Septimius Felton; Or, the Elixir of Life: Vi

VI.

IT is not in our power, nor in our wish, to produce the original form, nor yet the spirit, of a production which is better lost to the world : because it was the expression of a human intellect originally greatly gifted and capable of high things, but gone utterly astray, partly by its own subtlety, partly by yielding to the temptations of the lower part of its nature, by yielding the spiritual to a keen sagacity of lower things, until it was quite fallen ; and yet fallen in such a way, that it seemed not only to itself, but to mankind, not fallen at all, but wise and good, and fulfilling all the ends of intellect in such a life as ours, and proving, moreover, that earthly life was good, and all that the development of our nature demanded. All this is better forgotten ; better burnt ; better never thought over again ; and all the more, because its aspect was so wise, and even praiseworthy. But what we must preserve of it were certain rules of life and moral diet, not exactly expressed in the document, but which, as it were, on its being duly received into Septimius’s mind, were precipitated from the rich solution, and crystallized into diamonds, and which he found to be the moral dietetics, so to speak, by observing which he was to achieve the end of earthly immortality, whose physical nostrum was given in the recipe which, with the help of Doctor Portsoaken and his Aunt Keziah, he had already pretty satisfactorily made out.

“ Keep thy heart at seventy throbs in a minute ; all more than that wears away life too quickly. If thy respiration be too quick, think with thyself that thou hast sinned against natural order and moderation.

“ Drink not wine nor strong drink ; and observe that this rule is worthiest in its symbolic meaning.

“ Bask daily in the sunshine, and let it rest on thy heart.

“ Run not; leap not; walk at a steady pace, and count thy paces per day.

“ If thou feelest, at any time, a throb of the heart, pause on the instant, and analyze it; fix thy mental eye steadfastly upon it, and inquire why such commotion is.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by JAMES R. OSGOOD & Co., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

“ Hate not any man nor woman ; be not angry, unless at any time thy blood seem a little cold and torpid ; cut out all rankling feelings, they are poisonous to thee. If, in thy waking moments, or in thy dreams, thou hast thoughts of strife or unpleasantness with any man, strive quietly with thyself to forget him.

“ Have no friendships with an imperfect man, with a man in bad health, of violent passions, of any characteristic that evidently disturbs his own life, and so may have disturbing influence on thine. Shake not any man by the hand, because thereby, if there be any evil in the man, it is likely to be communicated to thee.

“ Kiss no woman if her lips be red ; look not upon her if she be very fair. Touch not her hand if thy finger-tips be found to thrill with hers ever so little. On the whole, shun woman, for she is apt to be a disturbing influence. If thou love her, all is over, and thy whole past and remaining labor and pains will be in vain.

“ Do some decent degree of good and kindness in thy daily life, for the .result is a slight pleasurable sense that will seem to warm and delectate thee with felicitous self-laudings ; and all that brings thy thoughts to thyself tends to invigorate that central principle by the growth of which thou art to give thyself indefinite life.

“ Do not any act manifestly evil ; it may grow upon thee, and corrode thee in after-years. Do not any foolish good act; it may change thy wise habits.

“ Eat no spiced meats. Young chickens, new-fallen lambs, fruits, bread four days old, milk, freshest butter, will make thy fleshy tabernacle youthful.

“ From sick people, maimed wretches, afflicted people,—all of whom show themselves at variance with things as they should be, — from people beyond their wits, from people in a melancholic mood, from people in extravagant joy, from teething children, from dead corpses, turn away thine eyes and depart elsewhere.

“If beggars haunt thee, let thy servants drive them away, thou withdrawing out of ear-shot.

“ Crying and sickly children, and teething children, as aforesaid, carefully avoid. Drink the breath of wholesome infants as often as thou conveniently canst, — it is good for thy purpose ; also the breath of buxom maids, if thou mayest without undue disturbance of the flesh, drink it as a morningdraught, as medicine ; also the breath of cows as they return from rich pasture at eventide.

“ If thou seest human poverty, or suffering, and it trouble thee, strive moderately to relieve it, seeing that thus thy mood will be changed to a pleasant self-laudation.

“ Practise thyself in a certain continual smile, for its tendency will be to compose thy frame of being, and keep thee from too much wear.

“ Search not to see if thou hast a gray hair ; scrutinize not thy forehead to find a wrinkle ; nor the corners of thy eyes to discover if they be corrugated. Such things, being gazed at, daily take heart and grow.

“ Desire nothing too fervently, not even life ; yet keep thy hold upon it mightily, quietly, unshakably, for as long as thou really art resolved to live, Death, with all his force, shall have no power against thee.

“ Walk not beneath tottering ruins, nor houses being put up, nor climb to the top of a mast, nor approach the edge of a precipice, nor stand in the way of the lightning, nor cross a swollen river, nor voyage at sea, nor ride a skittish horse, nor be shot at by an arrow, nor confront a sword, nor put thyself in the way of violent death ; for this is hateful, and breaketh through all wise rules.

“ Say thy prayers at bedtime, if thou deemest it will give thee quieter sleep ; yet let it not trouble thee if thou forgettest them.

“Change thy shirt daily; thereby thou castest off yesterday’s decay, and imbibest the freshness of the morning’s life, which enjoy with smelling to roses and other healthy and fragrant flowers, and live the longer for it. Roses are made to that end.

“ Read not great poets ; they stir up thy heart; and the human heart is a soil which, if deeply stirred, is apt to give out noxious vapors.”

Such were some of the precepts which Septimius gathered and reduced to definite form out of this wonderful document ; and he appreciated their wisdom, and saw clearly that they must be absolutely essential to the success of the medicine with which they were connected. In themselves, almost, they seemed capable of prolonging life to an indefinite period, so wisely were they conceived, so well did they apply to the causes which almost invariably wear away this poor, short life of men, years and years before even the shattered constitutions that they received from their forefathers need compel them to die. He deemed himself well rewarded for all his labor and pains, should nothing else follow but his reception and proper appreciation of these wise rules; but continually, as he read the manuscript, more truths, and, for aught I know, profounder and more practical ones, developed themselves ; and, indeed, small as the manuscript looked, Septimius thought that he should find a volume as big as the most ponderous folio in the college library too small to contain its wisdom. It seemed to drip and distil with precious fragrant drops, whenever he took it out of his desk ; it diffused wisdom like those vials of perfume which, small as they look, keep diffusing an airy wealth of fragrance for years and years together, scattering their virtue in incalculable volumes of invisible vapor, and yet are none the less in bulk for all they give; whenever he turned over the yellow leaves, bits of gold, diamonds of good size, precious pearls, seemed to drop out from between them.

And now ensued a surprise which, though of a happy kind, was almost too much for him to bear; for it made his heart beat considerably faster than the wise rules of his manuscript prescribed. Going up on his hill-top, as summer wore away (he had not been there for some time), and walking by the little flowery hillock, as so many a hundred times before, what should he see there but a new flower, that during the time he had been poring over the manuscript so sedulously had developed itself, blossomed, put forth its petals, bloomed into full perfection, and now, with the dew of the morning upon it, was waiting to offer itself to Septimius ? He trembled as he looked at it, it was too much almost to bear ; — it was so very beautiful, so very stately, so very rich, so very mysterious and wonderful. It was like a person, like a life ! Whence did it come ? He stood apart from it, gazing in wonder ; tremulously taking in its aspect, and thinking of the legends he had heard from Aunt Keziah and from Sybil Dacy ; and how that this flower, like the one that their wild traditions told of, had grown out of a grave, — out of a grave in which he had laid one slain by himself.

The flower was of the richest crimson, illuminated with a golden centre of a perfect and stately beauty. From the best descriptions that I have been able to gain of it, it was more like a dahlia than any other flower with which I have acquaintance ; yet it does not satisfy me to believe it really of that species, for the dahlia is not a flower of any deep characteristics, either lively or malignant, and this flower, which Septimius found so strangely, seems to have had one or the other. If I have rightly understood, it had a fragrance which the dahlia lacks; and there was something hidden in its centre, a mystery, even in its fullest bloom, not developing itself so openly as the heartless, yet not dishonest, dahlia. I remember in England to have seen a flower at Eaton Hall, in Cheshire, in those magnificent gardens, which may have been like this, but my remembrance of it is not sufficiently distinct to enable me to describe it better than by saying that it was crimson, with a gleam of gold in its centre, which yet was partly hidden. It had many petals of great richness.

Septimius, bending eagerly over the plant, saw that this was not to be the only flower that it would produce that season ; on the contrary, there was to be a great abundance of them, a luxuriant harvest ; as if the crimson offspring of this one plant would cover the whole hillock, — as if the dead youth beneath had burst into a resurrection of many crimson flowers ! And in its veiled heart, moreover, there was a mystery like death, although it seemed to cover something bright and golden.

Day after day the strange crimson flower bloomed more and more abundantly, until it seemed almost to cover the little hillock, which became a mere bed of it, apparently turning all its capacity of production to this flower ; for the other plants, Septimius thought, seemed to shrink away, and give place to it, as if they were unworthy to compare with the richness, glory, and worth of this their queen. The fervent summer burned into it, the dew and the rain ministered to it ; the soil was rich, for it was a human heart contributing its juices, — a heart in its fiery youth sodden in its own blood, so that passion, unsatisfied loves and longings, ambition that never won its object, tender dreams and throbs, angers, lusts, hates, all concentrated by life, came sprouting in it, and its mysterious being, and streaks and shadows had some meaning in each of them.

The two girls, when they next ascended the hill, saw the strange flower, and Rose admired it, and wondered at it, but stood at a distance, without showing an attraction towards it,rather an undefined aversion, as if she thought it might be a poison flower; at any rate she would not be inclined to wear it in her bosom. Sybil Dacy examined it closely, touched its leaves, smelt it, looked at it with a botanist’s eye, and at last remarked to Rose, " Yes, it grows well in this new soil ; methinks it looks like a new human life.”

“What is the strange flower?” asked Rose.

“ The Sanguinea sanguinis sima,”said Sybil.

It so happened about this time that poor Aunt Keziah, in spite of her constant use of that bitter mixture of hers, was in a very bad state of health. She looked all of an unpleasant yellow’, with bloodshot eyes ; she complained terribly of her inwards. She had an ugly rheumatic hitch in her motion from place to place, and was heard to mutter many wishes that she had a broomstick to fly about upon, and she used to bind up her head with a dishclout, or what looked to be such, and would sit by the kitchen fire even in the warm days, bent over it, crouching as if she wanted to take the whole fire into her poor cold heart or gizzard, — groaning regularly with each breath a spiteful and resentful groan, as if she fought womanfully with her infirmities; and she continually smoked her pipe, and sent out the breath of her complaint visibly in that evil odor ; and sometimes she murmured a little prayer, but somehow or other the evil and bitterness, acridity, pepperiness, of her natural disposition overcame the acquired grace which compelled her to pray, insomuch that, after all, you would have thought the poor old woman was cursing with all her rheumatic might. All the time an old, broken-nosed, brown earthen jug, covered with the lid of a black teapot, stood on the edge of the embers, steaming forever, and sometimes bubbling a little, and giving a great puff, as if it were sighing and groaning in sympathy with poor Aunt Keziah, and when it sighed there came a great steam of herby fragrance, not particularly pleasant, into the kitchen. And ever and anon, — half a dozen times it might be, — of an afternoon, Aunt Keziah took a certain bottle from a private receptacle of hers, and also a teacup, and likewise a little, old-fashioned silver teaspoon, with which she measured three teaspoonfuls of some spirituous liquor into the teacup, half filled the cup with the hot decoction, drank it off, gave a grunt of content, and for the space of half an hour appeared to find life tolerable.

But one day poor Aunt Keziah found herself unable, partly from rheumatism, partly from other sickness or weakness, and partly from dolorous ill-spirits, to keep about any longer, so she betook herself to her bed ; and betimes in the forenoon Septimius heard a tremendous knocking on the floor of her bedchamber, which happened to be the room above his own. He was the only person in or about the house ; so, with great reluctance, he left his studies, which were upon the recipe, in respect to which he was trying to make out the mode of concoction, which was told in such a mysterious way that he could not well tell either the quantity of the ingredients, the mode of trituration, or in what way their virtue was to be extracted and combined.

Running hastily up stairs, he found Aunt Keziah lying in bed, and groaning with great spite and bitterness ; so that, indeed, it seemed not improvidential that such an inimical state of mind towards the human race was accompanied with an almost inability of motion, else it would not be safe to be within a considerable distance of her.

“ Seppy, you good-for-nothing, are you going to see me lying here dying, without trying to do anything for me ? ”

“ Dying, Aunt Keziah ? ” repeated the young man. “ I hope not ! What can I do for you ? Shall I go for Rose ? or call a neighbor in ? or the doctor ? ”

“ No, no, you fool ! ” said the afflicted person. “ You can do all that anybody can for me ; and that is to put my mixture on the kitchen fire till it steams, and is just ready to bubble; then measure three teaspoonfuls — or it may be four, as I am very bad — of spirit into a teacup, fill it half full, — or it may be quite full, for I am very bad, as I said afore ; six teaspoonfuls of spirit into a cup of mixture, and let me have it as soon as may be ; and don’t break the cup, nor spill the precious mixture, for goodness knows when I can go into the woods to gather any more. Ah me ! ah me ! it’s a wicked, miserable world, and I am the most miserable creature in it. Be quick, you good-fornothing, and do as I say ! ”

Septimius hastened down ; but as he went, a thought came into his head, which it occurred to him might result in great benefit to Aunt Keziah, as well as to the great cause of science and human good, and to the promotion of his own purpose, in the first place. A day or two ago he had gathered several of the beautiful flowers, and laid them in the fervid sun to dry ; and they now seemed to be in about the state in which the old woman was accustomed to use her herbs, so far as Septimius had observed. Now, if these flowers were really, as there was so much reason for supposing, the one ingredient that had for hundreds of years been missing out of Aunt Keziah’s nostrum, — if it was this which that strange Indian sagamore had mingled with his drink with such beneficial effect, — why should not Septimius now restore it, and if it would not make his beloved aunt young again, at least assuage the violent symptoms, and perhaps prolong her valuable life some years, for the solace and delight of her numerous friends ? Septimius, like other people of investigating and active minds, had a great tendency to experiment, and so good an opportunity as the present, where (perhaps he thought) there was so little to be risked at worst, and so much to be gained, was not to be neglected ; so, without more ado, he stirred three of the crimson flowers into the earthen jug, set it on the edge of the fire, stirred it well, and when it steamed, threw up little scarlet bubbles, and was about to boil, he measured out the spirits, as Aunt Keziah had bidden him, and then filled the teacup.

“Ah, this will do her good; little does she think, poor old thing, what a rare and costly medicine is about to be given her. This will set her on her feet again.” The hue was somewhat changed, he thought, from what he had observed of Aunt Keziah’s customary decoction ; instead of a turbid yellow, the crimson petals of the flower had tinged it, and made it almost red ; not a brilliant red, however, nor the least inviting in appearance. Septimius smelt it, and thought he could distinguish a little of the rich odor of the flower, but was not sure. He considered whether to taste it; but the horrible flavor of Aunt Keziah’s decoction recurred strongly to his remembrance, and he concluded that, were he evidently at the point of death, he might possibly be bold enough to taste it again ; but that nothing short of the hope of a century’s existence, at least, would repay another taste of that fierce and nauseous bitterness. Aunt Keziah loved it ; and as she brewed, so let her drink.

He went up stairs, careful not to spill a drop of the brimming cup, and approached the old woman’s bedside, where she lay, groaning as before, and breaking out into a spiteful croak the moment he was within ear-shot.

“ You don’t care whether I live or die,” said she. “ You’ve been waiting in hopes I shall die, and so save yourself further trouble.”

“ By no means, Aunt Keziah,” said Septimius. “ Here is the medicine, which I have warmed, and measured out, and mingled, as well as I knew how ; and I think it will do you a great deal of good.”

“ Won’t you taste it, Seppy, my dear ? ” said Aunt Keziah, mollified by the praise of her beloved mixture. “ Drink first, dear, so that my sick old lips need not taint it. You look pale, Septimius ; it will do you good.”

“ No, Aunt Keziah, I do not need it; and it were a pity to waste your precious drink,” said he.

“It does not look quite the right color,” said Aunt Keziah, as she took the cup in her hand. “ You must have dropped some soot into it.” Then as she raised it to her lips, “ It does not smell quite right. But, woe’s me ! how can I expect anybody but myself to make this precious drink as it should be?”

She drank it off at two gulps ; for she appeared to hurry it off faster than usual, as if not tempted by the exquisiteness of its flavor to dwell upon it so long.

“ You have not made it just right, Seppy,” said she in a milder tone than before, for she seemed to feel the customary soothing influence of the draught, “ but you ’ll do better the next time. It had a queer taste, methought; or is it that my mouth is getting out of taste ? Hard times it will be for poor Aunt Kezzy, if she’s to lose her taste for the medicine that, under Providence, has saved her life for so many years.”

She gave back the cup to Septimius, after looking a little curiously at the dregs.

“ It looks like bloodroot, don’t it ? ” said she. “ Perhaps it’s my own fault after all. I gathered a fresh bunch of the yarbs yesterday afternoon, and put them to steep, and it may be I was a little blind, for it was between daylight and dark, and the moon shone on me before I had finished. I thought how the witches used to gather their poisonous stuff at such times, and what pleasant uses they made of it, — but those are sinful thoughts, Seppy, sinful thoughts ! so I ’ll say a prayer and try to go to sleep. I feel very noddy all at once.”

Septimius drew the bedclothes up about her shoulders, for she complained of being very chilly, and, carefully putting her stick within reach, went down to his own room, and resumed his studies, trying to make out from those aged hieroglyphics, to which he was now so well accustomed, what was the precise method of making the elixir of immortality. Sometimes, as men in deep thought do, he rose from his chair, and walked to and fro, the four or five steps or so that conveyed him from end to end of his little room. At one of these times he chanced to look in the little looking-glass that hung between the windows, and was startled at the paleness of his face. It was quite white, indeed. Septimius was not in the least a foppish young man ; careless he was in dress, though often his apparel took an unsought picturesqueness that set off his slender, agile figure, perhaps from some quality of spontaneous arrangement that he had inherited from his Indian ancestry. Yet many women might have found a charm in that dark, thoughtful face, with its hidden fire and energy, although Septimius never thought of its being handsome, and seldom looked at it. Yet now he was drawn to it by seeing how strangely white it was, and, gazing at it, he observed that since he considered it last, a very deep furrow, or corrugation, or fissure, it might almost be called, had indented his brow, rising from the commencement of his nose towards the centre of the forehead. And he knew it was the brooding thought, his fierce, hard determination, his intense concentrativeness for so many months, that had been digging that furrow ; and it must prove indeed a potent specific of the life-water that would smooth that away, and restore him all the youth and elasticity that he had buried in that profound grave.

But why was he so pale ? He could have supposed himself startled by some ghastly thing that he had just seen ; by a corpse in the next room, for instance ; or else by the foreboding that one would soon be there ; but yet he was conscious of no tremor in his frame, no terror in his heart; as why should there be any ? Feeling his own pulse, he found the strong, regular beat that should be there. He was not ill, nor affrighted ; not expectant of any pain. Then why so ghastly pale? And why, moreover, Septimius, did you listen so earnestly for any sound in Aunt Keziah’s chamber ? Why did you creep on tiptoe, once, twice, three times, up to the old woman’s chamber, and put your ear to the keyhole, and listen breathlessly ? Well, it must have been that he was sub-conscious that he was trying a bold experiment, and that he had taken this poor old woman to be the medium of it, in the hope, of course, that it would turn out well ; yet with other views than her interest in the matter. What was the harm of that ? Medical men, no doubt, are always doing so, and he was a medical man for the time. Then why was he so pale ?

He sat down and fell into a revery, which perhaps was partly suggested by that chief furrow which he had seen, and which we have spoken of, in his brow. He considered whether there was anything in this pursuit of his that used up life particularly fast ; so that perhaps, unless he were successful soon, he should be incapable of renewal ; for, looking within himself, and considering his mode of being, he had a singular fancy that his heart was gradually drying up, and that he must continue to get some moisture for it, or else it would soon be like a withered leaf. Supposing his pursuit were vain, what a waste he was making of that little treasure of golden days, which was his all ! Could this be called life, which he was leading now? How unlike that of other young men ! How unlike that of Robert Hagburn, for example ! There had come news yesterday of his having performed a gallant part in the battle of Monmouth, and being promoted to be a captain for his brave conduct. Without thinking of long life, he really lived in heroic actions and emotions ; he got much life in a little, and did not fear to sacrifice a lifetime of torpid breaths, if necessary, to the ecstasy of a glorious death !

..... [It appears from a written sketch by the author of this story, that he changed his first plan of making Septimius and Rose lovers, and she was to be represented as his half-sister; and in the copy for publication this alteration' would have been made. - ED.]

..... And then Robert loved, too, loved his sister Rose, and felt, doubtless, an immortality in that passion. Why could not Septimius love too ? It was forbidden! Well, no matter; whom could he have loved ? Who, in all this world, would have been suited to his secret, brooding heart, that he could have let her into its mysterious chambers, and walked with her from one cavernous gloom to another, and said, “ Here are my treasures. I make thee mistress of all these; with all these goods I thee endow.” And then, revealing to her his great secret and purpose of gaining immortal life, have said : “ This shall be thine, too. Thou shalt share with me. We will walk along the endless path together, and keep one another’s hearts warm, and so be content to live.”

Ah, Septimius ! but now you are getting beyond those rules of yours, which, cold as they are, have been drawn out of a subtle philosophy, and might, were it possible to follow them out, suffice to do all that you ask of them ; but if you break them, you do it at the peril of your earthly immortality. Each warmer and quicker throb of the heart wears away so much of life. The passions, the affections, are a wine not to be indulged in. Love, above all, being in its essence an immortal thing, cannot be long contained in an earthly body, but would wear it out with its own secret power, softly invigorating as it seems. You must be cold, therefore, Septimius; you must not even earnestly and passionately desire this immortality that seems so necessary to you. Else the very wish will prevent the possibility of its fulfilment.

By and by, to call him out of these rhapsodies, came Rose home ; and finding the kitchen hearth cold, and Aunt Keziah missing, and no dinner by the fire which was smouldering, — nothing but the portentous earthen jug, which fumed, and sent out long, illflavored sighs, she tapped at Septimius’s door, and asked him what was the matter.

“Aunt Keziah has had an ill turn,” said Septimius, “and has gone to bed.”

“Poor auntie !” said Rose, with her quick sympathy. “ I will this moment run up and see if she needs anything.”

“No, Rose,” said Septimius, “she has doubtless gone to sleep, and will awake as well as usual. It would displease her much were you to miss your afternoon school; so you had better set the table with whatever there is left of yesterday’s dinner, and leave me to take care of auntie.”

“ Well,” said Rose, “ she loves you best; but if she be really ill, I shall give up my school and nurse her.”

“No doubt,” said Septimius, “she will be about the house again to-morrow.”

So Rose ate her frugal dinner (consisting chiefly of purslane, and some other garden herbs, which her thrifty aunt had prepared for boiling), and went away as usual to her school; for Aunt Keziah, as aforesaid, had never encouraged the tender ministrations of Rose, whose orderly, womanly character, with its well-defined orb of daily and civilized duties, had always appeared to strike her as tame ; and she once said to her, “ You are no squaw, child, and you ’ll never make a witch.” Nor would she even so much as let Rose put her tea to steep, or do anything whatever for herself personally ; though, certainly, she was not backward in requiring of her a due share of labor for the general housekeeping.

Septimius was sitting in his room, as the afternoon wore away ; because, for some reason or other, or, quite as likely, for no reason at all, he did not air himself and his thoughts, as usual, on the hill ; so he was sitting musing, thinking, looking into his mysterious manuscript, when he heard Aunt Keziah moving in the chamber above. First she seemed to rattle a chair ; then she began a slow, regular beat with the stick which Septimius had left by her bedside, and which startled him strangely, — so that, indeed, his heart beat faster than the five-and-seventy throbs to which he was restricted by the wise rules that he had digested. So he ran hastily up stairs, and behold, Aunt Keziah was sitting up in bed, looking very wild, — so wild, that you would have thought she was going to fly up chimney the next minute; her gray hair all dishevelled, her eyes staring, her hands clutching forward, while she gave a sort of howl, what with pain and agitation.

“ Seppy ! Seppy ! ” said she, “ Seppy, my darling ! are you quite sure you remember how to make that precious drink ? ”

“ Quite well, Aunt Keziah,” said Septimius, inwardly much alarmed by her aspect, but preserving a true Indian composure of outward mien. “ I wrote it down, and could say it by heart besides. Shall I make you a fresh pot of it ? for I have thrown away the other.”

“ That was well, Seppy,” said the poor old woman, “ for there is something wrong about it; but I want no more, for, Seppy dear, I am going fast out of this world, where you and that precious drink were my only treasures and comforts. I wanted to know if you remembered the recipe ; it is all I have to leave you, and the more you drink of it, Seppy, the better. Only see to make it right ! ”

“ Dear auntie, what can I do for you ? ” said Septimius, in much consternation, but still calm. “ Let me run for the doctor, — for the neighbors ? something must be done ! ”

The old woman contorted herself as if there were a fearful time in her insides ; and grinned, and twisted the yellow ugliness of her face, and groaned, and howled ; and yet there was a tough and fierce kind of endurance with which she fought with her anguish, and would not yield to it a jot, though she allowed herself the relief of shrieking savagely at it, — much more like a defiance than a cry for mercy.

“No doctor! no woman!” said she; “if my drink could not save me, what would a doctor’s foolish pills and powders do ? And a woman ! If old Martha Denton, the witch, were alive, I would be glad to see her. But other women! Pah! Ah! Ai! Oh! Phew! Ah, Seppy, what a mercy it would be now if I could set to and blaspheme a bit, and shake my fist at the sky ! But I’m a Christian woman, Seppy, — a Christian woman ! ”

“ Shall I send for the minister, Aunt Keziah ? ” asked Septimius. “ He is a good man, and a wise one.”

“No minister for me, Seppy,” said Aunt Keziah, howling as if somebody were choking her. “ He may be a good man and a wise one, but he’s not wise enough to know the way to my heart, and never a man as was ! Eh, Seppy, I ’m a Christian woman, but I ’m not like other Christian women ; and I’m glad I ’m going away from this stupid world. I ’ve not been a bad woman, and I deserve credit for it, for it would have suited me a great deal better to be bad. O, what a delightful time a witch must have had, starting off up chimney on her broomstick at midnight, and looking down from aloft in the sky on the sleeping village far below, with its steeple pointing up at her, so that she might touch the golden weathercock ! You, meanwhile, in such an ecstasy, and all below you the dull, innocent, sober humankind ; the wife sleeping by her husband, or mother by her child, squalling with wind in its stomach ; the goodman driving up his cattle and his plough, — all so innocent, all so stupid, with their dull days just alike, one after another. And you up in the air, sweeping away to some nook in the forest! Ha ! What’s that ? A wizard ! Ha ! ha ! Known below as a deacon ! There is Goody Chickering ! How quietly she sent the young people to bed after prayers ! There is an Indian ; there a nigger ; they all have equal rights and privileges at a witch-meeting. Phew ! the wind blows cold up here ! Why does not the Black Man have the meeting at his own kitchen hearth ? Ho ! ho ! O dear me ! But I ’m a Christian woman and no witch ; but those must have been gallant times ! ”

Doubtless it was a partial wandering of the mind that took the poor old woman away on this old-witch flight; and it was very curious and pitiful to witness the compunction with which she returned to herself and took herself to task for the preference which, in her wild nature, she could not help giving to harum-scarum wickedness over tame goodness. Now she tried to compose herself, and talk reasonably and godly.

“Ah, Septimius, my dear child, never give way to temptation, nor consent to be a wizard, though the Black Man persuade you ever so hard. I know he will try. He has tempted me, but I never yielded, never gave him his will; and never do you, my hoy, though you, with your dark complexion, and your brooding brow, and your eye veiled, only when it suddenly looks out with a flash of fire in it, are the sort of man he seeks most, and that afterwards serves him. But don’t do it, Septimius. But if you could be an Indian, methinks it would be better than this tame life we lead. ’T would have been better for me, at all events. O, how pleasant ’t would have been to spend my life wandering in the woods, smelling the pines and the hemlock all day, and fresh things of all kinds, and no kitchen-work to do, — not to rake up the fire, nor sweep the room, nor make the beds, — but to sleep on fresh boughs in a wigwam, with the leaves still on the branches that made the roof! And then to see the deer brought in by the red hunter, and the blood streaming from the arrow-dart ! Ah ! and the fight too ! and the scalping ! and, perhaps, a woman might creep into the battle, and steal away the wounded enemy of her tribe and scalp him, and be praised for it ! O Seppy, how I hate the thought of the dull life women lead ! A white woman’s life is so dull! Thank Heaven, I’m done with it! If I’m ever to live again, may I be whole Indian, please my Maker ! ”

After this goodly outburst, Aunt Keziah lay quietly for a few moments, and her skinny claws being clasped together, and her yellow visage grinning, as pious an aspect as was attainable by her harsh and pain-distorted features, Septimius perceived that she was in prayer. And so it proved by what followed, for the old woman turned to him with a grim tenderness on her face, and stretched out her hand to be taken in his own. He clasped the bony talon in both his hands.

“ Seppy, my dear, I feel a great peace, and I don’t think there is so very much to trouble me in the other world. It won’t be all housework, and keeping decent, and doing like Other people there. I suppose I need n’t expect to ride on a broomstick,— that would be wrong in any kind of a world,— but there may be woods to wander in, and a pipe to smoke in the air of heaven ; trees to hear the wind in, and to smell of, and all such natural, happy things ; and by and by I shall hope to see you there, Seppy, my darling boy ! Come by and by ; ’t is n’t worth your while to live forever, even if you should find out what’s wanting in the drink I’ve taught you. I can see a little way into the next world now, and I see it to be far better than this heavy and wretched old place. You ’ll die when your time comes ; won’t you, Seppy, my darling ? ”

“Yes, dear auntie, when my time comes,” said Septimius. “Very likely I shall want to live no longer by that time.”

“ Likely not,” said the old woman. “ I’m sure I don’t. It is like going to sleep on my mother’s breast to die. So, good night, dear Seppy.”

“ Good night, and God bless you, auntie!” said Septimius, with a gush of tears blinding him, spite of his Indian nature.

The old woman composed herself, and lay quite still and decorous for a short time ; then, rousing herself a little, “ Septimius,” said she, “ is there just a little drop of my drink left ? Not that I want to live any longer, but if I could sip ever so little, I feel as if I should step into the other world quite cheery, with it warm in my heart, and not feel shy and bashful at going among strangers.”

“ Not one drop, auntie.”

“Ah, well, no matter! It was not quite right, that last cup. It had a queer taste. What could you have put into it, Seppy, darling ? But no matter, no matter! It’s a precious stuff, if you make it right. Don’t forget the herbs, Septimius. Something wrong had certainly got into it.”

These, except for some murmurings, some groanings and unintelligible whisperings, were the last utterances of poor Aunt Keziah, who did not live a great while longer, and at last passed away in a great sigh, like a gust of wind among the trees, she having just before stretched out her hand again and grasped that of Septimius; and he sat watching her and gazing at her, wondering, and horrified, touched, shocked by death, of which he had so unusual a terror, — and by the death of this creature especially, with whom he felt a sympathy that did not exist with any other person now living. So long did he sit, holding her hand, that at last he was conscious that it was growing cold within his own, and that the stiffening fingers clutched him, as if they were disposed to keep their hold, and not forego the tie that had been so peculiar.

Then rushing hastily forth, he told the nearest available neighbor, who was Robert Hagburn’s mother; and she summoned some of her gossips, and came to the house, and took poor Aunt Keziah in charge. They talked of her with no great respect, I fear, nor much sorrow, nor sense that the community would suffer any great deprivation in her loss ; for, in their view, she was a dram-drinking, pipe-smoking, cross-grained old maid, and, as some thought, a witch ; and, at any rate, with too much of the Indian blood in her to be of much use ; and they hoped that now Rose Garfield would have a pleasanter life, and Septimius study to be a minister, and all things go well, and the place be cheerfuller. They found Aunt Keziah’s bottle in the cupboard, and tasted and smelt of it.

“ Good West Indjy as ever I tasted,” said Mrs. Hagburn ; “ and there stands her broken pitcher on the hearth. Ah, empty ! I never could bring my mind to taste it; but now I ’m sorry I never did, for I suppose nobody in the world can make any more of it.”

Nathaniel Hawthorne.