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Moller’s Essentials of
Pediatric Cardiology
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Moller’s Essentials
of Pediatric
Cardiology
FOURTH EDITION

Walter H. Johnson, Jr., MD

Professor of Pediatrics
Department of Pediatrics
Division of Pediatric Cardiology
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Birmingham, AL, USA

Camden L. Hebson, MD
Associate Professor of Pediatrics
Department of Pediatrics
Division of Pediatric Cardiology
University of Alabama at Birmingham
Birmingham, AL, USA
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This edition first published 2023
© 2023 John Wiley & Sons Ltd
Edition History
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Contents

Preface, vii
1. Tools to diagnose cardiac conditions in children, 1
2. Environmental and genetic conditions associated with heart disease
in children, 70
3. Classification and physiology of congenital heart disease in children, 83
4. Anomalies with a left-to-right shunt in children, 93
5. Conditions obstructing blood flow in children, 146
6. Congenital heart disease with a right-to-left shunt in children, 182
7. Unusual forms of congenital heart disease in children, 230
8. Unique cardiac conditions in newborn infants, 242
9. The cardiac conditions acquired during childhood, 256
10. Abnormalities of heart rate and conduction in children, 288
11. Congestive heart failure in infants and children, 311
12. A healthy lifestyle and preventing heart disease in children, 325
Additional reading, 370
Index, 371

v
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Preface

Since the first printing of this text 50 years ago, pediatric cardiac catheterization,
echocardiography, computed tomography, and magnetic resonance imaging have
developed and less emphasis has been placed on the more traditional methods of
evaluating a cardiac patient. Most practitioners, however, do not have access to
these refined diagnostic techniques or the training to apply them. To evaluate a
patient with a finding that could suggest a cardiac issue, a practitioner therefore
relies upon either the combination of physical examination, electrocardiogram,
and chest X-­ray, or referral to a cardiac diagnostic center.
This book formulates guidelines by which a practitioner, medical student, or
house officer can approach the diagnostic problem presented by an infant or child
with a cardiac finding. Through proper assessment and integration of the history,
physical examination, electrocardiogram, and chest X-­ray, the type of problem can
be diagnosed correctly in many patients, and the severity and hemodynamics cor-
rectly estimated.
Even though a patient may ultimately require referral to a cardiac center, the
practitioner will appreciate and understand better the specific type of specialized
diagnostic studies performed, and the approach, timing, and results of operation
or management. This book helps select patients for referral and offers guidelines
for timing of referrals.
The book has 12 chapters:
Chapter 1 (Tools to diagnose cardiac conditions in children) includes sections on
history, physical examination, electrocardiography, and chest radiography, and dis-
cusses functional murmurs. A brief overview of special procedures, such as echo-
cardiography and cardiac catheterization, is included.
Chapter 2 (Environmental and genetic conditions associated with heart disease
in children) presents syndromes, genetic disorders, and maternal conditions com-
monly associated with congenital heart disease.
Chapters 3–7 are “Classification and physiology of congenital heart disease in
children,” “Anomalies with a left-­to-­right shunt in children” (acyanotic and with
increased pulmonary blood flow), “Conditions obstructing blood flow in children”
(acyanotic and with normal blood flow), “Congenital heart disease with a right-­
to-­left shunt in children” (cyanosis with increased or decreased pulmonary blood
flow), and “Unusual forms of congenital heart disease in children.” This set of
chapters discusses specific congenital cardiac malformations. The hemodynamics

vii
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viii Preface

of the malformations are presented as a basis for understanding the physical find-
ings, electrocardiogram, and chest radiographs. Emphasis is placed on features
that permit differential diagnosis.
Chapter 8 (Unique cardiac conditions in newborn infants) describes the cardiac
malformations leading to symptoms in the neonatal period and in the transition
from the fetal to the adult circulation.
Chapter 9 (The cardiac conditions acquired during childhood) includes cardiac
problems, such as Kawasaki disease, rheumatic fever, and the cardiac manifesta-
tions of systemic diseases which affect children.
Chapter 10 (Abnormalities of heart rate and conduction in children) presents
the practical basics of diagnosis and management of rhythm disorders in
children.
Chapter 11 (Congestive heart failure in infants and children) considers the
pathophysiology and management of cardiac failure in children. Medical and sur-
gical (including circulatory support devices, and transplantation) treatments are
discussed.
Chapter 12 (A healthy lifestyle and preventing heart disease in children) dis-
cusses preventive issues for children with a normal heart (the vast majority),
including smoking, hypertension, lipids, exercise, and other risk factors for cardio-
vascular disease that become manifest in adulthood. Prevention and health main-
tenance issues particular to children with heart disease are also discussed.
This book is not a substitute for the many excellent and encyclopedic texts on
pediatric cardiology, or for the expanding number of electronic resources. The
“Additional reading” sections accompanying some chapters and the additional
reading section at the end of the book include both traditional and online
resources chosen to be of greatest value to readers.
Certain generalizations are made. In pediatric cardiology, as in all fields, excep-
tions occur. Therefore, not all instances of cardiac abnormality will be correctly
diagnosed on the basis of the criteria set forth here.
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Chapter 1
Tools to diagnose cardiac
conditions in children

History2
General principles of the cardiovascular history 2
Chief complaint and/or presenting sign 3
Physical examination 9
Vital signs 9
Cardiac examination 20
Percussion21
Abdominal examination 35
Laboratory examination 35
Electrocardiography35
Chest X-­ray 46
Pulse oximetry 49
Blood counts 50
Echocardiography51
Magnetic resonance imaging and angiography 58
Computed tomography 58
Cardiac catheterization 58
Exercise testing 65
Additional reading 69

Much of the information presented in this chapter relates best to older infants and
children. Diagnosis in newborn infants is more difficult, because the patient may
be very ill and in need of an urgent diagnosis for prompt treatment. In this age
group, echocardiography is often the initial diagnostic method. The unique chal-
lenges in newborns are discussed in Chapter 8.
The history and physical examination are the keystones for diagnosis of cardiac
problems. A variety of other diagnostic techniques can be employed beyond the
history and physical examination. With each technique, different aspects of the
cardiovascular system are viewed, and by combining the data derived, an accurate
assessment of the patient’s condition can be obtained.

Moller’s Essentials of Pediatric Cardiology, Fourth Edition.

Walter H. Johnson, Jr. and Camden L. Hebson.
© 2023 John Wiley & Sons Ltd. Published 2023 by John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

1
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2 Moller’s Essentials of Pediatric Cardiology

HISTORY
General principles of the cardiovascular history
The suspicion of a cardiovascular abnormality may be raised initially by specific
symptoms, but more commonly the presenting feature is the discovery of a
cardiac murmur. Many children with a cardiac abnormality are asymptomatic
because the malformation does not result in major hemodynamic alterations.
Even with a significant cardiac problem, the child may be asymptomatic
because the myocardium is capable of responding normally to the stresses
placed upon it by the altered hemodynamics. A comparable lesion in an adult
might produce symptoms because of coexistent coronary arterial disease or
myocardial fibrosis.
In obtaining the history of a child suspected of cardiac disease, one seeks three
types of data: those suggesting a diagnosis, assessment of severity, and the etiol-
ogy of the condition.

Diagnostic clues
Diagnostic clues and other more general factors include the following.

Gender. Certain cardiac malformations have a definite gender predominance.

Atrial septal defect (ASD) and patent ductus arteriosus (PDA) are two to three
times more likely in female than in male children. Coarctation of the aorta, aortic
stenosis, and transposition of the great arteries occur more commonly in male
children.

Age. The age at which a cardiac murmur or a symptom develops may give a diag-
nostic clue. The murmurs of congenital aortic stenosis and pulmonary stenosis are
often heard on the first examination after birth. Ventricular septal defect (VSD) is
usually first recognized because of symptoms and murmur at two weeks of age.
The murmur of an ASD may not be discovered until the preschool examination.
A functional (innocent) murmur is found in at least half of school-­age children.

Severity of the cardiac condition

Information that suggests the condition’s severity (e.g. dyspnea or fatigue) should
be sought.

Etiology
The examiner should seek information that suggests an etiology of cardiac condi-
tion (e.g. maternal lupus).
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1 Tools to diagnose cardiac conditions in children 3

Chief complaint and/or presenting sign

Certain presenting complaints and signs are more common in particular cardiac
disorders and the “index of suspicion” aids the medical professional in organizing
the data to make a differential diagnosis. For many of the signs and symptoms
discussed later, noncardiac causes are often more likely than cardiac causes (e.g.
acute dyspnea in a previously healthy four-­month-­old infant with no murmur is
more likely a result of bronchiolitis than of congestive heart failure). Therefore, a
complete history must be integrated with the physical examination and other
diagnostic studies to arrive at the correct cardiac diagnosis.
The most common symptoms or signs found in an outpatient setting are mur-
mur, chest pain, palpitations, and near-­syncope (fainting).

Murmur
Murmur is the most common presenting finding because virtually all children and
adults with a normal heart have an innocent (normal) murmur sometime during
their lifetime. Certain features are associated with an innocent murmur; the child
is asymptomatic and murmurs appearing after infancy tend to be innocent. The
murmur of ASD is one important exception.

Chest pain
Chest pain is a common and benign symptom in older children and adolescents,
estimated to occur at some time in 70% of school-­aged children. About 1 in 200
visits to a pediatric emergency room is for chest pain.
Chest pain rarely occurs with cardiovascular disease during childhood. Myocardial
ischemic syndromes (e.g. Kawasaki disease with coronary artery aneurysms; hyper-
trophic cardiomyopathy) may lead to true angina. Patients with connective tissue
disorders (e.g. Marfan syndrome) may have chest (or back) pain from aortic dissec-
tion. Although pericarditis may cause chest pain, it is almost always associated with
fever and other signs of inflammation. Occasionally, chest pain accompanies
supraventricular tachycardia. Most children with congenital cardiac malformations,
including those who are fully recovered from surgery, do not have chest pain, and
most children and adolescents who present with chest pain as their chief complaint
do not have a cardiac malformation or disease.
Most chest pain is benign. It is usually transient, appearing abruptly, lasting
from 30 seconds to five minutes, and localized to the parasternal area. It is distin-
guished from angina by the absence of diaphoresis, nausea, emesis, and paresthe-
sias in an ulnar distribution. Benign chest pain is typically well localized, sharp in
character (not “crushing” like angina), short in duration (seconds to minutes),
often aggravated by certain positions or movements, and occasionally can be
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4 Moller’s Essentials of Pediatric Cardiology

induced by palpation over the area. Benign chest pain may also occur as a result
of chest wall tenderness. These characteristics are strong evidence against cardiac
cause for the pain. Some noncardiac conditions (e.g. asthma) may be associated
with childhood chest pain. Benign pain is often described as “functional” because
an organic cause cannot be found.

Palpitations
Palpitations, the sensation of irregular heartbeats, “skipped beats,” or, more com-
monly, rapid beats, are also common in the school-­aged child and adolescent.
They frequently occur in patients with other symptoms, such as chest pain, but
often not simultaneously with the other symptoms. Palpitations are often found
to be associated with normal sinus rhythm when an electrocardiogram is moni-
tored during the symptom. Palpitations are not usually present in patients with
known premature beats. Palpitations of sudden onset (approximately the time
span of a single beat) and sudden termination suggest tachyarrhythmia.

Syncope and orthostatic intolerance

Syncope is a sudden, brief loss of consciousness associated with loss of postural
tone, with a spontaneous recovery. It is a common presenting symptom to
the cardiology clinic, present in up to 15% of children, especially during the
adolescent years. Life-­threatening etiologies are rare but possible, and, when
present, are often cardiac in nature. Worrisome historical features, such as lack
of any prodrome, occurrence during exercise, or antecedent strong palpitations
necessitate a more extensive work-­up. Cardiac causes for syncope include elec-
trical (i.e. long QT syndrome [LQTS], Brugada) and structural (hypertrophic car-
diomyopathy, coronary anomalies, aortic stenosis, pulmonary hypertension)
conditions. Further clues as to these diagnoses may come from the family his-
tory, which should be explored for sudden death, syncope, seizures, sudden
infant death syndrome (SIDS), swimming deaths, and single-­occupant motor
vehicle fatalities.
Despite the concern a syncopal episode often generates, benign etiologies are
often the culprit, with vasovagal syncope being the most common pediatric
diagnosis (>80% of pediatric syncope). Vasovagal syncope occurs when the
autonomic nervous system overreacts to a trigger, such as dehydration, pain, or
emotional upset, with the result being bradycardia and/or vasodilation and thus
significant cerebral hypoperfusion, leading to loss of consciousness and tone.
With a fall to the ground, gravity no longer hinders restoration of cerebral perfu-
sion and the patient quickly reawakens. Further history obtained from these
patients typically includes inadequate fluid and salt intake, preceding postural
change or prolonged upright body position, and, importantly, prodromal
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1 Tools to diagnose cardiac conditions in children 5

­ izziness prior to syncope. Frequent postural dizziness without syncope often

d
also is ­present. When persistent and sufficiently distressing to the patient, this is
referred to as orthostatic intolerance. Orthostatic intolerance is quite common
in teenagers due to the higher metabolic needs during adolescence, lack of
adequate fluid and salt intake by the teenagers to meet these needs, and pro-
pensity for anxiety as a result of the symptoms generated. In addition to dizzi-
ness, patients with orthostatic intolerance complain of headaches, palpitations,
fatigue, and difficulty concentrating. Patient and family education and coun-
seling are vital to improve these symptoms, as a sufficient and consistent plan,
to improve fluid and salt intake and deal with emotional upset, is needed.
Vitamin D and iron deficiency are common in those with persistent symptoms
and can be supplemented when present. Most patients improve considerably
over time.

Dyspnea
Dyspnea (labored breathing) is different from tachypnea (rapid breathing). It is a
symptom present in patients with pulmonary congestion from either left-­sided
cardiac failure or other conditions that raise pulmonary venous pressure or from
marked hypoxia. Dyspnea is manifested in neonates and infants by rapid, grunt-
ing respirations associated with retractions. Older children complain of shortness
of breath. The most common causes in children are asthma and bronchitis,
whereas in the first year of life it is often associated with pulmonary infections or
atelectasis.

Fatigue
Fatigue on exercise must be distinguished from dyspnea as it has a different physi-
ologic basis. In neonates and infants, fatigue on exercise is indicated by difficulty
while feeding. The act of sucking while feeding requires energy and is “exercise.”
It is manifest by infants by stopping frequently during nursing to rest, and the
feeding may take an hour or more.

Exercise intolerance of cardiac origin indicates an inability of the heart to

meet the increased metabolic demands for oxygen delivery to the tissues
during this state. This can occur in three situations:

• Cyanotic congenital heart disease (arterial oxygen desaturation).

• Congestive cardiac failure (inadequate myocardial function).
• Severe outflow obstructive conditions or those causing cardiac filling
impairment (inadequate cardiac output).
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6 Moller’s Essentials of Pediatric Cardiology

Fatigue on exercise or exercise intolerance is a difficult symptom to interpret

because other factors, such as motivation or amount of training, influence the
amount of exercise that an individual can perform. To assess exercise intolerance,
compare the child’s response to physical activity with that of peers and siblings or
with their previous level of activity.
The remaining symptoms are found more commonly in neonates and infants.

Growth retardation
Growth retardation is common in many children who present with other cardiac
symptoms within the first year of life.

Infants with cardiac failure or cyanosis. These infants show retarded growth,
which is more marked if both are present. Usually, the rate of weight increase is
more delayed than that of height. The cause of growth retardation is unknown,
but it is probably related to inadequate caloric intake due to dyspnea and fatigue
during feeding and to the excessive energy requirements of congestive cardiac
failure.

Growth. Growth may also be retarded in children with a cardiac anomaly associ-
ated with a syndrome, such as Down syndrome, which in itself causes growth
retardation.

Developmental milestones. Developmental milestones requiring muscle strength

may be delayed, but usually mental development is normal. To assess the signifi-
cance of a child’s growth and development, obtaining growth and development
information about siblings, parents, and grandparents is helpful.

Congestive cardiac failure

Congestive cardiac failure leads to the most frequently described symptom com-
plex in infants and children with cardiac disease. In infants and children, 80% of
instances of heart failure occur during the first year of life; these are usually associ-
ated with a cardiac malformation. The remaining 20% that occur during child-
hood are related more often to acquired conditions. Infants with cardiac failure
are described as slow feeders who tire when feeding, this symptom indicating
dyspnea on exertion (the act of sucking a bottle). The infant perspires excessively,
presumably from increased catecholamine release. Rapid respiration, particularly
when the infant is asleep, is an invaluable clue to cardiac failure in the absence of
pulmonary disease. The ultimate diagnosis of cardiac failure rests on a compilation
of information from the history, the physical examination, and laboratory studies
such as chest X-­ray and echocardiography. Management of congestive cardiac
failure is discussed in Chapter 11.
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1 Tools to diagnose cardiac conditions in children 7

Respiratory infections
Respiratory infections, particularly pneumonia and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV),
are frequently present in infants, and, less commonly, in older children with car-
diac anomalies, especially those associated with increased pulmonary blood flow
(left-­to-­right shunt) or with a greatly enlarged heart. The factors leading to the
increased incidence of pneumonia are largely unknown but may be related to
compression of the major bronchi by either enlarged pulmonary arteries, an
enlarged left atrium, or distended pulmonary lymphatics.
Atelectasis may also occur, particularly in the right upper or middle lobe, in
children with greatly increased pulmonary blood flow, or in the left lower lobe in
children with a cardiomyopathy and massively dilated left atrium and ventricle.

Cyanosis
Cyanosis is a bluish or purplish color of the skin caused by the presence of at least
5 g/dL of reduced hemoglobin in capillary beds. The desaturated blood imparts a
bluish color to the appearance, particularly in areas with a rich capillary network,
such as the lips or oral mucosa. The degree of cyanosis reflects the magnitude of
unsaturated blood. Mild degrees of arterial desaturation may be present without
cyanosis being noted. Usually, if the systemic arterial oxygen saturation is less than
88%, cyanosis can be recognized – this varies with skin pigmentation, adequacy
of lighting, and experience of the observer. A minimal degree of cyanosis may
appear as a mottled complexion, darkened lips, or plethoric fingertips. Clubbing
develops with more significant degrees of cyanosis.
Cyanosis is classified as either peripheral or central.

Peripheral cyanosis. Peripheral cyanosis, also called acrocyanosis, is associated with

normal cardiac and pulmonary function. Related to sluggish blood flow through
capillaries, the continued oxygen extraction eventually leads to increased amounts of
desaturated blood in the capillary beds. It typically involves the extremities and usually
spares the trunk and mucous membranes. Exposure to cold is the most frequent
cause of acrocyanosis, leading to blue hands and feet in neonates and circumoral
cyanosis in older children. Peripheral cyanosis disappears upon warming. The normal
polycythemia of neonates may contribute to the appearance of acrocyanosis.

Central cyanosis. Central cyanosis is related to any abnormality of the lungs,

heart, or hemoglobin that interferes with oxygen transport from the atmosphere
to systemic capillaries. Cyanosis of this type involves the trunk and mucous mem-
branes in addition to the extremities. A variety of pulmonary conditions, such as
atelectasis, pneumothorax, and respiratory distress syndrome, can cause cyanosis.
Areas of the lungs, although not ventilated, are perfused, and blood flowing
through that portion of the lung remains unoxygenated. Thus, desaturated blood
 Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/ by ibrahim ragab - Cochrane Germany , Wiley Online Library on [23/11/2022]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License
8 Moller’s Essentials of Pediatric Cardiology

returns to the left atrium and mixes with fully saturated blood from the ventilated
portions of the lungs. Rarely, dysfunctional hemoglobin disorders, such as exces-
sive levels of methemoglobin, result in cyanosis because hemoglobin is unable to
bind normal quantities of oxygen.

Cardiac conditions cause central cyanosis by either of two mechanisms:

(1) Structural abnormalities. Structural abnormalities that divert portions of

the systemic venous return (desaturated blood) away from the lungs can
be caused by two categories of cardiac anomalies:
(a) Conditions with obstruction to pulmonary blood flow and an
intracardiac septal defect (e.g. tetralogy of Fallot).
(b) Conditions in which the systemic venous and pulmonary venous
returns are mixed in a common chamber before being ejected
(e.g. single ventricle).
(2) Pulmonary edema of cardiac origin. Mitral stenosis and similar conditions
raise pulmonary capillary pressure. When capillary pressure exceeds
oncotic pressure, fluid crosses the capillary wall into the alveoli. The fluid
accumulation interferes with oxygen transport from the alveolus to the
capillary so that hemoglobin leaving the capillaries remains desaturated.

Cyanosis resulting from pulmonary edema may be strikingly improved by

oxygen administration, whereas cyanosis occurring with structural cardiovas-
cular anomalies may show little change with this maneuver.

Squatting
Squatting is a relatively specific symptom, occurring almost exclusively in patients
with tetralogy of Fallot. It has virtually disappeared except in countries where chil-
dren with tetralogy of Fallot do not have access to surgery. When experiencing a
hypercyanotic or “tet” spell, cyanotic infants assume a knee/chest position, whereas
older children squat in order to rest. In this position, the systemic arterial resistance
rises, the right-­to-­left shunt decreases, and the patient becomes less desaturated.

Neurologic symptoms
Neurologic symptoms may occur in children with cardiac disease, particularly those
with cyanosis, but are seldom the presenting symptoms. Brain abscess may accom-
pany endocarditis in severely cyanotic children. Stroke may be seen in cyanotic
patients and the rare acyanotic child with “paradoxical” embolus occurring via an
ASD. Stroke may also occur intra-­or postoperatively, or as a result of circulatory sup-
port devices, and in cardiomyopathy, and rarely in children with arrhythmia.
 Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/ by ibrahim ragab - Cochrane Germany , Wiley Online Library on [23/11/2022]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License
1 Tools to diagnose cardiac conditions in children 9

I­n ­otherwise apparently normal children, seizures stem from arrhythmias, such as the
ventricular tachycardia seen in the LQTS, and may be the sole presenting symptom.

Prenatal history
A prenatal history may also suggest an etiology of the cardiac malformation if it yields
information such as maternal rubella, drug ingestion, other teratogens, or a family
history of cardiac malformation. In these instances, a fetal echocardiogram is often
performed to identify possible anomalies of the heart or other organ systems.

Family history
The examiner should obtain a complete family history and pedigree to disclose the
presence of congenital cardiac malformations, syndromes, or other disorders, such
as hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (associated with sudden death in young persons)
or LQTS (associated with a family history of seizures, syncope, and sudden death).
Other facts obtained on the history that may be diagnostically significant will be
discussed in this book in relation to specific cardiac anomalies.

P H Y S I C A L E X A M I N AT I O N
When examining a child with suspected cardiac abnormalities, the examiner may
focus too quickly on the auscultatory findings, overlooking the general physical
characteristics of the child. In some patients, these findings equal the diagnostic
value of the cardiovascular findings.
Cardiac abnormalities are often an integral part of generalized diseases and
syndromes: recognition of the syndrome can often provide a clinician with either
an answer or a clue to the nature of the associated cardiac disease. These syn-
dromes are discussed in Chapter 2.

Vital signs
Blood pressure
In all patients suspected of cardiac disease, examiners should record accurately the
blood pressure in both arms and one leg. Doing this aids in diagnosis of conditions
causing aortic obstruction, such as coarctation of the aorta, recognition of conditions
with “aortic runoff,” such as PDA, and identification of reduced cardiac output.
Many errors can be made in obtaining the blood pressure recording. The patient
should be in a quiet, resting state, and the extremity in which blood pressure is
being recorded should be at the same level as the heart. A properly sized blood
pressure cuff must be used because an undersized cuff causes false elevation of
the blood pressure reading. A slightly oversized cuff is unlikely to affect readings
greatly. Therefore, blood pressure cuffs of various sizes should be available.
A guide to the appropriate size for each age group is given in Table 1.1.
Another random document with
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 “If we hadn’t had sich bad luck this summer,” said Mr. Ashburn,
“losing that heifer, and the pony, and them three hogs,—all in that
plaguy spring-hole, too,—I thought to have bought that timbered forty
of Dean. It would have squared out my farm jist about right.”
“The pony didn’t die in the spring-hole, father,” said Joe.
“No, he did not, but he got his death there, for all. He never
stopped shiverin’ from the time he fell in. You thought he had the agur,
but I know’d well enough what ailded him; but I wasn’t agoin’ to let
Dean know, because he’d ha’ thought himself so blam’d cunning, after
all he’d said to me about that spring-hole. If the agur could kill, Joe,
we’d all ha’ been dead long ago.”
Joe sighed,—a sigh of assent. They walked on musingly.
“This is going to be a good job of Keene’s,” continued Mr. Ashburn,
turning to a brighter theme, as they crossed the road and struck into
the “timbered land,” on their way to the scene of the day’s operations.
“He has bought three eighties, all lying close together, and he’ll want
as much as one forty cleared right off; and I’ve a good notion to take
the fencin’ of it as well as the choppin’. He’s got plenty of money, and
they say he don’t shave quite so close as some. But I tell you, Joe, if I
do take the job, you must turn to like a catamount, for I ain’t a-going
to make a nigger o’ myself, and let my children do nothing but eat.”
“Well, father,” responded Joe, whose pale face gave token of any
thing but high living, “I’ll do what I can; but you know I never work
two days at choppin’ but what I have the agur like sixty,—and a feller
can’t work when he’s got the agur.”
“Not while the fit’s on, to be sure,” said the father, “but I’ve
worked many an afternoon after my fit was over, when my head felt as
big as a half-bushel, and my hands would ha’ sizzed if I had put ’em in
water. Poor folks has got to work—but Joe! if there isn’t bees, by
golley! I wonder if anybody’s been a baitin’ for ’em? Stop! hush! watch
which way they go!”
And with breathless interest—forgetful of all troubles, past,
present, and future—they paused to observe the capricious wheelings
and flittings of the little cluster, as they tried every flower on which the
sun shone, or returned again and again to such as suited best their
discriminating taste. At length, after a weary while, one suddenly rose
into the air with a loud whizz, and after balancing a moment on a level
with the tree-tops, darted off, like a well-sent arrow, toward the east,
followed instantly by the whole busy company, till not a loiterer
remained.
“Well! if this isn’t luck!” exclaimed Ashburn, exultingly; “they make
right for Keene’s land! We’ll have ’em! go ahead, Joe, and keep your
eye on ’em!”
Joe obeyed so well in both points that he not only outran his
father, but very soon turned a summerset over a gnarled root or grub
which lay in his path. This faux pas nearly demolished one side of his
face, and what remained of his jacket sleeve, while his father, not
quite so heedless, escaped falling, but tore his boot almost off with
what he called “a contwisted stub of the toe.”
But these were trifling inconveniences, and only taught them to
use a little more caution in their eagerness. They followed on,
unweariedly; crossed several fences, and threaded much of Mr.
Keene’s tract of forest-land, scanning with practised eye every decayed
tree, whether standing or prostrate, until at length, in the side of a
gigantic but leafless oak, they espied, some forty feet from the
ground, the “sweet home” of the immense swarm whose scouts had
betrayed their hiding-place.
“The Indians have been here;” said Ashburn; “you see they’ve
felled this saplin’ agin the bee-tree, so as they could climb up to the
hole; but the red devils have been disturbed afore they had time to dig
it out. If they’d had axes to cut down the big tree, they wouldn’t have
left a smitchin o’ honey, they’re such tarnal thieves!”
Mr. Ashburn’s ideas of morality were much shocked at the thought
of the dishonesty of the Indians, who, as is well known, have no rights
of any kind; but considering himself as first finder, the lawful proprietor
of this much-coveted treasure, gained too without the trouble of a
protracted search, or the usual amount of baiting, and burning of
honeycombs, he lost no time in taking possession after the established
mode.
To cut his initials with his axe on the trunk of the bee-tree, and to
make blazes on several of the trees he had passed, detained him but a
few minutes; and with many a cautious noting of the surrounding
localities, and many a charge to Joe “not to say nothing to nobody,”
Silas turned his steps homeward, musing on the important fact that he
had had good luck for once, and planning important business quite
foreign to the day’s chopping.
Now it so happened that Mr. Keene, who is a restless old
gentleman, and, moreover, quite green in the dignity of a land-holder,
thought proper to turn his horse’s head, for this particular morning
ride, directly towards these same “three eighties,” on which he had
engaged Ashburn and his son to commence the important work of
clearing. Mr. Keene is low of stature, rather globular in contour, and
exceedingly parrot-nosed; wearing, moreover, a face red enough to
lead one to suppose he had made his money as a dealer in claret; but,
in truth, one of the kindest of men, in spite of a little quickness of
temper. He is profoundly versed in the art and mystery of store-
keeping, and as profoundly ignorant of all that must sooner or later be
learned by every resident land-owner of the western country.
Thus much being premised, we shall hardly wonder that our good
old friend felt exceedingly aggrieved at meeting Silas Ashburn and the
“lang-legged chiel” Joe, (who has grown longer with every shake of
ague,) on the way from his tract, instead of to it.
“What in the world’s the matter now!” began Mr. Keene, rather
testily. “Are you never going to begin that work?”
“I don’t know but I shall;” was the cool reply of Ashburn; “I can’t
begin it to-day, though.”
“And why not, pray, when I’ve been so long waiting?”
“Because, I’ve got something else that must be done first. You
don’t think your work is all the work there is in the world, do you?”
 Mr. Keene was almost too angry to reply, but he made an effort to
say, “When am I to expect you, then?”
“Why, I guess we’ll come on in a day or two, and then I’ll bring
both the boys.”
So saying, and not dreaming of having been guilty of an incivility,
Mr. Ashburn passed on, intent only on his bee-tree.
Mr. Keene could not help looking after the ragged pair for a
moment, and he muttered angrily as he turned away, “Aye! pride and
beggary go together in this confounded new country! You feel very
independent, no doubt, but I’ll try if I can’t find somebody that wants
money.”
And Mr. Keene’s pony, as if sympathizing with his master’s
vexation, started off at a sharp, passionate trot, which he has learned,
no doubt, under the habitual influence of the spicy temper of his rider.
To find labourers who wanted money, or who would own that they
wanted it, was at that time no easy task. Our poorer neighbours have
been so little accustomed to value household comforts, that the
opportunity to obtain them presents but feeble incitement to
continuous industry. However, it happened in this case that Mr. Keene’s
star was in the ascendant, and the woods resounded, ere long, under
the sturdy strokes of several choppers.

* * * * *
The Ashburns, in the mean time, set themselves busily at work to
make due preparations for the expedition which they had planned for
the following night. They felt, as does every one who finds a bee-tree
in this region, that the prize was their own—that nobody else had the
slightest claim to its rich stores; yet the gathering in of the spoils was
to be performed, according to the invariable custom where the country
is much settled, in the silence of night, and with every precaution of
secrecy. This seems inconsistent, yet such is the fact.
The remainder of the “lucky” day and the whole of the succeeding
one passed in scooping troughs for the reception of the honey,—
tedious work at best, but unusually so in this instance, because several
of the family were prostrate with the ague. Ashburn’s anxiety lest
some of his customary bad luck should intervene between discovery
and possession, made him more impatient and harsh than usual; and
the interior of that comfortless cabin would have presented to a
chance visitor, who knew not of the golden hopes which cheered its
inmates, an aspect of unmitigated wretchedness. Mrs. Ashburn sat
almost in the fire, with a tattered hood on her head and the relics of a
bed-quilt wrapped about her person; while the emaciated limbs of the
baby on her lap,—two years old, yet unweaned,—seemed almost to
reach the floor, so preternaturally were they lengthened by the
stretches of a four months’ ague. Two of the boys lay in the trundle-
bed, which was drawn as near to the fire as possible; and every spare
article of clothing that the house afforded was thrown over them, in
the vain attempt to warm their shivering frames. “Stop your
whimperin’, can’t ye!” said Ashburn, as he hewed away with hatchet
and jack-knife, “you’ll be hot enough before long.” And when the fever
came his words were more than verified.
Two nights had passed before the preparations were completed.
Ashburn and such of his boys as could work had laboured indefatigably
at the troughs; and Mrs. Ashburn had thrown away the milk, and the
few other stores which cumbered her small supply of household
utensils, to free as many as possible for the grand occasion. This third
day had been “well day” to most of the invalids, and after the moon
had risen to light them through the dense wood, the family set off, in
high spirits, on their long, dewy walk. They had passed the causeway
and were turning from the highway into the skirts of the forest, when
they were accosted by a stranger, a young man in a hunter’s dress,
evidently a traveller, and one who knew nothing of the place or its
inhabitants, as Mr. Ashburn ascertained, to his entire satisfaction, by
the usual number of queries. The stranger, a handsome youth of one
or two and twenty, had that frank, joyous air which takes so well with
us Wolverines; and after he had fully satisfied our bee-hunter’s
curiosity, he seemed disposed to ask some questions in his turn. One
of the first of these related to the moving cause of the procession and
their voluminous display of containers.
 “Why, we’re goin’ straight to a bee-tree that I lit upon two or three
days ago, and if you’ve a mind to, you may go ’long, and welcome. It’s
a real peeler, I tell ye! There’s a hundred and fifty weight of honey in
it, if there’s a pound.”
The young traveller waited no second invitation. His light knapsack
being but small incumbrance, he took upon himself the weight of
several troughs that seemed too heavy for the weaker members of the
expedition. They walked on at a rapid and steady pace for a good half
hour, over paths that were none of the smoothest, and only here and
there lighted by the moonbeams. The mother and children were but ill
fitted for the exertion, but Aladdin, on his midnight way to the
wondrous vault of treasure, would as soon have thought of
complaining of fatigue.
Who then shall describe the astonishment, the almost breathless
rage of Silas Ashburn,—the bitter disappointment of the rest,—when
they found, instead of the bee-tree, a great gap in the dense forest,
and the bright moon shining on the shattered fragments of the
immense oak that had contained their prize? The poor children,
fainting with toil now that the stimulus was gone, threw themselves on
the ground; and Mrs. Ashburn, seating her wasted form on a huge
branch, burst into tears.
“It’s all one!” exclaimed Ashburn, when at length he could find
words; “it’s all alike! this is just my luck! It ain’t none of my
neighbour’s work, though! They know better than to be so mean! It’s
the rich! Them that begrudges the poor man the breath of life!” And
he cursed bitterly and with clenched teeth, whoever had robbed him of
his right.
“Don’t cry, Betsey,” he continued; “let’s go home. I’ll find out who
has done this, and I’ll let ’em know there’s law for the poor man as
well as the rich. Come along, young ’uns, and stop your blubberin’, and
let them splinters alone!” The poor little things were trying to gather
up some of the fragments to which the honey still adhered, but their
father was too angry to be kind.
 “Was the tree on your own land?” now inquired the young
stranger, who had stood by in sympathizing silence during this scene.
“No! but that don’t make any difference. The man that found it
first, and marked it, had a right to it afore the President of the United
States, and that I’ll let ’em know, if it costs me my farm. It’s on old
Keene’s land, and I shouldn’t wonder if the old miser had done it
himself,—but I’ll let him know what’s the law in Michigan!”
“Mr. Keene a miser!” exclaimed the young stranger, rather hastily.
“Why, what do you know about him?”
“O! nothing!—that is, nothing very particular—but I have heard
him well spoken of. What I was going to say was, that I fear you will
not find the law able to do anything for you. If the tree was on
another person’s property—”
“Property! that’s just so much as you know about it!” replied
Ashburn, angrily. “I tell ye I know the law well enough, and I know the
honey was mine—and old Keene shall know it too, if he’s the man that
stole it.”
The stranger politely forbore further reply, and the whole party
walked on in sad silence till they reached the village road, when the
young stranger left them with a kindly “good night!”

* * * * *
It was soon after an early breakfast on the morning which
succeeded poor Ashburn’s disappointment, that Mr. Keene, attended
by his lovely orphan niece, Clarissa Bensley, was engaged in his little
court-yard, tending with paternal care the brilliant array of autumnal
flowers which graced its narrow limits. Beds in size and shape nearly
resembling patty-pans, were filled to overflowing with dahlias, china-
asters and marigolds, while the walks which surrounded them, daily
“swept with a woman’s neatness,” set off to the best advantage these
resplendent children of Flora. A vine-hung porch that opened upon the
miniature Paradise was lined with bird-cages of all sizes, and on a
yard-square grass-plot stood the tin cage of a squirrel, almost too fat
to be lively.
 After all was “perform’d to point,”—when no dahlia remained
unsupported,—no cluster of many-hued asters without its neat hoop,—
when no intrusive weed could be discerned, even through Mr. Keene’s
spectacles,—Clarissa took the opportunity to ask if she might take the
pony for a ride.
“To see those poor Ashburns, uncle.”
“They’re a lazy, impudent set, Clary.”
“But they are all sick, uncle; almost every one of the family down
with ague. Do let me go and carry them something. I hear they are
completely destitute of comforts.”
“And so they ought to be, my dear,” said Mr. Keene, who could not
forget what he considered Ashburn’s impertinence.
But his habitual kindness prevailed, and he concluded his
remonstrance by saddling the pony himself, arranging Clarissa’s riding-
dress with all the assiduity of a gallant cavalier, and giving into her
hand, with her neat silver-mounted whip, a little basket, well-crammed
by his wife’s kind care with delicacies for the invalids. No wonder that
he looked after her with pride as she rode off! There are few prettier
girls than the bright-eyed Clarissa.

* * * * *
“How are you this morning, Mrs. Ashburn?” asked the young
visitant as she entered the wretched den, her little basket on her arm,
her sweet face all flushed, and her eyes more than half suffused with
tears.
“Law sakes alive!” was the reply. “I ain’t no how. I’m clear
tuckered out with these young ’uns. They’ve had the agur already this
morning, and they’re as cross as bear-cubs.”
“Ma!” screamed one, as if in confirmation of the maternal remark,
“I want some tea!”
“Tea! I ha’n’t got no tea, and you know that well enough!”
“Well, give me a piece o’ sweetcake then, and a pickle.”
 “The sweetcake was gone long ago, and I ha’n’t nothing to make
more—so shut your head!” And as Clarissa whispered to the poor
pallid child that she would bring him some if he would be a good boy,
and not tease his mother, Mrs. Ashburn produced, from a barrel of
similar delicacies, a yellow cucumber, something less than a foot long,
“pickled” in whiskey and water—and this the child began devouring
eagerly.
Miss Bensley now set out upon the table the varied contents of her
basket. “This honey,” she said, showing some as limpid as water, “was
found a day or two ago in uncle’s woods—wild honey—isn’t it
beautiful?”
Mrs. Ashburn fixed her eyes on it without speaking; but her
husband, who just then came in, did not command himself so far.
“Where did you say you got that honey?” he asked.
“In our woods,” repeated Clarissa; “I never saw such quantities;
and a good deal of it as clear and beautiful as this.”
“I thought as much!” said Ashburn angrily: “and now, Clary
Bensley,” he added, “you’ll just take that cursed honey back to your
uncle, and tell him to keep it, and eat it, and I hope it will choke him!
and if I live, I’ll make him rue the day he ever touched it.”
Miss Bensley gazed on him, lost in astonishment. She could think
of nothing but that he must have gone suddenly mad; and the idea
made her instinctively hasten her steps toward the pony.
“Well! if you won’t take it, I’ll send it after ye!” cried Ashburn, who
had lashed himself into a rage; and he hurled the little jar, with all the
force of his powerful arm, far down the path by which Clarissa was
about to depart, while his poor wife tried to restrain him with a piteous
“Oh, father! don’t! don’t!”
Then, recollecting himself a little,—for he is far from being
habitually brutal,—he made an awkward apology to the frightened girl.
“I ha’n’t nothing agin you, Miss Bensley; you’ve always been kind
to me and mine; but that old devil of an uncle of yours, that can’t bear
to let a poor man live,—I’ll larn him who he’s got to deal with! Tell him
to look out, for he’ll have reason!”
He held the pony while Clarissa mounted, as if to atone for his
rudeness to herself; but he ceased not to repeat his denunciations
against Mr. Keene as long as she was within hearing. As she paced
over the logs, Ashburn, his rage much cooled by this ebullition, stood
looking after her.
“I swan!” he exclaimed; “if there ain’t that very feller that went
with us to the bee-tree, leading Clary Bensley’s horse over the cross-
way!”

* * * * *
Clarissa felt obliged to repeat to her uncle the rude threats which
had so much terrified her; and it needed but this to confirm Mr.
Keene’s suspicious dislike of Ashburn, whom he had already learned to
regard as one of the worst specimens of western character that had
yet crossed his path. He had often felt the vexations of his new
position to be almost intolerable, and was disposed to imagine himself
the predestined victim of all the ill-will and all the impositions of the
neighbourhood. It unfortunately happened, about this particular time,
that he had been more than usually visited with disasters which are
too common in a new country to be much regarded by those who
know what they mean. His fences had been thrown down, his corn-
field robbed, and even the lodging-place of the peacock forcibly
attempted. But from the moment he discovered that Ashburn had a
grudge against him, he thought neither of unruly oxen, mischievous
boys, nor exasperated neighbours; but concluded that the one unlucky
house in the swamp was the ever-welling foundation of all this
bitterness. He had not yet been long enough among us to discern how
much our “bark is waur than our bite.”
It was on a very raw and gusty evening, not long after, that Mr.
Keene, with his handkerchief carefully wrapped around his chin, sallied
forth after dark, on an expedition to the post-office. He was thinking
how vexatious it was—how like everything else in this disorganized, or
rather unorganized new country, that the weekly mail should not be
obliged to arrive at regular hours, and those early enough to allow of
one’s getting one’s letters before dark. As he proceeded he became
aware of the approach of two persons, and though it was too dark to
distinguish faces, he heard distinctly the dreaded tones of Silas
Ashburn.
“No! I found you were right enough there! I couldn’t get at him
that way; but I’ll pay him for it yet!”
He lost the reply of the other party in this iniquitous scheme, in
the rushing of the wild wind which hurried him on his course; but he
had heard enough! He made out to reach the office, and receiving his
paper, and hastening desperately homeward, had scarcely spirits even
to read the price-current, (though he did mechanically glance at the
corner of the “Trumpet of Commerce,”) before he retired to bed in
meditative sadness; feeling quite unable to await the striking of nine
on the kitchen clock, which, in all ordinary circumstances, “toll’d the
hour for retiring.”
Mr. Keene’s nerves had received a terrible shock on this fated
evening, and it is certain that for a man of sober imagination, his
dreams were terrific. He saw Ashburn, covered from crown to sole
with a buzzing shroud of bees, trampling on his flower-beds, tearing
up his honey-suckles root and branch, and letting his canaries and
Java sparrows out of their cages; and, as his eyes recoiled from this
horrible scene, they encountered the shambling form of Joe, who,
besides aiding and abetting in these enormities, was making awful
strides, axe in hand, toward the sanctuary of the pea-fowls.
He awoke with a cry of horror, and found his bed-room full of
smoke. Starting up in agonized alarm, he awoke Mrs. Keene, and half-
dressed, by the red light which glimmered around them, they rushed
together to Clarissa’s chamber. It was empty. To find the stairs was the
next thought; but at the very top they met the dreaded bee-finder
armed with a prodigious club!
“Oh mercy! don’t murder us!” shrieked Mrs. Keene, falling on her
knees; while her husband, whose capsicum was completely roused,
began pummelling Ashburn as high as he could reach, bestowing on
him at the same time, in no very choice terms, his candid opinion as to
the propriety of setting people’s houses on fire, by way of revenge.
“Why, you’re both as crazy as loons!” was Mr. Ashburn’s polite
exclamation, as he held off Mr. Keene at arm’s length. “I was comin’ up
o’ purpose to tell you that you needn’t be frightened. It’s only the ruff
o’ the shanty, there,—the kitchen, as you call it.”
“And what have you done with Clarissa?”—“Ay! where’s my niece?”
cried the distracted pair.
“Where is she? why, down stairs to be sure, takin’ care o’ the traps
they throw’d out o’ the shanty. I was out a ’coon-hunting, and see the
light, but I was so far off that they’d got it pretty well down before I
got here. That ’ere young spark of Clary’s worked like a beaver, I tell
ye!”
“You need not attempt,” solemnly began Mr. Keene, “you need not
think to make me believe, that you are not the man that set my house
on fire. I know your revengeful temper; I have heard of your threats,
and you shall answer for all, sir! before you’re a day older!”
Ashburn seemed struck dumb, between his involuntary respect for
Mr. Keene’s age and character, and the contemptuous anger with
which his accusations filled him. “Well! I swan!” said he after a pause;
“but here comes Clary; she’s got common sense; ask her how the fire
happened.”
“It’s all over now, uncle,” she exclaimed, almost breathless, “it has
not done so very much damage.”
“Damage!” said Mrs. Keene, dolefully; “we shall never get things
clean again while the world stands!”
“And where are my birds?” inquired the old gentleman.
“All safe—quite safe; we moved them into the parlour.”
“We! who, pray?”
“Oh! the neighbours came, you know, uncle; and—Mr. Ashburn—”
“Give the devil his due,” interposed Ashburn; “you know very well
that the whole concern would have gone if it hadn’t been for that
young feller.”
“What young fellow? where?”
“Why here,” said Silas, pulling forward our young stranger; “this
here chap.”
“Young man,” began Mr. Keene,—but at the moment, up came
somebody with a light, and while Clarissa retreated behind Mr.
Ashburn, the stranger was recognised by her aunt and uncle as
Charles Darwin.
“Charles! what on earth brought you here?”
“Ask Clary,” said Ashburn, with grim jocoseness.
Mr. Keene turned mechanically to obey; but Clarissa had
disappeared.
“Well! I guess I can tell you something about it, if nobody else
won’t,” said Ashburn; “I’m something of a Yankee, and it’s my notion
that there was some sparkin’ a goin’ on in your kitchin, and that
somehow or other the young folks managed to set it a-fire.”
The old folks looked more puzzled than ever. “Do speak, Charles,”
said Mr. Keene; “what does it all mean? Did you set my house on fire?”
“I’m afraid I must have had some hand in it, sir,” said Charles,
whose self-possession seemed quite to have deserted him.
“You!” exclaimed Mr. Keene; “and I’ve been laying it to this man!”
“Yes! you know’d I owed you a spite, on account o’ that plaguy
bee-tree,” said Ashburn; “a guilty conscience needs no accuser. But
you was much mistaken if you thought I was sich a bloody-minded
villain as to burn your gimcrackery for that! If I could have paid you
for it, fair and even, I’d ha’ done it with all my heart and soul. But I
don’t set men’s houses a-fire when I get mad at ’em.”
“But you threatened vengeance,” said Mr. Keene.
“So I did, but that was when I expected to get it by law, though;
and this here young man knows that, if he’d only speak.”
 Thus adjured, Charles did speak, and so much to the purpose that
it did not take many minutes to convince Mr. Keene that Ashburn’s evil-
mindedness was bounded by the limits of the law, that precious
privilege of the Wolverine. But there was still the mystery of Charles’s
apparition, and in order to its full unravelment, the blushing Clarissa
had to be enticed from her hiding-place, and brought to confession.
And then it was made clear that she, with all her innocent looks, was
the moving cause of the mighty mischief. She it was who encouraged
Charles to believe that her uncle’s anger would not last forever; and
this had led Charles to venture into the neighbourhood; and it was
while consulting together, (on this particular point, of course,) that
they managed to set the kitchen curtain on fire.
These things occupied some time in explaining,—but they were at
length, by the aid of words and more eloquent blushes, made so clear,
that Mr. Keene concluded, not only to new roof the kitchen, but to add
a very pretty wing to one side of the house. And at the present time,
the steps of Charles Darwin, when he returns from a surveying tour,
seek the little gate as naturally as if he had never lived anywhere else.
And the sweet face of Clarissa is always there, ready to welcome him,
though she still finds plenty of time to keep in order the complicated
affairs of both uncle and aunt.
Mr. Keene has done his very best to atone for his injurious
estimate of Wolverine honour, by giving constant employment to
Ashburn and his sons, and owning himself always the obliged party,
without which concession all he could do would avail nothing. And Mrs.
Keene and Clarissa have been unwearied in their kind attentions to the
family, supplying them with so many comforts that most of them have
got rid of the ague, in spite of themselves. The house has assumed so
cheerful an appearance that I could scarcely recognise it for the same
squalid den it had often made my heart ache to look upon. As I was
returning from my last visit there, I encountered Mr. Ashburn, and
remarked to him how very comfortable they seemed.
“Yes,” he replied; “I’ve had pretty good luck lately; but I’m a goin’
to pull up stakes and move to Wisconsin. I think I can do better,
further West.”
 FITZ-JAMES O’BRIEN
1828–1862

The facts of O’Brien’s life have never been set in order. Even the date of his birth in
County Limerick is uncertain. His untimely death was at Cumberland, Virginia,
from wounds in the Federal service early in the Civil War. The clearest impression
of the man may be had from William Winter’s introduction to a collection of his
verse and prose, published in Boston, 1881. He seems very like the Thackeray
Irishman—generous, impulsive, extravagant with money and words. In the
geniality that deserved their warm affection his somewhat Bohemian companions
found a touch of genius; but the demands of a spendthrift life hand-to-mouth, and
the facility with which these demands could be met, both made against the
realisation of this higher promise. That it remained only a promise may be
ascribed also to his dying at thirty-four. Youth is evident especially in that his prose
is imitative. Poe is suggested almost immediately; and there is often an undertone
of Dickens, the Dickens of the Christmas stories. In other aspects, too, O’Brien’s
writing is the work, not of a craftsman, but of a brilliant amateur. The fancies that
he threw upon the periodical press are never quite achieved. Considered as
materials, these fancies vary in value all the way from the conceptions of The
Diamond Lens and The Wondersmith, which are not far from pure imagination, to
Tommatoo and My Wife’s Tempter, which are mere melodrama. But whatever their
potential value, O’Brien’s hand was not steady enough to bring it out. The main
scene of The Diamond Lens, the microscopic vision, is as delicate as it is original,
and as vivid as it is delicate; but the preparation for it is fumbling, and the solution
unsatisfying. The tale printed below is exceptionally compact in structure and
careful in detail. The obvious general resemblance to Poe’s tales of physical horror
should not obscure certain original merits. The note of realism, for instance, is not
merely Poe’s verisimilitude; it expresses a differentiation of character more like
that of Kipling’s similar study, The End of the Passage. Prof. Brander Matthews
(Philosophy of the Short-Story, page 68) points out the similarity in conception of
Maupassant’s Le Horla.
Writing much prose and verse for many magazines now long passed away, and
a play or two for Wallack, O’Brien found his steadiest employment with the
Harpers between 1853 and 1858, and his most congenial life with the younger
journalists and artists of New York.
 WHAT WAS IT? A MYSTERY
[From “Harper’s Monthly Magazine,” March, 1859; volume
xviii, page 504. The signature is Harry Escott]

IT is, I confess, with considerable diffidence that I approach the

strange narrative which I am about to relate. The events which I
purpose detailing are of so extraordinary and unheard-of a character
that I am quite prepared to meet with an unusual amount of
incredulity and scorn. I accept all such beforehand. I have, I trust,
the literary courage to face unbelief. I have, after mature
consideration, resolved to narrate, in as simple and straightforward a
manner as I can compass, some facts that passed under my
observation in the month of July last, and which, in the annals of the
mysteries of physical science, are wholly unparalleled.
I live at No. — Twenty-sixth Street, in this city. The house is in
some respects a curious one. It has enjoyed for the last two years
the reputation of being haunted. It is a large and stately residence,
surrounded by what was once a garden, but which is now only a
green enclosure used for bleaching clothes. The dry basin of what
has been a fountain, and a few fruit-trees, ragged and unpruned,
indicate that this spot, in past days, was a pleasant, shady retreat,
filled with fruits and flowers and the sweet murmur of waters.
The house is very spacious. A hall of noble size leads to a vast
spiral staircase winding through its centre, while the various
apartments are of imposing dimensions. It was built some fifteen or
twenty years since by Mr. A——, the well-known New York merchant,
who five years ago threw the commercial world into convulsions by a
stupendous bank fraud. Mr. A——, as every one knows, escaped to
Europe, and died not long after of a broken heart. Almost
immediately after the news of his decease reached this country, and
was verified, the report spread in Twenty-sixth Street that No. —
was haunted. Legal measures had dispossessed the widow of its
former owner, and it was inhabited merely by a care-taker and his
wife, placed there by the house-agent into whose hands it had
passed for purposes of renting or sale. These people declared that
they were troubled with unnatural noises. Doors were opened
without any visible agency. The remnants of furniture scattered
through the various rooms were, during the night, piled one upon
the other by unknown hands. Invisible feet passed up and down the
stairs in broad daylight, accompanied by the rustle of unseen silk
dresses, and the gliding of viewless hands along the massive
balusters. The care-taker and his wife declared they would live there
no longer. The house-agent laughed, dismissed them, and put others
in their place. The noises and supernatural manifestations continued.
The neighborhood caught up the story, and the house remained
untenanted for three years. Several persons negotiated for it; but
somehow, always before the bargain was closed, they heard the
unpleasant rumors, and declined to treat any further.
It was in this state of things that my landlady—who at that time
kept a boarding-house in Bleecker Street, and who wished to move
farther up town—conceived the bold idea of renting No. — Twenty-
sixth Street. Happening to have in her house rather a plucky and
philosophical set of boarders, she laid her scheme before us, stating
candidly everything she had heard respecting the ghostly qualities of
the establishment to which she wished to remove us. With the
exception of two timid persons,—a sea-captain and a returned
Californian, who immediately gave notice that they would leave,—all
of Mrs. Moffat’s guests declared that they would accompany her in
her chivalric incursion into the abode of spirits.
Our removal was effected in the month of May, and we were all
charmed with our new residence. The portion of Twenty-sixth Street
where our house is situated—between Seventh and Eighth Avenues
—is one of the pleasantest localities in New York. The gardens back
of the houses, running down nearly to the Hudson, form, in the
summer time, a perfect avenue of verdure. The air is pure and
invigorating, sweeping, as it does, straight across the river from the
Weehawken heights, and even the ragged garden which surrounded
the house on two sides, although displaying on washing days rather
too much clothes-line, still gave us a piece of green sward to look at,
and a cool retreat in the summer evenings, where we smoked our
cigars in the dusk, and watched the fire-flies flashing their dark-
lanterns in the long grass.
Of course we had no sooner established ourselves at No. — than
we began to expect the ghosts. We absolutely awaited their advent
with eagerness. Our dinner conversation was supernatural. One of
the boarders, who had purchased Mrs. Crowe’s “Night Side of
Nature” for his own private delectation, was regarded as a public
enemy by the entire household for not having bought twenty copies.
The man led a life of supreme wretchedness while he was reading
this volume. A system of espionage was established, of which he
was the victim. If he incautiously laid the book down for an instant
and left the room, it was immediately seized and read aloud in
secret places to a select few. I found myself a person of immense
importance, it having leaked out that I was tolerably well versed in
the history of supernaturalism, and had once written a story, entitled
“The Pot of Tulips,” for Harper’s Monthly, the foundation of which
was a ghost. If a table or a wainscot panel happened to warp when
we were assembled in the large drawing-room, there was an instant
silence, and every one was prepared for an immediate clanking of
chains and a spectral form.
After a month of psychological excitement, it was with the
utmost dissatisfaction that we were forced to acknowledge that
nothing in the remotest degree approaching the supernatural had
manifested itself. Once the black butler asseverated that his candle
had been blown out by some invisible agency while he was
undressing himself for the night; but as I had more than once
discovered this colored gentleman in a condition when one candle
must have appeared to him like two, I thought it possible that, by
going a step farther in his potations, he might have reversed this
phenomenon, and seen no candle at all where he ought to have
beheld one.
Things were in this state when an incident took place so awful
and inexplicable in its character that my reason fairly reels at the
bare memory of the occurrence. It was the tenth of July. After
dinner was over I repaired, with my friend Dr. Hammond, to the
garden to smoke my evening pipe. Independent of certain mental
sympathies which existed between the Doctor and myself, we were
linked together by a secret vice. We both smoked opium. We knew
each other’s secret, and respected it. We enjoyed together that
wonderful expansion of thought, that marvellous intensifying of the
perceptive faculties, that boundless feeling of existence when we
seem to have points of contact with the whole universe,—in short,
that unimaginable spiritual bliss, which I would not surrender for a
throne, and which I hope you, reader, will never—never taste.
Those hours of opium happiness which the Doctor and I spent
together in secret were regulated with a scientific accuracy. We did
not blindly smoke the drug of Paradise, and leave our dreams to
chance. While smoking, we carefully steered our conversation
through the brightest and calmest channels of thought. We talked of
the East, and endeavored to recall the magical panorama of its
glowing scenery. We criticised the most sensuous poets, those who
painted life ruddy with health, brimming with passion, happy in the
possession of youth and strength and beauty. If we talked of
Shakespeare’s “Tempest,” we lingered over Ariel, and avoided
Caliban. Like the Gebers, we turned our faces to the east, and saw
only the sunny side of the world.
This skilful coloring of our train of thought produced in our
subsequent visions a corresponding tone. The splendors of Arabian
fairy-land dyed our dreams. We paced that narrow strip of grass with
the tread and port of kings. The song of the rana arborea, while he
clung to the bark of the ragged plum-tree, sounded like the strains
of divine orchestras. Houses, walls, and streets melted like
rainclouds, and vistas of unimaginable glory stretched away before
us. It was a rapturous companionship. We enjoyed the vast delight
more perfectly because, even in our most ecstatic moments, we
were conscious of each other’s presence. Our pleasures, while
individual, were still twin, vibrating and moving in musical accord.
On the evening in question, the tenth of July, the Doctor and
myself found ourselves in an unusually metaphysical mood. We lit
our large meerschaums, filled with fine Turkish tobacco, in the core
of which burned a little black nut of opium, that, like the nut in the
fairy tale, held within its narrow limits wonders beyond the reach of
kings; we paced to and fro, conversing. A strange perversity
dominated the currents of our thought. They would not flow through
the sun-lit channels into which we strove to divert them. For some
unaccountable reason they constantly diverged into dark and
lonesome beds, where a continual gloom brooded. It was in vain
that, after our old fashion, we flung ourselves on the shores of the
East, and talked of its gay bazaars, of the splendors of the time of
Haroun, of harems and golden palaces. Black afreets continually
arose from the depths of our talk, and expanded, like the one the
fisherman released from the copper vessel, until they blotted
everything bright from our vision. Insensibly, we yielded to the
occult force that swayed us, and indulged in gloomy speculation. We
had talked some time upon the proneness of the human mind to
mysticism, and the almost universal love of the Terrible, when
Hammond suddenly said to me, “What do you consider to be the
greatest element of Terror?”
The question, I own, puzzled me. That many things were
terrible, I knew. Stumbling over a corpse in the dark; beholding, as I
once did, a woman floating down a deep and rapid river, with wildly-
lifted arms, and awful, upturned face, uttering, as she sank, shrieks
that rent one’s heart, while we, the spectators, stood frozen at a
window which overhung the river at a height of sixty feet, unable to
make the slightest effort to save her, but dumbly watching her last
supreme agony and her disappearance. A shattered wreck, with no
life visible, encountered floating listlessly on the ocean, is a terrible
object, for it suggests a huge terror, the proportions of which are
vailed. But it now struck me for the first time that there must be one
great and ruling embodiment of fear, a King of Terrors to which all
others must succumb. What might it be? To what train of
circumstances would it owe its existence?
“I confess, Hammond,” I replied to my friend, “I never
considered the subject before. That there must be one Something
more terrible than any other thing, I feel. I cannot attempt, however,
even the most vague definition.”
“I am somewhat like you, Harry,” he answered. “I feel my
capacity to experience a terror greater than anything yet conceived
by the human mind;—something combining in fearful and unnatural
amalgamation hitherto supposed incompatible elements. The calling
of the voices in Brockden Brown’s novel of ‘Wieland’ is awful; so is
the picture of the Dweller of the Threshold, in Bulwer’s ‘Zanoni’;
but,” he added, shaking his head gloomily, “there is something more
horrible still than these.”
“Look here, Hammond,” I rejoined, “let us drop this kind of talk,
for Heaven’s sake! We shall suffer for it, depend on it.”
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me to-night,” he replied,
“but my brain is running upon all sorts of weird and awful thoughts.
I feel as if I could write a story like Hoffman, to-night, if I were only
master of a literary style.”
“Well, if we are going to be Hoffmanesque in our talk, I’m off to
bed. Opium and nightmares should never be brought together. How
sultry it is! Good-night, Hammond.”
“Good-night, Harry. Pleasant dreams to you.”
“To you, gloomy wretch, afreets, ghouls, and enchanters.”
We parted, and each sought his respective chamber. I undressed
quickly and got into bed, taking with me, according to my usual
custom, a book, over which I generally read myself to sleep. I
opened the volume as soon as I had laid my head upon the pillow,
and instantly flung it to the other side of the room. It was Goudon’s
“History of Monsters”—a curious French work, which I had lately
imported from Paris, but which, in the state of mind I had then
reached, was anything but an agreeable companion. I resolved to go
to sleep at once; so, turning down my gas until nothing but a little
blue point of light glimmered on the top of the tube, I composed
myself to rest.
The room was in total darkness. The atom of gas that still
remained lighted did not illuminate a distance of three inches round
the burner. I desperately drew my arm across my eyes, as if to shut
out even the darkness, and tried to think of nothing. It was in vain.
The confounded themes touched on by Hammond in the garden
kept obtruding themselves on my brain. I battled against them. I
erected ramparts of would-be blankness of intellect to keep them
out. They still crowded upon me. While I was lying still as a corpse,
hoping that by a perfect physical inaction I should hasten mental
repose, an awful incident occurred. A Something dropped, as it
seemed, from the ceiling, plumb upon my chest, and the next
instant I felt two bony hands encircling my throat, endeavoring to
choke me.
I am no coward, and am possessed of considerable physical
strength. The suddenness of the attack, instead of stunning me,
strung every nerve to its highest tension. My body acted from
instinct, before my brain had time to realize the terrors of my
position. In an instant I wound two muscular arms around the
creature, and squeezed it, with all the strength of despair, against
my chest. In a few seconds the bony hands that had fastened on my
throat loosened their hold, and I was free to breathe once more.
Then commenced a struggle of awful intensity. Immersed in the
most profound darkness, totally ignorant of the nature of the Thing
by which I was so suddenly attacked, finding my grasp slipping
every moment, by reason, it seemed to me, of the entire nakedness
of my assailant, bitten with sharp teeth in the shoulder, neck, and
chest, having every moment to protect my throat against a pair of
sinewy, agile hands, which my utmost efforts could not confine—
these were a combination of circumstances to combat which
required all the strength and skill and courage that I possessed.
At last, after a silent, deadly, exhausting struggle, I got my
assailant under by a series of incredible efforts of strength. Once
pinned, with my knee on what I made out to be its chest, I knew
that I was victor. I rested for a moment to breathe. I heard the
creature beneath me panting in the darkness, and felt the violent
throbbing of a heart. It was apparently as exhausted as I was; that
was one comfort. At this moment I remembered that I usually
placed under my pillow, before going to bed, a large yellow silk
pocket-handkerchief, for use during the night. I felt for it instantly; it
was there. In a few seconds more I had, after a fashion, pinioned
the creature’s arms.
I now felt tolerably secure. There was nothing more to be done
but to turn on the gas, and, having first seen what my midnight
assailant was like, arouse the household. I will confess to being
actuated by a certain pride in not giving the alarm before; I wished
to make the capture alone and unaided.
Never losing my hold for an instant, I slipped from the bed to
the floor, dragging my captive with me. I had but a few steps to
make to reach the gas-burner; these I made with the greatest
caution, holding the creature in a grip like a vice. At last I got within
arm’s-length of the tiny speck of blue light which told me where the
gas-burner lay. Quick as lightning I released my grasp with one hand
and let on the full flood of light. Then I turned to look at my captive.
I cannot even attempt to give any definition of my sensations
the instant after I turned on the gas. I suppose I must have shrieked
with terror, for in less than a minute afterward my room was
crowded with the inmates of the house. I shudder now as I think of
that awful moment. I saw nothing! Yes; I had one arm firmly clasped
round a breathing, panting, corporeal shape, my other hand gripped
with all its strength a throat as warm, and apparently fleshly, as my
own; and yet, with this living substance in my grasp, with its body
pressed against my own, and all in the bright glare of a large jet of
gas, I absolutely beheld nothing! Not even an outline,—a vapor!
I do not, even at this hour, realize the situation in which I found
myself. I cannot recall the astounding incident thoroughly.
Imagination in vain tries to compass the awful paradox.
It breathed. I felt its warm breath upon my cheek. It struggled
fiercely. It had hands. They clutched me. Its skin was smooth, like
my own. There it lay, pressed close up against me, solid as stone,—
and yet utterly invisible!
I wonder that I did not faint or go mad on the instant. Some
wonderful instinct must have sustained me; for, absolutely, in place
of loosening my hold on the terrible Enigma, I seemed to gain an
additional strength in my moment of horror, and tightened my grasp
with such wonderful force that I felt the creature shivering with
agony.
Just then Hammond entered my room at the head of the
household. As soon as he beheld my face—which, I suppose, must
have been an awful sight to look at—he hastened forward, crying,
“Great heaven, Harry! what has happened?”
“Hammond! Hammond!” I cried, “come here. Oh! this is awful! I
have been attacked in bed by something or other, which I have hold
of; but I can’t see it—I can’t see it!”
Hammond, doubtless struck by the unfeigned horror expressed
in my countenance, made one or two steps forward with an anxious
yet puzzled expression. A very audible titter burst from the
remainder of my visitors. This suppressed laughter made me furious.
To laugh at a human being in my position! It was the worst species
of cruelty. Now, I can understand why the appearance of a man
struggling violently, as it would seem, with an airy nothing, and
calling for assistance against a vision, should have appeared
ludicrous. Then, so great was my rage against the mocking crowd
that had I the power I would have stricken them dead where they
stood.
 “Hammond! Hammond!” I cried again, despairingly, “for God’s
sake come to me. I can hold the—the Thing but a short while longer.
It is overpowering me. Help me! Help me!”
“Harry,” whispered Hammond, approaching me, “you have been
smoking too much opium.”
“I swear to you, Hammond, that this is no vision,” I answered, in
the same low tone. “Don’t you see how it shakes my whole frame
with its struggles? If you don’t believe me, convince yourself. Feel it,
—touch it.”
Hammond advanced and laid his hand in the spot I indicated. A
wild cry of horror burst from him. He had felt it!
In a moment he had discovered somewhere in my room a long
piece of cord, and was the next instant winding it and knotting it
about the body of the unseen being that I clasped in my arms.
“Harry,” he said, in a hoarse, agitated voice, for, though he
preserved his presence of mind, he was deeply moved, “Harry, it’s all
safe now. You may let go, old fellow, if you’re tired. The Thing can’t
move.”
I was utterly exhausted, and I gladly loosed my hold.
Hammond stood holding the ends of the cord that bound the
Invisible, twisted round his hand, while before him, self-supporting
as it were, he beheld a rope laced and interlaced, and stretching
tightly round a vacant space. I never saw a man look so thoroughly
stricken with awe. Nevertheless his face expressed all the courage
and determination which I knew him to possess. His lips, although
white, were set firmly, and one could perceive at a glance that,
although stricken with fear, he was not daunted.
The confusion that ensued among the guests of the house who
were witnesses of this extraordinary scene between Hammond and
myself—who beheld the pantomime of binding this struggling
Something,—who beheld me almost sinking from physical
exhaustion when my task of jailer was over—the confusion and
terror that took possession of the bystanders, when they saw all
this, was beyond description. The weaker ones fled from the
apartment. The few who remained clustered near the door, and
could not be induced to approach Hammond and his Charge. Still
incredulity broke out through their terror. They had not the courage
to satisfy themselves, and yet they doubted. It was in vain that I
begged of some of the men to come near and convince themselves
by touch of the existence in that room of a living being which was
invisible. They were incredulous, but did not dare to undeceive
themselves. How could a solid, living, breathing body be invisible,
they asked. My reply was this. I gave a sign to Hammond, and both
of us—conquering our fearful repugnance to touch the invisible
creature—lifted it from the ground, manacled as it was, and took it
to my bed. Its weight was about that of a boy of fourteen.
“Now, my friends,” I said, as Hammond and myself held the
creature suspended over the bed, “I can give you self-evident proof
that here is a solid, ponderable body which, nevertheless, you
cannot see. Be good enough to watch the surface of the bed
attentively.”
I was astonished at my own courage in treating this strange
event so calmly; but I had recovered from my first terror, and felt a
sort of scientific pride in the affair which dominated every other
feeling.
The eyes of the bystanders were immediately fixed on my bed.
At a given signal Hammond and I let the creature fall. There was the
dull sound of a heavy body alighting on a soft mass. The timbers of
the bed creaked. A deep impression marked itself distinctly on the
pillow, and on the bed itself. The crowd who witnessed this gave a
sort of low, universal cry, and rushed from the room. Hammond and
I were left alone with our Mystery.
We remained silent for some time, listening to the low, irregular
breathing of the creature on the bed, and watching the rustle of the
bed-clothes as it impotently struggled to free itself from
confinement. Then Hammond spoke.
 “Harry, this is awful.”
“Ay, awful.”
“But not unaccountable.”
“Not unaccountable! What do you mean? Such a thing has never
occurred since the birth of the world. I know not what to think,
Hammond. God grant that I am not mad, and that this is not an
insane fantasy!”
“Let us reason a little, Harry. Here is a solid body which we
touch, but which we cannot see. The fact is so unusual that it strikes
us with terror. Is there no parallel, though, for such a phenomenon?
Take a piece of pure glass. It is tangible and transparent. A certain
chemical coarseness is all that prevents its being so entirely
transparent as to be totally invisible. It is not theoretically
impossible, mind you, to make a glass which shall not reflect a single
ray of light—a glass so pure and homogeneous in its atoms that the
rays from the sun shall pass through it as they do through the air,
refracted but not reflected. We do not see the air, and yet we feel it.”
“That’s all very well, Hammond, but these are inanimate
substances. Glass does not breathe, air does not breathe. This thing
has a heart that palpitates,—a will that moves it,—lungs that play,
and inspire and respire.”
“You forget the strange phenomena of which we have so often
heard of late,” answered the Doctor, gravely. “At the meetings called
‘spirit circles,’ invisible hands have been thrust into the hands of
those persons round the table—warm, fleshly hands that seemed to
pulsate with mortal life.”
“What? Do you think, then, that this thing is—”
“I don’t know what it is,” was the solemn reply; “but please the
gods I will, with your assistance, thoroughly investigate it.”
We watched together, smoking many pipes, all night long, by the
bedside of the unearthly being that tossed and panted until it was
apparently wearied out. Then we learned by the low, regular
breathing that it slept.
The next morning the house was all astir. The boarders
congregated on the landing outside my room, and Hammond and
myself were lions. We had to answer a thousand questions as to the
state of our extraordinary prisoner, for as yet not one person in the
house except ourselves could be induced to set foot in the
apartment.
The creature was awake. This was evidenced by the convulsive
manner in which the bed-clothes were moved in its efforts to
escape. There was something truly terrible in beholding, as it were,
those second-hand indications of the terrible writhings and agonized
struggles for liberty which themselves were invisible.
Hammond and myself had racked our brains during the long
night to discover some means by which we might realize the shape
and general appearance of the Enigma. As well as we could make
out by passing our hands over the creature’s form, its outlines and
lineaments were human. There was a mouth; a round, smooth head
without hair; a nose, which, however, was little elevated above the
cheeks; and its hands and feet felt like those of a boy. At first we
thought of placing the being on a smooth surface and tracing its
outline with chalk, as shoemakers trace the outline of the foot. This
plan was given up as being of no value. Such an outline would give
not the slightest idea of its conformation.
A happy thought struck me. We would take a cast of it in plaster
of Paris. This would give us the solid figure, and satisfy all our
wishes. But how to do it? The movements of the creature would
disturb the setting of the plastic covering, and distort the mould.
Another thought. Why not give it chloroform? It had respiratory
organs—that was evident by its breathing. Once reduced to a state
of insensibility, we could do with it what we would. Doctor X—— was
sent for; and after the worthy physician had recovered from the first
shock of amazement, he proceeded to administer the chloroform. In
three minutes afterward we were enabled to remove the fetters from
the creature’s body, and a well-known modeler of this city was busily
engaged in covering the invisible form with the moist clay. In five
minutes more we had a mould, and before evening a rough fac-
simile of the Mystery. It was shaped like a man,—distorted, uncouth,
and horrible, but still a man. It was small, not over four feet and
some inches in height, and its limbs revealed a muscular
development that was unparalleled. Its face surpassed in
hideousness anything I had ever seen. Gustave Doré, or Callot, or
Tony Johannot, never conceived anything so horrible. There is a face
in one of the latter’s illustrations to “Un Voyage où il vous plaira,”
which somewhat approaches the countenance of this creature, but
does not equal it. It was the physiognomy of what I should have
fancied a ghoul to be. It looked as if it was capable of feeding on
human flesh.
Having satisfied our curiosity, and bound every one in the house
to secrecy, it became a question, what was to be done with our
Enigma? It was impossible that we should keep such a horror in our
house; it was equally impossible that such an awful being should be
let loose upon the world. I confess that I would have gladly voted
for the creature’s destruction. But who would shoulder the
responsibility? Who would undertake the execution of this horrible
semblance of a human being? Day after day this question was
deliberated gravely. The boarders all left the house. Mrs. Moffat was
in despair, and threatened Hammond and myself with all sorts of
legal penalties if we did not remove the Horror. Our answer was,
“We will go if you like, but we decline taking this creature with us.
Remove it yourself if you please. It appeared in your house. On you
the responsibility rests.” To this there was, of course, no answer.
Mrs. Moffat could not obtain for love or money a person who would
even approach the Mystery.
The most singular part of the transaction was that we were
entirely ignorant of what the creature habitually fed on. Everything
in the way of nutriment that we could think of was placed before it,
but was never touched. It was awful to stand by, day after day, and