Chapter XV: "spotted."

When the bell of St. Cow's began ringing for Ritualistic morning-service, with a sound as of some incontinently rambling dun spinster of the lacteal herd--now near at hand in cracked dissonance, as the wind blows hither; now afar, in tinkling distance, as the wind blows hence--MONTGOMERY PENDRAGON was several miles away from Bumsteadville upon his walking-match, with head already bumped like a pineapple, and face curiously swelled, from amateur practice with the Indian Club. Being by that time cold enough for breakfast, and willing to try the virtues of some soothing application to his right eye, which, from a bruise just below it, was nearly closed, the badly banged young man suspended his murderous calisthenics at the door of a rustic hotel, and there entered to secure a wayside meal.

The American country "hotel," or half-way house, is, perhaps, one of the most depressing fictions ever encountered by stage-passenger, or pedestrian afield: and depends so exclusively upon the imagination for any earthly distinction from the retired and neglected private hiding-place of some decayed and morbid agricultural family, that only the conventional swing sign-board before the door saves the cognizant mind from a painfully dense confusion. Smelling about equally of eternal wash-day, casual cow-shed, and passing feather-bed, it sustains a lank, middle-aged, gristly man to come out at the same hour every day and grunt unintelligibly at the stage-driver, an expressionless boy in a bandless straw-hat and no shoes to stare blankly from the doorway at the same old pole-horse he has mechanically thus inspected from infancy, and one speckled hen of mature years to poise observingly on single leg at the head of the shapeless black dog asleep at the sunny end of the low wooden stoop. It is the one rural spot on earth where a call for fresh eggs evokes remonstrative and chronic denial; where chickens for dinner are sternly discredited as mere freaks of legendary romance, and an order for a glass of new milk is incredulously answered by a tumblerful of water which tastes of whitewash-brush. Whosoever sleeps there of a night shall be crowded by walls which rub off into a faint feather-bed of the flavor and consistency of geese used whole, and have for his feverish breakfast in the morning a version of broiled ham as racy of attic-salt as the rasher of BACON'S essays. And to him who pays his bill there, ere he straggles weakly forth to repair his shattered health by frenzied flight, shall be given in change such hoary ten-cent shreds of former postal currency as he has not hitherto deemed credible, sticking together in inextricable conglomeration by such fragments of fish-scales as he never before believed could be gathered by handled small-money from palms not sufficiently washed after piscatorial diversion.

It was in at a country hotel, then, that the young Southern pedestrian turned for temporary rest and a meal, and pitiless was the cross-examination instituted by the inevitable lank, middle-aged gristly man, before he could reconcile it with his duty as a cautious public character to reveal the treasures of the larder. Those bumps on the head, that swollen eye, and nose, came--did they?--from swinging this here club for exercise. Well, he wanted to know, now! People generally used two of the clubs at once--did they?--but one was enough for a beginner. Well, he _wanted_ to know, now! Could he supply a couple of poached eggs and a cup of milk? No, young man; but a slice of corned pork and a bowl of tea were within the resources of the establishment.

When at length upon the road again, the bruised youth resolved to follow a cattle-track "across lots," for the greater space in which to exercise with his Indian club as he walked. Like any other novice in the practice, he could not divest his mind of the impression, that the frightful thumps he continually received, in twirling the merciless thing around and behind his devoted head, were due to some kind of crowding influence from the boundaries on either side the way, and it was to gain relief from such damaging contraction of area that he left the highway for the wider wintry fields. Going onward in these latter at an irregular pace; sometimes momentarily stunned into a rangy stagger by a sounding blow on the cerebrum or the cerebellum; and, again, irritated almost to a run by contusion of shoulder-blade or funny-bone; he finally became aware that two men were following him through the lots, and that with a closeness of attention indicating more than common interest. To the perception of his keenly sensitive Southern nature they at once became ribald Yankee vandals, hoping for unseemly amusement from the detection of some awkwardness in the Indian-club-play of a defeated but not conquered Southern Gentleman; and, in the haughty sectional pride of his contemptuous soul, he indignantly determined to show not the least consciousness of their disrespectful observation. Twirling the club around and around his battered head with increasing velocity, he smiled scornfully to himself, nor deigned a single backward glance at the one of his two followers who approached more rapidly than the other. He heard the hindermost say to the foremost, "Leave him alone, I tell you, and he'll knock himself down in a minute," and, in a passionately reckless effort of sheer bravado to catch the club from one hand with the other while it yet circled swiftly over his skull, he accidentally brought the ungovernable weapon into tremendous contact with the top of his head, and dashed himself violently to the earth.

"Didn't I tell you he'd do it?" cried the hindermost of the two strangers, coming up; while the other coolly seated himself upon the prostrated victim. "These here Indian clubs always throw a man if he ain't got muscle in his arms; and this here little Chivalry has got arms like a couple of canes."

"Arise from me instantly, fellow. You're sitting upon my breast-pin," exclaimed MONTGOMERY to the person sitting upon him.

They suffered him to regain his feet, which he did with extreme hauteur, and surveyed his bumped head and swollen countenance with undisguised wonder.

"How dare you treat a Southerner in this way?" continued the young man, his head aching inexpressibly. "I thought the war was over long ago. If money is your object, seek out a citizen of some other section than mine; for the South is out of funds just now, owing to the military outrages of Northern scorpions."

"We're constables, Mr. PENDRAGON," was the reply, "and it is our duty to take you back to the main road, where a couple of your friends are waiting for you."

Staring from one to the other in speechless wonder at what this fresh outrage upon the down-trodden South could mean, MONTGOMERY allowed them to replace his Indian club in his hand, and conduct him back to the public road; where, to his increased bewilderment, he found Gospeler SIMPSON and the Ritualistic organist.

"What is the matter, gentlemen?" he asked, in great agitation: "must I take the oath of Loyalty; or am I required by Yankee philanthropy to marry a negress?"

At the sound of his voice, Mr. BUMSTEAD left the shoulder of Mr. SIMPSON, upon which he had been leaning with great weight, and, coming forward in three long skips, deliberately wound his right hand in the speaker's neck-tie.

"Where are those nephews--where's that umbrella?" demanded the organist, with considerable ferocity.

"Nephews!--umbrella!" gasped the other.

"The EDWINS--bone handle," explained Mr. BUMSTEAD, lurching towards his captive.

"Mr. MONTGOMERY," interposed the Gospeler, sadly, Mr. DROOD went out with you last night, late, from his estimable uncle's lodgings, and has not been seen since. Where is he?"

"He went back into the house again, sir, after I had walked him up and down the road a few times."

"Well, then, where's that umbrella?" roared the organist, who seemed quite beside himself with grief and excitement.

"Mr. BUMSTEAD, pray be more calm," implored the Reverend OCTAVIUS.

"Mr. MONTGOMERY, this agitated gentleman's nephew has been mysteriously missing ever since he went out with you at midnight: also an alpaca umbrella."

"Upon my honor, I know nothing of either," ejaculated the unhappy Southerner.

Mr. BUMSTEAD, still holding him by the neck-tie, cast a fiery and unsettled glance around at nothing in particular; then ground his teeth audibly, and scowled.

"My boy's missing!" he said, hissingly.--"Y'understand?--he's missing.--I must insist upon searching the prisoner."

In the presence of Gospeler and constables, and loftily regardless alike of their startled wonder and the young man's protests, the maddened uncle of the lost DROOD deliberately examined all the captive's pockets in succession. In one of them was a penknife, which, after thoughtfully trying it upon his pink nails, he abstractedly placed in his own pocket. Searching next the overwhelmed Southerner's travelling-satchel, he found in it an apple, which he first eyed with marked suspicion, and then bit largely into, as though half expecting to find in it some traces of his nephew.

"I'll keep this suspicious fruit," he remarked, with a hollow laugh; and, bearing unreservedly upon the nearer arm of the hapless MONTGOMERY, and eating audibly as he surged onward, he started on the return march for Bumsteadville.

Not a word more was spoken until, after a cool Christmas stroll of about eight and a quarter miles, the whole party stood before Judge SWEENEY in the house of the latter. There, when the story had been sorrowfully repeated by the Gospeler, Mr. BUMSTEAD exhibited the core of the apple, and tickled the magistrate almost into hysterics by whispering very closely in his ear, that it was a core curiously similar to that of the last apple eaten by his nephew; and, having been found in an apple from the prisoner's satchel, might be useful in evidence. Judge SWEENEY wished to know if Mr. PENDRAGON had any political relations, or could influence any votes? and, upon being answered in the negative, eyed the young man sternly, and said that appearances were decidedly against him. He could not exactly commit him to jail without accusation, although the apple-core and his political unimportance subjected him to grave suspicion: but he should hold the Gospeler responsible for the youth's appearance at any time when his presence should be required. Mr. BUMSTEAD, whose eyes were becoming very glassy, then suggested that a handbill should be at once printed and circulated, to the effect that there had been Lost, or Stolen, two Black Alpaca Nephews, about 5 feet 8 inches high, with a bone handle, light eyes and hair, and whalebone ribs; and that if the said EDWIN would return, with a brass ferule slightly worn, the finder should receive earnest thanks, and be seen safely to his home by J. BUMSTEAD. Mr. Gospeler SIMPSON and Judge SWEENEY agreed that a handbill should be issued: but thought it might confuse the public mind if the missing nephew and the lost umbrella were not kept separate.

"Has either 'f you gen'l'men ever been 'n Uncle?" asked the Ritualistic organist, with dark intensity.

They shook their heads.

"_Then,_" said Mr. BUMSTEAD, with great force,--"THEN, gen'l'men, you-knownor-wahritis-to-lose-'n-umbrella!"

Before they could decide in their weaker minds what the immediate connection was, he had left them, at a sharp slant, in great intellectual disturbance, and was passing out through the entry-way with both his hands against the wall.

Early next morning, while young Mr. PENDRAGON was locked in his room, startled and wretched, the inconsolable uncle of EDWIN DROOD was energetically ransacking every part of Bumsteadville for the missing man. House after house he visited, like some unholy inspector: peering up chimneys, prodding under carpets, and staying a long time in cellars where there was cider. Not a bit of paper or cloth blew along the turnpike but he eagerly picked it up, searched in it with the most anxious care, and finally placed it in his hat. Going to the Pond, with a borrowed hatchet, he cut a bole in the thick ice, lost the hatchet, and, after bathing his head in the water, declared that his alpaca nephew was not there. Finding an antique flask in one of his pockets, he gradually removed all the liquid contents therefrom with a tubular straw, but still could discern no traces of EDWIN DROOD. All the live-long day he prosecuted his researches, to the great discomposure of the populace: and, with whitewash all over the back of his coat, and very dingy hands, had just seated himself at his own fireside in the evening, when Mr. DIBBLE came in.

"This is a strange disappearance," said Mr. DIBBLE.

"And it was good as new," groaned the organist, with but one eye open.

"Almost new!--_what_ was?"

"Th'umbrella."

"Mr. BUMSTEAD," returned the old man, coldly, "I am not talking of an umbrella, but of Mr. EDWIN."

"Yesh, I know," said the uncle. "Awright. I'm li'lle sleepy; tha'sall."

"I've just seen my ward, Mr. BUMSTEAD."

"'She puerwell, shir?"

"She is _not_ pretty well. Nor is Miss PENDRAGON."

"I'm vahr' sorry," said Mr. BUMSTEAD, just audibly.

"Miss PENDRAGON scorns the thought of any blame for her brother," continued Mr. DIBBLE, eyeing the fire.

"It had a bun-bone handle," muttered the other, dreamily. Then, with a momentary brightening--"'scuse me, shir: whah'll y'take?"

"Nothing, sir!" was the sharp response. "I'm not at all thirsty. But there is something more to tell you. At the last meeting of my ward and your nephew--just before your dinner here,--they concluded to break their engagement of marriage, for certain good reasons, and thenceforth be only brother and sister to each other."

Starting forward in his chair, with partially opened eyes, the white-washed and dingy Mr. BUMSTEAD managed to get off his hat, covering himself with a bandanna handkerchief and innumerable old pieces of paper and cloth, as he did so, from head to foot; made a feeble effort to throw it at the aged lawyer; and then, chair and all, tumbled forward with a crash to the rug, where he lay in a refreshing sleep.

(_To be Continued._)

* * * * *

CHINCAPIN AT LONG BRANCH.

A QUAKER friend of mine once observed that he loved the Ocean for its Broad Brim. So do I, but not for that alone. I am partial to it on account of the somewhat extensive facilities it affords for Sea Bathing. Learning to swim, by the way, was my principal Elementary study. I have just returned from taking a plunge in company with many other distinguished persons. How it cools one to rush into the "Boiling Surf." How refreshing to dive Below the Billow. I don't think I could ever have a Surfeit of the Surf, I am so fond of it. Oh! the Sea! the Sea! with its darkly, deeply cerulean--but stop! I am getting out of my depth. Would that I were a poet, that I--But I ain't, so what's the use?

As I sat on the verandah of the ------ Hotel the other morning, gazing on the broad expanse of Ocean and wiping the perspiration which trickled from my lofty brow, (the thermometer marked 90 degrees,) I could not help recalling the beautifully appropriate lines of the celebrated bard:

"When the sun's perpendicular rays
Begin to illumine the Sea,
The fishies exclaim in amaze
'Confound it! how hot it will be!'"

What a pity that the Bathing here has a drawback. I refer, of course, to the Under Tow, which has caused some Untoward accidents. Those who have experienced it, say it is impossible to keep your Feet when caught by the Under Tow. Presence of mind is indispensable in such a case, but, unfortunately, timid swimmers are too apt to lose their Heads as well as their feet. Some of the lady visitors are Beautiful Swimmers, and their Divers Charms excite universal admiration. Many of these fair Amphitrites are so constantly in or on the water that it would hardly be a Fib to call them Amphibious. Their husbands and brothers are, I regret to say, not so much On the Water, preferring something a trifle stronger semi-occasionally, if not oftener.

You know what a popular amusement crabbing is here. I seldom indulge in it myself, as I have bad luck, which makes me Crabbed.

Our "distinguished guests," as JENKINS would say, are very numerous, and it is truly an edifying sight to see judges, legislators, eminent politicians, and other "Heads of the People" bobbing about in the water together.

Some folks don't seem to care what they spend when they come here, and no sooner arrive at the Branch than they Branch out into all sorts of extravagance. There is some superb horseflesh here just now, and the fastest nags may be seen doing their Level best on the Smooth Beach. The Race Track, Grand Stand, &c., are all that the vivid fancy of a PUNCHINELLO can paint them. The bathing costumes! who can do justice to them and their lovely wearers? Some time ago, (as I am informed,) a lady made her appearance on the beach as a Nereid. Did you Ne'er read of the Nereids, Mr. PUNCHINELLO? If you have, you are aware that they were the Sea Nymphs of the Ancients, in other words the Old Maids of the Sea, who never got married, and frequently played Scaly tricks on Mariners. The Nereid referred to was arrayed in pea green and spangles, with green tresses, which is very well known to be the correct costume of a mermaid of antiquity, copied from the latest Paris fashions. This Spritely lady was, however, unprovided with a tail, which was Unmermaidenlike in the Extreme.

You know how brilliant the Hops are, so I will Skip them. One thing, however, is worth noting. At some of the Hotels they have a Spread on the carpet before the dancing begins, as well as a supper afterwards. The excellent music of the Hotel bands is Instrumental in drawing crowds of listeners to the Ball rooms. Some Chinese Jugglers gave an entertainment here the other evening, but I didn't go, not being in the Juggler Vein. Yours Reverentially,

CHINCAPIN.

* * * * *

"FIFTY DOUSAND FENIANS ARMED MID REPEATERS FOR FRANCE! LET 'EM GO! BEESMARK WILL MAKE DEM NOT COOM PACK TO REPEAT IN DIS GOONDERY NO MORE!"]

* * * * *

THE POEMS OF THE CRADLE.