right of disposal

it, because it would a been a miserable business to have any unfriendliness on the raft; for what you want, above all things, on a raft, is for everybody to be satisfied, and feel right and kind towards the others. It didn't take me long to make up my mind that these liars warn't no kings nor dukes at all, but just low-down humbugs and frauds.  But I never said nothing, never let on; kept it to myself; it's the best way; then you don't have no quarrels, and don't get into no trouble.  If they wanted us to call them kings and dukes, I hadn't no objections, 'long as it would keep peace in the family; and it warn't no use to tell Jim, so I didn't tell him.  If I never learnt nothing else out of pap, I learnt that the best way to get along with his kind of people is to let them have their own way. CHAPTER XX. THEY asked us considerable many questions; wanted to know what we covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of running--was Jim a runaway nigger?  Says I: “Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run _south_?” No, they allowed he wouldn't.  I had to account for things some way, so I says: “My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri, where I was born, and they all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike.  Pa, he 'lowed he'd break up and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below Orleans.  Pa was pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't nothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim.  That warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way.  Well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched this piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to Orleans on it.  Pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel; Jim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and Ike was only four years old, so they

remount the car, Turn, charge, and answer every call of war; To right, to left, the dexterous lance I wield, And bear thick battle on my sounding shield But open be our fight, and bold each blow; I steal no conquest from a noble foe." He said, and rising, high above the field Whirl'd the long lance against the sevenfold shield. Full on the brass descending from above Through six bull-hides the furious weapon drove, Till in the seventh it fix'd. Then Ajax threw; Through Hector's shield the forceful javelin flew, His corslet enters, and his garment rends, And glancing downwards, near his flank descends. The wary Trojan shrinks, and bending low Beneath his buckler, disappoints the blow. From their bored shields the chiefs their javelins drew, Then close impetuous, and the charge renew; Fierce as the mountain-lions bathed in blood, Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood. At Ajax, Hector his long lance extends; The blunted point against the buckler bends; But Ajax, watchful as his foe drew near, Drove through the Trojan targe the knotty spear; It reach'd his neck, with matchless strength impell'd! Spouts the black gore, and dims his shining shield. Yet ceased not Hector thus; but stooping down, In his strong hand up-heaved a flinty stone, Black, craggy, vast: to this his force he bends; Full on the brazen boss the stone descends; The hollow brass resounded with the shock: Then Ajax seized the fragment of a rock, Applied each nerve, and swinging round on high, With force tempestuous, let the ruin fly; The huge stone thundering through his buckler broke: His slacken'd knees received the numbing stroke; Great Hector falls extended on the field, His bulk supporting on the shatter'd shield: Nor wanted heavenly aid: Apollo's might Confirm'd his sinews, and restored to fight. And now both heroes their broad falchions drew In flaming circles round their heads they flew; But then by heralds' v

fall, and hecatombs to burn: Full fifty rams to bleed in sacrifice, Where to the day thy silver fountains rise, And where in shade of consecrated bowers Thy altars stand, perfumed with native flowers! So vow'd my father, but he vow'd in vain; No more Achilles sees his native plain; In that vain hope these hairs no longer grow, Patroclus bears them to the shades below." Thus o'er Patroclus while the hero pray'd, On his cold hand the sacred lock he laid. Once more afresh the Grecian sorrows flow: And now the sun had set upon their woe; But to the king of men thus spoke the chief: "Enough, Atrides! give the troops relief: Permit the mourning legions to retire, And let the chiefs alone attend the pyre; The pious care be ours, the dead to burn--" He said: the people to their ships return: While those deputed to inter the slain Heap with a rising pyramid the plain.(288) A hundred foot in length, a hundred wide, The growing structure spreads on every side; High on the top the manly corse they lay, And well-fed sheep and sable oxen slay: Achilles covered with their fat the dead, And the piled victims round the body spread; Then jars of honey, and of fragrant oil, Suspends around, low-bending o'er the pile. Four sprightly coursers, with a deadly groan Pour forth their lives, and on the pyre are thrown. Of nine large dogs, domestic at his board, Fall two, selected to attend their lord, Then last of all, and horrible to tell, Sad sacrifice! twelve Trojan captives fell.(289) On these the rage of fire victorious preys, Involves and joins them in one common blaze. Smear'd with the bloody rites, he stands on high, And calls the spirit with a dreadful cry:(290) "All hail, Patroclus! let thy vengeful ghost Hear, and exult, on Pluto's dreary coast. Behold Achilles' promise fully paid, Twelve Trojan heroes offer'd to thy shade; But heavier fates on Hector's corse attend, Saved from the flames, f

from his friend, by right of conquest mine." He strode along the field, as thus he said: (The sable plumage nodded o'er his head:) Swift through the spacious plain he sent a look; One instant saw, one instant overtook The distant band, that on the sandy shore The radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore. There his own mail unbraced the field bestrow'd; His train to Troy convey'd the massy load. Now blazing in the immortal arms he stands; The work and present of celestial hands; By aged Peleus to Achilles given, As first to Peleus by the court of heaven: His father's arms not long Achilles wears, Forbid by fate to reach his father's years. Him, proud in triumph, glittering from afar, The god whose thunder rends the troubled air Beheld with pity; as apart he sat, And, conscious, look'd through all the scene of fate. He shook the sacred honours of his head; Olympus trembled, and the godhead said; "Ah, wretched man! unmindful of thy end! A moment's glory; and what fates attend! In heavenly panoply divinely bright Thou stand'st, and armies tremble at thy sight, As at Achilles' self! beneath thy dart Lies slain the great Achilles' dearer part. Thou from the mighty dead those arms hast torn, Which once the greatest of mankind had worn. Yet live! I give thee one illustrious day, A blaze of glory ere thou fad'st away. For ah! no more Andromache shall come With joyful tears to welcome Hector home; No more officious, with endearing charms, From thy tired limbs unbrace Pelides' arms!" Then with his sable brow he gave the nod That seals his word; the sanction of the god. The stubborn arms (by Jove's command disposed) Conform'd spontaneous, and around him closed: Fill'd with the god, enlarged his members grew, Through all his veins a sudden vigour flew, The blood in brisker tides began to roll, And Mars himself came rushing on his soul. Exhorting loud through all the field he strode, And look'd

to study them with diligence. It was your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences. You doubtless recollect these papers. Here they are. Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. ‘Hateful day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even _you_ turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.’ “These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; but when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they would compassionate me and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion and friendship? I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate. I postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance attached to its success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail. Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every day’s experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months should have added to my sagacity. “Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cott

were better off then. They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy—one among the _schiavi ognor frementi,_ who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles. When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures. Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We