Essence of Anthropology 4th Edition Haviland

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1. Although we use the terms black, white, and race quite frequently:
a. they are purely biological
b. they are purely cultural
c. they are totally fictive and do not exist
d. they mean something different to every individual
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 145
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: New

2. All of the following are true about race except:

a. Race exists as a social and political category that promotes inequality in some societies.
b. Biological evidence demonstrates unequivocally that separate human races do not exist.
c. Scientists disagree on the number of biological human races that exist.
d. Gene flow throughout evolutionary history has maintained humans as a single species.
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 145
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: Pickup

3. How is human variation, such as skin color, distributed across the species?
a. without variation across the species
b. in a homogeneous fashion
c. in a continuous fashion
d. in a punctuated fashion
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 145
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: Pickup

4. What racial incident was provoked by reporters covering Jeremy Lin’s success as a professional basketball player in the
United States?
a. They used a racial slur to refer to him.
 b. They refused to publish a photo of him.
c. They would only speak to him in Chinese.
d. They used him as an example of what is negative about Chinese.
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 144
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: New

5. Human biological variation stems from all of the following except:

a. natural selection
b. random genetic drift
c. geographic isolation
d. cultural beliefs
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 145
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: New

6. In what period did European scholars first begin a systematic study of human variation?
a. 19th/20th centuries
b. 16th/17th centuries
c. 15th century
d. 18th/19th centuries
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 145
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Pickup

7. Blumenbach argued that degeneration of human types was caused by:

a. interracial marriage
b. striving to be different from one’s group of origin
c. changes in skull types
d. migrating from one’s place of origin
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: Pickup

8. Which scientist measured skulls to attempt to demonstrate biological superiority of specific groups?
a. Johann Blumenbach
b. Ashley Montagu
c. Carolus Linnaeus
d. Samuel Morton
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Modify

9. The 18th-century Swedish naturalist Carolus Linnaeus originally divided humans into subspecies based on:
a. immediate ancestry
b. geographic location
c. skin color
d. hair texture
ANSWER: b
REFERENCES: 145
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Pickup

10. Johann Blumenbach formally proposed a notion of:

a. race as a social myth
b. human racial adaptation
c. relative human equality
d. a hierarchy of human types
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: Modify

11. For Blumenbach, the term Malay included:

a. Europeans and Asians
b. Pacific Islanders and Sicilians
c. Indigenous Australians and Pacific Islanders
d. Europeans and indigenous Australians
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Pickup

12. Who was Ota Benga?

a. a Twa pygmy man
b. a Australian aborigine
c. an Arabian woman
d. a Polynesian boy
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: New

13. Ota Benga was put on public display with a/an:

a. orangutan
b. gibbon
c. gorilla
 d. chimpanzee
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Modify

14. Why was Ota Benga brought to the United States?

a. to be exhibited at the New York Cultural Museum
b. to be exhibited at the Museum of Natural History
c. to be housed in the Bronx Zoo
d. to be exhibited at the 1904 World’s Fair
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Modify

15. What happened to Ota Benga?

a. He was sent back to Africa.
b. He died in the Bronx Zoo of a heart attack.
c. He was attacked by wild animals at the Bronx Zoo.
d. He committed suicide.
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 146
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Pickup

16. Which individual, as president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, did the most to combat
racism in the United States?
a. Franz Boas
b. Carolus Linnaeus
c. Ashley Montagu
d. Samuel Morton
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 147
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: Pickup

17. Early American anthropologists Franz Boas and Ashley Montagu both suffered from what kind of prejudice in their
European homelands?
a. anti-Quakerism
b. anti-Arabism
c. anti-Africanism
d. anti-Semitism
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 147
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Modify

18. All of the following are true statements except:

a. The majority of genetic variation exists within groups.
b. No one group is genetically distinct for any particular trait.
c. Differences between individual populations is greater than that between individuals.
d. Racial categories tend to be devised in an arbitrary manner.
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 147-148
OTHER: Conceptual
NOTES: Pickup

19. The earliest settlers to the United States who came over from England brought an ideology of dehumanization with
them from their historical treatment of the:
a. Welsh
b. French
c. Irish
d. Germans
ANSWER: c
REFERENCES: 146-147
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: New

20. The fingerprint pattern of “loops” is associated primarily with:

a. sub-Saharan Africans
b. central Europeans
c. people of Mongolia
d. Australian aborigines
ANSWER: a
REFERENCES: 147
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: Pickup

21. Which of the following biological aspects is not routinely used to categorize people into racial groupings?
a. fingerprints
b. hair type
c. skin color
d. gender
ANSWER: d
REFERENCES: 147
OTHER: Factual
NOTES: New

22. Broadly defined “racial” groups differ from one another in what percent of their genes?
a. 5
b. 11
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 CHAPTER XIV.
ARRIVAL.

Britain! America! Mother and child,

Be heartily, happily, reconciled.
Look to the world around;
Stricken by frenzy, with guilt defiled,
A storm-tossed ship in the surges wild,
Soon to be wrecked and drowned!

Mother and daughter against the world.

Under your peaceful flags unfurled,
Rights may rally at length;
While Earth’s hurricane, inwardly curled
Spent with ruin of wrongs down-hurled
Weakens and wastes its strength.—M. P. T.

To see for the first time the shores of the old world! It is indeed
like coming to another world! like entering into another life!
Have we died? Was the vast sheet of water we passed the River
of Death? And is the land we see before us the abode of departed
spirits? If so, is it Hades, or Elysium? It looks more like Elysium!
So mused Drusilla as she stood dreamily leaning over the
bulwarks of the Hurona, and gazing on the lovely shores of the
Emerald Isle, all glittering in the beams of the rising sun, as the
ship approached the beautiful Cove of Cork.
She had risen very early and come up on deck alone to get a
quiet first view of the land. All was bustle around her, for the ship
was preparing to lay to for the purpose of landing the passengers
for Ireland. The tiny steamboat from the shore was already puffing
and blowing its way out to the ocean leviathan to take them off.
Men, women and children, servants, porters and baggage began
to throng up from below.
But Drusilla, plunged in a dream of the past, was almost
unconscious of the confusion around her.
 “Elysium! for certainly it is peopled with the spirits of departed
heroes and sages!” she murmured to herself as the rivers of history
and tradition rolled through her memory.
A caressing hand was laid upon her shoulder and a kind voice
said in her ear:
“Good-morning, my child! Well, you see before you ‘Hibernia,’
‘Erin,’ ‘Ireland,’ the ‘ould counthry!’ Now, what do you think of it?”
“Oh, uncle, it is a lovely land! Who can look upon it and not love
it? And, oh! what an experience to look upon it for the first time! It
is as if some beautiful creation of imagination was actually
realized to the senses! To look upon her shores and think of her
history, her legends and her poetry! to almost see the shades of
her dead heroes, sages and minstrels!” said Drusilla,
enthusiastically.
“Well, my dear, I dare say ardent young strangers like you feel
all these things and see all these ghosts. But I don’t suppose the
people who live in the land, or the mariners that frequent the cove,
ever do. Such is the effect of novelty in your case, and of habit in
theirs.”
“But can any length of habit blind one to such beauty as this?
Oh, look! was ever such brilliant green herbage spread over the
earth, or such heavenly blue sky above it, or such soft white clouds
sailing over it? See those lovely, billowy hills! as the cloud-
shadows pass over them they seem to rise and fall, like the waves
of the ocean, only more gently! It reminds of something Tennyson
said, What was it? Oh——
‘The hills are shadows and they flow
From form to form and nothing stands;
They melt like mists, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.’

He was speaking geologically of the changes wrought by centuries;

but here the beautiful green sunlit or cloud-shaded hills do seem
every moment to ‘flow from form to form,’ ‘to melt like mists,’ ‘like
clouds to shape themselves and go.’”
“You are a dreamer, little Drusa!”
“It does seem like a dream. I should not be the least surprised to
wake up and find myself—where?—anywhere at all in my past life!
In my little corner of the housekeeper’s room in the Chief-Justice’s
dwelling; in the lolling chair of the little drawing-room at
Cedarwood waiting for Alick to come back; or at dear old Lyon
Hall with little Lenny trying to pull my eyes open. Life seems often
very like a dream.”
“And always in any great change of scene or circumstances.”
“And most of all in coming to an old, historical country like this,
that we have always known in imagination, and never in reality.
But look, uncle! do not let us lose the features of this sweet scene!
It will be a picture in our mind’s eye for many coming years. See,
away there on the horizon, crowning the most distant of the visible
hills, a cluster of old, gray ruins—the remains of some medieval
castle or monastery! And look a little further down. See the mossy
huts, dotted about at long intervals, half hidden in dells and
thickets, and under great trees; and nearer still, the town with its
glittering spires and its forest of shipping!”
“Yes, my dear, the ninth century and the nineteenth are brought
together in this view!”
Here the old man felt a pair of tenacious little claws fasten
themselves upon his leg, and a shrill, tiny voice sing out:
“Untle Danpa! Untle Danpa Dennel!”
And, turning, he saw and lifted up little Lenny.
Little Lenny’s language needs translating. He called or tried to
call every one around him by the names he heard them call each
other. Thus, with him, Drusilla was called “Doosil;” Anna,
“Nannan;” Dick, “Dit;” while General Lyon, who was variously
called uncle, grandpa, or General, was “Untle Danpa” or even
Untle “Danpa Deneral.”
“Well, my little man, what do you want?” inquired the General,
smiling on the child.
“Hee, hee!” cried Lenny, pointing to the shore. “Mate Doosil tate
Lenny home.”
“Make Drusil ‘take Lenny home?’ Why where is home?”
“Dere, dere! Mate Doosil tate Lenny home!”
“That’s not home!”
“Yet tid too! Mate Doosil tate Lenny home, dit minute!”
“You peremptory little despot! what do you mean?”
“Oh, uncle, you know ever since Lenny lost sight of land, he has
been abroad; now he sees it again, he thinks it is home!” said
Drusilla, smiling on the child. Little Leonard, with his father’s
features inherited much of his father’s self-will; and so he soon
became both obstreperous and vociferous in his demands to be
taken home.
“Mamma will take Lenny over there presently,” said Drusilla
soothingly, as she took the child in her arms.
“You know, uncle, our steamer will lie here until this afternoon,
and we shall have time to go on shore for an hour or so,” she
added turning to the veteran.
“Yes, I suppose Anna and Dick would like it. I know I should.
And—ah; here they come now!” said the General, as his niece and
nephew appeared upon the deck.
“What a charming view!” exclaimed Anna.
“It is like Fairyland!” cried Dick.
“Come, come! none of that now you know! We’ve had enough of
it! Here’s Drusa been singing its praises ever since I came to her
side. And there, thank goodness, there’s the breakfast bell! Come
down now, and praise the company’s cook! Two weeks’ trial has
proved him to be incomparable,” said the General, leading the way
to the saloon.
After breakfast, the party got ready to go on shore.
The little steamer made several trips between the ship and the
shore, and they availed themselves of its accommodation to land.
Terrace after terrace they ascended the picturesque heights of
the town until they reached the highest point—“Spy Hill,”—from
which they enjoyed a magnificent bird’s-eye view of the sea and
land—the broad expanse of the channel; the harbor, with its
abrupt headlands and its countless shipping; its shores, with their
beautiful trees and elegant villas; and the rolling countries beyond.
They spent the morning in walking about amid the charming
scenery, until little Lenny, having tired his own legs and everybody
else’s arms, got hungry and sleepy, and ordered his biggers to give
him something to eat and to put him to bed.
Then they went down to the village, entered a pastry-cook’s
shop, and got a light luncheon; and, next, they hired a boat to take
them back to their ship.
They found that they had no time to lose, for she was getting up
her steam to start again; and, if they had not hastened, they might
have been left behind.
The steamer sailed at four o’clock that afternoon; but she
encountered rough weather in the channel, so that it was nearly
dark the next day when she reached Liverpool.
And now our party felt the inconvenience of having so much
baggage. They were anxious to hasten on to London. They could
see Liverpool at any future time before their return home; but they
wished to reach London soon enough to enjoy the last few
remaining weeks of the season, and, above all, to be in time to see
the “Derby,” which was to come off in two days. There was a train
to start at six that evening, and if they could have caught it, they
might have reached London by twelve midnight, in time for a good
night’s rest. And if it had not been for their great quantity of
baggage, they could have done so; but they had twenty-one trunks
to be inspected by the custom-house officers, and had also to wait
their turn to be attended to.
There is much grumbling at these functionaries; but for my part,
I have found them always courteous—doing their ungracious duty
with as much forbearance as they could conscientiously exercise.
“You have made us lose the train. We wished to go up to London
by the six o’clock express,” growled General Lyon, as the officer on
duty came up at length to examine the luggage.
“Very sorry, sir; but it could not be helped. There is a
parliamentary goes at ten.”
“‘A parliamentary?’ What the deuce is a ‘parliamentary?’”
The man looked up in surprise at this traveler’s ignorance, yet
scarcely knew how to enlighten him on so simple a subject; for the
most obvious things are often the most difficult of explanation to
those that do not understand them.
“What the mischief is the parliamentary?” again inquired the
General.
The officer looked up from the open trunk before which he was
kneeling, and answered, slowly:
“Well, sir, the parliamentary is——the parliamentary, you
know.”
“Humph!”
“It is not the express.”
“So I should judge from its name.”
“It is the slow, heavy train.”
“Everything ‘parliamentary’ is, I should imagine. When does
this ‘parliamentary’ start?”
 “At ten to-night, and gets in at five in the morning.”
“A most uncomfortable hour!—too late to go to bed, and too
early to be up! What the deuce makes your ‘parliamentary’ so slow
and heavy?”
“It is the people’s train—the accommodation—carries the three
classes of carriages and stops at all the stations.”
“Humph-humph!”
“The first-class carriages are very comfortable, and you can
sleep in them as comfortably as in your own arm-chair.”
“Humph! that might do very well for an after-dinner nap; hardly
for a night’s rest!”
While they were thus conversing, the custom-house officer was
passing from one trunk to another, lifting their lids and looking in.
He finished, and marked the lot, and went away.
“I think, grandpa, if you had had ten thousand dollars worth of
smuggled goods in these trunks, and designed to cheat the
revenue of the duties, you could not have gone to work more
cunningly than by talking as you did to the officer. The man
couldn’t attend to what he was doing for listening to you,” laughed
Anna.
“Now what are we to do with all these ‘impediments?’ I wish for
my part, the custom-house fellow had seized the lot; or that we
had encountered a storm at sea, and it had been found necessary
to throw them all overboard to lighten the ship! It would have
saved us a deal of time, and trouble, and expense. And we have all
we really want in our carpet-bags,” growled the General.
“Uncle, I hope you are not turning into a regular grumbler? That
wouldn’t be like yourself! But you have done nothing but grumble,
ever since you landed, and without the slightest provocation, you
naughty old uncle!” said Drusilla, saucily.
“My dear, give me some credit that I do not SWEAR as well as
grumble!”
“Oh, uncle, think what the Dutchman said when he whipped his
sulky son,—Hans, you might as coot say ‘tamn’ as tink ‘tamn!’”
“Drusil, I am thinking ‘tamn’ very intently, ever since I came on
shore. Now, where the deuce are the porters? Now, if this were
New York, one would be deafened by them,” growled the General,
showing himself in front.
 His grievance was removed, and he was “deafened by them” and
others immediately.
“Porter, sir?”
“Cab, sir?”
“Fly, sir?”
“Queen’s hotel?”
“Adelphi?”
“Star-and-Garter?”
“Times, sir?”
Were some of the sounds shouted into his ears—not once, but a
score of times.
“Queen’s hotel, sir?”
“Lord Admiral, sir?”
“Carriage, sir? How many, sir? Where to, sir?”
“How can I tell when I can’t hear myself think, for your noise?
Dick, answer all these men, and see to the baggage being taken to
the station. Jacob hasn’t knowledge enough—he would be sure to
get it lost; though for that matter, I wish he would lose it—it would
be an immense relief to me! I shall take Anna and Drusilla over to
that restaurant, to get them out of this din, and to give them a cup
of tea.”
“All right, uncle. Pray go and make yourself and the ladies
comfortable,” said Dick, good-humoredly.
“And let me see,” said the General, examining his watch. “It is
now nine o’clock. The—hem—‘parliamentary’ starts at ten. We
have but an hour to wait. It will not be worth while to go to a hotel.
I think it will be best for us to stop over there until it is time for us
to go to the station. See to getting our tickets, Dick, will you? And
have a carriage at the door there in time.”
“All right, uncle. Make yourself easy.”
“Come along, young women! Pina! give me that child. You look
as if you were ready to drop under his weight.”
“A sleeping baby is twice as heavy as a waking one, sir,” said the
girl, as she placed the child in the old man’s arms.
And regardless of the staring street boys who grinned at seeing
the “old gent” playing nursemaid, he crossed the street to a
cheerful gas-lighted pastry-cook’s shop, where he and his party
were accommodated with a small private parlor and a neatly-
spread tea-table.
Before they got half through with tea, Dick joined them and
reported that he had procured the tickets for a whole
compartment in the first-class carriages, which he declared to be
quite as comfortable as the civil custom-house officer had
represented them to be.
Dick was served with a cup of tea, a plate of sallyluns, toast,
periwinkles, shrimps, and the finest strawberries he had ever seen.
Dick quaffed his tea with avidity, for he was both heated and
thirsty; and he also enjoyed the toast and the sallyluns; but he
glanced suspiciously at the periwinkles and the shrimps.
“What manner of fish, fruit or vegetable may these be?” he
inquired, taking up a plate of periwinkles and squinting at them.
“Taste and see,” answered Anna, as with the point of a pin she
delicately drew one from its snail-like shell.
Drusilla was at the same time peeling a shrimp for little Lenny.
Dick glanced from one to the other and shuddered. These tea-
table delicacies looked—the one so like an insect, the other so like
a reptile.
“Try this, Dick,” coaxed Anna, as she offered him a morsel from
the point of a new pin.
Dick shrank.
“Now don’t be prejudiced! Consider what an uninviting edible is
the oyster, in the shell or out of it! Who that did not know how
good it is would ever dare to eat it? Now try this?”
“Oh, thou modern Eve! I take it, since thou tellst me it is ‘good
for food,’” sighed Dick, as he gingerly accepted the dainty.
“Now, how do you like it?” inquired Anna.
“My temptress, it is delicious! I thank thee for introducing me to
the acquaintance of the periwink.”
“I knew you would like it,” said Anna.
“More s’imp? more s’imp!” called out little Lenny, for whom his
mamma could not peel fast enough.
“Are they good also, Master Lenny?” smiled Dick, helping
himself to one.
“Day dood. Mate Nannan peel for woo, Dit,” answered the little
Turk, who evidently thought that women were made to wait on
men and—boys.
“They have an exquisite flavor! They are as fine, with a
difference, as the periwinkle itself. Master Lenny, your humble
servant. I’m bound to you for making me acquainted with the
shrimp. I don’t know which of these two dainties I like the best.
After this I can believe in a man being in love with two——”
“Dishes at the same time,” interjected Anna.
“Ladies at the same time,” concluded Dick.
“More s’imps! More s’imps! Mate Pina peel!” vociferated the
little despot, for whom his mamma could not keep up the supply.
And Pina was called to help; but new hands are awkward at the
shrimp peeling business; and as Pina took a minute to peel a
delicate morsel that Master Lenny swallowed in a second, he soon
called out again:
“More s’imps! more s’imps! Mate Nannan peel too!”
Anna good-naturedly complied. But even with her help the
demand continued to be greater than the supply. And the tiny
autocrat, looking around and seeing no more female slaves at
hand, called out:
“More s’imps! more s’imps! And make Dit peel.”
And Dick obediently sacrificed his periwinkles, and cheerfully
betook himself to the service of the liliputian tyrant.
But still the demand exceeded the supply, for these vassals were
awkward at the work; so, after glancing dubiously at his venerable
relative, Master Leonard sang out lustily:
“More s’imps! more s’imps! And mate Untle Granpa peel!”
And the veteran soldier of hard-won fields, the leader of tens of
thousands, smiled submissively and obeyed the baby boy.
But there is an end to all things, even to infant despotism, and
so when the three-quarters past nine struck, the party rose from
the table, for they had but fifteen minutes to catch the train in.
They hurried on their outer garments and hastened into the
hired fly and were driven rapidly to the station.
Lively and well-lighted, but by no means noisy or confused was
the scene. There was a very long and heavy train of carriages, for it
carried the “three estates,” but so orderly were all the
arrangements, so exact were the regulations, so well trained the
guards and porters, so vigilant the police, that all went smoothly
and surely as clock-work.
As if by magic, our travelers soon found themselves in a first-
class carriage, with all their luggage piled on the roof, flying along
with great rapidity, while hedges, fields and farm-houses, seen
dimly in the half light, reeled past on either side. Though it was
ten o’clock post meridian, yet in these northern latitudes, and at
this season, it was still twilight. The carriage in which our travelers
found themselves was in many respects like the inside of a large
family coach, only it was much more capacious than any such
vehicle. It had eight well-cushioned spring seats—four front and
four back; and glass doors and windows on the right and left. In
recesses under the seats and racks over them there was ample
space for the storage of all their light luggage.
Anna and Drusilla occupied the back seats, General Lyon and
Dick the front ones. Down on the floor between them, on a bed
made of rugs and shawls, with a carpet-bag for a pillow, little
Lenny, satisfied with shrimps, was laid asleep. Pina and Leo had
seats in a second-class carriage.
Once shut up in their own carriage with the train in motion, our
travelers were as isolated from all other people as if they had been
making the journey in their own family coach. They neither saw
nor heard anything of their fellow-passengers.
For the first hour they conversed a little with each other, making
comments upon the ride, as:
“How long the twilight lasts in these parts;” or:
“Will this light mist turn to rain before morning?” or:
“What a carefully cultivated country! There is no waste land
hereabouts. The whole scene seems to be a perpetual landscape
garden.”
But in the second hour they gradually succumbed to fatigue and
drowsiness and dropped off to sleep—each reposing in a corner as
he or she best could, and waking only when the train would stop at
a wayside station, which, by-the-by, was every few minutes.
Whenever it stopped there were passengers to get in or out, but
the train was so very long that the chances were that these
passengers would be a quarter of a mile before or behind them;
and so, though our friends always on these occasions roused
themselves and looked forth, they saw little beyond the lighted
station, the vanishing platform, and running guards and porters.
 Drusilla always looked from the windows with something more
than curiosity—with eager interest; for since she landed in
England, her uppermost thought had been that she was in the
same country with her Alick; and who knew but she might meet
him anywhere at any moment—even at one of these wayside
stations?
But whenever the train started again, the swift motion, and the
late hour, and the comfortable, not to say luxurious resting-place
lulled her in a light slumber, in which she was still conscious of the
strange, new scene—the wondrous old country through which she
was passing; feeling that she loved the old motherland of her race,
and loved it well; dreaming that she was returning there after ages
of expatriation; seeing shades of knights in armor, “old ancestral
spirits;” seeing visions of mediæval halls, with all the barbaric
pageantry of long ago, dimly shadowed forth. Then waking up to
note with delight the fresh, bright rural scenes of to-day—the
thickly-sown, but luxuriantly-growing fields; the green hedges; the
crowded but flourishing gardens; the shrub-shaded, vinecovered
cottages—the humblest laborer’s hut all mantled with flowering
green creepers that made it look like a garden bower, the
slenderest strip of land among the line of rails thickly planted with
vegetables,—nothing wasted, nothing ugly.
It was only a little past midnight, yet it was already morning,
and every moment day broadened.
Drusilla continued to gaze with surprise and delight upon the
beautiful land; for, whatever the sky of England may be, the face of
the country, especially in this region, is very charming.
Sometimes Drusilla’s contemplations would be interrupted by a
restless movement of little Lenny. She would then stoop and turn
him over, and he would fall asleep again.
General Lyon and Anna slept so soundly at length that they
were not awakened by the stopping of the train, nor even by the
loud snoring of Dick, who, when in a state of somnolency, was a
fine performer on the proboscis—the only musical instrument he
understood.
Long before they reached London, its distant, huge cloud of
smoke and fog hanging upon the horizon greeted the eye—its
distant thunder of blended sounds came softened to the ear.
Soon they were at Euston Square station, in all the great crowd
and bustle of the parliamentary train’s arrival.
 It was surprising to them, amid the hundreds of travelers and
the hills of luggage to be cared for, how soon our party, without
much effort on their own part, was attended to.
Before they had time to become impatient, they found
themselves in one cab, followed by their servants in another,
bowling along through the streets of London.
It was but little past four o’clock, and all the shops were still
closed, and the sidewalks nearly deserted. Only the earliest
bakers’, butchers’, and costermongers’ carts were abroad, or cabs
and vans taking passengers to and from early trains, or cook-
maids at the heads of area stairs, receiving from the milkman the
daily supply.
Even at this early hour, there were many novelties of the
London streets that struck pleasantly upon our travelers’ eyes,
among them the abundance of flowers shown in almost every open
window of every house. But what pleased Master Lenny most was
the costermongers’ little carts, piled with green vegetables and
ripe fruit, and drawn by little donkeys. Master Lenny took them to
be toy-carts for little boys to play with, and insisted upon being
accommodated with one immediately; nor was he to be quieted
until his mamma promised him a mysterious pleasure in a
donkey-ride at Greenwich.
It is a long drive from Euston Square station to the Morley
House, Trafalgar Square, which had been selected as their hotel by
General Lyon, at the recommendation of a fellow passenger on
board the Hurona.
It was nearly five o’clock when they reached the house, yet few
servants seemed to be stirring about it.
They could be accommodated with apartments immediately,
said the polite functionary who happened to be on duty; but he
regretted to add that they would have to wait for breakfast, as the
head waiter did not rise until seven.
“Two hours to wait. It is too bad, after such a tiresome night-
ride,” groaned General Lyon.
He had endured nights of toils and days of fasting, in the battle
times of long ago; but he was young then and the cause was great,
so he had rather liked that sort of life; but it was different with him
now that he was old and fated to abide the pleasure of the head
waiter.
 They were shown to large, airy, clean bedrooms, all near each
other, and opening upon the corridors, and having one private
parlor in the suite.
In this parlor our party gathered for a moment to consult. The
delay of breakfast is sometimes felt as a calamity.
“Can we not procure even a cup of coffee for love or money?”
inquired Dick.
The official was very sorry, but the head waiter would not rise
till seven.
“Will you be so good as to send a chambermaid, then?”
requested Anna.
He was very sorry, but he was afraid the chamber-maids were
not yet stirring. The hour was early.
“So it is; and we must be reasonable. Servants must have their
rest, you know,” said Drusilla, soothingly.
And the really obliging attendant smiled and bowed.
“Let us go to our rooms and make ourselves comfortable and lie
down. Perhaps we shall sleep; at any rate, we shall rest. The two
hours will soon pass,” continued Drusilla.
“No, no, no, no! No do ’leep!” objected the head of the family,
who had had his own sleep out and had waked up hungry. “No do
’leep! More s’imp—more s’imp!”
“Poor little fellow, he is hungry,” sighed Drusilla.
“I think I can get some warm milk and bread for the child,
ma’am,” said the man.
“Oh, I shall be very much obliged to you if you will. We can wait
better than he can,” said Drusilla, gratefully.
And the man went out and fetched the milk and bread, which, at
first, Lenny refused to touch, peremptorily exclaiming:
“No, no, no! No b’ed milt!—more s’imp!”
But being assured that his slaves could not procure shrimps for
him, he seemed to divine that even despots cannot compel people
to perform impossibilities, and also being very hungry, he ate his
bread and milk.
When Lenny had finished his meal, the party separated and
went to their bedrooms to lie down for an hour or two. They did
not expect to sleep, but they slept—so soundly that they did not
awake until some time after seven o’clock, when a waiter rapped at
General Lyon’s door to take his orders about the breakfast.
The General referred him for instructions to Mrs. Hammond.
And soon the whole party, much refreshed by their sleep,
assembled in the private parlor for breakfast.
It was after eight, however, before it was finally set upon the
table.
There were fine Mocha coffee, English breakfast tea, rich cream,
sweet butter, fresh eggs, broiled ham and broiled pigeons, light
bread, toast and muffins.
For a few minutes our famished travelers were so closely
engaged in discussing these delicacies, that not a word was wasted
upon any other subject than their meal. But after they had all
eaten and were satisfied, they began to talk of their immediate
plans of enjoyment. The great city held out a thousand attractions
to strangers. It was an “embarrassment of riches” in the sight-
seeing line that troubled them.
“Where shall we go first?” was the great question.
Various answers were returned.
“To the Royal Academy.”
“To Westminster Abbey.”
“To the Tower.”
“The British Museum.”
“St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
“The Zoological Gardens.”
These were a few of the suggestions offered; but as the three
young people spoke at once, it was impossible for their elder and
arbitrator to know who favor what.
“I think, upon reflection,” he said, at length, “that we had better
not attempt any of those great sights just now. To see either one of
them well would be an exhausting day’s work; and we wish to be
fresh for the Derby to-morrow. The Derby, my children! Come! we
shall have time enough to see everything else afterwards. But we
can only see the Derby to-morrow; so to-day, I think, we will just
take a fly and drive around and leave some of our letters of
introduction, with our present address. What do you say to that
plan?”
As the plan was of the General’s devising, all agreed to it.
 A fly was ordered, and the ladies retired to change their dresses
for the drive.
Drusilla was the most expeditious with her toilet. She soon
returned to the parlor fully equipped for her drive.
Little Lenny, in charge of his nurse, was standing within the
recess of the front window, dancing with delight at something he
saw outside. Drusilla heard a pair of shrill, cracked voices in
apparent conflict below.
“Hee! hee! Doosil—hee!” shouted the child.
Drusilla approached, and witnessed for the first time the
renowned Punch and Judy show.
While standing there and enjoying her child’s enjoyment, she
saw a gentleman come forth apparently from a coffee-room below
and start to cross Trafalgar Square; and with a half-suppressed cry
she recognized—
Alexander Lyon.
She had been always looking for him—always expecting to see
him since she first set foot in England, yet she had known that her
looking was like the search for a needle in a hay-rick, and her
expectations as extravagant in the first instance as they would be
in the last.
And now that she actually saw him walk out from the same
house in which she herself was sojourning, the astonishment and
the shock were so great, that she reeled and held by the window-
sill for support.
Without stopping to consider whether the action might be
proper or otherwise, she turned to the waiter who was engaged in
taking away the breakfast service, and beckoned him to her side.
He came, his mouth a little open with wonder.
“Does that gentleman stop here?” she inquired, pointing to Mr.
Lyon.
“Lord Killcrichtoun? Yes, ma’am, he stops here,” replied the
waiter.
“No, you mistake. You think I mean somebody else; but I mean
that gentleman. Look! he is just half across the square now.”
“Just so, ma’am, Lord Killcrichtoun of Killcrichtoun, County of
Sutherland, North Britain. Yes, ma’am, he is here.”
“I am sure you mistake. I allude to the gentleman in gray. Look!
now he lifts his hat and replaces it. There he is passing the
corner?”
“Precisely, ma’am. He is up for the Derby, ma’am, begging your
pardon. My lord goes down to Epsom this evening, ma’am. Any
more commands, ma’am?”
“Thanks, no; you may go.”
Drusilla sank down upon the nearest seat, unmindful of the
prattling of her little Lenny, who was still laughing with delight at
the broad absurdities of the puppetshow; for the whole truth
flashed on her now. The young American gentleman who had
claimed the barony of Killcrichtoun, in the right of his mother, was
no other than her own Alick! And he was living under the same
roof with her! Did he know that she was here, or would he find it
out? Were the names of all new-comers registered in open books
in English hotels as in American ones? If so, was it his habit to
look at them? What would he think if he saw her name on the
books of the hotel—
“Mrs. Alexander Lyon, child, and servant.”
Would he happen to see her? Would he wish to see little Lenny?
Suppose he were to meet her—what would he say or do? He might
pass her; but could he pass little Lenny—charming little Lenny—
fair-haired, blue-eyed little Lenny, with his father’s own features
and complexion?
It was scarcely possible that he could.
And if he should stop to caress his son, to take him in his arms,
to press him to his heart, what next? Would he stop there, and put
the child away again?
Not likely! for, setting natural affection aside, now that he had a
title, he would want an heir; and what a fine, promising one was
this?
Or would he perhaps claim the child and take him from his
mother? He could do so. The law would give him Lenny, though it
should break the mother’s heart. Would he avail himself of this
law to tear her child from her arms?
No, never! she thought; badly as he had treated her while he had
been maddened by the passions of pride and ambition, he would
never while in his sober senses—never in cold blood deal her such
a cruel blow.
True he had once, in bitterly cruel terms, denounced and
renounced her forever; but she thought of his words whenever
they forced themselves upon her memory, only as the ravings of
frenzied anger; she knew that they would never have been carried
out to extremity. Alexander had told her that she might starve, but
she felt in her heart that he would never even have let her want!
And now she felt sure that, however he might learn to love his
little Lenny,—however he might desire to possess him, he would
never attempt to take him away from her.
No, she was sure that he would rather let little Lenny lead him
back to her.
Her hopes arose, her heart beat quickly at the thought.
Did she then feel no jealous pain at the idea of being reunited to
her husband only through his natural affection for his child?
Not the least. She loved both too purely for such jealousy.
On the contrary, she felt that it would be sweet to be indebted to
little Lenny for a reconciliation with his father. And she knew,
besides, that once reconciled to Alick by any means, and especially
by this means, she could WIN HER WAY to his heart, and gain a
firmer hold there than she had ever possessed before.
Then her thoughts reverted to his new title:
“Lord Killcrichtoun—Baron Killcrichtoun of Killcrichtoun.”
From what she had read she knew that it was an almost barren
title, no wealth coming with it,—only an old ruin, and a few
wretched huts in the wildest part of the Highlands appertaining to
it.
But in his pride of race he had claimed the title, and no doubt
had gone to great expense to prove his right to it, and he would
probably remain in England to enjoy it, since in America it would
only make him ridiculous.
She herself was strongly attached to her native country with its
bright sunshine, its vast forests and its high mountains. All her
friends and all her fortunes were there, yet she would gladly
expatriate herself to live “anywhere, anywhere” under the sun,
with her Alick.
While she mused, General Lyon, Anna, and Dick came in, ready
for their drive.
Dick said that the fly was waiting.
So, after charging Pina to be very careful of little Lenny, Drusilla
followed her party down-stairs and into the carriage, and they
started—to go first as in duty bound to leave their cards at the
American Embassy, and then to leave their letters of introduction
with the people for whom they were intended.
They did but stop and send in their cards and letters, they made
no visit anywhere; but preferred to leave it to the option of their
friends and correspondents to make their acquaintance or not.
They returned to the Morley House at four in the afternoon.
Anna went into her bedroom to take off her bonnet; but Drusilla
hurried at once into the parlor to look after her child.
She found little Lenny quite safe; but boiling over with
excitement, not to say indignation.
“Why, what is the matter with my little man?” inquired the
mother, sitting down and lifting the child to her lap.
“Man! man! tut off Lenny turl!” exclaimed the child, pointing to
his head, while his blue eyes flashed and his rosy cheeks flushed.
“Cut off Lenny’s curl? Who did it? Pina! who did this?” inquired
Drusilla, looking at the short lock from which the curl had been
severed.
“Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know! I left Master Leonard in charge
of the chambermaid only one minute, while I ran to get his milk
and bread, and when I came back it was done.”
“And what did the chambermaid say?”
“She said as how——”
“Never mind! I had rather hear the account from herself. Go and
try and find that chambermaid, and fetch her here.”
Pina went on the errand and soon returned with a blooming
English girl, who curtsied and stood waiting orders.
“What is your name?” inquired Drusilla.
“Susan, ma’am.”
“Well, Susan, did you have charge of this little child for a few
minutes?”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered the girl, blushing.
“Then how came you to let any one cut off his curl?”
“Indeed, ma’am, I couldn’t help it! It was done so sudden. And I
didn’t dare oppose my lord.”
“My lord?”
“My Lord Killcrichtoun it was, ma’am, who did it.”
“Killcrichtoun!” repeated Drusilla, as a light broke on her mind.
 “Killchristian!” exclaimed Pina, in dismay. “Killchristian!! It’s a
wonder he had not cut off the child’s head as well as his hair! Good
gracious! was ever such a heathenish, savage, barbarious name!”
“So it was one of the gentlemen of the house who did it?”
inquired Drusilla, striving to control the excess of her emotions.
“Yes, ma’am; but indeed I thought by the way he behaved that
he had a right to do it, and that the child was some kin to him. He
don’t act so like a mad gentleman in general, ma’am.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“Well, ma’am, now I think upon it, I almost believe he must
have watched his opportunity; for as soon as ever the nursemaid
was gone, he came to the door, looked all around, and seeing no
one but me and my charge, took the boy up in his arms and
hugged him and kissed him and fondled him, and almost cried
over him; and then before I could suspect, much less prevent his
doing it, he out with his pen-knife and whipped off that pretty
golden curl. And then he hurried away. I think he heard the
nursemaid coming, for she was in the room the next minute. And
you came in almost immediately after, ma’am.”
“Then this has just occurred?”
“Not ten minutes ago, ma’am. Anything else, ma’am?”
“No,” answered the lady. And the girl withdrew.
Drusilla called Pina to follow her and went slowly into her
bedroom.
While taking off her bonnet and mantle and changing her dress
for dinner, she was scarcely conscious of what she was doing. Her
thoughts were absorbed by what had just occurred.
“Poor Alick,” she said; “to love his child, his only son and only
child, and not feel free to caress him! Oh, Alick, Alick, dear, do you
think I would keep him from you? Much as I love him, you might
have him half the time; you might have him all day, so that you
would be kind to him, and I know you would be, and would let me
have him back at night. Yes, Alick, dear, though you might never
see or speak to me again, I would not keep the child out of your
way. Love your boy, Alick, dear, and take all the comfort from him
you can. He has been a great comfort to me, Alick, the little son
you gave me, has.”
So ran her thoughts as she mechanically put on a mauve taffeta
dress and fastened her point lace collar with a diamond brooch,
scarcely knowing what she wore.
Pina was also holding discourse, but not with herself or in
silence.
“My precious little pet,” she said, as she dressed Master Lenny
in his embroidered white frock. “My pretty little darling, did its
Pea-nut leave it all alone with a stranger in a strange land, where
Killchristians go about scalping little babies, my sugar? I will
never leave it alone again as long as I live, or leastways as long as
we stay in this land, where Killchristians cut and hew at babies!
Suppose he had cut off its precious little finger or toe? What would
its Pea-nut have done?” Then turning impatiently to her mistress,
she said:
“Ma’am, you don’t seem to care at all now about that wild beast
of a Killchristian rushing in upon little Lenny like a North
American Indian with a drawn knife and scalping off his hair.
Suppose it had been his precious nose or his ears that the savage
took a fancy to? But it’s my belief after all he was a thief and
wanted to sell Lenny’s pretty golden curls to a lady’s hair-dresser;
and he would have cut all the curls off his head if he hadn’t heard
me coming. Wish I had caught him at his tricks! Never mind, let
me ever catch him near little Lenny again, that’s all! Lenny will be
certain to know him again, if I do not!”
“You will know him, Pina; but you do not know of whom you are
speaking. The gentleman who cut off Lenny’s curl had a perfect
right to do so. Lord Killcrichtoun is Mr. Alexander Lyon, or was so
until he got his ancestor’s title. Why should you be so astonished?
Didn’t you know that he was in London?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Pina, unable to recover from her
astonishment; “but London is a biggish willage, and I didn’t expect
to see him, much less hear him called Killchristian. Howsever, I
think, begging of your pardon, ma’am, as the name suits him very
well. ’Deed it’s much of a muchness with the other name, for I
reckon as lions kills Christians, and eats ’em too, whenever they
get a chance!”
“Pina, you hurt me when you speak in that way of Lenny’s
father.” (A less gentle spirit would have said to her servant “you
offend me.” But Drusilla had much more tenderness than dignity
in her nature and manners.)
“I am sorry, ma’am. Indeed, ma’am, I would rather bite off the
end of my tongue than let it say anything to hurt you,” replied
Pina.
“Now notice then, my good girl. It may happen that you may see
Mr. Lyon some time when you are out with little Lenny. If you
should, you must not avoid him. On the contrary, take the child to
him. It will be good to promote affection between the child and his
father.”
“I will do as you say, ma’am.”
Drusilla then went into the parlor to join her friends at dinner.
But she said nothing of Lenny’s adventure.
“This evening,” said General Lyon, “we go to old classic Drury
Lane. And to-morrow for the Derby.”
Drusilla’s heart beat—but her only, or at least her chief object in
going to the Derby was not to see the great race, but to see perhaps
—her beloved husband.
 CHAPTER XV.
THE DERBY.

I have set my life upon a cast,

And I will abide the hazard of the die—S .

“Oh, it is drizzling! I wonder if it is not always drizzling in this

whimpering climate,” grumbled Anna, as she met Drusilla in their
private parlor very early on the morning of the Derby Day.
“It is but a light drizzle; it will not hurt us and it may clear off,”
suggested Drusilla, hopefully.
“All ready, my darlings? That is right, for we must make an early
start if we wish to get a good position on the hill. I don’t know that
reserved places are ever taken in advance for the Derby; but I do
know that we have not secured any. Ring for breakfast, Anna, my
child, and let us have it over. But where is Dick?” inquired the
General, as he joined his young people.
“He has stepped around to the livery stable to make sure of the
barouche we engaged. He will be back in a few minutes,” replied
Anna.
“He might have left that to the servants; but Dick can’t keep out
of a stable, if only he has the faintest shadow of an excuse to go
into one. Well—he might go into worse places,” said the General,
just as the absentee returned.
“A strong, well sprung, capacious barouche and a fine pair of
horses! Altogether as good a turn-out as is to be had for love or
money,” said Dick, as he threw himself into a chair.
“But what is that you have there?” inquired the General,
pointing to a well-sized parcel rolled up in tissue paper which Mr.
Hammond carried in his hands.
“This! Oh, this contains our veils,” answered Dick, unrolling the
parcel and displaying yards of blue, green, mauve, brown and gray
barège.
“Our—what?”
“Veils for the Derby. I saw other fellows buying veils and they
told me it was the usual thing to keep off the dust, you know.
There, Anna, there’s a blue one for you. Needn’t take the trouble to
hem it; nobody does; it is only to be used for one occasion, and is
never fit for anything else afterwards. Here, Drusa, you may have
the green one; and little Lenny the mauve; and now, uncle, here
are two—a gray and a brown, for you and me. I thought you would
like a subdued color best, as I do. We are to tie them around our
hats,” said Dick, offering the choice of the remaining veils to the
General.
The veteran soldier laughed and shook his head.
“But, uncle, every gentleman wears a veil.”
“Nonsense, Dick! somebody has been selling you.”
“Indeed, no, they were all buying veils and fastening them on to
their hats.”
“Then I’ll be hanged if I make myself ridiculous by wearing a
veil like a girl.”
“Well, then, you’ll get yourself blinded, deafened, stupefied and
suffocated by the dust—eyes, ears, nostrils and bronchial tubes
will all be filled.”
“I should like to know where the dust is to come from on such a
day as this? Do you see how it is raining?”
“Don’t know, sir! only know what the fellows here tell me.”
“They are quizzing you, as I said before, that’s my opinion.”
While he spoke the door was opened and Mr. Spencer and Mr.
Tredegar were announced.
These were two young Americans, who had been fellow-
students with Dick Hammond, and whom the General had met on
the day before and invited to breakfast and to go to the Derby with
his party.
After bowing to the ladies and shaking hands with the
gentlemen, the new-comers took the seats offered them, and
commenced upon the all-engrossing subject of the hour.
“Fine day for the Derby, sir!” said Mr. Spencer, who had been
three years in London attached to the American Minister’s suite,
and might be supposed to be posted on the subject. “Very fine day
for the Derby.”
“Fine day! Why, do you see how it is raining?” demanded the
General, in surprise.
“Drizzling, sir, drizzling; just enough to lay the dust.”
“Dust! ah! by the way that reminds me! Here is a lunatic has
brought an assortment of veils, and he says we must each wear
one—men and women both.”
“Oh, yes, sir—the regular thing, you know, like the train at court.
It is to protect the wearer from the smothering dust.”
“But,” said the General, frowning, “as I was just asking my
nephew when you came in, where is the dust to come from on
such a day as this?”
“Oh, sir, it may clear up by the time we shall be coming home.
And it is in the home-coming we raise the sirocco. We must be
prepared for the worst.”
“Worst? Do you call clear weather the worst?”
“The worst possible for the Derby, sir. But this is a truth that
you will never be able to believe until you see it demonstrated.
And you will probably see it done to-day.”
As they talked, the waiter came in to lay the cloth for breakfast.
Watching his opportunity, he presently came to General Lyon,
and said, in a low, respectful voice:
“Beg pardon, sir, but would you like to have a luncheon put up
to take with you?”
“Eh? Yes, certainly,” replied the General, at the same time
turning towards his young visitors a comically appealing look, as
much as to say:
“You see even this waiter knows me to be a greenhorn.”
“What would you please order, sir?” inquired John.
“Eh?—oh, anything at all! something nice and tidy.”
“Pigeon-pie, sir, if you please?”
“Spencer, is pigeon-pie the regular thing?” said the General,
winking at his friend.
“I believe it is one of the regular things. Derby Day without
pigeon-pie would be—an incomplete arrangement.”
 “Well, Spencer, my dear boy, as you are posted, please receive
my carte blanche to order all the ‘regular things,’ and everything
else that is comfortable.”
Young Spencer nodded and laughed; took from the General’s
hand a card and a pencil, and made out a liberal list which he
handed to the waiter, saying:
“See that all these articles are put into clean hampers, and
stowed away in the boxes of the General’s barouche.”
The man left the room with the list, and returned with the
breakfast tray.
And the family party and their visitors sat down to the table.
Anna presided.
“Where is my godson?” inquired the General, discontented at
the absence of his favorite.
“He had his breakfast in my room, an hour ago, so that he might
be got ready to go with us,” said Drusilla.
“Ah! yes, well, I suppose under the circumstances it was as
well,” admitted the General.
Before they had done breakfast, however, Master Lenny was led
in by his nurse.
He was resplendent in holiday attire and in the anticipation of
some unknown glory that had been promised him, and for which
he saw great preparations going forward, and which he called in
his baby babble “doin’ Dubby.”
“Doin’ Dubby, untle dranpa! Lenny doin’ Dubby, hee hos wun,”
he said, running up to his godfather.
“Lenny is going to the Derby to see the horses run, is he? But
Lenny will be the winning horse, I’ll bet,” said the General, taking
the little fellow up on his knee. “Gentlemen,” he added, turning to
his young visitors, “let me introduce you to Master Leonard Lyon,
the latest representative of old Leonard Lyon, who——”
“‘Came over with the Conqueror,’” suggested Mr. Tredegar.
“Who lived here long before the Conqueror was born,”
concluded the General, quietly. “Leonard, my boy, bow to the
gentlemen, and ask them how they do, and say that you hope they
are well.”
“Hope.—Do Dubby,” said Lenny, who could not connect his
sentences very well as yet, holding out his chubby hand to Mr.
Spencer, who was nearest.
“Grandpa, we will leave Lenny to help you entertain your
friends while we put on our bonnets and mantles,” said Anna,
rising from the table, followed by Drusilla.
“And so Master Leonard is going to the Derby? He is beginning
life early,—he is a very fast young gentleman,” said Mr. Tredegar,
taking the child upon his knee.
“Lenny doin’ Dubby—hee hos wun,” was the stereotyped answer
of the boy.
But he was taken from one by the other, and prattled sociably to
all until the return of the ladies dressed for their drive.
“Now, Mr. Spencer, you are not in earnest about these veils? I
am not to decorate Dick’s and grandpa’s hats with them, am I?”
laughed Anna, lifting the light cloud-like pile of barège.
“Oh, no; not just yet! not until they shall be required. It has
ceased drizzling, but the ground is still too damp for dust. They
can be rolled up and put into their pockets until wanted.”
“Here, grandpa, here is yours,” said Anna, rolling up the gray
veil lightly, and handing it.
“No, thank you, my dear. Dust or no dust, I am not going to
wear a veil. I would just as soon wear a crinoline!”
“Put it in your own pocket, my dear Mrs. Hammond, and have it
ready for him when he will want it. He will be glad enough to get it
by-and-by,” said Francis Tredegar.
Anna took his advice.
“And now are we all quite ready?” inquired the General.
“Quite,” answered everybody else.
“Then, come!”
And he took Drusilla’s hand, and drew it within his arm and led
the way down-stairs.
A large, open barouche, with a fine pair of horses, stood waiting
the General’s family. A jaunty gig with a spirited horse awaited the
two young gentlemen.
Drusilla and Anna were handed into the back seat. The General
sat in front, and by his side sat Pina with little Lenny. Dick
perched himself up beside the driver. Jacob rode behind. The two
young men were in their gig.
The party started—the General’s barouche taking the lead.
 The drizzling rain had ceased and the clouds were dispersing
before a light wind.
The streets of London, always crowded, were now thronged; but
with this difference also,—that nine-tenths of the people’s faces
and the horses’ heads were turned in one direction, and
everybody,—man, woman, and child, saint and sinner,—was
becoming more and more intoxicated; and not with spirituous or
fermented liquors, but with the Derby Day. Crowded carriages of
all descriptions, saddle-horses, donkeys, and foot-passengers of all
ranks and sexes, thronged the streets; and talk and laughter, calls
and shouts resounded through the air. It looked as if London were
suddenly being evacuated by its whole population, and the people
were making a merry joke of the matter. And all were pouring
towards the south-western suburb.
In such a throng the progress of our party was necessarily very
slow, yet with none of the tedium of a slow progress. The great
crowd of people and of vehicles going all one way; the variety of
individuals and characters; the total abandonment of all reserve;
the hailings and the chaffings; the jests and the snatches of song;
the grotesque decorations of some of the horses and carriages, and
even of some of the people; the perfect novelty of the scene; and
the exhilaration of all animated creatures that composed it, made
every step of the progress charming to the unaccustomed minds
and eyes of our new-comers.
Drusilla and Anna were delighted. Little Lenny shouted. Pina
was not a whit behind them in her ecstasies. Old General Lyon’s
eyes twinkled and lips smiled, and sometimes he broke into a good
hearty laugh. As for Dick, the oldest Derby goer on the road could
not have got ahead of him in bandying back the jokes that were
bandied at him on the way. Only that Jacob, hanging on behind,
stared with “all his eyes,” and looked as if he thought he was
enjoying a pleasant sort of nightmare.
“I say, you jolly old howl (owl),” called a cockney from a
neighboring carriage to General Lyon, “where did you get that
gorilla you’ve got perched up behind there, heh?”
“From a country where they muzzle monkeys sometimes,”
retorted Dick, answering for the General.
So it went on.
“But this is nothing at all to what it will be when we are out of
London and fairly on to the Epsom road,” shouted Henry Spencer
from his gig behind.
“I never saw the Carnival at Rome; but I should think it was not
very unlike this,” said the General.
“This is the Carnival of London! Old Rome has its Saturnalia;
modern Rome has its Carnival; America has her Independence
Day; but England has her Derby, equal to all these others rolled
into one,” said Francis Tredegar.
“If this is only the beginning it is worth crossing the Atlantic to
see—not the Derby race only, but the Derby Day!” said the
General.
“Only wait till you get to Epsom!” exclaimed Henry Spencer.
Once fairly upon the Epsom road, our friends found it as their
guests had predicted. The crowd, great as it had been before, was
even greater now. And it thickened with every mile; the numbers
of passengers increasing twofold, tenfold, a hundred-fold, as they
approached the bourne of their journey.
The road was as one vast river of human beings and brute
creatures, pouring its multitudes towards Epsom. And every cross
country road was as a tributary stream helping to swell the flood.
Every description of wheeled vehicles known to the civilized
world—broughams, barouches, landaus, chaises, buggies, sulkies,
gigs, rockaways, carryalls, omnibuses, stages, brakes, carts, drags,
wagons, jaunting cars, in an endless number and variety, and
drawn by every available species of quadrupeds—horses, mules,
donkeys, goats, dogs, oxen—thronged and crushed and pressed
together for miles and miles behind and before on the main road
and up and down every branch road—crowding toward Epsom.
In this vast, moving mixed multitude the only saving feature
was this, that they were all moving the same way, and all, or nearly
all, in high, good humor.
Pressed on all sides as they were—behind, before, on the right
and on the left, our friends in the barouche and their young guests
in the gig, managed to keep together;—sometimes brought to a
standstill, sometimes moving on at the rate of an inch a minute.
“Now you understand why it was necessary to start so early,
though Epsom is but fourteen miles from London, and though the
great race does not come off before two o’clock,” called out young
Spencer.
 “Yes; and I begin to see the wisdom of those who went down to
Epsom last night to avoid all this,” answered the general.
“Ah, but they were either old stagers who had experienced this
sort of thing many times before, or else individuals who had some
deep stake in the races to come off to-day. For my own part, I
enjoy the going and returning—the ‘road,’ in short, quite as much
as anything else appertaining to the great Derby Day.”
“It is a novel and interesting sight, in its contrasts if in nothing
else,” replied the General, glancing from the handsome barouche
decorated with a duke’s coronet painted on its panels, and
occupied by an aristocratic party of stately men and elegant
women, in splendid apparel, that crowded him on the right—to the
old dilapidated omnibus, filled within and without with the ragged
refuse of the London streets and alleys, which pressed him on the
left.
But truth to tell, the ragamuffins seemed the merrier, if not the
richer party of the two.
And many jests flew over General Lyon’s head between the
Bohemians in the old omnibus and a young member of the ducal
family who occupied a seat on the box beside the coachman. For
that one day “free-born Britons” of every rank enjoyed something
like liberty and equality—not to say unbridled license.
“Hey day! What’s the matter now?” exclaimed the General, as
the whole immense march, with much rearing and plunging of
quadrupeds, came to a dead halt.
“There’s a lock at the turnpike gate, sir,” called out a vagrant
from the old ‘bus.
“A lock on the toll-gate! It’s a shame,” replied the innocent old
gentleman; “the gate should never be locked in the daytime, and
most especially on such a day as this, when they must keep such a
vast multitude of people waiting while they unlock it.”
This speech was greeted by a burst of ironical applause from all
the occupants of the old omnibus, as well as from all others who
heard it. They laughed at the speaker and chaffed him.
“You change all that when you get into parliament,” sang out
one.
“I say! what’s your name, you jolly old soul? Is it old King Cole?”
inquired another.
Then all in the old omnibus sang out together:
 “Old King Cole was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he—
He called for his bottle, and he called for his bowl,
And he called for his comrades three!”

“Dick, what the deuce have I said wrong? What do they mean?”
inquired the General, much annoyed at finding himself the center
of observation.
“You have said nothing wrong, and they mean nothing
offensive. It is the Derby Day! That accounts for all, don’t you
see?” answered Dick, laughing.
“But about the lock. They were chaffing me about that.”
“Oh, you know that there is now more than one lock at every
turnpike gate. There is the legitimate lock under the charge of the
keeper; and there is a lock of interlocked carriage wheels,
reaching, perhaps, for ten miles along the road.”
“I knew once a lock of fourteen miles long, all caused by an ill
conditioned fellow in a brougham, who stopped the way at the
toll-gate for twenty minutes, disputing about his change,” said the
young gentleman who was seated beside the coachman on the
right-hand carriage; for on this latitudinarian day English reserve
was laid aside, and strangers spoke together as familiar friends.
But the General’s fine barouche was the center of observation
just now, and all on account of the General’s “gorilla footman,” as
the Bohemians called young Jacob.
Unluckily for his peace to-day, Jacob, with one of the best hearts
in the world, and a tolerably good brain, possessed all the peculiar
features of his race. He had the low, receding forehead, broad, flat
nose, wide, full lips, and small, retiring chin, jet black skin, and
crisp, woolly hair of the pure Guinea negro—all of which was likely
to render him an object of great amusement to the malicious
crowd, and annoyance to his master and friends.
“I say, old cove, you show it free now, like the circus men do the
clowns when they go in procession; but how much are you going to
charge a head to see it when you get it in a booth on Epsom
Heath?” called out one.
“Marster!” cried Jacob, half crying and ready to swear
—“Marster! only let me, and I’ll jump down and lick the lot of
’em!”
“Oh, I say, fellows, it can talk!” cried another.
“Let me at ’em!” begged Jacob.