1861.]

WE

151

A STRANGE STORY OF TITAHUA.

E were three very dissimilar and yet not unwelcome companions-an eager, successful man of business; a sickly, withered student; and a weather-beaten old sea-captain. We had clambered up to a projecting rock which overhung a placid bay, and overlooked a vast expanse of sea, with mountains seen dimly in the distance. The captain and the man of business had with much difficulty succeeded in dragging up the student to this height; but when there, he perhaps of all of us most enjoyed the glorious scene. I cannot say for certain how our conversation wandered to the theme, to which afterwards it kept most closely. This theme was the great revolution in human affairs which might be effected by some small change. I think, though, the way in which the conversation arose was from the man of business commenting upon the shortness of the harvest, and upon the derangement which might thus occur in monetary matters. For these were all in all to him. We agreed that it was wonderful that mankind, with such imminent dangers always impend

ing over them as famine and pestilence, could afford to give so much of their time to wars and other frivolities. The student then observed, in his imaginative fashion, that it needed not these great calamities to diminish or to destroy the human race, but that the smallest change in some unnoticed element of life, or in some disregarded insect, would suffice to sweep from the earth its noblest denizen. Suppose,' he said, 'the domestic fly were to be made poisonous: the whole race of men would soon vanish from the scene, and leave their palaces, citadels, and towers, to flies.'

We then began to talk of the revolutions that would be created by any slight change in man himself; and we naturally alluded to the story of the Palace of Trutha story which much delighted our immediate forefathers. From that we were led to talk of the blessings and the curses of concealment; and how, if men's thoughts were visible upon their faces, civil society would be at an end.

Henceforward I give the conversation literally as it occurred.

STUDENT.

For

No, it is not all loss our not living in a Palace of Truth. instance, you give a man all manner of reasons, good and bad, for others taking a course which is injurious or offensive to him, and which reasons may or may not satisfy the man; but you cannot tell him of the reason which is convincing to your mind, and which has reference to his own disqualifications, demerits, or simply to his disagreeableness. How rude it would be to tell him of this, and how much pain he is spared from not seeing the real reason in your countenance.

MAN OF BUSINESS.

Ah, but think of the simplification of all manner of business-how soon merchants could effect their dealings.

SEA CAPTAIN.

Those crocodiles, the lawyers, would have nothing to do.

MAN OF BUSINESS.

Diplomatists would have nothing to diplomatize about, each seeing at once all that the other wanted and meant to have. The task of statesmen, too, would become an easy one. Moreover, those of a shifty nature would not be able to impose upon us in the least. A man would be talking of his country: and, all the while, in his eyes would be read the words, his party, or himself. One of the most amusing things would be to see in all business the prevalence of some very, very small motives.

You suppose, now, when words are almost omnipotent, that a man is thinking of the best, and scheming for the best-I mean for himself, or for those he represents-whereas he is often thinking only of what will be least trouble to him. And he votes for this course or for that, simply because if what he urges is adopted, he will not have a difficult letter to write, or a disagreeable oral statement to make.

STUDENT.

What a revolution it would make in love! I do not well see, moreover, how a three-volumed novel could be written, for there would be none of those delicious misunderstandings which often sustain the whole of the second volume and part of the third. Besides, love, in acquiring certainty, would lose a great deal of its most pleasurable pain. A lover would not spend the night in considering whether she frowned or whether she did not frown; and that pretty play with a flower, picking off the petals and saying, 'he loves me: he loves me not,' would have no interest whatever in it. The instantaneous perception of affection and its certitude, would destroy half the poetry of love.

MAN OF BUSINESS.

So much the better. The drollest thing to observe, I think, would be the effect on friendship and acquaintanceship of this plain-speaking with the countenance. Think of a man going through all the forms of friendship, and asking, with the proper affectionate tones of voice, about yourself, your fortunes, and your family, while all the time his unmastered countenance inevitably declared what a bore he thought you, how anxious he was to have gone through all this questioning, and so to escape the east wind which was blowing upon you both in the market-place.

STUDENT.

On the other hand, you would find that many persons have some regard for you, whom you do not at present suspect of any such weakness.

Relationship I think would gain by this plain-speaking of the

The every-day civilities of strangers, which now sometimes form a striking contrast to the rudeness or the bluntness of near relations, would go for nothing, or for worse; and so relationship would gain. Relations might still be as tiresome as ever, but their sincerity would have its value.

MAN OF BUSINESS.

Still, it would be very awful to find how often you are distasteful to those with whom you are most closely bound.

The greatest surprise, however, would be for the man who flatters himself that he has many enemies, and accounts for all his reverses by their imaginary hostility. I think I can see him rushing about in a wild manner looking for an enemy: fastening upon some man who, he knew, had talked him down, or written him down, or voted against him on some critical occasion. And then to find out that all this was done with perfect indifference, and that the supposed enemy did not dislike him a bit more than he did other people! It would be very mortifying.

1861.]

The Sea-Captain's Narrative.

STUDENT.

153

When one comes to think of the enormous revelations and revolutions that this change would produce, one sees that it could not be done in a world like this, where the needs of men are so pressing, and where opposing interests clash so fiercely. How could you expect, for instance, that an American farmer could sympathize with his European brother in distress, when his own good fortune depends so much upon bad harvests in our hemisphere? It might be very well for bodiless creatures to have countenances that concealed nothing; but a creature that needs food, warmth, and shelter, must conceal its thoughts.

But what says our friend the Captain? He has been very silent and meditative for a long time, while we have been chattering.

SEA-CAPTAIN.

You say it would be impossible. I do not know. I could tell you a strange story.

Pray do.

STUDENT.

SEA-CAPTAIN.

We were cruising once in the Pacific. It was a day like this-that is, if any day in those latitudes could be like a day in these. The sea was without a ripple; not even the track of a fish was to be seen in it; and I was thinking (not a very sublime thought) how like the surface of the sea was to the molten lead, out of which I used to make bullets when I was a boy, just before it hardened. The sun was going down; and we, poor becalmed folk, were lazily looking out upon the expanse, without a hope of seeing anything to amuse us or arrest our attention, when suddenly a black speck was visible in the distance. It soon grew larger and larger, until it showed that it was a man in a canoe. Before sunset he had reached our vessel. He hurried up on deck. He was a white man, and could speak our language. As he looked worn and emaciated, I instantly begged to know whether he wanted food. Upon this he burst out into a wild laugh of delight, and exclaimed, 'Once more again— once more I am with you dear people who can keep your thoughts to yourselves. You wished to know where I came from and who I am, before you offered me food. But your face did not betray your first thoughts. You can safely tell lies-I love you.' Thereupon he kissed my hands, and began to dance about the quarter-deck. We thought him deranged. I had him clothed after our fashion, and fed; and he slept for a day and a night without waking. The first time I saw him after this he was thankful but reserved. He said he had been many weeks paddling about on the ocean, having escaped from an island in the South Sea. Gradually we became friends. At first he had an unpleasant habit of staring fixedly at you; and, if you spoke to him, he did not answer until he had peered into your face. This wore off, however; and, by degrees, he came to behave like other people. I ventured to remind him of his wild sayings when he first came on board, and expressed a wish to hear the narrative of his sufferings and of his escape. At first he showed much reluctance to gratify me in this respect; but, before our voyage ended, he did consent to tell me his story. It was this:

I am a naturalist (he said), perhaps not without renown in my own country. I came out on a voyage of discovery. It was my second voyage; and I had learnt the language spoken in many of the South Sea islands. We were wrecked in these seas some time

ago: what time I hardly know, for I have kept no account of time. The crew took to the boats, and were lost. I alone stuck to the wreck; and, drifting on with it, was slowly driven on a friendly shore. When first surrounded by the natives I at once perceived that