CHRISTMAS WAITS IN BOSTON.
FROM THE INGHAM PAPERS.
[When my friends of the Boston Daily Advertiser asked me last year tocontribute to their Christmas number, I was very glad to recall thisscrap of Mr. Ingham's memoirs.
For in most modern Christmas stories I have observed that the rich wakeup of a sudden to befriend the poor, and that the moral is educed fromsuch compassion. The incidents in this story show, what all life shows,that the poor befriend the rich as truly as the rich the poor: that, inthe Christian life, each needs all.
I have been asked a dozen times how far the story is true. Of course nosuch series of incidents has ever taken place in this order in four orfive hours. But there is nothing told here which has not parallelsperfectly fair in my experience or in that of any working minister.]
* * * * *
I always give myself a Christmas present.
And on this particular year the present was a carol party, which isabout as good fun, all things consenting kindly, as a man can have.
Many things must consent, as will appear. First of all, there must begood sleighing; and second, a fine night for Christmas eve. Ours are notthe carollings of your poor shivering little East Angles or SouthMercians, where they have to plod round afoot in countries which do notknow what a sleigh-ride is.
I had asked Harry to have sixteen of the best voices in the chapelschool to be trained to five or six good carols, without knowing why. Wedid not care to disappoint them if a February thaw setting in on the24th of December should break up the spree before it began. Then I hadtold Howland that he must reserve for me a span of good horses, and asleigh that I could pack sixteen small children into, tight-stowed.Howland is always good about such things, knew what the sleigh was for,having done the same in other years, and made the span four horses ofhis own accord, because the children would like it better, and "it wouldbe no difference to him." Sunday night, as the weather nymphs ordered,the wind hauled round to the northwest and everything froze hard. Mondaynight, things moderated and the snow began to fall steadily,--sosteadily; and so Tuesday night the Metropolitan people gave up theirunequal contest, all good men and angels rejoicing at theirdiscomfiture, and only a few of the people in the very lowest _Bolgie_being ill-natured enough to grieve. And thus it was, that by Thursdayevening was one hard compact roadway from Copp's Hill to theBone-burner's Gehenna, fit for good men and angels to ride over, withoutjar, without noise, and without fatigue to horse or man. So it was thatwhen I came down with Lycidas to the chapel at seven o'clock, I foundHarry had gathered there his eight pretty girls and his eight jollyboys, and had them practising for the last time,
"Carol, carol, Christians, Carol joyfully; Carol for the coming Of Christ's nativity."
I think the children had got inkling of what was coming, or perhapsHarry had hinted it to their mothers. Certainly they were warmlydressed, and when, fifteen minutes afterwards, Howland came roundhimself with the sleigh, he had put in as many rugs and bear-skins as ifhe thought the children were to be taken new-born from their respectivecradles. Great was the rejoicing as the bells of the horses rang beneaththe chapel windows, and Harry did not get his last _da capo_ for hislast carol. Not much matter indeed, for they were perfect enough in itbefore midnight.
Lycidas and I tumbled in on the back seat, each with a child in his lapto keep us warm; I flanked by Sam Perry, and he by John Rich, both ofthe mercurial age, and therefore good to do errands. Harry was in frontsomewhere flanked in like wise, and the other children lay inmiscellaneously between, like sardines when you have first opened thebox I had invited Lycidas, because, besides being my best friend, he isthe best fellow in the world, and so deserves the best Christmas eve cangive him. Under the full moon, on the still white snow, with sixteenchildren at the happiest, and with the blessed memories of the best theworld has ever had, there can be nothing better than two or three suchhours.
"First, driver, out on Commonwealth Avenue. That will tone down thehorses. Stop on the left after you have passed Fairfield Street." So wedashed up to the front of Haliburton's palace, where he was keeping hisfirst Christmas tide. And the children, whom Harry had hushed down for asquare or two, broke forth with good full voice under his strong lead in
"Shepherd of tender sheep,"
singing with all that unconscious pathos with which children do sing,and starting the tears in your eyes in the midst of your gladness. Theinstant the horses' bells stopped their voices began. In an instant morewe saw Haliburton and Anna run to the window and pull up the shades, andin a minute more faces at all the windows. And so the children sungthrough Clement's old hymn. Little did Clement think of bells and snow,as he taught it in his Sunday school there in Alexandria. But perhapsto-day, as they pin up the laurels and the palm in the chapel atAlexandria, they are humming the words, not thinking of Clement morethan he thought of us. As the children closed with
"Swell the triumphant song To Christ, our King."
Haliburton came running out, and begged me to bring them in. But I toldhim, "No," as soon as I could hush their shouts of "Merry Christmas";that we had a long journey before us, and must not alight by the way.And the children broke out with
"Hail to the night, Hail to the day,"
rather a favorite,--quicker and more to the childish taste perhaps thanthe other,--and with another "Merry Christmas" we were off again.
Off, the length of Commonwealth Avenue, to where it crosses theBrookline branch of the Mill-Dam, dashing along with the gayest of thesleighing-parties as we came back into town, up Chestnut Street, throughLouisburg Square; ran the sleigh into a bank on the slope of PinckneyStreet in front of Walter's house; and, before they suspected there thatany one had come, the children were singing
"Carol, carol, Christians, Carol joyfully."
Kisses flung from the window; kisses flung back from the street. "MerryChristmas" again with a good-will, and then one of the girls began,
"When Anna took the baby, And pressed his lips to hers,"
and all of them fell in so cheerily. O dear me! it is a scrap of oldEphrem the Syrian, if they did but know it! And when, after this, Harrywould fain have driven on, because two carols at one house was therule, how the little witches begged that they might sing just one songmore there, because Mrs. Alexander had been so kind to them, when sheshowed them about the German stitches. And then up the hill and over tothe North End, and as far as we could get the horses up into Moon Court,that they might sing to the Italian image-man who gave Lucy the boy anddog in plaster, when she was sick in the spring. For the children had,you know, the choice of where they would go, and they select their bestfriends, and will be more apt to remember the Italian image-man thanChrysostom himself, though Chrysostom should have "made a few remarks"to them seventeen times in the chapel. Then the Italian image-man heardfor the first time in his life
"Now is the time of Christmas come,"
and
"Jesus in his babes abiding."
And then we came up Hanover Street and stopped under Mr. Gerry's chapel,where they were dressing the walls with their evergreens, and gave them
"Hail to the night, Hail to the day,"
and so down State Street and stopped at the Advertiser office, because,when the boys gave their "Literary Entertainment," Mr. Hale put in theiradvertisement for nothing, and up in the old attic there the compositorswere relieved to hear
"Nor war nor battle sound,"
and
"The waiting world was still;"
so that even the leading editor relaxed from his gravity, and the"In-General" man from his more serious views, and the Daily the nextmorning wished everybody a merry Christmas with even more unction, andresolved that in coming years it would have a supplement, large enoughto contain all the good wishes. So away again to the houses ofconfectioners who had given the children candy,--to Miss Simonds'shouse, because she had been so good to them in sc
hool,--to the palacesof millionnaires who had prayed for these children with tears if thechildren only knew it,--to Dr. Frothingham's in Summer Street, Iremember, where we stopped because the Boston Association of Ministersmet here,--and out on Dover Street Bridge, that the poor chair-mendermight hear our carols sung once more before he heard them better sung inan other world where nothing needs mending.
"King of glory, king of peace!" "Hear the song, and see the Star!" "Welcome be thou, heavenly King!" "Was not Christ our Saviour?"
and all the others, rung out with order or without order, breaking thehush directly as the horses' bells were stilled, thrown into the airwith all the gladness of childhood, selected sometimes as Harry happenedto think best for the hearers, but more often as the jubilant anduncontrolled enthusiasm of the children bade them break out in the mostjoyous, least studied, and purely lyrical of all. O, we went to twentyplaces that night, I suppose! We went to the grandest places in Boston,and we went to the meanest. Everywhere they wished us a merry Christmas,and we them. Everywhere a little crowd gathered round us, and then wedashed away far enough to gather quite another crowd; and then back,perhaps, not sorry to double on our steps if need were, and leavingevery crowd with a happy thought of
"The star, the manger, and the Child!"
At nine we brought up at my house, D Street, three doors from thecorner, and the children picked their very best for Polly and my sixlittle girls to hear, and then for the first time we let them jump outand run in. Polly had some hot oysters for them, so that the frolic wascrowned with a treat. There was a Christmas cake cut into sixteenpieces, which they took home to dream upon; and then hoods and muffs onagain, and by ten o'clock, or a little after, we had all the girls andall the little ones at their homes. Four of the big boys, our twoflankers and Harry's right and left hand men, begged that they mightstay till the last moment. They could walk back from the stable, and"rather walk than not, indeed." To which we assented, having gainedparental permission, as we left younger sisters in their respectivehomes.
II.
Lycidas and I both thought, as we went into these modest houses, toleave the children, to say they had been good and to wish a "MerryChristmas" ourselves to fathers, mothers, and to guardian aunts, thatthe welcome of those homes was perhaps the best part of it all. Here wasthe great stout sailor-boy whom we had not seen since he came back fromsea. He was a mere child when he left our school years on years ago, forthe East, on board Perry's vessel, and had been round the world. Herewas brave Mrs. Masury. I had not seen her since her mother died."Indeed, Mr. Ingham, I got so used to watching then, that I cannot sleepwell yet o' nights; I wish you knew some poor creature that wanted meto-night, if it were only in memory of Bethlehem." "You take a deal oftrouble for the children," said Campbell, as he crushed my hand in his;"but you know they love you, and you know I would do as much for you andyours,"--which I knew was true. "What can I send to your children?" saidDalton, who was finishing sword-blades. (Ill wind was Fort Sumter, butit blew good to poor Dalton, whom it set up in the world with hissword-factory.) "Here's an old-fashioned tape-measure for the girl, anda Sheffield wimble for the boy. What, there is no boy? Let one of thegirls have it then; it will count one more present for her." And so hepressed his brown-paper parcel into my hand. From every house, thoughit were the humblest, a word of love, as sweet, in truth, as if we couldhave heard the voice of angels singing in the sky.
I bade Harry good night; took Lycidas to his lodgings, and gave his wifemy Christmas wishes and good night; and, coming down to the sleighagain, gave way to the feeling which I think you will all understand,that this was not the time to stop, but just the time to begin. For thestreets were stiller now, and the moon brighter than ever, if possible,and the blessings of these simple people and of the grand people, and ofthe very angels in heaven, who are not bound to the misery of usingwords when they have anything worth saying,--all these wishes andblessings were round me, all the purity of the still winter night, and Ididn't want to lose it all by going to bed to sleep. So I put the boysall together, where they could chatter, took one more brisk turn on thetwo avenues, and then, passing through Charles Street, I believe I waseven thinking of Cambridge, I noticed the lights in Woodhull's house,and, seeing they were up, thought I would make Fanny a midnight call.She came to the door herself. I asked if she were waiting for SantaClaus, but saw in a moment that I must not joke with her. She said shehad hoped I was her husband. In a minute was one of those contrastswhich make life, life. God puts us into the world that we may try themand be tried by them.
Poor Fanny's mother had been blocked up on the Springfield train as shewas coming on to Christmas. The old lady had been chilled through, andwas here in bed now with pneumonia. Both Fanny's children had beenailing when she came, and this morning the doctor had pronounced itscarlet fever. Fanny had not undressed herself since Monday, nor slept,I thought, in the same time. So while we had been singing carols andwishing merry Christmas, the poor child had been waiting, and hopingthat her husband or Edward, both of whom were on the tramp, would findfor her and bring to her the model nurse, who had not yet appeared. Butat midnight this unknown sister had not arrived, nor had either of themen returned. When I rang, Fanny had hoped I was one of them.Professional paragons, dear reader, are shy of scarlet fever. I told thepoor child that it was better as it was. I wrote a line for Sam Perry totake to his aunt, Mrs. Masury, in which I simply said: "Dear mamma, Ihave found the poor creature who wants you to-night. Come back in thiscarriage." I bade him take a hack at Gates's, where they were all upwaiting for the assembly to be done at Papanti's. I sent him over toAlbany Street; and really as I sat there trying to soothe Fanny, itseemed to me less time than it has taken to dictate this little storyabout her, before Mrs. Masury rang gently, and I left them, having madeFanny promise that she would consecrate the day, which at that momentwas born, by trusting God, by going to bed and going to sleep, knowingthat her children were in much better hands than hers. As I passed outof the hall, the gas-light fell on a print of Correggio's Adoration,where Woodhull had himself written years before,
"Ut appareat iis qui in tenebris et umbra mortis positi sunt."
"Darkness and the shadow of death" indeed, and what light like the lightand comfort such a woman as my Mary Masury brings!
And so, but for one of the accidents, as we call them, I should havedropped the boys at the corner of Dover Street, and gone home with myChristmas lesson.
But it happened, as we irreverently say,--it happened as we crossed ParkSquare, so called from its being an irregular pentagon of which one ofthe sides has been taken away, that I recognized a tall man, ploddingacross in the snow, head down, round-shouldered, stooping forward inwalking, with his right shoulder higher than his left; and by thesetokens I knew Tom Coram, prince among Boston princes. Not Thomas Coramthat built the Foundling Hospital, though he was of Boston too; but hewas longer ago. You must look for him in Addison's contribution to asupplement to the Spectator,--the old Spectator, I mean, not theThursday Spectator, which is more recent. Not Thomas Coram, I say, butTom Coram, who would build a hospital to-morrow, if you showed him theneed, without waiting to die first, and always helps forward, as aprince should, whatever is princely, be it a statue at home, a school inRichmond, a newspaper in Florida, a church in Exeter, a steam-line toLiverpool, or a widow who wants a hundred dollars. I wished him a merryChristmas, and Mr. Howland, by a fine instinct, drew up the horses as Ispoke. Coram shook hands; and, as it seldom happens that I have an emptycarriage while he is on foot, I asked him if I might not see him home.He was glad to get in. We wrapped him up with spoils of the bear, thefox, and the bison, turned the horses' heads again,--five hours nowsince they started on this entangled errand of theirs,--and gave him hisride. "I was thinking of you at the moment," said Coram,--"thinking ofold college times, of the mystery of language as unfolded by the AbbeFaria to Edmond Dantes in the depths of the Chateau d'If. I waswondering if you could teach me Japanese, if I asked you to
a Christmasdinner." I laughed. Japan was really a novelty then, and I asked himsince when he had been in correspondence with the sealed country. Itseemed that their house at Shanghae had just sent across there theiragents for establishing the first house in Edomo, in Japan, under thenew treaty. Everything looked promising, and the beginnings were madefor the branch which has since become Dot and Trevilyan there. Of thishe had the first tidings in his letters by the mail of that afternoon.John Coram, his brother, had written to him, and had said that heenclosed for his amusement the Japanese bill of particulars, as it hadbeen drawn out, on which they had founded their orders for the firstassorted cargo ever to be sent from America to Edomo. Bill ofparticulars there was, stretching down the long tissue-paper inexquisite chirography. But by some freak of the "total depravity ofthings," the translated order for the assorted cargo was not there. JohnCoram, in his care to fold up the Japanese writing nicely, had left onhis own desk at Shanghae the more intelligible English. "And so I mustwait," said Tom philosophically, "till the next East India mail for myorders, certain that seven English houses have had less enthusiastic andphilological correspondents than my brother."
I said I did not see that. That I could not teach him to speak theTaghalian dialects so well, that he could read them with facility beforeSaturday. But I could do a good deal better. Did he remember writing anote to old Jack Percival for me five years ago? No, he remembered nosuch thing; he knew Jack Percival, but never wrote a note to him in hislife. Did he remember giving me fifty dollars, because I had taken adelicate boy, whom I was going to send to sea, and I was not quitesatisfied with the government outfit? No, he did not remember that,which was not strange, for that was a thing he was doing every day,"Well, I don't care how much you remember, but the boy about whom youwrote to Jack Percival, for whose mother's ease of mind you providedthe half-hundred, is back again,--strong, straight, and well; what ismore to the point, he had the whole charge of Perry's commissariat onshore at Yokohama, was honorably discharged out there, reads Japanesebetter than you read English; and if it will help you at all, he shallbe here at your house at breakfast." For as I spoke we stopped atCoram's door. "Ingham," said Coram, "if you were not a parson, I shouldsay you were romancing." "My child," said I, "I sometimes write aparable for the Atlantic; but the words of my lips are verity, as allthose of the Sandemanians. Go to bed; do not even dream of the Taghaliandialects; be sure that the Japanese interpreter will breakfast with you,and the next time you are in a scrape send for the nearest minister.George, tell your brother Ezra that Mr. Coram wishes him to breakfasthere to-morrow morning at eight o'clock; don't forget the number,Pemberton Square, you know." "Yes, sir," said George; and Thomas Coramlaughed, said "Merry Christmas," and we parted.
It was time we were all in bed, especially these boys. But glad enougham I as I write these words that the meeting of Coram set us back thatdropped-stitch in our night's journey. There was one more delay. We weresweeping by the Old State House, the boys singing again, "Carol, carol,Christians," as we dashed along the still streets, when I caught sightof Adams Todd, and he recognized me. He had heard us singing when wewere at the Advertiser office. Todd is an old fellow-apprentice ofmine,--and he is now, or rather was that night, chief pressman in theArgus office. I like the Argus people,--it was there that I was SouthAmerican Editor, now many years ago,--and they befriend me to this hour.Todd hailed me, and once more I stopped. "What sent you out from yourwarm steam-boiler?" "Steam-boiler, indeed," said Todd. "Two rivetsloose,--steam-room full of steam,--police frightened,--neighborhood in arow,--and we had to put out the fire. She would have run a week withouthurting a fly,--only a little puff in the street sometimes. But there weare, Ingham. We shall lose the early mail as it stands. Seventy-eighttokens to be worked now." They always talked largely of their edition atthe Argus. Saw it with many eyes, perhaps; but this time, I am sure,Todd spoke true. I caught his idea at once. In younger and more musculartimes, Todd and I had worked the Adams press by that fly-wheel for fullfive minutes at a time, as a test of strength; and in my mind's eye, Isaw that he was printing his paper at this moment with relays ofgrinding stevedores. He said it was so. "But think of it to-night," saidhe. "It is Christmas eve, and not an Irishman to be hired, though onepaid him ingots. Not a man can stand the grind ten minutes." I knew thatvery well from old experience, and I thanked him inwardly for notsaying "the demnition grind," with Mantihni. "We cannot run the presshalf the time," said he; "and the men we have are giving out now. Weshall lose all our carrier delivery." "Todd," said I, "is this a nightto be talking of ingots, or hiring, or losing, or gaining? When will youlearn that Love rules the court, the camp, and the Argus office." And Iwrote on the back of a letter to Campbell: "Come to the Argus office,No. 2 Dassett's Alley, with seven men not afraid to work"; and I gave itto John and Sam, bade Howland take the boys to Campbell's house,--walkeddown with Todd to his office,--challenged him to take five minutes atthe wheel, in memory of old times,--made the tired relays laugh as theysaw us take hold; and then,--when I had cooled off, and put on myCardigan,--met Campbell, with his seven sons of Anak, tumbling down thestairs, wondering what round of mercy the parson had found for them thistime. I started home, knowing I should now have my Argus with my coffee.
III.
And so I walked home. Better so, perhaps, after all, than in the livelysleigh, with the tinkling bells.
"It was a calm and silent night!-- Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea! No sound was heard of clashing wars,-- Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago!"
What an eternity it seemed since I started with those children singingcarols. Bethlehem, Nazareth, Calvary, Rome, Roman senators, Tiberius,Paul, Nero, Clement, Ephrem, Ambrose, and all the singers,--Vincent dePaul, and all the loving wonderworkers, Milton and Herbert and all thecarol-writers, Luther and Knox and all the prophets,--what a world ofpeople had been keeping Christmas with Sam Perry and Lycidas and Harryand me; and here were Yokohama and the Japanese, the Daily Argus and itsten million tokens and their readers,--poor Fanny Woodhull and her sickmother there, keeping Christmas too! For a finite world, these are agood many "waits" to be singing in one poor fellow's ears on oneChristmas-tide.
"'Twas in the calm and silent night!-- The senator of haughty Rome, Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel, roiling home. Triumphal arches gleaming swell His breast, with thoughts of boundless sway What recked the _Roman_ what befell A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago!
"Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay, Fallen through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He passed,--for naught Told _what was going on within_; How keen the stars, his only thought, The air how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago!"
"Streak of light"--Is there a light in Lycidas's room? They not in bed!That is making a night of it! Well, there are few hours of the day ornight when I have not been in Lycidas's room, so I let myself in by thenight-key he gave me, ran up the stairs,--it is a horrid seven-storied,first-class lodging-house. For my part, I had as lief live in a steeple.Two flights I ran up, two steps at a time,--I was younger then than I amnow,--pushed open the door which was ajar, and saw such a scene ofconfusion as I never saw in Mary's over-nice parlor before. Queer! Iremember the first thing that I saw was wrong was a great ball of whiteGerman worsted on the floor. Her basket was upset. A greatChristmas-tree lay across the rug, quite too high for the room; a largesharp-pointed Spanish clasp-knife was by it, with which they had beenlopping it; there were two immense baskets of white papered presents,both upset; but what frightened me most was the centre-table. Three orfour handkerchiefs on it,--towels, napkins, I know not what,--all brownand red and
almost black with blood! I turned, heart-sick, to look intothe bedroom,--and I really had a sense of relief when I saw somebody.Bad enough it was, however. Lycidas, but just now so strong and well,lay pale and exhausted on the bloody bed, with the clothing removed fromhis right thigh and leg, while over him bent Mary and Morton. I learnedafterwards that poor Lycidas, while trimming the Christmas-tree, andtalking merrily with Mary and Morton,--who, by good luck, had broughtround his presents late, and was staying to tie on glass balls andapples,--had given himself a deep and dangerous wound with the point ofthe unlucky knife, and had lost a great deal of blood before thehemorrhage could be controlled. Just before I entered, the sticktourniquet which Morton had improvised had slipped in poor Mary'sunpractised hand, at the moment he was about to secure the bleedingartery, and the blood followed in such a gush as compelled him to givehis whole attention to stopping its flow. He only knew my entrance bythe "Ah, Mr. Ingham," of the frightened Irish girl, who stood uselessbehind the head of the bed.
"O Fred," said Morton, without looking up, "I am glad you are here."
"And what can I do for you?"
"Some whiskey,--first of all."
"There are two bottles," said Mary, who was holding the candle,--"in thecupboard behind his dressing-glass."
I took Bridget with me, struck a light in the dressing-room (how sheblundered about the match), and found the cupboard door locked! Keydoubtless in Mary's pocket,--probably in pocket of "another dress." Idid not ask. Took my own bunch, willed tremendously that my account-bookdrawer key should govern the lock, and it did. If it had not, I shouldhave put my fist through the panels. Bottle of bedbug poison; bottlemarked "bay rum"; another bottle with no mark; two bottles of Saratogawater. "Set them all on the floor, Bridget." A tall bottle of Cologne.Bottle marked in MS. What in the world is it? "Bring that candle,Bridget." "Eau destillee. Marron, Montreal." What in the world didLycidas bring distilled water from Montreal for? And then Morton's clearvoice in the other room, "As quick as you can, Fred." "Yes! in onemoment. Put all these on the floor, Bridget." Here they are at last."Bourbon whiskey." "Corkscrew, Bridget."
"Indade, sir, and where is it?" "Where? I don't know. Run down as quickas you can, and bring it. His wife cannot leave him." So Bridget ran,and the first I heard was the rattle as she pitched down the last sixstairs of the first flight headlong. Let us hope she has not broken herleg. I meanwhile am driving a silver pronged fork into the Bourboncorks, and the blade of my own penknife on the other side.
"Now, Fred," from George within. (We all call Morton "George.") "Yes,in one moment," I replied. Penknife blade breaks off, fork pulls rightout, two crumbs of cork come with it. Will that girl never come?
I turned round; I found a goblet on the wash-stand; I took Lycidas'sheavy clothes-brush, and knocked off the neck of the bottle. Did youever do it, reader, with one of those pressed glass bottles they makenow? It smashed like a Prince Rupert's drop in my hand, crumbled intoseventy pieces,--a nasty smell of whiskey on the floor,--and I, holdingjust the hard bottom of the thing with two large spikes runningworthless up into the air. But I seized the goblet, poured into it whatwas left in the bottom, and carried it in to Morton as quietly as Icould. He bade me give Lycidas as much as he could swallow; then showedme how to substitute my thumb for his, and compress the great artery.When he was satisfied that he could trust me, he began his work again,silently; just speaking what must be said to that brave Mary, who seemedto have three hands because he needed them. When all was secure, heglanced at the ghastly white face, with beads of perspiration on theforehead and upper lip, laid his finger on the pulse, and said: "We willhave a little more whiskey. No, Mary, you are overdone already; let Fredbring it." The truth was that poor Mary was almost as white as Lycidas.She would not faint,--that was the only reason she did not,--and at themoment I wondered that she did not fall. I believe George and I wereboth expecting it, now the excitement was over. He called her Mary andme Fred, because we were all together every day of our lives. Bridget,you see, was still nowhere.
So I retired for my whiskey again,--to attack that other bottle. Georgewhispered quickly as I went, "Bring enough,--bring the bottle." Did hewant the bottle corked? Would that Kelt ever come up stairs? I passedthe bell-rope as I went into the dressing-room, and rang as hard as Icould ring. I took the other bottle, and bit steadily with my teeth atthe cork, only, of course, to wrench the end of it off. George calledme, and I stepped back. "No," said he, "bring your whiskey."
Mary had just rolled gently back on the floor. I went again in despair.But I heard Bridget's step this time. First flight, first passage;second flight, second passage. She ran in in triumph at length, with a_screw-driver!_
"No!" I whispered,--"no. The crooked thing you draw corks with," and Ishowed her the bottle again. "Find one somewhere and don't come backwithout it." So she vanished for the second time.
"Frederic!" said Morton. I think he never called me so before. Should Irisk the clothes-brush again? I opened Lycidas's own drawers,--papers,boxes, everything in order,--not a sign of a tool.
"Frederic!" "Yes," I said. But why did I say "Yes"? "Father of Mercy,tell me what to do."
And my mazed eyes, dim with tears,--did you ever shed tears fromexcitement?--fell on an old razor-strop of those days of shaving, madeby C. WHITTAKER, SHEFFIELD. The "Sheffield" stood in black letters outfrom the rest like a vision. They make cork screws in Sheffield too. Ifthis Whittaker had only made a corkscrew! And what is a "Sheffieldwimble?"
Hand in my pocket,--brown paper parcel.
"Where are you, Frederic?" "Yes," said I, for the last time. Twine off!brown paper off. And I learned that the "Sheffield wimble" was one ofthose things whose name you never heard before, which people sell you inThames Tunnel, where a hoof-cleaner, a gimlet, a screw-driver, and a_corkscrew_ fold into one handle.
"Yes," said I, again. "Pop," said the cork "Bubble, bubble, bubble,"said the whiskey. Bottle in one hand, full tumbler in the other, Iwalked in. George poured half a tumblerful down Lycidas's throat thattime. Nor do I dare say how much he poured down afterwards. I found thatthere was need of it, from what he said of the pulse, when it was allover. I guess Mary had some, too.
This was the turning-point. He was exceedingly weak, and we sat by himin turn through the night, giving, at short intervals, stimulants andsuch food as he could swallow easily; for I remember Morton was veryparticular not to raise his head more than we could help. But there wasno real danger after this.
As we turned away from the house on Christmas morning,--I to preach andhe to visit his patients,--he said to me, "Did you make that whiskey?"
"No," said I, "but poor Dod Dalton had to furnish the corkscrew."
And I went down to the chapel to preach. The sermon had been lying readyat home on my desk,--and Polly had brought it round to me,--for therehad been no time for me to go from Lycidas's home to D Street and toreturn. There was the text, all as it was the day before:--
"They helped every one his neighbor, and every one said to his brother, Be of good courage. So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil."
And there were the pat illustrations, as I had finished them yesterday;of the comfort Mary Magdalen gave Joanna, the court lady; and thecomfort the court lady gave Mary Magdalen, after the mediator of a newcovenant had mediated between them; how Simon the Cyrenian, and Josephof Arimathea, and the beggar Bartimeus comforted each other, gave eachother strength, common force, _com-fort_, when the One Life flowed inall their veins; how on board the ship the Tent-Maker proved to beCaptain, and the Centurion learned his duty from his Prisoner, and howthey "_All_ came safe to shore," because the New Life was there. But asI preached, I caught Frye's eye. Frye is always critical; and I said tomyself, "Frye would not take his illustrations from eighteen hundredyears ago." And I saw dear old Dod Dalton trying to keep awake, andCampbell hard asleep after trying, and Jane Masury looking round to seeif her mother did not come in; and Ezra
Sheppard, looking, not so muchat me, as at the window beside me, as if his thoughts were the otherside of the world. And I said to them all, "O, if I could tell you, myfriends, what every twelve hours of my life tells me,--of the way inwhich woman helps woman, and man helps man, when only the ice isbroken,--how we are all rich so soon as we find out that we are allbrothers, and how we are all in want, unless we can call at any momentfor a brother's hand,--then I could make you understand something, inthe lives you lead every day, of what the New Covenant, the NewCommonwealth, the New Kingdom is to be."
But I did not dare tell Dod Dalton what Campbell had been doing forTodd, nor did I dare tell Campbell by what unconscious arts old Dod hadbeen helping Lycidas. Perhaps the sermon would have been better had Idone so.
But, when we had our tree in the evening at home, I did tellall this story to Polly and the bairns, and I gave Alice hermeasuring-tape,--precious with a spot of Lycidas's blood,--and Berthaher Sheffield wimble. "Papa," said old Clara, who is the next child,"all the people gave presents, did not they, as they did in the picturein your study?"
"Yes," said I, "though they did not all know they were giving them."
"Why do they not give such presents every day?" said Clara.
"O child," I said, "it is only for thirty-six hours of the three hundredand sixty-five days, that all people remember that they are all brothersand sisters, and those are the hours that we call, therefore, Christmaseve and Christmas day."
"And when they always remember it," said Bertha, "it will be Christmasall the time! What fun!"
"What fun, to be sure; but Clara, what is in the picture?"
"Why, an old woman has brought eggs to the baby in the manger, and anold man has brought a sheep. I suppose they all brought what they had."
"I suppose those who came from Sharon brought roses," said Bertha. AndAlice, who is eleven, and goes to the Lincoln School, and thereforeknows everything, said, "Yes, and the Damascus people brought Damascuswimbles."
"This is certain," said Polly, "that nobody tried to give a straw, butthe straw, if he really gave it, carried a blessing."
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* * * * *
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FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: After Chapman.]
[Footnote B: After Cowper and Pope. Long after!]
[Footnote C: Iliad, vi.]
[Footnote D: Iliad, vi--POPE.]
[Footnote E: Iliad, xii., after Sotheby.]
[Footnote F: I do not know that this explanation is at all clear. Letme, as the mathematicians say, give an instance which will illustratethe importance of this profession. It is now a few months since Ireceived the following note from a distinguished member of theCabinet:--
"WASHINGTON, January ----, 1842.
"DEAR SIR:--We are in a little trouble about a little thing. There are now in this city no less than three gentlemen bearing credentials to government as Charges from the Republic of Oronoco. They are, of course, accredited from three several home governments. The President signified, when the first arrived, that he would receive the Charge from that government, on the 2d proximo, but none of us know who the right Charge is. The newspapers tell nothing satisfactory about it. I suppose you know: can you write me word be fore the 2d?
"The gentlemen are: Dr. Estremadura, accredited from the 'Constitutional Government,'--his credentials a
re dated the 2d of November; Don Paulo Vibeira, of the 'Friends of the People,' 5th of November; M. Antonio de Vesga, 'Constitution of 1823,' October 27th. They attach great importance to our decision, each having scrip to sell. In haste, truly yours."
To this letter I returned the following reply:--
"SIR:--Our latest dates from Oronoco are to the 13th ultimo. The 'Constitution of '23' was then in full power. If, however, the policy of our government be to recognize the gentlemen whose principals shall be in office on the 2d proximo, it is a very different affair.
"You may not be acquainted with the formulas for ascertaining the duration of any given modern revolution. I now use the following, which I find almost exactly correct.
"Multiply the age of the President by the number of statute miles from the equator, divide by the number of pages in the given Constitution; the result will be the length of the outbreak, in days. This formula includes, as you will see, an allowance for the heat of the climate, the zeal of the leader, and the verbosity of the theorists. The Constitution of 1823 was reproclaimed on the 25th of October last If you will give the above formula into the hands of any of your clerks, the calculation from it will show that that government will go out of power on the 1st of February, at 25 minutes after 1, P.M. Your choice, on the 2d, must be therefore between Vibeira and Estremadura; here you will have no difficulty. Bobadil (Vibeira's principal) was on the 13th ultimo confined under sentence of death, at such a distance from the capital that he cannot possibly escape and get into power before the 2d of February. The 'Friends of the People,' in Oronoco, have always moved slowly; they never got up an insurrection in less than nineteen days' canvassing; that was in 1839. Generally they are even longer. Of course, Estremadura will be your man.
"Believe me, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant,
"GEORGE HACKMATACK"
The Cabinet had the good sense to act on my advice. My informationproved nearly correct, the only error being one of seven minutes in thedownfall of the 1823 Constitution. This arose from my making noallowance for difference of longitude between Piaut, where theirgovernment was established, and Opee, where it was crushed. Thedifference of time between those places is six minutes and fifty-threeseconds, as the reader may see on a globe.
Estremadura was, of course, presented to the President, and sold hisscrip.]
[Footnote G: Newspaper men of 1868 will be amused to think that halfpast one was late in 1836. At that time the "Great Western Mail" was duein Boston at 6 P.M., and there was no later news except "local," or anoccasional horse express.]
[Footnote H: The reader will observe the Arcadian habits of 1836, whenthe German was yet unknown.]
[Footnote I: Anno Christi, 60.]
[Footnote J: Tacit. Annal., xiv. 9]
[Footnote K: Anno Christi, 60. See Neander, P. & T., B. iii. ch. x]
[Footnote L: This correspondence, as preserved in the collections offragments, has too much the aspect of a school-boy exercise to claimmuch credit, though high authorities support it as genuine. But theprobability that there was such a correspondence, though now lost, isvery strong.]
[Footnote M: The Fire Alarm is the invention of Dr. William F. Channing:
"A wizard of such dreaded fame, That when in Salamanca's cave, Him listed his magic wand to wave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame"]
[Footnote N: I am proud to say that such suggestions have had so muchweight, that in 1868 the alarm strikes the number of the box which firsttelegraphs danger, six-four, six-four, &c., six being the districtnumber, and four the box number in that district.]
[Footnote O: Tetrao lagopus.]
[Footnote P: Which means, "In the thirteenth century," my dear littlebell and coral reader. You have rightly guessed that the question means"What is the history of the Reformation in Hungary?"]
The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales Page 11