Chapter 2

"'Shelldrake,' said he, 'I pity you. I always knew your ignorance, but I thought you honest in your human character. I never suspected you of envy and malice. However, the true Reformer must expect to be misunderstood and misrepresented by meaner minds. That love which I bear to all creatures teaches me to forgive you. Without such love, all plans of progress must fail. Is it not so, Abel?'"

"Shelldrake could only ejaculate the words, 'Pity!' 'Forgive!' in his most contemptuous tone; while Mrs. Shelldrake, rocking violently in her chair, gave utterance to that peculiar clucking '_ts, ts, ts, ts_,' whereby certain women express emotions too deep for words.

"Abel, roused by Hollins' question, answered, with a sudden energy,--

"Love! there is no love in the world. Where will you find it? Tell me, and I'll go there. Love! I'd like to see it! If all human hearts were like mine, we might have an Arcadia; but most men have no hearts. The world is a miserable, hollow, deceitful shell of vanity and hypocrisy. No: let us give up. We were born before our time: this age is not worthy of us.'

"Hollins stared at the speaker in utter amazement. Shelldrake gave a long whistle, and finally gasped out,--

"'Well, what next?'

"None of us were prepared for such a sudden and complete wreck of our Arcadian scheme. The foundations had been sapped before, it is true; but we had not perceived it; and now, in two short days, the whole edifice tumbled about our ears. Though it was inevitable, we felt a shock of sorrow, and a silence fell upon us. Only that scamp of a Perkins Brown, chuckling and rubbing his boot, really rejoiced. I could have kicked him.

"We all went to bed, feeling that the charm of our Arcadian life was over.... In the first revulsion of feeling, I was perhaps unjust to my associates. I see now, more clearly, the causes of those vagaries, which originated in a genuine aspiration, and failed from an ignorance of the true nature of Man, quite as much as from the egotism of the individuals. Other attempts at reorganizing Society were made about the same time by men of culture and experience, but in the A.C. we had neither. Our leaders had caught a few half-truths, which, in their minds, were speedly warped into errors." ...--_The Atlantic Monthly_, February, 1862.

WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.

(BORN, 1825.)

* * * * *

DOBBS HIS FERRY.

A Legend of the Lower Hudson.

The days were at their longest, The heat was at its strongest, When Brown, old friend and true, Wrote thus: "Dear Jack, why swelter In town when shade and shelter Are waiting here for you? Quit Bulls and Bears and gambling, For rural sports and rambling Forsake your Wall Street tricks; Come without hesitation, Check to Dobbs' Ferry Station, We dine at half-past six."

I went,--a welcome hearty, A merry country party, A drive, and then croquet, A quiet, well-cooked dinner, Three times at billiards winner,-- The evening sped away; When Brown, the dear old joker, Cried, "Come, my worthy broker, The hour is growing late; Your room is cool and quiet, As for the bed, just try it, Breakfast at half-past eight."

I took Brown's hand, applauded His generous care, and lauded Dobbs' Ferry to the skies. A shade came o'er his features, "We should be happy creatures, And this a paradise, But, ah! the deep disgrace is, This loveliest of places A vulgar name should blight! But, death to Dobbs! we'll change it, If money can arrange it, So, pleasant dreams; good night!"

I could not sleep, but, raising The window, stood, moon-gazing, In fairyland a guest; "On such a night," _et cetera_-- See Shakespeare for much better a Description of the rest,-- I mused, how sweet to wander Beside the river, yonder; And then the sudden whim Seized my head to pillow On Hudson's sparkling billow, A midnight, moonlight swim!

Soon thought and soon attempted; At once my room was emptied Of its sole occupant; The roof was low, and easily, In fact, quite Japanese-ily, I took the downward slant, Then, without stay or stopping, My first and last eaves-dropping, By leader-pipe I sped, And through the thicket gliding, Down the steep hillside sliding, Soon reached the river's bed.

But what was my amazement,-- The fair scene from the casement, How changed! I could not guess Where track or rails had vanished, Town, villas, station, banished,-- All was a wilderness. Only one ancient gable, A low-roofed inn and stable, A creaking sign displayed, An antiquated wherry, Below it--"DOBBS HIS FERRY"-- In the clear moonlight swayed.

I turned, and there the craft was, Its shape 'twixt scow and raft was, Square ends, low sides, and flat, And standing close beside me, An ancient chap who eyed me, Beneath a steeple-hat; Short legs--long pipe--style very Pre-Revolutionary,-- I bow, he grimly bobs, Then, with some perturbation, By way of salutation, Says I, "How are you, Dobbs!"

He grum and silent beckoned, And I, in half a second, Scarce knowing what I did, Took the stern seat, Dobbs throwing Himself 'midships, and rowing, Swift through the stream we slid; He pulled awhile, then stopping, And both oars slowly dropping, His pipe aside he laid, Drew a long breath, and taking An attitude, and shaking His fist towards shore, thus said:--

"Of all sharp cuts the keenest, Of all mean turns the meanest, Vilest of all vile jobs, Worse than the Cow-Boy pillagers, Are these Dobbs' Ferry villagers A going back on Dobbs! 'Twould not be more anom'lous If Rome went back on Rom'lus (Old rum-un like myself), Or Hail Columbia, played out By Southern Dixie, laid out Columbus on the shelf!

"They say 'Dobbs' ain't melodious, It's 'horrid,' 'vulgar,' 'odious,' In all their crops it sticks; And then the worse addendum Of 'Ferry' does offend 'em More than its vile prefix. Well, it does seem distressing, But, if I'm good at guessing, Each one of these same nobs, If there was money in it, Would ferry in a minute, And change his name to Dobbs!

"That's it, they're not partic'lar, Respecting the auric'lar, At a stiff market rate; But Dobbs' especial vice is, That he keeps down the prices Of all their real estate! A name so unattractive Keeps villa-sites inactive, And spoils the broker's jobs; They think that speculation Would rage at 'Paulding's Station,' Which stagnates now at 'Dobbs.'

"'Paulding's!"--that's sentimental! An old Dutch Continental, Bushwhacked up there a spell; But why he should come blustering Round here, and filibustering, Is more than I can tell; Sat playing for a wager, And nabbed a British major. Well, if the plans and charts From Andre's boots he hauled out, Is his name to be bawled out Forever, round these parts?

"Guess not! His pay and bounty And mon'ment from the county Paid him off, every cent, While this snug town and station, To every generation, Shall be Dobbs' monument; Spite of all speculators And ancient-landmark traitors, Who, all along this shore, Are ever substitutin' The modern, highfalutin', For the plain names of yore.

"Down there, on old Manhattan, Where land-sharks breed and fatten, They've wiped out Tubby Hook. That famous promontory, Renowned in song and story, Which time nor tempest shook, Whose name for aye had been good, Stands newly christened 'Inwood,' And branded with the shame Of some old rogue who passes By dint of aliases, Afraid of his own name!

"See how they quite outrival, Plain barnyard Spuytenduyvil, By peacock Riverdale, Which thinks all else it conquers, And over homespun Yonkers Spreads out its flaunting tail! There's new-named Mount St. Vincent, Where each dear little inn'cent Is taught the Popish rites,-- Well, ain't it queer, wherever These saints possess the river They get the finest sites!

"They've named a place for Irving, A trifle more deserving Than your French, foreign saints, But if he has such mention, It's past my comprehension Why Dobbs should cause complaints; Wrote histories and such things, About Old Knick and Dutch things, Dolph Heyligers and Rips; But no old antiquary Like him could keep a ferry, With all his authorships!

"By aid of these same showmen, Some fanciful cognomen Old Cro'nest stock might bring As high as Butter Hill is, Which, patronized by Willis, Leaves cards now as 'Storm-King!' Can't some poetic swell-beau Re-christen old Crum Elbow And each prosaic bluff, Bold Breakneck gently flatter, And Dunderberg bespatter, With euphony and stuff!

"'T would be a _magnum opus_ To bury old Esopus In Time's sepulchral vaults, Or in Oblivion's deep sea Submerge renowned Poughkeepsie, And also ancient Paltz; How it would give them rapture Brave Stony Point to capture, And make it face about; Bid Rhinebeck sound much smoother Than in the tongue of Luther, And wipe the Catskills out!

"Well, DOBBS is DOBBS, and faster Than pitch or mustard-plaster Shall it stick hereabouts, While Tappan Sea rolls yonder, Or round High Torn the thunder Along these ramparts shouts. No corner-lot banditti, Or brokers from the City-- Like you--" Here Dobbs began Wildly both oars to brandish, As fierce as old Miles Standish, Or young Phil Sheridan.

Sternwards he rushed,--I, ducking, Seized both his legs, and chucking Dobbs sideways, splash he went,-- The wherry swayed, then righted, While I, somewhat excited, Over the water bent; Three times he rose, but vainly I clutched his form ungainly, He sank, while sighs and sobs Beneath the waves seemed muttered, And all the night-winds uttered In sad tones, "Dobbs! Dobbs! Dobbs!"

Just then some giant boulders Upon my head and shoulders Made sudden, fearful raids, And on my face and forehead, With din and uproar horrid, Came several Palisades; I screamed, and woke, in screaming, To see, by gaslight's gleaming, Brown's face above my bed; "Why, Jack, what is the matter? We heard a dreadful clatter And found you on the shed!

"It's plain enough, supposing You sat there, moon-struck, dozing, Upon the window's edge, Then lost yourself, and falling, Just where we found you, sprawling, Struck the piazza ledge; A lucky hit, old fellow, Of black and blue and yellow It gives your face a touch, You saved your neck, but barely; To state the matter fairly, You took a drop too much!"

I took the train next morning, Some lumps my nose adorning, My forehead, sundry knobs, My ideas slightly wandering, But, as I went, much pondering Upon my night with Dobbs; Brown thinks it, dear old sinner, A case of "after dinner," And won't believe a word, Talks of "hallucination," "Laws of association," And calls my tale "absurd."

Perhaps it is, but never, Say I, should we dissever Old places and old names; Guard the old landmarks truly, On the old altars duly Keep bright the ancient flames. For me the face of Nature, No luckless nomenclature Of grace or beauty robs; No, when of town I weary, I'll make a strike in Erie, And buy a place at DOBBS!

--_Poems._

JOHN WILLIAM DE FOREST.

(BORN, 1826.)

* * * * *

FATHER HIGGINS'S PREFERMENT.

Father Higgins was not the kind of divine who easily finds preferment in the Catholic Church, or who would be apt to make a shining mark in any other.

Fat and red-faced and pudding-headed was Father Higgins; uncommonly in the way of good eating, and now and then disposed for good drinking; as lazy as he dared be, ignorant enough for a hermit, and simple enough for a monk. His chief excellence lay in his kindliness of heart, which would doubtless have made him very serviceable and comfortable to his fellow-men, had it not been for his indolence, his spare intellectual gifts, and perhaps a little leaven of selfishness.

Such as he was, however, Father Higgins had no small "consate" of himself, and sometimes thought that even a bishopric would not be "beyant his desarts." He pleased himself with imagining how finely he would fill an episcopal chair, what apostolic labors he would accomplish in his diocese, what swarms of heretics or pagans he would convert, what a self-sacrificing and heroic life he would lead, and what a saintly name he would leave. One day, or to speak with a precision worthy of this true history, one evening, he became a bishop.

It happened on this wise. Father Higgins had ventured to treat himself to a spectacle. He had attended, for the first time in his life, an exhibition of legerdemain; this one being given by that celebrated master of the black-art, Professor Heller. He had seen the professor change turnips into gold watches, draw a dozen live pigeons in succession out of an empty box, send rings into ladies' handkerchiefs at the other end of the hall, catch a bullet out of an exploded pistol in his hand, and perform other marvels equally irrational and disturbing. From this raree-show Father Higgins had gone home feeling that he had witnessed something about as unearthly as he was likely to be confronted with in the next world.

For an hour or more he sat in his elbow-chair, puzzling over the professor's "diviltries," and crossing himself at the remembrance of each one of them. It was black midnight, and stormy at that; there was such an uproar in the elm branches over his house as if all the Salem witches were holding Sabbath there; the whole village of Sableburg swarmed with windy rushings and shriekings and slammings. It was one of those midnights when the devil evidently "has business on his hand."

Of a sudden there was a rustle in the room, and looking around to discover the cause of it, Father Higgins beheld a tall and dark man with startling black eyes, in whom he recognized Professor Heller.

"What's yer will, sir?" demanded the Father, a good deal astonished, but not a bit frightened.

"I understand, sir, that you would like to be a bishop," replied the professor, bowing politely, but seating himself unceremoniously.

"That's thrue enough, sir," replied Father Higgins, who somehow felt curiously at his ease, and disposed at once to be confidential with this utter stranger. "I've often imagined meself a bishop, an' doin' wondhers in me office. But it's nonsinse."

"What post would suit you?" inquired the visitor. "The diocese of New York?"

"No, no," said the father. "I'm not ayqual to sich a risponsebility; that is, not at wanst, ye ondherstand. I'd like best to come up to sich a place as that gintly an' by degrays. It's been a drame av mine to begin my prefarmint as biship av some far-away continent or archypilago, like, an' convart slathers av haythins an' cannebals for a practice. It ud plase me imagenation to prache among corrils an' coky-nuts an' naked crachurs. Y' are aware, I suppose, Misther Heller--or Professor Heller--av sich islands as Owyhee an' the Marquesas, famous a'ready in the history av the Propaganda Fide. Jist suppose me havin' me episkepal raysedence on wan av 'um, an' makin' me progresses to the others. There be great devoshin to a spiritual father among thim simple people, I'm thinkin.' I'd be a god to 'um, like. Sich obeyjince ud jist shuit me. Yes, I'd enj'y bein' Biship av the Cannebal Islands, or even av wan av um."

"Faith is necessary," replied Heller. "You must believe that you are to be Bishop of the Cannibal Islands."

"Sure an' it's not aisy at this distance to belave in the islands thimselves, let alone bein' spiritual father av the same," smiled the priest. "Howandiver, there's no harrum in tryin' to belave, an' so here goes for the exparimint. If ye'll kape silence a bit, I'll jist collect me moind on the subject, an' we'll see what happens."

For a moment the gray, piggish eyes of the Father, and the black, gleaming, mysterious orbs of his visitor were fixed upon each other. In the next moment Heller, bowing with a ceremonious air of respect, inquired, "What are your commands, my lord bishop?"

Startled by a consciousness of some wonderful change, doubtful in what land he was, or even in what age of the world, Father Higgins stared about him in expectation. A sunny shore, scattered groves of cocoa-nut trees, distant villages of circular huts, beyond them far-stretching forests and a smoking volcano; on the hither side bays alive with carved and painted canoes, near at hand a gathering crowd of half-naked savages--such were the objects that filled his vision.

"So this is me diocese," he said, without feeling the least surprise. "Well, the climate is deloightful. Let us hope that the coky-nuts will agree wid us, an' that the natives won't urge upon us the blissins av martyrdom. Professor, what may be the spiritual condition av things hereaway, do ye think?"

"A clear field--not a convert yet. Your predecessor, who went through the office of being eaten a year ago, had not even learned the language."

"The blissid saints watch over us! To hear the likes av that, whin I expected to be a god, like, among these wretches! Well, it's our duty we must do, Heller; we mustn't run away from our post; indade, we can't. Moreover, I feel a sthrong confidence that the howly Catholic Church is to be greatly glorified by me on these islands. What do ye say now to meself exhibitin' the gift av miracles an' tongues? If I should discoorse to these cannebals in their own contimptible language, would it surprise ye, Heller?"

"No," smiled the professor. "I have seen greater marvels in my time. I have seen men preach not merely words, but feelings and faiths, that they were ignorant of."

Father Higgins, closely followed by Heller, now advanced to a green hillock, a few rods from the shelly and pebbly beach, knelt down upon the thin sward, and repeated a prayer. Meantime the population gathered; behind them canoe after canoe touched the shore; before them there was a swift, tumultuous hurrying from the villages; presently they were surrounded by a compact, eager, barbaric multitude. The babble of its wonder turned to silence as the priest rose, extended his fat hands, and commenced a sermon.

Father Higgins was not a bit astonished at hearing himself pour forth a torrent of words which he did not understand, nor at seeing in the faces of his wild listeners that they perfectly comprehended his discourse. It was merely a supernatural inspiration; it was but another exhibition of the heavenly gifts of the Church; he was as much at his ease as if he had been in the habit of working miracles from his cradle. At the close of his harangue he took out his breviary, and translated a prayer into the unknown tongue. Evidently the auditors understood this also, for while some crouched to earth in undisguisable terror, others looked upward as if expecting an answer from the sky.

Presently a savage, in a many-colored robe of feathers, stepped in front of the multitude, and uttered a few sentences.

"It's a mighty quare providence that this miracle works ownly wan way," observed Father Higgins to Heller. "It's meself can prache acceptably to this poor haythin, an' it's meself, loikewise, can't sense a blissid word he gabbles."

"He is comparing you with your predecessor," exclaimed the professor. "He says the other man called himself a messenger from God; but as he could not talk Feejee, they saw that he was a liar, because God knows every language; and so, having found him a liar, they fattened him with fish and cocoa-nuts, and ate him. As for you, they admit that you are a heavenly personage, and they mean to worship you."

"How came ye to larn the language, annyway?" demanded the priest.

"I have wandered to and fro in the earth a good deal," replied Heller. "I have performed some of my best black-art in these islands."

Father Higgins, rather bothered by these statements, was about to ask further questions, when he was seized by four sturdy natives, who mounted him upon their naked shoulders, while four others uplifted the professor in like manner, all then setting off rapidly toward the village, followed by the whole crowd in procession.

"An' what if I should tell ye I had conscientious scruples agenst lettin' meself be adored for a heavenly personage?" objected the good Father.

"Don't think of it," counselled Heller. "Being worshipped is infinitely more agreeable than being eaten. Besides, consider the interests of the Church. If you are set up as a god, you can use the position to sprinkle holy water on your adorers, and so convert the whole island without trouble."

"Sure y' are mighty well varsed in the precepts and customs av the Jesuit Fathers," answered the priest, with a stare of wonder and admiration. "I moind me now that the missionaries in Chaynee baptized lashins av haythin babies under pretinse av rubbin' um with medicine. An' it's a maxim that whin the ind is salvatory, the manes are justified. It's a maxim, also, that y' ave no business to lead yer felly-crachurs into sin. Now cannebalism is a sin; it ud be a sin capital for these fellies to ate us; an', av coorse, it follies that it ud be a sin in me to timpt um to do it. But, by sufferin' meself to be worshipped I prevint that same. So, I advise an' counsel, Heller, that we go on as we are for a bit longer, until a proper time comes to expose the whole av the thrue faith."

Beguiling the way with such like discourse, Father Higgins journeyed on to the nearest village, where his bearers halted before an unusually large hut, evidently serving as a temple. In the door of this building the principal chief took post, and waving his hand toward the crowd, made the following speech:

"Hear, O chiefs! hear, O priests of our religion ye men of Feejee, hear! The god who can come over the waters is greater than the god who can only abide upon the land, and shall have his house and his sacrifices. Whosoever disapproves of this, let him offer himself for the trial of the sacred poison; if he is not ready so to do, let him hereafter hold his peace and submit."

No one objecting, the chief beckoned the bearers to follow him, and led the way into the temple. Mounting a platform eight or ten feet high, he advanced to an ugly scarecrow of an idol, slapped it, kicked it, and toppled it to the ground. Then, with vast labor and much joyful shouting, the ponderous form of Father Higgins was hoisted aloft, and installed in the seat of the dethroned deity. Next Professor Heller was set down upon his feet beside an altar which stood in front of the platform.

"What are ye afther doin', Heller?" inquired the clergyman from his eminence.

"I am about to sacrifice to your divinity two green cocoa-nuts, two roasted bread-fruit, and half a dozen fishes," was the answer.

"Well, I suppose it must be permitted," sighed Father Higgins. "Go on wid yer sacrifice, me dear felly. I presume, av coorse, that it will be in ordher for me to ate some av it. Let the fishes be well cooked, by-the-way, and sarved wid some kind av sauce. I'd almost as lave be devoured meself as devour raw fishes."

"Really, I have some scruples," smiled the mischievous professor. "You might shock the devotional feelings of your new worshippers."

"I insist upon it, Heller. I tell ye I won't ate raw fishes to convart a continent av haythins, much less a little bit island av 'um."