Sandman

“ The throbbing of the crickets grows louder. It is taken up by the wood and the voice of a man is heard singing afar off. The boy yawns and slowly leaves the window. The stage is empty. The song draws nearer and the somber figure of a man enters, carrying a heavy sack, from the corners of which pour tiny grains of sandas he slowly passes on his way, singing.
Music: Sandman's Song. As he passes the cottage the light in the win dow fades out. The moonlight grows brighter and the cottage is now clearly outlined. The Sandman and his dreamy song are lost in the distance. ”

“ Here's the Japanese Sandman sneaking on with the dew
Just an old second-hand man, he'll buy your old day from you
He will take every sorrow of the day that is through
And he'll bring you tomorrow, just to start a life anew
Then you'll be a bit older in the dawn when you wake
And you'll be a bit bolder in the new day you make
There's the Japanese Sandman, trading silver for gold
Just an old second-hand man trading new days for old ”

“ THE SANDMAN: His Songs and Rhymes.
"Here is a fine collection of poems for mothers and friends to use at the twilight hour. They are not of the soporific kind especially. They are wholesome reading when most wide-awake and of such a soothing and delicious flavor that they are welcome when the lights are low."—Christian Intelligencer.
By Helen I. Castella
THE SANDMAN: His Fairy Stories.
This time the Sandman comes in person, and takes little Joyce, who believes in him, to the wonderful land of Nod. ”

“ Grill," pleaded the Sandman. "Listen, before anyone else comes and sees me this way and makes it worse!"
Roby kicked violently. The Sandman danced back, gasping:
"Listen. I'm not human, you are!" he shouted. "Thought has moulded the flesh of all you here on this world! You're all dictated to by labels. But I—I am a pure referent!"
"Liar!" More kicking from Roby.
The Sandman gibbered with frustration. "The truth, child! Centuries of thought have moulded your atoms to your present form ”

“ Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50
Mr. Hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval that this second book of "Sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager children. Life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner.
The Sandman: His Ship Stories. By William J. Hopkins, author of "The Sandman: His Farm Stories," etc.
Large 12mo, decorative cover, fully illustrated $1.50
"Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who put the little ones to bed, and rack their brains for stories, will find this book a treasure."—Cleveland Leader. ”

“ There was a strange coughing and shuffling and mumbling outside. My heart beat with expectation and fear. A quick step now close, close beside the door, a noisy rattle of the handle, and the door flies open with a bang. Recovering my courage with an effort, I take a cautious peep out. In the middle of the room in front of my father stands the Sand-man, the bright light of the lamp falling full upon his face. The Sand-man, the terrible Sand-man, is the old advocate Coppelius who often comes to dine with us. ”

“ Sand, too weak to remain sitting up, was half lying upon the shoulder of Mr. G——-, his companion; his face was gentle, calm and full of pain; his brow free and open, his features, interesting though without regular beauty, seemed to have aged by several years during the fourteen months of suffering that had just elapsed. The chaise at last reached the place of execution, which was surrounded by a battalion of infantry; Sand lowered his eyes from heaven to earth and saw the scaffold. At this sight he smiled gently, and as he left the carriage he said, “Well, God has given me strength so far.” ”

“ And it was the woman who expressed surprise when Sandy advised her, with many apologies, to "go a leetle mite slow on that water." The half-empty canteen came away from her lips as she said, "Is that all we have?"
"Oh, we got plenty," came the cheerful reply, "if we only go slow. Jest a leetle slow."
To show his freedom from worry Sandy chirped up a tune, but somehow it was a failure, as his lips were too parched for artistic success.
Two days more! Two days more! And she and the pony must have it all, though men died thirst-stricken in a day in this terrible heat. ”

“ Then Sandy became communicative, and frankly told his involuntary host part—but part only—of his story, and wound up by saying—
“You must not sleep here to-night. There is a big mob of myalls camped in the river-bed three miles away from here. If they see you, they'll kill you for certain between now and to-morrow night, when you are going through some of the gorges. You must saddle up again, and I'll take you along another track and leave you safe.”
Tired as the horses were, Potter took Sandy's advice, and the two started at sunset, the blackfellow leading. ”

“ I will accept the offer of this Alexander Morton. I will tell him the story of this helpless man, this poor, poor, reckless Sandy. With the story of his own son before his eyes, he cannot but interest himself in his fate. He is rich: he will aid me in my search for Sandy's father, for Sandy's secret. At the worst, I can only follow the advice of this wretched man,—an advice so generous, so kind, so self-sacrificing. Ah ”

“ The reader will find in all that has now been said the true explanation of George Sand. Abounding with life, but incapable of long stretches of ardent love, she became a woman who sought conquests everywhere without giving in return more than her temperament made it possible for her to do. She loved Sandeau as much as she ever loved any man; and yet she left him with a sense that she had never become wholly his. Perhaps this is the reason why their romance came to an end abruptly, and not altogether fittingly. ”

“ This letter throws a clear light upon the nature of George Sand's temperament. It will be found all through her career, not only that she sought to inspire passion, but that she strove to gratify it after fashions of her own. One little passage from a description of her written by the younger Dumas will perhaps make this phase of her character more intelligible, without going further than is strictly necessary:
Mme. Sand has little hands without any bones, soft and plump. ”

“ Sandford was confidentially informed that I was only waiting in London to receive between four and five thousand pounds—part of Uncle Passgrove’s legacy—and then intended to immediately hasten back to canny Yorkshire. To have seen the villain’s eyes as I incidentally, as it were, announced my errand and intention! They fairly flashed with infernal glee! Ah, Sandford, Sandford! you were, with all your cunning, but a sand-blind idiot to believe the man you had wronged and ruined could so easily forget the debt he owed you! ”

“ Sandy tell'd the story aboot Danyil, an' hoo he was flung in amon' the lions for no' bein' a vegabon'; an' faigs, mind ye. Sandy got on winderfu'. The laddies paid fine attention, an' ye cudda heard a preen fa'in' when Sandy was speakin'.
"There's no' nae lions' dens nooadays, ye see," say Sandy, to feenish up wi'. "What is't they do wi' creeminals or notorious fowk noo?"
"Pet them on for Toon Cooncillers," said ane o' the biggest o' Dauvid's laddies; an' Bandy Wobster lut oot a great ballach o' a lauch, an' roared at the pitch o' his voice—"Confoond it! Feech! ”

“ We advised a visit to Sandy. Sandy was the hot bath merchant. He lurked in a dark barn at the end of the village, and could be found there at anytime of any day, brooding over the black cauldrons in which the baths were brewed, his Tam-o'-shanter drooped over one eye, steam condensing on his blue nose. Theoretically the hot baths were free, but in practice a franc pressed into Sandy's forepaw was found to have a strong calorific effect on the water.
So down the village on all fours, groaning like a Dutch brig in a cross-sea, went our Albert Edward. ”

“ A' the chaps were clappin' Sandy on the shuder; an' ane o' them says—"Ay, man; it's no mony fowk that tak's their lum hat an' their umberell to their bed wi' them."
But the auld skipper was the king amon' them a'. Hoo he raggit Sandy aboot bein' a somnambulashinist or something.
"When you want to steal a denner bell," he said to Sandy, "carry't by the tongue, man. It's safer that wey. Bells an' weemin are awfu' beggars when their tongues get lowse."
The captain was rale taen wi' Sandy, an', mind you, he hired a cab an' drave Sandy an' me a' roond the toon. ”

“ But while they were wondering about his absence, Sandy reappeared. What a change! Arrayed in all the bravery of a Scottish chieftain, old Sandy stood before them, a picture indeed.
Over a kilt of tartan he wore the red coat and plaid, and on his head, crowning his white locks, sat a genuine Scotch “bonnet,” with an eagle feather black as night. In his hands he carried the bagpipes, and while the children stared, open-mouthed, Sandy commenced to play. ”

“ One day Sandy went to New Harbor City to buy leather for cobbling, and there his devil, for no apparent reason at all, leaped upon him and flung him. For a week he saw or knew nothing but a whirling vision of [Pg 82] the world seen through rum-crazy eyes; then at last he awoke to find himself hatless, coatless, filthy, unshaved, blear-eyed, palsied. Not a cent of money was left, and so that day and night, in spite of the deadly nausea that beset him and the trembling weakness that hung like a leaden weight upon every limb, he walked all the thirty-eight miles home again to East Haven. ”

“ With a half-choked cry of "Sandy!" upon her lips Peaches moved toward him, only to stop short, her face going completely blank. The man was a servant, a valet presumably, carrying a folded suit of clothing carefully over one arm and wearing soft felt shoes, which had been the secret of his noiseless approach. His hair was thickly gray and his face was lined and scarred. He looked perhaps ten years older than Sandro—and yet the likeness was there—unmistakable, though in the full light not by any means so perfect. ”

“ Sandham discovered afterwards that this was the body of the ill-fated mine-manager. After an interval of a few seconds another body was fired out of the tunnel, and as it swept down the flume towards him Mr. Sandham instinctively reached out his arm to catch it. Next instant his hand was grasped with a convulsive grip, the man's body swung out to the rush of the water, and Mr. Sandham knew that on the strength of his arm depended a human life. ”

“ And then––splash! and a second later,––splash! as two dots leave the hurtling wedge and, with folded wings, pitch at an angle, following their own momentum, against the dull brown surface of the rippling water.
Through the intervening branches and dead sunflower stalks, I look at Sandford––to find that Sandford is looking at me.
“Good work, old man!” I say, and notice that my voice is a little higher than normal.
“Good work, yourself,”––generously. “I missed clean, both barrels. Do better next time, though, perhaps.... Down! Mark north! Take the leader, you.” ”

“ This Sandy never blustered or asserted himself at all. He was born above most men of his class, and he stood at their head boldly without knowing it. Had he been born an Indian he would have been a chief, would have led in battle, and dictated in council, without question or without opposition from any one. Had he been born in the old time of kings he would have put out his hand, taken a crown, and worn it as a man wears the most fitting garment, by instinct. ”

“ Every minute they were on the point of vaulting into the thicket or trying conclusions with a sturdy oak. They rocked and swayed at times as if their carrier was a boat in a choppy sea. Hera was occupied in holding fast, but Sandro seemed not to know that the experience was at all unusual. Forgetting himself and all the world except the road and the dangers that the lamps revealed, he became a part of the dodging, spinning thing, meeting emergencies with a passive certainty that was more automatic than human. ”

“ Exit HOP SING, pushed off by CONCHO.
Concho. The pagan dolt! But he is important. Ah, if he were wiser, I should not rid myself of him so quickly! And now for the schoolmistress,—the sweetheart of Sandy. If these men have not lied, he is in love with her; and, if he is, he has told her his secret before now; and she will be swift to urge him to his rights. If he has not told her—umph! (laughing) it will not be a DAY—an HOUR—before she will find out if her lover is Alexander Morton, the rich man's son, or "Sandy," the unknown vagabond. Eh, friend Sandy! ”

“ Miss Mary. Certainly: compose yourself,—my cousin's son, Alexander Morton. Listen, Sandy, you promised ME, you know, you said for MY sake you would not touch a drop. (Enter cautiously toward schoolhouse the DUCHESS, stops on observing SANDY, and hides behind rock.)
Sandy (still bewildered and incoherent) . I reckon. Harkin, miss, is that thar thing (pointing towards rock where DUCHESS is concealed) —is that a tree, or—or—a woman? Is it sorter movin' this way?
Miss Mary (laying her hand on SANDY'S) . Recover your senses, for Heaven's sake, Sandy,—for MY sake! It is only a tree. ”

“ At first he said nothing, but in the midst of the voyage, when the long roll of the sea or the roar of the wind brought back memories of his experiences with the heroic lad Robert, he told to some of his mates the story of the pain which had come to him during those months in the old home in Scotland.
[105] Sandy lived like a real man for the rest of his life. He was strong and true and clean. ”