14th. Scarlet.—The engagement ended last night by the complete evacuation of Grierson. Pipes cleared the whole country about that town in splendid style, and the army encamped on the field of battle; sadly reduced indeed, but victorious for the moment. The enemy, since their first appearance at Grierson, have lost 4,400 men, and have been beaten decisively back. There is now not a man on our side of the Sandusky; and our loss of 2,600 is serious indeed, but, seeing how much has been accomplished, not excessive. The enemy's horse was cut to pieces.

Piffle slept on the ground that he had held all day. In the afternoon he had once more driven back the head of the enemy's columns, inflicting a further loss of 3,200 killed and wounded at the lowest computation; but the enemy's camp-fires can still be plainly made out with a field-glass, in the same position as the night before. This is scarcely to be called success, although it is certainly not failure.

Sandusky.—All quiet at Sandusky; the army has fallen back into the city, and large reserves are still massed behind.

Editorial Comment.—The battle of Grierson is a distinct success; the enemy, with a heavy loss, have been beaten back to their own side. As to the vital engagement on the Sandusky and the heavy fighting before Yolo, it is plain that we must wait for further news of both. In neither case has any decided advantage crowned our arms, and if we are to judge by the expressions of the commander-in-chief to our Sandusky correspondent, the course of the former still leaves room for the most serious apprehensions. General Potty, we are glad to assure our readers, will be once more in the saddle before many days. It is an odd coincidence that all the principal commanders in the battle of Grierson were at one period or another of the day carried to the rear; and that none of the three is seriously hurt. Green and Lafayette were shot down, it appears, within a few moments of each other. It was reported that they had been having high words as to the reckless advance over the Sandusky, each charging the blame upon the other; but it seems certain that the fault was Lafayette's, who was in chief command, and was present in Grierson itself at the time of the fatal manoeuvre. The result would have been crushing, had not General Potty been left for some hours utterly without ammunition; Commissary Scuttlebutt is loudly blamed. To-morrow's news is everywhere awaited with an eagerness approaching to agony.

15th. Scarlet.—Late last night, orders reached General Pipes to fall back on this place, where his reserves were diverted to support Piffle, hard-pressed on the Sandusky. This morning the manoeuvre was effected in good order, the enemy following us through Grierson and capturing one hundred prisoners. The battle was resumed on the Sandusky with the same fury; and it is still raging as I write. The enemy's Army of the Centre is commanded, as we learn from stragglers, by General Napoleon; they boast of large supports arriving, both from Savannah and Tahema directions. The slaughter is something appalling; the whole of Potty's infantry corps has marched to support Piffle; and as we have now no more men within a day's ride, it is feared the enemy may yet manage to carry Garrard and command the line of the river.

Sandusky.—This morning, General Stevenson marched out of town to the southward on the Savannah and Sandusky road. It was fully expected that he would have mounted the Sandusky river to support Piffle and engage the enemy's Army of the Centre on the flank; and the present manoeuvre is loudly criticised. Not only is the integrity of the line of the Sandusky ventured, but Stevenson's own force is now engaged in a most awkward country, with a difficult bridge in front. To add, if possible, to our anxiety, it is reported that General Delafield, in yesterday's engagement, lost 3,200 men, killed and wounded. He held his ground, however, and by the last advices had killed 800 and taken 1,400 prisoners, with which he had fallen back again on Yolo itself. This retrogression, it seems, is in accordance with his original orders: he was either to hold Yolo, or if possible advance on Savannah via Brierly. This last he judged unwise, so that he was obliged to cling to Yolo itself. This also is seriously criticised in the best-informed circles. Osbourne himself is reported to be in Savannah.

YALLOBALLY RECORD.—"We have never concealed our opinion that Osbourne was a bummer and a scallywag; but the entire collapse of his campaign beats the worst that we imagined possible. We have received, at the same moment, news of Green and Lafayette's column being beaten ignominiously back again across the Sandusky river and out of Grierson, a place on our own side; and next of the appearance of a large body of troops at Yolo, in the very heart of this great land, where they seem to have played the very devil, taking prisoners by the hundred and marching with arrogant footsteps on the sacred soil of the province of Savannah. General Napoleon, the only commander who has not yet disgraced himself, still fights an uphill battle in the centre, inflicting terrific losses and upholding the honour of his country single-handed. The infamous Osbourne is shaking in his spectacles at Savannah. He was roundly taken to task by a public-spirited reporter, and babbled meaningless excuses; he did not know, he said, that the force now falling in on us at Yolo was so large. It was his business to know. What is he paid for? That force has been ten days at least turning the east of the Mar Mountains, a week at least on our own side of the frontier. Where were Osbourne's wits? Will it be believed, the column at Lone Bluff is again short of ammunition? This old man of the sea, whom all the world knows to be an ass and whom we can prove to be a coward, is apparently a peculator also. If we were to die to-morrow, the word Osbourne would be found engraven backside foremost on our hearts."

Note. The Tergiversation of the Army of the West.—The delay of the Army of the West, and the timorous counsels of Green and Lafayette, were the salvation of Potty, Pipes, and Piffle. This is the third time we hear of this great army crossing the river. It never should have left hold. Lafayette had an overwhelming force at his back; and with a little firmness, a little obstinacy even, he might have swallowed up the thin lines opposed to him. On this day, the 16th, when we hear of his leaving Grierson for the third time, his headquarters should have been in Scarlet, and his guns should have enfiladed the weak posts of Piffle.

Sandusky. Noon.—Great gloom here. As everyone predicted, Stevenson has already lost 600 men in the marshes at the mouth of the Sandusky, men simply sacrificed. His wilful conduct in not mounting the river, following on his melancholy defeat before Mar, and his long and fatal hesitation as to the Armies of the West and Centre, fill up the measure of his incapacity. His uncontrolled temper and undisguised incivility, not only to the Press, but to fellow-soldiers of the stamp of Piffle, have alienated from him even the sympathy that sometimes improperly consoles demerit.

Editorial.—We leave our correspondents to speak for themselves, reserving our judgment with a heavy heart. Piffle has the sympathy of the nation.

Scarlet. 9 P.M.—The attack has ceased. Napoleon is moving off southward. Our fellows smartly pursued and cut off 1,600 men; in spreading along the other side of the Sandusky they fell on a flanking column of the enemy's Army of the West and sent it to the right-about with a loss of 800 left upon the field. This shows how perilously near to a junction these two formidable armies were, and should increase our joy at Napoleon's retreat. That movement is variously explained, but many suppose it is due to some advance from Sandusky.

Sandusky.8 P.M.—Stevenson this afternoon occupied the angle between the Glendarule and the Sandusky; his guns command the Garrard and Savannah highroad, the only line of retreat for General Napoleon's guns, and he has already hopelessly defeated and scattered a strong body of supports advancing from Savannah to the aid of that commander. The enemy lost 1,600 men; it is thought that this success and Stevenson's present position involve the complete destruction or the surrender of the enemy's Army of the Centre. The enemy have retired from the passes behind Mar; but it is thought they have moved too late to save Savannah. Pleasant news from Colonel Delafield, who, with a loss of 600, has destroyed thrice that number of the enemy before Yolo.

17th. Scarlet.—The enemy turned last night, inflicting losses on the combined forces of Generals Pipes and Piffle, amounting together to 1,600 men. But his retreat still continues, harassed by our cavalry and guns. The rest of the troops out of Cinnabar have arrived, via Glentower, at the foot of the Blue Mountains. Everyone is in high spirits. Potty has resumed command of his division; I met him half an hour ago at lunch, when he expressed himself delighted with the campaign.

Sandusky.—A great victory must be announced. Today Stevenson passed the Sandusky, and occupied the right bank of the Glendarule and the country in front of Savannah. General Napoleon, in full retreat upon that place, found himself cut off, and, after a desperate struggle, in which 2,600 fell, surrendered with 6,000 men. The wrecks of his army are scattered far and wide, and his guns are lying deserted on the Garrard road. At the very moment while Napoleon was surrendering his sword to General Stevenson, the head of our colours cut off 1,400 men before Savannah, which was under the fire of our guns, and destroyed a convoy on the Mar and Savannah highroad. This completes the picture; the enemy have now only one bridge over the Glendarule not swept by our artillery. Delafield has had another partial success; with a loss of 1,000 he has cut off 1,200 and made 400 prisoners, but a strong force ts reported on the Yolo and Yallobally road, which, by placing him between two fires, may soon render his hold on the Yolo untenable.

Note.—General Napoleon. His real name was Clamborough. The son of a well-known linen-draper in Yolo, he was educated at the military college of Savannah. His chief fault was an overwhelming vanity, which betrayed itself in his unfortunate assumption of a pseudonym, and in the gorgeous Oriental costumes by which he rendered himself conspicuous and absurd. He received early warning of Stevenson's advance from Sandusky, but refused to be advised, and did not begin to retreat until his army was already circumvented. A characteristic anecdote is told of the surrender. "General," said Napoleon to his captor, "you have to-day immortalised your name." "Sir," returned Stevenson, whose brutality of manner was already proverbial, "if you had taken as much trouble to direct your army as your tailor to make your clothes, our positions might have been reversed."



Editorial Comment.—Unlike many others, we have never lost confidence in General Stevenson; indeed, as our readers may remember, we have always upheld him as a capable, even a great commander. Some little ruffle at Scarlet did occur, but it was, no doubt, chargeable to the hasty Potty; and now, by one of the finest manoeuvres on record, the head general of our victorious armies has justified our most hopeful prophecies and aspirations. There is not, perhaps, an officer in the army who would not have chosen the obvious and indecisive move up the Sandusky, which even our correspondent, able as he is, referred to with apparent approval. Had Stevenson done that, the brave enemy who chooses to call himself Napoleon might have been defeated twelve hours earlier, and there would have been less sacrifice of life in the divisions of Potty and the ignorant Piffle. But the enemy's retreat would not have been cut off; his general would not now have been a prisoner in our camp, nor should our cannon, advanced boldly into the country of our foes, thunder against the gates of Savannah and cut off the supplies from the army behind Mar. A glance at the map will show the authority of our position; not a loaf of bread, not an ounce of powder can reach Savannah or the enemy's Army of the East, but it must run the gauntlet of our guns. And this is the result produced by the turning movement at Yolo, General Stevenson's long inactivity in Sandusky, and his advance at last, the one right movement and in the one possible direction.

YALLOBALLY RECORD.—"The humbug who had the folly and indecency to pick up the name of Napoleon second-hand at a sale of old pledges, has been thrashed and is a prisoner. Except the Army of the West, and the division on the Mar road, which is commanded by an old woman, we have nothing on foot but scattered, ragamuffin regiments. Savannah is under fire; that will teach Osbourne to skulk in cities instead of going to the front with the poor devils whom he butchers by his ignorance and starves with his peculations. What we want to know is, when is Osbourne to be shot?"

Note.—The Record editor, a man of the name of McGuffog, was subsequently hanged by order of General Osbourne. Public opinion endorsed this act of severity. My great-uncle, Mr. Phelim Settle, was present and saw him with the nightcap on and a file of his journals around his neck; when he was turned off, the applause, according to Mr. Settle, was deafening. He was a man, as the extracts prove, not without a kind of vulgar talent.

YALLOBALLY EVENING HERALD.—"It would be idle to disguise the fact that the retreat of our Army of the Centre, and the accidental capture of the accomplished soldier whose modesty conceals itself under the pseudonym of Napoleon, have created a slight though baseless feeling of alarm in this city. Nearer the field the troops are quite steady, the inhabitants enthusiastic, and the loyal and indefatigable Osbourne multiplies his bodily presence. The events of yesterday were much exaggerated by some papers, and the publication of one rowdy sheet, suspected of receiving pay from the enemy, has been suspended by an order from headquarters. Our Army of the West still advances triumphantly unresisted into the heart of the enemy's country; the force at Yolo, which is a mere handful and quite without artillery, will probably be rooted out to-morrow. Addresses and congratulations pour in to General Osbourne; subscriptions to the great testimonial Osbourne statue are received at the Herald office every day between the hours of 10 and 4."

ABSTRACT OF SIX DAYS' FIGHTING, FROM THE 19TH TO THE 24TH, FROM THE GLENDARULE TIMES SATURDAY SPECIAL.—"This week has been, on the whole, unimportant; there are few changes in the aspect of the field of war, and perhaps the most striking fact is the collapse of Colonel Delafield's Yolo column. Fourteen hundred killed and eighteen hundred prisoners is assuredly a serious consideration for our small army; yet the good done by that expedition is not wiped away by the present defeat; large reinforcements of troops and much ammunition have been directed into the far east, and the city of Savannah and the enemy's forces in the pass have thus been left without support. Delafield himself has reached Mar, now in our hands, and the cavalry and stores of the expedition, all safe, are close behind him. Yolo is a name that will never be forgotten. Our forces are now thus disposed: Potty, with the brave artillery, lies behind the south-east shoulder of the Blue Mountains, on the Sandusky and Samuel City road; Piffle, with the Army of the Centre, has fallen back into Sandusky itself; while Stevenson still holds the same position across the Sandusky river, his advance to which will constitute his chief claim to celebrity. Savannah was bombarded from the 18th to the 20th, inclusive; 4,000 men fell in its defence. Osbourne himself, directing operations, was seriously wounded and sent to Yallobally; and on the evening of the 20th the city surrendered, only 600 men being found within its walls. A heavy contribution was raised: but the general himself, fearing to expose his communications, remains in the same position and has not even occupied the fallen city.

"In the meantime the army from the pass has been slowly drawing down to the support of Savannah, suffering cruelly at every step. Yesterday (24th) Mar was occupied by a corps of our infantry, who fell on the rear of the retreating enemy, inflicting heavy loss."

NOTE.—Retreat of the Mar column. The army which so long and so usefully held the passes behind Mar, over the neck of Long Bluff, did not begin to retreat until the enemy had already occupied Mar and begun to engage their outposts. Supplies had already been cut off by the advanced position of Stevenson. The men were short of bread. The roads were heavy; the horses starving. The rear of the column was continually and disastrously engaged with the enemy pouring after. It is perhaps the saddest chapter in the history of the war. My grandmother, Mrs. Hankey (nee Pillworthy), then a young girl on a mountain farm on the line of the retreat, distinctly remembers giving a soda biscuit, which was greedily received, to Colonel Diggory Jacks, then in command of our division, and lending him an umbrella, which was never returned. This incident, trivial as it may be thought, emphatically depicts the destitution of our brave soldiers.

In the meantime, in the west, the enemy are slowly passing the rivers and advancing with their main body on Scarlet, and with a single corps on Glentower. Cinnabar was occupied on the 21st in the morning, and a heavy contribution raised. The situation may thus be stated: In the centre we are the sole arbiters, commanding the roads and holding a position which can only be described as authoritative. In the east, Delafield's corps has been destroyed; but the enemy's army of the pass, on the other hand, is in a critical position and may, in the course of a few days or so, be forced to lay down its arms. In the west, nothing as yet is decided, and the movement through the Glentower Pass somewhat hampers General Potty's position.

The comparative losses during these days are very encouraging, and compare pleasingly with the cost of the early part of the campaign. The enemy have lost 12,800 men, killed, wounded, and prisoners, as against 4,800 on our side.

YALLOBALLY HERALD.—Interview from General Osbourne with a special reporter.—"I met the wounded hero some miles out of Yallobally, still working, even as he walked, and surrounded by messengers from every quarter. After the usual salutations, he inquired what paper I represented, and received the name of the Herald with satisfaction. 'It is a decent paper,' he said. 'It does not seek to obstruct a general in the exercise of his discretion.' He spoke hopefully of the west and east, and explained that the collapse of our centre was not so serious as might have been imagined. 'It is unfortunate,' he said, 'but if Green succeeds in his double advance on Glendarule, and if our army can continue to keep up even the show of resistance in the province of Savannah, Stevenson dare not advance upon the capital; that would expose his communications too seriously for such a cautious and often cowardly commander. I call him cowardly,' he added, 'even in the face of the desperate Yolo expedition, for you see he is withdrawing all along the west, and Green, though now in the heart of his country, encounters no resistance.' The General hopes soon to recover; his wound, though annoying, presents no character of gravity."

NOTE.—General Osbourne's perfect sincerity is doubtful. He must have known that Green was hopelessly short of ammunition. "Unfortunate," as an epithet describing the collapse of the Army of the Centre, is perhaps without parallel in military criticism. It was not unfortunate, it was ruinous. Stevenson was a man of uneven character, whom his own successes rendered timid; this timidity it was that delayed the end; but the war was really over when General Napoleon surrendered his sword on the afternoon of the 17th.



THE DAVOS PRESS

In the Reproductions which follow of Moral Emblems, etc., by R. L. Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne, the tint shows the actual size of the paper on which the pamphlets were printed

NOTICE.

Today is published by S. L. Osbourne & Co.

ILLUSTRATED BLACK CANYON,

or

Wild Adventures in the FAR WEST.

AN Instructive and amusing TALE written by SAMUEL LLOYD OSBOURNE

PRICE 6D.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

Although Black Canyon is rather shorter than ordinary for that kind of story, it is an excellent work. We cordially recommend it to our readers.

Weekly Messenger.

S. L. Osbourne's new work (Black Canyon) is splendidly illustrated. In the story, the characters are bold and striking. It reflects the highest honor on its writer.

Morning Call.

A very remarkable work. Every page produces an effect. The end is as singular as the beginning. I never saw such a work before.

R. L. Stevenson.



BLACK CANYON,

or Wild Adventures in the FAR WEST

A

Tale of Instruction and Amusement for the Young.

BY

SAMUEL OSBOURNE

ILLUSTRATED.

Printed by the Author. Davos-Platz.



Chapter I.

In this forest we see, in a misty morning, a camp fire! Sitting lazily around it are three men. The oldest is evidently a sailor. The sailor turns to the fellow next to him and says, "blast my eyes if I know where we is." "I's rather think we're in the vecenty of tho Rocky Mount'ins." Remarked the young man.

Suddenly the bushes parted. 'WHAT!' they all exclaim, 'Not BLACK EAGLE?'

Who is Black Eagle? We shall see.



Chapter II.

James P. Drake was a gambler! Not in cards, but in lost luggage! In America, all baggage etc. lost on trains and not reclaimed is put up to auction unopened.

James was one who always expected to find a fortune in some one of these bags.



One day he was at the auction house as usual, when a small and exceedingly light trunk was put up for sale. He bought and opened it.

It was empty! NO! A little bit of paper was in the bottom with this written on it.

IDAHO



Being an intelligent young man he knew that this was a clue for finding Hidden TREASURE! Then after a while he made this: In Black Canyon, Idaho, 570 feet west of some mark, 10 feet below a tree Treasure will be found. Beware of Black Eagle (Indian). But he forgot the (1).



Chapter III.

James at once took two friends into his secret: an old sailor (Jack), and a young frontiersman.



They all agreed that they must start for Black Canyon at once. The frontiersman said he had heard of Black Canyon in Idaho.

But who could Black Eagle be?



Chapter IV.

Lost! Certainly lost! Lost in the Far West! The Frontiersman had lost them in a large forest. They had travelled for about a month, first by water (See page 4) then by stage, then by horse.



This was their third day in it. Just after their morning meal the bushes parted.



An Indian stood before them! (See 1st Chap.) He merely said 'COME.' They take up their arms and do so.



Chapter V.

After following him for four hours, he stopped, turned around and said, "Rest, eat you fellows." They did so. In about an hour they started again. After walking ten miles they heard the roaring of an immense cataract. Suddenly they find themselves face to face with a long deep gorge or canyon. 'Black Canyon,' they all cry. 'Stop,' says the Indian. He pushes a stone aside. It uncovers the mouth of a small cave. The Indian struck a light with two sticks. They follow him into this cave for about a mile when the cave opens into an immense Grotto. The Indian whistled, a bear and dog appeared. "Bring meat, Nero," said the Indian.

The bear at once brought a deer. Which they cooked and ate. Then the Indian said, "Show me the Treasure clue." His eyes flashed when he saw it.



Chapter VI.



MIDNIGHT! The Indian is about to light a fuse to a cask of gunpowder! But James sees him and shoots him before he is able to light the fuse.



He ran to the side of the dying Indian who made this confession. "I am not an Indian. 10 years ago I met G. Gidean, a man who found a quantity of gold here. Before be died, he sent that clue to a friend who never received it. I knew the gold was here. I have hunted 10 years for it, your clue showed me where IT was," (here Black Eagle told it to James.) Then Black Eagle DIED.



Chapter VII.

20 years have passed! James is the same as ever. Jack is owner of a yacht.



The Frontiersman owns a large cattle and hog ranch.



Finis.



NOT I, And Other POEMS,

BY

Robert Louis Stevenson,

Author of

The Blue Scalper, Travels with a Donkey etc. PRICE 6d.

Dedicated to

Messrs. R.& R. CLARKE

by S.L.Osbourne Davos

1881



Not I.

Some like drink In a pint pot, Some like to think; Some not.

Strong Dutch Cheese, Old Kentucky Rye, Some like these; Not I.

Some like Poe And others like Scott, Some like Mrs. Stowe; Some not.

Some like to laugh, Some like to cry. Some like chaff; Not I.



Here, perfect to a wish, We offer, not a dish, But just the platter: A book that's not a book, A pamphlet in the look But not the matter.

I own in disarray; As to the flowers of May The frosts of Winter, To my poetic rage, The smallness of the page And of the printer.

As seamen on the seas With song and dance descry Adown the morning breeze An islet in the sky: In Araby the dry, As o'er the sandy plain The panting camels cry To smell the coming rain.

So all things over earth A common law obey And rarity and worth Pass, arm in arm, away; And even so, today, The printer and the bard, In pressless Davos, pray Their sixpenny reward.



The pamphlet here presented Was planned and printed by A printer unindent-ed, A bard whom all decry.

The author and the printer, With various kinds of skill, Concocted it in Winter At Davos on the Hill.

They burned the nightly taper But now the work is ripe Observe the costly paper, Remark the perfect type!



Begun FEB ended OCT 1881



MORAL EMBLEMS

A Collection of Cuts and Verses.

By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Author of

The Blue Scalper, Travels with a Donkey, Treasure Island, Not I etc.

Printers:

S. L. OSBOURNE & COMPANY. Davos-Platz.



See how the children in the print Bound on the book to see what's in't! O, like these pretty babes, may you Seize and apply this volume too! And while your eye upon the cuts With harmless ardour open and shuts, Reader, may your immortal mind To their sage lessons not be blind.



Reader, your soul upraise to see, In yon fair cut designed by me, The pauper by the highwayside Vainly soliciting from pride. Mark how the Beau with easy air Contemps the anxious rustic's prayer, And casting a disdainful eye, Goes gaily gallivanting by. He from the poor averts his head.... He will regret it when he's dead.



A Peak in Darien.

Broad gazing on untrodden lands, See where adventurous Cortez stands; While in the heavens above his head, The Eagle seeks its daily bread. How aptly fact to fact replies: Heroes and Eagles, hills and skies. Ye, who contemn the fatted slave, Look on this emblem and be brave



See in the print, how moved by whim Trumpeting Jumbo, great and grim, Adjusts his trunk, like a cravat, To noose that individual's hat. The sacred Ibis in the distance Joys to observe his bold resistance.



Mark, printed on the opposing page, The unfortunate effects of rage. A man (who might be you or me) Hurls another into the sea. Poor soul, his unreflecting act His future joys will much contract, And he will spoil his evening toddy By dwelling on that mangled body.



Works recently issued by

SAMUEL OSBOURNE & CO. DAVOS.

NOT I and other poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson.

A volume of enchanting poetry.

BLACK CANYON or wild adventures in the Far West, by S. Osbourne.

A beautiful gift-book.

To be obtained from the Publishers and all respectable BOOK-SELLERS.



Stevenson's Moral Emblems.

Edition de Luxe: 5 full-page Illustrations.

Price 9 PENCE.

The above speciman cut, illustrates a new departure in the business of OSBOURNE & Co.

Wood engraving, designed and executed by Mr. & Mrs. Stevenson and printed under the PERSONAL supervision of Mr. Osbourne, now form a branch of their business.



Today is published by S. L. Osbourne & Co.

A Second Collection Of

MORAL EMBLEMS. By

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Edition de Luxe, tall paper, (extra fine) first impression. Price 10 pence.

Popular Edition, for the Million, small paper, cuts slightly worn, a great bargain, 8 pence.

NOTICE!!!

A literary curiosity: Part of the M. S. of 'Black Canyon.' Price 1s. 6d.

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MORAL EMBLEMS

A Second Collection of Cuts and Verses.

By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

Author of

Latter-day Arabian Nights, Travels with a Donkey, Not I, &c.

Printers:

S. L. OSBOURNE & COMPANY. Davos-Platz.



With storms a-weather, rocks a-lee, The dancing skiff puts forth to sea. The lone dissenter in the blast Recoils before the sight aghast. But she, although the heavens be black, Holds on upon the starboard tack. For why? although today she sink Still safe she sails in printers' ink, And though today the seamen drown, My cut shall hand their memory down.



The careful angler chose his nook At morning by the lilied brook, And all the noon his rod he plied By that romantic riverside. Soon as the evening hours decline Tranquilly he'll return to dine, And breathing forth a pious wish, Will cram his belly full of fish.



The Abbot for a walk went out A wealthy cleric, very stout, And Robin has that Abbot stuck As the red hunter spears the buck. The djavel or the javelin Has, you observe, gone bravely in, And you may hear that weapon whack Bang through the middle of his back. Hence we may learn that abbots should Never go walking in a wood.



The frozen peaks he once explored, But now he's dead and by the board. How better far at home to have stayed Attended by the parlour maid, And warmed his knees before the fire Until the hour when folks retire! So, if you would be spared to friends. Do nothing but for business ends.



Industrious pirate! see him sweep The lonely bosom of the deep, And daily the horizon scan From Hatteras or Matapan. Be sure, before that pirate's old, He will have made a pot of gold, And will retire from all his labours And be respected by his neighbors. You also scan your life's horizon For all that you can clap your eyes on.



Works recently issued by

SAMUEL OSBOURNE & C^o. DAVOS.

NOT I and other poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson.

A volume of enchanting poetry.

BLACK CANYON or wild adventures in the Far West, by S. L. Osbourne.

A beautiful gift-book.

MORAL EMBLEMS, (first Series.) by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Has only to be seen to be admired.

To be obtained from the Publishers and all respectable Book-sellers.



A Martial Elegy for some lead Soldiers.

For certain soldiers lately dead Our-reverent dirge shall here be said. Them, when their martial leader called, No dread preparative appalled; But leaden hearted, leaden heeled, I marked them steadfast in the field Death grimly sided with the foe, And smote each leaden hero low. Proudly they perished one by one: The dread Pea-cannon's work was done O not for them the tears we shed, Consigned to their congenial lead; But while unmoved their sleep they take, We mourn for their dear Captain's sake, For their dear Captain, who shall smart Both in his pocket and his heart, Who saw his heros shed their gore And lacked a shilling to buy more! Price 1 penny. (1st Edition.)



Today is published by SAMUEL OSBOURNE & Co.

THE GRAVER and the PEN

OR Scenes from Nature with Appropriate Verses

by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON author of the 'EMBLEMS.'

'The Graver and the Pen' is a most strikingly illustrated little work and the poetry so pleasing that when it is taken up to be read is finished before it is set down.

It contains 5 full-page illustrations (all of the first class) and 11 pages of poetry finely printed on superb paper (especially obtained from C. G. Squintani & Co. London) with the title on the cover in red letters.

Small 8vo. Granite paper cover with coloured title

Price Ninepence per Copy.

Splendid chance for an energetic publisher!!!

For Sale—Copyright of 'Black Canyon' price 1 / 3/4

Autograph of Mr. R. L. Stevenson price -/3, ditto of Mr. S. L. Osbourne price 1/- each.

If copies of the 'Graver,' 'Emblems,' or 'Black Canyon' are wanted apply to the publisher, 17 Harlot Row Edinburgh.



THE GRAVER & THE PEN.



THE GRAVER & THE PEN,

or

Scenes from Nature with Appropriate Verses

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

author of

'The New Arabian Nights,' 'Moral Emblems,' 'Not I,' 'Treasure Island,' etc.

Illustrated.

EDINBURGH

S. L. Osbourne & Company No. 17 HERIOT ROW.

[It was only by the kindness of Mr. CRERAR of Kingussie that we are able to issue this little work—having allowed us to print with his own press when ours was broken.]



PROEM.

Unlike the common run of men, I wield a double power to please, And use the GRAVER and the PEN With equal aptitude and ease.

I move with that illustrious crew, The ambidextrous Kings of Art; And every mortal thing I do Brings ringing money in the mart.

Hence, to the morning hour, the mead, The forest and the stream perceive Me wandering as the muses lead—— Or back returning in the eve.

Two muses like two maiden aunts, The engraving and the singing muse, Follow, through all my favorite haunts, My devious traces in the dews.

To guide and cheer me, each attends; Each speeds my rapid task along; One to my cuts her ardour lends, One breathes her magic in my song.



The Precarious Mill.

Alone above the stream it stands, Above the iron hill, The topsy-turvy, tumble-down, Yet habitable mill.

Still as the ringing saws advance To slice the humming deal, All day the pallid miller hears The thunder of the wheel.

He hears the river plunge and roar As roars the angry mob; He feels the solid building quake, The trusty timbers throb.

All night beside the fire he cowers: He hears the rafters jar: O why is he not in a proper house As decent people are!

The floors are all aslant, he sees, The doors are all a-jam; And from the hook above his head All crooked swings the ham.

"Alas," he cries and shakes his head, "I see by every sign, There soon will be the deuce to pay, With this estate of mine."



The Disputatious Pines.

The first pine to the second said: "My leaves are black, my branches red; I stand upon this moor of mine, A hoar, unconquerable pine."

The second sniffed and answered: "Pooh, I am as good a pine as you."

"Discourteous tree" the first replied, "The tempest in my boughs had cried, The hunter slumbered in my shade, A hundred years ere you were made."

The second smiled as he returned: "I shall be here when you are burned."

So far dissension ruled the pair, Each turned on each a frowning air, When flickering from the bank anigh, A flight of martens met their eye. Sometime their course they watched; and then They nodded off to sleep again.



The Tramps.

Now long enough has day endured, Or King Apollo Palinured, Seaward be steers his panting team, And casts on earth his latest gleam.

But see! the Tramps with jaded eye Their destined provinces espy. Long through the hills their way they took, Long camped beside the mountain brook; 'Tis over; now with rising hope They pause upon the downward slope, And as their aching bones they rest, Their anxious captain scans the west.

So paused Alaric on the Alps And ciphered up the Roman scalps.



The Foolhardy Geographer.

The howling desert miles around, The tinkling brook the only sound— Wearied with all his toils and feats, The traveller dines on potted meats; On potted meats and princely wines, Not wisely but too well he dines.

The brindled Tiger loud may roar, High may the hovering Vulture soar, Alas! regardless of them all, Soon shall the empurpled glutton sprawl— Soon, in the desert's hushed repose, Shall trumpet tidings through his nose! Alack, unwise! that nasal song Shall be the Ounce's dinner-gong!

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A blemish in the cut appears; Alas! it cost both blood and tears. The glancing graver swerved aside, Fast flowed the artist's vital tide! And now the apologetic bard Demands indulgence for his pard!



The Angler & the Clown.

The echoing bridge you here may see, The pouring lynn, the waving tree, The eager angler fresh from town— Above, the contumelious clown. 'The angler plies his line and rod, The clodpole stands with many a nod,— With many a nod and many a grin, He sees him cast his engine in.

"What have you caught?" the peasant cries.

"Nothing as yet," the Fool replies.



MORAL TALES



Rob and Ben

or The PIRATE and the APOTHECARY. Scene the First.



Rob and Ben

or The PIRATE and the APOTHECARY. Scene the Second.



Rob and Ben

or The PIRATE and the APOTHECARY. Scene the Third.



ROBIN AND BEN: OR, THE PIRATE AND THE APOTHECARY

Come lend me an attentive ear A startling moral tale to hear, Of Pirate Rob and Chemist Ben, And different destinies of men.

Deep in the greenest of the vales That nestle near the coast of Wales, The heaving main but just in view, Robin and Ben together grew, Together worked and played the fool, Together shunned the Sunday school, And pulled each other's youthful noses Around the cots, among the roses.

Together but unlike they grew; Robin was rough, and through and through Bold, inconsiderate, and manly, Like some historic Bruce or Stanley. Ben had a mean and servile soul, He robbed not, though he often stole. He sang on Sunday in the choir, And tamely capped the passing Squire.

At length, intolerant of trammels— Wild as the wild Bithynian camels, Wild as the wild sea-eagles—Bob His widowed dam contrives to rob, And thus with great originality Effectuates his personality. Thenceforth his terror-haunted flight He follows through the starry night; And with the early morning breeze, Behold him on the azure seas. The master of a trading dandy Hires Robin for a go of brandy; And all the happy hills of home Vanish beyond the fields of foam.

Ben, meanwhile, like a tin reflector, Attended on the worthy rector; Opened his eyes and held his breath, And flattered to the point of death; And was at last, by that good fairy, Apprenticed to the Apothecary.

So Ben, while Robin chose to roam, A rising chemist was at home, Tended his shop with learned air, Watered his drugs and oiled his hair, And gave advice to the unwary, Like any sleek apothecary.

Meanwhile upon the deep afar Robin the brave was waging war, With other tarry desperadoes About the latitude of Barbadoes. He knew no touch of craven fear; His voice was thunder in the cheer; First, from the main-to'-gallan' high, The skulking merchantman to spy— The first to bound upon the deck, The last to leave the sinking wreck. His hand was steel, his word was law, His mates regarded him with awe. No pirate in the whole profession Held a more honourable position.

At length, from years of anxious toil, Bold Robin seeks his native soil; Wisely arranges his affairs, And to his native dale repairs. The Bristol Swallow sets him down Beside the well-remembered town. He sighs, he spits, he marks the scene, Proudly he treads the village green; And free from pettiness and rancour, Takes lodgings at the 'Crown and Anchor.'

Strange when a man so great and good, Once more in his home-country stood, Strange that the sordid clowns should show A dull desire to have him go.

His clinging breeks, his tarry hat, The way he swore, the way he spat, A certain quality of manner, Alarming like the pirate's banner— Something that did not seem to suit all— Something, O call it bluff, not brutal— Something at least, howe'er it's called, Made Robin generally black-balled.

His soul was wounded; proud and glum, Alone he sat and swigged his rum, And took a great distaste to men Till he encountered Chemist Ben. Bright was the hour and bright the day, That threw them in each other's way; Glad were their mutual salutations, Long their respective revelations. Before the inn in sultry weather They talked of this and that together; Ben told the tale of his indentures, And Rob narrated his adventures. Last, as the point of greatest weight, The pair contrasted their estate, And Robin, like a boastful sailor, Despised the other for a tailor.

'See,' he remarked, 'with envy, see A man with such a fist as me! Bearded and ringed, and big, and brown, I sit and toss the stingo down. Hear the gold jingle in my bag— All won beneath the Jolly Flag!'

Ben moralised and shook his head: 'You wanderers earn and eat your bread. The foe is found, beats or is beaten, And either how, the wage is eaten. And after all your pully-hauly Your proceeds look uncommon small-ly. You had done better here to tarry Apprentice to the Apothecary. The silent pirates of the shore Eat and sleep soft, and pocket more Than any red, robustious ranger Who picks his farthings hot from danger. You clank your guineas on the board; Mine are with several bankers stored. You reckon riches on your digits, You dash in chase of Sals and Bridgets, You drink and risk delirium tremens, Your whole estate a common seaman's! Regard your friend and school companion, Soon to be wed to Miss Trevanion (Smooth, honourable, fat and flowery, With Heaven knows how much land in dowry) Look at me—am I in good case? Look at my hands, look at my face; Look at the cloth of my apparel; Try me and test me, lock and barrel; And own, to give the devil his due, I have made more of life than you. Yet I nor sought nor risked a life; I shudder at an open knife; The perilous seas I still avoided And stuck to land whate'er betided. I had no gold, no marble quarry, I was a poor apothecary, Yet here I stand, at thirty-eight, A man of an assured estate.'

'Well,' answered Robin—'well, and how?'

The smiling chemist tapped his brow. 'Rob,' he replied,'this throbbing brain Still worked and hankered after gain. By day and night, to work my will, It pounded like a powder mill; And marking how the world went round A theory of theft it found. Here is the key to right and wrong: Steal little but steal all day long; And this invaluable plan Marks what is called the Honest Man. When first I served with Doctor Pill, My hand was ever in the till. Now that I am myself a master My gains come softer still and faster. As thus: on Wednesday, a maid Came to me in the way of trade. Her mother, an old farmer's wife, Required a drug to save her life. 'At once, my dear, at once,' I said, Patted the child upon the head, Bade her be still a loving daughter, And filled the bottle up with water.

'Well, and the mother?' Robin cried.

'O she!' said Ben, 'I think she died.'

'Battle and blood, death and disease, Upon the tainted Tropic seas— The attendant sharks that chew the cud— The abhorred scuppers spouting blood— The untended dead, the Tropic sun— The thunder of the murderous gun— The cut-throat crew—the Captain's curse— The tempest blustering worse and worse— These have I known and these can stand, But you, I settle out of hand!'

Out flashed the cutlass, down went Ben Dead and rotten, there and then.



THE BUILDER'S DOOM

In eighteen twenty Deacon Thin Feu'd the land and fenced it in, And laid his broad foundations down About a furlong out of town.

Early and late the work went on. The carts were toiling ere the dawn; The mason whistled, the hodman sang; Early and late the trowels rang; And Thin himself came day by day To push the work in every way. An artful builder, patent king Of all the local building ring, Who was there like him in the quarter For mortifying brick and mortar, Or pocketing the odd piastre By substituting lath and plaster? With plan and two-foot rule in hand, He by the foreman took his stand, With boisterous voice, with eagle glance To stamp upon extravagance. Far thrift of bricks and greed of guilders, He was the Buonaparte of Builders.

The foreman, a desponding creature, Demurred to here and there a feature: 'For surely, sir—with your permeession— Bricks here, sir, in the main parteetion...' The builder goggled, gulped and stared, The foreman's services were spared. Thin would not count among his minions A man of Wesleyan opinions.

'Money is money,' so he said. 'Crescents are crescents, trade is trade. Pharaohs and emperors in their seasons Built, I believe, for different reasons— Charity, glory, piety, pride— To pay the men, to please a bride, To use their stone, to spite their neighbours, Not for a profit on their labours. They built to edify or bewilder; I build because I am a builder. Crescent and street and square I build, Plaster and paint and carve and gild. Around the city see them stand, These triumphs of my shaping hand, With bulging walls, with sinking floors, With shut, impracticable doors, Fickle and frail in every part, And rotten to their inmost heart. There shall the simple tenant find Death in the falling window-blind, Death in the pipe, death in the faucit, Death in the deadly water-closet! A day is set for all to die: Caveat emptor! what care I?'

As to Amphion's tuneful kit Troy rose, with towers encircling it; As to the Mage's brandished wand A spiry palace clove the sand; To Thin's indomitable financing, That phantom crescent kept advancing. When first the brazen bells of churches Called clerk and parson to their perches, The worshippers of every sect Already viewed it with respect; A second Sunday had not gone Before the roof was rattled on: And when the fourth was there, behold The crescent finished, painted, sold!

The stars proceeded in their courses, Nature with her subversive forces, Time, too, the iron-toothed and sinewed; And the edacious years continued. Thrones rose and fell; and still the crescent, Unsanative and now senescent, A plastered skeleton of lath, Looked forward to a day of wrath. In the dead night, the groaning timber Would jar upon the ear of slumber, And, like Dodona's talking oak, Of oracles and judgments spoke. When to the music fingered well The feet of children lightly fell, The sire, who dozed by the decanters, Started, and dreamed of misadventures. The rotten brick decayed to dust; The iron was consumed by rust; Each tabid and perverted mansion Hung in the article of declension.

So forty, fifty, sixty passed; Until, when seventy came at last, The occupant of number three Called friends to hold a jubilee. Wild was the night; the charging rack Had forced the moon upon her back; The wind piped up a naval ditty; And the lamps winked through all the city. Before that house, where lights were shining, Corpulent feeders, grossly dining, And jolly clamour, hum and rattle, Fairly outvoiced the tempest's battle. As still his moistened lip he fingered, The envious policeman lingered; While far the infernal tempest sped, And shook the country folks in bed, And tore the trees and tossed the ships, He lingered and he licked his lips. Lo, from within, a hush! the host Briefly expressed the evening's toast; And lo, before the lips were dry, The Deacon rising to reply! 'Here in this house which once I built, Papered and painted, carved and gilt, And out of which, to my content, I netted seventy-five per cent.; Here at this board of jolly neighbours, I reap the credit of my labours. These were the days—I will say more— These were the grand old days of yore! The builder laboured day and night; He watched that every brick was right; The decent men their utmost did; And the house rose—a pyramid! These were the days, our provost knows, When forty streets and crescents rose, The fruits of my creative noddle, All more or less upon a model, Neat and commodious, cheap and dry, A perfect pleasure to the eye! I found this quite a country quarter; I leave it solid lath and mortar. In all, I was the single actor— And am this city's benefactor! Since then, alas! both thing and name, Shoddy across the ocean came— Shoddy that can the eye bewilder And makes me blush to meet a builder! Had this good house, in frame or fixture, Been tempered by the least admixture Of that discreditable shoddy, Should we to-day compound our toddy, Or gaily marry song and laughter Below its sempiternal rafter? Not so!' the Deacon cried.

The mansion Had marked his fatuous expansion. The years were full, the house was fated, The rotten structure crepitated!

A moment, and the silent guests Sat pallid as their dinner vests. A moment more, and root and branch, That mansion fell in avalanche, Story on story, floor on floor, Roof, wall and window, joist and door, Dead weight of damnable disaster, A cataclysm of lath and plaster.

Siloam did not choose a sinner— All were not builders at the dinner.



PRINTED BY CASSELL & CO., LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.



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Transcriber's note:

The following typographical errors were corrected:

Page 159: "The hunting still goes on, and at any moment", 'moment' amended from 'monent'.

Footnote 46: "Jour. Scot. Met. Soc., New Ser. xxvi." 'Scot.' amended from 'Sbot.'

THE END