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dollars' worth of work-of whole streets to be graded, and foundations to be dug, and an army of barrows and shovels and picks, the command of which he requested his crazy friend to accept the man's eye brightened and, laying his hand in Mr. Krafft's, he said in a low but decided tone, "I'll do it."

Then Mr. Krafft, assuming the responsibility for his safety-which, by the same token, they of the ship were very willing to resign, seeing that on the voyage out, the man, taking umbrage at something, had held the mate over tho rail by the waistband, while the ship was going twelve knots an hour-bade him come with him, and philosopher and madman went ashore together in a small boat.

The white School-house, near the Old Adobe, was the headquarters of the police then. It was on the west side of the Plaza, overlooking the heart of the young city and its busiest life. Thither Mr. Krafft conducted his crazy friend, and showing him the ground in front of the little building-indeed, in the very inidst of what is now Portsmouth Square -told him his operations were to begin there. Then calling up a few policemen, whom with a word or two he inducted into the secret, he put them under the orders of his madman, and bade them bring shovels and picks-at the same time suggesting to the devil-possessed digger that it would be as well to break ground at once, as the rest of his working force, some thousands of able-bodied fellows, would be on hand presently.

Not a word spake the madman-not a word had he uttered, since he said "I'll do it"-but flinging down his coat and hat, silently, with eyes wild, and teeth set, he went to work. Beautiful! how evenly, how steadily, how swiftly yet how fusslessly, he cleared the ground before him, tossing the flying shovelfuls with the flirt of a nimble gravemaker!

"Beautiful," cried Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft, exulting in the success of his experiment, "beautiful! we are a trifle crack-brained, to be sure; but for digging we are worth a dozen philosophers yet -worth a hundred of some sorts of fellows who never had their little gusts of madness, never knew the luxury of returning reason. When this is through with, we shall be hungry, and then we shall eat; after that we shall feel congenial, and then we shall talk-shall talk

ourselves to sleep, shall dream, and have memories soothing and saving; shall awake, the sanest fellows in town, and never fash ourselves again about the devils that are cast out."

Steadily "the subject" worked on, and the field of his successes grew apace. But the sun had laid his heavy hand upon the bare head of the man, and was down-bearing, more and more heavily every moment, upon his brain; and a fiend flew along his veins and heated them, and twitched at his nerves till they quivered; and his fancy became filled with hostile shapes, as all the ground around was filled with curious spectators; so that at last, brandishing his spade, he flung himself upon the host before him, and the first man he laid low was his friend, philosopher and guide.

They bound him down, and gave him shower-baths, and expostulated with him; but he never spake, nor ate, again, till he died. And Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft said, picking up his cane, that no confidence was to be reposed in persons of that description; all'impetuous people were fools, he said.

Mr. Krafft was one of the few men who had a home in San Francisco in Forty-nine; at least, he had a comfortable abode, a fireside, and a knot of friends to gather round it, with pipes and punch-to tell stories and play whist in the good old way. He had taken a better sort of adobe house on the corner of Dupont and Pacific strects, and put it in good repair with paint and plaster. Like all the adobe buildings of old Yerba Buena, it had but one story. The entrance, set fairly in the middle of the front, was on Pacific street; a narrow hall, from front to back door, divided the house, so as to give one large sitting-room on the right, and a smaller apartment, which was for a bedchamber, on the left, in front, with a kitchen behind it. The sitting-room, hospitably furnished, was Mr. Krafft's "spare room," and from the first he had warmly entertained in it one after another of self-appointed friends, or new but preferred acquaintances; so that, indeed, it was never without an occupant. His own apartment deserved to be styled luxurious, for San Francisco then. It had a marble floor, alternately tiled in black and white. The cornices showed a rude attempt at carving. Tho fire-place was a very throne of comfort.

There was an English brass bedstead, which Mr. Krafft, being justly proud of it, kept in a superfine state of brightness. A blue silk coverlid-the handiwork of his absent wife, no doubtadorned the bed, and over that, again, were laid two curious spotted skins, which came, he said, from Patagonia. There was an oaken chest of drawers, and a flawless old looking-glass; large camphor-wood chests, of genuine Canton manufacture, brass-bound and painted blue, were disposed about the room. On the walls hung portraits in oil of himself and his Maria-most lovely!and an unfinished sketch in water colors of his three children, in graceful group. A Wesson rifle stood in the corner next the door; a Mexican saddle and headstall, with serape, lariat, and spurs, hung on large wooden pegs near the foot of the bed. A cavalry sabre was between the windows, and a pair of German dueling-pistols hung, crossed, against the wall, within the curtains, at the back-part of the bed. Near the head of the bed, and always within reach of the arm of its occupant, stood an empty barrel, over the top of which a sort of shawl was thrown. Here lay at all times a loaded pistol, also of German make, having a curiously mounted and inlaid stock; and here every night, on retiring to bed, Mr. Krafft placed his watch, a valuable diamond ring and pin, some rare and curiously shaped specimens of gold, and whatever papers of value he may have had about his person that day.

When I knew Mr. Krafft, he was quite happy in this home of his. On returning from his afternoon ride to the Mission or the Presidio, which he regularly took when the day's business was over, he was wont to amuse himself with pistol practice at his back door; or he would take up the foils with some friend whose training had been German and military. Feats of strength and skill had always a peculiar charm for Mr. Krafft. I have heard him boast that he could stop a run-away horse with the pressure of his knees, and I have seen him disarm an antagonist of acknowledged expertness, with a nice movement of the wrist, most difficult to acquire.

One night, as he was returning late from the Plaza, where he had been recreating himself with monte, a party of Hounds, having attacked some Chilian tents on Dupont street, were driving out

the inmates, and setting fire to their canvas shelter. Some five or six of them had a hapless Chilena girl among them, and hustling her brutally about, were quarreling noisily for possession of her much coveted person. Mr. Krafft, with his gold-headed cane, felled four of them, to their extreme astonishment; and though, when the rest recovered from the shock, they fired their revolvers at him in the dark, he got off safely with the girl and led her tenderly to his own home. There he soothed her terror and consoled her grief, in his characteristic way, before returning to seek for her friends: "We must not cry," said he "we must not distract our little brains. So our bones or our hearts are not broken, we will not fash ourselves about the money, and the clothes, and the rest of the folks


'Io son ricco,

Tu sei bella.'"

And afterward, when the affair got to be talked of to his honor, the skill and dispatch with which the rescue had been effected were all that Mr. Krafft asked to be applauded for.

For a time I had much pleasure in the society of my eccentric friend. The striking quaintness of his character enhanced the charm of his conversation, which was full of unusual experiences, versatility of accomplishment, originality of opinion, delicacy of taste, refinement of sensibility, and a goodnatured, even comical, philosophy, which had in it a kind of universal quien sabe for all subjects and people. Not to fash ourselves, was the advice which Mr. Krafft was forever benevolently bestowing upon us, because he sincerely believed he had himself derived great advantage from steadily following it. So long as matters went towardly with him, his companionship was a privilege that I enjoyed with even a degree of jealousy; and on Sunday afternoons, as we walked to the old Switzer's house at Washerwoman's Bay, or the extemporaneous grave-yard at the foot of Telegraph Hill, and he amused, flattered, delighted, instructed, impressed, sadly moved me, in quick succession or all at once, I simply wondered how such a man came to be speculating in Pacific street lots, and cudgeling Hounds by way of a sandwich.

But a sudden, dreadful, and complete change came, no one knew whence,

over the for-a-time quiet, if not eminently beneficent life of Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft. He seemed to have

sustained a shame or a hurt from an unknown hand, and to be feeling blindly, desperately about for revengeand as a rage-drunk man will, hurting himself more and more at every

turn.

He plunged stupidly into speculations, with little heed to the depth or current of them. With cards and dice, roulette wheels and rondo balls, he fooled himself to the top of his bent. He untuned the strings of his heart, so that the most skillful touches of his kindest friends could produce nothing but discord. He wounded all who loved him, and when they turned away their faces in sorrow for his shameful pass, sang, maudlin, his favorite song, the beautiful duet in Lucia, the invariable music of his cups

"Verranno la sull' aure,
I miei sospiri ardenti."

He entertained traitors and the cunning foes of his prosperity to the very bottom of his purse; they laid him "down among the dead men" nightly. Indeed, he bleared his eyes and bemuddled his brains with everlasting drams, till the devil of delirium tremens got among his poor wits.

One night, during the progress of one of his most desperate debauches, fearing some harm might befall him, from himself or others-for beside his rascally boon-companions, there were deceived creditors, who were dangerously incensed against him-I slept on the floor at the foot of his bed. Awakened, after midnight, by his piteous moaning, I arose, and was feeling about in the dark for a match, when he suddenly became quiet; but presently the profound stillness and darkness were disturbed by the crack of cap and a slight flash. He had stealthily got down one of his loaded pistols, and had tried to fire at me; fortunately only the cap snapped-the weapon was foul and hung fire. "My dear sir," said I, very quietly, knowing my man "don't shoot me; that would be supremely stupid."

"Ah, my dear, good friend-is it you? I congratulate you. By God, do you know, I had you covered, dead. That only shows that one should not fash himself nervously about thieves,

where no thieves are. But I must clean my pistols."

About this time his door was besieged from morning till night by fierce duns. He kept the bolts fast, and while they cursed without, lay in bed, smoking cigars, tossing off goblets of champagne, laughing, coughing, raving, singing

"Io son ricco,

Tu sei bella,'

Tra, la, la, la, h'm-dle, d'm. "What impatient people!

"Quale amore,
Un Senatore
Me d'amore
Supplicar!

Ma Zanetto

E un giovinetto

Che mi piace, vo sposar." "

One evening, about dusk, when the rest had departed, tired with their fruitless coaxing and cursing, a young man in whose generous confidence Mr. Krafft had formerly held the highest place, who had indorsed for him recklessly, whom, indeed, Krafft loved, but whom he had ruined-if a man could be ruined in California in Forty-nine-came, and in set phrases of insult, most deliberately, skillfully cruel, accused, condemned, punished him. They had been old and very intimate friends, which gave the creditor an almost dreadful advantage; he knew the "raws" of his man, and he tore them, till Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft could have shrieked. But he gallantly preserved his habitual composure, and only said

"If you will not stop saying such dangerous things, I have pistols at hand, and we must go behind the house together."

No, sir," the other answered; "I won't fight you; you must learn to be honest before you can afford to be brave. There is but one just debt, Mr. Krafft, that you will ever pay, and that's the debt of nature. Make society and your disgusted friends the only reparation in your power, by blowing your brains out with those very pistols you flourish so saucily."

"Well, I'll think about it," said Mr. Krafft.

The young man was going. But suddenly, by a most strange impulse, he turned, and walking straight to Mr. Krafft, he said "forgive me, sir."

"We will forgive each other," said Mr. Krafft-"Good-night; I will pay you in the morning."

Next morning, at nine o'clock, Mr. Karl Joseph Krafft blew out his brains -literally, all of his brains.

But a little while after his angry young creditor had taken his singular leave, Mr. Krafft sent for the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, which was then but a tent on a neighboring lot. On the arrival of the clergyman, he informed him that, having been much in ill health of late, he thought it possible his death might be sudden, and he wished, on the score of prudence, to take steps, at once, to secure some property to his family, then living in Valparaiso. He wished the clergyman to be the executor of his will, and if he would call on him the next morning at eight o'clock, he would have all the papers prepared, and would commit them to his charge.

They think I have forgotten my angel and my darlings," said he, "but let them not fash themselves; they shall see"-smiling, and pointing most significantly to the floor as he spoke; as it were, emphasizing his words with his long, thin finger-" they shall see, sir-they shall see."

Mr. Krafft, after that, entertained some friends at his room, most agreeably.

Next morning, an accident called off the reverend gentleman, and he missed the appointed hour. His services were never required.

In the spare room," Mr. Krafft had two guests, who were seated at breakfast, when they heard the report of a pistol in their host's apartment. They flew to his door; it was locked. Running into the street, they looked through the only window they could find open. The room was full of smoke. They waited and strained their eyes. Present ly they said, they could see the bed and Mr. Krafft; he was sitting up in bed, his eyes open, his mouth open; "he was rolling his head from side to sidebut there was no top to it!"

This was the report they made to me a few minutes later. For I lived hard by, and as an intimate friend of the suicide, they had recourse at once to me. Although I lost no time, I found a crowd had already gathered about the spot when I reached Mr. Krafft's door. We VOL. IX.-18

forced the lock, and I entered alone. My God! He was sitting up in bedhis mouth wide open, and quite black within-one eye fast closed, the other staring. He had taken a deliberate position in the middle of the bed, and propped himself against the brass crossbars which formed the head board. His rifle lay on his body, the stock resting on the back of a chair, the muzzle on his breast. He had taken down one of the rods which supported his curtains to touch the trigger with; that now lay beside the rifle. He had forgotten that the weapon was not charged; he had fired it at a mark but a day or two before, to display its extraordinary force to some visitor.

He had tried his pistols also; they lay by his side with freshly snapped caps on the nipples. They also were empty. He had discharged them at the same time with the rifle.

The pistol which lay always on the barrel remained. With that he had succeeded. The charge had not been changed for many months, and the explosion had, consequently, been terrific. He had fired with the muzzle at his temple. The whole of the top of his skull was shot away, completely and cleanly, as medical students, in dissection, saw it away to get out the brains. Fragments of the skull, with hair attached, were hanging from the walls on every side, and from the ceiling in the farthest corner. The wall behind the head was blackened, and bespattered with brains and blood; the brains lay, every ounce of them, in a pool of warm blood, on the floor.

No will was found, no coin, no gold dust. Remembering the significance of the gesture described by the clergyman, we took up the marble floornothing. His friends all robbed the dead man ; every buzzard of them carried off a fragment. One of his pensioners in the spare room accepted costly Spanish mantle for his share; the other deigned to be content with the brilliant breast-pin. Two days after his funeral, even the portraits disappeared from the walls.

No soul alive knows who the thieves were, or where is the unmarked grave of Karl Joseph Krafft. Mr. Krafft, himself, will, no doubt, clear up all for us, some day. According to the spiritualistics, he has been heard from already.

OLMSTED'S TEXAS JOURNEY.*

IT would be hard to name a more val

uable, timely, interesting, and able work, than this book of Mr. Olmsted's. His plan in his first volume, A Journey in the Sea-board Slave States, is pursued in this; that plan, as we understand, being, to present, from personal observation and study, a panorama of society, sentiment, industry, and character, in Our Slave States, which will be the general title of the whole work. The entire subject divides itself into the sea-board, cotton-growing, border, and hill-country, regions of the slave states, and will be completed in two more volumes. We shall then have the subject, which is, of all our public questions, the most engrossing and imperious, fully set forth in its industrial and, incidentally, in its other aspects. For our readers will remember, in The Sea-board Slave States, that Mr. Olmsted is not a horror-monger, nor, in any usual sense, a fanatic. No traveler, of equal perceptive ability and intellectual power, ever made so comprehensive a statement of the aspect and character of the slave country, and so entirely free from bitterness and vituperation. The books might be safely transmitted by mail through the most inflammable Carolina post-office, and read, without oaths, by the most irascible Alabama planter. And yet, while their calm statement of the results of the most extensive comparison and observation must interest the statesman and the partisan, their delightful variety, and freshness, and humor, as records of personal travel and experience, would be sure to fascinate the reader who is looking for entertainment, but who does not object to knowing something, if he can only know it easily.

The personality of every traveler becomes important, the moment he begins to tell his travels, and it is most fortunate for the public that there is an invincible humorous elasticity in this accurate observer and thinker, and that he always tastes the sugar while he counts the cost. In other countries, in Europe and the East, there are always the romantic charms of historical

association and art, to compensate the wanderer. He may be devoured by vermin, but he sees the Coliseum. He may be drowned in lager bier, but he sees the Alps. He may be domiciled in dirt, but he hears the great singers and goes to the Louvre. He may be in peril from snakes, but, like Waterton, he rides an alligator. With such resources -or even the possibility of them-a man may not only preserve his principles, but his temper. But when there is absolutely nothing, when you not only have to eat, and drink, and sleep dirt, but are compelled to bathe in mud, then it is heroic to keep your principles, but to guard your temper is divine. Yet our author does it, and does it cheerfully, and does it as if he were doing nothing. In truth, with every charm of climate, and a soil so kind that Mr. Olmsted says that, if he were to emigrate, he would certainly choose to go to Texas, it is clear that Texas is a wholly undeveloped Paradise, as near the possible Texas as the ape, according to some theories, is near the

man.

The great importance of the book is simply this: that it gives every man an accurate idea of the actual condition of that vast area upon our southwestern frontier, upon which so many mighty interests depend, a territory greater than the aggregate areas of Kentucky, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, and all New England, and which is now scarcely occupied, not at all settled, and the surface of which is scratched a little for cultivation. Of course, the supreme question is: by what system of labor shall the opulence of this immense country be developed and its prosperity secured? Mr. Olmsted furnishes every possible facility for every American citizen to determine for himself, and certainly every American, whether he lives at the North or the South, is interested that that question be answered in accordance with the dictates of reason, religion, and a good political economy, which last is never separated from the other two.

A Journey through Texas; or, A Saddle Trip on the Southwestern Frontier: with a Statistical Appendix. By FREDERICK LAW OLMSTED. New York: Dix, Edwards & Co., 1857.

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