mild:— It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they Will have enough to bear— Pass through this life as best they may, 'Tis full of anxious care!

Speak gently to the aged one, Grieve not the care-worn heart; The sands of life are nearly run— Let such in peace depart!

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor, Let no harsh tone be heard; They have enough they must endure, Without an unkind word!

Speak gently to the erring—know, They may have toil'd in vain; Perchance unkindness made them so; Oh, win them back again!

Speak gently!—He who gave his life To bend man's stubborn will, When elements were in fierce strife, Said to them, "Peace, be still!"

Speak gently!—'tis a little thing Dropp'd in the heart's deep well; The good, the joy which it may bring, Eternity shall tell.

—'Tis said that absence conquers love.

'Tis said that wine will cheer the heart, But oh! believe it not; Touch not the cup, 'twill leave a smart, Which cannot be forgot. The wine cup as it passes round, Is hailed with jovial cheer, But soon, alas, is changed the sound, The smile becomes a tear.

Too many hearts have felt the sting, That lurks within the bowl; And many hearts it yet will wring, Who heed not its controul. But take the warning ere too late, And leave that cup of wo, And seek a better, happier fate, Than wine can e'er bestow.

Nature has given in pleteous streams, The beverage of the rose, To drink the dew that on them gleans, The flowers their leaves unclose. Then why should ye not drink the same, And leave the ruby wine; It will not rob thee of they name, Nor leave thy heart to pine.

A blind old beggar, with his hat in hand, Neglected by the lazy passers-by, I noticed shyly at the corner stand, With moisture falling from his sightless eye. A child came by—a laughing little creature— With joy and innocence in every feature— Skipping forth gaily to an apple-stand, She saw the beggar, and became less gay; Then flung the bit of silver in her hand Into the old man's hat, and ran away!

.—The following is an extract from what purports to have been one of the speaches in a recent discussion on the explosibility of saltpetre. "That question, sir, whether ignition and deflagration, combined with a large concatenation of explosive substances in a deleterious mixture, ignites by contact with sulphuretted oxid of supercarbonite of hydrogen, and solutions of mineral matter in a mass of unsophisticated materials, is essentially assimilated to the question by the illustrious Pantagorus, whether the hybernal frigidity of the antipodes, passing an orthoganal line through the homogeneous solidity of the centre, might warm the superficial convexity of our heels by a soft antiporistasis."—(Interrupted by cries of 'The question,' &c.)

.—One of the multitude of modern nostrums, is headed "Cliregugh's Tricopherus," "caution to the public," &c., but which we have not sufficiently examined to ascertain whether it is a specific for the lock'd jaw, or otherwise; but Dr. Feuchtwangers Scolicotoxicon, which is highly recommended for the distruction of rats, may be effectual in disabling them at least, if they attempt to articulate the title on the label.

?—In a recent statistical volume in Pennsylvania, 1,000 distilleries have been enumerated as wealth. A cotemporatry inquires how much such wealth as would be required to render the United States properous and happy? allowing each distillery to manufacture and vend 10,000 gallons of alcoholic liquors annually.

.—Take a sheet of paper and wet some parts of it with a solution of sub-carbonate of potas, which must be diluted with water so as not to appear on the paper when dry. Wet some other parts with diluted muratic acid, or with juice of lemons. Some other parts may be wet with a diluted solution of alum; and others with an infusion of nut-galls (water in which bruised or pulverized nut-galls have been steeped.) None of these preparations must be so strong as to colour the paper any. When these are dry, take some finely powdered sulphate of iron, and rub it lightly on some parts of the paper, that have been wet with the sub-carbonate of potas and infusion of galls. Then with the juice of violets, or of the leaves of red cabbage, write on the paper as usual with a pen. The ink is of itself a faint purple; where the paper was wet with acid, the writing will be bright red; on the sub-carbonate of potas, it will take a beatuiful green; on the alum it will be brown; on the sub-carbonate of potas that was rubbed with powdered sulphate of iron, it will be deep yellow; and on the infusion of galls that was rubbed with powder, it will be black. The juice of violets will take a brilliant yellow on the alkali if it be very strong. The juice of violets or red cabbage may be kept a long time by means of the addition of a few drops of alcohol; or the leaves may be dried by the fire, and thus may be kept ready for use; and it its only requisite to steep them in hot water, in order to prepare the ink at any time.

.—To half an ounce of nitric acid in a phial, add one ounce of water, and one-fourth of an ounce of good silver. It will soon be dissolved, and if the acid and metal are both pure, the solution (which is called nitrate of silver) will be transparant and colourless. Add to this a solution of nearly two drachms of muriate of soda, in any quantity of water; this will precipitate the silver in a white opaque mass. Pour off the water with the acid, and add to the silver an equal quantity of super-tartrate of pota, thus forming a soft paste; dip a piece of soft leather in this paste, and rub it on the metal to be silvered; continue rubbing it till it is nearly dry; then wash it with water, and polish by rubbing it hard with a piece of dry leather. Another method is, to add sub-carbonate of potas to the nitrate of silver, as ebullition ensues; then the acid is poured off, and the precipitate (which is white at first, but becomes green when dry) is mixed with double its quantity of muritate of soda, and super-tartrate of potas. With this composition, being moistened, the metal is rubbed over, &c.

The Royal Mail Steamship Hibernia, arrived at Boston on Sunday, having mad er passage in less than twelve days. She brings intelligence ten days later than that by the Great Britain, but we find but little that is interesting.

The news of the annexation of Texas to the United States had created no surprise, though it produced some little depreciation in Mexican Bonds.

The over-land mail from india had arrived, but brought no news of political imortance.

The news of the second fire at Quebec, had excited extensive sympathy. The Chancellor of the Exchequer promptly moved a vote of £20,000 in aid of the sufferers.

The Principal news from the continent is of the splendid preparations making for the reception of Queen Victoria.

A most disastrous collision had occurred on the Black Sea, on the night of the 11th ultimo. Two Turkish steamers, the one coming from, and the other going to Trebizond, came into sudden collision, and with such violence, that one of them went down immediately, with one hundred and thirty-five persons on board.

The Asiatic cholera prevails to a frightful extent in China; in the city of Lahore the people are falling by the hundreds daily.

We are informed that more than $2000,000 worth of American clocks have been shipped to England within a year past, notwithstanding the heavy duties thereon. Ten thousand clocks have been sent from one house in Boston. Cotton goods of various kinds have been shipped in considerable quantities, and we know of several articles which might be, and soon will be exported with great advantage. But what seems decidedly queer, is that the British manufacturers are now putting American stamps on their articles of export, even when set to their own colonies. It is reported that a bale of goods recently arrived a tQuebec, from England was stamped "Saco, Me." We hope our Canada neighbors will look sharp to teh "auld folks at hame," or they may find themselves "taken in" more essentially than they have hitherto learned to anticipate.

.—We learn that Mr. J. Gold, of Troy, has nearly completed a boat, which he expects to make the trip to New York in four hours, by means of an improvement on the propelling principle. We should hope he may succeed; but from the little knowledge we have of his plans, we are inclined to allow him at least six additional hours in which to accomplish the trip. We yet hold firm the opinion that no plan but that of the "Burden's boat," so called, can ever be driven with the velocity anticipated by Mr. Gold. We may say more on this subject anon.

.—Our readers will readily perceive that several articles in this number were prepared for last week; but a little delay in procuring our engravings induced us to date forward. We shall be prompt in future.

.—We have a variety of notices of new inventions on hand, which we are compelled to defer for the present.

We doubt whether any event or circumstance has transpired within the present century, which has served to develope the ignorance and gullibility of the citizens of New York, to so great an extent, ans that of the introduction of Signor Muzzi's contrivance for ærial locomotion. We have indeed been distressed with mingles sensations of regret and vexation, to witness the applause of several of the most popular city papers, and the names of several of our professors of sciences, and men of reputed scientific attainments, appended to a certificate of commendation of a contrivance, the futility of which is so palpable at first sight, that a school boy of nine years would be cnesurable for dullness if he could not eadily detect it. But without proceedingfurther with our own opinion, we will present an issustrated description of the apparatus to our readers, that they may exercise their own judgment on the subject:—

This cut sufficiently represents the machine; which consists of a ballon or ball, (A) made of oiled silk or paper, and filled with hydrogen gas. To this ballon are attaches two inclined planes (BB) which are also cnstructed of light material and secured in their position by cords. In addition there is a triangular vane, tail, or rudder (C) by which the machine is steered on the principle of a helm. The plan, or mode of operating the machine, is to supply it with a sufficient quantity of gas to cause it to ascend, while the inclined planes, encountering some degree of atmospheric resistance, naturally shoot offi in an oblique direction, drawing the balloon with them. Then, when the machine has ascended to a sufficient height, a part of the gas is to be let off or compressed, so as to cause the balloon to descend, and by a simple contrivance, the position of the two planes is reversed, the depressed ends being brought to the front, tehy give the balloon an oblique direction in its descent. Thus, by ascending a mile and again descending, a mile of horizontal distance is gained; and if the atmosphere be entirely coalm, a mile may be travelled about as quick as a lame man would walk the same distance. But if there be the least breeze of head wind, the game is up. And by what means the balloon is to be made to again ascend, witout a fresh supply of gas, the inventor has not informed us—perhaps he does not exactly know.

Such, gentle reader, is the invention which has been lauded by our first men and beggest editors, and of which an awkward model has received "rounds of applause" from a "select and fashionable audience" (who paid fifty cents each to witness the wonder,) as the nearest approach to successful ærial navigation that has ever been thought of, notwithstanding that ten years ago, in a popular public journal of this city,—and again four years ago, in another city paper,—a plan was presented to them, with ample illustrations, explanations and demonstrations of an ærial apparatus, on perfectly rational and established principles, that will evidently navigate the atmosphere at a speed of one hundred miles per hour, with safety, and perfectly at command; being in the form of an eliptic spindle, with a buoyancy of several tons and driven forward by the power of steam, applied to revolving, spiral fan-wheels. Why then, it may be asked, has this new plan produced so much excitement, amongst the very people who appeard totally indifferent to the rational plan? The answer is, simply, that the scientific plan was introduced by an American, while the new apparatus was invented by an Italian gentleman,—the audience knowning but little of the merits of either.

With regard to the inventor,—Signor Muzzi,—he appears to be an unassuming gentleman, desirous of procuring assistance to put his invention in successful operation on a large scale. In this we may well sympathise with him, and heartily whish him all possible success: but we should be glad to have our citizens of scintific pretensions, become better informed in teh principles of natural philosophy, than they have manifested on this occasion.

We had intended to add some remarks on Mr. West's eloquent lecture on this subject, but must defer them till next week.

This incomprehensible art, which has been in use about three years, is truly valuable and must prevail extensively, notwithstanding the disadvantage to which its reputaion has neen subjected, in consequence of the many impositions practised on the public, by the unprincipled speculators. Having been the first to introduce this art in the city of New York, we have had opportunity for more experience in the business, probable, than any other person in the country; and can say with confidence, that either gold-plating or sivering can be executed by the electro precess, with greater beauty and permanence than can be done by the old process, yet at less than one half the expense. But there is a mugh deeper and extensive knowledge of the art required, than is usually attained by ordinary practitioners, in order to insure durability as well as beauty, though there is in reality, no difficulty in effecting it. even iron, steel or pewter may be plated directly with silver, which will firmly unite with the surfaces. It is well known that many young men have paid fifty dollars cash for a mere superficial knowledge of the art; but it is our intention to give in future numbers, such minute and complete instructions in the various branches of this art, and of the requisite apparatus, that any attentive reader may acquire the art, more perfectly than has been hitherto understood by thos who have paid high prices for instruction.

It frequently occurs, that substances of different colours or even without colour, by coming in contact, produce colours very different from that of either of the ingredients when seperate; thus, if a sheet of paper be striped in one direction with a hair pencil dipped in a solution of sub-carbonate of potas; and then crossed with a solution of sulphuric acid, diluted with five times as much water, it will be colourless; but dip it in a mixture of a week solution of sulphate of iron, and infusion of nut galles, it will instantly become a beautiful plaid; the ground being purple, striped one way with black and crossed with white.

If a similar paper be striped with sub-carbonate of potas and crossed with infusion of galls, and afterwards dipped in a solution of sulphate of iron, it will become purple, yellow, black and white.

Stain some parts of a sheet of paper a purple brown, with a mixture of infusion of galls and sulphate of iron: stain other parts green with a mixture of tinctures of turmeric and litmus; stain other parts purple with juice of red cabbage; other parts red, with tincture of litmus and muriatic acid; other parts yellow with tincture of tumeric; wash the remainder of the sheet with a solution of sulphate of iron, which will remain white. Then print or draw with a camel-hair pencil, any figure or figures on every part of the paper, with a solution of sub-carbonate of potas. On the purple brown, the figure will be black; on the green it will be purple; on the purple it will be green; on the red it will be blue; on the yellow, red; and on the white it will take a yellow colour. Thus the figure will appear in colours different from the ground in every part.

Immerse a piece of white cotton i a solution of sulphate of iron—it will remain white: dip another piece in tincture of tumeric, it will take a yellow; wet another piece with juice of red cabbage, containing also a few drops of muriatic acid,—it will be red; dye another piece green by immersing it in a mixture of tincture of turmeric and litmus; and another purple, by a mixture of infusion of galls and sulphate of iron. Let them dry; then immerse them altogether in a solution of sub-carbonate of potas. The white will be changed to a yellow; the yellow to a red; the red to green; the green to purple; and the purple to black; and it is not improbable that the black might be materially changed or bleached by the same solution.

What is true and rational religion? In answering this important question, we shall come to the point at once, without prejudice or sectarian influence; and laying aside all traditionary superstition, which has had its origin in clerical policy, inquire what is now the will of the blessed Deity, with regard to the conduct of the children of men. What course of conduct, in us, frail, erring human creatures, will now, under all the present existing circumstances, be acceptable and approved by our divine Creator, who continually watches over us, and observes our every act, and the thoughts of our hearts? We have so dilligently examined the answer which we are about to give to these questions, and so attentively viewed the subject in all its bearings, and with all its evidences and domonstrations, that we can not think it possible that there is any ground to doubt its correctness. First, then, let us, as rational creatures, be ever ready to acknowledge God as our Creator and daily Preserver; and that we are each of us individually dependant on his special care and good will towards us, in supporting the wonderful action of nature which constitutes our existence; and in preserving us from the casualties, to which our complicated and delicate structure is liable. Let us also, knowing our entire dependence on Devine Benevolence, as rational creatures, do ourselves the honor to express personally and frequently, our thanks to him for his goodness; and to present our petitions to Him for the favours which we constantly require. This course is rational, even without the aid of revelation: but being specially invited to this course, by the divinge word, and assured of the readiness of our Creator to answer our prayers and recognize our thanks, it is truly surprising that any rational being, who has ever read the inspired writings should willingly forego this privilege, or should be ashamed to be seen engaged in this rational employment, or to have it known that he practices it. Next to the worship of God by thanksgiving and prayer, we should repel and banish all feelings of anger and bitterness toward our fellow beings, and cherish love and kind feelings towards them. This course is also rational, having the example of God in his kind dealings towards us; and conduces at once, to the glory of God, the happiness of mankind in general, and to our own individual happiness and prosperity in particular. It is also a rational duty to be ever reconciled and resigned to the dispensations of Divine Providence; and to trust in the goodness and benevolence of God for the present and the future, and to feel willing to have it known amongst our associates, that we follow a rational course. This is rational religion.

.—The following item is the more interesting on account of a recent statement by one of the missionaries, that the Chinese are suppoes to spend $360,000,000 annually for incense to burn befoer their idols:—

, in a letter recently received, says, that a report came to his ears that a native Chinese had memorialized the Emperor in relation to Christianity, forwarding at the same time specimens of Tracts, &c., and that the Emperor had returned an answer in which he said that the publication of such Tracts was calculated to promote virtue and happiness, and ought to be encouraged. Dr. Parker wrote to the governor to ascertain whether this was indeed the fact. The governor in a very curious reply, confirms the report, and added that the Emperoro had concluded to excuse those who embraced the Christian religion, and believed in such Tracts, from the punishment usually inflicted.

.—We shall present in our next number a safe and satisfactory guarantee for the continuance of this paper for a year at least.

(We are under special obligations to the Commissioner of Patents, for furnishing us with the following list of Letters Patent, issued since July 1st, 1845.)

Raising and lowering weights—Ephriam Morris, New York, July 5th.

Indial rubber fabrics—Chas. Goodyear, New Haven, Ct. July 5.

Ship's Anchors—N. P. Jones, & James Raisbeck, N. Y. July 5.

Globes, mounting—Silas Cornell, Rochester N. Y. July 5.

Cooking Stoves—W. L. Potter, Clifton Park, N. Y. July 5.

Saddle Springs—John F. Lehr, Huntsville, Ala. July 5.

Washing Machine—Harrison Hagans, Brandonsville, Va. July 5.

Truss Pads, double—Wm. R. Goulding, N. Y. July 5.

Ores, method reducing iron ore to malleable iron, &c.—Wm. Neal, Clag, (England) assigned to Wm. Green, Jr. Woodbridge, N. J. July 5.

Printer's Ink—Edward Clark, Brooklyn, N. Y. July 5.

Hydro-oxygen Blow-Pipe—Robert Hare, M. D. Philadelphia, July 5.

Planing Machine—Wm. W. Woodsworth, administrator of Wm. Woodworth, deceased, Hyde Park, N. Y. re-issued, July 8.

Ornamental Stove—Samuel H. Ransom, Albany, N. Y. July 10.

Mode of adjusting Toggle Joint—S. W. Bullock, Williamsburg, N. Y. July 10.

Piano Forte—Samuel R. Warren, Montreal, Canada, July 10.

Winnowing, Fan Mills—Isaac T. Grant, Shagticoke, N. Y. July 10.

Sugar Making—Joseph Francois Lapiece, Asa'e. of Charles Louid Derosne, France, (Amer. patent) July 10.

Hemp Brake—Coleman C. Estes, Maury Co. Tenn. July 14.

Plough—Samuel Shearer, Big-Prairie, Ohio, July 14.

Thrashing Machine—J. T. & E. Warren, N. Y. July 14.

Excavator and Ditching—Robert Cummings, Lima, Ia. July 14

Propeller—Horatio Hubbell, Moyamensing, Pa. July 14.

Ornamental Open Stove—Jagger, Treadwell, & Perry, Albany, Assignees of Exra Ripley, Troy, N. Y. July 14.

Air-Tight Stove—Benj. Starbuck, Assignee of Anson Atwood, Troy, N. Y. July 14.

Cure of smoky chimneys—Augustus Haman, Washington, D. C. July 22.

Cooking Stove—E. Johnson & D. B. Cox, Troy, N. Y. July 22.

Carriages—John Kimshall, Kinnebunk, Me. July 22.

Turning Lathe, for irregular forms—Warren Hale, & Allan Goodman, Dana, Mass. July 22.

Managing Bees—Elias Parks, Wheatfield, N. Y. July 22.

Ventilating Hats—Geo. W. Cherry, Alexandria, D. C. July 26.

Brick Making—J. Parsons Owen, Cincinnatti, Ohio, July 26.

Atmospheric Rail-way—James Pilbrow, England, July 26.

Reaction Water-Wheel—Orin W. Seely Assignee, of Joshua Evered, Lodus, N. Y. July 30.

Reaction Water-Wheel—Abner Chapman, Fort Miller Bridge, N. Y. July 30.

Twist Augur—Ezra Chapman, Chester, Ct., reissued, July 30.

Castors—Pilos, Eli W. & John A Blake, New Haven, Ct. reissued, July 30.

Plough—Wm. Bullock—Jersey City, N. J. July 30.

Bee-House—Abraham Decker, Walnut Township, Ohio, July 30.

Hot-Air Furnace—Gardner Chilson, Boston, Mass. Aug 4.

Stove—Jehiel T. Farrand, Port Byron, N. Y. Aug 4.

Balance for Time Keeper—John Bliss & F. Creighton, New York, Aug. 4.

Harness Collar—F. C. Curtis, Columbia, S. C. Aug. 4.

Mode of casting Type—Thos. W. Starr, Philadelphia, Pa. Aug. 4.

Bugles, keyed of Turtle shell—Geo. W. Shaw, Thompson, Ct. Aug. 4.

Artificiall Nipple—Elijah Pratt, New York, Aug. 4th.

Uterine Supporter—Ephraim Calvin, North-Granville, N. Y., Aug. 4th.

Bottles for nursing—Elijah Pratt, New York, August 9th.

Saddles—Benjamin Suits, Chittenaugo, N. Y., Aug 9th.

Butt Hinge—James Roy & Co., Troy, N. Y., reissued Aug. 9th.

Paper Manufacturing—Arthur Varnham, London, Eng., Aug. 9th.

Reflecting Heat Baker—William Tainter & H. S. Orton, Porter county, Ia.

Hot Air Furnace—Adrian Janes, New York, August 9th.

Clocks—Eli Terry, Plymouth, Ct., Aug 9th.

Preparing Provisions—D. Lardner & James Davidson, New York, Aug. 9th.

Gas Burner—Wm. Black, Boston, Aug. 9th.

Improvement in Cooking Stoves—Hosea Huntly, Rochester, N. Y., Aug. 16th.

Lathe Cutting Machines—Solomon F. Finch & James Wheeler, Rootestown, Ohio, Aug. 16th.

Machines for making wooden pegs—Thomas A. Roberston, Georgetown, D. C., Aug. 16th.

Improvement in Grinding Mills—Beriah Swift, Washington, N. Y., Aug. 16th.

Clover Hulling Machine—Samuel W. Powell, Turbet, Pa., Aug. 16th.

Washing Machine—Harvey W. Sabim, Bradsville, N. Y., Aug. 16th.

.—A gentleman writing from England, states that a religious excitement similar to American Millerism, has commenced in that country, under the auspices of late ministers of the established church, who preach the approaching second advent of the Saviour; but that the preachers have all been suspended by the established church. It could not be expected, that the dignitaries of that church would tolerate the preaching of the probability of an event, by them dreaded as one that would destroy all their fair prospects with their enormous saleries and honours of this world.


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User:Blackmirror3

Bangladesh a land of nature .its a great area to spend your time.if you does not go there you must i think you have to visit there

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116 and knowledge ; he is, as it were, lord and master as far as understanding reaches—he who meditates on understanding as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than understanding?'

'Yes, there is something better than understanding.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Power (bala) is better than understanding. One powerful man shakes a hundred men of understanding. If a man is powerful, he becomes a rising man. If he rises, he becomes a man who visits wise people. If he visits, he becomes a follower of wise people. If he follows them, he becomes a seeing, a hearing, a perceiving, a knowing, a doing, an understanding man. By power the earth stands firm, and the sky, and the heaven, and the mountains, gods and men, cattle, birds, herbs, trees, all beasts down to worms, midges, and ants; by power the world stands firm. Meditate on power.

2. 'He who meditates on power as Brahman, is, as it were, lord and master as far as power reaches—he who meditates on power as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than power?'

'Yes, there is something better than power.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Food (anna) is better than power. Therefore if a man abstain from food for ten days, though he live, he would be unable to see, hear, perceive, think, act, and understand. But when he obtains


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Rh food, he is able to see, hear, perceive, think, act, and understand. Meditate on food.

2. 'He who meditates on food as Brahman, obtains the worlds rich in food and drink; he is, as it were, lord and master as far as food reaches—he who meditates on food as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than food?'

'Yes, there is something better than food.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Water (ap) is better than food. Therefore if there is not sufficient rain, the vital spirits fail from fear that there will be less food. But if there is sufficient rain, the vital spirits rejoice, because there will be much food. This water, on assuming different forms, becomes this earth, this sky, this heaven, the mountains, gods and men, cattle, birds, herbs and trees, all beasts down to worms, midges, and ants. Water indeed assumes all these forms. Meditate on water.

2. He who meditates on water as Brahman, obtains all wishes, he becomes satisfied; he is, as it were, lord and master as far as water reaches—he who meditates on water as Brahman.

'Sir, is there something better than water?'

'Yes, there is something better than water.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Fire (tegas) is better than water. For fire united with air, warms the ether. Then people say, It is hot, it burns, it will rain. Thus does fire, after showing this sign (itself) first, create water. And


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Rh in travel and some go to a warmer zone for the winter in order to work there.

The travelling accommodation of the planet is sometimes severely taxed. So much so that the Central Executive advise certain trades to take their holidays at certain periods or between certain months at their convenience, that too many may not be on the move at one time.

This ocean boat, though not one of the largest, can berth and accommodate two thousand five hundred people. It has three decks available for passengers extending from end to end of the ship. The work of the ship is done on the fourth deck. The great motors work there, and the accumulators, weighing some three thousand tuns, are stored in the lowest hold as ballast.

Long voyages have not to be provided for; there is not room in our oceans for a long voyage. We travel nearly one hundred miles an hour, and so complete our ocean journey in little more than two days. Our boat looks very plain; there are no masts, spars nor funnels. Nothing on the upper deck but the bridge, the cook's kitchens, and the ventilators for the lower decks.

Providing for us all is a very easy task, as on land we have but one meal except the little breakfast for mothers and young children, and this meal, though good and plentiful, very rarely consists of more than two courses. We have very little waste of food. Plates are not sent away with their contents almost untested because other courses on the card are likely to be more palatable.

During our brief voyage I made the acquaintance of several young men and women who were going to the metropolis for the purpose of passing examinations or for study. They were all remarkably eager and intelligent, but our conversations were none of them exactly worthy of being recorded.

At twenty-one o'clock of the third day, after a run of fifty-five hours over smooth waters, we drew near the port of Granby, the greatest western port of the central ocean. I went to the cabin and called Grayson, as I had no desire to be separated from him. We saw a number of great boats. I had no idea that there were so many. Going past them all was quite a long walk. About half of them were evidently used like the one we had just left, for passenger traffic only. There were also some very large cargo boats. The concourse of people was very great. Many had come to welcome friends and relatives, and others were there for amusement. It was two hours after sunset, but the abundance of electric lights, none of which were permitted to glare or cast strong shadows, shed a soft radiance upon the scene and almost compensated for the absence of the sun.

In spite of the crowd we were soon comfortably settled in our hostel. There are many large ones in Granby, this being the largest of a ring of ports surrounding the central ocean. Here we had the same springy and

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118 thus again thunderclaps come with lightnings, flashing upwards and across the sky. Then people say, There is lightning and thunder, it will rain. Then also does fire, after showing this sign first, create water. Meditate on fire.

2. 'He who meditates on fire as Brahman, obtains, resplendent himself, resplendent worlds, full of light and free of darkness; he is, as it were, lord and master as far as fire reaches—he who meditates on fire as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than fire?'

'Yes, there is something better than fire.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Ether (or space) is better than fire. For in the ether exist both sun and moon, the lightning, stars, and fire (agni). Through the ether we call, through the ether we hear, through the ether we answer. In the ether or space we rejoice (when we are together), and rejoice not (when we are separated). In the ether everything is born, and towards the ether everything tends when it is born. Meditate on ether.

2. He who meditates on ether as Brahman, obtains the worlds of ether and of light, which are free from pressure and pain, wide and spacious ; he is, as it were, lord and master as far as ether reaches — he who meditates on ether as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than ether?'


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Rh 'Yes, there is something better than ether.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Memory (smara) is better than ether. Therefore where many are assembled together, if they have no memory, they would hear no one, they would not perceive, they would not understand. Through memory we know our sons, through memory our cattle. Meditate on memory.

2. 'He who meditates on memory as Brahman, is, as it were, lord and master as far as memory reaches—he who meditates on memory as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than memory?'

'Yes, there is something better than memory.'

'Sir, tell it me.'

1. 'Hope (âsâ) is better than memory. Fired by hope does memory read the sacred hymns, perform sacrifices, desire sons and cattle, desire this world and the other. Meditate on hope.

2. 'He who meditates on hope as Brahman, all his desires are fulfilled by hope, his prayers are not in vain; he is, as it were, lord and master as far as hope reaches—he who meditates on hope as Brahman.'

'Sir, is there something better than hope?'

'Yes, there is something better than hope.'

'Sir, tell it me.'