The book of Saint Nicholas

by James Kirke Paulding

THE GHOST.

Some time in the year 1800 or 1801, I am not certain which, a man of the name of William Morgan—I don't mean the person whose “abduction” has made so much noise in the world—enlisted on board the United States frigate —— for a three years' cruise in the Mediterranean. He was an awful-looking person, six feet four inches high; a long pale visage deeply furrowed with wrinkles; sunken eyes far up towards his forehead; black exuberant hair standing on end as if he was always frightened at something; a sharp chin of a length proportioned to his height; teeth white, but very irregular; and the colour of his eyes what the writers on supernatural affairs call very singular and mysterious. Besides this, his voice was hollow and sepulchral; on his right arm were engraved certain mysterious devices, surmounted with the letters E. M.; and his tobacco box was of iron. His everyday dress was a canvass hat with a black riband band, a blue jacket, white trousers, and leather shoes. On Sundays he wore a white beaver, which, among sailors, bespoke something extraordinary, and on rainy days a pea jacket too short by half a yard. It is worthy of remark that Morgan entered on Friday; that the frigate was launched on Friday; that the master carpenter who built her was born on Friday; and that the squadron went to sea on Friday. All these singular coincidences, combined with his mysterious appearance, caused the sailors to look upon Morgan with some little degree of wonder.

During the voyage to Gibraltar, Morgan's conduct served to increase the impression his appearance had made on the crew. He sometimes went without eating for several days together, at least no one ever saw him eat; and, if he ever slept at all, it was without shutting his eyes or lying down, for his messmates, one and all, swore that, wake at what time of the night they would, Morgan was seen sitting upright in his hammock, with his eyes glaring wide open. When his turn came to take his watch upon deck, his conduct was equally strange. He would stand stock still in one place, gazing at the stars, or the ocean, apparently unconscious of his situation; and when roused by his companions, tumble on the deck in a swoon. When he revived, he would fall to preaching the most strange and incomprehensible rhapsodies that ever were heard. In their idle hours upon the forecastle, Morgan told such stories about himself, and his strange escapes by sea and land, as caused the sailors' hair to stand on end, and made the jolly fellows look upon him as a person gifted with the privilege of living for ever. He often indeed hinted that he had as many lives as a cat, and several times offered to let himself be hanged for the gratification of his messmates. On more than one occasion, he was found lying on his back in his hammock, apparently without life, his eyes fixed and glassy, his limbs stiff and rigid, his lower jaw sunk down, and his pulse motionless, at least so his messmates swore when they went to call the doctor; though when the latter came he always found Morgan as well as ever he was in his life, and apparently unconscious of all that had happened.

As they proceeded on the voyage, which proved for the most part a succession of calms, the sailors having little else to do, either imagined or invented new wonders about Morgan. At one time a little Welsh foretopman swore that as he was going to sit down to dinner, his canteen was snatched from under him by an invisible hand, and he fell plump on the deck. A second had his allowance of grog “abducted” in a mysterious manner, although he was ready to make oath he never had his eyes off it for a moment. A third had his tobacco box rifled, though it had never been out of his pocket. A fourth had a crooked sixpence, with a hole by which it was suspended from his neck by a riband, taken away without his ever being the wiser for it.

These things at length reached the ears of Captain R——, who, the next time Morgan got into one of his trances, had him confined for four-and-twenty hours; and otherwise punished him in various ways on the recurrence of any one of these wonderful reports. All this produced no effect whatever either on Morgan or the crew, which at length had its wonder stretched to the utmost bounds by a singular adventure of our hero.

One day, the squadron being about halfway across the Atlantic, and the frigate several leagues ahead with a fine breeze, there was an alarm of the magazine being on fire. Morgan was just coming on deck with a spoon in his hand, for some purpose or other, when hearing the cry of “magazine on fire,” he made one spring overboard. The fire was extinguished by the daring gallantry of an officer, now living, and standing in the first rank of our naval heroes. In the confusion and alarm, it was impossible to make any efforts to save Morgan; and it was considered a matter of course that he had perished in the ocean. Two days after, one of the other vessels of the squadron came alongside the frigate, and sent a boat on board with Billy Morgan. Twelve hours from the time of his leaping overboard, he had been found swimming away gallantly, with the spoon in his hand. When asked why he did not let it go, he replied that he kept it to help himself to salt water when he was dry. This adventure fixed in the minds of the sailors an obstinate opinion, that Morgan was either a dead man come to life again, or one that was not very easy to be killed.

After this, Morgan continued his mysterious pranks. The sailors talked and wondered, and Captain R—— punished him, until the squadron was within two or three days' sail of Gibraltar, admitting the wind continued fair as it then was. Morgan had been punished pretty severely that morning for stargazing and falling into a swoon on his watch the night before, and had solemnly assured his messmates, that he intended to jump overboard and drown himself the first opportunity. He made his will, dressed himself in his best, and settled all his affairs. He also replenished his tobacco box, put his allowance of biscuit in his pocket, and filled a small canteen with water, which he strung about his neck; saying that perhaps he might take it into his head to live a day or two in the water, before he finally went to the bottom.

Between twelve and one, the vessel being becalmed, the night a clear starlight, and the sentinels pacing their rounds, Morgan was distinctly seen to come up through the hatchway, walk forward, climb the bulwark, and let himself drop into the sea. A midshipman and two seamen testified to the facts; and Morgan being missing the next morning, there was no doubt of his having committed suicide by drowning himself. This affair occasioned much talk, and various were the opinions of the ship's crew on the subject. Some swore it was one Davy Jones who had been playing his pranks; others that it was no man, but a ghost or a devil that had got among them; and others were in daily expectation of seeing him come on board again, as much alive as ever he was.

In the mean time, the squadron proceeded but slowly, being detained several days by calms and head winds, most of which were in some way or other laid to Billy Morgan by the gallant tars, who fear nothing but Fridays and men without heads. His fate, however, gradually ceased to be a subject of discussion, and the wonder was quickly passing away, when one night, about a week after his jumping overboard, the figure of Morgan, all pale and ghastly, his clothes hanging wet about him—with eyes more sunken, hair more upright, and face more thin and cadaverous than ever, was seen by one of his messmates, who happened to be lying awake, to emerge slowly from the forepart of the ship, approach one of the tables where there was a can of water, from which it took a hearty draught, and disappear in the direction whence it came. The sailor told the story next morning, but as yet very few believed him.

The next night the same figure appeared, and was seen by a different person from him by whom it was first observed. It came from the same quarter again, helped itself to a drink, and disappeared in the same direction it had done before. The story of Morgan's ghost, in the course of a day or two, came to the ears of Captain R——, who caused a search to be made in that part of the vessel whence the ghost had come; under the impression that the jumping overboard of Morgan had been a deception, and that he was now secreted on board the ship. The search ended, however, without any discovery. The calms and head winds still continued, and not a sailor on board but ascribed them to Billy Morgan's mysterious influence. The ghost made its appearance again the following night after the search, when it was seen, by another of Morgan's messmates, to empty his tobacco box, and seize some of the fragments of supper, which had been accidentally left on a table, with which it again vanished in the manner before described. The sailor swore that when the ghost made free with his tobacco box, he attempted to lay hold of him, but felt nothing in his hand, except something exactly like cold water.

Captain R—— was excessively provoked at these stories, and caused another and still more thorough search to be made, but without any discovery. He then directed a young midshipman to keep watch between decks. That night the ghost again made its appearance, and the courageous young officer sallied out upon it; but the figure darted away with inconceivable velocity, and disappeared. The midshipman, as directed, immediately informed Captain R——, who instituted an immediate search, but with as little success as before. By this time there was not a sailor on board that was not afraid of his shadow, and even the officers began to be infected with a superstitious dread. At length the squadron arrived at Gibraltar, and came to in the bay of Algesiras, where the ships remained some days waiting the arrival of those they had come to relieve. About the usual hour that night, the ghost of Billy Morgan again appeared to one of his messmates, offered him its hand, and saying “Good-by, Tom,” disappeared as usual.

It was a fortnight or more before the relief squadron sailed up the Mediterranean, during which time the crews of the ships were permitted to take their turn to go on shore. On one of these occasions, a messmate of Billy Morgan, named Tom Brown, was passing through a tolerably dark lane in the suburbs of Algesiras, when he heard a well-known voice call out, “Tom, Tom, d—n your eyes, don't you know your old messmate?” Tom knew the voice, and looking round, recognised his old messmate Morgan's ghost. But he had no inclination to renew the acquaintance; he took to his heels, and without looking behind him to see if the ghost followed, ran to the boat where his companions were waiting, and told the story as soon as he could find breath for the purpose. This reached the ear of Captain R——, who, being almost sure of the existence of Morgan, applied to the governor of the town, who caused search to be made everywhere without effect. No one had ever seen such a person. That very night the ghost made its appearance on board the frigate, and passed its cold wet hand over the face of Tom Brown, to whom Morgan had left his watch and chest of clothes. The poor fellow bawled out lustily; but before any pursuit could be made, the ghost had disappeared in the forward part of the ship as usual. After this Billy again appeared two or three times alternately to some one of his old messmates; sometimes in the town, at others on board the frigate, but always in the dead of night. He seemed desirous to say something particular, but could never succeed in getting any of the sailors to listen quietly to the communication. The last time he made his appearance at Algesiras, on board the frigate, he was heard by one of the sailors to utter, in a low hollow whisper, “You shall see me at Malta;” after which he vanished as before.

Caption R—— was excessively perplexed at these strange and unaccountable visitations, and instituted every possible inquiry into the circumstances in the hope of finding some clew to explain the mystery. He again caused the ship to be examined with a view to the discovery either of the place where Morgan secreted himself, or the means by which he escaped from the vessel. He questioned every man on board, and threatened the severest punishment, should he ever discover that they deceived him in their story, or were accomplices in the escape of Morgan. He even removed everything in the forward part of the ship, and rendered it impossible for any human being to be there without being detected. The whole resulted in leaving the affair involved in complete mystery, and the squadron proceeded up the Mediterranean, to cruise along the African coast, and rendezvous at Malta.

It was some weeks before the frigate came to the latter place, and in the mean time, as nothing had been seen of the ghost, it was concluded that the shade of Billy Morgan was appeased, or rather the whole affair had been gradually forgotten. Two nights after her arrival, a party of sailors, being ashore at La Vallette, accidentally entered a small tavern in a remote part of the suburbs, where they commenced a frolic, after the manner of those amphibious bipeds. Among them was the heir of Billy Morgan, who about three or four in the morning went to bed, not quite as clear headed as he might have been. He could not tell how long he had been asleep, when he was awakened by a voice whispering in his ear, “Tom, Tom, wake up!” On opening his eyes, he beheld, by the pale light of the morning, the ghastly figure of Billy Morgan leaning over his bed and glaring at him with eyes like saucers. Tom cried, “Murder! ghost! Billy Morgan!” as loud as he could bawl, until he roused the landlord, who came to know what was the matter. Tom related the whole affair, and inquired if he had seen anything of the figure he described. Mine host utterly denied having seen or ever heard of such a figure as Billy Morgan, and so did all his family. The report was again alive on board the frigate, that Billy Morgan's ghost had taken the field once more. “Heaven and earth!” cried Captain R——, “is Billy Morgan's ghost come again? Shall I never get rid of this infernal spectre, or whatever else it may be?”

Captain R—— immediately ordered his barge, waited on the governor, explained the situation of his crew, and begged his assistance in apprehending the ghost of Billy Morgan, or Billy himself, as the case might be. That night the governor caused the strictest search to be made in every hole and corner of the little town of La Vallette; but in vain. No one had seen that remarkable being, corporeal or spiritual; and the landlord of the house where the spectre appeared, together with all his family, utterly denied any knowledge of such a person or thing. It is little to be wondered at, that the search proved ineffectual, for that very night Billy took a fancy to appear on board the frigate, where he again accosted his old friend Tom, to whom he had bequeathed all his goods and chattels. But Tom had no mind for a confidential communication with the ghost, and roared out so lustily, as usual, that it glided away and disappeared as before, without being intercepted in the confusion which followed.

Captain R—— was in despair; never was man so persecuted by a ghost in this world before. The ship's crew were in a state of terror and dismay, insomuch that had an Algerine come across them they might peradventure have surrendered at discretion. They signed a round robin, drawn up by one of Billy Morgan's old messmates, representing to Captain R—— the propriety of running the ship ashore, and abandoning her entirely to the ghost, which now appeared almost every night, sometimes between decks, at others on the end of the bowsprit, and at others cutting capers on the yards and topgallant mast. The story spread into the town of La Vallette, and nothing was talked of but the ghost of Billy Morgan, which now began to appear occasionally to the sentinels of the fort, one of whom had the courage to fire at it, by which he alarmed the whole island and made matters ten times worse than ever.

From Malta the squadron, after making a cruise of a few weeks, proceeded to Syracuse, with the intention of remaining some time. They were obliged to perform a long quarantine; the ships were strictly examined by the health officers, and fumigated with brimstone, to the great satisfaction of the crew of the frigate, who were in great hopes this would drive away Billy Morgan's ghost. These hopes were strengthened by their seeing no more of that troublesome visiter during the whole time the quarantine continued. The very next night after the expiration of the quarantine, Billy again visited his old messmate and heir Tom Brown, lank, lean, and dripping wet, as usual, and after giving him a rousing shake, whispered, “Hush, Tom; I want to speak to you about my watch and chest of clothes.” But Tom had no inclination to converse with his old friend, and cried out “Murder” with all his might; when the ghost vanished as before, muttering, as Tom swore, “You bloody infernal lubber.”

The reappearance of the ghost occasioned greater consternation than ever among the crew of the good ship, and it required all the influence of severe punishments to keep them from deserting on every occasion. Poor Tom Brown, to whom the devoirs of the spectre seemed most especially directed, left off swearing and chewing tobacco, and dwindled to a perfect shadow. He became very serious, and spent almost all his leisure time in reading chapters in the Bible or singing psalms. Captain R—— now ordered a constant watch all night between decks, in hopes of detecting the intruder; but all in vain, although there was hardly a night passed without Tom's waking and crying out that the ghost had just paid him a visit. It was, however, thought very singular, and to afford additional proof of its being a ghost, that on all these occasions, except two, it was invisible to everybody but Tom Brown.

In addition to the vexation arising from this persevering and diabolical persecution of Billy's ghost, various other strange and unaccountable things happened almost every day on board the frigate. Tobacco boxes were emptied in the most mysterious manner, and in the dead of the night; sailors would sometimes be missing a whole day, and return again without being able to give any account of themselves; and not a few of them were overtaken with liquor, without their being ever the wiser for it, for they all swore they had not drunk a drop beyond their allowance. Sometimes, on going ashore on leave for a limited time, the sailors would be decoyed, as they solemnly assured the captain, by some unaccountable influence into strange, out of the way places, where they could not find their road back, and where they were found by their officers in a state of mysterious stupefaction, though not one had tasted a drop of liquor. On these occasions, they always saw the ghost of Billy Morgan, either flying through the air, or dancing on the tops of the steeples, with a fiery tail like a comet. Wonder grew upon wonder every day, until the wonder transcended the bounds of human credulity.

At length, Tom Brown, the night after receiving a visit from Billy Morgan's ghost, disappeared, and was never heard of afterwards. As the chest of clothes inherited from his deceased messmate was found entirely empty, it might have been surmised that Tom had deserted, had not a sailor, who was on the watch, solemnly declared that he saw the ghost of Billy Morgan jump overboard with him in a flame of fire, and that he hissed like a red-hot ploughshare in the water. After this bold feat, the spectre appeared no more. The squadron remained some time at Syracuse, and various adventures befell the officers and crews, which those remaining alive tell of to this day. How Macdonough, then a madcap midshipman, “licked” the high constable of the town; how Burroughs quizzed the governor; what rows they kicked up at masquerades; what a dust they raised among the antiquities; and what wonders they whispered in the ear of Dionysius. From thence, they again sailed on a cruise, and after teaching the Bey of Tripoli a new way of paying tribute, and laying the foundation of that structure of imperishable glory which shall one day reach the highest heaven, returned home, after an absence of between two and three years. The crew of the frigate were paid off and discharged, and it is on record, as a wonder, that their three years' pay lasted some of them nearly three days. But though we believe in the ghost of Billy Morgan, we can scarcely credit this incredible wonder. Certain it is, that not a man of them ever doubted for a moment the reality of the spectre, or would have hesitated to make oath of having seen it more than once. Even Captain R—— spoke of it on his return, as one of those strange, inscrutable things, which baffle the efforts of human ingenuity, and seem to justify the most extraordinary relations of past and present times. His understanding revolted at the absurdity of a great part of the wonders ascribed to Billy Morgan's ghost; but some of the facts were so well attested, that a painful doubt would often pass over his mind, and dispose it to the reception of superstitious impressions.

He remained in this state of mixed skepticism and credulity, when, some years after his return from the Mediterranean, being on a journey to the westward, he had occasion to halt at a log house, on the borders of the Tennessee, for refreshment. A man came forth to receive him, whom he at once recognised as his old acquaintance, Billy Morgan. “Heavens!” thought Captain R——, “here's Monsieur Tonson come again!” Billy, who had also found out who his guest was, when too late to retreat, looked rather sheepish, and invited him in with little of the frank hospitality characteristic of a genuine backwoodsman. Captain R—— followed him into the house, where he found a comely good-natured dame, and two or three yellow-haired boys and girls, all in a fluster at the stranger. The house had an air of comfort, and the mistress, by her stirring activity, accompanied with smiling looks withal, seemed pleased at the rare incident of a stranger's entering their door.

Bill Morgan was at first rather shy and awkward. But finding Captain R—— treated him with good-humoured frankness, he, in the course of the evening, when the children were gone to bed, and the wife busy in milking the cows, took occasion to accost his old commander.

“Captain, I hope you don't mean to shoot me for a deserter?”

“By no means,” said the captain, smiling; “there would be little use in shooting a ghost, or a man with as many lives as a cat.”

Billy Morgan smiled rather a melancholy smile. “Ah! captain, you have not forgot the ghost, I see. But it is a long time to remember an old score, and I hope you'll forgive me.”

“On one condition I will,” replied Captain R——; “that you tell me honestly how you managed to make all my sailors believe they saw you, night after night, on board the ship as well as on shore.”

“They did see me,” replied Billy, in his usual sepulchral voice.

The captain began to be in some doubt whether he was talking to Billy Morgan or his ghost.

“You don't pretend to say you were really on board my vessel all the time?”

“No, not all the time, only at such times as the sailors saw me—except previous to our arrival at Gibraltar.”

“Then their seeing you jump overboard was all a deception.”

“By no means, sir; I did jump overboard—but then I climbed back again, directly after.”

“The deuse you did—explain.”

“I will, sir, as well as I am able. I was many years among the Sandwich Islanders, where the vessel in which I was a cabin boy was wrecked, a long time ago, and I can pass whole hours, I believe days, in the water, without being fatigued, except for want of sleep. I have also got some of their other habits, such as a great dislike to hard work, and a liking for going where I will, and doing just what I please. The discipline of a man-of-war did not suit me at all, and I grew tired after a few days. To pass the time, and to make fun for myself with the sailors, I told them stories of my adventures, and pretended that I could live in the water, and had as many lives as a cat. Besides this, as you know, I played them many other pranks, partly for amusement, and partly from a kind of pride I felt in making them believe I was half a wizard. The punishment you gave me, though I own I deserved it, put me out of all patience, and I made up my mind to desert the very first opportunity. I had an old shipmate with me, whom I could trust, and we planned the whole thing together. I knew if I deserted at Gibraltar, or any of the ports of the Mediterranean, I should almost certainly be caught, and shot as an example; and for this reason we settled that I should jump overboard, return again, and hide myself in a coil of cable which was stowed away between decks, close to the bows, where it was dark even in the daytime. My messmate procured a piece of old canvass, with which I might cover myself if necessary. To make my jumping overboard have a greater effect on the crew, and to provide against accidents until the ship arrived at Gibraltar, I took care to fill my tobacco box with tobacco, my pockets with biscuits, and to sling a canteen of water round my neck, as I told them perhaps I might take it into my head not to go to the bottom for two or three days. I got Tom Brown to write my will, intending to leave my watch and chest to my messmate, who was to return them to me at Gibraltar, the first chance he could get. But Tom played us a trick, and put his own name in place of my friend's. Neither he nor I were any great scholars, and the trick was not found out till afterwards, when my friend was afraid of discovery, if he made any rout about the matter.”

“Who was your friend?” asked Captain R——.

“He is still alive, and in service. I had rather not mention his name.”

“Very well,” replied Captain R——, “go on.”

“That night I jumped overboard.”

“How did you get back into the ship?” asked the captain, hastily.

“Why, sir, the forward porthole, on the starboard side, was left open, with a bit of rope fastened to the gun, and hanging down so that I could catch it.”

The captain struck his forehead with the palm of his hand, and said to himself,

“What a set of blockheads we were!”

“Not so great as might have been expected,” said honest Billy Morgan, intending to compliment the captain; but it sounded directly the contrary.

“As soon as I had jumped overboard I swam to the rope, which I held fast, waiting the signal from my friend to climb up and hide myself in the coil of cable. In the bustle which followed it was easy enough to do this, and nobody saw me but my friend. Here I remained in my wet clothes, rather uncomfortably, as you may suppose, until my provision and water were expended, and my tobacco box empty. I calculated they would last till we arrived at Gibraltar, when nothing would have been easier for me than to jump out of the porthole and swim ashore. But the plaguy head winds and calms, which I dare say you remember, delayed the squadron several days longer than I expected, and left me without supply. I could have gone without biscuit and water, but it was impossible to live without tobacco. My friend had promised to come near enough to hear signals of distress sometimes, but, as he told me afterwards, he was confined several days for picking a quarrel with Tom Brown, whom he longed to flog for forging the will.

“I remained in this state until I was nearly starved, when, not being able to stand it any longer, I one night, when everybody between decks seemed fast asleep, crept out from my hiding place, where I was coiled up in the shape of a cable, and finding a pitcher of water, took a hearty drink out of it. This was as far as I dared go at that time, so I went back again as quietly as possible. But I was too hungry to remain quiet, though among the Sandwich Islanders I had been used to go without eating for days at a time. The next night I crept out again, and was lucky enough to get a pretty good supply of provisions, which happened to be left by some accident in the way. Two or three times I heard search making for me, and was very much frightened lest I should be found out in my hole.”

“How was it possible for the blockheads to miss you?” asked Captain R——.

“Why, sir, they did come to the cable tier where I was, but I believe they were too much frightened to look into it, or could not see me in the dark hole. They did not lift the canvass that covered me either of the times they came. The night I found the officer on the watch, I gave myself up for gone; but as luck would have it, my friend was now out of limbo, and always took care to examine the coil of cable so carefully, that nobody thought of looking into it after him. When we arrived at the bay of Algesiras, I took an opportunity to frighten Tom Brown a little, by visiting him in the night and bidding him good-by, after which I slipped quietly out of the porthole, and swam ashore, while my friend pulled up the rope and shut the port after me as usual.”

“But how did you manage to escape from the search made by the police at Algesiras?”

“Oh, sir! I was on board the frigate all the time in my old hiding place.”

“And when the ship was searched directly after?”

“I was ashore at that time.”

“And how did you manage at Malta?”

“The landlord was my sworn brother, and wouldn't have blabbed for a thousand pounds.”

“And the capers on the yardarm and topgallant, the visits paid to Tom Brown at Syracuse, and the wonderful stories told by the sailors of being robbed of their tobacco, getting tipsy upon nothing, and being led astray by nobody? What do you say to all this, Mr. Ghost?” said the captain, smiling.

“I never paid but two visits to the ship, so far is I remember, sir, after she left Malta. One was the night I wanted to talk with Tom Brown, the other when he disappeared the night afterwards. The rest of the stories were all owing to the jokes of some of the sailors, and the fears of the others.”

“But you are sure you did not jump into the sea with Tom Brown, in a flame of fire?”

“Yes, sir, as I am an honest man. Tom got away without any help of mine, and without my ever knowing how, until a long time afterwards, when I accidentally met him at Liverpool.”

“Well?”

“He was not to be convinced I was living, but ran away as hard as he could, and to this day believes in ghosts as much as he does in his being alive himself.”

“So far all is clear enough,” said Captain R——; “but what could possibly induce you to put yourself in the way of being caught after escaping, by visiting the ship and letting yourself be seen?”

“I wanted to see Tom Brown, sir.”

“Why so?”

“I wanted to get back my watch and clothes from him.”

“Oh! I see it now. But had you no other object?”

“Why, I'll tell you, sir; besides that, I had a sort of foolish pride, all my life, in frightening people, and making them wonder at me, by telling tough stories, or doing strange things. I haven't got over it to this day, and have been well beaten two or three times, besides being put in jail, for playing the ghost hereabout, with the country people, at court time. I confess too, sir, that I have once or twice frightened my wife almost into fits, by way of a frolic; and for all the trouble it has brought upon me, I believe in my soul I shall play the ghost till I give up the ghost at last. Besides this, the truth is, sir, I had a little spite at you for having put me in the bilboes for some of these pranks, as I deserved, and had no objection to pay you off, by breeding trouble in the ship.”

“Truly, you succeeded wonderfully; but what became of you afterwards?”

“Why, sir, after Tom Brown deserted, and, to quiet his conscience, left my watch and clothes to my friend, I had no motive for playing the ghost any more. I shipped in an American merchantman for Smyrna—from thence I went to Gibraltar—and after voyaging a year or two, and saving a few hundred dollars, came to Boston at last. I did not dare to stay along shore, for fear of being known by some of the officers of the squadron, so I took my money and my bundle and went into the back country. I am a little of everything, a jack of all trades, and turned farmer, as sea captains often do when they are tired of ploughing the ocean. I get on pretty well now, and hope you won't have me shot by a court martial.”

“No,” replied Captain R——, “I am out of the navy now. I have turned farmer too, and you are quite safe.”

“I hope you prosper well, sir?”

“Not quite as well as you, Billy—I have come into the backwoods to see if I can do better.”

“Only serve under me,” said Billy,“ and I will repay all your good offices.”

“What, the floggings, _et cetera_?”

“By God's help, sir, I may,” said Billy. “Try me, sir.”

“No—I am going on a little farther.”

“You may go farther, and fare worse, sir.”

“Perhaps so—but I believe it is bedtime, and so good-night, Mr. Ghost.”

Captain R—— retired very quietly to his room, went to bed, and slept like a top, till the broad sun shone over the summits of the trees into his face, as he lay under the window. He breakfasted sumptuously, and set out gallantly for the prairies of St. Louis.

“Good-by, captain,” said Billy, leering, and lengthening his face to a supernatural degree. “I hope you won't meet any ghosts on your way.”

“Good-by, Billy,” replied Captain R——, a little nettled at this joke. “I hope you will not get into the state prison for playing the ghost.”

“I'll take care of that, sir; I've been in the state prison already, and you won't catch me there again, I warrant you.”

“What do you mean, Billy?”

“I mean, that there is little or no odds between a state ship and a state prison,” said Billy, with a face longer than ever, and a most expressive shrug.

Captain R—— proceeded on his way, reflecting on the singular story of Billy Morgan, whose pranks on board the frigate had convinced some hundreds of men of the existence of ghosts, and thrown the gloom of superstitious horror over the remainder of their existence. “Not a sailor,” thought he, “out of more than five hundred, with the exception of a single one, but will go to his grave in the full belief of the appearance of Billy Morgan's ghost. What an unlucky rencounter this of mine; it has spoiled one of the best-authenticated ghost stories of the age.”

THE
NYMPH OF THE MOUNTAIN.

In a certain corner of the Bay State there once stood, and we hope will continue to nourish long and happily, a snug town, now promoted to be a city, the name of which is not material to our purpose. Here in a great shingle palace, which would have been a very comfortable edifice had it only been finished, lived a reputable widow, well to do in the world, and the happy mother of a promising lad, a wonderful clever boy, as might be expected. In fact, Shearjashub (that was his name) was no bad specimen of the country lad. He was hardy, abstemious, independent, and _cute_ withal; and before he was a man grown, made a great bargain once out of a travelling merchant, a Scotchman, who chanced that way. Besides this, he was a mechanical genius; and, though far from being lazy, delighted in the invention of labour-saving machines, some of which were odd enough. He peeled all his mother's pumpkins by water, and spun her flax with a windmill. Nay, it was reported of him, that he once invented a machine for digging graves upon speculation, by which he calculated he should certainly have made his fortune, had not the people of the village all with one accord taken it into their heads to live for ever. The name of the family was Yankee, they having been the first that had intercourse with the Indians, who called them Yankee, because they could not say English.

The Widow Yankee was a right pious, meeting-going woman, who held it to be a great want of faith not to believe in everything; especially everything out of the way and impossible. She was a great amateur of demonology and witchcraft. Moreover, she was gifted with a reasonable share of curiosity, though it is recorded that once she came very near missing to get at the bottom of a secret. The story ran as follows:—

One day, as she was sitting at her window, which had a happy aspect for overlooking the affairs of the village, she saw a mysterious-looking man, with a stick in his hand and a pipe in his mouth, walking exactly three feet behind a white cow. The same thing happened precisely at the same hour in the same manner the next day, and so continued for some time. The first week the widow began to think it rather odd; the second she began to think it quite strange; the third it became altogether mysterious; and the fourth the poor woman took to her bed, of the disease of the man and the cow.

Doctor Calomel undertook the cure in a new and original manner, to wit, without the use of medicine. He wrought upon the mysterious cowdriver to come to the widow's house, and tell her the whole secret of the business. When he came into the room the sick woman raised herself up, and in a faint voice addressed him as follows:—

“Mysterious man! I conjure thee to tell me what under the sun makes thee always follow that cow about every day at the same hour, and at the same distance from her tail?”

“Because the cow always goes before me!” replied the mysterious man.

Upon which the widow jumped out of her sick bed, seized an old shoe, fired it at the mysterious man's head, and was miraculously cured from that moment. Doctor Calomel got into great practice thereupon.

Shearjashub inherited a considerable share of his mother's inquiring disposition, and was very inquisitive about the affairs of other people; but, to do him justice, he took pretty good care to keep his own to himself, like a discreet lad as he was. Having invented so many labour-saving machines, Jashub, as he was usually called by the neighbours, thought it was great nonsense to work himself; so he set his machines going, and took to the amusement of killing time, which, in a country village, is no such easy matter. It required a considerable share of ingenuity. His favourite mode of doing this was taking his gun on his shoulder, and sallying forth into the fields and woods, followed by a cur, whose genealogy was perfectly mysterious. Nobody could tell to what family he belonged; certain it was, that he was neither “mongrel, puppy, whelp, nor hound,” but a cur of low degree, whose delight was to bask in the sun when he was not out with his young master.

In this way Jashub would pass day after day, in what he called sporting; that is to say, toiling through tangled woods and rough bog meadows and swamps, that quivered like a jelly at every step, and returning home at night hungry as well as tired. Report said that he never was known to shoot anything; and thus far his time was spent innocently, if not improvingly.

One fast-day, early in the spring of 1776, Jashub went forth as usual, with his gun on his shoulder, and little Snap (such was the name of the dog) at his heels. The early May had put on all her charms; a thousand little patches of wild violets were peeping forth with deep blue eyes; a thousand, yea, tens of thousands of little buds were expanding into leaves apace; and crowds of chirping birds were singing a hymn to the jolly laughing spring. Jashub could not find it in his heart to fire at them; but if he had, there would have been no danger, except of frightening the little warblers, and arresting their song.

Beguiled by the beauties of Nature and her charming music, Jashub almost unconsciously wandered on until he came to the opening of a deep glen in the mountain, which rose at some miles distance, west of the village. It was formed by the passage of a pure crystal stream, which, in the course of ages, or perhaps by a single effort, had divided the mountain about the space of twenty yards, ten of which were occupied by the brook, which silently wound its way along the edge of steep and rocky precipices several hundred feet high, that formed the barriers of the glen on either side. These towering perpendicular masses of gray eternity were here and there green with the adventurous laurel, which, fastening its roots in the crevices, nodded over the mighty steep in fearful dizziness. Here and there a little spring gushed forth high up among the graybeard rocks, and trickled down their sides in silvery brightness. In other places patches of isinglass appeared, sparkling against the sober masses, and communicating a singularly lustrous character to the scene, which had otherwise been all gloomy solitude.

Jashub gazed a while in apprehensive wonder, as he stood at the entrance of these everlasting gates. Curiosity prompted him to enter, and explore the recesses within, while a certain vague unwillingness deterred him. At length curiosity, or perhaps fate, which had decreed that he should become the instrument of her great designs, prevailed against all opposition, and he entered the gates of this majestic palace of nature. He slowly advanced, sometimes arrested by a certain feeling of mysterious awe; at others driven on by the power which had assumed the direction of his conduct, until he arrived at the centre of the hallowed solitude. Not a living thing breathed around him, except his little dog, and his gun trembled in his hand. All was gloom, silence, solitude, deep and profound. The brook poured forth no murmurs, the birds and insects seemed to have shunned the unsunned region, where everlasting twilight reigned; and the scream of the hawks, pursuing their way across the deep chasm, was hushed as they passed.

Jashub was arrested by the melancholy grandeur of the scene, and his dog looked wistfully in his face, as if he wanted to go home. As he stood thus lingering, leaning on his gun, a merry strain broke forth upon the terrible silence, and echoed through the glen. The sound made him suddenly start, in doing which his foot somehow or other caught in the lock of his gun, which he had forgot to uncock, as was usual with him, and caused it to go off. The explosion rang through the recesses of the glen in a hundred repetitions, which were answered by the howlings of the little dog. As the echoes gradually subsided, and the smoke cleared away, the music again commenced. It was a careless, lively air, such as suited the taste of the young man, and he forgot his fears in his love of music.

As he stood thus entranced he heard a voice, sweet, yet animating as the clear sound of the trumpet, exclaim,

“Shearjashub! Shearjashub!”

Jashub's heart bounded into his throat, and prevented his answering. He loaded his gun, and stood on the defensive.

In a moment after the same trumpet voice repeated the same words,

“Shearjashub! Shearjashub!”

“What d'ye want, you tarnal kritter?” at length the young man answered, with a degree of courage that afterwards astonished him.

“Listen—and look!”

He listened and looked, but saw nothing, until a little flourish of the same sprightly tune directed his attention to the spot whence it came.

High on the summit of the highest perpendicular cliff, which shone gorgeously with sparkling isinglass, seated under the shade of a tuft of laurels, he beheld a female figure, holding a little flageolet, and playing the sprightly air which he had just heard. Her height, notwithstanding the distance, appeared majestic; the flash of her bright beaming eye illumined the depths of the gloom, and her air seemed that of a goddess. She was dressed in simple robes of virgin white, and on her head she wore a cap, such as has since been consecrated to Liberty by my gallant countrymen.

Shearjashub looked, trembled, and was silent. In a few minutes, however, his recollection returned.

“Shearjashub!” exclaimed the lady of the rock, “listen!”

But Shearjashub had given leg bail. Both he and his faithful squire, little Snap, had left the haunted glen as fast as their feet would carry them.

He told the story when he got home, with some little exaggeration. Nobody believed him except the widow, his honoured mother, who had faith to swallow a camel. All the rest laughed at him, and the wicked damsels of the village were always joking about his mountain sweetheart.

At last he got out of patience, and one day demanded of those who were bantering him what proof they would have of the truth of his story.

“Why,” said old Deacon Mayhew, “I guess I should be considerably particular satisfied if you would bring us hum that same fife you heard the gal play on so finely.”

“And I,” said another, “will believe the young squire if he'll play the same tune on it he heard yonder in the mountain.”

Shearjashub was so pestered and provoked at last, that he determined to put his courage to the proof, and see whether it would bear him out in another visit to the chasm in the mountain. He thought he might as well be dead as have no comfort of his life.

“I'll be darned if I don't go,” said he, and away he went, with no other company than his little dog. It was on the fourth day of July, 1776, that Shearjashub wrought himself up to a second visit.

“I'm just come of age this very day,” said he, “and I'll show the kritters I'm not made a man for nothing.”

He certainly felt, as he afterwards confessed, a little skittish on this occasion, and his dog seemed not much to relish the excursion. Shearjashub had his gun, but had not the heart to fire at any of the birds that flitted about, and seemed as if they were not afraid of coming nigh him. His mind ran upon other matters entirely. He was a long while getting to the chasm in the mountain. Sometimes he would stop to rest, as he said to himself, though he was not in the least tired; sometimes he found himself standing still, admiring nothing; and once or twice actually detected his feet moving on their way home, instead of towards the mountain.

On arriving at the vast gates that, as it were, guarded the entrance to the glen, he halted to consider the matter. All was silence, repose, gloom, and sublimity. His spirit at first sunk under the majesty of nature, but at length became gradually inspired by the scene before him with something of a kindred dignity. He marched forward with a vigorous step and firm heart, rendered the more firm by hearing and seeing nothing of the white nymph of the rock or her sprightly music. He hardly knew whether he wished to see her or not, if she appeared he might be inspired to run away again; and if she did not, the deacon and the girls would laugh at him worse than ever.

With these conflicting thoughts he arrived at the very centre of the gloomy solitude, where he stood a few moments, expecting to hear the music. All was loneliness; Repose lay sleeping on his bed of rocks, and Silence reigned alone in her chosen retreat.

“Is it possible that I was dreaming the other day, when I was here, as these tarnal kritters twit me I was?” asked the young man of himself.

He was answered by the voice of the white girl of the mountain, exclaiming, in the same sweet yet clear, animating, trumpet tones,

“Shearjashub! Shearjashub! listen.”

Jashub's legs felt some little inclination to run away; but this time he kept his ground like a brave fellow.

Again the same sprightly air echoed through the silence of the deep profound, in strains of animating yet simple, careless vivacity. Shearjashub began to feel himself inspired. He bobbed his head from side to side to suit the air, and was once or twice on the point of cutting a caper.

He felt his bosom thrill with unwonted energies, and a new vigour animated his frame as he contemplated the glorious figure of the mountain nymph, and listened to her sprightly flageolet.

“Shearjashub!” cried the nymph, after finishing her strain of music, “listen!”

“Speak—I hear,” said the young man.

“My name is Liberty; dost thou know me?”

“I have heard my father and grandfather speak of thee, and say they came to the New World to seek thee.”

“Well, I am found at last. Listen to me.”

“Speak on.”

“Your country has just devoted herself forever to me and my glory. Your countrymen have this day pronounced themselves freemen, and they shall be what they have willed, in spite of fate or fortune. But my blessings are never thrown away on cowards; they are to be gained by toil, suffering, hunger, wounds, and death; by courage and perseverance; by virtue and patriotism. The wrath and the mighty energies of the oppressor are now directed against your people; hunger assails them; force overmatches them, and their spirits begin to fail. Take this pipe,” and she flung him the little flageolet, which he caught in his hand. “Canst thou play on it? Try.”

He put it to his lips, and to his surprise, produced the same animating strain he had heard from the nymph of the mountain.

“Now go forth among the people and their armies, and inspire them for battle. Wherever thou goest with thy pipe, and whenever thou playest that air, I will be with thee and thy countrymen. Go, fear not; those who deserve me shall always win me. Farewell—we shall meet again.” So saying, she vanished behind the tuft of laurels.

Shearjashub marched straight home with his pipe, and somehow or other felt he did not quite know how; he felt as if he could eat gunpowder, and snap his fingers at the deacon.

“What the dickens has got in the kritter?” said the deacon, when he saw him strutting along like a captain of militia.

“I declare, Jashub looks like a continental,” exclaimed the girls.

Just then Shearjashub put his pipe to his mouth, and played the tune he had learned, as if by magic, from the mountain nymph; whereat Deacon Mayhew made for the little white meeting house, whither all the villagers followed him, and preached a sermon, calling on the people to rise and fight for liberty, in such stirring strains that forthwith all the men, young and old, took their muskets and went out in defence of their country, under the command of Shearjashub. Wherever he came he played the magic tune on his pipe, and the men, like those of his native village, took to their arms, and went forth to meet the oppressor, like little David against Goliath, armed with a sling and a stone.

They joined the army of Liberty, which they found dispirited with defeat, and weak with suffering and want. They scarcely dared hope for success to their cause, and a general gloom depressed the hearts of all the true friends of freedom. In this state the enemy attacked them, and threw them into confusion, when Shearjashub came on at the head of his troops, playing his inspiring music with might and main. Wherever he went the sounds seemed to awaken the spirit of heroism in every breast. Those who were retreating rallied; and those who stood their ground maintained it more stoutly than ever. The victory remained with the sons of Liberty, and Shearjashub celebrated it with a tune on his pipe, which echoed through the whole land, and wakened it to new triumphs.

After a hard and bloody struggle, in which the pipe of Shearjashub animated the very clods of the valley wherever he went, the promise of the nymph of the mountain was fulfilled. The countrymen of Shearjashub were free and independent. They were about to repose under the laurels they had reaped, and to wear what they had so dearly won.

Shearjashub also departed for his native village with his pipe, which had so materially assisted in the attainment of the blessings of freedom. His way lay through the chasm in the mountain, where he first encountered the nymph with the cap and snow-white robe. He was anticipating the happiness of seeing his aged mother, who had lived through the long war, principally on the excitement of news, and the still more near and dear happiness of taking to his bosom the girl of his heart, Miss Prudence Worthy, as fair a maid as ever raised a sigh in the bosom of lusty youth.

He had got to the centre of the glen when he was roused from his sweet anticipations by the well-remembered voice of the nymph of the mountain, who sat on the same inaccessible rock, under the same tuft of laurel, where he had first seen her, with an eagle at her side.

“Shearjashub!” cried she, in a voice which made the echoes of the rocks mad with ecstasy—“Shearjashub! thou hast done well, and deserved nobly of thy country. The thought of that is, in itself, a glorious reward for toil, danger, and suffering. But thou shalt have one as dear, if not dearer than even this. Look where it comes.”

Shearjashub looked, and beheld afar off a figure all in white coming towards him, at the entrance of the glen. It approached nearer, and it was a woman; nearer yet, and it was a young woman; still nearer, and Shearjashub rushed towards it, and kissed its blushing cheek. It was the girl of his heart, Miss Prudence Worthy.

“This is thy other blessing,” exclaimed the mountain nymph, the sight of whom made Miss Prudence a little jealous; “a richer reward for noble exertions than a virtuous woman I know not of. Live free, live virtuous, and then thou wilt be happy. I shall be with thee an invisible witness, an invisible protector; but, in the mean while, should the spirit of the people ever flag, and their hearts fail them in time of peril, go forth among them as thou didst before, and rouse them with thy pipe and thy music. Farewell, and be happy!”

The nymph disappeared, and the little jealous pang felt by Miss Prudence melted away in measureless confidence and love. The tune of the mountain nymph was played over and over again at Shearjashub's wedding, and ever afterwards became known by the name of YANKEE DOODLE.

THE
RIDE OF SAINT NICHOLAS
ON
NEWYEAR'S EVE.

Of all the cities in this New World, that which once bore the name of Fort Orange, but now bears it no more, is the favourite of the good St. Nicholas. It is there that he hears the sound of his native language, and sees the honest Dutch pipe in the mouths of a few portly burghers, who, disdaining the pestilent innovations of modern times, still cling with honest obstinacy to the dress, the manners, and customs of old faderland. It is there, too that they have instituted a society in honour of the excellent saint, whose birthday they celebrate in a manner worthy of all commendation.

True it is, that the city of his affections has from time to time committed divers great offences which sorely wounded the feelings of St. Nicholas, and almost caused him to withdraw his patronage from its backsliding citizens. First, by adopting the newfangled style of beginning the year at the bidding of the old lady of Babylon, whereby the jolly Newyear was so jostled out of place that the good saint scarcely knew where to look for it. Next, they essayed themselves to learn outlandish tongues, whereby they gradually sophisticated their own, insomuch that he could hardly understand them. Thirdly, they did, from time to time, admit into their churches preachings and singings in the upstart English language, until by degrees the ancient worship became adulterated in such a manner that the indignant St. Nicholas, when he first witnessed it, did, for the only time in his life, come near to uttering a great oath, by exclaiming, “Wat donderdag is dat?” Now be it known that had he said, “Wat donder is dat,” it would have been downright swearing; so you see what a narrow escape he had.

Not content with these backslidings, the burghers of Fort Orange—a pestilence on all new names!—suffered themselves by degrees to be corrupted by various modern innovations, under the mischievous disguise of improvements. Forgetting the reverence due to their ancestors, who eschewed all internal improvement, except that of the mind and heart, they departed from the venerable customs of the faderland, and pulling down the old houses that, scorning all appearance of ostentation, modestly presented the little end to the street, began to erect in their places certain indescribable buildings, with the broadsides as it were turned frontwise, by which strange contortion the comeliness of Fort Orange was utterly destroyed. It is on record that a heavy judgment fell upon the head of the first man who adventured on this daring innovation. His money gave out before this monstrous novelty was completed, and he invented the pernicious system of borrowing and mortgaging, before happily unknown among these worthy citizens, who were utterly confounded, not long afterwards, at seeing the house change its owner—a thing that had never happened before in that goodly community, save when the son entered on the inheritance of his father.

Becoming gradually more incorrigible in their backslidings, they were seduced into opening, widening, and regulating the streets; making the crooked straight and the narrow wide, thereby causing sad inroads into the strong boxes of divers of the honest burghers, who became all at once very rich, saving that they had no money to go to market. To cap the climax of their enormities, they at last committed the egregious sacrilege of pulling down the ancient and honourable Dutch church, which stood right in the middle of State-street, or Staats-street, being so called after the family of that name, from which I am lineally descended.

At this the good St. Nicholas was exceedingly grieved; and when, by degrees, his favourite burghers left off eating sturgeon, being thereto instigated by divers scurvy jests of certain silly strangers, that knew not the excellence of that savoury fish, he cried out in the bitterness of his soul, “Onbegrypelyk!”—“Incredible!” meaning thereby that he could scarcely believe his eyes. In the bitterness of his soul he had resolved to return to faderland, and leave his beloved city to be swallowed up in the vortex of improvement. He was making his progress through the streets, to take his last farewell, in melancholy mood, when he came to the outlet of the Grand Canal, just then completed. “Is het mogelyk?”—which means, is it possible—exclaimed St. Nicholas; and thereupon he was so delighted with this proof that his beloved people had not altogether degenerated from their ancestors, that he determined not to leave them to strange saints, outlandish tongues, and modern innovations. He took a sail on the canal, and returned in such measureless content, that he blessed the good city of Fort Orange, as he evermore called it, and resolved to distribute a more than usual store of his Newyear cookies, at the Christmas holydays. That jovial season was now fast approaching. The autumn frosts had already invested the forests with a mantle of glory; the farmers were in their fields and orchards, gathering in the corn and apples, or making cider, the wholesome beverage of virtuous simplicity; the robins, blackbirds, and all the annual emigrants to southern climes, had passed away in flocks, like the adventurers to the far West; the bluebird alone lingered last of all to sing his parting song; and sometimes of a morning, the river showed a little fretted border of ice, looking like a fringe of lace on the garment of some decayed dowager. At length the liquid glass of the river cooled into a wide, immoveable mirror, glistening in the sun; the trees, all save the evergreens, stood bare to the keen cold winds; the fields were covered with snow, affording no lures to tempt to rural wanderings; the enjoyments of life gradually centred themselves at the cheerful fireside—it was winter, and Newyear's eve was come again!

The night was clear, calm, and cold, and the bright stars glittered in the heavens in such multitudes, that every man might have had a star to himself. The worthy patriarchs of Fort Orange, having gathered around them their children, and children's children, even unto the third and fourth generation, were enjoying themselves in innocent revelry at the cheerful fireside. All the enjoyments of life had contracted themselves into the domestic circle; the streets were as quiet as a churchyard, and not even the stroke of the watchman was heard on the curbstone. Gradually it waxed late, and the city clocks rang, in the silence of night, the hour which not one of the orderly citizens had heard, except at midday, since the last anniversary of the happy Newyear, save peradventure troubled with a toothache, or some such unseemly irritation.

The doleful warning, which broke upon the frosty air like the tolling of a funeral bell, roused the sober devotees of St. Nicholas to a sense of their trespasses on the waning night, and after one good, smoking draught of spiced Jamaica to the patron saint, they, one and all, young and old, hied them to bed, that he might have a fair opportunity to bestow his favours without being seen by mortal eye. For be it known, that St. Nicholas, like all really heart-whole generous fellows, loves to do good in secret, and eschews those pompous benefactions which are duly recorded in the newspapers, being of opinion they only prove that the vanity of man is sometimes an overmatch for his avarice.

Having allowed them fifteen minutes, which is as much as a sober burgher of good morals and habits requires, to get as fast asleep as a church, St. Nicholas, having harnessed his pony, and loaded his little wagon with a store of good things for well-behaved, diligent children, together with whips and other mementoes for undutiful varlets, did set forth gayly on his errand of benevolence.

_Vuur en vlammen!_ how the good saint did hurry through the streets, up one chimney and down another; for be it known, they are not such miserable narrow things as those of other cities, where the claims of ostentation are so voracious that people can't afford to keep up good fires, and the chimneys are so narrow that the little sweeps of seven years old often get themselves stuck fast, to the imminent peril of their lives. You may think he had a good deal of business on hand, being obliged to visit every house in Fort Orange, between twelve o'clock and daylight, with the exception of some few would-be fashionable upstarts, who had mortally offended him, by turning up their noses at the simple jollifications and friendly greetings of the merry Newyear. Accordingly, he rides like the wind, scarcely touching the ground; and this is the reason that he is never seen, except by a rare chance, which is the cause why certain unbelieving sinners, who scoff at old customs and notions, either really do, or pretend to doubt, whether the good things found on Christmas and Newyear mornings in the stockings of the little varlets of Fort Orange and New-Amsterdam, are put there by the jolly St. Nicholas or not. Beshrew them, say I—and may they never taste the blessing of his bounty! Goeden Hemel! as if I myself, being a kinsman of the saint, don't know him as well as a debtor does his creditor! But people are grown so wise nowadays, that they believe in nothing but the increased value of property.

Be this as it may, St. Nicholas went forth blithely on his goodly errand, without minding the intense cold, for he was kept right warm by the benevolence of his heart, and when that failed, he ever and anon addressed himself to a snug little pottle, the contents of which did smoke lustily when he pulled out the stopper, a piece of snow-white corn cob.

It is impossible for me to specify one by one the visits paid that night by the good saint, or the various adventures which he encountered. I therefore content myself, and I trust my worthy and excellent readers, with dwelling briefly on those which appear to me most worthy of descending to posterity, and withal convey excellent moral lessons, without which history is naught, whether it be true or false.

After visiting various honest little Dutch houses, with notched roofs, and the gable ends to the street, leaving his benedictions, St. Nicholas at length came to a goodly mansion bearing strong marks of being sophisticated by modern fantastic innovations. He would have passed it by in scorn, had he not remembered that it belonged to a descendant of one of his favoured votaries, who had passed away to his long home without being once backslided from the customs of his ancestors. Respect for the memory of this worthy man wrought upon his feelings, and he forthwith dashed down the chimney, where he stuck fast in the middle, and came nigh being suffocated with the fumes of anthracite coal, which this degenerate descendant of a pious ancestor, who spent thousands in useless and unseemly ostentation, burned by way of economy.

If the excellent saint had not been enveloped, as it were, in the odour of sanctity, which in some measure protected him from the poison of this pestilent vapour, it might have gone hard with him; as it was, he was sadly bewildered, when his little pony, which liked the predicament no better than his master, made a violent plunge, drew the wagon through the narrow passage, and down they came plump into a magnificent bedchamber, filled with all sorts of finery, such as wardrobes, bedizened with tawdry ornaments; satin chairs too good to be looked at or sat upon, and therefore covered with brown linen; a bedstead of varnished mahogany, with a canopy over it somewhat like a cocked hat, with a plume of ostrich feathers instead of orthodox valances and the like; and a looking-glass large enough to reflect a Dutch city.

St. Nicholas contemplated the pair who slept in this newfangled abomination with a mingled feeling of pity and indignation, though I must say the wife looked very pretty in her lace nightcap, with one arm as white as snow partly uncovered. But he soon turned away, being a devout and self-denying saint, to seek for the stockings of the little children, who were innocent of these unseemly innovations. But what was his horror at finding that, instead of being hung up in the chimney corner, they were thrown carelessly on the floor, and that the little souls, who lay asleep in each other's arms in another room, lest they should disturb their parents, were thus deprived of all the pleasant anticipations accompanying the approaching jolly Newyear.

“Een vervlocte jonge,” said he to himself, for he never uttered his maledictions aloud, “to rob their little ones of such wholesome and innocent delights! But they shall not be disappointed.” So he sought the cold and distant chamber of the children, who were virtuous and dutiful, who, when they waked in the morning, found the bed covered with good things, and were as happy as the day is long. When St, Nicholas returned to the splendid chamber, which, be it known, was furnished with the spoils of industrious unfortunate people, to whom the owner lent money, charging them so much the more in proportion to their necessities. It is true that he gave some of the wealth he thus got over the duyvel's back, as it were, to public charities, and sometimes churches, when he knew it would get into the newspapers, by which he obtained the credit of being very pious and charitable. But St. Nicholas was too sensible and judicious not to know that the only charitable and pious donations agreeable to the Giver of good, are those which are honestly come by. The alms which are got by ill means can never come to good, and it is better to give back to those from whom we have taken it dishonestly even one fourth, yea, one tenth, than to bestow ten times as much on those who have no such claim. The true atonement for injuries is that made to the injured alone. All other is a cheat in the eye of Heaven. You cannot settle the account by giving to Peter what you have filched from Paul.

So thought the good St. Nicholas, as he revolved in his mind a plan for punishing this degenerate caitiff, who despised his ordinances and customs, and was moreover one who, in dealing with borrowers, not only shaved but skinned them. Remembering not the perils of the chimney, he was about departing the same way he came, but the little pony obstinately refused; and the good saint, having first taken off the lace nightcap, and put a foolscap in its place, and given the money lender a tweak of the nose that made him roar, whipped instantly through the keyhole to pursue his benevolent tour through the ancient city of Fort Orange.

Gliding through the streets unheard and unseen, he at length came to a little winding lane, from which his quick ear caught the sound of obstreperous revelry. Stopping his pony, and listening more attentively,— he distinguished the words, “Ich ben Liederich,” roared out in a chorus of mingled voices seemingly issuing from a little low house of the true orthodox construction, standing on the right-hand side, at a distance of a hundred yards, or thereabout.

“Wat donderdag!” exclaimed St. Nicholas, “is mine old friend, Baltus Van Loon, keeping it up at this time of the morning? The old rogue! but I'll punish him for this breach of the good customs of Fort Orange.” So he halted on the top of Baltus's chimney, to consider the best way of bringing it about, and was, all at once, saluted in the nostrils by such a delectable perfume, arising from a certain spiced beverage, with which the substantial burghers were wont to recreate themselves at this season of the year, that he was sorely tempted to join a little in the revelry below, and punish the merry caitiffs afterwards. Presently he heard honest Baltus propose—“The jolly St. Nicholas,” as a toast, which was drunk in a full bumper, with great rejoicing and acclamation.

St. Nicholas could stand it no longer, but descended forthwith into the little parlour of old Baltus, thinking, by-the-way, that, just to preserve appearances, he would lecture the roistering rogues a little for keeping such late hours, and, provided Baltus could give a good reason, or indeed any reason at all, for such an unseemly transgression, he would then sit down with them, and take some of the savoury beverage that had regaled his nostrils while waiting at the top of the chimney.

The roistering rogues were so busy roaring out, “Ich ben Liederich,” that they did not take note of the presence of the saint, until he cried out with a loud and angry voice, “Wat blikslager is dat?”—he did not say blixem, because that would have been little better than swearing. “Ben je be dondered, to be carousing here at this time of night, ye ancient, and not venerable sinners?”

Old Baltus was not a little startled at the intrusion of the strangers—for, if the truth must out, he was a little in for it, and saw double, as is usual at such times. This caused such a confusion in his head that he forgot to rise from his seat, and pay due honour to his visiter, as did the rest of the company.

“Are you not ashamed of yourselves,” continued the saint, “to set such a bad example to the neighbourhood, by carousing at this time of the morning, contrary to good old customs, known and accepted by all, except such noisy splutterkins as yourselves?”

“This time of the morning,” replied old Baltus, who had his full portion of Dutch courage—”this time of the morning, did you say? Look yonder, and see with your own eyes whether it is morning or not.

The cunning rogue, in order to have a good excuse for transgressing the canons of St. Nicholas, had so managed it, that the old clock in the corner had run down, and now pointed to the hour of eleven, where it remained stationary, like a rusty weathercock. St. Nicholas knew this as well as old Baltus himself, and could not help being mightily tickled at this device. He told Baltus that this being the case, with permission of his host he would sit down by the fire and warm himself, till it was time to set forth again, seeing he had mistaken the hour.

Baltus, who by this time began to perceive that there was but one visiter instead of two, now rose from the table with much ado, and approaching the stranger, besought him to take a seat among the jolly revellers, seeing they were there assembled in honour of St. Nicholas, and not out of any regard to the lusts of the flesh. In this he was joined by the rest of the company, so that St. Nicholas, being a good-natured fellow, at length suffered himself to be persuaded, whereto he was mightily incited by the savoury fumes issuing from a huge pitcher standing smoking in the chimney corner. So he sat down with old Baltus, and being called on for a toast, gave them “Old Faderland” in a bumper.

Then they had a high time of it you may be sure. Old Baltus sang a famous song celebrating the valour of our Dutch ancestors, and their triumph over the mighty power of Spain after a struggle of more than a generation, in which the meads of Holland smoked, and her canals were red with blood. Goeden Hemel! but I should like to have been there, for I hope it would have been nothing unseemly for one of my cloth to have joined in chorus with the excellent St. Nicholas. Then they talked about the good old times when the son who departed from the customs of his ancestors was considered little better than misbegotten; lamented over the interloping of such multitudes of idle flaunting men and women in their way to and from the springs; the increase of taverns, the high price of everything, and the manifold backslidings of the rising generation. Ever and anon, old Baltus would observe that sorrow was as dry as a corn cob, and pour out a full bumper of the smoking beverage, until at last it came to pass that honest Baltus and his worthy companions, being not used to such late hours, fell fast a sleep in their goodly armchairs, and snored lustily in concert. Whereupon St. Nicholas, feeling a little waggish, after putting their wigs the hinder part before, and placing a great China bowl upside down on the head of old Baltus, who sat nodding like a mandarin, departed laughing ready to split his sides. In the morning, when Baltus and his companions awoke, and saw what a figure they cut, they laid all the trick to the door of the stranger, and never knew to the last day of their lives who it was that caroused with them so lustily on Newyear's morning.

Pursuing his way in high good humour, being somewhat exhilarated by the stout carousal with old Baltus and his roistering companions, St. Nicholas in good time came into the ancient _Colonie_, which being, as it were, at the outskirts of Fort Orange, was inhabited by many people not well to do in the world. He descended the chimney of an old weatherworn house that bore evident marks of poverty, for he is not one of those saints that hanker after palaces and turn their backs on their friends. It is his pleasure to seek out and administer to the innocent gratifications of those who are obliged to labour all the year round, and can only spare time to be merry at Christmas and Newyear. He is indeed the poor man's saint.

On entering the room, he was struck with the appearance of poverty and desolation that reigned all around. A number of little children of different ages, but none more than ten years old, lay huddled close together on a straw bed, which was on the floor, their limbs intertwined to keep themselves warm, for their covering was scant and miserable. Yet they slept in peace, for they had quiet countenances, and hunger seeks refuge in the oblivion of repose. In a corner of the room stood a miserable bed, on which lay a female, whose face, as the moonbeams fell upon it through a window without shutters, many panes of which were stuffed with old rags to keep out the nipping air of the winter night, bore evidence of long and painful suffering. It looked like death rather than sleep. A little pine table, a few broken chairs, and a dresser, whose shelves were ill supplied, constituted the remainder of the furniture of this mansion of poverty.

As he stood contemplating the scene, his honest old heart swelled with sorrowful compassion, saying to himself, “God bewaar ous, but this is pitiful.” At that moment, a little child on the straw bed cried out in a weak voice that went to the heart of the saint, “Mother, mother, give me to eat—I am hungry.” St. Nicholas went to the child, but she was fast asleep, and hunger had infected her very dreams. The mother did not hear, for long-continued sorrow and suffering sleep sounder than happiness, as the waters lie stillest when the tempest is past.

Again the little child cried out, “Mother, mother, I am freezing—give me some more covering.” “Be quiet, Blandina,” answered a voice deep and hoarse, yet not unkind; and St. Nicholas, looking around to see whence it came, beheld a man sitting close in the chimney corner, though there was no fire burning, his arms folded close around him, and his head drooping on his bosom. He was clad like one of the children of poverty, and his teeth chattered with cold. St. Nicholas wiped his eyes, for he was a good-hearted saint, and coming close up to the miserable man, said to him kindly, “How do ye, my good friend?”

“Friend,” said the other, “I have no friend but God, and he seems to have deserted me.” As he said this, he raised his saddened eyes to the good saint, and after looking at him a little while, as if he was not conscious of his presence, dropped them again, even without asking who he was, or whence he came, or what he wanted. Despair had deadened his faculties, and nothing remained in his mind but the consciousness of suffering.

“_Het is jammer, het is jammer_—it is a pity, it is a pity!” quoth the kind-hearted saint, as he passed his sleeve across his eyes. “But something must be done, and that quickly too.” So he shook the poor man somewhat roughly by the shoulder, and cried out, “Ho! ho! what aileth thee, son of my good old friend, honest Johannes Garrebrantze?”

This salutation seemed to rouse the poor man, who arose upon his seat, and essaying to stand upright, fell into the arms of St. Nicholas, who almost believed it was a lump of ice, so cold and stiff did it seem. Now, be it known that Providence, as a reward for his benevolent disposition, has bestowed on St. Nicholas the privilege of doing good without measure to all who are deserving of his bounty, and that by such means as he thinks proper to the purpose. It is a power he seldom exerts to the uttermost, except on pressing occasions, and this he believed one of them.

Perceiving that the poor man was wellnigh frozen to death, he called into action the supernatural faculties which had been committed to him, and lo! in an instant a rousing fire blazed on the hearth, towards which the poor man, instinctively as it were, edged his chair, and stretched out one of his bony hands, that was as stiff as an icicle. The light flashed so brightly in the face of the little ones and their mother, that they awoke, and seeing the cheerful blaze, arose in their miserable clothing, which they had worn to aid in keeping them warm, and hied as fast as they could to bask in its blessed warmth. So eager were they, that for a while they were unconscious of the presence of a stranger, although St. Nicholas had now assumed his proper person, that he might not be taken for some one of those diabolical wizards who, being always in mischief, are ashamed to show their faces among honest people.

At length the poor man, who was called after his father Johannes Garrebrantze, being somewhat revived by the genial warmth of the fire, looked around, and became aware of the presence of the stranger, which inspired him with a secret awe, for which he could not account, insomuch that his voice trembled, though now he was not cold, when, after some hesitation, he said,

“Stranger, thou art welcome to this poor house. I would I were better able to offer thee the hospitalities of the season, but I will wish thee a happy Newyear, and that is all I can bestow.” The good yffrouw, his wife, repeated the wish, and straightway began to apologize for the untidy state of her apartment.

“Make no apologies,” replied the excellent saint; “I come to give, not to receive. To-night I treat, to-morrow you may return the kindness to others.”

“I?” said Johannes Garrebrantze; “I have nothing to bestow but good wishes, and nothing to receive but the scorn and neglect of the world. If I had anything to give thee to eat or drink, thou shouldst have it with all my heart. But the newyear, which brings jollity to the hearts of others,
brings nothing but hunger and despair to me and mine.”

“Thou hast seen better days, I warrant thee,” answered the saint; “for thou speakest like a scholar of Leyden. Tell me thy story, Johannes, my son, and we shall see whether in good time thou wilt not hold up thy head as high as a church steeple.”

“Alas! to what purpose, since man assuredly has, and Heaven seems to have forsaken me.”

“Hush!” cried St. Nicholas, “Heaven never forsakes the broken spirit, or turns a deaf ear to the cries of innocent children. It is for the wicked never to hope, the virtuous never to despair. I predict thou shalt live to see better days.”

“I must see them soon then, for neither I, my wife, nor my children have tasted food since twenty-four hours past.”

“What! God be with us! is there such lack of charity in the burghers of the Colonie, that they will suffer a neighbour to starve under their very noses? Onbegrypelik—I'll not believe it.”

“They know not my necessities.”

“No? What! hast thou no tongue to speak them?”

“I am too proud to beg.”

“And too lazy to work,” cried St. Nicholas, in a severe tone.

“Look you,” answered the other, holding up his right arm with his left, and showing that the sinews were stiffened by rheumatism.

“Is it so, my friend? Well, but thou mightst still have bent thy spirit to ask charity for thy starving wife and children, though, in truth, begging is the last thing an honest man ought to stoop to. But Goeden Hemel! here am I talking while thou and thine are perishing with hunger.”

Saying which, St. Nicholas straightway bade the good yffrouw to bring forth the little pine table, which she did, making divers apologies for the want of a tablecloth; and when she had done so, he incontinently spread out upon it such store of good things from his little cart, as made the hungry childrens' mouths to water, and smote the hearts of their parents with joyful thanksgivings. “Eat, drink, and be merry,” said St. Nicholas, “for to-morrow thou shalt not die, but live.”

The heart of the good saint expanded, like as the morning-glory does to the first rays of the sun, while he sat rubbing his hands at seeing them eat with such a zest, as made him almost think it was worth while to be hungry in order to enjoy such triumphant satisfaction. When they had done, and returned their pious thanks to Heaven and the good stranger, St. Nicholas willed the honest man to expound the causes which had brought him to his present deplorable condition. “My own folly,” said he; and the other sagely replied, “I thought as much. Beshrew me, friend, if in all my experience, and I have lived long, and seen much, I ever encountered distress and poverty that could not be traced to its source in folly or vice. Heaven is too bountiful to entail misery on its creatures, save through their own transgressions. But I pray thee, go on with thy story.”

The good man then went on to relate that his father, old Johannes Garrebrantze—

“Ah!” quoth St. Nicholas, “I knew him well. He was an honest man, and that, in these times of all sorts of improvements, except in mind and morals, is little less than miraculous. But I interrupt thee, friend—proceed with thy story, once more.”

The son of Johannes again resumed his story, and related how his father had left him a competent estate in the _Colonie_, on which he lived in good credit, and in the enjoyment of a reasonable competency, with his wife and children, until within a few years past, when seeing a vast number of three-story houses, with folding doors and marble mantelpieces rising up all around him, he began to be ashamed of his little one-story house with the gable end to the street, and—

“Ah! Johannes,” interrupted the pale wife, “do not spare me. It was I that in the vanity of my heart put such notions in thy head. It was I that tempted thee.”

“It was the duyvel,” muttered St.Nicholas, “in the shape of a pretty wife.”

Johannes gave his helpmate a look of affectionate forgiveness, and went on to tell St. Nicholas how, finally egged on by the evil example of his neighbours, he had at last committed sacrilege against his household gods, and pulled down the home of his fathers, commencing a new one on its ruins.

“Donderdag!” quoth the saint to himself; “and the bricks came from faderland too!”

When Johannes had about half finished his new house, he discovered one day, to his great astonishment and dismay, that all his money, which he had been saving for his children, was gone. His strong box was empty, and his house but half finished, although, after estimating the cost, he had allowed one third more in order to be sure in the business.

Johannes was now at a dead stand. The idea of borrowing money and running in debt never entered his head before, and probably would not now, had it not been suggested to him by a neighbour, a great speculator, who had lately built a whole street of houses, not a single brick of which belonged to him in reality. He had borrowed the money, mortgaged the property, and expected to grow rich by a sudden rise. Poor Johannes may be excused for listening to the seductions of this losel varlet, seeing he had a house half finished on his hands; but whether so or not, he did listen and was betrayed into borrowing money of a bank just then established in the _Colonie_ on a capital paid in according to law—that is, not paid at all—the directors of which were very anxious to exchange their rags for lands and houses.

Johannes finished his house in glorious style, and having opened this new mine of wealth, furnished it still more gloriously; and as it would have been sheer nonsense not to live gloriously in such a glorious establishment, spent thrice his income in order to keep up his respectability. He was going on swimmingly, when what is called a reaction took place; which means, as far as I can understand, that the bank directors, having been pleased to make money plenty to increase their dividends, are pleased thereafter to make it scarce for the same purpose. Instead of lending it in the name of the bank, it is credibly reported they do it through certain brokers, who charge lawful interest and unlawful commission, and thus cheat the law with a clear conscience. But I thank Heaven devoutly that I know nothing of their wicked mysteries, and therefore will say no more about them.

Be this as it may, Johannes was called upon all of a sudden to pay his notes to the bank, for the reaction had commenced, and there was no more renewals. The directors wanted all the money to lend out at three per cent. a month. It became necessary to raise the wind, as they say in Wall-street, and Johannes, by the advice of his good friend the speculative genius, went with him to a certain money lender of his acquaintance, who was reckoned a good Christian, because he always charged most usury where there was the greatest necessity for a loan. To a rich man he would lend at something like a reasonable interest, but to a man in great distress for money he showed about as much mercy as a weazel does to a chicken. He sucked their blood till there was not a drop left in their bodies. This he did six days in the week, and on the seventh went three times to church, to enable him to begin the next week with a clear conscience. Beshrew such varlets, I say; they bring religion itself into disrepute, and add the sin of hypocrisy to men to that of insult to Heaven.

Suffice it to say, that poor Johannes Garrebrantze the younger went down hill faster than he ever went up in his life; and inasmuch as I scorn these details of petty roguery as unworthy of my cloth and calling, I shall content myself with merely premising, that by a process very common nowadays, the poor man was speedily bereft of all the patrimony left him by his worthy father in paying commission to the money lender. He finally became bankrupt; and inasmuch as he was unacquainted with the mystery of getting rich by such a manœuvre, was left without a shilling in the world. He retired from his fine house, which was forthwith occupied by his good friend the money lender, whose nose had been tweaked by St. Nicholas, as heretofore recorded, and took refuge in the wretched building where he was found by that benevolent worthy. Destitute of resources, and entirely unacquainted with the art of living by his wits or his labours, though he tried hard both ways, poor Johannes became gradually steeped in poverty to the very lips, and being totally disabled by rheumatism, might, peradventure, with all his family, have perished that very night, had not Providence mercifully sent the good St. Nicholas to their relief.

“_Wat donderdag!_” exclaimed the saint, when he had done—”_wat donderdag!_—was that your house down yonder, with the fine bedroom, the wardrobes, the looking-glass as big as the moon, and the bedstead with a cocked hat and feathers?”

“Even so,” replied the other, hanging down his head.

“_Is het mogelyk!_” And after considering a little while, the good saint slapped his hand on the table, broke forth again—“By donderdag, but I'll soon settle this business.”

He then began to hum an old Dutch hymn, which by its soothing and wholesome monotony so operated upon Johannes and his family, that one and all fell fast asleep in their chairs.

The good St. Nicholas then lighted his pipe, and seating himself by the fire, revolved in his mind the best mode of proceeding on this occasion. At first he determined to divest the rich money lender of all his ill-gotten gains, and bestow them on poor Johannes and his family. But when he considered that the losel caitiff was already sufficiently punished in being condemned to the sordid toils of money making, and in the privation of all those social and benevolent feelings which, while they contribute to our own happiness, administer to that of others; that he was for ever beset with the consuming cares of avarice, the hope of gain, and the fear of losses; and that, rich as he was, he suffered all the gnawing pangs of an insatiable desire for more—when he considered all this, St. Nicholas decided to leave him to the certain punishment of ill-gotten wealth, and the chances of losing it by an over craving appetite for its increase, which sooner or later produces all the consequences of reckless imprudence.

“Let the splutterkin alone,” thought St. Nicholas, “and he will become the instrument of his own punishment.”

Then he went on to think what he should do for poor Johannes and his little children. Though he had been severely punished for his folly, yet did the good saint, who in his nightly holyday peregrinations had seen more of human life and human passions than the sun ever shone upon, very well know that sudden wealth, or sudden poverty, is a sore trial of the heart of man, in like manner as the sudden transition from light to darkness, or darkness to light, produces a temporary blindness. It was true that Johannes had received a severe lesson, but the great mass of mankind are prone to forget the chastening rod of experience, as they do the pangs of sickness when they are past. He therefore settled in his mind, that the return of Johannes to competence and prosperity should be by the salutary process of his own exertions, and that he should learn their value by the pains it cost to attain them. “_Het is goed visschen in troebel water_,” quoth he, “for then a man knows the value of what he catches.”

It was broad daylight before he had finished his pipe and his cogitations, and placing his old polished delft pipe carefully in his buttonhole, the good saint sallied forth, leaving Johannes and his family still fast asleep in their chairs. Directly opposite the miserable abode of Johannes there dwelt a little fat Dutchman, of a reasonable competency, who had all his life manfully stemmed the torrent of modern innovation. He eschewed all sorts of paper money as an invention of people without property to get hold of those that had it; abhorred the practice of widening streets; and despised in his heart all public improvements except canals, a sneaking notion for which he inherited from old faderland. He was honest as the light of the blessed sun; and though he opened his best parlour but twice a year to have it cleaned and put to rights, yet this I will say of him, that the poor man who wanted a dinner was never turned away from his table. The worthy burgher was standing at the street door, which opened in the middle, and leaning over the lower half, so that the smoke of his pipe ascended in the clear frosty morning in a little white column far into the sky before it was dissipated.

St. Nicholas stopped his wagon right before his door, and cried out in a clear hearty voice,

“Good-morning, good-morning, mynheer; and a happy Newyear to you.”

“Good-morning,” cried the hale old burgher, “and many happy Newyears to _you_. Hast got any good fat hen turkies to sell?” for he took him for a countryman coming in to market. St. Nicholas answered and said that he had been on a different errand that morning; and the other cordially invited him to alight, come in, and take a glass of hot spiced rum, with the which it was his custom to regale all comers at the jolly Newyear. The invitation was frankly accepted, for the worthy St. Nicholas, though no toper, was never a member of the temperance society. He chose to be keeper of his own conscience, and was of opinion that a man who is obliged to sign an obligation not to drink, will be very likely to break it the first convenient opportunity.

As they sat cozily together, by a rousing fire of wholesome and enlivening hickory, the little plump Dutchman occasionally inveighing stoutly against paper money, railroads, improving streets, and the like, the compassionate saint took occasion to utter a wish that the poor man over the way and his starving family had some of the good things that were so rife on Newyear's day, for he had occasion to know that they were suffering all the evils of the most abject poverty.

“The splutterkin,” exclaimed the little fat burgher—”he is as proud as Lucifer himself. I had a suspicion of this, and sought divers occasions to get acquainted with him, that I might have some excuse for prying into his necessities, and take the privilege of an old neighbour to relieve them. But _vuur en vlammen_! would you believe it—he avoided me just as if he owed me money, and couldn't pay.”

St. Nicholas observed that if it was ever excusable for a man to be proud, it was when he fell into a state where every one, high and low, worthless and honourable, looked down upon him with contempt. Then he related to him the story of poor Johannes, and taking from his pocket a heavy purse, he offered it to the worthy old burgher, who swore he would be dondered if he wanted any of his money.

“But hearken to me,” said the saint; “yon foolish lad is the son of an old friend of mine, who did me many a kindness in his day, for which I am willing to requite his posterity. Thou shalt take this purse and bestow a small portion of it, as from thyself, as a loan from time to time, as thou seest he deserves it by his exertions. It may happen, as I hope it will, that in good time he will acquire again the competency he hath lost by his own folly and inexperience; and as he began the world a worthy, respectable citizen, I beseech thee to do this—to be his friend, and to watch over him and his little ones, in the name of St. Nicholas.”

The portly Burgher promised that he would, and they parted with marvellous civility, St. Nicholas having promised to visit him again should his life be spared. He then mounted his little wagon, and the little Dutchman having turned his head for an instant, when he looked again could see nothing of the saint or his equipage. “_Is het mogelyk!_” exclaimed he, and his mind misgave him that there was something unaccountable in the matter.

My story is already too long, peradventure, else would I describe the astonishment of Johannes and his wife when they awoke and found the benevolent stranger had departed without bidding them farewell. They would have thought all that had passed was but a dream, had not the fragments of the good things on which they regaled during the night bore testimony to its reality. Neither will I detail how, step by step, aided by the advice and countenance of the worthy little Dutchman, and the judicious manner of his dispensing the bounty of St. Nicholas, Johannes Garrebrantze, by a course of industry, economy, and integrity, at length attained once again the station he had lost by his follies and extravagance. Suffice it to say, that though he practised a rational self-denial in all his outlayings, he neither became a miser, nor did he value money except as the means of obtaining the comforts of life, and administering to the happiness of others.

In the mean time, the money lender, not being content with the wealth he had obtained by taking undue advantage of the distresses of others, and becoming every day more greedy, launched out into mighty speculations. He founded a score of towns without any houses in them; dealt by hundreds of thousands in fancy stocks; and finally became the victim of one of his own speculations, by in time coming to believe in the very deceptions he had practised upon others. It is an old saying, that the greatest rogue in the world, sooner or latter, meets with his match, and so it happened with the money lender. He was seduced into the purchase of a town without any houses in it, at an expense of millions; was met by one of those reactions that play the mischief with honest labourers, and thus finally perished in a bottomless pit of his own digging. Finding himself sinking, he resorted to forgeries, and had by this means raised money to such an amount, that his villany almost approached to sublimity. His property, as the phrase is, came under the hammer, and Johannes purchased his own house at half the price it cost him in building.

The good St. Nicholas trembled at the new ordeal to which Johannes had subjected himself; but finding, when he visited him, as he did regularly every Newyear's eve, that he was cured of his foolish vanities, and that his wife was one of the best housekeepers in all Fort Orange, he discarded his apprehensions, and rejoiced in the prosperity that was borne so meekly and wisely. The little fat Dutchman lived a long time in expectation that the stranger in the one-horse wagon would come for the payment of his purse of money; but finding that year after year rolled away without his appearing, often said to himself, as he sat on his stoop with a pipe in his mouth,

“I'll be dondered if I don't believe it was the good St. Nicholas.”

THE END.

INTERESTING WORKS
PUBLISHED BY
HARPER & BROTHERS,
New-York.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo., with Engravings, Maps, &c.,

=THE HISTORY OF THE JEWS=.

From the earliest Period to the Present Time.

By the Rev. H. H. MILMAN.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with Portraits,

THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

By J. G. LOCKHART, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Portrait,

THE LIFE OF NELSON.

By ROBERT SOUTHEY, LL.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Map,

THE LIFE AND ACTIONS OF

ALEXANDER THE GREAT.

By Rev. J. WILLIAMS.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with numerous Engravings,

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF INSECTS.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON.

By JOHN GALT.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

THE LIFE OF MOHAMMED.

Founder of the Religion of Islam, and of the Empire of the Saracens.

By Rev. GEORGE BUSH.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with an Engraving

LETTERS ON DEMONOLOGY AND WITCHCRAFT.

By Sir WALTER SCOTT, Bart.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Map,

HISTORY OF THE BIBLE.

By the Rev. G. R. GLEIG.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Maps, &c.

NARRATIVE OF DISCOVERY AND ADVENTURE IN

the Polar Seas and Regions.

With Illustrations of their Climate, Geology, and Natural History, and an Account of the Whale-Fishery.

By Professors LESLIE and JAMESON, and HUGH MURRAY, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF GEORGE THE FOURTH.

With Anecdotes of Distinguished Persons of the last Fifty years.

By Rev. GEORGE CROLY.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

NARRATIVE OF DISCOVERY AND ADVENTURE IN AFRICA.

From the Earliest Ages to the Present Time

With Illustrations of its Geology, Mineralogy, and Zoology.

By Professor JAMESON, and JAMES WILSON and HUGH MURRAY, Esqrs.

---

In 5 vols. 18mo., with Portraits,

LIVES OF THE MOST EMINENT

PAINTERS AND SCULPTORS.

By ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

HISTORY OF CHIVALRY AND THE CRUSADES.

By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

LIFE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

By HENRY GLASSFORD BELL, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

A VIEW OF

ANCIENT AND MODERN EGYPT.

With an Outline of its Natural History.

By the Rev. M. RUSSELL, LL.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Portrait,

HISTORY OF POLAND.

From the Earliest Period to the Present Time.

By JAMES FLETCHER, Esq.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

PALESTINE, OR THE HOLY LAND,

From the Earliest Period to the Present Time

By the Rev. M. RUSSELL, LL.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

=LIFE OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON=.

By Sir DAVID BREWSTER, K.B., LL.D., F.R.S.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

FESTIVALS, GAMES, AND AMUSEMENTS.

Ancient and Modern.

By HORATIO SMITH, Esq.

With Additions, by SAMUEL WOODWORTH, Esq., of New-York.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Portraits,

MEMOIRS OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.

By JOHN S. MEMES, LL.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Portraits,

LIVES AND VOYAGES OF

DRAKE, CAVENDISH, AND DAMPIER,

Including an Introductory View of the Earlier Discoveries in the South Sea, and the History of the Bucaniers.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

A. DESCRIPTION OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND, AND ITS INHABITANTS.

With an Authentic Account of the Mutiny of the Ship Bounty, and of the subsequent Fortunes of the Mutineers.

By J. BARROW, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Portrait,

The Court and Camp of Bonaparte.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo.,

Sacred History of the World,

as displayed in the Creation and Subsequent Events to the Deluge.

Attempted to be Philosophically considered in a Series of Letters to a Son.

By SHARON TURNER, F.S.A.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo.,

MEMOIRS OF

CELEBRATED FEMALE SOVEREIGNS.

By Mrs. JAMESON.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Portraits, Maps, &c.,

JOURNAL OF AN EXPEDITION TO EXPLORE

THE COURSE AND TERMINATION OF THE NIGER.

With a Narrative of a Voyage down that River to its Termination.

By RICHARD and JOHN LANDER.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

INQUIRIES CONCERNING THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS,

and the Investigation of Truth.

By JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M.D., F.R.S.

With Questions.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo.,

LIVES OF CELEBRATED TRAVELLERS.

By JAMES AUGUSTUS ST. JOHN.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

LIFE OF FREDERIC THE SECOND,

King of Prussia.

By LORD DOVER.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with Engravings,

SKETCHES FROM VENETIAN HISTORY.

By the Rev. E. SMEDLEY, M.A.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo.,

INDIAN BIOGRAPHY,

or, an Historical Account of those individuals who have
been distinguished among the North American
Natives as Orators, Warriors, Statesmen,
and other Remarkable
Characters.

By B. B. THATCHER, Esq.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE ACCOUNT OF

BRITISH INDIA.

From the most remote Period to the Present Time.

Including a Narrative of the early Portuguese and English
Voyages, the Revolutions in the Mogul Empire,
and the Origin, Progress, and Establishment
of the British Power; with Illustrations
of the Botany, Zoology, Climate,
Geology, and Mineralogy.
By HUGH MURRAY, Esq., JAMES WILSON, Esq., R. K.
GREVILLE, LL.D., WHITELAW AINSLIE, M.D.,
WILLIAM RHIND, Esq., Professor JAMESON,
Professor WALLACE, and Captain
CLARENCE DALRYMPLE.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

LETTERS ON NATURAL MAGIC.

Addressed to Sir Walter Scott.

By Dr. BREWSTER.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with Engravings,

HISTORY OF IRELAND.

From the Anglo-Norman Invasion till the Union of the Country with Great Britain.

By W. C. TAYLOR, Esq.

With Additions, by WILLIAM SAMPSON, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

HISTORICAL VIEW OF THE PROGRESS OF DISCOVERY ON THE NORTHERN COASTS OF NORTH AMERICA.

From the Earliest Period to the Present Time.

By P. F. TYTLER, Esq.

With Descriptive Sketches of the Natural History of the North American Regions.

By Professor WILSON.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

THE TRAVELS AND RESEARCHES OF

ALEXANDER VON HUMBOLDT;

being a condensed Narrative of his Journeys in the
Equinoctial Regions of America, and in Asiatic
Russia: together with Analyses of his
more important Investigations.

By W. MACGILLIVRAY, A. M.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with numerous Engravings,

LETTERS OF EULER

ON DIFFERENT SUBJECTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.

Addressed to a German Princess.

Translated by HUNTER.

With Notes, and a Life of Euler, by Sir DAVID BREWSTER and Additional Notes, by JOHN GRISCOM, LL.D.

With a Glossary of Scientific Terms.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

A POPULAR GUIDE TO

THE OBSERVATION OF NATURE;

or, Hints of Inducement to the Study of Natural Productions and Appearances, in their Connexions and Relations.

By ROBERT MUDIE.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE MORAL FEELINGS.

By JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M.D., F.R.S.

With Questions.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF SOCIETY BY THE DIFFUSION OF KNOWLEDGE.

By THOMAS DICK, LL.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Portrait,

HISTORY OF CHARLEMAGNE.

To which is prefixed an Introduction, comprising the History of France from the Earliest Period to the Birth of Charlemagne.

By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

NUBIA AND ABYSSINIA.

Comprehending their Civil History, Antiquities, Arts, Religion, Literature, and Natural History.

By the Rev. M. RUSSELL, LL.D.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL.

By the Rev. M. RUSSELL, LL.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

LECTURES ON GENERAL LITERATURE, POETRY, &c.

Delivered at the Royal Institute in 1830 and 1831.

By JAMES MONTGOMERY.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Portrait,

MEMOIR OF

THE LIFE OF PETER THE GREAT.

By JOHN BARROW, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE ACCOUNT OF

PERSIA.

From the Earliest Period to the Present Time.

With a Detailed View of its Resources, Government,
Population, Natural History, and the Character
of its Inhabitants, particularly of the
Wandering Tribes: including
a Description of Afghanistan.

By JAMES B. FRASER, Esq.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Map and Engravings,

THE HISTORY OF ARABIA.

Ancient and Modern.

Containing a Description of the Country—An Account
of its Inhabitants, Antiquities, Political Condition,
and Early Commerce—The Life and Religion of
Mohammed—The Conquests, Arts, and Literature
of the Saracens—The Caliphs of Damascus,
Bagdad, Africa, and Spain—The Civil
Government and Religious Ceremonies of
the Modern Arabs—Origin and Suppression
of the Wahabees—The Institutions,
Character, Manners, and
Customs of the Bedouins; and
a Comprehensive View of
its Natural History.

By ANDREW CRICHTON.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

THE PRINCIPLES OF PHYSIOLOGY,

APPLIED TO THE PRESERVATION OF HEALTH, AND TO THE IMPROVEMENT OF PHYSICAL AND MENTAL EDUCATION.

By ANDREW COMBE, M.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

HISTORY AND PRESENT CONDITION OF

THE BARBARY STATES.

Comprehending a View of their Civil Institutions, Antiquities, Arts, Religion, Literature, Commerce, Agriculture, and Natural Productions.

By the Rev. M. RUSSELL, LL.D.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with beautiful Engravings,

A LIFE OF WASHINGTON.

By J. K. PAULDING, Esq.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with Engravings,

The Philosophy of Living;

OR, THE WAY TO ENJOY LIFE AND ITS COMFORTS.

By CALEB TICKNOR, A.M., M.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with numerous Illustrative Engravings,

THE EARTH.

ITS PHYSICAL CONDITION, AND MOST REMARKABLE PHENOMENA.

By W. MULLINGER HIGGINS.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

XENOPHON.

(Anabasis, translated by EDWARD SPELMAN, Esq., Cyropædia, by the Hon. M. A. COOPER.)

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

THE ORATIONS OF DEMOSTHENES.

Translated by THOMAS LELAND, D.D.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

SALLUST.

Translated by WILLIAM ROSE, M.A.

With Improvements and Notes.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

CAESAR.

Translated by WILLIAM DUNCAN.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

CICERO.

The Orations translated by DUNCAN, the Offices by COCKMAN, and the Cato and Lælius by MELMOTH.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

VIRGIL.

The Eclogues translated by WRANGHAM, the Georgics by SOTHEBY, and the Æneid by DRYDEN.

---

In one vol. 18mo.,

ÆSCHYLUS.

Translated by the Rev. R. POTTER, M.A.

---

In one vol. 18mo., with a Portrait,

SOPHOCLES.

Translated by THOMAS FRANCKLIN, D.D.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

EURIPIDES.

Translated by the Rev. R. POTTER, M.A.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

HORACE.

Translated by PHILIP FRANCIS, D.D.

With an Appendix, containing translations of various Odes, &c.

By BEN JONSON, COWLEY, MILTON, DRYDEN, POPE, ADDISON, SWIFT, BENTLEY, CHATTERTON, G. WAKEFIELD, PORSON, BYRON, &c.

And by some of the most eminent Poets of the present day.

PHÆDRUS.

With the Appendix of Gudius.

Translated by CHRISTOPHER SMART, A.M.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

OVID.

Translated by DRYDEN, POPE, CONGREVE, ADDISON, and others.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

HERODOTUS.

Translated by the Rev. WILLIAM BELOE.

---

In 3 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

HOMER.

Translated by ALEXANDER POPE, Esq.

---

In 5 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

LIVY.

Translated by GEORGE BAKER, A.M.

---

In 2 vols. 18mo., with a Portrait,

THUCYDIDES.

Translated by WILLIAM SMITH, A.M.

---

In one vol. 8vo., with Plates,

PLUTARCH'S LIVES.

Translated from the original Greek, with Notes, Critical and Historical, and a Life of Plutarch.

By JOHN LANGHORNE, D.D., and WM. LANGHORNE, A.M.

A New Edition, carefully revised and corrected.

---

In one vol. 12mo., with a Portrait,

A LIFE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.

In Latin Prose.

By FRANCIS GLASS, A.M., of Ohio.

Edited by J. N. Reynolds.

---

In one vol. 8vo.,

A TREATISE ON LANGUAGE,

or the Relation which Words bear to Things.

By A. B. JOHNSON.

---

In one vol. 8vo., with numerous Illustrative Engravings,

THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF SURVEYING;

containing all the Instructions requisite for the skilful practice of this art.

With a new set of accurate Mathematical Tables.

By ROBERT GIBSON.

Newly arranged, improved, and enlarged, with useful selections, by JAMES RYAN.

---

In one vol. 8vo.,

AN ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON MECHANICS.

Translated from the French of M. Boucharlat.

With additions and emendations, designed to adapt it to the use of the Cadets of the U. S. Military Academy.

By EDWARD H. COURTENAY.

---

In one vol. 48mo.,

The Reticule and Pocket Companion;

OR,

MINIATURE LEXICON OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE

By LYMAN COBB.

---

In one vol. 8vo.,

ENGLISH SYNONYMES.

With copious Illustrations and Explanations, drawn from the best Writers.

By GEORGE CRABB, M.A.