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drained his beer-mug to the last drop, and set it upon the table with the lid up. There is an old and honored custom in Holland which provides that whenever one leaves his mug with the lid up in a public place it is in form for all within reach to deposit their mugs upon his table, and he is forced to pay for their refilling. Such an occasion had not happened in Maarken within the memory of the oldest mynheer in the town, and almost before the American's mug had touched the table the eager mynheers were upon their feet, headed by the dignified burgomaster, mug in hand.

The stranger, when the situation was explained to him with excited gestures by the landlord, in which the chorus E joined, paid for his error in good grace, and once more THE LANDLORD. quietness reigned. With his mug in hand and his eyes fixed upon the glowing charcoal in the brass box, the American began in tolerable Dutch, as if talking to himself: "In New York one sees railroads built in the air, and cars crowded with people rushing over them. In New York buildings thir

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teen stories high are seen, and stairs are seldom used. People are whisked up to their rooms in cars run by steam. In New York cars are run upon the streets not by horses or steam, but by lightning, and all the lamps in the city are lighted at once by one man, who uses no fire or matches, but simply sits in his chair and turns a screw. In New York there is a bridge so high that the masts of tall vessels may pass under it without touching. It is hung upon wires, and railroad-trains pass over it all day and night. In New York " the burgomaster paused spellbound in the act of drinking, and slowly set down his mug with the lid up. The stranger's eye caught the error, and he banged his mug on the table beside the burgomaster's. The mynheers rose to their feet in an ecstasy of astonishment, indignation, and dismay, and before the stranger's mug had been filled and replaced upon the table the coffee-house was empty, save for the presence of the American and the awestruck landlord.

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GLORIA MUNDI.

GOING HOME.

George Wharton Edwards.

IVE us the earth's whole heart but once to know, But once to pierce the secret of the spring,

Give us our fill,- and we at end will go

Into the starless night unmurmuring.

Gold lights that beckon down the dusky way,

Where loud wheels roll, impetuous, through the night; The lamp-lit leaves; the maddening airs of May;

The heady wine of living, dark and bright.

Give us of these, and we are blest, in truth;
The wandering foot, the keen, unflagging zest,
One with the glorious world's eternal youth,
Of all that is, and is not, first and best.

Ah, vain desire, our straitened years to mar!
Troubled we turn and listen, unreleased,
To music of a revel held afar,

Evasive echoes of a distant feast.

Graham R. Tomson.

THE

RUDGIS AND GRIM.

WITH PICTURES BY E. W. KEMBLE.

"When Freedom from her mountain height," etc.

GRIM.

ENGRAVED BY T. SCHUSSLER.

HE Rudgis farm was the only one in Lone Ridge Pocket, a secluded nook of the north Georgia mountain-region, and its owner, Eli Rudgis, was, in the ante-bellum time, a man of note among the simple and honest people who dwelt beside the little crooked highway leading down the valley of the Pine-log Creek. He owned only one negro, as was often the case with the better class of mountaineers, but, which is not often the case with them, he had neither wife nor children. His slave was his sole companion of the human kind, sharing with certain dogs, pigs, horses, and oxen a rude, democratic distribution of the domestic frowns and favors. As a man this negro was an interesting specimen of the genuine African: short, strongly built, but ill-shapen, with a large head firmly braced by a thick, muscular neck on broad, stooping shoulders; a skin as black as night; small, deep-set eyes; a protruding, resolute jaw; and a nose as flat as the head of an adder. As a slave he was, perhaps, valuable enough in his way; but both as man and thrall he did no discredit to his name, which was Grim. He, too, was a familiar figure along the Pine-log

road, as he drove an old creaking ox-cart to and from the village.

When the war broke out, master and slave had reached the beginning of the downward slope of life, and, having spent many years together in their lonely retreat at the Pocket, had grown to love each other after the surly, taciturn fashion of men who have few thoughts and a meager gift of expression.

Eli Rudgis was tall, slim, cadaverous, slow of movement, and sallow; but he had a will of his own, and plenty of muscle to enforce it withal.

"Grim," said he one day, "them derned Northerners air a-goin' ter set ye free."

The negro looked up from the hickory-bark basket he was mending, and scowled savagely at his master.

"W'at yo' say, Mars Rudgis?" he pres ently inquired.

"Them Yankees air a-goin' ter gi' ye yer freedom poorty soon."

Grim's face took on an expression of dogged determination, his shoulders rose almost to the level of his protruding ears, and his small, wolfish eyes gleamed fiercely.

"Who say dey gwine ter do dat?" he demanded with slow, emphatic enunciation. "I say hit, an' w'en I says hit," began the master; but Grim broke in with:

"Dey cayn't do nuffin' wid me. I done made up my min'; dis chil' cayn't be fo'ced. Yo' yah dat, Mars Rudgis?"

Rudgis grinned dryly, and walked away smoking his cob-pipe with the air of a philosopher who bides his time.

The Rudgis cabin was a low, nondescript log structure of three or four rooms and a wide entry, or hall, set in the midst of a thick, luxuriant orchard of peach-, plum-, and appletrees crowning a small conical foot-hill, which, seen from a little distance, appeared to rest against the rocky breast of a mountain that stood over against the mouth of the Pocket. From the rickety veranda where Rudgis now sought a seat there was a fine view of the little farm, whose angular but rolling patches of tillable land straggled away to the foothills on the other side of the Pocket, beyond which the wall of cliffs rose, gray and brown, to a great height.

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Recently Eli Rudgis had been thinking a good deal about Grim; for, as the war continued, it grew in his mind that the South was going to lose the fight. He had only recently heard of President Lincoln's emancipation proclamation, and with that far-seeing prudence characteristic of a certain order of provincial intellect he was considering how best to forestall the effect of freedom if it should come, as he feared it would. Grim was his property, valued at about eight hundred dollars in "good money," or in Confederate scrip at, perhaps, two or three thousand dollars, more or less. He shrank from selling the negro, for in his dry, peculiar way he was fond of him; but, on the other hand, he could not consent to lose so much money on the outcome of an issue not of his own making. It can readily be imagined how, with ample leisure for reflection, and with no other problem to share his attention, Rudgis gradually buried himself, so to speak, in this desire to circumvent and nullify emancipation, in so far as it would affect his ownership of Grim, when it

should come.

Grim was far more knowing, far better informed, and much more of a philosopher, than his master gave him credit for being. By some means, as occult as reliable, he had kept perfectly abreast of the progress of the great, weltering, thundering, death-dealing tempest

of the war, and in his heart he felt the coming day of deliverance, the jubilee of eternal freedom for his race. Incapable, perhaps, of seeing clearly the true aspect of what was probably in store for him, he yet experienced a change of prospect that affected every fiber of his imagination, and opened, so to say, every pore of his sensibility. Naturally wary, suspicious, and quick to observe signs, he had been aware lately that his master was revolving some scheme which in all probability would effect a change in their domestic relations, to the extent, possibly, of severing the tie which for so long had bound together the lord and the thrall of Lone Ridge Pocket.

"He studyin' 'bout er-sellin' me," he soliloquized, as he lingered over his task of basketmending after Rudgis had gone away, "an' he fink he er-gwine ter fool dis ol' coon. Well, 'fore de Lor', mebbe he will.”

"What ye mutterin' thar, Grim?" called the master from his seat on the veranda. "What ye growlin' 'bout, lak er pup over er ham-bone?"

"Nuffin', sah; I jes tryin' fo' ter ketch dat chune w'at I be'n er-l'arnin'."

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He drew away at his wheezing pipe, leaning his chin, thinly fringed with grizzled beard, in his left hand, and propping that arm with his knee. His typical mountain face wore a puzzled, half-worried, half-amused expression.

dibly, though his lips moved; "he air a-con"Dern 's black pictur'," he continued inausiderin' freedom right now."

"Whi' man tuk me fer er fool,
Hoe yo' co'n, honey,
Wo'k me like er yaller mule,
An' never gi' me time ter cool,

Keep er-hoein' yo' co'n, honey,"

hummed Grim in that tender falsetto of his. There was a haze in the air, a Maytime shimmer over the Pocket and up the terraced slopes of the mountains. Suddenly a heavy booming, like distant thunder, tumbled as if in long, throbbing waves across the peaks, and fell into the little drowsy cove.

"W'at dat, Mars Rudgis? 'Fore de Lor'! w'at dat?" cried the negro, leaping to his feet, and staring stupidly, his great mouth open, his long arms akimbo.

Eli Rudgis took his pipe-stem from his mouth, and sat in a harkening attitude. "Hit's thet air war er-comin'," he presently said, and resumed his smoking and reflections.

"De good Lor', Mars Rudgis, w'at we gwine ter do?" stammered Grim, his heavy countenance growing strangely ashen over its

Then, to clinch the false statement, Grim corrugated blackness. began humming:

"De coon he hab er eejit wife,

Hoe yo' co'n, honey,

"Shet erp, an' mend that there basket," growled the master. Goin' ter mek ye wo'k like the devil er-beatin' tan-bark while I kin;

fer thet 's yer frien's er-comin' ter free ye, a good bed, sufficient clothing, and unlimited Grim, sure 's shootin'."

The African bowed his head over his light task, and remained thoughtfully silent, while the dull pounding in the far distance increased to an incessant roar, vague, wavering, suggestive, awful.

Rudgis thought little of the wider significance accompanying that slowly rolling tempest of destruction; his mental vision was narrowed to the compass of the one subject which lately had demanded all his powers of consideration. Was it possible for him to hold Grim as his slave despite the proclamation of emancipation, and notwithstanding the triumph of the Federal armies ?

“Ef I try ter take 'im down the country ter sell 'im, they 'll conscrip' me inter the war," he argued to himself, "an' ef I stays yer them 'fernal Yankees 'll set 'im free. Seem lak it air pow'ful close rubbin', an' dern ef I know what ter do! I air kind o' 'twixt the skillet an' the coals." Day after day he sat smoking and cogitating, while Grim pottered at this or that bit of labor. He had an unconquerable aversion to going into the army, a thing he had avoided, partly by reason of his age and partly by one personal shift or another, after the exigencies of the Confederacy had led to the conscription of "able-bodied men " regardless of age. He felt that things were growing to desperate straits in the low country, and he feared to show himself outside his mountain fastness lest a conscript officer might nab him and send him to the front. Not that he was a coward; but in the high, dry atmosphere of the hill-country there lingered a sweet and inextinguishable waft of loyalty to the old flag, which touched the minds of many mountaineers with a vague sense of the enormity of rebellion against the government of Washington and Jackson. And yet they were Southerners, good fighters, Yankee-haters, and clung to the right of property in their negroes with a tenacity as tough as the sinews of their hardy limbs. They were, indeed, far more stubborn in this last regard than any of the great slave-owners of the low country, owing, no doubt, to their narrow, provincial notions of personal independence, which felt no need for the aid or the interference of the law in their private concerns.

Grim was not a typical slave, but he was a legitimate instance of the slavery known in the secluded region of the Southern mountaincountry. He was as free, in all but name, as were most illiterate laborers of that day, barring that his skin and the Southern traditions set him on a plane far below, and quite detached from, that of the lowest white men. He had no bonds that galled him personally; plenty to eat, just enough work to keep him robust,

tobacco-what more could he want?

His master, however, observed that he was doing a great deal of thinking; that lately he was busying his mind with some absorbing problem, and from certain signs and indications the fact appeared plain that Grim was making ready to meet the day of freedom. Rudgis saw this with a dull, deep-seated sentimental pang mixed with anger and resentment. Years of companionship in that lonely place had engendered a fondness for his slave of which he was not fully aware, and out of which was now issuing a sort of bewilderment of mind and soul. Would Grim indeed forsake him, desert him to go away to try the doubtful chances of a new order of things? This question was supplemented by another based on a different stratum of human selfishness. Rudgis, like all mountain-men, had a narrow eye to profit and loss. The money represented by Grim as his slave possessed a powerful influence; it was the larger part of his fortune.

Grim, on his part, watched his master as the tide of the war flowed on through the mountain-gaps far to the east of the Pocket; his calculations were simpler and more directly personal than those of his master. Of course things could not remain in this situation very long. Grim was the first to speak straight to the subject. "Mars Rudgis," said he one day, "yo' be'n 'siderin' erbout sellin' me."

This direct accusation took the master un

awares.

"Wha-wha-what's that air ye air er-sayin', ye ol' whelp?" he spluttered, almost dropping his pipe.

"Yo' be'n er-finkin' 'at I 's gittin' close onter de freedom line, an' ye s'pose yo' 'd better git w'at ye kin fo' me, yah-yah-yah-ee-oorp!" and the black rascal broke forth with a mighty guffaw, bending himself almost double, and slapping his hands together vigorously. "But yo''s 'feared dey git ye an' mek yo' tote er gun, an' 'at yo''d git de stuffin' shot outen yo' ef yo' try take me down de country, yah-yahyah-ee-ee-oorp!"

"Shet erp! What ye mean? Stop thet air sq'allin', er I 'll-”

"Yah-yah-yah-ee-eep! I done cotch onter yo' ca'c'lation, Mars Rudgis, 'fo' de Lor' I has, oh! Yah-yah-yah-yah-ha-eep! An' yo' fink I 's er eejit all dis time, yah-yah-yah! Oh gi' 'long, Mars Rudgis, yo' cayn't fool dis chicken, yah-ha-yah-ha-ha-ha-ee-eer-pooh!"

Rudgis tried several times to stop this flow of accusative mirth, but at last, quite confused, he stood tall and gaunt, with a sheepish grin on his dry, wrinkled face, gazing at the writhing negro as he almost screamed out his sententious but fluent revelation.

"I done be'n er-watchin' yo' like er sparrerhawk watchin' er peewee, Mars Rudgis, an' I say ter myself: 'Jes see 'im er-figerin' how much I 's wo'f, an' how much he gwine ter lose w'en I goes free.' An' I done be'n jes er-bustin' over it all dis time, yah-yah-yah-ee-ee!"

"Grim," said Rudgis, presently, with slow, emphatic expression, "I air er-goin' 'mejitly ter give ye one whirpin' 'at ye 'll ricomember es long es they 's breath in yer scurvy ol' body!" They were standing on the veranda at the time. Rudgis turned into the entry, and immediately came out with a ramrod in his hand.

"Now fer yer sass ye air er-goin' ter ketch hit," he said, in that cold, rasping tone that means so much. "Stan' erp yer an' take yer med'cine."

Grim went down on his knees and began to beg; his mirth had vanished; he was trembling violently. Rudgis never had whipped him.

"Fo' de Lor' sake, Mars Eli, don' w'irp de po' ol' chil'! I jes funnin', Mars Rudgis; I jes want ter see w'at yo' gwine say. I-"

At that moment there was a great clatter of iron-shod hoofs at the little yard gate; the next, three or four horses bounded over the low fence and dashed up to the veranda.

"Please, Mars Rudgis, don' w'irp me! I did n' mean no harm, Mars Rudgis, 'deed I did n'! Oh, fo' de Lor' sake!"

"Ha! there! stop that!" commanded a loud, positive voice.

Rudgis had already looked that way.

He saw some mounted soldiers, wearing Kembl

blue uniforms and bearing bright guns, glaring at him.

"O, Mars Rudgis, I never gwine do so no mo', don' w'irp me! don' w'irp me!" continued Grim, paying no heed to the soldiers. "Le' me off dis yer time, fo' de goo' Lor' sake!"

"If you strike that negro one blow, I'll shoot a hole through you quicker than lightning!" roared one of the men, who appeared to be an officer, at the same time leveling his pistol.

Rudgis dropped the ramrod as if he had been suddenly paralyzed. Grim sprang to his feet with the agility of a black cat.

"What does this mean?" demanded the officer, showing a gleam of anger in his eyes, his voice indicating no parleying mood.

Rudgis stood there, pale, stolid, silent, his mouth open, his arms akimbo.

"Lor', sah, we 's jes er-foolin'," said Grim, seeing that his master could not find a word to say. "We 's er-playin' hoky-poky."

The officer leaned over his saddle-bow, and looked from one to the other of the culprits. "Yes, sah; it wa' bony-hokus 'at we 's erplayin', 'zac'ly dat, sah," continued Grim. "Playing what?" grimly inquired the of

ficer.

"Rokus-pokus, sah."

"You lying old scamp," cried the officer, glaring at him, "you 're trying to deceive me!" "Ax Mars Rudgis, now; ax him, sah." "Humph!" and the Federal turned to the master. "What do you say, sir?"

"Tell 'im, Mars Rudgis; tell 'im 'bout w'at we 's er-playin'," pleaded Grim.

Rudgis moved his lips as if to speak, but they were dry and made no sound. He licked them with his furred, feverish tongue. Never before had he been so thoroughly frightened.

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"IF YOU STRIKE THAT NEGRO ONE BLOW."

"Are you dumb?" stormed the officer, again handling his weapon. "Can't you speak?"

"Hit were hoky-poky," gasped Rudgis.

"Dah, now! Dah, now! Mebbe yo' 's sat'sfied, sah. W'a' 'd I tol' yo'?" cried Grim, wagging his head and gesticulating. "We 's jes er-playin' dat leetle game."

The officer wanted some information about a road over the mountain, so he made Grim saddle a mule and go with him to show the way. As he rode off he called back to Rudgis:

"This man 's as free as you are, and he need n't come back if he don't want to."

When they were quite gone, and the last sound of their horses' feet had died away down in the straggling fringe of trees at the foot of the hill, Rudgis picked up his ramrod and looked at it quizzically, as if he expected it to speak. Slowly his face relaxed, and a

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