Caulfield's crime, with the sweat pouring off our faces. We had filled the grave with large stones which were lying about on the ground, remnants of some ancient Buddhist temple, long ago forgotten and deserted, so we felt secure that it could not easily be disturbed by animals. The next morning we returned to Koorwallah, and the secret between Caulfield and myself drew us closer together than before. I suppose what I had seen him do ought to have repulsed and alienated me from him, but the night of that terrible burial we had sat up, one on each side of our little camp table, until daylight crept across the jheels, and Caulfield had told me the story of his life. It cannot be written down here, but there was the burden of a cruel sorrow in it that explained much to me in his behavior which I had never understood before. I passionately pitied the lonely, unloved man, who had brought much of his misery on himself, both now and in the past, through his own ungovernable anger. He shut himself up more than ever after this, and entirely gave up his shooting trips, which before had been the pleasure of his life, and the only person he ever spoke to, unofficially, was myself. He took to coming into my bungalow in the evening and sometimes in the middle of the night, and would walk restlessly up and down my rooms, or sit in an easy-chair with his face buried in his hands. At times I feared his mind was going, and I dreaded the effect upon him of the long hot-weather days and nights that were creeping gradually nearer. The end of April came, with its plague of insects and scorching wind. The hours grew long and heavy with the heat, and the dust storms howled and swirled over the baking little station, bringing perhaps a few tantalizing drops of rain, or more often leaving the air hotter than ever and thick with copper-colored dust. I grew more and more anxious about Caulfield, especially when he came over to me one night when it was too hot to sleep, and asked me if he might stay in my bungalow till the morning. "I know I may seem an ass," he said, "but I can't stay by myself. L get all sorts of beastly ideas." I thought he meant that he was tempted to take his own life, and began to try to cheer him up, telling him scraps of gossip, and encouraging him. to talk, when a sound outside made us both start. It was only the weird, plaintive cry of a jackal, but Caulfield sprang to his feet, shaking all over. "There it he exclaimed hoarsely, "it's followed me over here. Jack," he continued, turning his haggard, sleepless eyes on me, every night for the last week that brute has come and howled round my house. You know what I mean. It's the one we saw that night." "Nonsense, my dear chap," I said, pushing him back into the chair, "you've got fever. Jackals come round my house and howl all night, and all day too. That's nothing." "Look here, Jack," said Caulfield, very calmly, "I've no more fever than you have, and if you think I'm delirious you're mistaken." Then he lowered his voice, "I saw it one night, and I tell you it had only one ear." In spite of my own common sense, and the certainty that Caulfield was not himself, my blood ran cold, and, after I had succeeded in quieting him and getting him to sleep on my bed, I lay on the sofa going over every detail of that fearful night in the jungle again and again, try as I would to chase it from my thoughts. Once or twice after this Caulfield came to me and repeated the same tale. He swore he was being haunted by the jackal we had driven away from the fakir's body, and took it into his head that the soul of the man he had murdered had entered into the animal, and was trying to obtain vengeance in that form. Then he suddenly stopped coming teeth of an animal, and yet there was no doubt that Caulfield's death was due to hydrophobia. near me, and when I went to see him B he would hardly speak, and seemed to take no pleasure in my visits as formerly. I thought perhaps he was offended because I had always laughed at his hallucinations, and treated them as, what they undoubtedly must have been, mere fancies. I urged him to see a doctor or take leave, but he angrily refused to do either, and declared I should very soon drive him mad altogether if I bothered him much more. After this I left him alone for a couple of days, and on the third night, when my conscience was pricking me for having neglected him, and I was preparing to go over to his bungalow, his bearer came rushing in with a face of terror and distress, and begged me to come at once. He had already sent a man off for the doctor, as he feared his master was very ill. I arrived at Caulfield's bungalow just as the doctor, who lived only across the road, appeared, and together we entered the queer museum of a house, literally lined with horns and skins and curiosities. Caulfield was lying unconscious on his bed. "He had a kind of fit, sahib," said the trembling bearer, and proceeded to explain how his master had behaved. The doctor bent over the bed. "Do you happen to know if he's been bitten by a dog, or anything lately?" he said, looking up at me. "Not to my knowledge." I answered, but the faint wail of a jackal out across the plain struck a superstitious chill to my heart. For twenty-four hours we stayed with him, watching the terrible struggles we were powerless to avert, and which lasted until the end came, and brought a merciful peace to the poor, harassed mind and body. He was never able to speak after the first paroxysm, which had occurred before we arrived, so we could not learn from him whether he had ever been bitten or not, neither could the doctor discover any kind of scar on his body which might have been made by the As we stood in the next room after all was over, drinking the dead man's whiskey and soda (which we badly needed), we questioned the bearer again and again, but he could tell us little or nothing. His master did not keep dogs, and he did not know of his ever having been bitten by one, but there had been a mad jackal about the place nearly three weeks before, though he did not think his master had known of it. 66 "It couldn't have been that," said the doctor, or we should have heard about it." "No," I answered mechanically, "it couldn't have been that." It was nearly three weeks ago that Caulfield had ceased to come near me and had taken such a strange dislike to my going to his house. I began to think I must be going off my head too, for nobody but a lunatic could for a moment have seriously entertained such a notion as crossed my brain at that moment. I went into the bedroom to take a last look at poor Caulfield's thin, white face, with its ghastly, hunted expression, and to give a farewell pressure to his cold, heavy hand before I left him, for the doctor had urged me to go home, saying that there was now nothing more that I could do to help him. I picked up a lantern after this, and stepped out into the dark verandah. As I did so, something came silently round the corner of the house, and stood in my path. I raised my lantern, and caught a glimpse of a mass of grey fur, two fiery yellow eyes, and glistening teeth. I saw that it was only a stray jackal, and struck at it with my stick, but instead of running away it passed silently by me and entered Caulfield's room. The light fell on the animal's head as it entered the open door- one of its ears was missing. In a frenzy I rushed back into the house, calling loudly for the doctor and the servants. "I saw a jackal come in here!" I "Go home to bed, my boy," said the doctor, looking at me kindly. "This business has shaken your nerves. Keep quiet for a bit. Your imagination's beginning to play you tricks. Goodnight." Good-night," I answered wearily, and I went slowly back to my bungalow, trying to persuade myself that he was right. From Longman's Magazine. REMINISCENCES OF EDINBURGH SOCIETY NEARLY FIFTY YEARS AGO. BY LADY EASTLAKE. exclaimed excitedly, searching round | sionally appearing; Peter Robertson Caulfield's room. "It must be in this the wag of the place; William Aytoun room - I saw it go in this very minute. just budding into poetry; Dr. ChalHunt it out at once!" mers's grand head once seen never forEvery nook and corner was exam-gotten. But the group had been grander ined, but there was no jackal, not even still, for the echoes told of Brougham, a trace of one. and Sydney Smith, Francis Horner, the "man of feeling," and others then passed away or migrated to England. There were links, too, of undying note with earlier generations. Mr. Murray of Henderland (Lord Murray's elder brother) had been in Sir Joshua's studio, and Jeffrey had helped to carry Boswell drunk to bed. The hard drinking of old was now expiring, but by no means dead. Some of the elder men had been born in the old town. Jeffrey had passed studious years perched up in the eighth or ninth story of "Auld Reekie," between which and his delightful mansion in Moray Place centuries seemed to lie. The houses of the New Town-some of the most WHEN Sir Walter Scott, in that mar- commodious that ever were builtvellous manuscript of "Marmion " were favorable to a society which was which scarcely shows a correction, sub-not hurried and never a crush; much stituted for the line, "Dunedin's tower of the rancor of politics was over, and and town" a line every reader might the rancors of the Free Kirk, which not have understood-the simpler were in full force, did not appear in words, "Mine own romantic town," he general society; law and literature were left the world an epithet which all eminently alive; living was cheap, and readers who know Edinburgh have hospitality never more genuine and endorsed. Romantic" is the only hearty. A few years then spent in term which fits a position which never Edinburgh are an ever-cherished and palls on the eye. Fashions and fascina- grateful remembrance. tions come and go, but a city overlooking The two chief intellectual stars, Jefthe sea, half ancient, half modern, with frey and Professor Wilson - the one all the relics of barbaric feudalism and nearly seventy, the other not far off all the attractions of present elegance, sixty, when I first knew them to be built against a hill, with a rocky acrop- both worthy and wise. were curious olis in its centre, and with the everlast- contrasts in every possible way. The ing hills half round it, must ever, to little lord was small and delicate and eye and mind, be in the strictest sense dainty in build. Wilson -or Christoromantic. Whether it be as socially pher North, as he was as often called interesting and brilliant now as it was was a splendid athlete, tall and fifty years ago, or ever will be so broad; who walked farther, ran faster, again, is another question. I knew it and leaped higher than any one of his at a time when a great intellectual time; not knowing how to spend his period was waning, its echoes still re- health, strength, and spirits; fair and sounding, its force not yet spent. Wal- blooming, too, as a girl, with hair which ter Scott had been dead ten years, but had been yellow, and when I knew him the group of distinguished characters laid plentifully on his shoulders in grey was still brilliant, with Lords Jeffrey, locks. Jeffrey prided himself on speakMurray, and Cockburn; Lockhart occa-ing "English;" Christopher's tremu lous burr would have betrayed him | hotel, when they observed a party of anywhere. Jeffrey was fastidiously neat three young men to be watching them, and tidy; Christopher a notorious slut, and evidently whispering about them. sometimes seen in easy déshabille—or | At length, one of the three came up to what his lively daughter, Mrs. Gordon, Jeffrey, and with scant apology incalled "a state of nature" - till late in formed him that he had remarked the the day, if not all day long. The judge name inscribed in the visitors' book, hated early rising; the professor was but begged to remind him that there often up and out before sunrise. Jef- was no such title as "Lord Jeffrey" in frey had seldom taken part in the con- the Peerage. The little man must have vivial excesses which were going out seldom had such opportunity for the when we came; Christopher had be- excruciating politeness with which he come, and from all accounts not a day explained the position of the "Lords of too soon, a rigid abstainer from every the Session" in Scotland, and the title kind of stimulant. Both had lived their of courtesy accorded to them. His student years at Oxford. Jeffrey hated questioners could have had but small college life; Christopher adored it. culture not to have known his personal claim to distinction. It would be easy to enumerate the higher respects in which these two Lord Jeffrey gave his favorite enterremarkable men were alike. Both lived tainments in his house at Edinburgh in on affection of family and friends; both the form of little suppers twice a week. hated the vices of courts and of princes; | Travellers passing through were inboth loved children, animals, and na-vited, and friends had a standing inviture. No men were more reverent tation. There was not much eating believers in the truths of revelation; and drinking, but he gave himself more no men sounder in the ethics of home unceremoniously to his guests than on life. Finally, no men, each in their more formal occasions. One evening way, were more of a piece in individual an effusive and not very young lady, character. Jeffrey's talk was a choice who had been touring in the Lake and finished performance his words country, was of the party, and oblivious abundant, felicitous, and with a pictur- apparently of the connection of the esque precision, never exaggerated. name with that of our host, she was On the contrary, a little depreciatory describing "a long day" she had spent undertone ran through his conversation; with "dear Mr. Wordsworth." I was he liked to differ, as perhaps became seated between Lord Jeffrey and her, his profession. If any one gushed and he whispered to me, "That must about last evening's sunset, he would indeed have been a long day,' my say, "A few pink clouds, perhaps." dear." I felt the humor of the scene, His affirmations were rather negative of which the lady seemed quite unconthan positive. He would rather say, scious. And how truly it was still the "I should not be sorry," than "I same Jeffrey whose article is reported should be glad." All this, with even a to have arrested the sale of Wordstouch of the artificial, peculiar to him-worth's poems for years - an article, self, and apt to be misunderstood, had be it said, which, considering how rendered him unpopular with his coun- Wordsworth oscillated between the trymen in his youth. But he sweetened puerile and the sublime, especially in with age, success, and independence, his earlier years, will, if read afresh, and would say that it was poor wine strike even his staunchest admirers as that grew sour with keeping. Still, he neither surprising nor severe. It is as was a proud and reserved man, and no well to add that the critic and the poet one could better resent a liberty. One had kindly intercourse in later years. can imagine his look and manner under the following occurrence. Mrs. Jeffrey and he, while travelling in England, were sitting in the public room of some Lord Jeffrey had a little country place within a walk of Edinburgh, called Craigcrook, at the foot of the Corstorphine Hills - a good house with a regu lar Scotch tower and charming gardens | text on which to preach his rambling, round it, in full view of the Castle and dreamy, eloquent sermons; or a butt of Arthur's Seat. Here he was to be on which to fasten his irresistible exagseen in his sunniest and simplest aspect gerations and extravaganzas. No one Mrs. Jeffrey at his side, and his was ever tired with his form of egodaughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. tism, for it was the garb in which he Empson, and their two little girls about dressed up the quintessence of his huhim. I can never forget a scene I mor and originality. If there was a oversaw and heard there. The children tale current about himself, no one enhad found a little dead field mouse, and joyed it more than he. There was one brought it to the ever-sympathizing I never forgot. His eldest son farmed grandpapa as he sat in the garden. Jef- an estate called Binholm, near Glasfrey held out his hand for it, and then ensued the most lively exclamations as they turned the little cold body over and over. "Dear little ears! Poor little paws! Sweet little tail!" It was difficult to say which was the greatest child of the three. In his dear wife, whom he went to America to fetch, and of whom he said, in bringing her to his Scotch home, that she was "as playful as a kitten and as ignorant," he had found the true sharer and developer of his simpler tastes. She delighted in them. the products of the gardens, and distributed them to many a friend, but at the same time she set aside a certain portion to be untouched by man, and devoted exclusively to "the dear blackbirds." To turn now to gow. It is well known that the owners, son? Wha is he?" fayther of Bin Wilson has bequeathed to us his talk in his writing; for the two were one. No boy could have been wilder and Christopher North." more irrepressible than he, and never His was no complex character; for if has the boy been more happily deever a man was grand and normal by scribed than by him. His estimate of nature, it was John Wilson grand in that member of the human family in his faith, in his reverence for good-"Christopher in his Shooting-jacket" ness; grand in his scorn of evil; ter- was the truest ever given to the world, rifically grand in his wrath; grand, in short, in everything, as he was in his grand Saxon beauty. In writing this one feels the distinction between the grand and the great. The great man is so for some definite reason that can be given he is a hero, or an author, or - and he can be equally as small for equally definite reasons. But the things that make us, poor creatures! small, have no part in the really grand man. He may have his moods, and be up and down, high or low, but he can't be mean, selfish, or vain. Wilson was grandly devoid of all three. He was one of those men who could talk all day of himself without being an egotist. Self, to him, was only a an orator and exactly what he would have said. |