In the Wrong Paradise, and Other Stories

f the Sachem's Mound, and how did the treasures of the Aztec Temple of the Sun come to be concealed in

roglyphics, and naturally had made nothing out of them. His chief desire was to discover the Secret of the Pyramid-not the pyramids of Egypt, as you fancied, but the Pyramid of the Sun, Ton

ner was painted a pyramidal structure, above which the sun beamed. Eight men, over whose heads the moon was drawn, were issuing from the pyramid; the two foremost bore in their hands effigies of the sun and moon; each of the others seemed to carry smaller objects with a certain religious awe. Then

e wandering tribe of red men. He had come to this conclusion for some time, when I and my brother returned from school, hastily summoned back, to find him extremely ill. He had suffered from a paralytic stroke, and he scarcely recognized us. But we made out, partly from his broken and wandering words, partly from old Tom (Peter's father, now dead), that my father's illness had followed on a violent fit of passion. He had picked up, it seems, from some Indians a scroll which he considered of the utmost value, and which he placed in a shelf of the library. Now, old Gumbo was a house-servant at that time, and, dumb as he was, and stupid as he was, my father had treated him

scroll had to tell him, else he could not have c

ial, Gumbo escaped, and, being an unusually stupid nigger, he escaped due south-west. Here he seems to have fallen into the hands of some slave-holding Indians, who used him even worse than any white owners would have done, and left him the mere fragment you saw. He filtered back here through the exchange of commerce, 'the higgling of the market,' and as soon as I recognized him at the sale I made up my mind to purchase him. So did my brother; but, thanks to Peter and his hornets, I became Gumbo's owner. On examining him, after he was well washed on the night of the attack, I found this chart, as you may call it, branded on Gumbo's back." Here Moore made a ra

you ask for a razor when you

father might have remembered the dodge of Histi?us in Herodotus: he might have shaved Gumbo's head, tattooed the c

OF THE FIR

STORIC

un abus, comme on dit, est toujou

e! Pourquoi se mêlé t'il de ce qui n

claims of the tribal conscience, and who was eager to see society organized, off-hand, on what he thought a rational method. In the absence of history, we must fall back on that branch of hypothetics which is known as prehistoric science. We must recons

that all the children took their family name from the mother's side. If she were of the Hy?na clan, the children were Hy?nas. If the mother were tattooed with the badge of the Serpent, the children were Serpents, and so on. No two persons of the same family name and crest might marry, on pain of death. The man of the Bear family who dwelt by the Mediterranean might not ally himself with a woman of the Bear clan whose home was on the shores of the Baltic, and who was in no way related to him by consanguinity. These details are dry, but absolutely necessary to the comprehension of the First Radical's stormy an

TH OF W

f the cave, and the tourist, as he pokes the soil with the point of his umbrella, turns up bits of bone, shreds of chipped flint, and other interesting relics. In the big cave lived several little families, all named by the names of their mothers. These ladies had been knocked on the head and dragged home, according to the marriage customs of the period, from places as distant as the modern Marseilles and Genoa. Why-Why

e cave people, maltreat the ladies, steal all the property they could lay hands on, and break whatever proved too heavy to carry. Good manners, of course, forbade the cave people to resist this visit, but etiquette permitted (and in New Caledonia still permits) the group to bury and hide its portable possessions. Canoes had been brou

Italy. The hill tribe came down at the double, and in a twinkling had "made hay" (to borrow a modern agricultural expression) of all the personal property of the cave dwellers. They tore the nets (the use of which they did not understand), they broke the shell razors, they pouched the opulent store of flint a

ted to maintain that Why-Why's invincible hatred of established institu

ildren, Why-Why was always asking metaphysical conundrums. Who made men? Who made the sun? Why has the cave-bear such a hoarse voice? Why don't lobsters grow on trees?-he would incessantly demand. In answer to these and similar questions, the mother of Why-Why

theory was "bosh-bosh," to use the early reduplicative language of these remote times. Nor could he conceal his doubts about the Deluge and the frog who once drowned all the world. Here is the story of the frog:-"Once, long ago, there was a big frog. He drank himself full of water. He could not get rid of the water. Once he saw a sand-eel dancing on his tail by the sea-shore. It made him laugh so that he burst, and all the water ran out. There was a great flood, and every one was drowned except two or three men and women

his, he stole out unobserved and crushed a viper which had stung his little brother. He noticed that no harm ensued, and this encouraged him to commit a still more daring act. None but the old men and the warriors were allowed to eat oysters. It was universally held that if a woman or a child touched an oyster, the earth would open and swallow the culprit.

which survives among the Yorubas and other tribes) made it criminal for a woman to see her husband, or even to mention his name. When, therefore, the probable father of Why-Why became weary of supporting his family, he did not

en with the aid of Why-Why, existence became too laborious for her strength, and she gradually pined away. As she lay in a half-fainting and almost dying state, Why-Why rushed out to find the most celebrated local medicine-man. In half an hour the chief medicine-man appeared, dressed in the skin of a wolf, tagged about with bones, skulls, dead lizards, and other ornaments of his official attire. You may see a picture very like him in Mr. Catlin's book about the Mandans.

to the petulance of youth. But when he went further, and transgressed the law which then forbade a brother to speak to his own sister, on pain of death, the general indignation was no longer repressed. In vain did Why-Why plead that if he neglected his sister no one else would comfort her. His life was spared, but the unfortunate little girl's bones were d

hy; and when his shaven hair began to show through the clay daubing, the women of the tribe washed him, and painted him black and white. The indignation of Why-Why may readily be conceived. Why, he kept asking, should you shave a fellow's head, knock out his teeth, cut off his little finger, daub him with clay, and paint him like a pelican, because he is fourteen years old? To these radical questions, the braves (who had all lost their own front teeth) replied, that this was the custom of their fathers. They tried to

HOOD OF

mplied with the usages of his time when they seemed rational and useful. If a little tattooing on the arm would have saved men from a horrible disease, he would have had all the tribe tattooed. He was no bigot. He kept his word, and paid his debts, for no one was ever very "advanced" all at once. It was only when the ceremonious or super

er explanation of natural death by disease or age was entertained. The old woman's grave was dug, and all the wizards intently watched for the first worm or insect that should crawl out of the mould. The head-wizard soon detected a beetle, making, as he alleged, in the direction where Why-Why stood observing the proceedings. The wizard at once denounced our hero as the cause of the old woman's death. To have blenche

pting the orthodox nomenclature of the classificatory system, and saying, "Third cousin by the mother's side, thrice removed, will you lend me an arrow?" or whatever it might be. On "tabu-days," once a week, when the rest of the people in the cave were all si

interwoven with his own. In vain the medicine-men assured him that Pund-jel, the great spirit, was angry. Why-Why was indifferent to the thunder which was be

omitted, if a drop or a morsel were spilled, the whole rite had to be done over again from the beginning. This was not all. The chief medicine-man took a small portion of the meat in a long spoon, and entered the sepulchral cavern. In the dim light he approached one of the watchers of the dead, danced before him, uttered a mysterious formula of words, and made a shot

Why entertained his fellow-watchers with a harangue on the imbecility of the whole proceeding. He walked out of the cave, kicked the chief medicine-man into a ravine, seized the pot full of meat, brought it back with him, and made a hearty meal. The

OF VERVA A

ale child from a member of a tribe that had wandered out of the far north. The tribe were about to cook poor little Verva because her mother was dead, and she seemed a bouche inutile. For the price of a pair of shell fish-hooks,

tormented poor Verva, the fair-haired and blue-eyed captive from the north. There grew up a kind of friendship between Why-Why and the child. She would follow him with dog-like fidelity and with a stealthy tread when he hunted the red deer in the forests of the Alpine Maritime

ess when he encountered the captive girl among the pines on the hillside. Both these untutored hearts were strangely stirred, and neither Why-Why nor Verva could imagine wherefore they turned pale or blushed when they met, or even wh

ons were in love w

capture. Affection on the side of the bride was out of the question, for, as we have remarked, she was never allowed so much as to see her husband's face. Probably the institution of falling in love has been evolved in, and has spread from, various early centres

peared for it. Such are primitive ideas of medicine and justice. An ordinary brave would have skulked about the dwellings of some neighbouring human groups till he got a chance of knocking over a child or an old woman, after which justice and honour would have been satisfied. But Why-Why declared that, if he must spear somebody, he would spear a man of importance. The forms of a challenge were therefore notched on a pie

ky amphitheatre, and breathlessly watched the issue of the battle. Each warrior was equipped with a shield, a sheaf of spears, and a heavy, pointed club. At thirty paces distance they began throwing, and the spectators enjoyed a beautiful exposition of

heads and shields. Twice Why-Why was down, but he rose with wonderful agility, and never dropped his shield. A third time he stooped beneath a tremendous whack, but when all seemed over, grasped a handful of s

*

he other tribe had never breathed after he received the club-thrust, and the chief medicine-man had declared that Why-Why was also dead. He had suggested that both champions should be burned in the desolate spot where they lay, that their boilyas, or ghosts, might not harm the tribes. The lookers-on had gone to their several and distant caves to fetch fire for the cere

e found words, and poured forth his heart to Verva. They must never be sundered-they must be man and wife! The girl leaned her golden head on Why-Why's dark shoulder, and sniffed at him, for kissing was an institution not yet evolved. She wept. She had a dreadful thing to tell him,-that she could never

crime; the killing of the serpent, and how no evil came of it; the eating of the oysters, and how the earth had not opened and swallowed him. His mind was made up. It was absolutely certain that his tribe and Verva's kin had never been within a thousand miles of each other. In a few impassioned words he explained to Verva his faith, his simple creed that a t

he hills,

ir utmost

night, acro

he world she

RT WH

ancied concealment Why-Why and Verva. The clear stream was warbling at their feet, in the bright blue weather of spring; the scent of the may blossoms was poured abroad, and, lying in the hollow of Why-Why's shield, a pretty

*

r many moments he heard no sound but her long, loud and unconscious breathing. He did not mark the yells of his tribesmen, nor feel the spears that rained down on himself, nor see the hideous face of the chief medicine-man peering at his own. Ve

ht the ear and chilled the heart of all who heard him. "Listen," he said, "for these are the last words of Why-Why. He came like the water, and like the wind he goes, he knew not whence, and he knows not whither. He does not curse you, for you are that which you are. But the day will come" (and here Why-Why's voice grew louder and his eyes burned), "the day will come when you will no longer be the slave of things like that dead dog," and here he pointed to the shapeless face of the slain medicine-man. "The day will come, when a man shall speak unto his sister in loving kindness, and none shall do him wrong. The day will come when a woman shall unpunished see the face an

*

and built them houses, and forswore the follies of the medicine-men, as Why-Why had prophesied. Many thousands of years later the cave was opened when the railway to Genoa was constructed, and the bones of Why-Why, with the crown, and the fragment of iron, were found where they had been laid by his repentant ki

s of the privilege. Young ladies are still forbidden to call young men at large by their Christian names; but this tribal law, and survival of the classificatory system, is rapidly losing its force. Burials in the savage manner to which Why-Why objected, will soon, doubtless, be permitted to conscient

ESS'S

e. I am, like Simpcox in the dramatis person? of "Henry IV.," "an impostor;" and yet I scarcely know how I could have escaped this deplorable (though lucrative) position. "Love is a great master," says the "Mor

ction of my plot. I introduced a beautiful girl, daughter of a preacher in the Shaker community. Her hand was sought in marriage by a sporting baronet, who had seen her as he pursued the chase through the pathless glens of the New Forest. This baronet she married after suffering things intolerable from the opposition of the Shakers. Here I had a good deal of padding about Shakers and their ways; and, near the end of the sixth chapter my heroine became the wife of Sir William Buckley. But the baronet proved a perfect William Rufus for variegated and versatile blackguardism. Lady Buckley's life was made impossible by his abominable conduct. At this juncture my heroine chanced to be obliged to lunch at a railway refreshment-room. My last chapter had described

Who knows but he may there see something to his advantage; and, besides, the mysterious advertisements may suggest ideas fo

owed hand! Would you expose an erring MOTHER'S secret? Author will please c

e my acquaintance, and that a carriage would await me, if I presented myself at Upton-on-the-Wold Station, by the train arriving at 5.45 on Friday. Well, I thought to myself, I may as well do a "week-ending," as some people call it, with my anonymous friend as anywhere else. At the same time I knew that the "carriage" might be hired by enemies to convey me to the Pauper Lunatic Asylum or to West Ham, the place where people disappear mysteriously. I might be the victim of a rival's jealousy (and many men, novelists of most horrible imaginings, envied my talents and success), or a Nihilist plot might have drawn me into its machinery. But I was young, and I thought I would see the thing out. My journey was unadventurous, if you except a row with a German, who refused to let me open the window. But this has nothing to do with my narrative, and is not a false scent to make a guileless reader keep his eye on the Teuton. Some novelists permit themselves these artifices, which I think untrades

ld and confidential family servant), "is your old one-the

e aristocracy always admired my fictitious creations; but "Your Lordship!" Why your Lordship? Then the chilling idea occurred to me that I had not been "the gentleman for the Towers;" that I was in the positio

ritish aristocracy than Mr. W. D. Howells, of New York, I recognized her for the Duchess by her nose, which resembled those worn by the duchesses of Mr. Du Maurier. As soon as we were alone, she rose, drew me to her bosom, much to my horror, looked at me lon

his tyranny, by a method which his habits rendered only too easy-in short, by a dose of cheap sherry, was deep and natural. Oh, Percy, you did not kiss your mother before starting on your ill-omened voyage. As soon as I heard of the wreck of the Jingo, and that you were the only passenger drowned, I recognized an artifice, un vieux truc, by which you hoped to escape from a mother of whom you were ashamed. You had only pretended to be the victim of Ocean's rage! People who are drowned in novels always do reappear: and, Percy, your mother is an old novel-reader

is so ancient as that, or a direct descendant of the Dukes of Edom mentioned in Holy Writ. I began pouring out an incoherent flood of evidence to show that I was only Thomas Cobson, and had never been any one else, but at that moment a gong sounded, and a young lady entered the room. She also was dressed in mourning, and the Duchess introduced her to me as my cousin, Miss Birkenhead. "Gwyneth was a child, Percy," said my august hostess, "when you went to Africa." I shook hands with my cousin with as much composure as I could assume, for, to tell the truth, I was not only moved by my recent adventures, but I had on the spot fallen hopelessly in love with my new relativ

an elderly man in the dress of a pr

governor

, the late Duke. But an instant's reflection proved to me that her Grace meant "tutor" by governor. I am ashamed to say that I

trap, and began to speak of o

t in tea. I was just declining tea (for I expected dinner in

e so

ning tea-cake, when I could have sworn I heard the same voice (so

e so

gry; and then the conversation lapsed,

igue while they keep dinner waiting. Upon my word, we waited till half-past eleven before dinner was announced. Bu

he Duchess ate little, and "hardly anything was drunk." At last the ladies left us, about one in the morning. I saw my chance, and began judiciously to "draw" the chaplain. It appeared that the Duchess did not always dine at half-past eleven. The fea

my old pupil," said the chaplain; and he

is means? In this so-called nineteenth century, in our boasted age of progress, what does the

adhouse?" said he; and I owned that I never had met with such an inci

oor Duchess's head with the life he led her. The drowning of her only son in the Jingo finished the business. She has got that story about"-(here he touched the decanter of sherry: I nodded)-"she has got that story into her head, an

, and only said-"If you are not Percy, how do you know my secret?" I had in the meantime to alter the intended course of my novel-"The Baronet's Wife." The Baronet was made to become a reformed character. But in all those days at the lonely Towers, and in the intervals of arguing with the poor Duchess, I could not but meet Gwyneth Birkenhead. We met, not as cousins, fo

n the selfsame

stir of heart

it at meals bu

each to be

fully reminded of Gwyneth's advice about "taking so

r happy ti

he Crusaders (painted by Lorenzo Credi) he soon got down to modern times. He took no notice of the Duchess, whom he believed to be a housekeeper; but, posting himself between the unfortunate lady and the door, gave a full account of the career of the late Duke. This was more than the Duchess (who knew all about the subject of the lecture) could stand; but Mr. Bulkin, referring her to his own Appendices, finished his address, and offered the Duchess half-a-crown as he led his troop to other victories. From this accident the Duchess never recovered. Her spirits, at no time high, sank to zero, and she soon passed peacefully away. She left a will in which her personal property (about ￡40,000 a year) was b

OF STRAN

s mansion, I was disturbed, I own, by a not unpleasing expectancy. There must, one argued, be a shadowy lady in green in the bedroom, or, just as one was falling asleep, the spectre of a Jesuit would creep out of the priest's hole, where he was starved to death in the "spacious times of great Elizabeth," and would search for a morsel of bread. The priest was usually starved out, sentinels being placed in all the rooms and passages, till at last hunger and want of air would drive the wretched man to giv

walk?" I asked the squire one winter

omen, were sitting at afternoon tea in the firelit study, drowsily watching the flicker of the flame o

ry few of the Jesuits have left ghosts in country houses. They ar

er-time; he was led to his chamber, he dressed, and went downstairs. Not knowing the plan of the house, he found his way into the library, a chamber lined with the books of many studious generations. Here the learned bishop remained for a few minutes, when the gong sounded for dinner, and a domestic, entering the

astic?" asked

d the bishop, "whom

nner, when the ladies had left the men to their wine, Lord Birkenhead showed some curiosity as to "the ecclesiastic,"

om, and did not at first notice that my friend the priest had not fo

s the library, where, as you may imagine, his retirement is but seldom disturbed

that without delay, for this appears to be a matter in which the services of o

d (who was a Catholic) with a deep sigh, "that

ther parley, retired to the library. The rest of the men awaited his

ness on his apostolic features, yet his face was radiant like that of a good man who has performed a

, interrupting his own narrative, "that scepticism will in vain attempt to account, by the latter cause, namely rats, for the spectres, Lemures, simulacra, and haunted houses of the ancient Greeks and Romans. With these supernatural phenomena, as they prevailed in Athens and Rome, we are well acquainted, not only from the Mostellaria of Plautus, but from the numerous ghost-stories of Pliny, Plutarch, the Philopseudes of Lucian, and similar sources. But it will at once be perceived, and admitted even by candid men of science, that these spiritual phenomena of the classical period cannot plausibly, nor even

ur reputation; but pray pardon the curiosity which entreats you to

page, to the table, on which I perceived the brown strong hand of a young man. Looking up, I beheld my friend the priest, who was indeed a man of some twenty-seven years of age, with a frank and open, t

lidity of Anglican orders. 'Will you kindly take from the shelf that volume of Cicero "De Officiis," he said, pointing to a copy of an E

but will you reward me by explai

getful of any portion of so marvellous a narrative, I took up my pen and committed the confession to the security of manuscript. Litera scripta manet. Scarcely had I finished my unholy task when the sound of a distant horn told me that the hunt (to which pleasure I was passionately given) approached the demesne. I thrust the written confession into that volume of Cicero, hurried to the stable, saddled my horse with my own hands, and rode in the direction whence I heard the music of the hounds. On my way a locked gate barred my

of course, I did not read. I turned to the hearth, tossed on the fire the sere old paper, which blazed at once, and then, hearing the words pax vobiscum, I looked round. But I was alone

Lord Birkenhead, in tones of deep emoti

hed the prelate's narrative, "I don't call that much of a story. What was

paper," said the Bachelor of Arts, one of t

the chance," sai

on was in Latin," sai

dained to reply to

ttested bogies don't come to very much. They appear in a desultory manner, without any conte

spectres, were received in silence. The women did not understand them,

ther, came within measurable distance of,

" said the squire, "Won'

murmured, "

rtable kind of coincidence, and I never think of it without a shudder. But I know there

d I went on a reading-party to Bantry Bay, with Wyndham and Toole

se young men, my dear?

Miss Leighton of Newnham, who was our co

don for interrupting you

ber with a deep round niche, almost a separate room, like that in Queen Mary's apartments in Holy Rood. The first floor has long been fitted up as a bedroom and dressing-room, but it had not been occupied, and a curious old spinning-wheel in the corner (which has nothing to do with my story, if you can call it a story), must have been unused since '98, at least. I reached Dublin late-our train should have arrived at half-past six-it was ten before we toiled into the station. The Dundellan carriage was waiting for me, and, after an hour's drive, I reached the house. The dear old ladies had sat up for me, and I went to bed as soon as possible, in a very comfortable room. I fell asleep at once, and did not waken till broad dayl

dies never dreamed of sending any of their guests to pass a bad night in a place with a bad name. Miss Patty, who had the courage of a Bayard, did not think twice. She went herself to sleep in the haunted tower, and left her room to me. And when the old nurse went to call her in the morning, she could not waken Miss Patty. She was dea

silence after the G

themselves, when the house happened to be full. They always send the stranger within their gates to it, and then pre

it, Judy," said her

no ghost. I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anything. I didn't eve

ad you such

he maiden aunt, wit

you feel,

not sleep. Then, as some one was leaving the house that day, she implored me to try another room, where I slept beautifully, and afterwards had a very pleasant visit. But, the day I went away, my hostess asked me if I had been kept awake by anything in particular, for instance, by a feeling that some one was trying to come in at the window. Well, I admitted that I had a nervous feeling of that sort, and she said that she was very sorry, and that every one who lay in the room had exactly the same sensation. She supposed they must all have heard the history of the room, in childhood, and forgotten that they had heard it, and then been consciously reminded of it by reflex action. It seems, my dears, that that is the new scientific way of explaining all these things, presentiments and dreams and wraiths, and all that sort of thing. We have seen them before, and remember them without being aware of it. So I said I'd never heard the history of the room; but she said I must have, and so must all the people who felt as if

the judicial faculties of the mind refused assent. Probably the Bachelor of Arts felt that something a go

the castle, although I went late to bed, I did not feel at all sleepy. Something, perhaps, in the mountain air, or in the vicissitudes of baccarat, may have banished slumber. I had been in luck, and a pile of sovereigns and notes lay, in agreeable confusion, on my dressing-table. My feverish blood declined to be tranquillized, and at last I drew up the blind, threw open the latticed window, and looked out on the drive and the pine-woo

it, so appropriate to the chariot of Death. Could some belated visitor have arrived in a hearse, like the lady in Miss Ferrier's novel? Could one

tial in his air, struck into me a certain indefinable alarm. No sooner had he caught my eye, than he gathered up his reins, just raised his whip, and started the mortuary vehicle at a walk down the road. I followed it with my eyes till a bend in the avenue hid it from my sight. So wrapt up was my spirit in the exercise of the single sense of vision that it was not till the hearse became lost to view t

which was a desultory and movable feast. Almost all the men had gone forth to hill, f

a printed book! I like to hear you speak like

tion to the topic of apparitions, and even to warnings of death. I knew that every family worthy of the name has its omen: the Oxenhams a white bird, another house a brass band, whose airy music is poured forth by invisible performers, and so on. Of course I expected some one to cry, 'Oh, we've got a hearse with white horses

and hearses were the last things I thought of during the remainder of my visit. Months passed, and I had almost forgotten the vision, or dream, for I began to feel apprehensive that, after all, it was a dream. So costly and elaborate an apparition as a hearse with white horses and plumes complete, could never have been got up, regardless of expense,

Arts paused, and a

y all?" asked

ghost-story to-night w

replied the Bachelor of Arts; "but I thought a little

warning come in?"

rove to the H?tel d'Alsace (I believe there is no hotel of that name; if there is, I beg the spirited proprietor's pardon, and assure him that nothing personal is intended). We marched upstairs with our bags and baggage, and jolly high stairs they were. When we had removed the soil of travel from our persons, my friend ca

s sallow face, black, closely shaven chin, furtive glance, and military bearin

rose with a sudden impulse, fell again, and rushed, with frightful velocity, to the basement of the hotel, whence we heard an appalling crash, followed by groans. We rushed downsta

or of these anecdotes; "and so far I ca

unded, and we went to our several apartments, aft

TLE PE

spectre, when I had partly recovered

armchair beside my bed in the h

would permit, "that I quite follow you. Would you mind-excuse me-h

ime and space {261} that the silver flask, which had been well out of my reach

ts," he s

heady liquor, and felt a

," I remarked, "of so

ng at the words which he intends to use, and forces others upon him. He may wish to observe that it is a fine morning, and may discover that his idea has taken the form o

onded, "you are speaki

dging the compliment with a bow, "the

I thought,

anifest myself with

such form as I am privileged

te indiscernible by any of the senses. Sometimes I can only rap on the table, or send a cold wind over a visitor's face, or at m

I said, "when you wakened me.

"It is just an instance of what I was trying to explain

constitutional peculiarity. To what d

partly to the whisky you took in the smoking-

uffer at all from

mething, straight enough; but our failure is in expression. Just think how often you go wrong yourselves, though your spirits have a brain to play on, like the musician with a piano. Now we have to do

ncy. I lost the thread of my argument, and am dimly conscious of having expressed myself in some

, I assure you," I replied, "merely a whi

or a very old man in chains, or a lady in a green gown and high-heeled shoes, or a headless horseman, or a Mauth hound, or a

are not the apparitions of the essential ghost? It is

ry promotive of good feeling between men and disembodi

ture of the room. {265} While the disturbance continued, the spectre drummed nervously with his fingers on his knee. The sounds ended as suddenly as they

r alarming,"

und and round Castle Puddifant at midnight. And old Lady Wadham's ghost, what a sufferer that woman is! She merely desires to remark that the family diamonds, lost many years ago, were never really taken abroad by the valet and sold. He only had time to conceal them in a secret drawer behind the dining-room chimney-piece. Now she can get no nearer expressing herself than producing a spirited imitation of the music of the bagpipes, which wails up and down the house, and frightens the present

rald an approachin

information from-from that quarter. Banshees are chiefly the spectres of attached and anxious old family nurses, women of the lower orders, and comple

nmixed delight to the inhabitants of Castle Perilous, or at least

ically, "to alleviate the disorders whic

. In the last generation they tried to bolt me with a bishop: like putting a ferret into a rabbit-warren, you know. Nothing came of that, and lately the Psychical Society attempted to ascertain my weight by an ingenious mechanism. But they prescribed nothing, and made me feel so nervous that I was rapping at large, and knocking furniture about for months. The fact

irresolutely, accompanied by the appearance of a bearded man in armour. The door (which I had locked and bolted before goi

sh illustrations of our malady) have not frightened your dog into a fit. I have known very va

ed; "but I believe Bingo is still alive;

o examine him?" a

othing in the world would have induced me to get out of be

I assure you, is a very old fashioned chat

which I placed between my lips. As I was looking round for a match-box, the spectre

Castle Perilous, the very one of all my places which

acy about aski

inued, "I am th

e guessed th

us till I am relieved. For example, when the family want to dig up the buried treasur

I asked. "It seems hardly worth

on the turf, and on dice, drink, etc., if they excavated it; and t

prophe

what these crofter fellows are-ungrateful, vindictive rascals. He had been in receipt of outdoor relief for years. Well, he prophesied stuff like this: 'When the owl and the eagle meet on the same blasted rowan tree, then a lassie in a white hood from the east shall ma

t it last night," I said, with a s

am to manage some of them I'm sure I don't know. The

ie lies in the

Cock on the r

all flee ere th

ll girn in the d

o elope, and the laird-that's Lord Perilous-is to expire in the 'deed man's thraw': that is the name the old people give the Secret Room. And all this is t

ly, "Allan Mackenzie." It was

etting fire to the castle is simple"-here I remembered how he had lighted my cigarette-"but who on earth is to elope with Lady Perilous? She's fifty if she'

, have made me run away with Lady Perilous. And then, when the pangs of remorse began to tell on her ladysh

family," I asked, "to have a family ge

of family pride? Why, you yourselves have Gruagach of the Red Hand in the hall, and he, I can tell you, is a very different sort of

have brought them much luck," I put in, for the house of Peri

hey are what they are with one! Besides, the prophecies are really responsib

f the Secret Chamber-I mean the room whither the heir is taken when he come

ctre. "Doesn't he? Are you quite c

oking at the question, a

Lord Perilous, and I never observed a smile wander over their lips. And yet little Tompkins" (he was the chief social buffoon

ee the point of a conundrum of Macbeth's. We felt, some time in the fifteenth century, that this peculiarity needed to be honourably accounted for, and the family developed that story of the Secret Chamber, and the Horror in the house. There is nothing in the chamber whatever,-neither a family idiot aged t

y disappoint

uth often is. Did you ever hear the explanat

e with terrific vehemence, and on rushing to the

lbemarle Street which she preferred, and so the house in Berkeley Square was never let till the lease expired. That's the whole affair. The house was empty, and politi

ressed in mere words apparently, for Mauth-hounds of prodigious size and blackness, with white birds, and other disastrous omens, now began to display themselves profusely i

remarked to the spectre, "but you will pardon me for observing that the first cock has gon

latitudes, and in summer, a ghost would not have an hour to himself on these principles. Don't you remember the cock Lord Dufferin took North with him, which crowed at sunrise, and ended by crowing without intermission and going mad, when the sun did not set a

way of getting rid of him. He mig

t the Lyceum just now? It is a small but ver

is always very particular about these details. Quite right too. 'The Cock, by kind permission of the Aylesb

e spectre was going to launch out concerning a

ey a real glow-worm for the Ghost's 'b

hee well

shows the ma

pale his inef

Clearly the ghost appeared in winter; don't you r

f much thanks; '

n

s shrewdly: it

nds to warm them, at the

about the glow-worms in the neighbourhood! Most incongruous

dmit that I hate being bothered

e said snappish

again, just as I was

ess it on your memory? Suppose I shrivel your left wrist with a touch of my hand? Or shall I lea

and she might not altogether believe my explanation. As for myself, I'll be content with your word for it tha

paritions in disguise. Perhaps it is my 'Unconscious Self' that doe

e real

hands, remained in the room for a short

ot water was broug

GLADSTONE

n, {284} whom I have elsewhere shown to be a river god, and with Livingstone. In the last case the identity of the suffix "stone," and the resemblance of the ideas of "joy" and of "vitality," lend some air of speciousness to a fundamental error. Livingstone is ohne zweifel, a mythical form of the midnight sun, now fabled to wander in the "Dark Continent," as Bishop of Natal, the land of the sun's birthplace, now alluded to as lost in the cloud-land of comparative mythology. Of all these cobwebs spun by the spiders of sciolism, the Euhemeristic or Spencerian view-that Gladstone is an historical personage-has attracted most attention. Unluckily for its advocates, the whole contemporary documents of the Victorian Dynasty have perished. When an over-educated and over-rated populace, headed by two mythical figures, Wat Tyler and one Jo, {285a} rose in fury against

"Pilot who weathered the storm," which they apply to Gladstone in his human or political aspect, when the storm-spirit had been anthropomorphised, and was regarded as an ancestral politician. But such scanty folklore as we possess assures us that the storm, on the other hand, weathered Gladstone; and that the poem quoted refers to quite another person, also named William, and probably identical with William Tell-that is, with the sun, which of course brings us back to Roth's view of the hawk, or solar Gladstone, though this argument in his own favour has been neglected by the learned mythologist. He might also, if he cared, adduce the solar stone of Delphi, fabled to have been swallowed by Cronus. Kuhn, indeed, lends an involuntary assent to this conclusion (Ueber Ent

reached us in the shape of burned and torn scraps of paper, covered with printed texts, which resolve themselves into hymns, and imprecations or curses. It appears to have been the custom of the worshippers

he pillar of the

ite Czar." This puzzled the learned, till a fragment of a mythological disquisition was recently unearthed. In this text it was stated, on the authority of Brinton, that "the Great White Hare" worshipped by the Red Indians was really, when correctly understood, the Dawn. It is needless to observe (when one is addressing students) that "Great White Hare" (in Algonkin, Manibozho) becomes Great White Czar in Victorian English. Thus the Divine Figure from the North, or White Czar, with whom Gladstone is mythically associated, turns out to be the Great White Hare, or Dawn Hero, of the Algonkins. The sun (Gladstone) may naturally and reasonably be spoken of in m

nt. They are spoken of as "the stupid party," as "obscurantist," and so forth, with the usual amenity of theological controversy. It would be painful, and is unnecessary, to quote from the curses, whether matins or vespers, of the children of night. Their language is terribly severe, and, doubtless, was regarded as blasphemy by the sun-worshippers. Gladstone is said to have "no conscience," "no sense of honour," to be so fugitive and evasive in character, that one might almost think the moon, rather th

ome explained as the pedestal of his statue, while the anthropological sciolists regard it simply as a milestone! In speaking t

ites of Bristol and London, excavations recently la

holars. I read Gladstonio Optimo Maximo, "To Gladstone, Best and Greatest," a form of adoration, or adulation, which survived in England (like municipal institutions, the game laws, and trial by jury) from the da

the hazardous conjectures of smatterers. They, as usual, are greatly divided amon

nd and nak

ling judgment

ings, una

d it is actually hinted that this was the petit nom, or endearing title, of a real historical politician. Weak as we may thin

0

from the ruins of London, but that is a mere coincidence, on which it were childish to insist. Scholars know at what rate such

by showing his natural malevolence even in the moment of his birth. The myths of the extinct Algonkins of the American continent repeat absolutely the same tale about Malsumis, the brother and foe of their divine hero, Glooskap. Now the Rig Veda (iv. 18, 1-3) attributes this act to Indra, and we may infer that Indra had been the Typhon, or Set, or Glooskap, of some Aryan kindred, before he became the chief and beneficent god of the Kusika stock of Indo-Aryans. The evil myth clung to the good god. By a similar process we may readily account for the imprecations, and for the many profane and blasphemous legends, in which Gladstone is represented as oblique, mysterious, and equivocal. (Compare Apollo Loxias.) The same class of ideas occurs in the myths about Gladstone "in Opposition" (as the old mythical language ru

Scotch manufacturing town, Galashiels, presented the Midlothian Gladstone (a local hero), with "trouserings," which the hero graciously accepted. Indeed he was remarkably unlike Death, as described by ?schylus, "Of all gods, Death only recks not of gifts." Gladstone, on the other hand, was the centre of a lavish system of sacrifice-loaves of bread, axes, velocipedes, books, in vast and overwhelming nu

ie Darstellungen Zeigen uns den Sonnengott zwischen den H?rnern der Kuh sitzend.") The idea of Le Page Renouf, and of Pierret and De Rougé, is that the cow is a symbol of some Gladstonian attribute, perhaps "squeezability," a quality attributed to the hero by certain Irish minstrels. I regard it as more probable that the cow is (as in the Veda) the rain-cloud, released from prison by Gladstone, as by Indra. At the same time the cow, in the Veda, stands for Heaven, Earth, Dawn, Night, Cloud, R

gure lurking behind the cow. The inscription may be read "Jo," or "Io," and appear

Many cities claimed the honour of being his cradle, exactly as in the cases of Apollo a

e already shown that Jo is a mythological name. The tendency to identify Gladstone with the cow (as the dawn with the sun) is a natural and edifying tendency, but the position must not be accepted without further inquiry. The Sun-god, in Egyptian myth,

THE BEAC

e islands?" said my friend the

he beach-comber, like Mycen? in Homer, was polychrysos, rich in gold in all his equipments), and occupied himself with the task of setting fire to his weed. The process was a long one, and reminded me of the arts by which the beach-comber's native friends fire the roo

ns the white man takes his life and whatever native property he can annex in his hand, caring no more for the Aborigines' Protection Society than for the Kyrle Company for diffusing stamped-leather hangings and Moorish lustre plates among the poor of the East-End. The common beach-comber is usually an outcast from that civilization of which, in the islands, he is the only pioneer. Sometimes he deals in rum, sometimes in land, most frequently

nt on, when the trunk of his cigar was fairly

m of making roads called by his name, allowed no stone to be laid on the way which the stone

e Spanish Fleet, they were not in sight. But I understo

where they have b

ounded Government parcel-fastened with a strong brass wire. Where's the good of giving you cartridges, which you need in a hurry if you need them at all, in a case you can't open without a special instrument? Well, as I ran, and the spe

t out the c

thers bolted. What a voice that fellow had! It reminded me of that Greek chap I read about at school; he went and faced the Trojans with nothin

shot

and where some marooned fellow had built a hut, and we kept a little whisky in a bunk, and used the place sometimes for shooting or fishing. It was latish one night, the botanist had not come home, I fell asleep, and left Thompson with the whisky. I was awakened by hearing a shot, and there lay Thompson, stone-dead, a bullet in his forehead, and the naturalist wit

s done to th

r marooned him. No law runs in these parts. Thompson was the best pa

t la

ften spun y

ev

like another. Once I was coming home in a coasting steamer, and got them to set me down on a point that I believed was within half-a-mile of my place. Well, I was landed, and I began walking homewards, when I found I was on the wrong track, miles and miles of mangrove swamp, cut up with

aboo pig? Reveno

a soul to be seen; not a black in the place. Their gear was all cleaned out too; there wasn't a net, nor a spear, nor a mat, nor a bowl (they're great beggars for making pipkins), not a blessed fetich stone even, in the whole place. You never saw anything so forsaken. But just in the middle of the row of huts, you might call it a street if you liked, there lay, as happy as if

did he hold

he came, speaking a kind of pigeon English. It seems he was an interpreter by trade, paying a visit to his native village; so

rth of a kid got

ns, live in the Bush, and are a good deal more savage. Now, when anything out of the way, especially anything of a fortunate kind, happens in one division of the tribe, the other division pops down

the other

hen people leave cards at your house, 'with kind inquiries'? It'

origin of such an e

we landed. But, while we were jawing with the interpreter, we heard a yell to make your hair stand on end. The Bush tribe came down on the village all in their war paint,-white clay; an arrangement, as you say, in black and white. Down they came, rushed into every hut, rushed out again, found nothing, and an awful rage they were in. They said this kind of be

apill

on the hot stones. They

ey cann

, quite a peculiar cry, when he is carrying a present of cold prisoner of war from one chief to an

?" I said, for I had been

nd they were just going to cut the poor beast's throat with a green-stone knife, when the interpreter up and told them 'hands off.' 'That's a taboo pig,' says he. 'A black fellow that died six mo

elonged to had been a Tohunga, and still 'walked,' in the shape of a lizard. Well, the interpreter, acting most fairly, I must say, explained all this to the Bush tribe, and we went down to the boat and lunched. Present

heir lips. There hadn't been much more than enough to go rou

illage. He staggered up and down, and tumbled against rocks, and finally he lay flat and held on tight. The others, most of them, were no better as soon as they tried to move. A rare fright they were in! They began praying and mumbling; praying, of all things, to the soul of the taboo pig! They thought they were being punished for the awful sin they had committed in eating him. The interpreter improved the occasion

s of Odysseus devouring th

stle, and you'll hardly get them to go out at night, even with a boiled potato in their hands, which they think good against ghosts, for fear of hearing the bogies. So I just went whistling, 'Bonny Dundee' at nights all round the location I

tno

heep, the Bungletoni

unknown. Mont

s prophecy is printed at the c

, steamers, and so forth, and may have written the prophecy as a warning of the dangers of our civilization. In that case the forgery was v

e afterwards to be interpreted, t

rds found it w

nfatuation for this stuck-up creature, who, I am sure, g

the name of a

ack had not been denounced by his great leader. We have no doubt that, at a word

m Wanderi

Mr. E. Myer

lways called M. Baud

thus arrayed, may be

or "elevator," or "elevat

n for "Mind," but the author changed his

tioned in Mr. Howell's learned tr

er's "Post-Christian Mythology."

s are undoubtedly Gre

of "the mythical name Jo." Already had Continental savants di

eems to be som

e au Livre des Souffles." Lefèbure, "Osiris

ne of the isles, who was worshipped as a deity by the ignorant people. At length he made his escape, by swimming, and was taken aboard a British vessel, whose captain accosted him rou