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 tone with which he treated the unhappy prisoner, and the unkind manner with which he had left him, convinced Schroll that he and Werl must be two different persons. Just at this moment a thought struck him, like a blast of lightning, of the black book that had perished in the fire and its ominous contents. A lucky cast of the dice! Aye; that then was the shape in which the tempter had presented himself; and heartily glad he felt that he had not availed himself of his suggestions.

But this temper of mind was speedily changed by his young bride, who hurried in, soon after, sobbing, and flung her arms about his neck. He told her of the proposal which had been made to him; and she was shocked that he had not immediately accepted it.

With a bleeding heart, Rudolph objected that so charming and lovely a creature could not miss of a happy fate, even if he should be forced to quit her. But she protested vehemently that he or nobody should enjoy her love.

The clergyman, who visited the prisoner immediately after her departure, restored some composure to his mind, which had been altogether banished by the presence of his bride. “Blessed are they who die in the Lord!” said the grey-haired divine; and with so much earnestness and devotion, that this single speech had the happiest effect upon the prisoner’s mind.

On the morning after this night of agitation—the morning of the fatal day—the three criminals saw each other for the first time since their arrest. Community of fate, and long separation from each other, contributed to draw still closer the bond of friendship that had been first knit on the field of battle. Each of the three testified a lively abhorrence for the wretched necessity of throwing death to some one of his comrades, by any cast of the dice which should bring life to himself. Dear as their several friends were to all, yet at this moment the brotherly league, which had been tried and proved in the furnace of battle, was triumphant over all opposing considerations. Each would have preferred death himself, rather than escape it at the expense of his comrade.

The worthy clergyman, who possessed their entire confidence, found them loudly giving utterance to this heroic determination. Shaking his head, he pointed their attention to those who had claims upon them whilst living, and for whom it was their duty to wish to live as long as possible. “Place your trust in God!” said he: “resign yourselves to him! He it is that will bring about the decision through your hands; and think not of ascribing that power to yourselves, or to his lifeless instruments—the dice. He, without whose permission no sparrow falls to the ground, and who has numbered every hair upon your head—He it is that knows best what is good for you; and he only.”

The prisoners assented by squeezing his hand, embraced each other, and received the sacrament in the best disposition of mind. After this ceremony they breakfasted together, in as resigned, nay, almost in as joyous a mood as if the gloomy and bloody morning which lay before them were ushering in some gladsome festival.

When, however, the procession was marshalled from the outer gate, and their beloved friends were admitted to utter their last farewells, then again the sternness of their courage sank beneath the burthen of their melancholy fate. “Rudolph!’“Rudolph!” [sic] whispered amongst the rest his despairing bride, “Rudolph! why did you reject the help that was offered to you?” He adjured her not to add to the bitterness of parting; and she in turn adjured him, a little before the word of command was given to march—which robbed her of all consciousness—to make a sign to the stranger who had volunteered his offer of deliverance, provided he should anywhere observe him in the crowd.

The streets and the windows were lined with spectators. Vainly did each of the criminals seek, by accompanying the clergyman in his prayers, to shelter himself from the thought, that all return, perhaps, was cut off from him. The large house of his bride’s father reminded Schroll of a happiness that was now lost to him for ever, if any faith were to be put in the words of his yesterday’s monitor; and a very remarkable


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 (Pathetically) Won’t he know me when he sees me, Frank?

We must face it.

(muttering) : That woman! That woman!

I’d forgotten.

[ turns.

She came with this story. I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t. I thought it was an invention.

Chris gave me to understand that she was—well, very much the reverse of unattractive.

(a trifle bitterly) : Fifteen years, Frank. Haven’t we all changed?

[There comes a tap on the door.

(The tap ts repeated.) Come in.

[The door opens and steals tn timidly.

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


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Runo XXXV]

But by no means did I perish,

Nor could I, the wretched perish.

“Would that I, poor wretch, had perished,

Hapless one, had met destruction,

That the second year thereafter,

Or the third among the summers,

I had shone forth as a grass-blade,

As a lovely flower existed,

On the ground a beauteous berry,

Even as a scarlet cranberry,

Then I had not heard these horrors,

Would not now have known these terrors.”

Soon as she had finished speaking,

And her speech had scarce completed,

Quickly from the sledge she darted,

And she rushed into the river,

In the furious foaming cataract,

And amid the raging whirlpool,

There she found the death she sought for,

There at length did death o’ertake her,

Found in Tuonela a refuge,

In the waves she found compassion.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

From his sledge at once descended,

And began to weep full loudly,

With a piteous lamentation.

“Woe my day, O me unhappy,

Woe to me, and all my household,

For indeed my very sister,

I my mother’s child have outraged!

Woe my father, woe my mother,

Woe to you, my aged parents,

To what purpose have you reared me,

Reared me up to be so wretched!

Far more happy were my fortune,

Had I ne’er been born or nurtured,

Never in the air been strengthened,

Never in this world had entered.

Wrongly I by death was treated,

Nor disease has acted wisely,

Rh

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114

That they did not fall upon me,

And when two nights old destroy me.”

With his knife he loosed the collar,

From the sledge the chains he severed,

On the horse’s back he vaulted,

On the whitefront steed he galloped,

But a little way he galloped,

But a little course had traversed,

When he reached his father’s dwelling,

Reached the grass-plot of his father.

In the yard he found his mother,

“O my mother who hast borne me,

O that thou, my dearest mother,

E’en as soon as thou hadst borne me,

In the bath-room smoke hadst laid me,

And the bath-house doors had bolted,

That amid the smoke I smothered,

And when two nights old had perished,

Smothered me among the blankets,

With the curtain thou hadst choked me,

Thrust the cradle in the fire,

Pushed it in the burning embers.

“If the village folk had asked thee,

‘Why is in the room no cradle?

Wherefore have you locked the bath-house?’

Then might this have been the answer:

‘In the fire I burned the cradle,

Where on hearth the fire is glowing,

While I made the malt in bath-house,

While the malt was fully sweetened.’”

Then his mother asked him quickly,

Asked him thus, the aged woman:

“O my son, what happened to thee,

What the dreadful news thou bringest?

Seems from Tuonela thou comest;

As from Manala thou comest.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Answered in the words which follow:

“Horrors now must be reported,

And most horrible misfortunes.

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text: The Trees of Great Britain & Ireland/1 - Plates/Ailanthus


text: The Trees of Great Britain & Ireland/1 - Plates/Sophora


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 this very Werl committed to the grave.

“Aye, aye, it’s strange enough, I allow: but there are not many such surgeons as he is that belongs to our regiment: he had me dug up, and brought me round again, I’ll assure you. One would think the man was a conjurer. Indeed there are many things he can do which I defy any man to explain; and to say the truth, I’m convinced he can execute impossibilities.”

“Well, so let him, for aught that I care: all his art will scarcely do me any good.”

“Who knows, brother? who knows? The man is in this town at this very time; and for old friendship’s sake I’ve just spoken to him about you: and he has promised me a lucky throw of the dice that shall deliver you from all danger.”

“Ah!” said the dejected Rudolph, “but even this would be of little service to me.”

“Why, how so?” asked the other.

“How so? Why, because—even if there were such dice (a matter I very much dispute)—yet I could never allow myself to turn aside, by black arts, any bad luck designed for myself upon the heads of either of my comrades.”

“Now this, I suppose, is what you call being noble? But excuse me if I think that in such cases one’s first duty is to oneself.”

“Aye, but just consider; one of my comrades has an old father to maintain, the other a sick wife with two children.”

“Schroll, Schroll, if your young bride were to hear you, I fancy she wouldn’t think herself much flattered. Does poor Charlotte deserve that you should not bestow a thought on her and her fate? A dear young creature, that places her whole happiness in you, has nearer claims (I think) upon your consideration than an old dotard with one foot in the grave, or a wife and two children that are nothing at all to you. Ah! what a deal of good might you do in the course of a long life with your Charlotte!So then, you really are determined to reject the course which I point out to you? Take care, Schroll! If you disdain my offer, and the lot should chance to fall upon you,—take care lest the thought of a young bride whom you have betrayed, take care, I say, lest this thought should add to the bitterness of death when you come to kneel down on the sand-hill. However, I’ve given you advice sufficient: and have discharged my conscience. Look to it yourself: and farewell!”

“Stay, brother, a word or two;” said Rudolph, who was powerfully impressed by the last speech, and the picture of domestic happiness held up before him, which he had often dallied with in thought both when alone and in company with Charlotte;—“stay a moment. Undoubtedly, I do not deny that I wish for life, if I could receive it a gift from heaven: and that is not impossible. Only I would not willingly have the guilt upon my conscience of being the cause of misery to another. However, if the man you speak of can tell, I should be glad that you would ask him upon which of us three the lot of death will fall. Or—stay; don’t ask him,” said Rudolph, sighing deeply.

“I have already asked him,” was the answer.

“Ah! have you so? And it is after his reply that you come to me with this counsel?”

The foretaste of death overspread the blooming face of Rudolph with a livid paleness: thick drops of sweat gathered upon his forehead; and the other exclaimed with a sneer—“I’m going: you take too much time for consideration. May be you will see and recognize me at the place of execution: and, if so, I shall have the dice with me; and it will not be too late even then to give me a sign: but take notice I can’t promise to attend.”

Rudolph raised his forehead from the palm of his hand, in which he had buried it during the last moments of his perturbation, and would have spoken something in reply: but his counsellor was already gone. He felt glad and yet at the same time sorry. The more he considered the man and his appearance, so much the less seemed his resemblance to his friend whom he had left buried on the field of battle. This friend had been the very soul of affectionate cordiality—a temper that was altogether wanting to his present counsellor. No! the scornful and insulting


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 faintness came over him. The clergyman, who was acquainted with the circumstances of his case, and, therefore, guessed the occasion of his sudden agitation, laid hold of his arm—and said, with a powerful voice, that he who trusted in God would assuredly see all his righteous hopes accomplished—in this world, if it were God’s pleasure; but, if not, in a better.

These were words of comfort: but their effect lasted only for a few moments. Outside the city gate his eyes were met by the sand-hill already thrown up—a spectacle which renewed his earthly hopes and fears. He threw a hurried glance about him: but no where could he see his last night’s visitor.

Every moment the decision came nearer and nearer. It has begun. One of the three has already shaken the box: the die is cast: he has thrown a six. This throw was now registered amidst the solemn silence of the crowd. The by-standers regarded him with silent congratulations in their eyes. For this man and Rudolph were the two special objects of the general compassion; this man, as the husband and father; Rudolph, as the youngest and handsomest, and because some report had gone abroad of his superior education and attainments.

Rudolph was youngest in a double sense—youngest in years, and youngest in the service: for both reasons he was to throw last. It may be supposed, therefore, how much all present trembled for the poor delinquent, when the second of his comrades likewise flung a six.

Prostrated in spirit, Rudolph stared at the unpropitious die. Then a second time he threw a hurried glance around him—and that so full of despair, that from horrid sympathy a violent shuddering ran through the by-standers. “Here is no deliverer,” thought Rudolph, “none to see me, or to hear me! And if there were, it is now too late: for no change of the die is any longer possible.” So saying he seized the fatal die; convulsively his hand clutches it; and before the throw is made he feels that the die is broken in two.

During the universal thrill of astonishment which succeeded to this strange accident, he looked round again. A sudden shock, and a sudden joy, fled through his countenance. Not far from him, in the dress of a pedlar, stands Theiler without a wound—the comrade whose head had been carried off on the field of battle by a cannon-ball. Rudolph made an under sign to him with his eye. For clear as it now was to his mind—with whom he was dealing, yet, the dreadful trial of the moment overpowered his better resolutions.

The military commission were in some confusion. No provision having been thought of against so strange an accident, there was no second die at hand. They were just on the point of despatching a messenger to fetch one, when the pedlar presented himself with the offer of supplying the loss. The new die is examined by the auditor, and delivered to the unfortunate Rudolph. He throws: the die is lying on the drum; and again it is a six! The amazement is universal: nothing is decided: the throws must be repeated. They are: and Weber, the husband of the sick wife—the father of the two half-naked children, flings the lowest throw.

Immediately the officer’s voice was heard wheeling his men into their position: on the part of Weber there was as little delay. The overwhelming injury to his wife and children inflicted by his own act, was too mighty to contemplate. He shook hands rapidly with his two comrades; stept nimbly into his place; kneeled down; the word of command was heard—“Lower your musquets;” instantly he dropt the fatal handkerchief with the gesture of one who prays for some incalculable blessing: and in the twinkling of an eye, sixteen bullets had lightened the heart of the poor mutineer from its whole immeasurable freight of anguish.

All the congratulations, with which they were welcomed on their return into the city, fell powerless on Rudolph’s ear! Scarcely could even Charlotte’s caresses affect with any pleasure the man who believed himself to have sacrificed his comrade, through collusion with a fiend.

The importunities of Charlotte prevailed over all objections which the pride of her aged father suggested against a son-in-law who had been capitally convicted. The marriage


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 was solemnized: but at the wedding-festival, amidst the uproar of merriment, the parties chiefly concerned were not happy or tranquil. In no long time the father-in-law died, and by his death placed the young couple in a state of complete independence. But Charlotte’s fortune, and the remainder of what Rudolph had inherited from his father, were speedily swallowed up by an idle and luxurious mode of living. Rudolph now began to ill-use his wife. To escape from his own conscience, he plunged into all sorts of dissolute courses. And very remarkable it was—that from manifesting the most violent abhorrence for every thing which could lead his thoughts to his own fortunate cast of the die, he gradually came to entertain so uncontrollable a passion for playing at dice—that he spent all his time in the company of those with whom he could turn this passion to account. His house had long since passed out of his own hands: not a soul could be found anywhere to lend him a shilling. The sickly widow of Weber and her two children, whom he had hitherto supported, lost their home and means of livelihood. And in no long space of time the same fate fell upon himself, his wife, and his child.

Too little used to labour to have any hope of improving his condition in that way, one day he bethought himself that the Medical Institute was in the habit of purchasing from poor people during their life-time the reversion of their bodies. To this establishment he addressed himself; and the ravages in his personal appearance and health, caused by his dissolute life, induced them the more readily to lend an ear to his proposal.

But the money thus obtained, which had been designed for the support of his wife and half-famished children, was squandered at the gaming-table. As the last dollar vanished, Schroll bit one of the dice furiously between his teeth. Just then he heard these words whispered at his ear—“Gently, brother, gently: All dice do not split in two, like that on the sand-hill.” He looked round in agitation: but saw no trace of any one who could have uttered the words.

With dreadful imprecations on himself and those with whom he had played, he flung out of the gaming-house, homewards on his road to the wretched garret where his wife and children were awaiting his return and his succour. But here the poor creatures, tormented by hunger and cold, pressed upon him so importunately, that he had no way to deliver himself from misery but by flying from the spectacle. But whither could he go thus late at night, when his utter poverty was known in every ale-house? Roaming he knew not whither, he found himself at length in the churchyard. The moon was shining solemnly upon the quiet grave-stones, though obscured at intervals by piles of stormy clouds. Rudolph shuddered at nothing but at himself and his own existence. He strode with bursts of laughter over the dwellings of the departed; and entered a vault which gave him shelter from the icy blasts of wind which now began to bluster more loudly than before. The moon threw her rays into the vault full upon the golden legend inscribed in the wall—“Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord!” Schroll took up a spade that was sticking in the ground, and struck with it furiously against the gilt letters on the wall: but they seemed indestructible; and he was going to assault them with a mattock, when suddenly a hand touched him on the shoulder, and said to him, “Gently, comrade: thy pains are all thrown away.” Schroll uttered a loud exclamation of terror: for, in these words, he heard the voice of Weber, and, on turning round, recognized his whole person.

“What would’st thou have?” asked Rudolph,—“What art thou come for?”—“To comfort thee,” replied the figure, which now suddenly assumed the form and voice of the pedlar to whom Schroll was indebted for the fortunate die. “Thou hast forgotten me: and thence it is that thou art fallen into misfortune. Look up and acknowledge thy friend in need that comes only to make thee happy again.”

“If that be thy purpose, wherefore is it that thou wearest a shape before which, of all others that have been on earth, I have most reason to shudder?”

“The reason is—because I must not allow to any men my help or my


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Runo XXXV]

I have wronged my very sister,

And my mother’s child dishonoured.

“First I went and paid the taxes,

And I also paid the land-dues,

And by chance there came a maiden,

And I sported with the maiden,

And she was my very sister,

And the child of mine own mother.

“Thereupon to death she cast her,

Plunged herself into destruction,

In the furious foaming cataract,

And amid the raging whirlpool.

But I cannot now determine

Not decide and not imagine

How myself to death should cast me,

I the hapless one, should slay me,

In the mouths of wolves all howling,

In the throats of bears all growling,

In the whale’s vast belly perish,

Or between the teeth of lake-pike.”

But his mother made him answer:

“Do not go, my son, my dearest,

To the mouths of wolves all howling,

Nor to throats of bears all growling,

Neither to the whale’s vast belly,

Neither to the teeth of lake-pike.

Large enough the Cape of Suomi,

Wide enough are Savo’s borders,

For a man to hide from evil,

And a criminal conceal him.

Hide thee there for five years, six years,

There for nine long years conceal thee,

Till a time of peace has reached thee,

And the years have calmed thine anguish.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Answered in the words which follow:

“Nay, I will not go in hiding,

Fly not forth, a wicked outcast,

To the mouth of Death I wander,

To the gate of Kalma’s courtyard,

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 converse on too easy terms. Before ever my die was allowed to turn thy fate, I was compelled to give thee certain intimations from which thou knewest with whom it was that thou wert dealing.”

“With whom then was it that I was dealing?” cried Schroll, staring with his eyes wide open, and his hair standing erect.

“Thou knewest, comrade, at that time—thou knowest at this moment,” said the pedlar laughing, and tapping him on the shoulder. “But what is it that thou desirest?”

Schroll struggled internally; but, overcome by his desolate condition, he said immediately-—immediately— [sic]“Dice: I would have dice that shall win whenever I wish.”

“Very well: but first of all stand out of the blaze of this golden writing on the wall: it is a writing that has nothing to do with thee. Here are dice: never allow them to go out of thy own possession: for that might bring thee into great trouble. When thou needest me, light a fire at the last stroke of the midnight hour; throw in my dice and with loud laughter. They will crack once or twice, and then split. At that moment catch at them in the flames: but let not the moment slip, or thou art lost. And let not thy courage be daunted by the sights that I cannot but send before me whensoever I appear. Lastly, avoid choosing any holy day for this work; and beware of the priest’s benediction. Here, take the dice.”

Schroll caught at the dice with one hand, whilst with the other he covered his eyes. When he next looked up, he was standing alone.

He now quitted the burying ground to return as hastily as possible to the gaming-house, where the light of candles was still visible. But it was with the greatest difficulty that he obtained money enough from a “friend” to enable him to make the lowest stake which the rules allowed. He found it a much easier task to persuade the company to use the dice which he had brought with him. They saw in this nothing but a very common superstition—and no possibility of any imposture, as they and he should naturally have benefited alike by the good luck supposed to accompany the dice. But the nature of the charm was—that only the possessor of the dice enjoyed their supernatural powers; and hence it was, that towards morning, Schroll reeled home, intoxicated with wine and pleasure, and laden with the money of all present, to the garret where his family were lying, half frozen and famished.

Their outward condition was immediately improved. The money, which Schroll had won, was sufficient not only for their immediate and most pressing wants: it was enough also to pay for a front apartment, and to leave a sum sufficient for a very considerable stake.

With this sum, and in better attire, Rudolph repaired to a gaming-house of more fashionable resort—and came home in the evening laden with gold.

He now opened a gaming establishment himself; and so much did his family improve in external appearances within a very few weeks, that the police began to keep a watchful eye over him.

This induced him to quit the city, and to change his residence continually. All the different baths of Germany he resorted to beyond other towns: but, though his dice perseveringly maintained their luck, he yet never accumulated any money. Every thing was squandered upon the dissipated life which he and his family pursued.

At length at the baths of the matter began to take an unfortunate turn. A violent passion for a beautiful young lady whom Rudolph had attached himself to in vain at balls, concerts, and even at church, suddenly bereft him of all sense and discretion. One night, when Schroll (who now styled himself Captain Von Schrollshausen) was anticipating a master-stroke from his dice, probably for the purpose of winning the lady by the display of overflowing wealth and splendour,—suddenly they lost their virtue, and failed him without warning. Hitherto they had lost only when he willed them to lose: but, on this occasion, they failed at so critical a moment, as to lose him not only all his own money, but a good deal beside that he had borrowed.

Foaming with rage, he came home. He asked furiously after his wife:


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 she was from home. He examined the dice attentively; and it appeared to him that they were not his own. A powerful suspicion seized upon him. Madame Von Schrollshausen had her own gaming circle as well as himself. Without betraying its origin, he had occasionally given her a few specimens of the privilege attached to his dice: and she had pressed him earnestly to allow her the use of them for a single evening. It was true he never parted with them even on going to bed: but it was possible that they might have been changed whilst he was sleeping. The more he brooded upon this suspicion, the more it strengthened: from being barely possible, it became probable: from a probability it ripened into a certainty; and this certainty received the fullest confirmation at this moment when she returned home in the gayest temper, and announced to him that she had been this night overwhelmed with good luck; in proof of which, she poured out upon the table a considerable sum in gold coin. “And now,” she added laughingly, “I care no longer for your dice; nay, to tell you the truth, I would not exchange my own for them.”

Rudolph, now confirmed in his suspicions, demanded the dice—as his property that had been purloined from him. She laughed and refused. He insisted with more vehemence; she retorted with warmth: both parties were irritated: and, at length, in the extremity of his wrath, Rudolph snatched up a knife and stabbed her: the knife pierced her heart: she uttered a single sob—was convulsed for a moment—and expired. “Cursed accident!” he exclaimed, when it clearly appeared, on examination, that the dice which she had in her purse were not those which he suspected himself to have lost.

No eye but Rudolph’s had witnessed the murder: the child had slept on undisturbed: but circumstances betrayed it to the knowledge of the landlord; and, in the morning, he was preparing to make it public. By great offers, however, Rudolph succeeded in purchasing the man’s silence: he engaged in substance to make over to the landlord a large sum of money, and to marry his daughter, with whom he had long pursued a clandestine intrigue. Agreeably to this arrangement, it was publicly notified that Madame Von Schrollshausen had destroyed herself under a sudden attack of hypochondriasis, to which she had been long subject. Some there were undoubtedly who chose to be sceptics on this matter: but nobody had an interest sufficiently deep in the murdered person to prompt him to a legal inquiry.

A fact, which at this time gave Rudolph far more disturbance of mind than the murder of his once beloved wife, was—the full confirmation, upon repeated experience, that his dice had forfeited their power. For he had now been a loser for two days running to so great an extent, that he was obliged to abscond on a misty night. His child, towards whom his affection increased daily, he was under the necessity of leaving with his host as a pledge for his return and fulfilment of his promises. He would not have absconded, if it had been in his power to summon his dark counsellor forthwith: but on account of the great festival of Pentecost, which fell on the very next day, this summons was necessarily delayed for a short time. By staying he would have reduced himself to the necessity of inventing various pretexts for delay, in order to keep up his character with his creditors: whereas, when he returned with a sum of money sufficient to meet his debts, all suspicions would be silenced at once.

In the metropolis of an adjacent territory, to which he resorted so often, that he kept lodgings there constantly, he passed Whitsunday with impatience—and resolved on the succeeding night to summon and converse with his counsellor. Impatient, however, as he was of any delay, he did not on that account feel the less anxiety as the hour of midnight approached. Though he was quite alone in his apartments, and had left his servant behind at the baths,—yet long before midnight he fancied that he heard footsteps and whisperings round about him. The purpose he was meditating, that he had regarded till now as a matter of indifference, now displayed itself in its whole monstrous shape. Moreover, he remembered that his wicked


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116

To the place of furious fighting,

To the battle-field of heroes.

Upright still is standing Unto,

And the wicked man unfallen,

Unavenged my father’s sufferings,

Unavenged my mother’s tear-drops,

Counting not my bitter sufferings,

Wrongs that I myself have suffered.”

, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

Now prepared himself for battle,

And prepared himself for warfare.

For an hour his sword he sharpened,

Sharpened spear-points for another.

Then his mother spoke unto him,

“Do not go, my son unhappy,

Go not to this mighty battle,

Go not where the swords are clashing!

He who goes for nought to battle,

He who wilful seeks the combat,

In the fight shall find his death-wound,

And shall perish in the conflict,

By the sword-blades shall he perish,

Thus shall fall, and thus shall perish.

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THE LIFE AND ÆRA

HESIOD,

SECTION I.

is remarked by Velleius Paterculus (Hist. lib. i.) that "Hesiod had avoided the negligence into which Homer fell, by attesting both his country and his parents: but that of his country he had made most reproachful mention; on account of the fine which she had imposed on him." There are sufficient coincidences in the poems of Hesiod, now extant, to explain the grounds of this assertion of Paterculus; but the statement is loose and incorrect.

As to the mention of his country, if by country we are to suppose the place of his birth, it can only be understood by implication, and that not with certainty. Hesiod indeed relates that his father migrated from Cuma in Æolia, to Ascra, a Bœotian village at the foot of mount Helicon; but we are left to conjecture whether he himself was born at Cuma or at


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 counsellor had himself thought it necessary to exhort him to courage, which at present he felt greatly shaken. However, he had no choice. As he was enjoined therefore, with the last stroke of twelve he set on fire the wood which lay ready split upon the hearth, and threw the dice into the flames, with a loud laughter that echoed frightfully from the empty hall and stair-cases. Confused, and half-stifled by the smoke which accompanied the roaring flames, he stood still for a few minutes, when suddenly all the surrounding objects seemed changed, and he found himself transported to his father’s house. His father was lying on his death-bed just as he had actually beheld him. He had upon his lips the very same expression of supplication and anguish with which he had at that time striven to address him. Once again he stretched out his arms in love and pity to his son; and once again he seemed to expire in the act.

Schroll was agitated by the picture, which called up and re-animated in his memory, with the power of a mighty tormentor, all his honourable plans and prospects from that innocent period of his life. At this moment the dice cracked for the first time; and Schroll turned his face towards the flames. A second time the smoke stifled the light in order to reveal a second picture. He saw himself on the day before the scene of the sand-hill sitting in his dungeon. The clergyman was with him. From the expression of his countenance he appeared to be just saying—“Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.” Rudolph thought of the disposition in which he then was—of the hopes which the clergyman had raised in him—and of the feeling which he then had that he was still worthy to be re-united to his father, or had become worthy by bitter penitence. The next fracture of the die disturbed the scene—but to substitute one that was not at all more consolatory. For now appeared a den of thieves, in which the unhappy widow of Weber was cursing her children, who—left without support, without counsel, without protection, had taken to evil courses. In the back ground stood the bleeding father of these ruined children, one hand stretched out towards Schroll with a menacing gesture, and the other lifted towards heaven with a record of impeachment against him.

At the third splitting of the dice, out of the bosom of the smoke arose the figure of his murdered wife, who seemed to chase him from one corner of the room to another, until at length she came and took a seat at the fire-place; by the side of which, as Rudolph now observed with horror, his buried father, and the unhappy Weber, had stretched themselves; and they carried on together a low and noiseless whispering and moaning that agitated him with a mysterious horror.

After long and hideous visions, Rudolph beheld the flames grow weaker and weaker. He approached. The figures that stood round about held up their hands in a threatening attitude. A moment later, and the time was gone for ever; and Rudolph, as his false friend had asserted, was a lost man. With the courage of despair he plunged through the midst of the threatening figures, and snatched at the glowing dice—which were no sooner touched than they split asunder, with a dreadful sound, before which the apparitions vanished in a body.

The evil counsellor appeared on this occasion in the dress of a grave-digger,and asked with a snorting sound—“What would’st thou from me?”

“I would remind you of your promise,” answered Schroll, stepping back with awe: “your dice have lost their power.”

“Through whose fault?”

Rudolph was silent, and covered his eyes from the withering glances of the fiendish being who was gazing upon him.

“Thy foolish desires led thee in chase of the beautiful maiden into the church: my words were forgotten; and the benediction, against which I warned thee, disarmed the dice of their power. In future, observe my directions better.”

So saying, he vanished; and Schroll found three new dice upon the hearth.

After such scenes, sleep was not to be thought of; and Rudolph resolved, if possible, to make trial of his dice this very night. The ball at the hotel over the way, to which he had been invited, and from which


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Runo XXXV]

But he comprehended nothing,

Nor attained to manly wisdom,

For his rearing had been crooked,

And the child was rocked all wrongly,

By perversest foster-father,

And a foolish foster-mother.

Then to work the boy attempted,

Many things he tried his hand at,

And he went the fish to capture,

And to lay the largest drag-net,

And he spoke the words which follow,

Pondered as he grasped the oar:

“Shall I pull with all my efforts,

Row, exerting all my vigour;

Shall I row with common efforts,

Row no stronger than is needful?”

And the steersman made him answer,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“Pull away with all your efforts,

Row, exerting all your vigour,

Row the boat in twain you cannot,

Neither break it into fragments.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Pulled thereat with all his efforts,

Rowed, exerting all his vigour,

Rowed in twain the wooden rowlocks,

Ribs of juniper he shattered,

And he smashed the boat of aspen.

Kalervo came forth to see it,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“No, you understand not rowing,

You have split the wooden rowlocks,

Ribs of juniper have shattered,

Shattered quite the boat of aspen.

Thresh the fish into the drag-net,

Perhaps you’ll thresh the water better.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Then went forth to thresh the water,

And as he the pole was lifting,

Uttered he the words which follow:

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 the steps of the waltzers were still audible, appeared to present a fair opportunity. Thither he repaired; but not without some anxiety, lest some of the noises in his own lodgings should have reached the houses over the way. He was happy to find this fear unfounded. Every thing appeared as if calculated only for his senses: for when he inquired with assumed carelessness what great explosion that was which occurred about midnight, nobody acknowledged to having heard it.

The dice also, he was happy to find, answered his expectations. He found a company engaged at play: and by the break of day he had met with so much luck, that he was immediately able to travel back to the baths, and to redeem his child and his word of honour.

In the baths he now made as many new acquaintances as the losses were important which he had lately sustained. He was reputed one of the wealthiest cavaliers in the place; and many who had designs upon him in consequence of this reputed wealth, willingly lost money to him to favour their own schemes: so that in a single month he gained sums which would have established him as a man of fortune. Under countenance of this repute, and as a widower, no doubt he might now have made successful advances to the young lady whom he had formerly pursued: for her father had an exclusive regard to property; and would have overlooked morals and respectability of that sort in any candidate for his daughter’s hand. But with the largest offers of money, he could not purchase his freedom from the contract made with his landlord’s daughter—a woman of very disreputable character. In fact, six months after the death of his first wife, he was married to her.

By the unlimited profusion of money with which his second wife sought to wash out the stains upon her honour, Rudolph’s new raised property was as speedily squandered. To part from her was one of the wishes which lay nearest his heart: he had however never ventured to express it a second time before his father-in-law: for on the single occasion when he had hinted at such an intention, that person had immediately broken out into the most dreadful threats. The murder of his first wife was the chain which bound him to his second. The boy, whom his first wife had left him, closely as he resembled her in features and in the bad traits of her character, was his only comfort—if indeed his gloomy and perturbed mind would allow him at any time to taste of comfort.

To preserve this boy from the evil influences of the many bad examples about him, he had already made an agreement with a man of distinguished abilities, who was to have superintended his education in his own family. But all was frustrated. Madame Von Schrollshausen, whose love of pomp and display led her eagerly to catch at every pretext for creating a fête, had invited a party on the evening before the young boy’s intended departure. The time which was not occupied in the eating-room, was spent at the gaming-table, and dedicated to the dice, of whose extraordinary powers the owner was at this time availing himself with more zeal than usual—having just invested all his disposable money in the purchase of a landed estate. One of the guests having lost very considerable sums in an uninterrupted train of ill-luck, threw the dice, in his vexation, with such force upon the table, that one of them fell down. The attendants searched for it on the floor; and the child also crept about in quest of it: not finding it, he rose; and in rising stepped upon it, lost his balance, and fell with such violence against the edge of the stove—that he died in a few hours of the injury inflicted on the head.

This accident made the most powerful impression upon the father. He recapitulated the whole of his life from the first trial he had made of the dice. From them had arisen all his misfortunes. In what way could he liberate himself from their accursed influence?—Revolving this point, and in the deepest distress of mind, Schroll wandered out towards nightfall and strolled through the town. Coming to a solitary bridge in the outskirts, he looked down from the battlements upon the gloomy depths of the waters below, which seemed to regard him with looks of sympathy and strong fascination. “So be it then!” he exclaimed, and sprang


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108

“Shall I thresh with all my efforts,

Putting forth my manly efforts;

Shall I thresh with common efforts,

As the threshing-pole is able?”

Answered thereupon the net-man,

“Would you call it proper threshing,

If with all your strength you threshed not,

Putting forth your manly efforts?”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Threshed away with all his efforts,

Putting forth his manly efforts.

Into soup he churned the water,

Into tow he threshed the drag-net,

Into slime he crushed the fishes.

Kalervo came forth to see it,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“No, you understand not threshing,

Into tow is threshed the drag-net,

And the floats to chaff are beaten,

And the meshes torn to fragments,

Therefore go and pay the taxes,

Therefore go and pay the land-dues.

Best it is for you to travel,

Learning wisdom on the journey.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

And with yellow hair the finest,

And with shoes of finest leather,

Went his way to pay the taxes,

And he went to pay the land-dues.

When he now had paid the taxes,

And had also paid the land-dues,

In his sledge he quickly bounded,

And upon the sledge he mounted,

And began to journey homeward,

And to travel to his country.

And he drove, and rattled onward,

And he travelled on his journey,

Traversing the heath of Väino,

And his clearing made aforetime.

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 over the railing. But, instead of finding his grave in the waters, he felt himself below seized powerfully by the grasp ofa man—whom, from his scornful laugh, he recognized as his evil counsellor. The man bore him to the shore, and said—“No, no my good friend: he that once enters into a league with me—him I shall deliver from death even in his own despite.”

Half crazy with despair, the next morning Schroll crept out of the town with a loaded pistol. Spring was abroad—spring flowers, spring breezes, and nightingales : they were all abroad, but not for him, or his delight. A crowd of itinerant tradesmen passed him, who were on their road to a neighbouring fair. One of them, observing his dejected countenance with pity, attached himself to his side, and asked him in a tone of sympathy what was the matter. Two others of the passers-by Schroll heard distinctly saying—“Faith, I should not like for my part to walk alone with such an ill-looking fellow.” He darted a furious glance at the men, separated from his pitying companion with a fervent pressure of his hand, and struck off into a solitary track of the forest. In the first retired spot, he fired the pistol: and behold! the man who had spoken to him with so much kindness lies stretched in his blood, and he himself is without a wound. At this moment, while staring half-unconsciously at the face of the murdered man, he feels himself seized from behind. Already he seems to himself in the hands of the public executioner. Turning round, however, he hardly knows whether to feel pleasure or pain on seeing his evil suggester in the dress of a grave-digger. “My friend,” said the grave-digger, “if you cannot be content to wait for death until I send it, I must be forced to end with dragging you to that from which I began by saving you—a public execution. But think not thus, or by any other way, to escape me. After death thou wilt assuredly be mine again.”

“Who, then,” said the unhappy man, “who is the murderer of the poor traveller?”

“Who? why, who but yourself? was it not yourself that fired the pistol?”

“Aye, but at my own head.”

The fiend laughed in a way that made Schroll’s flesh creep on his bones. “Understand this, friend, that he whose fate I hold in my hands cannot anticipate it by his own act. For the present, begone, if you would escape the scaffold. To oblige you once more, I shall throw a veil over this murder.”

Thereupon the grave-digger set about making a grave for the corpse, whilst Schroll wandered away—more for the sake of escaping the hideous presence in which he stood, than with any view to his own security from punishment.

Seeing by accident a prisoner under arrest at the guard-house, Schroll’s thoughts reverted to his own confinement. “How happy,” said he, “for me and for Charlotte—had I then refused to purchase life on such terms, and had better laid to heart the counsel of my good spiritual adviser!”—Upon this a sudden thought struck him—that he would go and find out the old clergyman, and would unfold to him his wretched history and situation. He told his wife that some private affairs required his attendance for a few days at the town of. But, say what he would, he could not prevail on her to desist from accompanying him.

On the journey his chief anxiety was—lest the clergyman, who was already advanced in years, at the memorable scene of the sand-hill, might now be dead. But at the very entrance of the town he saw him walking in the street, and immediately felt himself more composed in mind than he had done for years. The venerable appearance of the old man confirmed him still more in his resolution of making a full disclosure to him of his whole past life: one only transaction, the murder of his first wife, he thought himself justified in concealing; since, with all his peni-


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Runo XXXV]

And by chance a maiden met him,

With her yellow hair all flowing,

There upon the heath of Väino,

On his clearing made aforetime.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Checked the sledge upon the instant,

And began a conversation,

And began to talk and wheedle:

“Come into my sledge, O maiden,

Rest upon the furs within it.”

From her snowshoes said the maiden,

And she answered, as she skated,

“In thy sledge may Death now enter,

On thy furs be Sickness seated.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

With his whip then struck his courser,

With his beaded whip he lashed him.

Sprang the horse upon the journey,

Rocked the sledge, the road was traversed,

And he drove and rattled onward,

And he travelled on his journey,

On the lake’s extended surface,

And across the open water,

And by chance a maiden met him,

Walking on, with shoes of leather,

O’er the lake’s extended surface,

And across the open water.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Checked his horse upon the instant,

And his mouth at once he opened,

And began to speak as follows:

“Come into my sledge, O fair one,

Pride of earth, and journey with me.”

But the maiden gave him answer,

And the well-shod maiden answered:

“In thy sledge may Tuoni seek thee,

Manalainen journey with thee.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

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 tence for it, that act was now beyond the possibility of reparation.

For a long time, the pious clergyman refused all belief to Schroll’s narrative; but being at length convinced that he had a wounded spirit to deal with, and not a disordered intellect, he exerted himself to present all those views of religious consolation which his philanthropic character and his long experience suggested to him as likely to be effectual. Eight days’ conversation with the clergyman restored Schroll to the hopes of a less miserable future. But the good man admonished him at parting to put away from himself whatsoever could in any way tend to support his unhallowed connexion.

In this direction Schroll was aware that the dice were included: and he resolved firmly that his first measure on returning home should be to bury in an inaccessible place these accursed implements that could not but bring mischief to every possessor. On entering the inn, he was met by his wife, who was in the highest spirits, and laughing profusely. He inquired the cause. “No,” said she: “you refused to communicate your motive for coming hither, and the nature of your business for the last week: I too shall have my mysteries. As to your leaving me in solitude at an inn, that is a sort of courtesy which marriage naturally brings with it: but that you should have travelled hither for no other purpose than that of trifling away your time in the company of an old tedious parson, that (you will allow me to say) is a caprice which seems scarcely worth the money it will cost.”

“Who then has told you that I have passed my time with an old parson?” said the astonished Schroll.

“Who told me? Why, just let me know what your business was with the parson, and I’ll let you know in turn who it was that told me. So much I will assure you, however, now—that the cavalier, who was my informant, is a thousand times handsomer, and a more interesting companion, than an old dotard who is standing at the edge of the grave.”

All the efforts of Madame Von Schrollshausen to irritate the curiosity of her husband proved ineffectual to draw from him his secret. The next day on their return homewards she repeated her attempts. But he parried them all with firmness. A more severe trial to his firmness was prepared for him in the heavy bills which his wife presented to him on his reaching home. Her expenses in clothes and in jewels had been so profuse, that no expedient remained to Schroll but that of selling without delay the landed estate he had so lately purchased. A declaration to this effect was very ill received by his wife. “Sell the estate?” said she: “what, sell the sole resource I shall have to rely on when you are dead? And for what reason, I should be glad to know; when a very little of the customary luck of your dice will enable you to pay off these trifles? And whether the bills be paid to-day or to-morrow—cannot be of any very great importance.” Upon this, Schroll declared with firmness that he never meant to play again. “Not play again!” exclaimed his wife, “pooh! pooh! you make me blush for you! So then, I suppose it’s all true, as was said, that scruples of conscience drove you to the old rusty parson; and that he enjoined as a penance that you should abstain from gaming? I was told as much: but I refused to believe it; for in your circumstances the thing seemed too senseless and irrational.”

“My dear girl,” said Schroll, “consider—”

“Consider! what’s the use of considering: what is there to consider about?” interrupted Madame Von Schrollshausen: and, recollecting the gay cavalier whom she had met at the inn, she now for the first time proposed a separation herself. “Very well,” said her husband, “I am content.” “So am I,” said his father-in-law, who joined them at that moment. “But take notice that first of all I must have paid over to me an adequate sum of money for the creditable support of my daughter: else ”

Here he took Schroll aside; and the old threat of revealing the murder so utterly disheartened him, that at length in despair he consented to his terms.

Once more, therefore, the dice were to be tried; but only for the purpose of accomplishing the sepationseparation [sic]: that over, Schroll resolved to seek a livelihood in any other way,


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 even if it were as a day labourer. The stipulated sum was at length all collected within a few hundred dollars: and Schroll was already looking out for some old disused well into which he might throw the dice and then have it filled up: for even a river seemed to him a hiding-place not sufficiently secure for such instruments of misery.

Remarkable it was on the very night, when the last arrears were to be obtained of his father-in-law’s demand,—a night which Schroll had anticipated with so much bitter anxiety,—that he became unusually gloomy and dejected. He was particularly disturbed by the countenance of a stranger, who for several days running had lost considerable sums. The man called himself Stutz; but he had a most striking resemblance to his old comrade, Weber, who had been shot at the Sand-hill; and differed indeed in nothing but in the advantage of blooming youth. Scarce had he leisure to recover from the shock which this spectacle occasioned, when a second occurred. About midnight another man, whom nobody knew, came up to the gaming-table—and interrupted the play by recounting an event which he represented as having just happened. A certain man, he said, had made a covenant with some person or other, that they call the Evil One—or what is it you call him? and by means of this covenant he had obtained a steady run of good luck at play. “Well, Sir” (he went on), “and would you believe it, the other day he began to repent of this covenant: my gentleman wanted to rat, he wanted to rat, Sir. Only first of all, he resolved privately to make up a certain sum of money. Ah! the poor idiot! he little knew whom he had to deal with: the Evil One, as they choose to call him, was not a man to let himself be swindled in that manner. No, no, my good friend. I saw—I mean, the Evil One saw—what was going on betimes; and he secured the swindler just as he fancied himself on the point of pocketing the last arrears of the sum wanted.”

The company began to laugh so loudly at this pleasant fiction as they conceived it, that Madame Von Schrollshausen was attracted from the adjoining room. The story was repeated to her: and she was the more delighted with it, because in the relater she recognized the gay cavalier whom she had met at the inn. Every body laughed again, excepting two persons—Stutz and Schroll. The first had again lost all the money in his purse; and the second was so confounded by the story, that he could not forbear staring with fixed eyes on the stranger, who stood over against him. His consternation increased when he perceived that the stranger’s countenance seemed to alter at every moment; and that nothing remained unchanged in it, except the cold expression of inhuman scorn, with which he perseveringly regarded himself.

At length he could endure this no longer: and he remarked, therefore, upon Stutz’s again losing a bet, that it was now late; that Mr. Stutz was too much in a run of bad luck; and that on these accounts he would defer the further pursuit of their play until another day. And, thereupon, he put the dice into his pocket.

“Stop!” said the strange cavalier; and the voice froze Schroll with horror; for he knew too well to whom that dreadful tone, and those fiery eyes, belonged.

“Stop!” he said again: “produce your dice!” And tremblingly Schroll threw them upon the table.

“Ah! I thought as much,” said the stranger: “they are loaded dice!” So saying, he called for a hammer, and struck one of them in two. “See!” said he to Stutz, holding out to him the broken dice, which in fact seemed loaded with lead. “Stop, vile impostor!” exclaimed the young man, as Schroll was preparing to quit the room in the greatest confusion; and he threw the dice at him, one of which lodged in his right eye. The tumult increased; the police came in; and Stutz was apprehended, as Schroll’s wound assumed a very dangerous appearance.

Next day Schroll was in a violent fever. He asked repeatedly for Stutz. But Stutz had been committed to close confinement; it having been found that he had travelled with false passes. He now confessed that he was one of the sons of the mutineer Weber; that his sickly


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110

With the whip then struck his courser,

With his beaded whip he lashed him.

Sprang the horse upon his journey,

Rocked the sledge, the way was shortened,

And he rattled on his journey,

And he sped upon his pathway,

Straight across the heaths of Pohja,

And the borders wide of Lapland.

And by chance a maiden met him,

Wearing a tin brooch, and singing,

Out upon the heaths of Pohja,

And the borders wide of Lapland.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Checked his horse upon the instant,

And his mouth at once he opened,

And began to speak as follows:

“Come into my sledge, O maiden,

Underneath my rug, my dearest,

And you there shall eat my apples,

And shall crack my nuts in comfort.”

But the maiden made him answer,

And the tin-adorned one shouted:

“At your sledge I spit, O villain,

Even at your sledge, O scoundrel!

Underneath your rug is coldness,

And within your sledge is darkness.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

Dragged into his sledge the maiden,

And into the sledge he pulled her,

And upon the furs he laid her,

Underneath the rug he pushed her.

And the maiden spoke unto him,

Thus outspoke the tin-adorned one:

“From the sledge at once release me,

Leave the child in perfect freedom,

That I hear of nothing evil,

Neither foul nor filthy language,

Or upon the ground I’ll throw me,

And will break the sledge to splinters,

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Runo XXXV]

And will smash your sledge to atoms,

Break the wretched sledge to pieces.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

Opened then his hide-bound coffer,

Clanging raised the pictured cover,

And he showed her all his silver,

Out he spread the choicest fabrics,

Stockings too, all gold-embroidered,

Girdles all adorned with silver.

Soon the fabrics turned her dizzy,

To a bride the money changed her,

And the silver it destroyed her,

And the shining gold deluded.

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

With the very bluest stockings,

Thereupon the maiden flattered,

And he wheedled and caressed her,

With one hand the horse controlling,

On the maiden’s breast the other.

Then he sported with the maiden,

Wearied out the tin-adorned one,

’Neath the rug all copper-tinselled,

And upon the furs all spotted.

Then when Jumala brought morning,

On the second day thereafter,

Then the damsel spoke unto him,

And she asked, and spoke as follows:

“Tell me now of your relations,

What the brave race that you spring from,

From a mighty race it seems me,

Offspring of a mighty father.”

Kullervo, Kalervo’s offspring,

Answered in the words which follow:

“No, my race is not a great one,

Not a great one, not a small one,

I am just of middle station,

Kalervo’s unhappy offspring,

Stupid boy, and very foolish,

Worthless child, and good for nothing.

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112

Tell me now about your people,

And the brave race that you spring from,

Perhaps from mighty race descended,

Offspring of a mighty father.”

And the girl made answer quickly,

And she spoke the words which follow:

“No, my race is not a great one,

Not a great one, not a small one,

I am just of middle station,

Kalervo’s unhappy daughter,

Stupid girl, and very foolish,

Worthless child, and good for nothing.

“When I was a little infant,

Living with my tender mother,

To the wood I went for berries,

’Neath the mountain sought for raspberries.

On the plains I gathered strawberries,

Underneath the mountain, raspberries,

Plucked by day, at night I rested,

Plucked for one day and a second,

And upon the third day likewise,

But the pathway home I found not,

In the woods the pathways led me,

And the footpath to the forest.

“There I stood, and burst out weeping,

Wept for one day and a second,

And at length upon the third day,

Then I climbed a mighty mountain,

To the peak of all the highest.

On the peak I called and shouted,

And the woods made answer to me,

While the heaths re-echoed likewise:

‘Do not call, O girl so senseless,

Shout not, void of understanding!

There is no one who can hear you,

None at home to hear your shouting.’

“Then upon the third and fourth days,

Lastly on the fifth and sixth days,

I to take my life attempted,

Tried to hurl me to destruction,

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 : Excuse me, but  I don’t wish to disturb you  but there’s no clock in that other room and I’m a bit afraid it’s getting late. You see, I’ve Mr. Grey’s tea to get, and he comes in at half-past and

[She is received in silence; her voice dwindles.

I don’t know that I can go on waiting. If you wouldn’t mind telling me the time

You see, it was after three when I came. No, I remember now the hall clock was fast. Well, that’s all right, then. I can wait a bit longer.

[She creeps back to the door.

(whispering) : Is that ?

Mrs. Grey just a moment.

[ stops.

This is Mr. Frank Baldry, my husband’s cousin.

[ bows.

 * Yes?

 * Yes?


text: The Remains of Hesiod the Ascræan, including the Shield of Hercules/Preface


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/37

 : I gather that you and my husband were  somewhat intimate fifteen years ago.

I told you.

(struck white) : No! Oh, no! You don’t understand. We were going to be married.

(horror-struck) : Married??

Chris and you? Oh, no not possible.

Chris is a man of honour. If he had betrayed this poor girl  naturally he would feel bound

You won’t understand. It isn’t what you think you musn’t think that.

I knew it then. But he did want me to marry him he did love me. Oh, I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s all so long ago, and you must understand. He was only a boy. It was before he knew you, or I know he could never have thought of me. Oh, but he did love me!


text:
Page:The Remains of Hesiod the Ascraean, including the Shield of Hercules - Elton (1815).djvu/20

xiv ing, therefore, from the beaten track of the schoolboy's Pantheon, I have only exercised the same freedom which other commentators and translators have assumed before me.

Clifton, October, 1815.


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/151

146 pinole in and also served as drinking cups. They were light and indestructible. They are no longer made and but two were seen on the reservation. Head rings of agave leaf (fig. 36, b) are occasionally seen, but they are supposed to have been adopted from the Papagos (see p. 113). Oval sieves were made of willow rods, and were very useful in cleaning seeds,and in separating juice from pulp in a variety of plants

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/151


text:
Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/32

 by the incidents and the labours which had retarded his return so long. His affairs were, indeed, settled, and his law-suit was gained: however, the expences amounted to more than he had saved; and he had, besides, reason to regret the time he had wasted in that disagreeable affair. Yet he thought himself rewarded for his troubles, in some degree, by several discoveries he had accidentally made, and which he communicated to me without reserve as soon as he had read my memoirs.

"Let us act just, dear Carlos," he said, "notwithstanding those villainous artifices. We are not bound to keep promises which have been forced from us by cruelties: it would, however, be to no purpose to inform you of the history of those days when I suddenly left you. You have discovered the mysteries of the cavern: it seems to be forsaken already for some time, and I have made a solemn promise to be silent. What is, at present, of

title: Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/32


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/152

] (fig. 69, a). They have been supplanted by a wire sieve made by building a coiled basket rim around a piece of wire netting that has a mesh of 1 mm. (fig. 69, b).

Bird traps, house doors, shelves, bird cages, and the like verge upon basketry, but these have all been described in connection with other objects of wood.

The hoods of cradles (described on p. 103) must be included in the list of articles of basketry in use by this people. They are of willow bark cut into strips about 5 mm, wide and woven in the simplest checker style. They are light and flexible, and thus better adapted for their purpose than if made of willow and devil's-claw splints. At the bottom of this hood or shield the strips are gathered into two wrapped bundles, which slip into place on each side of the first transverse bar beneath the baby's head. The convexity of the rolls prevents the hood from slipping past the bar and the weight upon them insures stability, while at the same time the hood may be readily detached.

Mats were formerly made by the Pimas of the cane, Phragmitis communis, that grew in abundance along the Gila until the water supply became too scant for the maintenance of this plant. They are now made of agave leaves by the Papagos, who barter them to the Pimas (fig. 70). They are woven in a diagonal pattern, each splint passing under three others before appearing again, and the wrong side being rough. The splints are softened by soaking at the time of weaving and become somewhat stiff when dried. The warp and woof are alike,

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/152


text:
Page:Manual of the New Zealand Flora.djvu/638

598 late, acuminate, narrowed into the petiole, dark-green and glossy above, paler beneath; margins coarsely serrate, the teeth often curved and acute; petioles ½–¾ in. long. Spikes closely branched in a racemiform manner, 1–2 in. long; branches opposite, springing from the axils of a pair of connate bracts. Male flowers alone seen, rather closely placed, each one in the axil of a broadly ovate acute bract, and with a smaller bracteole on each side. Anther sessile, ⅛ in. long, linear-oblong, cylindric; connective thick, produced at the tip into a minute usually recurved apiculus.

2. A. lucida, Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 228.—A perfectly glabrous closely branched shrub or small tree 10–25 ft. high, with a trunk 6–12 in. diam.; branches slender, terete, striate when dry, dark purplish-red. Leaves 1–2 in. long including the petiole, obovate-oblong to elliptic-oblong or linear-oblong, obtuse or acute, cuneate at the base, dark-green and glossy above, often glaucous beneath, margins coarsely and often obtusely serrate; petioles ⅓ in. long. Spikes laxly branched in a racemiform manner, the females more slender and more sparingly divided than the males; branches opposite, pendulous. Flowers minute, alternate, each one in the axil of a broadly ovate acute bract with a smaller bracteole on each side. Anther sessile, oblong, $1⁄10$ in. long. Female flowers sometimes 2 or 3 together. Ovary broadly ovoid; stigma very broad, truncate. Ripe fruit not seen.—''Handb. N.Z. Fl.'' 258. A. rubricaulis, Solms in D.C. Prodr. xvi. 1, 478 (in part).

Trees or shrubs, often aromatic. Leaves opposite, rarely alternate, simple; stipules wanting. Flowers regular, hermaphrodite or unisexual, usually in short cymes or racemes. Perianth inferior,


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/153

148 and extend in a direction oblique to the sides of the mat. At a distance of about 7 cm. from the margin of both sides and ends the warp and weft splints are woven separately to form a double border, which is held together by single splints occurring at intervals of about 15 cm.

The Pimas no longer spin and weave; the art is dying with the passing of the older generation. It was with difficulty that enough raw cotton of Pima raising was secured to make the beginning of a piece of cloth on the small model loom shown in figure 72. This loom was made by the writer's old friend Kâ’mâl tkâk, who, though an adept in weaving, could not spin and had to engage a woman to do that portion of the work. She removed the seeds by first spreading out the cotton and beating it with a switch.

Kâ’mâl tkâk succeeded in finishing the spinning (see spindle, fig. 73) before the writer had an opportunity to witness the process. However, it has been well descrihed by others.

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/153


text: Manual of the New Zealand Flora/Chloranthaceæ


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/74

 68 LOMBAKD :

times of day, being as a rule greatest in the morn- ing, soon after breakfast, and being very much less at night. The decline which occurs as the day ad- vances is very irregular, but, in general, the knee- jerk is larger after each meal. Finally, the extent of the knee-jerk may differ greatly on different days.

The causes of these variations of the knee-jerk are not only alterations in the muscles and nerves in- volved in the process, but, to a still greater degree, changes in the activity of the central nervous sys- tem, either as a whole or in part. Thus fatigue, hunger, enervating weather and sleep, conditions which decrease the activity of the whole central nervous system, decrease the average knee-jerk, while rest, nourishment, invigorating weather, and wakefulness, influences which increase the activity of the central nervous system, increase the average knee-jerk. These influences account for the diurnal variations of the knee-jerk, while the multitude of changes that are seen to occur within short intervals of time are due to temporary alterations in the ac- tivity of certain parts of the brain and cord. Thus voluntary movements and strong emotions, when synchronous with the blow, are found to increase the movement ; and this is noticed even during sleep when the dreams are vivid. Similarly, sensory irri- tations, even when not strong enough to produce visible reflex actions, may markedly reinforce the knee-jerk, but whether on account of their effect upon the brain, or upon the spinal cord, must be proved by future experiments.

Inasmuch as the normal respiratory movements and quiet thought were not seen to influence the pro- cess, it seems probable that the action of the many


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/75

 NORMAL KNEE-JERK. 69

mechanisms of the central nervous system, except when very strong, is not accompanied by the devel- opment of reenforcing influences ; this is far from certain, however, and, inasmuch as the origin of but few of the more delicate reenforcing influences were discovered, this interesting question must be left open to future study.

In general, then, it may be said that the knee-jerk is increased and diminished by whatever increases and diminishes the activity of the central nervous system as a whole, and that it is even more notice- ably altered by temporary changes in the activity of certain mechanisms of the spinal cord and brain.

In the experiments described in this paper it was found that the movements of the foot, caused by knee-jerks that were produced by the usual blow, i. e., when the hammer fell through an arc of 40°, varied from millimetres to 130 millimetres. Still greater movements would undoubtedly have been seen had vigorous ^enforcements occurred at the time when the average knee-jerk was higher. The average movement gained from the results of the 2,320 experiments of this series was forty milli- metres. The least blow which was seen to produce a movement of the foot was obtained by letting the hammer fall through an arc of 20°.

The Results of Experiments of Series 11.

The results of the experiments of Series I were so remarkable that it seemed to the writer that he ought not to publish them without assuring himself of their correctness. He accordingly undertook a second series of experiments, which extended like the first over two weeks, and which differed from 6


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/76

 70 LOMBARD :

them only in this: that nine instead of seven exami- nations were made on each day. The two extra examinations were made, the one between eleven and twelve o'clock in the morning, the other, be- tween four and five o'clock in the afternoon. These experiments were made with all the care that was given to the previous series, but it seems unnecessary to publish the results in detail. Suffice it to say that the conclusions reached in the second series of ex- periments corroborated those which were obtained in the first series in every particular. There were the same extraordinary variations in the extent of the knee-jerks produced at intervals of only a few sec- onds. The average knee-jerk was found to be high- est soon after breakfast, and to be low at night, and it was seen to be higher after than before each meal. The extra examinations, made in the middle of the forenoon and afternoon, showed, moreover, that the average knee-jerk gradually fell throughout the fore- noon and throughout the afternoon, unless some un- usual counteracting influence prevailed. It was also found that the average knee-jerk changed from day to day, but the variations in the weather during this period were so slight that the other influences which determine the general condition of the individual were most active in determining the amount of the average knee-jerk. The average movement gained from the 3,156 experiments of this series was 33 millimetres. Finally, all the sources of reinforce- ment which were noticed during the first series were found to be active during the second.

As a proof of these statements the author appends a table which gives a summary of the results gained in Series II, the table being made on the same plan


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/77

 NORMAL KNEE-JERK.

71

as the table on page 39, which gives the summary of the results of Series I.

Summary of Results of Examinations of Series II.

May, 1887.

7-8 9-10

9th

10th

11th

12th

13th

14th

15th (Sun>...

16th

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3156 30.06H

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65° 65° 70° 710

66° 60° 66° 66°

68° 69°

72° 72° 72° 70°

68°

 * The examination was one hour late.


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/78

 DERMAL SENSITIVENESS TO GRADUAL PRES- SURE CHANGES.

BY G. STANLEY HALL AND YUZERO MOTORA.

17/de 6oKu ^tjtovcl <paveloi}ai. avarrj 7r6repov ev nolv dca^ipovai yiyverai /ud/^ov i] bliyov ;

'Ev roig bliyov.

'Alia ye dfj Kara a/uiKpov uErajSaivuv fiaTJiOv lijauq fMuv em kvavriov y Kara fieya.

Hug 6' ov ; Phaedrus.

Stallbaum, ed. IV, p. 160.

Fontana observed that when a very slight pressure was applied directly to an excised motor nerve it might be made to increase so gradually as to crush the nerve without causing its muscle to contract. Af anasiefT and Rosenthal found also that temperature might be increased and decreased so gradually as to kill a motor nerve trunk without stimulating it. Hit- ter and others since have found that the electric cur- rent has no effect if the density of the current is made to vary slowly enough. Heinzman 1 undertook a more serious experimental solution of the question whether a thermal stimulus could increase so gradu- ally as to be unobserved by the sensory nerves so that death would finally supervene without any movement of either resistance or escape on the part of the animal. Frogs were heated (a) locally with a leg in water gradually warmed, and (b) totally by sitting on a cork floating in a cylinder of water, though it was much harder to boil intact and normal than brained or reflex frogs without sensation enough to cause motion. Their sensory seemed to

x Weber die Wirkung sehr allmaliger Aenderungen thermischer Keitze auf die Empfindungesnerven. Archiv fur die gesammte Physiologie. Bd. VI (1872) S. 222.


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/79

 GRADUAL PRESSURE CHANGES. 73

conform to motor nerves in this respect. Fratscher 1 repeated these experiments, heating very gradually, by means of a lamp applied to the small bulbous end of a tube communicating with the large vase of water in which the animals were exposed, and found he could even induce rigor mortis in normal frogs by immersing only a small portion of the body in the fluid. Acid and alkali stimuli he found might also be applied so gradually as to kill the tissues without stimulating movement. The researches of W. T. Sedgwick, 2 to whose discussion of the topic the reader is referred, seem to show conclusively that in the case of heat this cannot be due to a diminished irritability of the spinal cord by reason of the heat carried into it by the blood, and that organs with a basis of protoplasm cannot so far reverse its laws as to completely lose functional power with no pre- liminary phase of increased activity.

Quite apart, however, from the question of pain- less death in such cases the problem of the gradual differentiation of sensation, though so little explored, abounds in practical and theoretical implications of great interest, and a series of determinations was be- gun here in 1884 upon the pressure-sense according to the following method : A balance, devised and made expressly for this purpose, consisted of a solid iron base and a strong brass beam seventy-two centimetres long, hung on a steel edge and sensitive enough to be far beyond the limit of differential perception with the initial weights used. Along the whole length of the beam runs an edged iron plate,

^eber continuirliche und langsame Nervenreizung; Jenaische Zeitschrift. N. F. I. 1. (1875) S. 130.

2 On the variation of reflex excitability in the frog induced by changes of temperature. Studies from the Biological Laboratory of the Johns Hopkins University, 1882. Page 385.


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Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/80

 74 HALL AND MOTORA :

made very true, to serve as the track for a truck from which was suspended a little platform to carry weights. To this was attached a long horizontal band running about the drum of a kymograph, which we used as a motor on account of its ap- proximately uniform rate of motion, changes in the latter being found, by careful measurement, so small within the times we used that they could be disregarded. The contact of the knife edge, on which the balance was pivoted, with its support, the center of the pivots of the wheels on the truck, and the application of the force by means of the band, were all on the same level, and by this means the effects of traction on the free oscillation of the bal- ance were so slight that sudden reversals of the direction of motion, which could be brought about instantly at any time by a key described in a pre- vious communication [Mind, No. XL., page 557], did not sensibly affect it. The car, which, after careful experiments with flowing sand (which sug- gests how irregular the best hour-glasses must have been), was found to be much more reliable, may thus travel along the entire length of the beam, and bearing any weight placed on its platform, at any rate in which the drum can be set in motion, and a pointer which it carries may be made to pass over the divisions of the millimetre-scale on the track to the beat of a metronome. Certain suitable veloci- ties and weights with the rate of increment of pressure per second were carefully predetermined. Under one end of the beam was a metalic button, any size of which could be used, which was covered with rubber to eliminate temperature sensations — a matter which, where the contact of such an arrangement is for so long times, must be con-


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/81

 GRADUAL PRESSURE CHANGES. 75

stantly regarded — by which the pressure was applied to the skin, and on the other end of the beam was a small table with fixed positions for counter- weights, by which, together with the position of the car, which could be started at its full velocity at once, the amount of initial pressure was determ- ined. To minimize oscillations the counterweight was removed by means of a cam.

The mode of making observations upon the volar tip of the index finger, e. g., is as follows : The arm is rested on a comfortable support, the hand turned upward and the eyes closed. A special receptacle is made to fit the whole surface of the nail into which it is laid just under the button, which is brought down to within a millimetre of it by a screw sup- porting the other overweighted end of the beam. At a signal the counterweight is lifted by the cam, and after a fixed interval of from one to four sec- onds, during which all oscillations, if there be any, has ceased, by a turn of the key the car begins to move without noise or jar, and the differentiation begins, while the time, involving the amount of in- crease or decrease of weight, is recorded by a met- ronome till the percipient decides whether the weight is increasing or decreasing and signals to stop the apparatus, and says plus or minus accord- ingly. The wrong judgments by all observers throughout were found to be so very rare that they have been disregarded. The protocol thus gives us the point of application (commonly the tip of the left forefinger), the initial weight, the absolute amount of pressure increase or decrease per second, and the time required for a judgment. As the experimenta- tions progressed the two chief causes of variation, viz. : changing degrees of attentives and of cer- tainty, steadily diminished.


text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/82

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text:
Page:The American Journal of Psychology Volume 1.djvu/83

 (i RADIAL PRESSURE CHANGES.

77

In the preceding table the upper horizontal line expresses the initial weight in grammes. The rate of differentiation per second is always T f T of this. The numbers are seconds and fractions of seconds. Of the signs prefixed plus denotes increase of weight and minus decrease, the numbers above with no sign being the average of the two below. Each number is an average, of twenty single experiments. Thus, with an initial weight of five grammes, where the rate of differentiation would be 0.16 grammes per second, it takes Y. M. 22.10 seconds to make up his mind with confidence whether the change of pressure he knows from the signal is taking place, is an increase or a decrease, while J. M. decides in 15.45 seconds.

Table II.

1 6 ITS

tI*

4 T2T

2

T"ST

¥TTT

zmr

H.B.N.

3.28 +3.25 —3.31

7.36 +7.23 —7.50

9.36 +9.23 —9.50

15.29 +14.67 —16.00

20.36 +19.00 —21.83

H.N.

3.70 +3.80 —3.60

5.55 +5.40 —5.70

8.20 +7.90 —8.50

8.15 +7.65 —8.65

12.50 +11.90 —13.10

21.50 +21.33 —21.71

E.H.B.

3.05 +3.10 —3.00

5.40 +5.40 —5.30

7.88 +6.80 —8.70

8.48 +7.66 —9.23

9.96

+ 9.25

—1060

14.68 +14.91 —14.46

j. if.

•

6.45

+4.1 —8.6

11.4

+8.6

—14.6

9.9

+10.2

—9.6

11.7 +11.2 —12.2

21.2 +20.5 —21.9

80. +85. —75.

Y.M.

3.43 +3.44 —3.42

4.58 +4.93 —4.36

8.10 +9.12 —7.10

11.65

+9.88

—12.98

22.76 +21.00 —24.40

34.04 +31.60 —37.80

66.00 +67.00 —65.00

C. H.

4.40 +4.80 —4.00

4.85 +5.10 —4.60

5.25 +5.10 —5.40

5.85 +6.10 —5.60

7.40 +7.10 —7.70

7.60 +8.00 —7.20


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/38

 : Not since then—no, sir. Not till I got his telegram a week ago.

 * Yes, I answered it. It wouldn’t have been in flesh and blood not to.

[ makes a movement of protest.

Oh, haven’t I a right to know? Aren’t I his wife even if he has forgotten me? I must know everything if I’m to help him.

I told him I’d moved I told him where I was living. Oh, I know I shouldn’t have I know. I knew I oughtn’t. All the way down to the post office I told myself I wouldn’t, that it wasn’t right, and then, when I got the pen in my hand, something just seemed to come over me. Chris was ill and he didn’t know, and perhaps he wanted to write.

It wasn’t what you think. I wanted to tell him, but it isn’t a thing you can put into a telegram they’re cold things. I didn’t mean to hide it from him, but he was ill and I couldn’t just put it plump out like that.


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/39

 (moving to her) : Please  you needn’t apologise. We understand.

But you needn’t fret. I wrote to him a long letter  telling him everything as kind as I could

(to Frank) : Did he get that letter?

(suddenly) : Frank, you must fetch him bring him here. I must see him talk to him  tell him things. Mrs. Grey, I don’t think there’s anything further you can do.

[She looks around.

My umbrella

(hands it) : Here.

Then I I’ll say good-bye.

It’s a lovely garden.

[She moves to the window, back, to look, and then starts back.

Oh! Oh! look! There he is! Chris!


text:
Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/33

 more importance to me, is to find out the persons that still are very active in our neighbourhood, that have confounded my law-suit, and, as I have reason to apprehend, will ruin us sooner or later. Marquis, are you my friend?" Here he stretched out his hand. I shook it warmly, and replied, "Yes, I am your sincere, your faithful friend."

"Will you ever preserve me your affection?" "By Heaven! for ever!" "Then come to my heart, my brother, and receive from me the same vow. I swear to be inviolably your friend; and may I be left without comfort in my dying hour, if ever I forget this promise only for a single moment. May Heaven preserve me your friendship; this is all that I wish."

"Lewis, I follow you whithersoever you go, in spite of all disasters that may befall you."

"Well, then, let us boldly meet those daring villains that intrude upon our fate;

title: Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/33


text:
Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/154

] Fortunately, Doctor Palmer obtained in 1885 a complete loom with sample balls of cotton thread (fig. 74) from the Pimas. The warp is smoothly and evenly spun into a thread about 1 mm. in diameter. The woof threads are softer and are about 3 mm. in diameter; the ball (Museum no. 76012) is 61 cm. in circumference.

Sinew from the back and legs of deer was made into thread and was used in tying cradle bars, shield handles, arrows, kiâhâ frames, and even tattooing needles.

An unidentified species of grass, called â’kivĭk by the Pimas, is said to have been spun into thread in ancient times. According to the myth, it supplied the son of Corn Woman with material for his bowstring. When there is sufficient rain, this grass grows on the Mo’hatûk hills, north of Gila Crossing.

The art of weaving was not highly developed among the Pimas, yet the few simple fabrics of cotton which they produced sufficed to satisfy their needs for clothing and adornment. Unlike their neighbors, they have all but abandoned the art of weaving; at no time in their history have they advanced as far as the Pueblo tribes. Where they learned the art or if they developed it themselves we may not know. We can only hazard the guess that they had the ingenuity to imitate the fabrics which the Hohokam left behind or which the Pimas actually saw them using.

Early accounts of the Pima contain references to their fields of

title: Page:The Pima Indians.pdf/154


text:
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150 cotton, which was picked and spread on the roofs of their arbors to dry in the pod. When dried and separated from the pods it was stored in large ollas, where, if covered, it would keep for an indefinite period in that dry climate. Usually, however, it was stored until winter, when there was time for the women to spin it into threads and for the men to weave it into squares of cloth which served as robes for protecting the body by day and as blankets by night, girdles for the waist, and similar but smaller bands for the head. In later times it is said that bolts of cloth of considerable length were woven to be bartered with adjoining tribes, but this would seem not to have been in accordance with primitive custom.

Accounts of the Pimas that were written in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries contain references to the use of wool as well as native cotton, but very little information is obtainable concerning the use of wool, and there was not a single sheep on the reservation at the time of the writer's visit.

No dyes were used except a dark buff ocher bartered from the Papagos, into which the cotton was dipped. No mordant was used and the resulting color was neither brilliant nor permanent. However, it was applied only to the selvage thread. Bayeta was unraveled to obtain scarlet thread for belts after the inauguration of trade relations with the Mexicans.

Sewing was unknown, and holes were patched by weaving in a new piece.

Implements and methods. The loom was simpler than that used by the surrounding tribes and was spread horizontally instead of being set upright. Four stakes were first driven firmly in the ground out-

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 ing the companionway with a load of luggage. She looked again at Pete and Jenny, but at that moment voices came aft breaking her amazement. The captain wished to know if he should cast off: the message was relayed by all present.

“Are we all here?” Mrs. Maurier chanted anew, forgetting Jenny and Pete. “Mr. Fairchild— Where is he?” She roved her round frantic face, trying to count noses. “Where is Mr. Fairchild?” she repeated in panic. Her car was backing and filling to turn around and she ran to the rail and screamed to the driver. He stopped the car, completely blocking the road, and hung his head out with resignation. Mrs. Wiseman said:

“He’s here: he came with Ernest. Didn’t he?”

Mr. Talliaferro corroborated her and Mrs. Maurier roved her frantic gaze anew, trying to count them. A sailor sprang ashore and cast off head- and sternlines under the morose regard of the casuals. The helmsman thrust his head from the wheelhouse and he and the deckhand bawled at each other. The sailor sprang aboard and the Nausikaa moved slightly in the water, like a soundless awakening sigh. The steward drew in the gangplank and the engine room telegraph rang remotely. The Nausikaa waked further, quivering a little, and as a gap of water grew between quay and boat without any sensation of motion whatever, Mrs. Maurier’s second car came jouncing into view, honking madly, and the niece sitting flat on the deck and stripping off her stockings said:

“Here comes Josh.”

Mrs. Maurier shrieked. The car stopped and her nephew descended without haste. The steward, coiling the sternline down, gathered it up and flung it outward across the growing gap of water. The telegraph rang again and the Nausikaa sighed and went back to sleep, rocking sedately. “Shake it up, Josh,” his sister called. Mrs. Maurier shrieked again and

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 two of the loungers caught the line and dug their heels as the nephew, coatless and hatless, approached without haste and climbed aboard, carrying a new carpenter’s saw.

“I had to go downtown and buy one,” he explained casually. “Walter wouldn’t let me bring yours.”

At last Mrs. Maurier succeeded in cornering her niece. New Orleans, the basin, the yacht club, were far behind. The Nausikaa sped youthfully and gaily under a blue and drowsy day, beneath her forefoot a small bow wave spread its sedate fading fan. Mrs. Maurier’s people could not escape her now. They had settled themselves comfortably on deck: there was nothing to look at save one another, nothing to do save wait for lunch. All, that is, except Jenny and Pete. Pete, holding his hat on, stood yet at the afterrail, with Jenny beside him. Her air was that of a soft and futile cajolery, to which Pete was smoldering and impervious. Mrs. Maurier breathed a sigh of temporary relief and astonishment and ran her niece to earth in the after companionway.

“Patricia,” she demanded, “what on earth did you invite those two—young people for?”

“God knows,” the niece answered, looking past her aunt’s yachting cap to Pete, belligerent and uncomfortable beside Jenny’s bovine white placidity. “God knows. If you want to turn around and take ’em back, don’t let me stand in your way.”

“But why did you ask them?”

“Well, I couldn’t tell that they were going to turn to be so wet, could I? And you said yourself there were not enough women coming. You said so yourself last night.”

“Yes, but why ask those two? Who are they? Where did you ever meet such people?”

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] lining a rectangular space the exact size of the projected fabric. A deep layer of clean white sand from the river bed was spread between the stakes to prevent the under surface of the fabric from becoming soiled. The end or yarn beams were of saguaro ribs of suitable size, held in place across the end stakes by cords which were stretched taut at the sides. The beams were about 6 inches from the ground, thus permitting the warp to pass freely around them as it was wound over one and under the other in a continuous thread. A heavy double binding thread, usually dyed buff, was passed through the loops at the ends of the warp and was given a half turn as each loop was caught up. The yarn beams were then removed, leaving a lease rod of arrowwood in place of one of them. The binding thread was next bound to the yarn beams by a heavy thread wound in a spiral from end to end. The warp could then be stretched in place by again putting the beams outside the stakes and pulling the side cords taut. The heald rod was also of arrowwood put in place by passing a loop from a thread that had been slipped through the open shed from the right under each lower warp thread and pushing the rod through the loop from the left.

The weaver sat upon his haunches on the ground or on the cloth when it was finished too far for him to reach from the end. He lowered the lease rod beyond the heddle and gathered the upper threads in front of the heddle on a slender sharpened rod, which enabled him to lift them high enough to pass the shuttle through. The shuttle was an arrowwood stick to one end of which the weft thread was tied and then passed to the other in a slightly spiral direction; there it was wound twice around and then passed back; thus it was wound from end to end of the shuttle until the latter carried many yards of thread. After the shuttle was passed through the shed the thread was struck home with a flat batten of mesquite wood. If the warp threads were irregular, they were adjusted with a short peg which took the place of the comb used by the other tribes that weave in the Southwest. Two heavy selvage threads lay at the side of the warp, and as the shuttle was passed through the shed it was brought between them and they were given a half turn to engage the woof thread before it passed back in the other shed which was opened by raising the heddle.

The width of the cloth was not well maintained, as there was a strong tendency for it to become narrower, but by the aid of a stretcher or temple this was partially overcome. The temple had two longitudinal grooves separated by a distance equal to the width of the cloth. In each groove was placed a section of willow or arrowwood stem an inch in length, bound with a heavy thread around the stretcher. The outer end of the short stick was sharpened so that it might be pushed

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