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dream of Vespasian was of harder exposition ; as also that
of the Emperor Mauritius, concerning his successor Phocas.
And a man might have been hard put to it to interpret the
language of JEsculapius, when to a consumptive person he
held forth his fingers ; implying thereby that his cure lay in
dates, from the homonomy of the Greek, which signifies
dates and fingers.

We owe unto dreams that Galen was a physician, Dion
an historian, and that the world hath seen some notable
pieces of Cardan ; yet, he that should order his affairs by
dreams, or make the night a rule unto the day, might be
ridiculously deluded ; wherein Cicero is much to be pitied,
who having excellently discoursed of the vanity of dreams,
was yet undone by the flattery of his own, which urged him
to apply himself unto Augustus.

However dreams may be fallacious concerning outward
events, yet may they be truly significant at home ; and
whereby we may more sensibly understand ourselves. Men
act in sleep with some conformity unto their awaked senses ;
and consolations or discouragements may be drawn from


dreams which intimately tell us ourselves. Luther was not
like to fear a spirit in the night, when such an apparition
would not terrify him in the day. Alexander would hardly
have run away in the sharpest combats of sleep, nor Demos-
thenes have stood stoutly to it, who was scarce able to do it
in his prepared senses.

Persons of radical integrity will not easily be perverted
in their dreams, nor noble minds do pitiful things in sleep.
Crassus would have hardly been bountiful in a dream, whose
fist was so close awake. But a man might have lived all his
life upon the sleeping hand of Antonius.*

There is an art to make dreams, as well as their interpre-
tations ; and physicians will tell us that some food makes
turbulent, some gives quiet dreams. Cato, who doated upon
cabbage, might find the crude effects thereof in his sleep ;
wherein the Egyptians might find some advantage by their
superstitious abstinence from onions. Pythagoras might
have [had] calmer sleeps, if he [had] totally abstained
from beans. Even Daniel, the great interpreter of dreams,
in his leguminous diet seems to have chosen no advanta-
geous food for quiet sleeps, according to Grecian physic.

To add unto the delusion of dreams, the fantastical ob-
jects seem greater than they are ; and being beheld in the
vaporous state of sleep, enlarge their diameters unto us ;
whereby it may prove more easy to dream of giants than
pygmies. Democritus might seldom dream of atoms, who
so often thought of them. He almost might dream himself
a bubble extending unto the eighth sphere. A little water
makes a sea ; a small puff of wind a tempest. A grain of
sulphur kindled in the blood may make a flame like ^Etua ;
and a small spark in the bowels of Olympias a lightning
over all the chamber.

* sleeping hand of Antonius."] Who awake was open-handed and liberal,
in contrast with the close-fsledness of Crassus, and therefore would have
been munificent in his dreams.


But, beside these innocent delusions, there is a sinful state
of dreams. Death alone, not sleep, is able to put an end unto
sin ; and there may be a night-book of our iniquities ; for
beside the transgressions of the day, casuists will tell us of
mortal sins in dreams, arising from evil precogitations ; moau-
while human law regards not noctambulos ; and if a night-
walker should break his neck, or kill a man, takes no notice
of it.

Dionysius was absurdly tyrannical to kill a man for dream-
ing that he had killed him ; and really to take away his life,
who had but fantastically taken away his. Lamia was ridicu-
lously unjust to sue a young man for a reward, who had
confessed that pleasure from her in a dream which she had
denied unto his awaking senses : conceiving that she had
merited somewhat from his fantastical fruition and shadow
of herself. If there be such debts, we owe deeply unto
sympathies ; but the common spirit of the world must be
ready in such arrearages.

If some have swooned, they may have also died in dreams,
since death is but a confirmed swooning. Whether Plato
died in a dream, as some deliver, he must rise again to
inform us. That some have never dreamed is as improbable
as that some have never laughed. That children dream not
the first half-year ; that men dream not in some countries,
with many more, are unto me sick men's dreams ; dreams
out of the ivory gate,* and visions before midnight.

* the ivory gate.] The poets suppose two gates of sleep, the one of
horn, from which true dreams proceed; the other of ivory, which sends
forth false dreams.



MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry
" Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy :
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries ;
All ripe together
In summer weather,
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly j
Come buy, come buy :
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,


Taste them and try :

Currants and gooseberries,

Bright-fire-like barberries,

Figs to fill your mouth,

Citrons from the South,

Sweet to tongue and sound to eye ;

Come buy, come buy."

Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes :
Crouching close together
In* the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger tips.
u Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head :
" We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits :
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry, thirsty roots ? "
" Come buy," call the goblins,
Hobbh'ng down the glen.
" Oh," cried Lizzie, " Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes,
Covered close, lest they should look ;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook :
" Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish


Of many pounds weight.

How fair the vine must grow

Whose grapes are so luscious ;

How warm the wind must blow

Through those fruit bushes."

" No," said Lizzie : " No, no, no ;

Their offers should not charm us,

Their evil gifts would harm us."

She thrust a dimpled finger

In each ear, shut eyes and ran :

Curious Laura chose to linger,

Wondering at each merchant man.

One had a cat's face,

One whisked a tail,

One tramped at a rat's pace,

One crawled like a snail,

One like a wombat prowled obtuse and fiirry,

One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.

She heard a voice like voice of doves

Cooing all together :

They sounded kind and full of loves

In the pleasant weather.

Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch,
When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen
Turned and trooped the goblin men,
With their shrill, repeated cry,
u Come buy, come buy."
When they reached where Laura was


They stood stock still upon the moss,
Leering at each other,
Brother with queer brother ;
Signalling each other,
Brother with sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One reared his plate ;
One began to weave a crown
Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown
(Men sell not such in any town) ;
One heaved the golden weight
Of dish and fruit to offer her :
" Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.
Laura Stared, but did not stir,
Longed, but had no money :
The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste
In tones as smooth as honey,
The cat-faced purred,
The rat-paced spoke a word
Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard ;
One parrot- voiced and jolly

Cried " Pretty Goblin " still for " Pretty Polly " ;
One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste
" Good folk, I have no coin ;
To take were to purloin :
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather."
" You have much gold upon your head,"
They answered all together :
a Buy from us with a golden curl."


She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red :
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice ;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use ?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore ;
. She sucked until her lips were sore ;
Then flung the emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel-stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

Lizzie met her at the gate,
Full of wise upbraidings :
" Dear, you should not stay so late,
Twilight is not good for maidens ;
Should not loiter in the glen,
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers,
Plucked from bowers
Where summer ripens at all hours ?
But ever in the moonlight
She pined and pined away ;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray ;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day no grass will grow
Where she lies low :


I planted daisies there a year ago

That never blow.

You should not loiter so."

" Nay, hush," said Laura :

u Nay, hush, my sister :

I ate and ate my fill,

Yet my mouth waters still ; .

To-morrow night I will

Buy more " : and kissed her:

" Have done with sorrow ;

I '11 bring you plums to-morrow

Fresh on their mother twigs,

Cherries worth getting ;

You cannot think what figs

My teeth have met in,

What melons icy-cold

Piled on a dish of gold

Too huge for me to hold,

What peaches with a velvet nap,

Pellucid grapes without one seed :

Odorous indeed must be the mead

Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink

With lilies at the brink,

And sugar-sweet their sap."

Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other's wings,
They lay down in their curtained bed :
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars gazed in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,


Lumbering owls forbore to fly,
Not a bat flapped to and fro
Round their rest :

Cheek to cheek and breast to breast
Locked together in one nest

Early in the morning,
When the first cock crowed his warning,
Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,
Laura rose with Lizzie :
Fetched in honey, milked the cows,
Aired and set to rights the house,
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,
Next churned butter, whipped up cream,
Fed their poultry, sat and sewed ;
Talked as modest maidens should :
Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick in part ;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came :
They went with pitchers to the reedy brook ;
Lizzie most placid in her look,
Laura most like a leaping flame.
They drew the gurgling water from its deep ;
"Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags,
Then turning homewards said : " The sunset flushes
Those farthest loftiest crags ;
Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,
No wilful squirrel wags,
The beasts and birds are fast asleep."
But Laura loitered still among the rushes,
And said the bank was steep.


And said the hour was early still,
The dew not fall'n, the wind not chill:
Listening ever, but not catching
The customary cry,
" Come buy, come buy,"
With its iterated jingle
Of sugar-baited words :
Not for all her watching
Once discerning even one goblin
Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling ;
Let alone the herds
That used to tramp along the glen,
In groups or single,
Of Jbrisk fruit-merchant men.

Till Lizzie urged, " O Laura, come ;
I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look ;
You should not loiter longer at this brook :
Come with me home.
The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each glow-worm winks her spark,
Let us get home before the night grows dark :
For clouds may gather,
Though this is summer weather,
Put out the lights and drench us through ;
Then if we lost our way, what should we do ?"

Laura turned cold as stone
To find her sister heard that cry alone,
That goblin cry,

" Come buy our fruits, come buy."
Must she, then, buy no more such dainty fruits ?
Must she no more that succous pasture find,
Gone deaf and blind ?
Her tree of life drooped from the root :


She said not one word in her heart's sore ache ,

But peering through the dimness, naught discerning,

Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way :

So crept to bed and lay

Silent till Lizzie slept ;

Then sat up in a passionate yearning,

And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept

As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night,
Laura kept watch in vain
In sullen silence of exceeding pain.
She never caught again the goblin cry :
" Come buy, come buy " ;
She never spied the goblin men
Hawking their fruits along the glen ;
But when the noon waxed bright,
Her hair grew thin and gray ;
She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn
To swift decay and burn
Her fire away.

One day, remembering her kernel-stone,
She set it by a wall that faced the south ;
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watched for a waxing shoot,
But there came none ;
It never saw the sun,
It never felt the trickling moisture run :
While with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees
False waves in desert drouth
With shade of leaf-crowned trees,
And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.


She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook :
But sat down listless in the chimney-nook,
And would not eat.

Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's cankerous care,
Yet not to share.
She night and morning
Caught the goblins' cry :
" Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come^ buy, come buy " :
Beside the brook, along the glen,
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir
Poor Laura could not hear ;
Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,
But feared to pay too dear.
She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride ;
But who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay prime,
In earliest Winter time,
With the first glazing rime,
With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time.

Till Laura dwindling
Seemed knocking at Death's door :
Then Lizzie weighed no more
Better and worse ;

But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze


At twilight, halted by the brook
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.

Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing.
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel- and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter skelter, hurry skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes,
Hugged her and kissed her,
Squeezed and caressed her :
Stretched up their dishes,
Panniers, and plates :
" Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries,
Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,
Grapes for the asking,
Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,


Plums on their twigs ;
Pluck them and suck them,
Pomegranates, figs."

" Good folk," said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie :
" Give me much and many n :
Held out her apron,
Tossed them her penny.
" Nay, take a seat with us,
Honor and eat with us,"
They answered, grinning :
" Our feast is but beginning.
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and starry :
Such fruits as these
No man can carry ;
Half their bloom would fly,
Half their dew would dry,
Half their flavor would pass by.
Sit down and feast with us,
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with us."
" Thank you," said Lizzie. " But one waits
At home alone for me :
So without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any
Of your fruits, though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny
I tossed you for a fee."
They began to scratch their pates,
No longer wagging, purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.


One called her proud,

Cross-grained, uncivil ;

Their tones waxed loud,

Their looks were evil.

Lashing their tails

They trod and hustled her,

Elbowed and jostled her,

Clawed with their nails,

Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,

Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,

Twitched her hair out by the roots,

Stamped upon her tender feet,

Held her hands and squeezed their fruits

Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood,
Like a lily in a flood,
Like a rock of blue-veined stone
Lashed by tides obstreperously,
Like a beacon left alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending up a golden fire,
Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by wasp and bee,
Like a royal virgin town
Topped with gilded dome and spire
Close beleaguered by a fleet
Mad to tug her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,


Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,

Kicked and knocked her,

Mauled and mocked her,

Lizzie uttered not a word ;

Would not open lip from lip

Lest they should cram a mouthful in :

But laughed in heart to feel the drip

Of juice that syrupped all her face,

And lodged in dimples of her chin,

And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.

At last the evil people

Worn out by her resistance

Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit

Along whichever road they took,

Not leaving root or stone or shoot ;

Some writhed into the ground,

Some dived into the brook

With ring and ripple,

Some scudded on the gale without a sound,

Some vanished in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie went her way ;
Knew not was it night or day ;
.Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze,
Threaded copse and dingle,
And heard her penny jingle
Bouncing in her purse,
Its bounce was music to her ear.
She ran and ran

As if she feared some goblin man
Dogged her with gibe or curse
Or something worse :
But not one goblin skurried after,
Nor was she pricked by fear ;


The kind heart made her windy-paced

That urged her home quite out of breath with haste

And inward laughter.

She cried " Laura," up the garden,
" Did you miss me ?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me ;
Laura make much of me :
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men.*

Laura started from her chair,
Flung her arms up in the air,
Clutched her hair :
" Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted
For my sake the fruit forbidden ?
Must your light like mine be hidden,
Your young life like mine be wasted,
Undone in mine undoing
And ruined in my ruin,
Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden ? "
She clung about her sister,
Kissed and kissed and kissed her :
Tears once again
Refreshed her shrunken eyes,
Dropping like rain
After long sultry drouth ;
Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,
She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.


Her lips began to scorch,
That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She loathed the feast :

Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,
Rent all her robe, and wrung
Her hands in lamentable haste,
And beat her breast.
Her locks streamed like the torch
Borne by a racer at full speed,
Or like the mane of horses in their flight,
Or like an eagle when she stems the light
Straight toward the sun,
Or like a caged thing freed,
Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,
Met the fire smouldering there
And overbore its lesser flame ;
She gorged on bitterness without a name :
Ah ! fool, to choose such part
Of soul-consuming care !
Sense failed in the mortal strife :
Like the watch-tower of a town
Which an earthquake shatters down,
Like a lightning-stricken mast,
Like a wind-uprooted tree
Spun about,

Like a foam-topped waterspout
Cast down headlong in the sea,
She fell at last ;
Pleasure past and anguish past,
Is it death or is it life ?

Life out of death.
That night long Lizzie watched by her,


Counted her pulse's flagging stir,

Felt for her breath,

Held water to her lips, and cooled her face

With tears and fanning leaves :

But when the first birds chirped about their eaves,

And early reapers plodded to the place

Of golden sheaves,

And dew-wet grass

Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass,

And new buds with new day

Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream,

Laura awoke as from a dream,

Laughed in the innocent old way,

Hugged Lizzie, but not twice or thrice ;

Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray

Her breath was sweet as May,

And light danced in her eyes.

Days, weeks, months, years,
Afterwards, when both were wives
With children of their own ;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives bound up in tender lives ;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time :
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat,
But poison in the blood ;
(Men sell not such in any town : )
Would tell them how her sister stood,
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote :


Then joining hands to little hands
"Would bid them cling together,
u For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather ;
To cheer one on the tedious wa/,
To .fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down
To strengthen whilst one stands."




ONSTERNATION ! Consternation in the back office
of Benjamin Brummage, Esq., banker in Wall

Yesterday down came Mr. Superintendent Whiffler, from
Dunderbunk, up the North River, to say, that, "unless
something be done, at once, the Dunderbunk Foundry and
Iron- Works must wind up." President Brummage forth-
with convoked his Directors. And here they sat around
the green table, forlorn as the guests at a Barmecide

Well they might be forlorn! It was the rosy summer
solstice, the longest and fairest day of all the year. But
rose-color and sunshine had fled from Wall Street. Noisy
Crisis towing black Panic, as a puffing steam-tug drags a
three-decker cocked and primed for destruction, had sud-
denly sailed in upon Credit.

As all the green inch-worms vanish on the tenth of every
June, so on the tenth of that June all the money in America
had buried itself and was as if it were not. Everybody and
everything was ready to fail. If the hindmost brick went,
down would go the whole file.

There were ten Directors of the Dunderbunk Foundry.

Now, not seldom, of a Board of ten Directors, five a-e


wise and five are foolish : five wise, who bag all the Com-
pany's funds in salaries and commissions for indorsing its
paper ; five foolish, who get no salaries, no commissions, no
dividends, nothing, indeed, but abuse from the stock-
holders, and the reputation of thieves. That is to say,
five of the ten are pickpockets ; the other five, pockets to
be picked.

It happened that the Dunderbunk Directors were all
honest and foolish but one. He, John Churm, honest and
wise, was off at the "West, with his Herculean shoulders at

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