CXLIII. AN ADVENTURE IN CALABRIA. FROM A LETTER TO THE AUTHOR'S COUSIN, COURIER. PAUL LOUIS COURIER, a French classical scholar and political writer, was born in 1773 at Paris, and was assassinated in 1825. He was one of the most remarkable writers of his day. The following playful account of an adventure in Calabria we translate from one of his familiar letters to his cousin. See in Index, COMRADE, SABRE or SABER, SUFFICE, TRAVELER or TRAV ELLER. 1. I was once traveling in Calabria, a land of wicked people, who, I believe, do not love anybody over much, and least of all a Frenchman. To tell you the why and the wherefore would take too long; suffice it to say, that they hate us with a deadly hatred, and that one of our countrymen who falls into their hands is not likely to fare very well. In these mountains the roads are precipices. It was with difficulty that my horse made his way over them. I had for a companion a young man who took the lead. Thinking that he had hit upon a shorter and more practicable route, he led us astray. It served me right. What business had I to trust to a head of only twenty years? 2. We sought, while the day lasted, our way through these woods; but the more we sought the more we were baffled; and it was black night when we drew near to a very black-looking house. We entered, not without suspicion,- but what could we do? There we found a whole family of charcoal-burners, seated round a table, at which they forthwith invited us to take places. My young man did not wait for a second. invitation. We soon made ourselves at home, and began to eat and drink; or rather my companion did. As for myself, I was occupied in examining the place and the aspects of our hosts. That they were charcoal burners their faces gave ample pledge; but as for the house you would have taken it for an arsenal. 3. What an assortment of guns, pistols, sabres, knives, and cutlasses! Everything displeased me, and I saw that I also displeased everybody. My comrade, on the contrary, made himself quite one of the family; laughed and chatted with them, and, with an imprudence that I ought to have foreseen (but, alas! fate would have it so), informed them whence we came, where we were going, who we were. He told them, in short, that we were Frenchmen! Conceive of it! We, all the while, poor, bewildered travelers, far from all human succor, and in the power of our mortal enemies! 4. And then, as if to omit nothing that might contribute to our destruction, he played the rich man; promised to pay these people whatever they might ask for our entertainment, and for guides the next day. Then he spoke of his valise, requested that they would take particular care of it, and put it at the head of his bed, remarking that he wanted no better bolster. Ah, youth, youth, you are to be pitied. Cousin, one would have thought we had charge of the crown diamonds! All that there was in my companion's valise to occasion this amount of solicitude was a bundle of his sweetheart's letters! 5. Supper being ended, our hosts left us. They slept below, we in the room above that where we had supped. A loft, to which we had to mount seven or eight feet by a ladder, was our destined place of repose. It was a sort of nest, into which one had to insinuate himself by creeping under cross-beams, hung with provisions for the whole year. My comrade made his way up alone, and threw himself down, already half asleep, with his head on the precious valise. As for myself, I determined to watch; and, making a good fire, I sat down ncar it. 6. The night wore away tranquilly enough, and was at length near its end. I was beginning to be reässured, when, just before the break of day, I heard our host and his wife talking and disputing down stairs. Listening intently at the chimney, which communicated with that below, I distinctly heard the husband utter these words: "Well, come now, must we kill them both?" To which the woman replied, "Yes"; and I heard nothing more. How shall I describe my emotions? I remained almost breathless, my whole body frigid as marble. To have seen me, you would not have known whether I was dead or alive. Ah! when I but think of it, even now! 7. Two of us, without weapons, against twelve or fifteen, so remarkably well provided! And my comrade half dead with sleep and fatigue! To call him — to make a noise-I did not dare; escape by myself I could not; the window was not very high from the ground, but beneath it were two savage bull-dogs, howling like wolves. Imagine, if you can, in what a dilemma I found myself. At the end of a long quarter of an hour I heard some one on the stairs, and, through the cracks of the door, I saw the father, with a lamp in one hand, and one of his big knives in the other. Up he came, his wife after him, I behind the door he opened it; but, before entering, he put down the lamp, which his wife took; then he entered barefoot, and she, outside, said, in a low tone, shading the light with her hand, "Softly, go softly!" 8. When he got to the ladder he mounted, holding the knife between his teeth. Approaching the head of the bed, where my poor young companion, with throat uncovered, was lying, with one hand the monster grasped his knife, and with the other Ah! cousin with - the other he seized a ham, which hung from the ceiling, cut a slice, and retired as he had entered. The door closed, the lamp disappeared, and I was left alone to my reflections. 9. As soon as the day dawned, all the family came bustling to waken us, as we had requested. They brought us something to eat, and spread, I assure you, a very clean and nice breakfast. Two chickens formed part of it, of which, our hostess told us, we were to eat one, and take away the other. Seeing these, I at length comprehended the meaning of those terrible words, "Must we kill them both?" And I think you, too, cousin, will have penetration enough to guess now what they signified. 10. Cousin, I have a favor to ask: do not tell this story. In the first place, as you cannot fail to perceive, I do not play a very enviable part in it. In the next place, you will spoil it. Indeed, I do not flatter: it is that face of yours which will ruin the effect of the recital. As for myself, without vanity I may say, I have just the countenance one ought to have in telling a tale of terror. CXLIV.. A SCENE FROM THE DOLLIVER HAWTHORNE. The following characteristic passages are from a posthumous publication, the latest record of the author meant for the public eye. They exhibit many of the subtle graces and peculiarities of Hawthorne's style and humor. Pronounce APOPHTHEGM, ap'o-them; CHIROGRAPHY, ki-rog'ra-fy; PATRIARCH, pa'tri-ark. See in Index, MEAGRE or MEAGER, SKILLFUL or SKILFUL, SOMBRE or SOMBER, HAWTHORNE. 1. DOCTOR DOLLIVER, a worthy personage of extreme antiquity, was aroused rather prematurely, one summer morning, by the shouts of the child Pansie, in an adjoining chamber, summoning Old Martha (who performed the duties of nurse, housekeeper, and kitchen maid, in the Doctor's establishment) to take up her little ladyship and dress her. The old gentleman woke with more than his customary alacrity, and, after taking a moment to gather his wits about him, pulled aside the faded moreen curtains of his ancient bed, and thrust his head into a beam of sunshine that caused him to wink and withdraw it again. 2. This transitory glimpse of good Dr. Dolliver showed a flannel nightcap, fringed round with stray locks of silvery white hair, and surmounting a meagre and duskily yellow visage, which was crossed and crisscrossed with a record of his long life in wrinkles, faithfully written, no doubt, but with such cramped chirography of Father Time that the purport was illegible. It seemed hardly worth while for the patriarch to get out of bed any more, and bring his forlorn shadow into the summer day that was made for younger folks. 3. The Doctor, however, was by no means of that opinion, being considerably encouraged toward the toil of living twenty-four hours longer by the comparative ease with which he found himself going through the usually painful process of bestirring his rusty joints, (stiffened by the very rest and sleep that should have made them pliable,) and putting them in a condition to bear his weight upon the floor. Nor was he absolutely disheartened by the idea of those tonsorial, ablutionary, and personally decorative labors which are apt to become so intolerably irksome to an old gentleman, after performing them daily and daily for fifty, sixty, or seventy years, and finding them still as immitigably recurrent as at first. 4. While the patriarch was putting on his smallclothes, he took care to stand in the parallelogram of bright sunshine that fell on the uncarpeted floor. The summer warmth was very genial to his system, and yet made him shiver; his wintry veins rejoiced at it, though the reviving blood tingled through them with a half |